#we are surviving this Sunday and we’re doing it with socks

[tedisnotdead]

The water flow stopped, and Andrew sighed, picking up the towel. He looked at himself in the mirror, his eyes scanning across the plain chest and stopping before his view reached his elbows.

"Andrew?" a voice called from the other side of the door, startling him. Andrew took a quick breath, closing his eyes before sighing, reminding himself of where he was. Renee's bathroom. Allison was downstairs, probably preparing baby Seth to stand in the crowd with her. "Nicky just left me your clothes. Do you want me to leave them in the spare room for you?"

"Yess." Andrew replied, looking down and pulling his boxers on. "I'll be out in a second." He reached for the armbands, pulling them on and tucking his thumb into the holes before walking out.

Betsy, Nicky and Erik were changing at home. They didn't need the preparation like the twins did, they wouldn't get picked. Jesse was safe too, wrapped up between his dads but next year he wouldn't. Next year he would be up there, and Andrew couldn't save him. Andrew had already felt the guilt of the six years he missed protecting his cousin and the four years he missed with his brother.

When they were united two years ago, it was a shock to everyone around them. Andrew had been in Betsy's care his entire life before then, with help from Renee for a few years during his more rebellious phase. When Renee started her fighting lessons twelve years ago, he was one of the firsts to sign up. Eight years after Andrew signed up, another Andrew signed up. Renee knew it wasn't him. And she mentioned it to Betsy, who connected the fourteen-year olds and since took them both in, alongside their cousin. A year later, Nicky introduced his boyfriend and his son to the family, and they were welcomed with open arms.

Betsy took two-week-old Andrew in from the day she saw him left on the side of the work field, wrapped in only a blanket. She took him home, where eight-year-old Renee was waiting. She hadn't been ditched like Andrew, she has been unfortunately orphaned by a factory malfunction and lost her mother at only six.  

Renee and Andrew grew up alongside each other, but when she left for the games at age thirteen, they knew they would never be the same. Renee came back a victor, that's when she started her fighting lessons. Betsy advised against it but saw her development and let her work. When Andrew questioned her why she let her fight after she had won, Betsy reminded him Renee had won for a reason.

That's when he met Wymack. David Wymack, the winner of the forty-third Hunger Games. David Wymack, the man who relied on the pain of tattoos to give him a mental escape from the pain that the Games had caused him. The same David Wymack who took Jean Moreau out of Betsy's care less than a week after she took him in.  

"Just because Jean was taken in by the Wymacks, it doesn't mean that you're not wanted." Betsy would always say. She would say the same thing every time she took one kid into her home and then they were taken in by a family a few days after. "You are just as valid. You are just as special. You just need to wait for your special time to shine."

Eight years passed and Aaron appeared. They united, Nicky was introduced, and Betsy took them all in. Betsy introduced them to Wymack, who introduced them to his kids and the Boyds. Befriending the entire of the Victors Village was a kick in the guts to Andrew. A reminder how he wasn't special, how he was basically nothing in comparison to some people.

Jean remembered him though. Jean made him feel special way. Not a romantic or sexual thing. Andrew knew those. Well, he knew sexual. He knew from all the hook-ups behind the factories, he knew from the nights he stayed at Roland's, a classmate in Renee's fighting class, and experimented with things. He knew from the start he was gay, but never said it out loud. He wasn't too confident when it came to romantic feelings however, but he had an idea.  

Jean Moreau-Wymack was his first and only friend. Renee accepted this, seeing how they're bond was more sibling like than friends. Jean joined him on the tree searched. Andrew taught him to climb quick, how to spot the nests quickly, how to remove both wasp and birds safely. In return, Jean baked him sweet goods. The banana breads and cakes and muffins rolled through the door daily, Jean delivering them every morning with a small smile. Occasionally, Jean would bake with exotic flavors that David Wymack brought back from his annual visits to the Capitol.

With all the time Andrew had started spending Jean, Aaron began spending it with the other child in the Wymack household. Kevin Wymack-Day. David's biological child from a woman he didn't meet again after their one-night stand.

When Kayleigh, Kevin's mother, passed Kevin had been put in the custody of David. Jean, Kayleigh's other child, had been given to Betsy to be cared for. David hunted him down and took him in, not having the heart to separate the kids.

Aaron and Kevin clicked the second they met. Both being insufferable, obsessive assholes in Andrew's opinion (and Jean's, but that was one of the secrets between the two that were shared in the tops of trees over a muffin each). Aaron's obsession laying in the profession of David's wife, Abby Wymack. One of the best doctors in District 7. Since Aaron became closer with her, he became more obsessed over the profession and soon, if he survived the final reaping, would become her apprentice. Kevin's obsession laid in a Capitol sport, Exy. Whenever his father visited the Capitol for the games, he would bring back his son merchandise of his favorite teams. David had a friend in the Capitol who recorded every game so he could take them home and Kevin could watch them.

Andrew reached the spare room and froze before remembering where he was. Renee's house. Aaron was at the Wymacks', using their shower like Andrew was using Renee's. He knew the only reason was to see Kevin, and 'secretly' say goodbye and good luck in their own special way.

Their attraction to each other was not unknown, practically everyone knew. But it was obvious they were waiting until Aaron's last reaping, until today, to make anything exclusive. As long as they snuck out of the Victors Village before anyone began to head to the town center, no one would notice the luxurious treatment the twins were getting.

The clothes were spread out, waiting on the spare room bed. Nicky's old black, short sleeved button up shirt and a pair of Erik's old, tight fit, wash jeans. A pair of old boots that Betsy had managed to afford where on the floor, with a pair of Allison's bright pink socks laying neatly in the neck of the boot.  

"You'll need to be ready in a few minutes Andrew." Renee's voice filtered through the door again. "The ceremony starts in an hour. People begin to move soon." Her footsteps echoed down the corridor as she left and Andrew looked at the clothes, sighing.

◒◓◒◓◒

Andrew stepped out, seeing Kevin and Aaron talking through a gap in the curtains. He sat back, waiting silently and watched them argue.  

"They're horrible." Jean mumbled, sitting next to Andrew on the wall, leaving a large enough space for Capitol's largest man to sit between them. "Kevin kicked me out so I couldn't hear. I think they're talking about their latest hook-up." He took a bite from a muffin, leaving one on the wall beside Andrew. "It was at ours while we were climbing. I think they think we're fucking."

"How disappointed will they be when they find out we don't fuck; we talk shit about them and stuff our faces with shit." Andrew mumbled and Jean giggled, taking another bite. "Truth for a truth?" Jean nodded. "I'm nervous."

"That's well justified." Jean said. "Your name is at the highest chance it's ever been, and ever will be. But some people do sadly have their names in there more than you. So, the chance it being you is low. And the chance it's Aaron is even lower, since your name is still in there from the past years of tesserae. "Jean sighed. "I'm gay. I think." Jean mumbled before looking over.

"Want another round?" Andrew asked and Jean stopped before nodding. He took another bite of his muffin, looking forward again. "I'm gay too." Andrew said, picking his muffin up. "I've known for a few years."

"I have a crush on Jeremy." Jean said. Andrew turned to him, raising an eyebrow. "The baker's son. I used to talk to him a lot when I lived with Kayleigh. She would let me pick up her weekly orders from the bakery and I would pay them with grain and milk. I used to talk to Jeremy every Sunday, and that's why I like baking. Because I like Jeremy. "

Andrew looked back through the window, seeing them still talking. Aaron seemed more angry than usual during their 'conversations'. "You should offer to work there." Andrew suggested. "You could see him more."

Jean laughed, looking down before taking the final bite. "I could, but who would you hang out with then? You haven't got any other friends." "I have Jesse." Andrew said, taking a bite. "This is good. What flavor is it?"

"It's another new one from the Capitol called Palmetto. It's basically a super sweet blood orange." Jean said. "And Jesse doesn't count. He's got school you know."

"I'll teach him then." Andrew argued, his eyes following Jean as the older boy got up and started pacing. "I remember all my lessons. I could teach him with no struggle." Jean snorted, looking up. "Shouldn't you be getting ready?"

"Kicked out remember?" Jean mumbled, looking back at Andrew. Andrew shrugged, taking another bite from his muffin and Jean laughed. "I should. Aaron seems to be done in the shower, so if I go straight up Kev probably won't care." Andrew nodded, taking another bite quickly. "I need to, don't I?" Andrew nodded again. "I'll see you after. Good luck Andrew." Jean turned to walk back.

"Jean." Andrew said and he stopped, turning. "If I get picked, don't be nervous to say goodbye."

Jean knew that was Andrew asking him to come. But Andrew didn't like asking. Andrew didn't want to ask, say the word please. It wasn't how Andrew worked, and Jean knew that. He never questioned why, but he knew that. He never pressed any questions when it came to Andrew, because Andrew never did the same to him. He never questioned the scars on his cheek or the roughness of his hands or the burn marks that Jean turned up with.

"I will." Jean said, smiling gently. "I hope you enjoyed the muffin! If I do need to visit you, I'll bring one along. A parting gift." He laughed before walking inside.

Andrew watched the door for a few seconds after it closed before moving his glance to the gap in the curtains. Their argument went on for a few more minutes until Aaron looked out the window. Andrew raised an eyebrow and Aaron sighed, turning back to Kevin and saying something before leaving.

"Trouble in paradise?" Andrew muttered when Aaron reached his side.

"Shut up." Aaron muttered, already towards the village entrance.

He was dressed in a tight red shirt, it looked like Kevin's with the way it was too tight around his waist but loose around the arms, and a pair of trousers which were too torn to belong to a victor, and the style choice only pointed to Nicky. Too tight around the thighs with baggy bottoms. Just how Erik liked it.

"He just wanted to wish me good luck and I wanted to thank him, or tell him to thank his dad, for letting me use their shower."

"Wish you good luck with a massive smooch." Andrew said, walking after him.

"As if you and Jean weren't doing the same." Aaron muttered, scowling at him.

"Jean was actually just telling me about his crush. I got a name and everything. It was glorious." Andrew said. As Aaron went to ask, Andrew continued, "But I will not be saying anything about the mystery person. It was in our game, and I never tell secrets from our game."

"You're stupid shitty 'Truth for a truth' game?" Aaron asked and Andrew nodded. "I don't know why you two play that. It's not even a game, its talking. Like normal people do. You and Jean are weird."

"I think Jean is smarter than you when it comes to most things." Andrew mumbled, pushing the gate at the end of the pathway open. Nicky looked up through the window, smiling when he saw the twins. "If him being weird is the consequence of that, I don't think he minds.  

"Fucking weirdo." Aaron muttered, pushing past. Nicky immediately fussed over him, asking where the shirt he left out was. Erik moved closer to Andrew, holding Jesse in his arms.

"I have missed you." Erik said.  

"Jesse." Andrew called and the young boy looked over. "Want to hug?" Jesse nodded excitedly. Erik squatted down, letting Jesse run over. But just before he reached Andrew, he slowed down and then calmly wrapped his arms around Andrew's waist. "Oh Andrew, you look amazing." Nicky whispered. "I wish Betsy could see you before the ceremony, but she's already gone to get the other kids ready." He stood up, smiling. "You both look amazing. And we are going to get through this, and we are going to come home and be calm and happy."

His smile faltered for a second, but he plastered it back on before Aaron could notice. Erik and Andrew did, but both decided to stay quiet, knowing he was trying his hardest.

"Andrew, are you sure you don't want to move to a factory job with me and Aaron? You could watch the games."

"I'm fine being a clearer." Andrew mumbled. "I get good pay and I only have to talk to Jean. I see no flaws."

"But you can't watch the games." Nicky said.

"Erik doesn't like to watch the games. Neither do I." Andrew said, looking down at Jesse, who had buried his face in Andrew's side. "I am happy getting the updates from you over dinner."

Nicky went to say something, but Erik stepped forward and whispered into his ear. Nicky sighed, looking at him. Erik pecked his lips softly.

"We should get going, though," Andrew said, pushing Jesse back lightly and holding his hand out. Jesse smiled widely, taking his hand and holding tightly, as if his life depended on it.

The walk to the town center was mostly fully of Nicky's nervous rambling, with Erik and Aaron occasionally responding. But Andrew ignored them and chose to focus on the small tune Jesse was humming, squeezing his hand along to the beat.

When they reached the town center, Erik picked Jesse back up. Jesse waved to Andrew sadly before his dad carried him off, holding Nicky's hand. They passed the peacekeepers and stood in the crowd beside Jean and Kevin. Andrew took off down the silent path, leading them to the identification tables.

He could see over the peacekeepers' shoulders, David, Matt and Renee lined up along the back of the stage, with their escort, Kathy Ferdinand, standing in front of them. She was talking animatedly to them, with her big blonde hair and eyes practically painted with pink. The skin-tight pink leather dress clung to her to an uncomfortably revealing extent where Andrew had to look away.

"Next." The peacekeeper said and Andrew looked up, seeing Aaron's whole-body flinch. "Go through. Next."

Andrew stepped forward, holding his hand forward. The peacekeeper grabbed his wrist roughly, tugging it forward and pricking the end of his finger. They then pressed it to the paper, scanned it and let him through.

Andrew rushed through, pushing through all the crowds to find his brother. Aaron was waiting nervously, wringing his wrists. Andrew pushed through the crowd until he ended up besides his brother, waiting silently.

"What if we get picked?" Aaron whispered, looking at his brother. Andrew shrugged, keeping his eyes focused on the stage. "Andrew I'm serious." he said before his voice was drowned out by Kathy tapping the microphone.

"Welcome, welcome." she said, smiling at everyone.

The neon yellow contacts she wore made everyone unsettled, but she continued, her cat-like eyes scanning the crowd.

"Welcome to the fifty seventh Hunger Games. May the odds be ever in your favor." She smirked, looking across to the group of people who weren't being reaped, taunting them. "Now, the time has come for us to select one courageous young man and women for the honor of representing district seven in this year's Hunger Games." She stopped for a second, smiling. "As usual, ladies first."

She shuffled across the stage in her overly tight dress and waved her hand over the bowl. A hand skimmed Andrew's wrist and he looked down, seeing Aaron's beside his, the knuckles brushing the black cloth. Andrew slid his hand into his brothers as Kathy waddled back to the microphone.

"Marissa Goodman." Kathy read out, looking across the crowd. People were stepped aside two sections before the twins.

Sixteen years old, Andrew told himself. The girl stepped forward, dressed in a light green dress which skimmed her knees and her hair tied into a tight ponytail.

"Come on up dear, don't be afraid." Four peacekeepers surrounded her, leading her up to the stage. Marissa slowly walked up, and Kathy enthusiastically welcomed her. "And now the boys."

Aaron's grip tightened on his hand as she reached the glass bowl. Kathy smiled, waving her hand around the top before diving in and pulling out one white slip. She slowly shuffled back to the microphone and leant close, undoing the slip slowly. She smirked before reading, "Aaron Michael Minyard."

"I volunteer as tribute." Andrew looked down before he even had acknowledged the words come out of his mouth. He looked back up, seeing everyone staring at him. Aaron was looking at him with tearful eyes.

"Not Andrew." he whispered, but Andrew pushed past. "No. Andrew stop!" he shouted, following him through. Andrew took his place in between the peacekeepers but was dragged back violently. "I won't let you do this." Aaron shouted.

"I volunteer." Andrew repeated, making direct eye contact with Aaron. Aaron shook his head, his mouth opening and closing until the first tear rolled down his cheek and his grip on Andrew's arm loosened.  

Aaron was pulled back quickly, and Andrew recognized the hand around his twin's shoulders immediately. Jean pulled Aaron back, avoiding Andrew's eye. Andrew turned around and followed the peacekeepers down the aisle. Renee was staring at him, shocked, from the back of the stage. Matt's eyes were filled with tears, while Wymack's jaw was clenched.  

Andrew didn't remember as far back as to when he was four, but he knew Wymack's story.

Wymack had trained as hard as he could after losing a close friend to the games when he was twelve. When David turned eighteen, he volunteered himself before the name was even called out. His reasoning was to save one more helpless kid from being killed in his district. This caused him to become a fan favorite in the Capitol, and a respected citizen in the district. In every shop, I have had a discount. Everyone smiled at him in the streets. Everyone welcomed him into their homes and invited him round for dinner.

Every year, when the victors returned, all three of the victors visited the houses of the fallen tributes to mourn with them for one night. They supplied the family with the food for the night and left them all the leftovers. It was a tradition started by Wymack, but when Renee won the forty-fourth Hunger Games, she joined in. And when Matt won the fifty-first Hunger Games, he became the final part of the trio.

Andrew was snapped out of his thoughts when he reached the bottom of the stairs, looking up at the stage. He made eye contact with Renee, who smiled gently at him. He sighed before walking up.

"A volunteer!" Kathy cried, holding her hand out to showcase Andrew's arrival. "Now, what's your name young man?"

"Andrew Joseph Minyard." Andrew said, looking forward.

Jean was finally looking at him, his face contorted with fear. Nicky was beside him, crying into Erik's shoulder. Erik was staring at Andrew in fear while Jesse sobbed, bundled in Betsy's arms. Aaron was crying, while being held back by Kevin.  

"Oh, and was that your brother I picked?" Kathy asked, smiling widely.

"Yes, my twin brother." Andrew answered, trying to keep his voice monotone.

"How lovely." Kathy said before turning to the crowd again. "Here we are. Our tributes from district seven!" She started clapping, but everyone stayed silent.

Jean brought three fingers up to his lips before raising them above his head. Slowly, everyone around him began to do the same, the gesture spreading among the crowd. A single tear rolled down Jean's scarred cheek and Andrew took a deep breath before bringing three fingers to his own lips then raising them above his head.

"Happy Hunger Games!" Kathy cried, "And may the odds be ever in your favor."

They turned away, Kathy leading them both to the door at the back. Andrew flinched away from her touch, overtaking Marissa and pushing himself into the corridor.

"Andrew." Renee said, walking up to him.

"Not." Andrew spat out through gritted teeth.

He would not let himself cry; he would not let himself cry.

"We can talk on the train. I want to say goodbye to them."

[maddiewritesstucky]

Could- could we mix silver Steve with frat bro Chris Evans a little? 🥺 👉👈

Like maybe its superbowl Sunday or whatever (I'm not into football lol) and Steve breaks out a jersey or maybe his high-school letterman jacket at Bucky is f l o o r e d by it? Or maybe he has some college friends over and they're throwing around a football in the backyard and watching Steve let loose and bro out a little is entrancing

(I am now shamelessly thinking about how Steve's big hands could dwarf a football 🙃)

🥴 Nonnie...frat Evans is my weakness, and you have the audacity to combine this with my current obsession with Silver Steve? How very dare you.

Can you even imagine...if it makes us feel like this to picture Silver Steve bro-ing out, I’m not sure Bucky would survive it.

It would be the contrast, right? The calm, sensitive, just fucking wholesome love of Bucky’s life, getting around a bunch of guys that he lived his youth with and having a bit of a throwback, getting a little ramped up by all those memories of being young and dumb.

I know you said Superbowl Sunday but maybe it’s almost a reunion kinda setting? Like not on a big class-wide scale, but just their core group of friends meeting up for a barbecue in a park or something, where there’s room for them to start tossing a football around, outletting some of that cumulative testosterone. 

Steve is very much still Steve, but there’s that other level of familiarity, of comfort and shared history with these guys, and his humor probably gets a little sharper, a little more wicked. These guys would be busting each other’s balls and talking over each other, and of course they’re gonna be getting a little shovey and playfully rough; definitely reminiscing the most scandalous stories they could think of about each other.

I think that’s what’s getting me most here, Nonnie, because these guys would have stories about Steve... 

(Fuck, are we doing this again? We’re doing this again, aren’t we...shit, more Silver Steve Thots ahead)

Steve has had a lot of years to grow and mature into the person that Bucky fell for, and he lived a whole lot of life before they ever met. Bucky is very aware of this, and Steve’s always been open about the fact that it took a lot of conscious work on himself to become the person he is.

But even with that prior knowledge, Bucky still finds himself a little surprised (and a lot turned on) hearing from people who witnessed first hand, that young Steve was...kinda wild

Bucky tries not to let it show just how Extremely Interested he is in these stories about his boyfriend, but he’s pretty sure it’s written all over his face, especially when the guys start going on about Steve’s former athletic prowess, because that is a mental image and a half 👀

Bucky hears about young Steve’s penchant for challenging dudes way bigger than himself to arm wrestling matches; how he was constantly pranking their football coach by hiding unwashed gym socks in his office, and shamelessly flirting his way out of library fines with the 60yr old librarian who was mean to literally everyone but Steve

Steve gets bashful as all hell, pink in the cheeks and waving it off, ‘yeah yeah, come on, that was a million years ago,’ as his friends good-naturedly tease him. 

And Bucky is eating it up, cause it’s only helping him sharpen that mental picture of Steve in a letterman jacket, strutting around with some of that trademark college boy air of untouchable...it’s hot as fuck

Because Bucky can picture it all, every story the guys recount. He’s seen photos of Steve as a much younger man, and he was handsome as hell back then too, athletically built and bright eyed, and yeah - kinda looked like exactly the sort of trouble Bucky would want to get into

And watching Steve’s friends light up talking about the person he was at that time in their lives, how vibrant and loyal and adventurous Steve was...Bucky’s already in love with Steve, but this makes him feel a little like he’s got a crush all over again too.

Bucky finds himself fixating on it the whole rest of the night, dreamily watching Steve go about his mundane bedtime routine, with the excessively thorough flossing and the flinching away from putting his own eye drops in and the “don’t get old Buck,” as he stretches out his back from all the football tossing.

When they’re settled in bed together with the lights low, when Bucky’s body is half draped over Steve’s and Steve’s hand is trailing soothingly up and down his back, Bucky can’t help but ask...

“Do you think you would have liked me in college?”

Steve doesn’t miss a beat. “I wouldn’t have deserved you in college,” he says, entirely sincere, “not even close.”

Bucky will be moved by the sentiment later, but right now an even more pressing question has just sprung to the front of his mind

“...Do you still have your letterman jacket?”

Steve really looks at him then, his eyes narrowing and a knowing smirk making its way to the corners of his lips

“I don’t think I do,” he sighs apologetically, rolling them so he’s on top of Bucky, grinning down at him. “But you know, if you wanna play college...you could always be the student, and I could be the professor?”

...Yeah, Bucky thinks, that’d work just fine too

🥴

(I know I entirely neglected the second half of this ask but I am not ready to get back in my Daddy Silver Steve feels yet, Nonnie. I gave myself an actual crisis last time. I’m very sorry. I hope the Horny™️ in this response makes up for it!)

[1800dojaejung]

I Put a Spell on You | KNJ

✹ Summary: Namjoon wanted to find the right time to tell you he was born a warlock, but when a witch casts a time-sensitive spell on you, he may have to confess to you sooner than he anticipated. ✹ Pairing: Warlock!Namjoon x Mortal Female!Reader ✹ Genre: Fluff, warlock au, supernatural au, established relationship ✹ Rating: PG15 ✹ Warnings: Just cursing ✹ Word Count: 4.5k ✹ A/N: Written for @bangtanshadowfamily’s Creatures of Moonlight Manor 🖤 Huge thank you to @spicykoreantatertots​ for beta’ing this for me and giving me her wonderful feedback ��� 

This GORGEOUS banner and matching divider was made by the super talented Vivi!! @eerieedits​ / @chillingtae​ seriously I am so in love with it thank you a million more times. Check out her edits!! 💜

Namjoon had wanted to tell you, he really did. There was just never the right time. He agonized over it for the entirety of your relationship, and now, five years later with marriage on his mind, he has to admit to you that he was born a warlock.

He knew that you hated magic; you made that very clear on your first date. Your mutual best friend set you two up, who knew what Namjoon was and knew how you felt.

“I think you two could hit it off, but you may not have much of a chance with her,” he remembers Yoongi telling him. “She hates magic and everything related to it.”

“But you’re a literal vampire, and she’s friends with you!”

“Yeah, but I’m not magical. I’m different.”

Namjoon rolled his eyes and waved it off, but still didn’t mention what he was to you when you first met. That turned out to have been for the best after he learned more about you.

Being born the only person in your family in a decade with no magical abilities made you develop a hatred for all things and people related to witchcraft. Your family did their best not to exclude you from magic related games at family reunions and get-togethers and would try not to talk too heavily about it when you were around, but you always stood out like a sore thumb. You have a self-proclaimed chip on your shoulders that seemed to lessen over the years he’s known you but was still there.

Now, you’re coming up on your fifth anniversary, and Namjoon has an engagement ring burning a hole in his sock drawer because he’s ready to propose to you, but he can’t spend the rest of his life with you without telling you the truth. He loves you more than he’s ever loved anyone, but the idea of telling you he’s a warlock and having you leave him is terrifying.

Yoongi gets to hear all of his worries and woes anytime he’s over at the vampire’s apartment.

“Do you even know how you’re going to propose?” Yoongi asks as he scrolls through Netflix for the third time.

“Yeah, there’s a meteor shower on the night of our anniversary. We’re going to pack some food and head to the river to watch it, and I’m going to ask her then.”

Yoongi snorts. “Oh yeah, I forgot that you’re both nerds.” He dodges the throw pillow that Namjoon hurls at him. “So, just tell her when you propose.”

“Why, so she can tell me to go to fuck off and reject me?”

“Namjoon, I highly doubt she’ll do that. I’ve known Y/n since high school, and you’re the only person that she’s been with that she’s ever been in love with. Like genuine love.”

“Yeah, but you know her temper. Love or not, her anger knows no bounds.” Yoongi agrees, a memory of a time when he accidentally ate some of your leftover food coming to mind, and you made sure he suffered for a week straight after.

“Well, your anniversary is in like a week and a half, so you better figure it out. It may make her mad, but I truly think she loves you too much to leave you.”

Namjoon does his best to keep that in mind as the week goes on.

With your anniversary being on Sunday, you and Namjoon take Friday off of work so you can have a three day weekend together. Determined to pamper you before he tells you the truth, he takes you to one of your favorite restaurants for brunch to start the day.

As he’s holding the door open for you, a slender, dark-haired woman breezes past you and waltzes into the cafe, succeeding in cutting you both off and getting in line before you. The expression on your face already tells Namjoon how this interaction will go.

“You know what’s rude,” you say once you’re both in line behind the woman. You’re speaking loud enough for her to hear but not loud enough to cause a scene. “Seeing someone who’s clearly holding a door open for the person they’re with and just inserting yourself in the way.”

“Y/n…” Namjoon starts. Normally he loves your fiery, no-nonsense attitude, but he’s always telling you there’s a time and place for everything. His gut is telling him this is not one of the times.

“I’m just saying. To cut someone off who’s about to go into a building is just a really dick move.”

The woman in front of you whips her head around, her sharp eyes are staring you down, but of course, you are unwavering. She’s wearing dress pants and an expensive-looking blouse. She has a name tag on a lanyard around her neck that reads ‘Seulgi.’

“Is there a problem?” Annoyance clear in her tone.

“Yeah, there is. My boyfriend was holding the door open for me, and you just rudely cut us off to come inside.” The woman eyes you up and down.

“Oh well. I’m sure you can survive without your waffles for a little longer,” she shrugs and turns away from the two of you. Namjoon watches your jaw clench.

“Wow, what a bitch,” you mumble, knowing fully well she can hear you. Seulgi turns again, scowling at you.

“Watch who you’re talking to, girl. I could snap my fingers right now, and your mouth would disappear.”

You let out a sharp laugh and glance towards Namjoon. “Oh, great! This bitch is a witch!” You turn back to the witch, hands on your hips. “You magic losers think you can get away with whatever you want to just because you can wave your stupid fingers and make shit happen. I’m not afraid of you just because you were born different.”

The witch’s eyes dart from you to Namjoon. Her gaze lingers on him longer than normal and what looks like realization shows on her face. She lets out a chuckle. “So you hate witches and magical people, huh? That’s unfortunate because you’re going to need to find someone to cure you.”

“What the fuck are y-” Seulgi brings her hands up and waves her index and middle finger in one swift side-to-side motion before Namjoon can even intervene. You stumble backward, and Namjoon catches you before you hit the ground. You’re coughing, sounding winded even though you had been standing still. “What did you do to me?” You manage to rasp out between coughs.

Seulgi shrugs. “You seem like you talk a lot. Maybe a little too much. Let’s just say I gave you laryngitis, except it’ll be permanent unless you know someone who can break the spell. You have until midnight in two days' time.” The witch looks directly at Namjoon as she says this, smiling the entire time.  “Good luck!” She calls out as she steps over you and prances out the door.

On the list of ways Namjoon wanted to tell you he was a warlock, this was not on it whatsoever.

Less than an hour later, you and Namjoon are standing in front of Yoongi’s building, your fist pounding on the wood. The bleary-eyed vampire answers the door, clearly having been woken up from one of his mid-day naps. You wordlessly step into the apartment and plop onto the couch.

“Sure, hi Y/n, yes, please come in,” Yoongi mumbles under his breath and invites Namjoon inside. “To what do I owe this wonderful pleasure today?” You ignore the sarcasm in his sentence.

“I’m cursed!”

“Cursed?”

“Yes! We were getting brunch, and some asshole witch cut in front of us. I called her out, and the bitch cursed me! She said I need to find someone who knows magic to lift the spell or whatever in two days by midnight or I’ll never be able to speak again.” You manage to get this out in between coughs.

Namjoon ignores the pointed look that Yoongi gives him.

“So, you want me to ask one of my magic friends to break the spell?”

“Obviously. You’re the only supernatural person in town that I know well enough to ask. I’d ask my family, but there’s no way I can scrounge up enough money in two days to fly home.”

Yoongi stares at Namjoon, making the younger man uncomfortable, but doesn’t say anything.

“Fine. I’ll call someone I know, and you can meet up with him. Namjoon, come with me and get your girlfriend some water.”

Yoongi turns on the tap, and as soon as Namjoon enters the room, he sighs quite tiredly. “Are you seriously going to make me find someone else to do this?”

“This isn’t how I wanted to tell her! I wanted to do it on my own time and in a nicer situation than this.”

“Yeah, well, fate works in mysterious ways, huh?” Yoongi grabs a glass and fills it with ice. “You know how to break the spell, don’t you?”

“I mean, yeah. I may not have known the words the witch said, but it seems like a pretty simple silencing spell.”

“So, I will ask you again. Are you going to make me find someone to help your girlfriend, or are you going to go in there and help her yourself?” He hands Namjoon the glass of water and waits for his response.

“I just need a little more time-” Yoongi lifts his hand to stop him.

“That’s all I need from you. I already know who to call.”

His words worry Namjoon.

The next day, you and Namjoon arrive at the door of the person Yoongi asked to help you. Namjoon had known the tone that Yoongi took with him was concerning, and he was right.

“Come in, come in!” Seokjin waves his arm, letting you and Namjoon into his apartment. The older warlock winks at you, and Namjoon bristles.

Even after knowing Seokjin as long as he’s known you, Namjoon still doesn’t like him very much. According to Yoongi, Seokjin has been trying to get with you since your junior year of college, and it almost worked twice, but things fell through thanks to your refusal to date a magical person. Namjoon can admit that he’s the jealous type. The thought of another man wooing you makes his blood boil. Seokjin’s flirty enough that not even the object of his affection’s significant other being in the room will deter him. He’s shameless, and every time they’re in the same place, Namjoon comes closer and closer to turning him into a reptile.

“Y/n, you’re looking as beautiful as ever,” he practically purrs at you. “Namjoon, you’re looking…as you usually do.” Seokjin has never been rude per se, but nearly everything he says to Namjoon is passive-aggressive, which drives the younger warlock mad.

“Yeah, you too.”

“Anyway,” you interject with a cough. “I assume Yoongi told you why I’m here.”

“He did. I can’t believe you pissed off a witch so bad that she’s taking your voice away. I’ve always told you that one day your mouth would get you in trouble.” Seokjin’s eyes flick down to your lips, and Namjoon has to hold himself back from leaping across the room at him.

“I don’t wanna hear it, Kim. Can you break the spell or not?”

“Of course, I can. How many times have I told you that I’m the greatest warlock of the 21st century.” He shoots Namjoon a look. Seokjin had found out that Namjoon was a warlock a few years ago and always seemed like he was silently holding it over his head.

Seokjin motions for you and Namjoon to follow him into his second bedroom that he has made into his magic room. He walks past his bubbling cauldron to one of his bookshelves. He slides his fingers across a few of the spines before pulling out a book and rifling through its pages.

“Ah-ha! The spell she put on you is pretty amateur. She's either a new witch or a supremely lazy one. I mean, this is a spell that a baby witch could cast and-”

“Seokjin!” you wheeze. “I don’t care if this is a spell that only Merlin himself could cast. I just need you to fix me!”

“Alright, alright. I need to gather a few ingredients for a potion first. If the two of you would please go wait in the living room, I’ll be with you shortly.”

You and Namjoon do as he asks and go to wait on his couch. You play on your phone as Namjoon has his umpteenth tortured inner monologue. Your anniversary was tomorrow and he was still nowhere close to telling you about himself. To be fair, you did know that Seokjin was a warlock and you didn’t completely hate him. You just didn’t like to hang out with him unless you had to, and usually, the two of you spent most of your time together arguing.

Maybe Yoongi was right, and he was just overthinking this. The time that the two of you have spent together has been the best moments of his life, and he was sure you felt the same. But if that was true, why did he feel so uncertain? Why was the thought of telling you he has been keeping this massive secret from you for five years scaring him so much?

“So, good news and bad news,” Seokjin announces, coming into the room. “The good news is, I can break this nasty spell.”

“And the bad news?” You ask.

“Well, I’m afraid I won’t be able to do it until tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?! I’m supposed to lose my voice for the rest of my life tomorrow!” You yell at him which sends you into a coughing fit. Namjoon rubs your back and meets Seokjin’s gaze. He hates the smug look the older warlock gives him.

“You’re not to lose your voice until midnight. I’ll do what I need to do before then. Your lovely boyfriend and I can organize where we’ll meet up.”

Namjoon is confused. “We’re not coming here?”

“No, this needs to be done elsewhere. I’ll text you a little later once I finish getting the things together that I need.”

He’s hesitant, but Namjoon agrees, and he and you head home. A week ago, he was looking forward to his anniversary, but now he’s dreading it and just wants the day to be over already.

“This is all my fault,” Namjoon blurts out in the car. The two of you are on your way to meet Seokjin at the location he insisted upon, a part of town that was almost atop a hill. According to the eldest, you needed to be outside and away from “prying eyes.” It sounded like a lie, but Seokjin was older, so Namjoon thought he might know a different way to break the spell.

“What do you mean?” You glance from the road to him briefly, then back in front of you again.

“We’re spending our anniversary with you under a spell, we have no starlight picnic packed, and I have to look at Kim Seokjin’s face.”

“Joonie, this isn’t your fault. You didn’t do this to me. I suppose I do have a big mouth sometimes.” You shrug and find his hand on the center console to hold. “This can still be an anniversary date, though. Once Seokjin does what he needs to do, we can send him home and enjoy the meteor shower together. Plus, when you were showering, I snuck the picnic basket in the car. We can still salvage the night.” You parked the car and sent him a smile that had his heart beating so loud he swore it echoed throughout the cabin of the vehicle.

He leans over and kisses you for the first time today, his heart pounding impossibly faster. He decides then and there that he’s going to propose to you tonight no matter what. If it means hiding his magic from you until you’re old and gray, then he will.

Hand in hand, you and Namjoon head up the path closest to you until you see Seokjin in the clearing. He’s crouching on the ground in front of a leather satchel and reading through a book. When he sees you and Namjoon approaching, he puts the book away and pulls out a mason jar filled halfway with a glowing purple liquid.

“Good evening, my darling.” Seokjin smiles broadly at you when he sees you. “I hope your day was marvelous.”

“It’s my anniversary, and I spent all day stressing and hacking my lungs up, and now, instead of having a romantic evening, I’m here about to be exorcised. Does anything about that sound marvelous?” You got through the sentence, only coughing three times.

“My sweet Y/n, you’re so dramatic. Let’s get on with it then, come on.” Seokjin waves both you and Namjoon over, presenting the bottle of liquid to you. “So, the removal of the spell itself is pretty easy. Step one is to drink the potion, and then we wait two minutes. I’ll set a timer and-” Before he finishes his sentence, you toss your head back and gulp down the purple liquid in record time. Seokjin fumbles with his phone to set his timer as soon as the last drop is in your mouth.

“This tastes kind of like grape juice,” you comment, handing him the empty bottle.

“Patience, woman! What if the next step required traveling somewhere far away?!”

“Well, does it?”

“No…”

“Great, so what do we do next?”

Seokjin sighs and glances at his phone timer. “Once the timer is up, Well, your boyfriend isn’t going to like this, but I have to kiss you.“

“What?!” You and Namjoon exclaim in unison, your voices bouncing off the surrounding trees.

“Why the hell do you have to kiss her?” Namjoon feels his fists clenching, and his face hurts from how hard he’s scowling.

“It’s the way to break the spell. After she drinks the potion, which does most of the work, she then has to kiss a witch or warlock for it to take effect.”

“Ugh, I feel like this is your way of finally kissing me,” you groan. “Fine, whatever, as long as I get to keep my voice.”

“Y/n, no.” Namjoon’s sweating in the middle of the crisp fall air at the thought. This had to be some sort of joke, right? He racks his brain to remember what he learned about this spell in high school. He remembers that he has to say a generic counterspell to break it, but he doesn’t recall any glowing purple potion and a kiss.

“Joonie, it’s just a kiss. I don’t like it either, but unless you find my voice that annoying, we’re out of options here.”

“Ten seconds,” Seokjin reads. Namjoon watches the older warlock lick his lips and send him a wink. While he was typically a pacifist in a situation of confrontation, the overwhelming urge to punch Seokjin with all of the strength he can muster is strong.

He watches you let out a sigh and step closer to Seokjin, tilting your head up towards him.

“Times up,” Seokjin says.

Before he’s able to lean down, Namjoon is behind you, pulling you towards him and smashing his lips into yours. He feels you relax in his arms only for a second before you’re pushing him away.

“Namjoon, you ruined it! Seokjin specifically said someone who’s magical needs to be the one to kiss me!”

“I am someone magical! I’m a warlock!”

Silence fills the air. Namjoon’s breathing hard, his heart feeling as though it’s going to beat out of his chest. You’re staring at him, and he can see your brain trying to make sense of what he just said.

“You’re a warlock?” You finally ask, your brows scrunching.

“Fuck, Y/n, this isn’t how I wanted to tell you.” Namjoon’s legs feel like jelly, so he lowers himself to the grass and sits. “I wanted to find a time where it was just the two of us, and we weren’t fighting a clock. I wanted to be able to tell you and not feel so scared, but I just, the idea of him putting his mouth on you and being the one to break this damned spell, made me so mad.”

“I…I don’t know what to say.” You don’t look as angry as he thought you would. You look confused more than anything. “We went through all of this when you could’ve helped me this whole time?”

Guilt that he felt about not telling you combined with the fact that yes, all of this could’ve been taken care of literally the same day you met the witch that started this all. “Y/n, I know you probably hate me right now, and you probably want nothing to do with me ever again, but please just know I love you more than anything. I love you more than anyone I’ve ever been with. You’re my soulmate and the love of my life. The idea of telling you that I’m magical, knowing how you feel about magic, scared me shitless.

“The idea of losing you was too much to bear. I wanted to propose to you tonight before all of this happened, but all I could replay in my mind was you throwing the ring at me and storming off after I told you the truth. I’m sorry I ruined our anniversary.” Namjoon stays sitting on the wet grass, not caring that it was soaking through his jeans. He can’t will himself to look up at you, fearing the rejection he feels coming.

He catches sight of your sneakers walking over and stopping in front of him before you’re crouching down and cupping his face. The sound of you sniffling has his eyes snapping up to meet your red-rimmed ones. “Joon, I love you so much. The fact that you would even think that I’d leave you after all the time we’ve been together and everything we’ve been through is stupid. Yeah, I’ve never much-liked magic, but you should know that I love you more than life itself.” You smile at him, and he feels his breath catch in his throat. You still love him.

“Right now, more than anything, I’m just pissed that we went on this entire adventure when you could’ve just saved us the trouble and broke the spell days ago. But I love you more than I dislike magic. And if that offer still stands, I’d love to be engaged to you. If you want.”

Namjoon grabs you then, wrapping you in his long arms and pulling you close to his chest. The two of you topple onto the soft grass, the smell of soil mixing with the familiar scent of you. He fishes the small, black velvet box out of his jacket pocket and slips the simple silver band with an amethyst stone onto your ring finger, kissing your hand once it was snug in place.

“I can’t tell you how relieved I am right now. I love you so much,” he whispers, kissing your forehead.

“I really do hate to interrupt,” Seokjin cuts in from the same spot he’s stood in since Namjoon pulled you from him. “But, you still need to break the spell.”

“What do you mean? Didn’t I do that already?”

“Well, not really. The kiss isn’t the thing that was supposed to break it. There’s a counterspell you need to recite.”

“But, I’ve stopped coughing,” you point out.

“That’s because the potion you drank stopped it. I figured I’d give you something to lessen the soreness in your throat, maybe, but you still have like three hours left before your voice is gone for good.” Seokjin forces a smile that neither you nor Namjoon return.

“So what the hell was all that kiss nonsense for?” Namjoon huffs out, standing up and advancing towards Seokjin.

“It was to get you to tell her you were a warlock! Yoongi said if I made up the whole kiss thing, it’d get you mad enough to admit it, and I mean it worked, didn’t it?”

Yoongi. He set this whole thing up to get Namjoon to tell you the truth. “You mean to tell me that Yoongi got a witch to curse Y/n, just to get you involved to make me jealous so that I’d confess?”

“He only organized the latter part of all this. This whole spell thing was all because of Y/n’s smart mouth.” Namjoon sees you flip off Seokjin in his peripheral.

“Joon, we can go curse out Yoongi later, but can you please break this spell? I’m seriously stressing over here.”

Namjoon makes a mental note to pay Yoongi a not so friendly visit later and makes his way back over to you. He has you close your eyes while he recalls the right counterspell to make everything go back to normal. He murmurs under his breath, hovering his hand over your throat, and his fingers tingle as the words leave his mouth. As quickly as he begins, he’s done and lowering his hand.

You open your eyes and clear your throat a few times. “How do I know if it worked?”

“It worked.”

“Yeah, but how will I know?”

“If you wake up tomorrow morning and speak, then you’ll know it worked.” You frown at him and glance up at the sky.

“We seriously need to talk about all the things you can do later, but for now, I really just want to watch the meteor shower and actually finish what’s supposed to be a romantic anniversary date.”

“We can do that.”

From there, you head to the car to get the dinner you packed, and Namjoon tells Seokjin he can leave. He asks the older warlock to let Yoongi know to expect a visit from him tomorrow that won’t just be to hang out.

Once Seokjin’s gone, and you’ve spread out the spare blanket you keep in your car, Namjoon relaxes as you lean against him, feeding him parts of the sandwiches you made. While this may not have been the ideal way he planned for anything that transpired to happen, all that matters is that you still love him, and he gets to watch the way the meteors flying above glisten off of the ring on your finger.

The next morning, you’re able to confirm that Namjoon was, in fact, able to break the spell that the witch had cast onto you. You still have your voice, and you’re able to give Yoongi an earful about not telling you his best friend was a warlock when he first introduced you while simultaneously thanking him for introducing the two of you. The vampire tiredly took the verbal assault after you and Namjoon had barged into his apartment early in the morning.

As Namjoon watches you threaten to shove a clove of garlic up Yoongi’s ass if he ever lies to you again, he knows that asking you to become his wife is the best decision he’s ever made in his life.

2nd A/N: Fun fact, this started out as a different fic that I wrote the beginning and end of, but then my brain couldn’t function for the middle so I wrote it all over again. The original version of this will probably still be finished in the future, who knows when. Also, as a disclaimer, I am in love with Seulgi. The idea of her as a sassy witch? Chef’s kiss!!! Anyway, hope everyone enjoyed it!

[fishmongeringstudies]

six: wandering the city while waiting for a train that'll never come, you stop to wave at a dog on the street only to realize you have mistaken a crumpled bag of mcdonald's for a chihuahua

i almost slipped and died in the shower today. luckily i didn't, because i read somewhere that slipping and dying in the shower makes it a little hard for you to finish writing a manuscript for a novel fictionalizing the events of your freshman spring semester that's definitely going to become a new york times bestseller in about four years' time, but i came pretty close. for a moment i had my hand on the wall and my legs splayed like a barbie doll stuck to a stripper pole and the matchbox world behind the shower curtain was slipping steadily south and heading lower still. and then i caught myself.

several minutes later i heard scuffling beyond the pale, soapy shower curtain and thought there might be someone creeping on me. if someone was creeping on me i had an idea of who it might be, which made the prospect all the more likely and infinitely more convincing inside the grapefruit-sized thing i called my brain. then i heard the clap of god's hands in an ashen sky, and i knew. this was no man made disaster-in-waiting. it had begun to rain.

it didn't rain for long. five minutes at best, two if my grasp on the spatial-temporal continuum is worse than i'd imagined (this is very likely; the stars pass me by faster than i can count them these days), but long enough that anyone who happened to be outside when that first teardrop fell from the sky got a little wet. a little fucked up, if you will, which, hey. good for him. he deserves to get a little fucked up.

but i get carried away. please excuse my personal grievances. this is not a lament, it is a swimming pool. full of tiny colorful fish which flit around at its bottom, chasing strands of sunlight like children on a playground.

the weather forecast says it'll rain again tomorrow, and maybe the day after, too, if the world stays sad enough to let it happen. it makes me nostalgic. when i left in february monsoon season was in full swing, tearing trees from their roots with big meaty hands and making every fleeting boring moment into the kind of gray sunday afternoon on which i imagine the directors of romantic dramas like to shoot break-ups. rain in singapore looks different. it's not a bucket full of water, it's a room. a blue room against a silver sky. your socks stuck to your ankles with the kind of grim determination that makes you almost a little sad to peel them off, to toss them in the washing machine behind the kitchen. there's a little balcony behind the kitchen in the house you left in february, with a washing machine and a ledge for sitting on and a dryer that doesn't work. you used to go there when you wanted to check on the restaurant across the street. from here you can make out the round, blue-rimmed tables that attract students, biking enthusiasts, three am brawls between red-faced european men and their red-faced european friends. if there's noise on this side of the street, it's probably coming from there.

summer. summer reminds me of home. so far i've been telling people that the association is a bad one, and it certainly isn't a lie, but it's not a whole truth either, if one believes in the matter of whole truths to begin with. i'm starting to think maybe there are only skim-milk truths, clotted cream truths, 0% fat yogurt truths. truths that change shape when you aren't looking. we aren't looking most of the time, after all. we're very busy people. all of us. we're trying to change the world.

and for what? who are we trying to save? do you want to live forever? that's the goal, isn't it. i mean it's definitely mine. i won't blame you if the concept of death sits on your shoulder like a fourth generation ipod touch with a broken home button, whispering really fucked up shit into your ear when you're alone. i mean it definitely does for me.

puzzle-girl is in new york now, last i checked. good for her. i hear new york is full of lights and electricity and car exhaust. maybe one day she will learn that friendship isn't an emergency help-line. probably not. my friend thinks she will, thinks we'll come back around in our junior year and everyone will see us stuck to each other again like two grotesque modern art pieces drilled back-to-back into a museum exhibit wall only with a firm mutual understanding of what boundaries are, but i have my doubts.

once someone told me with the kind of half-fake half-genuine smile that makes you wonder if AI technology has advanced far enough to mimic the complexities of stupid hormonal teenagers with really bad interpersonal issues after all that i was blooming. coincidentally all the flowers on campus had suddenly decided to poke their heads out of the dirt like babies busting their way out of refrigerators, guns blazing, hearts shot to pieces, so it's not like he was completely bullshitting me. he was only ninety-eight percent bullshitting me. the two percent is why he comes up in my writing as often as he does, all this time later. like i think he was ninety-eight percent clown but two percent circus, two percent red-nosed reindeer trying to unionize behind a striped curtain, two percent something real. or at least i like to think that way. i'm a writer. we have to pretend there's something to write about. or else what will we write about?

so yeah. one time someone told me i was blooming. at the time i was embarrassed. and then after the story put an abrupt end to itself i was madly obsessed with the idea of flowers jutting out of cracks in the earth, gold pouring forth from blood-wounds, poinsettia eyes, whatever, whatever, and then the flowers started wilting. standing on the path outside my dorm i was like what the fuck? why the hell is everything dying? it's been like three days, god, what are you guys made of, tissue paper?

i was talking to the flowers. which died in spite of my indignation, so that's one for nature, zero for me. good for them. see you next spring, when things will, hopefully, be different. i don't have a plan as much as i have a dream i'd like to see walk into reality on three legs and a pitchfork. but it's a good dream. i promise.

the sky's clear as glass now. it's so bright i could probably stick my hand up there and stir vigorously and then an angel would emerge from the ether, rubbing her eye sleepily with the back of her hand. that's the kind of clarity i'm talking about. making metaphors about christianity-clarity. i am lonely and my dreams are full of beautiful people-clarity.

that's a lie-clarity. loneliness is, as mentioned in a previous installment of the meandering car accident i call this blog, a choice, and i'm too lazy and full of my own slew of interpersonal issues to commit to something like that. but summer is new, and it's like i'm getting used to the body in my basement all over again. how do i step around it, how do i make sure i don't look at its face? and its eyes, oh, those eyes. how terrible. how full of absence.

there will be exactly two hundred students on campus when summer move-ins are finished next week. this school has a population of nearly sixteen hundred. what are we doing?

research. academia. learning a new language. road trips. plane trips. horse riding lessons. research. academia. learning a new language. relationships. spaceships. building a ladder to the moon.

it feels like the sun never sets sometimes. the hours slide into one another like tectonic plates beneath the surface of the world and yet the sky remains just as it looked this afternoon, milk-white and pale as death. a hot summer wind blows and sends the clouds careening sideways into each other, and yet from this distance nothing changes. drop a body in a bathtub and nothing changes. beat someone up and nothing changes. survive thirteen weeks of bad mistakes and then worse ones, midnight mistakes, thursday evening mistakes, the kind of mistake you don't think you'll ever be able to write about, and still nothing changes.

they say there's always a silver lining but what if i want fur instead? let's say i want a fur-lined sky with fur-lined clouds and a little heart-shaped toy that makes a sound when you step on it. let's say i want to be fifteen again. the sky doesn't care. it still looks like a damn sky. the sky doesn't do things out of sentimentality.

it's just kind of there. today i'm just kind of here. today we're all alive. good for you. good for me. good thing my hand was on the wall when i slipped in the shower, so i could get out and dry my hair and then sit down in this shitty weird-smelling lounge with my laptop with the cracked touchpad and my cool elmo slippers, and tell you about this solitary life on mars.

05.26.2021

[skarsgard-daydreams]

Voices Carry

Ch. 1: “Keep it Down Now”

[ Eins | Zwei | Drei | Vier | Fünf | Sechs | Sieben | Acht | Neun | Zehn | Elf ]

Description: Merkel accepts a job to smuggle a young woman out of East Berlin, and it turns out to be more than he bargained for.

Warnings: strong language, references to violence, poor grasp of the German language, possible historical liberties, probable sexual content in the future

Notes: This is the first chapter of a longer story. Let me know if you want to be tagged for future installments. The song referenced below is “Anarchy in the U.K.” and if any of the German is not clear based on context, I can add translations.

It started with convincing their stout little grandmothers to smuggle in copies of the latest Sex Pistols records from the West. Merkel, then seventeen, was the one who thought to disguise the records as copies of Wagner’s Das Rheingold. It was a perfect plan—at least until his own grandmother wanted to play the record one evening as his family enjoyed a few drinks after dinner. Everyone had been stunned when they were treated to the thrumming electric guitar and Johnny Rotten’s shamelessly punk declaration, “I am an Anti-Christ.” Merkel’s father had snapped the record in half and hauled him upstairs to deliver a beating that, to this day, easily eclipsed the worst ass-kicking he’d ever received in his chosen profession. His father’s talents had been wasted as a postman, Merkel often said with a wry grin when he told the story.

Next came subversive Western novels and VHS tapes of movies and television that were verboten in the East. These were too dangerous for anyone in Merkel’s crew to risk their grandmother, so they recruited American college boys who got conservative haircuts and dressed up as businessmen, carrying the contraband in special briefcases with hidden compartments so they could later go home and brag about how they were doing their part to fight the communists.

Merkel figured they got off on it. Maybe they all did. It was a game in those days, of cat and Maus, suppression and rebellion, action and reaction. By the time he was twenty-two, they had begun to smuggle people. They weren’t just playing punk music in underground garages and running the streets of East Berlin with ink-dyed hair and grungy leather jackets anymore. Now lives were on the line.

They spent years perfecting their techniques. They modified vehicles to conceal a person in a secret compartment so tiny that someone as tall as Merkel couldn’t dream of squeezing into it. When smuggling wasn’t an option, they resorted to forgery instead—falsifying passports and travel authorizations in an old warehouse on the outskirts of town. But staying on top of the constant changes to the documents needed to cross the checkpoint was a battle, one which required an extensive network of contacts willing to provide them with intelligence and supplies.

At twenty-five, Merkel would now be completely unrecognizable to the greasy little punk he’d been when he started playing this game. His survival depended on remaining cautious. The sort of people he ran with weren’t rebellious little boys any longer. They were either assets or liabilities, loyal to each other in theory, but in practice, more loyal to their own self-preservation than anything else. Merkel knew it was only a matter of time before he was betrayed by one of his friends and declared an enemy of the state. He planned to be long gone before the Stasi came for him.

~

It was on a frigid morning in January that he received the call. The heating in the entire building—one of those Brutalist blocs that began to look dilapidated the moment they were erected—had been out for the past week. Merkel had taken to sleeping fully clothed for once, wearing three pairs of socks and a knit cap pulled down so far over his head it could’ve doubled as a sleeping mask. The phone echoed in his sparsely furnished apartment. Merkel stirred under the mountain of blankets and groped blindly on the nightstand. His fingers were stiff with cold as he closed them around the telephone and yanked it to his ear.

“Ja?”

Bastian was already telling him to meet at their usual place in ten minutes.

“Nein,” Merkel argued. “Zwanzig.”

He heard Bastian scoff. “Fünfzehn.”

Merkel hung up without another word. He groaned as he rolled out of bed and padded over to the bathroom. The hot water had been out all week too. He vaguely wondered if his landlord was trying to freeze him out. Even though Merkel paid his rent on time every week and was always polite to the man and his wife, he’d once made the mistake of coming home with his shirt collar soaked in blood. “Nosebleed,” he’d tried to explain, but he could never figure out if Frau Werner had believed him. Merkel splashed his face with the freezing water and changed into some fresh socks and a clean shirt before he donned a large blue overcoat and headed downstairs.

The street was nearly empty this late in the morning. Merkel tucked his hands into the pockets of his coat and crossed in front of the ruins of an old bombed out building, heading down into the spiderweb of tunnels that made up the S-Bahn. Ten minutes later, he was across town, sitting on top of a short metal filing cabinet and warming his hands with a mug of foul coffee in a dingy warehouse with Bastian.

“I thought I said fifteen minutes,” Bastian complained. He was a strapping young blonde man with icy blue eyes. Merkel liked to tell him he looked like the Aryan ideal come to life. Bastian liked to tell Merkel he looked like a bug-eyed ogre.

“I never agreed.” Merkel smirked over the rim of the ceramic mug and took a sip of the bitter drink. He wondered if he could convince Sonja to let him take a hot shower at her apartment later in exchange for that Bowie record she’d been asking about.

“Johannes König contacted me.”

“The writer?” Merkel confirmed. He recognized the name immediately. König was an infamous playwright who’d had several productions shut down by the state for promoting Western ideas.

Bastian nodded. “He found out his house is bugged and he thinks they’ll be coming for him soon.”

Merkel maintained a neutral expression as he listened, though he wondered where Bastian was going with this. They had an unspoken rule that once someone was under intense state surveillance, they weren’t getting out. At least not with the help of Merkel’s crew. They couldn’t risk their entire operation for one Dummkopf who’d been careless.

“König knows he’s done for,” Bastian said, sensing his hesitation. “He wants us to move his daughter.”

Merkel made a disgusted noise in the back of his throat. “We’re not babysitters.”

“She’s in her twenties,” Bastian interrupted. “And he’s offering us a lot of money to get her out as soon as possible.”

“We can’t move anyone until Sunday,” Merkel argued. He had a bad feeling Bastian was going to suggest they do something stupid because he wanted to fuck this girl.

“We can hide her until Sunday,” Bastian said with a shrug. He definitely wanted to fuck this girl.

Merkel shook his head. “No, she’s on her own until we have a car or a passport.”

His friend took out a thick wad of cash and slapped it on the filing cabinet. “This is König’s down payment,” Bastian said, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he grinned. “He’s offering us four times this amount if we do it.”

Merkel took the cash in his hands and counted it quickly. He sucked his teeth, narrowing his eyes at Bastian. “How many days is it until Sunday?”

“Drei.”

Merkel swore. “Scheiße.”

German Glossary:

Dummkopf - dummy

Scheiße - shit

@skrsgardspam​ @b-afterhours​ @emmyrosee​ @flowers-in-your-hayr​

[coltondoesgreece]

Dirty Laundry

Hi Readers, and Happy Wednesday!

Today I am writing from my splendidly sunny terrace. It is Wednesday, which means it was market day in my neighbourhood. This morning after the gym, Aaron and I went shopping and came home with tote bags full of oranges, lemons, avocados, tomatoes, olives, eggs, feta, and cucumber. Can you guess what we made for lunch? Minus a spoiled avocado, the produce was a hit. Incredibly fresh and flavourful. We quickly soft boiled some eggs (which we learned from the vendor were fresh from the farm yesterday) and had a Greek salad with some protein on the side. Chef’s kiss. 

The past week has been really peaceful. I think I’ve finally surrendered to the pace of this city. On the weekend, Aaron and I had plans to take a four hour ferry ride to the island of Syros. However, very last minute, I found out I had a casting on Saturday afternoon. We decided to improvise and instead of lounging on the beaches of Syros we found a rooftop pool at a hotel just around the corner from the apartment. When I say we found a rooftop pool, I don’t think you understand... This hotel was renovated in 2019 - the views, the rooms, the service - wow did it ever blow us away! If you follow either of us on instagram, I’m sure you’re able to tell that we enjoyed ourselves. As a birthday present to both of us (we’re 2 weeks apart.. plus a few years) we decided to stay the night so that we could have access to the rooftop for the entire weekend. As an added bonus, the hotel had a laundry service. This was music to my ears, as I absolutely loath laundromats and I’ve been here for a month. While I packed heavily (to say the least), it was time to do laundry. We checked into the hotel, dropped our dirty laundry off and hit the pool for some much needed sun. This weekend was the perfect way to celebrate, but also truly rest and relax all at the same time. It wasn’t until check out on Sunday that I realized the 4 Euro I thought I was paying for the entire laundry service was actually per item. Yes, that is right... I spent nearly 140 Canadian Dollars for clean socks and underwear... I don’t want to hear it. I beat myself up enough about it already. I will forever read the fine print from now on. I am a fool. Leave me alone. I have clean clothes and I’m choosing to forget the rest. 

Moving on, Monday was a whirlwind! I had four castings and a self tape to do for an upcoming TVC. I got lost twice. Went to the wrong location once. Have you ever watched America’s Next Top Model? This was my truest version of that show. I felt insane. But I think it paid off. I did make it to every casting (on time, even) and felt really good about the tape I made. I showed up to the last casting in a bit of a sweat, and the designer was sweet enough to offer me a chair and a glass of water before trying on his gorgeous clothes - I’m sure this was partly because he didn’t want me to get his blazers sweaty. Anyway, I survived. 

As I mentioned in my last post, I’ve been a bit concerned with the pace of which things have been moving the past few weeks. I decided to bring it up to my Greek agency and they assured me things haven’t been slow at all. In fact, a lot goes on behind the scenes that I’m not even privy to. For example, because of COVID, some businesses aren’t actually seeing models in person. They’ll look at my photos online and decide from those alone if I’m right for their job or not. After a great conversation with my agents, I found out I’m an option for five upcoming jobs, three of which are commercials, and one of which will require me to stay in Greece for an extra week. We’ll see what happens, but I am hoping, with all of my power, that these are meant to be! 

What else can I tell you? I finished a book, The Song of Achilles, by Madeline Miller (excellent read), and I started a new book, The Picture of Dorian Gray, by Oscar Wilde. I can’t believe I haven’t read it before. I picked up a copy in Canada before I left and it just felt like now was the time to finally read it. I’ve read a lot of Wilde’s plays, and even acted in a version of one of his letters, but I don’t think I’ve ever read one of his novels. It’s fun. He takes a long time to make a simple point, and I think I’m enjoying that because it feels similar to the speed at which things happen here. It’s also romantic, and beautiful, and feels very European. I’m in the mood for that type of thing. Check it out, maybe?

After a month here I’m finding myself excited to get back to Canada. I’m excited to be in Toronto again. Ideas are constantly percolating in my brain about what I want to do next. I’ve still been auditioning, and talking to my Canadian agent about future projects while I’m here. I’m excited to get the ball rolling on goals that I’ve been wanting to accomplish. I think this trip has been a great escape, a great opportunity, but also a great reminder of what’s possible once I get back. 

Two-ish weeks left? Let’s see what happens! 

Thanks for reading, 

C

[findingyouagain]

𝙷𝙴𝚁𝙴 𝚆𝙴 𝙶𝙾 ( 𝙰𝙶𝙰𝙸𝙽 ).

Do not grieve. Anything you lose comes again in another form. —Rumi

"I'm late. I'm late!"

She rushed down the staircase, feet pounding against each step. The third step to the bottom creaked beneath her weight as it did every day. Damp hair dripped onto the white railing. Reaching the first floor of the house, Kennedy made her way to the kitchen, sliding across the hardwood floor with her blue socks and pulling her hair into a messy ponytail. "Dad, I'm late!"

"I see that."

Bryan Steele sat at the kitchen table. His horn-rimmed glasses rested on his nose as his hazel eyes scanned the newspaper in his hands. Kennedy could only make out the headline: something about a missing couple. The sunlight streaming from the window above the sink reflected off his glass of orange juice, shining onto Bryan's brown hair. He was already dressed for the day—tan khakis and a navy button-up shirt. His blue scrubs for work lay on top of the few patient folders he had brought home from the hospital the night before.

"Well, why didn't you wake me up?" She had one foot pressed against the pale yellow, almost white wall, tying the laces of her Nike tennis shoes.

Bryan ran a hand through his hair, dropping the paper onto the table and grabbing a piece of bacon off his plate. "I thought you had decided to jog to school this morning and already left." He took another bite. "That's what I told Bonnie when she came to pick you up a few minutes ago."

She finished tying her other shoe and sighed. Great, she also had no ride to school. "Well, now I definitely have to run—unless I can borrow Mom's bike?"

"Tires are flat," came his gruff reply. He was biting back a grin. "You'd be even later if you tried to air them up. Besides, jogging to school won't kill you. Consider it early track practice."

Kennedy let out an incoherent grumble before slinging her bag onto her back. "Yeah, well, guess I'm going to stink of sweat all day. Great way to start off my senior year!" She opened the side door. "—and wipe that smirk off your face, Dad. It's not a handsome look on you." The door slammed shut, and the slap, slap, slap of running feet on asphalt could be heard.

Heart racing, Kennedy leaned against her gray locker and let out a ragged breath. Despite jogging every morning, running three miles to school left the teen breathless, as well as hot and sweaty. For once, Kennedy was glad to have stored a spare pair of clothes in her gym locker for after track practices.

Her eyes scanned the crowded hallways. Already, colorful posters about clubs to join and student government elections littered the walls. Eager teenagers wandered, chatting about which beach they had visited and who they had hooked up with over the summer break. Kennedy sighed, not quite understanding why she was supposed to miss this in ten months' time. Mindless babble and petty drama? She wasn't interested in dealing with it for another year, let alone after she graduated from high school.

Spotting Elena Gilbert and Bonnie Bennett by their lockers, she picked her bag off the ground and squeezed her way past lost freshmen with their eyes glued to their schedules.

"—no, that's over."

"What's over?" Kennedy asked, smiling at her two best friends.

"Ah, nothing important. Thinking about finding man, coining a new phrase. We've got a busy year ahead of us," Bonnie replied, but her gaze trailed behind Elena. The two brunettes turned to see Matt Donovan clad in his red and black letterman staring at Elena.

Kennedy watched as Elena waved at him and the blond ignored her, grabbing books out of his locker and walking off.

Elena sighed and leaned against the locker while Kennedy placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. "He hates me."

Bonnie shook her head. "That's not hate. That's 'you dumped me, but I'm too cool to show it, but secretly, I'm listening to Air Supply's greatest hits.'"

Kennedy held back a giggle. "He just needs some time. I mean, it's not like you guys bumped into each other muchover the summer. He'll get over it, and you'll be best friends again. Trust me."

"Speaking of time," Bonnie began. She grabbed the red junior history book from her locker. "How'd we beat Miss Track Queen to school when you left before us?"

"Funny story, I woke up late, and my dad just assumed I had already left for school. So, I ended up having to run here just like he told you. Now I'm all gross."

Elena folded her arms across her chest, ignoring the yells behind them of friends congregating for the first time since May. "Don't you keep spare clothes in your gym locker?"

Kennedy nodded. "Yeah, I'm actually headed that way to speak to Coach Sharpe about track tryouts. As captain, I'm going to have to oversee them, and I can't have them interfering with my work schedule at the library. I figured I'd change while I was down there."

"Elena! Oh my god!"

It wasn't seconds later that Kennedy had been gently shoved to the side, almost knocking into Bonnie, as a blonde in a blue blouse and black heels enveloped Elena into a tight hug. Elena patted the girl's shoulder reassuringly.

"How are you? Oh, it's so good to see you." She released the olive-skinned girl from her embrace before turning to Bonnie and Kennedy, blue eyes laced with concern and wringing her pale hands. "How is she? Is she good?"

"Caroline, I'm right here." Elena gave a weak but believable smile, nodding her head for good measure. "And I'm fine. Thank you."

"Really?" Caroline asked, and Kennedy felt sorry for Elena. Although it was a brand new school year for everyone, no one could forget how last year had ended. In a small town, the car crash that had wrecked the Gilbert household had affected everyone, even if just in minor implications. Elena had miraculously survived the car's plunge over Wickery Bridge, but her parents had not, leaving Elena and her younger brother to be taken in by their Aunt Jenna, who was only eleven years Kennedy's senior. Now, everyone was sensitive to Elena's feelings, perhaps too sensitive, and no matter how much it seemed Elena wanted to move past the accident and start afresh, everyone else couldn't let the girl forget. Pity parties weren't Elena's thing, that much Kennedy knew.

"Yes, much better."

Caroline enveloped Elena into another hug. "Oh, you poor thing."

Kennedy threw Elena a knowing look and a small smile before tugging the blonde off of her. "Okay, okay, give the poor thing a break, Care. She's had enough touchy-feely for the morning."

Caroline nodded, clapping her hands together. "Okay, see you guys later?"

The three nodded, and Bonnie mumbled out a quick bye to their friend as the blonde strutted down the hall.

Kennedy let out a laugh, and Elena just shook her head. "No comment."

Twisting the bag on her shoulder, Kennedy pointed towards the gym and coaches' office. "Well, I better get going if I want to change out of these clothes. See you first period?"

"Remind me again how you ended up being Tanner's student aid for the junior history class?" Bonnie asked, picking up her own bag. Kennedy was already turning in the other direction.

"Because I'm the only one to ever laugh at his history jokes and make a hundred on his finale, duh!" she threw over her shoulder. Kennedy could hear Elena's giggle as she walked down the hall to change.

"How about next Tuesday afterschool? Will that work for you?"

Finally changed into some fresh clothes and sprayed down with perfume, Kennedy nodded her head at Coach Sharpe's suggestion. Her schedule wasn't hectic, just full. Mondays, Wednesdays, and Thursdays afterschool, the brunette worked at the Mystic Falls Public Library—shelving books, tutoring younger students, and updating the online catalogue. Plus after work on Wednesdays, Kennedy attended church with her mom, helping in the kitchen and with the youth bible study class. Every other Saturday, she volunteered at the hospital and shadowed her father in the pediatrics department. Sundays, there was church again and then her family dinner in the late afternoon. Tuesdays and Fridays were her only free days, mainly because last year they had been dominated by track practices and meets.

"That works for me." She smiled at the man. He sat, arms folded over his linoleum desk, where papers and handheld timers lay scattered. A red baseball cap embroidered with the high school's initials covered his bald head. His eyes were kind but empty, vague, like they couldn't capture the emotions the rest of his face expressed. Kennedy watched as a smile tugged at his lips, and she wondered what thought had crossed his face that she had missed.

"What are you thinking about?" she asked. It was a rather blunt question, and if the man hadn't been Kennedy's track coach since the sixth grade, she probably would have never asked him.

His smile widened, and he tilted his head. "Just that we're going to have an amazing team captain this year."

Kennedy let out a small laugh before ducking her head in embarrassment. "Well, thanks, Coach." A bell rang out throughout the school, and Kennedy glanced at the clock. Five minutes before class started. "I've got to get to class, but I'll stop by later this week to confirm the tryout list, okay?"

Coach Sharpe nodded. "Yeah. See you then."

"Once our home state of Virginia joined the Confederacy in 1861, it created a tremendous amount of tension within the state—" Mr. Tanner droned on, pacing in the front of the small history classroom. His hands were kept clasped at his waist, and he stood tall, eyes roaming the room in hopes to catch students off task.

In the back of the classroom, Kennedy tapped, tapped, tapped a red pen against the wooden desk. A stack of papers sat in front of her. Tanner had handed them to her when she arrived to class with two minutes to spare before the tardy bell went off. This was the junior history class, or as it was better known as, the period Kennedy and Mr. Tanner had designated as her teaching assistant period, meaning she was in the room to grade papers and help write up lessons. Today being the first day of school, all she had to do was staple and organize the practice U.S. History exams the juniors would take tomorrow, but she didn't feel bothered to organize them just yet, instead opting to doodle on the back cover of her notebook. So far, a small clearing surrounded by tall trees had appeared, and she was debating whether to draw a crow in the corner as well when something caught her eye.

Glancing up from her drawing, Kennedy caught the new boy—didn't Mr. Tanner's role sheet say his name was Steven or something like that—staring at Elena. Matt and Bonnie must have noticed it too because Kennedy could see Matt glaring before reading a text Bonnie was sending over her shoulder. Rolling her eyes, she smiled at how oblivious Mr. Tanner was to Elena pulling out her phone, confirming Kennedy's thoughts that her two friends were texting each other during class.

Kennedy pulled out her own phone, typing out a quick message: What did you text Elena? And clicking send before returning to stapling papers.

A short buzz vibrated the desk, causing the red pen to roll onto the floor. She ignored the pen and slid the unlock button on her phone.

That the H-O-T new boy was staring at her. Didn't you see? came Bonnie's reply.

Oh, trust me, Kennedy typed out, I saw.

She turned back to the class in front of her, eyes narrowing in how the new guy—maybe it was Ian?—continued to stare at Elena as the girl kept her gaze locked to the front of the room, smiling wide. Kennedy shook her head, shuffling the papers in her hands. Was this about to be the start of young love or more drama? Whichever the case, Kennedy was just happy to see her friend truly smiling again.

"Guess who."

Kennedy laughed, rolling her eyes behind the hands clasped over them. She hummed, pretending to mull over the endless possibilities as to who had snuck up on her. After a moment or two of contemplation, she shrugged her shoulders. "No idea…is it the reincarnation of George Washington here to set the country straight again?"

The hands were removed from in front of her eyes, and she blinked, readjusting to the brightness of Mrs. Halpern's calculus classroom at 1 o'clock in the afternoon. She turned in her desk, spotting the tall blond boy with mischievous green eyes staring at her. "George Washington, really?"

"What did you want me to say, Ollie? J.F.K.? I'd be disgracing his good looks by comparing them to yours."

"Hardy-har-har." Oliver took the desk next to her, digging into his backpack and grabbing a notebook, calculator, and pencil. He opened the notebook up to the first page before turning back to face her. "Was that you I spotted all sweaty this morning next to my sister?"

"Depends," she countered. She leaned over the aisle, brown eyes raking over him with judgement. "Was that you I spotted walking the halls this morning with Vicki Donovan on your arm?"

"Maybe." He shrugged, suddenly much more interested in his blank notebook than her, but Kennedy wasn't having it. She grabbed the notebook off his desk, folding it closed again. He tried to grab it back, but she pushed it inside her backpack. "What? We're back together."

"And when did this happen?"

"I don't know. A while ago."

She frowned. "Why wasn't I informed of this, Ollie?" Arms crossed, Kennedy gave him her ultimate 'I-thought-we-were-past-the-whole-not-sharing-information-thing' glare. Five months her senior, Oliver Forbes had been Kennedy's best friend since the sixth grade; however, they had known each other since the beginning of elementary school, back where playground rules dictated who was friends with who. To the kids in their kindergarten class, a girl beating another boy in a race across the field was unheard of, well, until Kennedy ran across the finish line with Oliver several feet behind her. The excited six-year-old she was, Kennedy had jumped up and down, the biggest smile plastered on her face. Oliver had been a sore loser, however, and tugged hard at one of her pigtails. A call to Sheriff Forbes later, and the unspoken 'we're not friends and probably never will be' hung thick in the air between them until sixth grade. Kennedy never talked to Oliver, and Oliver continued to think of her as a smartass and show off who wouldn't shut up. Who knew science fair projects could form a friendship between two people who couldn't stand each other?

Oliver let out a long sigh. "Because it didn't seem important at the time?" He held out his hand expectantly. "Can I have my notebook back please?"

Rolling her eyes, Kennedy huffed before grabbing the object back out of her backpack and handing it over. As more students filled into the classroom, Kennedy leaned over her desk, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "So, how did Tyler and Jeremy take the news when they found out?"

Oliver only glared in response.

"So not well then." Before Kennedy could get another word in; however, Mrs. Halpern walked into the room, placing down the calculus textbook onto the front desk, and began the lesson.

It was two o'clock in the afternoon when Kennedy finished all of her classes for the day; like most of the other seniors, she had gotten her schedule moved around for an early dismissal so she could make it to the library in time for work. The elementary and middle schools released their students at 2:40 P.M., and the library's tutoring sessions began at three. Walking down Main Street, Kennedy grinned, allowing her arms to swing back and forth at her side. Her tan shorts and navy blue top kept her cool, and the aviator sunglasses concealed her eyes from the bright sun. With a clear sky on a day like this, the sun found entertainment in reflecting off every surface—car mirrors, shop windows, even Mrs. Lockwood's emerald necklace as she passed Kennedy on the sidewalk. Seeing the five rather large bags Mrs. Lockwood carried, the brief thought of what the mayor's wife was doing out shopping in the middle of the day crossed the brunette's mind, but Kennedy shook the thought out of the way.

"365 more days," she muttered under her breath. "365 more days, and I'll be out of this town and away from all the drama and gossip that goes with it."

And had those all bags been from the liquor store?! Kennedy turned on her heels, skidding against the concrete pavement to try and catch another glance at the logo on the bags, but Mrs. Lockwood had already gone into another store. With a sigh, Kennedy frowned in disappointment of herself. Living in a small town could drive you insane if you let the urge to know everything about everyone and their activities consume you.

"365 more days."

Kennedy made to turn again, but this time, her tennis shoe caught onto a small pebble, and before the brunette could process it, she felt herself fall forwards. Or she would have, if her shoulders hadn't been caught between two hands.

"Whoa, there," a male voice rang in her ears. The hands steadied her, and Kennedy looked up to see a man in what she assumed to be his early twenties staring at her. Raven black hair, leather jacket, black V-neck, the typical attire of a rebel with a James Dean philosophy on life, he had to be at least six foot, the way his tall frame hovered over Kennedy's petite body. A shiver ran down her spine at the sight of him, and she watched in confusion as his bright, electric blue eyes scanned her face for something.

Kennedy bit her lip. They were too close, and it didn't appear his hands were releasing her shoulders out of their own free will anytime soon. So she took it upon herself and forced her feet to move backwards, allowing her body to move away from his hands and put a decent distant between the two of them. She tilted her head as she noticed his eyes were still scanning her. She noticed a brief flicker of recognition and surprise on his face, but she didn't understand why.

"Eliza?" he mumbled. His hand reached out to grasp her shoulder again, but she shook him off, folding her arms across her chest.

Okay, so maybe he wasn't a creep. Just confused. "I'm—I'm sorry, I think you have me confused for someone else." She paused, eyes locking with his. Had this happened before? Why…the leather jacket, the sounds of people chatting away in the background, the clear blue sky…why was she feeling the strangest sense of déjà vu right now?

He blinked, looking hurt but also perhaps hopeful. He retracted his arm, pushing both his hands into his pockets. "Oh. My…my mistake. You just look like an old friend of mine."

Is that how he always greeted old friends? With a look full of surprise, remorse, and longing? If so, she wasn't sure if she ever wanted to become one of this man's old friends. "I'm Kennedy," she corrected.

"Yeah."

"Yeah," she repeated lamely, looking for an escape route. This conversation was headed down hill, and she was beginning to run late for work, despite the public library being only five feet away.

Luckily for her, the blue-eyed stranger took care of it. "M'sorry for bothering you. Have a nice day." He took a step to the right and began walking down the street, but not before turning around and leaving her with one last word of advice. "You should be careful where you walk. You don't want to bump into the wrong person next time you trip on a rock."

She let out a short laugh. "I'll keep that in mind. Thanks."

He nodded, walking away. "Anytime, Kennedy. Anytime."

When he was out of sight, Kennedy released the tense breath she hadn't realized she had been holding. Walking the few steps left to reach the library doors, Kennedy shook her head, moving the interaction between her and Mystery Blue Eyes to the back of her mind.

Time to get to work.

"His name is Stefan Salvatore. He lives with his uncle at the old Salvatore boarding house. He hasn't lived here since he was a kid. Military family, so they moved around a lot. He's a Gemini, and his favorite color is blue," Caroline explained. She waved her hands around as she talked, and Kennedy fought the urge to grab them and tape them to her blue dress so they wouldn't move.

Bonnie stared at Caroline in shock but mostly disbelief. "You got all of that in one day?"

Caroline waved her hand again, dismissing the notion. "Oh, please. I got all that between third and fourth period. We're planning a June wedding."

"Yeah, in your dreams. I'll make sure to tell Ollie his sister's getting hitched." Kennedy giggled as the blonde huffed in annoyance, turned, and walked over to another student from school.

The trio just arrived at the Mystic Grill, the town's local bar and grill. Most of Mystic Falls' teenagers could be seen spending their afternoons and early evenings there, whether to study or to just hang with friends. A loud hum of activity always filled the air; the restaurants' patrons chatting amongst themselves. Clinks from shot glasses could be heard towards the back, where the bar sat next to the pool table. The lightning in the building was dim, warm, yellow lights shining down from the ceiling. A few standing lamps could be found scattered around the room as well, casting shadows on the faux stone walls. Spotting Oliver cleaning up a now-empty table in the middle of the room, Kennedy pointed it out to Bonnie.

"Shall we?" she asked.

"We shall."

An order of French fries and two Cokes later, Kennedy and Bonnie sat across from Matt. Although Kennedy wasn't thrilled to be involved in the conversation, she knew that she and Bonnie, as both Elena and Matt's friends since they were children, had to set the boy straight.

"How's Elena doing?" he asked. His elbows leaned against the rustic-looking wood, and he had his face propped up by his hands. His face was solemn, and his blue eyes were laced with concern. Kennedy understood he was genuinely interested in Elena's well-being; he was just being too much of a chicken to check up on the girl himself.

"How do you think she's doing, Matt?" Kennedy asked, and it came out a bit harsher than she intended.

Bonnie shrugged her shoulders. "Her mom and dad died. She's putting on a good face, but it's only been four months."

And here it comes. "Has she said anything about me?"

Shaking her head, Bonnie rolled her eyes and leaned back in her seat. "Oh, no. So not getting in the middle. You pick up the phone and call her."

Kennedy nodded, biting into a French fry. "Yeah, and while you're calling her, make sure to apologize for not speaking to her all summer long. It made you look petty."

"I feel weird calling her. Hell, I feel weird even seeing her. She broke up with me."

"Give it more time, Matt," Bonnie explained. But her face fell into a soft frown, and Kennedy remembered why she never played poker with Bonnie on her team. Worst poker face ever.

Their three gazes followed Elena as she walked into the Grill, followed by the new boy—whose name according to Caroline was apparently Stefan, not Steven nor Ian—close behind. Kennedy watched as the two glanced around the restaurant before smiling at each other. And there went her chances of the year being drama free.

"More time, huh?" he muttered, eyes downcast. Kennedy felt sorry for him and reached out to place a comforting hand on his shoulder, but Matt had already stood up from his seat, walked over to Elena and Stefan, and introduced himself.

Kennedy smiled softly. "Way to be the bigger man, Matt."

A few minutes later, Elena and Stefan had joined the table, along with Caroline, who know doubt had just joined to further learn more about the town's new eye candy. Not that she couldn't learn most of it from the gossip she spent most of her school days filling her ears with. Matt had left the table to play with Tyler Lockwood, another football player.

"So you were born in Mystic Falls?" Caroline asked.

Kennedy sipped on her Coke, swirling the straw in her drink between breaks. She was interested in Stefan's responses, but she could tell the others seemed more eager. While she sat relaxed in her seat, legs crossed and head leaning against the back, the others leaned against propped-up elbows, eyes never straying from Stefan's face. Kennedy couldn't be bothered to put so much effort into the conversation. Not because she didn't care or didn't want to make any new friends, but because she felt like she didn't have to try too hard. This Stefan was friendly, even if a bit reserved. Perhaps he was shy, but to Kennedy, he gave off the vibe of someone she could chat to about most anything, the same vibe she received from people who were her friends. She felt like she already knew him, even if she knew virtually nothing about him.

"Mm-hmm. And moved when I was still young."

"Parents?" Bonnie asked.

"My parents passed away." Kennedy sat up, intrigued, not at the information but the way he said it. His voice didn't soften nor crack; his face kept the same neutral expression he had worn all evening. He barely even blinked during the sentence. He said it so matter-of-fact that Kennedy felt it was just that and nothing more: a fact.

He turned towards Elena. Oh, Kennedy thought, so he heard about the accident. Are people really still gossiping about that at school?

Elena frowned, and before she could speak, Kennedy dragged the conversation away from her, wanting to avoid a pity party to start for Elena and Stefan. "I'm sorry. Any siblings?"

Stefan's eyes glanced towards her. To Kennedy, it appeared to be the first time he had truly noticed her existence at the table. He blinked, his green eyes searching her face for something. It was the same look of recognition she had seen early that day on Mystery Blue Eyes's face. He shook his head. "None that I talk to. I live with my uncle."

"So, Stefan…" Caroline was quick to redirect the conversation to herself. "If you're new, then you don't know about the party tomorrow."

"Party?" Kennedy asked. "They're still doing that after what happened last year?" She felt an elbow dig into her stomach. "Hey, ow." She glared at Caroline.

"It's a back to school thing at the Falls," Bonnie explained.

Stefan nodded, turning to look at Elena. "Are you going?"

"Of course she is," Bonnie and Kennedy answered together. Having both seen the glances Stefan and Elena kept sending each other's way, the duo had picked up on the mutual interest and decided to run with it.

A phone rang, and Kennedy glanced down at her cell. Reading the caller I.D as Mom, she got up from the table, grabbing her purse with her. She waved and mumbled out a quick goodbye before answering the call.

"Yes, ma'am?"

"Dear, do you mind picking up some groceries on your way home?" Marian's voice came through the phone's speakers.

"Sure. What do you need?"

"Eat your vegetables, Kenn," Bryan instructed, fork raised and pointed at his daughter.

Kennedy glanced sheepishly up from her plate, feeling much like a five year old being commanded by their parent, before shrugging her shoulders. "Sorry, Dad. M'not really hungry."

Letting out a small laugh, Marian shook her head. "That's why we don't eat a big snack at the Grill before dinner."

"It was the first day back at school," Kennedy defended, twirling the green beans on her plate with her fork. "Everyone wanted to meet up afterwards to catch up."

Placing his napkin on the table and pushing his clean plate forward, Bryan sat up in his chair. "Everyone being the same five people you hung out with all summer, yeah?"

Kennedy laughed, nodding. "Yeah, except Oliver was working so we weren't really hanging out." She bit into a green bean. "Oh, and the new junior at school joined us at school—Stefan. I guess he just moved back in with his uncle. I think he has a thing for Elena. He was making the googly eyes at her in history class this morning."

Bryan's eyes raised at the information. "Stefan? He wouldn't happen to be a Salvatore, would he?"

"I think so." Kennedy shrugged her shoulders, not understanding the significance. "Why? Were you one of his doctors as a child or something? He said he used to live here, but his parents were in the military, so they moved around a lot."

Bryan picked up his empty plate, as well as his wife's and walked over to the sink. "Uh, yeah…Him and his brother both."

Marian turned towards her daughter. "You said he was interested in Elena? Isn't it a bit too soon for her to be getting back into a relationship? I mean, her and Matthew just broke up."

"Mom, they broke up months ago. Haven't talked to each other all summer, in fact. Although, I'm not sure Matt's ready to give up on them, but I think Elena's ready to move on with her life. Start fresh. I think she wants to get past all the sadness and negativity and be happy again."

Kennedy picked up her own plate and scraped the remaining green beans into the white trash bin in the dim pantry before handing it to her father. She leaned against the counter. "Besides, there are more important things than worrying about guys in life, and I'm sure Elena agrees. I'm not even positive she's interested in Stefan too, just that they seemed to click at school today."

The next morning went smoothly. Kennedy woke up on time and was dressed and ready by the time Bonnie came honking in her driveway with her Prius. However, Tanner's junior history class was not having the same luck as Kennedy. As she sat in the back, scribbling red marks across the practice exams the juniors had taken towards the end of class the day before, Mr. Tanner was getting frustrated with the students' lack of response to his lesson. Kennedy couldn't blame the students, though. Even she grew bored with his lectures, and she loved history. His monotone voice and bland classroom made his teaching style and environment boring and allowed his students to grow tired easily. It didn't help that this was an 8 o'clock class, and most of the students still wanted to be curled up in their cozy beds.

"The Battle of Willow Creek took place right at the end of the war in our very own Mystic Falls," Mr. Tanner continued, eyes focusing in on the back of the classroom. "How many casualties resulted in this battle? Ms. Bennett?"

346, Kennedy thought as she watched Bonnie's face fall and a small grimace take hold. "Um…a lot?" she answered, dropping her pen onto the desk. "I'm not sure. Like a whole lot."

Mr. Tanner shook his head, clearly not amused with Bonnie's witty response. "Cute becomes dumb in an instant, Ms. Bennett." And there was the reason everyone called Tanner an asshole behind his back. "Mr. Donovan? Would you like to take this opportunity to overcome your embedded jock stereotype?"

A quick shake of his head should have been enough of an answer in itself, but Matt decided to grace his teacher with a verbal response as well. "It's okay, Mr. Tanner, I'm cool with it."

Kennedy held back a giggle at Mr. Tanner's exasperated sigh. Sometimes she caught herself wondering why he even bothered teaching if he hated his students and didn't want to deal with smart-mouths, but then she remembered the high school's policy that all coaching staff had to also be teachers.

"Hmm, Elena? Surely you can enlighten us about one of the town's most significantly historical events?" Tanner had placed himself right in front of the brunette's desk, and even from the back of the classroom, Kennedy could tell how intimidating he appeared looming over Elena.

"I'm sorry," she muttered. "I—I don't know." Her eyes were downcast, and Kennedy felt sorry for her friend.

"I was willing to be lenient last year for obvious reasons, Elena. But the personal excuses ended with summer break." Kennedy's eyes hardened, and the red pen slipped out of her grip and onto the tile floor. Unwilling to participate in a pity party was one thing, but wrongly informing Elena that her parents' deaths were not a legitimate excuse for knowing an answer on the second day of school was another. Tanner was such an asshole.

Kennedy began to raise her hand to inform Tanner the answer so he would back off the other students, but before her hand even reached mid-air, Stefan Salvatore's voice rang through the class.

"There were 346 casualties. Unless you're counting local civilians."

Mr. Tanner looked taken aback, and the fluorescent lighting seemed to cast a shadow on his face. He almost looked disappointed that he wasn't able to continue humiliating the rest of the class until he would then make Kennedy answer. "That's correct, Mister…?"

"Salvatore," Stefan answered.

Mr. Tanner nodded, leaning against his desk. "Salvatore. Any relation to the original settlers here at Mystic Falls?"

"Distant."

"Well, very good. Except—" Of course, there had to be something wrong with Stefan's answer. Tanner always had to find something wrong with everyone's answer. "Of course, there were no civilian casualties in this battle." Mr. Tanner turned back to the chalkboard, clearly having assumed the conversation was over.

Kennedy frowned at that. She distinctly remembered reading something in the library about there having been a fire at a church or something during that battle, but she couldn't remember the number of casualties or if anyone had actually been in the church that day.

"Actually," Stefan raised his voice, "there were 27, sir. Confederate soldiers, they fired on the church, believing it to be housing weapons. They were wrong. It was a night of great lost. The founder's archives are, uh, stored in civil hall if you'd like to brush up on your facts, Mr. Tanner."

Kennedy's mouth dropped, and she heard the other students begin to murmur amongst themselves. No one had stood up to Tanner that way, at least not in their history class. The only one who any of them had heard of doing it before was Kennedy, and she had only did it on rare occasions with physical proof in hand to settle her case.

"Hmm…" was the only response the teacher gave.

Back at home, Kennedy had changed into a blue summer dress and laced up a white Keds. Tonight was the Back to School at the Falls party, and although she didn't seem like it, she wasn't one to miss a party. Partying was one of the only opportunities for Kennedy to let loose and have fun. Between work, school, track, church, and family commitments, she didn't have much room for relaxing and enjoying herself. Sure she'd read for pleasure or watch Gossip Girl before bed and hang out with her friends on the weekend, but sometimes a girl had to get out for more than an hour or two at a time and have some fun. Especially if that fun involved booze.

Grabbing her purse off its hook on the white door of her bedroom, Kennedy walked down the stairs. Reaching the living room, she plopped onto the brown leather couch next to her father. His eyes never strayed from his book. Sighing dramatically, she glanced around the room, mentally noting the clutter gathering on the coffee table—a few bills that needed to be paid, manila folders that were no doubt patient files, a couple of photos from their family trip to Washington D.C. last summer that her mother was just now getting around to scrapbooking. Kennedy picked one up, glancing at her sixteen-year-old-self standing in front of the Lincoln Memorial.

She let out another sigh, glancing back at her father.

"What?" He looked up. His glasses had fallen down and now rested on the middle of his nose.

"The Back to the Falls Party is tonight," she replied, a bright smile stretching across her face.

"And…?"

"And I was wondering if I could go. You let me last year, and I just wanted to make sure I was still allowed before I leave with Bonnie and Elena."

He placed the book down on top of the patient folders, and Kennedy recognized it as one of the ancient medical journals he collected in his home office. There seemed to be thousands of them lining his bookshelves. He gave her a look and opened his mouth to speak, but Kennedy interrupted before any words could spill out.

"Oh, come one. Are you really about to tell me no? You've let me the last three years. Why wouldn't it be okay now? It's my last chance to go to one!"

"Now, I haven't even said anything yet," he argued.

"I know that look," Kennedy explained, folding her arms.

"I'm just not sure it's a good idea. It's a school night, and with it being in the woods, I'm nervous. There was just an animal attack not a few towns over."

"Dad, I'll be fine. I promise! No drinking, no anything even remotely dangerous. I'll just be hanging out with Bonnie, Elena, Oliver, and Caroline all night, and I'll be home before you know it." She gave him a pleading smile, brown eyes begging for permission.

He shook his head. "Fine, fine. But you have to be home by 11. No later than 11, got it?"

"Got it," she muttered before seeing the look in his eyes. "Got it, sir," she said a bit more enthusiastically. She smiled, hugging him before rushing out the door. "Thanks, Dad!"

For a summer night in the south, the air was cool and dry against Kennedy's skin. She was leaning against one of the park's banisters, standing next to Elena and Bonnie. The music was loud, and the only sources of lighting were the bonfire warming the large group of teenagers surrounding it a few yards away and the string lights the sophomore class had set up an hour before the party began. Sipping on the punch, Kennedy could tell by the awful taste it had been spiked with more vodka than it should be. Next time, she'd have to suggest the freshmen weren't in charge of the drinks. They had been so eager to get drunk that one of them had poured a bit too much alcohol into the bowl. Kennedy's eyes scanned the area, and a smile spread across her face. Laughter and chatter filled the air as teenagers stood too close to each other and enjoyed the last freedom they would have until Christmas Break.

"Just admit it, Elena," Bonnie nagged, a smug grin across her face.

Elena sighed and pushed on her jacket sleeve. "Oh, okay, so he's a little pretty."

"He has that romance novel stare," Bonnie argued and nudged Kennedy to help her out.

"Oh, she's right." Kennedy nodded, tossing the empty cup into a trash can. "Those green orbs could pierce right through your soul. Plus, have you looked at his hair? He's definitely been catalogue ordered off a sports model magazine."

Elena laughed at her friends, running her fingers through her long hair.

"So where is he?" Bonnie asked, and the trio glanced around the party. None of them spotted him amongst the familiar faces of their classmates.

"I don't know." Elena's eyes brightened with an idea. "You tell me, you're the psychic one."

"Psychic?" Kennedy asked, eyebrows raised.

"Grams," she explained, and with that one word, Kennedy understood. Bonnie's grandmother was a very interesting lady and quite the character as well. According to Grandma Bennett, Bonnie and the rest of her family through her mother's side of the family were descended from witches, going back all the way to Salem. Growing up, the girls used to joke with Bonnie and pretended to cast spells on the kids who were mean to them in elementary school. Well, until Kennedy's mom found out and informed them it was not nice to make fun of Bonnie's grandmother nor was it appropriate to poke boys with a stick and tell them they'd turn into toads the next morning if they weren't nicer.

"Okay, so give me a sec. Grams says I have to concentrate." Bonnie closed her eyes, but Elena held up a finger to stop her.

"Wait, you need a crystal ball." Turning around, Elena glanced around until she found an empty beer bottle on the ground. "Tada."

"Now tell us the future, Bonnie the Mystic," Kennedy laughed as Elena handed the girl the glass bottle.

Bonnie reached for the glass, and her eyes widened as soon as her hand connected with Elena's. She frowned, and a brief second went by before she tore her hand away from the glass.

"What?" the other two girls spoke in unison.

"That was weird. When I touched you, I saw a crow."

"Oh, the omen of death..." Kennedy sang jokingly, taking the bottle and tossing into the trash.

"What?" Elena asked, head tilted and body leaned forward. Wait, she wasn't buying into this was she?

"A crow," Bonnie repeated. "There was fog, a man…" Seeing the look on Elena's face, Bonnie shook her head. "I'm drunk. It's the drinking. There's nothing psychic about it. Yeah?"

"Yeah," Kennedy agreed, looping her arm with Bonnie. "Wanna go get a refill?" With a nod as confirmation, Kennedy pulled the brunette with her. "Well, catch up with you later, okay?"

"Okay?"

It didn't take long for Kennedy and Bonnie to grab another round of drinks—a bottle of beer for Kennedy and another glass of punch for Bonnie. Hearing a laugh, the two spotted Oliver a few feet away, red solo cup in hand. As he brought a red solo cup to his lips, Oliver rolled his eyes, shoulder bumping with one of the guys from the football team. Hooking her thumb towards the blond, Kennedy motioned for Bonnie to follow her. By the time they reached him, Oliver had glanced up and noticed their presence.

"Well, if it isn't the Psychic and the Brainiac," he announced, lips curled up into a cheeky smirk and arm crossed over his chest.

"Ha ha. You're such a comedian," Kennedy spoke dryly.

He shrugged. "I know. It's a curse, what can I say."

Meanwhile, Bonnie's elbow connected with Kennedy's ribcage. "Ow," she mumbled, free hand rubbing her side. Why was she always getting elbowed?

"You told him?" Bonnie asked, eyebrows raised. It wasn't that Bonnie cared about Oliver knowing, but she didn't need the whole school knowing that her Grams was convinced she was a witch. It was bad enough most of Mystic Falls thought Grams was crazy every other day. Talk of witchcraft? In a small southern town? That was an easy way to get thrown into a mental hospital.

"When did I have a chance to tell him? I literally heard about this story two minutes ago."

"Elena told me," he interrupted the two of them. "Sometime earlier today when I passed her in the hall. So your Grams thinks your psychic?"

"Yeah, can we just—not talk about it?" Bonnie's voice softened as she took another sip of her punch. "Besides there's much more important things to be talking about."

"Like what?"

"Like you and Vicki," Kennedy interjected, raising her eyebrows. She watched as Oliver rolled his eyes. The news that he and Vicki Donovan were back together had spread through the school like wildfire, and although Kennedy had heard about the news from the horse's mouth, it didn't mean she hadn't taken the time to listen to what everyone else was saying.

Cheeks puffed out, Oliver sighed. "Yeah, Kenn, What about it?"

"I just—"

"We just care about you, Ollie." Bonnie interjected, and Kennedy nodded in agreement, eyes locked on the blond in front of them as Bonnie shrugged, an air of nonchalance surrounding her. "And we just want what's best for you."

Kennedy knew Oliver didn't like when the two of them ganged up on him about his relationship with the older Donovan, but to be fair, Oliver and Vicki had been the longest on-again, off-again relationship Mystic Falls High School had. The two had been at it since ninth grade, and Kennedy had never been a fan of it. When Oliver was dating Vicki, Tyler was. When neither of them were dating Vicki, the older Donovan could be found hanging out with Elena's kid brother Jeremy, smoking pot and doing whatever other drugs they could get their grubby hands on. Although it was obvious that both Oliver and Vicki loved each other, Kennedy just didn't have faith that he understood what would happen if their relationship truly ended. Tens of break-ups over the course of four years took enough of a toll on Oliver, yet every time, the two of them seemed to get back together. Kennedy just didn't want to see him get hurt when something happened, whether it was because the duo broke up or because Vicki got hurt from her poor life choices.

"Yeah, you guys, I know." Another sigh, his arms folded across his chest. "I swear you guys act like I don't know what I'm doing."

"No, Ollie. It's not that. We just want you happy, that's all." Bonnie's voice grew soft, a touch of sympathy lingered in her eyes.

The male's gaze fell, eyes locking on the beat up, white Chuck Taylor's that he'd managed to wear to a sole. The chatter between the three had grown to an awkward silence, and Oliver leaned back against a wooden post, his left hand used as support, right hand holding his cup of beer as he brought it back to his lips.

"Have you met the new guy? Stefan? Earlier in history, the two were giving each other googly eyes. We think Elena has the hots for him." Kennedy chirped, hoping to steer the conversation away from Oliver's relationship.

Slowly, a grin crept on the blond's face, and Kennedy smiled.

"Of course you guys do. I swear, that's all you chicks ever talk about. Us guys."

"That's not all we do," Kennedy threw at him, despite knowing he was joking. "Right, Bon?"

"Huh?" She drew her glance back to the duo. "Oh, yeah. We talk about other stuff. Like shoes, nail polish, clothes—we always talk about clothes, feminine stuff."

"Alright, alright. I've heard enough." Oliver shook his head, cringing from an imaginary chill.

Kennedy's grin grew, and she high-fived Bonnie.

"You guys are the worst," he groaned, lips holding back a smile.

Rolling her eyes, Kennedy pushed at Oliver's shoulder lightly. "We aren't that bad. And either way, you still love us."

"Eh." he shrugged. He peeled his gaze away from the two of them, and Kennedy cleared her throat.

"Oliver!"

"What?!" Eyes immediately narrowed at him as she crossed her arms over her chest. A large huff and a playful roll of the eyes later, he finally gazed back at them.

"I guess I love you both," he teased.

"You better, or else I'll make your life a living hell with my so-called physic powers." Bonnie smirked.

Oliver threw his hands up in defense, and Kennedy let out a giggle. "Yes ma'am." Oliver laughed, bring the red solo cup back to his lips.

A few more drinks later, the party was still roaring, and everyone was having a good time. Kennedy, Oliver, and Bonnie were dancing by the bonfire with some of Kennedy's friends from track and Oliver's friends from football; however, their fun didn't last long when Elena's call for help rang over the loud music and chatty partiers.

The three glanced at each other before rushing over to the help their friends.

Matt had reached Elena and Jeremy first, spying his sister's bloody and unconscious body on the ground. "Vicki? Vicki, what the hell?!"

"What happened to her?" Oliver demanded, hovering over his bleeding girlfriend.

"Yeah, what happened to her?" Tyler repeated. His eyes glared accusingly at Jeremy, but Kennedy was quick to step in between Tyler and Jeremy. She didn't have time for any of the petty drama revolving around who was in love with Vicki and who should be dating her.

"Somebody! Call an ambulance!" Matt yelled, and Kennedy nodded, pulling out her phone as Tyler instructed everyone to give the poor girl some space. Meanwhile, Oliver had ripped off his t-shirt and was holding it against Vicki's neck while Matt tried to get a response out of her.

"911, what's your emergency?"

"Hello? We're at the Mystic Falls Park, and someone's been seriously hurt. She's lying unconscious on the ground. We need an ambulance immediately."

"We'll have one on the way now, ma'am. We'd like to keep you on the line while it's on the way. Can you tell me how she's been hurt?"

Kennedy placed the phone against her hand. "Does anyone know what exactly happened?"

"It's her neck," Elena spoke up. "Something bit her. She's losing a lot of blood."

"Something bit her, and she's losing a lot of blood. Looks like it might have been an animal attack."

"Okay, can you apply pressure to the wound?"

"Yeah, we've got a t-shirt pressed against it now. Please hurry."

A few moments later, the ambulance wheeled Vicki and Matt to Mystic Falls General Hospital, leaving the teenagers to disperse and rid the evidence of alcohol from the park given the abundance of cops now at the party, gathering statements.

Kennedy had just finished giving her statement to the police, glad to have switched to water after just one glass of punch and one bottle of beer, when she saw Bonnie walking away from Elena with Caroline and Oliver in tow.

"Where are you three headed?"

Oliver sighed, rubbing at his hands. "M'heading to the hospital to keep Matt company while Vicki's in surgery. You two mind making sure Care gets home safe and sound?"

"I'll be fine, Ollie," Caroline insisted, but both Kennedy and Bonnie could hear the slight slur in her words.

"We've got her. Don't worry." Oliver nodded, patting Kennedy on the shoulder with the hand not covered in blood and walking away.

"So Mainline Coffee then?" Bonnie suggested. "Figured we can wait for news there and sober this one up while we're at it."

"Sounds like a plan to me. I could use a coffee before getting back to my folks."

"Let's go then."

Kennedy sighed, rubbing her hands against her face. She was exhausted, and although the coffee was delicious, it wasn't doing much on the whole keeping her awake bit.

"Are you sober yet?" Bonnie asked Caroline, glancing at the clock.

Caroline shook her head. "No."

"Well, keep drinking. I gotta get you home. I gotta get me home. It's—" Bonnie glanced at her wrist before realizing she wasn't wearing a watch. "What time is it?"

"11:45," Kennedy answered before the words sunk in. "It's 11:45. My dad's going to kill me. I was supposed to be home 45 minutes ago."

"Do you need a ride?" Bonnie asked, pushing away her coffee and reaching for her keys.

"No, no. I'll walk home. It's not too far from here. Besides, I'm already late. A few more minutes isn't going to kill me, and you're need here to get her in condition to deal with her mom. I'm sure the sheriff won't appreciate her daughter coming home drunk."

"Okay, if you're sure."

"I'm positive. Stay. I'll see you guys tomorrow at school."

Kennedy stood up, grabbing her phone and purse before walking out of the coffee shop. She had just finished closing the door when her shoulder bumped into someone.

"M'sorry. I wasn't looking where I was—" She glanced up to meet a pair of intense blue eyes and raven hair. "—going."

"And we meet again. Where are you rushing off to, Kennedy?" he asked, leaning against the window to the coffee shop.

"Home. Out past my curfew."

"It's not even midnight," he argued.

She laughed. "My dad's a bit of a stickler for rules, so my curfew's a lot stricter than others around here."

"Need a ride?" He pointed to an older model of pale blue Camaro parked across the street.

Kennedy shook her head. She knew better than to ride in a car with a stranger, even when still a bit tipsy. "Sorry, but I'm already late, and my dad would freak even more if I was driven home by a boy. Especially one he's never met before."

"Ah, I get it. Well, have a safe walk home then."

"Thanks," she gave him a small grin and wave before walking off.

Weird.

<>

"Do you know what time it is?" Bryan barked before Kennedy was even fully through the door of her house. She sighed, having expected this. Walking into the living room, she saw her father sitting in the same seat he'd been in when she left, the same medical journal in his lap.

"Ten minutes past midnight, I know. I was planning on being home on time, but Vicki Donovan got attacked by some animal after she went off in the woods by herself. Elena's kid brother found her, and I called for an ambulance. I had to stick around longer to give my statement to the deputies and such. I'm sorry, I meant to call, but by the time I remembered my phone had died."

Kennedy heard her father sigh and knew she was going to be let off the hook, if only reluctantly.

"I'm really sorry," she pleaded.

"I told you I didn't want you going, and just because I'm letting you off with a warning this time," he pointed his finger at her to emphasize his point. "doesn't mean this will happen again. Curfews are non-negotiable. Especially with the animal attacks in the area becoming more present. I don't want to receive a call from work saying you're in the hospital because a bear or cougar mauled you."

"Yes, sir," she nodded her head, backing up towards the stairs.

"Now go to bed. I'm sure your mother will have a few things to say about this in the morning as well."

With that, Kennedy scampered off to her bed, glad to be able to relax against the cotton sheets and sleep.

[thanks--for--listening]

Hood and Zip Ties

who among us hasn’t rewatched person of interest three years after it ended and rekindled an old obsession? here’s the first of probably a few fics bc man am i sick of school and obsessed with this show. also on AO3

~~

If Root took one more bite of that apple, Shaw was gonna kill her, mission be damned. 

It had been ten minutes. They’d been at the drop site for Ten. Minutes. And they had another nine hours and fifty before the machine could send them in blind to wherever it was they were going next, details of which Root either couldn’t or refused to disclose. 

“Do you have to eat that so loudly?” She groaned as Root took another bite. The other woman just looked over at her, wearing a smirk that drove Shaw mad. 

“Is it bothering you?” She asked, somehow mocking her and flirting with her at the same time. 

“What are we even supposed to do for ten hours? Your machine couldn’t have set us up with a tv? Or some vodka?”

“If you want entertainment,” Root stood up from the table and walked over to Shaw, “I’m sure I could think of something.” She tried to wink, and Shaw laughed as she closed both eyes. Guess a supercomputer could only teach you so much. 

“Nice try,” Shaw said, “but you should know that lines like that don’t really work on me.”

“I was merely suggesting we play a game.”

Shaw stared at her blankly. “A game?”

Root sat down on the floor, crossed her legs like a kindergartener. She nodded toward Shaw, then sighed when she didn’t sit down. “You and I both have a unique ability to lie and determine when others are lying. I say we put that skill set to the test.”

“And how would we do that?”

“Easy. We switch off telling each other something about ourselves. Other person has to guess if it’s the truth or a lie.”

Shaw stared at her. Normally, she’d laugh at the thought of spending her time playing dumb mind games with Root, but it wasn’t looking like she had many other options. Plus, she thought as she sat down, she could get something out of this. Leverage, for later. 

“Shall we begin?” Root said with a devilish smile, and Shaw held up a hand. 

“How do I know you don’t have your computer girlfriend telling you stuff about me?”

“Scout’s honor?” Shaw gave her a look, and Root sighed, taking her headphones out and placing her phone on the ground in front of her. “And, for the record? She’s not my girlfriend. Or a computer.”

“Whatever. Who’s going first?”

Root sat for a minute, wearing a smirk on her face and fire in her eyes. “I lost my virginity in a phone booth.”

“Oh, we’re starting there, are we?” Shaw said, before shaking her head. “Lie.”

Root shrugged. “It wasn’t my first time, but it was much more exciting.”

Shaw had a feeling Root expected her to ask about her real first time, to prove that she was interested. Instead, Shaw said “I have eight bugs split between Harold, John, and Bear.”

“Truth.” Shaw nodded. “How many of them are on Bear?”

“Four,” She said with a smile. “He’s the most important one. Can’t take any chances.”

Root looked at her, and she couldn’t quite decipher what feelings lay underneath that expression, so she did what she did best: she ignored it. “You’re up.”

They went back and forth a few rounds, each of them getting tricked once or twice, before Root said, “How about we up the stakes a little bit?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean,” she drawled, “let’s add a little bit of excitement to this friendly competition.”

“And how do you suggest we do that? I don’t know about you, but I didn’t really get a chance to grab my wallet while you were kidnapping me and driving me all over town.”

“Who said anything about money?” She gave her that grin again, the one that was starting to set off her instincts, although which instincts was yet to be determined. “For every one we get wrong,” Root continued, “we have to take off a piece of clothing. Last one dressed wins.”

“Did you learn how to flirt from a fourteen year old boy?” Shaw asked, but the competitive fire in her was already burning, and she had never been one to turn down a challenge. “Fine. Whatever. It’s your turn.”

“I got my first kill when I was fifteen.”

“Lie,” Shaw said. She wasn’t surprised when Root shook her head. Part of her had known, and she wasn’t quite sure why she hadn’t listened to her gut. Wishful thinking, maybe. She reached down and took off her socks, making a face at Root as she did. 

“Didn’t have much of a choice, but at least it showed me something else I was good at.” Root had a far-off expression on her face, and showed no sign of elaborating any further, so Shaw didn’t press. Even though she wanted to, a thought that surprised her.

“My mother still calls me every Sunday,” Shaw kept the game going, or tried to, anyway. Root looked at her in either awe or confusion or both, and Shaw felt an ounce of satisfaction that her distraction had worked, had pulled Root from whatever memory she’d started to spiral into.

“Lie.” 

This time it was Shaw who shook her head. “It’s a number that doesn’t belong to me, hasn’t in a while. Not sure if she knows that.”

“What does she know?” Root asked as she took her shirt off, and Shaw had to force her eyes from lingering on her exposed torso. 

“About this? Nothing. The official story is that I never existed, and the unofficial story is that I’m dead, but I don’t think she believes that. I think it’s why she keeps calling — to let me know she’s still waiting.”

“Are you ever going to call her back?”

Shaw hesitated. She hadn’t told anyone about her mom, hadn’t expected to tell Root tonight, but something about the way she looked at her, about what and where they were, made her feel...calm. Maybe it was the way Root was sitting: cross legged on the floor, God disregarded for the sake of integrity in a game that didn’t matter. Maybe it was because of how vulnerable she looked, her shirt crumpled on the ground behind her, sympathetic curiosity in her eyes. Whatever the reason, when she asked her question, Shaw answered. 

“Didn’t think I would ever get a chance, not before I got this job. But now...I don’t know. It might hurt her more, to see what I’ve become, then to leave her wondering if I did die out there, alone, with no record that I even existed.”

“Sounds like you still care about her.”

“It’s your turn, Root.” 

“Fine.” Root looked at her, didn’t let her look away as she said “I’ve only ever cared about one person in my life. Not counting Her, of course.”

Shaw hesitated. She knew the answer — she just wasn’t sure she believed it. 

“True.”

Root nodded, and Shaw could see there was sadness in her eyes, but she didn’t know what to do with it. “What was her name?” She asked, taking a shot in the dark that Root’s silence was an invitation to ask questions, to do what she’d done. It seemed as if the rules of their game were shifting, and Shaw wasn’t sure she knew how to play anymore.

“How do you know it was a girl?” Shaw raised her eyebrow, and Root laughed, just a little. She found that it didn’t annoy her as much as everything else Root did. “Her name was Hannah,” she continued, “I was thirteen and in love with her.”

“I’m sure that went over well in Nowhere, Texas.” This time it was Root who raised an eyebrow at her. “What? You’re not the only one who’s done their research.”

“I didn’t stay long enough to find out,” she said, “and Hannah never found out, either.”

“I know,” Shaw said. When Root looked at her, she elaborated. “I read the boys’ file on you. I know what happened. I only asked because I thought you wanted me to.” Shaw shook her head. “She didn’t deserve that. I’m sorry.”

“Are you?” Root asked. “Sorry?” What should have been a rude and insulting question, even for someone like her, was altered by the genuity in her voice. It compelled her to answer, instead of ignore it. 

“Honestly? I’m not sure. I think so. I don’t think a kid should ever die, and just because I don’t care for people doesn’t mean I don’t know that it hurts when you do.”

“You don’t care for people? Ever?”

“I don’t know,” she said, and a handful of faces flashed in front of her eyes. She‘d deflected the question once already, before Root could even ask it, but for reasons unknown to her, she didn’t this time. She wondered if her conversation with Gen had any influence on her sudden desire to keep talking. “I think I cared for my parents. Pretty sure I cared about Cole. There was a girl when I was a kid — annoying thing who wouldn’t leave me alone. I didn’t get it at the time, but I think I cared about her, too. In my own way.”

“Do you care about Harold and John?”

“I guess,” Shaw answered. “It’s complicated. I don’t want anything to happen to them, but I’d survive if something did. Not sure if that counts as caring.”

“Do you care about the kid? The one you saved a few days ago? Gen?”

“Maybe. I like her — she’s got good instincts, even if she doesn’t know quite what to do with them yet. And she means well — she’d fit in with Harold’s group of saviors if she were ten years older. But is that caring about her? If something happened to her, it would be upsetting, mostly because she’s so young. At least Harold and John have lived a life, you know?”

“Do you care about me?” Her tone didn’t change, but Shaw could feel a shift. She suspected Root had only asked the other questions to get to this one, had set the whole game up so that Shaw wouldn’t lie to her. Not that she would have anyway, but at least now she knew Root could call her out on it if she tried. So she told her the truth. 

“I don’t know. Maybe if you stop kidnapping me to go on secret missions, I’d be able to find out.”

“You’re saying you don’t like our missions?”

“I didn’t say that,” she kept surprising herself with the words that came out of her mouth, and the fact that they were true. “If we could do without the taser next time, though, that might smooth things over.”

“I thought you liked that kind of thing,” Root said, and Shaw usually couldn’t stand the shameless flirting, but she found she didn’t want to stop it. Not tonight, at least. Not yet. 

“Taser is a bit overkill. Not enough pleasure involved. Those zip ties on the other hand...I could think of a handful of ways we could put those to good use.”

“We?”

Shaw just shrugged. “Unless you want to keep playing our game instead.”

“That’s up to you, Sameen. It’s your turn.”

Shaw felt the familiar heat deep in her gut and smirked. One night didn’t mean anything, anyway. “I’ve never thought about this before,” she said, and she had her shirt off before Root could even finish saying the word “Lie.”

Shaw waited a minute, let Root look her over, before whispering, “Your turn.”

Root pushed her phone to the side, reached for the extra zip ties that had fallen off the table behind her, leaned in closer until there was just enough space between them for her to look Shaw in the eye as she said, “I have no idea what’s about to happen.”

Shaw eliminated the distance between them, and spoke as their mouths collided. “Lie.” 

[quirkykayleetam]

Empty Shell

Hello!  This is an entry in the Broken Pieces series.  The previous piece is Kind Restraints and can be found by that title or the tags of any of the main characters.

“We have a problem.”

Special Agent Daniel Wei looked up from his desk at Morgan Security to find his boss scowling down at him.  He took a sip of coffee.

“You remember that Jonathan kid?”

Daniel nodded.  How could he forget? 

 Despite the “Security” in the name Morgan Security, most of his assignments since joining the firm eight years ago were pretty tame.  Intimidation was the name of the game for the most part.  Sometimes he got to make people feel safe.  Those days he drank less coffee and whistled on the car ride home.  

What happened with the kid...?  Daniel hadn’t seen anyone hurt that badly since his time in the service.  He tried not to dwell on the fact that all that damage was done a 26-year-old civilian just protecting his job, but the image of Jay’s protruding ribs still woke him up at night.

“It’s his caretaker.  Apparently she ordered Jones around like a schoolboy.  Spit in Wilson’s face for good measure.  They’re off the case, effective immediately.”

“Who is she?”

“Some brood named Evelyn or Emily or something, though the boys are calling her something else.”

Daniel’s boss chucked.  Daniel didn’t.

“Look, Wei, I know it’s not your usual gig, but this whole thing is still on a need-to-know basis.  I got managers breathing down my neck that nobody else even hears a fart about what happened.”

Unceremoniously, he dropped a bundle of blue medical files on Daniel’s desk.

“As of now, you’re the kid’s case worker for the firm.  You screw this up and it's your neck on the line, not mine, you hear me?  The whole thing was fucked from the start if you ask me.”

Daniel didn’t hear him.  All he could see were the pictures closely documenting the welts, cuts, and bruises down Jay’s left side.  They must have been taken the night of his rescue sometime after Jay passed out in Daniel’s trunk.

The agent took another long drought of coffee.  Apparently he was going to have more nightmares tonight.

Daniel arrived early at the hospital the next morning.

Jay was already awake.  A nurse in pink patterned scrubs slowly spooned swallows of lukewarm eggs into the patient's mouth.

Daniel looked away.

He pretended it was for Jay’s sake.  Being spoon fed had to be a humiliating reminder of the computer scientist’s immobilized hands.

In reality, he couldn’t handle the look in Jay’s eyes.

Jay stared unseeing at the blank hospital wall in front of them.  It was as if they came back to themselves any further they’d have to feel the pain and trauma and heartbreak of everything they went through and, at least now, early in the morning, forced to rely on strangers and IVs and pain meds just to survive, Jay’s body couldn’t handle it.  It reverted into an empty shell.

Instead, Daniel found the figure slumped near the opposite wall.  Elizabeth “Beth” Martinez, 38-year-old Art Department secretary at Landring Community College, looked like she’d collapsed more than fallen asleep in the stiff metal chair by Jay’s bed.  Her mouth hung open a little and her hands stretched out on the armrest toward Jay.  A rumbled duffel bag huddled under her feet.  It couldn’t have held more than two sweaters and three pairs of socks, but Beth obviously wasn’t leaving that room unless she had to.

A flurry of movement brought Daniel’s eyes back to the nurse and her charge.

“We’ve just got a new protein shake in.  It’s chocolate!  I know it’s just breakfast, but you need to get some meat on your bones.”

She set the brown liquid and straw within reach of Jay’s mouth, but instead of taking a sip, Jay’s eyes went wide.

Jay lashed out, spooking the nurse and sending thick chocolate liquid puddling across the tile floor.  Before Daniel could blink, Beth was by Jay’s side, rubbing their back as they buried their face in her neck.

“Don’t drink it!  Don’t drink it, Beth!” Jay half yelled, half sobbed.

“I won’t.  I promise, Jay.”

“It...It’s poisoned.  You never know how it’s gonna hurt you, but it always does.  I know, I know I need it.  I have to stay alive, have to keep them away from you, but I’m tired, Beth.  I’m so weak and tired, I don’t know what to do…”

With gentle hands, Beth gripped both sides of Jay’s face.  She moved them upward until she could look Jay in the eyes.

“Jay, when you were at Princeton and your dad died and you drove miles and miles home in your roommate’s car just so you could be there for your mom as soon as possible, were you weak for wanting to sleep when you got back?”

“N...No.”

“It’s okay to be tired, Jay.  It’s like, I don’t know, warriors on watch.  You’ve done your job protecting us.  Now it’s your turn to rest so we can take care of you.”

Daniel Wei left the hospital without a word.  He had work to do.

***

Weeks later, the agent returned to find Jay sitting at a table on the other side of the room.  Their hands were still in splints.  They still had dark circles under their eyes.  They stared at the table like its solid plastic was grounding them.

Daniel bit back a sigh as the kid didn’t even look up as he entered the room.

Then there was a kerfuffle behind him.

“Aha!” Beth said, bursting through the door.  “I finally found a nurse who doesn’t do the Chronicle Sunday crossword at ass o’clock in the morning!  Jay-bird we are good to go.”

Jay’s eyes lit up as Beth smacked the paper down in front of him and grabbed another chair.  For the first time, Daniel realized they were blue.

“Bet you stole it,” they said quietly.

Beth hand flew out of her purse where she was rooting for a pencil and struck above her heart.

“I am deadly offended that you would even think that I would stoop to such things, especially on the day of our Lord!  I asked, thank you very much!  Besides, if you’re so against stealing, maybe I shouldn’t give you your other treat…”

“You’d withhold a treat from a poor invalid?” Jay deadpanned.  “Oh my poor arm.”

Beth chucked.  Jay smiled.

“I know you’re having trouble with straws, Jay-bird, but I thought, maybe…”

Beth pulled a purple aluminum can out of her purse.

Jay leaned forward eagerly, but then made himself pause.

“Am I allowed to…?”

“Hell, I don’t see why not!  They’re trying to get calories into you anyway that they can.  Junk food is only gonna help with that!”

Beth popped the tab on the Grape Crush and stuck a straw in it, moving it toward Jay as she nudged his foot companionably.

Tentatively, Jay took a sip.  Then a swig.  Then a gulp that took up half the bottle.

“Whoa, slow down there Jay-bird.  They will kick me out of here if you die from a sugar high.”

“It tastes like capitalism,” Jay sighed.

“And?”

“And not like hospital food!”

“Good!  Then this will be the first of our illegal smuggling adventures, deal?”

“Deal.”

There was a pause as Jay savored his soda.

Daniel cleared his throat.

“I’m sorry to interrupt, Jay,” he said.  “I’m Special Agent Daniel Wei from Morgan Security.  Would you mind if I borrowed Ms. Martinez for a few minutes?”

Jay looked at Beth who nodded wearily and got up to follow Daniel out the door.

***

As soon as Daniel and Beth got settled in an empty conference room, her whole demeanor changed.  Her smile slid into a tight thin line and she squared her shoulders even as they fell a few inches.

“So, Agent,” she said.  “When are we going to be able to get him out of here?”

“Jay’s casts home off in two weeks.  If he passes all his physical examinations, I don’t see any reason for him to stay longer than that.”

“Good.  And where we’re going?  I assume you’ve got all of that sorted.  There are a few things I’d like to bring with me, but everything else can go.”

Beth clenched her jaw as she said the words.

Daniel closed his eyes.

Here was a woman trying to hold the world together for a kid who’d completely lost his life.  In the process she was losing hers too.  If he made her, she would have to go back into that hospital room and tell Jay that everything was working out perfectly even if she didn’t know where they were going to be tomorrow or what Morgan Security would require of them.  And she’d do it.  He could see that weary determination in her deep brown eyes and he knew exactly how hard she’d come down on all of them if they pushed Jay too hard.

“We’ll continue to pay for your old apartments as long as we need to,” Daniel promised.  “You’ll be able to get your stuff whenever you need to, whether that means going back yourself or letting us hire folks to get it for you.  We won’t make you leave things behind.  Not when they’re as important as Grape Crush.”

Beth didn’t smile, but her shoulders relaxed a little.

“As for where you’re going…”

Daniel passed a manila folder across the table to Beth.

“The firm picked out a safe house with the latest security.  It’s off the grid with the best locks and monitors and motion detectors money can buy.  And, for lack of a better word, it’s a bunker.  I saw the place where they were keeping him Ms. Martinez.  I thought Jay might prefer something more homey.”

Holding his breath, he took out another file.

“This holding just came on the market.  It’s not far outside the city.  You’d have to drive longer for doctor’s visits, but you’d have access to a public pool and a park a few blocks away.  I made sure that it was only one story so you wouldn’t have any problems with dizziness and falling from Jay’s pain medications.”

“And it has windows,” Beth said softly.

“And it has windows,” Daniel said.  “It looks like a home.”

He cleared his throat.

“There is one more thing about this property that you should know about that’s not in the papers.”

Beth looked up.

“I understand Jay has been seeing a Morgan Security psychiatrist.”

Beth almost sprung out of her chair.

“Look, I get it!  You want to know what happened to him.  You want him to tell you the story of every mark to make sure he didn’t tattle when they beat him half to death.  Just don’t bring me into it.  I’m not spying for you.  I’m trying to make him better while you’re focused on your own damn pride!”

“I agree.”

“What?”

“Jay needs someone who understands what he’s going through and is focused on his recovery, not his worth to any company,” Daniel said calmly.  “Next door to this address is Dr. Stephens.  He’s an old army buddy who specialized in special service members and PTSD.  This would not be his first time working with the aftereffects of torture.  Jay might still have to meet with the Morgan Security doc for appearances sake, but Dr. Stephens has promised to see him off the books.  Doctor/patient confidentiality would apply.”

That made Beth deflate completely.

“Do you really think this Dr. Stephens could help?  Jay talks more in his sleep than he does in person.  I still don’t know what’s going to set him off and I just…I just want him to feel safe.”

Daniel placed his hand on her, cold on the tan plastic table.

“So do I.”

***

Daniel returned Beth to Jay’s hospital room with the hope of a smile on his face.  Before the could close the door, the pair started bickering about the answer to the crossword’s 27 Across.  Beth held her pencil like a dagger while Jay batted at it with ineffective, casted hands.  Through it all, their feet remained pressed together with comfortable pressure, reminding each other that they were there and they weren’t going away.

Like that night long ago when he rescued Jay, Daniel pulled out his cell phone and dialed Morgan Security.  His boss picked up.

“No sir, there’s no problem,” Daniel said.  “I just need to get a copy of the Chronicle delivered outside the city to Westover drive.  Yes, this is a matter of great importance.”

Filling the “Empty Shell” square with Original Characters for @badthingshappenbingo​!  I think I’m setting a record for filling the most squares without actually making any of them line up lol.

Tagging the Broken Pieces Crew: (If you want to be added or taken off this list, just let me know!):  @stoic-whumpee​​​​, @whatwasmyprevioususername​​​​, @whumpty-dumpty-fell-off-the-wall​​​​, @straight-to-the-pain​​​​, @castielamigos-whump-side-blog​​​​, @0idril0​​​​, @fallingstormphoenix​​​​, @whump-fantasies​​​​, @imagination1reality0​​​​, @whumpback-wail​​​, @whump-tr0pes​​​, @untilthepainstarts​​​, @captivity-whump​​, @burtlederp​​, @redwingedwhump​​, @whumpiary​​, @captivity-whump​​, @blue-flare10​

All credit to @stoic-whumpee​ for the idea of making Daniel a main character.

[clansayeed]

Bound by Circumstance ― Chapter 17: The Show Must Go On

PAIRING: Nik Ryder x trans*M!MC (Taylor Hunter) RATING: Mature

⥼ MASTERLIST ⥽

⥼ Bound by Circumstance ⥽

Taylor Hunter (MC) has made it good for himself in New Orleans; turns out moving to a new city fresh out of college to reinvent yourself isn’t as hard as people make it out to be. Things only start to get confusing when he finds himself the target of a malevolent wraith. Good thing someone’s looking out for him though — because without Nighthunter Nik Ryder as his bodyguard he definitely won’t survive long in the twisting darkness of the supernatural underworld he’s tripped into.

Bound by Circumstance and the rest of the Oblivion Bound series is an ongoing dramatic retelling project of the book Nightbound and the rest of the Bloodbound series. Find out more [HERE].

Note: Circumstance only loosely follows the events and plotline of Nightbound, and features a separate antagonist, different character motivations, and further worldbuilding.

*Let me know if you would like to be added to the Circumstance/series tag list!

⥼ Chapter Summary ⥽

Because tomorrow is no longer guaranteed the gang decides to spend a night at the theatre. In which Cal despises Shakespeare, Garrus and Krom go on an unofficial first date, and Taylor confronts his father.

[READ IT ON AO3]

He’s honestly surprised the director even bothers reaching out to him.

“Given everything your cousin has told me about the problems you have going on right now, I’m sure this isn’t really a surprise. I’ve taken the liberty of filing a personal leave of absence for you.” And Taylor just knows that was the happiest day of Antoni’s life…

“Even though you can’t be in the show, though, you’re still welcome to come Sunday. Hoping that, obviously, things have cleared up on your end by then. Just text me your head count before noon day-of, okay?”

It’s the first real and true good thing to happen without immediate consequence so far. And of course he tries to blow it off, tries to tell everyone he has absolutely no plans to put anyone else at risk just for the selfish sake of seeing a play he’s worked on for months and doesn’t even get to be in.

Not that anyone lets him finish before they straight-up tell him he’s wrong, he’s going, and if all hell breaks loose then they’ll deal with it when it happens.

“But the wards —”

“The wards have proven themselves useless,” Garrus interrupts with no small level of frustration; accepting the vulnerability of his sanctuary hasn’t been easy on the man, “we’re just as exposed here as you would be there. And I refuse to cower in fear. If they were going to attack they would have by now — don’t stop living your life because of what might happen.”

Surprisingly, too, Katherine makes a good point; “We might actually be safer surrounded by all those mundanes. A high fatality rate isn’t what the Elders are after, that much is certain.”

It’s about the only thing any of them are certain of.

So there’s really no way around it.

Sunday morning he tries to take a head count. Doesn’t argue when Vera, despite the dark circles of exhaustion under her eyes, insists that of course she wants to come. She doesn’t say it but its obvious she could use time away from the hospital and her mother’s bedside.

Nik’s phone vibrates on the table and Taylor glances just because he’s nearby. On really good timing the man chooses then to wander out from the bedroom — rubbing his hair vigorously with his towel.

“Kathy said she and Cade are down if we don’t mind.” One look and Taylor regrets it so bad. He’s not certain, but there’s absolutely no way all of his shirts have miraculously shrunk, right?

He totally has to buy them just shy of too tight.

Not that Taylor’s complaining. Nope. No complaining here.

Ryder gives a noncommittal grunt and shrug as he passes. “Your shindig, your choice.”

“I mean they’re our friends, so…”

There’s a pause; a lag in the matrix if you will, between when Nik stops in front of the fridge and actually opens it. Keeps his back turned as he replies, “Then the more the merrier.”

He doesn’t need to be part fae to know what that’s about — but it doesn’t hurt.

The concept of friends is plural and consistent. And just as weird for him as it is for the loner Nik is accustomed to being.

Yesterday was hard and heavy.

Today is no better from a cosmic point of view.

But its softer around the edges; the difference between being stabbed with a wicked sharp dagger and being punched in the face.

Nik all but flops down on the couch beside him; pushes the open guide on reading and interpreting tarot that Taylor’s been pouring over away with a socked foot.

“I was reading that.”

“Oops.” The only unapologetic apology he’s getting, too, so he takes it.

Its been nearly twenty-four hours since his emotional breakdown and in that time he’s learned more about Ryder — and vice versa — than would have been shared on five, six dates tops. Things that wouldn’t come up without specific and out-of-left-field context, too.

Like the fact that Nik is a cheap-ass (this he knew) who has a serious case of the moonlight munchies — two things that mix about as well as oil and water. So it makes sense now why half of the fridge’s sparse contents are signature drink and cocktail add-ons.

Does it justify the fact that a fully grown man is sitting very close to him popping green olives like pieces of candy? Not in the fucking slightest.

But he knows what’s going to happen the second Nik sees his disgust — tries his best to turn away before he’s caught. Only he’s not quick enough and its too late.

“Want one?” Nik asks even though he knows the answer.

He doesn’t have time to deflect because the man picks one up and tosses it — doubles over in laughter when it bounces off Taylor’s cheek, falls to the floor, and rolls under the nearest chair to die alone.

“What are you,” he fake-gags and wipes his cheek angrily, “twelve years old?”

His glare very nearly breaks under the sheer audacity of Ryder’s pouting face. Only nearly because there’s no fucking way he’s kissing that offensive mouth no matter how closely the man leans in. “Aw c’mon Rook — jus’ one kiss!”

“Get away from me! Ew!”

“You know you like me~”

“Wrong! Incorrect! You disgust me!”

And of course they’re joking but he’s maybe a little too loud in his protests. Earns himself a haughty snort and a glare directed at his feet of all things.

“You walk around barefoot and I’m the disgusting one.”

“That’s what I said.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Uh, I do — so I win.”

Despite the fact that they had spent the previous hours getting to know not only (truly repulsive) snacking habits but also (much less repulsive, like the opposite of repulsive actually) one another’s mouths, Nik follows the same pattern each time. Roams his eyes over every inch of Taylor’s face like he’s gung-ho on taking the test in his sleep — drags a fingernail feather-light over the scruff on his jawline.

Their first time hadn’t been enough to ward him away and for that Taylor’s pretty fucking grateful. But it left a mark on him. No doubt its the reason why he always takes five whole agonizing seconds between the start and the follow-through.

Like he’s giving Taylor time to pull back; to reject him without consequence.

Maybe one day they’ll laugh about it. A silly habit no longer necessary. Because there’s always a breath hidden in the meeting of mouths that tastes of bitter relief.

Nik is relieved — not once, or twice, but every single time.

Which is more than a little tragic when he gives it a deep thought. He tries not to — really, he does.

Its easy not to think about anything at all when they’re kissing.

So that’s something.

Taylor knows that glamours serve a specific purpose; to disguise the average not-human supernatural person among the average yes-human person.

He’s even come to terms with how easily they fade into the background now. How he can scan a crowd and catch a glimpse of hooves in place of boots or a tail whipping its way behind someone trying to pass by. He considers his largest achievement to be not jumping ten feet in the air at the difficult-to-describe sight of ghosts possessing glamoured bodies.

But he can know and process all of these things and still be almost alarmingly paranoid about the trio of Krom, Garrus, and Ivy waiting in line behind them, right?

Nik grabs his head before he can look back for the umpteenth time; turns it back forward with a grunt. “The only one looking weird here is you, Rook. Everyone else sees regular folk.”

And he knows that, he does. But… “Do you ever stop worrying about it, like, slipping or something?”

“Not my problem if it does.”

“Well yeah, but…” The line shuffles forward and he trails off. Probably better not to give those particular anxieties a life of their own by voicing them aloud.

He doesn’t have to anyway, apparently. Since Taylor finds himself pulled against Nik’s side, feels warm breath tickle in his ear.

“Don’t worry. You still look completely human.”

“For now.”

The performer playing Puck stands in half-costume at the front of the line with a clipboard in hand. He has a whole two-point-five seconds to remember her name — Dana? Debbie? D-something. D-something… fuck  there are too many D-something names! — before its their turn to enter the theatre.

Daphne! It comes to him like a holy revelation as she starts to go through the motions — only to notice the name and double-take in surprise.

“Hey Hunter, how’s it going?” Her small-talk is strained but polite. They’ve run lines together and he can vaguely recall being educated on her literal herd of mini dachshunds once, but whatever his ‘cousins’ gave by way of excuse for him pulling out of the show is enough to make her sheepish.

He makes a mental note to corner Garrus for the full story after the show. Especially since ‘cousin’ is a more-or-less accurate term these days.

“Uh, you know,” a one-shouldered shrug, “hanging in there. You excited?”

To her credit as an actress she checks off each body accompanying him, all eight of them, without batting an eye.

“Totally. I’m just glad the actual opening night ain’t until Mardi Gras is over, you know?”

“Director didn’t let you work the beads into your improv then I take it?”

They share a laugh. She waves them inside.

Only when they’re around a corner does Taylor let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

Vera gives him a nudge. “You okay?”

“Yeah — was it just me or was that…”

Cal pokes his head in between them. “Awkward as hell? No—it wasn’t just you.”

“Cool. Thanks.”

In less than a week he’s forgotten how to, well, be human. Socialize with humans, talk casually with humans. Its unnerving — not only that but it serves to remind him by the way the Coven and their pet skeleton assassin are still out there.

None of this is even close to being over and he’s already forgotten small talk?

What else might be lost along the way?

“You look like you’re thinkin’ too much about something.”

Taylor’s smile is strained and not enough to ease Nik’s doubts. What did he expect though; that one soulful look from those fathomless eyes, or a touch that sends shivers down his spine, or one of those disarmingly sincere smiles is all it would take to make him forget his worries completely?

If only it were that simple. Not that he’s turning any of those things down — no no, he’s free to keep trying as many times as he’d like.

Its a half-full house on purpose; one full run in front of a crowd before a week of changes to make the final thing as smooth as possible.

And it was supposed to be Taylor’s time to shine; a performance of understudies. He’s told himself there will be other opportunities, that this is for the best given what’s going on. He wanted to come to support his fellow actors — to celebrate in all the work they’ve done over the last few months.

He didn’t think it would be that hard to watch. Then the space goes dark and silence falls in a warm velveteen hush.

The trio of Theseus, Hippolyta, and Philostrate take the stage — a different blocking than what they used at his last rehearsal.

The heels of his palms are pressed hard to stop his tears before Theseus even opens his mouth.

To his left Vera lets out a soft noise; both sad and comforting as her tentative hand on his shoulder turns into slow circular motions on his back. And he knows the heat-leeching palm behind him is Cal. Cal didn’t even want to come — had made it very clear there was once a school play, a bad batch of cafeteria vegetables, and a lifelong aversion to Shakespeare whose details would never again see the light of day. But there he is giving comfort where he can. He’s probably glad for something else to focus on than the stage but he knows Cal by now — knows he does nothing without meaning to do it.

Just when Taylor’s sure he’s going to have to make a mad dash for the doors, however, a familiar hand slides into his. Nik’s focus is still intent on the scene unfolding but he squeezes his fingers and doesn’t seem to care about the tears between their palms.

He’s supposed to be up on that stage. He’s supposed to be sweating under the heat of the lights and praying to the thespian gods that the tape on his mic holds fast. He’s supposed to be giving the performance of his life to an audience of friends and loved ones knowing Kristin was back in New York, that his mother couldn’t make it, and that there was no one watching that was there just for him.

Instead he’s here in the crowd. Instead he’s surrounded by friendship’s concern and holding the hand of the guy who seems to be making it a habit of standing in between him and certain death.

Instead he’s exactly where he’s supposed to be.

When the lights slide back on for intermission Cadence whirls around in his seat, arm thrown over the back, to practically barrage Krom with questions about artistic representation, choices made and things changed.

It feels a little bit like being back in a college classroom. Not the first time Cade has that effect on people.

“I — I really only helped with small stuff,” the stone troll stammers his protests, “heavy lifting or working on things normal people couldn’t reach.”

“But you’re a writer are you not?”

“An amateur at best…”

But the vampire isn’t having it. “Nonsense, I’ve caught snippets of your work. I only mean —”

“Ugh, just humor the man will you?” Katherine groans, rolls her head back on her own seat with a lighthearted glare between the two.

Nik pulls Taylor’s attention away from their talk with an arm around his shoulder. “How’s it so far? On the other side of the stage.”

“They changed a few things —” — more than a few, and more to do with Oberon than any other character so three guesses who made that call — “— but I honestly just keep counting their steps for the blocking.”

“Nerd,” scoffs the man, and Taylor isn’t exactly going to deny it.

Actually, since they have a second…

Last he knew, being borderline psychic was his thing, not Ryder’s. But Nik’s moved his legs before Taylor even stands and makes him backtrack real quick on that.

“I figured you’d wanna go say hey to them, or whatever,” and though that’s the spoken explanation Taylor can’t stop himself from feeling the real intention behind it.

He just cares.

He ducks his head to hide a flushed smile; murmurs “thanks” and lets his lips linger at the corner of Nik’s mouth as he shimmies into the aisle.

Only when he’s at the door does it occur to him that this thing between them is a recent one, and they’ve not mentioned things like public affection. But judging by the look he throws over his shoulder — catches Ivy hitting the man on the arm repeatedly and the bewildered grin on her undead face?

Its just another thing to tease him over.

Its standard stuff; the small lines by the bathrooms, crew members in their all-black ensembles bustling this and that around. All things he’s familiar with — that he doesn’t bat an eye at.

Then he spares a glance — less than that, actually, calling it a glance is somehow generous — down one of the hallways leading to further seating. The lights are off, the doors no doubt locked. Makes sense for an audience this size.

He doesn’t know why he does. Only knows both suddenly and all at once who he’ll see in the shadows beyond.

Taylor wants so badly to just ignore it. To reach out and knock on the doors to the maze of back rooms and do exactly what he planned on; congratulating his fellow performers.

But he doesn’t.

By now Taylor’s helped Garrus enough in the bottomless pit he calls a storage room to know that fae folk don’t ‘glow.’ They just always look like they do.

Elric, too, looks like he snatched a few moonbeams for himself on his way inside.

The shadows don’t retreat from him but they are withered by his presence; by the aura of him. Had he looked like that in Lamrian, as natural as light itself? Or was he witnessing yet another new facet to his senses brought on by interference of the man who really shouldn’t be here.

When Taylor opens his mouth to speak nothing comes out; a dozen questions all fighting to leap from the tip of his tongue and giving him pause.

Finally he settles on something more akin to an accusation.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

He doesn’t mean to wound the fae Lord — but also won’t deny that the recoil of remorse he gets in response isn’t a teeny bit satisfying.

“No, I should not.”

“Glad we agree.” Of course he wants to ask why are you here but he shouldn’t have to.

Surprisingly, he doesn’t. “I caught whispers of this event within your mind. Lines from a script, a dedication — a pride. I wished to see what it truly was. Living Memories are shaped by the person to whom the memories belong.”

And here he had thought he’d be spared of a headache tonight, of all nights.

“I — what I — there’s so much to unpack there,” and nothing amused in his dry laugh either, “so we’ll start with the fact that I didn’t do a—a Living Memory-thing. I don’t even know how.”

“To accept Memories is to offer up your own.”

“Gee, that would have been nice to know.”

“Do not blame yourself —”

“Oh, I’m not. No worries there.”

“I should have explained it to you. Not then; not in such dire times.”

“Then when?”

“Long before now.” Elric’s eyes are like diamonds; diamonds twisted into sharp, construction-grade drills trying to puncture holes straight through him. The intensity is unnerving if he’s being honest.

About as unnerving as getting what he’s pretty sure is a ‘More Proactive Parent’ apology from this guy he literally just met the other night. Not even a guy — a fae.

Elric reaches out as if to touch his hand. The movement is enough — breaks Taylor from his little trance  so he can pull back. Pale fingers instead close around air and grieve their mistake.

“I did not like the way things were left in Lamrian, Taylor.”

Taylor — like he has any right to say the name he chose all on his own.

“That’s your problem. But yeah, I can see how refusing to help your own son to save yourself might leave a bad taste in your mouth.”

It’s a very nice burn, high five kind of moment right up until the shadows creep up onto the fae’s expression. “I have the safety of an entire community to put first. Forgive me for prioritizing my life’s work and the many lives under my care over the child who only seems to acknowledge our connection when it suits his insults.”

Damn… nice burn… high five…

“Are you, Taylor?”

He swallows the lump in his throat. “Am I what?”

“Are you acknowledging me as your…?” He leaves it hanging there, juicy bait in murky waters. And Taylor isn’t starving — not quite yet — but he’s definitely not full either.

He glances back to the theatre atrium.

The background noise is quieter down here but soon enough everyone will be heading back to their seats. No doubt the curtain won’t even be fully opened before Nik is bounding out the doors to find him.

“Look, Lord Elric…”

Who acts like the title brings him pain; “Please, call me —”

“— I’m not calling you Dad; or Pop, Father, or any variation thereof —”

“If you would listen as often as you speak. I would ask you to call me Elric.”

Even that feels like a boundary they shouldn’t cross. What good is to come of being friendly, getting to know one another — especially when he’s facing the very likely chance of being dead by Tuesday?

On the other hand, whispers a voice in the back of his head, what’s the harm in getting to know your actual father — especially facing the very likely chance of being dead by Tuesday?

First, how rude can you be? Second, nobody asked you, rude little voice.

But after several dragging moments of internal arguing the voice ends up winning. Still rude though.

“What do you want out of this, Elric? What did you hope to gain from coming here?”

He looks almost affronted. “I wished to… connect with you. You are… my child. A miracle I had not even believed let alone known of.”

My child. Two simple words that ring in his ears unpleasantly.

“My plate’s full enough. I don’t know if I have room for ‘connecting.’”

“Would it not be worth trying?”

Taylor throws his hands up in exasperation. “Maybe! Fuck — maybe… maybe if I wasn’t so scared of dying. Or if I thought I had the time. But whatever the Coven Elders are planning it’s —”

Elric’s eyes widen, but that isn’t what cuts him off. Every hair on his body stands up at the same time. Without a chill, without a touch. It’s a feeling; powerful and consuming and coming from the fae Lord.

“Oh right,” because Elric refused to help and they’d gone to the Elders and that was that, “you don’t know. Yeah, the Coven’s the one who summoned the wraith. It’s a whole thing — I don’t have the time to go into it and I kinda don’t even want to because tonight was supposed to be one last attempt at normal but joke’s on me I guess.”

“You will make the time.”

He’d consider going at him for trying to use what he probably thinks is a tone of fatherly authority on Taylor — if it wasn’t so strikingly familiar. Commanding the wisdom and strength of his years both gone and yet to come. It demands respect, to be heard and the weight of every word understood.

Its the Elric he’d met for the first time in the Beau-Keyes Garden, and its kind of a relief.

Would have been useful yesterday, though.

He sums the encounter up as best he can; keeps throwing looks back over his shoulder as a sort of passive-aggressive-meets-non-confrontational way of saying he’s being held up.

And yes, logically he should be happy Elric is changing his tune no matter the reason. But he’s petty and spiteful and hey, nobody’s perfect.

By the time Taylor finishes Elric is already deep in thought — strings of thought becoming ropes, knots; an intricate web displayed across his entire person with just a look.

Another one of those looks he’s seen in the mirror, actually.

But they’re just thoughts. Not actions. He doesn’t need to be a little psychic to know that.

“No doubt my breath would be a wasted one were I to ask you to return to Lamrian with me.”

Elric means well — but that doesn’t make it any better.

“What, like — leave my friends behind to die and abandon the entire community that doesn’t even know what’s coming for it?”

He doesn’t say anything; doesn’t have to. “And—And what would I do,” continues Taylor, “just hang out with you and your wife, maybe do something productive like learn the pan flute or whatever?”

“This is not a matter to make light of.”

“You’re damn right it isn’t!” Fuck it, he’s shouting and doesn’t care who hears now. “I can’t believe you. Cowering in safety alone is one thing but to try and drag me down with you? That’s messed up; you’re messed up.”

“You do not know of what you speak — of the centuries our kind spend trying to conceive.”

“I’m not one of you.”

“You are, denying it hurts only yourself. By all accounts you are a miracle, Taylor. But children among the fair folk are few and far between. So for you to stand there — to twist my words as though they mean nothing…”

It’s a little hard to keep his composure when Elric’s voice cracks. It doesn’t make any of it okay — not by a long shot — but there’s a wrongness to that tone normally even and cultured sounding choked with emotion.

He even tries to swallow it down. It doesn’t work. “I have seen the cost of bravery. And to see you so passionate — so determined to fight this battle that I am certain was never meant to be yours. It ensnares me in a way you cannot yet understand. Pride overtakes me, yet I am made immobile.

“I have seen enough in my life to know when fighting is parallel to dying. No matter how brief the battle or noble the purpose there are some forces that cannot be overcome.”

He takes Taylor’s hand. Clammy and cold and he tries to hide it but Taylor knows the effects of a panic attack from personal experience that no matter how refined the otherworldly creature is you can’t always hide the tremors in your fingertips.

Like before he feels a tug in his gut. Something hooking into his center of gravity and puling him, or his essence, closer.

Hears the fae clear in his mind; terrified, heartbroken, too much.

I could not bear the sight of you among the casualties. Do not ask it of me. I beg of you.

Over-thinking about the heartbreak in every word, about the things he can’t possibly understand that allow Elric to feel so much and so hard for a person he doesn’t know — it’s not a luxury Taylor can afford right now. And not just because the emotional depth it requires might very well bring him to tears again.

So he squeezes that pale grip tight, the only solidarity he allows himself to muster, then lets go.

“I can’t.”

“Taylor —”

“No, really Elric, I can’t.” He steps back; creates distance between them both physically and on a deeper level. “I wasn’t supposed to be a part of this — I wasn’t. I’m only being targeted because of you; because I’m your son. You know what the Elders called me? They called me an ‘unseen complication.’ And up until right now it’s really bugged me. By all accounts I’ve not made anything complicated except for the lives of my friends.

“But maybe I’m not done yet, you know? Maybe there’s more for me to do. Probably not, let’s be real, but I have to try. Nik— Nik is trying, and he’s never done that before. Kathy and Cade don’t have any stake in this but they keep trying because they’re good people. Cal wants to make this city safer for his brother and Vera… she could have run back to New York at any time but she hasn’t.

“I’m not gonna stand here and say I fully understand what’s going on. But that doesn’t mean I should cut and run. I think its because I don’t know jack-shit that I can do the most good. Or, you know, at least try to.”

He falters at the end; never one to finish strongly in situations like these. Would he like for Elric to stay, to try like the rest and do some good — of course.

But any part of him left hesitant about his involvement is gone now. So he can thank the fae for that at the very least.

Wow, is this what emotional growth feels like? That warm feeling in his chest spreading out to the tips of his fingers and toes, the pride in his actions, the sense of accomplishment however small?

Kristin is going to be so proud of him when she wakes up.

He doesn’t realize he’s waiting for Elric to respond until he inhales deeply. Looks Taylor over with those same eyes somehow changed. Like he’s really seeing him for the first time.

“You are brave — braver than most.”

“No I’m really not. But I’m scared enough to want to do something about it.”

“Very well. Whatever you wish to call it… the quality is an admirable one.”

“You should try it out sometime.”

“Perhaps you can show me how, one day.” But not this day.

That’s it then. The arguing, the impassioned speeches, all of it and Elric still plans on hiding.

Fine. He’s done trying to make the man see reason.

“I’m gonna get back to the show — my company’s worked hard for this and even though I’m not up there, I deserve the chance to see it through.”

Just as resigned as he had been in Lamrian, Elric closes himself off when he tucks his clasped hands in his sleeves. Beautiful embroidery becoming his wall against the world.

Against the terrible things about to happen.

“You will find no time has passed,” he says to Taylor’s surprise, “I had hoped you would return with me. The chance to say farewell to your companions was the least I could offer.”

Implications aside… “Thanks, I guess. I’ll see you around, Elric.”

“Nothing would bring me greater joy.”

He’s halfway down the hall when a definite something comes over him. Is there such a thing as too much emotional growth? It tastes a little bit like he’s downed a shot of vinegar.

It makes him turn back; it knows the other man is still there — watching.

“You risked your life coming here — in person.”

Elric nods. “Yes.”

“All the things you’re staying out of the fight for; your people, Thalissa — if the bloodwraith showed up…”

“I knew the risk.”

“But it’s temporary, so that makes it okay.”

“What it does it make it a risk worth taking.”

“There it is then…” and Taylor almost can’t believe he’s saying this, but — “Come on, there’s a few empty seats in front of us. You can take one of those.”

Maybe he’s spent enough time in the fae’s presence now to understand and see every emotion he expresses. Small flickers and ticks in facial features — and that’s being generous.

Confusion. Contemplation. Understanding. Surprise.

And more than a little heartbreak.

“The longer I stay here the greater the chance of discovery by the creature.”

“Yeah, well you’ve been here a pretty long time already. What’s an extra hour or two?”

“The difference between life and death.”

“A fair point. Counter— you wanted to spend time together, Pop.” He pops his lips on the word. And funnily enough that seems to be what does the job.

There was no reason to doubt Elric’s truthfulness but he’s still relieved when they walk back into the theatre and the curtains are still drawn.

It would be helpful if someone turned around to see them; if they warned the others. But unfortunately (for Garrus) it’s a complete surprise when they greet his return… with company.

“Look who I found at the concession stand.” Taylor throws his arm around Elric’s shoulder and squeezes for the humor of it. Shit he probably should have asked if the man had a glamour.

Well, no one’s staring or screaming yet, so probably a good sign.

The general aura of confusion is broken by Garrus who, impossibly enough, looks more pale than usual. Beside him Krom is halfway reaching out; as if to shield his unspoken crush from Elric’s unseen wrath.

“Hey there, Rook,” Nik’s look of ‘what the literal?’ doesn’t stray from the fae’s ethereal glow, “thought you were goin’ backstage.”

Because this was his fault? “Oh, I was. But then I got to thinking — it’s a friends and family viewing so, you know, why not call my estranged father Elrond?”

“Elric.”

Sigh. “I know. It’s a joke.”

Elric nods. “Ah, I see.” No he doesn’t, but that’s not the point. Actually that he doesn’t is what makes it a little bit funnier.

But Taylor realizes quickly that he’s made a mistake in just assuming this would be okay. Garrus has never been quiet for this long and it makes everyone a little on edge. What happens when the man who always has something to say falls silent?

“You look well, Gallus.”

Garrus flinches violently at the name; at Elric’s attempt to cut through the tension. “That isn’t my name and you know it.”

“It was once.”

“Not anymore.” Garrus looks to Krom in surprise. Its the most intimidating the gentle giant has ever sounded. Though rage literally flickers as flames in Ivy’s cursed eyes she manages to look at him with pride.

It seems Taylor isn’t the only one who’s grown as a person tonight, though. As the discomfort rises to an almost stifling level the Lord bows his head, speaks somber and its enough to make everyone take a breath.

“I wish not to intrude on your time, Garrus,” Garrus who reaches absently for something to ground him and finds it in Krom’s hand clasping his, “only to take what precious moments my child allows me to possess.”

Way to push the blame on Taylor.

Taylor who struggles for something to say; an apology, a get out of here, anything. “I didn’t — I mean I — Garrus if —”

He raises a hand and Taylor’s glad for the opportunity to bite his tongue. Finds relief in the fact that Garrus still manages a smile his way.

“You couldn’t know. And it doesn’t bother me, honestly —” — especially not when he has Krom’s hand to squeeze where the seats separate their thighs — “— as long as my old landlord respects his boundaries, and doesn’t have an ulterior motive.”

“I do not.”

“Pinky swear?”

Elric doesn’t understand and it shows; some kind of power move Garrus relishes in by grinning at the laughter that ripples through them and breaks the tension.

The room grows dark as the company prepares to resume. Taylor awkwardly (and if he’s honest, uncomfortably) ushers Elric into the seat parallel to his a row forward. Close enough to count as ‘spending time together’ while also glad to be a buffer between his fae father and Garrus.

Velvet curtains pull apart with a flourish. Just before the cast begins Taylor manages to lean back and give a real apology to his friend.

“I’m so sorry, I should’ve asked first.” He whispers.

Garrus places a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Really, darling, no big deal here.”

“Promise?”

“Pinky.”

He can’t remember the last time he made any promises so important as pinky promises. But he and Garrus link little fingers and exchange small smiles just in time for Titania to begin her lines.

With a deep breath of courage and only after finding Nik’s hand in the dark he leans again, forward this time, and directs Elric’s attention to the performance.

“Okay, so quick recap. There are four lovers, right, Helena who loves Demetrius, who loves Hermia, who loves Lysander, but the thing is…”

[weretheones]

Just Go- Daryl Dixon

Plot/Request: Your first solo run with Daryl was supposed to be quick and easy, but it ends up being quite the opposite. When Daryl ignores his only exit to run back and save you, you can’t help but wonder why. (Set in early S3, before the Governor) 

Word Count:
 3,142

Warnings: swearing, rusty writing skills lol

Note: i haven’t written something like this is over a year... sorry if its not great. luv u all <3 part 2 will be up probably sunday (unless i get impatient and release it tomorrow...) and more fics are coming soon! ;)

—————————————————————————————

You awoke to the sunrise, the rays falling against your pillow. Your eyes burned as they fluttered open, craving more sleep. With a grunt you rubbed them softly, propping yourself up on your right elbow and cowering from the bright light.

When the memories of the night before popped up, you felt your stomach knot. Rick had asked you to go for a quick run with Daryl, just to an abandoned strip of stores nearby. It was simple enough, in and out, grab whatever supplies you could find on the trip. It wasn’t the run itself that made you nervous, it was Daryl.

The two of you weren’t exactly friends, but you made a great team. You constantly bickered, teased another, yet a walker didn’t stand a chance against you two. Perhaps that's why Rick chose you to go with Daryl, or maybe he was punishing you for embarrassing him the other night in a game of cards. Whatever the reason, you were stuck with it. With him.

You groaned again, sitting up fully and stretching your arms above your head, loving the feeling of the bones in your back crack. You were thankful for the comfort of the prison, having your own cell, your own bed. You really were, but hell did you miss having a nice bed. Maybe you should check for a mattress shop, you thought, then chuckled at yourself.

Now standing up, you walked over to the small mirror over your sink. In the sink, which didn’t actually work, you had a small orange bucket filled with water. You splashed it up to your face, then pat your skin dry with the lower hem of your shirt. Looking back up to the mirror you took in your appearance. The grease in your hair was slowly caking your hair, but it was nothing a shower couldn’t fix. There was no use to do it now, you’d probably just come home from the run dirty again. Other than that, you looked, for the most part, normal. 

For the most part.

You grabbed the hairbrush from your shelf and brushed your hair back into a low, but tight, ponytail. You stepped back, grabbing your knife and gun from the chair beside your bed.

Before you left your cell you grabbed a thin sweater from the edge of your bed, throwing it on as you left. As you walked along the quiet hall of the prison, you hugged yourself, loving the warmth it created.

Walking into the common area you quickly grabbed a granola bar and an apple, slightly tossing the apple in the air. You began to step away but looked back at the last minute. You had a thought to grab another for Daryl, just in case he hadn’t eaten yet. You knew the archer well, regardless of your rocky relationship with him, you knew he would skip meals often.

A sigh left your lips, grabbing a second granola bar and holding it in your other hand as you ate the apple. You walked out the prison, assuming Daryl was probably outside already.

You opened the door with a loud creak, noticing Daryl’s head turn back to you as you did so. You started walking faster to him. He turned back, looking out on the horizon as the sun finished rising. You noticed a cigarette in his fingers, it was almost finished.

"Hey,” You nodded, he grunted with a nod back. You sat down beside him, finishing your apple as he finished his cigarette.

“You watch the sunrise?” You asked, looking at him. His blue eyes flickered to yours, the cigarette still in his mouth.

He nodded again, removing it from his mouth and softly mumbled, “Yeah.”

You took a bite of your apple, letting the two of you slip into silence.

But then Daryl groaned loudly, “Can ya eat that thing any louder?” 

You glared at him, swallowing the chewed apple in your mouth. Was he serious? It was a fucking apple, it crunches. But you knew saying so would only aggravate him.

You sighed, “Can we not do this today, I mean, we already have to spend the next few hours together. We might as well do it not fighting.”

He only scoffed, “Fine.”, then turned back to smoke.

After a few moments, you’d finished your apple (thankfully without hearing about it a second time from Daryl), throwing the core to the grassy area of the field. He took one last drag, finishing his smoke and flicking it to the ground before standing up from the bench to stomp it.

“Ya ready?” He asked. You noticed two backpacks on the bench, one for him, one for you. He grabbed one, throwing it over his shoulders and held out the other for you.

You grabbed it and nodded, “You know where we’re going?”

“Yeah, Rick gave me a map.”

Quickly peaking inside the bag he’d packed for you, you noticed a water bottle, almost full, and a small bag of peanuts. You threw your granola bar inside, grabbing the one from your pocket and extending it to him.

“Here.” You mumbled, barely making eye contact. He eyed the bar, shaking his head.

“’M good, thanks.”

You sighed, “Daryl,” Looking at him sternly now. “Cigarettes aren’t breakfast. You need to eat.”

“Said ‘m good.” He grunted, walking past you.

You knew how stubborn he was. Telling him to eat again would only make him refuse it more. Plus, as you’d said earlier, you didn’t want to fight with him today of all days. 

“Whatever you say, Dixon.”

“We’re takin’ my bike.” He nodded to it, propped up against the fence. “Quicker, easier.”

“Louder.” You countered, an eyebrow raised. He ignored your quip, instead standing his bike up and kicking up the stand. He was right, it was much faster. Plus it was better to leave the car for the group to use in case they had to.

He sat down on the bike, scooting forward to make some room for you. You sat behind him, wrapping your arms around his waist. He tensed at your touch, and you suddenly realized this was much closer than you’d thought. You could feel his muscles underneath his shirt. Your chest pressed tight to his back...

The rumble of the engine starting pulled you from your thoughts. He pushed off the ground, letting the bike move down the path where Glenn, who was on watch duty by the front gate opened it for you two. You nodded at him as you rode past.

The ride left you with time to think. You couldn’t really talk to Daryl over the sound of the engine, not as if he’d talk much anyways. Instead, you let your mind wander.

You’d been with the group since the farm. Being one of the Greene’s only surviving neighbours, you were lucky to be able to seek refuge there. Your own farm had been taken over by the dead. At first, you didn’t think much of Daryl. There was no doubt he was interesting, but nothing to obsess over. But as time passed, as you watched him get hurt over and over again searching for a little girl, you finally realized how special he was.

You’d never admit it, at least not to Daryl, but behind your witty snarks and remarks was deep care for the man. To put it simply, you had a crush. Though you weren’t sure if it was merely that anymore.

You sighed, resting your check against Daryl’s vest. Normally, you never would’ve done so, he never would’ve let you, but you were tired. You didn’t care. The seams of the angel wings on his vest tickled your skin, you didn’t care about that either.

You weren’t completely sure how long had passed, maybe an hour and a half, maybe longer. As you lifted your head, resting your chin on Daryl’s shoulder, you noticed a blur of buildings becoming clearer and clearer. It seemed like a small town, with this mall strip at the edge of it.

You thought perhaps you could scavenge the homes too, they might have food. But as the buildings became clearer, you noticed they had been destroyed. It seemed a fire had taken over the town, leaving only the mall strip standing.

Daryl slowed to a stop, letting you hop off the bike before he kicked the stand down, sliding off next. You adjusted your backpack, looking over the stores before back at him. There were only four, two convenience-type stores, a pharmacy, and a clothing store.

He walked ahead of you a few steps, then looked it over himself. After a moment he pointed to the furthest end, “We’ll start there, make our way back.”

“Gotcha,” You mumbled. You walked, straying a few feet behind him, to the furthest store. It read ‘Jimmy’s Convenience’ above it.

The first two stores were easy enough, in and out, kill any stray walkers and grab what you can. So far you’d picked up some toiletries, a pack of bandaids and some warm water bottles. You’d seen Daryl grab two packs of pasta and two cans of corn and a case of six energy bars. He’d emptied it out, throwing the single bars in his bag to save space.

Considering you still had two stores to go, you were feeling hopeful.

The next store was a clothing store. You felt excited at the thought of new underwear, socks and if you were really lucky, a new pair of jeans. The pair you had now was ripped, stained with blood and dirt and loose around your body.

Daryl walked in first, crossbow raised high as he searched the store for any walkers. You followed suit, your knife held high, ready to stab anything that came your way.

He looked back to you after noticing the store was empty and nodded. You nodded back, sliding your knife back into its spot on your hip. You relaxed slightly at Daryl’s look then began looking around for anything useful.

It was somewhat hard to see around, the windows had been covered with newspapers for the most part. It seemed that three-quarters of the way up they’d ran out. Lucky for you, it allowed some sunlight to sneak into the store, so you weren’t completely dependent on your flashlights.

The two of you took an aisle at a time, checking for anything warm or valuable. You knew some of the group’s sizes, but it didn’t matter that much. Whatever you found would be good enough.

As you looked through the second aisle, you found a plaid long sleeve that looked particularly warm. You glanced back to Daryl, who continued searching his area. It looked big enough, you thought and stuffed it in your bag. If not, you could just give it to Rick instead. As you reached the end of the aisle you saw it.

Daryl approached you, a plastic bag full of clothes. “Find anything?” He asked crossbow slung over his shoulder.

“Oh, yeah. I did.” You smiled largely, chuckling at the sight. In front of you was possibly the ugliest shirt you’d seen. You dashed to it, ripping it off the rank to hold in all its glory. It was a combination of, god, you couldn’t say how many patterns and all the colours of the rainbow.

He scoffed at you, shaking his head. He was hard to read, you couldn’t tell if he was completely fed up with you, or slightly amused. Probably a bit of both.

“Looks about your size, Dixon.” You winked, ripping it off the hanger and throwing it at him.

He shot back, “Stop fucking around.”

“I’m serious, I think you’d look hot.” You teased, eyeing him up and down for a split second before looking back around the store. You kicked the fallen shirt to the side as you walked past him. He gave you a lingering stare as you walked by. You tried to ignore the feeling it gave you, how your cheeks became pink, your body hot.

“Shut up.” He huffed loudly, now mostly annoyed by you.

You looked up at him, noticing his jaw clenching and deciding to ease up on him. “Ok, fine, sorry.” You mumbled half-assed. “Find anything yourself?”

“Yeah, socks, shirts.” Daryl raised the bag slightly with his answer.

“Alright, I’m gonna check the women’s section, then we’re done.” You said to him, turning back around, mumbling under your breath, “I hope they still have jeans.”

"Ain’t nothin’ wrong with yours.” He scoffed.

“They’re disgusting.”

You half expected him to comment about you acting like a ‘princess’, but he said nothing in return. He followed you as you made your way to the back of the store. As you walked, you noticed a door. You made a note of it in the back of your mind, reading the ‘EXIT’ sign above.

You gasped softly at the sight of a jean rack, picking up your pace. He watched you jog across the store, like a kid at a candy shop. For a split second, Daryl felt his heart flutter at your excitement. It was something he’d been feeling more often lately, but couldn’t explain why... He didn’t understand it. 

You yelped, “Yes!” as you noticed they had a pair in your size. You smiled largely, stuffing it in your bag as you searched the rest of the area. No more uncomfortable, ugly jeans, you thought.

After a few more moments, grabbing a pack of underwear and some sweaters for the others back home, you looked to Daryl. He was leaning against a shelf with his elbow resting on the cold metal, his right foot crossed over the left. In his hands he fiddled with something, you weren’t sure what. It didn’t matter.

“Done shoppin’?” He quipped.

“Yeah.” You nodded. He turned cooly, not giving you a second look and began walking to the front of the store when a loud slap against glass sounded. The pair of you stopped immediately, your knife and his crossbow raised. He looked back to you, giving you a sharp look to stay behind him. You nodded swiftly, following him. When you turned the corner to face the windows of the store your heart dropped.

Although the newspaper covered your view of them, you could make out the outlines from the sun behind them. Walkers were pressed against the glass, smacking against it with their boney hands. Daryl motioned you to turn and get out the back. You dashed through the store, him closely behind you.

When you reached the back door, you tried opening it slowly enough to check if it was clear but noticed there was something pushing against it. Something too heavy for you to push out of the way.

“Daryl,” You snapped, gaining his attention to you. He’d been watching the windows, hoping they’d hold out long enough for the two of you to make it out. “I can’t get it open. There's something in front of it.”

“Move.” He grunted, throwing his crossbow back over his shoulder and pushing with both hands. He groaned out loud, the sound of glass cracking making the both of your hearts speed up. He stepped back for a moment, unsuccessful.

He smashed his body against the door again, pushing with all his might. You watched the window with panicked eyes, glancing back and forth between it and Daryl. His feet scrambled underneath him as he continued to push.

Then the sickening sound of glass shattering, then overlapping groans filled the store. Your heart stopped, watching at the further window collapsed, allowing the walkers to flood into the building.

“Fuck it, Daryl, we have to find another way.” You grabbed his shoulder, pulling him away. Urgency was thick in your voice. The walkers weren’t far, but Daryl was determined.

“Come on.” He groaned under his breath, slamming his shoulder against it. A glimmer of hope filled both of you as it budged forward slightly. With the budge, you heard the sound of loud metal scraping against the ground. That was only sure to draw in more walkers.

Your eyes snapped back to the front of the store. The walkers, they were too close. You’d have to fight them.

You approached the first one, driving your knife into its skull quickly. Then the second. Then the third. But when you came across the fourth, another was quickly behind it. You stabbed the first one, kicking in the kneecap of the second. But your knife wouldn’t budge from its spot in the previous walker’s head. And then two more approached.

While you’d been fighting, Daryl opened the gap enough to just squeeze through. He looked back at you, then the door. More walkers flooded throughout the backfield, quickly blocking any and all exits.

You noticed too. But you were still stuck fighting off the walkers inside. He’d have to leave you to get away in time. There was no way there’d be enough time for you to get away too.

“Run!” You yelled, the lower walker grabbing at your legs. You looked back to it to kick it away, screaming back at Daryl again, “Just go! Leave!”

He stared at you for a moment, panic in his eyes. You looked away, continuing to fight the walkers in front of you. Finally, your knife came loose from the walker's skull, so you continued fighting. Then you heard the door slam close, you couldn’t tell if you felt heartbroken or happy. At least Daryl would survive, at least he’d get away.

Then one of the walkers to your right collapsed, an arrow lodged in its eye. You snapped your head back, eyes wide, seeing the archer stand there.

“Come on, (Y/N)!” He yelled, grabbing your arm and pulling you from the walkers. Daryl remembered a closet at the back of the store from where he was scavenging, he lead you there. It was far enough for the walkers to lose sight of you too, at least long enough for you to hide in time. The door swung open easily and he jumped in, pulling your body quickly inside too. He shut it softly, as not to alert them.

You breathed heavily, body pushed against his. The room was smaller than the average supply closet. There was barely enough room for you to move from Daryl, nonetheless fight walkers if they barged in.

They stumbled along, the groans and moans louder and louder until they lingered just outside the door. You felt panic begin to sweep over you until you noticed Daryl’s touch.

His hands hadn’t left your shoulders yet, his fingers pressed into your skin gently, almost soothingly, as he watched the door, silent as could be. You relaxed into his touch. Your heart rate slowed slightly, but then you wondered...

Why didn’t he save himself?

part two

[miraculoussideblog]

Rice To Meet You

Hello all! For Valentine’s Day the ChloNath Discord server hosted a Bee My Valentine exchange. My gift is for @therosecat8

Summery: When Chloe Bourgois’ long time crush and date to the Valentine's Day Ball cancels on her at the last minute, an unexpected encounter with the handsome artist named Nathaniel gives her an idea: shape him into the perfect high class date. As the two spend more time together preparing for the ball, Chloe finds herself drawn to Nathaniel. But old feelings are hard to shake and Chloe must decide: fall back into old habits or take the risk with someone new.

Read on AO3

“I’m sorry Chloe, something came up and I can’t go to the ball tonight.”

“What?” Chloe Bourgeois sat down on the edge of the fountain. Walking to the park to clear her head in the morning was supposed to be relaxing. Having her Valentine’s Day date bail on her the day of was the opposite of relaxing. She took a few deep breaths and tried not to sound disappointed. “Is everything okay?”

“No, everything’s fine.” Alexandre said. “My boss wants me to meet with some new clients and we’re all having dinner tonight. I can’t get out of it. You know how much I want to make partner before I’m thirty?”

“I know,” she muttered.  

While Alexandre Laurent was not her boyfriend, he was the son of one of her father’s politician friends. Their relationship would benefit their families tremendously. The only problem was, Chloe fell head over heels with him, while Alexandre had a playboy reputation and never gave her the time of day. She hated how she followed him around like a lost puppy, but every time she saw him she would get lost in his hazel eyes and forget how to speak.  

She thought she would be able to tell him how she felt at the Valentine’s Day ball. He already knew, but this time was different. They were two years out of university and ripe for marrying. Their parents were already pushing them together, it was only matter of time before he caved. He just needed a little persuasion.

“It’s fine,” she sighed. She’ll have to charm him some other time. “But you have to make it up to me. Dinner next weekend.”

Alexandre sucked in a breath. “Ah, dinner is not good for me. How about lunch?”

Damn. Dinner was romantic. Lunch was where you take your friends. Oh well. Chloe appreciated any alone time with Alexandre.

“Lunch is fine.”

“Great Lunch next Sunday. There is a new Bistro that opened downtown. I’ll text you the address. I got to go now. Bye.” He hung up before she could say goodbye.

Chloe sighed.

She had to get used to disappointments. Alexandre had goals and aspirations and right now she didn’t fit in quite yet, but soon. She had to be patient.

Chloe stood up.

“Watch out!” Someone shouted.

Before she could process what was happening, a football came hurtling at Chloe. She blocked the ball with her forearm, but the impact knocked her phone out of her hand.

“My new phone!” She screamed as the expensive device plopped into the fountain. She just bought the phone and the shiny gold case yesterday. It would take ages to extract information from a damaged phone. She needed to get it out now, but the phone was too far out for her to reach. There was no way she was stepping in the gross unfiltered water.

No date. No phone. No hope.

This was not her day.

“Need help?” Someone said from behind.

“Yes, please hurry.” Chloe turned around. A tall man stood behind her and began to take off his shoes. His long red hair was pulled into a low ponytail that fell over this shoulder. When he successfully removed his socks he looked up at her, and their gazes locked for a second. His eyes were a beautiful mix of blue and green, almost like the ocean. She wanted to stare at them longer, but the man walked passed her and stepped into the fountain.

He rolled up his sleeves and wadded his hands in the water until he pulled up her phone. He quickly got out of the fountain and handed Chloe her soaked phone. “It’s freezing in there. Why is the fountain on in February?” Chloe was too preoccupied with her phone to answer. It was still on, she rubbed it dry with her coat. “You need to turn it off and put in in a bag of rice for twenty-four hours.” The Man said.

Chloe looked up. “Oh okay,” she shut off her phone. She had to find a store. She had no idea where to even look for rice. She never stepped foot in a grocery store.

“You’re welcome.”

“Oh yes, thank you. You’re a lifesaver. Do you know where I can find rice?”

“Are you joking?”

“I don’t shop.” she gave him a puzzled look. “Do you know who I am?”

“No,” he shook his head.

“Chloe Bourgeois? Daughter of the Mayor and Heiress to Le Grand Paris Hotel? You must have heard of me.”

The man gasped. “Oh my, I had no idea I was in the presence of royalty.” He bowed. “I am but a lowly artist. Please forgive my transgressions, your majesty.”

“You’re an ass.”

The man chuckled. “Sometimes I can’t help it,” he shrugged. “But in all seriousness, you need to get your phone in some rice asap before it dries. I’ll walk you to the store.” He started moving, Chloe followed.

“Thank you,” she muttered. How was she going to survive twenty-four hours without her phone? Especially on the night of the Valentine's Day Ball. She wasn’t supposed to stress today. Her assistants had everything covered before the final walk through this evening. Still, she couldn’t take selfies or tweet about how much fun she was having to make Alexandre jealous.

She glanced over at the man next to her. He wasn’t too bad looking. With a haircut and a nice suit, he could easily pass as upper class. If the press sees them together at the event, she could use it to her advantage.

“I never got your name.”

“I didn’t give it to you,” he said. He pause for a second before speaking again. “It’s Nathaniel.”

“Well, Nathaniel do you want to grab cup of coffee after this. My treat. It’s to thank you for retrieving my phone.”

“Sure,” he said. “I don’t have much to do today.”

“Great.”

At the store, Nathaniel helped Chloe pick out a bag of rice and some ziplock bags. After purchasing, they quickly disassembled the phone on the counter and put in the bag of rice.

“Disconnected for twenty-four hours,” Chloe sighed. “This will be tough.” She had the rest of the day off to prep herself for the ball, but she still wanted to check in at least once before the guest arrived.

“You can do it,” Nathaniel mustered up false enthusiasm. “It will be fine, I’ve dropped my phone in water plenty of times.”

Chloe put the bag of rice in her purse for safekeeping and prayed that it did not spill open. “Okay, coffee. I know just the place.”

Chloe led Nathaniel to her favorite coffee spot a few block away. He wasn’t much of a talker. When he did, however, his tone was always laced with sarcasm. It will take some convincing to get him to be her date for tonight. Hopefully, they would survive the evening without too much drama.

When they finally arrived at the cafe Chloe ordered her usual soy latte and Nathaniel ordered an espresso. They sat across the table from each other silently for a few minutes. The espresso was tiny, if Chloe didn’t ask him now, she would lose her chance.

“Can I ask you a favor?”

“Another one?” Nathaniel sipped his coffee. “I can only drink one espresso a day.”  

“No, it’s a little bigger than a free espresso.” Chloe took a deep breath. “There is a charity ball tonight at the hotel and my date bailed on me at the last minute. If you’re free tonight, would you like to be my plus one?”

Nathaniel stared at her blankly. “You just met me.”

“I know, and I’m asking a lot from the guy who saved my phone. But please, I cannot go to this ball alone. Please.”

Nathaniel took another sip of his drink. “What’s in it for me?”

“I will pay for everything, the suit, stylist and I already have two tickets.”

“Not to sound greedy, but all of that seems like it’s part of a packaged deal. It will benefit you more than me. I’m going to need something else.”

Chloe thought for a moment. She could offer to pay him, but he didn’t seem the type to pimp himself out for the night for profit. If she to seal the deal, she had to come up with something that fit his interest.

“You said you were an artist right?”

“Yes,” he nodded.

“How about I commission a piece from you. A self-portrait or something.”

Nathaniel thought for a moment. His eyes lit up. “A self-portrait? I can do that. I’m strapped for cash at the moment. Art school debt. It will give me something to do.”

“Do we have a deal.”

“We have a deal.” They shook hands. Chloe examined his fingers. His nails were chipped and paint lived in between his cuticle.

“Okay, the first thing we're doing is getting you a manicure. Yikes. How long has that paint been there?” Nathaniel shrugged. “I have a lot of work to do.”

“Is this going to be like one of those movies where the main character gives someone a makeover and all of a sudden when you take off their glasses they magically become hot.”

“You’re not wearing glasses.”

“That’s beside the point.” Nathaniel finished the last sip of his espresso. “All right Chloe beautify me.”

“I thought you’d hate this more.”

“Like I said, you don’t know me.”

“Uh, Chloe?” Nathaniel called out from the fitting room. “I’m not sure about this one either. Does it have to be black?”

“It’s a tuxedo Nathaniel, they’re all black.”

Chloe and Nathaniel spent the last two hours together preparing him for the ball. Chloe knew she would have to cut her prep time short to get Nathaniel everything he needed. Once he had his tux, she will drop him off at the salon. Then she’d go home to her team of stylist to get ready herself. The plan was foolproof. Nathaniel was pretty easy going for the most part. Well almost.

“I feel like I need a pop of color or something.” Nathaniel stepped out of the fitting room adjusting his tie. This tux didn’t quite fit him either. The last tux was too large and this one was by about an inch and a half. It was too late for him to get anything tailor-made.

Chloe turned to the attendant. “We’re out of options. Is there any way we can get the last one hemmed before six o’clock tonight?”

“We can,” the attendant nodded.

“What about a baby blue tie?”

“It’s a black tie event.” Chloe rolled her eyes. “Get back in there and put the last suit back on.”

“Fine,” he huffed.

“Can you stop by Le Grand Paris Hotel with the suit when you’re done.” She asked the attendant.

“No,” Nathaniel called out. “Bring it to my place. I want to go home to change.”

“Booking you a room to get ready is not a problem,” Chloe said.

“I know what you’re thinking. You don’t want this down on his luck artist walking out with a thousand Euros suit.”

“That’s not true.”

“Okay, then trust me to get ready at home. What time does the ball start?”

“Eight o’clock.”

“Then I’ll pick you up at eight.” Nathaniel stepped out of the fitting room. The attendant began to pin the bottom of his suit. “So tell me about the dickweed who bailed on you on Valentines Day. He’s not your boyfriend right? I don’t want to ruin the new suit with blood in case he shows up and decks me.”

“Not my boyfriend,” she sighed. “We were introduced as teenagers. I finally got over my infatuation with Adrien Agreste only to for Alexandre to waltz into my life and take away all of my common sense. We never kissed or anything like that. We just hung out when he came to Paris for an event or when our fathers had meetings. He’s a lawyer now and he’s meeting with clients tonight. That’s why he bailed.”

“Well, that’s shitty.”

“What?”

“If I had a beautiful woman fawning over me since I was a teenager, I wouldn’t string her along.”

“I’m not being strung along…”

“How many relationships have you been in?”

Chloe didn’t answer. She’d been on a few dates here and there, but she always compared the men to Alexandre and she would never get past the second date. “That’s none of your business.”

“My point is if I had you in my life I wouldn’t let you go,” Nathaniel said sincerely. His eyes were locked on hers.

Chloe’s heart fluttered. No one has ever talked to her like that before. She was so used to being used by men, she forgot what being appreciated felt like. Alexandre would never say things like that to her.

“All done,” the attendant said. “Take the tux off and we’ll have it back to you by six. I just need your address.”

“Of course,” he nodded, breaking his eye contact with Chloe. He slipped back in the fitting room one last time.

“Would you like me to ring you up?” The attendant asked.

Chloe snapped out of her haze. “Uh yeah. Let’s do that.”

Chloe paid for the tux and patiently waited for Nathaniel to finish dressing. Why was this stranger making her heart pound in her chest? Once she broke through his sarcastic exterior he was really funny and genuine. It was hard to find genuine guys when you’re an heiress to a multimillion Euro fortune. Adrien was the exception, but his heart belonged to a baker’s daughter. He made that very clear a long time ago and she accepted it.

“I’m ready,” Nathaniel said. He was back in his normal clothes. She missed the tux, but something about him still warmed her heart.

“Great, the last stop will be the salon. You need a haircut.”

“I like my hair.” Nathaniel took hold of his ponytail.

“Talk to the stylist about it. You have a lot of split ends and paint stuck in there. I need you to look sharp for the ball tonight. I have to get back to the hotel soon. I’ll drop you off and pay for the appointment. Meet me back at the hotel at eight o’clock sharp.”

“Of course, your majesty.” He bowed.

Chloe sat for hours in the chair getting her hair and makeup ready for the event. Without her phone, she couldn’t check in on Nathaniel and she was getting anxious. They managed to walk into a salon without an appointment, but Nathaniel had to wait an hour to be seen. She silently prayed he didn’t abandon her.

Finally, the last curl was placed and her lips were a glossy light pink. She looked in the mirror. She looked amazing as always. “Nathaniel’s going to love this.”

“Who’s Nathaniel?” Her makeup artist asked.

“Oh,” she hadn’t realized she said that out loud. “He’s a friend. That’s all. He’s filling in for Alexandre, who couldn’t make it tonight. Just filling in.”

“Okay,” she gave her a once over. “Have a good time with ‘Nathaniel.’”  

Chloe rolled her eyes and headed for her bedroom to change. She slipped on her new canary yellow mermaid dress. She found the dress months ago at Gabriel’s and fell in love. She began to picture walking into the ball with Nathaniel in a matching yellow tie and pocket square.

No.

Why was she thinking about Nathaniel like that? She barely knew the guy. Tonight was about getting seen and making Alexandre jealous.

Chloe zipped up and her stylist put the finishing touches on her look. At eight o’clock on the dot, there was a knock on the door.

“He’s here.” Chloe took one more look in the mirror before rushing to the door.

Perfect.

Chloe opened the door, her breath caught in her chest. Nathaniel cleaned up nicely. His long red hair was now cut to his neck and slicked back. The off the rack tux fit much better than earlier.

“I told you I showed,” he smiled.

“That you did.” She glanced down at the small box in his hands. “What’s that?”

“A present.” He opened the box and removed a beautiful red rose corsage. “I didn’t know what color your dress was, and roses seem to go with everything.”

“It’s perfect thank you.” She held out her hand and Nathaniel slipped it on her wrist. “I thought you were strapped for cash?”

“I have a commission coming in so…”

“Oh right, I should get your contact information.But I don’t have my phone.

“Not to worry.” Nathaniel pulled out his wallet and handed her a business card.

“How professional.”

“I may or may not be planning on networking while I’m here.”

“You better be good, my reputation is on the line.” She put the business card on the side table. “Shall we?”

“We shall,” They linked arms and headed downstairs to the ballroom.

The hotel was packed with beautiful guest and photographers taking photos of their every move. Chloe interested Nathaniel on how to navigate through the crowd. Nathaniel was a natural. He introduced himself to the guest with a strong demeanor. If she didn’t know any better she’d say he’d done this before.

“You’re doing great,” Chloe whispered.

“Thanks, I’m the king of sucking up to old rich people. I cleaned out my relatives at my bar mitzvah.”

He was Jewish. She had no idea. He didn’t talk too much about himself today. Maybe after this, they could hang out again. Commissioning a self-portrait would give them an excuse to see each other again.

“What’s your last name?”

“Kurtzberg,” he answered. “It’s on my business card.”

Chloe hit his arm playfully. “Come on, I’m starving let’s grab some hors d’oevres.”

“What is everyone raising money for?”

“The Children’s Hospital,” Chloe said. “Tickets were a grand a piece and there is a silent auction.”

“You paid two grand for tickets?”

“It’s for charity. Everybody who is anybody is here. Besides, I got in for free because I helped organize the event.”

“Wait what?”

“What? You thought I didn’t have a job, how cute. It seems like you underestimated me.”

“That I did, and I am truly sorry.”

“Apology accepted,” she smiled. “Don’t get me wrong, I was a spoilt brat in my youth and I still can be one from time to time. After university, I needed a change of pace, so I throw parties to raise money for non-for profit organizations.”

“Wow color me impressed,” Nathaniel smiled. Chloe felt her cheeks grow warm.

“Chloe,” her father called out to her in the crowd. The mayor waved them over. Chloe glanced over at Nathaniel, his face was stark white.  

“You okay?” she asked.

“Yeah,” he nodded. “I just didn’t think I’d run into the mayor of Paris.”

“You know I’m the mayor’s daughter right? Besides, we’re not dating, you have nothing to be afraid of.” She tugged him forward to her father.

“Right,” he said nervously.

“Daddy,” Chloe stopped in front of her father and kissed both his cheeks.

“Wonderful event as always,” he kissed her cheeks. “How much have you raised so far?”

“About eight hundred thousand Euros in ticket sales and donations. We won’t have the final total until after we close the silent auction, but we might pass the million Euro mark.”

“Congrats baby girl,” he hugged his daughter. Andre looked over at Nathaniel standing awkwardly behind Chloe. “And who is this?”

“Daddy, this is my friend Nathaniel.”

“It’s nice to meet you, sir,” he held out his.

The mayor took it and shook. “Nice to meet you as well. Chloe hasn’t mentioned a Nathaniel before. What happened to Alexandre?”

“Nathaniel is a new friend. Alexandre had to meet with a client for dinner and said he couldn’t make it.”

“I see.” He sized up Nathaniel. “I don’t quite understand who you brought someone else in his place.”

“Alexandre and I aren’t dating. I can bring whoever I want ”

“But surely if he or his father sees you with another man they might get the wrong impression.”

“So what?! Alexandre dates supermodels and parades a new one around every other week. I bring one friend to my own charity ball and all of a sudden you’re worried about what Alexandre and his father thinks? Well, I’ll tell you what he thinks. Alexandre doesn’t care, he never has. If he cared he would have stopped dating other women years ago when I told him I loved him.” Chloe felt hot tears rolling down her cheek. She couldn’t have a breakdown, not here. She had to go.

“I--I had no idea,” he father said softly.

“I need a minute,” Chloe grabbed Nathaniel’s hand and dragged him through the crowd and back to the lobby. There were too many people still. She made a beeline for the elevator.

Nathaniel didn’t say a word. He silently stood next to her on the ride up to the penthouse. Chloe unlocked her door and threw herself on the couch. She lay there silently for a minute before speaking.

“We graduated around the same time. I got a degree in business and political science and Alexandre finished law school. He was immediately hired by the top law firm in Paris, so I thought, this is my chance, we were living in the same city so why not tell him how you feel? A union between our families was always the end game. It’s all about making more money with the upper class. I thought I didn’t have anything to lose. So about two years ago we were at lunch and I just blurted it out.

“He said he needed more time to figure things out. I took too literally. I just knew one day he would love me back, we were meant to be. But he stopped asking me to be his escort to work events. Flaked out on me during my fundraisers. We still talked, but he seemed more and more out of reach. Fast forward two years, I thought he finally figured his shit out because it was Valentine’s Day, the most romantic day of the year and he said yes to being my date. Until this morning. I shouldn’t have gotten my hopes up. I even roped you into this too make him jealous. But I think it’s time to stop lying to myself. He’s never going to love me.”

Nathaniel sat next to Chloe and wrapped his arm around her. “He’s an idiot. I haven’t known you for long, but you are probably the most beautiful and surprising woman I’ve meet. And if he can’t see that, it’s his loss.” Nathaniel wiped the tears from her face.

She didn’t know what came over her. Maybe it was his words or her fragile state or, hell, Valentine’s Day magic, but she tilted her head up and kissed him softly. The second their lips touched, she felt sparks.

Nathaniel pulled away. “I’m sorry, you are in an emotional state right now.”

“I don’t care.” Chloe brought his face back to hers and planted another one on him. This time Nathaniel took control, wrapping his arms around her waist to bring her closer. He tasted like mint with a slight hint of espresso. She loved it. She hadn’t felt this wanted in a long time.

Chloe didn’t know how long they kissed. It could have been minutes, maybe hours; all she knew was she never wanted to leave this couch.

There was a knock on the door. The two broke away. “I should get that,” Chloe said, nearly breathless.

“Yes,” Nathaniel coughed. “Bathroom?”

“It’s the down the hall and to the left.”

“Your penthouse is huge.” he got off the couch. “If I’m not back in ten minutes call a search party.”

“Will do.” Chloe stood up and straightened out her dress. She passed by the mirror. She was a wreck. Her lip gloss was completely smeared off from kissing. Her eyes were bloodshot and her face was puffy and red. “Yikes.” She muttered. She fixed her hair to look somewhat presentable and opened the door.

Chloe froze. Alexandre stood in the doorway. In all of her anger, she’d forgotten what he looked like. The six-foot-three Adonous towered over her. He looked damn good in his three piece suit. His dark hair was perfectly styled and sophisticated like always. Perfect, as always, but there was something dark behind his hazel eyes.

“Chloe, I’ve been trying to get in touch with you for the last hour.”

“My phone fell in the fountain at the park. It’s been sitting in rice all day.”

“Oh, can I come in?” He looked down at her with his big puppy dog eyes. She forgot how to speak, so she just nodded. Alexandre didn’t sit down. He paced back and forth in the living room. “Listen, I was sitting in my business dinner chatting with the big wig clients when they all started talking about their wives and children. And the client asks me if I was married and I said no. They started going on and on about the joys of marriage and parenthood, and ask me if there was someone special I could see myself spending h for the rest of my life with. And the only person I could think of was you. It’s always been you Chlo, for the past ten years you have stuck with me through college and law school. We were so close as kids, but when you told me you loved me a few years ago, I froze. You were the forever girl. I was fresh out of law school and scared. So I pushed you away and I am truly sorry for that.”

“Alex…”

“I’m not done,” he held up his hand. “So I’m at the dinner and I tell my clients that I canceled a date on Valentine’s Day with my girl and they told me to buy the biggest box of chocolate and flowers and apologize. I get up and leave, but before I get to the store I see pictures of you on Twitter hanging over some other guy. What the hell?”

“It’s not like that I swear,” Chloe said. The words were coming out of her mouth before she could process them. “He’s just a guy I met this morning with nothing to do on Valentine's Day. He means nothing to me.”

“You sure about that?” Alexandre looked over her shoulder. Before she could turn around he grabbed her face and kissed her. It felt...off. He was not gentle at all and tasted like bourbon and tobacco. This was not how she imagined her first kiss with Alexandre.

A cough interrupted them. Nathaniel stood behind them; his eyes lit with rage.

“Oh my God.” she covered her mouth.

“I’m going to leave you two to sort out whatever this is.” He gestured between the two. “Thanks for the invitation. I will see myself out.” He headed for the door.

“Nathaniel, wait,” Chloe reached out and grabbed his arm.

“No, let him leave, Chlo,” Alexandre said. Chloe let go.

“You know what.” Nathaniel punched Alexandre square in the jaw. “I’ve been wanting to do that all day. Have a nice life, Chloe.” He slammed the door behind him.

“Who the fuck does he think he is?” Alexandre shouted. Chloe stopped him from following Nathaniel. “I’m going to kill him.”

“No you’re not.” She tried to calm him down. “Sit down, let me get you so some ice.” She went to the mini-fridge and grabbed some ice cubes and wrapped them in a towel. “This will help with the swelling.”  

“Thanks.” He grumbled and placed the ice on his jaw.

“Did you really mean what you said? About me being your forever girl?”

“Of course. That’s always been our father’s plans anyway. I’ve been holding on to my youth as long as I could, but if I want to make partner by thirty my boss wants me to get married. I had to start sooner than later.”

“Wait.” Chloe stood up. “This was about becoming partner?”

“Of course.”

“Do you even love me?”

“Chlo come on, I’m sure I’ll get there. Just give me some time.”

“No,” she shouted. “I gave you ten years of my time. Ten years waiting around for you to love me back. Ten years of you parading around model after model, while I couldn't find a man because I kept comparing them all to you. And I just let the kindest man in Paris walk out the door because I came running back to you.”

“That peasant?” he scoffed.

“He showed more compassion today than you ever showed me. And I want you out of my penthouse and out of my life.”

“You don’t mean--”

“Out!” she screamed.

“I’ll press charges, sue him for every cent he has.”

“Don’t you dare,” Chloe challenged him. “I have ten years of dirt on you. You won’t want that to become public knowledge. You don’t want your bosses to know you cheated on your LSAT?”

“You wouldn’t dare…”

“Try me.”

Alexandre stormed out of the penthouse, slamming the door behind him.

Chloe crumbled on the couch and cried until she fell asleep.

Chloe didn’t wake up until after ten o’clock the next morning. Last night was like a dream that quickly became a nightmare. Chloe groaned and forced herself to get out of her dress and into the shower. She had a lot of work to do, she felt bad for leaving the ball early, but with all the drama she needed a day off.

Chloe freshened up for the day. It had been about twenty-four hours since she put the phone in the rice. It had to be ready. She reached it to the bag, dusted it off and reassembled the phone. After a silent prayer, she turned on the device. It started up normally, thank God.

Immediately it began buzzing. Fourteen missed calls and twenty messages. Half of them were from the committee about the setup, the other half were from Alexandre. She deleted them all and sighed.

She’d done it now. She ended things with Alexandre and let the nicest guy in the world walk out her door. This was karma catching up with her.

She needed to take a walk to clear her head. On her way out the door, she spotted Nathaniel’s business card.

“Yes,” she cheered.

Could she still contact him? But did he want to see her? Chloe sighed and went back to the couch.

The business card had Nathaniel’s website on it. She typed it in on her phone to see his work. His range was incredible. From his bio, she learned that he started out drawing comics, but he discovered his love of painting in art school and focused on creating. The pieces he shared were breathtaking. She could only imagine what these looked like in real life.

Chloe sighed and dialed his number.

He answered after two rings. “Hello?”

Chloe panicked. What if he wasn’t ready to talk with her. “Hello,” she said in an old woman voice. “Is this Nathaniel Kurtzberg?”

“This is him.”

“Ah yes, I met you at the Charity ball yesterday and I got your business card. I was wondering if I can commission you for a painting of me and my cat?”

“Uh okay…” he said skeptically. “I’m going to need some details first.”

“Can we meet in person?”

“It’s easier on the--”

“What?” she screamed into the phone. “I’m having a hard time hearing you dearie. Meeting in person would be best.”

“We can do this over email to my address is on the--”

“No no, snail mail is too slow. I’d rather meet you today at one are you free?”

“I guess,” he sighed.

Nathaniel gave the address of his studio before hanging up. They were meeting in an hour. Chloe regretting doing the voice, but she couldn’t face him on the phone. She had to apologize in person.

After eating and checking some emails, it was almost time to meet with Nathaniel. His studio wasn’t too far from the Hotel so she decided to walk. She arrived at his studio at one on the dot. It was more of an apartment building than a private studio. She pressed the buzzer that read Kurtzberg and spoke into the speaker. “It’s me.” She said in her real voice.

After a minute, he buzzed her up. Chloe went up to the third floor to apartment 310 and knocked. Nathaniel opened the door immediately. “You are terrible at accents, you know that.”

“So you knew it was me.”

“Almost immediately, but I played along.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “What do you want?”

“I came to apologize,” she said. “After you left, I kicked Alexandre out of the house. He was just using my feelings for him to get what he wanted. He doesn’t love me.”

“I could have told you that. In fact, I did tell you that.”

“I know, I know. Feelings like that don’t just go away overnight. Whenever I see him my brain turns to mush and I can’t think straight. I shouldn’t have said you were nothing to me. You have been nothing but kind to me since you jumped in the fountain to save my phone. I am so sorry.”

“He kissed you.”

“And it was awful. I put this asshole on a pedestal for years and his kiss was nothing compared to yours. I felt a connection, did you?” He nodded. “Then please, give me a second chance. I want to do this right.”

Nathaniel didn’t answer. He leaned down and kissed her lips softly. Chloe wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him in close. Espresso and mint. What a delightfully strange combination.

Nathaniel broke away first. “How will I know you won’t go running back when he calls.”

“You’re just going to have to trust me,” she smirked. With the dirt she had on him she wouldn’t be seeing him for a long time.

“All right,” he nodded. “You owe me two commissions.”

“Two?”

“Yes, one of just you and one of you and your cat.”

“I don’t have a cat.”

“We’ll figure something out,” he smiled. “Step into my office.”

[montanababe7]

This is my go ministries international story: > The audio version of my go ministries international story will be shared soon. > > But, this is what I remembered when I asked Jesus to remind me of the things my brain blacked out for many years.  *Warning ⚠️. What happened in 2008 was intense. What you are about to read isn’t for the faint of heart or younger readers. Please be advised. > > One memory I just now remembered was the Christmas production  in 2008. we put on at lwcc, in that drama I was the emo/goth girl who was a cutter. Somehow, they had chosen to mock me even if they didn’t know I was suicidal for months and had fought the desire to slit my wrists. > >  *Why did you decide to join go. > As long as I can remember, I always wanted to pray for and minister to others. I wanted to show them Jesus. To show them His heart. When I saw that go ministries international  they had a youth program; I wanted to learn everything I could, bless others back. So many precious young people are hurting and they just need someone to care. To reach out to them. To let them know they are never alone. To show them Jesus. > > 2. What were your first thoughts once you were an intern? > > The day before go started, I was with my family at living word Christian center. The core leadership seemed to care about me. They were so kind and seemed to be loving. Other people had a different thought. They told me, “Jessica, are these fake faces or faith faces.” At that point, I honestly did not know. I had wanted to believe the best in them. Little did I know, how truly wrong I would be the next day. >    My parents and family, had already dropped me off and were driving away. I assumed everything would remain happy.  Seconds later, the leadership started screaming for all of us interns to get to the front lawn. I didn’t know why I felt complete terror. All I knew and could feel at that moment, was this: my hands went completely numb. I felt like throwing up as we were screamed at to start doing up downs and sit-ups, push-ups, the bear crawl, running back and forth. Many on my left and on my right were throwing up and passing out. The leaders didn’t care. They screamed at them to get back up. >    Next, we were told to fit as much or little into a duffle bag. The next thing we were told was to file into the vans silently. We were not allowed to talk to anyone. We were told to keep our eyes straight not looking in any direction. The bus ride to Wisconsin was several hours long. When we arrived that night, it was already dark out. They screamed at us to file into formation. For years, the memories have seemed like a bad dream. The distant memories blurred into dreams. > >   3. What were your most vivid memories of go. Good, and bad. How did it affect you? > >   Alright, as soon as we all were on the line. They began spray painting numbers onto a T-shirt. I can’t remember what my number was. But, during that week; that number was my name. The week, I was no longer Jessica. I was nothing more than a number. We were told that we had to carry our bible, water battle, a stick, and an egg. We were forced to run far past the point of what seemed normal human endurance. At one point, I thought my heart and lungs would give out from all the running. I was told by one of the leaders that I had to keep running until they said to stop. >    The next thing I remember, was doing military style exercises that involved balancing on a small metal string, I slipped and the metal string slapped into my leg, it had cut my leg deeply into the bone. The bone was exposed. Blood was gushing everywhere. I couldn’t limp, let along walk. But, we were told that the word can’t wasn’t allowed. So, despite the deep pain-the leaders didn’t show me any levels of compassion or mercy. I had to run with blood gushing down my leg. I couldn’t stop crying. After that we were forced to run up and down slippery stairs for 2 to three hours at least nonstop. After that, we were told that we had to carry a hundred pound cross up and down the stairs. >    The other memory that I can’t forget: being awoken out of sound sleep with a blow horn to my heart and being told to clean a building from top to bottom in the middle of the night. The nights turned into days. And the days turned into nights. The mere idea of food or even eating became unneeded to my weary and tired brain at that point. I didn’t want to throw up. Thankfully, I never did. But the feeling was horrible eating and being forced to eat everything on your plate. Then, you had to run. For hours. Or whenever they decided for us to stop running. > I remember we had rock experiences, where we had to pick up huge boulders that were so sharp. The rocks began to cut my wrists and my arms. I was forced to wear long sleeves for weeks; because the leaders didn’t want people assuming that I’d cut my wrists. >    The next memory is very painful. They called it judgement day. We all had to line up once again and wait our turn. When my name was called, I had to recite from memory Ephesians 6:10-12 from the message or amplified version. But, if we forgot the verse at all-we would be pushed off the dock. Mind you, it was nighttime and freezing out. I was pushed off > The dock twice, I walked back to my spot in line. I was freezing cold and I worried that I’d die of hyperthermia. I couldn’t stop shaking. No one asked me if I was alright. No one asked me how weak I felt or how numb my body had become. They simply screamed at me. They called me a failure. >    That night, I had to sleep in freezing, wet clothes. We weren’t allowed to shower they week. We were their slaves and how they treated us-we were nothing. They even took our cell phones away. Gee, wonder why. >    The next memory was the communist game. We were awoken once again out of sound sleep with a blow horn to our ears. It’s a miracle I didn’t go deaf or lose any hearing. We were told we were being arrested for being Believers in Jesus. And we had to find the hidden tracks before the other communists found them. We had to run in the freezing rain. I ran to a hiding spot. Somewhere deep in the forest. It was pelting rain. I huddled onto the grass and bawled my eyes out-laying in a fetal position. Telling myself that somehow I’d survive this. I asked Jesus to take me home that night. I wanted to find a rock or anything sharp and end it all. I was done. >    The next second, someone grabbed my arms and told me I was going with them. They brought us to a building where we had to sit completely still. No movement. Zero movement was allowed. We had been up for over 24 to 48 hours without sleep. Anyone who started to doze off had a blow horn to their ears. I kept slapping my cheek just to stay awake. >    We get back to the ranch in mora, Minnesota. We are told that daily we’ll have pt. Every morning at 5 or 5:30 sharp. Meet outside of the house. If we were late. We would have to write down Luke 16:10 100 times. If we failed, they’d add on another hundred more. That was only the beginning of the nightmare. >   One of the days of pt, I heard my back snap when we were doing up downs. I told one of the leaders that I couldn’t run anymore and she screamed at me. Threatening to punish me even worse for simply saying, “I can’t.” > Fast forward to a month or two later, my confidence was already shot. Not to mention, I had lost 10-15 pounds at bootcamp. My ankles, legs, and feet were so swollen that I couldn’t even put socks on and my pants wouldn’t even fit.  The physical breaking was terrible. But the emotional breaking nearly destroyed and almost killed me. >   I was told that I would be put on ministry probation. They prevented me from praying for anyone. I couldn’t speak to anyone unless they addressed me first. >    Only few of the people there showed me one ounce of kindness. I snuck showers, because I was so depressed that I want to slit my wrists. I had a plan to bleed out in the shower. So no one would know. Those thoughts went through my mind for those four to five months I was there. >    One night, the female leadership told us that we had to strip down to our bras and underwear. But, if any of the boys found out; we’d be writing sentences till our hands fell off. We were told to shower with other girls. I never did. I snuck showers. > > 4. When did you leave and when did you realize they were toxic? > >    How go affected me. My dad said hi to me one Sunday. I didn’t call him as dad. I called him, sir. My dad broke down and cried. He looked at me, and said, “Jessica, I’m your father. Not sir. What did they do to you?” >   My mom pulled me into the church bathroom one night and said, “we’ve had enough of them treating you this way. We’re taking you back home to Hutchinson tonight. Lie if you have to. But, you’re not going back to go. We’ll leave your stuff there.”  I lied to one of my leaders. I felt terrible. I cried the whole way home. >   When I got home. I called friends and they didn’t even recognize me. I didn’t act the same.  I had nightmares and my room was blood red. Go gave me ptsd. I was in multiple inner counseling sessions. I’ve had many panic attacks. Flash backs. Different times where I would hyperventilate. >    The signs of go being a cult are obvious: > *They tell you-that they are your family. > *zero contact with the outside world. > *they took our cell phones away. > *they shut the water off. > *they stopped communication with me after I left. > I was told that I lacked faith. Reality: I ran out of money. > But. Jesus has been healing my heart. I’ve forgiven the leadership. I pray what I have shared with you all today is a warning and an alert to the youth who might consider go ministries international. I’m sharing my story so you never have to attend or experience what myself or others have seen and heard. I want to spare you from this pain. And hold the hearts of the ones who are still suffering because of go or the ones who are stuck in go and don’t know how to get out. Know that I’m praying for you. I’m praying for the complete healing of your heart. That there is so much love in your heart. Never forget who you are. That’s what go wants. But, Jesus wants you happy and whole. I want my life to seen as someone who helps others escape from the trenches and hold you close. You each have giftings and talents. Don’t allow go ministries international to ever steal your purpose or your identity. You are not a mistake. God loves you. He has never stopped loving you. I pray that you can feel Jesus heart even in my message. > -Jessica

[nostalgicbts]

Your Love

Song: Your Love by Little Mix. (I recommend, it’s really good:))

Any songs you want, let me know!! 

Warnings: Slight smut, stress.

Genre: Fluff, College AU

Word Count: 4186

“If I ain’t got nothin’, Least I got you.” 

You were sitting at your kitchen table, your books and sheets of paper scattered so there was no wood peeking through. You thought being in your third year of college would make things easier, but you were proven wrong. The exams coming up that you had to study for, the hours you had to work to at least get something to eat and stay healthy, the stress was getting to you and you wanted to rip your eyeballs out and throw them out the window. You were lucky you didn’t have work today or you might have actually been tempted to rip out your eyeballs. You sighed and rested you chin on your fist, looking around your apartment that you shared with your boyfriend. 

You apartment wasn’t small, but it wasn’t big either. It has one bedroom, one bathroom, the living room, the kitchen, a closet filled with a washing machine and dryer, and a few decorations here and there. You had the furniture you needed and could afford. You guys were happy in your little home. Sometimes the rent got a little high for you guys and you both needed to work extra shifts and it bummed you both out, not being able to see each other for a few days at a time. But when those extra shifts were over and you go to hold each other, you both were happy. Both of your jobs gave you the amount of money to survive, get food and the necessities for the house. But it also stressed you both out when you wanted to spend a little money on the other. Just a few weeks ago Jungkook was upset that he couldn’t buy you something extravagant for your birthday. Or when you guys wanted to go out for dinner but couldn’t because you both knew the little money you both had, should be saved to keep a roof over your heads and food in your mouths. But it always worked out because Jungkook would light a candle in the middle of the table and and you both would enjoy your cup of ramen. At the end you both knew, you just wanted each other. 

“Deeper than oceans, As sweet as devotion, It’s all I need. You pull me close, And there’s no way that I can describe; What your love makes me feel like.” 

You hadn’t realized it had gotten late until you heard the door open a close. Your head quickly looks at the clock by the TV. 8:03pm. You sigh and rake your fingers through your hair as you stare lazily at the open textbook before you. You snap back into reality when you feel those familiar hands on your shoulder, massaging lightly before kissing the same spot. 

“Baby, you’re in the same exact spot you were in when I left for work. At seven-thirty in the morning. Have you gotten up at all?” Jungkook asks you, looking over your shoulder at the mess before you both. When you mumble something about getting up on occasion to use the bathroom, it doesn’t help settle his worry. “Have you eaten?” When you don’t reply, he sighs and kissing the top of your head before going to the kitchen. He starts to boil enough water for the both of you and takes out two cups of ramen from the cupboard. While the water boils, Jungkook takes off his jacket and leaves it on the counter before going back to you. He sits in the seat before you, waiting for you to look up. And when you don’t he chuckles sweetly at your concentrated face. Your teeth biting down on the cap of the highlighter that’s in your hand. Your hair loose and tucked behind your ear, your face bare of any makeup. Your pretty little face that he never gets tired of looking at. “I’m going to help you study.” 

Your head finally snapped up to look at him, after his statement. You furrowed your eyebrows and looked at him with a tilt of your head. “And how do you plan on doing that?” You smiled and giggled. Words couldn’t describe how he made you feel. He was caring, kind, funny, a meme, a bunny, a kid at times but he knew when to be serious and the past two years of your life were the best. He was there for you through your struggles of college and work or life in general. And you were there for him. 

“We’re going to do it how we watched in that movie the other night.” His smile turned into a wide smirk. Your eyes widen in shock as you feel your cheeks start to heat up. You bit your lip to hide your excited smile. “You know how it works, I ask you a question; if you get it right, I strip. If you get it wrong, you strip.” 

You couldn’t help the wide smile that spreads on your face as you nod, handing over your set of flashcards before he helped you put everything away. In order, luckily he knew by now how you liked your studying notes to be placed. He made sure to shuffle the cards while he fixed the way he was seated, shuffling the order you had to make sure you don’t cheat. You sat leaning forward, elbows on the table and your hands locked together, chin resting on the fist. He clears his throat before sending you a wide smile and nods once enthusiastically. The questions he reads out is luckily the one you had been studying before he walked through the door. Since you got it right, he was the first to strip. “This is gonna be a good one.” He praised as he leaned down, doing something under the table. A few seconds later he raised his arm and threw the article of clothing at you; socks. You grumble in disgust as he laughs at your reaction. He winks at you after you tell him to make it a little more exciting next time. The next question, you got it wrong. And since you had less clothing than him, you had to opt for taking off your sweatshirt, well Jungkook’s but it was still on your body, your tank top still on. The game continued. Right then, you were left in your tank top and underwear, Jungkook in just his underwear. He started to read the question before he was cut off by the smoke alarm. You both quickly got up and sped to the kitchen. You attended the stove turning it off and grabbing the empty pot, smoke coming from it, while Jungkook waved his t-shirt at the alarm, trying to get it to shut off. Once it’s shut off Jungkook sighs and looks to you.

“Kookie, what was in here?” 

He opens his mouth then shuts it and bites his lip. “... Water.” 

“Babe, how the hell do you burn water?” 

“Late up on Sunday and workin’ on Monday, Let’s pack up and run away, Just me and you.”

When you got home from work Monday evening, you immediately collapsed onto the couch, much to exhausted to make it to your bedroom. You looked at the clock on the TV, telling you it was 4:00pm. You sighed and tucked your legs under you as you untied your hair. Jungkook wasn’t due to be home until around eight, so you had a good four hours to yourself, but you wanted him there with you now. 

You hadn’t realized you fell asleep until you woke up by the sound of the door shutting. You sit up and turn around to see Jungkook with his head hanging down. He took off his shoes before he looked up at you and you gasped at the sight. You quickly get up and walk to him, cupping his face as he licks his cut lip. He had a bruise on his cheek and on his jaw as well as a cut on his lip. “Baby, I’m fine.” 

“What the hell happened?” You asked as you pulled him to your room and sat him on the bed. You quickly rushed to the freezer, grabbing a few ice in a towel then running back to your bedroom. You hold it against his face, his hand wrapped around your wrist and his eyes closed as he leans into the cold towel.

“Some asshole started a fight at the shop today. When I told him to get the hell out, he didn’t take it so well.” He mumbles as he scratches at the back of his neck. Jungkook’s job took place in the bad part of town, but it paid well and that’s why he stayed there. There were always men or women there trying to steal or start fights with other customers. Some would come in trying to sell drugs or themselves. Jungkook was even caught up in a armed robbery, luckily he wasn’t behind the cash register but still, he was there and the gun was also pointed at him. You told him countless of time when things like this happened to quit. That you’d take care of everything until he found a new job. But he couldn’t add more stress to you, so he stayed put. You told him not to worry about me but to think about his safety. He still disagreed and stayed at that retched place. He felt as if he needed to help bring things to the table. Even if it was for a few weeks where he couldn’t help, he would feel guilty and didn’t want to make you the only one working in the apartment. 

You sigh. “Kookie.” You mumble and play with his hair. You climb into the bed and lay on your back, pulling him so his head lays on your chest. You play with his hair and hold the ice to his face still. One of his arm is wrapped around your waist while the other still holds your wrist in place. “I love you, Jungkook.”

“I love you too, Y/N.” 

You guys stayed in that position for hours, not wanting to let him go. You wanted to comfort him like he’s done multiple times for you. He always held you close and kissed your face when you were down, always making sure to let you know everything was going to be okay. And you just wanted him to know that too. You wanted him to know just how much you loved him, because words weren’t enough for you. But he knew. He knows. He knows how much you love him and You know how much he loves you. 

You mumbled sweet words into his hair and kissed his hair, then his forehead then his cheeks. Being careful to not kiss to hard on his bruises. He lifted his head to kiss you, the slight taste of blood coming from his lip. You continued to make out until the sound of his stomach growling roamed the air causing you to chuckle and his cheeks becoming a bright pink. “I’ll make dinner.” 

It was that Friday, that you came home to find Jungkook packing a bag. Panic immediately ran through your body. Where was he going? Was he leaving you? Was he over everything? 

You stood in the doorway and watched as he continued to pack clothes. You waited to see if he’d notice you standing there, watching him pack clothes for God knows what. “Jungkook?” 

He immediately stopped in his tracks and turned to you. “Hey baby.” He gave you a bright smile. 

“What are you doing?” You asked in a quiet voice and stared at the clothes in his hand. You were scared. You thought he was leaving you alone in this apartment that held so many memories of the past years you’ve two shared. 

He looks down at the clothes after he saw you staring at. He let out a small gasp and looked at your worried face. You eyes slightly glossy, but not enough for someone to think you were crying. But he knew. You were biting your lip as you waited for his answer, never taking your eyes off of the clothes. He throws the clothes onto the open bag and walked over to you. He cups your face in his hands and immediately brings your lips to his. He slouches down to reach your lips and holds your head close to his. He pulls away slowly, keeping his lips hovered over yours. “Your stuff is already packed.” He points to the floor by the bed. Another bag already packed and ready to go. “I did your stuff first because I knew you’d need more stuff than I, and it’d take longer to pack. We’re going away for the weekend.” He gives you that bright smile, teeth and all. 

“Oh.. I thought...” You don’t finish your sentence in embarrassment, giving him a shy smile before you look back down at the ground. 

“I know what you thought. Don’t think like that.” He chuckles softly under his breath before kissing you forehead then going back to his clothes. “Now get changed into something comfortable, we’re going to our happy place.” 

You lit up after hearing his statement. You quickly changed out of your work clothes and changed into a sweatshirt and tights. You waited for him to be done and when he was, he took hold of both your bags and led you to his pickup-truck. He through the bags into the back then you both climb into the vehicle. You guys listened to music loudly, and screamed the lyrics out. People in passing cars looked at you weirdly, but you both didn’t care. You guys were happy. 

It took you guys about forty-five minutes to get the “happy place”. You both hopped out of the car and stared at the view. The mountain top showing the perfect view of the city, the sparkling lights, the passing cars and airplanes. The sky almost touching the horizon, almost set. The little stars peeking through the sky, waiting for it to get dark before brightening up. You smile at Jungkook before wrapping you arm around his waist and he your shoulders. This is where Jungkook took you, two years ago, when he asked you to be his girlfriend. You both came here multiple times before then, hiking when you found the hidden space and decided to drive up the mountain more often to just star gaze. This was both of your escape place. You both loved the scenery and the lack of communication to the outside world from your little bubble.  There were countless occasions where you both would camp here, sleeping in the back of his truck with mountains of blankets and pillows.

“Why’d you decide to come here this weekend?” You asked as you looked up at him, your chin resting on his shoulder. You took in his appearance. His slight messed up hair, probably from running his fingers through it from stress at work. His eyes light and reflecting the lights from the building, his lips parted and slightly chapped, his nose and cheeks slightly red from the cold. He looked down at you and gave you a tight lipped smile.

“I think we both could use the break. We’re both done with our last exams of the year, so no more studying.” He gave you a pointed look to which you smiled a blushed at. “And we both had the weekend off, so I thought we could use the weekend to get away from the stress.” 

You grab his chin between you thumb and forefinger and bring his lips down to yours in a chaste kiss. He smiles against you lips before opening the door of the trunk. He climbs in and lays out the blankets and pillows before telling you to come in. You sit with your back to the car, lets spread out in front of you with the blankets covering them. Your shoes left at the edge of the trunk. You head lays on Jungkook’s shoulder, his head atop of yours, as you watch the sunset. The orange sky mixed with pinks and purple and blues. The stars becoming brighter and the lights becoming more evident as the sky gets darker. The sight took your breath away. 

“Thank you.” You say as the sun starts to hide behind the horizon. The sky still orange around the edge and it looked amazing. 

“What for, baby?” He asks as he moves his head so his lips are against your hair. 

“For everything.” You say and you can feel the smile on his face against your head. 

“You deserve the world, Y/N.” He mumbles and holds you tighter. 

“You’re my world.” You giggle at your cheesiness, and look up to see him laughing as well. “I know it’s cheesy, but you make me the happiest person on the planet and I wouldn’t change anything. Nothing at all, because you make everything so worth while.” You ramble but are cut off by Jungkook’s lips. 

“If it weren’t for you, Y/N, I’d still be doing shit in school and would’ve never gotten my life together. So, thank you. Because without you, I wouldn’t be the guy I am today. Happy and in love.” 

You both were so overwhelmed with love and happiness and passion, that all you both wanted to do was get lost in each other. 

“Come over ‘cause I want it all over my body. Boy, there ain’t no heartache you can’t undo.” 

He pulls you onto his lap, never breaking the kiss. You straddled his hips, his hands on your waist. He roams your body. Hands on your waist, your back, your chest, your thighs, your face, everywhere.  You pulled his shirt over his head, your hands resting on his chest while you go back to the warmth of his lips on yours. Your sweatshirt was soon discarded, your bare chest against his. 

You’re soon laid onto your back, your head resting against the pillows and back against the cold blanket. He lifts your left leg to wrap around his waist, his weight being held by his elbows that are by your head. Your hands run through his hair and down his bare, broad chest. Your hot skin against his, lips molded together, not letting go until you’re in dire need of breath. Both your hands roam the other’s body, making sure to feel every inch of the skin you love so much. 

You get lost in each other. Warm hands gliding across soft skin, clothes discarded to the side of the truck, breathless moans and words of love being exchanged. Kisses left all over bodies and marks and bruises exchanged. You made love. You showed each other just how much the other meant to the other. Word’s weren’t enough for you both. You both didn’t know how to express to the other. The amount of small gifts that you could afford, the words “I love you”, the time together, it didn’t seem enough to the two of you, so you showed that love through slow, passionate, sensual sex. You both helped the other through everything life through at you guys, so you both felt like you needed to show just how much you loved the other. 

You were there for him through his fighting days, through his lack of motivation to finish college, through his lack of communication because he was never one to have a full relationship where he felt the way he did with you. He had relationships in the past, but they always ended badly because of his lack of communication and loyalty to the relationship, not cheating; he just didn’t care enough to try. That was until you showed up in his morning class that he was half asleep in, your hair in a lazy pony tail and face bare of any makeup. He was instantly drawn to you because unlike all the other girls, you had a smile on your face even though it was eight o’clock in the morning. Ever since then, nearly three years ago, you have been a part of his life he hopes to never lose.

And the same with you. You had just gotten out of a relationship a few months prior and were convinced guys sucked and you were never going to find the right one. That was until you found Jungkook sitting a few seats away from where you usually sit. At first, you had troubles with Jungkook. He didn’t like to talk about his feelings, he always got into fights every other week and wouldn’t let you in. But you didn’t give up. He showed you how to be happy again and how to live freely. You finally lectured him, telling him that he couldn’t let his life go to shit and he couldn’t like you one day and not the other. He told you he loved you so much it scared him. You couldn’t let him go and that was that. 

The point is; you both mean so much to each other. You couldn’t just not be with the other. It was like Hell on Earth and you both needed the other. 

You laid your head on his bare, sweaty chest. Both of your naked bodies under the blanket, staring at the star lit sky. The lights of the many building vibrant in the dark sky. His arm was wrapped around your waist and the other under his head. After staring at the sky and horizon line for minutes straight, you move your head to rest your chin on Jungkook’s chest. You draw little shapes on his chest as the hand that rested on your waist now plays with your hair that lays on your back, fingers brushing against the skin ever so softly. You look to his face to see a soft smile on his lips, his eyes staring at your face. 

“What?” You ask softly, biting your lip to stop the smile from becoming evident. You lay your cheek on his chest so you’re staring at his face now, the smile becoming wider as he moves his hand to rest on your cheek. 

“Nothing, baby.” He whispers as he pushes away the hair that fell onto your face. “You’re so beautiful.” 

“Oh, stop it.” Your cheeks heat up and you look away from his face, now looking at his chest again. 

“You are Y/N. Thank you for staying with me.” 

“I love you, Jungkook.” You say as you reach up to brush away the sweaty hair from his forehead, then run your finger down his cheek. 

He kisses your cheek. “I love you, Y/N.”

“Come and kiss me like the first time, It’s what your love makes me feel like.” 

-3 Years Later- 

You sat in your kitchen, waiting for the food to cook. You bite on your finger nails and smile down at your hand when a reflect of the light catches your eye. You look down at your new engagement ring, not too big but not small either. Just right, and you were the happiest person alive right now. 

After you and Jungkook graduated college, you both stayed in that apartment for another year, before you bought the house you live in now. You both now have you dream jobs, something you both thought wouldn’t happen. When you both saved enough money, you finally dumped that apartment and not so good neighborhood, then moved into your house. You both loved the house dearly and thought of it as your dream home. It was the biggest house on the block, but it was a decent size for the two of you and any future kids or family that may come to visit. 

It wasn’t until a few weeks ago where you thought something weird was going on with Jungkook. He was going out more with the guys and being secretive, to where it scared you. When he took you back to your happy place, filled with candles and a blanket picnic, and got down on one knee, did it start to make sense. You shed a few tears at his words and question and gladly said yes. 

You both were so damn happy. 

When you were in the middle of cutting peppers, you felt those familiar arms wrap around your waist. You put the knife down and turned around, those familiar lips meeting yours, always feeling that same spark you did when you two first kissed, six years ago. You smile against his lips and he mocks your actions and kisses you cheek. 

You sighed contently as he took off his jacket and told you about his day at work. You smiled as he talked so contently, his smile on his face as he rolled up his sleeves of his dress shirt. You couldn’t help the wide smile that plays over your face as you stare at him. 

“Future wife, what’s got you so happy?” 

“Your love.” 

09.29.17

[freewheelen]

Palm Springs | 01.21.2018 (Day 2)

We wake at 9 am. Michelle’s a late riser, and of course, I’m an early bird. Maybe ‘early bird’ is an understatement. I always wake up at 6 am or earlier, no matter what time I go to sleep. I originally awoke at 5am with a parched throat. When you travel on a bike, there isn’t much real estate for storing gallons of water. Luckily, our site is equipped with a water spigot. I stumble out of the tent, cram my bare feet into my boots, and drag them across the gravel. With a quick twist of the knob, water gushes out of the faucet. The gurgle and splash on the gravel break the silence of pre-dawn. I slurp out of the spigot, gulping as much as I possibly can. The combination of cold and thirst puts me into survival mode. Temperatures are sub-freezing at this time of morning and a wet face doesn’t help preserve any warmth. I crawl back into the tent and slide into the sleeping bag. Michelle sleeps soundly but I’m more alert than a squirrel. Fortunately, I take advantage of California’s latest enacted law and burn a little weed. Once the THC washes over my body, I fall into a peaceful stupor. Thanks, California voters.

As soon Michelle and I wipe the crust out of our eyes, we start packing. Check out is at 11 am and loading the luggage onto the bike takes a considerable amount of time. Our first task is the sleeping bag. We purchased a 2-person mummy for its low-temperature capabilities. This bag can keep us alive at 5° Fahrenheit, which is needed for these 28° nights in the desert. But that extra insulation comes at a price. When the bag is rolled and inside the stuff sack, it rivals a college hamper in size. I demonstrate how to roll the bag as a tightly as possible for Michelle. Once she gets the hang of this ‘camping’ thing, I expect her to handle this task while I take care of other packing duties. We start jamming the bag into its sack and realize that this is a 2-person job. I compress, she tugs. I push, she pulls. We get the bag half-way in and take a breather. I’m trying to avoid the lowest hanging fruit here, but shoving this bag in the stuff sack is like putting a condom on a watermelon. After a few more attempts we manage to cram the bag in. Sweat beads my brow. My arms ache from the strain. As I tighten the drawstring, Michelle says:

“I think I left my sock in the bag.”

 I close my eyes and pinch my sinuses. There’s no way I’m doing that again, at least not right now.

 “I have an extra pair of socks, “I say, “Use those.”

 With the bike packed, we set out for the Ace Hotel. We have tickets for the Paradise Road Show today and we can get a bite at the diner attached to the hotel. Our ride to breakfast is much more leisurely. We take out time compared to yesterday. We’re no longer trying to stay on a strict schedule. The rush to get to our destination dissipates. We allow ourselves to relax and enjoy the last hours of our trip. It’s funny, as soon as you settle into the layout and sights of a place, it’s time to leave. We’ve been in a rush to take it slow and now’s the time to embrace the lighter pace of Sunday mornings. We coast down Palm Drive at an easy 65 mph. The winds are subdued today. No sand drifts. No Gael-force gusts. No bike toppling crosswinds. Just a cool breeze that helps wake your senses.

When we pull into the parking lot of the Ace Hotel, packs of motorcycles already line the curb. Dynas, Softails, Sportsters, choppers, bobbers, café racers, rat bike. You name it. We back into an empty spot between a Sportster and a Softail Slim and hang our gear from the bike. When you’re around other riders you feel comfortable leaving your helmet with your motorcycle. No one will steal it here. They already have their own.

The Ace Hotel is like stepping back in time. The pitched roof and stone walls recall the hay day of diners. Burl wood furniture and concrete make up the interior, capturing the “bring the outside inside” attitude of Palm Springs. The design of the hotel paired with the classic bikes at the curb transports you to a much simpler time. A time without $4 gas prices and $6 lattes.

After a modest breakfast, we check in to the event and check out the bikes on display. Springer front ends, sissy bars and horseshoe oil bags are the standards here. A stark contrast to the majority of the bikes on the road today. In the Post-Sons of Anarchy era, everything comes in black. While it’s badass and classic, it doesn’t leave much room for diversity. To the layman, most club-style Dynas all look the same. But at motorcycle shows, everything is chrome. The spirit of the flashy ‘70s lives on with these bikes. The antithesis of the ‘Dark Customs’ regime that took over in the early 2000s. Shovelheads, Panheads, Knuckleheads, even Flatheads fill out the exhibit. Nothing modern. No fuel injection. No hand-warming grips. No entertainment center and navigation. Just a frame, engine, handlebars, wheels, and seat. Only what you need, nothing else.

Once we finish gawking at the bikes, we make our way into the market section of the show. Vintage clothing stands, vinyl record vendors, and a DJ round out this area. It feels like a Sunday at your local thrift shop with a few custom bikes parked outside.

 “This isn’t like most bike shows,” I tell Michelle.

“Yeah, it feels a bit hipster,” she proclaims.

“The next one will be different,” I reply.

 We have plans to go to Chopperfest in Ventura in two weeks. She’ll get a well-rounded view of Harley/Cruiser culture at that show.

Michelle picks through a few consignment stands before we jump back on the Sporty. We’re leaving earlier than anticipated so we can take our time on the road. We plug our earbuds in and strap our helmets on. I select a playlist that matches the lazy nature of Sundays. Before we leave Palm Springs, we make sure we stop by the Windmill Farm for a few pics.

Once we snap a few pics, we get back on the road. We’re aiming to enjoy our journey back home and letting the time we arrive work itself out.

[unleashthemidnight]

SPN goes NSP: Guess Who’s Back (Just In Time For The Christmas) pt 5

Christmas Calendar: Masterlist SPN goes NSP: GWB part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5 Chapter name: Cookies! People: Reader (x Gabriel), Winchesters, Danny Sexbang Synopsis: You were doing preparations for the Christmas celebration with Sam and Dean in the bunker when the party invitation threw you in the loop. You are reunited with Winchesters once again and demons are roaming in the streets. Word count: 1710+ Warnings: Crack, language, song lyrics usage, demons Notes: This is part 5 of GWB and also part of the Christmas Calendar. NSP is amazing band called NinjaSexParty, whose songs, covers and music videos I have used. Songs are listed at the end of the fic. I… well… you know. Cookies. Hope you enjoy! Reblogs and comments are loved Do Not Reblog

Your own house, two kids and a dog. Good relations with neighbours. Sunday churches. Baking cookies for the bakesales and knitting woolen socks for the Christmas to give as gifts. Those things were never your thing but you still understood the charm. You walked through idyllic neighborhood with beautiful houses and gorgeous gardens. There was water elements on some of the yards and others with iron decorations. All of the gardens and houses had their own personalities that probably mirrored their owners. Everything was so dreamy and idyllic. It felt somehow unrealistic. But what wasn’t felt unreal from the moment you opened the letter in your own world?

Walking along the streets the only oddity you had seen was the road names; Innocent Road, Victim Avenue and 69th ring of Hell. There was also the stop -sign with word Never on it, and to you it looked like it was written with blood. One blue house had a white garage door that was decorated with the spraypainted words ”Manticore was here”. Well, things aren't always as they seem to be, you noted. ”Y/N?!” You heard Dean yelling from the yard of bright yellow house with red roof. Sam was with him, lockpicking the door and eventually succeeding. ”Dean! Sam!” you yelled and run to them. You were happy to see them again after separation and more than glad to see they weren’t injured, dead, or something even worse. ”We need to go quickly inside, no time to waste, you'll soon know why,” they pushed you inside the dreamhouse. Boys locked the door and all three of you started looking outside the window waiting for something to happen. ”I check the kitchen,” Sam said and patted your shoulder to get your attention, ”you, stay with Dean” he ordered and left. It seemed like the brothers knew what was going on in this world, maybe they had been here more time than you. Somewhere distant you could hear people yelling but you couldn't understand any of the words. They were still too far away and the only thing you could hear was Sam going through some cabinets. Until there was sound of plates and glasses dropping on the floor. ”SAM?” Dean yelled and was going to check the kitchen when Sam walked out, knife close to his throat held by a being with horns and ripped skin, blood dripping everywhere. Handful of more similar creatures followed them. They looked like your ordinary horror book demons but definetly not the ones you had used to. Dean's breaths were heavy. He was getting riled up and frustrated with the whole situation. ”What – Who are you?” you managed to ask. The yelling outside got louder and louder, you had to turn your head to the window to see outside. People were running past the house you were in and you saw the hostile beings smirking and enjoying the screams: ”OH GOD SAVE ME!” ”AAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!!!!!!!!” ”I SEE DEMONS!!!!” ”I SEE DEAD PEOPLE!” The yelling and screams ended as rapitly as they had started. The beings with you laughed. “They call us demons,” you got your answer from the smallest one. ”We're the horsemen of the Rockpocalypse flying on the backs of flaming horses. We'll ride town to town and leave nothing but corpses. The streets will flow with the blood of our enemies,” other hissed with cocky attitude. ”We'll kill your family and scream obscenities,” another added and threw Dean on the wall with sinister laugh. You tried to help Dean but you were thrown to the other wall and pinned against it by one of the demons still without the victim. ”Death and destruction are all around! We're motherfuckin' evil and we'll never slow down!” You saw smallest demon celebrating and jumping up and down. He was having fun at your expense and discomfort. ”You really should be cursin’ when our name passes your sweet lips...” the demon that was pinning you againts the wall said and dragged his finger across your lips while biting his own smirking. ”Don't you dare to touch her,” Dean threatened and tried to free himself. ”Why are you doing this?” You felt need to cry when demon's hold got tighter. ”Because this is the realm of hate.” You felt his breathing on the crook of your neck. You wanted to pray for help. ”Chocolate chips for everyone!” the ever-so familiar voice from the kitchen door made all of you to turn your heads towards the sound. Saved by the bell. ”Did I interrupted something? Oh, I apogolize my bad manners, but demons look; I got cookies for you… C'mon and get it,” Danny, who was wearing his own demon inspired costume, apologized and lured the demons to the kitchen with the plate of cookies he was holding, and so freeing Sam and causing you and Dean to drop to the floor with loud thump. You all were physically alright, just little tense and sore. Your curiosity got best of you and your party of three peeked from the door into the kitchen. Danny and the demons were sitting over the kitchen table and on the table was plates full of chocolate chip cookies. They were also wearing party hats and all around them were balloons of different sorts and colors. The kitchen itself was... colorful - to say the least. Panels on the wall were representing the whole rainbow with atleast two different shades of each color. The cabinets were white with single colored panels on the doors. The sight was like a children’s birthday party ad, but children were replaced with demons. So it was basically the same. ”They are the taste of happy,” the littlest demon smiled bright while holding one cookie like it was his precious. The demons munched the cookies and tried to hide some of them under the hats to save them for later. ”Pass the milk please,” one demon asked politely. One rapid shout from outside got everyones attention: ”THE DEMONS ARE CONSUMING ME!” The demon that was pinning you earlier on the wall got serious and his look darkened as he started: ”We are the nightmares you should be afraid of but there's just one thing we love and that's - -” ”COOKIES! Yaaaaay! Hooray! More cookies!” demons shouted and frolicked as Danny filled the plates again to prevent the demons going insane, again. ”All your nighmares have come to life and the horror survives in the darkest of the night,” one of the demons hissed again, ”So take our final breath in our realm and wish for merciful death as we eat this plate of cookies!” the demon  ended his talking as Danny poured even more cookies on the table. There was so many empty cookie boxes around the kitchen and you weren’t sure anymore where Danny got all the cookies he was serving. ”I guess everybody loves cookies,” Danny looked at you half-smiling and shrugged his shoulders. ”I still prefer pie,” Dean muttered under his breath while walking into the kitchen to go through the cabinets like he was looking for hidden pie. ”Dean, seriously, are you looking for a pie?” Sam couldn't believe his brothers actions. ”I think I – WE deserve some pie after this. I'm too full of cookies after all these encounters with these cookie monsters,” Dean blurted out rummaging the goodies. Yes, this is perfect, Dean thought as he put something in his pocket when no one was looking. ”So you have been here long… And you have eaten cookies with the demons. That's why you went to kitchen, to look for the cookies,” you made conclusions and Sam nodded as confirming them. ”Excatly how long you have been here? Have you been here all the time because I was in whole different places...” you rambled with questions but stopped as soon as you saw Sam’s face. The way his lips tightened and he looked down and then at Dean who was still making a mess, told you everything you needed to know. “It wasn’t all bad, just... tiring,” Sam tried to reassure you. ”Oh,” small sound felt from your lips as you looked at your toes. You knew that there was a lot to talk about later, whenever you would get back home. The demons continued munching and cramming their faces with cookies and your party decided to leave the house. Danny had made sure that demons had enough of cookies to you to get far away from them. ”This was definetly not what I was excepting,” you said to Sam as you all walked on the pavement. ”Well, yeah… But now we need to find out why and how to get back home. And I take it you know that Danny has his fingers in this. Because I have a feeling that he might be -” Sam went almost full research/hunter mode but was interrupted with Danny's voice behind you. You both turned around in unison and looked at back at the door of the house you had just walked out. ”Uh, Dean. Dean, what are you doing? What is that? Is that a knife? Oh, it's a knife. I can tell by the way it's stabbing me. Okay, great. Good talk, buddy.” You watched as Dean tried his best to stap Danny with the knife he had took from the kitchen when you didn't pay attention. Too bad that the knife proved to be one of those theatre knives. You couldn't help but laugh at the sight. Danny was so calm while Dean's face went from frustration to surprise but it didn't stop him for trying and testing - both on Danny and on himself. ”Son of a bitch...” ”Rude. But probably fair after all this. Hey listen -” Danny put his hand on Dean's shoulder - ”if you can actually stick that in me, can I keep it or do you want it back?” Dean was frustrated but tried couple more times just to be sure and finally gave up. The hunter was so tired, and you kinda felt bad for laughing so much at his misery. You didn't have any idea how many Tuesdays they have had while you were having your own adventures. When you watched Dean walking towards you leaving laughing Danny behind, the world shifted.

Christmas Calendar tag: @sumara62, @authoressskr, @serendiptious-esparza, @be-fantastic, @pizzamanteachings Gabe tag: @nobodys-baby-now, @dlb1999 Hit me with ask or message if you would like to join! NinjaSexParty's songs used in this fic, not in order

Best Friends Forever x

Cookies! x

Ninja Brian was so Ninja that you didn't see him having a bakesale in the yard.