#Chester Rows

[hepdenerose]

Under Cover (Museum and Market)

Thursday grey and damp, we sought covered spaces to avoid the worst showers. From a rainy Eastgate Street, we sheltered in The Grosvenor Shopping Centre to be diverted by TK Maxx and Castle Fine Art’s window, featuring mediocre efforts by Bob Dylan and Billy Connolly. Emerging on Bridge Street rows, we kept dry until reaching the steps at the end and crossed to Grosvenor Street. We paused to…

[whatifijustmashedwordstogether]

I might be thinking about the Magnus protocol too much but my phone isn't helping when it glitches while in a translation app and types out, without outside interference, a Chinese phrase(用眼) that according to the translation app meant "with eyes" (it actually means "using eyes") repeatedly until I looked at it and it stopped???

immediately thought about tma:p (hoping that's the right abbreviation)

[tommy-h-bff]

5'6 guys after lifting for 3 days

[samama--khalid]

It hurts

It’s sharp

We’re hungry

Is- is there any way to get you out? Hungry for what?!

[charring58]

ROW CHESTER CROSS-WILLIAM KEATING FRANK PHELAN. AL WARRUS-WILLIAM TERPINAS FRED TOPP WILLIAM REED- FRANK WICHLAC-JOHN KRAUS DONATED BY FAMILY OF EDWARD & HELEN BACHER

[blueberryminiloaf]

The Rows, Chester, 2023.

[vox-anglosphere]

'The Rows' in Chester are a Tudor architectural fantasy come to life.

Northgate Street Chester

[afrowrites]

Your (Super)Man

A Clark x Black! Reader Smallville imagine

Rating: Teen and Up

Word count: 995

Clark Kent, you older brothers best friend and your secret crush takes you to go see linkin park

Notes: I wrote this for a lovely new mutual @justalovelyblackgf Thank you so much for my first ask, here's to many more :))).

“Hey (Y/N),” Your favorite tall and handsome older brother’s best friend asks you, “I was wondering something.” 

You look at him quizzically “What?”

“I don’t know what it is but, it just surprises me that one of the prettiest girls I know has never dated,” he joked. Your cheeks heat up, you remember before that during a game of truth or dare you tell your class you never dated. There wasn’t really a chance to, you lived in the middle of nowhere smallville. Your choices were slim to none and when you’re black your dating pool is that much smaller.

“Well I mean it’s like no big deal, I plan on dating when I’m twenty-five,” you answered honestly, 

“That’s a real shame because I have two great front row tickets to go see linkin park.” 

You immediately start gushing “OH MY GOD, Clark how did you get these,” “I had a little help.” He winks. 

Clark is an all america salt of the earth good boy, but for whatever reason he was still a complete mystery to you. Maybe it was the allure of him being Pete’s best friend. But his kindness was certainly known to you.  When you had sprained your ankle in p.e he carried you to the nurses office. When you wanted to join a club he welcomed you into the journalism club. He has the most beautiful eyes and gorgeous lips that you just wanna- wait you're getting a bit ahead of yourself. 

“I’ll pick you up around six, That ok?” he cocks his head to the side when he asks you, looking sweet as ever.

“It’s a date.” you smile sweetly,

~You're getting ready (sorry I didn’t have a good transition for this)

You popped in your Destiny’s Child cd and started your I’m going on a date with the hottest guy I know outfit and makeup. But it’s linkin park so you wear a super cute navy blue baby tee with gray sleeves and some low rise flares, some midi gold hoops and a small gold necklace to go with it. 

“Y/N He’s outside.” Pete yells at you.

“Oh my gosh!”,You mumble under your breath. Then you yell “TELL HIM I’M NOT FINISHED”. 

“That’s a shame because you look perfect to me.  What else could you do?” he leans against the doorframe, shyly eyeing you.

“Oh God, h-hey clark,” You were spooked by him. “C’mon tiger, let’s go.” he nods his head towards the door.

“And uh, Bring Destiny we need something to do while I drive.” He winks.

You roll your eyes as you slip on your shoes.

He opens the passenger side of his dads red pickup truck, you’re a little short getting in so he takes your hand and gently lifts you up onto the seat. The warmth of his hand is electric in your palm. 

“Thanks,” you smile. He smiles back “No problem.” Like a man who’s just seen the stars.

The drive is fun as you two sing to Independent women, “You know everyone’s favorite is Beyonce but I’m a Kelly fan myself.” 

“Of course you are.” You chuckle softly.

You both get to the venue, hordes of half drunk teenagers line up to see the main event.

The opening acts start as you start jumping around enjoying the music, and suddenly you feel a set of hands around your waist. No they weren’t clarks hands like you would have liked. You smelled cheap beer on your neck. 

“Hey!” You immediately turned to see some acne-faced guy with frosted tips start grinding on you, “Cmon, babe I know girls like you like this stuff.” 

“Hey man, you need to back off!” Clark is steaming mad, “Look man your girl is fine you need to learn how to share.” 

Before Clark can even get a punch in, the guy is immediately on the ground. “For your information, his girl won’t be shared with anyone.” you spat, “So go take a long walk off a short pier.”

The crowd around you ooh’s an ahh’s, Until the main event finally came. Chester speaks to the crowd “Hey we just wanted to let y’all know that creeps are not allowed to any of our concerts, that being said will the pretty lady with the braids c’mon stage.”

“Oh My God, Clark he wants me!!!” You scream in his ear. “Well go up there pretty lady.” 

So there you were on stage dancing with Linkin Park, and Clark can only see your shining face, and cocoa butter skin. He sees your smile that’s brighter than any stage light in this whole place. 

Later you both go back to his car, and you both talk about the whole ordeal the whole time. However, it starts to rain hard.

“You know if your parents are ok with it, Ms and Pa would love to have you over?”, “Well you know I don’t like getting my hair wet so sure.”

You called your parents and reluctantly your father agreed, but in black dad fashion he made you promise to sleep on the couch and stay six feet away from Clark. 

He even called his parents who were fine with it, and after Martha warmed you up a nice cup of tea. You settled on the couch and thanked his parents goodnight. And as they went to bed before you could even close your eyes you hear.

“Hey,” it’s his whisper that startled you, “Wanna see my room?”

You obliged of course “So what is so great about clarks roo-” He cuts you off with a sweet kiss, “I’m sorry I really wanted to do that all night.” He sheepishly smiles.

But you don’t care, instead you go in for your turn deep and passionate, and then suddenly you wake up in a blue t-shirt with warm arms wrapped around you. And you didn’t know it yet, but you had just fallen in love with the man of steel.

[sometimes-men-need-help-too]

Woman ‘dehumanised’ partner and wouldn’t let him go to the toilet

A domineering girlfriend subjected her lover to a campaign of belittlement and humiliation over his weight, hair, sex drive and his breath.

Student nurse Sarah Rigby, 41, forced NHS project manager Gareth Jones to eat salad, wear a hat and swallow tooth paste and mouth wash in the wrongful belief he was fat, bald and had bad breath.

During their abusive six month relationship, Rigby – who has six children from other partners – taunted 40-year old Mr Jones over his sexual performance and dismissed him as ‘the money source’.

She was quoted as saying: ‘If I’m not pregnant this month, I am going to find someone else to have sex with and get pregnant. I need to get pregnant this month. If I don’t, I’ll dump you.’

In other instances, Mr Jones, who moved in with Rigby was thrown out of her house in Winsford, Cheshire whilst dressed only in his underwear, was refused his own door key, and would not be allowed alone in the property whenever she went out.

She wouldn’t let Mr Jones use the toilet in her home either – only at the pub or library.

The victim would be ‘frisked’ by Rigby before leaving the house and was condemned to pound the streets or do his job from their local library, pub or supermarket cafe until she came home.

Mr Jones was also forced to forfeit his £4,000 a month wage, allow her to check his phone on demand, and he even resorted to giving his own mother a ‘duress code’ to indicate when it was safe for them to speak without Rigby listening in.

In one row he was hit in face by a glass candle holder leaving him with a scar across his nose.

When Rigby’s children became the subject of family court proceedings involving her ex-partner, she made Mr Jones pay for a £3,000 expert report and file a false witness statement supporting her plea to get custody.

During one tirade, Rigby told him: ‘I may not control social services, but I can control you and I am loving it.’

At Chester Crown Court, Mr Jones told how he was driven to the brink of suicide by the abuse as Rigby, who admitted coercive behaviour, was given 20 months jail suspended for two years and was banned from contacting the victim for five years under the terms of a restraining order.

He said he was now so haunted by his experiences he kept minimal possessions and would have a ‘grab bag’ with him containing a tooth brush, and washing products and a towel at all times.

He also accused Rigby of showing ‘contempt’ for him by turning up to court appearances flaunting a £400 Marc Jacobs shoulder bag he was ordered to buy her.

Mr Jones told the hearing: ‘After the abuse started, the effect of being constantly belittled and abused made me nervous, feel degraded and worthless.. My image of myself became distorted and I had low self esteem – I still feel like this to a degree.

‘When she used to say things like I had halitosis and forced me to drink half a bottle of Listerine or eat toothpaste, I started to believe that I had things wrong with me.

‘I was forced to wear a hat every time we went out together because she didn’t want to be seen with someone who was receding and kept on that she wanted me to have a hair transplant. l also felt degraded as Sarah used to try and intimidate me and ridicule my manhood regularly.

‘I had regular bruising on my body from when Sarah used to kick, bite, scratch or claw me. I was nervous to consult my GP for fear she would find out and beat me further. As Sarah would not allow me to eat – l was called a “fat, smelly slob” – l became paranoid about food.

‘If she kicked me out and I was able to stay with my parents, I would be afraid to eat with them in case she summonsed me back and would be able to smell food on my breath. She regularly kicked me out, making sure I had no belongings with me and as a result I started hiding a toothbrush, shower gel and a small towel in my work briefcase.’

Mr Jones also said his relationships with friends and family became strained as Rigby isolated him from everyone.

He added: ‘After leaving, I became extremely stressed. I was petrified that she would take reprisals and arrange for someone to come to my parents’ house to damage property or even that she would arrange to have me beaten up or worse.

‘I no longer feel open to having a relationship as I’m still afraid that I’ll be abused again. I do not feel l can trust another woman at present. When I am out in public and I see someone with the same hairstyle and colour of Sarah’s, I become scared. I also feel nervous about telling people what has happened to me due to the stigma behind males not being seen as victims of domestic abuse.’

The court heard the couple met in the summer of 2021 through the Plenty of Fish dating website.

Mr Jones contacted the police in early March 2022 when he went to work out of the house. Police later urged Rigby to return the victim’s possessions including his work computer and sentimental items, but she repeatedly denied she had anything to return.

In interview she falsely claimed Jones had been violent, coercive, controlling and manipulative towards her.

In mitigation defence counsel Miss Jade Tufail said Rigby had been diagnosed with PTSD due to an undisclosed ‘trauma’ she suffered in her childhood.

But the judge Mr Recorder Eric Lamb told Rigby: ‘Your conduct has led to a substantial detrimental effect upon Mr Jones, who even today when speaking of the impact of the relationship upon him was plainly close to tears and in great distress when speaking on where the relationship had left him.

‘There were multiple methods of controlling or coercive behaviour intended to humiliate and degrade him.’

[dean-winchester-is-a-warrior]

Fight Me, Love Me, Save Me Pt. 1

This will fill the "It's mine, and you can't have it." square on my @jacklesversebingo card. The quote will be bolded.

Summary: A series in three parts exploring Y/N's and Dean's relationship from bickering children, to love and broken promises, to a plea for salvation.

Warnings/Explicit 18+: None really. This part is mostly fluff, with a tiny bit of making out at the end. They are both 17 when they're making out, so technically underage, but barely - and they are the same age.

Pairings: Dean Winchester x Y/N

Word Count: 4,398

A/N: So this series will fill the last three squares on my bingo card. This part covers "It's Mine, and you can't have it." Part two will cover Broken Promises, (Nov 12) and part three will be for the Isolated/Trapped square. (Nov 19)

I hope you enjoy!! If you do, please remember to like, reblog and/or comment. Means the world to us writers! ❤️

The dividers included here were created by @talesmaniac89

Dean and Y/N basically spent their childhood bickering. They met when they were six, when their fathers teamed up for a hunt. The two of them, and Sammy had been left together with a friendly old lady who was mostly deaf, so she very happily didn’t have to hear their constant fighting. 

They fought over toys, they fought over snacks, they fought over who would get the first turn on the tire swing in the old lady’s backyard. Dean’s longer legs always got him there first and he’d gloat down at Y/N, his smile wide and wicked.

“Too slow, Y/N!” He’d taunt. “It’s mine, and you can’t have it!” 

Since their fathers often teamed up, they ended up with the same babysitters, or in the same schools all the time. Dean was always popular; the teachers always adored him and his sweet smile and big green eyes. But Y/N was shy and slightly awkward, so the other kids didn’t usually play with her and teachers tended to ignore her. 

Dean would never let that stand though. When they'd play tag in the schoolyard he’d purposely go up and tag Y/N even though she hadn’t been invited to play the game.

When he’d tap her arm, she’d scowl at him. “I’m not playing, you idiot.” 

But Dean would ignore her and any of the other kids saying she couldn’t play. “You’re it!” He’d yell and then run away, sticking his tongue out at her and taunting her because he knew she’d never stand for it, and be forced to play. Once she was playing, the other kids usually didn’t care and the game would go on.

No one teased and tormented her like Dean did though. He was constantly yanking on her ponytail, or shooting spitballs at her from across the classroom. They competed over everything; test scores, who got to be the Christmas tree in the Christmas concert, who could skip with a jumping rope more times in a row without stopping, who built the best sand castle, who made a better volcano in science class - anything and everything.

In spite of that, however, Dean was also her biggest champion. When they were in third grade, Chester Hugo, a wiry little blonde boy, called Y/N fat and ugly and laughed at her. He showed her a picture of a whale in the encyclopedia in their classroom and laughed as he pointed to it.

“That’s you.” He whispered, and all his friends giggled with him silently. 

Y/N tried to ignore him, but at recess she was standing up against the brick wall of the school as usual, and Chester began waddling around in front of her and puffing out his cheeks. “Look everybody, I’m Y/N.” He called out before doubling over with laughter.

He only laughed for a second though, because without warning he was tackled to the ground by Dean, and began shrieking and covering his face as Dean pummeled him.

Dean got detention for three days because of it, and got grounded at home too. Y/N felt terrible, but Dean said it was worth it because now every time he walked past Chester, the bully shrank away or ran inside. 

When they were in the sixth grade, they went to Truman Middle School in Fort Madison, Iowa for a few months and ended up with a teacher who was absolutely terrible - Mrs. Abernathy. 

She was ancient and obviously didn’t really like kids anymore - if she ever had. Her classroom rules were arbitrary and confusing. She was constantly yelling at her students for doing things that had been permissible the day before. She barked orders at them and expected silence from them at all times. 

One afternoon the class was set to dissect a frog and Dean and Y/N were paired up to share one of the hapless amphibians. Mrs. Abernathy gave them their frog, closed inside a glass jar, along with a jar of cotton balls soaked in ether to toss in with the frog to kill him.

As soon as the grouchy old lady had moved on, Dean picked up the container holding the frog and pushed it into Y/N’s face.

“Hey Y/N look! It’s lunch time!” He said quietly, thrusting the frog towards her over and over.

“Stop it!” She said in an angry whisper, turning her head. After a while Dean grinned proudly at his ability to gross her out and set the frog back down.

Y/N looked down at it, and then got closer to the jar as the frog lifted its two front legs to press against the glass, looking for a way to hop out. It hopped around the confined space, rather pathetically trying to get free. Suddenly Y/N felt sick to her stomach and tears came to her eyes. 

She looked at Dean. “I wanna let him go.” She said quietly so only he could hear. 

Dean frowned at her. “What are you talking about? In like two minutes we’re gonna kill it and then look at its guts.” He said, trying to tease Y/N out of her concern for the frog.

But it didn’t work. Y/N shook her head, her tears falling fast now. “No, Dean, don’t kill it. I don’t wanna kill it. Look at him.” She said pointing to the little green creature desperately hopping around as though it could sense its impending doom.

Dean shook his head, trying to reason with her. “Y/N it’s just a frog. It isn’t gonna feel anything, the cotton ball will just make him fall asleep and then he'll die.” 

But Y/N was shaking her head, her eyes slightly frantic as Mrs. Abernathy reached the front of the classroom, having given everyone their frogs. Suddenly Y/N grabbed the jar and yanked it open, allowing the desperate frog to immediately hop away. 

She realized her mistake quickly as the frog simply jumped up onto another table and made the boys there scream and jump back, knocking their own frog to the floor so it smashed open, giving a second frog its freedom. The class erupted into chaos as the two frogs hopped around the classroom. Three more frogs had their jars smashed open as some kids scattered and stood on chairs, and some kids chased after the frogs.

Eventually, when all the frogs were finally rounded up and put back into new jars, (much to Y/N’s dismay) Mrs. Abernathy began looking for a culprit. She stood in front of Y/N’s desk and her always stern face was particularly harsh as she pointed a bony finger at her.

“That frog came from your desk, Miss Y/L/N, do you care to explain yourself?”

Before Y/N could answer, Dean stood up. “It was me. I opened the jar.”

Y/N looked at him, frowning and shaking her head. But Dean waved his hand at her. “Y/N told me not to, but I thought it would be funny if he got out.” He shrugged and gave a wholly unrepentant grin. “And it really was.”

Y/N tried to say something, but Mrs. Abernathy was too busy grabbing ahold of Dean’s arm and manhandling him out of the room. “Principal Yates is going to hear about this, young man.”

Y/N felt her stomach plummet as Dean was yanked out of the classroom. She sat quietly at her desk, guilty and sick feeling, as the other kids took full advantage of the teacherless classroom to discuss the frog escapade - loudly and with many sound effects. 

When Mrs. Abernathy returned, Dean wasn’t with her. Y/N tried to talk to her and explain the truth, but the teacher wouldn’t listen.

“Enough!” She shouted angrily. “There has been more than enough disruption in this classroom for today. Sit down and take out your math textbook.” Y/N opened her mouth and the old lady sliced her hand through the air. “Now!” She barked loudly, making all the other students pull their textbooks out as well.

Y/N didn’t see Dean again until the end of school. He was walking down the side road that led to the motel they were all staying in.

“Dean, wait up!” She called to him and he slowed his long stride. When she reached him she shook her head. “What were you thinking? Why did you say you did it?”

Dean shrugged. “Dunno. I just like to see Abernathy go berserk.” He said with a lazy smile.

Y/N frowned. “You got in trouble. Did you get detention again, or -” She stopped still and gasped. “Were you suspended?”

Dean just shook his head and kept walking. “No, it’s fine.”

Y/N ran after him. “What do you mean? What did Mr. Yates do?” When Dean just sped up and kept walking Y/N reached out and grabbed his hand, trying to force him to stop.

Dean winced and inhaled sharply, his face contorting in pain. He tried to pull his hand away, but Y/N had already seen the huge red welts that were spread over his palm and fingers. Tears immediately flooded her eyes and fell down her cheeks as she stepped closer and cradled his hand in hers.

“He gave you the strap?” She whispered, horrified at the image of Dean’s hands being struck over and over with the thick leather strap the principal kept hanging just outside his office.

Dean shrugged as Y/N lifted his other hand and looked at the damage there too. “Yep, five licks for each hand. Said it was supposed to make me remember to not let the devil use my idle hands for mischief.” He rolled his eyes. “I can’t wait till we're out of this bible-thumping, piece of shit town.”

Despite the life they led, Y/N was still sheltered enough that hearing Dean swear felt rebellious and she blushed a little. Then she sniffled and looked at Dean with remorse suffusing her face. “I’m so sorry. I never should have done it. And I really wish you hadn’t said it was you. I should have been the one getting strapped.”

Dean frowned darkly. “No, that would have been so much worse.” He said quickly. 

Y/N’s brow wrinkled in confusion. “What do you mean?”

Dean’s face flushed and he just shrugged and pulled his hands away from her. “No, I mean - I just mean, you know I’m a hunter, I’m used to it. I mean the last hunt I went out on, I took down a werewolf.” He bragged. “You and Sammy, you’re still soft.”

Y/N scoffed at that, running to keep up with him as he walked on. “Whatever, oh great Winchester. ‘Took down a werewolf’? I feel like you probably had some help from your dad and mine.” She said, rolling her eyes.

“Doesn’t matter! I still fought him.” He argued, and the fight was back on. 

***

Within a few years though, Sam and Y/N did begin to join the hunts. They started slowly, hunting ghouls and wraiths, and other easier-to-hunt monsters.

However, in Y/N and Dean's Junior year, the end of middle school for Sam, their Dads began asking more of them, claiming that they needed to concentrate on learning to hunt. They told the two of them that they were needed for more important things than algebra. That was when Dean dropped out of high school, going to work with them and hunting full time. 

He told Y/N that he was just sick of school, and he’d never need it anyway. But Y/N knew he’d done it to give their Dads the help they wanted while giving her and Sam more time to be students.

By the time they were sixteen Y/N had figured Dean out. He still teased her mercilessly, constantly trying to annoy her with his hard rock, making fun of the boy bands she listened to. When she scored a ninety-five on her chemistry test, he’d called her poindexter for two weeks straight. 

But he was also fiercely protective, and he would bloody the nose of anyone who tried to hurt either her or Sam.

And she knew she was right about why he dropped out of school. Sometimes, when she and Sam were sitting around the motel room doing homework together, discussing the novel one of them was reading, or trying to make sense of trigonometry, she’d look up and catch Dean watching them with a look of longing on his face as he was cleaning weapons.

It was always gone in an instant when he noticed her watching, and he’d usually crack some kind of joke about what nerds they were, but Y/N knew what she saw. She would usually suggest that they stop their homework and watch a movie. Or she’d beg Dean to take them for a ride in the Impala that he’d inherited when he turned sixteen and his dad bought a truck. He’d always act like it was a huge pain, but she knew he loved it when they all piled into the car, rolled the windows down, and pretended to be carefree teens for a while.

She knew him and he couldn't get anything past her.

What did sneak up on Y/N, however, was how much she actually liked Dean. Like…like-liked him.

It became clear to her one day when she was seventeen, and in her senior year. Dean swung by one afternoon to pick up her and Sam after school. He was standing outside, leaning against his beloved car, waiting for them to show. She rounded the corner with a few girls she was doing a group project with; they were trying to iron out details of when they were going to meet to collaborate. 

When she saw Dean waiting there, she raised her hand to let him know she saw him and she was coming. Sam bolted past her and ran to the car. “Tell him I’m coming!” Y/N yelled after him.

She turned back to the discussion wanting to hurry up so she didn’t miss her chance at a ride. But all of the girls were just staring at her like she’d grown a second head.

“What?” She asked, self consciously covering her face slightly, worried she had something in her teeth.

The short girl to her right, Tracy she thought her name was, sputtered slightly and then looked pointedly at Dean. “Are you kidding me? What? Who?” She asked, flipping her hand quickly in Dean’s direction. “Who the hell is that?”

“Oh,” Y/N responded slightly confused, “that’s just Dean.”

“Dean?” The red-headed girl across from her asked. “Is he your brother?”

“What? Ew! No.” Y/N denied vehemently, and it took her a moment to figure out why that idea grossed her out so much. When the girl with braces (Sheila?) spoke though, the reason hit Y/N like a Mac truck.

“He’s so ridiculously hot!” Sheila exclaimed and all the other girls agreed quickly, giving giggly little moans and being incredibly obvious about staring at Dean.

At first Y/N’s mind wanted to mock that idea, remnants of their childhood rivalries and bickering jumping forward. But then she looked back at him where he still stood, talking to Sam. 

Holy crap, she realized with a bolt of lightning kind of realization, he really is ridiculously hot.

He wore black jeans and his black Metallica t-shirt which stretched tightly across his newly broadened shoulders. His hair was thick and perpetually looked like he’d carelessly run his fingers through it. His smile was bright and blinding even across the schoolyard, and though none of them could see it, she knew his eyes would be twinkling in that mischievous way they did when he was bent on getting into trouble.

She could see that he was noticing all the attention he was getting, and he patted Sam on the shoulder and started to walk towards them. Sam gave a full-body eye roll and got into the back seat.

The girls all turned shrill as he approached, laughing like dying hyenas. Y/N felt anger start to burn in her stomach and it confused her. But when Dean stopped in front of them and smiled charmingly at each of them, Y/N recognized that it was jealousy turning her heart green and she was shocked. 

“Hello, ladies.” Dean said in a would-be suave kind of way. It made Y/N roll her eyes, but her classmates practically swooned. 

A chorus of dreamy hellos followed and Y/N grabbed on to Dean to pull him away. But Dean resisted and shoved his hands in his pockets. “So I’ve, uh, got my car over there.” He said, thumbing towards the Impala, his face full of teenage boy pride. “Anyone need a lift?”

All of them began nodding and squealing, but Y/N shouted over them. “No, it’s fine, Dean, let’s just go. They’re good.” She succeeded in dragging him off but when they were a few yards away from them, Y/N ran back quickly to warn her temporary classmates, using a paraphrased version of she and Dean’s childhood refrain.

“Stay away from him. He’s mine and you can’t have him.”

***

Once Y/N realized her feelings for Dean, things became very awkward for her. All the things that used to be simple, sitting beside him to watch a movie, training with him for hunts, simply sitting across the room from him and looking at him - they all became unbearable situations that she didn’t know how to deal with.

When she sat beside him now she could feel the way he radiated warmth, she could feel her heart skip a beat when he’d shift his leg so his thigh pressed against hers. When they were training, simple holds that she had only ever cared about breaking out of before, now left her breathing heavy. When his big hand would wrap around her wrist or whenever he'd reach his strong arms around her waist from behind, it was everything she could do not to just sink into his arms like putty. 

About a week and a half after her epiphany hit, she and Dean were alone in the motel room, sparring, and he pushed her up against a wall, pinning her there and expecting she'd try to get out. But he was breathing softly across her cheek, his face inches from hers and her whole body started tingling, making her lose her grip on the knife she held. It fell from her grasp and ended up slicing his calf on the way down.

“Aah! Jesus!” Dean shouted as he let her go and hobbled away from her. “What the hell, Y/N? What’s wrong with you?”

He sat down on the bed and Y/N ran over to pull up his slashed jeans, gasping at the long wound that bled down the side of his calf.

“Oh my god, Dean!” She said, jumping up and quickly grabbing the first aid kit. She got back on her knees beside the bed and pressed pads of gauze against his leg to stop the bleeding. She looked up into his face and saw his eyes closed in pain. “I’m so sorry! I just…”

Tears hit the backs of her eyes and she shook her head, looking back at his leg. “God, I’m so sorry.” She repeated in a teary voice.

“Hey.” Dean said as he lifted her chin so she was looking at him again. His thumb brushed away a tear that fell down her cheek. “Sweetheart, it's fine. No need for tears. I’ve survived worse.”

Y/N’s breath stilled in her chest and she whispered quietly. “You’ve never called me that before…sweetheart.”

Dean immediately tried to act casual, but he wasn’t a very good actor. “I didn’t mean anything by it. Don’t, like, freak out about it.”

Y/N nodded and went back to caring for his wound. Once she got the bleeding stopped, she could see it wasn’t very deep. As she cleaned it, she could feel the tension between them rising, like something thick and palpable. 

Dean cleared his throat. “Did you, uh…I mean do you want me to call you that? Or, I mean…did you like it?”

Y/N felt her cheeks turn a burning red and she shrugged as she taped a big piece of gauze over the long cut. “I dunno.” Was her only response.

She was finished taking care of him, so she stood up and started to walk away. But Dean’s hand shot out and grabbed her by the back of her t-shirt. He let go as she turned back to face him. 

“Why have you been so weird lately?”

Y/N laughed nervously. “What are you talking about?”

Dean stood up and pressed closer to her, slipping his hand around her so that it laid against the small of her back. Her blood pumped hard in her veins and she licked her lips. Dean’s jaw clenched and his eyes fell to her mouth.

“I mean that you’ve been weird with me all week. Ever since I picked you up at school and you got all jealous.”

Y/N’s jaw dropped open before she slammed it shut and spluttered. “Whatever! You wish! Like I care about the dozens of girls you riffle through in every town we stay in.”

Dean moved closer to her and brought his other hand up to cup her cheek and trail his fingers along her jawbone. “I mean…it does actually seem like you care a little bit.” 

He walked her backwards a few more steps so that she was pressed up against the wardrobe that sat in the corner of the room. His eyes roamed over her face and then he looked deeply into her eyes, and his green-eyed gaze made her feel exposed, like he could see into her soul so there was no point in lying to him. He’d always known how she felt. He knew when she was scared, knew when she was annoyed, and when she was furious; he knew her sadness and the loneliness that seized her sometimes. 

He always knew, and he always knew just how to make things better for her. She’d already realized that she was actually incredibly attracted to him, but now she realized that he was also her best friend. She felt incredibly stupid for not realizing that sooner. She’d always thought of him as this annoying gnat that wouldn’t leave her alone. But really he was the person who knew her the best, the one she was never afraid to go to for anything, the one she knew would always have her back.

Dean’s breath was soft against her lips as he hovered there. “So, do you care, Y/N? Even a little?”

She could do nothing but nod, and then close the distance between them, pressing her lips against his briefly before pulling back, terrified to see his reaction. 

But a wide, slightly goofy smile spread across his face and it made her smile in return. “I’m gonna take that as a yes.” He said before he planted his mouth over hers and kissed her for real. 

She’d never been kissed before, but she’d imagined it many times. This was nothing like she’d imagined. It was much wetter, much hotter, and much more all-consuming than she’d imagined it would be. Her head was swimming, and she felt like she might pass out. He swept his tongue into her mouth and she moaned. 

The thought of “french kissing” had always weirded her out a little. Who wanted someone else’s tongue in their mouth? But Dean’s tongue was silky and skillful as he trailed it along the roof of her mouth. It felt possessive and that feeling made her stomach clench in a pleasant and shaky kind of way. 

When she reciprocated, slowly allowing her tongue to trail along his, Dean groaned and slipped both his hands down over her hips to press her closer to him. She gasped as she felt his hard on through his jeans, pressing against her lower belly. 

Dean pulled his mouth away from her and dropped his forehead to her shoulder, before turning his head and pressing soft kisses along her neck.

“Sorry.” He said gruffly. “It’s just…I mean, fuck you’re crazy hot. Sorry.” He said again, but Y/N giggled, more thrilled than she could say at his reaction to her and to their kisses.

“But,” Dean continued, “there’s no rush or anything, no rush to, you know, do anything.”  He raised his head to look her in the eye. “I’m just so glad that you're, uh…that you like me, you know…like that. I’ve liked you for so long.”

He brushed his lips across hers. “Been wanting to kiss you since we were about eleven years old.”

Y/N’s eyes widened. “Seriously? I just realized last week that I wanted to kiss you. How have you known this long, and not tried to kiss me even once?”

Dean shrugged sheepishly. “Never thought you’d want me to, and I wasn't about to try something and weird you out…or make you stay away from me. But then, you seemed so jealous the other day, and the daggers you were shooting at those other chicks gave me some reason to hope. Then you’ve been so weird ever since.”

Y/N snorted. “Whatever, I wasn’t shooting any daggers. I’ve been very cool and collected this whole time.” She lied.

Dean laughed. “Yeah, the gaping wound on my leg says otherwise.”

“Hey, don’t blame me because you lost focus and got yourself hurt.” Y/N said haughtily. 

“Lost focus? I did not lose focus. You got all swoony and dropped the damn knife.”

“That’s totally not true. You know you always - “

Suddenly Dean cut her off with another kiss, one that was deep and probing and left Y/N completely senseless.

Dean’s breathing was harsh and shallow too as he rested his forehead on hers and spoke against her lips.

“God, I’ve always wanted to do that.”

“Kiss me?” Y/N asked, her eyes still closed.

“No. Shut you up.”

It took Y/N a moment to register his words and then her eyes popped open and she saw his wide, mischievous grin and punched his upper arm lightly. “You’re an asshole.”

Dean nodded and yanked her tight against him. “Yeah, but I’m your asshole.”

Y/N laughed. “Yes.” She nodded. “But let’s just remember who kissed who first.”

1 - Jensen RPF + Any/All characters Jensen plays. @lyarr24 @deans-spinster-witch @impalaslytherin @maggiegirl17 @akshi8278 @candy-coated-misery0731 @deanswaywardgirl @slytherinlyn314 @globetrotter28 @jensensgirl @perpetualabsurdity @tristanrosspada-ackles @djs8891 @muhahaha303 @kayyay1219 @emily-winchester @recoveringpastaaddict @maximumkillshot @mimaria420 @sacriceria @envyaurora95 @lacilou @jc-winchester @spnwoman @mimi-luvzyu @jackles010378

2 - Dean Winchester Fics Only. @carryonwaywardgirl

3 - Any/All Fics (regardless of fandom/character.) @kazsrm67 @sexyvixen7 @alexxavicry @nancymcl @spalady26 @slut-for-evans-stan

4 - Everything (includes fan vid/DOOL edits as well) @unabashed-lover-of-fictional-men @maliburenee @supernatural4life2022 @spn730015 @kickingitwithkirk @waywardbaby @foxyjwls007 @deanwanddamons @deandreamernp @deanwithscissors @myloversgone @snowlovespie @leigh70 @all-alone-he-turns-to-stone @charred-angelwings @hopefuldreamers-world @jensensgotyoudean @thoughts-and-funnies @magssteenkamp @princessmisery666 @eevvvaa @mishkatelwarriorgoddess @waynes-multiverse @mrsjenniferwinchester @bernasaurus @jensenslady79 @courtn92 @avanatural @ellie-andthemachine @this-is-me19 @roseblue373 @katbratsupernaturalwhore @fanfic-n-tabulous @k-slla @stoneyggirl2

[hepdenerose]

Snowy Rows

Contradictory reports of when and where wintry showers were likely on a grey Wednesday, we revisited the cathedral.  The rookery lent an aspect of foreboding to the gloom making the golden hands of the Town Hall clock seem incongruous.  I headed over for an ace city map and CAMRA leaflet from the TIC while Phil did his best to recreate lost shots.  Beside the Dublin Packet, a redbrick arch led to…

[warwickroyals]

Sunderland's Royal Jewel Vault (12/∞) ♛

↬ Queen Matilda Mary's Pearl Fringe Tiara

Out of all the tiaras in Sunderland's royal jewelry box, Queen Matilda's Pearl Fringe is perhaps the most remarkable. The tiara, which Queen Irene once called a wall of diamonds, is instantly recognizable due to its classic design with an intriguing twist. In 1908, the Prince and Princess of Danforth celebrated their silver wedding anniversary. The occasion was a great excuse for lavish celebrations and, more importantly, for Sunderland's courtiers to curry favour with extravagant gifts. Predictably, this turned gift-giving into a fierce competition between aristocratic families, who vied for the most expensive gift. To produce a magnificent gift, a group of prominent women formed an uneasy alliance. The three women included: the Marchioness of Bathurst (wife of the current Conservative prime minister), the Countess of Bloor and the Countess Farnsworth (the paternal great-aunt of the future Tatiana, Princess of Danforth). Pooling their combined wealth, the women were able to afford a major piece of jewelry for the princess. They quarrelled throughout the process, notably over the tiara's design and who would present the gift at Chester Palace, but the princess herself was impressed with their effort. The resulting tiara was a spectacular fringe tiara of white and yellow gold set with diamonds. Much to Matilda's delight, the tiara bore similarities to Queen Caroline's Fringe Tiara, a favourite of her estranged mother-in-law Queen Alexandra. The tiara featured sixty brilliant-set graduated bars and drop pearl toppers which cloud easily removed. Futuring over 400 diamonds, it cost around $7,480. Princess Matilda took an instant liking to the tiara, choosing to debut it at the wedding of her eldest surviving son, the Duke of Woodbine to Lady Anne Sunningdale, in 1913. At the wedding, the tiara generated interest from the press and public, who marvelled at the tiara's dazzling beauty. When Matilda Mary became queen in 1921, it continued to maintain the title of her most recognizable tiara. When Matilda Mary died in 1945, it was inherited by her daughter-in-law Anne. Despite having not one but two other fringe tiaras, wore the tiara consistently throughout her husband's reign. Posing in it for multiple portraits. Queen Anne died in 1973, and along with most of her personal jewels, she bequeathed the tiara to her granddaughter-in-law, Queen Irene. The piece quickly became a central part of Irene’s jewelry collection, being worn frequently throughout Irene and Louis's first European tour in 1973-4 where the press once again gawked at the tiara's enthralling row of diamonds. It is one of the few tiaras Irene has worn consistently throughout her tenure as queen, having appeared during foreign tours, at royal premieres, and at state banquets across the world.

[niightegoblingtyime]

Anyone else notice that this is the second time in a row that Jon Chester has selected a report dealing with someone whose name is adjacent to Alice???

Tmagp 11 had Alison, tmagp 14 had Alyssa

Jon Chester what are you trying to tell us about Alice

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

David Rowe

* * * *

LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

A number of people telling me we all need a night off had almost convinced me not to write tonight. 

But then Trump spoke at a rally in Latrobe, Pennsylvania, where he told a long, meandering story about golfing legend Arnold Palmer that ended with praise for Palmer’s… anatomy. 

He went on to call Vice President Kamala Harris—whose name he deliberately mispronounced—“a sh*t vice president. The worst. You’re the worst vice president. Kamala, you’re fired. Get the hell out of here, you’re fired. Get out of here. Get the hell out of here, Kamala.”  

As Trump’s remarks got weirder and weirder, the Fox News Channel cut away and instead showed Harris being cheered at a packed, exuberant, super-charged rally in Georgia. 

Trump’s speech comes on top of his repeated backing out of interviews and his bizarre appearances. Last night, his advice to an audience in Detroit to vote took its own wild turn: “Jill, get your fat husband off the couch,” he said. “Get that fat pig off the couch. Tell him to go and vote for Trump, he’s going to save our country. Get that guy the hell off our— get him up, Jill, slap him around. Get him up. Get him up, Jill. We want him off the couch to get out and vote.” 

Trump’s performances over the past few days seem to confirm that the 2024 October surprise is the increasingly obvious mental incapacity of the Republican candidate for president. 

It seems clear that a vote for Trump is really a vote for his running mate, Ohio senator J.D. Vance, who if he becomes president will be the youngest American president in our history. At 40 years old, he is two years younger than Theodore Roosevelt was when he took office in 1901 at 42. Vance would also be one of the least experienced presidents ever. His 18 months in the Senate has given him only slightly more experience in office than Chester Alan Arthur, who succeeded James Garfield in 1881. Arthur was a political operative who had never held elected office at all before becoming vice president. 

I’ll be back at the wheel tomorrow.

LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

HEATHER COX RICHARDSON

[myloveforhergoeson]

Online Songs - Chapter 1

Find me on wattpad + ao3!

Chapter 1: Must Have Done Something Right ~ 3k

With shaking hands, Daisy-Mae Denton walked into the Clear Creek High School Public Library. 

What was usually a quaint, quiet space to read or sketch over her summer break was filled with the hustle and bustle of other students now that their first day had ended. The crisp smell of comfort and old paper swallowed entirely by the pungent scent of bodies, bodies, and more bodies.

Plenty of her fellow classmates had flooded the space, taking up the sage green couches she loved to curl up on as friend groups caught up, sitting on the floor between the endless rows of shelving while she tried to weave through to the non-fiction section, picking things up from their assigned spots and setting them down elsewhere just as she turned the corner down another row of books. 

The history assignment she clutched should have been the main source of her anxiety, because a multi-page essay handed out on the first day was never a good sign, but in reality, that was the one thing keeping her together as she passed the others her age, keeping her eyes trained on her brown penny loafers for as long as it took to reach the 970s.

If 900 is History and Geography… And 970 is North American History… That makes United States History- 

“Maisie! Duck!” 

Just as her fingers reached out to trace the 973 call number at the spine of the first US history book, she processed the words and crouched as quickly as she could. A football spiraled right through the area where her head used to be in a perfect arc from one side of the long, four-tiered shelf to the other. Her heart began to painfully pound as the junior who threw it rushed past her, clad in his blue and silver varsity jacket.

Rory Jenkins. They’d been in the same classes together since elementary school. 

Shoulders brushing in the narrow space when Daisy straightened herself upright once more, Rory hurried over to his receiver, who was laughing, “Nice one!”

Cheeks heating, Daisy gripped the paper in her hands tighter, hardly able to register what he’d said with all of the blood rushing to her ears. 

He’s laughing at you.

The 973s filled her vision, allowing her to confirm her memory of the Dewey Decimal System as the first title about US history popped up. A book about World War Two; Way too late in the timeline. Mrs. Gruben had barely gotten through her introduction to the course and its extensive quarterly essay project before touching briefly on the settling of the first colony at Jamestown right as the bell rang. 

Eyes flicking down the line until she found a title related to colonial times, Rory’s laughter filled her ears again. Her awkward duck couldn’t have been that funny. Neither was his mash-up of her first name. 

When she turned to correct him, he and his friend were already at the opposite end of the long shelving, backs turned to her as their shoulders shook. One of the librarians at the help desk held a finger to her lips, shushing them as they walked by. 

Though she wasn’t able to shake her feelings of unease, grabbing the first book that looked helpful did get Daisy back on track. She was here to get a jumpstart on her work after all. 

Please use three primary sources, five secondary sources, and this YouTube documentary to construct your thesis, the student read from the sheet in her hand. Having the freedom to choose what documents and books to use was reassuring, she had no problem scouring the shelves for whatever she needed, and the original Jamestown site was only about an hour's drive away from her hometown of Chester, Virginia. Gathering the necessary sources would be no problem.

It was the printed-out YouTube link that scared her the most. 

Neatly placing the assignment instructions on the book's cover and tucking it between her arm and hip, Daisy kept browsing, picking out any title that caught her eye. Checking out books on a desired topic was a snap, especially with such a nice, full library on Clear Creek’s campus; Her almost perfect memory of the building’s layout from a lifetime of visits with her Nana made it even easier. 

Holding all the information she could between the lines of the texts as she stacked them up was reassuring. Everything she should need was filled into the bent, yellowing pages, perfectly spelled out for her and her needs. Far better than some silly online documentary she’d have to keep pausing and rewinding over and over again as she wrote down the facts she’d need in her notebook. 

By the time she’d found an empty table and set her impressive stack down, most of the other students had trickled out. Silently, she thanked God she didn’t have to ask someone if she could take the seat next to them, that was always so embarrassing. Her watch read 3:30. Had she really been lost among the shelves for half an hour? Nana would be proud. 

Besides, she wouldn’t be expected to be home until her Grandad returned from his art studio around 5… If she were there any sooner her older brother, Jay-Jay, would certainly pester her to help him whip up whatever recipe suited his wild whims. Cooking was his thing, certainly not hers, though she was always happy to partake in his impressive dishes. 

So, for the time being, she grabbed her spiraled history notebook from the beige messenger bag leaning on the leg of the plastic chair she sat in, and opened the cover to the first book, Jamestown: A Legacy, and dove back in time. 

At least, she tried to, but the keyboard of the computer in front of her was annoyingly large. When she allowed the book to fall completely open, the cover hit one of the keys and the bright blue screen flicked on, reflecting off the lens of her bronze-lined glasses. 

Daisy wasn’t a technophobe, as her best friend Makana Aukai liked to call her, but she wasn’t all that fond of the way the computers had overtaken her beloved library over the years. Less space for her note-taking, and more space for a blindingly bright monitor in her face while she was trying to learn. The greatest civilizations in history had gotten along just fine without the internet, all the way from Mesopotamia to Ancient Egypt to the modern United States, so why couldn’t she? 

Besides, it seemed like the models changed every year. No one had the time to keep learning how to use these new devices for information when the encyclopedia and reference books worked perfectly fine. Or they did when given the proper space to use them.

Her eyes flicked back to the assignment sheet. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to check out the documentary early now that the computer was awake. It’s not like she had a computer of her own to watch it on at home. 

Slowly taking her index fingers to the keys, she typed out her student ID into the first box labeled username. White polish on her nails stood out starkly against the black of the keys. 

Password was the stumper. Having set this account up two years ago at the beginning of her freshman year, she had no clue what she’d chosen to protect her account. 

She typed out password, as that seemed the most logical choice. It’d be impossible to forget the word if it was right there on the screen. The box wiggled after she pressed the enter key. 

A small pop-up filled her vision asking What street did you live on growing up? 

Letter by letter she squeezed out Hilltop Avenue. 

An image of the large white colonial her grandparents owned filled her vision, picturing the expansive green lawn and gorgeous forest surrounding it. The street Jay-Jay taught her to ride a bike on, the large open spaces they’d build leaf piles in when fall came. 

Once that answer was accepted, another question appeared. What was the name of your first pet?

That was an easy one, Poppy. 

Daisy’s aging calico was her first and only pet, given to her by her grandparents on her tenth birthday. Originally, Poppy had been a way for Daisy to learn about the responsibility of learning to care for another living being, but the other members of her family were just as obsessed with the cat as she was. Poppy’s toys littered their carpet, her food taking up a whole shelf in the fridge, and her fur clung to their clothing as tightly as their little cuddle bug did when everyone gathered in the study in the evenings to read together. 

Also accepted, she was then prompted to change her password, once and for all picking password before she was brought to the desktop - An image of the front of her high school during the wintertime, snow blanketing the gorgeous brick buildings. Now, she had to get to YouTube, which she believed was easier said than done. 

None of the icons on the left side of the screen looked like the company logo on the videos she’d seen Makana pull up. Awesome. 

Internet Explorer looked promising, so she maneuvered the mouse in that direction and clicked on the blue and yellow icon, waiting to see what would happen. A small outline appeared around the picture, but beyond that, nothing, so she clicked it again. Once more, nothing. 

So stupid, she thought to herself clicking on it over and over until something changed. Piece of junk!

A few moments later a larger box appeared in the middle of the screen, the pointer of the mouse icon turning into a spinning wheel for a few seconds before the Google search bar appeared on a white background. Now, this Daisy knew how to do. Whatever she put in the smaller bar under the logo would pull up just what she was looking for. 

YouTube, her fingers managed, enter. 

This time, an unfamiliar image pulled up in the box, and this was usually where Makana shone, picking out something to show her friend to try and “cure” her “internet aversion.” So far nothing she’d picked had made Daisy want to explore the platform any further, but now that she knew it housed history documentaries too, that might pique her interest far more than the poor excuse for sketch comedy Kana always pulled up. 

The search bar was a little tougher to find this time, at the top of the tab instead of in the middle, and Daisy pulled the essay instruction sheet out and began to slowly copy the link Mrs. Gruben had added in. One by one, she read the letter out on the paper and meticulously searched for it on the keyboard. Why the letters weren’t in alphabetical order was beyond her, and it probably took her five minutes to struggle out every single letter, but eventually, she was confident enough to hit enter one more time and wait for the video to pull itself up. 

Nightmare In Jamestown sounded awfully intriguing, especially given the sordid actions of the settlers against the Indigenous people who had called the land home long before their boats arrived, but that title didn’t show up on her screen.

Check Yes, Juliet - Kendall K popped up instead, causing her eyes to flicker up to the bar where she’d painstakingly typed out the long link. Apparently, she’d gotten something wrong and it had taken her to the wrong video. 

Just as she was about to click away and try again, the small black box changed. In its place, a blond boy who looked about her age filled the screen. Beanie and flannel-clad, he sat on his bed, presumably in his bedroom with a brown guitar laid across his lap. Carefully, he adjusted the black and silver lightning bolt strap across his shoulders and cleared his throat. 

“Hey, this is Kendall…” He appeared uncomfortable speaking to the camera, eyes flickering upward from the strings like he was looking right at Daisy. 

Her chest tightened. 

A few more seconds passed and Kendall cleared his throat, taking the pick clasped between his fingers to the strings and strumming out a quick chord. When he smiled, sheepish, two dimples cut into his cheeks. “My friends dared me to try this out - Here goes nothing.”

The video was loud, probably far louder than it should have been playing in a library, but she had no idea how to turn it down. However, the moment he began to sing the words, fingers flying across the fretboard like it was nothing, she wanted to make it even louder. 

Kendall’s voice was beyond captivating, siren-like, she’d argue, and she found herself enthralled before he even hit the chorus. It was clear, yet sultry… Smooth, with a gruff edge. Daisy had never heard anything like it.

He kept looking in different directions as he sang, changing it up when he needed to take in more air or switch his strumming pace, but near the end, he looked back at the camera again and she swore he could see her on the other side of the screen, piercing swirls of green and flecks of yellow coming through even with the poor video quality. It didn’t help that he was singing what sounded like a love song…

Cute… She caught herself thinking, propping her chin in her hand as she leaned into the screen, as if it would give her a better view of him. The wall behind him boasted a handful of posters for people she’d never seen before and a bunch of pictures that were too small to make out. A few medals were tacked up by his headboard, and what looked like a hockey stick was propped up by the wooden frame. 

Daisy couldn’t look away, attempting to decipher every pixel of the video she could to learn more about this boy with the beautiful voice. Which was, as she came to realize once he sang out a final, “Forever we’ll be, you and me…” completely irrational. Kendall had made this video to show off his musical prowess, not to be studied by some stranger. 

Despite this, she quickly gripped the mouse and shook it over the video until the bar at the bottom appeared and she hit the two bars sitting next to each other. Slowly, she followed along the red line indicating the watch time and grabbed the circle at the end, pulling it back to the beginning and starting the video again. Makana did that at all the funny parts of her favorite videos to see them play over and over. 

“Hey, this is Kendall…”

Watching the video again felt like the first time, though this time, she closed her eyes and focused on the lyrics, trying to remember all the parts of his face. And maybe, she imagined he was singing to her for a few seconds, before feeling her cheeks heat and shaking the thought out of her head. He certainly didn’t deserve to be ogled over as much as he deserved to be picked apart based on his bedroom. 

But, the sweep of his blond hair into his eyes when he looked down at the strings had her head spinning. She couldn’t help her mind from wandering just slightly. 

Besides, seeing him on the screen allowed her to skip the fear of meeting someone new and potentially embarrassing or humiliating herself like she normally did. Getting thrust into social situations against her will was at the top of the list of things Daisy hated, but at least this way, she could watch the video and admire Kendall’s talent judgment-free. It was halfway social, especially if she kept pretending the song was meant for her.

Though… I bet he’s sweet when the camera’s off too…

Daisy pulled at the neck of her brown sweater. The library was never this warm. Had someone turned the thermostat by the bathroom earlier as a prank?

When the song ended, she rewound it. Then again. The stack of history books towering beside her all but forgotten. 

“Ms. Denton?” Someone behind her asked, and the girl practically jumped out of her skin. She didn’t even pause the video as she turned in the chair, looking at the older woman behind her. Ms. Peabody, one of Nana's friends, who was also the head of the library, stood over her. “Would you mind putting some headphones in if you’re going to watch something?” 

The heat creeping up her face from embarrassment quickly turned into the fires of shame. “O-oh. Of course. Sorry… Sorry.”

Scrambling, her hands were trembling at the unexpected interaction before they stabilized themselves on the plastic mouse. Daisy paused the video as quickly as she could. 

Headphones. Why didn’t you think of that? Ms. Peabody’s going to complain to Nana next time they see each other.

“Thank you, dear,” The older woman smiled, flipping one side of her cardigan over the other before she turned to walk away. A second later, she turned back. “Is that a friend of yours?” 

Eyes widening, Daisy turned from Ms. Peabody’s intense gaze, only to find her line of sight locking with Kendall’s on the screen. Now she was back to flushing with embarrassment, dropping her view to her shaking hands. “No. I just… found this. I’ll turn it off. Sorry.”

“No? What a shame. He’s very handsome.”

Daisy was about to combust in her seat, heart leaping up and down her throat like the drop dower at the Chesterfield County Fair. Brain freezing, she was unable to come up with anything to say before Ms. Peabody smiled, crow's feet by her eyes crinkling before she headed back over in the direction of the help desk. 

He was handsome. So handsome Daisy couldn’t breathe. What did that say about her? 

This poor stranger, she chastised herself, about to click off the video, gather her books, and head home, before she noticed a section at the bottom of the video labeled Add a comment. 

It didn’t appear as though anyone else had, which was shocking to her, considering his undisputable talent. No one had anything to say about the ease at which he played the guitar or his unique tone of voice? Not even one comment about his choice of song or how cute he looked in that beanie?

No… That last one wasn’t as relevant, but the thought swirled in Daisy’s mind regardless. 

What a shame, I suppose I should change that.Lacing her fingers together, Daisy turned her palms outward, cracking them with eight satisfying pops. Swallowing thickly, she placed her index fingers on the keys and slowly began to piece her thoughts together.

--

eee hi! welcome to the first chapter of online songs - i hope you enjoy! <3 be sure to check out my other works in the btr fandom too :) lmk what you think!!