#'who could have predicted-' I predicted this! me! fully wrote on the wall in great big letters but apparently forgot that i can't read!

[wizardlyghost]

fuckin. remember how back when foldable smartphones came out i was all like "lol what a scam those screens look way too easy to break and difficult to fix"? and then a month ago i decided to go ahead and buy one because i have adhd and impulse control issues? well, don't i feel like a vindicated little stooge!

[kitwalker02]

In Tyler We Trust

A/N: This is a little Fight Club thingy I wrote and posted on ao3 but wanted to share here also! Enjoy! There’s really no warnings other than mentions of suicide and stuff.

Six months later… and I couldn't sleep.

I couldn't sleep.

No one was asking me if I knew Tyler Durden. Why Tyler’s not here. For all they knew, he had a mental breakdown and retreated back into his repetitive, copy of a copy of a copy, perfect little Ikea world. A safe and secure job behind a computer and hidden away from the world within the blank walls of a cubicle.

Six pairs of black pants. Six perfectly ironed white dress shirts.

At the very least, Tyler Durden could have ended up in an asylum. Wrapped up in a straitjacket. Going crazy looking at the same four white walls day in and day out until he finally loses the last of that weak, pointless grip on reality, or maybe he gets lobotomized like in the movies, or simply takes one too many Xanax and goes out Marla Singer-style… even getting his balls cut off back at the police station would have been a better ending than the one he got.

Instead, Tyler Durden was a button-down, oxford cloth Ikea boy.

He lay in bed with his tumor, Marla Singer, who now had a tumor of her own, one they'd name within the next few months. It could be Tyler, reincarnated from one too many drug-induced, erotic nights, or another Marla. Now, that would be just perfect.

At least there's still the option of getting my penis cut off.

Underground fight clubs and rubbing one off to a bowl of clam chowder were things of the past. Tyler Durden is just an idea now.

The ankle Tyler broke, had long since healed. The gash in my cheek closed up. It would never be gone entirely, but the doctors said it was healing nicely. Every bruise and scar I got from fight club faded and paled, but the chemical burn on my hand remained.

The scar was as prominent and brutal as the night I got it. The lye kiss. Tyler's kiss.

I swear it still burned every time I washed my hands, but then again, I tend to have a pretty active imagination.

After all the destruction, chaos, and pain… why did I miss Tyler Durden? I was perfectly happy in my monotonous, predictable life, wasn’t I? Every day was the same. Wake up, go to work, cry at my support groups, and go to sleep.

But I couldn't sleep.

Because I missed Tyler Durden.

I dreamt about Tyler Durden. He was mad at me. Pissed that I killed him. He said it was my own fault that my life was miserable again. I had a chance to accomplish something, become something, and I blew it all up. Then he'd hit me. Hard. Like the night we met. I'd wake up to Marla above me, shaking me back to consciousness; the following day, my face would have a new bruise.

But then Marla left.

My tumor was removed. My cancer cured. She said all my thrashing around at night made me dangerous to the baby. Our baby. She was scared I was going to lash out. Apparently, I had been becoming violent.

"Go get that fucking abortion like you wanted, Marla."

A bit winded, but that was the last thing I ever said to her.

Now I was alone. I couldn't cry. I couldn't sleep.

That night, when I wasn’t really awake and I wasn’t really asleep, it was just me and Tyler; no one else existed in my unconscious consciousness. Not Marla Singer. Not a tumor on a tumor. But best of all, not a Fight Club around. Just empty parking lots and back doors to bars. No, it was just me and Tyler now, as it used to be. The way it was supposed to be.

Tonight, we were in the rickety old bathroom in the house on Paper Street. The same bathroom where we talked about our fathers…or father. About the great fights we had and will have. The bathroom was filled with so much desire to be different, to fight against the enslavement we call society. And now I was lying fully clothed in a tub filled with murky water. My white button-down was soaked through, my suit jacket weighed me down and Tyler Durden crouched beside me, pressing a sharpened pocket knife into my hands.

"This is freedom. Losing all hope is freedom."

My words coming out of Tyler's mouth. How the tables turn. "This world doesn't need you anymore." His fingers brushed over my burn, over his permanent kiss.

I nodded my head to his words. In Tyler we trusted. "Forget what you think you know about life, about death and especially what you think it means to hit bottom." My whole life was one big letdown. I could only hope death would give my pathetic existence some sort of meaning. And if that meant finally hitting bottom the way Tyler saw fit, then so be it.

"I want you to do me a favor."

Anything for you, Tyler, anything. Just don't let me wake up again. I don’t want you to go.

He tapped his fingers against my fist. The one that held the knife. Our knife.

You want me to slit my wrists. Don't you?

"Wrists are for pussies."

Of course Tyler would think that.

"I want you to slit your throat."

Now how does one go about slitting their own throat?

What did you say? It’s not that I was questioning him; I was just scared that if he stopped talking, I would be shaken awake again, Tyler Durden turning into Marla Singer. Me and Marla alone in our dark room, her lies reflecting my lies. We weren't happy. We were never happy. Not alone and definitely not together.

But she was gone, and by tomorrow morning, so would I.

"Listen to me. This is the sacrifice. Your whole life is fucked. You need to wipe the slate clean. Start over, man."

I wouldn't be waking up this time, would I?

Tyler Durden smiled. When Tyler Durden smiled, the rest of the world got its volume turned down.

Everything else was so far away. Bruises fade, and people go, but not Tyler Durden. He is the only sure thing in this entire fucked up world. I know that now. My eyes are open.

"Have I ever let us down?"

I couldn't argue with that. Not again, never again.

“Everything's going to be fine.”

I met Tyler Durden at a very strange time in my life.

"Hey. It's you and me."

Who I was with Tyler Durden is not who I was with the rest of the world.

And in Tyler I trusted.

[fangirlings-things]

To get the job done

Fandom: Criminal Minds

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x female reader

Word count: 5.1K

Summary: going undercover as a couple with your boss in order to serve as bait for an unsub, definitely should have been more... professional

Warnings: smut, sexual innuendos, chocking, language, fingering, oral sex (female receiving), unprotected sex

A/N: I wrote this in the middle of the night when I couldn't sleep and couldn't shake this idea out of my head lol. this is my first hotch smut ever written so I hope this is good. hope you guys enjoy this, lots of love!!!

TAG LIST: @imaginesofyourfandom ; @locke-writes ; @regalbanshee || GIF IS NOT MINE

“It’s not working”

Between the loud music resonating through the nightclub and the proximity of civilians who shouldn’t hear your words, you had come closer to Hotch to speak, so that he could fully understand what you were saying. As you did, mouth close to his ear, you were able to smell the scent of perfume coming from him. That was a good smell.

You both had done your best to look incredibly good on that night, for the operation the BAU had developed alongside the local police department on the last two days. As the unsub had been targeting couples on that nightclub specifically and there were no bodies to sustain the accusation even though he had been the last one seen with all those people, the best approach was to use a bait and catch him in the act.

At first you believed you were going in undercover with Morgan, what you guys had already done before when the situation called for it. But according to the profile and the fact that all the previous disappeared male victims were white, the team agreed that it would be better to send Hotch, and that was how you ended up playing couple with your boss, something you were sure shouldn’t be making you as nervous as it was.

“We've only been here for half an hour, (Y/N)” Hotch replied, eyes wondering around a bit before he focused on you and smiled tenderly, placing a hand on your cheek. You had been exchanging soft touches like that, to blind in between the other couples present. “Maybe he isn’t here yet”

You sighted heavily, but nodded in agreement, because there was a good chance he was right. For another hour, you and Hotch kept on to your disguise. You smiled at each other, even danced a bit, which really made you laugh because you had never pictured your boss doing such thing, and he had managed to laugh a bit as well. At some point, you felt his hands circling your waist and pulling you close towards his own body. You couldn’t deny the shiver that ran down your spine in that moment.

Time passed and passed, and except for a woman that got close to flirt with Hotch that he politely dismissed by holding your hand, nothing happened. The unsub didn’t approach you, like he had done to the other missing couples. Only then, a thought occurred to you and you remembered something important about the abductions. Or more exactly, previously to those.

“Hotch, we forgot something” you said, slowly pulling him by the arm to one of the corners of the club, like you where just getting away from the crowd to make out a bit.

“What?” he asked, frowning while trying to keep a relaxed expression on his features. Under the shinning lights of the nightclub, his short hair and white shirt with the two first buttons open and sleeves rolled up to his elbows, he looked extremely handsome. Not that you hadn’t noticed it already on a daily basis, but then, he was your boss. On this night… he was playing your boyfriend. You had some kind of permission to allow yourself to think such thing.

“The unsub's method. What made him choose those couples instead of all the others” you said, pressing your back against the wall and bringing him close to you with a smile, feeling other people’s eyes on you both. His hands found your waist and stayed there, unmoving. “He likes to play the gentleman before actually abducting the couples” you told Hotch, hands running up his uncovered by the rolled sleeves arms. “Witnesses said they saw the male and the female getting into some kind of discussion, that the men were sometimes violent with their girlfriends, so the unsub would come and defend her” you saw that he had understood what you meant even before you said the words. “You have to be violent with me”

“So he gets to play the good guy with the women before abducting them and the boyfriends, to later kill them both” he completed your line of thought and you nodded, agreeing. “(Y/N)…” Hotch then began, hesitant. You saw the way he squeezed his lips on a thin line and sighted heavily, looking around again before getting his gaze fixed on you. “are you sure this is what we have to do?”

“I am” you guaranteed, eyes fixed on his as seriousness filled your tone. Hotch stared at you for a long moment as if he was thinking about it, but then he pulled back, taking his hands away from you and stepping back like he suddenly wanted distance. Fearing it would blow your cover, you looked at him even more seriously now. “Hotch? Come on! You have to…”

Before you could finish your sentence, expressing your indignation for his hesitation to get the job done, he closed the gap between you both once again, body now fully pressed against yours. His breath was on your face, heavy and hot. One of his hands, had gone to your throat. He was squeezing your neck, fingertips digging into your skin just enough to put some pressure on it.

“Why can’t you ever stop talking” his voice came out rough, irritated. With widened eyes because of the fact that he was suddenly all upon you, you realized that Hotch was playing along. He was following the plan. And really, you wanted to think about the unsub, but it proved to be really hard when you had Hotch’s hand around your throat and his breath on your face. The scent of his perfume, so close… you felt intoxicated by him in the best way possible.

“Hotch…” you began, glad that he had to be the one leading the actions and not you. Honestly, professionalism was the last thing on your mind in that moment and even though you knew it was wrong, you couldn’t help it.

“Shut up” he replied in the same instant, which made you go instantly quiet, as his hand increased the pressure on your neck just a bit. The fake anger was there in his voice but in his eyes, there was no such thing. They were cautious, inspecting your features to see if you were comfortable with this. You stared back at him silently and he understood, that you were good to keep up the little scene, which set him into action once again. “Just shut the fuck up for a moment” his hand moved further up your throat, brushing against your skin smoothly as it went. He only stopped when he was finally able to touch your bottom lip with his thumb, eyes on your lips as he did so. “Just shut up”

And right and there, you did something you couldn’t have predicted.

You moaned.

A low, breathy moan that you silently wished for him to not have heard, but of course he had, being pressed up against you like that. You closed your eyes for a long moment, embarrassed and desperately wanted to disappear. You had just moaned because of the hand of your boss around your throat. That wasn’t something you felt quite pride of. Still, you forced yourself to open your eyes and stare at Hotch. His eyes… they were unreadable. Even though you were a profiler, you had no idea what was on his mind. None.

Before you could think of anything to say, suddenly a man approached you and Hotch, getting too close. He was extremely tall, had brown eyes and blond hair. There was a calm expression on his features, the kind of expression you had often seen in the faces of unsubs when they talked about their crimes. “Hey, you’re hurting the lady, man!”

As both of your attentions were on him now, that being the unsub the police had already locked up but then let go because of the lack of evidences, Hotch released his hand from your throat, but then he grabbed your forearm with it, keeping you in place. When he spoke, he used the best angered voice he had. “I’m having a private conversation with my girlfriend. Why don’t you leave?”

The unsub focused his gaze on you, ignoring Hotch like he hadn't even spoken. “Is he hurting you?”

“Yeah, (Y/N), am I hurting you?” Hotch said turning to you too, provoking the unsub by forcing you to share the full attention he clearly wanted.

“No” you replied, eyes going from Hotch to the unsub. Looking into the latter's eyes, you forced yourself to give out a little smile. “I’m fine, but thank you” and as to reassure him, you gently placed your hand on his arm.

You heard Hotch take a deep breath by your side, annoyed by you touching the other man, and then he gripped really tightly at your arm. “We are leaving” and then without warning, he began to drag you towards the exit. You didn’t have to look back to know that the unsub was following you both.

“The others are outside, right?” you whispered to Hotch, as he continued to drag you along between the great amount of people.

“Yes, Morgan has a S.W.A.T team on the roof top of the next building” he said back, while pushing open the door of the nightclub. Instantly, the cold air of the night outside the place made you shiver, because of the great amount of exposed skin from your dress. Without saying anything else, he continued to drag you along. Seconds later, you heard the door being opened and closed again.

“Hey!” a voice that clearly belonged to the unsub said and you and Hotch stopped, turning around to look at him. He had pulled out a gun, and had it pointed directly to your face. “Come here you both, or I’ll shoot her right in her pretty face”

“Alright man, take it easy!” Hotch let go of you, raised his hands in the air and motioned for you to walk alongside him. You placed the most scared look you could on your face as you walked towards the unsub.

When you and Hotch had already closed half of the distance between you both and the unsub, armed agents appeared from every corner of the empty, barely illuminated parking lot, pointing their guns to the unsub.

“Richard Jones, put the gun down right now!” Morgan’s firm voice echoed through the parking lot as he screamed, standing just a few feet away from the man.

The unsub looked from the many agents to you both and seeing the controlled expressions on your faces, he clenched his jaw, filled with anger. “You two are cops, aren’t you?” hearing the instability in his voice, Hotch took a step forward to stand in front of you, shielding you with his own body. “Son of a…” the unsub took a enraged step forward and then the sound of a shot filled the night. In the same instant, the unsub fell to the ground, dropping the gun and using the now free hand to press on his shoulder, where the bullet had hit him.

Morgan quickly ran towards the fallen unsub and kicked the gun away from his reach. “You two good?” he asked without turning around, still pointing his gun to the now unharmed unsub.

“Yeah, we’re fine” you said, after touching Hotch’s shoulder for a moment. He just nodded, fine. Good.

The ambulance came after ten minutes to take the unsub to the closest hospital. Morgan talked to the local officers to decide which one would accompany Jones there and Reid and Prentiss had just congratulated you for the good job. Rossi, talked to Hotch a few feet away from where you were. When Spencer and Emily walked away to verify some last things with the paramedics, Hotch approached you.

“Good job” he said, hands on the pockets of his pants. The professionalism was back, now that the operation was done. The boss was back like he had never left.

“Thanks. You too” you gave him a smile, eyes on the paramedics that were just putting Jones inside the ambulance. “That’s how he did it. He threatened the women to make the men comply to whatever he said”

“He envied the men, they were always his real target. He overpowered the men and probably made them watch whatever he did to the girlfriends” Hotch said, also looking at the unsub.

“Do you think we will find the bodies?” you asked, frustrated. Now, Jones could be charged for the crimes but the families of the victims had nothing to hold on to. No bodies to bury. The thought was awful.

“I don’t think so” Hotch replied, as clear and honest as ever. The sound of the ambulance's doors being closed made itself heard and then Hotch sighted and put himself in front of you, crossing his arms over his chest in a way that beautifully defined the muscles of his arms. “(Y/N), about what happened in there…” for a second you thought he was going to mention your moan and all air left your lungs. But thankfully, he didn’t. “I hope I didn’t hurt you too badly. Gripping you like that”

“Oh, you didn’t” you rushed yourself into saying, trying to calm down your still heavy beating heart. You gave him another smile and a shrug. “We just did what we had to do to get the job done, right?”

“(Y/N)!” Reid called you, standing close to one of the SUV's, motioning for you to come close.

You briefly touched Hotch’s arm. “Don’t worry, Hotch” and giving him one last friendly smile you walked away towards Reid, taking a deep breath as you did so. Being under Hotch’s stare had never been so intense, exciting and anxious all the same.

With every step you took, you wondered if you would ever be able to look at Hotch like you did before that night. Merely as your boss and a friend.

━━━━━━━━━━ × ━━━━━━━━━━

It turned out, things weren’t the same anymore.

It had been a month since that case were you and Hotch had gone undercover together as a couple. A month. It always felt like it had happened on the previous day to the one you were living. No matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t shake that night away from your mind.

Everytime Hotch would sit close to you at the jet and you would smell his perfume, you would inevitably close your eyes and remember the feeling of having his hands on your waist. When he would hand you a file and your hands would end up casually brushing against one another, you would remember having that same hand closed around your throat and that thought alone would make you have to hold back a whimper.

Truth was you wouldn’t be able to deny your attraction to your boss to anyone that asked about it. Thankfully though, you hadn’t wore wires on that night and no other members of the team had gone into the club. So, those moments had belonged only to you both. Your corrupted mind, was more than grateful for it.

“(Y/N), my love?” Garcia’s voice brought you back to reality, making you snap out of your thoughts and focus your eyes on hers. She was staring at you with a smile and curious eyes. “Now, you were daydreaming about some lucky sugar out there”

Cleaning your throat, you did your best to keep on a straight face. It was unbelievable how even though you daily spent your time with profilers, she could be more perceptive than all of them went it came to emotions and personal innuendos. “I’m sorry Penelope, I drifted away. Was is it?”

She stared at you with interested eyes for a few more moments before looking down at the table you were both sitting at for hours now, at the lobby of the hotel you had all booked in the city. “Well, I just finished doing all the background check I could get on the previous victims, like you guys asked me to” she handed you a folder, filled with information that certainly would be significant for the current investigation the team was working on. You were glad she had travelled with you all for this case.

“Penelope, you’re amazing” you grabbed the folder and took a few glares to the pages inside of it, before closing it again and looking back at her. “We should call it for the day and get some rest like the others”

“I’ll do that, I just have to check one last thing. Will you please spare me the trouble and take this to Hotch on your way to have some amazingly good sleep?” she pouted, knowing you wouldn’t be able to resist such a request.

“Sure” you said, thinking about the fact that you had just agreed on going to Hotch’s room to deliver him the folder in the middle of the night. You took a deep breath before standing up. “Goodnight, Penelope”

“Rest well, my lovely friend” she winked at you and you smiled back at her before making your way to the elevator. You were all staying on the same floor, so you pressed the bottom to the seventh floor and waited with a fast beating her inside the elevator, that seemed to get to the said floor too soon. Too fast.

Room 220. You stared at it's door for what seemed to be hours. You thought about Hotch inside. The fact that you were about to come in. Him, alone. Alone with you. Like you two had been on that nightclub.

Taking a deep breath, you concentrated on stopping those wondering thoughts and knocked on the door. The answer came seconds later, an 'enter' you would often hear at the office. Of course he had been waiting awake for the files. That was Hotch, after all.

Taking another deep breath you opened the door and your gaze immediately met Hotch, who stood with his arms crossed over his chest close to the table placed at the corner of the room. Pictures and other files filled it and he looked through it like always, searching for leads and trying to begin the building of the unsub's profile. He had removed his black suit and red tie, standing there with just a white shirt covering his upper body. Just like on the nightclub.

“Hey, I’m sorry to bother, but Garcia asked me to bring you these files” you raised the folder in the air, a small polite smile on your lips as you did so.

“Thank you” he crossed the distance of the room towards you and stopped just two steps away. You handed him the folder, and he looked inside it for long moments before looking back to you so your eyes would meet. “Do you want to help me go over this knew information?”

You swallowed dry at the suggestion you hadn’t been expecting. Who needed to sleep when you could just spend time with the man you daydreamed about, right? This thought, got the next words out of your mouth. “Yeah, sure”

“Okay, close the door” Hotch said with that professional tone of his, nodding in the door's direction before turning around and going back to stand close to the table. You did close the door and then went to stand by him, looking at all the files splayed out in quite a mess. “I still haven’t been able to make any progress with the profile”

“Well, we’ve only been here for two days” you said, getting some of the crime scene pictures in your hands and looking attentively at them, searching for anything that might have passed your attentions before. “we don’t have much but we’ll get the job done, like we always do”

Then, Hotch chuckled. The sound was so unexpected and it happened to rarely that you instantly stopped looking at the photos, placed them back at the table and then turned with a frown to look at your boss, not being able to stop yourself from smiling a bit. “What?”

“Nothing, is just that…” he shrugged, arms still crossed over his chest and eyes not staring into yours. “we have been making a great team lately” and then he looked at you. And he must have recognized the conflicted expression on your features, because the intensity of his eyes suddenly became too much to bare. And still, you found yourself unable to look away.

“Yeah, we have” you found it within yourself to answer those simple three words and then it happened exactly like in the nightclub. Before you could even realize what was happening, Hotch got closer and closer until his body was almost touching yours. Painfully almost.

“Can I?” he asked, staring into your eyes with beautiful fixation. His breathing was heavy and it made you realize that you weren’t the only one nervous in that room. You just nodded, staring back at him with your heart beating so hard and fast inside your chest it seemed like it would explode. Slowly Hotch raised his eyes and placed them on your cheeks, fingertips caressing the skin beneath them gently. And then, even more slowly, he closed the gap between you both and touched your lips with his.

It wasn’t even a proper kiss. Just a brush of mouths. Curious, anxious, insecure. He brushed his lips against yours and stopped, as if giving you time to decide what to do. To have Hotch there like that, with you like you wanted him to be, it went to your head in a burst of delight and you were the one who urged forward and fully pressed your lips together, hands going to rest on his forearms. He tasted good. So unique, so fine.

You kissed slowly. Exploring, getting to know each other’s mouths little by little with tongues and lips. But then you got impatient, excited, and you pressed your lips more hardly against his, wanting to make those kisses as deep and breath taking as you could. Hotch responded immediately at that incentive, kissing you just as intensively as you wanted him to. And so, one of his hands slipped down to your throat and he squeezed it slightly, putting pressure. Such an amazing pressure. And it made you moan. At that point, after all those kisses, you didn’t even bother to try to repress it.

“I have been wanting to make you moan again since that night” Hotch said against your lips and that, actually made you moan again. Louder this time and it made his squeeze on your neck get tighter and if you were being honest, you weren’t having it any other way.

You kept on kissing, bodies fully pressed against one another, mouths devouring each other unstoppably until your hands found the buttons of his shirt and you started opening them. It seemed to take hours but you finally managed to slip the shirt out of him, the piece of clothing ending up on the floor just to be shortly joined by your own t-shirt.

Hotch’s hands then were on your waist, gripping at the bare skin of your hips in a way that made you weak. One of your hands was on his cheek and the other, played with the short hair at the back of his neck. Together you moved towards the bed, mouths only letting go to do so. You pushed Hotch to the bed and he sat at the edge of it, looking up at you breathless and with his mouth very reddened from the kisses. He was beautiful.

You moved to sit on his lap, hands on his neck and mouth back on his because you already missed it. Through the layers of your intimate clothes and both of your pants, you felt his hard member beneath you. As you kissed you pressed your body down into him, pressing his member, and his breath hissed. You smiled.

Hotch gripped your thighs with his hands firmly and flipped you both around, making you lay back on the bed as he got above you. He kissed you, tongue exploring your mouth and hands squeezing so tightly your thighs that you felt like you were going to burst.

His hands went to open the button of your jeans and you helped him get rid of it. Another piece on the floor. Then, after giving you a series of quick kisses, Hotch stood up from the bed and started to take out his own pants. You just watched him, smiling with your bottom lip caught between your teeth.

“Liking the view?” he asked with a smirk, and oh, that was a version of Hotch you could easily get used to. The way he took out the pants and disposed it to the side, standing now in just black boxer briefs, eyes not leaving you not for a second, that was something you wanted to mark in your memory.

“How could I not?” you replied just when he knelt back on the bed and then, crawled his way to be on top of you again. Looking up at his face, you sighted. That was amazing. What was happening… you couldn’t have predicted it not even in your best dreams.

Hotch kissed you again, hands traveling to your back just so that he could undo your bra. One more piece gone. One of his hands slowly found your left breast and he caressed it in his hands, making you moan again and again. He kissed you. He kissed your breasts. He kissed you again. His hands caressed your skin unstoppably.

“Hotch…” you moaned his name when he began to give you small bites here and there, the feeling of your skin between his teeth making you suck in a breath. He probably noticed the desperation in your voice, because next thing you knew he was sliding his kisses down to your belly and then, he kissed your pussy from above your panties. “Hotch” his name was emitted from your mouth again, louder this time.

He took his time just kissing you like that, with that layer between his mouth and your intimacy. Torturing you to the most. When he found it proper he removed your panties using both of his hands and after discarding them just like he had done with his pants, he used his hands to spread your thighs and get his face close to your pussy. He kissed your thighs, ignoring your intimacy. You could feel his hot breath down there and it made you lose your mind. You could almost feel yourself dripping your wetness into the bed.

“Hotch!” you urged him to stop teasing, eyes shut and chest raising and falling incredibly fast due to your erratic breathing. The moan you gave out when his mouth finally came in contact with your pussy was obscene. Was loud and you did not give a damn about it because you had your boss's face between your legs and that was it. That was all you cared about right then.

He sure as hell knew what to do with his mouth. He kissed, sucked and he fucked you with his tongue, his saliva mixed with the wetness of your own body making you become a moaning mess. Your hands went to his short hair and you gripped tightly at it, pulling. You moaned again, and that made him moan a bit. Suddenly the feeling of his mouth was gone and you felt extremely disappointed. Just a bit more…

One of his fingers found it’s way inside your body and your moan was cut short by his mouth back on yours. You tasted yourself on his mouth and the thought alone almost made you come. After a couple seconds, another finger joined in and the feeling of having them coming in and out of your body was incredible. Your hands stayed in his hair, pulling and gripping like you were holding yourself into dear life.

His movements were slow, calculated. The kisses were deep. At some point, you made it know you wanted more by sliding one of your hands down between both of your bodies and touching him through his briefs. He stopped kissing you, stopped the movements of his hand and looked into your eyes. You smiled at each other, and then he pulled back away from you to get rid of the last layer. The last piece ended on the floor.

You motioned to grab at his hard member, bit he held your wrist gently halfway and you frowned. “Another time. Right now” he came close again and with one of his hands, stroked your hair for a bit. “I want to make you feel good”

“Okay” you managed to say, already excited by the idea of 'another time'. You were certain, that was something you wanted to keep happening and for the look on Hotch’s face, he did too.

You both moaned together when he entered your body with his member. Finally. His mouth and fingers had made you as slick and open they could and you managed to fit all of him inside of you, all pain disappearing in just a few moments as you locked your legs around his waist.

Hotch looked into your eyes again, smiled by seeing your clearly pleasured expression and then began to move. Slowly, enjoying every bit of it. But after so much previous teasing, he couldn’t hold himself back too much and hearing you moan like that, probably didn’t help his state of mind.

His movements became rough, fast. You both moaned and moaned, each other’s names being the only thing leaving your mouths. One of Hotch’s hands found your throat and the feeling of his fucking you with the squeeze on your neck made you come, moaning loudly. So loudly. Hotch came just a few movements after, moaning too.

He laid beside you, both of you breathing heavily with your skins glistening in sweat. You kissed him once more before snuggling up to his chest and closing his eyes, you fell asleep.

━━━━━━━━━━ × ━━━━━━━━━━

“Morning, guys” Prentiss said, yawning while joining the rest of the team in the hotel lobby. The sun had just raised itself in the sky and you were all heading to the local precinct.

“Morning” Morgan replied, smiling by her clearly sleepy face. Sitting by Garcia’s side in one of the couches, he had a cup of coffee in his hand. “Hope you all had a nice night of sleep, because this day will probably be too long”

“I couldn’t sleep until four” Reid said with a heavy sight, also having a cup of coffee in his hands. Standing beside you, he looked to Hotch and then back at you before whispering. “The walls were really thin”

[hamliet]

Metals and Heavenly Bodies: Why There Is So Much Metal in RWBY

So, why is RWBY so metal? 

RWBY uses metallic symbolism to explore the alchemical process (the refinement of metal into gold via the creation of the philosopher’s stone). Alchemy has seven metals that are ordered in terms of refinement: three base metals, one that is the most refined of base metals, and three refined metals. RWBY has been associating each metal with certain characters. It’s also been giving these characters their ultimate focus in the precise order of refinement.

Metals in alchemy are also associated with heavenly bodies, or planets (well, plus the sun and moon, because we’re dealing with ancient astronomy here). The planets, of course, are named after Roman gods, so they too can be associated with the metals, and RWBY directly correlates them.

NB: It’s very valid to critique tropes and subtext. This isn’t intended to invalidate any criticism but rather to offer a symbolic reading of the metal motif.

So, let’s dive in.

Base Metals:

Lead-Saturn

Associated characters: Qrow Branwen, Ruby Rose, Mercury Black

While I can’t think of any specific reference to lead in RWBY, there are a ton of references to the mythical Saturn. 

Saturn's father (Uranus) was a piece of work who hated Saturn’s mother and so took his son (and other children) and imprisoned them in a cave so that they could never see the sunlight. Saturn’s mother eventually persuaded Saturn to take a sickle and castrate his father. He then wasn’t a particularly great dad himself, becoming more like his father than not.

In alchemy in particular, we have images of Saturn with a prosthetic leg (see: above). This is where Mercury begins his arc. He’s abused by his father, who steals his semblance and refuses to allow Mercury to be his own person (effectively rendering him a prisoner). So, Mercury kills him, and then is taken in by Cinder and Emerald to be an assassin for them, an assassin just like his father. You can see the parallels. 

Saturn’s sickle is also often drawn as a scythe, which Death holds in the above image. A scythe is of course the weapon used by Ruby and by Qrow--specifically, Qrow is the person Ruby imitates and admires. But we know (and Ruby now does to) that Qrow is a flawed human himself; Ruby is better of becoming her own person rather than continuing to stay like her father-figure in Qrow (her own dad is great, but that doesn’t mean Qrow isn’t also a dad figure to her!) 

Qrow, of course, is self-destructive, believing his semblance is to bring bad luck wherever he goes. His name is “crow,” the bird symbolizing the first (black) stage of death and rotting in alchemy. His own upbringing can also be compared to Saturn’s. 

But, you see, Saturn isn’t actually a sign of doom and death. It is one of the symbols of the prima materia, the lead to be transformed into gold by the end of the alchemical process. It shows where the characters can grow, and indeed all three of them are along their path towards growing. 

Tin-Jupiter

Associated character(s): James Ironwood (maybe Weiss Schnee)

Well, I’m actually going to talk more about Ironwood and his arc in the next section. But in Ozpin’s circle, in which characters are based on The Wizard of Oz (a blatantly alchemical story), we have Qrow as the scarecrow, Lionheart as the Cowardly Lion, and Ironwood as the tin man. Jupiter is also associated with the Sublimation stage in the process of alchemy, which is where we are now. 

In case we didn’t get the allusion, RWBY has helpfully placed artwork of tin men on the walls in the background of Weiss’s room this season.

I’m aware that this screenshot isn’t from this season but it gets the point across. I also feel tin might well have an association with Weiss and where she was at in her arc after the fall of Beacon. 

Additionally, Jupiter is actually Saturn’s son in mythology, and is saved from being eaten by his father (look Saturn really wasn’t awesome). He returns to force his father to regurgitate his siblings, and Jupiter and his rescued siblings (yes they were still alive; it’s mythology) fight to dethrone their father. They succeed with the use of lightning, among other things. Saturn was then imprisoned in tartarus. You can see the parallels. 

Do note that the glowing sun above the head of the tin man on Weiss’s wall, showing Weiss is destined to become refined like gold. The golden sun is in sharp contrast to Ironwood’s allusion to the Dark Sun, but there’s a lot more to say about Ironwood in the Iron section. 

Iron-Mars

Associated characters: James Ironwood, Marcus Black, Mercury Black

First, let’s continue with Ironwood. I’ve noted before that iron is associated with war:

Iron in particular is ruled by Mars, the god of war, meaning it is associated with violence. It’s not a coincidence that pretty much from the second Ironwood is introduced, the concept of war comes up, and his entire character has gone on to be the embodiment of the military and violence.

In addition to seeing himself as a sort of be-all-end-all Jupiter figure, Ironwood of course is always expecting war. His arc is one of reverse alchemy, which is a thing. It means that instead of becoming refined, he’s corroding from Iron to Tin. I don’t see good things for him. 

Mars in mythology also becomes obsessed with Venus, which... you’ll have to read the next section for that ;) 

Marcus Black, of course, is an assassin, hence it makes sense that his name literally means “dedicated to Mars.” Mercury (our Mercury) becomes more like him in taking over his role as an assassin. He’s so broken from his father’s abuse that he refuses to become his own person and just falls into his father’s role. It’s tragic. 

So is Mercury’s arc reverse alchemy? No, I don’t think so. There’s more (of course) later on, but if we look at the stages of his development, we see he has moved from Lead to Iron. It’s progress. His leg is a focus for the early arcs of the story (he uses it, along with Emerald’s semblance, to trick everyone into turning against Yang), and only later did we learn his history with his father. Even if the events of course did not happen in succession, the story revealed the allusions one after each other. He’s also made progress in that he’s clearly emotionally attached to Emerald even if he pretends otherwise. Also... (see below)

The Most Perfectable Base Metal:

Copper-Venus

Associated character: Penny Polendina

As I also mentioned previously, Penny’s name references copper (a “copper penny”). The Summa Perfectionis, a thirteenth century alchemical text, calls copper “the most perfectable of base metals.” 

Venus in alchemical imagery is almost always wearing (or surrounded by, since she’s also often, well, not wearing anything) green. 

Green is in alchemy the color of the prima materia, the raw, immature material that will eventually be refined into gold, because green is of course symbolic of the earth, fertility, growth, etc.

As I wrote previously, in mythology Mars had a thing for Venus. I’m certainly not suggesting Ironwood has a thing for Penny in a romantic/sexual sense, but he does seek to control her, and like the Mars of myth, his pursuit of Penny/Venus leads to his humiliation (the Mars of myth gets caught in a trap--no literally a net--by Venus’s angry husband). 

In contrast to Ironwood, Penny, who is originally made entirely of metal, becomes human, while Ironwood becomes more metal--not necessarily literally, but in his spirit. He’s lost his humanity, or rather, gave it away, while Penny found hers. It makes sense to me that a story with spiritual alchemy at its core (which focuses in the Jungian sense on individuation/self-actualization, or fully coming into an understanding of the self) would have Penny literally transform into what she has always been: a final product, a real girl, the philosopher’s stone. 

Refined Metals:

Now these are going to be a bit more predictive. The allusions are clearly there, but how exactly those will play out I don’t know because if we look at these metals as steps in the process, we’re not quite there yet. 

Mercury-Mercury

Associated character(s): Mercury Black, (maybe Emerald Sustrai)

I think the name says it all. 

Kidding. Mercury as a metal is also known as argentvive or quicksilver. It, along with sulphur, form the basis of the alchemical process. They must be united to achieve the Philosopher’s Stone (it’s one of the reasons I am wondering if we’re going to get an important, Mercury-related event in a place named for sulphur or its other name, brimstone, in Vacuo; all the places we know of in Vacuo are named after types of stones including several that are sulfuric in nature). Mercury himself unites the two principles of the work, sun and moon (for who those are, read below). Mercury is the metal from which all other metals come from--he’s way more important to this story than we’ve seen yet. Most likely, he will eventually turn on Salem as well, and in a pivotal moment.

As a god, Mercurius is the author of alchemy. He’s the mythical author of the Emerald Tablet (which Emerald’s name alludes to; I actually don’t personally think Emerald alludes very much to Aladdin. Instead, I think her allusion is the Emerald Tablet and her Egyptian design is based on Thoth, Mercury’s Egyptian counterpart). Mercury is the spirit that gives life.

Lyndy Abraham notes that Mercury is “both destructive and creative” (oh look at the relics of Atlas and Vacuo) and that “the elusive, duplicitous Mercurius who consorts with the devil is at the same time a redeeming psychopomp” (”psychopomp” means spiritual guide) “The fact that he can freely participate in both light and dark worlds without taint makes Mercurius the perfect mediating bridge.” Jung calls Mercury “a symbol uniting all the opposites.” So yeah, Mercury should have a redemption arc that will probably be pivotal in the story.

If we follow the self-actualization endgame of spiritual alchemy, with true life and wisdom as the metaphorical philosopher’s stone here, I think it’s likely Mercury becomes more himself--going from being Lead to Iron (as he’s clearly spiraling right now, but also has a connection to Emerald) to Mercury. I would also suspect he’d get his semblance back to establish that he’s his “own person” (a major recurring theme of RWBY), and while, like with Yang and her arm, I don’t think he’ll get new legs, I think it’s pretty likely his semblance will enable him to fly (since mythical Mercury, you know, flies). 

Silver-Moon

Associated character(s): Ruby Rose (also Weiss Schnee, Blake Belladonna, Oscar Pine, Jaune Arc, and Summer Rose).

The most important character here is Ruby, obviously. She’s our MC and titular character! But Weiss, Jaune, Blake, Summer, and Oscar are all addressed here. But I think it’s obvious that Ruby’s defining trait is her silver eyes. They got her noticed by Ozpin and sent to Beacon early, they’re the reason Salem is targeting her, they’re what could destroy her (turning into a Grimm) or save the world (what’s going to happen). Silver is noted to be “pure” which is what other characters constantly comment Ruby is. 

Gold-Sun

Associated character(s): Oscar Pine (also Sun Wukong, Yang Xiao Long, Tai Xiao Long, Ruby Rose, Pyrrha Nikos, and maybe Jaune Arc)

The most important/obvious character here is Oscar. Oscar’s first name is a shade of gold and a type of fish that is most often brown or gold. He’s facing a similar dilemma to Ruby: the threat of merging forever with Ozpin (which clearly won’t happen; he needs to be his own person, as Ruby said). 

Both Ruby’s and Oscar’s individualizations are somehow instrumental to defeating Salem. 

[silhouetteofacedar]

Fox Mulder, Closet Romantic Ch. 10: One With Everything

Previous Chapter - AO3 - MSR, rated E

Thursday, April 30.

Mulder and Scully don’t often get to spend a day in court; it almost feels like a treat. An exhausting, headache-inducing, occasionally disheartening treat.

The only real upside is that they usually drive together.

They’re in Baltimore, and even though the drive back to the office is less than an hour, Mulder can feel his energy flagging.

“You hungry?” Mulder asks, sliding into the driver’s seat. “We can grab dinner before we head back.”

“Mulder, I’m wiped out,” Scully sighs.

“Alright,” he replies, subdued. He puts the keys in the ignition and starts the car.

They’ve gone two blocks when Scully speaks again. “I could go for pizza,” she says softly.

Mulder takes a steadying breath. This is progress.

It’s only been a week since the Great Mark Implosion, and things between Mulder and Scully have been thawing slowly. There’s residual awkwardness around them, like the last compacted piles of old snow in the shady places on the sides of the road. Slow to melt, but not a real impediment.

They find a little brick hole-in-the-wall pizza shop not far from the district courthouse. Scully took an appraising sniff when they walked in, declared the scent inside “pizza enough”, and they proceeded to make their order.

“So, how’ve you been?” Mulder asks. It’s a stupid question, but he’s hungry and tired and a little nervous, picking the mushrooms off of his slice of pizza before taking a bite. Scully always insists on ordering one with everything. Thank god she hates anchovies.

“You tell me,” she replies. “You’ve seen me practically every day for the past week.” She takes a first bite of pizza and moans softly. Mulder’s cheeks warm at the sound.

“I mean… in regards to what happened last Wednesday,” he clarifies. Broaching this subject feels suddenly dangerous, and he wants to take his words back.

“You can say break-up, Mulder,” she says gently. “It’s not a secret. And I’m fine,” she says, chewing, then raises a finger. “I know historically I say that when I’m not fine, but I mean it this time,” she explains. “I’m not hurt, just… disappointed. Tired. A little annoyed.”

“With him, or me, or both?” Mulder asks.

She shrugs. “Both,” she says candidly. “But you provided me with sustenance, so my annoyance with you is diminishing.” She takes a sip of diet Coke before she continues. “I’ve been thinking, and I’ve determined that the part of this that bothers me the most is the fact that Mark, or anyone, would base their summation of my character off my sexual history. I’m thirty-four years old, a fully-matured and capable human being, and yet I felt like I was stuck in a web of high school gossip. It’s insulting, being subjected to outdated moral codes by men who have no business passing judgement.”

“I have an impertinent question,” Mulder says. “You don’t have to answer.”

“I’m bracing myself,” she replies, taking another bite of pizza.

“From an outsider’s perspective, these outdated moral codes and judgment seem like a fundamental part of Catholicism. So I guess I’m wondering… why are you still Catholic?”

Her answering sigh is deep and slow. “That’s a big question, Mulder; one I ask myself all the time. I think it boils down to faith. I believe in God; everything else is just window dressing. My relationship with my faith, with religion, is complicated. But ultimately, that’s between me and God. Everyone else, namely Mark, can fuck off.”

He loves her so much in this moment, this tiny self-possessed scientist voraciously eating pizza. “Fair enough,” he says, removing another mushroom from his slice of pizza and putting on the edge of her plate. “So faith in God is intact; faith in men, however…”

Scully chuckles. “It’s at a low plateau,” she jokes, “and yet this may actually be the best break-up I’ve ever had.”

“Ouch,” Mulder says with a wince. “I’d hate to imagine the worst.”

“I egged a guy’s car once,” she says around a bite of pizza.

“No, really?” Mulder asks in surprise. “What’d he do?”

She swallows, wipes her fingers on a crumpled napkin. “Let me be clear, this was when I was in high school,” she says, “So all the emotions were heightened. My boyfriend cheated on me,” she explains. “I was seventeen and wanted to wait to have sex, and he didn’t. It was pretty traumatic for teenage Dana, so I reacted with criminal mischief.”

“Did you get caught?”

Scully shakes her head, picking up one of the stray mushrooms on her plate and popping it in her mouth. “No. I was stealthy,” she says. “And a good church girl. I think most people assumed it was a dumb teenage prank by some local boys.” She pauses. “In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever told anyone this,” she says in realization.

“Your secret is safe with me,” Mulder vows, passing her another mushroom.

“So what about you?” she asks, serving herself another slice of pizza. “What sort of romantic entanglements did you get into in high school? Any horror stories?”

“Not much,” Mulder says with a shrug. “Though I was pretty in love with a girl when I was sixteen or so. Her name was Laura and she was the older sister of one of my friends; I think she was probably 18? I was at their house all the time but I hardly ever talked to her.”

“Why not?”

“I was, uh, actually pretty shy back then,” he admits. “Especially with girls. She was really pretty and kind, but every time I opened my mouth to speak I’d get nervous and end up just saying nothing. Once I almost threw up.”

“That’s actually very sweet,” Scully assures him. “Trust me, she probably thought you were adorable.” She chews thoughtfully. “Did you ever tell her how you felt?”

Mulder shakes his head. “Not really. I wrote her a letter confessing my feelings and was halfway to their house to leave it in the mailbox when I chickened out. I took it home and burned it in the kitchen sink. Then she left for college.”

Scully hums in understanding. “A tale as old as time.”

“I looked her up once, after I finished at Oxford. She was married with a baby,” Mulder says, chewing a piece of crust. “Nothing would have happened if she weren’t, but part of me kind of wondered.”

Scully is silent, and when he looks up at her she’s got her cheek cradled in her hand, a soft smile on her lips, watching him.

“What?” he asks, suddenly self-conscious.

Her eyes are gleaming. “I don’t know why it never occurred to me before, but… you’re a romantic, Mulder.”

He swallows. “Is that... is that a bad thing?”

She drops her hand, shakes her head. “No, it’s not a bad thing at all,” she says softly.

Scully’s face is awash with blue and red from the neon sign in the window, and her eyes are deep and glimmering. He has to look away to steady himself before he says something he’s not ready for her to hear.

“I think I assumed you dislike romance,” he says, dipping a toe into shallower, yet unexplored waters. “It seems to me that science is somewhat at odds with the concept, when you can explain away all these feelings as chemical reactions with evolutionary precedent.”

“These feelings?” she asks, and he freezes.

“Romantic feelings in general,” he clarifies, recovering quickly. “The heart palpitations, fluttering stomach, desire for physical contact, all those things we felt as teenagers.” All those things I’m feeling right now.

“Some things aren’t meant to be examined through a purely scientific lens,” she counters. “I also firmly believe in instinct and trusting your gut in certain cases. Hell, that’s why I broke things off with Mark. No matter what he said, I knew things didn’t feel right.”

Mulder’s puzzled. “What he said?” he asks.

Scully licks her lip. “When I called him after work,” she explains. “I told him what you told me, and he claimed you twisted his words. A misunderstanding, coupled with manipulation born of jealousy,” Scully sighs.

Mulder’s heart stutters. “And you didn’t believe him?”

“No, I didn’t. It was his word against yours,” she says, voice gentle and firm. “There was no question.”

Mulder feels the weight of her words drape over his shoulders like a warm blanket. She trusts him, believes in him, chooses him.

He’s floored.

“Scully, that offer to elope still stands,” he says with a grin, and she smiles back.

Scully predictably falls asleep on the drive back to DC. Mulder glances over at her periodically, drinking in the sight of his partner curled up in the passenger seat. Her head is resting against the window, rosy cheek pillowed on a small hand.

Scully trusts him, rests in his presence, weighs his words. He doesn’t deserve what she gives him, but he realizes then what he needs to do anyway; fear and uncertainty be damned.

She deserves the truth; she is the truth.

[yunopouts]

Borderline! - y. jungwon

THIS GIF DOESN'T BELONG TO ME!!

hey y'all, daisy here 🤠 this is from my jungwon fic on wattpad :)

-> genre: fluff, humour

-> high school au!

-> characters: yang jungwon, fem!oc, jay park (enhypen), nct 127!

-> word count: 6k!

ENJOY!!

ONE!

The halls were noisy as everyone crowded around the bulletin board on the second floor to check their class, as expected on the first day of school. A shell of students surrounded a girl, standing directly in front of the papers looking for her name. Her finger trailed along the white paper, stopping when she found it, bringing it to the right of the page, checking for the class and room number. Class 2-B, she thought as she moved away from the crowd, making her way to the room.

When she reached her destination, she could already predict how wild her new class was going to be; kids were laughing, paper planes and balls were being thrown and kids were even drawing and writing things all over the chalkboard. She took in a deep breath and was about to walk in when she suddenly remembered something- the most important part of the first day at a new school. The teacher’s office. She turned sharply and started walking, completely oblivious to the boy who was coming her way.

“Jungwon, watch it.” someone said.

The girl finally looked up to see if someone was going to bump into her, but there was no one in sight, only the students talking along the walls. Since she was clear of any obstacles, she continued her way to the teacher’s office.

The room was dead silent, with only one teacher there. It was a man who looked like he was in his late twenties. She knocked lightly, getting the man's attention, who then told her to enter.

“Welcome to your new highschool…” he trailed off awkwardly, not knowing how to address the student.

“Ah… Kim Jisoo.” She showed her name tag. The man smiled, welcoming her once again.

“Now, Miss. Kim Jisoo, here are forms you have to fill out, and these,” he paused, trying to find the right ones out of all the sheets scattered on his desk. “Here they are!” he said after finally finding them. “These, give them to your parents and have them look over and sign them so you can bring them back to me tomorrow.”

“Yessir.” the girl nodded, smiling slightly.

“Alright, the bell will ring soon, so…” he was cut off by the door sliding open, four students and another teacher walking in.

“Mr. Kwon.” the other teacher, a woman, called over to us. Mr. Kwon looked from me to his colleague then back to me, again.

“O-one second.” I nodded and allowed him to pass by as he tended to the needs of the other teacher.

“Why don’t you explain to your teacher what those three were doing without hall passes, Jongseong.” the woman asked in a stern tone.

“W-well, you see-” the boy stammered, obviously trying to come up with an excuse.

Suddenly, the door slid open, but this time with a loud bang as the wood hit the wall, catching everyone’s attention.

“Sorry for the intrusion, Ms. Seo, but it was me.” a new boy, with jet black hair, entered the room. He paused with his hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath, like he had just run five laps around the track, non-stop.

“Excuse me?” the women asked.

“I, sorry one second.” he stood up properly, sucking in two deep breaths before walking calmly towards us, as if he hadn’t just made the most dramatic entrance ever. “As I was saying, it was me who made them go to the bathroom without hall passes.” he stated. “Jay and Jaeyun had to go to the bathroom but Niki spilt something on Kyungsoo and Moonbin had really bad chicken last night and couldn’t hold it in so-”

“Enough, no need to explain any further.” the teacher held up her hand, commanding him to stop.

Although the first three boys who entered were looking down, as if they were repenting, it wasn’t hard to tell they were trying to hold in their laughter, because small smiles had invaded their lips. The first boy just stood there, his expression showing that he could go into further detail on what seemingly happened to Moonbin, whichever that one was.

“Ms. Seo, I think I got it from here.” the male teacher laughed awkwardly. Ms. Won pursed her lips before looking at the girl standing next to the desk.

“Who’s that?” she nodded her head towards the student, who wasn’t paying attention to the conversation anymore.

“Oh this, Jisoo, come here.” he smiled politely at the young girl, encouraging to come closer to the group. “This is our new student, Kim Jisoo. Jisoo, this is Ms. Seo.”

“A-ah, yes, hello, my name is Kim Jisoo, nice to meet you.” she bowed. When she met their eyes, three out of the four boys gave her a welcoming smile, but the one who was last to come in looked like he was frozen in his spot.

“Grades?” Ms. Seo raised a brow.

Shrugging off her bag, Jisoo opened the biggest pocket and shuffled through a few papers before pulling out a small rectangular paper and handed it to her. As the teacher studied the numbers on the page, the boys who smiled at her attempted to take a peek of them. Ms. Seo’s eyes glimmered, handing the page back to her, a small smile forming.

“Your grades may be low in languages but you sure are talented in everything else. Looking forward to seeing you in science.” a full smile graced her lips before she bid her goodbyes to the other teacher, eyeing the boys like she knew something was going on with them.

Once the door shut, the three boys whipped their heads to look at Jisoo, but one remained silent. The three boys that did look at her all bombarded her with questions.

---

TWO!

“How did you do that?” one with bleached hair asked.

“Pardon?” she cocked her head forward in confusion.

“How’d you get her to smile like that?” the bleach haired one said.

“Yeah, she never smiles.” said one of the brown-haired ones.

“Someone once told me that she doesn’t even know how to smile.” the other brunet said.

In response to that, Mr. Kwon rolled up the papers in his hand, striking all three chatty boys on the head, making them protect their heads with their hands.

“Quit it.” the boy in the back finally spoke up. The three glared at him before straightening themselves out, turning to face their teacher.

“Now,” Mr. Kwon sighed, looking to the five students. “since we’re all headed to the same place, let’s bring over some supplies.” Everyone but the seemingly soft-spoken boy and the girl groaned.

The teacher smiled and started handing out boxes filled with notebooks, loose paper and your basic classroom supplies. He gave one to each of the students, piling a few more stack of paper on the three troublemakers.

The Korean literature teacher lead the students out of the office, Moonbin, Kyungsoo and Jongseong waddling after him, probably to annoy him.

The room that the two were left behind in, was so silent that you could hear a pin drop.

“We should…” Jungwon pointed at the open door, the girl nodding silently in response.

As the two slowly followed their three classmates and teacher, they kept quiet, only the odd squeak of a shoe here and there echoed through the now empty halls.

It didn’t take very long to get to the room, now fully filled with students slacking off; when they saw Mr. Kwon heading their way, they rushed to their seats, as if they hadn’t not been doing anything this whole time.

“Hello everyone!” Mr. Kwon said with a smile, earing a lively response from the kids. “Welcome to your first day of school, please look forward to, what I hope to be, a great year.” With applause from his “crowd”, he waited until they settled down to call in their transferee. “Everyone, I would like for you to meet our newest student, Miss. Kim Jisoo.”

As she walked inside, there was a round of applause again, which, to be honest, kind of frightened Jisoo.

“Er- hello everyone.” She greeted them shyly. “My name is Kim Jisoo. I look forward to a great year. Please take care of me.” She bowed. One more round of applause before Mr. Kwon pointed to the empty seat in the back, coincidentally Jungwon’s desk partner, the silent boy from before.

When she sat down, the boy looked at her, with a small smile and a hand stretched out. “Hello. Kim Jisoo. My name is Yang Jungwon, I’m looking forward to a great year with you.”

“Same here.” His smile mirrored on to her face as she shook the boy’s hand.

She was first introduced to the three boys that were in the teacher’s office, by Jungwon. The one with bleached hair was Jongseong, but he told me that I could call him Jay. The one with the undercut was Kyungsoo and the one who looked like a foreigner was Moonbin.

One thing Jisoo found that all these boys had in common with each other, other than being classmates, was that they all were very aesthetically pleasing to look at. She often found herself unknowingly staring at Jay. Not in any way, just that he just so happens to be where her eyes land.

As their teacher lectured them on classic Korean literature, a folded piece of paper was secretly slid over on to Kim Jisoo’s desk. She looked at the note, then to her desk mate, then back at the note. She glanced up once more and pointed to herself silently, to which the boy nodded with a smile plastered to his face.

She took the note off her desk and opened it up as quietly as possible. As she read the note, her heart fluttered, and a smile appeared on her face. Jungwon let out a breathy laugh when she turned to face him, her expression triggering his reaction.

She turned back to face the front and write on the paper in response. She wrote a quick ‘yes’ before folding it back up and handing it back to him. Crinkling of paper came from beside her, followed by another light laugh before they both faced the front, patiently waiting for the bell to ring.

-

Now that it was lunch, Jungwon and Jay directed her to the cafeteria, as promised in the note from earlier. They lined up for food before sitting down at a table where five more boys were seated. When they sat, Jungwon stayed on Jisoo’s left, but Jay moved from the middle and sat to the right of her.

Five sets of new eyes landed on the girl, roaming her face. Jay and Jungwon just watched their friends as they inspected her and after thirty seconds of silence, a boy with light brown hair spoke up.

“You must be new,” he stuck out his hand and smiled widely. “I’m Jake.”

‘An actual foreigner’ Jisoo thought to herself as she shook his hand.

Jungwon leaned towards her, so that his mouth was close to her ear and whispered, “Jake’s from Australia. He moved here about three years ago.” Her desk partner explained. Jisoo nodded in understanding before the next boy introduced himself to the girl.

“Lee Heeseung.” He smiled kindly. “I’m the oldest.”

The next boy had an adorable face. ‘Very squishable cheeks’ Jisoo thought.

“Kim Sunoo, I’m in the year above you.”

“All of us are a grade above you, except for Riki” said a boy with a mullet. “Oh, sorry, Park Sunghoon.” He smiled. Just like the rest of them, Sunghoon was very handsome.

Jay introduced the next boy, who looked a more intimidating than the rest.

“Jisoo, this is Riki Nishimura. He’s from Japan. He moved here about year ago.”

The girl gasped, surprised by what Jay had told her. “I lived there when I was younger.” She watched as Riki’s face lit up and fixed his posture a bit.

“Really? Where’d you live?”

“In Osaka, with my cousin.”

“We were only like three hours from each other; I’m from Okayama.”

“I went there every month to see my grandparents!”

“What a small world.” Jake gave a short laugh. “Now you can bond with each other.” He said in a half sarcastic, half serious tone, making the rest of the table laugh.

“You know it.” Riki threw up a finger heart for the girl, who did the same.

The eight students ate their lunch, got to know each other, and laughed a lot during that lunch period, but like everything good, it always comes to an end too quickly.

Jay, Jungwon and Jisoo were walking back to class when suddenly, someone’s phone started to ring. The three looked at each other before Jungwon pointed out that it was coming from Jisoo, to which Jay snickered at her embarrassed expression after she said it wasn’t her.

“Oh, it’s my cousin.” She exclaimed, picking up the phone with excitement. “Hey what's up!” she greeted. The girl kept a smiling expression as she walked down the hall with the boys.

When they reached the classroom, the boys gestured for her to enter, but she shooed them off so she could finish her call with her cousin.

“Oh, you’re coming to pick me up?” she asked, her eyebrows drawing closer together. “Are you sure? But you just released a new song.”

“It’s fine,” he said in a reassuring tone. “Didn’t our grandmother tell me to check up on you?”

“Yeah,” the girl let out a sigh.

“Hey Jisoo!” a voice called out from the background. “Why do you sound so dejected?”

“Are both of you coming to pick me up?” she asked, not wanting the answer to be yes.

“Obviously.” her cousin snorted. “I don’t go anywhere without Mark.”

“You don’t take me to the bathroom with you.” The background voice said.

Nothing but silence filled Jisoo’s ears, which meant the two boys on the other line were probably staring at each other.

“Do you want me to-” Yuta started.

“Okay bye you guys. See you later.” Jisoo ended the call before she could hear any further.

Sighing once more she walked into the class, falling into her chair, gaining a look from Jungwon.

“What’s up with you?” he asked as the girl took out her textbook.

“My cousin and his friend are coming to pick me up after school.”

“And what’s the problem with that?” the boy eyed her pained expression.

“Just you wait.” She let out her third sigh of the hour.

---

THREE!

It was nearing the thirty-minute mark until class would be over, and never in my life have I wished for time to go by slower than I have now. I watched the clock, never taking my gaze away from the hands, testing the impossible by trying to slow it down with all my brain power.

“Don’t forget to breathe, Jisoo.” Someone on my left whispered into my ear. Flinching violently, I turned to look at my desk mate, who was smiling in disbelief. “Are you really that worried about your cousin and his friend?” I just looked at him with a blank expression, aimlessly staring at him. “What, it’s not like they’re celebrities.” He laughed.

With a groan, I flopped down on my desk, my head in my hands. “What am I going to do?” I whined.

“What’s up with her?” Jay’s voice asked. Jungwon was silent, so I’m guessing he just shrugged. “Jisoo-yah, don’t be too distraught, whatever it is will pass.”

Peaking up at the boy, I huffed out a sigh, blowing the hair out of my eyes.

“You don’t understand.” I said gruffly. “My cousin isn’t your average guy… neither is his friend; or any of his friends, for that matter.”

“Are they gangsters?” Jay whispered, pulling up a chair.

“What? No, they are not, Jay.”

“So, then I don’t see a problem.” He said nonchalantly.

With a deep sigh, I checked the time, the long hand two minutes away from three o’clock. My eyes widened at the sight as I started shoving my belongings into my backpack.

“Damn it.” I cursed under my breath, grabbing my phone, and opening my messages.

A new text popped up…

It was from him.

Him.

‘Be ready! Mark and I will be at the front gate!1!1!1!’ it read.

“He better treat you to something, if he’s stressing you out that much.” Jungwon chimed in.

I stayed silent for a second, thinking how I could be less attacked by the public when the two arrive. Grabbing both their hands and looking at them with pleading eyes. “Listen, I know we’ve only known each other for a few hours but, come with me?”

“Where?” they said in unison.

“To the front gate. Just come with me there and you’ll see my problem.”

“Okay.” They agreed.

“I promise I will treat you to a meal in the near future.” I got up and bowed, getting everyone’s attention, although it didn’t last very long since the bell rung right after.

Shooting out of my seat, I grabbed Jungwons wrist, who grabbed Jays, and started running down the hall to the exit, apologizing to whomever we bumped into.

When we got out, I saw a few girls walking out of the first year building, which meant I needed to speed it up.

“Hurry.” I said to the boys, to which they picked up their pace.

When the girls were nearing the gate, their heads turned to the left, where they saw two boys hanging out. Their expressions changed immediately, and they whipped their phones out.

“Everyone look!” one of the girls yelled to the rest of the students that were leaving.

My grip loosened on Jungwon and my legs started to sprint towards the two men.

“Yuta!” I yelled.

He turned his head and smiled, but his changed when he saw me barreling towards them, with two other people behind sprinting behind me. Once he got the message, he took off with Mark in the opposite direction of the group of students.

The group dispersed a few minutes after searching for the two idols, while the three of us were standing at the gate, catching our breath.

“So much for picking you up.” Jay said, his eyes completely shut as he calmed down.

“Guys I’m really sorry.” I looked up at them.

“Don’t worry about it.” Jungwon gave a smile.

“Do you want to come with me? Mark will probably make him buy us food.” The two boys looked between each other and shrugged.

“As long as it’s not a bother to you guys.” Jungwon stated, Jay nodding his head in agreement.

“Of course it’s not!” I insisted. “Let me call him and ask him where they are.”

As if on cue, my phone started to ring.

“Oi, this is why I didn’t want you to come.”

“How was I supposed to know we’d get caught.” Yuta spoke back sassily.

“You’re so dense sometimes.” I huffed out.

“Jisoo!” Mark called from the background. “Jisoo, it’s Mark-oppa.”

That's a new one.

“Don’t call yourself ‘oppa’.” Yuta said in a disgusted tone.

“Jisoo, there’s a black SUV when you turn right outside of the gate! That’s our car!” Mark ignored Yuta.

“Anyways, hurry and come.” Yuta said in an annoyed tone.

“I’m bringing friends.” I informed them before hanging up. Turning to the boys, with a soft smile. “Let’s go.” I waited for them to get next to me before we started walking to where Mark told me.

We walked in silence until we reached the car.

“Before we get in,” I started. “It will definitely be awkward, but when we get to wherever we’re going, don’t be intimidated by them. They’ll ask you questions- like an interview, but that’s just cause they’re just a bit protective.” I advised Jay and Jungwon, who nodded. “Ready?” the boys nodded again. “Okay.” I said, turning back to the car, opening the door.

“Hey, you g- oh my god they literally are guys.” Mark’s eyes widened.

“You brought guys into our car?” Yuta asked.

“Yes, they’re my friends.”

“Hello, my name is Park Jongseong, I’m Jisoo’s classmate.” Jay bowed down in a sitting position. Mine and Yuta’s head whipped in his direction, both of us surprised at the sudden language swap.

“You speak Japanese?” I stared in disbelief. Jay nodded coolly.

“Do you know what they’re saying?” Mark asked Jungwon.

“Barely.” He responded. Mark and Jungwon laughed, lightening the mood a little bit.

“Yuta,” Mark looked to Yuta. “I think you should treat them to something. Us wanting to be nice made them have to run all the way from their class so they could protect us.” His tone was soft and begging like.

Looking at Mark with a sigh, knowing he couldn’t say no to him. “Fine. But we’re going to the dorm because Jungwoo wants to see Jisoo.” Adjusting the mirror, he looked up at the two boys through the reflection. “Tell anyone where that house is, and you’re both-”

“We live in the same building, you dolt. If anyone asks, they came over to my apartment.”

“That sounds worse.” Yuta glowered.

“We have homework.” I stated.

“Oh.” He relaxed back in his seat.

With that, we started driving down to the apartment building, sitting in the most awkward silence, until someone spoke up.

“I’ve never seen someone run as fast as Jisoo did when she saw you guys.” Jungwon pointed out. “She sprinted from the exit to the gate at lightening speed.”

“Oh yeah, that’s got to be at least one hundred metres.” Jay added in.

“She was the track star of her elementary and middle school.” Mark informed the boys, who looked at me with surprise. “Yuta brags about her all the time; he even has her gold metal in his room.” He laughed lightly, to which Yuta smacked him in the chest.

“Shut up.” He muttered and looked out the window, making Mark roll his eyes. The younger of the two looked back at me and nodded his head, mouthing that my cousin was lying. I looked down to avoid three gazes on me as my cheeks heated up in embarrassment.

As Jay, Jungwon and Mark got to know each other, Yuta and I stayed silent, obviously not over Mark’s claim.

“Tell them to get the house ready.” Yuta eyed Mark, who took out his phone and started texting.

-

About twenty minutes later, we entered the parking garage and found their designated spot. Five clicks sounded before four doors opened and we got out. Jay, Jungwon and Mark all got out on one side, while Yuta and I got out from the left.

When I slid out, I landed a little too hard on my ankle, creating a pain that shot up my left leg. Yuta noticed when I hissed in pain and appeared right in front of me, helping me to regain my stability. He let out a distressed sigh as he took my bag from me before we started walking to catch up with the rest of them.

“You okay?” he asked in a low tone. Nodding in silence, I slowly let go of his arm once we walked into the basement entrance.

The elevator ride to the tenth floor was silent, but the hallway sure wasn’t.

Music echoed through the hall, like there was a party going on, but it all came from one room, and as they neared the back of the hall, they stood in front of a large door that was the source of all the sound.

Turning to my classmates, I looked them both in the eye, reminding them of what I told them early. “Remember, they’re a little scary at first, but you’ll be fine if you give short and simple answers. If they get too long, they’ll get bored, because they’re a bunch of man-babies.” I muttered. I saw how they had to hold themselves back from laughing when I called them ‘man-babies’, to which I smiled softly.

“You may enter.” Yuta said like a nerd that was letting us into his lair as he swung open the door after he’d unlocked it. Mark and I walked in, followed by Jay, Jungwon and then Yuta.

“OI!” Mark boomed.

Thundering footsteps came speeding towards the front entrance, revealing seven new guys with excited looks on their faces.

“Jisoo!” the tallest of them exclaimed, throwing his arms around me.

“Ugh, hey Johnny.” I patted his back, only squeezing me tighter. “J-John-” I choked out.

“Dude, you’re gonna kill her if you don’t let go.” Jaehyun noted.

“Get… off…” Jungwoo struggled as he and Doyoung made an attempt to peel him off me, which thankfully worked.

“Who’re they?” Donghyuck pointed to the two boys. Mumbling filled the air as the boys joined in on commenting on the mysterious teenagers that had entered their home.

“My classmates.” I answered.

“Yuta’s idea ended up failing and they were dragged into this mess, so I thought it was a good idea to pay them back with food.” Mark explained. “Also, since you guys wanted to see Jisoo so bad, why not bring them all here at once. Killed two birds with one stone.” He shrugged.

The seven inspected the two young boys before walking to the living room in absolute silence.

“That means you follow them.” Mark informed the boys, who nodded slowly, following me into the living room.

Once my friends and I were seated, the seven guys sat in a shell around Yuta, so that my cousin was in the middle. Eight out of the nine stared with fierce expressions, making the younger one’s gulp. Mark, who was smiling like he’d been surrounded by puppies all day, brought two peach juice boxes, once iced green tea and once pomegranate juice box over to where we were sitting. He handed the peach drinks to Jay and Jungwon, earning shout from Jaehyun.

“Those were the last ones in the pack.” He glared at Mark.

“Get a new one.” The rapper spat. He turned to me and handed the pomegranate juice to me and then the green tea to Yuta, the six others sniggering in the back.

Yuta opened the bottle with a loud crack, silencing everybody in the room. He drank down to three quarters of the bottle before setting it down, his gaze landing back on the students.

“Who are you?” he raised an eyebrow; his expression was enough to make your skin crawl.

“Yang Jungwon and Park Jongseong.” Jungwon grabbed the back of Jay’s head, forcing him to bow, although Jay had done this once already in the car, in a different language.

“How do-” Donghyuck started, but Yuta held up his hand. “Ahem, of course, Yuta.” He looked down. My eyes shot towards Jaehyun, Johnny and Doyoung as they forced themselves not to laugh.

“How do you know my cousin.” Yuta asked.

“We’re classmates.” Jungwon stated.

“And Jungwon is her desk mate.” Jay added.

“He didn’t ask that.” The youngest of the two turned his head in Jay’s direction to whisper harshly. Jay pursed his lips and made a face that looked like he was trying to hold in a scream.

Silence fell in the room for a solid thirty seconds until Yuta let out an airy chuckle, the rest of us soon joining in.

“You can get up now.” I choked out, making my cousin let out a loud laugh. The two straightened themselves out, their faces red with embarrassment.

“Oh god, the look Jay had on his face.” Mark cackled. “You guys, we’re not that scary.”

“No one was scared of you, Mr. Sunshine-funshine.” Johnny coughed.

-

After everyone calmed down, Taeil brought in some take-out menu’s, displaying them on the coffee table. “Choose what you want, it’s on Yuta anyways.” The eldest shrugged.

“Speaking of Yuta,” I started. “Where’d he go?” I asked.

“I think he’s on the phone with someone, so probably in his room.” I nodded at Mark’s response.

As the boys got to know each other, the band’s leader tapped me on the shoulder. “Come with me for a second?” he held out his hand for me to take, and so I did.

Taeyong brought me into one of the rooms, where there were clothes on the bed, along with a red box. He gestured towards the bed, “Sit, please.” He looked at me with an expecting smile and blinked a few times. The rapper walked towards me and knelt in front of me. “I saw you limping earlier, when you were walking to the living room.” He explained. “Did it start hurting again?” he looked up at me with sparkling eyes.

“I had to make sure Yuta and Mark didn’t get caught-”

“They’re two very grown men who’ve been doing this for over five years, I think they would know how to handle fans by now.” He smiled softly.

“But-”

“No ‘buts’.” He cut me off for a second time. “You’re not their bodyguard, Jisoo.” He took the red box from beside me and opened it up, pulling out that familiar beige wrap. “They can protect themselves.” He started layering the bandage around my foot and ankle.

“What about stalkers? You guys have them really bad; everyone knows that.”

“They won’t hurt us. Haven’t you seen us leak their number?”

“That’s a very different case you’re talking about, Taeyong.” I stated. “Remember when you guys found one in your vent? They’re everywhere.”

The boy just sighed as he finished wrapping my foot. “That’s none of your concern.” He stood up straight and ruffled my hair. “Now hurry up and change into some more comfortable clothes.” The boy smiled warmly before walking to the door. “There should be some pain relievers on the nightstand there, take two only.”

“Hey Taeyong?” I said before he left.

“Yeah?” He turned to me.

“Thanks.” I said softly.

“Of course.” He winked before leaving me to change.

-

Carefully lifting myself off the bed, I unfolded the big red sweater and placed it back on the bed. I took off my school blazer and dress shirt, leaving me in a white tank top and skirt. I quickly changed into the borrowed sweater and looked for the pants but stopped for my phone when it set off.

-

Taeyong

I couldn’t get you any pants

Yuta wouldn’t let me into the

apartment

Also, any of our pants would

probably be too big for you ://

Jisoo

That’s okay lol

Thank you for the sweater :)

READ AT 4:00 pm

-

When I folded my belongings, I left Jungwoo and Jaehyun’s room and snuck into Yuta’s room, which was empty.

I dropped my shirt on the bed and tiptoed over to his dresser, opening, and closing each one until I found his sock drawer. I looked through each pair until I found a pair that looked comfy enough.

“Whatchya doin?” someone said from the door.

“Taking Yuta’s socks.” I responded, rolling the material up my foot. When I looked up, I saw the oldest (and shortest) out of the bunch, smiling before he slipped on a sweater, similar to the one Taeyong gave me. The print on the hood and chest were the same, but the sweater was black, not red.

“Your cousin told me to come in here to tell you the food was here.” He waited for me to reach the door, leaving the room together.

“What’d they decide on?” I asked, catching the pack of napkins Hyuck threw at me.

“Pizza.” Jungwon answered, passing by the singer and I. Jay and Doyoung passed with two boxes each, following the younger boy as they made their way to the living room.

Everybody gathered around the coffee table, except it was less crowded since the boys were holding an investigation anymore. My classmates and I sat away from each other- the boys sitting with Yuta, Jaehyun, Johnny, Taeil, and Mark, while I sat with Hyuck, Taeyong, Jungwoo and Doyoung.

“Take this.” Taeyong placed a piece of pizza on my plate.

“And this.” Jungwoo placed a chicken leg on my plate. When I looked at him, he simply said “KFC.” Nodding, I took a bite out of the chicken, enjoying the flavour.

“Is it yummy?” Hyuck asked and I nodded, taking another bite.

Doyoung got up and disappeared for a few seconds before returning with another juice box. I was about to open it, when he held it out of my reach and did it for me, and then handed it to me. “Don’t grip the box too hard, it’ll spill.” He patted my head, the other boys nodding in agreement to the singer’s statement.

“Stop babying my cousin.” Yuta whipped a french-fry at Doyoung, scolding him. “She’s almost an adult, you know.” He huffed out before biting into his pizza.

“Well, if you don’t do it, then who will?” Hyuck defended his hyung’s actions. Jungwoo and Taeyong both hugged me, sticking out their tongues at my cousin. “You baby Mark and he’s a realadult.” He pointed at the hand Yuta had on the Canadians’ knee, making everyone laugh; well, everyone but Yuta.

-

After a massive clean up, the boys and I had to do our homework, which some of the members offered to help us with.

“Wait for us!” the two roommates, Jaehyun and Jungwoo, raced over to the coffee table plopping down on either side of Doyoung. When they were seated, one more wandered into the room- the one more being Taeil.

“Alright,” Taeil rubbed his together. “What subjects do you need to focus on?” The eldest sat in the space between Jay and Jungwon.

“Math.” Jungwon raised his hand.

“Science.” Jay said.

“Languages.” I spoke in a weak tone. Doyoung and Jaehyun looked to me?

“Which one’s?” they spoke in unison.

“English and Korean.” The two smirked, scooting closer to me.

“You’re in luck.” Doyoung said coolly.

“Jaehyun lived in America for four years!” Mark yelled.

“That’s why he’s here, man!” Johnny added.

“That's not funny anymore!” Jaehyun snapped. The singer turned back to me with a smile while Doyoung was flipping through my Korean notebook.

“Why are you so bad at this?” Doyoung laughed lightly, stopping when he had my eraser thrown at him by Jaehyun.

“Can you just help me, and not make fun of me?” I rolled my eyes. “This is where I’m stuck.”

“Nuh-uh, we’re starting with grammar first.” Doyoung flipped to an empty page and started writing with a pencil he took from my pencil case. “You see these? These all make the same sounds but are spelt differently.”

“Obviously, I know that.”

“But do you know when to use them?” he raised a brow. I looked down in embarrassment, making him chuckle.

As the singer explained to me Korean grammar, Jaehyun slid the English notebook towards him and started to write things out.

-

About an hour and half later, Mark entered the room with a tray, filled with snacks and water.

“Some food for thought.” He smiled.

“We just ate though.” Haechan stated, glancing up from his phone.

“Jisoo gets hungry quickly; how did you forget that?” Taeyong sipped from his cup. We didn’t even notice him come up from behind Mark.

Hyuck looked to me with an awkward expression, which I also wore. “Sorry.”

I shook my head silently and took one of the packs of cookies.

“Jungwoo.” Jungwon peaked up from his notebook. “I don’t get it.” The young boy turned the book towards the singer, who inspected his work.

“You’re doing it wrong.”

“Oh.” He said in a small voice.

“Lemme see.” I scooched myself over to where they were. Jungwoo passed me the workbook and pencil, allowing me to look for myself, what he did wrong. “He just messed up the formula here;” I circled the spot, showing it to now four people. “When you’re trying to find the slope of a line with already knowing the start and end point of the two lines, you always subtract y2 from y1, same goes for the x’s.” Jungwoo nodded while the two youngest band members looked at me in awe. “So, you did mess up, but it was a simple mistake.” I smiled at Jungwon.

Jungwons expression did not lighten; in fact, it got darker.

“W-- What’s wrong?” I asked.

“I did that for all of them.” He muttered in a bitter tone, the room exploding with laughter, soon there after.

[wtf-yoongi]

Stage lights. ‹‹part III of III››

pairing | jungkook x reader

summary | you visit jungkook on tour for the first time

genre/warnings | high levels of fluff + relatively new relationship + warning: features jk being extremely tired in between sets + but it’s ok because you look after him afterwards and now my heart is clenching 

words | about 7k total (part III is 2,565)

✨ read part I here ✨

☁️ read part II here ☁️

note | kinda belongs in the same universe as this one, but can be read separately. i got carried away and wrote this huge thing, so i decided to separate it into three parts *laughs* kinda sad this is over and totally devastated by jk’s last words let me warn ya

When the show’s all over, things feel completely different. The messy room is even messier – but no one really cares at this point, collecting items at a much slower pace. People are talking more loudly now, laughing more freely, knowing that the work is done and that it was yet another successful night. 

You leave your worries in a box in the back of your mind, although you can still hear Jungkook’s words echoing inside your head every now and then. When you look at him now, it’s almost impossible to think that this is the same person that left the stage mid-concert like that – even after having performed the rest of it. He looks a little worn out, yes, but happy and satisfied. Everyone has recovered from the intense final act, changed into more comfortable clothes, put on hats and beanies to cover some of the weirdly sticky hair – and positively look like any other person in the world after a day at work.

With the tension gone from the room, you feel much more comfortable now – not like you belong, but like you fit in enough. The same goes for when you move from the messy room to another one filled with tables, Jungkook taking your hand on your way there and telling you all they serve is Korean food, playfully adding that you could only eat rice if you wanted.

He was joking, of course.

Even if things could get weird – and you predicted them to – they really don’t. Jungkook leads you to a table that sits six and the seat next to you, that you would expect to remain empty, is soon taken by a smiling Hae. Namjoon sits in front of you and all of a sudden the table is full. 

Conversation flows as easily as possible when two languages are being spoken and not all people can fully understand both – and it warms your heart to see everyone at least try for your sake. Jin even stood up at one point to do an impersonation of an annoying American interviewer and you felt the need to apologize for the whole country in between laughs and red cheeks.

When everyone is done eating and drinking, you stand up again, moving back to the messy room for long enough to pick up your personal belongings. Jungkook said you would be taking a van back to the hotel downtown and you nod as you feel him take your hand again to walk through the halls you came in earlier in the day. A few moments before stepping foot outside, though, he lets go abruptly.

You don’t mean to look at him like that, but you do it anyway. From the concerned look on his face, you must appear surprised and hurt in equal parts.

“Sorry, bad habit,” he apologizes, but doesn’t take your hand back. “I can’t really be seen with anyone, so I don’t usually… Even when there’s no one around…”

“Oh…” You nod and your expression changes again. “I get it. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be, there’s really nothing…”

“You’ll have to teach me these things, you now? Let me know when I have to do or stop doing something,” you say, now noticing how close you two are and taking a few steps away from Jungkook. “Do we have to keep a safe distance? I’m not being ironic, really, I’m just asking,” you add as you see his face fall.

He snorts, moving a little bit more awkwardly and brushing a hair strand out of his face. “Kinda, yeah.”

“It’s really ok, I don’t mind taking a few precautions,” you reassure him, turning your body and taking a few steps backwards so he can see you better. You point at the black baseball cap on your head and smile.

He smiles back at your words and doesn’t say anything even after you pile up in the van along with other people, opting for just taking your hand again and squeezing it tightly.

The ride back to the city is silent, conversation between everyone dying down the further away you are from the stadium. It seems, you think, exhaustion finally hits. You feel it too, eyes heavy as the adrenaline and nervousness from it all aren’t running through your veins anymore. You raise your eyes just enough to see Jungkook staring outside with dreamy and tired ones, ready to rest your head on his shoulder and nap until you get to your destination.

When your eyes open again, the van has stopped and Jungkook is slowly running his left hand through your hair to wake you up.

“We’re here,” he says slowly and you straighten your body to see people are lazily leaving the van. He laughs lightly. “Can’t believe you didn’t wake up with the screaming outside. I had to close the curtains.”

You’re in what seems to be the back of the building now and your brain finally tells you there’s noise going on, a not-so-distant high-pitched cheering. It gets very loud, then it calms down again, and you notice another van pulling up next to yours.

“Sorry,” you apologize out of habit and Jungkook shakes his head lightly, nudging you to move towards the door with a small smile on his face.

You fix the crooked cap on top of your head and blink a few times to wake up a little better, finally getting up to leave. Outside, you can only see a reduced number of staff members and you assume this hotel really isn’t for everyone – much less the number of people you saw working earlier in the day.

When outside, you wait for Jungkook and follow him into the backdoor. There’s a tiny elevator only a few steps into the building and people are waiting to go up in groups of three or four. It takes a while, but you eventually find yourself in a long corridor, dragging your feet through the carpeted floor.

“Tired?” Jungkook asks, stopping in front of a door and touching the key card to the lock.

“Don’t think I can say that after today,” you admit with a scoff. “And it’s still early in New York, I shouldn’t be this sleepy.”

“How early?”

“Google says there’s a six-hour difference,” you say, entering the room after Jungkook and immediately moving to relieve your shoulders from the weight of your backpack. “So, yeah, still early.”

When you look around the room, it looks lived in, but not nearly as disorganized as you expected it to be. You know Jungkook has slept here already and it seems like room service wasn’t allowed. The bed is still kind of messy, but in a comfortable and inviting way – the way freshly made hotel beds never are.

Next to his open suitcase, you see yours, though – and that’s how you know at least someone has access to this room with the exception of Jungkook himself. It is pressed to the wall perfectly and you notice there’s a foreign, fancy paper bag sitting on top.

“What is this?” You ask, turning back to Jungkook, who’s placing his jacket inside the closet. “This isn’t mine.”

“It isn’t from me, sorry to disappoint,” he smirks. “Open up, let’s see what’s inside.”

You slowly walk towards your suitcase, taking the bag with one hand to open it up with the other. When you look inside, you see a box of fancy pastries and a note.

“It’s from Hae,” you say and turn the note around to read the small message written in delicate handwriting. You laugh lightly. “Oh, you’re going to love this.”

“What? What does it say?” He asks from inside the bathroom. His voice is now muffled from brushing his teeth and you can’t help but laugh even more.

“Here’s what she wrote. Her words, ok?” You warn before continuing. “I hope it’s ok I’m writing you this. You’re American, you make friends quickly, right? It was great meeting you today and I can see why Jungkook won’t stop talking about you sometimes. He will never admit to doing this, though. Hope you have a great stay with us. XOXO Hae. P.s.: I’ve always wanted to write XOXO to someone. And then she finishes with a smiley face. How cute is that?”

“I love that you find it cute when she throws me under the bus like that,” he says, taking a towel to pat his lips dry. “I’m going to have a serious conversation with her.”

“But there’s food.” You show him the light colored box.

“She’s good, isn’t she? Diplomatic Hae.”

“She is. She brought me coffee before the show,” you say with a smile. “You told her I like macchiatos.”

“She asked me what kind of coffee you liked. I told you, she’s nice,” he shrugs. “You want to take a shower first?”

“Nah, you can go,” you say, putting the fancy bag on top of a side table. “I still have to open my suitcase, get my stuff and all…”

“Ok.”

From the corner of your eye you can see Jungkook reaching for the door in order to close it, but stopping midway for some reason. He widens his eyes a little, taking steps in the direction of his own suitcase.

“I have to grab some things,” he says with a weak laugh, lowering his body to reach for what looks like a pair of shorts and something else you can’t quite figure out. “Not on my own today, can’t walk around naked, can I?”

You take advantage of the fact that he can only see your side profile to simply shrug, not giving him the satisfaction of a reaction from his words.

Thank God he can’t properly see your face.

When you open the bathroom door again, you feel relaxed – every muscle in your body a little bit too loose to function correctly. You put your head out to see Jungkook sitting in the middle of the bed, his legs spread out to both sides, with his big iPad in hand – you know he’s exhausted, but you also know him well enough. He will refuse to fall asleep while you’re not there with him.

“Hair dryer?”

“Oh…” He moves slowly, getting up again and reaching for it inside a random drawer. “There you go.”

“I thought you would blow dry yours.”

“I was going to, but too lazy,” he admits with a small smile. “It’s ok, it doesn’t matter.”

“I’ll do it for you if you want me to,” you offer. “Come on.”

“You should just do yours, I…”

“Come on…”

You grab Jungkook by the hand, making him sit on the bed again and looking for the nearest power outlet.

“Let me baby you just for a little bit, ok?” You smile fondly at him, leaning in to lightly kiss his lips for the first time in hours. When you do it, you definitely feel like you should kiss more often. Much more often.

“If this is about today, I already told you I…”

“It isn’t about today,” you interrupt delicately, still holding his face close. “I have a feeling nothing I say will make you work in a more… Balanced way. Am I wrong? You don’t even need to say anything, I know I’m not.”

Jungkook laughs and his shoulders tense a little bit. “Yeah, people have mentioned this to me.”

“Well, if I’m not the only one… Maybe you should start considering it?” You half-ask, turning the hair dryer on. “Wow, this is surprisingly quiet. You own a fancy one, huh?”

You move your left hand through his hair calmly and Jungkook closes his eyes, his stance relaxing almost immediately. While you’re there, you also take the opportunity to brush your hand against his ears and neck a few times and you feel like he could fall asleep right there if it wasn’t for the low, but still a little annoying, hair dryer sound.

When you turn it off, you move your fingers to mess with his long bangs. “I noticed earlier your hair looks more healthy and fluffy.”

“The part that was bleached before grew out,” he answers lowly, his eyes still closed. “Do you like it like this?”

“Yeah, sure. Do you?”

“I like that it is easier to make it look decent,” he laughs quietly and finally opens his eyes. “Do you want me to blow-dry your hair?”

“Oh, no, you should go to bed, I’ll just…”

“Come on,” he repeats your words from minutes before. “Let me baby you a little too.”

Jungkook doesn’t stand up to blow-dry your hair, deciding to just stay seated and pull you down close to him. You have your back to him now and he’s careful to not miss any section, moving from side to side thoroughly. Having him play with your hair also relaxes your mind even further and a few more minutes pass before you’re turning back to him. 

“It’s ok,” you take the tool from his hands to turn it off. “You don’t have to blow-dry it 100%, it’s going to take too long.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, we’re both tired, let’s just go to sleep.”

You don’t have to say it twice. As you place the hair dryer next to the bed somewhere, not even bothering to stand up again to take it back to it’s original place, Jungkook is already turning around on the bed and pulling you by the hand to lay next to him.

“I already said this, but thanks for coming,” he inhales deeply, snuggling into your side as you’re both trying to make yourselves comfortable. “I know it’s hard, but… If you can, you should come more often.”

“You should go to New York more often too,” you say and your voice becomes quieter when the next words leave your lips. “I miss you all the time.”

Jungkook smiles warmly at you and brings one of your hands closer to him. “I will. It’s my turn now anyway,” he assures you and leaves a kiss on your wrist. “And I miss you all the time, too. Actually, I bet I miss you more.”

“How can you know that?”

“Because I do.”

“Oh, so you just got to that conclusion inside your little head?” You chuckle, bringing the hand that is already closer to him to trace his face. Even now, exhausted and ready to pass out, you don’t think Jungkook glows any less.

“Exactly.”

A few moments pass and you feel yourself begin to give in to sleep. The room is completely quiet now with the exception of your light breathing and legs moving to fit in a little better. Jungkook’s body is warm just like the last time you were like this and you wish, from the bottom of your heart, to always sleep by his side for as long as you’re alive.

All of a sudden, you hear his voice again.

“Are you still awake?” He asks, voice not above a whisper. When you open your eyes, Jungkook is staring longingly at you and it takes a second for you to catch your breath.

You nod with the tiniest of smiles, reaching out to touch the arm that is lazily draped across your waist. “Yeah, is there anything wrong?”

“No, not wrong, but… I think I’m in love with you.”

Read more ›› masterlist

[ashesonthefloor]

baby, you’re a haunted house (ot4)

summary: Michael really wants to go to Sydney’s most famous haunted house. He may or may not get super startled by one of the actors, and may or may not hit them in the nose by accident. And, after that, he might keep coming back to to try and apologize properly. And the haunted house might just have a never-ending supply of cute guys working there. (That’s a lie. There’s only three he cares about). ao3 found here

prompt:  “I’m working as an actor in a haunted house and when I scared you, you punched me in the nose. Now I’m bleeding and someone had to get me an ice pack, and you won’t stop apologizing. You’re lucky you’re cute” (except i changed the POV because i wrote the prompt and i can do what i want thank u <3)

word count: 12,433 

content warning: blood! there is nothing too graphic, but, as depicted in the prompt, someone is accidentally hit, and there is a nosebleed. it is all handled and fine, though, and it isn’t too detailed. lots of pining :)

A/N: whew! i’ve worked on this baby for the last two months and only just finished her this week but i am PROUD! i actually really love the way it came out, and my plot! please let me know what you think, i’m a slut for feedback! this was done for my sexy, sexy halloween event that is happening right now! massive shout out to @mikeycliffords​ and @glitterblazercalum​ for beta’ing this! maddie ur comments gave me endless validation and i adore u, and iba u caught all my sexy grammatical errors and i love u for it (and ur reaction to luke’s major <3). and to both @calumcest​ and @clumsyclifford​ for having to listen to me scream and not know what i was writing. unfortunate shoutout to Mr. Gerard Way for the vibey Halloween song i named this after. baby, you’re a haunted house slaps.

Michael loved Halloween. He was pretty sure it was his absolute favourite holiday, and would say that to almost anyone who dared to ask, though most people who knew him knew not to. It was in Fall, so it was nice and chilly, and he had an excuse to bundle up in hoodies and stay there until spring. And he was an absolute slut for horror movies of any sort. He absolutely adored them, no matter how cheesy and poorly-produced. If he had any talent in it at all, he said fairly regularly to his few friends, he’d be an SFX artist. But he didn’t, and he was stuck working as a barista and getting his degree in film studies. 

So when his best friend in the whole fucking world landed a job working with Sydney’s infamous haunted house - known for being realistic, and terrifying, and all the makeup being technically perfect - and invited him to come see it, insisted he can get him in, who was he to say no? He absolutely couldn’t refuse - didn’t even want to, and he’d wanted to go for years, so this was the opportunity of a lifetime - and that was that. It was most of his favourite things all rolled up into one, with the bonus of it being sort of exclusive. Because it was so well known, they always ended up having to open a month early, and the line still wrapped halfway around the block every night. Michael was going to get a backstage pass to all sorts of shit. 

He dressed fairly warm for the occasion, even if it wasn’t quite cold enough yet to justify it, with his hoodie on, oversized so he could cover his hands with the sleeves. Sue him, okay, it was comfortable and warm and he liked tugging on the sleeves or his hoodie strings when he was anxious. Not that he ever wanted anyone to know he’s anxious. Michael worked fairly hard on keeping that part hidden away, so no one else could ever see it. It wasn’t that he was embarrassed, exactly. He just...didn’t want anyone knowing. It took level eleven Michael friendship to unlock his insecurities, thank you, and even then, there weren’t many he'd really disclose.

Sydney never got properly cold, so the hoodie was more than enough to keep him warm in the chilly end-of-September breeze. He made his way to the haunted house, queuing up in the line with the rest of the people preparing for the best fucking scares of their lives. 

The waiting process was the worst part of the whole thing. It was just him standing by himself in line, bouncing slightly on his heels every so often and worrying with his sleeves, from excitement, nerves, and maybe it was actually slightly chilly for once. He texted his friend a few times, only to get no reply. He frowned at his phone after twenty minutes of trying with no success. He was supposed to come get Michael at some point. If he was waiting to show him around at the end, wouldn’t he want to know which group he’d be in, or when he was going through the haunted house? Or at least answer him and tell him what his plan was? Apparently fucking not, though, since he made it up to the front without a single stupid text.

His jitters weren’t helped at all by that, but he eventually just jammed his phone into his hoodie pocket and hoped it didn’t fall out in the house. Michael and the people around him were finally let into the haunted house and given the long list of instructions. It was all the usual shit, that everything inside was fake, and to keep that in mind. To remember that the actors were just actors. And to go over the last few warnings - like that the actors would jump out, target people to scare them, ask questions, and generally, you know, act. Everyone agreed to the rules with varying degrees of excitement, and then they were all corralled into the waiting area. 

Michael was back to bouncing slightly in place, hoodie sleeves fully over his hands at this point. The decorations weren’t too scary yet, just meant to keep the haunted mansion theme going. The premise was something about a doctor and his torture chamber and all his patients gone wrong or something. Michael has forgotten a couple of the details, but he remembered the gist of it. He couldn’t make out anything specific, really, not through the awful dim lighting and the light fog rolling in close to the ground, thanks to the hidden fog machines, only adding to the chill in the cold building. 

One of the women in front of him was murmuring quietly to her boyfriend, gripping tightly to his hand. She didn’t seem much like she really wanted to be there. Michael hoped, for her sake, she’d remembered the safe word. Which was a nice touch, making sure everyone could yell it if needed. That rule was burned into his brain: if you yelled the safe word - mercy - any actor nearby would drop their act and escort you to the nearest exit, and you would absolutely not be allowed back in. Michael wanted to make sure he remembered it, but this was practically a once in a lifetime chance, and he really didn’t want to blow it. 

Finally - finally - they were allowed into the actual haunted house. The first room wasn’t too bad, just the doctor guy’s living room with some narration about who he’d been and a little about his ‘abominations’. Michael got enthralled in the story pretty quickly, gaze lingering on the (fake) family portraits on the (equally fake) mantle and on the walls. 

Room two brought a couple of scares, but he still wasn’t doing too badly. They were easily moved from room to room, sticking together in a clump. When the narration ended, basically, that was their cue to move on. Or for some sort or scare to jump out. 

But, of course, the greatest horror house in Sydney wouldn’t stay predictable. After room number three, the smooth transition was broken up by a long, dark corridor, with the sides pressing in on everyone as they went through. Michael curled in a little on himself, shuffling forward so close to the next person in line that he accidentally stepped on their heels. They didn’t even have time to be annoyed before they were in the next room. 

After room number four was worse. They went down an equally dark staircase, Michael’s grip on the handrail white-knuckled, pale skin almost luminous even in the pitch black. He shuffled forward once he managed his way down, unable to see anything, but didn’t bump into anyone. Which was...odd, given how tightly packed they’d all been up to this point. He took a gamble and swallowed his pride, sticking both arms out and stumbling forward, completely blind in the dark. Only then did the awful strobe light kick on above him, even fucking worse than the dark. He only got vague glimpses of where he was, and he couldn’t even see anyone around him in whatever room he was in. Fucking great, he had the best fucking luck in the entire world. Which he mumbled to himself as he continued his blind zombie-shuffle forward until his outstretched hand brushed a wall. Finally. 

He kept that palm pressed against the smooth (fake) stone, moving in one direction he chose to believe was forward. He was pretty sure it was the opposite direction from the staircase, at least. Hopefully he’d make some progress that way. This was so fucked. Where had his group gone? He was very, very sure he’d been with them. They’d filed down the staircase with him, hadn’t they? Where the fuck were they? Where the fuck was he? This certainly seemed like a fucking dungeon. 

He kept going until the shadows seemed to stay in one corner. He stretched out his unoccupied left hand, fingers brushing against another wall. He let out a frustrated groan, quiet and under his breath, even though he was pretty damn sure he was alone. He pressed his hand against it, palm against the cool stone, and he felt it open with a soft click. And he really didn’t care what was on the other side, he just wanted out of the stupid fucking strobe lights. 

And, of course the strobe lights turned off as he stepped towards the open door. His luck was so fucking perfect today, wasn’t it? 

He stepped through the hidden door (or whatever it was, Michael really didn’t care at this point), letting it slowly close behind him with the same soft click that definitely wasn’t ominous at all. This room, at least, wasn’t completely pitch black. There were lanterns hanging from the ceiling, and fake torches along one stone wall, that provided dim lighting. He skirted over to the side of the dungeon that was lit, gaze lingering on the shadowy side. His eyes still hadn’t really adjusted to the lighting, still absolutely fucked up from the stupid fucking strobe light. He would enjoy this a lot more if he knew this was intentional - if it was intentional - or if he was with his fucking group. Sue him, okay, maybe this shit was slightly better with company. 

He heard something shift from the direction of the door, gaze sliding over there. The room really wasn’t that open, and was pretty small in size. He felt something brush his left shoulder and jumped, stumbling forward toward the shadowy side of the dungeon room - backward, now, maybe, since he definitely whirled around to look at whatever the fuck had poked him, only to find nothing but the stone wall. What the fuck was this fucking place? He knew that wasn’t a bat. Maybe it was a bat? He really, really didn’t know. 

There was a weird sound from the shadowy side of the dungeon, which he was way, way closer to, now. He turned to look at it, only to flinch back when something lunged at him, snarling. Michael whirled around to look and let out an absolutely dignified shriek, reacting entirely on instinct, which was the only reason he realized, seconds too late, that that horrifying crunching noise had been his fist colliding with the thing’s nose. 

The thing, that he was now realizing, was an actor, chained to the wall with long chains. They’d made the noise earlier, scraping against the floor, as the actor had shifted. Probably. “Oh, fuck,” Michael said automatically, eyes widening. His knuckles fucking hurt, sure, but he was more focused on the poor actor. 

The makeup was, as promised, spectacular. He was a half-turned werewolf, shirtless and covered in gruesome patches of fur and deep, gory claw marks. He had some sort of fangs in, too, and weird orange contacts that definitely made him look feral. What Michael was most focused on, though, was the blood dripping from his nose that was definitely not stage makeup. 

The actor had a small frown on his face, two fingers coming up to gently touch his nose. He let out a soft hiss, frown pulling more at his lips. “Damn,” he murmured. 

“Oh, fuck,” Michael said, ever so eloquent. “Oh, fuck. Dude, I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. I don’t- I’ve never hit someone before in my life, I don’t know what the fuck-“

The actor shook his head. “It’s alright. It happens.” He gave him a small smile, one corner of his lips pulling up, before it dropped right back into a frown. Probably aggravated his injured nose. That Michael had done. Fuck. “Hazard of the job, you know? I told them not to activate the strobe lights and then put a jump scare after them. They make people jumpy since they fuck with your vision. They put people on edge. And then to have someone jump at you out of the dark….” He just looked sort of amused. Vindicated, too, maybe. “I figured it would happen at some point. I just got lucky until now, I guess.”

“Fuck, I’m so….I don’t even…..I’m so sorry,” Michael said again, brows drawing together. He really hadn’t meant to. Had he made that clear enough yet? He hadn’t meant to. His panic wasn’t helped by how fucking cute the werewolf was. 

The werewolf just ran a hand through his brown curls, pushing them back out of his eyes. “It’s alright. Really. It happens.” He eyed Michael, amusement in his eyes despite Michael’s clear panic. “I’m Ashton, by the way.”

Michael felt like he was still a few steps behind. Shouldn’t the werewolf be mad at him? Or kicking him out of the haunted house or something? “Oh. Uh. I’m Michael.” Ashton was a pretty name. And Michael was pretty sure it suited him, since it was clear Ashton was pretty attractive, even under all the makeup. And the blood. His nose was definitely bruised.

Speaking of his bloody nose, Ashton pressed two fingers right below it again, frowning as they came away covered in blood. “Well, Michael, you can definitely pack a punch.” He looked almost amused again before it gave way to concern. “Are you okay?”

Michael’s internal monologue still hadn’t shifted from ‘fuck. Fuck. fuck. Fuck. fuck. Fuck. fuck. Fuck.’ on loop in his head, so it took him a second to register the question. He still felt like he was short circuiting, adrenaline from the scare and the acute embarrassment immediately after still tingling up his spine and all the way to his shaking hands, fingers trembling a little where they were uncovered by the hoodie sleeves. “Wha- me? I’m- yeah? Fine, I- yeah, uh, think. I think, I mean. I mean I am, I’m fine. Okay. Yeah. Good.”

Ashton raised an eyebrow, stepping just a little closer. Michael was pretty sure he could hear his own heartbeat, too loud and too fast, echoing in his ears. Not loud enough to cover the unsettling scrape of metal against stone as Ashton’s chains moved with him. He focused on breathing, pretty sure he’d stopped for a second, inhaling the stale taste of the synthetic fog, permeating through the entire building, though the air lacked the telltale haze of a fog machine, and the equally stale, dank smell of the room itself. It was grounding, sort of. He was definitely not freaking out, though. Not at all. Not with Ashton right in front of him now, gaze fixed on him, Michael’s right hand still tingling, knuckles still aching. This definitely wasn’t social anxiety nightmare fuel. He was definitely perfectly fine.

Ashton reached for Michael’s hand, Michael numbly letting him take it, unable to do much more than watch. Ashton leaned forward a little, chains scraping again against the floor to make the worst sort of unholy noise, grating on Michael’s frayed nerves, thankfully on the edge of what he was paying attention to. He was too focused on how warm Ashton’s hands were, fake blood splattered over them like he was supposed to look like he’d been clawing at himself. “You’re bruised,” Ashton said, inspecting Michael’s knuckles where they’d made contact with Ashton’s nose. “Or, you will be, at least. You didn’t hit as hard as you could have, so I think you’re okay.”

With Ashton tilted forward, it was easier to see that he was definitely still bleeding - which, fucking duh, it hadn’t been that long since he’d punched him - dripping slowly but steadily onto the floor. Noticing Michael’s gaze, probably, Ashton took a few steps back out of Michael’s space, head still tilted forward a little. He lightly pinched the bridge of his nose, giving Michael what was probably supposed to be a lazy half smile. 

“Should you- do you need help?” Michael asked lamely. It was a pretty fucking stupid question, since he’d literally just punched Ashton in the nose. And he was bleeding.

“It’s not that big a deal,” Ashton said, as calm and collected as he’d been the whole time. And fantastic, at least one of them was. “I’d go tell someone, but I’m a little bit stuck.” He raised his free hand, chains rattling a little bit. “I’m actually chained to the wall. Someone comes by and lets me out between every couple groups or every couple hours so I can use the bathroom and grab a drink and all that shit. I can’t get myself out on my own.”

“Oh, fuck.” Michael frowned. “That seems like a pretty big fuckin’, like design flaw. Who the fuck came up with that?”

Ashton laughed, short and sweet before he cut himself off, probably because his nose hurt. Which sent a jolt of regret and embarrassment through Michael. “There’s a lot of stuff like that for the sake of ‘authenticity’. Don’t tell anyone I told you, they’d have my head. I don’t mind too much, though. Only lasts two months every year, and it’s fun. Well, except for the occasional scare that goes too well.” He gestured at his face to prove his point, smile tugging slightly at his lips again before it dropped.

Michael didn’t get a chance to reply before someone came in, freezing at the sight of Ashton slightly tipped forward, nose still dripping, but much slower before, and Michael standing stiff and shocked in place. “Oh, fuck,” the stranger said, echoing Michael’s sentiments. “What the fuck happened?” 

“Well, Michael here got so startled when I jumped out that he hit me.” Ashton answered for the two of them. “We’re all good, he didn’t mean to. He’s been keeping me company.” He winked at Michael, making Michael’s face heat up, especially noticeable in the gloomy chill of the fake dungeon room. 

“Fuckin’ hell, man,” the strange guy said, immediately moving forward to free Ashton from the stupid chains. “So, you mean, the same shit you kept saying was gonna happen, happened?”

Ashton let out some sort of noise that was probably meant to be a laugh. “Yeah, pretty much exactly.”

“Fuckin’ hell,” the stranger said again, succeeding in freeing Ashton. He leaned in close to look at his nose, frowning. “Well. You definitely need to be cleaned up. You’re out of commission for tonight, we’ll just leave the room empty and the supervisors can suck my dick. Come on, let’s clean you up and get you an ice pack or something, and you can sit down for a while.” He wrapped an arm around Ashton, hand splayed out in the middle of his back. They were clearly comfortable with each other, and had the easy familiarity of close friends. Or something. The stranger nodded his head at Michael. “You, uh, Michael, was it? You can come with us, we’ll get you out.” He paused. “Unless you want to finish the house..? But I’m gonna take a wild guess and say probably not, after that.”

Michael startled a little at being addressed, temporarily forgetting he had a corporal form. “Oh. Uh. No, not really. I”m- that was enough, I think.”

The stranger nodded his head. “Makes sense. You kind of got separated from your group, it looks like. Usually people are in groups of two and three. You sort of had shitty luck tonight, huh?” He said it kindly, though. Like he was sympathetic. “My name’s Calum, by the way.”

“He’s not usually the responsible one,” Ashton teased, shooting Calum an amused look, only making Calum roll his eyes.

“Yeah, yeah. Ashton. You’re always Mr. Responsible. That’s why we’re going to patch up your boo boo.” Calum patted his back consolingly, shooting Michael a grin. “So is this your first time here?”

Michael glanced up, fingers pausing mid-tug where he’d been fiddling with his hoodie sleeves. “Oh. Yeah, it is. Uh. Always wanted to come but it’s hard to get in and last year I got stuck closing most days and couldn’t make it early enough.”

Calum nodded, like it was a solemn affair, or he was thinking. Michael’s ability to figure things out - he was pretty sure it was called perception, but it just proved his point - was absolutely shot through with his adrenaline. He was still waiting for someone to get pissed at him, to kick him out and ban him for life. “It’s a fun place, yeah. I can’t remember if I actually ever went through it before getting to work here and see ‘behind the scenes,’ but we get pretty good reviews.” Calum grinned. “I’d say a bloody nose means you’re pretty fuckin’ scary, Ash.”

Ashton let out a half laugh. “Yeah, I guess so. Or people scared shitless and blind in the dark don’t like jumpscares. One of the two.”

Calum had led them through a couple dark, narrow back hallways, clearly meant for the employees, the whole time they’d been chatting. They get to the doorway of a brighter-lit room and hear a woman gasp. “Oh, Ashton! What happened to you? Oh, god, it wasn’t those dicks from last night again, was it? I swear I’ll hunt them down-”

“No, it wasn’t,” Ashton consoled, stepping into the room where the woman started fawning over him, leaning up to inspect his face and make sure he was okay. Calum, letting her take over, gently nudged Michael out of view and stepped back into shadow with him.

“Look, Ashton’s a trooper, he’s okay,” Calum murmured, nothing but soothing sincerity in his eyes and coating his voice. “I promise. You seem pretty worried but, uh...The floor managers might not be too happy, you know? We’re missing our werewolf for the rest of the night, so the room will be empty...No one else gives a shit, I promise, I just mean that if you want to come back, you might want to leave before anyone figures it out, you know? Not personal at all.” He gave him a sweet smile that probably would’ve rendered Michael incoherent and weak-kneed any other time, but with his nerves as wired and burnt-out as they were, it only tugged at his anxiety-ridden heartstrings.

“Actually,” Calum continued, tilting his head, “I can get you a ticket or something for another night if you want to do this again.” He gave him a lopsided smile. “You know, as long as you don’t hit another actor again.” Michael assumed he must’ve looked panicked, because Calum was quick to console him. “Hey, hey, I’m kidding. Sorry, too soon.”

“Holy, fuck, Ashton, is that real?” Someone else asked, entering the room behind them.

Calum looked back at Michael, expression apologetic. “I’ve gotta- I’ll have to run damage control, Alisha - the girl - is nice but he’ll need, uh, help. Uh...The exit’s right through there, down the stairs, to the left. If you can get back before we open sometime, cut the line and ask for me. Uh. Calum. That should get you in.” Michael only realized Calum had put a hand on his arm at some point when he squeezed it gently and let go.

With another hasty apology, Calum had to return to Ashton and the whole mess Michael had caused. Michael stumbled on nerve-numb feet through the dark employee back-passageways, hearing the occasional shriek from the haunted house proper. He couldn’t help but berate himself and wish he’d done the entire fucking thing differently. And where the fuck had his friend been? Maybe he wouldn’t have been so nervous to begin with if the fucker had actually texted him back at some point. 

This whole thing had been social-anxiety massive-fuckup nightmare fuel. Seriously, Michael thought as he finally managed to make his way out of the stupid house into the city, shivering in the much-cooler nighttime air, this was going to haunt him for years. Let alone punching anyone in the first place - his hand still sort of hurt, though not a proper hurt, more like the vague ache wrapped in the anxiety-spiking memory of what he’d done - but punching an absolutely gorgeous guy in the face? Fucking hell. Worst thing he could think of.

It was still fresh on his mind as he tucked himself into bed, fresh from a shower as he’d tried to scrub the stupid memory off his skin. He just hoped he managed to actually get over this and it didn’t haunt him forever. Though, he’d been pretty fucking haunted when he’d gone to grab pizza and when the guy had said “enjoy your meal,” he’d said “you too, thanks, mum.” He hadn’t even realized his mistake until he’d gotten outside with his prized pizza. In his defense, he’d been texting his mom, and gotten mixed up. There wasn’t really a defense here.

Fuck. He really hoped this didn’t haunt him.  

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

Well. It haunted him. That first night had really, really sucked. Like...really sucked. It had taken ages to manage to fall asleep after that, since every time he tried, he was painfully reminded of the moment he hit Ashton right in the nose, and how awful that had felt. And everything afterward had just been an anxiety-fueled mess. 

He had class the day after, too, which really fucking sucked, but it meant he didn’t have to sit and dwell on every single mistake he’d ever made in his life. The biggest one was obviously his birth, followed very closely by hitting Ashton. He decided, though, by the end of that day, that he definitely wanted to go apologize again. Just because it hadn’t felt quite like enough just saying he was sorry. He needed to actually prove it somehow. Maybe. Or he was just an idiot. Only time would really tell. 

He got a gift card for the coffee shop where he worked, because he got a discount on it, and everyone liked coffee. Did Ashton like coffee? He really hoped he did. He was still kicking himself for not getting his number so he could make sure he was okay and apologize, but, in his own defense, everything had gone upside-down topsy-turvy really, really fast. 

He got down to the haunted house, still a while before it actually opened. He went straight to the front of the line, remembering Calum’s promise to get him in. Hopefully he could use the advice to apologize properly to Ashton. The guy at the front of the line was kind of a dick towards him, but Michael managed to find a worker in one of the designated t-shirts for the house. 

“Hey, uh, is Calum or Ashton here?” Michael asked, praying he didn’t seem near as awkward as he felt. He just wanted to apologize and leave before he embarrassed himself any further, that was all. Everything was fine. It was fine. 

“Oh, yeah. Are you one of their friends or something?” The guy glanced at him before shrugging. “Calum’s working customer service and merch. Come on, I’ll show you.” 

Michael followed the guy into the house, down a hallway that wasn’t super obvious, to what was clearly right after the exit of the house. There was a booth set up, shirts dangling from the top and displayed in the back, along with magnets and other sorts of merch along the table. Calum was sitting behind it, earbuds in, focused solely on his phone. The guy Michael had been following tapped on the table to get his attention, making Calum’s eyes snap up. He grinned over at Michael, pausing his music and tugging his earbuds out. 

“I’ve got to get back to the front, but this guy was asking for you and Ashton. You know him?”

Calum’s smile didn’t dissipate. It didn’t do much to sooth the suddenly overactive butterflies in Michael’s stomach. “Yeah, I do. I’m good, you can go.” The guy nodded and left, leaving Michael alone with Calum. 

“Hey,” Calum greeted, grinning again. “I wasn’t sure you’d come back. I was hoping you would. Are you here for the house?” His smile went coy. “Or for me?” He was clearly teasing, but Michael’s face flushed. 

“Uh. I- well. Uh. I came- well, I’m here to apologize. Yeah. To, uh. To Ashton. Again. For hitting him. I mean, by accident. I didn’t mean to.” And wow, way to be smooth. Michael just didn’t know how to function around cute guys at all. Especially not when they sounded like they could possibly be flirting with him, if they were on another planet, where people actually flirted with Michael. 

Calum just gave him another sweet smile, standing and leaning against the table. Michael definitely didn’t pay attention to the way Calum’s back arched, or the way he tilted his head sometimes without meaning to, or how good his jeans looked on him. He didn’t see any of that at all because he was a good person. He just..wasn’t blind. And Calum was cute. “Ashton’s fine. I think he’s working tonight, but I can shoot him a text.” Michael didn’t even have to reply before Calum was pulling his phone out of his back pocket and sending a text, presumably to Ashton. 

“The house opens soon,” Calum continued, “but we’ll see if we can get him up here.” He smiled a little. “You know, after you hit him by accident, they tested out some fake chains. They thought it worked great - until they did a test run, and Ashton broke them when he moved forward. Guess even plastic couldn’t hold up to his upper body strength, huh?” He smiled, eyes squinting a little when Michael flushed darker. Everything was absolutely, perfectly fine. 

Calum’s phone vibrated again and he checked it. “Oh, shit. He’s a bit hung up right now. You want to stick around for a minute and see if he can swing up here? I can give you a bit of a behind-the-scenes tour.” 

Michael considered but nodded. “Yeah, uh. That would be great.” His friend - who still hadn’t fucking gotten back with him, it had been two days, asshole - was supposed to do that when he’d originally come to the house. Better late than never, at least, even if he’d never gotten to actually make it through the haunted house proper. He just had to survive spending time with a super cute guy in the stupidly narrow employee hallways. 

Calum grinned again. “Great!” He slid over the top of the table, knocking a couple magnets to the floor. He glanced at them before shrugging. “I’ll deal with that when I’m back. Come on.” He grabbed Michael’s wrist, his hold warm and gentle, and lightly tugged him towards another hallway. “So what do you want to see first? How we put everything together? How we make a couple of the rooms function? Where we keep all the fog machines?”

“Uhhh……” That was….a lot of options. Michael honestly wasn’t sure where to start. The last comment earned Calum a laugh, short and a little nervous. “Anything?”

Calum nodded sagely, like Michael had made some interesting comment that could be considered, instead of fumbling over his words. “I’ll just start with the basic tour then.”

Calum tugged him into another room, launching into an explanation of how they put it together, and how it matched up with the other rooms in the house. He talked about how they had speakers in each room, and made sure the haunted house genuinely felt like an old rundown mansion with a stone basement. The next room was every bit as interesting, if a bit colder.

“That,” Calum explained, “would be because we keep one of the fog machines in this false wall.” He knocked on it, the sound hollower than a real wall would have made. “It adds to the vibe.”

Michael just agreed that it did, in fact, add to the general vibe of the haunted house, unsure what else to say to that. 

“You know,” Calum said, eyes lighting up a little when he smiled, bright and mischievous, “I’m pretty sure they spent most of the decorating budget on the fog machines. In order to get the light fog in the dungeons, we had to keep one every couple rooms. And then the one in the front room, so people know we’re spooky.” He wiggled his fingers with his free hand, his other hand still warm on Michael’s wrist where he hadn’t let go yet.

Michael laughed, earning another triumphant smile from Calum. “That sounds right,” he said honestly. The basement - or what little he’d seen of it, at least - had definitely been neat, with the very light fog swirling around his ankles. He just hadn’t really made it that far.

And, like Calum was a mindreader, he almost immediately said “Hey, you didn’t finish the house, right? Want to get a tour of the basement? I can show you where I had to use Klorox wipes to get Ashton’s blood off the floor.” Another grin, clearly amused with himself.

“Uh...Yeah, okay, that sounds good,” Michael said, ever so eloquent. Being in the presence of a pretty guy did not help him at all, only serving to shut down any critical thinking skills he’d ever had.

“Great! This way-” Calum started to gently lead him out of the room, hand still warm on Michael’s wrist in the chill of the room, before he was interrupted by his phone buzzing. “Fuck, what now?” He pulled his phone out of his back pocket, which Michael found impressive given how stupidly tight they were. Calum let out a huff, letting go of Michael’s wrist so he could send a text back. “Fuckin’ hell. I’m gonna have to go.” He gave Michael a look that really looked like apologetic puppy dog eyes, but Calum somehow pulled it off. “We’re letting in the first group soon. I’ve gotta go back to my booth.”

“Oh, shit.” Michael was pretty sure that was the right response. He was still distracted by the smiles Calum had flashed him just moments before. Sue him, his weakness was cute guys, okay? And social interaction. Especially social interaction with aforementioned cute guys. Like Calum.

“I’m sorry. I guess Ashton will be wrapped up in that, too.” Calum frowned, thinking for a moment. “Are you free tomorrow?”

Michael flushed, a natural reply to being asked that by A Cute Guy. “Uh. Yeah. I have class in the morning, but I’m free after.”

Calum grinned again. “Great. Swing by here again? You can ask for either me or Ashton. We’ll get you taken care of, don’t worry.” He winked at Michael, smile still on his face. Michael felt himself flush deeper, praying it wasn’t too visible in the dim lighting of the haunted house.

“Yeah, uh, okay. I can...I can do that.” Maybe he was reassuring himself a little bit. But it would be fun. Calum led him back out of the room, his hand going to the small of Michael’s back, warm even through his hoodie. If Michael’s blush had faded, that brought it back full force. Calum’s hand dropped once they were back in the hallway, but his hand brushed Michael’s on every other step as he led him back to the front, to the area where Calum’s merch booth was.

“Here we are. I’ll see you tomorrow?” Calum asked, expression earnest. He squatted to pick up a couple of the magnets and buttons that he’d knocked to the floor earlier. Michael definitely didn’t glance at his butt, because he was a very nice person, and very good at resisting things. 

“Yeah, I’ll, uh, I’ll be here.” Michael was completely fucking incapable of going one sentence without stumbling over his words. It was annoying. It was like being near any attractive guy whatsoever made his brain completely short circuit and stop working. He was pretty sure he just suffered from Dumb Bitch-itis or whatever. It was fine.

After a quick goodbye, Michael made his way to the exit and started the walk back home again. He couldn’t say that excursion was really a failure but he still hadn’t done what he’d meant to do. How many cute guys could work there, anyway? That had to be it. So hopefully he’d function properly next time he had to go, even if Calum and Ashton both completely shut his brain down. The gift card was still in his pocket, even as he reluctantly shucked his outside-hoodie to switch to his sleeping-hoodie. At least this time he didn’t have too much to haunt him before he fell asleep.

Except punching Ashton, his brain helpfully supplied. And with that, his hopes for some peaceful sleep went out the window, just like his critical thinking skills had earlier when he’d had to talk to Calum.

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

Michael prayed that this was the last time he’d have to go to the house. He didn’t dislike it, honestly, it was interesting and incredibly well put together. But he really just wanted to apologize to Ashton and have the whole thing be done with. Or, half of him did, at least. He hated when things got drawn out like this, and something hung over his head. He didn’t like feeling like he owed any debts at all. The other half of him, though, kind of didn’t want it to be over. Because then he wouldn’t get to see Calum or Ashton again. And alright, maybe he was a bit of an emotional masochist knowing that they wouldn’t like him but it was...nice, kind of, hanging out with people. And he wasn’t going to complain about getting to hang out with cute guys. Like...ever.

The thing was, though, it wasn’t like he could really be friends with them. He’d fucking punched Ashton right in the face for fuck’s sake. The friendship ship had long since sailed, and he’d lost any chance of talking to him like a functional person as soon as he’d panicked and hit him. Which sort of destroyed any chances he had in befriending Calum. And maybe he was a little bit lonely, and tired of spending all his free time by himself. The cute guys at the haunted house were a no-go, though, so he wanted to be done with them as soon as he could be.

Michael tugged his hoodie back on, and made his way back out into the outside world, where people weren’t so kind, and there were cute boys to accidentally hit and regret your entire life over. He didn’t want to think about having to talk to Ashton again, or Calum, doing his best to save all of his brain power for actually having to socialize, rather than wasting it on indulging his anxiety now.

He cut through the line again, though it was a bit earlier this time, so it wasn’t as long as it had been, and made his way to the front of the house. One of the workers, in the same haunted house shirts he’d see the others in the days before, stopped him.

“I’m here for Ashton?” Michael said, still not entirely sure of himself, like this wasn’t the second time he’d come back to the house and had to ask for them. “Or Calum.”

The girl glanced Michael up and down quickly, seeming to assess whether or not he was telling the truth. And really, why the fuck would he bother lying? He wasn’t even really trying to get into the house, but apologize fully to Ashton so he could hopefully stop being haunted by the memory of his major fuck-up.

“Alright, come on,” she said, turning on her heel and leading him inside. He followed her back through the room Calum had been stationed in the day before, the merch booth left empty, now, no cute guys with equally cute smiles there to drag him through the maze of the house.

The girl led her down a couple hallways Michael definitely didn’t remember, but he really hadn’t been paying as much attention to the hallways of all things the last time he’d been there. But he was pretty sure he didn’t remember any of this. Which was only reaffirmed when she stopped in a doorframe. “Luke,” she called in, hand on the doorframe. “This guy’s asking for Calum and Ashton. I’m busy downstairs. Can you try and track them down for him?” 

Michael could see over her shoulder, but couldn’t see who she was talking to. Luke gave her some form of affirmative, he guessed, because then she was turning back to look at him. “Right. You stay here with Luke. He should be able to find Calum and Ashton. You can wait with him. Good luck.” She turned and headed off back down a couple narrow hallways, leaving Michael more confused than he had been before she’d tried to help.

“Come in, I don’t bite,” came a guy’s voice from the other side of the room. Michael reluctantly shuffled in, already tugging his hoodie sleeves down over his hands. How many times was he going to be shuffled from person to person before he managed to actually give Ashton his stupid gift card and go back to his life of reclusivity, hidden away in his single dorm room. Then he’d finally get to forget how massively he’d fucked up, and not have to think about all the stupidly cute boys that worked at the stupid haunted house.

The room had several chairs set up, with a couple of tables cluttered with a bunch of weird bottles, makeup palettes, and gallons of stage blood. It was empty, except for a girl sitting in one of the chairs, and a guy working on her makeup. He was tall, with ridiculously long legs, and his blond curls pulled back into a small bun, messy, with flyaways wisping around his temples and a couple strands of hair in his eyes when he flashed Michael a quick smile. “Alright,” the guy said, pulling back to inspect his work. “You’re good to go. But maybe try not to fuck up your chest wound next time? It’s not so easy to fix.” She murmured some sort of agreement - and what sounded like an apology - before heading back out, probably to wherever she was supposed to be stationed.

The guy turned to Michael and flashed him a smile, tucking his brush behind his ear and wiping his hands on his thighs before offering one to Michael. “I’m Luke. But, uh, I think you already knew that.” His smile went a little sheepish. Michael just shook his hand, internally cursing himself for having cute boys as a major weakness. Because Luke was definitely cute.

“I’m Michael,” he said, because he was pretty sure he hadn’t yet, and it seemed like the proper time for an introduction. His brain might short circuit a little bit around cute boys, but he didn’t completely forget everything. Usually. Not yet, at least. He was just hoping to keep at least a fraction of his critical thinking skills. So he didn’t end up hitting him in the face, his brain supplied helpfully, even though that had only ever been the one time, and under very different circumstances. It didn’t make him feel much better.

Luke broke into a smile almost immediately, letting out a laugh - more of a giggle, really - that made his nose crinkle. “You’re the guy that punched Ashton,” he said, eyes crinkling a little with amusement. “Holy shit. You’re a legend.”

Michael flushed, feeling his whole face heat up, even though the room was just as chilly as the rest of the haunted house. “Uh. Maybe just a little. The one time.” He scuffed the toe of his sneaker against the ground, suddenly a little nervous. Or...more nervous. Luke was just as cute as the others had been, stray glitter stuck to his hands (and Michael’s palm, now, after he’d shook his hand), and his hair in that stupidly endearing bun. And apparently he knew about the biggest fuck up in Michael’s entire life, which really wasn’t all that good for his already not so fantastic self esteem. 

Luke nodded, still looking only a couple seconds from laughing. “The one time. Yeah. Ashton thought it was hilarious. It worked out, though, he got the rest of the day off, and convinced them to fix his position so it hopefully wouldn’t happen again. Well, I mean, they mostly agreed that he could keep his phone on him as long as it was silent so he could call Calum or something to come get him if something happened. But he counted it as a win.”

 Luke leaned against the table, hip causing a couple bottles to fall over. Luke flushed, pink covering his pale skin, as he rushed to sort everything out, right all of the bottles. He knocked one of them off the table, squatting down to grab it and smacking his head against the edge of the table on his way back up. It knocked the brush from behind his ear, which hit the floor with a quiet clatter. Luke managed to stand up properly, though, his face red, and clearly flustered. “Um. Anyway. So you- Uh.” He shook his head, more curls coming free of his bun and dancing around his temples when he moved. “Ashton wasn’t upset, you’re okay. He’s kind of hard to rattle. Calum and him have been joking about it, mostly. They just didn’t mention you were cute.”

Michael had watched Luke’s moment with the bottles, eyebrows furrowed in concern, but he hadn’t wanted to overstep. He’d gotten it sorted, anyway, and his head seemed fine. So he didn’t ask, just watched him with the same slightly cautious expression. Luke’s last sentence threw him off, though, and it was Michael’s turn to flush, staring at Luke a few beats longer than socially acceptable. “Oh, uh- you think- I’m not- I’m pretty, just, you know- uh. Thank you. You’re- the same. Cute. I mean.”

Luke laughed, soft and gentle and warm, meant to be with him rather than at him. Michael’s blush darkened, but he didn’t feel quite so bad about being an absolute idiot. “Thank you,” he said, head tilting a little to the side, smile back on his face. Luke was tall. Taller than Calum and Ashton had been, enough to make Michael aware of the difference. No wonder he’d been clumsy, though he’d seemed to have reclaimed his grace now, lanky limbs seeming only to add to his charm and poise rather than detract from it now that his footing was stable and no bottles were falling on the floor. 

“So why’d you come back, again?” Luke asked, yanking Michael out of his reverie. He’d moved to straighten some of the bottles and makeup palettes cluttered on the table. He glanced at Michael before his eyes shifted back to what he was doing. And yeah, that was definitely stray gold glitter stuck to his hands, front and back. 

“Oh. Uh. I wanted to say sorry to Ashton again. I just...haven’t been able to catch him. Came back yesterday and same thing.” Michael tugged at one of his hoodie sleeves, watching Luke’s long fingers tighten what looked like a tall bottle of latex. And okay, maybe he’d watched a few too many behind the scenes videos of his favourite horror movies, and wasn’t completely brand new to SFX stuff. 

Luke glanced up at him again, interest in his blue eyes and all over his face. His hands paused where they were. “You were here yesterday?”

“Uh. Yeah? I was just with Calum for a while but then he got some text and I didn’t get a chance to see Ashton before I had to leave.” He didn’t know what about that was so interesting, but whatever. At least he wasn’t tripping over his words now and could talk to Luke like a proper functioning human being. 

Luke hummed but didn’t offer an explanation for asking. “Do you want me to do your makeup or something while you wait?” He asked, as random and out of nowhere as anything. 

“What?” Michael asked, brows drawing together again. He was pretty sure Luke hadn’t said what he thought he’d said. 

“Do you want me to do your makeup while you’re waiting?” He repeated, gaze as earnest as ever. He wasn’t lying. 

“I mean, holy shit, yeah,” Michael said, maybe just a tad too eager. Get his makeup done by a makeup artist at the haunted house that had won awards for SFX? Hell fucking yeah! He wasn’t turning that opportunity down. Hopefully it went better than attending the haunted house had. 

Luke beamed, looking absolutely pleased with himself. “Okay, come over here and sit down and I will. Do you want, like, a cut or something? I have a couple spare prosthetic injuries I could use. I know I can’t do the missing eye one on you, you can’t really see in that one. I have a couple of the small claw ones, like I think I used on Ashton? If you want some of those.”

“Uh. Yeah, that works.” Michael made his way over and sat down in the chair, shifting a little bit. He’d never really had his makeup done before, but he was more excited to get to see someone do SFX up close. On him. 

“Can you pull the hoodie off?” Luke asked over his shoulder, starting to sort through his supplies. “I need more space. I can do it right below your collarbone, I think. That’s enough space. With Ashton, I think I slotted some at the top of one of his pecs and then some on his ribs, on his side.” 

Michael flushed but tugged his hoodie off, getting his head stuck in the stupid thing only momentarily, before it was off and he could ball it up in his lap. Luke turned back to look at him, humming softly to himself. He tugged his hair free from the bun, curls falling freely to frame his face, before pulling it right back again. Just like before, curls too short to fit in the bun curled around his temples and his ears. Luke ignored it, stepping closer with the small prosthetic in hand. 

He hummed a little again, eyeing Michael’s collarbones and chest. He tugged the neckline of Michael’s shirt down a little bit, holding the prosthetic up, just below his collarbone as he’d said. “This should work pretty well. Has anyone ever done makeup on you before?” Luke turned to grab something else, probably his adhesive, before turning back and frowning. “It might be easier, since I’ll need both hands for this. You can put it back on afterward, it’ll sit right above your neckline. Right here.” Luke tapped a finger lightly where he planned on putting the prosthetic.

Michael flushed. “Uh. Yeah, okay, I guess.” He really wasn’t used to this. Going shirtless in front of a cute guy? Yeah, that really didn’t happen. Like, ever. He reluctantly tugged his shirt off, though, still not about to turn this opportunity down. The shirt joined his hoodie, both balled up in his lap. He was rewarded with a sweet smile from Luke, before he was surveying the area he wanted to stick the prosthetic, which did little to help Michael’s blush.

“This might be a little bit cold. It’s room temperature, kind of.” Luke started applying the adhesive, completely in Michael’s personal space. “So did you like the house?” He asked, fanning the adhesive with his hand, gaze shifting to Michael’s face. “When you came? Before the thing with Ashton, I mean.”

“Yeah, I did. Uh. I’ve been wanting to come here for years, and I finally got to get a look. I really, really like horror shit, and thought about being an SFX artist but I don’t have the talent at all.” Michael resisted the urge to shift in place, or bounce his leg. He didn’t want to fuck up whatever Luke was doing. “It’s, uh, really well put together. No wonder it’s won awards and shit.”

Luke hummed, tapping the adhesive before grabbing the prosthetic and leaning down, tongue sticking out a little in concentration, as he carefully stuck it down. He held it in place for a moment, pulling back to inspect his work. He moved to grab one of his makeup palettes. “Yeah, it’s a lot of work to pull it together and get everything set up properly. But I can get out of some of it sometimes, since I do makeup.” He grinned at him before starting to add colour to the prosthetic. “You wanted to do SFX?” His gaze flickered up to him again, before again it dropped to what he was doing. “I could always show you some stuff, if you wanted. I’ve been doing it for a couple years, so I think I’d probably be okay at that.”

“Didn’t you guys win something last year for your makeup?” He asked, tilting his head a little bit.

Luke turned pink. “Well, yeah, but that wasn’t just me, that was the whole team. But, um. If you wanted that, I definitely could.”

It was then that it really clicked what Luke was offering. This was a chance for Michael to actually get hands-on experience with SFX and get to see it up close. Not only that, but he’d get the chance to actually do it himself, with someone else’s guidance, and see if he was actually shit at it. And that someone happened to be award winning. And really cute. “Fuck yeah, I definitely want that.” Okay, he needed to curb his excitement. Just a little.

Luke let out another one of his giggles, still working on the colouring of the prosthetic. “Okay. I’m happy to show you. I’ll get your number when I’m done? So we can set up a time?”

Michael definitely didn’t turn pink at that or anything. He was totally suave, totally used to getting cute guys’ numbers, especially while he was shirtless in front of them. Obviously. And maybe that was a little bit of a lie, and this was brand new. And maybe he was a little bit pink. “Uh. Yeah, that sounds good.”

Luke hummed, attention mostly back on the prosthetic. He was silent for a few moments before he spoke up again. “You said you wanted to do SFX. So what do you do instead?”

“Oh, I’m a film student. I work at, uh, Great Awakenings? The coffee shop a couple blocks down from here on campus.” Michael, again, had to resist the urge to shift around in place. Not because it felt weird, but because he didn’t know what to do with himself, or his nervous energy. He couldn’t even tap his foot or anything on the ground, for fear of fucking up what Luke was doing. 

“Oh, that’s neat! I’m doing philosophy right now. Ashton’s doing English. Focusing on literature, I think. And Calum’s doing psychology,” Luke flashed Michael a bright smile before going back to his work, still carefully adding pigment to the prosthetic. 

“Oh, that’s, uh...pretty cool. What made you choose philosophy?” Michael asked. 

Luke hummed a little to himself. “I dunno. Just thought it seemed interesting. I’m pretty happy doing this, but I don’t know if I can make a career out of it. Or if my skills are even enough to try.” He paused. “I know I’m good enough to work here, I just don’t know about beyond that,” he corrected, fingers stilling where they’d been working. It only took a moment before he was back at it again. 

Michael understood that, honestly. “Yeah, I know what you mean. That’s why I’m in film. I don’t know how far I’ll make it, either,” he said honestly. 

Luke gave him a frown, more adorable than it had any right being. “I’m sure you’ll be good at it, Mikey.”

Michael flushed at the nickname, but didn’t have any time to add anything before Luke was turning around to face the table. “Okay, I just have blood and then I’m done.” Luke grabbed the bottle and a tiny brush, turning around to face Michael yet again. He gave him a tiny smile before he was back to work, tongue poking slightly from between his lips in concentration. 

Luke was pretty. Michael was struggling to think about anything else, even with how desperately he wanted to do SFX, and how much he’d wanted to visit the haunted house. It only took a few minutes before Luke pulled back slightly, surveying his work. Good thing, too, Michael was starting to get chilly. “Okay,” he said, eyes still on the prosthetic, forehead creased slightly, lips pulled into a small pout. He looked thoughtful. Michael refused to admit it was adorable. “I think I’m done.” He gave Michael another smile, nose crinkling slightly with this one. 

Michael’s number one weakness was definitely still cute boys, because his brain short circuited immediately. He was saved from having to say anything, though, when a girl poked her head in the door, knocking twice on the doorframe to get Luke’s attention. “Hey, house’s opening in a few. Stand by in case of any fucked up makeup.” Luke just nodded, and then she left. 

Luke frowned a little at Michael. “Okay, you’ll probably have to go before we officially open and groups start coming through. I might get busy, and we aren’t supposed to have visitors.” Luke chewed at his lip, thinking. “Okay. Uh.” He pulled his phone out of his pocket - Michael didn’t know how he fit anything in his pants pockets, they were stupidly tight and didn’t look all that comfortable - and offered it to Michael. “Give me your number? I’ll text you and figure the whole Ashton thing out so you can say sorry to him or whatever. And then I can show you how to do makeup.”

Michael nodded, taking the outstretched phone from Luke and obediently putting his number in. “That, uh, sounds really great. Thanks, Luke.” He passed his phone back and earned another smile from Luke that definitely didn’t make his stomach flip. Michael went ahead and tugged his shirt  back on, careful not to fuck up his new prosthetic. 

“Okay, sweet. Can you find your way out or do you want me to show you?” Luke asked, as sweet as he’d been the whole time. 

Michael shook his head at the offer, though. “I’m okay. I can get out. Thanks, though. I’ll...I’ll catch you around?”

Luke gave him another smile. “Yeah. See you, Mikey.”

Michael made his way out of the haunted house for the third time, hoodie balled up in his hands despite the evening chill so he didn’t get fake blood on it. And maybe he stopped in front of the mirror once he got home to look at his makeup, stupid grin on his face remembering Luke (and the other cute boys that worked there). And maybe, just maybe, that was the first night since he’d punched Ashton that he didn’t seriously struggle to sleep. 

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

Michael had almost forgotten the whole dilemma, when he woke up to a text from Luke. The phone screen was stupidly blinding in the darkness of his bedroom, and he cursed himself for bothering to check his phone in the first place. To be fair, though, he’d only wanted to see the time - he slept with his phone on do not disturb for this very purpose - he hadn’t expected the text.

Luke H: hey, r u free 2day? :-)

Michael stared at the text, blinking sleep out of his eyes, before he managed to get his brain to function enough to reply. And of fucking course Luke added a nose to his emojis. He might have only met the guy once, but it definitely seemed like a Luke thing to do.

Michael: yeah I should be. y?

Michael didn’t have a chance to even roll over before Luke had replied, phone buzzing again in his hand. Did Luke have nothing better to do? It had to be fucking early in the morning, and Michael’s main priority was going back to sleep. Though, in Luke’s defense, it usually was.

Luke H: no reason

Luke H: can u meet me at that coffee shop @ 1 later 2day? 

Luke wasn’t making any more sense, even with his clarifications. And Michael was way too tired to think too much about his cryptic messages. So he just agreed.

Michael: yeah

His phone buzzed again, seconds after he’d hit send. Did Luke have nothing better to do than text Michael at fucking nine am on a Saturday morning? Didn’t he know how to sleep in?

Luke H: great :-)

Michael tossed his phone to the side with a sigh, resolving himself to being awake way, way too early. This wasn’t usually how he spent his mornings; normally, he slept in until noon if he didn’t have work, and spent the day catching up on homework he didn’t feel like doing during the week, and finished the day with pizza and a few rounds of FIFA. He didn’t usually meet cute boys at the coffee chop, for god knows what reason, and he usually didn’t wake up so fucking early.

The rest of his day passed slowly, starting with two cups of coffee to try and keep himself awake and functional. He could hear his mum in his head, reminding him that nine am isn’t even that early, that most people were already awake and functional by that point. So he just shook his head and told his imaginary mum to piss off, and that he wasn’t most people.

He managed to waste most of the day away until he was already running late to meet Luke. He tugged on a hoodie that he’d only worn once that week, making it objectively cleaner than most of his other ones.

By the time he made it to the coffee shop, he was a couple minutes past one. Which was fine, it was pretty standard for Michael. He never really knew what time it was, but he tried his best. At least he was only a couple minutes late this time. Hopefully Luke didn’t mind too much.

Speaking of the devil, Luke had taken a seat in the corner and, when Michael spotted him, was mid-laugh at something Ashton had said to him. Ashton, who was sitting right next to him, grin on his lips. Oh, fuck. Had Michael just been invited to fucking third wheel them or something? You could third wheel a friendship. Michael knew that, from trailing after a pair of best friends when he was a kid, before he’d just decided to be a loner for the rest of his life. But they seemed awfully cuddly now, too. Maybe they’d just invited him to laugh at him.

Or, the much smaller rational part of his brain pointed out, maybe Luke had invited Ashton since Michael had wanted to apologize to him again and had never gotten the chance. Maybe Luke was just being nice.

Michael just did his best to shove all those thoughts aside. There was no point in freaking himself out now that he was already here. Better to just figure out what Luke had planned and get it over with. Or enjoy it, maybe. Maybe. 

Michael made his way over to their table, awkwardly taking his seat in front of them. Luke turned and gave him a bright, happy smile. “Hey, you made it!” He greeted, clearly pleased. “I went ahead and brought Ashton, I hope you don’t mind. You said you wanted to apologize, and we both think you’re pretty cute, so-” Ashton smiled fondly, but nudged Luke anyway.

“Don’t freak him out right after he gets here,” Ashton chided gently. He gave Michael that warm smile, shifting in his chair. “Hey, Michael. Good to see you again.”

Michael nodded a little, socialization abilities immediately leaving him. “You look good,” he said, before flushing. “No, you don’t. I mean - fuck - I don’t mean that, I mean you look good now that you’re not covered in blood. Or, you looked good then too. Well, not really, because I hit you in the nose-” Michael snapped his mouth shut. “I mean, it’s good to see you too.”

Ashton just laughed, good naturedly, but Michael was pretty sure he was one fuck-up away from them hating him. Still, though, his laugh managed to calm some of that built-up nervousness he was holding on to.

“You look good too, no worries,” Ashton said, corner of his mouth pulling up into a smile. 

Michael just nodded a little, steeling himself before he spoke. “I’m, uh. Really sorry about hitting you. I didn’t mean to at all, and still don’t know how I managed to fuck up that badly.”

Ashton gave him another smile. Luke was busy fiddling with one of his curls, clearly only half paying attention to the conversation, if at all. “It’s okay. Really. You didn’t do any lasting damage, and you didn’t mean to. I’m fine now, and it made the managers have to reconsider the position. Besides, it just meant Calum and Luke were a little overprotective for a few days. I’m fine now, but they were worried for a couple days about bruising and possible lasting damage. You should really be apologizing to Luke for having to deal with blood.” Michael must have looked confused, because Ashton continued. “I don’t know why, but it freaks him out. He’s fine with all the SFX shit, he’s okay with gruesome fake injuries and fake blood, but any time there’s real blood? He freaks out.”

Luke abandoned his curl, tucking it behind his ear, to pout at Ashton. “Hey. I just don’t like it.” 

Ashton gave him another stupidly fond smile and draped an arm over the back of Luke’s chair. “I know.” Michael felt like he was third wheeling, again. Which, okay, Ashton and Luke were cute, but he couldn’t help the way his stomach dropped a little. He’d thought they were pretty cute, and he hadn’t deluded himself into thinking anything would happen with either of them. But it didn’t really make it feel much better to realize he was third wheeling.

Sometime into his quiet sulking (which only could’ve lasted a minute or two at most), Calum had come up behind him, because now he was pulling out the chair next to him. Michael was effectively caged in now by attractive guys. Which, okay, was manageable. If his brain would stay functional. At least now he wasn’t third wheeling Luke and Ashton by himself anymore.

“Hey,” Calum greeted all of them, smiling in the way that made his cheeks squish up and his eyes squint. And okay, yeah, Michael definitely needed to get back into the dating world. 

“Hey,” Luke said, brightening a little again at the sight of Calum. “Michael came.”

Calum nodded, giving Luke the same fond smile Ashton had. “I can see that, babe.”

Luke reached his hand across the table, towards Calum. Calum took it, gently squeezing his hand. And fucking great, had Michael gone from third wheeling to fourth wheeling? Was fourth wheeling even a fucking thing? It clearly was, if what he was thinking was correct. Because Calum, Luke, and Ashton seemed awfully fucking close - Calum had just called Luke babe, for Christ’s sake - and he was pretty fucking sure they were all dating. Or involved together in some way. So why fucking bother inviting Michael if they were going to act like that? It wasn’t like he thought it was a date or anything, but it seemed...rude to just be all couple-y with a fourth person there.

“I’ve gotta take a call,” Michael said, and the excuse to step out sounded lame even to his own ears. But it had seemed like they’d been...maybe not flirting with him, but flirty, and he felt pretty fucking awkward fourth wheeling them the way he was doing. So he wanted an excuse to step outside for a moment and breathe. He pushed his chair back, wincing at the noise it made, and awkwardly stumbled outside of the door. The bell above the door chimed as he did, which did nothing for his annoyance. 

He took a few steps to the side, so he wasn’t in anyone’s way if they tried to go into the little coffee shop. He leaned back against the wall with a sigh, forgetting his excuse, and completely forgetting that he should probably at least pretend to be on the phone. Even if his phone hadn’t been ringing in the first place.

His melodramatic inner monologue of suffering was interrupted by the stupid bell chiming again. It earned enough of his attention to look up. And none other than Luke was standing there in front of him, apologetic smile on his face. “Hi,” Luke said, making his way a little closer.

“Hey,” Michael said, a little unsure.

“I just, uh...I’m sorry,” Luke said, fidgeting a little in place. His gaze shifted down to his feet, where he was absently scuffing the toe of his converse against his other foot. “I should have warned you about us. We just...it’s still kind of new, telling people, and we all...well, we all thought you were really cute, and I thought the rest of it would be easy if I managed to get you here. But life isn’t really like the movies, and I was kind of a dick to not at least warn you. Ashton said I should have, and he was right. I should have.” 

Wait...what? Michael was left reeling a little. At least he wasn’t fucking crazy, and he’d been right about the three of them being together. Or, that was what it sounded like, at least. But the rest of it? What did Luke mean by them thinking he was cute? What the fuck? Why did Luke have to be so cryptic? “What?”

Michael was pretty sure Luke blushed. He just scuffed his toe against the ground again, before making eye contact. “I’m dating Calum and Ashton. Or, we’re all dating each other. Um...and we thought you were cute. We think you’re cute. And I fucked up and should have explained all of that earlier. So you didn't, uh...get blindsided by it when you got here.”

Well, that was...a lot. And unexpected. “So...is this a date or something?”

Luke shrugged. “It is if you want it to be.”

Michael considered that for a moment. Did he want it to be? He’d never dated more than one person before - hadn’t really dated many people in general, honestly. But he didn’t dislike the idea. He had gotten along with all of them individually pretty well...and they were already established, right? So maybe it would be easier for him to just join that. Maybe. “I think so, yeah.” He nodded a little.

Luke grinned, shoulders sagging a little with relief as. “Great! I’m sure we’ll talk about everything soon. Like, boundaries and limits and telling other people and the future and stuff like that. Ashton and Calum are pretty good about all that.” Luke reached for Michael’s hand, and he took it, letting Luke lace their fingers together. “For now, though, let’s go get coffee.” Luke tugged him back into the coffee shop, a triumphant grin on his lips. Michael couldn’t help the smile he gave him, just as fond as the ones Calum and Ashton had worn earlier. Something about Luke’s happiness was just...contagious and sweet. It made you happy to see him so happy.

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

The relationship ended up working out like a fucking dream. Michael had never felt so supported in his life, and he was pretty sure his boyfriends felt the same way. After the initial coffee date, they’d gotten themselves established, and talked about what they wanted and what they wanted the relationship to look like, and the future, just like Luke had said. And, to absolutely no one’s surprise, the conversation was guided by Ashton.

Telling his mum had arguably been the hardest part, but even that was made a little easier with their support. Answering her questions hadn’t been fun - he’d deflected the over-the-line questions, as anyone else would, and flat out refused anything rude - but they’d gotten it taken care of, and she’d been about as accepting as Michael could have hoped.

As promised, they managed to get Michael a job at the haunted house the following year. One of the managers had gotten fired after the incident with Ashton - not that that had been the cause, but he’d been a massive dick about it, according to Calum and Luke, and it hadn’t been a good look, so he’d gotten canned - which let Calum get a promotion. Ashton was happy to stick with being an actor. As long as, he’d said when they’d broken the news to Michael, stupid grin on his face, no one else punched him in the face. He didn’t want another boyfriend. It had earned him three eye rolls, and three fond smiles, from each of his stupidly indulgent boyfriends.

But it had meant there was an opening for the merch stand, and Michael would get three glowing reviews. So they’d managed to get him the job. And, Calum had reminded them at the time, pleased smile on his face, they had a lot of sway with one of the managers.

So after everything got settled, Michael’s life was the best it had ever been. He had three loving, supportive, wonderful boyfriends, a job he loved, and date night every Friday. Even if he was working, they were happy to come sit and entertain him until he was off. He didn’t feel left out with them anymore, either; after that first time, they’d gotten it sorted, and were quick to comfort and console him.

Ashton never fucking let him live down the way they met, though. He made dad jokes about it as often as they let him - “watch out for Michael, he packs a punch,” “ah, Michael’s got quite the feisty personality,” “Michael’s really got a nose for this sort of thing. He fucked up mine, so it’s only fair, I suppose” - which was way, way too often, given how bad they all were. Michael couldn’t even bring himself to care, though. Not when accidentally punching him in the face had been the one thing to pull his life together. Ashton’s dad jokes were definitely worth all of that.

[rebsrams]

The Enneagram Series - One (Ethan x F!MC)

Book: Open Heart (OHSY)

Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Rebecca Valentine)

Warnings: angsttttt

Summary: Ethan’s back from the Amazon. MC can’t really come to terms with his decision to cut her off. Based on Atlas: Enneagram from Sleeping at Last.

Word count: 1,249

Author’s notes: I kinda re-imagined part of the beginning of OHSY, actually. It sounded very strange to me that MC would just try to get him back no matter what after he left her like a total coward, escaping his feelings. I just thought that she would have reacted, in some way. And being my MC extremely hot headed, that’s the way it turned out!

Song: One - Sleeping at Last

“Why do you always have to be so goddamn patronizing, Ethan?”

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe because you keep fucking up every damn thing that you lay your hands on!”

There they were, roaring at each other again.

The week they had experienced was quite rough, aiming at each other’s throat on every possible occasion and without any valid reason.

Except the fact that after his return from the Amazon, he shut her out for the umpteenth time, and soon it became clear enough to her that he wanted it to be the last.

After the first, big fight they had over Ethan’s words at Donahue’s, he decided that the wisest thing to do was to ignore her and give her time to take his decision in, although it took him an amount of effort that after two months away from her wasn’t ready to face at all.

However, his decision soon turned out to be delusional, as she began to tease him slightly on every possible occasion about his recent recanting, forcing him to stay quiet and bite every bullet in order to keep a vague appearance of dignity across the corridors.

When the situation became unsustainable to him, he began to do the only thing he was used to do when things got rough: he became a bossy jerk, continuously mistreating her to keep her away from him.

The plan obviously didn’t worked out as well as he imagined, because she began to yell at him every time he got a little too much authoritative for her taste and he, for his part, was far too proud for letting himself go the opportunity to stand up to her, his guilt only slightly moderating his tones.

At least they had the decency of fighting in his office, far from prying eyes and especially ears.

But the walls of his office were a little too thin for the volumes reached by their confrontations, and every now and then Ethan happened to notice Harper’s disapproving glances coming his way.

All that he could do was let out a long sigh, pinch the bridge of his nose and go on with his work, waiting for another day to come to an end and for Rebecca to finally draw a line under the whole situation and at least try to forgive him.

But that day, he lost it.

It wasn’t exactly something that she said or done, he deserved every cursing word coming his way.

He was simply mad and couldn’t take it anymore.

Mad with himself, for allowing to his marble heart to break down its walls and letting her in, not even thinking of the consequences.

And mad even with her, for being so incredibly breathtaking, swaying her hips and graciously laughing at the nurse station every single morning.

It was too much for him, for the cold, perfectionist, overachiever Dr. Ethan Ramsey.

He didn’t really mean those things.

He knew perfectly well that she was an excellent doctor, one of the best of her age, and most importantly he didn’t mean to say, by no means, that she was fucking him up.

He was self-destructing himself, staying away for her and forcing himself to push her away every time they got closer.

And though he was the emotionless and imperturbable doctor that Edenbrook came to know, he just wanted to loosen the reins for a bit and allow himself to feel.

Well, if he wanted to feel something, her face after those words was something that could have easily tormented him for weeks.

Totally wounded, for a moment utterly helpless in front of the amount of conflicting feelings she was experiencing.

He could read delusion, sorrow and something that he found rather difficult to pinpoint.

Maybe… Hate? Could it really be that, in the end, she came to hate him?

Well, I’d deserve it, he couldn’t help to think, the weight of what he said totally sinking in.

“Oh, well, in that case… I guess I have nothing more to do here,” she looked around his office, tears dangerously threatening  to fall off her freckled cheeks.

“Have a good day, Dr. Ramsey.”  She turned around, then stopped on her tracks when she was already holding the doorknob.

“On second thought…”

This wasn’t going to end well.

“I suggest you to let go of all this” she gestured around him “aura of complete perfectionism that you bring. It may sooner or later require something of you that you can’t afford to give away. Think of it.”

With this enigmatic words, she left the room leaving her characteristic wake of coconut and cinnamon mints behind her, the loud, angry thumps of her sneakers on the floor annoyingly drawing attention towards her.

Though he always knew she was the only mystery he wasn’t always ready to unravel, her words resonated loud and clear, like a bolt from the blue. Something he tried to ignore for all his life.

Everything in his existence had got to be perfect. No burrs of defects, from his tie knots to his patients’ charts. He lived strictly following routines and embarking only in situations he knew he could fully manage. Which was definitely not the case, speaking of her.

She came into his life like a hurricane and disrupted all of his plans.

Everything was so simple, before her.

Don’t marry, don’t have any kids, commit to your job completely and take Jenner out twice a day.

That’s all he needed, all he wanted. Until her.

Just needed to look at what he’d done to get over her and put his mind back to wherever the hell it was before.

He didn’t have many friends inside the hospital, but whoever knew him just an inch could tell that spending two months in the Amazon wasn’t exactly what he was aspiring to, at least at the time.

It happened increasingly that he found himself daydreaming of her, cuddled against him on the sofa, with her head on his shoulder and his hand through her ginger locks. He found incredibly hard to admit, especially to himself, that he once fantasized about her in a white dress, with orange flowers in her hair.

To bring things back to normal, he thought he just needed time and space to divide him from her, and the Amazon sounded like the further job offer he had received in the latest months.

It could have been a vaguely good idea only if he had the real guts to remain there and not showing his great punching-bag face anymore. He would have still found out that his feelings for her were still there, of course, but at least he would have spared her all the hurt that followed that unfortunate (but breathtaking at the same time) encounter they had at Donahue’s, the night he got back.

He always needed proof for everything, and that was one of the reasons why he became a doctor.

Laws of biology can’t hurt you, people can. That’s what he repeated himself throughout med school and afterwards.

He searched for predictability, order, perfection. But at what cost?

“Something of you that you can’t afford to give away”

His soul, his heart, his humanness. Things he reluctantly needed, as a doctor and as a hypothetically happy human being.

But he just stayed there, the scent of his now cold coffee floating around the room and his eyes locked on the door she went through mere moments ago.

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

So, this is gonna be angsty.

As an aspiring singer and a huge music lover, I often draw inspiration from pieces of music. Also, I’m utterly in love with Sleeping at Last, so this is just part of what I wrote listening to them.

I’m not sure how this series is going to evolve, I just know that it will have (with any luck) nine chapters.

Maybe I will go in chronological order, trying not to mess up with the original plot, or maybe I’ll just write about some slices of life involving my favourite duo.

If you have any suggestion, please write me! :)

Unfortunately, don’t know when I’ll be able to post again. I’m having a huge mole of work to do and I don’t really know where to begin! I’ll try to keep writing as a safe haven in this messy world that we’re living in.

tags: @schnitzelbutterfingers​, @choicesfan10, @openheartfanfics​ 

I’d also like to thank again everyone who’s commenting such beautiful things under my works, lots of heart emojis to you 💗💗💗

[stilestilikeslydia]

Takotsubo Cardiomyopathy: Part Two

so I’m almost never on tumblr anymore, but in case any of you remember my old fics, I wanted to come back to let you know that I FINALLY finished the second part to this fic that I wrote for the Stydia Big Bang almost four years ago haha

there’s also some excellent art for it that @wellsjahasghost and @sydrianssage made for it way back in 2017 that you can check out here and here if you would like :)

enjoy!

(Rated M)

“I can't believe I've been a ghost for ten years, and nobody thought to tell me about the new Star Wars trilogy until today. ”

“Stiles, nobody even knew you existed until last month.”

Kira slapped Malia’s knee—lightly, because Kira was still incapable of giving an actual reprimand. “Well, we’ve told you about it now,” she said, offering him her brightest smile. “What did you think?”

“I think… I miss my blissful ignorance from eight hours ago, when I didn’t know that George Lucas greenlit this absolute garbage fire,” Stiles whined. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, The Force Awakens started out with a lot of potential, and the cast is full of extremely hot and talented people, but what the fuck?! My only regret is that my death tree wasn’t transformed into a desk in the writers’ room for these movies, or I could have haunted those dipshits until they figured out how to write a plot that actually made sense.”

“Your only regret, huh?” Lydia asked, keeping her tone dry and incredulous.

“No, you're right,” Stiles said, his expression instantly transforming into the biggest shit-eating grin Lydia had seen since before he'd died. “I also regret not inventing ectoplasmic grocery stores before my death. It’s unfair that I cook for all of you and don't get to eat any of it.”

“Not our fault you actually enjoy cooking,” Malia pointed out. “And depleting Lydia's bank account.”

“I am going to strangle you,” Lydia said. “Werecoyote strength or not.”

“But then who’s going to sit next to you in bars and make fun of everybody we see?”

“Yeah, you need her for that,” Kira added. “I’m terrible at judging people, and so is Scott.”

Scott toasted her with a grin, looking relaxed and comfortable against the armrest of the oversized couch he was currently sharing with a ghost and a realtor. Stiles took one look at him and snorted.

“Scott’s a terrible judge of many things,” he agreed. “People… the distance between a car bumper and the curb… movies…”

“Movies?”

“Yes, Scott!” Stiles crowed, now fully recovered from his initial disappointment. “This trilogy may have been a mess, but in order to watch it, you must have seen the other two trilogies too, and that means you have to know how great they are! Admit it, Star Wars is amazing, you were wrong, and I was right! Not watching it with me earlier was the biggest mistake of your life!”

“Maybe not the biggest,” Scott said, the grin on his face slipping a little. Lydia’s fingers tightened around the stem of her wine glass. “Anyway, I already knew the Star Wars movies were good. I watched them junior year.”

“Junior year?! ” Stiles squawked, so surprised that he started sinking into the couch. “And you never told me?! What the hell, man, all those times you pretended not to get my references and you—”

“Of college,” Scott clarified, and the room went silent.

Lydia set her wine glass down on the coffee table with trembling fingers. The tapping of glass on wood sounded like a gunshot, a bullet to the lungs. There was a crescent moon outside. For one heart-shattering moment, Lydia swore she could smell wolfsbane.

“I’m going to go get a glass of water,” she said, voice too harsh to her own ears, bouncing off the walls and clanging in her skull. Another bullet to the lungs.

The next thing she became aware of was the press of a cabinet knob against her back, the solidity of a hardwood floor underneath her body. She was leaning against the kitchen island, eyes level with the cabinet that Stiles had poked open over and over again to entertain Brooke all those weeks ago. Tonight, though, when she opened it herself, there was nothing inside.

Lydia clung to the knob anyway and tried not to cry.

It wasn’t Stiles who came to check on her after a few minutes, or Scott, or even Kira. Instead, Malia was the one who tugged the cabinet door out of Lydia’s hand and dropped to the floor, flinging her legs out to one side and meeting Lydia’s eyes without flinching.

“Kira started talking about BB-8 again,” she said. “Scott looked like he wanted to change the subject.”

Lydia pressed her lips together, looked away, and settled her hands on her knees with careful precision. “That was nice of her. I’m sure he did.”

“He told me, you know,” Malia continued without missing a beat. “About what you told him. About Stiles wanting you to sell the house.”

Lydia’s fingers clenched around the hem of her dress. “Yes.”

Malia narrowed her eyes. “Are you going to?”

“I have to,” Lydia said, “or Yvenne will just find another realtor.”

“Okay, maybe,” Malia said. “But who are you going to sell it to ?”

Lydia froze. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, come on,” she said. “I know you’ve been considering it. You’ve been eyeing the curtains in the living room like you can’t wait to change them all night.”

“Maybe I just can’t believe Yvenne expects me to find a buyer for this house when it’s been decorated so poorly.”

Malia rolled her eyes. “You don’t have to lie to me. I’m more observant than you think, and I’m not Scott or Stiles. I’m not going to try and stop you.”

Slowly, precisely, Lydia tilted her head and met Malia’s piercing gaze. “You know what you’re saying, right? Scott and Stiles would try to stop me.”

“Yeah,” Malia said. “And that matters, because Lydia Martin always does what people tell her to do. And I had a normal childhood. And math was my favorite subject in high school.”

After a long moment, Lydia stood. Malia mimicked the movement. “I just think we’ve already lost enough people,” Lydia admitted. “I don’t want to lose him twice.”

“Like I said. I’m not going to try and stop you.”

For a while, Lydia told herself that she hadn’t made up her mind. She let Stiles cook her every meal and listened to him relive memories from high school and the two years of college he’d gotten to enjoy, doing his best to help her appreciate the times they’d shared together without losing herself in them. She fell asleep on the couch with him while they watched movies together and pretended that she didn’t know he’d been playing with her hair when she woke up. She allowed him to teach her how to cook and change the oil in her car, life skills that she’d always expected him to handle in their relationship, life skills he wanted her to master before he moved onto wherever he expected to go once he stopped being a ghost, but—

But then, on a Thursday afternoon a week before Yvenne’s deadline, Lydia’s phone rang.

They were in the middle of making stir fry, but Stiles nudged her with the spatula he was using—one loophole he’d found for their inability to make physical contact—and told her to answer it “just in case.” “It could be important, Lyds.”

That was precisely why she didn’t want to answer it, but with a long-suffering sigh and a pointed glare, Lydia wiped her hands off on a paper towel and picked up the phone. “Hello?”

“Hello, Lydia Martin? This is Shea O’Malley.”

Predictably and irksomely, Lydia’s heart rate increased. “What can I do for you, Shea?” she asked, smoothing on her realtor’s smile even though Shea couldn’t see. Between the way Stiles’s eyebrows were raised and the way his head was tilted so he could hear Shea’s half of the conversation, Lydia needed the extra armor.

“Well, Ben and Piper and I have been shopping around the neighborhoods near that lovely red house you showed us, but we simply haven’t found a place that compares. After a long discussion, Ben and I have decided that there’s no use searching any longer. We would like to place an offer on that red house.”

Lydia’s head was all white noise and bloodstains and terror. She tried to picture saying goodbye to Stiles and watching him dissolve into whatever dimension the rest of their dead loved ones had ended up in. She tried to imagine handing the keys over to the O’Malleys and leaving the red house for good. She tried to convince herself that it was possible for her to move on.

But like the O’Malleys, Lydia discovered that it was no use.

Once upon a time, it might have been possible for her to move on. But now Lydia’s heart was inextricably entwined with this red house.

The only difference was that Lydia had the ability to hold onto it.

“I’m sorry,” she said, the white noise fading to a treacherous whisper. (So, basically nothing. Treacherous whispers were old friends in Lydia’s mind.) “You’re too late. The red house has already been sold.”

Stiles froze. Lydia froze, judging his reaction. Over the phone line, Lydia heard Shea’s breath catch, and then she sighed. “Are you certain there’s no chance of the buyer changing their mind? I mean, if we could place a counteroffer—”

“I’m afraid that there’s no amount of money you could offer that this particular buyer wouldn’t match,” Lydia said with as much gentleness as she could muster. The O’Malleys really were a nice family. “They’re quite dedicated, have a substantial savings account, and are at least as attached to the house as you are.”

Shea’s second sigh was only slightly less audible than the first. “Well, that’s it, then,” she said tiredly. “Thank you for all of your help, Lydia. We all thoroughly enjoyed meeting you the other day.”

“If you still haven’t found a different house in the next few weeks, let me know and I’ll help you keep looking. Free of charge,” Lydia blurted, because she was going to keep the house and Stiles and therefore she could afford to offer a little kindness to the family whose dream home she had just poached.

“Why, that’s very kind of you,” Shea said, oblivious to Lydia’s silent betrayal. “We may just take you up on that offer. Thank you again.”

And after the exchange of a few more pleasantries, she hung up.

“What the fuck?” Stiles said into the resulting silence. “A buyer made an offer on this house, and you didn’t tell me about it?”

Lydia set her phone on the counter. “You don’t really want me to leave.”

Stiles dropped his spatula. “What?”

“Come on, Stiles,” Lydia said. “Who do you think you’re talking to? If you really wanted me to move on, you never would have opened your mouth. I would have walked into this house on that first day, sold it, and walked right back out without ever knowing that you were here.”

“I—” Stiles spluttered. “I was surprised, and I just—”

“Maybe,” Lydia replied. “But that could have been it. I told you not to make it difficult for me to sell this house, and instead you scared off buyer after buyer until I figured out who you were. You say you want me to move on, but you’re here, Stiles. You’re standing right in front of me, and I’m never going to move on when I could have this instead!”

“What do you want me to say?” Stiles demanded. “Do you want an apology? Because I know you deserve one. I—I—I’m sorry for talking to you, I’m sorry for cooking you dinner, I’m sorry for being here! I didn’t mean to make this harder for you, and I’m sorry that I did! Is that what you wanted to hear?”

“NO!”

It wasn’t a banshee scream, but it left Lydia hoarse and aching all the same.

“I don’t want you to be sorry,” she whispered. “I just want you to want me to stay.”

“Well, I am sorry, Lyds. And I can’t give that to you.”

“Stiles—”

“Pick up the phone, Lydia. Call the O’Malleys. Tell them the buyer changed their mind.”

Lydia took a deep breath and looked at the man who was the love of both her life and whatever came after that. “No.”

“Lydia.”

“No, Stiles! I’m not going to do that! These last few weeks have been the happiest weeks of the past ten years. You can’t honestly stand there and expect me to give that up.”

“That’s the thing, though,” he said. “I’m not actually standing here.”

“That doesn’t matter to me.”

“But it should.” Stiles reached out, brushed his fingers through a loose strand of her hair, and then stepped away. “I might not be able to stop you from buying this house, but that doesn’t mean I have to give you a reason to live here.”

There was a whoosh, as if he was opening up that interdimensional doorway again, and then he disappeared.

On the stove, the stir fry began to burn.

(read the rest on ao3)

[aelysianmuse]

DESTIEL FIC REC

Okay, so, fanfiction is something that has brought me so much joy, entertainment and comfort during these hard times. These are the Destiel fics that I have bookmarked and would suggest for everyone to read. They are top notch in every department and I’ve read each and every multiple times. I wrote them down from the lowest word count to the highest and I linked the authors to their tumblr accounts, whenever I could find them, so please go shower them with love!

Touchstone - by xylodemon -   Words: 3,519 - Summary: "You're in pain," Cas says finally. He sounds sad. (Episode tag for 11x03, the one where Dean is hurt but doesn’t think he deserves Cas healing him. Cas disagrees and makes heals him in loveliest, most tender way. Everything is beautiful.)

Colette - by englandwouldfall - Words: 4,218 - Summary: Cain’s prediction keeps ringing in his ears. He’s going to kill Crowley, then Cas, then Sam. It makes sense to him. He hates how much sense it makes, but there’s something almost poetic about it; it’s circular, neat, the Mark wants it. The Mark wants to destroy everything, but most of all it wants to destroy Dean. And that would do it. (Episode tag 10x14, Dean struggling with the Mark, unable to deal with all the anger and urge to kill and Cas trying to be his savior Collette. Feelings are acknowledged but things are far more complicated than that.)

Newton’s Third - by felolle - Words: 6,220 - Summary: “How can I be running from something when I’m racing toward it?” “I dunno -- kinda your thing.” Thanks for the call out, little brother (Episode tag 14x03, Cas helping Dean deal with Michael possession. Awesome character portrayal!)

Take me home tonight - by persephoneshadow -  Words: 8,111 -  Summary: The one where Cas wants to have sex and Dean is there to help (It’s a PWP where it takes some jealousy for Dean to get his head out of his ass - and Cas knows exactly what he’s doing)

Boys on film - by loversantiquities - Words: 8,540 - Summary: But maybe that’s what it is—maybe Castiel’s finally realized something Dean is too chicken to admit, despite the fact he’s been jerking off to the idea of Castiel fucking him for the past few weeks. The idea warms him as much as it pains him to think about, his friend not being able to talk to him about something like that. That has to be it—it’s the only explanation. Castiel likes him.“Or maybe he knows you do cam shows.”Dean chokes on his burger. (Basically Dean does cam-shows, Cas knows. They get it on in the end.)

Cuckoo and Nest - by komodobits - Words: 10, 190 - Summary: For a long time, Castiel thought that every earthly possession other than the immediately necessary was excess to requirement. But Dean – Dean who named his car, who keeps a photograph of his mother in his wallet, some thirty-plus years after her death, who still has the crumpled ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign with a sleeping pelican emblazoned on it from the Microtel outside of Roanoke where he first kissed Castiel, clumsy and unsure, under the unsteady fluorescence of an exhausted bathroom bulb – is sentimental.It puzzles Castiel, where Dean draws the line between what is meaningful and what it is worthless. (Boys walking on eggshells around each other, Castiel mistaking Dean’s neatness for annoyance about Cas’s lack of thereof, Dean mistaking Cas’s apprehension for having one foot out of the door. Miscommunication that gets resolved. It’s delightful!)

Just turn around and go - by Porcupinegirl - Words: 11,320 - Summary: Dean should be happy. His best friend and housemate of five years, Castiel, is moving out to live with his boyfriend, Balthazar. Dean's career is going great, so he can easily afford the house on his own now. This is just growing up, moving forward to the next phase of their lives.It would be awesome, if he weren't in love with Cas. (Some angst and miscommunication among roomies who are in love but needed a little push to finally do something about it, and that push is Cas deciding to move out and live with his actual boyfriend. Things work out just fine.)

So glad we made it - by annie d (scaramouche) - Words: 16,421 - Summary: At twelve years old, Dean makes a friend, who becomes his best friend, who will eventually become the love of his life. (Destiel fic in which they know each other since childhood and take their sweet-ass time with admitting to each other that they’re otp: meant to be. But it happens. Timeline of little snippets that show them falling in love and owning that shit up, at last!)

I know who I want to take me home- by annodominique -  Words: 17,548 - Summary: The one where Dean and Cas are new workmates who hate each other's guts, are somehow forced into driving each other crazy because they secretly want to fuck, and they might have fallen in love with each other in the process. (Lots of sexual tension, mutual pining and enemies to lovers storyline - all in a nursing home. It’s amazing and absolutely heartwarming.)

Welcome to humanity - by winnywriter -  Words: 19,944 - Summary: Castiel is falling, slowly but surely becoming fully human. Every day there is something new to discover, and many of those discoveries are not wholly pleasant ones. And the whole time, Dean can't help but worry about the fact that the further the angel falls, the more he finds he likes the human Cas is becoming. (It’s exactly what the summary says it is. Moments of Castiel slowly becoming human and Dean trying to help him navigate that path while navigating it himself in the most Dean way possible)

On air - by wincechesters - Words: 21,219 - Summary: Cas and Dean are radio DJs who host the second most popular morning show in Lawrence. They’ve been co-hosts for years at different stations across the country, and they own a house together out of necessity, even though they’re just friends. But for some reason, a lot of their listeners and even some of their friends and family seem to think that they’re secretly in some kind of relationship, which they’re totally not (besides that one time that totally doesn’t count). In spite of that, Dean thinks he’s got everything figured out, until an ill-fated on air game of Truth or Dare turns everything upside down (and the billboards around town aren’t helping either). (Friends to lovers story that’s very well summarized, so I have nothing to add except that it’s such a wonderful read, this author is absolutely amazing and you should definitely read it.)

The Beach House in the Winter - by englandwouldfall - Words: 23,715 - Summary: They're not exactly in a good place right now, so it was probably a bad idea to agree to a full Milton family reunion at their old summer haunt to mark a year since Cas' father died.Obviously, he did it anyway. (This is a second part of a series, I absolutely suggest reading all of the works ‘cause they’re equally wonderful, but I read this one first and individually and loved it the most so I’m suggesting it. Look at tag warnings. It’s about Dean having panic attacks mid sex due to trauma, Castiel trying to treat him right and handle the situation properly. They love each other so much ugh)

There are many things - by imogenbynight -  Words: 28,807 - Summary: In which Dean and Castiel learn, through trial and error, how to be together. (What starts out as an angsty fic that follows Cas’s human experience after Dean kicked him out of the bunker, turns into a Destiel falling in love fic as they find their way back to one another)

Sometimes it fits - by ballsdeepinwinchesters -  Words: 37,720 - Summary: Castiel is an over-worked, socially awkward neurosurgeon; Dean is the ruggedly handsome paramedic that asks him out for drinks. The rest kind of fell into place. (Two hotties with busy work schedules having lots of sex and being domestic. It’s a lot of fluff and smut. No angst.)

Put up your dukes - by saltyfeathers - Words: 38, 282 - Summary: Dean can't sleep. Cas offers to tire him out. (Dean struggling to accept the sexual tension relief Castiel is oh-so-eager to offer. So much tension, sparring goodness and bed sharing.)

All’s well that ends well - englandwouldfall - Words:  52,326 - Summary: Dean knew the second he took off that he shouldn't have left, but that didn't mean he could have guessed what he'd be coming back home to. (It’s actually a part 4 of the series, and I do suggest reading the entire series, but I read it first and individually before even realizing this and I absolutely loved it nonetheless. It’s about both Dean and Cas having made some poor choices in the past, abandonment and infidelity and two of them loving each other so much that they’re willing to forgive and fight for each other no matter what. Angsty and beautiful.)

A midterms night’s dream - by englandwouldfall -  Words: 75,756 - Summary: There's at least fifteen good reasons why they're not sleeping together, it's just that Dean can’t remember them when Cas sends him one second dirty snapchats to goad him into doing the dishes. (One of my absolutely favorite fics and one of my top 3 fic authors (does a lot of series, which gets you really emotionally invested!). I suggest you read literally every single Destiel story written by this author, ‘cause it’s consistent in character portrayal and in invoking emotional response and I’ll probably explicitly write down at least one more story that I particularly liked from them. This one’s about them being college roomates who’re basically oblivious to sharing sentiment of wanting to be in relationship with the other, so they pine emotionally while having exceptional we-are-strictly-fuck-buddies sex)

Version 2.0 - by elizabeth1985 - Words: 75,937 - Summary: Life is nothing but a series of processes. We rise, we work, we function within the walls we’ve designed for ourselves. Dean Winchester does not deviate from this system. Heavily tattooed and a certified genius; Dean necessitates control. Relationships are a no-go. Too messy, unpredictable. And yeah, he knows having casual sex with his best friend, roommate, and business partner is a dumbass move. But Cas’ suggestion is impossible to resist.What Dean doesn’t expect and couldn’t possibly predict is the unique way Cas manages to shut down his mile-a-minute mind, giving him a level of inner peace he’d thought to be unattainable.What starts out of convenience morphs into a dynamic emotional slide neither of them were prepared for, forcing them to decide what they’re willing to risk. (Cas and Dean being business partners turning to fuck buddies turning to mutually pining idiots, where Cas won’t let things progress further ‘cause Dean is so entwined in every single aspect of his life that he’s absolutely terrified to lose it all. But Dean makes an effort to show him otherwise!) + It’s hard to fool around in a tent (Words: 5,861)

Any little heartbreak - by followthattardis - Words: 76,897 - Summary: Dean Winchester knows everything there is to know about the human heart. Well. Anatomically speaking. (Very Grey’s Anatomy-y, Dean is a thriving cardiosurgeon, Cas is his new surgical nurse assistant, there are so many well written characters, so much gossip, gratuitous sex and eventually a relationship. It’s so lovely, ugh I love this writer.)

A crash course in computer safety - by followthattardis - Words:  85,269 - Summary: On the day of his 29th birthday, Dean receives an email from his old nemesis: Michael Milton, the guy who got him kicked out of college and stole his girlfriend. The email contains encoded images with top secret CIA/NSA intelligence – and now their only copy is in Dean’s brain. Both agencies send their best operatives – Castiel Novak and Victor Henriksen respectively – to handle their accidental asset and protect the invaluable data in his head. To justify their sudden appearance in Dean’s life, they adopt covers: Victor as Dean’s new co-worker and neighbor, Cas as his new boyfriend. Needless to say, Dean’s brother and his girlfriend are thrilled to see him in a relationship they believe to be real. Clearly, there’s no way this could go wrong. (This is a NBC: Chuck AU and one of my top 3 fics ever. I haven’t watched Chuck at all and regardless of whether you have or not, I don’t wanna write anything else in this section ‘cause I enjoyed discovering every bit of information on my own. I’ve literally taken this fic and studied/analyzed it as a writer myself to take pointers on accurate character portrayal and writing style. It’s book material, I’d literally buy anything this author writes. It’s becoming a series and more content is to come so I suggest subscribing.) + Curtain up (Words: 10,311)

La hantise (The only work in progress fic here) - by quiettewandering - Words:  87,468 - Summary: Castiel’s mother dies, leaving him the family home that sits abandoned on the moody coast of Maine. He’s forced to return to the past ghosts of his trauma, as well as meeting the mysterious and nomadic Dean Winchester. Dean offers to help Castiel fix up the house so he can sell it, which quickly becomes problematic as Castiel begins to develop feelings for Dean; especially when details of Dean’s troubling past come to light.This is a story about the sea, second chances, and two broken, forgotten people building a love between them while restoring a broken, forgotten house. (Romance, ghosts, house renovation, cliffhangers, angst - I am awful with WP’s, never read them till they’re done ‘cause I’m an impatient one but this is the one I couldn’t resist and thoroughly enjoy)

Ignore the butterflies: best friend advice from Dean Winchester - by impatient14 - Words:  114,837 - Summary: Dean likes his doctor, but his doctor doesn’t like him.Accidental friendship ensues, heartwarming bonding type moments occur, and oops!friends become best!friends.But best friends aren’t supposed to feel the way Dean feels about Castiel. He knows this. So he ignores all the things that he can’t help feeling. When he sits and watches a movie with his best friend or when they are arguing about which method of coffee brewing is best, he pointedly doesn’t look at his friends lips, or the adorable way he tilts his head when he doesn’t understand.Dean ignores his feelings.That’s the way he knows how to keep his best friend.Just ignore the butterflies. (Dean is a heroic firefighter who ends up in stand-offish Castiel’s ER and flirts mercilessly with him, but to no avail. Cas is not made of stone, though, he’s just trying to protect his little heart ‘cause Dean does scary heroic things. It’s super emotional, go read it.)

Keeping you in sight - by gingerswag - Words:  136,374 - Summary: Castiel valued his solitude, and was happy to stay hidden away in the mountains for the rest of his life. But when his seeing eye dog dies, that solitude is suddenly broken when Gabriel shows up not with another dog but an actual human slave. Castiel doesn't believe in slavery, but he can't turn away the very hurt and broken man he's given. (This is a slavery fic, look up the tag warnings! It’s extremely angsty, it has a very human and rational ending which not might satisfy those looking for a conclusive, expressed fairytale ending for these two. It’s about Dean having gone through a lot of trauma and Cas being extremely lonely and two of them trying to mend each other while going through an excruciatingly painful healing process. I don’t think I can summarize it in a way that envelops everything that happens in this fic - it’s a tougher read but absolutely wonderfully written and very angsty)

Stay with me, sweetheart - by mandalarose - Words: 142,926 - Summary: A single moment's distraction ends with a serious car accident that leaves Castiel trapped in his vehicle. Fortunately for him, fire fighter Dean Winchester is there, never leaving Castiel's side as the rest of his company work to free him from the mangled remains of his SUV.When the two meet again in the ICU, Castiel finds himself just as drawn to and comforted by the handsome fireman as he was during his accident. Dean is certainly attractive, but single father Castiel doesn't have time or space in his life for a romantic relationship.Then again, there's no harm in making a new friend, is there? (Dean is so whipped, so is Cas but he tries really hard not to get invested ‘cause everyone leaves and it’s not a commodity he can afford now that he’s got a baby. Thankfully for him, Dean is all-in kind of guy who’s gonna make all the right choices, one after another, fighting to show Cas that he can have what he desires and deserves, even after multiple attempts of Cas’s to push him away. Love conquers all!)

Four Letter Word for Intercourse - by bendingsignpost - Words:  194,739 - Summary: As a grease monkey turned college freshman, Dean's constantly three seconds away from being stressed out of his mind. It hardly helps that he's finally figuring out his sexuality in his thirties.What might help with that stress is a little phone number (and a big credit card bill). If he can't figure out how to be bisexual in person, he can at least give it a go over the phone, right? (I think I probably read this story a hundred times. Fantastically written fic where Dean is a student discovering his sexuality through a phone sex line, struggling with having to take over family business and Cas is a professor with a sidejob, with whom Dean interacts wordlessly at the library. It tackles on mental health, on wonderful sex dynamics, coming out and lots of other stuff. It’s one of the best writen fics out there, along with the other works in this series that I highly suggest to read: A Little Anal - Words: 18,805 and What makes a man kneel - Words: 9,920)

[themightyaliendwarf]

TPN - Moms' Song of Remembrance

So! I'm finally done with the second light novel (I had some free time, so I decided to read the whole thing since it's quite short), and I have some thoughts. But first, let's cover the basics.

Moms' Song of Remembrance is the second TPN light novel (the first one being the Letter from Norman) and, I believe, it still doesn't have the English translation. It was published in Japan along with the volume 12 of the manga, and it consists of two stories - one about Isabella and the other one about Krone (actually, in Polish the novel is named "Memories of Mother and Sister" and I think this title is a bit more fitting).

Without spoiling anything, I gotta say, I liked the first novel better. It doesn't mean that this one is bad or anything! I just feel like the first one had more to offer. In Letter from Norman we find out how lives of our main characters looked like before we met them. And while we could easily fill in the gaps ourselves, I think those 4 short stories we gave us a lot of content. Now, I don't want to talk about the first light novel too much, so let me just say this - A Gift of the 39th Girl. This one story spawned so many fanworks and theories that it fully justifies the existence of the entire novel. But, to be fair, I think the story about the bird was a looot better (heck, it even made me cry!).

So, while the first light novel adds things we could image ourselves, the second novel rather focuses on the stuff we already knew. Okay, this sentence fully applies to the first one, but it is only partly true for the Krone's story (I will talk about it later).

Then again, I wouldn't say it was a bad read. The writing style is definitely better than in the first novel. The pacing is good, the characters are well-portrayed and the stories themselves are well-crafted. But I simply don't feel like this novel add much to world-building.

So, overall, if you are a TPN fan, you will probably like it, but it won't be life changing or anything.

Now onto spoilers!

The first story takes place during Leslie's last 3 day at Grace Field. Apparently, his grades weren't very good and he himself was a shy, taciturn person who wasn't athletic. But, before he leaves the orphanage, he wants to complete 9 things from the list he wrote. Or rather, Isabella convinces him to try to complete all of those things... and it doesn't go so well.

Now, I like the concept. Although predictable, I think it gave us a good opportunity to get to know young Isabella and Leslie better. I really like they weren't just carbon copies of Emma and Norman, because I was kinda afraid they would go for an obvious parallel. Fortunately, they didn't. They both seem like two new, separate characters who exist in this world.

About the plot itself, I liked the execution. I like that Leslie wasn't able to finish all of his goals, but, despite that, he wanted to try. Which is a good thing to have in mind - you don't have to set your goals by compering to others. Think about what you are good at, and what you want to achieve. Maybe Leslie wasn't able to read every book from the library, but he sure master that Chopin's piece (btw. Polish pride).

Also, I liked how this novel explained why Isabella decided to climb that wall. It was also interesting to find out that she had to live in the orphanage with the knowledge of the truth. Kinda like Ray did. Btw. speaking of Ray. Fun trivia #1 from this short story - Isabella's and Ray's hair get very messy after washing. Fun trivia #2 from this short story - Ray actually broke his transmitter on that day when Isabella found out that he knows the truth.

So, yeah, I liked this story. While it didn't give us a lot of new stuff, I think it was pretty good.

Onto the second one... it's chapter 181.2.

And this is why I said the second story focuses on the things we already knew, but not really. Because for Japan, it was new. But for us, since we got the chapter 181.2 first, this story doesn't really provide us anything new.

And that's why I don't really have anything to say about. I think it's a great story, but, because I already knew exactly how it will go, I couldn't fully appreciate it.

On that note, the second story was disappointing in my eyes, but, then again, it's still a good story. It's subjectively better than the first one!

Oh, and one more thing. This picture:

Two things: 1. Where is Ray? 2. Stop bullying Norman. He has done it enough himself already. but if you must, bully anime!Norman. He deserves it :P

(It's a great picture, btw, I'm just nitpicky)

So, to sum up: it was fine :D If you can, go ahead and read it. You will probably enjoy it

[viktorfm]

(MAXENCE DANET-FAUVEL, NONBINARY) - Have you seen VIKTOR SAMUELS? VIKTOR is in HIS/THEIR SENIOR year. The VISUAL ARTS MAJOR is 24 years old & is a CAPRICORN. People say HE/THEY are OBSERVANT, INGENIOUS, RETICENT and DEPENDENT. Rumors say they’re a member of KINCAID. I heard from the gossip blog that THEY'RE HAVING AN AFFAIR WITH THEIR THERAPIST. (JAMES. 21. EST. THEY/THEM.)

dont. look at me. i know. anyways if it wasnt obvs i abandoned cupid (n darrow) in order 2 bring the two ocs tht he ws inspired by n ws a combination of bt. theyre better as different ppl methinks.

DEATH, HEAVY GRIEF, OVERDOSE / DRUG ADDICTION, HOSPITALIZATION, HYPERSEXUALITY, RELIGION MENTIONS TW

aesthetic.

old tvs and their static, worn tapes, horror movie screams, spilled ink, a sculptor’s hands, clay-stained, chicken scratch handwriting, messy notes, messy hair, scoffs and eye-rolls, bruised knuckles, sore throats, funeral homes and a crying preacher, shattered ceramics, knife fights, high ledges, vertically-striped pants, red lights, the moon shrouded in clouds, cigarette butts, graveyards and half-empty wine bottles, sitting there for hours and talking to nothing, about nothing, a god complex, gold rings adorning both hands, barbwire baseball bats, having never played baseball in your life, deep eyebags and broken mirrors, a permanent chip on one’s shoulder, yearning, longing, wishing.

basics.

full name: viktor phillip samuels

nickname(s): icky vicky :/

b.o.d. - january 2nd, 1996

label(s): the black hole, the crepehanger, the impious, the opaque, the tempest, etc.

height: 6′1″

hometown: preaker, vermont

sexuality: pansexual uwu

pinterest

stats

favorite song: disorder, joy division / it’s getting faster, moving faster / now it’s getting out of hand / on the tenth floor, down the back stairs / it’s a no man’s land / lights are flashing, cars are crashing / getting frequent now / i’ve got the spirit, lose the feeling / let it out somehow

background.

born to mama and papa (preacher) samuels in preaker, vermont - fifteen minutes after his twin sister, tatiana samuels. years later, rosa samuels joined the gang.

was an awkward, quiet kid growing up, he didn’t interact well with others and preferred being left alone to dig up worms and draw on the walls of their childhood home. the only exception was his twin, really.

as he got older he grew out of this, but instead became like … sort of an asshole? maybe to compensate for years of childhood awkwardness. he’s the sort of person who will bite the hand that feeds him & developed into a full time nuisance by middle school, unlike tatiana who was much more subtle about her conniving manners.

always has been a fan of ‘darker’ materials. grim & creepy morbid shit. probably the biggest tim burton fan, ever since he was a kid … not a good look for a preacher’s son, but he never really felt ‘in’ with the rest of his family to begin with. classic black sheep syndrome.

drew disturbing pictures as a kid that probably prompted one or two or five phone calls home to assure everything was fine.

just really had a knack for art at a young age, from drawing to painting to playing with clay. it’s always been his thing and probably is the only thing he’s good at.

being twins with tatiana was hard. they were near opposite besides both being quite mean-spirited. tatiana handled being in public better, left a better image behind - but viktor had talent, more than she did. they loved each other deeply - y’know, those unbreakable twin bonds as cliche as it sounds - but found each other as competition for their parents’ attention. a rivalry for affection.

in high school is when viktor really started to act out. it started extreme, like losing his virginity in their church and vandalism around the neighborhoods. faked being possessed in the middle of sunday service & almost had an exorcism performed on him.

his only redeemable trait was like … just his sheer talent in the arts. was in a 3d art ap course and specialized in sculptures. he could pretty much create anything he wanted with enough dedication.

because he was the problem child, the one who deserved to be disciplined for all his antics, tatiana could sneak away and get away with whatever she wanted much easier. on the bright-side, for her, i guess.

not a very motivated person - wasn’t planning on going to college, much less going to yates but his parents literally wrote & sent his college application for him because they weren’t going to house a deadbeat but had too much heart to kick him out onto the streets. cool!

he’s actually pretty smart but he just doesn’t apply himself. has a minor in english because he didn’t care for an extra course-load, but he’s good at writing & analyzing literature. is going to use it to write and illustrate his own series of children books with a style similar to tim burton’s. not for the kids, but because he likes to leave a trail of terror in whatever he does.

has been experimenting with himself since high school but college is where he really had started to crack down on himself. was out as pansexual & nonbinary by his sophomore year of college just … not to his parents, who don’t really need to know.

if you asked him if he believed in twins having a psychic connection with each other - he’d tell you he wouldn’t know. it felt believable at times, but sometimes he had no idea what was going on inside of tatiana’as head. on the other hand - viktor had always felt oddly transparent to her, like she knew all of his moves before he did. the only person who could predict him accurately.

( tw death, grief, overdose / hospitalization beyond this point )

when tatiana disappeared, viktor knew something was up. it was a twist in his gut, pure instinct that something wasn’t right. and it wasn’t right - and when she was proclaimed missing, they couldn’t find her.

and when tatiana died - viktor knew. it felt wrong, something cut so severely in him he could pinpoint her death to the second. he didn’t know how, or why, but he knew it. knew it before anybody else had.

afterwards he went on a sort of bender. he’d begun to struggle with a mild drug addiction late senior year of high school / early college, but he was managing it up until this point.

his mental health had also sunk to an all-time low, when it’d never been great to begin with. (manic & depressive episodes. once fixated on a sculpting project for six months and then knocked it off the table and destroyed it as soon as he finished it for no apparent reason.)

tatiana’s body wasn’t found immediately, and when it was … viktor went off the rails. ended up overdosing & being hospitalized. spent six months in & out of psychiatric care after that.

came back to yates to finish his senior year because … for the reasons above, he hadn’t been able to complete it. just wants to get his credits and get out of here.

is still dealing with a lot of trauma & grief - causes him to spiral and be unpredictable in regards of his mental health. he stopped taking his medication, so. :/ some days are alright, other days are pretty bad.

personality & facts.

the human embodiment of a gremlin that was fed after midnight. a goblin, if you will. one of those cats with a narrow head and really big ears … that’s them!

a big horror & halloween enthusiast. loves the old campy horror movies & probably has an abundance of masks from different movies. dresses like a grimy millennial beetlejuice more than they should because they just … love those black & white vertical-striped pants.

can appreciate the ~urban legends~ at yates and likes to feed into the fear that surrounds them. is probably the cause of a few ‘anomalies’ and ‘paranormal sightings’ because they’re just … a jerk.

fashion alternates between e-boy (they would be tiktok famous if they were 17 & didn’t think that a majorly minor based app was weird.), millennial beetlejuice, and goth in a crop top & sweatpants. big fan of crop tops and a big fan of sweatpants.

they can be really fucking mean? petty, aggressive, a major instigator. will literally spit in your face for little to no reason, you could just look at them the wrong way. the kind of person who will stick their gum into someone else’s hair. other than that? they’re like … sort of okay. they’re not always mean, just a dick about 90% of the time lmao

like okay yeah they’ll call someone a stinky bitch for no reason except they feel like it and believes it. it’s fine, they’re fine, we’re fine.

despite the fact that they’re probably getting into a fight whenever, considers themself to be a lover and not a fighter but that’a primarily because they fuck a lot. uses it as a coping mechanism, like they’re this big fancy carnival show that’s like ‘come one, come all! fuck the dead girl’s twin brother!’ and it’s … a lot. might have a problem with hypsersexuality but they’re not fully aware of it.

the preacher’s whore son, basically :)

pansexual & nonbinary, switches between he & they pronouns often and without a pattern, but they have such a fragile grip on their identity that you could call them ‘dog-faced bitch’ and they’d turn around like. sup.

vastly impulsive … like i said, they destroy their own creations for the fun of it. spends all their money on useless shit, will cheat on someone because they feel like it & likes the thrill, screams into the night sky frequently like a cat in heat.

will also spend months creating useless shit for no reason too. spent six of them sculpting a hollowed out tree the size of them & then took a sledgehammer to it.

they’re very super dramatic. would play the organ at church when nobody was looking after them and service was about to start. would just churn out these super haunting, creepy melodies like they were phantom of the opera. would do the same exact thing at home on their keyboard with the pipe organ setting whenever they got grounded until their parents took it away hbdsjfngkh

will absolutely not talk about their ‘time away’ because it’s not anyone’s business, not even their own younger sister. still refuses to talk about tatiana’s death, or their mental health, or their addiction (fallen back into it but it hasn’t gotten severe … yet :/), or anything involving their own emotions.

will just change the topic abruptly, no warning. asks about the jonas brothers instead and they fucking hate the jonas brothers.

that being said they’re absolutely not over tatiana’s death & it’s to the point of obsession over it. like there’s some kind of secret that needs to be uncovered, even though there just. isn’t. tatiana was their rock and they were pretty much dependent on her. kept them grounded. could control them when nobody else could, got into their head easier than others. it’s sort of like rosa lost two siblings that day because viktor hasn’t been the same since.

emotionally unavailable while also crying twice a day. cries during their brawls but still wins. is stony-faced when they tell you they cheated on you with your much hotter best friend.

will tell you straight up what they want from you, no bullshit & no beating around the bush. just blunt. if they want to fuck, nothing else, then that’s it. if they feel deviation or developing feelings then they’ll ghost in less than a second. is awful like that but feels no shame.

but also emotional as shit and it’s confusing. will cry on a whim and then flip you off if you try to console them or ask them what’s up. will bite you.

they go to therapy but they just fuck around and wastes their therapists’ time … also is fucking their therapist, but that’s neither here nor there. so they’re not really getting the help they need.

likes to be intimidating but not … with their body or anything because they’re a twig but uses their love & knowledge of horror and creepy shit to their advantage. has an abundance of fake blood. has channeled the energy of jack nicholson and used it on tatiana’s boyfriends before (also is a big fan of sfx makeup & has dabbled in it)

probably chases kids around with a chainsaw without the chain on halloween every year.

generally never doing good, both mental health wise & morally. would probably steal candy from a baby for funsies.

i don’t know if there’s a good to them somewhere deep down, but they don’t see any issues with themself either. nothing really breaks through to them anymore because the only person who ever made them stop and think about their actions was tatiana, and well, y’know. :/

an introverted reclusive type who doesn’t like most people or going out, but does so anyway if it means a quick high & a cheap thrill.

pretty observant and likes to analyze people even though they’re often like … partially wrong. judgmental because they like to make people feel bad, not because they’re a righteous mighty person. because they’re not. so like, a hypocrite!

wanted connections.

religious trauma? oh worm ;; three cheers fr <3 guilt <3 anyways uh. just people tht viktor hs known thru the church in some way even tho hes a fkn. freak now. maybe even family friends. 

the horror of our love :/ ;; hmm. any romance tht cld b toxic i think this cld fit. just rly a bad fit. viktor doesnt rly know hw to love so nothing rly lasts bt. maybe they try n try n nothing works bt they keep trying. cld also just be anything unrequited.

little fkn gremlins ;; theyre all evil n mean. bt theyre all friends. <3 

you are nothing ;; uuh. enemy plots. spicy enemies. rly bad enemies. rivals. they r brutal towards each other bcos nothing viktor does is ever soft.

fuck u dont pity me ;; uh. people who try to get close to viktor n he just. bites at them. he’s like no. bc he assumes ppl who r kind in response 2 his vileness r. theres smth wrong w them. n it might hv to do with pity. n he hates pity.

ugh. locals x ;; ppl who also grew up around preaker, vermont. the samuels r <3 well known folks n the uh. hm. the murder is an ongoing case. so they cld know abt it <3

dont tell anybody x ;; this is for soft plots. i dont know much about soft plots but. 

maybe i am part of the problem ;; the problem is chlamydiagate. this is a hook-ups connection. fwbs n one night stands. ppl viktor hs brutally ghosted. he doesnt acknowledge their existence outside of these events, perhaps. 

dont u just wna go apeshit ;; this is where viktor becomes a bad influence.

bt uh. anything. pelase

[bensakindofmagic]

Cafe Girl

Okay so I’ve been working in a cafe all summer and this is where my brain goes when I’m bored (which is constantly). I wrote it in my lunch breaks while silently wishing it would really happen 

Thursday, 1st August 

“I hope that fit guy comes in again,” Jenny called from the coffee machine. 

You teetered in from the kitchen with a tray full of clean cups and started restocking the shelves. “What fit guy?” 

“Of course, you weren’t in yesterday. This really cute guy came in for a coffee.” 

“Is that it?” you scoffed. “You made it sound like something happened.”

“No, you don’t understand,” Sophie interjected. “He was gorgeous.”

“Right up your street actually,” Jenny nodded to you. 

Sophie rolled her eyes, “So you’re going to get all courteous now, just ‘cause you were blatantly flirting at him and he didn’t bat an eye.” 

“What girl isn’t going to try their luck with him? He was beautiful.” 

“Yeah, you mentioned,” you laughed, shaking your head. 

You didn’t have to wait long to find out if they were exaggerating or not. You were merrily folding napkins to keep yourself occupied when Jenny nudged your arm and whispered, “It’s him.” 

You looked to the door that he had just walked through. They were right, he was something else. You’d never seen anyone pull off jeans and a t-shirt that well. His shirt was just a little too tight on his arms, making his biceps bulge out of it. You imagined that he’d bought the shirt before he’d started bulking, but liked the way it accentuated his muscles. He looked as though he had that subtle arrogance of a man with confidence and a path laid out before him; not that you minded, it was wildly sexy. His hair, bright blonde, fell in obnoxiously effortless waves over his forehead. A light tan made his skin glow. 

Jenny nudged you to the till, and you rolled your eyes at her. 

“Hi, what can I get you?” you said, putting on your customer voice. You were a little startled to see his eyes were bright, piercing green. Flecks of blue and grey and gold gave them such kaleidoscopic depth that you feared you could stare into them forever and never see them fully. 

“Uh, just a flat white please.” 

“Right,” you quickly hid your flustered moment, “to take away?” 

“Please.” 

You smiled — only to be polite, of course — but he smiled back and your heart fluttered. His cheeks popped into cherries and you saw his tongue hover behind slightly parted teeth, the most subtle indication of his urge to wet his lips. 

You made him his coffee. Much to your embarrassment you made a heart in the foam, quite without thinking. Thank god you covered it up with the lid. 

“Here you go,” you handed it over to him. 

He mumbled, “Cheers,” not quite meeting your eye as he took his drink and left. 

“I think he likes you,” Jenny smirked. 

“Oh piss off,” you laughed, shaking your head. 

Friday, 2nd August

“Remember that guy that came in on Wednesday? He was in again yesterday and Y/N flirted with him,” Jenny told James, another coworker, animatedly. 

“We did not flirt,” you asserted. 

“What was that smile then?” 

“I smile at every customer, it’s called being friendly.”

Despite your thinly veiled condescension and dismissal of Jenny’s excitement, you caught yourself thinking about him far too often. That blonde god that had come in filled your idle thoughts against your will. You found yourself torn between wishing he’d come back, wanting to see him again, and silently praying that he wouldn’t. 

But within the hour he was back. Again he ordered his flat white and while he waited you contemplated who he might be. He was in on a weekday, when most people were at work, but wasn’t in a suit. He wore comfortable clothes, usually dark colours, quite plain. So not in the offices or shops along the street. You wondered if he worked in the theatre down the road. You got a lot of actors and tech crew coming in on their way to rehearsals. They’d come in everyday, or every few days, for a couple of months and then they’d disappear again once the run of the show was over.  You imagined him on a dark stage, lit in a single spotlight, reciting some melodramatic monologue, pouring his heart out to an enraptured audience... 

“Cheers,” he said, taking his coffee. 

“Have a nice day,” you smiled. 

Monday, 5th August 

You had to wait until after the weekend to see the handsome stranger again, confirming to you that he was coming on his way to — or while at — work. 

“Flat white?” you smiled as he walked up to the till. 

“Am I so predictable?” he laughed. It was deep, a rich rumbling sound like churning of the ocean.

��You’ll be a regular soon if you’re not careful.” You almost winked, but stopped yourself. That would be a step too far. 

“Maybe we’ll start getting to know each other better then.”

With that he turned away, walking to a quiet corner to wait for his coffee. He leaned nonchalantly against the wall, his body rolling in languidity, and you tried to ignore his staring.

Tuesday, 6th August

When he came in again you smiled widely. This handsome stranger was a becoming part of your daily routine. You lit up when you saw him, and he made each day a little brighter. You looked forward to seeing him each day, even if you only exchanged a few words. Occasionally you caught yourself thinking about him, wondering what it would feel like to run your fingers through his hair or have his arms wrapped around you, and felt like an idiot. You’d known him for less than a week — hell, you didn’t even know him! While his comment about getting to know you better gave you some modicum of hope, you berated yourself and tried to keep your wondering thoughts to a minimum. But still your heart seemed to flutter whenever he walked in. 

“The usual please,” he grinned. 

“If you’ve got a usual then you’re definitely a regular,” you said, putting his order through and looking at him through your lashes. 

“You say that but I’m new to the area, I barely know my way around. I’m supposed to be taking someone for dinner tonight but I have no idea where to go.”

“Is it a date?” you asked, perhaps a little too fast and quickly backtracked, “‘Cause there’s this really romantic Italian place just round the corner.”

“Not a date, I suppose it’s a business meeting.” 

“Well, the Thai over the road is really good. A bit rough and ready but the food is incredible. Or there’s a curry house a few streets over — proper fancy.”

“Oh great, thanks.”

You latched on to the scraps of information he gave you about his life, and hungry for more, the question slipped from your lips before you had a chance to second guess yourself, “Do you work in the theatre down the road?”  

He cocked his head, “How did you know?”

“We get a few actors and such coming through here, you look like the type,” you shrugged.

He laughed, “Is that an insult or a compliment?” 

You bit your lip, “Whichever you like.” 

When he took is coffee from you your fingers met briefly. His skin felt rougher than yours but warm and electric. You seemed to burn where he had touched you. 

“That was definitely flirting,” Jenny whispered to you as you both watched him walk away. 

Thursday, 8th August

“A guy came in yesterday asking for you,” your manager said with faux nonchalance, but you saw the glistening of intrigue in her eyes. 

“Oh really?” you replied as indifferently as you could. Quite against your will your heartbeat started to speed up a little

“Mm, he didn’t know your name but he described you. Seemed disappointed that you weren’t here.” 

You made no reply, but busied yourself loading the dishwasher. 

“Y/N, can you grab the till please,” Sophie called into the kitchen.

You walked out to see him standing there, hand thrust deep into his pockets, but his face lifted when he spotted you. 

“You could have got the till,” you breathed to Sophie as you walked past. 

“I’m busy,” she lied, biting back a laugh. 

“How did your dinner go?” you asked your handsome stranger (who didn’t feel so much like a stranger now), putting his order through without having to ask. 

“Yeah really good. I think I might have the part,” he beamed. It was written all over his face how much it meant to him, how proud he was of himself. You couldn’t help but smile, and you certainly couldn’t help the way your heart fluttered like a juvenile butterfly. “Congratulations.”

He held the cup up to you in a silent cheers when Sophie gave him his coffee. Just as he turned to walk away you blurted out, “My name’s Y/N, for next time you come in asking for me.” 

He blushed, the pink blossoming up his neck and onto his cheeks, “I’m Ben.”

Friday, 9th August

“Y/N, are you wearing makeup?” Sophie goaded. 

“A little, so what?”

“You never wear makeup to work.” You shrugged without a word and she grinned, “It’s that guy, isn’t it? You like him.” 

“Shut up,” you grumbled. 

Tuesday, 13th August 

Ben had come in everyday you were there, the girls even calling you back from your break once to see him, and very slowly you had started to learn more about him. He talked a bit about the play he was in and the part in the big blockbuster movie he really wanted (but he couldn’t tell you the film). You told him how you were saving up for art college, how you found working in the cafe soul destroying. He saw a customer complain to you once, being very rude about things that weren’t your fault, and saw how you bit your tongue and smiled as sweetly as you could muster until they left in a huff. 

“Jesus, I don’t know how you didn’t blow up at her,” he had said. 

“It never helps, you learn to just let them rant and look apologetic,” you mumbled back, disinterested. 

“Does that happen a lot? People being rude.” 

You nodded, “Customers tend to forget you’re human as soon as you put the apron on. You’re a robot whose only function is to serve them coffee.” You laughed bitterly. 

He had shaken his head and promised to never complain to a server again. 

“You’re early,” you smiled as Ben walked in, looking perfectly dishevelled, his hair still a little wet from his shower. Your mind wandered, quite of it’s own accord, to the image of him standing under the hot water, naked, wet... 

“Got in trouble yesterday for being late. Chatting to you for too long, clearly,” he chuckled. 

“I won’t keep you then.” 

“What do you think I came in early for?”

He leaned against the counter as you made his coffee, looking casually out into the distance. He thrust his hands into his pockets. When he licked his lips your nearly burnt yourself on the coffee machine. 

“I’m thinking about getting a dog.” 

“Oh really?” you giggled. Of course he was a dog man. “What breed?” 

“Well that’s the problem, I wanted a foxhound but they’re not great for the city I don’t think. Don’t like apartment living.” 

“What about a beagle then?” you offered. “Similar breed, still a hunting dog but smaller. Don’t need quite so much exercise.” 

“A beagle, you say?” he said, ponderous. 

“Or border terriers have a good temperament, or a westie. Or a dachshund if you wanted a hound over a terrier.” 

“You know a lot about dogs, huh?” 

“God blessed us with dogs when he realised what arseholes cats were. They’re more than we deserve.” 

“No strong feelings then.” 

“None at all.” You handed him his coffee with a songful laugh. 

Thursday, 15th August 

Ben gave you the biggest smile when he walked in that morning. 

“Finally it’s Thursday. I hate Wednesdays.” 

“What’s wrong with Wednesdays? Hump day, it’s my day off,” you simpered. 

“Exactly, I don’t get to see you.” 

You blushed an impressive shade of fuchsia. 

Friday, 16th August 

You were rushed off your feet when Ben came in the next day. You were on the coffee machine, frantically making order after order. Latte after cappuccino after flat white after macchiato, dealing with every variant of syrup, number of shots, type of milk, wet or dry, iced or otherwise, that the world could throw at you. You were desperately trying to keep up when a familiar voice wafted over to you; your shoulders seemed to relax and your heartbeat seemed to slow, “I guess I won’t be getting my morning chat today, you look a little busy.” 

“Just a little,” you laughed through a grimace, sending someone off to run an order. Instead of starting on the next one in the queue you set about making a flat white. 

“Why’s it so full?” he queried. 

“Cafe down the road is closed for the day, we’ve got all their customers.” 

“Good for business.”

You scoffed, “Not good for my stress levels. Here,” you said, handing his drink over to him. 

“But I’m not in the queue yet.” 

“Wouldn’t want to make you late for work,” you smirked. 

“I haven’t paid.” 

“This one’s on me.” 

Saturday, 17th August 

You were wiping tables once it had gone quiet again in the afternoon, after the weekend lunchtime rush. The weekends had seemed to become a little more dull without Ben to put a smile on your face. You were quietly singing to yourself in a small effort to make the time go faster. You were vaguely aware of the door opening behind you but ignored it; someone else could get the till. 

“I don’t care if Monday’s blue, Tuesday’s grey and Wednesday too” you hummed along to The Cure.

“So she can sing as well,” came a voice behind you. You whipped round, startled, to see Ben grinning at you. “Hey,” he said softly, barely more than a whisper, eyes glistening. 

“Hi,” you mumbled. It was the first time you’d seen him up close, without a counter between you. You inspected the lines that formed around his mouth when he smiled, you noticed the flecks of hazel in his eyes. 

“You have a beautiful voice.” 

You laughed through your nose, “You’re being generous, I can just about hold a tune.”

His eyes narrowed slightly, examining you, his head cocked just a little. There was such intensity in that innocent gaze that you felt yourself being drawn towards him. You so nearly leaned in. He licked his lips. 

There was a clatter as someone dropped a knife and you came to your senses. 

“So what can I get you? The usual?” 

“Actually, I’ll have it to drink in if you don’t mind.” 

“Breaking boundaries there Ben,” you joked. His name still felt alien on your tongue. 

“I could use some company too.” 

Your chest inflated, lungs full, “I’ll see what I can do.” 

Ben sat down at a quiet table in the corner while you went to put his order through. You pled with your boss for a break, even though you’d already had your full hour for the day. She smiled, glancing over at Ben, shook her head with a small laugh, and said you had 20 minutes. You had to stop yourself from skipping over to him, and placed two cups on the table before sitting down. 

“You should have let me get that, I owe you one from yesterday,” he said, motioning to your cup of tea. 

“No you don’t, anyway I get it for free,” you demurred with a closed-lip smile. 

Twenty minutes felt like seconds with Ben. Conversation was easy despite your nervous energy and all too soon you were lamenting that you had to get back to work. 

“I suppose I’ll see you on Monday,” you winked, but as you turned to walk away you felt a hand on yours, strong and warm. 

“I’d like to see you again, not here I mean. Maybe we could go out for coffee or something.”

“Absolutely not.” Ben’s face fell but you laughed, “I spend far too much time in coffee shops, you can take me out for lunch.” 

[itslmdee]

Fiction: The Imprisonment of Daniel Watkins

In a dystopian future Dan is arrested, not for committing a crime, but for a computer’s prediction that he might somehow cause deaths if left at liberty. mentions of selfharm/suicidal ideation

“Weekly visitation, Watkins.” The masked guard rapped the long stick against the bars.

Dan got to his feet and waited as the guard opened the door. He exited the cell, the guard following, the stick hovering behind his back the whole way there, another two guards armed with Tasers waiting near the end of the corridor.

As Dan approached the guards moved backwards, never letting him get too close. They made their way to the cubicle where a large TV screen was waiting for him. Dan sank into the plastic chair and the image of his wife appeared on the screen.

He longed to touch her, to see her in person even, but even face to face visits were forbidden. Sarah gave him a weak smile but he knew she’d been crying again.

“How are you?” he asked.

She nodded as if to reassure him. “I’m okay.” She was wearing a blouse with long sleeves and he had to take her word for it that she hadn’t reverted to self-harm. “You?”

“Still alive,” he said, trying to sound nonchalant but unable to hide the bitterness in his tone. This was existing, not living. “I haven’t heard from Bryan.” His lawyer was usually better at keeping him updated.

“I called him this morning,” Sarah said. “He’s still waiting to hear from the judge.”

Dan’s heart sank. The judge had demanded more evidence and who knew how long that would take.

“I put some more posts on social media,” Sarah said. “Most of them got taken down but a few were allowed to stay up and even the censored ones got some attention before they were deleted. There are people out there on your side, and Tamara’s video channel has gained another thousand followers. No luck with the TV news.”

The television news delighted in their preferred narrative. Daniel Watkins was a potential murderer, not an innocent victim in their broadcasts and his indefinite incarceration a matter of public good.

“What about that journalist, from the Galaxy Eye?” Sarah asked. “Did he write back to you?”

“Yes. Heavily redacted by the time it got to me. He’s interested but he needs to convince the paper to publish my side of the story. He’s been writing short pieces on his blog but his employers aren’t ready to challenge the mainstream story yet. I’ve asked him to send you hard copies of any further letters.”

Sarah nodded. “I love you,” she said, lip trembling. She placed her hand against the screen. Dan hovered his palm near hers.

They talked a little more but soon Dan was told to end the call. It was automatically cut off mid-goodbyes. He got to his feet and began to walk back to his cell. Rubber gloved cleaners moved to scrub the screen and the desk and the chair behind him.

Dan sat on his bunk, head in his hands. He’d been on his way home from the office when two police officers had dragged him off the street and into a cell. He’d been confused, asked for a lawyer, denied one. This was a matter of public protection and the normal rules did not apply.

He’d been allowed to phone Sarah after he said she’d be reporting him missing. She’d promised to get a lawyer but, as she later told him over a video call, they’d been prevented from contacting Dan during the first phase of his interrogation.

He was held for 48 hours initially, was forced to give blood and hand over his social media passwords. He was told an emergency extension had been applied. After 72 hours he was allowed to speak briefly to his lawyer, who was forced to sit across the room from him.

“It’s the new ICM software,” Bryan Fairfax said. “It’s been running models for a while now and making predictions. Enough of those predictions came true, according to police records, that they moved from using it to confirm perpetrators to catching them. We’ve been following the legal implications closely. But last week they moved further, to attempt to use it to prevent crimes. You got flagged as a potential murderer.”

Dan stared at him, mouth agape. “What?” he said at last. This was like that old movie with the ladies who sat in a bath predicting crime.

“It’s classified data but we’re filing motions to try and get access,” Bryan said. “We have no idea what they’re basing their assumptions on. They’re claiming everything from terrorism to domestic violence to spreading disease. They say you’re at risk of killing anywhere from one to one thousand people.”

“That’s ridiculous!”

Bryan nodded. “Because this is considered a matter of public protection most of your legal rights have been suspended. My firm is doing its best and I’m looking at every angle here. We’re pretty sure this is a test case to see how the public reacts before they fully roll it out, and we’re going to represent you pro bono here. Rollins senior was a great believer in personal freedoms and the firm is keen to be seen upholding civil liberties.”

It sounded like a wonderful opportunity for Rollins, Rollins, and Fairfax. It was less exciting for Dan, treated like a criminal though he’d done nothing wrong.

“I’m going to court in half an hour,” Bryan said. “I’m certain we won’t get bail though I’ll ask for it. You won’t be allowed to attend. They’re treating you as a high security risk.”

So Dan sat and waited. Bryan returned later that afternoon, standing across the room again.

“They’re keeping you for another two weeks,” he said. “I’m sorry. They’re asking for more data from the ICM. And they don’t want me seeing you again. Video calls only from here on out. I protested it was a violation of privacy but the government minister for health said it was, according to the model, too much of a risk to allow you too near any other person. The guards will be keeping their distance and you’ll only be allowed a half hour outside your cell when no other prisoners are in the yard, and to take a brief shower each morning after everyone else has used the facilities.”

Dan had been in solitary confinement ever since, meals pushed through a slot in his cell, his cell hosed down while he showered, only ever seeing masked guards delivering his food or escorting him to the showers or the yard. Two weeks had been extended to four, then six, then nine.

Sarah was frantic and Dan was terrified for her. She’d come a long way in the last few years, from anxious and suicidal to a self-confident woman who’d left her self-harming behind. He was proud of her and told her how it was her own strength and her renewed faith that had made the difference, though she gave him significant credit. She said he’d given her something to live for, someone who loved her and would never belittle or hurt her. He feared a return to her previous state of mind.

After the six week extension, with Bryan sadly certain that nine would again be extended without major new evidence, Dan was, for the first time in his life, feeling helpless enough to wonder if living was worth the pain. He truly sympathised now with Sarah’s despair.

If he killed himself however it would prove the model right; the media would spin it as him being a murderer, albeit of himself. He was getting desperate but he didn’t want ICM’s programmers and those funding the software to win.

“I’ve done nothing wrong,” Dan wrote on the old, tiny tablet he was allowed to use in his cell, the only entertainment he had, frowning at the cracked screen as he typed. “I am innocent yet presumed guilty. I have had my civil rights violated because of a computer programme that no-one outside of the ICM thinktank has been allowed to analyse. I am kept isolated from human contact for 23 hours a day, every day. I am not allowed to see my wife aside from on a computer screen. I am not allowed to talk to my lawyer except on a video call which is monitored by the prison and, I believe, the government and representatives of the ICM. My name is Daniel Watkins and I am not a murderer.”

He sent the message out via email to the newspapers, the TV stations, various bloggers and vloggers and anyone else who might listen. The email might get intercepted by the prison or redacted; he’d copied in Sarah and Bryan and vlogger Tamara Maina (who’d been outspoken in his defence, the first social media influencer to take his side) so they could confirm receipt. Even if it went out intact the message went against the media hysteria: “Mass Murderer Prevented”, “Murderer Jailed BEFORE He Could Kill”, “Innocents Saved by ICM software.”

His professional social media accounts had been frozen after the waves of hatred began, accusing him of murder and wishing him dead.

Dan had voted in every election since coming of age. He knew politicians lied and exaggerated and he knew there were some corrupt cops but he’d always had an overall trust in and respect for his government and the law, and had largely believed people were decent and kind at heart. No longer, not after this.

He lay on his bunk and stared at the stone walls, remembering a time he’d been allowed to lie next to Sarah and hold her hand, to kiss her cheek, and to suggest they shower together before a lazy breakfast and a walk by the river before getting Sunday lunch at their favourite pub. He would probably never get to do any of those things ever again.

ICM was the villain here, not Dan. No, ICM was a machine, and those who had programmed it were at fault. But they’d never face justice even if, somehow, Dan could be freed. ICM’s predecessor, the ICA, had wrongly predicted an outbreak of a disease spread by horses. Millions of beautiful animals had been slaughtered, whole stables razed to the ground by public health officials and a panicked public alike. When other scientists proved with their own models and a battery of tests, that the ICA had been utterly wrong, people had shrugged and said better safe than sorry and the ICA had supposedly been retired, only to reemerge as the ICM, based on the same faulty code.

Dan was collateral, like those poor horses, or a test case, as Bryan suggested, for a sinister move to punish people on mere suspicion of future misdeeds. Both. Neither. It was the same result. Dan was a prisoner and would remain so, possibly for the rest of his existence.

[brajeshupadhyay]

President Donald Trump delivered his most extensive remarks on the QAnon conspiracy theory Wednesday, defending followers as ‘people that love our country’ and going out of his way not to condemn some of the most bizarre claims associated with the movement. ‘I’ve heard these are people that love our country,’ Trump said at the White House. He was asked about the group hours after issuing a tweet backing Florida Republican primary winner Laura Loomer, who has pushed conspiracy theories that deny the school shootings in Sandy Hook Elementary School shootings in 2012. ‘I don’t know much about the movement other than I understand they like me very much,’ President Donald Trump said Wednesday when asked about the QAnon movement Trump has also congratulated Marjorie Taylor Greene, who won a Republican primary in Georgia, calling her a ‘future Republican star,’ even as retiring and centrist Republicans issue warnings about the rise of the movement gaining a foothold in the party.   Trump, who has backed other QAnon supporters and retweeted its followers in the past, gave the impression he had only a general understanding of the movement. ‘I don’t know much about the movement other than I understand they like me very much,’ Trump said.  He connected the movement, which like Trump raises alarms about a ‘Deep State,’ to his own concerns about violence in Democratic-run cities. ‘These are people that don’t like seeing what’s going on in place like Portland and places like Chicago,’ Trump said. He didn’t flinch when asked about the most far-fetched views of some QAnon followers, that he is saving the world from a satanic cult of pedophiles and cannibals. In this Aug. 2, 2018, file photo, a protesters holds a Q sign waits in line with others to enter a campaign rally with President Donald Trump in Wilkes-Barre, Pa. Facebook says on Wednesday, Aug. 19, 2020, it will restrict QAnon and stop recommending that users join groups supporting it, but the company is stopping short of banning the right-wing conspiracy movement outright Save The Children hold a demonstration in Tucson against child trafficking and peodophilia. #Save Our Children is a national advocacy group that believes child trafficking has reached pandemic proportions and that politicians, establishment elites, and Hollywood celebrities are part of an organized conspiracy to aid, protect and participate in peodophilia and child trafficking Conspiracy theorist QAnon demonstrators protest during a rally to re-open California and against Stay-At-Home directives on May 1, 2020 in San Diego, California Marjorie Taylor Greene with Laura Loomer – two GOP primary winners who earned online plaudits from President Trump Attendees gather before the start of a rally with U.S. President Donald Trump in Wilkes-Barre, Pennsylvania, U.S., on Thursday, Aug. 2, 2018 ‘Well I haven’t heard that. But is that supposed to be a bad thing or a good thing?’ he asked. ‘If I can help save the world from problems I’m willing to do it,’ he continued. ‘I’m willing to put myself out there. And we are actually. We are saving the world from a radical-left philosophy that will destroy this country.’ Trump then during his response attacked calls to defund the police, ‘open borders,’ touted his border wall, and said poll numbers are ‘extraordinary’ on the border issue. ‘But I will say this. We need strength in our country, not weakness.’  Some QAnon followers also believe a ‘Deep State’ is behind an underground child sex trafficking ring. Among the group’s claims are that there is a Satanic cult of pedophiles and cannibals led by some of the world’s most famous names and covered up by the media and ‘deep state,’ with Trump claimed to be secretly dismantling it. Among its wilder claims are that children are being kept in tunnels under major cities, that they are being trafficked on popular consumer websites such as Wayfair, and that JFK Jr. is alive and has been spotted on Marine One.    The central figure in the conspiracy is Q, supposedly a high-level government official who leaves clues – or ‘drops’ – on message boards about the imminent ‘great awakening,’ when the pedophile cabal will be ended. Followers have speculated that Trump is Q and are only likely to be encouraged by his answers at the White House.  Another key figure is Mike Flynn, Trump’s first national security advisor, who is said to both be the victim of the deep state and central to the cabal’s imminent downfall. Followers often put three gold stars on their social media profiles and Flynn himself took part in the ‘pledge’ in which QAnon believers recite the Pledge of Allegiance then add at the end ‘where we go one, we go all.’ Followers wrongly believe the slogan was on the bell of the ship John F. Kennedy served on in the Navy, and abbreviate it to WWG1WGA on social media profiles and in hashtags. Q’s success is at best mixed: he predicted that JFK Jr. would be Trump’s 2020 running mate after emerging from hiding on July 4 2020, a moment known as ‘the storm’; that there was going to be an unsealing of 25,000 indictments in November 2017 followed by a period of military control, while Hillary Clinton was going to make for the border as a result, but would be extradited; and that members of the cabal were arrested at National Cathedral in Washington D.C. during George H.W. Bush’s funeral in January 2019.  QAnon followers have held up their signs at Trump rallies, and former National Security Advisor Mike Flynn last month posted a video where where said the QAnon slogan: ‘Where we go one, we go all’ at the end of an oath. NBC has reported that Facebook groups connected to QAnon have millions of followers. Illinois GOP Rep. Adam Kinzinger released a YouTube video last week calling on party leaders to ‘denounce’ the conspiracy theory now that it has gained a hold in the party.  ‘The president hasn’t fully denounced it or denounced it at all. Now, it’s time for leaders to come out and denounce it,’ he said, while calling on people to try to persuade followers. House Minority Leader Rep. Kevin McCarthy of California has said he will seat Greene despite past racist statements, and declined to wade into her primary.  According to Travis View, who has researched the group, its followers believe that a ‘worldwide cabal of satanic pedophiles” run “all the major levers of power,’ USA Today reported.  The FBI warned in May 2019 lays out the threat of ‘conspiracy theory-driven domestic extremists.’ “The FBI assesses these conspiracy theories very likely will emerge, spread, and evolve in the modern information marketplace, occasionally driving both groups and individual extremists to carry out criminal or violent acts,’ according to the memo, reported by Yahoo News. It mentioned QAnon as well as the Pizzagate, a debunked conspiracy theory that Clinton associates were running a child sex ring out of the basement of a popular Washington, D.C. pizza restaurant. The restaurant does not have a basement.   Earlier Wednesday White House press secretary Kayleigh McEnany backed up Trump’s tweet about Loomer while providing some distance, saying the president hadn’t done a ‘deep dive’ into the Florida GOP primary winner. The 27-year-old right-wing activist is known for pushing conspiracy theories about school shootings and making anti-Muslim statements – and won the GOP primary Tuesday for the Florida Congressional district that includes Trump’s Mar-a-Lago.   Loomer celebrated Wednesday by talking to fellow right-wing conspiracy theorist Alex Jones, calling the hoaxes she’s pushed ‘factual stories that we have been ahead of the curve on for years,’ as J.T. Lewis, a gun rights activist who supports Trump and whose brother died in the Sandy Hook shooting, called for Loomer to be pushed from the party.  Donald Trump congratulated Laura Loomer (pictured) on winning the GOP primary for the district that covers his Mar-a-Lago estate. The White House said Wednesday the president hasn’t done a ‘deep dive’ on Loomer’s statements  White House press secretary Kayleigh McEnany said Wednesday that the president ‘routinely congratulates people who … get the Republican nomination for Congress’  Loomer called into Alex Jones’ Infowars show and said that the conspiracy theories and hoaxes they’ve been pushing are ‘factual stories that we have been ahead of the curve on for years’  ‘Laura Loomer is a Parkland and Sandy Hook hoaxer. She has no place in the Republican Party!’ Lewis tweeted.       Despite Loomer’s controversial views, Trump tweeted congratulations to her late Tuesday.  ‘Great going Laura. You have a great chance against a Pelosi puppet!’ Trump wrote.  She also has the backing of Jones, Donald Trump Jr., Trump’s former political adviser Roger Stone and Florida Rep. Matt Gaetz, a diehard Trump supporter.  Speaking to Jones on his InfoWars show, she complained, ‘I was told that if I wanted to win my race … that I could never do InfoWars again and that I could not speak to you because they say that you are toxic, just like they say about me, and I said screw you, Alex Jones is a freedom fighter, he’s a patriot, he’s fighting for the First Amendment and I am never going to sideline any of my friends.’  ‘We were the people who led the culture revolution in 2016 when President Trump was nominated and elected,’ Loomer told Jones Wednesday. ‘That is what the Republican Party is missing now.’  Loomer will face Democratic Rep. Lois Frankel in the fall. The four-time congresswoman is expected to win easily in the deep blue district. She ran unopposed in 2018 and beat her Republican rival in 2016 by 27.6 points.  McEnany said Trump’s support for Loomer was standard protocol. ‘Well, the president routinely congratulates people who have officially – get the Republican nomination for Congress, so he does that as a matter of course,’ she said at the White House briefing Wednesday.  McEnany was asked about Loomer and about Marjorie Taylor Greene, a GOP candidate from George for the House of Representatives who prescribes to the QAnon conspiracy theory and has also made anti-Muslim statements.  ‘He hasn’t done a deep dive into the statements by these two particular women, I don’t know if he’s even seen that,’ McEnany said. ‘But he supports the Muslim community, he supports the community of faith more broadly in this country.’      The president tweeted in a show of support for Loomer late Tuesday after she defeated five candidates to win the Republican primary for the US House of Representatives seat that includes Trump’s Mar-a-Lago club in Palm Beach WHO’S BANNED LAURA LOOMER   PLATFORMS  Twitter Facebook Instagram PAYMENT SYSTEMS  PayPal Venmo GoFundMe  RIDESHARES  Uber  Lyft  TECH FIRMS XFinity / Comcast processing of her campaign mass texts EVENTS CPAC – Conservative Political Action Conference in 2019  Courtesy of Ali Alexander Loomer took the lead in the Republican primary with 42.7 percent of the vote, with nuclear engineer turned professor Christian Acosta coming in second with 25.5 percent. Other candidates in the race included a former burlesque dancer who now runs an exotic animal business and a former IRS investigator. Trump cast his vote by mail in Florida’s 21st District primary election, after changing his official residence from New York to Palm Beach back in October 2019.  He and Melania’s ballots were returned to Palm Beach officials Monday in time for their votes to be counted, reported the Washington Post.   The president’s decision to cast his own vote by mail comes after he has repeatedly claimed mail-in ballots lead to widespread fraud and even threatened to redo the election if he loses through what he has blasted a ‘rigged’ system.  It is not clear if the president voted for Loomer but his social media post confirmed he approved of her victory. He’ll be able to vote for her in the November election, which he plans to do absentee.   Loomer has been a high-profile figure on the fringes of the alt-right since working for Project Veritas when she was a college student. While working with Jones of InfoWars she went to Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School and accused students there of ‘reading a screen or notes.’ ‘It’s obvious these kids are reading a screen or notes someone else wrote for them. Notice how media is only talking to the same group of students. They aren’t talking to the pro gun ROTC students who actually saved lives, unlike these students,’ she tweeted. She also pushed a theory that there was a second gunman in the Las Vegas massacre in September 2017 and went to a press conference a month later to harry the Las Vegas county sheriff with her claims. ‘All of the evidence that is being leaked is further showing how the Deep State is covering it up,’ she said.   The controversial 27-year-old has been slammed for making anti-Muslim comments on several occasions in recent years.  She called the FBI the ‘Federal Bureau of Islam’ as she pushed deep-state conspiracy claims. In November 2018 she was accused of hate speech when she called Representative Ilhan Omar ‘anti-Jewish’ – which led to her being removed from Twitter.   ‘Isn’t it ironic how the twitter moment used to celebrate ‘women, LGBTQ, and minorities’ is a picture of Ilhan Omar?’ Loomer tweeted about the Democratic Minnesota congresswoman.  ‘Ilhan is pro Sharia Ilhan is pro-FGM Under Sharia, homosexuals are oppressed & killed. Women are abused & forced to wear the hijab. Ilhan is anti Jewish.’  Trump cast his vote by mail in Florida’s 21st District primary election, where Loomer (pictured) took the victory The controversial conspiracy theorist has been accused of hate speech on more than one occasion. In November 2018 she was accused of hate speech when she called Representative Ilhan Omar (left) ‘anti-Jewish’. She slammed Twitter CEO Jack Dorsey (right) for suspending her account over the incident Far-right activist Loomer, who has the backing of Trump’s friend and former adviser Roger Stone, Representative Matt Gaetz and right-wing conspiracy theorist Alex Jones, will now take on Democratic Representative Lois Frankel (pictured) in the November general election When she was banned from Twitter over the incident, Loomer handcuffed herself to Twitter’s New York offices.  That same month, she was removed from a congressional hearing on social media when she hit out at CEO Jack Dorsey for ‘shadowbanning’ conservatives and accused him of trying to sway the midterm elections toward the Democrats.   This came after she was banned from using Uber and Lyft in November 2017 for tweeting that ‘someone needs to create a non Islamic form of @uber or @lyft’ and complaining that she was late to a meeting because she could not find a ‘non-Muslim’ driver. In June 2017, Loomer rushed the stage during a Shakespeare In The Park production of ‘Julius Caesar’ in New York to accuse the cast of normalizing ‘political violence against the right’ and calling them ‘Isis’.  ‘Stop the normalization of political violence against the right!’ she shouted. ‘Shame on the New York Public Theatre for doing this! You guys are ISIS! CNN is ISIS!’ She also ambushed actress Alyssa Milano at the 2018 Politicon conference in Los Angeles, suggesting she was in cahoots with Linda Sarsour, a Muslim co-founder of the Women’s March.  ‘I want to ask you right now to disavow Linda Sarsour because she is a supporter of Sharia law. And under Sharia law, women are oppressed, women are forced to wear a hijab,’ Loomer said, identifying herself as a ‘conservative investigative journalist.’   ‘My question is, will you please disavow her because she is advocating for Shariah law,’ Loomer yelled at Milano, who was seated onstage.  As Loomer was ushered out of the room, she yelled that #MeToo was a ‘sham movement.’   THE VIRAL STAR BANNED FROM SOCIAL MEDIA WHO IS GETTING A SHOT AT CONGRESS  Laura Loomer burst onto the conservative stage in 2015 when she, a Jew, was a student at Barry University, a Catholic University run by nuns near Miami. Loomer, one of a few Republican students in an overwhelmingly liberal school, participated in a ‘gotcha’ video at the urging of Project Veritas, a right-wing group that uses hidden cameras to expose what it sees as Liberal bias in colleges, non-profits and government.  Loomer surreptitiously taped her encounter with school officials during a meeting where she asked permission to set up a new club called Sympathetic Students In Support Of The Islamic State. The footage seemed to indicate school officials were in favor of starting such a club on campus but appeared to suggest she drop the ‘Islamic State’ from the name. The footage went viral, and school officials suspended Loomer for what they saw as her attempt to embarrass the school. The story made Loomer an instant celebrity in the Alt-Right’s cyber-world, but it also launched her anti-Muslim reputation. Loomer is a polarizing personality and took this photo with self-proclaimed ‘dirty trickster’ and one of the most notorious Republican insiders Roger Stone  Loomer has been banned from several social media platforms for promoting speech labeled as hate speech targeting Muslims and posted for this photo with Donald Trump Jr. and Kimberly Guilfoyle ‘I’m not anti-Muslim,’ she said, ‘I study Islamic terrorism.’ With video cameras in tow and a huge distribution network online, Loomer continued with higher-profile gimmicks to expose what she saw as the Left’s corruption. In the summer 2017, she and other conservative activists stopped the Shakespeare play in Central Park. In January 2019, she was back in the news when she got three alleged illegal immigrants from Mexico and Guatemala to set up their tents on the lawn of Speaker of the House Pelosi’s Napa Valley home in her home state of California. In time, Loomer and her crew were kicked off Pelosi’s lawn by police, and Loomer was handed a warning for trespassing.  Loomer has also been at war with mainstream social media platforms. One November morning in 2018 in Manhattan, she chained herself to the door of the local Twitter headquarters to protest her banishment from social media for hate speech. At first, Loomer worried the moves by Twitter, Facebook, Instagram and others would make it impossible for her to make a living and raise campaign contributions. Now, Loomer proudly describes herself as The World’s Most Censored woman, and she has managed to find other ways to conduct her political agenda and fundraising away from PayPal. She is, for example, active on Parler, where she has 89,000 followers, and Gab, where she has 27,000. Both are conservative platforms that allow a looser definition of free speech and, at times, have been accused of providing a haven for white supremacists and neo-Nazis. 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