#still Horrors to navigate otherwise but I think we’re approaching the end

[jtrbluv]

hell-ish | pjm

summary: can be read as a separate oneshot or a continuation of ‘we’re not really strangers’“

“But do you remember when we went on a field trip to that amusement park in 8th grade? Around halloween time? … Yeah, I think that’s the moment I pretty much fell in love with you.“

pairing: jimin x reader

genre: fluff, humor, establisedrelationship!au

word count: 7.7k+

warnings: profanity (they are beyond terrified), inaccurate depictions of amusement park shenanigans, neurotic clowns (but they’re acting)

A/N: IM SO SRY ITS LITERALLY NOT EVEN HALLOWEEN ANYMORE GOODBYE DD; in my defense they typically have these typa things open after halloween ends... miss rona just isn’t allowing it this year ofc ;w; a special thanks to @viopera​ , @koushiningg​, and @bangtans-peaceful-piegon​ for letting me use their likeness, i love u all. and i hope you enjoy this late halloween fic right before thanksgiving break!

The car rolls to a smooth stop. The man in the driver’s seat puts the car into park—turning towards you while placing a reassuring hand on your thigh.

“Hey,” he says, a small close-lipped grin painting across his features, “you excited?”

You reposition in your seat so you can face him, or more specifically, your best-friend-turned-lover—the sight of him smiling causes you to elicit one of your own, your nerves slightly subsiding.

“I am actually,” you admit, “how long has it been? Six? Seven years?”

“Around there I think, but we should probably get going. The lines are probably going to be stupid long like always,” he suggests, his hand leaving your thigh only to ruffle the hair on top of your head, "Here's to new memories Y/N."

You step out onto the pavement—the crisp, cold night air nipping at your cheeks and nose. The cooler temperature serving as a reminder that winter was yet to come and autumn was about to come to a close. You form an O-shape with your mouth, exhaling sharply and seeing your own breath swirling and blending into the air around you.

Footsteps approach you from the side as you shut the car door. Your head whips around to see Jimin walking towards you with a dopey grin plastered on his face. In response, your eyes playfully loll back, a stream of air huffing out of your nose.

You shift your focus back towards in front of you, eyeing the roller coaster that intimidatingly loomed beyond the fence of the park, the drop tower that appeared just as high, and the other neighboring attractions that towered significantly enough to be seen from afar. The whole stretch of the park emitted a red glow, from what you could assume was from the large-scale lighting and technology that was spread out across the expanse.

A soft hand slides its way from your forearm down to your palm, intertwining all in one smooth motion. It was warm and comforting much unlike your frozen, almost entirely numb ones.

“Someone’s a little cold aren’t they,” he teases, using his other hand to attempt to rub more warmth into yours.

“You know my hands are chronically cold,” you pointedly whine, causing small clouds of air to shoot out of his mouth and nose due to his laughter.

He locks the car and you two begin making your way towards the entrance—from what seemed like a mile, in reality, was only a block away. There was practically no gap in between the two of you the entire time, taking advantage of each other’s body heat amidst the numbingly cold weather.

The wait wasn't too shabby, but you knew it was because time always seemed to pass by so much faster when you were with him, most of the pastime consisting of talking about how your past week has been, the fuckton of assignments you two had gotten, and the dangerously high intakes of caffeine you two had consumed as per usual.

The conversation ceased after a while, and it was just the two of you pressed side to side in comfortable silence, hands still intertwined. It was interesting to see such a vast variety of ages all around you—the most common age range were teenagers or people of the same age as the two of you, which wasn’t a surprise. After getting past the ticket booth and security check, you

two finally make it inside.

The first thing you notice is the large, antique carousel that hadn’t changed in the tiniest bit since the last time you were here.

The meticulously decorated entrance—brought to life by the fire torches, heavy-duty fog machines that didn't allow one to see after 10 feet ahead of them, bright lights that were replaced by either no lights at all or a faint red tint, and just the whole ambiance—had greatly juxtaposed the simplicity and familiarity of the carousel that stood in the eye of it all.

The heat of the fire torches allow you to regain some warmth back into your body—you create a small gap in between you and Jimin, in which he pouts and lifts your intertwined hands up to his face, pressing a kiss into the back of your hand.

“So, where do you wanna go first?” He asks, swinging your arm back and forth after passing through the gates.

“I’m fine with whatever,” you enunciate a bit loudly, the usual noises of amusement park shenanigans hindering your hearing.

“You sure about that?”

You click your tongue, “Jimin please, I’m a college student now, not a puny 8th grader anymore,” you argue, watching him turn away as he tries to stifle his laughter, “I swear!”

“Alright! Alright! I’ll believe you,” he eventually caves, frantically waving his hand to dismiss your concerns, “But I won’t believe you until I see it.”

“Oh, so we’re gonna play that game huh,” you retort, brows furrowing as a smirk creeps across your face, “Alright, so what do you think about riding that?” You ask innocently, motioning up towards the drop tower that forced one to crane their neck all the way back just to see the top.

You break your focus as you look back down and turn towards him to gauge his reaction. His jaw dropping down to his knees—eyes widened in complete bafflement and horror.

“Y/N. I am literally going to fucking die if I ride that shit. Oh my god.”

“What do you mean? It’s totally safe! I’ve been on it so many times.” You attempt to console him, knowing it’s futile because of the piercing glare he gives you right after you say that.

“And that’s supposed to make it better how?!"

You soothingly rub the back of his hand in an attempt to ease his nerves, “Of course I won’t push you if you don’t want to, you know.”

He sighs, “Well, now you’re just making me sound like a puny 8th grader.”

“I can assure you that you very much, are not Chim.” And he smirks at that, tightening his grip on your hand, making you wish that you didn't give him that ego boost in the first place because he surely didn’t need any more of that.

You take some time to mull over your options, but instead, go with whatever your gut feeling was initially leaning towards, “Okay, so what if every time you take me to a house, I have to take you on a ride. You get to choose the house and I get to choose the ride.”

He nods in acknowledgment, “I’m listening.”

“Does that sound valid?” You inquire.

He bites on his bottom lip, taking a moment to quickly cogitate between the options you had given him, and at last, he nods, "It sounds like a win-win."

"Or a lose-lose." You chuckle, and he mirrors.

He shakes his head, “I know you like rollercoasters and all that scary shit, but there’s also a ton of stuff that they’ve added since we’ve last been here.” He replies, thinking out loud, while making you feel more content with your decision, “You got a deal ma’am.” He affirms at last—releasing his grip to offer you his hand to seal the deal, in which you confirm resolutely by shaking it.

Just like he said, the amusement park most definitely stepped up their game ever since you both were middle schoolers, navigating the large expanse with a bunch of other measly and equally puny peers.

The deeper you two make your way into the park, the more themed attractions lined the path. At this point, you could barely make out the bottom half of your legs due to the thickness of the fog. Actors were running around left and right—faces decorated with FX makeup that you could barely discern because of the dim lighting—effectively scaring others, clear by the amount of ear-splitting shrieks you've heard in the past ten minutes that was enough to make your eardrums burst.

Jimin takes note of your slight tenseness. He wasn't oblivious and he knew that you were trying to feign nonchalance—but the razor-tight grip on his hand and lack of chatter on your end was saying otherwise. But just like everything you do, he thought it was cute anyway.

He promptly squeezes your hand, making you turn to face him, "Do you want the first pick?"

You hum, "You can have it if you want."

"Are you sure?"

"Yess," you drag out exasperatedly, "how many times do I have to tell you that I'll be perf– !" You abruptly halt as a zombie (that very much isn't real is what you keep reminding yourself) whizzes past you, brushing against your shoulder and making you jump and trip over your own two feet.

The man beside you is quick to react—leaping in front of you with his arms out so you could fall into his grasp. And you do, gripping his arms to better steady yourself and stand up. As you attempt to straighten yourself out, your head sinks into his chest, laughter erupting out of the two of you to the point where his knees almost give out.

You detach yourself from his chest, tears pooling in the corners of your eyes from laughing so goddamn much. Finally regaining your poise, you immediately slip your fingers back in between his. He cards a hand through his locks with his remaining hand while taking deep breaths.

While tugging him away from where you two were standing to avoid another ruckus... granted that you were at a haunted amusement park, you shout into foggy air, "I'm fine, I'll be fine Jimin! Let's go!", hoping that maybe if you spoke it out into the world, you could manifest it into being true.

Well, weren’t you wrong.

-

A rare and near impossible feat is what you were able to accomplish: forcing Jimin to make a decision. Despite him already being a trademark libra, you always believed that one of his most standout and consistent libra-esque traits was the fact that he was so indecisive. To which had resulted in him forcing you to make decisions instead of him most of the time, whether they had been trivial or not.

The moment you realized that this "feat" wasn’t much of a feat, after all, was when you two had finally reached the entrance of the first haunted attraction he had chosen, his impulsive and most likely ulterior-motivated driven decision causing you to retract all preceding moments in which where you were being stubborn and indignant in him making the first pick.

Just your luck, his explanation behind his decision (and your almost near-death experience) is that he says and you quote, “Start off with a bang! We get the worst over with now so it’s all smooth sailing for the rest of the night. Trust me.”

For some context, you had a very  rational fear of clowns. The year of 2016 was already bad enough as it was—a time in which you had gotten out of your first serious relationship, afterward giving yourself the most horrendous haircut in your entire life because you were emotionally strung and the scissors… well they just happened to be within an arm’s reach.

Later on in said year when you had become a junior and assignments had been piling up higher and higher without any shits given whatsoever, your minuscule fear of clowns had been blown out of all proportions—ultimately fueled by the number of clown sightings around your town and one altercation that you still think about until this day. Four years later, you can still vividly recall the time where you were coming home after studying all day at the local library and on the other side of the street, you had spotted a clown—feet planted to the cement sidewalk, body immobile besides their head that would keep its focus on you as you continuously made your way down the street. As you began to quicken up your pace, the clown began to reciprocate your actions from across the way, and you came to the conclusion that you didn’t really wanna die that night so you sprinted the entire rest of the way home.

And here you two were, at the front of the line standing behind the black curtain entrance—next to a rugged wood sign with the words, CLOWNEUROTICS, inscribed with a dripping, rich red liquid which you surmise was fake blood and not Kool-Aid.

“I cannot believe I let you have the first pick and you do this to me” You quip, chewing the chapped skin of your lips, breath shallow and bated.

“Y/N, you’ll be just fine. I’ll be here right beside you, remember?” he assures you once more, giving you another tight squeeze on your hand.

The curtains swish open, the employee in a simple all-black ensemble motioning the two of you to come inside. You close your eyes, taking one deep and steady inhale before stepping in.

You can barely make out your surroundings, let alone Jimin, who was standing right beside you. The worker’s voice hollers over the deafening noises of the tent. “Follow the path, don’t go backwards, or else you'll hold up the line. And you see that green light?” He asks while pointing to the tiny green bulb that was down the hallway in front of you, “Take a right from there.”

Jimin replies, knowing that you’re too fear-stricken to form coherent sentences at the moment, “Alright, thanks.”

The man nods, and Jimin tugs on your hand as he begins to walk forward. You follow closely behind, reminding yourself to take breaths before you flat out lose consciousness.

As you reach the end of the hallway and the green light bulb the man mentioned, Jimin pauses and turns around to stand in front of you, placing his hands on your shoulders.

“Y/N, I know you hate my guts right now, but I’m sorry in advance and just know that I love you, okay? You have full permission to torture me after this.” He reassures with a wide grin.

“Yeah, yeah, I love you too,” you grumble, lips downturned and head hanging low.

You feel his soft lips graze over your cheek, leaving a chaste peck before giving you an airy, irresistible smile that you can’t really help but relent, even though it already feels like your heart is about to implode on itself.

Taking a right, the setting of the attraction comes into periphery. White walls and floors—reminiscent of a hospital, are tainted with blood, a disarray of medical equipment, and severed body parts. You take notice of the vacant hospital beds, sheets crumpled and stained with red. Framed pictures of medical staff were hanging by loose nails, glass shattered, bloody splatters and smears all over the frames, walls, and white tile.

You two reach a doorway, next to one of the hinges was a sign that clearly said, Psychiatric Ward. Well, I guess that explains the neurotics part.

In an attempt to swallow down some of the fear in your throat, you tighten your grip on Jimin’s hand while opting to slither your remaining hand around his bicep.

He takes notice of your actions that were propelled by your increasing fear, and naturally, he can’t help but feel bad, “Hey, you know I’d never let anything happen to you.” He tells you, shaking you out of your slight daze, “You can hold onto me the whole time and stick your head in my shoulder just like you did years ago, I won’t mind,” he teases while booping your nose.

“Alright, let’s just get this over with, please.” You huff out, determined to somehow put on maybe not a brave, but a braver face than what he expects from you.

You manage to fail in a whopping, record-breaking, ten seconds of going inside.

The first jumpscare was so entirely predictable—the thunderous pounds against the wall, the trudging and supposedly neurotic clowns (although clowns are already neurotic enough as they are) had all built up suspense until a head of a clown had shot up from around the corner. Their usual clown features distorted with gashes in their skin and blood dribbling out of the corners of their mouth, clothes ripped and stained. Your entire body violently spasms, a shrill shriek, and an embarrassingly long string of curses leave your lips in a matter of mere seconds.

You don’t even notice the man you’re holding onto folding over in laughter because the clown is still very much still following you even after you turn the corner, but before you can recalibrate and trek forward another clown materializes just sparse inches at your side. Your entire body forcefully jerks back, knocking into Jimin, but the force doesn’t phase him in the slightest as he swiftly brings his arms around your frame to prevent you from falling back.

Next to you, the man’s laughter hasn’t ceased a bit the entire time, and as you quickly dash forward and away from the clowns that you oh-so-wanted to knock a tooth out of, while clinging onto his side, he presses a kiss to the top of your head, “Hanging in there?”

“I think I’m gonna murder you before I murder any of these clowns.”

“Noted!” he chimes while playfully bumping his head into yours.

As you two turn another corner, the sight of more clowns banging against vacant windows on either side of you has you wincing, and you could swear you could feel your left eye start to involuntarily twitch. You come to the indubitable realization that amidst dozens of clowns, you are evidently the biggest one here.

The sounds that blaringly elicit from your lips are the nearing equivalent to keyboard smashes with a variety of curse words in between. In short, if you had a swear jar, you’d be practically penniless at this point.

The clowns are quick to take note of your cowardly conduct, using it to their advantage and targeting you specifically—reaching and intruding so eerily close that you’re almost convinced that they’re actually touching you. You cower in their presence, squirming and sinking deeper and deeper into Jimin’s hold as you make your way down the path.

Beads of cold sweat began to assert their own path down your forehead—heart ricocheting against the walls of your chest, straining the cords of your throat because of your never-ending shouts and shrieks of terror upon terror. Your whole body was convulsing and shivering without fault, even when accompanied by the body heat of the man next to you, the harsh lighting of the overhead lights, and the lack of ventilation in this shoddy tent proved to be no match against your bodily functions that were going completely haywire. If you were an Amazon package, you would have a large ‘Caution: Handle With Care’ sign slapped right onto the box.

The pea-sized amount of pride that remains within you is the only thing stopping you from completely losing your shit.

Jimin's laughter—airy and unwavering, tickling the shell of your ear was the only thing keeping you grounded, serving as a constant reminder that at the very least when you might have lost all your pride and composure, you still had him by your side.

Without much forethought, he continues to lay kisses along your temple, clutching you close to his chest and keeping you upright as your knees constantly buckled under the weight of your looming fear, crumbling composure, and the grisly clowns that were most definitely preying on your downfall.

The ten-minute duration—which to you, had felt like a whole lifetime-and-a-half had finally come to a close. Once you were able to discern what you thought was the exit of the tent—the small opening leading to what had looked like signs of civilization, you booked it without hesitation, hastily tugging Jimin with you to the point where he nearly tramples over his own feet and crashes to the floor due to the sheer and sudden force.

You two finally pass through the exit. Feeling as if you had just ran a timed mile in five minutes, your body caves immediately—hunching over, briskly bringing your hands to your knees to support your deteriorating physiological state. The sound of your heavy breathing gets disrupted by Jimin’s laughter. You stand up, straightening yourself out when you realize that other people were starting to make their way towards the exit too, and you two were clearly blocking the way out.

Jimin takes you by the wrist and swiftly pulls you aside as more people start to trickle out of the tent. You two lean against the metal fence, comfortably silent as he lets you catch your breath.

You huff out, taking deep exhales as you speak, "Holy fuck, what even was that?"

"The funniest thing I have ever seen," he shoots back with a smile, slightly breathless as well.

You blink rapidly, body slumping against the fence, still completely cynical and disbelieving in what you had experienced. Biting the inside of your cheek so hard you're pretty sure you left teeth marks, you wipe your sweat with the hem of your sleeve.

"You okay?" he asks softly, closing the gap in between the two of you.

You nod, affirming your composure in hopes that it would solidify it for real. Giving him a smile to ease the nerves you knew he had, you visibly saw his smile widen, and with that, you ruffle his hair, take his hand into your own, and walk a few steps forward before announcing brazenly into the chilly autumn wind,

"Drop zone time."

"Y/N PLEASE—!"

-

"Don't do this, anything else but this please." He pleads, lips jutting out while childishly tugging on your sleeve.

You groan, "Bub, we had a deal."

He presses his lip together, "I know... but just look at that! How does that even look remotely safe enough for one to ride?" He tries to reason with you, staring up at the attraction that he believes should not even be labeled as an 'attraction' in the first place.

You chuckle softly, shaking your head, "If it was that much of a safety hazard, it wouldn't even exist Chim."

"I will never understand why people ride this out of enjoyment and pleasure. This is insane," he says, his eyes trailing to the long line of people behind the two of you.

"It's three seconds, I swear. Three seconds compared to my ten minutes of cussing and wanting to punch a clown in the face is very reasonable in my opinion. You’ll be just fine, I’ll hold your hand the whole time," you add on.

He quietly freezes in place—eyes fixated on the tower, hands leaving the fabric of your sweater. You feel his warm hand come in contact with yours, the back of his hand grazing your knuckles. Lacing your fingers in between his, he meets your eyes, giving you a timid, lopsided grin. A silent affirmation that had said more than words could’ve. I trust you but I’m still scared shitless.

“You guys are next,” the worker announces, opening the gate and gesturing you two to come inside. Jimin’s smile dissipates, face contorting into a look of mortification at the man’s words—eyes widening to the size of what would be considered as utter shock and lips curling into a form of disgust.

Tugging lightly at his hand, he whips his head towards you, waiting to speak until you two have passed the gate, “Y/N, I’m literally gonna piss my pants like I’m not even joking.”

“Jimin!” you say in a hushed yell, “Please don’t, I know your pride is too precious to you for you to annihilate it by pissing on a ride that even kids go on.”

He scoffs, “Okay fine… but we’re getting churros after this.”

Your brows furrow in confusion, smiling at his tone, “Why would I argue against churros?”

“Hello, miss? Come this way, please,” another worker greets, leading the two of you to two vacant spots of the ride where you presume were going to be yours.

You nod, making your way towards the two seats, hearing Jimin splutter incoherent words and sounds from behind your shoulder.

He immediately plops into the innermost spot, refusing to be on the outermost seat that only had one accompanying seat on one side, albeit it truly didn’t matter. And of course, you don’t tell him that.

Smiling at his overt signs of apprehension, you slide into the spot next to him, beginning to put on the seatbelt over your lap.

Drumming his fingers on his knees, he already has his seatbelt buckled and his over-the-shoulder restraints locked and secured into place.

“Ugh, can these things go any tighter! I can still move under here,” he tuts, vigorously trying to push the restraints closer to his body, yet his attempts are proven to be in vain.

“Bub, they still want you to be able to breathe,” you remind him with a small giggle, your head popping out of the U-shaped bar to look over at him—his brows knit in concentration, nose scrunched, lips tucked into his mouth.

In a final attempt, you hear the man beside you take a sharp and deep inhale, only to hear a tiny click emit from the restraint shortly afterward.

He releases his bated breath, only to come to the realization that he can’t extend his stomach all the way forward, the bar forcing it to come short. He splutters, bringing his hand to cover his face while he coughs only to realize that his arm can’t fully reach around the bar to meet his face.

You watch this entire scene unfold out in front of you—wishing you could do something to help the poor guy, but you already knew your attempts would be pointless in the end as your arms are physically incapable of extending that far. You sink back into your seat to make sure he doesn’t see the fact that you were trying so hard not to laugh.

“Jimin, deep breaths, in and out,” you instruct him as the worker starts to make their rounds around the ride, double-checking for seatbelts and secured restraints.

“Y/N, that’s the problem, I can’t.”

“Try scooting back into your seat,” the worker suggests to Jimin, giving him an empathetic smile.

“What do you mean–oh, erm, thank you.”

She nods, shaking Jimin’s restraint a little more energetically to reassure the man of his safety.

As she leaves, he says to you, “Y/N, I can’t believe you convinced me to go on this.”

“Me too, honestly. I’m really proud of you Chim.” You admit, reaching out a hand towards him in which he takes.

“Three seconds, right?” He reiterates.

“Give or take, yeah.”

“Y/N—!”

Your seats suddenly clatter, signaling the start of your long ascent. Jimin’s grip on your hand tightens substantially, causing you to groan out in pain.

He quickly takes note of the noise, loosening his grip ever so slightly, “Oh my god, sor- oh fucking hell, there’s no going back now?!”

You chomp down on your bottom lip before another sound could escape your mouth—his grip on your hand tightening the higher you two go, “No, no you’re fine, it’s okay..”

“HOLY SHIT WHY ARE WE ALREADY THIS HIGH UP?!” He yelps, kicking his feet against the air—people’s heads starting to look as small as ants, the rest of the park coming into view as if you were experiencing it from a drone’s point of view.

“Dumbass, don’t look down!”

“It’s too late–what the hell, why can I see the whole damn city from here?!” He sticks his head out of his restraint, looking up and trying to find the top, “wHen the FUCK does this shit stop please, Y/N, I cAn’T do this?!?!”

“Chim. Breathe. Deep, steady breaths, okay?” You say while audibly taking breaths so he can do the same.

“Okay, okay,” he says, voice cracking but following suit.

After you think that he finally manages to get a grip on himself, you decide to try to take his mind off the situation at hand, “Jimin, look at the view.”

His breath softens as he begins to take in his surroundings. He could see everything. To him, it feels as if he had the city in the palm of his hand. The rollercoasters that reside next to the tower were practically reaching eye-level to him, and despite the lack of color due to the theme of the park, he thought it was mesmerizing anyway. He marvels at the fact that he could even see past the park—catching a glimpse of the cars zooming on the main highway, minute specks of light emitting from the windows of skyscrapers, people living in their own little worlds in each one, And of course, the envy of it all, the night sky—the dark depth littered with a multitude of stars in their own little patterns and worlds of their own as well.

The overhead speakers trumpet, ripping Jimin out of his trance-like state, “Welcome to the drop zone brave newcomers. I hope you’ve had an enjoyable trip on the way up here. And I hope that your descent is just as enjoyable as well. We will be dropping in... “

Jimin heaves out, “Now that’s just plain rude at this point.”

“Ten.”

“Are you okay?”

He scoffs. “What kind of question is that Y/N?!”

“Nine.”

“Jimin, you’ll be just fine,” You reassure for the umpteenth time.

“I swear if this is longer than three seconds–”

“Eight.”

He frantically kicks the air. “Fucking hell! I can’t believe I’m doing this right now, I miss the ground.”

“Seven.”

“We’ll be back down to earth sooner than you think, I’m telling you.”

“Six.”

“Oh my fucking god, oh my fuck–!”

“Five.”

“Oh fuck, holy shit–!”

“Jimin, I’ll be right beside you–”

“Four.”

“–the whole way.”

“OH MY FUCKING GOD?!”

“Thre–!”

Before the countdown can finish, you two plummet, plunging down at great speeds—a feral-sounding squawk leaving Jimin’s lips when it all happens.

He squeezes his eyes shut, refusing to see what was going on—letting go of your hand, he opts to hold onto the other handlebar on the restraint instead. His breath is caught in his throat, the ride is moving so fast that he can’t even produce any noise, let alone move his body.

Just like you have been saying this whole night, the ride ends in a blink of an eye. Or more specifically, three seconds, give or take.

Jimin slumps in his seat—fingers still curled so tightly around the handlebars that his knuckles turn pale.

You stick your head out of your restraint, craning your neck to look at him beside you, “Jimin, it’s done, it’s over.”

“Are you sure?” He mumbles.

“Open your eyes.”

His head slowly rises, eyes remaining shut. Cracking one eye slightly open, he loosens his grip on the handlebars before opening his eyes and letting out a deep sigh of relief.

"That wasn't so bad, right?" You beam, waiting for the restraints to be lifted.

"I wouldn't know, I had my eyes closed the whole time," he shyly admits, lifting the restraint off of him and unbuckling his seatbelt.

You two jump out of your seats, heading towards the gate and bidding the drop tower goodbye, juxtaposing afterthoughts lingering in the air.

"That felt so weird, I don't know if I wasn't able to move or if there wasn't enough time for me to react," he chuckles dryly while twining his hand with yours once again.

You smile, "Probably a little bit of both," you suggest, eyes scanning the park for any signs of a churro stand, "but hey, you survived!"

He smiles at that, teeth out and all, "We both did," he assures earnestly, "and now as an incentive, we are getting churros."

Your eyes light up—the sight of the bright neon sign being the next destination of the night. Jimin notices your sudden reaction, quickly looking in the same direction as you and pinpointing the small churro stand from afar.

To your luck, the line isn't very long—people are most likely preoccupied with the multitude of attractions that are only going to be available for this appropriate time of the year, taking advantage of the opportunity before having to wait for an entire year before getting to experience it all over again. But you and Jimin weren't like most people, and you two strongly believed that churros should be indulged in at any time during any situation. And right now, it was being utilized as a form of consolation, just in the shape of a deep-fried pastry sprinkled with cinnamon sugar.

After obtaining your consolation desserts, you two resume your journey around the park. Too preoccupied indulging in your churro, you’re temporarily able to block out the commotion that was occurring around you, keeping four out of five senses focused on said churro and churro only. 

“You feel better?” You ask, taking a brief moment to dust off all the cinnamon and sugar off the corners of your mouth. 

“Mmhmph,” he incoherently mumbles, after shoving half a churro into his mouth. He abruptly pauses, cheeks puffed up and eyes wide, realizing he can’t talk and instead he nods with a grin as wide as his mouth would allow him to stretch out. 

You giggle at his actions, taking your focus off of him to take another bite. 

A few moments later, when most of your churros noticeably nowhere to be seen, you ask, “Where should we go next?”

He cinches his brows together, “We probably shouldn’t go on anything to extreme, considering we just ate. How about the ferris wheel?” He suggests, pointing to the attraction that was standing in front of the two of you. 

You nod, “You’re right, these workers already go through enough. And we shouldn’t add cleaning vomit to the list.”

He chuckles, “Agreed. Let’s go, the line is pretty short!” He exclaims jubilantly, flashing you a mega-watt grin while pulling you along with him towards the gated entrance. 

Leaning against the gate, you two wait for the round of riders that were currently riding to finish, mindlessly scrolling on your phones to pass the time. 

The gate entrance opens, tearing your focus off of your phone and back to reality. The enormous and dazzling neon wheel that stood boldly enveloped your vision in replacement of your dim and dark-mode setted phone screen, making you blink a few times to adjust to its harsh hues. 

One of the carts comes to a halt, doors releasing as the group of friends inside it begin to grab their belongings and head out. The worker in charge motions you to step inside after they leave, the two of you following suit. When you two become situated and seated, they press a few buttons on their control panel, the doors promptly swinging close. A few brief seconds after, the cart jolts before moving just enough so the other people behind you could board onto the next cart.

The carts reminded you of the teacup ride at Disneyland—built in a circular shape, seats lined around the border with a small gap made for the entrance door, but of course, it was void of steering wheels in the middle. Now that would just be a recipe for disaster, and a solid segue into Jimin vomiting all over you.

He nudges your leg, “It’s so funny to me.”

You turn to him, “What is?”

“Out of all things to do while being here, and we’re riding the ferris wheel,” he beams, a light chuckle leaving his lips, “I don’t know whether to pity us or not.”

“All my pride has left me already and I’m okay with it,” you tut, lips unwillingly curling upward as you replayed the scenes of what had happened earlier at the drop zone, “I wouldn’t talk too much if I were you Mr. ‘I’m gonna piss my pants.” You tease, poking him in the side.

He scoffs, squirming slightly where you poked him, “I am still proud of myself, I didn’t think I was gonna make it up there.”

You turn away, holding in your laughter, “I didn’t think you were either.”

“Hey! Don’t even get me started on you,” he says, nose scrunching and brows furrowing, “those poor clowns were about to get their noses punched in if it wasn’t for me being there. I think your screams and threats were starting to scare them more than they were scaring me.” He fires back, giggles erupting in his throat and interrupting his words.

“I’m not even gonna argue against that. We are so sad,” you say—laughter flaring up in your chest as well, the two of you keeling over so hard the cart begins to swing back and forth.

“Woah! Woah! Woah! Easy there,” Jimin yelps as you two take notice of the movement and immediately cease your actions, hands grabbing the ends of the cart to try to stabilize it. 

Just as your cart has moved up enough for you to start seeing an overhead view of the park, he whips his phone out before saying, “Lemme take a picture of you, the view is so nice here.”

As he whips out his phone, you scoot to the other end of the cart as he brings his phone up to his face and focuses it on you. Naturally, you bring your hand up, hand changing to a trademark peace sign as you flashed a smile for the camera. He brings his phone down many lock screen worthy pictures later, happy with the result evident from the grin etched onto his face. 

“Your turn,” you say, motioning you two switch spots as you take your phone out of your pocket. 

Jimin, infuriatingly photogenic, simply sits while staring off into the distance, jaw on full display as you begin to rapidly snap pictures. Hearing your camera clicks he changes his position—turning towards you as the chilly wind blows through his hair, eyes crinkling and dazzling smile on full display that you can’t help but smile at the familiar yet all too breathtaking sight. 

Placing your phone in your lap, you scoot closer to him—leaning your back against his shoulder, you prop your legs up onto the seats. Turning towards you, he snakes his arms around your waist as his chest comes in contact with your back. You let yourself sink deeper into his grasp, conforming into his body as warmth spreads to your fingertips. Your head lulls back, falling into the space right below his collarbones as you stroke the back of his hands gingerly with the pad of your thumbs. He rests his chin on top of your head, the two of you simply admiring the view below. 

The ride still hasn’t started—people still boarding the ride as the carts momentarily halt and move from time to time. 

Not long after, your cart reaches the very top. 

Head peering over the edge, he turns back, “See, why did we have to go on the drop tower when we could’ve went here instead,” he grumbles, the peak of the tower standing nearly just as tall as the highest point of the ferris wheel to the point where you could stare directly ahead of you without tilting your head.

“Well that takes all the fun out of it,” you tease, making him frown, “Hey! You keep forgetting what you made me go through before that. Don’t think I’ve gotten over it that quickly.”

Looking displeased at your answer, he quirks a brow, “You seemed to be fine when we were riding the tower.”

“What can I say, you make a very good distraction.”

“I think I could say the same for you,” he proposes, “I swear I saw some of those clowns turn away and start laughing every time you threatened them. I was like ‘Yes! That’s my feisty girlfriend!” he cheers, pumping his fists into the air. You cower down in embarrassment, grinning to yourself while trying to swat his arm away. 

“I feel so burned out already though,” you say, head falling back into his chest, “I think it’s ‘cause we’re here at night.” 

“And because you track-starred your way through that entire maze,” he adds.

“That too.”

“I feel it too, we did more walking than anything else to be honest.” He says, which is very much true. The drop tower was all the way on the other side of the park and the churro stand took you guys a whole twenty minutes just to find. 

You hum, “Should we head out after this then?”

He rests his cheek on top of your head, “Yeah, if you want to.”

“I feel bad though, it feels like we just got here,” you admit, chuckling into his arm. 

He shakes his head, hands reaching over to play with the ends of your hair, “Don’t feel bad, I think we’re still hungover because of midterms. And besides, I’m hungry and I don’t wanna eat a ten dollar hotdog after just eating a stale ten dollar churro.”

“Yeah, we can just eat one dollar ramen, we’re still college students above everything.”

And you truly couldn’t argue with that. “Of course.”

Taking your hands off of his, you prop a hand onto the cart to sit yourself up onto the seats. He releases his hold on you, his arms returning back to his sides as the warmth of your body dissipates to his dismay. 

You adjust your sitting position so you could face him—reaching out to take one of his hands into your own. Your eyes bore into his, gazing into the pools of honey that were his irises. The view is slightly obscured as his eyes crinkle.

He smiles, “Why are you looking at me like that?”

You don’t even register that he’s speaking to you until he leans in slightly, his features starting to appear bigger as he starts to close the gap between you two. You shake your head once he gets so close in proximity that you could see each crinkle that etches themself on the sides of his eyes each time he grins. 

Your eyes flicker to his lips, taking notice of the action as you quickly revert back to his eyes. He smirks

“Thank you for taking me here,” you say as your eyes intently gaze into his once more, “above all the trepidation we’ve put each other through tonight, at least we’re here together.”

He nods, gratitude evident without him having to utter a single word. It’s as if time is frozen, everything around you stagnant and still, eyes boring into each other because nothing could just quite compare to this. Not even the surreal view of the city or the ability to see all the bustle within the amusement park or even the stars that littered the sky. 

You press your lips against his. Although you initiated the action, the sensation of his lips against yours, regardless of how natural, sends a flurry of shockwaves down your spine. Your body tingles—as if you’re floating and the cart you were sitting on wasn’t even there to support you. 

And he kisses you back. His lips are warm, welcoming, and comforting—like wrapping yourself in your favorite blanket in the comforts of your bed, the indescribable bliss as the fabric consumes your body and runs over your skin. 

Kissing him felt even more blissful than that.

The kiss isn’t fervent, but it’s full of longing. It’s as if he’s communicating to you, through the way his lips mesh against yours, that he plans on making up for all the lost time. Time that could’ve been spent doing things like kissing you, loving you wholeheartedly and unashamedly, was spent pining for each other with the label of being ‘best friends’ standing in the way for far too long. He wants to make up for it just as much as you do. 

He slides his hand under the crevice of your knee, pulling you closer to him as he continues to kiss you. You bring your hand up to his neck, entangling your fingers into his hair as you lightly scratched at the surface of his scalp. 

He kisses you like he’ll never get to again, which isn’t completely false—the fact that you two were so high up in the air to the point where the stars look tangible, basking in each other’s presence and each other’s presence only. 

Frustrated at the abnormal layout of the seating, he hooks his arms under your legs—hoisting you up and placing you in his lap so you were straddling him—incognizant of how the cart was starting to dip due to the unequal distribution of weight. 

The gesture makes you squeak, and you can start to feel him smile against your lips. Before you could do anything else, the cart totters—rocking a few times before moving, signaling that the ferris wheel is finally beginning its journey. 

“Oh fuck—!”

“Oh shit—!”

The two of you immediately detach from each other as you take notice of the unbalance, hurriedly leaping onto opposite sides of the cart while gripping onto the sides for dear life, the cart rocking back and forth at a concerning extent. You sneak glances at each other, your faces painted with the same expression of shock and distress.  

Seconds pass and the cart steadies—laughter instantaneously taking over the two of you.

“I think that’s our cue to leave,” he says, a little breathless while his body hunched over his seat.

“Remind me the next time we kiss to check if we’re less than a foot above the ground first,” you tease, playfully swatting his knee.

He grabs your hand, pressing a kiss onto your knuckles before shaking your intertwined hands up in the air—obnoxiously shouting into the frigid autumn wind, “Yes chief!” 

-

-

-

MASTERLIST

[knightofameris]

in another world — peter parker

Setting: ending of infinity war to the moments after Gender: Neutral Contains: blood, could be seen as platonic? or unrequited/y’all are fucking dense? i tried keeping it open o: or even as a set up, cursing (oops, already cursed) Word Count: 2.3k

Summary: You didn’t think you’d know anyone after dying. But when a mysterious man led you to a group of familiar faces you didn’t expect to see your best friend.

a/n: I finally got this out. Also, still writing the literal 3-part series (maybe more, depends) but I’m a lazy piece of shit so uhhhhhh. [reposting from my old account :3]

Let me know if there are any grammar or spelling mistakes or if I accidentally say ‘she/he’ instead of the gender neutral ‘they’.

Feedback is appreciated!

Enjoy! 

❝ no matter the dimensions we’re in we’d always find each other right? ❞

You gripped your side as you felt the blood start seeping through your uniform. The fight was long and brutal. Lives were lost and more importantly, the Avengers had lost.

Leaning against the edge of a tree, too weak to move, you watched the scene before you. Each one of the Avengers struggling to come to terms with what just happened. Fear struck you when a sudden feeling came over you the same moment Bucky called out to the captain. It felt like it was out of the movies created from a poem. The sudden disappearance of each fighter, people calling out for loved ones, and those who died alone.

Natasha came up from behind you asking if you were okay. You looked up at her and nodded meekly, your face glazed over in horror. She put one of your arms over her shoulder.

“Come on, let’s group up, and we’ll get you checked out.” You nodded your head again as the two of you stumbled towards the rest of the Avengers who were still alive. Steve sat on the ground next to his fallen friend when he saw you approaching with Natasha. Worry cast over his face once he saw you limping towards the group. He pushed himself to stand up and walk up to the two of you to make sure you were alright.

Your breathing was even, as even as it could with your injury. Nat watched your chest rise and fall, to see if there were any abnormalities in your breathing pattern. It was smooth, you breathed in through your nose and out your mouth. But her eyes furrowed when she noticed that your breathing hitched, and your chest heaved, slightly jerking as you struggled to let in air.

“Guys?” You gasped out, looking at each of the older Avengers. You looked down at your legs but they weren’t there and you fell to the ground, Nat holding on to you as she tried to soften the impact. The numbing pain that alerted each of your nerves caused your body to go into shock. Your mouth gaped open, your breaths quick and sharp.

“Kid, you’re gonna be alright, okay?” Steve bent down, his voice cracking as he struggled to keep it together.

Nat smiled at you, caressing your face, a pained smile etched on her face. “You’re gonna be okay. We’ll fix this okay?” You wanted to cry, you knew what was happening. You wanted to believe them but, you didn’t know what to expect.

“I love you guys,” you croaked out, then looking away as you faded into dust.

Thor clenched his jaw in anger and looked away from the two clamber over the pile of ashes. At himself or at Thanos? He didn’t know.

***

Your eyes snapped open, immediately taking in the yellow-tinted sky. Looking to the side, you felt yourself laying in what seemed to be water which was also tinted yellow. Slowly, you sat up but you weren’t soaked like you thought you’d be. Then that’s when you recalled the earlier events.

You died.

“Is this heaven?” You mumbled to yourself, looking around. In the distance, you saw an odd piece of architecture, four pillars with an arch. Frowning, you slowly approached it.

“You probably don’t want to go towards that,” a voice said. You turned around only to see an older man donned in a peculiar navy blue tunic adorned with a red cloak on his shoulders. His beard reminded you of Tony’s and the white hairs on the sides of his head made you think he was an older man. But his facial features and lack of wrinkles let you think otherwise

Tilting your head, you asked, “And why’s that?”

“Just have a bad feeling, everyone did,” he replied. “Odd that you decided to walk towards it.” You looked back towards the pillars then back at him.

“Everyone?” You wondered. “Who are you?” Your eyes narrowed at the man who came out of nowhere. Though, if you were dead, you didn’t have to worry about dying again. The man shifted his stance in front of you before speaking.

“I’m Doctor Stephen Strange, and you’re (Y/n) (L/n), right? Full-time Avenger and full-time student,” he responded. You continued to glare at him as you pulled off your mask.

“Yeah, well that was supposed to be a secret,” you muttered and then walked towards him.

“Peter talked about you,” he said. Your eyes widened and you looked up at him.

“Wait, Peter? As in Peter Parker?” You asked somewhat excitedly. But then you stopped and frowned. “Wait, he died too?” Strange looked to the side, his head bobbing side-to-side in a ‘sorta-but-not-really’ manner.

“We’re not really ‘dead’,” he put quotes around the word dead. “Come on, I’ll explain as I take you to everyone else.”

You purse your lips as you reluctantly followed the man who began to explain where you were.

It seemed as if the two of you were walking in place. All you could see was yellow, and the sloshing of the water didn’t help. But anytime you looked back, the four pillars grew smaller and smaller. It was hard to wrap your head around the fact that you were in a pocket dimension. Hell, alternate dimensions, in general, was what shook you the most. But to be in a dimension that was really just the soul stone? It just felt impossible. But it gave you a sense of relief, you still had a fighting chance somehow.

“So do you guys have a plan?” You questioned, breaking the silence that came after Strange finished his explanation. He didn’t seem too much of the talkative type, especially considering you were years younger than the man. “How’d you even find me?”

“Not really, unless the rest of the group created one while I went off to find you,” he replied. “And Parker’s spider senses, as he calls them, sensed someone else came.” You nodded your head. It made sense after all.

“What about the rest of the universe? Are they okay?”

“You’re just full of questions, aren’t you?” The man quipped. You stopped in your steps, appalled at his rudeness.

“Sorry I’m always curious, asshole,” you muttered loud enough for him to hear before continuing to walk with him. He rolled his eyes but then eyed you carefully. He was surprised at how well you were taking everything. Strange also respected at how you cared about the rest of the universe even if you were ‘dead’.

Strange sighed, he knew he probably shouldn’t be as much of an asshole as he usually is. Especially with someone as young as you. “The other half from the snap is here, you were among the last. The ones who died after the snap from car accidents and whatnot are also here. Seems only fitting since they come here too.”

More hope. Which made you smile. “Great, that means after we kick Thanos’ ass everyone can go back to normal.” Strange chuckled at your response.

The walk to wherever the two of you were headed continued. Along with Strange, the sound of the water sloshing about accompanied you.

Small figures in the distance entered your vision that slowly grew bigger as you continued to approach them. You wondered how in the world Strange was able to navigate this pocket dimension but when you were able to recognize a few of the figures as you got closer, you didn’t even bother to ask. Bucky grinned at you and placed his hand on Peter’s shoulder, gripping it tightly as he shoved him around a bit.

“Look at who’s here, Spider-ling,” Sam crossed his arms. Peter would’ve corrected him but he couldn’t. He just stood there, mouth gaping at who Strange brought. He didn’t expect you to be the last person to arrive. But there you stood, smiling. Neither one of you moved. “Close your chin, boy! Unless eating flies is what you really do because of your powers.”

Bucky laughed at Sam’s remark and patted Peter’s back hard enough to push him forward.

“Ow!” Peter looked back at the older man.

“Look,” Peter began walking towards you as he pointed his fingers towards the two men, “just don’t tell them I thought you were Jesus.”

“Oh, we’re so telling them,” Sam chuckled. Bucky smiled in response as he watched the two of you interact. Wanda rolled her eyes at the two’s antics, her lips perked upwards but her eyes still glazed over with a hint of sadness. Vision wasn’t in the dimension they were in, no one was able to find him.

You grinned at Peter as he slowly approached you and your little handshake you had ensued. Being best friends meant that you had to have a handshake, if you had one with Ned and MJ, you did with Peter. But then Peter pulled you in for a hug. You were stunned for a moment but promptly hugged him back.

Murmuring into your hair, “I’m so glad you’re here, I thought I’d be alone.”

“I mean, you have everyone else here though,” you chuckled.

“Yeah, but you’re my best friend,�� he let go of you and looked into your (e/c) eyes. “Along with Ned and MJ, but we’re crime-fighting buddies.” He nudged you with his elbow and you laughed. For a moment, you kinda wished you made him stay on the bus, or that you should’ve gone with him. But you knew if you saw him die or vice-versa, it’d fuck the two of you up.

“Speaking of our guys in the chairs…” You trailed off, looking towards the other people who occasionally eyed the two of you now and then.

“They’re alive,” Peter responded. You nodded, a pang of guilt and pain pulled in your chest.

“That’s good but,” you paused, making eye contact with Peter once more, “they probably think we’re dead, huh?” Peter took in a deep breath, knowing very well what you mean. The pain he saw in Tony’s eyes as he said he was sorry would probably stay with the olderman forever. He already knew of his PTSD and anxiety attacks, his death probably just made it worse. And to think of how your friends and the rest of the Avengers felt?

Peter didn’t respond, but he didn’t need to. You already knew how he felt as you were surrounded by the other Avengers as you faded away.

“Oh, hey! Is that a new person?” A new voice called out, the two of you guys looked away from each other to look at who was talking to you. A man, who seemed to be human, wearing a red leather jacket looked down at you two. “Ah, you guys dating?”

You and Peter looked at each other and exchanged faces. Slowly, you burst out laughing. Peter chuckled nervously as he rubbed the back of his neck and glanced down at you who seemed like you were having the time of your life. To Bucky and Sam, they couldn’t really tell if you were being overdramatic just to be overdramatic, or if you were just covering up the heat that might be rushing up to your face. Out of embarrassment or awkwardness, they still couldn’t really tell.

“Me and this kid?” You pointed at Peter with your thumb. “No way.”

“(Y/n), this is Peter Quill-”

“Please, call me Star-Lord.”

Peter rolled his eyes but continued, “And the other guys are part of the Guardians of the Galaxy.” You took in the faces of people before you, an alien who seemed like a bug was beaming at you, a tree who seemed bored out of his mind, another humanoid who had what seemed to be red tattoos, and a green woman. An odd group.

But it didn’t stop you from saying, “Guardians of the Galaxy? Half of us are dead.” Though it was meant more like a joke, Quill flinched. “I’m joking, sorry. Too soon.”

Looking at Peter, you couldn’t believe the situation you were in. Maybe you should’ve been more scared of what was going to happen. But with the last words Nat and Steve said, what Strange informed you, and being in the presence of Peter Parker, you knew you’d be okay.

Before you knew it, one of the Guardians jumped on over to you and grabbed your hand, her antennas began to glow.

“Woah!” You pulled away, glancing a Peter with a plea for help. “What are you doing?”

“I can feel emotions,” she replied. Peter gave you a reassuring smile so you slowly gave back your hand to her. “You feel lots of love, love for-”

“Okay, we’re done here,” Strange interrupted. “We’ve gotta create a game plan.”

Quill began, “Or, I’ll create-”

“No.”

The green woman smacked Quill in the backside of his head and you laughed at the scene before you, glad that the situation you were in was glossed over. For dying, all of you guys seemed pretty relaxed. But I guess it doesn’t really matter. I mean you had Peter Parker right there with you, and that’s all you really needed. Your best friend by your side while all of you created a game plan.

“Hey, I’m glad we’re in this mess together,” You said to Peter.

He nodded his head and let out a heavy breath. “Yeah, me too. Who knew we’d find each other again.”

Letting out a laugh and lightly punching his arm, with him feigning hurt, “I mean, no matter the dimensions we’re in, we’d always find each other, right?”

“Yeah, always,” he responded.

“Are-are you lovebirds done?” Strange narrowed his eyes towards the two of you.

“We’re not-!” You both said at the same time.

“Together, we know.”

[fireteam-dauntless]

A Tale of Two Guardians XX

Chapter 20 : Enemy of my Enemy masterlist

word count : 2.4K tag list : @mail-me-a-snail @basically-nacl @shins-wife @speed-boop

“That was a nice change,” I said.  I looked over at Maverick in the pilot seat with a smile pulling at the corner of my lips.  We were just re-entering the Tower’s airspace. 

“I know, we should do this more often,”  Maverick replied.  His Ghost started to request a landing pad and gave out his Guardian’s ship ID.

As we landed in the Hanger and before we could even leave the ship, we saw Zavala come storming over from across the landing pad.  I sighed heavily and followed Maverick down the stairs.  “Oh boy, here we go,” I mumbled quietly.  I pulled my helmet off and carried it in my left hand.

“Where have you two been?!”  Zavala demanded.  "I wanted a debriefing of your mission when you got back.  But instead you take off to wherever you went!  Tell me what happened on that Dreadnaught, Maverick-8."

I could feel his body tensing up beside me and the frustration oozing out of his every pore.  “Well,” Mav began, “first off, that was rude.  But if you must know, we almost died before we even set foot on that ship, but we didn't and now you have a transmat zone on there.  Good enough?”

“And we got approval from Ikora to go to Venus for a couple of days,” I added.  “You could have asked your fellow Vanguard where we were.”

Zavala glanced at me and then turned back to Maverick.  “Seeming how you still don't like me, your report is sufficient enough.  Tomorrow I want your team to report to me, we still have to find Oryx.”  The Vanguard turned around and walked away.

I turned to Mav with eyebrows raised.  “You two still don't like each other?”

“Nope and we probably never will,” he said with a hefty sigh.

“You can't hold a grudge toward him forever Mav.  He's still the Vanguard Commander.”

“Yeah good for him, unless he gives me a damn good reason for me to forgive him, I'll continue to despise him.”

“Alright, alright forget I said anything.”  We started walking out of the Hanger.

“I don't know about you, but I'm going home. Care to join me, Storm?”

“No I think I'll head back to my place and start a new mural,” I said to him with a smile.  “But I will see you tomorrow, Mav, that’s a promise.”

We walked out of the Hanger and down an elevator together. When we reached the bottom we waved to each other and went off on our own ways.  But before he could walk away from me, I pressed a kiss on his mandible.

When I was back in my apartment, I shedded off my armor and pulled on my painting clothes, gray sweats and a paint stained shirt.  “What are you going to be working on now?  You finished Maverick’s painting.”

“Well, peu de lumiere, I was thinking about starting a landscape mural.  Of where we went on Venus.  Those volcanoes that spat out vibrant blue lava, the trees… and something about Vex architecture is absolutely fascinating.”  I picked up my paints and started mixing some colors on my palette.  “So maybe it’s the view we had when we were sitting outside together for hours on end, in each other’s company and in total silence.”

“Ah so like the painting you did of you, Gilly, and Adam on Mars?”

“Exactly like that.  Just a glimpse of the moment of peace.”

“Well, I’ll start a pot of coffee while you get started.”

————— 

The next day, Maverick, Skinner, and I stood before Zavala.  Maverick was still tense from the day before and Skinner was hungover.

Zavala set down the briefing report on the table and turned to all of us.  “So in short you're going up there to see what intelligence the Cabal have gathered, and get out unless told otherwise. Questions?” 

“Yeah just one, what do we do if we find out if they know where he is?”  Maverick asked.

“Then we'll go to him and stop him there and then.  Anymore questions?”  None of us responded, so Maverick shook his head and declined.

“Alright then, Guardians, get to your ships and head for the Dreadnaught,”  he said as he waved us out the door.

We launched into Earth’s orbit and hovered for a couple minutes while we set our course, then Maverick came over the private channel.  “Alright guys this should be a simple intel retrieval mission. Hopefully in and out in about 15-20 minutes.”

“Oh good I was hoping for a short mission today.  I'm still hungover from last night at the bar.” Skinner commented.

“A little overboard with the Lights Out again Skinner?"  Maverick asked.

“Well with you two out on your little date, yeah, I did.  Doesn't leave me with much else to do.”

“Well, maybe if you socialized with other Guardians, you could find a drinking buddy of your own,” I said with a laugh.

“Alright that's enough, you two. Both of you fall into formation for slip space. And when we get there, one at a time for transmat onto the Dreadnaught.  We don't need to fit three people in one jump ship for the trip home.”

————— 

As we transmat onto the Dreadnaught the Vanguard channel lit up with activity.  “Oryx could be anywhere on the Dreadnaught,” Zavala said.  “With time we could find him but we don't have time.  The Cabal have been there long enough to have some real field intelligence.  The path to Oryx lies in their ship.”

“The Hive and Cabal are going at it again,” I observed.  They were fighting each other still in front of the crashed ship.

“The Cabal are still holding against the Hive, Zavala,”  Mav relayed to the Commander. 

“Survival is a temporary condition.  Cut through them, and get inside that ship.”

“Who fights this hard to protect a crashed ship?”  Skinner asked.

“That’s not a crashed ship, it's a beachhead.  Only way those doors will open is to send out reinforcements.  Draw them out.”

“So we need to kill some Cabal?  Easy, let’s go kill some space rhinos,” Maverick said, then motioned for us to follow him onto the field of battle.

We cut through some Hive and reached the Cabal.  We cut through the Cabal with brutal efficiency to get them to open up the door.  One of them must have called for reinforcements because an alarm began to blare and the doors started to slide open.

“I think we got their attention,” I said.

“Good, let’s fight through them.”

“Cabal protocol is to detonate any ship that crashes.  If they haven’t after all this time it could be a base of operations.  They’re looking for something on the Dreadnaught.  See what they know about Oryx.”

We began to move through the ship.  It was awfully convenient that the door we went through was around the engine room.

“I’m detecting a terminal nearby it probably as what we’re looking for Mav,”  Maverick’s Ghost relayed.

“Good, let’s head that way.”

We fought through more Cabal and reached the terminal rather quickly.  Maverick ran up to it and deployed his Ghost, who began to download intel the terminal’s database.  Skinner and I held fast to our weapons, watching Maverick’s back.

“The Cabal have located Oryx.  He’s protected in the center of the Dreadnaught, reachable through only something they call ‘a rupture’...”

“Must be some kind of portal,” Zavala said quietly.  “And the Cabal found one?”

“They have a team headed for it right now.”

“Then I suggest you get there first, Fireteam.”

“The quickest way to them is up this hall.” Maverick’s Ghost opened the door and flew towards it, ready to lead the way.

“Alright let’s go and kill us a Hive God,” Skinner said, perhaps with a bit more enthusiasm than what was necessary.

We reached a bulkhead door and Mav just slammed on a button and it began to open.  I rolled my eyes.  It’s never that simple, I thought.  As thick metal doors slid apart, some Thrall ran out of some side hallways, down toward the fighting. 

“We found the Cabal team headed for the rupture. They’re outnumbered by Taken,” Maverick reported. 

“Forget what they say about ‘the enemy of my enemy’.  If something stands between you and the rupture put it down,” Zavala commanded, his tone was cold.

“So are we going to kill them all?” I asked.  I didn’t like the idea of taking on two forces of different enemies at the same time.  Too many risks, too many variables, too many ways to die.

“No, just the Taken.  But if the Cabal shoot at you, kill ‘em.”

And we head down to the fighting, killing Taken and Cabal alike.  We split up originally, but every now and then we would run into each other and fight together before splitting off again.

“Those Cabal won’t last much longer,” I said over the channel.  And sure enough they backed their leader to a ledge.  Out of nowhere, Oryx just reached out and… took their leader.  I stared in horror.  If he could take a Centurion so easily, why was he letting this fight go on for so long?

“Oryx just recruited a Centurion,”  Maverick reported to Zavala.

“Let him take all he wants. He won’t be around long enough for it to matter.” 

I turned to Skinner and Maverick.  “If that Hive God is allowed to just take as he pleases, there will be an army for us to go against.”  

“I know,”  Maverick reassured me.  “So let’s finish this.”

We finished off any stragglers that remained to continue fighting and headed for two arches standing on their own platform.

“That must be the rupture.”

“Eris what’s their next move?”  Zavala said.

“Toland spoke of statues the Hive used to navigate ruptures.”

“We’ll look for them.  Guys let’s split up and find them.”

Skinner found one first and then I found the second.  Maverick found the third.

“These statues are dead, Genesis,”  my Ghost said.  “But something is happening to the rupture.”  I turned around and joined Skinner and Maverick on the platform.  We stood with our guns ready and slowly approached.  When we got within 5 meters of it, the portal jumped to life and Thrall began to pour out of it, screeching and running directly towards us.

“The Thrall will smother your light!” Eris yelled.  “Do not underestimate them like Tarlow did!”

We gunned them down in a classic firing line type of way. But they just kept coming.  They were endless.

“Forget about the Thrall!  Get through that portal!” Zavala yelled.

We all jumped toward the portal but it pushed us back.  I could feel the magic tingling on my skin.  It was foreign and almost made me weak.  I jumped back to Maverick and Skinner, and Maverick caught my arm when I almost fell over. 

“Storm, you alright?”

“That magic is dark… it oozes of death and chaos,” I said to him quietly.  He just looked at me, then started shooting the Thrall that were coming too close.

“I don’t think we’re going that way,” Mav said over the Vanguard channel.

“Then it’s true, only Ascendent can will a rupture to open,” Eris said.

“Umm… There’s something Ascendent passing through right now,” Skinner said.  Even he sounded alarmed, which was saying something.  Nothing surprised or scared Skinner.  Taken started to push through the rupture, along with an Echo of Oryx. It raised it’s hand and began to fire some kind of magic at us, but Maverick cast his Ward of Dawn to protect us.

“Shit,” I said and stood with my fusion rifle ready.  “I really fucking hate those things.”

“So do we Storm,” Mav said.

“So what’s the plan Mav?”

“Well this Ward won’t last long so let’s run out the back and take up positions over there and there.”  He pointed to a pillar and some ruble.

“Sounds good to me let’s go,” Skinner said.

We ran out of the Ward before it disappeared and headed to the areas Maverick pointed out. I took shelter behind my pillar, holding fast to my gun.  I could feel it’s magic banging against the other side.  He knew exactly where I was.  Maverick waved Skinner to take a shot at the Echo, so he used his Golden Gun and blasted the Echo in the head.  It turned away from my pillar toward Skinner and began to fire it’s magic at him. Then Maverick jumped out of cover and unloaded a magazine into it.  It roared in pain and looked at him, then fired as he dove back into cover.  

I looked over at Maverick in panic and fear.  His entire left arm was missing.  I wanted to move out from cover and go to him, but he held up his good arm and shook his head.  His Ghost came out and worked a little magic, then he was good as new.  I gave a small sigh of relief, but I was angry, and I could tell Maverick was equally pissed off.  He motioned for us to follow his lead and he pulled out his Gjallarhorn.  Skinner got all giddy, started to laugh, and pulled out his Ash Factory.  He looked at me and I nodded, and proceeded to pull out my One Way Ticket 000.

“On three we jump out and fire together, got it?” 

“Anything to send it back to wherever it came from,” I said coldly.

“One, Two, Three!” He yelled and we jumped out and we all fired our rockets directly at it.  The Echo roared in pain and began to melt; it returned to wherever it was spawned from.  The rupture closed behind it.

“Gah, the rupture closed,”  Maverick grumbled.

“It will only open for Ascendent Hive.” Eris declared.

“Then how do we get to Oryx?”

We’ll sort this out, fireteam,” Zavala concluded.  “Head back to the tower when you can. And no detours Maverick-8.”

“Bite me, Commander,” he snapped back.  Zavala gave a heavy sigh and closed the Vanguard channel.

“So are you two going to disappear again or, can I actually come with you guys this time?”  Skinner inquired.

“Sorry, Skinner,” Mav apologized as we transmatted back to our ships.  “Maybe next time.”

I opened up a channel with Maverick once we fell into formation and entered slip space.  “So I take it you’re not listening to Zavala.”

“Eh, I’ll give him a debriefing before I go this time.  Do you think you could spare a little time to come with me somewhere?”

“Of course.  I always have time for you.”

“Good.  Wait for me in the Hanger and I’ll meet you back there after.”

“Where are we going this time?”

“It’s a surprise, little Angel,” he chuckled.  “A treat from me.”

[myinnersoul1412]

Hatori Yoshiyuki no baai short story 5

Hatori Yoshiyuki no Baai short story 6

I don’t own any of this…Edit from Google translate again

"It will definitely happen this time"

“Yes, it will.”

Hatori, who was holding the steering wheel, answered with a weak voice. Yoshino, on the other side, sat in the front passenger seat, holding a camera in his hand.

Now, they were on their way to a hotel where Yoshino said there were ghosts. Because the hotel was in the suburbs, it was difficult to take a bus there. Hatori had no way but to borrow his family’s car from home.

The origin of the matter was the plan of the magazine. The monthly Emerald August issue decided to attach an appendix booklet to the series, and several writers had received the agreement to draw short ghost stories. And Yoshino was among them.

Everything progressed smoothly, and it was troublesome that Yoshino suddenly proposed "to go out and get the materials." According to him, to draw a story of horror style, he must first experience it.

Because the main audience of this story was teenage girls, it would be a headache to draw horror stories that were too realistic. However, it would be bad if Hatori just casually dismissed Yoshino’s enthusiasm

As a result, Hatori had accompanied him to several places to take materials. But so far, there had been no significant results.

Although there were some things that were good for the story, but it seemed that Yoshino’s highest priority was "I want to see the supernatural phenomenon!". More than collecting materials, Hatori felt that it became more of a gamble for Yoshino. But as his editor, Hatori also had to accompany Yoshino to the latter’s satisfaction.

"Is it right to go here?"

After the highway, it should have been fine to drive according to the car navigation until the end. But the car navigation stopped halfway, probably because the data was relatively old. So they had to look at the paper map for the rest of the way.

"I think there's probably no problem."

"Probably?It wouldn't be funny if you got lost at night and had to sleep in the car.”

"So I said it’s okay! But this is all on the premise that this map is not wrong?"

"Forget it, this road does give people that feeling."

"Right!? It makes you feel that something will definitely come this time! After all, it’s according to my assistant’s sister’s boyfriend personal experience.

“…”

Since that was not completely a stranger and Hatori had finally tolerated the words of mouth up until now, it was a hassle to let Yoshino down then.

"Then, what are you going to do when you get to the hotel?"

"What are you saying? Since it's a hotel, you must be stay there first. Ghosts won't come out until midnight.”

“Is that so? You’re going to stay there”

"Otherwise, why do you think that I brought all these change of clothes with me? I even brought the pillows. After all, I can't sleep well if I change the pillow." (P/S: so Yoshino is sensitive…cough..cough)

Hatori felt a little uneasy about Yoshino, who was almost as emotional as if he had gone for a study trip. Does the guy understand what kind of place this hotel is, whether it is in the inaccessible suburb or it is still a place of the supernatural?

"Ah, I saw something like a roof! It really seems like something will come out!"

"??"

A cheap-looking building in the style of an ancient European city was emerging from the shadows of a tree. Yoshino didn’t seem to have seen the store's signboard yet.

"I feel that it will work this time. The camera is fully charged, just in case it is bought. After all, it is more reliable than a digital camera or film!"

"Give me a good photo of the background also. Don’t forget."

"I know! It didn't work before because the camera power was not full --"

Even Yoshino, who was in high spirits, was gradually becoming silent as he slowly approached the building and began to see the signboard of the hotel. It seemed that he finally began to understand the current situation.

Originally, there was no problem as they went together as friends of the same age, a big one and a lighter one. Hatori squinted and secretly looked at the people around him. Yoshino, who was unable to calm down, looked away.

The car navigation sounded a mechanical sound of "reached the destination". Hatori slowed down and deliberately parked the car in front of the hotel. Then, finally, Hatori asked again.

"You really want to come here to see it?"

“What.. nonsense! Of course we're going in!”

"If you are not interested, we can go back now."

"What a stupid thing to say! We have already arrived here, how can we go back down directly?"

"I know"

In fact, just a look at Yoshino told Hatori that this guy already had retreated in another aspect. but Hatori deliberately pretended that he didn’t know anything. If it weren’t for all these reasons, he probably would have never been able to go with Yoshino to a love hotel in his life time.

"I really look forward to the evening!"

"Yeah, it’s really exciting."

"??"

After the words of approval were spoken, Yoshino's face turned red to his ears. He gave a rare quick response today. Desperately endure not to let himself laugh, Hatori drove to the parking lot. (P/S: Toriii,,, you sly man LOL)

"It’s okay to walk in normally, right?"

"After all, it's a sacred place."

After they handed out their business cards and indicated the purpose of the material, the middle-aged hotel manager gave them the keys to the legendary haunted room. It might be because it was off-season, but today, this hotel room was all empty. According to the administrator, it was not uncommon for men to come here to try the supernatural.

The room was at the end of the dark corridor, and the old door was indeed very atmospheric. Or rather, there was an over-the-top atmosphere.

"You’re not going in?"

"Tori, why don’t you go in first?"

"This is your activity to get the material. If you’re afraid, let's go back?”

"I, I'm not afraid-of-

No matter how Hatori looked at it, he was already scared. But Yoshino, who still insisted on bluffing, was provoked by Hatori and immediately rudely inserted the key. He slammed the door open and yelled "Let's come over."

"This is a very ordinary room."

"It's just a love hotel, and that's what the room looks like."

Although the exterior looked very worn out, the cleaning inside was still done well. If the room looked too strange, it would be more of a common haunted house rather than a spiritual spot.

"I felt that I have wasted so much energy."

Yoshino was finally relieved and patted his chest.

"You're not really afraid of this?”

"No! It’s not to be afraid but to really look forward to it”

All Hatori had to say is to see how Yoshino tried so hard to make excuses, Hatori knew that Yoshino must have been guessed. (P/S: not very sure)

"It's going to happen, it's going to happen."

"It's been said that someone saw it, and that it’s going to come out!"

In short, Hatori walked around the room while observing and found nothing particularly strange. The pattern of the wallpaper was like a particularly old-fashioned style, but it should have been a part of the hotel's way of expression.

"The color of the water in the bathroom is normal."

"If the tap suddenly starts to fill with red water, then it's also too deliberate. Is there anything to meet the conditions for the appearance of ghosts? Time, temperature, position, etc.”

Hatori himself did not believe in the so-called supernatural phenomena. Even if something really happened, it was probably just some scientifically explainable phenomenon that accidentally resulted in an effect that could be mistaken for a spiritual event.

"Oh--According to the friend’s boyfriend’s sister, it’s about two or three o’clock in the morning, and the woman with long hair can be seen from the window. The window should be the one.”

It was a frosted glass window that could not be opened because it was embedded. The outside was dirty. Depending on the intensity of the light, it is indeed possible to see the figure outside the window.

"Two o'clock. It’s still a while before that.”

"Yes"

Yoshino picked up the TV remote and turned on the power. The reason why the signal is not good is also vague. After changing several channels in succession, Yoshino gave up and turned off the TV.

"I knew it, so I brought the manuscript draft” (P/S: Toriiiiii)

Before coming, I had to prepare for the accident, but I felt that the time for this negotiation should be enough not to leave the manuscript at home.

"This time, I still have to work?!"

Hatori glared at Yoshino, who mouthed his displeasure directly.

"Have you forgotten that we are here for work?"

"Ah, that's how it is."

In Hatori’s point of view, Yoshino showed a "finished" expression. He probably had completely forgotten the original purpose of his work and was immersed in the atmosphere of the test-of-courage.

"No way, let's discuss the theme for the next manuscript."

"No. I can't concentrate in a place like this.

It was just that no matter what, there was no way to switch to work mode.

"In this case, there is only one thing left to do."

"One thing?"

"Since it's a love hotel, isn't that one thing already long overdue?”

“!?”

Before Hatori said this, Yoshino did not seem to respond at all. It was definitely false to say that Hatori didn’t feel disappointed when Yoshino didn’t even have a little consciousness. But after all, his partner was Yoshino, there was no way.

This time, his partner was not aware of it and had to be forced by him. Hatori began to block Yoshino's retreat, who had been slightly red-faced by questions.

"What else can I do?"

"What about the theme for the manuscript?"

"Don't you just say yourself that you can't do it?"

"Think again and I feel like this is just a good opportunity! And you see, if we do that kind of thing, we might miss the ghosts’ appearance”

"It doesn't matter. We still have a lot of time before two o'clock. Or do you want to say that just that's not enough?”

"No, not awkward"

"No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no,

After asking about the past occurences, Yoshino’s face was instantly reddened.

"So, it is a matter of decision."

"Ah ah"

Yoshino stood in front of the huge double bed in the middle of the room. Hatori just gently pushed his shoulder and the whole person fell. Because the bed was very elastic, the small body bounced off significantly.

"All of a sudden, what you're doing!"

"It's not sudden at all. Besides, who is it that invited me to the hotel?”

"It's me… But, but I didn't expect it to be this kind of hotel.”

"No matter what kind of hotel, since we are in a romantic relationship, it's normal to have some kind of expectation, isn’t it?"

"But, but, ah, this kind of thing, we can do it after we wait to see the ghost, can’t we?”

"It will be awkward then. I specially accompany you out on my rest day and drive the car for you for so long, so I am not wrong to get a little reward from you, don’t you think?” (P/S: lololol, slyyyyy)

"Reward, etc., etc."

I grabbed Yoshino’s foot, who was shrinking in the bed, and covered it. Yoshino, who was held from above, held his breath involuntarily. The eyes that looked directly at Hatori’s were faintly moist. It was precisely Yoshino who had been talking about that, and there was already evidence of that in his mind.

Yoshino's resistance is basically due to shyness. Inherently, the stubborn Yoshino didn’t make this look when he really hated something.

"So, are you there anything else you want to do now?"

"There is no such thing." (P/S: consent is great…)

After confirming it again, Yoshino answered reluctantly.

* * *

"Stupid Tori!! Why didn’t you call me up!!"

"⋯⋯⋯⋯"

Due to the lack of sleep recently, when the two wake up, it was already dawning.

Personal comments:

Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you Hatori and Chiaki’s spicy area 51 adventure

[artificialqueens]

Withstanding The Test Of Time Ch5 - Shalaska - pureCAMP

A/N - I’ll be honest, I’ve entirely forgotten how to format fics on account of the fact that it’s been so long since I submitted. Nonetheless I’m here!! I’ve been a busy bee with school (year 11 woo - not) and mental breakdowns and periods of horrific self doubt but pffft that doesn’t matter.

It’s been a long time coming so here she is!

Irritatingly enough, Alaska had been true to her word. The party was small enough that the place wasn’t overwhelming, but large enough that Sharon could blend in, unnoticed, with nobody paying any attention to her.  She had dug out an old black ensemble that she had often wore when she went clubbing, pairing it with the darkest makeup and the largest heels she could find. To add a little bit of insult to injury, she had even taped over her timer again - the large ‘Alaska Thunderfuck’ was obscured by some offensively-matching black electrical tape.

  Sharon’s first port of call was to grab a drink, in an effort to find something to do with her hands and to avoid talking to anybody. She wanted a beer, but there was no such luck - she ended up content with a vodka and coke, surveying her surroundings.

  It didn’t take too long for her to find Alaska, what with the bubbliness she seemed to be overflowing with. She was in the same dress as she had been that afternoon, making her way around the room to graciously accept everybody’s congratulations. At least, Sharon thought to herself, they only really cared about Alaska. The last thing she wanted was a congratulations on caving to her fate.

  At that thought, she started to regret showing up. It wasn’t like she was going to have fun tonight. She might as well have stayed in Alaska’s home, spending her money on cheaply made horror films to pass the time until her new wife came stumbling home. That would’ve been preferable, but she was here now.

  Eventually, she decided to just use her phone as a crutch. Instagram was looking exciting, full of people who had better bodies, better lives and more money than her… Facebook was as bad as ever, with the baby bullshit… Twitter was filled with promotions for a movie she didn’t want to see… but it was fine. As long as she kept her head down, and pretended she was interested, no one would approach her.

  Her phone buzzed, the distraction as unwelcome as her boredom.

  Bianca: We need to talk

Bianca: Call me.

  Sharon rolled her eyes. Bianca had been a safe haven to Sharon for years, but she was beginning to feel as though the older woman only cared about her when she was of use. After all, Sharon was one of the few who was willing to get arrested for the cause, but that didn’t seem to mean anything outside of protesting.

  Stepping outside, she dialled the number, stretching her sore arm as she did and attempting to copy the exercises the doctors had told her to do.

  “So?”

  Sharon frowned. “Huh?”

  “Your timer? Did it go off?”

  Of course. With a huff of annoyance, Sharon rolled her eyes. “Why thank you for asking, Bianca, I am recovering well after being hit by a fucking car. Not that you seem to care, of course.”

  “Get over your attitude, kid. Did your timer go off?”

  “Yes, it did.” Sharon said shortly. “Is that the answer you want? Or do you want me to go into detail about how madly in love I am with my new soulmate, hmm? How deeply I regret joining your movement because now I know the feeling of true, real love, yes?”

  “Sharon, listen to me-”

  “No, Bianca, you fucking listen to me for once.” She said hotly, getting worked up. “I’ve done enough listening. I’ve been arrested for you, because I believe so strongly in our cause that I think it’s worth it. I was hit by a car - an actual fucking car - trying desperately to escape my fate because I was so upset that I’d have to succumb to the laws I’ve been fighting against with you since I was a fucking child. Today was the worst day of all, because it finally fucking happened. And I’ve had not an ounce of support or sympathy from you, all because your fucking timer will never run out, so you don’t care how it feels for anyone else. It feels like a trap, Bianca! It feels like someone has their hands around my neck and I can’t get out and not a goddamn word of support has come from you. I need you right now. I need somebody who will understand the desperation I’m dealing with. I was stupid enough to believe you’d care about me, and that you’d reach out. But you don’t, do you? You care about your fucking protests. And that’s it.”

  “Sharon-”

  “No.” Almost out of breath from her rant, Sharon decided to just end the call. “Fuck you.”

  Thanking anyone above that she had remembered to take the purse that contained her cigarettes and lighter, Sharon hurried to fish one out of the packet and lit it, bringing it to her lips with a sigh of relief. As she released the smoke, tilting her head upwards, she noticed Alaska was stood a few feet behind her, looking awkward.

  “Want a cigarette?” Sharon offered, slightly uncomfortably.

  Alaska, predictably, shook her head. “No, no thanks. I don’t smoke.”

  “Of course not,” Sharon took another drag. “You value your lungs, probably.”

  The blonde didn’t seem to know what to say to that, and she brushed off the comment with a shy smile. “That didn’t sound too good.”

  Sharon huffed. “She didn’t deserve all the years of my life that I gave to her. Then again, neither do you.”

  Alaska looked at the floor.

  “It’s nothing against you…” Sharon added, suddenly feeling a stab of guilt. “It’s this whole soulmate bullshit… like, I don’t know you. We don’t know each other. But all of a sudden I’m supposed to be yours for the rest of our lives.”

  “I know.” Alaska said quietly, a hint of annoyance in her voice. “You’ve made your views clear, Sharon. If you stopped to listen for one second, you’d realise that I haven’t tried to force mine on you. Am I upset? Of course. Have I tried to make you fall for me? Not even close.”

  Sharon rolled her eyes. “I don’t need this. I don’t know why I came out tonight-”

  “I don’t know why you came out tonight either!” Alaska exploded, angrier than Sharon had expected she could look. She usually came across as calm and collected, but not anymore. “What do you want from me? I’ve done all I can. And you know as well as I do that we’re soulmates because there’s something inside each of us that the other is going to fall for. You’re only hurting yourself by denying yourself that love.”

  “You soulmate-worshippers are all the fucking same.” Sharon spat, stubbing out her cigarette against the wall. “God forbid anybody have a different view to you, right?”

  Alaska scoffed. “A different view is one thing, Sharon, this is a matter of fucking fact. You’re the close-minded one here, not me.”

  She stalked off back into the party, clearly more than aggravated by their conversation. Sharon stubbed out her cigarette a little too aggressively into the wall, cursing as her fingers scraped against the rough brick. Sure enough, it had drawn blood.

  Childishly enraged, Sharon stamped her feet against the floor and left, deciding her chance her luck and walk to her new home. She had never been the best at controlling her impulsive anger, but she soon came to realize that she had bitten off her own nose to spite her face. In leaving the party, she had only cut herself off from an evening of potential drunkenness and dancing, and it wasn’t going to affect anyone but her. Alaska didn’t give a shit if she was at the party or not. But here was Sharon, stalking angrily down a road she didn’t recognise, hoping she would end up in the right place.

  Ha. What a painful metaphor for her life.

  Is it me? She wondered. Sharon had always been unpopular, a trait that came with being gay and weird and anti-soulmate in a world that revolved around the perfect marriage, but that had only followed her into adulthood. Her friend count had dwindled from a meagre three to a pathetic two, and even that was a stretch. Courtney wasn’t really a friend - she’d have nothing to do with her if it wasn’t for her marriage with Willam. Her relationship with Willam at present was rocky at best, and she’d just lost Bianca. Sasha was sweet but just a coworker - again, somebody who would never give her the time of day if they weren’t otherwise associated with one another - and that left Alaska. Alaska, her wife, who had hit her with a fucking car at the start of a clearly beautifully blossoming relationship.

  Sharon was angry. Far too angry. It was all her fault, and she knew it. Her own parents hated being around their miserable excuse for a daughter, and it was no wonder. She was going to be as shitty a wife as she was a friend.

  It wasn’t long before Sharon had to admit that not only was she a shitty person, a shitty friend and a shitty journalist, she was also a shitty navigator. In her anger, she had walked too far to turn back, but not far enough to recognise anything. Something told her she had taken a wrong turn - or many wrong turns - and she was pretty much hopelessly lost.

  She didn’t want to concede. It was only made worse by the fact that she picked up on the first ring.

  “Sharon?”

  “Where the fuck do you live?!”

  Sharon’s demanding tone caught Alaska by surprise. “What?”

  “I said, where the fuck do you live?”

  “Where are you?” Alaska had the audacity to sound concerned.

  “I don’t fucking know, Alaska. In case you didn’t get the message, I’m lost.”

  Her aggression was uncalled for and Sharon knew it, but she couldn’t bring herself to stop. Alaska was probably the only person who could help her, and she was still spitting in her face as she begged.

  “Alright, I’ll come and get you. Stay put, and stay on the phone.”

  Sharon rolled her eyes. “Great idea. Drunk driving.”

  Alaska huffed, clearly irritated with her impertinence. “I’m not drunk, I haven’t drank anything tonight. Look, do you want my help or not?”

  Sharon bit her lip.

  “Thought so. Where are you?”

  As Sharon opened her mouth to snap back, Alaska cut in.

  “And don’t give me any ‘I don’t know, I’m lost’ crap. Look around, tell me what you can see, and I’ll come find you.”

  Letting out a sigh, Sharon deflated, feeling the anger in her chest dissipate into a bout of hopelessness and low self-esteem. “Uh… there’s like three Indian takeaways opposite me… I don’t fucking know, it’s dark. There’s a bank?”

  There was a pause. “Sharon, are you on Lilibeth Street?”

  She shrugged, and then realized Alaska couldn’t see her. “I don’t know! If I knew, I���d tell you!”

  “Go find the bus stop, if it’s Lilibeth Street then it’s next to the bank.”

  Sharon did as she was told. “Okay, yeah, that’s where I am.”

  “Jesus fuck, Sharon, how did you wind up there?”

  “I wasn’t thinking! I wasn’t looking, I don’t even know where you live so I had no idea where I was heading. Can you just hurry? I’m not feeling this area. Semi attractive woman alone at night in a place like this doesn’t feel so good.”

  She paused and corrected herself. “Passable looking woman.”

  Alaska ignored her, though Sharon swore she heard the fragmented beginning of a sentence, as though Alaska was going to argue. Instead, she simply stayed on the line, the sounds of traffic faint in the background indicative that she was true to her word and already on her way.

  “Just stay put and you’ll be okay.”

  Yet again, Sharon rolled her eyes. “Where else could I go?”

  “Not the point. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

  Both of them remained on the call, although neither spoke in the fifteen minutes it took for Alaska to drive from the party to Lilibeth Street. Sharon hadn’t realized how long she had been walking for, the anger having blinded her rational senses, but it had to have been a decent amount of time. She was embarrassed to have given in and asked for help, so embarrassed that she couldn’t even think of anything nasty to say down the phone. That was new.

  It was Alaska who broke the uncomfortable silence as Sharon spotted her car pulling up a few metres away.

  “I can see you! I won’t hit you this time, come over.”

  Sharon should’ve laughed. It was funny. But her bitter, resentful side took over and told her to cling to the tattered shreds of her pride. She ignored the joke, pushing aside Alaska’s attempt at a truce, and hauled herself into the passenger seat without a word.

  “Sorry it took so long.” Alaska said. “Weaving through everyone wasn’t so easy. Everyone wanted to talk to me.”

  Sharon snorted derisively. “Must be nice. Can’t say I’ve ever had that problem.”

  “Be thankful,” Alaska tried to make light of Sharon’s negativity, still unsure of how to deal with her. “It’s exhausting.”

  “I’m sure it is.” Sharon replied. “But having friends is better than having no friends, surely. I mean, face it, you don’t deserve me.”

  Alaska recoiled. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

  “Oh, don’t get me wrong.” Sharon told her. “I know we argued earlier, but you’re still lovely and all that shit. I’m talking about how I’m the world’s biggest asshole and I look like the before picture. You could do better and you know it.”

  They lapsed into silence. Sharon had tried to sound nonchalant, if slightly disinterested, but she hadn’t succeeded. An atmosphere of awkwardness settled around them as it suddenly seemed far too clear that her words were laced with insecurity and hatred, rather than a punk defiance.

  Finally, Alaska managed, “I can’t believe you think that.”

  The car had come to a stop outside a house, which Sharon realized in the darkness was their house. Alaska parked but made no effort to get out of the car, letting the light come on and illuminate their over-tired faces.

  “Do you - do you really think I could do better?”

  Sharon frowned. “You think you couldn’t?”

  “No, I mean…” Alaska waved her away. “You don’t see…? God, Sharon, when I first saw you… other than lying unconscious in the road, I mean… the first thing I thought was that you were really beautiful. You don’t see that?”

  The compliment made Sharon feel strangely uncomfortable for reasons she didn’t understand. She squirmed slightly, sure she was blushing unattractively.

  “I can’t say I’ve ever been the prima donna.” She muttered. “Lousy job, lousy income, lousy life. I’m not exactly every woman’s dream.”

  Alaska looked deeply at her, genuine hurt visible in her doe-like eyes. How did she have the ability to look at Sharon like that? Nobody looked at her like that. She possessed a kind of gentleness and beauty that Sharon didn’t understand or recognise. She looked as if she was genuinely perplexed by the whole conversation, and Sharon was frustrated that she didn’t get why.

  “You don’t need to be every woman’s dream, Sharon. That’s impossible. You… You only have to be my dream woman.” Her voice was impossibly soft.

  Sharon looked away. “Don’t do this. Don’t pretend like I’m what you were fantasising about as a teenager. I know that’s not true. I’m not anybody’s dream woman, not even yours.”

  Alaska shook her head, somewhat defeated. “Come on. Let’s go inside.”

  They walked in silently, ignoring the awkwardness that had been created by their conversation. Sharon followed Alaska, still slightly unsure of the layout of her new home, praying she wouldn’t have to sleep in the very bedroom she had allowed herself to sob in earlier. Agreeing to the marriage was something - but sleeping in the same bed was another thing entirely.

  Sharon nearly melted with relief as Alaska opened the door to a bedroom she hadn’t seen before. “This is the spare room, you can stay here if you want.”

  It was small, but still a decent bit bigger than her old bedroom. In the centre of the room, Sharon recognised her old duvet and bedding, neatly laid out on the bed as if it had been there the whole time. Once again, she was touched by a gesture that seemed so small yet was so thoughtful. It seemed wrong that Alaska had been so kind. Sharon didn’t deserve any of her kindness.

  “I figured it would make you feel more at home.” Alaska smiled weakly. “Goodnight, Sharon.”

  Sharon nodded, unable to bring herself to say it back. Her first day as a married woman ended as it had begun - curled up in bed, desperately unhappy.

  -

  Sasha offered nothing but a friendly smile as Sharon took her seat at the desk, remembering their conversation from the previous workday. Under the law, Sharon was legally entitled two weeks away from work, in order to celebrate her new marriage and allow time for a honeymoon, should she choose to go down the traditional route of many. Perhaps a little childishly, in her attempt to prove that she was not happy about her marriage whatsoever, Sharon had set her alarm and headed into work purely to get away from her new home.

  “Hey, Sharon. How’s your weekend been?” She asked conversationally.

  Sharon scowled at her computer screen, irritated by the email notification that had just appeared. “It was okay. I fucking hate having emails first thing in the morning, don’t you?”

  Sasha laughed. “Definitely. Who is it?”

  Sharon clicked the little bubble.

  Sharon, Please come to Board Room 2A at 9.30am today for a meeting to discuss the changes to your monthly pay. If you are unavailable at this time, please reschedule as soon as possible.

Yours,

Agnes Moore

  “What…?” Sharon frowned, rereading the message. “It’s from Agnes. Apparently my wages are changing.”

  Sasha pulled a face. “A promotion, maybe? You deserve it!”

  “You’re probably the only person in this office who thinks that.” Sharon snorted, not missing how the office bitches were glaring at her from across the room. “Isn’t it crazy how you can get hit by a car and still receive less sympathy from your coworkers than they’d give a dead badger. I love working here.”

  Sasha giggled, far too used to Sharon’s grim sense of humour. “At least you have Agnes. She’s nice, it’s Trinity you want to worry about.”

  “Right,” Sharon agreed. “Well, I’ll let you know whether they’re firing me or not. This should be fun.”

  She ignored the stares of the others as she walked through the office, heading for the elevator. Despite her pessimistic attitude, a new kind of resolve had taken hold of Sharon overnight, and she felt the overwhelming urge to try and prove herself. After all, the reason she was in so much debt was owing to the fact that she had been to college in order to study her dream profession, and was working her way up to getting there. It didn’t matter that she had been an intern for so many years, silenced at every opportunity. With her freedoms outside of work suddenly limited, Sharon wanted to prove that she could make her way up on her own.

  An idea had struck her as she lay in bed that night, thinking too much about everything and nothing. If her bosses agreed to it, it could be the first step in the right direction - a small pay-off towards everything she had been working for. She’d lost her independence through her marriage and lost her passion for her cause through Bianca - she wasn’t going to lose this, too.

  Both Agnes and Trinity were seated at the table in the meeting room, watching her through the glass walls as she made her way towards them. Breathe, she told herself. You got this.

  “Ah, Mrs Needles.” Trinity welcomed her as she sat down. Sharon tried to suppress her wince at the title of Mrs. “So glad you could make it. We have a lot to discuss.”

  Sharon bit her tongue, forcing herself not to do anything rash. “We do?”

  “We do, surprisingly.” Agnes replied, her tone much warmer than Trinity’s. “We’re aware that over the weekend you got married, meaning you’re now entitled to the marriage bonus as well as an extra $15k per year. Any articles written will now be shared alongside the others on the company twitter as well as just on the website, guaranteeing they will reach a wider audience. We need to discuss your accounts and your position within this company before we grant these to you, however. There has been talk about promoting you to a proper journalist within the company.”

  Sharon’s mind was reeling, bombarded with too many facts at once. Marriage bonus? Extra pay? A promotion? She didn’t really know how to make sense of it, and continued to sit quietly, dumbly staring at her bosses across the table.

  Part of her wanted to laugh at their lack of tact. If promoted, she would be a ‘proper’ journalist. Of course, it hadn’t been just the others in her office that had viewed her as the help. She had been the coffee girl for longer than anticipated, and more so the coffee girl than the girl who wrote shitty articles about bland topics.

  “Okay…” She said finally, crossing her hands in her lap. “I’m willing to pretty much accept everything you say at face value, but I have to ask about this promotion. I’d like to know what has been holding me back for so long. I’ve been with this company for a while.”

  Agnes and Trinity exchanged a look.

  “Well, Sharon, as you know…” Trinity began, her voice cloyingly sweet. “We’re a company that express a multitude of opinions on a multitude of topics, and everything goes. However, as far as the ethos of the workplace goes, many people within the team felt as though you weren’t quite as experienced as those you work amongst. Of course now, with these new developments, you’re much more suited to the position.”

  Irritatingly, Trinity used so many pointless buzzwords that it took Sharon a while to figure out what she was actually saying. When she realized, however, she was sure she was wrong. If not, she needed to hold her tongue even more to keep back her rage.

  “I’m sorry, I don’t understand.” Sharon said, staring her dead in the eyes. “Are you saying I’ve been held from the position due to being unmarried?”

  Both of her bosses shifted uncomfortably. “It’s complex, you see,” Agnes tried. “Not all decisions are made by us, and some of those above feel that-”

  Sharon cut her off. “It’s a yes or no question. One word will do.”

  Trinity pursed her lips, clearly slightly pissed at the interruption. “Yes.”

  Sharon smiled widely. Spite, as she well knew, was an excellent motivator, and it would definitely work in her favour this time around. If she played the game right, things could go well for her.

  “No worries, I completely understand,” She said, with as much sincerity as she could muster. “Actually, I had an idea for an article that could be written as my first proper debut. I won’t give anything away, of course, but it’s the story that we never hear.”

  Agnes frowned. “What do you mean? We aim to please and intrigue our readers, not to put them off with something they don’t want.”

  Sharon shook her head. “No, that’s the beauty of it. It’s the story we’re not being told. No other company is publishing this story, which means we’ll stand it. Like it or hate it, people will want to read it because it’s new and it’s different. If you’re willing to agree to this promotion, I’ll write it.”

  It was too good of an offer to pass up, and Sharon knew it. With a handshake and the promise of a few more emails - oh joy - headed her way, she had sealed herself a promotion, a pay rise, and the chance to write an article that could potentially get her fired.

  It was a little more than thrilling.

  She was suspiciously chipper when she returned to her desk, prompting Sasha to grill her within an inch of her life about every detail of the meeting. Her friend had squealed with excitement, attracting the attention of the others.

  “I can’t believe they think you’re worth paying as much as us.” Pearl commented, her nose turned up at the very idea.

  Normally, Sharon kept her head down and her mouth shut to avoid trouble, but she simply couldn’t any longer. “Pearl, I can’t believe they think you’re worth paying.”

  The death glares were worth it. Sharon turned back to her computer, trying to suppress her laughter. Sasha had made no attempt to quieten hers, which wasn’t doing her any favours.

  Sharon felt a strange rush of adrenaline as she opened up her document, tentatively trialling a headline. It could be changed, of course - everything she wrote would be heavily revised and edited to ensure that it was perfect, but it was a good start. Whether or not her bosses liked it, she would soon find out.

  In bold letters, the blazing headline, “Protesting Marriage Laws - The Story You Don’t Want To Hear” stared back at her. It would be a controversial one, for sure. But she was Sharon motherfucking Needles, and she had never shied away from a controversy before. There was no reason to start now.

  That’s right. I’m the protagonist of this jumbled up mess you are about to see. Or the antagonist, if you prefer. I present to you, the story that you don’t want to read.

[ecotone99]

[RF] Grandpa

** This is a long submission. It is incomplete and a work in progress. I suspect it will end up being about 7000 words when complete. This is by far the most complex short story I have attempted, and includes a number of sub plots and the most characters I have tried to use at once. Some of it is very much based in my real world experiences, with characters based on real people and family members. This story is therapeutic to write and deeply personal. Having said that, I REALLY want feedback on it.

As it is a long story, I will be forever grateful to anybody willing to read it in its (current) entirety and offer me feedback and their thoughts. There are bits I am super happy with, and bits I don't like at all. In case anybody has read any of my stories before (I have deleted the ones I have posted in the past I think), the third part of this story has already made an appearance on here before. After writing it, I decided to turn it into a much larger story, particularly utilising feedback from another member. Super thankful to this community for being such a constructive group!

I will of course return the feedback favour. Thank you. **

​

“It’s okay, Lis,” Jordan said, keeping his eyes planted firmly on his wife. “We’ll figure it out.” What he couldn’t tell her was that he didn’t believe it himself. His stomach churned at the thought of burdening her with such pain. So, he lied with his eyes; begging her to heed his words.

“I know,” Lisa said.

“Just think good thoughts. We’ll get there.” Jordan reached out and took his wife’s hand, squeezing. They were cold; lonely. Her thumb nails were chewed and uneven, the result of an old, nervous tick rearing its head. All he wanted was to reassure her; make her believe it would all work out. He never intended to be the source of her pain, in fact, it was supposed to be his role to comfort her; to protect her. He was supposed to bring her joy, but lately that seemed to be the one thing he couldn’t do.

“I’m just scared that when I get the test, it’ll be bad news.” Lisa looked at Jordan. The creases around the edges of her eyes were deeper than usual and her nose was red. This had become a regular occurrence, but Jordan wasn’t desensitized. If anything, the more he saw her cry, the more it broke his heart.

“What if they say never?” she asked. “What will we do then?”

Jordan’s insides screamed. It took everything he had not to throw a dining room chair across the room and into the mirror. He wanted to watch it shatter into millions of pieces and scatter across the room so that he could walk on the broken glass. It seemed like the only thing painful enough to distract him from reality. Staring into Lisa’s eyes, he felt his mouth hanging open, unable to speak. Words seemed suddenly unattainable, blurry and just out of reach. Then, the phone rang.

Jordan looked down to see his mobile vibrating on the table. The caller ID read: Dad. He saw his chance to escape the conversation and gave Lisa an apologetic smile. She nodded, giving him the okay to answer and squeezed his hand before leaving the table and disappearing into the kitchen. Jordan collected the phone, swiped the green button to the left and lifted it to his ear. “Hey, Martin,” he said, hoping his dad would take the bait.

“Don’t call me that.” His dad’s voice was uneven; rough. There was no banter, no jokes. It wasn’t right.

“Sorry, Dad. What’s up?”

“Matey, it’s Grandpa.”

Jordan furrowed his brow and inhaled before responding. “What about him?”

“He’s not okay. Cancer.” For the second time in two minutes, Jordan found himself lost for words. It didn’t make any sense, he thought. His dad always used to say his grandpa was fit as a fiddle made of steel. The man ate germ meal and steamed broccoli for breakfast, lunch and dinner. It didn’t make sense.

“He’s having an operation to remove a large tumour from his brain,” his dad continued. “We should visit him before he goes in.”

“Yeah, of course.” Jordan stuttered through his response. “When?”

“Tomorrow. I’ll see you and your brother at four o’clock outside the Wesley.”

“Do you need me to call Kurt?”

“No. It’s done.”

“Right. See you tomorrow.”

“Bye, matey.”

The phone disconnected and Jordan stood in stunned silence. The world felt quieter; less chaotic. But, much darker. His grandpa was lively and charismatic in his old age; the life of the party. That image immediately began to fade, only to be replaced with hollow stillness.

“What was that?” Lisa called from the kitchen.

“That was Dad.” Jordan tried to swallow the lump in his throat, but it only seemed to get larger. “Grandpa’s sick. You’ll have to get the test on your own tomorrow.”

Lisa reappeared from the kitchen. “Is it serious?”

Jordan turned to look at her and nodded slowly.

​

***

​

Outside the Wesley Hospital, Jordan watched his brother take a long draw from his cigarette. Clamping it between his fore and middle fingers, he pinched his eyebrows together in what looked like intense concentration, before blowing out the smoke and gazing into the distance. It was funny, Jordan thought, how all smokers seemed to suck on their cigarette in exactly the same way.

“So, cancer,” Kurt said, “that’s shit.”

Jordan frowned and let out a small chuckle. His brother always had a knack for thoughtless thoughtfulness. It was charming in a way. Reminded Jordan of the beauty to be found in simplicity.

“Yeah. It’s shit,” he agreed.

Jordan had always found it difficult to talk with his brother. An ocean of difference separated them, often too expansive to swim and too murky navigate. Kurt had always been into heavy metal and horror movies, while Jordan was more interested in sport and politics. They were brothers, but they’d never really been friends. Of course, it hadn’t helped that, growing up, they fought like brothers.

Jordan had always been good at poking the bear, like the time he found one of Kurt’s cigarette filters on the floor of the living room and, even though he knew exactly what it was, decided it best to pretend otherwise and show it to their mum. Jordan marvelled at his own genius that night, taking great pleasure in his brother’s admonishment and indefinite grounding. The look in his mum’s eyes had always stuck with him, though, as he was sure it had with Kurt. Looking into them was like being pulled into a black hole, lost forever within an expansive and ever painful nothing. He’d thought it best to make sure those eyes were never directed at him.

But, like any self-respecting older brother, Kurt would reciprocate to Jordan’s provocation. One time, after Jordan had stolen his Play Station controller, Kurt chased him under the house and guarded the only exit with an enormous stick. Too scared to get close and too stupid to apologise, Jordan had cowered in the corner of the room until their mother had gotten home. Thinking he was finally saved; Jordan screamed for his mother at the top of his lungs. Ironically, it was then that he faced that which he’d feared so much.

They were both grounded.

A stiff breeze forced Jordan’s hands into his jean pockets. Looking at Kurt, he was both jealous and impressed by his brother’s ability to ignore the cold. There they were, standing in ten-degree weather, and Kurt was wearing a black tank top and cargo shorts, tapping his foot to an imaginary beat as he smoked his Winny Blue. His nonchalance was awe-inspiring.

“So, how’s up north?” Jordan asked, hoping to break the uncomfortable silence.

“It’s fine,” Kurt said, taking another draw from his cigarette. “Hot. Sticky. My air-con’s shit.”

“That sucks.”

“Oath. Mining work’s tough too – two weeks on, two off. I can never quite get settled.”

“Sorry to hear, man. I’d hate that.” Jordan scrambled for another discussion point. “How’d you get down so quick? Dad only called me yesterday afternoon.”

“He got onto me about ten in the morn’ yesterday. I flew down early today. Had lunch in the city.” Kurt took one final draw from his cigarette before dropping it to the cracked pavement and stomping it out. Then, without pause, he pulled the pack from his back pocket and lit another. “How about you?” he asked, “How’s Lisa?”

Jordan gave his brother a quick smile, doing his best to mask his apprehension toward the topic. “Yeah, she’s good. We’re good.” Kurt looked at him as if to say, that was convincing.

“Good to hear, mate. Did you know about Grandpa?”

Jordan was glad his brother had moved on. “Nah. Didn’t even know he was sick. You reckon Dad’s known for long?”

Kurt took his last draw from his cigarette, dropped it to the pavement next to his first, and stamped it out.

“We can ask him ourselves. Here he is.” He motioned behind Jordan.

Their father walked towards them. His posture was slouched, and he had dark circles under his eyes. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days. His hollow smile was worn thin and a five o’clock shadow painted his jaw in grey. It looked wrong; incorrect. Martin Alexander was a man of rigid, unwavering routine. Every morning he got up at six, brushed, shaved and showered in that order. He ate the same breakfast every day; one whole orange, sliced in half, one cup of coffee and two slices of wholemeal bread with vegemite. Whenever he left the house, he had to check that all the windows were closed, all the power points turned off and every door was locked. Twice. The man was like a machine. Programmed to perform the same tasks in the same ways every day. Seeing just one of these routines broken made Jordan feel uneasy. Martin Alexander with facial hair didn’t look like Martin Alexander; rather he looked like Bizarro Martin. Dark Martin. Martin from another world. Another reality. A reality Jordan didn’t want to know about because it was obviously darker than this one.

“Hello, boys,” Martin said as he approached. The brothers glanced at one another before hugging him.

“He’ll be right, you know,” Martin said.

Jordan and Kurt looked at each other and grimaced. “Yeah, Dad. We know,” Jordan said, placing his hand on his father’s shoulder, and giving it a light squeeze.

“He’s got a lot of life left in him,” Martin continued.

“That he does,” Kurt said.

“He’ll have the surgery and be-” Martin paused and looked past his children’s heads, avoiding eye contact, but refusing to cry. He continued, “He’ll-”

Jordan interjected, “Dad. We-”

“He’ll be up and at ‘em again soon. I’ll make sure of it.”

Jordan watched as his dad tried desperately to control the uncontrollable. He’d always been like that – determined to keep everything in order. Like a marching band. Organised and predictable. Most of the time he was successful, but Jordan sensed that today would slip through his fingers.

“Dad,” Jordan said. Martin turned to look at his son in the eyes. “We know. Let’s go in.”

​

***

​

The room was white; oppressive; sterile. Jordan hated it. The walls were pristine; not because they'd been prepared for visitors, but because they'd been meticulously cleaned with bleach - or some other nauseating chemical - time and again. He could smell it in the air. Their sheen was a sombre reminder of what happened there week-in and week-out. People went there to die.

The sun spilled through the small window and into the dark room, trying desperately to remind everybody the world outside was still bright. Dust danced through the light and, presumably, settled across the room, decorating it in filth. Jordan chuckled to himself. It was ironic, he thought. A place kept so diligently clean was still unable to escape dust.

Martin was standing next to him with his head down and his eyes closed. His arms were a straitjacket across his chest, folded so tightly, it looked as though he was struggling to breathe. Kurt was by the window, reading some medical poster that was hung on the wall. It outlined the circulatory system or the lymphatic system or some system. He was still tapping his foot to an imaginary beat.

A cough from behind them disturbed the solemn silence, and they all turned in unison to stare at the bathroom door.

"You okay in there?" Martin called; arms still locked. There was no reply. "Dad?" He tried again. "You okay?" He looked at his sons, frowned, and exhaled.

"Be right out, mate," Grandpa called. His voice was hollow. Sick. but still full of unrestrained enthusiasm. "Just dealin' with the toot!"

Jordan put his hand to his mouth to stifle a laugh and turned to look at his dad. A smile was haphazardly scrawled across Martin’s face and he was slowly shaking his head back and forth. "That's Dad," he said and shrugged.

“He used to call me Kurtle.” Jordan look at his brother, his eyebrows raised, imploring him to continue. “You know, like a turtle.”

“You loved them as a kid,” Martin said, shifting his weight on the spot.

“Yeah. Still do. None up north, though.”

“Not even in the desert sand?” Jordan asked, his tone sarcastic and his smile exaggerated.

“Nah, too dry,: Kurt said, straight faced, before turning back to his poster.

Without warning, the bathroom door flew open and a frail eighty-two-year-old walked out in a blue hospital gown. His grey cheeks and thinning hair were juxtaposed against his wild smile and starry eyes.

“Check it out fellas, they’ve got me in a bloody nappy!” Grandpa shrieked.

With no other warning, he yanked up his gown to reveal a large, white adult nappy.

Jordan’s eyes widened and, unable to contain his laughter, he turned away from his grandpa to look at his dad.

Equally amused, but twice as embarrassed, Martin protested, "Jesus, Dad! Put your gown down." His arms unlocked and he waved them in front of him, as if to say we don't need to see that!

Jordan looked back at his grandpa. Martin Senior couldn't have given two shits, wiggling his hips from side to side in some kind of dance. His eyes were wide and mischievous and the wrinkles on his face creased as he smiled. Even in the face of death, their grandpa was full of life. It pained Jordan to think that he couldn't remember if he'd always been this way; if he'd always been such a kid. He hung his head, unable to recall when he’d last spent meaningful time with his grandpa.

He cast his mind back as far as he could reach, but all he was able to pluck from the ocean of memories, were a few sporadic moments in which he’d ignored the man who only wanted to know him, in favour of video games, alcohol, and anything else.

Jordan made his way to a chair in the corner of the hospital room and sat down. On the periphery of his vision, his dad struggled with his grandpa, fighting to get his gown down, with Kurt watching from the sidelines offering unhelpful commentary and egging his grandpa on.

Jordan exhaled, pushing what remaining life was left in him out into nothingness. He could feel his muscles growing weak and his eyes becoming increasingly heavy as tears welled. The world wrapped its icy tendrils around him, pulling him in for the kill. His head pounded as it played over every moment he'd missed to actually get to know the man standing just a few feet away.

“Alright, Dad. Now just sit there, will you?”

Jordan looked up. His dad had managed to convince his grandpa to sit down. Studying the bed, Jordan noticed a small jug attached to its side about half-filled with yellow liquid; urine. A plastic tube hung loose; disconnected. The catheter was yet another visual reminder that, even though the nappy was funny, and it was good to see him laugh, his grandpa was in a world of pain.

“Will you stop fussing over me?” his grandpa said. “I get enough of that shit here as it is.”

Martin looked unimpressed. “Dad, this is serious. You need to be careful and look after yourself before the surgery.” Jordan watched his grandpa shoo his dad’s concerns away like they were nothing. This, of course, bothered Martin to no end. He did little to hide it.

“Kurt, mate,” Grandpa began, “how’s up north?”

Kurt began to answer him, but Martin interrupted. “Have you thought about accommodation when you come out, Dad?”

“Jen’s set the basement up.”

“What about care?”

“I don’t need it. I’m fine.”

“Dad, look, you need t-”

“Dad,” Jordan interjected. “Calm down. Leave it be.” He looked directly into Martin’s eyes. They were wet and red, ready to burst. You can’t control this, he thought, trying to telepathically communicate the sentiment to his dad. Just leave it.

And for a second, he thought he’d been successful in communicating his message as Martin’s expression appeared to soften. For a second Jordan thought that maybe his father might accept that he was unable to control just one thing. Then his phone rang, breaking their telepathic connection and breaking Martin free from his calm.

Jordan looked at his phone. Lisa was calling. He felt immediately guilty that he’d forgotten where she was. What she was doing. Without him.

Sighing, he said, “I’ve gotta take this.”

As he left the room, Jordan heard his father’s berating continue and he shook his head to himself.

Jordan closed the door. He looked in both directions, making sure nobody else was in the hall. Nothing but still silence. He didn’t really know why he had to be alone to take this, but for some reason, the notion of a stranger hearing potentially life changing news felt like a violation. Looking down at his phone, he took in a deep breath and answered.

“Hey, Lis. What’s the go?”

Nothing.

“Lis?” He could hear muffled sobbing on the other end of the line and his heart dropped. He tried again. “Lisa?”

“I don’t know.” The words spilled out her messily.

Jordan softened, “So, why the crying?”

“I’ve just got a feeling, Jord.” She took a deep breath and phone fell silent once again.

“Lisa, are you there?”

“Yes.”

“What feeling?”

“Jordan-” She took another breath. “-what if we never get pregnant?”

​

- TO BE CONTINUED -

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