#after i literally just described getting SCREWED OVER. like i know i was meant to just take the 'glad youre here'

[laylanatorseventeen]

Been out in the garden center for like one week and a position as the online order puller opens up. I'm applying and i hope i get it.

If the people in the garden center act all surprised then it's their own fault bc idk how all these normies may communicate but when someone says something like "you happy to be back?" Or "you staying for good?" and they either a)say nothing b)grunt noncommittally or c)say "I guess", that does not seem to me to be a sign of contentment

[argentnoelle]

Kira is Light Yagami’s Excuse

(read on ao3) The central interpretation that Death Note puts forth is that Light was just a teenager, an accomplished student who had everything going for him. He couldn’t handle having screwed up massively by accidentally murdering two guys, and ended up being non-magically corrupted by the power to kill. “Kira” is the name given to Light’s acts of murder by the general public. After quickly taking this in stride, thinking of Kira and Light as different entities explicitly allows Light to disassociate himself from situations that make him uncomfortable, as well as hype himself up with ideas about how grand his story is. You can see this actually happening in the early parts of the manga quite a bit.

During the Lind L. Tailor broadcast in chapter 2, L says to Light, “what you are doing... is evil!!” to which Light responds by completely flying off the handle. “Me... evil? I am righteous! I’m the hero who’s liberating people from fear. I’m the savior who’s going to be like a god of this perfect new world! Those who try to fight me... they’re the evil ones!!” and he unwisely writes down Lind L Tailor’s name and then gloats about it. “Now we’ll see what happens to those who offend Lord Kira.” By chapter 3, you have Light’s listless reaction to the epic fight between L and Kira that’s now in all the papers; he describes it to Ryuk as “take one step out of the house, all you hear about is L and Kira. You can’t avoid it, even if you want to... I guess it might be pretty interesting if I wasn’t Kira.” But after describing the stories that are in the papers, the radio, and TV, his dialogue changes to “if Kira pays too much attention to this stuff, it just stresses him out. Gotta give his mind a rest, once in a while.” When Light gets too close to the truth (being suddenly some kind of supervillain celebrity in a fight to the death with some shadowy entity “L” who has already figured out basically where he lives is stressing him out) he has to step back by not only framing his stress as a hypothetical, and his listlessness as logical, but also by putting the whole situation off onto “Kira” who has now in the space of a paragraph become “him” instead of “I.”

In chapter 3 you get another fascinating moment. When Light goes to the abandon building to practice his pyrotechnics, he talks to Ryuk about the danger he’s realized that the Death Note poses to him. “Until now,” he explains, “I was thinking if anyone in my family saw [the Death Note] I could explain it by saying I’ve been keeping notes on the Kira case, to practice becoming a detective...” but now that he knows that anyone who touches the notebook can see Ryuk it’s an entirely different matter. “Even without this headache, I’m walking on a tightrope here,” Light admits. “If I blow it... Kira... will have to kill his own family.” As he finishes his little speech the panel zooms out to see that Light is holding onto the Death Note with a sickly, uncomfortable look on his face, almost curled in on himself. He’s visibly sweating—not just one sweat drop to indicate discomfort but “shaking and sweating” levels of this is probably meant to be taken literally. Ryuk’s figure in the background looms over him, but Light feels trapped in this moment, stuck in his own head. It’s such a fascinating image, compositionally and in what it says about Light’s mental space. And it’s in the dialogue too. Once again, Light has used this conversational technique to try to distance himself from something unimaginably horrible to him. “If I blow it...” he starts, but he can’t finish it by saying, “I will have to kill my own family.” He can’t say that. He can’t even think it. No, “Kira” will have to do that. Kira will kill Kira’s family. But only if Light blows it. So Light has to be very, very careful. It casts Kira as an inevitability. Something that will just happen if Light fails. Light has no power over “Kira’s” actions. He washes his hands of the matter. In fact, he washes his hands so spectacularly that in the beginning of chapter 4, where the scene continues, he’s able to make a joke about Sayu having a heart attack just from seeing Ryuk’s face. The emotional minefield has been successfully sidestepped. “Kira” has the responsibility for all of Light’s unforgivable actions, “Light” can remain himself.

By chapter 22, when Soichiro affirms that L—who has found and accused Light of being Kira and is at this very moment sitting right next to him—is indeed L, Light has an internal panic which ends with him having to remind himself, “right now I’m Light Yagami, concerned about my father...” By this point in the manga, Light has gotten himself so deep into acting as Kira, and so many of his daily decisions are caused by whether it would make him look suspicious or not, that it’s his identity as “Light” that he has to consciously reaffirm.

The dichotomy between what Light’s two personas allow is perhaps never so well articulated than in the moment in chapter 32 where Light tells Ryuk, “Ryuga is Light Yagami’s friend. But L is Kira’s enemy.” Despite getting along well with Ryuga on a personal level and playing into the idea of them being friends in his ordinary life, Light is fully aware that L is and always has been trying to kill him, and their contrasting personas of “L” and “Kira” cannot both survive—it’s only a question of who will kill the other one first.

So if Kira is an excuse, then why does the Light we see in the first half of the manga, and the Light we see in the Yotsuba arc, feel so diametrically different? There’s a number of reasons. One is that, in the first arc, we’re given privileged access to inside Light’s head. We see his internal monologue, his plans, his occasional moments of weakness and doubt, his moments of triumph and despair—we’re like Ryuk, able to be up close and personal on the villain protagonist. Then, Yotsuba arc rolls around. What we see now is Light’s public face, and a lot of stuff about Yotsuba. Light doesn’t appear as much in this section—and when he does, we see much less of him. While we’re still occasionally given access to his inner monologue, much of what we see is him in silence and what he chooses to speak out loud to his father and coworkers and L. He’s also not the protagonist of this section. Yotsuba!Light doesn’t drive the story. He reacts to it. Even Misa has more moments of agency in this section than Light does. It makes for a profoundly different reading experience, and so the emotional image painted for the reader in the section is also going to be different. Light won’t feel like the same character not because he changed so fundamentally, but because we, the readers, changed position; and because Light is also in a different position. We’re seeing him from the outside, from a remove, in a situation where all Light can do is wonder about a truth we’re already aware of. For argument’s sake, imagine if the Yotsuba section had also been told with Light as the protagonist: we would have seen moments of him alone, moments where we learn about his reactions to being chained to L; we’d hear about his plans. Maybe L would interrogate him in private, and Light, who thinks he’s so innocent but who knows how bad the evidence looked, would have to react to this. There are ways to write Yotsuba arc where Light is still the main character, but that’s not how the story is being told. The plot of Death Note is about Kira (who happens to be Light Yagami). It has no interest in Light without the Death Note. Light without the Death Note is a plot device created by his previous self.

What we do see, in small glimpses (and it usually is “see”—the art shows more of Light’s interiority here than the writing does) is that Light is not as comfortable and confident and unruffled as he wants to project. In the background of panels, you see him react in all sorts of interesting ways. He also punches L in the face and has one of his most interesting speeches of the entire arc, which is enough to build an interpretation off of: “Don’t be ridiculous! Just because I’m not the true Kira... just because you were wrong, you want to give up?! You gonna sulk like a baby?!” He’s so mad at L.

L tries to explain that he just means that chasing after Kira doesn’t seem to be getting anywhere in the investigation so it might not be the most logical course of action, but Light can’t hear that. He’s still stuck in his emotional reaction. “Who’s the one who swore to send Kira to his execution?” he presses. Then he’s leaning forward, grabbing L by the shirt, like he’s going to shake him. “The police, the FBI agents, TV announcers, how many innocent people have been victimized?! You’re the one who put Misa and me in confinement!!” That’s the crux of the matter. Earlier, Light had said that Kira killing people was bad enough but he’d never forgive him for what he’d done to Light and Soichiro. Now you see what Light will never forgive L for. Getting locked up for fifty-three days.

There’s something really fascinating about this. The Light we saw in part 1 was a Light who was slowly being backed into an inescapable corner, but who had the hope that he would somehow win. The Light we see in the Yotsuba arc is one who still has the hope that he’ll somehow win, but he’s already suffered a defeat that the Light in part 1 could never even conceptualize. He’s been tortured. And he’s still technically a prisoner. Casuistor wrote the most amazing meta ever about Yotsuba!Light and his motivations, Hellscape. It’s the most in-depth I’ve ever seen someone discuss that version of him. As Casuistor says:

So to summarize in brief before moving onto an analysis of Light’s development during the Yotsuba arc itself, we have at this point a Light Yagami who feels as though he has he has endured a terrible injustice. He has spent the past couple of months accused of heinous crimes ranging from the deaths of thousands of criminals to potentially patricide. His integrity has been repeatedly attacked and slandered, and any defense of his own character that he has to offer is routinely disregarded. Light is his only advocate and naturally he feels quite seriously persecuted. [...] In fact, in direct reaction to bearing the weight of these accusations, Light becomes determined to prove he is not the monster people accuse him of being, and his actions during the Yotsuba arc very much reflects this desire to prove that he is a virtuous, moral and overall upstanding human being. What’s interesting is that this desire to prove himself is not just external. He wants to prove it to himself as well. This is not a driving motivation that Pre-Kira Light ever feels the need to act on; he knows and everyone else around him believes he’s a good person. Pre-Kira has nothing to prove; Yotsuba-Light has everything to prove. In fact, if Yotsuba-Light actually has more in common with Kira-Light than he does with Pre-Kira Light.  

What Casuistor goes through beat-by-beat is how everything Light does in the Yotsuba arc is to shore up a certain image of himself and protect the idea of him as innocent, and to make sure that L can’t find anything else to pin on him. Anyway, there’s far too many good points in that analysis to go into, but...

The handcuffs themselves are interesting to talk about because they have different meanings to the people they connect. On the surface, it’s meant to represent the promise to catch Kira together. Not in the roles of investigator and chief suspect as was the case previously, but as equals. Two brilliant minds dedicated to the same purpose of putting an end to Kira.

But the grin reality of the situation is that even though Light’s own wishes are to stay and work on the case, Light has no choice but to stay because he is literally handcuffed to a person who will not release him.

But what’s interesting about this is that as shown in that panel above, Light chooses to speak of being chained and having his freedom restricted in sugar-coated euphemistic language. With a new solid lead on the Kira case, Light believes there will be a day when he can make L see that the handcuffs won’t be necessary. In a sense, the handcuffs represent Light’s promise to himself – they are something he can be positively motivated by. This is Light’s personal promise to be proven innocent instead of a sign of his continued imprisonment.

To an extent, this trick of shifting the framing and context makes it possible for Light to achieve a truce with L.

I would add only one thing to that really great discussion. Casuistor has a fairly non-romantic (in all senses of the word) take on L & Light’s relationship. And I think it’s a pretty legit take with a good basis in canon. Light & L really have no particular reason to be friends or to like each other and plenty of reasons to hate each other, be irritated, and get on each other’s nerves. But I take a slightly different interpretation in that think that Yotsuba!Light, despite all his barely-hidden resentment towards L, completely believed that he enjoyed L’s company. I don’t think those things are incompatible for Light to feel, and in fact I think Light has a very pressing psychological reason to convince himself that he enjoys L as a person. Because he can’t leave, and if he admitted that to himself all the time he’d be confronted day in and day out with the idea that he’s nothing but a victim. From the beginning of canon, we see Light reject any interpretation that hinges on such a thing. Anybody might say that Light finding a random notebook and then seeing that actually, he killed people by accident and now a god of death is going to follow him around until he stops being interesting at which point that god of death will kill him is enough to consider Light a victim. Not Light, though. Light is obviously a god. Light is obviously chosen for higher things. Light is obviously just doing all this because he wants to.

The relationship between Light & Ryuk and Light & L is really rather similar in some ways.

So that’s where my interpretation splits from Hellscape, (which anyone who is interested in Yotsuba!Light or what exactly the whole amnesia thing was should read, it is so awesome). Yotsuba!Light is L’s friend and he is perfectly a-okay with being handcuffed to him, even if he actually isn’t.

And then there’s also Light’s relationship with his father, which is a whole other amazing and interesting part of canon. Touched on both by that meta, and also by13Beyond13, who discussed the difference in Light’s motivations and in who he’s using as a role model in the different parts of the story (L vs Soichiro). It’s really interesting.

And then he gets his memory back. And he screams.

Back in chapter 22, L asks Light what his image of Kira is, and you get probably the most self-aware explanation Light ever gives of himself and his actions until the “Kira knows he’s evil” speech after his father’s death. Light says:

“I think Kira is... an affluent child. If, as assumed, he can kill just by willing it... if a human being had that kind of power—using it to get rid of criminals, and at the same time making it an example to others to make the world a better place, is something only a child would think of doing. I’d say he’s anywhere from a fifth-grader to a high-school student... if it was anyone younger than that, they’d either be too scared by the power to use it, or they’d use it to kill people they knew, people they didn’t like... and it if was anyone older than that, an adult, they’d only use it for their own personal gain. You could think of tons of ways to use that power and become really rich. Kira still has some purity about him. He’s an affluent child, who already has everything he needs. I’d say he’s probably a junior-high student who has his own cell phone, computer, and TV.”

With the distance that creating a criminal profile of Kira offers, Light is able to admit why he did what he did and even give a nod to how his social status influenced how he went about using the death note. The most crucial moment in this profile is the line “Kira still has some purity about him.” L picks up on this as an oddity—the only place Light’s profile doesn’t match up with L’s own profile of Kira. In context, this line of Light’s refers to his position at the cusp between childhood and adulthood, but also foreshadows the inevitability that eventually, Kira will not “still have some purity about him.” By the time chapter 75 comes around, immediately after his father’s death, Light’s description of Kira has changed to the extraordinarily depressing, “Kira is a mass murderer... evil. That’s true. But there are may people who support Kira... that’s also true. I think Kira understands this. That what he does is evil. But Kira will sacrifice even himself to change the world for the better... that is the true justice Kira has chosen... that is probably what Kira is thinking...”

Soichiro, perhaps the moral heart of the story, sums it up in chapter 22, after Light has already spoken: “Kira is evil... there’s no denying that... but lately I’ve been starting to think of it more like this... the real evil is the power to kill people. Someone who finds himself with that power is cursed. No matter how you use it, anything obtained by killing people can never bring true happiness.”

And that plays out over the course of the story until Light’s eventually unhappy death.

Plenty of people have talked about Light’s whole breakdown starting with “that’s right. I am Kira.” But what I think is interesting is how it happens right after he’s been literally backed into a corner. Everyone knows he’s Kira. He can no longer sustain both “Light Yagami” and “Kira” and “Light Yagami” is the one who’s been struck down completely and resoundingly. Despite everything Light’s been doing for years to keep both these things in balance, to “walk the tightrope” he ends up being pushed off and it’s Kira’s side he lands on. He has to. Everyone knows, now, that Light is a murderer and that he’s Kira. He has no excuse for his actions unless he believes them wholeheartedly. If he’s Kira, then he doesn’t have to be hurt by this, although he still is. He basically pleads for everyone in Light Yagami’s life to understand him. Why should he care about that? It’s not just because he doesn’t want to die. There’s more to it. He needs the validation of feeling like he’s not evil. If the people who know him personally can say, you know what Light, you’re right. I get why you did it. Then it would all make sense. He would have given up “Light Yagami” and everything that belonged to him—his future, his family, his morals—for a higher purpose. Near cuts that down pretty quick with his “you’re just a crazy mass murderer,” and then adds insult to injury by asking what everyone else in the room thinks.

And no one comes to Light’s defense. Not a single person. You see a number of panels that starts with an almost vulnerable shot of Light looking down, seeming almost like he feels bad. The moment stretches, there are close-ups on his eye glancing over at everyone, and everyone, one by one, condemns him with silence. After these rows of panels, Light’s eye, crueler than ever, tilts up to look toward the heavens—he can’t gain validation from anyone on earth. He’s going to have to get it from himself. He’s going to have to convince himself that everyone else is “a bunch of hopeless fools...” and it’s only then that he glances down at his watch and decides to completely lose it for the mere chance of killing Near.

(on ao3)

[yournightowl]

Your Nightowl#013

i learned what a bastard is today. It was one hell of a rabbit hole.

These two jerks were arguing with each other- i don’t know why, it started, but with them its always something petty and dumb. (¬_¬")  The whole class was just watching them (me included) in a pretty bored way, cause we’ve seen this before and it never goes further than namecalling. But then jerk A called jerk B a Bastard, and the whole mood shifted. Everyone else in class sat a little straighter. Eyes started darting around, looking for an adult to come and intervene. Jerk B got real red and pale at the same time, and i could see veins on his forehead from across the room. i thought he  was gonna hit the other guy. ( o_o)

But then he just walked out real fast.

Bastard’s not exactly a common insult, but it isn’t rare either- and it’s really not that bad. i couldn’t understand why everyone was so static, but i knew it wasn’t right for me to just start asking. So i did what i usually do instead of engaging in the moment- i went and did some research.  (⌐▨_▨)

First, some context- jerk B wasn’t raised by his parents; they’re dead. His family took care of him (well literally he was taken care of by a swathe of maids and butlers and Ads and whatever, but you know what i mean). He never knew his parents, but its still a dick move to bring them up during an argument over something petty and dumb (and remember, with these two, It Is Always Petty and Dumb).

Second, some historical context- Bastard originally meant someone born to parents who were not wed to each other. Obviously, not something anyone gives a shit about today, but for most of our recorded history, it was.

The term also more generally means anything of questionable origin, like a bastardized copy, or an inferior version. It was also sometimes used to describe an illegitimate heir.

All of those definitions are relevant here.

People have been freezing their eggs for a long time now. It’s less common, but people freeze their sperm, too. And when people die, their gametes aren’t always destroyed. It’s incredibly rare, and widely frowned upon, but if you have the rights it is entirely legal to make a child from two people’s DNA without their consent. 

And it’s even possible to make a child from two people who are dead.

It’s possible…but why would you, right? There’s no shortage of DNA to go around. Why would you want the DNA of some dead person?

The answer to that depends a lot on how their will was set up.

Imagine your rich as hell aunt and uncle pass away. They never had kids of their own, so they give you a little something…and give the lion’s share away to charity. The story should end there- “Maybe i should’ve sucked up to them more while they were still kicking, oh well, i better move on,” but then you get a message from a biocorp. 

“Sorry for your loss, standard copy, standard copy… hey, we’ve still got your rich fam’s gametes in the freezer. Wanna make some money?”

So that’s what Jerk A was calling Jerk B- not an asshole, but a Bastard Heir. A designer baby cooked up by his screwed-in-the-head relatives after his parents had already died. A person born just so that their “guardians” could rob their parent’s graves. An illegitimate knock-off of what a child is supposed to be.

(O∆O), right?

Jerk B’s parents died when he was two, so the accusation is total bullshit. But i can understand why he got so mad. He’s probably not still sore about his parents deaths’, not after so long, and not when he doesn’t remember them. But it's nasty to imply that his family only cares for him because they can use him to control his parents fortune.

And that implication could actually be true.

wincing as i type,

Your nightowl

[leahseclipse]

Battle of knowledge

Pairing: Spencer Reid x male!reader

Summary: When a battle of knowledge abruptly occurs as the two known doctors meet at a case, everyone is partially amused by their hate towards the other, as they both differ their problems in quite a unusual way afterwards.

Warnings: Mentions of case, usual cm stuff…, slight sex allusions (rated T just in case the mentions happen to be something that’d be rated like that)

Word count:  1.7 k

A/N: Hey everyone!! I hope you guys are well!! I took this request from @imagining-in-the-margins as she didn’t want it, so here I am :) that fic is kind of dedicated to @ontheoddoccasioniwritestuff​ , I thought a lot about you as I wrote this fic :)! Hope everyone enjoys. (yeah the dialogue is ehhh in the first half to me, sorry for that)

        When Spencer had gone all the way from Virginia to Arizona for a case that had yet to upset the rest of his team, he didn't actually expect another person to upset him as much as the authors of the crime themselves.

The other person was known as the genius of the team, another "version" of him, except that he was in Arizona, with a slightly different rank.

He didn't think badly of him at first, he appreciated the fact of having another person similar to him, which meant that he didn't have to explain the terms he'd use to someone else, he could talk without complications.

He’d usually have to pause in his lecture to explain some stuff, but he didn’t feel like he’d need to do it with him.

"Arizona's genius, y/n y/l/n. It's nice to meet you all. I heard there's another genius here. As much as I'd like to have a nice chat, killers are on the loose, so, eventually, at the end of the case."

The way he had talked was completely fascinating to him, even if he wanted to, he couldn't draw his eyes off him as he talked. 

The first words had completely convinced them, and he really felt like he could have a correct interaction with him.

It wasn't everyday that he'd had the occasion to meet another mind similar to his. 

This happened to be quite relieving considering the complicity of the case, and it would be much faster for everything to be answered as they'll be two.

"No, he's not that type of guy! Look at what he did, especially at the third victim!" He yelled.

"We have all reasons to think he could be like that, I didn't say it definitely is, but it could be." Spencer argued, pissed off by his words.

"The M.O you just described doesn't really fit, something is missing, and none of what you said makes it right."

"It's the closest thing we have, it's that or we completely start from scratch, as if it's "wrong" to you."

"I don't think it's only to me, and it's better to try to start again than continue with what we have and possibly launch into a wall because that wasn't right. Okay, that's going to take time, but might as well get it right."

"When I expected for the case to go smoothly, I didn't come all the way for this, since when are you so annoying?"

"Oh, now I'm annoying? I'm just doing my job, and you're the one acting offended. So," He paused, as he gathered papers before walking away. "If you excuse me, I have to catch the ones doing this, instead of wasting time. Come back to me when you're in a better mood to work correctly." Y/N said, as another coworker of his approached Spencer not long after he had left. 

"Um...I doubt that'll make the situation better, but he acts like that, sometimes. It may seem that he's not going to work, but don't worry, it's mainly so he can...get himself back in the right head space." He explained. "Don't try...get pissed off at each other too often, none of our unit chiefs will be happy with that."

"He could have been less...like that."

"It's just y/l/n being himself, 'can't do much about it. Anyway, let's get back to work, and try to get better you two, at least till we wrap the case." 

"Trouble's around." Derek chirped to JJ.

"This case is going to be...fun. Let's hope we at least get to have a distraction."

"Oh, don't worry JJ, we'll have one. They're not done fighting. Definitely not."

"Do you think they're gonna make up and become friends, or yell at each other until the end?" Emily asked.

"A mix of the two. They'll kinda hate each other, but not enough to resist having a conversation between geniuses." Garcia answered.

"True. It's not every day that the both of them get to talk with someone that understands their stuff." Derek pointed out.

"Let's hope that we'll get to see some animation in between work."

*

*

        "Are you here to yell again or try to have a calm conversation?" Y/N asked, as soon as Spencer entered.

"I don't get why you're directly attacking before I get to say anything." Spencer protested.

"Just in case."

"Okay, do you have something against me or what? Because I can't work if you keep being angry all of the time."

"I'm not angry." He answered.

"Then I'm a clown if I can't even read your face. It's written on your forehead that you are, you're literally an open book." Spencer closed the door, having a slight feeling that the conversation would possibly get louder.

"I thought you weren't supposed to profile the people you work with, no? I'm not your coworker, but we're working on this case together, so don't profile me unless I ask, which will never happen." 

"I don't get you." 

"What is there even to understand? You're the one I don't get."

"It's you that I can't figure out. I just can't stand you right now."

"Unfortunately, I'm afraid you'll have to calm your nerves till we finish that case. Because I'm not wasting twenty minutes explaining what is there to "understand" about me." He spit back, glancing at Spencer.

"I can't keep talking with you if you act like that."

"I'm not a cute puppy in case you haven't figured that out. I'm not going to be nice just for you, especially when you point out that I'm not how you like to be talked." 

"I didn't specify anything."

"Didn't you, doctor?" He focused on the last word, raising his eyebrows.

"Damn it." Spencer walked up to him in a snap, glancing at him for a split second before suddenly taking in his face in his hands as he roughly kissed him.

Not even one of them expected that it'd just take a single argument to let the pressure out.

They were just kissing each other, like that. Spencer was the one who started it, not even wondering if he'd return it or walk away, but turns out that y/n had been the one to take the lead after that, as he gripped his hair, slamming him against the wall.

Nothing really mattered in that moment, they didn't even think about the others possibly walking in, all they both needed to do was to let out of all the frustration contained since this morning.

It wasn't quite only anger, but also because they had both wanted each other, in their own way.

As much as Y/N was afraid to admit it, he did imagine it, slamming him against the wall, even if he wouldn't be strong or even courageous enough to do that.

Spencer did imagine gripping his jaw, especially after he walked out in fury, he was so upset about him that all he wanted was to kiss him to let him know what he felt.

He didn't want to admit it, but he hated it whenever someone raised his voice at him, he needed to do that to calm himself, in some way.

If they weren't in some police station, their shirts would have already been on the floor, the layers of clothes between them were more than infuriating as they tugged at the other's shirt.

And even when they stopped for a moment to breathe again, it didn't take much for their lips to link again after a short glance.

Spencer quickly flipped y/n the other way so he'd be the one against the wall, and to his surprise, his face quickly gained another tint.

He caged him in with one arm against the wall, gripping his chin with the other, as y/n tugged at his hair again, not knowing where else to put them.

Things went fast so quickly, they didn't even think about what they'd do, they just went with the flow.

What they forgot to think and pay attention about, was that they weren't alone in the place.

Literally all of the people working at the station were there, and could possibly start to look for them.

They really didn't care about it, none of them broke the kiss to point it out, it was just four walls, them, and their mixed feelings.

"I still can't stand you." Spencer said in between when they briefly broke the kiss.

"Me neither." He blurted out.

As one of them probably guessed at some point, their inattention cost them when they didn't even hear the lock of the door over their breaths.

"Hey, we found…" JJ walked in, stopping in the middle of the sentence. 

The door kept itself open, as the noise of the outside drew in, causing them to break away as both of their eyes were wide open.

Spencer's hair was a mess, strands going everywhere, which would need to be at least fixed with his hand for him to be presentable. 

Only the back of y/n's hair was messed up as he was against the wall most of the time.

Both of their shirts had a few buttons out, although, y/n's was the closest to being on the floor if someone hadn't come.

By the time they had begun slowly walking away from the other, she had definitely just seen them making out.

"...something." She ended the sentence, not quite knowing what to say after witnessing the event.

"Oh, uh...we'll uh...meet you in just a sec." Spencer said.

"Right. Okay." JJ responded, closing the door in a hurry.

"I hate to say this to you, but I think we're screwed." Y/N pointed out once she was gone.

"They'll definitely be able to tell from the look on her face and ours when we'll get out."

"Yeah, we should have…done it elsewhere."

"It's a bit late for that."

"You're the one who started, you should have at least chosen another place genius." 

"I have to admit it but, true."

"They'll definitely figure out you're the one who started, you basically entered after me."

"I hate you."

"No, you don't. You just don't like me." He corrected Spencer, as he opened the door to walk out, walking out of the room.

It didn't take much for some of their coworkers's eyes to lay on them as they entered their vision.

Spencer discreetly approached y/n after Hotch began talking, making sure the attention was elsewhere.

"I'm going to show you how much I 'just don't like you' when we're out of here, you're gonna see."

"Deal."

*

*

[dameronology]

asystole {obi-wan kenobi x reader}

summary: ‘the trouble is the way you stick, to any part of me that remains in tact/but if i pull the plug, it isn’t only me i’m holding back’ - asystole, hayley williams (a.k.a ‘the one where you’re the bane of obi-wan’s life, even as a force ghost’) 

warnings: mentions of death, swearing, angst, and me not having a single fucking clue how force ghosts work 

this was originally based on a random idea i had and also encouragement from kara/@hellotherekenobi who requested a prompt that i completely forgot to include but...we move. also, i would highly highly recommend listening to the above song just because it’s a real tear jerker and i lOVE it 

enjoy 

- jazz 

Loss, for Obi-Wan, was not a stranger. It was an old acquaintance, constantly lingering beside him -- not quite there, but not gone either. He could always feel its presence, a constant and painful reminder of everyone he’d lost. He could probably count them all one hand but that didn’t make it any better. Loss was loss, whether it were two people or ten. Even if his grief had stopped and started with the passing of his master all those years ago, it was still something he felt in its wholeness and in its entirety. Because that’s all Obi-Wan could do: feel. It was everything or nothing. Zero percent or one hundred.

And with you, he wished it were nothing. He wished that your sudden absence from his life was something he didn’t have to feel in every fibre of his being. It was hard enough to acknowledge and even more painful to comprehend. You were the one person he’d always just assumed would be there forever. How foolish it now seemed, he was very much aware. Everybody died -- Qui-Gon Jinn was a testament to that; as was Satine Kryze and quite literally every other person in the galaxy who’d had the pleasure of being reminded of their mortality. It was just that this was...it was you. You weren’t immortal by any means but maker, you had acted like it. The way you went about life with an air of recklessness and discontent for the rules, making even the hardest of missions into an adventure. His life had been a thousand times better since you’d come running - nay, stumbling - into it. You’d blown his entire world to bits and pieced it back together with tiny, intricate bits of yours. Filled it with chaos and laughter and a light he hadn’t felt since the days of his youth. 

Perhaps most importantly, you’d looked after one another. He would stay by your side 24/7 to make sure you kept your head screwed on your shoulders, and you would pester him to drink water and remember to eat. He would remind you when you had important missions and meetings, and in return, you’d proof-read his paper work. He remembered the first time he’d fallen asleep beside you, to wake up with a blanket wrapped around him and his boots pulled off. It was so clear in his head because it was the first time someone had ever done anything for him without asking. It became something you did often, and though he never said it, it was something he kept so close to his heart. 

Obi-Wan wasn’t a fool. He knew you weren’t going to be around forever - he just didn’t realise that not forever was going to be a whole lot sooner that he’d anticipated. He used to make jokes about how your recklessness would one day lead to your demise. The idea of it made him feel sick now. He’d been right the entire time. He didn’t want it to be real.

None of it felt real. The whole conversation he’d had with Mace Windu about you not making it felt like a distant nightmare, something he’d tried so hard to wake up from, only to find that he was wide awake the entire fucking time. Night terrors were bad, but reality was arguably worse. 

It didn’t feel right at first, to see your chambers still filled with your stuff and your lightsaber still resting on your nightstand. Obi had been the one to put it there when you’d been taken to the infirmary, thinking you would have asked for it when you woke up - but you didn’t. It went hand-in-hand with the robes he’d hung up on your door and the get well soon, moron card he’d brought you. 

Then, they emptied your room. Took your clothes and your books and every other worldly possession you had. Your name was removed from the door to your quarters and added to the list of Jedi who had died in combat on the stone in the Temple gardens. Aside from that, any sign that you had ever walked the halls or burst into council meetings at the last minute was gone. You lived on only in his memories, your lopsided smile ingrained into his mind and contagious laugh echoing constantly in his brain. 

Throwing himself into work was the only option for Obi-Wan. He already took on a thousand things at once, but without you to help bare the weight, it became a million. If he was busy, he didn’t have time to think -- about you, or how fucking fragile everything was, or about all the ways he could have saved you. You’d slipped through his fingers, even when he’d be holding on so tightly. It wasn’t his fault. It was just...life. 

A few weeks passed, and Obi-Wan continued to push himself. Everybody noticed it -- how suddenly busy he was, how quiet he’d become, how tired he looks. Blue eyes had grown exhausted with grief and regret, strawberry blonde hair becoming longer and unrulier than was characteristic for him. When you’d died, you’d taken a tiny piece of him with you. An important part. Maybe that part had been you. 

It was on a cold Tuesday evening that he heard the four words. Sat out on the balcony of his quarters, watching Coruscant and life pass by in a blur ahead of him, a tangle of traffic and noise and a million sounds that he couldn’t quite decipher. The sky was a navy blue, cast with the tiny little glints and dots of distant planets. All worlds that you’d once promised to explore 

‘You look like shit.’  

He thought he’d imagined it at first. In fact, it wouldn’t have been the first time in the last few weeks that the sound of your voice in his head had felt clear enough to be real. Imagining things - hallucinations and echoes of the long gone - was simply part of the grieving process. A process he’d gone through countless times before. 

 The sudden appearance of you in the corner of his eye jolted him like an electric shock. Perhaps not that far off of the emotional equivalent of being hit by a bus. Or a light freighter. Or...all of those things at once. 

You were ethereal. When he’d last seen you, you’d been...tired. Now, you were smiling and radiating some sort of energy that could only be described as quintessentially you. There was not a chance in hell that a grief-induced hallucination could be so life-like, so crystal clear. Plus, why would he have imagined you like this, slightly transparent and with a blue glow surrounding you? A fitting colour for your final form, he figured. 

‘Shocked to see me?’ Your drawl continued. ‘Because if you think you’re shocked, let me tell you. One second I was napping and the next I was a fucking Force ghost. Could you imagine?’

Obi-Wan smiled softly. ‘I don’t think I could.’

‘I can float through walls, though.’ You grinned. ‘How cool is that?’

‘It’s...that’s very cool.’ He replied. ‘I don’t suppose you can hug Force ghosts?’

Obi-Wan reached his palm out towards you - slowly but surely, as though he were scared you were going to fade away all over again if he touched you. You mimicked his actions, faded blue fingertips just moments away from his. When they finally touched, they didn’t. You felt nothing. He felt a rush of cold, as though somebody had poured a bucket of cold water over him.

He didn’t fully understand the concept of Force ghosts. Studied them, sure. Understood them? Not quite. There weren’t enough Jedi texts in the galaxy to fully capture the complexity of what made somebody come back. Often, they were linked to acts of heroism, or stemming from action taken when the person was still alive. That didn’t seem like you though. You weren’t the sort of person to try to fiddle with jinxes and hijinkery that would allow you to come back once you were dead - at least not purposefully. There was certainly every chance you did it accidentally. 

 ‘Guess not.’ You murmured. ‘Sorry ‘bout that.’

The icy feeling only grew closer as you took a seat beside him. It was funny, because he thought that if he’d had the chance to reunite with you, that it would have been more emotional than this. Something filled with more feeling and grandeur. Instead, you’d just appeared, and acted as though you’d never been gone in the first place. Obi-Wan preferred it that way. 

‘I’ve missed you.’ He continued to stare blankly ahead. 

When you died, there were a thousand things he’d come up with that he’d wished he’d said. They ranged from comments about the weather to grand declarations of...how much you meant to him. All things he would never dare say to your face, and that’s probably why he came up with them. Because he would never get the chance to say them. And now, here you were, right beside him, and he had a second opportunity to get that closure -- but the words didn’t quite come. They stayed on the tip of his tongue, there, but not quite there. Even if this wasn’t quite the version of you that he imagined himself telling them to, it was still undeniably you. 

‘I should hope so.’ You tried to nudge him with your elbow, but it was just another icy jab. ‘I would say that I missed you too, but I don’t know where I’ve been.’

‘What happened between then and now?’ Obi asked. ‘Between that and this?’

‘Okay, first of all - you can say my death. Coming up with a thousand other words for it won’t undo it.’ You said. ‘And...I don’t know. I just remember blaster fire, then some darkness, and then I was here.’

‘Did it hurt?’

‘Well it didn’t tickle.’ You replied ‘It was quick, if that’s any comfort.’

‘I suppose it is.’ He murmured. 

‘You’re being uncharacteristically quiet.’ You observed. ‘I can go away if you want. I’m not sure how this whole thing works but if you want me to leave, I can go and scare Dex-’

‘- that’s the last thing I want.’ He cut you off. ‘I just..I’ve spent the last few weeks trying not to acknowledge that you’re truly gone and it’s a little hard to do that when you’re quite literally a ghost.’

‘I’m not really gone though, am I?’ You said. ‘I’m still here. Not as I’d like to be, but I’m here.’

‘So as long as you’re around to irritate me and make snide comments, you’re here.’ He smiled. ‘Whether that’s in the flesh or...in the blue.’

‘I’m sorry it happened.’ You gently sighed. ‘Not sorry that I died for the greater good but sorry it was so..sudden.’

‘It’s not your fault.’ He wanted to reach across, to take your hand in his or run it down your arm - but he couldn’t. He couldn’t deal with another rush of cold in place of what used to be warm flesh. ‘It was still undeniably your most half-witted decision to date but you saved a lot of people, so I won’t hold it against you.’

‘Oh, how kind.’ You snorted. ‘I bet you’ve secretly enjoyed the peace and quiet, Kenobi.’

‘I miss it already.’

-- 

Obi-Wan woke up the next morning, still on the balcony. The air was cold -- as evidenced by his violent shivers -- and the sky had changed from navy, to a turquoise-tainted pink. The city below was moderately quiet, signalling that it was still pretty early. The only sounds were coming from traffic in the distance and the occasional whoosh of a passing jet in the sky above. He stayed like that for a moment, azure eyes clouded with some kind of apprehension as he watched the clouds slowly pass, not a care in the world for the fact it was fucking freezing. 

Last night had been real, even if there was no sign of your presence. Actually, that wasn’t quite true -- the robes he’d discarded before your appearance had been thrown over him like a blanket. They did little to protect him from the cold air, but it was a confirmation that you had been there. He wasn’t sure when you’d left - or how - but he was the only one on the balcony. 

There were a lot of questions floating about in his head. Why were you only turning up now after weeks? Why had you materialised by him? Why were you here at all? You were finally free, free to do literally whatever you wanted, and you’d wound up by his side. There were millions and millions of places in the galaxy and somehow, his balcony was the one where you’d wanted to be. 

After showering and shaving, Obi-Wan found himself heading towards the classroom of the best Jedi he knew: Yoda. If anyone was going to know anything about Force ghosts, it was him. He’d have to make sure not to let slip exactly what he was talking about - your relationship with him was far more attached than the code allowed, after all - in a more general sense, he must have had something to offer. It wasn’t the kind of thing they taught in Jedi training. If anything, it was the opposite. The lesson was don’t become attached enough to someone so that they haunt you! - and it was one at which he’d failed quite miserably. 

‘Master Kenobi.’ Yoda sat in the middle of the classroom, meditating. He didn’t have to open his eyes to know who it was. ‘Of assistance, may I be?’

‘Good morning.’ Obi-Wan greeted him with a bow. ‘I have some questions, and I was hoping you might be able to help me.’

‘Do go on. Help, I might be able to.’

‘Right.’ He cleared his throat, awkwardly taking a seat beside him. ‘What do you know about Force ghosts?’

‘Lots. Specific, you must be.’

‘Say you had a dear friend, and they died.’ He began. ‘Then they came back a little while as a Force ghost.’

‘Come back, they don’t.’ Yoda opened one eye, glancing over at him. ‘Never gone, they were. The Force takes time to manifest.’ 

‘So...the ghost version of them is still them?’

‘Very much so.’ He said. ‘Why, there are many reasons. Many Jedi study for a long time to materialise as ghosts after passing.’

‘What if they didn’t?’

‘Then unfinished business, they have.’ He replied. ‘When a Jedi dies, their Force connections do too. If they are left unbroken, exist as a ghost they will.’

Well, that explained it. 

‘Right.’ He murmured. ‘Last question, I promise - how long does that connection usually last?’

‘Months to years, it may be.’ He explained. ‘On their unfinished business, the connection depends.’

‘That makes sense.’ Obi-Wan nodded. ‘Thank you, Master Yoda.’

The little green creature simply nodded in response, turning his attention back to his meditation. He didn’t ask questions -- what was the point? He’d been around hundreds of years, and dealt with hundreds of similar things in that time. Truth be told, he didn’t have all the answers. He was just good at acting like it. 

Obi-Wan pondered on the conversation for the rest of the day. 

 There were a lot of things that could have constituted your unfinished business. The list was endless, especially given how suddenly you’d passed. Nobody knew you better than Obi-Wan, but even he struggled to decipher it. You weren’t the sort of person who would hang around for no good reason. It had to be something important -- something so pressing that you quite literally couldn’t pass away in its entirety without dealing with it. Part of him was worried that he didn’t know at all; you were always sneaking about, always doing something that you shouldn’t have been. That left a long list of possibilities. 

But Yoda had directly mentioned Force connections, right? Maybe he’d meant it in a general way, but Obi would have been a complete dumb-ass to think that the Jedi didn’t know what was going on. If the situation didn’t tell him, his seeming ability to know everything about everyone certainly would have. You were the only person he could have possibly been talking about. 

It was something he knew he had to bring up, and so he made the mental promise to himself. The best time would have been that night, when he saw you again. If he saw you again. He trusted you to return. You knew better now than to disappear forever without saying goodbye. 

And he’d been right. That evening, after he’d exchanged goodbyes with Anakin, Obi-Wan found himself wandering out to the balcony. Sure enough, you were leant against the railings, back turned to him as you peered down at the city below. The air was cold again -- maybe because it was Winter, but also maybe because of you -- and the harsh winds blew back your hair. He wanted to reach out and feel it, to feel you, but he couldn’t. A man whose love language was physical touch was sure to suffer when the person he wanted most was a fucking entity.  

‘You’re late.’ You glanced over your shoulder at him. ‘Don’t your meetings normally end at six?’

‘Anakin wanted to talk about something.’ He replied. ‘So is this your life now? Waiting for me to come home?’

You snorted. ‘Don’t flatter yourself. I’ve been at the diner all day moving stuff around to confuse Dex.’

‘That’s mean.’

‘And what would you do if you were a Force ghost?’

Wait for you. Follow you.

‘Explore.’ He lied, leaning against the balcony beside you. ‘I spoke to Yoda today about...this.’ 

‘Mmm?’ 

‘He said that people who usually come back either purposefully prepared for it when they were still alive.’

‘Or?’

‘How do you know there’s an or?’

‘Because I sometimes struggled to turn on my lightsaber. You think I’m skilled enough to do this shit on purpose, Kenobi?’

‘You’re…’ brilliantly intelligent, easily the smartest person I know, ‘...clever. Don’t put yourself down.’

‘Just cut to the point.’

‘Right.’ Obi-Wan cleared his throat. ‘He said that, or that they had unfinished business. Force connections still strong enough to keep them here.’

‘So, you and me?’

‘What?’

‘Our Force connection.’ You said it as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. ‘You do know what we have one, right?’

‘I...I figured we were always just...close.’ 

‘No, you dipshit.’ You shook your head with a laugh. ‘They can develop between best friends. It’s a little rare, but we’re both so strong with the Force that it just happens naturally.’ 

‘That makes sense.’ he turned to look out at the city. ‘I didn’t really have a best friend before you.’ 

You looked over at him, a smile playing on your lips. ‘Yeah, me neither.’

--

Obi-Wan quickly fell into a routine, post-you. Not post-you completely, because he still saw you every evening, but that had helped push him towards the transition. He adjusted to only seeing you after work - not in the mornings or during the day or every waking second like it used to be. Nothing was how it used to be. Not even close. You were no longer beside him during meets or climbing into bed next to him when you had nightmares. There were no more missions with you or late nights filled with paperwork and laughter. 

That was the problem. 

You were here, but you weren’t really. The ghost he saw every night had your eyes and your laugh and your personality, but it wasn’t really you. Obi-Wan couldn’t touch you; he couldn’t feel you in the same way he used to. It was like having a conversation with a figment of his imagination -- conversations of false hope and plans that would never come to fruition. Because you could banter and you could laugh and you act like things weren’t completely fucking different, but they were. You were a ghost. A ghost of yourself, a ghost of the past, a ghost of what used to be. 

It had helped the pain at first. Eased the dread of knowing that you weren’t ever going to be back, not properly. Obi-Wan had appreciated that. It made grieving a lot easier when you were technically still there to tease and jester him through the process. Knowing that his friendship was the reason you couldn’t fully let go of existing had both made it better and worse. Better, because it meant you cared for him as deeply as he did for you. Worse, because it was so open-ended. At what point would you be satisfied enough to finally let go? Would he get to say goodbye, or would you just be here forever? 

That was the problem, Obi-Wan had come to find. 

He was hopelessly in love with you - though that much was obvious - and he couldn’t deal with only having some of you. He wanted all of you, or he wanted none of you. Only being able to talk to a blue apparition of you just wasn’t enough. It was just a constant reminder that the person he loved most in the universe was gone, and that he’d never fully have you. He was kicking himself for that one. What if he’d said something to you when you were still alive? Declared his love for when he could still physically reach out to you? 

That was the thought plaguing his mind every night. With you beside him, a cold aura radiating towards him as you sat with your legs hugged to your chest. It had been a few weeks since your first appearance, and your nights together ranged from deep conversations to comfortable silence. The latter was always worse, because Obi-Wan constantly found himself teetering on the edge of saying something. It was hard, because despite everything, he found you to be more enchanting and peaceful than ever. More entrancing. 

‘Can I tell you something?’ He asked. 

‘Sure thing.’ You peered over at him. ‘You look worried. Is it serious?’

He paused for a moment. ‘Depends how you take it, I suppose.’

‘Try me.’

‘There are…’ he faltered again. ‘There are some things I regret not telling you when you were still here.’

‘I am here.’ You reminded him. 

‘No, I know that.’ He found himself unable to look at you. ‘I mean when you were here here.’

‘What’s the difference, Obi?’

‘Remember when you used to come to my bedroom at 2AM because you’d had a bad dream?’ He asked. ‘Or when you’d throw yourself into my arms after we’d been separated on long missions?’

‘Yeah.’ 

He absent-mindedly reached a hand out towards you; it went straight through you, a rush of cold shooting down his arm. ‘I can’t do that anymore.’

‘You can still talk to me.’ You urged. ‘You can still be with me-’

‘- not in the way I want.’ Not in the way I need.

‘What do you mean?’ You gently pushed.

‘You don’t need me to explain it.’ He finally looked at you, blue eyes shrouded with an emotion you couldn’t quite decipher. 

‘Obi-Wan, what do you think has been keeping me here?’ You asked. 

You knew. Of course you fucking knew. Try as he might to be mysterious and suave, but you could read him like a book -- and it was a shock to you that he hadn’t seen your feelings either. They were clear as day to both of you, and yet it had been easier to ignore them for the sake of your friendship, and for the sake of the code. You both always figured that you could deal with them at a later date, because that’s when you’d had a later. 

‘Just say it.’ You murmured. ‘Say that you love me too and I’ll go-’

‘- I don’t want you to go.’ He cut you off. ‘Because then you’re gone forever.’

‘And then you can move on.’ You smiled. Neither of you knew that ghosts could cry until now. 

This was the closest he would ever get to having you now. He could have just sucked it up and dealt with it, and kept you by his side in your ominous form - but would that have been fair on you? To keep you around, just because he was so full of regret over things unsaid and so full of fear over grieving? None of this was fair, on him or on you.  

‘I can’t say it.’ Obi-Wan murmured. ‘Not yet.’

‘It’s okay.’ You gave him a watery smile. ‘I know.’

Neither of you said anything else - maybe you didn’t want to, or maybe you were scared to. The fact you’d finally acknowledged the bantha in the room after years, finally admitting that love had been the driving force behind what made your friendship so good, for so long. The irony was that when you’d died, he’d wanted nothing more than for you to come back in some form. Now, he realised that it was holding him back from moving on -- and he couldn’t do that until he’d let you go. But he couldn’t do that either. 

Unbeknownst to Obi-Wan, his words had been a confession. Albeit a thinly veiled one, but a confession nonetheless. It had confirmed to you the only thing you’d wanted to know before you’d passed: that he loved you back. That was all you needed. It was all you’d ever needed. 

Eventually, the Jedi beside you grew sleepy. That’s how it usually went every night -- you’d talk, he’d fall asleep beside you, and you’d cover him with a blanket and slip out to wherever it was that Force ghosts went at night. He never asked, for fear of it ruining the mystery. Obi-Wan knew that he wasn’t the only person you saw, but it was a nice thought, and one he didn’t want to taint. At least you took more mercy on him than you did with Dex, who slowly thought he was going insane at all the random objects suddenly being moved around. 

When you heard him gently snoring, you stood up. Obi-Wan looked peaceful, as though he’d finally gotten something of his chest - even though he hadn’t realised he’d done it. He hadn’t realised that it had been enough.  

You leant down beside him, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. For the first time since you’d appeared, you could finally feel his skin against yours - no cold jolts, no body parts suddenly disappearing through the other. Just your lips against his; warm and...human. 

‘Good night, Obi-Wan.’ You ran a hand through his hair, before standing up and stepping back. ‘I love you. I’ll always love you.’

He felt it. He was asleep, but he felt your lips on his and your hand in his hair, and he’d secretly smiled to himself, not entirely realising what was going on. He’d thought it was a dream, or that he was simply imagining that you could finally touch him as though you were a human, and no longer a cold, blue ghost. 

Because you weren’t. You were no longer a ghost.

Obi-Wan didn’t realise till he rose the next morning, a blanket tossed over him and the feeling of your lips still lingering on his, even hours later. He even dared to smile for a moment, before the knowledge of what he’d done hit him. He’d given you what you wanted - an unintentional confession of love. The thing you needed to finally cut off your Force connection. The only thing still tethering you to this world.

You were gone, but at least he’d finally gotten what he wanted. You. Even if it was only for a few moments.

[prfctethereal]

just another horror movie. | james potter

pairing: james potter x reader

chapter: one 

warnings: NSFW, smut, oral (male receiving), exhibitionism, talk of dead bodies, actual dead body, blood, vomiting

word count: 3.7k

read the prologue here or on ao3 here

summary: you and james take a quick detour through the woods, to have a bit of morning fun, but find something gruesome.

Three weeks earlier…

The quiet town of Hogwarts had never been quieter. It was typical though; towns that resided in the countryside of Scotland were often described as “quiet”, unbeknownst to most that it was anything but. Except, Hogwarts lived up to the stereotype. Peaceful, tame, quiet.

Quiet.

God, you needed some quiet.

Exam season was narrowing in, which meant endless nights of caffeine and random studying music that you found on spotify, its main purpose to help you concentrate. It was unfortunate, with the school year coming to a close, but you were determined to leave the year proud and satisfied with your work. Everything was going perfectly so far. Nothing could screw it up.

This is what you told yourself as you began your walk to school this morning. Leaving your house at seven in the morning on the dot had become the regular for you. Now that Summer was finally coming in, the walks were warm, without chilling breezes. You could feel comfortable with the wind in your hair and a light shirt on your back.

Something felt tranquil about this morning in particular. You didn’t feel held up or anxious. You didn’t even feel stressed as you busily organised your school bag this morning. You didn’t even blink an eye when you dropped your chemistry textbook on your foot. You were in a good mood. You were glowing.

Maybe it was because you had been getting some amazing sex from your amazing boyfriend lately.

Maybe.

But today wasn’t for what ifs. Today, you had one thing on your mind. A conversation needed to be had between you and your guidance counsellor, as the prospects of colleges were starting to roll around. Applications were beginning to close and your aspirations for life after high school were beginning to get clearer and clearer. You no longer wanted to be tied down in a small town, where the most important job you could get was at the Mayor’s office, sitting at a desk, listening to the complaints of highly egotistical citizens.

Wasn’t for you.

Your mind drifted off to your could-be life, and before you knew it, your legs had walked to your boyfriend’s house without you even realising. It was something unconscious and natural, something you were completely used to. The sight of the grand, three-story mansion that your lover lived in brought unprecedented comfort.

The spiralling pillars covered in the greenest of vines was something from a fairytale. A pale cerulean was painted across the panelling, giving a dream-like feel. Right above the front door housed a giant window, one that opened up into James’ bedroom.

Right. James.

Walking up the path, you felt comforted by the familiar sound of gravel beneath your feet. It reminded you of all the nights you had snuck up this very path to climb into James’ bedroom via the window. Nostalgic really.

Now you were here in broad daylight, ready to walk hand in hand with your boyfriend to school. Knocking on the front door, you were excited to see a nearly immediate opening of the door, with a very joyous boy standing there. His signature dopey smile glistened even brighter, as his eyes lingered over your clothed body a little longer than expected. His tongue shot out very quickly over the pink cushions of his lips, something you could’ve missed in a blink of an eye, but you didn’t. Laughing, he pushed his glasses up the nose of his bridge, before running his fingers through his unruly hair.

“Should we go then?” It sounded as though it was the first time James had spoken this morning, a fact that you didn’t mind, as your brain thought unholy things when listening to his gravely morning voice.

“Soon.” You mumbled, your voice trailing off slightly, as you stepped towards James, swinging your arms around the back of his neck. Taking a breath of his scent, you leaned forward, placing a delicate kiss upon his lips. They were slightly chapped, but you didn’t care.

It may have been a Summer day, but that wasn’t the only reason you were feeling hot.

Stopping yourself before you went too far, you pulled backwards, not before suggestively running your hands down James’ chest, smirking against his lips. “Come on, let's go.” You remarked playfully, smacking your hand lightly against James’ firm butt, which elicited a short laugh from the bubbly man.

So, hand in hand, you and James darted down his footpath, back into the street. Even more birds had woken up by now, with a choir of chirping serenading your descent into the bustling streets of Hogwarts.

Everything now seemed a little more public than you initially thought. Neighbours were waking up and going to work now too, giving no shorter than five second glances at you and James’ hand intertwined. You know what they would say; old people gossiped too much for your liking. It made you especially nervous, knowing that your parents didn’t know about your illicit relationship. Maybe it should stay that way. Well, before any neighbours get a little too gossipy in the weekly book club meetings.

“Are you listening to me?” James asked, snapping you out of your thoughtful haze. Blinking twice, you returned your attention to James, who’s eyes were laced with concern as he looked you over once again, eyebrows furrowed. “You seem out of it.”

“Oh, sorry.” Your voice came out almost silently as you looked away, flushed and embarrassed. “What were you talking about?”

“How I was going to fuck you so hard later today that you are going to struggle to walk.” James followed his statement with a dash of laughter, something that you mimicked like a pirate’s parrot.

“Well, I hope that’s not a joke, my dear.” You flashed a sly smile, looking James up and down. You both stopped walking, with James now admiring the way you were biting your lip, as if you were a siren trying to entrap him. Surely, you guys wouldn’t quickly dash away into the bush and go for a quickie right now, right?

James thought about it too, eyeing up someone’s poor hydrangea bush. Unfortunately, there would be too many witnesses, and exhibitionism wasn’t something you had both openly discussed before, although it wasn’t completely off the table.

“Lunch period.” James finally said, stopping his momentary halt, and marching forward.

“Lunch period?”

James leaned over, pressing his lips so close to your ear. His hot breath sent shivers down your spine, ones that ended in your core. “Meet me in the hallway between the chemistry and physics lab. I think there’s a new cupboard we could Christen.”

Giggling in excitement, you rubbed your fingers up the length of James’ arm, tugging him down the footpath, continuing your conversation about whatever. You learnt that he had a History test today, all about women earning the right to vote. You sighed as you listened to him talk about what he was passionate about, his stressed vowel sounds turning you on more than you would’ve thought.

Then came a predicament. An actual, real life crossroad. Right in front of you was where the footpath curved to the left, following along the road onto the main road through town. It was the way you went every day, with the road taking you directly to school when you walked along it, arriving perfectly at seven twenty-five every day. It was ideal.

This morning, though, you were feeling cheeky. From this footpath curve was another opportunity. The footpath also opened into a dirt path, something that twisted into the woods, or, as the conspiracy theorists of the town called it, the Forbidden Forest. It was hardly forbidden though; they literally took Scouts classes there, and those have kids as young as seven in them.

Feeling devilish, you paused James for a moment, the cogs turning over in your brain. You might arrive at school a little later than you first thought, but at least you would have some distance between the prying eyes of the Hogwarts neighbourhood. And maybe, you could have a little bit of fun too.

“James,” you smirked, tugging at the edge of his shirt, capturing his attention, something that wasn’t actually that hard to do, “shall we go for a detour this morning?”

Your eyes flashed over the forest and onto the quiet stillness of it. You could feel James’ heart rate speed up, but it wasn’t because he was scared. He was just as excited as you. It was like a switch had flicked on in his brain, although he was still hesitant, his feet still planted firmly on the ground.

“Are you sure?” James questioned. “How late is this going to make us?”

“Not that late at all.” You justified, mocking offence. “Oh, we should get there at maybe, quarter to eight? And besides, it’s fresh air, it’ll be good for us, and our lungs. Think of it as reversing the side effects of being around Sirius and Remus when they smoke all the time. Your lungs will thank us.”

“I’m not sure that’s how it works.” James laughed.

“How would you be so sure?”

“I’m the one that takes biology out of the two of us.”

You had to try another tactic, so, you jutted your bottom lip out of your mouth, putting on your best doe eyes, hoping you could flutter your eyelashes enough for him to give into temptation. “Please?”

A sigh escaped James lips as he seemed to give in. His reluctant look of worry was quickly replaced by an eager spark. Knitting his fingers in with yours, you two walked hand and hand together down the dirt path. The change of feeling beneath your feet was almost instantly recognisable, the normal, smooth, concrete path replaced by the rough dirt, and slight mud, even though it hadn't rained in days.

As you continued to wander down the path, you were suddenly covered in a canopy of shade, as the trees of the forest soon covered your heads. The route got a tad darker, the path no longer illuminated with the light of the sun, not that you minded though. You could still easily see where you were going.

You felt a little colder without the extra heat from the sun. You didn’t like the way goosebumps rose on your skin or the way you had to rub your hands along your arm to keep yourself warm. You felt out of control, a feeling of which you loathed. You didn’t want your perfect morning to be ruined by a little chill.

When you reached a tall, winding tree, you stopped James from his walk, pulling him off the path. Luckily, you had spotted a small dip in the earth, perfect to stay in, somewhere where regular bystanders wouldn’t find you. Happy with your discovery, you looked back at James, who had a puzzled look across his face.

“What’s going on?”

“Can I kiss you?” You asked breathlessly, your hands already getting fidgety. You wanted to be connected with James again, intertwined if you will. You needed to feel his skin, even if it was barely quarter past seven in the morning.

“Yes, love.” James breathed out, his voice quiet and shallow. WIth the consent, you leaned upwards, connecting your lips at last. It felt right to be pressed up against each other once again, even if it had been only yesterday when you had last felt such passion.

You deepened the kiss, feeling urgent to make the most of the short time you had together. Your mouths melded together almost perfectly, your lips pushing against each other like a playful pillow fight, one which you were determined to win.

Feeling mischievous, you reached to James’ hair, tugging lightly on his roots, an action you knew he liked. This action got the response you wanted from him, a needy moan, in which you took the opportunity to slip your tongue into his mouth, battling it out with his own, regaining confidence and dominance.

You pulled away, your cheeks flushed from the lack of oxygen. James looked disheveled but pleased, wanting to continue your little make out session, but unfortunately, you had limited time.

“Can I suck you off?” You whispered against his mouth innocently, looking up at his hazel eyes, brushing his hair off of his forehead. You could hear him gulp with nervousness, before nodding quickly, his hands making their way to his slacks.

You knew James was slipping into a mindset clouded by arousal, so you sank to your knees slowly in front of him, still looking up at him through your long lashes. On your journey downwards, you carefully unzipped the zipper on his pants, pulling them down to ankles, until he was clad in only his boxers.

Lifting yourself up slightly onto the balls of your feet, you kissed him lightly on the outside of his boxers, feathering gentle kisses. You knew you were being a tease, but you needed him nice and hard. As you felt his bulge setting like cement under your lips, you lifted your hands up, joining your lips so you could palm him, stroking the material.

When James started moaning, - “oh please, stop teasing, I beg you,” - you released him from the cage of his underwear, dragging the clothing down the apex of his things, watching the muscles twitch in excitement. There, James’ half hard cock laid against his thighs, the tip a gentle rouge colour.

Your fingers grazed over his prick, lightly tracing a prominent vein of the underside of the sex muscle. James groaned in pleasure, the teasing getting too much for him to handle. Feeling benevolent, you dribbled saliva over the tip of the cock, before wrapping your entire hand around it. You started stroking harder and faster, making sure James could feel all of you in a way you hand. He was starting to fall apart above you, but it wasn;t enough.

“So- so good.” James murmured, his eyes gently shutting as he became lost in the feeling. “Don’t stop, please don’t stop. I love your hands, so perfect, so precise. Perfect for me, precise for me.”

“It was like you were made for me.” You agreed with the raven haired boy, before bringing your lips down to the tip of his penis. This action shocked James, but the whimper out of his mouth made you know he was enjoying it. Living from the excitement of the exhibisionist route, you swiveled your tongue across the tip, reaching down the length of the cock, savouring his taste.

“Right there.” James moane, as you brung the rest of your mouth down over his now fully hard cock, reveling in the flavour of the salty precum that was leaking from his angry tip. With a smooth rhythm, you bobbed your head up and down on James’ cock, the sound of his moans itching you on.

You knew you were running out of time, and you still wanted him to cum, so you sped up your movements on James’ cock, stroking the base of his cock, which could not fit in your mouth. Adding to the pleasure, you let your hands move downwards a bit more, so they played gently with James’ hanging balls.

This applied pressure was becoming too much for James, as his breath became laboured and a tingling feeling was nearly bursting at his cock. “I’m gonna cum, please, I’m going to do it.”

You lifted your mouth off of James’ cock, just to murmur, “let go.” James, with your permission, spurted his cum across your hands. Eager to savour him, you opened your mouth, catching as much of the milking substance as possible, not wanting to waste any of it. Jacking James off through the entire thing, you watched as his orgasm crashed over him entirely, the way his face contorted in pleasure almost being the most beautiful portrait to you.

Licking the rest of his cum off of your fingers, you stood up, wiping your knees off, as the dirt sticking to you was becoming slightly uncomfortable. While you stood up, you reached from the top of James’ pants, pulling them upwards as you went.

“Thanks.” James almost laughed, except he still sounded out of breath, which was very reasonable though. You did just suck the life out of him. His fingers worked quickly, rearranging his pants, and cock, so that you both could continue on your way to school.

As you waited for James to finish cleaning himself up, your nose turned upwards. There was a strange smell coming from the area, one you didn’t notice before when you were on your knees in front of James. It was a smell that you were relatively unfamiliar with, but all you knew was that it stank like rotten meat.

“Can you smell that?” You asked James, looking off into the little ditch you were beside. Wherever you were, it seemed that it had been recently disturbed. Broken twigs snapped into pieces laid amongst crunched up leaves. If you squinted, you were sure you could even make out that faintest of footprints on the ground. It was odd, but nothing you haven't seen before in the woods. The smell on the other hand…

“Smells like thrown out vegetables.” James readjusted his glasses before holding out his hand, inviting you to close your fingers in with his. “I bet some old granny thought it would be a good idea to throw out their compost in the woods. If the council found out, they would have a fit. You know all about their weirdly tight rules on littering? It’s not even bad for the environment.”

You had stopped listening a while ago. Something didn’t feel right, but it was nothing you could sort out now. You weren’t satisfied but you turned back towards James anyway, knowing that you needed to head off to school or you would be running a little bit behind schedule. As you turned around, you noticed James’ face morph from a cheeky grin to a concerned frown.

“What is it?” You pondered, stepping towards James, matching his pear-shaped frown with one of your own.

“Did you cut yourself when you were on your knees?”

“Huh?”

“Look.” James bent down to look at your knees and you turned your head down too. What you thought had just been a bit of dirt must’ve been something else. Your knees were covered in a browny-red, maybe a maroon colour. It looked as though your entire knee had been cut open, as blood was still dripping from your skin, but that couldn’t be right. You felt no pain on your knee. You hadn’t cut yourself.

Swiping your fingers across your knee, you gathered some of the drying blood on your fingers. This was the first time you had looked at your hands since you wiped off your knees before and you saw that you had smudged blood stains all across your palm. You nearly barfed on the spot. You felt incredibly uneasy, like a stormy ocean filled your stomach.

You lifted your fingers up to your nose, a theory hypothesising into your head, and you were right. The smell of the blood matched the rotten meat smell you could smell before. As if you were a dog, the odor latched onto your nose and expanded, its putrid smell being the only thing in your senses.

“I'm going to be sick.” You doubled over a rock. Resting your hand against a boulder, you hovered downwards over a patch of leaves, letting your breakfast out. Your head was reeling as you could still smell the retching odor of the old blood. You couldn’t get it out of your mind, so you leaned over again, round two of the hurling intervention.

James rushed over to you, placing his warm hands on your back, rubbing soothing circles. He wished he could say that his main focus was to make you feel better, but it wasn’t. Over in the deepest part of the dish, he noticed something strange. It was almost like a small lump in the ground, something unnatural. It seemed to be covered very messily by old leaves and sticks, and an entire tree branch, as if it would make it any less inconspicuous. It even had that opposite of the desired effect, seemingly sticking out like a sore thumb.

“Darling,” James waited until you lifted your head back up, regaining your breath once again, “what do you think that is?”

James’ hand pointed into the direction of the ditch, in which you followed his eyesight and body movements. You could see it too; just a lump in the ground. Your mind was racing of what it could be. A dead animal? A pile of rotten food? Maybe a…

“Holy shit!” You had only just realised that James had already walked over there, except his body was covering your eye line, and you couldn’t actually see what James had found. Although, he told you immediately. “Quick, call the police. It’s a body.”

A dead body in Hogwarts? Making sure you didn’t lose any more of your stomach through puking, you rushed onto the path in the woods, grabbing your phone out of your pocket, hoping you could get service all the way out here in the woods. Fumbling to turn your phone on, you nearly groaned out in annoyance when you saw that you were getting no bars of service.

Running back to James, you couldn’t stop at the moment. You called out to him, your words a blurred mess, trying to convey to him that you were going to find someone to help. Unsure if he had even heard you, you ran back down the path, your feet carrying you to where you needed to go, unable to bring yourself to a cohesive thought.

When you exited the forest, you flicked your head around, trying to find someone, anyone, that could help in the moment. The first person you saw was your calculus teacher, Mr Slughorn, to which you promptly called out to.

“Mr Slughorn!” You cupped your hands around your mouth to project your words across louder. Mr Slughorn snapped his head around and gave a friendly wave. Annoyed, you shook your head. “Call the police!”

“What?” He called back, walking towards you now. You groaned, trying again.

“There's a dead body in the forest. Call the police!”

***

lmao. anyway this has become a series whoops.

[rwprincess]

Show Night (Brian Johnson x Fem!Reader Chap 6)

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Oh wow, would you look at that! It’s finally show night. D: I picked Grease because it’s one that I know really well. The only other two on-par with that are probably Phantom of the Opera (which didn’t exist at the time) and Fiddler on the Roof. Maybe Wicked or Rent, but those also didn’t exist then and would not be done at a high school. And Grease has a lot more sex appeal than Fiddler on the Roof, sorry. The song Freddy My Love is referenced in this fic, so here it’s linked for your listening pleasure.

Word count: 7K

CW: The fluff. Jesus Christ the fluff; mild sexuality; swearing/language; some parental issues/warm and fuzzies

Synopsis: It’s show night, baby! How is Brian going to react to your performance? What’s going to happen when Mike shows up? 

Previous chapter: Man, You Are SO Screwed 

A/N: The after-party for every show is always some diner. Usually a Denny’s. Originally I was thinking The Waffle House (a la Love, Simon), but The Google tells me that they don’t actually exist in Illinois. Who knew? Also, I felt like this one could be in third person the whole time to capture all the perspectives instead of writing two back-to-back chapters? We’ll see how that goes. Idk.

*~~~~*

Friday morning, Y/N bounded over to Brian at his locker. She didn’t bother with a greeting, but rather dove right in to conversation. “Thank you for your note, it really meant a lot to me. I think it also brought me luck.” She grinned.

Brian smiled over at her, “Oh? I take it that the show went well last night, then?” Y/N nodded vigorously.

“A few minor hiccups, but that’s okay. I don’t think the audience could tell. Nothing glaringly obvious, you know? Just that we knew something should or shouldn’t have happened.” She was practically bouncing on her toes now from the excitement. 

“So, why is it that Friday night is the best to come?” He wanted to let her play the expert. He enjoyed having the confidence to talk about math, and knew she felt the same way in this. Talking about the performing arts was her ‘math,’ and he also found it adorable and heartwarming whenever she would get passionate about a subject. Plus, he always liked to learn.

“Well, Thursday night I think everyone’s nerves get to them. You’re finally at that point where it’s the real deal and there’s an audience reacting. And it always seems like there’s some kind of kink or malfunction. But you learn from that for Friday night and really tighten it up. And then Saturday, I don’t know… there’s two shows and by that point you’re sort of worn out. The high of the first two performances has worn off. Friday, you’re like, excited, but not necessarily jittery.” Brian got caught up in the way she talked with her hands, that it was almost like a piece of storytelling for her at that point. He grinned warmly at her and she caught the reflective light of his braces that she loved so much. She felt like she could describe his smile as literally dazzling. 

“So, what you’re saying is ‘prepare to be amazed?’” He waggled his eyebrows and she laughed.

“Oh yeah.” She said with a straight-face, even though she was clearly joking, “This is some circus-level, no! Broadway-level shit happening here at Shermer High!” Now they were both cracking up. When the warning bell rang, she reminded him, “See you tonight! Right after the show, I’ll find you in the lobby, okay?” as she started to disappear among the throng of students going to class.

“You got it!” He called out after her. 

“So...I didn’t want to interrupt, but, you look like you’re on cloud nine.” Brian heard Matt say from behind him. He started walking towards their first period class. “I’m guessing everything went well and smoothed over, then?”

“You know, we didn’t even talk about it.” Brian smiled, “But yeah, I think it’s going to be alright.” Matt patted him on the shoulder.

“Good, because you know I need those details to sustain me.”

*~~~~*

Brian had had to beg his parents for the opportunity to go to the play that night. He felt like he had to lay out a debate presentation or a dissertation for them in order to leave. He reasoned that it wasn’t a school night, that he was going with friends, and that he knew some of the cast. He remained vague as to who he knew as well as which friends would be attending. Mostly off-handed mutterings about “people from class.” His parents insisted that he home by 11pm and that he find his own way home, preferably with a parent of one of the “friends” that were going, as they didn’t want to be expected to wait up for him. As his mother dropped him off at the school at 6:30, she made him repeat all of the agreed-upon circumstances.

“You will be home by…”

“Eleven.”

“Good. You have the front door key?” Brian held it up so she could see that he did before he put it back in the front pocket of his black dress pants. “Good. No drinking, no drugs. Wear a seatbelt.”

“Yes, mom. Can I go now?” She looked at him for a moment, as if sizing him up, but then her expression softened. 

“Hold on just a moment.” She reached into the back seat of the car and pulled out a bouquet of flowers and handed them to him. Brain looked at her in puzzlement. “It’s a tradition,” she explained, “I figured you could divvy them up for your ‘friends’ in the cast.” She paused and looked at him for a moment. “Or, just one special friend in the cast?”

Brian immediately turned beet red. He had no idea how she knew, but it seemed like she did. “Mom,” he groaned, acting as if she were being ridiculous and wasn’t completely on the mark.

“Brian, it occurred to me that you had a friend that you were helping with math and then a friend, who happened to be a girl called the house.” ‘Not to mention hiding the call behind a door,’ he thought, realizing his mom would of course put two and two together. “And then you desperately wanted to see this show, even though you have never once shown any interest in watching Grease. Just because this ‘friend’ is in it. Well, I started to suspect that they were all the same friend.” 

While he was hugely embarrassed, this was one of the nicest conversations he had had with his mother in a long time, so he decided to be honest with her. “Yeah, it is.” He said, nodding.

“Well, you’ll have to bring her around some time so we can meet her.”

“Mom, it’s nothing serious. She really is just my friend.”

“You know I still like to know who your friends are.” She said, her look becoming a bit more stern again. Brian bit his lip and nodded. “Is she nice?”

“Very.” Brian said, “That’s why we’re friends. Now, mom, thank you for the ride, but I’m going to be late.” 

“Fine, go.” She motioned for him to get out of the car, but Brian waited just a moment longer and then threw his arms around her.

“Thank you for the flowers, too.” 

“You’re welcome. Now go. You said you didn’t want to be late.” She teased and Brian almost felt like he was a little kid again, where there was only love and nurturing from his parents, when he hadn’t disappointed them yet and his mistakes were met with understanding. 

As he approached the main doors of the high school, he felt like he might be overdressed. He had envisioned the trope of dressing up some for “a night of theatre” or whatever, but looking at Shermer High reminded him that he was just seeing an amateur production put together by his classmates. While he didn’t doubt that some were really talented, it wasn’t exactly like he was in the city, at some big-time Chicago playhouse. He licked his lips and adjusted his black tie over his white button-down long sleeve shirt and prepared to go in. After purchasing his ticket at the booth, he rounded the corner and found that several of the Club were already there. Claire explained that she had borrowed the car and driven herself, Andrew, and Allison there and that they had arrived about ten minutes ago. Claire’s outfit made him feel a little less like he was overdressed, though. She had on a very nice pink dress with frills and was wearing dangling diamond earrings. As per usual, her makeup was done in chic perfection. Andrew was, of course, wearing his letterman jacket and jeans (a step up from sweat pants, though), and Allison looked like she had dressed somewhere in between. She had on dark slacks and a nice navy blue sweater. Her makeup was less heavy than usual, but her hair still hung in her face in places and obscured it. 

“It’s really nice to see you guys.” Brian said, smiling warmly at them. Being all together again as one unit made him feel almost nostalgic for that Saturday detention. “Where’s Bender, though?”

“He had work, but he said he’d be getting off early.” Claire replied, “He should be here by now.” Brian checked his watch. They still had about 5 more minutes before the doors even opened where they could look for seats, but John was still cutting it close.

“You brought flowers for Y/N?” Andrew asked and Brian looked up from his wrist.

“Uh, yeah. I guess. It's a tradition.” He muttered, suddenly feeling silly. He saw Andrew and Claire exchange a look and sly smiles, but Allison looked directly at him and nodded with a close-lipped smile. She seemed proud that her ‘figure it out and do something’ speech had gotten to him. As a group, they chatted to try to catch up, fill in the gaps between the times they had seen each other. Andrew had done well at his last two wrestling meets, placing second in one of them; Allison mentioned that Bender and his friends were pushing her to enter a piece into the art show at the local rec center; Claire had received an ‘A’ on her midterm for Literature. Luckily Bender started to come into view just as the ushers were opening and propping the doors. However, Brian had not expected Mike to be with him. Clearly he had not just given Bender a ride, as he would have likely just dropped him off. Instead, he was here, past the ticket office. Mike and Allison said hello, as they already knew each other, but Bender made introductions for the rest of the group.

“Here we got Sporto, Princess, and Dweeb.” He said, pointing to each member of the Breakfast Club that he had given a nickname to. “Jockstrap, Cherry...other Cherry, this is good-for-nothin’ Mike.”

“Aw, I don’t get a cute nickname?” Mike put his hand on his chest and feigned hurt. Brian took in his tall frame, broad shoulders, dark curly hair. He was also dressed nicer than Brian had ever seen him. He had imagined that his whole wardrobe was black from how he normally dressed, but he was wearing khakis and a white tee-shirt that actually fit well, not overly baggy like most of his shirts. Bender had also stepped it up a little. He wasn’t wearing his typical gloves and flannel, anyway. He was wearing a red shirt under his black leather jacket with dark blue jeans that didn’t have any holes in them. Brian still wasn’t sure how close Bender and Y/N were, but it seemed like John was the one who had really put this all together, he dressed up, and he took off work early...so he figured it must be a lot more than he had originally guessed.

“Well,” Bender clapped Brian and Allison on their shoulders, “Who’s ready for some mediocre midwestern theatre, eh?” He breezed by them and led the group into the auditorium, handing his ticket to the usher. Whoever the usher was, they clearly knew Bender and did not expect him to be there. They eyed him almost suspiciously as they took his ticket and tore it in half. ‘I suppose his reputation does precede him.’ Brian thought. Bender spotted a row that would seat all of them, a few rows behind the middle. He started scooting in quickly, wanting to claim their spots. He made Mike pass him and sit on his left so that he could sit in between him and Claire, who looked a little nervous. This was probably their first public outing together, and being a school event, who knew who might show up or see them together? Allison sat next to her, then motioned Brian to come next as if she were putting a buffer between herself and Andy. Andrew had the last seat, along the aisle. 

Bender unsurprisingly put his feet up against the seat in front of him before Claire whacked his legs and told him to cut it out. Brian put the flowers in his lap and could feel eyes on him. He expected Allison to be staring at him, but she wasn’t. Instead, he looked down the row and could see that Mike was observing him. His eyes flickered to the bouquet. ‘That’s right,’ Brian thought as he glared back, ‘I have the edge here. You’re nothing.’ He thought about Y/N laughing at Mike’s joke in the hallway on Monday, but shrugged it off, trying to bolster himself, ‘I’ve made her laugh dozens of times.’ He said internally, as if he were winning his imaginary argument with himself. Allison began talking to him about the show.

“Y/N told me there wasn’t really any violence.” She said, sounding like she was bummed, “Just cheesy teenage romance and happy endings and shit.” Brian thought about that for a moment. He did know that Grease was supposed to be a teen romp set back in the 50s or 60s, but he hadn’t really considered the romance part. Even if it was just acting, would he have to see Y/N kiss someone else? He had no idea what her part was like, just that she got a song. Was she also nervous because she had to kiss someone on stage for everyone to see? ‘Are the kisses even real if they’re on stage?’ He felt like a director probably couldn’t make two kids actually kiss if they didn’t want to, right? ‘How dedicated to her craft is she?’ the taunting, tormenting part of his brain jabbed at him. The lights flickered in the auditorium, letting the audience know that the show would soon start.

“Hey, Bender!” Andy called down the row and John’s head snapped to him, annoyed at the interruption between him, Mike, and Claire. “What if you’ve gotta take a piss?” Andrew called back to detention where Bender threatened to pee on the floor. 

Bender smirked back and said, “Hey, if you gotta go, you gotta go.” He and Andrew laughed about it, but Brian could distinctly hear Claire groan, “Oh, God” in disgust. The lights started to dim, though, and in the complete blackness, there was scattered applause. None of their group really seemed to know what the protocol was, besides Claire, who had surely seen professional shows, so they followed her lead when the lights started to come up on the stage, and clapped along with her. 

It started with Sandy and Danny pantomiming beach activities, talking about having to return to school and be separated forever, since they had only met on vacation. Brian smiled, amused, thinking about how Y/N had told him that Danny was constantly blowing his lines in rehearsal. He felt like he had inside information, like he was in on the joke. The set soon changed to a façade of a high school with some band risers to indicate bleachers on one side and a picnic-type table on the other side. Of course, Sandy had just moved to the school that Danny was at, in a cheesy “it must be fate!” set up. Sandy was immediately welcomed by a girl in a red wig and asked to join her group of friends, the Pink Ladies. Brian guessed he’d seen some movies set around the same time where there were motorcycle gangs and the like, sort of like James Dean’s Rebel Without a Cause, so he figured it must be like that. Girls in pink silk jackets then walked on the stage, one of them saying “Senior year! We are going to rule the school!” and, lo-and-behold, there was Y/N amongst them. She had her hair curled and her character had ridiculous, oversized rhinestone encrusted glasses on, which she pulled down to look over as Sandy was brought over to be introduced. Honestly, her character seemed a lot like Claire. A pencil skirt and a low-cut fashionable top. She had that rich-and-popular, ‘do not talk to me’ vibe and it almost made him laugh. It was soon the first musical number, Sandy and Danny singing completely different recollections about their summer together, but Brian guessed that there always were two sides to every story; always a completely different perspective.

Tell me more, Tell me more

Like does he have a car?

Brian joined the others in the audience laughing at Y/N’s superficial line. He wasn’t aware that the 50s had Valley Girls, but it was clear that the Pink Ladies, and her character Marty were the equivalent. The group followed Claire’s lead again in clapping when the song was finished. ‘Okay, so, clap after songs.’ Brian felt like he was getting the hang of theatre etiquette. 

When the plot turned that they were going to have a sleepover, Brian sat up. He knew that this was when Y/N’s song would come. He could feel his palms getting sweaty and could feel Allison and Andrew looking at him, but he focused in on the stage. He was impressed that their theatre department was able to put together a bedroom set on wheels, including a bed. His focus didn’t remain on that very long, though. He gulped looking at Y/N in a light blue baby-doll night dress and fuzzy slippers. He wasn’t really sure what to expect costume-wise, but definitely not this, except maybe in his own fantasies. He could feel his heart racing while the rest of the audience seemed to fade away. Her character soon pulled out a gaudy robe and claimed that it was from her penpal-Marine-boyfriend who sends her all sorts of gifts. It still amused him how her character was completely different from herself, but she was channeling the materialistic and superficial mindset really well. One of the other girls asked “What do you say in a letter to a guy, anyway?” and instrumental music started up. ‘This is it,’ he thought, leaning forward.

Freddy my love, I miss you more than words can say

Freddy my love, Please keep in touch while you’re away

Hearing from you can make the day so much better

Getting a souvenir, or maybe a letter.

It was beautiful and he could see why they chose her to have her own song. He also wished that his name were Freddy or at least rhymed with it, right now. He still felt like she was singing directly to him, and even though the song was clearly about getting a guy to spend money on gifts for her, he really didn’t mind. He centered his attention more on lyrics like “Your absence makes me feel so blue” that made his heart ache and the way she kicked her feet or pinwheeled her legs to the choreography. He was utterly spellbound by the time she stood up and made her way downstage in her song.

Freddy, you see, you’ll hold me in your arms some day

And I will be wearing your lacy lingerie

She ran her hands over her thighs, to some hoots from the audience. Brian could feel his cheeks getting hot, and he wasn’t sure if it was from her action or the reaction. She sat back on the bed as the song ended with,

Freddy my love, Freddy my love, Ooo-ooh Freddy.

And Brian didn’t hesitate to begin his applause. He didn’t even care about looking too eager next to his friends. He felt overwhelmingly proud and knew how much Y/N had simultaneously been looking forward to and dreading this song. It was worth making a fool of himself to support her.

The first act ended with a song called “Hopelessly Devoted to You,” according to the program that Brian picked up during intermission. He felt that it was an appropriate cap-off to how he was feeling after seeing Y/N perform tonight. The Club had left their seats to stretch, the girls used the restroom, etc. Brian was studying the playbill to see what else was left, when Andrew clapped him on the shoulder. “Enjoying the show, Brian?” It wasn’t really a question, nor is it what Andrew actually meant. Brian could tell by the way he was smirking and raising his eyebrows.

“Uh, yeah. It’s not bad. That song about mooning people was weird, though.” Brian acted like he didn’t know what Andy was hinting at, and answered seriously. Andrew just nodded and played along.

“Riiiight. Well, I liked Greased Lightning, but uh...that slumber party scene, yeah?” Brian nervously fiddled with the playbill and avoided Andrew’s eyes, thinking about how to phrase his response.

“Yeah, I know Y/N was looking forward to that one, uh, to her song I mean. So, that’s cool.” Andrew was still looking at him with that goofy expression, trying to get him to confess to something but Brian shook him off. “Uh, I think I’m gonna go back in. It’ll probably start again soon.”

The second act started with the prom, or dance or whatever. He knew this was another key point that Y/N had been eager about, and that they had worked long and hard on as a cast. The opening number for Act II came from Sandy, and he agreed with Y/N, she was really good. A great choice for the character and for big solo numbers like this, and the end of Act I. She conveyed a lot of emotion through those two songs. Allison looked particularly enraptured in the performance. 

The actual “Dance” scene was huge! They had all of the main cast, of course, but all the extras or smaller parts that had come and gone were there, filling up the stage. Brian also had to give props to the costume crew, each character looked unique, but in the time period. Y/N looked absolutely stunning in a dark green, short and tight dress with her hair done in a beehive fashion with flowers in it. He felt his heart burn within his chest again. He also didn’t think he had ever seen her in high heels, but for this part, she had to wear them, not that he minded the look. She seemed oddly steady and comfortable in them, though, but he figured that hours of rehearsal and dancing in them probably built that confidence. Those hours had paid off though, the Hand-Jive dance contest went really well. He couldn’t see a single person flub the choreography or look like they didn’t know what they were doing. Allison even squeaked a little “Wow” and he nodded in agreement. When Andrew noticed him nodding, he joined, clearly impressed by the physicality of it all, as an athlete. That number probably brought the biggest applause of the night, which must have been a relief to the cast who were now all but panting on the stage, trying to catch their breath.

The show ended, of course, happily. Everyone who was supposed to be together got together, even though that meant Sandy turned into a “greaser chick” for Danny and to fit in with the other girls, even though they’d all be going to college immediately after the events of this play, which seemed kind of silly. But the ending came on a high, energetic note with catchy songs, and really, for a high school musical, it wasn’t that bad at all. The audience applauded as the last song ended and the curtains closed. The applause continued as they opened back up and some of the ensemble came out for their bows, then the supporting cast. Of course, when the Pink Ladies trotted out, their group rose to their feet to cheer on Y/N. “Yeah!” Bender yelled, and Brian whistled loudly, since he had that talent instead of a loud voice. That made her beam with pride. Or maybe she didn’t actually hear them, but he was hoping she did. They remained on their feet for Sandy and Danny, and a lot of the crowd joined for that, as well. They started to scoot their way out of the aisle and join the mass of people who were headed into the lobby.

As a group, they hung back nearer to the wall beside the auditorium doors. Claire stood close to Bender, oddly empowered to be seen with him in public now and Mike and Andrew were chatting about something. Brian kept scanning the crowd with his pale blue stare, especially when there were some cheers from the audience as the cast made their way out. Bender had joined the hunt now too, looking for Y/N.

“There she is,” Allison nodded over the crowd. They started to move forward to get her attention.

“Nope, me first.” Bender pushed through the group, towards Y/N. He stunned them all by picking her up in a hug, “Good job, Pipsqueak!” She laughed heartily as he set her down, clearly as surprised as the rest of them.

“Thank you!” 

“Jesus,” Bender said, touching her hair as the others caught up and surrounded her, “how much hairspray did they put in your hair?” He pantomimed his hand bouncing back off of it as he touched her.

“Oh, precisely all of it.” She joked, and turned to the rest of the group, “Thank you all for coming! Like, so much! I hope you liked it?” 

“It was great!” Claire said and Andrew nodded.

Y/N looked at Allison, “I liked it. Surprisingly. Could have used more violence though. Instead of chickening out of that rumble.” 

Bender laughed at that, “Right?”

Mike scooted forward while those two bantered off one another about how a rumble should have gone down. He gave Y/N an awkward side hug. “You were really great. It was a good time.” 

“Thank you! And thank you for coming,” she smiled. Brian had hung back in the crowd. He was once again feeling ridiculous for being dressed up and for holding this bouquet of flowers that weren’t his idea. Especially after that exchange between her and Mike. He realized he was subconsciously hiding behind Andrew and Claire, letting them block his body from her view. But then, he noticed her looking between them, purposefully, and lighting up when she spotted him. Somehow, he wasn’t expecting that reaction, and it delivered a pow right into his chest. She made her way around Andrew and approached Brian.

“H-hey. You were fantastic,” he said, holding the bouquet out a bit in front of him. 

“Are those for me?” She asked, incredulously, eyes flickering from him to the pink and red flowers. Brian nodded.

“Thank you, Brian!” She said, taking a step towards him. She took the bouquet from his hands and threw her arms around his neck. He had never hugged her before, and here she was initiating it. He almost didn’t respond, but then he wrapped his arms around her waist. He could feel his whole body humming from the feel of her in his arms and he did not want to let go. “Thank you so much for coming, it means a lot to me.” She whispered in his ear, giving him goosebumps. She pulled away and looked at him for a moment, ignoring the group’s reaction behind them. He felt almost pinned under her stare, but she just smiled and said “You look really nice tonight.”

“Thanks, you too.” He breathed, not even thinking about the reaction pouring from his lips. 

She laughed, “Well, that’s the costume and makeup department’s job, but...thank you.” She was still in costume from her final number, but Brian would have said that regardless of what she was wearing. She looked at him for another moment, and then suddenly seemed to remember that the rest of their friends were standing behind her, so she turned to them.

“Uh, I need to go change, but I am starving. Do you guys want to go to Gino’s East?”

“What? They won’t let you take the costume out for a spin?” Andrew joked

“No, no, see, she’s going to go put on that little negligee and join us, right?” Bender teased and wiggled his eyebrows. Y/N rolled her eyes and pushed him playfully.

“So, what do you guys say?” She asked again, since no one had actually answered her. The group murmured agreement. “Okay, give me like ten minutes? Then I can drive like half of us…” She looked around realizing that they might not make it.

“Don’t worry, I can drive the other half,” Claire stepped up. 

“Great, thank you. Oh wow, stunning dress by the way.” Y/N told her and Claire smiled at the compliment. Y/N rushed away to get dressed as quickly as possible, leaving Brian to get teasing smiles and comments from the group, as well as an irritated glare from Mike. 

“Looks like those flowers were a good play, eh Casanova?” Andy elbowed him

“Oh my gosh! What did I miss? Are you two dating?!” Claire asked

“Aww, jeez…” Was all Brian could muster, rubbing his face. “Can we please talk about something else?”

*~~~~*

Andrew rigidly insisted on riding with Claire, and she decided to take Bender along in her car. It seemed like she had become completely unfazed about being seen with him tonight. Meanwhile, Y/N had agreed to take Brian, Allison...and Mike. Mike explained that his parents had just dropped off himself and Bender. Brian had assumed he had driven them both, and silently gritted his teeth at the prospect of Mike coming with them. It was supposed to be a Breakfast Club outing, after all. To say that their combined presence in Y/N’s car was awkward was an understatement. Allison sat in the backseat with Mike since she already knew him pretty well, and Brian rode shotgun next to Y/N, but the tension in the car was palpable and Allison kept looking around shifty-eyed. When they arrived at Gino’s, they all tried their best to cram into a corner booth. It was a little snug, given that there were seven of them, but they made it work. 

“Well, for instance, last night Doody just stood there waiting for the band to cue up to play the song. It’s not like he actually knows how to play the guitar.” Y/N was filling them in on the little mistakes that happened for the show, as well as some of the backstage drama. “So he was just standing there, swaying back and forth and nodding. That was kind of awkward.” She chuckled a little bit.

“Yeah? Did you also pass out from the fumes from your hairspray last night? Sincerely, it is killing me right now.” Bender said, sitting on her right. She elbowed him playfully.

“I get it! I’ll shower as soon as I get home and get rid of all this crap, but you picked where you sat.” She teased. The waitress came by and set down two large pizzas, one with just cheese and one loaded with meat. Another waiter assisted her in bringing the many plates that they needed. Bender didn’t hesitate to dig in. He was already serving himself a plate while Claire handed a plate to Andrew next to her, then the rest of the stack across the table to Mike to distribute. 

“So, who played Sandy? She was a babe.” Bender asked, chewing a mouthful of sauce and bread. Claire thwacked his thigh with the back of her hand.

“I am sitting right. here.” She reminded him.

“Yeah, I know. Did you not think she was a babe, babe?” He laughed, solo, at his own joke and Claire just rolled her eyes.

“Uh, Veronica MacNamara.” Y/N responded, “She’s actually really nice. She was good, huh?”

“Oh, I’ll say.” Andrew joined in, waggling his eyebrows. Allison gave a muted huff from the other side of the table. She had made it a point again to sit far away from Andrew. She was nestled in between Mike and Brian. 

“Ugh, that’s not what I meant.” Y/N said back to Andrew, noting Allison’s reaction.

“What? I just meant that she’s a very talented actress,” he said, voice oozing with lustful sarcasm.

“Boys are so gross.” Claire said to Y/N, and she laughed

“Those two, anyway. Sorry you’re caught in the crossfire.” Claire happened to be sitting directly in between the two of them. She gave a smirk in agreement.

“What do you think, Brian?” Andrew said, putting an uncomfortable spotlight on him that he all but shrank away from. He knew what he was up to. ‘What a shit.’ He thought. Beside him, Y/N’s cheeks heated up, fearful to hear his answer.

Brian thought twice about it and shrugged, “She was pretty good. I really liked her song at the end of the first Act.” There. Honest and to-the-point.

“Oh come on,” Andrew started, “You know what I mean. Do you agree with me and Bender? She’s hot, right?” Claire was shooting Andrew daggers, unsure of why he made this his battle, but he just laughed at teasing Brian, figuring he and Bender could bond over it later. ‘Goddammit.’ Brian thought.

“She’s not really my type, no.” He immediately looked down at his plate then, avoiding what he was sure were smirking faces and exchanged knowing glances. 

“What about you, Mike?” Andrew continued. ‘Okay, maybe at this point he’s just trying to make Allison jealous. He won’t let it go.’

“Yeah, she was fine, but there were a lot of pretty women on that stage tonight.” Mike responded, looking over to Y/N with a smile. Claire all but pushed Andrew out of the booth. 

“Stop it. Just shut up.” She hissed at him.

“Oh come on, it’s just a friendly chat. Right, Bender?” Andrew looked hopefully at John to back him up. To his disappointment, though, John looked away like he didn’t need the association and took a long gulp from his drink.

“Well, what if Allison and I start talking about what a dreamboat that Danny or Kenickie were, huh? Would you like that?” The smile fell off Andrew’s face, but he tried to cover it up with a sniff.

“Wouldn’t bother me none.” He stated, flatly. “I’d just find it boring since I’m not interested, you know?” Allison took this as permission and her signature catlike grin appeared on her face. She leaned forward towards Claire.

“I really like the greaser style, you know. Why did they ever do away with that?”

“Oh God, I know. Those tight white t-shirts?” Claire remarked

“The leather jackets. Back when guys were cool and tough. I mean, how ridiculous did Danny look in that letterman’s jacket?” She turned her gaze to Andrew and he gritted his teeth. The rest of the group felt uncomfortable to be caught between their passive-aggressive spat. When Claire didn’t respond to keep up with the ribbing, they all fell silent, focusing more on their pizza than conversation for a bit.

“Hey, Y/N,” Brian said, trying to be the peacemaker as always, “did you know that Allison is looking into putting one of her pieces into an art show? Uh, and Claire got an A on her Literature midterm...And Andrew got second in one of his wrestling meets?” He remembered she hadn’t been there for their pre-show conversation, and wanted to catch her up to speed; he also wanted to show each member of the group that they were good at something and that they should all be supporting each other instead of fighting.

“What? No! That’s incredible, you guys! Allison, what piece are you going to enter?” She asked, and a lot of the tension dropped. Allison started to talk to her; Bender and Claire broke off into their own conversation, and Andrew just silently continued chewing.

*~~~~*

When the time came to leave, Claire was kind enough to pick up the whole tab at Gino’s. “My treat,” she insisted, “You did such an amazing job tonight, Y/N, really.” When they said their goodbyes in the parking lot, Claire actually gave her a hug. ‘It’s kind of nice that this brought us closer together. Maybe she’s not so bad after all.’ Y/N thought. Claire took both Allison and Andrew home and no one envied her for the unpleasant ride that was surely ahead. Y/N agreed to take Bender to Mike’s house, and to take Brian to his own home. She was excited to see where he lived, finally, since she had never been. Since he needed to give directions and Mike and John were being taken to one location together, Bender decided to let Brian ride up front. 

“Just this one time,” He narrowed his eyes at Brian. “Don’t forget that shotgun is mine, Johnson.” Brian nodded with a gulp and Bender joined Mike in the back seat. The ride was mostly quiet, other than the times Bender would break out the air guitar to something on the radio. Y/N pulled up to Brian’s house and bit her lip. ‘This is going to be fun with an audience. Especially given this audience.’ She looked to the back seat at John and knew she wouldn’t be productive if he were back there watching her every move, particularly with Mike by his side. She unfastened her seatbelt.

“Here, I’ll walk with you to your door.” She said, then looked back again in the backseat at Bender, almost in a motherly way. “Don’t touch my stuff or steal my car.” She mock-threatened, pointing at him.

“Oh, it’s not me you gotta worry about. But Mike here, he’ll hot wire it right outta here.” John joked. She got out of the car to join Brian and was surprised when Bender got out, too.

“What? I told you, I get shotgun. I’m just moving up, I swear.” He nodded at Brian, “See you later, dweeb. Glad you could make it.” He was talking to Brian, but looked to Y/N as he said it. He swung open the door and sank into the front seat before turning back to talk to Mike.

“He’s so weird.” Brian said, and Y/N smiled in agreement and started to walk with him up the driveway to his house. 

“Thank you again for coming tonight.” She said as they reached his door, “And for the flowers. That was really sweet of you.”

“Anytime. It was actually a lot of fun.” He took a pause, looking at her as the springtime night breeze ruffled her hair a bit. “I don’t know if I already told you this, but you were fantastic, really. You crushed it.” 

She laughed, “Thanks, you might have mentioned it, though.”

“I loved your song.” He said earnestly, dreamily recalling it. They looked at each other for a moment too long, saying nothing and letting the silence envelop them. 

“Hey, if it’s not too late tomorrow, can I call you when I get home? Or on Sunday, if that would be better?” 

“Of course. You can call me literally any time you want.”

“Even if Mary picks up?” She teased.

“Y’know, I still think it would be worth it.”

“Good.” She responded and then made a move forward to hug him. This time, he was more prepared and opened his arms for her. She snaked her arms around his waist to hold him tight and he wrapped his arms around her, positive that she could hear his heart pounding in his chest as she pressed her ear up against it. She pulled back, and looked back toward her car, blushing. “Uh, I better get those two dorks home.” She started to walk backwards and stumbled a bit, “Uh, thank you again, for everything. I’ll talk to you soon?” Brian simply nodded and smiled, and so did she in return. She quickly turned and walked back down from his house. He fit the key into the lock of his front door, still grinning as he pushed his way in.

*~~~~*

The three remaining teens exited the car after Y/N parked in front of Mike’s house. They stood outside enjoying the crisp spring air for a moment, as Y/N thanked them again for coming. “And thank you, John, for kind of organizing the whole thing. I know you were the big push towards getting everyone there. I really appreciate it.”

“Eh, don’t mention it.” He waved her off. “Well, Mikey, shall we? I know Y/N/N here wants to go wash all of that god-awful hairspray out.” He caught her look and said, “I know! I know! But it really is awful. I can’t believe you have to be like that all day tomorrow.” He made a gagging noise.

“Yeah, I’ll be there in just a sec, Bender. You can actually go on ahead.” Mike said. Bender raised his eyebrows and looked between the two of them and gave Y/N a sort of ‘I told you so’ look before he made his way to Mike’s house. 

Mike turned to Y/N, “I’m really glad you let me come to the show and crash your hangout with your friends. It was really...enjoyable.” Y/N let out a breath of relief that this was all he said.

“Yeah, of course! Thank you for coming and supporting me.” She smiled softly.

“Hey, I was thinking, now that you’re not going to be busy doing the show...would you like to go to a movie or dinner sometime? Like, a date?” ‘Oh no.’ She thought. She figured he would have taken the hint or put two and two together seeing her interact with Brian tonight, but he still asked anyway.

“I...Mike, I think you’re really nice-- you’re great! It’s just that...there’s someone else and I really don’t want to lead you on like that.” Mike looked a little hurt, but took it surprisingly well, nodding.

“Yeah, cool. That’s okay.” He looked like he wanted to say something else, but debated with it before taking the plunge, “It was that guy tonight, right? The blonde hair? Uh, Brian?”

“Yes.” Y/N admitted quietly. She wasn’t too keen on telling her Breakfast Club friends about her feelings and she had built up trust with them. She hardly knew Mike, but felt like she owed him that little bit of honesty, somehow.

Mike nodded again, “I just hope he knows how lucky he is. Well, if you ever change your mind, you know where to find me.” He gestured at his house jokingly. “Goodnight, Y/N. And good luck tomorrow.” Man, he really was nice. Y/N had heard horror stories from her friends before about turning guys down but Mike took this really well, really kindly. It made it more difficult to hurt his feelings then. ‘At least I nipped it in the bud early,’ she thought. Perhaps that was part of the reason he wasn’t too broken up about it. She gave him a non-committal nod and wished him a good night too, before getting back into her car. 

Next Chapter

[astralpenguin]

@transnaturalweek day 2: coming out

1.4k, ao3 link

Kaia knew about Claire, but Claire had never needed to tell her.

Kaia had been there with them while they figured it out. Kaia had listened while they tried putting into words what they’d been feeling for a long time. Kaia had encouraged them to research these feelings, and had been there when they’d found out that there were a lot of people out there who felt exactly the same way. Telling Kaia that, hey, it turned out they’re not a girl after all, was easy, because Kaia had been sitting right next to them when they realised and accepted this about themself in the first place.

But if they wanted the other people in their life to ever stop calling them she, then they had to tell people about it.

Claire wasn’t interested in changing up how they looked. They liked having their hair long, and they liked the tinted lip balms they wore every day, and they didn’t want to bind. But they knew what this meant. They knew what people would assume when they saw them. Frustrating as it was, most people weren’t psychic, and they weren’t going to know that Claire wasn’t a girl unless they told them. Claire would be free to get as angry as they liked at anybody who continued to call them the wrong thing after they’d been told about it, and that anger would be fully deserved, but getting angry at people for using the wrong words to describe them when they literally didn’t know any better wouldn’t help anyone or solve anything. The world sucked, and the assumptions that people would make sucked, but it wasn’t any individual person’s fault.

They knew that if they’d figured this whole gender thing out while Kaia had been gone then they absolutely would’ve followed it up by getting angry at everybody they’d ever interacted with for not knowing. Kaia’s presence in their life calmed them, made them feel more able to face the world and all of its unfairness. They were okay so long as Kaia was in their corner.

And Kaia was in their corner about this. But Kaia couldn’t tell people for them. Claire didn’t want Kaia to tell people for them. This was something that Claire had to do themself.

They already knew how the conversations would go. Castiel and Sam would be supportive for sure. They’d probably be painfully earnest about it. Dean wouldn’t lay it on as thick as the other two, but he’d be supportive as well. Donna would grin like she always does and give them a hug. Jody would thank them for telling her and tell them that she was proud of them. Alex and Patience would actually know how to be chill, and Jack would definitely get excited and be overenthusiastic and very unchill. Claire knew that nobody that they wanted to know would react badly, and they knew that none of the people that loved them would love them any less once they knew.

It was still daunting.

Claire watched the coffee machine do its thing and considered the pros and cons of putting everyone in a group chat, making the announcement, and immediately leaving the chat. It was sounding more and more appealing every second.

“Oh, hey.”

Claire turned towards the kitchen doorway, and the source of the voice.

“I didn’t realise anyone would be in here,” said Patience.

Claire glanced towards the clock. “It’s three in the morning,” they said. “What are you doing up?”

Patience stepped into the room. “I could ask you the same thing.”

Claire flashed a grin. “I haven’t gone to bed yet. You’re the one with a normal sleep schedule.”

Patience eyed the coffee machine. “Are you planning on sleeping?”

“Yeah.”

“And you’re making coffee?”

Claire shrugged. “Want some?”

Patience nodded. “Please.”

The coffee machine beeped and Claire poured out two mugs. They stirred in milk and sugar, and handed one of the mugs to Patience.

Most people weren’t psychic, and wouldn’t know Claire’s pronouns if they didn’t tell them. But Patience was actually psychic. Her specific brand of psychic ability allowed her to see into the future, not read minds, so Patience likely still didn’t know. There was a possibility that she’d already had a vision of Claire telling people, but there was a bigger possibility that she hadn’t had a vision about that, especially since Claire hadn’t made a concrete decision yet about when and how they’d be telling people.

“You still haven’t answered my question,” said Claire, leaning back against the counter and cradling their mug. “Why are you awake right now?”

“Couldn’t sleep.” Patience turned towards the window and looked out into the night. “It happens sometimes. Usually nobody else is around.”

“Sorry to disturb your insomnia routine.”

Patience caught Claire’s eye through their reflections in the mirror and smiled gently. “It’s okay. You’re not disturbing me. The company is nice.”

“Does Jody know? Or-”

Patience shook her head. “I don’t want to worry her.”

Claire sipped their coffee. “I get that,” they said. “But if it gets any worse then you should tell her. She might seem overprotective but she’s only like that because she cares.”

Patience raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, and you take it so well when Jody’s overprotective with you. Are you really trying to play the wise older sister thing with me right now?”

Claire stifled a laugh, aware that other people in the house were trying to sleep. “That depends,” they said. “Is it working?”

“Nope. You’re too much of a hypocrite.”

“Damn.”

Patience laughed softly and sipped her coffee.

And she didn’t know, she didn’t, so Claire couldn’t be upset with her when what exactly she’d said sunk in a little deeper. Claire wasn’t anyone’s sister, but Patience didn’t know not to call them that. She hadn’t done anything wrong. The only person that Claire could get upset with over this situation was themself, but they weren’t about to do that.

But there was a way to make sure that it didn’t happen again.

For all that it had seemed daunting earlier, in this moment it was easy.

“Speaking of things that Jody doesn’t know about, I’m not a girl.”

The smile on Patience’s face dimmed. She turned to face Claire properly. “You’re not?”

Claire shook their head. “I’m gonna tell everyone soon, but. Yeah. I’m not.”

“So you’re a guy?”

“No,” said Claire. “Well, it’s complicated. I’m kinda somewhere in between.”

Patience nodded, a thoughtful expression on her face. “Should I use they and them when talking about you, then?”

Relief flooded Claire that Patience already knew about this stuff, and that they weren’t about to have to give a big explanation about things that they didn’t even understand themself until a few weeks ago. “Yes, that’s exactly what you should use.”

“Got it,” said Patience. “Do you want me to hold off on using those pronouns in front of people who you haven’t told yet? People might not notice either way, but I wouldn’t want to out you.”

“Uh...” Claire drank more of their coffee as they considered this. “I guess you can judge it for yourself? I’m hoping to tell people soon anyway, so I don’t know if that’ll be an issue. Kaia already knows.”

Patience placed her mug on the counter. “I figured you’d have told Kaia already if you’re telling me.”

“Kaia helped me figure it out.” Claire traced their finger over the rim of their mug. “You’re the first person I’ve told.”

“Oh.” She looked touched. “Thank you.”

Claire pushed themself off the counter and put their empty mug in the sink. “Yeah, well. I mostly just wanted to correct you that I’m your wise older sibling, not sister.”

Patience laughed softly. “Older sibling? Yes. Wise? I’m not convinced.”

“Hey, screw you,” said Claire, a bubble of laughter escaping as they spoke. “I’m wise!”

“Didn’t you nearly get yourself killed last month because you tried fighting a pack of Rawheads by yourself?”

“I successfully fought a pack of Rawheads by myself, and obviously I was fine.”

“Jody was so angry when you told her about it.”

Claire grinned. “She was.”

Patience picked her mug up and placed it in the sink. “I’m gonna head back to my room,” she said.

“Gonna try and sleep?”

She shook her head. “Not much point. I’ll spend a few hours reading and go to bed early tomorrow to make up for it.”

Claire nodded. “Enjoy.”

Patience smiled. “Thanks,” she said. “I will.”

She left the kitchen, leaving Claire alone.

Okay.

So that went well.

They took a deep breath.

Maybe tomorrow they could tell Alex. After that, they weren’t so sure. The group chat announcement was still looking like a good idea.

They didn’t need to worry about it now.

They hit the kitchen light and made their way up to their and Kaia’s room.

It was time for them to sleep.

[cursestothemoon]

I Need You To Kiss Me

Bill Weasley x Gender Neutral!Hufflepuff!Reader

Warnings: none

Word Count: 1847

This is rather short and unedited but i thought it was cute so i hope you guys like ittt ❤️

***

Bill watched you with a look of interest, the bright yellow accents of your house robes seemed to glow in the morning stream of sunlight that entered the great hall. You laughed at something Charlie was saying, his hands coming out to mimic the flap of what Bill could only assume was a dragon. It was his favorite part of the day, watching you talk to his brother. Unlike usual sibling rivalry, Bill was rarely ever jealous of other men, especially his own brother, and Charlie was well aware of his brother's feelings for the giggly Hufflepuff.

Charlie Weasley attempted to make a shadow puppet of a dragon, the look of determination and the awkward hand gestures made you erupt into a fit of giggles making Charlie shove your shoulder. You two had met in the year prior, you had been asked to be the study partner of a boy in the year below you, a Gryffindor nonetheless. Charlie was the one who walked into the library the next day, glowing ginger curls sat messily atop his head and freckles littered his face and neck. He was also ridiculously tall and burly, but his goofy smile and energetic wave was enough to prove he’d be good company.

You two had been friends since then, and as if it couldn’t get any better Charlie’s older brother Bill would often come by the library to meet with his brother after the study sessions. Bill was overtly handsome, he had the same red hair- though it fell in a more relaxed wave and was just long enough for the bottom layers to brush his shoulders and the top layers his ears- and freckles that kissed the tip of his nose and scattered across his cheeks. Confidence oozed out his pores like honey, Bill Weasley was the most intimidatingly gorgeous man you had ever seen.

“Oi, Bill! What about it then?”

Bill turned toward the sound, coming face to face with Calvin Clark, a fellow Gryffindor and quidditch teammate. He raised his eyebrows, silently asking to be filled on what he missed while he was doing his morning ogling.

“You’re not still hung up on that puff, are you?” Leonard Throndson asked, another teammate of Bill’s.

Bill chuckled, moving to fully face his pestering friends, “And would that be so bad?”

His facial expression was playful, but his tone let the boys know he’d do as he pleased regardless of what they said.

Calvin was the one to answer, “You’ve never been this interested in someone before and not tried asking them out before.”

“Is it cause they’re screwing Charlie?” Leonard asked, mouth fuller than his focus in the conversation.

The question earned him a whack to the back of the head by Bill making him pout and reach a hand up to rub the back of his head.

“They aren’t screwing Charlie, but they are his friend and we don’t really know each other. Reckon, it would be rather awkward if I just up and snogged my brother’s best friend.”

Calvin and Leonard nodded in agreement but Bill continued, “Maybe I’ll ask Charlie about them…”

“That’s great and all Bill, but back to my question. You up for a party this Friday?”

A sound of shock came out of Leonard’s, once again, full mouth making Bill and Calvin watch him muscle down the large helping of eggs he had shoveled into his mouth just minutes before.

“You should invite Y/n, then bam! Make your move at the party.”

Bill thought for a moment, considering the plan, “Not a bad idea.”

The boys were then immersed in party planning, Bill feeling his excitement start to simmer at the mere prospect of asking you out.

---

You were leaving transfiguration when Bill Weasley pulled you to the side, a gentle arm guiding the small of your back. Once he came to a stop in front of Professor Binns classroom, you face him with a small smile.

“Everything alright, Bill?”

Bill leaned on the wall next to the door, his shoulder propping him up as he crossed his shins loosely and the best nonchalant expression he could muster fixed on his face.

“There’s a party this Friday in the Gryffindor common room, you should come.”

You felt your cheeks heat up, eyes glancing down at your feet, “Yeah that would be-that would be great I’d love to come.”

“What if I asked you to come with me, as my date.”

You gave him an incredulous look, your mouth opening and closing as you tried to find something to say.

He was incredibly forward and his confidence was exhilarating, not at all a turn off, and of course he was devilishly handsome and you’d want nothing more than to be his date but you didn’t talk to him much, and you thought he didn’t really pay attention to his brother’s friend.

“You wanna go on a date with me?”

Bill chuckled, hand coming up to comb back his hair and you felt your knees wobble at the sight, “Yeah, if you’re comfortable with that. If not you should still come to the party.”

“I’d love to come to the party, Bill, as your date.” You smiled, cheeks starting to ache.

“Brilliant, I’ll come pick you up by the barrels at 7:00 Friday night.”

You nodded, words seemingly having escaped you as your eyes followed his retreating frame, only to be startled by another Weasley. Charlie impressively snuck up behind you, successfully making you just when he popped into your eye line.

“What was Bill saying?” He asked, a knowing smirk playing on his lips.

Charlie had been made aware of Bill’s plans to ask you to the party by the man himself, and he couldn’t be happier at the thought of his older brother dating his best friend. He thought you two would be a perfect match far before any feelings were realized between Bill and yourself. Bill’s rugged exterior would compliment the softness of your being, and vice versa. Not to mention, you were both rather attractive people and Charlie was sure the sight of you two as a couple would be the talk of the school.

“He just asked if I would want to go to the Gryffindor party with- you knew!” You gasped, hand shooting out to smack Charlie’s shoulder.

He just nodded with a blinding smile, “He may have mentioned wanting to ask you out.”

You shook your head in disbelief, unable to keep yourself from laughing, “Get to class you ninny.”

Charlie jogged off, dodging another hit from you as he chuckled, his laughter being heard through the corridor.

---

Friday night arrived faster than anticipated, and your nerves were barely still intact. You had planned and replanned how the night would go over and over again in your head, praying to any celestial being or otherwise that you wouldn’t make a complete fool of yourself in front of Bill.

6:58

That was the time you left your common room to wait for Bill, only he was already standing by the barrels with a smile playing on his lips.

“Was afraid you’d stood me up.” He laughed, hand moving to intertwine with yours as he led you to the Gryffindor towers.

You averted his gaze as you responded, “I thought about it, but felt bad in the end.”

Bill slapped his hand to his chest and he let out a dramatic gasp, “You’ve wounded me, Y/n. I thought Hufflepuffs were meant to be kind?”

“Guess I’ve always been a bit of a rebel.” You teased, glancing to see Bill looking at you with a smile and eye crinkles that made your heart leap.

“Perfect.”

The party was already in full swing by the time Bill ushered you through the portrait hole, hand finding its way around your waist and unmoving from the spot making unruly butterflies erupt in your belly.

He guided you toward a couch in the middle of the room where Charlie was sitting with a few other quidditch teammates of his and Bill’s that you could vaguely recognize, but they all greeted you with smiles.

“Y/n! How are you? It’s so much nicer seeing you in person rather than hearing Bill describe your dazzling smile or twinkling eyes.” Leonard spoke with such intense honesty, deriving from the few drinks he had before you arrived, it made you giggle as you turned to Bill who was now glaring daggers at Leonard.

“Twinkling eyes huh?” You asked Bill.

He smiled down at you, ignoring the way Leonard was now trying to push his way to the dancefloor, and gave a flirty response, “They are quite the sight, ‘specially when you’re laughing.”

Charlie smiled at the sight of his brother and his best friend getting all cozy on the couch as the party raged on. Bill’s hand resting respectfully on your knee, his thumb rubbing small circles.

It seemed you had melted into the couch and Bill’s side, he had one arm around you while the other rested on your leg that had been pulled to cross over one of his legs. You were completely facing him as you two talked, his hand that was around your shoulder coming up every so often to play with the ends of your hair as he spoke. He was more than happy to talk about his big family, and all his brothers. Charlie you knew, but he told you about Percy, the reserved adult trapped in a boy, then there were Fred and George, the wild twins that had a knack for causing trouble, and Ron, the youngest brother who had a new found love of food after a picky few years. But his smile widened and eyes crinkled with glee as he told you about the youngest, Ginny, his only sister.

“Poor girl’s only going to have brother’s growing up, but I reckon she’ll be able to take care of herself alright, she’s already pretty good at it.” He chuckled thinking of seven year old Ginny telling off Ron for eating her chicken wing.

And you told him about yourself, your family, and your fondest memories all while Bill listened carefully, a fond smile on his face as he watched your eyes twinkle just as he had described to Leonard and Calvin.

Soon your voice started to fade as you, quite literally, lost yourself in his eyes. Both of you leaned closer, at such a slow pace it was almost undetectable but the invisible pull was definitely noticed by you and Bill.

He stopped just before his lips reached yours, his hand coming up to hold your jaw as he looked into your eyes as he spoke, “Would it be terribly inappropriate of me to kiss you right now?”

Words, yet again, escaped you and left a simple, almost desperate, nod as your only answer to his question as you tried to lean closer to his lips.

“I need your words, love.”

Your voice was needy and whispered, “I need you to kiss me, Bill.”

He didn’t hesitate.

[kopikokun]

Snack Run with a Snack༄ j.jh

↳ On your usual movie night with the members, they assign you sudden snack collecting duty. You’re a little peeved, but at least Jaehyun offers to tag along. Unfortunately for you, things really aren’t going in your favour tonight.

pairing: idol!jaehyun x camera operator!reader (feat. johnny, jungwoo & doyoung)

genre: fluff, comedy, co-workers to lovers

warning(s): expletives

word count: 3526 words

☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙ 𝗽𝗹𝗮𝘆𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁: crush (souly had) ✧ mango love (shawn wasabi, satica) ✧ make you feel pretty (lovelytheband)

Request 39: Jaehyun x Staff!Reader during movie night where she’s an extrovert and is close to all of the members.

← BACK TO NAVI.

— 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐝.

Your fortnightly movie nights are always something you anticipate eagerly, no matter how frequent or repetitive they may be. It’s always nice being able to take a breather from the grievous monotony of your daily schedule to just kick back and—essentially—do nothing. You know the rest of the members cherish these ephemeral moments too, because despite all odds, they’ll valiantly try to show up and join you, or at the very least make an appearance. Once, Ten had even barged in, still with his extensions intact.

    To be fair, you’re not any better. When you heard that Jaehyun was participating the other day, you had dropped all other priorities just to come over. Safe to say, your roommate was not pleased seeing the state of the abandoned living room.

    Your vision sweeps the perimeter of the room. Usually, it’s packed to full capacity, but there are only four others here besides you today.

    “The glasses.” Doyoung purses his lips, planting his stare on a startled Jungwoo. “Where are the glasses? I thought I told you to get them?”

    Jungwoo smacks a hand to his mouth, the sound of skin against skin so loud that you wince on his behalf. “It totally slipped my mind. Honest to God. I got sidetracked.” He clasps your—an innocent bystander’s—shoulder with such force that you physically jolt forward. Jungwoo flashes you his signature million dollar smile.“Hey, could you be a dear and help me out? I still haven’t decided what movie we should watch tonight.”

    “Yeah, sure.” You grimace, already turning on your heel, mumbling, “You didn’t have to hit me.”

    “Thanks!” he calls after you. “And sorry!”

    His voice cuts through the hurried chattering between Jaehyun and Johnny which comes into earshot as you step into the kitchen. Their mouths move at the speed of bullet trains and Jaehyun’s hands flutter around his pensive face frantically. Maybe it’s the rose-tinted lenses, but the sight endears you. The slightest of chuckles escapes your lips at his delirium.

    Their bodies seize, their zealous conversation slipping into a steady silence.

    “What’s wrong?” you smirk. “Were you guys talking about me?”

    “No,” Jaehyun snaps, so quickly that it almost prickles. “Why would we be talking about you?”

    “Ouch,” you pout, masquerading the sting with a frivolous cadence . “How mean.”

    “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that,” he says. “What are you doing here? I thought you were, uh, clearing the table?” There’s a nervous edge to Jaehyun’s voice which insinuates that he knows something you don’t.

    “I was, but then Jungwoo asked me to get the glasses in his stead since he’s too busy fussing over which movie we should watch.”

    Johnny laughs. “I should go help him out then, or he’ll be stuck on the selection page for ages.” He pats Jaehyun’s back as he leaves. “Don’t make a fool of yourself.”

    You toss an inquisitive glance at Jaehyun. He turns away, cheeks blooming with colour.

    Admittedly, you’re more than intrigued by what Jaehyun had been so ardently conversing about. A small part of you whispers the possibility of it being you, and your heart soars. Now you’re the one getting sidetracked. Of course, you are. This is one of the rare moments you and Jaehyun have shared alone. Although you see him almost daily, there’s always someone closeby; a fellow staff or member of the group. And while you’d consider yourself someone who thrives in social situations, there’s nothing more you desire than a few seconds in solitude with the charming man.

   You swing the plywood cupboard door open, extinguishing your idle delusions, the handle cool in your grasp. Three shelves greet your vision; each stuffed full with either miscellaneous tableware or seldom used kitchen utensils. You spot the mug you gave Mark for his birthday collecting dust in the corner and scoff bitterly. And he said it’s his ‘favourite mug’.

    Your face screws in bewilderment. Usually, the glasses are graciously arranged on the bottom shelf; easily accessible for the people who are less gifted in the height department (namely you). Strangely, today they are at the very top, shoved deep inside, so far in that you’d think that it had been done with malicious intent. If they were in the middle, perhaps you could’ve reached them with a little extra effort, but given their current position, even on your tiptoes you wouldn’t even come close. The tips of your fingers barely graze the bottom portion of the glass. You huff.

    “Do you need help?”

    Your head swivels to see a clearly humoured Jaehyun, his eyebrow arched.

   “Yeah, someone’s kept the glasses on the top shelf,” you grumble, tenaciously continuing to reach for them despite knowing that you and your height—or rather, lack of it—have been bested. “Must’ve been Johnny. The tall-ass.”

    “You’re probably right. It wouldn’t be his first time either.” You groan in exertion. “Hold on, let me help.”

    “Thanks, Jae—”

    Your eyes widen and your stature stiffens. Just the smell of his aftershave is enough to knock you out.

    Jaehyun’s chest presses against your back firmly. His hot breath tickles your neck; the fine hairs stand on end. His right arm, hugged in the most breathtaking way by a black sweatshirt, reaches forward while his left is planted on the counter in front of you, caging you in. You’ve done your fair share of ogling at Jaehyun’s more than ravishing physique before, but only from afar. At this proximity however, you can individually trace every vein on his forearm. They’re like roots branching across the ample muscle. God, you’re making it very apparent that you’re staring.

    While probably not the most proficient, you don’t dispute this method of reaching for glasses. You’re sure Jaehyun knows there are better ways to do this too.

    Stunned, you all but stare in what you can only describe as awe at Jaehyun’s side-profile. Sharp lines accentuated by peculiarly delicate features, you can’t help but imagine how it would feel like running your fingers over the curves of his cheekbones, the arch of his nose and the dip of his cupid’s bow.

    Jaehyun’s gaze latches onto yours, his arm still hanging above your head. You swallow dryly before licking your lips. Jaehyun’s jaw clenches, the movement guiding his eyes to them. The counter is digging into your hip.

    “I got the glasses,” he breathes, your vicinity means you can practically taste the mint on his tongue.

    “Thanks,” you mumble.

    Neither of you move farther or closer to each other.

    Jaehyun places the glasses beside you. “I should probably go set up the projector now.”

    “Yeah, you should.” No, don’t.

    He nods curtly, prods the inside his cheek with his tongue and shuffles out of the kitchen. You lean on the counter, recomposing yourself. Your heart pounds in your ribcage. Jaehyun’s lingering aftershave muddles any chance of a coherent thought.

    What was that?

    Sure, over the past week or two, you and Jaehyun have made your ever augmenting attraction to one another remarkably tangible, but neither of you had acted upon it. Until now.

    Dazed, you almost forget to do what you had initially come in here for. You have to literally turn a 180 to retrieve the five glasses which sit innocuously on the countertop; they lay witness to your sins.

    “So, how’d it go?”

    “Did you do it?”

    “Well, technically no, but—”

    The four men are huddled together in the middle of the living room, each with equally suspicious expressions carved into their faces. Jaehyun’s back is turned to you as he’s hunched over, almost like he’s sharing some petty gossip.

    You set the glasses down on the communal dining table, shift your weight on one leg and perch your hands on your hips like a disgruntled teacher waiting for her class to fall silent. Doyoung is first to sense your presence, nudging Johnny and jutting his chin towards you.

    You can’t suppress the snort that courses through you when—simultaneously—all four of them disperse. It looks almost rehearsed.

    “Why are you guys acting so weird today?”

   Johnny sputters, Jungwoo chokes on presumably his own spit, Doyoung makes a sound which resembles more of a wheeze than a cough, and Jaehyun’s body goes completely rigid.

    “We’re not acting weird,” scoffs Johnny.

    You’re unconvinced. Just the way the whole room was immediately shrouded in a thick cloud of tension at your question was very telling.

    “Yes, you ar—”

    “Alright then,” Jaehyun clasps both of his hands together like a middle-aged man in the midst of a conference, “the movie! Jungwoo, what did you pick this week?”

    Jungwoo hammers a fist to his heaving chest. “I picked Jojo Rabbit.”

    “Oh, Minji noona watched it the other day. She told me it was so good she cried,” Johnny says. “And she rarely—if ever—cries over movies, or anything, really.”

    “Why didn’t she and the others come over today? They’re always here for movie night.” By the others, you’re referring to the rest of the staff who are usually present. Being more or less the same age, the members naturally gravitated towards the rest of you; your closeness in years meant that you could easily relate to one another. You’d consider yourself a decently convivial person as well, which was probably another fundamental factor.

    Once again, a restless fog congests the room. You seem to have struck another nerve.

    Jungwoo tightens his grip on the remote. “They were… busy.”

    His spontaneous lie is deplorable at best, but you let it slide.

    You assume they think your conjectures have diffused because they seem to share a relieved glance; Jaehyun casts an appreciative smile to the bunch. He clears his throat. You don’t miss the mental exchange between him and Johnny, who grins wittingly.

    “How about the snacks?”

    All eyes are on you.

    Your eyebrows cinch. “What?”

    “The snacks,” Jungwoo reiterates. “You’re on snack duty.”

    The way he says it makes it sound like you were aware of this. “No, I’m not.”

    “Yeah, we told you in the groupchat,” Doyoung says. Jungwoo seems to be restraining a smile.

    “No, you in fact, did not.” Scorned by this blatant accusation, you begin fishing your phone from your front pocket to show the others that none of you had come to that agreement.

    Jaehyun’s hand coils around your wrist, halting your movements. “I’ll come.”

    “I’m sorry?”

    “I’ll come along with you to get the snacks,” his grip loosens, “if you want me to.”

    “Oh.” Your arm falls limp to your side. You study Jaehyun’s earnest gaze. “Sure.”

    It’s painfully palpable that the rest of the group were expecting this; their lips curling with a smirk of gaiety.

    “Great, I’ll go grab some cash.”

You really should have thought twice about letting Jaehyun tag along.

    “You should’ve stayed at home.”

    “I wanted to come.”

    You’re reasonably terrified, both for you and Jaehyun’s sake. Getting recognised out in public is an all too plausible scenario, and you really do not have the resolve or strength to fend off a horde of fans right now.

    “Relax, it’s like 11pm. Nobody’s going to be just walking out here. At least, not anybody sober.”

    While he makes a valid point, you’re still skittish. “Alright, but keep your head down.”

    “How will I see where I’m going?”

    Collecting your wits, you reach for his hand to tug him forward. “I’ll lead the way.”

    Though Jaehyun is more than capable of staying grounded in his spot, you drag him along with relative ease, like a lifeless rag doll.

    “I… was just kidding.”

    Not looking back, you say, “Does that mean you want me to let go of your hand?”

    Brazenly, Jaehyun intertwines his fingers with yours, strengthening his palm’s embrace. A jolt of exaltation zips up your spine.

    “No, don’t.”

    The remainder of the brisk walk to the convenience store is spent in exhilarating quietude, one that conveys a hundred messages. Not once does Jaehyun’s hold of your hand weaken.

    The intimacy of the store welcomes you wholeheartedly. From its single constantly flickering bulb, that one cooler door with the rickety handle, and to the out-of-order slushie machine, you could peruse this store with your eyes closed. Being NCT’s camera operator first and designated snack buyer second, you’ve been in here more times than anyone should ever have to be in a lifetime.

    It’s not the most popular store on the block. Their selection is limited, their interior outdated, but in your humble opinion, they are leagues ahead of any other store out there. Plus, it’s usually vacant, meaning minor risk of being spotted. Other than you, Jaehyun and the single weary employee, there’s only one other person in here, a tattered hood draped over their head. While they’re sketchy in a certain sense, you’re confident that they don’t pose a threat to you or Jaehyun’s safety.

    “I’ll go get the crisps and you get the chocolates,” you declare, standing on your tiptoes.

    “Chocolates? We’re getting chocolates? We already have some in the fridge.”

    “Okay, then I’m getting chocolates.”

Another reason you love this place to bits is because of its prices. Everything is outrageously cheap. The first time you had visited, wet behind the ears, soul bursting with vigour yet pockets embarrassingly empty, you almost cried. You had one of the best dinners of your early adult life in this very store. Sure, it was just a truckload of processed, packaged food, but here’s the thing: it was a truckload. And when you’re as financially stable as a thumbtack balancing on the tip of its point, a truckload of food is a blessing bestowed by the Gods.

    So, safe to say, you and Jaehyun definitely got your money’s worth.

    In fact, in the time the two of you expended scouring the aisles for tid-bits, a forlorn cloud had consumed the sky. It had started raining. Lightly at first, but the drizzle had swiftly transitioned into a furious storm.

    Thunder claps in the distance, the sound so tumultuous it shakes the tiles of the store floor, the vibrations so intense they reach the tip of your head.

    “Do you have enough money for an umbrella?” you ask.

    “Even with an umbrella, I think it’d be too dangerous for us to go out there,” Jaehyun says, and as if to illustrate his point, another bolt of lightning strikes the Earth. The convenience store trembles. “And no, I don’t have enough money for an umbrella.” From the tone of Jaehyun’s voice, his delight is hidden by the pretense that he too is upset by this development.

    “Then I guess we’ll have to call one of the guys to pick us up.”

    Jaehyun’s expression immediately turns sour. “I mean, yeah… I guess we could.”

    Under normal circumstances, you would have been pouncing at the opportunity to spend some quality one-on-one time with Jaehyun, alas, three other undoubtedly starving men are waiting for your return.

    A long, dull white counter, meant for customers to sit and eat at faces the heavy gloom outside. Droplets of rain cling to the glass like fluorescent crystals embedded to cave caverns, before slipping down in a wavering trickle, racing each other to the bottom. You take a seat on one of the plastic stools and Jaehyun takes the one beside you, dropping the bag of snacks to the floor.

    “Hello?” Johnny’s sonorous voice greets through your speakers.

    Jaehyun stares at you, anguished. To his right, the hooded stranger from earlier slips into the third stool, leaning forward and shelving their chin on a palm. They stare outside the window.

    “Hey, Johnny. We got the snacks, but Jaehyun and I have a separate problem.”

    “I know. It’s pouring.”

    “Exactly,” you nod. Jaehyun looks like he’s about to crumble into a heap of anxiety. “Can you pick us up? We don’t have enough cash to hail a taxi.”

    There’s a commotion on the other side of the line; hushed discussion and rustling of fabric. You can’t pick up a lot, only the words, “Yeah.” and “So, that’s what we’ll say?”

    “Sorry,” Johnny finally says, after much delay. “I can’t.”

    “What do you mean you can’t?”

    Beside you, Jaehyun visibly perks.

    “Car’s being repaired,” he replies languidly. “Mark popped a tyre while learning to drive the other day.”

    You groan. “You’re joking.”

    “Dead serious.”

    “God, the car just had to be out today of all days.”

    “Sorry, it can’t be helped,” Johnny sighs, a twinge of mischief to his voice. “The matter’s out of my hands.”

    “It’s fine. We’ll just… wait it out or something.”

    “We’ll try and see if any of the others can swing by and pick you guys up, so just stay put for now.”

    “Alright thanks, Johnny. Sorry about tonight.”

    “Nah, it’s fine,” he says. “Have fun with Jae.”

    The call ends with a click before you can probe Johnny further.

    “No go?” Jaehyun chirps.

    You shake your head. “No, though you don’t seem bummed out about it.”

    “Yeah,” he shrugs. “It’s not often I can spend some time alone with you anyway. In a way, I’m glad.” You bite the flesh of your cheek, face turning hot. Jaehyun turns in his seat, reaching down for the plastic bag. “And, we have snacks to—”

    His eyebrows furrow.

    “Jae?” His adam’s apple bobs in his throat. “The snacks?”

    “They’re… gone.”

    “What?”

    “I put them right here beside me, but they’re gone! I swear I—”

    The bell above the door chimes as the mysterious figure—the one who had been sat beside Jaehyun mere seconds ago—dashes out, with, lo and behold, a very familiar plastic bag dangling in their grasp.

    You point a finger towards them. “They stole our snacks!”

    Jaehyun’s head whips around to gawk at the culprit who has already made their way out of the store, head-first into Mother Nature’s wrath. He leaps out of his seat, hell-bent on chasing the person down, practically foaming at the mouth. “Motherfucker—”

    This time, you’re the one who grips his wrist. “Jaehyun, wait. It’s not worth it.”

    “They just stole all of our snacks! Am I supposed to just watch them get away with them?” he seethes. If not for his genuinely fuming expression, you would’ve laughed at the absurdity of the situation.

    “They already had a head-start, Jae. I doubt you’ll be able to chase them down. And what if someone sees you? How are we supposed to explain why Jung Jaehyun of NCT was sprinting in the rain after a stranger with a bag of snacks?”

    His shoulders sag. “But… our snacks… and your chocolate! What about your chocolate?”

    “It’s fine. I didn’t even get the version I liked. They were all out of the original ones.”

    Jaehyun slumps back into his seat, defeated. “Should we call the police?”

    You snicker. “And tell them our snacks got stolen? They’d laugh in our faces.”

    “I hate that you’re right. I wish they’d treat snack theft with the same severity of other crimes,” he jests, despite still being obviously disheartened. “Hope whoever that was gets struck by lightning and fucking sizzles out there.” He cards a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry.”

    “It wasn’t your fault, Jae. I mean, who the hell steals snacks anyway?”

    “No, not that. Well, I am sorry about that but what I meant was... I screwed this up.”

    “Screwed what up?”

    “You know how everyone was acting really strangely today?”

    “You guys weren’t being very secretive about it.”

    He huffs out a laugh. “Yeah, well, it was because they were helping me get us alone.”

    Jaehyun’s confession is like the final piece of a puzzle; the final thread to connect all the dots together. “So that explains why everyone collectively decided to not show up today, and why the glasses were on the top shelf, and why you guys said I was on snack duty when I clearly wasn’t! And I bet the car isn’t even busted too!”

    He nods, a wry smile etched onto his lips. “The glasses weren’t actually a part of the plan, but in the end, they were in my favour, so I’m not pissed about it.” You flush as the memory floods you. “They did all of that, and yet I still blew it.”

    “Who said you blew it?” you say. Jaehyun lifts his head to look at you. “We’re alone right now, aren’t we?”

    He swipes his tongue over his teeth. “Well, yeah, I suppose we are.”

    “So, just tell me you like me already.”

    Jaehyun jerks back in his seat. “You knew?”

    “Of course I knew,” you grin, “because, I like you too.”

    His face breaks out into the widest smile possible; one that stretches his lips so much that it must ache. “You do?”

    “Yes, I do,” you giggle. “Even though you got our snacks stolen.”

    By the time you two make it back to the dorm, clothes dripping rainwater onto the carpet, lips swollen from stolen kisses, and smiles teeming with euphoria, the rest of the street is already dark. Johnny, Jungwoo and Doyoung greet you with knowing smiles and playful comments.

    “Look, I’m super happy for you guys and stuff but,” Jungwoo gestures to your empty hands, “where the hell are the snacks?”

[awrestlinggirlwholoves80sbands]

Laid out cold, now we're both alone (part 3)

A/N: Hello, this fic is very important to me because I tried my best to give justice to such a cool idea and I hope I did a good job. Plus I don't do multichapter ofter, so this was a challenge.

I wanna thank the lovely @livdonna​ for proofreading my work, you're literally the best <3.

P.S. If you want to get tagged in the next chapters, let me know.

Summary: Nikki needs to ask a favor to Vince Neil, in order to keep someone safe.

Warnings: Major Character Death,Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Drug Use, Angst, Overdose.

Pairing: Nikki Sixx x Tommy Lee

Chapter 1, Chapter 2

Taglist: @slashscowboyboots @witchytombstonesmile @arnold-layne @emometalhead​ @i-dont-like-rice​ @nikki-sexx​ @smokeandmirrorz​

Bittersweet. That was the best way to describe Nikki’s emotional state as he got teleported in front of Vince’s house. They weren’t the biggest fans of each other.  He was always so annoyed by his singer, whom he considered more of a diva prince than a front man.

Sometimes Vince Neil was a stupid spoiled fucker, in his opinion, yet he needed him. What made his blood boil the most was that he had to put his pride to the side, because this wasn’t about him but about Tommy, and there was no way in hell he would have disappointed him again, even if that meant having to deal with the blonde’s bullshit.

He decided to get in the blonde’s house but without showing himself at first.  He wasn’t being avoidant ( absolutely not) but just he wanted more time to think, that’s all. The first thing he noticed was how different Vince’s mansion looked from Mick’s : outside there was a big pool, in which the clear water was shining thanks to the sunny day, meanwhile the inside was mostly white and gave the whole house a very elegant and snobby atmosphere; however it was very messy too, which was a huge disappointment.

It reminded him of the singer: face of an angel but inside he had his demons. Who didn’t to be honest? Unfortunately Nikki wasn’t so lucky to get an angel face to hide his dirty soul, he felt like everyone could tell how fucked up he was.

Lost in his thoughts he almost didn’t notice Vince passing right through him, talking on the phone in an exasperated tone.

“I know Doc, you repeated that hundreds of times! Yeah , I’ll call Mick and Tommy and we will do this fucking conference!”

There was a small pause.  Doc was probably answering back, and Vince looked like he was about to smash the phone on the ground.

“What’s holding us? We fucking lost our bassist, our friend and brother. Jesus, I fucking get it that you want our money but show some fucking mercy, bastard! Fuck you!” He violently put the phone down, only to fall ungracefully on the couch.

The whole conversation made the bassist laugh out of anger.  He knew Doc was all about money, especially because they made his life a living hell, but Vince appearing concerned about his death was honestly so fake.

What? Were you saying that Vince Neil was mourning him? The guy who kept fucking up the band over and over again was sad for him?

“Fucking Nikki, real dick move you pulled there!”

Nikki didn’t wait one second before sitting on the couch and making himself visible to the blonde.

“Oh Vinnie, that’s so rude to say.”

“WHAT THE FUCK?!” Vince screamed,  trying to back away but just managing to fall off the couch.

The other man couldn’t help but let out a laugh.

“Nikki, is that you? What kind of joke is this?!”

“Yeah. Look it might sound nuts but I’m a ghost. I’m dead and couldn’t pass through because I have unfinished business to solve.”

If looks could kill, well Nikki would have died again judging by how Vince was staring at him. He saw his face turning into an angry snarl before he started to yell.

“What the fuck, Sixx?! You die, leave us all alone and then you even have the courage to stay a fucking ghost! You fucking selfish prick!”

The bassist felt his blood boiling, well not literally but he got the same feeling as if he still had blood pumping in his body. How did Vince dare to say such things? He was the selfish prick, he was the one never caring and always causing trouble.  He was destroying the band!

“I’m a selfish prick?! I didn’t decide to fucking die! I put my heart and soul in the band and you kept destroying it. Now you want to accuse me? Fuck you!”

“You didn’t want to die? Oh well, what did you think would happen if you kept injecting that shit in your veins. We are fucking screwed now, without a bassist and ready to split up!”

Oh that was funny! Vince wanted to shame him, as Nikki was the only one drinking and fucking up with drugs. Oh sure Mick, Tommy and him could do anything but Nikki dares to shoot up, oh he’s a junkie! However he knew it was different, it wasn’t a simple way to party for him... He needed it to be alive. He had tons of pages written in his diaries that could be used as a proof.

“Oh because you’re such a saint, aren’t you Vinnie? I’m the bad one, I’m the one out of control. Well guess what?  The only person I hurt was myself, meanwhile we can’t say the same thing for you!”

It was a low blow, a terrible one and Nikki knew that. Rage blinded him, but that didn’t mean he had to dredge up the past, especially on something as horrible as Razzle’s death.

Good job Sikki, great way to get your friend to do what you want.

Vince’s face turned red, his fists clenched and got up to Nikki’s nose. He looked like he was about to punch him, but he had to realize it wasn’t going to happen since the bassist was not tangible, so he kicked a small table.

“You’re the only one who you hurt? What about the band, the fans, all those people you lied to and made suffer. Most importantly, what about Tommy, Nikki? How is he? Because it doesn’t look like he wasn’t hurt when you left him all alone, when you preferred shooting up instead of caring for him.”

Tommy. If he knew Vince’s weak point, the singer knew his too. It fucking hurt so bad, now he was the one wishing to be able to slap him.

“You don’t know a fuck about me or Tommy. Shut the fuck up!”

“Oh, I know all the times I saw him scanning the room around hoping to find you, all the times he looked heartbroken when you disappeared in the bathroom during rehearsal. I saw him after you destroyed him, how he still loved you even if you threw him away like trash. His two worst nightmares came true: you left him and you died. So tell me again Nikki, how did you just hurt yourself?

He wasn’t about to cry, even if he felt like a thousand legs were kicking his chest, he wasn’t about to give that fucker the satisfaction to see him crying ( he probably couldn’t even do that). But after the pain came the realization : he was there for Tommy. He was angry to forget that this wasn’t about him but about the drummer, and he probably ruined everything.

Now the hard part came : swallowing his pride down and convincing Vince. Oh, he would probably torment the bassist as slowly as he could, but eventually he had to accept.  Fuck, the two of them knew each other since high school!

“How’s Tommy?” His voice was so low, he doubted the singer heard him, but somehow he did.

“Oh, so now you want to know how he is?!” His voice was still loud and angry, but he must have seen the desperation on Nikki’s face, because he decided to answer anyway. “ He’s a mess. I just talked with him very briefly, he wanted to know if it was real. Then Doc fucking occupied this phone like it was his bitch, so I haven’t called him again, yet.”

This wasn’t the answer he wanted to hear, it wasn’t fucking reassuring at all… Fuck, literally anything could have happened, Tommy could have hurt himself or left the country and this was all because of him. He just hoped his family was going to be close to him, he was loved, they would have never left him alone. That was supposed to be his job too, but he failed.

He failed his sweet Tommy.

“Sixx, what are you thinking about?”

It was the moment. Even if his heart wasn’t beating, he still felt the oppressive pressure of anxiety.  He wanted to run but he had to do it.

Swallow your pride. You fucking owe it to Tommy.

“Vince, promise me that you’ll protect Tommy, no matter what.”

“What?” The blonde was visibly confused and how to blame him!

“You were right, I broke Tommy and he’s going to have such a hard time. He fucking loved me, even if I didn’t deserve it, and now I’m terrified he’s going to destroy himself. You can’t let that happen!”

“Nikki…”

“I fucking love him Vince. I still love him so much.  He deserves a good life, I can’t ruin him even in death. He needs support.”

“Why me? It’s not like Tommy and I are best friends.”

“Because both you and him have known each other for a long time, and when the band will keep playing there’s going to be you, him and Mick left. He would never tell his stuff to Mick and he has something else to do, which means that you have to do it.”

A dry laugh escaped from Vince’s mouth.

“What if he doesn’t want to get helped?”

“You know how to get what you want. You’ll find a way, I’d do it but I’m a little dead… look I know you hate me but I’m only asking this. Like I said to Mick, this is my dead man’s wish.”

“Okay.” The voice was so low and Nikki barely had the time to react before Vince disappeared in the kitchen.

All his insecurities came back to eat him alive. What was even the point of being a ghost if he still had feelings? The truth was that he wasn’t sure on how much Vince could help, sure having someone close to Tommy was good, but he knew his boyfriend and fuck if he was a stubborn fucker.

His boyfriend.

It was a dagger through his chest, yet it still felt warm like the first time Tommy called him that. His face always lit up whenever he said it. The drummer always made loving him seem like the easiest thing in the world, as it was even possible to love someone like Nikki.

But Tommy did and what did he get in return? A junkie boyfriend and eternal heartache, because the love of his life was dead now.

Vince came back with a beer and softer expression on his face. Nikki didn’t move from the couch so he sat back to where he was.

“I will do it. I’ll keep an eye on Tommy.” His firm voice eased Nikki’s worries a bit.

Fuck, he never expected to see Vince Neil agreeing with him.

“Thanks dude, I know you hate me but Tommy didn’t do anything.”

“I don’t hate you.” His voice was shocked and the bassist had to suppress a laugh.

Yeah sure Vince Neil, not hating Nikki Sixx.

“Oh c’mon, don’t tell me you weren’t happy to hear I was gone.”

“Fuck no. Nikki we might have fought a lot and you were a fucking pain in the ass, but I’d never want your death. I cried, you were still my band mate and brother!”

He wasn’t sure why this whole conversation was hitting him so hard.  It was probably because he didn’t know how to react to the simple act of someone caring for him beside Tommy. Especially when this someone was his singer.

But did they really hate each other as they thought they did? If the roles were reversed, would he be happy about his death?

“I felt the same. Ya know, when we thought you were dead in the car crash.”

Vince gave him a small sad smile.

“Maybe we can bury the hatchet. You don’t follow me for eternity and I won’t talk shit about you in interviews. Deal?”

“Deal.” Nikki smirked.

It’s time to go, Nikki.

The same sense of helplessness he felt before with Mick, came back. Because he could pretend everything was somehow normal, until the voice reminded him that this wasn’t his place. Even if in this case it was for the best for him to go, considering how awkward it felt for both of them to be so friendly with one another.

“Vince, I have to go now.”

The singer made an expression between sad and relieved, but maybe for the first time ever, it was genuine.

“Don’t be a stranger. Send us some bottles of Jack or some strippers from hell, okay?”

Nikki let out a chuckle. Since when he was laughing with Vince Neil?

“I’ll try my best. Vince, keep the promise.”

“He loves you. You should visit him, he deserves to say goodbye to you one last time.”

He knew that, he fucking knew that already! It didn’t matter how hard he was trying to avoid that, he was going to go to him anyway, not only because Tommy deserved it but because he was selfish.

He wanted to see him one last time too.

“I know. I’m going to go to his house next.”

Vince seemed happy and gave him a small smile. Nikki took a deep breath and got out of Neil's mansion, feeling every type of emotion.

God, now it was show time.

[freddiekluger]

Why Cap Being Internally Closeted Is Not Only Possible, But Valid Representation 

i wrote this to a lot of mitski and onsind, so you can’t blame me for any feelings that bleed through

now i don’t know if it actually exists, but i’ve heard of there being a lot of discourse surrounding the captains story arc regarding his sexuality- i believe the general gist is that having a queer character that remains closeted to themselves is either unrealistic or ‘bad’ representation, and as someone who really treasures the captain and relates to his story so far a lot, i thought i might break this down a bit. 

i’ve divded up every complaint i’ve heard about this into four main questions which i’ll be covering below the ‘keep reading’, because this is gonna be pretty comprehensive. full disclaimer i reference my experiences as an ex-evangelical non binary butch lesbian a couple times, and i spent a year studying repression and the psychological impacts of high demand sexual ethics for my graduating sociology paper, so this is coming with some background to it i swear

the big questions:

can you EVEN be gay and not know it????

but isn't this just ANOTHER coming out arc, and aren't we supposed to be moving beyond those?

but if cap can't have a relationship with a man because he's a ghost, what's the point?

since cap's dead, isn't this technically bury your gays, and isn't that bad? 

1. "but is it really possible to not know? Isn't that bad representation?"

short answer: no and no.

before i get into the validity of the captain's ignorance about his own orientation as 21st century rep, let's break down how the hell the captain can be so clearly attracted to men and still not even consider the possibility that he might be gay, as brought to you by someone who literally experienced this shit.

the captain's particular situation is both a direct result of the lack of information around human sexuality he would have had (aka clear messaging that it's actually possible for him to be attracted to men. i don't mean acceptable or allowed, i mean physically capable of happening- the idea that orientations other than heterosexual exist and are available to him, a man), and a subconscious survival mechanism. the environment in which he lives is outright hostile to gay people, while the military man identity he has constructed for himself doesn't allow for any form of deviation from societal norms, let alone one so base level and major. as a result of this killer combo of information and environment, instincts take over and the mind does it's best to repress the ‘deviant’ feelings until a. one of these two things changes, or b. the act of repression becomes so destructive and/or exhuasting that it becomes impossible to maintain. the key to maintaining a long-term state of repression of desire is diverting that energy elsewhere, and a high-demand group such as the military is the perfect place for the captain to do this (this technqiue is frequented by religions and extremist ideologies worldwide, but that’s not really what we’re here to focus on). 

while the brain is actively repressing ‘deviant’ feelings (aka gay shit), this doesn't mean you don't experience the feelings at all. when performed as a subconscious act of survival, the aim of repression is to minimise/transform the feelings into a state where they can no longer cause immediate danger, and something as big as sexual/romantic orientation is going to keep popping up, but as long as the individual in question never understands what they’re feeling, they’ll be able to continue relatively undisturbed. you know how in heist movies, the leader of the group will only tell each team member part of the plan so they can’t screw things up for everyone else if they get caught? it’s kind of like that.

this is how the captain appears to have operated in life AND in death, and it’s a relatively common experience for lgbtq people who’ve grown up in similar circumstances (aka with a lack of information and in an unfriendly-to-hostile environment), and accounts for how some people can even go on to get married and have children before realising that they’re gay and/or trans. 

personally, while i can now identify what were strong homo crushes all the way back to childhood, at the time i genuinely had no idea. there was the underlying sense that i probably shouldn't tell people how attached i was to these girls because i would seem weird, and that my feelings were stronger than the ones other people used to describe friendships, but like-like them in the way that other girls like-liked boys? no way! actually scratch that, it wasn't even a no way, because i had no idea that i even could. i even had my own havers, at least in terms of the emotional hold and devotion she got from me, except she treated me way less well than cap’s beau. snatches of the existence of lgbt people made it through the cone of silence, i definitely heard the words gay and lesbian, but my levels of informations mirrored those that the captain would have had: virtually none, beyond the idea that these words exist, some people are them, and that's not something that we support or think is okay, so let's just not speak about it. despite only attending religious schools for the first couple years of primary, until i got my own technology and social media accounts to explore lgbtq content on my own- option a out of the two catalysts for change- the possibility of me being gay was not at all on my radar. don’t even get me started on how long it took me to explore butchness and my overall gender, two things which now feel glaringly obvious. 

when shit starts to break down, you can also make the conscious choice to repress which can delay the eventual smashing down of the mental closet door for a time (essentially when the closet door starts to open, you just say ‘no thanks’ and shut it again by pointedly Not Thinking About It). in the abscence of identifying yourself by your attractions, it becomes quite common to identify with a lack- in my case, this meant becoming proud of how sensible and not boy crazy i was, and in the captain’s case, this means becoming proud of how sensible and not sensuous/wild (aka woman crazy) he was, identifying with his LACK of desire for women and partying (which, even in the 40s, involved the expectation of opposite sex romances and hook ups). i’m not saying that’s the only reason he’s a rule follower, but i think the contrast between About Last Night and Perfect Day pretty much support this. (the captain getting on his high horse about general party antics that he inherently felt excluded from because of underlying awareness of his difference & his tendency to project his regimented expectations of himself onto others, vs. joining in the reception party, awareness of how the environment supports difference in the form of clare and sam, and relaxing his own rules by dancing with men- the captain doesn’t mind a party when feels like he has a place there.)

so the captain was operating in a high demand, highly regulated environment (primarily the military, but also early 20th century England itself), with regimented roles, rules, and expectations. working on the assumption that he wouldn't have had out/disclosing lgbt friends, he would have had little to no exposure to lgbt identities, and what information he did receive would have been hushed and negatively geared. while my world started to open up when i started high school was allowed to have my own phone + instagram account, resulting in me realising something wasn't quite 'right' within a few years (making me a relatively early realiser compared to those who don't come out to themselves until adulthood), in life the captain never had that experience. he didn't receive the information he needed, his environment didn't grow less hostile. with the near-exception of havers related heartbreak, his well disciplined and lifelong method of repression never became destructive/exhaustive enough to permanently override the danger signals in his mind and allow him to put his feelings into words. neither of the most common catalysts for change happened for him, so he continued as usual, even after his death.

BUT, and here’s where we come to why this is actually great representation, arrival of mike and Alison represents the opening up of new world. for the first time, the captain is actively made aware of the fact that his environment is no longer hostile, and better than that, it’s affirming. he’s also getting access to positively geared information about lgbtq people and identities, so option a of the two catalysts for change is absolutely present, and resoundingly positive. 

the captain’s arc is also relatively unique as it acknowledges the oppressive nature of his environment, but actually focuses on the internal consequences, and the way that systems like those that the captain lived in succeed because they turn us into our own oppressors. for whatever reason, we repress ourseslves, and often can’t help it, and i find that the significance of the journey to overcome that is often overlooked in more mainstream queer media. perhaps it’s just not very cinematic, or it remains too confronting for cishet audiences, but ghosts manages to touch on it with a lovely amount of humour and hope. Jamie Babbit’s But I’m A Cheerleader is another favourite piece of queer media for the same reasons.

not only does it show this, but as the captain continues to get gayer and lean into some of his less conventional traits (like an interest in fashion and the wedding planning), it shows lgbt people who have been or are going through this that there CAN be a positive outcome. it takes a lot to unlearn all the things that have painted you as wrong, especially when a massive institution is desperate to continue doing so, but you can do it, you can be happy, and it's never too late. (i've been meaning to say that last point for ages for ages, but a mutual beat me to it here)

2. not just another coming out arc

i absolutely support the demand for queer stories that don’t center around coming out (it’s like shrodinger’s queer: if you’re not coming out on screen, do you really even exist?), but i don’t align with the criticisms that the captain should already be out. for the reasons mentioned above, the captain’s particular story is fairly different to the ‘young white teenager who mostly knows gay is fine, it’s just everyone else that’s got the problem, but have a unremarkably straight sounding soundtrack, a trauma porn romance, and a cishet saviour’ that we keep seeing. the captain’s ongoing journey with his sexuality emphasises the overaching theme of the show: recovering from trauma and humanity’s endless capacity for growth, and i think that’s worth showing over and over again until it stops being true.

additionally, while the captain’s journey regarding his gayness is a big part of his character and story, ghosts makes it clear that it’s not the ONLY part, and being gay is far from his ONLY characteristic or dramatic/comedic engine. the fact that i’m even having to congratulate ghosts for doing that really shows how much film and television is struggling huh.

while all queer media is, and should be, subject to criticism, i think if it helps even one person then it absolutely deserves to exist, and i can say i’ve found the captain’s journey to be the lgbt story i’ve found that’s closest to my own, which says a lot considering he’s a dead world war 2 soldier who hangs out with other ghosts including a slutty Tory, a georgian noblewoman, and a literal caveman. 

3. if captain gay, why he no have boyfriend???? 

another complaint that’s been circulating is that since the captain doesn’t, and likely won’t, have a boyfriend, that makes him Bad Representation because it follows the sad single gay trope. i kind of get the logic from this one, and a lot of it is up to personal interpretation, but part of me really enjoys the fact that the captain’s journey towards accepting himself is separated from having a relationship.

coming out is often paired with having romantic/sexual relationships (either as the reason or reward for doing so). my own struggle with repression didn't end the second that came out, and i still struggle with letting myself develop & acknowledge romantic feelings as a result of actively shutting them (and most other feelings in general) down for years, and statistics show that lgbtq youth in particular tend not to live out their 'teen years' until their twenties. by not giving cap a relationship straight away, ghosts separates the act of claiming identity and sexual orientation from finding a partner (two things which are, more often than not, separate), and also provides some very nice validation to folks who have yet to have the relationship they want, especially when lots of mainstream queer media is now jumping on the cishet media bandwagon of acting as if every person loses their virginity and has a life defining relationship at sixteen. it’s essentially a continuation of the earlier theme of “it’s never too late”, and who’s to say the captain won’t get a gay bear ghost boyfriend to go haunt nazis with??? people die all the time, it could happen.

(also, i think him and julian will have definitely shagged at least once. it was a low moment for both of them and they refuse to speak of it.)

lots of asexual/ace spectrum fans have come out to say how much they’ve loved being able to headcanon cap as ace, and while that’s not a headcanon i personally have, i think it’s brilliant that ace fans feel seen by his character- we’re all in this soup together babey (and sorry for cursing everyone still reading this with that cap/julian headcanon. i’m just a vessel)

4. “okay, but cap’s a GHOST- doesn’t that make this Bury Your Gays?”

this is a bit of a complex one, but i’m going to say no as a result of the following break down.

Bury Your Gays (BYG), aka the trope where lgbtq characters are consistently killed off (and often with a heavy dose of trauma, while cishet characters survive) is probably one of my least favourite lgbt media tropes. BYG has two main points:

1. the lgbt character is killed, thus removing them from story entirely- hence the use of the phrase ‘killed OFF’ (killed off of the show/film)

2. the character’s death reinforces the perception that lgbtq people’s lives must end in tragedy, instead of being long and fulfilling, or are inherently less valuable. bonus points if the character is killed in a hate crime or confesses same-gender love right before they die (that one implies that queer love genuinely has no future!)

not every death of an lgbtq character is bury your gays, and i personally feel that the captain is an example of an lgbt death that isn’t. 

first of all, while the captain is dead, so are the vast majority of characters in ghosts. the premise of the show means that death is not the end of the line for its characters- for most of them, it’s the only reason we get to see them on screen at all. as such, the captain being dead doesn’t remove him from the story, so point one is irrelevant.

at the time of posting, we don’t know how or why the captain died, but we've had nothing to suggest his death was in any way related to his latent sexuality, so his mysterious death doesn’t actively play into the supposedly inherent tragedy of queer lives, nor the supposedly lesser value. that’s as of right now- since we don’t know the circumstances of his death it’s a little tough to analyse properly. while the captain’s life absolutely features missed opportunities and it’s fair share of tragedy, hope and growth (which seems to be the theme of this post) abounds in equal measure. the captain may not be alive, but we DO get to see him growing and having a relatively happy existence, that for the most part seems to be getting even better as he learns to open up and be himself unapologetically- that doesn’t feel like BYG to me.

while writng this, it’s just occured to me that death really is a second chance for most of the ghosts, especially with the introduction of alison. from mary learning to read, to thomas finding modern music, they’ve all been given the chance explore things they never could have while they were alive, and hopefully grow enough to one day be sucked off move on.

in conclusion,

i love the captain very much and i hope his arc lives up to the standards it’s set so far. i don’t know where to put this in this post, but i’d alo like to say i LOVE how in Perfect Day, the captain wasn’t used as an educational experienced for fanny at all. i am very tired of people expecting me to be the walking talking homophobe educator and rehabilitator, so the fact that it’s alison and the other ghosts that call fanny out while the captain just gets to have fun with the wedding organisation made me very happy.

here’s a few other cap posts that i’ve done:

the captain’s arc if adam and the film crew stayed

a possible cap coming out 

the captain backstory headcanon

if you’ve read this far,

thank you!

also check out @alex-ghosts-corner , this post inspired me very much to write this

[yeojaa]

so maybe another devil in a new suit drabble 👉👈 maybe jk meeting oc parents or like more interactions w oc and jks parents/sister

[ read devil in a new suit ]

pairing.  jjk x f!reader.  rating.  pg-13.  tags.  mentions of coconut!kook dancing (and the whole reason i wrote this tbh), cute banter, idk.  just a lotta fluff, a lil bit of grinding, y’know.  wc. 2.7k.  beta reader.  none other than @hobi-gif.  i love you always!  author note.  oh look...  it’s me...  posting something...  after sixteen hundred years.  womp womp.  this truthfully didn’t go the way i planned it to but i hope you enjoy regardless!

It really shouldn’t surprise you.  Frankly, it doesn’t.  

But it is a little funny.

There are about six girls gathered in a gaggle around your boyfriend, all desperately vying for his attention as he presents a neatly gathered bouquet to his little sister.  Jisoo’s all smiles, completely over the moon with pride and riding that high as she rightfully should.  (She’d done incredibly well, closed out the showcase with a fluidity you could never even dream of.)  She doesn’t even notice her friends staring at her brother with hearts in their eyes, each one red in the face and not from exertion.

(That, or she doesn’t care.  Maybe she’s grown used to it - the whole having-a-heartthrob-for-a-brother thing.) 

It’s actually quite cute, if only because you know Jungkook doesn’t have eyes for anyone but you.  Can feel it in how he keeps bouncing his gaze back towards you, dimple winking from deep within his cheek each time your eyes meet.  He’s like a child going back to his favourite toy, momentarily distracted by tittering laughter and his sister’s sunny smile but always coming back to you.  The knowledge warms you from the inside out, drags a satisfied smile across your lips.

You wonder whether he notices the attention or if it’s just another part of his life.  (You think he must know.  These college students don’t really hide it well, too handsy for their own good, years of growing up in semi-close proximity instilling a certain confidence in their motions.  That, and because Jungkook is quite possibly the least intimidating person you’ve ever met.)

“Thank you for coming!”  It’s Jisoo, flushed and excitable, round eyes as bright as her brother’s as she crosses to you.  This had been her moment - her time to shine - but you appreciate the effort she makes to include you, finding you within the crowd.  “I was a little nervous but…”  A shrug rolls her narrow shoulders, shakes her dark hair from its loose coil.  

You’d seen her practice before this - watched the long videos she’d regularly send to Jungkook - but seeing her in real life motion was an entire league of its own.  Dancing was her calling, every bit of her made for it.  There was just something lyrical about the way she moved, how her hips rolled, limbs seemingly guided by the rhythm of the music.  A grace you’ve never had, even on your best day.

“You shouldn’t have been.”  You’re beaming right back at her, sisterly reassurance on your tongue.  “You were amazing.” 

Whether she believes you or not - you think she does by how her cheeks grow ten sizes and her eyes are all but swallowed whole by the expression - she’s gracious, accepting the compliment with her blinding smile.  (She really was like Jungkook like that.)  

“You guys should come to a class one day.”  By that, she means a class she helps teach every once in a while.  You’ve heard about it on more than one occasion, seen the choreography posted on Instagram and YouTube.  

Still, you don’t expect that, brows shooting high.  Laughter filters past your teeth, springing off your tongue.  “I am not a dancer and I doubt your brother—”

Now it’s Jisoo’s turn to wear surprise like a neon sign, expression splitting with giggles of her own.  “Wait— have you not seen Kook dance?”  The way she says it is incredulous, Bambi eyes sparkling with what looks like mischief.

“No?”

“Your sister told me something.”

You’ve never seen this particular brand of worry on his face, eyes even more comically wide than usual, whatever words he’d originally meant to speak dying on his tongue.  He looks like a literal deer caught in the headlights, one of his nicknames suddenly very apt.

“What did she say?  She likes to embarrass me.”  True.  Jisoo and Jungkook had a textbook sibling relationship, full of teasing and mockery and copious amounts of love.  “Whatever she said, don’t believe—”

“She said you used to dance.”

“Oh.”  Oh?  You hadn’t expected Jungkook to deflate so easily, relief flooding his features.  “Yeah, I did.  In university.”  He’s utterly unbothered by this knowledge, attention back on the soondubu jjigae he’d been shovelling into his mouth.  “I had some friends who were dancers, so it was good exercise.”

“I want to see.”  

His answer is immediate, despite the heaping bite of rice and stew in his mouth.  “No.”

You whack him across the shoulder, startling him into clattering his spoon on the countertop.  It leaves a messy red streak across marble but you’re dragging his attention back to you with a firm glare, fingers cradled under his jaw.  “I want to see.”

Talent apparently runs in the family, you realise halfway through the third video.  Jungkook moves with the same assured movements his sister does, with power and grace and a confidence that frankly baffles you.  He treats the practice room like a stage, running through the motions so fluidly you almost have trouble believing it’s your man on the screen.  (Not that he’s particularly ungraceful.  It’s just surprising, like watching a dog walk on its hind legs.)

“So, what happened?”  You say it so conversationally, innocently, with eyes that mimic his own.  From the corner of your periphery, your boyfriend shifts, hand flexing over your knee.  There’s the furrow between his brows, the subtle tension in his jaw.  Worry.

“What do you mean?”  

Your own hand waves toward the screen, where the image of Jungkook from over half a decade ago sits paused.  “You were so…”  You’re not sure what you mean.  There are just so many options to describe the literal baby boy on the television.  Young?  Confident?  Round?  (You can’t get over his haircut, though you suppose you can’t hold it against him.) 

Jungkook simply stares at you, waiting for you to find whatever words you want to use.  Despite the uncertainty that swims somewhere in the depths of his eyes, he’s endlessly patient.  Always so soft when it comes to you.

“You had a coconut head.”

Laughter explodes off his tongue, entire face screwing up with amusement.  “Are you serious?”

“You did!”  Admittedly, the cut had somehow worked on him but it’s so reminiscent of grade school haircuts you can’t help but focus on it, too distracted by the glossy sheen to offer much else.  “I guess I get it, though.”

“What do you mean?  Everyone had that haircut—”

“In first grade, maybe.”  He sticks his tongue out at you then;  you scowl in response. 

“What do you get?”  As always, he’s perceptive, immediately aware of your carefully knit brow, the thoughtfulness that fits itself around your teeth like gleaming white veneers and holds his attention hostage.  He’s grown used to it over the months you’ve been together - knows you cling tight to things with an iron grip, turn them over and over until you’ve made sense of it in that brain of yours. 

“The crushes.”  You look affronted, almost appalled at the realisation.  He bursts out laughing, broad palm coming down upon your bare leg in a smack.  (He apologises profusely when you complain.)

“What’re you talking about?”

Your nose is wrinkled, velvet strands dislodged by the shake of your head.  “All your sister’s friends.  They’re in love with you.”  Jisoo had even agreed, laughed about it when you’d commented on it at the recital.  Something about them having grown up with Jungkook, obsessed with the image they’d retained of him since university.  “But you were a coconut.  You wore Timberlands and drop-crotch pants.  You weren’t even that cute.”  An exaggerated shudder slips over your shoulders.  

“I was nineteen.”  As if that makes it better.  Your judgment doesn’t lessen, the lines running the bridge of your nose only deepening.  

“Still.  Embarrassing.”

Your boyfriend truly is the best sport, rolling his eyes at you in the same instance he reaches for you, tugs you closer with broad palms, affection searing into your skin.  “Well, luckily, no more Timbs.  No more bowl cut.”  He nuzzles into the warmth of your neck, spreads your knees wide over his hips.  The sound of his laughter melts into your throat, dresses it in heat deposited by your breath.  “Are you jealous again?”

He doesn’t even get a verbal response to that.  Just a heavy glare and two hands squishing his cheeks.  “Absolutely not.” 

It comes up again in bed, your head on his chest, his hands on your hips.  He asks it quietly, conversationally, with a twinkle in his eye that makes you want to smother him with one of his many pillows. 

“You’re sure you’re not jealous?”

“I’m not,”  you grit, paired with a roll of your eyes and a little snort from your nose.  You really aren’t.  Those girls are inconsequential, irrelevant.  They’ll never amount to what you are to him and that’s just a simple fact.  He’s yours - something he reminds you of day in and day out, both verbally and in action. 

(You love him for it, appreciate it more than you can possibly begin to explain.  There’s a certain bliss to be found in the knowledge that you’re loved.  A warmth that rivals even that of the sun on the summer’s hottest day.) 

“Then why’re you pouting?”  What he really means is why aren’t you smiling.  You don’t pout often - at least not in the same ways he does.  

“I’m not,”  you repeat for what feels like the sixth time. 

“Smile for me.”

You do the opposite - throwing your eyes in an exaggerated circle.  It earns you a pinch to the side, a tender sting blooming beneath ink-strewn fingers. 

“Really—“  When he looks this earnest, it’s hard to deny him,  “you’re sure everything’s okay?”

At most, you can sigh perhaps overdramatically.  Fold your awkward limbs upon his and bury your face into the crook of his neck.  You’re not jealous of those girls, no.   

You’re envious of his talent - the simple fact that Jeon Jungkook is, by all definitions, a golden boy.  God’s favourite, with his heart wrenching smile and easygoing charm and grace that seems almost surreal.  There’s not a single thing wrong with him - okay, except for his bad habit of never answering his phone and always messing up the top sheet and the fact that he absolutely never ever puts the cap back on the toothpaste tube - and it’s absurd.  Utterly, absolutely unfair. 

But you can’t say that.

“Baby,”  he hums, threading the sound of his voice among your hair, tucking the soft syllables behind your ears.  “Talk to me.”

You relent - a little.  “You’re too good.”

“Too good?”  The depth of his laughter rumbles your bones, tickling your insides when it vibrates out of his chest.  “At what?”

A hand gesticulates wildly.  You’re not sure what it looks like, how close it is to hitting Jungkook in the face.  You’ve still got your face pressed to the warmth of his skin, greedily siphoning his sunny radiance with your cheek.   “Everything.”

Despite how he laughs - cackles, really, so adorable and high pitched it’s breathy - you know he knows what you’re talking about.  You’ve given him a hard time about it before.  

“I’m not good at everything, ____.”

He’s somehow even good at making you believe you’re wrong.  That’s a feat in and of itself. 

“Are too.”

“Are not.”

“Whatever!”  Whether he acknowledges it or not, he’s stupidly gifted.  Everyone and their - even his - mom knows it.  “Don’t believe me then.  I don’t care.”

“Then why’re you making that face?”  It’s almost comical that he’s calling you out for your expressions when he’s the king of funny faces, throwing his features into exaggerated (and adorable) masks.  (Maybe he’d just rubbed off on you?)

“I’m not,”  you huff, exasperated but not quite.  Still soft over his skin, velvet on silk. 

“You’re so cute.”  Sometimes, you think he really is just a child - too happy with putting you on a pedestal and praying at your altar.  Devoting himself to you when you’re nothing but a bag of flesh and bone, dressed in designer fashion and wrapped up with a satin ribbon made from sarcasm and candor.  (Not that you mind.  Who would argue if they were offered such love?)  “I still think something’s wrong but…”

It’s a smart tactic.  He doesn’t press you for an answer, opting to let it linger between you.  Settle like bothersome lint until you offer it yourself.  

When you relent - because you always do, unable to shut out the sunshine that practically pours out of him - you’re quieter.  Not shy, but bashful.  Uncertain in a way you very rarely are.  “I’ve always wanted to dance.”  So much so, you’d begged your parents to enroll you when you were younger.  Demanded lessons upon lessons - only to fail at all of them.  Rhythm simply didn’t exist anywhere in your body. 

“Really?”

You’re pulled from your safe haven, shifted until your entire point of view is filled with Jungkook, his starry eyes and his fluffy fluffy hair.  There’s that look he sometimes gets - full of wonder and adoration - when he learns something new about you.  As if just the smallest tidbit of knowledge opens up a whole new world.  

“Yes?”  You’re half regretting the admission.  He looks like he’s up to something, all the cogs in his head turning in perfect tandem. 

“I’ll teach you.”  

“Hard pass.”

Like a hot air balloon, he deflates, mouth rounding sweetly.  (If you didn’t know better, you’d assume the man was made of cotton candy, semi-sweet chocolate heart where the real organ should be.)  “Why not?”

“I do not dance.”  It’s nothing but a statement of fact, firm and unyielding. 

The pout evolves, swings down into a frown that drags his eyebrows with it.  “You could dance.”

“No, baby—“  So you’re a little frustrated, all your childhood memories pricking beneath your skin.  “I do not dance.”

“Why?”  He’s upright now, tugging you with him as if you weigh nothing.  His way of turning the conversation serious, pulling you from the warmth and comfort of the bedsheets to this.  (He’s still holding you, hooking his big broad hands over your hips, so you don’t mind.) 

“No rhythm.”  Unable to keep a beat.  Two left feet.  The list could go on and on, according to your ballet instructor. 

“Not true.”

Your brow quirks, mirrored by his as if in challenge.  You almost swat at him - so close your hand twitches on his shoulder.  “Very true.”

(Why does this conversation feel so familiar?  It’s déjà vu.) 

“Is not.”  Your boyfriend seems insistent, as if he knows better than you.  (He doesn’t.)  Stares up at you with those pretty eyes and has the audacity to grin when you roll your own, ready to rebuff him. 

Because you’re in bed, the one place where you defer to him whether you like it or not. 

(You do like it, though.  Love it, in fact.  Just like you love him.)

“You’re graceful,”  he hums, bridging the gap between you with a forward roll of his shoulders.  “You’ve got rhythm.”  The hand on your hip grows firm, guides your knees to spread wide on either side of him.  With each brush of his lips - tender little brushes, endlessly sweet and reassuring - he pushes and pulls, dragging you across his lap.  “You can do anything you want.”

You’ve almost forgotten the topic of conversation, preoccupied by how he guides you in languid circles.  How the cotton of his boxer briefs feels against the sensitive inside of your thighs.  The weight that grows between your legs and nudges indelicately against the soft fabric of your thong.

All part of his plan, of course.

“Your body’s the most beautiful thing in the world, ____.”  

When he looks at you like this, you think he might be right.  You’d believe it if he kept saying it, sparking desire through your limbs until they’re jellied and loose.  

(How he sees right through you - cuts straight to the core of your insecurity - you’re not sure.  It feels almost like a superpower, something unquantifiable, unbelievable.  He’s too good for you, always.  So kind and loving, pressing his belief in the form of his mouth, the tender edge of his teeth when he kisses you slow slow slow.)

“You’re perfect just the way you are.”

[percywinchester27]

A lot like ‘Us’ (Part-40)

Word count: 4.8K

Pairing: Sam X Reader AU

Warnings: Fluff, angst, feels, sickness

Series Summary: Y/N Y/L/N is eager and honestly, still in awe that she managed to get herself an acceptance from Stanford Law School. On the face of it, her life seems as put together, mysterious and independent as one might hope for. On the insides, she carries the burden of past that haunts her till date. Seemingly, she’d left it all behind; that is until she sets foot in the class of the Law School’s youngest, most promising professor.

A/N: The story employs two different timelines. The present timeline for the story takes place in 2014. Please let me know what you guys think :)

Beta: @deanssweetheart23​​. You’re a Rockstar <3

A lot like ‘Us’ masterlist

No one talked to you today, the whispers though, had escalated. No one was bothering to keep it quiet either. Not just your classmates, even the faculty kept giving you looks, ranging from distrust to pity. Professor Whitman, who never cared much about anything, took a whole minute to find you in the class and give you a once over, like he was seeing you for the first time- Sam Winchester’s flighty wife, back to ruin his life again.

The judgement you could take. The pity was painful. What did they see? A girl who couldn’t appreciate a good man? Or as much as you hated to think of it that way- a girl who couldn't be a mother again.

It came as a surprise when Jody called you to her office after the class. When you followed her in, she closed the door behind and unexpectedly pulled you into a hug.

“I’m sorry about all of this, Y/N,” she said. “It’s awful.”

You waited for her to let go of you then asked, “How much trouble is Sam in?”

Jody pursed her lips. “I want to say, ‘not much’ but we’ll only know on Monday, I suppose.”

“Are you part of the enquiry committee?”

She nodded. “All of the freshman faculty panel is on there. You have nothing to worry about, Y/N. Your grades are impeccable. You can’t possibly be sleeping with all of us.”

“I’m not even sleeping with Sam!” You let out, frustrated. “And I’m more worried about what happens to him.” You were a student. The most they could do is sack you from the students committee and bump down your grades. 

Jody regarded you for a moment. “The two of you are so similar. It’s uncanny.”

She sighed. “I’ll be upfront with you, Y/N. As much as I’ve tried to shake them, Sam’s priorities are set. Even absent, you were very high up on that list. With you in front of him, there are very few things Sam wouldn’t give up for you.”

You already knew that. But was it right to let him make all those sacrifices for someone as undeserving as you?

The thought plagued you after you’d left Jody’s office, just as it had plagued you for the past two days. Outside, you ran into Madison.

“Oh, I was looking for you,” she said. “Sorry, I missed the first few lectures, but I have news for you. One good, one bad.”

“Bad one first,” you said, apprehensive. 

Madison made a face. “Starting the day after tomorrow, I have no place to live.”

“What? Didn’t you have a lease for the whole year?”

“Lacey is screwing someone, who knows someone else who knows the hostel director. And, well, long story short, my lease got prematurely terminated.”

Anger flared inside you again. This was happening to Madison only because she was staunchly standing with you. 

“I want you to come house hunting with me. My brother’s agreed to help me out with the money. So, I’m good to go.”

The idea popped up in your head immediately. “Why don’t you move in with me?” 

Her eyebrows knitted together. “Meg?”

“Meg’s almost moved out next door. I was supposed to put out an add for a roommate but with everything that’s going on…” Convincing Meg to continue with the move had been very difficult. She thought it was some sort of betrayal to leave you by yourself in all this mess. Cas supported her on that. However, everyone was camping in your living room anyway. 

Ultimately, you had to put your foot down and tell her to move her ass out. Your life might always remain a tragedy. It shouldn’t pause her or Cas’s life. She had still slept on your sofa last night.

“You’re serious?” Madison was trying her best to contain her excitement.

“As a heart attack.”

She let out a loud squeal and tackled you. “This is the best thing ever. We’ll be roomies!”

“Not if you call me that.”

Madison’s laughter rang out in your ears. “Now you’ve already offered. You can’t take it back, roomie.”

“Wait, what’s the good news?” 

Her face split into a huge grin. “I heard from the HR at Acton Gris. They won’t hire me as an intern. But she asked me to apply for the position of summer associate next year. She said my chances looked great.”

“That’s wonderful!”

“Yes! I’m thinking of applying for an on campus job this year.”

Madison was sincere, smart and she worked very hard. No wonder good things were in store for her. “Let me talk to Molly today. See if she has some inside intel on vacancies.”

“You’d do that?” Madison couldn’t stop beaming and you smiled right along with her. “The world is a much better place with you in it.”

Not everyone thought that. Following the pattern of the past few days, Rebecca decided to show her face again after the lecture. You had been expecting her at this point. Maybe she couldn’t sleep without venting off her frustration on you. As usual, she had Lacey next to her, who really had gone fully darkside.

“Missing your Professor?”

You saw Madison start, but Rebecca put in. “Oh, stop being her Lapdog, Maxwell. You don’t have to rollover each time she blows a whistle.”

“It’s alright, Maddie,” you said in a calm voice. “As it happens, I do miss him very much.”

“I hope at least the sex was worth it,” said Lacey.

You grinned at her. “Mind-blowing, actually. I remember this one time, I was screaming his name for literal hours. God, the things that man can do. It’s in-credi-ble.” You drew out the last word with a relish.

Lacey’s jaw dropped.

Rebecca recovered quickly. “Christ! You’re shameless. That man’s married with a son. Have you got no shame at all?”

“Weren’t you the one making out with Sam at Maddie’s birthday party in the bar restroom?” You shot back. “I remember you described the bit about feeling his abs in extreme details. He wore his wedding ring around his neck. So how are you not shameless?”

Rebecca’s face reddened in an instant. “What… how…?”

“Doesn’t feel so good when the finger is pointed at you. Right, Rebecca? When you’re the one being put on a spot and your character is being brought into question. It was okay for you to make out with a professor. Why are the rules so different for me?”

“I- I was drunk that night. And I never slept with him!”

“Don’t you dare paint him in that light. As if you were some drunk woman he took advantage of in a toilet cubicle.” You spat. “You’re so desperate that you don’t think twice about lying over something so demeaning. You didn’t touch Sam because at 2 in the night, he wasn’t even there in that bar. So shut that bullshit.”

There was a crowd gathered around you now, and she didn’t like her words coming back to bite her.

“How do you know where Sam was that night?” Rebecca questioned, clearly baffled and out of her element, but trying to salvage the situation and save face.

You rolled your eyes. “We’re having an affair, remember? Keep up, Rebecca. You filed that complaint. Also, don’t worry about his wife, really. She totally doesn’t mind.” You winked.

The murmur around you was starting to intensify. You didn’t know how long it would be before the actual story came out. Or if it ever would come out. Neither did you care. You didn’t owe an explanation to any of these people. 

Rebecca breathed out harshly, and spoke through her teeth, contempt dripping in each word. “You’re disgusting. That child of his-”

“Don’t. Don’t utter a word about that boy,” you hissed, the anger finally burning through. “You’ve done enough harm to Sam’s reputation. But I swear to God, Rebecca, you’ll live to regret it if you so much as dare to think about Max, you deplorable excuse of a living thing.”

The warning was so raw, she flinched back from you as you stormed out. 

Madison did not follow you to the library. She knew when you wanted to be left alone. Attacking Sam was one thing, but you really did want to rip Rebecca’s throat for wanting to bring Max in the middle of it. The fierce protectiveness you felt for him was like nothing else you had experienced before. 

Throughout the following hour, you kept glancing at the door of the library, expecting Max to walk in. Sam had said he would visit. 

Maybe you would ask him to read out to you today. If anything, that could fix your mood.

“Umm… Y/N?”

You looked up to see Molly standing over you. 

“Hey. I didn’t see you there.”

She shuffled from one foot to the other looking at you awkwardly.

You squared your shoulders, realising what she might’ve heard. “Anything you want?”

“I- I wanted to say sorry.”

That brought you up short. “Why?”

Molly ran her fingers through her red hair. “I didn’t know you were… you know… Sam’s wife, and I said horrible stuff to you the other day.”

It hadn’t actually been that horrible. 

“I’d heard the rumours but I swear I didn’t believe a word. Then I ran into Chase Lincoln yesterday. He told me.”

“Everything?”

Molly nodded sadly. “It was wrong of me to make assumptions, Y/N. What happened in Sam’s life was none of my business. And for the reason you left to be so horrifying? I could have never imagined. I’m really, really sorry. I don’t know how to apologize.”

“Stop saying sorry,” you said at once. “I know you’ve always meant well for Sam and for me, Molly. Everyone likes to gossip. It’s no big deal. You didn’t hurt or offend me.”

“There must be something I can do, novia.”

“Never bring it up again. Please. Let’s just forget that conversation happened.”

You saw her eyes start to fill up. “Take the rest of the week off, yeah? Come back Monday.”

“You’re low on staff already.” You did not want anyone’s sympathy.

“I’m not doing this for you,” she said. “Spend the weekend with Sam. He’ll need a distraction more than ever before that hearing on Monday. Okay?”

“Okay.”

Molly disappeared into the librarian’s room before the waterworks started. She didn’t want you to see her tear up so you didn’t follow her in, continuing with your sideways glances at the door. The sharp ring of your phone made you jump.

“Hello?” You answered the unknown number

“Y/N? It’s Alex. Sam left me your number in case of emergencies.” She sounded frantic.

“Is everything okay?” 

“Can you please come over? Max is really sick and… he’s… he’s asking for you.”

*****

Instead of knocking on the door, you straight up punched the security key and barged into the house.

“Max? Alex?”

“Up here!” You heard Alex’s voice. Taking two steps at a time you made it to Max’s room. Your chest contracted, seeing Max in the bed. He was curled up on his side, cheeks wet, face puffy from crying. 

Alex was sitting on a chair next to him, distressed.

“What’s wrong?” You asked, rushing to Max’s side and placing a hand against his forehead. He was burning up.

“I don’t know,” said Alex, “He was fine when I picked him up from school. He said he was feeling sick half an hour ago and now he’s running a fever. I tried calling his usual doctor but it says the number doesn’t exist anymore. He’s been crying and calling out for Sam and... you.”

“Did you try Sam?”

“He’s not reachable.”

“Max, honey, what’s wrong?” You asked as gently as you could. “Do you hurt somewhere?”

He opened his eyes and your heart lurched at the tears in them. “Stomach. My stomach hurts. I want dad.”

“Sam will be home at night. He’ll be with you.” You turned to Alex. “Is he allergic to something?” 

“Not that I know of.”

You were sure he hadn’t had outside food in at least a week, so food poisoning was out.

“Does your body hurt, baby?”

Max nodded slowly, drawing into himself. “And my head.”

“Alex, could you please find the first aid box and get me a thermometer?”

She scampered off to find it, relieved to have someone else take charge of the situation. Keeping one hand on Max’s forehead, you reached out for your purse with the other and pulled out your phone. Thankfully, the number was on the speed dial. He picked up the phone on the second ring.

“Cas, where are you?”

“At the hospital. Everything okay?”

“No. Max is running a high fever. I’d guess around 101. He says he’s feeling sick, and has stomach and body ache.”

There was a pause, then Cas said. “Can you drive him to the hospital? Bring him directly to the paeds ward on the 7th floor. I’ll see you there in fifteen minutes.”

Alex was back with the thermometer. 102.3. Thankfully, she had a license and Claire’s car was in their driveway. You asked her to bring it out front.

After she left, you gently coaxed Max into a sitting position, he looked drowsy and was still sniffling a little. “Honey, listen to me. You’re going to have to deal with a little inconvenience, okay? We’re going to drive you to the hospital very quickly.”

“Hospital?” He mumbled. eyes filling up again. 

“It’s just Cas there,” you soothed him. “You remember Cas, right? We all played jenga together.”

Max opened his mouth to say something, instead his eyes widened and threw up over the front of your sweater and into your lap. 

He started crying immediately. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Your eyes filled up. “It’s okay, baby. It’s no big deal.” You removed the puke covered sweater and used to wipe away the vomit stuck to your jeans. “See, it’s all gone. No need to worry at all.”

The retching had left him weak and shivering. 

“Just stay put a minute.” You hurriedly tossed your sweater in the hamper by the door, and pulled on one of Sam’s overlarge shirts over your T-shirt. Once back, you grabbed Max’s grey blanket and wrapped it around him. Slinging your purse around your torso, you lifted him in your arms and carried into the car that was already waiting at the curb. You held Max close to your chest in the backseat, whispering soft reassurances in his ears. 

Just as Alex pulled up in front of the hospital, Max threw up on you again. It made him cry harder. You realised it was not just humiliating for him, he was missing his dad terribly. 

“Max, honey, it’s totally okay,” you assured him, kissing his brow. “I used to throw up so much as a kid, gran used to call me projectile Y/N. Just puke all around me all the time. Hell, ask your dad. He held my hair when I threw up in the toilet. It’s my jam. And we’ve got a  towel now. Let’s clean you up, okay?”

Thankfully, the blanket wasn’t soiled, so you could keep it around him as you carried him in the lift.

Cas was waiting for you there. He immediately guided you to a bed and laid Max down on it. You started to step back.

“Y/N, don’t go,” Max rasped out. 

“I’m right here, Chirp. I’m not going anywhere, but Cas needs to take a look at you.”

Max still reached out with his hand. You looked at Cas. He gave you a quick nod and you rushed to Max’s side once more, grasping his outstretched fingers tightly. Cas pressed Max’s tummy, asking where exactly it hurt, then checked the temperature again along with the pulse. You watched apprehensively as Cas pulled down Max’s eyelids and asked more questions. Meanwhile, the chills kept getting worse.

“It looks like he’s caught a viral fever. The nurse outside told me it’s been doing a round at the school. We’ve had many kids this week.”

“Why is he throwing up then?”

“It’s probably the phlegm. I don’t think there’s a reason to worry. I’ll give him an IV with paracetamol and nausea suppressants. He’ll feel much better in a few hours.” Cas hesitated. “Maybe you should ask Sam before we start the treatment. Only he can sign off on the papers. You’ll need the details of the health insurance.”

“I can’t get to him. We’ve been trying non-stop.” 

Would Sam want you to make such decisions on his behalf? Max was looking paler than usual and was clearly in pain. You couldn’t wait till midnight to start him on medication. It was killing you to see him hurting like this.

“Screw the insurance. I’ll pay whatever the bill comes out to be… and I’ll sign off on the papers as well.”

Cas gave you an apprehensive look. “Y/N?”

“Look,” you said through your teeth, “I’m still his legal guardian. I have that right. Just start him on the medication. I can’t bear to see him like this.”

“Alright.” Cas said something to the nurse behind him who rushed out and then came back with a syringe. 

“This is going to hurt just a little, Max,” Cas said, flicking at the needle.

You crouched down next to Max’s head. “You’re my brave boy, aren’t you? One little prick and that will be all. You’ll feel so much better afterwards. Can you do that?” 

Max gave you one quick jerk of his neck. “Close your eyes.” He did. 

Cas pushed the needle into the tiny crease of Max’s arm and you flinched, tears pouring down your cheeks. Max did not even make a whimper. The nurse stuck a piece of white tape over the puncture mark after Cas was done.

“You need to swallow these two little tablets,” Cas said, handing them to Max along with a glass of water. Max looked at you and you nodded encouragingly. Without any fuss, he did as Cas said. You hugged Max very tightly to your chest. “You’re the bravest little thing in this world, you know that? And I’m so damn proud of you. You get every cookie you can think of when you feel better, yeah?”

“We’ll keep him here till the nausea subsides,” said Cas. “Once he feels better, you can take him home.”

Cas seemed concerned, but it wasn’t directed at Max- which made you feel better. It was directed at you. “You better sign off on those papers, Y/N.”

“Can you please bring them here?” You pleaded. “I don’t want to leave Max.” The boy in question was still hugging your middle tightly.

“Of course.”

It was with shivering hands that you filled out the form. You stared at the paper for a whole minute before ticking off on the small box in the relationship to the patient column against mother. Max had fallen asleep in your arms and the tears just wouldn’t stop. You knew he was going to be okay, the fever was already coming down and he had stopped shivering. Sweat dewed up on his forehead. 

Occasionally you wiped it off with the back of your sleeve. 

But you were terrified of this feeling- like the world would go dark if a single wrong thing happened to this boy. There was a point in your life when you were ready to own up to this feeling, looking forward to it even- and then you had lost it, along with every other emotion in your heart. Since the day you had met Max, you’d been dancing along the edge of the precipice of this very feeling- this selfless, immense love. Not ready to take the leap. Scared that you’d be shattered if you did.

Were you scared of being a bad mother? Or were you simply scared of being a mother? 

As you sat there, alone, in the small clinical room, with Max softly snoring in your lap, you realised that what you truly feared above and beyond everything was giving in to feeling this love and losing it again. 

If you accepted him as your son, and then something happened to him, you wouldn’t make it out of it alive. Literally. Not accepting Sam’s love and a place in his and Max’s life was not only a product of your doubts and self-hatred. It was a plain survival instinct. The epiphany was so strong, it left you breathless.

You felt a hand against your shoulder. Cas’s blue eyes were sympathetic in their depth. “You can take him home now, Y/N.” He didn’t try to reassure you beyond it. He had a subtle way of comforting without saying the words out loud.

You called Alex again, who had been reading in the waiting room and she drove you back to Max’s place. He’d been asleep through the ride, right until you put him to bed. Insisting that Alex go back home and study for her exams, you stripped down to your tank top, pulled on a pair of Sam’s tracks. After making sure that Max was still out, you cleaned up your clothes, and the mess on the floor and side of Max’s bed. You didn’t dare close the door of the bathroom, lest Max call out to you and you couldn’t answer. 

Taking the chance, you made some chicken soup for him, and only then did you wake him up, gently. 

Max called out for Sam the moment he opened his eyes and your heart broke again. Doing your best to reassure him that Sam was on his way, you cajoled Max into changing out of his dirty clothes and into fresh ones. 

He refused to eat the soup, but with soft insistence, you persuaded him to finish half a bowl of it. 

“You’ll read to me?” He said in a muted, dull voice as you tucked him back in the bed.

“Of course, sweetheart, what do you want me to read?”

“Anything.”

You looked around the room, your eyes landing on the only book over his nightstand. 

“Alright, here we go.” You flipped to the page with a bookmark. “We could not wait for Atticus to come home for dinner, but called and said we had a big surprise for him. He seemed surprised when he saw most of the back yard in the front yard, but he said we had done a jim-dandy job. “I didn’t know how you were going to do it,” he said to Jem, “but from now on I’ll never worry about what’ll become of you, son, you’ll always have an idea...”

*********

It was stupid and incredibly irresponsible on Sam’s part to let his phone drain out completely. Even worse, he’d left it to charge in the meeting room and forgotten to check it in the next couple of hours while he met with the children in the boy’s home. He came back to 17 missed calls and 23 text messages- from Alex and Y/N. 

Max was sick and he’d had no idea.

Sam had frantically called first thing after going through the texts. Y/N had picked up only to whisper that Max was better and asleep, and that Sam needn’t worry. For the next five hours, Sam worried ceaselessly anyway. It drove Chase up the wall, but he played his music loudly in the car all the way till Sam dropped him off and didn’t point out how Sam was a total maniac. 

The clock on his dashboard blinked 1:22 as he made the bend to his house.

Sam parked the car all wrong in the driveway, barely giving it a second thought before running inside. He should’ve been quieter, knowing Max was asleep, but the anxiety barely kept his legs moving. He would have continued at the same rate through Max’s door if the scene before him hadn’t made him stop.

On the bed, Max was sleeping peacefully. He was dressed in a thin cotton t-shirt, the lower half of his body was covered in his blanket. That wasn’t what made Sam stop. Y/N was curled up beside him, her arm thrown around Max, who was nextled so comfortably in her embrace that he belonged there. Max’s book was balanced over Y/N’s hip, wedged open on the page she had been reading out of. On the nightstand, stood a bowl of cold soup, half empty, along with water and strips of medicine. The table on Y/N’s side held a cooking pot filled with water and a washcloth lay dipped in it. She’d been nursing him- from fever or the sweat, Sam couldn’t say.

Slowly, he walked up to Max, and very very carefully placed the back of his hand on his forehead. No fever. 

Sam looked about himself. The floor was strewn with Max’s clothes that smelled like he had been sick over them. Sam picked up the clothes and carried them to the washing machine. Inside was already a dry load of clothes that belonged to Y/N and him. So Max had thrown up on her. More than once.

Sam knew from the messages that Y/N had taken Max to the hospital- had her friend, whom she trusted implicitly take a look at his son, signed the papers as his guardian and paid the bill out of her pocket.

The thought occurred to Sam as he undressed for the night. In that last message, Y/N had apologised for signing off on Sam’s behalf, as if he could ever be mad at her for dropping whatever she was doing to look after his son, the way a mother would.

Sam understood now why Max had thrown a fit when Sam had forbidden him from seeing Y/N. It had hurt Sam that he couldn’t be enough for Max, that Max was looking for something more in Y/N. But seeing them together now, Sam could see he had been completely wrong. Max wasn’t asking something more, he’d been asking for what already belonged to him- Y/N’s love. Max had been right all along.

Sam pulled the covers and duvet off his bed and dragged to Max’s room where he laid them out at the foot of Max’s bed, so he’d be sleeping next to him on the floor. An alarm started going off on Y/N’s phone, and Sam jumped to turn it off. It was already 2 O’ clock. She had set successive alarms for every hour of the night, Sam presumed to check on Max. Sam turned off all of them. He was home now, he could take care of it. 

He checked Max’s temperature once more- still normal- and then bent down to place a kiss on his forehead. It was almost November. Max always had bouts of viral or flu in the cold months. He should have foreseen it. If Y/N hadn’t been around…

The expression on her face was so peaceful as she held onto his boy, tears sprang into Sam’s eyes. This was everything he wanted in his life. Everything. Right in front of him. He bent down once more and planted a soft kiss on her cheek. She didn’t wake at his touch, but adjusted herself closer to Max on the tiny bed, the book falling off her hip with a soft thud onto the thick carpet. 

Sam lay down on the floor, thinking of a night very long ago when Y/N had fallen asleep on the  sofa in his house, back in Lawrence. He’d read to her from this very book that night- for the first time. Sam had slept besides her on the floor that night as well. A writer would have called the parallel poetic… but Sam saw it for what it was, shrouded in a mist of uncertainty all around him- a haunting ache inside his soul.

He couldn’t thank her for what she’d done for his Max today- not only would that gesture be insufficient, it would be insulting. No, Sam wouldn’t thank her. Instead, he would check up on Max every hour, make her breakfast in bed, and iron her clothes before she woke up, so she wouldn't be late for classes tomorrow. He would pack her a lunch and kiss her goodbye at the door. Maybe she would see through him and understand how incredibly grateful he was for today… and how tragically hopeful he was for the future, when he could do these simple things everyday without the excuse of an unsaid thank you.

“I love you, Darling,” he whispered. “It can only ever be you.”

*****************************

A/N 2: It’s been a hard, awful few days. I must be made up of stronger stuff than I thought I was.

Please do let me know if you liked this part. Reblogs and comments are very much appreciated. 

Five more chapters to go!

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[theowhy]

[thiam] following footsteps

2.4k / g / oneshot

note: hello friends :’) long time no post, i just never have any free time these days. my writing brain cells are rusty but here’s a short thing that was meant to be a, uh, christmas fic but that i couldn’t wrangle into shape until now. it’s not terribly contingent on the christmas season and i hope it’s enjoyable even two months late lmao

The cold is the worst thing when Liam finally comes to. Everything bombards him at once: the bruising ache in his back, the smell of dirt and pine and damp clothes. But the cold—that chills him straight to his bones.

“Shit,” Liam says.

“‘Shit’ is right,” says Theo, a disembodied voice somewhere off to Liam’s left because Liam can’t even bear to open his eyes yet. He’d recognize Theo’s presence even if blind or dead.

How annoying. Though in this moment, it gives Liam a weary sense of comfort, knowing he’s not alone.

“What happened?” he groans, bringing a hand up to gingerly touch his temple where a headache currently pounds.

“You got your ass handed to you,” Theo says. He shifts, clothes rustling, a crunching sound beneath his feet.

Ice? Liam opens his eyes.

They were in the forest, he finally remembers. And sure enough, they’re surrounded by dark trees and a white landscape, grey clouds beyond them, a hard ground beneath. There are rocks, too: Theo must have found some kind of outcropping in the hills to shelter from the snow flurrying through the air. Had he dragged Liam under here after… whatever happened before he was out?

“Yes, I dragged you here,” Theo says, then rolls his eyes. “Don’t look at me like that, your face was obvious.”

Liam grimaces. “Did I get hit?”

“Thrown through a tree, actually.” There’s way too much pep in Theo’s voice when he says it. He points out away from them, towards a splintered tree stump in the distance. Its other half lies not far past it, slowly being buried beneath the snow. “That one.”

“Ouch.” Explains why Liam’s back is killing him. “What was it?”

“You don’t remember?”

“I got thrown through a tree, cut me some slack.” Liam gingerly moves to sit up and rub some warmth back into his arms.

“It was… I don’t even know how to describe it.” Theo frowns as he remembers. “I’ve never seen anything like it before. This big white ball of… energy. Ice. It got mad when it saw us and blew you into that tree. There’s been a snowstorm ever since.”

“Did you… kill it?” Liam asks apprehensively.

“Hell no, I grabbed you and hauled ass. You’re lucky it didn’t follow.”

“So it’s still out there? We have to tell the others.”

Theo wordlessly digs into his pocket and pulls out his phone. He taps the home button. The screen doesn’t light up.

Liam gapes. “Did you seriously bring an uncharged phone out into the middle of nowhere?”

“It’s not my fault you were out for an hour, okay?” Theo snarls. “We were supposed to take a quick look around and go back, I didn’t know some mythical snow spirit whatever the fuck was going to attack us. At least my phone is still in one piece.”

“What?” Dread sinks into Liam’s stomach. He digs into his back pocket, pulls out a mess of circuits and glass and dented metal. He squeaks, “Oh no.”

“Yeah, nice.” Theo sighs. “What is that, your second phone this year?”

“Third.” Liam buries his head in his hands. “My parents are going to kill me.”

It was hard enough convincing them to let him go on this trip to the mountains, where Scott and the rest of the pack had rented a cabin for the weekend. Ostensibly it was to investigate reports of sudden blizzards and extreme snowfall, something Deaton had thought concerning enough for them to check out. But in actuality, none of them expected it to be anything more than some random meteorological weirdness. Scott brought his Nintendo Switch and Mario Kart. Lydia brought wine.

But they’d hardly settled into the cabin before Scott suggested they take a look around before dark, just to get some work in before Mario Kart and chill. Figures Liam didn’t even get the chance to kick Theo’s butt at Mario Kart before the universe decided to screw him over and make his parents ground him forever. It’s not his fault his life suddenly became full of a whole lot more fighting than Liam ever expected, even into his senior year of high school.

“There’s no way I’m gonna try and find my way back in this blizzard,” Theo says, with the finality of a nail into a coffin. “So I suggest you get comfortable.”

Liam sighs, watches the white puff of his breath fade into the air. The wind howls in long, drawn out tones. His whole backside is wet from lying on the ground. His head still hurts.

“Yeah, real easy,” he mutters, pulling his knees up and wrapping his arms around them. First things first, try to get his body to stop shivering.

There’s quiet for a moment. Liam’s so preoccupied finding any vestiges of warmth in his body that he startles when something soft is pushed onto his head. He turns his gaze towards Theo.

Theo, whose beanie has now been placed on Liam’s head.

“It ain’t much, but take it,” Theo says, hardly more than a murmur, nearly lost to the sound of the wind. But Liam hears him.

“I’m fine,” he says.

Theo rolls his eyes. “Liam, just take it.”

“But what about you?”

“I can handle a little cold.” Theo crosses his arms tighter, breathes a big exhale that sends a shroud of white around him, thick as smoke. It hides him for a moment but fades away soon enough. His hair is mussed from tugging his beanie off. His nose and cheeks are red, and there are stray snowflakes on Theo’s shoulders, caught in strands of his hair.

It’s more than just a little cold. The beanie helps, in a small way; Theo had given what little he could. That matters, Liam thinks.

It must be that—along with instinctual, human need—that compels Liam to scoot closer until he’s pressed up against Theo’s side.

Theo goes rigid.

He doesn’t say anything. Neither does Liam.

Finally, Theo says, “What are you doing?”

“It’s cold,” Liam says simply. “You said get comfortable.”

“Comfortable does not mean sitting on top of me.”

“I’m not on top of you,” Liam scoffs. “We gotta huddle for warmth.”

“Sure, huddle. Not cuddle.” Theo pointedly scoots away. Liam follows. “Liam.”

“Theo, come on. I’m not dying out here.”

“I’m not dying out here, either,” Theo says, then shuts his mouth.

Liam laughs.

“Glad you find this funny,” Theo grumbles, but this close together, Liam can feel the way he relaxes, the way he presses in by one reluctantly given inch. But it’s something.

Liam tugs the beanie more snugly onto his head, trying not to smile. Yeah. It’s something.

It doesn’t change the fact that they’re stuck out here until whichever happens first: the blizzard goes away (not looking likely), the pack finds them (even less likely, given that Liam hopes they have the wisdom to stay out of the blizzard, too), or God intervenes. Liam’s never had much luck with the last one.

So he takes in his surroundings instead. There isn’t much to see, really, besides trees, trees, and more trees. The occasional bush. Plenty of snow. And—

“Oh!” Liam says, sitting up straighter and pointing. “Mistletoe!”

Theo doesn’t even look and says, “Nice try, Liam. If you wanted to kiss, you could just ask.”

Liam sputters and shoves Theo hard on the shoulder, which hardly budges him. Theo smirks. “No, dude, ugh. Christmas was like a month ago, anyway. I mean there’s literally mistletoe growing on the trees.”

“Riveting,” Theo drawls, but humors Liam anyway. He looks out to where Liam’s pointing at a bushy mass growing in the branches of one of the trees ahead of them. “That it?”

“Yeah.” Liam squints. He can see its leaves rustling with the wind, how different they are from the leaves of the oak tree it rests in. “Phoradendron villosum. Pacific mistletoe. Don’t eat it.”

“I know that.”

“Did you know mistletoe is a parasite?”

“It’s poisonous, that doesn’t surprise me.” Theo looks mildly interested anyway, and Liam feels a small thrill of victory over it. It’s not often that he gets to share some biology knowledge that Theo doesn’t already know. “So why are people obsessed with hanging it in doorways and stuff?”

“Why do people do anything? Superstition. Folklore.” A particularly strong gust of wind sends a branch of the mistletoe flying. It lands in the snow a few feet ahead of them. “Some cultures saw it as a symbol of fertility. I guess the white berries remind them of—er.”

An awkward beat of silence.

Theo says, “I hope the snow kills us soon.”

Liam’s face burns. At least he feels a little less cold now.

He clears his throat. “Anyway… It’s also associated with protection from witches and demons and stuff.”

“I never took you for a mistletoe nerd.”

“I wrote a report about them in freshman bio. It was kind of interesting. Makes it a little less romantic to know they actually kill the trees they grow on.”

“How beautiful,” Theo says flatly. “You’re still a nerd, though.”

“Shut up.” Liam nudges his shoulder against Theo’s. The corner of Theo’s mouth tugs up just slightly.

Liam’s never done it before, kissed someone under the mistletoe. Hayden came and went too quickly for them to ever reach Christmas, and there hasn’t really been anyone since. There was never any time. And, more honestly, no one else has ever made him feel quite the same.

Well. Almost no one else.

But that’s only ever been a passing daydream, one that’s plagued him in random moments. On an elevator ride back down to the first floor of Beacon Hills Memorial. In the passenger seat of a truck. In sparse texts, shared late at night long after pack meetings have ended.

In a snowy forest, surrounded by no one else.

“Hey, Theo,” Liam says.

Theo grunts and turns towards him.

“What?” he says.

Liam presses their lips together. Theo stops breathing.

A kiss would describe it generously. Liam breathes when it becomes evidently clear that Theo won’t. That’s fine. Taking him by surprise is pretty nice. In any case, the kiss ends almost as soon as it began, and Liam pulls away from the corner of Theo’s mouth. The warmth lingers afterwards.

“W-What the hell was that for?” Theo stammers—Theo, stammering—and brings his hand up over his mouth.

“Mistletoe,” Liam says.

“You—idiot.” Theo brings his other hand up to cover his face, but it’s not enough to hide the red lingering at the tips of his ears. It’s a nice color. “You are so… You…”

“Yeah, you too,” Liam says, not bothering to suppress a grin.

Theo gives him a look through the gaps between his fingers, and Liam expects him to grind out another poorly executed insult when Theo drops his hands, his eyes widening, mouth falling slack.

“What?” Liam says.

Theo just grabs him by the shoulders and tugs him back, further into their little shelter.

“What?” Liam says again, more irately. He turns to look where Theo keeps gaping over Liam’s shoulder.

He finds a great, big ball of blue. Liam’s voice dies in his throat.

His first thought is of ball lightning, something he and Mason had spent one sleepover watching way too many videos of on YouTube. In truth, they didn’t care for the science of it rather than the fact that it looked super fucking cool. Just a sphere of pure energy and light, sweeping through open plains or swathes of sky. This doesn’t feel quite like that, but on the surface it seems the same: crackling, blue-white energy, swirling in a sphere that must be a meter wide, at least. Its core is opaque, like hard ice, and there’s a strange hum about it as it drifts closer to them.

It is frighteningly close. Theo draws an arm out across Liam, pushing him against the rocks at their back. But the sphere doesn’t attack them, doesn’t whip them with a sharp slice of wind like Liam was hit with earlier.

It only drifts over their hiding spot, passing by like an elk through the woods. Calm and constellated with flecks of ice and snow. Something about it feels as old as time itself.

Both of them hold their breaths as it passes. It disappears over them, drifting over the hill. The winds calm. The snowfall begins to diminish until it ceases completely.

It’s quiet.

They stay still for one, two, three heartbeats. Then Theo drops his arm. They both exhale.

“Holy shit,” Liam says, panting like he ran a marathon. “Was that it?”

“No, it was a different big blue ice ball,” Theo says. “Of course that was it.”

“That… was awesome.” Liam crawls out of their shelter to look around for any sign of it. It’s long gone, not even a trail left in its wake.

“I see you’ve already forgiven it for trying to kill you.”

“I don’t want to get thrown through a tree again, but it didn’t attack us this time. We probably spooked it earlier. And look, it stopped the blizzard.”

“You’re way too chipper for seeing something that unreal,” Theo says, following Liam out.

The newly returned sunlight falls over Theo’s shoulders, making him that much easier to see. Theo turns his face up to the sun. His damp hair curls at his temples.

Despite Theo’s griping, Liam can see the wonder in his eyes, the way they glow. He looks alive. Liam thinks about how the blood inside him and the blood inside Theo must be the same, despite everything.

Liam says, “Hey. Thanks.”

Theo frowns. “Why?”

“For saving me earlier.” And the time before that. And the time before that.

Theo scoffs, and where Liam usually sees shutters falling over his face, a mask piecing back together, now he sees a hint of a smile. Something brighter, underneath.

“Whatever,” Theo says, and snatches his beanie off Liam’s head so he can ruffle his hair aggressively.

“Dude!” Liam yelps. 

Theo laughs and whirls away, tearing through the snow in a direction Liam will have to trust is home.

There’s no hesitation at all before Liam chases after him.

--

note: big ice ball inspired by the leschach entite of ffxii. because..... im a nerd :p 

[peach-pops]

Huwaaa. I just read your noya hc with kageyama's older sister and I am going to say that IM TRULY IN LOVE WITH NOYAA 😔❤ But here's the thing, can I request a hc where kageyama (or ushijima) crushing on oikawa's younger sister that also goes to karasuno (or shiratorizawa) ? you can do both or one of em if you want 👉🏻👈🏻

I did Kageyama cause I love him and he deserves love PERIOD! Also, I love Oikawa, he’s my baby I just like being mean to him so that’s a PSA. 

Kageyama Crushing on Oikawa’s Younger Sister HC

Kageyama doesn’t really ever have the time to think about girls. No girl has ever really caught his attention and he’s pretty content with not having a girlfriend since it would only distract him

Or so he thought

Because when he sees you in the gym one day doing a playful 3 v 2 match with his teammates, his lil milk carton slips out of his hands and spills all over the floor 

 ohmygodwhyismyheartbeatingsofast

Hinata shouts over to Kageyama to come play and Kageyama feels his stomach twist and turn as he stands on the opposite side of the net 

You give him a friendly smile and he curses at himself because he doesn’t want his teammates to see how flushed his face is 

It doesn’t really matter but just in case yall are curious the teams are:

Team one: Kageyama, Hinata, and Tanaka

Team two: mystery girl, Noya, and Tsuki 

He also almost has a heart attack because you’re a setter too and you’re so frickin good like he can only describe your style of playing to be similar to Oikawa’s but screw that guy why would he be thinking of him??? 

After the playful game, you shake his hand cause duh sportsmanship and Kageyama is so nervous because he knows that he has a definitive crush on you now 

All he can think about is how your hand is surprisingly soft for a volleyball player

Come to think of it he’s never actually held hands with a girl 

“ Wow, you really gave me a run for my money, I’m impressed. Did you play volleyball in junior high?” 

He couldn’t believe you were actually talking to him but he swallowed down any nerves before speaking 

“ Yes, I was a setter at Kitagawa Daiichi.” 

When he saw you smile, that’s what instantly killed him because you checked all the boxes for him

Likes and plays volleyball ✓

Friendly and Sweet ✓

AND PRETTY?!?!  ✓ ✓ ✓ CHECK CHECK CHECK 

Literally what could go wrong?

“ No way, my brother was the captain for Kitagawa! He goes to Aoba Johsai now!”

Kageyama felt his heart drop as he thought of Oikawa but maybe, just maybe you were talking about someone else

“.....Who’s your brother?” 

“ Toru Oikawa, do you know him?” 

WAR FLASHBACKS THIS BOY HAS FRICKIN PTSD CAUSE GOD DAMN IT, OF COURSE, THE FIRST GIRL HE LIKES IS RELATED TO OIKAWA 

His brain can’t even comprehend how someone so nice is related to that bastard 

“ No”

“ Oh that’s probably for the best, he’s kinda an ass.”

Kageyama thought it would be rude to agree so all he did was shrug nervously before you broke the awkward tension 

“ I have to get back to class, I only stopped by to talk to your captain for a second but it was nice meeting you Kageyama-kun.” 

You waved goodbye to everyone else and walked out of the gym, being careful to step over the spot where Kageyama had spilled his milk

Kageyama was still in shock because not only did he feel like he completely messed up his shot with you, but his brain was going crazy because he actually wanted to see you again 

He always kept an eye out for you in the hallways but it seemed like every time he caught a glimpse of you, you were gone which only made him like you even more

For weeks, all he could think about was the chance to see you again and he would even practice in the mirror on how he would talk to you because he really didn’t want to mess things up with you

He even tried to ask Tanaka and Noya for advice because he thought they had the most experience with girls but Kageyama started to feel too overwhelmed with how much information he was supposed to remember so he just decided that it would be better if he figured it out on his own 

Kags thought he would have enough time to figure out how to talk to you right?

Wrong HAHA

 the thought of you showing up to the Spring High Preliminaries didn’t even cross his mind so when he saw you sitting outside the gym doors, his hands got extra sweaty and his heartbeat was all over the place

Cause duh, of course, you would show up since Aoba Johsai was playing

He thought you looked even prettier than the first time he met you in the gym and even though you were wearing an Aoba Johsai jersey to support your brother, he still wouldn’t change anything about the way you looked at this moment 

All of that courage he was building up over the past couple of weeks was long gone but Tanaka and Noya being the best wingmen they could be each grabbed Kageyama’s shoulders and shoved him over to you 

“ Please don’t do this-”

“ Aw come on Kags, it’s not everyday you get the chance to make a move on a smokin babe! We’re only here to make your life easier right Tanaka?”

“ Yep! Come on, we’re not going to just stand by and watch the love of your life slip away! Go and make your senpais proud!”

You looked up from your phone right as Tanaka and Noya gave Kags one last push, sending him falling over into the seat next to you

“ Kageyama-Kun! Are you okay?” 

“ IMFINE!” 

You couldn’t help but laugh at how nervous he was being, this was a totally different side to Kageyama than the one on the court but you didn’t mind at all 

“ Are you excited? I saw the bracket and you guys have a really good shot to go to nationals.”

Kageyama’s stomach shifted as he hesitantly took a seat next to you and did his best to ignore the stares coming from his teammates

Luckily Daichi and Kiyoko shooed off the rest of the team so you guys could get some privacy 

“ We’re going to have to beat Aoba Johsai if we want to win.”

“ Well it might not seem like it but I’m rooting for you to win- look!” 

Kageyama furrowed his eyebrows together as you lifted up the bottom of your pants and showed him your Karasuno black and orange socks 

“ I would’ve worn a Karasuno jersey but my brother gets kinda superstitious. The socks are like a secret weapon to support you guys without getting my head ripped off by Toru.”

Kageyama knew that it was just a pair of socks but he couldn’t even wrap his head around the fact that you were ‘rooting for him to win’ instead of your own blood

“Maybe one day I’ll give you my jersey to wear on game day”

Holycrapdidhejustsaythatoutloudwhywouldhesaythatoutloudohmygod

He couldn’t help himself it just came out of his mouth so fast and he meant for it to be in his head but the socks made him think about you in his jersey. He tried so hard to calm himself down and his face was flushed a deep red at this point 

Kageyama didn’t even know what to say he just sat there with his hand covering his mouth in shock

“ Really? I would love to wear your jersey!” You smiled as Kageyama stopped breathing,” I mean I can’t wear it now but if you guys win, I’ll definitely wear it to all of your games.”

 Hold up, did you just AGREE TO WEAR HIS JERSEY?!?!?!

Before he could even process what was going on, he felt his heart sink to the floor when he saw Oikawa walking over to the two of you

“ Tobio-chan with my Y/N-chan? I gotta say little sis, if you’re trying to dig up dirt against Karasuno by getting cozy with Tobio-chan, you’re already too late. I can read him like a book. Maybe you should try Shiratorizawa, I could use a spy to get in close with Ushiwaka.”

The thought of you getting close to him just for information stung Kageyama but you were quick to roll your eyes at the accusation 

“ First off, Ushijima terrified me and second, I have better things to do with my time than to pretend to be interested in someone Shittykawa. Unlike you, people actually enjoy my company.” 

“ You’re so vulgar, you’re spending too much time with Iwa-chan,” Oikawa huffed as he turned to face Kageyama 

Kageyama mentally braced himself because anytime he ever interacted with Oikawa, it always ended badly 

“ And you-”

“ Nope, Toru if you’re going to say some snarky ass comment, keep it to yourself,” You interrupted which startled both Oikawa and Kageyama,” focus more on the match than worrying about Kageyama, that’s my job.” 

Kageyama was SHOCKED you would speak to your older brother like that, ESPECIALLY since you were going out of your way to defend him

Truth be told he was falling for you even harder than before

Oikawa stuck his tongue out at the two of you but walked away with whatever dignity he had left 

Kageyama felt a new rush of confidence; if you could stand up to your older brother for him than damn it, he was going to man up and ask you out

“ Do you want to go on a date? With me?” 

When you smiled at Kageyama, his heart was beating so loud against his ribcage he could’ve sworn everyone around him could hear it 

“ I thought you would never ask.”