#one day i’ll get my hands on desert song…. | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

redahlia-writes · 1 year ago

Text

practical magic. | javier peña x ofc

Abstract: Can love travel back in time and heal a broken heart?

There were some things, after all, that Helena Goode knew for certain:

Always throw spilled salt over your left shoulder. Add pepper to your mashed potatoes. Keep rosemary by your garden gate. Plant lavender for luck. Fall in love whenever you can.

Words: 12k

Content: original female character (helena goode); alternative universe, magic, death, ghosts, cursing, mentions of drugs, mentions of an abusive relationship, mildly suggestive language, inspo both from the movie and the book

A/N: it's still halloween, right? i'm sorry for the late late posting but, alas, shit happens. i hope you all enjoy this nevertheless <3

reblogs and feedback are always greatly appreciated. you can send it here, too

also on AO3 - masterlist

He will hear my call a mile away. He will whistle my favorite song. He can ride a pony backwards. He can flip pancakes in the air. He'll be marvellously kind. And his favorite shape will be a star. And he’ll have eyes like chocolate, worthy of honesty.

Helena Goode often thought about the petals blowing in the air after her Amas Veritas, her true love. Years had gone by since then—she’d been just a kid, wishing on her true love, her perfect love. Thinking it could not exist—for how could it, when all those women came crying in her aunts’ kitchen in the middle of the night? She’d wished for what she thought could never come to her.

And then there had been Frankie—her love, definitely not perfect, but good, so good. And gone, gone forever, because she had loved him so much. Or so she had thought—maybe that hadn’t been real, maybe there was no such thing as real love, contrary to what her sister said. After all her aunts had played a part in her marriage, and for so long after Frankie’s death she’d tried to believe none of it had been real, so that it would hurt less. So that she would not die of a broken heart.

But, in spite of everything, in spite of her bitterness, in spite of her pain, in spite of the loss, she knew some things had been real. Like the coffee he made her in the morning before leaving for work, like the dinners she fixed before he came back, like the colour they picked to paint the walls of their house; like all the times she’d listened for his whistling as he came back from work; like his kisses, and like their two beautiful daughters; like the laughter during the day and the nights spent awake; like the normal life they’d began living, and the shop they’d dreamed of opening together that now belonged to her only.

Like the State Investigator who stood in front of her at the front door, asking after her sister’s boyfriend. A boyfriend she knew to be dead and buried right there in the backyard. Fuck, she kept thinking, looking at the man in front of her—his eyebrows arched, lips parted under a neatly trimmed moustache, eyes dark as chocolate, and—

“I’m sorry?” she asked, clearing her throat. Dry throat. Sweaty palms. Tongue-tied.

“Is your sister home?” She knew he’d asked that already, and he was being mighty patient about it. “I’d like to speak with her, ma’am,” and then, because she had not moved an inch, “nothing to worry about, really. Just routine questions.”

“Sure,” again Helena cleared her throat, and willed her legs to move. She stepped back, opening the door fully so that she could let him through. “Come on in, I’ll go get her.”

Fuck, fuck, fuck, over and over as the man nodded and stepped in, walking past her into the entrance—he smelled of coffee and tobacco, of the desert he came from. Helena closed the door and wiped her hands down the front of her shirt, which she suddenly realised belonged to one of her daughters, with rhinestones adorning the front. Fuck.

“Kitchen is just on your left, I’ll be right back.”

Phoebe Goode was trying her best. Each night she dreamed about James—his eyes, old and clear, staring at her—and each morning she tried to stop carrying him with her, to forget he ever existed, even though she could still see him on her face, in the bruises around her eye, in the split lip on the point of healing—thanks to her sister salve, the one that smelled of roses. She was trying her best, ignoring the awful fact she felt him still, knowing that the deepest relationship with a man of her whole life was with a dead man.

So she wore blue for protection, and had asked Emma, her niece, to lock her cigarettes away, and tried to sit in silence to meditate and push him away, out of her mind, out of her life for good. She was even back at the house, where she’d sworn she would never go back, because it was safer, because of her sister.

Her sister, running up the stairs, out of breath, in a shirt that did not belong to her and a skirt that must’ve been older than her, so dishevelled-looking Phoebe felt her heart drop for a moment, figured the next words out of her mouth would be James, and honestly anything after that could be awful, because he was. Had been.

“There’s a cop. Agent. Someone,” Helena was gasping, her voice an alarmed whisper. “He’s looking for you. And James—but he asked for you.”

“That’s fine, we can manage,” perhaps the meditation was working, because even after hearing his name she could still think without panic closing her throat. “I’ll tell him I haven’t seen him in days, and I came here because we’re done. And if he asks, you’ll just say—” she stopped, frowning at her sister as she shook her head. “What? You’ll just say you’ve never seen him.”

“Here’s the thing,” Helena reached for her chest, still shaking her head, still out of breath. Her head was spinning, and her heart—God, her heart—felt like it was about to explode. “I don’t think I can lie to him.”

“Of course you can,” Phoebe scoffed—but her sister was still having a hard time breathing, her eyes so wide she looked like a deer spooked half to death. “Get over yourself, Lena. It’s fine. You’re just having a panic attack.”

“I don’t think it’s that. I just—the way he looks at you,” she inhaled sharply, a strangled noise scratching her throat and making her sound like a wounded animal, then exhaled, breath stuttering. “I can’t sit there and just lie to him. I know I can’t.”

“You have to, Lena,” but her sister’s eyes darted around the attic, where Phoebe was staying in. She snapped her fingers in front of her face, making her recoil. “Listen to me, you have to. We know nothing, nothing happened.”

Helena and Phoebe had grown up knowing that something was real because they believed in it. That was what gave things power—magic, words, talismans. But what happened when two people believed two different things? How did the universe cope with that? Was James dead and buried in their backyard, under lilacs that were growing wildly out of season (girls in the neighbourhood had begun to whisper that if you kissed the boy you loved beneath the Goode’s lilacs he’d be yours forever, whether he wanted to be or not), or was he back in Laredo, or off somewhere else, left behind by his girlfriend?

Javier Peña was wondering the same as he stood in the odd kitchen of an odd house, there on Magnolia Street.

There were no clocks and no mirrors, in that house, and the floors creaked anywhere but where he stepped; light came pouring in from big, wide windows, showing an even bigger garden with lilacs out of season and more flowers and plants that he could recognise or count—rosemary and lavender, roses and daisies, carrots and an apple tree that reminded him strangely of home, but all seemed like a dream through the thick glass. Each piece of furniture inside seemed dusty, but when he ran his fingertip across the dark wooden surface of this table or that cabinet, no dust came away—no need for polishing anything in there. It smelled of cherrywood. It smelled familiar.

It was a familiarity Javier had not been ready to face—he touched the pocket of his jacket, felt the paper tucked in there crinkle at the touch, and a moment later, as if summoned by thought alone, Helena Goode came back down the stairs, slightly more dishevelled looking than before.

Helena had clearly been in the kitchen when he first knocked. He knew because he could almost see it, like a ghost moving around the stove, stirring a pot that had since been turned off, its content left forgotten on the back burden. He knew because she’d called Hold on at the third rattle of his knuckles across the door, matter-of-factly, as if she’d been expecting him. The mere sound of her voice had thrown him for a loop, the patio under his feet shifting unsteadily, and he could’ve followed the sound there with his eyes closed.

He thought then he could be in trouble—and when she’d opened the door, he’d known he would. Because he’d looked into crystal clear pools of grey and begun drowning, down and down without anything he could do about it. His father had once told him that witches caught you like that: with a look. If you ever meet a woman like that, you run the other way, no matter what, for your own good. There’s no cowardice in safety. But Javier had no intention of running—he’d rather drown, over and over, if it meant she looked at him like that a little longer.

She stood at the end of the stairs, perfectly still, with that ridiculous shirt with rhinestones across her chest and her dark hair down past her shoulder, brushing the sliver of uncovered skin at her waist. She was beautiful, Javier thought, so ridiculously beautiful he got a lump in his throat just looking at her. For a moment, before her Can I help you? at the door, he’d almost forgotten the reason he was there. He almost forgot it again when he saw her shake her head at the end of the stairs, and had to touch the letter tucked next to his heart again.

“Can I get you anything?” her voice sounded different as she strode into the kitchen. “My sister will be right down. Coffee?” she wasn’t looking at him, and Javier wished she’d just stop and turn to face him, if only to forget himself again in her eyes.

But Helena wouldn’t turn. She wouldn’t look at him. She woldn’t look at his face, and his neatly trimmed moustache, and his lovely dark eyes. She wouldn’t look at the lines on his face he was way too young to have, and the loneliness embedded in each of them she knew could be found in the silver strands of her hair, too. Helena figured he was not a man who hid things, just like he was not hiding the fact he was looking at her—she could feel his eyes burning on the back of her head, and she couldn’t believe the way he was staring at her. Looking at her like that.

It was how dark his eyes were, the problem. The way he could make someone—her—feel seen from the inside out.

“Coffee’s fine,” he said, forcing his gaze away. He looked outside, where in the distance, still filtered like a dream, he could see clouds gathering, a distant storm that seemed to have followed him there. Javier’s father had taught him to predict exactly when a storm would hit just by the location of lightning, so that he could prepare the ranch in time to brace for it.

He’d never been very good at it. He thought that lightning, like love, was never ruled by logic. Accidents happened, and they always would.

He looked at Helena again, her back still to him—she was watching the coffee brew, her arms crossed, fingers tapping nervously against her elbow. Javier looked at her and thought she was familiar to him—he’d thought that ever since getting her letter, the one tucked next to his heart, but to see her there in front of him, flesh and bones and long hair and clear eyes, really settled it for him.

He’d heard about it happening to other men—his friend Steve being one of them. Going about their business one minute and suddenly they found themselves without hope. They fell in love so hard they never got up off their knees again.

He’d never thought it would happen to him. Javier was all business—he always had been. It was his need to figure out the why of things, of people. Money, love, fury—those were the motivations he found usually, in his line of work. James Hawkins fell in the money category, of that he was sure, with perhaps a sprinkle of fury in the shape of his ring marked on the bodies.

Javier had been looking for that ring at Hawkins’ place—he’d seen it in pictures, read it in descriptions, remembered it from the few times his path had trailed along Hawkins’, because Laredo wasn’t that big of a place, and faces grew familiar over time—when the letter had arrived.

Crumpled and torn in one corner, the flap already opened, Javier had looked at it and thought he should’ve taken it directly to the office. But an open letter was hard to resist, even for someone like Javier, who had resisted a whole lot in his life. But that letter was something else, something tempting, and he gave into it.

He never regretted it.

He had just sat there, on the patio of the house of the man he was looking for, and read the letter Helena Goode had written to her sister. When he was done, he’d read it again. And again. And twice more midair, and then while he had his lunch, and once more when he’d settled in his hotel room. Even when the letter was folded back into its envelope and stored in the pocket of his jacket, the words came back to haunt him—whole sentences written by Helena forming in his mind.

Javier had been close to people, and while he didn’t have that many friends he was content—he’d even almost gotten married after high school, although that’s a topic no one ever brought up, not even himself. But he’d never once felt like he’d known anyone the way he felt he knew the woman who had written that letter. It felt like someone had ripped a piece of his soul out of him and formed into words. Words he was so taken by he wouldn’t have heard, seen, or felt a thing as long as he was reading them.

I have this dream of being whole. Of not going to sleep each night, wanting. But still, sometimes, when the wind is warm, or the crickets sing, I dream of a love that even time will lie down and be still for. I just want someone to love me. I want to be seen.

Javier wanted to tell her that he saw her. Right there in front of him, and even when she was not there, when he had not the faintest clue what she looked like, he saw her. He saw her standing, moving the coffee pot from the fire. He saw her pouring the coffee in three mismatched cups. He saw her hands shaking as she did so.

“Are you okay?” he asked, and she recoiled as if startled by his voice.

“I think I’m going to sit down,” Helena said, casually, as if she didn’t seem about to collapse.

Still she brought two of the cups over, almost spilling the contents of one, and collapsed onto the chair opposite Javi with a shuddering sigh, her cheeks flushed, her chest fluttering. She wondered if drinking coffee would be a good idea at that moment, still feeling as if her heart might explode, but needed something to keep herself busy, so she brought the cup to her mouth and gulped down the scalding drink, burning the roof of her mouth and her lips.

“Why are you here?” she asked then, bitterness coating her tongue. She was used to sugar in her coffee, most times a dash of milk. “I mean, I understood what you told me—about Phoebe’s boyfriend—but why here?”

She saw the man hesitate—he did not strike her as someone who hesitated in anything, but he was pondering her words and how to best respond to her, his lips shifting to draw in a breath, and then exhale. He reached for his jacket—he still hadn’t taken that off, and with the movement it hugged his shoulders tight, seams pulling uncomfortably—and, from one of the inner pockets, took a piece of paper that he handed to her.

“I mailed that to my sister ages ago,” Helena recognised it immediately—that letter she was so grateful had never reached Phoebe, but also wished it had a little earlier, so she wouldn’t be in that mess. There’s a halo around the moon tonight. I think trouble is coming. I wish you’d get out of there. Come back home. Alone. “You opened it,” she added then, a little baffled.

He hadn’t just opened it. He’d read it. The paper consumed from being folded over and over again, each line marked deeper where it bent, words slightly smudged as if someone had run their fingers over each and every of it.

“It was opened already,” he retorted, justifying. “It must have gotten lost at the post office.”

“But you read it,” the cup was burning her palm, the letter her other hand, her face was burning too under his gaze.

“Maybe a thousand times,” Javier admitted, his voice dropping.

“It was a very personal letter,” she whispered too, feeling the tightness inside her throat and belly and chest grow, and grow, and grow until it was choking her. That had to be what a heart attack felt like. Perhaps she was about to end up on the floor unconscious.

“I know,” the man said, and at last she looked at him.

He saw her but, Javier knew, she saw him too. She could’ve seen how Javier wasn’t sure how far he’d go to cover for someone—he’d never been in that position before, and he despised the way it felt. But he was there, sitting in her kitchen, drinking her coffee, a total stranger on a humid day, wondering if he was going to look the other way because of her. She could see all that—or at least, she hoped.

And then Phoebe came down. Noisy steps down the stairs, announcing her presence to the entire world—she always had that about her, always managed to bring the attention to her, with her lovely strawberry-blonde hair and her long lashes and full lips. Even with the bruises, even with the wounds, even with her fear embedded so deeply into her skin it was painful, Phoebe was beautiful.

Still, Javier focused on Helena, and it wasn’t until her sister stood at her side that he caught a glimpse of her. Night and day, that’s what the aunts called them. He didn’t know, but he would’ve agreed—so starkly different, yet seemingly in tune with each other.

“As I’ve said your sister, I won’t take up much of your time,” Javier cleared his throat, offered his hand to Phoebe as he stood. He missed the feeling of his letter against his body, but Helena was clutching it tight, pressing it against her stomach. “It’s just a couple of questions, routine checks.”

“Of course—agent, is it?” Phoebe’s voice was soft where Helena’s was strong. She took up space just by standing, her arms folded in front of her as she held the third cup that had been on the counter.

“Yes, ma’am—Agent Peña.” Only then did she take his hand, a delicate shake before turning his palm up towards her face, peering down with an interested hum.

“You’ve come a long way just for a couple of routine questions, Agent Peña.” Her thumb ran along one of the lines on his palm, tracing it with a feather-like touch. Her brows knitted for a moment, confusion locking on her features (eyes darting towards her sister) before she shook herself. “I see here it’ll be worth the trip,” she mused, tapping his palm.

“Right.” Again he cleared his throat, and pulled his hand back. “When was the last time you saw James Hawkins?”

“Ah, a man of action,” Phoebe scoffed lightly, then shrugged. “Couple of weeks, just before I came here. It just wasn’t working anymore.”

“Is he responsible for that?” he asked, gesturing towards her face, the bruises.

“As I’ve said, it wasn’t working anymore,” she tipped her chin up, leaned with her hip against Helena’s chair. “I have no idea where he might be. If a man hits me, he only does it once,” Helena’s breath hitched, her grip on both the cup and letter tightening.

“What about the car? The one with the Texas plate—it’s registered in his name,” Javier thought he might as well reveal all his cards from the beginning. Neither sister was stupid, but still Phoebe was lying—he knew she was. He had seen that look before, countless times: people who are guilty of something think they can hide it by not looking at you. Or looking at you too much.

Helena wasn’t looking at him anymore—again. Phoebe was staring him down. But Helena wasn’t looking at him, because she knew, she was certain, that could not lie to the man. She feared her eyes would betray her too, like her heart was doing, like she imagined her words would if she were to say anything more.

“I took it when I ran,” Phoebe said, sighing. “And I know that’s wrong, so you may take it right away—I just needed a way out. That was the fastest.”

She was good, Javier managed to think in that haze-like feeling he’d found himself in since he’d walked into the house. Since he’d seen Helena. Her eyes.

“And you have not heard from him since?” Phoebe shook her head, sipping on her coffee and grimacing—too bitter, too strong. But it helped keep her mind away from the times she had heard from James—in her dreams, nightmares, really; or when she was distracted, and his voice crept into her head; or when she looked in the mirror and his reflection stared back.

“I have not,” she smacked her lips, the taste of the coffee lingering on the tip of her tongue.

“Alright, well,” Javier picked his cup and drank most of the coffee that remained—he liked it that way, black and strong, it reminded him of his father—then went to the sink to rinse the cup. Helena watched him while his back was turned, and almost smiled at the way he let the water slosh from side to side enough to get any residue off before settling it upside down. “If anything comes to mind, I’ll be around a couple of days longer—I’m staying at the Hide-A-Way Motel.”

“Really?” was the first thing Helena said in what felt like ages. Javier turned around—he was just stalling then. He wanted to remain there, with her. He wanted to keep on looking into Helena’s eyes and drown, drown, drown for days. He saw nothing else but her eyes.

“Lady at the car rental desk suggested it—it isn’t half bad,” he shrugged, and smoothed his jacket down. He felt the absence of the letter when he ran his hand across his chest, and the paper did not crinkle under his touch. Helena curled her fingers around her words. “Nice area.”

“It is,” she should know—her shop was one street away from the motel. She’d picked the area with Frankie because of how nice it was, close enough to the park it gave the impression of being around nature, but not so far from town that nobody would walk by the shop.

Phoebe watched the agent and her sister look at each other and frowned—for a moment, what she’d seen on Peña’s palm flashed before her eyes again. A new beginning, a line cut through by something, someone he could not escape. It had been written on his skin since the beginning. Some fates were just guaranteed.

“If I happen to remember anything else, I’ll come around,” Phoebe said, cutting through the crackle of energy that passed from one to the other. It was as if she’d woken them up from a dream, a dream made of only looks and silence. “You can have the car taken away.”

“Great,” he cleared his throat, and forced himself to back away. He knew that if he lingered any longer, he’d never want to leave. It was hard enough already. “Thanks.”

Helena felt like she was losing her mind.

The night before, a ring had appeared around the moon. A halo around the moon was always a sign of disruption—but it was a double ring, all tangled up, anything could happen. Helena didn’t like the thought, and she hadn’t been able to sleep all night.

The sparrow that used to fly each midsummer’s eve into the house on Magnolia Street had come back, out of season, round and round the dining room—her daughters had counted each circle: three. Three meant trouble, it always had. She’d chased it out with her sister, both of them on edge.

And it rained. All night and through the morning, one of her daughters standing by the window looking at the lilacs being hit by drop after drop, tapping her fingers nervously. Emma was looking at the man in their backyard, who stared back at them like from a vision, a nightmare rather than a dream. She was hoping he would go away, but the bad weather did not bother him—he seemed to relish in the black skies and the wild wind, and the rain passed through him. Emma thought—she knew—it was his fault that things were going amiss in the house, even though she didn’t know the extent of it: pipes rusting and the tile floor of the basement turning to dust, nothing in the refrigerator would stay fresh.

Both sets of sisters fought, loud and mean and just like he wanted them to. Emma would’ve liked them all to stop. Helena thought of chopping the lilacs all night long, but had to go to work.

And then there was Javier. Agent Peña, who walked around town and talked to everyone and was always there when she turned around from the counter. Javier, with a cigarette hanging from his lips at every street corner. Always there, always there, always there.

“Fuck!” Helena exclaimed, when the jar she was trying to place on the shelf fell and shattered on the ground, shards of glass flying around her ankles and the contents—curled dried leaves—spilling across the clean floor. “God, give me a break.”

“Are you okay, Lena?” a voice called from the other side of the shop. Helena didn’t have many friends—it came with the Goode name, being shunned away. But Crystal was one of the few who did not shy away, besides being a good employee. “Let me help you.”

“It’s alright, I just haven’t been sleeping well,” she went to gather the glass and leaves, both crunching as she moved the broom across them. “But could you put the kettle on? Maybe some tea will do me good,” even though she craved coffee desperately.

She’d craved coffee ever since she’d met with the agent. Black and bitter. She could smell it in the air around her, no matter which room she walked in, or which street—along with tobacco and more. She’d never smoked a cigarette in her life but now felt her fingers itch as if reaching for one.

Crystal obliged without question—she’d learned early on that many things around Helena Goode just did not make sense, and there was no point in prying. It had been that way since they were children. Her mother liked the Goode aunts, said that it was not their fault for more than two hundred years their family had been blamed for everything that went wrong in town.

Some people are just different. Most people are just stupid to be afraid of it.

She remembered their classmates being terrified of the day a bunch of cats followed Helena to school—witchery, they called it. A witch and her familiars. Nasty, nasty creatures, the whole lot of them. But Crystal remembered Helena being kind and poised, she remembered her balanced lunches, and the way she always looked out for her sister. She still did. Why people would think Helena and Phoebe had any evil in them escaped her.

Goode women ignored convention; they were headstrong and willful, and meant to be that way.

“Thank you, Crystal,” Helena said from the kitchenette, throwing away the spoiled merchandise..

“Are you sure you wouldn’t rather go home? I can look after the shop,” but even as she asked, Helena was shaking her head, lips trembling with her deep inhale. “Lena, did something happen?”

“It’s not—” a bell. The shop’s bell. Helena looked up from her mug, the smell of lavender easing her headache a little, and then turned. “I’ll get it.”

He was everywhere, always there, always there, in her shop, too. Helena stood frozen next to the counter and looked at the agent who was looking around—a feeble attempt at not immediately turning towards her, not falling into her eyes right away.

“Yes?” she managed to ask, her throat dry once again. Just by his mere presence.

“I’m afraid I forgot to bring enough toothpaste,” Javier lied. He’d thrown an almost full tube in the bin just that morning—still wasn’t sure why. Maybe because so many people had told him about Helena’s shop, just around the corner. How the woman was the way she was, but her products were amazing.

“You could’ve gone to the market,” she said, but placed her mug down and moved to the shelf anyway. Once she wasn’t looking at him, she managed to exhale again, but still his eyes burned on the back of her head, and she suddenly felt conscious of the fact she probably had forgotten to brush her hair in the morning.

“Yes,” he retorted, and didn’t add anything else. He knew he could’ve, but he didn’t want to. And he could’ve told her it was because so many people had recommended her stuff, or because the shop was closer to his motel. But he didn’t.

“Any allergies?” she asked, moving the stool closer to the shelf.

“No, ma’am.” She paused, one foot up the step as she bit her tongue—just a moment, then she climbed and grabbed a jar, the label scribbled so hurriedly it was unreadable, the dark paste inside a stark contrast with the white paper.

“Charcoal—whitens the teeth,” she moved back down, the counter between them as she handed the product to him—her eyes flickered towards the cigarette that he’d tucked over his ear, shaking her head lightly. “Nasty habit,” she muttered, lowering her gaze.

“I’m aware,” Javier chuckled—as he took the jar, he grazed her fingers. Helena pulled back as if she’d been burned, fingertips curling into her palm and pressing harshly. “Does this stuff actually work?” he cleared his throat, turning it in his palm to glance at the label again.

He knew her handwriting. He could read it like the back of his hand. I have this dream of being whole.

“It does,” Crystal called as she walked in from the kitchenette, and Helena leaned over the counter and reached for her mug—anything to keep her hands busy. “See for yourself. On the house.”

“He can’t accept it on the house, Crystal,” she said, moving back. “There’s an investigation ongoing—isn’t that right?” it looked as if she might turn to him while she addressed him, but didn’t. Again.

“That’s right,” Javier cleared his throat, shuffling a little. He was so close to the counter he could feel the edge of it dig into his stomach, and forced himself to look at the other woman. “But are you giving me your word? That it works.”

He was a charmer. Helena knew already—Crystal was just finding out. She wanted to ask what investigation Helena was talking about, what was happening at the house on Magnolia Street that she desperately did not want to go back, and what was happening with the agent so desperately trying to meet her eyes.

“Cross my heart,” she said instead, because she knew this would be another inexplicable moment. She’d made her peace with it. “Swear to God, this woman is a magician. Let me ring you up.”

Helena hid her face with the mug, the dwindling steam turning her cheeks a soft shade of red. At the same time, Javier scoffed lightly.

“Right,” he muttered, reaching for his wallet. “Heard that one before. Thanks.”

It took a moment for Helena to register his words—she was trying so hard to not hear him, to not focus on him, that she didn’t understand what he was saying until he was out of the door, an echo of the bell ringing in her mind.

“Wait, what?” she placed the mug down, looking up at his back behind the glass. “Hold on.”

She shouldn’t have gone after him. She should’ve known better. Helena spent her whole life being vigilant, she spent her whole life relying on logic and common sense, she’d taken care of everything from the moment her parents had died, and then again when Frankie had died—she thought about everything.

She had to, because otherwise how would her kids have made it to fourteen and fifteen?

She had to, because if she stopped thinking about everything, what exactly was she left with? Her thoughts and worries are the only reason she continued to exist, of that she was certain.

Never look back, never change direction, that’s what she had to tell herself. Don’t think about being alone in the dark, or storms or lightning and thunder, or the true love you won’t ever have. Life, she knew, was brushing her teeth and making breakfast for her kids and not letting her mind wander.

But that was a lie—from the beginning Helena had been lying to herself, telling herself she could handle anything: her parents dying, her sister relying on her, her aunts’ reputation, Frankie, Frankie’s death, the spell, the year where everything went grey, her children, and now this. She’d grown tired—she didn’t want to lie anymore. One more lie and she’d be lost. One more lie and she’d never find her way back through the woods.

And it’s all because of him.

“What did you mean?” she stopped abruptly when he did, taking a step back when he turned to look at her. She tugged her cardigan close, the wind whipping the ends around along with her hair, and tipped her chin up with her arms crossed, finally, finally looking back at him. “Heard that one before?” she echoed. “Is that why you were at my shop?”

“No,” he shook his head. “It’s because I needed toothpaste, and I’m just around the corner,” she scoffed lightly, shuffling her feet. “But actually, yes, I heard a bunch of stuff that doesn’t make sense at all, so I’d like to understand.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s my job,” he retorted. “Because, seriously, I have heard it all. A family of witches, a curse, your own husband—”

“Don’t,” she snapped, and for a moment Javier recoiled, saw the truth in the words of all the people who had warned him off Helena Goode. With her hair dancing in the wind, and her cheeks still red, and her eyes oh-so-clear, like a storm incoming, he understood. “Do not bring Frankie into this.”

“Hard not to, when it’s everything this town talks about,” he took a step forward, her whole body seizing up. “Do you have any idea how strange this all sounds to me? People tell me you’re here cooking up placenta bars, that you’re into devil worship.”

“You think I don’t know that?” her voice was lower, and pulled him closer. “All my life, this town—I know what they say about me, I know what everybody thinks.” She wanted to move away—she wanted to lean in. She remained still. “All my life I wanted nothing more than to be seen as normal, but that’s just not the way it is. I don’t have a ranch house or a white picket fence, I don’t have a husband that’s alive anymore, I don’t have—” she cut herself off, unsure as to why she was so ready to pour her heart out to a stranger in the middle of the street. “I don’t see how that’s my fault.”

“I never said it was,” Javier spoke softly, a gentleness that felt foreign on his tongue but rolled off easily when he looked at her.

“Then why are you here?” her chin was still up, but she was looking down at her nose, careful to avoid his gaze—it made him believe that she, too, felt that tug in the pit of her stomach. She was just better at controlling it.

Your letter, he almost said. You.

“James Hawkins,” he replied instead. “A guy like that doesn’t simply vanish.”

“And would that be such a big loss?” she scoffed, tightening her arms around herself. “A guy like that—wouldn’t it be so much better if he did just vanish?”

“Maybe,” he shrugged, and felt his hands move before he could control himself. “But I made a vow, and I have a job—” his fingertips grazed her arm, and at that she pulled back.

“As do I,” one hand moved to the point he’d brushed, holding the spot as if it hurt, tight against her chest. “So unless you have something you want to ask me, Agent Peña, I’d rather get back to it.”

“Are you or your sister hiding James Hawkins?”

“He’s not here, no.”

“Did you or your sister kill James Hawkins?” he asked, and her eyebrows arched.

“Oh, yeah. Couple of times,” Javier sighed, and forced himself back, his hand now itching for his cigarette. “Is that all?” he put it between his lips, ignoring the frown forming on her brow.

“Yeah, sure,” he didn’t light it up just yet, but reached for the lighter nevertheless—he missed the letter in his pocket whenever he touched it. “Bye, Helena.”

He watched her go back inside the shop with her shoulders pulled back tight, steps unsteady, and only when the door was closed, the echo of the bell ringing in his ears, did he light up the cigarette.

She watched him go away from inside the shop, with his steps matching the thundering of her heart.

“What is wrong with you?” Phoebe watched her sister kneel on the ground, pruning shears in hand and purple flowers all around her, on her. “What are you doing?”

“I’m tired of seeing these every time I look out of the window,” her breath was short—the flowers seemed endless, she cut and cut and cut and still they were there. “And the smell—I hate it. I can’t do it anymore.”

“Lena—Lena! It’s just flowers!” although Phoebe knew it was not entirely true. Mostly, she ignored the lilacs, and everything that was underneath it. Especially what was underneath it. “Stop it, before you hurt yourself.”

“Oh, now you’re thinking about that?” Helena dropped the shears and stood, the soil on her jeans already a stain she wouldn’t manage to remove. “Now that there’s a cop after us? Now you think I might hurt myself?”

“So what? We stick to our story. No body, no crime,” she gestured towards the lilacs. “There is not a single reason why he should think we’ve done something, unless you give him one.”

“But we did, Phoebe. You understand that, don’t you?” she hissed, walking up to her sister. “We fucked up, and somehow I’m still the one who’s cleaning up your messes,” Phoebe’s eyes widened, mouth set in a thin line. “I’m sick of this.”

“I never asked you to, I never—”

“Enough lies, Pheebs. Aren’t you tired?” Helena smelled like the lilacs, and her headache was back, stronger and stronger as the storm approached from the horizon. “I know I am. I’m so tired of lying.”

“What are you talking about?” Phoebe had lowered her voice, and was looking at her sister as if she could not recognise her. “Lena—you can’t do that,” even as she said it, Helena walked past her, brushing her hands down the front of her jeans. “You can’t go to him,” she said, following her. “We’ll both be sitting in jail if you do. What about the girls? Why are you even thinking about it now?”

Helena wasn’t sure why. She knew she’d woken up smelling cigarettes and coffee again, and the lilacs, and the nightmare still clinging to her eyelids, making her feel unrested as she had for the past days. Weeks. She wasn’t sure anymore. All she knew is that her throat hurt from all the lies she’d told Javier, and she wanted to come clean, to tell all—she wanted someone to listen to what she had to say and really hear her, the way no one ever had before. So she’d gone to work, and back home to cut the flowers, and as sundown approached she would go out for Javier.

“Don’t tell me about the girls now, when I spent half my life thinking only about them,” she said loudly, marching in and out of room after room of the house, grabbing things she wasn’t even sure she needed. “And you? You only ever thought about yourself. You left me here. You lived your life. And you dragged me back in just to save your ass.”

“Oh, that’s it, isn’t it?” Phoebe screamed too, from the middle of the house, following the noises of her sister as she stomped around. “I lived my life and you hate me for it!”

“I don’t hate you, Phoebe.”

“No, no, sure—you’re unbelievable. You spent all your life trying to be normal and fit in, but you never will! You know we’re different, and so are your girls,” Helena stopped abruptly to look at her.

“That’s twice now—you leave them out of this,” she said with a scowl so similar to that of their mother’s, if only either of them could remember her.

“All my life I’ve wished I had half your talent—you’re wasting yourself, Lena,” Phoebe cried, and for a moment she sounded just like the little girl who had just gotten to the aunts’ house. “And now you—what? You’re gonna turn yourself in? Or get down on your knees and beg for mercy?”

“If I’ll have to, yes,” Helena said without a second thought, fixing her sister with a look. “I’m done.”

They both measured themselves harshly, always had, as if they had never been anything but those two plain little girls, waiting at the airport for someone to claim them.

If you go against what you believe in, you’re nothing. That was another thing his father liked to say—and Javier knew he was right. So he was going to stick to his plan: fly back home and give up the case to the poor bastard who was supposed to get it from the beginning, had it not been for the letter. He was going to go back to work as usual, forget about the whole ordeal, forget about grey eyes and dark hair and his own heart.

Heart, heart, heart beating to the sound of the knocking on his door, that for a moment he’d thought to be rain pattering on the ground and the roof, such the strength of the storm was. But he heard it, and when he opened the door, Helena was there, shivering and looking up at him.

“You want a confession?”

In his line of work, Javier had been trained to notice things, but he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing. Part of the reason was that he’d been imagining Helena everywhere he went. So maybe it was just an illusion, a desire of his heart turned into a vision.

“What?” he stepped aside and, water falling from her hair, Helena walked in, trailing mud behind.

“You want a confession, don’t you? It’s why you’re still here,” she was shaking, arms crossed over her chest with wet clothes clinging to her. “We killed James. Technically, I killed James. I used belladonna.”

“I know,” Helena frowned, moved the hair out of her face with trembling hands.

“You know?” she sniffled, part from the cold part from the smell attacking her nostrils—coffee and tobacco and, surprisingly, food.

“I found some in the car—saw the same thing in your shop and had it analyzed,” he closed the door, careful to not turn the lock, leaving her a way out as he moved back towards the kitchenette. “His ring was in there, too. There was blood on it. Have you had any dinner?”

“I—what is this, some sort of joke?” she asked, slightly out of breath, and stepped in his direction. Javier scoffed, his back to her as he shook his head a little.

“Far from it,” he muttered, turning the stove off. Still, he didn’t move to look at her—if he did, he wouldn’t be able to say what he had to. He could feel her shiver, just a few steps from him, and it took everything in him to not reach over and grab her and hold her close. “But I have no idea what to do from here. I can’t say that I’m sorry Hawkins is gone, and I can’t—”

“Javier—” he exhaled—it was the first time she said his name, and he gripped the counter with both hands as he closed his eyes. Through the rain, and the soil, and the smoke in his room, he could smell lilacs and that same scent that had clung to the letter, which had bled onto his fingers each time he reread it.

“I was gonna turn over the case,” she held her breath at his words—he heard the light hiccup as her lips sealed, and slowly turned, though his gaze remained lowered. “I can’t say I’m impartial anymore—I can pretend, but I’m not. I no longer can tell what’s right and what’s wrong and you—you came here, and what did you think would happen?”

“I don’t know,” her voice was small, and Javier knew she was looking at him—the roles had switched, he could feel her gaze burning across his skin. “That’s the thing, I don’t know. I’m tired—of lying, of hiding, of those fucking flowers,” she sniffled, and from the corner of his eyes he could see her rubbing her arms. “The thing is, I’m pretty sure it’s because of you, and I can’t stand it—because I know I’ll get hurt, and my sister will get hurt, and my children, too.”

“Then why,” his voice had dropped slightly, and he took one more step forward, looking up at last—they were standing so close now, heat radiating off of him and clinging to her chilling bones, “are you here, Helena?”

“I don’t know,” she whispered, her hands seeking him before she could even realise. “Maybe this,” her letter was almost destroyed, wet and crumpled as she held it between them.

Fear or loneliness—she wasn’t sure she could distinguish them anymore. When the deathwatch beetle had started ticking for Frankie, then she’d been afraid. When she’d stopped speaking and seeing colours for a year, and her children had been by themselves, then she’d been afraid. When she was young, and she sneaked down the stairs with her sister to see what the aunts where up to, then she’d been afraid. In that moment, she was terrified.

And lonely. She’d never felt more alone or lonely before in her life. She wished she could’ve believed in love’s salvation, but truth was desire had been ruined for her. She wished she’d never spied on the aunts’ and seen their customers crying and begging and making fools of themselves. She’d become love-resistant because of that and, with her sister, sitting on the roof of the house, they’d wished to look up at the stars and not be afraid of it.

But, just like trouble, love came in unannounced and took over before she’d had a chance to reconsider or even think about it—Frankie first, and now—

Amas Veritas—she thought about it again, looking into Javier’s dark eyes. He will hear my call a mile away—she’d been just a child, so stupid, thinking that love was a toy, something easy and sweet, to play with. But real love, she’d learned, she was learning, was dangerous, it got you from inside and held on tight, and if you didn’t let go fast enough you might be willing to do anything for its sake.

She’d learned that with Frankie, and now—

“Oh, don’t,” she whispered when Javier’s hand brushed along her arms, foregoing the letter—and moved closer to him, pulled by gravity, by forces she couldn’t begin to control. “Javi—”

He believed he was going to cry—because she was saying his name again, soft and gentle and like she’d known it all her life, and his hands were tracing a path up her arms like he knew exactly the shape of her, and trying to learn it by memory all over again.

He wasn’t even sure that was not the case. Perhaps a part of him knew her already, always had.

He had stumbled into love, of that he was certain, and was stuck there. Javier was used to not getting what he wanted, he’d learned to deal with it, but with Helena in front of him he couldn’t help but wonder if that had only been because he’d never wanted anything too badly. He did now.

“I just do this,” he said, voice sad and deep and causing the hair at the nape of her neck to stand on edge as he leaned closer, towards the hand she was offering to him like in prayer, and she brushed his cheek as he sighed. “Pay no attention,” he said, but she did. How could she not?

He was there, and she shifted toward him as if to brush her hand along his face, but instead ended up with her arms looped around his neck, his own wrapped around her, holding her closer.

And Helena was terrified, because suddenly she wanted whatever he was promising her, with his lips so close and words so soft she told herself don’t listen, but she couldn’t, because whispers of I’ve been looking for you forever inched their way underneath her skin, warmed by his hands. She wanted to get lost—she, who couldn’t function without directions, needed it. Him.

Everything she did those days was so unlike her usual self that when she caught a glimpse of her reflection in the window behind Javier’s shoulder, she couldn’t recognise herself. Looking back at her was a woman who could’ve fallen in love if she’d let herself, a woman who didn’t stop, not even when Javier moved her hair from her neck, the wet locks sending a shiver down her spine that only intensified as the man bowed his head a pressed his mouth to the hollow of her throat.

What good would it do her to get involved with someone like him? She wondered—because the last time she did, she loved so much she got hurt to the point a part of her had forever vanished. Or so she had thought, because with Javier’s lips brushing her skin, the light tickle from his moustache making her eyelids droop, she could’ve believed something had come back alive behind her ribs. She suddenly felt like she had to press a hand down against her chest to make sure her heart wouldn’t escape her body.

“Helena—” he whispered, his arms tight around her—the droplets of rain clung to his lips, the taste of her flooding his senses, overpowering everything else. She sighed again, a shudder running down her spine, unsure if it was from his voice or the cold settling in her bones.

Although, if she were to be honest with herself, she’d say she wasn’t cold. She was burning, really, Javier’s body so close she could memorise it by touch alone.

“Maybe I’m letting you do this so you’ll stop the investigation, even with my confession,” she said, his head straightening—his nose brushed along her jaw, her cheek, and her eyes remained closed. “Have you thought about that? Maybe I’m so desperate I’d fuck anyone, including you.”

There was a sour taste in her mouth with each cruel word, but she didn’t care—she forced herself to open her eyes, she knew she needed to see the wounded look on his face with each bitter word. She needed to stop it—whatever it was—before she no longer had the option to. Before the freedom she had longed for forever slipped through her fingers, and she was trapped again in pain, just like the women who used to come at the aunts’ back door.

“Helena,” Javier said again, mournful, and she could almost taste her own name falling from his lips. The tobacco, too. Her mouth parted on instinct, his thumb tracing the line of her jaw down towards her chin, brushing her bottom lip. “You’re not like that.”

“Really?” she scoffed lightly, the noise remaining trapped in her throat when she lifted her gaze to his eyes. “You don’t know me. You just think you do.”

“That’s right,” he nodded, and the tip of his nose brushed hers—one tilt of his chin, one tip of her head, and the agony would be over for both of them. But for the moment they were just suspended in time. “I think I do. I do.”

“Let go,” she told Javier, and it sounded almost like a plea. “Let go of me.”

He did. He would’ve done anything she asked of him. Let go, hold tighter, kneel, jump into a fire. All of it. So he let go of her, even if it hurt, both of them taking one step back—her arms immediately wrapped around her middle (an attempt to trap his warmth close to her skin), his hands tingling with the loss of her.

“Helena—” he said once more, her name more and more familiar on his tongue.

“You have your confession, and you have your proof,” each word felt like shreds of glass in her throat, while she looked away forcefully—in the window, her reflection was almost familiar again, still a little wild, but recognisable. “It’s up to you. You know where to find me, once you make a decision.”

“I do,” he repeated, somewhat stunned, his mind reeling. She took one step to the side, heading for the door. “It’s still pouring outside.”

“I know,” she only said, and went nevertheless.

For hours her perfume remained in the room, clinging to him for so long he didn’t even notice the smell of his burned dinner. So long the letter had dried on the floor where it had slipped, enough for him to reread it, again and again until he’d managed to fall asleep.

Helena couldn’t stop thinking about Javier. From the moment she’d walked out of the motel room, he had been all she could think about—on the drive home through the storm, in the warm bath to wash the cold away, doing the dishes, in bed, unable to sleep, dreaming about him while wide awake and in the few hours she’d managed to close her eyes, too. Haunted, just like her sister.

She dreamed of the desert, an apple tree in a yard that wasn’t hers and bloomed without water, and horses that ate apples from that tree and ran faster than all the others, and a man who was taking a bite from a pie she’d made, bound to be hers for life. She’d woken up smelling apple pie and cinnamon, coffee and tobacco.

So it was no surprise when Javier showed up that same morning. She almost heard him coming. Yet she couldn’t face him right away, so she hid inside, behind her sister, still skittish, behind her daughters, still confused, behind the pretence of making breakfast.

“He’s staying!” Sophia, the eldest of her daughters, announced, running from the garden to somewhere past the living room—Helena sighed, eyes closing. “Aunt Pheebs! He says he’s staying!”

Helena wondered if, without the feeling of Javier’s hands still on her, she would’ve wondered why Phoebe would care whether or not the man investigating them was staying at their place for breakfast. She wasn’t even sure whether she was glad he was staying or just nauseated.

“Can I help?” Emma, much quieter than her sister, stepped at her mother’s side and pointed at the stove, a half-burned pancake smoking on the pan. Helena threw the failed attempt away and nodded, forcing a smile onto her face—she knew the man was in the room with them, she could feel him watching the two of them from the entrance, could see him in her mind as he leaned against the doorway.

“Be careful,” she murmured, taking one step aside, then another, and more, her own steps echoed by Javier’s. They met halfway across the kitchen, her still not looking at him while his eyes never once left her.

“’Morning,” he hummed, shoulders brushing—Helena moved aside, ignoring the sharp pain in her hip when she bumped into the table.

“Good morning,” she cleared her throat, brushing her hands down the front of her shirt—and then lowered her voice. “Why are you here?”

“You told me I knew where to find you once I’d made my decision,” he replied, matching her tone.

“And have you?” her hands began going numb as she clenched them in fists at her sides. She could still feel Javier looking at her.

“I’m going back to Laredo,” her gaze snapped in his direction, so fast the whole room spun as she inhaled sharply, holding her breath. “I thought you should have this. After all, it belongs to you.”

It took her a moment to manage to focus on the paper he was handing her—her letter, now ruined, a half-destroyed piece of paper she’d poured her heart over, more than once. When she picked it up, their fingers brushed just like the first time, and Helena almost cried out in pain.

“Now, something smells like it’s burning,” she could see the strain in his neck as he turned away from her, looking at Emma. One more moment and then he walked ahead. “Need a hand?”

“I was trying to flip it,” Emma mumbled, a pout forming on her lips that made her look more like her mother. Javier chuckled, settling at her side. “Do you know how?” she asked suddenly, a hopeful note in her voice Helena hadn’t heard in a while. Her chest constricted, watching the man smirk and roll up his sleeves.

“I absolutely know how to,” he nodded with a theatrical gesture. “Step aside and observe.”

Amas Veritas, dancing in Helena’s head as she watched Javier, fitting so well in her kitchen, flip pancakes in the air and making the young girl laugh. It had been a while since Emma had laughed like that, and for a moment she was her soft-voiced and shy 14-year-old again, who liked to look at the stars and sleep with her head on Helena’s lap.

But then her shoulders tensed, her whole position shifting, taking one step away from Javier to turn towards her mother, even though her eyes went past her. Helena knew, without having to turn right away, that something was terribly wrong.

“Mom,” Sophia came running in, breathless, and immediately clung to her arm, tugging harshly. “Something’s wrong, mom,” the panic in her voice settled in Helena’s bones, mixing with her own, and she was quick to push her daughter behind her back, stepping away from the door. “It’s aunt Pheebs, she—”

“It’s not her,” Emma’s voice was grave, so unfitting for a young woman, and she inched closer to her mother, too. Which left Javier at the stove, looking at the three of them with confusion and alarm. “It’s him, it’s the man of the lilacs.”

“What?” perplexed, Javier took a step forward, only to be stopped by Helena’s extended arm, while she pushed all three of them behind her just as Phoebe walked into the kitchen. Accompanied. “What the hell—” Javier exhaled, reaching for his belt.

“Agent Peña!” James exclaimed, translucent as he came into the light. Javier’s head started spinning as he stared at him, then at Phoebe Goode, her arm trapped in his vice grip made of fingers of smoke, then back at him. “Long time no see. How’s Laredo? I think I’m starting to feel homesick.”

As James spoke, Helena had started stepping backwards, her gaze never leaving Phoebe—the two sisters were looking at each other, guilt and fear and resolution in their gazes that no one but the younger girls could notice, the familiarity an ache on the palms of their hands as they held each others’, keeping close, keeping behind their mother.

“Helena,” Javier called, his gaze unwavering as he took hold of his gun. “You said he was dead.”

“Yes,” she nodded, and for a split second, Phoebe’s eyes showed surprise.

“Doesn’t look like it,” he retorted, and James scoffed.

“You’ve all spent weeks pretending I’m not here—well, almost all,” he tilted his head, gaze settling onto Emma, and smiled. Helena pushed her daughter into her back, the girl hiding her face against her shoulder, clinging tighter onto her sister’s hand—Sophia held her chin high, squeezing back. “It’s gotten boring.”

“Then leave,” in Phoebe’s voice there was all the rage of the Goode women before her. But then James turned, his grip tighter on her arm, and Helena watched her sister’s legs tremble. “Just leave us alone,” she pleaded, eyes widening.

“No,” James chuckled, pulling her closer—Javier could see the strain in the woman’s shoulder, her face contorting in pain, and could not wrap his head around it. James Hawkins did not look real, or at least not real enough to hurt them. Still, he felt uneasy, even more so when he spoke again, his head lowered next to Phoebe’s. “I’m feeling very into sisters right now,” his gaze flickered towards Helena, too, a grin taking over his pale face.

Javier wasn’t looking at her, but he felt Helena straighten her back, look at him, and then turn. He heard her whisper to her daughters, possibly holding them closer, to run into their aunts’ room and be mindful of the salt. He heard two sets of steps backtrack, and watched James’ face shift into disappointment.

“Oh, Lena, Lena, Lena—you really do take the fun out of anything, don’t you?” he took one step forward, dragging Phoebe with him—the woman cried weakly, trying and failing to escape his hold.

“Hey,” only now that the kids weren’t in the room did Javier lift his gun—although he was sure it would do nothing to stop the man, and his widened grin only confirmed it. “Let go of her.”

“And you,” James groaned, even as Javier placed himself between him and Helena, “you never, ever learned when to just give up,” the two men looked at each other—Javier’s gun lifting, James’ hand reaching out for him. “You should let the adults—”

Before the sentence was over, James screamed, letting go of Phoebe. Helena ignored Javier’s surprised gasp in favour of her sister tumbling to the side, quick to reach her before she could even touch the floor.

The same floor where a star shimmered, catching the sunlight. Javier carried it with him everywhere he went, in remembrance of his father, the star-shaped badge he’d lived by for ages before retiring. Javier did not believe in luck, good or bad that it was, but he did believe in reminders: of doing the right thing, always. Of never losing sight of who he was.

He picked it up right as James straightened, a hole in his near-invisible hand that echoed its shape. Without thinking, without considering, Javier held it up right as the other man—or whatever was left of him—screamed in his direction, unintelligible words that probably would’ve resounded like threats, had Javier been able to hear a single one.

Instead, he stared as the figure vanished, with one longer scream and a curse, the air darkening in front of his eyes and then dissipated into nothing, leaving him to look at the corridor that brought to the stairs, a ringing in his ears.

“It’s okay, Pheebs,” Helena’s voice slowly brought him back, words repeated soothingly as she still held her sister. “It’s okay, it’s alright,” reassuring, in spite of her trembling voice. “I need you to call the aunts, Phoebe. I need you to tell them what happened. Can you do that?”

“I’m sorry,” Phoebe was still saying, her eyes unfocused though she looked up to Helena.

“I know, I know—but can you?” Javier could almost see it—nights spent with Helena reassuring her sister, hidden under thick blankets or on the rooftop of the house beneath a sky full of stars. “Please, I need to go to the girls.”

“Oh, the girls,” Phoebe exhaled, and released the grip on her arm. “Of course. Of course. I’m sorry.”

Helena didn’t wait, though she lingered enough to rest a kiss to Phoebe’s temple, before standing and walking out of the kitchen. It took Javier a moment to come to his senses, and then he went straight after her.

“What the hell was that?” he asked, his mind still reeling, forgetting for a moment the effect he had on her. “Was that him? Did I kill him?”

“Yes, and no—technically,” Helena didn’t stop, heading for the stairs she used to sit on when she was a kid to spy on the aunts. “It was his spirit, which you banished. But I told you, I killed him. And you can do whatever with this information after, but right now—”

“Hold on just a goddamn second, all right?” Javier grabbed her arm, pulling her right back against him. A split second in which they looked each other in the eyes, and all that had happened the night before came back, all that had been left unsaid before hit them square in the chest, and in that split second, they could’ve almost forgotten all else. “What are you talking about? His spirit? I came here to bring in the bad guy—generally, that’s what I do, and now you’re telling me about spirits?”

“Is that why you came here, Javier?” she stood her ground, her arm still in his hold. “Be honest.”

“Honesty,” he scoffed. “I thought I did—and then you were here, and your letter—maybe that’s what brought me here. Maybe it was you. And I’m all mixed-up about that.”

Helena was looking at him with that storm still brewing in her eyes, and Javier felt his knees threaten to give out underneath him. His hand fell from her upper arm, down her elbow and wrist, brushing the palm of her hand. She took a slow breath in, lips trembling.

“The reason you’re here and you don’t know why is because I sent for you,” she said, quietly.

“I know why—”

“You don’t,” she interrupted him. “When I was a little girl, I worked a spell so I would never fall in love. I asked for qualities in a man that I knew couldn’t possibly exist,” she shook her head, while his fingers wrapped around her limp hand. “But you do.”

“So,” he scoffed, “you’re saying that what I’m feeling is just one of your spells?”

“Yes, it’s not real,” it sounded like it pained her to say, even though Javier knew she was telling the truth. Or at least thought she was. “And if you stay, I wouldn’t know if it was because of the spell, and you wouldn’t know if it was because I don’t want to go to prison.”

“All relationships have problems,” he muttered, and she gave a small, unamused laugh.

“I thought I loved Frankie, but that was another spell too,” for a split second, she held his hand back, squeezing her fingers around his to the point it hurt. “Still, you don’t want to know what happens if you stay. We’re all cursed. You saw that,” and just like that, she let go of him.

“Curses only have power when you believe in them, Helena, and I don’t,” clenching his fists, Javier stepped back from her. “You know what? I wished for you too.”

Helena knew. He’d told her the night before, his lips etching each word onto her skin.

But she watched him go nevertheless, glad he managed to take the steps she couldn’t.

Helena was tired. She had been tired since lying on the floor next to her sister, watching as she was being consumed from inside. But all of that was over. She’d stared at the letter from Laredo for days after that, keeping it stored with the other one written in her own hand that carried the mark of both her touch and his.

She did her best to not think of him. It was near impossible.

James Hawkins’ cause of death was accidental, read the letter. His body was identified by jewellery in the ashes of a body found in Laredo, right by his property. The same ring he’d told her was in his car, the car she’d driven, the car she’d spilt belladonna in.

Sincerely, Javier Peña, special investigator.

“I don’t think you’ll find him there, Lena,” Phoebe said softly, when she caught her reading the letter once more. “But somewhere else, perhaps.”

For days, she let the words linger. Days turned into weeks turned into months, his absence like an emptiness into her chest. She’d almost convinced herself it would pass. That, with time, that too would pass—just another pain, just another absence. She could deal with it. She could.

And then Javier was there, in her backyard, or at least that was what she thought she was seeing, because it couldn’t be. How could he be there, when he was in her dreams just that night?

“What would you do, Pheebs?” she whispered, her heart beating so loud she wouldn’t be surprised if everybody else could hear.

“What wouldn’t I do, for the right man?” Phoebe whispered in return, gently pushing her forward with a wide smile. “This is not the aunts’, this is the two of you.”

All the while, Javier looked at them, standing perfectly still like a deer in headlights, unsure of what to do, one of his hands half-raised as if in greeting but without waving, the other buried deep within his pocket. He looked at them, and watched Phoebe quickly lead the girls away even when they tried to run to him, and then Helena walk in his direction.

“A love that even time will lie down and be still for,” he said as a way of greeting, once they were standing one in front of the other. “Ever since I went back, time hasn’t felt real, because you weren’t there. And maybe you still believe it’s for a spell you did as a child, or your aunts’ fault—”

“How do you know about the aunts?” it was hard not to smile when he fidgeted like that.

“Your sister told me,” he returned, softly. “Your sister called.”

“And you’re here,” she said, a half-step forward in his direction.

“I’m here,” he nodded, moving the hand out of his pocket and reaching for her tentatively. “I’m here because I know this is real. No gimmick, just—”

“Love?” she suggested, and the glint in her eyes reminded him of the moon itself.

“Love,” he repeated, their fingers interlocking. “Helena, I mean all of it. I’ll even quit smokin’ if—”

She kissed him, plain and simple. Pulled his hands so that he was stumbling forward and caught his lips with hers, gentle, slow. She kissed him, and as Javier held her, he felt like he’d finally gone home. She kissed him, and felt that empty space in her chest filling with the taste of coffee and tobacco.

Can love travel back in time and heal a broken heart?

There were some things, after all, that Helena Goode knew for certain:

Always throw spilled salt over your left shoulder. Add pepper to your mashed potatoes. Keep rosemary by your garden gate. Plant lavender for luck. Fall in love whenever you can.

#javier peña fanfiction #javier peña x ofc #javier peña x oc #javier peña x original female character #javier peña x reader #javier peña imagine #javier peña fic #javier peña #javier peña x f!reader #javier peña x fem!reader #javier peña x you #javier peña fanfic #javier pena fanfiction #pedrostories #javier pena x ofc #javier pena x oc #javier pena x original female character #practical magic #redahlia

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majorproblems77 · 6 months ago

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I sent you part of this already but I decided it needed a bit more. 🫂❤️

“Please, Sir. I’ll keep up, or you can leave me behind. Just… go back to your boys.” Sky yanked himself out of Time’s grip and wrapped his arms around himself. “Please.” His voice threatened to break and he looked away. Why wouldn’t the eldest just… go?

“Sky…” Time caught his arm. No, not in front of Time. Not when he was holding on to…everything by a thread. “I am with one of my boys.What’s wrong?” And the kindness in Time’s voice was the final straw.

“I haven’t slept more than a half watch in two weeks.” He admitted. “I’m exhausted and Surface Sick but…” here he stopped as his voice choked. “I just need…” Another sob he fought to stifle. He needed the nightmares to let him sleep. He needed his head and body to quit aching. He was already a burden to the other heroes. He pushed through this on his adventure. He’d do it again…

There was a clatter as a golden gauntlet dropped to the ground and a cool wrist was lightly pressed against his forehead, then the eldest hero carefully pulled him into a hug and it was at that point that Sky fully lost his grip on everything and sobbed into Time’s chest.

Sky collapsed into him, sobbing and Time caught the Chosen hero and fought to contain the panic. The boy had a fever. He wasn’t sure what Surface Sick meant other than Sky seemed familiar with it, some sort of illness obviously. Then there was their current situation. They’d hoped to reach a town soon. It would be better to stock up on supplies and catch news of their quarry but could they even move if Sky was very bad off? He knew the Chosen would feel awful about disrupting the group’s travel but he couldn’t imagine forcing pace when the boy was sick and clearly exhausted. All this was currently being frantically pushed to a back burner as the urgent issue was a teenager breaking down with a simple hug.

“It’ll be ok, Sky.” He assured, shifting to take more of the Chosen’s weight. "I've got you, it'll be ok."

Time was saved from trying to come up with more than reassurances by the noise of rustling in the bushes and the emergence of Wolfie from the undergrowth. For a wolf, the expression was clear concern. It required shifting the Chosen in his arms to sign. So he ended up making an executive decision then and there.

"Go tell everyone to settle in for a bit. We're overdue for a rest day anyway." His pup nodded and trotted off towards camp. He turned his attention to Sky, whose cries had subsidided into exhausted shudders. He needed to get the Chosen somewhere he could rest.

"Let's get you back to bed, Sky." He shifted to pick the Skyloftian knight up, only getting a miserable whine in response. "It'll be ok, Kid." He hummed the Goron Lullaby as he walked. It wasn't on his ocarina and it had none of the magic the song would have if played on the proper instrument, but it was soothing enough he felt Sky start to properly drift off.

Twilight was human once more as Time approached the edge of camp. Now came the hard part, convincing the boys to not ask too many questions yet. He needn't have worried. Warriors had most of the others occupied with sword work or sparring. Twilight helped him get Sky wrapped up in his bedroll so he could rest. Wild broke from the group long enough to hand over a potion meant to keep a hylian from overheating in desert sun, hopefully it would help against a fever.

"How's he doing?" Wars asked quietly as he dropped to a crouch beside them. Sky was sleeping once more, albeit fitfully. Wild’s exilir plus a damp cloth had done wonders for Sky’s fever. But it was clear the young knight was still struggling.

"Better, a little..." Time turned his attention to Sky as the Chosen’s breath hitched and he began showing signs of distress. The cloth had lost its cooling properties anyway so Time carded a hand through Sky’s hair as he resolved the cloth. It seemed to soothe him.

"Anything you need?" Wars asked once Sky had settled once more.

These kids to stop breaking my heart. Was his immediate thought, but he shook his head. "Unless you know how to fix what's kept him from sleeping and made him ill..."

Warriors smiled ruefully. "We'll just have to keep an eye out. I'll switch you out when you need a break or in two more hours, whichever comes first. Ok, Sprite?"

Time nodded with a small chuckle. The Captain knew him too well to not set deadlines. He'd stay as long as it took to take care of his boys otherwise.

Oh my heart, this is adorable.

Thank you for sharing this with me :)

#aj beloved #thank you #this made me smile #lu sky #lu time #🫂🫂🫂#corner answers with major #not my writing #linked universe #linkeduniverse

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lisbeth-kk · 11 months ago

Text

December moments

Prompts used in this chapter: stuck at home - season's greetings - baby please come home

If Sherlock ever gets jealous? Oh, yes! Normally he stares down or gives a venomous deduction to anyone who dares letting their eyes linger inappropriately on his John, but when John willingly contacts an old friend, Sherlock knows he needs to control his jealousy.

December 16

My fever has vanished when I wake, but I’m terribly thirsty. Even before I’ve considered calling John, he emerges in the doorway to the bedroom with a large glass of cold water. I try to speak, but he urges me to drink first.

“Thank you, John,” I say when I’ve emptied half the glass.

My voice is deeper than normal, and still hoarse. He greets me softly and places a palm on my forehead to check my temperature.

“Feeling better today?” he asks.

I nod, take his hand, places it on my cheek and lean into his palm. He bends down and kisses the top of my head. He refuses to bestow me with a kiss to my lips when I’m still ill. I huff my complaint and he pets my hair to make up for it.

***

I’m obviously stuck at home for another day or two, which is fine, because I’m in no state to do much else than use the bathroom, make tea and doze on the sofa anyway.

John’s writing his annual season’s greetings to major Sholto, and I can only grit my teeth and soldier on. I hate that John still corresponds with his former superior officer, despite it only happens once a year. It’s of course childish of me to be jealous of a relationship that was nowhere near what John and I have, but I can’t help the gnawing feeling in my gut.

“Right, I’ll just pop out to post this and then I’m off to Barts to help Mike with a medical report he wanted my opinion on. He’s supposed to deliver it tomorrow. You’ll be alright now, I think. The fever is all but gone,” he says and cups my face, scanning my eyes while stroking my cheekbones.

I close my eyes and revel in the proximity, humming appreciatively when I feel warm lips on my forehead.

“Try to get some sleep, yeah,” John murmurs.

The warmth I felt just now is gone within seconds of his departure. I try to sleep, I really do, but images of Sholto and John in their uniforms kissing in the Afghan desert, makes me nauseous. John is right, I do act like a child sometimes. In my defence, my brain seems to be filled with wool at the moment, and I’m unable to think rational about the matter.

I turn on the telly, but everything reminds me of John, so I turn it off. After I’ve drunk a cup of tea, I try to enter my mind palace, but to no avail. Music, then. Since I’m too weak to play myself, I find a playlist John’s put together. It contains both classical and pop music. The classical pieces are soothing, and I must’ve dozed off, because when I wake it’s considerably darker outside.

John’s still out and I feel sorry for myself. It doesn’t get any better when one of this Mariah Carey’s Christmas songs plays from my phone on the table. Baby please come home. What a fitting song for my mood. I reach out to skip it, but then she sings: you should be here with me, and I break down, sobbing like a child.

And that’s the state John finds me in mere minutes later. Normally I would’ve been embarrassed, but I’m beyond that and clings to him when he takes me in his arms and rocks me, whispering soothing words into my hair.

“Shh. I’m back now. I’ll always come back to you, you know that, right? You’re my sweetheart, my good boy. How about some mulled wine to cheer you up? Would you like that?”

I love it when he does this, even if I shouldn’t. It makes me appear like a big child, but I need it. Desperately. John knows this. Knows how I crave being attended to when I’m in this vulnerable state. And there isn’t another person in the world I would want to see me in such a condition, who I can trust like I can trust John. He’s my rock, and knight in shining armour. My savour and the man I want to share the rest of my life with, whether it’ll be long or short.

He holds me close when we go to bed, kissing and petting my hair until I fall asleep in his arms.

Read it on AO3

@totallysilvergirl @keirgreeneyes @calaisreno @a-victorian-girl @phoenix27884 @safedistancefrombeingsmart @helloliriels @gregorovitchworld @sabsi221b @topsyturvy-turtely @peanitbear @raina-at

#December ficlet prompts #sherlock fandom #sherlock #john watson #johnlock #sherlock fanfic #bbc sherlock #ao3 fanfic #december moments #respite in december

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ofmermaidstories · 1 month ago

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HI same anon from earlier. but. how did you develop your writing style? i love how personalized your voice is and it’s genuinely so enjoyable to read! sm appreciation for you and your art <3

you know how like, people have accents? not regional ones—but like, you might meet someone at uni or work, and almost immediately you can clock that they a) watch a lot of anime and b) maybe read a lot of 80s/90s fantasy/scifi? it’s like that! it’s when someone’s voice is very clearly informed by what they’re consuming or are active in. like how being chronically online means you can pick a twitter user (they’re always inserting disclaimers or over-explaining themselves to prevent misunderstanding or explicitly clarifying a position). it’s the same principle!! i write like i talk, and i talk like i do because i consume a lot of stuff lmao.

one of my favourite tiktoks is like, this girl pouncing on an older woman—she’s big in the fashion industry but her name is escaping me rn—to ask her where she gets her style from, and the woman is just like, “be interested in other things!!!”. and we say that all time in writing circles, right? like, read more, watch more movies, etc etc but it’s so true, because it’s only by exposing yourself to whatever you can that you can then start like, parring down the things you like, and then work through what you like about them.

i like poetry. and i like music. we all like music!! but music has cadence the same way us speaking to each other does. some of my favourite books are in first-person and because we’re in first-person, we’re in the character’s head 24/7, which means we’re privvy to the music of their thoughts. because it is music! i don’t think in complete sentences, do you? i think in—fragments, like a burst of song. or in details. i like details!!! they’re often the first thing i notice in situations, so i include them when i write, and i’ll read authors that include them, too. but then it’s a bit of a trap, because you have to have a light hand with it—you can’t just over-describe everything, it’s going to bore everyone—so we come back to poetry. it’s a good way of reading about that momentary focus on an otherwise mindless detail, and realising how much grounding it can bring to a piece (or a sentence). but then we come back to music and our thoughts. details don’t just stand alone! they exist as a part of other things! you don’t just have the smudged silver of an ice bucket from an empty ice machine in a motel, you have an ice bucket because you’re… standing in the burning hot heat of a motel in the middle of the desert. and maybe the bucket is smudged because the manager running this place literally doesn’t care, and the cleaner is busy scrubbing vomit out of the carpet in the room next to yours, and it’s a worn-down, hard-luck place where people don’t come by choice because it’s like, built on the old highway that existed before they put it one of those mega-freeways that have now bypassed the town and everyone here is poor. i’m not american, i don’t know anything about freeways, but i like history!!! i like things, i like fashion. i wanted to be an animator when i was a kid, and the lingering result of me frantically taking in whatever i could, back in the day, is that i still have a interest in like, idk, cold-war era animation lmao. and this all sounds stupid just rattling off, but what i’m trying to say is that when you take in and discover things you love, it informs your voice and ultimately your style. like i could give you a laundry list of my favourite, personhood-defining books right now (flowers in the attic [read when i was twelve, has always stuck with me in the imagery], chuck palahniuk in general [one of my first intros to second-person pov], shirley jackson in general again, romance novels written in the 90s lmao, the virgin suicides, like—there’s a lot) but it’s not a recipe, because my other interests feed into how i write. 🥹 i like perfume (literally fighting with someone about it rn on twitter lmao), so i’m on fragrantica, a site for reviewing them. which means i am routinely exposed to like, people describing scents!!! and the thing with perfume is that like, if you don’t know what an iris smells like, then you’re kinda up shit creek, right? like, sometimes we’re just not exposed to things! so it’s really common for perfume reviews to try and invoke feeling—and some of it is like, yeah, marketing lmao, like, trying to get you to feel sentimental or hopeful enough to buy a bottle, but if i say “this smells like iris” vs. “this smells creamy and powdery soft, like uncapping an expensive lipstick” you’re gonna get a better idea of things!!! like you still might not know what an iris smells like—but you know what creamy is, what powdery might be. what overpriced luxury type items might entail.

the worst part about this is that none of it came together overnight. like i wish i could just prescribe things, books, like, yes, read this and then you’ll be able to write the exact same way. but it doesn’t work like that! this is quite literally a lifelong effort. so if you wanna develop your own style then like—you have to tend to everything else first. 🥹 you have to love and be excited about other things, because it will tighten your sentences (or blow them up!) and give you music—or an accent lmao—to think in. 🥹

#ofmermaidstories-asks #i always wonder if my answers to these posts are helpful… bc i like—never got any formal training in writing lmao so like. idk how else—#—to describe or talk about it? 🧐 like i couldn’t give you exercises to try bc. i don’t know any LOL #basically my advice is to love lots of things and then just write and hope for the best 🥹

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dis0rderly-cl0wn-nerd · 3 months ago

Text

Crack A Smile and Cut Your Mouth

Ledger!Joker Origin Story

Chapter Eight - Life's Full of Surprises

Warnings: Character death, angst

Chapter Summary: Jack comes home and things are not at all how he imagined they'd be.

Author's Note: I'm gonna go ahead and apologize in advance 😅 I did not wanna have to kill off this person but it's character development for Jack. He's been through so much already I know, but you have to remember that it had to be a lot for him to eventually snap the way he does. You don't just randomly wake up one day and decide to become a mass murderer.

No I didn't use Heaven Beside You as the song inspiration because someone dies, it's deeper than that lol. I've also had this reoccurring scene in my head where Jack is driving down the road listening to the song at full blast. At this point he's broken from war and now this has happened. He's angry and hurting, mad at the world. This song just seemed fitting. Also I love Alice In Chains <3

Taglist: @alittlesmartcookie @furisodespirit

If you would like to be added to the taglist please let me know! <3

< Previous - Next >

Jack walked through the bustling crowd of people with his head down and his hands in his pockets. He’d just got off a flight from Fort Benning. After he left Afghanistan, he went back there to finalize some things and officially be discharged.

The airport was not far from his hometown, less than thirty minutes away. Jack’s plan was to call the house and have somebody come pick him up. He knew it would most likely be his mother.

He went over to the wall of pay phones and fished out a quarter from his pocket to put in the slot. He dialed his home phone number and waited. There was no answer. He tried a second time but still nothing.

Okay… Scott’s probably at work and Mom must be out somewhere. Weird… I won’t bother with them then.

He was unsure how he was going to get home now unless he rented a car. Then he remembered Mike. According to his mom during their last phone call, Mike was still going strong. Surely he wouldn’t mind taking him home.

Jack pulled a small notebook filled with contacts and another quarter out of his pocket and searched for Mike’s number. He was so glad he carried this with him. He wouldn’t be able to remember the number from all those years ago if he didn’t. The phone rang for a few moments and then someone picked up.

“Hello?” A gruff voice said on the other end.

“Mike? This is Jack.”

“Hey! How ya doing buddy? Haven’t heard from you in a while.”

“I’m alright I guess. Listen, I’m at the airport right now. It’s the one near Fairfield. I can’t get a hold of anyone at home and I was wondering if you could come give me a ride. I’ll be out front near the parking lot.”

“Of course. Give me about 20 minutes and I’ll be there.”

“Okay. Thanks Mike.”

Relieved that he had a way home now, Jack grabbed his stuff and headed towards the front. He sat down on a bench outside the building and watched the parking lot, bouncing his leg anxiously. He didn’t know why but since the plane landed he felt super jittery. He wasn’t sure if it was all the crowds of people making him uneasy or the thought of being home again.

Some time later he saw Mike’s car pull into a space. The short and stocky man climbed out and scanned the area for Jack. He spotted him and walked towards the bench, smiling. When he got there, he pulled Jack into a bear hug.

“Jeez, you’ve really filled out. How tall are you now?” He exclaimed as they walked to the car.

Jack laughed. “Good to see you too, Mike.”

He laid his duffel in the floorboard and climbed inside as Mike started the car and put it in gear.

“So how’s army life been?” Mike asked.

Jack shrugged. “Eh, hot and bloody. But that’s the desert for you.”

“I, uh, couldn’t help but notice the scar on your face. What happened?”

“A surprise attack. The humvee I was in exploded. I managed to make it out but a piece of shrapnel hit me.” Jack explained, shifting uncomfortably.

“Oh. That must’ve been really bad. So are you home for good or are you just visiting?”

“I’m back for good now. I got discharged.”

“Why?”

“They said trauma reasons. I had a weird episode while I was over there. I think I could’ve made it a little longer but I guess they didn’t want to chance me having something like that while we were out on a mission. It could cause problems. I didn’t complain. I wanted to go home anyway and this was an opportunity to leave.”

“Oh okay. Wow. Are you okay now?”

“I don’t really know to be honest. I haven’t had anything happen lately but it could always come back. That kind of stuff is unpredictable.”

Mike grunted in agreement and focused on the road. Jack gazed out the window as they entered town and memories came flooding back to him. He was home alright. The jitteriness increased by the second as they got closer and closer to his house.

“How is my Mom?” Jack asked.

Mike slowed down drastically and nearly stopped in the middle of the road. He looked at him with a confused expression and seemed to be contemplating what he was going to say next. Now Jack was confused. Did he miss something?

“Don’t you know what happened?” Mike gasped.

Jack’s heart sank. “What? Is something wrong? Is she okay?”

Mike sighed. “I think it’s best if you go home and find out. It’s not my place to tell you.”

“Um, okay… Is it bad?”

“You’ll find out soon enough. I’m…I’m sorry, Jack. I thought you knew.”

Jack’s head was spinning. Oh God. No…

His main worry while he was away had come true. Something happened to his mother and he wasn’t there to help her. He sincerely hoped she was okay.

Mike turned down Jack’s street and pulled up to the curb in front of his childhood home. Jack grabbed his bag and turned to Mike.

“Um, thanks for the ride. I should go.”

Mike nodded grimly. Jack opened the car door and stepped out on wobbly legs. He felt sick to his stomach as he approached the house.

He reached the top of the steps and took a deep breath. There was no telling what he’d find inside. He turned to Mike and nodded. Mike gave a thumbs up and drove away.

Jack set the duffel bag down on the porch and knocked on the front door, steeling himself.

“What? Who’s showing up here at this time of the morning? Better not be a fuckin’ cop!” A familiar drunken voice slurred.

Jack inwardly groaned. Here we go…

His father opened the door and started to throw something but hesitated when he saw his son.

“Jack? That you?”

“Yes.” Jack said calmly.

Scott tilted his head and stared at Jack, particularly his injured cheek.

“What the hell happened to your face?”

Jack looked down. “Shrapnel.”

Scott chuckled darkly. “At least you didn’t die. I was expecting as much.”

Jack narrowed his eyes. Forcing himself to keep it together, he ignored the comment and changed the subject.

“Where’s Mom?”

“Oh that bitch? Didn’t ya hear? She’s dead.”

Jack stood there a moment, staring back at the drunk in shock. He was unsure if he heard him correctly.

“What?” He demanded.

“One night several months back we got into a fight. Then she hopped in the car and sped off from here. I had no idea where she was goin’. It was raining and she must’ve been too upset to drive because she crashed into an embankment and it killed her.”

Jack felt tears form in his eyes but he quickly blinked them away. He would not let his father see him cry.

“You sick fuck! You’re lying!”

“I’m not lying, Jackie. That’s what happened. Go look at the cemetery. She’s there.”

Jack wanted to hit him so bad. Why was he being so casual about this? He shoved Scott out of the way and stepped inside. The house was a wreck and smelled strongly of booze and weed. Dishes were piled in the sink and trash littered the counter and the floor. Maybe his mother really was gone. He refused to believe it.

“That’s not what happened! Where is she?”

“What part of ‘she’s dead’ don’t you understand? Did you hit your head too hard out there or something?”

Jack grabbed Scott up by his shirt collar, slamming him against the wall.

“You did this to her! Don’t tell me it was just a fight. You probably beat her until she bled. She wouldn’t’ve had to drive off like that if you’d just left her alone. You fucking piece of shit!” Jack screamed.

“Oh, look atcha all riled up. You think you’re some tough soldier guy now? You’re still the same weak little boy you were when you left.” Scott taunted.

Jack lost control and punched him in the face. Scott staggered backwards and tried to counter but lost his balance and fell over. Jack shook his head. This was pathetic. He could’ve really hurt him if he wanted to but he decided against it. This asshole wasn’t worth it.

“You…get out of my goddamn house. Go! Pack the shit in your room and leave. Take that black pick-up with you. I’m getting tired of looking at it.” Scott shouted from the floor.

“Fine. I wasn’t planning on staying anyway.” Jack muttered as he walked towards his old bedroom.

He slammed the door shut as he entered and sighed. The tears came back again and this time they were harder to keep down. The realization hit him like a brick wall. His mother was dead. He didn’t even get a proper goodbye.

Jack ran his fingers through his hair and forced himself to focus on the task at hand. He needed to pack his things and get out. Quickly. If he stayed longer than necessary Scott might go off again. He did not have the energy to deal with that a second time.

His room was the same way it was when he left, except the dust and the cobwebs on the ceiling. The posters of his favorite bands were still on the walls. His drawings and sketchbooks were still there. His pocket knife was still on his nightstand. His bed was still made up and his clothes were still in his dresser and hanging up in the closet.

Before he got to work, Jack looked for more comfortable clothes to change into. He settled on a dark brown t-shirt and jeans. He gained a lot of muscle mass and grew a few inches taller while he was gone so it was hard to find clothes that fit well.

After he got dressed, he went through his closet and his dresser and put his clothes in some cardboard boxes he found. He left the clothes he didn’t want or knew for sure he couldn’t wear. He also packed his music, his sketchbooks, his journals, his pocket knife, his skateboard, a few photos he had, and other useful things like a flashlight. He had no clue where he would go from here and what he might need.

He moved the boxes of stuff out into the hall. Double checking himself, he went through everything again to make sure he didn’t leave anything behind. Seeing that he was good, he stacked the boxes and carried them out to the truck, putting them in the passenger seat.

After a few trips, Jack hauled the last of his stuff towards the door. As he started to leave, he glanced over at Scott one last time. He was downing a beer and eating potato chips like an absolute slob. He didn't even look up. He couldn’t be bothered to at least say goodbye to his son.

So why should I? Fuck him. Jack thought angrily.

He scooped up his things and flung the door open. A rage that Jack didn’t fully know the reason behind swept over him. He darted out to the carport where his truck was, not even bothering to close the door. He tossed the box inside as he climbed in the driver’s seat and sped out of the driveway.

He was getting the hell out of here but first he actually listened to his father for a change and went to the cemetery to find his mama.

…

The cemetery was less than 10 minutes away from the house and near a small church, which Jacqueline attended often. Jack used to go with her a lot, especially when he was little. He never fully agreed with or understood the Christian faith. He guessed there was some kind of higher power out there but he wasn’t really sure what. He only went with his mom when he was a teenager because it made her happy.

Jack parked at the church and walked to the graveyard. The rusty gate made a screeching noise as he opened it. He trekked solemnly through the grass and scanned the rows of headstones for his mother’s name.

Eventually he found her by a willow tree in the back corner. Wildflowers grew in abundance at the base of the tree and along the fenceline that surrounded the cemetery. Jack picked a handful of the blue and purple ones, knelt down by Jacqueline’s grave, and laid them in front of the headstone. He read the engraving and sighed as his suspicion was confirmed.

Jacqueline died a few months into his third deployment. He understood why he didn’t find out at first because he was away from any US bases in Afghanistan where communications were. But when he came back to base after they were attacked, why didn’t he find out then? Maybe things were so hectic it was the last thing on people’s mind but still. He should’ve found out a long time ago.

Tears welled up in his eyes again and finally he let them fall. His poor mama didn’t deserve to suffer like she did and die so horrifically. He could only hope she went quickly and painlessly but he would never know for sure.

“I’m so sorry, Mama. I should’ve been here.” Jack sobbed.

He rested his head against the gravestone and just let himself openly weep for a bit. It had been a while since he had a good cry. He was already dealing with a lot. Trauma from the war, the hideous scar on his face, and now this. It was starting to feel like his life was slowly falling apart.

Jack kissed his hand and then touched the gravestone. “Bye Mama. I love you. Always.”

Composing himself, he wiped his eyes before he stood up and walked back to the truck. He pulled out of the parking lot and started back down the road with no absolutely no idea where he was going or what the plan was.

One thing was clear. He had to get out of here. This town held too many bad memories. If he was going to move on and get better, he needed to start over completely. The highway seemed like the best option right now. He’d take it until he figured out what to do. It wasn’t a very strong plan but it worked for now.

Jack finally hit the main road, leaving the small town in the dust. He was going 10 miles over the speed limit but he could care less. He was mad. This was not fair.

“Stupid bastard! Can’t even spare the decency to take her death seriously. I mean, what did I expect, but still! And I didn’t find out until now?! Almost three months later? No one stopped to think hey maybe we should tell her son! Oh no, he’s overseas, we shouldn’t bother him with that. That’s kinda something I need to fucking know!” Jack vented to the air.

He reached down and grabbed his CDs from the floor, picked one, and inserted it into the truck’s CD player. While in the army he couldn’t enjoy music as much as he used to. The opening guitar riff on his favorite album as loud as he could stand it was so refreshing. It helped him to calm down a bit. He’d crash if he kept raging like this.

Jack was furious at Scott for treating him and his mother like shit for so many years and being indirectly responsible for her death. And then to top it off, being completely careless and unapologetic about the whole situation.

He was also angry with himself for not checking up enough back home. But what could he do thousands of miles away? He just had to accept that there was nothing he could have done about it. That devastated him.

Jack rolled down the window slightly to let some fresh air in, the wind blowing in his face. He belted out the lyrics of the next track as it came on and got lost in the music to let out his rage.

He didn’t understand why all of this was happening to him. He was only 24 and he already had more problems than most people twice his age. Maybe this fresh start would be good for him. Being away from everything that caused him so much pain would be the best way to heal.

A few miles down the road, a gas station popped up out of the monotony of fields and trees in the middle of nowhere. Jack glanced at his fuel gauge. It was halfway to empty. He decided it would be a good idea to stop. There probably wouldn’t be another place to fill up for miles. So he parked beside a pump and went inside the store.

“I need 10 gallons on pump 2 and a pack of Marlboro reds.” He told the woman at the counter.

The cashier grabbed the pack of cigarettes from the shelf and handed it to him. She rang up the total and told him the amount. As he dug some money out of his pocket and paid the cashier, Jack saw a flyer on the wall promoting Gotham City. It sparked a flicker of interest.

“Pfft. Nothing there but city scum and rich assholes.” He mumbled to himself as he left the store, dismissing the idea.

After he filled up his gas tank, he lit a cigarette and started the truck, continuing down the road. At this point he was about an hour away from home. Aside from the military, he had only traveled outside his hometown a few times and not very far. From here on he didn’t know what was ahead. He could only read the road signs and glance at his watch to see how much time had passed.

Jack groaned as he passed yet another billboard advertising Gotham. This had to be the fourth one since he left the gas station. It was like it was trying to tell him something. But he did not want Gotham to be his only option just because he didn’t know what else to do at the moment.

He’d heard many things about the city growing up. Some (usually people trying to get students to apply for Gotham University) said it was full of exciting opportunities and new experiences. Jack knew that was probably only true if you were wealthy or smart.

On the other hand he mainly heard it was crime ridden and dismal, full of corrupt cops and politicians, and just simply trashy. Jack didn’t know if he could handle city life, especially since he was still adjusting to being a civilian again.

He passed another sign and threw his hands up in frustration. He couldn’t give up this easily but he needed to figure this out pretty soon. Currently he had no place to go and he didn’t like the idea of being homeless for too long.

He had to look at the pros here. Renting a small apartment would be much easier than paying for a whole house in an obscure town and then there was the question of finding a house to begin with. If he went to Gotham, he could have a quiet life in an apartment all to himself. To him that seemed to be the best atmosphere for him to deal with all the trauma and grief.

“Where else am I gonna go? I’m not staying back home in that God forsaken place and I can’t just live in the middle of nowhere. Homeless… Ugh. Fine. If there’s nothing vacant and if it’s too expensive, then I’ll find somewhere else. This will give me a chance to start over.” Jack told himself as if to solidify his decision.

So after much debate with himself, Jack began the three hour drive to Gotham City with nothing to go by but signs and an old map he found in his glove compartment. It was getting late in the afternoon and with everything going on he was feeling exhausted and super drained. He had to smoke another cigarette and keep some music on just to stay awake and alert.

He also hadn’t eaten anything all day so hungry was an understatement. He stopped at another gas station along the way and bought a deli sandwich and some Goldfish to snack on.

Finally after a long, tiring journey up the interstate, Jack saw Gotham City’s skyline poke out over the horizon. He breathed a sigh of relief. He was still incredibly nervous about this but at least the driving part was over.

As he crossed the bridge into the city, he marveled at how big everything was. The largest city he’d ever been in was Atlanta when he was stationed at Fort Benning and that was just passing through.

Despite his anxiety, he was really looking forward to this new chapter. He was ready to move on with his life. He left his abusive homelife and got out of the military. Now it was time to focus on actual adult life. Becoming an adult while in the army did him no favors. It actually detached him further from everyone else.

This was going to be a major adjustment. That was for sure.

#ledger joker #jack napier #the dark knight #heath ledger #nolanverse #cross posted on ao3 #my writing

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rip-us-xoxo · 2 years ago

Text

Tightrope- George Weasley x Reader (REPOST)

Posted OCTOBER 20, 2020

Reposted APRIL 16, 2023

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Warnings- it gets pretty angsty, but it ends up good :)

Song- 'Tightrope' from The Greatest Showman

Italicized= Flashbacks Italicized, bold= Song Lyrics

Enjoy!😁😁😁

——————————————————————————

You looked up at the clock, it was 7:30 pm. “George promised to be here 30 minutes ago,” you sighed sadly. He’s been doing this for the past few months. He promises that he’ll be home and then doesn’t come home until much much later. He and Fred have been really busy with the shop lately, and you understand that it’s their dream, but sometimes you want to see the love of your life, you know?

You sat up and looked at the dinner you had prepared for you two, and you looked down at your dress that you decided to wear for him. You groaned and sat down at the table, eating your meal by yourself.

“I’ll be home by seven love!” you mimicked Georges’s voice, “Bullshit, it’s all bullshit!”. You stabbed your fork down and kept eating.

After you finished, you sat your dishes down in the sink and turned on some music. “I might as well dance, even though I have no one to dance with. But, I’m used to it at this point,” you whispered to yourself.

“Tightrope” from The Greatest Showman started playing. “This explains my life right now,” you chuckled sadly then started singing, “Some people long for a life that is simple and planned. Tied with a ribbon. Some people won’t sail the sea ‘cause they’re safer on land. To follow what’s written. But I’d follow you to the great unknown. Off to a world we call our own,”.

You thought back to when you and George were talking about your future during dinner one day at Hogwarts. When you mentioned getting a job at the ministry he said that that was boring and no fun.

“What do you mean that’s "boring and no fun”?“ you asked. "I want a job where I can have fun, sure, it might not pay well. But it’s a lot better than getting an office job where you’re bored out of your mind. And besides, it’s fun to have a little risk!” George exclaimed, “What’s the fun in having a life that’s planned? It’s so much more fun to not know what’ll happen tomorrow! It’s fun when there’s some unknown to your life, it makes it exciting!”. “Well, I guess wherever you end up, I’ll end up,” you sighed dreamily and leaned toward him. “We’ll make the world our own,” he whispered and kissed you.

Your heart fluttered at the memory.

“Hand in my hand. And we promised to never let go. We’re walking a tightrope. High in the sky. We can see the whole world down below. We’re walking a tightrope. Never sure, never know how far we could fall. But it’s all an adventure, that comes with a breathtaking view. Walking a tightrope. With you, ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh. With you, ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh. With you,” you sang.

You tried to be optimistic about all of the time George has to spend at the shop because you know that one day it’ll all be worth it. But, it really doesn’t seem like it because it’s been months of this and it doesn’t seem to be getting better. At some point, the shop could completely crash and you two would be screwed. But on the other hand, it could work out amazingly and you two could be set for the rest of your life. You never know, you guess.

“Mountains and valleys, and all that will come in between. Desert and ocean. You pulled me in and together we’re lost in a dream. Always in motion. So I risk it all just to be with you. And I risk it all for this life we choose,” you sang and remembered to when Fred and George were trying to convince you to leave school with them. Mainly because George couldn’t imagine not being with you for the rest of the year.

“Come on, Y/n! Umbridge is the worst and we could get out of this hell-hole, away from her and her horrible ways,” Fred tried convincing you at dinner. “Please, Y/n, we’ll live out our dream of making the world our own! No more school, just you and I,” George said and grabbed your hands, “Along with me!” Fred butted in which made the three of you laugh. George gave you pleading eyes, “How can I say no to you? Fine! I’ll do it,” you agreed which made George ecstatic.

A few weeks later, you left with the boys making their grand exit and you flipping off Umbridge before flying away with George. And with that, you didn’t finish school. Meaning, that you couldn’t get a good job. You were dependent on your job at a small bookshop and the joke shop.

“Hand in my hand. And you promised to never let go. We’re walking a tightrope. High in the sky, we can see the whole world down below. We’re walking a tightrope.Never sure, will you catch me if I should fall?”.

At this point, you felt alone. Even though George came home every night, you were asleep and when you awoke, he was gone.

“I promise that no matter what happens with this shop, I’ll always be there for you,” George said as you two were walking down Diagon Alley. “Promise?” you asked, “Promise,” George reassured. As you started walking away, you felt that George wasn’t walking with you. You turned around to see him on one knee, “Y/n Y/m/n Y/l/n, you make me the happiest chap alive. I know that that’s cliché, but it’s true. You’ve supported me in my dreams and I promise to do the same, for the rest of our lives. Which I guess brings me to the big question. Will you marry me?”. You stood there with tears in your eyes before jumping up and down and screaming, “Yes! Yes! A million, bajillion times yes!”. He slipped the ring on your finger before you both shared a passionate kiss.

You looked down at the engagement ring on your finger, “Well, it’s all an adventure. That comes with a breathtaking view. Walking a tightrope. With you, ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh,”. You then thought back to the Yule Ball.

“With you, ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh. With you,” you sang while spinning around acting like you were dancing with George.

He had asked you to go with him the moment you heard of it happening. You wore a gorgeous gown and you looked perfect, just like how your night went. You and George danced the night away and nothing else mattered except the two of you being together.

The music in your kitchen had engulfed you and you felt like you were in the great hall dancing the night away, just like that night. “With you, ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh,”. The music then stopped, bringing you back to your current reality. Your dress immediately stopped flowing and you looked out of the kitchen window. You were at home, with no George insight.

“With you, ooh-ooh-ooh. With you,” you sang while walking toward the counter so that you could lean on it since you were now tearing up at your current situation. “Oh Georgie, what happened to us?” you whispered to yourself and leaned over, sobbing, “We used to be madly in love, and now we’re not. I just want it to go back to the way it used to be,”.

You turned around and wiped a few tears before seeing George standing right on the opposite end of the kitchen. “Oh, hi love!” you exclaimed and wiped away your tears. He didn’t say anything back, he was just standing there sadly.

“How much did you hear?” you croaked out, starting to cry again. “I heard that we’re not as in love as we used to be and that you want things to go back to the way they were,” George said quietly.

You couldn’t keep it in anymore. You let out a sob and walked over to George, falling in his arms. “I just- I just, I miss you all the time. You’re never home and- and I feel like we’re falling out of love for each other,” you sobbed, “I mean, this is the first time we’ve touched in weeks,”. “Don’t say that love,” George cooed.

“But it’s true,” you sobbed, “we’ve been engaged for a year now and we haven’t even been able to plan the wedding because you’re always at work. I feel like you don’t care about me or this relationship anymore,”.

George didn’t say anything, he just looked down. “Do you not care about me anymore?” you said angrily and pulled out of his embrace. His head shot up and he started rapidly shaking his head 'no’. “No-no, I care about you a-a lot,” he sobbed.

You shook your head, not believing him at all. “I-I really d-do!” George cried out and reached out his arms to grab you, but you backed up. He watched helplessly as you walked past him and to the couch so that you could sit down. “I don’t know if I can believe you anymore, George,” you spat his name out like venom.

His heart broke when you called him by his name, you never do that. You always called him 'love’ or 'sweetie’, really anything except his name. “But you can! When have I ever lied to you?” George asked and ran next to you on the sofa, dropping to his knees in front of you. “When you said that the shop wouldn’t stop you from being there for me!” you sobbed.

He looked like he was about to say something, but he couldn’t say anything. You scoffed and stood up, walking to your shared room, and slamming the door. “Wait, Y/n! Wait! Please!” George pleaded and banged on the door.

You just sobbed and slid down the door. He was on the other side leaning his head against the door, banging it occasionally, and sobbing. He felt horrible and so did you. But, you couldn’t do it anymore; waiting for him every day, not knowing when he’ll get home, or eating dinner by yourself every night.

You. just. couldn’t. anymore.

You stood up from the door, which George heard. You grabbed a bag and walked over to your dresser to pack some clothes. You weren’t going to leave him entirely, but he needed to get it through his head that you didn’t deserve to be treated this way.

“Y/n!” George sobbed, “Open the door, sweetheart!”. You just wiped away your tears and kept putting clothes in your bag. “Please!” George sobbed and banged the door. You breathed out and walked over to the door, opening it. He slightly smiled when he saw you but it immediately dropped when he saw the bag in your hands.

“Y/n, what are you doing?” he asked. “Leaving,” you simply stated and pushed past him, “not for a long time, but enough time for you to figure yourself out,”. “But you don’t need to go away! I love you, isn’t that enough?” George asked, you just jerked your head around to look at him.

George breathed out, “I know that I’ve been at the shop a lot and I know that we haven’t planned the wedding at all. I just-”, “'You just’ what?! You just have a lot of work to do which makes you just forget all about your fiance?! The love of your life?!” you screamed.

“But I haven’t forgotten about you! Look, I know I screwed up, but pleas-please don’t leave. We’ll figure it out together, we always do!” George sobbed. “We haven’t been doing a lot together lately. It seems to just be you with me trailing behind,” you spat.

“I didn’t know you felt that way and-and I’m sorry. But, I’m begging you, please don’t go. You’re the one thing that’s been keeping me going these past few months,” George pleaded, “when I come home and you’re asleep, I love to hold you close when I get into bed. It’s calming and makes me forget all about the stress of running the shop. On my breaks, I always look at the picture of us at the Yule ball that’s on my desk. I have the little friendship bracelet you made for me when we were first years in my pocket with me at all times,”. He pulled a tiny bracelet out of his pocket, and sure enough, it was the charm bracelet that you gave to him all those years ago.

“You’re the one thing that’s kept me from losing it, so please don’t go. I’ll fix it- we’ll fix it- together,” George said and walked slowly up to you.

You stood there for a second, taking everything that he said in. It was the same for you too. Even though you never saw him anymore, he was the one thing that was keeping you from leaving him completely.

No matter what happened between the two of you, no matter how bad it was, your love for each other always shined through and brought you two to your senses about the fact that you both loved each other and there was nothing that could change that.

You dropped your bag and ran to him to hug him, nearly knocking him over. “Oh, love. You don’t understand how much I love you,” he whispered and kissed your temple. “I love you too,” you said, “Really?” he asked. “How could I not?” you giggled.

He smiled so big that it made your heart swell with happiness. You two quickly locked lips and stayed there until you both were out of breath. “I love you so so so much, and I’ll never let you feel that bad again,” George breathed out, “I love too, ginger,” you giggled, making him smile even bigger if that’s even possible. You two then shared another passionate kiss.

You two really were walking a tightrope. At any moment everything could come crashing down, but then again, life with George was exciting and unexpected. As long as you two kept your balance and kept loving each other, you would keep walking along that tightrope effortlessly and your life would be magnificent.

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xoxo

#george weasley #george weasly x reader #george weasley x y/n #george weasley imagine #harry potter characters x reader #harry potter fanfiction

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rorywritesjunk · 1 year ago

Text

For these foamy green hills are but saltwater desert

Richie, Mohji's lion, isn't doing so well. The crew end up at a small island with a dwindling population to seek help and Buggy meets Midori, the mayor who is far more stubborn and trusting with his crew than he can really comprehend.

Rating: PG-13, gonna have smut at some point later though. Warnings: Buggy being obnoxious, of course. I'd call this a fast paced slow burn. It takes the place over the course of the week and days are split into two chapters. There's also some drama and other pirates. A/N: Full confession. I honestly wrote this because I have been watching the anime and Richie is one of the best characters. Do I know a lot about the anime? No. Is some of this chaotic and characters OOC? Of course! It's a fanfic. Is it self indulgent? Hell yes. I had fun writing this and wanted to share it. Also, I wrote this more with anime!Buggy in mind since we don't get to see Richie in the live action. Title comes from the song "Dryad's Promise" by Tricky Pixie.

Chapter 2

Day 1 pt 2

“Here, this should do the trick.” Midori said as she handed him the roofing tiles, hammer, and nails. Buggy grumbled as he took them from her. Once she learned what his Devil Fruit power could do, she asked him for help with replacing tiles on her roof. There was an area that was too high for her or anyone else to reach with even the tallest ladder, but with his abilities, she saw a solution.

His hands and head detached from his body, floating up to the problem area. She sat on the roof across from his body, watching with fascination as it remained still on the roof, not seeming to care that it lacked a head and hands at that moment. It also allowed her to really see his physique. He had left his hat and coat in her home while they climbed the roof, so now he was just in that bright red and white striped shirt and turquoise pants. It was definitely a bright outfit, but she liked it. The shirt fit rather snug, the sleeves showing off the muscle definition of his arms. His pants were a little looser in the legs but the way they hugged his hips had her wondering what he looked like underneath those clothes.

He came back to his body and handed her tools back. “I fixed a few other ones that were about to come loose. You should be fine for the next few storms.”

Her eyes lit up and she smiled brightly at him. His cheeks pinkened and he looked away. “Thank you, Captain.”

“Yea, well… whatever.” He grumbled as he made his way over to the ladder to climb down. She followed after him, hopping off the last rung of the ladder and planting both feet on the ground. She smiled up at him as she set the toolbox down and hoisted the ladder up onto her shoulder before heading to the barn to put it away. He sighed and picked up the toolbox to follow after her. “... So, you take care of this farm on your own?”

She glanced back at him and nodded. “My parents moved me and my five brothers here when I was young. We all helped run it, but then my parents died and my brothers decided to move on, so I’ve been taking care of it for the last ten years.”

“Ten years? By yourself?” He asked, sounding surprised. It wasn’t a large farm but it was definitely too big for one person to manage. “Why don’t you have anyone to help you? Why aren’t you married so someone can help?”

“Hm?” She chuckled. “Well, I tried to get married, but he wanted to leave the island and… I just wasn’t ready to do that. This place is my home and I’ll be the last one here.” She glanced back at him with a smile. “I know I keep repeating myself, but this place is so beautiful and peaceful. I don’t want to leave.”

“So you’ll die here then? When you’re the last one?” He scoffed as he opened the barn door for her. She stepped inside to put the ladder away and he followed in after her, closing the door. She replaced the ladder then pointed out where the tools went for him. “How are you that stubborn?”

“Why does the idea of me staying here until the end bother you so much, Captain Buggy?” She asked as she crossed her arms and leaned against one of the supports of the barn. He flushed, looking embarrassed and frustrated all at once. She didn’t look bothered, only smiling at him. It was getting on his nerves.

“You could have the chance to go anywhere, see the world, but you want to stay on some island and rot?!”

“I guess.” She shrugged with a laugh. “Where else would I go? I have no one left, you know. There’s already a family talking about moving off the island, and if they do that, it drops the population down to 8 people. It’s a young couple with five kids, and I wouldn’t blame them for doing it. It wouldn’t be sustainable for them to stay here.”

“You’re… stubborn.” Buggy told her. “Frustratingly stubborn!”

“Why does it bother you?” She asked, smile fading. “I bring you into my home, offer you my food and drink, and you’re calling me stubborn because you can’t accept how I want to live. Why is that, Buggy?”

He flinched when she said his name. “That’s Captain Buggy!”

“Never heard of you.” She smirked. His eyes narrowed and his hands popped off, grabbing her by the front of her dress and jerking her towards him. She looked a little surprised by the strength he had to do that; she thought his limbs would be weaker once they detached, but the way he was holding her to him, seething as he glared down at her, surprised her just a bit. Apparently she struck another nerve.

“I’ll make sure you remember me by the end of the week.” He growled.

Midori grinned up at him as she placed her hands on top of his. “Is that a promise, Captain Buggy?”

He let out a frustrated growl and released her before stomping out of the barn.

Buggy showed up for dinner, looking like a stray cat that wanted to be anywhere else but Midori’s kitchen. She let him inside and he sat at the table, arms crossed over his chest as he watched her move about the kitchen. She was preparing meat and vegetables, which looked to be quite a feast for just two people, but he didn’t say anything. He stayed quiet as he watched her, but then she opened her cupboards and let out a sigh, looking up at the top shelf.

Without a word, his hand went to help her, grabbing the jar she was reaching for and bringing it down to her before returning to his body. She looked over at him with a smile before opening it and added some of the contents into the roast pan. While he was stewing in the silence she was embracing it, humming a tune softly as she worked. Buggy didn’t recognize the tune.

“What is that?” He asked. She looked over at him. “The song, what is it?”

“Oh, just a song my mother used to sing to me and my brothers when we were kids.” She told him. “I don’t really remember the lyrics at this point since it’s been so long since I last heard it. I just remember the tune.” She put the food in the oven and looked over at him. “Is it bothering you?”

“No, no… just wondering.” He muttered as he looked away from her. She grabbed a dish towel and wiped her hands on it before joining him at the table.

“So, what about you?” She asked, catching him off guard. He frowned at her and she tilted her head to the side. “Are you married? You asked me so I’m asking you.”

“What? No, I’m not married.” He scoffed. “Why would I be married?”

“I’m sure there are pirates who are married.” She said with a shrug. “Having someone in bed with you every night, someone to wake up to, I think it’d be nice.”

“I can pay someone for that and more, you know.” He shot back. She raised an eyebrow. “I wouldn’t need to be married to have that.”

“I guess.” She shrugged as she looked over at him. “You can pay for anything when you’re a pirate, right? Even love?”

He made a face at her and leaned back in his own chair, crossing his arms. She just looked over at him, eyes narrowing slightly as she studied his face. He glared back at her, jaw clenched tightly as he wondered what she was thinking. She brought her hand up to her chin and tapped on it, looking thoughtful as she took him in, eyes taking in the shape of his jaw, the stubble, color of his eyes, and finally his nose. Her eyes lingered a little too long and he cleared his throat.

“What?” He demanded.

“Nothing. Just wanting to remember your face so I can tell the next person I see that I met the infamous Captain Buggy.” She grinned. “I’ll be able to see your face on a wanted poster and remember it. You have a memorable face, you know.”

“What was that about my nose?!” He snapped.

“I said nothing about your nose!” She laughed. “Honest! Why are you so defensive about… everything? I’ve done nothing wrong, Captain.”

He seethed quietly and watched her from across the table. Why wasn’t she intimidated by him? If any of his crew spoke to him the way she was, they would have been thrown overboard or fed to Richie! No one spoke to him as casually as she was, with the teasing, stubbornness, even the talking back. He wasn’t used to it, especially from a stranger.

“Why aren’t you scared of me?” He demanded. “Everyone trembles before me when they see me, but not you. Why?”

Midori looked at him curiously. “I don’t know. I guess you’re using words and your Devil Fruit powers to try and intimidate me, but it doesn’t work. Not to mention I was brought to your ship by a man who was worried for his lion, and your crew never threatened me when I came on board, so probably because… you haven’t done anything threatening to me, Captain.”

He huffed in annoyance. “Guess I’ll have to find ways to make you scared of me then.” “I’ll hold you to that, Buggy.” She grinned. He narrowed his eyes and she threw her head back to laugh. “Captain Buggy, I mean.”

#buggy the clown #buggy the clown x reader #buggy x reader #buggy x you #buggy the clown x you #buggy x oc #buggy the clown x oc

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chaiandtakkar · 21 days ago

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Whispers Beneath the Stars

Chapter 2

November 2007, Gujrat

The restlessness had woven itself into the fabric of Khushi’s life, as natural as the air she breathed, though far heavier. It tethered her to a past she couldn't abandon, a place she couldn’t leave even if she wanted to. There was something about the ache—it was more than pain now, it was a kind of melody, bittersweet but familiar, the only song she had left that reminded her of the one she had lost. Some wounds stayed open, unhealed, not out of cruelty but out of necessity. They kept you connected, even as they tore you apart. Perhaps that was the nature of grief, an endless, spiraling labyrinth where she chose to dwell.

Outside the window, the desert of Kutch stretched, endless, vast, and shifting. The first light of dawn played tricks on the sands, turning them into a living tapestry of golds and oranges, shadows dancing as if in some private symphony. The world felt alive in its quiet, a pulse beneath the stillness. And yet, inside her, there was no such harmony. The air was thick, humid, pressing against her skin, as if the desert held its breath, waiting for something to change.

The train’s slow, rhythmic hum was a kind of lullaby, pulling her away from her thoughts, but only slightly. She sat up in her berth, brushing the remnants of a restless night from her eyes, when a small voice, full of youthful enthusiasm, broke the silence.

“Jiji, you’re awake? Would you like some tea?”

Khushi turned, her gaze falling on the small boy standing by her seat, his face eager and bright against the muted colors of the dawn. He looked out of place in his oversized brown shirt, but there was something in his wide eyes, an innocence, a confidence that made her pause. There he stood, balancing metal cans full of tea on his thin waist as though he were carrying the finest treasures.

She blinked away her thoughts, offering a faint smile that barely reached her eyes. “Tea?”

The boy nodded, his dimples deepening, his excitement contagious. “Yes, Jiji! The best tea from Bengal. Spices so good, you’ll never forget it. You’ll dream of it for the rest of your life.”

Her smile tugged a little more at the edges this time. “Is that so? And what’s your name, young tea master?”

“Babu!” he announced with pride, puffing up his small chest. “And today’s tea is special. My grandmother put her magic in it. She said whoever drinks it will have a very lucky day.”

Khushi’s eyes softened, a flicker of warmth easing the tension in her chest. Magic. It seemed almost absurd in the heavy air of this waking desert, yet here was this child, full of certainty that something as simple as tea could transform the world. She envied him, that belief.

“What kind of magic does your grandmother put in this tea, Babu?” she asked, her tone light but curious.

Babu leaned in, his voice a conspiratorial whisper. “It makes your wishes come true. But only if you wish with all your heart. Greedy hearts get nothing.”

For a moment, Khushi let herself be carried by his imagination. “That’s a lot of power for one cup of tea,” she said, her voice carrying a soft edge of amusement. “What if I wish for too much?”

Babu shook his head solemnly, as if this were the most important lesson. “You can’t, Jiji. You can only wish for what’s true. The tea knows.”

Khushi chuckled softly, more to herself than to him. “Then I’ll have to be very careful.”

She handed him a few coins, and in return, Babu poured her a cup of the magic tea with a flourish. The aroma of cinnamon and cardamom curled through the air, a familiar warmth against the coolness of the morning. She wrapped her hands around the cup, feeling the heat seep into her fingers, into her bones. As she took her first sip, something inside her eased, though she knew it wasn’t the tea itself—it was the purity of this moment, the innocence of this exchange.

“Thank you, Babu,” she said softly, watching him grin before darting down the aisle, his cans clinking together like a melody of their own.

Alone again, Khushi held the cup close, staring out at the expanse of desert beyond the window. Babu’s words echoed in her mind. Wishes could come true, but only if your heart was in the right place. But what if your heart was too heavy, too tangled in the past to even know what it truly wanted?

The tea was warm, but it wasn’t enough to melt the cold that had settled around her heart. She took another sip, letting the bitterness mix with the spices, and allowed herself to drift back to the voice she could never fully escape—her Appa’s voice, distant but ever-present, a shadow that lingered just on the edge of her thoughts.

“Khushi, this... this is what you were meant for. You’ve always been the one to carry what couldn't be.”

The words had come like a chain, wrapping around her heart, pulling her into a life she hadn’t chosen but couldn’t deny. Even now, years later, they still held her, anchored to expectations she could never fully meet, but could never abandon. In the quiet moments like this, when dawn was just beginning and the world felt on the edge of something new, Khushi would feel the pull of that burden more sharply. It was an unspoken weight, a constant companion to her restlessness.

She closed her eyes, the train’s gentle rocking lulling her, the sound of the wheels against the tracks an endless repetition of all the thoughts she couldn’t silence. She had done what was expected of her, always. And yet, what had it cost her? The ache she carried now, the longing that never seemed to leave—it was all bound up in that duty, in the sacrifice she had made without ever being asked.

But Babu’s innocent promise lingered. It makes your wishes come true. Could there be room for her own wishes in this world of duty and expectation? Could she even name a wish if she tried?

Khushi sighed, sinking back into her seat. The sun was higher now, casting long, golden shadows across the sands. The world outside was waking, the hawkers' voices beginning to echo through the compartment, yet the stillness inside her remained. She took one last sip of the tea, its warmth a fleeting comfort against the deeper cold.

Perhaps Babu’s grandmother had indeed put magic in the tea. But Khushi knew better than to believe in magic. Wishes, after all, weren’t for people like her.

@arshifiesta

Also on blog Here

>>Chapter 3

#ipkknd #arshi #arnav singh raizada #ipkknd fanfic #Whispers beneath the stars #khushi kumari gupta #arnav and khushi

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smolwritingchick · 9 months ago

Text

The Bangtan Gal Chapter 85- BTS in Dubai

Words: 3,000+

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‘Visiting a magical country Dubai for summer package’

Bangtan’s next summer package was in Dubai. They got settled in at the Palazzo Versace Hotel and went on to start their day off by experiencing a desert.

‘Going to Safari Desert in Dubai. Driving across the golden desert on a four-wheel drive vehicle’

Jennie drove in the car with Suga, Jungkook, and Jimin. She sat with Suga in the back while Jungkook and Jimin sat in front of them. Their car ride was much quieter than the other car that had the rest of the members in it. Jimin and Jungkook listened to their music separately while Suga shared an earbud with Jennie. She listened to his playlist and once The Don by Nas played, Suga let out a low chuckle as she danced in her seat.

Arriving at the desert, Jennie soaked it all in. Dubai was beautiful and the sun felt great against her skin.

“I love this. Like, look at this scenery! And we get to take photos here? Couldn’t get any better,” she smiled as the camera filmed her snapping photos. J-Hope was happily yelling about Bangtan arriving in the background. “I need to send these to my parents. They’ll love this,”

’Everyone is speechless because of its beautiful scenery’

Once the photoshoot began, the members were given sandboards to ride down the dune. Jennie balanced perfectly on her board and slid down the sand while the photographer snapped away.

“How do you do that!?” Suga called out.

“Practice makes perfect!” she answered with a grin.

With her selfie stick, she walked around, enjoying the view. “I think I have gotten much better at skating thanks to Kevin. So shoutout to my friend,” she said. “I’ll make sure to visit you and attend one of your basketball games at your college,“

“Ennie! Try running up the sand dune!” Jimin suggested.

When she watched him slip down and fall, she laughed. Soon after Suga and Jin rolled down the sand.

“I would roll down there but I don’t want to get my hair filled with sand,” she said when asked by V if she wanted to join him with Jungkook.

“Jennie, watch this!” Jungkook shouted out and jumped down the sand dune, rolling over. He then smoothly stopped and posed.

She applauded him while shouting, “Ten out of ten, Kookie!”

“Wow, awesome!” V praised. “Jungkook, that was so cool,”

BTS spent a few hours in the area, playing around, and even had a few sand fights.

“Jin. Back up. Back up, right now.” she warned, taking steps back as he walked over to her with a handful of sand after chasing Jimin. She shrieked and jumped out of the direction he threw the sand and began running away. “Not cool! I am not getting sand in my damn hair!"

“Get her!” Jimin shouted, running after her

After they finished their photoshoot in the desert, Bangtan went to the Dubai Desert Bedouin camp to experience their traditional culture. Performers were dancing around and Jennie was mesmerized. She loved how they danced. The way their bodies moved. V was even invited to dance with them. A fun first night.

“Hey! I’m Jennie and I am happily in Dubai!” she waved to the camera after being seated for a solo interview.

‘What did you do today?’

“We went to the desert and it was breathtaking. You have got to check it out. Dubai is beautiful. And the sunset looked so romantic.” she smiled, thinking about her and Jungkook briefly walking around to check out the sunset.

‘What was most impressive?’

“When we went out to dinner to watch the performers. I loved it. It made me want to learn more about their dances,"

‘BTS Picture Day’

Jennie sat with Suga at the table to work as they wrote their daily diary. She wrote about her day in the desert and made a sunset drawing with the members watching it.

“I always put off writing diaries when I was in school,“ Suga said.

"Really? Part of me wanted to invest in a journal to write out my thoughts but then it turned into lyrics so I just started writing songs about my feelings,”

“That’s good. I’m still waiting for you to work on your project,”

“Eventually,” she grinned.

The next day the members were given a mission to buy a gift for their secret friend. They chose a bag that had a member’s name on it along with money to buy a gift. Jennie had gotten a unique bag with the most money because the paper said to buy a gift for All members. Several ideas went through on head on how she wanted to go about it. She could buy something for each of them or perhaps see if she could find something that could benefit all of them.

For shopping, the group went over to a traditional market to buy gifts. Some split into teams while Jennie went by herself. A large bodyguard accompanied her to make sure she was safe. He was nice and she offered him some of the food she bought when she got hungry.

“I thought it would just be one member I had to buy a gift for but today I am buying something for all of us,” she said on her camera with a selfie stick. “I have no idea what to buy y’all. I want it to be different. Something for all of us to share as a gift,”

She walked around and noticed a shop with tons of artwork and portraits. She was amazed by how realistic the drawings looked.

“Maybe...” she walked in. “Hi, how are you?”

“I am well, how are you?” the man stood up, speaking English to her.

"I’m doing great. Your drawings are beautiful. How much is one?”

They discussed the pricing and she showed the owner the photo she wanted to be drawn.

“I have this picture on my phone. It’s with me and my brothers. I wanted to get it drawn in a big portrait that can be hung in our dorm,”

“I like this picture. I can do this,”

“Awesome!”

After a few hours, of watching him draw it, Jennie looked at the big portrait and smiled happily. “This is so breathtaking! Look at this, wow. They’ll love it, thank you so much,”

‘Bastakiah. A historical site in Burj Dubai region’

’60 buildings built in mid-9th century have been in operation until 1970s. Some are operating as cultural facilities’

Jennie and Rapmon were paired up for a photo shoot. They posed against the wall for a few shots and then Rapmon was seated down reading a book. She sat next to him and presented him with a lollipop while she had one in her mouth. After he smiled and took it, she wrapped an arm around his neck, pulling him in for a side hug as they grinned for the camera.

After the photos were done, Bangtan returned to the hotel to open up their gifts. They sat on the floor in a semi-circle and Jen was in between V and Rapmon.

“My bag had two people in it. So I bought two gifts. For my first person, she-oh no,“ Jimin covered his face, laughing at his mistake.

"Ahhhhh~!” Bangtan shouted and laughed as he gave it away.

“So, you got Jennie!” V laughed.

“Jimin gives great gifts so I’m looking forward to what he got me,” she laughed.

“I noticed that you have lots of accessories hanging around so I thought this item would help tremendously,” he announced and presented her with a large white jewelry box. “It also has your birthstones on it. Topaz and Citrine. So, Ennie, I hope you like it,”

Loud cheers surrounded her as she looked at the box with a huge smile. It was beautiful.

“Oh wow, thank you!” she happily accepted it and opened it. “Oh yeah, this is great. Thank you so much, Jimin. Come here,” she set it down and went over to hug him.

“Wow, I would love something like this. Very cute box,” Namjoon complimented.

“I think Jimin had to buy mine. He chose Jennie and me,” J-Hope said confidently.

He was so sure that Jimin was the one that chose him after Jennie. It just had to be him.

“He keeps saying that he’s absolutely positive that Jimin is his secret friend,” Namjoon said.

“Explain yourself why you think that,” Jimin said.

“It is?” J-Hope looked at him and watched as he laughed. “See? He can’t act,”

‘Why is J-Hope so sure?’

“The second person I have is someone who likes collecting small things like figures,” Jimin announced.

He took out the present to show the shiny ornaments and presented it to Jin. The camera panned over J-Hope’s facial expression as he looked embarrassed that he was wrong. Everyone laughed as Jimin showed off his items to Jin.

“J-Hope kept saying that it was him, so I wasn’t expecting this at all,” Jin stated and went to hug Jimin. “It feels much better to receive something when you least expect it. Thanks, Jimin,”

“I’ll go next and then Jin. Okay, this is very special to me,” Jennie began.

“Munchkin. Look at me. This is for me, right? You picked me?” J-Hope asked as the members laughed.

“You’ll see,” she responded, leaving everyone in suspense. “Okay, this is very special to me because this is regarding the day we got our first win for I Need U and how proud you all were of me for just always working my hardest in this group. There are days I go back to this picture and I’m like wow we are thriving and I’m cherishing every moment. So, this is for all of us. My bag was all of you and I thought the perfect gift for us was a portrait of my favorite photo we took after our first win,” she revealed the large drawing as they all looked at it in awe.

“Wow~!” they shouted gleefully and applauded. They raved about how realistic it looked and thanked her for giving them something like this.

"It looks so real!” they rambled on.

“Where did you go?” Suga asked after taking the drawing to get a better look. “The artist drew my smile perfectly,”

“I was wandering around and came across this art shop. I’m glad I did. We can hang it up in the dorm. I hope you guys like it,”

"This is beautiful. Let’s hang this up in the dorm when we return to Korea. The living room is what I’m thinking,” Rapmon said.

V wrapped his arms around Jennie as she fell back and laughed. Rapmon got on top for the hug and so did the other members. A chorus of thank yous and compliments on the gift made her heart soar. Buying that for them was the best decision ever.

“God, y'all heavy! What are you eating!?” she joked while they got off of her, one by one.

After they all got situated again, it was Jin’s turn to reveal who he had.

“Wait Jin. Look at me. Did you get me?” J-Hope asked and watched as he let out a laugh. “He did!”

‘No, he did not’

“You’re mighty confident there,” Jen chuckled.

“J-Hope, what if he didn’t?” Namjoon laughed.

“I know he did. I am very confident in my prediction this time,” J-Hope declared.

“I picked this because he has a lot of things on his desk but there’s nothing pretty,” Jin revealed and took the lamp out of the bag. He plugged it in the showed them how it looked and they all complimented it on how fancy it appeared. “The person with a messy desk is Jungkook,”

“Wow, awesome!” Jungkook took the lamp out of his hands. “Jin hyung, I’m so touched!”

“Glad you like it,”

“Thanks, Jin,” he high fived him.

“It’s awkward,” J-Hope scratched the side of his neck and laughed that he still had not been chosen individually. “Whoever bought my present must feel awkward now. Who bought mine?”

Jungkook took out the gift he bought. “Well, this person really likes clothes. He likes accessories, too,“

“It’s V,” J-Hope assumed.

‘How can he not know?’

“He likes something fancy but something simple, too. Here’s a bracelet first,” Jungkook revealed the present out of the bag and then the shirt and bag.

‘Gotta be J-Hope this time,’ Jennie thought as she giggled at him being oblivious to the hints.

“But I think this is the big hint. See? It’s green.” Namjoon pointed out as realization hit Hobi like a truck and he laughed with Jungkook who smacked his chest.

“Wow, I had no idea,” he said as the members playfully made fun of how bad his guesses were.

Next up was Hobi to revealed the gift he bought as he explained that it was a Dubai fragrance.

“I hope he remembers what we did today whenever he smells this fragrance. Suga!”

“I knew it!” he grinned and received it. “We went to the fragrance store together. I said I like how it smells and he bought it,”

After spraying some for everyone to smell, Suga grabbed his gift to present. “I bought this for him because he’s into accessories these days. When I first saw this, I thought it goes really well with what he usually wears. It’s a ring,”

He took it out of the bag and presented the silver ring. Once they saw how big it was everyone knew it was for Rapmon as he let out a laugh.

“I wasn’t sure which size to get,” Suga said but it fit perfectly on Rapmon and he was satisfied with the ring.

After thanking Suga for the gift, he grabbed the present he bought. “When I was getting his present, I knew I was going to get him and it really happened. V was born in December, right? The birthstone for December is turquoise,”

After explaining, he revealed the necklaces and bracelets with turquoise in them as everyone looked at them in amazement. Rapmon then explained that wearing his birthstone would bring good luck.

“You’re starting a drama, too. I wish you good luck and success,” Rapmon applauded him.

Lastly was V who had Jimin as he thought this gift would be useful for him. He revealed golden playing cards that excited all of them while Jimin had his eyes closed.

“Jimin has been playing this game a lot,” V said.

“It’s one-card,” Suga laughed.

“Oh, I know what it is. I think it’s a golden deck of playing cards,” he figured out. “Someone was trying to sell them to me,”

After being given the cards, Jimin shuffled them and Bangtan was impressed with how he shuffled them with ease. After enjoying their gifts, the members spent their last day at the hotel taking photos and writing in their diaries.

On their last day, they spent time in the pool area to play some games.

‘BTS having fun in the water at a swimming pool in Dubai’

‘Playing three games in two teams. The winning team will get 1,500 AED!’

‘Which team will win?’

The teams were divided by older vs younger members and the first game was the relay swimming. The rules were simple. Swim to the other side and choose an item.

First up was Suga vs Jungkook as they ran in the pool.

“Wow! Min Suga! Go Min Suga!” Rapmon cheered.

“Come on, Jungkook! You got this!” Jennie shouted as he managed to pass the halfway point first.

Jungkook picked up a watermelon ball while Suga picked up a tube to swim back to their teams. Jungkook made it to his team first and V ran into the water. Suga slowly made it back to his team as Jennie laughed.

“I tried my best, I tried my best,” Suga said out of breath.

“Oh my gosh. It was smart for us to get the ball instead. The tube is slowing the other team down,” she said next to Jimin as Rap Monster accelerated slowly.

As the game progressed J-Hope caught up with V and started playing around, trying to stop each other from going.

“V!” Jennie laughed when he suddenly threw the ball, allowing J-Hope to make it to his team first.

J-Hope gave the tube to Jin and he quickly swam forward while V was still far behind, trying to swim back with the ball.

“V~! Get over here! We’re losing!” Jimin wailed.

Loud cheers from the older team got louder as Jin progressed. Once V gave the ball to Jennie, Jin progressed to the half waypoint.

Now, this was pressure.

Jen ran in and swam as fast as she could but sadly, the older guys won and celebrated. Once she made it back, Jimin and Jungkook looked displeased that they lost all because V had messed up and Jennie didn’t swim fast enough to catch up.

“Sorry,” she frowned.

“I don’t even know what to say,” Jimin said, mostly to V who was the main reason for the defeat.

“Guys, it’s fine~! We’ll get them next time,” she reassured. “You tried your best V, don’t even worry about it,”

However, Jungkook and Jimin didn’t listen and decided to punish V by giving him a smack on the butt and kicked him into the pool.

‘2nd game. Calvary Battle’

‘One person from each team wears a hat. Whoever takes off their opponent’s hat or pushes them into the water wins.’

It was decided that Jungkook was going to go up against Jin. Jennie aided Jimin and V to lift him up while Jin’s teammates did the same.

“Go!” a staff member shouted.

Jin attacked first but Jungkook swiftly leaned back to avoid it. It was a back and forth battle up until Jungkook pushed Jin back to make him fall into the water.

“Woohoo! Victory!” Jennie cheered.

“Yay! We won!” V happily said.

‘3rd game. Taboo’

‘Explain words using the body in 60 seconds. Whoever gets more correct answers will win’

The younger team went first and J-Hope revealed the first word to V.

‘Mascara’

“Contacts!” Jungkook said.

“Eyelashes!” Jimin shouted

“It’s mascara!” Jen answered which immediately got a smile from V.

‘Statue of Liberty’

V posed just like the statue and Jungkook answered it correctly.

‘Free Fall’

This was a difficult one because the team thought he was trying to explain hula hoop with the way he was swinging his hips.

“I...I have no clue, man,” Jen shrugged, looking confused.

“What is he doing? He’s really bad,” the older team pointed out.

“Next one!” V said

‘Escalator’

“How do I do this?” he pondered

“Stairs!” Jimin answered as they watched V walk down.

But nothing he was doing was getting through their heads.

“A mountain God!” Jungkook randomly answered. “Elevat...escalator!”

Then V showed off his teeth, making them assume it was a vampire. Jungkook answered Dracula and got it correct.

“Poop! Urgent poop!” Jimin answered as they watched V look uncomfortable.

"You got gas?” Jen wondered.

“Constipation!” Jungkook said and got it correct.

Once the older team went, Jennie and the rest of the boys laughed at how extra J-Hope was to try to show off the word with his body. And she was blown away at how easily her opponents were getting everything right. They were good at this game, yelling out answers.

In the end, the younger team got 5 points while the older team got 6 and won the tournament and prize.

“I’m not going to team up with V again,” Jungkook announced.

“Hey, come on...” V grinned sheepishly.

“Gosh...”

“We almost won,” Jimin added as he walked away with Jungkook.

“Stop being mean. I’ll be teaming up with you, again. It’s all good. At least we had fun,” Jennie smiled and ruffled V’s hair, making him feel better about himself.

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Off camera, Jennie spotted an open volleyball court and suggested, “Hey, can we play another game?”

“What game?” V asked.

“Volleyball. We can be on different teams,”

“I want Jennie on my team!” Jimin announced and grabbed a hold of her.

The Golden Maknae made a facial expression of protest. “No, she’s going to be on my team,” he reached out for her, pulling her away from Jimin. He held her close into his arms while playfully glaring at him.

“No way. I said she’s on my team first,”

“You only want her because Jennie decimates everyone in volleyball during the Idol Star Athletic Championships,”

“Okay, but it’s unfair if you and her are on the same team! It’ll be OP!”

“V, help?” she pleaded as she was in the middle of this tug of war.

V did help get her out of it as they watched Jimin and Jungkook bicker.

“OP? What is OP?” Namjoon asked.

“Over Powered. Overpowering. You know. Like in video games,” Jen explained.

After some serious protest, the teams were split up so that JenKook could face each other. Jen had Jimin, J-Hope, and Namjoon while Jungkook had V, Suga, and Jin.

“Okay babe, be prepared to lose,” she stuck her tongue out at Jungkook, initiating his competitive side.

“We’ll see about that,” he answered.

The game started great, a back and forth battle. Even though Jungkook said he wouldn’t team up with V because he made their team lose, V was doing a great job keeping the ball up in the air.

Jennie spiked the ball but Jungkook managed to block it. “Darn it!“

"Move faster, honey,” he teased her.

“Shut it!”

As the game progressed, she watched as Jin prepared to hit the ball over the net. She dashed forward and jumped high in the air while throwing her hands up. The ball smacked against her palm and managed to stay on his side, winning a point for her team.

Their game had a lot of close calls along with Jimin and Jin bickering. But in the end, Jen’s team won thanks to Namjoon’s unexpected spike.

“Yes!” she ran and jumped on his back, giving him multiple kisses on his cheek. “We did it!”

In the evening, the group went to the Dubai Mall and watched the largest fountain show during dinner. They took tons of photos and videos of the sight and then went to stand around to get a better view.

With the cameras away from them, Jungkook stood behind Jen and kissed her cheek as they watched the show.

#bts 8th member #jungkook x oc #bangtan boys #bts additional member #bts #the bangtan gal #bts fanfic #bts fluff #bts fanfiction #jungkook fanfic #kpop fanfiction #jungkook fluff

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