#the casings and shoes are painted while the stripes are like glass windows

[south-sea]

what flavor of shadow android you want? we got natural, banana, ocean breeze, mint, four-leaf clover, lavender, and clear, clear's a color too

trying to decide which version i like the most for the au, the yellow one was the initial idea. he was like a squadron leader of a bunch of other normal-colored ones

[arthurtristankingsmen]

The bed was cold.

It took several minutes to drift from her exhausted slumber, but it was the first thing she noticed, even before her eyes opened. There was always a hand curled over her side that held her close, always the warmth of a body behind her, and always soft, equally warm breaths that tickled her neck while she slept. The absence of that presence, of that face buried in her hair nuzzled close, was jarring. It was enough to wake her, even after a night of overwork to ensure a dreamless, deep sleep.

Her eyes creaked open slow. They were gummed shut, and it took a few brushes with the heel of her palm to clear away the fuzz they left on her vision. She squinted at the digital clock on the nightstand beside her; the face read three twenty in the morning.

Joints protesting her movement, she grunted and turned over. The bed was empty, sheets and blankets disheveled where a body should have been, a space vacant where legs should have tangled with hers. She kicked the covers off and away, only half aware of them falling from the mattress to pool on the floor.

Wiping at her face again to further dispel the fatigue, Mrs. Pepper sat up.

The bedroom was still nestled in muted colors this early in the morning, most of the pinks and purples drained to a motley of greys. The alarm clock’s fluorescent numbers (it now read three twenty-five) helped dispel some of the darkness near the bed. The rest of the room was illuminated by thin, slatted beams of moonlight filtering through the blinds over the windows. They reflected off the glass panes of photo frames hanging on the opposite wall, the glare hiding their contents. Most of the little decorations and knickknacks in the room, gifts from her children over the years, were rendered to silhouettes.

She was alone.

There were signs she hadn’t been, now that she looked. Some of the bric-a-brac had been adjusted; the shadows cast by the objects made it hard to tell, but for a few changes were obvious. She could see the lid of the music box had been opened. Could tell the angle of her favorite figurine --one of her family— was different than it was when she saw it each morning. Any cobwebs strung from it had been dusted away, too.

A few of the photo frames had been adjusted too, straightened so perfect they looked strange, no longer at their usual tilt they’d get to fixing when they had time. On the door to the wardrobe across the room, her uniform hung where it had been left after work. The fabric was crisp now, every wrinkle ironed away, and her work-shoes were angled against the wood just under it.

She continued to scan the room, but a frown graced her face, growing deeper every second; the shadows felt darker, deeper, and the silence crept at her skin like the cold did.

Frown more a grimace now, she slipped from the bed and trudged from the room.

Her eyes flicked to the furthest door along the corridor. But the door was the sun, and she looked away quick to keep from going blind. She bit her lip and shook her head, before focusing on the nearest one.

Her husband wasn’t in the bathroom. She would have heard the water running or the hum of the fluorescent bulb over the sink. Or she would have seen the stripe of light beneath the door. He wasn’t in the guest room either; she could see the untouched bed, pristine as ever. If anything, he had made it again.

She checked the girls’ room next, one by one. They’d had enough nightmares since their brother had vanished, waking up in tears screaming for—

…

Well.

He wasn’t here to answer them right now (it had to be right now. It had to be temporary), but she and her husband did their best to offer them comfort. They curled their children close, stroking their hair and kissing their foreheads and their tears away, promising their brother would come home and rocking them until they drifted off again.

But tonight seemed to be a welcome respite from the nightmares. Each of the girls were the only occupants in their rooms, breathing slow and even as they slept. They each wore their own peaceful expression smoothed by sleep, wreathed in their blankets with halos of curled hair consuming their pillows. It brought a smile to her face to see them resting; to see them breathing. To see them okay, even if right now okay was fleeting.

With that small affection in her chest, she tucked a hanging leg from Belle under her horse-print comforter, smoothed the hair away from Cayenne’s forehead, and recovered the alpaca plush Paprika clung to while sleeping from where it had fallen to the floor. When she was sure she’d done what she could for each of her daughters, she graced their temples with the softest kiss, and crept from their room.

But she still had yet to find her husband. He was probably…

Please. Let him be anywhere else.

The carpet audibly swished under her feet as she shuffled along. Where the hall gave way to the stairwell, the carpet turned to floorboards that creaked faintly under the occasional careless step. She kept one hand tucked against her chest and the other on the railing as she leaned over and listened.

Downstairs, the TV was off, which meant he wasn’t in the living room. The light to the study didn’t filter into view either, which meant he wasn’t in there, busying himself with reading books or with his paints and the canvases. And the resounding silence from the kitchen meant he hadn’t decided to occupy himself with busywork, either.

Which left one more room. Of course. She’d known. She just wanted to be wrong.

Her hands shook, but she clasped them together until they didn’t. She swallowed, took enough breaths to slow her heart, and approached the last door in the hallway.

She hardly felt the cold of the knob against her skin. The door swung open silently into the dark room, revealing the mat at the door. A square rug depicting eleven planetary symbols, each in a different color on a black background. Stars hung from the ceiling where they’d been strung up, no longer aglow. The thick curtains over the windows hadn’t been opened to recharge them in months.

There was a form on the bed.

She knew who it was. She knew. But her heart still leapt into her throat until she swallowed it.

Mrs. Pepper drifted over to him, keeping her eyes away from the bookshelves of memories and the dresser armored in stickers. He was laying still, on top of the covers, curled up small as she’d ever seen him. In his hands was a photo-book. She recognized the cover as one of—.

“Mi vida?”

The form shifted at her whisper. Mr. Pepper looked to his wife with glass eyes reflecting the hallway’s light and sparkles sideways on his cheek. “Jagi… Did I wake you?”

“No…” His face said he knew she was lying, but he didn’t protest. “What are you doing awake, amor?”

His fingers crested the cover of the book, finding the ridge of the photo glued on. “I dreamed about him again…”

She seated herself beside him, her hand coasting his on the book, to keep his itching fingers from peeling off the snapshot. To keep herself from seeing his face. Her fingers over the lamination felt like needles. “I’m sorry.”

“I miss him.” He whispered, turning further into her. He abandoned the book to the bed, arms curling around her waist instead. “….Did we fail him? Could we have done better to keep him safe?”

“He is an adult.” She soothed, fingers running through his hair. “We loved him everything we have. We still do. But we...” She swallowed. “...we couldn’t protect him from everything. Not forever.”

“We should be out looking for him.”

“We were told to stay here, in case he comes home. Arthur and Vivi are looking for him.”

Mr. Pepper shook his head in a violent roll against her lap. “Vivi doesn’t even know who he is—Arthur is barely recovered and he’s killing himself. Our children are hurting—our son is missing— and we just sit here and wait.” His voice carried a force his volume didn’t; the girls were sleeping only doors away.

“What should we do?” She asked it with a stern voice, but not one with any heat. “Arthur and Vivi at least know what they are doing. Vivi is far more useful in a fight than you or I will ever hope to be. Arthur is good at maneuvering. The two of them protect each other. And they have Mystery. If something goes wrong for us, we don’t have any of those things. Our daughters would have to mourn alone. Without us.” Maybe hoping they’d come home too.

Her husband made a pained sound. A muted cry into her sleeping pants. She felt the pain echo inside her and bounce off every corner.

She took a deep breath, then nudged him. He complied easily, and after a brief moment of sliding the scrapbook to the nightstand, Mrs. Pepper joined her husband in the bed, laying beside him and facing him. Her legs tangled with his and she cupped his cheeks, framing his face with slender fingers. “Mi vida. I’m... I’m sorry. I wish I had better words. Something to fix this. I know you’re hurting…”

Mr. Pepper sniffed, a warbly, wet noise. He reciprocated her touch, fingers gliding over her cheeks and leaving warm trails in their wake. “…I know you are too….I… I’m sorry. I know you miss him. You can’t even say his name…”

Mrs. Pepper swallowed the thickness burning in her throat. “It…it’s easier.”

“Why…?”

“If…If I think about him. I… can’t be strong enough. I’m not strong enough to say his name.” Mrs. Pepper felt the warmth building in her chest. Her eyes were stinging and her throat tightened with each swallow. “You need me. The girls need me. I can’t.”

Mr. Pepper stole himself closer with a shift, looking into her eyes, still teary but a firmness to his expression she didn’t expect. “You don’t have to be strong…. You don’t have to carry us. Jagi, tell me your thoughts. Please.”

The please cracked something she’d hidden beneath a shell, breaking it away like a spoon to tempered chocolate. Her eyes welled further as she looked at her husband, and the breath she took was ragged. “We… we wanted him to be safe, but choose his own way…. He’s an adult. He needed to make his own choices and if he got hurt we could be there if he stumbled and fell, to help him back up. But we would let him make his mistakes his own way and try to help as much as we could. But this one….. I--- I ……”

She buried her face in his shoulder, hands going to his back beneath his arms. “I—why did I let him go?!” She cried into him louder than she thought she had in her, the sound muffled by fabric. The heat in her chest was pouring out her mouth, and she screwed her eyes shut as they watered and burned. “I can’t—I—I’m so angry— why didn’t I tell him it was too dangerous?! What if he doesn’t come home?! What will we do? I don’t care about the restaurant. I don’t care about keeping things going. Every day is working until I can’t think just so I don’t think about him—about where he is and if he’s alone or safe or if he’s even alive—.”

She felt his arms around her, felt herself curled against his chest and the hand in her hair, pressing through the coils to cup her scalp. But it was all so far away, the sensations shapeless, behind glass. “How am I supposed to pretend every time someone asks? Knowing I’m without my son? How are we supposed to live day to day and say everything is fine? How do I say thank you to all those condolences that don’t bring him back!? How do I listen to them?! How do I smile?! How do we tell the girls? How are we supposed to survive if he doesn’t come home?”

It didn’t feel possible. Her heart would break too small to beat. “I just want him home. I want to hold my baby and know he’s here and safe. I want to never let him go again. I want to hear him sing. I want to hear him laugh with his friends at the table in the other room. I want to hear him call me Mamá. I want to hear him talk about Vivi and Arthur and see his eyes so full of love! I want him. I want him back! I would do anything in the world please mijo—please Lewis just come home--.” Her voice continued, but it was a thrumming vibration. The snatches she caught were blended into nothing. She wasn’t even sure what she was trying to say. 

But what was there she could say? She knew he understood more than anyone. And there were no words for this kind of unknowing agony, waiting for better or for worse.

But she could feel Mr. Pepper’s arms squeeze around her, holding her closer and closer. She heard soft murmurings by her ear and felt warm hands along her back, tracing over her spine.

It didn’t make her feel better, didn’t take away the pain, but it helped her breathe. She was half aware when she’d stopped speaking, and the hand in her hair was now at her face, wiping at her eyes. She kept sobbing until there wasn’t air to cry with, until she was dry and used up, everything wrung from her.

“I... I think you needed that.” Mr. Pepper whispered, when she’d stopped shaking and laid limp against him. He kissed at another tear that’d come loose and rolled down to the bridge of her nose. “How do you feel…..?”

“Awful.” Mrs. Pepper swiped at her face. “But… I don’t know. Better. As better as I can feel with everything.”

“You’ve been helping us for months.” Mr. Pepper frowned and took her hand away, keeping her from continuing the rough movements. “The girls. Me… I… I’ve been selfish. Hurting, but selfish. For not seeing if you needed help too. I should’ve knowing it was a brave front for us. You needed support too. An outlet. But I focused on me.”

Mrs. Pepper shook her head. “We’ve all been trying to survive this, however we could. I don’t blame you. We’ve all been...” She didn’t want to say grieving. But it hung in the air unsaid.

He nodded. “I’ll still do better. I’ll still hold you like you hold me.”

She smiled at that. A tired one, but a smile. “I… what are we going to do, amor…?”

Mr. Pepper shook his head. “I… don’t know. Hope for the best, until we can’t. What you’ve told me. We’ll put up more posters. We’ll call further out places for information….we’ll keep our phones charged. So if Arthur or someone else calls, we can be there, the second they find him.”

Mrs. Pepper sniffed and nodded, wiping at her face again. “We’ll keep a candle in the window. Every night.”

“That too.” Mr. Pepper kissed her forehead. “Just like when he found us the first time. The light will lead him home.”

Mrs. Pepper made a noise of agreement, and felt the smallest of smiles when her husband wiped her eyes, thumb stroking over her cheeks. “Thank you.. Thank you. For-- listening. I love you, mi vida.”

“I love you too.” He whispered back. He kissed her gently, their lips drawing together in a brief moment of comfort, a respite for a beat from the rest of the world. It didn’t’ fix anything, but it was something to hold onto for now. Being alone together wasn’t as lonely.

“Do you want to rest now…?” He asked her when the kiss parted. She shook her head.

“I don’t want to dream. I don’t want to sleep.” She grabbed his hand. “But I—I want to stay together a little while.”

“We can do that.” Mr. Pepper nodded. “Here…?”

She shook her head. “No. I… not here.” She was too emotional already. She would break again if she stayed in his room, surrounded by his things but knowing he was gone.

Mr. Pepper didn’t answer, but he gave her another soft kiss. “Our room, then.” He moved to get up, and she followed, grunting and brushing back frazzled hair.

Her eyes drifted to the album, where it rested on the nightstand. She plucked it from its resting place, cradling it to her chest. “Look at these with me…? Not tonight. But….”

Mr. Pepper took her hand. “We can. When you’re ready. I—I’d like to see him again.”

“I would too….” She breathed, squeezing back. “Maybe… maybe with the girls.”

“We could make a collage for the restaurant.” Mr. Pepper offered. “He might like to see that, when he comes back. Seeing we didn’t forget him. And it might help them to feel we’re all going through this together.”

Mrs. Pepper felt like her voice might betray her, the way her throat sealed with a swallow. She nodded her agreement once more and kissed his hand. She followed her husband into the hall, linked together and holding tight. “For when he comes back...”

She had to hold on to the thought. That Vivi or Arthur or someone would find him. He would be okay.

He had to be, or she didn’t know what she’d do.

[soft-for-them]

a cup of tea for the handsome man ♡ geordi la forge x reader

anon: OKAY concept: Geordi had a failed valentines date, and reader (who crushes hard) is like “bruh hang out with MEEE” a la Taylor swifts “you belong with me”

gender neutral reader, geordi ain’t straight,

gif doesn’t really match but it’s cute ok! not proof read.

‘Maybe you can accompany my friend Geordi La Forge today.’ Data bluntly asks as you both walk down a stone covered street.

‘Data, I swear to the stars, stop!’ you whine to your android friend who currently still wears his yellow dress uniform despite it being shore leave.

‘I am only asking because Geordi seems to be by himself.’ Data holds up the cat carrier that he holds, wiggling his finger to Spot, ‘Please calm down Spot.’

You are Lieutenant (Y/n) (l/n), though most people call you (y/n) and ever since you have met Data you have both been found friends. You are interested in robotics and androids, so the friendship came naturally.

However, Data doesn’t have many out of work friends. He mostly hangs around you, Spot and a very handsome man by the name of Geordi La Forge.

‘Just because I’m your friend does not mean I’m automatically his, Data.’ You tug at the draw strings of your oversized hoodie straighten the out strings.

‘Yes, but you are technically mutuals for you both have me as your friend.’ Data looks at you with a blank stare, ‘And you are normally alone so you need another friend.’

If you haven’t been friends with the yellow tinted man then you would have told him off.

It is somewhat true; you do spend a lot of time in engineering and most of your really good friends are stationed on different ships. But you want to spend you shore leave on earth doing something fun, not awkwardly trying to befriend Geordi La Forge, a man you have fancied for quite a while.

If Data has some more common sense the he would see your heart eyes towards his dear friend but he doesn’t; all he sees is a hermit engineer who needs a buddy whilst Data isn’t around.

‘Data, why has this come on? I’m alone most of the time!’ you have plans and it doesn’t involve trying not to out your crush to a clueless Geordi or Data.

‘I just do not want my friends be lonely.’

Data’s eyebrows frown as you two stop in front of a veterinary practice.

‘Just because me and Geordi will be alone when you take Spot to get her check-up doesn’t mean we will be lonely.’

‘But you will both be alone.’ he deliberates.

‘We will be fine Data.’ You place a hand on your friend’s arm, ‘If you want, we can all meet up after Spot’s check up and I can officially meet Geordi, ok?’

‘I would like that very much (y/n).’ Data sincerely smiles.

He nods his head and then walks into the small vets.

 You shake you head in amusement at your dear friend’s worry as you begin walking down the street.

‘Data, data, data.’ You think with an amused smile blooming on your face.

For about ten minutes you wonder the streets aimlessly, looking at the plants that grown up the shop fronts and the old Roman roads. Benches are in the middle of the ‘roads’ that are really used for pedestrians to walk on, tram cars sliding by the painting like scenery.

Whilst wondering a small alleyway catches your eyes.

It’s not a dingy alleyway with bins and a dead end but it’s actually a little nook filled with cafes and small hobby shops.

Looking both ways you walk across the street into the alley, every bump of the pathway felt even in you tick soled trainers.

Passing a few shops your eyes land on a small round of metal tables, some filled with people, outside a small two-story café.

You walk in, a heartly woman automatically greeting you from the counter at the back. The place is very small and thin but it does not feel claustrophobic. There is a cottage core vibe to it, the place lit up by the huge widows at the front and the fairy lights shaped like hearts.

The downstairs seems to be the place to order food and drink, a peak of a small kitchen at the back can be seen from an open door past the counter.

‘Um hello.’ You say back to the woman whilst you wipe your feet on the welcome mat, ‘What’s good here?’

‘Well first are you allergic to anything my dear?’

You answer the question and tell the woman what kind of tea you like.

‘Well because today is Valentine’s day, we have our cake special that I think is perfect for you!’

You look at the slice of cake the woman points at in the little display case.

‘It’s freshly baked, I made it just this morning!’

‘Yeah, sure, it looks nice. I’ll have a slice.’ You need to indulge yourself every now and then.

She slides a cup of your favourite tea and a slice of cake to you. You pay with you card, leaving a good tip.

‘The upstairs is the best place sit.’ She says as you take your plate and cup.

 With a nod you ascend the steps to the upstairs to see the prettiest room you’ve ever seen.

The room’s roof is a giant glass window and there is many potted plants that look like they’re growing up the walls. Tables are littered around, each one with a different flower on it, some customers are using the built in holo computer screens.

You find a small two four person table near the back and you sit down breathing in the faint smell of pollen that doesn’t actually tickle your nose into a sneeze.

‘Hum, could be fake plants?’ you think as you take a sip of your tea.

.

.

For a while you just eat and browse the holo screen at your table, emersed and doom scrolling through blogs about robotics.

You had sent a message to Data telling him where you are and telling him to come here when he was done with Spot’s check up.

It must have been half an hour at staring at the screen. You had finished the pink decorated cake and your tea was almost done as well.

With achy eyes you peer up and look around the room.

There seems to be the same people albeit a couple new faces.

In on corner to your right is a mother with her child who you hadn’t noticed, an older person sits clicking on old keyboard laptop and a new younger man sits waiting next to the giant window overlooking the alleyway.

Even though this man is far away you can tell that he’s a good looking man. Said person wears a short sleeve patterned button down reminiscent of the 1990’s, the blues stripes bold against the cottage core interior of the café. The shirt is tucked into some brown slacks, that are rolled up at the bottom and held up by a shiny black belt. Block coloured peek out from his trousers and equally shiny black shoes.

If you would try to pull off such a vintage outfit but all you ever wear is your work uniform or oversized hoodies, making you look like a in debt college student. Right now you look like a in debt college student in your Starfleet branded hoodie and shorts that are comfy but childish in colour scheme.

‘I bet this café attracts all the fashionable types.’ You think sipping the last of your tea only to spit out in surprise.

The man in the retro shirt turns around only to reveal a very familiar yellow and silver visor.

‘Fuck, he’s even more good looking!’ your mind becomes scrambled, ‘Was he always there? Does he know I’m here? Should I go over and say hi?’

Your eyes stay on Geordi as he keeps on peering out of the big window, him looking like he’s waiting for someone.

‘Maybe he’s waiting for Data?’ it’s a logical assumption that Data told him to meet him in the café you are in. A check up for a cat doesn’t take that long right?

 You leave you cup and plate on you table and start to edge your way over to the handsome man.

You’re not sure if what you’re doing is right but you step next to his table, with a big smile on your face and hand raised up in a too enthusiastic wave.

‘Geordi La Forge, right?

Geordi’s snaps up to yours, his face looks slightly confused in that puppy kid of way.

‘Sorry, I’m (y/n), Data’s friend.’ you stop waving so you don’t look so odd, ‘Um, I saw you here and wanted to say that Data will be coming here after Spot’s vet appointment. Sooooo, if you want to join, my table is free.’

Whilst you happily talk Geordi’s face morphs into a sweet smile. You quickly look down to his two person table to see to sets of cups and two slices of heart themed cupcakes, clearly for another half.

‘Though you don’t have too if you have plans.’

‘He talks about you a lot.’ Geordi declares, ‘Too much sometimes.’

‘Well I am a brilliant person.’ you lean against the window trying to look cool but the hoodie you drown in just makes you look dishevelled.

There is an awkward pause before you just stop leaning as start walking away.

‘I see you might be busy, so I’m over here-‘ you point over to your table, ‘-yeah.’

With some more muttered pleasantries you shuffle back to your table hoping tha he doesn’t find you too weird. With you bum on the seat you wave you hand at the holo screen unlocking it from it’s sleeping state before quickly looking up to catch Geordi looking at you.

With another odd wave you hunch down and resume reading an article cybernetic enhancements in the medical field but every ten minutes or so you have to look up at Geordi.

One time you looked up he was staring out the window, another time he was stirring his drink like it was the most interesting thing in the world, and now you’re looking at him rapidly typing out something on a communicator.

With your tea and cake devoured you quickly stand up to go downstairs to order some more tea. You look around and hope that no one takes your table, the tope floor is pretty empty now, and the holo screen on the table is still on.

It takes about five minutes but you bound up the stairs with not one but two cups of tea.

Hurried you head over to Geordi’s table and slide him one of you cups, making the man look up to you with another look of confusion.

‘Hot tea turned cold isn’t the best so I got you another cup.’ and with another small wave you walk back your table.

‘Smooth (y/n), he’s going to like me now!’ a Cheshire cat grin blooms as you take a sip of you drink.

As you fangirl/fanboy over your ‘move’ a person slides in the seat opposite you.

 ‘Is it still ok to sit.’ Geordi asks holding his cup of tea.

‘Well you’re technically already sitting down.’ you turn of the holo screen with your hand, ‘But you can stay, if that’s what you’re asking.’

You look at Geordi, gaze unchanged, confidence oozing out of you.

‘I’d imagine that Data will be here soon.’ you lean forward a bit, ‘So we should acquaint each other before he does.’

‘I guess you already know who I am. I know who you are… thank you for the tea by the way.’

‘I don’t want to be a nosy so and so but why were you alone.’ You ask hoping you don’t sound rude.

‘I can ask the same thing to you.’ He quips back.

‘Had nothing to do and went exploring, found thing place. You?’ you press.

‘I got stood up.’ He plainly puts it, ‘Was chatting to someone in engineering and yeah…’

Geordi looks deflated as he gulps his drink.

‘Which dick stood you up, I can set my robot on them.’ he looks up at you with a bright smile.

‘You have a robot?’

‘It’s my thing.’

Another pause o silence happens before Geordi speaks.

‘Lieutenant James Sibell.’ as he says the name a disgusted scoff comes from you lips, your face distorted in disgusted.

‘That bastard man!’ you hand fly up in a comical rage, ‘Good job you have me to keep you company.’

Geordi laughs at your words, a small pit of joy growing in his heart, he must tell Data later that he has a good friend in you and that he should have introduced you two sooner.

.

.

Data step up the stairs of the café, spot in her cat carrier, and a slice of cake.

He only bought the cake out of curiosity, the cake having rainbow icing and little sugar heart shaped sweets on top.

When he gets to the top he automatically scans the room. His eyes land on a table near the back, his two closets friends chatting together, both sitting rather close.

.

.

.

i have no clue if this is good. it’s long-ish but that doesn't necessarily equate to it being the best.

please tell me if it’s good or not.

[thetaoofzoe]

Fic: The Hand and The Hammer

August Walker x Reader (YOU)

Word count: 5K, Explicit

Summary: August Walker has been living rent free in your head for five years. For half a decade, you had been deployed all across the world to hunt down the elusive anarchist, all because of a long standing one sided love/hate relationship between he and your unhinged employer.

Thanks to @lightsidecalling​ for your support

Part I

You lie beneath cool white sheets, watching the white-yellow wash of early morning sunlight tickle at the edges of billowy sheer curtains. It takes several minutes for the light to seep through the curtains, spill across the bare stone floor and then paint indulgent stripes of gold across your duvet.  

Throwing off the sheets to allow the rising sun to caress and warm your naked skin, you close your eyes and bask in the heat like a contented house cat.  

You have absolutely nothing to do today. Your diary is gloriously empty of responsibilities and just as you've done for the last three weeks, you fully intend to take advantage of your free time.

You stretch and yawn,  feeling comfortable exactly where you are, and you consider sleeping in. However, your stomach growls and abruptly the quest for food is suddenly top priority. You grab the mobile phone that's tucked beneath the pillow and the face brightens at a touch.

You can see that it’s almost eleven am.

You perk up at the rattle of a room service cart being wheeled through the sitting room outside of your bedroom door.

Right on time, you think.

You had requested that breakfast be brought round at a certain time, and everyday,  it was there without delay. The staff in the rented oceanside bungalow was always on the ball, always attentive and you appreciated that.

Rising easily, you walk lightly across the cool stone floor to the adjoining bath.  Powdered and perfumed,  you dress in a light, peach coloured sundress and sandals.

An ocean breeze ruffles your dress when you step out onto the sunny patio where breakfast is waiting. It is quite a spread, for just one person, with juice, coffee and tea services, seasonal fruits, cheeses, breakfast meats and a lovely stack of golden french toast that is still pert and fresh from the cooker. You walk to the shade provided by the umbrellas over the long glass table and help yourself to the food.

Nearly  a half hour later, the service door behind you slides open on quiet rollers and you can hear your assistant striding across the paving stones.

'Phone call for you,' he says in that gentle familiar voice.

You replace the coffee cup on the saucer and shift, fully expecting him to slip a thin mobile phone into your hand. Instead, he lays a bulky black leather case on the table. You look down at it and swear under your breath.

It is the satellite phone. And the satellite phone means only one thing.

You pick it up and hold the earpiece it to your ear.

The messenger down the line delivers the information quickly, sparing no words and then asks if you understand. You say that you do and the call is disconnected.

So much for a day of nothing.

You finish your breakfast and return to your bedroom. Waiting for you on the freshly made bed  are two white envelopes. You pick up the larger of the two. In it is a stack of your destination's local money, and airline tickets. You tuck that envelope into your handbag, dress in comfortable, but chic travel clothing and pack a small carry-on.

You then pick up the second, smaller envelope that you know contains information regarding the target. This envelope, unlike the first, is sealed with a black wax stamp. You recognise the initials of your employer and the envelope comes open with a flick of your fingernail. You slide out a black and white photo and have an immediate and unnamed visceral reaction to seeing the face. Unconsciously clenching your teeth you resist the urge to rip the cursed photo to pieces.

'Fuck...' you mutter, glaring down at the strong, unbearably handsome face peering back at you.

It was the infamous Hammer.

August Walker.

Again.

You struggle to get yourself in hand and after a long,  cleansing breath, you turn the photo over and read the neatly printed message about a lonely summer in Italy addressed to a fictional, 'My darling Véronique.'

With picture still in hand, you walk to your writing desk. Opening the top drawer, you pull out a piece of white card-stock paper that has in it, several cut out ovals of different sizes. You’d received this little holey card-stock in the post three weeks earlier with no accompanying explanation, and while it was strange, you knew enough about your employer's methods to keep it.  

Lining up the white card over the writing, you read the secret message revealed by the ovals.

'Target - August Walker. Find and Take Alive.'

'Ohh,' you groan, exasperated. 'Not this again.'

August Walker has been living rent free in your head for five years. For half a decade, you had been deployed all across the world to hunt down the anarchist, all because of a long standing one sided love/hate relationship between he and your unhinged employer.

You were good at your profession. Very good. And you had no trouble using your skill and your people to get close to hard targets. Yet, August Walker was not a bloody hard target and was NOT hard to find as he seemed to leave a trail of destruction and bodies that in turn led directly back to him!

So much for subtlety.

So it didn't matter much that you were able to pinpoint his location or get a visual bead on him days after the start of an assignment, as your employer invariably hit the mission abort button because 'things had changed'.

You were still paid handsomely. But being at the whim of a mad employer made you start to hate August Walker a little as well.

At least, at first.

Your hate soon turned from a hot coal sitting heavily in your gut to little butterflies that frantically scrambled about at the sight of him.

Over the course of your assignments, you'd had the opportunity to see him do nearly everything ranging from eating, to fighting, to blowing up buildings. The way he moved during a fight, his well-placed blows, his underhanded methods of winning were intoxicating to watch. The man was an absolute menace.

You'd told yourself that your physical delight was just a response to your clear admiration for his chaotic skills.

That admiration was purely professional, of course!

But the more you followed and watched him,  the more those little butterflies of admiration ignited into an unquenchable fire that only your hand seeking out a little self-pleasure beneath the duvet could put out.

But honestly, you would have fallen on your proverbial sword before you admitted to yourself that you found everything about August Walker, sexy.

And then he disappeared.

No destruction, no bodies and the trail was cold.

During the rest of that assignment, you didn't see him for two month until the night he climbed through the french windows of your Parisian hotel room.

To say that you were surprised to see him was an understatement.

But there he was, standing in your bedroom, like a fever dream, with that ridiculous moustache and that infuriating smirk.

He did not give you the opportunity to react, before he was upon you.

But that didn't matter, for you wrapped yourself around him, greedy and eager and August Walker took his time showing you how much of a menace he truly was.

You neglected to tell your employer about those few glorious hours of mission deviation.

No use throwing petrol on that unstable fire, you'd decided.

You were pulled from the field shortly after that because 'things had changed' and it was no longer necessary to bring in the target.  

Your last and most recent assignment ended in Beirut ten months ago. You had come so close to legitimately ensnaring him. You had been in top form and August had been cunning, but it was not enough to elude you. You'd had him dead to rights and all you had to do was give the word to tighten the noose round his neck. But before you could, that damned satellite phone call dragged you back from the brink.

And you remembered standing there, dirty, and exhausted on a crumbling rooftop watching that smug bastard escape through the streets below on a stolen motorbike.

The only thing that soothed you was a text from a blocked number, received a week after the Beruit incident, that read, 'Next time, baby.'

You had to laugh at that. It was so something August would do.

Coming back to the present and shaking yourself of your memories, you realise that you're still standing in your oceanside bedroom holding the photo of August Walker. Checking the time, you see that you're going to be late and you grab your bags.

The photo along with the cardstock go into the shredder, and you listen to the machine choke down the evidence as you leave the room.

Your flight to Heathrow is late arriving and the  airport is as busy as ever, full of children escaping on their summer hols and tourists out to see the world. You walk confidently through the melee and to the taxi stand outside. You want to get to your hotel quickly and have a nap, as you need to be sharp to handle what's coming your way.

**

Part II

Later that evening in your hotel, you shower and scrub up thoroughly, excited about the prospects of the evening's plan. You powder and perfume your body carefully and choose a pair of glossy red high heeled court shoes to go with your black dress. You feel sharp, clear-eyed and ready for a little fun. This assignment was going to be played on your terms and was probably going to be your last.

Carrying your kit bag with all of your tools, you hum along with the lift music (The Girl from Ipanema) as you descend to the lobby where your contact waits. You follow him to a black car waiting outside and climb inside.

As you are driven through the city, your contact sits next to you not saying a word. Your only form of communication is through the tablet he puts on your lap. You look down at the digital photo on the screen.

It is an image of August in what looks like a dance club. Only he didn't look like he was there to pick up women, or to have drinks with friends. He looked big and bulky and out of place amongst the scantily clad glittery people having a fun night out. He looked like he was lurking, and waiting for something.

'That was taken one minute ago,' says the contact as the car, caught by a traffic light, slows to a stop.

'In that one.' 

The contact points towards the window on your side of the car.

Your eyes follow the line of his finger to the brightly lighted neon sign spelling out the name of a club.

'Am I on the list?' you ask and a sudden giggle surprises you.

You open your mouth to apologise for the awkward comment, but you grab your kit bag and slam the door without waiting for a reply.

You walk up to the front of the club and survey the queue waiting to get in. You count up the number of bouncers but keep walking. You make a quick right, cut through the alleyway and come up to the backside of the club. There is a young woman wearing the club's uniform, standing under the emergency building light, and using her weight to keep open the rear door. She is smoking and scrolling through her mobile.

'Hullo,' you say pleasantly, as you approach, your heels clicking on the dry  macadam.

She raises her bleary bloodshot eyes to peer at you. You look at her name tag and under her name is a strip of tape on which is scrawled, 'Barkeep trainee'.

She looks like she is having a rough night as if she didn't know how to handle all of the drinks that overly generous customers bought for her, as the bartender.

'You're not supposed to actually drink it when they buy it for you, you know. You're supposed to spit it into your empty beer bottle.'

Her only answer is a wet burp.

Grinning and shaking your head, you put a finger to your lips and make a soft shushing noise as you put two hundred quid into her hand. Then without asking, you enter the club.

Once inside, the whole world shakes around you, vibrating with the thunderous bass that accompanies some nameless, formless song. You lean against the wall between the men's and the ladies' toilets for a moment, letting your eyes adjust to the dim lightning. The scent of urine and alcohol permeates your hiding place, but you don’t mind, as you aren’t going to be hiding there for very long. The ancient cigarette machine across the narrow corridor seemed to eye you disapprovingly.

'Yeah, I don't want to be here either,' you mutter.

Opening your kit bag, you fish out your small purse. In it are your syringes, and vials of incapacitating drugs. You are going to go in there with all guns blazing and August Walker is not going to know what hit him. You even left the satellite phone in the hotel room. You weren't going to give your employer an opportunity to back out of the deal and order you to let him escape. Again.

Squaring your shoulders, you stride into the main hall. The club is partitioned into two levels, where the floor above overlooks the main floor on all four sides. You stand by the lower bar and let your keen eyes crawl all over the neon lighted faces. The music screams unpleasantly and immediately your head starts to hurt.

It is the stress, you think.

The stress and the travelling and you haven’t had any water all day.

But instead of water, you order a whisky sour and drink it quickly. It doesn’t quell your headache, but it bolsters your mood. You continue to look around and honestly, if he hadn't moved, you would have never spotted him up on the second level.

Your heart picks up speed.

Dear God, there he is. The unbearably sexy August Walker.

Ducking away from the bar, you go round to where the stairs dog-leg to the next level. Once up there, you weave your way through the thick standing crowd. Then you just stop moving and the crowd buffets you for a moment. You realise that in your zeal to just get your hands on August, you have no other plan.

Sure, you were going to jab him with the hypodermic, but what were you going to do if his knees just gave out beneath him. You would have to make a scene to get your contacts in there to drag the big man away. You were not going to be able to haul him down to the car on your own. And the last thing you wanted to do was to draw attention to yourself.

You growl with frustration and push your way to the more intimate bar at the back of the area. It is just a little quieter there and you take the needed space and time to regroup. You order another whisky sour and face the bar to drink it and think.

Have I been hasty?

Am I unprepared for this?

Has my judgement been clouded by my hubris?

A tall man comes close to you at the bar, but you ignore him. He is probably just ordering something and will move off soon. But when he doesn’t order, or move away, you turn to look up at him, ready to give him the business.

August Walker towers over you, smirking and looking like the cat that ate the canary.

In your mind, you know that you should feel angry, or disappointed, or even afraid, but you can't bring yourself to feel anything but relief.

He grabs you up by the arm and all but pulls you through the crowd and to one of the private rooms in the back. The room he picks is dim and backlit with baby pink and purple lights and the furniture looked soft and fun. The room is also clearly occupied by several people who looked to be having a private coke party in the corner.  However they do not object to your sudden presence.

August crowds you up against the soft bubbly wall, one hand against it above your head and the other hovering at your waist.

'I'm going to search you,' he says, his eyes boring into yours.

A surge of heat rushes up inside you, but whether it was from anguish or arousal, you aren’t sure. Two whiskey sours on a stomach that only had jelly babies is making everything start to blur together.

'No you will not!' you manage to growl indignantly.

He raises a dark brow. His smirk lengthens into something more mischievous and his blue eyes warm considerably and you know he's not a threat.

'Then show me that you are not armed.'

'You can go fuck yourself.'

August  grunts with amusement and you bite your lip.

This is not the time to bring up sex.

You can see the wheels turning in his head and he heaves himself backwards. With the movement, you catch his scent and you are immediately rocketed back to the night he positively wrecked you. You remembered feeling deliciously tender for the rest of that week. 

The demon inside you lurches in its metaphorical cage.

Want him, want him, want...

He holds open his plain  black suit jacket with both hands in an obvious effort to show that he is wearing his weapon in a hip holster. Unfortunately, all you can see is how his tie nestles quite contentedly between his big, meaty pecs.

The demon in the back of your mind reminds you that he's got soft hair on his chest and belly and you fight the desire to touch him.

August clears his throat and catches your attention.

Yes, you think. Yes, focus. His face is right there, focus. Not on the memory of that beautiful chest.

He quirks his brows to indicate that you need to show that you aren't packing. But you are only wearing a thin dress with a light half jacket and couldn't possibly be hiding anything. Instead, you cock your head and mock him, opening your little half jacket to show him you weren't armed. At least not in that spot.

August seems to accept it, because he is obviously more interested in the reason why you are there.  

'It's time to end this.'

'End what?' you ask feigning innocence.

He takes your handbag, and opens it before you can protest. Seeing the contents, he flattens his lips into a tight line and then tosses the bag onto the floor. You watch it roll over once and come to rest in the corner.

'Stop. Following. Me,' he growls and leans in closer obviously using his powerfully built frame to intimidate you.

'I-- I can't. I have a job to do.'

You keep your face turned away, eyes still on the handbag in the corner. 

It’s the only way that you can remain sane with him this close.

Against your back you can feel the thump of muted music, you can smell his cologne and hear the faraway voices of the other occupants. You are starting to drift a little more, buoyed by the particular pleasure you’re receiving from his attempt to cow you.

August is good at reading people and when his big hand come to rest at your waist, you know he’s read you like an open book. He slides that hand to the small of your back and the other hand reaches down to touch you where your dress hem meets your lower thigh.

He arches you against him and you let out a soft  eager gasp.

'Well... well...'

His voice is low, breath warm against your temple and he sounds excruciatingly self satisfied.  

'What am I gonna have to do to get you off my back?'

Mmm there is that tone again. That tone that tells you that he is a man who does not mince his words. He is a man who is unafraid to show his intentions with his actions. Your heart wrenches in your chest. You feel sexy and mysterious in his presence. You are the woman he can’t get enough of. You are in control, not him, and deep down, August knows it.

You roll your head away from where you were looking at the purse. You look up into his eyes and  slide your arms about his neck.  

August needs no other prompting. His big hands tighten round your waist and he heaves you up off of your feet. One of your court shoes slips off of one foot and when you land on your knees astride his lap on the soft, pink couch, you grab the heel of the other and fling it over to its mate.

August Walker is an incredible specimen of male human form. His smirking face and ridiculous moustache arouses feelings of frustration and anger in you even as his thumbs inch up the hem of your dress. The foolishness of your flighty employer, August's elusiveness (for the most part) and the whole incomprehensibility of your futile, prematurely aborted missions, all suddenly  come to a head.

You sit back on his lap and scowl, giving his meaty chest a thump with the base of your loosely curled fist. That stops him and surprise is evident in his blue eyes. You narrow your eyes in return and baring your teeth slightly, you tighten your fist and hit him again. Harder.

Then again, even harder.

You pull  him up by his neatly knotted tie and slap his face. The sound of skin on skin is loud in the quiet room.

Oh, that felt good.

A second stretches into an eternity between you and you watch a mixture of hurt,  and something else that decidedly wasn't anger ghost across his face. It was arousal. Slapping him across the face obviously turned him on.

You huff a laugh and he grins, the challenge is clear.

'Looks like you wanna play,' he rumbles darkly.

August reaches both hands beneath your dress and grabbing your knickers, he drags them down your trembling thighs.

‘Up,’ he instructs you and when you  rise to your knees he slaps your ass and grabs an indulgent handful. 'Good girl.'

You yelp and moan with delight, steadying yourself with both hands against him. With his help, you manage to only get one leg free, but you don't care. August has enough access and you watch him lick two fingers which he slides into your wet heat.

You gasp and shudder, lewdly pushing your hips towards him rocking in time with the motion of his fingers dragging across your sensitive slit.

Fuck... fuck! This shouldn't be happening, you think, trying to keep your thoughts from running together. Not here, not now this is crazy!

'C'mon,' August encourages you, warm hand stroking your bum. 'Take my cock out. I wanna fill that sweet little pussy up.'

You drop into his lap again to do as you were told. His cock is thick and hot in your hand and he groans when you give him an experimental squeeze. August cups your hips and lifts you again. There's no longer any perceivable space between the two of you and when you let him push you down on his ready cock, there is no longer any singular breath. It's just one breath, your shared breath.

You wrap your arms about his shoulders and bury your face into his neck. You  need his steadiness to keep from exploding into tiny pieces.

'You drive me crazy,' you gasp, breathless from the rush of heat drowning you.

August holds you and you match the motion of his body. It isn't long until he has built a relentless rhythm and you are begging him for release. You can feel yourself taking out all of your pent up frustrations on him. The heat and strength of him inside you is enough to drive away all of your fears and worries, replacing them with pleasure.

You lift your head and kiss him. His mouth is soft and yielding and you are confused by this new tide of tender emotions that rush in on the aftermath of your orgasm.  

You melt against him, hiding your face in his neck to recover from the high and just like during his unexpected visit to your hotel all those months ago, August caresses you until you're able to recover.

You hum softly and open your eyes to sheepishly peek at the other people still in the pink and purple room. They're far away enough, but you can see that they are way too coked out to care about what you two deviants are doing.

'They know you're here,' you murmur after a moment, stroking his stubble rough cheeks and smoothing his rumpled curls.

'Hmm.'

'They got you on film.'

'I'll take care of it,' he whispers back, matching your intimate tone.

You nod and with a groan, you heave yourself off of him and stagger back to your feet. He grabs you to help you regain your balance and you're grateful for his quick reflexes. You didn't want to end the night falling and cracking your head open on a coffee table. There's a stack of napkins by the wine bottles on one of the tables. You grab a handful and hand some to him. You both avoid each other's eyes as you clean up and you grab your purse and shoes. 

Contemplating the contents of your purse you say to him, 'Are you gonna let me jab you with this?'

August grins quite suddenly and you are charmed by his disarming smile.

'No,' he says with laughter in his voice.

'Tsk... ok.'

You feign disappointment even though you know that you were going to go through with it anyway. 

Back in order, August pushes himself off of the couch. He takes you by the wrist and pulls you close. He holds your gaze, making sure that you cannot mistake his meaning.

'Come with me.'

You stare at him. Oh, it's so tempting that it hurts when you turn him down.

'You know my methods... why I do the things I do. You know, and I know you understand me.'

‘I understand. I understand. But I can’t.’

August flattens his lips into a grim line again, but he nods and releases you.

‘Don't forget to take care of that… thing,’ you tell him in parting.

You want to stay so badly. You want to run away with him and you nearly turn around when you reach the room door. But you force yourself to keep moving forward and out of his life.

There is a message waiting for you when you return to the hotel. 

Mission aborted. 

Reason - ‘things have changed’.

**

Part III

You lie in your oceanside bedroom listening to the room service cart rattling through the adjoining room. It's time to get up for breakfast. You get out of bed, stretch, yawn and disappear into the bath to wash up and prepare for another delightfully leisurely day.

The stone floor is warm against your bare feet and you walk towards the patio and out through the sliding doors. The mid-morning sunlight is blinding and you put a hand up to shield your eyes. The beach is empty today with only a few boats dotting the clear blue waves. Maybe a swim later is in order, you think as you turn towards the umbrella shaded breakfast table.

A strange sight makes you stop in your tracks. There is a dark haired man sitting at the table, with his eyes closed, and his face tilted up to catch the sun not blocked by the edge of the umbrella.

'August,' you whisper softly to yourself as if saying his name any louder would make the mirage fade away.

You walk closer and clasping your hands together, you hover at the far end of the table.

'August.'

Alerted to your presence, he lowers his head and opens his eyes to look at you. A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth.

'What are you doing here, August? You shouldn't be here... it... it isn't safe.'

'I came for you,' he says as if it were the most natural thing in the world to say.

'No. No, you're leaving now. Right now.'

He looks at you for a moment and with his foot, August slides out the chair next to him and gestures a lazy hand to it.

'Breakfast first.'

Sure, you think, rolling your eyes. Breakfast first. You sit down beside him.

August pours coffee for you. You watch him quietly and without really meaning to, you reach out to put your hand against his cheek. August stills at your touch and when he leans down to kiss you, you curl your fingers into his sun-warmed hair.

'Come with me,' he murmurs against your lips. 'I want you to be with me.'

'You know I can't.'

And even as the words come out of your mouth, you don't believe them.

August scoffs and is about to try another tactic, but is interrupted by the softly opening service door.

You watch your assistant approach with the heavy satellite phone. He gives August an impassive look and hands the phone to you. Your assistant also places two white envelopes on the table by your empty plate. August watches you put the phone up to your ear.

The messenger down the line is different this time, but delivers the information in the same monotone voice before asking if you understand.

'I understand,' you say. 'But... but, I will open the envelope before I agree to the job.'

A beat passes.

'Go on,' says the messenger.

You open the smaller of the two envelopes, the one with the black wax seal and pull out a photo of the target. You suck your lower lip between your teeth and turn the photo around to show August his own face.

'The target is August Walker,' you say.

'Have you seen him?'

You look directly into August's face. He looks apprehensive, you think. Does he think you'll turn him in? After all this?

'No, I haven't seen him. But I won't--'

/Take the job/, August mouths to you.  

'I mean I will take the job.'

You disconnect the call.

'Why did you want me to take the job?' you ask a sense of giddiness beginning to simmer in your gut.

'Because you'll never catch me.'

You tap the phone and grin.

'I can give you up right now.'

August glances at the phone.

'Will you?'

You smirk.

'Mmm, breakfast first.'

0-0 END 0-0

Thanks for reading and please like and reblog  💖 💖

[bittywitches]

Gone in the Night - Pt. 1

| Schedule + Event Info | Masterlist |

Summary: Y/N and the twins are looking for a fun Halloween adventure, but it seems they’ve gotten more than they bargained for.

Warnings: Explicit Language

Word Count: 3k

A/N: It’s finally here! Hope you guys enjoy this spooky treat <3

Tags -  @brockdolan @livelaughlolobelle @grxysgxrl​ @guiltydols​

•   •   •

The house itself should have been enough of a warning.

It was an old building, the only one in the neighbourhood that hadn’t been torn down to be reconstructed into bigger houses with much less yard space. It’s grey and blackened wooden walls looked brittle. It seemed unreasonable that the house hadn’t toppled over in the late evening breeze, but it stood firm. Even so, it was uninhabitable still, as the skirting around the sides had been torn off. The front porch, however, looked like it had been torn up and out of the ground as if it were a vegetable a farmer had carelessly plucked out of his garden. The wooden support legs from the front could be seen halfway up, pulled through the earth. In Y/N’s mind it seemed only plausible for something like a tornado, maybe an earthquake to have caused that kind of damage, though she knew that wasn’t possible. While California had many earthquakes year round, usually none were great enough to cause too much damage. Plus, she had a deep feeling that this had nothing to do with unpredictable weather. That feeling made her want to puke.

The railing of the porch stood up at an awkward angle, some of the poles snapped and broken, other’s splintered. The backside, the part connected to the house and leading to the door, had sunken into the dirt, so the entire surface was tilted. Looking at it from the front, seeing the empty dark space below the base with the support beams sticking out of the ground, Y/N couldn’t help but feel like the weird positioning of the porch disturbingly resembled a mouth. She found herself leaning to the side, looking past the beams and the staircase into the empty abyss below the porch, as if waiting for something to appear. It seemed childish looking back on it later, but she was half-expecting a pair of glowing yellow eyes to materialize. But she shook her head, scolding herself, because the only thing she’d probably find under there would be a family of raccoons.

The more she stared at the house however, the more things she found that eerily resembled a face. The dirty and tinted windows at the top with their broken shutters and cracked glass felt like a pair of old eyes, watching as people passed by. There was a dormer that was conveniently placed almost directly center of those windows further down, looking like a crooked nose. She could barely see the top of the roof, but noticed missing shingles, underneath them being ashy gray squares, as if bald spots on this menacing figure. And of course, the deep and dark mouth of the porch with it’s rusty wooden teeth did nothing but send shivers up her spine.

Her sickly feeling only intensified when she realized how starkly this reminded her of 29 Neibolt street. This house, however, did not have a number; she could faintly see the markings of a number near the front door, but the metal plates had either been teared off too long ago for the contrast of the wood to show, or the degeneration of the house over time had simply just taken its effect. Either way, Y/N surely was not eager to look back under the porch now; for if she were to be faced with a sickly leper, she’d most definitely shit her pants.

“So, what’ll it be?”

Y/N and her two friends stood on the front lawn of the lean dwelling, the grass beneath them dry and crunching beneath their feet with each step they had taken. It was funny; she wasn’t really sure how they’d even ended up here in the first place. She remembered them deciding to go buy pumpkins… Grayson was eager not to put off decorating any longer. They’d piled into the car, but… had they bought the pumpkins?

“I don’t know man, these are a bit pricey.” Y/N finally looked away from the house at the sound of Ethan’s voice, only for her attention to be caught by the eager man flaunting the tickets in their face.

That’s right, tickets. This was an event of sorts. A haunted house? Something like that, she thought he had said.

“Why, but it’s a buy one get two free special, you won’t find anything else out there,” he spoke, more directly to Y/N than the twins behind her. Of course, they’d been walking down the street- but why again? Was this near the patch they were going to? Whatever the case, the man had seen them passing by, stopped them with his vivacious attitude and grand voice, barking about the great deal on these tickets.

Y/N looked at the man. He wasn’t a pleasant sight to see. His sunken and hollow eyes seemed almost skeletal, his pale skin an ashy color against the darkening sky. He was tall, unsettlingly tall for a man who looked ancient. He was around 6’1, bordering 6’2, which only freaked Y/N out even more considering he loomed over the twins, the two of whom she’d always thought herself to be quite large. The man’s lanky body parts seemed disproportionate to his narrow frame, his bony arms dangling awkwardly from his sides, his hands seeming too big for them. The wrinkled fingers of his left hand gripped firmly onto the tickets, though they did not crinkle or bend under his touch. They alone seemed to be the one thing in front of her that were crisp, clean, perfect. Almost too perfect, and it hit her in a bad way, almost as much as the outfit the old man had on.

His outfit was one you’d see a vintage carnival worker wearing, one who sat inside a ticket booth at the front of a circus, for example. He wore a stiff white dress shirt, blindingly white compared to his stale fingernails and his yellowing, stained, and chipped teeth that showed with every creepy, crooked grin. The shirt was much too large for him, however, the cuffs of the sleeves coming down to his thumbs. But it didn’t feel like it was too big; no, it felt like the man had shriveled up in his clothes, withered down into the frail man he was within the cotton. He had a crisp suit vest on top, with white and red stripes running down vertically. It too seemed weird, awkward, almost like a protective guard more than a piece of clothing. A bright red bow tie was tied at the base of his neck, matching the color of his shoes, but much of them were covered by his overly large white pants. The same pattern of colours were seen on his top hat. It had a short and flat top with a narrow brim, a pattern of red and white lines going around it.

Now, all of this Y/N could get by with. So the man was a little strange, and he was a bit eager to get rid of the tickets in his hand. What was the big deal?

But there was just something about his face that irked her. The details of his wrinkles, the spots on his forehead, the random tufts of hair from his ears and his nose, the dangling ear lobes and the non-existent eyebrows. His sunken in eyes, almost swallowed by his skin, the bags of them highlighting the yellowing whites even more. His terrible cackle, his horrifying grin. All of these things, but something deeper, some other visceral gut reaction within her told her that something was off. She just couldn’t place it.

“What do you say, my lady?” The old man garbled one more time, raising an eyebrow and giving her a toothy grin, only making her shudder once more. The man raised a frail arm towards the house, gesturing towards the door.

“A haunting experience awaits.”

Y/N’s eyes followed his arm and his gaze, settling on the tall black door resting shut. It gave her a similar vibe to the void under the porch, like something was lurking just past that thin piece of wood. It was an ebony black, a stark contrast to the greying planks of the house.  You’d expect the paint to be chipping, but it looked like a fresh coat. It actually seemed to be the one thing from the house that hadn’t been touched by age, other than…

The staircase.

God, why hadn’t she noticed the stair case?

While the porch had been ripped well out of the ground, the staircase leading up to it, the one she had leaned to look around into the darkness under there, was perfectly intact. The wood was still perfectly symmetrical, no splinters, no cracks. It had a different hue compared to the rest of the wood, it didn’t look aged, weathered, or beaten up like the rest of the house did. But how did she not notice it? She swore she looked at it when they first passed by… she’d seen a squirrel scurry across it. It hadn’t looked this new then, did it? No, it seemed blended into the rest of the house, but now… It was distinguishable. It had a presence.

It was still connected to the porch, but somehow still firmly grounded into the earth. This seemed impossible to Y/N, if it was still connected, shouldn’t it also be ripped out of the ground? Wouldn’t there be cracks in the wood from the pressure?

Apparently not. All Y/N could think was that the staircase felt like a long, winding creature. A snake or a serpent grasping onto both ends of this creepy house and the world in front of it, growing and shrinking along with it’s changes to keep it anchored to reality. To provide a pathway to what lies within.

But then again, it could just be her imagination. She had been watching a lot of scary movies recently.

She turned to look behind her at the broad twins, them in their sweaters and sweatpants, Ethan with his hands stuffed into his pockets and Grayson with his hoisted on his hips.

“Sounds like it’ll be fun.” Grayson piped in, a small smile appearing on his face. Y/N’s eyes fluttered over to Ethan’s, and he gave an encouraging nod as well.

She sighed. It was the Halloween season. What better time to get spooked? “Alright. Why not?” She replied and took two wrinkled twenty-dollar bills from the wallet she had stuffed into her back pocket, and handed it to the man, who let out a screechy giggle when he plucked it from her fingers. He placed the three white tickets into Y/N’s hand, leering at her almost maliciously all the while, making her shrivel back.

“A wonderful decision, you won’t regret it.” The man almost carelessly stuffed the money into his back pocket, then clapped his dry hands together.

“Alright folks, “ He threw his arm up in an over the top gesture, His voice seeming to magnify in volume as he did so. “Step through the Stygian door to discover what awaits. Remember-” His other hand came up to suddenly grip Y/N’s arm, his cold palm making her gasp. He drew her close to him, his crooked nose inches from hers when he gave her another foul grin.

“Time is precious.”

He released her, and she stumbled back into the two boys behind her, their arms coming up to keep her balance.

The man stepped back from them, spreading his arms out in a demonstrative gesture as he did.

“Good luck,” he cackled, stopping when his foot met the pavement of the road. He tipped his hat at them and bowed, looking up one last time so they could meet his old eyes. “And have fun escaping.”  

A sudden screech came from behind the group, causing Y/N to jump once more, and the three whipped their heads towards the house. A murder of crows squawked and cawed as they flew from the roof of the house, somehow still clear in the darkening sky. There were so many, it seemed like they were spilling out from inside the house.

Y/N let out a nervous chuckle. “Alright, you sure put a lot of effort into your effects-” she turned around.

But the man was gone.

Another shiver went down her spine. She decided to push that feeling of unease away, however, sure that it was just an act the man was putting up for extra effect.

“That guy gave me the creeps,” Ethan mumbled, and Y/N chuckled at him half-heartedly before clearing  her throat.

“Alright, come on.” She and the twins made their way towards the house.

Y/N hesitated before stepping onto the stairs, cautious of the darkness so close to her now, even more aware of the strangeness of the porch’s architecture.

But she shook her head. She wasn’t going to let a bundle of nerves stop her from having a fun Halloween experience.

She and the boys walked up the steps, the three of them irked that they didn’t hear the expected moans of the floor-boards.

Y/N took a deep breath. She grabbed the black door knob, twisted it, pushed it open, then stepped over the gap caused by the sunken porch, and into the house.

“What in the Hocus Pocus is this?” Ethan asked, getting a laugh out of her and releasing the tension in her tight shoulders.

Inside, they were greeted with a furnished living room, though it still didn’t look like anyone had lived here in decades. The paint was chipping, wallpaper was peeling, the room just felt musty and old. The walls and ceiling were a yellowy colour, with stains covering many spots. A deep maroon carpet at their feet covered the dark brown planks of the floor, and extended into the center of the room, leading to the old rustic looking couches and coffee table arranged in the middle.  A fireplace was placed at the left wall, soot covering the insides and surrounding area, much like the dust covering almost every other surface. A mounted deer rested high above the fireplace, feeling like a sort of gatekeeper for the room they had just entered. It’s dark beady eyes shouldn’t have bothered Y/N as much as they did.

“This is literally some rich dead old white guy’s house.” Grayson finished his brother’s thought, walking into the room, which was dank and dark, the window at the back of the room not helping at all since it had grown late.

“So your guys’ house in fifty years or so.” She followed him, Ethan at her heels behind her.

Ethan scoffed. “Shut up.” He walked past one of the couches, dragging his finger across the leather material only to recoil when he saw how much dust he’d picked up.

“Okay, so where do we start?” Grayson asked, squatting down beside the coffee table. “We’re probably looking for something escape-roomy. A key? A button? Switch?” He ducked his head under it, probably to see if there was anything on the underside.

“I guess so.” She walked past him towards the fireplace, the cobblestone border and burnt up kindling seeming to call at her.

Ethan headed over to a cabinet against the back wall, with some ornate frames settled atop it. Grayson, after finding nothing, got up and walked over to the opposite side of the room, stopping in front of an oak door. He tried the handle, but it was locked. He turned back towards Y/N, and nodded towards the door. “I’m assuming we’re trying to figure out how to get this thing open. To actually start this whole thing up.”

“It’s locked?” Ethan asked.

Grayson rolled his eyes. “No, I just pretended it was for shits and giggles. Yea, dick-for-brains, it’s locked.”

“Damn okay jeez,” He muttered, turning back to the cabinet. “Don’t know what’s got you all worked up.”

Grayson breathed out. “Sorry. Think I’m just a little on edge. Didn’t think I’d be this spooked already.” He turned back to the door, jiggling the handle again before letting his hand fall.

“Yea, that guy was weird…” Y/N crouched down beside the fireplace, leaning her head in to get a better look.

“He looked a million years old.” Grayson added, his voice sounding distant behind her.

“Haha, yea-” Y/N turned her head to the side to look up through the chimney, thinking there may be something hidden up there, only for her eyes to meet two beady red ones.

“Holy SHIT!” She yelled, and screamed when a pair of fluttering leather wings shot down through the chimney and into her face, making her fall on her front into the charcoal and soot of the fireplace.

“Fuck it’s a BAT!” Ethan yelled, flinching away from the spazzing creature.

“GET IT OFF!!” Y/N screeched, pushing herself up and swatting her arms around her. Grayson ran forward to try and help, but the creature swooped down and stuck it’s tiny claws into Y/N’s back pocket, grabbing the three white tickets. Before Grayson could reach it, it flew up into the air, then darted to the other side of the room.

“Are you okay??” Ethan asked, rushing towards Y/N.

“No! That was a fucking BAT-” but she and the boys were interrupted by a loud rattling sound. They turned their heads to see the oak door shaking, almost vibrating, when it finally slammed open with an enormous whooshing sound, a sudden burst of air and wind shooting through the doorway causing the door to slam against the wall, chips of the crumbling paint falling to the floor along with a cloud of dust forming when it did so. The tiny bat, somehow hovering right in front of the door, seemingly unaffected by the currents coming through, flew through the door into the darkness of the other room, still clutching the three tickets in its claws, blending into the sea of black.

The three friends blinked. Slowly, Y/N got up, doing her best to dust herself off before turning to the two brothers, the shocked expressions on their faces still apparent.

“Well,” She pressed her lips together. “I guess it’s begun.”

[miraclejune]

HERO’S SOUP: Chapter 13

Thousand Hearts

Monday morning. The mansion was in chaos. 

Hyunjin was running late again because he ‘overslept’. Woojin had to drag him out of his warm blanket earning a low groan from the Beta.

Changbin left first with Chan and Jisung, the only people who weren’t busy for the day, they volunteered to help Changbin with his studio. Well, he had to buy them each a new pair of sneakers next week so it’s not quite volunteering if you might ask.

“Minho? Felix? Where are you guys headed?” Felix adjusted the strap on his backpack before turning to Woojin. “We’re gonna head out for a while. There’s a popular new spot for busking down at Hongdae. We’re gonna check it out.” Minho tapped his feet letting them snuggle in his shoes perfectly. “Eric’s outside.” the two of them dashed out the mansion yelling their goodbyes.

"Remember to stop by the cafe later!" Woojin reminded them with a shout as he closed the front door.

“I didn’t even get to say hi to Eric.”

Woojin rolled his eyes, tugging the towel around the wolf’s waist. Almost revealing a damp and stark naked Hyunjin. “DUDE! What the hell.” Hyunjin gasped and tried to cover his body. They were the only ones left in the house but he was over-dramatic without fail.

“You could’ve exchanged your pleasantries if you weren’t so busy reading each fucking comment in your Instagram posts last night.” Hyunjin huffed, fastening the towel as he stormed to his room. Woojin chuckled, Hyunjin was the second easiest to tease. The first place would always be Changbin. Hands down, that idiot is so gullible.

He looked at the clock, ah they’re terribly late. It was 9 am, and their call time was 1 pm. We can’t really see any problem with that, as a matter of fact, they had plenty of time. However…

“Hwang Hyunjin don’t you fucking dare do your tedious make-up routine. Busan is not a 5-minute drive.” Hyunjin shot up from his vanity table’s seat as he heard the alpha’s growl at the end of his sentence. Woojin was in full-on Manager mode. 

He made a break for it. Snatching his backpack behind the door, simultaneously combing back his damp hair. He hopped the last 3 flights of stairs stopping in front of a brooding Woojin. Hyunjin suddenly remembered that one time Chan said Woojin looks like a hostile bear when he's mad. At that time he couldn't quite see it but now, Woojin kinda did resemble his description.

"Why can't we just take the train." Hyunjin eyed Woojin fastening his seatbelt, he earned another deathly glare. The terrified wolf gulped and decided to put his feet down from the dashboard. "Sorry."

Woojin pulled into the road. "It's better to have our own car just in case we finish late." 

Hyunjin quietly nodded. "Plus, you're a head-turner. It's gonna be a pain in the ass." Woojin might've done what Chan told him not to. Actually, there were too many to list but this one thing is on the top. "Hm." 

Hyunjin likes being praised. His confidence and self-esteem shots up. It's good, Chan said it's fine to praise the boys every once in a while. But, Hyunjin's a lost case. "Wouldn't want to get chased for hours by scouts." Woojin caught a glimpse of Hyunjin's face from his peripheral vision as the wolf said those words.

Oh gosh, he's done it now.

-

Seungmin didn’t have council work today, nor Jeongin had class. It was their University's anniversary so the school decided to let the students rest for the holiday. Leaving the two college students with nothing to do.

"Hey, can you get the door!" 

"Okay." 

Seungmin stood in front of the open door, his head moved about figuring out who opened the door. "He's in the kitchen." Seungmin's eyes fell on the boy who looked much like a smaller version of Yang Jeongin. He gave the kid a smile before following suite inside the house.

He calmly made his way to the living room, sitting down on the left side of the sofa near the window. Jeongin's little brother comes back from upstairs, a switch on his right hand. Seungmin eyed as the boy sprawled on the carpet. He spotted the pile of snacks on top of the coffee table. Seungmin smiled, it seems like someone's enjoying their free time.

"Hey, Seungs!" Jeongin appears from the kitchen wiping his soap ridden hands on a strawberry shortcake apron. "Can you wait for a while? I'm just finishing up with the dishes." 

"Seriously? Strawberry Shortcake?" 

Jeongin's eyes blinked at the blinding light of a camera flash. "Don't you dare---"

"And... sent! This is gonna leave them in stitches." Seungmin tipped back his head and roared with laughter. Jeongin looked at her with disbelief, Seungmin did the exact opposite of what he was about to say.

"What on earth are you laughing about now? Delete it! And this isn't even mine! It's my moms!!" 

Seungmin abruptly stopped laughing and looked Jeongin dead in the eyes, "Nnnnnnnnno." he made sure to enunciate the 'N' just to irk Jeongin's nerves before resuming his laughter.

"You look ridiculous." Jeongin's little brother got ahold of Seungmin's phone that fell on the carpet next to him. "Ugh. I hate you all so much." he groaned and stomped his way to the kitchen. 

-

"Ma'am, what do you think of my friend? Isn't he adorable?"

"Oh my! That's a very cute apron he's got there haha! Here, take these fish cakes, it's in the house for making my day!"

"Thank you so much!"

"Jeongin, where are your manners?"

"T-thank you." the boy bowed his head. His blush seared through his cheeks and for a minute he thought her face was on fire. Jeongin suddenly felt embarrassed and delicate; even going as far as attempting to hide his rosy features behind his slim fingers. 

He eventually took action and dragged Seungmin outside the small snack shop. Jeongin swears he could see Seungmin smiling from behind him. The witch picked up his pace and walked beside the blushing boy.

And there he was in his arrogant triumph, Seungmin smirked - just a small pouting of the lips; a narrowing of the eyes and a tilting of the head. It was so subtle, it was even more infuriating for Jeongin who caught a glimpse of it after making the foolish mistake.

"You don't have to show that photo to EVERY person we meet today!" face the color of an overripe tomato and annoyance boiling inside, Jeongin could only groan. "No way. It'd be a shame to devoid the world with this gem. Plus, we get free food." Seungmin held up his phone in front of the boy, irking Jeongin's nerve some more.

After a few minutes of Seungmin annoying Jeongin and at some point his phone was thrown to the pavement, they reached Changbin's studio. Well, where the building was located to be precise. It had 4 floors and looked fairly new. The paint on the walls was still fresh and some windows don't have 'windows' on them yet, just the frame.

"3rd floor. 2nd door to the right." Jeongin recalled what Changbin told them yesterday. "Let's go, strawberry shortcake." Jeongin disregarded the nickname and followed Seungmin inside the building, they headed towards the door with the stairs logo on it. "Elevator's working." the old guard chirped. They turned around and met with his wizened eyes. "Thank you." he gave them a smile and went out of the building.

Chan, Changbin and Jisung or 3racha as the others would lump them, didn’t know they were coming so they decided to surprise them with some chicken, rice rolls and spicy rice cakes (of course they bought it lol don’t let these kids near the kitchen). All in which Seungmin showed his photo to.

As they opened the glass door, Seungmin expected the place to be an utter mess. It was plausible. The building smelled new inside too. So renovations are most likely on-going.

However, both were surprised to see the place neat and tidy. A few boxes were neatly piled on the corner, there was no hint of renovation at all. Surprisingly enough, the AC blasted on the side.

"Looks like it's fully operational now."

"Yeah." Jeongin took a look around. The place looks nice.

Seungmin yelled over and walked towards the adjacent room. "Hello, dweebs. We have brought you some snacks." Changbin hit his head under the tattoo chair. "Fuck! Dude what the hell. You scared the crap out of me."

Seungmin pursed his lips "Mm. Then you better check your diaper, you big baby." he put the paper bags on the small coffee table near the wall, before offering a hand to Changbin who was massaging his sore spot. "Where's the old dude and the squirrel?" He carefully sat down on the chair Changbin was fixing. "It's fixed. You can sit." Changbin said, turning around to gather the tools. He closed the toolbox with a click and placed it near the door.

He noticed Jeongin looking around. A smile automatically crept on his face. "Jeongin." the boy yelped and found Changbin leaning on the door frame smiling at him. He smiled back. "Changbin! The place looks so cool." he was naturally pulled into a tight hug. 

'Always so warm.' the boy thought as he hugged the wolf back. "Did Chan help with the designing?" 

"Of course he did. This place looks like the black hole itself." Seungmin muttered from inside the room. Changbin and Jeongin chuckled. "Yeah, he has this aesthetic that's suited for a tattoo shop."

"Can't deny that."

"You didn't answer my question Changbin." Seungmin whined. "They're out buying some stuff needed. They'll be back soon." he turned around and went back into the room. "Just stay there, Jeongin. It's still dusty here." Jeongin sat down on the chairs provided. So, Chan and Jisung are out. 

The room is like a perfect magazine cover for an aesthetic tattoo shop. Jeongin was afraid to sit, worrying he would wrinkle the fabric or stain it with something he doesn't know on his pants. The leather couch is inlaid with rhinestones; placed so delicately. The white curtains are linen, the kind of white that is untouched by hands and devoid of dust. Those types of curtains that leaves the room in complete darkness even in mid-day, it stood out the most because of the black walls. Jeongin's eyes fell on the velvet walls they were decorated with stripes, which he thought he was just hallucinating but they really do reflect when you move around. The floor is a high polished wood, dark and free of either dust or clutter. The photographs are black and white, arranged to look like such by a professional, must be photos taken by Seungmin. One photo caught his attention. He stood up and sheepishly walked towards it. 

It was their group photo from when Woojin showed him his room in the mansion.

The door shot open. "We're back--Oh Jeongin you're here!" Jisung instantly dropped the contents on his hand and engulfed the boy in a tight hug. Little did he know Chan was right behind him. "FUCK!!! Dude my foot!" Chan sat on the floor, the sudden pain weakened the back of his knees.

Jisung didn't care at all. He detached himself from Jeongin for just a second before putting an arm around his shoulder, looking down on Chan. "Has anyone told you, you look great kneeling down like that?" A very annoyed vampire looked up to both of them. Color drained from their faces.

"W-we brought food! You guys must be hungry, it's in the tattoo room!" Jisung cleared his throat, pulling Jeongin away from a fuming Chan. "Cool! Let's go! We're starving. Right, Chan?" that must be the stupidest question he has ever asked and do note that he asks a lot of halfwitted questions. Jeongin could've sworn he saw Seungmin face-palming hard inside his head.

They gathered inside the tattoo room, Jeongin swept the floor a bit while the others moved the boxes and other stuff outside to make room. "Pull the table near there." Jisung did what Chan told him. His grudge only lasted a few seconds. They're back to normal as if Jisung never made a snarky remark earlier.

Seungmin sat on the floor with Changbin while Chan and Jeongin situated themselves on the leather couch fit for two. Jisung, on the other hand, went out of the waiting area and grabbed one of the ottoman chairs provided. 

Changbin watched in disgust as Jisung stuffed his face with rice cakes. Shaking his head, his right hand became busy. Seungmin fought with him for the tuna rice rolls. Changbin turns to Jeongin with a smile on his face, "You kids don't have school today?" obviously Seungmin lost. He pouted and took a plain roll, angrily putting it in his mouth.

"Nope. It's our school's anniversary so we're on a break. Only for today though." the boy replied. He turns to Chan who was offering him a piece of the rice roll. Jeongin opens his mouth letting Chan feed him. "Like a baby chick." Jisung said before scarfing down a chicken leg.

"Am not!" 

"Yeah, he's not." Jeongin was thankful for Changbin siding with him. "He's not only Chan's baby. He's our baby!" ...nevermind.

Within a span of a few minutes, all the food was gone. The four of them finished everything. It would've been gone within a second if everyone else was there. Oh, Chan excluded.

They talked about the place for a while. Seungmin was suggesting a few things here and there while Jeongin and Jisung played with Chan's switch. The vampire went out to the restroom.

"Hey, Wooj. How's the trip so far?" Chan's voice echoed a bit inside the empty restroom. Since the building was fairly new, there were only a few tenants. And today they were the only ones there. "It's great. Hyunjin complained for 10 minutes straight before I knocked him out." Chan chuckled, he knew what the alpha meant by 'knocked him out'. "He blabbers nonsense then falls asleep after eating a snack. Like a baby." Woojin laughed on the other end. There was a short pause as he switched lanes and shifted gears. "How's the shop going?"

Woojin heard the sound of the faucet being opened. He waited for a while for the vampire to respond. "It's pretty much done. We just have to recycle the boxes and clean up a bit. Seungmin and Jeongin are here too."

"I know." Chan complained about why he didn't tell him. "Because they said it was a surprise! I don't wanna spoil it." Hyunjin stirred in his sleep, the blanket he pulled up fell on the side. "Hang on, Chan." 

Woojin fixed the blanket, making sure to glance on the road every once in a while. "Did you find out some info about the Sofia's?"

"No. Man, those guys have a shit ton of people yet we can't get ahold of any useful information. They're too secure." Chan couldn't agree more on what Woojin said. He lived at that place for decades yet he hasn't heard of a spy nor a mole from outside. The information he knows about that family was only their rules and regulations within the clan. He was not given a word on how they manage their operations and business. 

Although he did only live there because of Kazuo's grandfather who trained him. It was strictly just training. Chan would wake up, be served breakfast in his room, clean up and train. His free time outside would involve 5 guards and 10 undercover guards as he roamed the streets of Tokyo. 

"Maybe I should go stop by. Can you book me a flight to Japan tonight?" he closed the restroom door behind him. Chan dawdled a bit at the hall. He should finish this conversation before going back inside the shop.

"Tomorrow. I'll go with you."

"Alright. Drive safely."

Woojin's voice vanished. "Okay, maybe another call." He dialed a new number, after a few rings Chan could hear the bustling sound of a busy street. "Felix? Where you at?"

"We're at Hongdae with Eric." Chan could hear Minho and Eric arguing in the background, he smiled. "You guys found a new spot?"

"Yeah---hey save some for me, you dickheads. Oi fuckwit!!!---Hey, we're just waiting for our turn." Felix's accent comes out when he's preoccupied too. Chan should note that.

"How's the shop going?" Felix reached out for Minho but he already has the phone to his ear. "Oh hey, Minho. We're almost done. Just cleaning up a bit." 

The phone was passed around for a while. It was impressive of Chan to know who he's talking to. Maybe because this happens on a daily basis when it comes to phone calls. 

"We'll drop by Woojin's cafe later. Are you guys coming by?"

"Yeah. Since you mentioned it."

Chan smiled, hearing Felix's deep chuckle. 

"Alright! See you there!"

"Bang bang chan chan see you~" was Minho.

"I'll come by the mansion on Saturday! I'm so gonna own these idiots in Mario Kart." and that was Eric.

The three boys on the other line argued for quite some time. Chan waited for Felix to end the call before slipping his phone inside his pocket. 

He sighed, recalling his talk with Woojin. They had no lead on why Kazuo knows about who Jeongin was. Maybe it was just him? Maybe the guy's just messing with him? Kazuo always did that when he was part of their clan. Chan rested his hand on his neck, he could feel the mark of the Sofia underneath Seungmin's spell.

It was a flame-shaped mark burned into your skin by the existing leader of the clan. It takes weeks for the wound to heal (even for Chan) but the scar will never fade, even if you rip your skin off it will still be embedded in your flesh. Not even a tattoo can cover it up. Chan had Seungmin put a spell on it to make it disappear from the eyes. But if you touch that part, you would still feel the mark on your hands.

Flashbacks from the Sofia's mansion played in his head. He was rather fond of those memories, although only handpicked ones. He had no idea of what that place was and what they were doing behind closed doors. Every time he would ask the staff responsible for him, they would turn a blind eye and excuse himself/herself for a stupid reason. The next day, the staff would be replaced by a new one. It happened a couple of times until Chan realized that it was his fault, so he completely stopped asking anyone and just went his merry way.

"What are you thinking, boy?" Chan felt his heartbeat in his chest, pounding, banging, trying to get out. His breath hitched as his head snapped at the end of the hall. 

Standing near the window, an old man wearing a security guard uniform. The smile on his face was calm and warm. But Chan knew otherwise. It was just one of her disguises. Underneath that was a demon. Skin almost translucent, blood-sucking fangs bared at him, her small waist was bound by a tight corset showing off her inhumane figure. Purple and red eyes devoid of emotion, pitiless. Her face is every woman and man's desire.

But Chan was rather focused on what was running through her veins. The blood flowed like a lazy river. It flowed like so much red gravy across the slaughterhouse floor. The metallic scent wafted through the air right into his nostrils. 

He ran forward, every second craving for the woman's blood, he felt as though his own blood were on fire. His limbs were moving on their own. He was disconnected from everything but the ever-present sound of his drumming heart.

'I need it. I need it. I need it.' He spoke those words like a mantra. Again and again and again. 

The figure didn't move, she stayed there. Her hands were open, almost like a trap. As Chan plunges, he was pulled into a hug. The old man vanished, there stood the woman underneath it. 

"Hello. It's been a while, boy." Chan was shaking, his blood-red pupils dilated, claws scratching at the woman's back, his body trembled all over. Chan was no longer himself.

"Let's go home, shall we?" 

"LET HIM GO!" Changbin's voice roared. It was almost as if the building itself shook. One by one they all stood across the unknown person holding Chan. Jeongin could see how Chan shook underneath his grip. "Isn't that the guard from earlier?" Seungmin nodded, he pulled Jeongin from the front. "Stay behind Jisung." 

He stood behind Jisung who gave him a reassuring smile. Somehow Jisung was trembling too. Jeongin didn't know why. He was not strong nor have abilities but he wanted to somehow help Jisung. Jeongin snatched Jisung's right hand and filled the gaps with his own. 

"Thank you." Jisung felt calmer. He could feel Jeongin's thumb caressing his hand to distract him from his fear. He knew he had to be strong for the boy.

"What do you want from him?" Seungmin asked in a cold tone. But his head was filled with mindless thoughts.

The old man stared at them. No words were uttered between them. His lips slowly formed into a menacing smile. 

"He asked you a question." Changbin growled. In a split second, he transformed into his wolf form. The old man's smile grew wider and wider until it literally reached his ears, his pupils turned white and blood came out of his eyes. It was a disgusting sight. 

Jeongin shivered. The chills on his spine won't go away. The back of his knees were giving up, his hand gripped Jisung's tighter. 

They breathed in as the old man started chuckling. His laughter filled their ears almost as if he was standing right beside them. Changbin growled so loud. He was pissed. Chan wasn't trying to escape at all. What are they supposed to do? Woojin wasn't there. Jeongin is probably so scared and this... this being is giving him all sorts of scary feelings. It's as if he was staring right at the devil himself.

Changbin growled once more. He had to do something!

"Changbin!" Jisung shouted.

In the blink of an eye, Changbin's battered body fell on the floor. Before he could even take one step, he was already banged against the wall. They didn't even see what happened. 

The crumbs on the wall fell on his fur. He may have broken ribs and legs. He could feel a gush of blood underneath him, but he remained conscious. Struggling to get back on his feet only to fall back on the wet floor. 

The rest of them were left in utter shock. It was as if the scene had knocked every wisp of air from their lungs, and they stood there struggling to inhale, to exhale, to do anything. 

"Jisung, get Changbin and Jeongin out of here." Seungmin's voice went an octave lower. He loosened his tie. "But, Seungmin!" 

"NOW!!!!!!" his hair turned white and his eyes were a striking shade of purple. With a snap of a finger, 3 spell books emerge from thin air, floating around him. Seungmin had no time for Jisung to put up a fight. 

Jisung's head hung low, he knew he had to do something. But after seeing Changbin almost killed within a fraction of a second, he chickened out. He wanted to run. He wanted to get out of there. But as he saw how Jeongin's eyes looked at him in fear, he wanted to kill the living shit out of the old man across them.

He wanted to claw the man's organs out.

"Jisung. Today's not your fight." Jisung looked up to see Seungmin staring at him with his purple eyes. They were pleading him to go. 

"Please." he bellowed, snatching Changbin, who went back to human form, he put the injured wolf on his back. "Jeongin, gimme your hand." he said to the boy sitting on the floor, trembling in fear.

No. He doesn't want to go either. He can't leave. He doesn't even have the energy to stand up. "Jeongin, I'll get Chan back. I promise." tears formed in his eyes as he looked up to Seungmin. 

Jeongin took a deep breath and stood up. He took Jisung's outstretched hand. "Please stay safe, Seungmin." the witch can only give him a half-assed smile. He turns his head back after seeing Jisung, Changbin, and Jeongin disappear out the window. 

Suddenly the air became heavier. The building felt like it was gonna collapse any second. And there he saw the old man was just a mere figure drenched in blood. The smell was gut-churning. Seungmin could feel the vomit behind his throat. This is insane.

"You..." the witch couldn't make out the words the monster was saying. It was only like a rumble.

"You found him." 

Found who?

"SHIT!" the monster started shrieking. It was so loud. Seungmin could feel his ears bleed. He couldn't see where Chan was anymore. His vision was blurry. He eventually fell to his knees, screaming in pain.

-

"Seungmin. Wake up." the witch felt a light tapping on his cheek. He groaned. Was it a nightmare? But as his hands felt the cold wet floor, he knew that horrific scene really did happen.

His eyes slowly adjusted, he saw a bloody Chan. "A-are you okay?" seeing Seungmin in that state, Chan felt like he could cry. "Yeah." he supported him, letting the witch rest his back against the also bloody wall. "What happened?" As Seungmin looked around, he realized it wasn't only Chan who was bloody. The hall was covered in thick, pungent blood. 

"I took her heart." Chan held up his right hand. Confined in his sharp claws was a heart, beating only once a minute. A spellbook flew beside Seungmin, he glanced at it for a second before holding up his hand on the heart. His eyes and hair glow white and as he closed his hand like a fist, the heart burst, painting Chan's face with its blood.

"So it's done?"

"No. I only got two." Seungmin nodded. They had a long way to go, indeed.

"I never thought she would show up, Seungmin. Not in this century. Not with you guys in it." Seungmin can feel the weight underneath Chan's words. In front of him was a very vulnerable vampire.  

"Woojin's coming back." Seungmin said. Woojin was the only one who knows what to do in these types of situations.

"He knew something was wrong."

Chan balled his hands into a fist. He wiped the blood from his face. "Thank you for making the right decision."

"Jisung's a bit stubborn but he's a big softie when it comes to promises. Just like Jeongin."

Chan somehow managed to smile at Seungmin. "But, Changbin's in critical condition." the smile vanished as if it was never there. Changbin always thinks he has to take action whenever a dire situation comes up. He doesn't want to depend on other people even if they offer him help.

"Let's go find them. I'll call someone to clean this up." Chan stood up and pulled out his phone, thank god it wasn't crushed. "Do you have the strength to fix the wall?" Seungmin was already on it. 

After the last piece of crumbled cement vanished into the wall, Seungmin turned to Chan. "Did you lose yourself?"

Chan stopped from his tracks. His head hung, he stared at the blood-ridden floor with an empty gaze. "Yeah."

"How much blood did you get?"

"None. I couldn't reach that heart."

Seungmin nodded mindlessly. So it was the old man's blood. He walked towards Chan, not minding the blood pooling on his shoes. Seungmin put a heavy hand on Chan's shoulder making the vampire turn to him. 

Chan likes cuddling with them. Whether they were watching a movie or just hanging out in the living room. His hugs were warm because he adjusts his temperature to make them feel comfortable.

But as Seungmin held him in his arms, the biting cold chilled his fingers into clumsy numbness, cold seeped into his toes and spread painfully throughout his feet as if it were his bare feet on the pristine icy whiteness rather than sneakers on a blood river.

Chan was cold.

[luccie-eclair]

Dear Nora Valkyrie (Renora Week: AU)

“Okay, take a lunch break. Your director wants you back in exactly one hour,” the Asian man instructed the cast of dancers before taking a sip of water. One girl, in a red dress passed by him. “And, Ruby?” She stopped to look at him. “Maybe try not wearing a dress to rehearsal.”

She blushed and nodded. “I didn’t think we’d be dancing. I’ll remember tomorrow.”

The man chuckled and grabbed his bag before meeting with their assistant director, Glynda Goodwitch. He received brief instruction for their next rehearsal and made mental notes before leaving the dance room and walking down the long halls of the studio. 

He had about 3 hours to eat lunch and get ready for his dance students. One door he passed read “Cast and Crew for TEM only” in pink, curly handwriting with a heart on the bottom. There was music seeping through the cracks of the door with what sounded like singing. 

“Cause I’m tap, tap, tapping on the glass. Waving through a window.” Gorgeous singing from a girl, it sounded like.

He glanced at the sign. He was the choreographer and would be credited on the playbill. That made him crew, right? Definitely. The man opened the door and stepped in while the singing continued. He quietly shut it as to not disturb them and looked around the room. Barren, blue walls with white tiles, but what brightened the room were the mannequins who were adorned with costumes and stray bits of fabrics and measuring tape. The front right corner of the room had two, wooden dividers -a dressing room of sorts. On the back wall was a desk with a sewing machine, a small set of speakers, a lamp, and rolls of silk, cotton, and literally every other type of cloth and to the right of it stood a sofa. On that wall were sketches and designs with precise measurements tacked in various places with a checklist close by. But sitting at the desk was a young woman with bright orange curls and a blue bandana wrapped around her head to prevent bangs from getting into her eyes. She wore a pink hoodie that practically swallowed her and white leggings; her shoes were no where to be seen. 

The man stood captivated by her movements. Her fingers flowed over the seams and checked, double checked, and triple checked the design next to her. She skillfully removed the pins she set into the cloth as she sewed it together while belting the climax of a piece from Dear Evan Hansen. He watched her pause as she held out the final note and rest her head on her palm.

A throat cleared. The seamstress jumped in shock and turned around. Her pale skin was burried under freckles, but amidst the mess of jumbled constellations on her skin were bright, teal eyes under round specs. Jingle bells spoke to him. “Can I help you?”

“Um, no,” one of his hands stuffed itself into the pocket of his sweatpants. “I just heard someone singing. I got curious. You sounded beautiful.” Nice introduction. Ten out of ten.

Her face flushed and she smiled. “Thank you, but I was just messing around. Keeping myself a little entertained while I work, you know?”

The choreographer nodded in understanding. “You make costumes.”

“And build the set with some outside help, of course. Did I get your measurements?” She swiftly turned her back to him and scuffled under the mess of thread, fabric, and papers, but came out with a clipboard. “I could’ve sworn I got everyone last week. What’s your name?”

“Oh, I’m not a cast member,” he said as he stepped closer to her and pushed the clipboard down. She looked up and he gazed into her orbs. “I’m Lie Ren, but just call me Ren. I’m the choreographer.”

She gave him a thousand kilowatt smile. “Nora Valkyrie. Pleased to meet you.” She held out a hand, her fingernails painted in pink and blue patterns. Her face scrunched in confusion. “I’ve done work for a lot of musicals, so I know a lot of people, but I’ve never worked with you. Is this you first show?

He smiled at her and nodded. "I’m a dance professor at one of the universities. I figured I’d try something a bit different.”

Nora smirked and grabbed her phone from behind the sewing machine. It still played showtunes that blared from the speakers it was connected to. Her fingers circled around the screen into some lock key that no one should be able to remember, let alone create, and handed him the phone. “Show me.”

~*~

Ren visited her workshop of headless mannequins and drapery everyday after practice for months. He occasionally joined her in building the set and he had the paint splatters on various pairs of sweats to prove it. Eventually, he’d decide to bring lunch from home so he could sit with her a touch longer before having to leave for his students. They had a set routine that never grew tiresome: he’d pop in while she was mid-song (she used to stop when he entered, but slowly got comfortable enough to sing louder when he came in), he’d sit on the sofa and watch her work, and they’d just talk. About what? It didn’t matter. Anything and everything. Sometimes he’d just sit and listen to her voice glide over the sweet melodies pouring from her speakers. Sometimes he’d join her on parts he knew she couldn’t sing at the same time as others. Other times, Ren would sit and watch her fingers coast the fabric and thread in her hands, no talking necessary, just the melodies of her voice gliding through the room.

It was easy to tell that the two admired one another. The fleeting glances, the eye contact that held many a conversation, hidden smiles, flushed cheeks, and lingering touches. They’d given away their obvious infatuation, yet the only ones in the dark were themselves.

Of course, the two had been teased by fellow crew members. Blake and Weiss, the acting and vocal coaches respectively, near threatened to write a poem and a song in his name. The makeup artist and hair stylist, Yang was very vocal and pushed Nora in his direction more than once before running off or placing mistletoes over them despite it being spring. Ruby, Oscar, Jaune, and Pyrrha, all of whom were lead cast members, took the sensible approach in trying to just get them to go on a date without any elaborate schemes. “Talk to him/her”, they said.

Yet, when the opportunity arose, neither took it. Both remained passive, close friends who admired one another from a distance. A rather close distance.

~*~

“Nora-”

“Ren-”

They paused and locked eyes before bursting into laughter. She looked away seeming almost apprehensive. “Go ahead. It wasn’t that important.”

Ren raised a brow at her. She’d been doing that a lot recently. Starting questions and never finishing them. She looked anxious. “Are you sure? It seems important.”

Nora flashed him a smile dimmer than the one he got from her earlier. “Nope. Ask away, Ren.”

He wouldn’t press her on it now, he decided. He had a slightly medium sized fish to fry. Well, it could be big, maybe. He’d been planning to ask for a few days now… so maybe a medium large fish? “Are you ever going to audition Anastasia? They’re supposed to start practice in November." 

That was not the question he meant to ask, in case anyone was curious. Apparently, his lips had other plans today.

She pursed her plump, rosy lips in thought. "Jaune asked me about that… Maybe. But probably not. The others are auditioning anyway. I think I really like my job. You know, behind the scenes stuff. Sounds cool and mysterious.”

Ren smiled softly and took her hand. “You should go for it anyway.” He’d ask her another time then.

~*~

The first show was hectic, but it went as smoothly as anyone expected it to. Nora mostly stayed backstage checking everyone’s costumes and patching any emergent tears. She didn’t get much of an opportunity to actually watch the show. She walked down the corridors to the costume studio to grab her things. A bouquet of moss rosebuds lay at the foot of her door with a long, folded pamphlet attached to it. She gingerly plucked them both from the ground and opened the pamphlet. It was a map of New York with the words “Does anybody have a map… to dinner?” in black scrawl. The woman laughed. Clearly her friends were up to something and, judging by the handwriting, Dear Evan Hansen joke, and the flowers, Yang and Blake were involved. In a smaller, loopy cursive, she saw “Meet me on stage.”

Nora glanced both ways down the hall, searching for prying eyes. She certainly didn’t feel any on her backside, but figured she’d check anyhow. Her sneakers began to squish against the tiled floor as she made her way back to the stage. The sight itself shocked and confused her, but it made her break into a smile and giggle.

The Tuck Everlasting set still stood proudly and the pink stage lights from Hairspray shined down on a table set for two with a large plate of spaghetti and meatballs. An exasperated Ren sat at the chair across from her behind what looked like a window in a striped shirt and a fake cast. The West Side Story soundtrack played from a stereo next to the table.

A voice loudly “whispered from the wings. "Ren, wave.”

He rolled his eyes and raised his casted arm to wave at her. She let out a full laugh. “For the record,” he started. “My idea didn’t have so many moving parts. I was gonna leave you flowers and a note. Then you’d meet me here, and we’d have pancakes, but everyone else had a different plan.”

Nora’s laughter died down and she sat in the empty chair. “Is this a date?”

“Well, it feels more like a date with our friends than each other. But yes, it is supposed to be a date.”

She bit her bottom lip and reached for his uncasted hand. “You can take me on another this weekend.” She saw his eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “This is really cute, though. We’ve got a Tuck Everlasting set, Hairspray lights, West Side Story music, Lady and the Tramp dinner, and Dear Evan Hansen on you.”

Ren groaned and interlocked their fingers. He peered at her behind his shaggy bangs. Her smile alonewould power all of Manhattan for years. “Okay,” he conceded. “Maybe it isn’t terrible.”

A/N: First and foremost, huge thanks to @rwbywriter22 @scarlet-curls @flagbearer-or-scouts @claraowl even if I didn’t use all of your ideas directly or word for word, you really helped me get the creative (ish) juices flowing. I kid you not, I finished this 5 minutes before posting it because I didn’t know how to finish it until yesterday 😧. I obviously don’t own any shows that were mentioned. Um… I probably could’ve taken out that part before the end, but whatevs. I actually really enjoy this AU. Someone make a slow burn/slice of life series out of this *realizes who wrote it* I should make this a series *realizes that i have zero time* actually, a one shot is good.

[runfromthemedic]

Star of the Circus

Chapter 3

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Never make your home in a place. Make a home for yourself inside your own head. You’ll find what you need to furnish it – memory, friends you can trust, love of learning, and other such things. That way it will go with you wherever you journey.

-Tad Williams

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Leora woke to a pounding headache and a mouth that felt like it was coated in grit.

Scrubbing the roof of her mouth with her tongue a few times, the carney decided that water could wait and snuggled farther into the bed to sleep off the dregs of what felt like a really bad hangover.

Then she remembered where she was.

Bolting upright turned out to be a bad idea as she over balanced, tumbling off the bed and onto a sleeping Tsuna. She had no idea why he was on the floor in the first place but his startled screech did nothing to help ease her headache. Or panic.

Because she was in an anime.

An anime that she had watched in her free time. An anime where the underworld was everywhere, people could burst into Flame, and cursed babies kept the world from ending while their dead counterparts policed the criminally inclined. An anime where the main character’s life would go to hell when he was thirteen. A main character who had run her over and dragged her home with him before presenting Leora up to his mother like she was a puppy he wanted to keep.

A main character who had stopped screaming and was now looking at her in concern.

It was hard to move once the initial adrenaline spike wore off. Everything just felt so heavy; her arms, her legs, her head. Like the blood had frozen in her veins, making each numbed movement stiff and awkward.

Her vision narrowed down to a point, focusing only on Tsuna. His spiky hair and concerned, too big eyes. He was talking, probably to ask her a question, but the words were distorted, barely heard over the pounding in her ears as it fully sank in that this was real.

Leora wasn’t sure how she managed to get to her feet and stay upright. She wasn’t sure she actually garbled out the strangled sounding I have to go, or how she made it down the stairs without breaking her neck. One second she was staring at Tsuna, the next she was out of the house and running.

The cold was still in her blood, creeping its way from her chest, inching its way in waves down her limbs in time with the pounding in her ears. But she kept running. She tore through the residential area, making lefts and rights in a mad dash to get away. When the scenery gave way to something familiar she sprinted by the warehouses, covertness abandoned.

Leora tore over the bridge, Home Base her supplied somewhat hysterically, and kept going into the woods. She ran until she couldn’t see the buildings anymore. She ran until her legs, cramped with bare feet that were scratched and bleeding, gave out.

Unable to get back up, to keep going, to run away, Leora curled into a ball and screamed.

00000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

It was dark, she noted absently. The ground was cold too, mist curling around the edges of trees and shrubs, but Leora kept her eyes firmly on the small gap between the trees and the few stars that were peeking through. She didn’t try to get up.

Her whole body ached again, like when she first woke up into this nightmare. And it was a nightmare. She’d lost the only place she’d ever called home, the only people she’d ever called family, and for what? Some fucked up fanfiction plot that she’d never truly wanted to experience.

A small part of her whispered that they hadn’t abandoned her. That they really, truly wanted her and hadn’t abandoned her like she meant nothing.

That small relief was drowned out by the larger part of her, the more practical side, which pointed out that she was never going to see them again.

It hurt.

God, did it hurt.

Leora knew she needed to get up soon, needed to get warm and find shelter. Probably needed to eat. She never did make it to dinner at Tsuna’s house, and she had done her panic-run-freak out before getting any breakfast. She should be hungry.

She wasn’t.

All she really felt was numb, empty, and kind of broken, like a shattered cup that someone had glued the pieces of back together wrong.

What was she supposed to do now?

She didn’t have any money. No clothes, no shoes, no place to stay. No real reason to get up every day.

That last one made the broken feeling worse. Her whole life from the age of six had revolved around the circus, doing her part, making them realize that she was worth the investment they put in her. She had found her place, her niche, something she was good at, enjoyed doing.

That didn’t exist anymore.

She didn’t choose to jump dimension, didn’t want to be in an anime. She had no reason to change the plot. The only reason she’d met Tsuna was because he bowled her over. Everything worked out in the end so she wasn’t needed.

Leora entertained the thought of just lying there, not moving, until everything just stopped. Until she stopped.

Not two seconds later she was hauling herself up onto unsteady feet, stumbling back the way she came, being careful not to twist her ankle on one of the many roots hidden in the dark.

Sifu Yaozu and Amma Eva always said she had good eyes. They probably wouldn’t be happy a trek through an unfamiliar forest, barefoot, and at night was what she was using them for, but they would understand.

Her family would never forgive her if she just gave up. Right now she only needed to live. She’d find a reason later.

00000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

Leora ended up sleeping in the woods that night, despite making it out of the trees. The numbness was still there, making it harder to grab things, and climbing back up the rope to her bridge would become more suicidal than safe.

There were also groups of men standing between the warehouses, smoking, drinking, and being altogether intimidating. So she slept under a bush for the few hours it took for the sun to rise and the gang to clear out.

Then she went back into town to find a more secure place to call Home Base.

No one was glaring at her this time. She got a few odd looks for being barefoot, but for the most part she was invisible to all the people around her.

It was kind of amazing what a change of clothes could do, but the few stares that she did get made her skin crawl. She didn’t want these people looking at her.

So she kept to the roof tops.

She made a short detour into an alley behind a restaurant to scrounge up the breakfast she didn’t really want but knew she needed – the burger tasted like ash – and Leora was back to hobo house hunting. Joy.

Sarcasm fully intended.

There really wasn’t much to work with, if she was being honest. After hours of jumping roofs and ducking in and out of alleys Leora didn’t have much to show for it, besides being more comfortable in her smaller frame.

Namimori was severely lacking abandoned buildings and rundown apartment complexes. When it started getting dark again, Leora settled for sleeping on top of a small antique shop until the next day. Not that she slept much. After the first nightmare of the big top burning down she resigned herself for staring at the night sky until morning.

As soon as the sun came up, she was off again.

She was back on the antique store roof come nightfall, frustrated, and chilled from a surprise shower sometime around lunch time. She had dried off, but she was still colds.

She had managed to snag several water bottles and a few apples that she hadn’t eaten yet from the market district during the chaos that apparently was a special sale day. Leora didn’t see what was so special about it. To her it looked like a horde of starving hyenas masquerading as housewives attacking each other for a pack of toilet paper.

It must be a culture thing.

Either way, the hoard had been too preoccupied to notice their wallets getting lighter so that worked for her. She was now the proud owner of ¥22,000. An actual apartment might actually be possible, albeit a really cheap one, if she could make off with at least another ¥10,000 from the market district.

Hopefully.

Leora really had no clue how much apartments should cost. She’d never needed one before, least of all in Japan.

So, apartment hunting. One that would be decent enough to not be falling apart around her, but questionable enough that they wouldn’t call the police on the 112 cm brat trying to rent an apartment on her own with no parents, no papers, and no shoes.

She really needed to find some shoes, but all the kids size ones where sold in the department store. She wasn’t a good enough thief to make it past all the clerks and video cameras. Plus she was still barefoot. A kid walking into a department store barefoot and dirty was pretty much the same as wearing a blinking neon sign that screamed Desperate: Keep In Sight!

Why the hell did she have to turn into a kid on top of falling into another dimension? It just made things so much harder. And cliché. She wasn’t even going to start about how cliché this whole clusterfuck was.

Day three of hobo house hunting actually paid off.

The building itself was tiny, only two stories with eight apartments to the whole building and on the edge of Namimori near the warehouse district. The bricks were a grey streaked brown in some places, black in others while the stair case and railing were badly rusted. Paint was peeling in thick stripes off most of the doors and what she could see of the tiny, barred windows was coated in grim. Most of the lightbulbs by the doors were busted out and the glass left where it landed. A small vacancy sign was propped up by the only door that looked like somebody cared enough to wash it.

The place looked like a drug den in the making, and any sensible person would have instantly said ‘nope’ and kept hunting.

Leora knocked on the door with the sign.

Someone inside dropped something, cursed, then dropped something else. There was a lot of clattering, more mumbled curses, then the door was yanked open by the scariest woman Leora had ever seen.

She wasn’t that much taller than Leora’s small stature, maybe another thirty centimeters or so, with a rail thin body the carney had only seen on the starving or really, really old. A towel was pinned haphazardly over greasy hair that fell into a sagging face that looked like it had been smashed with a frying pan. When she sneered Leora could see that she was missing teeth.

“Wha’ da yah want, brat.” Her breath reeked of sour food and alcohol, and made Leora’s eyes water. It took considerable more will power than should be necessary not to step back to breathe easier.

“An apartment.” The woman spat on the ground and pointed a cracked fingernail in Leora’s face.

“This ain’t no toy house brat. Go home an’ play with yur dolls.”

“I don’t have dolls.” Leora said with a calm she didn’t feel. “Or a home. You gonna rent me one or not?”

“Wha’d you do? Got mad at mummy and daddy? Run away?” the crotchety old bitch spat, pulling a cigarette out of a pocket and lighting up with the lighter she’d pulled out the other.

“No. The place went up in flames with everyone in it.” Leora spat back bitterly, watching with a curl of satisfaction as the old bitch jerked in shock. “How much for an apartment?”

It was less a question and more of a demand, and they both knew it. The landlady eyed her for a bit, dragging on her cigarette before blowing a lungful of smoke in Leora’s face.

“¥39,000.” Leora snorted.

“¥20,000”

“This ain’t no charity, girl.” The landlady growled, jabbing her lit cigarette in Leora’s face.

“The place is a wreck and I doubt the rooms are much better.” Leora countered, crossing her arms. “You want me to pay more, fix the place up. ¥20,000.”

“¥35,000.”

“¥21,500.”

“¥34,500.”

“¥22,000.” The lady looked murderous.

“¥34,000.” She grit out around her cigarette. “Apartments ain’t cheap, brat.”

“They are when they’re run down and don’t have any tenants.” Leora tossed back, “¥24,000.”

“¥33,000.”

“¥28,000 and I’ll throw in two bottles of sake with a carton of cigarettes once a month with the rent.” The landlady looked dubious.

“How’re yah gonna get that you brat?”

“Do you really care as long as you get it?”

The lady squinted at her through a haze of smoke, trying to find any cracks in Leora’s utterly bored expression. Finding none, she took one last drag on her cigarette before dropping it and grinding it under the toe of her fuzzy pink slippers.

“If da cops come by, Ah’m tellin’ them yah broke in.” she announced before pulling out another cigarette. “You can have 2B.”

Stamping back inside her apartment, the old lady slammed things around for a bit before returning with a battered looking key. She stomped up the stair with more force than Leora thought they could hold before stopping at a door and unlocking it.

Pocketing the key that was tossed at her head Leora pulled out ¥22,000 and handed it over. The woman snatched it greedily before starting to count. She scowled when she realized it was short.

“This ain’t ¥28,000 girl.”

“You’ll get the rest tomorrow. Your booze and cigarettes at the end of the month. I’ll pay rent every first of the month.”

“You don get ta call the shots, brat.” Leora’s new landlady sneered. It apparently was her default expression. Leora glared right back.

“Do you want my money or not?”

The old bitch scowled some more, spat at Leora’s bare feet, and stomped her way back down the stairs. Waiting a minute longer to hear the door the floor below her slam shut, Leora closed and locked her own door.

Then she turned around to see her new living space.

There was a short hallway leading into the main living space just past that weird little step thing all Japanese households seemed to have that held a small sink, a burner, an ancient looking washing machine, and an equally ancient looking mini fridge. Across from that was the bathroom.

It didn’t have much of a bath. The tub looked more like an oversized bucket that could easily be spanned by her smaller arm reach. The toilet was crammed right next to it in a corner. There wasn’t a sink – she figured that she was going to have to use the one in the hallway – but there was a mirror on the opposite wall. The water ran and the toilet worked, so Leora overlooked how dirty it was.

The main room wasn’t much. Small, square little room with a scratched wooden floor, a small window, and a single bare light bulb that was starting to flicker. Leora scrunched up her nose at the gritty feeling the floor had. She didn’t want to know what the grey stuff on the walls was.

A closet took up some of the available space. A dusty futon was crammed in the bottom half of it and Leora did a mental happy dance at the find. Once she managed to beat the dust out and wash it, she would have a halfway decent – if somewhat threadbare – bed.

All in all, her filthy little shoebox place wasn’t as bad as she thought it would be. It definitely beat sleeping in the woods or on somebody’s roof again. And no roaches. She couldn’t stand roaches.

Taking one last look around Leora left her new apartment, careful to pick her way around the glass that could embed itself into her already abused feet.

She needed to get her hands on the remaining ¥6,000 and some cleaning supplies. And shoes. She really, really needed to find a pair of shoes.

Her feet couldn’t take much more of this.

00000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

Getting the remaining money turned out to be harder than she thought. There weren’t any more sales going on currently at the shopping district to distract people from the lightening on their purses. There also weren’t that many people out shopping this close to dinner time. So Leora did something that was probably stupid.

She helped herself to the pockets of a group of high school aged delinquents who were smoking and well on their way to being drunk off their asses.

She had to pretend to be lost, stumble a bit, act afraid, and bolt almost immediately after, but she now had ¥9,000 and enough cartons of cigarettes to cover her bitch of a landlady for the next two months.

She probably shouldn’t have promised sake as part of her rental agreement. That would be a lot harder to get her hands on than cigarettes.

Stopping at the park from her first day walking around Namimori, Leora went through a mental to do list.

She needed to get her stuff from the bridge. No one should’ve seen the rope, but there was still a chance someone might. The stuff might not be very useful, but it was from Home. She wasn’t going to risk losing it.

Cleaning supplies was still high on her list. The whole apartment needed a good scrubbing, and she wanted to be able to fall asleep there without waking up covered in dust.

Laundry detergent was another one. Tsuna’s clothes were starting to smell after her mad dash through the woods, sleeping on rooftops, and more dumpster diving. The futon needed a good wash too.

Wincing as one of the many cuts on her feet stung, Leora shifted her priority list around to put shoes at the very top. Which made it tied with a first aid kit.

…Probably should get the first aid kit first. The cuts really needed to be cleaned.

Standing on her much abused feet she started to leave the park, intent on making use of the last few hours of daylight she had left.

“Wait!”

Jerking around, Leora came face to face with a running main character who promptly tripped, falling into the carney and sending them both sprawling. Again.

Leora wheezed as Tsuna’s elbow jabbed into her stomach in his mad scramble to get off of her.

“Hieee, I’m s-sorry!”

“Ss fine.” She managed after she took a minute to get her breath back and levered herself back upright. “We need to stop meeting like this. You’re heavy.”

Tsuna’s already distressed face when bright red. Averting his eyes, he twisted his hands together, fiddling with his fingers in a nervous way that she had done when she was a kid herself.

Standing up and dusting herself off, Leora held out a hand to help him up. He looked shocked, and a tad bit wary, but he still took it after a moments deliberations. He went bright red again when she started dusting him off.

“I’m sorry I ran out like that.” Leora said after an awkward moment where the two of them just stared at each other. “I just really…needed to go.” Get away get away her mind supplied, the semi-hysterical chant that had been pushed into a corner since she’d broken out of her panic, but not completely silenced.

It was easier to push aside the more she focused on other things. Like talking to Tsuna, oddly enough. This was the quietest it had been yet. She thought being near one of the main sources of her big breakdown would make it worse.

“Um, it’s going to be a while before I can return your clothes.” Leora added as an afterthought, more than a little sheepish, and ashamed, of the fact. “All of mine are gone, so…yeah.”

“I-it’s fine!” Tsuna hurried to assure, arms flailing around a bit. “You can k-keep them as long as you l-like.”

Tangling his fingers together again, Tsuna took a deep breath before squaring his shoulders and looking her directly in the eyes.

“D-do you want to come over for d-dinner? You m-missed it last time.” Almost immediately after the words left his mouth his determined face crumbled, turned bright red, and his eyes went straight to the ground. He fidgeted even more than before.

Meanwhile Leora was seriously weighing the options.

On one hand it would be wasting what few hours of daylight she had left. She wasn’t stupid enough to walk around the warehouse district at night, but she really wanted her few possessions to be in a safe and secure location. Her apartment might be a step or two up from a hovel, but the lock was surprisingly sturdy.

On the other, free food. She didn’t have anything but the two apples she’d stolen from the market…which she forgot to eat. She hadn’t really gotten her appetite back once most of the numbness wore off. This not being hungry thing was going to be dangerous if she wasn’t careful.

They also might have a first aid kit that she wouldn’t have to steal or spend money on.

She was also feeling just a teensy, tiny build guilty for probably scaring a kid with her run-away-freak out after he’d taken her home as an apology for running her over.

“If your mom doesn’t mind, sure. I need to apologize to her too.”

The smile Tsuna shot her was blinding. Literally. Leora had to fight the urge to shade her eyes from the sparkles that were popping to life around his head.

Holy shit, it’s genetic.

Feeling a bit theatric – probably because of the sparkles, the circus master would’ve killed for those kind of illusions – Leora swept out her hand as she bowed from the waste.

“Lead the way Sawada-san.”

Flustered, but still grinning, Tsuna started off down the street, Leora falling into step beside him which seemed to make him smile even more.

The grin stayed in place until they had made it back to Tsuna’s house, when he caught sight of her scratched up feet while taking off his shoe and screeched.

“Hieeee, what happened to your feet?!”

“I lost my shoes. Does your mom have a first aid kit I can borrow?”

Bodily hauling her across the floor to the kitchen in a mad dash to get to his mother, and the first aid kit, was completely unnecessary, and equally unappreciated. He ended up tripping halfway there and making them both face plant into the floor.

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New Post has been published on https://www.jg-house.com/2019/08/24/deceit-desire-saigon/

Deceit and Desire: Saigon

At 9:00am, Lan and I finished breakfast and left the dining room on the 2nd floor of Hotel Vissai to go to the Golden Smile Clinic. It was on Ký Hoà Street in District 5 of Ho Chi Minh City, about 30 minutes away. The previous night a new patient, from Australia, had arrived in the city formerly known as Saigon. The woman, Mary Lynn Tefford, lived in Canberra, Australia, and was desperate.

“She will be at my mother’s clinic at 10:00,” Lan said as we rode down in the elevator. “She phoned two weeks ago. She flew in yesterday.”

We exited the lobby and waited on the sidewalk in the polluted air. Binh, my taxi driver, brought his small car to a halt before us. He smiled, revealing a gap in his top teeth, a gap which hadn’t been present the previous day. Two days prior, he had mentioned needing to see a dentist, but I assumed he was going to have a minor procedure, like a teeth cleaning or a filling replaced.

Young Men Playing Cards, Saigon, Vietnam

The Edge of the City

The first rain clouds, dark specters, appeared on the horizon as Binh wove in and out of the buses, cars, and motorcycles on Nguyễn Văn Trỗi Street, the main thoroughfare between the airport and the center of Saigon in District 1.

By now, though, the daily changes in the weather were familiar.

Binh turned right on Công Ty Cp Bằng Hữu Quốc Tế-Cửa Hàng Số Street and then merged onto an even busier street, Trần Huy Liệu.

As Binh drove, he stared periodically at Lan and me sitting in the back seat. He wanted to listen to the story about Mary, the new client whom Lan’s mother’s had acquired and intended to treat for a recently discovered benign tumor in her uterus.

“She’s 42 years old,” Lan said. “She’s re-married. She wants to have a child with her new husband.”

Binh looked out the window and waved to a woman on a motorbike, who waved back at him.

“Mary doesn’t want to have surgery,” Lan said. “She wants to avoid any cutting with scalpels and a long recuperation from the trauma of surgery.”

Binh soon halted the car in an alley between Lương Nhữ Học and Triệu Quang Phục Streets. The area was popular with people looking for natural or herbal healers and for acquiring exotic and sometimes very expensive medicines.

Streetside Pedicure, Saigon, Vietnam

Golden Smile Clinic

Inside the Golden Smile Clinic, we saw the same miniature clerk who had greeted us two days before. She was 25 years old, but looked 16, and wore a white pressed blouse, skirt, and stiletto heels.

The clerk passed through a door at the back of the clinic, and we followed her into a narrow yard. We immediately saw a garden with an impressive collection of plants, not only sprouting from the ground but growing in pots hanging from a wooden structure with curls drooping onto the ground. The clerk pruned several leaves off of a tall vine with white and pink flowers, a pink-striped trumpet lily.

“We grow them for our clients,” a woman’s voice coming from behind me said. I turned and saw Lan’s mother. She smiled at me.

The clerk then cut off a Vietnamese coriander sprout and gave it to Lan’s mother. The clerk disappeared back into the clinic again.

The mother spoke to me. “Western medicine can help only so much in the most severe cases. I know it is the same in your country, even though you have many big hospitals and expensive clinics.”

The clerk, who re-appeared suddenly with a surprised look on her face, said a few words in Vietnamese to Lan and her mother, standing next to each other beside me.

“Mary has arrived,” Lan said, turning to me. “You can stay in the garden, if you like. Just relax until Mary leaves.”

Lan and her mother went inside.

“Do you want some water?” asked the clerk, whose name was Tran. “Perhaps coconut milk?” I shook my head to both questions.

The humidity was rising quickly. Lan and her mother didn’t return to the garden as Tran led me from plant to plant in the yard, describing each one and its uses, including the tần dày lá, or plectranthus amboinicus, for respiratory tract disorders; the sả hoa hồng, or palmarosa, for skin maladies; and the rau má, or centella asiatica, for blood circulation.

When I went into the clinic again, I saw Lan and her mother with the new patient, Mary, talking in low voices.

The Australian woman, who had short, blond hair and wore a blue polo shirt, tennis shorts, and Adidas shoes, was drinking a green liquid from a painted glass. The woman looked closer to 25 than 45 years old; she was muscular and appeared athletic and coordinated.

“My goal is to reduce the size of the tumor inside me so I can get pregnant again,” Mary said to me after shaking my hand. She looked as if she wanted to tell me more about herself, but she seemed to be distracted. “It’s important.” A jeep pulled up outside. “I have to leave. I’ll see you again, I’m sure.”

Two Men Contemplating Their Next Move, Saigon, Vietnam

In the Heart of the City

I told Lan that I had to go to District 1 and collect a folder of statistics on bilingual students speaking English and Vietnamese. Lan looked at me, disappointed, and her mother frowned. An idea occurred to me. I asked Lan if she could meet me for dinner at 7:30 in the rooftop bar of the Rex Hotel, one of the most iconic landmarks in Saigon.

Lan’s mother nodded, as if giving her daughter permission.

Karen had said to me earlier that morning that Duy planned to take her to the Rex at 8:00. Lan agreed to meet me. I wanted Karen and Lan to have an opportunity to talk. Although they were my two best friends in Vietnam, I suspected that they would soon hate each other or, more realistically, that they already did. I wanted to introduce them to each other before matters got any worse.

At noon, dark clouds gathered overhead as Binh brought his taxi to a stop on Nguyễn Thị Minh Khai Street.

A door opened on the ground floor of the three-story house, and Karen appeared in the doorway. “Emily is here,” she said. “I’m going to take her to SEAMEO when I go back for my afternoon class. You can come with us to the school. I have the folder ready for you in my classroom.”

I stepped inside. The smell of a recently cooked meal was obvious.

“Emily wants an extra teaching job,” Karen said to me, as we entered the kitchen. “But do you really need this job?” Karen said to Emily, who had just entered the room from another door.

“Yes,” Emily replied. “I can’t take any money from my mother in Texas right now. She opposes my relationship with Cao. I need the extra cash.”

Karen stared at Emily. “Do you really think that Cao will sacrifice his career in the army for you?” Karen said. Cao was a major in the Vietnamese army and rising fast in the Communist Party in Saigon.

“Why would he lie to me?”

I could think of at least ten good reasons. I thought that probably Karen could, too.

Two Women on a Motorbike, Saigon, Vietnam

SEAMEO School

Because Karen had to be back at the school at 1:30pm, I had to walk with her and Emily as they argued. Finally, from Lê Thánh Tôn Street, we entered the courtyard of the school, a property which once housed the CIA headquarters in Saigon.

Emily stopped and turned to Karen. “I appreciate your help in introducing me to the administrators here,” Emily said, “but I don’t understand your attitude toward Cao. I know you had a bad break-up recently. I guess you’re still hurting.”

Karen shook her head.

“I feel bad for what happened to you,” Emily continued. She was referring to Karen’s recent affair with a security guard during which he had fathered secretly a child with another woman.

Karen didn’t reply.

“Although Vietnamese men have a reputation for promiscuity,” Emily said, “I’m not concerned. I know Cao loves me. My situation is different.”

More dark clouds gathered in the skies above us, blunting the force of the sun’s rays but, at the same time, turning up the humidity.

“What Cao says now and what he says next month very likely will be different,” Karen replied with a scowl on her face.

“Let’s go and see the director,” Emily replied, ending the conversation.

Street Vendor, Saigon, Vietnam

Inside a Stretch Limousine

After walking the short distance from SEAMEO to Hotel InterContinental, I stopped under a tree on Hai Bà Trưng Street across from the hotel. A black stretch Mercedes stopped in front of me.

Although the driver, a Vietnamese man in his 20s, could have been anyone, I thought I recognized the big car. When the window in the back of the car rolled down, I recognized Howard in the dark interior. The car, I knew, belonged to Howard’s friend, Emile.

I assumed, then, that Emile’s girlfriend, Natasha, was with Howard in the car. I remembered that Natasha had just flown in from Moscow where she lived most of the year. Probably Howard and Natasha were on their way to look at more properties in the tony districts of the city. Natasha wanted a villa to rent, and Emile wanted Howard, who was a long-time friend from Pittsburgh—part of a large Jewish community in that city—to help her find a suitable one.

But I thought Emile also wanted Howard to help Emile hide his increasingly serious relationship with a young Vietnamese woman, a financial analyst who worked for Emile. Howard had become a shield or a diversion, enabling Emile to pursue the affair. I had tried to warn Howard, but he didn’t want to listen to me. He was in a dangerous position.

“Good afternoon,” Howard said, opening the door. “It’s cool in here with the air conditioning on.”

Howard slid to the opposite side of the car, and, while closing the door, I sat where he had been sitting. Phi, sitting beside Natasha, was facing me. Natasha was facing Howard.

The window next to me went up again, and the big car started to move quietly, as if it had a mind of its own. While the air cooled my face and arms, the blue light overhead made me relax and forget about the two American women, Karen and Emily.

“Howard thinks he knows the real-estate market in Saigon better than I do,” Phi remarked. “How long has Howard been here?” Phi said. “A month? It’s impossible. Absurd.”

Natasha glanced at me. “Although Howard knows the real-estate market in the States,” she said, hesitating and calling attention to her Slavic accent, “how he might or might not be able to find a house for me in Saigon is not important. I have Phi helping me.” She ran a hand through her hair, looking at me, expecting a reply.

Natasha, in her 30s, had high cheek bones, full lips highlighted with a pinkish gloss, and extra long dark hair. She looked more than exotic. She looked expensive.

I noticed Howard staring at me, wanting me to defend him, but I glanced at Natasha and decided I should refrain. The situation was complicated. I could have said many things, but I said nothing instead.

Natasha preferred a villa in the An Phu neighborhood, an exclusive area, located in District 2, but she hadn’t bothered to tell any of us, or even Emile himself, what she expected. Anyway, I knew that she had her own money and did what she wanted when she felt like it.

Emile was a little afraid of Natasha. All of us were.

Howard picked up some papers lying next to him on the seat. “From the listing for the property Phi has selected,” Howard said, “I don’t know why we should even bother driving out to it and viewing it.” He pointed to the listing. “It’s written in English. I have pictures, too.” He looked up at Natasha. “I know what the place has to offer. Nothing.”

Natasha, dressed in shorts with a see-through shift covering her legs and her upper body, placed a hand on Phi’s arm. “We’re going to see the place you’ve selected,” she remarked. “Don’t worry about it or worry about what Howard says or worry about what Emile might have told anyone. It’s my decision.”

Now I noticed Natasha wore a gold chain around her neck with a gold medallion suspended between her breasts. Howard looked out the window of the Mercedes. “What street is this?” he said.

Woman Eating Lunch at the Market, Saigon, Vietnam

Bar on the Ground Floor of the Hotel InterContinental

It was 4:00 in the afternoon. The crowd at Hotel InterContinental’s ground-floor bar, called Purple Jade, occupied all of the tables. A group of foreigners—all men—sat close by. The men spoke with English accents. Natasha, Howard, Phi, and I sat at a separate table next to the four middle-aged Englishmen. They had been been gambling at a casino, called the Palazzo Club, a couple of blocks away. Three of them were discussing what they had lost. The fourth bragged about what he had won.

“I told you,” Howard said, looking at Phi, “the master bathroom has to connect to the master bedroom. And, as you will recall, in the last place we visited, it did not.” Howard drank some wine from his glass. “Also,” he continued, “you must keep in mind that Natasha has a maid and a hairdresser. They go with her.”

We had walked through a villa with 12 rooms, renting for $20,000 a month. Natasha had followed Phi through all of the empty rooms and been impressed with the lay-out of the house.

“The place was beautiful, but it was not for me,” Natasha said. “We’ll look at two more places tomorrow if I have enough time.”

Howard drank some more wine. He looked at me and then at Natasha. “Don’t feel like you have to settle,” Howard said. “Phi has to find something you actually want.”

“That’s the problem,” Natasha said. She smiled. “I don’t know actually what I want.” She looked at the Englishmen, almost dismissively.

Abruptly Natasha stood up from the table. Her see-through shift seemed to get caught on her chair. “I’m going upstairs,” she announced. Her bare thigh brushed my arm as she passed between the tables.

The men from Great Britain watched Natasha. They smiled, a little sheepishly. They wanted to question us about Natasha, but they didn’t. They were silent for the first time.

Motorbike Riders Awaiting a Green Light, Saigon, Vietnam

Driving in the Rain

Under the tree on Hai Bà Trưng Street across from the entrance to Hotel InterContinental, I waited for Binh to arrive in his taxi and take me back to Hotel Vissai. The rain came down in sheets. Howard had borrowed a large umbrella for me from the concierge.

In the taxi, Binh practiced his English. I paid no attention. My thoughts turned to Karen, who now showed an interest in a relationship with Duy. Or, at least, she acted as if she no longer opposed one.

Binh pulled up in front of Hotel Vissai. I asked him to pick me up in one hour.

After showering, dressing, and sending e-mail messages to the States, I found myself back in the taxi with Binh. It was still raining. Once again, Binh talked to me in English. Once again, I paid no attention to him. I thought about Karen and Duy.

At the Rex Hotel on Nguyễn Huệ Street in District 1, in the heart of Saigon, I saw that it was brightly lit in the wet, shiny darkness.

“Are you going to meet the American woman or the Vietnamese?” Binh said.

“Both,” I replied. “It’s probably a bad idea.”

Garbage Collectors, Saigon, Vietnam

Bar on the Roof of the Rex Hotel

Under the awning, a cool breeze was blowing over the tops of nearby buildings and distant streets. I took a sip of Malbec, apparently imported from Argentina, and set the glass back down. I sat near the entrance on the rooftop where I had a clear view of the elevator and of people arriving. It was 7:30. The rain had stopped and a cool breeze swept across the city.

A couple emerged from the elevator.

At first, I didn’t recognize Karen, who, wearing makeup and high heels, looked 10 years older than usual. She was taller than Duy. Even for a Vietnamese man, he was short. The maître d’, wearing a black and orange uniform, led the two of them to a table along the railing at the front of the restaurant, where they had a view of the park below. They didn’t see me.

When the musicians started playing, I turned around to listen and, a minute later. I felt Lan beside me, touching my arm.

“Is that wine for me?” she asked.

She knew it wasn’t, but she started to drink it anyway.

The music was loud; the singer, with long, black hair, was Filipina, but she sounded American when she took the microphone and began singing.

“I know the song. It’s by the Eagles,” I said. “I can’t remember its name.”

Lan laughed. “Take It Easy,” she said. “It was sung by Glenn Frey.”

A Band Performs, Saigon, Vietnam

Ho Chi Minh’s Statue

“I like your dress,” I said to Karen. Lan nodded. I knew she wasn’t agreeing with me. Far from it. Lan didn’t like Karen, although she never said so.

I sat next to the railing on the rooftop and looked down into the street and the adjacent park. I stared at the bronze statue of Ho Chi Minh, a symbol of the past in the middle of the park.

“We went to the opera two nights ago,” Karen said. “We saw the Magic Flute, which turned out to be very good. First class.”

Lan didn’t respond.

Lan knew the opera and liked Mozart in particular, but she was pretending she didn’t to stifle the conversation.

“My friend was singing a leading role, the role of Pamina,” Duy volunteered. “I’ve known her for many years, someone I knew up the coast in Hoi An.”

I couldn’t keep my mind engaged. I stopped following the conversation.

After a few moments, I realized I was staring at Duy and Karen. My mood quickly was worsening.

I had hoped that Lan would like Karen. Now I knew it was impossible.

#LifeCulture, #Vietnam #Beauty, #HoChiMinhCity, #Love, #SoutheastAsia

[writerspink]

K-12 Words

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7.2

evade debate dedicate budge available miniature petrify pasture banquet pedestrian solitary decline reassure nonchalant exhibit realistic exert abuse dictate minor monarch concept character strategy soar beverage tropical withdraw challenge kin navigate purchase reliable mischief solo combine vivid aroma spurt illuminate narrator retain excavate avalanche preserve suspend accomplish exasperate obsolete occasion myth reign sparse gorge intense revert antagonist talon aggressive alternate retire cautiously blizzard require endanger luxurious senseless portable sever compensate companion visual immense slither guardian compassion escalate detect protagonist oasis altitude assume seldom courteous absurd edible identical pardon approximate taunt achievement homonym hearty convert wilderness industrious sluggish thrifty deprive independent bland confident anxious astound numerous resemble route access jubilation saunter hazy impressive document moral crave gigantic bungle prefix summit overthrow perish visible translate comply intercept feeble exult compose negative suffocate frigid synonym appeal dominate deplete abundant economy desperate diligent commend boycott jovial onset burden fixture objective siege barrier conceive formal inquire penalize picturesque predator privilege slumber advantage ambition defiant fearsome imply merit negotiate purify revoke wretched absorb amateur channel elegant grace inspect lame tiresome tranquil boast eloquent glisten ideal infectious invest locate ripple sufficient uproar

8.1

apprehensive dialogue prejudice marvel eligible accommodate arrogant distinct knack deposit liberate cumulative consequence strive salvage chronological unique vow concise influence lure poverty priority legislation significant conserve verdict leisure erupt beacon stationary generate provoke efficient campaign paraphrase swarm adhere eerie mere mimic deteriorate literal preliminary solar soothe expanse ignite verge recount apparel terrain ample quest composure majority collide prominent duration pursue innovation omniscient resolute unruly optimist restrain agony convenient constant prosper elaborate genre retrieve exploit continuous dissolve dwell persecute abandon meager elude rural retaliate primitive remote blunder propel vital designate cultivate loathe consent drastic fuse maximum negotiate barren transform conspicuous possess allegiance beneficial former factor deluge vibrant intimidate idiom dense awe rigorous manipulate transport discretion hostile clarity arid parody boisterous capacity massive prosecute declare stifle remorse refuge predicament treacherous inevitable ingenious plummet adapt monotonous accumulate reinforce extract reluctant vacate hazardous inept diminish domestic linger context excel cancel distribute document fragile myth reject scuffle solitary temporary veteran assault convert dispute impressive justify misleading numerous productive shrewd strategy villain bluff cautious consist despise haven miniature monarch obstacle postpone straggle vivid aggressive associate deceive emigrate flexible glamour hazy luxurious mishap overwhelm span blemish blunt capable conclude detect fatigue festive hospitality nomad supreme

8.2

exclude civic compact painstaking supplement habitat leeway minute hoax contaminate likeness migration commentary extinct tangible originate urban unanimous subordinate collaborate obstacle esteem encounter futile cordial trait improvises superior exaggerate anticipate cope evolve eclipse dissent anguish subsequent sanctuary formulates makeshift controversy diversity terminate precise equivalent pamper prior potential obnoxious radiant predatory presume permanent pending simultaneously tamper supervise perceived vicious patronize trickle stodgy rant oration preview species poised perturb vista wince yearn persist shirk status tragedy trivial snare vindictive wrath recede peevish rupture unscathed random toxic void orthodox subtle resume sequel upright wary overwhelm perjury uncertainty prowess utmost throb pluck pique vengeance pelt urgent substantial robust sullen retort ponder whim saga sham reprimand vocation assimilate dub defect accord embark desist dialect chastise banter inaugurate ovation barter muse blasé stamina atrocity deter principal liberal epoch preposterous advocate audacious dispatch incense deplore institute deceptive component subside spontaneous bonanza ultimate wrangle clarify hindrance irascible plausible profound infinite accomplish apparent capacity civilian conceal duplicate keen provoke spurt undoing vast withdraw barrier calculate compose considerable deputy industrious jolt loot rejoice reliable senseless shrivel alternate demolish energetic enforce feat hearty mature observant primary resign strive verdict brisk cherish considerate displace downfall estimate humiliate identical improper poll soothe vicinity abolish appeal brittle condemn descend dictator expand famine portable prey thrifty visual

9.1

stance vie instill exceptional avail strident formidable rebuke enhance benign perspective tedious aloof encroach memoir mien desolate inventive prodigy staple stint fallacy grope vilify recur assail tirade antics recourse clad jurisdiction caption pseudonym reception humane ornate sage ungainly overt sedative amiss convey connoisseur rational enigma fortify servile fastidious contagious elite disgruntled eccentric pioneer abet luminous era sleek serene proficient rue articulate awry pungent wage deploy anarchy culminate inventory commemorate muster adept durable foreboding lucrative modify authority transition confiscate pivotal analogy avid flair ferret decree voracious imperative grapple deface augment shackle legendary trepidation discern glut cache endeavor attribute phenomenon balmy bizarre gullible loll rankle decipher sublime rubble renounce porous turbulent heritage hover pithy allot minimize agile renown fend revenue versa gaunt haven dire doctrine intricate conservative exotic facilitate bountiful cite panorama swelter foster indifferent millennium gingerly conscientious intervene mercenary citadel obviously rely supportive sympathy weakling atmosphere decay gradual impact noticeable recede stability variation approximately astronomical calculation criterion diameter evaluate orbit sphere agricultural decline disorder identify probable thrive expected widespread bulletin contribution diversity enlist intercept operation recruit survival abruptly ally collide confident conflict protective taunt adaptation dormant forage frigid hibernate insulate export glisten influence landscape native plantation restore urge blare connection errand exchange

9.2

feasible teem pang vice tycoon succumb capacious onslaught excerpt eventful forfeit crusade tract haggard susceptible exemplify ardent crucial excruciating embargo disdain apprehend surpass sporadic flustered languish conventional disposition theme plunder ignore project complaint title dramatic delivery litter experimental clinic arrogance preparation remind atomic occasional conscious deny maturity closure stressed translator animate observation physical further gently registration suppress combination amazing constructive allied poetry passion ecstasy mystery cheerful contribution spirit failed gummy commerce prove disagreement raid consume embarrass preference migrant devour encouragement quote mythology destined destination illuminating struggle accent ungrateful giggle approval confidence expose scientist operation superstitious emergency manners absolutely swallow readily mutual bound crisp orient stress sort stare comfort verbal heel challenging advertisement envious sex scar astonish basis accuracy enviable alliance specific chef embarrassed counter tolerable sympathetic gradually vanish informative amaze royal furry insist jealousy simplify quiver collaborate dedicated flexible function mimic obstacle technique archaeologist fragment historian intact preserve reconstruct remnant commence deed exaggeration heroic impress pose saunter wring astound concealed inquisitive interpret perplexed precise reconsider suspicious anticipation defy entitled neutral outspoken reserved sought equal absorb affect circulate conserve cycle necessity seep barren expression meaningful plume focused genius perspective prospect stunned superb transition assume guarantee nominate

10.1

install reticent corroborate regretfully strength murder concise cunning intention holy satire query confused progression disillusion background mundane abrupt multiple enormously introduce emulate harmful pragmatic pity rebut liberate enthusiastic elucidate camaraderie disparage nature creep profitability impression racist sobriety occupy autonomy currently amiable reiterate reproduce cripple modest offer atom provincial augment ungratefully expansion yield rashly allude immigration silence epitome exacerbate somber avid dispute vindicate collaborate manufacturer embellish superficial propaganda incompetent objective diminish statistics endure ambivalent perpetuate illuminate phenomenon exasperate originality restrict anxiety anthropology circumstances aesthetic manufacturing conventional dubious vulnerable reality precedent entity success term critical repair underscore stepmother republican hesitantly classic wary contents prediction immediate invoke notorious implicit excluding input skeptical foster element punish frank humanity profound dessert orthodox substance disappear encourage neighborhood elder superfluous naive ascertain complacent resilient deafening military tend prudent glare acceptance skillfully induce monster beam gullible conciliate vessel petty cantankerous disclose archaeology anecdote disdain electronics substantiate subjective tourism advisable joyful incredible provocative psychological ruins discipline condone indifferent misfortune judgmental industrialize tasty assume astute mission mar protective definitely escape oppress shocked virtual zealous endorse qualification hostile eccentric abstract disparate geographical scrutinize generalization tolerate activity claim dogmatic influential obsolete extol implausible subsequent resource chronic benevolent improve confidential ambiguous seriously dearth perplex hatred throughout dine contemporary evoke essentially economic flagrant obscure alleviate eloquent dreaadful clumsy sympathy victim condemn vigor condescend spontaneous quell reprehensible substantially sleeve equivocal ironic decry errand articulate progressive eradicate refreshments elicit aspiration recently exemplary bribery theoretical disingenuous partisan revere particle nostalgia self-aggrandizement debunk tyranny rhetoric hierarchy warning whimsical venerate commend assert miserable awful vibe constrain undermine explicit differentiate compliment scrupulous contempt erroneous ideal refute imply cynical rash presume insight revival vary delay renounce indignant offensive temperate circumstantial export peep logo advertise suppress distort chunk convoluted denounce overwhelming fertility rigorous acquire arrogant university antagonize profitable indulgent strategic breathing idiosyncrasy profession frugal discern accommodation adversary incredulous disturbance digress social belie roam smug continual pertinent voluntarily elite subtle blame sincerity lick horror censure involvement candid infer futile impetuous exploit bewilder sustain diligent sincere protect sealed musical empathy callous parenthetical insure acorn sarcasm seize sacrificially allege emphatic irrelevant progress diplomatic stunned improvise deride reconcile meticulous deject scientifically incontrovertible pressure justify gloomy depict supplant endurance analogous diary bolster slip contemplate pesticide glow religious advocate negligent creator lament fundamental embrace throne inherent inferior valuable thrive trivial pretense reserved capricious refresh refusal flight boost explanation coherent prevalent tenacious official royalty assassin rub poach delete

10.2

warrant circumscribed somewhat explosive optimistic mandate previously detract opinion intuitive feasible intimate persistent humble simplicity tempt deliberate painful unethical fundamentals discrepancy remorse pessimistic possibility conclusion acknowledge impregnate soberly creation paralyze suitability oblige tranquil medal arbitrate pacify illusory susceptible vibrate vengeance infection democratic stressful grave speculative sample identification stifle obligation revenge organization namely mediocre practical scream weaken consensus affectionate deficient treacherous console isolation ingenious memory melodrama despair awestruck composition regret recommendation celebrity decision devoid opaque ornamentation longevity participate dread restore interrogate aid accordingly mislead embarrassment optimism domestic apt funds virtue geography fundamentally thoroughly press despite horrible chilling rental esteemed disappointment innovative contemplation assign popularize haunt deafen serene percent estrangement suffer extravagant throng estimate comment priesthood mass dreadfully promote periphery animated saying relate clarity triple derivative succeed distortion register suicide improvement discreet inquisition probable curative incident praise convenience baffle covet dreadful genuinely weary undisturbed disgruntled humility renown nonchalant monopoly comedy vague decisive inconsequential announcement fabricated nevertheless vigilant scarce neglectful hushed attainment tedious explode snatch pslm agency sentimental tension adhere meanwhile sacred avert conformity likewise challenger accessible responsibility peril contact event roast fallible catastrophic competitor violate resolute deceive exaggeration discredit intolerable approve paste dimly novelist demeanor norm politician satisfaction obvious vehicle reservation defer involve restoration crush audible assistant backpack attain inanimate commemorate confrontation emigration parasite disperse quantitative laughter policy vulgar occasionally repay effective eulogy starvation empty therapeutic overall immortal encompass inappropriate opportune engagement illustrate turmoil observatory classification expression reminiscence comedian invention depress remedy protagonist gesture texture diplomatic election prolong conducive emotional invigorate curiosity expressive %

K-12 Words was originally published on PinkWrite

[signalsowon]

A Little Big Family -02 Denny's, Lost Shoes and Sparkly Stuff-

⁎Pairings:Namjoon x Reader, Jimin x Reader, Yoongi x Hoseok, Yoongi x Taehyung, Seokjin x Jungkook

⁎Warnings: Little Space, cg/l, age regression- de-aging, non-sexual age play, non-sexual intimacy, polyamory

⁎Genre/s: Fluff, more drabbles than plot, cuteness, future angst

Summary: Y/N, Yoongi, Seokjin (and all of their littles) decide to buy a house and live together.

✧ This fic is also ongoing on my ao3 ✧

| 01 | 02 |

The next morning Y/N woke up feeling a little confused as to where she was, seeing as she wasn’t in her own bed, before she remembered the events of the previous night. Speaking of last night, where were her boyfriends? She was about the get out of the empty bed when the smell of smoke hit her like a ton of bricks. Her mind running a mile a minute, she quickly went to find the source, or the boys, whichever she found first.

She made her way into the kitchen to see Jimin sitting at the kitchen table swinging his feet and Namjoon fanning at the toaster with a towel. She went past the two of them and quickly opened all of the windows and batted out the small fire that had started inside the appliance. After the fire was out a blackened bagel popped out with a ‘ding’.

She turned to the oldest of the two boys and gave him a look that, without having to say anything, made Namjoon explain the situation.

“Well, I was just trying to make breakfast for me and Jiminie but uh I didn’t know how hot to make the toaster so I uh turned it up all the way and then it was on fire and I really didn’t mean to set Yoongi-hyung’s toaster on fire but it happened so quickly- I���m sorry noona.” His head was hanging low and by the use of honorifics, he wasn’t in little space.

“It’s fine Joon, I’ll just buy Yoongi a new toaster. You’re not hurt are you?” She really wasn’t mad or upset, Yoongi probably didn’t even use the toaster anyways.

“I’m fine, but now we don’t have anything to eat for breakfast…or a toaster.” she chuckled at the tall boy and suddenly remembered something.

“Hey, speaking of Yoongi, where is he? And the boys, too. I haven’t seen them either.” She said noticing the apartment’s lack of brown and orange haired boys running all over the place.

“They went to the park for a little bit but we didn’t want to go without you so we stayed here.” Jimin said from his spot at the table, still slightly swinging his legs.

“Well, since they’re out and we have nothing to eat, do you want to meet up with them at denny’s or something?” She didn’t know very many places to eat a good meal for cheap and denny’s was the first thing that came to mind.

“Wanna go to denny’s mommy! Can Jiminie get crayons?” sometimes Jimin could go into little space surprisingly quickly, usually it happens when he has memories of doing things while little or keywords that remind him of being little. Triggers, if you will.

“Of course, baby boy. Go get dressed and we’ll head out. I’ll text uncle Yoongi and tell him to meet us there okay?” The two boys nodded in response before going to change, Jimin skipping excitedly and Joon trailing behind him. Y/N shook her head and giggled about the events of her morning before going to get ready as well.

After a short drive they arrived at Denny’s, one of Jimin’s favorites. When they stepped out of the care Y/N couldn’t help but notice how good they all looked. She wasn’t trying to brag or anything but damn.

Jimin was wearing blue jeans , a fuzzy black sweater and white sneakers, his freshly dyed pink hair looked fluffy as ever and he had asked Y/N for help with a little bit of silver glitter eyeliner. Joon was in a more simple outfit of blue jeans, a black shirt, black chucks and a hat. Y/N had her hair in a bun and was wearing Jimin’s striped long-sleeve and black jeans. They looked bomb, to say the least.

While they were waiting to be seated Yoongi had texted her that they would be a few minutes late because somehow Taehyung had left one of his shoes at the playground and didn’t say anything until they were almost there.

Their normal waitress, Wendy came over and told them to follow her. “Table for three, right?” she said picking up one regular menu and two kid’s menus. Yes, they went to Denny’s that often and thank god Wendy was so sweet and understanding.

“Not today. Yoongi and the boys are gonna join us, too.” She gave a nod and brought out two more kid’s menus and another regular one before Namjoon spoke up.

“Uh n-no kids menu today please.” She gave him an understanding smile and switched the kid’s for a regular one. Namjoon was always very embarrassed talking about little space when he was big. Y/N held his hand and gave it a soft squeeze, silently telling him everything was alright and he smiled in return.

Wendy led them to the big round booth that comfortably seated all six of them and handed them their menus and crayons, leaving them to figure out what they wanted to eat. Jimin was slightly bouncing in his seat along to a song he was humming as he looked at his menu. Namjoon almost always got the same thing so there was really no need to look at the menu. And Y/N had her mind set on waffles. Wendy came back with drinks: coffee for Y/N, a coke for Joon and a hot chocolate with extra whipped cream for jimin.

After getting their drinks she quickly reappeared with Yoongi and the boys behind her. Tae sat in the booth first, then Hoseok and Yoongi. Jimin gave Tae a big hug and they started coloring together. “Your eyeliner looks pretty today, Jiminie,” Tae said with a giggle making Jimin blush. They were best friends, like two peas in a pod and it was adorable to watch them interact.

Namjoon had started talking to hoseok about one of their upcoming literature tests and that left Y/N and Yoongi. She took a sip of her coffee before asking “Have you talked to oppa or Jungkookie this week? I haven’t heard from them in a few days.”

“Yeah, they went to Busan to see Kookie’s parents or something. And how come you call Seokjin ‘oppa’ but not me?” He was really up-the-ass about honorifics for some reason and it was honestly quite funny.

“Yoongi-yah you’re only three weeks older than me, I am not going to call you oppa. Anyways, do you know when they’ll be back?” She chuckled at his grumpy expression before taking another sip of coffee.

“They should be back in two days. Hyung took a whole week off for vacation. Jungkook somehow convinced his professors into giving him all of the powerpoints for the week with some kind of black magic or something.” They both laughed as Wendy came back to take their orders.

After all of their bellies were full, Y/N and Yoongi split the bill and they were on their way to the mall. It was first Jimin’s idea to go shopping but once Tae agreed so did the others and twenty minutes later Y/N found herself in the massive shopping center with the five boys. Jimin had dragged her by the wrist into the Disney store where he found a cute nemo plushie and a watch with Ariel from The Little Mermaid on it.

Next, it was both Tae and Jimin going into Claire's and picking out matching sparkly earrings. Hoseok and Namjoon wandered off to the food court to get smoothies and an iced coffee for Yoongi. Jimin had also found a cute pencil case with bunnies on it and all it took was “Look mommy, for my crayons.” and Y/N was taking it up to the counter along with the two pairs of earrings.

They barely walked out of the store when Jimin suggested they go to sephora because “There’s a really pretty highlighter that makes your cheekbones shiny.” and even though she argued “But your cheekbones are already shiny and pretty, baby boy.”. It’s obvious that no matter how much she protested, the soft spot she had for the pink-haired boy always ended up winning.

Y/n thought she was just going in for a highlighter and leaving, but of course, she ended up with a handful of products that would certainly take a chunk out of her bank account. Sure, she might’ve browsed through the many brands and maybe she might have contributed to the truckload she was holding, but she’s only human. In the end, the giddy look on Jimin’s face made it all worthwhile.

In the midst of their adventure in sephora Tae had come up to Y/n with his head dropped slightly, mumbling something that Y/n couldn’t quite make out. Even though he towered over her, she tilted his head from looking at her through his bangs. “What is it Teddy?” The nickname made him feel a little better so he decided to use his big-boy voice.

“D-do you think daddy will let me wear this?” He held up a sparkly pink eyeshadow Y/n hadn’t even noticed he was holding until now. She almost cooed at how small the tall boy appeared in front of her.

“Of course, Teddy bear. It’s a very pretty color, actually, can you grab one for me too?” His signature smile came back like it never left and he skipped through the store to get the shadow.

Yoongi had told her before how much he liked when tae wore sparkly things saying how it made him look so much brighter; he didn’t even know that was possible. Taehyung usually only ever wore subtle neutral shadows so his apprehension was understandable.

Handing over the products to the cashier was slightly worrying. Y/n knew her card wasn’t going to decline but she still had her doubts. The products were all nicely wrapped in two large bags and Jimin gave her hand a small squeeze, much like she had done to namjoon earlier, when he noticed the slight worry painting her features. The total ended up being lower than Y/n had expected and she felt a little better walking out of the store with both boys giggling beside her.

Walking into the food court, Y/n spots the three boys sitting at a table. Yoongi is on his phone, pushing up his glasses up the bridge of his nose every once in awhile, and Namjoon is laughing about something on Hoseok’s phone when they sit down. Jimin is tempted to poke the dimples in both of their cheeks but he settled on taking a sneaky picture of the two.

“Did you guys have fun?” Yoongi finally put his phone down, pinching Tae’s cheek.

“Yeah Jiminie got a lot of makeup and noona got Taetae a pretty eyeshadow.” Yoongi smiled at the brown-haired boy as he was talking.

While Taehyung was telling Yoongi about all of the soft brushes and colorful makeup, Y/n realized the two ‘94 boys hadn’t gone shopping yet. “Namjoon-ah, were there any shops you wanted to go to?”

“No, not today.” His gazed returned to his phone and Y/n couldn’t help but wonder what was wrong. Of course he wasn’t little everyday so that wasn’t the issue. What made her worry was Namjoon never turned down the chance to get new clothes. He seemed a little weird all day, actually. She didn’t disregard his strange behavior but she wouldn’t ask him about it; if he needed to, he would come to her so she just has to wait it out.

Lost in her own thoughts she almost didn’t hear the small “psst” that came from beside her. She turned to Jimin and he waved her closer so he could whisper something to her. “Is something wrong with Joonie? He’s acting funny.” See? Even Jimin had noticed the shift in his mood.

“I don’t know baby boy. Maybe he’ll tell us later but for now let’s let him be, okay?” He gave her a small nod.

“Daddyyyy, can we go home now? Taetae is very tired.” He was leaning his head on Yoongi’s shoulder; Yoongi reaching up to ruffle his hair slightly.

“Yeah kiddo, let’s go home.” With that, the whole gang walked out of the mall, happy to be going to the warmth of Yoongi’s apartment.

In the car on the way back, Namjoon sat in the passenger seat; leaving Jimin by himself in the backseat. He was had finally looked up from his phone and Y/n took the opportunity to ask what was going on. She couldn’t stand to see him so down so she decided now was as good of a time as any.

“What’s going on, Joon?” The question came out of nowhere so the “Hm?” she received was expected. “You seem down today. Something wrong?” He shook his head, more like he was contemplating telling her than it was a response.

Silence filled the car for a moment before Y/n looked over to see the boy sitting shotgun looking like he was on the verge of tears. She took his hand and decided to pull over the first place she could, which happened to be a Mcdonald’s. Putting the car in park, she turned herself to the side to face the boy on her right.

“Can you tell me what's up, Joonbug?”

He took a deep breath; Y/n rubbing her thumb against his hand helped him to relax a bit.

“It’s just that- I just-” He sighed. It was sometimes hard for him to articulate his feelings when he got worked up. Even with his extensive vocabulary, he was seemingly speechless. “It's stupid.” He shook his head again, telling himself he was just overreacting.

“I'm sure that whatever it is, it's certainly not stupid. No matter how stupid you think it is, you can tell us. Right, Jiminie?” The boy in the back nodding his head with a ’mhm’.

“Well, earlier I seen how easily Jimin goes into little space and I wanted to go into it too but I couldn't and then at Denny’s when Wendy got a kids menu out it felt weird and I don’t know I guess not being little is just weird…” This boy is so well-spoken that it almost makes her laugh at his rambling. Almost.

“I understand but, You can't force something like that. Yeah, Jiminie can go into little space really quickly but he's done it for years. You just barely experienced going into headspace a few months ago. It takes time for something like this. Hell, even I'm new to this.” That earned her a small ‘Mommy, don't swear!’ from the back seat. He seemed to relax at her words, maybe he was just overreacting.

“Now, I don't know much about how to go into headspace but maybe you can ask Hoseokie to see if he knows what you're going through; he might be able to give you some advice” She kissed the knuckles of his hand and he leaned over the center console to give her a hug.

“Thanks, noona.” She gave him a squeeze before he sat back down in his seat.

“Okay, who wants ice cream?”

“JIMINIE DOES!”

[itsworn]

Not Even the FBI Knew the Secret Identity of This 1970 Chevrolet Chevelle SS454 LS6

Just as some law-enforcement officers have to stay undercover, so too do certain muscle cars. When I bought my 1970 Chevelle SS454 in late December 1970, I had just received an appointment to become a Special Agent with the FBI.

The original sticker price of the LS6-equipped car, including options and destination charge, was $4,276.05. The cash price to me was discounted to $3,700, including the $200 trade-in for my 1962 Falcon, which had a blown engine.

My new car was black with white stripes. I thought J. Edgar Hoover might frown upon the stripes, so as part of my purchase deal with Reeder Chevrolet in Knoxville, Tennessee, I had them feathered out and painted black.

I was also worried about theft. This particular car had been on the Reeder lot for some time, and while there, the carburetor, air cleaner, and battery were stolen. No surprise, then, that the car had been moved into the showroom for safekeeping when I first saw it. But the aftermarket parts the dealer used to replace the stolen items were disappointing. The air cleaner was small, about 8 inches in diameter, with an open element. It was mounted on top of a 2- to 3-inch-high steel riser bolted on top of the carburetor. I later learned that the carburetor was not even the original model. I believe it was a 730- or 750-cfm Holley with vacuum secondaries, not a 780- to 800-cfm double-pumper like the car’s original equipment.

To make the car less attractive to thieves in the future, I had Reeder replace the 454 emblems with 350 emblems. (I should have saved the original 454 emblems, but did not.) Consequently, my Chevelle became the only SS350 LS6 model in existence, and it came that way straight from the dealership!

After all of the post-sale, pre-delivery preparation had been completed by Reeder, my father took possession of the car while I was out of town. He picked up the car and parked it in our garage after negotiating our long, steep driveway with some difficulty. He told me that he would never get behind the wheel of that “beast” again!

As it turned out, my father was one of just three people, other than me, to drive the car before I sold it. One was a girl I was dating at the time, who took it on a 50-mile trip from Myrtle Beach back to Washington, D.C., in April 1971. The other was in 1975, by a fellow FBI agent friend who had been Best Man in my wedding.

In those first days of ownership, before even driving the car out of the garage, I carefully removed the window sticker and maintained it with the original invoice/bill of sale in my files. Later I discovered a build sheet under the back seat, which I maintained as well.

Chevelle Hauls

Before moving to California for my first office of assignment, I installed a trailer hitch on the car. I remember towing a U-Haul trailer on a route that ran through Nevada, where there was no speed limit at the time. Not one to pass up an opportunity to drive fast legally, I towed the trailer at 120 mph for several miles, until I cooked a bearing in one of the trailer wheels. The wheel passed me as I drove down Interstate 80. When I limped into the next town with a U-Haul center to swap out trailers, I noticed that the trailer had “45 mph Speed Limit” painted on the side. Oops!

I drove the Chevelle a lot in San Francisco, including trips back home to Knoxville. I made the 2,487-mile roundtrip in 31 hours driving nonstop, except for gas stops, by myself. Average mileage was under 10 mpg, but gas was only 30 cents a gallon back then.

After I moved to Los Angeles, and by fall 1972, the car had accumulated almost 50,000 miles and I was on my third clutch. The LS6’s massive power, combined with the hills of San Francisco and the 3.31 rearend, had been hard on clutches.

Not much later I blew out the Muncie M22 tranny while power-shifting from First to Second gear at 7,200 rpm near Ontario Motor Speedway. I had to leave the car on the roadside in Ontario and take a very long bus ride back to west Los Angeles. I rented a truck and trailer and returned the next day to get the car. Thankfully it was still there. The car was just under the 50,000-mile warranty limit, and the transmission was replaced for no charge at a Los Angeles Chevrolet dealer.

Not too long after the transmission was replaced I bought a book called How to Hot Rod Big-Block Chevys. It became my Bible. I began tricking out the engine as soon as I had extra money. Its 450 hp was not enough!

I first installed 2 1/8-inch Hooker headers (with one tube passing around the frame—what a nightmare that was to install), then a Mallory dual-point ignition system, and a high-rise manifold and a 850-cfm double-pumper, which I later replaced with a Corvette L71 Tri-power manifold with a 1,350-cfm carb setup. The entire smog pump system was removed and scrapped. After I completed all that work, the car really hauled! After countless clutch replacements, I installed a dual-disc truck clutch, which held up much better than the lightweight single-disc system that came on the car.

Following a no-injury accident in 1975, I had the body shop remove all of the Chevrolet emblems on the car and fill the holes prior to painting it, including the SS350 emblems. The car was completely covered with black lacquer with no stripes of any kind. The polished aluminum fender trim rings were also removed, so the only chrome trim pieces left on the car were the door handles, keyholes, bumpers, and gutter rails.

I drove the Chevelle only occasionally after it left the shop, averaging about a thousand miles per year. In 1987 I bought a 1986 Corvette and pretty much stopped driving the Chevelle completely. When I was transferred from Los Angeles to Tennessee, I had just a few days to decide what to do with it. I did not want to sell the Chevelle, but had no place to store it in Tennessee.

New Owners

I obtained Jeff Reade’s name from a friend and sold the car to him for $5,000 cash on October 1, 1999. The car had 81,719 miles on it. It still had the Tri-power system on it, and as a bonus I included the high-rise four-barrel manifold and carburetor in the trunk, along with the original cast iron exhaust manifolds, original dealer sticker, bill of sale, and other paperwork. I think he removed the Tri-power and installed the four-barrel system before he sold the car to Mike Maggio.

Since Reade apparently never transferred the car to his name, Maggio became technically the second owner. But at the time he was going through a bad business deal, and to protect the car on paper, he “sold” the car to his stepdaughter Melissa (third owner per the paperwork). Then Tom Giarraffa acquired it, but kept Melissa on the title until John Ginger and his Chevelle expert, Rick Nelson of MuscleCar Restoration and Design, negotiated a deal.

John is now the owner, and he relied on Rick’s skills to bring the car back to original. It was no easy task, Rick recalls. “Nothing was salvageable in the interior. No soft parts could be restored.” He went to extraordinary lengths over nearly a two-year period to track down N.O.S. parts, or used ones that could be freshened.

As for the numbers-matching drivetrain, the engine was completely gone through, bored, and fitted with new a cam and pistons. Rick gives a special nod to Eric Jackson of Vintage Muscle Car Parts for his work on the carb. “His work is unbelievable,” Rick says.

What motivated John Ginger to tackle such a massive restoration? Aside from the car’s thorough documentation, his reasons will be familiar to many muscle car enthusiasts. He owned a 1968 SS396 Chevelle back in the late 1960s, and fell in love with the 1970 body style as well. “It was the pinnacle of Chevelle design,” he says. And the black and tan interior was so different, it really caught his attention. But the bottom line was that he wanted a car with “no stories, no excuses.” The real deal—case closed.

At a Glance 1970 Chevelle SS454 Owned by: John Ginger, Laguna Beach, CA Restored by: MuscleCar Restoration and Design, Pleasant Plains, IL Engine: 454ci/450hp LS6 V-8 Transmission: Muncie M22 4-speed manual Rearend: 12-bolt with 3.31 gears and Positraction Interior: Saddle vinyl bucket seat Wheels: AO-code SS Tires: F70-14 Goodyear Polyglas Special parts: Rare dual-snorkel air cleaner

John Orr, the Chevelle’s original owner, had the selling dealership feather over the factory white stripes to conceal the true identity of this LS6 Chevelle from the prying eyes of the FBI.

While the LS6 has had several intake systems on it over the years, it now sports a rare (and restored) dual-snorkel air cleaner, which was on the numbers-matching 454 when John Ginger bought the car.

Only a few a LS6 Chevelles are known to exist with this rare combination of saddle interior and black exterior. Replacing all the soft parts was a serious challenge since seven colors were used in the cabin.

Approaching five decades of hard driving, but with less than 100,000 miles on the odometer, this LS6 Chevelle is still fairly fresh after all these years.

The reproduction carpeting obtained for the restoration turned out to be the incorrect color. But the carpet manufacturer’s brown Buick material was the right shade for the Chevelle.

Wedding Bells Chevelle

John Orr’s Chevelle was just a few years old when he married Susie, now his wife of more than 43 years, on September 28, 1974. When they emerged from the ceremony, the Chevelle was all done up with white ribbons and shoe polish by his father and some neighborhood kids.

“I knew it was going to happen, could not avoid it,” John recalls. “I just hoped they would not touch the paint, only the glass.” He admits to a strong devotion to the Chevelle. “Before I got married, I was married to that car. Susie once said she was going to bury me in it.”

Years later, as a prank, John decorated the car the same way for his cousin Frank, who was trying to keep his wedding a secret. The tin cans and white shoe polish gave it away.

Mrs. Orr poses with the Chevelle the day after the wedding. John Orr photo

These shots of the car in San Francisco were taken when John worked for the FBI in the early 1970s, and show how it looked without the 454 emblems and racing stripes. John Orr photo

The post Not Even the FBI Knew the Secret Identity of This 1970 Chevrolet Chevelle SS454 LS6 appeared first on Hot Rod Network.

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Rumored Buzz On Car Wash Dublin

Squeeze removal sponge Brushes. You'll want a few different varieties and sizes to become into the difficult to get to areas. An old toothbrush is effective, and several cotton swabs. Where to begin? Many specialists I discuss indicate starting on the inner and dirt that you sweep out will not settle on a cleaned exterior. Take out any floor mats and provide that a very good vacuuming to the upholstery and carpeting. Move the seats forward and backward to get all the dirt consisting of in the paths, and doorway jams. You should also use one of your bristled brushes to get any dirt out from the cracks; it's also good for stirring up the carpet mat so you can get most of the junk out of the carpet. Maintain a automobile duster that is great close to that a number of services and products leave behind. Today you're prepared to wax. Make certain you are currently using a very good wax 1 with high amounts of carnauba wax in it. Begin on very top of one's car and also do small segments because you work down your way. Don't let it sit more than 5-8 minutes before removing, and 2 thin coats of this is better than 1 thick coat. Apply it with a sidetoside motion rather than circular to prevent swirls. Make sure to contain doorway jambs, and the regions below door hinges and behind bumpers. Blemishes might be daunted by wrap a cotton material and burnishing the polish. Wash bucket. Make sure it is clean, and you may want to keep is as your car washing bucket. This can help prevent becoming compounds and dust in a bucket you employ to clean your car with. A few say that Guido da Vigevano built the car in 1335 that utilized a windmill type assembly to drive a set of gears to turn the wheels. I would say that if that is the case, that he was also the first 1 to clean a car. Now the automobile wash/detailing market is now an multi-billion buck market. Although why would you like to spend you hard won money on having a one else detail your own vehicle? When you could do it yourself, and make certain that it is completed correctly as well as the manner in which you want. Apart from I know a great deal of auto fanatic out there who would really prefer to depth their own cars themselves. Then you should seal the paint, in the event you chose to utilize an compound for oxidation. You can get a glaze/sealer to do this. By wiping glazers or even many sealers you apply. Utilize after it has hazed over smooth towels to remove it. Most men and women end here and say when they arrive at this time that they are done. They over look 1 of the most significant steps in maintaining and detailing a vehicle, and that is waxing. The sector is high in distinct sorts of products, but just how many of them get the job done? Most of the average cheap waxes include a part of wax inside them, and use petroleum. Products which can be like this do little in waxing and preserving the paint, if anything they simply waste your time and also money. Additionally be aware of the spray on wax with water. These waxes can give some protection for each time or two, but nothing like the security of a carnauba wax. Wash mitts and or a superior sponge. Then proceed into the chimney. Should you be like me, then you definitely despise cleaning windows for streaks' panic. Some pointers within this area would be to don't spray directly however onto a rag. Have a cloth ready to wipe it dry. You can use paper to wipe it dryand also that the abrasiveness acts like a gloss plus it won't leave any stripes. Make sure that you wash your hands off until cleaning off your windows, this may assist get rid of any dressing that is unwanted. If you have after-market window tint film, it may be degraded by cleaners that contain ammonia or vinegar. Factory tinting is at the glass and also is not affected by these cleaners. Orbital Buffer. Again these are receiving pretty inexpensive. We expect that you found the info helpful. Now for 1 of the parts that are harder the dashboard. 1st you are able to burst off any dirt . Clean air vent grilles with cotton swabs and brighten up them by latching on a spray on rubber vanity. Spray any dress up cleaner on a soft towel and then apply it into the remaining part of the dashboard, be careful around the tool panel. In case you own any stains in the upholstery or carpet this is the time to deal with them. Use an all purpose cleaner to get the stains out. Saturate the stain with cleaner, doing work it in with a moist sponge. Let it sit awhile and after that blot it out. Make certain to see the direction on the cleaner to get certain safety measures. You can even use a window cleaner sprayed on a cone to find the Head Liner clean. Don't forget the trunk/hatchback areas as well. Were about to the section about really washing your own vehicle. Make certain you are using a clean wash mitt or sponge, and that the bucket doesn't have any dirt and bleach. Work at the colour and make certain that the surface looks trendy. Make certain you don't utilize detergents, and are having a excellent car wash. The dishwashing detergent damages the end, wiping it of oils. Prior to Getting started you will want: It's time for you to move into one's car's exteriordetailing your engineoptimization. You will require to cover any sensitive equipment like electrical components. Try with a high quality aluminum foil for this measure. In the event you use a home http://query.nytimes.com/search/sitesearch/?action=click&contentCollection&region=TopBar&WT.nav=searchWidget&module=SearchSubmit&pgtype=Homepage#/car valeting pressure-washer because of it, be more mindfulthat you're able to dismiss off water from regions that weren't meant to get wet. I favor using a garden home with this particular step. When you have sealed off everything, spray on a high quality degreaser on to the cool temperature engine. Browse any warnings or precautions on the degreaser. Make use of a brush to receive any deposits that are stubborn. Then spray down making sure you receive off the degreaser all. Store Vacuum or equivalent. Once a long time of experience and discussing with some of the most effective representatives I've compiled a method to direct work. This guidebook is supposed for several car enthusiasts on most levels. You might be new to car detailing or you are only looking for some new "suggestions" to give you the advantage at your upcoming automobile show. In any event I trust that this guide helps you on your own trip. Pre-soak the vehicle making certain that that you eradicate some one of those filth. Additionally remove any bug and tar items time using pitch & insect remover having a sponge. As pliers accumulate brake dirt and debris debris, move on to the rims. Use a wheel cleaner which Click for more is made for your type of rims like being clean. Don't miss the under side of the car, along with the gas cap lid. Now begin at the surface of one's vehicle and proceed down the way. Be certain that you obtain all regions, and wash often. Todo that a last rinse, remove the spray thoughts from the hose and flooding the complete finish. The water will have a tendency to perform off in sheets, so diminishing darkening. When draining off the vehicle, you can make use of a chamois to get the majority of the drinking water, but finish it off using towels. By clipping out the area using a razor blade you can mend burns and holes into your carpeting. Then cut a similar size piece from a hidden spot, like underneath the seat, and cement it. By brushing the bit that is repaired with all the older, blend. You may visit a carpet outlet and will buy a carpeting sample for fairly reasonable price that could match the carpet of the car. If a carpeting is still appearing awful you can shampoo it to find out dirt and any dirt. You are able to rent these machines in even and sometimes a carpet shop you community grocery/retail series. Focus on the carpets about the motorist's side afterward the chairs; that keeps the warmth to the very least. Proceed the full car until you're finished. Again make sure that you browse any Pre-Cautions from the manufacturer. Go rather, if you machine-buff that the polish/wax into a high sheen. The buffer is much faster than hands may easily hurt paint. Treat the plastic chrome as though it had been surface and protect it. Attempt not to get any around the rubberized parts that are shameful. If you need to dothen spray it with a mist and wash product and wipe it down using a terrycloth towel. If that will not operate a detailer gave some peanut-butter to this as a hint: Microwave and then apply it. The oils of peanut butter soften the wax along with also its adequate to elevate the blot. If you get a polish/wax residue round emblems or at cracks, split out toothbrushes and then the cotton swabs. Soon after removing it all around and remove any extra out of the cracks and emblems. Diapers are excellent for buffing a glow up. Here's a tip: divide down the vehicle in to identical parts. Put on the prep/sealer/wax to one area at one period prior to moving on to another location. This let's you focus your efforts onto regions at a time. Now proceed on into the surfaces that are hard that are insides, clean them with a moist cloth and a cleaner. When you might have leather upholstery, groom the surfaces spray it on a rag for tight areas. Never use a vinyl product. Worn or torn areas of vinyl can be repaired using kits. Repairs are made with a patch that allows you match grain and exactly the color of your own upholstery. Worn areas of leather can be touched up with some high grade shoe gloss or dyes. The vehicle is mostly dry and if you're done washing, apply your plastic sheeting to some other plastic parts, bumpers and the tires that you want to shine. This gives the automobile and you can then look for missed regions or water runs. Once you are fulfilled, start the motor up allow it to operate for a little while with down the hood. Get rid of and use a cone sprayed with all the degreaser and wipe down some parts. Now you can wipe everything down with a rubber shining or dressing product. However, do not spray or wipe down your belts, and make sure you read any safety measures. Prior to wax you require to knock out any oxidation you could have. Typically, you won't need to achieve this every moment; point. Oxidation is dependent on how far you wax, so when you wax sun the car is exposed to, and other weather circumstances. Oxidation can be taken out using a transparent coat chemical. For standard finishes you can step around polishing compound, which is mild but still unpleasant to get coats. If you do utilize the products, you ought to seal off the paint after. Plus remember to shield your vehicles finish from the elements. This means storing the vehicle coated region, in a garage, or with a fantastic superior car cover. A car that is constantly exposed to sunlight and other environmental hazards call for servicing and may deteriorate faster. To begin with is hard job and time consuming. Regardless of what your basis behind wanting to depth your car reveal to attempting to sell your car detailing will soon be worth your time and effort. Now there are products out there that say that it will cut your time in half, and that you only need to do it when. However, several detailers I talked with stated that many of the newest cheaper products are indeed too fantastic to be authentic and will damage paint occupations. This is why I suggest staying far from low quality products and sticking with the known products. There is not a thing is effective as well as work and some elbow grease. I am going to make some suggestions as I continue through the guide, but if you have a product you really like, go ahead and use it. Some very good hose or strength Washer nozzle with different head types. Power Washers are getting reasonably priced now and now also you may select them up. Paper towels, rags, and chamois. Old t-shirts work nicely, also if you can get any old "clean" fabric diaper utilize them since they make excellent rags for polishing the conclusion and are wonderful for the windows.