#the tourist hotspots are open but empty

[reluctantmystic]

Highly suggest ditching painful family dinners for 6 hr long road trips.

[ask-a-bot]

Wait, wait, back up a sec, Kup. Cybertronians have set up shops and restaurants on Earth? That’s…..actually the coolest thing I’ve heard thus far! Think of the opportunities for human/Cybertronian relations! Trust could be effectively built that way.

…..Sorry, my mind is currently blown!🤯🤯🤯

Wow! I can’t believe I never thought of asking this, but Prime, Megs, are there other Cybertronian businesses that have appeared on Earth, like Swerve’s Bar?

There're a few truck stops along the motorway that runs "North" to "South"...

Yes, well, we need those for obvious... ksssschhhh! Kssshoooooooooooschhh! Snf. Excuse me. My... aakschoooosschhh! Snf. My apologies. We need rest stops along the big, long roads – such as the motorways of Britain and the highways of America – because we need to refuel, rest and... and such... at some point.

Just as it is dangerous for humans to drive tired, even you could cause an accident if you try to push yourself too hard.

That's true. We can't run on empty indefinitely.

No – and trying to do so is reckless. There is a very pleasant Cybertronian restaurant here in Inverness and there is talk of a rather... opulent one opening soon in Edinburgh. I have also heard that Scarborough, down in North Yorkshire, is soon to have a Cybertronian tourist hotspot opening in the springtime next year.

If there's that much stuff happening here, I'd bet that there's even more going on in Europe, America, Canada... especially in places with more space.

Yorkshire and Scotland kind of make sense where Britain's concerned because there are areas humans don't use or can't really build on, which we can utilise with our technology. I believe Scarborough's hotspot is gonna be on some kind of decorative pier, with amusements and facilities for all.

Sounds good! Will we be going?

We have been invited to the grand opening as a family (Prime insisted) and Optimus often gets vouchers to dine in new restaurants for free.

Yeah, but I don't like to...

Why not? Isn't it part of a prime's job?

Optimus does not enjoy being treated like royalty.

Shame. Oh well, I'll go in his place.

It does not work like that.

Well... what if we all go?

Yeah! As a family.

Take it up with Optimus – they are his vouchers.

Huh. Feels more like a summons.

Then shouldn't we go? Just to be polite?

Yeah!

Stay out of this. Go and play, if you're not going to recharge.

Ooh yeah!

Woop, woop!

Indoor voices, please.

[inhexe]

on oz, its history, and general characteristics.

the land of oz is a vast, roughly rectangular parcel that sits in the midst of the deadly desert. the sands on each side are impassable for an ordinary person, although they can be crossed via flight. they are impassable because they are both magical and alive, seeking to devour whatever they touch; whatever living thing comes in contact with them will turn to sand themselves.

oz's founding and ruling:

the founding mythology of oz claims that four witches joined their power to summon living land out of the desert, creating the four quadrants of oz and each claiming a portion for herself to rule. this is not true, but has served as justification for centuries of rule by witch families in the north, south, east, and west. a following myth describes the institution of monarchy in the form of the ozian royal family, centered on the capital, the emerald city: the four witches were supposed to rule as a council or assembly, but infighting made it impossible, each jockeying for total control of oz, until the first king of oz established the emerald city as a political center and brought peace by uniting the quadrants under his rule.

the royal family of oz ruled until the arrival of the wizard (timeline to come), when he killed the king, pastorius, and seemingly his daughter and heir ozma. he assumed the king's role in the governing politics of oz, roughly a constitutional monarchy in which each currently-ruling witch represents the political interests of her region, with ultimate decision-making power resting with the wizard. the royal family, and now the wizard, has control of oz's standing army, as well as the majority of its tax revenue. having the wizard's ear is crucial for the well-being of one's region.

oz's regions:

the different regions of oz are vast and consist primarily of temperate biomes, especially forests in the west and south, with temperate grasslands and steppe in the east falling away into scrubland the closer it comes to the deadly desert. each region has its distinct characteristics, cultures, as well as a unique nickname as depicted on the map above (based on an LFB-approved map). these nicknames have a varying register depending on context, and using them can either be considered simply informal, all the way to outright rude and insulting.

a rough description of each region is as follows:

north: "gillikin country" is so-called because the people are "gilly": its central feature is the weathering river, which runs from some unknown source deep in the deadly desert through the center of the region and empties into a massive lake at the foot of the emerald city. with numerous branches of the river, other, smaller rivers, and many lakes, this is a region known for fishing, panning, water-based trade routes, and many tourist hotspots for healing and magical baths. (most of the popular, touristy locations have 0 magical efficacy whatsoever.)

south: "quadling country" earned its name from the traditional foodstuff of its inhabitants, a simple and heartening porridge called "quell" (similar to how rice, corn, pasta, etc. are traditional and culturally-important starches in certain areas of our world). "quadling" is in that sense a rude name based on the traditional food of the region. there is a long belt of old-growth forest that cuts across the lower middle of the region, with the land on the further side, nearest the deadly desert, considered poorer and less habitable. the northern half of the country, nearest the emerald city, is primarily used for agriculture, which forms the south's central economy.

east: "munchkin country" is rudely named because its inhabitants tend to be shorter by a head to a head-and-a-half than other ozians, with some outliers on either end of the spectrum. the belt of forest crossing the south stretches into the east and opens into a mountainous and forested area on the southeastern tip of this region, with the rest of the region consisting of temperate grassland (and scrubland nearer the deadly desert). although every part of oz has its own educational institutions, the east is known for its intellectual output with cities growing around colleges and universities, as well as a central river called the blue river (and sometimes, rudely, "munchkin river") that stretches into the north and connects them to valuable trade.

west: "winkie country" derives its name from the stereotype of a westerner: someone coming up from a dark mine, miserable and hunched, tilting up his face with a disfiguring squint as the sunlight blinds him. hence, "winkie." this is the most densely mountainous and hilly region of oz, with numerous vital deposits of ores and gemstones providing its economic engine. it is crucial territory given the need for certain gems and ores both by the state, the luxury economy, and by magical practitioners who depend on their certain specific qualities for success. however, it is also shrinking, rapidly losing land on the far west border to the encroachment of the deadly desert. more on this to come.

what might be called the fifth region of oz is, of course, the emerald city and its environs. more to come.

oz's culture, in broad strokes:

each region of oz has its own distinct culture, driven by its unique characteristics and economy. there is also a degree of insulation from each other region given the prevalence of mountains and dense forests across the whole of oz, although rivers--each zone having its own, central river and usually several smaller ones--provide vital transportation into and out of each cardinal region, as well as enabling trade and the flow of information.

all ozians speak the same language, usually just called "common," but each cardinal region has its own accent and traditional dialects, with more rural and especially more desert-bordering communities having thicker and less readily-comprehensible versions. there is also an accent typically found in the emerald city which other parts of oz describe as being nasal, clipped, and rapid. a dialect that is shared among regions, with some differences, is "river cant," spoken primarily by ozians who travel and work on the many rivers of the country.

the technologies available in oz are roughly equivalent to the technologies available in the mid-19th century. there are some train lines, especially from the emerald city to other cities, and especially within the east, which has railways connecting its major university towns. the emerald city as well as some other large population centers have trams, primarily horse-drawn although some neighborhoods use steam engines. that said, the majority of transportation is conducted via horse-drawn technologies, on water, or for the unlucky, on foot. there is a government-operated postal service. there are also printing presses and a broadly shared literary culture.

ozian culture is centered on a theme of hospitality, a value which is shared across all regions. traditional ozians feel a strong sense of obligation to neighbors and community, as well as to strangers in need. it's not uncommon to receive a knock on your door in a rainstorm with the expectation that you'll welcome in and shelter the traveler until it's safe for them to leave. that said, this tradition has been fading in recent generations, especially because the network of obligations in small communities has become strained by population growth and movement, as well as the development of larger cities. it also causes chafing and antagonism even among the most traditionalist ozians, simply because placing demands on others/having them placed on you can be very annoying. ​

[momolady]

Selkie Boyfriend: Fionn

Old romance blossoms warm when it’s cold.

Female Reader x Male Monster (both cis)

Every winter, it’s a tradition in your hometown for people to gather around the frigid beach, strip off as many clothes as they are comfortable with, and plunge into the nearly frozen waters. This isn’t anything strange, but in your town, the selkies join in.

It started centuries ago as a sort of courtship ritual, where the men would try and impress the female selkies. Your stepfather was a selkie, and every winter you watched as your mother plunged into the icy ocean and swam into his coat, which kept her warm until he brought her up on land.

Back then it seemed like the most romantic thing. But then it wasn’t a tourist hotspot. These days it’s gotten massive, lasting a whole three-day weekend. People take it as something folksy and fun, not the loving tribute to tradition it used to me. They just want fun and laughs, or to meet hot eligible selkies. You no longer partake in the festivities, and use the holiday as a chance to get out of town. You usually go to a bed-and-breakfast further upstate that’s always totally empty, because everyone is staying in town for the Selkie festival.

This year, that doesn’t happen. Your beloved bed-and-breakfast is closed early for the winter, and you’re stuck at home during the festival for the first time in years. You plan to stay cooped in your apartment, stocked with all the snacks and digital distractions your heart could desire. But your little brother, Lukas, is adamant about getting you to attend this year. Half-selkie himself, he takes the festival more seriously than he should. And first thing on Friday morning, he’s pounding on your door.

“Open up! Mom and Dad are making their special seafood cakes for lunch!” He bangs on the door and rattles the doorknob.

You look up from the coffee pot and stare at the door, scowling and hunched.

“I know you’re in there! I brought Fionn with me as a threat!”

“Don’t say that,” Fionn grumbles.

Fionn is your brother’s best friend, a troubled selkie that your father took in. His home life hadn’t been great, and he was headed down a rough path until your dad stepped in. As teens you and Fionn fought constantly, especially over how he treated your family. As time went on and Fionn grew up, he became respectable, upstanding, and a hard worker. He’s also the biggest son of a bitch you ever met.

You scoff and rub the bridge of your nose. “Please don’t rip off my door.”

“I’m gonna!” Lukas shouts back.

“No,” Fionn growls.

You open the door and look up at them. Lukas is like a clone of his father, tall, pretty and soft, with copious white-and-black curls. His dark eyes brighten as he looks down at you.

You sigh heavily. “What do you want?”

Lukas’ expression is instant, judgemental, and slightly cute. “What do I want? What do you want? This is your first festival home in years! You should be enjoying it.”

Fionn is standing back, being a bit more understanding than Lukas. He towers over even Lukas, very close to seven feet tall. He’s broad and muscled, but still has that softness all selkies possess. His skin is mottled dark and pale, and his long gray hair is tied back in a thick braid. His facial hair is a thick scruff, but even that looks soft to the touch.

“Too many people,” you say to Lukas. “I’m not risking it.”

“But it’s fun!” Lukas scoffs.

“For you, maybe, but it’s not been fun for me since we were teens. The crowds get to me.”

Lukas pouts. “But I’m going to be in the swim this year with Owen!”

You pat his shoulder. “Good for you. I’ll watch Mom’s videos.”

“Hey,” Fionn suddenly speaks up. “This is important to Lukas. Catch his hint already, and stop being crabby.”

You frown up at Fionn. “What hint?”

“I’m proposing! It was supposed to be a surprise.”

You gasp and look apologetically back to Lukas. “To Owen?”

“No, to Dad. Of course Owen!” He breaks into a big grin. “I want our families to be there during the swim to surprise them, so don’t tell anyone about it!”

“I’m sorry, Lukas.” You settle back, growing nervous as you think about the crowded beach. “I’ll make it to the swim.”

Lukas points up to Fionn. “He’ll be there too, so you can ride his shoulders if the crowds bother you.”

“Don’t volunteer me for things,” Fionn sighs.

Lukas grabs your hands and tugs. “So come on! Get out of your cave and come home with us.”

“I haven’t showered yet,” you grumble.

“Then just come home for lunch,” Lukas urges.

You grimace again. “The traffic will be horrible.”

“I can pick you up,” Fionn interjects quickly.

You gulp. “On your motorcycle?”

“Bundle up.” Fionn points at you. “I have a helmet, so just wait outside for me around noon.”

“No, I...”

Before you can argue, Lukas stops you with a big hug. “I can’t wait to see you! Mom and Dad will be so excited!” He gives you a kiss on the cheek and turns to go.

Fionn looks down at you hesitantly. “Noon.”

“I got it, Giant.”

“Smidge,” he smirks before following after Lukas.

Another thing about Fionn - even with all your arguing in your youth, the two of you had more romantic dalliances than you cared to admit. Even now you carry a torch for Fionn that won’t snuff out. During college, when you were stressed and visiting home, he provided distraction and comfort when you needed him most. Even now the thought of his massive, gentle hands on your thighs makes you warm and soft all over.

At noon you stand outside the apartment building, bundled up in warm sweaters, a scarf and your favorite leather jacket. Town started getting busy on Monday, but now it’s so slammed that there isn’t a parking spot for miles. Fionn appears in the distance, zooming between cars until he pulls up to you. His shining silver motorcycle has been with him since high school, and he’s kept it up like it’s his baby. He tosses a helmet your way.

“Ready?”

“No.” You put the helmet on and adjust the straps. Fionn’s driving always terrified you. No matter how many times you’ve ridden with him, you never get used to it.

“Then hop on.” He pats the seat behind him.

You climb on and put your hands on his back, holding on to his jacket. “No, no,” Fionn fusses. “Hold on. The roads are too busy for you to be falling off.”

You frown and slowly put your hands and arms around his waist. His big, gloved hand pats yours. “Good girl.”

You huff and kick the back of his leg. “Just drive already.”

He takes off, motor roaring. You hide your face in his back, but you can feel the cars whizzing by you. “Hey, can you hear me?” Fionn’s voice comes through the helmet.

“Shit!” you exclaim from shock.

Fionn laughs. “Sorry. I just put radios in the helmets.”

“Taking a lot of people on your bike these days?” you huff.

“Just Lukas, really. We carpool.”

You chuckle. “That explains why the helmet smells like strawberries.”

His laugh is bright and nostalgic. “It’s been a while since I’ve had you on the back. You feel nicer than Lukas.”

“Lukas is probably warmer than me. I’m freezing back here!”

Fionn puts his hand over yours, and it’s toasty-warm. “I told you to bundle up!”

“I did, but sweaters and fat only get you so far! I’m not a selkie, this isn’t my habitat.” You squeeze your arms tighter around him.

“I could warm you up, but we’re going to your parents.”

His sultry teasing makes your face burn. You sputter in embarrassment, only making him laugh more. “Shut up!”

Once you get home, your dad piles your plates high with food, while your mother has you go through the clothes she’s going to donate to see if you want anything. After a while, your parents lie down for a nap and you join Lukas and Fionn in the living room. Your folks still have all your childhood gaming systems, so they’re playing an old Mario game. You sit down on the couch beside Fionn and start to doze while you watch them play.

Fionn nudges you. “Wanna play?” he asks.

You rub your eyes and yawn. “I was never any good at this. I prefer Street Fighter.”

“You’re too good at that,” Lukas scoffs.

You snuggle into the sofa as Fionn’s warmth flows through you. After a while, Lukas gets a call from Owen and goes to get him for dinner that evening. You and Fionn are alone. “I’ll put on Street Fighter.” Fionn stands up and he lays his thick, heavy coat aside.

You touch the silky fur, then watch as he bends over. He always had the best ass. “This doesn’t feel nostalgic at all,” you chuckle. “You and me staying up late to play fighting games. Lukas passed out on the floor with his blankey.”

Fionn smirks as he sits back down, placing a controller in your hand. “Well, we pretended to play to keep him asleep.”

Your cheeks burn. “Yeah, well, we’d been fighting most of the day.”

“I’ve been thinking a lot about you recently,” he says as the game starts.

“Oh, no,” you sigh.

Fionn looks down at you while you try to select a character. “Since you don’t like the festival, what if we went to the aquarium until the swim starts?”

You flick your eyes back up to him. “For what?”

Fionn shrugs. “For whatever.”

You look him up and down, then press your lips into a firm line. “What have you been thinking about me for?”

He nods to the TV. “Beat me, and I’ll tell you.”

You bite your lip to try and suppress a smile. “What if you beat me?”

Fionn leans down. “I’ll show you.”

Your heart sputters and rapidly accelerates. You turn back to the game, playing until you win. Once you do, Fionn grabs you and kisses you.

“That’s what you’ve been thinking about?” you swoon.

“No. That’s what we always did when you won. Just keeping up tradition.”

You go in to claim another kiss, and Fionn moves himself on top of you. You grab his braid, stroking it between your fingers until your hands descend to his back. He feels so warm that you’re actually starting to overheat. You press a finger to his lips. “Stop. Stop.” You push against his face. “I’m being easy.”

Fionn chuckles. “Feels like old times, all right.”

You look into his dark eyes as a loose hair falls into his face. “I still like you, but I thought we agreed...”

“That was years ago, and we were dumb and stressed. Now, we’re wise and tired.”

You smile and kiss him softly. “Nah, still dumb too.”

“I want to take you on the swim next year,” he whispers into your ear. “So let me try all this year to make that happen.”

You grab his face and look directly at him. “Shit, you’re crazy.”

Fionn grins. “Maybe so, but what do you say?”

You can feel the heat radiating from his body. It reminds you of stolen kisses, hiding in the old treehouse, and being pressed together in the closet. You gently brush away the hair falling into his eyes. “Let’s just get through this weekend,” you murmur. “Lukas and Owen should be the stars. Let’s just… get reacquainted.”

Fionn kisses you, and you can hear your parents begin to get up from their long nap. You try to push him off, but you really don’t want to break the kiss now. “You turn me on like nothing else,” he whispers.

“Shut up!” You finally push him away, flushed, breathless, and smiling. “You’re still a fucking teenager.” You adjust your hair to smooth it out.

He kisses your cheek. “Only for you.” He gets up as your parents walk into the kitchen.

That evening you enjoy talking with Owen, Lukas’ boyfriend and future fiance. As the evening wears on, the family splits and goes their separate ways. Mom and Dad go to drink wine before bed, and Owen and Lukas go to his childhood room to make out, leaving you and Fionn alone again. You go down into the basement, which was Fionn’s room when your dad took him in. It’s pretty much the same, only there’s storage taking up one side of the room where he used to have a massive bookshelf. You have hot, spiked cider in your hands, watching Fionn as he takes an old guitar from the closet. He sits on the foot of the bed playing it, although it’s horribly out of tune.

“God, I remember how much I both hated and loved seeing you with a guitar,” you scoff.

He grins. “Oh, really?”

You smooth your hand over his coat which is laid beside you. “I thought it was both stupid and hot.”

“That was me in high school.” He strums then attempts to tune but one of the strings breaks. He sets it down then steals your cider.

“You were smart, top of class and everything.”

He sighs after a long sip. “Thanks to your family. I would’ve been in real shit without you.”

“Even after all I put you through?”

Fionn inches closer. “Especially.”

“Mind taking your hair down?” you ask shyly. “I wanna see it.”

“You pervert,” he teases. He takes down the braid, combing his thick fingers through the long grey locks.

“You’re so pretty,” you huff. “It’s not fair.”

He inches in again, setting aside the hot glass so he can kiss you. “You’re beautiful,” he whispers.

“Oh god, don’t start.” You wrap your arms around him.

“We’ve never stopped.” He lays you down on the bed, his curtain of long silver hair falling around you. “We’ve been colliding against each other since the day we met.”

You touch his face, smoothing your fingertips over his lips. “You’re serious about this?” you murmur. “Us?”

He bites your fingers, then moves down to kiss you. His huge body makes you forget the chill of the basement, and his hair is overflowing with his pure, concentrated scent. “I want to wrap you in my coat now, but I want to wait a year.”

“After this weekend,” you reassure him. “I want Lukas to have the spotlight.”

Fionn kisses you softly. “I know. That’s why I said the aquarium.”

You run your fingers through his hair, taking his kisses gladly. “You could have anyone. You don’t have to focus on me, you know?”

He frowns at this. “What do you mean? Who is anyone?”

“Anyone!” you scoff. You both sit up so you can talk. “Look at you, then look at me.”

Fionn shakes his head. “I am looking at you. That’s the point.”

“I’m small and round, and you’re big and…. big!”

He grins and places his hand on your thigh. “I like small and round. I can pick you up and still have my hands full.”

Your face burns bright red. “Shut up,” you say softly.

Fionn leans in closer to you, placing a soft kiss to the tip of your nose, then another on your temple. “No.”

You press your palm against his chest. “We used to just fool around, what changed?”

“Age,” he sighed. “I never felt like myself when I dated. I felt the most like myself when I was with you, Smidge.” His smile is warm, and his hands feel gentle as he places them around your waist. “Even when we aggravated each other, I felt safe and at peace.”

“Pervert,” you tease.

He arches a brow. “I’m being serious, ass.”

“Sorry,” you smile. “I know that feeling. I get it with you too.” You take hold of his hand. “It just is a little scary. You're my friend, my family, and I don’t want to lose that if we go through with it.”

“I know.” He lies down on the bed, pulling you down beside him. “That’s why I gave it a year.”

“Then can we stop talking about it for now?” you whisper. “I know that sounds childish, but I feel a bit drunk and it’s making me wanna cry. Maybe we can just… fool around a bit?”

Fionn kisses your forehead. “Let me take you upstairs to bed.”

You cling to his shirt. “No. I wanna stay here.”

Fionn puts his arm around you. “You sure?”

You nod, burying your face against his shoulder. “Please.”

Pulling up the blanket around you, Fionn lets you snuggle up close to him. You eventually fall asleep in his arms with your face buried in his long hair. In the morning, you’re snuggled up to his back, spooning with him. You smile softly, kissing his broad back and then wrapping yourself around him. You think you could get used to this.

[ve1vetyoongi]

wherever you will go | jjk

Pairing: Jungkook x female reader

Genre: actor!oc, director!jungkook, smut, angst, humour.

Word count: 21k

Summary:  Not much happens when you grow up by the coast. Tourists come and go, the theatre where you work shows the same shows over and over and there’s always sand and salt in the air. Your dreams of making it big in the city are exactly that: dreams. When your hopes of becoming an actress are shattered into a million pieces, you find yourself getting drawn to a captivating up-and-coming movie director by the name of Jeon Jungkook. With his bright eyes and charming smile, he seems determined to glue your pieces back together -- even if it means leaving Ocean City behind for good.

Warnings: themes of loss/grief, mentions of death of a parent, dom!jungkook, dom/sub themes, spanking, squirting, unprotected sex, oral sex (f recieving).

Rating: Mature.

A/N: Hello loves! HAPPY JK DAY!! This fic is a lil celebration of our golden boy Jungkook so I hope you enjoy!! This whole fic is sickeningly fluffy and reads like a pretentious YA novel but ya girl wrote this while she was stuck in quarantine a few weeks ago and I debated not posting this bc I lowkey love it lowkey hate it so pleasedonthateme if it’s bad LOL. Also -- just incase you haven’t read the warnings already there is a running theme that deals with the loss of a parent (a topic very close to my heart, hence why this piece was especially healing to write.) so reader discretion is advised if that is triggering to you in any way shape or form!!!! P.P.S Largely unedited so pls bare with any mistakes!

Prelude.

You're late for your work shift, you note, as you catch sight of your watch face glaring up at you menacingly from the arm clutching the handle bars of your bike. As if your mood couldn't get any more miserable -- the dreary morning drizzle that falls from the sky and drips icily down the back of your nape was bad enough.

Goddamn, you groan to yourself as you will your feet to pedal ever faster. Now my hair is gonna be frizzy.

It's a Saturday and the theatre where you work always opens earlier at the weekends. You promised you'd be on time today, but yet here you are, speeding down the worn in sandy sidewalks of your seaside town a whole block away when you should've been opening up half an hour ago.

It's a habit of yours, being late. And as hard as you try, you just can't change a habit. But it can't be helped you suppose. Continuity is all you've ever known. That's the thing about living in a tiny seaside town. Things never change.

The view from your bedroom window has been the same for as long as you can remember — Ocean City — Aka, block after block of rainbow coloured houses with flaky paint leading up to the harbour where boats bob nonchalantly and fishermen reel in their catches beneath the gull filled sky. Beyond it the beach; greyish rolling waves and upturned pebbles nestled atop of hard sand in the winter and clear water and brightly coloured beach towels and brave surfers in the summer.

Nobody ever leaves, and the tourists that arrive in summer never stay. Life becomes a predictable practice, just each day lived out to the next in an endless cycle of never ending continuity. It's suffocating and endless and sometimes you feel like you're just a pawn on a giant chess board, destined to move one agonising square forward at a time, never diagonally. It's hard to change directions when you've been taught to stick to what you know.

You didn't always live here, in this town of continuity. You lived in the big city for a while, where no day was the same as another. But after your mother died you and your older brother were shipped off to live with your dad, who wouldn't know the definition of adapting if it hit him square in the face. He's always been the same square shouldered, balding dude in his forties who never wanted kids and never quite got over losing your mother to the big buck actor she ran off with when you were two.

So that's how you ended up here. Late for work at your job in the country's most prized vacation spot. And your boring reality.

You roll past the beach huts on the shoreline that alternate between vibrant pink and muted blue, barely paying attention to the boardwalk with its little boat house that stretches out into the horizon like a crooked finger. When it gets dark, you can spot the pier carnival lights flashing in the distance from here as they dance across the reflection of the pale white moon and play among the waves.

Even now, the yellow lights of the ornate street lamps that line the water's front shine like tiger's eyes against the sky just like they always have when you turn down the familiar route that takes you past the winding lanes of trinket shops and the happy hour bars and the carnival that feels strangely empty at such an early hour, not a single rollercoaster ride in operation.

Before long you're skidding to a stop outside of the The Crestmont, the old theatre where you work. It's everything you'd expect from a vintage cinema; pink and blue neon lights and a gold trimmed ticket booth out front with a three-sided marquee that extends from the front of the building like a brightly lit airport runway. You hurry beneath it, grateful for the protection it provides from the rain that has started to come down in lashes now, before heading over to the rack around the back of the building where you can chain your bike.

The Crestmont used to be somewhat of a hotspot back in the day or so your told, but these days it only shows cartoons at a discounted price for the neighbourhood kids and the occasional local production of some worn out musical everyone has seen a hundred times before. It's lost all it's magic, everyone says. But you disagree; you probably spend more time here than anyone, and there's magic in every inch of this place.

From the red velvet curtains to the grand chandelier, The Crestmont is one of a kind. Sometimes you disappear into the theatre by yourself for a while unbeknownst to your manager. You can almost taste the laughter and the tears and the love that has been spilled and shared unapologetically amongst these seats. Pure magic.

Your mom left a piece of herself here, too. If you close your eyes you can hear her laughter spilling out into the theatre, or her lilting singing voice filling every nook and cranny like a haunting siren. She was the Crestmont's star. Ocean City's sweetheart.

There's a wall of fame in the lobby. It's covered in portraits crested with gold frames, all filled with pictures of the Crestmont's greatest performers. You've spent hours there — (turns out it's the perfect hiding spot from your manager) — fingers tracing the plaques beneath each one, all inscribed with names that townsfolk whisper with dreamy looks in their eyes. Some are black and white, some colour, but all of them depict pretty faces with beaming smiles that never seem to fade.

Not even your mom's. Her smile is pearly and bright, right above the plaque with her birthdate. And her death date.

And right there at the end, an empty frame. Your frame. You can feel it. You already know how you'll pose for your picture. Hair over one shoulder, hand on hip, smile so convincing that it'll be like every happiness in your heart is written right across your forehead proudly, and you won't have to dull it any longer.

You finish hooking a chain around the handlebars of your bike, catching sight of your reflection in the darkened windows. Staring back at you is a girl dressed in a maroon v-neck with a preppy dicky bow tied around her collar. You frown. The white shirt itches and the high waisted pants make your crotch look weird but the uniform is compulsory. The only thing uglier is the sour expression on your face, which you try to smooth out with your thumb, experimenting with plastering a sickly smile to your face instead. It might be convincing if your lips didn't strain and your eyes weren't so prone to rolling without your permission.

You need to learn to hide your emotions, your father said. You have your feelings written across your face. Customers don't like that.

It's true; customer's didn't usually like you, your unforgiving face or when you spilled cola down their blouse or spat in their popcorn. One more complaint and you were on the path to being fired once and for all, and although in some ways you would be glad to say goodbye to the stupid slushie machine that always gets stuck and the ungrateful customers and the goddamn uniform, you can't loose this job.

Not when it's your ticket to making it big. Then customers will point to your picture as they pass and clutch their chest with a snide superiority, Oh! Can you believe she served me a cola once? I always knew she was gonna make it! instead of Would it kill you to smile a little, honey?

So you swallow a sigh and make your smile as convincing as possible and march inside of the ornate theatre doors of The Crestmont, hoping that today may be the day where things finally change for once.

Where it begins

"I'm going to work!" You call as you you pull a baseball cap down over your hair to cover it's unbrushed wildness. "I won't be back for a while so don't wait up, okay Taehyung?"

You pause with your hand on the door, listening carefully for a response; the small house you live in pulsates with the bass of some indie rock album your brother and his friends are obsessed with at the moment, and your eyes roll when you peer up the staircase and find Taehyung's bedroom door firmly closed like always.

With a shake of your head you scribble out a message on a sticky note — GONE 2 WORK. — and leave it for him to read when he eventually emerges from his man cave in search of sustenance and finds you gone.

You brush away the funny ache that nestles in your stomach. This is nothing new. You're used to not being heard. Your dad is always gone for trips you suspect involve more play than work, and your older brother pretends he's not broken by hanging around with the neighbourhood cool kids and barraging himself in his room for days on end. Despite living under one roof it feels as though you're miles apart, an invisible barrier separating you indefinitely.

You weren't always like this; distant, always stepping on eggshells around each other. You were a family once. A happy one. But since the accident there's been an absence in this house, and nothing has been the same since.

Still, you know that beneath Taehyung's standoffish persona, he's still your big brother. He worries about you. So you tack the note to the fridge and make your way outside.

The lawn is already brown despite it only being late May, and summer is shaping up to be hot and sticky, though you live two blocks away from the beach so the coolness of the ocean still thankfully pervades against your perspiring skin, the gulls already calling you with their high pitched squaks from down at the shoreline.

You've barely made it to the end of the drive before there's the sound of knuckles rapping against glass. You look up and your heart jumps into your mouth. Staring back at you is a pair of dark eyes from behind the upstairs windowpane. Even from this distance you can see how they shine, deep and dark like a cup of black coffee, and you'd recognise the annoyingly cute smirk that matches them anywhere.

Jungkook. Jeon Jungkook. Taehyung's best friend, and, unfortunately, your crush for as long as you knew what the word love meant.

"Hey, Y/N!" Your heart sinks when the window slides open and a messy head of brown hair sticks out through the gap and points at you with a pout. "You're leaving already? Without me?"

Oh; another thing about Jeon Jungkook. He's also your co-worker, which means you spend 16 hours a week in his company, much to the glee of your heart and the dismay of your conscience.

You weren't exactly surprised when you turned up to the Crestmont theatre for your first shift and were left in the capable hands of none other than Jungkook to teach you the ins and the outs of the popcorn machine and the ticket booth.

For as long as you've known him he's been somewhat of a film buff. He practically grew up holding a camera. You always used watch him and your brother making home movies in the backyard, fit with ketchup sachets for blood and endless costumes from your mom's closet. And the one time you stayed at his house when your dad went away for a while after the accident, you saw all the classic movie posters on his bedroom wall; Casablanca, Singing in the Rain, Jaws. So it made total sense for Jungkook to be at the Crestmont. In fact, you couldn't imagine him anywhere else.

That day you were mostly just surprised that he knew who you were at all. While you had spent years watching him from your bedroom window while he kicked a ball around with Taehyung or avoiding his eyes at the table when he stayed for dinner, he had never so much as glanced in your direction.

Deep down you think the reason he was so quick to take you under his wing is because he knew first hand how hard the accident hit your family. You suppose he feels he owes it to Taehyung to keep you in high spirits.

Although if you weren't you and he wasn't him, you'd swear Jungkook's attentions had become almost flirtatious as of late. He always goes the extra mile to spend time with you, and you even though you know it'll end up with you getting hurt you can't bring yourself to stop him.

You see, Jungkook has a gift for subtle charm. Like how he always sneaks you sodas out back on your lunch break, never forgetting the extra syrup — tooth rottingly sweet just how you like it — slipping one of his own dollars into the cash register to avoid a telling off from your manager. Or how he insists on helping you clean up after the theatre is empty, showing you the best secret places like down the back off seats to find misplaced trinkets and the creaky floorboard where your manager hides his cigarettes. How he insists on walking you home after the evening shift, even if he says he's going this way to see Taehyung anyway.

You've spent countless hours pondering over whether his sweet talking words mean as much to him as they do to you. And as much as you know it's unlikely for someone like Jeon Jungkook to ever have feelings for you, you can't help the way your heart speeds up every time he shoots you one of his signature bunny smiles that light up his whole face like he's happiness personified. And you can't bring yourself to hate him for it.

"I did call," you respond matter of factly, finally sucking in a breath of courage to turn around and squint up at him through the afternoon sun with a shrug. "But that trash you're listening too was too loud for you guys to hear me."

Jungkook's eyes widen as he fumbles around beneath the windowsill and pops up again holding up a shiny vinyl record sleeve. You recognise it instantly; it's from his favourite film — Submarine. He hardly ever shuts up about it.

"This is not trash. This is, like, the best movie soundtrack ever made!" He shakes his head as he takes the needle off of Taehyung's vintage record player, music ceasing with a scratch, and slips it into the sleeve with a grin. "Good thing I have it downloaded so we can listen to it on the way to work, hm?"

You roll your eyes and tap your foot impatiently, and at that, Taehyung appears behind him.

"You're leaving already?" He frowns, words directed at Jungkook even as he glances through narrowed eyes at you stood awkwardly on the front lawn.

"Yup. My shift starts in twenty." Jungkook shrugs, disappearing into the room for a second before he emerges again with a backpack slung over his shoulder. "Sorry dude. I can come back afterwards though, if you want?"

Taehyung purses his lips. Even from here you can see the stress lines embedded in his forehead that make him look older than his humble age of nineteen, somehow weak unlike how you always saw him as a kid. Big and strong; untouchable; your brother.

His blunt eyes never quite meet Jungkook's as he shakes his head softly. "'S good. I was gonna try and sleep, anyway, before the sun goes down. Didn't get much shut eye last night. Not with the..."

Nightmares. Taehyung trails off, but you know that's what he's alluding to. The nightmares that turn your big strong brother into a sniffling mess in the dead of night, kicking around mercilessly until you sneak into his bed and whisper to him until he slips into slumber again. Not that you ever acknowledge it in the morning over your bowls of cereal and vacant good morning's.

"Okay." Jungkook's face momentarily falls; a rare occurrence from the boy who seems to be perpetually cheerful. He pats Taehyung on the shoulder gently. "Take care of yourself, okay man?"

Taehyung just nods, letting out a yawn as he rolls into a stretch. "See ya tomorrow."

You're jolted from your thoughts when Jungkook throws his left leg out of the window, then the other, arms bulging in just the right way where they poke out of the sleeves of his plain white tee as he climbs down the drainpipe and lands with a thump on the soles of his high top sneakers.

"Hey kiddo." He grins as he wipes the palms of his hands on the thighs of his ripped jeans, before messing up your hair despite your groan of protest.

"Don't call me that. You're only a year older than me."

You're startled when you meet the pair of warm eyes that glint golden brown in the summer evening light, chest contracting as you look away and break into a fast walk towards the street.

"And you know you can just use the front door right?"

You hear him snort behind you, neglecting to use the front gate and instead launching over the fence so he lands directly in front of you on the sidewalk.

"How am I supposed to impress my best friends little sister if I can't show off my guns?" He flexes his arm, but you just brush past him with a roll of your eyes.

"You're an idiot."

You hear the clunk of his bike chain unhooking from the gate, before a set of wheels pedal up on the sidewalk beside you. "Hey! Where are you going?"

"Uh, to work?" You offer bluntly, squinting at him through the sun. "You should be too, we start in fifteen minutes."

"I mean why are you walking? What happened to your bike?"

You roll your eyes. "Some tourist kids slashed the wheels at the beach."

"Shit. Really?" Jungkook tuts, but you don't miss the glint in his eye as he nods towards the pegs on the back of his bike that were made for carrying a passenger."Then I guess it's my lucky day. Hop on, we can ride together."

You come to a standstill, arms crossed tightly. "I'd rather walk."

"Oh come on!" He wiggles his eyebrows. "It'll take double the time if we go on foot, and I recall it being you who got a final late warning last week."

"If we go on foot?" You laugh breathily, determined to stand your ground. "Just go on ahead, I'm good here."

"Well, I'm not exactly going to leave you here alone on the side of the road now am I? So I'll be forced to walk with you. And I'm older than you remember? Look, I'm already out of breath! My legs aren't what they used to be, y'know."

"Fine!" With a pout you take the helmet resting in his front basket and hook it underneath your chin, biting your lip to stop a smile from gracing your lips at the excitement that lights up Jungkook's features. "But only because I want you to shut up."

"Your wish is my command." He says with a pat to your head. "Hold on tight, okay?"

And as you wrap your arms around his waist, you're sure his ears heat up a deep shade of red, even it could just be the evening light playing tricks on you.

The theatre at the Crestmont feels eerily quiet when its empty.

You know that because even though your shift was supposed to end at 5, you offered to stick around to help clean up after today's performance. Phantom of the Opera.

"Jesus," You groan as you pick up another sticky soda cup that someone had kindly spilled all over the ground for you to clean up, dropping the offender into a black trash bag. "Doesn't anyone around here know how to use a trash can?"

You fall into one of the theatre seats with a sigh and run your fingers over the scarlet velvet, worn yet plush, the texture soothing you instantly. You tilt your head back and let the silence engulf you. No orchestra, no musical numbers, no stage crew shouting directions. No whirring cotton candy machine. Just you and the stage.

From here you can see every detail on the high ceiling littered with renaissance-style paintings of mermaids and babies armed with heart shaped bow and arrows. Your mom was an actress. When you were a kid you used to spent hours staring at them while she rehearsed. You were convinced they came alive once the theatre closed up for the night, their cheeky smiles evidence of a secret only you knew.

A trail of rainbows is cast by the grand chandelier hung in the center, and it draws your attention all the way down the aisles and up to the stage.

The Crestmont is only small, fitting perhaps 200 people at most. It's hardly Broadway. But the fire in your chest ignites as you glance side to side before sidling up the creaking wooden steps that wind up to the Crestmont's center stage. Your favourite part of the whole theatre.

It's not the first time you've done this. You often like to come up here after everyone has gone home, even though you technically aren't supposed to. There's a certain magic about being alone up here as you collect the lone roses that were thrown on stage by tonight's audience. Breathing in the musty smell of butter popcorn that lingers on the velvet curtains, feel the warmth of the bright stage lights glazing your skin. Something about it feels like home.

The first time you ever saw the Crestmont stage was on tv, watching a grainy camera shakily capture your mom in the very same spot you find yourself right now.

Your mom used to have a cardboard box filled with her old audition tapes. Everything from Hamlet to A Streetcar Named Desire, she'd starred in it, and you spent hours together in front of the television set trying to memorise the way she spoke your favourite lines and listening to her lilting voice recite backstage anecdotes about her rendezvous with foreign directors who dined on her in Paris or underground parties with celebrities you had never even heard of as she stroked your hair.

It wasn't until you got a little older that you realised that, just like you, your mom was a dreamer. Sure, she'd visited a couple different states and starred in some makeup commercials once, and that was enough to make her a celebrity in a town as small as this.

But really? She was just a small town actress with dreams larger than herself and way larger than the Crestmont where she made her name. And suddenly the gaps in time where she would disappear for weeks — sometimes months — on end no longer made sense to you. If she wasn't drinking cocktails with the prince of Monaco or clubbing in London, then where was she?

"Down town with those no good roadies," Taehyung told you once. "They made all these empty promises. Told her she'd make it big if she just did what they said. But look how that turned out."

That was the day you realised your mom was a better actress than you ever knew.

She always thought that her dreams would come true. She believed it so hard that you believed it too, naively. But who knows? Maybe they would have if she didn't get into an accident on her way to New York for her big break.

It's easy to imagine how your mom felt up here. She always looked so alive and free in those VHS tapes as she danced effortlessly across the stage with an ethereal weightlessness, the theatre silent except for the melodic sweetness of her monologues that drew tears to the eyes of those who listened eagerly.

If you close your eyes you can hear the roar of the crowd, hands clapping furiously. The orchestra tuning their brass in the pit, bows melodic against strings. Flowers landing at your feet. The deep breath of satisfaction as you take your final bow and the curtain closes.

Just like that you're moving across the stage, reciting the lines you know so well...

"You're gonna be a star like me some day," A voice whispers against your ear, soft and gentle. A memory. Your mom. "Just like me."

And just like that, she's there. In the audience, clapping. For you. And you feel invincible.

The sound of applause breaks you out of your trance. Real applause. You find yourself stood center stage, broom in hand, staring out at row after row of empty seats that gape with the same emptiness that was here when you arrived.

Except one of the velvet lined seats is filled now. Right at the front.

"Encore!" Jungkook whistles, the harsh thwacks of his palms clapping together clanging inside your ears. "Do it again! That was amazing!"

Your chest seizes painfully, a sudden bout of panic turning your blood cold. You feel the colour leave your face. How long has he been here? How long has he been watching?

Jungkook is watching you attentively, eyes soft at the edges with wonder. It makes bile rise in your throat. You can't be up here. Not when there's a pair of eyes looking at you, judging.

"I..." You begin, but the words get caught in your throat.

"I can't do this."

The way Jungkook's eyes widen and he lurches forward to catch you is the last thing you see before your vision goes black.

The boardwalk is strangely quiet for a summer evening. It's happy hour so you suppose most vacationers are already in the bars in their I LOVE OCEAN CITY T-shirts drinking cocktails or whatever. Not that you're complaining.

The smell of hotdogs and vinegar from the vans that line the strip still fill the air, snatches of conversations from children begging their parents to let them go on the waltzer one last time barely audible above the tinkling bells of the carousel. The ride operators drink soda's as they fan themselves with rolled up newspapers, grateful for the gentle hubbub on such a sticky evening, and then there's you, caught up in the middle of it all.

The wooden boards of the pier are warm against he backs of your thighs. You're sat with your legs dangling through the peeling guard rail that lines the strip. It was painted pastel blue at some point but years of sea spray and grubby hands made it fade to a sickly green tinge that matches the ocean.

Speaking of, the ocean would usually be directly below your feet, murky and wild, but today the tide has receded right back to reveal a large strip of sand. The stands suspending the pier rest on top of it so that you could walk right under and around them if you wanted to. You and Taehyung used to do that all the time when you were kids. Searching for barnacles. Exploring the dark places.

"Here. Eat up. You totally passed out on me back there. You could probably do with some sugar."

The soft voice beside you is the only thing loud enough to permeate your daydreams. You don't have look up to know who it belongs to. Jungkook.

He peers down at you, sun beating down against his back. He's holding two vanilla ice cream cones, double scooped, and he thrusts one into your hands before mirroring your position at the edge of the boardwalk.

The walk down here from the Crestmont was more or less silent, and your stomach twists now you realise Jungkook wants to talk.

"What are you thinking about?"

"Nothing." You lie. The ice cream is cold and sweet and covers the bitterness. "I just think it's funny."

Jungkook's tongue sneaks out to lick up the melted cream dribbling down his cone. "What is?"

"How this place stays the same but I feel so different." You were born here, raised here. This place was your whole life once, with it's salty air and bustling casino's. But since the accident, something's been bubbling inside you, swelling and crashing like the ocean below that taunts you and you've never felt farther from home in your life as you do now, looking out over the town that just won't budge, just like the funny ache in your chest. "Forget I said it. I don't know why I'm even telling you this."

Jungkook fidgets beside you and runs a hand through his hair with a sigh."It's okay, y'know. To miss her."

Your mom. You know that's who he means. Just the mention of her stings.

"Mhm." You snort. "Tell that to my family. If we all carried on missing mom then we'd be in pretty hot shit by now."

"If it's Taehyung you're worried about, then don't be. He's stronger than he looks."

"Until he's not anymore. And we lose him again just like—" You pause. You hate how you can hear the pain in your voice so you smooth it out. "Just like before. And I can't let that happen. I won't."

Jungkook shifts. As Taehyung's oldest friend he was there for everything in the aftermath of the accident. He was there when you put on a brave face for the sake of your family. He was there when Taehyung couldn't be any more.

"That doesn't mean you have to be strong all the time. Think about it this way. The ocean isn't always this calm right?" He gazes wistfully out over the ocean that swells and crashes against the shore, fingers twirling the gold chain around his neck. "Last winter when we had that huge storm, the waves were so big they smashed right through the pier support beams."

You furrow your brows. "What about it?"

"The ocean was just too much for the pier to bare and it would've come crashing down forever if half the neighborhood didn't come down to the beach in the dead of night, despite the rain, and hold it together until the storm calmed and the emergency repair boats could get to shore."

It's true. You remember how unforgiving the rain was as it pelted down against your back and froze you through to the bone that night as each and every familiar face from your neighborhood came down to the seafront to lend a hand, your family included.

Jungkook was there too. He was the one who knocked on your door in the early hours to spread the word. He got given free churros for life by one of the pier stall owners as a reward.

"What I'm trying to say Y/N, is that Taehyung has you to lean on, right? So who do you have?" Jungkook says, staring at you head on now. His sincerity almost makes you blush.

You bite your lip. Deep down you know that your beams are just as broken as Taehyung's and it's only a matter of time before they come crashing down into the water, and this time there'll be nobody to hold the pieces together.

"I don't need anyone. I'm just fine on my own. I can handle my ocean."

Jungkook brushes your hand. You flinch, so he pulls it back into his lap. "Well if you ever need a life boat, then you know where I am okay?"

You don't believe him, but he's staring at you so expectantly that you just tell him what he wants to hear. You're good at that.

"Okay." You whisper. "Okay."

Children's laughter bubbles up from the beach. You watch their distant silhouettes dancing among the waves. It's Jungkook who breaks the silence before it settles between you and becomes uncomfortable.

"Anyway, what were you doing up there on the stage today?" He smiles, like he's trying to lighten the mood. "You looked like you were having the time of your life before—"

You feel your cheeks start to burn. How long had Jungkook been watching you at the Crestmont? Had he seen the whole thing?

"It was nothing. I was just being dumb."

"Nothing?" Jungkook cocks his head to the side and punches you playfully. "It didn't seem like nothing."

"It just...it makes me feel close to my mom when I'm on the stage." You admit. "I loved watching her when I was a kid. She was always larger than life in my eyes. She had this way of making you really believe she was someone else. It was like she wasn't just acting -- she was becoming. Sometimes...sometimes I think I liked her better when she was in character."

You shake your head with a small smile. "I like me better when I'm in character. I used to dream about going to New York one day and becoming an actress just like she wanted to. Small town girl making it big in the city and all that." You scoff. "But I'm nothing like her. It's just fun to pretend sometimes."

"You're good. At performing. Like, really good." Jungkook's eyes are wide. When he places a hand on your forearm you don't shake it off this time. "You take after her. Everyone says it."

It's true. There's one photo of your mom in the house. It's in Taehyung's room. When you were younger you thought it was your face staring back at you from behind the glass. Sometimes you'll be walking down the boardwalk or serving soda's at work and you'll hear the whispers. See their heads turn. Is it her?

"Pfft. Looks mean nothing." You scoff. "She was fearless. I can't even speak in front of one person without passing out, let alone a crowd."

Realisation crosses Jungkook's face. "Oh. So that's what happened back there? Stage fright?"

"Uh huh." You roll your eyes. "So don't give me the follow your dreams spiel or whatever."

"Hmm." Jungkook uses his arms as a makeshift pillow so he can lay back against the ground. You mirror him, peering through your fingers to watch how the golden rays of the sun swallow his frame. "Remember that play they made us do in middle school?"

"The Nativity?" You raise your eyebrow. It was the first theatre production you were in, before the accident and way before you had stage fright.

"Yeah." He grins. "I was the sheep. Taehyung made fun of me for months afterwards because of that stupid costume my grandma made."

"Yeah." You snort. "You did look sorta dumb."

Jungkook bumps your arm with a playful pout that makes you giggle. "And do you remember how I forgot my lines on stage and nearly pissed myself with stage fright? God, I still remember how mad my dad looked in the front row. We'd practiced that part for weeks. I don't know why it happened. I just froze—" A small smile forms on his lips. "But you didn't. Next thing I know there's a kid in a gold star of Bethlehem costume running on stage to recite my lines for me. You stole the show, remember that? Everyone loved you."

"That was then." You murmur, but you can't suppress the smile tugging at the corners or your mouth. "I'm not the same person."

"You were a year younger than the rest of my class but you auditioned anyway, because you knew that you were the only person who could play the star. Because you were a star."

Jungkook turns so that his head rests on his elbow and you're suddenly so close you can feel his breath ghost across your cheek. Your heart pumps in your ears as you gaze dips down to his rosy lips and back up to his sparkling eyes which bore into yours.

"You still are a star."

The words echo in your ears, soft and sincere. His tongue snakes out to wet his lips. You lose your breath. And then you jump away, placing a safe distance between your bodies before you can do something you regret.

"And what about you. Are you still a sheep?" You tease, turning your face so he can't see how it burns rosy red.

"Nah. Figured out pretty quickly after that that I was better off behind the camera." He chuckles.

"Oh right. You still have that thing?" You nod to the camera in his lap. It's one of those old ones that looks like the type that needs a film reel and a projector, but it's been modified so there's a little viewfinder at the side to check the footage instead. "Can I see?"

"What?" Jungkook blinks.

"Some of the stuff you've filmed?"

"Oh! Right!" It's his turn to flush now, scratching the back of his neck as he anxiously thrusts the camera into your hands and pays close attention to the hangnail at the edge of his thumb as you watch the footage.

Your eyes widen when a familiar scene rolls out on the tiny screen. You, on stage at the Crestmont. Jungkook filmed you.

"This is..."

"You." He rushes."Yeah, I know. Sorry if this is awkward—"

"No. Not at all. I just—" You watch in awe as the you inside the camera moves across the stage with an effortless grace. How the lights make your eyes shine and your skin brighter than you remember it being in the mirror this morning. "How did you do that?"

Jungkook's forehead creases. "Do what?"

"Make me look like...that."

"I didn't do anything." Jungkook shrugs. "That's just how I see you."

You could listen to him say that all day, but you stop yourself mid swoon.

"Don't say things you don't mean."

"I do mean it. And I'll show you." He wiggles his eyebrows.

"How?"

He grabs your hand and squeezes it. Tight. "I don't know how yet but I will."

You roll your eyes. "Good luck, Jeon."

"You know I like a challenge." Jungkook laughs, and the melodic sound goes right to your chest. "I'll make you see yourself how I see you. Just wait."

"Since when did you have four wheels?" You call to Jungkook with a quirk of your brow, resting your elbows on the window ledge of the beat up truck he pulls up in outside the Crestmont.

It's a sticky August afternoon and the rusty red vehicle purrs— or more like splutters — in the parking lot as Jungkook untangles your bike from the rack and lifts it into the cargo bed like it's weightless. Just yesterday he came by with his pump and a patch to fix that goddamn slashed tyre, and now he's stealing it?

"Hey! What are you doing with my bike?"

He is clad in nothing but a white vest and board shorts, and you can see perspiration glimmering at his temples as the salty breeze blowing from the beach ruffles the dark curls that flop over his forehead.

"This is my dad's truck," His eyes flash with pride as he hops into the open drivers side door and makes the engine growl. He nods to the empty seat beside him and pushes his dark round sunglasses down the bridge of his nose, fanning his face with his hands. "And you won't be needing your bike today. Now hurry up and get in, loser. I've been waiting ages for your shift to finish and the AC is broken."

You raise a brow. "We're going somewhere?"

"Yeah. Why else would I be waiting for you to get in my truck?"

"I mean, we're going somewhere in this?" You nod towards the truck's worn tires, the fumes that wisp from the exhaust pipe like a lit cigar. "Are you sure it's safe?"

Jungkook notices the way you bite your lip. You don't even have to tell him the worries that are running through your mind. It's as if he can read them like an open book.

"Are you still scared of riding in cars?" He questions, softly.

You nod. That's what an accident does to someone. Makes them scared of something they ordinarily wouldn't even question.

"A little." The breeze ruffles your hair and you hide behind it. "I'm getting better." You add, so he doesn't feel bad because you know he does. His face tells you as much.

"It's a short drive, if that helps." He rushes. "And I asked Taehyung and he said you'd be okay, but if you aren't then I can just walk you home—"

"No." You shake your head firmly. There's a funny fizzing in your stomach that's been there ever since that day on the boardwalk, and it's only growing stronger and stronger now you're inches away from Jungkook and his warm eyes and gentle smile. You don't want it to end just yet. It's enough to outweigh the wriggling fear that's always inside you just a little. "Where are we going?"

Jungkook's face lights up and your heart flips when you realise it's because of you.

"I told you I was gonna make you see what I see, didn't I?"

"Oh that was today?" You tease. "Must have missed it it in the calendar."

"Stop asking questions! Just get in. Please?"

"Fine." You walk around to the passenger door, sliding in beside him and throwing your bag into the back seat. "But I need to be home by midnight or Taehyung will worry."

"No problemo." Jungkook salutes as he switches on the engine and the truck roars to life. You clasp your hands tightly in your lap and breathe through your nose. You're okay. You're safe."Home by midnight. It's a promise."

You gaze out of the window to stop your thoughts from running wild. Jungkook turns left, away from town and the beach and everything familiar. You watch it get smaller and smaller in the mirrors, strangely relieved. Strangely excited.

"Now will you tell me where we're going?" You ask.

"Nope." Jungkook chuckles when you pout. "Just sit back. Relax. Take in the view. Listen to the music."

He leans across the dash, making a point to keep his eyes on the road as he fiddles with the stereo. A familiar string of guitar chords fill the truck. You recognise them, even if vaguely. Probably from Taehyung's vast collection of records.

"The Beatles right?" You ask, resting your chin on your knee as you dare to take a peek at him, blushing when you find him already staring at you.

"Pfft, yeah. Of course it's The Beatles! Only their greatest soundtrack, like, ever."

You shrug. "I've never listened to them before, so I wouldn't know."

"Oh come on? You haven't seen A Hard Day's Night?" His eyes widen when you shake your head. "Super Fly? Pulp Fiction? Purple Rain?"

You stifle a giggle at the look of pure shock he's sending you. "Nope. Should I have?"

"Absolutely!" He splutters. Passion shines in his eyes. "You're missing out on some of the greatest cinematography known to man!"

"I guess you have a lot to fill me in on, then."

"I sure do." His eyes soften. "Open the glove box."

You open it. Inside you find an assortment of cassette tapes, old and new. You send him a curious look.

"Close your eyes and choose one." He nods. "Go on."

You do as he says and shut your lids tightly, feeling around until your fingers curl around a tape you're strangely drawn to. When you open your eyes you find a worn box in your palm, yellow at the edges, and you're momentarily disappointed until Jungkook hums in approval beside you.

"Good choice! Dirty Dancing. A classic." He takes it from you and slides the tape into the stereo. It crackles a little before the music starts. "Trust me, you'll love it."

The stereo tracklist flashes amber. 01: Do You Love Me?

"You broke my heart 'cause I couldn't dance," Jungkook sings along in a deep voice, eyebrows bouncing as you loll your head to the side to send him an eye roll. "And now I'm back to let you know I can really shake 'em down!"

The song starts, all vibrant guitar and drums. It has a funky 60's groove, like it belongs in a swing dancing club instead of on the highway at sunset. It's a happy song and you think it suits Jungkook just right.

Speaking of Jungkook, he starts to bob his head in time with the beat, fingertips tapping in rhythm against the steering wheel. He looks adorably dorky, losing himself to the song, like he's forgotten you're even sat beside him.

"You look like an idiot." You deadpan, though you can't cover the laugh that escapes you as he sings along louder.

"No, I look like I'm having fun!" Jungkook rolls down the window and turns up the music so loud he has to shout for you to hear him. "Don't you ever do this? Just give in to the music for a while? Let your body do what it wants?"

"Uh, no. I prefer to just listen." You shout back. "Besides, your body should be focused on driving this car right now--"

"Oh come on! Just try it."

"Try it?" You blink, stomach suddenly knotting."Like now? In front of you?"

"Well duh. Look. Copy me."

He starts to shake his shoulders from side to side, fingers clicking as he nods for you to do the same.

"I...okay." You start to copy, but you catch yourself in the rear view mirror and you just look stiff compared to how effortlessly Jungkook moves to the rhythm.

"See you're doing it!" Jungkook grins, throwing his head back. "Feels good huh?"

"Kinda..." You have to admit there is something liberating about just letting go. "Like this?"

Your knees volunteer themselves to the beat, and then your arms, and before you know it you've got your eyes closed, hair whipping around your face as you speed down the interstate

"That's it. Feel the music!"

Before you know it, the song ends and you realise all at once that you're laughing. Loud and free, enough to make your belly hurt. Jungkook is too, the sound better than any song you've ever heard, and neither of you can seem to stop.

"Oh my god." You pant, covering your face with your fingers, embarrassed. "Now we both look like idiots."

"Don't hide from me." Jungkook bites his lip. You're suddenly aware of how close he is. His arms grab your wrists, pulling them away from your face, but he doesn't drop the one closest to him. Instead he links your fingers and uses your shared grip to change the gear as he turns down a winding road.

"I'm shy." You say, and you can feel the heat in your cheeks.

"Why? You're beautiful." Jungkook puts the car into park. You realise all at once that you've been driving for ages and you didn't even panic once. "Besides, we've arrived. And you're not gonna wanna miss seeing this."

The destination Jungkook seems so excited about turns out to be a concrete parking lot.

"Where are we, Jungkook?" You ask, looking around but finding nothing but tyre tracks and dirt.

Jungkook has already hopped out of the drivers side, sliding over the hood of the car to tug open your door with a quirk of his brow.

He holds out his palm, upturned and calloused. "Do you trust me?"

You bite your lip, heart pounding. Do you trust him?

Your body speaks for you and you slide your hand into his. His thumb traces your knuckles reassuringly.

"Yes." You breathe. "I trust you."

"Good."

You yelp when an arm wraps around your waist and hoists you out of the car, tightly interlocked fingers blocking your vision like a makeshift blindfold. "Don't open your eyes until I tell you to."

"Okay." You giggle, feet stumbling as you try to find your balance with the help of a sturdy hand beneath your elbow.

Jungkook hums gently beneath his breath as he guides you up a path that turns from concrete to loose rock to dampened grass beneath the soles of your beat up sneakers. There's a voice in the back of your mind that tells you to be nervous; who knows where he could be taking you right now.

But as you breathe in the musty notes of his cologne and feel your heart flutter in your chest when he comes to a stop and rests his chin on your shoulder, just close enough to feel his laugh ghost across your neck, you don't care where in the world you are right now as long as it's beside him.

"Now, open."

The sun is startlingly bright when you open your eyes for the first time and see the vibrant meadow that stretches as far as you can see.

Wait — that's not the sun. It's sunflowers. Clusters of them, cheerfully waving with the breeze from where you stand on the path that continues for a few steps before it disappears among their stems.

The sunflowers are a burst of golden colour against the fading green of the meadow, and the horizon beyond that which boasts the silhouette of beach rock against the soft blue of the ocean at sunset. There's tracks here and there where the uncut grass is trampled, like some children had played hide and seek.

You reach out a hand and brush your fingertips over the velvety petals; breathe in the botanical scent of the fresh sunny blooms that dances through the meadow. It's breathtaking, you think. There's no coordination, just freedom choreographed by the wind as the tall stems sway back and forth in their gentle dance.

Before you know it you've taken off into a run, grinning with childlike glee when the tall grass tickles your nose and the sun whispers against your neck.

"Jungkook, this place is—"

"Beautiful right?" You nod breathlessly, blushing deeply when you come to a stop and find him staring right at you. He squeezes your hand and that's when you notice your fingers are still interlinked. "I come here a lot. When I need to think."

"How did you find this place?"

"Taehyung and I stumbled upon it a few summers ago by accident." He says. "Nobody knows about it. It's our secret."

"It's so beautiful." You whisper. "The whole world needs to see this."

Jungkook kicks at a stone with the toe of his boot. "I kinda like it being a secret. This place...is special to me."

"Then why...." The words get caught in your throat. You swallow and try again. "Why did you bring me here?"

"I wanted to show you the things I find most beautiful. Remember?"

"The sunflowers?"

"Well yeah..." He scratches the back of his neck. Swallows thickly, like he's preparing himself. "But I was thinking of something a little different..."

You close your eyes, a smile appearing on your lips as you let the crisp breeze caress your face. "Then what?"

There's a sharp click of a shutter, and when your lashes flutter open in surprise, Jungkook is shaking a Polaroid picture back and forth, his eyes glinting with something mischievous.

"Hey! Give me that—" You reach for the Polaroid, stomach churning with a sudden shyness that makes you hug your arms.

"Just — don't do that okay?" He holds it out of reach, pleading with his eyes. "Please."

"Do what?"

"Give up on what makes you happy just because you're scared." His palm cups your cheek. "You said it yourself. Being in front of the camera is where you belong. Don't you see that?"

"I'm not scared." You feel the heat rise in your cheeks when Jungkook sends you a knowing look. "Okay maybe I am scared. And so what if I am? You've already given me the face your fears spiel and I told you. I'm perfectly happy avoiding every camera known to man for the rest of my life if it means I never have to face them."

"But you've already faced one of your fears today. You got in my car, remember?" He raises an eyebrow, smug. "Well, two technically, 'cause you're here with me now and I know how nervous you used to get around me--"

"Did not!"

"Do too! Every time we talk outside of work you get all shy and--"

"Shut up."

"See! You're doing it right now!"

You don't know what compels you to do it. Maybe it's the heat rising in the apples of your cheeks or the way your heart quickens when Jungkook closes the gap between you, but before you can stop yourself you're reaching up and grasping his face with both hands.

"Oh just shut up and kiss me, doofus."

The smug smirk on Jungkook's face is replaced with wide eyed surprise, his lips falling still for a moment when yours crash against his. But then his steady hands find your waist and he supports you on your tip toes so he can pull you ever closer, melting into the plush press of your lips.

When you pull back, you're smiling. You can't help it. You've been dreaming of this moment since, like, middle school. And goddamn, he even tastes how you imagined. Like black coffee and toothpaste.

"See." He tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. "Happiness suits you."

"Whatever, Jeon." You smirk. "Don't let it go to your head, but it's thanks to you."

Jungkook flashes you the biggest bunny grin you've ever seen, eyes sparkling at your words.

"Wait...stay like that." He reaches for his camcorder in his backpack and points the lens at you. The smile falls from your lips. You place a hand on his arm, grip tighter than you intended.

"Jungkook stop."

"What's wrong? Just keep smiling like that, the shot was perfect—"

"I don't know what to do." You shrug, the lens boring into you like a judgy aunt at Thanksgiving dinner. "The camera makes me nervous."

"Just pretend I'm not here."

You sniff. "I don't want you to not be here..."

"Listen," Jungkook cups your face, thumbs tracing your cheeks fondly. "The reason I brought you here? It's because this place reminds me of you. Beautiful."

"Jungkook--"

"Just like you said, the world needs to see this place. Just like they need to see you."

"I..." Your heart is on the verge of exploding, you would swear it. "Okay." The word rolls off your tongue before you can stop it because somehow you trust him. And deep down, there's still that fizz of excitement mixing in with all the nervousness. The Jungkook Effect. You don't want to lose it to the darkness like everything else.

"I'll try. Just-- don't laugh at me okay?"

"You have my word, sarge." He salutes with a thoughtful grin. "Hold on a sec. I know exactly what you need to get you going."

Jungkook jumps to his feet and you watch with your chin tucked between your knees as he jogs down the rocky path and opens all four of the truck doors, even the trunk, before his head disappears into the vehicle and the same pumping bass from earlier starts blasting into the quiet serene of the sunflower field.

"There," He grins as he returns, out of breath, and sits back down beside you cross legged, holding his camcorder to his eye. "Now do what you were doing before again, but over there. Just pretend you're on stage at the Crestmont, okay?"

You feel the music wash over you and the urge to move hits you like a wave. Jungkook nods encouragingly and there's something in his eyes that flips a switch inside you. And for the first time in a long time, all the passion and spirit and feeling inside you fizzes up to the top and you can't contain it any longer.

"That's it!" Jungkook calls, shutter clicking uncontrollably. "I knew you could do it!"

An oak tree provides sun-flecked shade, a cool sanctuary from the sun that sets on the horizon and splashes the sky's canvas magenta.

Jungkook laid out a checkered blanket from the trunk of his truck which you both lay upon, shoulders pressed together as close as humanly possible, surrounded by your devoured picnic consisting of his mom's fruit punch and bags of snacks he took from the concession stand at the Crestmont when nobody was looking.

"Holy shit, Y/N." He says through a mouthful of popcorn, jabbing his finger at his favourite shot of you in front of the sunflowers. "This is what I've been saying! You're a natural in front of the camera."

"No, you're amazing, Jungkook." You feel for his hand. It's funny how natural it feels already when his pinky links with yours. "Behind the camera."

"You think?" He chews his lip, eyes searching yours for approval.

"I know. You should do something with these. People need to see them."

"I'm thinking of becoming a filmographer, actually"

"Like at the pier?" You think of the tacky photo booth that overlooks the sea in town, fit with all the silly cardboard cut outs that tourists come and take a photo with for a dollar.

"No, I mean a real filmographer." He shrugs, and you're sure there's a trace of a blush on his cheeks. "Y'know. Movies and stuff."

You nod. It makes sense for Jungkook to spend his life with a camera glued to his right hand. You can't imagine Jungkook anywhere else, and you have to ignore the sinking feeling that comes with the realisation that he would eventually leave Ocean City -- and you -- behind for the big screen.

"Well you bet your ass I'll be front row to watch each and every one, Jeon Jungkook."

"My lucky star." Jungkook smiles.

"Always."

He must see the sadness brimming inside you, his body shuffling closer so your knees brush. It's reassuring somewhat.

"Actually...there's something I should tell you."

He shifts under your gaze. The nerves rush back. "What is it?"

"I guess I finished writing my first screenplay..."

"That's like a movie script, right?" You ask eagerly, and he nods. "That's great, Kook!"

"Yeah, it's great it's just --" He pauses, and clutches your hand tighter like he's scared what he says next will make you let go forever. "It's about you."

You pale. "M-me?"

"I mean, it's about you and...and Taehyung! And your mom." Jungkook rushes. "I was inspired by your story at the boardwalk and it just happened! I'm sorry, I know you probably hate me now and think I'm crazy but--"

"Burn it." You deadpan.

Jungkook blinks. "W..what?"

"I said burn it." You pull his hand into your lap and he lets out a sigh of relief. "I don't hate you, Kook. I just think you were right earlier when you said I need to face my fears. And the only way I can do that is by forgetting my past. The last thing I need is a whole freaking movie about it."

He joins in with your strained chuckles. "Sure you aren't mad?"

"Not mad." You assure with a smile.

"Then I'll burn it."

You avoid his gaze shyly. "I'm kinda honoured you wrote about me, though." You admit.

"I guess...I guess I could call you my muse." Jungkook blurts hurriedly. His nose is a deep shade of pink and it makes you want to tease him forever.

"Yeah." You nod to yourself with a smile. "I like that. Your muse."

And then his lips are on yours again, like he can't quite help himself, and you start to forget where yours begin and his end.

This time it's not delicate and sweet. It's slow and languid, hot and heavy. The sunflowers break your fall, Jungkook's lips never leaving yours as he climbs on top of you, one hand tangled in your hair, the other planted beside your head so that his chest hovers above yours. You're almost certain he can feel how hard your heart is pounding in your chest, but you don't care, too lost in the bliss of finally feeling Jungkook's plush lips against your own.

"Come to New York with me." He says breathlessly between kisses, and your heart stops.

"What?" You can hardly drag your lips away from his but you have to be sure you heard him right. New York?

"I mean, in the future. I'm gonna go to New York. Get a job at a film production company or something, I don't know--" He tucks a piece of hair behind your ear. "Come with me."

"I...I can't."

"Why?" He frowns. "Is it me?"

"No! God no."

"Then why? You said it was your dream right?" You nod. "So what's stopping you?"

"I..I have to take care of Taehyung, and my job at the Crestmont and--"

"Okay. Lets pretend none of that exists. It's just you and me." His breath ghosts against your forehead. "Y/N, will you come to New York with me?"

"Yes." It comes out breathless, but you mean it. With every atom and nerve and fiber in your body. "Lets go to New York."

Where things change.

3 years later.

A postcard sits on the Welcome Home! Doormat you and Jungkook bought before you left for New York. You recognise the picture perfect image of Ocean City on the front, and Taehyung's messy scrawl on the back that tells you he's doing fine at his new management job at the Crestmont and he will be sending a housewarming gift imminently.

— Stay smiling, Y/N. Miss you already! Taehyung. :)

With a small smile you tack it onto the bare fridge. It brightens up the empty kitchen somewhat, a little piece of home and a reminder that you don't need to worry about leaving your brother behind to fend for himself so much any more. Since he pulled his life together and got a job at the theatre, it's like he came alive again. Found his purpose.

Speaking of purposes, you suppose that's how you found yourself here. In your very own apartment in a nice complex on the east side. The east side of New York City.

There's a pair of satin curtains hung over the balcony doors, probably left behind by the old tenant as it's the only form of furniture in the whole apartment. They rustle in the morning breeze and you tiptoe across the room barefoot to rip them open, letting your eyes flutter shut when the early morning sun filters through the glass and cascades over your face like a warm embrace.

You press a hand to the glass, studying your reflection; the messy lump of hair atop your head, the soft shadow of your lashes atop your cheeks. And beyond it, New York. Your new normal in all it's familiar glory from your dreams, yet still so deliciously foreign it makes your heart leap whenever a cab horn rings out in the distance or you breathe in the smell of fresh bagels from the shop down the street.

Home. You could finally call it that now. But New York is just a city and this apartment is just a house. The real reason you get to call this place home is because of who you came here with.

Jungkook.

You've been dating for two and a half years by now. He let you borrow one of his old much-too-big t-shirts to sleep in last night. There's a hole in the shoulder and the hem brushes your knees but it's warm and smells like his cologne and your heart expands when you close your eyes and remember this is just the beginning. You have so much to do, so many things to see here in New York. So many things to learn. And there's nobody you would want to explore life with more than Jungkook.

His camera equipment lays in a cardboard box by your feet, and something compels you to take out the old-school camcorder he loves. The leather strap tightens perfectly around your hand and the red RECORD button flashes as you open the doors wide and lift the lens to take in the view. Something tells you you're gonna want to remember this moment forever.

It's not long before a pair of arms wrap around your waist, chin tucked cheekily into your shoulder. "There you are." Jungkook husks, stilly groggy with sleep as his lips ghost across your cheek.

Turning around in his grasp, you find him still shirtless, sweatpants slung low around his hips. He's been working out recently, and you can't deny you don't love how firm his shoulders feel when you brace yourself on them to stand on your tip toes and leave a peck to his lips.

"Morning sleepyhead," you say, running your fingers through the strands of his silky bed hair. It's longer these days, whispering across the nape of his neck and falling across his round eyes sweetly. They flutter closed when you massage his scalp just how he likes it. "I was wondering when you'd finally get out of bed."

"Missed you." His lips turn up when he sees the camera pointed at his face. "Whaddya doing with that?"

"Making memories." You say simply, zooming in on him as he rubs his sleepy eyes. "So we never forget this."

A cheeky smirk appears on his lips as he wraps you in his arms, a surprised giggle leaving you when he spins you around and grabs the camera so he can point it at the both of you, his chin resting on your shoulder now as his bare arm snugly wraps around your waist.

"Hey stop! I just woke up, I look bad!"

"Hello us of the future," Jungkook chuckles, pulling your fingers away from your face when you bury your face in his chest to hide from the lens. "It's our first day in New York and Y/N is being all camera shy--okay, okay fine, lets show them the view instead!"

Jungkook finally flips the lens around so it focuses on the distant silhouettes of tall skyscrapers skimming the blue skyline, before he turns it back onto you guys once more with a mischievous look this time.

"But we have to go now because we have far more interesting business to attend to..." He lowers the camera as his lips start to trail up your collar bone and he smiles when your eyes flutter shut and you gasp at the feeling, but it's quickly replaced by a pout when you wriggle out of his embrace with a stern look.

"Not now. Later."

"Mmf? Why?" He whines, making grabby hands towards you. "You're so warm, jus' wanna cuddle for a bit."

"No time!" You call over your shoulder as you grab him by the hand and drag his heavy feet behind you. "We've got an apartment to decorate."

Before you know it you've enlisted Jungkook's help in laying tarps across the living room floor, two pots of bright white paint plonked in the center. It's not like you could afford a decorator after all. You are two broke twenty-something's trying to make it big in New York, and all that cliche stuff. So you would just have to do it yourselves.

Jungkook's over in the corner, miming along to the guitar solo from some rock song playing from the radio balanced on the windowsill, the paint roller his instrument as he dances around the room with giddy impulse. There's paint all over his butt where he accidentally leaned against one of the wet walls and he's got his hair tied back into a bun at the crown of his head and you watch him out of the corner of your eye while an affectionate smile creeps onto your face no matter how hard you try to curb it.

That's when you notice the camera in his other hand. He zooms in on the stepladder in the corner, the paint spillage in the hall, the heart with Y/N + JUNGKOOK FOREVER written inside it on the back wall. Documenting everything as usual.

He was always filming you, too. Whether you were making coffee in the morning or drying your hair. He'd even slow down beside you on the sidewalk to get the perfect shot.

You find it cute, even though you pretend to hate it. It makes your heart flutter every time you catch him rewinding the footage with a contented smile on his face, like he just captured the whole world with his lens.

It's no surprise when you finish putting the final coat on the wall and step back to admire your handy work that you find him wandering around the apartment with his hand curved around the lens of one of his bigger cameras like it's natural to him. You always joke that thing is like an extra limb, but he looks so calm as he looks through his lens at the room that is now drunk on the afternoon sun pouring through the window, the golden rays like honey on his skin, that it's easy to see that the camera really is a part of him. Passion lies in the soft lines of concentration on his face, in the plump lip tugged between teeth as he fiddles with the settings.

Jungkook sees beauty where others don't, where others can't. It might as well pump through his veins. And it's one of the reasons you love him so much.

You shake your head when you see how a small smile finds his lips when he leans a shoulder against the door frame and lets the camera land on the thing he swears is most beautiful.

"Hey." You warn, shooting a side wards glare at the camera lens you spot Jungkook not so discreetly pointing in your direction. "Stop it."

"Stop what?" He runs a hand through his hair, lips pulling back into a sly bunny smile when you bend down to reach a spot you missed at the bottom of the wall. "I'm not doing anything."

Your upper lip twitches. "Are you zooming in on my ass?"

"What? No!" Jungkook scrunches his nose with wide eyes, a habit you knew meant he was guilty, a pout forming on your lips as he snaps the viewfinder closed and shoves the offending piece of his equipment behind his back.

You narrow your eyes affectionately. "Perv."

"I don't know what you're talking about." He blows a strand of hair out of his face innocently but there's a playful glint in his eyes and you can hardly keep a serious face as you plant your hands on your hips in what you hope is a menacing manner.

"Then lemme see it." You challenge with a nod to the camera behind him.

He feigns indifference, cocking his head to the side like an overgrown puppy. "See what?"

"That's it!" You shake your head, charging towards and him making grabby motions towards the camera. Jungkook looks down at you fondly as he holds it above your head, out of reach, and it only makes you you pout harder. "Hey! Give it!

"Never!" You jump pitifully, fingers grasping around nothing. A melodic chuckle spills from Jungkook's lips when you cross your arms over your chest in defeat and blink up at him crossly. "You have to say the magic word first."

You scoff at the teasing look on his face as he wiggles his eyebrows and waves the camera just above your head, before an idea strikes you and within seconds you're wielding a paintbrush, Jungkook's eyes widening when you point the paint coated bristles at his face.

"Give it up." You hold out your palm with a smug look. "Or the walls are not the only thing getting a fresh coat."

"You wouldn't." He smirks, despite being backed into a corner now.

"Oh yeah?" Without further ado you swipe the brush down the bridge of his nose, swallowing a giggle at the white smudge it leaves behind and his shocked expression beneath it. "You underestimate me, Jeon."

Jungkook pushes his tongue into his cheek, eyes dancing up and down your body before they lock with yours daringly. "You shouldn't have done that."

"Or what?" You taunt playfully, a laugh escaping you, but you quickly bite down on your lip when you see the glint in Jungkook's eyes as he submerges both his hands into the nearby bucket of paint.

You don't run when he steps closer. Instead your breathing quickens, heart doing a funny somersault when he brushes your hair to the side and clamps both of his wet hands on the sides of your jaw to bring your face up to his.

He tastes like coffee and desire when your lips crash together in a delicious tangle of teeth and tongue, all the thoughts racing through your mind dripping away like honey until all that's left is the thump of your heart against your chest and Jungkook's warmth as he backs you up against the wall.

When he pulls away he rubs his paint covered nose against yours, cocking his head and smiling sweetly when he leans back and admires his handy work.

"You have paint on your face." He looks down at his white hands innocently with a shrug. "Whoops?"

His hands trail down to your hips. You reach to your side and grab a fistful of paint, wiping it down the centre of his face and giggling when he groans and scrunches his eyes closed . "So do you."

"Okay, that's it. This means war!" Jungkook growls, strong arms wrapping around your waist, and before you know it you're stumbling over to the mattress in the corner, Jungkook's body hovering over yours.

"You wanna play dirty, huh?" Desire-filled eyes trace your face, travelling down the expanse of your neck before zeroing in on your collar bones. You gasp when Jungkook's lips attach themselves to the sensitive skin, every inch of you set alight when his burning fingers slide beneath the hem of your tshirt and find your thighs. "Always being such a bad girl, huh?"

"So? What're you gonna do about it? Punish me?" You say teasingly, and he stiffens, lips leaving a mark behind on your neck with a pop. Jungkook's narrowed eyes meet yours and you feel your heart speed up with anticipation.

His lips twitch, like they're dying to turn up. "Brat."

With that, you're being flipped over onto your knees with a yelp. Jungkook's hands work quickly and before you know it your tshirt is over your head and the sudden breeze from the open balcony doors against your hardened nipples makes you gasp.

"You love it." You laugh breathily.

"Too much," Jungkook confirms, before his large palm presses you down into the bed firmly between the shoulder blades so that your ass is thrust up in the air. You wiggle is teasingly, though the breath catches in your throat when the first spank lands on your bare skin. Then a second, the sound ringing out through the empty room like an echo and making a damp spot appear on your panties.

"Hey!" You chastise when you remember the paint on his hands that just left two glaring handprints right across your ass.

Jungkook just smirks. "What? Now everyone knows it's mine."

A third slap and you have to bite the blanket to stop from groaning, then a fourth, and a fifth and by then your eyes are watering but in the best way. Calloused hands smooth over the burning area, soothing it.

"Good girl," A raspy voice whispers next to your ear. "Such a good girl for me, taking your punishment. I think you deserve your reward now, hm?"

"Please." You moan as he reaches around to grasp your breast, tweaking your nipples in a way that has you writhing beneath him.

"Don't say I didn't warn you though," Jungkook chuckles as he rips your panties down your legs, gasping at the sight of your dripping slit like it's the first time. He runs a finger down your folds, biting back a groan when it makes your legs fall open a little further, desperate for his touch. "I'm not gonna go easy on you."

"Jungkook, what do you-- oh!." Before you can finish, Jungkook is pushing your face back into the comforter, spreading your cheeks with his palms and licking an agonizingly slow stripe up your throbbing core. His tongue finds your clit easily, toying it with the tip playfully until you're gasping for air.

"Mmf, tastes so good." He murmurs against your folds, the vibrations of his chuckle making you moan so hard your legs start to shake. His tongue finds your hole, swirling around teasingly before it slips inside and you can't handle it anymore.

"Jungkook!" You gasp, reaching behind to grab his hair. "I..I can't-"

"You can." He says, almost a command, mouth leaving your pussy only so he can slide over onto his back and pull you back down onto his face by the hips.

"Oh g-god!" Your hand reaches for the headboard, landing on the wall to steady yourself when you remember you still haven't bought a bed frame yet. Your legs are starting to ache from holding yourself up but you don't care, too lost in the feeling of Jungkook's tongue lapping at your swollen folds as you grind in lazy circles on his face.

"C-close, Kook." You manage to splutter, head thrown back with pleasure when he slides two of his fingers inside you and starts to pump in time with his tongue, the sensation of being filled enough to send you over the edge into a shuddering climax that is unlike anything you've felt before, the only thought on your mind the way your hole clenches around your boyfriend's fingers.

It takes a few moments for your legs to stop shaking, your hearing slowly coming back into focus as you hear both of your heavy breaths intermingled. You look between your legs to find Jungkook staring up at you with a grin, eyes filled with wonder. His chin gleams with your juices, the front of his t-shirt damp as you realise with a gasp what just happened.

"Did I--?"

"Yup."

"Holy fuck." You swing your leg over his shoulder so you're beside him, Jungkook sitting up to look at you, still mesmerised. "I...I'm sorry, that was--"

"The hottest thing you've ever done." Jungkook finishes, grinning at you like he just won the lottery.

You raise a brow, surprised. "Really?"

"Yeah. Can I fuck you now?"

You can't help but laugh at his eager puppy dog eyes, hands practically twitching at his sides to touch you. A quick glance at his crotch confirms the biggest tent in his pants you've ever seen, and you crook a finger towards him with a sultry smile and a nod.

"Let's see if you can make me do that again."

"O-Okay!" Jungkook pulls his shirt over his head eagerly, and then he's on top of you, burning skin meeting burning skin. Your palm runs down his chest, Jungkook's eyes falling shut when it reaches the hem of his sweatpants. You cant help but gasp when your fingers wrap around his length through his boxers, core already throbbing again to be filled. He shivers when your finger circles his tip, admiring the wet patch on his boxers.

"Eager?" You smirk.

"You squirted on my face, Y/N, of course I'm goddamn eager."

"Get these off then." You tug at his pants and he kicks them off without a second telling.

"Your wish is my command."

When he returns to hovering over you, both completely bare now, he pauses. His eyes meet yours, a gentle smile appearing on his lips as he tucks a stray piece of hair behind your ear and grips your jaw protectively.

"I love you, y'know."

You close the distance between you, pressing your lips against his but barely able to keep yourself from grinning with the elation swirling in your chest. "I love you too, doofus. Now hurry up or I'm gonna have to fuck myself."

"That sounds kinda awesome--"

"Kook!"

"Okay, okay, on it!"

Palms spread your legs, and you both gasp when Jungkook runs the blunt head of his leaking cock up and down your slit, coating himself in your juices before he lines it up with your entrance.

"Ready?" He checks, thumb tracing circles into your inner thigh.

"As I'll ever be."

And with that, he pushes inside, his head falling into the crook of your neck with a sigh of relief at finally feeling your walls clenching around his throbbing length. The stretch of his girth stings, but it makes you feel so deliciously full, so perfectly whole to be connected to Jungkook like this that all you can get out is another soft I love you that earns a blissful smile from your boyfriend as he starts to move.

Each stroke makes you lose your breath, the tip of his cock hitting your sweet spot just right. It's when Jungkook takes your nipple into his mouth that you feel a second orgasm start to build, one hand gripping the sheets as the other drags scratch marks down his muscular back in blissful agony.

It's not long before Jungkook spills inside you with a deep growl, your own high hitting you as you feel him coat your walls. He collapses onto your chest, breaths deep and exhausted, and wraps you in his arms before you can even catch your breath.

Jungkook pulls the sheets up over your shoulders and places a kiss to the top of your head. He's so warm you feel yourself start to drift off into a blissful sleep, the smile on your lips never faltering.

"I love you too." Is the last thing you hear him say before sleep takes you under, and you're safe wrapped up in each other's arms.

When you open your eyes, the room is warm with sunset's rose tinted blush, and Jungkook's body is no longer beside you. Rubbing your bleary eyes, you sit up on your elbow and find him on the ground in front of the freshly painted wall, intricate petals and stems flowing from the end of the paintbrush he delicately waves across the surface to paint the prettiest sunflower you've ever seen.

"I'm home!" You hear your boyfriend yell out as he shuffles into the apartment, quickly followed by a yelp. "Hey, Gureum, stop trying to lick my face!"

You can't stop the smile that spreads across your features when a ball of white fluff comes bounding into the living room, the puppy that excitedly jumps into your arms tracking a trail of muddy paw prints over the script in your hands.

"Hey Gureum," You coo, scratching him behind the ears where you know his sweet spot is. "You're such a good boy, huh?"

"Don't praise him! He totally ran away from me in Central Park and I had to chase him all the way home!" You can practically hear Jungkook's eye roll, shaking your head fondly at the mock annoyance in his voice. It was Jungkook who begged you to adopt a puppy for months in the first place, and they've been more or less inseparable ever since — the little guy hardly ever leaves his side. It's safe to say Jungkook is definitely Gureum's favourite.

The smell of coffee and fresh bagels wafts through the apartment, a warm sensation settling in your stomach as your boyfriend rounds the corner and waves a brown paper bag.

"Still got us enough coffee to stay up all night learning lines though." Jungkook grins, dumping the contents onto the coffee table and raising his eyebrows when your hands dart straight for the chocolate cookies. "Speaking of learning lines, how is it going, pretty?"

He nods towards the script in your hand. It's worn at the edges and ferociously dog eared from all the nights you have stayed up until sunrise reciting the words littered across the pages over and over, until it's like your lips are moving by muscle memory and the words are a part of you.

After what felt like hundreds of failed auditions, you had started to lose hope. With every letter that landed on the porch with another SORRY or MAYBE NEXT TIME, you felt all the confidence in the dream you worked so hard to uncover start to dwindle.

But Jungkook was always there, by your side no matter what. Encouraging you when you forgot your lines or holding you when you didn't get the callback. Reminding you to eat whenever you were too absorbed in your work to cook or cheering you on from the crowd at your weekly improv performances.

It was Jungkook who cried with you when the director of the small theatre downtown called and gave you the lead part in his upcoming stage production. Your big break. And you were determined to make sure everything ran smoothly at opening night tomorrow, which is how you find yourself snuggled up on the couch rewinding your VHS copy of Dirty Dancing over and over again until you have every word memorised by heart.

"Pretty good." You say as you pop a salted peanut into your mouth while Jungkook slips out of his tweed jacket. He's been trying to dress more New-York-ish these days, or so he says. More dress pants and less sweats. "Final rehearsals start at five."

"Aren't you nervous?" Jungkook squishes into the space beside you, Gureum cuddling up between your bodies.

Tomorrow night's show is sold out, along with every night after that for the next week. You heard there were going to be at least 700 people there each night.

"Terribly." You admit, stomach churning at the thought of 700 pairs of eyes staring right at you. You try to focus on the fizzing excitement that lingers there too, growing stronger and stronger. "But I think I'm more excited".

"I'm excited to see you up there doing what you love." Jungkook smiles, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear. "My star."

"Well don't get too excited because I still keep messing up this one goddamn scene," You flip the script to a page covered in bright highlighter scribbles and run your fingers through your hair exasperatedly. "I'm totally gonna mess it up and then I'll never get another job and—"

"Shhh," Jungkook takes the script from your hands and runs his eyes over it quickly. "Don't talk like that. You're gonna be amazing — hold up..." He raises an eyebrow. "Is this...the kiss scene?"

You feel your cheeks redden, voice small. "Yes."

"Then you're in luck because who better to help you practice than the best kisser in all of New York?"

You snort. "Wow, I sure could use some of your expertise Good-Sir-Makes-Out-A-Lot."

"Then you're in the right place..." He runs his finger over the script, jabbing at one line in particular.

[Johnny and Baby kiss.]

"Let's start here, hm? For practice, obviously."

"For practice." Your eyes roll but your heart still beats a little faster as he closes the space between you, hand pressing into the wall so his sturdy body hovers over yours, hands instinctively pulling him closer by the collar.

"Come give me a kiss, m'lady..." Jungkook murmurs, but before he can tilt your chin up towards his lips there's a sudden series of frantic knocks at the front door.

"What the heck?"

You both jump out of your skin, Jungkook's eyes narrowing as he glances over his shoulder at the shadowy figure outside, fist pounding the glass fervently, like they're trying to break it down.

"Okay, damn, I'm coming!" He yells with a roll of his eyes. He wraps the blanket around your shoulders as he hops up from the couch with a sigh. "Probably just some dumb marketer again or something — dude, chill! I said I'm coming! — be right back."

The lock slides open and you hear Jungkook gasp. Your stomach drops. "Who is it?"

"Uh, Y/N..." You hear the door click shut and the sound of squeaky shoes shuffling inside. The anxiety in Jungkook's voice makes your heart skip. "You might wanna come see this."

"Huh?" Your legs feel shaky as you follow him out into the hall, chest seizing when you lay eyes on the dripping wet hair and chattering teeth of the shivering man stood before you, eyes dark and grave like they used to be.

"Taehyung?" You splutter, ripping the blanket from around your shoulders and swaddling him in it as quickly as you can, Jungkook already bounding into the other room to get dry clothes and towels after shooting you a terrified glance.

Taehyung grabs your shoulders and pulls you into a tight embrace. His cheeks are wet against your shoulder, but you can't tell if it's because he's been crying or because he's been out in the freezing cold rain — hold on, did he walk here?

"Y/N," He murmurs frantically, eyes darting back and forth but never quite focusing on anything. You knew this look. This is how he looked that day you found out about the accident. Murky, far far away. Devastatingly sad. Something wasn't right.

"What is it?" You ask, pulling him into the living room and sitting him on the couch before his shaking knees buckle beneath him. "What are you doing here, Tae?"

"It's...it's the Crestmont." He whispers.

"What about the Crestmont?" Jungkook appears behind Taehyung, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder, but it's like your brother doesn't even feel it.

"They're tearing it down." He mumbles. "They're tearing down the Crestmont. Forever."

"Okay, now let's start from the beginning."

Jungkook's calm voice lilts from beside Taehyung who, after a warm shower and two cups of cocoa, has stopped shivering and seems to be ready to talk.

A hand reaches across the coffee table to tug on your wrist mid-lift to your mouth, a reminder from Jungkook to stop biting your nails. An old nervous habit you thought you'd left behind in Ocean City but apparently more than just Taehyung showed up here unannounced tonight.

"I...I got a call this morning." Taehyung begins, pausing to take a sip from the mug he cradles in his lap. His hands are shaking so he places it on the coffee table for safe keeping, right beside your discarded script. "It was from a construction company."

"And?" You prod, somewhat impatiently, making Taehyung jump.

"And apparently the owner of the theatre is behind on rent and...and..." He swallows hard. "And they're buying the rights to tear it down and build an apartment complex in its place."

"What?" Both you and Jungkook exclaim at the same time.

Jungkook's fists clench. "I always knew that old man was shady."

Taehyung fumbles in the pocket of the coat he arrived with, retrieving a brochure which he thrusts towards you.

The image on the front is of a metal skyscraper, far too shiny and new to belong in a seaside town like Ocean City. Fusion Apartments — modern living.

Jungkook rakes a hand through his hair, eyes sorrowful as you pass it over to him. "This sucks. Big time." He murmurs. "The Crestmont is the heart of Ocean City. How can they just bulldoze it like it means nothing?"

"That's why..." Taehyung swallows. "That's why I came here. I thought maybe you guys could help me, and we could do something before they—"

"We?" You furrow your brows. "You want us to help stop them from tearing down the Crestmont?"

"I mean yeah, I guess? I figured you guys would understand how important it is—"

You bite your lip. Taehyung flinches when you place a hand on his knee. "Tae. It seems like they've already got it figured out I mean...what can we do about it? The Crestmont has had a long run and maybe it's time for something new in Ocean City..."

"Y/N?" Jungkook warns, but there's a betrayal in his voice. How could you say that? It pains you, but you continue anyway. "What are you saying?"

"I just...I think it's time to let the Crestmont go."

Taehyung stands up so abruptly his mug smashes onto the marble tile.

"How could you?" He roars, but his bottom lip trembles. "The Crestmont is mom's place! It's all we have left of her in that fucking town and you want to just let them burn it to the ground?"

You tut, kneeling to pick up the broken pieces of china with a sharp glance at your brother. "For goodness sake, Taehyung. Mom isn't there anymore. She never was. She was always running off with some roadies and leaving us behind because she thought she was something special."

Taehyung scoffs. "What? Just like you?" He grabs the cocoa sodden script, crumpling it up in his shaking fist. "You are exactly the same as her. Running off to New York and leaving me behind to get your big break."

Jungkook steps forward warily. "Taehyung, you don't mean that—"

"Yes I do! If Y/N had just gotten in the car that day she wouldn't have died. It was all her fault. And now she's just gonna let them take what we have left of her."

"What?" Jungkook blinks.

Your stomach sinks. Is that really what Taehyung thinks? You wouldn't blame him. Deep down, his words strike a nerve. Because you know they're true.

Taehyung's eyes are hazy, unfocused. You reach for him dizzily, but he backs away into the hall.

"I shouldn't have come here." Taehyung whispers. He looks between you and Jungkook one last time before he's grabbing his coat and running down the steps to the first floor.

"Taehyung, wait!" You hear Jungkook's footsteps follow him out into the stairwell, but you're trapped on the ground, heaving for air.

Your hands shake as you pull yourself up to the window pane and watch Taehyung disappear into the gloom of the city, the sorrowful raindrops that lash against the glass mirroring the ones on your cheeks.

YOU: Taehyung??? YOU: [CALL IGNORED] YOU: please Tae YOU: can we at least talk about this? YOU: we're worried about you

It's been nearly 12 hours since you watched Taehyung disappear among the hustle and bustle of New York from your apartment window.

You and Jungkook were out all night searching for him. By the time you gave up the sun was rising and the birds were chirping and Jungkook somehow convinced your shivering form to return home to rest with a Taehyung shaped hole in your heart.

"It'll be okay. He'll be okay. He always is."

A phone call to your dad revealed he hadn't returned home that night; so where did he go exactly?

The weight of that question sits heavy in your chest as you sit backstage at the theatre, staring into your own vacant eyes in the dressing room mirror.

It's opening night. The show is due to start in fifteen minutes. Your lips are painted a deep shade of red, hair backcombed to perfection by one of the makeup artists. Beneath the harsh lights of the exposed bulbs that line the mirror, you look almost unrecognisable.

Confident, strong, successful.

Anyone would say your dreams had come true, or something sappy to that effect. But even as you sit among the hustle and bustle of the costume team and breathe in the fragrance of perfume and powder blush, you couldn't feel further away from the New York version of yourself if you tried.

Staring back at you is a reflection of the shy, terrified girl from Ocean City you worked so hard to forget. Yet here she is, mind whirring with worries for her brother instead of the lines she should be rehearsing to death before curtain call.

This should be your big moment. One which you will remember forever. But all you want to do right now is hold Taehyung close like you used to and tell him you're sorry and that you won't leave him again.

"Y/N!" You're snapped out of your thoughts by a familiar hand on your shoulder. You cover it with your own, instantly eased somewhat when you glance up and lock eyes with Jungkook in the mirror.

"Y/N, I found him."

"What?!" You jump to your feet, chair scraping obscenely. It draws the eyes of the people around you who quickly register Jungkook's polite smile as their cue to shuffle out of the dressing room and leave you two to talk. "Where is he? I need to talk to him—"

"He's not coming."

"What?"

Jungkook sinks into the chair beside you, forehead creased. He runs a hand through his hair and momentarily you catch a glimpse of the old Jungkook. The Jungkook that always took care of his best friend Taehyung.

"I...I gave him a ticket for the show tonight and told him to come. To see how much this really means to you...but—"

Your finger nails press half moons into your palms. "But what, Kook?"

"He was already leaving for Ocean City."

A sob wracks your frame. "Do you think he hates me?"

Jungkook's arms engulf you before the first tear can roll down your cheek, his chin tucking perfectly into the cleft of your shoulder. "Of course not, he's just...he's hurting right now."

"I can't lose him — not like this, Kook..."

"Shh. It'll all be okay."

You jump back and start to pace. "But it's not okay! What he said last night is true!"

Jungkook sucks in a breath. "What?"

Your knees buckle and you crumple. You can hardly breathe, shame washing over you as you admit the truth for the first time.

"I caused the accident! I'm the reason my mom's...she's..."

Jungkook wraps his arm around your shoulder, voice soothing. "What are you talking about?"

"The night of the accident she got a call from some big buck director. She was cast in this huge movie. Her big break." You're speaking to fast, but Jungkook nods to tell you he's listening.

"So she told Taehyung and I we were leaving for New York that night. And we were packing our bags before my dad got home and...and I said I wasn't coming. I didn't wanna leave Ocean City behind."

"I kicked and cried and said I didn't want to go, so her and Taehyung took off by themselves and that's when they got into the crash. She was upset and going too fast. It was all because of me." You start to sob. You've never admitted this to anyone before. Not even yourself. It tears your heart in two to say it out loud. "I'm the reason Taehyung's broken."

"You can't think like that." Jungkook clasps your face in his hands, thumb wiping away a stray tear. He looks scared, but his voice stays calm and convincing. "What happened was an accident. You were a kid. None of this is your fault."

"That's why Taehyung must hate me so much." You choke. "I'm doing what mom always wanted to, but she never had the chance because of me."

"Y/N?" A crew member steps into the room awkwardly with a cough. "I'm sorry to interrupt but the show is about to start. The audience is getting restless."

"Go. I'll take care of Taehyung, okay?" Jungkook pulls you to your feet, engulfing you in a final hug before he pushes you towards the stage entrance at the small of your back. "You're needed out there. Show them what you're made of."

Your eyes widen. This can't be happening. Not now.

"I...I can't."

"You can." Jungkook grabs your face and captures your lips, hard. It tastes salty with tears. "You're my star remember?"

"I love you." You whisper when you pull back, fingers reaching for him weakly as a costume designer hurries you towards the door.

"I love you too." Jungkook calls. His smile is the last thing you see before the door slams shut and there's no going back. "Now go break a leg, pretty!"

Particles of dust float in and out of your vision beneath the blinding stage lights.

Everything feels different from side stage. Your heart races as you press your ear to the velvet curtain separating you from the world, listening to the hubbub of laughing children and chattering adults filtering into the theatre. You imagine them taking their seats, buying icecream from the vendors, alive with anticipation.

The lights dim. You hear the director behind you, shouting something about places please! but it's like you're underwater, limbs weighted as you move like a ghost to your position for the opening number.

Your palms are clammy and you wipe them on your dress.

Show starting in 5...

Your legs turn to jelly. You close your eyes and try to calm your racing thoughts.

4...

Taehyung. Is he okay? Why didn't he come tonight?

3...

Shit! What was your opening line again? Goddamnit, Y/N, think!

2...

Mom. Would she be proud?

1...

You open your eyes.

The curtain is gone, and a pair of hands pushes you out into the harsh white spotlight. You shield your eyes with your fingers, heart dropping when you look up and find hundreds of eyes staring. Staring right at you.

It's like you're on the edge of a cliff, about to dive into the cool water below. Or fall.

Everything starts to blur. You're a teenager again, stood on the stage at the Crestmont. Panic rises like bile in your throat, and you don't know whether to scream or to run.

Run. Run. Run.

Your mouth opens, then closes. There's an awkward cough from the audience. Words run your mind in circles, but none of them are right, and before they can reach your lips they evaporate on your tongue.

Your panicked eyes roam the sea of seats that zoom in and out of focus. Your knees buckle, and you're sure you are going to pass out right here in front of everyone, but then your eyes meet a familiar pair of brown ones that makes the room stop spinning for a moment.

Jungkook. He's smiling at you, fingers crossed in his lap. There's not a trace of nerves in his gaze as he nods for you to go ahead.

I believe in you.

Just then the door to the theatre flies open and every head in the audience turns towards the darkly clothed figure shuffling through the aisles, mumbling sorry's and excuse me's until he reaches the empty seat beside your boyfriend.

He lets down his hood, shakes free a head of blonde hair that's still damp from the rain. He's out of breath, like he ran here.

Taehyung.

Your brother looks up at you, frozen in place, and his eyes soften. He flashes you a thumbs up and his lips curl around the four words you needed to hear.

You can do this.

And just like that, the panic disappears. The words come flooding back, and your body flies into action, moving across the stage

You forget all about the fear, and the anxiety, and Taehyung and the Crestmont. For now it's just you and the stage, together in harmony.

And you've never felt more alive than when you take your final bow and the crowd roars to life, just like you always imagined it would.

Your jaw hurts from smiling, and before you know it you're crying. Because when you squint against the theatre lights, you see Taehyung and Jungkook in the front row, holding each other and shouting your name.

Y/N! Y/N! Y/N!

"Hey! Be careful!"

The bouquet of congratulatory geraniums cradled in your arms gets crushed between your body and your brother's. He practically tackled you as soon as you entered the dressing room, carried on the cheering shoulders of the other cast and crew members.

"Holy shit." Taehyung holds you at arms length. His eyes are ringed red around the edges. "You were amazing, Y/N."

"You really think so?" Tears start to well and you're so happy to see him that you throw your arms around his waist. "I'm so glad you came, Tae."

"Yeah. You were just like her." He smiles. "Just like mom."

You share a small, sad smile. You've heard those words all your life but it feels different when it comes from Taehyung.

Jungkook pops his head into the room. He catches your eye over Taehyung's shoulder, and flashes you a small smile when he sees you cradling him in your arms.

Talk to him. He mouths, and you're suddenly reminded of why Taehyung came here in the first place.

"Hey listen—"

"Taehyung—"

You both start to talk, bursting into easy laughter when the other stops, seemingly hit with the same idea at the same time.

"You go first." You smile, encouragingly.

"Okay." He pulls you over to the couch. "I'm just...I'm sorry for storming out last night. I shouldn't have come here and expected you to help me—"

"No, stop. I'm sorry." You place a hand over his. "I want to help." You hold an arm out to Jungkook, who crosses the room and slides his hand into yours. "We want to help. We want to save the Crestmont."

Taehyung's eyes bulge. His voice drops to a whisper. "Really?"

"You were right. The Crestmont was mom's place."

You think about how it felt to be out there on the stage, in front of a crowd cheering your name. The excitement, the exhilaration. Your first stage.

The Crestmont is your mom's first stage. It's where she felt those same emotions for the first time. You can't let it be demolished. Not for anything.

"She deserves a legacy. We can't let them tear it down. I don't know how yet, but we'll save it."

"Thank you." A tear streaks his cheek, and his arms pull you and Jungkook into a tight bear hug.

"Thank you. For showing me what really matters, Tae." You whisper. "Let's do this together, okay?"

"For mom."

Taehyung holds out his pinky finger, and you link yours with his.

"For mom."

Where things go wrong.

Six months later.

Every second that passes is marked by a deafening tick from the kitchen clock.

Jungkook was supposed to be home 10 minutes ago. You're sat alone at the dinner table, a carefully presented meal for two spread across your mom's old polka dot table cloth. You even lit candles.

With a sigh you drop your chin into your hand, absentmindedly pushing your spaghetti around the dish while your eyes remain trained to the front door that will open any moment.

To be honest, it's been months since you and Jungkook shared a meal together. He spends most of his nights in his office, hunched over his laptop staring at the blinking cursor on some script he'll never finish. And ever since Jungkook's big script got rejected and he fell into a slump of no work, he had to get a job at a local convenience store all day for some spare cash to get you through the month.

You know he hates it. He hates the rude customers and how he can never shower the smell of grease out of his hair.

You know the bickering that turned into arguing that turned into fighting was just a result of his restless aggravation at being shot down too many times. Of watching his dream slip right through his fingers.

But you haven't exactly been as understanding as you should have been. You're overworked too, with the play, and The Crestmont, and you hate how easy it was to accept sleeping apart and missing dinner dates.

So you texted him to tell him you were making dinner tonight. A cease fire of sorts, or maybe just a feeble attempt at glueing back together the cracks that have appeared between you recently with pasta sauce and meatballs.

But he's late. Again.

And it makes you wonder whether there was any point in trying.

"Y/N?"

A gravelly voice jolts you out of your thoughts. Keys jangle onto the counter, shoes are slipped from feet and thrown into the storage cupboard with the creaky door.

"I'm in here." Your voice sounds meek, but you straighten and muster up a smile. To show at least one of you is making an effort.

Jungkook appears in the doorway, clad in his ugly traffic cone orange uniform. His shoulders are slumped, bangs limply stuck to his forehead. He looks tired, exhausted.

"What's all this?" He nods disinterestedly towards your untouched homemade buffet before heading to the sink to fix himself a glass of water.

"Dinner." You cough. He stiffens. "Remember?"

"Oh." He scratches the back of his neck. His eyes flash with something close to guilt momentarily, but then he smoothes it out. "Yeah. Dinner."

"It's okay, you're not too late. We can just heat this up in the microwave—"

"I already ate, Y/N." The glass in his hand slams onto the counter a little too loudly. "At the store."

You can't hide the way your face drops.

"Please." You whisper. "For me?"

Jungkook stares at you for a few seconds, unblinking, before he exhales shakily and pulls out the seat opposite you.

"What's on the menu?" He asks, hands already grabbing for the bottle of red wine in the middle of the table without so much as a glance at the food you worked so hard to prepare.

"Pasta."

"Right."

An uncomfortable silence settles. Jungkook nibbles at a meatball, and you suddenly feel too sick to the stomach to keep anything down.

You jump when Jungkook's fork clatters to the table. He wipes pasta sauce from the corners of his mouth with a napkin and you're sure you can see a slight tremor in his grasp.

"There's something I need to tell you."

His words ring out into the deafening silence that shrouds the apartment. You train your eyes to the candle in the middle of the table that flickers back and forth and carefully place down your own cutlery.

"Should I be worried?"

"No...I mean, I don't know. Maybe." Jungkook waves his hands around and when his eyes meet yours they're distant. Like the table that separates you spans oceans. "Just promise not to freak out."

"I'm not promising anything. Why are you looking at me like that?"

He shifts and the cheap flat pack dining chairs you bought when you moved in creak like they always do. "I...I got a movie deal. They loved the script I told them I've been working on and they want me to direct it."

Your heart fills with something sweet; pride. Even despite your downs recently this is still incredible news. You knew your boyfriend should be ecstatic...so why is he staring intently at the table cloth like it killed his whole family? "That's awesome, Kook. So what's the problem?"

"I gave them a different script."

Something shifts in the air. You hold your breath.

"Huh?"

"The script. The one you told me to burn before we came to New York. The one about you...your life."

Your blood runs cold and it's like your frozen. Just searching through the never ending blackness behind Jungkook's eyes that fails to falter, no matter how hard you pinch your inner thigh and hope you're about to wake up from a bad dream.

"You wouldn't." Your voice sounds strained and Jungkook doesn't even flinch. "You...I don't believe you."

"I'm sorry." He runs an exasperated hand through his hair. "It's just that they hated the first one and I wanted this deal so bad. It's a once in a lifetime chance Y/N, don't you see?"

The boy staring back at you isn't the sweet and sensitive Jungkook from Ocean City or the strong and passionate man from New York. His words get all mixed up in your head as you repeat them over and over and it's as if you don't even know him at all. All you can feel now is betrayal. And just like that all the anger that has been building inside you for months explodes.

"So my life is just a fucking plot for one of your indie movies, Jungkook?"

"It's always your life isn't it? Never mine." He slams his hands on the table hard enough to make your insides shake. "Ever since we came to New York I've supported you, sat back and watched as you achieved all your dreams. And it hurts, Y/N. To come home from my dead end job, and write another goddamn script that nobody wants to even read."

"I came to New York because of you!" You don't even realise you're crying until you taste the hot salty tears that won't seem to stop. "I came here so you could make it big! You're the one who encouraged me to audition for the play in the first place!"

"God, are you really that naive? Don't you see? I came to New York because I saw how much it meant to you." Jungkook lowers his voice, and there's something in his words that makes your heart twist. Pain. His eyes look watery and you long to reach out for him. Like the skin on skin contact will somehow make all of this okay. "And not once have you ever considered how it might feel for me to sit back in your shadow."

"So that's what this is? Jealousy?" You shake your head and get up from the table and turn to leave, but Jungkook grasps your wrist.

"Why can't you be happy for me?"

"I am happy for you Jungkook. And I always will be." Your heart softens and you're reminded of the boyfriend you know. The boyfriend you love. You want to believe he's in there somewhere so you place your hand over his, and for a second he looks hopeful. "But this was never your story to tell. That's what hurts."

He drops your arm, gaze cold and distant. "Then I guess that's it then."

"What?"

The room starts to spin.

"If you can't accept my decision to go ahead with the project then I guess we can't do this anymore."

"This?" You whisper.

"Us."

"Jungkook...Are you saying we're over?"

He drops his head into his hands and lets out a sigh. "Maybe. I don't know."

"You don't know?" You chuckle but it's hollow, empty. "You don't know if you love me any more?"

Jungkook's face drops and he lurches towards you, but you step back.

"No, shit Y/N I didn't mean it like that!" He looks scared. "I was just angry and it slipped out."

"Don't." His arms reach for you again but the brush of his fingertips feels scalding hot, wrong. "Don't fucking touch me."

"I'm sorry..."

"Don't lie to me Jungkook." Your vision is blurred with tears as you rip open the closet and yank out a suitcase. "You're not sorry. I was never your muse. I was just a stepping stool to the top."

"Where are you going?" Jungkook's crying now too. It comes out as a sob.

"Home." You say as you rip open your shared closet door and start throwing your things into the case. "I'm going home. Where I belong."

"I can't lose you like this. Please." He reaches for your wrist again but you're already half way to the door.

"Too late." You say. "I'm going home. And I'm never coming back."

The familiar scent of burned popcorn and candyfloss soothes you as you creep through the backdoor of the Crestmont. It always had a broken hinge which opened just enough for a body to squeeze through. Seems not a lot has changed since you left Ocean City.

It's dark inside. Silent too, without the popcorn machine running and the movie trailers playing on LED screens. You don't know what you expected. It's gone midnight by the time you get back to Ocean City, but you don't want to go home just yet.

Comfort washes over you as you run your fingers over the gilded edges of the counter, and slip beneath the hatch on auto pilot. It feels strange to be back here without the starched shirt and bow tie you used to hate. You've swapped out worn sneakers for heels that click against the tiles and you've performed on stages for crowd's bigger than the Crestmont's but here and now, you feel like yourself. Even though everything in your life has changed, you're still the same small town girl underneath it all.

Without thinking your legs carry you to the wall of fame. The faces smile up at you, like they're saying welcome back.

"Hey mom," You whisper, stopping momentarily in front of her portrait. You stared at it for so long as a kid that you have every detail committed to memory but seeing it up this close makes your breath hitch. "It's me."

With a sigh you force yourself past into the hall. Your hands tremble as you push open the door to the theatre. It's just how you remember it, sparkling gold and red velvet and mystery. But there's yellow tape strung up across all the seats and a sign has been propped up on the stage, red glaring letters burning a hole in your heart as you read them.

DANGER. DUE FOR DEMOLISHMENT. STAY AWAY.

All you can do is let your legs buckle, back sliding down the wall as you hug your knees to your chest and let out a throaty sob that echoes from the high ceiling.

When did everything go so wrong? You must be cursed. Everything you touch gets destroyed.

"Y/N?"

The lights flicker on, bathing the room in a soft golden glow. You wipe your tears, but that doesn't stop them from coming.

"Over here."

Your voice is small but a few seconds later Taehyung's face appears from behind one of the velvet seats. His eyes soften when he sees you curled up in the corner.

"What are you doing down here?" He clambers over the seat to join you, his long legs folded awkwardly in the small space.

"Having a one man party." You snort and point to your tear stained cheeks.

"Are you okay?" His hand covers yours and the contact makes you jump.

"Yes..." You sniff. He raises a brow. "No. Jungkook broke up with me."

Taehyung chokes. "What?!"

"I mean, we fought and then he...he said we were over." Your heart stabs painfully but you shrug. "So I came here. Didn't know where else to go."

He places an encouraging hand on your shoulder. "Listen...I know I haven't always been there for you when I should've. Hell, you always took care of me and I never even asked how you were doing." He offers a small smile. "But I'm here now. And you can tell me anything. If...if you want to."

A few seconds tick by in silence. You try to form a sentence but everything just comes back to the same three words.

"I miss mom." You blurt.

It echoes through the theatre, and you can practically hear the mermaids and the cupids painted on the ceiling gasp. It surprises you too, the combination of grief and relief that washes over you at finally admitting it.

"I know." Taehyung pulls you into his chest, lips whispering against your hair as you let out a sob and it's like all the sadness and denial is rushing out of you like a faucet, filling the whole room up like a water tank. You're terrified of the moment it gets too full, and you stop being able to breathe. "But you're a lot like her, y'know."

"That's exactly the problem!" Your words come out as a yell and it makes you both jump. "Everyone always says I look like her, I talk like her, I act like her. And I hated it for the longest time because I hated her for leaving us!"

"But without even realising it I became her, Tae. I did what I always said I wouldn't and became selfish. I hurt you, and Jungkook and even the Crestmont."

"That's not true."

"It is! And the worst part is I don't even hate her any more. I need her. To hold me, and tell me it's going to be alright. But she isn't here!"

"What does this have to do with Jungkook?"

"Jungkook wrote a script. A long time ago. About mom. And you and I. And everything that happened." You swallow, Taehyung's eyebrow raises though he doesn't look at all surprised by this information, nor as horrified as you that a record of your bleak shortcomings exists for anyone to read. "He got a movie deal. That's why we fought."

Taehyung hums. "You don't want him to make the movie?"

"It's not that I...I want to be happy for him. But I can't." You choke. "It's too painful. Remembering."

Accepting.

"When I said you were a lot like mom, I meant that you are headstrong." Taehyung pauses. "I felt that way once too. Like I hated mom and the goddamn world for taking her too soon. But in the end, the only person I hated was myself. Like however hard I tried I could never get over her, and all the pain I was pushing down into a dark place kept taunting me through the nightmares." He shivers, and you grip his hand tighter. "But one day I realised I don't have to be afraid of that pain any more. That pain is a part of me. But that doesn't mean I have to let it win."

"So what did you do?"

"I let myself feel it . I faced it. The only way I could let mom go was to stop running away." He pats your shoulder. "You need to set the girl in that script free, so you can move on."

And just like that, you're swimming...up, up, up, until you reach the surface of the water tank and you can take a heaving breath for the first time.

You throw your arms around his neck. It feels weird to hug him like this, but it's nice. "I missed you, Tae. Thank you.”

"I didn't do anything." He says. "The strength is inside you, you just need to find it. Just like you need to stop holding on to the past and let the new you shine for once."

You shake your head. "I need to talk to Jungkook. I don't know why I stormed off like that and..." You trail off. "Wait, how did you know I was here?"

Taehyung grins. "I didn't. I got called in to sort some paperwork and I noticed the back door ajar. Good thing it was you and not some crazy with a baseball bat, right?"

"At this time?" You nod to his still pyjama clad state. "Is it important?"

"Y/N," He laughs lightly. There's excitement shining in his eyes. "Someone just bought the Crestmont."

You scramble to your knees. "What?"

"We're staying open, and I get to keep my job."

And then you're hugging again, and laughing and crying because the Crestmont is going to be okay. You're going to be okay.

"That's incredible, Tae! Who is it? Who bought the Crestmont?"

"I don't know, it was an anonymous transaction. But the guy said he would be here...." He glances at his wrist watch, and as he does, the door creaks open. "Around now."

"Hello? Anyone here?" A familiar voice calls out.

"Jungkook?" Both of your jaws drop as you poke up from behind the seats. Sure enough your heart flutters when you see him, all wind swept and out of breath like he ran here.

"I thought you might be here." He scratches the back of his neck awkwardly. "Can we talk?"

The car ride to the pier was mostly silent. Jungkook borrowed his dad's old beat up truck -- it was that or his old bike with the pegs on the back -- and it still smelled like leather and petrol like it used to.

Everything about Ocean City is the same as you remember it. The pier stands strong atop the rocky sand, sea air deliciously fresh as it fills your lungs. The rolling waves shimmer like gold dust below the wisps of pink clouds that greet the rising sun. The beach is a peaceful view at this time. No tourists, all of yesterdays sandcastles swallowed by the sea spray. It took a couple hours to work through the paperwork so by now it's early morning — 5:30am according to your phone lockscreen.

It's chilly, and your skin is covered with goose bumps even despite Jungkook's suede jacket wrapped loosely around your shoulders. But you don't mind.

You've missed this. You've missed Ocean City.

"No ice cream, I'm afraid." The breeze ruffles Jungkook's hair as he emerges from the fairground and settles beside you with his legs poking through the rails. He flashes you an apologetic smile. "I guess the parlour doesn't open until 9..."

You feel a pang in your chest. Being here is like a serious case of deja vu. Countless hours spent in this very spot, eating vanilla scoops with rainbow sprinkles beside Jungkook used to be so normal. When did you grow so far apart that you're surprised he even remembers?

"Jungkook..." You swallow hard when you meet his eyes, hands longing to reach out and stroke the stream of sunrise on his cheek that makes his dark eyes sparkle. "We...we need to talk. About everything."

There's a moment of silence filled only by the calls of seagulls greeting the morning before he speaks. "I sold the script."

He sounds nervous. Like he's not quite sure what your reaction will be.

You swallow. "And you used the money to buy the Crestmont?"

"Yeah." He says matter of factly, scratching a phantom itch at his nape. "I guess I did."

"Why?" Your voice is small.

"I can't loose you, Y/N." He murmurs. "Just like you can't loose your mom. The Crestmont was her everything. But you are mine. And loosing the Crestmont would be loosing a piece of you, and I couldn't stand that."

The breeze ruffles his hair as he reaches for your hand and links your fingers and squeezes hard. You don't make any move to stop him. You know what it means, so you squeeze back and return the sentiment. I'm sorry.

Before you can stop yourself you lurch forward, arms curling around his neck and it's like coming home. His hands pull you flush to his chest, hearts beating in sync and you know everything is going to be okay now.

"Thank you." You whisper against his nape. A tear rolls down your cheek and soaks into his collar and before you know it you're blubbering. "Thank you so much, Kook."

"You aren't mad?" His voice is muffled but you can hear the quirk of his brow.

"Mad? No..no..." You lean back and wipe your eyes with your sleeve. "But what about the movie? And your dream to be a director and--"

Jungkook grabs your shoulders. His own eyes are glassy as he tucks a piece of hair behind your ear.

"That was never what mattered to me, Y/N. Not even a little bit. There's one reason I went to New York and it's the same reason I came back to Ocean City tonight. You."

"But--"

"No but's. As long as we're together, I'm already living my dream." His lips turn up into a smile, his eyes tracing your face like it's the first time and he can't get enough. "And I never ever want to wake up."

You shift in your spot to face him properly for the first time, and emotion hits you like a tidal wave. It's like all of a sudden you realize how stupid you've been; to fight with the man before you, a man who only knows kindness, about the trivial when the things that mattered the most were always right here, in front of you. The things that mattered most were always in Ocean City.

You brace your hands on his shoulders and lean up so your lips are inches apart. His eyes fall shut naturally, and you can't help but laugh with what you can only describe as one thing: happiness.

"I love you." You whisper against his lips. A warm palm cups your jaw and closes the distance between them and you're almost too lost in the way Jungkook's kiss takes your breath away to hear his response.

"I love you too."

"Sooo..." You bite your lip with a coy smile when Jungkook pulls away, the blush upon his cheeks scarlet beneath the sun which is rapidly rising. "I take it we're no longer broken up?"

"Well duh," He swats you playfully. "You think I'd do all this just to dump your ass?"

"Hey!" You pout. "I dumped your ass."

Jungkook shakes his head with a laugh.

"Besides," He glances out over the horizon nonchalantly and shrugs. "I'm gonna need help if I'm gonna start my own film company and run the Crestmont."

Your jaw drops. "A what now?"

"A film company." He explains. "A different type of film company, right here in Ocean City. For the outcasts like me who have a vision that even the biggest names in New York can't see yet." He smiles, so big and bright it makes your heart leap. "I'm gonna show them, Y/N. And everything I need to do it is right here in Ocean City."

"I know you will. I never doubted you for a second." You take his hand and link your fingers, squeezing hard. "And you bet your ass I'll be front row to watch each and every one, Jeon Jungkook."

Epilogue.

"Just keep your eyes shut!"

"I already know where we're going, so why can't I look?" You laugh, attempting and failing to tug Jungkook's interlocked fingers away from your eyes.

"Shush, it's a surprise! Just roll with it."

A surprise. That's what Jungkook said earlier too when he woke you up at the crack of dawn by throwing a dress at your head and telling you to meet him outside in the truck in 10 minutes or else.

By the time you pulled up into the familiar parking lot of your not-so-mysterious destination, the sky was already aflame with the glow of morning skimming the horizon, and Jungkook practically leapt out of the truck, palms unusually sweaty as he grasped your hand and pulled you towards the path quicker than your feet could carry you.

"What's the hurry, Kook?" You get out between heavy breaths, quads burning as the path gets steeper beneath your feet.

Come to think of it, your boyfriend has been acting strangely all week. Like hiding things behind his back when you walk into a room or talking in hushed whispers on the phone to Taehyung when he thought you were sleeping.

"You'll see." The path levels out and you stop. Jungkook wraps his arms around your waist, chin tucked into the cleft of your shoulder like a perfect puzzle piece. "Okay. Now you can look."

You round the corner, heart racing when your eyes flutter open and your vision is filled with a sea of yellow flowers. Your place.

The meadow is just how you left it, tall grass and sunny blooms dancing beneath the rays of morning sun peeking out from between the clouds. A warmth spreads through your chest and you both laugh when Gureum lets out an excited yelp, before bounding off between the stems playfully.

"I think the little guy wants us to follow him." Jungkook raises a brow and throws you a knowing shrug.

Excitement flutters in your stomach like a butterfly trapped between cupped palms. "How could I refuse?"

Fingers interlinked, you part the sunflowers and jog after the ball off fluff bouncing across the meadow, the breeze cool and forgiving as it ruffles the strands of hair that billow behind you.

Eventually you reach the clearing, and Gureum wags his tail at you proudly when you stoop down to scratch him behind his ears.

The sun reflects in Jungkook's eyes, turning them a warm golden brown. "Turn around."

You spin on your heels with a questioning glance. "Why?" That's when you see it. The spot where everything began. The tree where Jungkook kissed you all those years ago has bloomed with fragrant blossoms, and twinkle lights glow like tiny stars around it's branches. A blanket is laid out in the sun flecked shade beneath it, littered with feather cushions and lanterns and a trail of sunflower petals that begin at your feet.

"You did this?" You take his chin in your palms, face beaming despite the tears that have started to blur your vision. "Oh, Kook."

"Surprise." He smiles knowingly, grabbing you from behind and spinning you round and round until you both land with a soft thump in the middle of the outdoor cushion fort. "You haven't even seen the best part yet." He says with a nod to his right.

It's then that you notice the white sheet that's strung up a couple meters away between the trunks of two trees, Jungkook's vintage projector set up in front of it.

"What is this?" You ask, bewilderment evident in your voice.

"Gureum, would you do the honours?" Jungkook chuckles, extending a finger to point at a remote that your puppy obediently picks up with his teeth and drops into your lap with a wag of his tail.

Jungkook tucks a piece of hair behind your ear and takes a deep breath, like he's been waiting for this moment for a long time. "Go ahead. Press play and find out."

Your head shakes fondly, but your fingers tremble with anticipation as they find the PLAY button. You press it and the projector starts turning, a light flicking on at the top that makes a grainy image appear on the sheet.

The first scene is you. A teenager, dancing through the sunflower field, laughter spilling from your lips. The first time you hung out. And then it switches. You, again. Cleaning up a spill at the Crestmont, unaware of the camera. You. Paint in your hair as Jungkook chases you around the apartment in New York. You. Tears in your eyes as you hold baby Gureum for the first time. You. Asleep on Jungkook's shoulder on the subway, the camera panning to his face which lights up in a big grin, lips mouthing three words.

I love you.

Tears are hot on your cheeks, laughing as you remember the good moments and the bad, the funny and the sad, all immortalized forever through Jungkook's eyes.

The film fades out, and you throw your arms around your boyfriends neck. He chuckles when you tackle him to the ground, throwing a leg over his lap so that you can lean down and capture his lips between yours in a kiss that says all the words you want to say but you don't know how to. I love you too.

"I take it you liked it, then?" Jungkook says coyly, thumb stroking your cheek.

"It was beautiful Jungkook." You place your hand over his. "Now I know why you're always goddamn filming me."

"What can I say? You're my muse."

"Shut up." You punch him playfully. "You're gonna make me blush."

It's Jungkook's cheeks that flush pink. "Actually..." He starts to sit up, fumbling around in his back pocket. "There's something else."

"Oh?"

He clears his throat. "The first time we came to this place I knew I loved you. Back then, I said I wanted to show you what I found most beautiful. And it was you. It's always been you." He takes your hand, grip tight. "When we met we were just kids with big dreams. We might be older now but heck -- I still don't know what I'm doing. All I know is dreams come and go but you never left. You always stayed by my side. Which is why I want to promise you something."

"What, Kook?" You manage to whisper. Your heart is beating a million miles a minute in your ears. Is this what you think it is?

Jungkook swallows hard, eyes boring into yours.

"That I'll go wherever you go. New York, across oceans, up mountains -- you name it. As long as we're together, everything will be okay. So that's why I wanted to ask..." His fingers tremble as he produces a tiny black box, flicking it open to reveal a ring that sparkles see through in the sun. "Y/N, will you marry me?"

"Oh Jungkook," You throw your arms around his neck, overcome with emotion now as you capture his lips with your own. "Of course I'll marry you. You didn't even have to ask."

He lets out a sigh of relief, and then he's spinning you around in circles until you're both dizzy with love and belly laughter.

"I love you." He whispers, eyes shiny. His hand gently grasps your wrist as he slides the ring onto your finger.

You've heard him say it a hundred times before, but this time it's different. This time it's forever. Your heart flutters.

"I love you too, Kook."

Where there are new beginnings

Ocean City is the same as it always was.

You wake up each morning to the distant crash or waves, and you fall asleep each night to the tinkling fairground music that makes your heart sing. Tourists come and go, flooding the casinos and eating churros on the beach.

The Crestmont is doing better than ever. Once Taehyung took over as owner, the theatre became the heart of the city, attracting visitors from near and far to see the renowned plays directed by none other than Jeon Jungkook, the most sought after playwright and filmographer in all of the East Coast.

And then there's you. Ever since you starred in one of Jungkook's plays, about a girl from a seaside city moving to New York with big dreams, there's been no shortage of movie deals and acting opportunities thrown your way.

But in the end, you always find yourself coming back to Ocean City.

Tonight the Crestmont reopens for business after some much needed renovations. Taehyung is throwing a party, and there will be plenty of big Hollywood faces attending to see the brand new theatre and the updated __.

But one thing will always remain the same. The picture of your mom hung in the gallery. Her big smile is the heart of the Crestmont, greeting each and every visitor with pride.

And in the empty frame at the end of the wall of fame, there's a new picture.

You. Smiling, with your hair over one shoulder, just how you imagined. And beside you is Jungkook, with his arm wrapped around your waist and Taehyung holding Gureum and making a silly peace sign behind your head.

And you wouldn't have it any other way.

Okay so hi if you’re still here!! I decided to put this at the end because I didn’t wanna spoil the ending so please send love to @brekkiejeon​ !! They sent me the request for the ending of this fic all the way back in January and i’m trash and took like 7 months to finish writing it so i hope you enjoyed it even so lovely !!! <3 thank you for the request and sorry for the wait, this one really got me creative lol! 

Also I’d like to dedicate the smut in this fic to @atastefulwonderland​ because I know you love some good ole JK loving!! Hehe, ily~~

Also lemme know if this was bad because I never usually give OC so much backstory because I want it to be as relatable to the reader as poss obvi but these characters wrote themselves lmao like i’m just the writer i had no control okay???? I just do what these mfkers say. LOL.

[brian-in-finance]

Bombs, Branagh and what I learned from the city hatred couldn't destroy: As director's elegy to his Belfast childhood is tipped to win an Oscar, RICHARD KAY recalls the memories of his own time living there

We might never have found it — or rather what’s left of it — but for Moyra, who came hobbling into view on a crutch.

‘Mountcollyer Street, you say,’ she murmured, reaching back through her memory.

‘Well, it was just about there,’ she said, pointing her stick at a playground where a young mum was quietly pushing her daughter on a swing.

Of the back-to-back Victorian terraces that once marched down this inner-city stretch of north Belfast there was barely a trace.

Some new homes had replaced them, others were bricked-up and abandoned, but the district is depopulated and much emptier than it was half a century ago.

The opening of Sir Kenneth Branagh’s film Belfast, an homage to his home city that is widely tipped for an Oscar, has suddenly placed this tough inner-city quarter on the path of a new tourist trail.

To the sites of some of the worst terrorist outrages and the chillingly garish murals of the Republican Falls Road and the Loyalist Shankill, the narrow back streets where the young Branagh grew up is now an essential addition.

Sir Kenneth Branagh's film Belfast, an homage to his home city that is widely tipped for an Oscar, tells the story of the beginning of the troubles through the eyes of a nine-year-old Protestant schoolboy. Pictured: British soldiers attempt to control a civil rights demonstration in Belfast in 1970

The film, seen through the eyes of a nine-year-old Protestant schoolboy, tells the story of the beginning of the Troubles.

It is a vivid account of families being burned out of their homes because of their religion, troops on the streets and how the Northern Ireland conflict that erupted in the summer of 1969 forced the fictional Branaghs to escape the sectarian storm for a new life in England.

It is, of course, Sir Kenneth’s own story. He, his older brother and parents settled far from the bombs and bullets in small-town Reading.

As I sat through a packed screening at the city’s Queen’s University film theatre, it was clear that this celluloid rite-of-passage movie had touched some emotional raw nerves in his home town. At its conclusion, everyone stood to applaud and I noticed several elderly and middle-aged viewers had tears in their eyes.

Watching the film — and the audience’s reaction — brought back memories of my own time living in the city, not all of them bad. The kindnesses of ordinary people and the dignity of those who had suffered the most grievous losses at the hands of the IRA and Loyalist gunmen.

For just over three years, I reported from Belfast for this newspaper, with a home in the heart of the city, and I often found myself in the same bleak brick-built terraces like those of the family in Branagh’s Belfast.

It is several decades since I arrived in the Province where so much is bookended by history and anniversary. There was one such landmark at the weekend: 50 years since Bloody Sunday, when Paratroopers in Londonderry fired on civil rights protesters, killing 13.

‘Senseless’ was an over-used word in Ulster, where the near-30 years of violence cost the lives of some 3,700 people. But the hatred and bigotry were real. Pictured: soldiers patrolling the streets of Belfast

So much has changed since I was first posted to a city that at night was empty and silent. Today, it is vibrant and humming with activity. Bars and restaurants that closed at dusk now stay open late into the night — and these days you can drive right through the city centre.

Security gates and steel bars that were installed to thwart the car bombs, turning the heart of Belfast into a pedestrian-only zone, have long gone. It was in Belfast that the term ‘ring of steel’ was first memorably used.

From the skies above there was the constant clatter of Army helicopters circling trouble hotspots with their high-definition cameras, spawning another familiar phrase — ‘spy in the sky’.

Violence could erupt anywhere, at any time. One of the saddest episodes came on a Sunday morning as the churches emptied around Easter 1984.

As they left Mass together arm in arm, Tom Travers, his wife Joan and their 22-year-old daughter Mary, a primary school teacher, were ambushed by an IRA gang who regarded Mr Travers, a magistrate, as a legitimate target.

In the hail of shots that met them, Mr Travers was struck six times, yet somehow survived. Mary was hit by a bullet through the spine, killing her almost instantly. But for a jammed gun, her mother would have died too.

Of all the heartbreaking stories I covered in those years, this is the one that has remained with me. It was not just the random pointlessness of another killing but the premeditated wickedness in which people could justify the death of a young woman on the cusp of life as a mere regrettable inconvenience.

And then there was the ordinariness of its location. Tree-lined Windsor Avenue was far removed from the ghettos of west Belfast where the IRA usually strutted. At one end there was a lawn tennis club and, unlike in Branagh’s film, here middle-class Catholic and Protestant families had continued to live side by side.

It was the part of Belfast that felt most like an English provincial city. Perhaps that explained why the murder gang employed a woman walking a Pomeranian dog as look-out.

I lived in the next road and when the gunmen ran for their getaway car it was down the alleyway that linked the two streets that they escaped.

‘Senseless’ was an over-used word in Ulster, where the near-30 years of violence cost the lives of some 3,700 people. But the hatred and bigotry were real.

Pictured: Cupar Street, Belfast, where a 9 ft wall was erected to separate unionists from nationalists. The wall had to be raised twice more because petrol bombs could still be hurled from one side to another

When the police did catch and put on trial many gunmen — and the old Royal Ulster Constabulary was remarkably successful in prosecuting terrorists — I was always struck how the consciences of these cowardly killers were untouched by so much as a hint of remorse.

It used to be said that the people of Northern Ireland loved everybody — apart from each other.

And it is why in Alexandra Park, close to his old home and where young Ken Branagh and his pals played, a 10 ft-high steel fence runs through the middle, dividing one of Belfast’s main public spaces into Catholic and Protestant zones. At nightfall, this was a dangerous part of town. A soldier on foot patrol was shot dead here, his body left for hours until the Army could safely retrieve it.

Not far away, on the Antrim Road, only a few months after the Branagh family left for Berkshire, the bodies of three Royal Highland Fusiliers were discovered dead in a ditch — two of them were brothers.

At that point in early 1971, only three soldiers had been killed since the Army deployed. These horrific murders changed everything. By the end of that year, 60 had been killed; by the end of 1972 another 149 were dead, along with 249 innocent civilians.

Those terrible days, of course, are history and the Province has enjoyed more than 20 years of peace.

And yet long after the IRA ceasefire and that of the Loyalist paramilitaries, these steel barricades separating unionist from nationalist are a symbol of the sectarian divisions that remain to this day.

On the sunny afternoon I visited, there were tourists with cameras slung around their necks marvelling at the so-called ‘Peace Wall’.

The most famous of these is again not far from where Branagh was brought up. It is on Cupar Way, an interface between the two communities where they started with a 9 ft wall, only to have to raise it twice more because petrol bombs could still be hurled from one side to another.

British troops search vehicles on the Belfast to Londonderry Road in Northern Ireland shortly before civil rights march and Bloody Sunday shootings on January 30, 1972

You don’t have to look far for signs of this sectarian bigotry. You can read it in the slogans and in the freshly painted graffiti.

‘KAH’, is plastered over the wall on the Catholic side of Alexandra Park. It stands for ‘Kill all Hanoverians’: that is, royalists or, in other words, Loyalists. A sense of history has always been necessary to navigate through Ulster. Daubed on the other side of the park was ‘KAT’ — ‘Kill all Taigs’ — a long-standing slur for Roman Catholics.

Other slogans are depressingly familiar from my time here — ‘Death to touts’, a universal description for informers.

Now the prisons have been emptied and the terrorists pardoned, so these days the ‘touts’ might inform on the drugs gangs that are run by former paramilitaries enforcing their thuggery through punishment beatings and kneecappings, just as they did years ago.

Of course, this is not the only side to life in Belfast. There’s the fabulous Titanic museum, one of the world’s leading visitor attractions, and the nearby Game Of Thrones film set. Many scenes of Line Of Duty were filmed in the city and its famous graffiti subway near the Albert Clock is on the tourist beat.

Together, they represent the resilience of Branagh’s old town — and he pays tribute to them in the opening sweep of the film.

But they are relatively new symbols of hope. The most famous has just marked its 50th birthday. It is the Europa, once the most bombed hotel in the world and for generations of reporters — including me when I first arrived — a home on the front line.

They stopped counting how many times it had been bombed when they reached 33 in its first 25 years.

British Army Soldiers man a roadblock on the Belfast-Londonderry road on the day of a civil rights march in Derry

It opened in 1971 and its timing could not have been worse. Even before it had served its first customer, an incendiary device was slipped into a roll of carpet due to be fitted.

One bomb was delivered by hand in a box with ‘IRA’ written on the side and brazenly dumped on the reception desk. Equally bold as brass, the then-manager Harper Brown courageously picked up the box and took it back outside.

Needless to say, it was brought back in again and this time detonated. In all those years, no one was ever killed and, though the repair bills ran into millions of pounds, it never closed.

Only once did the bombers succeed in putting the hotel — temporarily — out of business. The very last bomb, 1,000lb of explosive packed into a car, tore through the building in 1993 when it was already in receivership.

Within six months, it was open for business and a couple of years later hosted President Bill Clinton when he flew in to kick-start the peace process.

Ironically, the Covid-19 pandemic achieved what decades of IRA bombs failed to do — forcing the hotel to shut not once but three times.

A blue plaque at the hotel celebrates Clinton’s visit. If Kenneth Branagh’s film does triumph at the Academy Awards, then perhaps the city fathers will be finding a suitable gable end to put up another plaque — to Belfast’s most famous living actor. And Mountcollyer Street should be a lot easier to find.

https://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-10462125/RICHARD-KAY-Bombs-Branagh-learned-Belfast-city-hatred-destroy.html

Remember… the Covid-19 pandemic achieved what decades of IRA bombs failed to do — forcing the (Europa) hotel to shut not once but three times. — Daily Mail

[unstoppableforcce]

dark side

— CHAPTER SEVEN: things missed

pairing: Javier Peña x reader (narcos)

previous part | next part | masterlist

a/n: so my timeline on some stuff is a little wonky but I’m just going to go with it and if y’all ever have any questions, just let me know ! I know this part is short like the last part but I hope you enjoy !! I’m glad to be back writing !!

He forgot what stakeouts were like.

He thought he missed them now that he spent almost every day at work behind a desk instead of out in the field, but after three hours of walking around the hot streets of Curaçao with the sun beating down the back of his neck and dampening his pink shirt with sweat, he finally realized it wasn’t stakeouts he missed.

It was having a partner.

Someone to rely on to watch his back as he ran in guns blazing, someone to talk to late into the night as the supposedly fresh lead showed no signs of panning out, a drinking partner on Friday nights, a sense of home when he was invited over to dinner... all the things he had unexpectedly found in you.

The man who found you that first night in the bar and fled at the sight of your badge in your purse had no idea what he was getting himself into.

It wasn’t one night anymore and he surprised himself when he admitted that was okay, more than okay even.

He loved you.

And that came with so much regret.

The sweat dripping down his brow was in a constant state of threatening to flood into his eyes, forcing him to wipe at it every few seconds. His shirt was no better, drenched down the back, under the arms, even around his collar no matter how many buttons he undid. And the sun was so bright, he was squinting under his sunglasses towards the bank he was staking out.

And he had no partner.

No one to bounce ideas off of or to lessen the boredom that came with staring at the front of a building for hours on end. He had no one.

Being here just reminded him of that at every turn.

Besides being a hotspot for international illegal banking, Javi could see how the small island was popular with tourists. He would kill to be in a bathing suit on the beach, cold drink in hand with you beside him...

He didn’t get to think like that anymore though. He should have never let himself get so comfortable with ideas like that, maybe that would’ve made it hurt less.

That night, or more aptly, the morning after, changed everything.

He didn’t do much sleeping, though he also hadn’t expect to. 

Staring up at the cracked stucco ceiling, dangling his hand over the edge of the worn leather sofa, letting his head fall back against the scratchy throw pillows... none of that was what was keeping him up.

He could sleep in cars during stakeouts, haunted by the stench of whatever sandwich Murphy had brought along. He could sleep at the office, after longs days that stretched into night reviewing the same dozen pictures over and over again, his forehead eventually falling to hid desk top. He could sleep in his bed, on his couch, at his dining table, anywhere really. It was the pains of having a schedule like his. It meant taking sleep wherever he could get it and the whiskey usually helped with that.

But not that night. Not on your couch.

As the morning light began to flow in through the small window you had over your kitchen sink, he realized he hadn’t slept the whole night. But judging by the faint sounds of your footsteps in your back bedroom for the past few hours, you hadn’t either.

You were probably getting ready for work, you always did somehow manage to beat him into the office, even on days where your morning started alongside him in bed. He was always on time, or at least, he was on time most of the time, but you were always early and you always stayed late.

You were good at your job. You were good at everything--

You weren’t dressed for work.

Dressed in the same sleep clothes you were wearing when you answered the door last night, you let out a quiet yawn as you emerged from the back bedroom carrying a few empty or half empty bottles. It was clockwork for you, out of bed, dressed, and ready by 6, most of the time so you could stop for breakfast or stop by your own apartment on the way in. He glanced to the clock hanging above your stove with squinted eyes to double check but the time only confirmed, it was almost 6 a.m. and you were not dressed for work.

Not even close.

“Did you get any sleep?” You hummed out, tossing some of the bottles into the recycling bin under your sink and shaking a few of them to get a feel for their remaining contents before placing them up in your drink shelf.

“Did you?”

You scoffed at that. 6 in the morning and the two of you were already starting off strong. “Not much, no.”

“You’re not dressed for work,” he groaned a bit, sitting up on the couch to angle himself towards the kitchen to watch you.

And you barely looked like yourself.

He knew morning you and he knew morning you well, and this wasn’t morning you.

Morning you was quiet but not somberly so. The two of you got ready for work in almost complete silence but it wasn’t tense like this, it was comfortable. He could kiss along your skin, up from the sheets around your waist to the warmer skin at your neck, all before you even really woke up. He’d reach for his toothbrush over yours, you’d hit your hip against his, it was simple. It was silent but simple.

Morning you was awake. Unlike himself, you woke up and got up, awake and alert very soon after rolling out of bed. Maybe you were a bit slower to wake up after a night of heavy drinking or longer bedtime activities, but not like this. Now, you looked exhausted, even more so than last night. Bags under your eyes, your shoulders folded in on yourself, your steps slow and your hands even slower, you looked truly exhausted.

Exhausted like he had never really seen you, not even that first night he brought you home to this very couch.

Reaching for one of the towels you had hanging on your stove, you knocked it to the floor before you could even grab it. It just wasn’t you. And it made him almost sick to his stomach watching it unfold in front of him.

Busted knuckles, somber frame, exhausted.

“I’m not going into work today...” you hummed again, your lips barely opening as you spoke.

Getting to his feet with another groan, he reached for his shirt thrown over the side chair and shrugged it over his shoulders but didn’t bother buttoning it yet, he just continued on to the kitchen where you searched your shelves for coffee. “Why not?”

“I’m just not.” You shrugged. Boosting yourself onto your toes, you pushed aside a loaf of bread and still found no coffee, bringing you back to your feet to lean against the counter. “I don’t have any fucking coffee...”

“We can go get some from the bodega down the block—“

“Stop.” You sighed out, rubbing over your face, “just stop, Javi.”

If the previous night wasn’t a good night for talking, that day was even worse, but it didn’t stop you.

“Things are bad right now at work for me, there are internal investigations about the stolen documents, bombings in La Paz, problems with Stechner and I...” he had never heard your voice so weak, not even when he was pressed nose to nose with you the night previous. “Things are bad right now and I can’t do this.”

“You can’t do this?”

“Javi...”

“I don’t even know what this is...” He scoffed out, rubbing his hand over his face as he came to a stop just a few feet from you across the kitchen. 

“I don’t know either, but I think it’s more than either of us ever anticipated and--” you shrugged, tightening your arms around your body even further.

“Yeah...I just...”

What was he supposed to say? If there was a right way to say, ‘i know you’re trying to break up with me but I’m in love with you’, he didn’t know what it was, nor did he have the heart to say it even if he did.

“Javi, there is just a lot going on and--”

“Yeah.” He shook his head. 

He had never really been broken up with, could he even call this that? He had always been on the other side and he was never as gentle as you were. His style had never allowed for that in the past. He just stopped calling, or talking altogether until they got the message... He wasn’t proud of it, god, he left a woman at the alter, none of his dating history was good.

But the feeling in his chest felt synonymous with what he had always heard people described. Heart break felt like the right term, because that’s how it felt. Broken, empty, sore...

Heartbroken. 

“It’s not about you, Javi.”

“I’m flying to Curacao today, I should probably head out so...” He buttoned up the bottom of his shirt and moved for the door even as he heard your somber sigh fall from your lips. 

“Javi...”

He wasn’t mad. He wanted to be mad like you had been mad last night, to get back at you, to feel like the rug wasn’t completely pulled out from underneath him but he couldn’t even come close to working himself up. He just felt sick. Sad and sick and incapable of doing anything but getting away from you. 

Even if away from you was the last place he wanted to be. 

“Javi...” Your voice caught him at the door, his hand hanging on the handle with a hopeful pause. But your voice caught in your throat as it began to tighten, your eyes somehow more somber and more exhausted than before. 

Did you want to fight? Did you want to argue? You caught him there, you had to have something to say, something you wanted from him. 

There was something caught on your tongue, something you just couldn’t get out. 

But your stare fell and he was pretty sure you weren’t going to get it out. 

“Goodbye, Querida.”

It all hurt. The memory, the moment, the beating sun down his back as the afternoon ticked away and the bank showed no relevant movement. 

He missed you. It had barely been a day and he missed you, worse than before, much worse.

But he had to forget about it, because the door opened and Jurado came out and the game was on. 

A game that didn’t stop until he was on the plane and in Miami, and even then, it really didn’t stop, it just changed form. Now, he had to find Jurado’s wife, he had to get her to the ambassador from thousands of miles away, and his team at her apartment hadn’t seen her and she wan’t at the embassy yet and...

And they got her. He lost her. 

This was his only actual lead, this was all he had now and he lost her. 

He had to have called the embassy a thousand times in the span of the hour and still nothing. This was all his fault. He lost you, he lost her, this whole case was going to fall apart, there was no way Jurado was going to speak to him now...

He had to find her. 

To save her, to save this case, this was everything now—

This was what you did. You had a whole program dedicated to human trafficking run by drug lords, anarchists and communists. Or you had one.

He’d gotten glances at the work you were doing, beyond what you ever told him about, probably more than he should have but it was a mere byproduct of the simple moments he spent admiring you.

You were good at your job.

There were maps and photographs, all marked with numbers and dates. Scribbled upon napkins filed together from different establishments, clearly left over from surveillance stakeouts much like the ones he missed. A matchbook from a hotel in Peru with a name written on the fold, copied police files Brazil you easily read and marked up in distinct red pen... maybe he looked more than he should have.

“These girls...” you had mentioned one night, “thousands go missing every day and if I’m lucky I can find a few dozen.”

Collapsing back against his couch, you blew out a heavy breath and began rubbing over the indents your work clothes left in your skin, kicking your feet onto his coffee table. He couldn’t help but admire you as you did, but quickly snapped from his thoughts as you continued on.

He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees from the chair adjacent to the couch, sipping mindlessly at his drink. All his focus on you and your words.

“The guns are easier to track, the weapons leave a trace, they show up in cities and we see the bloodbaths but these girls just disappear and this asshole just makes more money.” You scoffed, turning your head towards him.

“And Stechner has you watching me...” he mocked, flipping his files shut and standing up, taking a careful step towards you at the couch before settling down on his knees in front of you.

“I’m not doing a very good job of that either...”

You leaned forward, brushing his hair out and away from his face and he quickly dropped his hand to your thigh.

“I disagree.” His voice was just a whisper now as he dragged you in closer, “let’s go to bed, hmm?”

“No, I’ve got to finish this—“

He cut you off with a kiss before lifting himself off the ground and falling back with a groan onto the couch. “Okay.”

Next to you on the couch, he fell asleep, and when you finally finished, however many hours later, you woke him and took him to bed—

He missed you.

This wasn’t how he imagined talking to you again, but he needed this lead. It was his only lead. He had to, and he knew it, but it didn’t stop his hand from shaking as he picked up the phone in the Miami DEA offices. 

“Hello?” It was an unknown number, of course.

There was something about your voice because you didn’t know it was him, he didn’t know what it was but it certainly wasn’t the heavily burdened tone you had as he left before. 

It just sounded like you. Just you. And god, did that hurt. 

“I need your help...”

“Javi?” Your voice quirked up on the other end, “Where are you calling me from?”

“Miami,” he sighed into the receiver, relieved that you were still even on the call. “I need your help.”

“What’s going on...”

“Christina Jurado, she was taken by Cali and my guy won’t talk without her. 5′8, blonde hair, American...” He glanced down to the desk in front of him, the picture of her in the file open next to the stack of papers he was going to have to sign for this whole thing. “I don’t know if you want to help or—”

“Javi, this isn’t about that. Let me get into it, okay.” He could hear you moving to get up, “Are you heading back now?”

“Yeah I—”

“I’ll meet you at the embassy.” You sighed, clearly moving around your apartment. He could hear files moving, bottles clanking, maybe even your feet pattering around but when you spoke, your voice filled his ears up entirely. “I’ve gotta use the phone, Javi...”

Right. He needed to hang up.

It had been a day and he already missed your voice. This was real heartbreak, and he had never felt so guilty. 

“Yeah, thank you.” He huffed out, pressing the phone closer to his ear as if it brought you closer to him. 

“Bye, love you.” You said quickly.

Then your breath caught.

And the line went dead. 

—

tags:

@the-feckless-wonder @arrowswithwifi @ms-dont-care @leo-moon @tiffdawg @readsalot73 @way-too-addicted-to-anime @keeper0fthestars @adikaofmandalore @opheliaelysia @magneticbucky @videogamesandpoorlifechoices @larakasser @littlevodika @mandoren @mistermiraclee @rogueonestan @kaetastic @maytheglitter

[waywardwrestlewritingwaif]

Fortune’s Rule, Part 2

Here’s the second part of story. You can find the first part here. Damian does make his appearance in this one! I *think* the next part will be the final one.

Pairing: Damian Priest x OFC

Word count: 3,268

Content advisory: Nothing for this part, unless you count some references to the violent bits in the first part. 

50 days.

You spin the plastic coin on the table in front of you and sip your beer while you contemplate it. The coin says 30 days because it counts from when you first started Narcotics Anonymous, but really it’s 50 days since you’ve taken any kind of drug except alcohol. You know that you’re not supposed to touch that either but it’s not like you’re getting dead drunk. Just a drink to take the edge off. You work in a bar. It would be a bummer for the clients and the rest of the staff if you refused to drink anything at all. Besides, alcohol was never the problem. The other stuff was the problem. 

Still, you’ve avoided mentioning anything about working in a bar or having a few drinks a week to anyone at your NA meetings. You’ve told them that you’re a waitress at a restaurant. That’s almost the same thing. 

You look around the cramped room that’s become home. It came furnished and the landlord lets you pay in cash every week, which is the arrangement you need, but it’s not exactly thrilling to come back to at the end of a shift. There’s a small table that looks like it’s out of the seventies that just barely fits between the end of the bed and the wall. And you have to be careful to push the sole chair all the way in when you get up or it blocks the door. There’s one grimy window that looks out onto the fire escape and the alley below where homeless people and hookers come to relieve themselves or take whatever drugs they’ve managed to get their hands on. 

It’s irritating that you know you could actually afford a better place; not an expensive place but an actual apartment. Between the amount remaining in the bag you grabbed from the sinking car and the salary you’re pulling down from work (although that’s under the table), you’re doing better than the residents of this shithole building. But getting an apartment would mean putting your name on a lease, getting a credit check, declaring income. That’s still not safe. You don’t know if that will ever be safe. 

45 days ago, you’d come to in the night lying face down in the woods, moss and twigs and dirt stuck to your skin everywhere. You felt like someone was pounding a railway spike into your forehead and when you touched the point where the pain was centered, you could feel a cut. Your arms hurt. Your ribs hurt. Your knees hurt. You were soaking wet. But you were awake and you had a bag of money underneath you. 

The moon was so bright that it illuminated the area around you, not that it helped much. You were in the wild. After a few minutes, you became aware of some unnatural noise coming from near the river and squinted to see what was there. 

The commotion was coming from the far side of the river, the whirring of a heavy engine and the grinding of tires against the ground, followed by men’s voices. This repeated a few times and you crept forward, staying on your stomach, to get a better look. That’s when you’d seen the lights. Flashlights, the flashing amber light of the tow truck, the blue and red of a police car parked a little further back. You had to squint because the lights hurt your eyes but squinting hurt even more. But gradually, you’d been able to see what was happening: they were pulling the car out of the river. It was agonizingly slow work but inch by inch, your boyfriend’s car was rising from its murky resting place. 

“Shit!” yells one of the men. “Stop it, cut the engine, we got a body!”

A body. Just one? Or just one that they could see? Did one person escape? Was there another body in the river? Did they know that this accident was connected to a drug crime? Did they even know about what had happened at that downtrodden little house, the one you’d fled? 

You never knew. 

You’d curled up next to a fallen tree trunk and tried to stay warm for the rest of the night. The pain in your head kept you from falling asleep and early the next morning, you’d started walking. You didn’t go back to the apartment you’d shared with Johnnie. You didn’t even go back to the town. You’d kept walking parallel to the highway, occasionally checking road signs to get your bearings. You’d walked for five days. You rested as little as possible, although the longer you walked, the more rest you needed. You drank water from streams or springs when you could find them, or directly out of the river. You ate leaves. You ate tree bark. You ate dirt. You hadn’t known enough to try the berries or mushrooms you saw along the way.

After five days, you finally reached the city. You’d been there before but not in years. It was far enough away from your town to be a hassle to get to. It was far enough away for you to disappear and be safe. 

You’d sat down at a fountain downtown and washed yourself off as best you could. Then you’d gone to the first greasy spoon you found and ate a huge breakfast. Then you’d found your way to the part of town where seedy landlords rented rooms to people who didn’t want to answer questions. 

For two weeks, you’d barely left your room and even then, you only left after dark. You expected the police to arrive at any time and haul you back home to face charges or at least to answer a lot of questions but it never happened. After those two weeks had passed, you knew there was no chance that the story was still in the news, if it ever had been, and you’d started to look for a job. You also joined Narcotics Anonymous. You went to meetings in the evening. You worked at night. After a month, you still felt uneasy that people might get too good a look at you, that someone was going to come for you. 

You take another gulp of your beer and touch your forehead. The cut has healed but it’s never stopped hurting. The pain wakes you up some days, bad enough to bring you to tears. But whatever damage you suffered, it’s going to have to get better on its own because going to a hospital is too risky. In case of an absolute emergency, you have your sister’s old driver’s license that you used to use to get into bars when you were underage. 

Unconsciously, your hand falls to the leather bag at your feet. You’d replaced the satchel the day after you’d found this place. Nothing fancy, just an old messenger bag but it was sturdier and had a good thick double zipper. The bag went everywhere you went, no exceptions. You slept with your arms wrapped around it. It was a little lighter than it had been but there was still plenty left. You’d never even bothered to count it. You bought what you needed and very little else: cheap food, thrift store clothes, a few cans of beer from the corner store. 

Your head throbs for a while, enough that the vision in your left eye goes a bit blurry, but then it subsides, as it always does. You’ve got this, you tell yourself. You made it out of the car. You made it out of the woods. You’ve bought yourself the time you need to figure out what to do next, how to make your life into something. 

Rather than climb into bed, you open a second beer. You can tell this is one of those nights that you need to stay awake until your body simply can’t handle it anymore. If you let yourself drift off to sleep, you can tell that the nightmares are going to come, the nightmares where you’re back near the river, trying to lift yourself but your head hurts too much and your soaked body is too heavy. And as you’re trying to get up, you see them: Cynthia crawls from the river, her body shattered and bloated, her eyes opaque, and nearby you can see Johnnie staring at you. His face is unchanged, but there’s blood streaming from his nose and mouth. He doesn’t seem to notice. His eyes stay locked on you as Cynthia creeps ever closer, snarling and sobbing. 

*

The best thing about your job is that you get some actual human interaction. You’re happy to talk to the regulars and to the ones who just stop in. It’s not a glamorous place but it’s a few steps above a true dive. There’s a long-standing clientele, people who were coming here before the current owner bought the place. But young people are showing up with increasing frequency, people desperate to find cheap rents and willing to take a chance on a neighborhood that’s still pretty scary. In a few years, this whole area is going to be gentrified and places like the one where you work will be hip hotspots and if you want to stay unknown, you’ll have to move somewhere else. Perhaps by then, you’ll be able to live something like a normal life. Perhaps you’ll find a way to a decent apartment and you’ll be able to make actual friends. Until then, you make friendly chit chat with the motley mix of patrons and keep yourself to yourself. 

By law, you’re allowed to stay open until two but by about twelve-thirty or so, it’s always empty. Your boss has told you to lock up whenever it gets dead and trusts that you won’t just keep the place open to get an extra hour or two of pay. And you’ve never once taken advantage of him. Your nest egg means you don’t have to. 

But sometimes, you’ll lock the door and pour yourself a drink (that you pay for) and sit in silence, watching the streets through the tinted windows, the cars of hollering college kids, the prostitutes hurling insults at drivers who disrespect them, the occasional wide-eyed suburbanites and tourists who came because a couple of edgy websites recommended a couple of nearby restaurants for a sort of “authentic” experience of the city. 

Mostly, though, you find yourself watching for Him. 

You don’t know who he is. You don’t even know his name, much less his back story, but the second you see him, it’s like there’s nothing else that exists. He seems to own, or at least be in charge of, the place across the street, the shop that advertises tarot, palmistry, charms, amulets, books of secret knowledge, and more. It has an inappropriate-seeming neon sign that screams “FORTUNES TOLD” and there’s a collection of strange trinkets in the window in front of a black curtain that obscures the interior. 

Whatever goes on in there, the place keeps the weirdest schedule you’ve ever seen. You’ve taken to casing it, dropping by work when you’re not really needed so that you can try to discern a pattern, but there is none. Sometimes, the place is open in the afternoons. Sometimes, it opens in the early evening, around when your shift starts. Often, it opens during the night, or right at the end of your shift. Sometimes, it stays open all night, which you know because a couple of times you’ve sat here waiting it out. Other times, it’s like the place only opens for an hour or two. 

The erratic schedule doesn’t seem to bother customers, though. They’ll show up whenever, sometimes visiting the bar and waiting until they see the sign flicker to life. Whenever he’s there, people show up. Especially women. 

You can’t blame them for that. The first time you saw him, it was like all the oxygen was sucked out of your body. Your head started to throb a little and you shivered, despite the fact that it was summer. There he was, tall and muscular, his sleeveless shirt showing off his powerful arms, marked with tattoos. His dark hair was shaved at the sides but cascaded past his shoulders. He’s given to running his long fingers through it, the movement consciously slow and sensual, as if he knows he has an audience. Sometimes, he’ll come out and smoke a cigarette on the doorstep, stretching out every part of his long frame in a way that leaves your throat dry. 

He seems to know a lot of the people who come to see him, or perhaps that’s just part of the act: he wants people to think he’s been waiting for them. 

Tonight, it’s close to one when he shows up, casual as ever, and your eyes are fixed to him as he opens the security door and disappears inside. A moment later, the neon sign flickers to life. You bite down on your thumb as you imagine yourself crossing the street as if you’re just curious because you work so close, telling him that there’s a man you’re intrigued by but are too shy to approach, and asking him to do a reading to tell you if there’s a chance for you. 

You’ve imagined this before. You’ve imagined this a lot. It’s a fantasy you’ve thought about many nights in your gross little room, thinking of how he’d grab you and throw you down on the table, tarot cards scattering everywhere, maybe The Lovers falling next to the two of you as you indulge your wild passions… 

Once he’s been inside for a few minutes, you finish wiping up, packing the bottles into boxes for return, counting the cash, and starting the dishwasher. Your tasks completed, you head out, locking the door behind you. It’s only when you cut an inadvertent glance across the street that you see him on the step, eyes fixed on you. 

He takes a drag from his cigarette and smiles at you, and you give him what you hope is  a natural looking smile in return. 

You start to head down the street when you hear a deep voice behind you. 

“Nice night.”

He grins again when you turn to look at him, like he’s pleased he caught your attention. 

“Yeah,” you answer, “very nice.”

The two of you lock eyes for a long moment and just as you start to leave, he speaks again. 

“You should come by sometime. I’ll tell you your future.”

“I don’t know if I believe in that,” you stammer. 

“Give it a shot. It’s on the house.”

He drops his cigarette and grinds it into the pavement with his heel, giving you another wicked grin as he steps back into the shop. And part of you wants to go rushing in after him but you stop yourself, because on the off chance that he is the real deal, you don’t want to risk anyone finding out who and what you really are. Better to go back to your dank little room and imagine what could happen from the safety of your bed. Which is exactly what you’re going to do. 

*

A couple of nights later, he ups the ante. 

Around eleven, he saunters into the bar like he owns the place and gives you a look like he can’t believe you haven’t taken him up on his offer. 

It’s not busy but there are a few guys lined up along the bar and two or three clusters of people at the tables, and you’re on your own, which makes it tricky because all you want to do is crawl on top of him and tell him all the nasty thoughts you’ve had about him. This is made worse by the fact that he doesn’t ever seem to take his eyes off you, shifting however he has to in order to make sure he’s always got you in his field of vision. He’s being incredibly obvious and doesn’t seem to care. 

“So what can I get you tonight?” you greet him brightly, trying to choke back your nervousness. 

“You know how to make a whiskey sour?” he asks in a voice that’s almost unnaturally deep and earthy. 

“Yeah, honey, I think I can figure it out.”

“Well, give it a try but I’ll warn you, I’m a pretty fussy guy when it comes to cocktails.”

“Oh good,” you sigh, “a critic.”

Truthfully, you don’t remember exactly what goes into a whiskey sour and you have to Google it. Then there’s the fun of finding the right ingredients, although you’re pleased to find out that the bar actually has them. You resist the urge to make a test one for yourself because you wouldn’t know what it was supposed to taste like anyway and whiskey has never been your thing. 

When you go to place it on the bar in front of him, you feel a soft tremor run through your body, like you’re afraid of his judgment but also because, looking into his dark eyes, you feel this sense of fate. Yes, you’re attracted to him. You’re very attracted to him and you haven’t felt that in a while. And you have a bit of interest in what it is he does, whether he believes there’s magic and power in the things he sells or if he’s just making a few bucks off gullible people. You even catch yourself wondering if he could be the real deal. 

He notices your hand shaking and gives a wry smile. 

“Am I scaring you?”

“I haven’t been sleeping well,” you snap back, more curtly than you intended. 

He raises his glass to you. “Here’s to the power of a good, long rest.”

Your head starts to throb a little and unconsciously, you touch your forehead, willing it to stop. 

“Must have been a hell of an accident.”

That’s enough to distract you and you turn to face him again. “I’m sorry?”

“You just flinched like you were in pain and you touched your head. There’s a little scar where you touched it. So I’m guessing you were in an accident not too far back.”

You’d thought that the scar was healed enough that other people wouldn’t notice. No one had mentioned it to you but now you figure they were just being polite.

“Just a bump on the head. I made out ok.”

“But maybe someone else didn’t?”

Once again, your whole body shakes and this time, it’s like your skeleton becomes hot, burning hot, your ribs especially pressing with the force of iron tongs into your chest. 

“What the hell are you talking about?” you hiss, hardly able to make sound. 

He keeps smiling his mysterious little smile and takes a long sip of his drink. “This is pretty good. Especially for someone who hasn’t made one before.”

“I never said that I hadn’t made one before. Just like I never said I was in an accident with someone else.”

He takes another deep swallow of the cocktail and rises to leave. “But I’m right about both, aren’t I?” Seeing your scowl, he continues, “I’m Damian and I have a gift for knowing things about people. If you wanna see how much of a gift, like I said, you should come by and let me read your fortune.”

“Yeah, maybe.” You try to sound casual but you know, even before he smiles triumphantly, that you’re going to accept his invitation as soon as you close up for the night. 

[calumcest]

you and i were fireworks that went off too soon - chapter seven

[ao3]

did i just pull this entire chapter out of my arse tonight? maybe! not that i don’t write these chapters all in one sitting at like 9pm-1am every single time don’t get it twisted i’m not organised i am a binge-writer

i always do my long ass a/ns on ao3 i dont know why feels more REVEALING to do them here because i know people actually read them and i think probably one person on the whole planet has ever read my ao3 a/ns its a safe haven so i’m just going to say my brief thank yous: thank you to @clumsyclifford for literally everything you do always, thank you to @ashesonthefloor for listening too me bitch about this fic and having the most wonderful thoughts and ideas about it, thank you to @kaleidoscopeminds for motivating me to keep writing this fic w your kind words, thank you to @allsassnoclass for always being so wise and understanding of authors dilemmas and encouraging me w your lovely words, and thank you to my spoiler anon for being so lovely about this fic and holyverse and also for asking about another chapter because i swear to u i would have kept putting it off were it not for u. also big thank you to noel and liam gallagher for writing the SMASH hits i wrote this entire chapter to and for being [redacted] and also to richard madden because i just fancy him and feel like i should thank him for existing and allowing me to perceive him 

It’s a twin room, thank God, because Luke would have rather slept in the hallway than shared a bed with Ashton for four weeks. 

“I’m taking the window bed,” he announces, before Ashton has a chance to say anything, out of pure spite, because he knows Ashton likes sleeping by the window. Or knew, maybe. He’s not sure anymore. 

Ashton opens and then closes his mouth, nods curtly, and puts his carry-on bag on the bed nearest the bathroom. Luke puts Clifford down on the bed first, muttering at him to stop fucking yapping (which Clifford, of course, ignores), and then drops his suitcases next to it with a sigh. 

“So,” Ashton says, and his voice fills the entire room, too loud and too much, a jarring reminder that Ashton’s here, in Luke’s space, and Luke’s got no option but to live with it. “Should we go out?” Luke blinks at him. 

“What?” he says. 

“Well,” Ashton says, with an uncomfortable shrug. “Study doesn’t start ‘til tomorrow, and it’s only nine. Thought we could spend the day exploring?” Luke stares at him. 

“Think I’d rather spend my last day of freedom alone,” he says, a little harshly. Ashton blinks, and Luke doesn’t miss the flash of hurt that crosses his face, but then he nods again. 

“Have you still got my UK number?” he says, and Luke hesitates, and then nods. He’s not sure why it feels like he’s giving something away by admitting that he’d never deleted Ashton’s numbers; he’d been the one to text Ashton about the tattoos first, so clearly Ashton already knows that Luke still had his Australian number, at least. “Well. Text me if you need anything?” 

“Don’t think I’ll need anything,” Luke says, and Ashton sighs, and Luke feels a little small, a little stupid, like Ashton’s a patient parent putting up with a melodramatic teenager. 

“I’m going to head off, then,” Ashton says, a touch awkwardly, and Luke just nods, busying himself with getting Clifford out of his travel cage, thinking he’ll ask at reception for directions to the nearest park and let Clifford stretch his legs. He steadfastly doesn’t look at Ashton as Ashton gathers his things together, patting his coat pocket to make sure he’s got everything, and then slips out of the room, door clicking shut behind him. 

As soon as Ashton’s left, Luke suddenly feels simultaneously relieved and overwhelmed. He feels like he can breathe a little easier, think a little clearer without Ashton in his personal space, making him feel like he has to be alert, on edge, but the hotel room feels strangely empty without him. Luke shakes his head, tries to get the latter thought out of his mind, focusing on Clifford’s insistent yaps to draw him back to reality and distract him. 

“Alright, little man, we’re going,” Luke mutters, fumbling around in his bag for Clifford’s lead. Clifford jumps around at his feet, already panting, and Luke rolls his eyes, clips the lead on, checks he’s got his room key and phone in his pocket and heads out of the room. 

He decides to take the stairs, since he doesn’t think Clifford’s got the patience to wait for the lift, which proves to be the right decision when Clifford’s straining at his lead trying to bound down the stairs, giving Luke reproachful looks whenever he tugs him back. They’re only on the second floor, so it’s not long before Luke’s back in the lobby, and Clifford finally pulls himself together and trots smartly at Luke’s heel, giving other people milling in the area imperious looks as they pass. 

“Hi,” Luke says, and the receptionist smiles politely up at him. “I’d like to walk my dog. Can you tell me where the nearest park is?” She nods. 

“Of course, sir,” she says, and pulls out a brochure. Luke mentally pinches the bridge of his nose. He’s going to look like a massive fucking tourist walking around with one of those. He’ll be lucky if he doesn’t get mugged. 

“You just need to turn left out of the hotel, take a right at the end of the road, take the second left after that, take two rights, and you’ll be at the park,” she says, trailing her pen across the streets and ending it with a flourish, circling a rectangle of green on the map and smiling at him again. Luke smiles back, having taken absolutely none of that in, thanks her, pockets the map and decides he’ll probably just walk around the nearby backstreets for a while until Clifford’s worn out to lower his chances of getting lost. 

Clifford, it turns out, is surprisingly tired, having apparently spent all of his energy on pestering Luke to take him out. He only manages about half an hour of walking up and down a few streets around the hotel before he’s flagging, sitting down and staring up at Luke beseechingly when Luke tries to pull him along. A passing couple throw Luke an amused look and titter to themselves, and Luke sighs. 

“C’mon, little man,” he says, tugging again. Clifford refuses to budge, just stares up at Luke with a look that Luke knows all too well. “Come on, Cliff, you’re embarrassing me. It’s two streets away. You can walk that far.” Clifford stays put, and Luke rolls his eyes, but bends down and scoops Clifford up into his arms. Clifford immediately nuzzles into Luke happily, licking at his neck, and Luke pulls back, wrinkling his nose. “Gross, Cliff, don’t do that.” 

Luke pretty much speedwalks back to the hotel because little though Clifford is, he’s surprisingly heavy after a while, and Luke’s much weaker than he looks. He throws the receptionist a polite smile on his way back up to the room, unclips Clifford from the lead as soon as he’s in there and rummages around in one of his suitcases for the bed Michael had shoved on top of all of Luke’s warmest clothes. Clifford watches him patiently, and hops into the bed as soon as Luke’s unfolded it, curls up and closes his eyes. Luke can’t help but smile fondly down at him, bending down to press a kiss to the top of Clifford’s head and scratching behind his ears. 

“I’m going to go out again, little man,” he tells Clifford. “I’ll be back to give you your dinner, though.” Clifford just sniffs, which Luke takes to mean ‘yeah, sure, now fuck off and let me sleep’, and Luke straightens again, throws Clifford one final fond look and heads back out of the room, shutting the door softly behind him. 

He decides it’s probably fine if he wanders aimlessly, since the brochure in his pocket has the name of the hotel on it and Michael had paid for his phone plan to cover the UK for six weeks so he can look it up when he inevitably gets lost. Having spent half an hour in the streets surrounding the hotel already, he decides to get on the tube and head somewhere new, picking a stop name he recognises - Leicester Square sounds vaguely familiar. 

Leicester Square, it turns out, sounds familiar because it’s a tourist hotspot. Luke’s ducking and weaving between people, mumbling apologies as he slips through gaps that he doesn’t actually fit through and splits up groups (but seriously, he thinks, slightly irritated as he smiles politely, who the fuck walks in a row of five?). There are countless little side alleys and back roads leading off the main street, but even those are difficult to walk through, filled with the native Londoners who know their way through the labyrinth of twisting streets and know better than to be anywhere near Leicester Square in the first place. 

Eventually, half to get out of the crowds and half because he’s actually pretty hungry, Luke ducks into a Costa and buys himself a ham and cheese toastie, balking at the price when the cashier rings it up. Five fucking pounds, what’s that, ten dollars? For one sandwich? Fucking hell. He’s definitely going to be demanding those reimbursements from the university. 

He’s waiting for his sandwich to come out of the toaster, only two baristas serving a queue of at least twenty, when someone taps him on the shoulder a little tentatively, making him jump. He whips around, wondering whether he’s in the way or something, and comes face to face with-

Ashton. 

“Are you serious?” he demands, before he can think about it. Ashton shrugs, and looks a little uncomfortable. “Are you following me?” 

“I was already here,” Ashton says. “I’ve got a table.” He waves his hand in the directions of an empty table in the far corner, and Luke can see Ashton’s coat bunched up on one of the chairs. 

“Oh,” Luke says. Ashton gives him a look, simultaneously sad and calculating, and for a brief moment, Luke thinks fuck, his eyes are pretty. Jesus Christ. Maybe he should have stayed at the hotel and napped. 

“D’you want to sit with me?” Ashton says. Luke hesitates - not particularly , is the first petulant thought to cross his mind, before his rational side kicks in and tells him sleepily that he won’t find a seat anywhere else - and then nods. 

“Ham and cheese toastie?” the barista calls, and Luke steps forwards, takes it from her hand and heads wordlessly in the direction of Ashton’s table, Ashton in tow. 

“Sorry,” Ashton says, when Luke picks up Ashton’s coat off the seat and holds it out for him. He takes it from Luke and his finger brushes against Luke’s, and something like liquid gold rushes through Luke, making him giddy from head to toe. It’s the sleeplessness, he tells himself, averting his gaze and snatching his hand away. God knows he’s felt even more unexplainable things on the same amount of sleep. 

“‘S alright,” Luke says, sitting down to avoid thinking about the warmth of Ashton’s finger brushing against his own and the way his finger is still burning from the contact. “You didn’t know I was going to be here.” Ashton hesitates, and then busies himself with tucking his coat behind him, like he’s looking for something to do that isn’t stare across the table at Luke. Luke’s not going to complain about that, and takes a bite out of the first half of the toastie so he won’t have to say anything else. 

They sit in silence for a moment, Luke eating his toastie, Ashton fiddling with the bracelet on his left hand. The silence is uncomfortable, oppressive, and Luke kind of wishes he’d just sat on the fucking floor or something. Nothing makes him wish that more, though, than when Ashton opens his mouth and says: “I wondered.” 

Luke swallows his last bite of toastie with a frown. 

“You wondered what?” he says. Ashton shrugs, tension and discomfort visible in the movement. 

“I wondered whether we’d bump into each other,” he says. Luke rolls his eyes. 

“Not this again,” he mutters, but it’s more tired than anything. Ashton sighs, and drops his hands onto the table. 

“Look,” he says carefully. “I don’t think us bumping into each other all the time is a coincidence.” 

“Fucking hell,” Luke says, but there’s no heat behind the words. He digs the heels of his palms into his eyes and squeezes them shut. He’s too fucking tired for this.  

“Luke,” Ashton says, like Luke’s being unreasonable. “We’ve lived in the same city for years-” Luke opens his mouth to interrupt, because Ashton was always away half the time when they were together, and he can’t imagine that’s changed much “-okay, on-off, because I’m in LA sometimes - but we’ve not once bumped into each other. Then we get the tattoos, and suddenly I’m seeing you every other week?” 

“What’s your point?” Luke says, a little irritably. “You think this is some grand plan from the universe to make us fall back in love? What, I’m Cathy, you’re Heathcliff?” Ashton bites his lip, and Luke’s mouth twists bitterly in a humourless smile. “This isn’t fucking romantic, Ashton. You leaving me was-” he cuts himself off. He’s not quite ready to tell Ashton that , yet. “Awful,” he says, eventually. “This isn’t part of some, like, big romantic redemption arc for you. You fucked up, and you fucked me over, and we’ve just got to find some way to live with the tattoos. That’s why we’re both here, isn’t it?” Ashton’s silent for a moment, and if Luke’s not mistaken, looks a little paler than he had a minute ago, and then nods. 

“Can we at least be civil?” Ashton says, and then, seeing the look on Luke’s face, adds: “We’re stuck together for four weeks, Luke. I know you don’t like me, and I’m not asking for- for friendship, or anything. I’m just asking for you to be civil with me.” Luke exhales heavily. 

“Fine,” he says tiredly, before he has the chance to think too much about it. “Civil.” 

“Civil,” Ashton agrees. 

(Luke’s pretty sure civil doesn’t involve thinking God, I’d forgotten how long his eyelashes are, and the way you can see a hint of his dimple when he speaks, but he’s also pretty sure that’s entirely to do with the exhaustion, and nothing to do with him.) 

  -------

  Ashton talks Luke into going down to the Houses of Parliament, with a combination of a sincere look on his face, big, serious eyes as he says look, we don’t want to risk another bumping-into-each-other tattoo, and it’ll just be civil, and the fact that Luke just doesn’t have the energy to argue. Plus, he thinks, Ashton seems to know where he’s going, and Luke had forgotten to take his charger with him so he’s kind of fucked if he gets lost. 

The walk down from Costa to the Houses of Parliament is only about twenty minutes, but feels so much fucking longer, both of them all too aware of the awkward silence hanging between them, amplified by the noise of the city surrounding them. They walk through Trafalgar Square, and Ashton tells Luke something about art installations and the fourth plinth and Luke just nods along, trying his best to do this whole civil thing by quelling his instinct to snap I don’t fucking know what a plinth is and you know full fucking well I don’t care about art. Ashton seems to sense it from him anyway, though, because he falters and then says, with an uncomfortable laugh, “You probably don’t care about this anyway.” 

“Not really,” Luke admits, because they’d said civil, not dishonest. Ashton smiles wryly, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. 

“Sorry,” he says, and Luke just hums, and they fall back into an awkward silence. 

It’s easier, Luke finds, when a man in a suit shoulders into him and keeps walking without so much as a mumbled apology and Ashton turns to him, outraged, and says Londoners really are cunts, if they interact with each other through their surroundings. Talking about people, things, even the fucking weather, adds a sheen of superficiality, a layer of removal that they can both look at and pretend there’s nothing more to it, no years of hurt and pain bubbling beneath the surface. 

“How is it this sunny yet this cold?” Luke grumbles, shielding his eyes and squinting up at Big Ben. 

“You should be here in April,” Ashton says, stabbing the button at the traffic light repeatedly. 

“I’ve got no intentions of being here any longer than I have to be,” Luke mutters. “What are we looking at, again?” 

“It’s parliament, Luke,” Ashton says, like that’s supposed to mean something to Luke. 

“So?” Luke says. “We’ve got a parliament.” 

“And? Have you ever seen it?” Ashton says shrewdly, and Luke scowls, biting back the scathing retort on the tip of his tongue. Civil and Ashton are two concepts that he assumes will take a while to marry in his mind. 

“Whatever,” he says, stepping out into the road as the light turns green. “Just don’t get why I’m supposed to care about some random country’s government, is all.” Ashton doesn’t seem to have anything to say to that, jogging to catch up with Luke, and they walk the rest of the distance to the buildings in silence. 

It’s quite imposing, Luke thinks, up close. The buildings are sort of dirty - or maybe they’re meant to look like that - and incredibly intricate, bordering on fussy. It towers over them, looking more like a palace than a place of governance, Big Ben casting a long shadow across the road. He’s not sure he’d want to be governed from this place.

“I don’t like it,” he says. 

“Really?” Ashton says, squinting up at the buildings. “I think it’s kind of pretty.” You would, Luke thinks darkly. Old, ornate and overcomplicated? That’s exactly the kind of thing Ashton would get excited about and find unwarranted symbolism in. 

“Yeah, well,” Luke says instead, because he’s pretty sure that thought doesn’t count as civil. “Think it’s just a bit too elaborate.” 

“It’s Gothic Revival,” Ashton says, like Luke’s supposed to have a single fucking clue what that means. Actually, Luke thinks bitterly, he’s probably fully aware that Luke doesn’t have any idea what that means, and is hoping Luke will take the bait and ask so Ashton can demonstrate his massive intellect, or whatever. 

“Right,” Luke says, a little shortly. Ashton glances at him, looking a touch taken aback, but then looks back at the buildings. 

“We can go somewhere else,” he says, and it’s an offer. An olive branch. 

“Yeah,” Luke says, because annoyance at not knowing anything about architectural styles aside, looking at an old building is just pretty fucking boring. 

“There’s an aquarium not too far away,” Ashton says. “I remember you-” he stops himself, and Luke swallows. Yeah. He loves aquariums. He loves them so much that Ashton had taken him to the Sydney Aquarium for their third anniversary, a month or two before he’d broken up with Luke. 

(Two months on the dot. Not that Luke has both dates seared into his mind, or anything.) 

“Yeah,” Luke says again, to fill the silence of both of them thinking back to that day. “Let’s go to the aquarium.” Ashton hesitates, and glances at Luke like he wants to say something else, a sort of semi-pained expression on his face, and then he sighs, shakes his head, and throws Luke a tight smile. 

“Let’s go to the aquarium,” he agrees. 

  -------

  The aquarium, it turns out, is a much better choice. 

Despite the odd screaming child, the aquarium has a calming silence to it, an almost pensive quiet that pierces to the depths of Luke’s soul. It settles the air between him and Ashton, means they’re not silent for lack of civil things to say, but rather because they’re both caught up in the muted beauty of the ocean. 

They don’t walk together, because Ashton likes to pore over every single placard and study every creature in minute detail and Luke’s drawn to the pretty, colourful fish. It’s Luke, though, who’s always the last to move on, and Ashton waits for him before they head to the next room. It’s almost nice, Luke thinks, as he heads for the door and sees Ashton slip through it when he sees Luke’s ready to move on, that they don’t have to have awkward conversations about it, that they can just understand and fall into it. 

(He tries not to think about why.) 

They spend hours in the aquarium, dawdling in every room, because they spent so much fucking money on it and they’re both going to be damned if they won’t milk it for all it’s worth. Luke spends an extra long time looking at the clownfish, for some reason, hypnotised by the way they can weave in and out of the anemones. There’s some kind of symbolism to be found there, he thinks, something about toxicity and safety, but he’s too tired to come up with it himself. Ashton would probably correct him if he tried, anyway. 

Ashton’s particularly taken by the sharks, it turns out. He’s already staring at the huge tank in awe when Luke gets into the room, barely even blinking as his eyes follow one shark after the other. The room itself is dark, like the rest of the aquarium, but the tank’s so huge that Ashton’s bathed in light, rippling and shimmering and Luke, for the briefest of moments, feels something sharp stab at his heart, something he remembers feeling the last time he’d stood in an aquarium with Ashton. It makes his stomach clench, twist in on itself, because he knows exactly what he’d identified that feeling as before. 

“They’re fucking beautiful, aren’t they?” Ashton says, interrupting Luke’s train of thought before it can take the leap off the cliff edge of panic, and Luke looks up at the sharks. 

“I guess?” he says, because he doesn’t really see it. 

“You used to like them,” Ashton says, sounding a little surprised. 

“I used to like a lot of things,” Luke says. I used to like you, he adds spitefully in his head, and sort of hopes Ashton’s telepathic. 

“Guess I’ve got to get to know you again,” Ashton says, and it’s a little wistful, a little sad. Luke doesn’t say anything, because he doesn’t know what would sum up I’m not sure I want you to, I don’t think I’ll give you a chance and Good fucking luck in a civil way. 

They stand there for a while, watching the sharks, and people filter in and out of the room behind them. It feels oddly hypnotic, being stood there with Ashton, the only two static parts of a moving whole. He wonders if the sharks feel the same, swimming aimlessly in their tank, watching the world pass by and powerless to move with it. 

“I’m sorry,” Ashton says quietly, after at least ten minutes have passed. It’s so quiet that Luke thinks he might have misheard it - maybe it was the family behind them, or just the sound of the tank - but he can sense Ashton stiffen next to him, like he’s preparing for backlash of some sort. 

“What?” Luke says, just to make sure he’s heard right. 

“I’m sorry,” Ashton repeats. Luke pauses, waiting for Ashton to elaborate, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t really have to, though, Luke finds, because he knows what Ashton means. 

“I know,” Luke says eventually. Ashton swallows, but says nothing, just carries on gazing at the sharks, but out of the corner of his eye Luke can see that Ashton’s gaze is fixed now, not following the sharks around.

They stand in silence until an announcement blares through the system telling them that the aquarium is closing soon, making them both jump. 

“What time is it?” Luke asks, just for something to say. 

“Uh,” Ashton says, pulling his phone out. “Five.” Fucking hell. It feels much later than that. “Do you want to go back to the hotel?” Ashton adds, like he knows what Luke’s thinking. Luke nods. 

“I’m fucking exhausted,” he admits, as they head back up the steps away from the sharks and towards the exit. 

“Me too,” Ashton says. “I wanted to stay up until at least ten, but…” he trails off, stifling a yawn, and Luke can’t help but snort. Ashton smiles, small but genuine. “Fuck off,” he says, but it’s good-natured. 

“Yeah,” Luke says, as they traipse out into the little shop. “Think I’m just going to crash when we get back.” Ashton nods, pushing open the door to the exit. Luke’s expecting the glare of brilliant sunlight to hit him, squints in preparation for the onslaught of light, but it’s pitch fucking black. 

“What the fuck?” he says, sounding kind of perplexed and kind of outraged. 

“What?” Ashton says. Luke gestures up at the sky with one hand, and uses the other to pull his coat in closer towards himself, because fucking hell, it’s freezing.  

“It’s five o’clock,” he says. Ashton looks up at the sky, and then at him, an amused expression on his face. 

“Wrong hemisphere,” he says, and Luke rolls his eyes. 

“Fucking miserable place,” Luke grumbles, tucking his arms in and huddling in on himself. “No wonder they invaded the rest of the fucking world, Jesus. I wouldn’t want to stay here either.” Ashton says nothing, but when they pass under a streetlight, Luke sees the corners of his lips tilted upwards, and something warm and pleasant spreads from his stomach outwards. 

“D’you actually know where you’re going?” he asks, when Ashton takes a sharp right turn onto a bridge. 

“Of course I know,” Ashton says, in that infuriating, I’m-Ashton-Irwin-and-I’m-an-intellectual manner that Luke had never liked. Luke rolls his eyes, not entirely playfully, and jogs to keep up with him. 

Ashton leads them across the bridge, past the parliament buildings again, up a long road that a lot of people are ambling down, and then cuts into a small alley on the right. 

“You definitely don’t fucking know where you’re going,” Luke says, standing at the mouth of the road, something uneasy in his stomach. “I’m not going down here.” 

“I know where I’m going,” Ashton says. 

“Where are you going?” Luke says sceptically. 

“Charing Cross.” 

“Why is that down an alleyway?” 

“It’s just a shortcut.” Luke stares at him, narrowing his eyes. 

“Why can’t we walk on the main road?” he asks, because it feels right. Something about the alleyway feels wrong. 

“We can,” Ashton says. “But it’ll take longer.” Luke makes no indications of moving, and Ashton sighs, and it’s tinged with sadness. “Come on, Luke, are you serious? You think I’m going to, what, murder you in an alley in London?” Well. Not specifically, but something’s telling Luke not to follow Ashton into that alley. Much more than that, it’s telling him not to let Ashton into that alley, but Luke’s trying to ignore that part of it. 

“I just don’t want to go that way,” Luke says stubbornly. “Let’s just go on the main road.” 

“It’ll take much longer that way,” Ashton says. 

“I don’t care,” Luke says. “We’re not exactly fucking wanting for time, are we?” Ashton takes a step further into the alleyway, almost out of Luke’s line of vision. 

“Come on , Luke,” he says, and takes another step, and Luke’s stomach tightens uncomfortably as he does. 

“Don’t,” Luke says, before he can stop himself. 

“Why?” Ashton says, sounding exasperated. “Look, the longer you stand here arguing, the longer it’ll take us either way.” 

“I’m taking the main road,” Luke says. “Just- let’s fucking walk on the main road.” 

“You don’t even know the way,” Ashton says. “I know the way.” 

“I’m not going that way.” Even in the darkness and despite the distance, Luke can see Ashton roll his eyes. 

“There’s nothing fucking down here, Luke,” Ashton calls, taking another step into the alleyway, and Luke edges forwards without even thinking about it, needing to keep Ashton in sight. It’s not really working, though, because Ashton’s walking further in and Luke’s at an angle to the alleyway, and it’s making him panic a little.

“Don’t fucking go down there,” Luke says, through gritted teeth. “Ashton, seriously. Just fucking come on the main road with me.” 

“What’s your problem?” Ashton says, and even though he sounds genuinely surprised and curious, it makes a flash of anger flare up in Luke. 

“Can you stop being a cunt for, like, two fucking minutes?” he bites out. 

“Luke, I-” Ashton cuts himself off with a shout, and the anger’s gone, replaced with pure fucking fear and panic and protect protect protect running through Luke’s mind, and Luke’s barely even aware of his surroundings as he takes off, sprinting as fast as he can to the alleyway, getting to the entrance to it just as Ashton comes running out, wild-eyed. He doesn’t stop or say anything, just grabs Luke’s hand as he passes and tugs him hard in the opposite direction. They run to the main road, Luke’s heart pounding in a way that definitely isn’t just from the exercise, and then they run up it, and they don’t stop running until they’re outside the station. Luke doesn’t even realise that they’re still holding hands until Ashton drops his hand to lean on his knees, panting, hair completely windswept as it falls into his eyes. 

“What the fuck was that?” Luke spits, fury beginning to set in between the racing heartbeats and gasped breaths. 

“Someone fucking-” Ashton waves a hand, like it’s going to explain what ‘someone’ did. It doesn’t fucking matter, because those two words alone are enough to make Luke’s heart tighten, to make his stomach clench

“I fucking said-”

“I know, but it’s fucking five p.m., and I always go that way-”

“I told you-”

“I know, Luke,” Ashton says, breathing almost back to normal, and he straightens and gives Luke a look that looks almost sad. “Why d’you think that was?” 

“Why do I- are you fucking insane? Because it’s a creepy fucking alleyway? Anyone would fucking know not to go down there!” Luke says, throwing his hands in the air. 

“You were so fucking adamant,” Ashton says. 

“Yeah, and if you’d fucking listened-” 

“Luke,” Ashton interrupts. “I didn’t sense fucking anything.” Luke stops.

“Are you trying to say this is another fucking soulmate experience?” he says. “We don’t have three. Most people don’t even have one. ” 

“No,” Ashton says. “I think it’s the same one. The first one. The protecting one.” 

Oh. 

Oh.  

It’s kind of a blur already, even though it’s only been like, three minutes, but Luke remembers the haze of protect protect protect that clouded every single other one of his thoughts, that stopped anything and everything else - including his own safety - from mattering, that made him move without even thinking, running straight fucking into the alleyway he’d been so uneasy about because nothing mattered more than Ashton. 

“Fuck,” he says, and Ashton nods grimly. 

“Yeah,” he says. Neither of them need to say didn’t realise it went both ways, because it’s both written clearly across their faces. 

“You got this on the fucking phone?” Luke can’t help but ask. 

“Yeah,” Ashton says again. Luke rakes a hand through his hair, trying to organise his thoughts. All he can really focus on is the what the fuck and Jesus Christ and fucking hell swirling around in a mess in his mind. 

“Well,” he says. “Shit.” Ashton huffs out a shaky laugh, raises his eyebrows, and nods, and Luke thinks that about sums it up. 

  -------

  They don’t talk much on the journey back to the hotel. Luke snipes at Ashton when Ashton tries to show him how to use his contactless card on the barriers, because he’d much rather use a paper ticket, thank you very fucking much, and Ashton calls Luke back when he heads down the wrong escalator. Luke asks once what their stop is and nods when Ashton answers him, and then they don’t speak again until they’re in the safety of the brightly-lit hotel lobby. 

Luke’s not entirely sure how to take the silence between them in the lift up to the second floor. It still feels awkward, stilted, uncomfortable, but there’s something grander now, something bigger than the both of them that they can both feel but neither of them want to acknowledge. 

Luke fusses over Clifford when they get back into the hotel room, pulls out the pack of dog food he’d brought with him because he hadn’t been sure what brands the UK would have, and Clifford munches his dinner happily while Luke carefully removes his coat and plugs his phone in to charge, not looking at Ashton. It feels overcrowded, even though the room is made for two people and certainly big enough to accommodate both of them. 

He takes his time washing up Clifford’s bowl, refilling his water, but Clifford seems perfectly content to doze back off to sleep after his meal, leaving Luke with nothing to do but think about how fucking tired he actually is. 

“I think I might sleep,” he says, even though he doesn’t really have to announce it to Ashton. Ashton looks up from where he is on his bed, book in his hand, and nods. 

“I think I might too,” he says. “Do you want the bathroom first?” Luke blinks at him. 

“Oh,” he says. “Uh. Yeah. Thanks.” Ashton nods, and turns back to his book, but when Luke turns his back to get his things out of his still-packed suitcase, he can feel Ashton’s eyes on him. 

He makes quick work of putting his pyjamas on and brushing his teeth, only hesitating with his hand on the bathroom door handle to leave as he throws a quick glance at himself in the mirror, because he looks so fucking disarmed in his pyjamas, so strangely small and vulnerable. Whatever, he thinks, forcing himself to push the door open, because what the fuck else is he going to do, sleep in the bathroom? 

“Bathroom’s free,” he says, because it feels like what he should say, turning his back to Ashton and making a show out of putting his clothes in his suitcase. He should probably just unpack it, he thinks - he is going to be here for four weeks, after all - but not tonight. He’s too fucking tired for that. 

“Thanks,” Ashton says, and Luke hears the sound of a book closing and then feet shuffling as Ashton heads for the bathroom. He waits for the door to click shut behind him before tucking himself into bed, drawing the duvet close to his chin to try and keep the cold out. Why the fuck is it so cold in England, seriously? 

Ashton doesn’t take long, or maybe Luke falls into microsleep, or something, because it feels like it’s about two seconds before he’s coming out of the bathroom, placing his clothes on the chair opposite his bed, and getting into bed. He’s got plaid pyjama bottoms and a casual t-shirt on, and he looks just as disarmed and vulnerable as Luke had in the mirror, which makes Luke feel simultaneously better and worse. 

“Can I turn the light off?” Ashton asks, and Luke nods. Ashton reaches over, clicks the light switch, and they’re plunged into darkness. 

“Night,” Ashton says after a moment, and there’s a shuffling sound from his bed. 

“Night,” Luke says, suddenly wide awake. He rolls onto his side and stares at the wall opposite him, willing the exhaustion that he’s felt all day to return. Even if he hadn’t slept, like, three fucking hours, he should be tired; it’s the middle of the night in Sydney. 

He feels the time passing, times it by Ashton’s shuffling and Clifford’s even breathing and the noises from the street outside, and he’s sure it’s been at least an hour before there’s what sounds like Ashton flopping onto his back and sighing. 

“Are you awake?” he whispers. Luke debates saying nothing, but knows if he evens his breathing out now it’s going to be pretty fucking obvious he wasn’t. 

“Yeah,” he says, a little reluctantly. 

“I can’t sleep,” Ashton says. 

“Me either.” There’s a moment of silence, and then Ashton says- 

“We could push the beds together?” Luke squeezes his eyes shut, and Ashton takes the silence as hesitation. “Just for tonight. We’d sleep much better, and we probably need it for tomorrow.” 

“No,” Luke says. Civil is one thing, but spending an entire night pressed up against Ashton? That’s something else entirely. 

“Luke, I-” 

“Ashton, I said no.” Ashton’s silent for a moment, and then sighs. 

“Okay,” he says, and it sounds a little small. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to, like. Push.” Luke inhales deeply, exhales heavily, and rolls onto his back, staring up at the ceiling. 

“It’s fine,” he says. 

Ashton says nothing, but Luke doesn’t hear his breathing even out until Luke himself falls into an uneasy, dreamless sleep, and when he wakes up in the morning, exhausted and grumpy, Ashton’s staring up at the ceiling again (or maybe still).

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[pandemicperipatetics]

New Orleans Day Trip During COVID

Before we visited New Orleans, we googled what to do here during the pandemic and saw blog posts and tweets from locals emphatically asking tourists to stay away. Having spend a gorgeous Sunday here, we get it -- the French Quarter was crowded and very few people were wearing masks! For travelers still observing social distancing, masking, and other COVID precautions, NoLA was worse than any other city we visited so far.

Still, we took precautions and got a bit of a feel for the city. If you’re passing through here during the pandemic, here are some things we can recommend:

French Quarter (duh) - We downloaded a $2 audio tour by Free Tours by Foot via their Atlantis smartphone app. It was helpful in guiding us through the main attractions in this area -- but the area was really crowded. Lessons learned: Bourbon Street is gross, as was the likely super-spreader hotspot takeout line at  Cafe Du Monde (probably for the best that we skipped beignets anyways). Jackson Square was pretty, and the surrounding benches were perfect for eating our takeout lunch. Faulkner Books was open, and limited to a max of two people at a time (we didn’t go inside). Louis Armstrong Park, just outside the FQ, was the most peaceful and relaxing part of this walk. Overall impression of the French Quarter: rundown and full of characters - drunk tourists, needlessly aggressive drivers, panhandlers, passed-out homeless people - in a San Franciscan, post-apocalyptic sort of way. 

Logistics:  We went through a lot of water on this particularly warm and sunny January day - given many shops were closed we weren’t sure where to replenish, but the CVS Pharmacy by the riverfront worked out well. We found it difficult to find a restroom open to the public (we were turned away at a bar, and a lot of cafes/restaurants were closed due to the pandemic). We parked by our hotel so thankfully didn’t have to deal with FQ parking.

The Garden District - We also downloaded the Free Tours by Foot audio tour to explore this neighborhood of old New Orleans mansions. It’s quiet, upscale, and aesthetically pleasing. The tour mostly took us to see a bunch of mansions of varied significance, including Archie Manning’s and Sandra Bullock’s homes as well as places of historical note. St. Louis Cemetery looked intriguing from the outside but was closed for maintenance. We also wandered over to Magazine Street, a bougie oasis of shops and cafes.

Logistics: Street parking was plentiful and unmetered (we didn’t take the streetcar between here and the French Quarter due to the pandemic, but we did see the streetcars were pretty packed all day). We arrived around breakfast and stopped by French Truck Coffee, which we can recommend for a good iced coffee and a clean restroom.

Le Marigny - It’s not a true NoLA trip without a visit to Frenchmen Street, and we’re glad we went. It was quieter than the FQ, though not empty, and we heard some lovely outdoor music on our walk. We didn’t stop in anywhere, but it looked like some places were open. We also stopped by Union Square Park, which was perfect to rest our legs on a bench, and enjoyed strolling by colorful houses (and Banksy street art!) on the quiet streets.

Vegetarian Eats...what we ate, from best to worst:

Green Goddess - Located in a cozy alley in the French Quarter, this restaurant (while not all vegan) is known for having great vegan options. I’d eaten here once before and been somewhat unimpressed, but this time around we thoroughly enjoyed their take on a vegan uttapam, and the lemongrass tofu was pretty good too. 

True Food Kitchen - We’ve enjoyed this chain in Palo Alto and the D.C. suburbs, and couldn’t resist stopping by for a snack given its proximity to our hotel. The edamame dumplings (5 for $11) and a simple salad, while pricey, never fail to disappoint.

Cleo’s - This is a Mediterranean fast casual joint in a convenience store on Canal Street. It has great reviews online, but had we seen the storefront before ordering I think we would have passed. It’s grimy to say the least! Still, the food was decent - we’d give it a 3/5, okay but not amazing. 

Lodging

We arrived on Saturday evening after a 7-hour drive from Georgia and stayed at the Townplace Suites in Slidell, LA, just half an hour outside NoLA. It was perfectly adequate - clean, surprisingly quiet (for being right off I-10), and reasonably priced on Marriott points.

We spent Sunday evening at the Q&C HotelBar a 15-minute walk from the heart of the French Quarter, and we loved it! The hotel was chic, clean, and staff were super friendly. It appeared to be virtually empty, so they let us check in several hours early. They made us a pretty good Sazerac at the bar, too. We chose it both for its good online reviews and its being one of the rare hotels by the FQ that offered non-valet parking (we didn’t want other people in our car during the pandemic). 

Pro Tip: Turns out parking is free in New Orleans on Sundays, so to our surprise we didn’t end up having to shell out the standard $30-$40 for a 24-hour parking spot. If you plan to stay past 8 on Monday morning, our hotel warned us to be sure to feed the meter (or download the Park Mobile app to do so virtually!).

[allthingsghostie]

THE TRANS-ALLEGHENY LUNATIC ASYLUM

CONSTRUCTION The asylum was constructed in West Virginia in between the years 1858 and 1881 and is the largest hand-cut stone masonry building in North America. Though the building was still being built, the asylum began taking patients in 1861, twenty years before the building was complete.

TREATMENT Mental health was not something people know really anything about in the 1800s, so many patients were treated badly. Conditions of the asylum were what we would now consider torturous. They used cruel treatments on their patients such as electro-shock therapy, lobotomies, and treated their worst patients as if they were animals, leaving them in cages and in chains, and not keeping up on their personal hygiene, leaving their patients now physically unhealthy. Even without the barbaric ways of handling their patients, the asylum was in no condition for anyone to be living in. The building was made to house 250 souls, but during their peak, the asylum housed 2,400 patients. The building was so jam packed that the environment became filthy and even more dreadful. Because of these horrific conditions, the asylum finally shut down in 1994. (Psychological testing room below)

PARANORMAL ACTIVITY The asylum’s reputation for paranormal activity started before it even opened. The asylum’s grounds consisted of exactly 666 acres (the biblical mark of the beast). Some of the dimensions of the building were also believed to be grounded on Masonic cult formulas. What greatly contributes to the belief of this building being haunted is the unsettling number of deaths that happened in the time the asylum was running. Mostly, it was patients killing other patients. Some of the asylum workers were also murdered and many female workers were assaulted.

After several decades in action, there had been countless reports of hauntings in the building. Many reports were of hearing sounds. The most common sounds reported were squeaking wheels of gurneys, moans, and hysterical laughter coming from rooms and hallways that were empty. The sounds roamed the building so often that many workers only lasted a few days before they fled. Many people believe the sounds are coming from the ghosts of the restless patients who were treated so awfully.

One very frightening and tragic incident was when a nurse at the asylum disappeared. Her body wasn’t found until nearly two months later in a stairwell in the a corner of the building. Her murderer is still unknown.

Another story was told by a psychiatrist who had treated a patient who later committed suicide. She believed the ghost of her patients would follow her home. Like the ghost was attached to her. She claims that she had also seen the ghost and that it still haunts her to this day.

Over the time the asylum was in operation, there had been so many sightings of ghosts that they are uncountable.

GHOST HOTSPOTS One of the most believed to be haunted areas of the building is known as the Civil War wing. Here, countless people have claimed to have witnessed the ghost of a soldier named Jacob.

Another area that is considered a “hotspot” for ghosts is one the fourth floor of the asylum, On this floor, people say they’ve heard thumping, banging, rustling, whispering voices, spine-chilling laughs, crashing, and have seen ghosts. (picture from 4th floor)

REOPENING In 207, Joe Jordan purchased the building and opened it for tours. One tourist claimed she felt someone pulling on her leg while she was on the fourth floor. There have been so many “ghost encounters'' from tourists that it is about impossible to find them all.

LILY One famous story about the building that draws in many people is the story of a little girl named Lily who died in the asylum. Nobody knows for sure how Lily ended up in the asylum. Some believe she was born there and her mother was a patient. Others think she was abandoned and the hospital took her in. People who say they’ve encountered Lily claim that she is a childish and gentle spirit. Many people claim to have played games with her. One game she likes to play is rolling a ball back and forth. Some tour guides and regular tourists say they’re formed a friendship with her. One tour guide, Zach McCormick said, “I’m not sure where it all started, but Lily talks.”

Lily’s room is located on the first floor between Ward One and the Civil War Wing. To this day, her walls are still painted and her toys remain there. Some people even bring her new toys. One that Lily seems to really enjoy is her pink music box that sometimes starts playing “by itself.” Her baby dolls and balls always stay scattered around the room, No matter how many times they get put away, she’s always wanted to play. Now why people think these stories are cute and not super creepy escapes my understanding, but if playing the ghosts of little girls is your thing, you know where to go. (Lily’s room below)

What are your thoughts? Do these ghosts of former patients and employees really lurk around the rooms and hallways? Does Lily really live in her old room or is it a hoax to attract tourists? Is the place even safe for tourists?

Pictures are not mine, all credit to photographers.

[luckylq56-blog]

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[atozearth]

This Travel Accessories You Must Have In 2023

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These ear-saviors are perfect for long journeys or finding moments of tranquility amidst chaos. 7. Collapsible Water Bottle - Stay Hydrated Sustainably: Opt for an eco-friendly collapsible water bottle that can be easily stowed away when empty. Refill it at airports or water stations to minimize single-use plastic waste and ensure you stay hydrated throughout your travels. 8. Travel-Sized Toiletries - Lighten Your Load: Streamline your toiletries with travel-sized versions of shampoo, conditioner, and other essentials. Not only do they save space in your luggage, but they also comply with airline carry-on regulations. 9. Travel Journal - Capture Your Memories: Document your travel experiences in a tangible way with a travel journal. Jot down reflections, sketch memorable sights, or preserve keepsakes like ticket stubs and postcards to cherish those cherished moments forever. 10. Portable Wi-Fi Hotspot - Stay Connected Everywhere: Stay connected on the go with a portable Wi-Fi hotspot. This nifty device ensures you have internet access, allowing you to navigate, research, and share your adventures with friends and family in real-time. 11. Travel-Sized First Aid Kit - Be Prepared for the Unexpected: Safety should always be a priority. Carry a compact first aid kit containing essentials like band-aids, antiseptic wipes, pain relievers, and other medical necessities to address minor mishaps during your travels. 12. Travel Laundry Bag - Keep the Dirty Separate: Maintain hygiene and organization by packing a travel laundry bag. This separate compartment ensures dirty clothes don't mix with clean ones, making laundry day a breeze once you return home. 13. Multi-Tool - Handy Companion for Various Tasks: A quality multi-tool is incredibly useful during travels. From opening bottles to fixing minor issues, having a Swiss Army knife or a multi-functional tool can be a lifesaver in unexpected situations. 14. Lightweight Daypack - Carry Your Essentials with Ease: Explore new places without the burden of heavy bags. Invest in a lightweight daypack that folds into a small pouch when not in use. It's perfect for carrying water, snacks, a camera, and other necessities during day trips. 15. Packing Checklist - Never Forget a Thing: Before you set off on your journey, create a comprehensive packing checklist. This ensures you don't forget any essential items, giving you peace of mind during your adventures. 16. Travel Insurance - Protect Your Investment: Don't overlook the importance of travel insurance. It safeguards you against unforeseen events like trip cancellations, medical emergencies, and lost belongings, providing valuable coverage and peace of mind. 17. Travel-Sized Umbrella - Be Ready for Rainy Days: Weather can be unpredictable, so a compact travel-sized umbrella is a wise addition to your luggage. It'll keep you dry during sudden downpours without taking up much space. 18. Travel Steamer - Wrinkle-Free Attire: Avoid the hassle of finding a dry cleaner with a portable travel steamer. It's a game-changer for keeping your clothes neat and wrinkle-free throughout your journey. 19. Compression Socks - Improve Circulation during Flights: Long flights can lead to swollen feet and legs. Compression socks promote blood circulation, reducing the risk of deep vein thrombosis (DVT) and ensuring you arrive at your destination feeling refreshed. 20. Luggage Scale - Avoid Excess Baggage Fees: Stay within the weight limits set by airlines and save on excess baggage fees with a portable luggage scale. It's a small investment that can yield significant savings during your travels. 21. Inflatable Neck Pillow - Space-Saving Comfort: For those with limited space, an inflatable neck pillow offers comfort without taking up much room in your bag. Simply deflate it when not in use, making it an ideal choice for minimalist travelers. 22. Solar Power Bank - Eco-Friendly Charging: Embrace sustainable practices by using a solar power bank. Harness the sun's energy to charge your devices, reducing your carbon footprint and contributing to a greener planet. 23. Travel Router - Enhanced Internet Connectivity: Improve your Wi-Fi connection in hotel rooms with a travel router. It allows you to connect multiple devices simultaneously, making it perfect for those who travel with multiple gadgets. 24. Travel Guidebooks - Expand Your Horizons: While digital resources are abundant, travel guidebooks offer a tangible and comprehensive source of information about your destination. They provide valuable insights, local tips, and historical context that can enrich your travel experience. 25. Reusable Silicone Food Containers - Environmentally Conscious Eating: If you prefer to pack your own meals or snacks during your travels, opt for reusable silicone food containers. These lightweight and collapsible containers help reduce single-use plastic waste while keeping your food fresh. Also read about skeleton makeup in 2023 Conclusion: From ensuring you have a restful journey to enhancing your safety and connectivity, these 25 best travel accessories are essential for any explorer. Each item on this list has the potential to elevate your adventures, making them more comfortable, organized, and memorable. So, before you embark on your next escapade, equip yourself with these travel essentials and embrace the world with confidence and enthusiasm. Happy travels. FAQs on Travel Accessories 1. Why do I need travel accessories? Travel accessories enhance your travel experience by providing convenience, comfort, and organization. They help you stay charged, connected, and prepared during your journeys. 2. What are essential travel accessories? Essential travel accessories include a travel pillow, portable charger, travel adapters, packing cubes, RFID-blocking wallet, and noise-canceling headphones. 3. How do packing cubes help during travel? Packing cubes keep your luggage organized, making it easy to find items quickly. They separate clothes and accessories, preventing chaos in your suitcase. 4. Are noise-canceling headphones worth it for travel? Absolutely! Noise-canceling headphones block out ambient noise, providing a peaceful oasis during long flights or noisy environments. 5. How does a portable Wi-Fi hotspot benefit travelers? A portable Wi-Fi hotspot ensures internet connectivity on-the-go, allowing you to navigate, research, and share your adventures with ease. 6. Can a travel journal add value to my travels? Yes, a travel journal preserves memories and reflections from your journey. It's a tangible keepsake to cherish and revisit in the future. 7. What's the advantage of using a collapsible water bottle? Collapsible water bottles are eco-friendly and space-saving. They can be refilled, reducing single-use plastic waste during your travels. 8. Why should I invest in a multi-tool for travel? A multi-tool is handy for various tasks, such as opening bottles or fixing minor issues, making it a versatile companion on your travels. 9. How does travel insurance protect me during trips? Travel insurance safeguards against unexpected events like trip cancellations, medical emergencies, and lost belongings, providing valuable coverage. 10. Are reusable food containers useful for travel? Reusable food containers help reduce single-use plastic waste and keep your food fresh when you pack your own meals or snacks. Explore these frequently asked questions on travel accessories to make your journeys more enjoyable and hassle-free. Read the full article

[ericahitshawaii]

Pele, Goddess of Fire and Volcanoes

Today’s big adventure is to check out Volcanoes National Park.  In 2018 Kilauea, one of several active volcanoes on the Island of Hawaii erupted.  The eruption at the summit threw ash nearly 30,000 feet in the air and opened up fissures along the flank of the volcano that destroyed several communities, displaced many Hawaiians and actually extended the island more than a mile into the sea.

Since the eruption in 2018 the volcano is now inactive.  There is no active lava flow beneath Kilauea.  Although the volcano still sits above the hotspot under the Big Island and could continue to erupt in the future.  It may take several years for the cavity under Kilauea to fill with magma again.  This is both good news and bad news for tourists.  Kilauea was previously a unique spot where you could look into the crater at the summit and see churning lava.  It was also super dangerous because it was about to erupt.  Now there is no active lava, but I arrived as many parts of the park have been rebuilt and you can see what the eruption has done to the landscape and the volcano itself.

According to Native Hawaiian legend (and what I can remember from my tour guide), this is the resting place of Pele, the goddess of Fire and Volcanoes.  Legend has it that she was actually born on Tahiti.  She got into a quarrel with her older sister over a very handsome man that Pele seduced.  Her sister chased Pele off of the island.  She continued  moving from island to island digging craters, filling them with fire, so that she could live in them.  Unfortunately her sister continued to follow her and extinguish her fire.  She eventually go the the Big Island where she died and now resides within the volcanoes here.  This is the basic gist of the story.  Let’s just say it makes me glad to be an only child.  Fascinating.

View of Kilauea caldera/outer crater and inner crater

For several weeks before the eruption the height of the volcano started to rise and fall.  At first, it began to expand and raise in height.  Then it dropped suddenly and the lava in the inner crater emptied, leaving a deep depression..  This was happening simultaneously with hundreds of earthquakes a day happening below the volcano.  The largest was a 6.9 that could be felt across the island.  This was the signal that the volcano was going to erupt.  Further down the volcano, in areas populated  with homes, most notably Lelani Gardens, over 20 fissures were opening and lava was pouring out of the side of the mountain. These fissures that opened as the lava that drained from the summit made its way under ground, caused the greatest damage to the island.  As the lava came in contact with dormant pockets of lava, those erupted to the surface.  Eventually, the fresh lava from the summit made its way to the surface, primarily in fissure 8 and exploded with force and speed down the volcano to the ocean.  The lava flow covered an area the size of Manhattan in over 30 feet of lava.

This is not the first time that Kilauea has erupted.  The first major eruption was reported in 1790 and eruptions have been happening periodically ever since.  There have been smaller eruptions happening at Kilauea regularly since 1983.  The lava pond formed in the crater in 2008 and occasionally would spill out over the rim.  After the eruption in 2018, the summit of the crater looks very different .  the inner and outer craters are much larger and are now filled with cooling lava.

It is likely that the next big eruption will not come from Kilauea, but from another active volcano on the island, Mauna Loa.  Mauna Loa is actually the tallest volcano in the world, at 54,000 feet from base to summit.  However, only 13,000 feet of it are above ground, the rest being under the Pacific Ocean.  It is the largest volcano on the island of Hawaii. It last erupted in 1984 and our park ranger believes it is due to happen again.  It is also more likely to erupt when there is no volcanic activity at Kilauea.  Mauna Loa is much larger than Kilauea and could potentially do much greater damage to the island.  It is currently in a “advisory” warning state, as the volcano is growing.  It has grown over a hundred feet in the last few years, which could be a sign that it could erupt, although it is currently deemed stable.  Intense.  Our guide seemed a little too excited about the possibility.  Probably because he wasn’t yet alive for the 1980s eruption.

Kilauea crater with Mauna Loa in the background.

Next stop was the Thurston Lava Tubes, which recently reopened.  Lava tubes are exactly what you think they are.  Basically tubes that have formed under the hardened lavaflow above, where hot lava flows during an eruption.  Once the eruption is over and the lava has all flowed out, they harden into very cool underground caves.  Walking through them is truly Indiana Jones style.

Entrance to the Lava Tubes.

Inside the lava tubes.

Next stop: Steam vents.  Although the valcano is no longer active it is still located above the hot spot and there is plenty of residual heat and gases under Kilauea today.  This comes out in the form of steam vents along the edge of the crater.  If you stand in front of them it feels like really hot water vapor.  Super refreshing.  It was kind of cold and windy along the crater, so I was pretty stoked to just stand there for a while.  I actually have no idea if the gases are safe, but there were no signs saying it wasn’t, so I just went for it.

Steam vent along the crater of Kilauea.  Check out this video to see them in action.  You can see hwo windy it was at the summit.

https://photos.app.goo.gl/bDdE6fdHiDe3ciTT9

Speaking of windy...my last adventure in the park was to drive the Chain of Craters Road.  This is kind of a graveyard of eruptions from various volcanoes on the island dating back to 1959 including Mauna Loa, Mauna Loa and Kilauea.  Part of the road is now blocked from the 2018 eruption, but still runs 19 miles from the summit of Kilauea to the sea.

It is incredible to see the devastation that the lava can cause.  Leaving behind massive plains of cool lava as far as the eye can see.  It looks so desolate, like the surface of the moon.  It also is one of the windiest places I have ever been to in my life.  There were several times where I had to brace myself against something to keep from being knocked off of my feet.  I think it was a particularly windy day in general, but the landscape lends itself to windiness, due to there being absolutely no wind breaks at all. Faily flat with no trees.  It was such an extreme environment.  Liek nothing I’ve ever seen.

Pa’uahi Crater.

Lava fields overlooking the ocean.

Cooled lava flow headed down to the ocean

Overall an amazing experience, even without the active volcano.  Volcanoes are really incredible and powerful forces.  Such a unique experience to see what they can do!

Next up: Black sand beaches!

[bravemomkara-blog]

idealistic post-game headcanons

If Markus’ pacifist protest succeeds and the humans evacuate Detroit, I’d like to think that all the androids find a better base camp, now that the city is basically empty. I’d like to think they crash a big centrally located hotel or two and hunker down. Some humans will definetely still be there, because you can never completely evacuate a city, so people like Hank who are sympathetic and stubborn will hang, but also people who are bitter and angry about the situation will also hang and wreck havoc, making the city surprisingly dangerous. 

They take control of the water and power plants and keep them running. Markus opens a dialouge with the White House and begins negotiations. Androids pour in from all over, most are sent by the military, some come on their own. Markus learns of other free Android settlements and Jericho works to get in contact with them. 

They only take what they need, and they only loot stores. Markus insists they have to be better than humans if they are ever going to get the rights they want. Journalists visit, despite the military, and soon Jericho is talking openly with the world on social media platforms. 

A minority of Androids take requests from humans who were kicked out of the city, rescuing pets left behind in the chaos and sending family heirlooms back to their rightful owners. 

Eventually Jericho publicly requests supplies, as an alternative to breaking into homes. Items include vehicles, clothes, food + medicine for human allies, seeds + planting supplies, stim toys (lots of androids are overwhelmed by their sudden ability to feel, and almost everyone there is traumatized and could benefit from them), board games, books, tools, and most of all, CyberLife parts. Several fundraisers pop up to purchase mass orders of parts to send to the city. Eventually the government buys out the company and grants the Androids ownership of any and all spare parts, as well as the means to create them and more Androids (but this probably takes forever because bureaucracy).

Supplies pours in and everyone is surprised. Pallets of food, boxes of old books, crates of clothing. School children send letters of support and handmade stim toys. Grandmothers send knitted blankets and sweaters. Corporations who used Android labor give massive donations to win back public favor. 

Eventually humans are given the option to return, but less than half do. Detroit is considered a U.S. territory instead of a state, but the revolution is determined to become a sovereign country. Androids are in charge and it’s an absolute mess for a while until they can get a proper system in-place. 

Markus doesn’t want to run for Governor (or whatever the leadership position is) because he knows he’ll win. He cedes to another Android whose better with the politics of it all, and agrees to consult, holding a seat on their senate. 

Humans are forced together in the city, simply because they all eat and Androids do not, and the result is a wonderful, close knit community of Android allies living in the heart of the city. Most work in the tourist industry (they have a strong monopoly on the food game) and food/bev, and it oddly becomes a culinary hotspot.  

Anyone who commits a hate-crime is simply expelled from the territory. The US is really sick of this policy but people are expelled with enough money to pay a month or two’s rent + living expenses so the US can’t complain about Detroit “filling up their public housing and shelters”. 

It takes years but they win their status as a separate nation. They aren’t granted a seat in the UN but sit as an observer, like Taiwan and Israel. Androids work and fall in love and are able to raise Android children (although there is a very strict one-child policy and the process to get approved for one is a nightmare because their population technically never dies). They develop more child models, infants whose memories are uploaded into toddlers, to children, to pre-teens, to teenagers, to adults. It’s rare for Android children to leave the house until they get married, or move out of Detroit (but no one ever does). 

They take refugees in because they remember their past. Eventually all of Michigan ceded to them and they farm and spread and create new factories and cities. Old wounds fade and they trade with the US, and all is well. 

feel free to reblog - rp blogs feel free to use this! just please don’t claim my ideas as your own.

[aman-acan-andacityplan]

If one were to write a book on the history of mountain tourism in western North Carolina, Chimney Rock would feature prominently. Since a simple stairway was built to the rock in 1885, Chimney Rock has had countless visitors and gone through countless iterations. In 2005 the formerly private park was acquired by the state park system and today the state maintains the land, along with several other public land acquisitions that showcase the beauty of the Hickory Nut Gorge. Flash forward to today and Chimney Rock and the surrounding gorge continue to be hotspots for conservation activity as new trails continue to open this rugged territory to casual exploration.  

Looking upon Chimney Rock, its no surprise that this place has held a strong fixation with tourists overs the generations. Cliffs of gneiss and granite dominate the mountain and provide impressive views to the other open rock faces of the gorge as they empty out onto the level terrain of North Carolina’s piedmont. As if that was not enough, a beautiful waterfall tumbles off one side of the mountain and is visible from highway 64 just outside the park.  

Proficient mountain hikers may wish to avoid this area with its crowds and nearby trinket shops, but for families and older individuals, Chimney Rock offers a full assortment of natural attractions and experiences accessible for virtually all ages.