#{ i was wondering. do queues taste good? you seem to like 'em }

[bravxryy]

character flaws & strengths

↳   bold what applies to your muse! ↳   italicize what applies to your muse in certain situations! ↳   repost!  don’t reblog!

╳   flaws

moody  |  short-tempered  |  emotionally unstable  |  whiny controlling  |  conceited  | possessive |  paranoid |  lies impatient |  cowardly  |  bitter |  selfish  |  power - hungry greedy  |  lazy |   judgmental  |  forgetful  | impulsive spiteful |  stubborn  |  sadistic  |  petty  |  unlucky

♔   strengths

honest  | trustworthy | thoughtful  |  caring  |  brave patient |  selfless | ambitious  | tolerant  | lucky intelligent |  confident  |  focused  |  humble | generous merciful  |  observant |  wise  | clever |  charming cheerful  |   optimistic  |  decisive  |  adaptive  |  calm

tagged by: stolen tagging: anyoneeee

[eccentricpony]

Hello!! I really enjoy your writing~~! May I request a cafe date h/c with Taichi? Tysm!!💕

Hi dearie! Aww, thank you so much! And YES I love Taichi, he’s such a cutie boy. Here you go, hope you enjoy!

Taichi tapped his fingers on the quaint café table along to the rhythm of a Guilty Summer song that was stuck in his head. Maybe you weren't going to show up? His big, teal eyes light up at the sound of the squeaking front door, but it’s just a pair of old ladies. Sigh.

He ran a reel in his head over and over again of all the romance advice Kazunari had given him.  Although he had his doubts that any of Kazu’s advice had actually been tried-and-true. And then there was the advice he got from Banri. And Omi. And Sakyo. Wait, why did he ask Sakyo?  The door opened once more, and he watched forlornly as a woman and her baby entered the establishment.

Well, he should have anticipated this. I mean, you were just so funny and smart and SO so super cute that it was just a matter of time until you realized how amazing you were and how incredibly average he was and then left him to find someone equally as amazing as yourself. You were probably at another café right now, giggling at the awesome guy’s super funny jokes, and swooning over-

“Hey, Tai-tai!”

Taichi bolted upright at the sound of your voice. He looked up at you like you were The Creation of Adam on the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel; with awe and baited breath. Cue the butterflies in his stomach.

“Ah, uh… h- hey!” The red-haired boy snapped out of his self-pitying reverie and stood to face you. You looked so sweet in your outfit, and was that the cardigan he helped you pick out last week? It looked so good on you – peach was definitely your color. Your rose colored sneakers looked so cute, too. They matched the cute af rosy tint that colored your cheeks at the moment. Damn, every color was totally your color.

“See that, hon? I knew they’d show up!” The kindly middle-aged waitress beamed at you as she spoke. You looked over at Taichi, shuffling his feet awkwardly adorably. “Go ahead and place your order at the register whenever you’re ready.” With another thoughtful glance, she hurried off to check on another table.

“Were you waiting long, Tai?” You took a seat across from his at the table, placing your bag on the seat next to you.

Ugh, that’s right, you damn fool, he berated himself inwardly as he followed your lead and took his seat. He had arrived there 45 minutes early to make sure he was there before you so you wouldn’t think he stood you up.  He opened his mouth to respond, but the next words spoken were yours.

“You look super cute today,” you gushed, to the response of pink-tinted cheeks on Taichi’s face. He did though; dressed in all monochrome colors, his shock of crimson hair and big, bright viridian eyes took center stage. You adored your pseudo-punk cinnamon roll, and you never believed it when he told you that this was his first relationship. He was such a thoughtful, sweet, supportive boyfriend; how could you possibly have been the first to notice how wonderful he is?

“S- so do you, you always do,” he responded sincerely, though it came out mumbled and he spoke it into the laminated daily specials menu that lay before him. The butterflies in his stomach are now throwing a rave, and his cheeks match his brightly dyed locks below the smattering of fading freckles.  His fingers fumbled with a tightly rolled bundle of silverware as he braved another look at your face. He hadn’t been on a boat since he was little but man, your pretty eyes made him feel like he was seasick in the best possible way.

“Should we go order then?” There was no need to look at a menu; you both always ordered the same things every time. Taichi jumped to his feet and ran his fingers through his wild mane of hair.

“I can go order it,” he asserted, patting the wallet in his seat pocket to make sure it was still there.

“You sure, Tai? I don’t mind waiting with you.” As much as he’d love your company while waiting out the queue, he wanted to be all gentlemanly and show that he listened to you. And he really did; in fact, he had been reciting your order through his head since this morning. He could say it in his sleep at this point, he was sure of it.

“Nah, you just wait here and chill, I got this.” Taichi flashed you a winning smile, a smile that always carried a hint of unintended mischief. Your heart did a flip as you nodded in consent. With a pep in his step, the skater boy hurried off to the cash register.

A few minutes pass and still no sign of Taichi. Maybe he decided to wait at the counter for the drinks?  You return your phone to your bag and consider seeking him out when he at long last returns to the table, empty handed. His face is ruddy as he rubs the back of his neck, meeting your eye sheepishly.

“S- sorry… was it… extra extra foam, or was the extra extra for the cinnamon? Or is it no cinnamon?” This poor puppy.  

“Taichi, I don’t mind coming with you, I know my order is a huge pain…” You want to give him a tight hug but this confused cutie is near passing out from all the blood rushing to his face today, you don’t want to add to it.

“No, no…” He shook his head resolutely. “Please, I got this, for real. Can you just say it for me one time?” You smile at his determination and detail your usual drink for him, leaving out an ingredient or two for simplicity’s sake.

“Got it!” he declares and swiftly heads back to the front counter, eyebrows screwed up in concentration as he mouths the ingredients to himself. Pulling out your cell once more, you launch the Gallery and scroll through all the pictures you’ve taken of you and your beau. You especially love the selfie you took of the two of you sharing an ice cream at the beach. He had wanted you to delete it because he had a chocolate chip on his upper lip, but you insisted that it was one of the cutest pictures of him ever and he gave in.

You recall wiping it off his lip with your pointer finger after you had both noticed it in the pic, and he bit his lip shyly in response to your touch You wish you had a pic of that in your phone, the thought of his coy expression gave you goosebumps. With a few speedy taps, you made the ice cream pic your new home screen.

“I’m back!” Taichi announced upon his return. As promised, he delivered a tray of your two drinks upon the table, along with seven pastries.  “They, uhh… they had a bunch of your favorites so I just got ‘em all.” He plopped down across from you, stealing a worried glance at your expression, hoping you didn’t think that was a totally stupid thing to do.

“You are the sweetest!” you praise, leaning over a lemon cake and mini éclair to touch his face. Taichi jerks his arm in surprise at your approach, nearly tipping his drink across your sweets buffet, but mercifully it merely wobbles and remains upright.

You ran your fingers across the black plastic points protruding from his right ear and Taichi swallowed the meager amount of saliva in his now parched mouth. Leaning further still with a mischievous grin, you mercilessly stroked the skin behind his ear with your finger, knowing full well he would become a flustered mess. His entire body responded to your touch, nerves head to toe fizzing from the smell of your shampoo further rendering him senseless.

“Next time, it’s my turn to buy our drinks, okay babe?” His body tensed up as it did anytime you used a term of endearment. Your head felt swimmy looking into his lovely ocean-colored eyes. Before you had a chance to chicken out, you closed the distance between you two and pressed a chaste kiss to his lips. Taichi exhaled an inaudible gasp upon contact, his mouth impossibly soft as it cushioned your own, though it took him a few frazzled seconds to lean into your affection. The kiss seemed to last forever, yet it ended far too soon.

Meanwhile, the butterflies in Taichi’s stomach had started a mosh pit. Re-opening his eyes, he watched as you returned to your chair, and he couldn’t do much more than simper at you like the lovesick puppy that he was. Suddenly, all of his pre-planned formalities seemed a lot less important than the adoration in your eyes that you held for him just now.

“How ‘bout next time we do it together, babe?” he suggested with a playful wink, lifting a cherry Danish and holding it out for you to take a taste.

[suitofvibraniumarmor]

Yours Truly [Part Three]

Summary: As the summer continues, Chris and Sadie bond over his ex-wife’s refusal to see Layla for her birthday. Pairing: Chris Pratt x OFC, Chris Evans x OFC Word Count: 1595 Warnings: Mentions of divorce and abandonment. A/N: This fic was previously posted on my multi-fandom account; in honor of OC Appreciation Day, I figured I would queue it all up for your reading pleasure throughout the day! This was a collab with @captain-s-rogers , and I will link her chapters at the end of all of my posts! Some GIFs were difficult to find again, so if there’s no credit, they’re from Google Image Search or from the original post. 

June 12

Caroline,

My dear friend … you already sound like you’ve got it bad for this guy!! D.C. sounds amazing so definitely keep telling me about that, and the campaign, but don’t spare me on the tabloid-esque details, either!

Kidding, of course. I know you’re a professional, but don’t let that stop you from having a little fun while you’re out there — hmm, speaking of fun, no mention of Charlie in your first couple of letters. I want those details, too, missy.

Farm life has improved from that first day. Chris is warming up to me, I think, and I already can’t picture life without Layla in it. That little girl is going places, C, I’m telling you! Teaching her is more fun than work, and that’s on top of the fun we have throughout the rest of the day. I hate to break it to you, but I think I got the better deal this summer. No offense to your campaign of course ;)

Layla wants to sign her name at the bottom, as we have been practicing that. I’ve shown her pictures of you, and told her about your job. Chris and I watched the CNN bit, and Layla snuck out of bed — she can’t believe my best friend is working with the man on the TV!

I’ll send pictures of the farm and Layla with my next letter. Once little miss writes her name, we will be heading to town to get some fabric for her birthday dress — I made the mistake of telling her that my aunts used to make me dresses when I was younger and taught me how. We’ll see if I remember how to do this.

Yours truly,

Sadie

After Layla carefully etched out her name at the bottom of Sadie’s letter to Caroline, Sadie folded the page and put it in the envelope. She let Layla lick the adhesive, laughing at the girl’s nose crinkling in reaction to the bitter taste.

“Okay, letter’s in my purse, your daddy put your seat in my car … let’s see if we can find him and let him know we’re leaving,” Sadie suggested.

Chris was easy enough to find, sweaty and smiling at the girls’ presence. Just as she had told Caroline, Chris seemed to be warming up to Sadie. She figured it had been difficult to invite another woman into his home to care for his daughter, and Sadie chalked his initial attitude towards her up to that.

After looking at a few sewing patterns, Sadie found one that Layla liked, and even found one for herself. They combed through the bolts of different fabrics and, after Sadie convinced Layla that yes, flannel was so soft but not good for a summer dress, found a breathable cotton in Layla’s favorite shade of pink. Sadie took a little longer to look for her own fabric, finally settling on a creamy-colored cotton with a vintage floral design. They made their purchases, then headed over to the grocery store to get a few things for supper that evening.

“Adie, how many days till my birfday?” Layla asked on the trek back home.

Sadie mentally counted the days until July 1st. “About eighteen, sweetie. Almost three weeks.”

“That’s forever!” Layla whined.

Sadie chuckled. “It’ll go by before you know it. Besides, I’ve got to have time to make your dress.”

The child grew quiet in the backseat. Sadie hummed quietly, not daring to turn on the radio, as Layla would be talking again soon enough.

“Adie?”

She decided then and there she never wanted Layla to get her name right. “Yes?”

“Do you think my mama will come back for my birfday? She been gone a long time.”

Sadie’s heart broke. She had heeded Chris’s warning that Layla might bring up the subject of his ex-wife, but it had been a couple of weeks now, and nothing had been said. She could hear the tears in Layla’s voice, so she waited the couple of minutes until they were parked back in front of the house. She got Layla down from her seat and crouched in front of the small girl.

“Sometimes mommies and even daddies have to figure out how to be the best mommies and daddies they can be, Layla, so they go away for a while. Just like it seems like eighteen days is a long time till your birthday, I know it seems like she’s been gone forever, huh?” Layla nodded; a tear slipped down her cheek. “Don’t cry, sweetheart. Your mama is just trying to do what’s best for you.”

“What if she never comes back?” Layla cried.

Sadie couldn’t help it; she picked Layla up, resting the child’s head on her shoulder. “Then, as sad as it is, it just means that the best thing she can do for you is leave you here with your daddy.”

Layla nodded against Sadie’s shoulder but didn’t stop crying. Sadie held her until she quieted, realizing a few minutes later the child had fallen asleep. After putting Layla in her bed for an afternoon nap, she brought in the groceries and the purchases from the sewing store.  

No doubt this would break Chris’s heart too, but Sadie knew she would have to tell him about the conversation with Layla.

After supper, Sadie asked Chris to talk with her in the kitchen while Layla played with her toys in the living room and out of earshot. While she loaded the dishwasher, she quietly recounted her conversation with Layla about her mother coming back for her birthday.

“Damn it,” Chris muttered under his breath. He realized what he had said and checked to see that Layla hadn’t heard him curse. “Honestly, Sadie, she hasn’t talked to me about her mother once since you came. I don’t expect you to fix me or my daughter, but having you here has really been a blessing for us. Guess I was too hopeful about what that blessing meant.”

Sadie pushed the button to start the dishwasher before facing Chris. “I know it’s hard, for both of you, but you can’t just sweep it under the rug. Layla hasn’t talked to you about your ex-wife, but it doesn’t mean you shouldn’t talk to her about it — or at least let her know that she can talk to you about it. Maybe she needs to you to tell her that your love for her is bigger than your sadness over your wife leaving.”

Chris stared in Sadie’s direction for a few seconds before sucking on his teeth and giving a nod. Picking his mobile up from the counter, he asked Sadie to keep Layla inside for a while. He was out the front door before Sadie could answer him.

They had been playing for several minutes before they heard Chris yelling outside. Layla looked up at Sadie with wide eyes.

“Daddy’s mad.”

Sadie let out a sigh. “Go play in your room, sweetie.”

Layla did as she was told, and Sadie waited for her to disappear down the hall before stepping onto the front porch. Chris was standing at the bottom of the porch steps, shaking his head at the conversation.

“Em, it’s her birthday. She’s asking for you!” He paused, catching Sadie’s eye before quickly looking away. “I don’t need you back here for me. If you wanna run off with some big city accountant, that’s your business, but don’t leave your daughter in the dust without at least explaining to her. She’s four years old, but she’s gonna know you abandoned her!”

A couple of seconds later, he dropped the phone from his ear and kicked at the sidewalk that led up to the house.

“She hung up?” Sadie guessed.

Chris nodded. “She’s gonna be in Cancun for the first week of July. Won’t be able to come back for Layla’s birthday.”

Sadie pursed her lips and held back her anger. How could anyone leave behind a child as sweet as Layla, and not look back? Or a man as willing to work hard to love and support his family as Chris?

That last thought took her by surprise; Sadie quickly dismissed it and promised Chris that she would make sure Layla had the best birthday any five-year-old could ask for.

“I know I’m not her mom, but I can try my best.”

Chris smiled, coming up the steps. “I know you will. You’re really amazing with her, and she adores you, Sadie. I was serious when I said it was a blessing that you came to us.”

Sadie blushed and bit the inside of her cheek. He stopped two steps down, putting him right at eye level with her. “Well, you know, just doing my job. Layla’s easy to love.”

Chris opened his mouth to say something, seemed to think better of it, and shook his head instead. “We’ll find out what Layla wants for her birthday, and make it happen, the two of us. She’ll have no shortage of love that day. With any luck, she won’t even remember Emily’s gone.”

Sadie nodded, then something occurred to her. “When’s your birthday?”

Chris looked a little surprised by her question, but answered it anyway. “The twenty-first.”

“Maybe we’ll do something special for you, too,” Sadie smiled, somewhat teasing.

As she turned back in the house, she didn’t see Chris staring after her, wondering at the flutterings of his heart – not for the first time – when it came to the woman who had come to teach and care for his daughter.

Part Four

[squirrel-moose-winchester]

Chapter 6

Title: Falling for the Holidays

Pairing: Dean x Reader AU

Word Count: 3222

Summary: With October ending and the holidays underway, that only meant one thing for Dean Winchester. It meant returning to his childhood home and spending time with his family. It meant listening to his parents, especially his mom, ramble on and on about when he was going to find himself a nice girl, bring her home for the holidays, and then eventually get married and have children.  However, Dean wasn’t ready for that sort of commitment, so in order to get his family off his back, he comes up with an elaborate scheme! But like the saying goes, “sometimes lies become truths.”

Warnings: Crack, Language, flirting, fluff, a little bit of angst.

A/N: Here we are! Chapter 6. I wanted to dedicated this one to everyone who has reblogged ever chapter thus far! @amanda-teaches, @salt-n-burn-em-all, @heavymetalhauswife, @angreadsficsandauthors, @dolphincliffs, and @claitynroberts. Thank you all so much for the support! I am so blessed to have you guys getting my back. You guys are... magic. Thank you for not only wanting to have my fic on your dashboard, but also for sharing it with your friends. I am so grateful. Other than that, Happy Reading!!

Series Masterlist

“Lisa?” Dean murmured.

Lisa? Who was Lisa. Despite not ever hearing about this person, you had to admit that she was really pretty, but who was she to Dean? By the looks of it, she must have made quite an impression on him if he was acting that dumbstruck. But if she was that important, then why hadn’t he told you about her… ever?

“Wow. I heard that you were coming back to town, with a girl, but I figured, you know, rumors were just rumors, but it seems like they were all true” she smiled sheepishly, her eyes landing on you. “Hi, I’m Lisa. Dean and I go way back,” she introduced herself. You had to give her props for being classy, the last chick you met from Dean’s past was a total bitch. What was her name again? Cassandra, Carol, Candace? Who cares, it didn’t matter anyways.

“Hi, I’m Y/N,” you smiled back, not bothering to offer friendly gestures. You didn’t know who this person was, and if you got too friendly, you might be fraternizing with the enemy. Dean was yours… at least for the time being, and you weren’t going to let anyone take him away. “And who’s this cutie?” You changed the subject, bending over a little to meet eye to eye with the young boy beside her.

“My name is Ben,” he answered for himself, looking up at you with big brown puppy eyes.

“He’s my son,” Lisa revealed.

“Well, he sure is handsome,” you grinned, ruffling his hair. Ben smiled before looking up at Dean and shying away, gripping onto his mother’s leg. You followed his gaze to find Dean scowling, but you knew what that face meant. That was his thinking face. “Dean,” you stood up straight. When his eyes met yours with question, you answered. “Your scaring the poor kid with your grumpy thinking face,” you teased.

“It’s not scary,” he grumbled, sticking out his bottom lip like a child.

A giggle was heard behind you, making you and Dean turn your attention back to Lisa. “It’s nice to see you so happy, Dean.”

“You could tell that he’s happy just by that?” You questioned, a little weirded out by her comment. Whatever she was seeing was just the usual banter that went back and forth between you two. There was nothing special about it, but it was admittedly fun.

“Yeah. Whenever I used to tease him, he’d usually agree with me, rather than argue or retort back. He seems a lot more comfortable with you,” she admitted, the smile on her face seeming a little strained.

“Maybe it’s because we were best friends first? And somewhere along the way, I fell in love with this big dork.” At the words that easily slipped out of your mouth, your stomach did flips. As much as it was all just a cover up story, a lie that had to be told in order to keep your secret of playing boyfriend and girlfriend, there was an uneasiness to it. A foreign feeling that you’d never had for him before. Yes, you loved Dean. You loved him with all your heart because he was your best friend, but recently, there was something else in your heart. A pull to him that was much greater than friendship. “And I’m assuming, he fell in love with me, otherwise we wouldn’t be dating, right babe?” You asked the man beside you, but he didn’t reply. “Dean?”

“Huh? Uh, yeah. Of course I did,” he grinned nervously.

“Well, I hear that’s one of the strongest kinds of love,” Lisa commented, her eyes switching from you to Dean, then back to you.

“What’s the first?” You asked out if curiosity.

“First loves.”

You just had to ask… There was something in the way she said it, and the ephemeral twitch in her eye that sent red flags your way. And as much as you wanted to overthink, and over analyze it, you tried not to pay much attention to it. “Huh, maybe,” you agreed, shrugging off the bad vibe she gave you. Occasionally, you had a bad habit of over reacting, but you made a promise to yourself that you would work on it.

“Anyways, Ben and I were actually on our way out. I guess we’ll see you guys around? Maybe we could all have lunch? Dean, you still have the same number? I’ll text you guys the details,” she beamed.

“Uh, yeah. Sure. Why not,” Dean replied, with an awkward smile.

“Great. I’ll be in touch.” With that, she left, her son’s hand in hers.

Turning towards Dean, you scoffed. “What?” He asked defensively.

“Who was that? She had you all jelly-like,” you teased, trying to swallow the hint of annoyance scratching at the surface.

“What? No she didn’t. She’s just an old friend,” Dean rolled his eyes.

“Sure. It’s always, ‘just a friend’”, you air quoted.

“Shut up,” Dean flicked your nose.

“Ugh! Did you really just flick me?” You hissed, flicking the tip of his nose back.

“Are you a child?” Dean questioned, flicking your forehead.

“Dean Winchester! If anyone is the child, it’s you,” you tried to flick his forehead but missed, making Dean laugh.

“Short people problems!” He heaved in a breath.

“Dean!” You scolded, stomping your feet in frustration.

Dean continued to laugh, but pulled you into a hug, his warmth and scent instantly calming you down. He knew that was another one of your weaknesses. Whenever you were pissed, at him or at anyone, all he’d have to do was wrap his arms around you and you’d start to feel better.

“You’re annoying,” you mumbled against his chest.

“Love you too,” he chuckled.

Completely forgetting about the encounter with Lisa, you and Dean walked around town. He had so many stories that brought you to tears, all in a good way. There was so much history of Dean here, which was no surprise since this was where he grew ip. It seemed like there was never a dull moment.

At one point through the walk, yours and Dean’s hands were interlocked together. Neither of you were sure who had grabbed whose hand, but there were no thoughts about letting go anytime soon. Not from Dean, and definitely not from you. Behind your back, Dean smiled at the connection, actually liking the idea of having someone at his side on a more intimate level. With your hand in his, he felt like this was right. Like your hand was made for his.

“Dean, I’m hungry,” you told him.

Dean checked his phone to find that it was already one in the afternoon. “Let’s stop to get a bite to eat. I know this great place called Singer’s Diner. A close family friend owns the place. Aunt Karen’s pie is to die for. Literally the best pie on the planet. Hell, best in the entire galaxy!”

“You are too extra; you know that right?”

“Shut up and let’s go,” he pretended to be annoyed, pulling you along with him as he went.

As you arrived at the diner, it was packed. More so than any of the shops you’d wondered in. All the tables were full, and there was a queue at the register. When you got a better look, you noticed people leaving with boxes of, what you were going to assume was, pies. Dean wasn’t kidding.

“Whoa,” you exhaled.

“Yup. Gotta love the holidays. When I was in high school I used to work here,” Dean confessed, leading you into the dining area where he found a two top at the far end of the diner. “The holidays were our busiest time of the year and aunt Karen bakes all the pies herself.” You and Dean took a seat before he continued his story. “I would help with the prepping and wrapping, and the best part… the taste testing!”

“Of course you did,” you giggled and Dean smiled.

“This place my favorite place to be. My mom told me that when she was pregnant with me, she worked here with aunt Karen and my mom would always eat the pies. When I was born, aunt Karen gave my mom the recipe for her famous apple pie. The one we had at dinner last night.”

“Seriously? Wow. That pie was amazing. The best I’ve ever had.”

“Wait until you taste the others!” He chuckled, seeing the twinkle in your eyes.

“Well, what are we waiting for?” You cheered, flipping over to the desert menu.

“Easy tiger. Real food first, pie later.” You flashed Dean a strange look, as if he had grown two heads. “What?”

“Who are you and what have you done with Dean? You some sort of shapeshifter?”

“A what?” Dean chuckled.

“The Dean I know wouldn’t argue going straight for the pie,” you stated, picking up the fork in front of you. “You think this is silver?” You asked, pressing it against his skin.

“What are you doing?”

“I watched it on a show once. A shapeshifter doesn’t like silver. It burns their skin.”

“Dude. I’m pretty sure they wouldn’t have out real silver. People would steal them.”

“Well…” you paused, picking up the salt shaker. “In the show they used salt for ghosts. Maybe you’re possessed?” You shook some salt in your hand.

“Yeah? And then what?” Dean asked, but shouted in protest when you threw the salt at him. “Whoa! That is, it! You’re banned from watching that show!” He laughed, grabbing the pepper and shaking some on you.

“Pepper doesn’t do anything!” You shrieked, giggling along with him.

“Well, well, well. Look whose back home!” When you turned, you saw a middle aged woman, smiling down at the both of you.

“Jody, hey!” Dean stood up, giving the woman a big hug. She was pretty, and she seemed really nice.

“You must be Y/N. Mary couldn’t stop talking about you,” she smiled. You stood up and hugged her, the warmth settling in your chest, and for some reason you got emotional. This is what a mother’s hug would feel like. Mary’s hug, Jody’s hug, a hug that felt warm. A warmth, that after all the charades were done, you’d never feel again.

“I guess I am,” you grinned.

“Oh, honey,” she smiled, pulling you into another hug. “Dean, if you don’t marry this woman, I will set my nephew up with her.”

“Jody, back off. She’s mine,” Dean joked.

“Alright, alright. What can I get you love birds?”

“Two Bacon Deluxe and—”

“A side of bacon. Crispy. I know,” Jody beamed.

“Make that two, please!” You chirped.

“Whoa, a match made in heaven,” she winked before leaving.

“Wow. Everyone seems to really like you.”

“That’s a good thing right?” You asked.

“A really good thing,” Dean stated, his eyes finding yours, not bothering to look away when you caught him staring.

Gazing into his pine-green eyes, the noise of the diner began to dissipate, the background began to blur and all you saw was Dean. He started to lean in, his face getting closer and closer as his eyes dipped down towards your lips. What was this now, attempt number three? Four? You found yourself leaning in, a smile spreading across both your faces when suddenly Dean’s phone started ringing, completely ruining the entire mood.

“Oh, c’mon!” Dean barked, flinging his back to the back to the chair in exasperation. You couldn’t help but snicker even through the disappointment. Attempt number four was a total bust.

“Who is it?” You asked with curiosity. Dean pulled out his phone from the front the chest pocket of his jacket. His brows were furrowed, and his lips were pursed tightly together, but when he saw the name on his phone, his whole demeanor changed, as his thumb moved around the screen. “Dean, who it it?” You repeated.

“It’s… Lisa.” Of course it was Lisa, you groaned inwardly, although your poker face stood fast. “Says, lunch at Bela’s, one o’clock.”

“Cool. It’s that steakhouse restaurant right?”

“Yeah, Lisa’s best friend works there. Owns the place actually, but I can’t stand her! The woman is one crazy bitch, and annoying as hell.”

“She can’t be that bad. People change right?”

“Not her. Been the same since grade school. Anyways, should I say yes?” Dean asked. This was your chance to decline, but you couldn’t do that. You had no reason not to go other than the fact you didn’t like her. You didn’t even have a valid reason to not like her, so all you could do was accept.

“Sure. Why not.”

Jody returned with your food, two enormous bacon burgers, which looked and smelled delicious. When you took your first bite, it was like heaven in your mouth. Dean was just as absorbed in the flavors, moaning, and complimenting how amazing the food was. When you got the chance to look up from your food, you noticed sauce smothered on Dean’s cheeks. He was always an ugly eater, but this… this took the cake.

“What?” He managed to say with his mouth full.

“Dean, could you eat any more like a pig?” You giggled, grabbing your napkin and wiping his face, which he gladly allowed.

“Thanks.”

“Only because I don’t want you to embarrass me,” you teased.

“When am I ever embarrassing? All this right here,” he pointed to himself, “nothing but class.”

Right as you were about to give a comeback, Dean’s phone rang. Text message. He smiled, ignoring the noticed when it dinged again, then another time. “Just answer it,” you told him, “it could be an emergency.” Dean did what he was told and checked his phone, his face unwavering. His thumbs swiped across the screen, when a small smile appeared on his lips. You had to admit, you were curious. “Who is it?” You asked.

Dean averted his eyes from his phone to you, before looking back. “Cass. Having girl problems,” Dean chuckled.

You rolled your eyes. “Why is he texting you? If he’s having girl problems, he should talk to an actual girl. Not a dumb boy,” you joked.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, there sister,” Dean sassed.

“In fact, he should come to me for advice all the time. Never you.”

“That’s it!” Dean chide, throwing a fry at you.

“Hey! What ever happened to the, ‘no wasting’ rule?” You picked up his fry and tossed it at his face, somehow he was able to catch it in his mouth. Completely amazed, the two of you cheered like obnoxious teenagers.

Throughout lunch, Dean had been on his phone texting Cass for a good remainder of the time. Even walking through town, he would stop his story to reply back to him. It was a little annoying, but you knew that they were best friends. The two were inseparable, and now here they were, seven hours apart. They were worse than girls.

The day was fun, but it was coming to an end. Dean had gotten you back to the impala, and drove back to his parent’s place. All the lights were off in the house, and his mom’s car was missing, which meant no one was home.

Like always, Dean opened the door for you, taking your hand in his, almost as if this had been a real date. Instead of leading you to the front door, he brought you around back. This was the first time you’d seen the backyard. There was a small treehouse atop a firm tree, a shed, as well as a beautiful garden, which had to belong to Mary.

“I know what you’re probably thinking,” Dean started, “but the garden is my dad’s thing.”

Your eyes widened as you snapped your head in Dean’s direction, causing him to snicker. “Really? Wow, your dad is full of surprises.”

“Winchesters. We are always full of surprises.” Dean was looking at you as he said those words, his eyes piercing through yours. It was nearly dark, but the light in his eyes never seemed to dim, only got brighter.

“You mean your dad and Sam are filled with surprises. You haven’t surprised me yet, Dean ‘Winchester’,” you kidded. “Anyways, what makes the backyard so special?” You inquired, looking around.

“Well, the tree house is where I had my first kiss. It was with Cassie. We were in the… fifth grade?”

“Cassie?” You questioned.

“Yeah, remember? The girl at the club?”

“Oh. I thought her name was Cameron or something.”

“Really? Really?” Dean deadpanned. Your only reply was a shrug. “Whatever. That shed over there… one time Sammy and I were playing superheroes, and I was Superman and Sam begged to be Batman. So we climbed up onto the roof of the shed, and I jumped off like I was flying, landing on my feet. Sam thought he could fly and jumped off, breaking his arm. I was so freaked out, I packed him on my bike all the way to the hospital. My mom was on duty that day, and boy was I grounded and then some!” Dean explained. You couldn’t help but laugh.

“You guys were really stupid kids,” you commented.

“Hey!” Dean chastised.

“There you guys are,” Mary called from the back door. “C’mon on in, John and I bought dinner. Your favorite other kind of pie,” she directed at Dean.

“Hell yes! Pizza!” The green-eyed adult cheered like a green-eyed child.

You and Mary giggled as you both followed behind.

Half way through the first box of pizza, Sam and Jess walked through the door. “Pizza? Great, I’m starving!” The gentle giant didn’t hesitate to walk over and take a slice, taking a huge bite before sitting down. With a little more poise and dignity, Jess, walked over and took a seat, greeting everyone before helping herself.

You, Jess, and Mary sat on one side of the table, sitting across each of your significant other, watching the Winchester men eat like starved cavemen. Each of your faces were contorted into your own version of disgust. “Ladies, these are our men…” Mary stated.

“Unfortunately,” Jess replied.

“At least they’re cute?” You tried to defend, just as Dean shoved a whole slice of pizza into his mouth, “or not.”

“John, boys,” Mary called, giving them a look. Each men stared at her before a miracle happened right in front of your eyes. They started to eat a little more dignified.

“You’ve got to teach me that,” you and Jess muttered at the same time, Mary chuckling in return.

After dinner, everyone got ready for bed. Dean let you go first, and when it was his turn, you sat on the bed looking through your social media accounts when Dean’s phone dinged. You rolled your eyes before going to your own messages and typing Castiel’s name.

To: Castiel Why are you texting Dean about girl problems? You should text me about that sort of thing.

It was literally a few seconds before Cass texted back.

From: Castiel I don’t know what you mean. I am not texting Dean.

Your brows scrunched together with confusion.

To: Castiel Not at all?

From: Castiel No.

A little hurt that Dean would lie to you, you grabbed his phone just to see who the text was from. Your heart dropped into your stomach when you saw the name.

Lisa.

Say Something Nice Here!!

Falling for the Holidays Tags: @hannahindie @pinknerdpanda @winchesterprincessbride @amanda-teaches @dancingalone21 @a-winchester-fairytale @dolphincliffs @oneshoeshort @brewsthespirit-blog @jerkbitchidjitassbutt @atc74 @natasha-baggins @heavymetalhauswife @linki-locks11 @spnwoman @veevm @chameleah86 @kdcollinsauthor @claitynroberts @roonyxx @rainflowermoon @ladylaylo @closetspngirl @mirandaaustin93 @salt-n-burn-em-all @flamencodiva @fangirlanotherjust @tabbyjane

[kirachama]

decoded (707 x reader, part III)

rating: 13+ (hacker au, later chapters will have spoilers for 707 route and secret ends)

notes: look guys it didn’t take me nine months this time! i actually wanted to have this chapter done about a week ago, but i’ve been feeling a little under the weather as of lately... thanks goes to my beloved kamu for beta-thing this. the chapter is a tad shorter than chapters one and two but please enjoy! 

chapter 1 | chapter 2 | chapter 3 |

“Finally!”

You heave a relieved sigh when the familiar sight of your laptop wallpaper meets your eyes. It’s been a few days since you had gotten that virus from trying to hack 707. Since your laptop was essentially useless, you had to make do with the computers in the campus lab until you were able to get home and rescue your precious laptop. It’d been a literal hell. Those ancient artifacts couldn’t hold a candle to your baby.

Lovingly, you stroke your laptop’s screen, “It’s so good to have you back....”

The first thing you do is check the Hackers Chasing Hackers chat server. Even though you had access from your phone, you hadn’t really checked it since your laptop went down. There hasn’t been much activity since then either. It seems a good deal of the other hackers are still struggling to rid themselves of the virus that 707 gave them. You probably would have been one of them if you hadn’t been hellbent on getting your laptop back. Those school computers… Just thinking about them again sends a shiver down your spine. Damn that 707!  if it weren’t for him and his stupid virus you would have been spared from such… such torture. If you could, you’d hack him yourself just to give him a taste of his own medicine.

You stop for a moment. If you could hack him yourself…

Slowly, you glance at your two computers, playing with the idea of hacking 707. Theoretically speaking, you do have the basic skill set needed to exact your revenge. The only thing stopping you is… You shake your head to rid yourself of the thought. You? Hack 707? By yourself? Are you crazy? There is no way… no way at all. If Hackers Chasing Hackers can’t do it as a group, then what in the world makes you think that you can do it on your own?

It’s a worthwhile goal, but one you’re not sure you can actually accomplish in the near future. 707 just seems like he’s on a whole different level. You let out a sigh before slapping your cheeks. It’s not good to let yourself get discouraged.

“I will become as good as him,” you mutter to yourself. “I will… I will…!”

You give yourself a couple more encouraging cheek slaps before returning to your computer. While you were preoccupied, you’d received a message from Minji.

meenmeen: hey me: yo meenmeen: ur comp’s fixed now??? me: yeah. meenmeen: woahhh. I’m still working at it. me: do you want help? meenmeen: nah, it’s good practice 4 me. meenmeen: i think i almost got it anyway.

Minji has a good point. Despite the frustration you’d gotten from 707’s virus, it was still a good way to hone your skills. You couldn’t really describe the intense feeling of relief and accomplishment you’d gotten from finally ridding yourself of it, and you didn’t want to take that away from Minji. The messenger dings again and you look back to the screen.

meenmeen: bet u had fun tho. meenmeen: i know how much u love 707’s stuff.

You feel yourself flush red. Admittedly, she is right, though you wouldn’t exactly call what you had ‘fun.’ You’ve only had a few chances to hack 707’s systems, but each time you’re in awe of how intricately built they are. There’s no doubt in your mind that he must slave over his work, spending hours upon hours perfecting each system. You can’t help but appreciate how much effort he must put in, and maybe that’s why you like hacking him.

me: u don’t? meenmeen: hell no. it’s so complicated meenmeen: that guy is a total sadist. me: but that’s the fun of it. meenmeen: ur crazy. the perfect maso for 707.

Sputtering, you stare at Minji’s words on the screen.

me: WHAT?! meenmeen: bet that’s why u cracked it so fast. me: no it’s cuz my school’s computers suck meenmeen: o okay if u say so.

There’s no doubt in your mind that Minji’s teasing you. For a while, she’s been convinced that you have a little crush on 707. It might be true, but you can’t really say when you’ve never met the guy. What you do  know for sure is that you admire his skills and you mildly enjoy trying to hack his systems, despite any frustration they might cause.. Maybe she is right about the masochist thing.

meenmeen: so once i’m done wanna go again? me: … me: are you crazy? why??? meenmeen: oh come on, i know u want to.

You’re not going to tell her that the thought had crossed your mind. She would definitely lord that over you.

me: it’s not gonna work. meenmeen: but u’ll have fun~ me: i’d rather not go through a week of hell again. meenmeen: no guarantee he’ll give us a virus. me: ugh….

She has a point. There were some instances when Hackers Chasing Hackers would attempt to hack 707, but they’d just get forced out. You figured during those times 707 was just too preoccupied to retaliate.

meenmeen: come on… plz???? meenmeen: i’ll buy u a pizza. me: ...ugh, fine. me: but if i get a virus again ur coming here to get rid of it. and you gotta let me use one of your spare laptops for school. meenmeen: o7

You groan as you lean back in your chair. Ideally, Minji would take another week or two to rid herself of 707’s virus, but if she thinks she’s almost done… It’ll take her at least a few more hours and at most a day. You swivel in the chair back and forth wondering what to do while you wait. Since your laptop had been out, you couldn’t play any of your computer games, so you’d actually been a good student and finished all your readings and homework.

“Guess I’ll play some LOLOL… It has been a while…” you mumble to yourself as you open the program on your laptop. As soon as you log on, you get a message from Yoosung inviting to you to play a few co-op matches with him. It’s a good way to pass the time while you wait on Minji, so you agree. Every match you guys play is won with relative ease. Even though you don’t play that often, you’re a pretty decent player, but Yoosung is in a completely different league and he’s just the second best player on the server. It makes you wonder how good the top person is. When you have a free second in between matches you, look to see the name of the number one player on the server and find it’s someone called Awesome Hacker. Automatically, you think of 707, but there’s no way, right?

Midway through a match, you get a message from Minji. That’s probably her telling you that she’s done. You glance at the clock. It took her about two hours. Wait. Have you really been playing LOLOL that long? You take a quick second to tell Yoosung that this is your last match. If you wait for the match to be over, you might not get a chance to tell him before he throws you in queue for another match. Once you guys win, you tell him that you’ve got stuff to do and that you might be back on later. Naturally, his response is that he’ll probably be on. You exit out of the game and respond to Minji’s message, telling her that you guys should talk over voice chat.

A moment later, you get a pop up alerting you that she’s calling. You click the option for sound only and the window pops up, showing Minji practically shoving her face up in the camera.

“Oh, boo, no camera?” she pouts.

You didn’t really think there was a need to turn the camera since you’re just going to be discussing stuff. Minji continues to whine for a good minute before you reluctantly turn on the webcam. “Happy now?”

She beams at you. “You betcha! Now spill the beans. I know that you’ve probably got some idea in that little head of yours on how to hack into 707’s system.”

“Ideas, maybe, I can’t guarantee that they’ll work.”

“They’re probably better than Code GAGA’s plans,” Minji spins in her chair. “Now spill.”

You lean back, crossing your arms as you think. All of your hacking attempts so far have been the large scale operations that you’ve done as a member of Hackers Chasing Hackers. If it’s just you and Minji then there’s no way you could possibly use the same approach, unless you recruited more people. Of course, the only hackers you really know are other Hackers Chasing Hackers members, and recruiting them would probably result in some problems. You don’t think Code GAGA would take very well to you organizing something like that since he’s the group’s leader. “We’d… have to be sneaky. Chip at the framework bit by bit to lay in the groundwork to over take his system.”

Minji thinks about your suggestion for a minute before nodding her head in agreement. “That sounds like a good plan… how long do you think it would take?”

“With just the two of us?” You pause for a moment to calculate. “Uh… if everything went flawlessly, at least a couple weeks?”

“A few weeks!?”

“Yup, and that’s assuming the system is as big as I think it is.”

“And if it’s bigger?”

“Uh… maybe a few months.”

Minji lets out an exaggerated groan and flops over on her desk. Clearly, when she was asking for your ideas, she had been expecting something different.

“I never said my ideas were quick…” you explain. “But with the two of us, that would be the most efficient way. We don’t have the skill or the manpower to even an attempt a head-on assault.”

“I knooooow.”

“Should we just give up then?”

The young woman shoots up and smushes her face against the camera, “Hell no! I’m gonna make that 707 pay! Don’t you want ‘em to suffer for making you use those sorry excuses for computers?”

“Well, yeah, but...”

Minji slams her fist on her desk, causing the entire screen to shake. She glares at you through the camera, clearly displeased with your lack of enthusiasm. “Come on! This is 707 we’re talking about! And I know you wanna get as good as that freak with his convoluted codes, so come on, let’s do this! You know you’re not gonna get any better just sitting there. If anyone can do it, it’s you!”

Once Minji’s done with her little tirade, she lets out a huff. You can only stare at your screen in awe. It feels awfully strange for her to give you this kind of pep talk. When you first met, Minji told you that her becoming a hacker was just a byproduct of her computer skills. She’d only really joined Hackers Chasing Hackers because the prospect of being a ‘hacker’ seemed like fun to her. “Minji… do you maybe… really want to hack 707… You said you want revenge for the virus, but is it maybe… more than just that?”

Minji’s face turns red and she looks away from the screen. “I mean… who doesn’t…? Isn’t 707 the ultimate challenge?”

“I guess so…” you agree slowly with a smug grin.

A moment passes before she hesitantly turns to look back at you. “...argh, fine, okay! I really want to hack 707 but I can’t do it alone! Please help me!”

You grin, “...Fine. Let’s do this. But don’t forget, you owe me a pizza.”

[yourkeeperoftherunners]

Avec Nocturne Ch. 6

Summary: AU A little thing called the flu forced him to call out sick for days. What he didn’t bargain for was his workplace hiring a girl to spin the tracks while he was out. He’s pissed off but why’s he thinking random thoughts about her?

Rating: PG-13 (Language, Strip Club setting, Flirting)

Characters: DJ!Chanyeol x Kit OC, featuring appearances of OT12 members

Notes: This is a spin-off (no pun intended!) series of Unwind written by @xiubaek13 and @oh-beyond. (Written with their blessing – thank you!) I own nothing except for my own OC and the content written here. (I recommend reading Unwind first to get a better understanding of the story’s universe.) I do not claim to be an expert in DJ-ing. Banner created by me. Absolutely no reposting anywhere else as your own!

Ch. 5 | Ch. 7

Livy

I swear you need to come clubbing with me again soon!

Sent 21:26 PM

How’s work going? Did those clothes work?

Sent 21:27 PM

Kit

I can’t - I work at night, remember?

Sent 21:29 PM

It’s interesting.

Sent 21:31 PM

Yeah, they were fine. Thanks again. I’ll wash them and get them back to you.

Sent 21:33 PM

Livy

Nah keep ‘em - you looked hot. Besides, you never know if you might need them again... ;)

Sent 21:34 PM

Sometimes I wonder if the bakery was a safer choice, Kit thought as she unloaded the washer and began moving clothes over to the dryer. She pressed a few buttons for the drying cycle before closing the door and heading to the kitchen to prepare lunch.

She checked her watch and determined she had roughly 3.5 hours before her regular shift at the club. Secretly, she was hoping for a more normal night, especially with everything that transpired in the past few days.

When Luhan and Xiumin had called her in on her day off, she hadn’t anticipated going into the office days after her run in with Chanyeol. The bruises had faded but she wished she could turn around and walk right out after seeing him in the front, preparing to head to the managers’ office. Instead, she avoided eye contact with him as they headed to the office, stopping briefly when a well-dressed young man passed them.

“Aren’t you going to introduce us?” the young man prompted Chanyeol as he laid eyes on her.

Kit ignored the tall DJ’s gaze as she stuck her hand out toward the young man addressing her. “Hi, Kit Adler.”

The young man flashed a charming smile as he clasped her hand in his. “Hello pretty Kit Adler. I’m Kim Junmyeon, but you can call me Suho, now that you are part of the family,” he replied.

Forward but he seems inviting, compared to Mr. Ray of Sunshine I’m following, she thought before they let go of each other’s hands.

Chanyeol stepped closer to the pair, glancing at Suho with a casual look. “So…2 weeks, right hyung?”

Suho nodded and looked wistful, bemoaning to the pair that he had nowhere to go.

Kit raised a brow at his response. 2 weeks for what? Vacation? Or had something happened and no one was telling her the whole story? Knowing her luck, it was probably the latter and part of her felt bad for this guy for some reason.

“Oh, you don’t? Well maybe you can crash at my place if you’d like,” she found herself suggesting, “I do–”

Suddenly she felt a large hand on her back nudging her in the direction of Luhan’s office, followed by Chanyeol’s deep voice lightly telling her that Suho was joking. She glanced up at his face and saw that he had a strange fixed smile on his face, eyes staying on the older boy.

“That is so nice of you Kit,” Suho replied. He raised a brow at Chanyeol’s choice of words to address Kit. “Noona? You don’t look like a noona to me. How old are you?”

“She’s not your noona – she’s your age,” Chanyeol mumbled as he tried to nudge Kit forward again.

She put on the brakes and glanced back at Suho, asking him what year he was born. “I was born in 1990,” she shared.

“Then you are one!” Suho blurted out with a gleeful look.

“OK we need to get going,” Chanyeol announced, jerking his head toward the office.

“I’m actually heading to Shanghai for a few days,” Suho reassured her. He glanced over at Tao and Sehun, who were lingering by the front entrance. "Please don’t worry about me – I have a place; I live with these two baby boys.”

Now that has to be an interesting situation, she thought as she pictured poor Suho trying to keep the pair from fighting. Like a father with two man children.

She felt Chanyeol’s hand move away from her back, long fingers wrapping around her forearm to tug her toward the office. Her insides twisted at the contact but she forced herself to keep the smile in place. “All right, it was nice to meet you Suho, have a good time!” she yelled over her shoulder.

She allowed Chanyeol to tug/guide her down the hallway toward the office. Once she was out of Suho, Tao, and Sehun’s sight, she pried her arm out of Chanyeol’s grip and stopped abruptly, shoulders tensed.

“What the hell is wrong with you!?” she hissed.

“Me? Nothing!” Chanyeol said as he blinked back at her.

“I think I have already made it clear that I do not like being manhandled!” she shot back.

“I wasn’t, I jus- Suho – he was flirting,” he protested.

“Well at least flirting won’t give me bruises,” Kit retorted as she passed him.

The emergency meeting she had been called into ended with signing confidentiality agreements for an upcoming VIP event, followed by special equipment training with Chanyeol in the booth. She had anticipated that it was going to be a long, painful ordeal of him talking and pointing things out. What surprised her was hearing a genuine apology from the young man, who confessed that he loved his job and felt upset that the managers made a decision to backfill his position without telling him.

“This booth is my safe space. When I’m here, I can be free. I’m not stressed about life or what’s expected of me as an adult. Here, I can call the shots and make my own rules, well sort of,” he explained. Things became less tense after his apology and the training went smoothly.

Because the managers asked her to dress up for the VIP event, Kit enlisted her friend Olivia, better known as Livy, for help, as she had no time to shop for something special. The following day, Livy had showed up at her door, armed with a suitcase full of club-worthy clothes and shoes. Several hours were spent playing Olivia’s questionable Barbie doll, slipping into skin tight dresses that showed every line and curve in her body and debating over hems and necklines. While she loved her friend’s confidence, their tastes couldn’t be anymore different.

“Lady, you need to look like a girl – this grunge 90s thing you’ve got going on is sad,” Livy whined after Kit rejected a very risque bodysuit with a neck collar and low-cut sweetheart neckline.

“Livy, I stick out like a sore thumb at work – like I need more attention put on me!” Kit groaned as she dug through her friend’s offerings, trying to find the least revealing garment in the pile.

After an hour and twenty minutes of rejected clothes, the pair had agreed upon a black bodysuit with a subtle neckline design, deep wine velvet skirt, and block heeled Mary Janes. Delicate silver accessories in the form of a wavy bangle and minimalist earrings completed the look. Livy had wanted to do her makeup but Kit kept it to a simple winged eyeliner and the Bloodroses lipstick. Hair was curled into soft waves with a deep side part.

Thankfully her jacket covered the top half of her outfit while she rode the subway – more stares than usual were aimed in her direction but she kept her eyes on her phone until her stop was called.

“NOONA?!” Sehun sputtered when he saw her enter the main performance hall. The towel he was using to dry his shaker slipped out of his hand and fell to the floor.

Kit paused and turned her head, trying to suppress the wince threatening to spread across her face. “The managers said ‘Look nice – it’s a VIP event’ so um, yeah,” she replied. “By the way, these aren’t mine – had to borrow from a friend and if you can believe it, they were the least slutty things she owned.”

Sehun quickly picked up his towel and composed himself, smiling as he studied her look and flashed her a thumbs up. “You look pretty,” he said, eyes crinkling into half moons. “Not that you don’t normally look nice, but it’s a good change for something like this.”

“Thanks Sehunnie,” she mumbled with a faint smile before heading to the booth. She began setting up her gear and slipped the headphones around her neck, fixing her hair in the process.

“What are you staring at?” Tao demanded as he passed Sehun before following the latter’s gaze. His eyes widened and he gaped when he saw Kit standing in the booth, doing a double take. “Wait, that’s not the savage girl from earlier, is it? Where are her ugly clothes?”

“I heard that,” Kit shot back as she stuck her head out. She sighed as she dragged songs into her queue, avoiding their eyes. Was it too late to negotiate with the managers to just bail on this and all future VIP events if it meant being ogled?

She heard someone cough and she spotted the familiar figure lingering at the entrance to the booth.

“Ah um...hello noona,” Chanyeol murmured as he played with the strap on his bag. “You um, you look...nice,” he said as he gestured to her outfit.

Kit looked up and nodded with a small smile. “Hey Slim Shady,” she said, “don’t get used to this – the managers asked for something less casual so this is what they’re getting. Probably won’t ever see these again ‘cause they’re going right back to my friend after tonight.” She moved closer to the controls so he could slip past her and he pressed his lips together as he stepped into the booth.

He began getting his equipment out of his bag, mumbling that he would let her handle the controls for the waterfall effects tonight. Kit nodded as she gave him space for his laptop and focused on adjusting the volume and settings on her mixing program.

“You look nice too,” she murmured.

“Oh um, me? Thank, thank you - it’s nothing special,” he admitted as he rolled his sleeves up as neatly as he could.

Silence had settled in until they heard footsteps and saw two young women flanked by bodyguards entering the main hall. Chanyeol flashed a charming smile at them and Kit managed a polite one, accompanied by a bow of her head.

“Should be a good night if we pick the right tracks,” Chanyeol murmured with a nod as the women were greeted by Luhan. He quickly programmed an effect to allow fake snow to fall upon the manager as he came closer to the women.

“Why am I not surprised that rich people have filthy desires like us?” Kit deadpanned in a low voice, traces of a smirk threatening to spread across her lips. “Surprised none of them have jumped on the performers yet.”

Chanyeol blinked at her comment and quietly asked if she knew who they were. Kit shrugged as she switched places with him to stand closer to the waterfall controls.

“Don’t know and I kind of don’t care,” she said as she swept her hair off the back of her neck, fanning it lightly. “Not into gossip or celebrities if you couldn’t already tell. To me, they’re just fancy people who we’re entertaining tonight. Period.” She reached for her water and took a long swig. Maybe it was the fact that there were two people standing in an tight, enclosed space, but she swore it started to feel a bit warm in the booth. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Chanyeol fanning himself with his shirt collar, small beads of sweat starting to form across his forehead.

Kit flickered the stage lights to focus on the waterfall before allowing a steady stream to flow into the area, Chanyeol blending in a song to complement Xiumin’s performance:

Lonely night millyeooneun neol Mageul su eomneun saebyeok I pado sorie Nan tteonaeryeoganeun jungingeol Oh no   Oh no

“I kind of envy him right now – at least he’s not sweating it out like we are now,” Kit muttered as she moved her hair to one shoulder with a free hand, the other lingering on the controls.

“I...I think the A/C’s...dying,” Chanyeol huffed as he wiped the sweat on his forehead.

Kit took another swig before she held out her water bottle and prompted him to take some, which he gladly accepted.

“Thank you.”

“Don’t faint on me Slim Shady,” she murmured, eyes staying on Xiumin as she adjusted the waterfall elements to match his movements. “Maybe we can crack the door open a bit once this is over?” As Xiumin wrapped up, she turned off the waterfall and glanced over at Chanyeol, who was drenched in sweat.

“Hey, I’ll get you a cold water from Sehunnie once Cat Eyes sweeps her off somewhere,” Kit promised as she noted his eyes looking a little glazed over. “You need to stay hydrated – keep drinking my water for now, okay?”

“Noona...you should take some...” he managed to get out.

“I will in a –”

“What’s going on here?” Xiumin hissed as he yanked the door open. He recoiled slightly when he felt the heat wave hit him.

“Hyung, the air conditioning went to shit and I can’t breathe,” Chanyeol bleated, almost panting.

“Kit do me a favor, there should be a fan under Chen’s counter – get it please before we have a roasted elf named Park Chanyeol,” Xiumin instructed.

Kit nodded before she slipped past Chanyeol, flashing Sehun an amused look as she darted to the front desk. She sucked in a deep breath of air before going behind the desk, leaning down to retrieve the fan from underneath. She carried the cord in one hand and the fan in the other as she returned, eyes widening as Xiumin ordered the sweaty young man to shed his shirt.

Chanyeol did as he was told and chucked his sweat-soaked shirt to the ground. He messed up his silver hair and froze when he saw Kit had returned with the fan.

“I am sorry but–” Chanyeol started to apologize.

“No Slim Shady, you do what you gotta do,” she replied as she slipped past Xiumin with the fan, “we don’t want you to faint and have me try to perform CPR on you.”

“Here hyung,” Sehun said as he quickly handed over a clean towel and cold waters to Chanyeol. He held his hand out for the cord to the fan and carefully plugged it in. The fan began to blow air and Sehun angled it between the DJs, keeping it against the back wall so they wouldn’t trip on it.

Chanyeol wiped the sweat from his face with the towel before tossing one water to Kit, who thanked him as she caught it. He quickly cracked his open and began guzzling it.

“Noona, Xiumin-hyung has Tao up next - you’re going to need to get something up for him soon,” Sehun prompted as he glanced up at the stage.

Kit straightened up and pursed her crimson lips together as she debated over songs to pick.

“Oh you have no idea how badly I wanna psych him out with this gem,” Kit chortled as she showed them her screen of a song titled Caramelldansen. “But since we’ve got high rollers who are expecting the cliches, I’ll keep it serious.” She pulled up a track, the cover art depicting a woman with a crazy, spiky hair-do walking off the cover:

Everybody wants me to be their angel Everybody wants something they can cradle

Oh, they don't know I burn They don't know I burn They don't know I burn

"Beep beep! Beep Beep!”

Kit blinked and pushed back her chair at the sound of the dryer going off. She wiped her hands on her napkin before heading over to collect her load.

The fan had helped cool down the booth, but things became slightly awkward afterward. Chanyeol kept his eyes averted while Kit busied herself with the controls and music for Tao’s performance. The earlier disturbance with the A/C had caught one of their guests’ attention and she shamelessly eyed the sculpted abdomen of the tall DJ.

“Did our bosses just leave the high rollers hanging?” Kit muttered as Tao continued his performance. “I have a feeling that if they don’t come back soon, the one who was ogling Cat Eyes is going to devour you instead.”

“Wha? Ah no, no, I don’t think–”

“She’s eying you like a tiger eyes its prey,” Kit noted as she stole a quick glance over at the woman. A teasing smile appeared on her face and she looked over at Chanyeol. “You know how to dance in case –”

“I think I see Luhan-hyung,” Chanyeol interrupted, relieved to see him coming into view.

Kit had followed her co-worker’s gaze to see their boss passing the entrance to the main performance hall, tugging a woman clad in black behind him.

“I don’t wanna know, do I?” she asked as the pair disappeared from their sight.

Chanyeol shrugged and muttered that he only heard bits of the gossip.

“Something about new clients and wanting VIP I think? Look, we shouldn’t worry about it,” he said as he adjusted the lighting effects.

Song List

White Noise (EXO)

Caramelldansen (Caramell)

Devil Inside [RJD2 Remix] (Utada Hikaru)

[cureforbedbugs]

Dance with Somebody

I wanna dance

My son started dancing a few months ago. He's neither coordinated nor athletic, so his dancing alternates between impressionistic arm waving and a spin move in which he hurtles his body into space and trusts it will not land on a sharp corner. (So far so good.)

We "danced" with him prior to him wanting to dance, but most of this was performative, and often included him as a less-than-willing participant. To be honest, it was mostly an excuse to try out our own music on him. What was clear enough then, and is really obvious now, is that taste doesn't follow the "hypodermic needle" theory of media effects even from birth. We are one influence, a powerful one, among many, including the idiosyncratic workings of our little guy's independent mind.

And so he dances, alone, in a kind of distant reverie. We go to his preschool to find him separated from the other kids, dancing on his own. Sometimes he snaps to when he sees that we've arrived. Sometimes he just keeps going.

And he dances with us now, but even at home it's still alone. He wants to dance. He doesn't really need us; when he wants to dance with us, it's for us to see him dance and, sometimes, to see us dance, too. And so we dance like he dances. Poorly, but privately, but together. It's the way I dance when I'm dancing alone, and the way I danced when I was a kid, too. There's an old home video of me, probably around age 4 or 5, dancing in my room with a ski mask on. The movements and twitches and peculiar isolated euphoria are uncannily like my son's. I end with an ostentatious spin move, too, hurling myself onto the floor before announcing that I'm too tired to continue. (It sounds like I was listening to the jazz station.)

My son: "Daddy, do you want to see my special dance move? It's like this..."

Right now, the song that makes him dance the most -- and also think about and talk about music the most, music as a form that can be cherished and picked apart -- is "I Wanna Dance With Somebody (Who Loves Me)" by Whitney Houston, a song we never introduced him to, but now listen to constantly.

This is a song that he loves to dance to, and that he also identifies as a dance song. That's an important distinction in his budding world of categorization. Right now his tastes have split into three interrelated playlist-cum-genres (or is it vice versa?): Dance Songs, Rock 'n' Roll Songs, and Crazy Animals. After he was born, we started an omnibus playlist to play during the times we stuck him on the floor and didn't want to ignore him. (His brother is a bit less lucky in this regard, though he's mostly focused on the older kid.) That bloated playlist, now as useless as it is unnavigable, is a hodgepodge of pop, dance, novelty, and old-timey rock 'n' roll. And just about none of it appears on any of his new playlists.

Rock 'n' Roll involves big guitars, big hooks, big hair. He loves "Back in Black" by AC/DC -- sonically at first (I played it for him in the car on the rare time he asked me to play something he didn't know), but later it was cemented as a playlist staple because it's about a Bad Guy, a character type with which he is, if not obsessed, then at least intensely curious. His favorite bad guys, in no particular order, are Darth Vader, Jack Skellington, and Rasputin. I always try to make sure that he knows that "bad guys" are complicated, and they're usually not all bad (my insistence that Jack Skellington is not in fact a bad guy at all is belied by the fact that Jack Skellington intentionally scares the bejeezus out of children for fun).

The protagonist in Led Zeppelin's "Immigrant Song" is more ambiguous. He comes from a land of ice and snow, which is a graspable detail, and then...a bunch of other words. To be honest, those are the only words I can remember myself. That's the point where my son asks me to start it over -- DUN duh-duh DUH-dun, DUN duh-duh DUH-dun, aaaaaaaaaah!

His favorite rock 'n' roll song has a title complicated enough that he just calls it "my favorite," even though it is one of ten or so songs that he likes about equally. He calls it "my favorite" because it's his best friend's favorite, and it's not at all clear why it's her favorite. So it's also unclear whether or not "favorite song" denotes an actual favorite, or is just a generic description, like "rock 'n' roll" or "crazy animal."

That song, "I Believe in a Thing Called Love" by the Darkness, is the first time his tastes have intersected with mine and my wife's completely serendipitously. We would never even have thought to play him the Darkness. He loves it when he says "hunh!" before the first guitar solo, and especially loves it when he says "gui-TAR!" before the second guitar solo.

Crazy Animals and Dance Songs are a bit more self-explanatory. Crazy Animal songs are songs that (1) feature animal references or animal noises and (2) make my son very happy. Crazy Frog, which I hadn't thought to include in my son's novelty diet when he was very young, made an unexpected appearance about a week ago -- the Verizon music network has it in its most popular video queue along with things that came out mere weeks ago, which makes it a novelty evergreen like Hampton the Hamster on Radio Disney -- and now it (Crazy Frog) is the center of his Crazy Animal universe. (That means I finally got the chance to introduce Wang Rong, three years later. He likes it considerably less than Crazy Frog. When I suggested L'Trimm's "He's a Mutt" for a Crazy Dog, he stopped me and told me to just add "Who Let the Dogs Out.") This sort of list is the kind of thing I was born to curate, though it only holds his attention for a few minutes at a time, as it probably should.

Dance Songs need to refer to dancing fairly explicitly, though "Can't Stop the Feeling" by Justin Timberlake counts. (He calls the song "Sunishine in My Pocket," which is how I learned that my son doesn't really care for, and certainly won't dance to, "Pocketful of Sunshine" by Natasha Bedingfield.) All songs currently on the Dance Songs playlist are songs I didn't introduce to him -- including "Just Dance" by Lady Gaga, and, of course, "I Wanna Dance With Somebody (Who Loves Me)" by Whitney Houston. The latter is the clear favorite, and it's a pleasure to watch my son dig in to the minutiae of its sounds and its tricks (the anticipatory drums into the chorus -- "buh-buh-buh-buh!"; the commanding "DANCE!" punctuation from a male background chorus; "somebody, hoooooo!"), discovering something new with each listen -- so much so, in fact, that he talks about what might happen "next time" he listens, as though the song itself will change, and not just his understanding of it, which feels very deeply right in the way that children's understandings of things so often can.

With somebody

When I listened to "I Wanna Dance With Somebody" as a kid, usually on my sister's Pocket Rocker cassette player in her room, I always imagined the main character in it -- the "dancer" -- as a bit like my son now, or me in that ski mask -- self-contained energy, satisfied dancing alone. The video isolates Houston against a plain backdrop that matches her purple dress, garishly backlit, as though everything has melted away from her and now she's starting to burn through the screen itself. Whitney Houston was like that, a narrow spotlight against an abyss, all on her, all on the voice. (My son: "Daddy, she has a very powerful voice.") Sure, she wants to dance with somebody, but she doesn't sound like she needs to. Who could keep up with her?

My son seems to have that interpretation, too. When he sings it to himself, he'll start to interpolate a bit: "I want you to dance with somebody." It's the overriding impression, no matter what the lyric sheet says, and who parses the verses? Her singing this song in this way just proves that she has -- is -- everything already. So YOU find somebody, even if the somebody is just yourself, and dance with them. Which is to say: DANCE.

But now I detect an undercurrent of quiet distress -- hey, this energy is pulling everyone toward me, but they're not with me. (And what good is that?) And that just sits there, a little echo of an idea -- an idea that's there pretty obviously on the page, in the lyrics, but not so obviously in the song itself -- it's just all of this potential sadness running through everything, an aside, maybe an anxious whisper throughout the song that you wouldn't even notice unless you really looked for it. Maybe you're just hearing things.

My son wonders who it is with that low voice that's chanting "DANCE" toward the end. He loves that part.

"Who is that?" More laughter.

I hear a bit of menace in that bit when I listen to it without dancing to it -- insert the intertitle here, sans danse, quelle tristesse! -- it's an oddly direct command in a song whose every other element compels dancing without needing to bark an order -- and this odd overcompensation happening after the song has long since hit its groove and we've long since decided to dance.

But no, it's goofy! Enough so that we do a low, grumbly impression together -- "DANCE" -- and we laugh -- what is that! -- almost as much as "somebody...hooooooo!"

The sadness hit me as I was sitting in the basement of my in-laws' house, the song playing from a tinny iPhone speaker, my son thrashing against the couch, and I just heard for a moment -- "loneliness calls." It was an emotional ambush, in Mark Sinker's phrasing, of the sort that I've come to savor. The singalong is "when the night falls, my lonely heart calls" -- and something about that phrasing, "my lonely heart," makes the loneliness a bit more affected. She's a member of a lonely hearts club, a reference that to this day feels weirdly alien to me, maybe just generationally. (I always thought "Sergeant Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band" was intentional word salad -- which to be fair it was, but it scans as a real possible club, not just a string of disconnected words.)

But the first line, at the end of the first verse, is more blunt than that. "Loneliness calls." Something about that phrase struck me in that moment, not least because "loneliness calls" might be the general unspoken -- well, occasionally spoken -- thesis, or maybe heart, of a lot of music my students listen to -- a big, sad idea that I imagine like a spreading gray funk over the chart landscape that has literally slowed pop music to a crawl. "I can hear the perkys calling." "All my friends are dead." Loneliness calls.

I haven't been lonely in a long time. When it was just me and my wife, loneliness still called, even if I didn't have a lonely heart. I remembered what being lonely was like, sometimes even when my wife was there with me. I could feel the loneliness, even if abstractly I understood that I wasn't alone.

I don't really feel loneliness now that I have young kids. I'm not saying that as some transformative development that's improved my life in a meaningful way. Having kids had no effect on my anxiety or panic, for instance, and had no effect on my sense of my own personal or professional aspirations, even if it accelerated a kind of limning process that was underway before I had kids. It's a more neutral observation: of the many emotions that I've felt after having kids, sometimes with an intensity that I haven't felt since childhood, if at all -- manic joy, gut-wrenching sadness -- loneliness just hasn't reared its head. That's a double-edged sword; I also like being alone, and I haven't been alone in three years.

So it moved me, I guess, listening there in the basement, to discover for the first time that this person really does sound lonely. Here she is, orchestrating a whole world around herself, with her Very Powerful Voice, Queen Elsa building a magenta ice castle in the tundra. But when the night falls, loneliness calls. (And here she differs from Elsa, who is set free in her solitude -- a point so obvious that even children pick up on it immediately, casting Elsa as a superhoero, even though the movie itself never really resolves this message -- solitude will set you free -- with its actual ending.)

So a song about dancing with somebody, a song that I've used in my own life primarily to dance by myself, and acts socially as a paean to dancing by oneself, was the thing that got me thinking about loneliness, and my lack of it.

I wanna feel the heat

When I was making a film about my mom, who died of cancer when I was seven, I always paused at a line of hers in one of her journals. She describes lying in bed in the hospital, alone. She says: "I crave their little bodies more than at any other time."

I never really knew how to place that line in the general schema of what I knew about my mom. I knew that she loved us, obviously, loved being near us, being with us. But "crave their little bodies" -- there was something so...well, weird. Our little bodies?

As it turns out, there is literally no better -- no other -- way to say it. I crave their little bodies, and to be lonely is to crave their little bodies more than at any other time. That's the feeling, as plain to understand as "loneliness calls" or "somebody hoooooo!" or "gui-TAR!" Given how non-affectionate (not "unaffectionate," exactly) my family became after Mom died, the sheer closeness to someone in a relationship outside of romance came as a shock to me. I was slow to it. I didn't trust it, or myself around it. It was hard to be so close.

"I like the way she goes, 'I wanna feel the heeeeeeeeeat'!"

Heat, bodies. Even now a part of me recoils. The brain part. My son has started saying something that I think he picked up from his preschool: "my body says X and my brain says Y." Usually these are the same -- "my body says I have to poop and my brain says I have to poop."

My brain says that's not right, this can't be right, and my body says "I wanna feel the heat."

That you want the heat doesn't mean that you want to dance, necessarily. Our dancing doesn't generate much heat, to be honest, aside from working up an occasional crown of sweat. There's Whitney Houston, dancing, dancing, dancing, generating all that heat, and that's the heat that we want, but none of it is the heat she wants. Somebody who loves me. How do you know? Because they're there. They're still there.

Another reason "lonely heart" doesn't hit as hard as just-plain-loneliness, I guess -- that lack, that loss, it isn't a lonely heart, except in a cliche. Your heart stays full. Your brain holds on. It's your body that empties out. You wanna feel the heat. You want somebody there with you, next to you, so close that you you might reabsorb them, protect them from ever feeling what you fear you might now be capable of feeling should it ever happen. Better to dance for a bit than even entertain the thought, though there that thought is, every day. (Wait, who isn't bothered by the cold?)

I spent a lot of my life thinking about my mom, feeling sorry for myself. Now I mostly just feel sorry for her. I used to have some vague sense that she left us, but she never left us. She lost us.

Hooooo!

Pop songs can melt the surroundings, burn out the backdrop, but mostly they are the surroundings; they are the backdrop. I'm glad that I was able to finish my homework as a critic early enough to figure out how to weave all of this stuff back into my life and break down walls between Serious Analytical Work and Serious Life-Living before I had kids. I'm entirely sure that having kids isn't what did it, but I am also fairly sure that doing it helps me to have kids.

Doing all that breaking down work as a conscious critical exercise or whatever you want to call it helped me make room in my body AND my brain to appreciate it when I get gobsmacked from left field. I've approached my taste that way -- hanging out in left fields wondering how to shift them to the center -- longer than I've had kids, and lord knows I didn't need to have kids to appreciate Crazy Frog. Though I did, funnily enough, need to have kids to appreciate Adele's "Hello," which I can now play on the piano and in fact is the easiest song to transfer from toddler psyche to piano. Mostly I let him fiddle around on it.

Having kids mostly reaffirmed that I was right to insist on discovery and serendipity and, when necessary, the humility of getting totally bowled over by something that's dumb as shit, or appreciating when something has layers you weren't expecting (and maybe had layers that no one was expecting, or even noticed, or even existed, strictly speaking, until you made 'em up). I was right to think that there's a muse in us that can't be explained away; that even when you're three, or even when you're three talking about when you were two -- "when I was two, did I...?" -- even then? Yes, then, too! -- god, there was so much going on, so much guiding you, often imperceptibly, to wherever it was you happened to land. Who knew that "Back in Black" was about a Bad Guy, except everybody (except me), except that they didn't, because they didn't hear it like my son did in the car? There it is, that world where the song's not the same every time you play it, and neither are you.

[imagine-that-one-thing]

Say You Do. || Chapter Nine.

You can find it on wattpad HERE

Emily:

Dramatic. That’s what I am, and most likely how I will remain in my coming years. The sudden, and extreme decision I made on that morning was something I can’t clearly explain. Although, I didn’t even think twice about doing it, and that sent my relationship into a whirlwind of confusion and happiness.

I, like Harry, am unable to explain why my emotional state is always changing and putting us in seriously testing romantic situations, but I am unable to change this part of myself. I began to realize that by having the divorce papers captive in my home, it was mentally holding me captive. When I was having a good time with Harry, in the back of my mind I always recalled the papers, and in doing this I was jailing myself.

I am capable of loving Harry, and myself.

Sophia ruining the papers over breakfast is ultimately what freed me. I constantly remember reminding her of the importance of these papers, and making sure she was very aware of the severity of her punishments if she tampered with them. In the moment of ruining, I watched Sophia’s face flush, recalling what I had said to her on past occasions. But I, being a mother and possessing a conscience, was unable to follow through with my threats. It feels like that moment flashed before my eyes, and now only a few weeks later, I still find it hard to completely piece together what happened in that instant.

I do, however, know that anger was the last thing I was feeling. I was overwhelmed by these papers finally being put to rest, and the weights being lifted from my shoulders ultimately changed my perception. I feel like the love between Harry and I has rewinded, to the days long before Sophia - But I still couldn’t forget the whole reason behind the papers becoming relevant in the first place.

I constantly feel like I am battling myself, in terms of never being satisfied with what I have. I couldn’t ever imagine myself living in luxury, quite like I have been for the last few years, and still being miserable. But oddly enough, that is all I had become. I had the world at my fingertips. I had seen an abundance of places around the world, met unimaginably talented people and been in the public eye for upwards of eight years - And yet somehow, I remain unsatisfied.

Throughout all these years, I have and will remain, eternally grateful for Harry. He continually stands by me through my most testing times, although at the time of my decision for divorce his attempts to reel me in went unnoticed. After Sophia’s birth, I watched myself go from charismatic to wildly sheltered. My imbalanced emotions crashed like waves against me, and I found myself prisoner and subject to my own unpredictability.

Ultimately, my need to escape the life I felt was containing me came in the form of thick documents - But these did not free me in anyway, if anything, I was more unbalanced and disturbed than before. My own plot for freedom resulted in my own mental abuse, and to be quite honest I felt I had no modes of escape.

I felt like I was watching myself ruin my life, but was unable to stop the demolition.

Apart from that, the life I have just weeks after my release has been unimaginable. My experiences now, although minor and local, are totally different than before. Waking up in the morning, in the warm bed, with Harry posted beside me reminds me of our younger days. The days when we were genuinely happy.

Those days no longer live in the past, they have quickly become my reality.

I am happy, finally.

-

Saying the house is warm would be an understatement. As I am crowding the kitchen with piles of food, the heat of the oven causes beads of sweat to travel down my face. Harry and I are hosting a family get together at our house, the first of many now that the snow has melted and our backyard is finally usable again. Harry can be found at the top level of the house, vacuuming and tidying our accumulated clutter. I can hear him groaning over the loud humming of the vacuum, and the moving of objects is apparent through the vibrations between the walls. Sophia isn’t home, and the house is eerily quiet without her running or screaming around me. Thankfully, she will be arriving alongside Harry’s parents in the nearing minutes.

I step back, leaning towards the warm oven, and gaze at the food I have prepared in advance. Hours in the kitchen have surely paid off, and I am eager to taste the bulk I’ve provided. With a heavy exhale I regather my foods, placing them back into the oven to preserve their heat. My job is finally done, and I find modes of keeping busy throughout the main level of the house. I remove my apron, and hang it back into the closet, quickly adjusting my outfit and cleaning myself up. Throughout this level I am able to slightly adjust my surroundings, but I know my slight alterations will make no difference.

My parents have always been the type to admire perfection, and although their lifestyle greatly differs from mine, I still prefer to be viewed as perfection in their eyes - All while being completely aware I stray far from the definition.

My sister, Ashley, however, meets their standards. Living abroad in America, she has finally found her way back our native land. In comparison, Ashley is far more successful than I am. I, a university student turned university dropout, married into fame and fortune, stand no chance against my ‘self-made’ academically successful sister.

However, I refuse to allow her academic success to rank me as any less of a person than her. Thankfully, she doesn’t allow her achievements to divide the two of us, and for her view of us as equals, I am grateful.

My waves of thoughts and remembering the characteristics that make up my family are cut short when the doorbell chimes through the house. Almost immediately, the vacuum cuts off, and the motions of Harry rushing to organize upstairs are rushed through echoes.

With the arrival of guests I quickly adjust my appearance in the reflection of a picture frame, before straightening its position on the wall. I jog to the door, calling out ‘I’m coming!’ before pulling it open.

Harry’s mother, Gemma and my sweet Sophia are the first to arrive. Sophia screeches before colliding with my legs, and as she continues to latch onto me I greet and welcome in Anne and Gemma.

“The house smells incredible.” Anne comments as she steps in, holding a bottle of wine in her hands.

I sigh, pretending to wipe sweat from my head. “I’ve been slaving over the stove all day.”

Gemma laughs as she pats my shoulder, and with that I motion them into the house. I lift sophia into my arms, carrying her on my hip as I walk behind Anne and Gemma. Almost on queue, Harry rushes down the stairs, halting on the last step to greet his family. He seems most enthusiastic when he looks over at me, and then at Sophia.

He glides over to us, going down to Sophia and pinching her cheeks before kissing her. She nuzzles in closer to me, and giggles as Harry continues to kiss her face and arms.

“I missed you so much!” Harry squeals at her.

Sophia’s laughter roars through the lobby of our house, “Stop it, daddy!”

“Hello!” I hear a call from behind me.

I turn and see my mother peeking her head into the door. I greet her in a tone that mimics hers, and Harry walks over to fully open the door for my parents and sister. They stand stiffly, seeming to be nervous as they enter the house. Harry places kisses on my mother and sister’s cheeks as they enter, then firmly shakes my father’s hand as he leads them in.

I walk down with Sophia still clinging to me, but seemingly excited to see her grandparents and aunt. With a quick greeting Sophia reaches from my arms to my mothers, and I gracefully let her go before leading everyone inside the house and into the kitchen.

We crack open bottles of wine and champagne, and I finally am back on my feet as hostess after many years. It feels good to cater to those I love, and watch them interact with one another in tones of nothing but love and excitement.

My parents are wildly different than Harry’s mother. Their demeanor completely opposites Anne’s, although I wish it hadn’t. I much prefered Anne over them, her way of living and her manners surpass my parents. Simplicity was far more striking than poshness, and I enjoyed watching the contrasting sides of my family.

Harry walks over to me as our families conversate amongst themselves. He places his hand on my lower back as the red wine in his glass creates a small wave in its confinement.

“How are you feeling?” He whispers to me.

“Good,” I nod, tapping our glasses together in cheers. “And you?”

“Wonderful.” He winks at me before we both sip our drinks.

Time passes, and Harry remains posted by my side. Almost one hour later we feel it is almost time to serve dinner, and begin to set up the table for the eight of us. My sister, Ashley, insists on helping me, and single handedly shoos Harry away for alone time with me.

“How has everything been with you lately, Em?” Ashley asks, placing the plates around the table.

I follow her in a circle as I place the forks and knives on the table. “Really good,” I nod, “As always.”

“I’m glad!” She says to me, warmly and genuinely. “You look amazing, you’re glowing.”

I blush as I carry cups to the table, unable to cover my face. I open my mouth to thank her, but am abruptly cut off when she fires another question.

“Are you pregnant?”

I gasp at the question, feeling extremely taken aback by her question. Although innocent, I’m still shook.

“No, what makes you think that?”

“The way you’re carrying yourself,” She answers, shrugging my way. “And what makes you so nervous about the question?” she looks at me, playfully.

“I’m definitely not nervous,” I force a laugh, searching my mind for an answer valid enough for her.

I definitely am not pregnant, and certainly I have no reason for the nerves bubbling in my chest. I scramble for an answer, minor yet straight enough to hold her curiosity.

“I’m only kidding, Emily.” She laughs, placing the finishing touches on the table. “You should have seen your face!”

I force another laugh, pointing at her as if she had really gotten me. She really did get me, and for the moment being my arms are still numb from anxiety. The oven buzzes, indicating the food’s reheating process has concluded.

Perfect timing.

I rush to the kitchen, calling everyone in to take a seat before gathering the food with Harry and placing it onto the freshly set table. In no time the food is cut and placed into everyone’s plates. Sophia, out of everyone, seems most excited for my cooking.

My mother insists on saying prayer before our meal, and although I haven’t practiced my religion in years, I comply.

Grace couldn’t save me from the dreaded dinner table talk, which seemed to be directly aimed at me.

I’m at the barrel of the gun tonight.

“What’s happening in your world, Emily?” My father asks, prior to filling his mouth with pasta.

I shrug, moving the food in my plate around. “Not a lot,” I answer, “Harry’s new album is finally out, that’s pretty exciting.”

“I asked about you, not Harry.”

I shudder as his unamusement. As if my life isn’t an almost exact reflection of Harry’s, and as if his news can’t be shared as my own. It definitely can be, but seeing both sides I am able to reflect back to my father, a life that does not belong to me, but is simply enough to shut him up with satisfaction.

“I am just wonderful, father.” I smile at him. “I’m living my best life! I do yoga every morning, I cook for my family every night and I read my bible before bed.”

I hear Harry stifle a laugh beside me, covering his mouth with a napkin to hide his smirk. He looks at me, shooting me a side eyed glance before looking directly at me. I raise my hands up, smiling at him as he smiles back at me, playfully.

“What a wholesome life.” He replies, nodding my way. “Ashley just earned her PhD.”

Everyone hums before congratulating her, nodding her way before she shrugs it off. She has heard this many times before, and it’s becoming far more noticeable my parent’s pride being held up by her degree is getting on her nerves.

They need someone to brag about.

I continue to fiddle with the food in my plate, feeling a lump in my stomach that is preventing me from eating. The tension between myself and my parents is one that only I can feel, but the weight is overpowering, and I can’t wait for this meal to be over so I can be excused.

Even in my own domain, my parents still find modes of humiliation.

“Mummy,” Sophia whispers to me, kicking me under the table. “Don’t play with your food.”

I smile at her, complying to her request. I force my meal down, rushing to finish at the same time as everyone else. They continue to talk around me, and I only conversate with Sophia as she talks to me lightly with food around her face.

When the meal is over I prioritize Sophia as Harry clears the table. Things get done rather quickly when we split up. I take Sophia upstairs, away from the eyes of my parents. In the washroom on the upper level, near our bedrooms, I sit Sophia on the sink and clean the sauce off her face, which had chosen to slightly stain her fair cheeks and lips.

“Are you happy, mummy?” She asks, watching my every move through the mirror.

“Yes,” I answer. “Are you happy?”

She smiles as me as I tighten her pigtails. “So happy!”

I turn her towards me, kissing her forehead before telling her to go back downstairs. I stay in the bathroom, cleaning myself up as I hear little footsteps descend into the kitchen again. The muffled voices put me as ease, and the cool air in the bathroom lightens my cheeks and sends goosebumps down my arms. The stress I feel around my parents is always persistent, and is all I have ever known.

I hope everything that has happened, and continues to happen, is enough to continue to impress them.

Upon hearing footsteps coming upstairs, I gently close the bathroom door. I hold my breath, finding the echo of my breathing to be too distracting. I’m far too curious for my own good.

From my seat on the edge of the bathtub, I hear a conversation comense, barely loud enough for me to hear but still audible.

“Don’t lie to me, Harry.” A voice I have recognized to be Gemma shoots.

I’m confused as I listen on, remaining still to leave myself unnoticed.

“Gemma, let it go already!”

She sighs, “Harry, I saw them. I’m not stupid, please, don’t lie to me.”

“It's not important.” Harry replies, sounding quick and agitated. “It’s not your business anyways.”

“It definitely is my business, Harry. If this is a secret you would hide your divorce papers, rather than leaving them out on the dining table.” She fires back. “Especially around a child.”

My stomach sinks, the defence she is using against Harry was valid, but the fate of us and those papers are no longer connected. I so badly want to exit the bathroom and tell her the truth about what happened, and frankly being held in the bathroom is quite uncomfortable.

“Gemma, I’m telling you it’s not an issue and it really doesn’t concern you either way.”

“Are you divorcing her?”

“No!” Harry raises his voice. “How many times do I need to tell you? If all you came here to do was fight with me about this, then you can leave. My child isn’t even as nosey as you, and that should say something.”

There is a break in the conversation for a few moments, but I can hear the two are still outside the door. I sit and wait for a continuation of dialect, but receive nothing more than the sound of footsteps going back downstairs.

I wait a minute, looking at myself in the mirror again before opening the door slowly and looking out. I see the silhouette of Harry in the hallway, facing away from me. As the door opens and creaks he turns around, looking at me over his shoulder.

I watch as his shoulders lower in exhale, of relief, and he walks towards me. He forces a crooked smile my way, and quickly towers over me in the doorframe. His body presses against mine, pressuring me back into the bathroom and closing the door behind him.

This bathroom is even smaller with two people in it, but far less cold.

[frogsgivemehope]

Watching notes: 12x11

Me looking at this episode.

- THEN: Dean and the poor bunny, recapping basically every witch ever (the notable exceptions that stood out to me was the married witches from 7x05 and Patrick from 5x07 - the connection here possible being that those were the ones that they didn’t kill?), and Rowena. ”Are we not a team?” Bless.

- NOW: This running through the forest business immediately reminded me of the opening of 12x06, with adult Asa running through the forest, leading to him being hanged. I think that’s the only such opening we’ve had this season, right? It is also the case of a hunter who someone gets the best out of, and where the one they first suspect turn out to not be the one behind it - the demon for Asa, and the lone witch for Dean.

- It is also jarring, because when we are introduced in-media-res like this to someone being hunted, our instincts as viewers is to sympathise with them - to suspect that the one chasing them is the monster.

- Dean waking up on the ground (WITH THE BUNNY) harkens back to the other times he has woken up on the ground. In 5x04, which deals with Dean, and how his memories shape him. Endverse!Dean was a completely different person than our Dean precisely because of the experiences he have had (And it really doesn’t matter if it was an alternate time line or a scenario conjured up by Zachariah, because Dean believed that Endverse!Dean would be affected that way by what had happened). And the other time he woke up on the ground was in 11x01, where he has just been freed of the MoC and that in turn influenced a shift in his behaviour, albeit to a more true-to-Dean!Dean (and now he has been freed from his memories).

- Speaking of the bunny, I really love the idea that it is a symbol of him having fallen down into Wonderland. My bubb is Alice.

- There is the white fluff cloud we all love and adore. Hi Kuma! And the guy who gives Dean his phone, after the woman with the baby  didn’t even listen to him explain.That guy is also wearing such lovely blue and pink colours, just saying. So, woman with a child symbolising Kelly, possibly? I just looked it up, and the woman Kelly was talking to on the phone in 12x08 was named Sheri. This woman is talking to someone named Stacey. Sheri-Stacey, quite similar no?

- Quick question: Is that how waffles are actually served in the U.S.? Because now I am hungry.

- There is a lot of childhood imagery in this episode: Waldo’s Waffles, Scooby-Doo cartoons.

- Sam always manages to hit me with sadness I don’t expect. I mean, they have been pretty clear over the season that it is mainly Dean that keeps in touch with Mary and with Cas, but the fact that Sam needs to let Mary know to get a hold of him in case of an emergency - shouldn’t she have known to do that anyway, in  case of Dean not responding?

- ”The Rat Pack partied until the day they died!” Okay, Dean, but according to Wikipedia they also had problems with alcohol- and  drug addiction. Doesn’t sound like a good idea to me, Dean. On the other hand, kudos for finding a group with someone named Dean and someone named Sammy.

- Dean replying ”I don’t think so.” when Sam asks if he’s drunk is heartbreaking to me - he knows that something is wrong but can’t put his finger on what.

- Sam ”all we’ve been through lately makes me want to crawl into a bottle too sometimes” Winchester at it again, breaking my heart.

- The memory loss this episode is more sporadic then I expected - based on the Reverse-scene in the sneak peek I was expecting something like Dean first losing his newest memories, then his oldest. Hmm.

- Dean doesn’t want to call Mary or Cas, contrasting with 12x09 where his first move was to call Cas again and again and again - there he needed to see Cas again before Billie came to collect, here when he still believes that he and Sam can solve this he doesn’t want to bother Cas or Mary. When we last saw them talking about Mary was in 12x10, when Dean had offered their help with a hunt and she had said ”Don’t bother” - as has been the case all season, Dean still isn’t sure where he stands with Mary, and doesn’t want to be a bother. Which also applies to Cas.

- Rowena scamming those guys at poker, so much better than attempting to live happily ever after with a guy that is way below her league.  

- Welcome to innuendo-bar where we have a giant pickle pointing at the mechanical bull riding - subtle they are not.

- Not to mention that they have a giant banana in the right-hand corner  with ”Chuck” written over it. Everybody remember Chuck, our bisexual God, right? And everybody remembers how Dean and him had uncannily similar tastes? And everybody remembers how Dean’s waffles earlier this episode were with bananas and blueberries? Just checking.

(Sorry for the lousy screencap)

- And R may stand for Reverse, but also for R-rated. Oh hey, El Sol and a pool table in the background!

- Dean calling Gilman ”big guy” only to later be mockingly called ”the Boss” - pfft.

- Elke seems to be the owner/manager of this place, and at a night they were slammed she had time to notice that Dean ”had the hots for Larry as soon as he walked in there.” It just makes me wonder how obvious he was. Oh Dean.

- This also makes it increasingly unlikely that they actually had sex. Her being the owner, that they were slammed and so on.

- The trash container in the alley look like it had an A with wings on it

- Sam telling Dean ”Witches, werewolves and vampires, they are all real. And we kill them,” and Dean’s reaction to it is the opposite of Yellow Fever (which this episode reminds me of so much).  Not to mention Dean saying: 

”Yeah but monsters are real. And we’re the guys that kill ’em, man. I mean, come on! Best job ever.”

It is the polar opposite to how he felt in 4x06

”I mean, come on, we hunt monsters! What the hell?! I mean, normal people, they see a monster, and they run. But not us, no, no, no, we – we search out things that want to kill us. Yeah? Huh? Or eat us! You know who does that? Crazy people! We…are insane!”

Even Sam’s reply echoes how Dean continued in Yellow Fever.

- The revelation that sirens aren’t all hot chicks doesn’t faze Dean in the slightest - his ”huh” sounds rather pleased to me, but Sam still doesn’t see the full picture - ”Sorry to break it to you”. It’s okay Sam, I think he’ll be fine with it.

- Dean being excited for being best friends with an angel is honestly so amazing to me, especially since we’ve known from 2x13 that he has steadfastly refused believing in angels ever since Mary died. But now Mary is alive, and he has forgotten that she ever died.

- So, Catriona and Lily as mirrors everybody? They are both doing it for family, both looking for revenge, but with completely different perspectives, given that Lily started out as a human and remained unwilling to hurt them, while Catriona had already been living for a very long time, and however she is staying alive it has been gnawing away on her soul?

- Dean is so cute with Rowena, I can’t. This is what he would think of her without knowing who she is: that her hair is ”bouncy”.

- And by watching cartoons we are reminded of 8x08, which are feeling I really don’t need right now, or ever.

- Sam’s and Rowena’s clothes so obviously connects them, and while I obviously loves this continuation of Sam being connected with witchcraft, what makes this sad again is how Dean’s clothes kind of makes him blend into the background, like he is melting away.

- I can’t believe that i predicted that this heart breaking speech would happen in a mirror, but put it in my queue so that nobody will ever know.

- Rowena’s doll is missing an eye (or rather it has an x for an eye which to me is how kids show that something has died), which makes three with Lily and Charlie. I know Yockey said it was an eye for an eye with Lily, symbolising revenge, but I like the thought of it being a reference to Odin as well, who gave up an eye to receive knowledge. Rowena’s doll also has a black heart however, which is more worrying.

- Rowena has a connection with the BMoL, and I can sense #witches for important plot season 12 coming along, or in season 13 even, if they are stretching it out.  I’ve seen complaints around that the Winchesters aren’t taking the BMoL seriously, but honestly it is not bothering me. They are prioritising and so far as they know, Lucifer’s child has the power for more destruction.

- Rowena’s face when Dean says that she has plenty of snuff is so genuinely pleased. Him not having any memories makes their relationship lack a power component - he doesn’t care for having power over her, and she has no use for the power she technically has over him.

- Rowena’s necklace looks like a Celtic knot to me, which apparently ”due to it’s infinite path, the Celtic knot can represent an uninterrupted life cycle” - which feels like it’s a theme brought up to the forefront lately, after being introduced several seasons back (I think was with Patrick, the witch in 5x07? From what I can recall most witches previous either had natural lifespans or were demons who had knowledge of witchcraft from their previous lives).

- The Loughlins resemble both Magnus and the Stynes to me - Catriona’s butterflies echoing Magnus need to collect everything and the Loughlin’s seem to be a mix of Celtic and Latin - they are collecting everything they find interesting, basically. The Stynes did that as well, not to mention the placing of Gideon’s body looked really familiar.

- That it is possible to swap one soul for another is new information right? When I first watched it I assumed that it meant they would take Sam’s soul and shove it into Gideon’s body, but maybe it was to summon whoever has taken Billie’s place and make a deal with them? Anyhow, repeated focus on souls.

- What is up with all the paintings hanging crooked in the Loughlin house? Some are knocked off course in the fight, but the one behind Dean when he comes in is crooked from the start. As is the one in the staircase.

- I knew the second he said ”who’s this hippie?” that he’d gotten his memories back, because honestly, most other times he didn’t even realise that he didn’t remember something until it was pointed out to him.  But shit, Sam’s face.

- I was bawling my eyes out first time I watched this montage, but I will get through it this time *steels self*. The song is so sad, but you know what? After the discussion Sam and Dean just had, asking when are you ever really happy, the answer shown here isn’t when you’ve lost all your memories. It is when you are riding a mechanical bull named Larry, because as we all know, that happened before the memory spell was cast.

The lyrics are being proven wrong, right there. And also, whew.

[bravxryy]

{ OPEN STARTER || gv: murder university }

                               EMERALD hues shone brightly as the petite blonde devoured page after page of a book she didn’t want to put down. The story was fast paced, beautifully written, and the more she read the more she both dreaded and anticipated the ending. Maka had every intention of finishing the book in this final sitting;; there were only a few chapters left and as she lay sprawled out in the grass, a giddiness began to take over her!! At least – until a dark shadow cast itself over her… The RATIONAL response, given the status of things at the university, would have been some form of FEAR – or at least hesitation, but in Maka’s focus it wsa nothing more than frustration. Damn it!! Can’t you just leave me be?! It took only a moment for the blonde’s hair to whip across her shoulders as she glared at the one who stood above her. ❝ CAN I help you?? ❞

[bravxryy]

Biography

Name: Maka Albarn Age: 19 Sex: cis-Female   Sexuality: Heterosexual Pronouns: She/Her +: Empathetic, Brace, Determined, Generous, Loyal, Intelligent, Honest -: Blunt, Competitive, Insecure, Hypocritical, Temperamental, Reckless, Stubborn Trope: The Bookworm

Biography:

BORN and raised in a small town in Nevada, maka was, from birth, more interested in what she could learn than what she could so to build relationships with others;; if asked about this, she’ll always point the finger back at her papa, spirit albarn, the very worst definition of a role model. growing up maka never got to see what healthy relationships looked like – she only saw the potential for pain, like the pain papa caused mama. the pain that made mama leave and never look back when maka was only a few years old;; since that day she watched her father chase women day and night, prioritizing little more than that. there was never a question of if her father loved her, he very much did, but maka did little to welcome that love;; shed never be able to forgive him for the pain he brought her mom and the fact that her mom was no longer in her life…at all.

MAKA’S fear of abandonment kept her from making any true connections growing up other than a few of her classmates who forced her to be more than just the nerd they teasingly called her;; her focus was always on school and bettering herself, being better than her father and half as intelligent as she deemed her mother to be. her grades never faltered and maka graduated at the top of her class, giving her access to any higher education she wanted… and what she wanted more than anything was to be far away from home. she enrolled at lemon spires in maine to get the furthest from home she could;; little did she know though, that papa, desperate not to lose her like he lost his wife, followed secretly behind.

Clubs: Book Club, Alpha Alpha Epsilon Sorority

Relations: Elena Gilbert (sorority sister)                   Archie Andrews (unrequited crush)                   Toni Topez (fellow book lover)

[bravxryy]

;; thank you @sydneyreturn @misanthropic-deity and @scikyo!! I went ahead and changed my theme cause y’all managed to make me feel better about it ^~^