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sukisdeliveryservice · 3 years

Note

hi! can i request exes to lovers with dk (or any other member u'd like) where both of u broke up in good terms but is still stupidly pining for each other

one winter night;

✎ pairing — ex boyfriend!seokmin x reader

✎ genre — a little crack in the beginning, but fluff surprisingly!

✎ warning(s) — none!

✎ word count — 2.41 k words

this is also for ficscafe’s scenario event!

↳ #46 - when they apologize

✎ a/n — hi anon! sorry this took so long, but thank you for your request! i was having a hard time coming up with a breakup that fit the prompt because i’ve been in a bit of a block lately so the reason for the breakup is a little vague and i apologize. i still hope you enjoy it though!

Picture this.

You are in the middle of midterms week—no, hell. You’ve got stacks upon stacks of notes for courses that you aren’t even sure you should still be taking. Last week, you just landed an internship at your dream company but the boss has unloaded a mountain of projects on you that you are expected to complete sometime during the exam week. Your roommate has gone home for the weekend and you—for the life of you—cannot find the key to your dorm.

Needless to say, you were in a bit of a hunch.

That’s how you end up stumbling into the convenience store at 1 am scavenging for dinner more hopeless than the grade for your last term paper. The dorm hallways always had better heating than the rooms, so you figured that you’d take your chances and squint at the notes on your phone the entire night until your roommate came back the next morning.

Yes, you did have friends that would give you a place to stay for the night but unlike you, they didn’t have a death wish and took on a reasonable course load this semester. They were all currently settled in with their families at home, probably celebrating the early start to their holidays and you did not want to shorten the limited time they had with their loved ones.

There was only one person who you knew stayed on campus for the holidays, because the travel distance was too far and expensive for frequent visits—but that wasn’t an option.

You pass by the freezers of ice cream mounted against the wall and take note of your reflection on the glass. Bonus points to you for unconsciously coordinating your physical appearance to your mental state. It’s common business for college students to be found lurking in the aisles of convenience stores at obscure hours, but you were grateful that most people were at home for the holidays and unable to see the mess that was your current position.

Did the ramen price get raised again? You could hear the whopping total of the four coins in your pocket screaming in financial instability at your inability to afford a mediocre meal for the night. Well you did have a heavy breakfast today—canned tuna and a piece of whole wheat always did wonders for your diet. Maybe you could just purchase the energy drink and leave your fate to the hands of the—

“Do you guys have any ramen packs left?”

Good Lord. You duck behind the aisle of god forsaken energy drinks before the person you wanted to see the most—least could find you at your absolute worst.

Has he always been this handsome?

You had broken up with your long-term boyfriend during the summer before your last year in university. Seokmin had decided to spend his third year of school studying back in his home country. You were landing multiple projects at various companies and the time difference made it tiresome to keep the relationship thriving. It came to a point where you and Seokmin felt like you both had different plans for the future, so you both decided to call it quits.

To be honest, your mind could not pinpoint a more concrete reason as to why you two decided to end things off. All you knew was that it was mutual and that there were no hard feelings that remained after the breakup.

Since the school year started you’ve had a couple run-ins with Seokmin on campus, but your interactions were limited to a small nod of the head or occasionally a polite smile or wave when one of you felt like taking the initiative. You would never admit this out loud but you missed Seokmin. You were unable to count the number of times you hoped that he would make the first move to acknowledge your presence, and you found your heart beating a little faster every time he answered your innermost wishes.

Convenience store aisles were not meant for hide-and-seek. It didn’t take long before Seokmin noticed your eyes peeking out from above the shelves of energy drinks, not-so-discreetly taking glances at him. Nevertheless he still smiled at you, and the butterflies in your stomach resurfaced again to give you a painful reminder of the lingering feelings you had for him.

You weren’t sure why you couldn’t move from your place. Maybe you were internally hoping that you could have your first real conversation with Seokmin in months. Or maybe you were wishing that a few extra dollars would magically appear in your pocket so that your stomach would stop growling in pity.

Lucky for you, you got both—sort of.

“Do you want the ramen? You’ve been standing there even before I entered the store.”

Right. Seokmin came here for the same reasons you did. Although he probably did not have too many exams left and appeared much more—ah, graceful about it.

“Ah, no it’s all yours.”

The undignified rumble of your stomach that echoed about the personal bubble you and Seokmin found yourselves in, said otherwise.

“I’m buying a pack of those, would you like to share some of mine?”

Seokmin’s kindness was one of the things you missed about him the most. You always watched him in awe when he would go lengths to hold the door open for someone, or how easy it was for his signature smile to convince someone to return with one of their own. Your pride was on a thin line as you fought back the temptation to accept an offer of kindness from someone who you once faced the world with.

You were snapped out of your thoughts at the image of Seokmin handing the cashier a couple of bills for the ramen pack. Maybe Seokmin took your silence as a no and he was going to skip back over to his dorm with your (his) dinner in his hand. You silently cursed yourself for your poor reaction time and the world for its cruelty to sad college students.

While you were contemplating the reasoning behind price inflation, Seokmin was internally panicking over his accidental run-in with you at the store. On most days, he would find you busily running back and forth across campus or studying at the library—he always knew that you were diligent in school and he was proud to hear the professor announce the job opportunity you landed last week.

Today however, you were neither. Instead, you looked a little hungry. He didn’t miss the dark circles under your eyes or the fact that you were still in work clothes, albeit you were looking a little defeated too. Nevertheless you constantly amazed Seokmin at your ability to somehow make sleep-deprived college student look cute.

You completely zoned out when he asked if you would like some of his ramen, so he took it as his cue to just go ahead and buy it for you. When you gave a little startled jump upon noticing the way that his hand was holding out an individual ramen cup in offering, Seokmin could feel his heart squeeze at your adorableness.

You took the ramen cup and bowed your head in gratitude. However, in the midst of your foggy state of mind you remembered something that had you once again mentally kicking yourself in stupidity.

Cup ramen needs water.

“Hey Seokminnie- Seokmin, can I ask you a really big favour?”

Seokmin does not ignore the old nickname that slips out of your mouth. In fact he feels his heart warm at the familiar atmosphere you two were falling back into. The sound of your voice echoing his name sends a recognizable feeling of affection down his spine. Seokmin cannot form words at the moment, so he settles for smiling at you to continue.

“I lost the keys to my dorm, and I haven’t eaten anything since this morning. If you could just please, please let me use some of your hot water to cook this, I won’t bother you again I promise—”

“Let’s go home yn.”

The walk back to Seokmin’s dorm was a little awkward. Not only was your mind still bent on the fact that he referred to his place as home—somewhere once upon a time that used to exist just between you two, but also the fact that neither you nor Seokmin knew what to say to each other. You’ve had your fair share of “hi”s and “hello”s when you had classes together, but now you were put in a position where one of you had to talk, and the silence was getting louder with each passing second.

“—How have you been?” you attempt to ease the conversation back into something that feels familiar. In reality, you really were curious about how Seokmin was doing these past couple months.

“Good actually, going for an interview next week at ah— remember that place I told you about? Before, you know—”

Of course you remembered the company Seokmin was referring to. You could remember every single word that was said during the week before you guys decided to end things. You didn’t know whether to feel delighted or wistful at the fact that the dreams you and Seokmin used to stay up fantasizing about, were finally coming true.

“Right, right, congrats! Um— you were really unsure about that, but I’m glad it worked out.”

While your feelings were still muddled about the way things ended with your ex-boyfriend, you couldn’t help the smile that was reaching your ears. Upon noticing your beaming face at the latest update in his life, sentiment began to resurface within Seokmin—and he wasn’t sure whether to feel excited or terrified.

You both choose the former feeling.

The remainder of the conversation on the walk back to Seokmin’s dorm was filled with lighthearted reminiscing. It didn’t take long before the ramen was cooked and you two were sitting on the couch and talking like old times. At some point Seokmin insisted that you change out of your work clothes and into some of his.

The sleeves of what used to be your favourite sweater of Seokmin's felt natural covering your palms and you were pleasantly surprised to be wrapped in the weighted blanket that you gifted him for your first Christmas together.

The conversation once again drifted back to silence, although this time it was comfortable and a little nostalgic if you were really admitting what your heart was telling you. You find yourself saying the words that have been locked away for the last couple months before you could stop yourself.

“Hey—”

“Look—”

You and Seokmin laugh at your reciprocal attempts at moving the conversation in another direction. You do not fail to notice the way your heart leaps at the sound of his laugh, and you wish you could be the reason for his laughter everyday for the rest of your life.

“You go first,” Seokmin’s face relaxes into a fond smile while gesturing for you to continue your initial thought.

“I wanted to apologize for the way we broke up. I know that you had similar feelings but I’m sorry that I didn't try harder to keep what we had—” Your words continue to flow without interruption for the entirety of the next minute. You weren’t expecting to go off on a tangent tonight about how much you regretted letting go of the person that meant the world to you, but the fond smile never left Seokmin’s face, and you were encouraged to finish your thoughts.

“—I don’t know what I’m trying to say. It’s just that I still love you and you don’t have to respond to any of what I just said, so I think I’ll just leave it at that and take the ramen back home with me, by the way thank you—”

“yn,” Seokmin scoots closer to take your hands in his. Your eyes stayed glued to your lap, suddenly shy under his amused (but honestly, thoughtful) gaze. “I’m going to apologize too.”

You don’t look up at Seokmin just yet, but you squeeze his fingers to encourage him to keep going.

“I’m sorry that I had overlooked everything that we’d been through at that moment and didn’t look for a solution to the problems we had first.”

Solutions. What you and Seokmin didn’t try hard enough doing the first time was spending more time working through several solutions. There were a million things you wanted to do differently now that you both were sitting together and wiping away each other’s tears as you took turns apologizing.

Despite the crying fest that you two were having, you and Seokmin both did not let go of the smiles gracing your features. You were older, and wiser—even just a few months could give someone the time to grow if they put in the effort. You and Seokmin are willing to give it your everything, but between quiet sniffles and giggles someone had to make the first move. This time, Seokmin finds his words faster than you.

“We have a whole break ahead of us, and you’ll be finishing your last few exams this week. If you want to— Maybe if— We could try— Ugh, why is this so hard?”

You laugh at Seokmin’s feeble attempts and take the conversation from him, “I’m not going home for the holidays this week. Do you want to try this dating thing again?”

“I love you.”

Seokmin’s response does not go as he planned, “I mean! —It’s just that I don’t think we need to start from the beginning. Let’s just, find our way again.”

“I love you too.”

Seokmin huffs in embarrassed laughter at your cheeky reply. You find yourself gravitating towards his warmth again, and you are no longer afraid of slipping back into a few harmless old habits.

“Maybe let’s talk about the rest in the morning? But I agree, let’s try this again.”

Before you could think of something else to say, Seokmin’s arms are wrapped around you in an instant, and the words you wanted to say are exchanged silently through the way he holds you close, and you two fall back down on the soft cushion in a mess of tears and laughter.

Seokmin refuses to let you go for the rest of the night, and you are perfectly satisfied with the turn of events. You continue to cherish the familiar place in his arms until the morning greets you both.

#ficscafe scenario event #ficscafe #dk x reader #lee seokmin #seokmin x you #seokmin x reader #seventeen x reader #svt #dokyeom #seventeen x you #dk x you #seventeen #seventeen scenarios #seokmin scenarios #dk scenarios #seventeen fluff #seventeen humor #seventeen crack #fallinchan fic: one winter night

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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 3 years

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Eccentricity [Chapter 14: Love Keeps The Monsters From Our Door] [Series Finale]

A/N: Thank you for your encouragement, enthusiasm, laughter, rants, screeches of anguish, and unapologetic thirsting for “sexy undead Italian man” Joseph Francis Mazzello. I hope you love this conclusion more than Baby Swan loves pineapple pizza. 💜

Series Summary: Potentially a better love story than Twilight?

Chapter Title Is A Lyric From: “Til I Die” by Parsonsfield. (The #1 song I associate with this fic!)

Chapter Warnings: Language.

Word Count: 7.7k.

Other Chapters (And All My Writing) Available: HERE

Taglist: @queen-turtle-boiii @bramblesforbreakfast @maggieroseevans @culturefiendtrashqueen @imnotvibingveryguccimrstark @escabell @im-an-adult-ish @queenlover05 @someforeigntragedy @imtheinvisiblequeen @seven-seas-of-ham-on-rhyee @deacyblues @tensecondvacation @brianssixpence @some-major-ishues @haileymorelikestupid @youngpastafanmug @simonedk @rhapsodyrecs

Mercy

We have to stay in the Vladivostok palace until her transformation is complete, and I hate it.

The floors are cold and sterile and every clang of noise ricochets off them like a bullet. The earth outside is stripped bare and hibernal. There is no green to interrupt the bleakness of the sky, the cruel absence of color: no spruces or hemlocks or bigleaf maples, no evergreen forests, no verdant fields, only a grey that bleeds from the sky in sheets of hail and driving rain. This land is a stranger. So many of the faces, too, are strangers, although they try. Honora sits with me—her large dark eyes, like mirrors of mine, polished and wet with aching pity—and braids my hair. Morana invites me to bake homemade bread with her. Austin tries to make me smile. Cato visits me as much as he can, because he feels responsible; or maybe he would do it anyway, maybe lessening suffering is as instinctual to him as bloodshed is to so many of our kind. And when Cato is with me, I do feel a little better, like my story might belong to somebody else, like it’s a name I can’t quite remember, like it’s a transitory moment of déjà vu I can catch glimpses of but never touch. And yet, still, I send him away.

I don’t want to be with Cato. It’s painful for him to be around me, I can see that. It’s painful for Rami, and for Ben, and for Joe, and for Lucy and Scarlett. It’s even painful for the Irish Wolfhounds that Cato found locked up for safekeeping in Larkin’s study; they skulk around the palace vigilantly but leave great swaths of uninterrupted space around me like open water. So I conjure up a mask of brave, hopeful acceptance and wear it everywhere I go.

Joe says very little, never leaves the girl he calls Baby Swan’s side, dabs her scorching skin with washcloths soaked in ice water and murmurs in sympathy when she screams through the unconsciousness, from beneath the ocean of fire we all know so well. He nods off sometimes, snatching minutes of sleep like fireflies in a jar, before jolting awake to make sure her heart is still beating. When Ben isn’t checking on them, he’s with Cato, helping to draw up plans for the future, reminiscing about the past with slick eyes and clinking midnight glasses of whiskey. Scarlett sprawls across the desk in what was once Larkin’s study and spends hours on the phone with Archer as she gazes up at the ceiling, telling him how to care for the farm animals and the garden, reassuring him that we’ll be home soon, whispering things to him that I try not to hear; and I know she wouldn’t want me to anyway. Lucy weeps delicate, ceaseless tears as she perches on the staircase landing and Rami entombs her in his arms, never having to ask what she needs from him. And I wander meaninglessly through the echoing, unfamiliar hallways like a moon without a planet.

I know what they all think about me, perhaps even Rami, for I keep it buried as deep as all skeletons should be: that I’m irrevocably kind, effortlessly forgiving. That I’m as incapable of bitterness as I am of aging. But they’re wrong. It’s a choice, and it always has been, ever since a late-November dusk in 1864 when madness eclipsed mercy. Every day I choose whether to surrender to the beckoning, malignant hatred that lurks in the back of my bedroom closet, in the dusty and ill-lit loft of the barn roped with cobwebs, in the twilight tree line of the western hemlocks crawling with shadows that whisper through fanged teeth. Every day I decide whether to become a monster. And it has never been harder to remember why I don’t.

My future is unimaginable. The nights are endless. I feel black, razored seeds of what I am horrified must be bitterness burrowing beneath my skin and taking root there. I am consumed by infected, fruitless questions that I can’t silence: Why Gwilym? Why Arthur? Why Eliza and Charlotte? Why is it always fire?

The first words that Gwilym ever spoke to me, as I unraveled from unconsciousness under a grove of sycamore trees with smoke still clinging to my unscarred skin, rattle around in my skull like windchimes beneath thunderous skies. His voice was colored with an accent I couldn’t place, and yet it sounded like home: You’re in a dark place right now. But you don’t have to stay there.

That might have been true once. That might have been true in the ruinous autumn of 1864. But now I can’t find my way out.

Seventy-three hours after our arrival in this barren corner of the world, Charlie Swan’s daughter wakes up as a vampire. Her heart is perfectly still, her skin faultless, her senses sharp, her mind as impenetrable as ever; at least, that’s what Lucy says when she finds me. And Lucy tugs at my hand, wearing her first smile in days, insisting that I have to come meet the newest member of our coven, to welcome her. I don’t know how to tell Lucy that I’m afraid I don’t have it in me to love this girl, that I don’t have it in me to love anyone but ghosts. And yet—compliantly, yieldingly, expecting nothing but disappointment in the monster I have become—I follow her.

The door is already open to the Swan girl’s room; chattering, beaming vampires flood in and out like the tides. I step inside. And I see the way that Joe looks at her, the way that Ben does; and all those seeds that I had feared might be bitterness blossom into nothing but open air.

It’s Not A Fucking Wedding (A.K.A. 13.5 Months Later)

The ocean is a universe. Its arms are not ever-expanding, spiraling galaxies of suns and planets and nebulae and black holes, this is true; its belly is not a vacuum of inhospitable oblivion, its bones are not invisible strings of gravity, its language is not a silence older than starlight, older than eternity. But the ocean is a universe nonetheless, its borders tucked neatly around the seven continents, slumbering there until the next hurricane or tsunami or ice age comes conquering; and inevitably equilibrium is restored—like defibrillator paddles to a heart, like naloxone to an addict’s blood—and our two worlds can coexist side by side once again.

The ocean’s arms are sighing waves, bubbling and brisk, grasping and retreating in the same breath. Its belly is swollen with life from immense blue whales down to swarming clouds of single-celled, sun-hungry phytoplankton. Its language is ancient whispers; not parched and blistering and brittle sounds like the desert’s but cool, serene, supple, engulfing. And I can hear them all, if I listen closely enough. I can hear the sentient whistling of orcas, the breaking of waves against rocks, the scrabbling of sand crabs beneath the earth, the gruff distant barks of sea lions, the rustling of evergreen pine needles in the breeze. And I understand now why it was always so easy for vampires to be introspective, to lapse into thoughtful, unhurried silences. I could imagine spending decades just sitting here with my knees tucked to my chest and my hair whipping in the brackish wind, watching the seasons roll by like a wheel.

Joe was coming back from the gravel parking lot. I turned to watch him: red U Chicago hoodie, messy dark auburn-ish hair, a pizza box clasped in his hands. The GrubHub delivery driver was returning to his car with the toothiest of grins.

“Buon appetito!” Joe announced, dramatically presenting me with the pizza box. It had become our post-finals tradition each semester: pizza at La Push beach, half-pepperoni, half-pineapple.

“Grazie, sexy undead Italian man. Your accent is getting so good!”

“I know, right?! I’m on a twelve-day Duolingo streak. I can’t let that little green owl dude down.”

“I’m impressed, I’ll admit it. I gotta brush up on my Welsh. Why’s the GrubHub driver so cheery?”

“I tipped him $500.”

I smiled, opening the box and lifting out a semi-warm slice of pineapple pizza. Elastic strands of mozzarella cheese stretched like rubber bands until they snapped. “Aww, really?”

Joe plopped down onto the cool, damp sand beside me. “No. I lied. We’re actually having a torrid love affair.”

I laughed, shaking my head. “How could you possibly have time for all that?” Between school, business ventures, family activities, and me, Joe was very rarely unoccupied. And he preferred it that way.

“I’m so glad you asked. I’m very speedy, if you recall. And that’s just one of the exclusive services I offer. I am a man of many talents. I make people’s wildest dreams come true. Who am I to deny the GrubHub delivery man the wonderland that is my spindly, annoying body?”

“You are the fastest,” I said, winking.

“Oh shut up! I mean, uh, uhhh, silenzio!” He pointed his slice of pepperoni pizza at me reproachfully. “That’s not what I meant. I’m not the fastest at everything.”

“Whatever you say, mob guy.”

He lunged for me, pinned me down in the crumbling sand, both of us laughing wildly as the crusts of our pizza slices bounded off and were snatched up by diving, screeching seagulls. He growled with mock savagery, braced his hips against mine, kissed his way from the corner of my jaw to my lips. That oh-so-familiar commanding, craving ache for him came roaring to the surface; and now there was no bittersweet edge to it, no inescapable backdrop of lambent numbers ticking down from five or ten or fifteen years to zero. Now there was only the calm, unurgent promise of forever.

“Joe—!”

“You have besmirched my honor, Baby Swan. I am left with no recourse but to refresh your clearly flawed memory and prove you wrong.”

“Public indecency? That’s illegal, sir.”

“Okay, you gotta stop stealing my catchphrases. It’s extremely difficult for me to come up with new ones. I’m almost a hundred years old, you know.”

“Alright, I guess you’re not bad in bed for a basically-centenarian.”

He smiled down at me, his dark eyes alight, the wind tearing through his hair, one palm resting on my forehead, uncharacteristically quiet.

“What?” I asked, worried.

“Nothing,” he said. “I’m just really glad we’re a thing.”

“You better be. You’re kind of stuck with me now. You’ve stolen my virtue, you’ve made me fall in love with your entire demented family, you’ve forced your torturous immortality upon me. I’m not going anywhere. Unless you ever stop funding my pineapple pizza addiction, of course.”

Joe chuckled as he climbed off me and took my hand in his, pulling me upright. “It’s absolutely ridiculous, by the way. Your insistence on being a sort-of vegetarian. It’s embarrassing. You’re the wimpiest vampire ever. You’re a disgrace to the coven.”

“I eat animals!” I objected.

“Yeah, when you have to.” And Joe was right: I steered clear of flesh outside of the two or three times a week when I hunted. For environmental sustainability reasons, I mostly consumed deer or rabbits; although the very occasional shark was my guilty pleasure. Joe gnawed on his second slice of pizza and peered out into the overcast, dusky horizon, wiping crumbs from his stubbled chin with the back of his hand. “We only have one more of these left,” he said at last, a little sadly. “One more finals season at Calawah University. One more celebratory dinner at La Push.”

“We’ll just have to get used to a new view. Pizza by the Chicago River, maybe.”

Joe looked over at me, thoughtful again, smiling. He had received his acceptance letter to the University of Chicago three weeks ago. I got mine eight days later. “It won’t be hard for you to leave Forks?”

“It will be. Once upon a time I didn’t think that was possible, but I will miss Forks. And not just because of Charlie and Archer and Jessica and Angela and all the Lees. But it was hard to leave Phoenix, and I’m sure one day it will be hard to leave Chicago. Just because change is hard doesn’t mean it’s not the right thing to do.”

Joe nodded introspectively. “Every new beginning comes from some other beginning’s end.”

“Don’t quote classic rock songs at me, mixtapes boy.”

“You love my mixtapes,” he teased, circling his left arm around my waist, pulling me in closer, touching his lips to my forehead. Mint and pine and starlight sank into my lungs like an anchor through the surf. “And that saying actually goes all the way back to Seneca, my dear.”

“Don’t tell me he’s still philosophizing in some cloudy corner of the world somewhere.”

“Not to my knowledge. Although that’s an intriguing thought. We need more famous vampires. Caligula would have made for very interesting conversation. Lincoln, Napoleon, Cleopatra, Shakespeare, Dante...I guess it’s possible that anyone is still around. Maybe we should turn Meat Loaf. You know, for the good of posterity.”

“Is it not enough that they’re already cursed with student debt and global warming?”

Joe cackled, took my face in his palms, kissed each of my cheeks one after the other, then nudged my nose with his. “You ready to go, Baby Swan? I suspect we’re expected to participate in some holiday festivities tonight.”

“I’m ready,” I agreed. We threw our leftover pizza to the seagulls, disposed of the grease-spotted cardboard box, and walked back to my 1999 Honda Accord with our pulseless hands intertwined.

The evergreen trees along Routh 110 fled by beneath a sky freckling with stars. Sharp winter air poured in through the open windows. And I could feel that it was cold, in the same way that I could feel the warmth on Forks’ rare sweltering days; but there was no discomfort that accompanied that knowledge. Pain only came when the sky was unincumbered by thick clouds churning in off the Pacific, and then it felt something like staring into the sun had as a human. Sunglasses helped, but the surest remedy was avoidance, was surrender. And what an inconsequential price to pay for forever.

“Wait,” I said, spying the mailbox that marked the start of the Lees’ driveway. “They still deliver mail on Christmas Eve, right?”

“Uh, I think so, why...?” And then he remembered. “Oh, yeah, let’s check!”

I pulled up beside the mailbox and Joe leaned out, returning to his seat with a mountain of Christmas cards and business correspondence and advertisements from Costco and Sephora. He sifted through them until he found a single white envelope from the University of Chicago Pritzker School of Medicine. It was addressed to a Mr. Benjamin August Hardy. Joe held it up to show me as we drove down the driveway, the Lee house coming into view and ornamented with a frankly excessive amount of multicolored string lights and inflatable reindeer.

“Oh my god!” I squealed, drumming the steering wheel.

“You want to be the one to give it to him?”

“Are you serious?! Yeah, can I?”

Joe passed the envelope to me as I parked my geriatric Honda, which Archer had pledged to keep alive as long as physically possible. In return, Ben let him and Scarlett borrow the Aston Martin Vantage no less than once a week. I dashed out of the car, up the steps of the front porch, and into the house that bubbled over with the sounds of metallic kitchen clashes and frenetic voices and Wham!’s Last Christmas.

“Ben?!” I shouted.

“Hi, honey!” Mercy called from the living room, where she and Lucy were putting the final touches on Scarlett’s gown. Scarlett was playing the part of semi-willing victim, wearing gold heels and an impatient smirk and her hair out of the way in a milkmaid braid; her train of vivid red lace billowed across the hardwood floor. From the couch, Archer and Rami were playing Mario Kart on the big-screen tv and nibbling their way through a tray of homemade gingerbread cookies.

“Oh wow,” I said, clutching the envelope to my chest, mesmerized. I kept waiting for Scarlett to start looking like a normal person to me, and it never happened. Tonight, in the glow of the flameless candles and kaleidoscopic Christmas lights and draped in lace the color of pomegranate seeds, she was Persephone: a goddess of resurrection, a face that death himself could not pass by unscathed. “You’ve outdone yourself, Lucy. Seriously.”

“One day I’m going to get you out of those thrift shop sweaters,” Lucy threatened me, placing a pin in the fabric at Scarlett’s waist.

“Yeah, okay. Let me know when that shows up in one of your visions.”

“Bitch,” Lucy flung back, snickering, knowing how improbable that was. I still appeared in her visions extremely infrequently, and then only when I happened to be standing next to whoever the premonition was actually about.

“Language, dear,” Mercy tutted, inspecting the hem of Scarlett’s gown.

Joe arrived beside me, his arms still full of mail. “ScarJo, I almost didn’t recognize you! Why do you have, like, no cleavage or fishnets or thigh slits?”

“Why do you have like no eyelashes?” Scarlett replied. “See, I can ask unnecessary and invasive questions too.”

Joe frowned, wounded. “What’s wrong with my eyelashes?”

“Lucy, darling, I think it’s just a tad uneven on this side,” Mercy said, showing her. “Maybe by half an inch...?”

“No, seriously, what’s wrong with my eyelashes?!”

Mercy replied distractedly: “Nothing, honey, you’re perfect just the way you are.”

“Mom!” Joe groaned.

“It really is gorgeous,” Mercy marveled as Lucy flitted around her to investigate the hem situation. “And so Christmasy. So perfect for the season. Scarlett, dear, you were right after all, and I’m so sorry for doubting you. I’d just never heard of a red wedding dress before.”

“Mom, it’s not a fucking wedding!” Scarlett exclaimed, for probably the thirtieth time since Thanksgiving. “It’s a nonbinding, informal celebration of an egalitarian romantic partnership. Will somebody please inform this woman that it’s not a wedding?!”

“Yes, yes, of course, whatever you want, sweetheart,” Mercy conceded dreamily.

Joe pointed to Archer. “Isn’t he supposed to not see the dress until the day of or something?”

“What a great question!” Archer replied, still deeply invested in Mario Kart. “You see, that would be the case if this was a wedding. However, I’ve been informed in no uncertain terms that it is most definitely not.”

Scarlett grinned triumphantly at Joe. “There you have it.”

She might snap petulantly, and she might complain, but Scarlett wouldn’t be doing this if she didn’t want to; we were all intimately familiar with the futility of trying to force Scarlett into anything. The not-wedding, as improbable as it seemed, had been her idea from the start. And she wasn’t doing it for herself. She wasn’t even doing it for Archer. Scarlett was doing it for her mother.

The first six months had been hell for Mercy. She didn’t resent me, as I had feared she might; Mercy made that clear, and Rami confirmed it. But she was gutted. She wouldn’t speak of Gwil, wouldn’t listen to us talk about him, locked every photograph of him away in dark drawers, wandered around with a remote, uncanny, unseeing smile until she walked straight into walls; and then she would blink inanely up at them, as if they had dropped out of the sky rather than been built by her own hands. She baked hundreds of cakes and almost never slept. She told us she was fine every time we asked, which was more or less constantly. But on the very rare occasions when she was left alone, Mercy would unfailingly end up in the field behind the Lee house, gazing out into the forest of western hemlock trees with tears snaking silently down her cheeks, the muted light of the cloud-covered setting sun flickering red and furious on her face like wildfire.

And then one afternoon, a package had arrived from Arviat, Canada, where Cato and the rest of the surviving Draghi had relocated shortly after the rebellion at Vladivostok. It was five feet tall and another three wide, and what we found after carefully peeling away all those layers of foam padding and packing tape was a portrait of Gwilym so skillfully painted that it could have been mistaken for a photograph. Mercy had stared at it for a long time—ignoring Lucy’s attempts to guide her away, deaf to any of our concerns—until she at last picked up the portrait herself and said, quite evenly: “I think we should hang it in the living room, don’t you?”

Things had been better since then—very, very gradually, and yet unmistakably—and Gwil’s portrait remained mounted above the living room couch like a watchman, his eyes sparkling and blue, his faint smile stoic and fond and omniscient. But even in the wake of Mercy’s continued improvement, none of us kids were about to risk another agonizingly despondent Christmas. So the solution was obvious. We would keep Mercy preoccupied with what thrilled her more than absolutely anything else: the pseudo-weddings of her children. Rami and Lucy had already secretly volunteered to go next year...and after that, who knew? And there was one other thing that was making Mercy’s burden a little lighter these days.

Charlie sauntered into the living room, wearing an apron covered in cartwheeling Santas and wiping white dust like snow—powdered sugar? flour? baking soda?—from his ungainly hands. He was palpably proud. “The sugar cookies are officially in the oven. And I managed to fit them all on one baking sheet, isn’t that great?! Cuts down on dishes!”

“Why, yes, I suppose it does!” Mercy said, alarm dawning in her eyes. Had my beloved father placed the globs of dough too close together? Would we end up with one hideous, giant monster-cookie? Only time would tell. Providentially, Archer and Joe could be counted on to eat just about anything.

Joe sniffed the air, his forehead crinkling. “What’s burning?”

“Nothing should be burning,” Mercy replied, almost defensive, forever protective of Charlie and all of his profound, incurably human imperfections. Sometimes I thought that she preferred him that way, that he was a link to a simpler world in the same way I had once been, that he was a puddle of memory she could drop into, that maybe he wasn’t so unlike her first husband Arthur. “Not yet, anyway. The cookies need at least ten to twelve minutes at 350.”

“Wait, 350?!” Charlie exclaimed, horrorstruck. “I thought you said 450!”

“Oh, this is tragic,” Scarlett said.

“I can fix it!” Mercy trilled buoyantly, breezing off to the kitchen as Charlie followed after her with a fountain of apologies. She shushed them away affectionately, patting his chest with her soft plump hands, chuckling about how luckily they had fire extinguishers stowed away in almost every closet just in case. And there were other reasons for that besides Charlie’s perilous baking attempts, but he didn’t know them. Now the record player was belting out Queen’s Thank God It’s Christmas.

Archer lost another round in Mario Kart and exhaled a great, mournful sigh. “Hey, Baby Swanpire, can you do something about this guy?” He nodded to Rami. “This is criminal. It’s nowhere near a fair fight. He knows every freaking time I’m about to toss a banana peel.”

Rami smirked guiltily up at me from the couch, not bothering to deny it.

“Do you mind?” I asked him.

“Not at all,” Rami replied. “I want to show this loser I can beat him even without the benefit of mega-cool extrasensory superpowers.”

“Rude!” Archer cried.

“So rude,” Scarlett agreed, smiling.

“Okay, here we go.” I sat down beside Rami, still holding Ben’s envelope in my right hand, and laid my left against Rami’s cheek. And I felt a fistful of numbness—like instant peace, like milk-white Novocain—pass from my skin into his, rolling into his skull, deadening whatever telepathic livewires had been ignited there in the August of 1916. The effect would last anywhere from thirty minutes to a few hours; and it worked on every vampire I’d met so far.

“Whoa, trippy,” Rami murmured. “It’s still weird, every single time.” He peered drowsily around the room. “It’s...so...quiet?! You guys really live like this? No one is constantly bombarding you with sexual fantasies or romantic pining or depressive inner monologues? How do you function?! Now I’m alone with my own thoughts, that’s actually worse!”

“Hurry up and beat him while he’s all freaked out and vulnerable,” Scarlett told Archer.

Archer laughed, picking up his Nintendo 64 controller, radiant with the promise of vengeance. “Yes ma’am.”

“Any good mail?” Lucy asked Joe.

“Yeah. Coupons and a ton of Christmas cards from random people. The vet sent us one with alpacas on it, so that’s cute. Oh, and here’s one from our favorite Canadians.”

Joe held up the card so we could all see. The picture on the front showed Cato and Honora sitting on a large velvet, forest green couch with a hulking Christmas tree illuminated in the background. The others were arranged around them: Austin, Max, Ksenia, Charity, Araminta, Akari, Morana, Phelan, Aruna, Adair, Zora, Sahel, and a few new faces I couldn’t name yet. They were all wearing matching turtleneck sweaters. And every single one of them was smiling.

Joe cleared his throat theatrically and read the text on the inside of the card:

“Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays!

(Oh, and Scarlett, congratulations on your not-marriage.)

- Cato Douglass Freeman”

“That bastard,” Scarlett muttered.

Rami offered me his controller. He had just slipped on a banana peel and rocketed off a cliff. “You want a turn?”

“No, thanks though. I have to talk to Ben. Is he around?”

Rami shrugged ruefully. “I would help, but my brain is temporarily broken.”

Scarlett rolled her eyes, taking a gingerbread cookie from the tray and biting into it as Lucy batted crumbs from the red lace dress, exasperated. “I think he’s out in the hot tub.”

“Cool. I shall return.”

Joe took my spot on the couch as I departed, shoveling cookies into his mouth, seizing Rami’s controller and kicking his feet up on the coffee table.

I opened the door to the back porch, and frigid December air rushed in like an uninvited guest. The field was coated with a thin layer of snow, the animals safe and warm in the barn, the garden slumbering. And in the spring and summer, when blossoms of a dozen different varieties came open beneath the drizzling grey skies, Mercy’s calla lilies didn’t bother my allergies at all. Nothing did anymore. Ben was indeed in the hot tub, puffing on his vape pen, wearing only a beanie hat and swim trunks.

“What flavor is that cartridge?” I asked as I approached. “Gummy bear?”

“Close. Strawberry doughnut.”

“Ohhhh, yum!” Ben passed me the vape pen, and I took a drag as I kicked off my boots and sat near him on the rim of the hot tub, slipping my bare feet beneath the steaming, roiling water. Then I handed his vape pen back. “So. Guess what I have for you.”

“Uh.” He glanced at the envelope. “Jury duty.”

“Better.”

“Someone I hate has jury duty.”

I flipped the envelope around so he could see the University of Chicago logo on the front.

“Oh god,” Ben moaned.

“Don’t you want to see what it says?”

“Not really,” he admitted, grimacing.

“Come on, Ben. Open it.”

“Nah.”

“Why not?!”

Ben sighed. “Look, if I open it and it’s bad news, it’s gonna make Christmas weird. Rami will know. They’ll all know. They’ll all feel bad for me and it’ll be pathetic and depressing and awkward. You can look if you want to, just don’t tell anyone else yet.”

“It’s not going to be bad news,” I said, tugging at the floppy top of his beanie hat. He swatted my hand away, but he was smiling grudgingly.

“You have positively no way of knowing that. Unless Lucy’s had a vision I’m unaware of.”

“She hasn’t. You know she never sees anything important.”

“She saw you coming,” Ben countered.

“She saw human-me and Joe in love and gobbling down pretzels at a Cubs game. So I’d say there were at least a few minor details missing.”

“There’s no way I got in,” Ben said, his green eyes slick and fearful and now fixed on the envelope. “We can’t all be geniuses like you.”

“That’s an unfair accusation. I’m far from genius. I’m just obsessed with the ocean.” I’d written my senior thesis on the feeding habits of Pacific angelsharks, and my advisor was still trying to figure out how I, an amateur scuba diver at best, had managed to get so many quality photographs with my underwater camera. The secret, of course, was superhuman agility and not needing to breathe.

“I fucking hate calculus. The MCAT wrecked me. I got a 517.”

“And their median score is a 519, so I’d say you still have a fighting chance. Plus you have like eight million volunteer hours.” Ben had spent the vast majority of the past year either in class or at the hospital. The psychiatrist-in-chief, Dr. Siegel, had been more than happy to take one of Gwil’s foster children under her wing. Every human in Forks except Archer believed that Dr. Gwilym Lee had drowned in a tragic boating accident while he and Mercy were on vacation in Southern California, and that his body had never been recovered. The town had held a wonderful remembrance ceremony and dedicated a free clinic at the hospital in his honor. “Now open it.”

“You do it,” Ben relented finally. “My hands are wet. Go ahead, open it up and tell me what it says. And then kindly euthanize me to end my immortal shame.”

“That wouldn’t work,” I pointed out, tearing open the envelope. I pulled out the tri-folded piece of paper inside, flattened it against my thighs, and read the typed black text.

“...Well?” Ben pressed, vaping frantically.

I looked up and smiled at him.

“No way,” he whispered.

“I hope you like pretzels and bear-themed baseball teams, grandpa.”

And for a second, I thought he might bolt up out of the hot tub, hooting victoriously, splashing water all over the back porch as he danced around bellowing that he’d gotten into one of the best medical schools in the world, that he would be following me and Joe to Chicago. But that wasn’t Ben. Instead, a slow smile rippled across his face: it was small, but perfectly genuine. Pure, even.

“Goddamn,” he said, watching me. Venom doesn’t just resurrect or ruin; it forms a bond that is simultaneously intangible and yet immense. It’s an evolutionary adaptation, a way to facilitate stability and the building of covens in an often violent and ruleless world. And now that he had turned me, Ben had family here in Forks in more ways than one.

“Gwil would be so proud of you, Ben.”

“I hope so. I really do.”

The back door of the house opened, and Joe stepped outside. He studied Ben for a moment, and that was all it took for him to know. “Benny!” he shouted, elated.

“I know, I know. Fortunately, I look amazing in red. Thanks, supermodel genes.”

“This is going to be so fun!” Joe said, sprinting over to wrap Ben—who was characteristically lukewarm on this whole physical displays of affection business—in a hug from just outside the hot tub. “We’re going to go furniture shopping, and eat deep-dish pizza, and find apartments right next to each other, and mail home Chicago-themed care packages, and get you hooked up with some gorgeous Italian woman...or whatever you like, I guess I shouldn’t assume. Women. Men. Gang members. Marine mammals. Jessicas. Whatever. There are options.”

Ben laughed as he playfully shoved Joe away. “Sounds like a plan, pagliaccio.”

“Oh my god, stop learning Italian without me! You realize you have to tell Mom now.”

“I will,” Ben agreed, with some trepidation. “I’ll wait until after Christmas.”

“It’ll be hard for her,” I said. “But she knows it’s what you want. She knows it’s what’s best for you. So she’ll get through it. I think it would be worse for her if you didn’t get in, if she had to see you unhappy.”

Ben nodded, exhaling strawberry-doughnut-flavored vapor, gazing up at the stars, Orion and Auriga and Lynx and Perseus reflected in his thoughtful jade eyes. “She’ll still have Rami and Lucy and Scarlett here with her. And Archer. And Charlie.”

“Especially Charlie,” Joe said, grinning.

Mercy would have to leave Forks eventually, of course. The Lees had already been here for nearly four years; they could stay another ten, perhaps fifteen at the absolute maximum. And there had been a time when ten or fifteen years seemed like quite a while to me, but now it felt like I could doze off one afternoon and wake up on the other side of it, like swimming a lap in the sun-drenched public pool back in Phoenix. We would find a new home somewhere after Joe and I finished our PhDs, after Ben finished medical school, maybe Vancouver or Buffalo or Amsterdam or Edinburgh or Dublin or Reykjavik. Wherever we went, I hoped it wouldn’t be far from the sea. But Mercy couldn’t bear to leave Forks yet. It was the last home she had shared with Gwil, the last house they would ever build together, and leaving it would make his loss all the more irrevocable. She would be ready to leave someday, but not today.

In the meantime, there would still be visits for breaks and holidays. Scarlett and Archer had the shop to keep them busy, a brand new eight-car garage that held a virtual monopoly on both the Forks and Quileute communities. Lucy had opened a bohemian-style clothing boutique downtown, which confounded most of the locals but attracted more adventurous customers from as far away as Seattle. Rami was interning for a local immigration lawyer and entertaining the possibility of applying to U Chicago’s law school in another few years. And Mercy had the farm; and she had Charlie. He had asked her for cooking lessons to try to help rouse her a few months after Gwil’s death, and it had grown from there. If it wasn’t romantic just yet, I believed it would be soon. And there were moments when I thought my father might have figured something out, when his eyes narrowed and lingered on me just a little too long, when his brow knitted into suspicious, searching lines, when the hairs rose on the back of his neck and some innate insight whispered that we weren’t like him and never could be again. But then he would chuckle, shake his head, and say: “You’ve gotten weird, my gorgeous, brilliant progeny. But Forks looks pretty good on you.”

“Can I talk to you upstairs?” Joe asked me suddenly; and did I see restless nerves flicker in his dark eyes? I thought I did.

“Sure,” I replied, climbing down from the hot tub. “Ben, are you coming inside? My dad is trying to bake Christmas cookies and failing miserably. It’s pretty hilarious. Not that you should be the one to critique other people’s kitchen-related accidents.”

“I do enjoy your company a lot more now that I don’t want to murder you and slurp you down like a Chick-fil-A milkshake,” Ben said. “Yeah, give me a few minutes and I’ll be there.” And as Joe and I headed into the house, I saw Ben pick up the acceptance letter that I’d left on the rim of the hot tub and read it for himself with incredulous eyes, grappling with the irrefutable fact that it was his name on the opening line, that he had somewhere along the way become the sort of man who dedicated his immortality to saving lives rather than ending them.

In the living room, Scarlett was back in her yoga pants and absolutely brutalizing Archer in Mario Kart. Rami and Lucy were entwined together on the loveseat, murmuring, giggling, feeding each other pieces of gingerbread cookies. In the kitchen, Charlie was leading Mercy in a clumsy waltz to Meat Loaf’s I’d Do Anything For Love, and each time he fumbled his steps or mortifyingly trod on her feet she would cry out in a peal of laughter brighter than the sun she had learned to live without. Joe spirited me up the staircase, into his bedroom—which, honestly, was more like our bedroom now, in the same way that my room in Charlie’s house had become Joe’s as well—and closed the door.

“You’re in luck,” he said. “Your dad totally ruined our song. Now I can’t hear it without thinking about some moustached guy in plaid trying to seduce my mom.”

“It’s the best Christmas gift I could ever ask for. Meat Loaf is vanquished. Oh, just so you’re aware, Renee and Paul are getting an Airbnb and coming up for New Years.”

“Cool. Do they still think I have a super embarrassing sunlight allergy and will break into hives and asphyxiate and that’s why we can’t visit them in Florida?”

“Yup.”

“Spectacular. Also, can you please tell me what’s wrong with my eyelashes?”

“They’re just a little sparse, amore. But I still like you.”

“Well, I am only moderately attractive, you know.” Then Joe steeled himself, taking a deep breath. Uh oh. He was definitely nervous. I still couldn’t believe I had the power to make him that way, but here we were. “So I get that we’re doing presents with the whole family tomorrow morning, and you do have some under the tree, so don’t worry about that. But there’s one I wanted to give to you alone. You know. With just us. Without an audience. Or whatever.”

“...Okay...?” A secret gift? A naughty gift? “I hope it’s a new vibrator.”

“Shut up,” Joe begged, laughing. “Here.” He reached into the drawer of his nightstand—our nightstand—and produced a small blue box topped with a turquoise bow. It wasn’t a ring, I was sure of that; I didn’t feel especially attached to the idea of marriage, and neither did Joe to my knowledge. How could rings or papers seal commitment when you already had eternity? I was right: the mysterious present was not a ring. When I removed the lid and emptied the box into my palm, what appeared there was a small plastic airplane.

“What is this?” I asked, amused but puzzled.

“Are you not college educated? It’s a plane.”

“Well, yeah, I can see that. But it’s also like two inches long.” I scrutinized the plane. “Are you magically transforming me into a tiny, tiny, little plastic person? Is that my gift? Because I actually got you something good.” And I really did: there was a collection of vintage Chicago Cubs photographs from the 1910s and 20s downstairs under the Christmas tree, packaged in Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer wrapping paper.

“We’re going on a trip,” Joe said, grinning. “The day after Christmas. It’s just a short trip, nothing huge, don’t get too excited, we’re not going to Mt. Everest or Antarctica or anything. I think you’ll still like it. But I don’t want you to know where we’re going until we’re there.”

“How will that work? Considering the tickets and signage and pilot announcements and obnoxiously noisy other passengers and all.”

“ScarJo’s going to fly us.”

“Really?!” We were taking the jet. We almost never used the jet. “What’s in it for Scarlett?”

“She found out that Archer’s never had In-N-Out Burger before and is very much looking forward to initiating him into the cult of deliciousness.”

“Oh nice. I could go for a vanilla milkshake myself, now that Ben mentioned them.”

“Obviously I’m gonna buy you all the milkshakes and animal-style fries you want. Bankrupt me, bitch. But we have to get one other thing taken care of first.”

“So it’s somewhere they have In-N-Out Burger...” I pondered aloud. California? Texas? Las Vegas? I felt a brief but unambiguous pang of homesickness for Phoenix. But there was nothing there for me anymore.

“Stop,” Joe pleaded. “I’m sorry. I’ve already said too much. Please forget that. Get a traumatic brain injury or oxygen deprivation or something.”

“I hate to disappoint you, but I’m rather indestructible at the moment.”

He smiled wistfully. “I wouldn’t want you to be any other way.”

There was laughter downstairs in the living room. I could detect the aroma of a fresh batch of sugar cookies baking in the kitchen, mingling with the cold night air and pine trees and peppermint candy canes. I loved Christmas. The entire world smelled like Joe. The U Chicago décor, classic rock posters, and Italian flag were now interspersed with National Geographic pages and photos of the two of us together. The Official Whatever You Want Pass hung in a small, square picture frame on the wall above Joe’s bed. Our bed.

“How real is it, Joe?” I asked quietly. I climbed onto my tiptoes, linking my hands around the back of his neck with the tiny plane still tucked between my fingers. “Seriously. The wishes thing.”

“The world may never know. Akari never met me as a human, so she wouldn’t be able to say. But if I had to place a bet...” He shrugged, grinning craftily. “Kinda real. Kinda not real. Just like vampires, I guess.”

“I am alarmingly glad that you’re real, mob guy,” I said, abruptly somber. “I never thought I’d meet someone who saw me as remarkable, who could make me see myself that way. And it’s miraculous. And it’s terrifying too, honestly. Being a thing with you. Falling for someone you could have for centuries and lose in a second.”

“It’s the scariest thing there is,” Joe concurred, taking my hand to lead me back downstairs.

Joseph

Scarlett looks like a goddess, and she knows it. But she’s not one of those magnanimous, fragile, harp-plucking, pastel-colored goddesses. She’s ferocity and wildness and crimson like blood, and that’s exactly why Archer loves her. And as they stand in front of the Christmas tree with their hands clasped together—ivory on bronze, snow on sun—with matching sprigs of holly in Scarlett’s hair and pinned to the jacket of Archer’s suit, reciting truths but no promises, I can’t help but watch the other faces in the room: Rami, Lucy, Ben, Charlie, Mom with her beaming smile and shining eyes, the woman I met sixteen months ago and now can’t fathom life without. And it occurs to me for the first time that love, in its cleanest form, isn’t something that changes people as much as it allows them to become who they truly are.

On the evening of December 26th, as soon as the sun dips beneath the western horizon, we board the jet in the Forks Airport hangar. It’s much easier for Scarlett to fly at night; otherwise she has to wear two or three pairs of sunglasses on top of each other, and even then it’s still painful, it still feels like blinding needles burrowing into the jelly of her retinas. That’s not a wrench in my plans or anything. It needs to be night where we’re going, too.

Vampire hyper-acuity notwithstanding, FAA regulations require Scarlett to have a copilot, so Archer joins her in the flight deck with his newly-minted license and spends most of the journey flipping through the latest issue of Motor Trend. As we begin our descent, he peeks back at us and teases: “It’ll be your turn eventually, guys. Scarlett and I did our time. Rami and Lucy can go next year. And after that...unless Ben happens to find someone worthy of a not-wedding...” He wiggles his black eyebrows.

“Bring it on,” I reply casually. “Fake wedding are my jam. It’ll be ocean themed. Or Roaring ‘20s themed. And we’ll all do the Cha-Cha Slide in the living room and shame Ben as a bonding activity.”

“Mercy can set up a mashed potatoes bar,” Baby Swan adds.

“Yeah. With pineapple.”

“No. Not on potatoes.”

“Yes on potatoes.”

“Over my dead body.”

“Too late,” I tell her, touching my lips to the knuckles of her cool, steady hand.

We touch down at a small noncommercial airport just outside the city, and Scarlett and Archer stay back to secure the plane as Baby Swan follows me outside. And she realizes where we are as soon as the wind hits her, as soon as her eyes soak up the sand and cacti and cloudless night sky like rain swallowed up by parched earth.

“Phoenix,” she whispers, smiling like a child.

“But wait, there’s more!” I announce in my best Billy Mays voice. I take the little glass bottle from my pocket, walk across the runway to the naked desert, crouch down when I find a suitable spot, and fill the bottle with dry, sandy earth that crumbles in my palms. Then I seal the bottle with a tiny cork and bring it back to give it to her.

“I know what it’s like to have to leave home,” I say. “You’ve had to say goodbye to Phoenix, and soon you’ll have to say goodbye to Forks, and next will be Chicago, on and on forever. You’ll always be leaving the places you learn to call home. Every five or ten or fifteen years, we start over again. Like a snake shedding its skin, like a hermit crab swapping shells. Like the water that travels from rain to seawater to mist and then back again. But now you can always have a little piece of home with you, and maybe that will make it easier.”

She takes the glass bottle and shakes her head in disbelief, in wonder. Because this is exactly what she wanted, what she needed, even if she didn’t know it yet. “Joe...how did you...?”

“What’d I tell ya? I’m a talented guy. Now you have to dance with me.”

She laughs. “Oh no. Hard pass. I don’t dance.”

“When we’re alone in my bedroom you do. So just pretend we’re alone now. In, like, a really really spacious, sandy bedroom. With probably some lizards.”

“Fine. But only because I’m willing to degrade myself for milkshakes.”

She slides the glass bottle of Arizona earth into her pocket and takes my hands. She’s still a pretty terrible dancer, honestly. She hasn’t lost that. And I love that about her. I love damn near everything about her. And it took me a long time to figure out what exactly her subtle yet peerless cocktail of fragrance is, because it wasn’t somewhere I’d ever been. The scent that drifts from her pores—the scent that now lives in my bedsheets like a shadow or a ghost—is sunlight and heat and clarity and resilience and wisdom older than the pyramids. Her scent is the desert.

Now she’s mischievous, her eyes gleaming with the reflections of the Milky Way and the full moon and the stars that are dead and yet eternal, just like us. “So what, you think you’re Vampire Boyfriend Of The Year material now or what? Some dirt and In-N-Out Burger? That’s the height of your game? Is this what I have to look forward to for the rest of my perpetual existence? I totally should have pursued that polyamorous triad with Scarlett and Archer when I had the chance—”

“Yeah,” I say, very softly, smiling, tilting up her chin to kiss her beneath the universe and all its eccentricities. “I love you too.”

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blinkplnk · 4 years

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reylo week 2020 → day four

fusion or crossover - the mummy

Benjamin Solo has dreamed about finding the lost city of Hamunaptra since he was a boy and his parents first told him the legends. What he didn't dream about was the evil lurking under the sand, an evil waiting to be reborn into the world. Or the scavenger treasure hunter he'll have to trust in order to save said world from his own stupidity.

Mini-fic under the cut!

“Well personally I think she’s filthy, rude, a complete scavenger. I don’t like her one bit,” Ben ranted, uncaring who heard as they made their way through the port.

“Anyone I know?” Ben and Poe both stiffened and turned sharply at the familiar voice of the scavenger in question, only to gape for a moment at the sight of her.

“Oh….um... hello,” slipped out of the taller man's mouth involuntarily as his dark eyes dragged over her. Gone was the ratty, dirty hair and grime that had covered her and in its place was sun-kissed skin and tidy locks that Ben noticed actually shone in the light. And he couldn’t help that because he stood a fair sight taller than her and suddenly he was struck by the question of whether bringing her on this journey was actually wise.

“Smashing day to start an adventure, eh Niima?” Poe jumped in, reaching out to sling an arm over the woman’s shoulders and freeing Ben from the stupor.

“Yeah… smashing,” Miss Niima replied hesitantly, leaning away from Poe as she adjusted the staff slung over the other warily. Poe seemed to catch on as well and quickly removed himself, holding up a hand non-threateningly. Miss Niima straightened and gestured to the still healing bruise on the side of the man’s jaw with a mock fist. “No hard feelings about the… uh..?”

“Oh no, happens all the time,” Poe reassured with his signature, charming smile, and Ben found himself still impressed that she’d clocked his friend in the first place, so clearly she had some spunk. The reminder of their circumstances brought Ben back into the present and he took a small step forward to interrupt.

“Miss Niima, can you look me in the eye and assure me this is not some… some hogswash on your part because if it is, I am warning you-”

“You’re warning me?” the woman cut in, but instead of looking angry or accusatory, as Ben might have expected, she looked amused. “Mr Solo, let me put it this way. My caretaker believed in that treasure so damn much that without caring, he marched us halfway across the world to find that city. And when we got there, all we found was sand and blood.” That statement hung in the air for a few moments as Miss Niima stared him down, her amusement having faded into an edge that Ben knew meant pain, even if her words hadn’t made it clear. Whoever had taken her to Hamanuptra, it hadn’t been her choice, and whatever had happened, it had left its mark.

Suddenly the stalemate was broken as Miss Niima leaned down. “Let me get your bags,” she declared, hefting the items and turning to head up the ramp before either Ben or Poe could think to protest. They turned to watch her go and Ben could feel the glance from his friend.

“Yes, yes you’re right. Filthy, rude, a complete scavenger. Nothing to like there at all,” Poe commented and Ben could hear the teasing in his voice, but he refused to humor it and with one sharp look, he was following after Miss Niima.

»»---------------------►

“You see m-my father,” Ben drunkenly stumbled over his words as he shuffled closer on his behind. “Was a very, very famous explorer. And he loved Egypt so much, he married my mother, who was Egyptian and quite an adventurer herself,” at this announcement, the small quirk of his lips morphed into a full blown smile and Rey was not ashamed to admit it thoroughly distracted her from his proximity.

Ben truly was… magnificent when he smiled, she couldn’t deny it. Maybe it was because he was so hesitant to smile normally, so focused on puzzling things out with that brilliant mind of his, that made the open display of happiness now all the more dazzling to her. That was more of a treasure than any gold or jewels and she felt lucky to see it.

Rey made a sound of understanding as she forced herself to look away from Ben’s innocent smile. “I get your father and I get your mother,” she replied with a nod of her head. “I even get him,” she added, gesturing for a moment to Poe, who was snoring away on the other side of their little campfire. “But what are you doing here?” Rey asked with a wistful tone. What was Ben searching for out here? Surely it wasn’t treasure, he’d already said as much, but his smile, his happiness had only proven this was no place for someone like him.

Suddenly Ben gave a frustrated huff and pushed himself up off the ground, unsteadily Rey noted as she reached out to help keep him upright even as he started to rant. “Look I may not be an explorer… or a fighter or a treasure seeker, Miss Niima,” the dark haired man swayed as he spoke, flailing his arms a little and Rey resisted the urge to grin at the sight even as she had to duck a little to avoid them. “But I am proud of what I am,” he announced finally, his chin jutting up regally into the air.

“And what is that?” Rey asked, thoroughly amused by the man before her.

“I….” He stopped for a few moments as if he needed to remember the answer but then Ben gave a decisive nod. “..am a librarian!” He seemed so proud of his declaration that Rey was caught off guard when he dropped once more, this time sitting far closer to her. “And I would like to kiss you, Miss Niima,” Ben continued after his knees had hit the dirt, his tone incredibly soft. Very drunk, but also very soft.

“Call me Rey,” she replied, swallowing past the sudden lump of want in her throat. She would very much like him to kiss her. Her answer brought that smile back to Ben’s face and Rey's chest warmed at the sight, and more, when he spoke again, this time softer still.

“Oh. Rey.”

Rey followed his lead, leaning in slowly and her eyes darted towards his lips before returning to see Ben’s slipping closed. She followed suit just as they neared but where she’d expected to feel those lips against hers, instead she was blindsided by Ben’s dead weight when he dropped fully onto her shoulder and half dragged her down to the ground. Disappointment flooded her insides as Rey realised he was unconscious and she gave a mocking kiss to the night air before she wriggled out from under him. Just her luck.

#reylo #reylo week 2020 #reyloweek2020 #reylo au #rey of jakku #ben solo #star wars #my graphics #look i will die on the evy!ben hill #bc its him #and you can pry badass treasure hunter rey from my cold dead hands #he whipped for her #she whipped for him #also the fic part is unbetad so like #be kind #i havent written in ages

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artificialqueens · 4 years

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The Goode Case, 1/14 (Jaida/Jan) - Juno

Summary: The case of the missing heiress and NYU senior Gigi Goode throws New York detective Jaida, along with her colleagues Brita and Jackie, into a mystery. Especially when the case takes a paranormal turn. And Jaida is not ready to face her truth.

Chapter Summary: Being on call on a Saturday is a drag, but a clue and two witnesses can’t wait until Monday. Not when it’s been thirty-six hours since Gigi Goode disappeared.

(A/N: Hi all - after lurking for a while I’m posting for the first time! The ship(s) are REALLY slow burn, and the whole fic is huge by complete accident, so if you’d rather read it on AO3 it’s over there too. So here’s the insane detective au that no one asked for. I hope you enjoy!)

Saturday 28th October

9.30AM

It wasn’t the usual alarm that made Jaida roll over sleepily, even though initially she thought it was.

She liked to organise her life separately, and that included her phone tones. One tone for family, one tone for Heidi and her other closest friends, one for colleagues, and one for strangers. Of course sleep threw her memory out of the window, and in thinking she was hitting the sleep button, she inadvertently declined the call instead.

The phone sounded again a few seconds after Jaida had closed her eyes and thrown her arm back over her face, drifting back into her dream. This time, coming to, she picked up the phone and peered at the screen. Jackie’s name had come up.

Of course, she realised – it was a work tone, not an alarm.

“This is Hall.”

“Jaida, I think there’s been an update on the case you’re on.”

How did Jackie sound so put-together this early on a Saturday? And how would she know about the case anyway? Brita was heading it, while Jackie had been working on something different. Surely Brita would have been the one to call?

“What’s the update?”

“Something to do with the abandoned property on Westfield Avenue.”

“You mean the old Visage guest house?” Jaida rubbed her eyes. “What does that place have to do with anything on the case? You know damn well it’ll just be more kids playing around. Brita and I got called there to break up a party or something three weeks ago.”

“I’m not sure. But what I do know, is that it will be me and you. And you know what that means, don’t you?”

Jaida nodded grimly.

Jackie’s – unusual – talents weren’t really publicly known, but they weren’t really unknown either within the office.

“If you nod, I can’t hear you.”

“Okay okay, I’m getting up.” Jaida stifled a yawn. “Is it plain clothes or uniform?”

“Uhm,” Jackie paused, “I didn’t catch that part. But don’t come round yet. Just wait for Brita to call you. Don’t tell her I called first, you know how she gets.”

Jaida put down the phone, stretched and rolled to the edge of the bed, sitting up.

“Phone call from Brita in five, four, three …”

Her phone was ringing again before she could even finish counting. This time it was the friend tone, she saw Brita on her screen, in a selfie they had taken together.

While Jackie was still relatively new to the team, Brita and Jaida went way back. Three long years on the team as Detectives, and even with Brita’s recent promotion to team leader, half a step below Sergeant, they were still tight. Jaida preferred to keep some separation, but Brita had graduated to a friend, not just a colleague.

“This is Hall.”

“Jaida. Wait. You’re awake?” Brita sounded incredulous.

“Sure.”

“On a Saturday?”

“Girl …”

“… before noon?”

“Shut up, Brita.”

There was silence for a few moments. “Has Jackie already called you?”

“No,” Jaida said, but she knew it was a little too fast.

Brita sighed on the other end of the phone. “She’s really starting to get on my nerves. I told her not to do her telepathic stuff on me unless I ask her to, or like, I’m unconscious at a crime scene. I don’t need her reading my mind whenever Chief gives me an update on a case.”

“I don’t think she can always control it, especially if you’re shocked by something. And you know she doesn’t normally. You said you can feel it when she does it! That’s more than what I can do.”

“Anyway, a clue has been found at the old Visage guest house. The one that’s been abandoned since the 80s. A gold anklet. Check your email when I ring off for the photo and the updated report on the case.”

Jaida sighed. “Plain or uniform?”

“Plain, until we know more. Can you be here at eleven?”

“Sure.” Like she had a choice.

When Brita hung up, Jaida sent a quick text to Heidi, who she’d promised to meet today for a shopping trip.

Jaida: Heidi Aphrodite x

Heidi: hey gorg xx

Jaida: Hey, got an emergency at work. Can’t come out today. Sorry, will make it up to you next Saturday if you want?

Heidi: Jai you promised! How am i gonna look hot tonight for my date without u to get me fashion tips? Xx

Heidi: im gonna look like a witch lmao x

Jaida: Sorry H. She gonna love u anyway though! And no you won’t look like a witch! Xx

Eleven was pushing it, so Jaida opted for a pair of plain black jeans with a black polo neck sweatshirt, the first things to appear before her in what she called her “boring shelf” of her drawers, where she had the plain clothes for work. There wasn’t even any time for makeup really – she just swiped a layer of mascara and lip gloss and seized her bag before heading out the door of her room.

“Hey, Widow,” she called to her housemate, who was already up and in the living room, her paintbrush in hand, holding it up to the window and using it to measure the angles of the view outside. “You get much sleep last night?”

“Not much,” Widow said, not turning from her painting, “been up since the crack of fucking dawn.” She dabbed a bit more of the orange and ran it into the colours already on the canvas, spilling some onto the newspapers on the floor, and the band shirt and long shorts she wore, which were already covered in paint. “I can’t even remember what the sun looked like.”

Jaida inspected the painting from afar, a gorgeous interpretation of the sunrise from their apartment, which faced east, in Widow’s favourite set of acrylics.

The sun had long risen already and was now behind some dark clouds, but Widow was working partly from the outside, and partly from a photo she’d taken from her phone. Her strokes were frantic, paint dotting the newspapers that she always put down.

“Did you even try to sleep last night?” Jaida asked warily.

“Bitch of course I did, but I can’t sleep much right now, you know how it is.” Widow wiped her brow with her forearm and reached down to the table behind her for the mug of black coffee she’d poured herself.

“There’s some coffee in the pot if you want some?”

“Nah, I got to work. Emergency.”

“You’re fucking married to your work, Jai,” Widow said sadly, picking up the brush again and dipping back into the orange, still not looking at her. “There’s more to life.”

Jaida wanted more than anything to stay here and comfort Widow, but she knew she’d miss the bus if she stayed much more. Instead she went to give her a kiss on the cheek and a one-armed hug before seizing her coat and bag and heading out the door.

It was October, late October, and it was already turning cold this year. Jaida tugged her coat around her and blew into her hands as she stood waiting for the bus. Once she was on, it was a long ride into the city, and she got to settle into her seat and finally open her email.

The photo was just a photograph of an anklet sent from a phone, on the white table so as to make it stand out. But the report that Brita had attached, it was the Goode case.

Jaida frowned. Brita and Jaida had been working on that yesterday, but Jackie was on a different case, so that couldn’t be right. And it wasn’t like Brita not to double-check exactly what she was sending her. She’d have to check with her when she got to the office.

11.04AM

“Sorry I’m late,” Jaida lied through her teeth as she dashed into the meeting room. Four minutes was neither here nor there, but Brita was always on time for everything, and a few minutes was still a slight affront.

Jackie, next to Brita, raised an eyebrow in a way that let Jaida know that she wasn’t convinced.

“Traffic?” Brita asked.

“Traffic,” Jaida nodded. “And that driver, he didn’t know the green light from the red one. Took the car behind beeping like crazy for him to move.”

Jackie’s other eyebrow was raised now too. Jaida didn’t feel guilty in telling a little white lie, but she did occasionally forget about Jackie’s telepathic abilities. Unlike Brita though, Jaida couldn’t tell when Jackie was hearing her thoughts, so Jackie had probably seen through her mind that Jaida had spent the last ten minutes hurriedly gulping down her Starbucks rather than in a traffic jam. Honestly, Jaida probably could have done with some more coffee, but needs must and all that.

She gave Jackie a look, and repeated in her mind just go with it just go with it just go with it as loudly as she could think, until Jackie looked away.

“Okay, well now that you’re here, we need to discuss the morning’s itinerary,” Brita said, unfolding the paper she’d printed. “Here’s the revised report.”

“Yeah about that, I think you sent me the wrong one,” Jaida interrupted.

“I know what you’re thinking, but the new clue does seem to relate to the Goode case.” Brita nodded grimly.

“Has Jackie been filled in on the Goode case?”

“Well, I read the report,” Jackie replied. “Georgina Goode, twenty-two, senior in fashion design at NYU, missing since Thursday night, that sound about right?”

“That sums it up, yes.” Brita unfurled the map of the area.

“Georgina was last seen at a party on Northfield, here, on Thursday night, several witnesses have confirmed that. We’re on Saturday morning now. Last sighting was on a security camera on the corner of Northfield and Westfield, and that was at …” Brita glanced at the date stamp on the camera print out. “Eleven twenty-nine. Georgina was turning onto Westfield through that camera. The first camera on Westfield is still undergoing repairs, and the second one never caught her.”

“Could she have gotten into a car?” Jackie asked, but Brita shook her head.

“No cars on camera were recorded on any of the streets at that time, not until eleven thirty-five. And that driver was interviewed first thing this morning. His alibi is water-tight.”

“So she’s been gone for thirty-six hours,” Jaida nodded. “And her parents are still saying she’s not home?”

Brita shook her head, chewing her bottom lip grimly.

Jaida felt her heart sinking. The fact that Georgina was heading into the second day of being officially missing, meant that this investigation was more and more likely becoming a search for a body rather than a person.

“And the anklet that’s been found, is it Georgina’s?”

“We’ve yet to have confirmation from the parents, but we did get some … uh, unusual new witnesses to the case. Two students from NYU. They went to the Visage guest house to do some paranormal stuff,” Brita used her fingers to make speech marks. “They’re the ones who found the anklet, and one of claims it’s Georgina’s. They’ve agreed to interview today, at eleven thirty.”

“I thought that house was boarded up?” Jackie asked.

“Well, one of them found a loose window. Let the other one in. And it’s a good thing they did,” Brita said darkly, “because otherwise we’d have no leads yet. And it gets more interesting from there.”

“How?”

“Come with me,” Brita beckoned to them both, “and we’ll go set up for interview. I’ll watch the monitors.”

11.30AM

The witness room had the blinds drawn to keep out the sun, for even though it wasn’t the warmest day, the windows in that room could heat it right up in a heartbeat if the sun was out. It meant that the light was on, even though it was still early.

The two women were also seniors, as Georgina was. From the notes Jaida had been given, they were Kristen and Ava, and Jaida read that Kristen shared classes with Georgina, while Ava knew her through Kristen. One of them was trembling while the other looked quite placid.

Jaida looked from one to the other, then down at her notepad, while Jackie sat down next to her, her eyes darting between the two witnesses as she pressed the record button.

Jaida cleared her throat. “So, uhm, Kristen and Ava –“

“No! We’ve said this ten times already!” The more nervous of the two piped up. “I’m Crystal, she’s Aiden! Whoever wrote down our names in the lobby wrote them wrong!” Crystal, the one who was speaking, put her head in her hands, obscured by a curtain of curly red hair. Aiden put a hand on Crystal’s shoulder to calm her down.

“Sorry about my friend, she’s not normally this anxious, we’ve just had – an experience,” Aiden said quietly.

Jackie nodded. “I understand.”

She was trying to sound sympathetic, but Jaida caught a hitch in her voice, felt Jackie tense up suddenly. Even with their mental connection, Jaida could not read minds, so Jackie’s thoughts would have to remain a mystery for now at least.

“I’ll adjust it now,” Jaida muttered, crossing out the names and re-writing them. “Right, Crystal and Aiden, you found the anklet in the old guest house?”

Crystal emerged from behind her hands. “Yeah, yeah we did.”

“Why were you there? Did you think Georgina would be there?”

“She – she’d mentioned something about it,” Crystal was shivering, Aiden rubbing her shoulder, seemingly encouraging her to go on.

“Do you remember what she said exactly?” Jaida asked, pen hovering over the notepad.

“She said it had been owned by a relative,” Crystal replied. “I can’t remember who, some distant relative.“

“The Visage family closed the house after a few controversies back in the eighties,” Jaida said. “Were the Visage family related to Georgina’s?”

“No one calls her Georgina, she’s Gigi.”

“Alright, well were they related to Gigi?”

“I mean, I don’t know, but she said they were!” Crystal’s voice was rising in pitch, shaking with emotion. Aiden continued to rub her shoulder while she took a couple of deep breaths to relax.

Jackie’s breathing on the other hand was shaky next to Jaida, and Jaida wished that Jackie would leave the room or something, if she was getting something mentally from these girls.

“So you went to the house. Did you think Gigi was inside it?”

Jaida managed to catch Aiden, whose face had been expressionless so far, tense a muscle in her jaw and her eyes dart to Crystal, who met them before looking back at Jaida.

“I don’t know.” Crystal shook her head.

“You sure?” Jaida asked.

“Well,” Crystal began, but Jaida saw it clearly this time; Aiden give her shoulder a rapid squeeze, and Crystal sighed. “I thought I saw her inside. But I was wrong,” she added hurriedly. Aiden, next to her, tensed her jaw again.

“Inside? In the building?“

Aiden took her hand away from Crystal.

“I didn’t see her,” Aiden said, speaking finally, “but Crystal said she did, so I looked around and I – I found a loose board in one of the windows,” she shrugged. “I didn’t see the issue with taking it off to get in, especially if Crystal said she saw someone.” Her tone was defiant.

“You girls aren’t in trouble for going in, if you think she was there,” Jaida tried to calm her down, “but you’re saying you didn’t see her?”

Aiden paused before shaking her head. “No, I didn’t.”

“But she must have been there, because that’s her anklet! I gave her that for her birthday last December, she’s worn it ever since!” Crystal cried.

“You recognise the anklet? In this picture?” Jaida slid the photo of it to her.

In response, Crystal leaned into her chair and raised her right leg to the table, lifting her floor-length skirt away from her ankle. She was wearing an identical anklet to the one in the picture.

“We have the same ones! Matching ones. She’s my best friend.”

Crystal was seemingly holding back tears now; and as she put her foot back on the floor, she rubbed her eyes ferociously with the back of her hand. “I’m sorry, I want you to take me seriously, I know it sounds crazy, but I know what I saw. I saw Gigi, and we found the anklet, so she must have been there.”

“So you found the anklet, but did you see any other sign of disturbance?”

“I don’t – I don’t know. We just found the anklet, and we – we left,” Crystal stuttered, glancing at Aiden as if for confirmation.

“You didn’t see or hear any people? No one in there?”

“No, no one,” Crystal said.

“You sure?”

Crystal nodded. Aiden’s left eye gave a definite twitch.

Jackie pushed back her chair, muttering something about needing water. She stumbled to the door of the witness room, pulling it open and rushing away.

“I think we should wrap up for now on this,” Jaida said, rapping her notebook. “But before we do, is there anything else we should know that you have that could help us with the investigation?”

They both hesitated.

“Remember that your friend is missing,” Jaida said as gently as she could. “If you know anything that could help her, you’re doing the best by her in telling us.”

Aiden shook her head slowly, biting her lower lip.

“I don’t think I do,” Crystal muttered. “But … can I call you if, you know, anything else happens?”

Jaida slid her card over the table. “Sure, any time you need to.”

She turned off the recorder and let the two students leave the room, before turning out herself, locking the door behind her. They hurried down the corridor, back to the lobby, and disappeared out of the building.

Back in the meeting room, Jaida entered to find Brita was clutching Jackie’s shoulders, Jackie still shaking in fright, a glass of water shuddering in her hand. Jaida made sure the door to the meeting room was closed.

“Child, what was that about?”

“Jaida,” Brita warned, but Jackie put her glass down on the table.

“No, Brita, I need to tell her too! She probably noticed the same thing.” Jackie sat down in the chair, joined by Brita next to her, while Jaida took an opposing seat.

“It was so … weird,” Jackie’s voice quaked with emotion, “but that girl with the short hair, Aiden, I got – I got nothing at all from her.”

“Nothing? That’s weird,” Jaida agreed.

“Not even the whispering?”

“Nothing!” Jackie cried, pushing back her fringe. “It was so strange! I don’t think I’ve ever had that from someone! I mean, I know I have to have a connection with people to read them clearly, but most people at least whisper! I don’t get why … why I didn’t even hear that!”

“And the other one? Crystal?” Brita asked quietly.

Jackie took a deep breath to steady herself, suddenly stone-cold and calm, and looked Jaida straight in the eyes.

“She’s like you, Jai.”

#rpdr fanfiction #jaida essence hall #brita filter #jackie cox #widow von du #heidi n closet #crystal methyd #aiden zhane #jaida x jan #lesbian au #detective au #the goode case #juno #fic challenge #black girl magic fic #diversity fic #s12 #submission

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