#and if anyone has seen this series should I watch it? cause i only know this scene bcs I love bill lol

[imtomiee]

𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘮𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘦𝘭.

[racefortheironthrone]

Hi- er, this is my first-ever writer's strike, how does one not cross a picket line in this context? I know how not to do it with things like Amazon and IRL strikes, but how does it apply to media/streaming?

Hi, this is a great question, because it allows me to write about the difference between honoring a picket line and a boycott. (This is reminding me of the labor history podcast project that's lain fallow in my drafts folder for some time now...) In its simplest formulation, the difference between a picket line and a boycott is that a picket line targets an employer at the point of production (which involves us as workers), whereas a boycott targets an employer at the point of consumption (which involves us as consumers).

So in the case of the WGA strike, this means that at any company that is being struck by the WGA - I've seen Netflix, Amazon, Apple, Disney, Warner Brothers Discovery, NBC, Paramount, and Sony mentioned, but there may be more (check the WGA website and social media for a comprehensive list) - you do not cross a picket line, whether physical or virtual. This means you do not take a meeting with them, even if its a pre-existing project, you do not take phone calls or texts or emails or Slacks from their executives, you do not pitch them on a spec script you've written, and most of all you do not answer any job application.

Because if this strike is like any strike since the dawn of time, you will see the employers put out ads for short-term contracts that will be very lucrative, generally above union scale - because what they're paying for in addition to your labor is you breaking the picket line and damaging the strike - to anyone willing to scab against their fellow workers. GIven that one of the main issues of the WGA are the proliferation of short-term "mini rooms" whereby employers are hiring teams of writers to work overtime for a very short period, to the point where they can only really do the basics (a series outline, some "broken stories," and some scripts) and then have the showrunner redo everything on their lonesome, while not paying writers long-term pay and benefits, I would imagine we're going to see a lot of scab contracts being offered for these mini rooms.

But for most of us, unless we're actively working as writers in Hollywood, most of that isn't going to be particularly relevant to our day-to-day working lives. If you're not a professional or aspiring Hollywood writer, the important thing to remember honoring the picket line doesn't mean the same thing as a boycott. WGA West hasn't called on anyone to stop going to the movies or watching tv/streaming or to cancel their streaming subscriptions or anything like that. If and when that happens, WGA will go to some lengths to publicize that ask - and you should absolutely honor it if you can - so there will be little in the way of ambiguity as to what's going on.

That being said, one of the things that has happened in the past in other strikes is that well-intentioned people get it into their heads to essentially declare wildcat (i.e, unofficial and unsanctioned) boycotts. This kind of stuff comes from a good place, someone wanting to do more to support the cause and wanting to avoid morally contaminating themselves by associating with a struck company, but it can have negative effects on the workers and their unions. Wildcat boycotts can harm workers by reducing back-end pay and benefits they get from shows if that stuff is tied to the show's performance, and wildcat boycotts can hurt unions by damaging negotiations with employers that may or may not be going on.

The important thing to remember with all of this is that the strike is about them, not us. Part of being a good ally is remembering to let the workers' voices be heard first and prioritizing being a good listener and following their lead, rather than prioritizing our feelings.

[deanbrainrotwritings]

— THE CULT OF DEVOTION

SUMMARY : “Hii! New follower here, can I request a smut with yandere dean winchester? :)” — anon

PAIRING : vampire!dean winchester x fem!reader

CHARACTERS : Andy Halle (OMC)

WARNINGS/TAGS : explicit(18+), baker!dean, stalking (it’s only hot if dean does it), angst, unhealthy obsession, yandere!Dean, nerdy reader, reader isn’t perfect, chronic illness, and more to come

WORD COUNT : 4.8k 

A/N : fob song title. the last time I read a yandere fic was like seven years ago about Min Yoonngi of BTS, I hope it's accurate. this series is for the square for stockholm syndrome on my @jacklesversebingo card. this is super fricken late, but come on, vampire!Dean has my heart (and pu*sy), lmao. Let’s please pretend that vampires have sexy teeth, ‘cause what the fuck, Supernatural? xx

September, 2023

Dean couldn’t remember the last time he felt this alive.

What was it about you that made his breath catch? And the irritating tease that his heart should flutter? As if at any moment his desiccated heart would start beating again after twelve years of being in between dead and alive? 

Why did your existence call to him and become the centre of his life since he met you? How had only thirty minutes passed since he felt a gravitational pull from you? Like waves, gentle, invisible waves that weren’t meant to be felt by anyone. Somehow, they caressed his… something… God, his heart? His soul? Did he even have one of those anymore?

He wasn’t sure of anything. But he was sure that he loved you. 

He heard your quiet, but excited “Oh, my God.” from the entrance of the bakery he’s proud of being the owner of. He looked up to gloat, but the smile fell from his face when he saw you smile tenderly, in awe, at the decor and then the dozens of menus on a rack by the entrance.

You didn’t know, unfortunately, but as the glass door shut behind you, the sun poured over you like honey. The sunlight dripped down your skin and hair and made you glow brighter and more captivating than any angel he’d ever seen. The wind carried the scent of you to his nose, your saccharine shampoo and sugary skin overpowering the confectioneries he’d created. 

The Milky Way Galaxy lived in your eyes when you looked over at the displays, admiring his hard work. You swiftly took one of the menus from the rack, the one hiding in the back, and your eyes avoided the counter at all costs. You made yourself small and unnoticeable by standing in a corner that no one would go near as you whispered—but he heard you clear as an angel’s voice—“oh, yum.”

The door opened again and your hair teased your skin like soft tendrils and every move you made was painfully, naturally graceful. You sneaked a quick glance at the door and then thoughtfully watched as the unimpressive person walked straight towards the counter. 

Dean could feel his throat burn and his lips turn dry. Not hungry for blood, more than anything, he longed for a taste of your lips.

He could smell the rose tint on them and smelled traces of it on your cheeks. He could only feel you. The flutter of your curled lashes, the delicate breaths you took, the way you shivered from the door opening. You huffed in irritation, pulling your green cardigan closer to your warm body. He felt his skin tingle as the cotton brushed against your skin, against the tight white tank top wrapped around your torso. 

He loved the way your cropped shirt rode up at your waistline and the sight of your warm abdomen over your mid-rise jeans. If he could, and he really wanted to, he’d kiss every inch of your sweet skin to feel it blaze against his cold lips. From your ankles hidden beneath bunny-print socks, to the top of your breasts teasing him from the dip of your shirt, up to your neck where your pulse ran with the blood of your heart, but mostly, to your reddened lips as your white teeth sank into the plump flesh after being swiped by your pink tongue.

You looked better than anything he’d ever baked.

“Hey, Dean-o, how’s work?” 

He hated to turn away from you, but he did, to momentarily put his attention on Andy Halle, who came by every weekday around 5:35 every afternoon. His hazel eyes scanned the menu above, but Dean didn’t expect him to change his order anytime soon. 

“Work’s fine. What’ll it be today?” Dean’s eyes flickered back over to you. You stared with nervous familiarity at Andy and Dean noticed your hesitation. Your eyes darted to the exit and Dean was so desperate to talk to you for the first time that he considered shouting after you. But he didn’t know what to say to make you stay, he might even scare you off. 

“I’ll just have what I always have,” Andy mumbled sheepishly. 

“Alright,” Dean huffed out a distracted laugh and held his breath the moment your eyes locked on his. It felt strange that his heart didn’t react, he waited with frustration for it to start beating again, pumping warm blood through his body, and up his face at the way you regarded him curiously. You smiled after a few seconds and averted your gaze shyly, seeming somewhat embarrassed. Dean bit his lip, unsuccessfully stopping his smirk from growing, and focused back on Andy just to ease the blood that had risen up to your cheeks.

Dean took the crumpled money from Andy and handed him his change, but the rest of Dean’s senses were still fixated on you. You sighed bravely and your heeled boots brought you closer to the counter that Andy was now leaving after murmuring a thanks.

Unfortunately, your introduction to Dean was stalled when Andy looked up from his phone to avoid bumping into you. Your name slipped from his mouth in quiet awe and Dean reeled at the knowledge he’d been yearning for. He somehow managed to tear himself away from the place he was rooted to, and murmured your name under his breath, dreamily. 

He started making Andy’s drink and eavesdropped on your conversation with him. He’d glance up at you and Andy in between tasks. 

He caught the awkward, uncomfortable hug Andy seemed to enjoy more than you did and your calculated gaze in his direction again. Dean couldn’t help smiling at you again when your eyes found his and you returned it bashfully before focusing back on Andy. 

Dean wished you would keep your gaze on him. That you’d smile at him longer and bid Andy farewell so you could finally interact with him. 

But you seemed slightly excited to see Andy, despite the nervousness that settled beneath. And Dean’s stomach sank, like a mini black hole that sucked in his insides, a heavy feeling inside him as he considered that maybe you were immune to his charms. Every woman he came across seemed to lose their composure and train of thought. 

But you didn’t do that. You ignored him as if he were just debris in your orbit. To him, it was unacceptable that you would allow the light of your smile and eyes to shine on someone as ordinary and undeserving as Andy. 

He didn’t have a problem with Andy before. But now he did. Dean could point out a hundred physical flaws and a billion flaws in his personality just to make you see that Andy didn't deserve to consume a single second of your precious time.

Dean couldn’t believe he was jealous. 

He relaxed his grip on the counter and breathed air he didn’t actually need to relax himself and focused on making Andy’s coffee—which Dean believed was unnecessarily sweet—while he seethed. 

Why was he jealous of Andy Halle, a boring ex-military guy? Maybe because Andy seemed to know everything about you that he wanted to know. Why did you give Andy your time when you could be talking to him instead? Sure, it’s just be you ordering your drink or your dessert, but something was better than nothing and he needed to be in your galaxy, to be a part of your stars. Even if he was just Pluto in your solar system, as long as he got to be around your perfect, burning light.

His stomach churned, his jaw clenched, irritation burned at his chest, and he considered making Andy’s drink incorrectly just to spite him. Andy puffed his chest, flexed his arms beneath the Henley as if trying to get your attention, to impress you, but you seemed distracted by a tiny imperfection on the marble floor.

“You look amazing, how are you doing?” He asked, slowly reaching over to touch your arm. You snapped out of your daze when he did and subtly pulled yourself away from him. 

You seemed nervous again, your words came late and they were careful only when responding about yourself, because after that, you rambled like a person inexperienced with socialising. “I’m great. How was Poland? I know that was ages ago, but that’s the last I heard of you, I’ve been so busy with my PhD-”

“You got your PhD already?” He interrupted you. Dean smelled the blood rush up to your face again and you stuttered to dismiss such a big achievement. “I’m still working on my Bachelor’s-”

“Everyone works at different paces,” you interrupted him before he could put the spotlight on you and intensify the light. “Bela double majored Accounting and Economics and graduated a year earlier than I did. There was a 55 year-old in my graduating class, as well. He was very smart and he helped me out a lot whenever I was stuck. Every person is different and education doesn’t have to be rushed.” 

Your words had Dean wondering what you would say if he told you he dropped out of high school and only acquired his GED? Would you be as kind? Would you downplay and dismiss all your greatness just to lift him up? Would you work twice as hard to bury yourself in the nonexistent shadows just so you could hide in plain sight? As if you could ever be ordinary. As if anyone had a shadow big enough to hide you, his Sun. 

Andy just laughed, fondly and reminiscent. He must have caught the hint that you didn’t want to talk about yourself. He must have forgotten and only then remembered the way that you were, and that maybe you were still the same in some ways as you were before, because he changed the subject for you. 

Dean felt worse. He wanted to have had all that time with you. To have all that intimate knowledge of the inner workings of your mind. He wanted to have an intricate map of your soul and your heart. He needed it like he needed blood to keep himself soft and far away from being desiccated. 

“Poland was alright. I just did a tour there. Met some great guys there. We went to a couple of other places in Europe and the Middle East. What about Bela and Daph? They didn’t follow you here?” His tone was teasing and your exhale was sad, but your words didn’t reflect the grief Dean felt coming from you in agonising waves. 

“Come on, we’re not gonna be the Three Amigos! forever,” you laughed halfheartedly. Your reference excited Dean, but he focused on closing the lid to Andy’s hot drink and carefully pulled the chocolate croissant out of the heated oven beneath the counter. Could you be any more perfect for him? “Daph’s starting to work at some fancy law firm in California and Bela dragged her girlfriend to New York for some high-paying job,” you shrugged indifferently, but Dean noticed your loneliness. 

He knew better than anyone what it felt like when people weft and weave themselves into your life only to find those threads completely severed from you. Separate destinies. Like seeing himself as a vampire now, having his traumatised brother now trapped in a psychiatric ward for the foreseeable future, and his best friend being consumed by thick black goo—ceasing to exist. 

That was his life now: all alone and out of place in a bakery. 

At least he had something now. You, and in the fifteen minutes that he prepared Andy’s order, he knew more about you than he imagined he’d get on a first meeting. 

You were born here in Lawrence but you’d moved away to go to university with your two best friends. The three of you were focused on separate majors, but somehow the cardings of the three of you were of the strongest metals. You built your resume, prepared yourself with your knowledge and skills in genetics there, before coming back here. 

While Daphne focused on ambition, being the best lawyer, Bela focused on accumulating wealth and building a family with her girlfriend Rose. You… What were you up to? What were your dreams? Your hopes? Your ambitions?

You sounded as dead as he felt. As dead as he was. Like nothing mattered to you. When did that start? Was that always a thing with you? He figured it must have been since Andy seemed to be unsurprised by your jaded attitude towards life.

Imagining you in a lab coat was suddenly the sexiest thing ever. Even the image of you with your hair pulled up looked sexy in his mind. Were geneticists supposed to be sexy? Or was that just the porn-induced image his mind produced? Maybe you were just sexy in every way and discovering what you’ve been up to since you’d last seen Andy, only made him want you more.

Dean couldn’t fathom objectifying you. You were too good for that. 

“Have you had any flare ups?” Andy asked and Dean frowned as he placed the warm snack into a small paper bag on the counter about to call Andy’s name to gain his attention. But he was curious and slowed down. Flare ups?

“No,” you replied, but Dean heard the jump in your pulse. You liar. What were you sick with? “I’m better now. I think your order’s ready.” Dean tried to act calm when you said that and needlessly took two napkins to put above the brown bag containing the hot croissant to look busy. 

“Oh.” Andy stole a look at Dean just as he pushed the cup and bag to the edge of the counter. Andy wavered. “I’ll see you around, right? We can catch up? Go somewhere, even?” He seemed pathetically disappointed and desperate to get to see you. 

Your delayed response made Dean’s lips quirk up. He wanted you to crush any chance or hope that he would spend time with you. But you were probably too kind to be that cruel. “Maybe not for a few days. I’m still unpacking and settling into work. But maybe once everything is calmer, we can hang out.” 

Dejected, Andy nodded, forcing a smile so dimples appeared on his cheeks. He looked down at you when you looked away at the counter, with love in his gaze, romantic love. Dean wanted to vomit in his mouth, but his body didn’t work that way anymore. “I hope everything goes well for you. I really missed you.” 

“Um, thanks,” you smiled and nodded towards the counter. Wow, that’s cold, Dean thought as he held back a sneer. But you seemed more distracted than intent on hurting his feelings. “Before it gets cold. Any suggestions?” You began to walk towards Dean and if he could, he’d pant and hyperventilate at your closeness, even if you were still a distance away from him.

“Right,” Andy inhaled and shook his head gently so his light brown waves shook against his forehead, “you should probably try the rhubarb pie. You still like pie?”

“Yes,” you grinned, bright and playful. Dean would marry you if you were even remotely interested in him. 

You were standing right in front of him. 

Finally, Dean could see you clearly. You wore no makeup besides the tint that brought colour to your lips and cheeks. Your smooth skin against the light was downright kissable. But not as kissable as your plump lips, even if they were slightly chapped beneath the pinkish tint you wore. He bet your mouth felt amazing. 

You smiled, relaxed, showing your pretty teeth. For the first time, Dean wished you’d sink your canines into his neck. And then, your tongue poked out to ease the dryness of your lips and he imagined you’d lick the bite marks you’d leave behind on his throat. He’d love the burn of your saliva on his cold skin, the trail of wet warmth along where his pulse would be pounding with excitement if he were alive. 

He ached for you. Could you please just be his already?

Andy took his drink and the bag with napkins on top. 

“Can I text you?” He asked as he began to retreat.

“Uh, sure,” you shrugged, noncommittal. “I’ll give you my new number so we can message each other outside of social media, just remind me.” Andy grinned happily at your response and Dean looked down to hide the way he rolled his eyes. 

Dean wished you hadn’t done that. He wanted you all to himself. The only hope Dean had that you didn’t return Andy’s feelings was the lack of warmth and heat in your gorgeous eyes, a look which only seemed to steam from Andy’s hazel-greens.

“I do gotta get home, my dog’s all alone.”

“Don’t keep Price waiting,” you teased. Andy laughed as he made his way out and your smile relaxed more into something neutral once you were alone with Dean.

Except, now, Dean couldn’t find words. What happened to his brain?

“Hi,” your shy little smile was an electric current that jump started his entire body. Dean swallowed, but smiled as he gazed down at you, he hoped he didn’t look as in love with you as he felt. 

“Hey,” he breathed out. 

He watched you still, your longing gaze intensified as your eyes swept over the desserts on display once again. He didn’t want to rush you, he wanted to keep you from leaving as long as he could, but you didn’t want to waste his time. He could tell by the way you’d look up at him with your adorable wide eyes. 

“Sorry,” you smiled ruefully.

“No, don’t worry about it. You want the rhubarb pie?” He asked softly. You relaxed visibly at his patience and fumbled with something in the small front pocket of your jeans. 

“Um,” you looked around at the displays indecisively. “Yes, I’ll have that,” you confirmed and Dean was only slightly disappointed that you’d made up your mind so quickly. He nodded and prepared to take a slice from the pie. Should he serve you a big size? 

He felt your gaze on him as he moved around. Fuck, he wanted to blush. Could you reignite his soul already and just allow him to feel human again? 

“What do you think I should try?” You asked curiously, breaking him out of his reverie. He could feel you leaning forward carefully, not enough so your body touched the glass that protected the desserts, but enough so the thin silver necklace resting against your collarbone clinked against the glass. 

Dean looked at you through his lashes and retrieved the generous slice of pie from the rest of its body to place it into a small cardboard box. Your eyes moved over his face inquisitively. 

“Currently, I’m having fun making Sweet Rolls,” he suggested.

You raised a brow, inquiring silently about what exactly that was and he chuckled, but your explorative eyes still moved to every little detail on his face as he spoke and smiled.

He wondered what you saw. What would you discover about him? Could you see his imperfections? The scars from his previous life. Did you like what you saw? The freckles that he hated. Could you read the pain he feels? Or the love you rekindled? 

He dropped his stare to focus on the way he closed the slice of pie inside the box, hoping to hide himself from you. Only he could contain you in his gaze, because he already knew you were beautiful. He didn’t know what you’d think of him and he didn’t think he could bear it if you saw what he saw in the mirror: the opposite of everything that you were.

He grabbed another small box and stole the sweet roll from its warm home. The small confection looked like a miniature version of a Bundt cake, the white glaze poured over the sides looked too perfect to be real. Well, he chose the perfect one for you. He slid the box towards you and looked up to find your eyes still navigating his face. You averted your gaze and bit your lip, flustered. God, you were so cute. 

You clenched your small hands and placed them behind your back as you admired the sweet roll instead. He smirked at you, he would kiss you if it wouldn’t have freaked you out. How could someone be so beautiful and soft? You looked just like the sweet roll to him. 

“It looks like videogame sweet rolls,” you remarked and glanced up at him again. He would never tire of you. 

“Heh, I really liked how they looked, so I decided to make them.” He shrugged. You hummed, this time he watched you as you pondered and turned the sweet roll. You nodded in agreement.

“I like how they look, too, I’ll try it.” Dean smiled and closed the box, placing it next to the pie. You smoothed your hands against your jeans then rubbed your nails together as you watched him. 

“Want anything to drink?” He asked, anything to keep you around. 

Your eyes flickered up to the menu, your expression was thoughtful, so Dean allowed himself to be distracted by thoughts of you. 

At least you didn’t hate him. That was something, right? 

He still wondered how you felt about him and what you thought of him. How much did you like him? Did you think he was cute? Pretty? Did you want to see him again? Maybe outside of the bakery? Or did you just think he was nice and unintrusive? Just… ordinary. Not even friend material. Just the local baker. An acquaintance. 

“Just, uh… hazelnut coffee with creamer. Small. That’s okay?” Hmm, an unpretentious, but delicious coffee. Just like you. Effortlessly amazing. But why were you asking for affirmation?

“Yes,” he reassured you with a laugh. No matter how many times you became flustered, you were unwaveringly confident and brave. You glanced at the sewn word that spelled his name over his unbeating heart and his lips twitched into a wide smile.

He turned around to start making your drink despite longing to keep admiring you. At least he could feel you, your heat and your sweet air. He could hear you, your gentle breathing and your nervous heartbeat. And smell you, your expensive perfume and flowery shampoo. Even the sweet honey of your lotion. 

“Do you live near?” He asked, because… well, you didn’t think he was a creep, right? He looked over his shoulder and you contemplated him. Your eyes locked with his, he watched them soften and then you looked down at the boxes of sweets in front of you. 

“Smack in the middle of the forest,” you admitted. He hummed softly and put a lid on the cup of your hot coffee. Conveniently enough, you wouldn’t have too many neighbours. Maybe he could have a look around your place and not get caught. “It’s my childhood home,” you added methodically, he could sense you were editing parts of your story. He wanted the raw and dirty details, but whatever you wanted to give him was enough. “My mom moved away when we all left to start up our lives. My siblings prefer to live in cities, but my mom and I never did, so she left me the house. It wasn’t favouritism, just sentimentality.”

You were more like your mom, then. He wondered what she was like. What was her name? Did she look like you, too? Did you two talk at all? What was your relationship with her like? Were you like your father at all? What was he like? And what about your siblings? How many did you have? What were they like? What role did you play in your family? 

And why else did you like Kansas? It can’t just be about the forests. Did you like the people? The memories you made with your old friends in town? Did you like the locations? Where did you hang out the most before you left? He couldn’t ask you those questions now, they were too invasive. 

“And your dad?” Dean asked, scribbling your name with a loving smile on the cardboard sleeve. Why didn’t you say anything about him? 

Your silence didn’t go unnoticed. He frowned when he turned to see you and your distant eyes, the troubled pinch between your brows, and your pouty frown. 

“Sorry, didn’t mean to pry,” he lied, he wanted to know everything about you. Were you like him? Cursed with daddy issues? 

You blinked and smiled tightly. No, please, let the light shine on him with your genuine smile. 

“No, it’s fine. My mom and dad got divorced…” He wanted to know more, but he couldn’t bring himself to do anything that would make you frown. He smiled at you, hoping it would comfort you as he brought you your coffee. You struggled to maintain his gaze this time, but you must have felt something because you waited when you took the coffee from him. He could feel the warmth accumulate in your palms and he waited with you. “Do you… have you ever felt that you wanted to hate someone because they’re so horrible to you, but you just can’t? Like… sometimes you’re sure you hate them, but when you realise who you’re hating… it all just goes away and makes you feel awful?” 

Has he ever? Of course. He understands how much it hurts. He felt that way forever about his dad and his mom. Especially when he learned everything that he did about their past—thanks to the angels and the demons. He hated his dad, but he also respected him, and would even take a bullet for him. He even found that he hated his mom, but he also loved her to pieces. All at once. It’s enough to tear anyone apart inside. 

“Yeah, I think I know what you mean,” he murmured, it took everything in him not to reach out and caress your warm cheek. But it was as if he had, because you pressed your face into your shoulder in embarrassment, then you did a double-take at the cup of coffee. You seemed intrigued as you pressed your fingertips against the black ink that spelled your name on the cup sleeve in his neat, capitalised lettering.

He bit his lip and wondered impatiently what you were thinking of. Couldn’t you just spill your sweet words—completely uncalled for—like every other woman he came across? 

Instead he turned to the cash register and placed bogus numbers in because he really liked you. He lowered the prices for what you purchased and he was relieved that you didn’t question the cost when you tapped your phone against the screen to pay. You were gonna cost him more than he would have liked to admit to himself, but you were so worth the loss. 

He grabbed a paper bag and carefully placed the boxes inside for you. He wanted to give you his number. Would that throw you off? Would that scare you away? How can he be close to you without being so creepy and annoying?

“Thanks… Dean,” you exhaled softly. Dean’s stomach tightened and he struggled to keep himself from getting too visibly excited about his name sounding so dreamy and mellow blooming from between your pillowy lips. 

“No problem,” he whispered, his voice incapable of being as normal as he wanted to appear. He watched you pick everything up to leave and he dreaded that you’d have to go away to your own life. “Have a great evening, sweetheart.” You looked up at him, amused and delighted with something that he did. What was it? Tell him, so he could do it again, so he could see the light burst in your eyes like your stars had been born because he was the missing element needed to bring life into your universe. 

You breathed out a laugh, heat flooded your cheeks, and Dean felt triumphant. He didn’t know what made you smile the way you did, but at least he finally discovered what you had in your pocket when you took it out. You dropped a green bill folded into a small square straight into the tip jar he kept beside the register and he raised a brow curiously.

The countless bills and coins inside didn’t surprise him, but they appeared to interest you. People found him charming. They liked him. Women loved him. Did that mean the same thing to you? Did you like him? Or find him charming? Did you.. love him? 

“Thanks, you too,” you turned away after a short pause and Dean really couldn’t help his leery gaze once you had your back to him. You were so hot. Even from the back. 

He waited for you to leave before fishing the tip out of the box, he wanted to have it framed, he’d do anything to keep it as a reminder of you. He unfolded it and blinked in shock at the hundred-dollar bill. Then, he grinned boyishly, you definitely liked him.

-> an introduction to creative captivity

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[lowkeyerror]

A New Victim

Sam Carpenter x Reader

Word Count: 1.6k

Notes: 1st part of a lil mini-series, had to post something for Halloween, will contain suspected Scream warnings eventually

Summary: You knew something of the rumors surround your classmate, Tara but you never took them seriously. However you find yourself wrapped up in the real life horror story.

Pt2 | Pt3 | Masterlist

You had heard the rumors about Tara Carpenter and her sister circulating around campus. The rumors didn’t bother you much. Or rather they didn’t persuade you to treat your classmate, Tara, any differently than you would treat anyone else.

Some people were afraid to interact with her in fear of pissing her off. They were more afraid that getting on Tara’s bad side would alert her sister, Sam.

Now Sam was a little scary. You had seen her with Tara a few times. The woman looked like her primary state of being was upset. She looked like a very serious figure.

You didn’t blame her. Their whole group of friends had almost been murdered. Instead of sympathy and compassion the public offered accusations and scrutiny. So much so that they moved away from their hometown to escape the media.

“You’re friends with my sister, right?”

You were sat under a tree on campus the first time you heard Sam speak. Looking at her this close made your heart flutter. She was an attractive woman and that was enough to make you sweat a bit.

Unable to speak for a moment, you nod dumbly.

Sam ignores it and continues with her questioning,” Have you seen her today? I’ve been looking for her everywhere and I can’t find her.”

“She left class a bit early today. I think she said something about Chad needing her help with something.”

Sam rolls her eyes, “Of course she did. I’m Sam by the way, sorry to interrupt you."

Before you can say your own name, the younger Carpenter sister is shouting it as she approaches the tree with Chad trailing behind her.

“Y/n! Don’t mind my overprotective and obsessive sister. What ever she threatened you with, I can promise she won’t do.”

“Where have you been? Y/n told me you left class to meet Chad.”

Tara glares at the girl sitting,” You told her I skipped.”

You shrug,” She seemed worried, so I just told her you left with Chad.”

“Where I am is none of her business. She has my number if she’s looking for me.”

Sam scoffs, “Having your number doesn’t mean shit if you don’t answer your fucking phone.”

“I think we should all just calm down for a second, okay. Tara is safe and everything is fine,” Chad tries to de-escalate the situation.

“No, it’s not fine Chad. Why is my sister skipping classes to meet up with you? And why isn’t she answering my text or calls?”

Y/n had no place in this conversation, but she felt like moving away would only cause a bigger fuss.

“Because we were fucking. Is that what you want to hear Sam?”

Sam runs a hand through her hair,” I don’t care that you’re fucking. I care that I can’t get in contact with you when I’m worried about you.”

“What are you worried about?”

Sam looks at the girl as if she’s grown two heads,” Are you fucking serious Tara?”

Tara groans,” We aren’t there anymore, Sam. We left Woodsboro. No one is coming after us. So why should I have to live my life in paranoia because you can’t move on?”

“Fine, you know what I'm done. Don't pretend you don't have that feeling like someone is always fucking watching us. Don't pretend like what happened back there doesn’t fucking traumatize you and make it hard to live your day-to-day life. But most of all don’t act like there aren’t psychos out there willing to try to fucking replicate that shit because it happens every fucking time, Tara.”

Sam storms off after that. Tara’s eyes soften for a moment before her mask comes back on. Chad goes to rest his hand on her shoulder, but she shakes him off.

It’s only then that her eyes land on you, “You must feel like it’s your lucky day getting front row tickets to the freak show.”

You shook your head, “It’s none of my business, so I don’t really care.”

Chad senses that there’s more you want to say, “But…”

“But your sister kind of has a point. There’s a lot of sick fucks out there that have a weird obsession over him and over y’all. Entire internet communities are filled with those kinds of people. It’s a little naïve to think that just because you moved away that you’re safe.”

Neither Tara nor Chad like the way the last sentence sounds in your voice. They both eye you suspiciously. That’s when you realize what you said could come off wrong.

You began to sputter and put your hands up in surrender, “I’m just agreeing with Sam.”

Chad wasn’t convinced, but Tara had known you a little better. She knew that your awkward demeanor was tried and true.

“Anything else you want to pile on, Y/n?”

You look between the standing pair,” You left class to fuck your boyfriend?”

That leaves them both blushing rapidly. Tara quickly spews out, “He’s not my boyfriend.”

While Chad opts for, “We did not hook up.”

You laugh at their response. Unfortunately for you, this brought you a step to close to the kids from Woodsboro in the eyes of Ghostface.

The killer had watched the entire interaction from start to finish. From the moment Sam approached you, the killer began analyzing you.

They saw the potential interest you had in Sam and your budding friendship with Tara as enough reason to add you to their list.

Tara and Chad eventually left you alone. Shortly after their departure you decided that it was time for you to leave as well.

It was still daylight when you decided to make your way to your apartment. There was a pit in your stomach as you walked. Though the streets were crowded, it felt like someone was staring at you.

You wanted to dismiss the feeling, but you checked your surroundings first. It was almost as if the crowd had faded away and the sounds of the bustling New York streets came to a halt.

Staring at you from across the street, was Ghostface. In your mind this wasn’t real. It couldn’t have been. You had stopped walking, almost paralyzed in your spot.

The killer sent a wave your way, before dragging their finger across their neck. You shut your eyes as you stood still. You were trying to convince yourself that when you opened them, you’d wake up from a dream.

When you feel a body collide with yours, you shriek and push the person away. Your eyes shoot open instantly.

You don’t know if it’s lucky or unlucky that Samantha Carpenter was on the ground in front of you.

The woman wanted to yell at you, but the look of terror on your face stopped her. It was like you were in a trance, your eyes were glued to a spot across the street. Sam looks in that direction but doesn’t see anything.

She slowly picks herself off of the floor. She’s hesitant to touch you, so instead she just calls your name, “Y/n, what was that about?”

You turn your attention to the woman, but you look physically ill, and she takes note of that.

“I saw- He’s going to kill me. Oh fuck, I’m going to throw up.”

The bile quickly rises up your throat. You rush to the end of the street and hunch over.

Sam is instantly by your side. She holds your hair with one hand and rubs your back with the other. The Carpenter sister couldn’t really make out what you said the first time.

Once you finish vomiting, she wants to question you again, but refrains from doing so. Though it is against her own set of strict rules, you look unwell, and she can’t leave you like this in good conscious.

The apartment is close by, so she helps you stand and guides you to her apartment. You don’t say anything during the walk, you barely have even the cognizance to pick up your feet.

The only image that keeps replaying in your head is the cloaked figure dragging their finger across their throat. It makes you want to puke all over again.

When she enters the apartment it’s a full house. Tara, Chad, Anika, Mindy, Ethan, and Quinn; were all congregated in the living room.

Sam motions the people on the couch to move out of the way. She sits you up straight and everyone is silent.

“Who is that? I thought we strictly had a no one, except Quinn's hook ups and us, in this apartment rules.” Mindy is the first to speak up.

“Why is Y/n here and why does she look like that?” Tara gives her sister a pointed look.

“Don’t look at me I found her on the street like this. She shoved me to the ground and vomited in the street.”

“Poor thing,” Quinn reacts to Sam’s words.

“Did she say anything? Because it looks like she’s a walking zombie,” Ethan adds.

Sam nods, “She did, but I didn’t understand her and seconds later she was puking.”

Anika nudges Tara,” She’s your friend, try to get through to her.”

Tara slowly approaches Y/n. She gets eye level with the girl who seems to be in a catatonic state.

“Y/n, what happened? Talk to me,” Tara’s voice is gentle when she speaks. A side of her that no one in the house is used to seeing emerges.

You begin to tremble, and your eyes suddenly come alive. Your voice is shaky,” He’s going to kill me."

It was a whisper, but Tara heard you perfectly clear. Sam notices her sister’s body tense after the words left your lips.

“Who?”

You begin to shake your head as tears start to stream down your face. Your head buries itself in your hands.

“I saw him, across the street,” your throat burns as you spoke.

Sam hears that part and interjects herself in the conversation,” Who did you see Y/n?”

“Ghostface.”

[maximwtf]

 “What kind of a moron gets shot…”

Izzy x Reader

words: 1970

google docs pages: 3,5

warnings: blood, a gunshot wound, slight alcohol use

opening: A medic, you get shot in a crossfire. It’s only after things have settled a little that anyone has time to notice you. No one but you are used to removing bullets, so obviously the crew chose the next most experienced pirate to help you with your instructions. Izzy. 

AN// Reader can be any gender! I finally started watching this series, after putting it off for so long and oh my god do I love this man more than life itself. I would die for him. Anyway, sorry if this is a little ooc, I’m learning how to write for him ! Requests for him would also be lovely, I have so many ideas that I don’t even know what to write :D

 “What kind of a moron gets shot…”

The feeling of rain hitting your face kept you to your senses, additional moisture to the already wet wooden deck you were laying on. At least you had made it back, but that did not remove the fact that someone from the other ship had gotten a good shot at your thigh. For that reason, you didn't mind the wet fabric sticking to your skin. The waves of pain radiating from your thigh were enough to keep your mind from thinking of anything else. 

Your body curled up a little, hands going to hold the place of the wound on their own, or at least that’s what it had felt like. Like your body was moving on its own. There wasn’t much of a thought process happening in your mind, though it felt like you should have known what to do. You’d removed more than one bullet in your time, and it wasn’t a rare procedure to perform for you. But never could have you guessed the amount of pain a bullet wound caused. You’d only ever helped someone else and seen them try their best to stay still for your sake. As much as you had hoped these thoughts would have distracted you from the pain, they didn’t. The pain was still raging, making you groan and grunt silently against the deck. Or at least what you thought had been quietly up until voices became audible around you. They’d been there before as well, but they’d become somehow louder by now. Like the people that sounded further away were now closer. The crew must have noticed something was wrong.

You opened your eyes, still curled up on the deck. Most of the crew were there, standing near you. From your perspective and what was left of your vision, they seemed concerned. But probably rightly so. Most of them had become quiet, only light chatter among them. “Well, fucking someone help me.” You growled, allowing the words to come out and going back to gritting your teeth straight after. The chatter got louder for a moment before someone was pushed out from the group. By the sound of his voice, you identified him quite easily. The first mate of Blackbeard’s, Izzy. He did not sound keen on doing this, insisting for someone else to do it before accepting his fate. But you and mostly everyone else in the crew seemed to agree on him being the most experienced for this, after you. 

You knew their first idea would have been to just cut off the whole leg, but for the amount of times you’d helped them you were hoping they’d see this as owing it to you and actually helping.

Your vision was getting a little more blurry, not badly but enough to make things a lot more confusing. You tried to keep a straight head, knowing you’d have to assist Izzy while he got the bullet out. While these thoughts were running through your mind, two of the crew members of which you hadn’t seen who carried your form to the lower decks. No more of the rain, you thought. They cleared a table, and by the sound of it they must have just sweeped the items on it to the floor and placed you on the smooth surface instead. 

There was a moment of silence before through your haze you could hear Izzy’s voice clearly. “Well, fuck off? No need for an audience.” He said, and by the sound of it the people previously there made their way back up. “Cut the…the pant leg.” You said, not wanting to waste any more time. Izzy looked at you, doing as you said but with slight hesitation. “How does a medic manage to get shot?” The first man asked in a voice you wanted to believe was annoyance, trying not to find a hint of worry from his voice. You didn’t want to imagine a man worried for your life trying to save it. “Guess the bullets couldn’t resist a…a checkup.” You took a quick breath, gritting your teeth as the fabric was pulled off from over the wound. Izzy didn’t say anything to that, perhaps it had been a bad time to joke either way. You didn’t have time to waste, for anything from the bullet could leak to your bloodstream if you kept stalling. “T-take off yer belt-” You had to take a breather before continuing, but that was enough for Izzy to give you a dirty look, which you were glad you couldn’t see properly through the slight blur. “And wrap it a little higher from the wound…” You finished the sentence, trying to stay still on the table. “Gathered that much.” He said, voice still stern as he undid his belt and wrapped it tightly around your thigh. “Get yer knife…and dig..dig the bastard out.” You breathed out, closing your eyes for a moment as you braced yourself for what was about to come. 

The sound of Izzy taking out a knife from his belt opened your eyes once more. You took a weak hold of his wrist before the first mate was able to start the process. “If I lose consciousness after…take the fabric you removed and..and use it to close up the wound after cleaning with rum…” You instructed him before your hand let loose from his wrist. His eyes were on you, you could feel it. Yet, he did not say a word. It worried you, but you didn’t want to tell him that. You wanted to think that he didn’t care. As many times as you had spent time with him, he did not care for you. Maybe, just maybe, he enjoyed talking to you from time to time. 

You took a hold of the edge of the table, which was worth it. Because as soon as Izzy had dug the knife into the wound you screeched. Using the palm of your hand to cover the rest of the horrendous noises leaving you, feeling hot tears push their way through and fall down the sides of your face. The gritting of your teeth helped, somewhat. The feeling of the blade hitting the bullet sent a mix of shivers along with waves of pain through your body.

You tolerated it for a while, in a way proud of yourself for that, this being the first time a bullet was being removed from you. Though, that did not last long.

The dim lights in the lower deck began to seem darker, and your body wasn’t contorting itself the same way as before. In a way you felt more relaxed this way, though the darkness that had started to slowly surround you was something you didn’t look forward to. A faint sound of the bullet hitting the wooden flooring as the knife left your body was the last thing you heard. Your consciousness faded away, leaving Izzy alone with bloodied hands and a mess on the table. 

His gaze shook a little, but he stood still at the table. Thanking whoever had left a bottle of rum in the lower deck. Izzy took a hold of the brown bottle and took a swig from it himself. With a second to think, he poured the liquid from the bottle straight onto the wound. It felt odd not to hear you instruct him, not that he needed it anymore. But you being so silent, seemingly dead to anyone else's eye who might have walked past, it shook him a little. As many people as he had killed and seen dead, none of them had affected him this way. The thoughts of your death filled his mind for a brief second, before the first mate shook them away. He wasn’t sure how much to pour, stopping eventually. He thought you might like the rest of it once you woke up. In his experience, rum was good at numbing feelings. Just what pain was, only a feeling. 

Izzy wrapped the wound best he could, leaving the belt on. You hadn’t told him what to do with it after, and that had only now occurred to him. As much as his duties would have commanded for him to leave you with the rest of the crew, he did not want for you to wake up in the noise and smell that was the crew’s quarters. Was what he told himself, not being able to ask for your opinion. 

He might have not been the tallest man on deck, but that did not mean he was weak in any way. He picked you up easily, carrying you to his quarters. Barely a spot for sleeping fit there, but he managed. 

The first mate laid your still form onto the small bed, seating himself onto a box next to it. His eyes stayed on the bed for some time before a sigh left his lungs, turning his eyes to his hands. He placed them over his face for a while, the burning feeling of tears trying to push through all too familiar at this point. They never truly fell down, so it did not count as crying for him. A pirate didn't cry.

So he sat there, the held-back tears reddening his eyes a little as he leaned on the wall behind him and stared at the other in front of him, keeping his gaze up. He felt conflicted, more so than usual. He hadn’t thought of you, not of how much he seemed to care. Sure, the two of you had spent an odd amount of time together, but you preferred to be alone or at least at the sidelines, so did he. So, for long it had been a coincidence that you bumped in together. And during those times you spent together were almost enough to make him feel alive again. But when you didn’t, was when he truly felt lonely. And so he did now, now when you were unconscious. A sharp breath drawn by you caught his attention back. The end of it started sounding more like a hiss than anything else. Your eyes tried to open slowly, but the sheering pain forced them to snap open with yet another hiss. You curled up on the bed before your eyes landed on Izzy. His mouth was slightly agape, but soon realised to hand you the bottle from earlier which you gladly accepted. After a long swig you handed it back to him, hand shaking ever so slightly. Eyes focusing on him now, vision back to what you remembered as normal. Even with Izzy keeping his gaze quite low, you could see the slight tint of red in his eyes. The first mate hadn’t said anything yet, so you decided to break the silence. “Have you been crying?” Came out rustier than intended, but the teasing tone of voice was still clear somewhere in there. Izzy’s jaw tightened, but he must have backed away from what he wanted to say. “Sod off.” He looked away for a moment, expression much softer after from what you could tell. Though, he seemed stiff. Like he was shaken in a way you’d never seen him before. “Izzy-” You sighed, not sure what to say to him, so instead you thought of something else. His other hand was resting on the edge of the bed. Expecting him to pull away at the very least, you placed your hand on his, but he didn’t. He allowed your slightly warmer, shaky palm to warm his colder hand, badly wiped away blood dried on it. “Thank you.” You said silently, not to disturb the oddly peaceful silence that had formed from the slightest of connections. Izzy turned to you, moving his hand further on the bed, not adding anything to that. The touch was a thank you enough, more than enough to him. 

[golbrocklovely]

mr. fantastic // sam golbach

A/N: first off, sorry this is getting posted so late. had to make some last minute revisions. so, for this one and colby's fic later on, i need to give some slight context. basically in both of these, they are AUs were snc are corrupt ppl, or have a bit of a corruption aspect to their personalities. some of these fics are/can be seen as dark, so i totally get if you don't feel comfortable reading it. just give a good look over of the trigger warnings and see how you feel. if you do enjoy it, please lmk what you think. also this fic is very vaguely based off the boys, the tv show/comic book series. sam is a smidge (and i mean a very tiny amount) reminiscent of homelander. do with that information as you will. happy haunting!

prompt: everyone around you loves sam, or as he's commonly known as - mr. fantastic. but you can see right through his facade. but when he starts winning over your friends, you know something is going on, and it's not good. || AU!superhero!sam x fem!reader

trigger warning: SMUT, enemies-to-lovers, you used to have a crush on sam in high school and now he's a superhero, superhero!sam, corrupt!sam, twist ending, i would say a hint of dubcon (but y/n never says no or stop, but just to be on the safe side i'm letting yall know), manipulation via powers and magical handcuffs (it will make sense in the story lol), hate fucking/rough sex, unprotective sex, cursing, mentions of: babygirl, slut, good girl, my girl, baby, degrading language

word count: 6769

I couldn't stand him, or anyone else like him. Everyone praised the ground he walked on, but me? Every time I saw him, he made me sick to my stomach.

Well, maybe not sick. But I did hate seeing his dumb, stupid face.

You would think with superheroes becoming known to the public, life would get easier. Crime would go down, more criminals would be off the streets, and the overall quality of life would skyrocket. But that just wasn't factually accurate. Did you know in my city alone, the crime rate has gone up 25% since last year? And what exactly are the superheroes doing about it? Causing more destruction and chaos. I swear, bad things only truly started happening once they came out to the public all those years ago.

The only saving grace I had in my life was that I wasn't alone in my feelings towards superheroes. I had my two best friends, Macie and Rachel, and they both felt the same way I did. Especially towards the best-known superhero in our city, Mr. Fantastic. His real name was Sam Golbach, and I hated him deeply.

He and I had history, you could say. We both went to the same high school. We were both nerdy, and just overall losers. We graduated and moved away to the same city, and then a couple years ago, all of a sudden, he is shown on the news as the newest superhero to save us. It made no sense to me because I remember him from high school. He never had powers. And there's no way that he, the guy that got shoved into lockers and made fun of for being a band nerd, would have tolerated being bullied like that if his powers were super strength and flight. And not only that, but the way the news describes his upbringing: it's all a lie! They paint him to be this all-American boy. They say he was a jock and just a bit shy for most of his life until finally growing into his powers at 19. Most superheroes get their powers by 16, so that alone should be telling that something is off with him. But no. Everyone just believes the lies he tells them. And that is why I hate him.

I may also hate him because I had a huge crush on him in high school and he never gave me the time of day. But I mostly hate him for all of the superhero stuff, not the high school bullshit.

Mostly.

It was like any other normal Tuesday in our office. Our manager, Sally, would bring in donuts, George would make some comment about the week moving too slowly, and around ten o'clock we would all have to stop working to watch the daily superhero news. It was mandatory in our office, as our jobs revolved around fixing superheroes’ fuck ups.

It was almost ten, and we all sat around the flatscreen hanging in the middle of one of our bigger conference rooms, waiting for the news to begin. I glanced around, noticing that Rachel wasn't in. I furrowed my brow, leaning towards Macie.

"Have you seen Rach?" I asked.

She shrugged, "No but I talked to her last night and she seemed fine. Maybe she's just running late or is taking a half day."

I hummed, "Maybe..."

The news turned on loudly, quieting everyone in the office. I leaned back in my chair, sighing deeply. God, please let today be a normal, boring news day.

"Hello everyone, thank you all for coming out this morning," the police commissioner nodded his head, looking at the audience that had formed outside of the precinct. "As always, we like to start with the positives and then move onto the, uh, wreckage. Please hold all questions until the end of the press conference. And now, I pass the stand to Mr. Fantastic."

A bunch of people clapped in the office, some wooing lowly. I grimaced, rolling my eyes the moment he popped on screen.

"Good morning, hello. Oh no need for cheering, thank you. You're too kind," He smiled brightly, shushing the crowd politely. "First, like I always say during these press conferences, thank you for letting me protect this city. I wouldn't know what to do with myself if I couldn't protect the lovely citizens of this place."

"You'd probably be working at a Burger King by now." I mumbled, getting close to Macie. She snickered, gazing back at the screen.

"So last night was eventful, like most nights here. I was able to stop two car jackings, and finally put an end to the mask thief that's been vandalizing all of the inner city's school buses. You can all be glad that today, your kids are riding on safe, clean transit." Sam pointed, giving his trademark wink and smile.

I groaned, lulling my head back in the chair. Could this day get any more boring?

"I also have some fantastic news to share with you all," He chuckled, the crowd following suit. "I saved a special young woman from a purse nabbing and possible assault last night around 2:30. Now as you all know, I know many of the people I save like to remain anonymous, but this one really wanted to let you all know how she felt. And of course, I just can't say no to any of you. So please, allow me to give her the floor." He let out another laugh, backing away from the mic. I glanced at the clock, realizing only five minutes had passed. God must have been punishing me, specifically.

Suddenly, everyone in the room gasped, Macie being the loudest. She slapped my leg, pointing at the tv. I turned and my eyes widened at the sight. Rachel, with tears welling up in her eyes, stood at the podium, smiling brightly. "Thank you all. I just wanted to say that Mr. Fantastic," she turned to him giving him a sensual gaze, "Sam, is one of the best superheroes around. This man saved my life, and I couldn't be more grateful for him. He is amazing and so handsome, and this city should be thankful to have a man like him. I love you, Sam. Thank you so much."

She reached over, giving him a huge hug. He accepted her embrace, allowing her to run her hands almost up and down his body too many times.

My mouth dropped open, unable to comprehend what I was watching. Rachel hated Sam just as much as I did. Literally last week she wished a car would fall out of the sky and squish him because he held up her commute stopping a supervillain from breaking out of the state prison. And now she was on tv, basically ready to suck his dick, because he saved her!

Macie and I looked at each other, knowing we needed to talk to Rach as soon as possible. I sent Rach a quick text, telling her to meet us at our usual lunch spot.

~~~~

My eyes narrowed at Rachel, her smile irritating me. "Please, repeat the story one more time for me."

"Okay, if I must," she giggled. "Last night I went to the corner store because I was craving some ice cream. As I was walking home, a man rushed me and stole my purse. I tried to chase after him but couldn't catch him. He ran across the street, and out of the shadows... there was Sam. He swooped in, grabbed the man, roughed him up, and got my purse back to me. God, it was seriously so hot to see him in action like that."

Rach lightly fanned herself, and I had to hold back my vomit.

"So, he saved you, gave you your purse back. And then what?" Macie questioned.

She continued, "He walked me home and... I woke up this morning knowing I had to thank him for saving my life. So on my way to work, I stopped by the police station, saw him and begged him to let me speak at the conference."

I blinked hard, "He didn't save your life. You weren't threatened. Some random dude just stole your purse."

She pouted, "Yeah, but he saved me so much hassle of having to call my credit card companies and tell them to shut everything off and having to get a new I.D.-"

I jumped in, "I get that, and I'm not trying to downplay it, but like.... last week you wanted a car to fall out of the sky on top of him."

"And the week before that we betted on the subway crushing him between the tracks during that pipe burst. What's changed?" Macie argued, taking a sip of her coffee.

"He saved me," she stated plainly, with a soft smile. "You know, I think we've been so focused on this idea of him that I think if we got to really know him, we would know he's a great guy."

"Have you forgotten that he is lying to the public about his upbringing and reputation? Or the fact any time he saves someone, there is destruction in his wake that our company has to clean up, causing our jobs to be more difficult?" I scowled at her, unable to hold back.

She rolled her eyes hard, "Oh, come off it, Y/N. The only reason you care about that is because he rejected you in high school and you're too hung up on it."

"Excuse me?" I deadpanned.

Rach crossed her arms defiantly. "You heard me. I will no longer be a part of your rain-on-Sam parade. He is an amazing man. And a great superhero."

"Even if any of that were true, you gotta admit that this 180 you're doing is weird. You fucking hated him last night." Macie argued.

"And now I want to marry him." Rach smirked.

My eyes widened, "What the fuck did you just say?"

"If you want me to be honest, I'll say it. I think he is the man of my dreams and everything I could hope for in a partner. I want him, and I hope he'll have me." She turned to Macie, almost giggling, "I slipped him my number at the conference."

"You can't be fucking serious, Rach." I groaned.

"I just know he’s great in the bedroom..." Rach thought out loud.

"Oh... so you've completely lost it. Good to know." I remarked, taking a quick sip of my coffee.

"Don't be jealous of our love. Maybe one day he'll save you too." She quipped.

I laughed sarcastically, "I would rather get crushed by a car, thanks."

~~~~

Two weeks had passed since Rach's incident with Sam. We hadn't been talking to one another all that much, just casual conversation in passing. Maybe she was right to some extent. Maybe I was holding onto this hatred for Sam just because he didn't care about my existence back when we were kids. I should let it go, and stop being such a hater.

At least, I thought that way, until this morning.

I had tunnel vision as I glared at the tv, unable to peel my eyes away as I watched the news. Another press conference. Another day of kissing Sam's ass. But this time, he again introduced another woman that wanted to thank him publicly. And this time... it was Macie.

Her spiel was the same, her mannerisms almost identical to Rach's speech. I watched, my mouth a gaped, as she thanked Sam profusely for saving her from the purse nabber. She leaned up and kissed his cheek multiple times, her hands gripping the collar of his shirt desperately.

You've got to be fucking kidding me. There's no way that this was actually happening. Something fishy was going on, and it had everything to do with Sam. I fucking knew he was trouble. I just needed to get proof.

I met with Macie alone at our usual spot. I begged her to tell me everything in detail, and her story was eerily similar to Rachel's.

"So a guy stole your purse as you left some club, Sam got it back to you, walked you home, and then you woke up today knowing you had to tell the world how great he is." I reiterated her story, annoyed.

"Exactly. He really is truly a fantastic guy." She snorted, rolling her eyes, "Oh my God, sorry. Such a bad pun."

"Yeah... that." I blinked, holding in my rage. "So, you don't happen to feel the same way as Rach, tho, right? Like... you're not in love with him?"

She thought about it for a moment, "I do think he's amazing, and I would love to be married to him... So I guess you could say yeah. I am in love. Am I blushing?"

I sighed deeply, "What exactly changed? I know he saved you, or your purse, and that's great. I'm so happy he did that. But what exactly made you wake up today and feel this need to wish to have his children?"

"I don't know. It's like... this light just switched off in my head. I just feel that deep down in my soul, I want to be his. And I really hope he'll have me." She smiled dreamily.

Hearing her say almost the exact same thing as Rach made my composure crack. "Do you hear yourself? You want to be his?! He is a douchey superhero who makes our jobs harder, and not to mention barely does anything to actually help the crime rate in this city! He got you your purse back, and all of sudden you want to... be his? You can't be serious."

She shook her head, glaring. "You know, I think Rach was right. You are jealous of the love he and I share, all because he rejected you."

"He didn't even reject me! He didn't know I existed! There's a difference," I took a breath, trying to calm down. "You don't think it's odd that all of sudden you want to have his children? You don't even want to have kids."

Macie ignored me, continuing her argument. "Either way, you come across really bitter and I hope if he comes to save you, you change your attitude. To be held in his arms would be a dream come true."

She stood up dramatically, leaving the restaurant in a huff.

~~~~

After the shitty month I had, I needed to buy some alcohol to drink my troubles away. Rach and Macie hadn't talked to me since their "savings", so work had become even more tedious and annoying. And now, it seemed like I was the only one in the office that didn't like Sam. Morale had really gone up once he saved two of our coworkers, and I had to quietly sit there, pretending I did despise the man or the situation as a whole.

As I walked home from the liquor store, I noticed how quiet the streets had become as I got closer to my apartment. It was like anyone that was out on the street moments ago disappeared. There were sirens off in the distance and the light rumble of the subway underneath the streets. The low buzz of the street light above me caught my eye, and as I looked up, the light flickered. A chill ran up my spine suddenly.

Okay, maybe I was just freaking myself out for no reason.

A body slammed into mine from behind, almost knocking me flat on the ground. A man wrestled my bag out of my hand, sprinting off down the street.

"You've gotta be fucking kidding me!" I screamed. I began to chase after him, my speed not even remotely catching up to him.

My thoughts swirled of all the things I had in that bag. My wallet, my phone, and my key to get into my apartment. I groaned loudly, annoyed.

Where the fuck were any of the superheroes when you needed them?

The man ducked into an alleyway, a loud crash coming from there. I ran to where he was, finding him passed out in the street. His nose had blood running down it, like someone punched him. My purse was nowhere in sight.

"Are you looking for this?" A voice said from behind me.

I spun on my heels, coming face-to-face with Mr. Fantastic himself, Sam.

I opened my mouth to speak but was unable to say anything. I had so much I wanted to say, but couldn't decide on what.

"No need to be shocked, miss. I know, superheroes are a lot to take in." He smiled softly.

Hearing his voice brought me out of my stupor. "That's not why I'm shocked. You kinda just... came out of nowhere."

His face dropped, surprised by my tone. "Oh..."

We stood there awkwardly for a moment, both unsure what to say next.

He reached out, my purse in his hand. "Um, here you go, Miss...?"

"Y/N. My name is Y/N." I stated.

"What a beautiful name for a beautiful girl." He complimented me.

"Thanks, I guess," I mumbled. "And thank you for getting my purse back. It means a lot."

"It's all in a day's work. Or night's technically." His well-known laugh escaped his lips.

I blinked, slowly walking away from him, "Yeah.... Anyway, I gotta get back home. It's late, and I wanna get drunk."

"Oh, well, why don't I walk you home?" He asked, keeping in step with me.

"I don't think there's any need to." I argued politely.

"No, let me. It's clearly unsafe on these streets." Sam responded.

"Well, you just stopped the purse nabber... again. For the third time. Maybe this time he can finally get arrested." I smiled bitterly, trying not to sound it.

"The police have already been called and they are on their way. So, why don't I walk you home?" He stopped in front of me, looking me in the eyes genuinely. "I will be worried if I don't make sure you get there safely."

I exhaled, "...Okay, fine."

I walked home silently, not wanting to speak to Sam. He stepped in time with me, never speaking. I almost forgot he was with me, until he cleared his throat once or twice.

I pointed up at my building, pulling my keys out to go inside, "Well, we're here. Thanks for walking me home, I gotta get upstairs and get to drinking. So, goodbye."

"Wait, before you go up, can I ask you something?" He queried.

I squeezed my eyes shut, opening them again and turning back to him. "Sure, I guess."

He crossed his arms, cocking his head. "How did you know I stopped the purse nabber before? Those were such minor crimes I solved; I'm surprised anyone would remember them."

"Well, you didn't really solve the crime since clearly the man never got put away." I retorted; my voice sickeningly sweet.

Sam raised an eyebrow at me, waiting for me to answer his previous question.

"My friends were the two you saved." I deadpanned.

"Oh really, what a small world." He pursed his lips in thought, "Their names were... Rachel and Macie, correct?"

"Yep, them exactly." I nodded.

"They were kinda like you, in a way." He mentioned.

I furrowed my brow, "What do you mean by that?"

His tone shifted. It was no longer the public persona one he used on the news. Now, it was more... casual. Equally as snarky as mine. "They too didn't like me. Or were a little... snippy with me."

Oh, well if you wanna play like that... "Yeah, and weirdly now, they want your babies."

He faux-gasped. "What a strange turn of events."

"I guess you changed their minds. How exactly did you do that?" I glared at him, accusatory.

"My charming personality." He smirked.

"Right." I jeered.

"I mean, if you really want to know the answer, let me into your apartment," his voice was almost sultry, his eyes mischievous. "Let me have one drink with you."

I narrowed my gaze at him, blinking slowly. "You're serious."

"100%. But I mean, if you don't want to know, then I can just leave." He pointed to the street, backing away.

"No, you can come up." I felt this overwhelming sensation that I had made a grave mistake, but I continued. "But if for even a second you make me uncomfortable, I have every right to resend your invitation."

"You know I'm not a vampire, right?" Sam snickered. "I'll respect your wishes regardless, but you can't just kick me out that easily."

"Okay fine, if you don't get out of my house when I say so, I'll stab you. Got it?" I grinned crazily.

He raised an eyebrow playfully, "Feisty... Sure, I hear you loud and clear."

We walked up to my place, my eyes catching his form out of the corner of my eye. What the hell was I even doing? Why was I inviting this asshole to my apartment?

I mean, I know why. But God, I just hope this ends quickly.

I cleared my throat as we both stepped in. Sam glanced around my apartment, giving a soft whistle. "Fan-cy."

I rolled my eyes, knowing he was joking. "Well, some of us aren't government paid employees with apartments in skyrises."

"You are a very defensive person. Do you always feel like you're being attacked, or is that just your general tone with me?" He shot back.

"I guess you just bring it out of me." I popped the bottle of whiskey open, the sound reverberating as I smiled bitterly. I poured two cups, dropping a cube into both.

"You're into whiskey, huh?" He gave me a quick once over, "That's kinda sexy."

"No one asked." I raised my glass, "Cheers."

"To new beginnings." He toasted.

"Sure..." I took a long sip, the whiskey burning a little extra hard.

He let out a light cough. "Hooo, that's has a kick."

"So, are you gonna tell me how or why my friends all of sudden started liking you or not?" I asked coldly.

"You don't mess around." He chuckled.

"I only invited you up here for that reason." I replied honestly.

"It wasn't to sleep with me?" He hummed, "I'm surprised."

"I wouldn't sleep with you if you were the last man on Earth." I spat.

"Well, thank God I'm not." He quipped.

I placed my hands on my hips, annoyed. "So... the reason?"

Sam walked over to my living room, taking in everything. His eyes scanned my bookshelves, stopping suddenly. "Hey, how do you have this?"

I glanced up at the ceiling, hoping God could feel my glare from down here. "Have what?"

He pulled a book out, its green and white cover I knew all too well. "This yearbook. This is the school I went to, the year I graduated."

My heart dropped and I raced over to him, "Hey that's mine!"

He flew across the room easily, flipping through the book. "God, I haven't seen this in so long. But again, how did you get this?"

"Give it back to me." I demanded, stomping up to him.

"Wait a second. Is this you?" He opened up to a page with my high school portrait, little writings around it from friends of mine from back then.

I felt a rush of heat to my cheeks, making me speechless. I yanked the book out of his hands, going back to the bookshelf.

"You went to my high school. Wait, Y/N...." He gasped suddenly, "I remember you! Wow, you got a lot hotter."

"Thanks. Can't say the same for you." I grunted, hating how warm my face felt.

He spun me around, his eyes staring into mine. "Now, there's no need to lie to me."

"You don't understand personal space, do you?" I bitched, trying to push him back.

He barely moved; his eyes unchanging. "Am I not allowed to be close to you? Do I make you nervous or something?"

"No, I just hate your presence." I did my best to hide the shakiness in my voice, my body hitting the edge of my window and radiator.

"Strangely, you are the only woman that's like that." He jested, "Is it because you're hiding a crush or some-"

"No!" I cleared my throat, huffing. "No. I don't have a crush on you."

For a second it looked like he moved, his face holding back a smile. "Can you say that again for me?"

"I definitely have a crush on you." I breathed, my brain feeling like it buffered for a second. Why the fuck did I just say that?

He backed away, cocking his head. "Oh you do? Glad you could admit it."

"I wasn't admitting anything. I was just joking, and the joke is that I've had feelings for you since high school." I gasped, "What the fuck?!"

He teased, "I'm so happy you feel comfortable telling me the truth."

"Why am I saying this?" I whispered to myself.

He pointed down to my hand, "It probably has something to do with the handcuffs I put on you."

"Wha-?" I glanced down, and sure enough one of my wrists was handcuffed to the radiator by my window.

"You gotta be a bit more observant than that." He laughed sincerely, lounging on my couch.

I let out a ragged breath, pissed. "How the fuck did you-"

"Those handcuffs are really only meant to be used by me on criminals, that way they confess. But sometimes I like to use it for more..." He gazed at me longingly, "spicier reasons."

"You're a fucking creep." I hissed.

"And you're into it." He snapped.

"Yes I am." Oh my God...

He bit his lip, pleased at my answer. "So, your friends actually told me, without needing the handcuffs B-T-W, that you had a crush on me since high school. And now seeing you, I remember who you are. You were just as nerdy as me."

"Oh, at least you're admitting that now. Why, because there's no cameras around to lie to?" I sassed, pulling at the handcuffs.

"Hey, it's not a lie that I tell. I just... fib a bit." He settled into my couch, fluffing up one of the pillows, "I did play sports, so that would qualify me as a jock."

I scoffed, "Ping-pong is barely a sport."

"Says you," he grumbled. "But that can't be the only reason you hate me slash love me."

"I don't love you." I stated honestly.

"Oh, but you will," Sam uttered lowly. “You still didn't answer my question though. So, is it really just the crush bullshit?"

"No. It's not just that," I started. "You lied, not only about your upbringing. But your powers. You didn't have them in high school. You got bullied just as much as me, if not more so. If you had super strength, you would have kicked Joe's shins in."

He chuckled mockingly. "God, are you, like, obsessed with me? How do you know so much?"

"Joe bullied me too, dumbass. I'm not obsessed with you, I just don't understand you at all. And I know you're a liar. And I try to use those reasons to hide the feelings I still have," I groaned, pulling at the handcuffs more. "Jesus Christ get these handcuffs off!"

"Not yet," Sam commented. "So... you are right. I do lie, in a lot of ways, to the general public. Sometimes I throw in extra crimes I 'solved' during the night, when usually I'm just chilling at the 24-hour Taco Bell."

I gaped, "I fucking knew it!"

He sat up, sitting on the edge of the couch. "Jokes on you, it's actually the 24-hour Wendys."

"Why do you lie? People love you. There's no need to pretend." I argued.

"Ahh, but there is. I have a lot riding on me to be one of the best superheroes around." He remarked.

I hid my eye roll. "Like what?”

"You're right about one thing. I didn't have superpowers in high school. I wasn't born a superhero. When we graduated, an up-and-coming bio-tech company, Malusvir, reached out to random people asking if they wanted to be part of a study for $50k. I thought, I have no idea what I'm doing with my life, might as well go see what's up. Go be a guinea pig for some money." Sam shook his head, his anger brewing, "Come to find out, they were testing out if they could grow superheroes."

"What the fuck?" I squeaked.

"I was injected a whole lot of times with... something. And while I was basically comatose for months, all of a sudden, superheroes started bursting on the scene. The government was finally letting them out of the bag, and they were allowing all heroes to sign up to become part of the Superheroes Task Force." Sam stood up, starting to pace. "When I awoke, I was one of the only ones that survived the trial run. This company ended up getting bought out by the government, and they covered it up by going bankrupt and saying they were making chemical weapons, which isn't technically wrong."

"Does the government know about you being... home grown?" I inquired.

"No. The bio-tech company used an alias for all of us, so no one found out. And the secrets disappeared with the CEO when he flew out of the country back to his home country and mysteriously died. I'm pretty sure he's just hiding. Or was killed for what he knew." He informed, his eyes almost glazing over.

"Why are you telling me all of this?" I questioned, confused.

"Because no one will believe you." He replied softly, his voice taking me back. Then, he switched back into his cocky self. "So... that's my story. But back to you, how long were you into me?"

"Since junior year." I confessed.

"You liked 17-year-old me?" He winced, "Oof, now that's a choice."

"So was that haircut." I quipped lightheartedly.

He leaned towards me, whispering. "And those cargo shorts."

I snickered, and he smiled genuinely for the first time.

A silence fell over us for a moment, then he looked up at me and asked nonchalantly. "So... do you wanna fuck?"

I choked, "What?"

"Is it really that surprising of a question? You're into me, and I find you hot," his eyes snaked down my body. "Especially handcuffed."

I stammered, "I-I don't-"

"Look, if you don't want to, understandable. I am a bit of a dick. But let me put it to you this way, have sex with me and get all that anger out that you feel towards me." He stepped closer to me, teasingly. "A good hate fucking helps out everyone involved, really."

I breathed, "You're insane."

"Or, if you have sex with me, and I'm bad... you can brag to your friends that I suck." He offered.

I sucked in a deep breath, already knowing my answer. "You raise a good point there."

"So, will you let me make you feel good or no?" He wrapped an arm around me tightly, bringing his face close. Our bodies were pressed together, my heart speeding up. "Do you wanna fuck me or not?"

"Yes I do." I admitted.

"See, and I didn't have to keep the handcuffs on you for you to tell the truth." He raised up his hand showing the cuffs, smirking.

I scoffed, shoving him back. "You are such a dick."

"And you love every second of it." He taunted, back up to the couch.

"I do, I can't lie." I bit my lip, staring at his mouth.

He sat down, pulling me towards him. "Go ahead, sweetheart. Fuck me like you hate me."

I straddled his lap, grinding down on him as our mouths connected. He shoved his tongue into my mouth, a moan falling from my lips. He gripped my ass, pushing me down more onto his lap. I yanked on his hair, digging my nails into his scalp and chest.

He winced, chuckling darkly as he pulled away from our kiss. "Oh you like it rough, baby?"

"Yeah." I smirked.

"Well good," he bunched up my shirt, tearing it away from my body suddenly. The ripping fabric fell apart in his hands and he chuckled darkly. I gasped loudly, a pleasurable chill running down my spine. "Me too."

I whined, "I liked that shirt."

"I don't care." He slammed his lips back onto mine quickly, taking my breath away. He nibbled on my lip, our teeth clashing together from the intensity of the kiss. I grinded myself against his growing bulge, my wet panties pressing into my sex achingly. I hadn't even realized how hot and bothered he had made me, but I wasn't complaining. I needed this, and clearly so did he.

We removed our clothes desperately, needing each other. He sat back against my couch, gazing up at me hungrily.

"God, your body is killing me." He grunted, "Give it to me."

I settled back down onto his lap, my sex grazing his leaking cock. Our breaths stifled, hitching at the feeling of our bodies being so close and so bare. I lined up my hips, slowly taking in every inch of his dick.

Breathy moans fell from my lips, his groans almost covering up my sounds. Once he was completely inside of me, we stared into each other's eyes intensely.

He began moving his hips, his eyes never leaving mine. "How's it feel, baby? Riding the dick of someone you hate."

"I love it." I whimpered.

"Of course you do. You take me so well, babygirl." He grinned.

I grimaced, "Ew, don't call me that."

"I'll call you whatever I want to, and you'll enjoy every second of it." He slapped my ass hard, pushing into me harder, "Won't you?"

"Yeah, I will." I laughed, moving up and down on his cock, "Fuck, you are so annoying."

His voice was raspy as he glared at me, "Oh, I am? Well, you ain't any better."

I snickered, "Nice comeback, nerd."

He grabbed my face, forcing me to look into his eyes. He pounded into me faster, "Nice cunt, slut. Take this dick."

"Oh my God, fuck yes Sam!" I whined.

I bounced up and down on his cock, his hips meeting with mine, making him go deeper and deeper each time. Sweat slid down our bodies, the room rising in temperature from our movements.

His lips brushed against my ear, nibbling along my neck. "Baby, baby, do you wanna know something? I forgot to tell you something."

I groaned, displeased. "Do you know how to not fucking talk?"

"But babygirl, I think this is really important. You'll want to hear it." He hummed, his thrusts stopping.

"What? What is it?" I slowed my hips, my pussy quivering around him, needing more.

He let out a breathy laugh, pushing my hair out of my face. "So, I forgot one major detail when I told you about the bio-tech company that made me the way I am."

I rolled my eyes, not interested in this conversation at all, "What did you forget to tell me?"

"Malusvir..." The lights behind Sam's eyes dimmed, his face dropping. "They weren't making superheroes."

My heart skipped a beat, my eyes fluttering, "What do you me-"

His hand wrapped around my throat quickly, squeezing tightly. My breath hitched, and Sam began to pound into me again, his hips picking back up the pace they were at once before.

"You are such a silly, dumb girl. Your friends were just as dumb as you. Maybe even dumber." His almost sinister gaze sent shivers of pleasure down my spine as his grip tightened.

I held onto his shoulders, my heart rate picking up as he made it harder to breathe. "S-Sam, fuck."

"You wanna know how I got your friends to fall in love with me?" He pressed his mouth against my ear, whispering harshly. "I fucked them. Just like I'm fucking you. All three of you were so desperate and needy for this dick. But you? God, you're so much sexier."

I shook my head, "You're fucking joking..."

"No, I'm not. And yet, even as I tell you this, you're still riding me." Sam smirked, growling, "God, aren't you pathetic? Your crush runs real deep. Just like my cock."

"Fuck you." I spat.

"Fuck you right back." He leaned in again, biting my earlobe and neck. "I could literally feel you squeeze around me when I called you pathetic. Don't pretend you don't like this."

I tried ignoring him, but he was right. My body reacted to him saying it again, throbbing around him. "How did you make them-"

"Love me? Pheromones, mostly. Thanks to all of those..." His eyes closed tightly as he got lost in thought. "Injections. Fuuuck. God, you make it hard to think sweetheart."

He had to be lying. He had to be fucking with me. "So they fucked you, and that made them fall in love with you? But Rach said-"

“I fucked them but made it so they can't tell anyone. They remember it, but will never say a word. No one would believe them anyway." He winked, releasing his hand from my neck and sliding it down my body to my clit. "Oh baby, you are in for a world of change once you come. Or once I come inside of you."

"S-Shut up Sam. Shit, fuck yeah..." I let out a breathy moan, my hips stuttering. His cock was hitting the right spot repeatedly, his thumb rubbing my clit gently, making it hard to do anything but whine. "You're just fucking with me."

"Believe what you want to, Y/N. In the end, you're gonna be mine." His lustful blue eyes bore into mine, his voice husky as he continued fucking me. "My girl to use whenever I want to. My girl that gets love drunk on my cock. Aren't you excited for that? Don't you want that? To be my little plaything forever?"

"Yeaahhh," I mewled. My eyes widened, realizing what I said. "Fuck, h-how did you-"

"It's already happening. You can't stop it now. But you don't want to, either. Take this dick more and more, slut." He gripped my hips, slamming me down onto him over and over again. My brain grew quiet, mindless. All I could think of was his leaking cock deep within me and needing him to come inside of me. I needed his come. I needed him.

"Aww, baby. You're in love, aren't you? You love me, don't you?" He mocked, a feign innocent smile on his face.

I tried shaking my head. I was not in love with him. But my body didn't listen to me anymore.

I nodded my head, unable to stop myself. My heart surged, a wave of adoration washing over me as I took in Sam's face. God, he was so handsome, even more so when he was fucking me. I cried out in pleasure, my hips bucking hastily.

He bit his lip, his head falling back against the couch. "Good girl. You're my good girl. Forever."

"Forever." I repeated, my heart soaring.

"Who's are you? Tell me." He ordered, his eyes staring into mine.

"Yours." I whined wantonly.

He sped up his actions, fucking me faster and deeper. "Say it again."

Borderline sobbing, I stuttered out, "I'mmmm youuurss."

"Again!" He yelled, rubbing my clit harder.

"I'm yours, Sam!" I panted, bouncing on his dick as fast as I could.

"That's it, baby. You're so close. Get close for me!" He shouted darkly.

I begged desperately, my body overwhelmed, "Fuck Sam, please! Let me come! I fucking need it! I need you."

"That's right babygirl." He grabbed my neck again, growling, "Fucking come! Come for me!"

I exploded in ecstasy, my brain turning off as I came the hardest I ever had before. My body took over, my hips rutting against Sam's. My nails dug into his arm and shoulder, holding onto him for dear life as I rode him through my orgasm. Suddenly, he came inside of me, his groans thundering off the walls of my apartment. His hips bucked into me with abandon, pounding me once more before dropping back down onto the couch. I felt his cum leak out of my cunt, sliding down my inner thigh. Our bodies collapsed against one another, completely spent.

As I passed out, the last thing I heard was a small whisper that escaped his lips. "Mine."

[bangtanficsforyou]

Girl Of His Dreams (04)

Pairing: Fuckboi! Jungkook x Reader

Au: Strangers to Lovers au

Genre: Angst, fluff, smut (eventually)

Rating: 18+

Word count: 9.5K

Summary: You think Jungkook is the utter definition of beauty. Jungkook thinks you’re cute but just not his type. Throw a magic ring into the equation, that makes you look like the girl of his dreams and you have the perfect recipe for heartbreak and tears.

Series Masterlist | Masterlist

Patreon | Playlist (coming soon)

The coffee has gone cold.

Not that you're aware of it though. All you have been doing for the past fifteen minutes is to stare intently into the cup and sighing occassionally. A few baristas have looked at you with worry and sympathy but again that's also something you remain oblivious to. 

You don't know what to do; a thought you have found yourself thinking quite often in the recent days. Why, for the love of god, do emotions have to be so damn complicated? Why can't they be simple and allow you to live peacefully? Why must you always feel the exact opposite of what you want to feel? 

The sole reason you put up with the idea of the ring is because you wanted to feel accepted, loved, seen and appreciated without having to go out of your way to prove to people that you are deserving of it. You did not consider the possibility of people talking about Jungkook taking an interest in you. It had slipped your mind that the ring is only going to fool Jungkook, not the other hundreds of people you will walk past on a regular basis. 

You could almost hear what they were saying. Her? Of all people her? Has he run out of girls? Maybe Jungkook wants to try something different. 

The whispers and not so subtle looks were too much for you to sit there and go through your class. Hence, you did what your panic filled mind asked you to; you left. Some might call it running away from your problems but you never claimed to be courageous enough to face your challenges with a firm grip. 

On your way to the cafe, while ordering your cup of coffee, while mindlessly staring at the liquid, you have been entertaining a question repeatedly; should you just remove the ring? 

It sounds simple. Then you can go back to your little hole and never worry about the things that you're worrying about now. It would be comfortable because you know what it feels like. This, however, is extremely unknown to you. 

The only thing that is stopping you from removing the ring right at this very moment is the image you had built in your mind as to what putting the ring to use would be like. What if you let go of things too soon? What if being patient is the key and you could have your one month of living like the person you have always wanted to be? 

Your thoughts are put to a halt by someone pulling the chair right across you. You look up and are fairly surprised when you find that person to be Brie. 

"What are you doing here?" The question leaves your mouth without a second thought. 

"I don't know myself," she shrugs. 

You frown and check the time on your watch which only confirms what you already knew. "Isn't a class going on right now?"

She hums, "That it is." 

You quirk a brow at her suspiciously, wanting to know the exact reason why she's here and not in the class, she so obviously had intended to attend. 

Brie squints at you for the look you're giving her but then complies. "I was looking for you, cause I was worried."

Oh. 

Well that's sweet. 

But, "how did you find out where I was?" 

"Bitch, you have your snapchat location on, which conveniently makes it easier for anyone on your friend list to find out where you're."

Ah right, snapchat location. 

You sigh and get a little comfortable in your seat, knowing that the whole blank staring thing isn't gonna work anymore. 

Brie only waits till she places the order for a cappuccino. Then she angles her body towards you in such a way that lets you know, for the next few moments you will be on the receiving end of all her attention. 

"So," she begins, "what is going on?" 

A lot. You want to just let all of it out and get it off your chest. Having someone who knows about everything that you're going through is honestly a blessing. But you resist yourself from spilling everything out, remembering that she too is someone who most likely finds that Jungkook showing interest in you is simply absurd. You remember the way she looked at you on discovering that you and Jungkook were going on a date. Although you do not fault her for having that reaction, admittedly her being a friend of yours, makes it a little bit disheartening to think that she too views you that way. 

"I honestly don't know what's going on either," you chuckle, the sound coming out empty and sad. "All I know is that I'm the one to be blamed for it."

She frowns at how tired you look. She's not quite sure what's going on but by the looks of it, something's troubling you and whatever it is, you're apparently blaming yourself for it. "You shouldn't say things like that. We all mess up, doesn't mean you have to point fingers at yourself."

You cannot not point fingers at yourself though. You were the one who went ahead with the ring–

Right. You still need to figure out whether you want to continue wearing the ring. Quickly figuring out that even though you might not be up for spilling every single detail to her, you can still take her insight on what you should do. That'd be the best. It would help you stop running in circles. 

"Brie, what would you do if you were to learn that love potions exist? Would you use them?"

Brie looks at you funny, wondering why you would ask a question about fictional things out of the blue. Nevertheless, she's not one to overthink things, if asked a question, she is definitely going to give an honest answer. 

"I'd definitely use them," she nods, very sure of her words. 

"You would?" Your eyes widen, mildly surprised at how quick her answer was. 

"Yeah, I definitely would. On Henry Cavill," a bashful, dreamy smile appears on her face as she gets lost in the world of her dreams. "He can be my personal superman."

Ah, that way. 

"No, no, no," you shake your head. "I mean would you use them on real life people?"

Brie looks disappointed for a split second for having to come out of the world where she's happily married to Henry Cavill. "What do you think Henry Cavill is?"

"No, but like real people. People you know in real life."

Brie wants to argue that she knows of Henry in real life and not from some animated world but keeps it to herself when she realises that for some reason you're really eager to hear her opinions and answers. 

"If it's about people I know personally, I think it would depend on the who and the why."

"Elaborate," you prod without missing a beat. 

"Nah, you elaborate on what scenario you want me to consider–", it's then that her coffee arrives. Thanking the barista, she takes a sip from her cup before continuing, "–technically there are an infinite number of scenarios I could consider for this hypothetical situation."

"What if you want to use the love potion on someone because you think that will make you feel better? Would you actually end up doing it?" 

"In what ways is it supposed to make you feel better? Like an unrequited love–"

"Better about yourself," you cut her off, finding your anxiousness getting the better of you. "Someone giving you that amount of love and affection would make you feel good about yourself. That is why you want to use the love potion."

"Hmm," a thoughtful look appears on Brie's face. "Validation you mean?"

Validation. Is that what you want? You just for once want to feel like you're worthy of the things you have always wanted. Is that validation? 

You're not quite sure. 

"Let's call it that for the time being," you suggest, now taking a sip from your coffee. You grimace when the liquid meets your tongue, finding the temperature just odd. It's neither warm nor cold. It tastes like water. 

"In that case–" she leans forward and rests her palms on the table "–no, I won't use the love potion."

You slouch in relief when you hear her words, finally having an answer. 

You had expected yourself to feel disappointed if the answer were to be in the negative. But surprisingly, you're not. It feels right. Maybe somehow you have always known that this isn't the right thing to do and have only wanted someone to confirm it. 

"But that doesn't mean, someone else won't do it," Brie comments after a little pause. 

Your relaxation disappears slightly. You had thought that was it, that no is the answer. However, now that she seems to be continuing from where she left, you once again are on edge. 

"What do you mean?"

She takes a deep breath, "I have done that thing where you look for validation from other people and I know I wouldn't do that ever again. But that doesn't mean someone else wouldn't."

"Everyone at some point or the other, has seeked validation. Now how they seek validation can vary vastly but that doesn't mean they're in the wrong, it only makes them human."

"You're confusing me," you say with confusion written all over your face. 

"Let me put it this way, if I were to read a story about someone using love potion to feel better about themselves, I'd most likely feel sympathy. Can you imagine how lonely and desperate they might have been, to do that?" 

For some unknown reason, those words cause a spark of something to ignite inside you. "What about the consequences? What about the fact that they would be using a person, fooling a person all for the sake of feeling better about themselves? Isn't that incredibly selfish?" 

"Woah, woah, woah," she looks taken aback and then chuckles softly at how riled up you look about this. "Why do you hate this character so much that you simply can't stand the idea of them using love potion?" 

Brie asks the question jokingly, not really meaning it but it hits you for some reason. Why do you hate this character so much? Why do you hate yourself so much? 

"Listen," she begins after another sip of her coffee, "my stance is simple, using love potion on someone is selfish but it's only the lack of love that makes us selfish." 

"I'm not condoning the use of love potion but I wouldn't hate a character for doing it, I'd probably only hope that they realise they didn't need to use it to feel better about themselves."

"Plus, who knows, maybe using the love potion is what would make them realise later in the story that someone else cannot make them feel good about themselves."

You could scream.

For so long you have been feeling this constant sense of guilt and shame for doing something so low. You have only run away from acknowledging it so that you can keep wearing the ring. Maybe all you needed was someone to shame you even further and scream at you for how selfish you are, for you to snap and admit to yourself how shameless and selfish you actually are. You wanted someone to tell you the things you have already been thinking and feeling about yourself for you to return the ring. 

However, you were not expecting compassion. You were not expecting words that are said with you in consideration. Her words were not spoken out of judgement rather out of understanding and sympathy.

You don't miss Brie's words about how one must be incredibly lonely and desperate. Desperate, you are. But lonely? 

If someone were to ask you even a minute ago, you'd say you're not. You're happy with the two-three friends you have. However, Brie's words seem to have thrown light to a part of you that's always been in the dark. Now, you feel as if someone's pointed out something that's always been there but you are only ever noticing it now. 

It makes you feel an overwhelming sense of emotion that makes you want to cry because you feel seen but at the same time confused. 

You close your eyes briefly to calm yourself down and will yourself not to let the tears out.

Nodding, you let go of the breath you were holding. "Thank you for indulging in this weird topic of conversation with me," you mean what you say, you might be still just as indecisive but you appreciate it so much that she was this willing to answer your weird set of questions. 

"You're welcome, it was fun," she replies. "But now if we are done with that, care to share what had you so stressed that you had to leave the class like that?"

The question has your insides twisting. But for some reason, you do not find yourself hesitating as much as before. Maybe it's the previous conversation that has opened you up enough to tell her why exactly you ran. 

"I didn't like how everyone was looking at me and whispering amongst themselves," you fixate your eyes on the table surface and refuse to look up. "I know they were talking about the picture and that just made me extremely uncomfortable."

"That makes sense," Brie muses, understanding that people repeatedly glancing at you and whispering while they are at it, cannot be a very nice feeling. "Although, it's none of their business, I can understand why they might be curious. Because you see, you and Jungkook are quite a surprise."  

You close your eyes when you hear her words. You really could do without the confirmation of what you already know. 

"I mean Jungkook is such a piece of shit and then you're, you."

Uhhhhhhhh. 

Did you hear that right? 

"What is that supposed to mean?" 

For a brief moment, it's almost as if Brie is surprised that you don't already know what she means. But then she entertains the thought that maybe you don't know Jungkook that well. Or maybe, you're viewing him through rose coloured glasses. Afterall, she doesn't know how deep you're in, for him.

"Jungkook is…shallow," she speaks after a few moments of trying to find the right words. "But you're, you. You're quite the opposite, you feel deeply. You take things seriously while Jungkook is very fickle minded. Simply put, you deserve someone better than him."

You feel perplexed. There is no other way to put it. 

Could that be the reason why she looked at you the way she did upon finding out that you were going on a date with Jungkook? Because she believes that you deserve better? 

But then how come she even believes that you are worthy of the better? 

Gosh, all of this is too hard to believe. 

You have half a mind to ask her how she can be so sure that Jungkook is shallow. Is she duducing it simply from the fact that he's a bit of a player? But then you decide otherwise knowing you don't want to make things even more confusing for yourself. Plus, Brie isn't someone who bad mouths or passes opinions about people for the sake of it. If she's saying something about Jungkook there must be some reason behind it. What is it, you're not quite sure you want to know. 

For a very brief moment you think back to your first date and how Jungkook didn't think it was disrespectful towards you that the waitress left her number with a note like that. Even if he did, he didn't say anything. 

Pushing the thought aside, you focus back on the present. "I honestly don't know him that well."

Brie's question about how far the both of you are, into the whole dating thing is answered. "That's fine, I just hope you don't learn about his shallowness the hard way. Stay a bit wary of him and don't trust him too soon."

You know Brie's words are well meant. She genuinely seems worried about it and it somehow warms your heart. "I'll try to keep your words in mind." 

She nods and smiles at you in approval. The silence that falls upon the both of you, urges you to get done with something you know you should have done much sooner. 

"I'm sorry, by the way," not beating around the bush, you speak in a sincere tone. You notice the way Brie looks confused at your apology and clarify, "I should not have snapped at you last day–", Brie's confused look only deepens, "–when you were asking me about the date with Jungkook."

Brie's look of confusion finally disappears but she waves off your words with a flick of her hand. "That's nothing worth apologising for. You looked stressed, I should have taken the hint."

"Still, that was wrong of me, I do owe you an apology."

"Apology accepted," she huffs at your words and shoots you a thumbs up. "Now are we attending the next class or do we need some more sad girl hours?"

Your lips lift up involuntarily and even though you're not sure if you're ready to go to class just yet, you feel like you have some support. It makes you feel like you'll be fine even if you were to get weird looks from people. 

"Let's go," you suggest. You take a look at your watch and your eyes widen when you notice the time. "We only have ten minutes till the next class begins."

She isn't bothered, as she leans further into her chair. "That means we still have like twenty minutes to chill." 

Her words cause you to snort but you're not surprised considering it's Brie. Sighing, you too lean back. 

Twenty more minutes, it is. 

You have come to a decision.

Fascinatingly enough, in the course of the last few days, Brie's words kept ringing in your head. The more you replayed her words in your mind, the more you were getting this undeniable urge and it was that little chit chat with her from that morning that prompted you to come to your decision. 

The decision wasn't that hard to make, honestly. It's just that a part of you kept overthinking if it were the right choice. But somehow you only found yourself leaning towards the option you now have decided to stick to. 

You will remove the ring. 

You simply couldn't get over the amount of relief you felt when Brie's words had briefly made you come to the conclusion that you should remove the ring. The way your shoulders felt lifted at the thought of not having to constantly battle yourself about what's right and what's wrong, was a tell-tale sign of what actually felt right to you. 

It's true you'd have to go back to being the Y/N you heavily dislike. But that's something that stays with you, it doesn't affect someone else. It doesn't involve manipulating and lying to someone else. It doesn't involve having to carry the guilt of using someone else.

You have always been the person who has only ever existed to watch other people get love the way you have always wanted. It's so simple for them, they enjoy the love as if it's the sun rays. It's so natural, so comfortable, so acceptable. It only makes you think how if you were to find love, you'd probably treat it like the rain that is bestowed to a drought-ridden field. You'd probably worship it. You'd thank the heavens for listening to your prayers. You'd cry tears of joy and gratitude. You'd promise the gods above that you'll always be good and never take it for granted. 

However, you have never quite had the fortune of celebrating love and you have complained about how unfair it is to you, an infinite number of times. 

But the complaining comes from a place where you feel cheated of something that was promised to you. However, how do you keep your right to complain if you cheat someone else? 

Feeling like a victim feels much better to you than to feel like someone who's only getting what they deserve. Feeling like life is doing you wrong, is better than feeling like you're getting back for doing wrong.

Even when you are at your lowest, you have had your head high because you didn't intentionally cheat someone, because you didn't do something you won't want someone to do to you. You have been mad at the world for encouraging you to see dreams and then being so cruel to crush it so ruthlessly. But then again, you'd very much like to feel like you have the right to be mad, to complain, to be bitter and to scream and shout in pain and anger. 

You have also decided to steer clear of Jungkook. Or of anyone who's similar to him. Anyone who tries to remind you of everything wrong with you. You are already aware that you're not perfect, that you're not someone who qualifies for the word 'pretty' and you won't mind the absence of people who don't hesitate to remind you of that. 

But for that, you first need to tell Jungkook that you cannot be his model. Which is why you're still wearing the ring. You do not have the courage to face him without it and what would he even see you as if he were to see you without the ring? Would he even believe he actually did choose you to be his model? It's not like you can explain it to him that this ring holds some magical powers. He would probably add the word 'crazy' to the list of adjectives he uses to describe you. 

Today is practise day. You have decided on informing Jungkook about your decision as soon as you walk in the room as that'd be the best. 

You walk with determined steps and swing the door open. However, your steps falter when you realise that Jungkook isn't alone. Taehyung and Jimin are already in attendance. 

Shit. 

How do you tell Jungkook in front of them that you want to quit? Even the thought of doing so somehow manages to shake your confidence as you keep imagining the range of responses they could probably have. 

Guess, you'll have to wait till they leave. 

Taehyung is the first one to notice that you're awkwardly standing at the doorway. "Hello, Y/N," his warm boxy smile greets you. 

Taehyung's words make the other two men in the room aware of your presence as they simultaneously look in your direction. 

"Come in, we were waiting for you," Jungkook says, getting momentarily distracted from the papers that are sprawled on his desk. 

You tentatively smile at him and Taehyung, with Jimin already getting back to what he was previously doing, without paying you an ounce of attention. 

You take a seat next to where Taehyung is sitting and ask no one in particular, "Am I late?" 

It's Taehyung who replies, "no, you aren't. We had a class together and we just headed here the moment it got over."

You acknowledge his words with a small nod. 

Deciding it's best to remain quiet as it might as well be the last day you are spending with these three, you look around the room and observe the various educational posters that decorate the wall. 

You precisely ignore any conversation the three of them might be having with each other. That is until a few of Jungkook's words catch your attention. 

"So, this is the final list of participants?"

Jimin hums as an answer to Jungkook's question. 

"Final list?" You perk up, your heart rate speeding up.

"Oh yeah, the final list of participants arrived today," Jungkook informs you. "You can have a look at it if you like."

You are both curious and worried and hence, of course you take up on his proposition of taking a look at the document. As it turns out, it contains the name of participants from all colleges along with their pictures. It doesn't take you long to find Jungkook's, yours and Taehyung's name. 

"How did they get my picture?" You are confused as you had no idea when things were in the process of getting finalised. 

"From the documents submitted to college."

Of course. 

"So does this mean no one can change their models or back out?" You keep your voice neutral, pretending to be looking through the document as you keep flipping through the pages. 

"Saying that'd be wrong," you are no longer bothered who answers you. You are only bothered with what the answer is. "However, someone quitting now will lead to deduction of marks, unless it's a medical reason or an emergency. In case of which, supporting documents are required."

Isn't that just…. lovely? The very day you made up your mind. 

Everything feels incredibly puzzled in your head right now. The determination that you had walked in with, fades away as you're filled with panic. What do you do now? 

You entertain the idea of the door of quitting being closed and start thinking about what the future events could possibly be like. You'll actually have to practise modelling, you'll have to put yourself out there for everyone to see and be open to the fact that people will judge you.  

Now you are no longer just skimming through the papers, you're also looking at the pictures of people you're supposed to compete with. There are plenty of faces, way more people than you imagined you'd have to be against and all of them are way better looking than you. 

"So many colleges are participating," the words come out of your mouth without your permission as you find yourself so occupied with the recent realisations that your mind momentarily ignores the presence of other people in the room. 

"Not all of them are good though," this time you know exactly whose words they are; Jungkook's. "Take these two for example–" his finger lands on the page you're currently on as he points at the participants from a college, "–they don't seem like the right choice."

"Why?" You're genuinely confused as to how he can derive that simply from the photographs.

"I mean, they quite clearly lack what one needs to be a model," he replies with a tilt to his head as he observes the papers.

His words stir up the pot of nervousness that is the pit of your stomach. Is there something special that one needs to have to be a model, except for regular practice? If so, how the fuck are you gonna make it? 

"What exactly is required to be a model?"

"They have to be pretty," Jungkook now looks up, almost as if he has come to his conclusions and is satisfied with them. "They have to have an appearance that people find attractive. They clearly ain't it. As a model, you need to catch people's attention."

Your hands, which were busy flipping through the pages, stop. "Why do you think they won't be able to capture people's attention?"

"Their features are boring, plain and regular," he shrugs, letting the words out as if stating something that's supposed to be simple. "Nothing worth looking at and definitely nothing that catches attention."

Plain. 

Boring. 

Regular.

Your brows furrow painfully hard and you look away from Jungkook. You look back at the pictures in front of you and all you see is two smiling faces. They don't appear to be plain, boring and regular to you. They seem happy. The girl, Skye, has soft eyes and a gummy smile. The boy, Mike, has curly hair and a button nose. You do not find anything that supports Jungkook's claims and observations.

However, it's not unknown to you as to how it feels to be on the receiving end of words that make you feel like that. Like, plain, boring and regular. Like you're someone who isn't worth taking a double look. Like you're just an ordinary nobody. Like you will only ever amount to being a side character. 

You know very well how it feels. How wonderfully it crushes your soul. Which is why it hurts you to think that someone else could be subjected to feeling that way. The thought that their smile could be wiped off from their face in the blink of an eye, just like that, makes you ache. You know how painful it is and your heart clenches at the thought of someone else having to go through that level of heartbreak. 

"Well, isn't that a little too harsh of a judgement, when you haven't even seen them for yourself?" This is probably the most confident you have ever sounded while speaking to Jungkook.

"I won't call it harsh, it's just how it is."

"Do you really go on commenting on how people look without considering how they might feel?" You're confused and angry at how he can be so careless with his words.

Jungkook is caught off guard by your tone, only noticing now that you do not appear like your usual calm and shy self. He doesn't quite understand why you're suddenly like this. "It's not like they are here in the room."

How considerate of him. "Firstly, that doesn't make it okay," your words are firm and spoken with intent. "Secondly, I doubt you'd stutter with your words even if they were here in the room."

It's when your words are met with absolute silence that you take in your surroundings and notice how uncomfortable the air feels. But you're angry. 

Angry enough to not back down on your words, angry enough to not feel guilty about having an outburst and angry enough to leave the room. 

You don't hurry on your way out. Your heels click against the floor as you walk and pick up your bag. You look composed from the outside but only you know how your insides are burning with wrath. And when you leave, you don't run away from the tense atmosphere, you walk out of the room. 

After your departure, Jungkook doesn't let the silence linger for too long. He has to get things done and there's nothing more important to him than securing first place in the competition. 

He coordinates things smoothly as if you  didn't just leave the room moments ago. He doesn't seem bothered at all by the little disagreement the both of you had.  

It's only when it's him and Jimin in the room, that the little event is first mentioned.

"So what are you going to do about Y/N?" Jimin asks, genuinely curious as to how things fold out. 

"I don't know," Jungkook muses in a relaxed tone. "Maybe I'll go talk to her or something." 

"Are you planning on apologising?" Jimin's brows shoot up at the thought. Don't get him wrong, Jungkook can apolgise. It's not like he's physically incapable of doing so. In fact he does apolgise when he believes he's in the wrong. But that's the thing, it's very hard for Jungkook's stance to change when he thinks he's in the right. 

"What's there to apologise for?" Jungkook is genuinely confused as to why Jimin would think there's a need for an apology. It's not like he did anything wrong. 

Honestly, Jungkook would have preferred to let you be and let you take your time until you decide to talk to him. But again, it's something that involves the competition. He cannot wait for you to let go of the residual emotions of whatever reaction you had earlier. He knows it's best for him to put aside his ego and go talk to you. 

If he wants to win the competition, he needs all his team members to work together. Which involves you.  

You're sketching a tree. 

You were not really fond of the idea of going to the canteen as you're still quite cautious of the looks people may be giving you. To add to that was your lack of hunger, which ultimately made you decide that this is what you'd be doing for lunch. 

You're not quite sure if you'd be able to finish it in the forty minutes lunch time your university provides. It's not impossible to complete it but you doubt you'd be able to capture the details as well as you'd like to, if you were to rush. So you take your time. What's the rush anyway? You attend college almost everyday and the tree isn't going to grow limbs and change location. 

You're not an expert with trees and do not have a single clue whatsoever about how long this tree has been here. But somehow the tree appears to be young. You have nothing to support this weird assumption of yours. For all you know, the tree might be extremely old or old in human years and young in tree years, you don't know. But to you, it appears to be young. 

It has that spirit of someone young whose branches are aiming for something higher and higher. It doesn't quite seem shaken up by the storms and scorching heat, life inevitably must have put on its way. Each branch is filled with leaves and for every dying leaf, there's three new nodes sprouting. The little birds that have found their homes in the branches, bring more life to it, with their chirps and constant movements. 

You only hope it has strong roots. 

"Sketching that tree?" 

Your pencil stops and you lift your eyes up to look at the source of the words. Jungkook. 

"Yes," you nod and resume your sketching, not looking up even when he takes a seat next to you. 

"It's rather odd to sketch a tree," he comments. 

"Why? Too plain and simple for you?" The words leave your mouth as soon as they come to your mind. And boy do you feel an odd sense of satisfaction at having said that.

Jungkook chuckles loudly and his whole body shakes with movement. You do not bother to ask him as to what he finds so amusing in your words. 

"So tomorrow, I was planning to take your and Taehyung's measurements. Hope you'll be there?" Jungkook queries with a hint of a smile still playing on his lips, a residue of his chuckles.

You hum absent-mindedly, not in the mood of thinking things through before you give him an answer. 

Jungkook is relieved to know that there won't be any hindrance, when he hears your response. However, he's soon faced with a dilemma as to whether he should leave or stay. It's quite obvious that you aren't interested in having a conversation with him. But he wonders if you'll take offence to him leaving just like that. Wouldn't it make it look like he was only here to make sure that you're still willing to model for him? It might be true but well, he doesn't need to make it obvious. 

Jungkook isn't someone who overthinks. Come to think of it, overthinking might just be the wrong word. Jungkook doesn't think twice before doing things. He likes being that way. He likes doing what he feels without giving much of a thought as to what it could mean or what it could lead to. 

But here you are making him think twice before making a move. It makes Jungkook think that it's only fair that he gets to ask you the question he's been curious about since morning. After all, he's never seen someone react the way you did over comments made about someone else.

"What exactly had you so riled up?" 

Your hands stop and you look at Jungkook with eyes filled with surprise. Is he really asking you that? 

Your surprise only magnifies when you realise Jungkook genuinely doesn't have a clue as to what could have possibly made you react that way. 

Wow.

"Do you really not see anything wrong with what you said?" 

Jungkook doesn't need to answer you with words because the way he looks at you with confusion is enough of an answer. 

"It's not okay to say things like that, Jungkook," to both of your surprise your words are spoken softly, without any trace of anger. "Words are powerful, they hurt people."

"You mean, saying things like they aren't good enough to be models?" He prods for further clarification. 

"Words that do not take into consideration the impact it may have on people." You correct him, resuming your sketching. 

"It's not like they will ever know that I said that about them, though."

You have half a mind to say that he's definitely not someone who hesitates to give his opinions irrespective of whether the person he's commenting on, is or isn't in the room. You know because you have experienced it yourself. 

"That doesn't make it right, it's the fact that you think that way," you breathe, choosing not to speak what's on your mind. It's true that you had made that point earlier but then things were heated. Now, if you repeat the point again, you doubt you'd be able to provide him with a proper answer if he were to ask how you're so sure of your words. 

Jungkook is amused with your words, for he thinks they are absurd. "So are you saying I cannot think my own thoughts now?" 

You shake your head softly, understanding he's not getting what you're trying to say. It makes you take a pause and you try taking a different approach.

"What even makes you think that they can't be good models?" 

"Well it's the truth, had it not been me, someone else would have said it sooner or later," he shrugs. 

"Have you seen them walk?" You question without missing a beat, with a challenging lift of your brow.

"No I haven't but that doesn't mean–"

"So you're judging their capabilities solely on the basis of how they look?" 

"Listen," he finds it absolutely ridiculous, because it's like you are turning a blind eye to something that's just so obvious. Modelling does require people to look a certain way. "If they want to pursue modelling as a career, sooner or later they will face such comments."

"That's the thing! And it shouldn't be that way!" You exclaim, your voice turning slightly high pitched. "No one should ever have to feel like they cannot do what they want or cannot achieve what they want to because of the way they are."

"There's never been a rulebook for what a person can and cannot do. But you know who comes up with these rules?" 

"People like you."

Woah. Woah. Woah. That's a heavy accusation. 

"I didn't do shit," he scoffs, surprised at how you seem so passionate about your words. "It's only how life works. You have got to be logical and swallow the harsh truths of life."

"And who decides what's the truth?" Your voice is back to normal again, for you find yourself questioning him once more in hopes that he'd realise how superficial he sounds. 

"Some truths don't need to be said, they are just facts on which the world runs," Jungkook answers, making his point.

However you counter him immediately. "They are not truths Jungkook, they are simply beliefs. Beliefs which do not have a proper ground because they originate from mere ideas."

Jungkook comes to the realisation that there's probably no point in arguing with you as to why he said what he said because you apparently have an entirely different perspective of seeing things. That's not to say he doesn't find your views interesting. 

However, your words only make him more curious.

"Why are you so affected by it when it doesn't involve you?" 

Jungkook has noticed how you speak the words as if it's you who's been hurt and as if it's you at whom his words were directed at. 

"I-I am not affected by it," your words come out unsure as you are momentarily caught off guard by his question. To add to that, you are not quite sure what is a good answer to that, you just feel the way you feel. 

"You are though," he states, quirking a brow. 

One thing about Jungkook, it's very easy to read him. You think the reason behind that is how Jungkook is always so sure of himself. He probably doesn't ever feel the need to hide the way he's feeling or say things that don't match with his inner thoughts. He is always so confident. You are yet to see emotions like nervousness, doubt, shyness on him. Now that you think of it, you find it very difficult to imagine Jungkook being any of those things. 

But thanks to his easily readable expressions and body language, you can tell Jungkook is curious. Curious enough that you know he won't settle for a vague answer. 

"I don't know why I'm affected by it," you claim, knowing those words are not entirely true. "I just don't like the thought of someone getting hurt or feeling like they aren't good enough. That's a very painful feeling."

You are aware that telling Jungkook that you know how hurtful his words were because you know the feeling very well, isn't a good idea. He won't understand. Plus, you're not really willing to have that level of vulnerability with him.

Jungkook is confused. To him it doesn't make sense. You got so agitated, that you didn't hesitate to leave the room, all because you didn't like the way someone else could feel on hearing those words?

Confusing, indeed. 

Despite feeling like it, he chooses not to ask you any further questions. He has come to the conclusion that you're someone who's quite difficult to understand, at least for him. You're an emotional person, that much is obvious but then the depth of your emotions are seemingly so deep that he can't quite get to the bottom of it. 

He nods at your words and with that silence falls over the both of you. 

However, the silence only urges you to break it. You don't know if you'll ever get comfortable enough around Jungkook but you know you aren't yet. And you're not really sure you'd like to hang around long enough for that to be achieved.

"If you're getting the measurements tomorrow, how long until your designs come to life?" 

Jungkook doesn't expect you to start a conversation but he's more than glad to be talking about his designs and the competition. "I'll have to go to the market to get the raw materials. After that it will probably take a month to get all six of them done."

"So you'd still have three weeks in hand?" 

"Yes," he affirms. 

"Are you excited for it?" 

"You bet I am," a certain twinkle enters his eyes and you assume it's excitement. "My mom will be in attendance and all I want is to win that day."

"Are you a mama's boy?" You tease. 

"Maybe I am," he admits, with a curl of his lips and you're admittedly surprised because you didn't think Jungkook to be the type of person who'd openly accept to being mama's boy. "But I'm looking forward to the day because I'll be seeing her for the first time in twelve years."

"Twelve years?!" 

He nods. "Yeah, she got remarried and moved to the states when I was eight." 

You have so many questions. 

You want to ask, if his parents got divorced? You want to ask why, even if his mom got remarried, did he not get to be in her presence the way a child needs to be? It's understandable that she's in the states but not seeing her in twelve years? You want to ask if he has at least been in contact with her, throughout the years to make up for the void he might have felt without his mother.

But you're not as confident as Jungkook.

You don't want to ask or say anything that could make him uncomfortable or that could make him recall things that he doesn't want to. But most importantly, you're aware that these questions are extremely personal and no way are you and Jungkook anywhere near close enough for you to ask him these questions.

"I am pretty sure she would be happy and proud regardless of whether you win or not," you say with a small smile. "You'd be the best to her, anyway." 

Jungkook is caught slightly off guard by your words. However, he finds himself smiling involuntarily and a certain feeling of warmth makes its way to his heart at the thought of his mother being proud of him. 

He really cannot wait for the day. 

Anger. 

It's a rather powerful emotion. One which makes you temporarily blind to everything else. It can have your mind narrowly focused at getting your point across. It's an emotion that replaces the blood in your veins with fire. It can also make you forget about everything else temporarily.

And that's pretty much what had occured. 

In the midst of the anger you had temporarily forgotten that you know shit about modelling. The relief that you had felt at the thought of discontinuing being a part of Jungkook's team, is now replaced with twice the amount of worry. 

All it took was a night's sleep for you to come back to your senses. With the anger being washed away from your veins, reality came crashing down. But now you carried an additional weight as you were also aware that this competition meant a lot to Jungkook as his mother will be in attendance. 

If all of that wasn't enough, there was that dream again. The one where you're a little kid getting laughed by other kids your age and where there suddenly appears this tall, hooded figure whose face just always remains hidden. And the way you crawl in pain everytime it starts laughing, the way it makes you numb is exhausting. Just like last time, this time too you woke up breathless and just couldn't go back to sleep after that. 

You're anxious and sleep deprived. 

The best you could think of was to still go forth with your plan and just leave. But then you were reminded things weren't as simple anymore. You leaving also means deduction of points, which would ultimately mean Jungkook starting off with negative marks. For obvious reasons, it serves as a major reason why you haven't left the team yet. 

But if you don't remove the ring and just decide to stay, would you be even able to do justice to Jungkook's designs? Had it not been for the ring, the model wouldn't have been you. It would probably be Tina, someone who's of Jungkook's choice. If you were to represent Jungkook's design, wouldn't it be morally wrong on so many levels? 

There was also a teeny-tiny part of you that just wanted to go for it and give it your best, just so that you could prove your point from yesterday. You found yourself thinking what it would be like if you were to actually do a fantastic job at modelling and get rounds of applause for your performance. 

However, the fear of failing and lack of confidence quickly shut down those thoughts. Chances of you doing it are next to null. 

But all of that makes it only more and more confusing to you. Do you quit now, knowing it would lead to the deduction of marks and do what's morally right? Or do you stick with it to avoid negative marks for Jungkook? 

Nothing is ever simple for you, for the love of god. 

"Y/N?"

Your steps momentarily halt when you hear someone calling your name. Turning towards the person who's called for you, you're surprised that it's Taehyung. 

"Heading towards your class?" He asks, quickly catching up with you. 

You nod at him, feeling a little nervous because you've never really chatted with him outside properly. "You?"

"Same," he replies, with the boxy smile that always seems to be on his lips. "Didn't know you too had a class this early." 

"Yeah, I have early classes most days."

"Well, don't they suck?" 

"They absolutely do," a small chuckle escapes you.

A brief moment of silence falls on the both of you, which gives Taehyung the time to choose his next words carefully. 

"By the way, you're coming today for the measurements right?" 

Hesitation plays on your face as you are yet to come to a decision if going forth with the modelling would be the right choice. However, it's not like you can respond to him saying that you won't be there for the measurements. That'd probably lead to a whole lot of questions you're not sure how to answer. 

"I'd be there."

Taehyung is glad that's the case. He didn't think that things from yesterday were serious enough for you to quit. But at the same time, he wasn't quite sure you'd be willing to take part in today's activities. 

Truth be told, you left quite an impression on him last day. It was rather satisfying to watch someone give their piece of mind to Jungkook, even if it was for a brief moment. 

An obvious question that could pop up is, why then, if he's someone who thinks this way, did he not object when Jungkook was making those comments?

The answer to that lies in the fact that he's known Jungkook much longer than you. They might not be all buddy-buddy like Jimin and Jungkook are but he still knows Jungkook well enough to know that talking to him about certain matters is fruitless and perhaps a waste of time and energy. 

"That's cool," he comments, with an excited grin. "I really look forward to going down the runway with you."

The image of Taehyung walking in all his glory while you stick out like a sore thumb, flashes in your mind. "I'm not quite sure how that'd turn out to be." 

"Why would you say that?" He frowns in mild confusion, not missing out on your nervous smile. 

"I've never done modelling before, I'm not sure I'd be any good at it," shrugging lightly, you let the words out without much of a thought. 

Any other day, you'd probably have said something else as you really do not like telling your insecurities to people. Especially the ones you're so entirely sure of. It feels the equivalent of asking them to console you. It feels very attention seeking. However, your mind is already riddled with questions and you simply do not have the energy to overthink as to what other response you could have given.  

"The key thing about modelling is confidence," he claimed, with his shoulders lifting to emphasise his point. "While walking on the runway, for those thirty seconds or so, you better believe you're a goddess."

All the more reasons for you to think you'll be shit at it. "Oh I'll definitely not be able to do that."

Taehyung frowns deeper at the way you laugh, apparently, at yourself. "Why not?"

"Because I'm shit at modelling." Your words have the same energy as someone saying duh, like it's the most obvious thing.

He shakes his head. "You think that way only because you aren't confident enough."

"I'm not confident enough because I know I'm not good at it," you laugh, kind of enjoying the conversation now that it has taken a playful turn.

Taehyung also has a silly smile on his face. "Nah, nah, nah, it doesn't work that way."

You roll your eyes jokingly and snicker, "I'm sure it'd be quite a sight if I were to walk like a goose with the confidence of a goddess."

"Come to think of it, gooses would make good models," he hums, imagining the scenario. 

"They'd sure garner a whole lot of audience," you comment, now the scene playing out in your head too and dare you say it's stress relieving.  

Taehyung laughs and it causes the soft curls of his hair to bounce. His laugh is loud and free, you notice. He laughs without a care in the world and honestly, it's as much of a sweet sound as it is infectious. 

"I was nervous too before my first modelling gig," he adds, a warm and light smile playing on his lips now that his laughter has died down. "But sometimes you just got to ignore that voice and put yourself out there."

"And believe me, you can do an exceptional job at it if you allow yourself to."

You had protests on your lips but they die when you realise how sincere and genuine Taehyung looks. It leaves you speechless.

"Ah, that's my building," he announces before you can fully grasp his previous words. "See you in like three hours?"

You nod wordlessly and before you know it, he's bidding you goodbye with another warm smile. 

The words he leaves you with swirl in your mind as you're taken over by a sense of disbelief. 

You're not used to believing people's words when they show faith in you. Taehyung, however, seemed so natural with his words as if they were so easy to be said. It didn't feel like he said them because that's what he thought he was supposed to say. 

You're in disbelief because a part of you believes he meant what he said. 

You can do an exceptional job at it if you allow yourself.

His words ring in your head and you feel this wave of courage wash over you.

Taehyung thinks you can do it. He didn't lie to you for the sake of it. Maybe you actually can do it. But then again, you'll never know if you don't give it your all.

The thought causes a shiver of nervousness to run down your spine. You were not expecting to have this sudden change of thinking when Taehyung called for your name. But now that the words have had a significant amount of effect on you, you cannot seem to be able to push down the thought of just going for it. 

Even if you were to go for the other option of quitting, it would ultimately be affecting Jungkook. It would admittedly be wrong to keep him in the dark and model for his designs, unless, you do them justice. 

You're not quite sure what kind of affect the ring has on Jungkook. But you're almost entirely confident in saying that he does not view you as the girl of his dreams or isn't irrevocably in love with you. Because from the times you have spent time with him, you have never once felt that way. 

It was only after yesterday that you felt like you could be sure of your assumptions. It was the moment when the first thing Jungkook asked after your little disagreement was whether you'd be there for the measurements. He was quite clearly concerned only about the competition. You had somehow managed to ignore the voice in your head about the waitress thing, but this, you could not.

The realisation, however, wasn't uncomfortable. It felt relieving to know that he isn't in love with you. Maybe the ring has made Jungkook feel attracted to you, but that's pretty much the extent of it. 

If, by some chance, Jungkook does happen to be in love with you, you think you might just have chosen the wrong guy to make you feel loved. Not that you ever plan to try the ring on any one else, though. You have learnt your lesson in the form of extensive overthinking that has drained you both physically and emotionally. 

Nevertheless, you're also sure that there's no spark between you and him. What you felt that day was simply physical attraction and what propelled you to be hurt so deeply is most likely his words which made you feel so lowly about yourself. 

You know that going forth with the modelling might mean Jungkook still finding you attractive to some extent but you'll make sure nothing ever romantically takes place between the two of you. 

You had made a crazy whimsical decision based on your emotions and you don't think it's fair if Jungkook were to suffer because of it. It's not like you're over the emotions that Jungkook had triggered within you with his words but you have gotten used to the constant nagging of that insecure voice. Now, you can ignore it enough to think. 

You still feel pathetic but at least now you have gotten used to it and have made peace with the fact that maybe you indeed are pathetic and that there's no changing that. 

However, somehow, Taehyung's words have seemingly given you enough confidence to put yourself out there. Another important lesson you have learnt in the past week or so, is that, it's for the best to just make a choice and to stick with it. The questions of 'what-if's are simply never ending.

You shut your eyes and take a deep breath and decide to face the consequences that you have been avoiding and have been incredibly unsure of so far. 

You're going to model for Jungkook.

Fun fact: when someone finds themselves unable to make a decision it can often be a sign that they don't trust themselves enough :)

Also, I'm gonna upload a sexy enemies to lovers au featuring Jungkook in one of those bikes (you know exactly what kind 🥰) on my patreon this Monday. If you want to read it before anyone else you know where to find me 😌

permanent taglist:

@bloodline1632 @embrace-themagic @jeonsorchid @fragmentof-indiffernce @royallyjjk @jeonninja @variety-is-the-joy-of-life @blairscott @jungkookslittlebun @hunbun07 @merlinkgeorge @i-have-no-life-charlie @cherryluvhobi

Series Taglist:

@youremyjinearth @charcutetaerie @hunbun07 @jyupuff @rosieatron @armydgirl @heartjiminie @leedoesntknaur @j3oooonsnsns @teteschim @azur3s @berryonasummerevening @zelchena @eegyo @oopscoop @itsdingdong

[scrumptiousstuffs]

This is my first time sending an ask and I promise it will be the last one of this kind. I just want to say that I've read all the other asks and the responses to them, and for me the thing is that people can't bring up First without including Khaotung somehow. But Khaotung gets brought up and talked about on his own or relation to people not First all the time. When his friends do lives he's the one the fans always ask about. And on the few occasions where First is brought up alone people tend to ignore it. It's just how it is. It's cold hard numbers - look how much engagement posts about Khaotung alone or with others get compared to the ones about First alone or with others. And a crowd full of fans screaming when Khaotung asked if they like First isn't really the same thing. What are they going to do, remain silent? I don't think anyone is that rude. But their SM engagement speaks a lot. I can point to several times when someone has started talking about First and the discussion has almost immediately swerved to Khaotung and how amazing he is. I can't do the same the other way. Now I am only on tumblr so maybe it's different elsewhere. I wouldn't know. I do know that Twitter was particularly nasty about First during OF though. Not Sand. First. And there's nothing to be done about it. People are going to like who they like regardless. Maybe the tide will turn at some point, I doubt it, but maybe. But I can't say I don't understand the frustration that is boiling over when I am in the First tag and see more of/know more about what *Khaotung* is doing. It just seems really obvious to me that there's a clear, strong bias. And it's not just the fandom - I can't tell you how many BTS clips I've watched that are all about how amazing Khaotung is, yet First is rarely praised. And I'm not saying Khaotung isn't good. He is. I'm just saying so is First. But the fact that I feel like I can't say First deserves more recognition without someone thinking that I am slagging Khaotung off is also part of the problem, because I have the strong impression that it wouldn't be the same in reverse.

I do think people will stop complaining about it soon, if it helps. It's just letting off a bit of steam in a way that doesn't get them labeled as an anti Khaotung blog. Eventually they'll either move on or accept, and your inbox will be back to being mostly cheerful. And I do want to say that I appreciate reading your answers to them. It must be frustrating to keep getting them when you don't see things that way, and I imagine it feels like an attack of sorts. I don't think it is. Or at least I hope not. You seem lovely and like way more patient a person than I could ever be. Thank you for lending an ear.

Well anons, then you (and I) know what to do. We should all keep hyping First up as well.

I still stand by what I say - I don’t think the majority of the fandom is Khaotung-focus. And what I have seen interviews from directors, they all seem to love FK equally.

But rather than honing on these facts, in the wisdom of my mutual @fadeawayaway - we should keep talking about how great First is as well.

Write those analysis that you want about his acting! I personally still read analysis of his roles in Not Me/TE/MLC/ OF even after these series have finished. I can guarantee you, there will be people like me who wants to read about it. And with hopefully THK bringing in new fans, them engaging about Kant/First when they read your analysis or thoughts about his other characters will put more positive focus on him as well.

Tweet about how you think his acting abilities and his performance against his co-stars (and not just Khaotung), cause I am very very looking forward to his interactions with Babe, Style and Fadel!

I am looking forward to everyone thoughts about Kant when THK comes out (and you will see me become insufferable by retweeting every single gifs and analysis of all four boys).

Hype his singing abilities (he worked hard on this! And it definitely has paid off with the recent meets/concerts). He is a great entertainer on stage and while I jest about his dancing ability (to be fair, I don’t think his bestie is that great either), I have always thought both boys as charasmatic - and I mentioned previously in a different asks, I am always captivated when they are on stage cause they just look so joyful when they performed.

Talk about his host capability and bring attention to it on Twitter - keep his engagement up. So that gmmtv and more fans are aware of his beautiful personality and eloquence when he speaks (because he certainly is! Out of the boys, First is definitely the more natural host and the way he can make guests/the host relax - top notch 🙌)

[thetempleofthemasaigoddess]

When you touch me, I am where love is born

Young!Mihawk x reader.

This fic is part of the Beast in Black series.

*****

The man is attractive, if you like the burly type, with rough features and a full beard - which you occasionally do, even though you are slightly put off by the fact that your would-be victim, a former pirate who is now working solo as a robber, has killed twelve people, all of them but one defenseless civilians and including four children, to steal their valuables. Your grandfather, who put your first gun in your hand when you were only nine and taught you to use it, and a number of other firearms, to perfection, told you emotions are often a shooter's worst enemy, a cause of confusion and inaccuracy and worst of all hesitation, especially when the target you are shooting at has a weapon of their own; still, in your heart you feel satisfaction, even joy, and not guilt, at the thought that you will rid the world of this lowlife and protect his future potential victims.

Your target has no permanent residence and is notoriously proficient at putting pursuers off his tracks, but you were able to track down an accomplice of his who, for a small price, told you he would be in a certain island, on a particular day.

He is, and you are as well, having reached the island yesterday by ferry under the guise of a normal, innocuous tourist eager to enjoy the island's luxurious beaches and night-life. The truth couldn't be more different, and as you check for the twelfth time your gun is loaded and ready to shoot, you order yourself to keep your cool and stop your heart from beating twice as fast as normal. Yes, this is your first assignment as a mercenary; yes, you are still very young, and a woman, which would lead many of your fellow killers for hire to look down on you and doubt your ability; yes, you have never killed anyone before, which could make you hesitate once you will have to actually pull the trigger, not at a clay pigeon or another target prepared by your grandfather for your training, but at a living, real person.

But you can do it. You want to do it, because you have trained so much and so long for this, and that man does deserve to pay for what he has done, and you want to prove, to the world and more importantly to yourself, what you are worth, how strong and clever and resilient you are, beyond the family you were born in and the role you will take on one day. Your grandfather, an excellent gunslinger who had been a mercenary himself in his youth, expects you to put to good use everything he taught you and succeed, and your mother, while naturally worried for your safety, raised no objections and allowed you to begin a career as a killer for hire, knowing you felt the need to put yourself to the test beyond the comfortable, tranquil borders of your island. They both count on you, and you'd rather eat glass than disappoint them… and yourself, the harshest, least forgiving judge of all.

Also, if I don't kill that guy, he will probably kill me. That's also something I should keep in mind.

Having kept watch on the old barn, in the middle of the countryside, your target had spent the night in, you have seen him leave soon after dawn, the long sword he used to kill most of his victims as usual by his side, and set out towards an uninhabited corner of the island. You followed closely, careful not to lose him and, at the same time, not to be spotted, and three miles later you saw him reach an old abandoned mine; there is no sign of life for miles all around, which makes you suspect that, more than preparing an heist in a bank or a shop, or to attack an unsuspecting traveller to rob and then kill them, the man is meeting with an accomplice to organize an hit, or perhaps he has chosen the mine as his new hideout, to lay low for a while.

But all things being equal, the reason that has brought him here doesn't really matter; he might be looking for a safe place to store his stamp collection, or planning to transform the place in an ice cream shop for all you care. The only thing that counts is that you will kill him today, provide justice for all the people he has murdered, and begin making a name for yourself as a mercenary. You don't care about the bounty money, that you plan to donate to the less affluent families of your island (after, perhaps, you have treated yourself to a good dinner) and even becoming famous as a killer for hire is a side issue; you only want to do what is right, and prove yourself you are more than a privileged young woman, born with a silver spoon in her mouth and destined to a life of tranquility and power.

Even if it means risking your life.

Your target has reached the entrance of the mine, securely boarded up and surmounted by a large KEEP OUT sign; he walks back and forth, clearly nervous as he smokes a cigarette, fingering the hilt of his sword. Hidden in a small ramshackle building, perhaps the old foreman's office, no more than ten paces away, you look at him through a crack in the door, kneeling on the dirty floor; your heart is pounding, a feeling of tightness constricting your stomach, the hand grasping your gun (a good, reliable and lethal model; not the derringer you will one day receive as a gift from your father and that you will treasure for the rest of your days, but still perfectly up to the task) sweating. Despite all the time and effort you dedicated to prepare for this moment, you are a nervous wreck, which is not completely a bad thing, since the last thing you should do is underestimate the danger you are in. Your target is still alone, busy smoking and apparently unaware of your presence, but any moment you waste could be the one he decides to leave, or he is joined by someone else; after all he does look as if he is waiting for someone. You can't hesitate any longer.

You stand slowly, grimacing at the pain in your knees, retrieve a second gun from the bag you have left on the floor, to use should the first one jam, and slide it in the holster hanging from your waist; you have chosen comfortable clothing, for obvious reason, and soft-soled boots, that allow you to walk as noiselessly as possible… and, in turn, to make it harder for your target to hear you approach.

The man has turned his back to the shack, busy lighting another cigarette after the one he has just put out under his foot; it's your moment, you decide, and you waste no time in slipping out of the splintered door and take one step, and then another, towards him.

Years and even decades later, as the list of your victims grows longer and you get used to the tension and the danger your job entails, you will still remember this moment as clear and vivid as if it had taken place yesterday, down to the smallest detail. The glowing yellow-red of the sun barely raised above the horizon; the natural vegetation rustling in the gentle wind; the russet colour of the unsown earth under your feet; the expectant, charged silence broken only by the distant call of a carrion crow. You are only partially aware of your actions, your instinct and training taking over, as you take a third step, which brings you at maybe six from your target - more than close enough for a clean shot. Your gun is aimed, your finger already brushing against the trigger. You are about to talk, but the man, still turned the other way, anticipates you.

"I was waiting for you." he says, tense but calm, and the shock is almost enough to make the gun slip from your hand; you have been very careful to remain hidden, making sure he had no idea you were keeping a close eye on him, and you were absolutely sure you had succeeded, and would easily sneak up on your target. Apparently the truth is different… or at least so it seems for a moment, before the man finally turns, sees you, and goggles.

"What the… who the hell are you?!"

"I…"

"Where is Mihawk?" he insists, which is a question you have no answer for, but that at the same time is enough to dispel your doubts: he had no idea you were coming, and was actually waiting for someone else - perhaps an ally or an accomplice.

It takes your target half a second to notice the gun you are aiming at him. "What the…?!" he exclaims, letting his second cigarette fall to the floor and grabbing his sword.

It is already a full second to late.

"Jack 'The Tiger' Vespertine." you begin, mimicking the formal tone you heard your mother use so many times; you will decide to do away with the declaration of intents by your third assignment, like virtually all World Government-sanctioned mercenaries and killers for hire do, especially when the target is already aware of the danger they are in and armed, but since this is your first time you deem appropriate to follow the rules to the letter "You have been found guilty of twelve counts of murder…"

Vespertine's sword is drawn with a movement too fast for your eyes to follow, but thank all the Gods you are fast as well, and ready; a battle-cry fills the air, and half a second later, when the man has barely had the time to raise his blade above his head, your finger pulls the trigger, and the bullet explodes out of the gun's barrel, opening a hole in the middle of his forehead.

Vespertine is not an heavy man, but the thud of his body hitting the ground is deafening, the ground shaking under your feet. He doesn't move, and for a full minute you don't either; you stare at the body in front of you, your gun still pointed at him even though you know he is most likely already dead, as you push his sword away with your boot. You can't see his face, since he has fallen on his belly, so, for safety's sake, you shoot him again, in the back; the man doesn't move, which is proof enough for you.

Somewhere in the distance, the carrion crow cries again, a sound vaguely similar to an acid laugh; you glance all around you, making sure you are still alone and no one witnessed your actions, and then cautiously crouch down, using your free hand to turn the body on his back and look at it -at him- in the face.

This moment is the reason why you decided to do it like this. Up close, looking at him in the face and making sure he saw you and, within reason, knew you were going to kill him, instead of finding a safer way, hidden among the shrubs or from a moving vehicle or even at the third floor of a building, so that your target would have no way to know what was going to happen, and to defend himself. You had to let him know; not because you owed him (he was a killer, scum like that was entitled to nothing) but because you needed it.

"There is nothing wrong with aiming from a distance, and shooting at someone who doesn't expect it, at least if you're a mercenary and chasing a certain sort of people; in a fair duel, or when the person you are shooting at deserves to know what is going to happen to them, different rules apply." your grandfather told you one day, as you walked together in the fortress' gardens, at the end of yet another training session; he was an honourable man, your grandfather, but he was also smart and pragmatic, and he knew honour was something a person could not always afford to care for, and that when you didn't leave someone else to pay for your actions there was nothing wrong with running away to fight another day "We are not swordfighters; we don't duel for supremacy, for a grandiose title or so that everyone in the world knows our name. The gun is a weapon; if you want to kill someone, use it and it will do its work. It's not your friend, or a talisman that endows you with some arcane power; it is a tool that you need to learn to use, otherwise you will be the one getting hurt. It is a bloody business, a raw and practical one, devoid of heroics and ethics, but it can protect you and help you make your way in the world. It all depends on you. Just..."

"Just?"

Your grandfather had stopped, contemplating the rose bushes your mother tended to personally, and that ran all around a tiny plot of grass, where your family had enjoyed so many outdoor breakfasts.

"What I'm trying to say is that using firearms, especially for a deadly purpose like you mean to, is something you mustn't take lightly." he continued as he looked at you; he loved you dearly, but in that moment there was sternness in him, as if he were warning you against a terrible danger, or a grave crime you were about to commit. You liked it; he was the first person to treat you like an adult, years before you could even vaguely call yourself that "It... goes to your head; the power to kill with a simple press of your finger can make even the most rational and moderate person feel all-powerful. And the risk of forgetting it is people you are shooting at and killing, not clay pigeons or game to serve at dinner, is high."

You looked at him; he was probably the person you loved the most in the world behind your mother, and he was wiser than even her. You trusted him completely, and you knew he only wanted what was best for you; had he said bathing every day in olive oil would make you immortal, you would have believed him.

"And you think this could happen to me?" you asked, afraid of hearing his answer; evening was approaching, flames of red and purple painting the darkening sky above your heads "I... I don't want it to, grandfather; I only want to kill bad people, like you did. I don't want to become bad myself."

Suddenly he smiled, as he took your hand in his like he did when you were still so young you needed to be guided as you walked. "I have faith in you, (name); I know there is no kinder girl in all the four seas, and I am sure you will one day rule over our island with justice and mercy." he told you "But if you really want to become a gunslinger... you have to promise me something: when you kill a man, you have to look at him in the eyes; not necessarily before, as I told you, but at least after. Take responsibility for what you have done, and face the consequence of your actions. Especially the first time."

A sudden gust of wind passed over you; the evening was warm, but you suddenly felt chilled.

"Promise me, (name)."

"I promise, grandfather. I will do as you said."

And you do, contemplating the body of the man in front of you, now truly alone in that isolated corner of the world. You feel no guilt; rather, you are proud of yourself, and you know your grandfather will be as well, when you'll call home to reassure him and your mother you are all right. You have proved yourself, punished a vicious murderer, and given justice to his victims. All in all, a good day... even though you do feel a bit upset, even if you couldn't exactly say why.

You can't tear your eyes away from Vespertine -or rather, from his mortal remains- even longer than what your grandfather would deem necessary. The bullet you have killed him with went right through his cranium, but the hole it created is no bigger than a bean at the centre of his forehead, and his face is still perfectly recognizable... which is good, since you wouldn't be able to collect the bounty if you can't prove you killed the right man. You saw another body once, an inexperienced guard on your island, who had shot himself in the face with his service pistol as he cleaned it, and the bullet had completely erased his features, so much that even his parents couldn't formally recognize him...

Vespertine's old bounty poster, from the time he was still part of his old pirate crew, is folded in the inside pocket of your jacket; you take it out, open it, observe it carefully comparing the man in the picture with the one lying on the ground in front of you, and finally sigh, relieved. You had already checked it for the third time twenty minutes ago, as you waited for the right moment in the foreman's office, to make sure you had actually found the right man and were not about to kill an innocent who simply resembled him, but this is obviously the first time you can examine him up close and yes, this is undoubtedly Vespertine himself. You killed him... but your work is not over yet.

Still, you can't stop looking at him. His eyes, of the same colour of your mother's, are still open, a single drop of blood that slid down from the wound leaving a tiny blood trail along the side of his nose. He had had time to realize you were attempting to kill him, but his expression betrays neither fear, nor rage, nor the pain he must have felt as he died; rather, he seems... surprised, as if he really hadn't expected to see you, to be attacked, and that that quiet, still morning would be the last of his life.

I'm doing it, grandfather, you think; you will make sure to tell him in person once you're back home, to let him know you haven't forgotten what he had taught you, but for now, mentally addressing him is the best you can do. Just like you told me to. And now I know what you meant; I feel exactly as you thought I would. I killed him; and all it took was pulling a trigger. He wasn't a good man, and he deserved this and even more. But still... But still...

It is sudden and violent, like a punch (or a bullet) to the stomach; the bounty poster falls from your fingers, and you fall to your knees, your legs unable to support you. Your head swims; your heart beats fast enough to hurt; cold sweat covers your back, your arms, your whole body...

A disgusting sound (bleeeaarrggghh) escapes your lips, followed by everything you had eaten in the last twelve hours.

*****

You start feeling a little better fifteen minutes later, and thank all the Gods you have water and paper towels in your bag, which allows you to clean yourself at least a little bit.

After a brief rest, you get to work, retrieving other tools from your bag: a knife, a sturdy sack, the sort you use to store grain or flour, and a tinderbox. You bit your lip, ordering yourself not to feel sick again, as you cut Vespertine's head, sawing through skin and tendons and bone and separating it from his body; consequently, you put it in the sack. Collecting wood takes you only a few minutes, since the countryside abounds with fallen branches and twigs; lighting a fire is equally easy, since you have been taught to use flint and steel since you were a little girl. Dragging your victim's body over the (still unlit) pyre is the hardest part, since he must be twice as heavy as you, but in the end you succeed, and soon Vespertine's remains are burning and then reduced to ashes, leaving no trace of his passing that an eventual friend or ally could trace back to you. Unsure of what to do with it, you finally bury the man's sword near the entrance of the mine, digging with your bare hands since you don't have a shovel at hand and making sure it cannot be found.

You then place the sack containing your victim's head in your bag; the idea of carrying that thing around is more than a little disgusting, but doing the same with the entire body would be much more tiring, and your grandfather said it will be more than enough to claim the bounty, since a severed head is clear proof of a person's death.

Soon after, you set off. You haven't lowered your guard yet, in case Vespertine hadn't come alone or had friends and allies nearby, not to mention that watching your back will now have to become the norm, but you feel relieved you have completed your task, and you can't wait to reward yourself with a good meal, cash the bounty and return home to tell your mother and grandfather about your first success as a mercenary.

You have started whistling a popular song of your island, the warmth of the blooming day kissing your skin, when suddenly you are not alone on the road anymore; a tall man is walking purposefully towards you, and towards the mine... a man with a large sword hanging from his belt.

Shit. Vespertine did say he was expecting someone, and while you cannot be sure this guy is (was) a friend of your victim and would want to avenge his death, the best, safest thing you can do is to get away as quickly as you can, before he realizes what has happened and that you must be responsible for it. Is it cowardly? Perhaps - no, it surely is, and your grandfather did tell you the honourable man is very often the dead man as well, and you are a mercenary, not a warrior, you are not bound by a code of conduct and it would be very stupid to risk your life when you have nothing to gain from it, but...

But...

"Excuse me." you call to the man who has by now walked five or six steps behind you, turning to look at him and thinking back to your brief conversation with Vespertine "Is your name... Mihawk?"

The man turns, clearly surprised to hear a stranger mention his name. He is very tall, slim but strong, dark-haired, practically but elegantly dressed.

"Do I know you?" he asks after a moment he has spent observing you.

"No, but perhaps we have a mutual acquaintance. Did you know Jack "The Tiger" Vespertine? Were you meant to meet him today?"

You grimace, realizing you have used the past tense when this man -Mihawk- still has no idea Vespertine is dead. This is probably the stupidest, most dangerous thing you have ever done, a leap in the dark, because your gun is still charged and nothing would stop you from at least trying to kill your second swordsman of the day, but you could simply keep walking, and he would have no way to know what has happened, since there is no trace of Vespertine's remains and by the time Mihawk may suspect he had been killed, you would be long gone.

Still. Something in your heart tells you you are doing the right thing, because you are not a coward, and because this man will not prove to be a danger for you. You don't know why, but you are sure.

"Is he a friend of yours?"

Mihawk brings his arms to his chest; he is still staring, and there is something in his gaze that makes you squirm - in his gaze, or perhaps in his eyes, which are of a very unusual colour...

"Why should I tell you?" he asks in the end.

"No reason, actually." you admit "It's just... well, I hope you were not close friends, or related, because he is dead."

Silence. You tense, ready for whatever his reaction will be, but the man lets his arms fall to his sides, without touching his sword - a good blade, he will tell you in time, but still largely inferior to Yoru, that will not come into his possession for a few years still.

"You killed him?"

"I did. Less than an hour ago, at the mine he was waiting for you at."

"Are you a pirate?"

No, just the daughter of one, you are for a moment about to answer, before quickly stopping yourself. You have been sworn to silence regarding the identity of your father, for the safety of your family and your own, and you have never been tempted to break that promise until now. What is happening to you?, you wonder, feeling strangely numbed all of a sudden, why do you instinctively feel able, or even eager, to share your secrets with a man you had never met before...?

(You will understand it; in time. And you will be happy of it.)

"No; I'm a mercenary working for the World Government." you answer in the end, trying to pull yourself together; it is technically not the truth, at least until you cash your first bounty, but the Marines do have a number of killers for hire on call, and who knows, perhaps one day you will be part of that selected circle... "Vespertine left a long list of victims behind him, there is a bounty on his head."

"I see."

You wait for him to elaborate, to express rage or regret or joy at the news of Vespertine's death, but Mihawk is clearly not the loquacious sort, because he keeps his emotions for himself, and "Thanks for telling me." he simply says.

"No problem. Why was he waiting for you?" you ask again, cocking your head; you have no idea of how dangerous he is, even now that he is little more than a boy, but even if you knew, you wouldn't be deterred. You are curious... and fascinated, somehow, by this stern and hermetic young man.

Mihawk looks at you, clearly disapproving of your curiosity, but in the end he sighs, and finally gives you the explanation you wanted. "We were meant to duel, Vespertine and I. He had challenged me a month ago, and we were meant to meet this morning at the mine. I... am running late, unfortunately, because the ship I took to reach this island clashed against a larger one and for a while it seemed it would go under."

"Oh, that's... scary."

He shrugs, clearly unconcerned. "I would have managed, I am a capable swimmer. I was just afraid Vespertine thought I had decided not to meet him because I was afraid."

"He... was a capable swordsman?" you ask again, still eager to learn more; the only bladed weapon you have ever handled is the knife you use at the table and, now, the larger one you took with you from home to separate your victim's head from his body, but you have always been fascinated by the world of the swordfighters, bound by a strict code of behaviour, who often have to prove themselves before a more experienced fighter accepts to train them and among whom most serious duels end with the death of one of the two opponents. For them, the weapon is not a tool, of defense and offense; it is... an art. A cult, almost.

"Above average, from what I saw, which is not saying much. But he had challenged me, and refusing would have been a stain upon my honour."

Just like you expected. "I see. Well." you add, suddenly embarrassed "I'm sorry I took your opponent away from you."

Mihawk shrugs, marginally more inclined to chat. "If he let you kill him, it means he wasn't a worthy opponent." he reasons; he has no facial hair, but his sideburns are long and neatly trimmed, and while already tall he's still a few inches away from his full stature "I should thank you for saving me a futile effort."

You cock your head, an eyebrow raised. "Are you saying I am less capable a markswoman than you are a swordsman?" you inquire; you don't care if Mihawk will propose to see for yourselves and challenge you, forgotten is the guilt you felt for ruining his morning. Who the hell this smart-ass thinks he is, especially considering you must be the same age? You don't care how actually powerful he is, you wouldn't even care if he were the world's strongest swordsman, no one can insult you and get away with it "Is it because I am a woman? Or because I use a gun and not a sword?"

"No, I..."

"I'll have you know I've been trained by one of the most capable former mercenaries of the four seas, and that Vespertine didn't even have the time to attack me before I put a bullet through his head."

"I'm sure you are more than capable." Mihawk says, clearly aiming to pacify you but, fortunately, without sounding patronizing "Forgive me; I meant no disrespect."

He seems sincere - he is, he will confess to you years later, and deeply embarrassed for the gaffe he just made; it is rare for him to admit he had erred... but, he will confide you with the shadow of a smile, he is happy those words didn't make you hate him, then and in the years to come. Because of this you decide to forgive him, and

"If you want we can split the bounty." you propose, feeling generous; you intended to donate the money to someone who needed it on your island, but you can take another assignment soon "Or, you know, there is Verspertine's sword, I can tell you where I buried it..."

Mihawk shakes his head. "I can only take another swordsman's blade if I am the one who bested them; in any case, I doubt a man like Vespertine owned a blade I could be interested in." he points out "And I don't need compensation; you killed him, you deserve to keep the money. Well, I... I suppose I should go back."

"Right..."

Silently, you both set off once more, walking side by side along the only path towards the nearest village. You are still on edge, both happy for your first success and shaken by the fact that you have, after all, just killed a man, but soon you find yourself focusing on something else... namely, on the young man walking next to you. He is undoubtedly handsome, but it's something else that piques your curiosity... a depth, and complexity, unusual for one so young, and that you can perceive behind his apparently impassible façade.

"So." you begin conversationally after a while; you have almost a mile to walk to the village, and maybe chatting will make you reach your destination faster "Are you any good with that sword?"

Mihawk grunts, the tiniest hint of amusement in his voice. "I like to think I am more than good."

"Really? Are you famous?"

"I am... becoming famous. This is why Vespertine wanted to duel me."

"And you think you would have beaten him?"

"I know I would have."

He speaks matter-of-factly, as if describing an undeniable truth and without the slightest hint of arrogance or overconfidence; you usually appreciate humility, and you have no way to know whether he is as good as he thinks he is, but you like the self-assurance he carries himself with.

"So this is what you do? Go around, duel other swordsmen so that you make a name for yourself as a powerful fighter?"

"I do." Mihawk easily acknowledges "When I'm not too busy fighting the Marines and looking for a loot or another."

"You're a pirate."

"I am. A wanted one, in case you were thinking of claiming my bounty as well."

You smile, aware you are both involved in a game whose rules are still undecided. "Is that a challenge?" you inquire, and Mihawk shrugs, looking straight in front of him.

"If you want to consider it as such."

"I see. Luckily for you, I intend to cash Vespertine's bounty before looking for another assignment, so I will not challenge you today."

"Luckily for me..."

Silence falls between you, an unexpectedly companionable one considering you have known each other only for a few minutes. As you glance sideways at Mihawk, you can't help noticing his eyes, yellow like the ones of a hawk; you have never seen anything of the sort, but there is beauty in his gaze.

"What about you?" Mihawk asks "What has brought you to become a mercenary?"

"Are you surprised?"

"Women are a minority in the trade, those as young as you even more so. You are wearing clothes of good quality, which means you are probably not doing it for the money. Am I right?"

"You are."

Mihawk grins. "As I thought. So what? Are you following in a relative's footsteps? Or were you simply bored?"

"Both things, in a sense." you admit, walking leisurely along the mud-smeared path; the fact that a virtual stranger is able to read you so easily should upset you, but it doesn't, maybe because you can perceive Mihawk poses no danger to you, or maybe not "I... simply needed to test myself. Growing up, I never had to worry about money, or fear for my safety; I'm not saying I was spoiled, or that I spend my days idling without duties and responsibilities, but I feared letting things go like they were meant to, I would become indolent, content with what I had but unable to aim higher. I never needed to prove I was strong, and clever, and capable of taking care of myself; but I wanted to make sure I was anyway."

You are not sure your reasoning makes sense, especially to someone who barely knows you, but Mihawk nods in understanding - in approval, even. "That was brave of you. And clever."

"I just wanted to do what I thought was right."

Twenty minutes of sporadic but pleasant conversation later, you have reached the village, actually little more than a handful of houses and little shops and a tiny harbour, connected by a regular ferry service to a larger island from where you can easily catch another boat to return home. Perhaps, you reflect, you should think about buying a small ship of your own; experienced sailors are not lacking on your island, and you could ask someone to teach you...

"You want to join me for a meal?" you propose as you walk past a tavern; you know you and Mihawk are destined to part soon anyway and will probably never meet again, but he is the most interesting person you have met in a long while, and you like talking to him "After all it's breakfast time..."

Mihawk hesitates for a moment, taken aback by your offer. "I'd... like that." he answers, and you could swear that surprises him as well "But I need to depart soon."

"I see. Well..."

You are both standing in the village's tiny, almost empty square. This is good-bye, then, you're about to say, but impulsively you step closer to the man in front of you, who tenses. "What...?"

"Your eyes." you murmur without realizing. You were right, they are yellow, their gaze piercing and deep, intense albeit not necessarily cruel "They are... beautiful."

"... you think?"

"Of course; I had never seen anyone with eyes like yours! They make you look like a bird of prey. Like an hawk."

Something in your words makes the man in front of you smile; he is flattered, and still not as good at hiding his emotions as he will be in twenty years. "I've been told that before."

"Is it hereditary? Do you have a particularly sharp vision or...?"

"I... don't think so; no one I have ever met has them, and I see normally."

"Amazing..."

Silence again; you face each other, both still so young, full of dreams and ambition, unaware of what the future has in store for you - individually and not. Neither has any idea you will meet again, and how your relationship will change and grow, but in that moment, both of you are sure, a sort of quiet, clear certitude: you will remember that brief encounter forever.

In the end Mihawk takes a step back, both literally and metaphorically. "I should go." he softly points out nodding in the direction of the village's harbour "So... good-bye."

"Good-bye, Mihawk." you answer, intimately saddened for reasons you can't fully explain even to yourself; it is not like you to get attached to people you barely know, but there is something interesting in this young swordsman, something special, and you wouldn't mind having the time to discover exactly what...

A nod, the hint of a smile, and he's walking away. You look at his retreating figure for a minute, his dark hair gently swaying in the breeze, his hand elegantly resting on the hilt of his sword.

"Maybe one day we'll meet again." you call out to him, making Mihawk turn "Maybe I'll be asked to bring you in to the Marines."

He smiles; once again, amused, but not patronizing. "I look forward to it." he answers, raising an hand in farewell "What is your name?"

"It's (name). Lady (name)."

"I'll be seeing you then, lady (name)."

A minute later he has disappeared, hidden by the buildings across the square. You smile to yourself; something tells you Mihawk is destined to make a name for himself, as a pirate and even more as a swordsman, and you can only hope that, by your next meeting, you will have done the same.

Still, that could take years, and in the meantime you have a couple of more pressing matters to attend to: breakfast, since your stomach has started growling, and calling both your family, to let her know you're all right, and the Marines.

You decide to take care of that first, to get it over with. You glance once more at the tavern, hoping the coffee they offer is better than the one you drank on the ferry, retrieve your transponder snail from a side pocket of your bag, and dial the number you had learnt by heart before setting off from home. You could technically cash Vespertine's bounty in any Marine base of the world, but you decided to do it at their HQ, especially since it's your first time; you hope it will be easier to get noticed, and make a name for yourself as a capable mercenary.

"Good morning. Who do I have to talk to in order to claim a bounty? Vice-Admiral Garp? Yes, put me through to him, please..."

[milkiedimitrescu]

Here's an idea if you're interested, do it similarly to the way you did Alcina in the backrooms! Only with a twist, make the Dimitrescu's extra horrifying for sure! Only add a liiiiittle something in the background every once in awhile, maybe Alcina starts feeling strangely nervous when walking down the hall to her room alone at night, maybe one of her daughters heard footsteps rounding a corner but didn't see anyone, maybe Alcina finds out one of the maids who she assumed her daughters killed wasn't killed by any of them, she tries to brush this off when she considers going to Mother Miranda for help, telling herself it's probably just her paranoia or something, telling herself what could SHE possibly have to fear? She's the most feared thing in the village!! Nothing can hurt her or her daughters, she's perfectly safe! Although that still doesn't explain the sudden fight or flight feeling she suddenly gets when she's alone at night when she's never had it before, nor does it explain her daughters coming to her with the same feeling, definitely add the horror stuff regarding what Alcina and her daughters do, although maybe add some hints that they're not the only predators in the castle anymore, honestly I don't think I've currently seen an analog like this where the killers have the tables turned on them, it would definitely at least make it stand out!

This is all just a suggestion though so if it's not something you'd be interested in, I won't get offended if you don't do it, just thought I'd try to help. 😊

DAMN I LIKE THIS A LOT also would like to add on cause now I have a bunch of ideas

Long post ahead btw

Alright alright... WHAT IFFF the thing that mysteriously killed one of the maids could be an alternate? Y'know... alternates from the mandela catalog tape on youtube?? (y'all should check out the series it's so good)

A brief summary of what an alternate is is basically a doppelganger. or... a thing pretending to be your doppelganger. Its an entity species that can shape shift into humans and even animals. It can even mimic voices that you know. It has bad intentions of killing the person it is impersonating, and trying to replace them to kill their loved ones. at least... that's how I put it.

I wonder the reason why Alcina feels paranoid walking down the castle halls at night is because an alternate is watching her every move, analyzing how she speaks, walks, and everything and tries to mimic it so it can one day get rid of Alcina and trick the daughters into thinking it's their mother when it's really not. And it might not even be just Alcina who has an alternate after her, but perhaps the whole village and outside the village. But even in the daytime she even feels slightly off. The shift of energy in the castle is still apparent, but not as apparent in the night.

But what if they found out about the alternates from early on? Like they hear the warning podcast about them on the radio player. One of the maids find that a dvd player in a box was found on the steps of the entrance doors of the castle after they hear a mysterious knock on the door. They go and give it to the ladies and let them know about it. They play it on the radio player and they now can't help but feel the energy shift. Nothing feels right anymore. Something is wrong.

For some reason... a shiver runs down Alcina's spine when she hears "if you see a person that looks identical to you, run away and hide." and the podcast cuts off because the reason she has been feeling this way at night and felt unsafe was because of the fact something or someone was in the castle. And they are not friendly or aren't how mutants are in the village but something far more sinister. They aren't visible but they are waiting... and looking for the first prey they should fool.

Alcina would of course contact Mother Miranda and maybe her "siblings" to see if they know about the so called "alternates" as well, and they all say yes and they all need to be careful because we cannot trust voices we hear or people we see that looks and sounds off, because they could be an alternate trying to trick you into thinking they are someone you know. Hell, even Mother Miranda is taken aback at these new "entity's" roaming the village in silence and found out that it's not only the village that has alternate's but outside of it as well. They don't know what they want or how to get rid of them, but they need to find a way to survive and figure out a way to avoid them or perhaps kill them.

[lucky-clover-gazette]

prince's gambit highlights & annotations

chapter 19

indented text is from the book. some quotes have commentary, some do not. some comments are serious, and some are definitely not. most of them will only make sense to people who have read the series. and, like, there are spoilers. so please read the books first if you're interested!

also: part of the reason i'm doing such a close reading is to study cs pacat's style, especially in terms of how she does romance and erotica. there are "craft notes" that might seem weird, like i'm being redundant or restating something rather than analyzing, but those are more things that i want to remember/take away from the writing!

i'm going to tag these longer posts with "sam reads capri" in case anyone wants to read them all at once.

this is a google doc i wrote with overall content warnings for the captive prince series. it's not perfect, but i do think it's important to include.

He found he had put himself bodily in Guymar’s way. ‘No. No one goes in.’ Anger, irrationally, blossomed. Behind him was the closed door to the tower rooms, a barrier to disaster. Guymar should know better than to barge in and make Laurent’s mood worse. Guymar should have known better than to cause Laurent’s mood in the first place.

one kiss and he’s fully down bad. like these are max levels of damen down bad-ness. it took one kiss. holy shit dude. we went from “laurent knows everything and is always planning something terrible” to “you will NOT bother my poor little meow meow while he does his silent soliloquy”

‘This time, I want it actually kept clear. I don’t care who is about to get molested. No one is to come here. Is that understood?’ ‘Yes, Captain.’ Guymar bowed and retreated. Damen found himself with his hands braced on the stone crenellation, in unconscious echoing of Laurent’s pose, the line of Laurent’s back the last thing he had seen before he had put the heel of his palm to the door. His heart was pounding. He wanted to make a barrier that protected Laurent from anyone who would intrude on him. He’d keep that perimeter clear, if it meant stalking these battlements and patrolling it himself. He knew this about Laurent. That once he gave himself time alone to think, the control returned, reason won out. The part of him that didn’t want to drop Aimeric with a punch recognised that both Jord and Aimeric had just been put through the wringer. It was a mess that needn’t have happened. If they’d just—steered clear. Friends, Laurent had said, high on the battlements. Is that what we are? Damen’s hands drew into fists. Aimeric was an inveterate troublemaker with terrible timing.

this is so ridiculous damen you have laurent brainrot it is so funny how this has unlocked primal rage and determination in you that literal flogging couldn’t

but keep your head up king, this is the chapter where you get to smash

The idea of stopping, allowing himself a moment to think, was terrible. Outside, there was nothing, just the last hours of darkness, and the long ride in the dawn.

and no more laurent to smooch >:(

‘Watch over the Prince,’ he heard himself say. ‘Anything he needs, make certain he has it. Take care of him.’ He was aware of the incongruity of the words, of his hard grip on the soldier’s arm. When he tried to stop, his grip only tightened. ‘He deserves your loyalty.’

damen said “it’s MY turn on the projection”

His time as Laurent’s Captain had been short-lived. An afternoon. An evening. In that time they’d won a battle and taken a fort. It seemed wild and improbable, a hard-edged golden piece of metal in his hand.

also they’d kissed on the mouth. leaving out a pretty essential detail there damen

‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘Your servants brought me to the wrong rooms.’ ‘No, they didn’t,’ said Laurent.

pffft did they just know? i’m not sure when laurent could have asked them to do it. so they must have just assumed laurent wanted him there

‘I don’t want to talk about Aimeric,’ said Laurent. ‘Or my uncle.’ Laurent began to come forward.

uh laurent i don’t think damen mentioned the regent at all. i think you’re telling yourself to stop thinking about your uncle because you would like to fuck damen without ptsd making it weird

Laurent said, ‘I know you’re planning to leave tomorrow. You’re going to cross the border, and you’re not going to come back. Say it.’ ‘I—’ ‘Say it.’ ‘I’m going to leave tomorrow,’ said Damen, as steadily as he could. ‘I’m not going to come back.’ He drew in a breath that hurt his chest. ‘Laurent—’ ‘No, I don’t care. Tomorrow you leave. But you’re mine now. You’re still my slave tonight.’ Damen felt the words hit, but that was subsumed in the shock of Laurent’s hand on him, a push backwards. His legs hit the bed. The world tilted, bed silks and roseate light. He felt Laurent’s knee alongside his thigh, Laurent’s hand on his chest. ‘I—don’t—’ ‘I think you do,’ said Laurent.

laurent listened to “dead girl walking” from heathers musical on the way up to the rooms in preparation for this. also i love the mixed feelings here—on one hand, hell yeah laurent, let yourself have this, but also this is fucked up for you both, and you really should talk it out, and the fact that you’re demanding his abandonment before fucking him is concerning, like you only want to fuck if you know he’s leaving anyway, but i mean why not then, if he’s leaving, and you know he wants you, and this is the last night to do it…

also laurent knows damen wants this, and he’s not actually using the slave thing here. the only way he’s using it, is calling damen on what he said earlier that evening before the kissing. cashing in on it, in a way. it’s not exactly healthy but i wouldn’t say it’s like non-consensual or anything

‘What am I doing? You are not very observant.’ ‘You’re not yourself,’ said Damen. ‘And even if you were, you don’t do anything without a dozen motives.’ Laurent went very still, the soft words half bitter. ‘Don’t I? I must want something.’

ooof that hit a sore spot, i think. laurent very badly wants to both lose and take control right now, and sex is a way he’s both lost and had control in the past—lost control to the regent, and had it over damen back in arles. he’s trying not to think about that, about the reasons, and damen is trying to make him think about it, and also implying that laurent can’t just do anything because it’s what he wants or feels.

‘Laurent,’ he said. ‘You take liberties,’ said Laurent. ‘I never gave you permission to call me by my name.’ ‘Your Highness,’ said Damen, and the words twisted, wrong in his mouth. He needed to say, Don’t do this. But he couldn’t think past Laurent, improbably close. He felt each shifting inch that divided their bodies with a fluttering, illicit sensation at Laurent’s proximity. He closed his eyes against it, felt his body’s painful yearning. ‘I don’t think you want me. I think you just want me to feel this.’ ‘Then, feel it,’ said Laurent.

“i don’t think you want me, i think you just want me to feel this” is an INSANE and deeply true line. but also, i think laurent does want damen—HIS damen, not damianos. and this is the last night he can have his damen.

and maybe laurent enjoys your reactions, damen. ever think about that?

‘You liked this too, with Ancel.’ ‘That wasn’t Ancel,’ said Damen, the words coming out, raw and honest. ‘That was all you, and you know it.’

LET’S FUCKING GOOOOOOOOOOOO

The rise and fall of Laurent’s hand was like the slide of Laurent’s words, like every frustrating argument that they’d ever had, stymied, tangled up in Laurent’s voice.

great line. love how it ties the sex act to something deeper between them

Laurent held his former mood within him, constrained, and converted into something else.

horny and angry is not the ideal way for them to fuck for the first time, and for laurent to fuck for the first time since [redacted], but since when has anything been ideal for laurent (or damen, as of book 1)

He felt Laurent pulling back, pulling away, shuttering himself, trying but not quite able to manage a cool snap withdrawal. Laurent said, ‘Adequate.’

book 1: “Laurent turned to Damen. ‘Well?’ Laurent said. ‘Can you couple adequately, or do you just kill things?”

He’d caught Laurent’s wrist before, to hold him back from a blow, a knife strike. He held him now. He could feel the desperate urge for retreat. He could feel something else too, Laurent keeping himself apart, as though, this act being finished, he had no template for what to do. ‘Kiss me,’ he said again.

this is so good. it’s good for all the things damen knows, and all the things he doesn’t know. because he’s doing good here, even without the truth about the regent clicking. he’s helping laurent figure this out, confidently and compassionately, and showing him that he doesn’t need to retreat.

Dark-eyed, Laurent was holding himself in place as though pushing himself past a barrier, the tension in Laurent’s body still telegraphing flight, and Damen felt the shock with his whole body when Laurent’s gaze dropped to his mouth. His own eyes fell closed as he realised that Laurent was going to do this, and he held himself very still. Laurent kissed with a slight parting of his lips, as though he was unconscious of what he was asking for, and Damen kissed him back carefully, dizzy with the idea that the kiss would deepen.

see my previous comments about trauma and my appreciation for laurent as a romantic interest/lead

For a moment, looking felt like kissing, an exchange in which the distinctions of intimacy blurred.

"distinctions of intimacy blurred" is such a succinct way to summarize the way pacat writes the overall romantic arc. they do not need to be fucking to be fucking, and when they are fucking, they're doing other stuff too

It was not what Laurent had expected. He felt the slight shock of Laurent’s surprise, and the way Laurent held himself, as though confused as to why Damen wished to do this, but he felt the moment when surprise turned to something else.

“confused as to why damen wanted to do this” yeah that’s pretty typical for laurent

Damen allowed himself the minor delight of nuzzling.

fantastic line

He lifted his fingers to the tie that closed Laurent’s collar. He had been trained to do this, he knew every intricate fastening.

talk about setup and payoff...

Exposed, Laurent’s nipples were hard and puckered, the first tangible evidence of desire, and Damen felt a wild surge of gratification. His eyes lifted to Laurent’s. Laurent said, ‘Did you think I was made of stone?’ He couldn’t stop the rush of pleasure he felt at that, said, ‘Nothing you don’t want.’ ‘You think I don’t want it?’ Seeing the look in Laurent’s eyes, Damen deliberately pushed him back onto the sheets.

HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

okay big turning point! probably the first major tell we’ve gotten of laurent being out of control of his reactions, AND he isn’t ashamed of it and asks for more!!! massive laurent (and damen) w!!!

Lifting a hand idly to the exact place above his head where Damen might have pressed it, Laurent gazed back at him through veiled lashes. ‘Like being on top, do you?’ ‘Yes.’ Never more so than at this moment. To have Laurent beneath him was heady.

they’re both having so much fun in different but complimentary ways. laurent enjoys what he’s doing to damen, damen enjoys what laurent is doing to him. they’re both getting something out of it, which i don’t think damen fully understood what he said that thing about laurent not wanting him, but wanting to make him feel. he wants it because it’s you specifically, dummy.

Despite the cool tone, he was aware of the extent to which Laurent was holding himself in place, allowing himself to be touched. Tension still glinted in Laurent’s body, like the shine on a blade edge that would slice you open at the wrong touch.

Damen let himself experience dizzily just how much he liked the idea of controlled Laurent betraying himself in salt flavoured need into his mouth. He touched it with his hand and encountered a texture like hot silk.

i like how pacat finds these ways to say what’s going on, but in a much more compelling and beautiful way than just “damen wanted to blow him” and “his dick was nice”

‘I am not going to reciprocate.’ Damen looked up. ‘What?’ Laurent said, ‘I am not going to do that to you.’ ‘And so?’ ‘Do you want me to suck your cock?’ said Laurent, precisely. ‘Because I don’t plan to. If you are proceeding on the expectation of reciprocity, then you had best be forewarned that—’ This was too convoluted for bed play. Damen listened, satisfied himself that in all of this talking there was no actual objection, then simply applied his mouth.

LOVE THIS. how complicated traumatized laurent trying to deflect is just washing over damen, he doesn’t care if it’s not reciprocal, he just wants to make laurent feel good. something laurent doesn’t understand or expect because sex for him has always been about making [redacted] feel good and that’s it. and laurent’s bitchiness here is so tenderly and funny and in character. he delivered a “precise treatise on cocksucking” in book 1, of course he’d regard this like a business negotiation

For all his seeming experience, Laurent reacted like an innocent to this pleasure. He let out a soft shocked sound, and his body re-formed around the place where Damen was giving his attention. Damen held Laurent in place, hands to hips, and allowed himself to enjoy Laurent’s slight, helpless shifts and pushes, the quality of his surprise, and the hard act of repression that followed, as Laurent tried to even out his breathing.

damen associates sex with happily giving and receiving pleasure, so he’s confused/surprised by laurent’s unfamiliarity with actually getting attention and enjoying himself

Laurent was, by far, the most controlled lover Damen had ever taken to bed.

damen a lot of them were slaves. coached to make you feel like a god. just saying

And felt it stymied. As rhythm built, Laurent’s body locked down, his responses repressed. Looking up, he saw that Laurent’s hands were fists in the sheets, his eyes closed, his head turned to one side. Laurent, out on the shattered edge of pleasure, was holding himself back from climax by sheer force of his impossible will.

again i say, i’m so glad to see someone like laurent as the love interest in a romance novel, holy shit

After a long moment Laurent said, with painful honesty, ‘I . . . find it difficult to let go of control.’ ‘No kidding,’ said Damen.

:) a really nice tension-breaking way to find a little humor in it all, made even lighter by damen’s lack of awareness re: [redacted]

‘You want to take me, as a man takes a boy.’

this is the first moment where i’m just like DAMEN. truly. how are you not guessing this. i get that it’s consistent with his character to not assume the worst, but oh my god

‘You make it sound simple.’ ‘It is simple.’

The words fell into a stillness between them. Laurent’s breathing was shallow, and his cheeks were flushed as he closed his eyes, as though he wanted to block out the world. ‘I want,’ said Laurent, ‘I want it to be simple.’

‘Yes,’ said Laurent. ‘But—wasn’t it—’ ‘Will you stop talking about it.’ The words were ground out.

oh he’s trying so hard to let himself have this. probably before he feels really ready but it’s his last night with damen so!!

For all his bizarre nervy tension, Laurent was indisputably eager, physically. Damen searched his blue eyes. ‘Contrary, aren’t you,’ said Damen softly, thumbing over Laurent’s cheek. ‘Fuck me,’ said Laurent. ‘I want to,’ said Damen. ‘Can you let me?’ He said it quietly, and waited, as Laurent’s eyes closed again, a muscle sliding in his jaw. The idea of being fucked very clearly had Laurent out of his mind, as desire competed with some sort of convoluted mental objection that really needed, Damen thought, to be dispensed with. ‘I am letting you,’ said Laurent, the terse words pushing out. ‘Will you get on with it?’

this is so well-written, both what’s in the lines and what’s in between them. it’s a sex scene but it’s also a masterful scene of dramatic irony and characterization for them both

He watched Laurent’s face, the slight flush, the fractional changes of his expression, his eyes wide and dark. It was intensely private.

of course he's in his own head. that's laurent, for better or for worse

He felt some sense that he needed to hold onto this, to hold it tight and never let it out of his grip. You’re mine, he wanted to say, and couldn’t. Laurent didn’t belong to him; this was something he could have only once. His chest hurt.

To get what you want, you have to know exactly how much you are willing to give up. Never had he wanted something this badly, and held it in his hands knowing that tomorrow it would be gone, traded for the high cliffs of Ios, and the uncertain future across the border, the chance to stand before his brother, to ask him for all the answers that no longer seemed so important. A kingdom, or this.

i don’t have much to add here. it’s being explained perfectly in the text. it's nice to be at this point of understanding with the characters and plot that things can come together like this, thematically, on the page.

[angelsanarchy]

One Long Weekend: - Clyde/YN One-Shot Series CH 01

"I'm not like trying to stalk you." "That's a relief.."

FRIDAY, 9PM

Clyde couldn't help but stare at her. She was like a ghost he ran into every weekend that hid behind a camera, snapping shots of the bands and crowds but never actually let herself be distracted with those around her. She was absolutely enjoying herself and the music but it was like she was in another world. He's been caught staring on more than one occasion but she never seems to want to hang around long enough to actually talk to anyone.

"Dude you've got to give it up. Either talk to the girl or move on. The whole creeping thing is starting to make the bartender nervous." Johnny clapped a hand on Clyde's shoulder startling him out of his gaze.

"What do you mean? I'm not even doing anything. The bartender just has it out for me because they lifted the ban from last time." Clyde bragged.

"Well it's still gives off serial killer vibes so chill." Clyde blew off Johnny's concern and turned back to where y/n was standing only to be disappointed she had disappeared.

Maybe Johnny was right. It was time to give up the cute ghost girl with the camera. He's been lucky she hasn't tried to kick his ass for the amount of times she's met his gaze with a concerned look. He should consider that a win.

He felt around in his pocket and walked towards the door to have a smoke, making sure to give the grumpy bartender and snarky wave before exiting. He took a drag from the cigarette and turned to walk to the smoking section when he noticed the girl.

Clyde immediately started choking embarrassingly loud causing a stir in all those who were also standing outside waiting for a ride or having a smoke. He leaned on one of the parking meters until a bottle of water was shoved into his face. He turned to see who was offering the relief, and was surprised to see she actually approached him.

"I don't think you're supposed to inhale that hard..." Clyde chugged the water to catch his breath before chuckling and gaining his composure.

"I will make a note of that." y/n nodded at him before turning away.

"Um thanks by the way. I'm Clyde." He gave a deflated wave.

"Y/n..." Clyde had finally gotten a name to put with the face.

"I guess this was kind of fate. Apparently I've been creeping everyone out by staring at you." Y/n's face froze in confusion.

"Is this the part that's not supposed to be creepy?" Y/n asks taking a step back.

"After saying it outloud, it sounds so much more creepy than I predicted. I promise I'm not some serial killer. I'm not trying to stalk you." Clyde explained himself.

"That's a relief. I was kind of hoping to try out my taser at some point but I guess I'll have to wait." Y/n wasn't afraid of him and it made Clyde smile.

"I mean I'm down to give it a shot but if I'm taking a jolt you'll have to owe me one." Y/n laughed. God she had a sexy laugh Clyde thought.

"Owe you one? Didn't I just save you from trying to suck the soul out of a cigarette?" She reminded making Clyde put his hands up in defeat.

"Semantics." Clyde smirked.

"So if you aren't trying to wear my skin as a meat suit, why do you keep gawking at me? I mean you're kind of ruining my whole blending in aesthetic." She gestured to the plain clothes she was wearing and Clyde shrugged.

"I don't know, you just have a really familiar face. I can't figure out where I've seen you before." Clyde explained.

"Well I spend most weekends photographing the bands at these clubs-" Clyde cut her off.

"No that's not it. I can't put my finger on it but when I first saw you at a show, I could have sworn I knew who you were. Now it's just kind of driving me crazy." Clyde raked his hand through his hair.

"Do you watch porn?" Y/n asked with a serious look making Clyde's eyebrows practically disappear into his hairline.

"W-ha" Clyde was speechless.

"I'm fucking with you! I promise you haven't seen me in your sweaty dreams." She gave him a shove and he felt the back of his neck warm up.

"CLYDE! We're out!" Johnny and the rest of the band stumbled out of the club, noticing the mystery girl standing in front of him.

"Oh wow you sacked up." Johnny gripped his shoulder and Clyde shook his head.

"Yeah we were just talking about her having my babies, you're kind of blowing the mood here." Clyde tried to get Johnny to give him some space but he swung his arm around Clyde's neck.

"My boy is a sweetheart in the streets and a freak in the sheets. You're in for the night of your life, just talk into his good ear!" Clyde shoved Johnny off of him laughing.

"Wow that's a helluva pitch." Y/n laughed.

"Yeah he's stupider than he looks. Did you need a ride or-" Clyde offered.

"As much as I'd love to be a statistic and get into a strangers van, I still have a lot of things to shoot before I call it a night." Clyde smiled a bit disappointed but amused by her humor.

"Ah but we aren't strangers anymore. Some might even call us best friends at this point." Clyde joked. Y/n laughed before pulling out her phone and holding her hand up.

"Hey Baby...yeah no I'm...I'm sorry I got held up...okay don't be an asshole. I'll be there soon." Clyde listened to y/n call someone baby on the phone and felt kicked in the gut.

"Clyde it's been strangely enjoyable meeting you but I've got to go. Try not to swallow anymore cigarettes or get arrested before I see you again." Y/n zipped her bag up and gave his arm a squeeze.

"No promises." Clyde called out to her as she jogged in the opposite direction. He watched her hop into a car with a guy behind the wheel and a girl in the backseat, giving him a small wave. Clyde didn't want his disappointment to show but a series of heckling from the peanut gallery leaning against his van brought him back to reality.

"You kind blew that one man." Johnny laughed.

"Did I? Or could it have been she just wasn't ready for all this?" Clyde waved his hands down his torso making the boys howl. Clyde jumped into the van and silently hoped he would see y/n again, if only just to stare at her a little longer.

[fanficfindereks]

Percy Jackson Outsider POVs

Only a glimpse into the lives we lead- With all the wars and prophecies finally compete Will decides to take up his mom’s offer to return home for the school year for the first time since he was nine. After everything he’s been through it’s a little strange to go back to the mortal world once again, and people in his town take notice of how different he seems. Or… A series of interconnected one-shots of people from Will’s hometown noticing there’s something different about him throughout the one year he spends going to school in the mortal world.- Archive Of Our Own

A strange string of disappearing children: cult or coincidence?- "So you guys know how Drew and Lacy are big true crime fans?" Piper said, biting her lip to hide the amused smile on her face as she addressed all the demigods who had gathered together in Rachel's cave. Drew and Lacy were currently sitting with their hands over their mouths to hide their own smiles as they waited for Piper to reveal what they had discovered a few days ago, "Well one of their favorite channels did a video about us." Instantly everyone was rushing to crowd around the laptop she was holding to try and see the mentioned video. Piper shushed them quickly, fearing the noise would alert one of the patrol harpies that they were all out of their cabin after hours and with mortal technology no less. Once everyone quieted down, Piper looked at the group with a grin, "Lets watch it. " Or... Buzzfeed unsolved make a video looking into a handful of different demigods and how their disappearances all seem to mysteriously overlap with one another. When the Aphrodite cabin finds the video they gather all the other cabins together to do a watch party and maybe to cause a little chaos once they learn just how interested the country is in their current whereabouts.- Archive our Own

we'll pass around the easy lie of absolutely no regrets- Nell Brackman has been a high school guidance counselor for a long time. She’s seen troublemakers in every variant, dealt with more kids with shitty situations than she likes to think about, and practically has the understanding, comforting, yet firm tone on lock. Her wife thinks the job can be too tough on her, being the one to see Nell deal with the frustration of not being able to do more for kids who just won’t help themselves the way that they need to, but at the end of the day, there is nothing she would rather do more. That’s what she thinks most of the time, at least. The sheer chaos of Percy Jackson’s file might be something that ticks today over into one of the times where she starts feeling differently, though.- Archive of our Own

Introducing: Dock Guy- “I thought we were going to the lake?” Fern turns them around, fidgeting nervously. “Yeah, sorry. Maybe later. Just… you should stay away from the guy on the docks.” That doesn’t sit right with Mel, but they mutter, “Okay.” They’re not really sure what’s gotten into Fern. He befriended Mel, the Crazy of Casper, after all. They're pretty sure that Fern could get along with just about anyone. Mel glances back at the docks. They hadn’t noticed before, but there’s a person sitting at the edge. Dark hair and facing away from them. A pair of shoes are set aside and his feet are dangling in the water. Even from here, he looks deep in thought. They wonder why people, why Fern, is avoiding him. Or, a new camper is told to avoid Percy. They think it's because Percy is the 'weird kid' of camp. They're wrong.- Archive of our Own

Think of the Children- Lauren Bennet has dealt with plenty of overzealous parents before, but this one takes the cake. Maybe they could skip the holiday pageant next year.- Archive of our Own

someone's halls are getting DECKED- “Paul, school let out 3 days ago, and I know damn well you just showed those kids The Muppet Christmas Carol the last few days instead of assigning them any actual work you’d have to grade. Just come over! It’s Christmas, and the last time you saw any of the family was at Thanksgiving 3 years ago. We’re your family, sweetheart, we’re supposed to be together for the holidays. You shouldn’t be spending them alone in your apartment with a cheap fake tree you bought at Lowe’s. Give me one good reason why you can’t come home, no shoddy excuses.” Cynthia said with finality. On the other line, Paul let out a shaky sigh, then went quiet for a minute. “Well?” “Mom, uh… You might want to sit down. I have some… news.” or the blofis family don't know about percy or sally. that is, until paul brings them home for the holidays.- Archive of Our Own

[cat-shouty-13]

Observe as I try to present my thoughts neatly

So benbaro right ?

Please consider who is more smitten-

WRONG/THAT'S RIGHT IT'S BAROK !!!!

(He's just really bad at communication)

During the prison scene Albert says "…Well, none of the predicted scenarios I've been analysing involved you coming to visit me here." Now Albert may be forgetful however, I find it very hard, especially given the familiarity he addresses Barok with and the fact Barok both allows and reciprocates that formality of address, that they were just, as Barok puts it, "contemporaries" and that "their paths rarely crossed". Hell, Barok even introduces him by his first name first when Ryunosuke says he doesn't remember Albert's name.

Ryunosuke: Oh, yes, that's right. Though I barely know the man's name yet, to be honest.

Van Zieks: Albert. Albert Harebrayne.

Barok does of course say that they are friends but only after Ryunosuke suggests that wording. An interesting thing to note about Barok's phrasing is that he says "We are friends" which contrasts Albert's words of not expecting Barok to turn up at all. Barok views their friendship as a current ongoing thing whereas Albert possibly views it as something that happed a long time ago. It should be noted however that Albert immediately returns to (probably) how he and Barok were during Uni. The casual address in court prompts Barok to slip into old habits or at the very least relax a bit despite him putting his walls back up right after.

Barok does let all illusions fall away after Albert apologises for causing everything with the 'Laudable not Laughable' speech. And Albert was not seeking reassurance there, Barok just did that. It should also be noted that what Albert was saying is true, he is self centered and selfish at times (love him or hate him the man can recognise his faults and knows he has to grow and change ) But Barok doesn't let him stew in his own doubts and regrets (this is ironic considering that Barok has been stewing in his own fears for 10 years, practice what you preach Barok, come on) and Albert is a little taken aback when he does this, again the differences in their perceptions of their relationship.

Something else that crossed my mind is that Barok quite possibly took on Albert's case very quickly and impulsively. He's avoidant when Iris and Ryu bring up The Curse, possibly implying that he didn't consider The Curse when agreeing to prosecute the case.

Iris: If the Reaper is the prosecutor, there's nothing anyone can do to save him! He's doomed!

Van Zieks: ………

Ryunosuke: ……… (What's Lord van Zieks thinking…?)

This impulsiveness is a major departure from everything we've seen of Barok so far, and he also didn't seem to fully consider the possibility of sending Albert back to Germany immediately until after the conversation with Ryu and Iris in his office. He asks after Soskei at the very end of their conversation, the idea possibly being brought up in his mind over the course of their conversation, and not something he was already considering.

Also ! This isn't canonical but the fact that Barok is chilling with Albert in the walking credits of 2, instead of on his own near the end of the walking credits of 1 is really cute, and the animations their doing imply that Albert was writing on the wall, as you do, and Barok just came by to watch/be in his presence.

Speaking of the writing on the wall animation, how do you think Albert would represent Barok in his biography, considering that it's a long series of equations ? Personally I like to think he's x as in the unknown variable, partly due to obvious scar imagery (although Albert wouldn't think of that at first but would apologise profusely for it once he realised.) partly due to Albert not fully understanding Barok this being represented by the fact that x can change and then in part due to x turning up so much that it's like an old friend :)

Thank you for reading my jumbled thoughts :) I'm apologise about not having a throughline for my thoughts, but sometimes you just need to ramble :)

[crusherthedoctor]

Hey all, hope everyone's doing good. Thought I should give an update on my current perspective on things around here, as it's shifted for reasons I'll get into.

In a nutshell, I'm feeling better than before... but I also think it's time for me to semi-check out of current Sonic discussion.

By now, you all know that with the exception of Superstars and Dream Team - and Jimbotnik, because of course - I've not been enthusiastic about much of the current stuff. Whether that be the likelihood that they'll continue with a Frontiers direction, the SA2 milking that has made me more sick to death of its influence than I thought was possible, the Year of Shadow in general not being all that enticing if your top ten does not include him, IDW still causing the same repetitive back-and-forths with its characteristically terrible decisions and disproportionate praise from fans who don't actually buy the comic, various other bits and pieces that plant further Eggdad seeds into people's heads, a bunch of other stuff that I'm just apathetic about while everyone else goes crazy over them... it's not been a great time for me. I'm the Garfield, and the current direction is the Monday.

That would all be one thing, but as you may expect, it's the fandom that really irks me. I don't like how it's considered necessary to make every post a bestseller in order for your opinion to be seen as valid and insightful. I don't like how you're expected to not criticise something just because it's popular or "iconic". I don't like how everyone dedicates themselves to the same old lengthy discourse that will continue to not change anyone's minds either way, since the only people listening are the ones who already agreed with them. I don't like how you have Flynn/Archie/IDW stans on one side, and an increasingly common "Japan only, no one else should ever touch the series, also the Japanese fandom is the only one with good people in it, I was born in the wrong country uwu" mentality on the other side.

And... I don't like that I've brought these concerns up so many times before when I know it'll always fall on deaf ears. Why do I do this? Why do I bother? For the fandom, I guess. But if the fandom doesn't even respect me, if my words are always doomed to ring in an empty hallway, why should I bother?

While all this has been going on, the Paper Mario Thousand-Year Door remake has been on my mind quite a bit, as it has been for a lot of folk. As someone who has always loved TTYD, as well as the original N64 Paper Mario, I'm happy to report that I absolutely adore the remake, and quickly considered it a gold standard as far as faithful remakes go. :) There's a lot of reasons for that, but that's best for another time. Anyway, after a certain point, it occurred to me... hasn't it been a while since I've been able to just relax and join in on the hype for something? Hasn't it been a while since my opinion lined up with that of the majority? Hasn't it been a while since, regardless of not actually posting, I felt like I belonged somewhere, and wasn't being made to constantly feel like I'm worthless because I'm not an artist, animator, etc?

I think this is something I've been needing for a long time now. The irony of it coming from the bing bing wahoo man is not lost on me.

After how the past few years in the Sonic fandom have felt like a classroom more than anything, watching everyone repeat the same Why ___ Is Secretly Good/Bad three hour manifestos over and over, and flogging themselves for being Not-Japanese, can you see why the simple pleasures of "hehe Vivian :3" would appeal to me? Can you see why I'd prefer to unwind? I made a valiant effort, but now, I can't force myself to keep up with shit that I'm not passionate about for the sake of a community that doesn't care about what I have to say anyway. I need to find myself a place on here that I can be at ease with.

So what does this mean for my blog? Well, nothing too jarring, just that my focus may shift a little for the time being. Despite what all of the above may imply, I'm not turning in my Sonic badge. I still love the franchise, even if I'm not so fond of its overall current direction. And obviously, I still love Eggman, that'll never change. I'll still answer asks about the series, talk about things I like, reblog stuff I like, work on Stellar, spread Egg Propaganda, and so on. But unless I'm asked about them in certain contexts (ie: "how would you improve this character"?), I refuse to talk about IDW, Frontiers, or anything else whose contents and fandom circles cause me migraines.

Not because toxic positivity, but because after the joy of gushing over Vivian TTYD, and remembering the feeling of belonging, I can't do this again. I can't change Tails calling himself Wildly Inconsistent. I can't change The End being a nothingburger. I can't change Lanolin being an arsehole. I can't change Surge's shilling. I can't change how unprofessional the IDW crew is. I can't change what they're doing with Eggman, and various other characters. I can't change any of these things, no matter how much I or anyone else rants about them, and half the time, no one is seriously listening anyway. So many words for so little results. So I need to move on, stop wasting my time, and turn my attention on things that actually make me happy instead of just... deflated. Maybe if I do that, I can belong again. Maybe when the direction inevitably changes again in the future, it'll feel like it came faster.

So yeah. That's where I'm at now. I hope you guys can understand.

[tatertato]

life series smp winners playlists part 1

okay so i've been just absolutely brainrotting over this for like weeks now and its time to finally post it!

i've basically just been compiling songs that i think fit each of the life series winners, and they're either songs i've seen work really really well in animatics already or songs that would probably work really well, but are less popular or not associated with this fandom (yet)

i'll be linking+listing them here as well as providing little snippets of explanation for why i think the song fits, but i don't feel like making actual spotify playlists or smth, so if anyone else wants to do that, be my guest.

ofc i still had trouble finding good songs for some of them- if anyone seeing this has a good idea that i missed, lmk and i'll update these posts (no promises tho)

i was originally gonna put all of them into one post, but fortunately i have come to my senses, so this is part 1. here we go!

update:

pt 2 (LL!scott)

pt 3 (DL!pearl)

3rd Life: Grian

Eighth Wonder - Lemon Demon: this song gives major Watcher!Grian vibes imo

Extra clever Earth-bound spirit Ghost in the form Of a mongoose (watcher in the form of a player)

Hello, I'm here I'm living in the wall I know I might be small (common headcanons of short grian, also living surrounded by cactus walls!)

Jim, let me go I watch like Hell (self-explanatory)

2. A Big Day for Grimley - AJJ: this one is because of this animatic, and also the lyrics fit the characters almost too well

I went back to the desert, little Midwest in me And now I am colder than I used to be (it feels like him reflecting on his experiences in 3L)

I came back to the desert, and the desert came into me And now there’s a quietness, and it’s deafening (returned to the desert for the final duel, and now that he's the only one left, the absence of his partner is deafening)

i could go on much longer about this song, but i feel like the animatic sums it up really well so GO WATCH THAT GO GO GO

3. Take Me to War - The Crane Wives: i know that everyone and their mother has done desertduo crane wives, but i've yet to see anyone use this song, which is a shame since its one of my favorites!

I've earned myself a reputation That my bark is much worse than my bite But I keep snapping at Goliath's hands With all of my tiny might (technically, he's not red, and also his traps keep failing, so the threats are pretty empty, but that will not stop him from being a menace)

Take me to war Honey, I dare you I'll be the sweetest thing To ever scare you Give me a fight I can't resist Give me something to break with my fists Take me to war Honey, I dare you (same thing as the last one, but i had to put the chorus in this post, it's just too perfect)

So I will leave it where it's standing And instead I will find me a match I'll turn it all to kindling I'll burn it all down to ash (we love a bit of arson in this fandom)

4. Community Gardens - The Scary Jokes: this is watcher!grian again, sorry not sorry- i do have a really vivid image in my head of an animatic for this song tho (the brainrot goes deep, i cannot escape)

Full disclosure, I am a monster A creature of despair, not that that should be a cause for concern (its so watcher coded im gnawing on the walls)

You'll be fine, you honeycomb Who could ever hurt you? Who could be so cold? You'll be fine, oh, honey pie Who could ever hurt you? Who could be so unkind? (ok so remember when i said i had an animatic idea about two sentences ago? ya. so i imagine this part as watcher!grian going through and causing the final deaths of all the winners (except scar we'll get there i promise) for instance, smiting scott at the end of LL, severing pearl's soulmate string in DL, and checking the time left before killing martyn in LimL)

The culmination of man's mistakes came the day The sun ran so hot, it turned the desert to glass (this is the whole "hail mary" thing where they blew up the whole desert and still didn't kill anyone)

If there's something to be learned from all these losers It's that the price that you pay For arrogance and a false sense of immunity Is to face the wrath of a dying star (false sense of immunity is scar's no kill passes, reputation points, etc., which really didn't mean all that much in the end (see: Bdubs))

5. Passerine - The Oh Hellos: aside from the obvious bird symbolism (passerine are songbirds), the overall theme of this song fits the character pretty well! (i think it could also apply to DL jimmy if you squint)

You were the song that I'd always sing You were the light that the fire would bring But I can't shake this feeling that I was only Pushing the spear into your side again (3L typical desert/light/sun/fire imagery, with a bonus helping this time of 3L typical self doubt and/or survivor's guilt! you love to see it)

My palms and fingers still reek of gasoline From throwing fuel to the fire of that Greco-Roman dream Purifying the holy rock to melt the gilded seams It don't bring me relief, no it don't bring me nothing (more arson what can i say- also the hollow existentialism that comes with killing your friends)

When he comes a knocking at my door What am I to do, What am I to do, oh lord (ok i like to imagine this line as grian realizing that scar's SL win means he goes to hang out with the winners now, meaning uhoh reunion time! that's about to be awkward!)

6. Do It All The Time - IDKHBTFM: yeah i know it doesn't seem like it fits at first, but i think parts of it captures the spontaneous silliness of 3L pretty well

No reason why I'm only doing anything I want to do Because I do it all the time We're taking over the world A little victim-less crime (making monopolies (or trying to) really just because)

Now we're so young But we're probably gonna die It's so fun We're so good at selling lies (this one's pretty on the nose, but you get the idea)

and that's all for grian! stay tuned for LL!scott next!