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arty-shadow-morningstar · 3 years

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Graveyard Siblings (4)

I am sorry for not posting in a while. School is a total bitch. Here is part 4 of a fic that is not a fic.

[Masterlist]

(Part 1)(Part 2)(Part 3)

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Tall Marinette.(I admit I might be projecting a little here.)

One day, she took out something from someplace high and the whole family realized that ‘holy shit when did you get so tall?’

Bonus if Jason comes back from a long mission and had a wtf moment because she was wearing 6-inch-heels and met his eyes with them on.

“Pixie?!”

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You know how Bruce has the identity of Matches Malone to infiltrate the Gotham Underground.

While Jason does the drug deals more street crime stuff, Maria uses an excuse of being the representative for Red Hood excuse to mingle with the rich people who does crime on the side (Penguin), she uses it to go to black market auctions and buy some of the lost miraculouses which got into the hands of black market dealers.

Jason knows about it and acts as her ‘bodyguard’ anytime he can or sends one of his henchmen to be one with a death threat if she gets a single scratch on her.

Bruce is unaware of this. Or is he?

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Mari helps with running WE since she is a little less busy with the vigilante side of things.

It started with Tim panicking about deadlines and Mari offering to help, to Bruce and Tim bullying the board to have her as co-CEO.

She has to be that and head of Afterlife. So she is very busy. Doesn’t know about what comes next….

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Somehow the class comes to Gotham for a trip. It has been 3 years since her death.

Mari has changed her appearance since the day she left Paris. She has highlights in her hair after a ‘sibling bonding day’ with Jason. Her hair is kept short for convenience and not in pigtails. Along with her tall height and more confident aura, she is almost unrecognizable.

She rides a motorcycle too.

The class waits in the lobby for the tour and in walks this badass woman with aviator sunglasses, leather jacket and designer clothes which was all MT brand, making a lot of people swoon.

She takes off her glasses and walks past the class. Checking stuff on her phone and sipping coffee in her other hand.

She seems familiar but they couldn’t figure out why. (All except Chloe, Alix and Felix who are snickering in the background.)

Lila sees her and comments on how she must be a criminal with the way she dresses. (Lila internally freaks out because were her eyes messing with her? Because she looked a little like Marinette. Also jealous of the new arrival for stealing all the attention.) Alya takes the bait and calls security to ‘arrest’ her.

They just laugh. The class doesn’t understand, speaking in confused French.

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“I am Maria Todd-Wayne, also known as designer MT. CEO of Afterlife and co-CEO of the very company you are in. I am allowed in here. Don’t judge a book by its cover.” she said in perfect French.

“But Lila told us you can’t speak French.”

“Who?”

“Lila Rossi, your friend. She told us that you and MT were dating.”

“Me dating myself. Okay I love myself because self-love is a thing but that is a whole other level. MT are my initials. Anyone who has a brain could have figured that out or at the very least do a Google search. I am not sure where your friend got that notion.”

“Hey, Bean, come on. We have a long day ahead of us.” Tim reminded her.

“Goodbye but cease the rumours or you would be escorted off the premises.”

As they rode up the elevator, “Tim, why are they here?”

“They are the lucky winners of the Wayne Enterprise Young Prodigies Contest. Why, Maria?”

“Lucky, huh.” She muttered under her breath. She might as well tell him. They are the Bats and they will find out anyway. “They are from my old class, the one you know…”

“Oh. Want me to send them back? I can do that if they are making you uncomfortable.”

“Nah. Too much to deal with. And it is unfair to send them back over a petty grudge. Besides, I could have some fun.”

“Anything that Bruce and I should be worried about?”

“I swear no killing. Just because Jason came back from the dead, hell-bent on killing. Doesn’t mean I am too.”

“Cool, just don’t do any property damage or traumatize our employees.”

“I might need you to erase some footage later and tell Bruce about this.”

“Some brownies, my favourite coffee cake, the ‘special’ brew and you have yourself a deal.”

-----

So basically she just showed up around where the class was ‘by coincidence’.

Talk to a few people and take them out of earshot of the rest of the class.

End the conversation by saying a few things only they and her would know. Insides jokes and secrets. (I pick her old childhood friends like, Nino, Kim and maybe Sabrina)

Uses Trixx to turn into a walking dead version of her 15-year old self and disappears as they freak out about how she knew that secret/story.

Freaks them out further by appearing again in front of the whole class and pretending not to know their previous conversation.

Mari manages to get Lila alone.

I should also say that Lila thought that her curse was making her see MT as Marinette.

It terrifies Lila when she finds out that MT is actually Marinette, not dead but alive after all this time and apparently living the high life she wanted. This fact made the Italian swell up with jealousy.

“I hope you are not lying about me again, Lila Rossi. Like you always do.”

“What do you want with me? I swear I didn’t say anything else about you.”

“Aw, Lila. Don’t recognize me?”

Maria flickers and Ladybug is in her place and later, the Marinette that appeared in her bedroom and back to normal.

“You! How? Why are you here? Why can’t you leave me alone?”

“Why not? I mean you did take away nearly all my friends, my parents and made my life a living hell. If you think about it, I am just repaying you the same favor. How are the others? Treating you well?”

“What did you do to me, you bitch?”

“I just put a curse on you. The ghosts of your past will haunt you until you stop.”

“Stop what?”

“Stop Lying, Liar. They all feed and grow in power from your lies. I wonder what would happen in a few years if you kept this up.”

“You think you can get away with this. This is war and I have already beaten you once.”

“Oh Rossi. This isn’t a war. It’s a death sentence.” With that she disappears.

Lila tries to tell her class that MT is actually Marinette. She is met with crazy looks. Some of them look like they want to believe her but don't because they don’t want to look crazy too.

Oh. Adrien wasn’t on the trip because his mother didn’t want him to go to the crime capital of America although the crime rate has gone down a little due to Hellbat curing some of the city’s bad energy..

Right after Lila told the class about MT, Scarecrow came to steal some Wayne tech and the class got caught in the crossfire. So later, it was brushed off as Lila seeing things due to the fear toxins.

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Joker made the mistake of kidnapping her. Once was enough to never try that again.

(It involved the use of nearly all of the Miraculouses, old and new. He was thoroughly humiliated at the end of it and his picture by the time Hellbat was done with him was on the Batfam’s Christmas Card. Like I said she doesn’t kill but making them beg for death was okay.)

It coincided with Jason’s Birthday and the video of the incident was ‘the best birthday present ever.’ The uncensored version was watched at the next undead siblings bonding day. Damian included.

After hearing a few rumours about what happened, most criminals were glad for Hellbat’s rare appearances. (which happens once a month and during really busy time of the year)

There was a time where Penguin was carrying out one of their plans and when Hellbat showed up, all of their thugs surrendered instantly. (No Batman did not pout at the fact that this French girl was more imitating than him.)

Scarecrow used his newest batch of fear toxin on her during the first year after she died.

He was astounded to see her still standing and she later proceeded to beat the crap out of him while being under the toxin’s influences.

He has tried to stay out of her way since then.

She saw Scarecrow as Hawkmoth and said a lot of things in French which scared everyone because she said it with so much hate, anger and in a very menacing tone that everyone is like ‘I am not touching this.’

It took Red Hood and Nightwing to restrain her from further beating Scarecrow up.

He was one of the people who sympathised with the Joker after the Incident.

The next was Riddler being so arrogant in his plans and managed to get Hellbat and Spoiler into a death trap.

“You know I have a few regrets in life. And my final one is that I got captured and am now going to get killed by a walking fashion disaster.”

“Hey! I made this myself. I will have, you know.”

“You have a brilliant mind but no sense of fashion at all. When I get out of here, I am going to burn that thing with you in it, for your crimes against fashion.”

“What is wrong with it?”

Cue a lot of roasting of Riddler’s costume and Spoiler adding more fuel to the fire.

They manage to escape while Riddler is crying on the floor, having an existential crisis.

The thing was no one knows why Riddler was silent the entire week after encountering Hellbat and crying when anyone mentions it.

They now think Hellbat is the scariest one in the Batfamily, second to Batman and tied with Black Bat/Orphan.

The few who find out what really happened in the warehouse that night. Blackmail material on the Riddler.

Three ( four if you count Penguin) of Gotham’s biggest villains of the Rogues Gallery scared of Bats’ newest addition. Hellbat was not someone they wanted to mess with.

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Magic crisis stuff. Like a world ending event thing. Dr. Fate says they need the Miraculous jewels but the last mention of them had been in Paris a few years ago and had vanished since then.

Costantine looked at Batman. “You know who you have to call.”

Batman calls Hellbat. Who hasn’t been introduced yet to the JL.

“Ah. Bats. Not that I question your authority or anything but how can your newest ‘ward’ help us?”

She takes off her helmet and reveals her face and more importantly, her earrings.

Tikki comes out of her hiding place.

“I am the current Guardian of the Miracle Box and wielder of the Ladybug miraculous during Hawkmoth’s reign in Paris a few years ago. Any other Questions?”

“Oh great Guardian. Tikki. It is an honour to meet you.”-Wonder Woman, who else.

“You too, Princess Diana. Pass on my regards to your mother.”-Tikki

A huge face-off and the big evil is defeated.

WW asks abt HM and gives a horrified face at the end of her story. Nearly everyone who eavesdropped on the conversation was.

"Forgive me, Guardian for not aiding you in your hour of need.”

“It’s okay. I understand that there are other crises, world-ending ones that JL have to take care of. I am better now. Mostly.”

“I doubt it with those revenge schemes I found lying around. But she is getting there with her therapist.”-Batman

“I hate you, Dad.”

“Did you just call him Dad?”

“No….”

“Do you see me as a father figure?”

“I see you as a nuisance with how nosy you are with my personal business. So you are more of a bother figure.”

“I see you as part of the family too, Daughter.” (Got that reference anyone?)

“Jason was the one who adopted me.”

“Legally you are adopted by me.”

Maria with Pikachu surprised face because nobody told her that. “My life is a lie.”

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(Part 5)

#graveyard sibling #platonic jasonette #maribat #mlb x dc #platonic daminette #platonic timinette #some class salt #lila salt #lila bashing #joker doesn't look good here either #platonic! jasonette #siblings jasonette #platonic timminette #marinette and stephanie teaming up to rip into Riddler's costume

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stones-x-bones · 3 years

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Dreammaker || Morgan and Bex

TIMING: Current PARTIES: @mor-beck-more-problems and @inbextween SUMMARY: Bex goes to Morgan’s for another crafting lesson, despite the strange weariness that seems to be clinging to her. CONTENT: Allusions to Dometic Abuse as well as mentions

There wasn’t enough cover-up in the world to make the bruises go away, and Bex had half considered cancelling on Morgan. But she’d already texted her, and this was the one thing she’d been looking forward to this week, and fuck did she need it after everything that had happened. Instead, she’d donned the longest sleeves she could find, a nice decorative scarf that wouldn’t be too weird to wear inside, and she’d brushed her hair over the side of her face where it looked the worst. Maybe Morgan wouldn’t ask about it, anyway. Maybe she would just respect the safe word, if she did. She didn’t know, but she did know, despite the anxiety she carried with her, she felt safer heading to Morgan’s than she had coming home that Sunday night. The walk was quick and the cool, brisk air felt nice-- it gave her time to contemplate, to think, to decide what she wanted to do next with her project once she finished cleaning all the pieces for it. There was so much she could do, but she liked the idea of bringing a little color to it. Perhaps something with yellow flowers, or ribbons. Maybe something with cerulean. She let out a yawn as she turned up the driveway to Morgan and Deirdre’s and checked her phone before raising a hand to knock, still not comfortable with just walking in. She waited, rubbing the weariness from her eyes. “Mornin’ Professor,” she said when the door opened as she gave a weary smile.

Morgan had just enough time to get her clothes back on and give goodbye kisses to Deirdre, who was timing her visits to work around avoiding Debbie. Debbie’s wedding re-planning had taken on a new level of terrifying fervor, worse than the one she had meant to have in the fall which had been cancelled by--Morgan couldn’t really remember what. It didn’t matter as much now that she had a few of her friends back and Bex’s bone art lessons. Maybe she should be pushing the magic control harder (and the books were right there in her studio, so many answers were surrounding them if the girl would just look and believe) but in her company, she just wanted to keep Bex safe a little longer, bring her a little closer. Whenever the next magic disaster happened and Bex felt like asking, she’d be there.

Morgan opened the door, already smiling with excitement. “Hey, Bex! Come in, have some tea to warm yourself--” Bex yawned, showing a rippling of brown and purple on the side of her face. Morgan’s smile fell. “Up.” She finished, her voice trailing off. “Bex, what is that? Can I take a look? Are you doing anything for the swelling? Come on, the light’s better in the kitchen…”

Bex wasn’t one-hundred percent sure at first what Morgan was talking about. She heard the words, saw the concern in her eyes, but didn’t connect the dots just yet, still weary and exhausted from the week’s antics. “What is what?” she asked, but Morgan was already dragging her towards the kitchen and by the time Bex realized what she was talking about, they were in the house before she could bolt. “Oh, it--” she stumbled, paused, “--it’s n-nothing! I ran-- I hit a door frame. I just-- I wasn’t paying attention to where I was walking…” It was the only lie she could come up with on the spot. She leaned her face away from Morgan and brushed more hair over to cover it up. “Can we just go get started? It’s been, you know, a long week and I just wanna do something relaxing.”

Morgan had to bring the girl’s face down to get a good look at the damage. It wasn’t big, but it was just far enough along to look as hideous as it must have felt. The wound curved between the eye and the cheek, and when Morgan ghosted her fingers over the spot, she saw that it followed the arch of her fingers. She frowned deep, scanning the girl again for any other signs. Maybe it was just one blow. Did cruel people ever leave it at that? Her own mother had only laid hands on her neck, and it was never a hit, just a claw Morgan couldn’t escape. It only came out when she struggled or fought her on the way to her ‘quiet time’ in her room. They did not hit in their house; Ruth Beck had been very proud of that rule.

“We don’t have to get into it, however much I’m concerned for you,” Morgan muttered. “But it’ll only hurt worse if you don’t do anything for the swelling. And I think I still have some salve left over…” From when Deirdre returned from Ireland. She’d had to look up the recipe fresh and extracting the good stuff out of arnica and yarrow without magic took a lot more time, but the salve yielded a hearty batch. Morgan pulled the first aid tub out from under the sink and fished out the little jar. “You’ll feel better with this,” she said, unscrewing the lid. “I’d like to put it on you, but you can apply it yourself, if you prefer it like that. But we’re not starting until after you take care of yourself, Bex.”

Bex stayed perfectly still as Morgan examined her face. Her fingers were just as cold as last time, but they didn’t bother her too much. They felt soothing against the burning ache of her bruise. Blinking, she pulled away when Morgan spoke, turning her face away again. She didn’t like the feeling of knowing that came from Morgan in those words, in the look of familiarity in her eyes. It meant that no matter what she said, she knew. Bex didn’t like that, people weren’t supposed to know. No one was supposed to know anything, and now more and more people knew so many things. “I put ice on it,” she mumbled quietly, watching Morgan open the cabinet and pull out a jar of something. “The swelling has gone down.” Really, she wanted to add, it’s not so bad. It could’ve been so much worse, it has been before. But none of those words were reassuring, not even to her.

“I’ll do it,” she finally said, holding her hand out for the ointment. From what she’d read of Morgan’s family, it was probably some kind of herbal remedy or salve, but it wouldn’t hurt to put on. She wasn’t sure it would help, either, but it was worth a shot, right? Once she’d finished, she brushed her hair back over and held it back out to Morgan. “I do take care of myself,” she said quietly, “it’s just hard sometimes.”

“Hey.” Morgan’s voice was quiet but firm. She didn’t like any of this. But who could she call? What was there to do besides wait for Bex to feel brave enough to do something, or try to convince her that there were people who would take care of her--really take care of her, without making it seem like they had to be paid back or that she had be grateful for receiving the bare minimum of decency. But none of that was anything Morgan could do now, not in a way that would stick. When Morgan spoke again, it was all sorrow and gentleness. “I’m not saying you aren’t taking care of yourself, honey. You’re doing the best you know how. But you shouldn’t have to do everything yourself. And there’s a difference between survival and care and comfort.” She sighed. “I’m not mad. And you haven’t done anything wrong. None of whatever led to this is your fault, just so we’re clear. Now come on, I’ve already got your station set up in my studio.”

Bex didn’t have much to say back. She never knew what to say anymore. Sometimes, she wondered if she just told someone, told them everything, really told them, if they would be able to save her. But she didn’t know, she couldn’t be sure. How was she supposed to know it was safe? And if it was, wouldn’t they want something from her? In return? Wouldn’t she owe them? She did want to owe anyone, anymore. Her parents put enough of a shackle on that. Instead, she tucked herself away again and nodded, before she followed Morgan back through the house, past the pool, down the deck and into the shed. Just like Morgan had said, there was now a spot set up just for her and she couldn't help but light up at the prospect. Even so, another yawn escaped her as she headed over, already pulling her jacket off and forgetting about the bruise on her wrist, too. “Can you show me which glues are best still, today? I was thinking of using um...flowers as the dressing. You know, that whole juxtaposition of life and death.” The whole juxtaposition of what she wanted versus what she had.

It took Morgan several moments to respond. She couldn’t stop staring at the bruise on Bex’s wrist and trying to figure out if it was from being grabbed or being restrained. It didn’t matter one way or the other, in the end, but she still wondered just how thoughtless, how cruelly bold they were to do this much harm and feel that they would suffer no consequences. How aware they must be of their control if they trusted their daughter to keep quiet, and for the length of human healing too. Morgan tried to shake her thoughts away and set the jar down on the table. “Why don’t you just hang onto the rest of this. Take care of wherever else you’re hurting as you get sore. It’s science tested, witch approved,” she murmured, trying to be gentle with some levity. She sounded off-key to her own ears and could only hope that Bex gave her points for effort.

She opened the glue drawer and spread each of them out on the table. “Okay, so this one is going to be good for the flowers. It’s a little thing because you don’t need much, just keep the pointy nozzle end right on the spot you need. And this one--” She paused, taking Bex in again one more time. “Are you sure you don’t want some tea? You look kinda out of it. Were you able to get much sleep at all?”

“Oh, um,” Bex said, looking down at the jar as Morgan set it next to her, “are you sure? It’s okay, I have stuff at home to help.” Technically. She had soothing cream and ice, that was enough, right? They’d go away soon, she didn’t bruise long, despite her fair skin. She’d figured that much out in her lifetime. “Plus, there’s always the age old frozen spoon trick, right? My nanny taught me that one when I was younger.” The candor with which she spoke was unintended, but when she had rationalized every moment of her parents’ cruelty as tough love, it didn’t seem so strange to her. She looked at the glues Morgan spread out before her, trying to keep concentration, another yawn slipping out. “Hmm? Oh…” she rubbed her eyes, wincing slightly, “sorry, umm-- yeah. M-maybe some tea would be nice. I uh-- I haven’t slept well this week. I’ve been having really weird dreams. Not um, nightmares, but just…” she trailed off. She wasn’t sure how to explain them. They were dreams, but they were so much more vivid than just that. She felt as if she were truly there, yet somehow always outside of them. Like she was outside of her own body. She looked over at Morgan. “Sorry, what was I saying?”

“Just because someone says hurting you is for your own good, doesn’t mean it’s true,” Morgan muttered bitterly. At least the Dolans had a few centuries of ritualized torture that enabled their survival to explain that particular psychotic methodology. But Bex was just a girl. A witch girl, but none of them knew that. If they did, they’d know that her power came from unifying herself, from opening her heart and her understanding, reaching out to the world instead of being locked up and run under a sharpening blade as if she were a set of defective garden shears. She cleared her throat, trying to pass off the words as a cough and went on with forced brightness, “I don’t know that one about the spoon. My mom taught herself about arnica and yarrow. She studied the chemical makeup of plants, tried to make hybrid superplants for her doctoral research.” Until the curse took away her funding and her reputation. Taking the brunt of her disappointment had made for a really fun year.

Slowly, Morgan set down her tools and came beside Bex, gently leading her off the stool. “Something about dreams. Which, I really want to hear more about. Because there’s no shame in having nightmares or re-living weird, bad memories out of nowhere. But maybe after you come and sit on the daybed with Niamh and have some tea. You probably shouldn’t be working with anything pointy or sticky if you can’t see straight or keep your eyes open. And I’ll be sure to brew you the good caffeinated stuff so you can tell me all about it. How’s that sound?”

Too weary and out of it, Bex didn’t quite catch what Morgan was mumbling. It was probably something about the ointment, she could still recall the recipes she’d found written in some of the Bachman family files. Arnica and yarrow. Bex didn’t really know those ingredients, only that they were natural plants. Bex was much more of a flower person, when it came to plants, but she knew enough about arnica to know of its healing properties. “Did she teach you about it, too, then?” she asked, looking over at Morgan, letting her prod her off the stool. She really wanted to stay and keep working, hell, they’d barely just begun. But Morgan was right, working with sharp objects while tired was a bad idea. She needed to keep in mind that she still had to look presentable even if there were circumstances beyond her control right now.

“They’re not nightmares, though,” Bex insisted, “they’re just really...weird. Like, really vivid.” She sat on the daybed like Morgan instructed, rubbing her eyes once more. “Trust me, I’d say if they were nightmares. Those get really bad usually. Like, windows shattering bad.” Loopy in her exhaustion, she didn’t even mind sharing that bit. Night terrors had been a long part of Bex’s life, she’d thought she’d grown used to them by now. But she hadn’t. “Lots of caffeine sounds perfect,” she added on quietly.

Morgan fluffed the pillows behind Bex as she spoke. Niamh picked her head up and squinted, affronted at the invasion of her napping space, then settled back down with a big sawn. To live a life so simple you were never scared to sleep all day. What a dream. “Vivid but not bad, huh?” So that ruled out mara. Maybe the girl’s parents were drugging her, or maybe some college kid was fucking with their own magic a little too excitedly. Maybe the kid was just stressed out of her mind. “You and Deirdre should really talk about window-shattering-bad sometime,” she sighed. Deirdre would probably know more about what to say or how to reach her. She knew what it was like to hurt like this and wake up ready to maim yourself in the morning if it meant getting a mother’s approval. Morgan sighed again and carefully bushed back some of Bex’s hair affectionately. “Lot’s of caffeine it is. You relax and make sure Niamh doesn’t get up to any mischief and I’ll be right back.”

Bex looked over at the cat and watched her yawn. She was really cute, but Bex hadn’t been around cats enough to know what affection sounded like. “Does she break a lot of windows, too?” Bex asked, brow raised. She tried her best not to flinch when Morgan reached out to brush a strand of hair from her face, but she wasn’t sure she was very successful. It was all still too raw. It was the things she was so used to, but never would be at the same time. “Will do,” she muttered quietly, turning to look over at the cat. She looked so peaceful, sleeping like that. Bex was a little jealous. Scooting further onto the bed, she laid down next to the cat. “How do you do it?” she asked, eyes drooping a little. “Just sleep all day, without a care in the world.” She went to sit up, then, when she thought she heard Morgan heading back, but instead her head spun, and her vision went black, and she collapsed onto the floor with a loud thud.

Morgan worked quickly, but she could only get the kettle to work so quickly. She made the most potent tea latte she could and brought it out in an oversize mug to the girl. Maybe letting her rest would be kinder, but she hated the thought of sending her home, back to the people who would treat her like this.

She heard the body fall as she opened the door.

“Bex? Bex!” She shoved the tea onto the nearest surface and scooped the girl into her arms, shaking her. “Bex, wake up! Come on.” She pressed her ear to her chest and waited, and waited. “Fucking shit...shit…” But there it was. Slow as a banshee’s breath, but unmistakable. Morgan hefted her girl in her arms and looked down into her sleeping face, at a loss. “What’s happening?”

#chatzy #wickedswriting #dreammaker #chatzy: morgan #morgan #domestic abuse mention tw #short but sweet ;;);));)

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screensirenfic · 4 years

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Gasoline Chapter 4

The movie theatre was pretty vacant for a Saturday night, though maybe that had more to do with the fact it was Valentines weekend and most people had decided to spend it sucking face at Lovers Lake, kickstarting this years batch of pregnancy scares amongst the teenage population.

Steve hadn’t actually asked me to be his Valentine. A stupid thing; really. I didn’t even believe in the damn holiday; just another fucking excuse to make people waste money on bad chocolates and overpriced flower arrangements. But still; he’d taken me to the movies, and I guess that was something.

The film of the weekend was The Breakfast Club; a teenage drama/comedy about five kids in detention, and already I could see similarities in the rural population of Hawkins High.

Claire was pretty, and kind of a bitch; coming across as a weird blend of Tina and Nancy that was honestly quite jarring to watch.

Andrew was Steve; a noble, dumb pretty boy of a jock, who probably was the least of a jerk off in the club, though that honestly wasn’t saying much.

Jonathan landed somewhere between Alison and Brian; combining the dark traits of social outcast with the dorky awkwardness of an all out nerd.

And Bender was...

Billy.

The more I thought about it; the closer it was.

A walking fucking stereotype of teen bad boy, down to the denim jacket.

Obnoxious, attractive, aggressive; all the traits were being ticked off the list as I began to wonder if they’d based this guy’s entire character on Hawkins resident bad boy.

Then it got to the part about cigar burns, and my popcorn did flips in my stomach.

I thought back to the bruises on Billy’s face; the change in attitude, the hunched posture-

“Hey Lo; you okay?” Steve leaned across the seat to mutter in my ear; my mind suddenly conscious that he’d been watching me instead of the movie for the past ten minutes.

“Yeah; just got lost there for a moment...” I replied, slurping loudly on my drink to try and avoid a conversation.

“Cause we can get out of here, if you want...” He offered, shifting in his seat already, ready to leave on my word.

“No; no, it’s fine. Let’s just try and enjoy the movie.” I refused, stealing another handful of Steve’s popcorn and turning my gaze back to the screen.

Steve kept staring at me for a moment, clearly not satisfied with what might’ve been going on in my head, before eventually giving up and continuing to watch the movie.

“Being bad feels pretty good; huh?”

We finished watching the movie and Steve drove me home in his BMW, humming along with Queen albums all the while.

It felt pretty normal, if not for Steve reaching across the gear stick to hold my hand in between shifts.

It was nice; really. The warm, familiar comfort of his fingers threaded through my own; thumb tracing patterns across my knuckles like this actually meant something to him.

And what was I saying?! Of course I meant something to Steve. He was my best friend, and my boyfriend, and; shit, what the hell had I got myself into?!

I cared about Steve, and I loved him pretty much more than nearly everyone I know, but was I in love with him?

I glanced across at him in the driving seat, tapping along with the beat on his steering wheel, a pretty dumb smile on his face.

I loved Steve; so why did I have to keep convincing myself of it?

When Steve finally dropped me off, I had to push a sense of foreboding down in my stomach; the reality that perhaps we were at another milestone in our relationship starting to dawn upon me.

Steve turned off the engine; the voice of Freddie Mercury cutting out, so we were left with the near silent ambiance of the woods.

“Thanks for the movie, Steve. I had fun.” I attempted to say my farewells, undoing my seatbelt to make my exit.

“Me too...” He replied; that slight crinkle in between his brows, a tell he had something on his mind.

“Come on; let me walk you to your door.” He urged, and normally I’d tell him to get fucked; not needing any of his chivalry, but tonight I decided I’d let him.

The night air outside was chilly; the last breath of winter’s snow still in the air as Steve walked me up the porch steps, me pulling my leather jacket tighter around my shoulders.

We reached the door, and I pulled my keys out of my pocket, already knowing what came next.

My dad wasn’t home, probably wouldn’t be all night, and El was over at the Byers for D’n’D night or something.

I had the cabin completely to myself.

“You know; I really meant what I said. About enjoying tonight...” Steve began; his doe eyes avoiding me for once to flit around uncertainly.

“I feel like you just genuinely get me; you know?” He continued; eyes finally daring to settle on my face as I unlocked my door.

“I know the feeling...” I concurred, though I couldn’t quite find it in myself to meet his eyes.

The door clicked open; the ridiculous amount of locks no longer a problem since dad had become more lax on the house rules, as I gently pushed it open the first inch.

I could feel Steve’s eyes on me; an unspoken question hanging in the air.

“Do you wanna come in?” I asked; ripping off the bandaid before we both died of old age.

“Yeah... Sure...” Steve nodded, looking half surprised at the offer, but following me inside regardless.

I felt self-conscious about the mess of the place, automatically going to shove the laundry basket out of sight in the bathroom, hyper aware of my pink panties sticking out of the side.

“Weird to think I’ve known you for over five years, and yet I’ve never been inside your house...” Steve commented, taking the time to look around the place like he was planning to buy it. Probably could too, knowing his family’s bank accounts.

“Probably because my dad would deck you before you even got through the door.” I joked lightheartedly, returning to Steve’s side.

It was true that my dad didn’t initially approve of Steve; thought he was a weak-armed momma’s boy who was only good at soaking up his daddy’s trust fund.

But with time and tolerance; he’d begun to like Steve, or at least appreciate the fact that he cared about me.

“Your dad coming home?” He asked, starting down a slippery slope towards a subject we’d both been avoiding for the past two months.

“Not tonight.” I confirmed, pulling off my jacket, because it had suddenly become too warm in here.

“Good.” Steve said, but before I had the chance to ask what he meant, he leaned in and kissed me hard on the mouth.

I was shocked, to be honest, not really expecting him just to lay one on me out of the blue like that.

Steve rarely kissed me as it is; some sort of residual hesitance stopping him from being openly affectionate in public. A kiss on the head, or the cheek was routine; little barely noticeable demonstrations of affection that could be passed off as displays of a close friendship. But full on making out; never.

It didn’t really feel romantic; the whole thing seeming so rushed, it was almost forced, but I tried to reciprocate regardless.

I lifted my hand to the back of Steve’s neck, tangling my fingers through thick hair as I tried my best to kiss him back.

Steve grabbed me by my hips, backing me up until I collided with the kitchen counter, fingertips squeezing gently at the skin just above the waistband of my shorts.

I slipped my tongue out of my mouth, letting it pry along the seam of his own until he allowed me entry, kissing me back in a series of short, passionate kisses that should’ve left me breathless.

Instead it was awkward and stiff, like we were doing what we thought we should do, rather than what we felt like doing.

Still, Steve gave it his all; letting his hands trail up underneath my top, gently feeling their way across my ribs in what I guessed was meant to be a caress.

He parted from my lips, moving on to leave a trail of kisses across my jaw and down the start of my neck; teeth nipping as he attempted to give me a hickey.

“Stop, Steve...” I protested; the soft sucking sensation really doing nothing for me, but making the surface of my skin slightly wet.

“Steve; this isn’t working...” I complained; though he couldn’t really know how much I meant those words.

Steve did as I asked, pulling away almost instantaneously, before peering up at me with soft eyes.

“Too much?” He asked; a slight hesitance in his voice as he basically enquired about his performance.

“A little...” I admitted, not quite having it in me to crush his confidence completely.

He sighed softly, leaning his head down to rest it in the crook of my neck, as I reached up to run my fingers through his hair.

Steve was trying; he really was, but I just—

This wasn’t what I’d ever expected from the guy I called my best friend, and I guess I was still adjusting, even if it had been two months.

“Do you wanna just watch TV or something?” He asked, pulling his head away from me as he finally resigned that nothing was gonna happen tonight.

I shook my head, leaning back on the counter as he stepped back to give me some space.

“I’m not really feeling it tonight.” I confessed; though I was beginning to wonder if I would feel like “it” any night.

Steve just nodded, already trying to hide the look of disappointment on his face.

“You’re right. I should just- go home...” He conceded, before stepping in close to give me a quick goodbye kiss.

He leaned down to peck me on the lips, then hesitated, changing course for my cheek instead.

It was quick and soft this time; no lingering touches or restrained passion, and then it was over.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, maybe.” He said uncertainly, giving me a nod before heading for the door.

I didn’t even say anything; concerned and embarrassed that I was the one that had done this, created this awkwardness between us.

Maybe if I had just let him continue...

But it was too late for second thoughts; Steve already shutting the door behind him, and ending all prospects of a Do over.

I sighed, heading straight to my room, because trust me to over complicate things.

I couldn’t even have a honest-to-god actual relationship without me somehow screwing that up!

Instead I just threw myself down face first on my bed, screaming frustratedly into my pillow, because I couldn’t even go one night without sabotaging myself.

I was an idiot; a total and complete idiot.

Steve was a nice guy; my closest friend, a true diamond amongst a sea of trash, so why didn’t I feel attracted to him?

I lifted my head off my pillow, wondering where in my life I’d become so fucked up that the idea of a nice guy was a turn off, when I spotted something tucked in the top corner of my bed.

Billy’s teddy bear.

Eleven must’ve seen it in my backpack and put it in my room thinking it was important.

I picked it up, turning over onto my back so I could look at its stupid blank eyed expression.

Maybe there was a reason I didn’t feel that way about Steve anymore...

#stranger things #stranger things fandom #fanfiction #fanfic #strangerthingsfanfiction #stranger things oc #strangerthings oc #original character #jim hopper daughter #Billy Hargrove #steve harrington #billy hargrove fanfiction #billy hargove x reader #billy hargrove x original character #billy hargrove x oc #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x oc #steve harrington x original character

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minyoongijjangjjangmanboongboong · 5 years

Text

Sweet Dreams Chapter Seven

Lucid dreaming: The process of being aware that one is dreaming. Some researchers believe that in lucid dreaming, the individual may be able to change the outcome of the dream or control their degree of participation in the imaginary (dream) environment.

Description: Lee Eunbyul has been plagued with hellish nightmares since she was a child. Not the sort of nightmares you may be familiar with. There are no monsters to evade, no serial killers to outrun, no auditoriums of classmates in front of whom to stand naked. Instead there is just…darkness. Endless darkness. With professional help, the dreams come less frequently. But after moving away from home to live with her sister, Eunbyul’s nightmare returns, only this time it’s different. This time…she’s not alone.

What would you do if you had the chance to change the outcome of not only your dreams, but your life?

Genre: Romance, Drama, Fluff, Angst, Slow Burn

Pairing: Namjoon x (f) OC

Word Count: 8.1k

Tags: Non-Idol!Au, Producer!Namjoon, Bookstore Clerk!Seokjin, Potter!Jimin, Producer!Yoongi, Dancer!Hoseok

Warnings: Frequent mentions of mental illness, infrequent swearing and mentions of alcohol

A/N: Hello! I hope you’re all doing well and enjoying this story so far! I think we are getting kind of close to the end! Please don’t be shy and send feedback, critique, questions, theories, and comments my way. I’ll be sure to respond to all asks I receive within a day of receiving them!

And again, if you want to follow my Twitter, my username is @/plzpunchmebts. I’m super active over there and hopefully in the future I’ll do some livestreams/chats with you all!

- Mercury

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Weekly updates: Sunday, 1PM (PST)

Eunbyul

“What are you doing?” asked Gaeul as I sat at the table, absently working my lower lip between my index finger and thumb.

I startled a little and dropped my hand with a thump beside my untouched bowl of cereal. I turned to her with wide eyes. “Hm?”

“You’re spacing out,” she remarked with raised brows. “More than normal.”

I glanced down at the bloated bits of cereal, swelling with milk, floating there as they slowly disintegrated. “Mm…,” I mumbled, picking up the spoon and swirling them around. “I dunno.” Again, without meaning to, my fingertips raised to brush against my lip and I furrowed my brow, cocked my head to the side, and exhaled slowly. “Feels weird.”

“What feels weird?” asked Gaeul, legs crossed on her dining chair beside me, her phone screen going dim as she neglected to touch it. She watched me with mascara smudging around her eyes from the day before, one brow raised in inquiry.

I sighed and pushed the bowl of cereal away. “Nothing,” I said with a shake of my head. I stood up and pulled my hair back to the nape of my neck, restraining it with the old rubber band I’d stolen from the newspaper on the front mat. “I gotta go to work.”

She groaned, tossing her head back. “I feel like you work more than I do these days,” she grumbled.

I chuckled and pulled an old white baseball cap on my head. “Better put in more hours, Miss Corporate Ladder,” I teased with a smile.

She stuck out her tongue and pushed off her chair, meandering toward the mural which was slowly, gradually, growing in detail. “If you’re free later, let’s watch a movie.”

“Are you always this nice?” I asked as I slid my shoes onto my feet with a laugh.

She smirked over her shoulder at me. “Only on my days off.”

I laughed and nodded. “If I get home in time,” I said.

She waved a hand, nonchalant, and returned to stewing over her mural. “See ya.”

“Yeah.”

I stared at the junction between the kiln and its lid, slack-jawed, mind blank, as fresh noontime sunlight filtered in through the workshop curtains. I really couldn’t place it, but something felt like it had shifted. Some imperceptible piece of me, set at a new angle. Like a locked door left just slightly ajar. I felt my fingers on my lips before I realized I was again touching them. I jumped a little and dropped my hand, but in the process nearly knocked a platter of fresh porcelain teacups off the table beside my arm. I fell to my knees as I slid to catch the lip of the metal platter.

“Jesus,” I breathed out, sliding the platter so it lay further from the edge of the table. I stood up and wiped the clay dust from my knees, patting my skin. If I didn’t get myself together soon, I’d end up making a real mistake.

I turned to see Jimin removing another batch from the kiln beside me, and from the smile on his face I knew he’d seen the whole thing. Even though he didn’t look at me, that cheeky smile told me all I needed to know. I sighed, rubbing my forehead, and nodded.

“Go ahead and say what you’re thinking,” I said gently, resting a hip against the kiln.

He chuckled, eyes nearly disappearing, and shrugged. “I’m not thinking anything.”

“Just say it.”

He smiled as he met my eyes, still bent over the kiln. “Just thinking you seem like you’ve got a lot on your mind today.”

I stiffened, crossing my arms, before relenting with a sigh. “I feel…kind of complicated.”

“Mm…,” he remarked gently, shutting the kiln once he’d retrieved the last piece from inside. “Wonder why.”

“Me too.” I stretched a little and groaned. “I’m gonna go vacuum the carpets.”

“Careful,” he began with a barely contained laugh, “might end up getting sucked in.”

I rolled my eyes and, as I passed, gave the back of his head a flick. He winced and I chuckled. “I’ll suck you in.”

He laughed as I stepped into the shop. “That sounded dirty!”

“Only because your mind is dirty!”

Again, his laugh ushered me out and I got to work quickly with the vacuum.

The front door bell pinged and, as I was on my hands and knees scrubbing a decade-old clay stain on the wall beside the potter’s wheel, I scrambled on all fours toward the aisle to greet the customer. But Jimin, having only just begun patting the clay into position, laughed at me efforts and patted my back with one dirty hand before jogging out from around my shoulder.

“I’ll take care of it. Just…I dunno, watch the clay or something,” he said through laughter. He rushed to the sink to wash his hands before jogging out to meet the patron.

I sighed and slid my cleaning supplies away and stood, taking a moment to peek around the corner at Jimin and the customer. Jimin stood facing me beside the register, and the customer stood with his back to me. Broad shoulders, honey-blonde hair, dressed simply and stylishly in a white tee and jeans, he stood with one muscled arm extended, resting on the register counter. I couldn’t see his face, but he was familiar nonetheless somehow. I couldn’t quite place him.

I lingered there for a moment, but returned to reality once I realized I was again touching my lip. And with a flutter in my stomach, I realized I was staring right at him. Flushed, I turned around and forced myself to sit at the wheel, watching the clay. It was nothing more than a blob, just an asymmetrical lump of hard material, too stiff, not even workable yet. I poked it with my index finger and found, as I expected, an unyielding mound of potential that I couldn’t quite tap into.

Well, I reasoned, softening the clay isn’t too hard. Shouldn’t matter if I do it for him. And I was right, partially anyway. So, slowly, I began pounding the clay with my palms, working it almost like bread dough. For a while, it felt hopeless. And as the dull hum of conversation drifted on between that customer and Jimin, I found my focus becoming acutely trained on that lump of clay beneath my warm fingertips, slowly softening as I molded it. Tentatively, I pressed a foot on the pedal, just enough for the wheel to lurch to a slow spin. Quietly, I smoothed my hands along the sides of the clay, guiding it up into a lopsided circle.

Perhaps because I’d been keenly observing Jimin’s technique for a while, or perhaps because I’d managed to find a way to turn my brain off, but the process felt natural, comfortable. I dipped my hands into the slip Jimin had prepared and again ran my hands over the smooth ball of clay. Maybe, if I just pressed my thumbs a little, I could create an indent in the center. Like a bowl. Without my brain telling my hands, they did just that and my thumbs dug into the clay, pushing and smoothing it as I coaxed the material into a shape I liked. It was rough and not quite symmetrical, but it felt…nice.

There’s beauty in something even if it isn’t perfect. Hadn’t Jimin said exactly that? I stared at the slightly misshapen, off-kilter almost-bowl and couldn’t help but smile, just a little bit. I pressed my thumb again, this time pinching the clay with my index finger on the other side, pulling it out to create the lip of the bowl.

“Looks good,” said a voice from behind me.

I shouted and jumped, my foot slipping off the pedal and my palms colliding with the clay, flattening my bowl. I stared down at the mess with a gape before turning to see Jimin leaning against the rack of pottery with crossed arms and a smile. I coughed a little and stood up, hiding my dirty hands behind my back like a kid who’d just been caught tracking mud in the house.

He smiled and shook his head. “You could’ve kept going.”

I cleared my throat and shook my head. “I was just bored,” I said.

He chuckled. “Are you sure about that?”

“Where’s the customer?” I asked before he’d even finished the last syllable, too eager to redirect the conversation.

He blinked a few times. “Oh, uh, he’s browsing. I’m gonna work on a commission for him, so he was stopping by to tell me what he wanted made.”

I nodded. “Alright then. I’ll go see if he needs help-,” I said, walking quickly past him.

But Jimin grabbed the crook of my elbow with wide eyes. “Wait a second,” he said, brows knit. “I think you should really keep working on that bowl, Eunbyul.”

I gently guided his hand off my arm and smiled at him. “I’m gonna go wash my hands off now,” I said, taking a glance back over my shoulder at the ruined bowl.

As my gaze swept back toward Jimin, I caught the outline of someone’s body on the other side of the shelves, peering through the spaces between ceramics. I stiffened, ready to point out the observer to Jimin, but they quickly moved out of my view, walking out from the aisle and into the larger shop space.

“I’m gonna go help him,” I said, maneuvering around Jimin with my arms raised like a surgeon prepped for an operation, two arms raised, palms facing my body. But once I emerged beside the register, the man’s strong back was retreating toward the front door. “Wait!” I called, mimicking Jimin’s frantic tone from before. I cleared my throat and managed my voice a little. “Did you need help with anything?”

The man waved his hand over his shoulder and shook his head, blonde hair catching the sunlight as it bounced. “I’m good, thanks,” he said before ducking out the front door and onto the sidewalk.

And I stood there, stupefied, for a long moment. Just staring at the space left behind in his absence, the empty space in front of the doorway where he was. His voice, the words, replayed over and over in my messy mind and I couldn’t force them out. Instead, I could only stand exactly still, hands dripping slip down my bare forearms, mouth open like I might shout something else, stunned into stillness.

Until I tasted something chalky on my tongue and spat a little, realizing too late that I’d lifted my dirty index finger to touch my lips once again…

I stared at my reflection for a long moment in the bathroom of Hyejin’s Books. Behind me, greenery clung to the wall from a hanging basket, alive and vibrant. But me…somehow I looked sallow, ill. It had to have been from lack of proper sleep, but surely my own mood was contributing. My eyes were heavy, my skin looked almost papery, dull. And as much as I hated to admit it, Mom was right when she said I was looking thinner. I knew it was my fault for eating less, but my brain felt like it was everywhere at once these days. I found it difficult to force myself to eat with my head so messy. But as I pulled at one of my under-eye bags with my index fingertip, I couldn’t help but groan a little and turn away. It was a bit hard to look at.

As I took a much needed step backwards, I caught sight of a pair of stylish black boots beneath one of the toilet stall dividers, like someone was sitting there holding their knees. And I remembered. That person in the last stall, sitting here alone some days.

Crying some days.

Today, they weren’t crying. Just…sitting there. And I wasn’t so sure what was worse. I wavered there for a long moment, brows knit, biting my lower lip and swaying from foot to foot as I lingered in indecision. Of course, bothering the stranger would be weird. It would be odd.

But…the fact that they were here again, in my path again…

Didn’t that mean I had another chance…?

I sighed, glancing at the door, before taking another look over my shoulder down the bathroom at the stall door. As I did, I caught another glimpse of my reflection. Haggard, tired, worn out, but…in my eyes I saw something new.

Worried.

I inhaled sharply and took the few paces needed to reach the last stall. I stopped in front of it and, with bated breath, gave the door three sharp knocks. To my surprise, the response was nearly instantaneous. “Occupied,” said a stern voice from inside.

Shit, shit, shit, I thought, gnawing on the inside of my cheek. Of course they didn’t wanna be bothered! Jesus Christ…

“You still there?” asked the voice, gentler this time.

I swallowed hard, blushing, and stared at the stall door like I was looking at the voice’s owner. “Um…just…checking if you needed, uh…toilet…paper…,” I said, and the excuse was lame even to my ears.

“Uh…,” responded the voice. “N-No, I’m good.”

Sweating, I nodded and turned on my heel toward the exit, ready to run all the way back home. But before I could push my way back out into the bookstore, I heard some shuffling, like the person was adjusting their position, and along with it, one simple phrase.

“Thank you,” the voice said, and suddenly it sounded like a child. Breathy, quiet, uncertain. Much like mine…

“Uh…yeah. Of course,” I said, clearing my throat as I stood awkwardly in front of the exit. “If…um…if you happen to need…toilet paper…you know, later on down the line…my name is Eunbyul and I’m here almost every day.” I stared at the bathroom door, heart hammering, awaiting their response.

And, quietly, one came in the form of a laugh. “Okay,” they said. “I’ll remember.”

I nodded and rushed out into the bookstore without another word.

As I rounded the corner from the bathroom hall, I caught sight of Seokjin behind the counter and wished I hadn’t. With flaming red cheeks and a hyper-awareness of my own social ineptitude, meeting with him was just about the last thing I was ready for. But when I glanced his way, I found him already watching me with a half-smile, resting his cheek in his hand as he chuckled a few times, one brow raised. Today his hair was styled out of his face, and he wore a tee that looked expensive. He looked a bit like a rich grad student or perhaps the son of some hotel chain.

He had the confidence for both.

“Eunbyul!” he called as I averted my gaze and attempted to slip past him.

I cursed under my breath and swiveled around to face him. I managed a tense smile and bowed my head in greeting. “Hey,” I said.

He smiled and beckoned me toward the register and, unable to find a reason to say no, I complied. Once I approached, he scrutinized me further, squinting his eyes as he looked at me from head to toe in the light of the unforgiving sunset.

“You look beat,” he said with a sigh. “Do you sleep enough?”

I blinked a few times, struggling for a response, but eventually settled for a grunt and a shake of my head. “No,” I said at last.

He hummed and clicked his tongue, leaning back to cross his arms. “Better work on that,” he said, then sighed. “I’m off in, like, thirty minutes. Wanna go get something to eat? My treat.”

I stiffened and waved my hands. “Ah, no, no. That’s fine,” I said, shaking my head.

He rolled his eyes and reached out to flick my forehead. “I already decided anyway. Just wait for me, alright? Thirty minutes.”

I stared at him for a long time, brow furrowing. I couldn’t quite figure it out, but something was different today. Normally, an innocuous touch from Kim Seokjin would have sent my mind spinning like a top, but today…

Nothing, really.

I chomped down on my lower lip, puzzled, and nodded once. “Alright,” I said, and was surprised by how easily I relented.

But it would have been a lie to say I wasn’t curious. Not only about Seokjin, but about why today of all days talking with him didn’t give me butterflies…

I watched as Seokjin tended to the meat, smoke hanging low in the air of the barbecue joint. It was a short building near the beach with a decidedly adult crowd. All around were men in business suits and loosened ties, older women gossiping, clumps of people gathered here and there for two separate company dinners.

And then, in the front corner by one of the only windows, two twenty-somethings with two plates of meat and three bottles of soju.

My shot sat untouched beside my chopsticks, but Jin had helped himself as soon as we’d entered. I wasn’t counting, but he had to have been on his third by now as he struggled with the metal tongs and the hot stove. He grumbled all the while as he managed the flame, turned the pieces of pork, added bits of kimchi, and his brow was low, jaw set. Like it was a big labor.

I’d offered to do it myself multiple times, but he’d silenced me with a look every time.

Perhaps he liked controlling things like that.

“You must be hungry,” said Jin as he finally tore his attention from the grill to look at me with a flushed smile.

I raised my brows. “Hm?”

He raised the tongs to point to his lips and only then did I realize that, once again, I was touching my own. I quickly dropped my hand and offered a halfway smile. “Ah, yeah,” I said, grabbing my chopsticks. “Haven’t eaten much today.”

“With Kim Seokjin, you’ll eat like a king!” he said, following the statement with a loud, lilting laugh.

I couldn’t help but smile for real, just a little. I played with my chopsticks for a moment, making them walk across the table. “I can pay my share…”

“So you’ve said,” he began, eyeing me over the meat. “Three times.”

I chuckled. “Sorry,” I said.

He hummed. “If you’re sorry, take a shot with me!” he said, then paused. “Ah, once you’ve eaten something, of course.” He quickly began grabbing pieces of pork and placing them on my small plate, stacked one on top of the other. “Here.”

I bowed my head before taking the first bite. I had to admit, it was cooked nicely. Having grown up in an industrious family, I was used to first-rate barbecue from my dad, but Jin’s skills nearly matched. My eyes went wide.

“Good?” he asked, and there was a hopeful glimmer in his eyes.

I nodded and held out a thumbs-up. “Mhm!” I said, taking another bite. “Really good.”

He sighed and nodded. “As expected,” he said, taking a bite of his own. “You know, in high school whenever my friends and I would go out they’d always pay for my share so that I’d cook the meat.”

I raised my brows, another bite between my teeth. “Hm?” I asked. “Are you sure they weren’t using you?” As the joke left my lips, I regretted it. Who was I to be acting so familiar?

To my surprise, however, Seokjin simply laughed and nodded his head. It seemed he was more lighthearted than I thought. He waved his chopsticks, taking a sip of water. “Ah, is that so?” he asked through laughter.

We locked eyes across the small table and, for a few seconds, I waited in suspense for the moment my heart would race, the moment my palms would get sweaty, the moment my stomach would drop. But, as the eye contact continued, I was left with…nothing.

I cleared my throat and grabbed for my shot, holding it out across the grill towards Seokjin. “I’m ready for my shot now,” I said.

He smiled and clinked the rim of his glass against mine. “Cheers,” he said gently, tipping the shot back.

I followed suit, pressing the cool glass against my warm lips, letting the soju slide down my throat in one fell swoop. I winced a little as I returned to sitting straight and, with squinted eyes, met Seokjin’s gaze. He was already laughing at me.

“Don’t drink often?” he asked.

I hissed just slightly as I exhaled. “Ah,” I began. “You can tell?”

He laughed. “Just a little.” He met my eyes with a smirk. “So…your boss? The pottery guy?”

I raised my brows, already pouring both of us another shot. “Jimin? What about him?”

“Has he…you know, taught you anything cool? About pottery?” asked Seokjin as he took a sip of his shot.

I took a sip as well and hummed. “Yeah. A lot, actually,” I said, then waved my hand. “It’s probably boring though.”

“Mm…,” he continued, tapping a finger against the wooden table, eyes down. “Well, I always see you reading about…like, mysteries and stuff, right?”

I blinked a few times, the alcohol warming my skin, and met his eyes. “Jin, are you making small talk?” I asked.

He stiffened, eyes round. “Uh, well…I was just…,” he began, then stopped and gave a sheepish laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Sorry, it’s just…with the meat cooked and the cheers done…I guess…”

And suddenly I felt the nervous part of me settle back into place. I exhaled in a sigh and smiled. “No social lubricant,” I said with a nod. “I get that.”

He met my eyes with raised brows. “Yeah?”

“Mhm,” I said, taking another bite of meat. “Like, at the bookstore it’s easy to find things to talk about, right? Since it’s work. No need to manufacture conversation topics.”

“Right!”

“But…one on one in a new place…it’s harder, isn’t it?” I asked, smiling.

He nodded, snapping his fingers. “Exactly.”

I chuckled. “I didn’t know you felt that way too.”

“Ah, well…,” he started, laughing a little. “Contrary to how I seem, I’d consider myself quite the introvert.”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” he said, then sighed, resting his cheek in one hand and popping a piece of pork in his mouth with the other. “Probably one of the reasons I wanted to reach out to you in the first place.”

I nodded, sipping my soju. “Hm…”

“Sorry, was that offensive?” he asked. “I’m not trying to imply that you, like…need someone to reach out to you.”

I smiled. Where I would have fumbled with my words and taken to going silent, it seemed Seokjin tended to talk more. Much like Jimin. “I get it,” I said. “I don’t really know how to interact with people,” I said, but as the words came out the felt like deja vu. “Or maybe…I can interact if there’s no pressure. If I don’t feel like I’m…,” I continued, but still the words perplexed me, “in the way or…being a burden.” When had I said these exact words?

Seokjin nodded once more and exhaled, like he was relieved. “Well thank God that’s outta the way,” he said, pouring another shot for both of us. He raised his glass for me to bump, and I did with furrowed brows.

That sentence…that interaction…it was so jarringly familiar. Like I remembered something but only in stranded pieces, like the answer was there in my brain, filed somewhere just barely out of reach.

Jin tipped back his shot, and I didn’t waste any time in doing the same. Frustrated, I took the shot down and poured another.

“Eunbyul, please, just…tell me your address!” whined Seokjin as I leaned heavily against him, both of us walking in an unsteady line down the sidewalk.

I shook my head, shutting my eyes and stumbling just slightly. “No! I don’t give my address to strangers. No, no.”

“We aren’t strangers!” he protested, groaning. He dragged me beside him like a limp doll.

I dug my heels down into the sidewalk and Seokjin skidded to a halt, whipping around to pout at me. “Okay, then what’s my address?” I asked, placing both hands on my hips and staring at him through half-open eyes.

He scoffed. “I don’t know it!”

“Then we’re strangers. Friends know,” I said with a nod, turning on my heel to walk staunchly back to the restaurant.

“No, no! Eunbyul, the shop is closing, we gotta go!” he said, grabbing me by the crook of the elbow.

I shouted and tried to thrash out of his grip. “Hey!” I shouted, turning to glare up at him. “You can’t just grab women! Or men! Or non-binary people! You-you can’t just grab people!” I said, shaking my head.

He sighed, gripping his nose bridge. “Jesus Christ,” he mumbled.

I sighed and swayed a little. “Take me home, Jin,” I commanded, pointing my finger at him.

He rolled his eyes. “That’s what I’m trying to do!”

“Huh! Did you just roll your eyes at me?” I asked, stumbling closer with my finger pointed squarely at him. “Are you disrespecting me?”

He laughed, leaning away from me as I stood an inch away from him. “No, Eunbyul. I’m trying to get you home.”

I hummed. “Well I don’t give my address to strangers,” I said, smirking as I crossed my arms.

He groaned. “This is going nowhere,” he said, sighing as he turned his back to me. He bent a little at the knees and patted his lower back with one hand.

“What kind of pose is that?” I asked, laughing.

“Not a pose,” he said, peeking at me over his shoulder. “Hop on.”

I raised my brows. “On your back?”

“Yeah. You’re slowing us down anyway,” he said. “And since you won’t give me your address, I’ll just take you to my place until you sober up. It’s a block away.”

I hummed and sauntered toward him, draping my arms over his shoulders and holding tight. He grabbed both of my thighs and stood up straight. “I haven’t had a piggy-back ride in years,” I giggled into his ear.

He nodded with a grunt, adjusting me on his back. “Mhm.”

“Hey, is your heart racing?” I asked, patting his chest with my palm. “Having someone so close?”

His laugh rang out into the near-empty street. “What am I, a middle schooler?” he asked.

I chuckled. “No,” I said. “Big middle schooler.”

“I’m too smart to be a middle schooler anyway,” he said with a sigh, our pace slow as we walked down the night-drenched sidewalk. Streetlamp's punctured the darkness only every now and again. I was briefly relieved that Seokjin was here.

“You didn’t answer though,” I said, letting my head loll forward so I was closer to his ear. “Is your heart racing? Like badump-badump,” I said, laughing as I blew a puff of air against his skin.

He gagged. “God, you’re giving me goosebumps!” he exclaimed. “And the answer is no, alright?”

“Hm…,” I said with a nod, shutting my eyes as I rested my head against Jin’s shoulder. “Me either. Weird, huh?”

“I must not be your type,” he said with a laugh.

I smiled. “I guess not,” I said, yawning as I nestled into his back. Somehow, it was warm and comfortable and the siren song of sleep was inescapable.

My head throbbed as I peeled my eyes open, finding myself lying on my side in the darkness. It took me several disorienting moments to realize where I was. The pitch blackness, the vague chill amongst the absolute absence of feeling…

“Eunbyul,” said a voice from beside me.

I turned and found Namjoon, sitting by my thigh with squinted, tired eyes and a soft dimpled smile. I sighed, relieved to remember it all again. “It’s Namjoon!” I said, pushing myself up to sitting and collapsing against his chest. As my chest collided with his left pectoral a slew of giggles escaped me. “Oh no,” I said, laughing against him.

He placed gentle hands on my shoulders and guided me back, brows furrowed as he scrutinized me in the dark. “You…are you drunk right now?” he asked.

I sniffled a little and reached grasping fingers out toward his torso, eager to hug him close again. “Mm, a little,” I said, then laughed again. “A lot.”

He sighed, gripping his nose bridge, and shut his eyes for a moment. In an instant, we arrived in a nice apartment, furnished monochromatically with greys and blacks and whites and blues. Directly behind me was a nice white sofa and a big television screen. Wide-eyed, I looked around me with a grin. The kitchen adjoined the living room, and the floor was chilly. Polished tile. I ran a finger along it and laughed.

“Wow,” I said as I glanced around.

Namjoon nodded, standing and walking quickly into the kitchen. He rifled around in the big fridge and produced an ice pack, falling once again to his knees beside me. “Not sure what good it’ll do since we’re in a dream, but it’s worth a shot,” he said, placing the pack along my hairline.

I hummed, nodding once with shut eyes as the pleasant cold spread across my skin. “Feels nice,” I mumbled. “Ahh, but where is this?” I asked, opening only one eye to peer at him from above the rims of my glasses.

He chuckled and helped me to my feet, guiding me to rest on the couch. He joined me with a thump and a sigh. “It’s my apartment. Well…the one I share with a senior from college.”

“Ah, so you live with a friend?” I said, smiling with a nod. “Good! Now I don’t have to worry.”

He laughed. “You were worried?”

I nodded, eyes shut, and leaned back against the couch. “Mhm,” I said, then jumped and snapped my fingers, eyes wide. Namjoon stared at me, clearly startled, and grabbed my shoulders to keep me from moving too much. I turned to him. “You came to the shop today.”

He exhaled slowly and nodded. “Ah, that?” he asked, releasing me. He turned a little bashful, rubbing his arm with a shy smile. “I’m commissioning Jimin.”

“He’s talented!” I exclaimed, clapping my hands. “Really good, really.”

Namjoon turned to me and chuckled. Carefully, he twisted around and grabbed the thick blanket draped over the back of the couch. He returned to me with a gentle, tired smile and placed the blanket over my legs and torso, grabbing the fallen ice pack and replacing it atop my head. I offered him a slow smile and, without thinking much, reached out and pinched his cheek.

He laughed, grabbing my hand so I’d stop squeezing his skin, and instead simply interlaced our fingers. I felt my face go hot and forced myself to look away, look back at the coffee table. “I saw you there,” I said, and the drunken haze relented for just a moment. “For a second, but I knew somehow.”

“You knew what?” he asked, leaning in to get a better look at me.

I leaned back, flushed. “I dunno. Just knew.”

He smiled and that did me in. The dimples, the rows of perfect teeth, the way his eyes got smaller like he really meant it. My heart kicked up, stomach fluttering. I blinked at him for a moment. “Hey, I wanna kiss you. Is that alright?” I asked before I could stop myself.

His smile vanished and it was his turn to go red. “Huh?” he asked, eyes round, innocent. “W-wait, you’re drunk, right?”

I nodded. “Yeah.”

“Then no,” he said, pulling back a little.

But I kept a firm hold on his hand. “But I want to.”

He laughed, eyeing me from a safer distance, still beautiful even in the dim apartment. “Tomorrow night then. If you’re sober.”

“I can be sober,” I said with a nod. I released his hand and crossed my arms, clearing my throat. I settled my gaze on him and locked my jaw, nodding again. “Sober.”

He laughed once more and shook his head, and it was clear he was now on guard. “No,” he said.

I sighed, collapsing back against the couch. “You’re right. I’m drunk,” I said with a laugh. “It’s your fault anyway. Seeing you today made me feel weird.”

He chuckled. “Really?”

“Mhm.”

“Well…I saw you too. I was watching you at the wheel,” he said with a wistful sigh, eyes going faraway. “You looked…really cool.”

I laughed. “Me? Cool?”

“Really cool,” he said. “You looked…peaceful, I guess. Your hands anyway. That’s all I could see.”

I hummed. “I messed it up.”

He glanced out the window behind my head, at the full moon, and smiled just barely. “Did you?” he asked. “Isn’t that normal though?”

I stiffened. “Huh?”

“Isn’t it normal to mess up sometimes? So that you can get better?” he asked.

I blinked, eyes wide, and stared right at him. At the peaceful smile on his lips, the warmth in his gaze, the way his skin went gold in the low light. “You sure I can’t kiss you?” I asked, persistent as my heart kicked up again.

He laughed. “No,” he said, eyeing me. “What’s gotten into you? Is this how you are when you drink?”

I pouted, crossing my arms and leaning away from him. “No,” I said. “As a matter of fact, it’s not. I didn’t even feel anything tonight for Jin and he carried me back to his place.”

At this, Namjoon’s smile vanished and he squared his gaze on me without a hint of playfulness. Deathly serious, his brow furrowed. “He took you back to his place?”

I covered my mouth. “No! Not like that,” I said. “I didn’t wanna give him my address so…”

He exhaled loudly, glancing back at the floor. “Byul…”

“I promise! I don’t have feelings for him anymore,” I said, shaking my head and lifting my arms to form an X in front of my chest. “Not at all.”

“That’s not what I’m worried about,” he said, rubbing his temples. “Are you sure it’s safe?”

I nodded. “He’s nice.”

Namjoon eyed me, skeptical. A few tense moments passed that way, me desperately and drunkenly attempting to sate his concerns and him watching me carefully. He raised one brow. “Are you sure you don’t like him?”

I shook my head and patted my hands against the couch. “No!” I whined. “I’m certain. Even today, without my memories, I didn’t feel anything and that’s what made me feel weird, you know?” I asked, sighing. “I think from the start it was just because of one thing.”

“Huh?”

“Why I liked him in the first place,” I said, running a hand through my hair and knocking the ice pack onto the floor. I stared down at it with a sigh, my attention stolen. “He reminded me of a boy I knew when I was a kid. Confident and handsome and smart. Someone I could depend on,” I said, then laughed. “But he’s not like that at all!”

“You realized that?” asked Namjoon.

I nodded, then paused to cough a little. “Ah, you know, when I was a kid I got lost? For a few days, you know? I got lost in the woods and couldn’t find my way out,” I said, laughing. But an old ache returned, an old anxiety. And laughing didn’t fix it. I paused. “Mm…it was scary.”

“You never told me that,” he said softly, watching me from across the couch.

I laughed again and patted his arm. “Don’t look guilty! It’s not your fault,” I said with a sigh. “Ah, anyway, I don’t have feelings for Seokjin. I promise,” I said, holding out my hand for him to shake.

Namjoon raised his brows and, tentatively, took my hand in his, shaking twice. “I mean…I don’t really have any right to tell you who and who not to like…”

“You still don’t believe me!” I exclaimed, tearing my hand away. I stood to my feet and crossed my arms, staring down at him with a glare. “How can I prove it?”

He chuckled and shook his head, reaching out to gently touch my waist with one hand. “You don’t have to, alright? It’s fine. We…we’re in a very unique situation.”

“Hah! It still sounds like you don’t believe me,” I protested, frustrated. I bent at the waist so our eyes were level and I noticed his go wide. “Tell me the truth. Are you regretting confessing to me last night?” I asked.

He stiffened. “Huh? What-no! Not at all,” he said, laughing. “What would give you that idea?” he asked, his thumb rubbing into my side, comforting.

I inhaled sharply. “Well you don’t believe me about Jin, and you won’t let me kiss you. I’m wondering if you regret it,” I said, throat constricting. “I wonder if you’d be relieved if I liked Jin.”

He raised his brows. “What? I’m only saying no because you’re drunk,” he said with another laugh.

“Don’t laugh!” I said, eyes teary. “I think I really like you, okay?”

He barely contained another laugh behind one hand and shook his head. “Me too.”

“Even now?”

“Somehow, yeah,” he said.

I knitted my brow, still bent uncomfortably to look at him close. And, too soon, I felt that distinctive tug in my chest. Namjoon’s eyes flashed with panic, and I knew he’d felt it too. We locked gazes and I felt my heart begin to race.

“A-a peck then,” I said, raising my brows.

He laughed, tossing his head back, his hand still warm against my waist. “You’re still on that?”

I nodded. “Since we’re waking up soon anyway…,” I said, pouting. “What’s the harm?”

He smiled. “You’re a good salesman,” he remarked, laughing again.

“Is that consent?” I asked.

Again, through laughter, he responded. “Yes.”

“Okay,” I said with a nod, placing both of my cold hands against his warm cheeks. I bent down just a little closer and, wordlessly, pressed a chaste kiss against his lips.

“Ugh,” I groaned as I rolled over in the sheets.

I yanked my glasses off my face and tossed them aside, but as soon as I did I regretted it as I heard them clatter against the ground. Strange. Normally, I’d have enough space in my bed to toss my glasses onto the other pillow. Slowly, I peeled my eyes open and saw to my surprise that not only was the bed smaller — a full instead of a queen —, but the sheets were unfamiliar and the scent wasn’t mine.

I jerked upright, but as I did my head began spinning and I felt I might vomit. I held a hand firmly against my mouth and squeezed my eyes shut, holding it in. I tried to manage my breathing, but I felt remarkably ill.

Of course, it was a hangover.

I opened my eyes once more and glanced around, running a hand through my knotted, slept-on hair. The clock on the wall read 4:03. Jin’s apartment was small, a studio, with sparse furniture and few decorations. It seemed the most expensive thing in the whole apartment was a pretty, large media setup complete with fluorescent keyboard and gaming computer. I’d only seen those sorts of things in videos online. Wincing, I looked around once more, but like the first time I found no Seokjin in the dark studio apartment.

Carefully, I swung my legs out over the bed and, trying not to disrupt my equilibrium too much, padded across the faux wood floor to the kitchen in search of water. As I passed the old sofa, I noticed a few pillows and a blanket strewn haphazardly across it. He’d given me the bed to sleep on the couch? Softly, I smiled and folded the blanket, laying it across the back of the couch. I reorganized the pillows and made a halfhearted effort to remake the bed.

The security system sang a little tune and Seokjin entered, popping off both shoes and flicking on the light before even noticing I was up and walking. But when we met eyes, we both shouted in surprise.

“Ah!” he screamed, dropping the grocery bags he’d been carrying. Startled by the sound of groceries hitting the floor, he jumped and I fell to my knees to help recollect the fallen goods. “Shoot, when did you wake up?”

I shook my head, but even that made me want to barf. “Um, just a few minutes ago.”

He sighed as we finished repacking the food and led the way into his kitchen where he set the bags on the counter. “Sorry I was out. I realized I didn’t have any real food, so I…,” he said, then waved his hand. “Let me go open the window or something. Smells like alcohol in here.”

“What are you doing up so early?” I asked, watching him

He maneuvered around me, hopping over a few miscellaneous clothes and household items strewn on the floor to the window. “Ah, couldn’t sleep. I was…kinda worried,” he said with a laugh. Like it was no big deal.

He pulled the curtains up and swung it open, letting fresh summer morning air leak inside. The sky was lavender with the breaking day, and the cityscape looked all too big from behind Seokjin’s small window.

I began unpacking the groceries quietly, sighing as I placed a bell pepper on the countertop. “I’m…I’m really sorry about last night, Seokjin.”

“I told you to call me Jin, right?” He searched my face with a smile and, upon finding none, simply sighed. He joined me and rested a hip against the counter, crossing his arms. “Hey, don’t be sorry. It was…mostly fun,” he joked, shoving my shoulder.

I laughed and nodded, rubbing my aching head. “I guess so.”

“If you feel bad, help me make breakfast,” he said with a grin. And, of course, I couldn’t say no.

But as I began removing packages of food from the plastic bags, I began to feel that tingly sensation in my lips again, and my focus wouldn’t waver as I touched my lip with a fingertip.

Seokjin worked the stove as I chopped vegetables. He’d insisted upon fried rice for breakfast. Something about oil and carbs being good for hangovers. I wouldn’t have known any better anyway. So instead of questioning him, I simply chopped.

“Sorry for…you know, the state of this place,” said Seokjin with a sigh as he swirled oil and rice around in the pan.

I raised my brows. “Hm?”

“I know it’s small,” he said, chuckling. “And messy. And outdated. And kinda empty.”

I shook my head. “Not at all,” I said, meeting his eyes gently with a smile. “I think it’s fine.”

He smiled and laughed lightly. “Thanks for saying that, but I know it’s not much,” he said, once more sighing. “I moved out of the house when I was seventeen and this was the only place that would take a kid that young with no job, so I just haven’t left.”

“You left home?” I asked, eyeing him.

He nodded, adding in the kimchi and peppers. “Yeah,” he said, smiling at the food. “I guess that’s surprising, huh?”

“Yeah…”

“Well, my home life wasn’t so healthy. I had to leave otherwise I’d have ended up in a bad situation,” he said, waving one hand and wielding a spatula with the other. “Anyway, I’m making okay money now, but moving sounds like a chore. Besides, the more I save the more fun things I can buy.”

I smiled. “Like your gaming setup?”

He grinned brightly at me with a nod. “Yeah, exactly,” he said, chuckling. “I don’t wanna be house poor or car poor or anything like that. I’d rather live someplace shitty but do what I like.”

“Hm…,” I said. “I’ve never really thought of it that way.”

“Do you think less of me?” he asked, but the conscious look my way made it clear he was only joking halfway.

I shook my head. “Not at all,” I said, sliding the broccoli toward him. “I’ve just been learning a lot lately. About…the different ways people live their lives. I guess…it kinda makes me feel better knowing there’s no one way to live. That there are billions,” I said, then shrugged. “I guess it’s comforting to think there’s no metric, you know? No way to conclusively measure a person.”

He was quiet for a long moment before laughing a booming laugh. I jumped, turning to face him with wide eyes. “That’s the most you’ve ever spoken to me,” he said, still laughing.

I blushed. “Sorry,” I mumbled.

He laughed again and smacked my arm. “I’m not saying it’s bad,” he said, still smiling. “It’s…cool, I guess. To hear that that’s what you think. I didn’t know you thought about those things.”

“Doesn’t everybody think of those things?” I asked.

He eyed me. “Hey, how old are you?”

I stiffened. “Twenty-two,” I said.

He smirked, crossing his arms. “I’m older than you, kiddo. You’d better start speaking to me more respectfully.”

I raised my brows. “How old are you then?”

“Older than you.”

I gaped. “I told you my age!”

“And since I’m older I reserve the right to not respond,” he said, laughing once I scoffed in disbelief.

“That’s not fair at all!” I shouted, wagging a finger at him. “We live in a democratic society where a person’s value isn’t related directly to their age!”

He laughed again. “This is Korea!”

“So?!”

He continued laughing for a long moment before settling down with a simple smile. “That’s the first time I’ve heard you yell,” he said.

I blinked at him, swallowing hard. “Well…you provoked me,” I said, sheepish as I crossed my arms.

He chuckled. “Say…I don’t have, you know, all that many…friends,” he said.

I raised my brows. “Huh?” Why was he telling me this?

He hummed a little, tending to the food with his back to me. But I suspected he was a bit nervous. “I feel like we get along well, that’s all,” he said with a shrug. “So…if you wanna hang out some more sometime, just…call or something, okay?”

I stiffened. Isn’t this the part where I get nervous? Where my heart skips? Where my stomach flips? Why, then, was I simply standing dumb on the linoleum floor, watching Seokjin’s broad back as he worked over the food, feeling nothing but platonic fondness?

I swallowed hard, touched my lip, and nodded once. “I…I’ll do that then.”

“You what?!”

I winced, still sensitive as my hangover began to dissipate, and eyed Gaeul from across the living room where she slaved over the peak of a mountain on her mural. She stared at me over her shoulder with her mouth agape, eyes like saucers.

“I slept over,” I said, shrugging as I peeled garlic cloves, setting them aside in a bowl as Gaeul had instructed.

“So that’s why you never came home for movie night?” she asked through disbelieving laughter.

I sighed. “It wasn’t like that,” I groaned, rubbing my head against the bright work lights Gaeul had set up in front of her mural.

She scoffed. “How do you know?” she asked, smirking as she returned to adding scraped of white down the side of the mountain.

“Because…I didn’t really feel anything special,” I said, nodding.

She stopped for a second before regaining her blasé rhythm and hummed. “Weird.”

“Yeah…,” I said, chewing on my bottom lip. It felt weird today too, just like before. Like I’d been stung by something, or like static. “Anyway, I think we’re friends.”

She chuckled. “Only you would go to a man’s house for the night and leave as friends,” she said, shaking her head.

“Well…,” I mumbled, still peeling the soaked garlic.

“I guess you lost feelings then,” she said absently. “Wonder why.”

I shook my head. “Dunno.”

She smirked, eyeing me. “Maybe you like someone new now,” she remarked before returning to her art.

And something about the phrase hit me weird, like a shove to the chest. I sat there, puzzled, for a long moment. Garlic clove in one hand and knife in the other, sitting criss-crossed in front of the coffee table, slack-jawed.

Even though that was impossible, even though I definitely didn’t have those feelings for anyone else…

Still I couldn’t help but sit there and ponder it.

Because, as I thought about it more, the sensation on my lips…felt vaguely like being kissed…

#namjoon fanfic #namjoon fanfiction #namjoon fluff #namjoon angst #namjoon au #kim namjoon #bts #bts imagines #bts reactions #bts fanfic #bts fanfiction #bts au #bts au fanfic

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truthofficial · 5 years

Text

Teaser #6 || (SPOILERS) Who Is Green?

WARNING: MAJOR SPOILERS REGARDING THE TRUE IDENTITY OF GREEN. DO NOT READ IF YOU DON’T WANT TO BE SPOILED.

The house was as most abandoned houses were: overgrown, falling apart. Unspectacular. But it offered shelter somewhere few would look, and the bushes and trees growing around it would offer enough cover to talk without being noticed. There was a gap in the fence around the back of the building, just large enough for someone to slip through, and Elyan made a beeline for it; tailed closely by Lydia.

"Remind me again why we're doing this behind their back?"

"She clearly doesn't want them to know she's alive, yet," he explained in hushed tones as they squeezed through the gap and into the spacious backyard of the house. "It's risky enough that she's agreed to talk to us directly; keeping up this small sign of trust will hopefully be enough to gain hers."

Angela Mason. Biological sister of Evie Mason; both missing from their home in Inverness as children. Tori had clammed up the moment he asked how Angela died, but however it happened it appeared not to have stuck. As far as he could tell she was the only one to have "died" before Erik and Tori's escape, and judging from their reactions to even the mention or thought of her, it wasn't a good "death". He didn't blame her for wanting to keep this quiet for now. The house looked like it was beautiful once, a long time ago. Amongst the overgrowth were flowers and plants that had clearly been planted there, and they almost walked directly into a garden shed that was completely overrun by bushes and vines. The house itself was once painted white, with bright, open windows now covered with dust and boards and creeping plants. For a moment Elyan wasn't sure how they were going to get in, but as he examined the boards covering the door, they disappeared -- fading away to reveal the door itself. It was old and faded and pieces of wood still hung from it, like the screws had been pulled out ages ago, but the door was operable and after a confused glance back at Lydia (who was staring and nodding before he even looked, just knowing he'd need confirmation it was real), he pushed it open and crept inside.

The dust had been disturbed recently. There were footsteps and tracks in the dirt and grime on the floor of the once-lavish kitchen, and they followed them quietly, rounding a corner to the living room. The place was mostly unfurnished, save for a couple of old, dusty sofas and a broken down coffee table. On one of those sofas perched not one, but two people. One was an unfamiliar blonde woman, soft-faced and grey-eyed, sat patiently with her hands in her lap. The other was more recognisable, and while Elyan's heart kicked into overdrive, Lydia's blood boiled. Paul Jameson.

"Let us explain," he said quickly, before either of them could think to react to his presence here. Indicating the sofa across from them, he fixed them with pleading eyes. "Please." Lydia looked just about ready to pounce, but Elyan reached an arm out gently to stop her; as reassuring as it was restraining as he stepped cautiously into the room, eyeing Paul's companion with a frown. She hadn't made to look at them despite the conversation; merely tilting her head up slightly, looking almost like a cat "feeling" her surroundings. Looking closer, he noticed her fingertips twitching just slightly like operating invisible keyboards.

"You're Angela, I'm guessing?"

"I am," she said, barely a second after he stopped speaking, "You're Elyan. And Lydia. Thank you for coming alone." Her voice was struggled and impeded, like it took effort to form every syllable but she wasn't entirely sure how to in the first place.

"What is that?" Lydia, apparently, couldn't contain her curiosity; gesturing to Angela's hands with a frown, "What're you doing with your hands?"

Angela smiled almost imperceptibly. "I'm feeling the air for you," she said, "I-.. think I should start with an explanation of myself, no?"

"Aye, I'll say," Elyan hummed, "Erik and Tori seem to be under the impression you're dead."

"I was," she sighed, "for about ten minutes. Long enough for the Controller to drag me away and have me revived."

"Why? What killed you in the first place?"

"I was-.. the least receptive to his experiments. My powers grew at a similar rate to most of my siblings, but I paid the highest price for them. I started losing things. My sight. My hearing. Then, slowly, my sense of feeling. I only feel anything worth note in my fingers and feet now. Everything else takes a lot of focus. The Controller knew I wouldn't be any use to him in the field; I'd never be worth anything in the squad the way I was. So he told the others to kill me." She spoke the words with the kind of calm that came with having years to come to terms with what happened to her. The calm of understanding and acceptance. "They did as they were told. Since then he's had me working for him in secret, dealing with the menial tasks and taking care of any new recruits. Mostly he just uses me as his guinea pig." Again, despite the tiny hint of spite that was there this time, her words came calm and accepting, "Something already broken, that he can toy with without breaking something useful."

"He doesn't know the extent of her powers." Paul added, "I've been training her in secret. The electrokinesis is a secret only we and the people she contacts can know about, or else this whole game is up."

"How are you talking to us, then? If you can't see or hear?"

"I can read your minds," she said simply, "Surface thoughts. The words you're about to say come louder, and I give a second for you to process and speak them before I respond." Lydia and Elyan both stiffened at the idea. Even "surface-thoughts" could reveal things neither of them would want said. It was enough that she could access their computers; their private files. To access their minds too-.. "If that makes you too uncomfortable, that's okay. I can pull back, and Paul's mind will tell me what you say as he processes it."

"Yeah. Do that," Lydia agreed quickly, perhaps a little sharper than she intended.

"The trick with the door outside," Elyan wondered, content to continue with his line of questioning now that had been settled, "was that you?"

"The disappearing boards. Yes. It was an illusion, to "hide" the door from anyone I didn't want finding us. I lifted it when I felt you approach it."

"How are you getting hold of so much information to give us?"

"As Paul said, the Controller doesn't know what I can do. When he's busy, I search his systems. I don't go as deeply as I could in case he has defences, but I get enough that those searching for us will be able to learn more than otherwise."

"She only gets involved when people are actively searching," Paul interjected again. "I tend to step in to-.. discourage."

"Aye, got that much," Lydia hissed, glaring at him, "If you're so fucking interested in helping us then why did you try to kill us first?"

"You think The Controller is going to trust me after what I did for Erik and Tori? I helped them escape. I managed to worm my way out of being killed but he's had a close eye on me ever since. Offering to lead a clean-up crew to deal with you is all I could have done."

"'Clean-up crew'. Nice." Lydia scoffed, shaking her head, "And if we weren't saved? If your little operation actually worked?"

"I knew Erik and Tori were nearby."

"And I kept the Controller from seeing them in the area," Angela added.

"I wouldn't have tried it otherwise."

Lydia looked as though she were about to argue further, but Elyan lifted a hand to quiet her again. "This whole thing started from a case I got recently. A missing girl."

"Jani Grant." Angela gave a shaky, unsteady nod. "You want to know if we know anything about her disappearence."

"The poor girl was starting to show the signs of psychic sensitivity that the Controller looks for," Paul sighed, "She's one of his throwaways to poke and prod at until there's nothing of her left. She's still alive and I'm trying to keep it that way, but-.. unless a miracle happens I doubt we'll get her back to her family. I'm sorry."

He wasn't surprised. Not in the slightest. But still, he couldn't help the piercing jolt of disappointment that squeezed at his chest, "And what am I supposed to tell her mother?"

"The same thing you always tell them."

I'm sorry. Nothing has come up yet and I've lost her trail. I'm afraid there's nothing I can do right now; but don't lost hope. I've never found a case that's truly lost, as long as there's still someone to believe in it. It was a speech he’d made so many times now he was beginning to wonder if he ever completed a job any more. Chewing at his lip, he nodded, falling silent.

“You should take this,” Angela said eventually, sighing and carefully reaching to pat Paul’s arm. He nodded, fishing in his jacket for a small but chock-full folder and handing it to the siblings. A cursory flick-through revealed just what a risk it was for her to be here: files. Similar in nature to the ones she'd been sending them, but so many more and all at once. There were details of the Controller's work, and of the people he'd kidnapped over the years that filled in the blanks in the files he already had. "It's not much, but it's everything I could get for you. Maybe it won't help, but-.. at least you won't be so in the dark."

"All the squad members' files are in here?" Elyan wondered, glancing back up at the two with a grateful, impressed smile.

"Including some of the experiments performed on us, and the more recent squad."

"More recent," Lydia repeated, "so it's true. You're being replaced."

Paul nodded grimly, "He believe's he's done what he can with the first-.. 'batch'. There were so many complications-.. so he's making a second."

"He made a second," Angela clarified, "grown from us. Spread out across the world. He thinks the pain we experienced growing up is what made us strong. He wants to see what would happen if we started with our powers and grew into that pain. It's all in there."

"We're hoping you'll find what's left of them before he does."

"Wait a minute," Lydia interrupted, chewing at her thumbnail as her mind raced, "If you're alive, that means it's only Josh who died, right?"

Angela nodded slightly once more, gaze flickering down at the memory.

"What if he didn't?"

Elyan heaved a sigh at that, gaze softening again, "Lydia--"

"No. None of the 'Lydia I know that'd be nice but it's not likely' detective-turned-your-sister's-therapist crap. If she's alive, and she died years ago, maybe Josh is alive too."

"I only survived because the Controller wanted me," Angela breathed, her voice shaking just a little more than usual, "If he wanted Josh too, I'd know about it at least. Paul would know."

"Then what if he faked it?" All three faces were sympathetic and cautious, and it made her sick. Elyan was always talking about gut feelings, right? All she knew was that she had to find her brother. Or at least see a body to know what everyone was saying wasn't bullshit. That she still felt that way even now-.. that had to count for something. "It's classic, aye? Inescapable shit? Fake your death, hope to hell they leave your body there so you can sneak off when they're gone."

They still held the same look, but she could see just under the surface, in the glint of their eyes, that they all wanted to believe her. That was enough for Lydia. It always had been. “Whatever,” she huffed, flopping back against the dusty sofa and watching them all with a sharp glare, “so you want us to find these new kids now? What about the first lot?”

“Both would be ideal,” Angela sighed, “but I’m beginning to think collecting the children is a higher priority right now.”

“Of course.” Lydia threw her hands up in defeat, scoffing derisively, “Every time we fucking get anywhere, the goalpost moves. You know what? I’m starting to think miss mysterious know-it-all voice on the computer doesn’t actually know shit all about what we should do.”

“I don’t,” she said simply, though there was an edge of annoyance there this time. Her hands stilled for the first time, bunching tightly in the fabric of her too-small dress. “I’m just doing what I can to help my family, same as you.”

The words were biting and pointed, stilling Lydia’s temper in its tracks and silencing her then and there.

“We’re all doing our best,” Paul tried, his voice finally sounding as tired as his sunken eyes again, “and I know that’s not good enough but our best is all we have right now. I’m sorry.”

“We should go.” Though reluctant, Angela’s voice was urgent; her hands restarting their restless, searching dance, “we’ve already been out too long. We’re putting them in danger.”

“Agreed,” Paul hummed, pushing to his feet and picking up the folded wheelchair he’d rested by his feet. “Can you manage until we’re outside?”

“Of course,” she insisted, allowing him to help her unsteadily to her feet as her twitching and searching increased tenfold; clearly aiding her as she navigated the narrow space between the sofa and table with a similar stiffness and imbalance to that of a child just learning to walk. Managing to seek out the Moores again, she held a hand out. “It was a pleasure to meet you both in person. I hope it won’t be the last time.”

“What do we tell Tori and Erik?” Lydia wondered, ignoring the hand while Elyan politely moved to shake it.

“Whatever you feel is best,” she said simply, turning to slowly make her way out of the room.

“Thank you for hearing us out,” Paul added with a sad smile, following close behind with one arm consistently poised to guide Angela.

#original novel #novel teaser #writers on tumblr #feedback wanted #teasers #teaser 6 #spoilers #truth spoilers

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austinpanda · 3 years

Text

Dad Letter 072521

25 July, 2021

Dear Dad--

Happy Sunday, and welcome to the last letter of July 2021! I’m beginning to compose this on Saturday morning, and the cats are tussling with great vigor. They always look like they’re going to kill each other, and we have to restrain ourselves from interfering by reminding ourselves that they wouldn’t be doing it if they weren’t having a helluva good time. They love pretend-murdering each other, then they lay down near each other, sometimes groom each other a bit, and fall asleep together. It breaks your heart, it’s so cute.

The past week hasn’t been anything special, although I can think of a few ways that it was good. I have completed my first week of full time work in about a decade. I am pleased to report that it wasn’t unpleasant and, a few quibbles about my boss aside, I find I can more easily coexist with this job than with any I’ve had before. I walk out thinking, “That was kinda cool. I got my audits done and didn’t fuck up anything I couldn’t fix myself...tomorrow I’m gonna do it faster,” instead of what I usually thought after completing a day in the Progressive call center, which was, “Well! That was an eight hour kick in the balls. Maybe I’ll get dismembered by an 18-wheeler on my way home, and I won’t have to come back and do this again tomorrow. Do I dare have hopes so outsized? Do I dare visualize living the dream?”

I also started to get used to having a hearing aid in my right ear, then promptly lost one of my hearing aids. (That was an impressive amount of expensive electronics to lose in such a short period of time, making this a personal best, I think! I couldn’t top that without throwing my cell phone in the toilet.) The whole idea when I bought them was to use them as hearing aids, only to discover they aren’t really meant to be used in pairs. Then I decided I could benefit from wearing one at a time, and always having a spare, that could be charging if the other one is out of battery power, e.g. Now I’m down to just one, and I’ve looked in most of the places I could look to find the missing one. (I haven’t looked in my car yet.) (Shit. Stand by please, going to go look in the car.) (It was not in the car.)

So I’m going to see if my life improves noticeably from having the one hearing aid in my right ear. And I’m guessing, six months from now, the cat will walk out from behind the sofa with the other hearing aid in her mouth, like what happened with my first wedding ring. Lost it, replaced it, then months later I was sitting in the living room when the kitty Horta walked out from behind the sofa with my original wedding ring in her mouth. Now we have the two replacements, which we wear, because they fit better, and the originals in our closet safe.

Yesterday was fun, we had plant scientist guy and his husband over to watch a movie and eat queso! It was a good movie--The Witch (2015)--and good queso, because I made it, and I’m a 10th degree black belt in queso. The secret is starting with Velveeta and Rotel and adding a bunch of magical, delicious shit to enhance it, like guacamole, bacon, or cilantro, assuming you don’t hate cilantro, or different combinations of cheese. To my batch of queso I added a bunch of shredded cheddar that contained mango and bits of habanero pepper. It may sound effete and pretentious, but the mango habanero Velveeta Rotel queso turned out tasty as fuck. If I’d added bacon, it would have been perfect.

So now I’m on day 2 of my 2-day weekend, which is the length of most people’s weekends. Zach and I see a lot less of each other, which sucks, and Zach hates it. I try to be conscious of the fact that we only saw so much of each other because we were quarantined together for a year and a half. Getting out and seeing others is a good thing. Working in the casino is a good thing. I may be serving two great evil forces (a place where people wager on games of chance, and its parent corporation) but as long as everyone agrees on what it is, is it really evil any more? I didn’t feel the need to grapple with casino work as a potential source of moral conflict, but since the issue is kind of sitting there, I figured I’d address it. Is it morally questionable to work at a casino?

I’m thinking, unless there’s something inherently unhealthy about gambling, no, it’s no moral failing to have a casino job. Plus, my job is making sure all the money is accounted for properly. And it’s hard to look at some septuagenarian in a Member’s Only jacket playing a slot machine and think, “So sad, the hellbound,” like he’s somehow attempting to rob someone out of their life savings. Did you know the casino is required to have all kinds of pamphlets and shit, available for free on the casino floor, about gambling addiction, and how to get help? If someone does develop an unhealthy addiction to gambling, I’m pleased to know the casino is both officially AND unofficially against that. It’s not at all unusual for me to have to work with a “Found Money” slip in the amount of a single penny, or to be missing the slip about the penny, or to have to look around (virtually) in various places to find where the penny went.

Oh, apropos of nothing, I learned a new industry term last week: biohazard chips. These are, basically, when a poker chip turns up with blood on it, or someone finds a dollar in a toilet and turns it in--these are the assets which are literally too icky to touch. I don’t know what we do with them, but I guess the folks who work in the cage do.

I have come to realize lately that I enjoy watching golf. I also enjoy video game versions of golf. I’ve spent a lot of my life having an uneasy relationship with golf, mostly because George Carlin excoriated it in a stand-up routine. But goddamn, golf courses are pretty. And goddamn, it’s fun watching a Master’s tournament, especially one where Tiger Woods was at the top of his game. And goddamn, Nintendo has turned Mario (the hero of Donkey Kong and other games) into a new game called Mario Golf, which is supposed to be extremely fun. And suddenly, I find myself something of a golf fan. I guess I’m going to have to start watching it on TV now, something I never thought I would do. “Who watches golf? George Carlin said it was like watching flies fuck.” Speaking of Tiger Woods, he seems to be recovering from his nasty car accident, is on crutches and doing lots and lots of rehab work in the hopes of being able to walk unaided again. Don’t know if he’ll be able to play golf professionally again. The articles I just read all indicate he wasn’t impaired in any way, he was just going 87 in a posh neighborhood and hit a curb, followed by a tree, followed by: ground, sky, ground, sky, ground, sky, ground, sky, and ground. I just checked; he is 7 years younger than me.

Over the next week at work, I’m going to face a new kind of challenge: I’m going to stop working on the difficult, new audit, and go back to the first few audits I learned, for a period lasting one month. I predict this will create two problems! First, I won’t immediately remember how to do those audits, since I’ve been focusing with such laser precision on the new, difficult one for the past two months. That problem should go away after a day or two. Second, once I remember how easy those audits are, I’m going to go to work, complete those audits before lunchtime, and then spend the rest of the day trying to figure out what to go do with myself. Then I’ll be forced to do everyone’s favorite thing: going up to their boss and saying, “I’m done with my tasks! Give me more work, please!”

There are worse problems to have. More next week, and all my love to you both! Thanks for those YouTube links--they’re awesome!

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pinebypine · 5 years

Text

Canis Minor

Triplet AU fic. After the events of The New Toy with some reference to it.

Ty lead the crowd into the next room, grabbed hold of the silk pull cord and turned to address the gaping yokels behind her. “Ladies and Gentleman, be astounded by the horrible teen wolf-boy!” With a tug, the old velvet curtains parted to reveal a large wood and iron cage, with a sulking figure inside. Dipper Pines had grown since the last time they’d tried this gag and the wolf-boy costume was probably too small now. Ty gave her brother a surreptitious wink and continued with her spiel. “Look at his terrifying visage! All that awkward body hair and gangly limbs!”

The crowd gabbled a little and several camera flashes filled the room with blinding light. In the cage, Dipper winced a little at the flashes. Ty inched closer to the cage and whispered low. “Everything going all right in there, Dip? This is the last batch for today.”

All she got in response was a low growling noise. “So you’ve finally decided to take the role seriously? That’s the spirit; have some fun with it.” She returned her attention to the punters and raised her voice again. “Captured years ago in the New Jersey Pine Barrens the wolf-boy’s only known weaknesses are silver and talking to la…”

She was cut off mid word by a pair of furry hands shooting from between the bars on either side of her. One wrapped around her midsection and the other clamped firmly over her mouth. She was drawn back against the bars of the cage. She felt pressure on her neck and a furry cloth ear was rubbing against her cheek.

Screams erupted from the crowd, who drew back away from the grrapple girl. “It’s gonna eat her!” A woman screamed.

“Ah! Somebody help!”

“Oh this is gonna be good.” A camera flash went off from someone in the front row of people.

Ty froze in shock. Dipper’s teeth were pressed gently against the skin of her neck, near the hairline. The hand over her mouth was firm but not holding her tight enough to hurt. The pinky finger of this other hand had just slipped under the hem of her shirt and she could feel as he started to slide the hand up toward more sensitive spots. Dipper’s breath, hot as a hair dryer, washed over her throat and collarbone.

The head of a broom smacked against the cage bars next to Ty’s head, startling Dipper into releasing his grip. Ty fell away from the cage and managed to keep her balance. Mabel shoved the broom into the cage’s interior and poked at Dipper to herd him back. “Nothing to worry about folks; he does this about once a week.” She glowered at Dipper dramatically. “And he’s lucky it was the broom this time.”

Ty breathed heavily, trying to get her heart-rate back down. She felt her sister’s hand on her shoulder. Mabel caught her eye, an unspoken question, and Ty nodded that she was fine. Then the oldest triplet addressed the stunned crowd of tourists. “Welp. Since it looks like you all are done with the tour, I bet you wanna see our amazing gift shop! We’ve got piles of awesome stuff for you to buy.”

She herded the people away, leaving the younger two alone. Ty walked up to the cage and flipped the latch to open it. “What earth did you think you were doing, Dipper?” She raised a hand to her cheek where she could feel the heat of a blush in full swell.

Dipper hung his head and stared at his hands. “I’m sorry, Ty. I don’t know what came over me. You were just so close and you-” he inhaled deeply through his nose”-you smell so good. I was just… Sorry.” He gave her a sheepish look and rubbed his bare shoulder with a furry hand. “I almost blew our cover there, huh?”

Ty sighed. “I think they bought it as an ‘attack’ but that was the penultimate entry on your ‘stupidest moves of all time’ list. Are you feeling okay? I remember you sneezing some this morning.”

He shook his head as if trying to clear it. “I’m just feeling a little cloudy; like its hard to focus.” He shivered a little in the cage. “Is it cold in here?”

The temperature outside was only two degrees off for a record high and the shack didn’t have air conditioning; Ty was in a tank top and shorts and was still perspiring. Even though Dipper’s costume was shirtless, she was having a hard time imagining him being actually cold in here. She reached up and pushed away his shaggy hair to lay her palm over his forehead.

“That’s a fever, Dip; you should probably go to bed.” Ty wrinkled her nose and pulled back. “And probably take a shower first. You reek.”

Dipper rolled his eyes and made a face. “It’s not me. I just stepped in a pile of some sort of ‘droppings’ in the woods this morning when I was looking around.”

“Well, a shower wouldn’t kill you anyway. Just go and have one and then lay down. Mabel or I will bring you something to eat later.”

He conceded and headed upstairs. Ty had to take a few minutes to calm down before getting back to work.

We have got to come up with someplace around to get some real privacy, Ty thought, or else I’m going to explode.

“Dipper, how my favorite brother?” Mabel burst through the door andstarted to launch herself onto the comforter lump that was her brother when a pair of arms caught her about the waist and pulled her back.

“Shh! He’s probably still sleeping.” Ty whispered, trying to restrain her sister.

“Poot,” Mabel pouted, “he’s been asleep since dinner. Was he really that sick?”

“He seemed out of it and was sporting a fever.” Ty released her and went over to cautiously check on her brother. “Must have been feeling really bad, he didn’t even take off the wolf costume.” She reached down and touched a furry pointed ear.

“He didn’t?” Mabel picked up a wadded pile of cloth from the floor, a headband with cloth ears set on top. “Then what’s this?”

Ty froze.

She gingerly pinched the furry thing between her fingers. It had the consistency of fur, skin, and cartilage. “Um, Mabel darling. Could you be a dear and come over here for second?” She released whatever it was she was holding and stepped back from the bed.

Mabel sauntered over and peered into the bed linen. Her eyes went wide. “Puppy?” In one smooth motion, she whipped the blanket back from the pointy ears. Surprised by the sudden temperature change, Dipper yelled himself awake and shot upright in bed.

“Ahh! What the heck are you doing?”

Ty’s hand went to her mouth in surprise and she took a step back. Mabel stood stock still for a moment, staring at her brother’s face. After a moment, he noticed the looks on their faces. “What did I drool on all over myself or something?” He started furiously wiping at his chin and cheeks with one hand.

Mabel seemed transfixed. “So scruffy.” She reached out slowly with both hands and touched the triangular ears sprouting from Dippers head They were very soft; instinct took over and she gently rubbed them.

Dipper’s eyelids fluttered closed and he leaned in toward her. “Oh damn that feels good.”

Ty darted to the pile of books at Dipper’s bedside and she started to rummage through them rapidly.

As Dipper’s face came closer to Mabel’s body, he inhaled sharply. In a flash, his arms wrapped around Mabel’s waist and he pulled her down onto the bed. His lips pressed against her’s and she felt him grind his body into her. From somewhere deep inside Dipper, a hungry sort of sound began to thrum.

Ty found the book she was looking for, a heavy leather tome with a six fingered hand embossed on the cover. She began flipping through the pages as Mabel started to rake her nails down her brother’s back.

Dipper broke the kiss and began to nibble down Mabel’s neck, making her whimper softly.

Without taking her eyes off the pages she was reading, Ty rose, book in hand, and deftly grabbed a furry ear between thumb and forefinger. She pinched hard and began to drag Dipper off the bed.

“Ow ow ow ow ow ow. What -ow- are you -ow- doing?”

Mabel groaned frustratedly. “Geez sis, why you got to Dipper-block me like that?”

In response, Ty began reading aloud. “Those suffering from the condition known as Gerulphus Transcursorius develop many symptoms such as, but not limited to, sensory hypersensitivity, impulse control impairment, and most notably, extensive canid physiological transformation.”

Dipper’s stopped struggling as she spoke. “Gerulphus Transwhaticus?” He reached up with a hand and touched the ear that Ty still held painfully. “What they heck is that!?” He was nearly screaming.

Ty released him and resumed reading as Dipper scrambled to his feet and over to the mirror mounted on the wall of the bedroom. “Also known as Transitory Lycanthropy or the wereflu, Gerulphus Transcursorius is a paranormal viral affliction that can inflect humans who come in close contact with a true lycanthrope, lycanthrope excreta, or other carriers of the disease. It causes behavioral changes and a physical transformation very much like that of a true lycanthrope.”

Dipper had reached the mirror and at this point yelped in horror and surprise at seeing his appearance. Along with the ears, he was also quite a bit more hirsute than normal. Shaggy brown hair reached down his cheeks and neck, far longer and fuller than he was ever able to grow on his own. “I’m turning into a werewolf?”

Mabel hopped up from the bed and hugged him from behind. “Yeah but so far a totes adorable one. You’re like a big fluffy puppy!”

His sister’s scent filled Dipper’s nose and he nearly staggered as it seemed to occupy his whole brain. Mabel’s fingers wriggled into the thick hair that was growing on his torso, sending shivers of electricity up and down his body. He banged a hand on the table in an effort to keep a hold on himself. “What does the journal say about a cure?”

Ty raised an eyebrow at him. “Would you like the good news or the bad news first?”

“Ugh, good news, I guess.”

“The good news is that it’s not permanent. The wereflu runs its course over three to four days and then everything goes back to normal.”

Dipper let out a sigh of relief. “And the bad news?”

“You’re in the beginning stages right now, so there’s lots more to come.”

Mabel started to giggle behind her brother’s back. She reached an inquisitive hand up and felt Dipper’s bottom. “Is that a tail in your PJs or are you just happy to see me?”

Dipper struggled out her arms and pulled down the back of his pajama pants. Sure enough, a short little tail was sprouting from his backside. He tried to peer closer at it and ended up walking in a couple of circles before Mabel grabbed him by the shoulders and pointed his butt at the mirror.

“Oh jeeze. How am I going to keep everybody from noticing this?”

“Least of your problems, Dipbutt.” Ty flipped the journal around to show them the relevant pages. There was a series of transitional drawings, showing a human figure morphing into a form indistinguishable from a wolf.

Mabel proffered an idea. “We put a collar on him and pretend we found this dog in the woods.”

“How does that explain where I’ve gone in the meantime?”

“Ok. Fair point.” Ty shrugged. “If you just stay in here for a couple days, and stay ‘sick,’ nobody would have to see you.”

“If one of us stayed locked up here for four days, even Grunkle Stan would get worried and come to check.” Dipper put a finger to his chin and thought for a second. “Do you think he and Soos could manage without us for a few days?”

“Probably, we’re really only here for the busy part of the season next month. Other than that I think it’s mostly so Stan doesn’t have actually pay anybody to work here.”

Dipper looked from one sister to the other. “How would you two feel about a little triplet camping trip?”

*****

“Man, so you think that was werewolf poo?” Mabel adjusted her pack as they walked.

Her brother was pretty much his normal shape still, a few paces ahead and sometimes teetering under the weight of his own pack. “It’s the only explanation I can come up with. And where else you expect a wolf man to go? That can’t just walk into a gas station and ask for the bathroom key.”

“I suppose,” Ty said from the rear of their little group, “that means we’ll need to be on the look out for one while we’re out here.”

“That’s why we headed out from the shack in the exact opposite direction from where I went yesterday.”

They spotted a promising looking level spot on the mountainside for their campsite, protected on the side toward the peak by an outcropping of rock and a stream not far away. After they’d reach it, they deposited their packs on the ground and started to extract their equipment from them.

“Hey Ty,” Mabel’s voice rose to her usual, telling-a-joke sing-song, “wanna know the easiest way to pitch a tent?”

Ty dutifully obliged. “Of course, I would.”

Mabel sidled up to her brother, tapped him on the shoulder, and when he turned toward her, threw her arms around him. She leaned heavily against his chest, and buried her face into the fur of his shoulder and neck. After lingering moment of time, she separated from him and gestured at his pelvis with one hand. “Ta-da!” She cried triumphantly.

Dipper spun away from them and frantically tried to rectify the situation in his pants. Mabel threw her head back laughter and Ty giggled a little.

“I don’t know why you’re so embarrassed, Dip.” Ty tried to sound comforting. “We’ve both seen you excited before. A lot actually. There’s nothing to hide.”

“I just feel kind of exposed out here.”

“Well that’s dumb.” Mabel made a dismissive gesture with one hand. “There isn’t anybody out here for miles!” As if to reinforce her assertion, the last word echoed off into the distance for a long time. “Heck if it’s as hot tomorrow as it was today, than we’re going skinny dipping in that stream over there.”

By the time the sun was setting and they were preparing an evening meal of hotdogs and s’mores. Dipper was shifting nervously whenever he sat in one place or pacing around the camp. The girls huddled together against the growing chill and watch him for a while before finally Mabel broke down and had to speak.

“Are you gonna do that all night or do you want to come over here and cuddle with two hot little pieces of booty?”

Ty bumped her sister’s shoulder with her own. “Speak for yourself, I’m a refined lady that just happens to have a hot little booty.”

Dipper scratched at the collar of his shirt with one hand and tried to adjust his pants to a more comfortable position with the other. The bulge of his tail was visible down one pant leg, straining against the fabric. “Sorry, I’m just a bit uncomfortable. Getting kind of itchy and hot.”

Mabel cupped her hands to her mouth and yelled. “Take it off!”

Dipper laughed nervously but actually tugged down on the hem of his t-shirt as if to make sure it was more on than ever. “Look, stuff is probably already pretty weird under here and I don’t think it’s gonna get less weird any time soon. I don’t think you guys really want to see me.”

“Are you kidding?” Mabel jumped to her feet. “I’ve never been more curious about anything in my life!”

Ty rose as well, took her sister’s hand and went over to take Dipper’s as well. “The three of us have a very skewed scale for weird, bro. You really don’t have anything to be scared of.”

Dipper breathed in a deep lungful of air and then took a sharp step away. “Ok, ok but keep back, will ya? When you two get close its really overpowering.” The girls shared a look at that comment. Dipper pulled off his t-shirt and kicked his tennis shoes off his feet. Finally he dropped trou and stretched naked in the fire light. Then as if it were the easiest thing in the world, he gave his entire body a huge shake, like a dog that’s just come out of a lake.

“Wow,” Mabel side. “That’s bizarro.”

Dipper’s ears went back and he looked away at her comment.

“Oh I mean good bizarro.” She back pedalled furiously. “Really cool looking and not like ‘yuck’ or anything.”

Ty was taking a careful visual survey of her brother. “You look a bit like a wookie at this stage, cept for the ears and tail, of course. It’s really cool that your fur’s the same color as your hair is.” She almost took a step toward him and then stopped herself, remembering his request.

Dipper smiled wanly and then actually chuckled. Then he stuck his fists in the air and imitated Chewbacca’s roaring growl noise. All three of them laughed heartily; the tension starting to ease out of the air a little. The girls went to sit back by the fire. Dipper paused for a moment, then crouched, almost sitting on his haunches.

They sat for a while, not saying much. The fire crackled and collapsed slightly. Ty leant over and placed a kiss on her sister’s temple, who in kind turned back toward her so they were face to face. They kissed deeply. When Ty came back up for air she glanced over as if just now remembering that Dipper was there too. Her eyes when a little wide.

“Ok, that’s new. Well, not new but you know-” she was very obviously trying not to stare at what was now sticking up between Dipper’s legs, “-not what I’m used to.”

Dipper looked down and then jumped in surprise.

Mabel turned to see and laughed. “Achievement unlocked: Red Rocket!”

Their brother started grasping around for something to put over his lap and found his discarded t-shirt. “Sorry about that.”

Ty sighed. “We’re not trying to embarrass you, Dippin-sauce. I’m sorry I even mentioned it; it was very-” she paused to think of the right word, “-high contrast.”

“It looked like a tube of lipstick.” Mabel tried to stifle her giggle.

“Not helping.” Ty said through clenched teeth.

“Can we just change the subject off my weird looking junk for now?” Dipper sat crosslegged by the fire, adjusting the t-shirt to minimize the visual effect his excitement.

“Well,” Ty asked, “then will you tell us what it is with you and smell since all this started.”

“Oh that.” Dipper scratched behind one ear with the fingers of his hand. “It’s like my nose is on overdrive right now. I mean, I normally really like the way you two smell, but since yesterday it’s really overpowering.”

“But it’s only when we’re close?” Mabel leaned forward and dropped another log on their fire.

“I can smell you even over here, with the smoke and fire between us. I can tell you both used the same bug spray but different sunscreen. Mabel, you still smell of that cherry lime lip gloss even though you haven’t put any on since we left the shack this morning. Ty, you’ve still got some gum in your shorts pocket. We’re actually burning two different kinds of wood in this fire and I can even still smell the juice that dripped onto the logs when we were cooking dinner. But if one of you gets close enough, god damn, it’s like my whole brain gets taken over by it and some part of me wakes up and it wants nothing more than to just be close to that wonderful smell.”

“Do we smell different?” Ty asked.

“Oh yea,” Dipper nodded, “that’s not new. Mabel is a little fruitier, more sweet, and it’s not your bath products cause you’re kind of more sugary when you’re just a little sweaty. Ty, you’re more herbal or rich; like a really well made leather purse filled with fresh cut flowers.”

Mabel looked like she considered this for a moment, then leaned over and sniffed the side of Ty’s face. “Yea ok. I could get behind a flowery purse.”

Ty gave Dipper a look tinged with longing. “Bro, would it be ok if I got close for a minute? I don’t want you to be uncomfortable but…”

“No it’s ok; thanks for the warning.”

The middle triplet rose and strode over to where he sat, then bent down over him. Dipper’s muscles tensed as her long hair started to brush against his shoulders. He felt her hand rest on the back of his head and her face come very close to his scalp. She inhaled deeply. Her voice was warm when she spoke. “Yep, still Dipper. Kinda musky and dark.”

Mabel’s face rose in excitement. “Oh! Are you talking when he’s in that sweat zone between hasn’t showered recently but isn’t full of boy stink yet?” Ty nodded to her. “That is the best.” She caught Dipper’s eyes. “Can I? Please.” He nodded and she sprinted over to him. She looked for a moment like she was going to tackle him but stopped short. Instead,s he knelt by him and brought her face near to his fur.

Dipper’s heart was pounding in his chest; his head was swimming. He hadn’t felt like this since before last Thanksgiving, before he’d known how open to his advances his sisters would be. He was terrified again, because he wanted so badly to touch them, be with them in all ways, but right now it seemed like the worst possible thing.

A slender hand slid along his cheek; another scratched under the fur on the back of his neck. He thought he ought to rise, to remove himself from a situation he thought was getting out of hand before he lost control and did something that might upset them.

“It’s late.” A voice said near by him and it was one of the few times in his life when he’d been unable to identify which sister was speaking. “I think it’s time we all got in that tent.”

“Maybe I shouldn’t.” He managed to stammer; his brain was so full of their smells, swirling together and driving him crazy.

A finger tapped forcefully against the side of Dipper’s head. He started to focus again a little and was able to make out his sister’s faces only a few inches from his. “Look, dweeb.” Mabel’s voice was full of affection. “We know what we’re asking.” She waggled her eyebrows at him. “Lets let the animal out a little.”

*****

Dipper was awake long before sunrise, but he lay amid the tangle of bodies and limbs for a very long time, just soaking in the pleasure. Camping was something they were going to need to add to their regular list of activities. It was probably one of the few ways in the world that three people their age could be really alone without having to worry too much. They might need to start bringing a couple of tents, though, just to keep up appearances.

Eventually the call of nature started to tug at Dipper and despite wanting very much to continue his tradition of being a late riser, he gave up and left the tent. He was in the open of the campsite before he realized that he was on all fours and that it felt more natural than walking on two normally did.

Well, he thought, this was to be expected. Just a couple of days and I can go back to being me.

He paused on the way to the stream near their camp to hike a leg against a tree, laughing internally at himself as he did so. Then he continued down to the water and looked himself over in the makeshift mirror of the surface. If he hadn’t known any better, Dipper would never have guessed he wasn’t looking at a real wolf, or at least a big wolf-like dog. He tamped down the worry inside himself and tried his hardest to enjoy it. He’d had such a good night that he had to let some of that spill over into today.

He raised his head and sniffed the air; it was so amazing what this new nose could do. He could count the species of trees and could catch hints of rabbits and other small creatures up wind of him. There was something else, too, a smell he wasn’t sure about. It was meaty and harsh, like a two day old steak that had been rubbed with a bar of tallow soap. It was almost familiar

Dipper’s ears twitched as he heard a sound. Some dark instinct inside him said that that was a large paw being placed very carefully among the underbrush. A low growl escaped Dipper’s throat before he even realized he was doing it. The long fur on his neck and shoulders was rising on its own and a loud, wordless voice was screaming in Dipper’s brain.

Protect. Protect. Protect.

This was his territory. His family was here. His mates were here. He’d peed on it. It was his. He spotted the source of the smell and sound a dozen yards or so away on the opposite banks of the stream. A tawny wolf that looked to be the size of a horse was carefully pacing through the trees, keeping one of its yellow eyes on Dipper at all times. Dipper finally put two and two together and he recognized the smell. Yesterday, when he’d been swearing and cleaning his shoe, this smell had been underneath all the stink, the lowest undercurrent of a river. This was the werewolf.

Wolfs don’t have a spoken language of any kind. Even howling is more about location than meaning. But two wolves face to face can make their intentions known to one another. Dipper and the werewolf stared each other in the eye for a long time, and the bigger one’s intentions were not subtle.

You have something I want, pup. I am just deciding the easiest way to take it.

Dipper was obviously new to all of this, but he was pretty sure he was making himself clear as well.

If you take so much as one step closer, I’ll make you wish you’d never been born.

The bigger wolf’s posture changed very subtly. He ceased its pacing and sat on his haunches. He didn’t growl or posture and he could not have been more easy to understand.

You can try all you want but I’ll be standing over your corpse in about thirty seconds no matter what you do, little boy.

Dipper’s brain worked furiously. He’d never been in a dogfight before. The way his body was moving so naturally told him that at least some instinctual part of him had pulled out this body’s manual and could be relied on. Still, the other wolf was twice his size and had certainly been at this longer than he. He needed an advantage, something that would level the playing field.

Dipper threw his head back and howled.

The tawny wolf actually looked surprised at this and his stunned expression lasted the full length of Dipper’s howl. The moment the descending note from Dipper ended, though, he sprang into action. The sudden movement triggered reflexes on both sides and in an instant two furry bodies hurtled through the space between them and collided in a crash.

They were a ball of flashing teeth and fur. Dipper was relying on his instincts but he wasn’t letting them rule him. He didn’t go for the throat; he didn’t take openings on his opponent’s vulnerables. Dipper dodged absolutely everything he could and what few bites he attempted were to harry and slow the bigger animal. To that effect, he did manage some success; he scored a hit on the rear leg just above the ankle that immediately began to flow with blood.

But his luck couldn’t hold out forever and in their maneuvering, they had neared the water’s edge. One of Dipper’s paws tried to take hold on a slick wet rock and flew up from under his weight. The dark little wolf took a sprawling tumble into the stream and his head bounced off tree root, stunning him. Dipper felt teeth at the back of his neck.

He thought dryly, this is going to be hard death to explain if anyone askes.

A sound like an overfilled car tire being stabbed rang through the forest, followed briefly by a whistling noise and unwinding cable. Then the pressure on Dipper’s neck released and he heard the werewolf cry out in pain. He managed to raise his head above the water and saw his sisters at the top of the stream bank, naked, sleep ruffled, and looking like valkyries.

Mabel was braced against a tree, straining to hold the force being put on her grappling hook as it hauled the werewolf toward them. As it neared, Ty stepped forward to meet it and held a bright orange pistol at arm’s length. She put the flare gun against the creature’s cheek and pulled the trigger.

Dipper hauled himself to his paws and trudged over to the limp form of the werewolf. It wasn’t dead, but the side of its head looked like a war zone. He stood over the bigger creature, growled low, and knew he was understood.

I told you, dumbass. Now crawl away and never come back.

*****

A few hours later Dipper lay with his head on Ty’s lap while she read by the midmorning sun. They’d managed to clean themselves up and, although Dipper had a lump growing on the side of his head, they’d reasoned that they’d come out of this about as well as could be expected.

The sun felt good and Dipper was seriously considering a doggy nap when he heard Mabel’s footsteps as she returned from a little exploration. “Man, is it colder today than it was yesterday?” She asked as she rummaged in her pack for a long sleeved shirt.

Dipper’s ears perked. They’d checked the weather forecast before leaving the shack and it was supposed to be even hotter today. Then Ty sneezed and Dipper wanted to smack his own forehead; which was currently more trouble than it was worth.

Other carriers of the disease, of course, Dipper thought. At least we told Grunkle Stan we’d be gone a week. That should be enough time for everything to be back to normal.

#pinecest #pinebypine #gftripletau

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neni-has-ascended · 7 years

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Out of Focus - Part 1(A Persona Series Fanfiction)

“Out of Focus” - Part 1: August 2014

Fandom: Persona

Genre: General

Characters: Mitsuru Kirijo, Wakaba Isshiki(mentioned), Fuuka Yamagishi(mentioned)

Summary: Mitsuru Kirijo was no stranger to compromises. She had lived her whole life with them, always shackled by rules. It was the reason she believed herself to be more than capable of dealing with them.

I jokingly announced this fanfic in a post before, under the mock-title “Frustration”. It is basically going to cover my theories on what the casts of previous Persona Games were doing before and during the events of P5. This is a non-betaread version of the first chapter, so excuse any typos. A better version will come eventually.

Severe Spoilers for Persona 5.

________

August 2014

Mitsuru Kirijo was no stranger to compromises. She had lived her whole life with them, always shackled by rules, boundaries not to be crossed and conditions to be upheld. It was the reason she believed herself to be more than capable of dealing with them.

It was in the summer of 2014 that she was reminded of how powerless she could be in the face of the compromises she had conceded to.

"Wakaba Isshiki is dead."

This message reached her on a hot August day, when the sweltering heat made Mitsuru's long, luxurious locks stick against her face and neck in a manner that made her feel suffocated and her clothes were already so drenched by sweat that the bit the shock of the news had added was not noticeable. The person who Mitsuru told this was a man she had never seen, wearing a black suit. An officer of National Security, or so he'd introduced himself. At the moment she couldn't care less.

Wakaba Isshiki was dead. The sentence hit hard, like a wooden bat to the chest. An anvil on the castle of glass she had been building these past three years.

"How?" Mitsuru asked. "What happened?"

"She was hit by a car in a crossroad close to her house," said the man in the suit. "We are fairly certain that it was a suicide."

"Suicide...?" Mitsuru could not believe the word that was crossing her lips.

When she closed her eyes, Mitsuru could still see Wakaba Isshiki's face. That headstrong, young woman full of energy and passion for her work, carrying a red-headed, little girl in her arms. Her smile was bright and full of an eagerness to find the things hidden from human eyes. To delve deeper and deeper into the unseen world only few were aware of and solve its mysteries. It had been Wakaba who came to Mitsuru, when she believed all her efforts to recover the lost knowledge in Ergo Research to be in vain. Wakaba who proved to be a genius in unraveling the complexities regarding Shadows and Personas. Wakaba who found a way to reproduce the technology to create a miniature Dark Hour that Mitsuru grandfather, Koetsu Kirijo, has left behind after his death.

Almost all of the greater successes the Shadow Operatives had had in retrieving the tools they require to undo the damage the Kirijo Group once did to this world could be attributed to this one, young woman. And now she was dead.

Dead by her own hand? No, Mitsuru would never believe that. She shook her head and rose her voice. "Why would Wakaba Isshiki have killed herself? It does not make any sense!"

"Kirijo-san, please, don't shoot the messenger," the man in the suit told her with a slick smile on his face. "I am only telling you what I know. As Wakaba Isshiki's official employer, we felt you were entitled to the knowledge of her passing. I would also like to express my deep condolence at this occasion. It must truly be a loss to your company, to lose such a bright young woman."

The so-called 'condolence' had no value to Mitsuru in the least. Her mind was racing, as she remembered all she could recall, her recent meetings with Wakaba, the projects they had been working on, all, just anything that might explain what could have happened. And there it was; One image of Wakaba Isshiki with downcast eyes, nervously brushing a lock of her black hair out of her face. 'Recently, I worry for my life,' Wakaba had uttered that moment. Mitsuru was sure of it. And now, she cursed herself under her breath. She should have realized, she told herself, should have seen it coming, done something to prevent it-! But what was done was done. There was nothing to take back. All that remained now, was to walk forward.

"I will have a unit look into the matter immediately," Mitsuru announced to the suit. "Wakaba Isshiki, killing herself? I don't believe that. There has to be more behind this. I swear, I will make sure, that-"

"I am afraid this matter is outside your jurisdiction, Kirijo-san," the man interrupted her, the corners of his mouth still firmly pulled upwards on his cheeks.

"What do you mean to say?" Mitsuru asked, but she was already grinding her teeth, dreading the words that would come next.

"It's as I told you, Kirijo-san. As Wakaba Isshiki's employer, you are entitled to be informed of her death. However, this is where your involvement with her ends. National Security has already evaluated the case and decided that Isshiki-san's passing was unrelated to her research under your organization. Thus, investigation into it is outside the responsibilities of the Security Department, Shadow Response Unit."

With her eyes wide open, Mitsuru took a firm step towards the suit, "We are barred from looking into her death!? You can't be serious!"

"You are not to meddle," the man repeated. "And this is final. Don't even think about sending one of your lower-ranking numbers into the area. Believe me, I know all about your history of unorthodox methods and outbursts. My superiors also informed me that you would probably react just like this, so let me tell you just one thing. Mitsuru Kirijo. Should the Shadow Operatives or any of their known associates be found to do any sort of unsanctioned investigations into the matter of Wakaba Isshiki's death, there will be harsh sanctions against you and your entire organization."

By now, all alarm clocks were ringing out loudly in Mitsuru's head. This wasn't just a normal curtsy call by any means. It was a threat. Someone upstairs did not want her people to have any access to information regarding Wakaba's death. Which could only mean...

"A Persona User killed her." Mitsuru took another step forward. "Am I right!?"

"Kirijo-san. Do I need to repeat myself?"

He didn't even flinch. Didn't even care about the fury on Mitsuru's face. He laughed.

"In all honesty, I could care less for what you choose to do with the information I've given you. Just go ahead. Try to uncover the 'truth' if you want it so badly. However... I can't tell what sort of reaction this might elicit from my... from your superiors." His smirk grew broader. "If I remember correctly... There were a couple of unsanctioned. highly dangerous anti-Shadow weapons in possession to which's existence National Security has turned a blind eye so far. A couple of humanoid-"

The color drained from Mitsuru's face. "You wouldn't dare laying a finger on them...!"

"Oh Kirijo-san. Who is talking about me?"

She knew what was happening here, fully understood it even. Whatever had happened to Wakaba was not just a simple murder. It was a conspiracy. A net of schemes and dangerous hierarchical structures that even the Shadow Operatives were already caught in. How long had this already been happening? Mitsuru didn't know. She hadn't even realized a thing until this day, when she found herself stuck in the net, like fly waiting to be sucked dry. It was humiliating, disgraceful even.

"What is going to happen to Wakaba's daughter?" Mitsuru asked. "Futaba Isshiki...! Is that girl going to be..."

"Again, this is none of your concern," the man said. "Let me assure you that Futaba Isshiki is being given appropriate care."

"At least let me speak to her! She deserves to know, what it was that her mother-"

"Kirijo-san! I must ask you to restrain yourself. It is no longer within your freedom to concern yourself with the matters of Wakaba Isshiki, and the same goes for her daughter. Do you understand this?"

Mitsuru never gave a reply to the last question that day. Every single word said in it left a bitter taste on her tongue, like an imprint that wouldn't fade for the years to come. The feeling of being spoken down to, like child, along with the paradoxical use of the word 'freedom' continued to ring in her mind, even at night. 'Freedom', he had said. What kind of freedom was it, to be restrained in doing what needs to be done to protect those dear to her? What kind of freedom was it, that shackled her with the constant threat of two innocent young women, her friends, who had already suffered enough in their lives just for being born the way the were, being brutally torn out of their lives and treated like objects? What kind of freedom was it, that told her when she was allowed to help those in need and when she wasn't?

As soon as she could, Mitsuru called on Fuuka Yamagishi, a renown IT engineer, and asked her to conduct a deep scan of the servers and data-banks used by the Shadow Operatives. Sure enough, she found a large batch of destroyed filed, scrambled with garbage data to the point of being absolutely unsalvageable, even with forensic methods. Wakaba Isshiki's research was gone. Destroyed. Stolen.

Mitsuru went to bed that night with the knowledge that to those above her, she was just an insect, a fly in one's ointment that could just be swatted or caught in a net once it grew too bothersome to bear. She had chosen to form the Shadow Operatives and operate under the blessings of the laws and rules she abode by as a citizen of this country, and now found herself caught in the web of those were same rules, with broken wings and unable to escape.

It was painful to admit to herself how powerless she felt.

#Neni Writes #Fanfiction #Persona 3 #Persona 4 #Persona 5

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quill-ink-parchment · 7 years

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Day 12: Cambridge

I set out on this quarter century trip of mine as a sort of Harry Potter pilgrimage - I mean, the whole reason why I even decided to come here was because of the HPatCC tickets that I'd bought way back in November last year. But today was a pilgrimage of a different sort: I went to Cambridge, the city in which the couple I revere most studied. Mr Lee Kuan Yew and Mdm Kwa Geok Choo studied law here in the years after World War II, and I wanted in particular to see the Bridge of Sighs, because they took a photo on Kitchen Bridge with the BoS behind it. (Incidentally, they filmed the May Ball dance scene in The Theory of Everything on Kitchen Bridge too.) I reached Cambridge at about 9.10am, and I had no clue what to do or where to go. So got myself a cup of hazelnut hot chocolat from the Hotel Chocolat, which I've been meaning to try. The chocolate whipped cream is amazing. After that I went to have a poke around, and saw Great St Mary's Church, and then went back to the visitor's info centre when it opened to get an idea of what to do. I bought a ticket for punting because I wasn't about to miss it again after stupidly not doing it at Oxford. Luckily, it was cheaper to buy tickets at the centre, at least for the brand Spudwhateveritis. Yeah, I do so make a good travel blogger. Not. Then I considered going on a walking tour.there were two kinds, and I went with the one that included admission into King's College, which was the one with the famous chapel that was completed in the time space of 100 years. My tour guide was an elderly lady named Jane who is extremely well travelled and well-read, and lovely to boot. She'd been to Singapore four times already and said that she loved it. She even KNEW the fall of Singapore, and that's saying loads because I've told my friends, hey, today is Total Defence Day, and they're like, what, really? Anyway, so she brought us round to the Cavendish Laboratories, where she told us a story about a girl named Anne Bell who married a scientist as she'd promised when she was a little girl, and then their son and grandson discovered some x-ray crystallisation technique that advanced the discovery of the structure of DNA. She also told us about Corpus Christie and how the term nosey parker originated from that college because of an actual dude with the surname Parker who has a ginormous conk and went around eavesdropping on and interrupting others' conversation. Hilarious, that. And the Corpus Christie building opposite the Cavendish labs actually don't have toilets so the students living there have to go out to take their baths. And that the building is held together by mostly dirt. Then afterwards she brought us to the Eagle, which is the pub that Watson and Crick frequented. There's a window at a room at the top that's always opened, because legend has it that there was a fire and a young girl died in that room, and if the window was ever closed again the building would catch fire. It's open whatever the weather. Jane said there was once a new manager who didn't know of this practice and had shut the window. That night, the residents woke up in thick smoke - an ice machine was close to exploding. Afterwards they examined the machine and found nothing wrong with it, but the window was open. So now they've nailed it so that it can't ever shut. Then we went into the pub, where we could see the smoke and lipstick marks of the royal air force soldiers (the lipstick was contributed by their girlfriends), who'd mark the ceiling with their squadron numbers after a night of revelry and fun. Because these were men who didn't know whether they'd still be alive the next week. We saw a plaque stating Watson and Crick's achievement. Then we headed to King's College, which was founded by King Henry the VI, who intended it for the study of just 12 young men from Eton. Apparently these young men just drank and did archery practice and rode their horses on nice days and didn't have to sit for exams of any sort, and at the end of their terms they'd get a Gentleman's Degree (the king believed gentlemen shouldn't have to work). We went to the back, where we admired the river Cam and looked at the flowers. Then went into the chapel, where she told us the history of the place, built over a period of 100 years under the rein of 5 kings. Lady Margaret actually helped in it cos she asked for a service to be held in the chapel (apparently they examined her body and found her knees to be so severely damaged from all the praying she had done while alive - !!!) The ceiling was really gorgeous. And a stonemason left his face instead of a flower. Plus the Virgin Mary's face was older than it should have been. Apparently the organ had Anne Boleyn's initials cos that was back when she and the king were still matey. Jane also showed us a painting which was done only in 8 days and sold for £275K or more in the early 1900s - while another painting by the same artist went for £40+mil recently. Instead of a crucifix statue, there was a crucifiz on the painted glass. I'm ashamed to say that at that point, I was nodding off. It wasn't that she was boring, it was that I'd only slept for 6 hours and was really exhausted. She ended off, and some people asked questions, and then I went to show her LKY and KGC's photo at the BoS and she was said, "I have that photo at home!" She brought me to see it at St John's college, passing by a descendant of Sir Isaac Newton's apple tree on the way, and there she helped me take a picture of the bridge. I found out that apparently Singaporeans left the picture at the bridge and flowers, too, when LKY passed on. :'( he was never a member of St John's college, but the college choir sang at his funeral service (they happened to be in Singapore at that time). KGC was at Girton college. After I parted ways with Jane (she had to go to the bank and couldn't join me for a drink or a meal), I stumbled upon Heffers where I examined the HP merchandise they had available. But managed to restrain myself, ha! Then I got ice-cream at Jack's Gelato - per ice-cream and some strange spice flavour that I have no idea how to pronounce or spell. After that, I walked leisurely to Mill Lane, where I chatted with Winston. My punting tour would start at 3.30pm, and it was just me and a Taiwanese Canadian on the punt, as well as the punter. I feared awkwardness, but it was okay - restful silences. The punter told us about how the ducks always lose their ducklings, and he also told us how some baby swans were squashed and killed between two puns and the mother swan thereafter attacked all punts and had to be removed. :'( such a heartbreaking tale. We got to see the Wedding Cake, and the ivy that grew in abundance at the back. Boston ivy, if my memory doesn't fail me? Apparently it turns a glorious red in autumn, so I guess I'll just have to come back then. We also saw the Mathematical Bridge, where the legend is that Sir Newton constructed it purely of straight wood planks without the use of any nuts and bolts. Some Cambridge engineering students took it apart to see how it worked but couldn't put it back together again so now there're nuts and bolts. But as the punter said, if they couldn't put it back together how could they be in Cambridge? Oh - apparently Prince Charles was a student of Trinity college, and he declared that he didn't want to be treated any differently from the other students. Which was why he arrived at school in his private helicopter, and had an entire floor of the residences to himself. Apparently they had to create an agricultural course just for him; he did very poorly in his A Levels and only got in because of a letter of recommendation from his mum (the Queen). He had a batch mate who did better than him. I went to check out Peterhouse after the punting session, which is the oldest college in Cambridge, then I went to take in the lovely grounds of King's College again (the chapel was unfortunately closed for choir practice; there was to be a free service at 5.30pm which I couldn't attend cos I had to catch my train. I did hear snatches of music and singing though, which was nice. And I saw the slab of stone by the Chinese poet who attended King's College (our punter actually recited the first line of the poem Farewell to Cambridge in Chinese, which was great LOL - it went: 轻轻的我走了). I missed the bloody bus to the station and so power walked and ran back to Cambridge Station, and now I'm going to join Steph for dinner at Burger and Lobster - I CANNOT wait. All I've had today was half a Sally Lund bun, seven-eighths a packet of raspberries, a hazelnut hot chocolat, and two scoops of ice-cream. I need me some sustenance, pronto.

#09May2017 #Quarter century trip #lee kuan yew #Kwa geok choo #cambridge #st john's college #King's college

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wristwatchjournal · 4 years

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Counting Seven Million Seconds in Quarantine With The Jaeger-LeCoultre Geophysic ‘True Second’

Marin County’s shelter-in-place mandate was formalized at midnight on Thursday, March 19th, 2020. By then, the news cycle around the Covid-19 pandemic had already become a dangerous cocktail of science-based fact and rationale mixed with what we now know to be hysteria-driven clickbait and misinformation. Hiding from the cacophony meant a break from the source of discomfort, but this also meant fully sequestering oneself from even digital contact with the outside world and any steady stream of reliable information, ultimately exiting any real timeline of the madness. Little did I know that I was already grieving the loss of normalcy and human contact. Many grieved the loss of loved ones. In a moment, it was the world who grieved. All of us, at once, together.

After returning home on Day Zero with a full tank of gas and enough groceries to last the next few days, I took off the G-Shock I was wearing and set it on my desk. Something about the bristling “end-of-days” capability it implied felt a little too on-the-nose. I started the teakettle and reached back into my safe, popping open my Halliburton watch case and retrieving my Jaeger-LeCoultre Geophysic “True Second.” After a few turns of the crown, it jumped to life. Tick. Tick. Tick.

The Geophysic True Second is a rare bird. Not because it is a limited edition of any sort — on the contrary, actually, as it has been in production since its introduction in the Fall of 2015. It is rare because the “deadbeat seconds” complication is a staggeringly uncommon one in modern mechanical watchmaking, particularly at this price point. Austrian independent Habring2 has the Jumping Second Pilot, which is built around an impressively reverse-engineered Valjoux 7750 gear train, but that and the JLC are more or less your only options under $15,000. For true aficionados of the complication, the next logical *ahem* jump is to a Gronefeld, or an A. Lange & Sohne, either of which will set you back an additional $24,000, give or take.

The days quickly started to blend together. It didn’t matter to the world whether or not I dressed or made the bed every morning, but in an effort to establish a sense of normalcy, I did anyway. Grabbing the Geophysic off the nightstand and snapping the deployant clasp shut after completing these mundane tasks became part of the same routine wherein I tried my hand at latte art with oat milk. I fed my hummingbirds. I let a pregnant doe nibble on our rosebushes every afternoon until weeks later she was joined by a wobbly-kneed fawn. One bright morning after a heavy rain, I watched a coyote cautiously emerge from the bramble to snooze in a warm patch of sun. I pulled the fast, cotton-cased road slicks off my Specialized Roubaix bike and swapped them out for fat tubulars with file treads and a bar bag — the perfect setup for long adventure rides into far west Marin. Out of habit, I once switched to a G-Shock for an afternoon hike, but after returning home, its implications still didn’t sit well with the situation at hand. I returned it to the Halliburton and retrieved the Geophysic.

I’ve always loved the Geophysic’s dial. I mean, how could you not? As the physical expression of the movement beneath, it’s a portrait of simplicity and restraint, but one whose intent is only fully revealed under a loupe. And it’s here, where the striping on the white gold markers, the sharply faceted handset, and smooth graining of the silver dial reflect a deep integrity of design to produce something that can only be appreciated by the wearer. From the details in the dial to the behavior of the movement itself, the Geophysic, as a whole, is a love letter to watch geeks — it is not an outward expression, but an inward one, meant to communicate something very specific to its wearer, and its wearer only.

As the weeks went by, I started to notice things. I stopped thinking about my watch box — my daily ritual of agonizing over its contents fading like the memories of standing shoulder-to-shoulder next to the bar on the canal whenever Phil Lesh would show up and play a surprise set, or my favorite Burmese restaurant in the Outer Sunset where the air, thick with spicy pepper and sesame oil hung lazily between tables spaced inches apart. I stopped opening and closing the strap drawer like it were the refrigerator, hoping that I’d somehow missed a leftover wedge of cheese. I started taking more stock of habits that I never found myself able to break. Less was absolutely more at such times. A moment in history when time itself remained important, partially because routine was important, but also because every day needed to count for something — anything, as we inched toward a conclusion that may never come. Ultimately, the aesthetic of time mattered less. It only mattered that friends, family, and neighbors remained healthy as we all did our part to flatten the curve — a duration being measured by a simple watch, reliable and running. Tick. Tick. Tick.

Unlike the dial, which I’ve always found easy to love, I didn’t fully appreciate the many subtle complexities of the Geophysic’s case until I handled a Polaris. In a similar manner, its short, sculpted lugs appear to be stretching the dial width to its absolute maximum before terminating in stubby, but sharp downward pointing angles. Its lines are restrained and elegant, while simultaneously sporty and aggressive — just as the prototypical mid-century tool watches once were. “But does it bother you that it ticks like a quartz watch?” It’s a question I’ve grown all-too accustomed to answering. What the inquirer is really asking is, “Does it bother you that this expensive thing could be easily mistaken for something very cheap?” The question, in and of itself, is both complicated and simultaneously revealing because, if you have to ask, this watch isn’t for you. Generally speaking, most luxury watches belong in one of two camps: watches you wear “for them,” and watches you wear “for you,” and the Geophysic True Second is without question the latter.

Predictably, and like clockwork every two weeks, the shelter mandate was extended by another two weeks. “Mid-April” first became “late April.” April became May, then May became June. And what lies beyond June remains anyone’s guess, though it’s quite safe to assume that the routine that settled in after the first few weeks is looking a lot like a sneak preview of the summer of 2020 for many of us in the United States. I grew a “quarantine mustache” as a silly measuring stick of sorts with some friends, but the joke had run its course by week six. I shaved it off.

The Geophysic doesn’t just “tick like a quartz” watch, though. To understand its functional design intent, you have to first understand the period after which it was named: specifically, the International Geophysical Year in 1958, an era defined by the concerted exploration and study of a number of key earth sciences (gravity, oceanography, meteorology, and seismology, just to name a few) on a global level, with over 60 countries pooling knowledge and resources toward the collaborative aim of better understanding the planet. During this unique period in history, the availability of precise, accurate timekeeping instruments upon which researchers could depend for synchronization or various time-related measurements (particularly in navigation, where exact demarcations of each second are required) was paramount. But I’m not studying geomagnetism and how it pertains to the migratory instincts of the flycatchers that are building nests in the fragrant eucalyptus at the edge of the yard. I’m perched on my steps, binoculars in one hand, KSA Kölsch in the other, bathing in the early evening’s warm glow as I wait for the family of quail to make the rounds. Even without making eye contact with my wrist, I can hear each second being announced between the four-hertz oscillation of the automatic movement. As many of these moments soon blended into each other, I began to realize that the watch on my wrist wasn’t just displaying a specific time when called upon; it was quite literally telling the time, audibly articulating its passage, second after second, minute after minute. And though I did not feel the movement of time between the many days spent at home, I witnessed its movement with my eyes and with my ears. And for three months, this was good enough. Tick, tick, tick.

I got to know my neighbors. To be fair, we’ve always been cordial, but our daily check-ins became the only human contact any of us would have for weeks on end. A conversation about the weather here, a cup of sugar for the hummingbirds and an extra pineapple there. I started making chicken soup on a weekly basis, making sure there was enough for all three households. The first batch was excellent. The second batch was terrible, but no one complained. Ellen is a longtime human resources professional whose hours had just been slashed by her employer. She is studying to be a meteorologist on the side, just because. Jonathan is a Native American and a Vietnam War veteran — one of the Marines’ earliest Force Recon operators who would later apprentice under the legendary San Francisco photographer Jim Marshall. On a cloudy day in April, I used a long lens to shoot his portrait as he stood on the steps of his porch wearing Apache regalia. “Make me look old,” he asked. “…And make it like a grainy black-and-white photograph.” I did my best.

Flip the Geophysic True Second over to be treated to a jarring contrast in complexity: This is the exquisitely finished Calibre 770, an automatic movement that goes to great pains to make the seconds hand strike each marker, 60 times per minute, theoretically enabling its wearer to record or synchronize a specific time, right down to the exact second. The movement is also equipped with JLC’s then-new Gyrolab balance, which is engineered around an unusual, open-ended shape (visually, it was designed to look a bit like the JLC logo) to reduce air friction, theoretically mitigating energy loss and preserving the watch’s long-term accuracy when compared to a traditional circular balance. Granted, I’m neither scientist nor picky about accuracy, but I appreciate what this watch represents on a spiritual level: the pursuit of knowledge as it pertains to our physical world and the long traditions of haute horlogerie all wrapped up in a deceptively simple, uncomplicated package. And on a functional level, I also quite appreciate the fact that the calibre features an independently adjustable hour hand, making for a neat travel watch — which will again, presumably, come in handy, should we ever return to the skies.

But then something happened in late May. It happened after a custom leather strap I’d ordered for a different watch prior to the quarantine period finally arrived, and in trying it on said other watch over the course of a weekend, the Geophysic’s meager 38-hour reserve ran dry. The ticking stopped. For nearly three months, its reassuring hum had been my constant, simultaneously offering clarity in its patterned simplicity. I paused in front of my desk where it patiently lay idle, debating whether or not I should wind it back up. For a moment, it felt as though time itself had also stopped. I closed the drawer, instead, taking its stoppage as prophesy that I, along with the world outside would be ready for change — precipitously, as it were, despite not yet arriving at any formal conclusion to the shelter mandate. We were all Chilean miners, finally rescued months after a cave-in but forced to prolong the blackness, wearing dark sunglasses even after our emergence from the gloom.

The goats are back, dotting our tinder-dry hillsides to help manage vegetation growth ahead of fire season. Baby jays squawk from the leaves above my kitchen. The fawns are starting to lose their bright white spots. Summer is imminent. I’ve just made an appointment with my barber, who’ll be among the very last to be allowed to resume business. The police tape and orange cones haphazardly cordoning off park benches, trailhead turnouts, and shoreline parking lots across the county have been quietly disappearing. Northern California is slowly filling in its outline with the vivid colors we once knew. But I’m still buying groceries once a week. Still never far from a pocket-sized bottle of hand sanitizer. Still going on long, head-clearing rides into far west Marin. What was once a frightening new reality quickly settled into routine, and what we now wistfully define as the “new normal.” In many ways, everything has changed, while time itself remains just as it always was. Tick. Tick. Tick.

For more on the Jaeger-LeCoultre Geophysic True Second, visit jaegerlecoultre.com.

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