#okay... so yesterday I gave myself a great speech about how it would actually be fun to see

[holly-mckenzie]

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rosematafeo babe wake up Starstruck S3 trailer has dropped ✨ August 28th ✨

[shreddedparchment]

A Wife for Thor Pt.22

Obstacle

04/08/2021

Pairing: King!Thor x Reader          Word Count: 5,413

Warnings: angst, jealousy, marital problems, pregnancy, allusions to cheating (no actual infidelity), fluff, smug Loki

A/N: It took me SO long to get this chapter down. I wrote literally like a few sentence a day for a bit and then finally got some good chunks out. This has been a tough week but this chapter makes it all worth it! I hope y’all think so too. A lot of good stuff happens in this chapter, as in stuff that I really like. If you happen to reblog, thanks so much for helping me spread my work!

Please DO NOT repost my stories on any other sites or blogs.

REBLOGS are always welcome!

The shuffle around the palace as Loki escorts you through the front gate is overwhelming.

It’s safe to say that judging by your reception when you’d shown up in Heimdall’s tower located on the far side of the city, the Asgardians are happy to see you.

Armod is also happy to see you and you rush to get into your car before you can get swarmed by eager Asgardians.

Loki joins you in the back seat and lets Armod gush over his happiness at seeing you back home and healthy. And pregnant! More than anything, the people are happy to see the swell of your belly.

Many of the women are crying as you step out of the car at the palace gate, the men cheering enthusiastically.

Some of the children have found flower petals to throw into the air and it rains white, pink, and yellow blossoms.

It's the small waving hand of a little girl with ebony floor length braids that tugs too hard on your heartstrings and you give in to your impulse.

“Armod, stop the car, I’d like to greet the people,” you ask, swayed further by the eager faces of the young girl's siblings who flank her..

As much as being Queen had come unexpectedly and as much work as it's been, loving the Asgardians has never been a challenge and you've missed your people.

Their kindness has always been the best part of your day.

Armod gives Loki a quick look but stops the car just as the palace gates are opening.

He pulls over to the side, putting it in park before hurrying out to open the door for you.

“Are you sure?” Loki checks, reaching over to place his hand over yours on the seat.

“Of course. I owe them this. I’ve been gone for so long.”

“If you’d rather go in, we can find an excuse.”

“Loki,” you laugh once. “Is something wrong? Is there a reason I shouldn’t get out of the car?”

“Not at all,” he assures you. “I just don’t want you to force yourself. I know this pregnancy hasn’t exactly been easy on you.”

“I’m okay. And I’m sure they wanna see the proof that they have an heir coming. Really, Loki, I don't mind.”

Loki sighs, but gets out quickly to move around and take Armod’s place and offer you his arm.

Taking it, you pull yourself out, and after a long moment to steady yourself on your feet, you turn to face your people.

A large number of Valkyries suddenly pour from the open palace gateway and you wait as they line themselves in front of the gathering crowd. A simple border of control to keep you safe.

The people don’t seem threatened by the guard either and they continue to cheer until you raise your hand and call them to silence.

It only takes a few seconds for the noise to die, leaving only the ambient sounds of the city, wind, and the shuffling feet as more Asgardians and visiting humans gather.

“Hello,” you begin, voice a little shaky from nerves. “I’m...I-I’d like to start by first apologizing for disappearing. And then for being gone so long.”

The people watch and listen attentively, hanging on your every word. As your hands drop down to your belly to stroke it anxiously out of habit, their eyes are drawn to it and they seem to rattle with excitement again.

Looking down at your tummy, you contemplate the little one inside and the kicks he gave you earlier in the day.

He's really in there.

“It’s been a long journey to do what’s been expected of me. Difficult, actually. Giving you and Thor what we’ve all been hoping for is a privilege though. It's important that you all know that.

"However, I'm not as strong as all of you. I'm not as resilient. As soon as I knew that I was expecting the future prince or princess of New Asgard, I knew that I had to take precautions. I had to stop thinking like your Queen and just for a while, think like a mom. I told Thor that I wanted to take some time away from my duties as Queen if only to make sure that my pregnancy would take. In order to ensure the health of this baby.

“Im so very sorry if I caused any of you any worry or pain by disappearing. That was never my intention and it makes me...I can only say that I'm sorry. I hope that you all can understand why I left. The The thing is I’m happy to say that my efforts weren't wasted, clearly."

There's a rumble of gentle laughter that flows through the crowd and breaks the slightly somber mood your speech is causing. You give them a smile and they smile back.

"And while that does make me very happy, it has not been easy to carry this baby. I have been sick and weak but after some rest I'm now feeling stronger than ever. With the constant and careful care provided by Doctors Wilson and Alric, I’m finally able to resume my duties as Queen with the knowledge that this baby is strong and healthy and my body can take the strain of bringing him-or her into this world.

“I’m so happy to be back among my people, my home. You all are my family and it fills me with such joy to know that I have made you all proud.”

The people cheer, more and more gathering along the street so that it’s now clogged and impassable. Others have taken to peeking out of windows from the surrounding buildings or finding balconies and roofs to stand on to get a better look at you.

Their excitement changes to trepidation at the look on your face as you realize that now is the perfect time to address what happened yesterday.

They’re so attuned to your mood that they quiet down again and wait nervously for you to speak.

"On a more serious note, I know that many of you must have been shocked by the lies spewed onto the pages of the Watch. And I'd like to be as clear as I possibly can about my absence from the palace.

"I only left because of the concern I had for our future prince or princess. There was absolutely no other reason for my absence in our great city. While it is true that something did happen between Thor, Jane, and myself--well, I will only say that now I know that His Majesty the King of Asgard is wholly devoted to me and our family, just as he has been from the moment he accepted me as his wife.

"Not that I ever doubted it," you lie. No one needs to know how bad things are and it is true that now you know Thor is devoted to you.

So, it's not completely a lie.

"As a people," you continue. "We'll need to be vigilant about the people we choose to trust to come into our homes. We will be more cautious now, and as a woman…"

You swallow hard, thinking about the words itching on the tip of your tongue to tumble forward and make your heart clear. Maybe it's not right to say it? Maybe it isn't the queenly thing to do?

You don't care.

"As a wife and a soon-to-be mother, I will say that Doctor Jane Foster is not welcome in my home. She has proven to be unworthy of the trust we placed in her and while her expertise is an invaluable commodity that I am sad to lose, I would rather have the second best than risk the stability of my family."

To your surprise, there are a flutter of approving nods and smiles, wives and husband's looking scandalized by the confirmation that something went down but clearly it was Thor that had Jane kicked out. A few cheers come but they quiet down quickly.

"My love for His Majesty is unwavering. As is his for me. No marriage can be without it's struggles but Thor and I are as united as we have ever been. Both in love, devotion, to each other and you, our people. Together we will strive to protect this kingdom to the best of our abilities and with this child, I hope we can begin to lay down proper roots for us so that everyone on Earth will know that New Asgard is here to stay."

The crowd cheers. It's deafening and your hands are trembling so terribly even clenched into fists they shake.

"LONG LIVE THE QUEEN!" someone shouts and the others fall into the chant as it's picked up by what sounds like everyone in the crowd.

A cool hand presses against the center of your back and you lean towards him as he whispers in your ear.

"That was beautifully done, Y/N," Loki admires. "Now come along. You need your rest."

You cradle your bump and the crowd cheers louder as you wave while Loki leads you back into the car.

As it pulls away from the curb, the Valkyrie turn to follow behind you. Faces full of stern pride. Their gleaming armor shining bright in the late afternoon sun.

The large wooden and steel reinforced gates of the palace close with a thundering clatter and you lean back, heart suddenly clenching painfully. Your stomach turns and you feel like you might throw up.

You shut your eyes and open the window allowing the cooling air to help drive your nausea away.

"Y/N? You alright?" Loki checks, putting his hand on your arm.

"I'm fine," you assure him, unwilling to open your eyes.

"Are you sure? Only, you're looking a little green."

That doesn't actually happen does it? Do people look green when they're gonna throw up?

You assume he's exaggerating, but as the last bit of the swirl in your belly passes, you look at him with fearful eyes.

"I'm nervous," you admit.

"To see Thor?"

"Mm," you nod.

"He's missed you. He will probably try and hug you. Might even kiss you."

"I don't know if I can handle that, Loki."

"You'll have to. The guards around the palace are sworn to secrecy about anything that happens in here, but with the amount of information that magazine was able to get we're pretty sure there's a mole amongst our number."

You look away from him, frowning because the last thing you want is to hug and kiss Thor.

Well, that is, you really want to do those things. Which is why you shouldn't. Not until you can be around him with some kind of rational thought and control over your feelings.

You need to get a grip and come to terms with the reality of your situation before you can let yourself love hum.

You have to protect yourself.

It turns out that you have nothing to worry about.

Estrid who had come before you with your things is there to greet you. A few others of the palace staff come to see you and you're welcome back with fondness.

Because you know you have to play the part, you look for him.

"His Majesty had a sudden summons from the Lady Sif and the Warriors Three, my Queen. He apologizes for missing your arrival but he's had the small dining room filled with all of your favorites.

"When you are finished with dinner, he has asked that you wait for him in his study."

Estrid's tone tells you she's wary for you. She wants to make sure you're okay.

The disappointment you feel gives you away not only to yourself, but everyone there to see your face fall as you caress your belly.

"A blessing in disguise?" Loki suggests in your ear for just you, but the smile on his lips says he knows better.

"He'll be back before it gets too late, Your Majesty," Estrid assures you, trying to soothe your sadness. "He promised. There’s nothing more he wants than to see you."

"I know," you smile at her, then the others before you head for the dining room, your stomach grumbling in anticipation of the foods you know are waiting.

~~~~~~~~~~

Waiting is torture. You keep trying to read your book but your attention is pulled back to the door of Thor’s study every few seconds.

You groan, dropping the book onto the desk before throwing your head back with scrunched up eyes.

How is it possible to be desperate to see someone while also dreading it?

It feels like you'll die if you don't lay eyes on Thor but also like it'll tear you to shreds if you do. There's no winning here.

You gasp as the door opens and get to your feet in the same breath.

Thor's body is rising and falling heavily with his own labored breathing. He'd been running.

To get to you? No. You can't be swayed.

"I'm here."

His declaration is soft but heavy with meaning. More than just him announcing his arrival.

"Oh, aren't you a vision," he gushes.

"Hi," you whisper, only because you can't catch your breath.

He's wearing jeans, a plain black t-shirt stretched across his bulging chest. He's even more massive than you remember. Three months away has deprived you so fully that suddenly being in his presence leaves you hungry for him.

You want him so much.

"I've missed you, desperately," he confesses. "May I greet you properly?"

You frown, so undecided.

"Or not," Thor relents. "Forgive me, I just got caught up in the moment."

Why is this so hard?

You want to feel him.

"You can greet our baby properly," you give in.

A big part of you needs to feel him and this is the only way you can give in and feel like you're still doing your best to hold strong in your resolve to get some distance.

Thor’s eye lights up and quickly finds the swell of your tummy with recognition.

"Really?"

"I will never keep you from our baby, Thor. Even if I'm not ready for things to go back to normal between us just yet."

Thor takes a half step towards you and watches you carefully for any indication that you're not comfortable with his proximity.

You sigh, head tilted to the left slightly before you hold out your hand to him, beckoning him closer.

In three long strides Thor takes your hand and stops when he's only a foot away.

"Here," you gasp.

Your heart is in overdrive. Thor’s touch is doing things to your body. There's an initial rush of butterflies in your stomach and quickly you pull Thor’s hands to the spots where your baby is kicking in response.

Thor’s body freezes. He goes rigid. He even stops breathing.

For a moment you begin to worry that maybe you've broken him, until he suddenly drops to his knees.

He swallows hard, eyes pooling as he stares at the swell of your stomach as the baby continues to kick.

“They’re really in there,” he’s so choked up about it that his voice cracks around the words.

As he speaks, the baby kicks more.

Thor laughs but then leans in to kiss your stomach over the fabric of your dress.

“We really made her,” Thor gushes.

“Her?”

He looks up at you, confused for a second before he smiles wide, “Or him. It doesn’t matter. What matters is our baby is coming.”

Your heart swells, and you’re so happy that you could float away like a hot air balloon with the warmth flooding your limbs.

This is the moment you’d dreamt of. This is the moment that had been stolen from you by Jane and her lies. This is the moment that you and Thor had both been yearning for.

He’s so caught up in it, floating through the glow of this perfect moment that he presses his lips to your tummy again two more times before he’s rising, his hand hooked behind your neck as he meets your lips as he gets to his feet.

You’re so unprepared for it, so utterly lost in this sweet exchange between him and your baby that your lips pucker on their own.

He opens his eye and yours, already open, stare into his. He looks slightly shocked to find himself kissing you but he doesn’t stop.

Instead, his expression shifts into a pained look of desire. He pulls back, his hand dropping to grip your bicep.

“I would say that I’m sorry but I have been wanting to kiss you since the moment I left you three months ago.”

You say nothing, watching him, listening. You’re searching your soul to see if this is okay with you because it feels okay. Despite the sirens blaring in your mind about the restrictions you’d set for yourself when you’d decided to come back home, your body is telling you it needs this. Your heart is painfully aching at Thor’s touch.

You’ve missed it. You’ve missed him. 

“Is this alright? I can go.”

The idea of him going now feels like the end of the world. Rationally, you know that isn’t an appropriate response to his offering to leave you be, especially when you know you asked him for space for specific reasons.

“No,” your hands grip the sides of his t-shirt tightly, holding him in place without any actual strength since compared to him, you’re as mighty as a little mouse.

You refuse to look up at him, despite the crumbling of your resolve.

“No, don’t go.”

It’s an almost involuntary shy response to your diminishing shame at losing all control after his touch. After one kiss. You should be disappointed in yourself. And part of you is. However, that part of you grows increasingly small as Thor gently takes hold of your chin and guides your gaze up until you can meet his.

“I’m sorry, cherub. I will try and be worthy of you again.”

“I know,” you admit, knowing how sorry he’s been from the moment he realized that he’d done something that hurt you badly. “I know you are.”

“Can I kiss you, cherub?”

His voice is so deep, so alluring and coaxing that you drop your gaze again, fixing it on his collarbone before slowly you nod.

His arm winds its way around your waist and he pulls you to him before dipping down and catching your lips with his again.

He pulls away after a second because the swell of your belly gets in the way, but he laughs and looks down at it.

The pleasant sound of his happiness gives you too much joy.

As you begin to smile, Thor reaches down to press one hand to the side of your stomach while he pulls you against him again and kisses you this time with more fervor.

The longer he has his lips pressed to yours, the more enthusiastic he gets until finally you’re breathless and you pull back but instead of pulling away, you wrap your arms around him and fist the back of his t-shirt,

You bury your face against his wide chest and Thor brings his hands back up to caress the sides of your face, his lips kissing the top of your head.

“I know I may not have a right to say this, but thank you for coming home. Thank you for coming back to me. I thought I’d lost you."

His arms grow a little tighter, his heart is in an absolute stampede.

You turn your head sideways so that you can listen to his heartbeat.

"This is what I'd wanted," you whimper, starting to be overcome with the emotion of being reunited with Thor and things falling into place more easily. "This is how I'd wanted us to share this moment."

Thor sighs heavily, giving you one more squeeze before he pushes you back a little so that he can look at you.

“I’m so sorry that I robbed you of that. I was a fool,” he nods, his eye intense as he stares into yours with wordless declarations piercing into you.

The memory of your speech with the people when you arrived pops into your head and now with Thor’s arms around you it all feels a little like an overreaction. The past three months feels like a distant nightmare.

Or does this feel like a dream?

“Thor,” you begin but Thor’s lips are on you again, drowning out your words.

“Oh, to hear you say my name,” he declares and kisses you again.

Your mouth opens for him and you absolutely melt against his chest as he nearly dips you in passion.

He pulls back again, “Is this real?”

He kisses you.

“You feel so good in my arms.”

He kisses you.

“Your skin is so…” but then he hums and kisses you.

He dips down and with his arms tight around your waist but also careful with the swell of your stomach, he lifts you so that you’re level with his eye.

“I love you, so much, my cherub. Thank you, thank you for coming home. Thank you.”

“I’m sorry I stayed away,” you sigh. “I need to be strong without you, Thor. I was hurt but I never stopped loving you.”

His face goes through shame, understanding, and then elation.

In a burst of subdued anger and aggression for what he put you through, you reach up and grab his shoulder. You dig your fingers in against the taut muscle then reach up to pull one of his ears.

You’re clearly not hurting him but he allows you to move his head, understanding the need to express your anger even if you’re not doing any damage.

“Never do that to me again,” you growl. “Never say that you’ll leave me. Why would you say that? Even in passing? You were so damn sure.”

“No, Y/N, I wasn’t. The moment I saw you, I knew that I could never leave you. I’m sorry. I could never even think those thoughts again.”

“You better not, or I won’t come back next time. I’ll disappear and you’ll never see me again.”

Thor takes your threat for what it is. A promise. Truth.

He shakes his head as he leans forward to press his forehead to yours, shutting his eye.

“I swear,” he begins. “On my life.”

He keeps you there, hovering over the ground with your heads together for a few minutes before he slowly lowers you to the ground. You realize it’s because he wants to stroke your belly and you take a slight step back so that he can.

He smiles, happy. It reminds you of the look your people had when you’d arrived only a hundred times as possessive and joyful.

Again, your speech intrudes on your reunion and this time, you won’t let him distract you.

“Thor,” you coax, placing your hands over his where they rest on the sides of your stomach.

“Yes, my cherub?”

He’s excessive in the affection he puts in his voice but you know that he must be floating on cloud nine after what you both went through when you made him leave you at your house.

“I-I did something and I’m not sure if it was right of me to do it,” you watch his brow wrinkle and for a split second you almost lose yourself in the beauty of his face.

Has he always been this handsome?

“When I got back I kinda made a speech? Everyone was so happy to see me and to see me carrying our heir and I wanted to apologize to them for leaving and for making them worry. I wanted to share in their excitement for the baby and with that stupid tabloid having come out yesterday-”

“Right, the article,” there’s guilt in his voice despite there being no truth to the rumors it printed.

“I wanted to put their minds at ease and I...I did confirm that something happened with Jane but not what they were thinking.”

Thor’s expression hardens just a tad and he pulls backs towards a large armchair. He grabs your hand though and pulls you along with him until he can sit and then carefully attempts to offer you his lap, unsure if you’ll sit.

You do, because you’re tired and because you’re not eager to be away from him again. Now that you’re touching him, you’re not in a hurry to change that again.

“What did you say exactly?”

Swallowing hard, you lick your lips nervously, “Um...I told them the truth. Not exactly the truth, but enough of it that they’ll understand that Jane isn’t welcome here. I said that the only reason I left is for my health and the health of the baby, which is true. I didn’t want them to worry about us because even if we didn’t reconcile, I want us to be united for them at least.

“But I don’t trust Jane, Thor. Not after what she did. Not after how she treated me when you weren’t looking, and the people need to know that I will protect them from anyone, no matter who they are to you or me.”

Thor’s face grows pained as you speak, his arm wrapping around your waist as his other hand caresses the side of your stomach. You’re starting to realize that it’s going to be hard to get his hands off it, but that doesn’t seem like a terrible problem.

“I wish you had told me that she’d been rude to you,” Thor sighs, taking his hand off of his stomach to stroke your cheek. “If I had known-”

“She wasn’t rude to me Thor, she dismissed me. I wasn’t even worth acknowledging to her and now I know it’s because she was jealous and wanted you back because what? She saw what we had together and suddenly it was good enough for her?

“I was in her way. That’s all I was. Even if in the end she couldn’t go through with it whether it was because she felt guilty for doing this to us or for lying or for having second thoughts and knowing that she doesn’t want to be Queen or a mom, she’s a bad person to me. And I have every right to protect myself, my baby, and our marriage from her. She’s not welcome here Thor. I never want to see her again. Ever.”

He’s cradling you now, holding you close because the intensity with which you're telling him that Jane is not welcome in your home is transferring to him.

“And if you’d known, you wouldn’t have done anything, Thor. You’d probably have talked to her and asked her what was going on and she would have lied to you and you would have believed her.”

He doesn’t deny it. He does look like it hurts him to know that you know though. That’s enough for you.

“I think it took her lying and doing this to us to make you see what she’s capable of.”

Thor shuts his eye, resting his head against your chest as he wraps his arms around you again.

“I’m sorry.”

“I know you are, Thor. But you weren’t the one who lied. I mean, you didn’t tell me what was happening, but you weren’t the reason that this happened. If Jane hadn’t lied-”

“But she did,” Thor says, his deep voice anguished. “And I failed to honor my vows. You are my Queen and I should have come to you the moment she told me she was pregnant.”

You both fall into silence as you reach over to stroke his bicep. His skin is so soft. Touching it gives you comfort in a way you weren’t aware you needed. The more you touch it the more you need to feel it.

A finger stroking his skin turns into two, then four, then your entire hand is running up under the sleeve of his t-shirt.

With the way his hand curls around your thigh, you know that both your bodies are responding to your touch. Both of you are heated but instead of giving into that because you aren’t ready for that yet, you lay your head on his shoulder and curl in closer to his chest.

Thor sighs heavily, wrapping you up in his arms as he cradles you close.

“Now we know better,” you whisper.

“Now I know what losing you will do to me,” Thor agrees. “I’ve missed you so much, cherub.”

You don’t respond. You’re too choked up to say anything without your voice cracking so both of you stay like that for a while.

The cocoon of Thor’s arms is toasty and from the exhaustion you’re feeling plus all of the emotions that have drained you, your eyes are heavy and difficult to keep open.

“What about you?”

Thor’s chest rumbles with a chuckle.

“We can talk more tomorrow, cherub. Sleep.”

“I’m not sleepy,” you lie.

“Very well, then. What about me?”

“You’re sleepy?” you look up at him, full of concern.

He chuckles again, “No, cherub. What were you asking?”

“Oh! I just wanted to know if you’re okay. What Jane did to you can’t have been easy. Despite what she did to us as a couple, she said she was pregnant. You’ve been wanting a baby for so long and she dangled that in front of you like the rat that she is. And then she wasn’t even pregnant?”

Thor’s arms constrict around you as he pulls you up towards him to kiss you.

It’s slow and full of emotion.

“Even after all of that, you’re still worried about me?”

“It took time,” you admit. “Once I wasn’t so angry and I thought about what Jane really did. I hate the idea that your heart broke over her lies. I can’t believe she ever loved you if she was willing to make you feel that way.”

Thor just stares at you, searching your eyes before he rubs his nose gently against your own. When he speaks, his voice is so low, so deep, an intimate whisper. It burrows into your chest and settles right there underneath your ribs and makes you breathless with missing him and desire.

“That’s why you’re my Queen, Y/N. And she is not.”

You’re not sure if it’s an Asgardian ability or if maybe it’s something specific to Thor, but he has a way of making you swoon.

“I missed you so much,” he confesses again, that whisper sinful. “Did you not miss me?”

You nod because you can’t speak. There’s a lump in your throat made of both sadness and want.

“Was your bed as frigid as mine was in your absence? Did you miss my breath on your neck as I did yours? Or the steady beat of your heart when you pressed your breast to my back as you held me while I slept?”

Fuck, he’s making this so impossible.

“I hate you so much,” you counter, but his lips stretch into a small knowing smile as you take a tight hold of the neck of his shirt and pull him up to meet your lips.

He exhales heavily into you, tasting you, relishing in every pulsating touch as both your hearts ache and yearn almost in disbelief as if both of you can’t believe that these wants, these needs are finally being met.

As he pulls back to tilt his head the other way, he takes hold of the sides of your face again, his lips grazing yours, “I love you.”

Before you can reply or yank him back into that torturous yet blissful kiss, a voice at the doorway clears their throat.

“Well, that was fast, what happened to keeping him at a distance?”

Loki’s voice pulls your gaze and you can feel your cheeks and neck burn at how easily it seems you’ve crumbled when finally face to face with Thor.

You frown at your brother-in-law, while Thor ignores his brother and leans up to press very non-chaste kisses to your neck, “I told you coming back was a bad idea.”

But Loki’s smile is blinding and with one chuckle he backs out of the room, shutting the door quietly as Thor turns you back to him so that he can get back to kissing you.

[makeste]

BnHA Chapter 318: On Your Left

Previously on BnHA: The Hawksquad+Lurkers were all “well this sucks” and sat around a bit talking about how maybe they should actually come up with a new plan that is actually good, but then in the end they were like “nah.” Deku was all, “THERE’S SOMETHING INSIDE ME THAT PULLS BENEATH THE SURFACE!! CONSUMING, CONFUSING!! THIS LACK OF SELF CONTROL I FEAR IS NEVERENDING. IT’S HAUNTING HOW I CANT SEEM TO FIND MYSELF AGAIN. MY WALLS ARE CLOSING IN.” Just, literally that whole entire song. All Might was all “Deku you should take care of yourself, try eating a thing,” and Deku was all “BYE, ALL MIGHT,” and just LEFT. He left!!! What the fuck!!!

Today on BnHA: Endeavor is all, “maybe if Deku didn’t listen to All Might he’ll listen to me instead.” Deku is all, “[doesn’t listen to Endeavor]” because, well, yeah. The Vestiges are all, “surprisingly, even we are a little concerned -- maybe you should get some rest, kid.” Deku is all, “((Ò ‸ Ó)).” The Vestiges are all, “holy shit.” Deku is all, “[wanders the ruined city streets terrifying the populace on account of him looking like Shelob had a baby with one of the Nazgul].” Some shriveled-up puppeteer villain asshole is all, “HORIKOSHI SAID IT’S MY TURN TO ATTACK DEKU TODAY SO I AM GOING TO SUMMON MY FRIGHTENED HELPLESS ATTACK MOB!!” Kacchan is all “WHADDYA MEAN THEY FOUND THE NERD!!! -- oh wait, that’s me, I found him. I found the nerd, you guys.” And just in time, too. I was about to owe a whole lot of people a whole lot of dollars.

so I have been super good about spoilers this week as always, but let me tell you guys, for the past 36 hours my dash filters have basically been nonstop “manga spoilers” this and “bnha 318” that, and so I’m coming in with a fair amount of hype here. your move, Horikoshi

oh, good! they got Endeavor to call Deku to try to talk him out of it. what a great and wonderful plan

“listen up kid, you haven’t slept since March and you are basically a walking biohazard right now, I’m just telling it like it is. didn’t you get shot like three times?? and there was a whole thing about how you urgently needed medical attention?? and supposedly we gave it to you, but I mean you haven’t even changed your clothes and don’t seem to have any fresh bandages or anything, so did we?? did we, really?? and also we all got blown up yesterday, so yeah.” hmm he’s making some reasonable points here you guys, but you sure do go on and on, Endeavor

oh he says foreign aid is finally on its way! I’m sure they’ll be very helpful. I mean in fairness they can hardly be worse than the home-grown heroes at this point

hey Enji, could you maybe try appealing to Deku the sixteen-year-old human boy, as opposed to Deku The World’s Last Hope? he does have value beyond his quirk. I know that’s always been an incredibly difficult concept for you to grasp, but could you maybe TRY, jesus

and also we’re worried about you as a person?? you’re just a kid and you’re pushing yourself way too hard?? you were going to say that part next, right. why the hell didn’t Hawks make this call instead

“don’t worry about me... I’m completely fine” Deku you do understand that saying it over and over again doesn’t actually make it true

and again with the rush!! all the rush rush rush!! we’re running out of time, we can’t let AFO and Tomura keep getting stronger, I have to end this now, there’s no time to rest, etc. etc. etc. just the constant pressure of this whole big countdown on top of everything else

holy shit, you KNOW it’s bad when even the Vestiges are telling him to chill

these guys are basically the walking talking embodiments of self-sacrifice; if even they’re telling him he needs to take five, then he must seriously be like half a step away from death’s door

OH SHIT LMAO

DIDN’T EVEN LET HIM FINISH HIS SENTENCE BEFORE HE SENT HIM INTO THE FUCKING SHADOW REALM WITH THAT FUCKING LOOK. HOLY FUCK. DIDN’T EVEN KNOW IT WAS POSSIBLE TO DIE TWICE. SHIT

(ETA: so I’m pretty sure this was just Danger Sense activating and so he cut them off to go do more hero stuff, but I’m gonna go ahead and stick to my original interpretation anyway lol.)

anyway so how’s everybody doing. we all good? En, you good? Banjou? Shino? I’m imagining you guys all curled up in a little ball on the floor right now lol. can’t say I blame you though, no shame

lmaoooooooooooo

“SHEESH.” sheesh indeed, lmao. “what in the FUCK was that”

see, this is why y’all need Kacchan. you need someone who’s not going to back down from him no matter what. if it’s a matter of out-stubborning Midoriya fucking Izuku, then there’s only one other person on the planet capable of that, and we all know it. don’t pretend like you don’t. I am not going to shut up about this! we’ve had our hurt so now what about SOME COMFORT, DAMMIT

“I’m afraid that he’s becoming influenced by my conscience” nah are you kidding Nana this is all 100% made-in-Japan pure original Deku right here

see, Banjou gets it. “that kid, he’s totally going on his own.” exactly. this was so inevitable it was basically scientific law

“well I for one don’t see the problem with Deku being so obsessed with saving everyone else that he pushes himself until his body and soul literally fall apart” okay, whose speech bubbles are these?? we’re about to have words

lol of course

well you always did prefer the direct route didn’t you. but even you can’t possibly think this is okay lol

dark AU!Kacchan please tell us more about your badass doomed timeline in which everything went to shit and you apparently had the same character arc that Deku is having right now except it somehow made you sexier instead of turning you into a rabid t-rex. I have so many questions

oh so now you want to help??? well -- good, actually. sorry if that sounded offended just now lol

(ETA: so at first when I got to the end of this chapter I was wondering if Katsuki B. had somehow summoned his alternate-universe counterpart through trippy OFA space telepathy lol. but in the original Japanese there’s no reference to “we”, so this appears to be a mistranslation. this line should probably read more like “if there’s something/someone out there that would be able to complement/complete the current Midoriya Izuku [it would be]…” which, oh hello, is that Horikoshi once again reaffirming that Deku and Bakugou complete each other lol. “guess what guys, the Vestiges ship it too" heck yeah. they know what’s up!)

look how admiring his boyfriends are. HORIKOSHI GIVE US THE REST OF THIS BACKSTORY ALREADY GODDAMMIT

“meanwhile somewhere in the depths of the ruined city, Deku was having a dance-off with the villains”

I like how the villains all have this “AHH WHAT THE FUCK” kind of body language to them lol. I mean if it were me, and an eldritch horror suddenly clawed its way from the shadows with its writhing glowy tentacles and pants-shitting nuclear death stare, I would probably just die on the spot. no need to stick around. only pain awaits

lol for a minute I thought this was Can’t Ya See-kun and I was like “WHAT A FASCINATING CROSSING OF PATHS” but it’s just some random girl

he seems genuinely confused lol

Deku it’s because you look like something that crawled out of a sewer drain, sweetheart

lol they just took his word for it?

so trusting. even though they’re immediately hauling ass anyway just to be safe lmao

“my appearance is frightening to others” no shit Deku it’s because you look like a fucking alien exorcism. you look like a Lich that got caught up in an oil spill my dude

NO NOT THE CHOSEN ONE ANGST AGAIN

I RAN OUT OF ESSAY JUICE FOR THIS ALREADY HORIKOSHI!! I’VE BEEN TALKING ABOUT IT FOR MONTHS NOW WHAT TOOK YOU SO LONG!! BUT ANYWAYS, GOOD!! I MEAN, BAD, THOUGH, OBVIOUSLY. BUT YES

“ENJOY THIS MONTAGE OF DEKU BATTLING A RANDOM KAIJU AND WANDERING THE WOODS LIKE A DERANGED GREEN BABA YAGA” okay yes but sir, exactly how much longer is this going to go on. if it’s a matter of you wanting to make sure we get it, let me assure you that aside from a few stray chuunis who think that Deku embracing the Darkness is the coolest thing he’s ever done, all of us here in fandom fully comprehend that this is Not Good

-- OH SO IT’S LIKE THAT

really. with the flashbacks to his loved ones’ smiling faces and everything. not even gonna try to aim above the belt, huh

AND NO KACCHAN??! NO CLASSMATES?!?! IS HE PURPOSELY NOT THINKING OF THEM??? OR ARE THEY BEING SAVED FOR THE NEXT PAGE??? SO HELP ME, IF THE NEXT PART OF THIS SENTENCE IS “CAN PROTECT THEM”, OR EVEN WORSE, “CAN SEE THEIR SMILING FACES AGAIN”, I...

WHAT DID I JUST SAY

(ETA: my man did Sero and Kaminari fucking dirty lmao. I miss their smiling faces too omg.)

the sheer, unparalleled irony of him saying this while he stands there looking like the gargoyle demon from Fantasia got crossed with an umbrella that got struck by lightning. Deku :(

oi who the fuck is this clown

is he controlling this mob with his evil hair. “what if I made an exhausted, running-on-fumes Deku battle a brainwashed mob at Ground Zero.” Horikoshi do you just have like a checklist of horrible things you want to do to your protagonist

easy there Sasori

well joke’s on you buddy because he’s apparently “completely fine”, so

“here’s to hoping that you know more about AFO’s location than the others” jesus christ Deku you really have hung your mercy out to dry huh

now he’s forcing his mob of terrified prisoners to attack Deku ahhhh. sucks to be them. at least they’re not being controlled by bees

so Deku is saying that Sasori’s control can be broken with “physical trauma.” similar to Shinsou’s quirk I guess. but so does that mean he’s gonna have to hurt them? ( •﹏•)

NO NOT MORE SAD EYES

“DEATH BY EMPATHY!!!” HORIKOSHI NO

fuck. he looks like he’s on the verge of passing out

this is what happens when you nerf a character’s self-preservation stats in favor of spamming their bone-breaking stats instead. NOW ACCEPTING BRAIN CELL DONATIONS FOR A BOY IN NEED!! with your loving generosity we can hopefully help him live to the ripe old age of seventeen

OMGFGGG

YESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

[grabs your hands] ლ(*꒪ヮ꒪*)ლ [swings you in a circle] へ(ﾟ◇ﾟへ)

THASSSSSSSS WHATSSSSSSS UPPPPPPPPPP

HORIKOSHI REALLY SAID FUCK THAT MASK (ノ°ο°)ノ YOU FINALLY LEARNED!! IT’S CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT!!!!

JUST FOR YOU KACCHAN, HORIKOSHI LEFT THIS ONE BAD GUY WHO’S STILL WEAK TO FIRE. GOD BLESS

IT’S YOUR COUNTERPART, KATSUKI B!!!! HOW WE DOIN OVER THERE IN THE TRIPPY COSMIC OFA SPACE REALM LOL. DO WE BELIEVE YET, FANDOM???

LIGHTS!!!!

INSTANT RESULTS!!! IT’S SUPER EFFECTIVE!!!

(ETA: imagine what this must look like to Deku though. he’s been caught up in this dark cloud of despair and exhaustion that’s been building up over... I’m gonna go ahead and say “weeks”, because yeah. and now he finds himself here, in the place where All Might’s legacy ended and the torch was passed to him. and the world is in ruins, and he’s surrounded by frightened people who are all trying to hurt him -- because who isn’t trying to hurt him, these days -- and he’s scrambling to figure this all out, but meanwhile the weariness is finally starting to catch up to him, and so he’s basically just standing there in a fog of complete and utter misery.

and then all of a sudden through that haze, he hears the one voice that’s more familiar than any other that he knows. like, I honestly wouldn’t be surprised if he thought he was just imagining it at first. Kacchan showing up to save him right when he’s at his most desperate and feeling the most alone. Kacchan, showing up to save him.

this is the person he always looked up to as a child (to be fair he was quite a strange child lmao). the person who was even closer to him than All Might. the person he always thought was amazing. and bam, here he is now. appearing in the sky out of nowhere to one-shot the bad guy with a single blast (which, btw, that was his armor-piercing attack too lmao dslkjlk take it easy there kiddo). like, that must have felt absolutely surreal to him, especially coming at a time when he’s already half-delirious and barely hanging on to reality. he must have really thought that he was losing it there for a second.

but he’s really there. it really is him. and for this brief moment -- before the rest of the situation catches up to him, and he remembers about all of the fucked-up AFO stuff, and remembers why he was so afraid and why he was pushing everyone away -- for just this one brief moment, he’s too exhausted and stunned to do anything except to just react. just stands there, looking up at him in awe.

and you know, it almost reminds me of...

just. you guys. the character development. the freaking character development. someone who brings reassurance. someone who shows up and makes you think, “oh, it’s all going to be okay now, because [person] is here.” the role reversals. the growth. the payoff!! because who is the one person who always had faith that Kacchan would one day grow up to become an amazing hero like that. WHO IS IT. YOU ALREADY KNOW.

omg. anyways, bless you Horikoshi, my feels which have been on backorder since fucking September have finally arrived lmao. yes, good, thank you. worth the wait. it is always, always worth the wait. fuck yeah.)

“LOWFRIES” SO YOU’RE TELLING ME THE WHOLE GANG IS HERE, AHHHHHHHH (º̩̩́⌣º̩̩̀ )

BEAUTIFUL. WONDERFUL. SENSATIONAL. I DON’T EVEN CARE THAT JUMP IS ON BREAK NEXT WEEK. THIS RIGHT HERE WILL SUSTAIN ME

[writingmyanxietyaway]

Confessions | El Profesor

Requested by anon:  can i request a lcdp imagine where the reader likes the professor and she confesses nights before the heist but he wants to stay true to his relationship rule so she is heartbroken so she doesn’t want to talk to him and when the heist comes she doesn’t eat and sleep and he gets really worried about her so he expresses his true feelings to her

Word count: 1.8k

Warning: mention of a gun, not eating/drinking, angst

Note: takes place in the first season! Hope you like it, enjoy! xx

------------

You were in a difficult position. On one hand you wanted to wait until everything was over. On the other hand you were unsure if you would make it out alive. You knew about his rule not to engage any relationships of any kind and he took it very seriously, but the thing was you absolutely him to death and you were willing to take that risk. So here you were, about to confess your feelings for him.

You waited until everyone had left the classroom and took a deep breath. You had clammy hands and you were lightly trembling. 

‘I- uhm.. Can I talk to you for a minute?’ you asked the Professor. He turned around, away from his chalkboard with raised eyebrows. His glasses had slipped down his nose a little, so he pushed them up. You found it adorable. Just like how he scrunched his nose whenever you talked to him.

‘Sure. Did I talk too fast or was I not clear about something?’ he stuttered. He instantly started doubting himself if he had indeed missed anything he was supposed to explain.

‘No, no. You were great. I just, uhm.. I kind of have something to tell you..’ you trailed off, ‘something personal.’

‘Bali, you know how I feel about sharing personal information. I specifically told you,’ he stated. Suddenly you felt incredible stupid. How did you think this was going to work when he clearly said he didn’t want any personal information shared?

‘I know.. I just want you to know something in case things go south. It doesn’t have to get in the way of your whole plan. If you don’t feel the same, we can just pretend it never happened.’ You waved your hand around, not really knowing what to do with your hands. ‘I just wanted you to know that I really like you. More than a friend or teacher, or whatever you are to me. I think you’re really handsome and nice. So, yeah..’ you spoke.

You couldn’t read his face. You saw somewhat of shock flash across his face, but you couldn’t tell what he was thinking.

‘Well..? Am I just embarrassing myself or do you maybe feel the same? It doesn’t have to be a long answer. Just a yes or no is fine,’ you rambled. 

He looked at you, fumbled with his glasses and turned back to the chalkboard.

‘I’d rather had you hadn’t shared this. This makes it all a lot more complicated,’ he sighed and grabbed a piece of chalk. ‘Can I still trust you to complete your tasks?’

You frowned, feeling not only rejected but also very used at the same time.

‘I’m not asking you to marry me. I’m just asking if you might feel the same.. You don’t have to be so rude,’ your voice cracked. Sergio mentally slapped himself in the face for hurting you, but he had to.

‘You knew the rules. I told you not to share anything personal. Relationships make this all a lot more difficult. I cannot allow this to fail. I made those rules for a reason,’ he said. It was like a slap in the face. He didn’t even have the respect to tell you a) if he did or did not feel the same, but also b) to look you in the eye.

‘Yeah, you mentioned that, twice, but the least I deserve is an answer to my face. I guess that answers my question. Just forget I said anything.’

Obviously, that was impossible for the both of you. The next few days were awkward and very uncomfortable. You tried listening to everything The Professor was saying, but you couldn’t look at him. You did notice him staring at you once every while, making Berlin tease you and Denver tease him. You found it all very embarrassing and couldn’t wait until you were inside the bank to escape his face.

-

Everything went according to plan. You got in, locked everyone out and had now been inside for almost 2 days. You loved every part of it. The tension with Berlin got out of hand for a while, but soon after the storm blew over and you were back in the game.

‘Are you okay? You haven’t eaten since yesterday..’ Nairobi asked you, genuine concern written over her face. It was true. You weren’t hungry or thirsty so you hadn’t eaten. Usually you had a great appetite, but you couldn’t bring yourself to eat. Everyone noticed, though. Including Sergio. He noticed you were always wandering around the halls, not even sleeping. He was incredibly worried and felt like an idiot for behaving the way he did. He sat behind his computers, fidgeting with his hands, wanting to do something.

‘Yeah, fine. Just got a lot on my mind, is all,’ you nodded at her. She didn’t look convinced in the slightest, so she grabbed a sandwich and handed it to you.

‘I want this eaten in an hour. If you’ve not eaten it I will push it down your throat,’ she sternly told you. You chuckled.

‘Yes, mother.’

As soon as she left, you threw it back in the fridge. When you heard yelling in the hallway, you grabbed your weapon and braced yourself for what you would find. Berlin was obviously yelling loudly again, threatening to shoot Arturo. Same shit different day.

-

It was now two days later and you had eaten a little bit more than one sandwich since Nairobi basically forced you to eat. You looked a lot more tired, your energy level had dropped to -4 and you were phisically and mentally exhausted. You looked like shit, to say it lightly. Sergio had grown more and more worried, telling the others to keep an even closer eye on you.

‘Drop the gun,’ you told Berlin, who had his gun pointed at Denver. He only smirked. ‘Denver, you too. I’m not fucking around. We need each other. We can’t just keep shooting at one another just because we’re stressed. Think for once, damn it.’ You raised your voice gradually as you spoke.

Berlin raised his eyebrows at you. His eyes flickered from your gun to Denver, who was about to burst with anger. As you held out your gun, the strength in your arms weakened. You tried your best holding up the gun, but when you focussed on your arms, your vision got blurry. When you tried focussing your vision again, your arms started trembling.

‘Berlin, please,’ you sighed. Your mouth got incredibly dry all of a sudden and your speech turned more into slurs. You felt yourself getting weaker by the second and this child’s play cost too much of the little energy you had left. Denver quickly lowered his gun when he saw you sway back and forth.

‘Bali? Bali!’ You saw him rushing to you, just like Berlin before your vision turned completely black and you fell to the floor.

-

‘We told her to eat! It’s not our damn fault. She’s too stubborn to listen.’ 

Your hearing slowly came back before you could open your eyes. You felt someone hold your hand while someone else was on the phone.

‘No, of course not... Yes, we did that already. Shouldn’t be too long before she wakes up,’ the voice came closer, ‘I think she’s waking up, hold on.. Bali, honey, can you hear me?’ 

You nodded lightly before slowly opening your eyes. Moskú held the phone while Rio held your hand. You were in the office, laying on one of the couches. You had an IV in your arm and a bag of liquid hung next to the window. You waved to the camera in the corner, letting The Professor know you were in fact alive.

‘He wants to talk to you.. We’ll give you some privacy while you two talk. When you’re done, just give us a call,’ he smiled and handed you the phone.

‘Thank you, guys. For everything,’ you tried smiling, but you were still too weak. They gave you a kiss on the head and left to the hallway.

‘Starving yourself? Really?’ Was the first thing you heard when you held the phone to your ear. You groaned loudly.

‘No, I just wasn’t hungry. Adrenaline, probably,’ you muttered. ‘Why do you care anyway? It’s not like I’m any good use compared to the others.’

‘Are you serious? You and Berlin are the leaders of this entire plan, Bali. How could you be so stupid?! We need you and we need you alive. Too many people have died already, I can’t loose you too,’ he stuttered. You heard his jagged breath.

‘Are you done?’ you asked, not wanting to deal with his whining anymore.

‘I’m sorry..’ he sighed, ‘You scared me. I thought I was going to loose you, Y/N.’

Your breathing stopped for a second and you sat up. He never called anyone by their actual names. You didn’t even know he knew yours.

‘Why did you call me that?’ you asked, heart beating loudly in your chest. ‘You said no personal details or any information.’

‘I know.. I just had to know your name. God, I want to know everything about you. Your favourite breakfast, your favourite country, what your goals in life are.. I want to know it all. And that scares me. I’ve never had this urge to get to know someone as much as you. You’re perfect in every way and I almost lost you,’ he confessed. Your felt your heart flutter and you turned your head to look into the camera.

‘What are you saying?’ you asked him, hoping to finally hear want you’ve wanted to hear for the past two weeks.

‘I.. I like you. A lot. And I was too scared to tell you because I’ve never felt anything like this before for anyone. I was so rude to you and you don’t deserve that. Please forgive me?’ he asked hopefully. You couldn’t help the smile that grew on your lips.

‘Waffles with strawberries, kiwi’s and mango,’ you answered.

‘What?’ he asked, completely confused by your answer.

‘My favourite breakfast,’ you winked into the camera. You heard him let out a laugh on the other end of the line, making you smile as well.

‘So, who do I have the pleasure of speaking with?’ you whispered.

‘Sergio. Sergio Marquina.’

‘Nice to meet you Sergio. Now, get me out of here. I want to go to the beach.’

[skzfelixity]

The request I'm about to do OH HONEY ISTG ITS GOING TO SOUND RIDICULOUS AND STOOPID BUT I'LL TRY (maybe a bit long?) So it's basically a Harry Potter X True beauty (Han Seojun) like the reader who has studied in Hogwarts for a while decides that she also wants to experience like the normal muggle school (the reader is a muggle but never got the chance to like go to the normal school and had to go to Hogwarts) so she starts at they school and like Seojun takes an interest in her and they start dating but Seojun still doesn't know that she is like a witch and one day a situation had come up where the reader was with Seojun and she like HAD to use her wand. She likes starts telling him about her Hogwarts house (mine is Gryffindorput you can pick which everyou want💕), like the wand, potions, flying brooms, Diagonally and stuff. PLEASE THIS REQUEST SOUNDS STUPID BUT IDK WHY I LIKED IT😭

This idea was so creative, it’s not stupid at all! Plus, I love crossovers. I got so excited to write it and I am a gryffindor too! But hear me out, Hufflepuff!Seojun-

Magical Girl | Han Seojun [True Beauty]

Muggle!Seojun x Gryffindor!Muggle Born!Reader | Harry Potter AU

Summary: You decide to leave hogwarts and attend a school full of muggles. Meeting a very interesting muggle, you find yourself falling for him. No one knew about your secret until you had to help your boyfriend.

Warnings: none

You liked Hogwarts, you really did. Your friends, teachers and the places were amazing but you felt the need to attend a muggle school before graduating. It would be your 6th year if you didn’t leave. Your parents were so glad to have you back, you could spend everyday together. They didn’t have the chance to see you grow, at least they will be by your side for the rest of your school years. You missed them too and the friends you’ve lost since you left for Hogwarts.

You used to meet up with your old friends from elementary school when you came back home for holidays but after your 3rd year you stopped talking to each other. No particular reason, it’s normal for friends to drift away without realising it. According to your parents, they didn’t live here anymore so you surely had no one familiar to look forward to.

The day to go to school quickly came. You wore your Gryffindor scarf around your neck, it felt weird not wearing your usual robe that you were so fond of. Well there’s always Haloween for that, don’t worry. Your wand was inside your right boot, there was a risk of it breaking but you took it anyway. You weren’t going to leave the wand alone at home, that’s way more dangerous than having it with you.

You made your way through the hallway, girls and boys stepping aside for you to walk pass them. You didn’t really pay attention to their looks of jealousy and admiration since you were too caught up in the thought of your backpack being heavy. You didn’t really need to carry a bag at Hogwarts so this was new to you as well. Seojun, who was munching on his milk bread, wondered what all this fuss was about.

“Did you see the new girl?”

“Yeah, she is really pretty!”

New girl? He got his hopes up at the mention of a new student. He had been waiting for a girl who would finally interest him, could this be his lucky day? Nah, he told himself to not overreact but when he saw you, oh god, butterflies. His stomach did a double back flip twice. You were for sure the prettiest girl he had laid his eyes on.

He complained to his mom yesterday about not liking anyone from school, coincidence? I think not.

He rushed to you, fashion model catwalk and hands in his pockets. “Hello there,” he smirked at your surprised face. Well, you didn’t expect anyone to talk to you that fast. You got nervous because someone talked to you, that someone was a guy, a really tall and handsome guy. You managed to greet him back, your hands gripping tightly on your backpack, which seemed to be getting heavier and heavier.

Seojun obviously noticed how uncomfortable you were and got the backpack off your shoulders in order to slide it to his shoulder, “Let me help.”

Taken aback by his kindness, you stopped walking. Seojun panicked when he didn’t see you walking beside him, too afraid that he invaded your personal space. He needed to play it cool though.

“Oh right, I didn’t introduce myself,” he turned to you and gave you a small smile, “Han Seojun.”

You stepped closer to him, shaking the hand he had out for you, “Y/N L/N.”

“Nice scarf, by the way.” You thanked him with a shy grin. The scarf meant a lot  more to you than he knew and you didn’t expect anyone to compliment you on it. Everyone was more focused on your face but he wasn’t and that was what made him stand out. You led the way, letting him carry your bag until you reach your classroom.

“My desk is that one in the back. No one is sitting on my right so,” He winked at you as he handed you your bag. You thought that wink was the hottest and cutest thing combined. You were too affected by it to hear the teacher entering and calling your name, “Y/N?”

Your head snapped at the teacher’s direction, your cheeks turning pink. Seojun chuckled at you, he noticed the affect his wink had on you and noted to try it again later.

You ended your speech, everyone clapped and told you how pretty you looked. You sat in the back, next to Seojun. You turned to look at him, only to find him looking at you already. “What?”

He shook his head and looked at the board ahead of him. There was just something different about you, he could feel it. He wanted to find out what that something was and get to know you better. Great, you’re stuck with a goofy simp.

You found yourself falling for him and you started pushing him away once you realised. Dating a muggle was something that you never had to worry about but now you were stressing over it. It wasn’t like he liked you back, he had a lot of people that would love to hang out with him but he chose you. He walked you home almost everyday, he ate lunch with you, he bought you snacks and he was always by your side. These were enough to assume that he had a crush on you. 

You looked at him as he fooled around with Chorong in the hallway. You definitely have a crush on this boy too but you were scared at the thought of dating him. You were different from others and dating a muggle was more difficult than it sounded.

You needed to know if he really liked you though. The question was bothering your chest, maybe because you liked him a lot. You dragged him away from his friends, finding somewhere quiet to talk.

“What are you doing?” Seojun raised an eyebrow at you. You never approached him so it felt weird, he always talked to you first. Let’s just say his heart was about to explode. You slammed him on the wall, making his eyes widen. He couldn’t have done something to make you mad. Then why did you seem mad?

Your expression softened, realising that you didn’t dragged him here to use avada kedavra on him but to ask him if he liked you.

“Do you like me?” You looked into his eyes, watching him relax as the question fell out of your mouth.

“You scared me, I thought I did something wrong!” He let out a sigh of relief and placed a hand on his heart. You must have been a little intimidating but you couldn’t help it. The whole thought of liking and dating him had been eating you away for some weeks now. You were angry at the fact that you couldn’t be completely open with your significant other. That’s why you avoided him, you didn’t want to have feelings for him.

“And yes, I like you,”  he admitted as if it wasn’t a big deal. With your assumptions proved right, you turned to leave. One part of you wanted to stay and ask him out but the othert told you to run away. However, Seojun stopped you from doing so, “I know you don’t like me back but you shouldn’t just leave like that.”

You froze and turned to face him. He really thought that you didn’t like him, that was your plan anyway. You managed to keep your feelings to yourself but it didn’t feel right. Pushing all of the fears and doubts aside, you impulsively decided to tell him how you felt too. It would only be fair if you were as honest as you could be with him, “I actually like you too.”

He didn’t believe what he heard. All the time you pushed him away, told him to leave you alone and not bother you meant that you liked him? He didn’t understand other people’s feelings anyway but that was far away than what your actions told him.

You started dating, spending more time together. Dating him wasn’t as hard as it seemed before, he was a gentleman after all. Your worries grew bigger though, what if he found out that you were a witch? What if he found out and break up with you? You had to push those thoughts away to be able to enjoy time with him. You should focus on him, you will worry when the time comes.

You were walking home from school, hand in hand. You were talking about your day and how boring classes were when you heard a cat meowing. You tried to find where the sound came from. Seojun nudged your side and pointed at a tree near you, a white cat was stuck on a branch. “Should we call-”

“Don’t bother, I can save it,” Seojun walked to the tree with you following behind him. When he was about to climb up the tree, you grabbed his shoulder, “It’s dangerous, you will get hurt.”

“it’s okay, I got it,” he started climbing up the tree, which was a kinda tall one. As he was about to grab the branch, his other hand slipped. You were prepared with your wand behind your back, there was no way he would climb up there safely.

“Arresto Momentum!” You yelled out with your wand in hand. Seojun was prepared to hit the ground but he didn’t feel anything. He opened his eyes to see that the ground was a few inches away from him. “I got it my ass,” you let him down slowly, making sure to not hurt him. Seojun’s eyes were wide open and they landed on the wand in your hand. “How did you do that?”

“I am a witch,” you straight up told him. There was no point in finding excuses, he saw everything after all. As he took his time to process what you said, you rescued the cat using your wand.

“A w-witch?” He didn’t say anything for a long time so you expected him to run away but you were far wrong from it.

“That’s so cool! Can you teach me too?” He stood up from the ground and ran to you. You chuckled at him, relieved that he wasn’t weirded out or frightened by you. You had been worrying for nothing. “I can’t teach you dumbo, I can tell you about the world of magic though.”

He nodded his head enthusiastically and sat under the tree that the cat was stuck on a few minutes ago. You sighed and sat down, this was going to be a long evening.

“Letters to attend Hogwarts, the school of Witchcraft and Wizardry are sent to kids who are considered magical when they reach the age of 11. Neither my mother or my father are wizards so we were really confused when I received mine. They were reluctant to let me go there but I ended up going. I don’t regret it even though I spent all my years there apart from holidays, I learnt a lot.”

Seojun was carefully listening at you, curious about the new world he had learned about. “You lived there?”

“Yes, Hogwarts is divided into 4 houses. Gryffindor, Slytherin, Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw. I am a Gryffindor!” You smiled proudly at the memories with your friends and all the wins in Quidditch your house had got. “Each house has its own colour, animal and values.”

“Which house would I be in?” Seojun asked you, the excitement in his eyes was so clear. You had known him for a while now and you have thought about his Hogwarts house a lot. “Most likely Hufflepuff,” even though you weren’t the sorting hat, you were sure Hufflepuff would be his house. “It values loyalty, justice, patient and hard work. Its colours are canary yellow and black.”

“I would love to go to Hogwarts, it sounds like an amazing place!”

“It really is. There is also Diagon Alley and Hogsmeade. Diagon Alley is a shopping area. There are restaurants, shops and you can get all the supplies you need for Hogwarts from there. Hogsmeade is a village, where we go for our school trips. It has everything your stomach desires! I love the sweets there.” You laughed at the memory of one of your friends stuffing their mouth with sweets from Zonko’s Joke and having a stomachache the next day.

“Do you think I can go there?” He asked definitely hoping for a positive answer. He sulked as you shook your head, “Muggles are not allowed.”

“Muggles?” He frowned at the foreign word, liking the way it sounded.

“Normal people, we call you muggles.”

“Aren’t you a muggle too?” His question brought back the memories of others asking you if you were a muggle born. You sometimes envied halfbloods and purebloods. They didn’t have to get teased for being who they are. “I am considered a muggle born.”

He stayed silent as he noticed your change in mood, he will remember to question you later. He desperately tried to find something else to ask so you wouldn’t be thinking about it any longer.

“Do you really fly with brooms?” He was pretty sure that the flying broomsticks was a myth but he couldn’t find something better to ask. Better laugh at him than being upset.

“Yeah, they didn’t let us transport with them in school.” He widen his eyes, so it wasn’t a myth? He was shocked that people for once were right for something they hadn’t seen.

“What a bummer, I bet it would be nice to move around in a broom.” He won’t tell you but he used to ride brooms when he was little, pretending that he was flying. You agreed with him, it would make your feet hurt less for sure. “Can you show me a spell?”

“Someone might see, idiot!” you reminded him and playfully smacked the back of his head. There was no doubt that if he was a wizard, he would have been caught by muggles.

“Right... tell me about your favourite spells then,” he still wanted to learn about spells even though you couldn’t perform them.

“Well I have a lot. There is Lumos, a charm that illuminates the tip of the caster's wand, allowing the caster to see in the dark. There is also the levitation spell, a charm used to make objects fly. I like amortenia, it’s not a spell but a potion. It’s a love potion and it smells differently to people according to who they are attracted to.” You felt so proud being able to explain so much about magic. When you first started learning, you never imagined you would be explaining these to someone.

“Can you make the potion? So we can smell each other...” You laughed at his ears getting red. “I don’t think we need it but I can try,” you caressed his cheek as he blushed more.

“Can I see your wand?” You nodded and handed him your wand. You wouldn’t give it to anyone but you trusted him enough to not break it, he isn’t Ron Weasley. “Do you need wands to cast spells?”

“Not really. However, casting a spell without a wand requires a lot more concentration so we use wands a lot.” You remembered the time when you tried to cast a spell without your wand and made everyone in the room disappear. You never tried it again.

“Are you really fine with me being a witch?” You asked him as he handed you back your wand. He gave you a small smile, “Of course, why would I not be?”

“I don’t know...”

He really liked you, the fact that you were a witch wouldn’t stop him from being with you. “If anything, I like you more now!”

You held his hand and you both stood up to leave. In the end, you had nothing to worry about. He still liked you the same, no changes in his behaviour. Loving this certain muggle definitely made your life easier.

“Do you think our kids will get their letters for Hogwarts?”

“Probab- OUR WHAT?”

[oscar-lettjohanssonloveme]

I can hear you pt 3. (alice macray x reader)

pt 2

its not the last part!!

---

"I hope you have a good reason to get me now." Y / N hissed as she stepped into her hotel room.

"We'll all meet in Angela's room to go over everything again for tomorrow .." Gloria said and took off her top to replace it with a red t-shirt.

Y / N grumbled something unintelligible and collapsed onto her bed.

"You know exactly how important tomorrow's votes are for us ..."

"Yeah .." Y / N growled reluctantly.

"I don't know whats your problem, we've been working towards it for so long .." Gloria stared at Y / N in confusion.

"You're right," Y / N sighed and got up again and grabbed her bag while she tried to smile at Gloria.

Gloria was right, the events of the coming day were much more important than what Y / N had experienced a few minutes ago. She didn't even know her name.

"Thanks Y / N .." Gloria walked past her to leave the room.

Y / N followed her.

------------------------

When Y / N spotted the stranger from the seminar in the hallway in front of Angela's room, she couldn't help but grin stupidly. But the woman only had eyes for Gloria, which was understandable. When Y / N walked through the building with Gloria that morning, it was not uncommon for Gloria to be stared at: by the emancies as if she were their Lord and Savior and by the bread-baking housewives as if she were the monster from hell.

Gloria ignored the woman's gaze, just as she had ignored the other looks.

Y / N wasn't sure if the woman remembered her, so she didn't say anything and just followed Gloria into Angela's room.

The others sat in a circle on the floor with documents spread out in the middle in front of them.

Y / N sat down next to Angela and Debbie and let them explain how far they had come.

She was distracted when she watched from the corner of her eye how the woman was meanwhile in the room and stood across from Gloria.

Y / N raised her head to better observe the scene.

"It's a pretty color on you ..", Gloria commented and let the woman blush.

Y / N grinned before she focused on the actual topic again.

Debbie pulled out two of the "STOP E.R.A." Buttons and placed them in the center of the circle of seats.

"Tonight Anita and I had the opportunity to talk to 2 supporters of the Stop ERA group .. we talked for 3 hours .. at the end they thanked us for opening their eyes and then they gave us theirs Given badge ... "

"That's great Debbie .." Y / N smiled and squeezed the red-haired woman's hand.

"We just explained our goals to these women and the fact that we were able to win them over shows that most of them are not even concerned with what they are fighting ...", Anita added.

"And that's the problem ..", Gloria said and dropped behind Y / N.

---------

Y / N had almost forgotten the presence of the woman from the seminar until she heard her laugh when Gloria made a joke.

Y / N winced at the bright sound and spun around.

The woman sat lost in her bed and looked back and forth between the women in the room with the corners of her mouth drawn up.

When Y / N got up and went to the woman's bed, the others didn't even notice.

You were too absorbed in a discussion.

Y / N smiled gently at the woman and sat down next to her on the bed.

"You are the woman from the gay lounge ..", the woman remembered.

Y / N nodded.

"I didn't have the opportunity to ask for your name earlier .." she whispered.

"Alice .." beamed the woman.

"Alice Macray .."

"Alice .." Y / N repeated to test how the word felt on her lips.

She nodded.

"I'm Y / N .." Y / N said and smiled.

"Y / N", Alice called Y / N's name again.

"That sounds nice .."

"Thank you .." Y / N turned red.

For a brief moment there was silence. Y / N stared down at her hands resting in her lap and Alice stared at Y / N, which Y / N noticed of course.

"I like your hair .." Alice suddenly mumbled.

Y / N raised her head and looked into the glassy eyes of the woman next to her.

Alice reached out her hand as if she wanted to touch Y / N's hair, but before that could happen her eyes closed and her head fell against Y / N's chest.

"Shit ..", Y / N cursed and pushed the woman's body back onto the bed.

"Are you okay?" Debbie asked when she heard Y / N swear. Y / N just nodded and sat back with the other women.

"She probably drank a little bit much .." she muttered before concentrating on the discussion again.

----------------------

Y / N had no time the next day to think about the events of the previous evening, actually nothing special had happened.

This woman, Alice, was probably too drunk or too high to be in control of her own decisions anyway. She probably didn't even remember Y /N or something else. At most Gloria, Y / N thought bitterly, but she knew that she couldn't blame Gloria for that.

Y / N couldn't remember ever being so nervous about an event. These votes meant so much to her. It would be such a relief for her not to have to hide her feelings anymore. Y / N had never had a girlfriend simply because she was scared. Her parents did not know about her homosexuality and few else knew it either. Elaine and some of her colleagues at E.R.A.

Y / N remembered her parents almost about to move away when John, their old neighbor's son, came out as gay.

She had never understood what her problem with it was, but it gave her enough reason not to come out herself.

Her parents would probably say that John infected them.

-------------

Jean had given a fantastic speech. And Y / N loved her for it.

She had seen from the audience seats with Debbie and Angela and at the end of the event could not say whether it was good or bad for the E.R.A. looked.

As Debbie, Angela, and Y / N trudged toward the exit, Y / N's eyes found Alice, who was walking with another woman.

"Excuse me .." Y / N muttered to Angela and Debbie before jogging to Alice.

When Alice saw Y / N, her eyes widened and she instantly turned red.

"Hey .." Y / N smiled.

"Hello .." Alice muttered.

"Pamela, that's Y / N," she said to the woman next to her.

So she remembers.., Y / N was happy.

"Are you feeling better?" She asked, ignoring the confused look of the woman Alice had called Pamela.

Alice nodded briefly.

"I was yesterday ..", she thought for a moment and looked for the right words.

"Not quite myself .." she added happily.

Y / N wasn't quite sure how to interpret these statements, so she didn't elaborate on them.

"I'm glad you're feeling better .."

Alice hummed in agreement.

"We should go now ..", she said to Pamela, who nodded.

"So good bye Y / N ..", Alice smiled politely at her before leaving Y / N standing alone and walking away.

Y / N's disappointment made her pissed off at herself.

What was she hoping for? For one thing, this woman had been drunk, then Y / N had clearly seen the wedding ring glistening on her finger and last but not least Alice was one of them.

With them, Y / N did not refer to this STOP E.R.A. Women, but rather the people in their hometown. To their parents who wanted to move because of their homosexual son next door.

Y / N remembered what Debbie and Anita had said and she wondered if Alice would also take off her button if she were to see the goals of the E.R.A. seriously explain.

"Are you coming Y / N?" Angela called, ripping Y / N out of her thoughts.

Y / N didn't want to go to Angela, she wanted Alice. She wanted to know everything about this woman. But Alice was already out of sight of Y / N and Y / N realized that it was time to go home.

we love google translate mwuah

[coincount]

the last of us part ii sentence starters. JACKSON

I don't know what happened.

You go half way across the country with someone...

Maybe I was starting to buy into the whole... cure business.

Maybe I just wanted to do right by her.

Because of her... they were actually going to make a cure.

The only catch... it would kill her.

Think of all the lives we'll save.

C'mon, baby girl. I've got you.

We should head back.

About what we were talking about earlier... I can't say I'd've done different.

I'll take it to the grave, if I have to.

Jesus, you almost gave me a heart attack.

He told me a joke and I thought of you.

It's pretty late and I've gotta get up in a few hours.

I wanna show you something, just give me one second.

Well, that didn't suck.

What is the downside to eating a clock? It's time consuming.

Oh, shit. Fuck.

I heard you had quite a night after I left.

I... she kissed me.

We're broken up one week and you make a move on my girl?

Oh, fuck, this is awkward.

I'm messing with you, man. I don't care.

It's kind of fucked up that you did that.

We've got reports of infected out north.

Can't imagine they got much sleep.

Shut up. I was just about to get up.

Heads up, you're the talk of the town this morning.

It was a strange night, man.

Just tell her you never saw me.

Where is your fucking loyalty?

I don't want to hear what that bigot has to say.

You be safe out there.

Those boys have been up for far too long.

Watch yourself. I mean, there's too many sightings of infected recently.

I was gonna check out the creek trails.

Will you get your girlfriend to the stables, please?

I shouldn't have kissed you in front of all those people.

You wanna fuck him up?

Fuck yeah! I mean - frick. Don't tell your mom.

Get off of her, you monsters.

You're gonna like this route.

Run your routes. Mark your logbooks. Clear any infected you see.

You run into anything you can't handle, you come back.

What were you dreaming about?

You were doing your teeth grinding thing.

Grab your gear. I wanna show you something.

You sure you don't wanna do this when the sun's out? And it's warmer?

What are you doing wandering around out here by yourself?

You did all this in the dark?

She seemed out of it these past few days.

Stop being weird, you're freaking me out.

I'm not being weird.

We can't all be as graceful as you.

It's too high.

Eyes on me. Stop looking down.

Consider it an opportunity to work on your fears.

How about I work my foot up your ass?

We can figure it out.

Find a way to lure him out.

Do you hear yourself?

What is going on with you?

Should I say congrats?

I fucking knew I couldn't count on you.

I want what you want, but not at any cost.

Fuck it. I don't give a fuck... I'll do the whole thing myself.

Fuck... my shoulder.

This is a bad idea.

Where's that lookout?

That's how you do it.

Fuck, I'm so lost...

Horse tracks... where's the patrol?

How come we never talked about this stuff?

I got the impression that you didn't really like her.

I've grown to like that tattoo of yours.

You wanna see something spectacular?

Come on, stupid.

What do you think of this view, huh?

I'm gonna guess this bong was someone else's.

That's where the next lookout is.

Let's get back to the horses.

Question: were you wearing those same clothes yesterday?

We're here to kill infected, not to look fancy.

You're way too reckless.

You'll probably die from hypothermia from wearing canvas sneakers in the snow!

You know how you're gonna die?

Ha! Did I ruin your punchline?

I bet they've still got supplies.

What do you know about this place?

Infected almost never make it out this far. We usually catch them on the outer perimeter.

What are you doing tonight?

Some people were talking about sneaking out.

You think anybody out there is still making movies?

What if they're all just like us? Just surviving day to day?

Looks like infected did this.

Got more blood over here.

I hear infected inside.

How the fuck did they get in there?

I see a bunch of different tracks.

Nice throw, by the way.

How'd that runner get in here?

What's the most infected you've ever taken down on patrol?

Let's keep it quiet.

Help me up there? I wanna look around.

Alright, let's figure out how to get in there.

Are you clean?

Please die of old age and not because you get infected. I really don't wanna have to shoot you in the face.

This way.

Here. Fix yourself up.

I see spores in there. Masks on.

Remember. I don't wanna have to shoot you in the face.

Keep it extra quiet.

Let's make sure the rest of the building's cleared out. And then get the fuck out of here.

What do you think, hit the runners first?

You know what? I'm impressed with us.

Man, the guys are not gonna believe our numbers.

Let's go to the next lookout and take a fucking break. We earned it.

You see a way out?

You're just gonna hurl me up through that hole in the roof.

Careful when you get up here! It's pretty windy!

Storm's really picked up!

How far are we from the lookout?

Weather's getting worse! Should we turn back?

Where are you!

Just trust me.

Let's make sure it's clear.

They... did a lot to survive after the outbreak.

There's gotta be a generator around here somewhere.

I bet you could mod your gun with this gear.

There's something behind this!

It's obviously a sex den. That's why he didn't tell you about it.

It's porn.

It's a gas mask bong.

God, he was so smart.

Does weed go bad?

What the fuck is wrong with you?

We're gonna be stuck here a while, right?

Can I ask you a question?

Scale of one to ten. One being like... absolute trash, and ten being life-altering... how would you rate our kiss from last night?

Why are we still talking about this?

You're infuriating.

You make me wanna go back outside into that blizzard.

Gimme your hand!

We're gonna have to run!

There's too many of them!

I'll cover you, get going!

Where the hell'd they all come from?!

Hey, you got a gun?

Hope you're a good shot!

Keep up with us.

We gotta warn everyone... come back with a clean-up crew.

We gotta live through this first.

We gotta move! Get to the door!

That door isn't gonna hold them for long.

That's our way out!

You keep those infected off of me!

You need me to take over?

Just keep those infected away!

Make those shots count!

How did you get this scar?

I told you a real fucking story.

Oh, you want a bite mark?

You're supposed to be on patrol.

People are counting on you, you get that?!

Why aren't you at the fucking lookout?!

I don't like you riding solo, we don't know what's out there.

What if they need help?

Be smart about it, yeah?

Save your bullets!

You scared us.

We'll just ride out the storm and get out of your hair.

You are nothing but lucky.

Where the fuck have you been?

You all act like you've heard of us or something.

Get off me!

Who are you?

Why don't you say whatever speech you've got rehearsed and get this over with.

Don't you fucking move.

You stupid old man.

You don't get to rush this.

You're okay, you're okay.

Where is that noise coming from?

Get the fuck off me!

You're gonna fucking die!

We didn't think anyone was gonna show up.

You want what I want, right?

I'll fucking kill you.

Could I sit down, please?

She wants to make sure you're eating.

So they just get to get away with this?

What if we get hit by hunters again?

I'm leaving tomorrow. And if you wanna come with me, great.

You have no idea what you're walking into.

You can't talk me out of this.

I couldn't get to the horses.

We'll figure something else out on the way.

You can still change your mind, you know.

I just don't want you to feel like you have to.

You go, I go. End of story.

What do you need? I can go get it.

I wish I could let it go, but I can't.

That's not going to fucking happen.

Grab some ammo.

Get going. You're losing light.

[bubonickitten]

Summary: Jon goes back to before the world ended and tries to forge a different path.

Previous chapter: tumblr // AO3

Chapter 10 full text & content warnings below the cut.

CWs for Chapter 10: brief panic attack; some vague JonMartin apocalypse angst. SPOILERS through S5.

Chapter 10: Pending Arrival

It’s okay, Jon tells himself, forcing himself to breathe the way Martin taught him: Four seconds in; hold seven seconds; eight seconds out.

Well… okay, it’s not okay. It’s very, very not okay.

…but – four – it – five – will – six – be – seven… okay, exhale.

Some time later – eight minutes, thirty-six-point-eight seconds, he Knows, though he didn’t ask – his breathing evens out and his thoughts clear with it.

That interaction with Martin wasn’t unexpected. There’s little reason to expect things to be different this time around, especially this soon after Jon woke up. He knows this.

There is a wall between him and Martin right now, constructed from a lifetime of rejection and loneliness that Jon himself contributed to for far too long. It’s been recently expanded by a mountain of grief, loss, and mourning – what should have been years’ worth condensed into the last six months – and it’s been further reinforced by Peter Lukas’ manipulations.

It will take some time to coax Martin away from the Lonely. Hopefully it won’t take as long as it did the last time, especially now that Jon knows that the hypothetical threat of the Extinction is not as imminent as Peter claims, but still: Martin needs time and space. Besides, Jon simply can’t force the Lonely out of him with a few words and a prayer. Martin has to choose to reject it of his own volition, or it will always cling to him.

And most importantly: Martin deserves to make his own choice. Jon has no right to take that from him, any more than he did when they passed through the Lonely’s domain.

It would have been nice to be able to physically see Martin, though. Or even just hear his voice outside of his own head. Memories can only provide so much reassurance, and for so long.

Jon had every intention of continuing yesterday’s strategy meeting this afternoon, but already his brief conversation with Georgie and painfully brief interaction with Martin have left him fatigued. The migraine he had expected yesterday failed to reach fruition, but the threat of it still lingers, accompanied by a painless but still unpleasant sensation of pressure in his head, making him feel off-kilter. As of right now, he can still pull on the Archive to speak. Sitting down and strategizing, though, is another matter entirely. Planning ahead has never been part of his skill set. Anxiety, sleep deprivation, and a supernaturally-imparted speech impediment aren’t doing him any favors.

“Let me guess: you’re out of commission.”

Basira looks him up and down, taking in his hunched gargoyle posture in his desk chair, his half-lidded eyes, his restless hands: one resting uneasily on top of his desk, fingers twitching and tapping with no discernible rhythm; the other wound up in the scarf Georgie gave him, still draped over his shoulders.

Jon can’t tell what characterizes her more in this moment: frustration with him, or simple exhaustion. Despite his own hypersensitivity to how others perceive him, he has a feeling that in this moment, it’s the latter.

“I think it can wait until tomorrow,” says Georgie, perched on the edge of Jon’s desk.

“Fine,” Basira concedes. “Tomorrow, then.” She knocks twice on the doorframe. When Jon looks up on reflex, she catches his eye. “Get some actual sleep tonight, Jon. It’s not just your personal mental health on the line here.”

“She is right about you needing to sleep,” Georgie says as Basira leaves. He avoids eye contact. “I’m serious. You look exhausted. I can get you a sleep aid –” Jon shakes his head slowly. “Why?”

With a sudden burst of energy, Jon stands, grabs her hand, and leads her to the entrance to the tunnels. He waits until they’ve both descended the ladder and the trapdoor is closed behind them before he turns to her and blurts out:

“…too afraid to go to sleep.”

“I can sit next to you while you fall asleep if you –”

“…would serve no purpose except to start me having the nightmares again,” he mumbles, sinking into the nearest chair.

“You’ve been having those for a long time now,” Georgie says, following his lead and sitting across from him. “And you’ve figured out how to cope with them. What’s actually scaring you?”

Jon bites his lower lip and bows his head.

“Then I would watch – once again –”

“– paralyzed with fear –”

“– tried to scream but I couldn’t find my breath, I couldn’t move –”

“– I couldn’t talk to anyone –”

“– unable to move its body, though – its eyes darting around wildly –”

“– unable to move – to cry for help –”

“– unable to look away –”

“– could only stare at him as he slowly, achingly crawled towards his doom –”

“– being unable to reach him –”

“– stare at it, knowing how your – friend suffers, knowing how powerless you are to help –”

“Slow down. You’re worried you’ll go back to how you were before?”

“…could only watch from the sidelines, getting a… a –”

He stops, leaning forward with his head in his hands.

“What is it, Jon?”

“And the worst part was that, somewhere in me, I – I liked it –”

“– it drew me in almost as much as it disgusted me –”

“– getting a… a sad vicarious thrill from –”

“– when people look at me… that fear“ – Jon’s breath hitches – “it feels amazing.”

He looks up at Georgie.

“Underneath all that awful fear, it felt like… home,” he whispers in a haunted tone. The shame crashes over him and he breaks eye contact, ducking his head again.

Georgie is quiet for a long moment. Then, she leans forward, reaches out, and takes his hand. He flinches and freezes.

“It sounds to me like you don’t want to like it,” she says. “People sometimes have feelings and urges that they aren’t proud of. Things that would hurt other people, if acted on.” She takes a breath. “But… I think it says more about a person’s character when they fight back against it.”

“…a presence within myself, inside my being –”

“– will strip us of what it means to be human, and leave us something alien and cold.”

“I know your circumstances are… different –”

“…it was the product of an otherworldly evil and called to me,” he says miserably.

“I know,” she says again. “There’s something in you, something that came from outside of yourself, and it’s trying to change you. Consume you.”

“…should have fought harder against the temptation –”

“But you’re fighting it now, aren’t you? You want things to be different.”

“I suppose I had to believe that the darkened natures of our terror could be kept in check – a rather feeble hope, for my own salvation –”

“– as if it might ward whatever awful thing waited inside that door.”

“For what it’s worth, I don’t think it’s a feeble hope. This is the most sure I’ve ever seen you be about anything.” She jostles his hand until he looks up at her. “You’re not a bad person, Jon. You’re taking extreme steps to make sure you don’t hurt anyone. It might not change the things you’ve done in the past, but neither will beating yourself up over it.”

Jon laughs, wincing when it comes out sounding a bit tear-choked.

“I try to think that I’ve left my past behind, but that sort of denial doesn’t help me sleep.”

“Maybe not. But you don’t have to deny the past in order to move beyond it. You can remember your mistakes and learn from them without letting them define you. And I think… I think you’re going to have to do that, if you want to move forward.” After a moment, Jon nods. Apparently unconvinced, Georgie adds: “Also, I don’t know if you need to be told this, but getting better means actually taking care of yourself.”

Jon chuckles at that, some of his tension bleeding away. “Thank you for indulging me, you’ve been very patient.”

“Stop that. You’d do the same for me. You have done the same for me.” He opens his mouth to argue. “Yeah, you’re not great at comforting people, I know. But I’ve seen you try.”

He must still look dubious, because Georgie sighs heavily.

“Do you remember when I was going through that medication change in uni?”

Jon nods warily.

It had been before they started dating. Jon has never made friends easily, but somehow Georgie had managed to tolerate his company long enough for him to start letting his guard down. At that point in his life, she really was the only one who he could confidently call a friend.

So when the antidepressant she had been on for over a year lost effectiveness and she had to start the arduous process of finding a new one, Jon had a front row seat to a depressive episode – and he felt irretrievably lost. He had no script to follow; he worried incessantly that he was making things worse, that he wasn’t making himself useful enough, that he was intruding on her personal space and she just didn’t have the energy to tell him the truth. He would pace restlessly and trip over his words and lapse into uncomfortable silences, wringing his hands and brooding – being more of a nuisance than a help, he was certain.

“You didn’t know how to help,” Georgie says, as if reading his mind. “You couldn’t make me better. I could tell it was driving you mad, not having an answer, because there was no simple answer. It was just… something that had to be lived through, coped with – and you’ve never been able to tolerate that concept, I know. You’re not good at waiting.” Jon huffs – only because she’s right. “But,” Georgie says emphatically, “you spent time with me, even though I was no fun. Brought me takeaway, set alarms to remind yourself to ask me if I’d taken my meds, did all this – this reading and research on how to support a loved one in crisis, which was” – she chuckles – “very you.”

Jon focuses intently on the weave of his scarf, petting it absently with his free hand, tracing the knit with his fingertips.

“You stayed anyway, even though you were uncomfortable. You didn’t say as much, but you’re fairly obvious when you’re anxious. At one point I told you I didn’t want you to fix it, I just didn’t want to be alone, and… you respected that. Which surprised me, to be honest. I was certain you’d be stubborn about it, act like you knew better than me.” Jon smiles at that. It was a fair assumption for her to make, especially back then. “Probably never would’ve considered dating you if you hadn’t proven me wrong then.”

“Until he became me –“

“– moody, short-tempered, constantly on edge.”

He gives Georgie a wry look as he says it, though, and she laughs.

“You’ve always been moody and on edge, including then. That wasn’t a new development that grew up overnight. What I’m saying is you’ve never been just that – which is why I have expectations of you, because I know what you’re capable of.” She gives him a serious look. “Like I told you years ago, you need to stop seeing things in black-and-white – including when it’s about you. Not everything has a clear-cut answer. You’d be happier if you could make peace with that.”

“And he was aware of it always – could not disagree,” Jon says with an exaggerated eye roll.

“Of course I’m right,” she quips back. “But you’re trying, and that’s all I ask.”

The ensuing silence is a comfortable one. Jon uses the lapse as an opportunity to search for a way to ask after Melanie.

“Statement of Georgina Barker regarding –”

Jon pauses. There’s really no way of saying the next part without accidentally drawing on more than one statement, but… Georgie is safe, and the phrase only appears a couple of times in the Archive, so it shouldn’t be too powerful.

“Statement of Melanie King.”

There is a reverb to the words, but the lightheadedness that comes with it is mild and passes quickly. Georgie appears to notice the odd tenor of his voice, tilting her head slightly to track the sound, but she doesn’t pursue it.

“You’re asking how Melanie is?”

“I wanted to check in with them, find out what happened.”

“She’s… having a rough day. I don’t think it’s my place to say more than that.”

Jon nods again: I understand. Then, he repeats again: “Statement of Georgina Barker.”

Georgie leans forward, elbow on knee, chin propped up by her fist. Her other hand continues to hold Jon’s, but she loosens her grip somewhat. The crease between her eyebrows is familiar to him – Georgie is taking her time to inventory her thoughts before speaking. He waits.

“I’m… hm. It’s been a lot to process,” she says carefully. “I think I’m doing okay for the moment? I’m mostly worried about Melanie. I’ve been worried about Melanie, but… after what you said about quitting – it’s complicated things a bit. It’s – it’s something we needed to know,” she adds, seeing Jon’s guilty expression. “I’m glad you were honest with us. Actually, I think Melanie was surprised that you told us about the, ah, second way to quit. It… hmm. It doesn't fit with the image she has of you.” Jon snorts at the delicate phrasing, and Georgie gives him a sheepish smile. “Sorry, but she still thinks you’re a self-serving prick.”

Jon shrugs, unperturbed. He already knew that, and it’s not like he’s done much to dissuade Melanie of that assessment. Not yet, anyway.

“Oh, but she told me to reassure you that she isn’t going to kill you in your sleep, so that’s something? I told her that’s not why you pulled an all-nighter, but she said to let you know anyway.”

Jon laughs, and Georgie’s eyes crinkle when she returns a smile. After a moment, though, it fades.

“I did want to ask, though… did Melanie find out how to quit in your future as well?” Jon nods. “In that case – I’m not sure if you were planning on it, but in case you were… don’t tell me just yet what her decision was where you came from. I’ve been tempted to ask, but I haven’t talked it over with Melanie yet, and I think that’s her call to make. Okay?” Jon nods again. “And… she’s still angry with you – with a lot of things, really, but especially this place, and she sees you as inseparable from it.”

“They’re not entirely wrong,” Jon accedes.

“I did talk to her about it. She asked me to let you know that she does want to talk to you – I know she has some questions to ask – but that she doesn’t want you near her right now. She’s trying to sort through her feelings towards you – figure out how much of it is a you problem versus a her problem versus a both-of-you problem. She needs some space to do that. And it’s not the only thing she’s working through right now.”

Jon can appreciate that. Honestly, it’s better than he could have hoped for. Last time around, Melanie had eventually softened on him, had even tentatively called him a friend – but at that point, everything in his life felt like too little too late, and she deserved better than to have him poison her life again. He really had only been looking for someone to help him parse Martin’s intentions – Jon has always struggled with anything less than direct, explicit communication – but Georgie was right to be angry with him. Regardless of his intentions, he was inseparable from the Institute; there was no way for him to ask for advice that didn’t involve dragging Melanie back into exactly the kind of toxicity she was trying to escape.

When he left that day, it was with the intention of staying out of both of their lives from then on. They both set a firm boundary, and they deserved to have it respected. But he had plenty of time to brood during the apocalypse, and there were so many things left unsaid between him and Melanie and Georgie. Even if the world hadn’t ended, he probably wouldn’t have approached them again – they seemed happy, and showing up on their doorstep to talk, even if it was just to apologize, would have only been for his own benefit. It wouldn’t have felt right to intrude on them again and open up old wounds just for the sake of securing closure for himself.

Now, though? Truth be told, he could use some space, himself. He’s rehearsed it many times before – all the things he might say to the people in his life, both living and dead, if he had a chance to see them again – but now that he actually has that chance, everything he’s drafted in his head feels inadequate. It may take some time to get his thoughts in order before sitting down and openly discussing his and Melanie’s fraught relationship.

“So… Martin?” Georgie says, snapping Jon out of his thoughts. “Have you seen him yet?”

Jon makes an uncertain tilting motion with his hand, finding no succinct way to explain that yes, he did have a brief encounter with Martin, but it was a one-sided conversation, and Jon expected as much, but it still hurt; and moreover, Martin was invisible when he visited, no doubt intending to just see for himself that Jon was awake, check in on how he was doing without being noticed; and Jon wishes he had been able to do the same, to have some irrefutable physical reassurance that Martin is alive and real and here and now, because it’s been so long, and…

“…he seemed determined to avoid – me,” Jon settles on instead.

“You care about him a lot, don’t you?”

“I need him to be okay –”

“– the easy, charming man I’d fall in love with.”

“Oh,” Georgie says, sounding stunned. Jon meets her eyes and gives her a quizzical look. “I just – knowing you, I figured you’d still be in denial about how infatuated you are? Or, at best, you’d grudgingly admit you maybe, possibly had a little crush? I was not expecting a declaration of love.”

“Everything about being with him felt so natural that when he told me he loved me, it only came as a surprise to realize that we hadn’t said it already –”

“– and together it seemed like we would get past our pain.”

“Holy shit,” Georgie murmurs. “You’re absolutely besotted. I mean, I knew you were, you talked about him all the time and you’re not as subtle as you think you are – but actually acknowledging it?”

“…honestly it’s one of the few decisions I’ve ever made that I completely understand,” Jon replies, not bothering to hide his small smile.

“Wow. You’ve… changed more than I thought.” Georgie mirrors his expression, but then she falters, chewing the inside of her cheek for a moment. “Can I ask how it – if it…” Jon’s smile fades too, but he makes a beckoning gesture: It’s okay; go on. “Regardless of whether things worked out between you, I… well, I have a hard time thinking you’d come back to this time if it meant leaving him behind in your future?”

Jon looks down at their linked hands, expressionless as he begins to construct a response.

“I’ll skip over the bit where –”

“– taking me in his arms and giving me the last and longest hug I would ever get from him –”

“– he was gone. Just gone. And I was alone again. There was no one I could talk to about it –”

“– I had plenty of time to mourn him –”

“– it took all my self-control to keep a grip on that anchor, as I slowly dragged myself away from the edge of my lonely grave.”

Georgie gives his hand a reassuring squeeze, which he returns gratefully.

“I’m so sorry,” she says. “For what it’s worth, I… I’m glad you have this second chance. You… are going to tell him how you feel this time as well, right?”

Obviously, he wants to say, but it’s not as simple as he wishes it was. He frowns thoughtfully as he searches for a way to explain the situation.

“…he’s been so lonely –”

“– embraced the loneliness like an old friend –”

“– for a creature of the Lonely, the urge is to isolate, never to communicate or connect –”

“– I wanted to say something reassuring, to reach out and let him know I was still there –”

“But it was like this last time you woke up, too.” She waits for his affirmative before continuing: “So you can do it again.”

“…I managed it eventually, but my inability to speak –”

“– I found him difficult to talk to at length.”

“But,” she persists, “you aren’t going to give up, right?”

“…I knew he would return eventually,” Jon says.

“Good,” Georgie says with a relieved, somewhat exasperated sigh. “I swear to god, if you’d gotten fatalistic right there, I’d have had some words for you.” Jon chuckles. “Seriously, though – you’ll figure this out. You’ve always been stubborn. Every now and then, it’s even an asset.”

“I’m grateful to her, of course.”

“Again, don’t mention it. As long as you keep trying, I’ll support you. I might set limits on how much I’m willing to get involved with the actual supernatural bits – I haven’t decided just yet – but when I need to step back, I’ll tell you. I’m not going to ghost you just because you don’t grovel.”

Jon groans at the pun, which gets a self-satisfied grin out of Georgie.

“Oh, shut up. It was a good one.”

Right, I forgot: comatose people don’t need pens, Jon thinks irritably to himself the next day, turning his office upside down looking for a writing utensil.

He’s so thoroughly preoccupied with rummaging through his desk that he doesn’t notice Basira standing in the doorway until she clears her throat, startling him so badly that he jumps and slams one of his fingers in the drawer. He yelps in pain and pulls his hand back, shaking it out to distract from the throbbing. A moment later, the realization crosses his mind that it’s the same finger he’d tried to cut off the last time he was here.

It’s a coincidence, he tells himself before his mind can wander too far down the rabbit hole. He has enough to worry about without getting caught up in the hypotheticals of time travel and sci-fi tropes about the changeability of the past. Besides, the Coffin hasn't even arrived yet; there are still a few weeks before the original date of his failed self-amputation attempts.

“Sorry,” Basira says, eyebrows raised. “Didn’t mean to scare you. Honestly, I figured you’d just know I was here.” Jon has nothing to say to that. Trying to explain the fine details of Knowing has never been a pleasant experience, and he couldn’t tackle that subject now even if he’d wanted to. “What are you looking for, anyway?”

“…think of me as an idiot who turned up to give a statement without a pen,” Jon says distractedly, opening another drawer and sifting through it. “I can’t find it anywhere.”

“Pens?” Jon nods without looking up. “Yeah, I threw them all out – don’t give me that look, Jon. Half of them didn’t even work, and the others looked like a puppy’s chew toy. Anyway, most of what I threw out in here got touched by the Flesh. You didn’t want any of it back, trust me.” Jon grimaces. “Yeah. Anyway, there are boxes in the supply closet – but I think I can do you one better.”

She tosses something at him. He notices the movement belatedly and just barely manages to catch the thing, nearly dropping it.

“Guess knowing things also doesn’t extend to being able to catch without fumbling,” Basira deadpans.

Jon looks down at the phone in his hands, then back up at Basira.

“Got the Institute to cover it as a work expense. I have no idea where the one you had before the Unknowing ended up; I’m assuming it blew up along with everything else.” Basira leans back against the doorframe. “I’m sure texting will go about as well for you as typing has, but Georgie downloaded a few AAC apps for you to try.”

He gives Basira a tentative smile.

“You’re welcome,” she says with a curt nod. The look she gives him then is curious – almost like she’s still trying to get a read on him, debating how much closeness she can risk. Then her guard goes back up and her tone turns authoritative again. “You can practice with them later. Meeting’s in a half-hour.”

Before Jon can respond, Basira turns and leaves.

It’s uncertain how the Archive will take to this newest workaround, but there’s only one way to find out.

“Here, let me take –”

Jon unceremoniously drops the box of statements down through the trapdoor, where it hits the ground below with a dull thud and a puff of dust.

“…or not,” Georgie finishes.

“Was that really necessary?” Basira calls from the bottom of the ladder.

Completely pointless, Jon thinks to himself a bit giddily, ignoring the stabbing pain in his temples with relish. The Beholding can complain all it wants about him mishandling statements; right now, he’s too tired and too delirious to care.

He’d had plenty of time during the apocalypse to develop methods of coping with the Eye’s intrusiveness. The most emotionally satisfying one he’d happened upon basically amounted to random acts of spite. It had no material effect on anything – aside from triggering varying degrees of headaches, but he already got those anyway. It was no different than a petulant child slamming a bedroom door, but it gave him that fleeting feeling of being in control of something, and it felt good.

“Let me go first,” Georgie says. He gives her a questioning look. “You’re using a cane, Jon. There’s a fifty percent chance you’re going to fall on your ass going down that ladder, and I’d rather keep you out of the hospital for the rest of the year.” Jon averts his eyes and frowns. She must interpret it as reluctance, because she clarifies: “You need a spotter.”

Jon signals agreement and she starts down the ladder ahead of him.

The thing is, he wasn’t trying to contradict her. It’s just… well, he’s still getting used to the idea of being cared for again, especially when it comes to insignificant things. Yes, his leg is acting up today, but it’s not that bad – the cane is just to keep it from getting any worse. And if he did fall, it’s not like it would kill him. It would be inconvenient, unpleasant, and probably embarrassing, but too temporary to really register on his distress scale.

Anyway, he’s grown desensitized to physical pain. Or… no, that’s not quite right. What he’s desensitized to isn’t the pain itself, but the experience of being harmed. He’s come to expect it, and these days only the only permanent injuries he receives are those inflicted by one of the Powers. Everything else heals too quickly and completely to feel consequential. Most things don’t even scar anymore, and those that do – well, what’s one more scar?

He knows it’s not a healthy mindset. Even before the world ended, he’d come to regard his body with a sense of detachment. In retrospect, he should’ve known that his rib wouldn’t work as an anchor. Most days, his body didn’t even feel like it belonged to him. Then, as if to confirm that inkling, Jonah possessed him; the Watcher’s eyes started manifesting on and around him; his presence became synonymous with the Eye to anyone who beheld him. He confirmed on several occasions that he wasn’t able to die. Even the Hunt couldn’t kill him. Jon would end one day, like everything else, but a mundane physical death was beyond him.

He doesn’t Know if that’s still the case now, and he’s too afraid to ask.

So, yes: he’s developed a cavalier attitude towards personal safety. Avoiding minor injuries feels almost on the same level as what temperature the water is before he steps into the shower: relevant in terms of his own comfort, but otherwise unimportant. He’s always spared little thought as to his own comfort, and it’s only gotten worse since becoming the Archivist. And the apocalypse didn’t exactly have much to offer in the way of comfort anyway, especially after…

Jon cringes as he stops to reflect on that train of thought. It took him fewer than thirty seconds to rationalize… well, Martin would have called it self-harm. Or self-sabotage, at the least. Georgie probably would, too, if she could see inside his mind right now. His judgment of what counts as worthy of concern is decidedly skewed, especially to an outside observer. It was easy to justify it to himself when it was just him alone at the end of the world, but employing a mindset forged in hopelessness and tailored to a doomed future is only going to be maladaptive here and now.

He should probably take some time later to unpack all of that. It would be easier if he could write it all out; it’s always difficult to keep track of his own thoughts without a visual aid, but –

“Jon?” Georgie calls up to him. “You can come down now.”

Deal with it later, he tells himself, tossing his cane down for Georgie to catch. As he makes his way down the ladder, his leg does twinge a bit, but it holds his weight well enough, and he reaches the bottom without incident.

“Where’s Melanie?” Basira asks.

“Resting,” Georgie says, handing Jon his cane. “She had a bad morning. I’ll fill her in on everything later.”

“Fine.” Basira nudges the box with her foot. “What’s this then?”

“Statements,” Georgie says. She’d watched Jon throw them haphazardly into the box before coming down here. “Not sure why, though.”

Jon moves the box to one of the chairs that they left in the tunnel last night. It isn’t too heavy – just some pertinent statements and tapes that he thought might make this discussion flow more smoothly. Taking a seat in the next chair over, he removes the lid from the box and begins rummaging.

“Statement of Joshua Gillespie, regarding his time in possession of an apparently empty wooden casket,” Jon says after a moment, holding up a folder labeled CASE #9982211 and containing the respective written statement. One page sticks out crookedly, and Jon’s heart skips a beat when he recognizes Tim’s handwriting. This had been one of his cases to follow up on.

He shakes his head and sets the folder aside, reaching into the box for the corresponding tape. Instead, his fingertips brush against a different loose cassette, and his breath catches in his throat.

“Statement of Detective Alice ‘Daisy’ Tonner,” he says quietly, removing the cassette. “Traffic stop of a delivery van.”

“This is the statement Daisy gave you?” Basira says. “She said you compelled her.”

“I didn’t realize that was what had happened until afterwards,” Jon says softly. He pulls a tape recorder from his pocket and gives Basira a questioning look.

“Yeah,” she says. “Yeah, go ahead.”

Jon inserts the cassette and fast-forwards, stopping when he Knows he’s reached the right timestamp. His own recorded voice begins to play.

“If you don’t mind me asking, h-h-how long have you been sectioned now –”

“I do mind,” comes Daisy’s clipped voice. Then, immediately: “Fourteen years.”

“I don’t suppose you’d like to make a statement?”

“About what?”

“Whatever you like. Fourteen years – you must have seen a number of paranormal things.”

“And you want me to tell you about them.”

“Uh – I-I-I-I-I –”

“Okay,” says Daisy.

“What?”

“Okay. I’ll give you a statement about – how I got my first Section 31.” A beat. “You look surprised.”

“I mean, I was largely asking as a formality. Basira didn’t give me the impression you were the sharing sort.”

“Maybe you caught me in a good mood.”

“Right, well… good. Do you need me to go over our non-disclosure policy –”

“Not as long as you understand my policy: if it gets out, I’ll break every bone in your body.”

“There are worse things that could happen to them,” the Jon on the tape mutters.

Jon hits stop and looks up at Basira. There’s a sheen to her eyes; he does her the courtesy of looking away and not drawing attention to it. After a long few seconds, she clears her throat. When she speaks, her voice is even and impassive.

“So you really didn’t know you were compelling people back then.”

“…he had no idea what was about to happen to him.”

He probably should have noticed sooner, but he was always so fixated on listening to the answer to a question that he paid comparatively little attention to the asking of it. Insensitive of him, really – far too like the detached fascination of the Ceaseless Watcher, in retrospect. The reality that he had the power to compel others didn’t really sink in until after his conversation with Jude.

Jon notices belatedly that the other two are watching him expectantly. He hadn’t planned on playing Daisy’s tape first, but since he already has it prepared to go, he fast-forwards to the beginning of her statement and lets it play through to the end. No one makes any comment in the few seconds it takes for him to swap the cassette out for Joshua Gillespie’s statement.

“So the Coffin makes people want to enter it,” Basira says as the second statement ends. “Is that why you went in, the first time? You were compelled?”

Jon shakes his head no. Daisy had asked him the same question last time. It’s true that the Coffin called to him, but its compulsion never got beneath his skin – not like that of the Beholding or the Web. In the end, going into the Buried was his decision.

“Why, then?”

“…survivor’s guilt,” Jon says. “I should be dead, really – it’s hard to reconcile yourself with avoiding a death that you feel should have been yours.”

There was more to it, though. He takes a minute to rifle through statements, to piece together his state of mind the first time he entered the Buried.

“I felt a great deal of guilt over my involvement with –”

“– the path of the Eye –”

“– when they looked at me, their eyes were full of – anger – blame –”

“– looked at me with a mixture of hate and helpless terror, as though I could do something to fix it –”

“– cut off effectively all human contact –”

“– I decided I had to do something – anything to get out of the fog –”

“– to lose myself in something that is not the absence of humanity –”

“– desperate to remind myself that I could still feel something –”

“– desperate for any human connection.”

He pauses for a breath. Looking back, if Jon hadn’t been so thoroughly claimed by the Beholding already, he may have been a candidate for the Lonely himself back then. Peter Lukas didn’t have to lift a finger.

“I was starting to fear that if I didn’t manage to do something –”

“– I would lose myself – forever –”

“– I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t at least try –”

“– it was – the most human part of it remaining –”

“– to act, to help, to do something –”

“– I need to not lose any more bits of me –”

“– and worst comes to worst –”

“– at least I felt useful.”

Georgie’s eyes are on him now, reading between the lines.

“Did you even have a plan? Or did you just… rush in by yourself, not even tell anyone?” He nods. “Which?” He gives Georgie a pointed look, nodding a second time. “Both? Figures. Don’t know why I bothered asking, really.”

“…but this time was different,” he assures her.

“How did you get out?” Basira asks.

“It took all my self-control to keep a grip on that anchor.”

“Meaning?”

“…her anchor. The thing weighing her down, tying her to this world,” he tries again.

“Something to ground you,” Georgie says questioningly.

“…to make finding my way back – that much easier.”

“And you can do the same thing this time?” Basira waits for his confirmation before moving on. “What about the delivery itself?”

Jon pulls out another folder and cassette, both labeled CASE #9961505.

“Statement of Alfred Breekon, regarding a new pair of workers at his delivery company.”

“Breekon and Hope?” Basira asks.

Jon nods, inserts the tape, and depresses the play button.

“They’ve been in a few statements, haven’t they?” Basira says afterwards, forehead creased in thought.

As an answer, Jon removes one last cassette from the box before tilting it forward to reveal a handful of case files sliding around at the bottom. All of them contain minor references either to Breekon and Hope or the Coffin, but none of them struck him as significant enough to bother bringing the accompanying tapes.

The remaining cassette in his hand, label reading CASE #0020406, is only relevant for the last minute or so of the recording: Martin’s encounter with Breekon and Hope on the day they delivered the NotThem’s table and the Web’s lighter. Jon pops it into the recorder, fast-forwards to the relevant timestamp, and hits play. Breekon and Hope’s voices echo in the tunnel, finishing each other’s sentences in an uncanny back-and-forth volley.

“Hm.” Basira frowns. “And they just… got into the Archives without anyone seeing them?” Jon nods. “I’m assuming we can expect the same this time?" Another nod, but Jon holds up two fingers, gives Basira a meaningful look, and then puts one down. “Only one of them.”

“Statement of the surviving half of the being calling itself ‘Breekon and Hope,’” Jon says. Then: “When that Hunter killed him – took him from me, made us a me – the casket – was waiting – I fed her to it.”

“Do we have to worry about a fight?”

Jon shakes his head no. “We did not kill them, did not lift a finger. We were bringers of their awful fate, not its executors – and we both tasted it together.” He fast-forwards the statement in his head. “I am without him now – can feel myself fading, weak, no reason to move, nothing to deliver. But I am no longer tied to the casket, so you can have it – climb in, and join her.”

“So we just, what, let it deliver the thing and leave?”

“I told her that any real danger had passed –”

“– fading, weak, no reason to move, nothing to deliver.”

“And then you go in.”

Jon nods. There are more details, of course, but the basics of his plan are the same as they were last time: equip himself with Daisy’s tape, follow the pull of her voice, rely on his anchor to find the way back – albeit hopefully with fewer hiccups this time.

Or fewer lost ribs, at least, now that he has a better grasp on anchors.

Several days later, a visitor arrives in the Archives, albeit not the one they’ve been expecting.

Head pillowed in his arms on his desk, dozing and half-conscious, Jon is roused from a shallow sleep by voices in the hallway, filtering through the open crack in the door.

“This area is off-limits,” Basira is saying.

“I’m just looking for the Head Archivist. Jonathan Sims? He still works here, doesn’t he?”

Is that…

“What do you want with Jon?” Georgie’s voice, sounding genuinely curious, but anyone familiar with her would recognize the protective edge to it.

“Look, is he here or isn’t he?”

It is.

Rubbing bleary eyes and shaking off the remaining wisps of brain fog, Jon stands, his joints cracking in protest. He grabs his cane, heads for the door, and peeks out into the hallway.

Naomi Herne is here, standing in the doorway at the bottom of the stairs between the Archives and the rest of the Institute. She looked his way when she heard the creak of the door opening, and their eyes meet for a brief moment before he reflexively averts his gaze.

“Jon?” She sidesteps Basira and Georgie and starts walking towards him.

He digs in his pockets and brings out his phone. So far, the AAC app has turned out to be a decent workaround. Prolonged use will still give him a headache in much the same way that communicating through illustration does, but it’s helpful for making specific requests, asking direct questions, and conveying simple or general concepts. He’ll accept a headache if it means not being forced to use some convoluted metaphor just to say I don’t know or I’m short-circuiting, please give me some space or I’m going to make tea; would you like some?

“YOU ARE – HERE,” comes the computerized voice as he prods at the screen. “WHY.”

For a long moment, Naomi says nothing, staring at the phone in his hand.

“It’s been over a week since I last saw you,” she says slowly. “At first I thought it must be because you woke up – which was a good guess, it seems – but then days went by and no dreams, and… I was worried.” Jon tilts his head, confused. “What’s with that look?”

Jon opens and closes his mouth a few times, debating on whether to reach for a statement. It feels wrong to be dishonest with her, and a hopeful part of him suggests that Naomi wouldn’t react too badly. She’s seen worse from him, and none of that seems to have scared her away, so…

“…I wasn’t worth worrying about.”

Naomi rolls her eyes. “Why are you so stubborn?”

Georgie laughs at that. When Naomi glances in her direction, she starts approaching the two of them, apparently satisfied that Naomi isn’t a threat. Likewise, Basira drifts off down the hall and into the break room. She leaves the door open, though – Jon Knows she still wants to listen in, just in case.

“He’s always been like this,” Georgie says.

“Figures,” Naomi says, then looks back at Jon. “So, why haven’t you been around? Did you find a way to sever the dreams, or…?” Jon shakes his head no. “Then what?”

“It’s not like I sleep enough to worry about dreams,” he says evasively.

Naomi opens her mouth to reply and at that moment Jon’s phone goes off. He nearly drops the thing as he fumbles to dismiss the alarm. Once the noise is silenced, Jon sighs and looks at Georgie.

“You want me to…?” Jon nods, giving her permission to speak on his behalf. “Okay then.”

Georgie looks at Naomi.

“Jonathan” – Jon huffs at the use of his full name – “has been depriving himself of sleep. But no matter how stubborn he is, he’s still human.” Georgie gives him a stern look, daring him to contradict her. He doesn’t; it isn’t worth getting into this discussion, especially in front of Naomi. “Now he’s started nodding off in spite of himself, he’s been forced to admit that he can’t go without sleep forever – but instead of actually sleeping, he’s decided that the best course of action is to just set alarms at forty-five minute intervals, to wake him up before he enters REM sleep. Which means he’s not getting any restful sleep.” She looks at Jon and smiles disarmingly. “Does that about cover it?”

Jon rolls his eyes – she really didn’t need to offer the detail about his new alarm routine – but he nods all the same.

“And why don’t you want to sleep?” Naomi asks.

“The only thing that worried me was sleeping. I think it gave me bad dreams,” he says.

“Not to be rude, but…” Naomi hesitates before blurting out: “Why are you talking like that?”

“He’s been having… some speech difficulties,” Georgie says, glancing at Jon. He makes a circular motion with one hand: It’s fine; go ahead. “Ever since he woke up, he’s only able to speak in quotes from the statements? It’s… challenging, to say the least.”

“Ah,” Naomi says, chipper, “just some new spooky developments, then.”

Out of habit, Jon glares at her for her word choice, but there’s no real ire in it. If anything, it’s a relief to find that Naomi’s attitude toward him seems unchanged despite said new spooky developments.

“But…” Naomi frowns. “You’ve been having these dreams for two years now, and you said you’ve mostly gotten them sorted. So how is sleeping now any different from the last few months?”

“He’s afraid that things will go back to the way they were before.”

“O…kay,” Naomi says slowly, “but you told me that most of the others have already learned to stop the nightmare sequence without you. And everyone knows now that you aren’t as scary as you look – which, by the way, is it weird that by now it's almost more unsettling to see you with only two eyes? Sorry, not the point. The point is, it won’t be the same as it was before.”

Jon stares fixedly at a scratch on the floor. Left over from the Flesh attack, maybe? He could Know, but –

Focus, he tells himself before his thoughts can wander too far afield.

He isn’t sure how to explain that the other dreamers may not be as forgiving or fearless as Naomi is. Even if they were to find it in themselves to overlook a relapse, even if they don’t start viewing him the way they did before… the prospect of having his bodily autonomy stripped from him again is more than enough to fill him with dread.

It feels too much like the way the hunger pulls him inexorably toward a victim. It will probably feel like how it does when the Archive takes control. And it will definitely feel like it did when he was made a conduit for the Watcher’s Crown. Jonah wearing him like a glove. Locking him in place, forcing his eyes open, hijacking his voice. Making him into a possession, only to cast him aside like a broken toy once he had served his purpose.

“– Jon?”

With some effort, he drags himself back to the present.

“Something not moving but that wants to move. Wants to be free –”

“– stopped being able to move under his own power – walk him like a puppet – directed and controlled –”

“– unable to move – to cry for help.”

Hands shaking, he inputs a response on his phone.

“I AM – SCARED.”

“That’s… okay, that sounds properly horrifying,” Naomi admits. “But you don’t know for sure that’s what’ll happen, right?” Grudgingly, Jon shakes his head no. “So you could be fretting over nothing.”

“So far, so normal, right?”

“Smartass,” Naomi says, but with good humor. “Still, you can’t go without sleep forever – you’re going to have to face it eventually. You may as well get it over with sooner rather than later, and then you’ll know for sure. If nothing else, you’ll get some sleep out of it. But,” she says with a longsuffering sigh, “I have a feeling you’re going to keep pushing it, so…” She holds out her hand and crooks her fingers. “Phone. I’m adding my number to your contacts.”

It isn’t until Jon hands it over that he even consciously processes her words.

“Just so you know,” Georgie says, “he can’t really text, either. Unless it’s in statements.”

“That’s fine,” Naomi says, typing rapidly with her thumbs. “You can just reply with emojis or whatever, Jon. Just something to let me know you’re still alive.” She hands the phone back to him. “And this way I can send you pictures of the Duchess.”

Jon perks up at that.

“The Duchess?” Georgie asks.

“Yep. Adopted a cat last week.” Naomi’s smile is wider than Jon has ever seen it. “She’s settling in nicely,” she says to him before looking back to Georgie. “I almost changed her name, but Jon insisted I leave it as is. Said I shouldn’t deprive her of a title she’d rightfully earned.”

Georgie snorts. “He said the same about the Admiral.”

“Oh, you must be Georgie, then? I’ve heard a lot about… uh –”

“Don’t worry; I’m well aware you’ve heard more about the Admiral than me. Pretty sure Jon prefers his company to mine half the time.” She ignores the indignant look Jon shoots her and holds out her phone to Naomi. “Jon was notoriously terrible at answering texts even before all of… this. Feel free to direct any, ‘Is Jonathan Sims still alive?’ queries to me.”

Jon watches in bewilderment as the two of them exchange numbers. Not for the first time, he wonders how this kind of socializing seems to come so naturally to other people.

“I also wouldn’t mind seeing a photo of the Duchess.”

“What about a group text?” Naomi says. “Spooky-free zone, cat-related updates only. Everyone gets their daily dose of cat antics, I get to honestly tell my therapist that I’m not self-isolating, and Jon can just like things to let me know he’s still breathing. Three birds, one stone.”

“Good idea.” Georgie gives Jon an exacting look. “It’ll give you something nice to obsess over. I’ll have to ask Melanie if she wants to be added, too. She could use the distraction.”

Jon can feel a smile tug at his lips as he hurriedly taps out a response.

“YES – PLEASE – THANK YOU.”

Jon and the others try to retreat to the tunnels as often as possible – every other day, if they can manage it – even if there isn’t a pressing matter to discuss. More than anything, it’s a ploy to throw off Jonah. There’s every possibility that he would grow suspicious if the group only held their secretive meetings just prior to major events. Meeting frequently likely won’t alarm him too much, though. Jonah is likely to write off Jon’s furtiveness as paranoia, or simply his near-compulsive tendency to retread the same ground in aimless circles, obsessing over a single question ad infinitum.

Jon isn’t sure whether he Knows this, or if he’s just become uncomfortably familiar with Jonah’s thought processes. Either way, Jon is well aware of what Jonah thinks of him, of how the man can effortlessly dissect and predict Jon’s every outward action and inner experience. If he's honest with himself, Jonah’s scrutiny may terrify him even more than the Ceaseless Watcher’s.

At least the Eye is alien, operating entirely outside the bounds of human morality and emotion. It and all of the other Fears just… are what they are. Predictable, instinctual, amoral – or operating on a sort of blue and orange morality, at least. It brings to mind something Michael said to him, all those years ago: “Am I evil, Archivist? Is a thing evil when it simply obeys its own nature? When it embodies its nature? When that nature is created by those which revile it?”

Someone like Jonah Magnus, though – born human, raised human, spending several lifetimes embedded in human society – can understand his fellow humans much more intimately than any nonhuman Entity ever could, and he uses that understanding to torture his victims, knowing full well how it feels. On the one hand, Jon and all his other pawns throughout the centuries are nothing but means to an end; he cares little for them outside of their usefulness to him. On the other hand, he isn’t fully detached: there’s no denying the sadistic glee he took in gloating as he forced Jon to open the door.

Even in a world devoid of the Dread Powers, monsters would still exist, and a mundane human monstrosity is almost as dreadful as a supernatural one. Daisy derived joy from the Hunt with more complexity than a wolf would. Jon’s own hunts may have felt instinctual, but they also felt morally wrong in a way that tearing the legs off a spider would never feel to a cat – and he did it anyway. Even Gertrude embodied a certain flavor of monstrosity, despite never fully giving in to the temptation of the Beholding. She did not need to embrace any supernatural power; her ruthlessness damned innocent people all the same, as thoroughly as the Desolation and with as much precision as the Web.

Georgie and Martin – and Helen, even – may have a point about humanity and monstrosity not following a strict either/or dichotomy. Whether the Fears were birthed by humanity or preceded it, in the world as-is they would be toothless without human imagination to fuel and interpret and inspire them. The apocalypse demonstrated that fact rather starkly the more and more the human population dwindled.

Jon shakes his head, interrupting that line of thought. There are more important things to worry about right now. Namely: it’s the third of March, and the Institute is expecting a visitor.

Basira is with him in his office; Georgie is off keeping Melanie company, away from Breekon and any possibility of a confrontation. They’d all agreed to this arrangement last night in the tunnels, and since they’ve been having those clandestine meetings so regularly, it should look like a coincidence to Jonah, rather than a prearranged setup.

And Breekon arrives right on schedule, though this time he cannot catch Basira alone. He comes directly to Jon’s office, dragging the Coffin behind him.

“Jon,” Basira says urgently, not taking her eyes off the hulking figure darkening the doorway.

They must tread carefully – not seeming so unconcerned as to let on that they were expecting the delivery, but not overselling the act so much that Jonah would sense something was amiss.

“I wish I could say that was the last I saw of them – but they did return – started to make deliveries – Breekon and Hope.”

“Where’s the other one?” Basira asks.

“That copper took him from me,” Breekon says balefully. He drags the Coffin over the threshold, lets it fall to the ground with a thump, and jerks his head at it. “So I fed her to the pit.”

“Daisy’s in there,” Basira says, bristling.

“That’s its name? Then sure, ‘t’s in there, whatever’s left. Find out if you like.”

“…get out of my office –”

Jon’s voice crackles with static, and Breekon takes one step backward.

“What are you doing? Stop that.”

“Jon,” Basira says warningly.

“– as soon as they’d placed the box on the floor, they turned around and walked out –”

The static continues to rise in volume.

“I said stop it!” Breekon grunts through gritted teeth, even as he turns and steps back over the threshold.

“– the door slammed behind them” – Breekon does indeed reach for the handle and pulls the door shut after him – “and I was left – with this package.”

The static cuts out abruptly, and Jon exhales heavily, winded.

“What the hell was that?” Basira demands, rounding on Jon. “Did you just – compel him to leave?”

“…apparently this was how it was done now,” Jon says quietly. That at least answers the question of whether he can still effectively use that power. He isn’t sure how to feel about that.

“Knew you could compel people to answer questions. Didn’t know you could compel actions, too.”

Jon shuts his eyes, still catching his breath. There were limits on his compulsion abilities even during the apocalypse; there are bound to be just as many now, if not more. He doesn’t have the mindset for muddling through a complicated explanation right now, though, so he opts for the AAC app instead.

“LITTLE,” he selects from the screen. It should be enough to get the general point across, at least for now.

“Great. I’ll just put that in the ominous column, shall I?” Basira sighs. “Is it really okay to just… let him leave?”

“I told her that any real danger had passed,” he says simply.

“If you say so.” She stares intently at the Coffin, arms crossed. “So, what now?”

Without another word, Jon stands and beckons for Basira to follow. As he locks the office door behind them, Basira tells him to go wait for her at the tunnel entrance while she fetches Melanie and Georgie. He nods absentmindedly, but she’s already left without waiting for a response.

The last time, two weeks spanned between the delivery of the Coffin and the day Jon actually opened it. This time, there’s no need to wait. He still has some preparations to make – there’s no need to visit the Boneturner, but Jon does still want to leave some tapes running to serve as physical anchors. He also has to plan for the possibility of something going wrong, even if he is fairly confident in his ability to find his way back again. Mainly, he’d like to leave a letter behind for Martin, though the Archive might make that difficult.

Other than that, it’s just a matter of mentally preparing himself for another trip into the Buried.

Knowing what to expect doesn’t make it any less terrifying, though. If anything, it might make it worse.

End Notes:

Soooo I thought I'd be able to cover more plot in this chapter, but I was too attached to the scene with Naomi to scrap it, and I wanted that conversation between Jon and Georgie to happen pre-Buried. The result is that this chapter feels a bit scattershot. But that means next chapter I can just focus on the Coffin. Thanks for bearing with me! (Hoping to have next chapter ready by this weekend or early next week. Depends on how busy work is.)

For anyone unfamiliar with AAC (augmentative and alternative communication) devices/apps and wondering why it's different from typing/texting for Jon - the app he's using has preloaded phrases and images he can select from, so he doesn't have to type/text character-by-character. It still has drawbacks for him - difficult to use for long periods of time, less likely to work the more specific he tries to be, like with drawing - but at least there's another communication option for him to reach for now.

Citations for Jon's verbal dialogue are as follows, broken down by section. Section 1: None. Section 2: 009; 036; 050/027/008/153/010/015/009/124/056/128; 112; 045/005/112/131; 045; 020/134; 157; 017; 138/130; 059; 029; 101/024; 135; 094; both 028 & 076; 148; 094; 042; 054; 117/013; 013/009; 150; 013/009/013/007/013; 146/092/151/063; 002/050; 009; 062. Section 3: 038. Section 4: 002; 061; 050; 056; 051; 019/138/013/105/113/013/092/122/102; 019/048/011/123/124/014/145/139; 051; 013, 145; 023; 096; 128; 128 (again); 008/128. Section 5: 014; 113; 002; 032/136/015; 025. Section 6: 096; 006; 002; 002 (again); 005; 008.

The taped banter between Daisy and Jon is from MAG 061. The Michael quote is from MAG 101. A few bits of Breekon's dialogue were borrowed from MAG 128.

[ripley95]

Echoes of Old Embers

Chapter 8

Pairing: F!Shepard/Kaidan Alenko

Rating: T

Chapter length: 2.9K

Story Synopsis:

After surviving the war, one of Shepard’s biggest regrets was rejecting Kaidan at Apollo’s. Fate has a way of bringing Jane and Kaidan back into each other’s lives. A misunderstanding with his family makes Kaidan and Shepard relive old history and question where they stand.

Link to Chapter 1 on AO3

Chapter Synopsis:

Shepard has some bonding time with all of Kaidan’s sisters, leaving her with more regrets. Shepard and Libby work through their differences.

Link to Chapter 8 on AO3

Tumblr Links:

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 | Chapter 13 | Chapter 14

Read the chapter here below the cut:

Raiya and Shepard made their way upstairs after finishing their coffee on the porch. Raiya still hadn’t elaborated on her plan to get Shepard on Libby’s good side. The house was still silent. None of the other Alenkos had woken up yet. Shepard was starting to fear that Raiya was about to wake Libby up to moderate some harsh discussion between the two of them. Sometimes the direct approach was the best, but Shepard wasn’t too keen on the idea, scared that waking her up in such a way would do nothing to sway Libby. Her fears were quickly alleviated when they ended up in front of Maisie’s door instead.

Raiya barged right in without so much as a single knock, and sat down gently on the bed next to Maisie.

“She sleeps like a rock, so hopefully she’ll want to wake up,” Raiya said, looking at Shepard before prodding her sister on the shoulder to no avail. “I’m sure if she knew Commander Shepard was in need of her help, she’d be more interested,” Raiya said, with a raised voice this time, while fully shaking Maisie’s shoulder this time.

“Uuuggghhh,” Maisie said, while rolling over, still not bothering to open her eyes. “Someone better be dying,” she groaned out.

“Sorry to disappoint, but I’m afraid not.”

“What do you want, then?” she said, basically slurring her speech with how tired she was.

“Jane’s here, and we need your help.”

Her eyes jolted open, and she looked towards her doorway to see Shepard standing there, waving as a greeting. Maisie promptly sat up, wondering what was going on.

“What is it?! What do you need?”

“Do you have any of that hair dye left?” Raiya asked, pointing to Maisie’s hair.

“Hair dye? That’s it? That’s what you had to wake me up for?” she asked, clearly irritated.

“Sorry. I know it doesn’t seem like something worthy of being woken up for, but I didn’t want to use any without your permission, and we’re kind of on a time crunch.”

Maisie looked over to Shepard now, with an entertained grin on her face. “Why? Trying to disappear from the Alliance, so you can run off with Kaidan or something?” Clearly, her imagination had already run wild with ideas.

“Jeez, Maisie, why are you always so dramatic?”

“I’m not dramatic,” she said, looking scornfully at her sister. “You’re just boring.”

Shepard held back a laugh, contemplating once again what a life with siblings must have been like. It was certainly interesting from this side of the conversation, at least.

“So, if it’s nothing so dramatic,” she said with an emphasised distaste of the word, “what was so dire that you had to wake me up?”

“You saw Libby yesterday. She was practically seething at Jane.”

“You could say that again.”

“Yeah, well, the wedding is tomorrow already, but I think I’ve figured out a way to extend an olive branch.”

“By dying Shepard’s hair?”

“Well, Libby’s problem with Jane being here is that she’s too recognizable, and she doesn’t want the attention taken off of her on her big day, right? So maybe if we make her not look so much like ‘Commander Shepard,’ Libby won’t have to worry about that.”

“Hmm. Yeah, okay, maybe that’ll work.”

Shepard still hadn’t even gotten a word in edgewise, but she had to admit that the idea sounded promising. At the very least, it wouldn’t hurt anything, so it was worth a shot.

“Great, so do you still have any?”

“Psht, of course.” 

“Well, can we use it?”

“Use it? Come on. I’ll even do it for you,” she said as she flung the covers off of herself, shoving her way past Shepard, still standing in the doorway.

She walked across the hall, into the bathroom, and started rummaging around in the cupboards, Raiya and Jane following after her.

“Oooh, I think you’d look good with this,” she said, holding up a box of what looked like the rest of the blue dye she must have used in her most recent colour change.

“The point is to draw less attention to her, Maisie. Don’t you have anything a bit more basic?”

“Ugh, yeah, fine,” she said, going back to the cupboards to rummage around again. She stood up with a box in her hand, showing them the new option. “Here. I think this is about as opposite as it’s going to get while still looking natural.”

“I think that’ll work,” Shepard said, taking the box and turning it over in her hand, sounding pleased. “How long does this stuff last, exactly?”

Maisie laughed at that, eliciting a slightly worried gaze from Shepard.

“Oh, you’re serious? It’s permanent, so until your hair grows out.”

“Of course it is,” she said, slightly exasperated, handing the box back to Maisie. “Oh well. It’s not a big deal. I really don’t like the thought of ruining Libby’s wedding, so whatever it takes.”

“Well, if you don’t like the colour, we can always dye it blue after the wedding,” Maisie said teasingly as she opened the box.

-

As she studied herself in the mirror, Shepard had to admit it was a pretty substantial difference. She was rather pleased with the outcome, hoping it was enough to make Libby feel better.

“It looks good,” Raiya said from behind her.

“Yeah? You don’t think I’m too recognizable still?”

“I mean, you do have a pretty recognizable face,” Maisie said.

“People only really know you as a soldier, though. Maybe with some makeup and a dress, most people won’t even notice,” Raiya said.

“Hopefully,” Shepard agreed.

“My husband will be arriving later today. I didn’t get a chance to tell him that you were Kaidan’s date, so he can be our first test subject to see if this might actually work,” Raiya said with a laugh.

“Ooh, that’ll be fun,” Maisie said from behind them, as she started cleaning up all the supplies. “Make sure I’m in the room for that!”

“Sure thing,” Raiya said with a smile.

“I think I actually forgot you were married,” Shepard said, looking back towards Raiya.

“Yeah, almost 8 years now. He’s a teacher. He’s set up a school closer to our house. He’s trying to provide structure for all of the kids in town again since the war ended, so he wanted to wait to come here until a little closer to the wedding. He’ll be bringing Austin, too.”

“Your son?” Shepard asked. She vaguely remembered Kaidan telling her something about a nephew during their time together on the Normandy.

“Yup,” Raiya said with a smile. “But anyway, I think this could do the trick.”

“Unless people are a little too curious about Kaidan finally bringing someone home that they start asking a ton of questions,” Maisie said.

“I guess that’s a possibility. At least this is something, though, right? Maybe it’ll at least make sure the ceremony goes well since people won’t get a chance to mingle until the reception for the most part.”

“It’s not like I’m going to introduce myself as Commander Shepard at a wedding,” she cut in.

That made Maisie laugh. “Could you imagine? That would be hilarious. That is a good point, though. We didn’t even know you by your first name, so if you introduce yourself as Jane, maybe this actually has a good chance of working.”

“See, now we just have to get Libby on board. I’m sure she’s awake by now. Probably best to rip the bandaid off and get it over with, right?”

“I’ll go check if she’s up,” Maisie said, running over to her door and knocking urgently, Raiya and Shepard following after.

“What?!” came a yell from the other side.

“It’s Maisie, can I come in?”

“Yeah, fine,” they heard from the other side.

Maisie opened the door, and all but shoved Shepard into the room before closing it on the two of them.

Shepard heard a “Wow, Maisie, really?” from behind the door, followed by a “Yeah, it’s better to let them deal with it by themselves.”

Shepard would have preferred to deal with this herself anyway, but she might have liked a smoother entrance. Now she was left a little dumbfounded, standing by the door. Libby was sitting in front of a vanity, putting makeup on. The commotion made her look in the mirror towards the door to see what was going on. Shepard made eye contact with her through the reflection and gave a subtle wave.

“Um, hi,” Shepard said, still caught slightly off guard. “Sorry about that, but I was hoping I could talk to you for a minute. Not exactly the way I would have gone about it, but here we are.”

Libby took a good look at Shepard through the mirror before letting out a sigh and turning around. “Yeah, Maisie can be... forceful,” she said, pointing towards the end of the bed, her way of telling Shepard she could have a seat.

Shepard smiled in acceptance, and went to sit on the bed across from her. She was pleased by the fact that Libby didn’t sound too annoyed.

“Did you do that for me?” Libby asked, pointing to Shepard’s hair, immediately recognizing the gesture.

“Yeah. Listen, I really feel like I need to apologise. I never joined the Alliance intending to be in the spotlight. Sometimes it’s easy to forget that I’m this public figure, especially when I’m just trying to live my life, you know? The last thing I ever wanted to do was ruin your wedding.”

Libby shook her head. “I can’t believe you’re the one apologising.”

“What?”

“Oh, come on. I think we both know I was pretty terrible to you yesterday.”

“I think I just took everyone by surprise.”

“You’re too kind. I know it wasn’t my finest moment. None of this was your fault. There’s no excuse for me being so standoffish. I’m sorry about that. My reaction wasn’t even really about you, to be honest.”

Shepard nodded slowly, accepting the apology, sensing the tension easing between them slightly. “Wait, so are you telling me I did this for nothing?” she said, pointing to her hair, laughing.

That elicited a laugh from Libby, too. “Well, not for nothing, I guess. I appreciate you wanting to make a peace offering. And honestly, I could see that creating less of an upheaval throughout the wedding, so I’m still grateful that you did it. I’m just sorry that you felt like you had to,” she said, a little more solemnly.

“Don’t worry about it. I can always change it back or let it grow out. It’s just hair dye. It’s not a big deal.”

Libby forced a smile at that.

“Hey, I know we only just met, but if you want to talk about it, or need extra help or anything, I’m not just here to be a bystander.”

“Thanks,” she said, looking down at her hands. “It’s just that nothing about this wedding is going how I expected it to. I think seeing you yesterday was just the straw that broke the camel’s back.”

Shepard nodded, perceiving that there was a larger issue going on. “I can understand that. But hey, you don’t owe me an explanation. I know this must be a stressful time for you.”

Libby huffed out a sigh. “You could say that again. And I may not owe you an explanation, but after the way I treated you yesterday, I kind of feel like that’s the least I can offer you. You probably didn’t know this, but I was supposed to be getting married the same week the reapers landed.”

That suddenly made a lot of sense. Of course, all of her original plans would have gone flying out the window.

“The whole family was here. Kaidan was even in Vancouver for work, and the timing was perfect since he wasn’t assigned to be off-planet for a while. It was going to be the first big family celebration since Raiya’s wedding. Dad was here…” she trailed off.

And of course, now he wasn’t. Shepard hung her head, understanding the significance of everything that had changed for Libby.

“Derek, my fiancé, enlisted almost immediately after the reapers landed, otherwise we might have just eloped. He and my dad were both shipped out so quickly, we didn’t even have the chance. Obviously, Derek made it through to the end of the war just fine, but we ended up holding it off for so long now. Things have been rough with the rebuilding efforts, and Derek has been shipped out on duty more often than not, making it hard to plan anything. Kaidan was missing for so long, and Dad’s status was officially changed to KIA. The entire family was so distraught that we didn’t particularly feel like having a wedding for a while after the war.” 

“But then when Kaidan finally made it back,” Libby continued with a smile. “Everyone was so happy. There was finally a reason to celebrate something again, and I kind of thought that a wedding was a perfect excuse to get everyone together and be happy for once. But nothing feels happy right now. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m still thrilled that Derek and I are finally getting married. We’ve been waiting for so long. But nothing else feels right about it. It feels so trivial to be doing something like this when the galaxy is still rebuilding. It feels wrong, trying to celebrate when there are people that were supposed to be here, but aren’t. Dad should be here,” she said, letting out a sigh and rubbing her forehead.

“Obviously, none of this is your fault,” she amended quickly. “But I guess something about seeing you felt like it was just another wrench being thrown into my plans. It really shouldn’t have been that big of a deal. I think everything’s just been getting to me. I haven’t seen Derek for months. He wanted to help with all of this, but we decided it would be nicer to spend quality time together after the wedding rather than wasting all of our time together planning it, so we timed his leave around that. I miss him. I miss my dad. With the weight of it all… well, I guess I just overreacted,” she said as she turned back toward the vanity, looking regretful.

“Libby,” Shepard said softly to gain her attention again. “I know nothing I can say can fix everything you’re going through, but I think if there’s one lesson that we can all learn from this war, it’s that we shouldn’t squander these chances to celebrate the good things in life. I didn’t know your dad, but he seemed like a good man who valued his family more than anything. I know this is easier said than done, but I think he’d want you to be happy and enjoy your life.”

Libby nodded, and turned back towards the vanity. Shepard took that to mean that Libby likely wanted some privacy, so she stood up from the bed. Before moving to leave, she went to put her hand on Libby’s shoulder as a sign of comfort.

“You don’t have to feel guilty for being happy about something so important to you.”

Libby looked up at her in the mirror and gave her a weak smile. She squeezed Shepard’s hand with appreciation.

Jane took that as her cue to leave. Right as she was about to go through the door, Libby spoke up one last time.

“Thanks, Jane,” she said, watching Jane’s face through the mirror.

“Any time,” she said genuinely. “And hey, if this doesn’t do the trick,” she said, pointing to her hair, “Then I’ll just excuse myself to try to make things as easy for you as possible.”

Libby huffed out a laugh as her smile turned into something more authentic. “It’s okay, Jane. I’m not going to make you do that, even if you do cause a scene.”

Shepard nodded in acceptance. She was glad that Libby wasn’t actually mad at her, at least.

“No hard feelings, I hope?” Libby continued.

“Of course not. I’m just glad we got to clear the air.”

“Thanks for the talk,” Libby said. “Damn, you really are diplomatic, aren’t you?”

Shepard grinned. “So I hear.”

“Well, I appreciate it,” Libby said in thanks.

“Don’t mention it,” Shepard said, taking that as her cue to leave, closing the door behind her to grant Libby some privacy.

As she closed the door, she stood in front of it silently in contemplation. It was good that she managed to fix so much, yet she was worried about the ever-growing hole she was digging herself into with everyone thinking she and Kaidan are in a relationship. It was almost easier when she thought that Libby and Raiya really didn’t like her. It would have been so much more simple to go back to her life without Kaidan, thinking that his family at least wasn’t fond of her. But now their whole mishap had gotten so out of hand. Libby was apologising, and Raiya was giving her a second chance. Kaidan’s family was nice. Too nice. She could already feel them weaselling their way into her heart just like he had. It was bad enough having feelings for Kaidan, but now she could feel herself beginning to care about his whole family.

‘It’ll all be over soon,’ she reminded herself, as she finally decided to move somewhere that wasn’t right in front of Libby’s door. One way or another, it was true, and that damn saying would become her mantra.

[patchofsunlight]

brass is a metal(i think😭) but it's what some of the instruments are made out of so i mean the horns, like trumpets, tubas, trombones, and all those, but i have so many band stories a lot of from marching band though😭 most of them are either funny or like, teenage drama™️ last year especially there was a lot of stuff about people dating and all that😭 a lot of stories are just us being silly or doing dumb things though, like there was this time we had a parade and i forgot to eat before it

but my band teacher is really great we all like chilling in the band room when we have free periods, last year me and my friends had the same lunch so we would go and help him move chairs and draw stuff on the whiteboard, one time we drew catfish but they were like, cats with fish tails😭 and my math teacher is annoying me and one of my friends text each other every time he complains about something during class😭

and me and my uncle are kinda close, he lives far away so we talk on the phone, he's my moms brother and he's like, the fun uncle, he's the youngest out of his siblings and i'm not the oldest out of all of their kids bc my brother is technically older than me (only by a minute so idk how much that counts😭) but i'm the most relatable to him so he's been calling me a lot while he's stuck in the house

but did you get to do something for graduation? i think it happened already so how was it, how are you? and how far away are your entrance exams? but i'm good i'm chilling we just had a snow day so i didn't do any of my work and i'm finishing it now so i'm gonna go do that😭 but i hope you're doing well very glad that you're not the virgin mary😭 what are you doing today? -🍓

OH OKAY LMAOOO I HAD NO IDEA THAT IT’S A METAL AND I OOP- but okay that sounds fun!! feel free to tell me your band stories if you want hehe BUT NO WDYM YOU FORGOT TO EAT FNWJXKWKS DONT PARADES TAKE LIKE,,, A LONG WHILE TO END? STRAWBERRY NO-

your band teacher really sounds great, and i love that for you. your math teacher sounds like someone who needs to be punched ❤️

YOU’RE A TWIN??? WAIT THAT’S SO COOL- I BRO THATS SO COOL. SO COOL. being a twin sounds so fun. is it fun??? and your uncle seems like such a nice guy!!! it’s great that you have people like that in your family!!!

yea we had like the whole graduation ceremony and it was really nice!!! i gave a speech and everything went really well, i feel like i spoke nicely and i stayed calm so that was great!! i looked so fucking pretty that day 🥴🥴🥴 FOR REAL I LOOKED AMAZING and i’m uhhh yk!! living!!! lmao i’ve been dealing with some stuff but other than that i’m actually alright.

my entrance exams start during the second week of january!!! but then i have SO MANY of them. i have given myself a week to do nothing and just rest so i haven’t been studying, but i’ll start again next week 😔😔😔 LMAO i really hope everything goes well!!!

GET THAT REST BABY GET IT!!! good luck with all your work, i hope everything went fine!!! today i think i’ll just chill,,,, and i’ll probably open requests for headcanons so i hope i get a lot of writing done too!!! i watched the first season of legend of korra yesterday 👀👀 FUCKING FINALLY and i’m SO inclined to add the lok characters to my request list 😭😭😭 LET’S SEE

wbu?? how are you??

[alluremin]

Fair Game

pairing: park jimin | reader

genre: carnival au, crytid-ish hunter au| crack turned horror (?)

warnings: swearing, brief mentions of blood

premise:  “...I know our lives are technically in danger, but nothing ever happens in this town, so I’m pretty freaking pumped.”

word count: 4.4k

a/n: this is my story for @foreverpark​‘s halloween writing challenge! i had a lot of fun writing this!! (i know i said this was going to be posted yesterday, please forgive me. we all know that i’m wildly inconsistent. and yes i’m also aware that halloween has long since passed)(the dialogue prompt has been adjusted slightly to fit the situation)

The screams of children fill your head as you stare absentmindedly into space. The screeching of rubber bumpers colliding with one another do nothing to pull you out of your reverie. You feel like you’re living in a never ending loop of torturous proportion.

Sweat starts to trickle down the back of your neck as the sun continues to sink closer to the horizon. You can’t even be bothered to fix the umbrella or to adjust your bun turned bird’s nest higher on your head. It wasn’t until you feel a tap on your shoulder that you finally came back down to Earth. 

“You’re off the clock for the day!” Peyton’s chipper voice squeals in your ear. It’s not that you don’t like the girl, but she was always so happy to be at work and you had a hard time understanding that. After the day you’ve had, all you can do is offer a weak smile and a pat on her shoulder as you shuffle off toward the main office.

You had been working at this god forsaken carnival since you were sixteen. Sure, the extra income is nice, but now that you’re twenty one and on the verge of graduating from college; you dread going home every summer. Not to mention, there was always something foreboding about carnivals that made your skin crawl. You worked nights for one summer and have never done it since. The memories of that summer inexplicably make your skin crawl. There was just something about when the lights would go out on the rides that made you wish you could leave and never come.

The last thing you wanted to do, however, was risk missing out on an opportunity for work. You were already swimming in student loans, so it wasn’t ideal to turn down work when the opportunity presented itself. You constantly remind yourself that there were only a few more weeks left of summer, then you could finish your final year, graduate, and find a job that was actually fit for an adult. 

As you collect your stuff from the back office, you can feel your phone vibrating in your back pocket. The thought of having to speak to anybody right now made your brain turn to putty, so you ignore it. En route to your car, however, you can feel it go off at least 12 more times, only adding to your irritability. Ripping your phone out of your pocket, you glare at the screen. In this very moment, you decide that you’re going to strangle your friends. Your eyes roll almost voluntarily as you scroll through the messages.

You lock your phone and throw it into the passenger seat before dropping your head to your steering wheel. The problem with this whole situation is that Jungkook knew none of you would say no to him. The thought of having to go home, shower, then get back in your car to make the journey to Jungkook’s house was exhausting in and of itself, let alone having to actually do any of those things. 

Quickly into your freshman year of college, you managed to make an amazing group of friends. You became close with the boy across the hall and his suitemates. Jimin was extremely sweet, and more often than not, he left for his classes around the same time that you did. Not only that, but you often ate together and did laundry together. Before you left for Christmas break, he pulled you aside and asked you out in the cheesiest manner possible; under a mistletoe. You couldn’t possibly deny him when he looked that cute.

It wasn’t long before he would invite you across the hall to hang out with him, and his suitemates, Yoongi and Seokjin. They were both sophomores at the time, you and Jimin both freshmen. The four of you fell into the steady rhythm of having meals together, hanging out, and crying over finals (that last one was mostly just you). 

Last year, you all moved into the same townhouse together. It was great and your only complaint was the Jimin never slept in his own bedroom, but his body heat wrapped around you made him easy to forgive. One night, you all were hanging out in the rec center, playing your weekly game of ping-pong when a bright eyed kid walked in and sat in the corner by himself. 

At first, you all ignored him, thinking he was waiting for someone, but when some time passed and he was just playing with his fingernails, the four of you decided to ask him to play ping pong with you. You learned that his name was Jungkook, he hated his roommates, he was a freshman, and he was extremely good at ping pong. Needless to say, he quickly became a member of your makeshift family and you found a use for Jimin’s empty bedroom.

Strangely enough, his hometown was close to your own, so there was no break in any of your routines when summer hit. Jimin spent the majority of his summer with you at your childhood home and Yoongi and Seokjin traveled over every few weekends to hang out with the three of you.

When you push open your car door, you’re met with the view of your boyfriend coming out the front door to meet you. He could likely tell by your lack of responses to the group chat that you were having a long day, to say the least. Instead of attempting to make conversation, Jimin simply wraps his arms around your shoulders and holds you. You don’t fight him off.

“Jimin, I’m so sweaty,” you whine into his shoulder.

“Don’t care, I missed you.” He kisses the crown of your head before he releases you and looks you in the eyes. The small smile on his lips brings one to your own. 

“I need to shower before we go to Guk’s. I feel absolutely disgusting.”

“Okay, I’m going to help your mom put away groceries! She just got home a couple minutes ago.” Jimin kisses the tip of your nose before going into the kitchen. It’s no wonder she likes him more than you or your siblings.

After a shower and a short breakdown, you and Jimin are on your way to Jungkook’s house. You could only hope that his parents were expecting all of you there to, once again, scheme about some ridiculous plan Jungkook had to catch another cryptid he found on the internet. 

Since this summer started, there have been various occasions that Jungkook believed a ghoul, ghost, or mysterious creature had been located in the area and forced you and your friends to go out and look. Big surprise, you all have yet to anything. 

Upon entering his house, Jungkook greets you and Jimin at the door with a smile on his face, and Yoongi and Seokjin wave at you from the couch in the living room. 

“Where are you parents, Guk?” You ask.

“Date night. They’re really taking advantage of this empty-nester lifestyle,” he giggles to nobody in particular while leading you and Jimin into the living room.

You audibly gasp at the sight before you. Night-vision goggles, EMF detectors, a go-pro, and a large pile of black clothes sit in a pile on his living room floor.

“Don’t you have student loans to pay?” Jimin laughs as he crouches to the floor, staring at Jungkook in question.

“Yes, but if we’re going to do this, we’re going to do this right! I’m also using the excuse that I’m treating myself the only way I know how,” Jungkook picks up the go-pro that sat on the floor and grins at you. You can’t help but stare blankly at him.

“You broke Y/N with your crazy, Guk,” Yoongi says monotonously, not looking up from his phone. 

“Hey, I don’t think he’s crazy. I’m just blown away at your commitment, honestly.” You sidestep Jimin, who was sitting on the floor fishing through the sea of black clothes, and ruffle Guk’s hair. If you hadn’t known Jungkook, you truly would’ve believed exactly what Yoongi had just said. Among other things, this was just one of his hobbies and all of you accepted it. Honestly, cryptid hunting gave you all an excuse to hang out and play around in the woods or abandoned buildings and act like stupid teenagers again.

“Okay everybody gather around, it’s time to debrief!” Jungook announces to the room. 

“We’re all sitting right here!” Seokjin waves his arms overdramatically at Jungkook. 

“I just wanted your attention and now that I have it, let’s get started.”

Yoongi sits forward at this and tries to look interested, but you could tell that he was dreading going out tonight. You stand behind where he was sitting on the couch and squeeze his shoulders while Jungkook started his rant.

“Okay, so, today I was scrolling through one of my blogs… you know the one that I track all of the happenings in the cryptid hunting world. Next thing I know, I get a message from somebody with a link to a post somebody made about a Yowie that was spotted not far from where Y/N lives! So-”

“Hey Jungkook, I hate to interrupt your speech, but can you please tell me what the fuck a Yowie is?” you question him. You could feel Yoongi’s shoulders shake under your arms as he chuckles. 

“Okay so it’s basically bigfoot… but from the Outback... of Australia.” He looks at you in complete seriousness. It’s only a matter of seconds before the rest of you crack up at his confession.

Once you all manage to gain your composure, you notice Jungkook scratching the back of his neck in embarrassment, his cheeks turning a bright pink.

You leave Yoongi’s side and sit on the floor next to Jimin. “Not that I don’t believe in the vast ability of this ‘Yowie’ to travel, but it’s not like we’re in the middle of the Outback, Guk,” you reason with him. He drops unceremoniously to the floor next to you.

“Yeah, I was hoping that you guys wouldn’t think anything of it. You usually just tune me out when I go on my rants then follow me into the woods and throw sticks at each other and stuff.”

“Hey, maybe it’s out there! We don’t know, right?” You smirk at him and a smile returns to his face. “Who knows? Maybe Yowies can swim across the ocean, eh?”

Jimin joins in on your comforting Jungkook, wrapping his arm around your waist and pulling you into his side. “Even if it’s not a Yowie, maybe they saw something else! If there’s anything out there, we can find it,” Jimin assures. 

You turn around to look at Yoongi and Seokjin. Seokjin is trying to figure out how night vision goggles work, looking around the room with them on, his mouth hanging wide open in confusion. Yoongi, on the other hand, was still staring at you incredulously. 

“Right, Yoongi? We’re still going out to find whatever it was?” You raise your eyebrow at him to say something. One thing you knew for a fact was that Yoongi had a soft spot for you and you knew that you could convince him to drop his doubts for the sake of Jungkook’s feelings. 

“Uh, yeah. I’m sure it’ll still be fun even if there’s no way in hell that-” Yoongi stops mid-sentence when he notices your glare. “-we’ll find it if it’s out there, kid.” You look away satisfied. 

“Alright, it’s settled then! Yowies here we come!” You shout excitedly in an attempt to bring up the energy in the room.

“Y/N, what’s gotten into you? By the end of our hunts your face is usually buried in Jimin’s back. Remember that one time you got so scared when Yoongi broke that stick that you-”

“Kim Seokjin, if you finish that sentence, you’re toast. I’m willing to brave the storm if it means we make a new scientific discovery!” You exclaim. Everybody gawks at your false sense of confidence, but if they have any comments, they keep them to themselves. 

“Okay so here’s the game plan…”

The five of you load up in Seokjin’s truck and head toward the place you dreaded most: the carnival. The clock read 1:00 am; Jungkook had insisted that you wait until after midnight because he was sure that every cryptid was probably nocturnal. You tried to explain to him that nocturnal just meant it would be dark outside, but he was set in his ides and you didn’t have the heart to argue with him. Instead, you all made use of the afternoon to watch movies and nap until you had to go out. 

As you’re driving down the barren road, you can’t help but lean onto Jimin and close your eyes again.

“Are you still tired, baby?” He whispers.

“Yeah, I haven’t been sleeping well.”

“I can tell, you move a lot in your sleep.” Jimin kisses the crown of your head and wraps his arms around you body to pull you impossibly closer.

“Hey, no sleeping, we’re on a mission!” Seokjin shouts from the front seat. You groan into Jimin’s neck when Seokjin’s early 2000s playlist blares through the speaker. You can feel Jungkook on your left side roll his body around to “Fergalicious”. You pick your head up and give up on getting any more sleep. 

Only 5 more minutes pass before you pull into the parking lot in front of the fairgrounds. In all honesty, there was something about the way the attractions look in the dark without their lights on that brings goosebumps to the surface of your skin. They look incriminating, hauntingly abandoned by the carnival goers for the day, completely alone for the night. 

Since the sun had gone down, the temperature had dropped drastically. You were in an oversized black hoodie Jungkook forced you to wear (for stealth) and your athletic shorts. Maybe you’re starting to let your nerves get the best of you, but the second you step out of the car, the wind begins to pick up, almost as if it’s greeting you, or warning you. 

You cling to Jimin’s arm, not only because you love his attention, but also due to your nerves. You try to convince yourself that this feeling was normal. Everytime you all went out at night, you do the same thing; you were excited to go out and have fun, but once you got to the location, or “hunting grounds” as Jungkook liked to say, you started to get scared. All of the terrifying, albeit fictitious, facts that Jungkook would tell you about the cryptid in question would creep back into your head. All you could hope was that you never would actually find any of the things he told you about.

You and your friends approach the locked gate at the entrance of the fairgrounds. They turn back to you as you fish a ring of keys out of your pocket. Perks of working at this carnival for the last 5 summers, you guess. 

The heavy padlock falls when you remove the key from it, causing a cloud of dust to puff up from the ground. You drop to pick up the lock when a loud groan echoes somewhere in the distance. It sounds like bending metal, almost. 

“You guys heard that, right?” Jungkook asks while pointing his flashlight down the path between the rides.

“C’mon, Guk don’t start. You know how unreliable these rides are, it’s probably just the Gravitron slowly falling apart.” Yoongi hits Jungkook’s shoulder as the two continue forward. Jimin grabs the underside of your arm to help you stand while Seokjin takes the lock from you hands and hangs it on the fence.

“You okay, babe?” Jimin asks.

“Uh, yeah. Yeah, I’m fine. The sound just made me jump,” you say shakily. Jimin holds your hand and you trudges forward after your three friends. “Yoongi’s right, these rides are mediocre in structural integrity, at best.”

“I think it’s cute when you get scared on our hunts. You always hold my hand really tight, “ Jimin teases. You nudge his shoulder with your own.

Everybody stops near the Ferris Wheel and Jungkook splits up the equipment. You’re not sure why he hands you an EVP detector; the second the device so much as makes a peep, he knows you’re going to lose you mind. In all honesty, that probably the exact reason behind him giving the device to you. “I didn’t think that Yowie’s could manipulate electromagnetic fields, so why would we need this? They’re just animals, technically… I think.” Your question trails off with your train of thought. 

“Do you think I would risk not catching another entity because I was so focused on the Yowie? C’mon Y/N, I’m not an amateur!” Jungkook jokes but there’s a hint of seriousness in his statement. You throw you hands up in defeat and choose not to question him further. 

“So should we split up and cover the grounds?” Jimin asks. 

“I don’t mean to ruin the vibe we have going here,” Seokjin cuts in before Jungkook can begin to speak, “but this is vaguely reminiscent of Scooby and the gang. Tag yourself, I’m Velma!”

Jungkook turns from Jimin and glares at the older man. “Dude, seriously?”

“What?”

“Now is not the time… but Yoon is Scooby-Doo.” Jungkook smirks at Yoongi. 

“Why am I Scooby, I feel more like Shaggy. You’re Scooby!” Yoongi points to Jungkook.

“Does that make Y/N and I Fred and Daphne by default?” Jimin pipes in.

“So I’m a damsel in distress?”

“Y/N, you’re literally hanging off of my arm right now,” Jimin looks down at you in amusement.

“Okay everybody, reel it back in! I know that you two will at least humor me and try to find some evidence,” Jungkook motions to you and Jimin. “You two on the other hand, won’t. You’ll sneak back to the car when nobody’s watching. I’ll go with you guys.” Jungkook grabs Seokjin and Yoongi by the elbow and pulls them in the opposite direction that you Jimin start to head in. 

“So do you actually believe in all this stuff?” You look up at Jimin.

“I don’t think so. I mean, we’ve never found anything before. At school or here,” Jimin reasons.  

“I guess that makes sense. I like to think that I don’t either, but then I feel so uneasy whenever we go out. Like… there’s gotta be things we haven’t discovered yet, right?”

“Are you alright? You look really pale, sweetheart?” Jimin grabs you by the shoulders and slide his hands up to you cheeks. 

“Yeah, I think so. I’ve just never felt this anxious before.” You look him in the eyes when you feel another strong breeze whip across the right side of you body. Another deep groan echoes throughout the grounds and all of your hair stands on end. Jimin pulls you into his side and spins the two of you around with his flashlight in hand.

A beeping noise meets you ears, growing in volume. You recognize that it’s coming from your back pocket. With shaking hands, you reach behind you and pull the EVP detector out. The lights on top of the device started to flash, the meter in the center rising with the noise it was emitting. 

“Is it supposed to do that?” Jimin asks you while keeping his attention on your surroundings. 

“I don’t-”

You don’t finish your sentence. 

Suddenly, every light in the entire carnival come to life. Animatronic attractions and music from the booths blare to life. The music rises to a decibel that causes both you and Jimin to cover your ears. Once the ear splitting tunes lower back down to a bearable level, Jimin grabs your hand and you two run in the direction that you came from, hoping that you run into your friends on the way.

After you find yourself in front of the Ferris Wheel, you hear Jungkook screaming out for you and Jimin. Spotting him to your right, you run in his direction; toward the fun house.

Once you two arrive at the backdoor, Jungkook pulls you inside and you see Seokjin and Yoongi crouching in the corner trying to catch their breath.

“Alright, what the fuck is happening right now?” Jimin yells.

“There’s something here, I don’t know what it is! We heard a loud sound like the one we’d heard when we first got here, then everything turned on. It felt like we were being watched...are still being watched,” Jungkook trails off and leans against the wall. You can see the terror and confusion in everybody’s eyes and you’re sure your own match theirs. 

“Y/N, please tell me there’s an explanation. Somebody knows we broke in and are trying to scare us off?” Seokjin ran his fingers through his hair out of anxiousness.

“The only way to turn on all of the attractions at the same is a master key in the control building, otherwise they all have to be turned on individually, also with specific keys.”

“Who has keys?” He asks you.

“Three people. The city has one, the manager has one… and I have one.”

“Okay so maybe somebody from the city, or the manager?”

“I don’t know about the city, but we were only here for 15 minutes before this all happened and the likelihood of somebody making it from City Hall all the way out here in that time is impossible. The manager left town for the weekend on a camping trip with his family…” You trails off when the severity of the situation hit you, so you sink to the ground and hold your head in your hands.

“You’re not doing it Y/N, are you? You said it yourself, you have a key!” Jungkook points an accusing finger at you. 

“Jungkook, I’ve been terrified since the moment I got here, of course I didn’t! Do you honestly think I’d risk us getting arrested for a good joke?!” You throw your hands out in front of you as you yell.

“...I know our lives are technically in danger, but nothing ever happens in this town, so I’m pretty freaking pumped.”

All of you start to yell at Jungkook for his comment when you feel the ground beneath you become uneven. The funhouse is tipping.

“Everybody shut up!” Yoongi yells as he stands. Another bang and the flimsy building tips again. “Holy shit, everybody get out!”

You all file out the door you came through and run toward the gate. Only when you turn your head do you realize you’ve made a huge mistake. In front of the funhouse, a giant figure, almost appearing as if it’s made of mist, turns toward the sound of your running feet. Yoongi notices your petrified figure in front of his and he grabs you as he runs past, forcing you to break your gaze from the creature and run for your life. 

You’re unsure why you thought you would be capable of outrunning whatever that thing is, but as you reach for Jimin’s hand, you feel as if your body becomes frozen in place before everything goes dark.

The sun peaks over the horizon as your blurry vision returns to you. Jimin’s hand is still in yours. You manage to sit up with a groan and your ears ring as you take in the display around you. Your friends surround you on the ground and in a frenzy, you make your way around to each of them, checking for a pulse. The tears stream down your face in relief when you confirm that everybody’s alive. 

When you touch his wrist, Jimin stirs and meets your gaze, sitting up holding his temples. Your legs are covered in scratch marks from where you fell on the gravel path and Jungkook’s hoodie is ripped to the elbow. Your head landed in the grass, but everybody else wasn’t so lucky. Jimin had a gash on his forehead that would probably need stitches, Jungkook and Seokjin had scratches all over their cheeks, and Yoongi had fallen backward, so you couldn’t see what was going on with him. 

Wordlessly, you and Jimin crawl from person to person trying to stir them awake. Seokjin and Jungkook woke relatively easily, but Yoongi took some more coaxing.

“Is everybody okay?” You manage to croak out. Everybody around you groans and Jimin releases a noise resembling “yes”. 

“What the fuck happened?” Yoongi asks as you all begin to stand. Nobody answers his question. Nobody has an answer to his question. 

When you turn around, the area is in disarray. The carts from the Ferris Wheel are either dismantled or completely destroyed, laying on the ground around the giant ride. The funhouse is completely knocked over on top of the game booths that lay behind it. Toys and string lights are thrown everywhere. 

You pull your phone out of you back pocket, the time reading 6:39 am. The screen is completely cracked, but still appears functional, so you carefully unlock it. The only notification the comes across your phone is from the weather channel. ‘Flash Tornado Warning 1:32 am, take cover.’

You show the phone to everybody as you all stand there in disbelief. Everyone is silent, because whatever happened to you last night wasn’t because of a tornado. Tornadoes don’t chase you down. Tornadoes don’t make eye contact with you and change their course. You knew that and so did everybody else. 

Jimin took your shaking hand and Seokjin pulled everybody together, forcing the five of you to walk out toward the gates. Outside the fairground, everything look practically unscathed. Seokjin’s truck was just as you had left it. The flags that separated the parking rows were all still in place. Everything outside the carnival was completely untouched.

Maybe you all are the only ones who know what really happened last night; whatever it was that happened last night. You don't know what you saw or why it happened. Before you crawl into the backseat of the truck, you walk back toward the gate.

“Y/N, don’t go back over there,” Jimin reaches for your hand but you slip out of his grasp and continue forward. 

Without hesitation you reach into your pocket and hang your keys on the gate. You definitely weren’t going in for work later, nor would anybody else. In this moment, you knew that this would be your last time ever stepping foot on these fairgrounds. With what you and your friends experienced here tonight, you predict that the feeling is mutual.

[fuwafuwamedb]

A Cursed Gil Pt 3 (Hakuno, Gilgamesh)

Previous Part: One - Haku POV / Gil POV, Two 

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She couldn’t sleep.

She just��� couldn’t.

Her ceiling showed the faintest traces of the sun as the morning continued to begin. She could see that the blinds were slightly open. She could see G coming into the room and climbing up onto the bed. He fur fluffed up around him as he walked her way, slipping under her arm and pressing against her person.

Any other morning, she would have been pulling him close, cooing softly to him.

Any other morning, she would have been all too happy to curl up and maybe sneak them both something to eat from the kitchen.

Today was not one of those days though.

Even when he licked her face, she just felt wrong.

He’d been a man in her kitchen.

Or she was tired.

It’d been a long night. She’d been working a few extra hours here and there and leaving for part of the day every day. The study sessions and the constant concern about rent and courses were starting to wear on her sanity a bit.

Yesterday evening, clearly her sanity had decided to take a trip to a black hole, leaving her insane.

She’d probably just been wandering through her house with G following after her, meowing and pawing at her here and there.

That was it.

“You wouldn’t force me to leave my home, would you, G?”

Hakuno pressed her face into the cat’s fur, feeling the cat turn a little and lick her face.

She fell asleep to his loud purring and the sun outside rising higher.

The sound of the door being pounded on met her ears when she woke up. G was curled up on her person, his head gently rising as they both heard the pounding once again.

“Hakuno!”

Emiya’s voice could be heard.

Why did he want?

G growled, hurrying out of the room.

She pulled her robe around herself more, yawning as she slowly pulled herself from the blankets and headed for the door. The lights were still on in the house. The stove held a handful of ingredients and things on them.

She’d left the remaining eggs out.

The man who had been in her home had left the eggs out.

Without hesitating, she pulled the door open, finding the white haired man standing on her doorstep.

“What’s going on?”

“You weren’t in class.”

“Oh.”

Right.

It’d been a school night. She was going to need to find a doctor’s note or something for explaining where she’d been. Emiya was pushing passed her though, frowning at the state of the house.

“Are you alright, Hakuno?”

Closing the door, she nodded.

“I’m fine, Emiya. I just overslept today. I think I’ve just been overworking myself a little. G and I were taking the day to recover.”

Actually, my cat turned into a person and started getting handsy and telling me that we were going to go to Uruk and then I tried to attack him, he made me food, and then he turned back into a cat. It’s been great. I’ve gone insane.

Emiya picked up the eggs, setting them back in the fridge and looking around a little more.

G was growling at his feet.

“Hakuno… Why don’t I help clean up while you rest.”

“That doesn’t sound like helping.”

He shrugged, pulling his jacket off. “Call it what you will. You’ve clearly gotten a flu or something. Coming to the door with your bathrobe on and keeping the eggs out. Go to bed.”

She gave him a salute, heading off to bed.

G could do what he wished.

Bed was soft.

Bed was warm.

The distant sound of Emiya cleaning up the house and doing dishes could be heard, disrupted here and there when the man would get after G for something. The cat’s growling and spitting could be heard well enough, but she was tired.

So so very tired.

A small body jumped onto her own.

She could feel those paws move as the cat walked up her person.

Opening her eyes, she glanced down to see the cat patting at her face.

G pointed at the door with his paw.

No.

No, cats didn’t point. He just happened to be lifting his paw and it happened to be pointing in the direction of the door. He was not pointing.

A small growl came.

“G. I’m tired. Ask Emiya for food.”

A soft patting came to her shoulder.

She opened her eyes again after a moment and found the cat looming over her.

Two jabs towards the door.

Another growl.

“You don’t like him.”

The cat nodded.

No, the cat did not nod.

Cats were not capable of understand human gestures like that. He had merely happened to lightly bob his head once when she asked a question that just happened to have a yes or no question. There was no way that he had understood what she was asking and how to respond in kind.

She wrapped an arm around G’s fluff of a body, pulling him close and closing her eyes again.

She couldn’t go crazy if she just went back to sleep.

G wasn’t having that though. Even as she closed her eyes, attempting to go to sleep, she found the cat nuzzling close, making small sounds and trying to nudge at her.

She did what she could to ignore him, but-

“G, please.”

More tapping.

Hakuno sat up, surrendering.

She’d sleep later.

Heading into the other room, she could see Emiya already starting to cook what seemed to be dinner. A bottle of cheap wine was sitting on the counter, but she declined it. She ate, leaning against the wall by the table and listening to the other talk about his day.

He left after that.

She locked the door back up and pulled her laptop over to herself.

Deciding not to tell Emiya had been the wise move to make. She knew that and she was proud of herself for sticking to her guns on that matter. She had no proof other than a messy house. Even if he had believed her, he would have insisted to either stay at the apartment or have her go to his.

He would have insisted she get rid of G.

It wasn’t a bad idea, finding G another home. The cat could probably find a family with more time and more money. The cardboard box he had in the corner and sharing her bed was probably kind of second rate compared to what others could offer him.

However…

Finding him a new home assumed that he could turn into a man.

“He’s a cat, Hakuno,” she told herself, pulling up the internet and her resources from before.

Now was the time for apologizing for her absence today. Tomorrow she would be working. She could stop by Emiya’s to pick up her assignment information and asking for his notes.

G leaped up onto the couch.

Those red eyes were watching her fingers move across the keyboard as she typed up a poor excuse for her professor and began to work. She could see him in her peripheral, moving slowly closer and closer as her fingers moved across the various keys.

His paws pat at one of the keys.

“G,” she growled.

Those eyes looked at her a moment before those eyes were on the screen.

His paw bat at the cuneiform on the screen.

Her mouse wasn’t moving.

He had no reason to-

As my wife, you shall not need to concern yourself with mongrel ratings. In fact, I have planned to send my friend Enkidu to pay this man a visit when we are done returning to Uruk.

Hakuno paused a moment, her eyes drifting to the textbook she hadn’t opened yet.

Someone from the time of Uruk wouldn’t know their language. It was far different from the dead language that had been common. Sumerian was in her book though. It was written and it had her language next to it.

This was such a foolish thing to do.

“Come here, G.”

Hakuno pulled the cat alongside her, pulling her book from the clear wrapping that it was in and opening it. She flipped through the foreward, settling on the basics for a dictionary at the front and held the book for the cat to paw at.

“I’m losing my mind, G. If you are a human being, give me a message.”

The cat stared at her.

Probably because she was attempting to have the cat communicate like some kind of Ouija board.

Tomorrow, she would go out and she would run her day like usual. She was going to take a few days and maybe go visit Emiya after the semester was done. A break was clearly calling for her and she was missing the call.

Yes, she needed to do some serious resting.

G meowed at her.

His paw hit the page.

Glancing over the book, she froze.

A greeting.

His paw had hit a moment of speech in the Epic that she had opened the book up to. Those red eyes were watching her.

“…You could just be a cat.”

The male cat moved its paw to another statement on the page and to the bottom.

King… disappointed.

No.

Hakuno stood up, moving away from the cat. Her feet moved along the carpet, her eyes closing as she tried to allow herself to think clearer.

G meowed from his spot on the end table.

“You said Enkidu last night.”

She knew that name. There was a story in her books that talked about someone with that name.

She fumbled with the books, flipping through pages as the cat moved around her person. The more she looked, the more she found G’s actions to be unusual.

He focused on her a bit too much.

He was so careful about where he sat.

He didn’t lick himself as much as she’d seen cats at the petstore clean themselves. He even used the toilet, a fact that Emiya and the vet when she had called them both had said was unnatural.

“Cats do not teach themselves to use the toilet.”

G had though.

He’d gone straight to her bathroom and used it like he’d been doing so his whole life.

G meowed again.

His paw was patting at the same spot as before on the book.

“Okay.” Hakuno moved back over to the cat again, setting on the coffee table and flipping through the book. “G, I need you to point to words that mean what I tell you, okay? Point to forest.”

The cat pawed at the cuneiform for forest.

“Temple maiden.”

Again, he paused the word.

“Wife.”

The cat lifted his paw and bopped her nose.

She was talking to her cat.

Her cat was claiming that she was his wife.

Her cat could turn into a man at any moment and resume that same nonsense as before with trying to get her to take him to a country that didn’t exist anymore and then possibly lose his temper and kill her.

“Alright.” Hakuno closed the book, setting it down quietly.

Her eyes drifted over to the cat, finding him sitting tall and seemingly quite proud of himself. No matter how she looked at it, he seemed to be waiting for her to speak.

He was listening.

He was understanding.

“Alright… Right…”

She was feeling a bit lightheaded for some reason.

Maybe if she just… laid down…

My cat is a human.

She needed to do a lot more resting.

G is a man… and he’s been in my baths and bed for over a month now.

G moved close, curling up against her shoulder and purring loudly.

She would learn the details tomorrow.

Everything sounded better as a task for tomorrow.

[ohh-baekhyun]

Hot Deal, 2 [M]

[M] : dirty-talk, rough(ish) sex, cock riding.

Sorry it got deleted.

I’d taken the taxi home all by myself. For whatever reason Baekhyun couldn’t leave, I didn’t care anymore. All I wanted was to get the hell out of that place. I couldn’t remember ever feeling so upset in my life, and hurt. Who did that to a friend? After witnessing her mother’s awful treatment towards me, the least he could do was be there for me, to console me, or anything? Yet he didn’t and to be honest, that made me question our friendship. You mean something to me, my ass. If he truly cared about me, he’d have my back.

When I got home, the house was empty. My cousin must be staying over at her boyfriend’s since it was a Saturday. Relief whooshed over me. Don’t get me wrong, I loved her, she was like a sister to me. But she was noisy and noise was the last thing I needed now. At the moment, I needed peace. I needed distraction to cool myself off. So I changed into a comfortable clothing and busied myself with the laundry. Doing house chores helped taking my mind off things. Bad things. Even if it’s only momentary.

By the time I was done, it was half past six. I went into my room, about to hop into the shower when my phone vibrated across my bed. Something told me that was Baekhyun, and I was right. When I checked my phone, there were numerous miscalls and messages from him.

“Where are you?” Followed by, “Answer your phone.” Then, “Are you home?” And lastly. “I’m heading to your place now.”

My eyes blinked repeatedly upon reading the last message. Checking the time, I realised the message was received thirty minutes ago, meaning Baekhyun was reaching anytime soon. Shit. What do I do?

Before I could get over my panic, my phone vibrated in my hand and his name flashed up. I  answered, pulling the phone up to my ear without saying a word.

“Hey,“ his voice slid into my ear. “I’m at your door, would you let me in?”

“You can leave, Baekhyun, I’m calling the deal off.”

“Not before you let me explain,” he hurried to say. “I know you are upset, that’s why you need hear me out sweetheart, please.”

“Not now, I’m not in the mood to see you.”

“I’ll wait.”

“You—*BEEP*“

The line was interrupted before I could tell him not to wait. I tried returning the call, but it didn’t go through and I couldn’t be bothered anymore. So I hopped into the shower, assuming Baekhyun would leave after he got tired of waiting.

The next morning, I woke up feeling less upset than I was when I went to bed last night. It was too early to give Baekhyun a call, so I laid in bed debating if I should head out for a run. Normally I don’t, since it was a Sunday. But remembering the ice-cream and cookies I’d feasted on last night, it was only wise to burn off those intake. Sadly, not everyone was blessed with wonder metabolisms. Me included. Hell, I can just think about food and gain pounds.

It took a lot of will power to drag myself off bed and into the bathroom for a quick shower. But I did it anyway. Once I was dressed in my spandex shorts and sports bra, I head to the kitchen to get a glass of water before making my way to the front door.

For some reason, I felt a niggle of unease as I sat down to put on my running shoes. I can’t tell you why, until I pulled the door open and see it with my own eyes.

“Oh my god.” My lips parted in a silent gasp. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. Or rather. Whom.

Sitting on the bench at my porch was Baekhyun, still wearing the suit he wore yesterday. Had he waited here all night?

Guilt flooded me and my legs took me to him. Gently, I shook his shoulder to wake him up.

It wasn’t long until his eyes started fluttering and his consciousness returned. He brought his palm over his mouth as he yawned, then he glanced up at me.

I stared back at him, not knowing what to say.

“What time is it?” he asked, glancing from left to right, then at me.

Checking my fitbit, I realized he’d waited her for nearly fifteen hours. “It’s ten thirty.”

Baekhyun rose to his feet and rolled his shoulder up and back. “I must’ve fallen asleep while waiting.”

I felt so bad I grimaced. “I-I’m so sorry. I tried to call but-“

“My battery ran out and,” he pointed at something behind me and I turned to look at it. “You need to fix your bell, shortcake.”

My gaze drifted back to meet his eyes, guilt making my cheek flush. “I’m really sorry. I thought you’d leave eventually, I had no idea you’d wait here all night. If I knew I would’ve-“

“Hey.” he took my hand and gave it a squeeze. “It’s alright. I was more worried about you. Are you okay?”

I frowned. “Of course I am.” I told him obviously. “Why wouldn’t I be? I wasn’t the one who spent the night sleeping rough.”

“I was talking about the gala, sweetheart.” He clarified.

Oh, that…

“I’m here to apologize for what my mother said to you.” He looked into my eyes with a remorse so deep I can tell how very sorry he was. “She was rude, and if I knew how goddamn low she’d sink yesterday, I would’ve never put you in that situation. I would never hurt you like that.”

“Baekhyun.” I sighed. “I wasn’t hurt because your mother was mean to me. I was hurt because you didn’t have my back. Why couldn’t you leave?”

“Because I had to give a closing speech at the end of the event.” He replied.

I looked at him, confused. “Isn’t the host supposed to be the one giving the speech?”

“Actually, my parents hosted the gala.” He confessed.

My eyes widened. “Why didn’t you tell me about it?”

He blew out a sigh, like he was reluctant to explain , but he knew he needed to.

“The event is hosted in honour of my late grandfather. Ten years ago, he was diagnosed with Alzheimer and he passed away three years after his diagnosis. Since then, our family would organise a charity gala every year to raise fund finding a cure. If this was any other event, I swore I would’ve left with you. I’m sorry.”

Guilt and regret welled inside me. I suddenly felt like a jerk for making him wait, even though it wasn’t intentional. What do I do to make it up to him?

“I’m so sorry about your grandfather.” I muttered quietly. “You’ve never talked about him before.”

He shrugged. “I don’t really like to talk about my dead grandfather.”

“Were you close to him?”

“He used to be the one taking care of me when my parents were busy working.” He smiled sadly. “The man practically raised me.”

My heart ached for him, never had I ever seen him looking so sad before. I’d like to know more, but I know now isn’t the right time.  

“Are you okay?” I asked, my hand travelling up to brush my knuckles over his cheek.

He placed his hand over mine and locked me in his gaze. “Are you okay?”

I nodded. “I am.”

For the first time since he got here, his expression eased and he smiled. “Then I’m okay.”

As a form of apology, I’d invited Baekhyun in and offered to fix him lunch. With me still carrying a heavy burden of guilt, I was trying to make it up to him by making him his favourite dish. Cooking wasn’t my forte, but I do know how to prepare simple dishes. This however, was my first attempt making a Pie. I had to give my mom a call so she could walk me through the steps. She did, and it wasn’t easy. I just hoped it’d turn out well and Baekhyun would like it.

While waiting for the food to be ready, Baekhyun went to my porch to fix the bell. I told him he didn’t have to but he insisted. You know how difficult it is to say no to the man, so I let him.

Less than half an hour later, the food was almost ready. I just had to wait for the pie to bake. Which would take another fifteen minutes.

I squatted right in front of the oven and stared through the glass. It was only a few seconds later that the bell rang, indicating it was fixed. Smiling, I brought my head towards the end of the hallway and waited for Baekhyun to appear.

“It’s fixed.” He announced as his figure came into sight. When he found me squatting, he looked puzzled. “What are you doing?”

I pointed at the oven. “Watching the pie bakes.”

Baekhyun smiled at me like he thought I was cute. “What for?” He asked, sauntering towards me.

I gave a non-committal shrug. “It’s just a habit.”

“Silly girl.” He ruffled my hair as he moved past behind me. My eyes followed where he went and he stopped at the fridge. I watched as he stared at the inside for a long long time. Curious, I got up to my feet and made my way to him.

I stood behind him. But his broad figure was covering the entire fridge, I couldn’t see. I had to stand on my tiptoes to peer over his shoulder. “What are you looking for?” I asked, holding onto his arm for balance.

He turned his head to the side, facing me. “Is there anything to drink?”

I take a look at the inside of the fridge. “There’s orange juice.” I said, my index finger pointing at the container.

“They’r not organic.” He remarked, making me roll my eyes at him. He caught me and his brows furrowed. “What?”

If I wasn’t feeling so guilty, I’d told him how high maintenance he was.

“I can squeeze you some if you want to?” I offered instead. “It’s not organic, but at least it’s natural.”

He stared at me, amusement and confusion intermingled in his eyes. “What kind of juice are you talking about, babe?”

“Orange juice.” I said. “Isn’t that what you want?”

The corner of his lips tilted up slowly. But when I raised my eyebrows, he shook his head as if shaking away thoughts. “Orange juice is great.”

I decided not to read too much into his reaction and scurried my way towards the dining table. I returned to the kitchen with four oranges I retrieved from the fruit bowl.

Baekhyun looked between me and the fruits in my hand. “How do you juice them?”

I gaped at him, surprised. “You’ve never juiced an orange before?”

His cheek flushed a little, and I thought it was adorable. “I don’t have the time.”

“So you have Mrs Kim made it for you?” I asked. Mrs Kim was a housekeeper who worked for Baekhyun.

“Yeah.”

I grinned teasingly. “You do have everything served to you on a silver platter, don’t you?”

For some reason, Baekhyun took my teasing question more seriously that I intended it to be. “Do you think I’m just a rich asshole?”

I rolled my eyes and shook my head. “You know for a man your age, you sure are very sensitive.” His jaw clenched and I grinned harder. “It’s adorable though,” I mused. “I like it .”

Baekhyun made a face at my remarks, like he was disgusted. “Never say that to me again.”

I chuckled and set the oranges down on the counter top. As I head for the sink, I stopped by him and told him he was cute just to tease him. He hissed in annoyance, and I walked away giggling.

The kitchen appliance were stored in the open cabinets above the sink. My eyes swept over the top cabinet, and I found the citrus presser sitting behind a coffee machine. Standing on my tiptoes, I stretched an arm up to reach for it but I couldn’t.

“Move over.”

Baekhyun’s voice slid into my ear and a smack landed on my ass. I gasped, snapping my head around to find him behind me. Blood rushed to my cheek and I gulped nervously while staring at him. What was that spanking for?

“I said move over.”

Shaking my thoughts away, I stepped aside to offer him space. I watched him so easily retrieved the presser from the top cabinet before handing it to me. “Thanks.” I mumbled, taking it from him.

“Where is the plug?” He asked.

“Oh, it’s a manual juicer.” I said, heading back to the counter now.

Baekhyun stood by my side and watched closely as I split the oranges into half. “Careful with the knife.” He reminded softly.

I hummed. “You can take a seat first.” I suggested distractedly.

“It’s okay.” He said, keeping his eyes on me like a hawk. Its like he was worried I’d get hurt if he took his eyes off me just for a second.

Once I was done, I set the knife down and looked at him. “Do you want to try?” I asked, passing him a sliced orange.

He nodded and moved to hover closely behind me. I sucked in a breath at the feel of his chest pressing against my back. We were close my heart rate was skyrocketing. But Baekhyun didn’t seem to be bothered by it.

“Do I put it here?” He asked, setting the sliced orange on the tip of the juicer.

“Yeah, now you just have to squeeze and rotate it like this.” I rest my palm on his hand to demonstrate it to him. “It’s very simple.

“That’s easy.”

For the next couple of minutes, I stood quietly and waited for Baekhyun to finish. He was so immersed he hadn’t mutter a word ever since.

I tilted my head back and smiled as I stared at him. He looked completely focused as if he was running the most important mission in his life. I found it fascinating, to think that a rich businessman like him would find enjoyment doing things that were considered mundane for an average person like me. We were really two worlds apart.

“Is is that fun?” I asked.

Baekhyun hummed without looking at me and the silence returned.

“I like drinking juice too.” I said for the sake of saying. I just wanted to talk. “My favourite is banana juice.”

Suddenly, his hand stopped moving and he coughed repeatedly.

I was worried, so I turned around to check if he was okay. But his lips was pressed together like he was holding back a laughter. “What’s so funny?” I asked.

“Nothing.” He shook his head. My eyes narrowed at him because I knew it wasn’t nothing and he sighed. “It’s nothing, shortcake. Banana juice is great. I bet it tasted so fucking good when you suck it.”

“Yeah.” I nodded eagerly. “I really love it. You should try it sometime.”

Humour danced in his eyes and his lips twitched. “Sure, babe.”

I still don’t understand what was so funny, but whatever.

“What about you?” I asked, continuing the conversation. “What do you like most?”

His lips curled up slightly and he lowered his head so he was whispering into my ear. “The kind that tasted sweet and warm on my tongue when I lick it.”

A warm juice? I’d never heard of it. “What kind of juice is that?” I asked curiously.

Baekhyun gave me a look and there was something wicked in his eyes. I knew he always had that look when he thought about something dirty. But thinking back to what I said, and what he said, I didn’t hear anything inappropriate- Wait!

I mentally replayed the things Baekhyun said to me, and my eyes grew wide upon realising how very dirty they actually were. Sweet and warm on my tongue? The bastard was talking about—God, it was embarrassing.

“Babe,” Baekhyun grinned down at me, and my cheek turned the brightest shade of red. “Do you still want me to tell you about it?”

I hurried to shake my head. It was so vigorous his face softened at my panic.

He smiled and reached out to brushed my hair away from my face. His small touch chase a delicious shiver over my skin. Gently, he smoothed his hand down the length of my hair ’til it rest on the hollow of my neck.

We stood there staring into each others eyes. The air was suddenly charged with thick tension. Nervously, I licked my lips, and his gaze dropped to my mouth.

“I want to kiss you so bad.” He murmured, his eyes slowly drifting from my lips to my eyes.

My heart rate took off, and if it wasn’t for the fact that he was my best friend, I’d be the first to kiss him already. I knew we had an unfinished deal, but after all the mess that had happened, is it a good idea to keep up with our arrangement? Moreover, I was still feeling guilty for making him sleeping at my porch. Using him for my pleasure felt so wrong.

His eyes roamed my face. And as if he could read my mind, his feature grew tight. “Don’t…don’t ruin this.”

“I don’t think we should be doing this.” I let out a defeated breath. “We’ve called off the deal.”

“Screw the deal,” his whisper was harsh, almost like he was frustrated. “You and I both know there’s something between us here. It’s driving me crazy having to fight the need to touch you every time you’re near. Do you think its easy for me?”

“I know.” I gaze into his eyes, my hand moving up to cup his face. “I’ve always wanted this too, but…”

“But what?” He cut me impatiently. “Are you still mad at me about yesterday? Or Is this about my mother?”

“I’m not mad at you, Baekhyun.” I assured him. “This is about me feeling guilty for making you sleep outside last night, and using you for sex will make me feel worse.”

“Babe.” His eyes warmed at me. “You know it’s not your fault. You couldn’t have known.”

“But…” I stared up at him, uncertain. “I still feel bad about it.”

He pondered about it for a moment, then he said. “Since you feel so sorry, why don’t you think of the sex as a way to make it up to me?”

My brows drawn together at his suggestion. “Are saying you want a guilt sex?”

“A what?”

“A guilt sex.” I repeated. “You know…having sex with someone as a form of apology. Thats guilt sex.”

Baekhyun seemed to process it for a second, then his eyes narrowed at me. “Did you just made that up?”

I grinned cheekily. “Yeah.”

He rolled his eyes. “Anyway, its not considered a guilt sex if you and I both want it.”

“What if I don’t want it?”

Baekhyun scoffed like he knew that was pure bullshit. Well, he wasn’t wrong but God, I’ve never met such an over-confident person in my life.

“So?” He prompted impatiently. “Are we good to go now?”

“What about the food?” I said with my bottom lips jutting forward. “I made them just for you.”

His hand slid around my waist, and he pulled me into him. “The food will still be here after I make you come.” He said, kissing my pouty lips.

“But you skipped your dinner last night, aren’t you hungry?”

Our gaze clung and he glided his tongue over his lower lips. “I’m hungry for something else.”

He smoothed his gaze down the length of my body, drinking me in so hungrily like I was his last meal.

My heart pounded so hard like a hammer hitting down on a nail. When his hot gaze travelled up to meet mine, I nearly squirmed. The oxygen seemed so thin and the only sound you can hear was our shallow breaths. My need for him could no longer be contained. In that moment, I wanted him more than I wanted anything in this world.

“Baekhyun.” I breathed, my lips trembling as I smoothed my palm over his chest. “kiss me.”

That was all he needed to hear before our bodies collided and he slammed his mouth against mine. The kiss was nothing sweet. He started with nibbling on my lower lips, but as soon as I moaned into his mouth, it descended to the dirtiest kiss I’d ever had. His hand fisted the strands of my long hair as he sank his teeth down on my bottom lips. And as I whimpered, he thrusted his tongue roughly into my wet cavern, sucking on my tongue to further deepen our kiss. My legs turned jelly and I dug my fingers onto his bicep as he continued to violate my mouth with his tongue.

He groaned into my mouth, his hands sliding all the way down to my ass. His hand went underneath my shirt and fondled my butt cheeks, making me purr at the sensation. The sound made Baekhyun gripped my ass harder and I felt his thick erection grinding against me. He drew back to stare at me with those lust filled eyes, we were both panting.

“Do you want me to fuck you?” He whispered harshly over my mouth.

I nodded and he smirked. His two hands move under my thighs, and in one swift motion he carried me up. I hooked my arms and legs around him in reflex. His hands stayed on my ass while he took me to the nearest couch, setting my butt down on top of the backrest.

Baekhyun untangled my hands around his neck and started undressing me. Raising my arms, I let him pulled my shirt over my head, leaving me with nothing but my underwear. Then his hand went around me to unhook my bra. He did it so skilfully, he must’ve done it countless time. Next thing he divested me of was my panties, and once he slid them down my legs, I was completely naked before him.

“God,” He breathed sharply, eyes gliding down my naked body. “look at you.”

Since I was the only one shirtless here, I couldn’t help but feel self-conscious, and somewhat vulnerable. I wasn’t usually like this. Subconsciously, I crossed my arm over my chest and rubbed my palm on my opposite arm.

Seeing that, Baekhyun glanced up. And as he found me blushing, his eyes softened. “Am I making you shy?”

“A little bit.” I mumbled, biting my lip.

“Don’t be.” He cooed, tugging my wrist to gently peel my arm away from my chest. “You have no idea how beautiful you are.”

His compliment, and the heated way he was was staring at me made me grow wetter in between my legs. As my need for him intensified, I cupped his face in my hands and pulled his lips to me in a deep kiss.

He groaned, cupping my breast in his hand, making me whimper as he pinched my hardened nipple. The more he toyed with my breast, the needier I became.

“Baekhyun,” I whispered breathlessly. “I want you inside me, now.”

He tore his lips from mine, drawing back to look me in the eyes. “My fingers, my mouth or my—“

“Your cock, I want your cock.” I begged, my fingers fumbling on the zip of his pants. “Baekhyun please.”

A dark chuckle left his lips. “Needy little slut.” He locked me in his gaze as he pushed two fingers inside me to test my readiness. What he found made him growl in satisfaction, and his eyes darkened with lust. “You’re so wet.” He rasped, curling his fingers inside me, making me whimper before pulling out completely. “I’m going to fuck you so hard you’ll never forget how my cock feels like inside you.”

After that, everything else happened in a blink of an eye. The next thing I felt was burning pain as he slammed his cock deep inside me. We cried out at the same time and my vision went dark for a second. He was so thick, bigger than I expected. I’d never feel so full, so overwhelmingly filled.

Baekhyun shut his eyes as if savouring the pleasure. “God, your pussy feels so tight so good—gahh fuck!” he hissed through clenched teeth as my wall unconsciously squeezed around him. The vein around his neck becoming more visible now. But when he opened his eyes, something he saw caused him to tense. I didn’t know what it was, until his fingers wiped away a drop of tear I didn’t realise I’d shed.

“Baby, am I hurting you?” He asked, his voice thick with concern.

It did hurt, a little, because I wasn’t used to his size. But if I told him about it, will he stop altogether? I don’t want him to stop.

“I’m okay,” I assured. “Keep going, please…”

“Are you sure?” He looked unconvinced. “I can go slow.”

“No, don’t go slow, You promised me hard. I want it hard.” I begged, not even ashamed of how desperate I sounded.

I don’t want it slow or gentle. If this was the only shot we had, I wanted him to give his all. I wanted him to lose control. Take me however he wanted to take me. Fuck me like he can’t live another second in this world if he didn’t.

At the sound of my plea, he sucked in a deep breath and his brown eyes grew dark. He threaded his fingers through my hair, the other resting on the curve of my waist. I hold my breath, my heart pounding with nervous anticipation.

“Is this what you want,” He said, sliding his cock almost all the way out of me. “You want me to fuck your tight little pussy like this?” he grunts before slamming all the way into me.

“G-gahh.” my head flew back, and his own bent forward, dropping to my shoulder as he growled. He then circled his hips against me, making my body shudder at the overwhelming sensation of his cock stretching tight wall.

“Do I make you feel good, baby?” He whispered, his heavy breaths puffing against my skin.

“Y-yes, I want more—ahh.” my fingers dug into his shoulder as he pounded deep into me again. He lifted his head, his fierce gaze delved deep into me. Then his finger fisted on my hair, and he fucked me. There was no better way to describe it. It was hard, deep, pure need.

I could hear the wet sound of my juices as he pounded his cock in and out of me. I was a moaning mess, he was too. It wasn’t long until I felt the tension inside me spiralling higher and higher toward the cliff.

“Baekhyun, I-I’m gonna cum,” I moaned as he kept thrusting into me, never once slowing his  tempo.

“Me too,” he dropped his head to my shoulder, biting down on my skin as he groaned. He continued pounding into me, faster and deeper. I could feel his cock swelling inside me, but all of a sudden his whole body froze. “Fuck, no condom.”

He was going to pull out but I hurried to hook my legs around his hips, pulling him deeper into me. “I’m on the pill,” my hands slid around his neck, bringing his lips close to mine. “come inside me, please.”

With that, Baekhyun picked up where he left off. His eyes never once leaving me as he pushed in and out of me. I felt it coming again—my orgasm.

“Keep going, please don’t stop.” I was close to crying as I begged.

Keeping our eyes locked, Baekhyun slid a hand between my legs, then he started rubbing my clit harshly. “I’ll make you come so hard, baby.”

“Oh God.” I panted, feeling my walls quivering around his cock. “that feels so good, Baekhyun, I-I’m gonna—“

“Come.” he ordered with his thumb pressing against my clit. “Come around my cock, baby.”

On that cue, the tension split apart and I cried out in pleasure as my sex contracted around his cock. My body was shaking and I gripped onto his arm as he continued fucking me through my orgasm. I can’t hardly kept my eyes open anymore. It took barely anytime until I felt him swelling even thicker inside me.

“Fuck, fuck, fuuuck!” His long, guttural groan echoed around the room as his climax hit him.  His hips bucked against me, and I felt his warm release shooting inside me. “Shit.” he panted, burying his face on the crook of my neck. His cock continued to throb inside me as my inner wall clamped around him.

We were quiet, both trying to catch our breath. Once our breathing were calmed, he kissed my shoulder before lifting my limp body off the backrest. I clung onto him, burrowing my face in the crook of his neck.

“I’m not quite done with you yet.” He said as he rounded the couch.

“I don’t think I can take it anym—ahh!”

“Oh fuck!”

We cried out the moment his ass landed on the couch. I felt him so deep inside me, the pleasure was too overwhelming. He then unhook my legs around him, and I let my knees bent on each side of his thighs as I straddled his lap.

“Ride me.” he ordered, leaning back and resting his hand on my hips.

I bit my lip, hesitating. I’d never done it, nor seen it before. After all, I’d only ever be with one man.

Baekhyun sensed my uncertainty and took control. Gripping my hips, he elevated my ass off his lap, letting a fraction of his thick length slid out of me. “This is how your ride a cock, babe.” he said before pushing me all the way down.

“Ahh!” I cried as the tip of his cock hit me in my sweet spot. “I-It’s so deep, Baekhyun, ahh.”

His eyes smoldered and he repeated the movement over and over again. Very soon, I felt the tension coiling inside me, telling me my second orgasm is nearing.

“Do you have any idea how sexy you look right now?” He mused, staring hungrily at my breasts as they bounced with each motion.

I could only moan. All my focus was on the sensation of his thickness burying deep inside me. My inner thighs was getting slick from the juices and cum that were leaking out of my pussy.

“I’ve always fantasized about you riding my cock like this.” He said, taking my nipple in his hot mouth. His tongue flicked over my bud, and my back arched at the pleasure he was granting me. He lavished equal attention to my other breast, and once he was satisfied, his hands left my hips to cup my face. “Keep riding me, baby.” he encouraged before kissing my lips.

I circled my hands around his neck and returned the kiss. This time, without the guidance of his hands, I lifted my hips further up and slammed it down as hard as I could.

“Aah fuuck!” his long and throaty moan told me he loved what I was doing. So I did it again, circling my hips and bouncing up and down on his cock. The living hall was filled with the sound of our cries, our skin slapping together and the slick sound of our cum.

“Baekhyun, a-are you close?” I asked breathlessly, bobbing my hips with his cock inside me.

He gave a jerky nod, and not long after that, his cock throbbed and a harsh growl tore out of him.

I cried as the tension within me broke apart. My inner walls clamped around his straining manhood and we shuddered together in climax. I collapsed against him, hugging him tight as I struggled to control my breathing. His chest heaved, and I felt his palm rubbing along my back as if soothing me.

As our breathing evened out, I lifted my head so we were eye to eye. Literally. We shared a look, and understanding passed. None of us said a word but I knew we were sharing the same thoughts. Is this it? Is this the end? What happens next?

Ever so gently, he brushed my hair away from my face, one strand at a time. I blushed and his expression turned tender. “Can I ask you something?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you like me?”

His question startled me, and something told me he didn’t mean it in a platonic way. “As a friend, or?”

“As a man.” He said. “Do you see me as someone you could potentially grow feelings for?”

Woah, what’s happening here?

I don’t know where this conversation was leading to, but my heart was racing, and my throat felt like it was closing. So I could only give a nod.

Baekhyun hummed and afterwards, I was gifted with the longest pause ever.

Growing impatient, I cleared my throat softly. “What about you? Do you like me?”

“I do.” He said without hesitation. I sighed in relief and he carried on. “I think we should explore what’s between us…Go out on dates and get to know more about each other, like a real couple.”

Butterflies thumps in my stomach. “Are you asking me to be your girlfriend?”

He nodded. “Would you like to?”

A/N:  Yay, I finally completed this story, took me more than a month to finish this chapter :,) Thank you everyone for reading :,) And hmm, idk how to say this, I know I’m just a minor writer on this site and its not in my place to demand for comment/feedback, but i’ve put in lots of effort writing and it’d be rewarding to know if it paid off. Thus said, if you truly enjoyed this chapter, do let me know about it 💕Thank youu!

[jj-ktae]

Erotica - Part 5 - (M)

Pairing: Im Jaebum x Reader Genre: SMUT Summary: You’re a rookie porn actress on the rise and everything goes well until you get offered a role in a big-budget porn movie, starring the most famous actor in the porn industry. Words: 3772 Warning: Read at your own risk

A.N: It’s the last part! I don’t know if I should write an Epilogue or no so please let me know and i’ll take your opinions into consideration! 

- Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Epilogue -

--

Part 5 

You’re not the least moved when you enter the studio for the last time. The staff brought snacks and drinks, something they call a ritual every time they’re done filming a movie.

“Our main is here!” The director has a glass of champagne close to his lips yet doesn’t let you slip through the crowd. You bow shyly, feet going back to hide in the dressing room until everyone’s ready to film the last scene.

You’ve never been so eager to leave. A lot of things are messy here and from the moment you signed your contract for this movie, you didn’t stop freaking out.

But now, as Im Jaebum enters the studio and greets everyone coolly, you feel like disappearing into the ground.

You sigh, relieved when the director directs his attention to a smiley Jaebum. You faintly hear what sounds like greetings in the middle of the busy room before stepping backwards, hands on the wall to help you fly away from the situation.

Thank god the dressing room is empty. It’s calm and clean, the detergent filling your nostrils as you sit on the couch.

I wasn’t acting

You shiver at the thought, trying to blink black the memory of a cocky Jaebum, all smiles as he articulates the words.

What’s happening? Why is he acting this way? Is he playing with you? He does seem to have a rather dominant side but something is off. His friend was rather exasperated when he talked about Im Jaebum’s mediocre love and sexual life. Maybe he is actually a pervert? What if he takes advantage of the situation to really enjoy the sex?

You snort. Who are you kidding. He doesn’t look like a damn pervert and even if he was one, he gave you some of the best sex you ever had. If anything, you’re the one who’s enjoying this.

“You’re not joining the party?” You snap out of your inner conflict, eyes meeting a puzzled Jaebum, hair wet and yawning.

“Hi to you too.” You sigh, leaning against the couch. You don’t even know if you should be friendly or not.

Jaebum tilts his head, lips smacking as he stops to smile. “I did greet you, before you ran away to hide here.” He takes a seat on one of the chair and leans over his knees, an arm supporting his way too heavy head. “Are you okay?”

You bite your lip, hesitant in front of a determined Jaebum who is waiting for your answer. How can he not know what is wrong? Of course you’re not okay!

Why are you even disturbed by that, anyways?

You hate it when you betray yourself which is why you refuse to admit how pleasant it is to be physically intimate with him. You had it all well-defined in your brain: Im Jaebum was a douche who was friendly enough to make this filming bearable and nothing good could happen from being around him except big money for a job you hate.

But now, now he looks normal, like a guy you’d meet in any other occasion, a guy who is simple and does a job he doesn’t particularly seem to enjoy, yet stays professional.

Everything you built went crumbling around you yesterday night, right when you noticed how high your heart-rate went when he told you he was being honest and not just acting.

It means he did all this out of pure will and not duty.

Jaebum observes your face, sighing when you don’t answer. “I’ll see you later.” He gets up and sounds irritated but you’re too caught up in your own battle to notice the way he walks away.

Jaebum knew he should have kept quiet. He is so bad when it comes to being cool and throw killer dialogue. He had tried so hard to maintain a cocky and arrogant image, only to give everything up in a moment of weakness. He spoke the truth though, Jaebum is no coward when it comes to admitting whatever he did or not. As much as he was annoyed by how this rookie actress turned him into some fool, he had to say it.

He enjoys being around you.

If he didn’t know himself so well, he would have blamed it on the amazing sex. He doesn’t get to have this type of chemistry whenever he films and it’s exactly the reason why he is a porn actor who only does hard-core. Hard-core porn is nothing like the reality of what he enjoys and it’s better that way, because it draws a limit between his professional and personal life, the sex too different for him to enjoy it truthfully. He liked the fact that he could pound into whoever he was filming with and cum on demand, because it doesn’t reflect his own self and doesn’t make him feel uneasy.

But with you, it all feels too real to be ignored. It was a mistake to accept filming this bloody movie, yet Jaebum isn’t even mad at the situation. He is mad at himself for being so clueless when it comes to real relationships.

Jaebum is not the thoughtful type of guy, his days are more focused on laying around his house or meet with his friends. He doesn’t have a very active personal life and he is fine with it. Sex is something he does for a living so it became difficult to fully enjoy a session of sex outside the studio.

He hates how destroyed his libido is.

Then you appeared with your doe eyes and angry baby face. You talked about how disgusting he was and how you’re doing this because you must and it pays well.

But most importantly, you awoken something dull, something Jaebum had drawn a cross over.

Jaebum faintly greets more staff, slightly worried about the last scene.

--

“So, it’s the grande final!” You nod at the director’s last speech. “We had numerous meetings about this so I won’t repeat myself but we need to feel the extreme tension, the bursting feeling and amazing chemistry between you two. The editing team is already working on the movie and said you did a great job.” He claps his hands and everyone follows.

You force a smile. Extreme tension, he said.

Jaebum walks toward the bed as soon as the director goes back to his spot behind the screen. His bathrobe falls on the floor as he silently sits on the bed and you exhale, air shakily going out of your mouth as you follow him.

You remove your own bathrobe and jump on the bed, doing your best not to be bothered by how exposed you suddenly feel. Jaebum is waiting, leg shaking impatiently and when you approach him, you don’t know where to look. Both are dangerous, from his face to his body. You keep your gaze low, even when your thighs touch his.

Why do you even have to do face to face sex? You grunt inwardly, manoeuvring your body so it can sit right in front of him, legs entwined to stick your chest as close as possible.

You both wait for the director to signal the beginning of the scene.

“Action!”

It starts slowly. Jaebum’s hand are soft against your shoulders, gauging the level of intensity before they go lower. The air momentarily blocks in your lungs, making you close your eyes in frustration because why does this affect you so much?

Jaebum doesn’t let his hesitation get the best of him and suppresses a shudder when he feels the tender skin of your thighs against his fingers. He must take it slow and it’s the first time he feels frustrated.

He could show you so much more.

You shiver, arms wrapping around his neck to slide even closer. He welcomes you silently, slightly hesitant yet firm as he dips into your neck. You adjust your legs so they rest on top of his, allowing you to face him without tiring your muscles. Jaebum handles you with care, hands in a warm hug while he pecks your shoulder. The cameraman focuses on your position before filming your face and you know it’s the moment to act like you enjoy the warm lips and burning puffs of air against your skin.

But you don’t even need to act, eyes fluttering shut and head jerking back to expose more of your neck. Jaebum takes the hint, tongue sliding until it reaches your throat, where he sucks softly. The sounds are delightful, just like his semi-erratic breath.

Jaebum travels up, lips against your jaw before he waits for you to focus on him so he can kiss you. You almost refuse, not liking the idea of staring into his eyes but you sigh inwardly before tilting your head back.

He is already staring at you when you open your eyes. You blink a couple of times, your palms still against his gigantic shoulders – you never truly noticed how broad they were until now. He does the same but his arms tighten around you, silently.

And you’re lost.

Jaebum has seductive eyes. Not the usual I’m going to bang you until you collapse eyes, but the type that can make you feel things without trying. His parted lips are shiny, enhancing their dangerousness and sending luscious vibes. He seems relaxed though, almost oblivious to what he expresses because he stares like he is expecting you to do something out of the ordinary. His hair is still neat, inviting and cupping his oval face with a flattery you never expected to notice now.

Why are you even analysing his features, why are you even liking what you see?

You both hear the director coughing which probably means you’re taking too long staring but Jaebum isn’t moving, not even showing any sign of wanting to keep on. You hope it isn’t one of his scheme to make you feel ridiculous and mock you once you’re done. But he merely presses a hand against your cheek to keep you focused on his face and you understand now. It makes perfect sense.

He isn’t acting.

He wants to see if he can keep on being honest or if he should stop and go back to his full professional and arrogant self. Surprisingly, it doesn’t take much for you to decide on your next move and while you thought you’d hesitate, you don’t.

It’s not a surprise to feel Jaebum flinch when you plunge, lips crushing against his in a passionate kiss that seems to relieve the whole staff. Your hands find his hair, granting your inner wish to destroy his perfect image as a sign of your willingness. He wasn’t expecting anything but when he feels you, strong and very naked against him, he understands.

He can show you exactly what he wants to.

What started slowly accelerates from here. The silent agreement and promise of genuine sex turns the room messier than it ever was, your lips crashing and hands grabbing. Jaebum become adventurous and even starts playing with your shivering thighs are he runs his fingers over the smooth skin. He stills right before he reaches your core, lips turning into a smirk when he hears you grunt against his mouth.

You stop kissing him when he keeps on teasing, trying to focus on his body to make him as impatient as you are. It’s crazy how everything disappears, from the annoying cameraman to the bright lights and the noises coming from around you. Now is only about Im Jaebum, warm and needy as you’re playing with the tip of his cock.

He jerks, his previous attempts at staying stoic long gone and head against your shoulder, praying not to make any embarrassing noises.

Jaebum is seriously going crazy. He has no idea why everything intensified, but he is sure you’re doing this because you want to. You seem fierce, needy yet teasing and slightly excited, if not totally horny. He wants to moan, to fully be himself because how can he act when this is all too real?

A particularly strong pull on his dick makes him look at you accusingly. Are you for real now?

He is bewildered, flustered as you’re stroking him, eyes focused on your task and you look mesmerising as you lick your lips at the sight of his painfully throbbing length.

So he goes back to your neck, taking advantage of the hidden spot to make sure he isn’t assuming things.

“Are you acting now?”

Somehow he has to know. Part of him is sure you aren’t and is merely trying to gauge your reaction yet he sucks when it comes to these things. Your hands don’t stop. This guy is seriously stupid.

You roll your eyes inwardly when he tries to kiss you again, grabbing the opportunity to lean against his ear.

“We’ll talk later.”

Jaebum snorts, completely done with you yet not ashamed to lean even closer. His hands wander on your legs, tentative. He decides he doesn’t want to drag this on and teasing is useless when he can simply touch you like you obviously want him to.

His fingers make you jolt on the bed, surprised by his sudden assurance and bluntness. Jaebum chuckles from his now favourite spot on your collarbone, teeth out to grave the skin and make you shudder. He acts like he is the one taking charge, but deep down he is dying from the firm grip around his shaft, creating pearls of pre-cum and destroying his brain cells.

He feels warm against your folds, tracing invisible patterns and careful not to be too harsh with your skin. It takes a couple of movements for him to spread your wetness around your core, coating and exposing you to the cold air.

Jaebum feels even more aroused now. How can he not when you’re damn wet and spread in front of him, moaning because you enjoy his ministrations and not because of a damn tacky scenario?

A wave of passion brings his hand to your chin and tilts your head until you can feel his lips against yours. He doesn’t rush it or make it too hurried, though. Jaebum is painfully stiff but the longing is real and burning, which you feel from the way his hands bring you closer with each stroke of his tongue.

You want him to go faster, though.

And Jaebum doesn’t know what’s happening for you to grab him and impale yourself on his now satisfied penis. He lets you stick your pelvis against his, legs circling his waist despite the sitting position. He never thought sitting face to face could be so hot.

So he releases your lips, his face astonished yet breathless and lips a tad reddish. Your eyes are closed and under any other circumstances, Jaebum would have been fine with it.

But he isn’t.

He wants to see you. He wants you to look at him and tell him how good he is giving it to you. You’re here, panting and sweaty, hips shaking to wrap yourself deliciously around his painful erection and he is losing it.

Jaebum thinks he is literally crazy.

He has no idea why he pulls on your arms to wrap them against his neck again. His own hands fall on your bare butt, pushing on it to thrust deeper and finally, your eyes snap open, gasping at the sudden feeling.

You lose track of the time the moment you notice Jaebum’s eyes, studying yours.
 He can only breathe, air erratically running in and out of his mouth while he observes your nervous glance, half pleasured half nervous.

Why does he look so damn attractive and serious?

You offer a couple of sweet pecks between moans and shivers which are gladly welcomed by your co-actor. When your orgasm hits, you have no choice but to reach for his lips again and suck on the flesh to muffle your embarrassing and way too realistic moans.

Jaebum lets you ride all the waves, your breasts rubbing against his and even your nipples feel amazing against his chest.

He gasps for air when you contract around him, head thrown back and breaking the kiss to focus on himself. His orgasm his building awfully strongly. It’s brisk yet slow, painful yet delicious.

He almost pushes on your hips too hard when he cums, eyes tightly shut and blinded by pleasure. He lets a tiny whine escape from his mouth, not the least annoyed by the action. He feels your mouth against the exposed skin of his neck, your sweet lips kissing every weak spot – and at some point, his whole body is a giant weak spot.

Jaebum falls back on bed when he is done, his penis sliding out of you easily and making a mess on the sheets. He doesn’t give a damn.

You crawl above him, still somehow needy and as much as Jaebum wants to cuddle, he lets you rest atop of him, completely spent

“CUT!” The staff claps and everyone is happy to be done. Jaebum barely raises a hand to give them a thumb up, smiling tiredly.

“It’s a wrap! You did amazing!” They all become loud, too busy to let you both enjoy the rush of endorphins.

“Let’s celebrate!” Your manager arrives when you get up from an exhausted Jaebum, not even reading the mood and clapping his hands. He gives you a robe. “Food’s on me.”

You nod, shrugging.  That guy is act like a little shit again so you might as well move on with your life. He is unmoving, not even looking at you and it makes you boil with frustration.

Im Jaebum is a total bastard, a fucking sex-addict-

“Food’s on me.” Both your manager and you stop to look at a yawning Jaebum, still naked and reaching for his bathrobe. “And by food’s on me I mean, we’re both,” his hand moves from you to him, lazily. “going out eat. Thank you for your offer.”

You tilt your head before you can argue but Jaebum is already pulling you by the sleeve, dragging you behind him and leaving the manager shocked.

He smirks at you when you turn around to apologize silently and you know you’re doomed.

“When did I agree to go eat with you?” You cross your arms over your chest, ignoring the fact that Jaebum is already naked and showering.

He can’t be real.

“You don’t want to go?” he asks like your answer is obvious and you want to smack his head for being so arrogant again.

“What if I don’t?” You tease, eyebrow raised. “It’s not like I owe you any-“

Jaebum sighs, shutting your mouth. He starts rubbing his body and it’s hard for you to focus on his eyes. “Would you like to go eat with me?” he tries his sweetest voice, slightly annoyed at how you’re making him do weird shit already.

You pinch your lips together, holding a smile. All negative thought disappeared and you don’t care. “Yes.” You utter.

Jaebum wants to ask why you acted like you were annoyed if you agreed so easily, but decides to drop the matter and barely snorts. “Great, now go take a shower.”

--

That guy is not the same one you’ve been filming with. Im Jaebum is apparently a quiet guy who enjoys peace, and picked a tiny place where you’re the only customers, along with an old couple.

It’s not like you expected him to be noisy. He was awfully quiet the other night with his friend and Jackson, but you thought it was only because Jackson tends to gather the attention with his idiotic behaviour.

In reality, Jaebum is a chill person. He has his usual giant clothes and munches on the food like he is starving. It’s comfortable but now is not the time to stuff your face.

You need to know a couple of things. “Why did you say you weren’t acting?”

Jaebum wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and almost choke. He looks up, puzzled. “Because I wasn’t.” he stops eating, head tilted and finally giving you his full attention. “You never answered my question.”

He isn’t disturbed. Jaebum sounds and is relaxed, head now resting on his elbow like you were not all over each other an hour ago.

“I don’t get it,” You start. It’s irritating in a way. You want to answer but you don’t even know if he means it the same way you do. “What do you mean by that?”

Jaebum hawks, confused. Are you stupid or are you trying to make him say things he is not really ready to say? “What do I mean?”

“Yeah. I don’t know if you’re saying this to make fun of me or if you really enjoy…” you fidget on your seat, slightly flustered.

Jaebum sighs yet again. “Why would I even make fun of you? And why would I be here if I was?” He looks frustrated, annoyed even.

It makes your anger rise “I don’t know!” you forget about the place, the food, the movie. You don’t even know why you agreed to come. From the start, this guy has been nothing but a jerk. There’s no way he would suddenly be nice or even harbour any type of positive feelings toward you. “I feel like you hate me but when we film you’re different and maybe it’s me who is stupid and too serious but,”

You feel so stupid.

“maybe you enjoyed it. Maybe that’s what you meant when you said you weren’t acting, because I wasn’t either.”

Jaebum opens his mouth, shocked. Of course that’s what he meant. He isn’t that deep, he won’t go as far as make fun of someone, as bad as his relation used to be with that person.

So he decides to explain clearly before you become stubborn again. “How can you even think I wasn’t enjoying when I was pretty much very hard earlier today?”

He has a weird way to put things and you’re glad the place isn’t crowded, but you enjoy where this is going.

“I’m just going to say it bluntly because I feel like this will go on forever.” He looks strung out, like you exhausted him. “I like being around you. Can you please finish your food? Just so we can get out of here and I show you how I don’t act, rookie.”

You shiver at the thought, not sure about what he wants to show but very eager to know more.

Instead, you smirk. “I’m done already.”

--

[happy-haunts]

Madame Leota pt. 1

Madame Leota pt. 1

Chapter one | Constance pt.1 : Constance pt.2

Chapter two | Mister Topper pt.1 : Mister Topper pt.2

Chapter three | Madame Leota pt.1 : Madame Leota pt.2

Chapter four | The Hostess

Chapter five | Captain Blood pt.1 : Captain Blood pt.2

Chapter six | Emily DeClaire pt.1 : Emily DeClaire pt.2 : Emily DeClaire pt.3

Chapter seven | Finale

WARNING THIS POST CONTAINS THEMES OF VIOLENCE AND ABUSE!

The powers of the great beyond shuddered under the grasp of my incantations as the spirits whispered secrets into my ears- two of our own were approaching and with them were questions of which they sought me to answer. But deeper and deeper still I dug into their truest desires and as I pried prodded my eyes flashed open at the sound of Constance Hatchaway and Red bursting through my door.

I might not have a body but if I did then I would have been tapping my foot at the sudden intrusion. “I expect you both have a better reason for barging in here than just for me to tell you about our Bride?” Red was in awe at my knowledge of their quest.

“Okay so ... We actually do, can you explain why Constance and Hatty can’t remember things? And not like in the ‘we’re super old and lost our orthopedic slippers’ way but in the ‘we’re super old and hot and I can’t remember the story I literally gave a detailed synopsis of one minute ago’ kind of way.” Red took a seat at my table after her long winded speech, my head was resting on a metal stand inside of a glowing green crystal ball before her.

“Of course I can.” I moved my aura on a deck of tarot cards and flipped them up to face me one at a time.

“You seek the answers to the oddities of the Mansion, the force at work which controls the mansion and all inside.” I set down the cards neatly in their stack and then started the dramatic music behind them.

“Controls the mansion? There’s something controlling all of us?” Red asked, Constance was sitting beside her now, her eyes staring off as she was furiously trying to remember what they were doing.

“Not all of us ... I am immune since I am the one who gave the entity their power in the first place.”

“Oh so you just give out otherworldly magic on your off days? Is it just a hobby knotting up all of that black magic and gifting it to customers?” Red crossed her arms and slumped in her chair.

“I don’t give out the powers of the universe like candy!” I growled, but pursed my lips and avoided Red’s gaze. “However I may charge a fee- but we can discuss prices a little later.”

“I don’t want any magic of regions beyond!” Red sighed, “I want to know why this is happening to Constance and how to stop it.”

“It’s not happening to you.” I pointed out, “Surely you’re curious about that?” She fidgeted in her chair but gave a little nod as she pouted.

“Yeah... a little I guess.”

“The entity YOU’RE dealing with only controls the ghosts who belong to the mansion, you don’t belong to the mansion since your remains nor your death involved the manor, therefore whatever it is attempting to do with Constance cannot be accomplished with you.”

“The entity I’M dealing with? Is there more than one?” I grinned.

“I believe I should start from the beginning.”

“Or you could just give me straight answers so we don’t have to stretch this out over several chapters.” I whacked Red upside the head with my tambourine and refused to acknowledge her fourth wall break.

❧

I loved my childhood, my parents were always quite understanding of me even when I would act up - which was quite often - and the caravan would tell them to be stricter with me.

I was ungrateful for what I had and would always want more, I was a selfish child - no matter where we went I would always want to stay in the townsfolk’s houses and want to eat fine meats from the butcher... But we didn’t have enough money to get any of those things.

I began to grow older and as a teen I ran away from the caravan, I would go into the nearest town to dance for money in the streets and buy myself sweets - then refuse to eat the meals they cooked in the evenings.

One day I had done just that and headed off towards the current town we were in near - we travelled all around Europe and Africa so it’s hard to keep track of town names. I was approached by a man on my walk who was rather plump, he had straw decorating his ankles, a skirt that was a combination of a red and white fabric as well as straw, around his neck were beads and ... a shrunken head, his hair was black like coal just as his eyes were, face decorated with red paint, and seated on his head was a black top hat.

“Good evening young lady my name is Trader Sam, and what is a little girl like you doing out here all alone?”

“I don’t see why it’s any of your business.” I said while raising my chin as though he was beneath me.

“You seem rather put together for a girl of your age.”

“Because I am, now if you excuse me I have to get to work.”

“Of course, I apologize.” I gave a little nod and turned away only for him to continue talking. “I was going to tell you how to earn even more money without even having to work ... But I understand.” I turned to face him again.

“How do you do that?”

“Oh I don’t want to keep you from your work, so I had better go.”

“Wait! I asked you a question!” He smiled and propped himself forward on his umbrella. “Tell me how to make money without having to work.”

“Well if you want to really know then we’ll have to make a deal first.” I crossed my arms and leaned back - glaring at him suspiciously.

“What kind of deal?”

“It’s more of a trade really - I take something of value to you and you take all of my secrets.”

“Secrets...?”

“Yes, because you know the only way to make money without working is magic.”

“Oh please, there isn’t any such thing as magic.” He lifted his palm and after a moment a green ball of fire appeared, I gasped and stepped back from him - he extinguished the flame. “How did you do that?”

“Magic.” He shrugged, “And I can give you all that power - all of the freedom to do as you please ... If you are willing to make a deal.”

I let the offer sink in - it was everything I could ever want! No more dragging around the caravan, no more cooking rabbit for supper, and no more needing to rely on nasty rich people to pity us.

“I ... I’ll make a deal with you.” Trader Sam grinned while extending his hand to me.

“Then lets shake on it.”

As I took his hand the shrunken head that hung around his neck opened it’s mouth and a green ball of fire like the one Trader Sam made before floated in the air towards me- absorbing into my chest.

“And now for your payment, I shall take what is most valuable to you.” I patted myself down, I hardly had any money on me - but he seemed to chuckle at my searching. “Oh no, not monetary value ...” He lifted his hands and my parents appeared on either side of him.

“Wait! You can’t take my parents!”

“You shouldn’t have been so careless, they are what you value most.”

“Leota? What is going on?” My mother hissed, but Trader Sam snapped his fingers and my parents were now two shrunken heads in his hand.

“GIVE THEM BACK!” I screamed and blasted one of those green orbs towards him - Sam merely shielded himself with his umbrella and turned away from me. I was crying now while the rage filled my chest, “Don’t walk away!” And he stopped in place, “I want you to be rooted to that spot for the rest of your life.” He peered back to me, now a little nervous.

“I think we can come to some kind of deal here ....”

“Give me back my parents and I’ll set you free.” I was having a hard time seeing him since so many tears were rolling down my cheeks.

“I can’t do that, once a deal has been made then there is no reversing it ... Besides that you parents are...” He lifted the shrunken heads. “Well and gone.” I clenched my fists, screaming while falling onto my knees.

“You’re an absolutely terrible man!”

“Perhaps, but that’s how I became head salesman.” I couldn’t take it any longer, I picked myself up and walked away - listening to his pleas of mercy slowly fade the further I separated myself from him.

❧

I couldn’t show my face in my old caravan after that, I decided that I would travel to a new continent and lucky for me there was a ship leaving for the Americas when I reached the harbor.

I snuck aboard and once I arrived at our destination I set out to find a new home.

I manifested a wagon and I travelled across the Americas for several years before I found a town that hadn’t immediately shown me out upon seeing my psychic reading skills.

This town was New Orleans Square, and being that I was now 29 by the time of finally finding a tolerable town - I was glad to bring my traveling to a halt. The town was nothing too fancy or large with green metal rails decorating balconies, red brick homes, and trees that were decorated with swamp moss.

I set up my wagon near the edge of the town so not to block any paths for the townspeople, and the morning after I brought out my table as well as my crystal ball to sit outside and entice people to my readings.

It didn’t take long before a gentleman approached my table, “So you must be the famous Madame Leota.” He grinned - the man looked young but his hair was startlingly white and he wore a noose around his neck.

“Famous? I only just arrived here yesterday sir - you are my first customer.”

“No, no the apparitions have been speaking about you all night - they hardly get any real entertainment, most of the time they hang around family members and criticize their life choices.” I blinked but smiled to the man, what a very strange thing to say.

“I didn’t know anyone else could converse with the dead - let alone do it passively.”

“Yes it was quite the shock when I was younger! I was at my dear Granny’s funeral when I saw my first spirit - she was quite livid that they had decided to have an open casket instead of cremating her like she wanted to be.”

“I would be livid too, what did you say your name was again?”

“I didn’t.” He said flatly and sat in the chair across from me, “But if you would like to know it is Vincent Beauregard Gracey, eldest in the Gracey line.”

“I didn’t know there was a Gracey line, but it’s good to meet you Vincent.”

“Mister Gracey - please.” I cocked an eyebrow at his boldness.

“Mister Gracey then... I am Madame Leota.” He seemed to pay me no mind as he sat in the chair- his eyes wandering over my wagon.

“Memento Mori ... So you are also a fan of the Macabre?” I gritted my teeth at the mention but eventually relaxed, giving a polite smile to the man.

“Yes, I have a few regrets and because of this I am patiently waiting for the moment when I can cease to exist, thus I will always remember death.” Vincent nodded approvingly.

“If you would like to go sooner I have this.” He lifted his noose that hung around his scrawny neck, “I haven’t the time to get to using it myself but perhaps someday.” He sighed, “The spirits make the afterlife look like such a good time.”

“I would like to see the afterlife if it’s as much fun as you say.” His eyes met with mine for the first time and he leaned his elbows on the edge of my table.

“Well now, if you would like I can show you my graveyard tonight over dinner?”

“I think I would like that very much Mister Gracey.”

“Then it’s a date.”

❧

I slaved away the rest of the day before finally getting to close up shop and go into town to buy a dress especially for tonight.

What a man, He could commune with the dead AND owned a graveyard? He must have been after my heart with a line like that.

I asked around the town for the home of a Vincent Gracey - which greeted me with anxious glances, eventually I was pointed to the mansion at the end of town and I had finally arrived.

I had chosen a blood red gown that popped from my dark brown skin, my brown hair was pinned up and two red droplets hung from my ears.

Vincent was standing at the large iron gate which led to his backyard, he took my hand and kissed the knuckles before leading me into a graveyard filled with what must have been somewhere near 900 graves? Atop some of the headstones were candles that made a path to a table for two, red roses decorated the table.

“I apologize for the florals - it seems my gardener had gotten rid of all my decaying roses.” How considerate!

“No need to apologize, this is still very lovely.”

“Won’t you sit? Feel free to speak with whomever you choose that has passed on - they seem to know quite a bit about you it seems.” I was taking my seat as he said so and looked up in confusion.

“How is that? I’ve hardly done anything of noting.”

“They say you’ve thwarted a warlock by the age of 13.” I unconsciously soured my expression.

“He was hardly a warlock, just a slimey black magic dealer - he swindled me out of having parents.” Vincent considered me for a moment while I took to composing myself, after all it was my fault ... I was a rotten child that had no business trying to act as though she was grown.

“How very tragic for you my dear ...” He placed his hand over my own, his eyes were like sapphires. “I knew a girl who lost her parents once, she was an odd one such as you and I - she romanticized those who had passed on without even knowing that they lived among us nor having any power to know as much.” He stroked my hand with his thumb as he knitted his brow, “I used to live with my parents in their mansion - it also had a graveyard of the Gracey’s whom passed before us, but there were a great deal of them which remained unmarked or were so old the names had faded ... Leaving them to be forgotten.”

“How terrible ...”

“But as if out of the blue, flowers began appearing on those graves every night - naturally my parents thought it was me since I usually strolled through the graveyard to converse with my deceased family. Curious about the mysterious visitor I decided to ask about it to the dead - it was a young girl that visited every night followed by two apparitions which were trying to interact with her. More intrigued than before I decided to wait for her to arrive - she was small with short hair and wearing a mourning gown, the two ghosts behind her were telling her to leave the town.” Vincent pulled his hand back and sighed. “Not long after the flowers stopped being placed on the unmarked grave.”

“Did she die?” I whispered - invested in the story.

“No, not quite.” He tilted his head to the side and looked past me a moment, his eyes lit with excitement. “My brother is home!”

“Brother? Here? Now?” I felt broken hearted when he said so, we hadn’t even eaten supper yet.

“No! No! Some family is visiting from Liberty Square and they said my brother has just arrived home! I haven’t seen him since mother and father sent him off to join the Navy, oh but I don’t think he’ll much like if I visit him - we never got along very well.” Vincent locked eyes with me and grinned, “Leota! You can visit my brother for me and tell him I’m in New Orleans Square! You can tell him to come visit me!” My heart began to sink even more as he proposed the plan.

“Well I suppose I could -.”

“Wonderful! We must cut the evening short and you need to head on your way at once! Oh and if you could send my greetings to the residents in the graveyard as well- that would be just fantastic of you.”

❧

And that’s just how life is - one moment you think you’ve met the man of your dreams, and the next moment he is sending you to a wealthy town to say hello to his wealthy brother and dead family members.

Liberty Square was all brick and white picket fences (with the exception of the Gracey Mansion) the people were suspicious and distant. I needed pointing to where Mister Gracey lived so I stopped a large man who wore a grey suit with a yellow ascot tucked into his vest.

“Excuse me, I’m looking for the home of a Mister Gracey?”

“It’s at the end of the road - I would think a slave would keep better track of her master’s home.” Some of the townspeople near him snickered at me.

“What did you just call me?” I growled, stepping toe to toe with him now. “I think you should evaluate your words before you speak them, otherwise I might hitch you up to a wagon like the ass you make yourself out to be.” The man adjusted himself as he turned a light pink.

“You had better watch your tongue, woman, and recognize who you’re speaking to.”

“My apologies- you must be a pig instead of an ass.” His face turned deep red as he raised his hand to strike but a man in a black coat grabbed his wrist and leaned towards the older gentleman.

“Well now, lets not cause a scuffle right here in the streets.” His hair was curly and black, pale skin, and ... sapphire eyes. “I heard there was a green-eyed woman looking for my place around town, so naturally I went on my own little adventure.”

“William, you had better keep your help in line.” The older gentleman yanked his arm from William and straightened out his coat.

“She’s not my help, Mister Mayor, I think she’s new in town - but allow me ma’am.” He linked his arm with mine and began walking me down the street.

“That man is your Mayor? He’s an insufferable ass.” William laughed and patted my arm.

“Yes, yes he is - but he is like an angel to the town, they all fear the changing times and the mayor is an unmoving stone ... Their only constant.” How sad that so many people could be so fearful of the future and the unknown, that they would just let such a man have power. “On a lighter note, why is it that you were seeking me out?”

“Ah, your brother wanted me to send you his greetings from New Orleans Square, he would like you to visit him now that you’re back.”

William rolled his eyes, “I’m not going to visit that ghost seeing idiot - does he still wear a noose around his neck?” I nodded, “Of course he does!” He unhooked our arms and ran his fingers through his hair. “I apologize, I just don’t much care for my brother ... either one of them.”

“There is another one of you?”

“Yes, Dorian ... He’s the middle brother and he’s full of himself! Probably married a mirror for all I know.” William shook his head, “No, no, enough talk about my family - where are you staying miss...?”

“Leota, I have a wagon that I left in the woods, I’ll probably make camp there tonight.”

“If it’s even still there, we have gypsies that live in our woods Miss Leota so you may wish to stay at my home tonight - if not then hurry back to make sure they haven’t mistaken it for something abandoned.”

“I’ll probably just go back and get it, however I wouldn’t mind sleeping in a real bed - that is if you have somewhere I can store my wagon?”

“But of course, my doors are always open.” He lifted my hand and kissed the knuckles with a wink, before I turned away towards the woods as the sun went down.

❧

Lucky for me my wagon was still seated among the trees where I had left it, as I assessed the inside to make sure nothing was missing I heard music off in the distance, curious I stepped back outside into the night and noticed the light just beyond where I was.

It seemed to be a camp, upon closer inspection I saw it was a caravan of only 10-20 people - how had they gotten so small?

“What do you want?” Called a man, he drew a knife as I came into the firelight.

“I mean no harm, I’m camped just beyond those trees and saw the fire - I was just wondering who my neighbors were.”

“She has witch eyes...” One man whispered,

“I don’t need a witch in our caravan, we suffer enough as is.”

“Calm down, I’m not a witch - witches are far less powerful.” I rolled my eyes, “But everyone is so scared of them because their hats are pointy! Oh no!” I feigned fear and placed my hands on my hips.

“As if a witch wasn’t bad enough, you’re a devil then.”

“Stop it!” A girl stepped in front of the man - she wore a yellow dress, dark brown hair, tanned skin, and flowers knotted in her hair. “She has already said she meant no harm, there is no need to be so mean!” She held her arms out shielding me.

“Emily, you’re too naive! This woman curses people!” The girl named Emily turned around - looking me up and down with her bright blue eyes.

“She seems normal enough to me.” A sly grin slid over my lips.

“Fine, if it will calm your nerves then I’ll make a deal with you...” I held out my hand to the man, “I will not harm this caravan in any way and in return I will ask one favor of you when I need it.”

“No way, I’m not going to risk whatever you ask of me.” He crossed his arms but the girl grabbed onto my hand and gave it a hearty shake.

“Deal!” She grinned and the deal was made. “There, now your caravan is off limits and no one needs to worry anymore.”

The man was pale as he looked to Emily, but in his astonishment he couldn’t find any words to reprimand her so ... he walked away.

“You know that was quite foolish of you, I can ask anything of you and you’ll have no choice but to obey.”

“Yes well, you don’t seem like you’ll make me do anything too bad - I trust you.” She looked behind me to my wagon, “Are you going to be heading back to town? I should start heading back home anyway so I’ll walk with you.”

I almost lost it when she said that, “Are you telling me you live in town? You aren’t even part of this caravan?” Emily seemed confused but she answered regardless.

“No, but they’re good people - they get harassed a lot by the town so they’re a bit more wary of strangers but they really aren’t all that bad.”

“You really are naive ... “ I sighed and headed with her to my wagon.

❧

I stayed at Mister Gracey’s that night - he had his red coated servants take my wagon while William gave me the grand tour. The manor itself was grand in a gothic style, the very entrance had long walls looking like they stretched to eternity- if it weren’t for Williams’ instruction I would have thought there were no windows or doors, it took us to the hallways which were a royal purple - with a wallpaper that felt as though it watched me, then we went off into the grandballroom - it seemed to be set apart from the rest of the mansion since it was decorated in silvers and whites with white billowing curtains over the windows which were as high as the house itself, and then he showed me the backyard where members of his family were buried and where I told the residents that Vincent said hello.

“He really wanted you to talk to the dead for him?” William scoffed.

“What is it about our abilities that you doubt?”

“Hm, perhaps the existence of magic in general? It’s all just observation and parlor tricks.”

“Well maybe I’ll be able to change your mind while I’m here... but for now, goodnight Mister Gracey.”

“For fucks sake just call me William, I hate all that title crap- er and goodnight Leota.”

Getting up the next morning I decided to entice the young Gracey by setting up my reading table not too far from his front door. I also wasn’t sure how this town would take to such an occult dealing on their streets, but I was happily surprised when I had quite the line of folks wanting to know their desires or if their husbands were cheating on them.

One young lady sat at my table wearing a mourning gown, her hair was blonde, and eyes dark blue.

“Why such a beautiful young woman, what is your name and what do you ask of Madame Leota?”

“I’m Constance Hatchaway, I wanted to know... if I ever find true love?” She blushed but the harsh look on her eyes never faded.

“Let us look, may I have your hands?” She reached out and I closed my eyes.

Seeing into the future was much easier than reading a person - all it took was a conduit made of some kind of stone or glass(my crystal ball) and the physical touch of the person whom wants to know their fate.

I walked on top of a river made of stars as I searched for her request, leaning down every now and again to reach into the river and inspect the stars which contained every moment in her life. I searched until I came to an abrupt halt from the stars ... This was the line of death, where the river stops then so does ones life - but amazingly beyond the gap were blue stars! It was impossible but I was seeing into her afterlife, upon further inspection there was a certain star among them that glowed a warm red color and as I picked it up I was overcome with such joy I couldn’t help but laugh.

I released Constance’s hands as I was still laughing - now wiping away a tear.

“It’ll take a long time but you will find true love.” I leaned close to her as she leaned in with me. “And she will be beautiful.”

“T-thank you!” Constance blushed and scrambled to stand as she stuffed money into my jar.

It was rather nice to know at least one person in the town was normal.

My relief was short lived as the Mayor stood before me now, his hands clasped behind him as his sky blue eyes evaluated my set up.

“And what can I help you with?” I growled.

“I was just wondering if you had permission to set up shop here? But of course I know you don’t since you would have had to ask me personally.”

What a jackass.

“I don’t believe you have jurisdiction over someone’s private property.”

“Oh but I do.” He leaned down with his hands clutching the edge of my table, I was lucky it didn’t snap under his weight. The mayor wasn’t a fat man but rather built for someone of his age, and taller than any man I’d ever seen - the best way I could describe him was a brick wall. “You see I run the town and the town pays their taxes which means they pay me... to live here. You wouldn’t want me to evict your master now would you?” I sucked in a breath and glared, giving a glance behind him - hoping someone was there to perform a reading on but it seemed he waited till everyone had gone for the day, but a thought crossed my mind.

“Dear Mister Mayor...” I cooed, “Won’t you let me give you a free reading to make up for this? I can search deep down to your truest desires - things you may not realize you have been denying.” He seemed to think about it a moment before taking a seat across from me and placing his hands palm up on either side of my crystal ball.

I placed my palms atop his and closed my eyes.

[alydiarackham]

(Cover by me)

The Last Scene: A Novel by Alydia Rackham

Prologue

           I’ve seen it ever since I was ten years old. While I’m lying in my bed, right between sleeping and waking—in the middle of that drowsy half-dream state, you know? Where your thoughts are more lucid than dreams and you can remember them, but the images are much brighter and clearer and more emotional than regular thoughts.

               So when I’m lying there, all snuggled in and surrounded by my pillows, relaxed and letting my mind wander—it hits me.

               A crystal-clear image of a little red velvet box, with a diamond ring in it. The diamond is all surrounded by gold leaves so it looks like a rose, with the diamond in the center. Someone, a man, is holding that ring box up to me. There’s nothing but blackness off to my left—and blinding white light to my right. The light is sparkling and twinkling all through the diamond, and I can see all different colors inside it. It just looks like a chip of magic.

               Then, just as quickly as it appears, it’s gone. It doesn’t fade off and meld into other thoughts. It’s just gone.

               That’s how I know it’s one of my Pictures.

               That’s what I call them. To myself. Because I’ve never told anyone about them. Ever. For a few reasons. One, because I never wanted to worry my parents—because they would worry. Two, because…Well, I never actually trusted anyone else to handle them correctly. I will see something—vivid, obscuring my vision, absolutely clear—and then, usually later that day, it happens.

               Most of the time, it’s something little. I’ll see a Picture of the coffee pot overflowing, and when I come out to breakfast, it’ll happen. Or I’ll see my dad tripping over a pair of tennis shoes, and an hour later, it’ll happen.  I’ll see my hand turning the key in the ignition of my car, a sunset, a cat walking across the street, a pair of people walking and laughing, me stubbing my toe on the end of my bed, the dog chasing a rabbit, things like that. Sometimes, I go days and days without seeing a Picture. Sometimes, I see two or three in one day.

               Now, with the one about my dad tripping over the shoes, or me stubbing my toe, you would think that I’d be able to prevent that kind of thing, right? Once I caught on to the fact that I was somehow seeing into the future? Sure, I thought so, too. When I was eleven, I saw a Picture of my mom slipping on a wet patch of cement outside and falling down. So, that morning, I made sure to take all the hoses and stretch them out across the yard so that no water could leak out of them onto the patio.

               Lo and behold, when I wasn’t looking, Mom just pulled one hose back to where it was and started watering the tree. I let the dog outside, Mom turned to see and stepped sideways into a puddle—

               And fell down. Just like I’d seen her do in my Picture.

               After that, I’d try to move shoes so they wouldn’t be tripped over—only to watch them be replaced by other shoes and still be tripped over. I’d try to fix coffee makers or scare rabbits away, yet they’d still overflow or get chased. I have never yet been able to prevent one of my Pictures.

               But what I have been able to do is become aware that something is about to happen. I see, for example, that my dad is going to trip over the shoes. So I don’t stray too far that day, I keep an eye out…

               And when he inevitably trips, I jump up to help catch him.

               It’s opened my eyes, made me far more awake to the world than most people are, I think. And yes, sometimes that’s scary. Very scary.

               Especially after my dog Jenny died.

               I saw a Picture of my family and I all standing around in our backyard, shoveling dirt back into a large hole. We were quiet, and my parents and sisters were crying.

               That disturbed me. I began waiting and watching that day for something to happen…

               But nothing did. I relaxed a little. Another day went by. Everything was fine. I relaxed more. Two weeks went by. I took a day to drive into the city and do some job searching.

               And when I got home, Mom told me that she’d taken Jenny into the vet because she was throwing up—and the vet said she had kidney failure.

               The next day, we put Jenny to sleep. And there we were, in the back yard, burying her. My parents and sisters crying.

               That’s the first time that the idea of these Pictures really and truly scared me.  

               All right, so, I take it back: I have talked to someone about this. I’ve talked to God about it. Quite a bit. Usually when I am scared or really worried about something I’ve seen. And because of that process, a sort of back and forth between Him and me, I’ve come to believe that this is some sort of secret gift I’ve been given. Just little fragments of insight, because I’m supposed to know them. I’m supposed to know them so that I don’t necessarily stop the bad ones from happening—but so that I’m there when they do.

               Except this one with the ring.

               Crystal clear, yet never in front of me in reality.

               I’m twenty-six years old now. I have a wonderful boyfriend named Jim Tucker, who I’ve known since high school. I’ve had a couple other boyfriends, too. None of them have even talked about that kind of ring. I mean, I love the style of it, but it isn’t something any of them would pick out. And the setting of that Picture seems funny. It’s indoors, I know that. If Jim ever proposes to me, I’m almost positive he’ll do it outside, on some high hill in the summer countryside, with the sunset as a background.

So maybe that ring means something else.

               It’s been strange, growing up and living with this sort of thing—because I do remember what it was like before. I know normal people don’t experience this. But I’ve done my best to be watchful and yet not too paranoid all through school. I went to college, came home during the summers and worked at the library in our little town in upstate New York…

And I’ve tried to look out for everyone all around me. All the time. Secretly watching over them, listening and calculating what the best response will be to whatever happens. Giving words of caution when I know they’ll be listened to and accepted. Words that won’t stop the fall, but might help someone catch themselves, or at least recover a little better. Because the pain I feel from a broken toe or a broken heart—my own, or someone else’s—is bad enough when experienced once.

But I have to live it twice.

 Chapter One

Friday, April 5th, 1985

             “Hi, Anne!”

               “Hi, Dad,” I croakily answered the bright voice on the other end of the phone, frowning as I rubbed my eyes. “What time is it?”

               “It’s six-thirty, sorry,” he answered. “I was just excited about this and wanted to call you right away.”

               “What’s going on?” I asked, turning over in my bed and stretching the phone cord, eyeing the minimal light leaking through my drapes.

               “How did that interview go yesterday?” Dad said instead.

               “Um…Fine,” I sighed, adjusting my pillow and trying to make myself think straight. “Well…sort of not fine. I mean, I interviewed okay, they just told me they needed someone with more experience.”

               “More experience?” my dad protested. “Isn’t a degree in speech therapy enough experience? I mean, what did I pay for, anyway?”

               “I know, right?” I sighed again. “I’m not sure how you’re supposed to get any experience if nobody will hire you in the first place…” I wound the cord around my fingers, shooting a dark look at the window again. The roar of the Manhattan traffic reached me even up here—a constant dull growl, occasionally punctuated by angry car horns.  “I’m probably going to have to move out as soon as this month’s lease is up. I’ll come home and see if I can get my job back at the library.”

               “Well, let’s hold off on that for a second,” my dad said. I sat up a little and frowned.

               “What? What do you mean?”

               “You remember Aaron Highgate, my friend from college?”

               “Yeah…?” I said, fully awake now. “Doesn’t he live here?”

               “Yeah, he does, and he’s a playwright,” Dad said. “A pretty good one. He’s written at least ten plays that have debuted on and off Broadway, and all of them got good reviews. They’ve been relatively small, but yeah, people liked them.”

               “Okay…?” I waited.

               “Well, he’s premiering another little play at the Quadrant Theatre, and I think you should audition.”

               I stared at the wall. My mouth fell open. I didn’t say anything.

               “Honey?” Dad called. “You still there?”

               “Um, yeah,” I managed. “Audition? For a Broadway play?”

               “It’s not Broadway,” Dad corrected. “What I mean is, it’s small. You did plays and musicals in high school and college!”

               “Those weren’t…I mean, yeah, but—this is New York!” I cried.

               “You’d be great for the part, though!” Dad answered. “Aaron gave me a copy of the script to read for fun, and the female lead practically just screamed ‘Annie!’ at me from the page.”

               “Oh, Dad, you’re biased!” I moaned.

               “No, I’m not,” he insisted. “You won, what, three awards for playing different parts in school?”

               “Yes,” I muttered.

               “And besides,” he went on. “When I talked to Aaron about it, telling him how brilliant the story was, he was just beside himself with frustration. Said that they’ve cast his nephew in the male lead, but they’ve been having a dickens of a time casting a female lead because nobody who tried out got along with his nephew, or seemed to fit, or whatever.”

               “What’s wrong with his nephew?” My eyes narrowed.

               “I don’t know, I think he’s just particular about getting it right,” Dad said. “I think he helped with a lot of the ideas for the script, or even wrote large parts of it, and he has a particular type in mind.”

               “And you think that type is me?” I raised my eyebrows.

               “It actually sounds like it,” Dad told me. “From what Aaron described, anyway.” He paused. “What do you think? Can I send you my copy of the script?”

               I sighed and put my hand over my face—fighting back a strange, jumpy sensation in my stomach.

               “Sure, okay,” I conceded. “Can’t hurt anything, right?”

               “That’s my girl.” I could hear my dad’s grin. “I’ll overnight it so you’ll have it tomorrow morning. And after you read it, you can call me and tell me what you think, and if you like it, I’ll tell you when and where the auditions are.”

               “Okay,” I tried to smile. “Thanks, Dad.”

               After we hung up, I lay there in bed for a while, turning that thought over in my mind. The air in my apartment was chilly—even though it was April, the weather still hadn’t really warmed up much after one of the coldest winters in the history of the universe. I pulled the blankets up over myself, almost covering my face, hoping I could get a little more sleep…

               Flash.

               Right in front of my eyes. A mostly-empty stage, painted black, with red curtains open. I was sitting on the stage, facing stage left. And through the back rooms, a dancing, crowing laugh resounded up and down.

               I blinked.

               It vanished.

               I sat up straight, flinging off my covers, my heart pounding.

               A Picture.

               Of a stage. With red curtains.

               And a laugh that still echoed through my mind.

           The next morning, I climbed out of bed, stretched, and pushed open the curtains to look down on the streets. Since it was Saturday, the traffic wasn’t as thick as during the week, and the noise had calmed. Though, in the Upper East Side of Manhattan, it was never as hectic as other places on the island.

Dad had initially come with me to pick out an apartment to start, and insisted on paying for it until I got a steady job that was good enough that I could pay for it myself. Neither of my parents wanted me living anywhere dangerous or seedy—and I hadn’t argued. I didn’t want to live anywhere dangerous or seedy, either.

After three days of searching, we’d come across an apartment building on 88th street, made of red brick, its front covered in tall, narrow windows and fire escapes. We’d investigated, and found an available apartment on the fourth floor. Dad said the rent was reasonable—for New York.

               The apartment was little, compared to my childhood home out in the country, of course. There was a short hallway connecting the bedroom and the sitting room, and in that hall they’d crammed the kitchen, which is just a stove and microwave with a tiny bit of counter space and some cupboards. My bedroom was a nice size, but I couldn’t bring my dark-wood dresser—I had to bring the white one from when I was little, because the big one wouldn’t fit. The bathroom was right next to the kitchen. I had a table in the sitting room, and a couch and a chair, and a TV set.

               I like light, floral print things, though not as garish as the style is these days. I’m partial to lace, so that’s my curtains. Roses on my comforter and pillows. Blue couch, rose pillows. I had a rug on my floor in the bedroom and the living room because this wood floor was freezing in the winter.

               I sighed, folding my arms and looking around at everything in my bedroom, feeling my heart sink.

I’d just gotten used to it here.

Forcing myself to stop thinking about it, I pulled off my pajamas and got dressed in jeans, boots, and a plaid tuck-in shirt. In the bathroom, I brushed out my straight, dark-brown hair and put half of it up in a ponytail, to keep it out of my face. I had long bangs, and decided I didn’t want to mess with curling them today.

I’m a slender person, average height, not very curvy. I have bright green eyes, and people say I look like my mom. She’s very pretty, with dark eyelashes and eyebrows, so I suppose I have a little of that beauty, too. At the time, I didn’t like wearing makeup—just a little lip color and mascara, so I put that on.

Tap, tap, tap.

I quickly screwed on the lid to my mascara, put it away, and hurried out through my bedroom, into the hall, across the sitting room to the front door. My cat Milo—a striped orange kitty—meowed loudly at me as I whooshed past him.

“I’ll feed you in a minute, just wait!” I called back at him. I threw the three locks on the door and pulled it open.

“Hi!” I said, finding a FedEx man standing there, smiling back at me.

“I’ve got a package here for Anne Maple,” he said, checking the thick envelope.

“That’s me,” I said.

“Okay, can you just sign here?” he asked, holding out a clipboard. I took the pen and signed my name on the line, then gave it back. He passed off the package to me. I could feel a thick stack of papers inside—and when I looked at the envelope, it confirmed what I’d suspected it was.

               “Thank you!” I told the delivery man.

               “Have a good day,” he answered, and left. I shut the door after him, and automatically flipped the deadbolt again. Grinning crookedly, I turned the envelope over, tore it open…

               And pulled out a typed script, spiral-bound. On the front page, it read:

 The Ripple Experiment

A Play in Two Acts

by

Aaron Highgate and Peter Wren

             “Raaawr!” my cat complained as he came and stood on my feet. I laughed out loud.

               “Okay, okay,” I said. “We’ll both get breakfast, and then I’ll make some tea and cuddle with you on the couch while I read this.”

             “Hey, Dad!”

               “Hey, sweetie!” Dad answered at the other end of the phone. “Did you get the script?”

               “I did, thanks,” I answered. “Just finished reading it.”

               I sat on my blue couch with my legs tucked under me, a patchwork quilt over my lap—and a purring cat keeping me warm. My cup of tea on the coffee table however, had gone cold. And the last page of the script lay open in front of me.

               “Well, what did you think of it?” Dad asked.

               “It’s really interesting!” I admitted. “The premise is kind of funny—a man from a hundred years in the future trying to fix the problems there by changing things that happen in the past, and that the problems the entire future world is facing actually all stem out from one house and one woman’s life!”

               “Haha, yeah, you wouldn’t want to see the statistics on that, probably,” Dad chuckled.

               “But the story convinces me,” I said, gesturing as I talked. “At least, it does if I understand half of Dr. Ripple’s techno-babble—the stuff that isn’t made-up, anyway.”

               Dad laughed out loud now.

               “I know, isn’t that great? I’d love to know how they came up with all of those technical-sounding nonsense words.”

               “Me too,” I said, scratching Milo on the back so his purring thundered. “This show could do well if it’s still running when that movie Back to the Future comes out this summer. And I like Wendy James. She’s sensible and down to earth and a scientist too, but she’s still fun, and pretty brave, and she can at least halfway keep up with Dr. Ripple when he’s trying all those ridiculous things.”

               “Mhm, I agree. A pretty nifty gal,” Dad said pointedly. I rolled my eyes, trying not to smile.

               “But, this um…” I flicked the edge of the last page, making a face. “This last part…”

               “What?” Dad asked.

               “The last scene!” I cried. “I mean, am I reading this right? It just says ‘Act Two, Scene 10: actors will improvise to achieve a conclusion.’ What is that about?”

               “Well, I suppose it means the ending will be different every night, depending upon what the actors feel like,” Dad guessed. “But you’ll have to ask them more about it at the audition.”

               “I’ve never done any improvisation before!” I protested. “I hate that! Like when somebody forgets a line and just stares at me, expecting me to save them from themselves and get the scene rolling again—that’s terrifying!”

               “It’s exciting,” Dad offered.  

               “Oh, how would you know?” I shot back.

               “Athletes do it all the time,” he said lightly. “They practice a certain set of skills, and then whoever they play throws different scenarios at them that they have to deal with, based on the set of skills they’ve already learned.”

               I groaned.

               “Look, just ask them more about it at the audition,” Dad suggested. “I’ve set it up for two o’clock tomorrow at the Quadrant Theatre.”                                                                                    

               “Wait—you set it up?” I sat up so fast that Milo tumbled off my lap. “I thought it was an open audition!”

               “No, they started with those, but couldn’t find anybody,” Dad said. “I called Aaron and arranged this for you so you can meet with him and the director, and with Aaron’s nephew, if he’s around.”

               “Oh, Dad…” I whispered, my heart hammering.

               “This is far better than a cattle call, honey,” Dad insisted. “They’ll get to hear you, and you’ll get to find out everything you want to know about the play, and the people in it, and whether or not it’s something you want to do. If it doesn’t work out, then sure, you can come home when your lease is up and work at the library. That’s fine. But don’t you want to just give this a shot and see what happens?”

               I hesitated, winding the phone cord around my forefinger again. I heaved a sigh.

               “Okay, okay,” I said. “I’ll give it a shot.”

               “Sounds good!” he said. “Be sure to call me after the audition—and Mom wants to hear about it, too!”

  Chapter Two

Sunday, April 7th

             I shut the door to the phonebooth behind me with a clatter, shoved the clanking money into the pay phone, picked up the receiver and dialed. I waited, tapping my feet while it rang, watching the traffic whizz by on the street outside the grimy glass.

               “James Tucker speaking, how can I help you?” came a brisk, male voice at the other end.

               “Hi, Jim!” I instantly broke into a smile at the sound of my boyfriend’s answer.  

               “Hi, Anne!” he answered cheerfully. “How are you, what’s going on?”

               “Is it okay to talk for a second?” I asked.

               “Sure, I was just taking a break in the middle of typing this editorial. What are you doing?”

               “Oh, I’m…I’m standing about a block away from the theatre and decided to call you,” I said, folding my free arm around myself and shifting my weight.

               “The theatre where you have that audition?”

               “Yeah, for the play I told you about yesterday,” I answered. “The one about the time-traveler.”

               “What time is the audition?” he asked. I looked down at my watch and winced.

               “In about five minutes.”

               “Won’t you be late?”

               I heaved a sigh.

               “That’s why I wanted to call you,” I confessed. “I’m getting cold feet.”

               “Well…I can understand that,” he said.

               I blinked.

               “You can?”

               “Sure,” he said. “You’re afraid that if you do this, it might be a waste of your time, but you will have tied yourself down. And you might miss a really great opportunity to work in your field.”

               My heart sank.

               “Yeah. Maybe you’re right.”

               “You’re such a brilliant therapist, Anne,” he said gently. “I’ve seen you work. Are you sure there are no schools around there that need a speech councilor?”

               “Only scary ones,” I muttered.

               “Well, you can always come across to Jersey where I am,” he coaxed. “I’ve been keeping my eyes open for something for you. And the rent is a little cheaper here. Or, you could move home with your folks and save money till you land the kind of job you want.”

               “Yeah, I know,” I said, rubbing my forehead. “Dad and I talked about that second option.”

               His sigh came as a hiss of static in my ear.

               “I know your Dad’s excited about this play and everything…I just don’t want you to miss something, Anne. I have this really strong feeling that, really soon, you’ll have a serious chance to truly help somebody who desperately needs it. I mean, you could get a call back tomorrow from any number of the schools where you’ve applied—but if you commit to this play, you won’t be able to accept any of them. And how long could this show last, anyway?”

               “I don’t know. I really don’t,” I shook my head. “Depends on if it’s successful.”

               “Or if it even gets off the ground,” Jim added. “And besides—”

               I didn’t hear the rest of what he said.

               Right in the middle of his sentence, that Picture came. Again.

The same one from the other morning: me, on a black stage, open curtains—and that laugh.

               It overpowered me, blanking out all my vision. And the tenor of that disembodied laugh shot a thrill down my spine.

               And then it disappeared.

               “Sorry, Jim, I have to go,” I muttered absently, my eyes fixed on the glass in front of me. “Dad set this up and it’d look really bad for him if I don’t show up.” And without waiting for a reply, I hung up the phone, pushed out of the booth…

               Cold wind hit my face.

               I sucked in a breath and shook myself, almost feeling like I’d just woken up.

               I stood on a dirty sidewalk, grey clouds looming over the skyscrapers. The traffic howled all around, people passed me, their shoes clattering on the pavement. I lifted my eyes and looked at the small brick theatre just ahead of me, its blank marquee sticking out over the sidewalk. Above that, a neon sign, unlit, read: The Quadrant Theatre.

               My heart hammered again.

This morning, I’d put on black dress slacks, heels, a red silk blouse and black jacket over that, and tied my hair up in a ponytail. I desperately hoped I looked professional, but not too uptight.

               And I hoped I could get this over with as quickly as possible.

               Setting my teeth and taking a deep breath, I headed for the theatre door.

C

                                 I pushed through the one front door of the theatre that I found open, made my way through the silent, red-carpeted lobby, and leaned cautiously through the open door to the hall.

               It wasn’t large—could maybe hold three-hundred people on the lower floor, and a small balcony hung above. It smelled dusty, and the house lights were dimmed low. On past the rows of seats, down a gentle slope, the stage itself stood in lights, with red curtains pushed off to either side.

               I swallowed.

               Two men sat on chairs center stage, and an empty, funky-patterned couch stood near them, stage left. One man was thin with faded red hair, wearing black dress pants and a white collared shirt, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He had a serious, angular face and a penetrating look. He had a booklet on his knee, and gestured delicately with a pencil between his fingers as he talked to the other man. I recognized him—and suddenly remembered the calm, regulated lilt of his upper-class English accent.

               The other man was fat, with a round face, and his chortling laughter echoed out into the hall toward me. He had greying, combed hair and little eyes, and wore a grey suit and vest, with no tie.

               Bracing myself, I started down the aisle, my feet silent on the thin carpet. Then, all of a sudden, they saw me.

               “Miss Maple?” the fat one called, his voice booming out. He sat forward and shielded his eyes from the lights. “Is that you?”

               “Yes, it’s me,” I called back. “How do I get up there?”

               “See, there’s a door off to the side, there, house left,” he pointed. “Take the set of stairs up and turn right, you’ll come out on the stage.”

               “Okay, thanks,” I managed, waving. I headed to my left, pushed through the curtains—tried not to fall down in the dark—and turned toward the bright light coming from between the hanging stage curtains. Finally, I emerged out there with them, the lights flashing in my right eye.

               They both turned to smile at me, and the thin man stood up and nodded.

               “How do you do, Miss Maple?” he asked. “Do you remember me?”

               “I do!” I said, taking his proffered hand. “You’re my dad’s friend, Aaron Highgate—I think we met at a football game once.”

               He smiled broadly, now, and it did wonders for his appearance.

               “Yes, I remember that,” he said, then waved to the other man. “This is my friend, and The Ripple Experiment’s director, Mr. Sam Everhart.”

               “Forgive me for not standing up,” Mr. Everhart chuckled, extending his hand. “I just had knee surgery.”

               “Oh, then don’t get up,” I said quickly, leaning in to shake his hand.

               “Will you please sit down?” Aaron asked, indicating the empty couch.

               “Yes, thank you,” I said, maneuvering around and then easing down on the couch in front of them, clutching my purse in my lap and trying to keep my hands from shaking. Both men rested their gazes on me, and I could practically feel them thinking.

               “I seem to remember you participated in theatre in high school and college?” Aaron prompted, crossing his legs and gracefully letting his hands rest on the note pad.

               “Yes,” I answered quickly. “In high school I played Alice Sycamore in You Can’t Take it With You, um…I was Laurey in Oklahoma!, and Titania in Midsummer Night’s Dream. In college we did a lot of Shakespeare, which I loved—so I played Beatrice in Much Ado About Nothing, Cordelia in King Lear, and Lady MacBeth in Mac—” I instantly stopped myself with a nervous giggle. “I mean, The Scottish Play.”

               This made the men across from me laugh, and something in my chest loosened a little.

               “And you won a few awards?” Mr. Everhart asked.

               “Yes, for playing Alice, Laurey and Lady MacBeth.”

               “And that success made you want to pursue acting?” Aaron wondered.

               “Um…Well, no,” I confessed, feeling my face get hot. “I actually got my degree in speech therapy. I want to help people with speech and reading impediments like stammering, lisping, dyslexia, things like that.”

               “A noble cause,” Aaron mused. He raised his eyebrows. “But you’ve had no luck so far getting a job in that field?”

               “No, not yet,” I sighed, trying to smile. “It’s tough, in the city!”

               “Yes, it is,” Mr. Everhart agreed, exchanging a look with Aaron. “But you’re willing to try this, instead?”

               “Well, yes—if it’s agreeable to everyone. Including me,” I said, feeling my face get hotter, but saying it anyway. “I’d want to make sure it would be worthwhile, and that the people involved are good to work with.”

               “That sounds wise,” Aaron said, suppressing a smile. “Have you had a chance to read the script?”

               “Yes, I read it yesterday,” I replied quickly.

               “What did you think of it?” Mr. Everhart asked. “Can you summarize it for us, give us your impressions?”

               “Well…” My brow furrowed and my fingers curled on the top of my purse. “It’s about a sort of a mad, but endearing, scientist who comes back in time a hundred years on an experiment. About half of earth’s population in the future where he comes from is robots, and the other half lives in a very sterile, dark environment. And he thinks that’s wrong, and something’s gone wrong. He’s trying to figure out if something can be changed in the past that will change the future—he’s narrowed it down to this particular house at this exact time. He does various science and social experiments while he’s living in the present—some of which are pretty funny—in an effort to impact the future the way he wants. And, um…” I shifted in my seat. “The last scene is always completely improvised.”

               “Do you know why it’s improvised?” Aaron asked, watching me carefully.

               “Well…I’ve been considering that,” I admitted. “I think…I think it leaves the entire play up to different interpretations, and a chance for it to evolve and take on a life of its own.”

               “All right, keep going,” Mr. Everhart urged, leaning forward. I shifted again.

               “Well…” I said again. “The scientist’s focus is all on global—or at least national—events, but almost accidentally, he does things to change the life of the woman living in this house, and that could ultimately be what makes a difference in the future. Small things, like fixing a leak or throwing away a faulty toaster, to saving her from a bus, discouraging a bad relationship, protecting her from a creepy neighbor. And it could be any of those things. It’s why it’s called The Ripple Experiment. One, it’s his name; two, he is causing a ‘ripple’ effect; and three, those ripples impact everything else that comes after them. Because, in the scene before the last, he goes into his time machine again, and the last scene is the result of whatever discovery he decides to make about the future. Nothing changed, something changed, or everything changed—he can literally pull from any scene in the show.”

               The two men smiled at each other.

               “Yes, the people playing Dr. Ripple and Wendy would pull it from any scene in the show,” Aaron reminded me.

               “That’s…actually what scares me,” I said, feeling my cheeks burning, now. They both frowned at me.

               “Scares you?” Mr. Everhart repeated.

               “Mhm,” I said, gripping my purse. “I never did any improv. Everything was very memorized, very blocked out. And I mean—well, a lot of it was Shakespeare! You don’t improvise Shakespeare!”

               “No, you don’t,” Mr. Everhart chuckled.

               “And…you don’t think you can do that part of it?” Aaron pressed.

               “I honestly don’t know,” I said. “I really don’t.”

               “Do you think you might try?” Mr. Everhart peered at me. I bit my lip.

               “She should!”

               I nearly hit the ceiling when a bright, young male voice shot through the silence behind me.

The next second, someone leaped over the back of the couch and landed sitting right next to me. My breath caught and I gaped at him.

               He looked about my age, maybe a couple years older. He wore a short sleeved maroon polo shirt with the top buttons undone, baggy khaki slacks, and yellow socks. No shoes.  

               He had a bright, clever face, with a smattering of freckles across his nose; dark, expressive eyebrows and long lashes, and an impish smile. His features might be oddly handsome if he allowed a cloud of seriousness to pass over them. Actually, he probably could be dashing at the right angle. But right now, his vivid blue eyes—like lightning—lit his whole being with an almost wild brilliance. He had brown, reckless curls that caught the stage lights, and, as if in complement, the lights illuminated them in a flame-red halo. In a ridiculous instant of memory—though the next instant, it didn’t seem so ridiculous—I remembered Shakespeare’s description of Puck in Midsummer Night’s Dream: the “shrewd and knavish sprite,” “that merry wanderer of the night.”

               “Um—hi!” I giggled breathlessly.

               “Hi, don’t mind me, I just dropped in,” the stranger beamed, sticking out his right hand. Cautiously, I took it—and he suddenly brought mine up and kissed it.

“Enchanté!” he said crisply.

“Ha!” I laughed, shocked.

“Miss Maple, this is my nephew, Peter Wren. He’s playing Dr. Edward Ripple.” Mr. Everhart motioned to him. “Peter, this is—”

“Anne Maple, yes, I know, I’ve been listening the whole time,” he said, turning toward me eagerly, fixing me with those sky-bright eyes. “Are you going to do the show?”

I suddenly sensed Aaron and Mr. Everhart go completely still.

               “Well, I’d…I’d like to,” I stammered—surprising myself. “I was just telling them about how I don’t know how to improv.”

               “Oh, shoot, it isn’t that hard,” Peter waved it off. “You’re improv-ing right now, aren’t you?”

               “Ha, well…” I rolled my eyes. “I guess so?”

               “You can walk, talk and chew gum at the same time?” he pressed narrowly.

               “Um—well, sure—”

               “You’re not deaf, blind, have a third eye somewhere?”

               I burst out laughing.

Peter’s eyes suddenly twinkled with an almost fiendish light.

               “Yep,” he said. “I like her.” And with that, he leaned over, kissed my cheek—

               Shot up, headed around the couch toward stage left, ramming his hands in his pockets and whistling “Everything’s Up to Date in Kansas City.”  

               Baffled, I twisted in my seat to watch him stride toward backstage like he was strolling through the park. The shadows of the curtains swallowed him.

               “I hope this means you have your part memorized, Peter,” Aaron called after him, arcing an eyebrow.

               And Peter laughed.

               That ringing, thrilling, innocently-delighted sound straight from my Picture.

               My lips parted, and I couldn’t speak.

               “Well, Miss Maple, if we could,” Mr. Everhart called me back—and I had to struggle to turn around and face him.

               “Could we hear you read a little bit?” Mr. Everhart finished. “Aaron can read Dr. Ripple for you.”

               “Oh! Okay, sure,” I nodded, taking the script they handed me.

               “Why don’t we start with act two, scene two?” Aaron asked, pulling reading glasses out of his breast pocket and slipping them on.

               “Okay,” I said again, flipping to that page.

               We started the read, and I did my very best. The written dialogue was lively and natural, and of course I’d read it already, so it wasn’t all that difficult once my fingers stopped trembling.

But all the while, though I never turned to look, I kept wondering if Peter Wren was watching us from the wings.

 Chapter Three

Wednesday, April 10th

             I bounced up and out of the subway and emerged in front of the dark, solemn, jagged edifice of Trinity Church. I immediately opened my umbrella, humming to myself, hardly noticing the rain pounding on the top of the canvas.

               The crowds all around me ducked and hurried through the downpour, and the hundreds of noisy cars and cabs splashed through the puddles in the street.

               I dashed across Broadway, hopping over the flowing puddles in the gutter, and headed into the narrow canyon of Broad Street. The traffic roar echoed here, and the shadows of the buildings made it even dimmer. I whistled to myself, forcibly calming my urge to start skipping.

               I came to where the Stock Exchange and Federal Hall stood cattycorner to each other, and grinned up at the serene, noble statue of George Washington towering atop the stairs of Federal Hall, his head and broad shoulders shining with water.

               “Hullo, sir!” I said to him. “Sorry I don’t have an extra umbrella!” I giggled at myself, and turned right down Wall Street.

               I followed Wall Street, down three long blocks, smiling at the historic buildings, until I spotted my favorite place to eat in the whole world: Fraunces Tavern.

               It’s the place George Washington said goodbye to his troops at the end of the Revolutionary War, so you can imagine what it looks like: Georgian architecture, only three-and-a-half stories, light-red brick with decorative stonework around all the edges. On its front face, it has exactly fourteen tall, small-paned windows bordered in white.  It has a street-side chimney, and an inset door with pillars right in the front, and another door and a lot more windows on that side. There are also cute windows to the attic room, and a wooden railing all around the top of the square roof. It is one of several Revolutionary-era buildings in this block that have been preserved for their historical significance, and the skyscrapers loom around them like giants. The little buildings are so utterly out of place—and yet, they seem to be part of the very ground itself. Impervious to the ever-changing tumult of the city all around them. As if to say, in the most dignified and unruffled tone: “We were here first; you uppity youngsters maintain your distance.” So whenever I walk up to Fraunces, at any time of year, I feel like I’m stepping back in time.

               I hopped up the stairs, folded my umbrella and shook it out, then pushed through the front door. I was instantly surrounded by old wood walls and floors, and the clatter and clamor of the pub through the door to my left. I turned right and ducked through another door into a tiny front hallway, at the far end of which waited a narrow white staircase that lead up to the George Washington-themed museum above. I smiled at the waitress who stood behind the podium.

               “I think my dad and boyfriend are already here.”

               “All right, go on ahead, then!” the dark-haired girl said in a lovely Irish accent, and motioned me through. I passed through a wider door, down a couple steps, and into the long dining room.

               Broad wood floors, and a row of large street-facing windows in the far wall, with lamps standing in the sills. Long, tavern-style tables and high backed benches marched down the length of the space, all filled with New Yorkers eating and drinking and talking. At the far left stood a fireplace, with an antique map hanging above the hearth. In the far corner of the room stood a round table, and I spotted my dad and Jim sitting there. They sat up and waved at me—I grinned and waved back, and headed across to them.

               My dad is about six feet tall, enjoys wearing tweed suits and driving caps, and always has a smile ready for me. He’s clean-shaven, mostly bald, but he had dark hair when he was younger. He has dark, mischievous eyes—he’s very creative. A good artist, and also has an eye for classic cars. He loves driving a rumbling 1930’s roadster down the country lanes around our house. He’s one of the co-owners of an oil company my grandpa started.

               Jim Tucker looks exactly the opposite of my dad. He’s six-three, muscular, blond hair, likes wearing stylish business suits—and somehow makes them look comfortable. He’s extremely handsome, I think. Brown eyes, dimples, a great laugh. His smile makes me go weak. He has long lashes and a boyish aspect that can change to solemn and rugged if he just lets his beard grow a few days.

As soon as I came up to the table, Jim stood up and pulled out my chair for me.    

“Hello, sweetheart,” he said, and kissed my cheek.

               “Hi, everybody!” I said breathlessly, taking off my coat as I sat down, and draping it over the back of my chair.

               “Hi, honey!” Dad greeted me. “Did you get wet?”

               “Oh, only a little. Not bad,” I said, setting my umbrella under my chair. “It’s really pouring!”

               “Yes, it is—the grass in Central Park will be happy to get it,” Jim noted as he sat back down.

               “We ordered you a hot tea,” Dad told me.

               “Oh, thank you,” I said, shaking out my hands. “I need that today. My fingers are frozen!”

               “Okay, so—what did you want to tell us?” Jim asked, pinning me with his dark gaze and folding his hands on the table. “I’m too curious to wait any more. Your dad is too!”

               I couldn’t suppress my smile any more.

               “Welllll…” I said, canting my head and sliding my napkin.

               “Hey, I knew it,” Jim said, a delighted grin spreading across his face. “You got a call back from one of the private schools. They want to hire you?”

               My eyes flashed up to his, and I suddenly frowned. My smiled failed me.

               “I…Well, no.”

               My dad raised his eyebrows, and gave me an entirely different—playful—look.

               “You got the part.”

               I let out a nervous laugh, turning to him—but his eyes sparkled at me.

               “Yeah,” I nodded. “Yeah…I got the part!”

               “That’s amazing, sweetheart!” he cried, grabbing my wrist and shaking it back and forth. “Congratulations!”

               I relaxed into another laugh, and it felt better this time.

               “Really?” Jim said, his smile gone now. “They picked you? Even though you’ve never had any professional experience?”

               “Well, I…” I looked at him for a second, then tried to gather my thoughts. “I went in and sat with Aaron and the director, Mr. Everhart, and we talked about the show, and its themes, and its potential to evolve and grow over several performances…and then Aaron’s nephew, Peter Wren, just sort of…popped in from nowhere.” I chuckled remembering it. “He just hopped over the couch and plopped down right next to me! He’s playing the scientist,” I said to Jim.

               “Yeah, Frank told me,” Jim nodded to my dad.

               “What was he like?” Dad asked, watching me.

               “Well, he…” I frowned, then laughed. “He’s hard to describe! Kind of…wild or something. Really enthusiastic, silly, just jumping in and out when he feels like it. He asked me a bunch of ridiculous questions and then just left!”

               “Mhm,” Dad murmured, glancing down at his folded hands. My attention sharpened.

               “What?” I asked. “What is it?”

               “Well,” he took a deep breath. “Aaron’s talked about him before to me. He had to raise him after Peter’s mother left, and Aaron had some trouble with him. But,” Dad looked at me. “He also said Peter’s a heck of an actor. A genius of both dramatic and comedic timing. And I’m sure this show will sink or swim because of whatever Peter decides to do with it.” Dad chuckled. “I think you’re in for a ride!”

               “So—this guy is kind of unpredictable?” Jim asked him. “Or…unreliable?”

               “Aaron didn’t go into much detail,” Dad shook his head. “He did tell me that he’s classically trained. So he must have finished college.”

               “How long has one of Aaron Highgate’s shows ever run?” Jim pressed.

               “Hmm, well, one of his ran for three years,” Dad replied. “But that was a few years ago. His most recent show only lasted six months. But he wrote the others on his own,” he held up a finger. “This is the first one that Peter has helped with.”

               “Six months, though, that’s not too long,” Jim said, brightening up. “That’s what, about here to the end of the summer?” He looked at me. “So while you’re doing this play, you can keep applying to schools and then step into a job around September!”

               “Yeah,” I made myself smile, suddenly off balance. “Yeah, that’s a good idea.”

               “Well, I hope it runs for a while longer,” Dad countered. “Since I’m sure all of you will be putting a great deal of time and effort into it. When do you start rehearsal?”

               “Oh, tomorrow,” I answered, shaking myself. “We’ll rehearse all the rest of this month and then open Friday, May tenth.” I pointed at him and Jim with narrow eyes. “Everyone is coming to opening night.”

               “Yes, Mom and Grandma and Lily and Janie will all be there, I guarantee it. I’ll call Aaron and have him reserve us some good seats,” Dad assured me.

               “And I’ll bring my mom and sister,” Jim smiled, reaching around to take my hand. “This could be fun. You’ll be great.”

               Warmth spread through me at his touch, and that sinking feeling dissipated. But before I could say anything more, the waitress came, and I was forced to decide between at least a dozen delicious hot teas.    

 Chapter Four

Thursday, April 11th

              Thursday morning, I saw a Picture of a man’s hand grabbing mine, and pulling me forward. From the look of it, it belonged to a young man, wearing long, fitted red sleeves. I lay there in bed for a long time after I saw it, turning it over and over in my mind. Then, finally, I got up, showered, got dressed in a white blouse and tweed jacket with a broomstick skirt and high boots, fed Milo, snatched up the copy of the script my dad had sent me, and headed out the door.

As soon as I hit the street, I took a deep breath of the cool air. The morning was crisp and bright, and I could tell that the sun’s position in the sky had shifted. Its light glinted differently against the windows, and filled the canyons between the buildings at a changed angle. It wasn’t winter anymore.

               As I rode the subway, the metallic whizzing of the train’s speed surrounding me as it gently rocked side to side, I sat near the rail by the door and read over the script for the fourth time since getting it in the mail. I tried to imagine the blocking, the arrangement of the set, and how I ought to say each one of my lines. But every time the realization hit me that I was actually doing this, a weird wave of excited nausea passed through my whole body.

               At last, the subway lurched to a stop, and I gathered up my things and bustled out with ten thousand of my closest friends, the roar of the trains and the foot-traffic of hundreds of people ricocheting off the cement walls. Ducking my head and concentrating on where to put my feet, I worked my way up the stairs and into the daylight again.

               I emerged just a couple of short blocks from the theatre, so I walked briskly, maneuvering through the crowds of people, the noise of the traffic and car horns sending a never-ending echo up and down the walls of looming buildings.

New York has a particular smell—a mix of stinky scents like exhaust and garbage; and good scents like cooking food, and gusts of sea air. The city hums with activity, never letting your mind rest whilst you’re walking, lest you run into a light pole, a stack of garbage bags, or a person.

Finally, I spotted the sign for the Quadrant Theatre, smiled weakly, fought back the shivers, and pushed through the front door. It squeaked.

               I maneuvered through the silent lobby, as I had before, and entered the theatre. House lights were up this time, and the stage was fully lit. Chairs sat in a circle on the stage, all occupied except for two. I immediately spotted Aaron and Mr. Everhart sitting next to each other, scripts and pencils in their laps. Aaron wore a white dress shirt and black slacks and shoes, with the top buttons of his shirt undone. Mr. Everhart wore a black suit and red tie. Then, as I cautiously and silently made my way forward, I studied the other three in the circle.

               Next to Mr. Everhart sat a middle-aged woman with beautifully quaffed, rather large blonde hair, wearing a flowing white blouse and vibrant blue skirt, and white high heels. She had large eyes, a pretty, distinguished face, and she smiled as she talked to the director. She had a script in her lap, too. Beside her sat a thin, slightly-balding middle-aged man with big, watery eyes and a weak chin, wearing a grey suit and blue tie.

Next to him sat a tall, extremely good-looking young man with neatly-combed black hair, wearing a collared shirt with a blue sweater over it, jeans and sturdy boots. He instantly struck me as looking very like Christopher Reeve’s Superman. The five people talked quietly and easily to each other. All of them calm, confident. As if they belonged there.

I slowed to a halt, feeling my blood turn cold. I took half a step back.

               “She’s here!”

               A shout like a rooster crowing. It shot through the theatre, jerking my attention house right—

               Where Peter Wren had appeared on stage as if by magic. He stood in those baggy khakis again, with a long-sleeved, fitted red shirt, and white tennis shoes. I could see the vibrancy of his eyes even from where I stood, and his hair looked windblown, like he’d just come in to land.

               He trotted across the stage and then leaped off, hitting the carpet like a cat and then bounding up the aisle and right up to me. Funny—I suddenly realized that he could only be an inch or two taller than me. I almost looked directly into his eyes.

               “Hi, how are you?” he asked, beaming at me.

               “I’m good, how are you?” I managed to answer.

               “Fantastic, now that you’re here,” he said. “We were sure your subway had crashed or something like that.”

               I laughed and shook my head.

               “Nope, everything’s okay. I…” I stopped. “Wait, am I late?”

               “No, not at all, Anne,” Aaron interjected from up on stage.

               “Yes you are, I was here at seven this morning,” Peter countered.

My mouth fell open.

               “I—Was I supposed to be here at seven?”

               “Hey, don’t worry about it, hon,” Peter winked at me. “That’s just me—I couldn’t sleep, I was too excited.” Then, he reached out and grabbed my left hand, and tugged on me.

               Gasping—having an instant flashback to my Picture—I managed to keep myself from tripping as I followed his eager pace toward the stage. As if in reflex, he interlaced our fingers and squeezed, and pulled me through the curtains at the stage door. We swerved, hopped up the stairs, and burst out onto the stage as if we were coming out for an encore.

               “Everybody, this is Anne Maple, playing Wendy James,” Peter announced, waving to me with his free hand.

               “Hi!” they all said, their expressions open and agreeable.  

               “Uncle Aaron and Mr. Everhart you know already,” Peter said. “This stunning and vivacious beauty is Nancy Bennet, playing Janet James, your mother.”

               “Hi, sweetheart!” Nancy, the lovely blonde woman, waved at me.

               “Hello!” I gestured back at her with my script. Peter swung my hand back and forth once, then pointed to the man next to Nancy.

               “This diamond in the rough is Walter Emmet, playing your neighbor, Allen.”

               “Howdy,” Walter grinned at me, and gave me a lazy salute, then shifted back and forth in his seat as if pleased with himself. I tried not to laugh, and nodded to him.

               “Good morning.”

               “And this handsome and dashing young man,” Peter said grandly. “Is Stephen Tell, playing your truly-fickle true love, Eric Schultz.”

               “Haha, how do you do?” Stephen chuckled, standing up and sticking his hand out to me. Peter let go of me so I could shift my script to my left hand and shake Stephen’s. As Stephen took my hand and gave me a warm smile, I saw the flash of a wedding ring on his left hand.

               “You’re married, Stephen?” I asked him as he sat back down.

               “Yes, two little girls, too,” he chuckled. “They’re a handful!”

               “Here,” Peter said, drawing a chair into place for me.

               “Thank you,” I smiled at him, and sat down. He sat down immediately on my left, set his right ankle on his left knee, and folded his hands. He didn’t have a script.

               “All right!” Aaron said in a bright—but still measured—tone, looking round at all of us. “Welcome to the premiere production of The Ripple Experiment. Of course, this is a small cast, so I anticipate that we and the crew will become rather like family as the show goes on. Mr. Everhart wanted to conduct a quick read-through of the first act today, and discuss any thoughts on character and so forth. So, sir, take it away.”

               Mr. Everhart cleared his throat.

               “Good morning, everyone! I should also make you aware that our producer, Mr. Gregory Flintheiman, is up in the balcony today, just listening.”

               I couldn’t stop myself—I instantly looked up to my right to search…

               Through the nearly-opaque glare of the stage lights, I glimpsed a large, shadowy figure sitting in the center of the balcony, all alone.

               I froze. Chills crawled down my spine.

               That moment, I felt a light nudge on my arm, and turned to the left to see Peter give me a quiet smile, another wink, and then shake his head. My chills dissipated.

               “So, erm…Let’s start with the first scene, then,” Mr. Everhart cut into my thoughts, and I mentally came back to the stage. I flipped open my script, hearing everyone but Peter do the same.

               “So, we’ve just got Wendy center stage, in front of the curtain, in the main spotlight,” Mr. Everhart went on. “Take it away, Anne.”

               That sickly-nervous sensation swept through my whole body again. It gripped my gut, sending a freakish pain into my chest. My throat locked, and my heart bashed against my ribs. I glanced up. Everyone was looking down at his or her script…

Except I could sense Peter watching me. And his gaze felt warm against my side, like summer sunshine.

I took a deep breath, clutched my hands together in my lap, stared down at the page, and read out loud.

“‘I lead a little life,’” I began. “‘I’m alone in a big, Victorian house that I restored myself; I work, I cook, I garden, I study for my master’s degree in plant biology. I keep to routine. I’m friendly enough with my neighbors, but I keep mostly to myself. Which isn’t particularly unique, I’m sure lots of people lead similar if not identical lives to my own. And I’m content with that. I’ve never had any desire to have my name splashed across newspapers or written in flashing in lights. And yet, sometimes late at night, when I can’t sleep, I wonder…Do the small, everyday actions and decisions of any of us make a difference to the future? Will our small town election for mayor affect the face of our city a hundred years from now? Will what we drive, what we eat, what we plant, how we treat people, prove to be any more important than a billboard you pass on the highway? Don’t we all think to ourselves: will my life, even if it is little, pass by without making any sort of splash? Will I always just live within routine, touching many people, but none of them deeply? Will anyone remember me after I’m gone? And in the end, long after I’ve vanished from the earth…will it even matter that once, Wendy James lived?’”

“Very good. Moving on,” Mr. Everhart said—and I accidentally let out a shaking sigh. I caught Peter shooting me a brief, twinkling look. My face got hot, and I tried not to smile.

“Now, we’re in Wendy’s front sitting room,” Everhart said over the noise of pages flipping. “And it’s she and her mother having tea or coffee or whatever while her mother is visiting.”

“Ahem,” Nancy sat up and adjusted the way she held her script. “‘I love what you’ve done with the wallpaper, darling.’”

“‘Thanks, Mom,’” I read, keeping up with her. “‘It’s almost exactly like the original pattern from 1910. It took me ages to find it.’”

“‘This house has really been an investment for you!’” Nancy kept going, sounding supremely natural. “‘It doesn’t look anything like it did when we first bought it. It was really a fixer-upper.’”

“‘Yes, it’s taken what, five years?’” I continued. “‘And now I’ve finally got it the way I want it.’”

“‘And so now you’re ready to sell it?’”

I felt Nancy glance up at me. Mustering my own confidence, I met her blue eyes and gave her an indignant look before going on with my next line.

“‘Sell it? Mom, I just spent all that time and money making it exactly the way I always dreamed—why would I turn around and sell it now?’”

“‘Because that’s what I thought the plan was, honey!’” Nancy replied, her voice and expression inviting me to engage, to ramp up the emotion beyond a simple read-through.

I took the bait.

“‘What plan?’”

“‘When Dad and I bought it for you and you paid us back—you said you were going to fix it up—’”

“‘I think you might be confusing what I said with what Eric said,’” I skillfully interrupted—not cutting off her line, but leaving no space between. “‘He said it might be a good idea to flip the house, to make some money—’”

“‘—so that the two of you would have money to get married,’” Nancy interrupted me this time, just as deftly.

“‘Well, there’s no need to worry about money now that he’s gotten his own practice,’” I went on, swiftly turning the page. “‘But you’re getting ahead of yourself.’”

“‘In what way?’” Nancy demanded.

“‘Well,’” I said, adding in my own frustrated noise. “‘For one thing, Eric hasn’t even proposed to me! First he was eyeball-deep in his residency and I hardly ever saw him, and now he’s only just bought this practice and gotten it going. We haven’t had time to talk about anything like that.’”

“‘You have time now,’” Nancy insisted. “‘And wouldn’t you much rather get married and live in his house? It’s in a much nicer part of town, there’s a pool, a back garden, it’s right by the country club. It’s just divine.’”

“‘Well, I think this house is divine,’” I answered, with purposeful quietness. “‘I’m sorry you don’t like it.’”

“‘Now, honey, I didn’t say that,’” Nancy said, masterfully gentling her voice so that she almost sounded like my real mother.

“Very good,” Mr. Everhart concluded, and I lifted my head to attend to him.

“Any questions about their relationship?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said, halfway lifting my hand. “How long has Wendy’s father been dead?”

“Five years,” Peter suddenly answered. I swung around to look at him…

To see him smiling simply—but with a ghostly sadness in his eyes that vanished faster than I could be sure of it.

“Yes, he died of cancer,” Aaron added with a sigh. “Lung cancer, if you need to know. Smoked all his life.”

“Okay, thank you,” I said quietly.

“I assume Janet James has been accustomed all her married life to being comfortable?” Nancy asked, gesturing. “Money-wise, I mean.”

“Yes, she was actually wealthy growing up, and she and her husband had quite a bit of money,” Mr. Everhart explained. “She enjoys luxury and a fast pace.”

“Which sets her and her daughter at odds,” Nancy noted. “Because Wendy likes simple, quiet, old-fashioned, maybe rather eccentric things.”

“Uh, oh, I think I was typecast,” I muttered, though loud enough for everyone to hear. They all chuckled—and Peter laughed aloud.

“She also might be worried that her own life has stopped right in its prime,” Nancy added. “Which is why she’s trying to live vicariously through Wendy—pushing her to marry the handsome doctor, move up in the world, give Janet grandkids so she’ll feel like she has a purpose again.”

“That makes sense,” I agreed. Nancy smiled at me.

“Okay, let’s have Stephen come in as the boyfriend, Eric,” Mr. Everhart said, sticking his pencil behind his ear.

“Okay, sure,” Stephen said, clearing his throat and moving his script. “Looks like you start me off, Anne, after the doorbell sound.”

“Yeah, sure,” I said, then started reading again. “‘I’ll get the door…Hi, Eric!’”

“‘Hello, sweetie, how are you?’” Stephen answered, his deep voice inviting and engaging. “‘Is your mom here too? I think I saw her car.’”

“‘Yes, she and I were just having a drink in the living room. Come in and sit down!’” I read.

“‘Hello, Mrs. James.’”

“‘Hello, Eric dear. How was work today?’”

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Peter start bouncing his knee, and glance off. I tried to stay focused.

“‘Just fine, just fine. Very exciting, taking a lot of new patients.’”

Absently, I scanned down the page, realizing my character didn’t say much for another page—it was just small talk between Eric and Mrs. James. I managed to relax a bit. But Peter’s leg bounced more rapidly.

Finally, Stephen said my cue line.

Peter’s knee went still.

“‘I know it keeps Annie happy, but I’d go stir-crazy in this old house. The TV doesn’t even work!’”

“‘You know I have more than a thousand books here, Eric,’” I cut in. “‘And a garden, and a sewing room, and a radio, and a record player. I’m not bored.’”

“‘Oh, I know you’re not, honey—that’s one of the things I like about you,’” Stephen read. “‘Because it means that you’d never be bored anywhere. You can adapt to anyplace, and find something you like about it.’”

“‘Maybe,’” I said—playing that line with considerable doubt.

“Doorbell noise,” Mr. Everhart announced.

“‘I’ll get it,’” I said again. “‘Oh! Hi! Can I help you?’”

“Oops, that’s me, let me turn the page real fast,” Walter sat up straight, then nervously flipped the page of his script. “Sorry. Okay. Erm…‘Hi, I’m Allen. Next door.’”

“‘Next door?’” I read. “‘Which next door?’”

“‘Um. There,’” Walter said, changing his tone to a nasal, tremulous, unnervingly-not-okay tenor. “‘Red house, blue trim. South.’”

“‘Oh! Mrs. Nelson’s old house?’”

“‘Don’t remember,’” Walter read, twitching his shoulders. “‘Mine now. Thought I’d come say hi.’” And he suddenly looked up and gave me a gawkishly-inappropriate, toothy grin with widened eyes—and I burst out laughing.

The rest of the cast loudly echoed it, especially Peter. Trying to stifle myself, I kept reading.

“‘Well, it’s nice to meet you.’”

“‘Can I come in?’” Walter’s nasally voice sounded more like a rat this time.

“‘Um, I have company over…’”

“‘Pretty carpet. Looks like tofu.’”

We read on through some awkwardly-humorous lines involving all of us except Peter, and I kept giggling because Walter did read his lines so well that I knew—after we’d gotten over our fits of laughter—he could really play this part in a downright-creepy way, so that the audience would instantly feel unsettled. Peter—no help at all to my composure—kept muttering commentary under his breath. I had to fight not to listen, or I would have hyperventilated and stopped functioning.  

Finally, Walter’s character Allen departed.

“‘I don’t know if I’m okay with this,’” I read, swiping tears out of my eyes and calming back down so I could act again.

“‘Okay with what?’” Nancy as Janet asked.

“‘With him as my neighbor!’” I waved in the air. “‘I don’t like that vibe—he’s not all right in the head.’”

“‘Anne—aren’t you being a little judgmental?’” Stephen as Eric accused. “‘He’s just shy and a little socially awkward. Just because someone isn’t eloquent doesn’t mean they’re inferior.’”

“‘I didn’t say he was inferior, I meant that he makes me nervous!’”

“‘Implying he’s some sort of psychopath, then?’” Nancy asked.

“‘I don’t know, Mom, you saw him, too!’”

               “‘Well, I didn’t see that,’” Nancy said coolly. “‘I thought it was nice of him to come over and introduce himself. And don’t you trust Eric’s professional judgment?’”

               “‘I, well…Yeah. Yes, I do,’” I read the line with increasing firmness.

               “‘But of course, if you do decide you don’t like the neighborhood anymore, there are always alternatives…’” Nancy read her line with obvious pointedness.

               My character then performed all the niceties of getting her suddenly-unwanted guests to leave the house, so she could finally sit down and do some reading for her master’s program. All throughout that dry but necessary dialogue, Peter’s knee started bouncing again, and he twiddled his thumbs.

               “All right, and now there are some stage directions,” Mr. Everhart put on some reading glasses, held up his script, and read them. “Wendy seats herself in her favorite chair by the front window. Everything goes quiet for a few moments as she immerses herself in her studies. Then, a low rumble, like thunder, passes through the house, and she notices it. Suddenly, with a flash of lights and a burst of smoke, Dr. Edward Ripple’s time machine appears stage left, dials and buttons blinking, the whole apparatus spitting and hissing.’”

               “And then the fun starts!” Peter declared, suddenly hopping to his feet. “Mr. Everhart, can we please do this standing up? You can move us all over, wherever you want, I don’t care. C’mon, Anne, I need you.” And he grabbed my hand again and pulled me to my feet.

               “Sure, Peter. I think the machine will be over there almost where the stage left curtain is,” Mr. Everhart twisted and pointed. “We can…Well, we can all turn our chairs so our backs are to the house, and get out of your way.”

               “Mr. Everhart is a brilliant director,” Peter told me swiftly and quietly as he hustled me upstage. “He never makes actors move just for the sake of moving, you know?”

               “Yes, I’ve had directors like that,” I said, my mind spinning. “I mean—ones that made you move just to avoid stagnation on stage.”

               “Right, exactly—that’s pointless,” Peter nodded adamantly. “And it’s irritating—you keep thinking to yourself, what the heck am I doing walking over here? What’s over here? Why am I turning my back on the person I’m talking to? He never does that. Every movement he assigns has motivation.”

               “Good, I look forward to that,” I smiled at him. And he beamed back at me.

               “Okay, sit, stay,” he instructed, holding up a finger. “Right in your invisible chair.”

               I stifled another giggle whilst he left me and dashed off toward the stage left curtain. As he got set, the other actors, along with Mr. Everhart and Aaron, got up and moved their chairs downstage, facing us. I felt a nervous flash again.

We now had an audience.

“Anne, your chair will be about where you’re standing,” Mr. Everhart pointed. “So obviously, you’ll be reacting to the appearance of this ridiculous contraption in your living room.”

“Obviously, yes,” I laughed.

“Okay, so, go ahead,” he said.

Biting back my nervousness, I took a deep breath, let out a yelp, feigned leaping off a chair, gaped with wide eyes, and took several steps backward.

Peter, putting on a deep, critical frown, pantomimed pushing open the heavy door of his time machine, and carefully stepping out onto the floor as if it might be quicksand. His movements were so realistic, as if he were actually touching something I simply couldn’t see. Fixated, I watched him without breathing.

“‘Computer, begin recording. Day one, year 1985. I comprehended just two seconds ago that I should have brought an updated Hydro-polyspringer,’” Peter growled…

And, in one earth-tipping moment, I realized he had all his lines memorized.

He lifted his face, and sniffed the air, then took something invisible from his belt and stared at it, twisting invisible knobs. “‘No sign of ethelnanriol toxaride in the air. Interesting. So what is that smell?’” He stepped around his “time machine,” as if eyeing it up and down, then bent down and twisted the air with his forefinger and thumb. “‘Mhm. Just wore out the Petazap Couplet.’”

Suddenly, I realized that was my cue.

“Um!’” I yelped, flipping the page. “Um, sorry! Okay, okay, found my place. Ahem. ‘Who are you?’”

“‘Thankfully, the yocto-perigram was set correctly,’” Peter went on, as if I hadn’t spoken at all. “‘And the replacement sub-temporary zeptometer seems to have worked just fine.’” Peter rolled his eyes. “‘Which is good because Xaron charged me three times what it’s worth. Filthy cheat.’”

               “‘Hey!’” I shouted, starting toward him. “‘Who are you, where did you come from, and what are you doing in my house?’”

               He stood up, spun around, and pinned me with a lightning-flash of a gaze.

I stopped in my tracks.

               “‘I’m the one who should be asking who you are,’” he snapped. “‘Since every calamity that has befallen the world is the fault of your generation.’”

               “‘Excuse me?’” I took another step toward him. “‘What are you talking about? What is that thing?’”

               “‘This thing,’” he spat, with violent indignance. “‘Is a Third Generation Xenon Parathormax Time Traveler—a Yottazarathor Model. A far more sophisticated device than you could ever comprehend. And I—’” he slapped a hand to his chest. “‘—am the Head Scientist of the First Society. And I am commandeering this house—or whatever it is—for use in my scientific studies.’”

               And with that, he slammed the invisible door to his invisible time-machine with such vehemence that I actually jumped. Then, he stormed across the stage, right past me, and exited stage left.

As I gawked after him, he spun around in the shadows—

Transformed his scowl into a grin, and shouted:

“I assume the stairs will be this direction?”

“You went a bit too far, Peter,” Mr. Everhart called back. “Next curtain downstage!”

“Aha, okee-doke,” Peter called back, hopping over ten feet and playfully sweeping a dividing curtain out of the way. I put a hand over my mouth to hide. Mr. Everhart put on his glasses again, and squinted down at the script.

“All right,” he declared. “On to the next scene—on Wendy’s roof!”

 Chapter Five

             “Okay, Peter, come out here for a second,” Mr. Everhart called.

               “Yes, sir,” Peter said instantly, striding out of the shadows and clasping his hands in front of him. He stopped center stage, his back to me, and stood still, facing the director.

               “Since we’re apparently all right with doing some blocking right now, you can note that you’ll be entering stage right for this scene,” Mr. Everhart said.

               “Yessir,” Peter nodded.

               “Anne,” Everhart beckoned to me. I mentally caught myself and leaped forward, stopping next to Peter.  

               “You will have followed him offstage—after standing for a moment in shock,” Mr. Everhart chuckled. “Up the stairs, through the attic stairway, and then you’ll both stoop through a window on the roof.”

               “Okay, sure,” I said.

               “All right, Peter, go ahead and come on first.”

               “Sir!” he said, turned on his heel, and dashed past me. Spinning around, I hurried after him.

               “Keep up, keep up, girl!” Peter teased, motioning to me as he ducked past the curtains offstage.

               “Haha, I’m trying!” I muttered back.

               “Coming on now,” Peter called out to the others, then bent down, pushed on an invisible window, swung it open, and stepped out. I waited, watching him stride out onto the “roof,” scanning around, and fiddling with the unseen device he’d initially pulled from his belt. He stopped center stage.

Following his lead, but trying not to drop my script, I also bent down just as far as he had, stepped forward as I eyed him—and made a show of tripping over the window ledge. Nancy and Stephen laughed.

All right, mental note to keep that, I thought.

“‘This site should be sufficient,’” Peter began, still talking into his “recording device.” “‘There’s enough attobugisite that I can set the radial thermozetta here…’” He began deftly stepping out measurements across the stage, pointing to certain places, tilting his head and squinting. “‘The radioactive femtobot can clamp to this edge, and leaving a teramacro between it and the zengatera should ensure absolute safety.’”

“‘What on earth are you doing?’” I shouted, storming downstage. He spun to face me, giving me an ugly look.

“‘Why did you follow me?’” he snapped, before sweeping past me in his continuation of taking measurements. I let my mouth fall open, gestured helplessly, then followed him.

“‘This is my house—I’m the one who should be asking you the questions!’”

“‘As I said, this is no longer your house,’” he replied, squatting down and eyeing something unseen with extreme intensity. I glanced down at my script, wishing with all my might I could just throw it offstage and go without it, like him…

“‘Of course it’s my house,’” I retorted. “‘I paid for it, remodeled it, and put this new roof on it! All my mail comes here, I have the deed, for heaven’s sake. This is my house!”

“‘Stop screaming, you ridiculous woman,’” he made a haughty face, and almost put on a British accent. “‘This is not a difficult concept, even for you.’”

“‘Well, breaking and entering isn’t a difficult concept, either,’” I shot back. “‘I’m going downstairs to call the police.’” And I started back toward the invisible window.

“‘Then—I’ll be forced to activate the Megafabricon,’” Peter said, ice-cold, slowly rising to his feet.  

I stopped dead, and made myself turn around very slowly, and pin him with a sideways look.

“‘What is a Megafabricon?’” I asked, my voice low and tight.

Unseen by the others, Peter’s glance suddenly sparkled, and—for some reason—his composure flickered. Then, he lifted his chin and took a deep breath.

“‘It is a super-heated, invisible barrier that will launch from this spot right here—’” he pointed to a spot on the stage and then ferociously shot his hand up into the air.

I cowered backward.

“‘—and cover this building entirely,’” he waved wildly, deepening his voice to booming. “Penetrating through the earth and all the way beneath the basement, encapsulating it in an unbreakable, uncrackable, unshakable forcefield that nothing invented in this century could even put a dent in.’” He leaned toward me. “‘Not even an atomic bomb.’”  

I just stared at him, as per the script—but also captivated by his fiery animation and the radiation in his gaze. I felt like, any second, flames might shoot from his fingers.

“‘You’re insane,’” I said shakily, thankful that I already knew that line and didn’t have to break eye contact.

Suddenly, he shrugged and looked away as if we weren’t talking about anything of importance at all.

“‘Say what you like, it makes very little difference,’” he said lightly. “‘I’m establishing my laboratories here for the duration of my experiments, and you may either remain here and keep to yourself as much as possible, or you can leave.” He put his hands in his pockets and strolled across the front of the stage, as if looking down over the edge of the roof. “‘Of course, I would prefer that you left, but I won’t force you out. I might need someone to cook.’”

“‘Wha—!’” I gasped, speechless with horror, and made myself stammer for a minute whilst he dutifully ignored me. Then, I stomped my foot, grabbed a fistful of my hair…

Then spun around, marched toward the invisible window, threw another forceful glare back at him, pushed through the window—

And tripped again.

Everybody laughed—and I heard Peter break character and snort.

And then…

The cast started clapping. I felt my cheeks get hot, pushed my hair out of my face, and turned back around, biting my lip and smiling. Peter took a bow, and then frantically waved me forward. I laughed and came up to join him.

“Wow, that was great!” Walter cried, clapping widely.

“Good grief, did you two practice this beforehand?” Mr. Everhart asked.

“No, they didn’t,” Aaron sat back and folded his arms, giving us a sly smile. “They’re just reading each other very well.”

“Well, let’s keep going then!” Mr. Everhart suggested, clearing his throat and turning the page. “The next bit takes place on a split set. Stage right will be Wendy’s room, where she’ll be pacing and deciding whether or not to call anyone. Then there’s a wall with a door in it to an adjoining guest bedroom. That’s where Peter will end up. Got it?”

“Yup,” Peter went up on his toes. “Go ahead?”

“Sure, go ahead,” Everhart chuckled, waving us off.

Peter dashed off stage left, and I maneuvered into what I thought was the right place.

“Downstage a bit, Anne,” Aaron motioned to me.

“Okay, makes sense,” I said, obeying. “So, I’ve got a bed here, nightstand, stuff like that?”

“Right, a full-size bed, nightstand, wardrobe over there,” Everhart pointed. “The dividing wall’s at center stage. Got it?”

“Yeah,” I nodded.

“Okay, go.”

I re-oriented myself, outlined the bed and the walls in my mind, and started pacing back and forth, glancing down at my script as I did.

“‘Sure. Okay. There’s a man on my roof, setting up…Tarabetazips or…Plasmafalazoids or…What did he say? The Megafabricon? What is that?’” I stopped in the center of the room and threw my hand in the air. “‘Is that even real? Well, the mess down in the living room is definitely real! Ugh, he probably would do something ridiculous if I called the police. And what exactly is that thing down there, a bomb? It’s obviously not a time machine, whatever he says—he’s clearly crazy…’” I sighed helplessly. “‘But…if I try to explain this to Mom or Eric they’ll think I’m crazy.’” I put my hand to my forehead and kept reading, very aggrieved. “‘What am I going to do?’”

“Clank, crash, boom, general irritating noises,” Peter said in loud monotone. I covered my face with my hand so I wouldn’t giggle.

“Want me to go in the other bedroom now?” I muttered through my fingers.

“Yes, the door’s just upstage of you,” Everhart answered.

“’Kay,” I said, turned and mimed flinging open an adjoining door.

Peter was in the next “room,” pretending to set something up with studious precision. For a second, I gaped at the invisible array of technology that filled the room, which was supposed to have appeared basically out of nowhere.

“‘What are you doing now?’” I demanded, furious.

“‘I noticed you weren’t in this room, and since you live alone, I assumed this was the guest room,’” Peter replied absently. “‘I’ll be staying here for the duration, until I’ve discovered or altered whatever is necessary.’”

I looked down at my script, burning the words into my mind, then pushed it down, lifted my head, and poured boiling venom into my voice.

“‘How. Dare. You.’”

Peter stopped. He frowned over his shoulder at me.

“‘What?’”

“‘I don’t care who you are or what you are—How dare you just…Just come charging into a lady’s home, without asking permission, without smiling, saying hello, explaining yourself?’” I advanced on him like an army.

He faced me, and his eyes flashed.

“‘And now you’re just moving in to my guest room, as if you own it, completely disregarding what I might want or need,’” I continued. “‘Clearly you have extremely advanced technology, and you’re very smart—but you are absolutely disrespectful, uncivilized and unkind. And whatever it is you came here to find out, it’s irrelevant.’”

“‘Irrelevant?’” he repeated, as if baffled.

“‘Yes,’” I bit out. “‘You can’t put any knowledge to good use if you don’t have wisdom and compassion to go along with it. Didn’t your parents teach you that?’”

“‘I didn’t have any parents.’”

                I stopped. Looked down at the script.

               That wasn’t in there.

               I brought my head up, suddenly searching Peter’s face.

               He’d changed completely.

               The hardness had melted from his features, his eyebrows drawn together. His blue eyes, catching the stage lights, seemed incandescent. And he carefully clasped his hands in front of him.

               “‘My parents died in a chemical explosion when I was six months old,’” he went on, his voice quiet and careful. He shifted his weight. “‘I grew up with scientists and professors, surrounded by lab coats and computers. But…even they told me that I suffered from an acute lack of empathy.’”

               I said nothing. I couldn’t say anything—he’d gone off script. So I waited.

               “‘Whatever the cause of it, it must be true,’” he shrugged. “‘I hear it often enough. I don’t like people, and I don’t want their company. But I…I still feel keenly the waste, the missed opportunity that I see every day in the world around me. I just feel it in my bones—that something has gone wrong.’” He looked at me with an odd urgency, and pressed his fingertips to his chest.

               I glance down. What he’d just said somewhat resembled a written line—so I took it.

               “‘What exactly is wrong?’”

               “‘Everything,’” he said—and I could feel the pain in his voice.

Without meaning to, I let the angry tension in my brow change to concern. And I watched every move on his face.

               “‘Half the world’s been destroyed by nuclear holocaust, the people who survived live in a sterile environment—no trees, no grass, no animals. Everything is synthesized, everyone is monitored. Half the population has to live encased in machinery to keep them alive. Nobody risks natural pregnancy for fear of genetic mutation, so children are engineered and then implanted into women who have been specifically chosen for the task.’” He took a deep breath, the pain overwhelming him now. And he took me right with him.

               “‘We live to live,’” he said softly. “‘To survive. To keep going. And yet…We’ve lost everything that makes us want to.’”

               I swallowed, my heart churning inside me. I reluctantly glanced down at my script, then returned my eyes to Peter as quickly as I could.

               “‘How did that happen?’” I asked.

               “‘I don’t know,’” he said helplessly. “‘That’s what I came to find out.’”

               I allowed a pause to linger between us. And I carefully took two steps toward him.

               “‘How do I know you’re from the future?’” I ventured.

               He held out his invisible device. I eyed it for a long moment, then reached out and took it, very carefully.

               “‘What is this?’”

               “‘Almost anything you want it to be,’” he answered. “‘A communicator, a camera, a recording device, a map, a scanner, an X-ray, an infrared detector, a computer, an encyclopedia…Go ahead, ask it something.’”

               “‘Ask it something?’” I raised my eyebrows. “‘This looks like a TV remote with a screen!’”

               Peter chuckled, then buried it.

               “‘It could do that, too. Probably. Go on, ask it something.’”

               I stared doubtfully down at the invisible device, then lifted it up toward my face, and spoke.

               “‘What is the capital of the United States?’”

               “‘The capital of the United States of America was Washington, District of Columbia,’” Aaron read out, as the voice of the computer, in his most precise and lofty British accent.

               My character would obviously be astonished at this, so I let my mouth fall open and I held up the device, staring at Peter and then at it. He just stood there, a self-satisfied smile on his face. Finally, I hesitated, frowning at it, before I risked another question.

               “‘What is the circumference of the earth?’”

               “‘Twenty-four thousand, nine hundred one miles,’” Aaron answered.

               “‘What is the distance from the earth to the sun?’”

               “‘Ninety-two point nine-six million miles.’”

               “‘Okay,’” I said, putting challenge in my tone. “‘How tall am I?’”

               “‘You are a human female, aged twenty-six, standing five feet, six inches tall.’”

               I widened my eyes at Peter.

               “‘That’s…’” I stammered. “‘That’s not possible.’”

Peter just lifted his eyebrows a little, implying I ought to go on. I narrowed my eyes, and said my next line very pointedly.

               “‘All right. Okay, fine. What is the population of the earth?’”

               “‘Two million, seven hundred fifty thousand, one hundred three.’”

               I stopped. I looked up at Peter again.

               He gazed back at me, sorrow all over his face. I swallowed. And, without taking my eyes from Peter, I asked again.

               “‘What year is it?’”

               “‘The year is two-thousand, eighty-five years after the birth of Christ,’” Aaron answered, without a hint of emotion.

               “‘Wow,’” I gasped, looking earnestly at Peter. “‘This…This is true, then? You’re actually…from the future. And it’s actually…Like that.’”

               “‘I’m afraid so.’” He closed one eye in a tired wince.  

               “‘And you’ve come here to what…get away from that?’” I ventured, holding out the device to him.

               “‘Oh, no,’” he shook his head, taking it from me. “‘I’m a scientist, and I never run away from anything. I want to learn—to find out what went wrong, and prevent it.’”

               “‘You’re trying to change the future?’” I cried.

               “‘Yes, exactly!’” he stepped toward me now, getting more animated with his gestures. “‘If I can discover what events led to the domino effect that created the world I now live in—then it won’t turn out that way! Don’t you see? If I can get to the bottom of this, I could prevent nuclear genocide, test-tube babies, synthesized food, people living in cubicles and never seeing the sky or trees or animals again.’”

               I looked at him for a long time as he gazed earnestly at me.

               “‘And for some reason…’” I said slowly. “‘You think that whatever went wrong…happened at my house?’”

               “‘Well, maybe not your house precisely,’” he shrugged. “‘According to my calculations, it happened somewhere within a ten-mile radius of here, and your house is at the center of it.’”

               “‘That sounds pretty precise to me,’” I offered a weak laugh. His smile brightened a little.

               “‘Don’t you see how important this is?’” he asked. “‘Not just for my generation, but all the generations that come after?’”

               I canted my head, frowning.

               “‘But,’” I said slowly. “‘Theoretically…If you change something in the past…couldn’t you erase your own existence? Make it so you were never born?’”

               “‘Time travel is still in a very experimental stage,’” he replied. “‘And no theory has been tested to its full extent yet. So, technically…’” He took a deep breath. “‘Yes. Yes, I could.’”

               “‘And you’re still willing to do it?’” I studied him hard.

               “‘Absolutely,’” he said. “‘And you…’” he stopped.

               I raised my eyebrows, waiting. He glanced down, bit his lip, then risked another step toward me.

               “‘And you may help me. If you’re willing.’”

               I didn’t say my next line. For some reason, a line—any line—felt wrong.

               So instead, I held out my right hand.

               Peter’s eyes flashed to mine. He looked at my hand, then at me again.

               And that incandescent sparkle danced across his gaze for just an instant.

               He reached out, very carefully, and took my hand.

               But he didn’t shake it. Instead, he gently took my fingers and curled them inside his, leaving our thumbs to rest on top. He tapped my thumb with his, and ducked his head.

               “‘I…’” He hesitated. “‘I don’t believe I caught your name.’”

               Finally, I let myself smile at him—which I’d been wanting to do the whole time.

               “‘I’m Wendy James.’”

               He looked up, and squeezed my fingers.

               “‘I’m Dr. Edward Ripple.’”

               And he smiled back at me.

               “Very good!” Mr. Everhart declared, and the rest of the cast clapped—and Walter whistled.

Unable to contain myself any longer, I gripped Peter’s hand and leaned in close to him.

               “Peter—you are fantastic!” I told him. “That was incredible!”

               “Oh, shoot—no it wasn’t,” he dipped his head away, then sneaked a glance up at me. “You think so?”

               “Absolutely!” I cried, keeping hold of him. “I’ve never seen anything like that!”

               “Oh, I hardly knew what I was doing, I was so busy watching you,” he answered, laughing.

               “Don’t be ridiculous,” I scoffed, shaking my head. “You’re amazing.”

               He couldn’t repress his grin anymore, and turned away to hide it—but I felt him tighten his grip on me, and I saw his cheeks color.

               “I am impressed,” Aaron declared. “That was wonderful to watch.”

I dipped my head, and Peter swung our hands back and forth.

“Why don’t we take a ten minute break?” Mr. Everhart suggested. “Get a drink of water, stretch out a bit, and come back for the next scene.”

 Chapter Six

             The rest of the morning, we ran the entire show.

After watching Peter and I trip over windows and slam doors and talk to invisible hand-held devices, the rest of the cast wasn’t content anymore to just sit and read through the script. Knowing what I did about actors, I’m sure they were eager to prove that they could mime and pretend just as heartily as anybody else. So, holding their scripts in one hand and gesturing with the other, Nancy, Stephen and Walter threw themselves into the scenes.

               Mr. Everhart, too, got out of his chair several times—in spite of his painful knee—and maneuvered carefully around the stage, pointing with enthusiasm to the places where tables, chairs, couches, fireplaces, doors and futuristic equipment would be, and where we ought to stand in relation to the furniture and each other. Only Aaron remained seated, pencil in hand, silently watching us and making marks in his script.

               I noticed right away that the other actors had studied the script even more diligently than I had, and seriously thought about their character voices and even some mannerisms—especially Walter. Both Nancy and Stephen readily made eye contact with me and each other as we rehearsed, turning the lines into actual conversations.

               Stephen wasn’t afraid to come close to me when the scene called for it, put an arm around me, or give me a quick peck on the head, just as an actual gentlemanly boyfriend would. He had a deep voice and an easy manner that, as Eric Schultz, also carried a confidence and a little sharpness that I thought was perfect for the part. He had an incredibly handsome smile that he used skillfully to soften what otherwise might be unkind-sounding lines. And when he looked at me, I really enjoyed looking back at him, because he had radiant green eyes and a piercing gaze that pulled me into the moment of the story.

               Nancy exuded class and a sweet sort of arrogance, using her beauty to make Janet James’ whole aura charming instead of irritating. Twice during a conversation, she reached out and grasped my hand, so I decided that was the gesture we’d use as a family signal—and so later, when my character wanted to make a point with hers, I reached out and grasped her hand in turn. When I did, she returned the pressure and gave me all of her attention.

               Walter, when he wasn’t in character, reminded me of a cat I had at home upstate: sweet, a little shy but likes everyone, and fond of sitting dopily around and blinking. But when Walter became Allen, his watery eyes took on a cunning coldness, like a lean, starving wolf, and he’d tilt his head in an absolutely unnerving fashion that caused me to break into uncomfortable giggles more than once.  

               One time, as Mr. Everhart was talking to Stephen and Nancy, and Peter was discussing something with Aaron, I found myself standing next to Walter. He shifted uncomfortably, keeping his eyes on his script—except when he’d glance repeatedly over at me. Finally, I turned to him.

               “Do you have family here in New York, Walter?”

               “Um…Yeah, actually,” he said, his head coming up in surprise. “I…I live with my sister. She works on Wall Street.”

               “Wow!” I exclaimed. “That’s high-pressure work.”

               “Yeah,” he laughed. “She and I are constantly having competitions about who has the most to worry about. She says she worries about watching a million dollars go down the tubes, I say I worry about tripping and falling on my face in front of a thousand people.”

               “Oh, you’re not going to fall on your face,” I assured him. “You’re doing a really wonderful job.”

               “Thank you,” he smiled and shrugged one shoulder. “I haven’t gotten a part in such a long time, I feel pretty rusty. But I’ve worked with Mr. Highgate before, in one of his first plays, and he called me up and asked if I’d be interested in this one.”

               “Hey, that’s wonderful!”

               “Yeah, he’s a great guy. Really sensible and down to earth,” Walter nodded, then lowered his voice. “Unlike most writers in New York.”

               I chuckled at that, and then Mr. Everhart called us back to the scene.

               As we progressed, the scenes I had with Stephen and Nancy were measured, flowing, natural, and felt astonishingly-good and solid. I’d worked with excellent college performers before, but never professionals—and it suddenly felt like stepping from a rickety stool onto a marble tabletop. I could tell that I could rely on them to come in every time, to remember their lines, and to bring life and flavor to every scene.

               Peter, on the other hand…

               He felt like a hurricane.

               A delightful, energetic, flashing storm of a presence, spitting out those nonsensical futuristic words as if he spoke fluent technobabble; expertly working the dials and knobs of the invisible computers that slowly crowded every room; flying into thunderous, self-righteous rages only to wilt in defeat and confusion. When he and I had scenes together, I felt like I was grabbing onto the tailcoats of a whirling dervish and fighting to hold on.

               Yet, every time I felt like I was just about to get shaken loose, he’d stop. He’d slow down, change his tone, come over to me, and pierce me with such keen and unwavering attention that I had just enough time to gather myself, take a breath, and continue with my line.

He never touched me whilst playing Dr. Ripple, and portrayed the eccentric scientist with a haughty, Sherlockian aloofness. But when we broke character to listen to Mr. Everhart, he often nudged me, gave me sly looks, or made faces when the director wasn’t looking to try to make me giggle.

We all burst through the length of the script, laughing in between times, often excitedly talking over each other about character points.

And then, suddenly, we came to the last scene.

“All right, that’s good enough,” Aaron said, holding up a hand.

I twitched, surprised. I’d almost forgotten he was there.

“Yes, Mr. Highgate is right,” Mr. Everhart grunted, sitting down in his chair again. “We’ll rehearse this scene separately, since there’s obviously no script for it, and an entirely different technique will be used. And, of course, it’ll only involve Peter and Anne.’”

“And I think you may need to rest, my friend,” Aaron gave him a careful smile.

“Oh, nothing a couple aspirin can’t fix,” Mr. Everhart waved him off.

“No point in pushing yourself,” Aaron countered. “We’ve come a lot further today than we thought we would.”

“Wow, is it already two in the afternoon?” Nancy realized, looking down at her watch. “I completely lost track of time!”

“Easy to do,” Peter laughed.

“No wonder I was starting to feel wobbly on my legs,” Walter remarked. “I’m starved!”

“Well, there are several good restaurants around here,” Aaron said. “There’s a pizzeria around the corner that’s particularly good. I suggest everyone go eat, study your scripts, rest, and we’ll see you back here tomorrow at nine a.m.”

“I’ll be here at seven,” Peter nodded, giving a grin to his uncle, then to me.

“Bye, everybody!” Nancy waved. “See you tomorrow!”

“Goodbye, Mother!” I called teasingly after her.

“Go get good rest, darling,” she answered as she headed toward the stairs, putting on her Mrs. James affect. “Don’t neglect your beauty sleep!”

The others waved and said goodbye, and I shut my script and went to pick up my purse from beside where I’d been sitting.

“I thought that went really well,” Peter said to Aaron in a calm, low—but not secretive—voice.

“Yes, I thought so, too,” Aaron agreed, standing up and closing his own script. I glanced over to see Peter put his hands in his pockets.

“Nancy’s really natural, and Walter’s just great,” Peter noted. “He’s seriously creeping me out.”

“Yes, and I’m glad I got Stephen,” Aaron said. “Snatched him out of the jaws of some big musical that’s opening two weeks from now. A revival of Cinderella, I think.”

“Yeah, he looks like the football type,” Peter said, in a sports announcer voice. I stifled another smile and started toward the steps, hearing the men continue talking behind me. I pushed through the curtain and headed down the stairs and out into the house.

Then, I heard footsteps behind me, and turned to see Peter walking up the aisle, his hands still in his pockets, his head bent in thought.

“I’m so impressed you have all your lines memorized,” I said, stopping to wait for him. He blinked and lifted his head, then gave a friendly shrug.

“Ha. Easy when you write half of them,” he said.

“You wrote half of them?” I cried, falling into step beside him.

“Yeah, I basically invented the character,” he said. “Uncle Aaron wrote all the mentally stable ones, like you.”

I chuckled, and he answered it. We stepped out into the lobby, and I turned to face him.

“Well, would you like to come to lunch with me?” I asked. “I thought I’d go to the pizzeria Aaron mentioned, since it’s close by—I’d love to hear about what it’s like to write a script.”

“Hey, I’d like to, but I have a date,” he said.

“Oh!” I blinked. “A date? Okay—some other time, then.”

“Sure,” he smiled brightly. “And we won’t go to any run-of-the-mill pizza place. I know this Indian spot around the corner that’s fabulous—you won’t be able to feel your tongue afterward, but you’ll die happy.”

“Haha, okay,” I agreed. “See you tomorrow.”

“Bye!” he waved at me, and headed toward the back of the lobby, where there was probably a side door I didn’t know about.

Unable to turn away quite yet, I watched him go, feeling an odd shift inside me—like I’d just been swept through the tail of a comet.

           “Hi, Mom!”

               “Hi, Annie! How was rehearsal?”

               “Ugh, I’m exhausted,” I groaned stretching out on the couch, Milo purring on my stomach. I adjusted the telephone wire. “It’s only four in the afternoon and I’m ready for bed. I’ve already had a bath and I’m in my pajamas and everything. I can’t even summon the energy to get up and put a movie in the VCR.”

               “Goodness, why are you so tired?”

               I heaved another sigh.

               “We ended up running almost the whole show today,” I answered. “It was just supposed to be a read-through, but then Peter Wren wanted to get up and actually go through the motions—which is a lot easier for him, since he’s got it all memorized.”

               “Peter is Aaron Highgate’s nephew, right?”

               “Yeah,” I smiled. “Wow, Mom—he’s incredible. What a fantastic actor. And he just seems to have endless energy. Like a puppy or something. He’s going to run us all ragged.”

               “Yes, Aaron’s told me a little about him,” Mom said.

               “Really?” I adjusted the throw pillow behind my head. “What did he say?”

               “He hasn’t talked to me about him in a long time,” Mom said. “It was when Peter was in high school, and Aaron was really worried about him.”

               “Worried? Why?”

               “I can’t remember exactly—mixing with the wrong crowd, I think. Getting involved in things that caused him to miss classes and start failing. I think he was even arrested.”

               “Arrested!” I cried.

               “I might be wrong—but he got in quite a bit of trouble.”

               “Hm,” I murmured, rubbing my forehead. “Well, maybe, since Aaron hasn’t talked about it for a while, he’s straightened out now.”

               “Quite possible! And it’s probably good that he’s working so closely with his uncle,” Mom noted. “Probably helps keep him on the right track.”

               “Hopefully,” I said quietly. “Because—the rest of the cast is really good, and I’m going to love working with them…but,” I took a deep breath, realizing what I was about to say was true, even as I formed the words. “He’s Edward Ripple. And I honestly don’t think this show could even work without him.”

   Chapter Seven

Friday, April 12th

             My heart pounded, and I stared up at the dim ceiling of my bedroom. The memory of the Picture that had just flashed in front of my eyes made me frown so hard my head hurt.

               In it, I was on the stage at the Quadrant Theatre, staring out at the empty house. Except it wasn’t quite empty.

               A man sat there, six rows from the stage, right in the center, staring back at me.

               He wore a black suit and dark blue tie, and had white hair and neatly-trimmed beard. He wore businesslike glasses, and had a red handkerchief in his breast pocket.

And his gaze pinned me—shafted right through me, froze me to the spot, so that I couldn’t move or think.

I shivered as I lay there in bed, wanting to duck back underneath the covers and stay there all day.

RING-RING!

The jangle of the phone nearly made me fall out of bed.

I whipped into a sitting position, snatched up the handset and pushed it to my ear.

“Hello?” I croaked.

“Hello, Miss Maple, this is your 7:30 wake-up call.”

I slapped a hand to my head.

“Hello? Who is this?”

“It’s Peter Wren,” he said brightly. “Did I do a good job—are you awake?”

I chuckled, sounding like a 100-year-old woman.

“Yeah, kinda.”

“Come on, girl, you should be up already—eating Wheaties, building up your strength, running laps around the block—”

I really started laughing now, and I could feel him smiling on the other end.

Read this book: https://www.amazon.com/Last-Scene-Alydia-Rackham-ebook/dp/B07JHSJ1JC/ref=sr_1_1?keywords=the+last+scene+alydia+rackham&qid=1572889808&sr=8-1