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#and Alex’s is just out having a good time with his friends bending the laws of physics and morals

hwalovs · 2 years

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Its 9AM, Alex

Pairing; Alex Law, Reader Word Count; 1.3k Warnings; cursing, suggestive themes (nothing sexual), Alex law is his own warning.

Summary; waking up with Alex is the best thing you could ask for. His drumming, on the other hand, is a whole different story.

a/n; THIS IS NOT EDITED. also, this is for byn.

Waking up at 9 AM on a Tuesday would be a normal time for you to get up, get ready for classes, and make it to the coffee shop in time before your first lecture starts.

But it was spring break. And you planned on sleeping in until noon. Maybe have a great wake-up call with Alex, tangle up in the sheets with each other until Juliet bangs on the door with David to complain about the noise- or to get you both to be humans and take care of yourselves.

Alex had other thoughts, it seemed.

Living with Alex meant you had to get used to the constant smell of smoke, and the fact that you didn’t live alone with him, yet. You both couldn’t be loud long into the night, nor could you sleep in for too long before the others woke up and began wondering where you both were.

His sheets were always clean and warm for you, leaving way too many pillows and plushies on the bed for you, and even opening the window above his bed in the spring since you loved the nice breeze it brought through the bedroom. You added curtains, thin, but allowed for a little bit of privacy from outside prying eyes. His floor wasn’t as messy as it was before, and the lingering packs of cigarettes and the suffocating smell of smoke diminished since you moved in.

You knew the full drum set right outside your bedroom door belonged to Alex, it was one of the main things that caught your attention the first time you walked into the large apartment.

What you didn’t know was that he sometimes liked to play them at the crack ass of dawn.

It started out as soft kisses, starting at your forehead, going to your cheeks, then your neck, and then softly placed onto your bare shoulders. Humming, you roll over on the bed and swat at him, missing completely but curling back up in the warmth of sleep. His soft laugh fills the space, and you can feel the bed dip as he stands, the sound of his bare feet hitting the floor as the door opens before closing softly.

The window was open, the cool morning breeze on your cheeks making you sigh. His spot on the right side of the bed was always warmer, you blamed your low iron- he says otherwise.

With the shutters being constantly open, it let the sun bleed into the room and warm up your already warm body. You blink your eyes, squinting at the brightness, and throw an arm over your face, groaning as you pull the sheets up high and hide under them.

“Darling! It's 9 AM!” Alex yells, his voice echoing. Groaning again, you roll over back to your spot and snuggle deeper into the pillows. Juliet and David must already be gone, Alex was yelling- and not being scolded by your dear friend for doing so.

That was when the drumming started. First, just the bass being pounded, then the rest kicking up into small masses of music, until he was singing at the top of his lungs and going all out on the drum set.

“What the fuck,” you mumble, sitting up as you stare at the wall. Pictures of you, Alex, Juliet, and David littered them, all in a disorganized clutter that didn’t go with the room. Alex let you put them up, as long as he got to pick out the frames. His bookshelf remained in a messy clutter, each cubby have at least one book in it, not leaving any empty space. Alex said it made it seem like he owned more than he does, you just thought it looked stupid. You didn’t tell him that.

Throwing the covers off, goosebumps rise on your bare legs and you quickly bend over the side, grabbing one of Alex’s discarded shirts from the night before and sliding it on. It was one of his band tee’s, black and baggy that stopped around your mid-thigh.

The crashing and banging continued as you made your way to the door, pulling it open as you run a hand through your hair.

“Good morning, darling!” Alex calls, not stopping. He smiles brightly, his hair a mess with his robe slowly falling from his shoulders.

“Alex,” you yell, closing one eye as you walk closer, “what the hell are you doing?!”

“What does it look like? I’m making art!”

Shrugging, he does a run over each drum before bobbing his head, making up a tune to sing along to. Shaking your head, you turn and make your way into the open kitchen, rubbing the sleep from your eyes as you grab the kettle and bring it to the sink, beginning to fill it with water.

The drumming stops, the sound of clattering sticks echoes, and the scraping of the chair brings a smile to your face. You can hear him walk into the kitchen, humming under his breath as he leans against the counter, crossing his arms while watching you place the kettle onto the stove.

“I really think that one was a new hit,” he brags, tilting his head. You only hum, standing on your tip-toes to reach your favorite mug and placing it on the counter.

“Put all those artists out of a job, huh?” he smiles at your voice, sleeps still evident.

“I thought you were awake already,” he has a playful tone. Turning, you lean against the counter while waiting for the water to boil, tilting your head and narrowing your eyes at him.

“I highly doubt you thought I was awake, you just got lonely without me.”

He gasps, placing a hand on his chest, “me? Miss you?” he throws his head back, laughing once.

“Never!”

Now it was your turn to gasp, pushing away from the counter to place your hands on your hips, “how dare you!”

“How dare I? How dare you not care about my fantastic talent!”

Groaning, you pull out a chair and sit down, wiping a fake tear from your eye, “Oh how could I not care about the great Alex Law and his many talents? There must be something I can do to make up for my disgraceful actions.”

He walks closer, humming to himself before stopping in front of you, placing both hands onto your shoulders, thumbs rubbing circles into your skin softly.

“I’ll have to speak to my manager,” he says, raising his eyebrows and inches his hands higher, stopping to graze his thumb along your jaw. You reach up, grab his wrists and turn your head to kiss one of his palms.

“If you play those fucking drums at 9 am one more time, I won't give you head for a month.”

“Now let's talk about this,” he pleads, smiling nervously as you kiss his other palm.

“What's there to talk about? I’d rather talk with this manager of yours.”

He didn’t reply to you, just stood and drew random shapes into your skin until the high pitches hissing of the kettle broke through. Sighing, you stand and slide past him, grabbing the hand towel from the counter to grab the handle and place the kettle onto the back burner, turning off the stove and grabbing the French press along with your coffee grounds.

Slowly, arms slide around your waist, locking on top of your stomach while his head leans down to rest on your shoulder. Smiling, you tilt to let him press his forehead against your skin, leaving small kisses behind.

“Did you sleep well?” Voice muffled, his hair tickles your skin. Humming, you lean back into him and continue making your coffee, slowly pouring in the boiling water over the coffee grounds and twisting back the lid to the French press

“I did- until you started making your next top hit.”

“Hey,” he pulls his head away, biting your skin lightly, “it's an honor to hear my music.”

“Oh yeah, such an honor.”

#shallow grave #alex law #alex law imagine #alex law imagines #alex law x reader #shallow grave x reader #shallow grave imagine #ewan mcgregor #ewan mcgregor imagine #ewan mcgregor x reader

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phillipcole · 2 years

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Post-AGT Appearance 1225: Glenn Beck Radio Program October 18

Wagner would use only the same short clip in the final segment of her show, renouncing me for attacking blacks, homosexuals and modern society. It would have the desired effect. Beginning Tuesday night transgender activists would show up to protest almost every remaining show on the tour, even when I was not present. On Tuesday morning in the middle of his radio show Glenn Beck would play a longer clip. I posted this on Politicalforum.com on March 30 in the Humor and Satire section. The final stanza would not be in this version.

Beck: welcome back to the Glenn Beck Program. I don’t have a lot of time for this next segment, but I must call attention to an illegitimate attack someone on the progressive left made last night. On Alex Wagner Tonight she devoted her final segment to attack an entertainer who keeps getting a bad rap no matter what he does. His name is Phil Cole. He does satire. He’s no friend to Trump or anyone in particular, but when he sees the opportunity for a joke he writes it up and performs it no matter which direction it points. So last Friday at the confirmation hearings Supreme Court nominee Ketanji Brown Jackson said she didn’t know what a woman is, according to American law. Well, I’ll tell you what Ketanji Brown Jackson is. She is a throwback to the liberals who joined the court from the 1930s to the 60s. They went there with an agenda to use the courts to make America bend to their view of how America should be. The latest step in that effort-because they got everything else-is erasing the boundaries between men and women. So, to set up the change that will make those terms meaningless in the years ahead Jackson is laying the foundation that there is no such thing. So Phil heard about that and immediately crafted this little song. It’s amazing how fast he can do that. I’m sure he’s not planning to release the song. It’s just for a bunch of laughs and he may never mention it again. This is a grainy recording someone did at one of his shows over the weekend, but it’s on Youtube and everywhere else. So listen.

Phillip: I am something. I'm not sure. I'm not honest. I'm not pure, But I'll be on the highest court in the laaaand. There's no limits, no tenure, There for life or good behavior Despite many things I don't understand Oh Yes I avoid Any questions you might ask. My life won't be destroyed, And I'm up to the task. Put me in So I can change some laws. I'm Ketanji! Won't tell my philosophy; Won't give an apology; Just keep my cool and tell you I don't knowwww What's a woman? What's a man? I won't say; don't think you can "cause we both have a long long way to goooo.

Beck: That’s it! It describes the situation perfectly. We’re supposed to rubber stamp the nomination and celebrate. There will finally be a black woman on the court. I don’t mind that, but it’s the wrong black woman and she’s proving it to us all. If you don’t know what the Constitution is about you shouldn’t be on the highest court in the land. Now I can shout that ‘til the cows come home. He pointed it out quietly in a timely little song that changes nothing, but these progressives are so sensitive that they attack on the most harmless items on their agenda. Imagine what they’ll do to you when they get their way. Play the chorus again.

(They repeat the chorus.)

Beck: That’s it folks, beware! I’m Glenn Beck.

#Glenn Beck #ketanji brown jackson #progressive

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scriptaed · 3 years

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cherry blossom avenue.

❀ genre: angst/fluff; arranged marriage!au; f2l!au;

❀ pairing: jin x reader;

❀ length: 23.0k;

❀ synopsis: college would’ve been unbearable if it weren’t for your wallowing sessions with your best friend jin over a shared “forever alone” woe, so it really was only a matter of time until the two of you sealed a shoddy promise to betroth the other at the age of 27. perhaps it was only a silly joke to you then, but you should’ve known better nonetheless; because when a wedding invitation arrives five years later down the road with his name signed next to another’s, feelings that were once buried begin to blossom once again.

“Don’t be a homewrecker.”

What was supposed to be a light-hearted tease over your fleeting glimpses in his direction bears much more weight than even reality should have; and unbeknownst to her, even if your friend’s commentary strikes a fear in you, a fear that has some creature eating away at you and a horrifying drop in the twisted pain of your chest, the daunting knowledge of a potential truth behind her words pale in comparison to the anguish brought upon by a familiar face of the past.

Because even as you stand far and hidden behind the crowd of overly dressed classmates and unacquainted businessmen all painted by a silhouette of dimmed black, you manage to observe him through the few albeit sure opportunities; for when the passersby chatter, cross, and weave through the lavish ballroom floor at the perfect time, place, and space for you to peep through the pinholes seemingly formed by pure happenstance or a cruel wish casted upon by fate, the clock returns to a buried state of mind.

It’s a state of mind seven years stale, mistakenly manifested and deliberately buried. It’s a transition in mindsets when fondness sours into a longing for something that could never be, for his reciprocation of affections means much less than its origins. It’s a heavy moment when you’re finally sure he would never come to speak the language of your enamored being. It’s that fractured frame in time when everyone freezes in their tracks but a reverberating pain transcends the laws of the universe, almost as if on a personal quest to oust you; and even if you vehemently down yourself with another magical shot of liquor, nothing can quite ease the internal war stirring within.

One hand grasping a glass of red wine worth much more than a month of your salary and one arm crossed under the bosom draped over by your only presentable black satin slip dress, you’re almost numb to the turmoil that is irony. How cruel is it that even after seven years of having believed you had moved on, nothing has really changed after all? Your heart still melts in the wake of his dorky grin, your chest still winces over the buried buds of a coveted love, and your blood still runs intoxicated by the presumption that this phase of infatuation would pass with time.

Your friendship, your feelings, your shared promise, a youth that no one had paid witness to except for you, him, and that cherry blossom tree down that street, nothing has really changed. In fact, you feel as though you could still march across this room and nonchalantly probe at your best friend’s cheek with the ultimate goal of eliciting a shriek from your best friend.

And yet, the circumstances that have brought you back to him in this very room must have been the one cruel exception.

“A ‘homewrecker?’” you feign a light-hearted chuckle, swirling your drink and taking another sip as you peek at the distorted glass-image of the man and the woman beside him. “And why would you say something as horrifying as that?”

“Didn’t you say you and, what’s his name,” Alex pauses before nearly gasping, “ah, Seokjin! Didn’t you say you two used to be best friends in college? You might have been his best friend but she’s his fiance now, Y/N! Plus, she’s got a baby in her, too.”

She might have been joking, and it really should have been if you had been truthful about your feelings for said best friend, but maybe this is the price you’re paying for so dutifully holding onto your dignity; so, instead, the deep undercut of her remark instigates a stirring irritation within you. Raising a questioning brow at your friend is all you can muster without spilling your secret as well as your brewing storm.

“Oh, so you actually do remember what I say when you’re only a minute from blacking out?”

“Hey,” your friend recognizes the anger seeping through your body language, stifling a giggle as she tries to bump your elbow and stumbles over her heels, “it was a joke, okay? I’m just looking out for my friend!”

“Right, what is there to even look out for?”

“Well,” she points a finger at the direction you had just been staring off into a minute prior and leans in to whisper, “you’ve been staring at the newly engaged man for much longer than the woman beside him, if that says anything—”

“—uhuh, as if, hey!” you almost yelp as you help her stand upright once again. A scoff of disbelief escapes your lips over the sight of your friend letting herself go. Grabbing her glass and swiftly placing it onto the tray of the many passing waiters, you squish her cheeks and give her a light pat or two. “The only person you need to worry about is yourself. Why are you even wearing those ungodly stilettos when you can’t even wear kitten heels without whining all day at work?”

“Hey,” Alex pouts, bending one knee and jutting her hips to show off those torturous pink devices on her feet. “I told you about my ex from high school, don’t you remember?”

“So it’s okay if you’re trying to impress an ex from high school, but I’m not even allowed to glance at my old best friend?” you quip, pressing your lips into a thin line as you take another gander at your friend up and down. “And what does excessive drinking even have anything to do with it?”

She flashes you a mischievous grin, “for confidence.”

“I can’t with you,” the roll of your eyes must have agreed, “and what about the classmate friend who actually invited you to her engagement party?”

“Oh,” Alex glances at the woman beside Jin and shrugs, “she’s alright. She’s that typical good girl. Too smart, too kind, too good at everything that you really want to hate her but have no reason to do so. I’m sorry, Y/N, but your best friend is devilishly handsome and I’m not surprised she’s marrying someone of her league.”

“Pfft, why are you apologizing to me?” you scoff, ushering her to the washroom and shaking your head along with the stream of confusing emotions that hit you like a truck. “Go wake yourself up before she or, gasp, worse yet, your ex spots you.”

“Oh my God, you’re right,” she gasps, shuffling in her skintight red bodycon dress and whirling around once more to call out before finally disappearing, “let me know if any boy comes looking for me!”

“Uhuh, yeah, sure,” you shoo her away, taking another sip from your glass and muttering under your breath, “...how am I supposed to recognize your high school classmates?”

Now that your friend is gone and you’re left all alone to your thoughts, you go against your own advice and down another glass of liquor.

You may have been his best friend but she is his fiance.

Well, if Alex is a good judge of character, then at least a good man like your best friend has found an equally respectful woman. It might have hurt to hear her words, but Alex isn’t exactly wrong. At the very least, you could sigh in relief having known you’re genuinely happy for your best friend’s future.

It’s just that the truth hurts sometimes.

Relief isn’t an excuse for lingering onto a soon-to-be-married man, regardless of when these emotions came about.

People are chattering all around you, strangers and former acquaintances are bustling about, familiar college classmates are greeting the bride-to-be’s high school classmates, and yet here you are: aloof and isolated even in a room of hundreds, fixated and more distant than you have ever been to the boy you had once cherished as the closest anyone could get to knowing the real you.

No one would know but Jin.

The real you.

The you who could not have moved on because she couldn’t recognize her own feelings until seven years down the road with a wedding invitation in hand, seven years after the buds had been sowed, seven years too late.

The one who stands pathetically here in the corner of a room, secretly hoping for him to approach her but also wishing for the night to pass unnoticed just like she had wished for her buried affections to pass.

So you shuffle in place awkwardly, pondering whether you should’ve caved into Alex’s pleas and attended this posh get-together, debating whether you should dip once your friend realizes her high school ex just isn’t worth it, sipping the remainder of opulent liquor and taking one last peek at the boy, when, your heart strikes loudly against your chest…

...because his eyes catch yours, a pair amongst hundreds, one invitee amidst an endless swarm of crowds, almost as if on a planned rendezvous, a secret unbeknownst to everyone in the room but the two of you.

Eyes widening in shock, the drums of your chest hammer against you, each strike pumping a nearly painful high that fuels your fight or flight mode. The debate between confronting your longtime friend and fleeing said friend did not even cross your mind at the start of the predicament. Quickly whirling around, head down and hands gripped to your drink, your feet move on its own.

A familiar series of clicks echo against the polished marble tiles. You don’t even have to turn around to recognize those homecoming footsteps, those awe-inspiring confident strides as he makes his way across the room. If this were you from seven years ago, you would have welcomed him with open arms and he would have claimed you were just acting sweet to bargain for some fresh pastry, but the unfamiliarity of a stranger you have yet to reconcile with has you in an unexplainable panic.

After all, it’s hard to explain why exactly his persistent pursuit after you, after seven years of distance, both emotional and physical, frustrates you to no ends.

Your hands form fists, your feet storm down the halls, and your mind could repeat nothing but the words you had excused as “just a light-hearted joke.”

You may have been his best friend but she is his fiance.

Don’t be a homewrecker.

A baby in her.

A baby.

His fiance.

A homewrecker.

The accusations echo and echo, as though screaming at you in the endless cave that is your mind, until the party fades, the crowd disappears, and the ear-piercing classical music wanes against the walls of your temporary solace, the bathroom. Finally, entrapped in a world of black—black tiles, wine colored walls, and dark red roses perched on top of what seems to be a black granite sink—you’re left alone to your thoughts.

Alex wouldn’t understand a seven-year-long regret because she doesn’t know the real history between you and Jin. In fact, no one invited to this engagement party nor does anyone in this whole mansion know of the soon-to-be groom’s past.

It isn’t as simple as people might make it out to be on the surface, because no one but you, Jin, and the street down your block had paid witness to a shoddy, spontaneous promise that should have never been made.

Turning on the faucet and splashing a fresh handful of cold water onto your face, your eyes eventually wander from the stream of water that flows down the drain up along the glass bowl of a sink and into the mirror to meet the sullen eyes of a girl, seven years older with a stain of regret that spans much longer that a mere seven years.

❀ ❀ ❀

“Waaah,” the boy exclaims as you watch your own reflection narrow its eyes at the image beside you. The spectacle persists to angle his chin every which way until he’s finally satisfied with the protrusion of his jawline; and as the boy resumes his daily activity of marveling at himself in awe, you have to wonder once again, for the hundredth time by now, just how you two had possibly become best friends. “Looking good, Jin. Looking real good.”

“Ugh,” you roll your eyes and feign nausea, “narcissist.”

Jin pauses in the midst of his inspection, allowing his phone to settle into his lap and turning to glance at you with his head as high—well, almost as high—as his ego. “When you look as good as this,” he gestures at himself and your eyes follow his crafty fingers up and down, “don’t even try to tell me you wouldn’t be all up in yourself.”

You blink your eyes blankly and start with the most accusatory tone you could muster, “excuse you, Kim Seokjin, but are you saying that I don’t look good?”

“You’re insisting that yourself, not me! It’s not my fault you can’t appreciate your God-given looks,” Jin raises his hands mercifully and you almost miss his latter, back-handed compliment when you become entranced by those double-jointed fingers of his. “Plus, I said ‘when you look as good as this.’”

“Psh, yeah,” you mumble, “and yet here you are, still as forever alone as ever.”

“Hey,” he snaps, narrowing his eyes at you even as he raises his phone to take yet another selfie, “and what does that say about you?”

“...and that’s exactly why,” you chirp as you hastily smush your cheek against his and throw a peace sign just as he snaps a photo, “we’re gonna be forever alone together!”

“Hey, why’re you ruining my selfie—” he pauses in the middle of his camera roll “—oh, we actually look good.”

Glimpsing at one of many candid photos of you and him, a helpless smile spreads across your lips. A warm breeze blows and you can practically smell the impending spring that breathes life into the pink buds hovering on the cherry tree above you. The sun’s embrace against your bare legs that lie beside your best friend’s on the red and white checkered picnic is a perfect compliment to the equally bright phenomena that are his high-pitched giggles; and like the many days you’ve spent the past year, the only thing that could possibly elevate this moment of serenity would be a bite of his weekly pastry batches.

Speaking as you chow down on the carbs, you quip, “you mean you look good?”

“That, too, but I meant us, together—” he articulates, cutting himself off abruptly when he snaps his head to find you digging into one of his many bread “—hey, who said you could start testing without me?!”

“Too many selfies, too slow, too hungry,” you lean your head back to plop the remainder of the custard-filled bread into your mouth, “shmorry Jin, but dish ish delicious.”

Just as you lean forward and take another large bite out of the batch, Jin catches right up to you, snatching the remainder and plopping it right into his now-stuffed cheeks instead. Lips falling agape at the disappearance of your bite-size donut, you gawk at your best friend whomst chomps happily away with your piece in his mouth.

You can still recall the heat of your cheeks after the first time he had ever proclaimed something that was yours as his—in fact, it wasn’t much long ago when Jin had nearly regurgitated a mouthful of mocha frappuccino after discovering you had sneaked in a sip or two prior—but now? Sharing commodities has become such second nature to you two that sometimes you wish he could return to his germophobic days just so you can hog all the food…

...and maybe to relive whatever magical flutters that had befallen you on that very first day.

“Of coursh ish delicious!” he manages to exclaim incoherently. “Kim Sheokjin baked it afta all!”

“Yeah,” you take a long moment to gulp and make room for more food, “I think I prefer the ones with custard—”

“—so it’s a perfect batch just like m—”

“—almost perfect.”

You could see yourself wink through the prideful glint in his eyes quickly plummet into a glare that has you laughing at the downfall of his indestructible ego. His playful glare through the corner of his narrowed eyes silently commences yet another one of your daily staring challenges. Maybe that’s why the two of you made such a perfect pair amongst the thousands of classmates at school. After all, how would Jin ever find someone as tolerant of his incessant dad jokes and perpetual ego as you are? And how would you ever find someone who would bake you goods and cook you lunch and, not to mention, spout such peculiar humor?

All of your classmates had dubbed the two of you as the perfect comedy duo—the dumb and the dumber, the silly and the sillier—that, apparently, is the essence of a match made in heaven, albeit probably meant to be more platonically than romantically.

Both too stubborn to lose, even in a meaningless game of a staring contest, not even the heat of the sun rays that has you two nearly sweating bullets could deter the match. Eventually, seconds turn into minutes and minutes turn into a frenzy frozen moment in time as you start to fall into the sudden abyss you found yourself in that is the warmth pool of his eyes.

Perhaps it’s the angle at which the rays strike theatrically on the apples of his cheeks, illuminating his dewy skin and enhancing the chocolate hues of his orbs hidden underneath the matching brown locks of his all whilst his eyes happen to be staring right back at you. You’ve never quite felt this way before—heart palpitating, throat constricting, and mind panicking—but for the first time ever, you’re hesitant in allowing your best friend to peer through the windows to your soul.

This isn’t good. What would he do if he were to discover your frenzy? Would he tease you to no ends?

Worse yet, would he falsely assume that you’re hardcore crushing on him…?

“Oh God,” you blurt out, breaking eye contact to avert your head to the side across the street. Your lips begin to mumble whatever comes first to mind, “uh, wow, look at that couple. Ugh, PDA—” your eyes flicker to find Jin raising a brow just before your eyes avert once again and he follows your line of sight “—am I right?”

“Oh c’mon! Just admit it,” Jin chides. “You’re only using this to disguise the fact that you were just about to blink, weren’t you?”

“I was not about to blink,” you insist but your shifty gaze tells the both of you otherwise, even if the true lack of confidence is unbeknownst to Jin. “You suck at staring contests. How many times have I won before? I was just distracted, okay?”

“Oh yeah?” Jin crosses his arms. “Distracted by what, then? Huuuh? By my devastatingly good looks?”

“No!” you exclaim almost too adamantly that you have to add in a nervous laugh at the end, which only has Jin staring at you in utter disbelief. Feigning an apologetic pressed smile, you gesture your hands in the direction of the couple supposedly hidden behind a fence but clearly exposed to those on a hill, otherwise known as you two. “I meant them—”

“—ew!”

The both of you exclaim in unison, selflessly covering the tarnished eyes of the other and ducking away from the moment of intimacy that you two had just intruded on.

“Aw, cmon! Even after graduation, too?” Jin remarks, mouth gaping and hands falling from your shielded eyes only to be thrown to his side in bewilderment. “Does everyone really have to remind us just how lonely we are even on our last day?”

“You mean how lonely we are and how lonely we will be for the rest of our lives?”

“For the rest of our lives?” Jin quirks a brow at you before shaking his head and shrugging. “Dang, that wasn’t exactly my plan, because the world will be forced to acknowledge my looks sooner or later, but I mean, in your case…”

“What?!” you gasp in disbelief, slapping his arm hard enough for him to wince. “What do you mean ‘in your case?’ I bet you haven’t even kissed someone yet!”

Jin snarls at you as he pulls his arm back and retorts, “yeah? And I bet you haven’t either!”

“Actually, I have, with Joon at that party last year,” you say smugly, crossing your arms with a chin held high, “and you just admitted you haven’t had your first kiss yet.”

“Psh, yeah, I haven’t, and?" the boy holds his head high akin to a child arguing with his body and not with his words. “Because I prefer to save it for something meaningful unlike someone here.”

“Hey, are you insinuating that it wasn’t meaningful?”

“You’ve always told me how much you hated parties!” he throws his hands up. “Plus, you don’t even like Joon! You said his breath stinks!”

“Well—” you pause but no words come to you except for a loud grunt “—ugh, fine. You’re right.”

“Of course I’m right,” he turns away, leaning into his right hand with an elbow propped against his crisscrossed lap. “I’m Kim Seokjin, after all.”

Following suit, you mumble into your propped hand, “I guess that’s why we’re friends in the first place. Together and, yet, still forever alone.”

“Hey, I said I don’t plan on being forever alone.”

“Right, right,” you brush him off, “tell me that when you actually get a girlfriend—actually, tell me that when you find someone to marry who doesn’t run for their life just one month into your relationship.”

“‘Marry?!’” he gawks at your demand. “I haven’t even had my first kiss yet and you’re talking about marriage?!”

“What?” you turn to face him, cheek resting in hand. “Didn’t you say the world would soon recognize your charms?”

“Hmph, well,” he says with a jutted lower lip, “definitely sooner than you.”

“Really?” you gape at his bold proclamation despite clearly being the one with the upperhand. “You really think you’re gonna get married before me?”

Your best friend doesn’t even bother glancing at you before answering, “bet.”

“Okay, if you win, then I’ll eat the crust to your breads whenever you want. I’ll even throw in a bonus for you and spare your wife from having to see fetus photos of you in college,” you can only snicker at the lightbulb that goes off in his widened eyes. “And if I win, then you’ll have to eat my crust and delete all the ugly photos you have of me on your phone.”

“Sorry, can’t do. That would take me an eterni—”

“—shut up.”

“Okay, fine, bet,” he cackles, straightening his back and stretching his arms out before him, “and what if neither of us ever get married?”

“Hm,” you purse your lips, “good point. Should we set a time cap to our bet? Ideally, if I want to have a stable job and income by 25, have children by 30, enjoy two or three years of marriage without kids, then…”

“Why do you have to have children by 30?” Jin frowns. “Why set all these unrealistic standards on yourself?”

Putting a finger to hush his lips, you almost find yourself distracted by the plush warmth against your skin. Quickly, you answer, “long story short: parents.”

“Ah,” he utters even as your fingers are pressed to his lips, “ditto.”

“Let’s set the cap to 27,” you propose. “If neither of us get married by the age of 27, then we’ll just call off the bet. But damn—” the two of you simultaneously lean your chins into your palms “—that means we’re really gonna be a disappointment to our parents forever, huh?”

A loud, heavy sigh escapes the both of you; and while you stay pouting into your hands, staring into the fresh green grass on the downside of the hill off in the distance, Jin props his hands back against the blanket and cranes his neck back to look off into the distant sky. You hadn’t noticed it until now, but for a devilishly dashing guy like Jin—broad shoulders, facial features that could only be gifted, and a prominent Adam’s apple, especially with his head rolled to the back like this—you have to admit his lonely status must have been much more of a choice to Jin than it is for you; because even for someone like you, his best friend who gets to stare at his profile for as long you desire in all its glory, you have yet to become desensitized to his dazzling visuals that is anything but normal.

As much as you hate to admit it, even now, with a clear blue sky, an array of warm pastry aroma, and a field of freshly cut grass, you can’t help but become enamored by the person before you.

And when another sigh befalls his lips and the two of you have settled into a comfortable silence and a breeze passes by the both of you, rustling a dozen or so of the hovering cherry petals to grace the surrounding air, he speaks.

“Let’s get married if we’re still single by then.”

“...huh?”

“I said,” only his eyes move to peer down at you effortlessly, “if we both lose the bet, then let’s get married.”

Your eyes pop and you can only utter the few words that reach you, “to each other?”

“No, to food,” he says sarcastically, grabbing a piece of his bread and stuffing your face with it when you continue to stare at him and he shuffles awkwardly in place. Looking away, he mumbles, “of course to each other, who else, dummy?”

“Uh….huh,” you blankly nod your head as a series of laughs are stifled by the bread. “Okay, and you’re being serious?”

He doesn’t look at you when he answers, “uhuh.”

“Pffft, and you’re saying you would keep that promise? That you would even remember this moment? We’re just gonna marry? Like that? And you’re assuming I’m just going to agree?”

“Hey,” he turns to frown at you, “why wouldn’t you agree? I’m offering you a once in a lifetime opportunity!”

Munching down on the bread, you continue to play along in amusement, “really? And what exactly are you offering me? You know I have high standards, right? I’m not just going to accept any proposal.”

“I know. That’s why you’re still single…” the boy deadpans, even as you glare at his remark, “...but, that’ll all change when you witness my proposal! Hear me out. First, I’ll cook every meal for you for the entire day.”

“You almost already do that except for breakfast.”

“Okay, but I’ll hone my skills by then. It’ll be even better than any restaurant we’ve ever been to.”

You raise a brow, “so you think food is the way to my heart?”

“No offence, but yes, that’s why we’re friends,” he quips before continuing, “second, I’ll bring flowers to you at work. Everyone at your job will be burning with jealousy!”

“Because of your public display of affection, which we both clearly disdain?”

“No, because they would wonder how you have such a handsome boyfriend like me!” he wags his finger. “Plus, who doesn’t like a little PDA when they’re about to be proposed to?”

“Okay, fair enough, but those are two promises you’re making for the proposal. A marriage is a lifelong commitment. Why would I want to marry you just for food and flowers?”

“Hmmm, even for someone like you, I’m surprised you have so many requirements,” Jin hums, tapping his finger on his chin. “How about this, I’ll make three more promises for our marriage.”

“Quit saying ‘our marriage,’ I keep shuddering at the thought of it,” you remark as you rub your arms.

“Third promise, I won’t break your achey breaky heart,” he deliberately emphasizes each word in a fruitful attempt to send shivers down your spine. “Fourth promise, I’ll remember all of my promises.”

“Okay… and fifth?”

“I’ll keep all of my promises! And I’ll do it all right here at this spot. Our spot.”

“What? That’s dumb,” you giggle. “Just keep it at four, then.”

“No,” he grabs the bagel in your hands and fills his mouth without a second of hesitation, “ish eashier to wememba fibe promishesh.”

“Right, right, right,” you nod, pressing your lips in a vain attempt to muffle your chuckles. “And what promises would you want me to make?”

“You?” he quirks a brow before shaking his head. “Nothing. You’re fine. I like you just the way you are.”

Huh. Has Jin always been this nice? Because you don’t quite recall ever feeling the heat of an oncoming blush of your cheeks or the bashful flutters that come with your best friend’s witty remarks. Maybe the topic of marriage has thrown you off today or maybe it’s the aftermath of a high having just graduated college and being thrusted into adulthood, but the stretched smile that adorns your lips is an undeniable fact that your confidence and spontaneity has reached its pinnacle.

Grinning, you lean across Jin’s lap to grab and unlock his phone to access the camera, “okay, wanna take a photo to commemorate this moment?”

“Gee, if you want a photo of me that bad, you could just ask me to send you a selfie, y’know—what the,” Jin starts to cackle when you raise the phone into the air and suddenly press your cheeks against his without warning. With a side-finger gun to frame his cheeks and chin, your best friend readies his pose as you wear a mischievous smile. “Hurry up and take the picture already, Y/N. My time is money.”

“Hey Jin,” you call out to him with your eyes still fixated to the phone screen, as does his.

The boy almost drags his words, “now what?”

“You’ve never had a girl kiss you on the cheeks before either, right?”

“What—”

—click.

“There,” you chirp jubilantly, grinning at the stunned look on his face, his eyes popping and his lips just slightly parted but failing to utter a single word as his hand grazes the spot on his cheeks where your lips had just touched, “now you have zero excuses to forget our promise!”

❀ ❀ ❀

That must have been the last time you had met up with Jin in person. Shortly after graduation, the two of you had parted ways as many are forced to do in order to embark on their lives as full-fledged adults. Being born with a silver spoon in his mouth, Jin had been lucky enough to receive a job offer straight out of college with the help of family connections; although, even without his family name, you whole-heartedly believe he still would have managed on his own based off of his unparalleled work ethic that you had the chance to witness firsts-handedly.

On the other hand, your parents had advised you to stay home, which happened to mean you would be stuck in the same town of your college, until you finally landed a decent job where you had met Alex and established a new life. Unfortunately, like life always does, all that busywork meant sacrificing contact with your best friend somewhere along the way.

“Hey, Y/N! Wait!”

“Ah, shit,” you mutter under your breath as you stop in the midst of your tracks down the black-marbled hallway, gritting your teeth and composing yourself just as you’ve done countless times around your less than friendly colleagues. Taking a deep breath in and out, you put on a pleased smile and whirl around to find the face of a familiar boy in your most recent reveries. “Ahh, hey, Jin... It’s been a long time, hasn’t it?”

“Ah,” the man, who seems to have grown at least or three inches since you had last seen him, scratches the back of his head. “I didn’t expect to see you here tonight… how have you been?”

This is awkward. So painfully awkward.

“Me? Oh, I’ve been alright. Life. Adulting. You know the drill,” you press a thin smile. “Actually, I’m surprised to be seeing you here tonight. I still remember us whining all throughout college over being forever alone, and yet here we are… at your engagement party… life can be funny, huh?”

“Y—” he stutters, scratching the back of his neck “—yeah… it can be.”

“So,” you chirp in a fruitless attempt to lift the suffocating atmosphere, “the wedding is coming up pretty soon! Feeling good or is someone getting cold feet?”

He shakes his head weakly, “I wear socks to sleep.”

“Wh—” you pause for a quick second, blinking blankly at his soft chuckle and following suit shortly after “—why do your jokes sound like you’re 22 again?”

The man shrugs with a helpless smile hinted in the corners of his lips; and when it happens—you don’t know how or when the silence had whisked you away into a past time—you find him gazing at you with that fondness of a sole friend who endlessly shared and fought informidable woes with you. Perhaps you’re a hopeless romantic frozen between the fork of two roads that have long closed, for you swear you can see your own reflection through his warm brown eyes and you surmise the only possible answer to the question that lingers in your mind.

He must see the same friend in you, that girl he would only call friend.

“You’ve been preparing your whole life for this, or, actually, maybe I should say we’ve been preparing,” you smile to stifle the lurching ache in your chest, “I guess I’m the only fool waiting for her turn now.”

A weep cracks the laugh you force out of your knotted throat. Immediately, you turn your head to avoid his watchful gaze and tuck a lock of hair behind an ear whilst discretely ridding any traces of waterworks welling in your vision. You think you must have gotten away with the feigned laugh and turn, a routine you had mastered at your previous work, but the gradual dissolution of the curve on his lips settles into an unreadable flatline more resembling a frown than anything; because even after all these years, he can still read you like an open book.

So, if he could see through your every facade even now, then why does he not remember? You know you shouldn’t hold it against him, such a silly promise built on a lonesome pair of naive hearts, but you can’t help it when a single word paints your conscience.

Why?

Why can’t he remember?

Your shared promises, your birthday, your memories, and... you?

“Y/N,” Jin begins gently, hesitating in place once he takes a step forward and you flinch, “about the wedding date…”

He waits for you to reply, supposedly for ‘whenever you were ready’, as he always does during those fragile lows of yours.

To avoid letting loose any more unneeded drama, you can only manage a hum, “mm?”

“I…” he pauses and sighs. “I know it’s your birthday.”

A hitch in your breath is audible. You clamp your lips tightly and nod, uttering lowly, “yeah.”

“I want you to know I didn’t decide the date, Y/N,” he says firmly, “my father did.”

“And?” you quip suddenly, eyes darting to shoot a glower deadly enough for him to twitch in evident hurt. There, you went ahead and did it. As hard as you had spent the past months muting your rawest reaction to the envelope in your mailbox, all the pent up frustration and sheer sorrow for a lost future came whiplashing just as hard. “And you couldn’t tell your father to change the date? Maybe one day after? Or two?”

“You know I would have asked if I could, Y/N,” he bites his tongue to state sternly, “but how would he understand? Change it for… for what—” he laughs cruelly in the midst of his burst “—for the birthday of a best friend I lost contact with for five whole years?! That’s so… so dumb—”

“—dumb…?”

The crack in your voice leads to a stagnant silence over what is clearly a no man’s land. Betrayal visibly paints across your face, the momentary display of having wronged his closest ally stains his own.

“Sorry, I didn’t meant that...”

“‘...yeah, you’re right,” you scoff, “I’m dumb for waiting five whole damn years’ because you wouldn’t fucking text me or call me to ask how I was doing!”

“Me?” he asks in disbelief, gawking and pointing an accusatory finger. “You wouldn’t even pick up your phone! I called you for a month after I moved!”

“I couldn’t pay for my phone, alright?! I was living with my parents and scrambling to find a job, any fucking low wage job, and I couldn’t sit all day in my room waiting for your calls because I’m not born with a silver spoon stuck in my ass!”

At this point, the conversation had somehow contorted into an all out brawl of words, a challenge to see who could blame the other for the unsaid confessions lost in communication. The two of you staring down the other, chest heaving and jaws clenching and brows knitting, if it weren’t for your fortunate location tucked in the hallway hidden from the main room, you would not have allowed yourself to fall, lost somewhere in the depth of his eyes.

“Why are you so upset?” a weak, hopeless laugh tumbles from his confused, pained expression. “Aren’t you supposed to be happy for me?”

“I—” something gets caught in your throat and you have to choke it out “—I am. I am happy for you. I’m not upset, no…”

Jin reaches a hand out to your cheek when he notices your tears but immediately retracts his notion when you flinch backwards. The boy frowns in concern, “Y/N… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to yell. How did I upset you?”

“Nothing,” you frantically shake your head that hangs low, using the back of your hands to smear every sign of contradiction on your face. “I just—” your breath shakes and an impending series of hiccups begins to kick in “—I’m silly. I should be happy for my best friend. I mean, I am happy. I’m just being dumb.”

“What?” Jin carefully takes a step forward. “No you’re not—”

“—I’m dumb, okay, Jin?” you finally muster the courage to lift your sights to find his own confused ones. “It’s been five whole years and I’m embarrassed for taking a joke of a promise so seriously when my best friend doesn’t even remember making it!”

The scrunch in his brows and lost resolution only reverberate the deafening ache in your chest. “The promises…? Y/N, I—”

“—it’s fine,” you blurt. Shaking your head and stumbling backwards, you look him straight in the eyes to say your last words before the fading knocks of your heels against the wood are all that he hears. “It's my fault for believing in a foolish fairytale anyways.”

❀ ❀ ❀

It’s almost like a fever dream when you recall just how confidently you had spat those spiteful words and furthermore dared to depart with that sheer satisfaction and the slightest aftertaste of alcohol residing on your tongue that night; but now that you’re awake, sober, and without the power of liquor, there’s nothing that can pull you out of your greatest nightmare most recently manifested into reality.

“Why the hell did I do that? Why the hell did I do that? Why the hell did I do that?”

The incessant grumbles tumble freely from your lips whilst you pace back and forth in the corner of the office. Typically, your colleagues would describe you as composed, reserved, and the level-headed half of an otherwise wild pair with Alex. This morning, however, they begin to question everything they’ve ever known about you as they watch through the corner of their averting eyes.

“I knew I shouldn’t have left you alone!” Alex hisses under her breath along with the threatening glares she shoots at the audience. Considering how long you’ve been going at your mental breakdown, it doesn’t take very long for your shuffling footsteps and mumbling gibberish to transcend into yet another white noise in the office; and once the majority of the passersby settle on the new revelation of your hidden crazed nature, Alex hastily storms to your side as you begin banging your head against the wall. “Why would you throw a tantrum at your best friend’s engagement party?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying…” you pause momentarily to groan before proceeding to damage whatever is left of your seemingly deteriorating brain. “Why the hell did I do that? Why the hell did I do—”

“—not to mention, an ex best friend who never even knew about your unrequited feelings—”

—she comes to an abrupt stop when she finds the deadliest scowl in your dart-like eyes. No words are exchanged but the lethal consequences are clear enough to grant you her silence and the continuance of your destruction.

“Why the hell did I do that, Alex?” you whimper, taking a break from your antics because, damn, your forehead is really starting to hurt. “Whyyyyyyy did you have to leave me alone? Maybe Jin wouldn’t have found me and I wouldn’t have had to confront him over something that shouldn’t even matter anymore! I-I barely even know him… it’s been five years and, suddenly, here I am, voila! At his engagement banquet, yelling in his face and getting mad over feelings that aren’t even his fault!”

“I told you to go easy on the alcohol.”

“I told you to go easy on the alcohol,” you retort. Taking a deep breath, you let out a sigh along with the scowl plastered across your face. Your next words come out more as a helpless confession of fear than a rhetorical question to be answered. “Do you think he… hates me…?”

Alex observes you for a lingering second, perhaps contemplating between a merciful albeit exacerbating answer and a merciless albeit helpful answer. She speaks carefully, treading dangerous water, “well… would you like him to?”

“I don’t know,” you shut your eyes to heave yet another sigh because that weight in your chest refuses to leave you alone. An unapologetic swinging of the door and a series of loud, wide strided footsteps that follow have your brows furrowing and it takes everything in you and Alex, judging by the sudden shuffles you hear by your side, to finish the rare heart-to-heart conversation. “I think… I think if he hated me, maybe that would extinguish that part of me from the past. If he hated me, I would be able to get over it. Maybe I would hate him too, out of spite, but at least I would be able to get over—””

“—it…? Over what, Y/N?”

Over what? It takes you much longer than it should have for you to surmise the most probable answer to her question, an answer you were never willing to admit and an answer you aren’t quite sure you’re ready to admit even now.

“You know what I’m implying, Alex,” you sigh, shutting your eyes even tighter when a rising heat marks your cheeks. “I want to get over—”

—but your words are cut short by a familiar voice that has your heart racing and striking an unprecedented strife in the mayhem that is your systemic state...

“You can’t possibly hate me, Y/N,” he proudly proclaims and you can practically hear him smiling, “no one ever hates Kim Seokjin.”

...and when your eyes finally flutter open, you find the man, who had only seemed like a phenomenon of your feverish dream a second ago, standing before you and adorning that signature smile with raised cheek apples and crescent-like eyes that has yet to change under the influence of time and distance.

“W-What are you doing here…?” you barely manage to utter. Eyes flickering around your surroundings, from Jin’s broad shoulders that shield nearly the entirety of a helpless albeit buoyant Alex, to your colleagues who fail to discreetly whisper over the lavishly suited mystery of a man, and finally back to the bouquet of pastel flowers wrapped with a bright pink bow. Brows furrowing, you struggle to organize your thoughts and even go so far as to check for the dent in your reddish forehead in a vain attempt to dispel the mind tricks. When the mirage before you fails to dissipate into thin air like sand, you slowly turn to face the wall again only to have your antics disrupted by his refreshingly cold hand on your burning forehead ; and when you turn, you find Jin’s mischievous smile growing wider by the second. “H-how do you know where I work…?”

“I’m your best friend, Y/N. Have you somehow forgotten after all that head banging?” Jin scoffs in disbelief, gawking with a chuckle. Suddenly, he leans in to grab your right hand firmly in his own, squeezing twice as he had always done and leading you toward the exit. “C’mon, let’s go recover those memories of yours, eh?”

“Wait, wait,” you nearly stumble over your own feet at the pace he’s going, struggling to catch your breath when he bursts through the last door and a blast of freezing wind envelops the clash of the heat reverberating from your beating heart. “I have to go back! I still have work! And, and… and where in the world are you even taking me?”

“Tsk, tsk, tsk, Y/N, so many dumb questions for someone who always topped my grades,” the boy holds the bouquet of flowers out toward you, refusing to continue until you reluctantly accept his gift with your left hand against your chest. Smiling at your reluctant acceptance, Jin turns his back on you and proceeds to march into the parking lot but his now warm hands intertwined with your now cold hands never loosens its grip.

It’s been a long five years of waiting to finally relish in the hold of his familiarly slim, often teased albeit self-praised double-jointed hands, but, now that you’re finally living in it, you’re sure it was all worth it… even if the crashing flames at the end of this road is an inevitable, foreseeable future.

“Jin,” you frown as you stare at Jin’s opening of the car door and gesture of an invitation, reluctantly seating yourself in his sumptuous car. “I failed half of my exams... remember?”

The boy’s laughs can still be heard even through the closed door as he makes his way around the car front, all whilst swinging the keys in his forefinger. His cackling steps an abrupt many levels of decibels higher when the opposing door opens and he plops into the driver seat. “That never stopped you from boasting, did it?”

Without the flare of your usual clever quips, you purse your lips in silence and subconsciously hug the bouquet closer to your chest to keep his space as unoccupied by your presence. The sudden turn of events has your head spinning and your heart racing enough for the thumps to be felt by your hands.

How did he find out where you worked? Where was he even taking you and what was he planning to do with you? Why was he acting as if you had not angered him just two nights ago?

You don’t think you’ll be getting the answer any time soon, particularly the latter question, but when your stomach growls loudly, eliciting a crackle of a laugh from Jin, the awkward tension in your muscles eases ever so slightly.

“...s-sorry… I skipped breakfast.”

“I know,” he puts the car into neutral at the red light and turns to peer at you with a smug look that says he could still read you like an open book, “because you always skip breakfast. I hid some pastry in the bouquet.”

“What?” you scrunch your nose but immediately dive your scavenging hands into the flowers; and sure enough, you find your favorite cream-filled bread of his warm in your hands and you can’t stifle the smile that spreads on your lips. “Why would you even do that?”

“Well, in case you suddenly got really jacked and physically refused to come with me, then at least you would have something to eat.”

“No,” you giggle, “I meant why would you hide the bread in the bouquet…”

His eyes brighten like a lightbulb, as if only now recalling the genius plan he had crafted himself, “oh, because then you can sneak a bite without having to leave your desk! It always worked with our backpacks, didn’t it?”

Your sights fall to the bouquet and you can only reply with a sheepish grin, “right… it sure did.”

The engine purrs to life again when the light turns green and the remainder of the car ride is filled with the smooth drift of his ride and the ceaseless albeit completely welcomed humming from his lips. The old Jin never had enough of an incentive to drive, although his parents always suggested gifting him a brand new car and you had begged him to take the offer out of boredom and a never-ending desire to escape far away from university, but something about this moment in time has you feeling cozy, belonging, and at home. It’s almost like it was meant to be.

But the silver ring shining around his finger under the angle of the sun is a dreadful reminder that it isn’t.

So, as a slap to yourself back into reality, you fracture this perfect moment you would have once framed in that hopeless mind of yours, “so… how did you find out where I worked?”

“Ah,” his right hand casually slips onto the back of your headrest. “Still haven’t figured out, rank 292?”

“No, I haven’t, rank 295.”

“First,” he raises a finger, “I asked some people through the grapevines and eventually your friend Alex gave out.”

Grumbling under your breath, you curse, “damn it, Alex.”

“And second,” he raises another finger before proclaiming firmly, “I’m proving you wrong.”

“Proving me wrong?” you articulate with a scoff. “You’re going to prove me wrong? Right, keep dreaming.”

“I’m not going to prove you wrong, I am proving you wrong," he insists before shifting the car to neutral and leaning in toward you, gaze brimming with conviction locked with your own wary ones, as if ready to spill a secret sworn by the two of you and hidden from the rest of the universe.

He's close enough for his minty breath to graze your burning cheeks, to breathe a vigorous life previously unknown by your dull five years. Heart pumping and lungs barely working, daring not to budge for being caught under the sway of his gravitational force, you can hardly catch him when he finally speaks.

"I haven't forgotten, Y/N,” he utters, “I'm a man of my word."

❀ ❀ ❀

Promise one.

"I'll cook every meal for you for an entire day."

Promise two.

"I'll bring flowers to you at work."

His unabashed, overly detailed tactic to ask for your hand in marriage still echoes from a time long past. Hopes for those promises were weakened by each passing second but unequivocally unassailed at birth. Eventually, smothered and disheartened, you had been forced to cut ties and confront the reality of broken promises and broken dreams. You had once somehow convinced yourself things would never return to the ways they once were, and, yet, here he is having returned by your side and here you are enraptured by the utter joy in his laughs after all this wavering time.

It's like a dream come true; and if this indeed all just a nightmarish dream bound to death, you wish you never swore allyship to this alcohol, for now your only wish is for it to succumb you into a deep, long slumber.

“I toooooooold you I don’t like paaaaasta!” you whine, the drag of your voice manifesting in white puffs in the still chilly spring air. The sudden transition between the warmth of his house to the frozen world outside has you spiraling into a series of trips and stumbles; and as always, your best friend Jin is the only one to hold you up, which is a good thing considering how you would’ve been tumbling into the death trap of a river beneath this bridge. “So whyyyy did you make me pastaaaaaaa? Whyyyyyyy?”

“What? Why’re you blaming me?” he retorts, obviously taking offence. “You always loved pasta! You ate it every single day at uni!”

“I diiiiid love pasta,” you say through barely parted lips, “but it’s all just… just carbs, carbs, carbssss…”

“Since when did you care about carbs?” Jin frowns, poking your cheeks that lean against his sturdy arms. “Should I call the police?”

Your brows furrow and you lift your head to narrow your eyes at him, “what? Why?”

And as soon as those words slip from your lips and he raises his finger-gun hands, you wish you hadn’t asked in the first place.

“Because I think you’re an impasta,” his finger guns transform into jazz hands after you stare at him in dumbfounded silence, “...badumtsss….”

A series of empty blinks are exchanged, as if neither of you had just witnessed his most tragic dad joke to date; and so, you swiftly continue with a sigh, “I think… I think I started caring ever since heee mentioned I was getting fat.”

“I can’t believe you just ignored my unprecedented joke…” he grumbles to himself but lets out a little huff when he catches you from tipping over. Wordlessly, he hooks his arm with yours to keep you close to him. “And this ‘he’ you mention, who’s he?”

“Heee.”

“Who? Who’s ‘heeee’?” he spouts with pouty lips and a raised chin, flailings his body, and therefore yours, about every which way like a toddler. “Who’s this man I have to beat up, huh? He better square up!”

“I don’t think you could beat him up…” you mumble, eyes heavy but determined enough to reach his own flabbergasted ones. “It’s Jooooon, dummy, Kim-Nam-Joon, the boy I shared my first kiiiiss with…”

“Kim Namjoon?!” his eyes widen. “You think I wouldn’t be able to beat up that nerd?!”

You almost manage to push Jin away the foot of the bridge if it weren’t for his firm lock around you. “Have you seen his muscles?! He might not look like it with his books and all but he worked out all the time!”

“Yeah, well,” his lips sputter, “well, have you seen my muscles?!”

“No—” you freeze when you realize the sturdiness of his arm against your head is existing proof against your word, and maybe it’s because of his obvious flexing at this moment, but you could not believe just how built his arms had grown in the past five years, “—and I don’t want to.”

“Hah! You just don’t want to admit that I’m right. C’mon, I’ll show you. You feel it, huh? You feel it?” he flexes persistently, twisting and turning to maximize his little showcase. “So? You think I can beat him up now?”

“Well…” your voice trails off, mind clearly preoccupied with sticking your cheeks to his arm like glue in a somewhat fruitful attempt to hide the flush in your face. “You don’t really need to beat him up…”

“What?” he almost yells. “Why not? He called you fat!”

“Well, he…” your shoulders rise with each confession, “he said one of my dresses looked tight on me…”

“And?”

“...and he wasn’t exactly wrong…”

“So?”

“...so he didn’t actually say anything offhandedly…”

“What? You should’ve told me earlier!” Jin exclaims, arms thrown high into the air and consequently pushing your helpless self onto the hillside grass beside the run of the river. Lips gaping and eyes popping, you watch him in full offense as he mumbles to himself before resuming his stroll down the hill. “And here I am getting worked up over nothing… can’t believe I thought I could play hero for once…”

“Hey, Jin, what do you mean by that?” you call out to him. “Wait! I said wait for me, Jin!”

When your rhetorical questions are answered with silence, you hasten to your feet in order to catch up with those damn wide strides of his. Damn it, how did he make it halfway down the hill already? Each of your exclamations are unsurprisingly disobeyed by the boy who just throws his head back over his shoulder with that cheeky grin of his as he quickened his pace. Following suit, your strides turn into a jog and your jogs turn into a full out sprint until the both of you are full on running the 100 meters dash, one chasing and one fleeing, wind blowing refreshingly into your heated face and into your tangled locks and inflated lungs that relish in the breath of life.

In the midst of all the chaotic bliss of an epiphany, you find yourself screaming and laughing at the top of your lungs...

“Hey! Jin! I swear I”m gonna kick your ass!”

...and it’s at this moment in time that you realize having forgotten what it means to be a fool who lived and not to live to be a fool.

At some point in time, after having caught up to the knucklehead and giving a piece of your mind, the two of you settle down along the concrete ledge beside the river after a jittery, welcomed high. The sunset that followed was a pleasant surprise that had you two reminiscing over the countless mornings and evenings you had spent watching the sun rise and set together whilst churning throughout tireless exam nights. Pink, golden streaks now hidden behind a thick coating of midnight blue embellished by magical glitters all throughout, tonight’s stargazing becomes a first for the two of you.

As much as you hoped you could numb yourself from the inevitable aftereffects of this death wish of a dreamy day, you can’t help but smile, thankful to have been completely sober to engrave this night into memory.

“So...” Jin’s utter is the first to break the silence. He turns his head to give you a playful look of eyes that beams with wary curiosity, “...you started dating Namjoon after I left?”

“Mm… maybe,” you hum, “why? Got a problem with that?”

“What? Psh, what? Why would I have a problem with that?” he snorts. “The only problem I would have is the fact that you never asked me for permission.”

Your eyes widen, almost threateningly, “are you saying I need permission from a man to date another man? Not to mention a man who abandoned me without warning!”

“Okay, first of all, it’s not my fault you cancelled your phone plan! I called and called, I tried everything I could even though I was deadbeat tired every day. It’s not my fault I thought you hated my guts! So please just understand that I didn’t abandon you, alright?” he spills in an endless stream akin to a water faucet left on the highest setting, clearly a performance either practiced in private or incited by years of pent up pressure. You can practically see the steam shooting out of his fiery red ears and the accompanying whistle manifesting into words; and by the time his chest is heaving, his lungs are panting and very dramatically so, and his eyes flicker nervously between you and the passing water, you can’t help but snicker. Unsurprisingly, your lack of empathy elicits an unamused look on his face. “Hey, hey, what’re you laughing at, huh?”

“Me? Oh, nothing,” your hands move into your laps and you bat your eyes innocently, “it’s just that I can’t believe you’re blaming me, a helpless, poor girl with absolutely no connections, for cancelling her phone plan as a last resort to make ends meet.”

“Hey, hey, hey,” he warns with an accusatory finger, “don’t you dare think I’ll fall for that eye blinking and whatever cute act you’re playing up again!”

“Why?” you pout, almost cringing at your own antics. “Am I not cute?”

“No, you’re hurting my eyes. Plus, if anyone’s cute here,” he declares adamantly before puffing his cheeks and poking one with his forefinger, “it’s me.”

The both of you stare at the other for a stagnant few seconds, one completely dedicated to his performance and the other utterly flabbergasted by what plays out before her.

The only word you manage to crank out is a, “uh…”

“What do you think?” he raises another finger to poke his other cheek. “I practiced just for you.”

“Um… you’re 27 now, Jin.”

“So?” he tilts his head in the other direction. “Still 22 and young at heart.”

“Yeah? Then I’m still 22 and still equally disgusted by aegyo—” just as he parts his lips to provide another rebuttal, you quickly add in “—by your aegyo.”

And just like that, the man drops his boyish character just as quickly as he had stepped into it. He mumbles, dropping his hands and shooting an equivocate look at you, “okay, tough crowd. Sorry, ma’am.”

It shouldn’t have been that hilarious nor should your response been so delayed, but it only takes a split second of his surrender for a thunderous cackle to slip from your lips. Throwing your head back and peering at the dangling stars above, you allow yourself a moment to close your eyes and take a deep breath of the incoming wind. The fresh petrichor of spring and the earthiness of mowed grass whisks themselves into the cold, clean breeze from the vast body of water. Thin locks of hair grazes across your cheeks, swaying in the wind as does your spirit. Years are lifted from your shoulders and all that is left is the heaviness that remains in your chest; nevertheless, you have never felt so free from the past.

“Also,” he adds nonchalantly, cocking his head to look at you, “I wasn’t speaking from the position of a man. I was speaking as a best friend. As your best friend.”

And just like that, sitting side by side and sharing a cool breeze, it’s almost as if all these moments of remorse, spilled tears, and unreleased frustration were made to build the climax to this grand finale: the night you can finally speak your truth.

“It’s funny how things never change, huh?” you say when your eyes flutter open and you find Jin looking over with a fondness identical to the one you’ve spotted years before. “We can split for five years, thinking one hates the other’s guts, and reunite again as best friends… as if nothing had ever happened.”

Jin chuckles, hands grabbing to the ledge and head lolling back to join you but his eyes remain fixated on you, “I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or not. Are we vampires and we just don’t know it?”

“Yeah, well, I’m not sure either… not sure about the good thing and not the vampire thing, that is,” your laugh settles into silence when you spot the reflected light inflicted by the ring around his finger, sitting on the ledge just an inch away from yours. Close enough to touch but far enough to confirm an unequivocal truth. Sighing, you turn your head to meet his intent gaze with a bittersweet upturn to your lips, “normally, I really despise the idea of change; but lately, when I think about how things might never change between us, how we’ll always banter as a pair of stupid best friends, I start wanting it more than ever.”

Is this the moment? Is it all really happening right now? Judging by the course of your blithe actions, if change is what you’re looking for, then change is what will surely ensue after tonight. Whether for the good or for the worse, you’ll take a reluctant guess of the latter.

The man scrunches his brows before playing it off with a nervous laugh, “what do you mean things haven’t changed? You dated Namjoon, probably got it on a few times here or there—”

“—what—”

“—please don’t confirm,” he butts in with a raised hand, “and I have, too. Sure things have changed!”

“Ooh?” you raise a brow, genuinely shocked. “You finally got some experience under your belt? I’m impressed, Mr. Kim.”

“Hey,” he scolds, “what do you mean by ‘impressed?’”

“Well, I should’ve known… figuring you’re about to be a married man and all…” you mumble, forcing a smile despite the sudden dip in your mood. Turning your head to stare off into the opposite end of the river where the black silhouette of skyscrapers lie, you curse yourself mentally. You really thought you could get away with the inevitable truth for the entire day? “You know, I can’t believe I almost forgot that you’re getting married in less than a week. Almost like how I couldn’t believe you almost forgot our promises.”

“I told you Kim Seokjin is a man of his words.”

“You sure about that? Promise one: cook for me for an entire day. Check. Promise two: gift me flowers at work. Check,” you turn around once again to look him firmly in the eyes and it’s almost as if the both of you know what’s about to come next. “What about the three other promises, Kim Seokjin?”

“Y/N…” his voice trails off but his gaze never leaves yours, almost as if too afraid to be misconstrued as another betrayal.

Quick-mindedly, you chime, “stop looking at me so seriously! I’m just joking! Promise three: you won’t break my heart. How could you after a wonderful day like this? Promise four: you won’t forget our promises. Clearly, you remember. And promise five: you’ll keep all your promises. Check.”

“Y/N,” he stifles every wince but you can tell by the way his feet have stopped kicking into the void. “I don’t think I’ve kept all those promises.”

“Well,” you shrug, pressing your lips into a line tightly, “I only see checks in my book, Jin. You’re good to go—”

“—no, Y/N, you need to listen to me,” he says sternly; and when your mouth falls agape and your head slightly nods, his wary eyes searching for a steady sign in the windows to your soul, he continues calmly, “my marriage is actually an arranged marriage.”

“Your—” you blink blankly, jaw almost falling to the floor “—your, you, what?”

An arranged marriage.

All this time, all this pain, all this heartbreak of wanting to do something about your feelings but remaining hopeless because of an unrequited love… turns out to be an active, fully conscious decision? Not a falling out of love, not a helpless affection for another woman, but a matchmaking handcrafted without the heavens?

“My,” he has to stop himself just as his breath hitches, “my father... arranged it. ”

“What? Why? Is it because he prefers you with a well off family?”

“What? No,” he shakes his head with a slight upcurve to his lips that you’ve never quite seen before. Watching him hook a hand to the nape of his neck, clearly avoiding your eyes, you have an inkling of something much worse than the presented news. “You know my father would never do that… it has nothing to do with money...”

“But you left this town for money, didn’t you? For a better job, a better pay, a better life, and for the sake of your dignity as a dutiful son, are you telling me none of those were related to money?”

His eye twitches by your name-calling, clearly pained once again despite knowing very well of your precedent dislike toward his silver spoon background and his nonnegotiable obedience. Each second of silence culminates a tension even more formidable than the last. Guilt intoxicates your boiling blood enough for you to bite your tongue and hold yourself back; because after accusing him of holding onto his dignity, you, yourself, could not forfeit that of your own either.

Worse yet, you’re a complete hypocrite.

“Why can’t you just tell him to call it off?”

You never knew silence could be so deafening.

“So… so do you...” you begin hesitantly. Usually, with your eyes locked with his, a thousand words would have been exchanged with each passing second; but now, with gazes that wade through the tides of the unknown, for the first time ever, you don’t recognize the mystery before you. “Do you... love her?”

His lips part slowly, but no time in the world would be enough for him to find the right words. To you, his silence is as clear as any possible answer. Something sinks in you, perhaps after acknowledging the implications behind his choice to leave your question unanswered, but your blood boils from the audacity of those apologetic eyes that, even now, never stray from yours… as if this minute of sincerity would be enough to mend the inevitable decade of scars.

You begin slowly, failing to hide the shakiness of your deep breaths, “...then what about the baby?”

“What baby...?” his face contorts with a frown until, out of the blue, something flickers across his numerous expressions: confusion, remembrance, contemplation. His hesitation that ensues might have been fleeting but its infliction upon your shattered trust will surely remain. “Oh, that… that was just a rumor my aunt spread because of the sudden marriage.”

“And,” you force yourself to breathe, scattering for something, anything to throw at him, “and you don’t think you could’ve told me sooner?”

The man scrunches his brows, “and that would’ve helped, how?”

“‘How?’” you repeat, as if it was the dumbest question you had ever heard. Mirroring his expression, your eyes avert between him and the river as scoffs of utter disbelief escape you. “‘How?’ What do you mean ‘how?’”

“I mean exactly that!” his voice suddenly escalates to a level of frustration you’ve never quite heard from him before. “How would it have changed anything? Why would you need to know earlier?”

Gawking, you exasperate desperately, “you know why!”

“No, I might be your best friend but don’t expect me to just read your mind!”

“It’s cause...” you swing your leg over the ledge to face the sidewalk with your back on Jin as soon as you could feel an incoming constriction at the back of your throat, a notorious sign shared just between the two of you that waterworks were about to appear. Breathing slowly and doing just about everything to keep your voice from shaking, and fruitlessly so, you mumble before standing to your feet, “...you know what? I don’t even know anymore. I’m sorry. Nevermind.”

Why did you ever think you would have a chance?

Is this it? Is this really it? The end?

The questions come crashing into you as you make your retreat, head hanging low and palms drying the inconvenient tears that mark your face. After all the confidence you had built up, after finally thinking—actually, believing—you could get over him tonight, how humiliating is it that you’re now running away from a reality that would eventually and inevitably engulf you?

The worst part of it is, Jin, like the best friend and good man that he is, persists to chase after you. You don’t have to hear the quickened footsteps of his usual wide, well-paced strides to know he’s coming. You don’t have to hear the calls he makes on the top of his lungs for you to know he’s on his way.

As someone who so helplessly fell in love with their best friend, you just know he would be there through thick and thin—whether you like it or not.

“Y/N!” Jin hollers; and when he finally catches up to you, having to sprint and consequently inciting for you to surrender with an abrupt stop to your path, every bit of air is knocked from your lungs. Arms wrapping over your waist and enveloping you into a tight hug, you can feel his heart pounding against your back.

To most, it should have been the perfect method to comfort a crying friend; so, damn it, why does it only make you cry harder?

“What?” your voice cracks as you just barely manage to smear the following tears within the wrap of his bear hug. “Damn it, Jin, why can’t you leave me alone for once?”

Head resting on yours, his voice is muffled by your hair as he murmurs, “I can’t just leave my best friend crying like that. I shouldn’t have yelled. I’m sorry.”

He embraces you. He embraces you not only physically through the silence but also through the emotional rollercoaster that comes with it. He, Kim Seokjin, your best friend, holds you through the ups and downs and the rights and the wrongs. He even holds you now, comforting you in the hurricane that you brewed without ever knowing and never caring that he had, in fact, not committed any wrongdoing. If anything, you must be in the wrong.

And when you put it that way, how could you blame yourself for falling in love with him?

“Jin… I’m sorry, I tried everything to stop myself but,” your voice shakes but your courage prospers, “but I just, I just really, really love you.”

A second passes.

Now, two.

Then, three.

Something strikes against your chest when the surreality of the situation settles into reality. His silence could mean many things, but the tightening of his embrace could only mean one. Blood flushes your cheeks as you lament over his sensation of your fervent heartbeats. Secrets thrown out into the spring air, your heated cheeks are equally exposed to the passing, chilly zephyr.

He knows you love him. At this moment, he can physically feel the proof of your love and there’s nothing he can do about it.

“Sorry,” you manage to blurt under your breath, “I shouldn’t have said anything. Forget I said—”

—the remaining words dissipate into thin air when he places his hands firmly on your shoulder and whirls you around. Face just inches away from his, you barely catch wind of his declaration before the unthinkable occurs…

“Too late. I don’t want to.”

...and his lips meet yours.

It’s everything you have ever imagined. Years of admiring those plush lips, wondering what it would be like to feel the warmth of those wonders pressed against yours, are finally coming to fruition… except they don’t. His hands fall from your shoulders to the small of your back, but your hands don’t intertwine behind the back of his neck like you imagined. Instead, they hover in midair, hesitant to embrace him in your arms. Why? With your eyes and his fluttered closed and an audible deep sigh that signals a desire finally satisfied from the both of you, reality still manages to twist a dream-come-true.

Does he actually love you or does he only pity you?

Finally, and ever so suddenly, your hands firmly push against his chest to plant an arm’s distance from you and him.

“Sorry…” you pant, avoiding those intense eyes. “We… we can’t do this.”

“What?” Jin raises a brow, taking a step forward as you take one back. “Why not?”

Wordlessly, you point at his ring finger.

“Oh,” he chuckles nervously, hand scratching the back of his neck. You can only watch his every move, your stare gradually becoming a glare. Rosy hues coloring his cheeks, he speaks sheepishly, “I forgot we’re in public.”

His nonchalance irks you to your core. There isn’t any other way to put it. Blithe and dense have always been your favorite traits of his, but now that he’s here? Planting buds he could never sustain and sending mixed signals despite knowing of your feelings in an unfitting circumstance were never things you knew Jin for.

“I-I don’t get it, Jin,” you shake your head. “I don’t think we should see each other any more. In any context. Not even after the wedding.”

With his hands buried into his pockets and shoulders high enough to hide his reddened ears, he glances up at you, alert. “What? Why? What don’t you get?”

“It’s ‘cause... I just don’t get… this. I don’t get us,” you articulate, struggling to find the right words. “Why are you so… nonchalant about this? Why are you kissing me? Is it out of pity? Is it because I said I liked you—”

“—Y/N,” he says lowly like the drop of his previously cheerful mien, “you know I would never do something like that.”

“Then why?! Why are you doing this to me? Do you love her or not?” you pause for a second to stifle the crack in your voice but, alas, all is in vain. “...and do you even… love me?”

He frowns, the tension in his body evident by the knitting of his brows as he struggles, “I… Y/N...”

“So you can’t admit that you love her and you can’t even lie to say you love me. So why the hell are you throwing away an entire marriage just to kiss me?” your scoff comes out more so like a plea. “You’re confusing me, Jin—”

“—that’s,” he abruptly pauses to stop himself from exploding, taking a deep breath before continuing, “that’s exactly why I can’t say it, Y/N! I don’t want to confuse you. I don’t want to disappoint my father. I-I don’t want to complicate matters more!”

“Then why the hell did you kiss me?!”

“I don’t know, okay?!” he throws his hands in the air. “I don’t know! It was a spur of the moment! I couldn’t stop myself from chasing after you and when I hugged you—I-I just wanted to, alright? I’m sorry.”

He’s... sorry.

Sorry for kissing you, sorry for acting as if your feelings had been reciprocated, sorry for breaking all the promises he made and pretending like he was going to patch things up again tonight. Speaking your mind and hearing his words are all that you need to finally understand what you need to do. Your heart drops but you hold your head high because your final verdict is the right thing to do. Maybe this time you’ll finally be able to cease these useless feelings. What's the point in pursuing a hopeless love?

The only one you would be hurting is yourself.

This epiphany, in itself, is enough to drape an ephemeral clarity over your frenzic self; and just like a bandaid over a scar, you’re able to function, if only just temporarily.

“Hey, Jin?” you call out softly to the boy kicking at nothing on the bare sidewalk. It’s hard not to melt under the delicate glance he throws over his shoulder. “I’m not… mad. Well, I kind of am. But that doesn’t change the fact that I’m sorry for everything that I said about your upbringing. I know how close you are to your family. I’m sure you’ve been under a lot of pressure…”

“No, Y/N,” he shakes his head, turning his body to face you with a low hanging head, “it’s my fault. Even considering all that, I still shouldn’t have done that or any of this. I… I’m sorry for confusing you.”

Forcing a composed smile, you persevere, “do you have your fiance’s number?”

Head lifting with a frown, he answers, “yeah, what kind of a fiance would I be if I didn’t? Why though?”

“Right,” you say to yourself under your breath, hearing his ‘fiance’ echo relentlessly in your head. “I just need it, okay? To… to sort out everything...”

And just when you wonder how insensitive could this boy get...

“What?” he chuckles. “Are you going to fight for me?”

...it gets worse.

Rolling your eyes, you give him a hard, well-deserved slap against the chest before snickering at his loud wince and declaring your one last confession of the night.

“No, I could fight for us, but I won’t singlehandedly fight for you,” you then declare with a bitter smile, “I will, however, tell her how jealous I am.”

And that's your most irrefutable confession, one that has Jin stupefied for the future midnights to come.

❀ ❀ ❀

Morning arrives much sooner than you had anticipated. White puffs mark the air whilst you wrap yet another layer of scarf around your neck. It seems as though the breeze from a night ago had intentionally danced around town, lingering and spectating on the resolution of your five year long love conundrum. Ironically enough, the two of you reunite at the very spot where everything had first started… except this time, everything will finally end.

The pain he had marked in you inflicted by the words he could not bring himself to say still stains your every waking second.

“You have to do this. You can do this,” you incessantly chant to yourself, pacing back and forth beside the most prominent cherry blossom tree in town. “You have to do this. You can do this—”

“—Y/N, is that you?”

What you presume to be Youngji’s voice perks your ears. Looking up, you spot her holding a phone in her hands as she flickers between you and her screen. A quizzical quirk of the brow plasters across your face as you wave at her and she jogs over to you as quickly as she could in that pink, wool poncho and those tan, fluffy boots. “Hey, Youngji, right?”

“Yeah,” she says in between each pant of breath, “that’s me.”

Her hands immediately find refuge on her knees whilst she bends over to catch her breath. Typically, you’re the very self-aware type, but there isn’t anything you could do to stop yourself from staring. The girl strikes you as… flamboyant. With her dark red pigtails, bright smile, and dainty attire, she’s everything you’ve always imagined a female version of Jin would be like. It’s hard not to wonder… maybe an arranged marriage really can be a match made in heaven, but you force yourself out of that rabbit hole before having another breakdown in front of an innocent stranger.

The tang of jealousy, however, refuses to budge.

“Sorry, for,” she pants, holding her hand up to show you her phone screen, “calling out to you like that.”

“No, it’s fine,” you squint at the sight of the screen displaying a candid photo of you, taken on this very street on that very day, as you stuffed one of his breads in your mouth. Drawn on your face is a mustache and a unibrow. “Did Jin do—”

“—Jin gave me a terrible reference photo.”

Scoffing, you cross your arms, “damn it, Jin.”

Youngji crackles into a firework of uncontrollable laughter, rendering you stupefied. After a literal minute passes by, she finally manages to speak in between the bursts of giggles that follow, “you two—” giggle “—really are—” giggle “—close, huh?” And as a grand finale, she slaps her stomach with a loud sigh of relief that her laughs have come to an end. When she notices you staring at her bewilderedly, a light bulb flashes through her as she gasps and feigns a whimper, “o-oh! Ow! M-my baby!”

“You know you don’t have to pretend, right?” you can only let out a laugh of disbelief because you still can’t take in the mirror image your best friend. “Jin already told me about the fake pregnancy.”

“Oh, in that case,” she smiles widely before giving her stomach one more big, satisfying slap, “see, you guys really are so close!”

“I… I guess. I’m not sure if taking me out for one day after five years of radio silence really counts as close, though,” you then quickly add in with raised hands, “he only did so out of obligation, though! I swear it was nothing more!”

“Hmmm?” she hums, leaning in a curious ear with a cheshire-like smile. “Is it because of those promises he made?”

“...yeah, wait, he told you about those?”

Of course he did, idiot, they’re engaged.

“Well, something like that,” she shrugs, “so how much did he tell you?”

“About?”

“About the wedding, silly!”

“Uh, nothing much really. The pregnancy was a false rumor, the marriage was arranged by his father…”

“Father?” she inquires, watching you closely with those big, round eyeballs of hers.

“Yes?” you hesitantly nod. “Father?”

“Ah,” she nods, as if she finally catches drift of something, “I see.”

“Oh yeah,” you add, “I also found out it’s on my birthday.”

“What?!” her eyes grow wider, if they even possibly can. “Jin never told me that! What the heck, man? A wedding? On his best friend’s birthday?!”

“Yeah, yeah, I know right?” you nod passively before coming to an abrupt stop. “Wait, what? Why does it matter to you?”

“Of course it matters to me! You’re Jin’s best friend, aren’t you? You have no idea how much he talks about you back home. I know you so well that sometimes I feel like you might be my best friend,” she chimes before reaching out to cup your hands in hers. “Let’s celebrate properly with Jin after the wedding, okay?”

“Um, sure…”

But you don’t exactly plan on unnecessarily sticking around his life for any longer than the wedding… except, seeing how close she must be with Jin in addition to her loose-lip impression, you decide not to tell her that.

“So,” she drops her hands to the side, “what did you need to tell me?”

Why did you call her to meet you here again? After witnessing her flamboyant entrance, it’s hard for you to keep yourself from derailing.

“Oh, um,” you scratch the back of your head awkwardly, “I just wanted to meet my best friend’s fiance, that’s all.”

“Ahhh, I see.”

The woman pauses, nodding at you intently almost as if waiting for the real intentions to be revealed. Damn it, either you’re a literal open book or she reincarnated from the same soul as Jin’s.

“So…” you purse your lips. “Are you okay with it? The arranged marriage, I mean?”

“Well,” she shrugs, finally dropping the smile from her lips. “At first I hated the thought of it. I felt like I didn’t really have a choice, but… when I met Jin—” a smile is hinted in the corner of her lips and in the sparkle of her eyes “—I thought ‘I’m pretty lucky girl, aren’t I?’ I think the world must have finally taken pity on me.”

A soft, stifled laugh slips from you as your eyes fall to the ground and a bittersweet smile accompanies your lips, “yeah, you’re pretty lucky.”

“Don’t get me wrong though,” your eyes immediately shoot up to find her raising defensive hands, “it wasn’t some sort of a love at first sight. He’s handsome, sure, but—”

“—a marriage is a lifelong commitment—”

“—exactly,” she sighs, “I didn’t really know him, but when I was forced to spend time with him… I thought if I had to get married, then he would be the best option. He’s not a bad guy.”

“No,” you smile in your reverie, shaking your head, “he's not a bad guy at all; and when you really get to know him, his stupid dorky self, I think it’s impossible not to fall for him.”

“Yeah?”

“He’s mean when he jokes around but he’s actually very kind, he’s sensitive when you poke him where it hurts but he hides it deceptively well, he’ll apologize for being wrong when the both of you clearly know you’re in the wrong, he’ll cook and wear the hottest pink clothes he can find because ‘to hell with societal norms,’ he’ll tell you the dumbest dad jokes but I promise you’ll get used to them eventually, ” you let out a reminiscent laugh that comes out more like a sigh, “and, sometimes, very rarely, he’ll hurt you unintentionally, of course, but he’ll always go out of his way to make it up because that’s just… that’s Jin. That’s my best friend.”

A breeze passes by to perfectly mark the end of your cadence. Branches rustle above you and freshly budded cherry blossom petals flutter their way toward the grass underneath the two of you only to be risen once again by a following zephyr. Having been there throughout his and your lives, it’s almost as if the long-standing tree is agreeing to attest to your words.

“Wow,” Youngji finally says after witnessing your truthful albeit embarrassing spoken love letter, “I… I wouldn’t doubt any of it… but why are you telling me? Shouldn’t you be telling Jin?”

“I’m telling you, because,” you emphasize, “because I'm jealous of your position but I can't do anything about it so I want you to take good care of Jin. I just… I need to know he’ll be in good hands. I want him to be loved like the way that he loves. You’ll do that, won’t you?”

Youngji just nods. It’s the most somber response you’ve ever seen from her. Almost like the joining of hands in marriage has finally become reality.

“Do you…” you struggle to squeeze out of the knot in your throat, “do you love him…?”

“Y/N—” she begins but suddenly lets go of whatever she must have had planned “—yes, yes I do.”

“And… you’ll take care of him?”

Youngji bobs her head lightly, “yes, I will.”

“Promise?”

“...promise.”

“Okay, then I’m entrusting him to you, and,” you smile, leaning forward to shake her hands before heaving one last sigh, “and this time, please keep the promise.”

❀ ❀ ❀

A curse sinks into the thickness of the sapphire dusk that quickly descends upon the hushed city. Keys tinkle to decorate the silence of tonight’s resting wind, a silence that would have been accompanied by an equally passive woman and an oblivious man whose hands persist to fumble to his guest’s dismay.

Standing before a small willow, vintage-looking store tucked away in the corner of downtown, an inaudible breath ascends a cloud of white that momentarily shrouds the grand interior peeking from spotless windows that line the exterior. Golden warm studio lights illuminate the gorgeously exquisite ivory gowns from the trailing trains up to its waterfalls of dainty veils. Velvet suits and satin neckties accompany each headless mannequin, welcoming each passerby to imagine themselves in their wildest fairytales… your hand in his and his in yours as a fleeting moment becomes a sealed promise of a lifelong loyalty.

Breath completely taken away, you, yourself, almost fall prey to your own far-fetched dreams.

“I thought I said we shouldn’t meet up anymore,” your forced mutters drag you from your short-lived reveries, “why did you bring me here?”

“You said we shouldn’t meet up anymore, yet here you are,” Jin chirps before cheering to himself under his breath once the key finally clicks into place, “yes! Old man must have purposely given me these rusty old keys.”

Crossing your arms, you retort, “I came because you said your close friend from home would be here, too.”

Turning around to face you with his back to the door and a hand on the golden knob, he raises a quizzical brow, “and… are you not my close friend from home?”

“I thought you meant the other—”

“—this is my home, Y/N,” he says firmly, looking straight at you, “and I want my best friend to see me in my wedding suit before anyone else.”

“But why me…?”

“Because I only care about your opinion.”

He answered without hesitation, but in your head you figure he must have forgotten about Youngji, the true spotlight of the show.

Gritting your teeth, a staredown begins between the two of you; but the longer you face those unequivocal looks of determination in his eyes, the hotter your cheeks become in the middle of a contrastingly chilly night.

“Alright, fine.”

“Thanks,” he gives you a small, lopsided smile before pushing the door open with his back and ushering you in with a slight bow, “ladies first.”

Your eyes roll but not for very long when you step foot into the store and your mouth falls agape. The ceiling is much higher than you had perceived from outside, the sides are lined with grand, wooden staircases that lead to a second floor where hundreds upon hundreds of white dresses and black suits find purchase along the hangers, and the click of your heels against the marble tiles of the entrance floor echo into the extravagant expanse.

The wooden insulation of the store proves infallible when the door closes behind Jin and the shrewd air leaves you to a much more bearable surrounding. Standing affixed to the entrance, you watch as Jin strides toward the carpeted floor where a taupe curtain hanging from the ceiling drapes over a raised platform sits across its partner platform in the opposite of the room.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so enraptured by something aside from me,” Jin chuckles as he begins stripping the suit off of a black, velvety mannequin before pointing at the mannequin standing beside the opposite platform, “oh, why don’t you try on some dresses while I’m at it?”

“What?” you scoff, finally taking a step onto the carpet. “First off, I never stared at you like that before. Second, why the hell would I do that? It’s your wedding, not mine.”

“I asked the store owner for permission and picked a dress for you to try on,” he continues, finally stopping in the midst of unbuttoning his white, collared shirt when he looks up to find the fear in your eyes. “Hey, haven’t you always wanted to try one of these?”

“Yeah,” you laugh in disbelief because he actually listened to your past rambles, “but never under these circumstances.”

“C’mon, you never know if you’ll ever have a chance like this again,” he gestures once more when he notices the start of your contemplation, “c’mon, go on!”

You really don’t want to. It’s that nagging feeling of something going completely wrong tonight if you were to succumb and let yourself go. After all, your worst fear is yourself. It doesn’t feel right and you begin to wonder if it’s alright for you to hold onto this moment you’ve always dreamed about: dolling up and swearing your vows side by side with Jin.

If you were to live out your fairytale, just for tonight, would you finally be able to sleep dreamlessly at night?

“...fine,” you groan and storm across the room, tossing your purse into the ruby sofas and stepping onto the platform. Turning around to face a gleeful Jin, you’re about to scowl at him until your eyes flicker between the cheeky grin on that youthful face and those sculpted abdomen of his elevated by the lighting above. Cheeks flushing red, you gulp at the unseen sight before clutching the curtain in your hands and swinging it closed with a mumble, “and at least have some decency and use the curtains, God damn it…”

The freezing touch of your hands doesn't hold a candle to the heat of your face. Trying to calm your racing heart, you curse to yourself at the way he merely cackles at you and, even worse, the way your heart intensifies in response.

“Yes, ma’am!”

“...shut up,” you say more to yourself and your deafening heart.

The gown standing before you, however, is no help to your case either, for when you glance over the dress, the long train that could awe an entire room, the complimenting silhouette that doesn’t scream too over-the-top but enough to fulfill the little girl within you, and the classic lace sleeves that you’ve gushed over whilst skimming through magazines, you realize Jin had always been attentive even when he was stuffing his face with bread or even when he was being petty over an argument and you tried to rectify with incessant small talk.

It’s at this moment that you acknowledge the rabbit hole you had just willingly fallen into and the impossibility of its towering escape.

“So,” Jin calls out to you as the sound of rustling clothes fill the silent air, “what do you want for your birthday tomorrow?”

“My birthday? Oh, right,” you slam palm to your forehead, having dwelled over the marriage and consequently forgetting your own birthday. “Uh, nothing really. I haven’t really thought about it this year.”

“Really? You? Y/N? Not planning her own birthday?” he gasps. “Who are you and what did you do to Y/N?”

“Oh, shut up. With age comes other problems to deal with...”

...problems like you.

“C’mon,” he chuckles. “You have to have something. You can’t tell me you’ve gotten every single thing checked off of that old ‘birthday gift ideas’ list you gave me.”

“I mean… I wouldn’t say I’m very far from it and it’s not like you were actually going to give me everything I asked for. Say, what did I even have on that list?” your eyes wander to the towering curtains that envelop you as your hands reach behind to the buttons on your back. “A bowl of your tofu soup, some pocket money, a matching sweater, a pair of earrings, a necklace, and a… ring.” The word slips from your lips and it floats in the stagnant air before you can even do anything about it. His silence rings in your ears, so you quickly add in, “but I don’t want materialistic stuff like that anymore.”

“...oh, really?”

“Nope,” you heave a heavy sigh and pat the poofy material of the skirt down, “I think I’ve come to realize that… I just want to be loved. I don’t need a dress or a necklace or a ring… you wouldn’t understand, but I don’t just want to hear those words. I want to feel them. I want to be loved.”

But only by him.

A lingering silence drifts long enough for you to start panicking until, finally, he answers, “no, I understand.”

“...well,” you quickly chirp as you fumble with the lacey material of your dress, “enough about me, what do you want for your big day, hm?”

“Why would I need a present from you?” he remarks. You can hear him finishing his final touches and you can barely stop your heart from leaping out of your chest. “You’ve given me enough already.”

“You mean I’ve given you enough earfuls and tears,” you retort, clutching onto the curtains as you shut your eyes to muster every courage within you. “Isn’t there anything I can give you? Anything you want?”

Counting down to yourself, the curtains and drawn open in one, swift swing; and when your eyelids flutter open, you find him standing on the platform across from you, dressed in a classic black and white suit with the curtains clutched in his hands like a mirror image of you. He glances over you from head to toe, as you do to him, until the both of you settle in each other’s gazes for what seems like an eternity, willingly lost and ever-so-enraptured.

You almost forget this isn’t actually your wedding.

“This,” he answers with a soft smile, “this is enough.”

“...stop it.”

JIn frowns, “stop what?”

“Stop… looking at me like that,” you articulate, hands covering your bashful grin. “It’s making me feel self-conscious.”

“Hey, it’s not my fault I have such a good eye at picking clothes for you!” he says whilst pointing an accusatory finger. “I guess 22 year old Jin had a pretty good sense of fashion after all.”

“You picked this five years ago…?”

The man shrugs but his high chin says otherwise regarding his humility, “I told you Kim Seokjin is a prepared man of his word.” Eyes peering across to wink at you, he continues a bit more seriously, “I might not be able to fulfill all of our promises, but this is the closest I can to it.”

“Jin… you’re…” you laugh in disbelief, bashfully avoiding his intent gaze, “...you’re so incredibly stupid that I can feel it from all the way here.”

“Oh, yeah?” he grins mischievously and takes a step toward you and off the platform. “How about now?”

“Stop it, don’t spread your stupidity to me.”

He spreads his arms out wide whilst taking another few steps forward, “why not? Aren’t we supposed to be together through thick and thin?”

“No, not really,” you adamantly shake your head amidst a hysterical fit of giggles, “don’t come any closer.”

“Oh, no,” he feigns worry. Another footstep. “I can’t stop myself.” He approaches even closer. “The stupidity is spreading!”

With him just a footstep away, you cower behind the shield of your hands, “stop it, stop looking at me like that—”

—and just as you squeal, his arms wrap around you to pull you into a tight embrace.

Like two lost puzzle pieces, his hands fit perfectly in the small of your back and his chin rests comfortably in the crook of your neck. His hair grazes against your burning cheeks. His scent envelops you into a rosy haze. He could probably feel the beat of your chest against his, but you wouldn’t know when you’re preoccupied by the thuds of his own. You had never been aware of the lonesome emptiness you’ve felt all these years until now, under the warmth of his touch that completes your other half.

You almost forget to breathe until he takes a deep breath and lets out a slow, dreary sigh.

“You are so beautiful.”

Under any other circumstances, you would have smacked him for lying. Perhaps it’s the stir of the starry skies or the impending occasion or even the look he made on his way to you with a gaze that oozed with absolute adoration, but something tells you he’s being his genuine self tonight… and that’s what you fear the most.

“You shouldn’t be saying that, Jin,” you say, stroking his head buried in your shoulder, “and you shouldn’t be looking at any women but Youngji with those eyes.”

Whether he’s quietly reflecting or stubbornly disagreeing, Jin remains silent. His breath entangles with yours, syncing with the wavelengths that you two have been running for an ongoing seven years and, perhaps, beyond.

He frustrates you to your wits’ end. There’s nothing he hasn’t made you question. At times, when you’re tossing and turning in bed and hoping for a way out of that cavern of a mind, you wish time could skip to a year in which the voices no longer haunt you at night; and yet, when you’re here buried in his arms, you would do anything to freeze and relish this fragment in time.

It isn’t right. You two aren’t right and you know it isn’t right… but how do you deny yourself of the cure to those deep scars when he, himself, wishes to be downed?

It takes everything in you to finally drop your hands from his locks to his shoulder. Just as you’re about to deny the tempting elixir, Jin lifts his head along with his gaze that now meets yours, “Y/N, I have something I need to tell you.”

“...y-yeah?”

The windows to his soul twinkle underneath the dim chandeliers above. Those starry dark brown eyes simply take your breath away.

“My dad,” his voice quivers like the water that wells in his eyes; and when you know he’s about to bawl, you pat his head ever-so-endearingly. Gulping, he finds the courage to continue, “he’s sick.”

“Oh... oh, Jin,” you murmur, quickly wiping the few tears that drop onto his flush cheeks before bringing him into another tight embrace. “I’m sorry.”

“I only moved—” and that’s what cracks his buoyant front into a full on bawl “—I only moved to take care of him!”

“I understand.”

He shakes his head, “I didn’t want to abandon you!”

“No, Jin, I know,” your voice is buried underneath his whimpers, “I’m sorry for saying that. I didn’t know. I’m sorry.”

“I didn’t know things would turn out like this!” he cries, holding you even closer. “I didn’t know!”

“It’s okay, Jin. Really, it’s okay. It’ll be okay.”

“No, it won’t be okay,” his voice hitches in the midst of his hiccups, “my father is dying and now I’m walking down the aisle with a woman I don’t even love!”

Your strokes come to a temporary stop because how could fate be so twisted? Who is it to decide whose time shall begin and whose time is up? You have to hold your breath along with the waterworks that sour your eyes. You can’t cry now. He needs your stability.

He needs you.

“Did you…” you take a shaky breath, leaning back to watch him cover the messy state of his face, “did you tell your dad?”

“I-I couldn’t,” he stutters, voice muffled by his voice, “you know how long he’s been waiting for this.”

I know,” you ponder for a second before hesitating to continue, “...why didn’t you consider me?”

“I—” his hiccup interrupts him as he roughly smears his tear-stained cheeks with his palms “—I thought you hated me. I didn’t think you would agree. I thought our promises were just a joke. But when you confessed that night, when you said you would fight for us—” his voice cracks again as he laughs at himself, eyes to the ground “—I thought damn, fuck, how did I mess up so hard? I should have fought for us. I’m so stupid—”

“—no you’re not—”

“—so fucking stupid!”

His self-reprimanding curse echoes in the room. Each of his demeaning scorns inciting a fiery justice in you.

“No,” you state, “you’re not stupid.”

Without the dignity to face you, his hands clenched into fist and he continues with bangs shrouding his sorrowful eyes, “I’m sorry, Y/N. I hurt you—”

“—no, Jin, you did not—”

“—I messed us up—”

“—no, Jin, look at me, hey, look at me,” you place a finger under his chin to lift his spirits until those bloodshot eyes of his find refuge in yours. Smiling, you speak, “see? I’m okay. So what are you apologizing for?”

“Aren’t you… mad?”

“Mad? No, silly,” you laugh, wiping another tear. “Sad? Maybe.”

“See—”

“—sad because I wasn’t there by your side when you needed me… and maybe a bit sad that I won’t be the one holding you like this tomorrow,” you apologize with a soft smile over the latter jab that incites a wince from the boy. “Why didn’t you tell me about your father?”

“I didn’t think it was that serious,” he hiccups, “and when I found out, I tried to call you but it didn’t go through.”

“Shit,” you curse under your breath, “I’m sorry.”

“No,” he takes a deep breath to calm his high, “it’s not your fault.”

“And it’s not yours either,” you affirm, breaking out into a laugh when you take another look at his reddened eyes and dampened cheeks. “Look at you! Why are you looking like a mess on our wedding day, huh?! At least let us be ignorantly happy for one day!”

“What…?” he frowns whilst hastily smearing every last evidence of his breakdown on his face. The result is an equally red, irritated skin across his cheeks. “What’re you talking about? Kim Seokjin never looks like a mess… hey, what’re you laughing at?!”

“Look at your tie, idiot! What kind of a rich son are you if you can’t even tie it correctly? Come over here,” you say just as you grab the end of his necktie to pull him up onto the platform. With his necktie now at your eye-level, you begin to unravel whatever knot he had attempted. All the while, you can feel his gaze as he watches you do your thing, completely enamored. This time, it’s your turn to turn red. To distract yourself from the rising self-consciousness, you clear your throat, “call me whenever you’re going through a hard time, okay? I’ll give you my new number…”

The piece of fabric flails around into equally atrocious knots that Jin had previously created until you groan in frustration and disassemble everything. You had practiced this so many times while he was gone, foolishly believing it would come in handy the day he returned, but why does nothing ever work out the way you want it to?

“I swear it worked last time I tried…”

Your best friend just watches silently, chuckling as you wrap the fabric around your own neck this time; and when he speaks, much steadier like the Jin you have always known, he looks you directly in the eye. “Youngji told me about your guys’ conversation.”

“Huh?” you pause as soon as your embarrassing declaration of love begins reciting itself in your head, but not even the resumed work of your hands could distract you from the ever-growing shade of red. “O-oh, that… what about it?”

“I heard what you said about me.”

“Yeah?” you hum nonchalantly, even though the trembling of your hands and the avoidance of your eyes from his give you away. “Well, did she tell you about all the complaints I made, too? About you being a stupid dork?”

“She did,” he utters before placing a finger below your chin to avert your attention to those dazzling works you desperately avoided, “but would you still be willing to marry this stupid dork?”

“This isn’t even a real wedding,” you feign a frown under the spotlight of his intent gaze, “why are you asking me a question like that?”

“Sorry, I didn’t have the funds to hire a real priest.”

“You don’t need to for a fake wedding.”

“I thought you said we should be ‘ignorantly happy for one day?’”

The bantering just never stops, does it?

“Okay, well… to answer your question,” you mutter, eyes averting to the side, “under normal circumstances…”

“Under normal circumstances…” he repeats.

“Where you aren’t engaged…”

“Where I’m not engaged…”

“And your father approved of me…”

“And my father approved of you…”

“Then yes,” you say without hesitation, eyes returning to find a newfound comfort in his relieved gaze, “yes, I would marry you.”

“And that’s why I love you,” Jin smiles, chuckling softly. “I’ll always want to marry you.”

And just as a nearby clock tower strikes its church bells to signal the stroke of midnight, Jin grabs the end of your necktie and pulls you in to press his lips onto yours. The body of his warmth and the acceptance of an inevitable end to your paths serve as the last page of a book never to be read again; and yet, he holds himself close, refusing to let you go.

But when the end nears and the magic of the bells resume time once again, the two of you pull away to catch your breaths. Forehead against yours, Jin gives you one last, fleeting kiss.

“Happy birthday, Y/N.”

❀ ❀ ❀

Deja vu would be the perfect term to describe this feeling. You can almost see yourself in the room of hundreds, stealing glances at the man from afar. It only takes one blink for you to relive the rollercoaster of jubilance and confessions and tears. In the split second of darkness, the past week flickers before you like a film reel: breaking down in the middle of the hallway right in front of Jin, staring bewilderedly at the large bouquet in the hand of a man at the office, confessing with tears that stain your face and sobs that conquer your voice, meeting the woman who had stolen your spot beside Jin, and holding him in your arms as he cries his heart out at the stroke of midnight.

And just as quickly as the whirlwind of memories had taken you on a trek of time, your eyes flutter open to find yourself in another suffocating room of hundreds once again.

Youngji [8:39 P.M.] Hey Y/N do you think you can visit me real quick?

The glaring text on your phone screen glows in an otherwise dimly lit reception room. Thumb hovering over the screen, your mind goes blank. People pass by you, commotions and laughter fill every corner of the room, and you stand there frozen and affixed to the floor beside the table of food with a glass of red wine in your hands.

“Hey, Y/N,” someone whispers into your ear and you immediately turn your phone off only to find Alex on her tiptoes, “what’s the matter?”

“Oh, um, nothing,” you respond under your breath, “it’s just that someone wants to talk to me.”

“Well, you better hurry then,” she ushers you with a gripping hand on your left arm, “the ceremony is about to start anytime now.”

“O-oh, okay,” you nod, allowing your footsteps to follow the momentum of her push.

This isn’t exactly what you had planned, for the original plan involved your complete avoidance of the groom and bride, but it’s unsurprising that things never quite go your way. Nothing could quite topple you like last night’s revelation anyways. Taking a deep breath, you weave through the audience, wandering about the venue until you finally find yourself in front of a door with a “BRIDE WAITING ROOM” printed in gigantic black letters taped to it.

Hesitantly, you knock, “hello? This is Y/N…? Youngji called for me—”

“—Y/N!” The wooden door swings wide open with a highly distressed Youngji hiding behind it. Before you can reply or even confirm the identity of the woman, her hands clutch yours and pull you into the room with a force unimaginable for a human of her size. Practically lurching forward, a heap of air is knocked from your lungs just as the door slams closed. Coughs force their way through your throat, but Youngji wastes no time to rush to your side. “Y/N, this is an emergency! I need help!”

“W—” you wheeze, peering up at her as you’re doubled over “—what in the world are you talking about?”

“I don’t know,” her hands jitter as she paces back and forth, “I don’t know why I feel so… so nervous!”

“Hold on,” you frown, finally straightening your back, “that’s perfectly normal. It’s your wedding—”

“—please don’t say that word again,” she begins biting her freshly white-coated nails.

“What word? Normal? Wedding? Your—”

“—I can’t believe it’s my wedding…” she says repeatedly, hands flying to her head and disheveling her previously perfectly conditioned curls. She suddenly turns to face you, eyes wider than ever with a look that screams of an epiphany. “I-I don’t think I can go there. Y/N, I don’t think I can go out there!”

“What?!” you almost yell, flabbergasted. Recoiling from your outburst, you start much more softly this time. “Are you sure? I’m sure it’s just your nerves getting to you. You’ve been okay with it for at least a year, right?”

“Why?” her eyes widen to unprecedented diameters as she grabs your arm for support. “Is it because it’s too late? Do you think I should back out, Y/N?”

“What? No, no, no, calm down, follow me,” you shake your head, grasping her hand and guiding her to the chair in the center of the room where an entire photo shoot has been set up. Lowering yourself to a squat, you give her a squeeze as firm as the smile on your lips. “Hey, you’ll be okay. It’s just the jitters. Everyone gets them. I’m sure Jin is freaking out in his room, too.”

“...okay,” she nods, pouting as her eyes lower to your hands that hold hers. Peering up at her from below, you can’t help but notice how beautiful she looks dolled up on this special occasion. From the extravagant poof of her princess gown to the gorgeous glow of the bride herself, you find yourself lost in a trance that burns with heart-panging jealousy. You almost miss her when she murmurs, “how are you so calm, Y/N?”

“Huh?” you raise a brow and laugh. “Why would I be nervous? I’m not the one getting married here.”

“But… your best friend is getting married,” she shifts to get a clearer look of you but finds you with your eyes to the floor, “are you sure you’re okay with that?”

“Of… of course. I’m happy for him,” you say through barely parted lips and stand to your feet before making your way to the door. “It’s not exactly traditional, but do you want me to get Jin? Maybe he can calm you down—”

“—do you know why Jin agreed to this arrangement?”

Freezing in your tracks, you throw a glance over your shoulder to meet her distraught gaze.

“Why are you asking me that now?”

“Because,” she blurts, clearly without thinking as words fail to follow through, “because I want your blessing! I want you to be okay with it!”

“Blessing...?”

“Yes,” she nods. “I can live with marrying a man I don’t love because I know I’ll come around, but I don’t think I can live knowing I’ve broken your relationship with Jin.”

Your weight shifts from your left to your right but the force of burden weighs immeasurably heavier on your very being. There’s nothing that would have prepared you for her request. Preparation, however, proves unnecessary, for your mind runs on its own and the words come to you as if rehearsal is all it's ever done.

“I don’t think I’m in the position to grant you permission. That’s your decision and Jin’s,” you say, “and if my blessing is what you’re asking for, then I can give you it as many times as it takes to convince you. But if you’re asking for me to be okay with it, then I’m sorry. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to give you that.”

Those are your last parting words as you slump on the wall behind you and a heavy sigh is shared between the two women on opposite sides of the door. Head low like a woman unjustly ashamed for speaking her truth, you take a deep breath with those heavy shoulders that carry the weight of a woman who had essentially cursed the joining of two hands. Nevertheless, somehow, you persist to make your way through the halls just as the ceremony begins; but as the audience settles and the light dims, something tells you the guilt that intoxicates your blood would have a longer-lasting aftermath than you had first expected.

“Hey,” Alex leans into you, whispering, “is it just me or does Jin seem really jittery?”

“...no,” you answer, making sure to keep yourself hushed amidst a room of seated spectators. From the second bench to the front, fortunately on the opposite side of where Jin’s parents sit in the front row, you get a clear view of Jin and Youngji in between the black silhouettes of a couple heads; but anyone in the room can tell the bright studio lights and elevated platform don’t help his constantly shuffling case. “I don’t think it’s just you.”

“I see… so both the groom and bride are getting cold feet, huh?”

“Well,” you utter, quipping, “in Jin’s case, he’d probably just say he forgot to sleep with socks on.”

Alex turns to you with sheer confusion across her furrowed brows, “huh?”

But before Alex could inquire further, the priest clears his throat and begins the opening ceremony. The officiality of it all, a long-dreaded image of Jin standing by another woman’s side manifesting into reality, has you subconsciously sent into a frenzy.

“Dear Beloved, we are gathered here today in the presence of these witnesses, to join Kim Seokjin and Heo Youngji in matrimony commended to be honorable among all…”

The clearing of his throat strikes once and hard against your chest. Each word that reverberates in the room echoes the vibrating pain in the blood pumped from a gaping wound. Your chest heaves and heaves and your lungs struggle to maintain composure, and while your breakdown may have gone unseen by the rest of the universe, you know for sure only two would catch sight of your state.

You and him.

“...if there is any person who can show cause why they should not be joined together…”

The priest continues and the tension in the audience rises by the second of a stress-inducing prompt, but the moment Jin catches your eyes and the panic painted across it, his every attention remains on you. Guilt should’ve painted your expression now, having stolen the groom’s admiration from the rightful bride by his side, but all you can do is relish in a fleeting moment you deem the least this cruel world owed you.

Maybe he feels the same way, because something catches in your throat like the hunch that has chills running down the nape of your neck. You don’t dare move an inch. You fear any movement would give you away, though you’re sure he already knew the second he met you halfway.

His eyes, those dazzling eyes that could single-handedly freeze any moment in time, they ask you for a permission only he could grant.

“...let them speak now or forever hold their peace.”

No one speaks but the thick air that engulfs every witness in the room is telling enough. Holding a shared, bated breath, everyone awaits and prays for the quick passing of this deafening silence. Your heart is pounding so hard you worry your passing out would be the one interruption to the ceremony, if not anything else. It takes everything in you to remain hidden, glued to the chair. You can hear every single movement in this room, the squeaking of a nearly retired bench, the rustling of clothes amidst a fidgeting audience, the anxious tapping of someone’s heels against the wooden floor, yet no one dares to speak now.

The priest sighs a soft breath of relief.

Everyone but you follows along.

The priest clears his throat and pro—

“—I would like to speak.”

A loud gasp travels across the room. Every witness, including the priest himself, stares at the young man, wide-eyed. The knot in your throat inhibits you from following suit, but the hammer against your chest works harder than ever; because there he is, your best friend, standing boldly before the audience with a puffed chest and a tightened fist that brace for the repercussions.

It all happens so suddenly, so swiftly. The strings that were left raveled now unraveled, the paths that were abandoned now explored, and the love of a lifetime whomst once bid you farewell now holds on with a determination that tells you they aren’t quite ready to let go, by happenstance or by conviction, everything falls into place.

You had reprimanded yourself relentlessly for envisioning a moment like this and you truly believed this would be the worst case scenario, so why is it that only now, as your peering eyes are enamored by the sparkles in his, you find yourself smiling proudly and thinking to yourself… that’s your man.

“Father, mother,” Jin turns to face his parents in the front row, declaring loudly and firmly, “I don’t want to marry someone I don’t love.”

“What,” Alex shrills under her breath as she clutches your hands, “what is going on, Y/N?!”

Her voice doesn’t reach you and neither do her cold, nudging hands. The ongoing commotion around the room are like white noise in your background. You can’t even spare a second of your attention to the picturesque vision before you, the man who fights not for you but for the two of you.

Jin bows, head hanging low to his parents and the audience, “I’m sorry for saying this too late.”

Everybody watches as his mother attempts to hold her husband in place. All is in vein, however, when one look of the baffled expression on her husband’s face conveys enough to everyone of the mayhem that is soon to ensue. He rips her grip apart from his arm and storms to his feet, pointing a finger at his apologetic son.

“W—” he struggles to find his breath “—what are you saying? You said you were okay with this just last week!”

“I did,” Jin affirms with his head still hanging low, “I thought I was okay with it until this week.”

“How—”

“—honey…” the mother murmurs.

“No, changing your mind is one thing, but changing it at the very last second is another,” his father shakes his head, yanking his hand and stumbling on his feet before his distraught son could lend a helping hand. “Did I teach you to inconvenience others like this? Do you know how much trouble you’re causing Youngji and her family?”

“I do,” he says. “I’m sorry.”

His father grunts, “don’t you see, Seokjin? ‘Sorry’ can’t fix everything—”

“—actually, Mr. Kim, it’s not just Jin,” Youngji bounces to Jin’s side then pivots to bow to her parents who sit in the row before you, “I, too, don’t want to marry anyone until I really know them.”

Physically, the spotlight remains affixed to the stage. Mentally, it feels as though everyone’s attention is gradually creeping its way toward you. It takes everything in you and the grip of Alex’s hands not to run from the prying eyes.

“What?” their parents gasp. “Didn’t you say you were okay with it if it were Jin?”

“I did!” she insists, suddenly retracting. “I did, until…”

“I’m sorry,” Jin lifts his head to turn to Youngji’s parents before bowing once again, “this is all my fault.”

“No, no, you wouldn’t do this... tell me, son,” his father takes a step toward the stage, beckoning for an explanation, “tell me who did this to you?”

Jin lifts his head, brow furrowing and lips thinning as he chooses to remain silent to his father’s question. Suddenly, it’s everyone’s duty to catch the perpetrator. The audience begins craning their neck every which way to skim over the possible candidates. Your heart sends threatening waves of pain that foreshadow the inevitable chaos you’re about to be dragged into.

You can barely move from staring at the floor in between the groom and bride but you can spot the gradual direction of his mother’s eyes making its way toward you… and when they finally spot you, a lightbulb flashing across her eyes the second you make the lethal mistake of meeting her gaze for the first time in many years, it’s as though her son’s rebellion is the only thing that makes sense in this universe.

Only naturally, his father catches onto his partner’s maternal instincts along with the rest of the crowd as their diverged attention converges, one head turning after another, to stare you down—some with awe plastered across their jealous front, some with ghastly colors than drain their face of blood.

“Is that… you, Y/N?” his father’s voice echoes in the room. “Seokjin, don’t tell me…”

“No, father!” Jin jumps in, holding up a defensive pair of hands as he attempts to quell the fiery in his father’s temper. Wide-eyed and panicked, he glances between you and his father. “It isn’t her fault. I swear. I”ll explain—”

“—don’t tell me you’re going through all this trouble for a childish crush from five years ago?”

A loud shriek began the chaos the second Jin’s father exploded, lurching forward with a vexing fist. Everyone in the front rows jump to their feet to hold him back, whereas people in the back rows stand to their tiptoes to get a better view of the climactic show, which includes a once-to-be-groom insisting his father punishes him and a once-to-be-bride slapping her ex-partner in the head for his submission.

People are hysterically laughing, crying, screaming, yelling, fighting, but you sit there, frozen and petrified, until a hand shakes your entire being to your feet.

“Y/N, Y/N, God damn it Y/N, earth to Y/N!” Alex raises her hand, just about to give you one hard slap to the cheek when you suddenly flinch awake. She then hastily pushes you toward the door in the corner of the room whilst everyone is too distracted to notice your discreet escape. She looks you directly in the eye, “you need to run before things get too crazy. I’ll handle things here for now.”

“But Alex, I’m at fault here—”

“—yes, I mean, maybe,” she corrects herself with the shake of her head, “but you being here doesn’t help matters. I’ll help Jin and Youngji.”

“But—”

“—now go,” she starts your momentum with an encouraging push, “go!”

Nodding, you begin your long trek of the night. You run and you run and you run. Your mind runs blank but your feet run a mind of its own. You sprint down the dimly lit streets, you pay no mind to the traffic lights of endlessly empty streets, and your hair twirls in the wind that impedes your speed down the hills. Your surroundings become a blur as your arms swing desperately, your chest heaves incessantly, your eyes sting with tears, and your lips spill anguished sounds of incoherency until somehow, under the sway of the town’s cold spring air and your flux of emotions, you find yourself in a familiar street of your greatest dreams.

Depleted of gas, your feet stumble into a trot that has your knee nearly buckling, which then turns into a jog that then drifts into an untroubled walk in which your lungs try to catch up and your mind is scrambling at a hundred miles per hour but you, yourself, have gone elsewhere.

The luminescence of the full moon is blinding but all the more soothing as you navigate your way through this street you’ve walked one too many times before. For some reason, perhaps out of habit or a hope for something waiting at the end of the tunnel, you begin to count each passing light post. Seven fluorescent lights, you count, seven lights resembling the rays of moonlight until you finally reach your old acquaintance of many years at the corner of the street.

Leaning your head back to stare at the familiar white text on a green sign post, you smile at the homely sight.

CHERRY BLOSSOM AVE

A comforting breeze blows by you, the branches above you rustle in the wind, and the cherry petals from your old pal flutter into the air to envelop you in a solace you had long sought but failed to obtain. It’s like the calm after a storm. Not quite disconnected from the string that loops around your fourth finger to those of another man’s—no, you couldn’t unravel it after all this heartache—but at least away from the prying eyes that could tear you apart and away from the people who whispered gossip of matters they had none in.

Hours seem to pass in the clouds that retire to reveal patches of new twinkling ornaments. You would have believed it if someone were to tell you all control of time lies within the blink of your eyes. The silence was calming initially; but the longer you stand here and the more the numbness begins to fade, the more you become aware of your lonesome circumstances.

The silence is deafening. It knows your greatest fears and your innermost thoughts. You can’t handle it. You can’t bear the thought of being left alone to that voice in your head.

You have to go.

Where?

You don’t know. You just know you have to go somewhere. You can envision all the places you can run to but all the roads lead you to one destination. Yes, anywhere would be fine, anywhere that leads you to him.

“This marks the second time you’ve ever been so enraptured by something other than me.”

Whirling around, seconds seem to become milliseconds and gravity becomes a law unbeknownst to earth, for you can’t believe the sight your eyes lay upon. There he is, standing by the tree just a few meters away with a loosened necktie and disheveled hair, almost as if a pitiful albeit wondrous mirage crafted by your shoddy prayers to the moon above.

“Hey dummy,” he simply utters, taking a step or two toward you before poking your forehead, “what? Why’re you staring at me like I’m a ghost?”

“What?” you manage to say under your breath. “I’m not staring…”

“I was just joking, you know?” he chuckles. “I wouldn’t be jealous over a street post. Psh, I’m not that dumb—”

“—why…” you frown when he quirks a brow, “why are you here? How are you here?”

“Oh no, she’s gone crazy,” Jin laughs at the stupefied look you give him. “At least an hour or two has passed since you left. Somehow, I managed to sit my father down and explain myself.”

“And… what did he say?” your hands begin fidgeting. “He must hate me, doesn’t he…”

“I wouldn’t say ‘hate,’ per se… he’s perfectly okay with you. In fact, he likes you, really. He’s just mad at how things happened. After he calmed down, though, he understood where I was coming from.”

Cautiously, you peek at those eyes that peer down at yours, “and your mother…?”

“She said she saw it coming from a mile away. Apparently she saw us arguing at the engagement party and knew right away,” Jin purses his lips. “Psh, yeah, as if I’m that easy to read.”

Allowing yourself the smallest of laughs, you still can’t seem to rid yourself of that panging guilt. “And… what about Youngji?”

Jin stares intently at your expression before cracking a smile and chuckling, ruffling your hair, “don’t go crying on me now, Y/N. Don’t worry about it. I’ll take care of everything.”

“But I just,” your voice cracks, “I just hate myself for ruining everything for everyone—”

“—hey,” he cups his fingers underneath your chin to lift your gaze to his, “you did not ruin anything for anyone. I did this. I chose to fight for us.”

Hesitantly, you nod and he smiles in response.

“Youngji’s still explaining to her family right now. She told me to find you and Alex told me you would probably here.”

Frowning, you mutter to yourself, “how did she know…?”

“Well,” Jin drops his hand from your chin to raise them in the air, “we did promise to swear our wedding vows here, didn’t we?”

“So what?” you deadpan. “You’re gonna marry me now after all this mess?”

“I know you really want to marry me as soon as possible, but I think I’m gonna have to take a break from weddings for now.”

Rolling your eyes, you mumble, “ditto.”

“But hey, I may have already broken the third promise,” one corner of his lips curve into an apologetic smile before he shrugs, “but that doesn’t mean I can’t marry you in the future! Plus, I may or may not have promised my father I would marry you in the near future to make up for it, so...”

Scoffing, you gawk, “and who said I would marry you?”

“Who wouldn’t marry me?!”

The two of you stare at each other in silence, but the mirrored grin that stretches across your lips are undeniable. Soon enough, a loud fit of giggles and cackles fill the air. It happens all too quickly. The banters come to you like second nature, the conversation flows like a river through time, and somehow you find yourself lying beside him on the blazer he had laid out on the grassy hill and star-gazing for hours on end.

It’s almost like you’ve seen this all before, just five years aged.

“So,” Jin speaks, “how’s your birthday been?”

“Oh, shut the hell up.”

“What?” he cackles, getting up to lean on his arm whilst hovering you. “You know it’s not too late to tell me what you want for your birthday!”

“I already told you,” you narrow your eyes at him, “I wasn’t joking when I said what I said.”

Jin smiles, “in that case…”

He leans in to diminish the distance between his lips and yours. A lulling zephyr blows gently on the cherry petals as you close your eyes and you can picture the way they gracefully descend upon the two lovers below. Having witnessed the unforeseeable promises from start to finish, it’s almost as though an old accomplice was applauding a long-awaited finale.

And when he finally pulls away, eyelids fluttering open just as yours do, he speaks, “happy birthday.”

“What was that for?” you giggle.

Jin’s mouth falls agape, “I’m giving you what you wanted for your birthday!”

“Well,” you purse your lips, “where’s my ring to confirm it then?”

“After all this time, do you really need a ring at this point to confirm my love for you?” Jin rolls his eyes. “You know I’ll always want to be by your side, married or not.”

A fit of laughs escape you as your hand reaches up to squeeze his cheeks, “I know, I know. I’m just joking.”

“Well, good, cause I’m bankrupt at the moment,” Jin sighs, plopping back onto the grass beside you. A momentary silence passes before he turns his head to look at you, “just to make sure, you said you wanted love, right?”

Turning to meet those sparkles in his gaze, you answer, “yeah?”

“You said you wanted to feel love, right?”

Your grin grows wider by the second, “yeah?”

“Well,” he says, “do you feel it?”

“I do,” you answer. “What about you? Do you feel it?”

The vows hold a truth much closer to his heart this time around, and he smiles as he swears...

“I do, too.”

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lordjohngreyreadingnook · 3 years

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Lord John AU Event Master List

A very special thank you to all of the writers, artists, and readers who helped make the Lord John AU Event a success! All good things must come to an end, and the body of Lord John fanworks has grown immensely during this event.

Because Pan is still a geek, here’s an infographic with some of our stats.

Below the cut, you’ll find a masterlist of all of the art and fics submitted for the event. Most of the fics can be found in the AO3 Collection, and all titles in the master list below are links to the original work posting (AO3 or Tumblr).

Here’s how we did!

Master List Below!

Art Links

“E-girl Claire and her boyfriend John” by @deanwinchesterangelfucker

“Gender-swapped, established relationship John and Jamie” by @deanwinchesterangelfucker

Fic Links

Title: extra credit Author: @iihappydaysii Rating: E Ship: Brian/John AU Category: High School Word Count: 2,532 Summary: Brian Randall (Jamie Fraser's gay son, of course) needs to get his grade up in his trig class taught by who other than his father's friend, John Grey.

Title: Die for this Kingdom Author: @mistresspandorawritesthings Rating: M Ship: Jamie/John AU Category: Mob Word Count: 45,255 Summary: All Jamie “Fortnight” Fraser wants is to provide a good, safe life for his family in Chicago. But with tragedies keeping him tangled in his uncle’s deadly schemes and one tenacious—and handsome—police officer determined to bring him in, Fortnight Fraser has a choice to make. Bend to Dougal’s will… or burn it all to the ground.

Title: Remember Hawaii Author: @mistresspandorawritesthings Rating: E Ship: Hector/John AU Category: Semi-Modern Word Count: 5,119 Summary: The chances of John Grey unexpectedly seeing Hector Dalrymple in a group of Marines was always small but never zero. In the vastness of the Pacific Ocean, Hawaii is tiny. What are the odds they'd both be there at the same time?

Title: Tasting Sunshine Author: @andhopethatsoon Rating: E Ship: John/Stephan AU Category: Supernatural/Fantasy Word Count: 6,421 Summary: Every fae and their godmother knows that you DON'T eat the oranges from THOSE trees or you will summon the Summer King who will demand your heart’s desire in return.

Title: At Operator’s Discretion Author: @mistresspandorawritesthings Rating: E Ship: Jamie/John AU Category: Assassins Word Count: 6,210 Summary: John Grey is an operator specializing in surveillance and termination--that is, spying and murder. He keeps all this a secret from his husband, Alex Malcolm, for Alex's protection. But when a contract comes in for one James Fraser, Grey's life gets all kinds of complicated.

Title: Theatre Masks Author: @faeriesfanficblog Rating: G Ship: Jamie/John AU Category: Modern Word Count: 1,238 Summary: A modern AU. Jamie Fraser is an autistic playwriter attending a theatre premiere with his husband Lord John Grey.

Title: The Wild Hunt Author: @mistresspandorawritesthings Rating: E Ship: Jamie/John/Tom AU Category: Supernatural/Fantasy Word Count: 8,033 Summary: The Sorcerer is rumored to be the only being able to influence the Wild Hunt, the same Wild Hunt hell-bent on destroying the world to get to John Grey. But the Sorcerer's aid comes with stipulations.

Title: The Right Tool for the Job Author: @iihappydaysii & @mistresspandorawritesthings Rating: E Ship: Jamie/John AU Category: Modern Word Count: 5,825 Summary: Jamie makes an embarrassing emergency call after a sexual mishap, and John Grey is the paramedic who shows up to help.

Title: gotta listen when the devil’s calling Author: @narastories Rating: E Ship: BJR/Jamie/John AU Category: Modern Word Count: 6,105 Summary: John wasn't looking forward to his birthday. Aberdeen was cold and bloody far away. This year they also got a surprise travel companion last minute and John is convinced, it couldn't get any worse. But perhaps, it's not so bad after all.

Title: Off the Only Path I Knew (WIP) Author: @jesuisprest747 Rating: M Ship: Jamie/John AU Category: College/University Word Count: 8,920 Summary: Nothing about University is going as Jamie Fraser planned. He misses his family and friends back home, and the friends he's made at University don't feel quite right. Under pressure from his father, he is studying business instead of his true passion - Classics and Literature. To top it all off, his roommate barely speaks to him. A story about friendship, love, and following your heart.

Title: And Say We’ll Never Part Author: @mistresspandorawritesthings Rating: E Ship: Hector/John AU Category: Semi-Modern Word Count: 6,872 Summary: The war has been over for months, and the Allied forces are slowly demobilizing. With the help of his friend and battle buddy Harry Quarry, newly-discharged John Grey ensures that Hector has a home waiting for him.

Title: Lemon Drop Author: @mistresspandorawritesthings Rating: E Ship: Hal/John/Percy AU Category: Modern Word Count: 6,335 Summary: Weeks into their mother's engagement, John and Hal still haven't been formally introduced to their soon-to-be step-brother. So Hal suggests they take matters into their own hands. And if it turns out Percy is up for a little fun... all the better.

Title: A Pocketful of Posies Author: @levisqueaks Rating: M Ship: Brian/John (end game); Jamie/John AU Category: Modern Word Count: 3,483 Summary: Jamie breaks up with John a mere week before his wedding to a girl John knew nothing about. 20 years later, John finally gets a little bit of closure.

Title: London Calling - Come out of the Cupboard Author: @angstosaur Rating: E Ship: Claire/Jamie/John AU Category: Semi-modern Word Count: 24,337 Summary: Setting – Bloomsbury, London, early 1980’s John is a newly qualified solicitor and is working in Holborn. When he was studying law in London his mother insisted he stay in her apartment in Bloomsbury. He agreed as long as he could share with his old school friend, Claire Beauchamp. Claire has just finished at medical school and has a post as a junior doctor at a large London Hospital. They’re just good friends. That’s all. Really. After all, John is gay. Then, Jamie Fraser enters their lives and suddenly all that was taken for granted is called into question.

Title: John Grey’s Anatomy (WIP) Author: @jesuisprest747 Rating: E Ship: Claire/Jamie/John AU Category: Modern medical Word Count: 25,452 Summary: When John Grey decided to move to America in early 2020 to escape his past and make a new start at Boston Memorial Hospital, he only wished to work hard at his anesthesiology fellowship and heal his broken heart. Little did he know that he would soon meet two people who would change his life forever, against the background of the world's first global pandemic in over a hundred years.

Title: Blood Bound (WIP) Author: @mistresspandorawritesthings Rating: E Ship: Jamie/John; Jenny/Minnie AU Category: Supernatural/fantasy Word Count: 2,862 Summary: Jamie Fraser grew up with the knowledge of the unholy evil that walks the earth. For more generations than his father could count, Fraser women have been the lone soldiers charged with keeping the evil things at bay. But when one wrong move on a haunted bog in Ireland transforms Jamie into the very thing he was taught to help his sister eradicate, he's forced to reevaluate everything he thought he knew about monsters.

Title: Love is a three-edged sword (WIP) Author: @angstosaur Rating: M Ship: Claire/Jamie/John AU Category: Authurian Word Count: 74,668 Summary: An Arthurian themed AU featuring characters from Diana Gabaldon’s Outlander series of books and the Lord John Grey stories. The enduring love triangle of Arthur, Guinevere and Lancelot retold with a different twist. Expect canon to be used and abused, mythology to be woven in as desired and for there to be scenes of an explicit nature.T his is neither Outlander nor Arthurian legend as you may know it, or accept it, but it’s a story that called to me many months ago and I shall endeavour to write it. The characters are fictional and I’ve put them in an indeterminate time, so there will be less historical accuracy than my previous long story.

#Lord John AU Bingo Event #Lord John Grey #Lord John #Rec List

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wayhavenots · 3 years

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Bursting With Love

Note: Daphne is ~26 here. Also, for self-indulgence reasons, Nick and Daphne are half-Chinese and use Hokkien to address relatives on their mother’s side. Dua Yi is what one would call their mother’s eldest sister in Hokkien.

Synopsis: At Nick’s wedding, Daphne has to rescue Gray from the clutches of her (overall sweet) aunt before she can say anything too embarrassing. (Button x Gray) (also Nick gets married to an unnamed and unpersonalitied character)

Rating: G

Word Count: 867

Tagging: @homeformyheart @crackerdumortain

Your mission, Kid Justice, should you choose to accept it: Save the best man from awkward conversation with Dua Yi.

But Daphne might be too late. In the chaos of Nick’s wedding---especially her speech (which she never finished giving, each line cut off by her preemptive laughing at her own jokes or preemptive crying because of how proud she was of her brother) and the dorky brother-sister dance (done to a remix of Rainbow Connection)---her aunt has swooped in on an unsupervised Gray, who is piling a plate high full of cookies at the refreshment table.

Dua Yi---literally ��big aunt”, though she stands less than five feet tall---is sweet enough, and she used to spoil Nick and Daphne when they were kids. At least, until the Incident---and then she has to stop thinking about it, because in order to rescue Gray, she has to enter her Level 9 Empath aunt’s brain range. She’s looking beautiful in a red dress---eternal youth on her face---no older than twenty-five---

That earns an eye roll and a hug. “Silly girl. I can feel your fear, Daphne. What do you think I’m going to do to Fortitude here?”

Gray smiles charmingly as he offers a Mind-Over-Batter to Daphne. (She loves him so much.) “Your aunt was just telling me about how, when you and Nick were kids---”

“I don’t think I’m gonna like the end of that story,” says Daphne, accepting the cookie, and stealing one more from the plate for good measure.

“No, it’s cute,” he says, which is the correct answer. “You used to interrogate all of Nick’s friends to make sure they were good enough for him.”

“And they never were,” adds Dua Yi.

Gray chuckles and gives Daphne the warmest smile as he takes a bite out of a cookie. He would have passed four-year-old Daphne’s inspection. Maybe.

“Daphne has always been bursting with love,” comments Dua Yi, pinching her cheeks lightly. “I’m so happy she’s found someone to share it with. And who knows? This time, next year, I could be back for your wedding.”

There it is---Dua Yi’s absolute favorite emotion to sense is surprise, though Daphne’s public domain emotion is more concern as Gray nearly chokes on his cookie.

Daphne rushes to get him some water---Gray motions that he’s okay, but it would be just like him to die so that she wouldn’t be inconvenienced by walking six steps---and by the time she’s back, her mother (who likely heard everything) is collecting Dua Yi to collect some other emotions.

Thank you, Mom, she thinks.

But her aunt’s words replay in her head. This time, next year, I could be back for your wedding. It's too cold for an outside wedding, for one, and she suspects that Gray would prefer it outside. Maybe they could rent a canoe and row out to the middle of Lake Michigan, the way she used to when everything got to be too much. The officiant could be in another canoe---it could be like that scene in the Little Mermaid---he could wear little crab claws and sing you may now kiss de girl---

Daphne's not sure how much of her thoughts Gray hears as she passes him the water, but enough that he laughs hard, sets the cup down, and pulls her close by the waist.

"Is that something you would want?" he asks, a little hoarsely, bending down so his forehead presses against hers.

For a person dressed as a crab to officiate their wedding?

"To be married," he clarifies with a nervous laugh. He continues, whispering low, the rest of his words adorably flustered. "To me. In the near-ish future. Because I would like that more than you know, to be, for you to be my, for us to be..."

"Grayson Wacker Black," she murmurs, inching her forehead just far enough away that she can look into his eyes. "If you propose to me right now, my new sister-in-law is going to kick both of our butts."

But of course she wants to marry him---to a soundtrack of ABBA and Disney, or out on Lake Michigan, or by a hologram of Alex Trebek, the answer is the question to I do---and to see the way he is smiling at her every day for the rest of her life, to wake up next to him and go to sleep beside him, to make sure he is eating and to supply him with neverending cookies, to feel this safe and happy forever, to make him feel the same...

Button, am I hearing you right? Nick's mental voice is close to a squeal.

It would probably make for a good wedding present to Nick, she has to admit.

I'm already the happiest man on earth. I don't even know if I'd survive the serotonin boost. But I'm willing to take that risk. Tell Gray to do it. Say yes.

Gray smiles softly. "I wouldn't do it for Nick. Or in front of your entire family."

Or within Nick's brain range, she hopes.

"That, either. I don't want any voices in your head telling you to say yes." He brings his hands up to cup her face. "But I hope you say yes."

#mind blind #grayson black #gray x button

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tarlosbuddie · 4 years

Photo

Summary: Buck and Eddie are hosting the 126 monthly dinner at their house. The whole team and their kids are here.

Or the one where Buddie and Tarlos are friends and have lots of kids.

This is also part of my collaboration with the amazing @harvestleaves

Word Count: 2477

Chapter : 2/2 (part one)

Tags: Established relationship, Kid fic, domestic fluff, crossover, future fic

Relationship: Buddie and Tarlos

Read on AO3

From his spot in the kitchen, Buck can already hear the voices of the first five guests, the Strand-Reyes. Bella runs to say hi to both men, and Matias is sitting on the couch next to Andrea before his dads can even take their coats off. Baby Luis is asleep in Carlos’ arms.

“He’s growing so fast”, Eddie says while opening his arms to take the one-year-old so TK and Carlos can finally make themselves comfortable. “Be careful, he’s going to be a teenager before either one of you can blink an eye,” he adds and tilts his head towards his oldest.

“I can’t believe we are the first ones to arrive,” TK says and takes a look at the living room. Half of the guests have yet to arrive and the room is already full of the best kind of noises; their kids laughter. “Do you want me to take him back?” he asked Eddie but it looks like uncle Eddie has no desire of giving him his son back.

“No, I got him” he replies and sniffs the top of the kid’s head, full of black and curly hair.

“What are you cooking us, Buck?” the youngest firefighter asks, the head already bending toward the pot.”

“Something great” Buck’s husband answers for him, and the three other men smile at Eddie.

“Eddie has secretly decided to turn tonight’s dinner into a cooking competition between our husbands, TK”. Buck explains and all smiles grew wider.

“I never said it was a secret”, Eddie jokes.

“Well, if someone wants me to compete I should probably get my hands in that kitchen, then?” Carlos adds. He kisses the top of his baby’s head, who is still sleeping soundly in Eddie’s arms, and moves next to Buck. “What can I do, Bucky?” he asks while winking at Christopher, the only person Buck allows to call him with that nickname.

“The main course is almost done, I also tried to make pão de queijo with the recipe you gave me, but it doesn’t smell as good as yours” Buck confesses.

“It smells great, man” the younger man reassures him and puts a hand on his shoulder. “What if I work on making the bottles?” Carlos offers. “You feed us and the small ones, I feed the smallest ones.”

“Deal” Buck accepts.

“Isn’t it cheating?” TK jokes. He’s enjoying the scene though, Carlos is rolling his sleeves, and opening his bag and the kitchen cupboard to get what he needs. The two of them spend so much time at the Diaz’s that none of them have to ask where things are. Even before they had kids, they all enjoyed spending time together.

--------------------

Buck still had four hours left in his shift when Eddie heard the pounding on the door. Even if Buck had forgotten his keys, he wouldn’t be back so soon. Not without calling him to warn him first. Eddie brushed his bed hair back and out of his face and walked to the door. He was expecting a delivery guy - since his fiance was ordering new furniture for the baby’s future room every time he read an article saying that kids might need this kind of thing. What the firefighter was not expecting was to open his door to find TK, soaking wet, shaking. Before asking why he was there, the older man took him by the arm to bring him inside and rushed to the bathroom to get him a towel. His dark hair was half-covered by his hoodie, but TK was still pretty wet.

“You wanna tell me what you’re doing in my living room, looking like a wet golden retriever?” he asked kindly.

“When did you know?” TK asked. His voice was shaking and he was out of breath. Eddie waited for the rest of the question in order to respond. “When did you realize Buck was the one you wanted to spend the rest of your life with?”

“Not soon enough” Eddie half-joked. “But if you ran under the pouring rain to ask me that - it’s because you already know Carlos is the one for you” he continued, knowing that that’s where the conversation was going. “You want to propose to that boy, right?”

“I’m madly in love him, Eddie” TK replied. “I love him so so much.”

“So why are you in my place and not at yours with your gorgeous boyfriend?”

“I’m scared” TK admitted, drying his face with the towel and using this as an excuse not to look at his friend.

“You’re afraid he will say no?” the older man assumed “Carlos loves you, I have no doubt about it.”

“I’m afraid he will say yes” TK replied and his voice started cracking.

“I don’t get it” Eddie said while turning his back on him a few seconds to set the coffee pot.

“What if I’m not enough? Carlos deserves so much better.” TK’s words almost broke Eddie’s heart. One of the many things TK and Buck have in common is that they both are hard on themselves. Eddie always considered himself lucky to have a friend like TK, who’s kind, strong and will stop at nothing to help the people who need him. Carlos and him are a perfect match, everyone who spends more than five minutes with them can notice that. “My dad loved my mom, and they still got a divorce” the youngest added.

“You’re not your dad TK. You are an amazing man. You have so much to offer, and if you don’t already know it, Carlos sure does” pressing a warm cup of coffee in his friend’s hand. Eddie told him about something he knew for a while “The first time we had dinner together, at the Ryder’s, Grace asked Buck and I if we planned on getting married.”

“I remember that” TK spoke but his voice was still unsure.

“What you don’t know is that I knew by then I was gonna marry Buck someday. And you know what I already knew too?” He didn’t wait for TK’s response since the young man seemed confused. “I knew you two were going to be together forever too. I could see it in the way you two looked at each other.”

“You seem so sure” the Strand boy said, a little less shaking thanks to the hot cup in his hands.

“I’m marrying Buck in three weeks, this is how I’m sure about all of it. And I’m also sure that you didn’t need me to tell you this to know you belong with Carlos” he took his own cup and pointed his other hand to the couch to invite TK to sit with him.

Thanking him for his help, the young man left his untouched coffee on the table and run back to his car. The rain had stopped and the sky was clearer, just like TK’s mind. He knew what he wanted, but he knew it long before he knocked on the Diaz’s door. He just needed a push.

And if one year later Eddie didn’t mention it in his toast at their wedding, it was because he was not the reason behind the proposal. TK and Carlos did this on their own, they built their relationship step by step and learned to trust each, to rely on each other. Relationships take work, effort, especially after Alex broke TK so much he almost did not make it. Carlos was his light in the dark. His conversation only helped him see something he already knew deep in his bone.

------------

Eddie and TK are sitting on this same couch, admiring both their husbands in the kitchen. As much as Eddie was proud that TK trusted him enough to knock on his door years ago, he takes no credit for them getting engaged, and then married, he knows that they didn’t need him. The kind of love Carlos and TK have for each other is too strong for them to ignore it.

When he left the 118 to go to Austin, Eddie was afraid he would never feel a bond as strong ever again, but the Strands have a special power, they make everyone feel at home. They are still in contact with Bobby, Hen, and Chim, especially since the latest married Maddie a few years ago. When Eddie met Chim, he liked the guy immediately, but he never imagined he would be the uncle of his and Maddie’s daughters.

Owen knocks at the door so loudly his son knows it’s him before anyone had the chance to open. He smiles at the house owners and they both gesture the door so he can welcome his dad himself. Not wanting Eddie to move with the sleeping Luis in his arms, TK happily opens the door and neither Owen nor Zoey are surprised to see him instead of the Diaz. TK hugged both his dad and his step-mom before letting them in.

“Is Grace breastfeeding Mary or should I get a bottle of formula ready for her?” Carlos asks Buck before seeing the new guest in the kitchen with them.

“I think she’s still breastfeeding” Buck tries to remember the last dinner but it was a month ago and he knows how fast things go with babies.

“So, three bottles it is.”

“I brought my own bottle, thanks” Owen jokes and put the wine bottle on the counter before hugging his son in law. Owen is on his third marriage, but he knows Carlos is the one and only for TK. His son loves his husband so much that Owen doesn’t even want to imagine the possibility that he could one day lose him. They deserve to grow old together and to have everything Owen didn’t find with his two previous marriages, unconditional love, and understanding. He’s glad Zoey fits well in their little family. She gets along with TK, Carlos, and the kids.

As if he senses his grandfather’s presence, the youngest Strand-Reyes is awake and screaming, soon comforted by Papa Strand.

The Ryders arrive a few minutes later, followed by Michelle, Mateo, Marjan, Paul, and his girlfriend. It’s the second time he brought Irene to a dinner with the rest of the crew and everyone knows it means things are getting serious for him to introduce her to his fire family. Now that everyone is here, they all can move from the couch to the tables. Of course, as they suspected, Bella keeps moving around and decides to finally stop running when her grandpa offers to let her sit on his lap if she stays still for the rest of the dinner.

TK tries his best not to tease Buck about his pão de queijo because he will never love it as much as he loves Carlos’ but it may have something to do with the fact that he has the memory of his husband showing their oldest son how to cook it.

Marjan and Mateo excuse themselves early. They love their family, but they are the only singles of the crew and they are planning on going out after dinner to grab a few drinks and blow off some steam by dancing at the bar. Paul and Irene left soon after them because she has an early shift in the morning but she will make up for it by helping Paul host the next dinner at his house.

When it’s time for the dessert to be served, Andrea takes her hostess role very seriously and helps Eddie serve the carrot cake she made with Buck. They bake the same cake every time they are in charge of the monthly dinner, but kids really love it and they always eat the leftovers for breakfast the next morning. After all this time, Buck still doesn’t know how much food to make for a group of people of this size, so he always cooks too much food. He usually gives away the leftovers but keeps the cake to feed his own army.

TK is trying to eat while rocking Luis back to sleep. Carlos offers to help by doing something he loves to do even though there’s a decent chance people might laugh at them. He places a gentle arm around his husband to bring him closer to him and feeds him cake like he’s feeding a small child. They did it at the wedding reception, feeding each other a part of the huge wedding cake and Carlos still enjoys doing it. He loves that it makes TK smiles while chomping on a piece of dessert. This guy has a sweet tooth and they’re both glad their kids haven’t inherited this trait or they would have trouble putting them to bed from the sugar rush. When he’s done eating, TK is as sleepy as his son is, and he lets his heavy head fall on Carlos’ shoulder.

Grace is feeding her seven-month-old daughter. And Owen has flashbacks of when TK was that small. Sometimes, it still feels like it was yesterday. Mary Ryder is not even the youngest member of the extended 126 family. The newest additions to the family are in their dads’ protective arms. Roberto is the sweetest kid, he barely cries, but his sister Annabeth cries enough for the two, especially when she’s not next to her twin brother. Getting these two to sleep on different cribs is impossible. Eddie is holding her in one arm, while Buck has both arms wrapped around his boy like he’s trying to shield him from any kind of danger that might come his way. They are 4 asleep babies at the table, but when a loud snore comes out, all heads turn towards TK. Carlos is blushing because he knows for sure everyone’s assumption is right.

Judd is one of the only people with both free hands, so he jumps off his chair and starts collecting plates to bring them to the kitchen sink. Christopher follows him and gets ready to do the dishes.

“I’d like to help, but” Eddie starts and points to his baby girl.

“Let me” Owen says and Eddie already knows the captain is not offering to clean, so he surrenders and gives him the baby. She slightly starts to move but Owen rocks her slowly and she’s fully back to sleep. Papa Strand magic works on every single baby.

With that, Eddie moves to his kitchen, to help Judd and Christopher. Judd might not be as familiar as the Strand-Reyes in this house, but just like at the firehouse, they all take turns doing the dishes after a family dinner. They never questioned it, not even the first time Carlos and Eddie hopped in the kitchen with Grace to clean everything and to exchange secrets while the others were playing poker. Poker turned into board games, but the feelings are the same. They’re family.

#tarlos #Buddie #evan buckley #eddie diaz #christopher diaz #tk strand #carlos reyes #owen strand #judd ryder #grace ryder #this is stupid #but I wanted to write it #so here it is #EmilieLoves911 #my stuff

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belphegor1982 · 4 years

Note

For the prompts challenge, Rick and Jonathan for #33 (Expectations) and/or #51 (Sport)

I almost went with the second one because I could picture them chatting during one of Alex’s cricket matches, but then I realised I’d have to actually understand cricket (and/or baseball) rules, so... There you go :D

Unexpected

(read on AO3 if you prefer!)

“‘Expect the unexpected’? What sort of a motto is that?”

“You gotta admit, it’s worked for me so far, right?”

“But you can’t expect the unexpected, that’s why it’s unexpected in the first place – oh for God’s sake, are they still shooting?”

There were worst places to be, Jonathan supposed, than hunkering down at the bottom of a narrow L-shaped passageway cut into a hillside while determined people were shooting at you. Right now, though, he couldn’t think of a single one. The only redeeming feature was the company.

“What else do you want them to do, a méchoui?”

Jonathan put aside the creeping panic for thirty seconds to prod his somewhat rusty Arabic back to life.

“A… roast?”

It was almost impossible to be sure in the darkness, but Jonathan thought Rick turned to him and grinned.

“You guys didn’t have that in Egypt? Must be Moroccan, then. I had one in Rabat once. It’s sheep cooked on a spit, with the whole family and neighbours invited. Kind of a big deal.”

“Sorry, old boy, doesn’t ring a bell. Sounds nice, though.”

Rick ducked out of their shelter for a second to shoot once, then twice into their assailants to make them keep their distance. Jonathan, whose only gun had run out of bullets about an hour ago, flattened himself against the wall to give him room. They’d been playing that little game for something like an hour now.

Why don’t you go with Rick, Evy had said, reconnoitre perhaps, and he knew his sister enough to translate it as “I really need to work on this for a while with no distractions.” Well, that was fine by him, really, as he was quite happy to let her be the Egyptologist while he got to play tourist. So he tagged along with his brother-in-law, chatting amiably, until Rick – who took his unofficial role as ‘head of security’ seriously – had decided to go investigate the next wadi and they had come face to face with a band of marauders. Since that very band had been known for picking off diggers when archaeological operations were conducted in places they didn’t like, nobody had been very civil, shots had been fired, and measures had had to be taken – viz, running like hell into the first hole in the ground Jonathan and Rick could find, hoping it led somewhere safe, or failing that, was a decent enough shelter. Too bad they couldn’t find a tunnel high enough to actually stand in.

Maybe there was something to be said for “being prepared”, as Rick had once put it. It certainly helped that the American had been carrying two pistols and quite a few clips. At least it made the raiders think twice before storming their passageway.

God, he needed a drink. Too bad his hip flask probably lay somewhere between there and Nefertari’s tomb…

“Maybe we could have something like that when the dig’s done,” said Rick as though he had not just dodged a storm of bullets so bad it had widened the bend in the passageway.

This was a really shoddy wall, Jonathan decided with the small part of himself that was not either terrified or making ironic comments from the back seat. Bullets were supposed to flatten themselves on earth and rocks, he’d seen it happen, but this wall just let itself be shredded without putting much of a fight. Frightfully bad form.

Jonathan forced himself to take a steady breath and asked, somewhat distractedly, “Something like what? I lost the thread, I’m afraid.”

“A méchoui. Something to celebrate the end of the dig and whatever discoveries Evy will have made. What do you think?”

A sarcastic retort rose in Jonathan’s mind, but he bit down on it. Behind the unnatural calm of the seasoned soldier he could hear Rick struggling to breathe evenly, just like he was.

Well. Much as he hated to admit it, Rick’s stubborn American optimism was a comfort, in its way. Maybe Jonathan could return the favour and offer a bit of English stiff upper-lip, even if he knew he was rubbish at it.

“I think it’s a jolly good idea,” he said, fighting to keep the irony to a minimum. “Give us all something to look forward to…”

His voice trailed off and he grabbed Rick’s arm in the dark.

“Did you hear that?”

“What?” came Rick’s sharp whisper.

“Shh – listen.”

What greeted their ears was silence – unexpected, complete silence.

Then it was pandemonium. Gunfire, shouts, screams, bullets ricocheting everywhere, a tumult that sent Jonathan and Rick huddling at the end of their tunnel, desperately trying to make the smallest targets possible.

It took them a while to realise silence had fallen again, until the last sound they could possibly expect finally reached them.

“Rick? Jonathan? Are you in there?”

Jonathan blinked earth from eyes he didn’t remember closing. The flickering light of a nearby torch was a stab in the brain after getting used to the darkness, but at least it allowed him to see Rick’s jaw dropping.

“Evy!?”

And then she was there, kneeling in front of them, one hand holding the torch and the other running over Rick’s face and Jonathan’s shoulders as if to make sure they really were there.

“Oh thank God,” she said fervently. “When Tariq said he’d heard shots I immediately thought of those raiders from the other day, so I rallied Saleh and Ibrahim and any of the diggers who had experience in handling guns, but I was so afraid we’d be too late…”

As usual, when she was rattled, she was unstoppable. Words tumbled out of her, pronunciation crisp and clipped but without much punctuation. It took Rick taking her hand and rubbing her forearm to get her to slow down and breathe.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay, sweetheart, we’re okay. You got there just in time.”

“With the cavalry in tow, no less,” added Jonathan with a somewhat shaky smile. “Since we’re all intact, against all odds, why don’t we continue this elsewhere? Preferably outside.”

He rose, miscalculated the height of the tunnel, and banged his head against a surprisingly hard and smooth surface.

“Ow! Of all the bloody—”

“Jonathan!” Evy exclaimed. “Are you all right?”

Jonathan rubbed his scalp, wondering if the spots dancing in front of his eyes came from the torch or the impact.

“Yes, but as I was saying, since nobody’s shooting at us anymore I would really like to get the hell out of –”

“Wait a minute,” said Rick slowly. “Is that a wall?”

Jonathan blinked, confused.

“You mean the ceiling?”

“No,” breathed Evy, her eyes shining in the firelight. “This is stone – this was built. I think we might be standing under something, so to speak. Here, hold this.”

She handed her torch to Rick, took out a hard brush from one of her pockets, and began to clear away the dirt.

“It’s a staircase, leading into the hill! The tomb must be a much larger complex than I thought if… Oh, if I could just find an entrance –”

“Evy,” said Rick, “I’m gonna dispatch Mahmud to Luxor so the authorities can deal with the remaining raiders, and then I’m gonna send Tariq and his team to give you a hand here. Be careful in the meantime. Okay?”

“Mh-hm. I mean yes, you do that, thank you. They’ll need to prop up here and widen there –”

She was in full archaeologist mode, talking to herself as she worked, and Jonathan (who, knowing his sister like he did, was familiar with that mode and its derivatives, namely ‘scholar mode’, ‘librarian mode’, and ‘Egyptologist mode’) knew they had temporarily lost her to her passion.

“See what I meant about expectations?” asked Rick as they made their way towards the opening of the tunnel, following light that grew brighter and brighter. Jonathan gingerly shook dirt out of his hair, mindful of the lump on the top of his skull.

“No, not really. What about expectations?”

This time there was well enough light to see Rick’s four-hundred-teeth grin.

“Well,” he said, “that’s the thing about expecting the unexpected – you’re never disappointed.”

Jonathan shot him a deadpan look. Then he gave in to the smile he could feel pulling at his lips. Maybe there was something to that philosophy, after all.

“I’m going to hold you to that méchoui idea, you know,” he remarked once they finally stood in blessed, blinding sunshine, squinting like a couple of moles.

Rick laughed.

______________________

I love the brothers-in-law. Seriously. Wish there were more fics (and better written than mine) that feature the two of them bantering and being ridiculous and united in their love of Evy ♥

Incidentally, I’ve been to a méchoui or two when I was a kid – probably organised by a friend of my mum’s – and I have fond memories of it. To my young eyes it looked very impressive, that big fire against the night, people talking and laughing as we all ate.

#tinydooms #the mummy #fanfiction #my stuff #Jonathan Carnahan #Rick O'Connell #Evelyn Carnahan O'Connell #the mummy films #ask reply

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imagine-lcorp · 5 years

Text

To Be a Hero (Part III)

A/N: Well, helloooooo you guys, here I come with the next part of this thrilling saga. Now i thought it would be just a three part fic but it turned out to be four instead, so next time I update this one, it will be the last. Hope you enjoy this and let me know what you think!!! Love y’all!!!

Lena Luthor & Metahuman Daugther R//Word Count: 1,739

- Part I - Part II - Part III - Part IV

------------------------------------------------------------

To be dead is a strange state of being. Especially if you are still sensing the world around you.

You couldn't find a way to accurately describe what it was, but you somehow felt all over the place. Like dust filling the air, being there but not really there as something tangible. There was light and darkness surrounding you, a constant mix of noise and calm, of warm and cold. It felt like living inside a little galaxy, a little world of your own.

Unfortunately, you weren't alive, not anymore, and if this was the afterlife it had a weird place to land after... what? You couldn't remember how you had ended up like this. Your cause of death was a mystery and you felt a bit foolish. It was like forgetting something from the shopping list and having to go back for it. Like that time you forgot to grab the cereal and you and your mom where already in the middle of the check out line.

(Y/N).

A familiar voice called.

"What exactly did you find?"

You were sure the answer to that question wasn't cereal but it sparked something inside.

You don't know how much it actually took you to locate the memory, from a shopping trip to a dark room, but once you cleared your thoughts the more you remembered little pieces and scratches of your former life. You felt less lost.

"I found the bomb."

You had responded to the question back then with your own voice and the right memory came rushing back to you.

"Where are you?" Lena, your mom, had asked again.

"Near the my aunt's monument." You almost didn't answer. In front of you was a giant bomb ready to blow out the city.

It was huge, and it looked strangely like an octopus, a ball made of metal placed in the middle of the room with thick cables connected to other machines around. You weren't sure they had prepared you for a something like this at the DEO.

"(Y/N), do you copy?" Alex voice came now.

"Yes! Sorry. I'm, uh, near the Supergirl Monument. Two blocks east, one floor underneath the building."You tried looking around instead of looking at the bomb."I don't think this was here before."

"Alright, we got your location. We're sending the team over there to-"

"What the hell are you doing here?" You heard behind you.

You moved without thinking, vanishing and appearing around the room as quickly as you could. Two Sons of Liberty were pointing all their guns at you, not knowing exactly where to shot and afraid one stray bullet would detonate the bomb before time.

One of them pulled out some kind of charger and pressed a button on it before throwing it on the room. You saw the thing bounce on the floor from different angles, still glitching from one place to another, until a beep and a blinding flash of light came out of it. The light hit your eyes making you stop right away with a scream.

"(Y/N)?" Your mom called. "What's happening? Are you alright?"

"I-I can't see!" You responded frantically, pulling your hands out and trying to hold onto something other than the floor.

That was the moment when your life should have ended for good had it not been for the quick response of Supergirl. You could only heard the gunshots and the screams that followed as Kara entered the room and disarmed those two.

"(Y/N)!" She came to your aid after a few seconds and you struggled at first with her, thinking she was one of the Sons of Liberty. "It's okay, it's okay. It's me, Supergirl."

"Oh, god." She held you as you tried to get up, blinking many times so your eyes could recover. "I think, I'm blind now."

"(Y/N)? Supergirl? Are you alright?"Alex's voice came over the comms.

"We are okay but (Y/N) is having some trouble. They hit her with a flash."

"If by some trouble you mean I'm blind now, yeah, I have some." You said irritated after the whole incident.

"Darling, you're gonna be okay, just keep calm." Your mom assured you. "It may take a couple of minutes."

"Uh, you better recover quickly (Y/N)." You held your aunt by the arm as she walked around the room and stopped a few steps ahead. "We may not have much time."

You rubbed your eyes and let them adjust once again to the light in the room. When finally opened them you were able to see a bit of a blurred image in front of you. It was a timer set down to twenty minutes.

"We gotta work fast, (Y/N), we don't have much time. Winn? Lena? We got-" Kara instructed and just before you could make a move you had to jump at the sound of metal gates closing around the room.

"What's happening?" You asked as the last gates went down.

"None of you will leave now." You both turned to see one of the Sons of Liberty on the other side of those doors, holding a control on his hand.

Kara rushed towards the gates trying to crash into them and break them but the metal didn't even bend an inch. Kara's super strength was doing nothing to it.

"I guess you aliens are good for something." They guy said. "This is Nth metal. Unbreakable."

"Your partner is still here with us." Kara tried to reason with him. "You wouldn't let him die."

"He would be honored to die for the cause. Anything to get rid of you alien scum. Now enjoy your last minutes on Earth." He said pressing another button on his control and left. A fast beeping followed his footsteps, and you turned at the sound horrified to see the timer go down faster.

"Holy sh-"

"(Y/N)? Sweetheart, are you alright?"Your mom called from your comms.

"We are trapped." You answered frantically.

"(Y/N), try to keep calm. We're gonna get out."Kara came to you and started to examine the room."Lena, they put us on a cage of Nth steel, we can't get out and the timer of the bomb is going down faster now. They are not wasting time anymore."

Kara explained what had just happened and tried to describe the bomb as accurately as it was possible, and everything after that seemed to pass even faster. Your mom had been left speechless for a moment as she processed the situation. You and Kara were trapped with a bomb you didn't even know how it worked and with less time than you had expected. But your mom, along with Winn, got down to business just as quickly.

They tried to evaluate the situation and the possible solutions to it. Unfortunately, it seemed the type of situation that was ruled by Murphy's Law. You couldn't call the rest of your friend for help as they were busy fighting a group of Sons of Liberty that had managed to get themselves powerful alien weapons and were using them to cause more chaos around the city. You couldn't escape the bomb room and when Kara used her powers to open the device, every single cable and component looked the same to you that you feared it would be impossible to stop the tragedy. You were running out of options and time.

"Maybe I could move the bomb?" You suggested.

"Not that I don't trust you, kiddo, but that's the least we want you to do." Winn explained. "We don't know the mechanism of that device. Those cables connected out of it could be anything and if you tried to disconnect them it could cause the final detonation."

"I guess there's only one option." Kara sighed.

"Yes, only one, so listen to me." Your mom called you once more. "You will have to dismantle the bomb yourselves. Winn and I will be guiding you but you have to tell us exactly what you see, understood?"

You could heard the beating of your heart and breath, and even your Kara's, as you tried to follow your mom's instructions to the letter. It was a complex mechanism it seemed. Every time your aunt moved a cable from inside the metal ball something from the machines connected to the ends of its thick cables was activated too. You had to teleport from machine to machine making sure to deactivate what was probably a backup fuse to make it explode no matter what and as you did you kept looking at the timer from time to time, making sure you were still alive.

Your aunt called over the comms for final instructions after Winn assured you taking one last cable would deactivate the bomb. Or at least, that's what they had thought. Kara pulled the cable and the timer stopped for a brief moment before it resumed the countdown once more and the other machines were activated simultaneously. You had what seemed like five minutes, which were in reality just three. Then your mom spoke again.

She was sure there was one last cable to pull off but it was not on the center piece of the bomb. You had to find it and pull it to finally stop it. Kara and you used your powers to try to find it but none of you were able to. After all, the bomb had been designed to not fail.

For a moment, you thought about your family, the heroes they were and their lives, and then you thought about your own. Your powers and what it meant to have them. Being a hero had never been more difficult. But still, you did the only thing you thought could save them all.

"I found it." You said this time as sure and confident as it was possible, muting your ear piece. You would have to make amends to you mom some other life.

"(Y/N)? Are you ready?" Your Aunt Kara called as the timer reached down to twenty seconds.

"Yeah..." You swallowed hard. "Just, uh, I need you to do one more thing."

"What is it?"

"Tell my mom I love her."

Everything after that was a series of flashing images. The bomb, the water, the salt of the ocean, the force of the explosion, the muted sound of it below the waves. The unbearable heat. The shock consuming your body.

It all started to take you back and you knew it was time to make amends.

#lena luthor imagine #lena luthor imagines #imagine lena luthor #lena luthor x reader #lena x reader #Female reader #fem!reader #fem reader #daughter reader #daughter!reader #metahuman!reader #metahuman reader #To Be a Hero #part iv

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shadowofthelamp · 4 years

Text

Needle and Thread

Oh yeah, I didn’t post this here. So, for my LGBT lit summer class one of the options for our project was a short story, so I wrote a human au Tulix thing. The teacher said she liked the ‘creative names’, pffft.)

Wordcount: 4000

Warnings: Mentions of dead animals/dissection

It started with a dead squirrel, a swiss army knife, and a bag of mints.

Tulip Bennett had only just begun going to East Side Middle School since her old foster home had belonged to the district across town. When she was adopted, she got a new house and a new dad, but also a new school, new people to deal with- and folded under that, new school weirdos.

“Look, I don’t know if anyone’s told you yet.” It had been conferred on her in harsh whispers- the harshest that could come from a fellow sixth-grader, one named Samantha in hot pink and pigtails. “Stay away from Nebula, the girl with the overalls.”

“Nebula? That’s a cool name.”

“Trust me, the girl it comes with isn’t. Her family is weird- the mom always walks around in a lab coat that’s got something red on the bottom half, and the dad killed somebody once!”

“Killed somebody?”

“That’s what Dave says!” And her tone left no argument- what Dave said must be law, to the twelve-year-olds that had been dwelling in these halls years before she had. “Just keep away if you don’t wanna get hurt.”

Tulip had nodded and gone about the next week or so getting only glances of the girl at lunch where she usually had her thick glasses buried in a thick book. From a distance, she just kind of seemed… like a nerd. Which wasn’t intimidating. She kind of wore black a lot, sure, but that wasn’t much. Tulip didn’t see why everyone seemed so scared of her. If there was one thing she was good at, though, it was floating around to plug herself into different groups. Her pastel dress, round shape, fluffy red hair, and quiet demeanor were camouflage, allowing her to slip in and ask questions in a soft way that usually got answered.

“Why don’t people like her?”

“She brought a bunch of live beetles into class last year. One got on my arm and she started yelling at me when I pushed it off. Like it mattered if I squashed a bug.”

“Have you seen those gloves she wears? They’ve got blood on them!”

“Look, she’s tearing something open right now!” At that, Tulip turned, squinting. Sure enough, there was a blueish huddle on the corner of the playground. Her hair was bundled up in a bun that resembled a haystack atop her head.

She kind of looked like Alex had at the house before last, the boy who used to eat worms, and he was actually nice when she got to know him, so Tulip brushed her skirt and made a decision.

“I’m going to talk to her.”

“Didn’t you hear me?”

“Mhm, but I’m gonna say hi. If she’s mean, I’ll leave.” It seemed like a fine plan to her, even as the other girls called out in protest.

“She’s just going to stab you!”

“You don’t know what you’re doing!”

Tulip tuned them all out, crossing the blacktop like it was an ancient battleground from the games Eliza had played at the table in the Grant house. Tulip had liked the little blue fairy figure and took a moment to pretend now, borrowing her bravery. After all, she’d been at the school a week already and had managed only to float around on the outskirts of tightly-knit friend groups, a lone tumbleweed in this middle-school desert. If she was a floater, Nebula was in another galaxy, and that just wouldn’t do. If she was mean, then Tulip could always just leave her be. She didn’t like judging books by their covers, especially when those covers had gooey-sweet chocolatey insides the way some of her foster siblings had.

Besides, she was skinny enough to look like she’d snap like a twig, so she couldn’t be that bad compared to Tulip’s few self-defense classes at the mall. She’d already dug her small ziplock baggies of mints out by the time she reached Nebula and put on a winning smile. “Hi there.”

“Huh?” Nebula turned, eyes huge and buggy under her glasses with a color that kind of looked like the glow-in-the-dark star stickers Tulip’s dad had put up on her ceiling. The glasses themselves were… what were they called, cat eyes? They kind of gave her the look of an inquisitive alien. Now that she was up this close, Tulip could see a little piece of purple plastic settled inside her left ear. She raised an eyebrow. “Who’re you?”

“I’m Tulip. I’m new here.”

Nebula squinted. “Hi, Tulip. I like your name.”

She beamed. “Thank you! Do you like flowers?”

“Uh-huh. I’ve got a big garden back home, and I bury the bodies in it.”

Tulip’s beaming dropped a few watts, and her smile fell for a moment before she forced it wider again. “The… bodies?”

Nebula scooted over, revealing- oh, oh, that was gross. She had a knife in one plastic-gloved hand, the blade splattered with deep red, and the fingers of her other gloved hand were deep in the guts of a gnat-swarmed dead squirrel. “Like these. They’re all over once you know where to look, and it helps the soil grow stuff better.” She smiled, a surprisingly genuine one. “That’s what Papa says, and I’ve seen it works.”

“You… kill squirrels for-“

“Psh, I don’t kill them.” Nebula waved the knife. “I find them. Usually, some other animal killed ‘em.” She pointed at the squirrel’s skull with the point of the knife. “This one? Probably a cat, it has teeth marks in the crushed skull. Last week someone got a rabbit with a BB gun but just left it to die.” She clicked her tongue. “I don’t know why they let them suffer like that.”

“You like dead animals… to feed your plants?” Tulip asked, still not willing to get any closer.

Nebula nodded. “Uh-huh. I mean, I like knowing how stuff works in general but- you ever seen the Lion King? Circle of life, big loud musical number?”

“Yeah?”

“It’s like that.” She lifted the squirrel up. “The squirrel eats the plants, then the plants eat the squirrel.”

That… made a sort of sense, if she thought about it. “Everybody seems scared of you.”

“Everybody seems like a wuss,” Nebula said with a shrug. “Who needs them?” She grinned again. “I like you, though. You haven’t run away yet.”

“Yet?”

“Most people do. I’m used to it.”

Tulip took a deep breath and sat down next to her, holding out her bag of mints. “Well, that’s no way to go through life.”

Her smile dropped a little. “Huh?”

“Tell me about your plants.”

“You- want to listen to me?” Her voice cracked slightly, and Tulip could hear something pained behind it, a kicked kitten that had grown claws. She’d heard it before in kids who were about to age out, who were used to being pushed aside.

“I do.”

Nebula lit up like a supernova and snatched the bag, stripping off her glove to grab a mint.

__________

It had come easier, after that. Nebula talked fast and thought even faster, with a laugh that tickled Tulip up her spine and back down again. It didn’t sound like bells or a piano or any of the other pretty ways she’d heard laughs described, it was like a needle. Quick, sharp, and liable to puncture passerby but help repair a bad day if she only threaded it first.

Over the days, she got to talking about her parents. They weren’t crazy, her mom was a butcher and her dad did experiments on animals for medicine. Tulip didn’t care much for that, but it was a far cry from murderers. Tulip’s dad was just an accountant.

“Hey, did I ever tell you what I did to Andrew?” She adjusted her glasses, shoving them up the bridge of her nose. Her eyes were so big behind them, like a galaxy all their own.

“No, you haven’t.” Tulip sipped at her milk as she watched a beetle crawl up Nebula’s braid. She’d probably let it go come 3:15, but for now, Nebula just let it scurry up and burrow down in her hair like it belonged there.

“Oh, man, I should have. So, he was making fun of my parents, right? Saying they’re ‘mad scientists’ and ‘I’m a freak’ and ‘where’s your witch hat’ and all that. Not very creative stuff. Well, I’ve got a bunch of beetle shells that I use for art at home, so I dunked one in glow-in-the-dark paint and stuffed it in his locker, with a note that said ‘with hate, from Nebula’.” She snickered. “He still thinks I’m a witch, and that was in third grade.”

“And you didn’t hurt him, right?”

Nebula waved a careless hand. “Pssh, of course not. It’s a lot more effective to creep people out over actually hurting them.”

Tulip chewed on her ham sandwich thoughtfully, hearing the lettuce crunch between her teeth. “Is there a… a reason you want to creep people out?”

“If everyone thinks I’m a freak, more time to do what I want, right?” She picked at her jello, watching it wobble and shake on the tray. “I don’t get a choice in how people see me, so I might as well give them what they want. It’s fun being the weirdo, sometimes.”

Tulip just blinked at that. “But why?”

“Why not?” Nebula countered. “You want to spend your life chasing after people who don’t really care about you?” She lifted her fork, shoving the gelatin into her mouth before shifting it over to her cheek, pointing the tines at Tulip. “I’ve seen how you float around like a ghost. You’re checked out of your own life because you’re so afraid someone won’t like you that you don’t get close enough to anyone that might.” She swallowed the dessert in her cheek, letting it settle as she stared.

“Isn’t it lonely, refusing to ever bend a little?” Tulip countered after a moment’s thought. Nebula gnawed on the inside of her mouth before sighing.

“Agree to disagree, Tutu. Agree to disagree.”

Sixth grade passed in a blur, with Nebula tugging her away during breaks to show her whatever new thing she was invested in that day. She slowly dialed back on showing off the dead animals when Tulip admitted they made her queasy and started talking about her plants, or her insects while they were still alive. She was the only person that Tulip had ever seen let a wasp crawl over the back of her hand without getting stung.

That summer, they stomped around the bog behind the gas station, peat soaking their ankles as they captured frogs and let them go again after taking pictures. One of the girls from her scout troop invited her to a dance where they might see boys, but it just didn’t sound appealing to Tulip when she could swing Nebula around to creaky old songs from her dad’s record player, with her newly-made dresses spiraling around her knees. In July, Tulip began to sew in earnest- she’d liked piecing together odd arrangements of clothes from the thrift store before, but…

‘Why are you wearing a Halloween costume?’

‘Spirit week with ‘ugly clothes day’ was last week, Bennett.’

It was easier to just go with simple dresses from the store.

When Nebula had gotten a look at her closet, she’d immediately dug out the frankensteined skirts and haphazardly sewn tops and laughed. Tulip had been about to slam the door shut when she held one up.

“These are great! Why don’t you ever wear them?”

“Huh?”

She spun on her butt to hold the shirt up, owl-eyes squinting to superimpose it over Tulip’s body. “Not that I don’t like your pastels, they fit you, but these are so much more fun. Did you make them?”

“Well-”

“If they’re from some auntie that you feel like you can’t throw away, that’s fine. I just think they’re neat.”

“I thought you didn’t like girl’s clothes.”

“I don’t. That doesn’t mean I can’t tell what would look good on you.” Her cheeks darkened for a moment, and she shoved the shirt into Tulip’s hands. “Come on, I want to see you in it.”

“Neb…”

“You can’t just hide from me that you’re good at making stuff like this, I’m your best friend. It’s against the law,” Nebula declared.

“Like you care about the ‘law’,” Tulip snorted, but allowed herself to be pushed into the closet. It was easy enough to slide her shirt over her head, but… she fussed with the buttons on the old shirt. This was a bad idea. She tried to do it up, but it didn’t fit- her soft body oozed from the bottom, having gained some weight since she’d created the shirt years ago. She pulled it open again, looking around in the light from the slats. Freckles dotted her belly, and she felt almost like a puppet inhabiting her own milky skin. Her fingers fussed with the handmade shell necklace that rested just above her sternum before she pulled the shirt back off, grabbing the one she’d been wearing before and a vest she’d made with stretchier material. It was still tight, but not annoyingly so, and she knocked for Nebula to open the door.

When she did, the other girl grinned. “See? Told you.” A gloved thumb pointed lazily to the wall-mounted mirror, and Tulip twirled. It hugged her form, but in a way that felt… nice. She must have made it big- maybe for an older sister at the last house.

Nebula jokingly blew a kiss. “You’ll be the belle of the middle-school ball.”

Tulip bumped her with her hip, but her cheeks dotted pink.

After that, often when they met after school, Tulip would sew while Nebula talked, the machine doing the chattering for her on her desk, Sometimes, the needle had to be poised between her fingers when she needed a more delicate touch. Once, Nebula even asked her to show her how to sew- she was making taxidermied animals and ‘wanted to see if I could copy your steady hands’. It ended up a bit of a mess, but Nebula put it up on her bedside table anyway. She liked imperfection and just patted the little squirrel’s head with its corkscrewed eyes. “Besides, it’s more memorable this way.” She offered to make Tulip a mouse to watch her sew if she found any, and Tulip found herself agreeing.

In seventh grade, Tulip had started to drag her to her girl scout meetings, to try and make friends. Some of the other girls still shied away, but if quiet little Bennett liked her and had gone this long without getting a scalpel through her brain, maybe she wasn’t that bad. She lit up when they mentioned they were working on a gardening badge and offered them her assistance.

They learned that it was best to talk on her right side because her hearing aid on the left didn’t always work, and her needle-sharp laugh melted with the new acquaintances like gallium- just as bright, but not as pointed. In fact, when she dug in the dirt with the other girls, overalls smeared with soil and flowers surrounding her wrists, the hard edges that made her smile a smirk began to melt too.

Eighth grade came and went, and the night before high school, they were doodling on opposite pages of Tulip’s big sketchbook, laid out on the floor. “I just feel like… everything’s changing,” Tulip muttered.

“It doesn’t have to,” Nebula said, chewing on her pencil with brace-clad teeth. “You’ve still got me, and you’ve still got the scouts that haven’t dropped out, and I’ve got you.”

Tulip rolled over. She was wearing one of her favorite shirts-- Neb had picked out the fabric, with a pattern of stars that rounded her stomach in a way that made her feel big in a good way, like the whole universe lay underneath her skin. “How much?”

“Huh?”

“How much do I have you?”

Nebula turned, bouncing her foot on the ground. “C’mon, I’m not good with the mushy stuff…”

Tulip scooted a little closer. “You’re my best friend, Neb.” She set a hand on Nebula’s cheek, rubbing a smudge of dirt with her thumb, and felt the thin cheekbones heat up underneath her.

“You’re… you’re mine too,” Nebula muttered. “I feel… comfortable. With you. Cozy. Is that weird? You’re a very cozy person, and you managed to get me other people to talk with me, which is a feat let me tell you-”

Tulip kissed her. She could taste the root-beer flavored chapstick, and the feel slight indent of her braces, and Nebula’s gangly limbs just starting to grow into themselves folded into her lap like a fawn’s.

Nebula pulled back, adjusting her glasses that had tilted askew, but the smile on her face was wide enough to reach the stars before she leaned in again and the world melted around them, nothing but the rich scent of soil and copper that clung to Nebula’s clothes and the sweet strawberry perfume that dusted Tulip, and everything felt like tying off the final stitch on a perfect project.

#tulix #aip #iz #shadow writes stuff

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politicaltheatre · 4 years

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Kill The Messengers, pt.2

We expect to be lied to. It isn’t something we have to be taught. At birth, we are vulnerable, at the mercy of everything around us, including those upon whom we most depend, our parents or guardians.

We play games in which they surprise us, and we delight in being surprised, but that delight only comes because we know with them we are safe.

The first actual lie we catch is a shock. It is in the recognition that it is not a game, or that we are not part of the game but outside of it. We are not safe. We have been made vulnerable again.

As the saying goes, trust, once lost, cannot be regained. Not in full. Perhaps that’s why we work so hard not to lose it in those we look up to. We make excuses for their behavior. We re-interpret what they say and how they say it, editing it for content, rewriting it in our memory, attacking those who try to get us to remember it in a way we don’t want to.

Lies, we come to accept, are perfectly acceptable so long as we can feel that we are inside, safe and protected, rather than outside where we are not. So, we lie. We lie to ourselves, and to sell that lie we lie to others.

Our complicity in the lies we’re told isn’t exactly a secret or a mystery. That we hold on to lies so long and so fiercely shouldn’t be, either. The length and ferocity of our denial is, naturally, dependent on the depth of our investment in the lie.

What does it get us? How does it give to us and reinforce our identity? How does it keep things we don’t want to see and hear far away? These are the questions we ask without thinking. They are instinctual. They are transactional.

Transactional thinking is all about lies. We’re giving something to get something; that what we’re giving may be harmful to others is something most of us seem willing to accept, at least as long as we aren’t forced to admit that that’s what we’re doing.

This past week has challenged us in no small part because we have been forced to face lies head on and ask ourselves questions we would rather never ask.

The impeachment trial looms large, as it should. Donald Trump, with a little help from his friends, has taken the traditional lying of all politicians and weaponized it.

His supporters all know on some level that he is lying. For almost all, that level is the surface. They hear the obvious lie and laugh at the obviousness of it. That he lies and gets away with it makes his supporters feel stronger and safer for supporting him. They are children on a playground, cowed by a bully and eager to show their support.

The Republicans in the Senate, who should be strong enough to stand up to a bully, have shown themselves to be fully complicit in his bullying. Mitch McConnell is the bully’s sidekick, enabling and taking advantage for his own profit.

Republican senators’ transactional votes, both to block witnesses and documentary evidence from being introduced in his trial and, next week, to acquit him, lay bare the lies they are willing to accept and the lies they are willing to tell in order to justify it.

This is no shock. It has been entirely expected. The Republican Party has been corrupted so completely by this transactional culture that Republican senators will be guaranteed of keeping their constituents and benefactors happy only by continuing it. It is a culture of short term thinking, of instant gratification, and a vote for the man who lies shamelessly to gain solely for himself presents a model of selfish behavior without shame for people who are deeply ashamed of their own selfishness. Believe the lie and live one more day justified in living for yourself and yourself alone.

Of course, this week wasn’t just about Trump the bully and his Republican enablers. There was Kobe. And the Super Bowl.

The death of Kobe Bryant, his daughter Gianna, and seven others was truly a tragedy. Had none of them been famous it still would have been. Bryant, however, was famous and will be for decades after the manner of his death is long forgotten by most. He was legitimately one of the greatest players the sport of basketball has ever seen. Even outside of Los Angeles, where he played an impressive 20 years, he is thought of as a contender for the greatest player of all time. All true.

And yet, among the remembrances of his life this past week were a few who could not help but point out that he raped a young woman in 2003. This is also true. He was not convicted of rape - his victim, outed and bullied prior to the trial, opted not to testify - but he did pay a sizable settlement to her and did admit in his written apology that she did not consider that her consent had been given.

Again, all true. Bryant himself likely would not have denied it had he ever been asked. Of course, after 2004 he never was. If anyone had, it likely would have been the last question they ever asked him, and quite possibly the last they got to ask anyone in the sports or entertainment industries.

We could chalk this up to an unwillingness on his part to talk about it, but even if that was the case it was equally an unwillingness on our own part. What answer could he have given that an adoring public would want to hear? The instant gratification provided by his performances served to silence us as much as anything. We gave up having an uncomfortable conversation in exchange for feeling good about ourselves for being part of a team, however indirectly a fan can be part of a team.

That is how we talk about our teams, right? “We” and “Us” are the pronouns of choice. We win. We lose. They are our players. We celebrate our championship season, and we suffer our final defeat.

It’s a shame that Bryant was never asked to talk about what he did in full, the way we ask someone of his stature to stop and talk about where they might play next season. It would be nice to think we place that much importance on it, but we clearly don’t. Not yet.

Kobe Bryant wasn’t alone in this. This kind of transactional relationship applied to any athlete on any team in any sport, and still does. Alex Rodriguez, who was twice caught cheating in baseball with performance enhancing drugs, and Sean Payton, a coach who gave bonuses to his football players for injuring players on other teams, were both part of Fox Sports’ Super Bowl pregame show yesterday.

Both were suspended from their sports for a year for their wrongdoing, a punishment that once would have stayed with them and perhaps ended any sense of a public life. No one seems to care about it now.

Why? Our culture has changed significantly, and the moral and ethical value of an individual is currently as transactional as anything.

Athletes make their employers, clothing companies, sports equipment companies, and the media companies selling air time way too much money to do anything but look the other way. A championship winning head coach who keeps his team in the playoffs year after year is no less valuable.

Cities and states looking for tax revenue are no less complicit in applying double standards, and why wouldn’t they be? Everything costs money, and those who make money and encourage others to spend money get a pass until they no longer hold that value.

Rodriguez was part of a generation of baseball players who juiced and got paid for it. They put up gaudy numbers and made their employers enough money that they gladly looked the other way, until law enforcement made that impossible. Nobody got hurt, right? Well, except for the fans who saw the price to watch games skyrocket.

Rodriguez will likely make the Baseball Hall of Fame. He may have to wait a year or two - he was caught, after all - but people still love him and enough voters have shown a willingness, even a need, to look the other way that he will surely be elected by year two or three. In the meantime, he will have to remain content to be a star sports commentator and owner of the Mexican beer company he bought with the hundreds of millions his efforts paid him.

Like him, players on the now notorious, garbage can banging, 2017 Houston Astros will likely get a pass. At least, the ones still capable of giving their fans thrills and making their teams money. The management responsible for the team, being the cheap and replaceable scapegoats that they are, have been fired, but the players, who have hundreds of millions in guaranteed contracts and a forgiving, thrill-seeking fanbase, are simply too much of an investment, both literally and figuratively, to punish.

Fans of other teams may take satisfaction in calling them the “Asterisks”, but the 2017 championship and inflated statistics will remain theirs, along with those massive contracts. To date, no position player - pitchers on the team did not bat - has apologized, and if Rodriguez serves as a model of how to behave for them none of them ever will.

That seems to be the lesson of transactional cultures: have no shame. Rodriguez, the Astros, Sean Payton and his Saints, they all were caught, but their shamelessness in the face of condemnation seems to be what has kept them marketable. They have maintained value in the eyes of their fans because to admit wrongdoing is to admit weakness, and the fans don’t want their team, the one they belong to, to be weak.

“Everybody does it”, Astros fans now say. That’s what fans of A-Rod and other steroid cheats said. That’s what we expect to hear now whenever anyone gets caught doing anything we know is wrong. It’s what you hear from a small child who doesn’t want to have to follow the rules. If we’re all cheating, then nobody is.

Do we really want to live in world with rules set by small children looking to get away with something? We can see what that looks like just by looking at the Senate Republicans bending over backwards not to convict a man of naked corruption.

So, when it comes to Kobe Bryant, no, the world doesn’t need another celebrity torn down, not even to make a good point or to start a long overdue discussion on the way we treat others. We do, however, have an opportunity now to reframe the discussion about sexual assault in a way that could be helpful, that could tear down the need to defend him as though he was innocent, and that could prevent the attacks we saw this past week not only against those bringing up what he did but against the woman he did it to.

That is what we want, isn’t it? Redemption? That’s what we say we want. Shamelessness is attractive because it tells us we do not need to feel shame ourselves, but if what we do harms others, shouldn’t we feel it, and shouldn’t we want our leaders and role models to feel it, too?

We want to be strong, and when we are faced with our own weakness we seek out those who seem strong. A strong man admits his weakness. A strong man admits his failure. A strong man understands shame for what it is, an alarm that something is very, very wrong. He is strong because he knows that admitting these things will not break him.

Isn’t that what we should expect? Isn’t that who we want to be?

- Daniel Ward

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angelstrenchcoat-67 · 6 years

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Matchmakers

Pairing: Alex x Reader

Warnings: Swearing, Jealous Alex, fluff

Series Summary: Since I joined the cast of Supernatural, 5 years ago, they have made it their mission to find me a boyfriend, but things haven’t been exactly easy. But when a new face joins the cast, the Padaleckis, the Ackles, and the Collins take it upon themselves to use the hiatus to become matchmakers.

PART 9

"I want you to bring him back by nine" Misha stops us right as we are going out.

"Leave them alone" Vicky rolls her eyes then looks back at us with a sweet smile on her face. "Enjoy the night guys"

"Use protection" Jared taps Alex on the shoulder but winces when Gen walks by, pinching his side.

"Don't be annoying" Gen scolds him.

"But if you don't, name the kid after me" Jensen comes in with a sandwich in his hand. Well, mostly in his mouth.

"Okay, we are just gonna go" Alex opens the door, letting me walk out first.

"Bye" I wave back before walking out, Alex right behind me.

He hurries pass me to open up the car door for me. "My lady"

"Oh, thank you" I kiss him on the cheek before stepping inside the car. "If you behave, you'll get more of those"

"And what do I have to do for more of this?" He bends down to kiss me on the lips and without waiting for me to react, he pulls back.

"You are such a dork" I giggle as he just winks at me before closing the door of my side.

He runs back to the other side, climbing with a huge smile on his face.

"Someone is excited" I grin as he starts he car.

"I've been wanting to ask you out for a while now" He admits, a pink shade over his cheeks.

"Why did you never asked?" I frown, placing my hand over his knee.

"I just never thought you'd agree" He looks at me shyly before turning back at the road.

"Really? We were always flirting" I chuckle, giving him a little squeeze.

"Yeah but I wasn't sure, I thought you were just joking around" He bites the side of his lip and I try to hold myself back from kissing him.

"Well, better late than never" I look out the window as we drive by an amazing view of the sunset.

"So, it's too early for dinner so do you want to get some frozen yogurt before?"

"Yes, sounds great" I nod as he grabs my hand that's resting on his knee.

We drive for a couple of minutes, exchanging a few smiles and giggles as he catches me staring at his gorgeous face.

Alex stops the car in front of a frozen yogurt stand but there is nowhere to park. "Why don't you go ordering while I look for a place to park?"

"What do you want?" I ask him as I pick up my bag from the floor of the car.

"Just get me whatever you are getting" He smiles before giving me a quick kiss.

I get off the car and thankfully the shop is not too crowded. As I wait in line, I notice there's a group of girls staring at me, whispering between themselves.

"Excuse me" One of them steps a little closer. "Can we get a picture?"

"Absolutely" I give them a bright smile as they all move closer to me.

We take a couple of selfies and I sign a few things they have in hand like a napkin or their phone cases. They start asking a few questions so I decide to send Jared a text to see if he can send me a video of him alongside Jensen and Misha saying hi. Like a minute goes by and then I receive it so I show it to the girls. With a big thank you, they walk away, thankfully not gathering too much attention from other people.

I order two frozen yogurts with my favorite fruits and treats and I go sit by a empty table as I see Alex walking towards me, running his hand through his hair.

"Hey there handsome" I give him a wink as he pulls the chair next to me. "Here you go"

He grabs his cup, giving me a quick kiss before leaning back on his chair. "Thanks"

"So, do you think we should talk to Eric and Rob and the others?" I ask, bringing the spoon to my mouth.

"Do you want to?" Alex looks at me, placing the cup on the table. "Because we have to be sure because it'll be like becoming a serious thing"

The words sting a little more that I thought they would. Does he not want it to be like a serious thing?

"That came out wrong" Alex closes his eyes then opens them to find me looking at the floor. "Hey, look at me"

He grabs my hand so I bring my eyes up to meet his. "I told you before, I like you and I want this to be a serious thing. This is not just a hiatus fling, I'm in this, I just want to be sure that you are"

"I am, I really like you and I want to see where this gets us" I feel my breath coming back to its normal state.

"Then we'll talk to them when we find the time" He gives my hand a light squeeze. "We just have to make sure no paparazzi catches us"

"We'll have to cross our fingers for that one"

"I just think they should make Blaire and Jack a thing" Alex laughs as he deeps his fork on the cheesecake we are sharing.

"I think you just want an excuse to kiss me more" I smile cheekily, bringing a piece of dessert to my mouth.

"Maybe" He leans in to kiss me, a grin spread across his face.

"Y/N?" Someone interrupts us before I can even lean in. I turn back only to find someone I never thought I'd see.

"Trent?" I gasp, standing up to hug the blonde haired guy in front of me.

"How've you been?" Trent asks me as I take a step back.

"Great, I'm doing amazing" I smile, blushing a little.

"Yeah! I started watching that show you are in just so I could see you" He stares at me for a couple of seconds before speaking again. "You are looking as beautiful as always"

"Ahem" Alex's voice makes me snap back.

"Oh, sorry!" I turn back to Alex. "Alex this is Trent, a high school friend. Trent this is Alex, my-"

"Oh, you are her coworker" Trent stretches his hand to shake Alex's.

"I'm actually the boyfriend" Alex forces a smile as he extends his hands.

He is my what?

"Oh" Trent swallows before turning back to me. "And what are you doing here?"

"We are just on vacations with a some of the cast" I sit down back at my chair as Trent pulls one from a near by table. "And you?"

"My sister's wedding" He replies as I notice Alex roll his eyes.

"Wait, Miranda is getting married?" I beam, remembering when I used to go shopping with her.

"Yeah, the whole family is here" He leans in, a little closer than usual. "You should come with me one day to see them before we leave"

"We have a pretty busy schedule so I don't think that'd be possible" Alex steps in, playing with his straw.

"We only have a few days left but thanks" I look back at Trent as he and Alex share a look I can't read.

"Mom really misses you" Trent places a hand on my arm. "She says that you will always be her favorite daughter in law"

Alex chokes a little as he places his glass back on the table. "You two dated?"

"We were a thing through high school but we broke up because we had to go to different colleges but we remained good friends" I explain to him but Trent immediately jumps in.

"We were voted most likely to get married" He gives Alex a cocky smile before turning to me. "I can't believe we ran into each other"

"How lucky" Alex gives him a forced smile before leaning back in his chair, not meeting my eyes.

"And how's your mom?" Trent asks, trying to keep up the conversation.

"Alex" I poke his side as he stares at the road.

"Hmm?" He doesn't even look at me, just stretches his neck to the side a little.

"Why are you so quiet?" I ask, wrapping my arms around his neck.

"Nothing" He mutters so I start placing light kisses on his cheek then on his jaw and on the side of his mouth.

"Tell me" I insist, moving so that I can kiss his lips.

"Were you really voted most likely to get married?" He asks, biting the inside of his cheeks.

"You are jealous" I laugh so his face goes hard again.

"Whatever" He growls, holding the wheel even harder than before.

"Babe" I smile, sitting straighter. "It was high school, besides I didn't know you back then otherwise I would have been all over you"

"You are looking as beautiful as always" Alex mocks him, doing a funny face. "What a pretentious dick"

"Aleex" I grin, pulling one of his hands from the wheel to hold it between mine. "You don't have to be jealous"

"He took all of your attention" His voice gets a little rougher so I know he is not joking anymore. "It was supposed to be our first date"

"You are right, I'm sorry" I bring his hand to my lips to kiss it slightly. "I'll make it up to you"

"Jealousy is not a really nice feeling" He pulls over at the entrance of the house.

"Tell me about it" I roll my eyes, remembering the day at the beach. "Seeing those girls at the beach with their arms around you wasn't exactly my cup of tea"

"Wait, you were jealous?" He is the one smirking this time.

"Shut up" I try to stop the grin forming on my face as he leans in to kiss me. "Hey, you called yourself my boyfriend"

"I did not" He huffs, turning off the car. "You are imagining things"

"Alex" I shove him away but he moves closer anyway.

"It just felt natural" He looks back at me a little nervously. "I'm sorry"

"You were trying to mark your territory like some sort of dog but I forgive you" I squeeze his hand before noticing Misha is staring at us through the window as Jared turns the lights on and off.

————————————————————————

So sorry Chapter 9 took me so long but I had a lot of things going on in the last couple of days so I wasn’t getting any chance to write. Hope you like this.

Tag List:

@fallenangelsneverfade @mahalaraewolfe @typicalweirdbookworm @xostephanie @sam-winchester168 @theoraeken9 @dustycelt @winter-moons @sillydecoy @in-my-heart-and-on-my-sleeves @mannls @spnjerks67 @checkboss22 @ahopelessshipper @hortonhearsahoeblr @spnimpalaimagines @literally-just-for-fanfics @allison-rosewood-maximoff @beepbeepanna @randomstuff-idontwannatalkboutit @mypassionsarenysins @waywardwboys @l4life @caswinchester2000 @spn-obession @expectosel @morgannope

#alex x reader #alex calvert fluff #alex calvert smut #alex calvert fanfiction #alex calvert #jack kline #jack kline fanfiction #jack kline smut #jack kline fluff #jack kline x reader #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural

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tiffanytheweirdo · 5 years

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Better—Sanvers

Jamie is standing by the gate of her school, waiting for Maggie to come pick her up when Cheryl walks up to her with red eyes.

"Cheryl? I thought you went home already!" Jamie asks, worried and confused.

"Mom can't come till six..." Cheryl replied, bowing her head.

"Again? It's the third time this week!" Jamie says with disbelief. Cheryl's mom is a business woman who have high tendency to prioritize work before her own daughter.

"I know... I tired to ask if she will let me go home on my own but she hung up too soon. She would be mad if I call again..." Cheryl's voice is quivering by now.

"Oh Cher... Come here" Jaime opens her arms to hug her best friend.

The two eighth graders hug for awhile and break apart when Maggie pulls up the SUV in from of them.

"Hey girls" Maggie greets, rolling down the window.

"Mama!"

"Hi Mrs. Danvers-Sawyer"

"Oh Cheryl, how many times do we have to tell you that you can call us by our first names?" Maggie feels her heart ache for her daughter's best friend. This girl is always so careful and polite, unlike the carefree child she should be at this age.

Cheryl doesn't say anything but bows her head and shifts nervously on her feet.

"Mama! Can Cheryl come home with us? Her mom won't be here to pick her up until six" Jaime asks, looking at Maggie with the signature Danvers puppy eyes which reminds Maggie too much of her wife and sister-in-law.

Maggie feels anger surges through her body, this is not the first time Cheryl got ditched by her own mother. She took a deep breath before replying Jamie.

"That's sounds like a great plan! But I will have to inform Cheryl's mom first okay? Why don't you two hop in first and we can go for ice cream?"

"Thank you for offering but it's fine for me to wait at the school, Mrs— sorry— I mean Maggie. I can get some homework done and wait in the library. I just came to talk to Jamie because I saw her still here. I don't want to bother you" Cheryl rambles nervously. She doesn't want to be a burden to her best friend's family.

"Oh come on Cher! You are my best friend and you will never be a bother to me!" Jamie catches Cheryl's hands and says to her in the most serious tone the 13-year-old can manage.

"Jamie's right, Cheryl. I also wouldn't suggest this if it's not fine with me"

"Okay then. Thank you" Cheryl blushes as she climbs into the SUV backseat following Jamie.

Ten minutes later, Maggie settles the two girls down with their ice cream on a bench in the park and she walks away a little to call Cheryl's mom.

"Hello Mrs. Radisson, I'm Maggie Danvers-Sawyer."

"Do I know you?" The woman on the other side of the phone replies coldly.

"I'm Jamie, your daughter's best friend's mother" Maggie tries her best to keep her voice even and polite.

"And what's the matter of you calling?"

"Your daughter is with me and Jamie right now and I will take both girls back to my house until you are free to pick Cheryl up." Maggie says firmly, not even requesting for Mrs. Radisson's consent now.

"Good. Keep her for dinner so I can have more time to work. If that's all, please excuse me, I have more pressing issues to tend to" With this, Mrs. Radisson hangs up on Maggie.

Maggie sighs angrily and she stands there for a while calming herself down before turning back to the two girls.

"Okay girls, ready to head home?"

The two girls are doing homework in Jamie's room while Maggie prepares dinner. Giggles can be heard from time to time, telling Maggie that the girls are enjoying themselves.

Alex comes home when dinner's almost ready.

"Hey babe" She greets Maggie and steps behind her wife in front of the stove.

"Hey love" Maggie melts into Alex when she wraps her arms around her waist.

"Did I forgot Jamie's gonna have friends over tonight?" Alex asks confusingly when she hears another round of giggles and laughter coming out from Jamie's room.

"No. We bring Cheryl back with us cause her mom decided work is more important than her own child, again" Maggie rolls her eyes with the comment, feeling Alex tighten her arms around her.

"Poor Cheryl... I'm gonna go wash up and change then summon the girls for dinner okay?" Alex sighs, kissing Maggie neck softly.

"Hmm Love you" Maggie mutters in response. She feels so lucky that she has the such a loving wife.

"Knock knock" Alex announces her presence and pokes her head into Jamie's room.

"Hi mommy!" Jamie gets up to hug her mother tight.

"Hey babygirl, missed you"

"Miss you too mommy"

Cheryl stands by Jamie's desk and plays with her hands nervously. She suddenly feels like she's out of place. And she's ashamed of herself envying her best friend. She is definitely not jealous, but she just longs for this kind of warm relationship with her mother so much.

Alex's attention turns to Cheryl when she feels a shift in the rooms atmosphere. Releasing her daughter, she looks at the other eighth grader in the room and her heart breaks.

"Hello Cheryl" Alex greets softly, prompting the girl to look up with glassy eyes.

"Hi Mrs.-- sorry, Alex" Cheryl catches herself, remembering Maggie's word earlier.

"Hey, everything's okay?" Alex asks with a warm and caring tone, crouching down to meet Cheryl's eyes.

Cheryl nods in response, not sure if she can talk without crying.

"Come on then, dinner's ready, so go wash your hands. I'll meet you girls down there" Alex decides to drop the topic for now, careful not to push the little girl too much. She's gonna talk to Maggie about their approach. Alex is sure Maggie wants to help Cheryl too.

Dinner went well, happy and harmonic. The two girls taking turns talking about school, finishing each other's sentences. Maggie and Alex commenting lovingly from time to time and reminding the exciting girls to eat.

"Go watch TV you two, Maggie and I will come join you once we load the dishwasher" Alex says when dinner's done.

"I can help" Cheryl suggested quietly.

"Thank you for offering sweetheart but we are fine, go relax with Jamie" Maggie place a gentle hand on Cheryl's shoulder, letting her know it's totally okay.

"And it's not that much work, we just need to put them in. That's all. How about you go pick a movie for later?" Alex supplies, hoping to help reassure her daughter's best friend.

"Okay, if you insist" Cheryl bows her head, compromising with the two mothers of her best friend who has already settled down on the sofa.

Maggie and Alex lingers at the dinning table until they are sure the girl settling down beside their daughter before turning to their dish-washing duties.

"Poor girl, so polite and tense all the time" Alex sighs, handing Maggie the dishes.

"I know, she looked so sad when I saw her at the school" Maggie takes the dishes and load them into the dishwasher after running them under the water.

"She looked at me and Jamie hugging just now like that's something she will never have" Alex grabs a wash cloth and turn to clean the table.

"I just wish she is our daughter too so we can give her all the love she deserves" Maggie sighs, bending down to load the dishes into the washer.

"Well, we can have J invites her over more" Alex walks to the sink and rinses off the cloth.

"Of course, and maybe we can get her open up a little bit tonight? Just to let her release the pent up emotions" Maggie shuts the washer door and starting the machine, leaning against it.

"Sounds good to me, she needs some gentle push" Alex dries her hand and walks to stand in front of Maggie, who wraps her arms around her instantly.

"I love you" Maggie leans in to capture her wife's lips, whispering into the kiss.

"Moms! Quit kissing and come!" Jamie yells from the living room, starling the two adults apart.

“Coming!” Maggie and Alex reply together, shaking their head fondly at their daughter’s antic.

“What are we watching?” Maggie asks once she settled between Jamie and Alex.

“Cheryl chose Moana!” Jamie replies excitedly, she loves the movie too.

“Oh great choice!” Alex says. Actually, under the influence of Kara, the whole Danvers-Sawyer family is huge fan of Disney productions.

“Um... thank you for having me for dinner.” Cheryl starts timidly, “Are you sure I’m not intruding? I can call mom and ask if she can come pick me up”

Alex and Maggie share a look, deciding it’s time to give that gentle push.

Maggie gets up from her spot and sits down on the floor in front of Cheryl. Alex also moves to the other side of the couch so she is next to the girl now.

“Cheryl, we want you to listen to us very carefully okay?” Maggie starts carefully.

Despite the gentle tone Maggie’s using, Cheryl’s whole body tenses up.

“Relax kiddo, you’re not in any trouble, not at all. You got it?” Alex supplies immediately, soothing away the 13-year-old’s worry.

Cheryl nods, not sure what's going on.

"Cheryl, we just want you to know you are totally welcomed here, anytime. You will never ever be intruding” Maggie says, placing a gentle hand on Cheryl’s knee.

“And you can come to us whenever and for whatever reasons” Alex adds.

Cheryl instantly tears up at the kind words of her best friend’s mothers. Her own mother is nothing like them. She is always cold, demanding for efficiency and manners. Lips quivering, she nods slowly.

“Oh Cheryl, it’s okay” Jamie moves closer to her best friend and pulls her in for a hug.

Being held tight by her best friend, Cheryl can’t hold it anymore. She breaks down in tears and sobs hard, whole body shaking.

Jamie gets caught off guard by Cheryl's sudden outburst, she looks up to Alex and Maggie for help.

“It’s okay sweetheart, you’re safe here” Maggie comforts the girl softly, rubbing circles on her knee.

“Yes sweetie, just let it all out. We got you” Alex supplies, hugging Cheryl from the side, sandwiching the girl with Jamie.

When Cheryl calms down from all the crying, she buries her face in Jamie’s neck, feeling embarrassed. She doesn’t even notice the pair of mothers leaving the couch.

Moments later, Maggie comes back into the living room first, with a blanket in hand. She drapes it over Cheryl’s shoulder and watches her reaction closely.

Cheryl’s eyes widen when the warm sensation washes over her body, calming her down even more.

“All it takes is putting the blanket into the dryer for five minutes” Jamie explains knowingly, smiling at Cheryl’s reaction.

“And this will give it a bonus” Alex emerges from the kitchen, holding a steaming cup of hot chocolate with mini marshmallows floating on top.

Taking the mug from Alex, Cheryl breaths in the sweet-smelling steam, closing her eyes to collect herself.

“Thank you” she says quietly when she opens her eyes again, smiling sweetly. She’s got a best friend with the best moms. Today might just as well be the best day in her life.

The Danvers-Sawyer household just knows the way to make things better.

#sanvers #alex danvers #maggie sawyer #fanfic #tiff writings #jamie danvers #the danvers-sawyer household

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omegatheunknown · 5 years

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AEW Fyter Fest

AEW keeps the momentum going with a card that was a little less prestigious, but a little more chaotic, but overall entertaining and plenty filling.

- What’s the draw of the ‘Buy-In’ pre-card, especially when the whole show is free? Obviously don’t give away your best offerings for nothing, but if the point is bringing eyes to the product and having them follow-up by buying the event... these pre-cards are not going to do that. - I sort of love the introduction of JR with entrance music as a ‘and now the real show is beginning’ signifier. JR’s really got some of his passion back, and the combination with Excalibur continues to be a surprisingly satisfying one. May Alex Marvez stay out of the both indefinitely. - Camera cuts have calmed down. I think this event was at .5 Dunns for unnecessary cuts, which is still far too many, but at least they stopped stacking cut/cut/cut and opted for more of those lovely crane shots. Entrance music should be way louder, the pyro was fun, the dumb fyre fest gag at least allowed for a colourful set design and AFAIK no legendary Canadian grapplers fell off the stage trying to head straight back up the tunnel. So that’s a big win. *Pre-Card Best Friends v SCU v Private Party (**) - Three way tag-team matches with only two active teams is always an odd stipulation and as fun as that match was to get the party started, the format leads to any finish getting a bit dusty as a result. Really enjoying Marq Quen and his Wesley Snipes-in-Demoltion Man fit. Allie v Leva Bates (dud) - The Librarians are an intentionally awful gimmick with plenty of winking going on, which is fun on BTE for thirty seconds a week but the live crowd seems to be beyond done with Bates and Avalon and the shushing. I will admit it took too for long it to click for me to realize the heelish potential in wrestlers attempting to keep the crowd as quiet as possible, but as fun as that meta-irony is, it meant this slow moving match which should’ve hyped up the crowd on the debuting Allie (The Bunny alive and well after being killed to death by Su Yung on Impact, Cherrybomb’s current whereabouts unknown.) looked worse than it was and was the worst thing on the card. Michael Nakazawa v Jebailey (**) - I have heard the name enough by now that I know that Jebailey is ‘the’ CEO guy but I don’t really know what that means or what he does in everyday life but he’s certainly a non-wrestler and yet he showed a decent grasp of the fundamentals and Nakazawa ran him through what was a DDT-esque comedy match with some funny spots and a nice turn for Bryce Remsburg as wrestling’s most committed comic referee. *Main Card CIMA v Christopher Daniels (**1/2) - Daniels has never felt like a bigger deal than he does now, on the edge of fifty. Hard not to root for a guy with 25+ years experience trusted to have an explosive curtain jerker and get the crowd into the evening. CIMA’s an excellent foil, the pair are so smooth and deft at building a match I only wish there was more at stake between them, which is maybe the through-line of the whole evening barring some exceptions. They’re putting in groundwork elsewhere for the fall, but before AEW gets to TNT they’re going to do some more of these exhibition style affairs. Riho v Nyla Rose v Yuka Sakazaki (***) - A pox on B/R live or my friend’s wifi for stalling and so we missed Yuka’s amazing theme song, but AYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYA aside, this was a really nice match with a bit of sloppiness that nevertheless made up for the kneecapping of Nyla via Awesome Kong last month. Nyla looked every bit the powerhouse, pulled off a couple really nice high-energy maneuvers (knee drop from the top rope to the rope-hung Riho was nuts.) Conversely, there were definitely moments early on where it looked too much like a two-on-one match, though it did ultimately build to a satisfying bit of anguish for poor Yuka. Hangman Adam Page v Jimmy Havoc v Jungle Boy v MJF (***) - Prayers up for the audience-cutaway victim of MJF’s savage (rote but knocked out of the park) promo. Salt of the Earth. - Wondered what Havoc was bringing to the match until I realized it’s nice to show him in a more conventional competition and it doesn't harm him in the least to eat a pin. A good showing, though I miss the AFI. - Jungle Boy is going to be great. Got in some really bananas aerial stuff, and like... not to put too fine a point on it, but he looks like Luke Perry. - Adam Page is money. I don’t remember exactly but how is it he was more or less randomly assigned to Bullet Club-RoH as ‘just a guy,’ just three years ago? Sure, he was 24 years old and still finding his pace in the ring, but everyday there is less and less doubt that he’s a top guy, he’s your big beautiful babyface hero. Match was as good as one could reasonably expect from a four-way. Cody v Darby Allin (****) - A lot of the cards for All In, DoN and Fyter Fest have been exhibition matches for skill and style. Cody, probably recognizing where his strengths as a wrestler lie, has been the big exception -- nothing at All In had the emotional resonance of Cody winning the NWA World Heavyweight Championship, nothing at Double or Nothing (or most of wrestling in 2019) could touch the intensity of the Rhodes vs Rhodes match, and last night Cody delivered another of the best version of himself and helped Darby Allin make himself a big fucking deal. The kid is nuts, though I have to assume some skateboard bumps put falling on mats to absolute shame. Maybe my friends and I are nuts, but we were all pretty sure that the controversial post-match chair shot was largely taken on the shoulder with some accidental (and sharp) contact to the head. Also is it really a Cody match if he doesn’t gig? Apparently there have been some subsequent developments suggesting they really did intend for one (1) unprotected chair shot for the love of the sport, to which I say, again, Cody is his father’s son. The Elite v Lucha Brothers & Laredo Kid (****) - 100% exhibition, 100% spot fest, despite the pseudo-feud going between the Young Bucks and Los Hermanos de Lucha, this was bound to be one of those pure sprint ‘show me what you’ve got’ type of matches. Emotions, strife and storytelling are integral to the wrestling theatre, but so is the actual wrestling. The Young Bucks and their perfect opponents -- Penta & Fenix, also the Motor City Machine Guns, also SCU, also the Briscoes -- are the finest purveyors of tag team wrestling in form of the free-flowing, spot-to-spot-to-spot kinesis that they’ve made their name on and this was no different from the ‘usual’ mind-bending and entertaining spectacle possible when The Elite are in the ring. That Laredo Kid came out and hung tough with 5 of the best wrestlers in the world is astounding and marks him as one to watch. - Of special note, as usual, is Fenix, who is better and crazier every time I see him, like he’s in the process of a Hiromu Takahashi-esque supernova. Legitimately might be the best talent to appear in the ring for AEW. Jon Moxley v Joey Janela (***1/2) - Loved the work Justin Roberts did to introduce this match. Such gravitas. So silly. - Moxley’s back in his element, and I’m suddenly a huge mark, though I am way more excited about what he’s been doing in New Japan, up to and including his choices in ring gear. Though at least he’s out of jeans and wife beaters. Match was well-paced for a deathmatch style, no doubt owing to both party’s absurd enthusiasm for this sort of utter nonsense. - Joey Janela has way too much of a Mick Foley (for the fans, for the love of pain) in him and I don’t think any amount of beatings will beat it out of him. Though Moxley seemed game to try. - Barefoot thumbtacks is decently fucked up, I think. The level of mayhem was balanced nicely between sadism (tacks, barbed wire boards,) wrestling nonsense (barbed wire wrapped chair) and satisfying spots (Joey’s big elbow drop.) - Kenny getting his revenge was necessary but seemed a bit half-hearted, almost? I’m plenty excited for their match as is, all he needed to do was assault Mox in the ring and peace out, but I guess tit-for-tat is the law of the jungle.

#AEW #Fyter Fest #aew fyter fest #pro wrestling #wrestling reviews #all elite wrestling #kenny omega #jon moxley #joey janela

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ladyseaheart1668 · 5 years

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Endless Summer Book 4 : Daughter of Vaanu (Chapter Thirty-Three)

Description: It is a day to give thanks. But our heroes know they must always keep on their guard

Tagging: @mysteli @xo-endlessmayhem-xo @princesstopgun @endlesshero1122 @whatmcsaid @tigerbryn11 @feartheendlesssummer

Notes: Whew! This is a long one! ^_^; Once again, I want to thank @endlesshero1122 for inventing five characters and giving me full permission to use them. Dylan, RJ, Ysa, Zig (not Ortega!), and Alex are those characters, and you will all be seeing a lot more of them. :)

Chapter 33: Days of Plenty

Grace

“May I come in, darling?”

The question shakes me out of my momentary stupor. “I...I suppose so.” I take the chain off the door and pull it open, stepping aside. My mother steps inside, the heels of her pumps clicking on the hardwood floors. I shut the door behind her. It has been awhile since I've seen her. I take her beautiful white suede coat, trimmed with faux fur, and hang it on the coat rack by the door. Months, at least. She has aged some in that time; a few more fine lines, a few more gray hairs. But she is still flawlessly put together in her sophisticated royal blue dress suit and pumps, with her hair swept back in a French twist. She is clutching a designer briefcase, with her name engraved on the edge in an elegant serif font. I can't help but feel shabby in my sweater and mom-jeans, standing in the foyer of a luxury London flat that has definitely lost some of its showroom quality thanks to baby-proofing and two busy parents who can't exactly keep up with cleaning.

“...Would you like some coffee? There's a fresh pot brewed and everything.”

“Thank you, dear, that would be lovely.”

I lead her into the kitchen, only to immediately regret my decision when I get in there and remember what a disaster area it is. I move toward the cupboard to find a coffee cup, hoping my body blocks the pile of dirty dishes in the sink. Not that it will make much difference with the countertops covered in half-cleaned spills and the floors unwashed. To my horror, I turn away from the cupboard and find I am too late to stop my mother from putting her hand down right into the sticky remains of an apple juice disaster from yesterday morning. Aleister and I had blotted up the amber puddles on the countertops and the floor with almost our entire supply of clean tea towels, but we were both running late. By the time we got home, we were both too tired to do anything more. We figured that no lives would be lost if we waited until morning to dig out the kitchen cleanser and the mop. But then, neither of us were expecting guests. There's a pit in my stomach as I offer my mother a hand wipe. At least we keep boxes of those stocked in every room.

“I'm sorry about that. I was trying to fill Reggie's sippy cup with apple juice yesterday, but somehow, I managed to drop the bottle and we didn't have time to give it a proper cleaning. I was planning on doing that this morning...”

“I see...” My mother accepts the wipe, delicately blotting her perfectly manicured hands, and conspicuously moving away from that area of the counter. I wince as I hear the soles of her shoes squelch in the sticky residue on the floor. “...Have you considered hiring a bit of domestic help? Perhaps a nanny or a housekeeper?”

“We have a several babysitters on call for when we're both working,” I say firmly. “We haven't found that we have need of a housekeeper right now.”

“The soles of my shoes might disagree,” she quips.

“Well, the soles of your shoes don't live here,” I snap. As her eyes narrow slightly, I take a deep breath, forcing a smile as I hand her a cup of coffee. “Why don't we go into the living room? I can't promise it will be immaculate, but at least you're not likely to find apple juice puddles in there.”

As we head into the living room, Aleister emerges from the bedroom with Reggie in his arms. He smiles politely at my mother, though his gaze is lukewarm as he regards her.

“Mother Hall. I thought I heard your voice. What a surprise.”

“Aleister.” My mother and husband come together to peck each other obligingly on the cheek. Mom smiles at Reggie, tickling him under the chin. “And Reginald Mason Rourke. How handsome you're becoming.”

“Can you say hello to your grandmother, Reginald?” It appears that the diamond tassel earrings dangling from my mother's earlobes have caught Reggie's eye because he squeals excitedly, reaching for one with surprising speed. Luckily, Aleister is faster. “Now, Reginald, 'say hello' does not mean attempt to steal her lovely earrings.”

“No harm done. I am glad that you are home. I was honestly hoping to speak with you both. Will you join us in the living room?”

“Do you have time, sweetie?” I ask pointedly. “If you don't, I can fill you in later.”

“I am the C.E.O. Well, one of them. I can take a few extra minutes.”

We continue into the living room, where Mom sits on a cuddly toy lion when she sinks into an armchair. She doesn't say anything about it, but she does make a very pointed face as she sets it aside. Aleister and I sit on the sofa, with Aleister balancing Reggie on his knee.

“I am here,” my mother says, looking at Aleister, “because your father has been in contact with me.”

Aleister looks up sharply. I feel my chest go tight, and my hand flies to his.

“You mean...recently?”

“Early in September. He wanted me to look into a former employee at Mansingh Transglobal. The mother of your friend, Alodia Chandler.”

The silence that follows her announcement is so thick that even Reggie seems to sense that something isn't right. He goes quiet, his chubby little face scrunching up uncertainly. When he starts to squirm and whine, Aleister lets him down to crawl around on the soft carpet at our feet.

“...What did you find out?” I finally manage to ask.

“Not a lot. Cassandra Chandler was a computer science major who worked as a researcher. She died about the time I became the C.E.O. There doesn't seem to have been much that was extraordinary about her, and it isn't exactly hard to believe that Everett Rourke would be interested in her since his obsession with her daughter is not exactly a secret.”

“No, I suppose it isn't,” Aleister concedes. “But then why bring this information to us if you don't think there is anything substantial to it?”

“Because for one thing, you deserve to know that your father has been in contact with me. For another, Alodia Chandler is a friend of yours. And you two experienced Rourke's obsession with her firsthand. You might not know much about why he was obsessed with her, but you know more than I do.” She opens her briefcase, and pulls out a sheaf of papers, held together with a binder clip. “Here's what I could find on her. Perhaps Alodia will be interested in it.”

“...Thank you, Mom.” I accept the papers.

“Well, I have taken enough of your time and my own. I must be off.”

“Of course. I'll walk you to the door.”

I get my mother's coat and show her out. After watching her go, I return to the living room. Aleister is leafing absently through the papers she left us. I come up beside him to put an arm over his shoulder.

“I think I may have to hold off on those sketches. I feel like I should go through those papers today.”

Aleister looks up at me. “Do you think whatever's in here is that important?”

“I don't know. Just...something about this doesn't feel right. My mother was acting strangely.”

“Was she?”

“It seemed so to me...”

Aleister sighs, rising to his feet. He approaches me and takes my shoulders gently, bending to kiss my cheek.

“I have to leave for work now, darling. Perhaps you can agree to wait until I get home so we can go over those papers together?”

It's my turn to sigh. “You really want me to wait?”

“Yes, darling. Two heads will be more effective than one. Besides, I want you to be able to work on your sketches today.”

“In between keeping our son out of trouble and making our flat a little more presentable?”

“Precisely. Let's worry about puzzling out the mystery of Alodia's human parent together.” He pauses for a moment. “...Besides, if we find something, we may be tempted to call her, which might not be entirely welcome while she is trying to make a good impression on her in-laws—not to mention the fact that she is at least six hours behind us.”

“All right, fair.” I am quiet for a moment, frowning. “...Hey...Mom said your father contacted her in early September. That was before they confiscated his phone, right?”

“Yes, I believe so. ...Why do you ask?”

“...Like I said. Something just doesn't feel right.”

Michelle

If I have to be at the hospital working instead of with my family on Thanksgiving, at least I'm working the noon-to-midnight shift, which means that for once I can be the one making sure Sean has a decent breakfast before seeing him off and crawling back into bed for a couple more hours' sleep.

“Oatmeal,” I inform him, setting the bowl in front of him, “and whole grain toast. A nice carb-o-licious breakfast to give you energy for the game today.”

He grins at me. “I have the best fiancée.”

I come up behind his chair to wrap my arms around his shoulders. “Your fiancée wishes she could be at the game today cheering you on, instead of at the hospital.”

“I know, babe.” He leans back into my embrace. “But you're doing great things at the hospital. You know how insanely proud I am of you.”

I admit I feel a smile playing around my mouth when he says that. “I know.” I kiss his cheek. “...I hope you know I'm proud of you, too.”

“I do know. But it's really nice to hear it, too. ...Think you'll have a couple minutes to watch a little of the game?”

“It's hard to say. You know how unpredictable a hospital can be.”

“Of course. Want me to wait up for you tonight? It's only gonna be a little after midnight when you get home.”

“You're gonna be exhausted after the game.”

He shrugs. “I'll still wait up if you want me to. I'll rig up some device to keep me awake.”

I snort. “Some device?”

“You know, some pulley sytem connected to my head or my shoulder that will turn on the stereo super loud if I start to nod off.”

He demonstrates, drawing an invisible pulley system in the air with his fingers, and then pretends to be nodding off, a theatrical snore interrupted by a vocal imitation of a loud metal riff. I laugh.

“No need to go to those kind of lengths. If you're up when I get home, I will be happy to see you. But if you're tired, you should sleep.”

“All right, I'll sleep. If I am tired.”

“Good boy.”

“...I love you, Michelle.”

“I love you, too, Sean.” I give him another peck on the cheek, and go to sit down across from him where my own breakfast is waiting. “Now eat your oatmeal. You've got a big game today.”

Estela

These past few weeks have been like a dream. Me and Tio Nicholas and Mom together in a peaceful San Trobida. Having Quinn here with us only adds to the utopian atmosphere. In fact, in the moments when the chimera wavers and worries about the world outside creep in, having someone else who was on La Huerta with me has helped to keep panic from setting in. Besides that, she has been a general boon to have around the house, helping with the chores and just generally being a joy. There are moments when I worry that I am keeping her here against her will. I promise I've told her that she doesn't have to stay if she would rather go back to her own family, especially for Thanksgiving. But apparently, she has spoken to her parents, and encouraged them to make Thanksgiving romantic occasion for the two of them. Since I am clearly not holding her against her will and thus I cannot release her, the only thing I can do is to make sure she knows how much I appreciate her presence.

On Thursday morning, I wake up early to make her pancakes. I've never been much of a cook, but with her and Raj giving me a few lessons, I've at least overcome my fear of the kitchen enough to follow a recipe. I prepare a breakfast tray, garnish it with a flower in a cup of water, and carry it up to the guest bedroom where she has been staying. She's still asleep when I get up there. To my chagrin, just my entering the room isn't enough to wake her. I linger in the doorway with the tray in my hand, wondering whether I should wake her, come back later, or just stay here. It seems my hesitation makes the decision for me, because after a moment or two, Quinn starts to stir. I feel myself standing up straighter as she turns her bleary gaze on me.

“Estela?” She sits up, blinking. “What's going on?”

I clear my throat, holding out the tray. “Um...this is for you...” I wince at myself. What am I doing, standing in the doorway, holding out the tray as if I expect her to come get it? I cross the room as quickly as I can without spilling anything to set the tray over her lap. She smiles, laughing a little.

“What is this?”

“...Breakfast. It's...to say thank you. For coming with me to San Trobida, and for staying with us these past couple weeks. You have been very helpful around the house, and my mom and tio can't say enough good things about you. So...thank you.”

“Oh, Estela, it's my pleasure. Really. Having your long-dead mother return home and revealing the details of our vacation through hell to your uncle seems like the kind of thing the presence of a friend could help you navigate more easily.”

“And so it has. ...And even if I don't need to thank you, I do want to.”

She pats the bed beside her. “Well, why don't you start by sitting down and helping me eat these pancakes?”

I take a seat on the edge of the bed, pushing a small cup of warmed syrup in her direction. She picks it up and drizzles the stuff over the pancakes.

“I was thinking...that you and I could make a day of it today. I could take you into the city and show you some of the sights. ...What do you say?”

She grins. “I can hardly think of a better way to spend a day that begins with breakfast in bed.”

I smile back. “Good. Because I want this day to be special for you. Also, if you had said no, that would have been decidedly awkward.”

Raj

Shooting an episode of a cooking show is never a one-day affair, but every show handles their schedule a little bit differently. Some chefs choose to set aside a block of a few days and knock out several episodes in a single day of shooting. That's not so practical for me, since I like to travel for my episodes. But I still have to shoot each episode several times over before there's enough that the wizards in the editing department can splice the best bits together into a winning episode. By the time we have enough footage for the Rome episode, I am worn out, and I can tell Lila is, too. Neither of us feel safe leaving her on her own, even if we are in Italy, but I can't exactly invite her to help with the episode, either. We feel even less safe putting her in front of a television camera. So, she's spent a lot of time just sitting around, and I know well that boredom can be even more exhausting than work.

On the last day of shooting, we're finished before noon. I help the crew clean up, then leave the set to look for Lila. I find her sleeping on the couch in my dressing room. I shake her shoulder gently.

“Lila? Wakey-wakey.”

She blinks at me and yawns, stretching. “Are we done for the day?”

“We're done for the episode.”

“Mmm.” She pushes herself upright. “On to the next one?”

“In due time. But we've got a bit of a break now. About a week.”

“So, what will we do until then?”

I grin. “Something that I hope you'll like. How would you feel about a holiday in Tuscany?”

Alodia

I wake up with the sun Thanksgiving morning, only to find that Jake and his family are already awake. I can smell cooking from downstairs. As I make my way down, I can hear the familiar sounds of the Macy's parade broadcast coming from the television in the living room, as well as voices from the dining room where the family has gathered for breakfast.

To my great relief, my late night awakening never becomes a topic of conversation during breakfast. I am greeted warmly and welcomed into the meal, where they ask me how I am feeling and if I slept well. No one questions it when I reply that I slept very well, thank you. I make quick work of scrambled eggs, toast, and bacon, and help Bernadette and Rebecca with the breakfast dishes. We have to hustle, Bernadette says, because we don't have much time to dawdle before we have to begin preparing dinner.

“Are there going to be many people?” I ask, meticulously loading plates into the dishwasher.

“Depends on what you consider 'many',” Rebecca replies.

“It's the usual crowd for us,” Bernadette says. “Frank's brother Pete and his girlfriend, my brother Emile with his wife and their two boys, my mom, and a couple of our old friends who don't have anywhere else to go for the holiday.”

“Well, that's bigger than most Thanksgivings I ever had growing up. It was usually just my aunt, my uncle, me, and Diego. Sometimes his parents came too, but they didn't really do Thanksgiving themselves so that wasn't often.”

“Well, you're gonna get the full McKenzie experience this year,” Rebecca quips. “And if that isn't enough to make you regret marrying my baby brother, nothing will.”

“Oh, boy. Jake did mention it was going to be chaotic. Anything I should be forewarned about?”

“Well, you're not the only one who's meeting the family for the first time. Uncle Pete's girlfriend is someone we've only “met” over Facebook so far.”

“She seems like a nice woman, though,” Bernadette adds. “Her name is Aubrey. I think she's from Chicago originally. About twenty years younger than Pete, but once you get to be a certain age, that's not much of a difference.”

“Hey, as long as everyone is legal and consenting, I don't pass judgment,” I remark. “Well, not moral judgment, anyway. I admit to having my opinions on whether what people are doing is altogether wise, but only when it involves people I know well.”

“Sound policy,” Rebecca says approvingly. “Anyway, you'll be in good company with Aubrey. Now, about Uncle Emile and Aunt Lorraine...”

* * *

Once the dishes are done, I head back upstairs to get dressed. I've packed a long floral-printed sundress with an empire waist and a matching shrug. I add some subtle jewelry, a touch of makeup, and sweep my hair back into a French braid. I brush my teeth and head back downstairs, where the parade has been replaced on the television with a football game.

“Is this the Condors' game?” I ask, coming to sit beside Jake on the couch.

“They're not playing for a couple hours,” he answers, taking my hand and kissing it. “But don't worry. I made sure Pop knows we're die-hard Condors fans. ...You look beautiful, by the way.”

I grin and kiss his cheek. “I'll do then?”

“Absolutely. You're gonna knock 'em all dead.”

It's not even noon when the McKenzie guests start arriving. The first is an old neighbor, Sidney Everly. To describe her as an elderly widow calls up an image that is quite contrary to her actual presence. The moment I am introduced as Jake's wife, she squeals and pulls me into a hug that can only be described as crushing. Clearly, her slender, stooped appearance belies her strength.

“So someone finally snapped up Jake McKenzie! And he's put a bun in her oven!”

“Okay, okay, Sidney, don't swarm her,” Jake chides, gently but firmly separating us. “Remember she is pregnant.”

“Oh, phooey, she's not going to pop,” Sidney scoffs, but she doesn't try to hug me again. “All right, Bernadette, put me in the kitchen and set me to work!”

Next to arrive is Jesse Atwood, an equally animated bachelor who comes with a violin case and tray of exquisite-looking handmade chocolate eclairs topped with berries and dusted with powdered sugar. He is quickly followed by Bernadette's younger brother and sister-in-law, Emile and Lorraine Landry, with their teenage boys, Neil and Ethan. Seventeen-year-old Neil is friendly and seems eager to get to know everyone in the room. Ethan is fifteen years old, and I'm not sure if he's going through a surly teenage phase or if he's just overwhelmed by the number of people present, but he arrives with earbuds firmly in his ears and barely glances up from the game he's playing on his phone when I'm introduced. The family doesn't seem phased by this, which tells me that whatever it is, it's not personal, so I leave him be.

Finally, Frank's brother Pete shows up with his girlfriend Aubrey, a short, slim woman in her late forties with dark brown hair cut just above her shoulders and styled in a fluffy perm. She grins when we're introduced and shakes my hand. There is relief in her soft gray eyes.

“Glad to meet you, Alodia. I think you and I are the major curiosities here tonight.” She leans in a little closer. “Though I think you're probably a little more of a curiosity than I am. No offense.”

“None taken. Between my backstory and my baby bump I expect to be fielding a lot of questions tonight.”

“Come on, everyone!” Sidney calls from the kitchen. “There's a feast to be prepared! Anyone who's helping with the cooking, in the kitchen! Everyone else--”

“Everyone else will please heed my instructions and not Sidney's!” Bernadette says firmly, though I can see a smile on her lips. “Alodia, sha, maybe you can help serve up some cider and snacks?”

Sidney, Bernadette, Rebecca, Jesse, and Emile take over the kitchen, preparing mostly sidedishes while Frank and Pete take turkey-duty outside to the grill. I spend a little while running cider, beer, and platters of appetizers out to the living room and to the men out by the grill. To my surprise, Ethan immediately comes to help me, though he doesn't take his earbuds out. Jake has been in the living room chatting with Neil. About my third trip out to the living room, he catches my hand.

“Hey, Princess. I know Mom and ol' Sidney can turn into a pair of Major Generals when they're cooking together, but don't let 'em push you around.”

I smirk. “You really think they can push me around?”

He actually seems to consider that for a moment before smiling. “I guess not. But don't you push yourself around, either. Promise me you'll rest if you get tired?”

“Promise. But if you're really concerned, you could come give me a hand.”

He chuckles. “Okay, fair.”

A few minutes later, he and I are sitting at the kitchen table together and peeling potatoes. After a short while, Neil, Ethan, and Aubrey come to join us. Neil dominates the conversation for awhile, filling everyone in on his preparations for college. But when the conversation starts to reach a lull, Ethan surprises me by filling the silence.

“Do you know if your baby is a boy or a girl yet?” he asks me.

“Not yet,” I reply. “We're going to learn that next week.”

“Have you done the wedding ring test yet?” Sidney asks.

Jake raises an eyebrow. “The what?”

“You tie the mom-to-be's wedding ring on a piece of thread and dangle it over her belly. If it swings back and forth like a pendulum, it's a boy. If it swings in circles, it's a girl.”

“Are you sure?” Aubrey asks skeptically. “I'd always heard it was the other way around.”

“I can look it up on my phone,” Neil offers.

“Oh, there's really no need,” I chuckle. “I don't have a wedding ring.”

Sidney gasps. “You mean Jake didn't even get you a ring?!”

“...Uh...we weren't exactly married in a traditional ceremony.”

“We have a handfasting ribbon,” Jake adds. He briefly explains the handfasting ceremony, naturally replacing anything suspiciously Vaanti with something that sounds more like it was thought up by college students. “I still have that ribbon.”

“You do?” I'm startled and I don't hide it. “You've never mentioned that to me. Where is it?”

“I had it framed to keep it preserved. I put it in a safe place at my grandparents' place. ...I never thought of going to get it when we moved to California because...well...I had you back. And there was a lot going on.”

“Ohhh! You should get it as long as you're in Pearl River!” Sidney exclaims. “It's not like you're far from your grandparents' place.”

“That's actually not a bad idea,” Jake concedes.

“I wouldn't mind seeing that ribbon again,” I agree.

“Maybe you could do the ring test with that, just with a regular ring,” Ethan suggests. “Maybe the ribbon will have the same kind of...energy you need.”

“Oh, there's no need for that test,” Bernadette scoffs. “She's carrying high. It's a girl.”

“Well, the old lady on the plane yesterday agrees with you,” Rebecca snickers.

“Hey, we're not listening to the old lady on the plane!” Jake says firmly.

“Why, what did the old lady on the plane say?” Neil asks eagerly.

I laugh at his enthusiasm. “Well, I ended up getting airsick while we were landing, so I was throwing up into a paper bag while everyone was getting their things.” I go on, describing the old woman and her daughter, to the amusement of everyone except Jake.

“The old bat is wrong, by the way,” he grumbles. “Alodia looks as beautiful as ever.”

“I have to agree with Jake,” Sidney declares. “If that baby's stolen your good looks, then you must be too pretty for anyone's good. I think you've got a boy.”

“Whether or not her looks have been stolen, girls do cause more sickness,” Bernadette insists.

“What have your cravings been like?” Sidney asks.

“Well...peanut butter's been the big one...” l

“There, you see? Protein. That means it's a boy.”

“Not American peanut butter, sha,” Bernadette scoffs. “You know how much sugar is in American peanut butter?”

“Well, I have been especially fond of peanut butter cookies,” I point out.

This goes on for awhile. Everyone chimes in with the various wives' tales they've heard for predicting the baby's sex. They ask me about my moods, hair growth, breakouts, stretchmarks, and whatever else they can think of. Neil even looks up a Chinese sex-prediction chart on his phone that asks for my birthday and the month we conceived in, which my best guess places in July. That chart tells me I'm having a girl, which pleases Bernadette. Of course, no matter what the wives' tales say, she remains convinced I'm having a girl. Sidney is of the opposite opinion, and Rebecca seems to agree with her.

“Y'all are being ridiculous!” Jake declares, exasperated. “Even once we know the sex, it's not like that's going to predict their personality or anything like that.”

“Jake's got the right of it,” Jesse agrees, stirring the gravy on the stove. “Maybe y'all should keep the sex secret until the baby's a few months old.”

“Are you gonna keep the name secret, too?” Sidney scoffs.

“We wouldn't have to,” Jake retorts. “We've already chosen the name, and it's unisex.”

“I hate unisex names.”

“Sidney, you have a unisex name!”

“That don't mean I like it!”

“Well, girl or boy, our baby is River Skye McKenzie, and that's that.”

Sidney considers that. “Well, okay. That's a good name.”

“Good for a boy, but even better for a girl,” Bernadette declares haughtily.

“You're impossible, Mom,” Jake sighs.

“Yes, I am. Now go see if your Pop needs help with the turkey.”

Grayson

I prepare a small meal to take to my father for our Thanksgiving dinner. Well, actually it's more like a Thanksgiving lunch, since I am going to be eating with him early in order to make it to Rochelle's apartment on time. I did tell him I had been invited to another dinner later in the day. He didn't ask where I was going, but I suspect he knows. I have never made my affection for Tahira a secret, which does kind of worry me now. But all I can really do is swear that I will never let myself be used against her.

I arrive at the mansion where I grew up—the one that now serves as my father's prison—and make my way up the walk, clutching the cooler full of Thanksgiving food. I put it down to ring the doorbell and bounce lightly on the balls of my feet while I wait, breathing warm air into my cupped hands. I should have worn gloves, but I was running late getting out of my apartment, and by the time I thought of it, it was just too late to go back. The seconds melt into each other, and I am just about to ring the bell again when my father answers.

“You're late, Grayson.”

“...I'm sorry, dad. The turkey took longer than I was expecting.” I heft the cooler with a grunt and all but waddle through the front door. Dad raises an eyebrow at the cooler.

“What's in there?”

“Food. Thanksgiving lunch. Turkey, stuffing, mashed potatoes and gravy, green beans, and a pumpkin pie. Traditional fare. I also bought a bottle of wine.”

“Hmm. Anything that will require reheating?”

“Most of it hasn't had that much time to get cold. But I suppose it wouldn't hurt to warm the vegetables.”

“Very well. I suppose you had better bring that stuff right into the kitchen. I know how eager you are to get onto your other dinner.”

I grit my teeth, needled by the thinly-veiled barb in his words. “Well, it isn't like I'm going to eat and run,” I assure him, trying not to sound annoyed.

“Of course not. Shall we eat off the fine china?”

While the food rewarms, we take the our time setting the dining room table. We spread out a white tablecloth of Irish linen with matching placemats and napkins. We lay out the silver cutlery and the antique china plates that I can remember adorning the holiday tables of my childhood. Each plate is uniquely painted with pictures of various fruits and flowers in beautiful pastel colors. In a moment of nostalgia, I claim the one with the ripe peaches surrounded by raspberries for myself. That one was always my favorite. My father doesn't comment on my choice, but I do see him smile fondly at the plate for a moment. He lights a pair of beeswax candles in crystal candleholders. I carve the turkey in the kitchen and arrange it on a platter. Then we lay out the food and take our seats. For a moment, neither of us move.

“...Do you think we should say grace?” I ask hesitantly.

“I suppose.”

“We don't have to,” I say quickly. “It's only that it's tradtional...”

Dad doesn't respond. He pulls the bottle of red Zinfandel toward him and snatches up the winged corkscrew. I wince a little as he jams the sharp end of the screw into the cork, but I make myself focus on how much the corkscrew looks like a little person or a human-shaped robot with two long arms. As dad twists the robot's head, it raises its arms as if in some stiff, jerky dance. And then as Dad pushes its arms down, it detatches itself from the bottle, taking the cork with it. Dad places it aside with the cork still attached and picks up the bottle.

“Say when,” he instructs me as he tips the bottle over my glass. Dark red liquid flows from the bottle's mouth and sloshes in the basin of my wineglass. I cut off the flow at half a glass. Dad raises an eyebrow at me for a moment before moving to pour a larger glass for himself. He sets down the bottle and begins filling his plate with turkey, potatoes, stuffing, and beans. After a moment, I do the same.

“I suppose,” he says at last as he picks up his knife and fork and begins slicing his turkey into bite-sized pieces, “that you shouldn't have too much to drink if you are going to be driving to Tahira's dinner before long.”

“...No,” I agree. “That wouldn't be responsible.”

He pauses, glancing sidelong at me. “...It is Tahira you will be spending the evening with, isn't it?”

“Among others. Her mother will be there, and Dax Darcisse and Poppy Patel.”

“But Tahira is the one you really want to see.”

“Is that your oh-so-subtle way of asking if she and I are finally seeing each other?” I quip, hoping to disguise my discomfort with this line of questioning.

“It hardly seems like the best idea to be dating someone you work with. Much less someone who works for you.”

“We're both smart people, Dad. We know how to keep our personal lives separate from work.”

“Don't be naive, Grayson. No one actually knows how to do that.”

I feel myself stiffen. Deep breaths, Grayson. You don't want a fight to sour your mood before you see Tahira.

“Well, we'll just do our best then, and deal with any problems as they come up.”

“...You know what she is, son.”

I almost drop my fork as my veins turn to ice, but I manage to keep it together. I lower my fork to my plate, its prongs still sporting a lump of mashed potatoes.

“What she is, Dad, is a woman I care for deeply, and have done since we were in college together. She is smart and fun and kind and—“

“Powerful,” Dad adds. He puts down his fork and knife, leaning back and tenting his fingers. He fixes me with a penetrating stare. “Let's not beat around the bush, Grayson. Tahira is Dragonness. You know she is.”

I sigh. I consider feigning surprise, but it's probably too late for that. Besides, I'm not sure how much good it would do. Is it really that much more dangerous for my father to know that I know her identity when he already knows it himself? Suddenly, I feel exhausted.

“...What do you want me to say, Dad?”

“I only want you to be honest with me.”

“...Then yes. I know who she is. And I know you know, too. ...I also know the real reason you attacked Northbridge was because you wanted to use her power to bring Mom back.”

“And I suppose she told you that?”

“Yes! She did! Are you going to deny it?”

“No, in fact. I am not going to deny it. Nor will I deny that my plan did not work out as I had expected.”

“And what were you expecting?”

He sighs, letting his hands drop onto the table to rest on either side of his plate. He picks at a bit of turkey skin hanging off the edge of the plate.

“I had believed the power to bring Helena back existed in the world on the other side of the Prism Gate. ...The world where Dragonness was born. I had hoped that if we managed to make it there, we would find her people. Find a the power necessary. Alas, that was not the case.”

I don't answer. I pick up my fork and knife and tear into the turkey on my plate, covering my silence by stuffing my mouth with the meat. Dad watches me eat for a moment.

“...Do you not approve, Grayson?”

I choke down a mouthful. It gets stuck at the back of my throat, but I force it down with a deep drink of wine. I set my glass down and stare at my plate.

“...Mom is gone, Dad.”

“She doesn't have to be.”

“Yes! She does! She's dead!”

My father's eyes narrow, his expression darkening. “You watch your mouth, son.”

“I'm only saying what's true! Mom is dead! She has been dead for years! It's not like I'm happy about it, but it's a fact!”

“All this from the boy who wasn't willing to do what needed to be done in Bayside for fear that some people would have to pick themselves up by their bootstraps and move on.”

“Dad, you were talking about displacing living people from their homes! Do you realize how many lives you snuffed out on the day you decided to attack Northbridge?! Eight! Eight people died because you can't let Mom rest!”

My father eyes me steadily. “I could bring them back, too.”

I feel a chill cross my shoulders. “...What...? What are you...?”

“There is a way, Grayson.”

“Dad, no...please...” I reach across the table to cover his hand with mine. “Let it go. Please. Please don't make Tahira suffer to bring Mom back.”

“I don't mean Tahira. ...There is another way.”

I can feel my heart spasming in my throat. “...Dad...please. I don't know if you just never grieved Mom properly or what, but...all I've wanted for years is for us to be a family!”

Dad puts his other hand on top of mine, grasping it firmly. “And we will be! As soon as I can find the power to bring her back, we--”

“No!” I pull my hands back sharply, feeling tears burning in my eyes. “Not us and Mom! Mom is gone! I mean you and me! You're still my father! I am still your son! We're still a family! Or we could be if you would let Mom go and look at me!”

For a moment, I think I actually see genuine remorse in my father's face. It's only a flicker, just for an instant, but even when it vanishes, his expression is softer somehow. Gentler.

“...You don't understand,” he says softly.

“No. No, Dad, I don't. ...I don't understand why you turned your back on me when I needed you most. How one day we could be so close and you could show me so much affection...and then as soon as Mom was in the ground, it was like you turned cold as her grave. For years, I thought you had stopped loving me. For years, I thought I had done something wrong.” I can't hold back a few tears as the scared little boy I used to be comes to the surface of my mind, bringing his hurt, his abandonment, his confusion. “I realize now you were just in pain, but...but the fact is you still haven't dealt with that pain. ...This...isn't how Mom would have wanted us to be to each other, Dad. She would have wanted us to hold each other. Support each other in her absence.”

“She would have wanted to be with us!”

“Of course she would have! But she isn't! God dammit, for all you accuse me of not being realistic, you can't even accept...” I trail off, my voice strangled by unshed tears that clog my throat. My head drops into my hands on the table.

I feel a touch on my shoulder, the palm of my father's hand resting gently on my back. I don't shrug him off, even though my head tells me I should. To have my father resting a hand on my shoulder to comfort me...it's like a mouthful of water to a man who has crossed the desert. Such unspeakable relief. And yet...so far from enough.

“My son...my boy...my child. Please, listen to me. I know I failed you. In so many ways. I failed your mother, too. But that is what I am trying to fix.”

Now I do shrug him off.

“No. No, Dad. What you're doing isn't fixing anything.” I lift my head, but I don't look at my father. “Until you get help, we're never going to be the family Mom wanted us to be. I'm sorry.”

He knows what I'm implying. That when he comes to trial, I am going to argue in favor of having him committed. But to my surprise, his only reaction now is a sigh.

“...It's okay, Grayson. It will be okay. I promise. I know how to fix everything now. When I am through, it will be as if all those lonely years never even happened.”

He goes back to his dinner, clearing his plate in silence. I look down at the meal going cold on my plate, the moist turkey, lumpy mashed potatoes and oily green beans obscuring the delicately painted peaches and raspberries. I don't feel like eating anymore. Something about Dad's reaction has me more unsettled than ever.

Poppy

“Come on, Dax! We're going to be late! Rochelle said dinner is at three o'clock, and it's now 2:20!”

“Okay! Okay! I'm coming!” Dax sighs, reluctantly putting aside his project. His eyes linger on the tiny object for a moment before he sighs again and starts to straighten up his workstation.

“Is that the thing you told me about?” I ask. “The hologram thing?”

“That's it.”

“How's it coming?”

“Well, actually. Really well. I even think I should have it ready to present by New Year's Eve.”

I raise an eyebrow. “I'm impressed. Considering you've only been working on it for a month now.”

“What can I say? I'm motivated. Also, the technology involved already exists, it's just a matter of making it more portable and easier to disguise.”

I put my arms around him, kissing his cheek. “That's a really nice thing you're doing for them, sweetie. I'm proud of you.”

He leans into my embrace, going quiet for a moment. “...I started to imagine what he described...being trapped on the outside...while...” He swallows. “...If it were you...or Tahira. I'm closer to the two of you than I've ever been to anyone. ...If one of you were hurt or sick and I was stuck on the outside...”

“Well, if you can pull this off, that won't be something they have to worry about.”

“I can pull it off,” he says with determination. “I know I can.”

“I know you can, too. Now come on. I am not going to be late for Rochelle's famous taffy-apple salad.”

Zahra

It's another jolly holiday at the Hsiao household. And I promise I'm not actually saying that ironically. I actually like my boyfriend's family, and I will readily admit that I am very, very lucky that way. Far from being what some racially insensitive douches would imagine, Kira and Huan Hsiao are not actually super strict, conservative “tiger parents,” like Asian parents tend to be on TV. A more accurate description of them would be snarky hippy goofballs. Well...hippies who still eat meat, I guess. So maybe not hippies.

But they are animal lovers. Their house is a crazy menagerie of four cats Nikky, Snickerdoodle, Tootle, and Buttercup; a German shepherd/collie mix named Tiffany; Mindy and George, a pair of rabbits; a parakeet named Tinker; and a ball python, hilariously named Monty—particularly hilarious because the python in question is female. We humans finish our Thanksgiving feast in the early afternoon, and Kira and Huan immediately set to work making sure the animals get their own. The cats are the most insistent, twining around Kira's ankles and yowling as she dishes Fancy Feast on top of Meow Mix and garnishes it with Temptations treats and catnip. And I know I've been staying at their place too long because I have started to recognize brands of cat food.

“Yes, yes, my little darlings,” Kira sings. “Food is coming!”

“Good god,” I groan. “Those things are cute when they're all purry and keeping my toes warm at night, but they are so friggin' noisy when they're hungry!”

“They're not that different from human babies that way,” Kira quips, carrying two double-bowls of catfood to the placemat on the floor in the corner. The cats immediately go quiet, digging into their feast. Kira calls out to Tiffany, who has been waiting patiently on the floor by the kitchen door. At the sound of her name, the dog leaps up on her paws, her tongue lolling out of her mouth as her tail starts to wag. Kira reaches into a plastic bag labled “Pampered Pets” and pulls out what I realize has to be a dog treat, but which looks enough like a cupcake that I want to eat it myself.

“Aww, you got Tiffany a pupcake!” Joey laughs.

“Of course! They're her favorite special occasion treats.”

Kira makes Tiffany sit and lie down before placing the treat a few feet in front of her nose. Tiffany licks her chops, her tail thumping eagerly, but she obediently waits for the signal before attacking her pupcake, wolfing it down in two bites.

“Oh, hey!” Joey leaps up from the table. “Let's go play Road From Xanadu! We gotta finish it before you guys go back to Northbridge!”

Craig pushes back from the table, stretching his arms over his head. “Nothing like video games after Thanksgiving dinner,” he agrees. “I'm in.”

Joey comes around to grab my arm, tugging insistently. “Come on, Zahra! We can't play without you since you're Amaya!”

“Well, you could make her an NPC,” I point out, even as I get to my feet.

“But then we'd have to start over!”

“Well, we can't have that. Let's go.”

The truth is, though, I'm a little reluctant to play. Road From Xanadu is this obscure RPG game set in this weird dimension where a bunch of people from various other dimensions and alternate timelines end up. From what I can gather, it's basically a dimension converging on all other dimensions. The main character is a badass warrior woman with weather magic whose whole mission is to get back to her own dimension in order to prevent a horrific disaster from killing her family. Along the way, she's tormented by visions of a past life that seem to be hinting that the disaster was actually an attack by someone from a past that she can't remember. It all feels a little too much like AU La Huerta for me to be totally comfortable, but Joey is super into it, so I've been trying to hide my misgivings.

We head into the living room where the fireplace is going, turn on the TV and the game console, and curl up on the couch with Joey wedged between us. The game loads up and the menu flickers up onto the screen in front of us. We search for the save marked ZCJ and load up our game. I frown as my character shows up on the screen, but without Craig or Joey's, and with a completely dark background.

“Wait...where were we again?”

“Illusory Cities,” Joey reminds me. “Field of Mirrors. Remember? We're trapped in the mirrors, and you have to get us out.”

“Oh...right...”

So my character wanders through a field of mirrors where her friends are trapped inside their dreams, trying to wake them up so they can move on to collect the next item in their fetch quest to build the portal that will take them back to her dimension. Craig and Joey yell hints and encouragement, and finally, I manage to break everyone out.

“Dude, Amaya is totally falling in love with Felix,” Craig declares, grinning. “I knew I chose the right character.”

“I bet they kiss before we stop playing tonight,” Joey agrees.

“You talkin' about Felix and Amaya or Craig and me? Because if it's the latter, you'll definitely win that bet.”

“Hey!” Joey holds up a hand in front of my face. “No kissing over my head. If you wanna kiss, you gotta warn me so I can move.”

Of course, by this point Buttercup has jumped into my lap and made herself comfortable, tucking her feet underneath her body and laying her head on my knee. I know from experience that she won't move until forced to by either her bladder or mine.

“I don't think that's happening any time soon, kiddo,” I sigh. “Okay, let's get back to it. We gotta find something called 'Wild Time'...”

Tahira

By a quarter to three, everyone has arrived at my mother's apartment except Grayson. My last three texts have gone unanswered, and I'm starting to get anxious, though I try to distract myself by setting the table. Finally, I feel a vibration in the pocket of my jeans, accompanied by the chime of my text alert. I fish my phone out of my pocket and read the message.

Grayson: Waiting outside. Am I late??

I exhale, feeling an easy smile curve my lips as reliefs flood through me in soothing waves. I thumb out a response:

Right on time. I'll come down to let you in.

I call over my shoulder to let Mom know where I'm going before I rush out into the hallway and down the stairs. Grayson is waiting outside the front door with a bunch of flowers in one hand and a bottle of wine tucked under the opposite arm. I grin as I hold the door open for him.

“As much as presents are appreciated, don't think I haven't noticed that you can't hug me while you're holding those.”

Stepping into the foyer of the building, Grayson immediately sets the flowers and wine on an end table and pulls me in for a fierce, needful kiss, dipping me slightly in his arms. I melt into his embrace, raising my arms to wind around his neck as I taste his mouth. He tastes like he brushed his teeth just recently. Finally, he straightens, bringing me with him, and reluctantly breaks the kiss, resting his forehead on mine.

“Okay, I forgive you. ...Trying to recreate V-J Day in Time Square?”

“...I love you, Tahira.” His voice is a whisper, and there's a weight to it that puts a lump in the pit of my stomach.

“I love you, too, Grayson. But...are you all right? Did lunch with your dad not go well?”

“I have to tell you something,” he murmurs, his eyes still closed. “Something Dad said has been worrying me since he said it. But...I don't want to spoil the holiday. Just promise me you won't let me leave without telling you tonight.”

My first impulse is actually to say 'okay', push his words to the back of my mind, and get on with my holiday. But even as I consider it, I know that I'll never be able to concentrate on having a good time with that hanging over my head.

“What do you mean? What did he say?” When he hesitates, I take his face in my hands, turning it toward me. “Please, Grayson. Don't hold back. I'd rather you just say it than leave me to imagine the worst.”

He hesitates another moment. A knock at the lobby door makes us both jump. We turn to look out the clear glass door and find a man balancing a foiled-draped casserole dish in one hand and waving at us with the other. His wife and two young children stand behind him, bundled up and bouncing against the bite of the chilly November air. He gestures to the doorknob. Grayson clears his throat, blushing as he pushes the door open. The small family scurries into the warmth of the lobby and toward the elevator. He sighs.

“We shouldn't talk out here,” he mumbles, not meeting my eyes. “Let's get somewhere we can talk privately.”

“...Yeah. Okay. Maybe it can wait until after dinner.”

He smiles, but it looks a little forced. Then his eyes light up and he scoops up the bouquet he had placed on the side table, placing it in my arms carefully as if it were a swaddled infant.

“Sorry I'm later than expected, by the way. I stopped to pick those up on the way.”

I can't help but smile as I regard the colorful bouquet in my arms, pink roses and miniature carnations arranged amidst snowy white chrysanthemums, yellow Peruvian lilies, lavender, statice, and huckleberry. I put my nose in the armful of flora and inhale a fragrant blend of perfumes.

“They're absolutely beautiful.”

His smile is genuine again as he casually takes up the wine bottle and offers me his hand.

“I couldn't resist a few roses,” he says, “but I've always thought roses alone were a little...well, boring. If I'm going to bring someone flowers, I want something colorful.”

“I approve of your choice.”

Everyone else clearly approves of it too, if their gushing reaction when we get back up to Mom's apartment is any indication. While Mom is busy hunting for a vase, and Dax and Poppy are helping her find the ladle she was looking for a moment ago, I see an opportunity and impulsively decide to to take it. I take Grayson by the hand and pull him into the bedroom. I shut the door, pressing the lock down for good measure.

“So, what were you going to say about your Dad?”

He shifts uncomfortably, looking cornered. “I...thought you said it could wait until after dinner.”

“I know. But I also said I'd rather know than spend dinner imagining the worst.”

For a moment he is quiet, and I think he is going to protest again that it should wait until after dinner. But then he nods.

“...We got into a fight, which will probably not come as much of a surprise. He knows that I know who you are, by the way. I didn't tell him, but he guessed and I didn't know how to deny it, or if it would even do any good.”

“It probably wouldn't have,” I agree. “It's okay. We'll deal with it. Was that all?”

“No. ...We were arguing about his obession with bringing Mom back. I was begging him not to make you suffer for it. ...He said that he didn't have to use you. That there was another way. Some of the things he said...it started to sound like he wasn't just talking about bringing Mom back. He was talking about rewriting history so she never died at all.”

I feel an electric chill skitter down my spine. “...That...that sounds like...”

“I know. ...I can't help but wonder if he's managed to learn something about the Janus Project.”

Aleister

I come home in the evening to find that the flat has been scrubbed top to bottom. In the sitting room, the evening news flickers on the television, the volume turned to something just barely audible. My wife is curled up on the sofa under a throw blanket, her glasses set aside on the coffee table beside the baby monitor. She appears to be dozing lightly, and as I approach, I can see from the screen on the baby monitor that my son is asleep as well, contentedly sucking his thumb in his crib. I smile, kneeling beside Grace and bending to kiss the top of her head. She stirs and stretches at my touch, smiling up at me.

“Hey, honey,” she says around a yawn. “There's tuna noodle casserole in the refridgerator. I already ate, but it wouldn't take much to heat it up.”

“You're a treasure,” I reply. She reaches over to fumble for her glasses, and I guide them to her hand. “I brought home macroons for dessert. Can I fix you a plate with some tea?”

“That would be heavenly. Could you also give me a hand getting off the couch?”

I chuckle, standing and offering my hand. She takes it, groaning a little as I help pull her to her feet. Once standing, she flops theatrically against my chest, resting her head on my shoulder and pretending to snore. I laugh.

“I am not surprised you're so tired. The flat looks beautiful.” I drape one of her arms over my shoulders and wind the other around her waist, pulling her close to my side as if I am helping her walk with an injured leg. “But I hope this was not just because your mother sat on a cuddly toy this morning.”

“There are some ways Mom can still get to me,” she admits. “...But I was also trying to keep busy so I wouldn't be tempted to peek at the files she left us. Besides, the flat needed a good scrub. I just hope my back doesn't regret it in the morning.”

I guide her to a kitchen chair and stand behind her for a moment, rubbing her shoulders. “I'll tell you what, darling. Why don't you have a nice hot bath while I have my supper, and then we'll look at the files together over tea and macaroons. Deal?”

“Deal.”

* * *

Grace takes her time in the bath, and when I finish dinner, we both get into our pajamas. Curled up on the sofa with a pleasant fire going, two cups of hot tea and a tray of macaroons, it's almost easy to forget what we're actually looking for with the documents spread out across our laps. Not that we seem to be finding much that is obviously incriminating.

“I am quite surprised to hear myself say this, but it seems Alodia's mother was in fact quite an ordinary woman.”

“Well, I don't know about 'ordinary,'” Grace remarks. “According to everything here, she was a genius at computer science. She headed nearly eighty percent of Mansingh Transglobal's computer science projects in 1995.”

She passes me the page she's looking at, and I skim over it. A few project names jump out at me.

“ 'Project Jupiter'...'The Trojan Project'...Anything with a Greco-Roman theme might bear looking into further. With the Trojan Project, I'm inclined to guess it had something to do with computer viruses. ...Perhaps an attempt to develop some sort of antivirus software.”

“Or digital condoms,” Grace suggests, grinning. I snort, poking her shoulder lightly.

“Trojan always was a terrible name for a condom.”

“Huh...now this is interesting.”

“What is?”

Grace holds up the page in front of her. “Apparently Cassandra Chandler worked on one of the most advanced digital painting/rendering programs of the early nineties. She won an award for her own digital art. And...oh! I think Mom included samples...” She turns to a few glossy photo prints. “Wow. This is beautiful.”

She passes me a picture of a digitally rendered sunset over the ocean. “Impressive. The colors, the shading...very advanced for the early nineties.”

“And look at this moonscape. It's so lifelike, it's like looking at a photo.”

“Clearly, she was very talented. ...Perhaps we should send this to Alodia. I'm sure she would like to have some piece of her mother to hold...on...to...Grace...?”

Grace is staring at the photo in front of her, her dark eyes wide. I peer over at the picture and feel my breath catch in my throat. It's another beautifully rendered piece of digital art, a portrait depicting a young woman posed beneath a palm tree. It is as clear as a photograph, or a Holbein portrait. Her blue eyes, golden blonde hair, her pale skin...

“Good heavens...but...that's...”

“Yeah,” Grace agrees. “It's Alodia.”

Michelle

It's hard to have a totally good day when you're working at a hospital. Even if none of your own patients die, it's hard to ignore the fact that people do die there every day. And yet, at the same time, people are born there every day, too. Lives are saved, or changed for the better with surgeries that improve quality of life. It's difficult to have a totally good day, but if you know where to look, it's hard to have a totally bad one, too. For me, today managed to even out. I was busy, which kept my shift from dragging too much, but now I'm definitely feeling it. Now, what I really want is to go home, put on my pajamas and curl up in bed with Sean so I can fall asleep to the sound of his breathing.

I finally get home at nearly a quarter to one. There's a note in Sean's handwriting taped to the door of our apartment when I get there:

Hey, Beautiful. Left something on the coffee table for you. Love you! --Sean.

I smile, folding the note and tucking it into the pocket of my jacket. The first year we were dating back at Hartfeld, he was always getting me little gifts to leave in my room at the sorority house when we were both too busy for a real date night. They were never expensive, but they were always meaningful and romantic. A refridgerator magnet with my name on it, a caduceus keychain, a bunch of lilacs from the hedge that grew on campus, my favorite spinach bread from the bakery in town, or a stick of rock candy from the old-fashioned candy shop next door. Lately, he seems to have picked the practice up again. Except now, I try to reciprocate more often.

The apartment is dark when I get inside. I turn on the light in the foyer, slip off my shoes and hang my coat in the closet. I make my way into the living room and switch on the floor lamp. On the coffee table, an Easter basket has been lined with tissue paper and repurposed to hold a small collection of bath items—body wash, lotion, and spray that all appear to be the same scent; an orange-infused sugar scrub for my hands and feet, and two bath bombs. I pop open the body wash and inhale the subtly sweet aroma of orange blossom, chamomile, and vanilla, sighing rapturously. I'm going to get Sean something really special to thank him for this. Some nice cologne or a new duffle bag for away games...or maybe a gift certificate for a massage at my favorite spa. I reach into the basket to pull out the bath bombs and hold them to my nose. As I do, a sticky note that had been attached to one of the fragrant spheres comes loose and flutters to the ground. I pick it up, squinting slightly to make out the writing in the somewhat dim light of the floor lamp:

Hi, Beautiful! =) Turn on the TV and press play! Don't adjust the volume! Love you! – Sean

I pick up the remote and press the power button. The TV flickers to life, and a frozen image of Sean in his Condors' uniform appears on the screen. I recognize the Condors' home stadium behind him, and on the edge of the screen, I can make out the hand of a sportscaster holding up a microphone. I press play.

“Sean, do you have any final thoughts before the game gets underway today?”

The volume is loud enough to make me jump a little, worried that I'm going to wake Sean. But, since his note explicitly told me not to adjust the volume, I resist the urge. On the screen, Sean smiles warmly into the camera.

“First of all, I just want to wish a happy Thanksgiving to my amazing fiancee, Dr. Michelle Nguyen. She couldn't be at the game today because she's busy being an amazing doctor at the hospital. But if you're watching, babe, I just want to tell you that I'm so proud of you and I love you with my whole heart.”

The big light flicks on overhead, making me jump. I turn to see Sean smiling at me from the doorway that leads into the kitchen.

“We won today,” he says. I smile, pausing the recording and going to kiss him.

“That's wonderful. And thank you for the gifts. But why are you still awake? You must be exhausted.”

He shrugs, kissing me back and lacing his fingers at the small of my back. “I had a nice long nap after the game. I wanted to be awake when you got home. I've got a little surprise for you.”

“Another one? I know I was bummed about working on Thanksgiving, but you don't want me to get spoiled.”

“And what if I do?” he counters with mock-haughtiness. I snort.

“Well, in that case, who am I to argue?”

He keeps one arm around my waist as he leads me through the kitchen to the dining room. As we approach, I realize that I can see candlelight flickering inside. The first thing I notice when I round the corner and Sean turns up the lights is Tricia, grinning from her seat at the end of the table. The table is spread with my favorite tablecloth, decorated with a centerpiece of pillar candles draped with evergreen branches, pinecones, and clementines. Though the table is crowded with chafing dishes and a decanter filled with some kind of spiced cider, they've managed to find room for three place-settings. Delicious smells that had been previously masked by the scent of the bath bombs in the living room fill the air. Tricia gets up, coming to fold me in a warm embrace.

“Happy Thanksgiving, honey.”

I feel tears coating my eyes as I hug her back. I think my smile might actually split my face apart. “Oh, Tricia! You're awake, too?”

“Well, someone had to make sure the food was edible. I couldn't leave that in my son's hands.”

“Hey!” Sean feigns offense, lightly poking his mother. “I helped!”

I pull back, wiping at my eyes. “You both should be sleeping,” I chide around a mindlessly happy chuckle. “But as long as you're both awake, what are we eating?”

“It's kind of a Thanksgiving breakfast-for-dinner deal,” Sean explains, going to lift the cover from each dish in turn. “Apple-pumpkin pancakes, turkey bacon, and a skillet with potatoes and green beans. Plus cider to drink.”

“Thank you. Both of you. This is...I think this is exactly what I need tonight.”

Sean comes to take my hands, kissing my forehead. “I know you've been feeling overworked lately. I want to make sure you know that you can count on me when things get rough. Whether it's by getting you a few bath bombs, helping my mom cook you a nice meal, or just by holding your hands and listening. I want to give you what you need so that you never feel alone like did before.”

I wind my arms around his torso, resting my head on his chest so that I can hear his heartbeat.

“I know I'm not alone. And that's exactly what I'm thankful for tonight.”

Tahira

Grayson's words are still bothering me the morning after Thanksgiving. I didn't repeat them to anyone at dinner last night, and I did my best to bury my anxiety. But clearly I'm not hiding it that well this morning, because Mom feels my forehead and wonders aloud if I want to stay home from the soup kitchen. I force myself to smile.

“I'm fine, Mom. Just nursing a turkey hangover.”

“Well, you don't feel warm,” Mom admits, but she doesn't look entirely convinced. “But you still don't have to come. Grayson and I can manage the food just fine.”

“It's okay. I want to come. Since I was ten years old, I've only missed one Black Friday at the soup kitchen. I'm not going to miss this one just because I'm sleepy.”

When Grayson arrives to take us over to the soup kitchen, one look in his eyes tells me that I'm not hiding my anxiety from him very well, either. As we're loading the Thanksgiving leftovers into his car, he finds a moment to take me aside.

“Are you all right?”

“Not you, too,” I groan. “I already had Mom feeling my forehead this morning.”

“...You're worried about what I told you about Dad.” It's not a question. There is an unmistakeable note of guilt in his voice. I put a hand on his arm.

“Hey. I'm glad you told me, okay? ...But yeah, it worries me. ...If he knows about the Janus Project, he might know about my cousin, too. I'm worried about how he came by that information, too.”

“I'll work on getting that out of him,” he promises, enfolding me in a hug. “I'm not just going to leave it where it is.”

“I know.” I nestle in his arms. “...You'll still stay and help at the soup kitchen though, right?”

“Of course! I'm not going to bail on you and your mom and the hungry citizens of Bayside just to interrogate my dad.”

I can't help but chuckle. “I'm so glad you have your priorities in order.”

* * *

We arrive at the soup kitchen by ten in the morning. For the next couple hours, we help the breakfast crew clean up, and then set to work laying out the lunch food. We're not the only ones who have donated our Thanksgiving leftovers. On top of that, there are canned goods and non-perishables that were collected by the Bayside public schools and churches, so there is plenty to work with and plenty to keep me busy until the people start arriving. Most of the diners come from the local homeless shelter, but there are also Bayside residents who regularly choose between paying rent and buying groceries. The Grand has been a big help in the area, but it takes time for a local economy to recover from hardship. While Mom and I serve food, Grayson helps people find places to sit and cleans up after them when they finish.

For a little while, the work keeps my mind occupied. Then the lunch rush slows to a trickle, Mom goes into the back to wash dishes, and my thoughts start to catch up with me. It's almost a relief when I see the doors open to admit a group of kids, but as they gather up their trays and make their way to the line, I start to think that they may be here without a parent or guardian. No one appears to have followed them in.

There are five of them, four boys and one girl. They all look like they're one family, all dark-haired and olive-skinned. The oldest boy doesn't look any older than sixteen, if that much. The others all look to be around ten or eleven, though the youngest boy might be as young as seven. I make myself smile in spite of my concern, counting out five plastic plates to spread out on the countertop in front of me.

“Good afternoon,” I say brightly. “What can I get for you?”

“I want turkey and stuffing!” one of the boys yells, bouncing excitedly in place. “Oh! And I want those cherries! And a brownie! And can I have grape juice, too?!”

“Slow down, RJ!” the oldest boy hisses. “Give the lady a chance to catch up!”

Eventually, RJ's plate is loaded with everything he desires, and I can turn my attention to the other children. The boy who looks about RJ's age is much more polite and reserved in his requests, and the youngest boy is so shy that he blushes as he points to each dish that he wants. The oldest boy puts his arm around the girl's shoulders.

“What do you want, Ysa?”

The girl shakes her head. “I'm not hungry.”

“I know you're not feeling well, but you gotta eat something, okay?”

I smile sympathetically at her. “Not feeling well?”

“My stomach hurts,” she replies, pouting slightly.

“Well, how about some soup? Split pea? Chicken noodle? Tomato? Broccoli chedder?”

“...Tomato...” she says after a moment. I ladle out a cup of creamy red soup, and stack some Saltines on the side of the plate. With all of them served, the kids take their trays to the nearest table they can find.

A sudden chill across my shoulders makes me shudder. For an instant, it occurs to me that I might actually be coming down with something. Then, a sharp, gnawing pain in my gut tells me what's really going on. I groan internally. Menstrual cramps. I'm an alien superhero from another dimension, and I still get menstrual cramps. So unfair. Maybe I should find Grayson and have him take me home. I know from experience that I probably won't be much use until I can either get some Midol or putting a heating pad on my belly.

“Well, this all looks like shit.” The familiar voice breaks into my thoughts. My head snaps up and my eyes lock with Caleb's, peering out from underneath the hood of a heavy winter coat. He smirks. “How ya doing, sweetheart? Can I get some grub?”

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monstersofsilence · 5 years

Text

Not a great apology... but it’ll do

It was high time Alexandra finally apologizes to Merlee. The human knows that the last thing the troll would want to see is her, but in order to take back everything she said, she needs to do this. With the GPS tracker that Jaisnt made for her, Alex walked over to Merlee's hive. It took a few hours as it turned night time once she finally got there. From the outside, the hive seemed empty albeit the one room at the second floor. She can see some light despite it being very dim from outside through the window.

Taking a deep breath, walking over to the front door, she knocked on the door. "Merlee... hi." Hesitating, she tried to think of a way to form the apology. "Listen... I know that I have said some things... things that literally got under your skin and you have every reason to be mad at me... even from what I said the last time we met." She waited a moment to detect any kind of response, a noise from the inside or whatever that may happen considering she's dealing with Merlee. "I know you can hear me! I just...! I came here to take back everything I said!"

Still silent on the inside. Alexandra just collapsed to her knees and bangs on the door a couple more times. "God damn it! I believe everything! There! I finally believe it! My science can't prove all the crazy, weird things that can occure on this planet or whatever! I'm an ignorant, egotistical asshole! There!" Alex screamed at the top of her lungs, waiting for another response. Nothing. She believes that her apology was all for nothing. She feels guilty thinking she is unable to make amends now. Standing back up, she prepared to walk away until she hears the door opening and she sees Merlee at the front door.

"Is that was supposed to be your way of saying sorry?" The red blood questioned. Alexandra was quite surprised as she merely just nods to her. Merlee only chuckled. "You need to work on actually saying 'sorry' first rather making confusing." Merlee snapped her fingers as the first floor of her hive lit up as she moved aside from the doorway. "Come in."

Alexandra stood there for a moment, not being able to say anything and obliging the offer on instinct. She followed her inside, sitting down on the couch as Merlee comes back with two tea cups and kettle of tea, filling each one and placing the kettle in the middle of the coffee table. The human sat there, hands flat on her lap as she just stared at the tea cup in front of her and then at Merlee who sat across from the human. Alex turned her head away and spoke. "I'm... sorry."

"Hmm. That's much better. Does it feel better now that you let it out now?"

"I... I-I guess." Alexandra blushed, turning her head back to face Merlee only to see her smiling. "What's with this mood? I thought you would be pissed off to see me."

"I sensed your energy mere moments before you got here. Trust me. I was angry for a moment... but during the time you were arriving here, I thought for a moment. During the time you have been here on this planet, and the few times we have met, I always try to force you to believe in magic. I never tried a civil approach considering you are from a different planet and you have done most of your life everything involving science. I knew that me showing you would make you believe unless I just... took my time with it." Merlee took her cup of tea, taking a sip from it and setting it back on the coffee table. "I should also apologize for being harsh on you instead of just... taking my time. Though during that time I had a lot on my mind that my emotions got the best of me... and I'm sorry for nearly killing you the previous time we met... I... shouldn't have done that..."

Alexandra was surprised by how calm Merlee is. Even so that she felt bad for her. "No, no... you had every right to be angry at me back then... what I said... got too personal... I shouldn't have said that." The two of them were quiet for a while. Alex leaned over to pick up the tea cup and took a sip of her tea and held the cup gently against her lap. Finally, she spoke. "Merlee... what is... magic?"

The question caught Merlee's attention right away as she thinks for a moment, trying to figure out how to properly word it. "Well, magic is both everything... and nothing. Magic is something that was created by those that wished to bend the laws of physics, space, and time itself. There is science where there's only one theory on things and nothing. But some weren't satisfied with what was given to them and decided to create infinite theories and probabilities."

"So... it's basically like science but on a grander scale?"

"You could say that. Some magic is harmless and people discovered that magic can be used for a variety of things and therefore people all throughout the sweeps have made all kinds of spells and miracles! There's restoration magic, involved in the remedies of the body. Defensive and offensive magic that are used to protect and attack. All sorts of magic. All of it are spells that, some, are derived of different languages that only those that have studied magic can know to speak in order to conjure up said spell. There's good magic... and then there's magic that is pure darkness. Too much of it can warp one's mind unless they are prepared both mentally and physically."

"How did you first learn of magic?"

"When I was still a grub-"

"Grub? You mean like... a baby?"

"Uh... yeah? I guess you could say that. My lusus, polar bear mom, made our hive back in the tundra. Making it habitable for me and her as she raised me. She also collected books for me to read whenever I was able to. Quite a collection, actually. I practically had a library in my hive. Some of the books happen to be magic tomes which I taught myself every night and day. I had a lot of free time in the snowy fields. Growing up, I always thought that all of Alternia was literally just a snowy planet. How naive I was..."

"I don't think so. I mean, us humans sometimes have thoughts like that, too. We often have a belief in something that we just follow blindly until we see it for ourselves that it sometimes turns not what we expect. Your species aren't all that different from us."

Merlee let out a small chuckle. She then looked at Alexandra with a serious look in her eyes. "What do you believe in?"

Alexandra was caught off guard by the question. "Huh?"

"Me being a mage, I can sometimes sense a lot more things than just the energy of beings... sometimes I can sense that there's more on one's mind. You apologizing isn't the only thing you came here for. So tell me right now."

The human was shocked by how Merlee figured her out. Alexandra didn't know how to properly explain it, but there's no need to be technical. Just say it. Say it. "I... I want you to help me get back to Earth!"

Surprised by this, Merlee didn't know what to say. A minute felt like an eternity. The red blood was quiet until she finally spoke. "That's quite a thing to ask for."

"I know... but knowing how skilled your are in magic, I figured you would be the best chance for me to get back home. Jaisnt's friend, Linith, has been inventing a teleportation gate but it has been... a very slow process and few set backs have made it slower."

"I see..." Merlee thought for a moment until made an expression as if an idea just popped in her head. She got up from the couch she was sitting, walking over to Alexandra. "I want you to relax. This might seem strange to you, but you must trust me on this." Merlee placed her hand on Alex's head, her thumb resting on the human's forehead. Merlee closed her eyes, taking in a deep breath.

Alexandra was confused by what was going on until she blinked and she was in a black abyss only to see flashes of light rushing behind her and going in front of her as if she's going backwards. "Wh-what the hell?! What's going on?!"

"Calm down." Merlee suddenly appeared, walking in front of her as if the troll just came from behind an imaginary wall. "We are in the realm of your mind. Every being has a mind realm, holding in their thoughts and memories. Some of them can be different. Some can be a maze, at least for highly skilled magic users that don't wish their minds to be pierced into afraid that potential secrets that they want to hide from the world might see the light."

"This... is my mind?" Alexandra was shocked by what she's seeing. "What are the flashes of light that are passing by?"

"Each light that is is flashing is a piece of your memory. Some of them being emotional, important, some bad, some good."

"So... what do you need to look into my mind for?"

"In order for me to get you back home, I need to see through some bits of your memories in order for me to get an idea of where your planet is. Teleportation from place to place is easier for me to do on planet. Galactic teleportation, however, is difficult. I have never done such a thing like that and that will time for me to prepare such a spell."

"I see..."

"Now... let's see what we got here." Merlee looked over at all the flashing lights that pass by in front of her, reaching her hand out and grabbed one that seem to pulse in her touch like a beacon. "Let's see what this one is." Using both her hands, she spread them out, expanding the light as it shows a couple of moments of Alexandra's time on Earth. "Amazing... the outside of your planet is... incredible. What is this that I'm seeing?"

"That's... that's my first time walking outside. My mom and dad tried to teach to walk when I was still a baby. I was a late learner... they took me outside through a meadow one time, I think we all had a picnic and they set me down. I think I was two and half years old at the time... I saw a butterfly and I just... stood up and walked."

Merlee smiled. "Amazing." The memory faded into a flash of light as Merlee gets another, viewing another and another. "Your planet is similar to ours, fields of plant and wild life but you humans also have cities, industrial, and everything. What's this memory right here?"

"Me at school."

"School? What's that?"

"It's a place where we learn all sorts of things. Math, science, history, and all that stuff. Basically you taught yourself magic... imagine if others were teaching you that in a building along side other people that are being taught."

"Huh... just like how my ancestor... she had a school. But for magic."

"What's that?"

"Oh nothing!" Merlee skims through some more memories getting an idea of what the planet is like until she comes across one involving a man with a mustache. "Who's he?"

"That's my dad... I guess you could say he's one of my guardians. He is a scientist and still is especially during the time he met my mother. After having me, all he cared about was making me his prodigy. He cared nothing more than just his work... he rubbed that on me... now that I think about it. It got to the point that my mom left him but he took custody over me."

"Custody? What's that?"

"Basically he gets to keep me. Not like... a slave or something. It's just something when divorces happen and a child is involved. Basically which parent gets to raise the kid. My mom tried her best, but he won because he wanted me to be the best scientist like him."

"Interesting..." Merlee thought for moment as she looks back at the few memories they have seen.

"What do you mean?"

Merlee expanded another memory and Alexandra was shocked by the memory that Merlee picked. "This women. I have seen her a few times I have skimmed through these, but I was confused by why her face is blurred."

"That's... because I forgotten what she looked like..." Alexandra was silent after that, watching the memory of the last Christmas she had with her mother.

Merlee didn't know what to say. She closed the memory and walked over to Alexandra, a cloud forming in her hand as it forms a sphere, color forming on the grey cloud that turned out to be Earth. "Earth... quite fascinating." The red blood looks up at Alexandra to see her still quiet. "Have you been looking for her?"

"Huh?" The comment got her back to reality as she looks at Merlee.

"Your mother. Have you been searching for her?"

"Y-... Yes... for so long..."

Merlee was quiet for a second until speaking again. "I can help with that, too."

"What?! You can?!"

"It will be difficult, but, then again, this whole thing will be, though that's not going to stop me from letting you see your mother's face again."

Alexandra teared up, sniffling a little, as she embraced Merlee into a hug that caught the troll by surprise. Merlee didn't what to do, but pat the human's back and then seeing a flash of light that was a different color instead of the normal white. The red blood took a peek on it and seen the memories of Alexandra's time with Jaisnt especially the time on Quadrant's Day. Merlee even saw a moment where the human wrote something down. A love letter to Jaisnt but then see it burned. Merlee only smirked a little, closing the memory.

Alexandra opening her eyes only to see Merlee in front of her and noticing that she's back in her physical form, back in the real world but she feels tears down her face. The red blood merely smiled as she leans down a little and hugged the human. "I promise I will get you back home. Home and for you to see your mother once more."

Alex cried, raising her arms up and clung onto Merlee as she buring her face onto the troll's shoulder. She was only able to mutter two coherent words as she tried to speak, but her speech wasn't comprehensible through the sobbing and her voice being muffled. "Thank you..."

#Alexandra Pyrite #Merlee Zodius #ExpositionzOfSilence

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