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squash1 · 3 months

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THREES THREES THREES:

Oh hello. I want to talk about the stylistic/textual role of Threes in The Raven Cycle.

Threes – as a general concept and as a number – are a major symbol and motif in the series. Maggie tells us that threes are important from the very first book: from Maura’s favorite saying being “good things come in threes” to Persephone telling Adam that “things are always growing to three or shrinking to three,” threes are discussed at length in the text of the narrative. Maggie also shows us that threes are important as a motif/symbol for important aspects of the story: three Raven Boys, three Fox Way women, three Lynch brothers, three main ley lines, three sleepers, etc. Threes are, textually, incredibly significant in The Raven Cycle, and we know this because we are shown AND told it throughout the entirety of the books.

We all know the significance that is given to threes in the story itself, but what I want to talk about is the usage of a thrice-repeated word or short phrase (going forward I’m referring to this as “Threes” or “a Three”) as one of Maggie’s writing signatures (across the series, there are 65 Threes). This creates a meta level to threes being an important aspect of The Raven Cycle universe. A classic example of a Three (one of my favorites, in fact) is from The Dream Thieves:

“As they walked, a sudden rush of wind hurled low across the grass, bringing with it the scent of moving water and rocks hidden in the shadows, and Blue thrilled again and again with the knowledge that magic was real, magic was real, magic was real.” (TDT, 12)

In a way, the Threes join the intradiegetic (what is happening within the narrative itself) with the extradiegetic (what the narration is communicating solely to the reader). The reader and characters are told explicitly that the number three is significant, important, notable, and powerful. In using Threes as a writing signature after giving the reader that information, the Threes are designed to signal to the reader that this line, this moment, is important.

So the question is: What Are The Threes Trying to Tell the Reader???

Amazing question.

In my recent TRC reread, I was already keeping track of Threes, because I was curious to see how many times they appeared. And then my sister, who was also rereading, said something interesting (after reading this Three from The Raven Boys):

“He was full of so many wants, too many to prioritize, and so they all felt desperate. To not have to work so many hours, to get into a good college, to look right in a tie, to not still be hungry after eating the thin sandwich he’d brought to work, to drive the shiny Audi that Gansey had stopped to look at with him once after school, to go home, to have hit his father himself, to own an apartment with granite countertops and a television bigger than Gansey’s desk, to belong somewhere, to go home, to go home, to go home.” (TRB, 370)

My sister said: “Adam’s like Dorothy.” And then she said: “Wait. Do you think the Threes are like a spell? Or… a wish?”

Which was……. Interesting.

What I have determined, after completing my reread and spending way too much time analyzing this, is that a Three is either a wish, a hope, a longing, a prayer – or, alternately, a warning, a curse, a negative promise.

In either sense, Threes are a foreshadowing of what is to come – whether it be good or bad. Threes exist to signal to the reader that they should be paying close attention to whatever is being said or observed.

Threes in….. Everything Else:

Before we get too far into TRC Threes, let’s talk about the precedent for three being an important number in art, math, storytelling, etc. I found some interesting information about how three is a satisfying number for the brain:

Grouping things in threes leverages the power of repetition to aid memory; denote emotional intensity or importance; and ease persuasion (research by Shu & Carlson (2014) found that three positive claims is the most effective for persuasion).

Three is the smallest number that the brain can still recognize as a pattern, and the brain loves pattern and repetition. This is true in visual art – having three main compositional figures to create a pleasing image – and also in storytelling and narrative. Using threes for repetition in storytelling is a very common occurrence.

Some classic examples of repetitive threes are Shakespeare’s “tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow” or Lincoln's “a government of the people, by the people, for the people.” In each of these examples, a repetition of three is used to create pleasing auditory rhythm. There is something inherently memorable about literary Threes.

Perhaps the most interesting information I found while digging into the precedent for threes is about the rule of threes in folktales. This information happens to come from Wikipedia (side note: Wikipedia is a modern tool of collective consciousness and we should utilize it more). This page describes how in its most basic form, the rule of threes in storytelling is just beginning, middle, and end. Because this is such a common convention, writers tend to “create triplets or structures in three parts.” It then talks more directly about the use of threes in folktales:

“Vladimir Propp in his Morphology of the Folk Tale, concluded that any of the elements in a folktale could be negated twice so that it would repeat thrice.”

This is especially interesting to me. The idea that an element of a folktale “could be negated twice so that it would repeat thrice” shows up prominently in the plot of The Raven Cycle – a book that is heavily influenced by folktale motifs – but also in so many of the folktales/fairytales we all know. A classic example of this would be Goldilocks and the Three Bears – Goldilocks must try porridge that is too hot, too cold, and then, finally, just right. The journey of these three actions is satisfying to the brain because it is a complete pattern: the third and final result of “just right” porridge is only satisfying because of the two “not right” porridges that preceded it.

Getting back to Stiefvater Threes:

For anyone who’s seen The West Wing (and even those who haven’t), here’s a good way to explain what I think the Threes are doing. You know that thing they do during a The West Wing “walk and talk” where two characters will be throwing information and little quips back and forth at each other rapid-fire, and then suddenly, they will both stop walking, and the camera will stop moving, and they’ll say a line that contains really important information that you need to know to understand the storyline of that episode? That’s what Maggie’s Threes are doing for the reader. That’s what 6:21 is doing for the characters. It’s intentional: the writers/directors/actors/camera operators on The West Wing know that they’re throwing a lot of information at you, and know that they need to get you to pay attention to the most important parts somehow, so they do it by forcing the viewer to lean in and listen. It changes the focus and energy of the scene from something with momentum to something that pauses, and therefore makes you pause.

The Threes compel the reader to pause and consider the information being delivered as more important than they might consider it if it was not written as a Three. “Maura’s expression was dark” does not read the same as “Maura’s expression was dark, dark, dark.” And in a text where characters directly state the magical importance of threes, compounded by three as an overarching motif, there is clear intention and meaning behind these written Threes.

In the context of TRC, Threes act as a fourth-wall break.

They are essentially a way to poke the reader and say: “Are you paying attention? Because you should be.”

These Threes use a symbolic motif – the rule of three – that is already heavily discussed in the text – to get the reader to pick up on the internal motivations of the character who is “wishing” their Three or the narration which is using a Three to foreshadow some important aspect of the plot.

The Threes are like the literary equivalent of a record scratch. It stops you in your tracks, breaking the established rhythm and making you take notice of what is being said in a new way.

Let’s Look at Some More Threes (but just a few don’t worry)!

1. We get a classic Three, and a very Gansey Three, right after the group comes out of Cabeswater:

“‘What about that thing in the tree?’ Blue asked. ‘Was that a hallucination? A dream?’

Glendower. It was Glendower. Glendower. Glendower” (TRB, 231).

Finding Glendower is one of Gansey’s core wishes, one of his core longings. Although this line is a literal answer to Blue’s question – he saw Glendower in the tree – in making it a Three, Maggie has given it added weight and meaning. It is prayer-like in its intention. It is almost an incantation: by saying it in Three, Gansey wishes it into being.

2. In The Raven Boys, after Gansey has bribed Pinter to keep Ronan at Aglionby and has learned that Noah has been dead the whole time they’ve known him, we are given this Three:

“The Pig exploded off the line. Damn Ronan. Gansey punched his way through the gears, fast, fast, fast” (TRB, 311).

This moment foreshadows what directly follows: a distinct lack of fast as the Camaro breaks down and Gansey is held at gunpoint by Whelk. This Three is not a prayer, but a warning, and an indicator to the reader that something important is about to happen. Had Gansey not been trying to go so “fast fast fast,” the car might not have broken down; because the Three incanted it, disaster follows.

3. To return to a Three I have already mentioned, but follows the typical Three structure:

“...to go home, to go home, to go home” (TRB, 370).

In this scene, Adam’s wish is less about actually wanting to return to his literal home, because his house was never really a home for him. Adam’s wish/longing is for a home that he could return to, that he would want to return to. He is longing for a place/feeling/experience that does not exist for him. The Three in this sentence comes after a string of active wishes/longings, and by ending with this Three, it casts a spell of sorts, honing in on the truest underlying wish that Adam has. In using the phrase “to go home” three times, the narrative is making sure you, the reader, know that this want, this need, this wish, is the most Important to Adam, and will drive his actions for the rest of his story.

Most of the Threes feel like this. They are often tacked on at the end of a sentence or embedded in a sentence. They’re an addendum to the action of the story. They’re like casting a spell – once to manifest, twice to charge, three to cast.

…..And Some Other Types of Threes:

Then there are the Threes that don't follow the typical pattern of the same word repeated three times one right after the other, but are still a Three in a different way.

There are short phrases/sentences that are repeated three times throughout a page or chapter. In the prologue of The Raven King, we get this:

“He was a king…

He was a king…

He was a king.

This was the year he was going to die.” (TRK, 1-3)

In this case, the Three acts as a promise of Gansey’s kinghood, but in ending the sequence with “this was the year he was going to die,” the promise of the three is given a condition: it is not going to be a joyful kinghood, but instead a kinghood intertwined with the death we’ve known is fated for Gansey.

One of Adam’s Threes from Blue Lily, Lily Blue, uniquely breaks the mold of Threes in a format that does not appear anywhere else in the four books:

“It was his father.

He opened the door.

It was his father.

He opened the door.

It was his father” (BLLB, 242).

❋ (We’ll talk about this one more in-depth later.)

There are also a few “unfinished” Threes:

In The Raven King when Ronan is having a nightmare (infected by the demon) about Matthew and the mask, he has this Three:

“Ronan’s throat was raw. I’ll do anything! I’ll do anything! I’ll do anythi

It was unmaking everything Ronan loved.

Please” (TRK, 96).

With the uncompleted Three, there is an uncast wish. Ronan’s wish is about Matthew, yes of course, but also about being willing to do anything to keep those he loves (ie. Adam, Gansey, Blue, his brothers) out of the reach of the “unmaking.” This unfinished Three serves to foreshadow the harm that does ultimately befall first Adam and then Gansey as a result of the unmaking of Cabeswater by the demon: without the Three spell completed, his wish is not fulfilled.

*This is Not all the uncommon/mold-breaking Threes, just a few that are interesting!

Do All Threes Come to Fruition???

The short answer is: No. Or at least not in that way.

Once again looking at the text of The Raven Cycle, we are given an answer of sorts. In discussing Gansey’s predicted death, Maura says:

“First of all, the corpse road is a promise, not a guarantee” (TRB, 155).

This seems to apply to Threes as well. Threes are not a guarantee. They are a promise. Not all Threes come to fruition the way one might expect – or at all, for that matter. The important part of Threes is not that they will definitely come true, it’s that they could come true, because the Three gives them the potential to come true.

Structure, Structure, Structure:

The main Threes structures are:

Three of the same word separated by commas:

“magic, magic, magic” (TRK, 59).

A short phrase/sentence separated by periods:

“My father. My father. My father” (TDT, 369).

A short sentence that is repeated three times throughout a page/paragraph:

“Gansey did not breathe…

Gansey did not breathe…

Gansey did not breathe” (TRK, 209).

A word that is repeated three times and is connected by “and”:

“Round and round and round!” (BLLB, 224)

Italics vs. Non Italics:

Italics in The Raven Cycle are often used for character’s inner thoughts/anxieties. This continues to be true in the context of Threes. A Three that is not written in italics indicates a promise, or some foreshadowing of a plot point being foretold through the Three – it is typically more “real” – whereas a Three that is written in Italics seems to indicate a wish/hope/longing that is unattainable in some way. Italics almost always indicate a Three that may never come to fruition, or at least not in the way the character hopes it will.

An example of this distinction can be found in chapter three (hah) (I don’t believe in coincidences and neither does Gansey) of The Raven King:

First we are met with Ronan wishing/hoping to return home:

“That morning, Ronan Lynch had woken early, without any alarm, thinking home, home, home” (TRK, 24).

This home, home, home, is in reference to the idea of home rather than the reality. Ronan is wishing to return to a home that does exist physically, but is not the same as in his memory – he wants to be at the Barns as it was in his childhood.

Then, in the very same chapter, Ronan actually returns home and we are given this Three:

“Slowly his memories of before — everything this place had been to him when it had held the entire Lynch family — were being overlapped with memories and hopes of after — every minute that the Barns had been his, all of the time he’d spent here alone or with Adam, dreaming and scheming.

Home, home, home” (TRK, 27).

This second home, home, home, is about the actual reality of being in his childhood home – the good and bad that has existed in the years since the childhood he longs for.

The Addition of AND:

The most notable use of “and” is in Noah’s very last chapter:

“Sometimes he got caught in this moment instead. Gansey’s death. Watching Gansey die, again and again and again” (TRK, 416).

When “and” is added into a Three, it becomes circular, cyclical. The “and” gives the Three a sense of infinity, or creates a loop of sorts.

This Three operates in the same way “tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow” does in Macbeth – it is meant to convey the endlessness of time, a relentless cycle of tomorrows.

❋ While there are not many of these Threes with “ands” in The Raven Cycle, there are other examples of Threes or Three-like occurrences that fulfill the same purpose as the “and.” For example, remember this Three:

“It was his father.

He opened the door.

It was his father.

He opened the door.

It was his father.” (BLLB, 242).

In this case, instead of the word “and,” the Three (It was his father) is connected by “he opened the door.” This Three is accomplishing the same feeling as “again and again and again” – the feeling of being caught in an endless loop.

Another example of an (implied) “and” in The Raven Cycle is: Gansey’s life. Gansey starts out alive and then dies as a child only to be reborn, and then killed again through his sacrifice, and then reborn for a final time. Gansey is Alive, Dead, Alive, Dead, Alive. And so Gansey’s life is a cycle of Three.

As with the Threes that contain “and,” Gansey starts where he ends: alive.

Other Ways Threes Show up in The Raven Cycle:

I will state the obvious once again: there are three Raven Boys, three Lynch brothers, three Fox Way women, three sleepers, three main ley lines (the lines that “seem to matter” to Glendower’s story), Gansey the Third (Gansey Three, Dick Three).

There are also the more obscure: the “three kinds of secrets” in The Dream Thieves prologue and epilogue; each Lynch brother inheriting three million dollars from Niall Lynch; the three figures with Blue’s face on the tapestry and later as a vision in Cabeswater; Adam and Gansey going to DC for three days; the shield pulled from the lake having three ravens embossed onto it; Ronan having dreamt Matthew at the age of three; the door to the Demon’s room needing “three to open” it; Aurora Lynch staying awake for three days after Niall died.

And of course, we have the ley line symbol/chapter header:

And then there are the 300 (three hundred!) Fox Way “villain” readings. (This was something that was particularly interesting to me.)

The first antagonist we meet is Whelk. When he comes for a reading at 300 Fox Way, he first pulls the Three of Swords.

When the women all draw cards together, they pull identical cards for Whelk: three of the Knight of Pentacles, then three of the Page of Cups. After drawing, essentially, three threes (the Three of Swords, then two sets of three matching cards) in this reading, the first Three of the entire series appears:

“Maura’s expression was dark, dark, dark” (TRB, 124).

The second “antagonist” we meet is the Gray Man, who comes to 300 Fox Way in The Dream Thieves to “observe.” Maura, Calla, and Persephone are predicting which card is on the top and bottom of the stack and the first card, predicted by Calla, is the Three of Cups off the top of the deck that Mr. Gray is holding (a remarkably happy card in stark contrast to Whelk’s Three of Swords).

When the third antagonist, Greenmantle, comes for his 300 Fox Way Reading he also draws the Three of Swords. The fact that each of the three antagonists come for a reading is in itself a sort of Three, but to further the importance of these moments, each of them draws some sort of three-related card.

All of the examples I have touched on have been more symbolic references to Three as a motif of the books as a whole. However, Threes also show up in the literal number of times important quotes are said/written.

I was tracking some of the most well-loved TRC lines to compile them, and noticed that the lines “don’t throw it away” and “safe as life” happen to appear exactly three times throughout the series. This was honestly pretty surprising based on the importance of those quotes – I would have assumed they showed up far more. Actually, they both appear twice in The Raven Boys and once in The Raven King. Threes, and the importance of Threes, is embedded so strongly into the narrative of The Raven Cycle that even the quotes we all think of as the most beloved of the series follow this rule of Threes.

Now, could you chalk some of these up to coincidence? I guess. But Gansey doesn’t believe in coincidences so I don’t either. So what’s the point of all these Threes?

Conclusion???

In a literal, literary way, Threes are a fourth wall break to make the importance of a moment obvious, but I’m not sure what the larger “point” of Threes is. My best analysis comes from the idea of The Raven Cycle being all about time and Threes playing into the importance of time as a sort of record scratch or loop. The Threes, as a stylistic, written motif, seem to connect the time-based cycle the characters experience to the time-based cycles the reader experiences by reading the books.

But my conclusion feels incomplete and so I would like to rely on the collective for this one – just about the most Raven Cycle thing you can do. So I’m asking you, the collective you, what conclusion would you draw? What do you think?

What I do know for sure is that Threes are magic, magic, magic.

For Your Convenience: Here is the textual significance given to threes within the books (chronologically):

And here are the Threes, Threes, Threes (compiled):

(If you made it to the end of all this, I love you. Have a gold star and a hug <3)

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a-aexotic · 1 year

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hi ren, biggg congratulation and the eras tour celebration is such a cool concept 🥳

🌙 please for Rafe and Paris!

pairing. rafe cameron x fem!reader

warnings. literally nothing except fluff, and illusions to smut?

summary. rafe is in love with utterly and fully in love with y/n

➜ missing out on updates? ❪ navigation. masterlist. taglist. ❫

Everything about You and Rafe had been unpredicted, no one in a million years that Rafe "Druggie" Cameron could pull someone like you. You guys getting together was definitely not on anyone's list of things that were going to happen that year, but it did.

And honestly neither of you couldn't care less. You and Rafe were completely and utterly in love with each other and nothing could get in the way.

Rumors, people, family, circumstances. None of that mattered in the case of you two. Especially Rafe. After everything with his sister, always being a second choice, when he finally was someone's first choice, someone's favorite person, none of that mattered. He was his absolute happiest when he was with you.

I'M SO IN LOVE THAT I MIGHT STOP BREATHING.

You and Rafe had been together for a year now and Rafe had done a complete 360 from where he was at before he met you. Last year, he was at the lowest of his life; completely high all the time, partying every night, new girl every week. Now, he was sober and with the love of his life.

It had been a year now and neither of you have had the urge to say the scariest three words in a relationship, especially a relatively new one.

Rafe had realized he loved you two weeks into dating you but of course he hadn't said it, he didn't want to scare you off. He was already crazy enough, imagine if he just told you he loved you two weeks into dating?

Rafe had just something so out of pocket that you let out a loud laughing, making Rafe stop and think for second before joining in your laughter. It was so bad that you genuinely had stopped breathing, hanging on to the counter to stop from falling over. Your eyes were tearing up and Rafe's stomach had begun to hurt.

"Oh my gosh, I love you." You accidentally blurted once you stopped laughing. You and Rafe both instantly jumped up, both staring at each other. Your heart jumped and you didn't know how Rafe was going to react, his face unreadable.

"Wait, what?"

You couldn't back out now. "I-I love you"

Rafe felt like he was going to pass out with excitement. "I love you too, Y/N."

ROMANCE IS NOT DEAD, IF YOU KEEP IT JUST YOURS.

If Rafe had a dime for every time someone had made a rumor about the two of you, he would be richer than his dad and that's saying something. You guys were OBX's favorite topic to gossip about.

Instead of getting offended, you and Rafe had made it into a fun game anytime Sarah had told you something you heard. You guys call it "Would this happen in an alternate universe?"

The game kind of says it all. You and Rafe would see how realistic the rumor was. It became such a fun game for you two that you guys started making up your own rumors as well.

You sat in the passenger seat of the car, listening to Rafe tell you the next rumor. "Y/N left Rafe... for Ward."

You gasped and then let out a giggle, "Ward?"

"Yup."

"That is the most outlandish shit I've ever heard, oh my gosh." You replied making Rafe hum in response, "Never. I would never leave you for Ward, my gosh. How do people come up with these?"

"Never?"

You felt Rafe's gaze on you as you furrowed your eyebrows, "Yes, Rafe. I would never leave you for Ward."

"What about JJ?"

"Maybe..."

Rafe scoffed as you let out another one of your exceptionally loud laughs.

NO, I DIDN'T SEE THE NEWS, CAUSE WE WERE SOMEWHERE ELSE.

For your third year anniversary, Rafe had taken you to a Hawaii Cruise. This was the first time both of you had gone on a trip by yourselves so it was way more fun for the both of you. You guys didn't have to sneak around anywhere, having a lot more alone time then before.

Rafe had gotten a buzzcut a few months ago and you've grown to absolutely adore it. At first, when you got the spontaneous text from Rafe telling you he was buzzing all his hair off, you were going to cry. But once you saw it, you fell in love all over again. It gave him a mature sugar daddy look and you loved it.

One of the reasons why you dreaded him buzzing his hair is that you wouldn't be able to run your finger through his hair but now that it's semi grown, you could kind of do that again.

You and Rafe laid on the pool chair, Rafe laying next to you with his head on your chest as you twisted his semi grown out buzzcut. You guys both watched the dark sky in comforting silence, enjoying each other's company.

You heard Rafe sigh. "I'm so grateful I met you, Y/N."

"Me too, Rafe. Me too."

"No, I mean like... like I seriously can't imagine my life without you in it." Rafe looked up to meet your eyes and you felt like you were going to cry of happiness. "You feel like home, baby. You always have."

"You're the best thing that's ever happened to me, Rafe. I'd be lost without you."

And suddenly everything to Rafe made sense. There was no more confusion on where he was going, what he was doing with his life because it was all clear to him in that moment. It was all you. As long as he was spending his life with you, he was happy.

"Let's get married."

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cryptidcorners · 5 months

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Biker!Mike Schmidt x M!Reader Headcanons

Description: Headcanons with your biker boyfriend, Mike!

Media: FNaF!Movie [ AU ]

Character: Mike Schmidt (+ Abby)

Tags: Biker!Mike Alternate Universe, Fluff, Headcanons mixed with Drabbles, Protectiveness, Established Relationship, Found Family, Cute Stuff, Semi-Domestic, Romantic, Comfort + Uses Masculine Terms

Warnings: Mentions of (Gang, Vehicle, Physical) Violence, Injury + Kidnapping, Slight FNaF!Movie Spoilers, Depressive Thoughts, Stress, Extreme Nightmares

read my TOS + Mike Schmidt Masterlist

Definitely a show-off, even before you started dating. He wouldn't boast too loudly though, he prefers to smoothly tell you how he got blackeye or some new asset on his bike. He always melts when you're impressed by his feats, even if they were from failure.

Mike's a collector. While cycling or suffering from boredom in his dull jobs, he'd swipe a few things that grab his attention and share it with you. He enjoys making chains for you and Abby. It hasn't been the first time Abby has been dragged out of school for wearing a pin with some questionable language Mike didn't notice.

Absolutely adores helping you dress up to resemble his biker wear. Loves helping you find bracelets, decorative eyeliner and rebellious-printed clothes. It makes me squeal eternally.

Gets intense anxiety in populated areas, mostly due to his trauma with Garrett. He doesn't want to think about anyone taking you or Abby away. He's stupid protective in public spaces. With his already intimidating demeanour, it's safe to say nobody bothers talking to you too much.

He enjoys using pet names, but he jokingly calls you "sir", "bro" or "boytoy" a lot. Speaking of which, Mike adores when you make up titles for him. It's something he treasures a lot. A special name for him? And him only? Makes his heart melt.

Takes you on bike rides at any opportunity. He also loves taking Abby in rides too and doing basic tricks with you watching from the sidelines. He's always careful, he could never forgive himself if either of you got hurt.

One of his favorite things to do is let you touch his hair. Nothing makes him happier than intimate moments like that. He likes it more than cuddling and neck kisses. It's just the simple things in life that appeal to him the most.

Wears the silliest shirts while he isn't at work or roaming the streets. Either quotes involving boyfriends or cartoon merchandise. It amuses all of you, but it genuinely makes him happy to indulge in a separate style. Definitely has a: "Men love me, Fish Fear Me" hat somewhere.

You're always at his aid when he comes back bruised. Like the first bullet, he'd calmly hum you an out of tune, over exaggerating story to make himself look good. Truly, Mike doesn't think he deserves you. So, he refuses to embarrass himself.

Loves kissing. That's all.

"Come on, Mike. I gotta go," you giggled as he pressed featherweighted kisses against your skin. You could feel him smiling before he pulled back with a heated sigh. "Just a minute, please? You know how much I miss you." With a playfully eye roll, you wrap your hands around his sides and hug him as he continued peppering you again while grinning sweetly.

Always referencing something. Either it's from a show or song he likes. He's always dumbfounded when you don't understand and ends up spending thirsty minutes rambling about music history.

Pulls pranks occasionally, mostly with Abby's help. A few prank wars have gone down in your household.

Has at least two tattoos based on you (and Abby), he takes his relationships very seriously.

Cried when Abby called you her "dad" once. This loser is so head over heels for you he'd sob if you were complimented him. It makes his heart throb to see you and his sister connect despite everything.

Very defensive. If anything goes wrong, he's either going to use grade school insults or result to violence. There were a couple of times he couldn't come home due to arrest. He'd come back as if nothing happened.

If you ever got into an argument, Mike would try to give you the most formal apology ever. Either by notes or heavily descriptive speeches about how special you are to him. Most of the time it was pretty cheesy, but you couldn't help but be smitten by his adorable attempts.

Much deeper voice + Slightly Childish. He's still pretty shy when he isn't in his element, so Mike is much more confident with you around. Mostly due to his need to impress you.

So much fist bumping.

Mike's bike is DEFINITELY named after you. Anyone who asks about it is immediately shot with dumps of his adoration if you. Bro will never shut up about his boyfriend. Ever.

Mike has definitely gone through those: "This is for you," and failed immediately. As much as it embarrassed him, he finds it cute how fond you were of it. His face flares up a lot around you.

"God, I'm so sorry I missed it." He frowned, face drenched with numb scarlet. "I didn't mean to make a fool out of you." Mike relaxed once you gripped his leather glove with a smile, "So? I still love you. I think it was sweet how you tried to impress me. I'm proud of you." Mike swore he was starstruck right there.

Loves holding your hand, even in public. It's one of the only forms of affection he's comfortable with displaying.

#💤 mike schmidt #mike schmidt #🚲 biker!schmdit #headcanons #writing #writers on tumblr #fnaf #josh hutcherson #fnaf movie #mike schmidt x reader #fnaf movie spoilers #if yall want more of him ask!!!#mike schmidt x male reader #michael schmidt x male reader

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joshym · 6 months

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Le Morte d'Arthur: Chapter 2

Pairing: Jake Kiszka x f!Reader, Sam Kiszka x f!Reader (oops)

Summary: It all began with a passion for literature. What was once a dream to walk the halls of the University of Michigan is now a reality.

You thought you were prepared for everything.

A new town, a new school, a new way of life,

but what you were not prepared for…

was meeting the enigma that is Jake Kiszka.

Word Count: 13.5k+

Warnings: (for this chapter) please proceed with caution if you find any of the following to be triggering: poor body image, body dysmorphia, mentions of a past eating disorder, an ill parent, (this will include descriptions of struggling to breathe due to illness & mentions of an oxygen mask) drinking, cussing, Jake is jealous? 18+ ONLY: some pretty heaving making out, (but it's not with who you think it is hehe), mentions of an erection, slight nudity, mentions of being turned on. (please let me know if i missed anything. there are a few heavy topics mentioned, & the last thing i want is for anyone to begin reading without a proper warning.)

a/n: i am so sorry this chapter took so long. i truly hope you love it & as always, please don't hesitate to let me know what you think! i love hearing from you guys. 🤍

also, huge thank you to @jakeyt for being the best editor & being my right hand in helping create this. i seriously couldn't have done it without you. love you SO much. you're the best sister i could ever ask for.

Le Morte d’Arthur Masterlist

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Your morning drives to school are your absolute favorite part of the day. They serve as your singular moment of complete peace to counteract the chaos that can be expected once the day truly gets started. The serenity of the morning air calms your spirit and prepares you for whatever the day may bring.

You’ve managed to find an alternate route to campus, one that keeps you far away from the heavy morning traffic. It adds nearly twenty minutes to your journey, but the cost of waking a little earlier each day is worth the promise of a few spare moments of quiet solitude.

The new path you’ve found leads you straight to school, and the best part– it’s an image right out of a fairy-tale.

Trees line the unpaved road, their leaves in early autumnal splendor. Hues of orange and red greet you in their forenoon charm, catching the rays of the waking sun as they glow in bright iridescence.

This morning, there’s a light rain shower leaving tiny droplets on your windshield. The sun still dares to peek through the gray clouds, illuminating the glittering raindrops as they gently fall to the ground.

You’ve yet to be met with another morning traveler since you discovered this road only days ago. It feels as though you’ve found some secret passageway— a hidden spot with no name, set aside just for you.

Pure tranquility washes over your body as your foot rests on the gas pedal.

It’s the moments like these that remind you of the beauty that still exists around you— that no matter what downfall you suffer, the earth will always be there to offer you her tiny bits of wonder to keep your feet planted firmly against her soil.

Your Firebird putters into the university parking lot, amongst the slew of shining, new vehicles with hardly an imperfection to be seen on any of them. You used to be embarrassed of your old clunker, but as time goes on you’ve learned to be grateful for it and all the places it has taken you.

Your new staff parking spot is awaiting you, of which you are entirely grateful. After your first day, you found that the parking lots fill up rather quickly with commuter students, so having a designated spot just for you everyday has saved you a lot of grief in the mornings. Yet another wonderful perk of being an employee of the university.

The smell of roasting espresso penetrates your senses as you waltz through the doors of the campus coffee shop. You and Natalia had agreed to meet this morning before your classes to study a bit for your course on influential women in literature.

Carmen, your favorite barista greets you as you walk up to the counter. Her sincere smile is always such a pleasant addition to your mornings.

She’s the most lovely vision; her loose curls always tied in a perfect ponytail, her bangs framing the contours of her face beautifully. Her black browline glasses sitting atop her freckled nose that push up past her eyebrows when she smiles, showcasing her sweet dimples.

You’ve made the coffee shop part of your morning routine everyday, so you’re not surprised when she knows your order without you having to say anything more than “Good morning, friend!”

“Large cold brew with oat milk and extra vanilla?” she asks, already writing it on the cup with a Sharpie.

You smile broadly. “You’re amazing, Carmen!” You hand her a ten and a five, insisting that she keep the change. She fights you a bit but realizes she’s already lost the battle.

She hands you your drink and you thank her, telling her you’ll see her tomorrow at the same time.

You choose a table close to a window so as to have a view of the gloomy, morning sky.

Watching the raindrops race each other to the bottom of the window seal, leaving their trail as the others merge to quickly join behind them— it gives you a sense of nostalgia that takes you back to a time when things were simply…easier.

One thing about growing up in Oklahoma— it was always raining. And much to your mom’s discontent, you were sure to be found outside right in the middle of it.

It probably explains why you were almost always sick as a child. Frequent head colds were the norm for you. It never stopped you, though. The rain brought forth a sense of clarity for you—feeling the cold drops hitting your face was the mental reset your mind needed, and it still is to this day.

You’d always been fascinated with weather— but specifically the rain. A poem you’d fawned over in your childhood spoke of rain carrying the ghosts of the past— a sentiment you’ve held onto dearly ever since.

That very poem is the reason you love literature. It’s the reason you’re here, to study the thing that brings you the most comfort.

Each time it rains, you’re flooded with lovely memories…memories of the ghosts that still linger from your youth.

This is the first rain shower you’ve experienced thus far in your new home; it feels as though the earth is trying to tell you it’ll all be just fine. She’s telling you that you do belong here, that you’re right where you need to be.

“Daydreaming much?” Natalia pulls out the chair opposite of you, sitting her usual hazelnut latte down as she takes her seat.

“Guess you could say that,” you say through a smile. “I just adore the rain.”

You each pull out your laptops and Charlotte Brontë books, catching up on your weekends with one another.

“You’ll never believe what I agreed to on Friday,” you say.

She looks at you with a smirk splayed across her glossed lips, her rose colored cheeks still wet from having just walked through the rain.

To your surprise, she asks, “Does it have anything to do with a little medieval film project?”

“How in the hell do you know about that?”

“My brother,” she responds. “He’s helping Josh with it. Doing set designs, costuming— it’s quite impressive, honestly. Those costumes are some of the most beautiful I’ve ever seen, and I’ve done theatre my entire life.” She blows air on her coffee to cool it down a bit before taking a sip, wincing from the heat as she pulls the cup away from her lips. “I knew they were searching high and low for a Guiniverre— guess I should’ve known it’d be you.” Her long, butterfly lashes flutter with a wink as she giggles.

You’re not entirely sure what to make of her last statement. You just chose to ignore it.

“He said it’ll be killing two birds with one stone— that we’ll be helping out his brother for his film class, while also having something for our project in Movack’s class.” You pause to take a deep breath, “But I am no actress. And if it’s all truly that impressive, I may prove to be a bit of a disappointment.” Your hands fall into your lap as you stare down at yourself— your body comfortably covered with your usual oversized sweater and leggings, feeling a rush of insecurities as you imagine yourself being filmed. “I’m more of a behind-the-camera type of gal, anyways.”

You’ve fought this inner battle for as long as you can fathom— your appearance is a topic you tend to avoid. You hide behind people for photos, or offer to be the one taking them to get out of being in it altogether.

Disordered eating had been a side effect of the severe dysmorphic thoughts. But thankfully, after years of receiving help, you’re finally in a stable place in your recovery.

The thing that still lingers, though; the harsh way in which you view yourself. Specifically, your appearance.

“You said you’ve done theatre your whole life— why aren’t you playing Guiniverre?” you ask her. “I can’t imagine they haven’t thought of you.”

Natalia is far more fitting for this film. She carries the beauty required to take on such a role; the beauty of a lust worthy queen. Just as well, she clearly has the experience you so greatly lack.

She scoffs as she sets down her coffee and crosses her arms. “I was not about to kiss Sam. Nope. No way. That boy is a pain in my entire ass.”

Sam?… Kissing?

This is the first you’ve heard of any of this.

“Wait— what?” Your reaction seems to have caught her by surprise. Her eyes become wide and her lips part as she takes in your obvious confusion.

“Jake…didn’t tell you about that? Did he tell you anything?” She leans in closer to you, a slight look of irritation present in her honey eyes.

“He only gave me a vague synopsis— just about the infidelity in Arthur and Guinevere's marriage.”

You suddenly come to a harsh realization that you hadn’t even thought about until now.

Adultery and infidelity— forbidden romance. An entire film all about said romance, of which you are a main component. Of course there will be kissing in this film, perhaps even more.

Your stomach drops at the prospect, and you're silently cursing Jake for leaving this little tidbit out.

Of course, it isn’t entirely his fault. You should’ve guessed when he told you the focus of the film.

You’ve already agreed, and backing out now would mean you’re back to square one with a project for Movacks class.

All you can do now— beg to be anyone but Guiniverre.

“First off,” you question, “who on earth is Sam?”

“Sammy? He’s their baby brother. He also takes classes here— well, when he decides to show up, that is. He lives with the twins.”

You pick up your coffee, taking a large gulp to keep the caffeine running through your system. “And why do I have to kiss him again?”

“I can’t believe he didn’t tell you,” she says, huffing a laugh under her breath. “Josh has…plans.”

You cock an eyebrow at her, having a pretty good inclination about what these plans entail. You nod your head to let her know to continue.

“There will be a few…intimate scenes, between you and Sam. He’ll be playing the knight of romance and chivalry himself, our beloved Sir Lancelot.” She follows suit in taking a few swigs of her coffee now that it's cooled down a bit. “You and Sam will really get to know each other. And from what I’ve gathered about this film, the emphasis will be on Guin and Lance’s love. Arthur will have a different love interest— I think they’ve already casted her? Anyways, I doubt you and Jake will have many, if any, scenes together. At least no saucy ones. Which I’m sure you’re glad to hear.”

You were not prepared in the slightest for intimacy. Intimacy in front of a camera— with someone you don’t know, all for the sake of someone you hardly know. Someone who’s been a massive dick to you, no less.

But her last statement— about not having any special scenes with Jake. She’s right, mostly. It would be incredibly uncomfortable to have any scenes like that with him…right?

But, if you're being fully honest, a small part of you is a bit…disappointed.

You shove that thought down fast. “Uh, yeah. I’m more than thrilled to hear that. That would be awkward as fuck.” You’re doing your best to be sure she doesn’t see right through you.

“But seriously, y/n. Those costumes…” She smiles widely, shaking her head back and forth. “ My brother did a great job finding those. They’re going to accentuate you in all the right ways.”

That is exactly what you’re afraid of.

With your elbows on the table, you throw your face into your open palms with such force that you nearly knock your cold brew to the floor.

“Nat, I– I don’t think I can do this.”

She lightly takes your wrist in her hand, jolting you a little so you’ll lift your face. “Hey, what’s wrong? It’s just acting, love. It’s not that serious, I promise.” Her voice is so sweet and gentle, her eyes have softened and are full of quiet concern.

“I know it’s not that serious,” Out of instinct, you pull your sleeves over your hands and take your hair out from behind your ears, hiding yourself as best as you can. “I just don’t like…this,” Your hands motion to your body covered with the security of your baggy clothes. “I’ve never liked this. I mean, just how much will these costumes… accentuate me?” The thought of baring yourself even in the slightest has your stomach tumbling with somersaults.

“Listen— I know Josh, and he will never let you do something you’re not comfortable with,” she assures, her honest smile making an appearance. “His mind is wide open and his soul is in all the right places. If there’s something you don’t like, just tell him and he’ll fix it.”

You’re racking your brain with the thought of his twin being as wonderful as she described. How could someone who shares the same DNA profile with Jake truly be that amazing?

“And stop worrying about the costumes. I can promise you, y/n, you will look sexy as hell.”

She’s doing her best to reassure you— though it’s not totally working, you act as though it is to change the subject and get started on your studies.

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You frustratedly close the lid to your laptop after having nearly failed your quiz. You had set aside plenty of time this weekend to study, but with how distracted you are right now from your conversation with Natalia this morning, all the time in the world for studying wouldn’t have mattered.

And of course, it’s Movack’s class— the one you most want to excel in, the one you share with Jake.

He closes his laptop only seconds after you.

It’s not a fucking race, Jake.

Movack stated at the beginning of class that once you finish your quiz, you’re free to leave. You quickly pack up your things, trying to make a hasty escape before Jake to avoid any possible conversation with him.

You’re halfway down the hall and as you’re about to turn the corner to safety, you hear, “Hey, y/n! I need to ask you something.”

Fucking hell.

You pause for a moment, dramatically rolling your eyes before you turn around to see Jake walking towards you.

He takes his sunglasses off and places them in the breast pocket of his shirt. He makes eye contact with you, a rarity for him, before he asks “Are you free on Saturday afternoon? Around 4:30?”

…what?

That is the very last thing you’d ever expect to come from his lips.

His gaze has yet to break as he awaits your response. His deep set amber eyes are piercing right into yours. He has an almost desperate look about him— as if he’s anxious for you to reply.

Is he…asking you out?

Your intuition tells you there’s no way, but…why else would he be asking you this?

Suddenly, your body begins to tingle. The butterflies in your tummy begin swarming.

You don’t know what changed— perhaps agreeing to the film? Maybe he’s finally seeing you as more than a scholarly competition, maybe he’s finally seeing you. Whatever it may be, you’re not questioning it any longer.

You’ve decided you’re completely infatuated with him, and getting to know him even better outside of this classroom sounds…wonderful.

“Y-yeah! I don’t have anything going on. I’m totally free!” With a full toothed grin on display and perhaps a bit too much eagerness, you follow with, “Why? What did you have in mind?”

His brows then become furrowed, his slight look of desperation transforming into one that says he’s now… confused.

“Um… okay,” His voice sounds unsure, his inflection coming off as more of a question than a statement. “I’m only asking because my brother wants to go over a read through of some of the script on Saturday…you know, for the film project.”

Oh. My. God.

You’re mentally smacking yourself across the forehead. You want to crawl inside the deepest fucking hole on this planet and stay there with your shame.

What is wrong with you? It’s as though you’ve completely forgotten you have a project to do with him— that that would be the only logical reason he’d ask if you were free. Obviously.

That’s why he looked desperate. Not because he wanted you to agree to some date— because he needs your help with this stupid fucking project you regretfully agreed to.

Your face (noticeably, you're sure) drops. You’re so humiliated at your response. No wonder he looked so damned confused.

“Sure, yeah. I can do that.” You revert back to your initial irritated tone, refusing to look him in the eye now, hoping that he’ll somehow forget you were any other way.

“He also needs you to try on the costumes, too. Make sure they’re the right size.”

The costumes.

This couldn’t get any fucking worse. But you can’t turn him down now, given you were so quick to tell him you’re free on Saturday.

You simply say “okay,” as you nod your head in agreement.

He takes out his notebook, writing down his address before ripping the sheet of paper out and handing it to you.

You tuck it away in your bag, bidding him a quick adieu before turning to walk far away from him.

Tears threaten to fall from your eyes. Not out of sadness, but out of mortification. Out of irritation.

Irritation with yourself, with him. And it’s not even his fault. You’re the one that jumped to ridiculous conclusions— jumped the highest you possibly could.

You feel utterly stupid.

So fucking stupid.

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Your mom looks at you in shock as you walk inside your apartment. Ridding yourself of your bags with a swift toss to the floor, you slump down next to her on the couch.

“What are you doing home so early? I thought you had class until later this afternoon,” she probed.

“Just a little tired,” you say. “Thought I’d give myself some time to rest before work.”

“This isn’t like you, y/n. What’s wrong, sweetie?”

She’s right— this isn’t like you. You normally wouldn’t even think of skipping class, your education being the most important thing to you. But, you just couldn’t bring yourself to do it today.

“Kind of a long day, I guess. And I’m a little stressed out with my classes.”

She then turns the television off and glares at you with the eyes of a worried mother.

“Talk to me, y/n. I know there’s more.”

You should know by now that you can’t hide anything from her. She knows you too damn well.

You can’t hold it back any longer as you begin to spill it all.

“It’s… stupid Jake. I thought he was asking me out today, but he most definitely was not. And I made an idiot out of myself because I misunderstood and—”

She stops you mid sentence, “And who is Jake?” she questions.

You haven’t told her a single thing about him, about your project, anything. It’s not that you were trying to hide it from her, you just really didn’t want to talk about it.

With a heavy sigh, you say, “He’s my partner for this huge semester project in my King Arthur class. We’re doing an Arthurian film with his brother,” you put a palm to your face. Looking up at her with a sarcastic smile, you add. “Oh, and Jake is a major dick.”

“Do you like him?” she asks with a smirk curling at the corner of her lips.

“Absolutely not!” you exclaim— rather loudly, at that.

Even you don’t believe the words that came out of your mouth, so why would she?

She just chuckles at your response, knowing better than that but deciding to not ask you about it any further, switching the topic to your project. “Tell me about this film you're doing,” she says.

“You won’t believe this but, I’m actually acting in it.”

“You? Acting? Okay, who are you and what have you done with my daughter?” she jokes, forcing a smile out of you.

“Just wait. It gets better,” you say. “I’m actually playing Guiniverre and Jake will be Arthur. It’s all about their adulterous marriage, and the focus will be on them cheating on each other. Quite romantic, huh?”

She begins to laugh again, trying not to wear out her weak lungs, but it doesn’t work. She gets caught up in a huge coughing fit, struggling to catch her breath.

This always happens; she can’t even laugh without her lungs giving her trouble. It shatters your heart. She’s always had the most contagious, obnoxious laugh. You miss the pure, unpunctured sound of it so much.

You reach for her oxygen mask and gently place it over her mouth. “Just breathe, mom. It’s okay, I’m here. Just breathe for me, in and out…”

As much as it scares you whenever this happens, it scares her even more. The look in her eyes makes you want to cry. It’s a look that says “please make this stop.”

You wish more than anything that you could.

It’s the moments like these that you want to curse your dad for leaving, for leaving his wife of almost twenty years like this.

She begins to calm down, her breathing slowing as she’s able to take full breaths again.

“You okay?” you ask.

She moves your hand and lifts the mask from her face. “Just fine, sweetie. Sorry about that.” Her voice sounds so frail, like she’s just run a marathon.

“Don’t apologize, Mom,” you lay a hand on your skinny thigh, squeezing reassuringly. “Please.”

She nods, then requests. “Tell me more.”

She doesn’t like to dwell on these things when they happen, so you start talking about the film and Jake some more.

“He’s got a younger brother named Sam, who’ll be playing Lancelot. Apparently, there are a few scenes between him and I in the script that are a bit… sensual, you could say.”

“Well, is he as cute as Jake?” she snickers.

“Mom! I never said Jake was cute.”

“Didn’t have to,” she says. “You think he is, I can tell.” Her grin says she can see right through you, and she’s not wrong. She never is.

“I haven’t met his brother yet, so I have no idea.”

You continue telling her more about the film, telling her about Natalia, but the conversation ends up taking a turn to being mostly (completely, actually) about Jake.

“He’s just intimidated by you, y/n. That’s why he acts the way he does, so you don’t know his true feelings.”

You just shrug it off, knowing she’s obligated by blood to tell you that. She’s just trying to make you feel better.

“Just wait,” she says. “He’ll come around.”

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You look at your phone to check the time.

3:45 am. Ugh.

You’ve been in bed for hours desperately trying to sleep but your body just won’t relax.

You hated seeing your mom like that tonight. Watching her struggle to breathe… it's traumatizing every time it happens. And the episodes are becoming more and more frequent.

You just want her to be healthy again. You want to be able to have a normal conversation with her without worrying about making her laugh. It’s tearing you down, watching her wither away like this. It’s not fair.

You just wish there was more you could do.

Along with the stress of that, you also keep hearing Jake's voice on a loop in your head; “I’m only asking because my brother wants to go over a read through some of the script on Saturday…you know, for the film project.”

“I’m only asking…”

It’s the way he said ‘only,’ as if to say ‘don’t get your hopes up, that’s not what this is.”

Him posing that question (before you knew the true intent behind it) made you realize that— as much as you wish you weren’t— you’re somehow on the cusp of having feelings for him. And your conversation with your mom made that fact even more abundantly clear.

It’s most definitely not because of his winning personality.

No; it’s much different than that.

He brings about an air of mystery everywhere he goes. Every step he takes adds yet another layer to your curiosity about him.

And the way he acted when he asked you to be a part of his brother's film, how his face lit up in a whole new light. There’s a genuine man beneath his exterior— you can sense it. You just wish that were the Jake you’ve come face to face with nearly everyday since classes began a few weeks ago. That’s the side of him (if it is truly there and you’re not just making things up) that you want to discover.

He’s just… different. And you're annoyingly drawn to it. You're completely drawn to it.

You’ve never met anyone like him— let alone anyone that looks like him. As much as you hate to admit it, he is the personification of the female gaze. And his ridiculous attire, complete with his open shirts that display his necklaces on top of his bare chest— and yes, even his sunglasses that you try (but fail) to hate— all make it incredibly difficult to not find him attractive.

He’s beginning to consume your every thought, and you’re so mad at yourself for it.

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Saturday.

You’ve spent the entire week dreading today, contemplating backing out more times than you can count. Jake has been increasingly rude to you since your encounter with him on Monday. He’s spoken one or two words to you throughout the course of the week, but that’s about it.

Again, you're wondering why the hell you agreed to do him any favors.

If it wasn’t for this fucking project in fucking Movack’s class…

Without the consistent convincing from Natalia, you would have backed out. No question about it.

“Just make it through Saturday, y/n,” she said. “And if you still feel this way, tell him you want to do something else for your project. He’ll have to understand.”

You told her you’d do it, but only if she agreed to go with you. Thankfully, it didn’t take much convincing on your part and she happily accepted your terms.

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You bring your fist up to knock and wait a moment; nothing.

You feel as though you’ve given it ample time, so you knock yet again.

Finally, the handle on the door twists and is opened by, of course, Jake.

You embarrassingly stare a few seconds too long, not able to find words.

Unenthusiastically, he breaks the silence, “Welcome to our humble abode.”

He holds the door open as you and Natalia walk through the threshold together. Immediately upon seeing the place, you’re in a state of pure shock.

You’re not sure what you expected of Jake's home, but a two story, industrial loft apartment— massive loft apartment— right in the heart of downtown Detroit, was most surely not the first thing on your list. Natalia told you it was nice, but you weren’t prepared for this.

How do three college students manage to afford this?

The ever plaguing mystery continues.

It’s like walking into a photoshoot for a prestigious interior design magazine. This place doesn’t even look real.

Your eye is instantly caught by the decor. A tasteful mix of bohemian and modern rustic. The red brick walls lead to tall ceilings covered with exposed steel piping, adding so much unique character to the place. Trailing vines line the huge windows, casting the living room in an almost sage glow.

Jake ignores you, (shocker) as he heads into the kitchen and opens the refrigerator. “Well that’s just great,” he says, taking out a can of Miller Lite and turning to face Natalia. “The least your brother could do is restock our beer when he takes the last one.”

She just snickers in response.

Suddenly a loud bang comes from a room up the long staircase, followed by a pair of animated giggles.

Jake turns his head slightly in the direction of the commotion, mumbling “fucking imbeciles” quietly to himself, but loud enough that you heard it.

“What the hell was that?” Natalia asks.

“Our moronic brothers,” Jake grumbles.

Then, a man with a set of wild, messy curls on top of his head jogs down the stairs, giggling while struggling to keep his footing.

“What were you doing up there?” Jake demands.

“Do you really want to know?” the curly haired one says, wiping his shiny lips with the sleeve of his shirt before smoothing down his disarrayed mustache.

“Nope. Not one fucking bit,” Jake scoffs.

Jake then nods his head in your direction, letting him know that you and Natalia have arrived.

“Well hello, my dear Natalia!” he says, pulling her into a hug.

Then, he catches your eye.

“Ah hah!” he shouts, giving you a long look. “You must be our queen! Lovely to meet you, m’lady,” He grabs your hand and kisses it before making a dramatic display of bowing before you. “If I may be so bold, the name is Josh. Sir Josh of the Frankenmuth, Michigan sector— at your service.”

This is Josh? The other half of Jake?

There’s no way. Sure, they have the same face. Well, besides the addition of a mustache and goatee to Joshs, but still. Clearly they’re identical, but so starkly different from one another.

You look over to Jake, noting a slight irritated look from him. Ignoring it, you meet Josh in a hug.

“It’s so nice to meet you!” You throw a little extra emphasis on ‘so’, looking at Jake once more and picking up on his eye roll— even from behind his sunglasses.

You’re remembering your first encounter with Jake—how it was so vastly different from right now as you’re meeting his twin for the first time.

You instantly felt welcomed with Josh, while with Jake, you felt like a major inconvenience. (And admittedly, you still do.)

How can they be so different, yet look the exact same?

He’s even dressed like the perfect contrast of Jake.

Jake is clad in his usual monochromatic look—sunglasses, black button down and all. (How many of these fucking shirts does the man own, for godsake?)

But Josh, on the other hand— he’s wearing a stark white sweatshirt and skin tight khaki pants, pulled together aesthetically with high top tennis shoes that mimic the brightness of his top.

They are the personification of yin and yang standing before your very eyes.

“Would you like a drink?” Josh offers. “We have beer, wine—”

Jake interrupts him, yelling, “There’s no more beer!” as he takes a long sip out of his can.

“Okay then, no beer.” Josh chuckles. “Well we have water, of course. But that’s far too boring. I'd be happy to mix you one of my world-famous cocktails if you’d like.”

“Take it from me— if you don’t want to end up sloshed, do not let him make you a cocktail.” Another man makes his way down the stairs, stopping once he gets to Josh. He towers over him, being at least six inches taller. He’s awfully handsome, with the same kind, honey toned eyes that mimic those of your lovely friend standing beside you.

“My sweet, sweet Malachi. It’s okay to just admit that I make the most pristine drinks known to man.” Josh grabs his waist and tugs him close in an embrace.

“This would be my brother,” Natalia says.

“This is y/n?” He greets you with a hug, nearly lifting you off your feet. “It’s so great to meet you! You’re so kind to help with this.”

“I’m glad to help! I’m a huge Arthurian nerd, so this is right up my alley,” you say to him. “I just hope I can do Guinevere some justice. I’ve never really acted before.”

“I have no doubt in my mind that you’ll be great!” Josh chimes, “If you’re ready, I’ve got one of your costumes set up in Jake's room. Last door, straight down at the very end of the hall.”

Jake’s room?

“Okay! Sounds great. I’m really excited to see these. Nat told me they’re amazing,” you say, heading in the direction Josh told you his room is in.

Josh watches you leave, holding his hands up in a makeshift camera. “Yep. You’re the perfect vision for our Guin. Very pretty,” He playfully nudges Jake with his elbow, “You were right, my brother.”

What does that mean?

Jake’s cheeks become encompassed in a pink hue as he chokes on the beer he’d just taken a sip of.

“Why thank you, Sir Joshua,” you say as you turn around towards him to curtesy.

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

You were nervous enough about being in his home, but his room? That is an entirely different story.

A person's room is the most personal, intimate space. The space that holds all their innermost secrets. Walking in feels like the ultimate intrusion.

Your stomach tightens as you turn the knob on his bedroom door.

Immediately, you're struck with the same scent he carries with him.

His whole room smells like it— like him.

You turn to shut the door behind you to have some privacy, catching a canvas portrait on the back depicting an iconic Edgar Allan Poe quote: “Words have no power to impress the mind without the exquisite horror of their reality.”

The room is dimly lit, with blackout curtains hanging over the windows—only a single lamp in the corner next to the bed illuminates the space.

The walls are lined with medieval artwork. Depictions of Ophelia and The Lady of Shalott, with a few famous pieces by the great Edmund Blair Leighton that you’d recognize anywhere. And, of course, no medieval artwork collection is complete without the classic portrait of Morgan Le Fey. She’s illustrated in her quintessential colorful attire, looking as enchanting as ever. A favorite or yours.

Your curiosity is certainly piqued as you notice a few books sitting upon his bedside table.

The Lord of the Rings series. A Tolkien fan— you’re not surprised in the least.

The Two Towers is splayed open to page 316 with the corners very gently dog eared.

Next to the book lies an opened notebook donned with scribbled detailings of what he’d read. Little footnotes and observations, brief analyses of chapters.

A smile dares to creep across the corner of your mouth— finding it incredibly nerdy, yet all at once completely endearing that he places so much care in what he reads.

You know next to nothing about this man, but one thing you do know— he loves literature. And you’d bet he loves it almost as much (if not slightly more) than you do. That truly says something.

On top of the table on the opposite side of the bed sits a small record player, the record sitting under the stilled needle— Electric Ladyland by Jimi Hendrix.

You skim a few other album titles placed on the shelf next to it, seeing the likes of Stevie Ray Vaughan, Eric Clapton, Janis Joplin; he’s a blues kind of guy.

You grew up on that very same music, all thanks to your mom. She made sure you were well versed on music from a very young age.

A dark red Gibson SG is perched on its stand right next to the table holding the record player. The scratches engraved on its body indicate heavy use— you can tell this thing is quite loved.

He’s… a guitarist?

God. The mystery surrounding this man is never ending. There’s so much you don’t know, so much you wish you did know.

Feeling as though you’ve explored far too much of his room, you decide to focus your attention on the garment bag laid out across the black velvet duvet across Jake’s bed.

You unzip it, your nerves exuding through your shaky hands at whatever you’ll discover inside.

You lift the dress out of the bag high above your head as the length reaches clear to the floor.

Holy shit.

When Natalia told you these costumes were amazing, she was understating to the highest degree.

Golden hand sewn lace embroiders the deep burgundy corset bodice. The square neckline is garnished with gold and red gems in the most intricate pattern, with the same jeweled design present on the cuffs of the long sleeves. The skirt, the same shade as the bodice, is silken and heavy and adorned with a similar gold design cascading all the way down to the hem.

Truly fit for a queen.

You can’t help but wonder where they possibly found this. It’s the most gorgeous gown you’ve ever seen— and you get to wear it.

Undressing yourself in Jake's room feels…strange. You feel vulnerable and exposed, but the butterflies in your belly are swarming at the thought— the thought of being only in your bra and panties in Jake’s bedroom.

Taking another look at the corset, you quickly learn that a bra is simply not an option for this dress. You remove it, feeling particularly risqué now being half nude in his room.

You lay the dress on the floor and step into the skirt one foot at time, lifting it up and carefully putting your arms through the sleeves.

You try tightening the laces of the corset, but without being able to see, it’s proving to be rather difficult. You know there’s not a chance you can get this situated yourself.

You decide to text Natalia to come help you, but as you go to look for your phone, you remember you left it sitting on the coffee table in the living room.

“Fuck,” you whisper to yourself.

You open the door and marginally peak your head out, calling for her to come lend you a hand with the dress.

“Sorry— should’ve warned you about that,” you hear Josh yell from across the apartment.

“You rang?” Natalia jokes as she makes her way down the hallway to you.

“This is fucking impossible to get on,” you huff, closing the door as she walks in the room.

She chuckles as she shoves your hands out of the way to take over tying the corset. “You’ve really got yourself in quite the mess here.”

She sinches it as tight as it will go, forcing the breath out of your lungs in one final tug of the laces.

“Jesus, Nat!”

“Oh you’re fine. God, you literature people are so dramatic.”

“You’re one of us too, you know,” you quip back.

She secures the ribbon tightly with a bow before she says, “I think you’re in. Turn around, let's see what we’re working with.”

You run your hands down your torso and up to your chest, feeling the constriction present against your breasts as you turn your body to face her.

“Holy fucking shit, y/n. That’s what you’ve been hiding under those giant ass sweaters?” she marvels with arched eyebrows and wide unblinking eyes.

You haven't seen yourself yet, and judging by how snug the top of this dress is hugging you, you’re not exactly sure you’re ready to.

Pointing to the mirror leaned against the wall, she tells you, “Get your ass over there, you have got to see this.”

Years of body dysmorphia have set you up to hate everything you put on if it isn’t something that hides you. Tight fitting garments are your worst nightmare. You feel safe in things that conceal your figure, and being in something that doesn’t do that is forcing you to come face to face with the thing that terrifies you the most.

With a reluctant sigh, you slowly walk over to the large wooden oval floor mirror standing next to the matching dresser.

The first thing you notice upon lifting your eyes to meet your reflection— your breasts. From feeling them moments ago, you knew they were on full display, but you didn’t realize they’d be this exposed. One slightly questionable movement, and it’s all over.

The sleeves sit off your shoulders, leaving them exposed with the rest of your chest.

Your eyes trail down to your waist that is being held tightly by the corset, your figure finally being exposed.

“O-oh god…” you quietly stammer. “I look…”

“Insanely hot.” Natalia interrupts.

“…I look fucking ridiculous.”

“What the hell are you talking about, y/n?” she demands.

“This isn’t flattering…not in the slightest.” You bring your arms up to fold them over your chest. You can’t hide as easily as you would like to in this get up— and the thought of being filmed in this has your stomach in a nauseous hold.

She walks closer to you and gently brushes your arms, motioning for you to put them down— to stop hiding.“You’ve got to be kidding me, y/n. This dress was made for you.” She adjusts your right sleeve a bit, smoothing down a few wrinkles. With a tender voice, she asks, “What could you possibly not like about this?”

“I’m not you, Nat. I can’t pull this off like you could.”

“Do not start that shit with me, girl.” She sounds more stern this time. “Just because you don’t look like me, does not mean you aren’t fucking beautiful. If I have to spend all night convincing you that you’re gorgeous, I will.”

Natalia is the kind of person you’ve needed in your life, your whole life. She just gets you, and she always has the right thing to say at any given moment.

Not wanting to make this moment any more about yourself than you already have, you simply say, “Thank you, Nat.”

You reach for a hug and she pulls you in, saying “You’re welcome. Now, get yourself out there. I can’t wait to see the look on these boys’ faces.”

Just in time, a knock sounds against the bedroom door. “Uh ladies? Time is of the essence!” Josh jokingly yells from the hallway, snapping being heard through the wall.

You’re standing completely still, fear keeping you frozen on your feet. She notices and motions for you to move.

“You first,” you tell her.

She playfully rolls her eyes and agrees. Opening the door, she says, “Let’s go, your highness. Your kingdom awaits your arrival.”

You follow her down the hallway, hiking the skirt of your dress up as it’s far too long for you. You're so anxious to let Jake (and the other guys— but mostly Jake) see you like this. Petrified, really.

You’re afraid of his reaction, that it won’t be what you want it to be— that he’ll act disgusted.

But all the same, you want him to see. Maybe this will change his mind. Maybe he’ll think you look as good as Natalia says.

You can only hope, anyways.

Natalia pulls out all the dramatic stops to introduce you. “Gentlemen, I present to you, your queen.”

She stands to the side as you walk forward into the living room. Josh is sitting on the couch next to Malachi, both of them with large smiles across their faces at the sight of you. They each fawn over you, telling you how immaculate you look. Josh praises Malachi over and over for managing to get them the perfect gown, “The sizing is impeccable!” he tells him. Then he winks at Natalia. “Thanks for getting her sizes for us, Natty!”

You hear them, but you’re hardly paying them any attention as you’re stuck scanning the room for Jake, but to no avail. He’s nowhere to be seen. To say the very least, you’re full of disappointment.

“Well, fuck me,” you hear a voice say, one that you’re not quite so familiar with.

You snap your head in the direction of the voice to see a man— who looks a little like Jake?— leaning up against the floor to ceiling window in the dining room.

“Seriously, Sam?” Natalia snaps, “Where the hell are you manners?”

Sam— the Sam. The one you’ll be sharing the screen with the most.

It makes sense why he’d be chosen to play ever-romantic Lancelot. He’s a major flirt, quite fitting for the role. And— he’s fucking beautiful. Something you were not anticipating. (And something you hadn’t even thought about, with your mind being so overloaded with thoughts of Jake.)

While he doesn’t share the same similarities with Jake as Josh does, (they’re twins, so, obviously) you most definitely can’t deny the fact that they’re brothers.

Sam is a bit taller than the twins, his body shaped completely differently to accommodate his longer frame. His facial hair is quite similar to Joshs’, with his hair more the likes of Jakes'.

“Sorry, I can’t help myself when I see a pretty girl,” Sam blurts. “You sure you’re at the right place? Seems you should be galavanting in Hollywood looking like that.”

A heat rises to your cheeks at his compliment. You’re sure your face is nearly the color of the gown you’re in. He’s awfully bold— and you kind of like it.

His eyes stay fixed on you as he begins walking in your direction.

“I take it you’re y/n?” he asks, taking your hand and giving your knuckles a quick peck. “I’d say Jake made a good choice for our queen.” He looks into your eyes as he gives the back of your hand yet another kiss— this one a bit more involved.

You smile at the feeling of his mustache ticking your hand as he grins against the skin. “Thank you, Sam. I’m quite flattered,” you say, still giggling like a fucking school girl with a brand new crush.

“Oh Jesus Christ,” Nat quips with a stark roll of her eyes.

“This…THIS!” Josh shouts as he stands from the couch, trotting over to you and Sam. “The exact chemistry I was hoping for. You two just naturally have it— you exude it.” He grabs you both by the shoulders and pulls you both into a three-way embrace. “Sam, go put on your costume. We should run through a quick scene. I just have to see how this will play out.”

Josh is so giddy about it all that he plants a wet kiss to your cheek, saying with a sincere smile, “You really do look wonderful, you know.”

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

Josh led you all down a little pathway behind their apartment building that leads to a shrine of towering beautiful, old trees. The sun just barely breaks through the colorful leaves on their full branches, illuminating the mossy ground in a soft and subtle golden glow.

His vision for this particular scene with Lancelot and Guinevere is to take place in a forest setting, a “secret hiding place tucked away in the depths of nature's wonder,” as he put it.

You look around in awe; it’s though you’ve walked through the pages of an old story book. An enchanted forest, right in the middle of the hustle and bustle of the busy city. You would have never guessed this was hiding here. The perfect spot for a film– more importantly, it’s the perfect spot for lovers to enjoy their inconspicuous love affair.

“The lighting right now is unmatched,” Josh exclaims, taking note of the time so he knows when to come out when you’re ready to actually start filming. It’s just after 5:30, and with autumn nearly in full swing, it’s right at the beginning of golden hour. With the way the trees are shading the sun, it makes for the most beautiful, soft scene— almost lucent.

It reminds you so much of the serene road you’ve found for your morning treks to school each day. You feel the same way here as you do on that secret road; this will surely be a new favorite place of yours.

You’ve got the script in your hands, skimming through the scene Josh has highlighted for you.

Guinevere is sending Lancelot off to a jousting match, giving him her red scarf in secret to tie around his arm as a token. He must wear it during the game for good luck, and he’s meant to return it to her once he wins. A common medieval practice amongst lovers.

It ends with her wrapping her arms around him, enveloping him in a “deep, heated kiss to bid a farewell,” according to the script.

Oh god.

You read ahead a little. Apparently, this will be what gives their little love affair away. Arthur will recognize the scarf around Lancelot's arm as his wife’s, and the rest will be left to history. Angsty– wonderfully so.

“Right here,” Josh says. “This is perfect.”

He positions you and Sam in a spot that’s right in the middle of a circle of trees.

Sam's skin is glowing beautifully in this light, his dark eyes now several shades lighter as the sun catches them just right.

You can’t help but stare at him. He’s just so handsome, and he looks particularly regal in his costume. A white velvet, high collar top with white pants that are hugging him in all the right places, and a deep red cape draped over his broad shoulders— the same shade as your dress.

Is it historically accurate? Absolutely not. But it is most definitely serving its purpose of making him appealing to the eye, or making him lust worthy— which is exactly what Malachi was going for when he chose this get up.

His cape is meant to match your dress, symbolizing their affection for one another.

It’s brilliant, honestly.

Josh puts his hand on your shoulder, his perfectly round eyes meeting yours while he quietly says, “If you’re not comfortable with this, please don’t be afraid to tell me or Sam. Promise me you’ll say something.”

Sam looks at you with the same eyes as Josh, wanting to make sure you’re comfortable enough with everything before you start.

You smile at them both, patting Josh's hand that’s still resting gently on you. “I promise.”

“Okay, great. You guys ready?” Josh asks.

“I think so,” Sam says, looking down at you with heavy eyes and a sweet smile. “You ready, y/n?”

As you’d walked the path down here, Josh mentioned that Jake left to go get more beer while you were getting dressed. And… he’s still not back yet.

A part of you doesn’t want to do this without him here. Why? You wish you knew. It just doesn't feel right for some reason.

You look around at everyone once more to see if maybe he’s shown up and you just didn’t realize it.

You see Josh, Malachi and Natalia all standing around you— but no Jake.

Oh well…

Matching Sam's smile, you say, “Yep. I’m ready.”

Neither of you have your lines memorized just yet, so you both read directly from the script.

Sam begins the scene:

“My love. I accept this token and will wear it as I carry you with me, that with it wrapped around my arm, so as you are wrapped even tighter around my heart.”

Then you:

“With it carries the promise you will return to me, unmarked and whole. Again will you lie with me, again will you hold me as tightly as my token holds you.”

You know Sam is acting, but the way he’s looking at you as you say your line— he looks like he’s madly in love. It’s catching you off guard, making your knees weak as your voice trembles with the next line.

“Seal your promise of returning to me with your lips, my love. Kiss me and tell me it’s true that you will hold me again.”

With that, Sam drops his script to his feet. He lifts his hands to cup your face, holding it gently as his thumbs lightly sweep across your cheekbones. Your breath hitches, and you too, drop your script.

This… this suddenly doesn't feel like acting anymore.

He leans in slowly, his lips just beginning to brush over yours. You grip his shoulders, leaning in the rest of the way until, finally, your lips collide with his.

A kiss so sweet and tender. Not too deep, yet a far cry from a friendly peck.

He pulls away from you delicately, the sound of his lips breaking from yours the only one you can hear as silence lingers in the air around you.

As you look into his eyes, you notice something different, something real. Like he’s wanted to do that since he first laid eyes on you just a short while ago.

“Wow, y/n’s got some serious acting chops after all,” you hear Natalia say, slowly clapping.

But it’s abruptly interrupted by someone speaking.

“What— what the fuck is going on?” That voice… you know that voice without even looking away from Sam.

Jake. He’s back.

“Bravo, bravo!” Josh shouts while clapping his hands. “God. Beautifully done, you guys. I’d like to run through it just once more. Give me a little more passion this time.”

You finally look away from Sam, seeing Jake standing next to his twin with a bewildered look upon his face.

In his all black outfit, he really stands out amongst everyone, amongst the golden sun rays that shine down upon him.

He’s not wearing his sunglasses, and you’re once again spellbound by his eyes. Their amber tone heightened in the light.

He just looks so fucking good.

Sam is beautiful, but he’s just not Jake.

“Hello? Is anyone going to fill me in on this?” Jake asks again, motioning his arms toward you and Sam.

“We’re rehearsing a scene, Jake.” Josh retorts.

“Yeah? And what scene might that be?” Jake sounds quite unhappy, much to your confusion.

Josh picks up the script at Sam's feet, holding it open to the page you’re currently working on. “This one,” he says. “The one where she gives Lancelot her token. I wrote this weeks ago, Jake. Why are you acting like you’ve never seen it?”

Jake hastily takes the script from him and reads over the scene in question. “I swear I’ve never read this before.” He continues flipping the pages, going back and finding more scenes that will be shared between you and Sam. “Why the hell do they have so many of these scenes together? When did you decide on all of this?”

“Seriously, Jake?” Josh scoffs. “These scenes have always been there—,” he growls, using his hands to help communicate the emotions in his next words. “You clearly haven't read a word of the fucking script. Guinevere and Lancelot’s affair is the main focus, with some on Arthur’s affair with the maiden. We literally talked about this. Multiple fucking times.”

Jake gives the script back to Josh, fiercely rubbing his chin as he does so.

“Why are you so upset, Jake?” Josh asks.

“I’m literally not, Josh.”

“Uh, yes you are. You only rub your chin like that when you’re pissed.”

With a flair of his nostrils, Jake says, “Just get on with your goddamn rehearsal.”

“Just ignore them. They do this shit all the time,” Sam quietly says to you. “Ready to do this again?” he asks.

With your attention back on Sam, you smile and nod your head.

You do the scene again, much the same as you had before. But this time, with the watchful eyes of Jake, you feel a bit more… inspired.

“Kiss me and tell me it’s true that you will hold me again.”

Sam once again takes your face in his hands, leaning in close to you.

This time, instead of grabbing his shoulders, you opt to run your fingers through his hair.

Locking eyes with Jake, who’s standing perfectly in your view, you lift your face to crash your lips with Sam— much harder this time.

Josh wanted more passion, and he’s getting exactly that.

You push your tongue past Sam's plush lips, eliciting a soft grumble from deep in his throat.

His hands suddenly move from your face to your neck, his fingertips tracing the skin while leaving goosebumps in their wake. He then reaches down to your waist, pulling you tightly against his body.

This is no Guiniverre and Lancelot sharing a secret kiss in the middle of a hidden forest; this is you and Sam enjoying the hell out of each other.

But even as your mouth is fully enveloped with Sams, even with your tongues fighting for dominance with one another— your only thought… is Jake. Fucking Jake.

You situate your face just so, where you’re again able to look Jake in the eyes. He intensely glares as he watches you in a moment of pure desire with his brother— and he doesn’t look happy.

Incidentally, it's only adding fuel to your fire as your lips continue furiously attacking Sams.

You wrap your hands even tighter around his soft locks as his tongue is dancing with yours.

More beautiful, hushed moans escape Sam’s mouth straight into yours as you echo them right back to him.

He tastes like heaven mixed with a delicious honey sweet bourbon, he’s fucking delectable.

With a little hesitancy, (especially on Sam's part) the kiss breaks as you are forced to come back up for air.

Sam is still holding you close, so close that you can feel his enthusiasm between your bodies that’s thankfully being covered by the skirt of your dress.

“You’ve uh, got me in a bit of a predicament here,” he whispers, his lips ghosting over the shell of your ear.

You look him in the eyes, biting your kiss swollen bottom lip. “I can tell. Pretty big predicament, huh.” Your new found bravery has taken even you by surprise.

Sam just smirks at you while everyone is left stunned at your performance.

“I… am so fucking pissed,” Josh says.

“Why, babe?” Malachi asks him.

“Because I didn’t bring my fucking camera. You two… you two were made to do this together. I really hope you can do that again. Holy shit. Bra-fucking-vo.”

“What do you think, y/n? Think we could do that again?” Sam asks you. Although it’s clear he isn’t referring to the film.

Looking at Jake, his jaw clenched and his fists tight, you say, “Yeah.” You tear your eyes away from Jake, looking at Josh to finish. “I think we could do that again.”

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

A few weeks have gone by, and most things are going very well with the production.

Josh is a fantastic director (albeit, a little too bossy at times). Their sweet friend Daniel wound up being a great cameraman, getting shots of you that didn’t make you completely cringe at first glance. Then there was Malachi, who is consistently helpful, just like his sister. Sam, the perfect scene partner— so attentive and great at checking in with you between takes.

And Nat, ever the loyal friend, has still been coming to rehearsals with you. She hasn’t missed a single one, and her support has meant the world to you. Each time you feel a rush of insecurity washing over you, she’s there to talk you through it and be the encouragement you need.

The only part of these rehearsals that’s getting extremely old is how much Jake inserts his “constructive creative criticism.”

On more than one occasion, you’d shoot daggers in his direction and remind him that he’s not the director and to leave it to his brother. To which he’d respond with a scoff, palms planted, strong on his hips, and turn to leave the room in a huff.

Then there are the arguments between the twins… which have been growing in intensity. Some days production ends because the two of them just refuse to see eye to eye, making it impossible to get through a single scene.

You have to admit— these two are rather passionate about their work.

You just wish they’d stop arguing long enough to showcase their talents.

The most memorable day on set as of yet was the day Jake's costume had finally arrived.

He’d been taking far too long to get dressed in his attire, causing Josh to succumb to a near full meltdown. The sun was setting and Josh was adamant about getting at least one scene with Arthur shot outside.

Jake, however, was extremely unhappy with the costume that was chosen for him. He refused to walk out in it, claiming it was nothing like what he had pictured for the character. “This isn’t Arthur,” he said. “This is a goddamn see-through crop top.”

And that had instantly piqued your attention. You’d walked around the corner of the hallway, Natalia leading the way. Thankfully— because she did not need to be privy to the fact that you were so curious.

Then, you saw him. Clad in his film outfit that was a cut off chainmail top, with its short, tight sleeves putting his muscular biceps on full display.

His pecks, (which you’ve caught yourself admiring a time or two before) looked particularly perked and rounded.

You also loved how sheer the top was, giving you a fantastic view of his skin underneath.

Jake clearly wasn’t happy about it, but you most definitely were.

“Goddamn…” you whispered to yourself, watching the way his arms flexed each time he adjusted his shirt. You couldn’t help it. He just looked so fucking sexy.

“I’m not wearing this, Josh.” Jake asserted. “Nope. This is ridiculous.”

“Yes you are, Jake. It’s only for a few scenes, then you can wear the outfit you chose.” Josh blurted. “And I told you we’d get you a black cloak to wear. Will that make you feel better?” You noted a bit of sarcasm in his voice.

“Fuck no,” Jake said. “And why the hell does Sam get to have my sword for so many of his scenes?”

The argument continued on, and almost an hour later, Jake finally gave in. But, it was too late. The sun had gone down, and you were all ready to call it quits for the night.

“Well, a fucking wasted day. Thanks an awful lot, Jake.” Josh shouted as he stomped up the stairs.

They were able to shoot that scene the very next day, and as usual, they acted as if nothing had happened.

It’s pure whiplash with these two. One minute they’re cussing each other out, on the verge of throwing fists; the next, they’re making each other laugh so hard they’re nearly rolling on the floor.

Outside of filming, Jake has remained stoic– ignorant to your existence.

At school, he acts as though you don’t exist– only acknowledging you if he absolutely has to. For instance, before you can even try to get a word in before or after class, he’s already shooting up out of his seat before you have time to even think about standing up.

And similarly, at rehearsals, your conversations are limited to one or two words here and there, besides the incessant critiques he tosses around after your scenes.

Sam, however, has given you nothing but praise after praise. His flirting hasn’t let up— and you’ve been dishing it right back any chance you get.

You had ultimately decided if Jake wouldn't give you the time of day, you’d give it to someone who will. Who just so happens to be Sam.

Although, it lends more material for Jake’s reproval. The comments he’d make about it were aggravating at best.

“Can you show us all some fucking respect, please?”

“We’re trying to get work done.”

“Do you want us all to have failed projects because you two can’t stay fuckin’ focused?”

And, to every response, Josh shut him down, scolding him for being an asshole.

“You’re going to chase away my muse, Jake. Please, cut the shit,” he’d roll his eyes, messing with the sides of his hair, fluffing it, cutting a glance at his twin. “I’m tired of you acting like a child. You’re the one causing us to lag with the ridiculous comments.”

The comments did distract you a little from the scenes you knew were coming up rather quickly on the filming schedule… but his remarks also added unnecessary anxiety to the overall atmosphere for you. In which case, Sam would be the one to make you feel better, bringing you right back to him.

The particular scene that’s hurtling towards you is happening later this week. You’re filming a brand new scene with Sam that will be far more intimate than anything you’ve filmed thus far.

Josh wanted to give you time to adjust to everything and feel completely comfortable before he introduced this part of the film.

You’re still nervous about it, but your eagerness to see the film through has you ready to give it a go.

The day before the filming of the scene, you go about things like normal. You have so much fun rehearsing with Sam; Nat and Malachi watch in awe as the scene flows flawlessly between the two of you, like it normally does.

And today, it’s easier because Jake had been strangely absent. But, it hadn’t been better. Because no matter him being so irritating, you had sort of missed looking up at him, mid-scene with Sam. It had become oddly normal to find his eyes while meeting Sam’s lips.

After finishing a rather long rehearsal, Josh reminds you in passing that you’ll be wearing a brand new costume for tomorrow’s shoot.

And you figured today was as good a day as any to give it a peek.

Walking to Jake’s room to locate it, you sent Nat a quick text that you were heading there. She’d slipped away with Malachi to discuss costumes, but you knew if you ended up trying the costume on that you’d need her there to help (or at the very least, encourage).

Jake’s room has become designated for your costumes, of which he has expressed ample irritation about. Just one more thing for the twins to fight about.

You’re actually starting to believe that Josh made it that way just to spite Jake.

Once you make it there, the stark red garment bag is hanging on the closet door, awaiting you. It’s the other one that had been laid out on Jake's bed that first day you came over.

That day had slipped away from all of you with Josh’s insistence that you and Sam re-rehearse the kiss, over and over. So, you never got the chance to try it on.

You had hesitated looking at it since that day, though, because Nat forewarned you that this costume was much more revealing than the last, and knowing that, you haven’t really been in any hurry to try it on.

Lifting up on your tiptoes the slightest bit, you grab the garment bag that holds the brand new, different costume that Malachi has specially picked for you.

Nat had fortunately gotten the text and had made it in time to help you remove the corset dress, carefully placing it back in its garment bag.

Left in your black thong, lacking a bra from your prior costume, you look at the other bag, now laying on the bed. Your stomach sinks to your knees at the possibility of what’s hiding beneath the red canvas.

“Just how bad is it, Nat?”

The anxiety you faced trying on the first dress weeks ago is now creeping its way back in. You’re scared stiff for a moment, staring down at the costume still hidden beneath the red fabric.

“You’re overthinking it, y/n,” she says. “Just open it and find out. All I can tell you is you’re going to look unreal.”

Not wanting to draw this out any longer, you start unzipping the bag, slowly revealing the black lace that was tucked away inside.

You pull on the hanger to take it out of the bag fully.

A long black gown of intricate lace and chiffon— a lavish, luxurious piece of… lingerie. The gown exposes skin, hiding just beyond the cloth. Tight at the bust and waist, and flowing out at your hips.

The neckline is completely open and plunges down to the waist. The mesh material decorated with an elaborate floral design— is utterly see-through. The front of the gown is held together with only a black satin ribbon tied in a bow.

“Holy shit, y/n,” she gasps, admiring every piece of your body she can see. “You look like a piece of fucking artwork. Utterly gorgeous, honey.”

“God, Nat…” You hold it up to your body, running your fingers over the long, bell sleeve. “I really don’t know about this.”

“Josh told you if you don’t like it, they’ll find you something else. But you should at least try it on, see what you think,” she says.

You’re scared of putting it on and absolutely despising your body; you’ll be forced once again to face all of the things you don’t love about it— you won’t be able to hide in this. Not at all.

But, you promised Josh and Malachi you’d try it. And Nat is right— they have assured you over and over again that if you’re not happy with something, they’ll fix it. No questions asked. Josh asks you every single day if you’re comfortable with everything, and he’s made it abundantly clear over the course of the production that you must tell him if there’s anything you don’t like.

Clearing your mind of any more thought, (because you’ll overthink yourself to the death if you don’t) you untie the sash, placing the gown over your body.

As you suspected, there's nothing left to the imagination.

The lace just barely covers your breasts, laying completely open down to your belly button— and you’ve suddenly become hyper aware of the fact that your nipples are peeking through the sheer fabric.

“Please tell me they have pasties for me, because this,” you grumble, pointing to your chest, “is not going to work for me.”

Initially you’re talking about your nipples that you can see through the sheer fabric, but you figure there’s no use in hiding what’s on your chest from Nat. Something you would also like to be covered from eyes that you can’t fully trust yet. So, you lift your breast the slightest bit to also expose the red ink lying beneath the supple flesh.

Redrum, in dark red ink etched along the curve underneath your right breast.

Your best kept secret is no longer hidden with the likes of this dress.

“Is that…. a tattoo?”

You had decided on an impulse one night (after a few too many drinks) that you wanted a tattoo. It had been a hard week of treatments for your mom, while also simultaneously being the week that you found out about your acceptance to U of M. And you had figured you might as well do something for you— both to celebrate and distract yourself from the sad reality of your mother’s decline.

No one knows about it (save for Natalia now). Not even your mom. It was gotten with the intent to be something special for you and only you. A part of your body that you could find comfort in despite your dislike for your build— something about yourself to be comfortable with.

And being the massive Stephen King and Kubrick fan that you are, you decided on a tattoo that solidifies your love for The Shining. Both the book and the film have carried through some incredibly tough times in your life, so you can’t really say you regret the permanent decision. But, you like that it’s something sacred for just you.

“Yeah,” you say, tracing your finger along the flesh like you do nearly everyday. Just to ground yourself. “Important to me for several reasons. No one knows about it. You’re the first to know I have it actually.”

She nods in approval. “I’m honored,” she says, a sweet grin highlighting her features. “And I’m totally here for it.”

You really weren’t ready for everyone to see it yet, though.

“Do you think there’s something that we could cover it up with?”

She is already walking to the door as you ask, ready to help however she can.

“I’m going to check with Malachi,” she says, one foot out the door. Then she steps back inside the room, shutting the door to a crack before she whispers. “I won’t tell anyone about it. I’ll just say I wanna snoop through Josh’s Ben Nye.”

“You’re the best Nat,” you feel tears well in your eyes.

You’ve never had a friend as wonderful as Natalia, and with every small thing she did to help, it solidifies how grateful you are for her.

When the door closes behind her, you decide to bite the bullet and look at yourself once more.

Your thoughts begin to torment you, but you combat them with Natalia’s words.

“You look like a piece of fucking artwork. Utterly gorgeous, honey.”

You wish so badly you could eternally shut the thoughts off long enough to see yourself the way others see you, especially in these stunning costumes that you should feel beautiful in.

Someone as lovely as Nat— inside and out— complimenting you in the way she has, you should feel inclined to believe her; she’s not just telling you what she thinks you want to hear. She’s the most genuine person you’ve yet to meet and the last person to ever bullshit you.

A few heavier tears have begun to form, threatening to fall at any moment as you take in your image in the mirror.

You do look beautiful.

For the first time in god knows how long, you can see your beauty reflecting back to you, effectively telling your ever intrusive thoughts to ‘fuck off’ once and for all. And it’s not just in your body, it’s in you. The beauty within yourself that fully encompasses who you’ve grown to become as a woman.

You’ve been through some tough ass shit— had to go through things that you wish you hadn’t had to… and you’re still standing here to speak of it. That, in and of itself, is an accomplishment that shows some sort of beauty and resilience flowing from inside of you.

It doesn’t feel right acknowledging these things. You’re not used to it. But at this moment, it feels okay. Feels good. You let yourself have it for now.

You normally wouldn’t dare be caught in something like this (let alone allow yourself to be on camera) but now, you’re actually excited. You never would have guessed you had a passion for acting, for playing a character so vastly different from who you are in real life. You’re glad to have somehow stumbled upon this whole thing; it’s helped you find the confidence in yourself that you’ve been desperately searching for your entire life.

Moving the material covering your thighs the slightest bit, you reveal your leg, flexing it and admiring the taut flesh there. The feminine way your body is built complimenting the lean muscle that’s been built from hard work over time— working your ass off to get to where you wanted to be. Then, you poke your ass out, turning the slightest bit, you see the plush skin of your ass through the thin, dark material. You take the briefest second to appreciate the way it looks, round and full at the top of your thighs. Usually you would hate acknowledging that—hate. it.—but right now? It’s something sort of… sexy, seeing it. It’s hidden away beneath the flowing material, but wholly visible as well.

It’s mysterious and you like it. The gown acknowledges parts of your body, without putting it on full display and it’s honestly everything you needed. It helps you to accept the curves you usually curl your lip at.

Just then, as you stand there with your leg completely out of the slit, you hear the handle on the door turn and the door slowly creak as it’s being opened from the other side.

Nat must’ve found the makeup for your little secret. You hold your breast in preparation to cover the ink, but don’t immediately turn around towards the door. Part of you, wanting her to see this new found confidence you’ve discovered within the confines of this gown.

“I am so fucking glad you talked me into trying this on. I would have never if it weren’t for you— “

The sound of a throat being cleared of tension is made, interrupting you before you’re able to get the rest of your words out.

With a slight cock of your head in the direction of the door, your hair waving around your shoulders in the process, you realize… it’s not Nat standing on the threshold.

Stunned, frozen solid in your position that exposes your leg all the way up to the round flesh of your ass peeking through, you realize that standing where Nat should be… is Jake.

He’s as still as you, with one hand still on the doorknob and the other tightly gripping the frame on the other side.

You half expected him to shut the door immediately upon seeing you, but he didn’t. He’s just standing there, eyes trailing your barely clothed figure.

You should say something. You should tell him to get the fuck out and give you some privacy. But as you attempt to open your mouth to do so, nothing comes out.

His eyes linger on your face for a time, but eventually, they start trailing from your feet, up your legs, over your hips and taut stomach. You’re hardly breathing, but your chest is still heaving short breaths…

It becomes obvious to you that you like how his eyes feel on you. How he’s observing every inch of your body that you’re feeling brave inside for once…

You want him to see, to see you exactly like this.

Suddenly, your nipples harden when his dark, whiskey colored eyes (sans sunglasses, thank fucking god) find your shapely breasts outlined by the fabric just barely hiding them. The hand covering the round flesh tightens in an attempt to conceal the tattoo, but you’re longing to release the hand and show him all of you.

But you know better. So your hand stays firm, but you let your erect nipple peek through the fingers splayed across your chest.

You hear footsteps quickly stomping down the hall, becoming louder as they get close to Jake’s room.

“Jake! What the fuck are you doing?” Nat’s hand reaches out from nowhere, takes his arm and shoves him clear of your sight. Successfully breaking your lust ridden trance. “Give her some fucking privacy, godammit!”

And as you stood there, Nat giving Jake a piece of her mind, you can’t ignore how hot and bothered you’d become. You rub your thighs together, searching for a hint of friction from whatever had just transpired between you and Jake, longing for more of it.

Your friend finally comes in, adamantly running her mouth about how irritated she is by Jake’s intrusion, but you don’t hear her words.

Because you feel the complete opposite of her. In fact, you want to push her out of the room and bring Jake back to finish what had just barely begun.

“God, he’s a fucking idiot. I’m sorry about that,” she says as she begins rubbing the stage makeup on the skin of your tattoo, you imagine briefly that her fingers are Jake’s…

Then, feeling your nipples begin to harden from the thought, you clear your throat. Fuck. Too far.

Cover, cover, cover…

She can’t know.

“Damn,” you shake your head, your cheeks hot. “Why do they always keep it so cold in here?”

Thankfully, she doesn’t seem to notice a shift in dynamic as she laughs.

“I know, girl,” she snorts, a curl falling in front of her eye that she blows away. The breath makes your skin prickle with goosebumps. “Malachi is always giving Josh shit about it.”

She finishes blending out the makeup, adding a little powder on top to set it.

“I’d say we’ve got you pretty well covered. Take a look, tell me what you think.”

You turn back to face yourself in the mirror, and right before you’re able to look at your reflection, a picture sitting on the dresser catches your eye.

It’s of the three brothers— Josh, Sam, and Jake… their arms around each other as they smile wide.

But you can only look at Jake’s face, his smile so beautiful and bright in the image.

“Yeah, it looks great,” you say, eyes fixed on Jake’s handsome face, smiling back at you. “Looks really good.”

a/n: any thoughts as to why Jake is being so horrible during this film production? 🤔

buckle up, we've only just begun. ;)

if you'd like to be tagged, follow this link or let me know & i'll be sure to add you. 🤍

love you all so much.

taglist:

@jakeyt @alwaysonthemend @sacredjake @jakesgrapejuice @misshunnybee @reesetrippingthelight @way-to-go-lad @iffypanic @sinarainbows @klarxtr @brinlygvf @stardustjake @gretavanbear @gvfmelbourne @sinsofstardust @literal-dead-leaf @livkiszka @gvf-ficreads @jaaakeeey @capturethechaos @neptune2324 @jaketlove @thetroublegetssoloud71 @myleftsock @sanguinebats @jakekiszkapunchmeintheface @joshskittytickler @violet-hayes @aflame4goinghome@heckingfrick @fitalich @starshine-gvf @audgeppp @jakekiszkasbuttsweat @nina-23-45 @torniturntomyarrow @beautifulcrayola @writingcold @welllauragvf @loveisonaroll @itsafullmoon

I’m fairly certain I’ve included everyone but if I’ve forgotten you, please let me know! (& i sincerely apologize)

#jake kiszka x reader #jake kiszka fanfiction #sam kiszka x reader #sam kiszka fanfiction #jake kiszka smut #sam kiszka smut #jake kiszka fic #sam kiszka fic #jake fic #jake kiszka #josh kiszka #danny wagner #greta van fleet fic #greta van fleet smut #gvf fic #gvf fanfiction #gvf smut #greta van smut #le morte d’arthur

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bestanimatedmovie · 1 year

Text

Tumblr's favorite animated movie!

Toys versus toys!

Vote in the other polls!

What fans say:

The Lego Ninjago Movie:

"What I like about the movie:

I already liked Ninjago and now they went “alternate universe with other versions of your face characters” and I’m like “sweet, it’s free real estate”

Nya, the water ninja: “Please, the only hope for water here is if Jay has another accident in his pants.” (Jay then AGREES with this statement)

“I am a normal human teenager,” the android character constantly insists, very obviously not a normal human teenager

Jay has ✨anxiety✨ and we love him for it

The main character doesn’t have any flashy powers but instead simply Binds His Team Together By Loving Them So Much (/p)

The main bad guy keeps shooting people out of an active volcano by making it erupt and they all survive somehow and try to kill him (and his son, the main character who had no part in this) by boiling them alive in a DIFFERENT volcano"

Barbie in the 12 Dancing Princesses:

My favorite scene is either the one when all the sisters are working together to get past the guards or one of the scenes where they’re all dancing.

It's whimsical and light, and feels less like a plot driven narrative and more like a fairytale, which is my favorite kind of story.

#The Lego Ninjago Movie #Barbie in the 12 Dancing Princesses #fun fact: this was the Barbie movie to receive the most nominations #best animated movie #round 1 #tournament poll #tumblr's favorite

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redahlia-writes · 6 months

Text

practical magic. | javier peña x ofc

Abstract: Can love travel back in time and heal a broken heart?

There were some things, after all, that Helena Goode knew for certain:

Always throw spilled salt over your left shoulder. Add pepper to your mashed potatoes. Keep rosemary by your garden gate. Plant lavender for luck. Fall in love whenever you can.

Words: 12k

Content: original female character (helena goode); alternative universe, magic, death, ghosts, cursing, mentions of drugs, mentions of an abusive relationship, mildly suggestive language, inspo both from the movie and the book

A/N: it's still halloween, right? i'm sorry for the late late posting but, alas, shit happens. i hope you all enjoy this nevertheless <3

reblogs and feedback are always greatly appreciated. you can send it here, too

also on AO3 - masterlist

He will hear my call a mile away. He will whistle my favorite song. He can ride a pony backwards. He can flip pancakes in the air. He'll be marvellously kind. And his favorite shape will be a star. And he’ll have eyes like chocolate, worthy of honesty.

Helena Goode often thought about the petals blowing in the air after her Amas Veritas, her true love. Years had gone by since then—she’d been just a kid, wishing on her true love, her perfect love. Thinking it could not exist—for how could it, when all those women came crying in her aunts’ kitchen in the middle of the night? She’d wished for what she thought could never come to her.

And then there had been Frankie—her love, definitely not perfect, but good, so good. And gone, gone forever, because she had loved him so much. Or so she had thought—maybe that hadn’t been real, maybe there was no such thing as real love, contrary to what her sister said. After all her aunts had played a part in her marriage, and for so long after Frankie’s death she’d tried to believe none of it had been real, so that it would hurt less. So that she would not die of a broken heart.

But, in spite of everything, in spite of her bitterness, in spite of her pain, in spite of the loss, she knew some things had been real. Like the coffee he made her in the morning before leaving for work, like the dinners she fixed before he came back, like the colour they picked to paint the walls of their house; like all the times she’d listened for his whistling as he came back from work; like his kisses, and like their two beautiful daughters; like the laughter during the day and the nights spent awake; like the normal life they’d began living, and the shop they’d dreamed of opening together that now belonged to her only.

Like the State Investigator who stood in front of her at the front door, asking after her sister’s boyfriend. A boyfriend she knew to be dead and buried right there in the backyard. Fuck, she kept thinking, looking at the man in front of her—his eyebrows arched, lips parted under a neatly trimmed moustache, eyes dark as chocolate, and—

“I’m sorry?” she asked, clearing her throat. Dry throat. Sweaty palms. Tongue-tied.

“Is your sister home?” She knew he’d asked that already, and he was being mighty patient about it. “I’d like to speak with her, ma’am,” and then, because she had not moved an inch, “nothing to worry about, really. Just routine questions.”

“Sure,” again Helena cleared her throat, and willed her legs to move. She stepped back, opening the door fully so that she could let him through. “Come on in, I’ll go get her.”

Fuck, fuck, fuck, over and over as the man nodded and stepped in, walking past her into the entrance—he smelled of coffee and tobacco, of the desert he came from. Helena closed the door and wiped her hands down the front of her shirt, which she suddenly realised belonged to one of her daughters, with rhinestones adorning the front. Fuck.

“Kitchen is just on your left, I’ll be right back.”

Phoebe Goode was trying her best. Each night she dreamed about James—his eyes, old and clear, staring at her—and each morning she tried to stop carrying him with her, to forget he ever existed, even though she could still see him on her face, in the bruises around her eye, in the split lip on the point of healing—thanks to her sister salve, the one that smelled of roses. She was trying her best, ignoring the awful fact she felt him still, knowing that the deepest relationship with a man of her whole life was with a dead man.

So she wore blue for protection, and had asked Emma, her niece, to lock her cigarettes away, and tried to sit in silence to meditate and push him away, out of her mind, out of her life for good. She was even back at the house, where she’d sworn she would never go back, because it was safer, because of her sister.

Her sister, running up the stairs, out of breath, in a shirt that did not belong to her and a skirt that must’ve been older than her, so dishevelled-looking Phoebe felt her heart drop for a moment, figured the next words out of her mouth would be James, and honestly anything after that could be awful, because he was. Had been.

“There’s a cop. Agent. Someone,” Helena was gasping, her voice an alarmed whisper. “He’s looking for you. And James—but he asked for you.”

“That’s fine, we can manage,” perhaps the meditation was working, because even after hearing his name she could still think without panic closing her throat. “I’ll tell him I haven’t seen him in days, and I came here because we’re done. And if he asks, you’ll just say—” she stopped, frowning at her sister as she shook her head. “What? You’ll just say you’ve never seen him.”

“Here’s the thing,” Helena reached for her chest, still shaking her head, still out of breath. Her head was spinning, and her heart—God, her heart—felt like it was about to explode. “I don’t think I can lie to him.”

“Of course you can,” Phoebe scoffed—but her sister was still having a hard time breathing, her eyes so wide she looked like a deer spooked half to death. “Get over yourself, Lena. It’s fine. You’re just having a panic attack.”

“I don’t think it’s that. I just—the way he looks at you,” she inhaled sharply, a strangled noise scratching her throat and making her sound like a wounded animal, then exhaled, breath stuttering. “I can’t sit there and just lie to him. I know I can’t.”

“You have to, Lena,” but her sister’s eyes darted around the attic, where Phoebe was staying in. She snapped her fingers in front of her face, making her recoil. “Listen to me, you have to. We know nothing, nothing happened.”

Helena and Phoebe had grown up knowing that something was real because they believed in it. That was what gave things power—magic, words, talismans. But what happened when two people believed two different things? How did the universe cope with that? Was James dead and buried in their backyard, under lilacs that were growing wildly out of season (girls in the neighbourhood had begun to whisper that if you kissed the boy you loved beneath the Goode’s lilacs he’d be yours forever, whether he wanted to be or not), or was he back in Laredo, or off somewhere else, left behind by his girlfriend?

Javier Peña was wondering the same as he stood in the odd kitchen of an odd house, there on Magnolia Street.

There were no clocks and no mirrors, in that house, and the floors creaked anywhere but where he stepped; light came pouring in from big, wide windows, showing an even bigger garden with lilacs out of season and more flowers and plants that he could recognise or count—rosemary and lavender, roses and daisies, carrots and an apple tree that reminded him strangely of home, but all seemed like a dream through the thick glass. Each piece of furniture inside seemed dusty, but when he ran his fingertip across the dark wooden surface of this table or that cabinet, no dust came away—no need for polishing anything in there. It smelled of cherrywood. It smelled familiar.

It was a familiarity Javier had not been ready to face—he touched the pocket of his jacket, felt the paper tucked in there crinkle at the touch, and a moment later, as if summoned by thought alone, Helena Goode came back down the stairs, slightly more dishevelled looking than before.

Helena had clearly been in the kitchen when he first knocked. He knew because he could almost see it, like a ghost moving around the stove, stirring a pot that had since been turned off, its content left forgotten on the back burden. He knew because she’d called Hold on at the third rattle of his knuckles across the door, matter-of-factly, as if she’d been expecting him. The mere sound of her voice had thrown him for a loop, the patio under his feet shifting unsteadily, and he could’ve followed the sound there with his eyes closed.

He thought then he could be in trouble—and when she’d opened the door, he’d known he would. Because he’d looked into crystal clear pools of grey and begun drowning, down and down without anything he could do about it. His father had once told him that witches caught you like that: with a look. If you ever meet a woman like that, you run the other way, no matter what, for your own good. There’s no cowardice in safety. But Javier had no intention of running—he’d rather drown, over and over, if it meant she looked at him like that a little longer.

She stood at the end of the stairs, perfectly still, with that ridiculous shirt with rhinestones across her chest and her dark hair down past her shoulder, brushing the sliver of uncovered skin at her waist. She was beautiful, Javier thought, so ridiculously beautiful he got a lump in his throat just looking at her. For a moment, before her Can I help you? at the door, he’d almost forgotten the reason he was there. He almost forgot it again when he saw her shake her head at the end of the stairs, and had to touch the letter tucked next to his heart again.

“Can I get you anything?” her voice sounded different as she strode into the kitchen. “My sister will be right down. Coffee?” she wasn’t looking at him, and Javier wished she’d just stop and turn to face him, if only to forget himself again in her eyes.

But Helena wouldn’t turn. She wouldn’t look at him. She woldn’t look at his face, and his neatly trimmed moustache, and his lovely dark eyes. She wouldn’t look at the lines on his face he was way too young to have, and the loneliness embedded in each of them she knew could be found in the silver strands of her hair, too. Helena figured he was not a man who hid things, just like he was not hiding the fact he was looking at her—she could feel his eyes burning on the back of her head, and she couldn’t believe the way he was staring at her. Looking at her like that.

It was how dark his eyes were, the problem. The way he could make someone—her—feel seen from the inside out.

“Coffee’s fine,” he said, forcing his gaze away. He looked outside, where in the distance, still filtered like a dream, he could see clouds gathering, a distant storm that seemed to have followed him there. Javier’s father had taught him to predict exactly when a storm would hit just by the location of lightning, so that he could prepare the ranch in time to brace for it.

He’d never been very good at it. He thought that lightning, like love, was never ruled by logic. Accidents happened, and they always would.

He looked at Helena again, her back still to him—she was watching the coffee brew, her arms crossed, fingers tapping nervously against her elbow. Javier looked at her and thought she was familiar to him—he’d thought that ever since getting her letter, the one tucked next to his heart, but to see her there in front of him, flesh and bones and long hair and clear eyes, really settled it for him.

He’d heard about it happening to other men—his friend Steve being one of them. Going about their business one minute and suddenly they found themselves without hope. They fell in love so hard they never got up off their knees again.

He’d never thought it would happen to him. Javier was all business—he always had been. It was his need to figure out the why of things, of people. Money, love, fury—those were the motivations he found usually, in his line of work. James Hawkins fell in the money category, of that he was sure, with perhaps a sprinkle of fury in the shape of his ring marked on the bodies.

Javier had been looking for that ring at Hawkins’ place—he’d seen it in pictures, read it in descriptions, remembered it from the few times his path had trailed along Hawkins’, because Laredo wasn’t that big of a place, and faces grew familiar over time—when the letter had arrived.

Crumpled and torn in one corner, the flap already opened, Javier had looked at it and thought he should’ve taken it directly to the office. But an open letter was hard to resist, even for someone like Javier, who had resisted a whole lot in his life. But that letter was something else, something tempting, and he gave into it.

He never regretted it.

He had just sat there, on the patio of the house of the man he was looking for, and read the letter Helena Goode had written to her sister. When he was done, he’d read it again. And again. And twice more midair, and then while he had his lunch, and once more when he’d settled in his hotel room. Even when the letter was folded back into its envelope and stored in the pocket of his jacket, the words came back to haunt him—whole sentences written by Helena forming in his mind.

Javier had been close to people, and while he didn’t have that many friends he was content—he’d even almost gotten married after high school, although that’s a topic no one ever brought up, not even himself. But he’d never once felt like he’d known anyone the way he felt he knew the woman who had written that letter. It felt like someone had ripped a piece of his soul out of him and formed into words. Words he was so taken by he wouldn’t have heard, seen, or felt a thing as long as he was reading them.

I have this dream of being whole. Of not going to sleep each night, wanting. But still, sometimes, when the wind is warm, or the crickets sing, I dream of a love that even time will lie down and be still for. I just want someone to love me. I want to be seen.

Javier wanted to tell her that he saw her. Right there in front of him, and even when she was not there, when he had not the faintest clue what she looked like, he saw her. He saw her standing, moving the coffee pot from the fire. He saw her pouring the coffee in three mismatched cups. He saw her hands shaking as she did so.

“Are you okay?” he asked, and she recoiled as if startled by his voice.

“I think I’m going to sit down,” Helena said, casually, as if she didn’t seem about to collapse.

Still she brought two of the cups over, almost spilling the contents of one, and collapsed onto the chair opposite Javi with a shuddering sigh, her cheeks flushed, her chest fluttering. She wondered if drinking coffee would be a good idea at that moment, still feeling as if her heart might explode, but needed something to keep herself busy, so she brought the cup to her mouth and gulped down the scalding drink, burning the roof of her mouth and her lips.

“Why are you here?” she asked then, bitterness coating her tongue. She was used to sugar in her coffee, most times a dash of milk. “I mean, I understood what you told me—about Phoebe’s boyfriend—but why here?”

She saw the man hesitate—he did not strike her as someone who hesitated in anything, but he was pondering her words and how to best respond to her, his lips shifting to draw in a breath, and then exhale. He reached for his jacket—he still hadn’t taken that off, and with the movement it hugged his shoulders tight, seams pulling uncomfortably—and, from one of the inner pockets, took a piece of paper that he handed to her.

“I mailed that to my sister ages ago,” Helena recognised it immediately—that letter she was so grateful had never reached Phoebe, but also wished it had a little earlier, so she wouldn’t be in that mess. There’s a halo around the moon tonight. I think trouble is coming. I wish you’d get out of there. Come back home. Alone. “You opened it,” she added then, a little baffled.

He hadn’t just opened it. He’d read it. The paper consumed from being folded over and over again, each line marked deeper where it bent, words slightly smudged as if someone had run their fingers over each and every of it.

“It was opened already,” he retorted, justifying. “It must have gotten lost at the post office.”

“But you read it,” the cup was burning her palm, the letter her other hand, her face was burning too under his gaze.

“Maybe a thousand times,” Javier admitted, his voice dropping.

“It was a very personal letter,” she whispered too, feeling the tightness inside her throat and belly and chest grow, and grow, and grow until it was choking her. That had to be what a heart attack felt like. Perhaps she was about to end up on the floor unconscious.

“I know,” the man said, and at last she looked at him.

He saw her but, Javier knew, she saw him too. She could’ve seen how Javier wasn’t sure how far he’d go to cover for someone—he’d never been in that position before, and he despised the way it felt. But he was there, sitting in her kitchen, drinking her coffee, a total stranger on a humid day, wondering if he was going to look the other way because of her. She could see all that—or at least, she hoped.

And then Phoebe came down. Noisy steps down the stairs, announcing her presence to the entire world—she always had that about her, always managed to bring the attention to her, with her lovely strawberry-blonde hair and her long lashes and full lips. Even with the bruises, even with the wounds, even with her fear embedded so deeply into her skin it was painful, Phoebe was beautiful.

Still, Javier focused on Helena, and it wasn’t until her sister stood at her side that he caught a glimpse of her. Night and day, that’s what the aunts called them. He didn’t know, but he would’ve agreed—so starkly different, yet seemingly in tune with each other.

“As I’ve said your sister, I won’t take up much of your time,” Javier cleared his throat, offered his hand to Phoebe as he stood. He missed the feeling of his letter against his body, but Helena was clutching it tight, pressing it against her stomach. “It’s just a couple of questions, routine checks.”

“Of course—agent, is it?” Phoebe’s voice was soft where Helena’s was strong. She took up space just by standing, her arms folded in front of her as she held the third cup that had been on the counter.

“Yes, ma’am—Agent Peña.” Only then did she take his hand, a delicate shake before turning his palm up towards her face, peering down with an interested hum.

“You’ve come a long way just for a couple of routine questions, Agent Peña.” Her thumb ran along one of the lines on his palm, tracing it with a feather-like touch. Her brows knitted for a moment, confusion locking on her features (eyes darting towards her sister) before she shook herself. “I see here it’ll be worth the trip,” she mused, tapping his palm.

“Right.” Again he cleared his throat, and pulled his hand back. “When was the last time you saw James Hawkins?”

“Ah, a man of action,” Phoebe scoffed lightly, then shrugged. “Couple of weeks, just before I came here. It just wasn’t working anymore.”

“Is he responsible for that?” he asked, gesturing towards her face, the bruises.

“As I’ve said, it wasn’t working anymore,” she tipped her chin up, leaned with her hip against Helena’s chair. “I have no idea where he might be. If a man hits me, he only does it once,” Helena’s breath hitched, her grip on both the cup and letter tightening.

“What about the car? The one with the Texas plate—it’s registered in his name,” Javier thought he might as well reveal all his cards from the beginning. Neither sister was stupid, but still Phoebe was lying—he knew she was. He had seen that look before, countless times: people who are guilty of something think they can hide it by not looking at you. Or looking at you too much.

Helena wasn’t looking at him anymore—again. Phoebe was staring him down. But Helena wasn’t looking at him, because she knew, she was certain, that could not lie to the man. She feared her eyes would betray her too, like her heart was doing, like she imagined her words would if she were to say anything more.

“I took it when I ran,” Phoebe said, sighing. “And I know that’s wrong, so you may take it right away—I just needed a way out. That was the fastest.”

She was good, Javier managed to think in that haze-like feeling he’d found himself in since he’d walked into the house. Since he’d seen Helena. Her eyes.

“And you have not heard from him since?” Phoebe shook her head, sipping on her coffee and grimacing—too bitter, too strong. But it helped keep her mind away from the times she had heard from James—in her dreams, nightmares, really; or when she was distracted, and his voice crept into her head; or when she looked in the mirror and his reflection stared back.

“I have not,” she smacked her lips, the taste of the coffee lingering on the tip of her tongue.

“Alright, well,” Javier picked his cup and drank most of the coffee that remained—he liked it that way, black and strong, it reminded him of his father—then went to the sink to rinse the cup. Helena watched him while his back was turned, and almost smiled at the way he let the water slosh from side to side enough to get any residue off before settling it upside down. “If anything comes to mind, I’ll be around a couple of days longer—I’m staying at the Hide-A-Way Motel.”

“Really?” was the first thing Helena said in what felt like ages. Javier turned around—he was just stalling then. He wanted to remain there, with her. He wanted to keep on looking into Helena’s eyes and drown, drown, drown for days. He saw nothing else but her eyes.

“Lady at the car rental desk suggested it—it isn’t half bad,” he shrugged, and smoothed his jacket down. He felt the absence of the letter when he ran his hand across his chest, and the paper did not crinkle under his touch. Helena curled her fingers around her words. “Nice area.”

“It is,” she should know—her shop was one street away from the motel. She’d picked the area with Frankie because of how nice it was, close enough to the park it gave the impression of being around nature, but not so far from town that nobody would walk by the shop.

Phoebe watched the agent and her sister look at each other and frowned—for a moment, what she’d seen on Peña’s palm flashed before her eyes again. A new beginning, a line cut through by something, someone he could not escape. It had been written on his skin since the beginning. Some fates were just guaranteed.

“If I happen to remember anything else, I’ll come around,” Phoebe said, cutting through the crackle of energy that passed from one to the other. It was as if she’d woken them up from a dream, a dream made of only looks and silence. “You can have the car taken away.”

“Great,” he cleared his throat, and forced himself to back away. He knew that if he lingered any longer, he’d never want to leave. It was hard enough already. “Thanks.”

Helena felt like she was losing her mind.

The night before, a ring had appeared around the moon. A halo around the moon was always a sign of disruption—but it was a double ring, all tangled up, anything could happen. Helena didn’t like the thought, and she hadn’t been able to sleep all night.

The sparrow that used to fly each midsummer’s eve into the house on Magnolia Street had come back, out of season, round and round the dining room—her daughters had counted each circle: three. Three meant trouble, it always had. She’d chased it out with her sister, both of them on edge.

And it rained. All night and through the morning, one of her daughters standing by the window looking at the lilacs being hit by drop after drop, tapping her fingers nervously. Emma was looking at the man in their backyard, who stared back at them like from a vision, a nightmare rather than a dream. She was hoping he would go away, but the bad weather did not bother him—he seemed to relish in the black skies and the wild wind, and the rain passed through him. Emma thought—she knew—it was his fault that things were going amiss in the house, even though she didn’t know the extent of it: pipes rusting and the tile floor of the basement turning to dust, nothing in the refrigerator would stay fresh.

Both sets of sisters fought, loud and mean and just like he wanted them to. Emma would’ve liked them all to stop. Helena thought of chopping the lilacs all night long, but had to go to work.

And then there was Javier. Agent Peña, who walked around town and talked to everyone and was always there when she turned around from the counter. Javier, with a cigarette hanging from his lips at every street corner. Always there, always there, always there.

“Fuck!” Helena exclaimed, when the jar she was trying to place on the shelf fell and shattered on the ground, shards of glass flying around her ankles and the contents—curled dried leaves—spilling across the clean floor. “God, give me a break.”

“Are you okay, Lena?” a voice called from the other side of the shop. Helena didn’t have many friends—it came with the Goode name, being shunned away. But Crystal was one of the few who did not shy away, besides being a good employee. “Let me help you.”

“It’s alright, I just haven’t been sleeping well,” she went to gather the glass and leaves, both crunching as she moved the broom across them. “But could you put the kettle on? Maybe some tea will do me good,” even though she craved coffee desperately.

She’d craved coffee ever since she’d met with the agent. Black and bitter. She could smell it in the air around her, no matter which room she walked in, or which street—along with tobacco and more. She’d never smoked a cigarette in her life but now felt her fingers itch as if reaching for one.

Crystal obliged without question—she’d learned early on that many things around Helena Goode just did not make sense, and there was no point in prying. It had been that way since they were children. Her mother liked the Goode aunts, said that it was not their fault for more than two hundred years their family had been blamed for everything that went wrong in town.

Some people are just different. Most people are just stupid to be afraid of it.

She remembered their classmates being terrified of the day a bunch of cats followed Helena to school—witchery, they called it. A witch and her familiars. Nasty, nasty creatures, the whole lot of them. But Crystal remembered Helena being kind and poised, she remembered her balanced lunches, and the way she always looked out for her sister. She still did. Why people would think Helena and Phoebe had any evil in them escaped her.

Goode women ignored convention; they were headstrong and willful, and meant to be that way.

“Thank you, Crystal,” Helena said from the kitchenette, throwing away the spoiled merchandise..

“Are you sure you wouldn’t rather go home? I can look after the shop,” but even as she asked, Helena was shaking her head, lips trembling with her deep inhale. “Lena, did something happen?”

“It’s not—” a bell. The shop’s bell. Helena looked up from her mug, the smell of lavender easing her headache a little, and then turned. “I’ll get it.”

He was everywhere, always there, always there, in her shop, too. Helena stood frozen next to the counter and looked at the agent who was looking around—a feeble attempt at not immediately turning towards her, not falling into her eyes right away.

“Yes?” she managed to ask, her throat dry once again. Just by his mere presence.

“I’m afraid I forgot to bring enough toothpaste,” Javier lied. He’d thrown an almost full tube in the bin just that morning—still wasn’t sure why. Maybe because so many people had told him about Helena’s shop, just around the corner. How the woman was the way she was, but her products were amazing.

“You could’ve gone to the market,” she said, but placed her mug down and moved to the shelf anyway. Once she wasn’t looking at him, she managed to exhale again, but still his eyes burned on the back of her head, and she suddenly felt conscious of the fact she probably had forgotten to brush her hair in the morning.

“Yes,” he retorted, and didn’t add anything else. He knew he could’ve, but he didn’t want to. And he could’ve told her it was because so many people had recommended her stuff, or because the shop was closer to his motel. But he didn’t.

“Any allergies?” she asked, moving the stool closer to the shelf.

“No, ma’am.” She paused, one foot up the step as she bit her tongue—just a moment, then she climbed and grabbed a jar, the label scribbled so hurriedly it was unreadable, the dark paste inside a stark contrast with the white paper.

“Charcoal—whitens the teeth,” she moved back down, the counter between them as she handed the product to him—her eyes flickered towards the cigarette that he’d tucked over his ear, shaking her head lightly. “Nasty habit,” she muttered, lowering her gaze.

“I’m aware,” Javier chuckled—as he took the jar, he grazed her fingers. Helena pulled back as if she’d been burned, fingertips curling into her palm and pressing harshly. “Does this stuff actually work?” he cleared his throat, turning it in his palm to glance at the label again.

He knew her handwriting. He could read it like the back of his hand. I have this dream of being whole.

“It does,” Crystal called as she walked in from the kitchenette, and Helena leaned over the counter and reached for her mug—anything to keep her hands busy. “See for yourself. On the house.”

“He can’t accept it on the house, Crystal,” she said, moving back. “There’s an investigation ongoing—isn’t that right?” it looked as if she might turn to him while she addressed him, but didn’t. Again.

“That’s right,” Javier cleared his throat, shuffling a little. He was so close to the counter he could feel the edge of it dig into his stomach, and forced himself to look at the other woman. “But are you giving me your word? That it works.”

He was a charmer. Helena knew already—Crystal was just finding out. She wanted to ask what investigation Helena was talking about, what was happening at the house on Magnolia Street that she desperately did not want to go back, and what was happening with the agent so desperately trying to meet her eyes.

“Cross my heart,” she said instead, because she knew this would be another inexplicable moment. She’d made her peace with it. “Swear to God, this woman is a magician. Let me ring you up.”

Helena hid her face with the mug, the dwindling steam turning her cheeks a soft shade of red. At the same time, Javier scoffed lightly.

“Right,” he muttered, reaching for his wallet. “Heard that one before. Thanks.”

It took a moment for Helena to register his words—she was trying so hard to not hear him, to not focus on him, that she didn’t understand what he was saying until he was out of the door, an echo of the bell ringing in her mind.

“Wait, what?” she placed the mug down, looking up at his back behind the glass. “Hold on.”

She shouldn’t have gone after him. She should’ve known better. Helena spent her whole life being vigilant, she spent her whole life relying on logic and common sense, she’d taken care of everything from the moment her parents had died, and then again when Frankie had died—she thought about everything.

She had to, because otherwise how would her kids have made it to fourteen and fifteen?

She had to, because if she stopped thinking about everything, what exactly was she left with? Her thoughts and worries are the only reason she continued to exist, of that she was certain.

Never look back, never change direction, that’s what she had to tell herself. Don’t think about being alone in the dark, or storms or lightning and thunder, or the true love you won’t ever have. Life, she knew, was brushing her teeth and making breakfast for her kids and not letting her mind wander.

But that was a lie—from the beginning Helena had been lying to herself, telling herself she could handle anything: her parents dying, her sister relying on her, her aunts’ reputation, Frankie, Frankie’s death, the spell, the year where everything went grey, her children, and now this. She’d grown tired—she didn’t want to lie anymore. One more lie and she’d be lost. One more lie and she’d never find her way back through the woods.

And it’s all because of him.

“What did you mean?” she stopped abruptly when he did, taking a step back when he turned to look at her. She tugged her cardigan close, the wind whipping the ends around along with her hair, and tipped her chin up with her arms crossed, finally, finally looking back at him. “Heard that one before?” she echoed. “Is that why you were at my shop?”

“No,” he shook his head. “It’s because I needed toothpaste, and I’m just around the corner,” she scoffed lightly, shuffling her feet. “But actually, yes, I heard a bunch of stuff that doesn’t make sense at all, so I’d like to understand.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s my job,” he retorted. “Because, seriously, I have heard it all. A family of witches, a curse, your own husband—”

“Don’t,” she snapped, and for a moment Javier recoiled, saw the truth in the words of all the people who had warned him off Helena Goode. With her hair dancing in the wind, and her cheeks still red, and her eyes oh-so-clear, like a storm incoming, he understood. “Do not bring Frankie into this.”

“Hard not to, when it’s everything this town talks about,” he took a step forward, her whole body seizing up. “Do you have any idea how strange this all sounds to me? People tell me you’re here cooking up placenta bars, that you’re into devil worship.”

“You think I don’t know that?” her voice was lower, and pulled him closer. “All my life, this town—I know what they say about me, I know what everybody thinks.” She wanted to move away—she wanted to lean in. She remained still. “All my life I wanted nothing more than to be seen as normal, but that’s just not the way it is. I don’t have a ranch house or a white picket fence, I don’t have a husband that’s alive anymore, I don’t have—” she cut herself off, unsure as to why she was so ready to pour her heart out to a stranger in the middle of the street. “I don’t see how that’s my fault.”

“I never said it was,” Javier spoke softly, a gentleness that felt foreign on his tongue but rolled off easily when he looked at her.

“Then why are you here?” her chin was still up, but she was looking down at her nose, careful to avoid his gaze—it made him believe that she, too, felt that tug in the pit of her stomach. She was just better at controlling it.

Your letter, he almost said. You.

“James Hawkins,” he replied instead. “A guy like that doesn’t simply vanish.”

“And would that be such a big loss?” she scoffed, tightening her arms around herself. “A guy like that—wouldn’t it be so much better if he did just vanish?”

“Maybe,” he shrugged, and felt his hands move before he could control himself. “But I made a vow, and I have a job—” his fingertips grazed her arm, and at that she pulled back.

“As do I,” one hand moved to the point he’d brushed, holding the spot as if it hurt, tight against her chest. “So unless you have something you want to ask me, Agent Peña, I’d rather get back to it.”

“Are you or your sister hiding James Hawkins?”

“He’s not here, no.”

“Did you or your sister kill James Hawkins?” he asked, and her eyebrows arched.

“Oh, yeah. Couple of times,” Javier sighed, and forced himself back, his hand now itching for his cigarette. “Is that all?” he put it between his lips, ignoring the frown forming on her brow.

“Yeah, sure,” he didn’t light it up just yet, but reached for the lighter nevertheless—he missed the letter in his pocket whenever he touched it. “Bye, Helena.”

He watched her go back inside the shop with her shoulders pulled back tight, steps unsteady, and only when the door was closed, the echo of the bell ringing in his ears, did he light up the cigarette.

She watched him go away from inside the shop, with his steps matching the thundering of her heart.

“What is wrong with you?” Phoebe watched her sister kneel on the ground, pruning shears in hand and purple flowers all around her, on her. “What are you doing?”

“I’m tired of seeing these every time I look out of the window,” her breath was short—the flowers seemed endless, she cut and cut and cut and still they were there. “And the smell—I hate it. I can’t do it anymore.”

“Lena—Lena! It’s just flowers!” although Phoebe knew it was not entirely true. Mostly, she ignored the lilacs, and everything that was underneath it. Especially what was underneath it. “Stop it, before you hurt yourself.”

“Oh, now you’re thinking about that?” Helena dropped the shears and stood, the soil on her jeans already a stain she wouldn’t manage to remove. “Now that there’s a cop after us? Now you think I might hurt myself?”

“So what? We stick to our story. No body, no crime,” she gestured towards the lilacs. “There is not a single reason why he should think we’ve done something, unless you give him one.”

“But we did, Phoebe. You understand that, don’t you?” she hissed, walking up to her sister. “We fucked up, and somehow I’m still the one who’s cleaning up your messes,” Phoebe’s eyes widened, mouth set in a thin line. “I’m sick of this.”

“I never asked you to, I never—”

“Enough lies, Pheebs. Aren’t you tired?” Helena smelled like the lilacs, and her headache was back, stronger and stronger as the storm approached from the horizon. “I know I am. I’m so tired of lying.”

“What are you talking about?” Phoebe had lowered her voice, and was looking at her sister as if she could not recognise her. “Lena—you can’t do that,” even as she said it, Helena walked past her, brushing her hands down the front of her jeans. “You can’t go to him,” she said, following her. “We’ll both be sitting in jail if you do. What about the girls? Why are you even thinking about it now?”

Helena wasn’t sure why. She knew she’d woken up smelling cigarettes and coffee again, and the lilacs, and the nightmare still clinging to her eyelids, making her feel unrested as she had for the past days. Weeks. She wasn’t sure anymore. All she knew is that her throat hurt from all the lies she’d told Javier, and she wanted to come clean, to tell all—she wanted someone to listen to what she had to say and really hear her, the way no one ever had before. So she’d gone to work, and back home to cut the flowers, and as sundown approached she would go out for Javier.

“Don’t tell me about the girls now, when I spent half my life thinking only about them,” she said loudly, marching in and out of room after room of the house, grabbing things she wasn’t even sure she needed. “And you? You only ever thought about yourself. You left me here. You lived your life. And you dragged me back in just to save your ass.”

“Oh, that’s it, isn’t it?” Phoebe screamed too, from the middle of the house, following the noises of her sister as she stomped around. “I lived my life and you hate me for it!”

“I don’t hate you, Phoebe.”

“No, no, sure—you’re unbelievable. You spent all your life trying to be normal and fit in, but you never will! You know we’re different, and so are your girls,” Helena stopped abruptly to look at her.

“That’s twice now—you leave them out of this,” she said with a scowl so similar to that of their mother’s, if only either of them could remember her.

“All my life I’ve wished I had half your talent—you’re wasting yourself, Lena,” Phoebe cried, and for a moment she sounded just like the little girl who had just gotten to the aunts’ house. “And now you—what? You’re gonna turn yourself in? Or get down on your knees and beg for mercy?”

“If I’ll have to, yes,” Helena said without a second thought, fixing her sister with a look. “I’m done.”

They both measured themselves harshly, always had, as if they had never been anything but those two plain little girls, waiting at the airport for someone to claim them.

If you go against what you believe in, you’re nothing. That was another thing his father liked to say—and Javier knew he was right. So he was going to stick to his plan: fly back home and give up the case to the poor bastard who was supposed to get it from the beginning, had it not been for the letter. He was going to go back to work as usual, forget about the whole ordeal, forget about grey eyes and dark hair and his own heart.

Heart, heart, heart beating to the sound of the knocking on his door, that for a moment he’d thought to be rain pattering on the ground and the roof, such the strength of the storm was. But he heard it, and when he opened the door, Helena was there, shivering and looking up at him.

“You want a confession?”

In his line of work, Javier had been trained to notice things, but he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing. Part of the reason was that he’d been imagining Helena everywhere he went. So maybe it was just an illusion, a desire of his heart turned into a vision.

“What?” he stepped aside and, water falling from her hair, Helena walked in, trailing mud behind.

“You want a confession, don’t you? It’s why you’re still here,” she was shaking, arms crossed over her chest with wet clothes clinging to her. “We killed James. Technically, I killed James. I used belladonna.”

“I know,” Helena frowned, moved the hair out of her face with trembling hands.

“You know?” she sniffled, part from the cold part from the smell attacking her nostrils—coffee and tobacco and, surprisingly, food.

“I found some in the car—saw the same thing in your shop and had it analyzed,” he closed the door, careful to not turn the lock, leaving her a way out as he moved back towards the kitchenette. “His ring was in there, too. There was blood on it. Have you had any dinner?”

“I—what is this, some sort of joke?” she asked, slightly out of breath, and stepped in his direction. Javier scoffed, his back to her as he shook his head a little.

“Far from it,” he muttered, turning the stove off. Still, he didn’t move to look at her—if he did, he wouldn’t be able to say what he had to. He could feel her shiver, just a few steps from him, and it took everything in him to not reach over and grab her and hold her close. “But I have no idea what to do from here. I can’t say that I’m sorry Hawkins is gone, and I can’t—”

“Javier—” he exhaled—it was the first time she said his name, and he gripped the counter with both hands as he closed his eyes. Through the rain, and the soil, and the smoke in his room, he could smell lilacs and that same scent that had clung to the letter, which had bled onto his fingers each time he reread it.

“I was gonna turn over the case,” she held her breath at his words—he heard the light hiccup as her lips sealed, and slowly turned, though his gaze remained lowered. “I can’t say I’m impartial anymore—I can pretend, but I’m not. I no longer can tell what’s right and what’s wrong and you—you came here, and what did you think would happen?”

“I don’t know,” her voice was small, and Javier knew she was looking at him—the roles had switched, he could feel her gaze burning across his skin. “That’s the thing, I don’t know. I’m tired—of lying, of hiding, of those fucking flowers,” she sniffled, and from the corner of his eyes he could see her rubbing her arms. “The thing is, I’m pretty sure it’s because of you, and I can’t stand it—because I know I’ll get hurt, and my sister will get hurt, and my children, too.”

“Then why,” his voice had dropped slightly, and he took one more step forward, looking up at last—they were standing so close now, heat radiating off of him and clinging to her chilling bones, “are you here, Helena?”

“I don’t know,” she whispered, her hands seeking him before she could even realise. “Maybe this,” her letter was almost destroyed, wet and crumpled as she held it between them.

Fear or loneliness—she wasn’t sure she could distinguish them anymore. When the deathwatch beetle had started ticking for Frankie, then she’d been afraid. When she’d stopped speaking and seeing colours for a year, and her children had been by themselves, then she’d been afraid. When she was young, and she sneaked down the stairs with her sister to see what the aunts where up to, then she’d been afraid. In that moment, she was terrified.

And lonely. She’d never felt more alone or lonely before in her life. She wished she could’ve believed in love’s salvation, but truth was desire had been ruined for her. She wished she’d never spied on the aunts’ and seen their customers crying and begging and making fools of themselves. She’d become love-resistant because of that and, with her sister, sitting on the roof of the house, they’d wished to look up at the stars and not be afraid of it.

But, just like trouble, love came in unannounced and took over before she’d had a chance to reconsider or even think about it—Frankie first, and now—

Amas Veritas—she thought about it again, looking into Javier’s dark eyes. He will hear my call a mile away—she’d been just a child, so stupid, thinking that love was a toy, something easy and sweet, to play with. But real love, she’d learned, she was learning, was dangerous, it got you from inside and held on tight, and if you didn’t let go fast enough you might be willing to do anything for its sake.

She’d learned that with Frankie, and now—

“Oh, don’t,” she whispered when Javier’s hand brushed along her arms, foregoing the letter—and moved closer to him, pulled by gravity, by forces she couldn’t begin to control. “Javi—”

He believed he was going to cry—because she was saying his name again, soft and gentle and like she’d known it all her life, and his hands were tracing a path up her arms like he knew exactly the shape of her, and trying to learn it by memory all over again.

He wasn’t even sure that was not the case. Perhaps a part of him knew her already, always had.

He had stumbled into love, of that he was certain, and was stuck there. Javier was used to not getting what he wanted, he’d learned to deal with it, but with Helena in front of him he couldn’t help but wonder if that had only been because he’d never wanted anything too badly. He did now.

“I just do this,” he said, voice sad and deep and causing the hair at the nape of her neck to stand on edge as he leaned closer, towards the hand she was offering to him like in prayer, and she brushed his cheek as he sighed. “Pay no attention,” he said, but she did. How could she not?

He was there, and she shifted toward him as if to brush her hand along his face, but instead ended up with her arms looped around his neck, his own wrapped around her, holding her closer.

And Helena was terrified, because suddenly she wanted whatever he was promising her, with his lips so close and words so soft she told herself don’t listen, but she couldn’t, because whispers of I’ve been looking for you forever inched their way underneath her skin, warmed by his hands. She wanted to get lost—she, who couldn’t function without directions, needed it. Him.

Everything she did those days was so unlike her usual self that when she caught a glimpse of her reflection in the window behind Javier’s shoulder, she couldn’t recognise herself. Looking back at her was a woman who could’ve fallen in love if she’d let herself, a woman who didn’t stop, not even when Javier moved her hair from her neck, the wet locks sending a shiver down her spine that only intensified as the man bowed his head a pressed his mouth to the hollow of her throat.

What good would it do her to get involved with someone like him? She wondered—because the last time she did, she loved so much she got hurt to the point a part of her had forever vanished. Or so she had thought, because with Javier’s lips brushing her skin, the light tickle from his moustache making her eyelids droop, she could’ve believed something had come back alive behind her ribs. She suddenly felt like she had to press a hand down against her chest to make sure her heart wouldn’t escape her body.

“Helena—” he whispered, his arms tight around her—the droplets of rain clung to his lips, the taste of her flooding his senses, overpowering everything else. She sighed again, a shudder running down her spine, unsure if it was from his voice or the cold settling in her bones.

Although, if she were to be honest with herself, she’d say she wasn’t cold. She was burning, really, Javier’s body so close she could memorise it by touch alone.

“Maybe I’m letting you do this so you’ll stop the investigation, even with my confession,” she said, his head straightening—his nose brushed along her jaw, her cheek, and her eyes remained closed. “Have you thought about that? Maybe I’m so desperate I’d fuck anyone, including you.”

There was a sour taste in her mouth with each cruel word, but she didn’t care—she forced herself to open her eyes, she knew she needed to see the wounded look on his face with each bitter word. She needed to stop it—whatever it was—before she no longer had the option to. Before the freedom she had longed for forever slipped through her fingers, and she was trapped again in pain, just like the women who used to come at the aunts’ back door.

“Helena,” Javier said again, mournful, and she could almost taste her own name falling from his lips. The tobacco, too. Her mouth parted on instinct, his thumb tracing the line of her jaw down towards her chin, brushing her bottom lip. “You’re not like that.”

“Really?” she scoffed lightly, the noise remaining trapped in her throat when she lifted her gaze to his eyes. “You don’t know me. You just think you do.”

“That’s right,” he nodded, and the tip of his nose brushed hers—one tilt of his chin, one tip of her head, and the agony would be over for both of them. But for the moment they were just suspended in time. “I think I do. I do.”

“Let go,” she told Javier, and it sounded almost like a plea. “Let go of me.”

He did. He would’ve done anything she asked of him. Let go, hold tighter, kneel, jump into a fire. All of it. So he let go of her, even if it hurt, both of them taking one step back—her arms immediately wrapped around her middle (an attempt to trap his warmth close to her skin), his hands tingling with the loss of her.

“Helena—” he said once more, her name more and more familiar on his tongue.

“You have your confession, and you have your proof,” each word felt like shreds of glass in her throat, while she looked away forcefully—in the window, her reflection was almost familiar again, still a little wild, but recognisable. “It’s up to you. You know where to find me, once you make a decision.”

“I do,” he repeated, somewhat stunned, his mind reeling. She took one step to the side, heading for the door. “It’s still pouring outside.”

“I know,” she only said, and went nevertheless.

For hours her perfume remained in the room, clinging to him for so long he didn’t even notice the smell of his burned dinner. So long the letter had dried on the floor where it had slipped, enough for him to reread it, again and again until he’d managed to fall asleep.

Helena couldn’t stop thinking about Javier. From the moment she’d walked out of the motel room, he had been all she could think about—on the drive home through the storm, in the warm bath to wash the cold away, doing the dishes, in bed, unable to sleep, dreaming about him while wide awake and in the few hours she’d managed to close her eyes, too. Haunted, just like her sister.

She dreamed of the desert, an apple tree in a yard that wasn’t hers and bloomed without water, and horses that ate apples from that tree and ran faster than all the others, and a man who was taking a bite from a pie she’d made, bound to be hers for life. She’d woken up smelling apple pie and cinnamon, coffee and tobacco.

So it was no surprise when Javier showed up that same morning. She almost heard him coming. Yet she couldn’t face him right away, so she hid inside, behind her sister, still skittish, behind her daughters, still confused, behind the pretence of making breakfast.

“He’s staying!” Sophia, the eldest of her daughters, announced, running from the garden to somewhere past the living room—Helena sighed, eyes closing. “Aunt Pheebs! He says he’s staying!”

Helena wondered if, without the feeling of Javier’s hands still on her, she would’ve wondered why Phoebe would care whether or not the man investigating them was staying at their place for breakfast. She wasn’t even sure whether she was glad he was staying or just nauseated.

“Can I help?” Emma, much quieter than her sister, stepped at her mother’s side and pointed at the stove, a half-burned pancake smoking on the pan. Helena threw the failed attempt away and nodded, forcing a smile onto her face—she knew the man was in the room with them, she could feel him watching the two of them from the entrance, could see him in her mind as he leaned against the doorway.

“Be careful,” she murmured, taking one step aside, then another, and more, her own steps echoed by Javier’s. They met halfway across the kitchen, her still not looking at him while his eyes never once left her.

“’Morning,” he hummed, shoulders brushing—Helena moved aside, ignoring the sharp pain in her hip when she bumped into the table.

“Good morning,” she cleared her throat, brushing her hands down the front of her shirt—and then lowered her voice. “Why are you here?”

“You told me I knew where to find you once I’d made my decision,” he replied, matching her tone.

“And have you?” her hands began going numb as she clenched them in fists at her sides. She could still feel Javier looking at her.

“I’m going back to Laredo,” her gaze snapped in his direction, so fast the whole room spun as she inhaled sharply, holding her breath. “I thought you should have this. After all, it belongs to you.”

It took her a moment to manage to focus on the paper he was handing her—her letter, now ruined, a half-destroyed piece of paper she’d poured her heart over, more than once. When she picked it up, their fingers brushed just like the first time, and Helena almost cried out in pain.

“Now, something smells like it’s burning,” she could see the strain in his neck as he turned away from her, looking at Emma. One more moment and then he walked ahead. “Need a hand?”

“I was trying to flip it,” Emma mumbled, a pout forming on her lips that made her look more like her mother. Javier chuckled, settling at her side. “Do you know how?” she asked suddenly, a hopeful note in her voice Helena hadn’t heard in a while. Her chest constricted, watching the man smirk and roll up his sleeves.

“I absolutely know how to,” he nodded with a theatrical gesture. “Step aside and observe.”

Amas Veritas, dancing in Helena’s head as she watched Javier, fitting so well in her kitchen, flip pancakes in the air and making the young girl laugh. It had been a while since Emma had laughed like that, and for a moment she was her soft-voiced and shy 14-year-old again, who liked to look at the stars and sleep with her head on Helena’s lap.

But then her shoulders tensed, her whole position shifting, taking one step away from Javier to turn towards her mother, even though her eyes went past her. Helena knew, without having to turn right away, that something was terribly wrong.

“Mom,” Sophia came running in, breathless, and immediately clung to her arm, tugging harshly. “Something’s wrong, mom,” the panic in her voice settled in Helena’s bones, mixing with her own, and she was quick to push her daughter behind her back, stepping away from the door. “It’s aunt Pheebs, she—”

“It’s not her,” Emma’s voice was grave, so unfitting for a young woman, and she inched closer to her mother, too. Which left Javier at the stove, looking at the three of them with confusion and alarm. “It’s him, it’s the man of the lilacs.”

“What?” perplexed, Javier took a step forward, only to be stopped by Helena’s extended arm, while she pushed all three of them behind her just as Phoebe walked into the kitchen. Accompanied. “What the hell—” Javier exhaled, reaching for his belt.

“Agent Peña!” James exclaimed, translucent as he came into the light. Javier’s head started spinning as he stared at him, then at Phoebe Goode, her arm trapped in his vice grip made of fingers of smoke, then back at him. “Long time no see. How’s Laredo? I think I’m starting to feel homesick.”

As James spoke, Helena had started stepping backwards, her gaze never leaving Phoebe—the two sisters were looking at each other, guilt and fear and resolution in their gazes that no one but the younger girls could notice, the familiarity an ache on the palms of their hands as they held each others’, keeping close, keeping behind their mother.

“Helena,” Javier called, his gaze unwavering as he took hold of his gun. “You said he was dead.”

“Yes,” she nodded, and for a split second, Phoebe’s eyes showed surprise.

“Doesn’t look like it,” he retorted, and James scoffed.

“You’ve all spent weeks pretending I’m not here—well, almost all,” he tilted his head, gaze settling onto Emma, and smiled. Helena pushed her daughter into her back, the girl hiding her face against her shoulder, clinging tighter onto her sister’s hand—Sophia held her chin high, squeezing back. “It’s gotten boring.”

“Then leave,” in Phoebe’s voice there was all the rage of the Goode women before her. But then James turned, his grip tighter on her arm, and Helena watched her sister’s legs tremble. “Just leave us alone,” she pleaded, eyes widening.

“No,” James chuckled, pulling her closer—Javier could see the strain in the woman’s shoulder, her face contorting in pain, and could not wrap his head around it. James Hawkins did not look real, or at least not real enough to hurt them. Still, he felt uneasy, even more so when he spoke again, his head lowered next to Phoebe’s. “I’m feeling very into sisters right now,” his gaze flickered towards Helena, too, a grin taking over his pale face.

Javier wasn’t looking at her, but he felt Helena straighten her back, look at him, and then turn. He heard her whisper to her daughters, possibly holding them closer, to run into their aunts’ room and be mindful of the salt. He heard two sets of steps backtrack, and watched James’ face shift into disappointment.

“Oh, Lena, Lena, Lena—you really do take the fun out of anything, don’t you?” he took one step forward, dragging Phoebe with him—the woman cried weakly, trying and failing to escape his hold.

“Hey,” only now that the kids weren’t in the room did Javier lift his gun—although he was sure it would do nothing to stop the man, and his widened grin only confirmed it. “Let go of her.”

“And you,” James groaned, even as Javier placed himself between him and Helena, “you never, ever learned when to just give up,” the two men looked at each other—Javier’s gun lifting, James’ hand reaching out for him. “You should let the adults—”

Before the sentence was over, James screamed, letting go of Phoebe. Helena ignored Javier’s surprised gasp in favour of her sister tumbling to the side, quick to reach her before she could even touch the floor.

The same floor where a star shimmered, catching the sunlight. Javier carried it with him everywhere he went, in remembrance of his father, the star-shaped badge he’d lived by for ages before retiring. Javier did not believe in luck, good or bad that it was, but he did believe in reminders: of doing the right thing, always. Of never losing sight of who he was.

He picked it up right as James straightened, a hole in his near-invisible hand that echoed its shape. Without thinking, without considering, Javier held it up right as the other man—or whatever was left of him—screamed in his direction, unintelligible words that probably would’ve resounded like threats, had Javier been able to hear a single one.

Instead, he stared as the figure vanished, with one longer scream and a curse, the air darkening in front of his eyes and then dissipated into nothing, leaving him to look at the corridor that brought to the stairs, a ringing in his ears.

“It’s okay, Pheebs,” Helena’s voice slowly brought him back, words repeated soothingly as she still held her sister. “It’s okay, it’s alright,” reassuring, in spite of her trembling voice. “I need you to call the aunts, Phoebe. I need you to tell them what happened. Can you do that?”

“I’m sorry,” Phoebe was still saying, her eyes unfocused though she looked up to Helena.

“I know, I know—but can you?” Javier could almost see it—nights spent with Helena reassuring her sister, hidden under thick blankets or on the rooftop of the house beneath a sky full of stars. “Please, I need to go to the girls.”

“Oh, the girls,” Phoebe exhaled, and released the grip on her arm. “Of course. Of course. I’m sorry.”

Helena didn’t wait, though she lingered enough to rest a kiss to Phoebe’s temple, before standing and walking out of the kitchen. It took Javier a moment to come to his senses, and then he went straight after her.

“What the hell was that?” he asked, his mind still reeling, forgetting for a moment the effect he had on her. “Was that him? Did I kill him?”

“Yes, and no—technically,” Helena didn’t stop, heading for the stairs she used to sit on when she was a kid to spy on the aunts. “It was his spirit, which you banished. But I told you, I killed him. And you can do whatever with this information after, but right now—”

“Hold on just a goddamn second, all right?” Javier grabbed her arm, pulling her right back against him. A split second in which they looked each other in the eyes, and all that had happened the night before came back, all that had been left unsaid before hit them square in the chest, and in that split second, they could’ve almost forgotten all else. “What are you talking about? His spirit? I came here to bring in the bad guy—generally, that’s what I do, and now you’re telling me about spirits?”

“Is that why you came here, Javier?” she stood her ground, her arm still in his hold. “Be honest.”

“Honesty,” he scoffed. “I thought I did—and then you were here, and your letter—maybe that’s what brought me here. Maybe it was you. And I’m all mixed-up about that.”

Helena was looking at him with that storm still brewing in her eyes, and Javier felt his knees threaten to give out underneath him. His hand fell from her upper arm, down her elbow and wrist, brushing the palm of her hand. She took a slow breath in, lips trembling.

“The reason you’re here and you don’t know why is because I sent for you,” she said, quietly.

“I know why—”

“You don’t,” she interrupted him. “When I was a little girl, I worked a spell so I would never fall in love. I asked for qualities in a man that I knew couldn’t possibly exist,” she shook her head, while his fingers wrapped around her limp hand. “But you do.”

“So,” he scoffed, “you’re saying that what I’m feeling is just one of your spells?”

“Yes, it’s not real,” it sounded like it pained her to say, even though Javier knew she was telling the truth. Or at least thought she was. “And if you stay, I wouldn’t know if it was because of the spell, and you wouldn’t know if it was because I don’t want to go to prison.”

“All relationships have problems,” he muttered, and she gave a small, unamused laugh.

“I thought I loved Frankie, but that was another spell too,” for a split second, she held his hand back, squeezing her fingers around his to the point it hurt. “Still, you don’t want to know what happens if you stay. We’re all cursed. You saw that,” and just like that, she let go of him.

“Curses only have power when you believe in them, Helena, and I don’t,” clenching his fists, Javier stepped back from her. “You know what? I wished for you too.”

Helena knew. He’d told her the night before, his lips etching each word onto her skin.

But she watched him go nevertheless, glad he managed to take the steps she couldn’t.

Helena was tired. She had been tired since lying on the floor next to her sister, watching as she was being consumed from inside. But all of that was over. She’d stared at the letter from Laredo for days after that, keeping it stored with the other one written in her own hand that carried the mark of both her touch and his.

She did her best to not think of him. It was near impossible.

James Hawkins’ cause of death was accidental, read the letter. His body was identified by jewellery in the ashes of a body found in Laredo, right by his property. The same ring he’d told her was in his car, the car she’d driven, the car she’d spilt belladonna in.

Sincerely, Javier Peña, special investigator.

“I don’t think you’ll find him there, Lena,” Phoebe said softly, when she caught her reading the letter once more. “But somewhere else, perhaps.”

For days, she let the words linger. Days turned into weeks turned into months, his absence like an emptiness into her chest. She’d almost convinced herself it would pass. That, with time, that too would pass—just another pain, just another absence. She could deal with it. She could.

And then Javier was there, in her backyard, or at least that was what she thought she was seeing, because it couldn’t be. How could he be there, when he was in her dreams just that night?

“What would you do, Pheebs?” she whispered, her heart beating so loud she wouldn’t be surprised if everybody else could hear.

“What wouldn’t I do, for the right man?” Phoebe whispered in return, gently pushing her forward with a wide smile. “This is not the aunts’, this is the two of you.”

All the while, Javier looked at them, standing perfectly still like a deer in headlights, unsure of what to do, one of his hands half-raised as if in greeting but without waving, the other buried deep within his pocket. He looked at them, and watched Phoebe quickly lead the girls away even when they tried to run to him, and then Helena walk in his direction.

“A love that even time will lie down and be still for,” he said as a way of greeting, once they were standing one in front of the other. “Ever since I went back, time hasn’t felt real, because you weren’t there. And maybe you still believe it’s for a spell you did as a child, or your aunts’ fault—”

“How do you know about the aunts?” it was hard not to smile when he fidgeted like that.

“Your sister told me,” he returned, softly. “Your sister called.”

“And you’re here,” she said, a half-step forward in his direction.

“I’m here,” he nodded, moving the hand out of his pocket and reaching for her tentatively. “I’m here because I know this is real. No gimmick, just—”

“Love?” she suggested, and the glint in her eyes reminded him of the moon itself.

“Love,” he repeated, their fingers interlocking. “Helena, I mean all of it. I’ll even quit smokin’ if—”

She kissed him, plain and simple. Pulled his hands so that he was stumbling forward and caught his lips with hers, gentle, slow. She kissed him, and as Javier held her, he felt like he’d finally gone home. She kissed him, and felt that empty space in her chest filling with the taste of coffee and tobacco.

Can love travel back in time and heal a broken heart?

There were some things, after all, that Helena Goode knew for certain:

Always throw spilled salt over your left shoulder. Add pepper to your mashed potatoes. Keep rosemary by your garden gate. Plant lavender for luck. Fall in love whenever you can.

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explicit-tae · 2 years

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welcome to my blog - my name's quae. this is my main blog. trivia-yandere is my yandere blog. my ao3 is explicit_tae warning: majority - if not all -of my writings will be considered nsfw and suitable for those 18+. they will (sometimes) contain graphic smut scenes, yandere/dark moments, etc. please do not translate, repost or use any of my writing without permission.

Ungodly Hour - Alternate Universe - Mommy Issues - Halloween - Valentine's Day - Cruel Intentions - Trivia-Yandere

Plaything: Your first year in South Korea was amazing. You got to live out your dream of being an English teacher at a private Academy. You’ve attended concerts from your favorite musicians and even acquainted yourself with new friends. But no good life last forever and now you find yourself jobless, homeless and living out of cheap motels. You’ve reached your last resort- becoming an Idol playmate. W.I.P

The Feeling of Being Stared At: You and your friends are targets of a masked killer who terrorizes each of you before they make their move on massacring. Your instincts tell you that the call is coming from inside the home, and maybe the killer is closer than you think. W.I.P

Insatiable Part 1: You noticed your Junior Year of High School that Kim Taehyung, Senior, didn’t like you. It didn’t get too far, however, just verbal teasing and taunts. But, now that you were a sophomore in University he decided he had enough. Maybe he was a changed man - or maybe because he seen that tight skirt you wore with those lace panties peaking through. completed

Insatiable Part 2: One thing for sure, Taehyung compelled you. You couldn't not think about him after your night in the woods. However, you also couldn't keep your mind off of your best friend, Jungkook, who gives you every reason not to. completed

Starring Role: Jungkook regrets introducing Jimin to your content. You're his favorite camgirl (and the only one he watches rigorously) and he would've never thought he would be head-to-head with his best friend. The contest? Win a night with you. completed

Public Enemy (Part 6/7): You’re a young doctor - an intern fresh out of medical school - and begin your career at the best Hospital in South Korea. You would’ve been swimming in student loan debt if it wasn’t for your boyfriend of 1 year, Shin, paying it off in full. You were shocked at the action and questioned where such money came from. You got you answer when your boyfriend himself comes rushing through the hospital doors with a bullet through him. completed

Public Enemy (Part 7 of 7): Your elder sister was not one to disappear. After quitting her job, she fought and worked hard for years in, you knew something was wrong - even when everyone insisted there wasn’t foul play involved. So, you go on your own investigation to find the truth of what just happened to your elder sister. completed

Contagious: An alternate world in which at the age of 25, your true soulmate is revealed. Some choose to defy the soulmate tie - but you refuse; especially when it’s revealed to be your sister's boyfriend. completed

Carnal Desire: The last person you expected to see was an ��old friend’ from nearly a decade ago, but you’re determined to show the man that you’re no longer the little girl he use to know. One | Two | Three

Public Enemy (Part 5/7): You wonder where Hoseok goes off to when his work phone calls at all times of the day and night. It’s a bother - especially when the two of you are on a date. You suspect he’s cheating on you and decide one night to follow him and witness just where he scurries of to. completed

Bound: Jimin has tried everything in his power for you - one of his closest friends - to get laid. He realizes that your kinks don't match with just any man besides one; another friend of his - Jung Hoseok. You've met Hoseok many times and don't think your masochism can be satiated by someone as bright and sunny as him. completed

Moral Dilemma: Your morality is tested at a monthly family dinner that gets interrupted by two masked men. completed

Love You (Just A Little Too Much): You're brought down memory lane and come face to face with someone you've completely forgotten about. completed

Public Enemy (Part 3/7): Your life was going great. You’ve been promoted from police officer to detective - something you’ve worked hard for. Your first case was to solve a murder of a local drug dealer brought to the hospital who you suspect foul play from. completed

Forbidden Fruit - Kim Namjoon is a new professor at a local University that has all the girls swooning over him. He becomes entangled with one student - you being far too persistent for his own good. Professors are strictly forbidden to have any form of relationship with their students - but the forbidden fruit always tastes the best. completed

One Time Thing: Namjoon was the whole package - tall, dark hair with an amazing physique. Let's not forget the personality and the intelligence that was an added bonus. Too bad he was your friend's boyfriend - even if he did appear a little too infatuated with you. completed

Public Enemy (Part 2/7): After the sudden death of your boyfriend, Shin, of 2 years - by the hands of what you assume was a rival of his - you find yourself in deep shit. He assisted in paying your college tuition and other expenses you needed for school. Once the bill runs high and you’re threatened expulsion, you need money fast. Your decision to work as a camgirl wasn’t your first option, however, now it may be your only one. completed

Public Enemy (Part 4/7): You’ve been with your boyfriend, Shin, for 3 years. The relationship wasn’t perfect and the two of you butted heads often which resulted in him buying whatever designer items to get back in your good graces. For the last few months, you begin to notice a slip in his character and question just what he does when he isn’t with you. completed

Unusual Suspects: You were always told that the internet wasn't a safe space and to be careful who you were talking to. Namjoon, your crush of years, was someone you thought was a safe haven - until you realized he wasn't the man you adored but instead a catfish pretending to be him. Now, said catfish is determined to ruin your life and the life of your childhood best friend, Taehyung, for their own sick pleasure. completed

V-Day Special: You ask your ex - who you're still close with - if he's willing to come on your cam-show for a valentine's day special. completed

Nefarious [Prequel]: A look back in your and Jungkook’s relationship, prior to the marriage, kids and detachment. completed

Repent: Adventures of Jeon Jungkook and the new girl who attends the church retreat - and who is also determined to fuck him.

Sweet Serial Killer: The city is shaken up by the sudden murders going around - all by a man who claims he is doing so in the name of justice. People are divided - those who agree with the mysterious serial killer to do what the justice system has not; and those who disagree and want him captured and sent to prison. (Part 1 to Lethal Lovers) completed

Lethal Lovers: After finding out Jungkook is Yeonma, the vigilante serial killer that has the nation in a chokehold, he offers you a deal you refuse to turn down. (Part 2 to Sweet Serial Killer) completed

Public Enemy (Part 1/7): You don’t ask many questions when your boyfriend - a High School sweetheart of 4 years by the name of Shin - splurges his money on you and other luxuries. However, you know well enough that he works for one of the biggest mafia leaders of South Korea. completed

Cult: You've grown reclusive and naive to the world - your mother has sheltered you throughout your life. That was until you've grown of age and desire to see said world for what it was - through the eyes of 7 men - 1 in particular - who all claimed to be Gods of a new world. W.I.P

One Way or Another: You recant the horrible story of how you met Jeon Jungkook - a now ex-boyfriend of yours - to your therapist. You opened up about the obsessive and toxic behavior that has you constantly looking over your shoulder for the man you've been running from for years. One | Two

Peepshow: You were Jungkook's favorite person to watch when he was outside your window. This time, he's determined to have a closer look. completed

Lick Back: Realizing that your boyfriend has become a completely different person & being malicious towards you could only mean that he’s being nice to someone else. completed

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iheartgod175 · 2 months

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Some Thoughts (Mostly ZP, but still)…

—I’ve kinda hopped back onto the Zula Patrol train again since writing Turnabout, but I am planning on doing art and stories for other fandoms, too, of course ^^ I actually worked on chapter 4 of DCR and some more of Love Language for the first time in a month! Which is amazing progress since I had both writer’s block and worries that maybe a lot of folks aren’t interested in the story. But even if that were true, it’s not going to stop me from posting stories, especially about my favorite childhood show ^^

—I went a bit in depth about an OC who gets some focus in both DCR and a few other entries, Firestorm, who’s a military commander in one of the other Zulean branches (I’ll detail my own headcanons on the structure of the Zulean government in another headcanons post) and is one of the few people that Bula gets along with outside of his team because like him, she doesn’t tolerate the BS/corruption that goes on in the government. And somehow, I got the idea that in an alternate universe, they end up as a couple. It has me cracking up because now, I have three potential love interests for Bula: Zeeter (with whom I can see happening even in canon), Bonnie (my old OC whom I’ve revamped and even have a solo story for), and now Firestorm (who might get teased in the future). Bula’s literally building his own harem, LOL XD

—And then it got me thinking that if Bula’s a typical “clueless harem protagonist” (although unlike them, he makes himself useful and isn’t admired due to some random skill he has out of nowhere), Ricochet would be the “smug harem protagonist with a heart of gold” in that he dated Denise, Diane, Melissa, and many other women before he settled down. Also, in a few AUs, he does have a better relationship with Serena, Denise’s outlaw sister, and their relationship borders on UST. Silly thoughts are silly, LOL

—I’ve also had an idea regarding the Third Sight ability. Originally, this ability has no offensive capability in any field whatsoever. But then I had a thought: what if there was a way, theoretically, that a user could hurt/even kill someone with their mind? It came about from a thought that DS! Elfilis (with whom Multo interacts with in my latest crossover) could totally do this easily, since he’s basically seen as a god (although he’s mortal) and he’s a lot more powerful/experienced with his psychic powers. Not to mention that between him and Multo, his cruel streak is not only bigger, but also more terrifying. It got me thinking that the Zuleans who have the Third Sight can do this same thing, namely in a moment of pure distress/fury, stemming from the desire to make the perpetrator feel every ounce of pain they felt at watching their loved one get hurt/killed. The name for this attack is called “Flashpoint” (or at least, it’s a working idea for a name). I had the idea that Multo accidentally stumbles across this ability after someone got the great (read: stupid) idea to hurt Zeeter or any of the others in front of him, and unable to physically defend them (due to being trapped), he’s filled with both horror at his loved ones being hurt, and pure rage at the perp, wanting nothing but for him to feel that same pain and worse. Cue that happening to the perp, with the guy literally losing his mind. With Multo being the kind of person he is, he’s shocked/horrified that he can do such a thing. One of the villains in my current WIP, Nova, takes an interest in Multo after finding out about him using this.

—And now, a part of me wants to do an alternative version of Multo that’s evil. That would be pretty terrifying. O.O

—Oh, I’m also thinking of getting back to The Return of the Phantom Empire soon, thanks to working on Firestorm’s profile. Just trying to work on the general plot of the side story, which focuses on Quick Draw McGraw, and possibly Quack-Up, namely in regards to the trauma he suffered before he joined the Galactic Guardians. This chapter isn’t gonna be quite as long as the first three chapters, but that might change, lol XD

#zula patrol #the zula patrol #hanna-barbera #ricochet rabbit #ramblings #canon x oc ships

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fruitcoops · 1 year

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Intrusion

Andromeda's return! I loved writing her for the other fics she's appeared in, and figured an introduction was in order since she'll be back again very soon. Andy being fabulous and Remus being wildly out of his depth is a favorite trope of mine. Coops credit goes to @lumosinlove!

“Sirius,” Remus called without moving an inch from the doorway. “There’s a person in our house.”

Because, well, there was. A person, that is. Sitting in their living room. Remus was 99.9% sure she had not been there when he left, forty-five minutes prior.

The woman watched him as if daring him to speak. Her eyes were almost as dark as her hair, warm chestnut against her pale skin. Her lower lip was fuller than the upper one, though her lipstick accentuated the Cupid’s bow and slight uptick at one side. It was an oddly familiar shape. A perfect brow quirked once, and her smile grew. “Bonjour.”

“Hello,” Remus said, rather stupidly. He stared at her for another long moment before turning toward the kitchen; a pan of something popped and hissed. “Babe—”

“Ouais, sorry, yes!” The noise grew exponentially for a few seconds. Remus bit his tongue and turned back to the woman, who had draped herself with a kind of casual confidence in Sirius’ favorite couch spot. Somehow, that detail unsettled him more than the rest of her presence.

He tilted his head slightly. “This is going to sound so rude, but are you supposed to be here?”

Even her snort was dignified. “Sirius!” she shouted. Her accent poked at the back of Remus’ mind, somewhere he couldn’t quite place… “Introduce me, you—”

Remus blinked. It wasn’t every day someone called his fiancé a rat in pristine French. And when Sirius (finally) rounded the corner of the kitchen with two plates in hand, he only looked fondly annoyed. The kind reserved for Regulus and, on occasion, Logan. “You come to my house,” he began, gesturing at her with the plate. “Unannounced, demand food, and then call me names? I never should have let you across the yard.”

“Rat.”

“If I turned the sprinklers on, would you melt?”

“Wrong sister.” The woman accepted her plate with a grin. Remus began to wonder if he had stepped through a portal to an alternate universe. “I thought you said you texted your fiancé, eh?”

Sirius looked up at him then, frowning slightly. “I did.”

“I left my phone here.” Like an idiot.

Sirius’ eyes flickered over him; Remus didn’t really want to know what he looked like to warrant that slow nod. “I see.”

Remus waited a few seconds for him to continue and saw the woman roll her eyes. “There’s a person. In our house,” he repeated with a significant look.

There it is. Sirius straightened like he had been shocked, waving his sandwich toward the woman. “Yes! Remus, this is Andromeda. Andy, this is Remus.”

Ah. So it could get worse. “Your cousin?”

“The only tolerable one,” she confirmed with a smile. She stood with easy grace, holding a hand out to shake (or possibly kiss—Remus wasn’t sure). “Andromeda Tonks. It’s wonderful to meet you at last.”

“Remus Lupin, and you as well.” Something inside him died at the feeling of her hand against his sweaty palm. The only cousin Sirius wanted within a fifty-mile radius, and he had gone and made an idiot of himself right away. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t realize you were coming.”

“Neither did I,” Sirius huffed. “But you all seem to have a habit of turning up.”

“Is this about Uncle Alphard?”

“Of course it’s about Uncle Alphard!”

Remus raised a faint hand. “You lost me.”

Sirius just kissed his cheek, which was not nearly as comforting as he obviously intended it to be. “My family likes to show up to places without invitation. Don’t worry about it.”

Privately, Remus was extremely worried about it. He turned a smile on Andromeda and hoped the blistering summer heat hadn’t rendered him too disgusting. “I’m so glad you could come visit. Are you in town for long?”

“Non, my husband is visiting for work and I figured we should make a formal introduction.” Her smile was kind, if sharp at the corners. The narrowing of her eyes when she turned to Sirius made the hair at the back of Remus’ neck rise, yet he seemed unperturbed. “I hope you didn’t think I’d pass through without saying ‘hello’, little cousin.”

“You’re just upset I was home first and not my fiancé.”

Her gaze flicked back and pinned Remus like a moth on a hobbyist’s board. “Perhaps. He’s cute. I like him.”

“Thanks?” Remus managed. This conversation didn’t feel like one he should be privy to.

“You said Ted was in town?” Sirius continued, herding him gently to the couch with a hand on his bicep. Two small pulses followed. Sorry.

Remus draped an arm across the back of the couch when they sat and rubbed the side of his thumb over the bend of Sirius’ shoulder. Forgiven. A brief smile rippled over Sirius’ lips; the knot in his stomach eased by a degree. He would have preferred to vacuum the living room so his first impression wasn’t abysmal, but Andromeda seemed content to perch on a cushion like a mildly frightening bird and munch on her sandwich.

She swallowed daintily, raising her paper napkin (Jesus, Sirius couldn’t even have gone and grabbed the nice cloth ones? Honestly.) to her lips as if it was made of fine silk. “He is. There’s a work conference happening, so obviously they wanted him to speak at it.”

Remus sent a prayer of thanks to his mother for drilling the importance of small talk throughout his childhood. “Oh, what does he do?”

“He’s a landscaping specialist,” she said proudly.

Bingo. “My father is in landscaping, actually.”

“Really?” Andromeda’s eyes lit up and she leaned slightly forward. “Fascinating. What region?”

“He stays close to Madison, since my brother is still in school. Sirius mentioned your daughter is starting kindergarten soon?”

“She has one year left of preschool,” Andromeda corrected, though it was kind. Remus filed that away—maybe they would appreciate a congratulatory card in the spring. “And your mother?”

“She works in administration, and sometimes fills in as an emergency substitute teacher.”

“Yes, I remember she posted about a recent craft project on her Instagram. She makes lovely desserts, by the way.”

Remus restrained himself from gaping at her. Was it normal to admit to stalking your cousin’s fiancé’s mother’s baking-themed Instagram page? If that was something to expect from Sirius’ less-unhinged family members, he had wildly underestimated the extent of the ones they didn’t speak to. “That’s…very kind of you. I’ll let her know.”

“Please do,” Andromeda agreed, managing to lick some stray honey from her knuckle without smudging her lipstick. “We’d love to meet your family someday. Ted would be thrilled to speak with your father, I’m sure. And Regulus has been pestering me about visiting Nymphadora for ages, so we’ll be around.”

He felt Sirius balk under his arm. “Regulus has been texting you?”

“Of course.”

“He doesn’t text me.”

“Because you’re boring. Clearly, he likes me more.” Her words were biting, but her expression was pure mischief. “Remus, you play for the Lions as well, yes?”

“I do.”

“My husband is an avid Badgers fan. He was heartbroken when you clobbered them. I still don’t think he’s forgiven you for that play, actually.”

What the fuck, what the fuck, what the— “I’m…sorry.”

“Oh, don’t be. He’s quite cute when he’s frustrated,” she said cheerfully, waving off the apology with a manicured hand. Her thin silver bracelets clinked like bells; Remus’ head began to spin. This woman was playing 5D chess in their living room, and he had been left with a single pawn at best. It was rather devastating to realize Sirius’ entire family was made of highly attractive, highly intelligent people. He had never stood a chance.

“I’m so glad to hear that,” felt like the best answer he could give. Sirius gave his thigh a subtle pat, which he took as a good sign.

“You should bring Dora and Ted around sometime,” Sirius offered. “We have all summer off. Maybe dinner?”

“Is there a park nearby?”

“Down the street.”

“A picnic, then,” Andromeda said with a decisive nod. “The weather has been too nice lately, and we couldn’t possibly intrude on your home.”

Remus blinked. For real? After all this?

“It’s not an intrusion,” Sirius scoffed. “We’d be happy to have you both.”

“Oh, non—”

“It’s an invitation—”

“I simply couldn’t—"

“Andy—”

“Ugh, fine.” She threw her hands up in surrender, and Remus had the sneaking suspicion some duel of Victorian-style politeness had just been completed. The winner remained unclear to his plebian sensibilities. “In that case, I’ll send you my calendar and we’ll work something out. Remus, do you have allergies?”

“Uh, pollen?”

“To food.”

“Then no.”

She beamed at him. “Excellent. We’ll bring watermelon and appetizers.” Her plate hit the coffee table without so much as a whisper of a sound; she stood in the same motion, smoothing her dress of invisible wrinkles. “I should go now. Thank you for hosting, and for the sandwiches. This was a delight.”

“It was great to have you.” Remus stood with far less poise, still feeling as if he had missed several important conversation steps along the way. “Please come back any t—ope.”

Her hug was brief, yet surprisingly loving, and the kiss to each of his cheeks quick enough that he didn’t fully register them until she had moved on to squeeze Sirius tight. “Text me more,” she said when they parted, patting the side of his face. “I missed you. It’s been too long since we spoke.”

Sirius shuffled, a little awkward, a lot earnest, every inch the wayward baby cousin next to her effortless confidence in spite of the way he enveloped her in their second embrace. “It was good to see you, Andy,” he said quietly.

Remus saw her sigh; the rigidness of her spine relaxed, tipping her just an inch into Sirius’ chest. One hand rubbed between his shoulder blades with the smoothness of an old habit. For a moment, he saw them as they were in one of Sirius’ oldest nightstand photos: the runaway and the rebel, arms slung over each other as they slogged through a wreck of a family toward freedom. Andromeda had looked fierce even at 17; next to her, Sirius’ stubborn scowl made them quite the pair.

There was no fight in them, now. Not against the soft blues and greens of the living room. Their cheekbones and bright eyes and perfect posture had given way to gentler things. Andromeda pulled back first, reaching up to tug at Sirius’ hair until he batted her hands away and shooed her toward the front door with a whine of quick French that made her laugh.

“Take care of him for me, Remus!” Andromeda called over her shoulder, then closed the door before he could answer.

Silence followed in her wake. Sirius exhaled slowly, sticking his hands in his pockets as he watched her leave through the main window. The sudden appearance of any of the Blacks was generally an omen of the end of the world in their house.

“She’s nice,” Remus remarked at last.

Sirius’ faint smile broadened with affection. “Yeah.”

“Very…put together.”

“Her mother was big on decorum.” His nose wrinkled at that, but smoothed soon enough. “It makes her a star at parties, though. Her husband, Ted, adores her.”

“For the parties?”

“Non, definitely not,” Sirius laughed as he bent to collect the plates from the coffee table. “For everything about her. He’s great. You two would get along well.”

“I’m sure we’d have plenty to talk about,” Remus agreed, watching him fold the paper napkins in perfect creases with absentminded motions. Her mother was big on decorum. That would be Sirius’ aunt, then, the one with the truly unfortunate name. His mother’s sister. Sirius hummed under his breath while he put away the dishes and Remus decided not to press for information; if Andromeda’s mother was strict enough to make Sirius comment on it, he wasn’t sure that can of worms needed to open. “Is Ted the one she ran off with?”

“Who else?” Sirius called from the kitchen, still audibly amused. “I’ve met him once or twice—he’s very calm, very caring. They balance each other. He reminds me a lot of you.”

“Calm and caring?”

“No.” Sirius reappeared with a sideways grin and crossed the room to cup Remus’ face in both hands, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips. “Well, yes, but also you would climb a wrought iron fence for me and threaten to fistfight my father.”

“…I have threatened to fistfight your father.”

“Precisely.” Sirius kissed him again, slow enough that Remus’ stomach tumbled as he pressed up on his toes for more. Sirius’ heart beat steady and calm against his own; Remus could feel his smile. “You’d rescue me from a garden in the dead of night if I asked you to.”

“Just say the word,” he murmured.

“Mmm. No rescues necessary.” Sirius nudged their noses together and bit lightly at Remus’ lower lip. “I’m happy right where I am.”

#remus lupin #sirius black #andromeda tonks #coops #black cousins #sweater weather #vaincre #lumosinlove #my fic #fanfic #fluff

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the-alliance-maker · 2 months

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More art from my younger sister, yay!

Mask (Baby Hero of Time) looks like that because he's worn the Fierce Deity Mask too many times for extremely long periods, and now it's started to stain/scar his skin.

I'm also putting her little doodle she made me bellow too.

Mask (Baby Hero of Time) has a/his shadow following him around. This is apparently my sister's view of their relationship.

(She was nervous about letting me post the gif and required that I clarified that it's a low effort, quick animation she only made to get a laugh out of me, lol. She was correct about making me laugh. I was in tears for, like, an hour.)

More explanations (And lack there of?) about it under the cut.

These pieces of art are both from an AU of mine that we roleplay a lot.

I'd explain more, but it's built off an alternate timeline/universe of @wutheringmights story "Call them brothers". And I'm not sure what her rules are about fanart or fanfics, mostly because I never asked or looked into it and I never intended to.

I make AUs for the fanfics I read, write fanfics for those fanfics with thousands upon thousands of words in them and then never post them or do anything other than hand them to my sister to read. She does the same with her art.

...Fandoms are messy enough without me accidentally stepping on someone's toes. (I think my sister doesn't post her art because she's too unconfident though.)

That aside, Call them brothers is literally my favorite fic I've ever read. I know we like to throw that phrase around in the fandom a lot, but I have every intention of getting that sucker printed and bound once it's finished. I've been reading Fanfiction for nearly a decade and this is the first one I've wanted to do that for.

If you're a person who enjoys darker stories and want a story line with some actual consequences for the characters, I'd totally recommend it. The last time I was this gut punched over characters and their development was Red Rising by Peirce Brown (My favorite published book series ever), and Wuthering's descriptions of a war ravaged country and all it's horrors is fucking immaculate.

I found Call them brothers through my desire to see a longer fic that had Spirit Tracks Link, and it did. not. disappoint.

Wuthering's takes on what Spirit's abilities, character traits, and game culture/lore are currently my favorite I've seen from anyone in the fandom, and I would doubly recommend the fic just for that.

That said, it's not a story for the faint of heart. It's Dark. With a capital 'd' for a reason. Wuthering doesn't add all those tag warnings for no reason. Also, if you can't stand to see one of the Link bois written as anything other than what the mainstream interpretation for them is, this isn't for you. War isn't out of character, but he's certainly a bold take. A fantastic one, but bold none the less.

Plus there's mild mentions of Links being interested in other character's that aren't their Zeldas or their typical love interests. There is NO shipping of the Jojo's characters amongst each other, but if you're the kind of person who can't stand alluding to characters having crushes that aren't Link x Zelda, it isn't for you.

I know there's some people in the fandom who don't like that kind of thing, so I thought I'd mention it. Also, you've been warned so no being mean to Wutheringmights about it!

If you're okay with the things I've listed, please, please, please give it a read. @wutheringmights deserves all the love for writing something so good.

(Anyway, I could ramble for hours about all the reasons Wutheringmights is my favorite Author in the LOZ fandom, but this was supposed to just be a post about my lil sis's art that got waaaaay away from me.)

#My sister's art #Little alliance Art #time linked universe #majora's mask link #loz link #time lu #linked universe time #It's only Lu because it's an AU of a LU Fic but the character concept all on it's own isn't???#So I'm tagging both #Sorry if that's confusing

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crisiscutie · 3 months

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FF Materlist V

Most recent Masterlist containing most of my listed works. Since I write a lot, I won't be listing everything. This list will contain most major works of mine for personal and future references. For every single work done for specific AUs, go to the end of the list and select the AU’s FAQ/Tag. This Masterlist (18+) contains both NSFW and SFW works, some that may be DDNE. Read at your own risk.

Please familiarize yourself with my updated rules before requesting/interacting with me.

For the fourth Masterlist, go here.

PROMPTS

🐊7R Sephiroth/Dissidia Darling🦋

Dissidia Safer Sephiroth Musings

Dissidia Sephiroth Musings

Yandere 7R Sephiroth Musings

Yandere AC Sephiroth Musings

Dissidia Darling's Pheromones

Dissidia Aerith/Dissidia Darling Headcanons

Seymour and Sephiroth Fighting Over Darling

Dissidia Sephiroth Teasing Darling

Seymour and Sephiroth Having a Discussion About Darling

Dissidia Sephiroth/JENOVA!Dissidia (EVA) Darling Musings

Dollhouse

Fluffy Sephy and Fembot/Android Darling

Safer Sephiroth Reclaiming His Darling

Rufus Shinra With A Sleepy Smol Darling

Fluffy Sephiroth and His Triplet Sons

Dissidia Darling And Dissidia Kadaj

Dissidia Safer Sephiroth Headcanons

Darling Stealing Sephiroth's Jacket

AC Sephiroth Sending His Remnants After Darling

7R/EC Sephiroth And Nee-San Darling Headcanons

FICS, DRABBLES, SCENARIOS

rest well, princess,

For Those Who Have None Chapter 1

DOMestic Darling/Fluffy Sephy Scenarios, 1 and 2.

Twin Sephiroths Breed Darling,

"Fluffy" Sephiroth and Pregnant Darling In Shower

Fluffy Sephiroth Comforting His Darling

Battle Of Wills

RAMBLINGS

Sephiroth With A Little Sister Darling

Which Sephiroth Cares Most And Least About Sick Darling

C.C. Ramble/Analysis/Rant about JENOVA

Dissidia Sephiroth Analysis/Ramble

Does Sephiroth Have An Oedipus Complex?

Sephiroth Really Loves JENOVA

Why C.C. Loves EVA So Much

Dissidia Darling and JENOVA

Female Sephiroth in HoS.

Brief Musing on Sephiroth's Madness

AC Sephy Collecting Darlings

How C.C. Would Write Sephiroth's Character in Rebirth

Dissidia Sephiroth and Darling Analysis

C.C's Unpopular Opinion About Sephiroth

C.C's thoughts on Sephiroth in Before Crisis

The Miracle Cutie Didn't Need To DIE!

Safer Sephiroth and His Darling's Oneness

Vincent And Sephiroth's Connection

Yes, Sephiroth Is Meant To Be Attractive

Sephiroth's Perspective On Normality?

Fluffy Sephiroth's Feelings About Hojo Creeping Around His Darling

How To Request From C.C.

Sephy's Favorite Sex Positions

Why Vincent Isn't (And Shouldn't Be) Sephiroth's Dad

AC Sephy Analysis

ALTERNATIVE UNIVERSES

Fluffy Sephiroth/Domestic Darling (Domestic AU)

Sephiroth’s Angel (Darling as Angeal’s Sister)

One Winged Masquerade (Dissidia Sephiroth/Dissidia Darling)

House of Sephiroth AU (Multi Yandere Sephiroth/Darling)

OTHERS

Sephthoughts - a collection of random shitposts thoughts about Sephiroth.

Sephology 101 - A basic course offered by Shinra University, focusing on the study of Sephiroth. (Academia AU and Analysis of everything about Sephiroth)

Inbox is ALWAYS open. Please familiarize yourself with my updated rules before requesting/interacting with me.

If you are willing and able, I would greatly appreciate any donations on Ko-fi.

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queenofthedisneyverse · 2 months

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Encanto au discussion

Ok, I've started to realize that people are forgetting/ don’t really know what AU’s are. I’m speaking to the Encanto fandom specifically. So, yes, I know AU’s where Alma, the blue couple, yellow couple, and/or Isabela are evil/mean to Mirabel are not liked.

Mamabel au’s aren’t liked because these types of au’s usually bash Felix and Pepa for being bad parents (which they aren’t). Au’s where Alma is just an evil person or Isabela is a b*tch to Mirabel aren’t liked because everyone knows Alma and Isabela as characters are complex people who had issues of their own.

But I think people fail to understand that these fics/ideas have AU attached to them. ALTERNATE UNIVERSE. The characters are literally changed to fit a new story to the writer's liking. I’m sure every Encanto writer understands that the madrigals (the gifted ones specifically) are complex people.

Alma lost her husband to a brutal death and the miracle came about right after. It’s obvious she thought the magic had to be earned in order for it to stay. She just took the idea too far and pressured her children a little too much.

Everybody understands that Pepa and Felix would NEVER leave a newborn baby to a ten year old. The very idea would seem absurd to them. Mirabel obviously is like an older sister than a mother to Antonio. Julieta and Agustin would never neglect their daughters nor would Pepa and Felix neglect their children.

Isabela NEVER bullied/abused Mirabel in any sense of those words. It’s just their relationship dwindled over the years. But you can obviously see they had a loving sister dynamic, even if they didn’t like each other at the moment.

But these characters…are characters. They aren’t real. They are 3D MODEL RIGS given a personality to fit a role in a movie! If someone wants to change them to write a new story they certainly have the right to.

But I am NOT talking to proshippers, all of you can f*ck off, die, and live in the fiery pits of hell for an eternity.

So please, don’t get butt hurt when your favorite character is changed in an au/fanfiction. It’s just writing, it’s not gonna hurt you whatsoever, just scroll on. And certainly, don’t leave comments on the fics saying that (insert Madrigal here) isn’t like that, or “they would never do that”, etc.

We KNOW Mirabel isn’t a teenage mother, we KNOW Alma/Isabela isn’t a monster, we KNOW the blue and yellow couple are good parents. But you do understand that terrible family members do exist in real life…correct?

There are real life stories where teenagers were forced to raise their siblings. Multiple stories where parents/grandparents are really f*cked up people. Multiple stories where siblings weren’t the best people.

Don’t you think people who had f*cked up family members read these fics and feel a little represented when they read that kind of au?

Exhibit A:

(This comment was on my pequeno soldado fic)

So, just because an au doesn't speak to YOU personally doesn't mean it doesn't speak to others. Don't hate on it either, just scroll on.

Thanks for reading ted talk/rant!

#encanto 2021 #encanto au #camilo madrigal #mirabel madrigal #antonio madrigal #isabela madrigal #pepa madrigal #felix madrigal #julieta madrigal #agustin madrigal #alma madrigal

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aineryeo · 1 year

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10 Things I Hate About You Jake Kim.

Synopsis: "On the very first day in Jerry Kwon's new school, he instantly falls for Ryang Sang-min, the girl of his dreams. The issue is that Sang-min is forbidden to date until her ill-tempered, completely undateable older sister (You) goes and dates someone too.. In an attempt to solve his problem, Jerry singles out the only guy who might potentially be a match for Ryang (Name): His Senior, the same age as you, Jake Kim."

Themes & Warnings: 2000s Teen-Drama, Romance, Cliches, Fem. POV, Jake is a romantic idiot, slightly OOC, setting is in J-High, a little NSFW

Author Notes:

"Can't Take My Eyes Off Of You" - Frankie Valli | 10 Things I Hate About You (Original Motion Picture Soundtrack)

This is basically the whole movie but the cast is Jake Kim, You, a random character as your younger sister, Vin Jin, Mary Kim, the Practical Music Dept, Big Deal (Jason, Brad, Jerry), and cameos of our favorite characters/main lookism cast <3 I even recreated the title sequence I'm so happy for this! 1/3 parts + The OG Cast are Seniors (Vasco, Crew Heads, Daniel, etc.)

LOOKISM, SOUTH KOREA — 갱단의 삶. » “THE GANGSTER LIFE”

*Set in a school environment & an alternate universe where Jake now attends J-High School, this includes the rest of the crew heads & Big Deal. There are no four major crews and no gangs, but Jake is still renowned as Gapryong Kim's son. Sinu Han is also present.

Chapter 1 (Current) » Chapter 2

Jaewon-High School. A second-rate vocational school that focuses more on giving its students the experience they need for the jobs they want in the department they chose. There are eight (8) departments:

Fashion and Clothing Department

Architecture and Interior Design Department

Beauty Department

Comics and Animation Department

Vocal and Dance Department

Practical Music Department

Baking Department

Computers Department

Out of these eight, you were in your third year in Practical Music. The school was full of tools. The Fashion Dept always flaunted their brand clothes because they’re the only department allowed to wear whatever they want. The Architecture Dept. Always full of creepy guys who don’t look their age. Bundled together in groups to show off their strength or something like that... Unless they have a leader already. A well-known persona in their Dept was a person named Vasco for Burn Knuckles, and he’s a sophomore from what you know. There’s a rumor that a second group of men was formed, but it is not like they were all serious gangs. You hear it was because they like one guy, similar to the Burn Knuckles.

If that was how the Architecture Dept worked, you could say the same for the Beauty Dept. Except they’re all girls, save for one Senior: Eli Jang. They all love their one boy. You could go on and on about how everyone is the same, readable stereotype. They all do things because they think they should be doing them. To act cool, tough, rich, pretty, or popular, listen to this famous K-pop group or dance to this new pop song. You hate all of it.

What you hate the most right now, though? Freshmen.

“Hey, have you listened to NCT’s new release, 119?”

“Yeah, I waited all night for the exact time of their release, and I memorized all the lyrics, yeah!”

“Already a big fan? You rock! I just mentioned this the other day!”

“You know me~.”

The girls had brightly colored hair, and they played whatever new song they were talking about loudly through the speakers of their phones while you were in the seat just behind them on the bus. Getting annoyed, you remove your headphone’s audio jack from your phone and start playing Bad Reputation by Joan Jett & the Blackhearts at a volume rivaling theirs.

“Hey, what the hell?” The first girl looks back to where you were currently sitting.

Just as they begin to protest, the bus driver halts at the station you get off. You get your bag and walk past them, giving them a natural look that makes them stare back a little before turning their heads in defeat. You? You were still playing your music. As you step off the public transport bus with the girls behind you in tow, grumbling about you ruining their vibe, you’re met with a litter of J-high’s students scattered around the grounds.

As usual, you navigate through the messy crowd. Filled with students who were learning how to skate. Some were walking to school, while the others had their bicycles.

The most intriguing sight you missed once you entered was the freshman in his small bike with a basket. Contrary to his small bicycle was a massive build defying the logic of a teen’s average growth. Pedaling this bike was none other than Jerry Kwon.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Ki Young-Mi was engraved in the wooden name plaque on the desk filled with books, papers, and a small, thick, and visibly old laptop. Below the name was Guidance Counselor, was it?

Ms. Young was a middle-aged lady with old style, permed hair, and rectangle-shaped glasses that were quite thick for her age, connected to the white-laced retainers wrapped around her neck. Her glasses were tipping around her nose as she looked down at her laptop with puckered lips.

Tap.

Tap, tap, tap.

Tapppp…

That was how slow she typed. Jerry was sitting in front of her desk, fiddling with his thumbs as if he didn’t look like a Senior student.

“I’ll be right with you.” Ms. Young says.

Jerry nods obediently.

Behind the screen, little did Jerry know was Ms. Young’s… Hobby. Right, she was writing for her novel. She was unfocused on what Jerry was asking her since he came barging in as she was still in her brainstorming stage. And now…

«Gushiken wakes up from her slumber after her intense battle with Akaza. With the dim moonlight shining on her, she opens her eyes to see….»

Ah, perfect. For now. Ms. Young closes her laptop and takes off her glasses, leaving them dangling around her neck.

“So, what are you here for? Did Gordon send you in already?” The Architecture Dept again…

“Oh, I’m a freshman, Ms. Young.”

Ms. Young, in her many years in J-high, had never seen a kid look… Like this. Ah, but she gets such a small salary, anyways, she shakes off her shock. She shouldn’t be shocked. Some students here could pass off as adults in their mid-twenties if they wanted to, seriously.

“Then you must be Jerry Kwon. Here you go,” Ms. Young gives Jerry a yellow piece of paper, printed with his class schedule and where his room is.

The guidance counselor then looks over Jerry’s documents, standing near the window in her solo office. She hums with a slight nod.

“You’re big for a first-year high schooler. You—” Once more, Ms. Young takes a good look at Jerry and points at him accusingly. “Are you sure you’re not a convicted criminal or something!?”

Jerry sweats nervously at this. He shakes his head and his hands in swift denial. “N-no! My father is—”

“Okay, that’s enough.” Ms. Young regains her lost composure. “I’m sure you’ll fit right into Jaewon. It’s not any different from the local schools, or any other schools, for the matter of fact.”

Splat! Behind the window protecting Ms. Young, who smiled with her eyes closed.

“Same little ass-wipe shit-for-brains everywhere.” And then she laughs as if it was normal. It probably is.

Poor Jerry didn’t know what to say, stuttering. For a big, intimidating guy, Jerry remembers what his big brother, by bond, had always told him: Respect your elders.

“Sorry, sorry… Should I go?”

The more Jerry sat on the chair, the more Ms. Young looked sweetly aggravated. “Go, I have deviants to see and a novel to finish. Bye-bye now.”

Jerry leaves with his bag on his shoulder as Ms. Young pats his back while ushering him out of the Guidance office. As Jerry approached the door, his prominent figure was almost rivaled by a familiar figure in a black compression short-sleeved shirt from Under Armour. Despite Jerry being in the original school uniform, the Architecture Dept was well-known to follow a different setup. The students usually wore jumpsuits.

“Big bro Jake!” Jerry grins.

Jake only gave a brief closed-eyed smile to Jerry, giving his head a small pat as he now faced Ms. Young, who had her arms closed.

“Jake Kim.”

Jake walks into the office just as Jerry leaves.

“I see we’re making our visits a weekly ritual.” Jake smiles at Ms. Young. Was it an attempt at charm? He nods a bit at the end of the statement. Jake places his hands in his school pants’ pockets.

“Only so we can have these moments together. Should I hit the lights?”

“Oh, very clever, the big boss, was it?” Ms. Young raises her thinly drawn eyebrow at the report in her hands. “Says here you exposed yourself in the cafeteria?”

“I was joking with the guys since it was bratwurst day. Doesn’t come all the time. And I didn't mean for the lunch lady to see anything.” Jake shrugged.

“Aren’t we the optimist?” Ms. Young’s eyes flit down briefly before flicking back to his eyes in a middle-aged, tired fashion.

Jake’s brows furrow at this. Always the weird faculty this school has. Though the students were much worse off. So, Mano a Mano. “Next time, keep it in your pouch, okay? Now scoot!”

The brief session in the guidance office was done in no time. Ms. Young had other… Business to attend to, yes…

«…“Are you looking for a wife? Oh, you know, just like a wife. Get married.”»

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“Hello! Brad Lee, Sophomore from the Architecture Dept.” A similarly head-shaven guy approached the innocent Jerry waiting nearby the guidance office from earlier. Next to him was a lanky guy who wore red Converse shoes.

“Jason Yoon. We’re supposed to show you around; I’m a sophomore like Brad. It's rare, even for us, to see our No. 2. We usually just hear about you from Jake. Nice to see you in Jaewon, finally.”

They both shake hands with Jerry, whose other hand is holding onto the strap of his backpack. Brad looks at the little paper before looking back at Jerry.

“So… You play the flute?” Brad jests as they begin to walk.

“For a performance before, the flute is very important to me. It was given to me by big brother Jake.”

“Woah, the boss is amazing,” Jason remarks, walking with his hands behind his head.

Jerry hums in acknowledgment as he nods along. Brad then taps Jerry’s shoulder and points his chin toward a group of girls huddled together. Some had hair curlers for their bangs, even blow dryers. They all wore the standard uniform, but their hair was of different colors.

“Here’s the breakdown. Them,” Jerry looks at them again. “They’re from the Beauty Department.”

“Basic beautiful people.” Jason shrugged and looked up at Jerry, who was listening attentively. “Now, unless they talk to you first, just don’t bother.”

Jerry nods obediently at this. “They mostly only care about the only boy in their department, Eli Jang.” Brad chuckles.

Still walking along the long hall, they pass by a different group of kids. They were small, younger-looking boys.

“To the right, you’ll see the dweebs from the Fashion Dept. They’re your classic rich kids—” Jason explains.

“Hey, watch where you’re walking! You almost stepped on my Limited Edition Air Jordan 1s! You can’t find these anywhere anymore! Huh?!” A funny little lamb wearing glasses yelled. None of the three paid any mind.

“Tell them there’s a sale of whatever limited pair of pants, and they’ll come running alright. They won’t mess with you, though, I’m sure.” Jason gives Jerry a thumbs up.

Suddenly, some guy with his friend bumped into Jerry. The guy was petite compared to the giant Jerry Kwon, but he didn’t seem scared. No, his eyeglasses seemed to have lit up as he adjusted them.

“Konnichiwa (*In Japanese: “Hello”), are yuu new hero? (*In English: “Are you new here” — Korean accent)”

Brad and Jason sweat at this. Brad leans close to Jerry to whisper and explain before Jerry thinks of beating him up. Though Jerry didn’t think of that in the first place.

“He must be from the AniCom Dept. Most think they’re the next Light Yagami or Satoru Gojo.”

Jason joins in and whispers on Jerry’s other ear, tip-toeing to reach it like Brad. “Never touch their body pillows.”

Jerry only nods rapidly and gives a brief wave before moving on.

“Arigato Gozaimasu!” The boy bows deeply for Jerry, catching a few stares from the passing students.

In one of the rooms they were passing by, they could hear loud laughter and a bunch of yells from the teacher. When the door opened, Jerry, Brad, and Jason could see the class monitor displaying… Porn. Obscene moans filled the rooms, and the furious teacher figured out why the remote wasn’t working suddenly. In the room, a particularly mischievous boy who sat on his chair with both his feet up like it was a dirty alleyway caught Jerry’s eye.

“Dumbasses.” Jerry hears from the boy with purple hair and a devious smile.

“Kouji!!!!” The teacher screams. “Was it you again!?”

“Hah? You have no proof whatsoever, Mr.”

Jason laughed along while the porn didn’t stop playing. “Computer Department. That Kouji kid’s already famous for being known to hack easily into the school’s whole PA System.”

“Woah,” Jerry says something for the first time since their tour after exchanging names. This makes Jason Yoon and Brad Lee look immediately into whatever caught the quiet Jerry’s attention.

There walked a somewhat petite, classic, a little vintage-in-style girl. Sweetly holding her books as, for some reason, the wind picked up inside the school!? How was this possible?! But then Jerry thought, I guess for a goddess…!

She had a strawberry-printed oversized jacket paired with the prettiest smile in Jerry Land while she walked over to a blonde girl with a cloth headband.

“Did the wind pick up just now?” Jerry hears her ask her friend.

“No, it’s just that fan over there. Someone turned it on just right on time.” Her friend replies while they walk off together.

Jerry couldn’t take his eyes off her. Is this what a campus crush is? He doesn’t think he’s seen anyone his whole life, which caught his fancy. With this, he whips his head towards his tour guides.

“Who is she..?” Jerry asks shyly. If you look closer, you’ll see a tinge of pink on his cheeks.

“The don't-even-think-about-it girl.” Jason sighs, putting his hands down on his head.

“She’s Ryang Sang-min of the Ryang sisters. A freshman like you, but she’s great friends with Mary Kim, Senior, since they’re in the same department.” Brad explains kindly.

Ryang Sang-min. Ah, Jerry will remember that name for the rest of his life. Brad and Jason notice how Jerry seems to be in wonderland, showing a small smile, but they worry for the little… Well, big guy.

“You see Jerry, Ryang Sang-min, a beautiful, deep, and a good dancer too. That, we’re sure of.” Brad Lee states, looking off into the direction that Sang-min and Mary walked off to. The trio was not so far behind the two girls walking off to their respective classrooms.

Sang-min speaks dreamily while holding her stack of papers in her arms, “You see, there’s a difference between like and love.”

“I like my Skechers, but I love my Prada backpack.”

“But I… Love my Skechers.” Mary replies.

“That’s because you don’t have a Prada backpack.” Sang-min shrugs.

Mary thinks about Sang-min’s point for a while until she finally gets the message. I mean, she didn’t have a Prada backpack, so that much was true. Mary chuckles and palms her forehead, “Ohh….”

And then they pass by the Second years’ Architecture Department room. Where Jason and Brad’s stop should be. Jerry still looks off towards the girls’ back. Specifically, Sang-min's, in pure awe until Jason waves a hand in front of him, and Brad starts talking.

“Look, Jerry, Ryang Sang-min has a very strict, uptight dad. It’s a widely known fact that the Ryang sisters don’t date.”

None of what they did or said got to Jerry, though, as he stared off into the distance. “Uhuh… Yeah.”

Jason Yoon and Brad Lee look at each other worriedly. They were here on behalf of Jake Kim’s request to look out for Jerry on his first day as part of Big Deal, but they don’t know if they failed or succeeded.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

After the bell rang, all departments were in their given rooms. There were a lot of reasons why Practical Music had a strong competitiveness against the Vocal & Dance Dept. While they battled for agencies to take them in, performances, the lot, they also had mixed classes. Mixed classes are different from auditorium sessions. It was unique to the two departments since they had ragingly similar lessons anyway. Auditorium sessions take up all the departments in the most enormous room in Jaewon. However, it was primarily used for seminars. It was easy to skip if you tried.

The mixed classes between Practical Music and VD would happen with the core subjects and Music Theory or whatnot. But topics specific to your department are when the two would separate. For now, it was Literature. The sound of clapping hands garnered the students’ attention, stopping their mid-class talking.

“Okay, then. What did everyone think of ``The Sun Also Rises?``” Your professor, Mr. Il Pae-min, asks.

A student with a pixie cut raises her hand from the back. Dreamily, she says,

“I loved it. He’s so romantic.”

“Romantic? Hemingway?” You pipe up. Scoffing after looking at her, then looking upfront to your professor, who already saw your rebuttal from a mile away. “He was an abusive, alcoholic misogynist who squandered half his life hanging around Picasso trying to nail his leftovers.”

This makes Mr. Pae-min roll his eyes.

“Look who’s talking, Ms. I’m-bitter-Boohoo-I-have-no-friends.” Vin Jin, the twerp who always wore sunglasses and some ugly-ass hat, laughs right after his statement. He’s even got the backup extras laughing with him and giving him undeserved low-fives.

This makes you roll your eyes.

“Shut your mouth, ripoff.” Mr. Pae-min scolds, and Vin frowns at his retort.

You found your opportunity, so you’ll take it. Laughing a little at first, you say, “I guess in this society, being male and an asshole makes you worthy of our time.”

“Oooh.” The class reacts. Vin Jin was definitely pissed off. But as they spot you open your mouth again, half the class groans.

“What about Sylvia Plath, or Charlotte Bronte, or Simone de Beauvoir—?” Your little speech is cut off when the door slides open, revealing a student who was unquestionably not from either Practical or DV.

It was a guy with a tattoo sleeve decorating both his arms, and in his hand was a black bomber jacket, probably to pair with his compression shirt. Without missing a beat, he asks, and you’re not even sure if it was genuine, “What’d I miss?”

You sigh exasperatedly. Attention has already gone from the boy who just entered. You answer his question. “The oppressive patriarchal values that dictate our education.”

“...” You don’t see it, but he nods and smiles. “Good. Not my class.” And just as quickly as he disrupted your class, just as quickly he left.

“Hey!” Your professor yelled at him, but he couldn’t catch him as another student called out for him. He looks to the student and, oh, another asshat.

“Um, Mr. Pae-min…” Vin Jin initially calls in mock sadness before morphing into an angrier tone. “Is there any chance we can get (Name) to take her Midol before she comes to class?”

You look back at Vin Jin, who sat on your left, just right behind you, with an unamused expression.

“Someday, you’re going to get bitch slapped, and I’m not gonna do a thing to stop it.” Your professor butts in before you do.

Vin Jin’s smug smile turns into a dissatisfied grunt. “Tch.”

“And Ryang (Name), I want to thank you for your point of view.” Now it was your turn to nod and feel the sweet, sweet satisfaction. That is until “It must’ve been hard for you to overcome all your years in upper-middle class suburban oppression.”

Mr. Pae-min shakes his head to express his point better, “Must be tough.”

“Anything else?” You ask. Whether sarcastic or not, your professor isn’t taking it anymore. So he replies, “Yeah, go to the office. You’re pissing me off.”

“What? Mr. Pae—”

“Later!” He cuts you off, not giving you any more than that. This fucking sucks, you think. Makes your day even worse than the annoying freshmen on the bus earlier. You roll your eyes and get your stuff, kicking Vin Jin’s leg before you leave.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

In the guidance office, there sat Ms. Young, eyes closed to envision the scene of her novel in her head. Along with this, she vocalizes the lines herself. “A different and yet all the more beautiful….” And she opens her eyes.

“Yeonhui!” Ms. Young calls her intern.

“Yes, ma’am?” She springs from the open door that led to Ms. Young’s office.

“What’s another word for engorged?”

“I’ll look it up.” The young adult says.

“Okay.” Ms. Young replies, shifting her attention back to her retro laptop. “Swollen. Turgid.” She recites to herself in thought.

“Tumescent?” You continue for her, hands in your jacket.

Ms. Young looks at you, “Perfect.” Then types in the rest of her thoughts while talking. “So, I hear you were terrorizing Mr. Pae-min’s class. Again.”

You sigh. You couldn’t count how much you’ve done this for the day already. And it was just your first class. Sitting, you reply, “Expressing my opinion is not a terrorist action.”

“Mhm, the way you expressed your opinion to Doo Lee?” Ms. Young retorts, finally closing her laptop and taking her reading glasses off to dangle around her neck once more.

“My statement remains that he kicked himself in the balls.” You cross your arms.

Ms. Young gives you a second to stare at you with a smile that says how talking about it with you is just not going to work this time. Not like it worked all the other times, anyway. So, she gets her tall CBTL coffee mug, “So, the thing is, Ms. Ryang (Name)... People perceive you as somewhat—”

“Tempestuous?” You continue with raised brows.

“Heinous bitch is the term used most often.” Ms. Young smiles once more. You lay back on your chair with a sense of disbelief. Though you’re not so surprised about what the guidance counselor said. “You might want to work on that. Thank you.” She finishes.

You stand up from the chair facing Ms. Young’s desk. “As always, thank you for your excellent guidance.”

Just before leaving and fixing the strap of your sling bag on your shoulder, you say, “I’ll let you get back to Kyojuro’s quivering member.”

Ms. Young looked up at your back that was leaving. Humming, she nods. “Quivering member. I like that.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“Virgin alert. Your favorite.” One of his friends pointed with his chin.

Vin Jin looks to his back, right where a familiar face greets him, exactly when Mary flips Vin off once she catches his attention. Sang-min notices Vin staring, and she gives him a shy smile while walking to the canteen with Mary and her other friends she met in her class.

��Lookin’ good, ladies. And Mary.”

Vin and his lackeys stare at Sang-min walking off. “Oh, she’s out of reach, even for you.”

Vin looks at Chul with an air of confidence only he can have. “No one’s out of reach for me.”

“You wanna put money on that?” Chul replies.

Putting his hands in his pants pockets, Vin smirks at Chul. “Money, I’ve got.” Looking back into the direction that Sang-min walked off to, he continues. “This, I’m gonna do for fun.”

As Vin and his friends kept ogling at Sang-min and her friends in turns, on the other side of the open grounds were the three loners in the big group that was Big Deal. It was only break time, and Jerry’s not precisely the most… Approachable in terms of face and body structure. So once Jason and Brad saw Jerry walking alone, they approached the big guy. And there they were now. Jerry is drinking strawberry milk on the bench next to Jason and Brad.

“Who’s he?” Jerry points innocently with his finger that could probably stop a truck single-handedly.

“Most people call him Vin Jin, sometimes Jin Ho Bin,” Brad answers first. “Aspiring rapper. Take note about aspiring.” Jason continues.

“He’s a prick, basically.” Brad chuckles, laying back on the benches behind them.

Jerry nods, taking note of the boy who is visibly interested in his goddess. While sipping the last strawberry milk, his eyes flit to Ryang Sang-min. So much so that he fails to notice that the box is already empty and crushed in his hand. “She’s so pretty….”

“Conceited.” Jason cuts him off, a notebook covering his face from the sun.

Jerry visibly gasps at this. “She’s perfect!” The boy rumbles. Twiddling with his fingers, Jerry is suddenly bashful as he recites how pretty Sang-min’s smile is or how her eyes are reflected in the sun. Jason and Brad were not entertaining Jerry’s ideas, looking at each other as Jerry kept going on.

“Look, Jerry, Sang-min is a snotty princess.” Jason scrunches his nose and removes the notebook that covers his face, “She wears short skirts and tighter blouse, all against the school dress code. So that guys like us can realize that we’ll never be able to touch her, and guys like Vin Jin realize that they want to.” Jason finishes bitterly.

“No, you’re wrong.” Jerry shakes his head, which is shining from the sun. If you listen closely, you can hear someone slipping due to momentary blindness.

Jason laughs. “Take a shot, big buddy.”

Brad hums, interested. “She’s looking for an English tutor.”

Jerry shines brighter ever than before. Like a lightbulb that lit up but instead of having it over his head, it was his head. “I can teach her.”

“You speak good English?” Brad asks.

Jerry sweats. “I will.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

End of class.

You walked with Crystal Choi to the bus stop when Vin brushed past you on his off-road motorbike. Was that new? But you internally groan and scold yourself for even glancing at it because now the dude is stopping to talk to you.

“Hey,” Vin smirks. “How’re those shitty headphones doing, (Name)?” He then leans into the handles of his bike with the cockiest face he can make, with half his face hidden in seven-layer tinted sunglasses. It wasn’t even hot out.

“Run along, loser.” You wave off, and Vin frowns, roaring his engine back to life and driving off slowly to greet another passerby.

[...]

“I know you can be overwhelmed, and you can be underwhelmed,” Sang-min’s friend trails off. “But can you ever just be… Whelmed?”

Sang-min didn’t know what to say, but she did think about it. “I think you can in Japan.” She shrugs.

“Hi, ladies.” Vin greets with his hotshot attitude. His motorbike calmed down next to them while Vin looked at the girl of his current interest. “I’m here to pick up a certain princess. Got one more free seat for a ride.”

This makes Sang-min giggle and look at her friend before she hopped on Vin’s ride. Wrapping her arms around his waist and waving goodbye to her friend.

“Careful, the seats are brand new.” Vin notices, giving himself a little laugh once he feels the girl wrap her arms around him, “Heh.”

Somewhere near the school entrance, you can hear a certain blonde raging about someone stealing her cousin’s bike. You and Crystal watched the whole exchange between the jerkoff and your sister. Both of you were not close friends, but at that moment, the same thoughts were running through your heads.

“That’s an odd development.” Crystal remarks beside you.

You look down at Crystal, then back at Vin and Sang-min. Agreeing, you get on the bus that just arrived and sit next to her. “A disgusting one.”

The rest of the ride after that ordeal was comfortable. Later on, Crystal got off first. It was an upward stretch filled with shabby houses. Crystal was such a commendable spirit. She knew a lot of great bands, too. You think she’s fantastic for caring for that dog she told you about. Vin is more of an asshat for messing around with that mixed-breed golden retriever. You hope that one of these days, he gets just what he deserves.

Looking out the window, your bus quickly passes by the guy that mistook your room for his. You stare at him for a couple of seconds. It seems he felt the piercing look you gave him as he looked up at you from the sidewalk. Neither of you breaks eye contact, trying to see which of the other looks away first, an unspoken competition you’ve partaken in. You notice that he had a pretty well-defined face, a subtle side part where his slick hair was pushed back a little, sharply arched brows, and his black compression shirt. His bag was slung over his torso, and you know he probably wore a shirt like that on purpose.

And then he closed his eyes for a polite smile, catching you off guard.

You look away quickly, feeling your face heat up for no reason. Geez, who just suddenly flashes a smile at a stranger like that? This school’s filled with a bunch of weirdos. As your ride finally goes past him, you flip him off without looking back.

Back to the boy you had a staring competition with…

Samuel Seo, in his side-slicked undercut, white Ralph Lauren long-sleeve shirt with two open buttons at the top, the blue school tie hanging loosely on his neck, school pants, a missing coat, and his handbag lazily thrown over his shoulder, turns a corner and finally sees Jake Kim, face chasing a look to the bus that just left. The middle finger proudly displays itself in the window. When Samuel's eyes flit back to Jake, he focuses on what he is wearing. Making him scoff and call his friend out.

“The fuck you doing in my shirt?”

Jake looks back to see Samuel and walks to him. Shrugging, “Forgot to wash the jumpsuit.”

“Nasty,” Samuel replies.

“This shit’s fucking tight. How do you breathe in your shirts, man?” Jake pinches the front of his shirt, inspecting the material.

“Shut the fuck up.” Samuel retorts, slapping the back of Jake’s head as they both walk off to their shared dorm.

[...]

“Have you seen Jerry?”

“Nah.” Samuel suddenly vividly remembers when he almost stumbled on his feet during the break when the sun shone on his glasses. Jake hums in reply.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Finally, you arrive home. You assume your sister got here first, considering she got a ride from the nation’s biggest asshole. Knocking on the door, you’re greeted by your middle-aged dad, who was just about to sort the mail in his neutral tone checkered shirt, covered by a brown vest and a tie underneath. After removing your shoes by the entrance, you get sorted into the living room and sigh from your typically long day.

Your dad approached you as you sat on the couch, putting your socked feet up. Still looking into the number of mail he had on his hands.

“Hello (Name). Made anyone cry today?” Your dad jests.

“No, but it’s only four-thirty.” You smile cheekily at him, to which he chuckles back at you.

“Hi, daddy.” Your sister butts in, coming down the stairs. Sang-min gives your dad a quick kiss on the cheek. “Hello, dear.”

Looking at your sister and lying on your stomach on the sofa with your hands supporting your chin, you start your array of questions. “So, where have you been?”

Quickly shutting you down, Sang-min looks at you with threateningly wide eyes. “Nowhere.”

“Hey, what’s this? Kyonggi University in Suwon?” Your dad suddenly pipes up, making you shoot yourself up from the sofa. Taking the piece of opened mail from your father’s hands and scanning it yourself. And there, it was written in bold:

«We are pleased to acknowledge and congratulate Ms. Ryang (Name) on her application’s acceptance. We were very impressed….»

Any message after that didn’t matter to you as the excitement and happiness caught up to you first. Jumping around and looking between the fancy paper, your sister, and your father, anyone could see how happy this made you from a mile away.

“I got in. I got in!!!” You yell for the umpteenth time, now running and plopping yourself back on the sofa, currently reading the whole message of the letter.

Your father followed behind you with a worried look. At the same time, your sister was curious about the current situation, following suit with your dad.

“Isn’t Suwon too far off Central Seoul?” Your dad asks.

“That’s one of the reasons why it’s absolutely perfect!” You grin.

“I thought we… Decided you were going to stay here and go to school? There’s a lot of universities in Seoul.” Your dad suddenly starts listing all the universities nearby, including the one he went to, even mimicking their university mascot. “Wooh! Go, Seoul!”

Your eyebrow raises before it scrunches together in confusion. Facing back to meet your father and sister’s gazes, you reply. “No, you decided.”

A small air of silence.

“Oh, okay. So what, you just pick up and leave, is that it?” Your dad gives you the same expression that you were now showing him. An air of annoyance was starting to radiate off you, and your sister didn’t seem to have picked up on that. Even annoyingly does her sweet smile while saying, “Let’s hope so.”

You now mirror her sickly smile. “Oh, dad, ask Sang-min who drove her home.”

“(Name) don’t change the—” Your dad points at you before facing your sister at record speed. “Drove? Who drove you home?”

“Now, don’t get upset, Daddy, but there’s this boy….” Your sister starts, testing the waters.

But you cut her off. “Who’s a flaming imbecile, by the way.”

“Please.” Your dad shushes you, but your sister starts blowing off. “And I think he might ask me—”

“Please! I think I know what he’s going to ask you.” Your dad then cuts your sister off too. Holding on to her forearms in a worried manner. “And I think the answer is always no. No. It’s always no.” Your sister’s expression turns crestfallen at your father’s reaction.

Your dad then directs her to sit beside you on the couch. Starting with his sermon every time the topic of dating arose. “What are the two house rules?” He says, volume now raised.

Once your sister sits on the couch, your dad answers his questions. “Number one. No dating until you graduate.”

And… “Number two. No dating until you graduate.” Your dad finishes counting the rules with his fingers. “That’s it. That’s all the rules.”

Sang-min crosses her arms, showing a deep pout. “But that’s so unfair!”

“Alright, you wanna know what’s unfair? This is for you too.” Your dad starts again, and you can already see where this is going. “This morning, I delivered a set of twins to a fifteen-year-old girl. You know what she said?”

In your mind, you recited: I’m a crack whore who should have made my skeezy boyfriend wear a condom.

“I’m a crack whore who should have made my skeezy boyfriend wear a condom?” Your sister said for you aloud.

Yeah, got that right. Sometimes, you even wonder how you and your sister can share the same thoughts. Your dad pauses for a while, raising his brows in acknowledgment. That hit the nail right on the head. “Close, but no.” Never mind, then.

“She said, ``I should have listened to my father.`` ”

“Oh, she did not say that!” Sang-min argues.

“Well, that’s what she would have said if she wasn’t doped up.”

You remained quiet for the whole ordeal while your sister was totally blowing up. You hear your sister groan, and she flails her arms forward before saying, “Can we please just focus on me for a second?”

“I am the only girl in school who’s not dating.”

“Oh, no, you’re not.” Your dad shakes his head quickly and then refers to you. “Your sister’s not dating.”

“Aaand I don’t intend to.” You assure your point by looking between your sister and your dad.

“And why is that again?” Your father declares.

“Is that even a question? I mean, come on, dad. Jaewon’s either filled with boys who probably don’t even wash their hair,” You count with your fingers. “Snotty prepubescent little boys who think they’re it with their branded clothes, probably stolen shoes, or just major criminal-looking men.” The last one suddenly had your brain remind you of the boy who flashed you a smile. Internally shaking away the intrusive thoughts because that was not what you meant by criminal looks.

“Where did you even come from?” Sang-min gawks, “Planet Loser?”

“Oh, yeah? As opposed to Planet, `` Look at me, look at me.``” You taunt, with your hands flailing around like one of those nobles from the 1800s.

A swift clap of hands disrupted your little argument, making the two of you look up at your father. “Okay, here’s how we solve the problem. Old rule out. New rule in, Sang-min can date.”

Your dad’s statement leaves your mouth open in shock, and for Sang-min to cross her arms and smiles happily. Your father begins to walk off, but just before he does, he finishes his sentence. Walking backward and pointing to you. “When she does.”

And suddenly, the happy smile Sang-min had was replaced with the bitter shock that overtook her. She stands up abruptly, trying to chase your dad while you laugh at the situation.

“Wait, dad, but what if she never dates? She’s a total mutant!”

Your dad shrugs. “Then you’ll never date.” Turning his back, he mumbles to himself. “Oh, I like that. And I’ll get to sleep at night!”

Raising his finger, he makes his point clearer. “The deep slumber of a father whose daughters aren’t out being impregnated.” Then the ring from his phone indicates the end of the conversation.

Standing up from the sofa, you walk off to your room while your dad points at you as he prepares to leave. “We’ll talk about Kyonggi University later.” You give him a hum of affirmation, going up the stairs that lead to your room. On the other hand, your sister tried to convince your unmoving dad, so, in the end, she resorts to you.

With a hand on the wooden rail of the stairs, she yells. “Can’t you just find someone blind and deaf to take you to the movies so I can have one date?!”

Turning to face her and looking down, you smile at her. “I’m sorry. Guess you’ll just have to miss out on the dreamboat Jin Ho “Eat me” Bin.” You pout.

Your sister gives you a scoff, waving you off and whining. “You suck!”

“You suck~” You mock her back, and she groans, annoyed by you.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Flipping the pages of the thick book that had «Speak English for Dummies!» right on the title page, at the moment, Jerry was trying his best to take in the overloaded amount of information so he could teach Sang-min all that which he learned. Yeah, he got lucky to score an English tutoring session with Sang-min, so he was trying his best on this! While avidly reading, the quick tapping of heels behind Jerry and the following plop of a bag on his desk made Jerry look up at the beauty that greeted him.

Sang-min smiles at him, and he feels his heart fly out of his chest.

“Hi. I almost thought I got the wrong table. I didn’t expect someone like you to volunteer as my English tutor.” Sang-min begins, and Jerry? Well, he was still formulating the words to reply in his head. “Actually… Can we make this quick?”

“Zack Lee and Daniel Park are having an incredibly horrendous public fight in their class, again.”

For the whole duration that Sang-min was talking, Jerry was unknowingly leaning close to listen to her voice more. It was until she stopped speaking did Jerry regain his stance. Stuttering, he says, “O-oh… Well, you s-see. Okay, I thought we’d start with pronunciation, i-if that’s alright with you.”

“Not the overuse of Rs. It’s actually so hard to remove our natural Korean accent. Can we start on anything else, please?”

“Ah, well, there is an alternative.” Jerry poses.

“There is?”

Jerry scratches his cheek, looking back to the back. “Yeah, uh, we can try American Food. We could, uh, e-eat some together. Maybe… Saturday night?” As subtle as he can, he tries to look back at Sang-min.

Sang-min squints her eyes with a genuine smile. Trying to decipher what was going on. Speaking up, she says, “You’re Asking me out?”

Then Sang-min grins, showing off her white teeth. “That’s so cute! I never expected you to be so timid too. What’s your name again?” She leans on her chin.

“J-Jerry.” He says, looking down bashfully with his hands and fingers crossed together in such a behave-looking position. “Jerry Kwon.”

Jerry clears his throat and smiles at Sang-min too. “I know your dad doesn’t let you date, but since we’re studying so you could learn English, you know….” Around Sang-min, Jerry had the peculiar habit of scratching his cheek or picking on his nails.

“Oh, sorry, wait a minute. Tom…” Sang-min cuts off.

“Jerry.” He corrected timidly.

“My dad actually came up with a new rule. So I can date when my sister does.” Sang-min trails off with her sentence.

“Really?” Jerry perks up, and suddenly, his whole body faces her while he is still sitting on the chair. “Do you like sailing? I read about this place that rents boats made for—”

“A colossal problem, Jeremy.” Jerry almost speaks up to correct his name again, but Sang-min continues. “In case you haven’t heard, my sister’s a hideous breed of loser.”

Feeling down, Jerry picks on the corner of one of the pages in the open book. “Y-yeah, I heard she was a little antisocial. Do you know why?”

“The only mystery even Scooby-doo can’t solve.” Sang-min shrugs. “She used to be popular, and then it was like, she got sick of it or something.”

“Theories abound as to why, but I’m pretty sure she’s incapable of human interaction. I mean, she basically, like, has no friends now.” Sang-min continues, smiling at Jerry again. “Plus, she’s a bitch.”

Jerry sweats at this, trying to cook up his solutions. “But I’m sure, you know, that there are lots of guys who wouldn’t, you know, mind going out with a difficult wo-man.” Jerry stutters throughout his sentence. Trying to regain his point, he shakes his hands because he feels what he said was wrong.

“I mean, you know, people jump out of airplanes and ski off cliffs or beat up a hundred guys to protect a street. It’d be like, uh, like, Extreme Dating!”

“Shhh!” A couple of students reacted at the back when Jerry picked up his volume by the end. Though once they saw Jerry apologizing sincerely, they piped down due to sheer intimidation.

Now hush-hush between Sang-min and Jerry, who leaned into each other to whisper instead. Sang-min cooks up a reply to what Jerry was trying to say earlier. “You think you can find someone that extreme?”

“I think so…” For you. Jerry thinks.

“You’d do that for me?” Sang-min holds her hand out to touch Jerry’s arm. Suddenly hyped up, Jerry immediately says: “Yes!” Nodding his head avidly.

A smack of a hand on their table catches their attention briefly. Showing a brunette guy with a messy haircut looking at them with an intense glare. “Quiet down.” And then he leaves, Jerry, taking note of the black army jacket that he wore.

Jerry comes down from his high, focusing on the girl of his dreams right next to him. “I mean— I’ll, I could, I could look into it.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“There’s a lot of guys from our department. Maybe you can find one here.” Brad says, leading Jerry into the Sophomores' area, right into the deep man cave—the jungle that is the Architecture Dept.

With his hand resembling the “OK” gesture, Jason kisses the tips of his put-together thumb and index. “The finest of Jaewon.” And then the door opens.

It revealed a bunch of guys who were… Weightlifting? Half the class wore black leather jackets with “BNC” and a burning knuckle brass on top of the text. It trailed off to the sleeves with duplicated horizontal lines trailing down to the end. The other half had their jumpsuits down to reveal either a white shirt covered with a plain black coat or just the black jacket paired with whatever shirt or lack thereof they had.

Yes, the Architecture Department was filled with only men for the longest time. Usually, they’d form a single group under a single leader who had shown the most tremendous power amongst the whole batch. But for this year, there were two groups. The other was Burn Knuckles under Vasco, and the other was Big Deal. Under Jake Kim.

What they had in common was that they were formed with the pretense that they were solely just like their leader and had chosen to follow either of the two for as long as they could. Does this spark war, you ask? Well, neither of the leaders aren’t really into unnecessary fights. So, in the end, they simply coexist. Initially, Big Deal was from Sinu Han, an alumnus of Jaewon.

“Osu! Everyone from Big Deal, say hello to the No. 2!” Brad Lee pipes up, and the members of Big Deal immediately stand up from their seats to greet the freshman.

Even the men from Burn Knuckles thought Jerry was already an alumnus, whispering about how big he looked. Is this guy really a student? Was the question most asked.

“No. 2, Jerry Kwon! Welcome to our classroom!” They bow at a perfect ninety-degree angle.

“Geez, what’s the ruckus?” Jace scratches his ear, waking up from his power nap on the floor. When his eyes flit to Jerry, he reels. “Woah.”

“Our junior here was just asking for help. He’s looking for a guy that would be fit for a girl.”

“...” The classroom freezes and digests the information.

“A girl.”

“A girl?!” They yell in unison.

“Should I volunteer, Jace?” Vasco grins, tapping his best friend’s shoulder. Contrariwise, Jace was measuring the situation. He thinks about why a mafia boss has visited them. Vasco and I were just visiting the sophomores. I guess it was the right time to hang around…

Suddenly, everyone was raising their hands and asking questions.

Is she pretty?

From what department?

Can she lift 100kg?

“Who’s the girl first?” Jace asks, raising his hand, and the crowd goes silent. They were all waiting for the answer. Yui Kim? Zoe Park? Joy Hong? Ryang Sang-min?

“Ryang…” They all listen closely. Sang-min? Sang-min? Sang-min!?

“(Name).” Brad finishes.

And suddenly, they all slump their backs. No longer listening to whatever offer Brad and Jason were trying to give them. In the back, even Vasco was put down. Shivering, he recalls, “She once told me that I smelled.”

He cries to Jace, “Do I smell, Jace?!”

Jace pats Vasco’s back while the rest of the Burn Knuckles yell their reprisals. “You don’t smell, Vasco!”

“If Vasco smells, then Burn Knuckle smells!”

“It’s the true smell of a man.”

The other half of Big Deal was awfully quiet, avoiding the looks Jerry, Jason, and Brad were giving them. Absolutely no support whatsoever. None, nein, nothing. Brad sighs and palms his similarly shaven head.

“Well, we’re empty. Sorry, Jerry.” Brad apologizes while Jason tries to comfort the sad giant.

“I told you it was pointless, the girl’s hopeless man,” Jason says.

Jerry frowned as he slowly left the room. He looked like a sad baby. All things, including the scars on his face, were set aside. The rest of the sophomores felt terrible, mainly the ones under Big Deal, but it even caught the attention of Vasco and Jace by the end. At least until Jerry bumped into someone right before the sophomores’ classroom. When Jerry focused on who it was,

“Jake!” Jerry exclaims, to which Jake replies with an easygoing smile.

“Hey. Eat lunch yet?” Jake greets, patting Jerry’s shoulder. “You should eat more. Nutrients are important.”

Once the other members of Big Deal spotted their leader standing right outside the door talking to Jerry, they immediately crowded the entrance in a straight line. Once more, in unison, they speak at a volume that could be heard from the highest to the lowest floor of the whole school.

“Boss Jake! Welcome to our class!”

“Don’t I get a greeting too?” Samuel pops out beside Jake, who was busy telling them to lower their voices to not disrupt other classes.

The other Big Deal members stay quiet, and Samuel laughs, putting his hands in his pockets. “How come I feel a little hurt, huh? I was your number two for a while, too, you know.”

“The only number two you’ll be from now on is when you go to the toilet,” Jake says, using his index finger to pull his cheek down and poke his tongue out toward the male. Samuel was smiling, but a visible irk mark formed on his forehead.

While the two bicker, Jerry is downcast again. Jake immediately notices this.

“Hey, you okay, big guy? You know, if something’s wrong, I can always help.”

This perks Jerry up, and Samuel flinches at the sight of how Jerry is starkly different from what you’d assume his character was at first glance. It was then that Jerry recalled everything since the very beginning. From when he met Sang-min to his current dilemma: Finding someone that can date you.

“Oh, so that was your only problem?” Samuel reacts first. Leaning with his hand on Jake’s shoulder, he rubs his fingers together in front of Jerry. “If you’ve got money, maybe I can find someone to take up the job.”

“I’ll do it.” Jake perks up.

That was the second time that everyone froze. All motion stopped inside the classroom. It wasn’t just Big Deal that reacted harshly, screaming altogether with Burn Knuckles.

“WHAT?!”

“He’s a true man, Jace. Maybe I should have taken the chance too. He feels so cool right now.” Vasco feels a teardrop on his cheek.

“Vasco…” Jace says. Looking at the unknowing man who was scratching his chin, Jace thinks He’s not normal. Is this why he’s the ``Big Boss`` of Big Deal!?

“BOSS! You don’t have to sacrifice yourself!” Some of the members from Big Deal retort.

Samuel recovers, breathing heavily as if he’d just been beaten to a pulp. “Jake, you’re different after all.”

Jerry sees his new hope surface in the face of Jake Kim. He hugged his big brother, who was ironically smaller than him. Unbeknownst to Jerry, he also accidentally squeezed Samuel. Squishing the two men together in the bigger man’s arms, making their cheeks stick and for Samuel to tap Jerry’s back multiple times as a sign for Tapping Out.

Suddenly, Brad speaks up. “But for Boss Jake to date (Name), he’ll need money for the dates. Do you have any funds on you, Boss?”

Jerry lets go of the two boys who are fixing their clothes. Samuel was rapidly wiping his cheek off, acting as if Jake had cooties. Jake, on the other hand, simply patted himself off of imaginary dust and replied, taking his pockets out that held nothing but crumpled paper and a bunch of coins.

“Nope.”

“Then you guys need a backer,” Samuel suggests, fixing his glasses on his nose.

“What’s that?” Jake asks.

“Someone stupid, but with money.”

From the room, anyone could hear the oohs coming from the Archi Dept.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

It was break time in the school’s crowded cafeteria. At one of the tables, there was a student drawing boobs on one of the lunch trays with a permanent marker. That student was surrounded by his lackeys, as usual, save for one who wasn’t a lackey.

“Oh yeah.” Vin Jin says as he keeps on with his masterpiece.

“You look like a third grader who just learned how to draw, Vin.” Mary insults.

“Vin Jin,” Jason says, sitting on the table with the rest of Big Deal, save for Jake. “He’s perfect.”

“Wait, he has money?” Brad asks.

“I mean, his shoes don’t look cheap. And he’s perfect. He likes Sang-min, too, so he’s sure to back Jake up if it means ``scoring.``”

Jerry grumbles at the term. “He will not ``score.``”

“Of course. Since that also means you can go on a date with your girl and have a chance at beating the jerkoff. We let him pretend that he’s calling the shots, so while he pays Jake to take out (Name), you can take your sweet time with Sang-min.” Jason explains

“Win-win!” Jason cheers, putting his arms up.

With this, the rest of Big Deal also cheers at the table. Jerry nods, understanding the situation. He admits, “It’s a pretty good idea.”

But a question now raises itself: Who’ll ask Vin Jin? See, none of them were intimidated, but they needed to pick the right person for the job to be done right. Because if Vin Jin refuses, then Jerry will never get married! Big Deal offered to gather up their funds together for Jake, but Jake refused to use his own group’s money. As Samuel said, if he was going to use someone else’s money, he might as well use the money of someone he didn’t care about. This made the other Big Deal members cry and inadvertently strengthened the loyalty they had for Jake Kim.

In the end, they picked one of the most reasonable people in Big Deal. Their one and only Lineman. Just as he approaches Vin’s table, Mary leaves to buy a drink. She gives a quick greeting to the guy, which Lineman acknowledges before passing each other. At the same time, Lineman takes the seat Mary once sat on and turns it so that he faces Vin Jin, who is puckering his lips in disdain.

The whole exchange was watched over intently by Jerry, Jason, Brad, and the rest of Big Deal. Lineman was their No. 6, after all. They couldn’t hear anything, but they saw the expression on Vin’s face change from annoyed to semi-interested. Even putting the cap of his marker back on, forgetting about drawing on the lunch tray. On their side…

“The Ryang sisters, they can’t date. Specifically, Sang-min can’t date if her older sister doesn’t.” Lineman starts pointing at the table to simply prove his point, “She can’t go out with you because nobody wants to go out with Ryang (Name). Well,” Lineman claps.

“See, what we think—”

“Wait, we?” Vin cuts him off. “Who the fuck are we?”

Lineman gives a glance and a nod to the side, pertaining to the many eyes that were overlooking the single table that had Vin and his two other friends in tow. Vin, for some reason, feels more animosity from the monster that sat in the middle of their long, lined table staring at him. Vin stays quiet and looks back at Lineman, who continues what he is saying.

“What we think is that you need to hire a guy who’ll go out with her.”

Vin places his elbow on the table, resting his chin on his palm and tapping his cheek. Still, with his puckered lips, this time, in thought. One of Vin’s friends then speaks up.

“What’s even in it for you guys?”

Lineman wastes no time responding, already having thought of this coming. “Our boss thinks that it’s a good idea to form good relationships with other departments. And you look like you’re the boss of Vocal & Dance. It’s only necessary to strengthen our bonds as students of Jaewon-High.” He preaches with no stutters.

“Who’s the guy you have in mind?” Vin Jin asks.

Right on time, Jake enters the cafeteria, yawning and looking like he just woke up from a sound sleep. He had a cowlick on the right side of his head, and a pen that he probably overlooked was still stuck on his cheek. Lineman points to him subtly with his hand.

“That guy? What makes you think that guy could stand the nutcase of a woman?” Vin inquires, already skeptical that he is just getting used for his money.

“He’s not the boss of Big Deal for no reason. A solid investment.” Lineman smirks.

With the sound of chairs being pushed back and feet padding across the hall, a clear path was made just so Jake Kim could pass through to an empty table with a meal already prepared with no problems. Vin also notices the visible slanted vertical scar that grazed Jake’s mouth. He felt a subtle chill on his neck before he cleared his throat.

“Tch. Fine. I’ll think about it.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Field day.

Jake was sitting on one of the benches while the other students of J-high were either doing gym classes, having free time, or running around the grounds playing whatever sport they felt like. The sun was high, and it was hot with no shade, so Jake had to squint everywhere he looked. His black coat was off, leaving him in the baggy pants of the black jumpsuit for those in their Senior year with the top half let down, leaving him in a white tank top, his tattoos from his chest visible up to the ones on his wrists due to the sweat cultivating on his skin.

Jake had just taken a single stick of cigarette and lit it up, putting it in his mouth and inhaling.

Smoking was banned in school, but since his first year in Jaewon, Jake’s learned the habit of the professors that scolded the students for smoking. Plus, he’s got lookouts.

“Hey.” The callout makes Jake look at Vin, wearing gold chains and his leopard-printed sunglasses, he was missing his hat, and his favorite black and white-striped jacket hung on his shoulder, so this time, he was also in a tank top, though it was black. “Fuck.” He utters under his breath.

“You're the Big Boss, right?” Vin Jin asks. He was with his two other friends.

“Do I know you?” Jake asks, looking at Vin with bored eyes, tapping on the cigarette to let the ashes on the tip fly off in the passing wind.

Vin laughs under his breath, annoyed. He was about to take back his greeting and leave, thinking that the guy that talked to him probably messed with him. But Jake interrupts Vin’s thoughts as Jake remembers what Jerry told him.

“Nevermind, I remember now.”

Of course, I’m the boss of our department. Hah! Everyone knows me! Vin rubs his chin, releasing a devious smile. This makes Jake stop and visibly cringe. Man, this dude’s ugly.

Standing a little closer, Vin smugly puts his hands on his hips and looks at where you are currently playing soccer with your class. This makes Jake look in front of him, right where Vin Jin is looking.

“You see that girl?”

“Hm,” Jake replies, inhaling another hit from the cig.

“That’s Ryang (Name). I want you to go out with her.” Vin ordered.

While Jerry Kwon was in class, he suddenly felt the need to sneeze. “A-Who do you think you are, talking to Jake like that-Choo!” Everyone in his class looked at him weirdly, deservingly so. But Jerry seemed to have no clue why everyone was staring at him as he rubbed his nose. A thought came into mind while the professor in Jerry’s class resumed his lesson: I wonder if someone is disrespecting Jake right now…

Back to the field where Jake and Vin were staring at you— correction— Vin was staring at Jake, and Jake was staring at you. Jake realized that you were the girl that flipped him off on the bus a couple of weeks ago.

“You already know the conditions, right?” Vin continued as Jake remained silent. Giving Vin the passive treatment.

Now that Jake was actually at the premise of pulling it off, he felt terrible. Not for using Vin’s money. But because this whole ordeal felt as if you were the ultimate pawn and that everyone just wanted to get past you so they could get to your sister. But the image of Jerry’s sad face, and Vin’s annoying-ass face, got Jake reeling. I mean, he’ll be using this asshat’s money, and he’ll get to know you. Maybe it’ll be worth it, Jake thinks as he watches you breathe heavily, bending over slightly, with your hair sticking to your forehead, in the school’s soccer team uniform that was nearly skin tight from the immense practice it went through.

“So, you’ll be investing in me, isn’t that right? Let’s get this over with.” Jake puffs out another smoke. He hands out his hand, waiting for Vin to hand over his ``downpayment``.

Vin smirks, happy to get his plans in motion.

Vin takes out the cash from his wallet and hands it to Jake, folded. Putting the cigarette in his mouth, Jake unfolds the cash to reveal about a hundred bucks. Guess Vin was stupid. But with money.

Jake pockets the early compensation and puts his cigarette out with his foot. With that, Vin walks off with his friends.

[...]

“Great practice, everybody! Good hustle, Ryang.” Your coach, Mr. Minji, calls.

You jog to the bench where the rest of the team’s stuff is placed. You thank your coach for the praise before you wipe the sweat on your forehead, threatening to drip on your eyes. God knows how much it stings when it drips into your eyes. You were fixing your bag, trying to look for your thermal 1.8L water bottle. When you finally found it, you unscrewed the cap and took a long drink to rehydrate.

Just as you finish, a familiar face greets you.

“Hey there, pretty. How’re you?” Jake Kim offers you his most charming close-eyed smile, along with a wink right after. Even leaning on his knees for a second to adjust to your more petite frame in contrast to his larger build.

You give a tight smile back, nodding. The fuck… “Sweating like a pig. And yourself?” You sling your bag over your shoulder.

“Here, trying to get your attention.” Jake shrugs and points to himself with his index finger. “You certainly got mine.”

“Finally.” You breathe out, and Jake tilts his head. Finally…? Were you— “You’ve certainly helped me achieve my mission in life since I’ve struck your fancy. It worked. Thanks.” You say with the most lifeless tone. Oh.

Jake gives you a small laugh, following behind you closely whilst you walk. Which was faster than an average person, he noticed. Having a hard time catching up even with his giant strides. He places his hands in his jumpsuit’s pockets, now walking toe-to-toe beside you. Leaning a little closer so you could hear him amidst the array of students, Jake says with an air of playfulness:

“Pick you up on Friday?”

“Oh. Right, Friday.” You nod in mock enthusiasm before raising your hand in front of his face. “Uhuh.”

“I’ll take you places you’ve never been before.” Jake raises his already naturally arched brows.

“Take me places— Where? The Hypermarket in Gangnam?” You squint at him, unknowingly raising your shoulders in protest of his bad ideas. Plus, “Do you even know my name, dog boy?”

Jake stops in his steps for a while as you continue walking in front of him. “Ryang (Name).” Which makes you stop walking to face him with squinted brows. Both from the heat of the sun, and the way that he did, in fact, know your name. You two stand there for a while, almost recreating the time when you saw him on the bus.

“Doesn’t matter. Screw off.” Then, you walk away. Leaving Jake Kim to think.

In the sophomores’ classroom in the Architecture Dept, everyone, including non-Big Deal members, watched the whole interaction between the infamous Ryang (Name) and the more famous Jake Kim. They even saw how their Big Boss was left in the dust by the girl. Some were still commending Jake, some of the Big Deal members cried for Jake, while Jason and Brad…

“Jerry’s screwed. We’re screwed.” Jason relays to Brad.

“Hey, no, are you saying you don’t trust the Big Boss?” Brad replies. Though in his mind, he thought the same thing. To distract himself, he says, “We should be upbeat, upbeat!”

“We’re~! Screwed~!”

Brad could only nod and sigh at Jason in defeat. Placing his gaze back towards their boss, who was still standing there in the middle of the field, looking in the direction that you left him off with.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

You just finished washing your face, already preparing for bed. You wiped your face off the droplets of water sticking to your skin, feeling refreshed.

“Have you considered a new look?” Your sister brings up abruptly. You shared the same bathroom, after all. “Like, seriously, you have some definite potential under all that hostility.”

Still patting your face with the soft towel, you give her a reply. “It’s not hostility. Just annoyed.”

Sang-min begins playing with your hair, trying to style it before you lightly push her off. She sits on her chair where a vanity mirror is displayed, reflecting her image. “Why don’t you try being nice? People won’t know what to think.”

You check if you have any zits on your face, “You forget, I don’t care what people think.”

“Yes, you do.” Your sister quips, brushing her hair lightly as she stares into her reflection.

“No, I don’t.” You say with a subtle authority in your tone. You squint at Sang-min’s reflection, “You don’t always have to be who they want you to be, you know.”

A small air of pause as Sang-min finally notices you looking at her through her reflection. She looks back at you, “I happen to like being adored, thank you.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

You come out of the B&B Music Store after your little hustle of finding new headphones. You often visit here because they also sell instruments. And since you’re a well-known regular, sometimes, they let you try out the electric guitar you’ve been pining for and saving for since the dawn of time. It was almost afternoon, but the day was relatively calm, and the sun wasn’t too intense. A perfect day.

Until you see who’s leaning on your car. It was a blue and white used Chevy Chevrolet 1955 car that you also saved up for the longest time. Though your dad chipped in when it was your birthday, you’re proud of using the majority of your money on it. You don’t use it often since Jaewon wasn’t exactly filled with angels.

“Nice car. Very vintage.” Jake comments with a friendly smile, supporting his tall frame with his forearm on the roof of the car.

“Jake Kim…” You breathe out, pinching your nose. This makes Jake flinch, propping himself up from your car. “Are you actually following me?”

With your accusation, Jake quickly raises his hands in surrender. “I was not! Please don’t think I’m a weirdo!”

You raise your brow, crossing your arms, waiting for more than that shitty excuse. Jake takes the hint and points back with his thumb. “I was in the laundromat. I saw you enter the store a couple of minutes ago. I came over to wait for you so I could say hi.”

“Honest.” Jake finishes off, drawing a cross over his heart. Today, he was in white, casual loose pants, a hoodie in a really light shade of brown, coated with another jacket in dark denim that was open, and plain white shoes.

“Eyes up here, pretty,” Jake smirks playfully, crossing his arms this time. This idiot. To think I was about to compliment his fashion taste.

“You came to say hi, right? Well, hi.” You remark, walking over to the door that led to the driver’s seat, just where Jake was blocking earlier. Just as you were reaching for the handle, he slid to stop it from your reach again.

“You don’t like talking much, do you?” Jake cranes his neck to level his face with yours.

You smile sweetly at him. “Hm, depends on the topic. My car nor your trip to the laundromat doesn’t really whip me into a ``verbal frenzy.`` Run along and wash your sweaty uniforms now.”

“You’re tough. You’re not scared of me?” Jake pouts. You don’t give him a reaction. He sighs and rolls his jacket sleeves up. “Not even one of these guns?”

“About forty-five percent of the school’s population consists of boys like you flaunting their inked skin. So why should I be afraid of you?”

“Hmmm… I don’t usually flaunt this, but how does being No. 1 of Big Deal sound?”

“Sounds like you’ve thought of that name just so you can say that you’re ``The Big Deal`` ‘round these parts. Corny when you actually hear it, sorry. Not afraid of that, big boy. Think of something else for me.”

Jake, still with his jacket sleeves rolled up, chuckles. He finds your replies genuinely interesting. Leaning a little closer towards you, “Okay, well, maybe you’re not afraid of me….”

“But I’m sure you’ve thought of me naked.” Jake gives you a cheeky smile and a sneaky wink.

You gasp. And Jake thinks he’s finally got you. “Am I that transparent?”

Placing your hand over your chest and leaning a little closer with every word, “I want you, I need you. Oh, baby. Oh, baby.” Jake actually blushed a little from the distance you closed in the short amount of time. If only you didn’t say that with the dullest voice and expressionless face, maybe he’d have felt butterflies.

You finally got a hold of the door handle, prompting Jake to push himself off the door. He scratches the back of his head in another failure.

“Careful on the drive home.” Jake waves, going back to his dirty laundry, waiting across the street as you prepare to leave, happy to be in your car with no nuances anymore. You put in the key, trying a couple of times as usual before the engine starts. Putting the gear on reverse, you were just about to leave.

But a motorbike parks right behind you to block your exit, and you groan, realizing who it is. Today was definitely an asshole day. You switch gear back to Neutral and raise your hand break. Peeking out of your open window, Vin Jin walks past you.

“Do you mind?” You ask, already pissed.

“Not at all,” Vin replies, twirling the motorbike’s keys around his index finger.

“Fine.” You whisper. You push the hand break back down, shifting into reverse, and you back onto the bike. Enough to tumble it to the ground.

Across the street, Jake watches and laughs at the exchange. Samuel, in his casual wear composed of mid-thigh shorts and a printed black shirt covered with a maroon hoodie because his tattoos were showing more this time, looks to what made Jake laugh and saw the scene, chuckling to himself too. They both continue to observe you laughing at Vin’s rage.

They hear Vin Jin panic and scream at you for being a massive bitch whilst you drove off, probably not listening anymore.

The whole affair with you maiming Vin’s bike, which you found out was actually Mary’s cousin’s motorbike, reached your dad and your sister later that evening. Sang-min was mad that she had to take the bus to school instead of being taken to by Vin, and your dad was angry because, well, of course, you had to pay for the minor damages to the vehicle. Still, you say, it was worth it.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Vin Jin grimaces angrily as he finally spots the guy he hired. He walks towards Jake, who is sleeping on his desk. Vin pushes Jake’s shoulder to wake him. Jake stirs awake, still in the throes of his break time nap, when Vin already starts his scolding, trapping Jake on his chair with Vin’s arms that hold both sides of the table. Jake leans back, unamused and certainly not intimidated.

“I shell out a hundred. I expect results.” Vin says with clenched teeth. Even with multi-layer tinted sunglasses in a dimly lit room, you could feel just how piercing Vin’s gaze was toward Jake. Anyone could feel it. But he’s Jake Kim. All that did was remind him that he probably had saliva that dried on his chin, wiping it off during the whole ordeal. “Watching that bitch violate my motorbike doesn’t count as a date.”

“Now, if you don’t get any, I don’t get any.” Vin taunts, “So get some.” He pokes Jake’s chest.

Just as Vin turns to leave, Jake speaks up. “I just upped my price. Add ‘nother fifty, in advance.”

“Huuuuh? Forget it.” Vin scowls. “Well, forget her sister, then.” Jake rebukes, starting to lay back down on his desk, taunting Vin by making it look like he was making himself visibly comfortable.

The next series of events were Vin grumbling as he reached into his pocket and slammed the bill in front of Jake. “You better hope you’re as smooth as you think you are, Jake Kim.”

Jake sighs exasperatedly, pulling the bill to place it in his pocket. He then goes back to his nap to replenish enough energy before the bell rings.

[...]

“Class Schedule, Reading List, Concert Tickets to one of her many favorite indie bands playing tomorrow.” Sang-min lists off, giving some of it to Jerry.

Jake didn’t know what he was doing here right now. With your sister, Jerry, as well as Jason, and Brad, who were waiting outside to give him a call in case you get home. This is definitely wrong, an absolute breach of privacy. This all feels against his personal code of morals, and in the back of his head, he can hear his previous superior, Sinu Han, scolding him in the form of a tiny angel sitting on his shoulder.

“I don’t want to do this,” Jake says, out of the blue, making Sang-min stop rummaging through your drawers to look at him.

“You didn’t seem so opposed earlier. Plus, we’re doing this so I can go to the party with Jerry that Beom from Practical Music is hosting. Right, Jerry?” Sang-min recalls, placing both her hands on her hips as she looks at Jerry for affirmation. To which the big guy nods frantically with a small smile. Seeing how Jerry was really into going to a party with your sister, Jake couldn’t help but let go of his morals for a little bit.

“Plus, it was you guys that asked for help. I refused at first, too, because it was creepy when I first thought about it, but for the sake of my social life….” Sang-ming trails. “And we’re not going too far into her stuff. You guys better not be stalkers or something.”

Typically, Jerry didn’t really ask for much.

But rummaging through a girl’s room is wrong! Imaginary Sinu says. Well, he was right, but…

But she’s actually pretty, isn’t she? Plus, poor Jerry doesn’t ask for much. Stop worrying. Who was this? Jake asks himself at the immediate entrance of a new imaginary figure. It was… Samuel?! What the fuck was going on in his head…?

“Oh, look, black panties.” Sang-min smiles cheekily, nitpicking your plain black underwear taken from inside your top drawer. Jake immediately covers Jerry’s eyes with his hand.

“Cover your ears, Jerry!” Jake sputters quickly. And Jerry, ever obedient, follows quickly. Already having a light shade of pink on the tips of his ears at Sang-min exposing your… Garment.

“What does that have to do with me dating your sister?” Jake asks with a clenched jaw, pissed but more so flustered and red at the same time.

Sang-min couldn’t believe that a guy like Jake Kim didn’t know what black panties meant. “She wants to have sex someday.”

On Jake’s shoulders sat the imaginary figures. One was laughing his heart out, while the other had a similar reaction to Jake. Sinu, who was also quite red despite being depicted as an angel, gives Jake a go-go-okay sign. Who does he think he is for giving me a go sign?! Go away! Samuel couldn’t stop laughing and hitting Jake’s shoulder in his miniature stature.

“She could just like the color. How can I trust you?” Jake rebukes, peeling his eyes off the article that is still in your sister’s hand.

Sang-min groans as if it was apparent. “Women just don’t buy black lingerie for nothing. They buy it because they want someone to see it.” She raises her eyebrows at Jake when she finishes her sentence. Jakes covers half his face with his other free hand, and he feels the heat that stuck to his skin because of whatever Sang-min said.

[...]

“So, first thing, (Name) hates...” Brad starts. Jake puffs out a smoke whilst leaning on a billiard table that he and the guys reserved just to hang out for the night. “Smokers. She said, and I quote, ``Would rather die than date a smoker.``”

Jake puts his cigarette out, recalling the detail that Sang-min told them earlier.

“And she likes pretty guys!” Jason remarks with his index finger pointing up, “As proven by the picture of that idol DG that Sang-min showed us earlier.”

The small group went quiet as opposed to their other buddies talking on the other reserved billiard tables in the local night bar. Jake forbids most of them to drink if they’re under twenty-one like him, though. Which, really, they all are. It just so happens that this was run by one of the girls from their street. None of them spoke a word as Jake pushed his hair back on both sides. “I guess we have no problem with that part.”

“...” Jason and Brad stare at Jake.

“...” Jake stares at Jason and Brad.

“What?”

“Nothing, boss.” Brad states.

“You don’t think I’m pretty?” Jake asks the question they all dreaded. If Jerry was here, he probably would have agreed with no brakes, but Jake made him go home early. So he doesn’t forget to do his homework.

“Hey, no, he’s stunning!” Jason argues, lightly pushing Brad away, and points to Jake with both his hands. “Prettiest guy in Jaewon!”

“Gorgeous guy, of course.” Brad agrees, too, all of a sudden, grasping his head. “Just taking opinions. Everyone knows Jake is a pretty guy.”

Jake looks off, playing with his hands now that he can’t smoke. “So, she likes traditional Japanese food, indie rock, and psychological horror movies that can be portrayed easily in real life?”

Jason and Brad nod, knowing that Jake got it all right.

“All right, then.” Jake finishes the conversation quickly, pushing himself off the edge of the billiard table and getting a cue stick, ready to play Pool.

“Club ViVi, tomorrow night, her favorite band’s gonna be playing there,” Jason adds, getting a cue stick, too, whilst Brad prepares to arrange the balls for their game.

“Club ViVi?! I can’t be seen at Club ViVi.” Jake suddenly pipes up.

“But she’ll be there. She’s marked it in her calendar.” Jason rebukes, making Jake grasp his forehead in thought. He remembers getting into a brawl with their top bouncer there once, Xiaolung, was it?

“I mean, it’s just one night. Did you do something wrong there, Boss?” Brad looks at Jake, now having the balls arranged and prepped. He got a chalk to rub on the tip of his cue stick.

She has a pair of black underwear. His small demon, Samuel, whispered in his ear. Instinctively, Jake swats the image away, making Jason and Brad think there is a fly bothering Jake. Though they both wonder why their boss was red-faced all of a sudden.

“Nothing. It’s fine. I’ll go.” Jake shakes his head, still stuck on a particular image in his head.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The sticky air filled with sweat that any typical club would radiate permeated through the whole environment that was Club ViVi. Jake was easily let in by the two bouncers up front, allowing him to delve deeper into the club. He was trying his best to lay low and avoid meeting Xiaolung accidentally.

The club was full of drunk young adults, guys in loose shirts, and women in tight dresses. Jake opted to wear a black silk short-sleeved shirt that was unbuttoned from the top with a simple silver chain. He had black pants and black Johnston & Murphy pair of dress shoes. Jake didn’t bother tucking the shirt in his pants like Samuel told him, just allowing the smooth silk to stretch through his body. His tattoo sleeves were easily seen, and he was ogled by the many ladies that he quickly passed by.

The neon purple, pink, and the occasional green were blasting all through the rooms of Club ViVi, and Jake had to push through a bunch of people to get to the stage where a band called Bad Suns was playing. Jake’s eyes flit to the denser crowd surrounding the scene in the center of the glistering dance floor. Then to the band that was playing on the stage, shining with sweat.

“I had no reason to breathe,” Uninterested, Jake suddenly spots your image. “Until you knocked the wind out of me.”

You were wearing a white crisscrossed wrap top. Covering only what you wanted to cover. You had light-washed denim jeans and white strap heels, and despite the thin heels supporting your feet, you were still excitedly jumping around and dancing to the rhythm of the song. Full of energy, with a huge grin, your hair swayed and wrapped around your face. The same grin you had on was contagious enough to infect Jake Kim.

“Thanks for listening to Life Was Easier When I Only Cared About Me, now for Daft Pretty Boys! A one, a one-two-three!” The singer yells into the mic as the beat shifts.

As the song begins, Jake slowly makes his way to your singular form. He couldn’t believe that you go to clubs like this all alone. Even if there were so many raving people around him, Jake excused himself to keep going. Until he finally got behind you, who was still unaware. Jake bobs his head and moves lightly to the beats of the song just so he can meld with the others who are dancing with much more fervor than he was. He chose to focus more on you, waiting for you to notice his presence. Unwilling to disrupt your excitement and happiness at this moment.

“Like the gates of heaven are open now,”

Suddenly, Jake thinks about how anyone could ever be scared of you. How could anyone be angry with you? You were just— Abruptly, you accidentally stepped back and tripped backward, yelping on instinct. Your hands try to reach out for the closest support; your other leg is raised as the other is losing its balance. But just as you grab the silk material, Jake already has his stable hand supporting your back, you face him, and he meets you.

The flashing lights and the dark ambiance made it hard for you to recognize Jake at first. Thinking he was just a random boy who was trying to shoot his shot. Which wasn’t a pretty far-off conclusion, actually.

Your eyes glowed with the neon lights, and his eyes could only softly reflect yours. With a dazed look, you finally figure it out, “Jake.” You breathe out.

“She says, ``There’s a dangerous kind of cool about you.``” The singer on the stage sang with fervor.

Jake raises you up from your leaning position smoothly. “What are you doing here?” You appraise, fixing yourself.

Still, Jake had his hand unconsciously on your back, ghosting above the semi-exposed skin. “I hang out here every now and then. I know a couple of people here.” Jake replies, leaning closer to your face so you can hear him talk. You face him, and you catch a whiff of the natural musk and a touch of mint from when Jake spoke. “You’re not surrounded by your usual cloud of smoke.”

“I quit.” Jake grins at you, and he cups his mouth. “Apparently, they’re bad for me.”

“You think?” You snarkily reply. You clutch your forehead, regaining your balance while you hold onto Jake’s forearm that he so generously offered to you. “But thanks for having my back. I think I need water, though.”

As you started to navigate through the dancing crowd that was taking your last place, Jake’s figure was right behind you, helping to push the other people lightly. He has his arm stretched out, reaching just above your head, and you look back at him, and all he did was give you a thumbs up and a wide grin. Noticing his scar that stretched out with his grin and you try to clear your throat, ignoring the way his shirt was brushing your back as you walked off.

When the both of you arrived, the bartender was cleaning a glass. When Jake looks up from your form, he notices who the bartender is. “Johan?”

“Oh. Hey.” The boy replies curtly. Jake leans on the counter, sitting right beside where you sat. “Did you always work here? Aren’t you a minor?”

“I make the drinks. I don’t drink them.” He explains. “I’ve been looking for a well-paying part-time job these days.”

Johan then looks at you then flits back to Jake. Mildly interested in how Ryang (Name) and Jake Kim mixed out of the blue.

“Uh, hey. I just need some water.” You call out to the boy. Nodding, Johan reaches out from the cooler behind him after he places the shot glass down. When he handed it to you, he decided to leave you and Jake to your own devices. Johan wasn’t one for engaging in gossip or whatnot.

Taking the cold bottle of water, you try to open the cap. But it was way tighter than it should be. Jake was looking at you struggle all this time, and you felt your cheeks heat up in embarrassment. He takes the bottle from your hands and opens it with ease, handing it back to you.

“Thank you again.” You fix a strand of your hair and drink the water. Both to cool down from all your burst of energy on the dance floor earlier and from the irritating man that was sitting beside you. Wiping your lip from the water, you face Jake. “If you’re planning on asking me out again, you might as well just get over it.”

Jake opts to lean on his enclosed hand supported by the table. He chooses to change the topic just as he drinks the glass of orange juice Johan left for him. “You know,” Jake starts with a loud volume, giving you a cheeky side glance, “These guys, Bad Suns? They’re pretty good. Though they’re no Weathers or the Technicolors.”

You feel your ears perk up at what he said. Skeptically, your reply. “You know who the Weathers are?”

Jake stands up and leaves his glass on the table. You quickly follow right behind him, with the both of you ending up just a ways back from the center, looking over the most crowded area in the entire club.

“Secret’s Safe With Me. Gave it a listen.” Jake says, inserting his hands in his pocket and using the other to tap his ear.

You pause, still holding on to the water bottle you got earlier. You’re surprised someone like Jake would even care about a band like Weathers. “I saw you out there earlier. Never seen you prettier than when you smile while dancing.”

“You’ve probably only seen me like, what, three, four times?” You chuckle. Jake then notices a waiter carrying trays filled with a bunch of margaritas about to pass by you at an unsteady pace. So, by instinct, he clears the path for the waiter. By having his hand no longer ghost above your back.

You face Jake’s semi-exposed chest, and you internally reel at the proximity of your bodies. Jake could feel your breath near his neck, and he had to gulp to think of something else quickly. But your hands were grounding him, and he could almost feel how you were trying your best not to be pushed further into him so that your chest won’t crash with his. Jake finally looks down at you only to find you already staring up at him, and he feels a form of heat rush up to his head, losing his cool and finding his words. Looking for them in the glimmer of your eyes.

“Come to Beom’s party with me.” Jake finally breathes out, something only you can hear in the noisy atmosphere.

What he says finally grounds you, “You never give up, do you?” You lightly tap on his chest, and he’s left there dumbfounded as you walk back to the dancefloor, right in front of the stage.

But Jake has to know. Cupping both his hands around his mouth, he shouts. “Was that a yes?!”

“No!” You reply, back turned.

Jake tries to catch up to you, grabbing your wrist lightly. “Then, was it a no…?”

You face him, with a close-eyed smile, just like his. “No.”

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