#but at the very least I’m gonna pitch it to my group hat in case 2 or 3 of them wanna go in on a place

[delphiniumarchangelmoon]

Me: I’m moving to the countryside with my aging father!

Zillow: three bed two bath big kitchen near a park for under $150k. If you’re willing to settle for 2 bedrooms there’s a couple options under $100k

Me: ……………….

[theres-an-impulstor-among-us]

I’m back! With more oneshot suggestions! Woo!

Please, if you have the ability to, supply me with alter brainrot. Here’s a basic plot outline (I always come prepared lol):

BadTimes has finally been banned. After years of antics with his counterpart, he finally stepped over the line. He doesn’t know what he did, all he knows is that it was too much. He gets dragged out of the void by EX and Hels, who also want to apologize to their counterparts. The three set out on a short flangsty journey of misunderstood-ness and attempts at proving themselves worthy of forgiveness.

;)

Now THIS was a lot of fun to write! Ended up being very long tho so I’m sorry about that, but I hope the quality is still good. I also hope you like the ending, even though it went off in a different direction than I originally intended :)

...

  “He’s there! He’s right there! Just grab him!”

  “It’s harder than it looks, okay?! Back off!” 

  He gasped as he felt himself get wrenched back into existence. Stumbling as his feet touched the ground, he pitched forwards and would have fallen over if he hadn’t been caught by a pair of strong arms.

  “Easy, man,” came a British-accented voice. “Easy. Just breathe, alright? Breathe.” 

  He took in a few gulping breaths, his oxygen-starved lungs drinking in the fresh air, and closed his eyes against the dizziness that was threatening to topple him. He widened his stance slightly, his shaky legs strengthening by the second. 

  Finally, he opened his eyes and found himself looking at two people. One was wearing a familiar helmet and the other was dressed in full armour. They both looked almost exactly like two people he knew very well.

  “Who are you?” he asked.

  “You first,” said the helmeted one, identifying them as the British-accented one who had caught him earlier. 

  “My name is BadTimesWithScar,” he said. “You can call me BadTimes, or  just Bad.”

  Bad could see a spark of interest in the helmeted person’s eyes, even through the visor. “You’re GoodTimesWithScar’s evil counterpart?” They circled Bad, looking him up and down. “I guess I should’ve expected that, huh? Considering you look almost exactly like him.”

  “In that case, am I to assume you guys are Xisuma and Welsknight’s evil clones?” said Bad. 

  The helmeted being nodded. “Sure am. I’m Evil Xisuma, but you can call me EX.” 

  “Hi, I’m Helsknight,” blurted out the armour-clad one. “I like rap battles and medieval-style architecture.”

  Bad stared at him.

  “I’ve been making him do group therapy,” EX explained tiredly. “He was utterly obsessed with violence and destruction when he got here. It got a little too much to handle after a while.”

  “Speaking of which, where is “here”?” Bad asked, staring around at the blank world they were standing in. 

  EX shrugged. “It doesn’t really have a name. It’s the place I ended up after I got banned by Xisuma.”

  “B-Banned?! Wait a sec…” Bad frowned as memories came back to him. “How did I get here?”

  “Well, I pulled you out of the void,” said EX. “That’s where people go when they get banned.” They jerked their thumb at Hels. “I fished him out of the void too a few weeks ago.”

  “I tried to kill them,” said Hels helpfully.

  EX nodded wearily. “He did.” 

  “Wait, wait.” Bad stared at the two in shock. “Does this mean… I’VE been banned?!”

  “Yup.” EX spread their arms wide. “Welcome to the banishment club.”

  “What did you do to get banned?” Hels asked eagerly. “Did you destroy stuff? Kill someone? Try to take over the server? I did that, by the way.”

  “I…” Bad hesitated, his shoulders drooping. “I don’t know.”

  Frowning, EX and Hels exchanged a look. “How do you not know?” the former asked slowly. “Surely you must have done something bad enough to get flung into the void permanently.” 

  Bad shook his head. “Look, you guys are legendary on the server. So legendary I didn’t even believe you existed. Everyone knows the evil stuff you guys did to get banned, but I’m not like that. I like spreading mischief and pranking people. That’s what I exist to do; it’s literally what Scar created me for. So the fact that I’ve somehow crossed the line without even realising what I did is beyond worrying.” His eyes widened in fear. “Oh no, did I hurt Scar?! Oh no, oh no… I gotta… I gotta go apologise to him!” 

  EX caught him by the wrist as he tried to dash off. “Hold on, there. You’ve been banned, remember? You can’t just waltz back onto the server.”

  “There has to be another way!”

  “There is, there is.” EX gave him a serious look. “But it’s risky. Going back to a server you’ve been banned from can be more trouble than it’s worth. If someone sees you before you get the chance to talk to Scar… Well, let’s just say there’s worse punishments than just being banned.”

  “I have to see Scar,” said Bad determinedly. “I have to find out what I did and apologise for it. Are you two gonna help me or not?”

  After a moment, EX said, “I’m up for sneaking back onto Hermitcraft. I’d like to apologise to Xisuma for… uh… the incident that got me banned. What about you, Hels?”

  “I just wanna have another rap battle with Wels,” Hels said. 

  Bad frowned at him. “Are you… you know… alright? In the head?”

  Hels stuck up both his thumbs. “Nope!” he said cheerfully. “Thinking about rap battles and medieval-style architecture is the only thing keeping my taste for blood at bay.”

  A pause followed his words.

  “Wonderful,” EX sighed. “Remind me to join you in group therapy next time; it doesn’t seem to be working all that well. Anyway, time to sneak back onto Hermitcraft. Let’s get going.”

…

  “Are you sure this is the right way?” asked Bad, unable to see even his companions in the pitch black tunnel. “Who even put this tunnel here? And where does it lead?”

  “I’m not taking questions about secret tunnels and whether or not I know where I’m going,” came EX’s voice from the front of the group. “Something tells me the answers won’t alleviate your fear.”

  Thoroughly unnerved by this, Bad leant forward slightly to address Hels, who was walking between him and EX. “Hey Hels, what are you gonna do when we get back to Hermitcraft?”

  “I’m gonna apologise to Wels for trying to take over the server, explain to him that group therapy has helped me calm my bloodlust, and then destroy him in a rap battle.” 

  Bad sighed quietly. “Well… at least you’ve got a plan.”

  “Up here,” called EX after a few more minutes. 

  Light was starting to shine through the end of the tunnel. As Bad followed EX and Hels out, blinking against the light, he recognised the place they had ended up. 

  “Wait, is this the Mycelium Resistance headquarters?” he said.

  EX shrugged. “Don’t ask me; I’ve never been in this world before. I got banned on the last one and I’ve never had a reason to sneak back. That being said, what on earth is the Mycelium Resistance?”

  “Oh, it’s a loooong story. But the good thing is nobody uses this base anymore, so we should be safe down here if we need to flee from an angry mob of Hermits. Which we will.”

  “That’s the spirit,” EX responded wryly. “So which way out?”

  Bad led the other two towards the giant hole in the wall. “We can get out this way. I remember Scar brought me down here to show me the excellent work he and his government buddies did at destroying the rebel base.”

  “Government?” repeated EX confusedly.

  “Oh, yeah, Scar’s the mayor. You didn’t know that?”

  EX shook their head. “Like I said, I’ve never been in the Season 7 world. Not properly, anyway. Not enough to know the ins and outs of what’s going on.”

  The group made it to the surface of the shopping district. Bad could see the town hall nearby. “Okay, I’m gonna go see Scar.”

  “Good luck,” said EX. “I’ll wander around and see if I bump into Xisuma.”

  “I’ll take you to his flower farm,” Hels offered. “I went there once to hide from Wels and steal some flowers. Didn’t work; he caught me and banned me.”

  “Well, hopefully history won’t repeat itself.” 

  Bad left his new friends behind and headed to the town hall, keeping a wary eye out for any Hermits nearby. He didn’t see anyone around, but that didn’t mean nobody was there. 

  But thankfully, he made it to the town hall undetected and entered quietly. He found Scar just inside, polishing the diamond throne. The mayor glanced up, his eyes widening when he registered his evil clone standing there. “Bad? Oh my gosh, I… What happened to you? Where’s your hat?”

  Bad’s hands flew to his head, realising for the first time that he didn’t have his hat anymore. “It must have fallen off in the void. Scar, I got banned and I don’t know why.”

  “You were banned?! And you still came back here?!” Scar shook his head. “You need to leave before Xisuma finds you.”

  “But I-!”

  “No, just go! Before we get into trouble.” 

  “I just want to know why I was banned,” said Bad desperately. “Then I’ll go right back to where I came from and I’ll never bother you again. I promise.”

  Scar hesitated, a conflicted look on his face. Finally, he said, “I’m sorry. I didn’t actually think X was gonna do it.”

  Bad frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “Back during the war, I was under a lot of stress. I did things I’m not exactly proud of. Eventually, I realised that what I was doing… was making me more like you. I couldn’t handle that, so I went to Xisuma and asked if he could get you out of the way so people didn’t notice I was turning into you. I didn’t-.”

  “Wait, wait, wait…!” Bad waved his hands to stop his counterpart. “Let me get this straight… You got me banned because you were afraid you were becoming evil, like me?”

  Scar nodded slowly. “I swear, I didn’t think he was actually gonna ban you.”

  “What else did you expect the server admin to do?!” snapped Bad.

  “I don’t know! I’m sorry, Bad, really!”

  “If you’re really sorry, then go to Xisuma and explain you want me unbanned!”

  To Bad’s surprise and dismay, Scar shook his head. “I can’t do that. I’m sorry, but I’m the mayor; a good mayor now. A good mayor can’t have an evil clone of himself on the server anymore. I really am sor-.”

  “Oh, stop saying you’re sorry!” Bad’s voice cracked. “I can’t believe this! After all these years of funny pranks and harmless shenanigans, you’re just tossing me aside?”

  “Bad, you’re not harmless,” Scar snapped back. “You don’t realise it, but you’ve caused some real damage over the years. You’ve destroyed things, killed people, upset people, caused irreparable damage to the server. The only reason Xisuma hasn’t banned you sooner is because I kept standing up for you. Did you seriously never notice the fact that I was the only Hermit who ever had kind words for you? You never noticed the other Hermits glaring at you in the shopping district or walking the other way when you came by?”

  Bad stared at Scar in shock and horror. “N-No, I… I didn’t… Scar, I… I never meant to cause bad things.”

  “Your name literally contains the phrase “Bad Times”!”

  “I-I can change, Scar!” Bad was almost physically begging at this point. “I can change, I promise! I can be worthy of forgiveness if you give me a chance.”

  Scar firmly shook his head. “You’re an evil Hermit and you always will be. I’m sorry, but there’s no place on the server for you. Not anymore.”

  Red hot anger started to build inside Bad. “No, you… you can’t do this to me. After everything we’ve been through, you can’t just decide I don’t belong here anymore!”

  Scar took a step back, away from Bad. “Just get outta here before I call Xisuma to deal with you.”

  Bad hesitated.

  In the ensuing pause, a loud crash sounded from outside. 

  Seizing his chance, Bad snatched the hat from Scar’s head and dashed out of the town hall. When he got outside, he found Xisuma and EX locked in a battle just outside the building. Xisuma appeared to be winning. 

  Bad dashed down the stairs and slammed right into Xisuma, sending the admin tumbling to the ground. Before Xisuma could recover, Bad grabbed EX’s hand and pulled them back towards the shopping district.

  “Where’s Hels?” Bad demanded. 

  “I sent him back to the tunnel. Whether he’s still there, I don’t know. Bad, what happened?”

  “I’ll explain later.”

  The two jumped down the secret entrance to the base and rushed back towards the entrance to the tunnel. 

  “Hey, guys.” Hels emerged from one of the rooms, holding an armful of mycelium. “They have purple grass here.”

  Letting go of EX’s hand, Bad beckoned to Hels. “C’mon, we’re getting outta here.” 

  “Can I bring the purple grass?” 

  “Will it help distract you from, as you put it, your bloodlust?” EX inquired.

  Hels beamed. “Yes.”

  “Alright, then, yes. You can bring the… uh… purple grass.”

  As the evil Hermits made their way back through the tunnel, EX eventually decided to break the silence. “So… Long story short, Xisuma didn’t forgive me. How’d it go with Scar?”

  “Scar got me banned because he was afraid of turning into me,” replied Bad shortly. “And he refuses to get it reversed because he’s afraid having an evil clone whom everyone on the server hates will damage his image as mayor.”

  A pause followed. 

  “Oof, that’s rough,” EX remarked sympathetically. “What are you going to do now?”

  “There’s nothing else I CAN do. I’ve been banned and the only person on the server who might stick up for me is refusing to do so. I guess that means I’m stuck with you two permanently.”

  Another pause. 

  “I didn’t even get to have another rap battle with Wels,” said Hels sadly. 

  “Hey.” EX stopped at the very end of the tunnel, turning back to face their friends. “Let’s all quit moping. We tried asking for forgiveness and it didn’t work. No more grovelling, no more trying to change, no more stupid group therapy. We’re evil Hermits, right?”

  “Yeah!” cheered Hels. 

  “And evil Hermits want to spread chaos and destruction, right? We should be who we are, without worrying what our counterparts will think of us. They’ve rejected us, so now they think we’re no longer their problem. Let’s show them how wrong they are. Let’s show them how evil we can really be.”

  “YEAH!” Hels whooped, his red eyes flashing dangerously. “BLOODLUST!”

  “We’re not straight-up murdering people, though, Hels,” added EX sternly. “That’s not the kind of chaos we spread.”

  “Oh.” Hels settled down. “Okay. Fair enough.”

  Chuckling quietly, EX turned to Bad. “What do you say?”

  After a moment, a grin spread over Bad’s face and he swept Scar’s hat onto his head. “I say let’s do it. If Scar says I’m evil, who am I to deny it?”

  “Exactly.” EX slung one arm over Bad’s shoulders and the other over Hels’s, grinning at their evil compatriots. “It’s time to be the evil Hermits we were created to be.”

[spicykoreantatertots]

Camp Blue Side - Part Three

Pairing: Jung Hoseok x Reader

Genre: Summer Camp AU, Non Idol AU

Rating: 18+ (eventual smut)

Word Count: 5.5k

Warnings: Swearing, angst, (more in future parts)

Summary: Last summer, sparks flew between you and Hoseok. He had an unforgettable smile, and you were putty in his hands. By the end of the summer, promises were made and you shared your phone number. But he never called. This summer, you're back at camp with a vengeance. Ghosted or not, you're ready for some friendly competition. He may be a Camp Blue Side veteran, but you won't back down.

Notes: This fic has been updated and is now part of the Summer of Love Collab! Please join us as we finish summer strong with seven summer themed fics!

Summer of Love Masterlist

Banner: @sunshinejunghoseokie​

Camp Blue Side - Part One - Part Two - Part Three - Part Four

~~~~~~~

How did it come to this?

You are walking slowly to the camp office where you will meet with Hoseok and the LCT. The two of you will likely be reprimanded, but could she fire you? Would she fire you halfway through camp? She’s had a stick up her ass all summer, but would she actually go as far to remove you from Team Two?

This isn’t who you are, the yelling and screaming. But the competition, wanting to crush Hoseok, has affected you too much. It’s affecting the kids too, and it honestly makes you sick. As you drag your feet to the meeting, the events of the past three weeks unfold clearly in your mind.

~~~~~~~

Kick Ball

“Who wants to beat Team One?!” You shout to a crowd of campers, and they cheer in response. You’ve got a great group of campers this year. It’s still day one, so everyone is still pumped and not too tired to give it their all.

Jessica, an athletic 13 year old, is up to pitch the kickball to Team One’s first kicker. The anticipation builds as she finds her grip on the rubber ball. Hoseok is muttering something to his kicker, some kind of pep talk as he walks up to the plate.

“Great pitch!” Mack yells as Jessica throws the ball down to home plate. Hoseok’s kicker strikes himself out and you’ve never been so stoked to see a child fail to kick a ball. You wouldn’t let them see it, but you’re beaming inside.

“Yes! Great job Jessica!” You cheer from the sidelines.

“That’s alright Braden, you’ll get it next time buddy!” Hoseok comforts his kicker as he returns to the back of the line. You feel a little tug on your shirt and look behind you to see a short boy looking up at you. What is his name again?

“Y/N, can I pitch in the next inning?” The scrawny boy asks. Jessica has already managed to strike someone out, taking her off the pitching mound would risk the game.

“Well, uh, champ, let’s see how Jessica does and then we’ll decide, okay?” As the words come out of your mouth, you feel dirty. You know this isn’t what camp is about.

But Jessica strikes out two more players from Hoseok’s team before they can score any points. Hoseok has his back turned to you, talking to his players, but Yeonjun looks frustrated already and that feels fucking great.

“Let’s keep it going! Who are my strong kickers?” You ask everyone, not addressing the camper in front of you again. The boy sulks away, and doesn’t ask to pitch again.

~~~~~~~

Egg & Spoon Race

An American classic event, the egg and spoon race. It is simple, but by no means is it easy. Especially not when the spoons are held by uncoordinated children. Luckily, Seokjin protested the waste of real eggs and the kids are using ping pong balls instead. So at least there won’t be a huge mess.

The first week of camp is almost over and you’ve had the chance to get to know your campers a little more. Currently they are taking turns running down the field with the spoon. They have to run down the field and come back to tag the next person in line. So far, they are pretty even with their opponents, Team One and Team Three.

“Hey, Y/N, Jakobi said he doesn’t want to do this activity, what should I do?” Mack asks.

Jakobi, poor Jakobi. He was the kid that you turned down for pitching in kickball earlier this week.

“I’ll go talk to him.” You reply. He is standing out of the line of campers, and you jog over to him. “Hey buddy, what’s going on?”

“I don’t want to play this game.” He sulks. “I’m not fast enough.” His explanation hits you in the chest. This is your fault, isn’t it?

“This game isn’t about being fast! It’s about having a steady hand.” You reply cheerfully.

“What do you mean?” He asks, looking up at you with his big brown eyes.

“Here, hold your hands out like this.” You put your hands out in front of you, and he follows suit. “See, your hands are frozen, not moving at all! You won’t drop the egg, and that’s more important than being fast.”

Jakobi, pleased with this response, gets back in line and waits for his turn to help the team. You hadn’t been paying attention to the race for a few minutes, but it looks like your team has actually managed to pull ahead of Hoseok’s.

“Alright Jakobi! You got this!” You cheer as he gets tagged in. Jakobi begins walking down the field. Slowly. “Maybe a little faster, champ!” You cheer again.

“You said I could go slow!” He stops in the middle of the field to talk to you.

“You can, you can! Just keep going please.” You try to reassure him, but you know the smile isn’t convincing.

“Ja-kob-i. Ja-kob-i.” You begin chanting, and the rest of your team does as well. Jakobi, still walking at a slow pace, makes it to the end of the field without dropping the egg, now he’s just got to make it back.

Unfortunately, Hoseok’s team is now on their last few campers. You look over and see Hoseok grinning like a fool. He’s pleased because he knows he’s going to win. You can feel the urge to scream at Jakobi to run, but before you do you lock eyes with him.

He’s beaming.

“I didn’t drop it!” Jakobi celebrates as he finally returns to his team and tags the next person in line.

“You did a great job Jakobi!” You smile and give him a high-five. Your team may lose this game, but at least they all played.

Team One’s last player crosses the finish line, then Team Three’s, then Team Two’s. The winning team cheers gleefully, celebrating their victory. The campers disperse from today’s Team Game and head to their cabins to get ready for dinner.

Hoseok is collecting the supplies from the game to return to the equipment. Your kids handed you the spoon and ping pong ball, so you have to hand it over to him. He’s already walking toward you to gather the supplies.

He’s wearing a white tank top and his beige bucket hat. Somehow he makes it look like high fashion. Just a few days into camp and he’s already gotten a tan. His golden skin glows in the sunlight.

“Hey Y/N, great game.” He laughs, words dripping with sarcasm. You stop about five feet away from him and drop the spoon and ping pong ball on the grass before walking away. “Come on, don’t be a sore loser.”’

“Don’t be a sore winner, Hobi.”

It stops you dead in your tracks. The nickname that you called him last summer just slipped out in your frustration. A lump forms in your throat, and before you can even think about what to do, your feet are running away from him.

~~~~~~~

The Prank

Early in the week, a few counselor’s decided to sneak into cabin 13. Of course Jimin and Jungkook were involved, along with the two female counselor’s they’ve been wooing. Seokjin told you that they were found out because they ran screaming from the cabin after they saw a ghost.

Cabin 13, the long abandoned cabin at the edge of camp, has been used for smoking weed, secret rendezvous, and pranks. Officially, it’s on standby in case the infirmary fills up or if something contagious breaks out.

Several times last summer, you and Hoseok snuck out about a couple hours after lights out to chill and smoke weed. The weed he brought to camp wasn’t very strong, so it really just took the edge of things. The conversations you had there are what cemented your romance. He loved to talk about the stars and what lies beyond them, and it filled the air with mystery.

“Guys, guys! Guess what!” Ryujin approaches you and Seokjin outside the Mess Hall, just after dinner.

“What is it? I don’t like to guess.” Seokjin responds.

“Yeonjun asked me to meet him at cabin 13.” She’s beaming. Her excitement reminds you of the feeling you had when Hoseok first asked you to go there with him.

“Shh!” Seokjin hushes her. “Don’t let anyone hear you say that. Especially not those two.” He adds, pointing at Namjoon and the LCT.

“What? I thought you guys went there.”

“Yeah, sometimes. It’s an open secret, but you still don’t want to get caught there.” You explain.

“Being out past curfew is technically against the rules too, and Namjoon is a stickler for it.” Seokjin adds.

“Oh, well... Hoseok will be there too, he goes there like twice a week. We’ll be careful!” Ryujin turns and walks away.

“Did you hear that Jin?” You ask, a devious smile spreading across your face.

“Oh god, what are you thinking?” Seokjin replies nervously.

“Well, as Lead Counselor of this fine establishment, I think you should be in charge of ghost hunting.”

“Ghost hunting?” He questions.

It wasn’t quite ghost hunting you had in mind, actually. But manufacturing a ghost. One thing you know about Hoseok is that he firmly believes in spirits. It’s honestly surprising that he’s still willing to visit cabin 13 after Jungkook claimed to have seen a ghost there.

A little after midnight, Seokjin taps lightly on the door of your cabin. You open the door slowly and tiptoe out, white sheet in tow.

“What is that? They’re not gonna fall for that.” Seokjin whispers.

“Yes they will, once we prime them for it.” You respond.

Sneaking across camp is a little nerve-racking, but you manage to make it to the side of camp with the boys cabin and then to the north side of camp when cabin 13 is located. You hold up your hand to stop Seokjin from moving any closer.

Holding a finger up to your lip, you signal him to be quiet so you can listen. You can hear giggling coming from the dark cabin, they’re in there.

“Let’s move.” Your whisper is barely audible.

As you approach the cabin, you can hear the group more clearly. Yeonjun is giggling and Ryujin is coughing. Hoseok, is muttering something you can’t make out. His voice is monotone, mellow. Seokjin and you lean up against the side of the cabin, under the window on the back wall.

“Okay so what’s the plan?” Seokjin whispers.

“We’re going to start by making scratching noises and thumping noises, then you’ll get in position.” You explain.

“What do you mean I’ll be getting into position?!” Seokjin whisper-shouts.

“Shh! Did you hear that?” Hoseok asks from inside the cabin.

“No, what was it?” Yeonjun asks, holding back his giggles.

“Just thought I heard something.”

Seokjin rolls his eyes and takes the sheet and wraps it around his shoulders. You search the ground and pick up a stray stick. You tap it against the wall a few times, but there’s no reaction from it. Instead of tapping it, you decide to scrape it against the wall slowly.

“Okay I heard it that time too.” Ryujin says.

“There must be something outside.” Hoseok replies, voice wavering.

“Yeah, it’s probably just an animal.” Yeonjun says.

You motion for Seokjin to cover himself with the sheet and crouch in front of the window, ready to jump. There is some whispering inside, so you decide to bang your fist against the wall loudly.

“Fuck!” Hoseok shouts.

“Just look out the window, it’s an animal!” Yeonjun replies. You hear some hesitant footsteps inching closer, then Seokjin springs up from the ground.

“GHOST!” Hoseok wails, and then you can hear the three of them scrambling to get out of the door on the other side of the cabin. The footsteps fade away as they sprint back to their respective cabins.

You and Seokjin fall on the ground, shaking with laughter.

“I can’t believe it worked” Seokjin gasps for air between laughs.

You stand from the ground after the laughter settles. Standing on your toes, you peer into the cabin window.

“Oh shit he left his bag of blunts! He must have really been scared.”

The two of you walk around to the front of the cabin and inspect the cabin. There’s a few empty beer cans and chip bags and the bag of blunts.

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” You say, and Seokjin smiles.

~~~~~~~

Red Rover

In the heat of the afternoon, your campers are lined up across the field from their competitors, Team One. After a long day of singing, crafting, and other various outdoor activities, your campers are exhausted. It’s a triple digit day, and even you can’t deny that you’re feeling sluggish.

Red rover is a simple enough game, but Team One has more older boys and you’re afraid that your team won’t stand a chance, especially when they would much rather be cooling off in their cabins. Mack is currently attempting to give everyone a pep talk.

“I think we’re ready, Team One!” Mack yells across the field to Hoseok and Yeonjun. Both groups of campers hold hands with each other and prepare to hang on tight.

“Y’all won the last game, so go ahead and start us off!” Yeonjun announces.

“Let’s call for Tony.” You say in a loud whisper to your campers. You don’t trust them to pick an appropriate runner from the other team.

“Let them play.” Mack hisses at you. You look over at him, puzzled. “They are tired and you just need to let them play.” He must be grumpy from the heat.

“Fine, fine.” You raise your arms defensively.

“Red rover, red rover, let Tony come over!” Team Two shouts in unison. Tony, one of the smaller boys on Team One, does his best to sprint the distance between the two lines of campers. He tries his best, but does not manage to break through the bond on Team Two, so he is added to the line.

“Red rover red rover, let Hyuka come over!” Team One’s rebuttal is to take another small boy. Team Two naturally cheers for Hyuka as he runs over to Team One and he is successful in breaking through. He grabs a member of Team One and drags them over to your team.

“Great job guys! Keep it up!” You’re a little surprised that your team is actually winning right now.

After a few more rounds of red rover, the kids are really starting to sweat in the heat. But Team Two is still winning! Even after Jessica got taken into Team One.

“Hey campers, why don’t we go ahead and grab some ice pops in the Mess Hall!” Namjoon enthuses, practically sneaking up behind you.

“What? No! We’re winning!” You protest.

“Y/N,” Namjoon says, tilting his head at you. “It’s over one hundred degrees out here.”

“Ah... yes. Let’s go inside!” It’s embarrassing to let Namjoon catch you not putting the kids first. Even more embarrassing to watch him write something down his clipboard before motioning for the campers to follow him back to the Mess Hall.

“God, can you believe that?” You whisper to Mack, letting a good amount of distance fall between you and the flock of campers.

“You know, I honestly can’t believe you.” Mack stops in his tracks, glaring at you.

“What?” You gulp.

“Listen, you know I want to win games as much as the next guy, but you’re not putting campers first anymore. We’re almost halfway through the summer and you’re letting your stupid competition with Hoseok ruin the summer for our kids. I’m tired of it, Y/N.”

You’re completely speechless. You’ve never heard Mack yell at anyone before and now here he is, and Junior Counselor, berating you for ruining the summer?

“Just do better.” Mack says before jogging to catch up with the campers.

~~~~~~~

Freeze Tag

“If you see one of your teammates get frozen, make sure you help them get unfrozen. Does everyone understand?” All the campers agree to the rules of the game, and to the small bit of strategy you offered up.

This time, your team isn’t just up against Team One, but Team Three as well. It’s every man for himself, last man standing, truly a free for all. Though, you’re not too worried about Team Three. Their leaders are... distracted.

One of them is a young JC and the other is Jungkook’s new love interest. You don’t envy her. Every girl at this camp, campers and counselors, want a shot at Jungkook, but she’s the one who caught his eye. She did have an unfair advantage though, they were childhood friends or something like that.

“Ready, set, go!” The LCT yells and then blows her shiny whistle. The kids are off, scrambling every which way, trying not to get tagged. You are watching your campers closely, but they are getting tagged left and right.

“AVERY!” You shout at the top of your lungs. “Nikki is on your team, you don’t have to freeze! And Nikki, don’t tag your teammates! Ugh!” You should rather loudly. You shake your head and continue watching your team. You notice Hoseok talking to the LCT and she jots down something on her obnoxiously decorated clipboard.

She looks up from her notes and over at you, giving you a little nod. She walks away, clipboard in hand and you have a feeling she’ll be observing your activities a little more closely. Hoseok turns his attention back to the game.

His team is doing well, only a few of them seem to be frozen and the rest are still zooming around the field. Your team, however, is not following your advice. They’re too worried about being tagged to find teammates to unfreeze.

“Jessica, can you please go unfreeze some of your teammates?” You say as Jessica runs by your post. She stops and turns back to you.

“What did you say?” She asks.

“I said go unfreeze your teammates! Wait, look out!” Just as you’re explaining yourself, a Team Three camper comes up behind Jessica and freezes her. You let out a sigh. “That’s alright Jessica.”

“It’s just a game! Hopefully someone will come by and freeze you!” Mack jogs up to where you and Jessica are standing. “It’s just a game.” He says again, directly to you this time. He’s annoyed.

“I know you’re right, I just want to win.” You sigh.

“Well we have already lost. All of our campers are frozen.” Mack replies.

“WHAT!” You screech. Mack puts a firm hand on your shoulder as a reminder of his earlier words. You try to take a deep breath and you search the field to find Hoseok. He’s looking back at you, a smug grin on his face.

~~~~~~~

Flag Football

The rules of traditional American football have always gone over your head. The flag version of the game is a little more simple, but you still opt to let Hoseok explain the game to both teams. You’re listening intently to his explanation, and he’s doing an annoyingly good job of putting it in terms that the kids (and you) can understand.

Once his explanation is completed, all four team leaders help the campers put on their flag belts. They could probably do it themselves, but everyone wants to make sure that the belts are as secure as possible.

“Huddle up!” Mack calls to your team and everyone forms a circle around him as he doles out assignments for offensive players and defensive players. He was very insistent on doing this part himself. Perhaps it’s because he’s a football buff, but it seems more likely that he wants to evenly spread the assignments and doesn’t trust you to do it.

Mack has been taking more of a leadership role on the team because he thinks you are compromising the team due to your own selfish desire to win. It’s hard to admit, but you know he’s right to some degree.

The teams are lined up across the field from each other, Team One starting with the ball. Your team’s defensive line up is good. Yeonjun blows his whistle and the game begins. Bodies are running all around the field, every which way.

The kids are just aiming to grab flags, they aren’t being strategic at all. They are snapping flags left and right and before Team One can get their ball very far, more than half the field has been de-flagged.

“Wow, their lack of strategy is actually working for them this time.” You laugh.

“Yeah, it’s amazing what happens when you let kids be kids.” Mack chides.

You sulk away from him and walk down to the other end of the field to get some distance. From here, you’ve got a great view of Hoseok. Always wearing his bucket hat.

Suddenly, the whistle blows loudly and Hoseok sprints to the middle of the field where you notice that one of his kids is down. He’s clutching his knee and holding back tears. Hoseok runs to the child and takes a look at the injury.

It can’t be more than a scratch, but Hoseok scoops the camper up in his arms and walks him off the field. He comes to the Team Two side, simply because it’s the fastest way to get off the field.

“Do you want me to take you to the nurse to get a band aid or an ice pack?” He asks as he sets down the camper.

“No, I think I’m okay. Can I just sit out for now?” The camper replies.

“Of course you can, I’ll sit over here with you until it’s time to get ready for dinner.” Hoseok pats the camper’s back.  

Mack walks over to see how things are going and chats with Hoseok for a moment. He gives you a look.

“Are you taking notes?” He asks you loudly, in front of Hoseok and everyone. If you could give him the middle finger, you would.

~~~~~~~

The Obstacle Course

The heat between Team One and Team Two has hit an all time high. Earlier this week, your team scored bonus points by staying in the Mess Hall after dinner to scrub the tables after a particularly messy spaghetti night. But after hearing about this, Hoseok decided his team would take some of their free time to tidy up and organize the equipment storage room. This earned Team One even more points.

You’re determined to take him down at today’s obstacle course. It’s already been set up by Seokjin when the teams arrive. The LCT is here to observe the event.

There are different obstacle courses almost every week. This week, it’s your turn to demonstrate the steps for the kids. Crab walk here, hula hoop, hop on one leg, weave, run, skip, and sprint back to the start.

Once the demonstration has been completed, and you are thoroughly sweaty, Hoseok announces that he will flip a coin to see who gets to start off on the practice round.

“Heads, Team One, tails, Team Two!” You yell over at Hoseok and the LCT who are searching for a coin. She has one in her pocket and she flips the coin. Come on tails!

“Going first is... Team Two!” The LCT says, and you cheer. You always like having the edge and going first, even if it is just a practice round for now.

“Alright, Team Two, in a line!” You shout, leading the campers to the starting point. You decide to go through it again, showing them how it’s done one more time. Leading by example, pointing on the tricky parts as you go.

Hoseok is watching you closely. He’s learning too. When it’s his team’s turn to do a practice run of the course, he stands to the side and let’s them run it themselves. He points out the hard parts and cheers them on as they go. It’s frustrating how natural he is at these things.

Hoseok’s team lines back up, going first for the timed speed round. You feel nervous, you know they got through faster than your team, some of them are tired out now, so it will come down to can your campers pull this off and win?

“Alright, Team One, let’s go!” Hoseok cheers and his kids cheer back, letting him know they’re ready. “LCT - you’ve got the stopwatch!” He looks over at the LCT who is either doodling or jotting down notes on her colorful clipboard.

“Oh!” She says, grabbing her phone in her pocket. “Is this Grease? Do I wave a flag?”

“Just count down and say go.” You respond, rolling your eyes at her reference.

“On your mark, get set, go!” She yells.

Hoseok’s team gets off to a good start, but they have a few fumbles. Someone trips and another is painfully bad at hula hooping. It takes everything in you not to do a happy dance when one of Team One’s campers stops in the middle of his turn to slowly tie his shoe back up.

When it’s time again for your team’s turn, they all line up at the front. You and Mack cheer for them to get them hyped up, and now all you can do is hope for the best.

So far, not bad. They are all doing their best and that is surprisingly good. By your own mental clock, they are not far behind Hoseok. After Nikki finishes, Matthew will be up next, and of course you’re a little nervous. He’s notoriously clumsy, but he’s done fairly well this summer. Jessica is behind him and she will likely make up for any time he loses.

Matthew starts off strong with the crab walk, but anything that takes place on two feet slows him down a bit. The backwards running, though, is what takes him down. He trips and lands on his back on the grass.

“Get up!” You shout, trying your very best to sound encouraging. Get up! Keep going, come on! Just a step further! You can do it Matthew, come on!” By the time you finish your encouragement, it’s turned to full blown yelling. But Matthew is refusing to get up and he’s started crying.

You turn away for a moment, rubbing your eyes in frustration. At Matthew and at yourself.

“You can’t yell at a kid!” Hoseok snaps at you as he runs over to Matthew to comfort him. All of your team has huddle around him on the ground by the time you walk over.

“I didn’t! I thought he could have still gotten up!” You reply defensively.

“You yelled at him!” Hoseok reiterates.

“You yelled too!”

“I did not!” Hoseok replies, defending himself against your claim.

“You did! You’re the reason why we’re -”

“Leaders!” The LCT shouts from her post about ten feet away. You’re in trouble now.

“Yeah?” You ask, already tucking your tail between your legs.

“What’s up?” Hoseok asks.

“During your breaks, I will see you both in my office. Do not go to your cabins, do not hop to the Mess Hall for snack, do not stop and talk to anyone unless they are Seokjin or Namjoon, do you understand?” She is breathing fire. Scolding you in front of your campers. It’s embarrassing, but you can’t say you don’t deserve it.

Hoseok agrees and you can barely get a word out, so you just nod and mutter an agreement. The LCT instructs you to get back to the campers. Mack has already started walking Matthew to the infirmary.

Your campers look concerned, so you offer them a heartfelt apology. Hoseok suggests that everyone lines up together, both teams, and does one last run through the obstacle course for fun. You agree.

~~~~~~~

The Meeting

You know you deserve to be here at this meeting. Standing outside the office, you have a hard time taking any further steps. You don’t know what fate awaits you behind that door and you are not looking forward to finding out. Especially with Hoseok sitting next to you.

“Hey.” You jump. It’s Hoseok. “We should go in.” He says.

You take a deep breath and turn to look at him. Your competitor, your enemy, and previously your lover. His eyes are soft. He doesn’t look angry, just tired. He reaches past you and opens the door to the LCT’s office and let’s you step in first.

“Sit.” She says before you even have a moment to take in your surroundings. You’ve never been in this office before. You and Hoseok both slide into the chairs in front of the desk. She pauses for a moment and you look around the room. It’s just an office with supplies and paperwork. The only thing in the office that has any personality is the clipboards hanging on the wall behind her. A collection of decorated and personalized clipboards. How nerdy.

“Let’s talk about what hap -” The LCT starts.

“I just want to say that - that I didn’t mean to yell at him, and that I’m -” You cut her off, wanting to get ahead of the scolding. You know you’re in the wrong here.

“Do you plan on interrupting me this entire time?” She snaps at you, and you sit back in your chair, a little caught off guard.

“I’m sorry, I just, I made a mistake and I’m sorry.” You try again.

“Sorry for interrupting me or sorry for your behavior on the field?” She interrogates you.

“Both?” You reply, a little dumbfounded by her attitude. “I was just -”

“I don’t care what you were ‘just.’” She stops you again. You know you deserve punishment, but who pissed in her fruit salad? “What I witnessed today on the field was completely unacceptable. There is no situation, no occasion at Camp Blue Side where how you two interacted and treated your campers is acceptable. You are so lucky I was the one who witnessed it, instead of Seokjin or Namjoon.”

Hoseok is fidgeting next to you, but you’re paralyzed. You’ve never been spoken to like this from someone you considered a peer. And she’s wrong, if Seokjin had seen it, he would’ve been on your side.

“You are also so unbelievably lucky that your camper isn’t too scarred from your blatant disregard for his wellbeing. You must’ve been graced by the gods today, that all he suffered was a bump on his head and a scratched arm, because if it had been worse, a concussion, a broken bone, a skull fracture, there could’ve been legal ramifications.” She pauses and sighs before continuing. “I cannot believe that either of you have worked yourselves up to such a high level of competition and competitiveness that this was the result.”

“I didn’t mean to yell.” You whimper.

“We’re sorry it got out of hand.” Hoseok sighs.

“I feel awful.” You add.

“We were too into it.” Hoseok sighs, shaking his head.

“I don’t care what you were. That’s the inherent problem with you two, and I knew, I knew this was a possibility of having you on opposing teams, but I hoped it wouldn’t happen. I hoped you would be mature enough to handle this.”

“Hoped?” Hoseok questions.

“Yes, because clearly not only was I wrong, but Seokjin and Namjoon too. I don’t know what’s going on between the two of you, if it’s just tension, or some sexual repression, but what happened on that field is not Camp Blue Side.” Her words send a chill down your spine and a blush across your cheeks. How could she say that in front of him?

“You both have been here long enough to know what’s acceptable Camp behavior and what isn’t. I never thought I’d have to have this conversation with you, but this summer is full of nasty surprises. Do better, both of you. Now, get out.”

You and Hoseok waste no time in exiting that office and shutting the door behind you. All you want to do is run back to your cabin and bury your face in the pillow. But you know you owe Hoseok an apology.

“I’m sorry.”

“You better fucking be sorry.” Hoseok replies, bitterness coating his tongue. “And that will never happen again.” He adds before walking away.

It’s a slap in the face on top of a punch to the gut. You are guilty, there is no denying that, but you aren’t the only one. How dare he act like he didn’t start this whole thing. He ghosted you. All he had to do was say “Hey, sorry, I'm actually not interested.” But he didn’t even have the balls to do that.

You have to tone down the competitiveness, but this is certainly not over.

~~~~~~~

[bbyx]

in your dreams - part one

Summary: Remus Lupin is head over heels for Narcissa, but she’s not allowed to date until her sister (y/n) has a boyfriend. As a solution, Remus enlists Sirius to become (y/n)’s boyfriend.                                                                        Pairings: reader x sirius, remus x narcissa, lucius x narcissa, james x lily Disclaimer: This is basically harry potter universe x 10 things i hate about you. You DON’T need to have seen the movie to understand bc this is basically a retelling of the story. Also some of the dialogue has been taken straight from the movie. ALSO in this story Narcissa and Bellatrix are NOT Sirius’s cousins.

Hogwarts. It was beautiful, breathtaking even from the train window. The great castle looms into view, and (y/n) Knightley gets slightly tearful at the fact that this is the beginning of her last year at Hogwarts. A year from now you would hopefully begin your training as a healer at St.Mungos. That is if your father didn’t marry you off before that. 

Your thoughts are abruptly interrupted by the compartment door sliding open. A group of giggling girls pop their heads in, blasting a horrendously high pitched song from a portable cassette player.

“Hi we’re the Promenade ball committee! Make sure to buy a ticket. It’ll be a night to remember!” One of them says in a sugar sweet voice, handing you a purple flyer. You simply roll your eyes as an answer and the girls leave, mumbling to themselves. You manage to hear a what a bitch through the high pitched singing. You glance down at the paper. It reads:

Promenade ball! Hogwarts class of 1978

May 22nd - 8:00 to 12:00

Tickets : 10 galleons each

You scrunch the paper into a ball and throw it out the open window. 

Balls were stupid anyways.

Remus walked into Professor Myriads office, the head of Gryffindor house. He’s missed Hogwarts. Spending one year abroad at Ilvermorny was a great experience but it couldn't compete with the beauty of Hogwarts. In one year, so much had changed yet it still felt the same way it had in his first year. Strange but familiar.

“Remus Lupin. Welcome back! I hope you enjoyed your stay in America. Now I know you remember this school like the back of your hand but it is a Hogwarts rule that any returning students must be shown around the premises again. I’ve assigned Peter Pettigrew to be your guide for today.” She says motioning to Peter standing outside, waving excitedly. “You may go to class now.” The silver haired woman said, dismissing him quickly. Remus reached down for his bookbag when a shadow stood leaning in the doorway. 

“Padfoot!”

“Moony! Missed you mate.” Sirius and Remus embraced each other tightly, Professor Myriad cleared her throat. 

“Sirius Black. I see we're making our visits a weekly ritual. You better not get in trouble this year if you want to graduate.” She gave him a disapproving glance. He answered with a charming smile.

“Only so we can have these moments together. Should I, uh, get the lights?”

“Oh very clever Mr. Black. That’ll be ten points from Gryffindor.”

“Remus! Oh we’ve missed you so much. Tell me how it was. How were the states? Good god, so many things have changed in the past year.” Peter said, spitting out more questions than Remus could handle.

“It was nice, Ilvermorny was very laid back. They study native magic and lots of non verbal spells. I’ll tell you more at dinner.”

“Allright, let me give you the breakdown, even though you know most of this stuff.” Peter said.

They begin to walk around the grounds.

“Over there you’ve still got your basic beautiful people.” He motions to a group of students sitting under a tree. “To the left we have the coffee kids. A new developpement since Dippet allowed a coffee machine in the Great Hall.”

“Interesting.” Remus said, looking at the students who couldn’t seem to sit still.

One of them knocked over his cup, filled with rich brown liquid, onto the other’s lap. “Whoa”

“That was a Costa Rican, asshole!”

“Very edgy.  Don’t make any sudden moves around them.” Peter added. 

They now approached a few students dressed in large hats and leather boots.

 “These guys…” Peter started.

“Wait wait.  Let me guess.  Cowboys?”

“Yeah, ever since that muggle movie Grayeagle came out.”

“Who would have thought that I would see more cowboys back at Hogwarts than the US.”

They now neared a group of students sitting on the grass, scribbling on parchment furiously.                

“These are your future Ministers. Hey guys.  How ya doin’?” Peter waved to the group. They rolled their eyes at him and went back to they’re books.

“Yesterday I was their god.” Peter said wistfully.

Remus chuckled, he had missed this atmosphere. “What happened.”

“Bogie Levenstein started a rumor that I...that I used an enchanted quill on my OWL’s.”

“Did you?” Remus asked, already knowing the answer.

“Not the point.” Muttered Peter.

“So they kicked you out?” Remus continued.

“Hostile takeover.  But don’t worry.  They’ll pay.  Now over here…”

“Merlin’s sake.” Remus whispered as a beautiful, creamy skinned dark haired girl walked by.

 “What group is she in?”

“The “don’t even think about it” group. That’s Narcissa Knightley.  Fifth year.” Peter said, shaking his head at his friend. Remus' mouth was still agape as she walked past him with her friend.

“Yup, see, there’s a difference between “like” and “love”.  Because I like my wand, but I love my Snakeskin backpack.” Narcissa explained to the other girl.

“But I love my wand.” Her friend says clutching her wand to her chest.

“That’s because you don’t have a snakeskin backpack.” Narcissa said, like it was the most obvious thing. Her friend looks enamoured by her wisdom.

“Oohhh.”

“Listen. Forget her.  Incredibly uptight father, and it’s a widely known fact that the Knightley sisters aren’t allowed to date.” Peter said, shaking his Remus's shoulder.

“Uh huh...yeah.”

At dinner later that night, Remus couldn’t keep his gaze off the enchanting girl at the Slytherin table.

“Earth to Moony!” James said between mouthfuls.

“Mate, we haven’t seen you in months. Talk. Or would you rather go join the Slytherins.” Sirius says, glaring at the green robed students.

“He has a thing for Narcissa Knightley.” Remus gave Peter a death glare.

“She’s pretty, but not as pretty as Lily Evans.” James sighed, looking at the auburn haired girl.

“Prongs, you're still running after her? It’s been, what, three years of her constantly rejecting you.” Remus chuckled.

“At least Lily’s allowed to date.” James retorted.

“You guys are pathetic.” Sirius said, grinning cockily, knowing he could get any girl at Hogwarts easily.

“Okay then.  What did everyone think of the Tales of the Wizard-Goblin war?” Professor Binns, Hogwarts only ghost professor, asked.

“I loved it. The part with Ginnamora was soooo romantic.” A clueless girl sighed.

“Romantic?  Buckthorn?!  He was an abusive alcoholic misogynist who squandered half his life hanging around Giraf Abbott trying to nail his leftovers.” (y/n) said to the girl, earning eyerolls from the other students. 

Lucius Malfoy chuckles cockily. “As opposed to a bitter self-righteous hag who has no friends?”

Giggles erupt through the room. (y/n) doesn’t turn around to face him, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of knowing he’d pissed her off.

“I guess in this society being male and an asshole makes you worthy of our time.”

Just then, a dark haired boy strolls confidently inside the classroom.

“What’d I miss?” Sirius asked.

“The oppressive patriarchal values that dictate our education.” You answered, gritting your teeth furiously.

“Good.” He turned around and went back out of the room.

“Hey, hey!” The ghost professor looked like he was about to go after him but decided to stay put.

“Uh,Professor.  Is there any chance we could get (y/n) to take her calming drought before she comes to class?” Lucius said, high fiving his fellow slytherins.

“Mr.Malfoy, someday you’re gonna get hexed and I’m not gonna do a thing to stop it.  And Miss. Knightley.  I want to thank you for your point of view.” Professor Binns stated. (y/n) smiled to herself.

Take that Malfoy.

“I know how difficult it must be for you to overcome all those years of pureblood oppression.  It must be tough.” Professor Binns' words wiped the grin right off her face. (y/n) thanks Merlin that Lucius Malfoy, with his inflated ego, couldn’t see her face. Professor Binns continues.

“But the next time you storm around the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures crusading for better house elves, or whatever it is you wealthy purebloods complain about, ask them why they can’t buy a book written by a ghost!”

 His normally monotone voice was now strident. Never in your six years at Hogwarts had you ever heard Professor Binns get so riled up. The whole class was taken about by his sudden burst of emotion. You quickly recover from your slight shock.

“Anything else?”

“Ten points from Gryffindor.  Go to your head of house.” Professor Binns stated, sounding a little brittle.

“What?!  Professor Binns!” You plead but he’s already started scribbling on the chalkboard. (y/n) storms out, making sure to hit Lucius Malfoy with her bag on the way.

Professor Myriad was scribbling a letter when you reached her office, knocking on the doorway to make your presence known. The silver haired woman lowered her glasses as you sat down in a crimson chair.

“So I hear you were terrorizing Professor Binns‘s class.  Again.”

“With all due respect expressing my opinion is not a terrorist action.” You say, picking at your nails.

“The way you expressed your opinion to Richard Crabbe? By the way, his testicle retrieval operation went quite well, in case you're interested.” She remarqued, mentioning a particularly nasty quidditch fight between (y/n) and that idiot Crabbe.

“I still maintain that his broom malfunctioned and he kicked himself in the balls.” You answer cooly, trying your hardest not to let any emotion seep through your face.

Professor Myriad fumbled. “The point is (y/n)...People perceive you as somewhat …” 

“Tempestuous?”

“"Heinous bitch" is the term used most often.” She states simply.

How flattering, Professor.

“You might want to work on that. Try being more like your sister.” 

You raised your eyebrows at her comment because the woman clearly had no idea what she was getting into.

“Tell me Professor, which sister are we talking about? Bellatrix? Who was married off to some greasy pureblood the day after she graduated. Andromeda? Who followed her heart but was shunned from the family. Or Narcissa? Who at sixteen still, for the love of god, cannot tie her shoelaces.” 

(y/n) rises from her chair and says, in her most sarcastic tone  “As always, thank you for your excellent guidance.” before strolling out of the tiny office.

Lucius and his friends were sprawled in their usual spots under a tree. Someone in the group mumbles “Virgin alert” as Narcissa and Josie walk past. Lucius’s attention is immediately fixed on the innocent looking brunette. The girls notice him and wave shyly.

“Looking good ladies.”

“They’re outta reach, even for you.” Simon Nott  said in a sing-song voice.

“No one’s out of reach for me.” Lucius says, sizing his friend up.

“You wanna put money on that?” Simon questions, leaning back against the tree. Lucius glances at Narcissa who’s laughing with a group of fifth year students,

“Money I’ve got.  This I’m going to do for fun.”

From across the courtyard, Remus, James and Peter observe the way Lucius Malfoy is eyeing Narcissa, like a tiger watching his prey. Remus feels strangely protective of her, wanting to protect her from Lucius’s slimy paws. He gazed at her as she giggled, her dimples showing.

“Mate, look at her.” He said in a voice soft with affection.

James is clearly unimpressed. “Is she always so...vapid?”

“How can you say that?  She’s totally…”

“Conceited?”Peter leered.

“What are you talking about Wormtail?  There’s more to her than you think. I mean, look... look at the way she smiles. And look at her eyes, man.  She’s totally pure.  I mean, you’re missing what’s there.”

“No, Moony.  No. What’s there is a snotty little Princess creating a strategically planned appearance to make guys like us realize we can never touch her, and guys like, uh…” Peter fumbled, looking across the courtyard. “...Lucis, realize they want to. She, my friend, is what we’ll spend the rest of our lives not having. Move on.”

“No.” Remus pouted stubbornly.

“Move on.” James quipped, repeating Peter’s words.

“No! You’re wrong about her.  You’re so wrong.” Remus grumbled back.

“Alright.  I’m wrong?  You wanna take a shot?  Be my guest. She’s actually looking for a Mermish tutor.”

Remus’s eyes light up. “Are you serious?  That’s perfect!”

“Do you even speak Mermish?” James questioned. Remus flashed his bright teeth.

“Well no.  But I will.”

[jamkookies]

Sweater Weather

Description :  A trip to Malta for the shooting of Bon Voyage seems peaceful enough until the moment things take an unexpected turn...

Word count : 2.4k

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

People kept gathering like bees after honey, trying to sneak a peak at the mysterious young man with the melodious voice.

It hadn't taken too long for the little crowd to assemble around the both of you, observing the modest performance with an unexpected eagerness.

You were quite good at singing, but no match for Jungkook, so you'd let him take the lead, subtly harmonising with his beautiful voice instead.

This had only attracted more curious eyes, stumbling their way towards thesight of the two overgrown teenagers sitting cross legged on the sand.

You'd seen their interest and used it in your own advantage, going through every song you thought would please the audience.

From Euphoria to Begin to Ending scene.

He'd sang them all with the same heartfelt passion he showed in a concert.

Then, a tug at your sleeve from him had been enough to make you join him. His lips had stretched into a wide smile when hearing you sing Dimple after a very long time.

It had went the same for other songs as well.

Spring Day, The Truth Untold...

You'd intentionally chosen these soft-sounding songs to match the mood settled around you and you'd be lying if you said you hadn't enjoyed it at least one bit. Reminiscing the old songs had made you feel at home once again, letting you experience the nostalgia of good old times.

After having to perform a number of them, you'd expected to get a little tired, but the never-ending clinking of coins being thrown into the hat only encouraged you to go harder, louder, and every time you both stopped to catch your breath the crowd would protest, urging you to continue.

Aktar, they would cheer.

More.

If you kept at this pace, those 200 Euros would be a closed case by tonight.

At least, you hoped so.

But I still want youuuuu.....

You both finish at the same time, finally putting an end to the song and the crowd bursts into applause.

Your face hurts from smiling too much and when you turn your head to the side, you see that the exact same expression rests on Jungkook's too.

Even in the pitch darkness, the glinting of the coins filling the hat to the brim can be seen clearly and you definitely don't miss the folded edges of the occasional banknote.

That was easier than you expected.

You'd worked your butt off all day at the hotel, struggling to get at least half of what you'd earned right now.

A sudden feeling of greediness takes over you and without even realizing, you're sticking your hand into Jungkook's pocket, retrieving the phone inside.

He looks flabbergasted by your sudden action, but you pay him no mind, swiping left and right till you've found what you were looking for.

Just when he thought it couldn't get stranger than this you lean in and whisper into his ear.

His eyes go wide as saucers.

"A-are you sure?" he stutters, but there's a hint of anticipation in his eyes.

Instead of answering you grab a handful of his shirt and pull him up to his feet.

The crowd parts for the both of you as you stand in the middle of the small clearing and as soon as the first sounds of Fake Love fill the silence, your limbs start moving.

Jungkook's body moves rhythmically to the beat of the song you'd performed hundreds of times in so many concerts, now more familiar than the back of your hand.

You mirror his movements with deadly accuracy, careful not to miss anything.

It was hard dancing to such a challenging choreography with only the two of you and no kind of formation whatsoever, but that didn't stop you from putting every ounce of effort into it.

People oooh and aaah every time they see a particularly difficult move and at the corner of your vision you notice some phones recording.

The song comes to its climax, the highlight of the whole performance and when you signal Jungkook with a wink, he seems more than ready. With a fluid movement, his hand slides down to grab at the hem of his shirt and he  quickly lifts it up, flashing the crowd his rippling abs.

You almost go deaf at the screeches of young girls fanning themselves fervently when they catch a glimpse of his toned body.

They were practically drooling, and if you were completely honest, you didn't blame them.

Your handsome companion was a sight for sore eyes.

Ripping your stare off of him, you try and focus on accomplishing your last moves successfully.

The song finally comes to an end.

The crowd's loud clapping and whistling bring a smile to your face and even though you're both panting, sweat sticking to your hair and clothes, you  link your hands with Jungkook and bow down to the audience.

You're bursting with joy, the adrenaline still restlessly flowing into your veins after keeping your body into a lethargic state for so long.

That excitement, however, crumbles into pieces when you see the group of girls from earlier approaching the both of you. One of them has a piece of paper in her hands with something scribbled in it.

Her number, apparently.

With a coy smile, she holds it out to him and to your surprise, a deep red hue falls across Jungkook's cheeks. He looks between you and the girl, hands hovering mid-air.

Weak human.

The girl probably thought she stood a chance to get him to himself.

Yeah, right. Over your dead body.

"Hu għandu ħabiba." You clear your throat and look at her down your nose.

She sweeps an intentionally long look at you from head to toe but you don't blink an eye.

Come on, you spoiled brat. Get the message already.

Jungkook seems as if he's trying to say something to ease the tension but you're both too busy having a staring competition with each other to bother acknowledging him.

It is only when one of the girl's friends tugs at her shirt that she breaks the stare, dragged along out of your reach and the sight of hidden fists by your sides.

At least, someone was smart enough not to face your wrath.

After you're certain they've turned into tiny moving specs, you uncurl your fists and flash Jungkook a grin as if nothing had happened.

"Come on." you say and take his hand into yours but only after you've tucked his shirt in, eliminating any chance for him to show more skin.

He opens his mouth.

"Don't bother." you interrupt.

"But-"

You raise your eyebrow.

"I was gonna reject her, I swear. I just didn't know how to say it. Different from you, I don't speak Maltese." he says in a breath.

The words immediately soften your features, any attempts at making fun of him now utterly forgotten.

"I already knew that, Kooks. I just didn't want her to make you uncomfortable." you smile. "And it's not like I know Maltese. Liena taught me some words, that's all."

"Well, she sure looks like she taught you the most important ones." he mumbles. "What did you say to her, anyway?"

"I told her you had a girlfriend but the message didn't quite reach her braincells."

He puffs out his chest in smug satisfaction and a wolfish grin appears on his face.

"Posessive, aren't you?"

"That, I am. Now let's go."

Trudging through the sand, you go back to where you'd been sitting a while ago and it feels like everything is going to be okay again.

Except for one minor detail.

The hat is missing.

It's impossible to contain the screech of anger and terror that rips out of your chest. Jungkook's eyes follow your line of vision and when he understands the situation he gasps loudly.

"My hat!" he exclaims.

"My money!" you echo.

"Your money?"

"This is not the time, Jungkook."

"Where the hell did it go?" he asks, turning his head in all directions, in hopes of detecting it.

Indeed, it was like his infamous lucky charm had disappeared into thin air.

Or something else that was thin had taken it.

"Why, that prissy little–"

"Whoah, whoah, where are you going?"

Jungkook stops you right as you're about to stomp off to God knows where.

"She took it." you grit between your teeth.

"Who?"

"The girl that gave you her number. She took the hat."

"Okay, now you're overreacting." Jungkook says. "Why would she do that? Someone else must've taken it while we weren't looking."

"She did it to spite me, obviously." you state, as if it was the clearest thing in the universe.

He sighs and leans heavily on you.

"We shouldn't have relied on easy money in the first place."

"Easy money?" you cry. "That was exhausting."

"You worked for fifteen hours at the hotel and didn't even say a word. Now, singing and dancing for a couple of songs is exhausting?"

You bite your tongue and swallow whatever words were about to come out of your mouth.

He had a point.

"What are we gonna do now?" he sighs once again.

The bones of your shoulders crack loudly when you stretch up to your toes.

"I don't know, but I'm really tired to worry about it right now. We should find somewhere to sleep. And no hotels."

You turn to Jungkook, cutting him off before he could even say anything.

"We lost whatever money we earned a while ago and we're definitely not gonna touch anything from the ones we already have."

"Guess we've gotten used to sleeping outdoors, huh?" Jungkook laughs humorlessly.

"I told you from the beginning you were gonna suffer if you followed me, Kook."

"I've been suffering because of you for a long time now." he says in a low voice and there's nothing you can do to stop the fluttering in your chest.

He did things like this quite often.

Blurting out whatever thought was lurking into his mind.

No filters.

No nothing.

He said he was the one suffering but he had no idea what kind of mess he'd made out of you. You were torn to pieces, utterly devastated and it was all because of him.

A slight smile hangs on your lips and you twirl a finger into one of his soft curls. As if pushed by your action, he slings an arm across your shoulders and pulls you close to him.

"Let's go."

Dragging both of your suitcases behind you, you opt for a bench looking out into the sea. It wasn't the most comfortable looking thing but it was better than nothing. Sleeping into some dark corner would only attract muggers to rob you of whatever you'd had left.

At least the beach was out in the open.

You sit down on the bench for a moment and when a wind breezes past you, Jungkook shivers. You silently reach into the suitcase and take out one of his baggy sweaters.

"Here." you say and offer it to him. "I know that shirt is uncomfortable."

His eyes unconsciously flick left and right.

"In here?"

"Go ahead, I won't look."

He chuckles when you turn your back on him but finally takes the sweater.

You hear the swish of clothes as he changes and keep your eyes straight ahead, not daring to move a muscle.

It was not something you'd never seen before, but just the thought of him being undressed made a flaring heat warm your ears.

"Okay, you can turn around now."

You do and almost melt into a puddle at the sight of his soft fluffy hair sticking out in all directions. The sweater is really loose on him but it looks so comfortable and inviting.

You almost felt like–

"Wanna join me?" he say and opens his arms wide.

"W-what?"

"You look like you're cold."

"No, I'm fine." you say but as the wind flutters against your hair, you involuntarily shudder.

Jungkook tsks and without warning pulls you to himself, wrapping his arms around you. You almost hum in satisfaction, when suddenly he pulls the sweater over his head only to tuck you in it.

Lord, pray for my soul.

You're both sticking out your heads at the same collar, the piece of clothing now snugly wrapped around two bodies. Having nothing to support you, you're left with the option of putting a hand onto his torso.

Big mistake.

The hard muscles of his abdomen are burning hot under your fingertips and you curl your hands into fists, not knowing what else to do.

He squirms and giggles.

"That tickles."

"It's not my fault! Why did you put me into this thing?"

"I wanted to."

"Stop whining then. And by the way, why are you so hot?"

"I don't know. Guess I was born like this." he simply answers.

"I meant your skin, dumbass. Do you have a fever or something?"

"Oh." he smiles cheekily when he realizes his mistake. "It's probably because of the dance earlier."

"Probably." you echo.

"You don't have to be so stiff, you know. It's not like we're strangers." he says.

In response, you link your arms behind his back, your own T-shirt now the only barrier between the two of you. To say that the level of your confidence had boosted was an understatement. You slide your hand to the small of his back and tickle him. He twists and wriggles but to no avail. There's nowhere to go with the sweater trapping you in.

You cackle delightedly.

"You said not to be stiff, didn't you?"

He mirrors the position you're in and puts his own hands behind your back.

"I did. Now go to sleep."

If someone would have told you that you'd be sharing a sweater with Jungkook on a beach in Malta one month ago, you would've slapped them unconscious.

Yet here you were, nothing keeping you apart but bare skin.

And a T-shirt.

You're grateful, nonetheless.

Grateful for the way he has offered you his heart on a silver plate.

You don't break apart.

Not even when the ceaseless nightmares make his face scrunch in pain and he whines in his sleep. You hug him even tighter, caressing his skin and whispering sweet nothings into his ear until he's finally calm and peaceful.

Nothing can scare you as long as you have him.

You expect everything now.

The dark sky turning into a deep purple.

The sun rays slowly sneaking their way into your face, declaring a new day's beginning.

You expect all of that.

But you most certainly do not expect to see looming over you the good ol' bodyguard flanked by two other men.

[quakerjoe]

In the end, not even the Progressive Bernie Base showing up for Hillary in larger numbers than her own supporters did for Obama in 2008, could prevent the inevitable. A massively flawed candidate who failed to electrify the Democratic base and make the case to Rust Belt voters- why she is the better option than the Populist candidate spraying out anti-trade rhetoric.

Blame whatever you want. The blame rests squarely on all of us. But there is so many lessons to learn from the 2016 Primary and General Election. Populism and Progressive policy became the central topic. Healthcare is a right. The ultra-rich are KING in America, and they must be reigned in. Primary process should be more fair. Flowery platitudes aren’t enough to generate excitement for the poor to turn out, etc.

Literally ZERO of these lessons were learned. Even in the face of an ACTUAL Corona-virus pandemic, with over 30 million unemployed, more and more uninsured at the time of writing this- the Democratic party has done nearly nothing to fix the problems from 2016. Actually, in all my shock- they’ve made them worse. The Democratic party pulled every string it could. Bent over backwards to not only stop Bernie Sanders, but stifle Progressives and our policy agenda. All in an orchestration to crown their nominee just years after a 2016 lawsuit said the DNC can meddle how ever they like in their own “Democratic process”. All to push a man who did next to no campaigning in any states past South Carolina. A man who didn’t actually work for your vote, but instead- coasted on “Hope and Change” establishment nostalgia, for when times weren’t so chaotic.

So for pragmatism sake, let’s push all that aside for just one moment. We can debate all day about how “fair” Joe Biden’s path to the Democratic Nomination has been. But let’s view Biden on his own merits for his candidacy’s sake. What’s the incentive for Progressives to vote for Joe? Well- unless you’re sticking to the concept of the very first paragraph of this article, the answer is: There isn’t one.

If Hillary Clinton were a flawed candidate, Biden may just be the worst nominee in history. A long history of terrible behavior including coddling racists, racist behavior, repeated threats at slashing the safety net, warmongering for a devastating Iraq war that’s helped kill endless innocent civilians all based on a lie, the nomination of Justice Thomas and controversial treatment of Anita hill, the Obama administration’s failure to even pass a Public Option with a Super Majority government, while pushing a healthcare plan that was little more than barely a small step in the right direction.

Now- Biden stands as the presumptive Democratic Nominee, and with a sizable Progressive Bernie Base up for grabs, what has Joe Biden done to earn our vote?

Answer: Nothing. Well, at least nothing significant.

Three items come immediately to mind on what Joe Biden is doing to “reach left”.

1: Joe wants to lower the Medicare age to 60. By comparison, Hillary Clinton wanted to lower it to as low as 50.

2: Joe Biden wants to eliminate student debt for those making under $125K. By comparison, Bernie Sanders wanted to eliminate it universally.

3: Nebulously- Joe Biden and Bernie Sanders have created “working groups” on various policy issues focusing on education, criminal justice, climate change, immigration, the economy, and health care policy. As of yet, nothing has come of these “groups” on policy.

As the Primary was coming to a close, I as a Progressive- was completely open to Joe moving (not reaching) left on policy positions.

Overwhelmingly, if you ask Sanders supporters what they care about most, it’s Policy.

What will you do for the underprivileged working class people of America?

What will you do for my children and grand children facing a Climate Change future?

What will you do for your Mass Incarceration mess, ending the drug war, legalizing Marijuana, and freeing non-violent drug offenders?

What will you do for the upwards of 45K people who die each year because health care is not affordable?

The 67% of American bankruptcies being due to health care costs?

BUT. Sanders supporters also believe in principle. Consistency. History. Fighting for change. Decency. Human rights. We’re also majority young people (a group Joe Biden did not do well with). Perhaps these things could be talked out. But now there’s a bigger elephant in the room. One that establishment Democrats and Joe’s supporters are ignoring.

Joe Biden was credibly accused of rape.

Democrats spent months yelling about “Believing Women” during the Kavanaugh Confirmation hearings. Rightfully fighting for Christine Blasey Ford’s story to be heard- knowing it would be a fruitless task at the hands of a twisted Senate Republican majority. Now, establishment Democrats are making the media rounds with Biden campaign talking points with denials and every attempt to downplay Tara Reade as not a credible accuser, even as several corroborations of her story have surfaced, 1 of which was an archive video of who Tara Reade alleges is her mother discussing the issue with Larry King on CNN in 1993. Meanwhile, Joe Biden’s campaign has it’s surrogates and supporters on news networks shielding Biden. Nancy Pelosi downplays the accusations, Kirsten Gillibrand (who helped cancel Al Franken) is downplaying the accusations. Alyssa Milano, prominent #MeToo voice, who made a performative appearance at the Brett Kavanagh hearings, now wants to “change the rules” on the movement in favor of a sort of ‘Due Process’- a process that many perpetrators cancelled by #MeToo never got, in favor of protecting Joe Biden.

What this means to me is that Democrats think it’s perfectly fine to be selective on who and who doesn’t deserve to be heard and taken seriously, based on who’s on your team. As if it should be that easy to just shed your principles like Snake skin, hypocritically protecting one predator, while gunning for another that doesn’t fit with you politically.

In 2016, I was perfectly fine voting for the “lesser evil”. Now that the party has loudly stated that not only does my values, principles, and policy demands for the poor and sick of America, not matter- I should fall in line with a candidate that has helped endless innocent people die overseas with America’s imperial military reach, helped endless people die at home because they cant afford a doctor, said that he has “no empathy” for young people- the same young people that have to live and suffer under the conditions of Climate Change while he’s dead and gone, sexually assaulted and violated multiple women, said that nothing will fundamentally change for the same rich people who are now gaining BILLIONS under pandemic conditions while their workers get sicker, if they’re even employed at all.

Moderate establishment Democrats and voters tell me that Trump is the number one threat. That we need to “vote blue no matter who”. Just how “blue” is Joe biden? Just how dissimilar is Joe Biden and his supporters from Trump and his following? For all of the cries of the “angry Bernie Bros” online, I see countless accosting and abusive discourse examples from Biden supporters calling any dissenters “Russian Bots”, or “MAGA Hats”. Being told that I’m somehow a Trump voter by default, for not immediately supporting Biden. All this when all I’ve ever seen from “the Bernie Bros” is aggressively holding smear artists to facts and truth in a thick environment of misrepresentation of Bernie Sanders and his platform.

So- Why shouldn’t Progressives vote for Joe Biden?

This Democratic party doesn’t give a damn about you. Nor does it care about Progressive policy. The party and its supporters spend all this time, smearing Sanders and his base as “Not democrats”, angry “socialists who want free stuff”, “How are you gonna PAY for it?!” etc etc, all while claiming to support SOME form of our policy, and then dropping it the second it doesn’t feel politically advantageous. This party threw everything it could into stopping YOU. With tactics like voter suppression, using a silly app suspiciously funded and supported by shady actors in Iowa, taking WEEKS to give final results, running Super PACs against Bernie and our movement, fear-mongering about Bernie when he did win states, gas lighting the public on “elect-ability”, using a literal pandemic against Bernie to guilt him into dropping out while attempting to blame him for continued spread of COVID-19, while they sent voters to the polls and we didn’t.

And after zero policy concessions, zero good will, repeated demands we fall in line after more than a year of being slammed and disrespected, showing up for Hillary Clinton and then being blamed for her loss anyway, which is inevitable again if Joe loses? Are we just going to keep allowing that? Just how long do we have to hold our noses, voting for Moderate do-nothing lite Republicans who would sooner see you die, than provide you affordable and universal healthcare, because a Billionaire would stand to lose money. Even NOW, during a Pandemic this party has done next to NOTHING to secure the livelihoods of American citizens, as more and more die, get furloughed, and cant pay their bills. All while Trump and Republicans take credit for pitching more common sense plans (even though they want to send us all back to work/school to feed the machine).

This- is the “resistance” party? THIS is the best we can do? Performative rage against a fascist clown while propping up an accused rapist warmongering corporatist with cognitive decline and previous racist tendencies? THIS is what the party keeps telling us we better support or be shamed as somehow supporting the “bad guy”?

Listen, #NotMeUs- this will never stop. This party will NEVER stop using us as a prop for our ideas and passion, then throwing us under the bus when they think they no longer need us. They cannot continue to be allowed to drag us further to the right with guilt trips and shaming. They will NEVER take you seriously unto you take serious action. We’ve been preaching about “action” this whole campaign. Why should that “action” stop in the ballot box? Have some foresight for just a moment and envision how this plays out in future elections, unless you stand up and make them WORK for your vote.

I, for one will not vote for Joe Biden. But I wont shame you for your vote, no matter who it’s for. Why? Because the party did a terrible job at earning -your- vote. I’d maybe only criticize you if you don’t show up at all. There’s so many down-ballot candidate who need support. Even if you leave the President box unchecked, at least show up for the other races.

But consider: There are other options that have been stifled for way too long. Perhaps its time we give them a shot, no? Green Party is running Howie Hawkins and a platform that is much closer to our principles that Biden would ever try for. Justin Amash just jumped into the race if you’re a little more on the Libertarian side. Jesse Ventura is also discovering running on the Green ticket as well. Just imagine Jesse ‘The Body’ Ventura on the debate stage with Donald Trump? Popcorn for DAYS.

In order for us to be taken seriously, we must prove that we’re capable of holding the party accountable. Not voting for them is the ultimate accountability, and you get to keep your principles intact.

Now- to the ultimate argument you’d inevitably get: “You would be helping Donald Trump secure 4 more years”.

My response? You don’t have to bare the blame for that. You wont be at fault for Joe Biden losing any more than those who chose not to vote at all. It’s on the party to earn these votes. That’s how elections work. If you hate the candidate and don’t feel good about them as a person, why is it your responsibility to put them in office? To me- one of the most personal things a person has, is their vote. Not their dollars, or their Tweets. It’s checking a box for the person YOU chose to represent you. If that person doesn’t believe in hardly anything you personally believe in- why is it that they deserve your vote, again? How is it that they’re are somehow entitled to that vote? They don’t, and they aren’t. I’m looking at you too, Republicans.

In closing…

Progressives, I’m sorry to break it to you but- Medicare For All is not on the ballot. Taxing the rich is not on the ballot. Ending corruption and crooked politicians is not on the ballot.

But- ending a terrible two-party system IS on the ballot. Taking your personal vote back, IS on the ballot. In my opinion- the only wasted vote, is the one you were demanded in giving up to what you don’t believe in.

-LZ

https://medium.com/@legacyzero/why-sanders-supporters-should-not-vote-for-joe-biden-a9146bee189b

[wandernkevin]

Last Year’s Misadventure on the Superior Hiking Trail

I sit here today at Trout Creek Camp on the Superior Hiking Trail, every time I come out here people say it will be flowing… yet again! Trout Creek is dry, I’ve never seen any water over there. Anyway, I’m here today on day 0, I never really count the first day because you have to get where you’re going before you head out, I mean I usually spend the night before on the trail then begin the real hiking. So, less than 2 miles today.

This is the most people I’ve ever seen at the Trout Creek Campsite, there is a group of 8 young people here and I see a lot of heavy gear, including, a full-size ceramic coated pot, the thing is HUGE! I ain’t seen one of the things since the last time I went to a group camp for a school trip.

I don’t plan on eating tonight because I ate way too much on the way up here, I knew that’s how it would go so I didn’t pack any food for today. Water on the other hand, well I’m drinking a lot, temperatures are great, nice and cool, but it’s been a while since I’ve been out here. I noticed my water filter is a little tight, hopefully, it doesn’t clog, the problem isn’t the filter, the problem is backflushing a filter with sink water, I’ve heard there’s too much gunk in sink water and it calcifies the filter, user error. Sawyers are getting cheaper these days so I’ll grab another one before my next adventure. Also, they have a fitting so you can backflush with your clean water bottle. I totally have to get one of those, it just makes so much more sense than the plunger.

Once again, I proved the scent proof bags I use for a food bag liner work. Because yet again a chipmunk hopped right passed the bag was laying on the ground. While we are on the subject of food bags, Trout Creek Camp can be a pain to find somewhere to hang your food.

Day 1, Trout Creek Camp to Devil’s Track

I lost the top to my phone mount, so… no cool overlook pictures. I left trout creek this morning and managed to make it to Devil’s Track! I had to descend into the canyon at Devil’s Track at night which seemed sketchy as the edge of the trail was pitch black. I can only assume there’s a cliff there. I’m very interested in seeing what’s out there, I’m staying at the west camp. It seems nice, today was my first ever 20-mile day! The new insoles are working great. Before I wouldn’t even have attempted 20 miles, my feet would start feeling like this after 10. Mission success, I’m not going to bother eating, I took a break at the Pincushion Mountain Trailhead and ate some jerky and banana chips there. Shame, I was looking forward to a hot meal. I managed to gather a liter of water in the dark, I drank half now and I already know I’m going to wake up in the night thirsty so I’ll save the rest for that, perhaps I’ll make the Ramen for breakfast.

Day 2, Let the Misadventure Begin!

I was doing so well, but my sawyer bag ruptured, the sawyer was just too calcified to work right, it too much pressure to filter the water and BAM, the bag separated at the top. It’s just sitting over there taunting me. I have some bad luck with water filters, on the thru-hike, last year, guess what? Yep, the filter failed. So now I have to turn back. Lesson learned, don’t backwash sawyers with tap water. Another lesson also finally learned, bring a backup for water treatment. Boiling does not count! It takes way too long to cover good ground when you have to boil. I’m thinking about iodine, it’s easy, fast and light. But it tastes horrible, I’ve used it before in a 2-week excursion in the Canadian side of Lake of the woods, fortunately, someone had a filter. That was a long time ago, back when the only filters available were like $300+ and clogged pretty fast.

Just remember, with important things like water when you are out in the wilderness, redundancy is key. What would happen if I needed to get off the trail ASAP and boiling was just delaying me? Could become a life-threatening situation pretty quick.

I was able to get off the trail, I hiked back to the Pincushion Trailhead, then through Grand Marais and most of the way to Cascade River State Park along Highway 61 before finally I was able to hitch a ride, two guys in a big truck really helped me out. Also, that was the third time I’ve had to hitchhike, so 3/3 success rate, I have nothing to complain about.

I already ordered a new filter, I’m waiting at base camp until it arrives, then I’ll head back out.

Although I failed to complete my challenge, from the beginning this has been about hiking 20 mile days, which I succeeded. Then completing the North Country Trail hike 100 challenge. So, there will be an update in route but nothing is gonna stop me from getting the 2018 patches. NOTHING.

The Updated Route

The new route is pretty much the same as the old one just shorter as I am running out of time to complete the 100-mile challenge. With my existing 40 miles the below route will total 100.7 miles:

Cascade – Bally creek pond 11.2 (Hike 50 Challenge complete) Bally Creek pond – Devil’s Track 10.5 Devil’s track – Kimball 9 Kimball – Devil’s Track 9 Devil’s Track – cascade 21 (hike 100 challenge complete)

One last push on the way back to cascade doing 21 miles, I know it can be done! I’ll have a nice state park campsite and a shower waiting for me when I get back.

Pre-Hike Again, in Grand Marais, Artists Point, and Cascade River State Park

I stopped in Grand Marais to eat some pizza with a view before heading to the campground. Artists Point is a great place to stop and eat some food from town.

This time I’m staying at the Cascade River State Park Campground, got site #30 non-electric, close to the showers, this is great for a tent, there’s a little spot inset in the back to set up. Also, in case you are wondering, the Cascade River State Park shower facility has always been clean and well maintained every time I’ve been here. It’s a newer facility and I have to say it’s my favorite out of the North Shore State Parks. I do have one problem though, the vending machine in the trail center used to have root beer, now it doesn’t and that is disappointing. I’m already settled in and don’t want to go back into town.

Cascade River State Park to Bally Creek Pond Camp South

I head out around 7 – 8 am, had a smooth start for the most part. The GoPro already died, it just can’t handle 40° nights…

I’m taking a lunch break alongside the cascade river, as you can see from the photo below, it was a nice place to teak a break!

Made it to bally creek pond camp south, I’m staying here for the night. Boy, it’s chilly with the wind blowing out here.

The water at the bally creek campsites comes from the pond, filtered with a sawyer it tastes earthy but clean. The CNOC bottle I got works great! It grabs 2 liters out of the pond real fast. Check out the Cnoc Outdoors Vecto 2L Water Container, 28mm, Orange on Amazon – https://amzn.to/2QOJGkG *.

I still have a breakfast bar, a cliff bar and a Ramen that I can eat today. I had a 400 calorie candy bar for breakfast so I have some extra food for today. I need to wait until at least 6 pm to make the Ramen. I want the warm food in the belly closer to bedtime. I’ll have to wait until then to use the new BRS stove – https://amzn.to/2yiQRui *. I boiled 2 cups at basecamp with it and I was impressed. I’m looking forward to using it the field.

A Rainy Day Back to Devil’s Track West Camp

Sleeping pad has a small leak, had to reinflate several times throughout the morning. I’m not going to be able to find the leak without soapy water, so I’ll just be dealing with it for now. I have the REI flash all season (regular wide), I do like it but people have had some problems with it. I’m hoping this is just a pinhole leak. Otherwise, if I can’t find the leak I’ll return it.

Oh, boy did it rain today! Started around when I left camp and stopped when I got to Devil’s Track West. My poncho did a great job keeping everything dry, it’s heavy but it works so well, I don’t really want to replace it. My hat worked beautifully as well, keeping my head dry from the rain. My shoes are soaked, not much I can do about that. I’m more concerned that the temps for the rest of the hike have lows down to 32° and my sleeping pad is leaking… If I could find the hole I could patch it.

Quite the Superior Hiking Trail Misadventure

I’m at Devil’s Track Camp West, AGAIN. It’s going to be a cold night at 34°, I timed the leak on the sleeping pad. It lasts 19 minutes until my butt hits the cold ground. I put my z-seat under there, that should buy me some time before my core touches the ground. It’ll be cold enough to instantly wake up. At that point, I will reinflate the sleeping pad. It’s too dangerous in these temperatures not having a trustworthy sleeping pad. Once again it’s time to turn around… The sleeping pad completely failed. It’s gonna be a rough night, I miss my x-therm, I should have just got the long version, that would have lasted.

At least the North Country Trail Hike 50 is complete…

Just missed the freeze!

Being out on the trail without a sleeping pad in freezing weather is dangerous, the ground will suck the heat right out of you, leaving you hypothermic. I pushed hard over 20 miles to get back to cascade, gear heavy with water from the rain days prior, boots soaked through, the big freeze incoming, and freezing lake winds the pierce right through your entire being. But I made it back so hey, I call it a success…

So I’m off the trail again, but I still have a reservation at Cascade River State Park Campground for Sunday. I’m going to day hike the remaining 20 miles, 10 on Sunday and 10 on Monday. I’ll still be pushing forward to cover the previous route but I won’t be camping on the trail, I’ll be in the nice warm camper car.

Pincushion Trailhead to Woods Creek Camp and Back

I spent the better part of two weeks trying to cross the bridge over the Devil’s Track river, and finally today there was no gear failure! It’s crazy to think I had gear fail in the same place twice in a row, the filter and the sleeping pad.

The views from this side of the river are spectacular as you can see from the photo of Devil’s Track Canyon and Lake Superior on the horizon. This was taken near the Barrier Falls Overlook, which at first was disappointing because you can’t see Barrier Falls, too many trees in the way. It took some effort to finally get out here given the gear situation but it was still well worth it.

After the hike, I stopped at the Angry Trout Cafe and had a bison tenderloin and it was absolutely delicious, so much that I had to share it here!

Lindskog Rd Trailhead 5 miles Out and Back

Today I was leaving Cascade River State Park to finish the hike and a wolf walked right up to my car! Got about two feet away and slowed down before continuing on up the entrance road. I was so stunned by the unexpected encounter that I couldn’t even grab the camera to shoot some photos. Part of me is disappointed I didn’t grab the camera, but it is more important to capture the memory of an experience in your mind before taking pictures, I’m an adventurer, I don’t consider myself a photographer. My adventure is more important to me that capturing it on film, but it would have been pretty sweet. Back to the hike!

This was a pretty average hike for me to be honest, the trail follows woods creek for a while. I noticed that the water is so much clearer here, I refilled my bottles at Duffree Creek and the water is almost crystal clear with just the slightest brown tinge from tannins in the water, which is common in the forest. The most notable part of this hike was the length of this unobstructed view of Lake Superior from the trail, I don’t believe this is even an “official” overlook, It’s just part of the trail.

Finally, I Finished to NCT Hike 100 Challenge!

This is the second year I have finished the North Country Trail Hike 100, and this year they also had the Hike 50 Challenge which I also completed. I think this is a great program that motivates not just people like me, but everyone to get out there and hike the NCT in their state. Minnesota is fortunate that the Superior Hiking Trail follows this route, not only do you get some nice patches, but you also get great memories and the best views in the entire state.

I’ve been many places in my lifetime and I still stand by my saying that the north shore of Minnesota is the most beautiful and unique place I’ve ever been.

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[seenashwrite]

Step Right Up (Part Four)

Status: Part 4 of 4   Word Count: 3.1K Category: Mini-series; Behind-the-scenes canon compliant; Mystery; On-the-case Rating: (Older) Teen & Up Character(s): Sam, Dean, various circus folk, special guest star Warnings: None Author’s Note(s): Post-story (lots of fun stuff!) Overall Summary: Sam is trapped in what’s left of a burnt-down circus while attempting to assist a tormented soul, when a mysterious ringmaster arrives.

* ~ * Series Master Post * ~ *

Only one area was illuminated, the large spotlights focused on the center ring. The rest of the tent was pitch with shadows. And there she stood, next to the high wire by one ladder, the ringmaster across from her, next to the other. His fists were clenched, and he was twitchy, and unkempt, his face and clothing smudged with soot, holes here-and-there where embers from the fire had landed. He was flushed, just seething with anger, and she couldn't have looked more relaxed, not a flicker of fear.

"Where is it?!" the ringmaster demanded.

"Far away from you," she replied, and laughed.

"Stash it someplace," Dean whispered to Sam, who quickly stuffed it in his back pocket.

“Stupid nit. This isn’t some game. I’m not in love with you, I never was, keeping me here won’t change that!”

“Oh!” she said, making her eyes wide, her lips forming an O, bringing her hands up to her cheeks in what was clearly faux shock. Then she twirled, came out of it to begin lazily skipping in a circle, arms out, like a little girl who hadn’t a care in the world.

And as she did, from all sides, forms were emerging from the darkness. The ringmaster was startled, began moving away from the ones behind him, closer to the center. Her clown family was nearest to her, and Sam began taking inventory of the others, those he hadn’t seen before.

There were at least------

"Two?! Two ghosts? Two ghosts, he said!" Dean hissed, and Sam gave him a look, then went back to his observing.

There were at least fifteen additional people, several more clowns, a few acrobats, mostly other performers. Some Sam took to be vendors, based on their uniforms. Another man carried a long whip, coiled in his fist, he and the woman beside him in safari-like attire. A tall, slender woman in a slinky dress had a boa - snake, not feather - wrapped around her shoulders. A quite large woman wearing a long, clearly fake beard held hands with a very tiny man, the latter of whom climbed atop one of the stands for the animal performance, a chattering spider monkey in a vest and bowler hat perched on his shoulder.

Two more men on the other side, standing near the clowns, were dressed in coveralls, one carrying a wide, long-handled broom, the other a mop and bucket - likely animal carers, if he had to guess. Then further behind them, there was the fortune teller, keeping part-way in the shadows, and out came the mermaid, walking slowly in her tight, tail-trimmed skirt. The wounds on their heads seemed sticky and fresh. It surprised Sam to see the teller put an arm around the mermaid, but then again, any bad blood didn't matter now; they were all united in purpose.

And though their clothing only showed signs of singes and ash, every single one of them were burnt, not one bit of exposed skin that wasn't melted and charred, faint tendrils of smoke still floating into the air as they moved. These were the people who were fighting to stop the blaze at the far end of the field, where the fire burned the strongest, where the animals were housed and the living quarters - the personal wagons - were located. Where the fire from the ringmaster's had been ignored, left to do away with the evidence of his crime, only to jump, seeking other tinder to consume. As it had only barely made it to the front, to the big top, the little butterfly was the only one who escaped without looking completely like a scene from a horror movie. Her, and the ringmaster.

"How did you die?" she asked, ending her skipping not far from the ringmaster, tapping him on the shoulder.

He'd been staring at the crowd behind him, and the tap made him jump as he whirled around. "Wh-what?" he stuttered.

She leaned in, whispered the question again in a loud, exaggerated way. "Howwwww did you diiiiiiiiiie?"

"I don't... I was looking for you... you weren't in your wagon or the dressing tent... weren't at the fortune teller's... but then I went to... went to... I wanted to leave. But I couldn't.... something stopped me..." The ringmaster trailed off, confused for a moment, then in a flash he was staring at her with tears in his eyes. "No. I did find you." He reached out as if to grab her, but she dodged. "Why did you get on the wire? After what you'd seen.... why would you DO that?!"

She dropped her girlish act then, eyes flashing, voice full of venom. "You were coming to kill me. The job was done for you. Why did it matter?"

"No... it was because.... because I thought to take you with me.... but then I saw...." He reached out again, to caress her cheek. This time she stayed put - and his hand went right through her. He gasped. "What is this?" He looked to the fortune teller. "You said things would be made whole!"

"You want to be whole?" the teller asked in response. "Are you certain?"

"I want to leave!" he yelled and, looking back to his former fiancée, said, "And I want you to leave with me!"

"You do not love me, you said so. You showed me so. You do not cry for me, you cry for yourself. And you do not want me - you only wanted me to lie for you. And when you saw I could not, you took the coward's way out."  She tilted her head, looking up, past the high wire, to the scaffolding that kept the big top erect.

There, dangling by the neck from a rope, was the body of the ringmaster.

He stumbled back, eyes fixed on his dead form. "No....no no no.... NO!"

"You are not leaving. None of us are leaving," she said quietly.

The fortune teller stepped forward now, and with a wave of her hand, the body fell, landing in a heap. She knelt beside it, waved her hand again, and a soft purple glow ran across it, then up, over, swirled around its ghost, and drew it back in. With a huge intake of air, the ringmaster found himself back in his body, flailing for a moment and then scrambling to his feet.

The group inched ever closer.

So did Dean and Sam. Dean began to pull out his gun, but Sam shook his head. Dean gave him a questioning look, but he acquiesced.

"I don't want to be dead!" the ringmaster said to the fortune teller, and then something seemed to occur to him. He stooped, picked up the top hat that had fallen with him, putting it back on, trying to seem put-together, in control, ever the huckster pitching a sale. "We can all be alive! You have magic, you can heal us all! The money, it must still be here - we can split it! You can undo everything!"

"Our time has passed," she replied. "You must pay for what you have done."

And just like that, the act fell away. "NO!" he screamed again, turned to run, but didn't get far. Dean punched him so hard, it knocked the top hat clean off, landing somewhere in between the seats. The ringmaster went to his knees with a yelp, holding his nose.

Everyone stared.

The fortune teller caught Sam's eye, raised her eyebrow, pointed to Dean in approval; Sam made a What are you gonna do? gesture and shrugged.

Dean noted the staring, frowned at them, then pointed at the moaning man. "Well, he's a dick!"

The clowns began laughing, clapping, jumping up-and-down, a little too hard, all of it, though Dean seemed pleased they enjoyed his performance, giving them a slight bow in acknowledgment.

The clowns edged closer; Sam took a reflexive step back. And before either brother could react, with all the distraction happening, the ringmaster took the opportunity to snatch Dean’s gun from his waistband, and he came up behind Sam, gun pointed at the back of his head, and gave him a hard shove. Sam didn't speak, didn’t fight it, keeping his eyes locked on her, though she was still staring her enemy down.

“You want to fly away with him, I suppose, don’t you, Butterfly? ‘To think they could doubt my love, yet today my love has flown away’ - isn’t that how our song goes?!” the ringmaster asked, pushing the barrel into Sam’s head. “Too bad! Because I’m taking this and you can all burn again, in hell!”

He reached down to Sam’s back pocket, where the tail of the bright yellow scarf was protruding, and began to pull.

And he pulled.

And he pulled more.

And he kept pulling.

While the rest remained stone-faced, the clowns went borderline hysterical, grabbing their bellies, bent over with laughter, one even dropping to the ground and kicking his legs in the air.

The scarf kept coming and coming, kept growing, a puddle of rainbow fabric around the ringmaster’s feet. He had begun to sweat - and he had also started to lower the gun. Dean was able to come behind him and take it away without issue. The scarves having run out, the ringmaster knelt, pawing through the pile of silk, searching for the ring.

One of the clowns had laughed his way over to where the knife-throwing target was set up, set to juggling six of the knives from the nearby table. Another clown retrieved the top hat, put it on his head, then hopped on a chair, tipping it onto two legs, balancing expertly. A third jumped up a few rungs on the ladder to the high wire, swinging around, back and forth, honking a small horn. 

The two workers began spinning the mop and the broom, respectively, occasionally tossing them into the air, executing quick spins before they came back down, as if they were lightweight batons. The boa flexed its jaw wide. The monkey screeched. The lion tamers unfurled and snapped their whips. And the butterfly began to sing, twirling slowly in a circle around the sobbing ringmaster.

They asked me how I knew My true love was true

“Stop it!” he cried, bringing his hands to his ears.

BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

Both brothers' heads jerked in near unison at the sound of heavy footsteps to the left, and the shadow cast by the lights outside revealed something so massive - make that two somethings -  it made their mouths fall open.

"Dumbo?" Sam whispered.

"And Dumbo's mom," Dean whispered back.

The crowd's advance halted, some shifting aside so that the juggling clown was front and center. The ringmaster was shaking as he climbed to his feet. He held up his hands as if declaring surrender, but the clowns kept laughing, the ones who'd been playing around now coming nearer to their juggling comrade. One by one, five of the six knives were passed off fluidly, and when the sixth came down, it was caught, flipped, and sent right into the ringmaster's thigh in one smooth movement.

He hit the ground, wailing, trying to hold the injury and slicing up his fingers on the protruding blade for his trouble. A lion's roar from just beyond the tent's entry briefly drowned him out. The elephants trumpeted, stomped their feet. Horses hooves pounded outside, from all directions, as if they were running a derby around the big top. The advance of the wronged upon the ringmaster resumed.

Dean and Sam now retreated themselves past the high wire, out of the center ring, their backs against the tent, as far removed as they could be - and no sooner had they done so, Sam spotted something.

"Dean. Don't. Move.”

"Not. Planning. On--- Oh."

They held their breaths as the tiger walked directly in front of them. It was so close that when its agitated tail whipped up, Dean felt the fur brush under his nose. It paid them no mind, fell into the routine with the rest, circling its prey.

"Good kitty," Dean breathed out.

A murmur went across the crowd, and other than the ringmaster's crying, everything - inside and out - went pin-drop quiet. Dean and Sam looked at each other, then to the others. Every eye was on them, and they had no idea what was going to happen next. The clowns were now in a line, shoulder to shoulder, and their butterfly was center front.

"It is time," she said.

"We, um.... we can go," Sam offered. "If you don't need our----"

"My ring, please."

Dean and Sam shared another glance, and Sam said to her, "I don't know where it went, it was----"

He cut himself off because the spotlights flickered, the tiger growled, the wind picked up and shook the entire tent, horses whinnied, and the lion slowly strolled through the entry, two lionesses close behind. The lights came back with a fury, showing that every face had grown dark, eyes sunken and cloudy, skin showing signs of rot. And worst of all - worst for Sam - were the clowns.

They were now advancing on him, creeping forward, all sneers and bared teeth - until she scurried ahead, and stood between them. They blinked, shaken out of their trance-like attack, some even hanging their heads apologetically, all shuffling back to join the rest. She turned to Sam.

"I.... I had it,” he said. “I don't understand what----"

"Shhhh," she said, putting a finger to his lips briefly. Her finger was cold. So was her expression, her demeanor. But he felt safe. Safe enough not to need to plead for his and Dean's lives.

She placed a hand over her heart, and her eyes left his long enough to glance at his jacket.

With a slight frown, Sam reached inside, feeling around in the breast pocket, and then he smiled - a nervous, relieved smile. He pulled out the ring, saving wondering how the clowns had pulled off that trick for another time; or, possibly never. He held it out to her, and she took it, turned away; but almost as soon as she had, she turned back part-way.

She seemed to have a silent conversation with the fortune teller, who gave her a nod, then turned fully to again face Sam. She reached out, took his left hand, raised it, and slipped the ring onto his pinky, where it fit just above his knuckle. Then as before, she threaded her fingers through his, gripped tight.

They stared at each other for a few moments before he said, "We'll give you time to do what you need to do. But when we start----"

"I know," she said.

He nodded. "I wish... I wish I could've saved you."

She released his hand. "You did."

Dean and Sam carefully navigated around the ring to get to the exit, giving everyone - and the animals - a wide berth. There was no grace period, no waiting for them to leave before beginning to take turns at the ringmaster. But somehow, cutting through it all, over the gaily laughing clowns and the screams of agony, way across the field, even as they entered the fog, was the sound of her singing.

Now laughing friends deride Tears I cannot hide So I smile and say When a lovely flame dies Smoke gets in your eyes

The fortune teller had been right; the ring wasn't real gold, not even close. They'd waited about an hour, which - if Dean's calculations were correct based on how long Sam had been gone - gave the troupe a solid eight to finish their business. They were sitting on a fallen log, watching the last of it melt away in the salted fire, when Billie appeared.

She walked over, held up a folder. "Found the file." She tossed it into the fire, then leaned against a tree across from them.

Dean gave her a look, and Sam's forehead creased; he’d have to ask later.

"So how'd it feel to save a bunch of clowns, Sam? The exposure therapy work?" asked Billie.

"That... that couldn't have been what all this was about... was it?" Sam asked, incredulous. "The ringmaster had said he was allowed to contact us, that I'd been recommended for it, but that would be---"

"Stupid," Dean interjected.

"Not so stupid," Billie said. "Maybe it was good for you to get to know someone who grew up around what frightens you."

"What do you mean?"

"Oh, somebody who had a mish-mashed family full of interesting folks, some who were scary-seeming to others, but they were family, and they were always on her side. And they were always on the move, on the road. Most all of them - in some ways - always on the run. Definitely misunderstood."

A smile, albeit a somewhat sad one, began to appear on Sam's lips.

"They wear greasepaint and costumes, all kinds of obvious masks, some with outward oddities that can’t be hidden. Hunters have their scars that are tough to hide, too, you know. Their masks are more subtle. But it’s still there, that proof of life. Under the smoke and mirrors. And they can all put on a hell of a show---" a glance to the smoldering ring “---or, when needed, be showstoppers."

"Well that was poetic. And subtle," Dean said flatly.

Billie ignored him, still looking to Sam. "Well? What's the verdict?"

Sam took a moment to think of his answer, then said, "I'm... reconsidering clowns. Some clowns."

Billie grinned. "Fair enough." And then, she was gone.

Dean exhaled loudly, clapped his hands together as he stood. "Wheeeew! So! Another one for the books." He pulled out his keys, shook them at Sam. "Ready to get the hell out of here?"

Sam glanced back at the field, a real smile now coming to his face. "Yeah," he said softly.

In the car, as their path was about to turn from dirt to pavement, Dean hesitated for a moment, asking, "You need for us to stop, grab a beer? Find a motel and crash for awhile?"

Sam shook his head, not looking at Dean, but staring out the window. "No. I want my own bed."

Dean watched him for a few moments, waited, knew his brain was chewing on something else.

Now Sam met his eye. "Can I tell you about her?"

Dean nodded, turned down the radio, and pulled onto the road. "Shoot."

"So she lost her parents when she was really young, but she gets taken in by another family, this group of clowns, and they...."

The small fire died, the smoke left the field, and the hunters drove off into the sunrise.

See Nash Write : Master  /  See Nash Write : Mobile

🏷️🏷️Wanna be tagged? Hit me up! 🏷️🏷️

Feedback is fuel! ❤ I hope you enjoyed!

Author’s Notes:

🤡 This started gestating forever ago, and I talked about it in spring of this year, so if some stuff seemed familiar to you, that’s why - see here and here.

🤡 You can learn more about Joseph Grimaldi here, and about the London version of the celebration “The Funeral of Grimaldi” here. I love this dude:

I will never write anything as grand as “pugilistic vegetable”.

🤡 On the subject of the song --> I promise you’ll recognize it when you hear it. It’s “Smoke Gets In Your Eyes” (apropos, yes?) and chances are you’re most familiar with the more modern versions, specifically the one by The Platters (1957). And you may be thinking “Nash! You whiffed! You’ve got this story taking place in the 40s!” Friends, why do you doubt me? It’s from a play in the 30s, and you can hear a lovely by the name of Gertrude Niesen (1933) sing it here.

I also highly recommend you take a few minutes to watch the following and have yourself a giggle. Judy Garland made no secret of the fact she did not care for this song, even though she sings it beautifully (I mean, she sings everything beautifully), so it was probably a “Huh?” for the audience when she launched into it on her TV show in the 60s. Be on the lookout for a special guest appearance by a (sort-of) moose. Damn, I love it when things come full circle:

🤡 On the topic of Romani circus performers, you can learn about one very special family, the Bougliones, via the obituary of one Rosa Bouglione, their matriarch, who died in September at the age of 107. She was a badass:

🤡 Honk-honk:

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[ernmark]

Why do mrs. and mrs. Pataki know Peter's name?

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

Juno isn’t here. That should have been the first clue that something was very wrong, but Peter didn’t take it. 

"Mornin’, Agent Glass. Juno isn’t here right now.” 

The second clue is that Rita seemed to know he’d be asking about Juno before he asked about him. 

The third is that oddly low, gravelly pitch to her voice, though Peter’s too polite to ask.

“Is he alright?”

“Oh, he’s fine. He went back home to get his hat, and then he had some trouble with the locks. Don’t worry, though. I’m sure he’ll be here any minute.”

What finally clinches it, though, is the fact that Juno’s supposedly missing hat is drawn low over her brows in Juno’s patented gumshoe style.

“Will he now?” 

“Sure,” Rita drawls. “After you and I have had a little talk.”

Instinct tells Peter to disappear. This is why he doesn’t make regular plans: it’s too easy for someone to learn them and then use them against you. But he liked having these lunch dates with Juno, damn it all, and besides, it’s only Rita. She can’t be a real threat, can she?

“It seems my schedule is suddenly clear,” Peter says, trying not to sound as tense as he feels. “What did you want to talk about?”

“Let’s start with how your name ain’t really Rex Glass.” She leans forward, her fingers steepled in front of her. “Sure, the higher ups think it is. They think you were on all these jobs going back years and years, all sorts of assignments. But I checked those assignments. And the case files were all edited on the same day, you know that? Every single one of ‘em. And it just happened to be the night Croesus Kanagawa was murdered. Ain’t that funny?”

Peter’s in no mood to humor her anymore. There’s a pit in his stomach. This was no quick breach-- that’s an intensive, invasive search. She had to sift through the files’ metadata. “You hacked Dark Matters?” 

“During a commercial break,” she says, which should not sound nearly as menacing as it does. “I want to know who you really are, Agent Glass, and you’re gonna tell me. And you’re gonna tell me the truth, because if you lie to me, you can bet I’m gonna find out.” 

“What do you want?” Peter asks quietly.

“I just told you.” 

“A means to an end,” Peter says. “What is it you’re really after? Who are you working for?”

“You know who I’m workin’ for, and I know you’ve been lyin’ to him. Mista Steel’s been through too much for someone like you to go breakin’ his heart. I ain’t lettin’ you hurt him again, you hear me?” 

She’s doing it to protect Juno. Peter isn’t sure whether that makes it better or worse. Engstrom would have used Peter’s name as blackmail-- he was a man who bartered in secrets, and that one was too valuable to spend carelessly. Rita has no such compunctions. She could absolutely destroy Peter-- and she might just do that, if it means protecting Juno.

“Juno knows who I am,” he says carefully. 

“I’m sure he thinks he does,” she says. “But he likes you, and he don’t want to go digging in things that’ll make him stop liking you. And I think you already know that.”

Peter swallows. He does. 

He has two options: either silence Rita permanently, or leave now and hope she forgets about him once he stops being a threat to her boss.

Either one will mean losing Juno, perhaps forever. 

He thought he lost Juno once. He won’t let that happen again.

So he makes a choice.

He takes the seat across the desk from Rita, and he talks to Rita in the only language he’s sure she’ll understand. 

“Then let me tell you a story.”

He unpacks it all, beginning to end: the years on the streets, the tyranny of New Kinshasa, finding Mag, the story of a father who never existed, the choice he made, the life on the run. It’s the first time he’s told anyone the story-- the first time he even said Mag’s name aloud since the day he died-- but he uses the pain of the telling. He takes his greatest weakness and hammers it into armor, takes his shame to cast himself as a hero and victim. 

As much as Rita tries not to let her reactions show on her face, there are unshed tears in her eyes when he finishes his story.

“I’m gonna fact-check all this, you know,” she says, her voice a little thicker than it was before. 

“I would expect nothing less,” he says. “But while you do, would you mind letting Juno out of his apartment? We’re two hours late for our date.”

Fact-check she does. Four days later, Peter walks into the office to Rita showing Juno an old security feed from Brahma, from when Peter was ten and unbearably twiggy. 

The concept of one’s boyfriend being exposed to embarrassing childhood photos isn’t a completely alien concept to Peter-- he just never thought it would happen to him.

It isn’t that Rita can’t keep a secret-- after all, Peter had no idea that Juno was a werewolf until he found out the hard way. She doesn’t mention Peter’s past again, aside from one detail:

She keeps calling him by name. It slips out every once in a while, when she’s doing the impossible on her computer while juggling the plots of her favorite shows-- just a quick “and tell Peter-- I mean, Rex-- darn it--” 

Always Peter. Never Nureyev. That’s something, at least. But it still leaves him more vulnerable than he would like. Already the neighbors are asking about that “nice young man” who’s been coming by the office so much lately. Rita’s been getting by just calling him “the boss’s new main squeeze”, but that can’t go on forever. They’re asking for a name. And they’ll start asking questions if Rita starts calling him by the wrong one.

It’s decided in a group meeting, huddled around the front desk of Juno’s office. Agent Rex Glass of Dark Matters is in a relationship with Juno-- totally forbidden by Dark Matters policy, since Juno’s an outsider to the organization-- and to keep it quiet, he’s going by an alias: Peter Flint, average civilian and sometimes consultant who knows a thing or two about art and history. It’s dramatic enough to stick in Rita’s head, and even if she messes up on the details, she can easily blame it on Peter’s secret identity.

Mrs. Pataki down the hall is the first one to hear the slip up, and so she’s the first person to hear about Juno and Peter’s forbidden love.

Rita hasn’t actually said anything to Juno or Peter about it, but it’s fairly obvious in the way she keeps giggling and blushing when she sees the two of them leaving together. 

Juno sighs, but Peter won’t deny he enjoys it. It’s nice having other people in on his secrets for a change.

[mbtizone]

Aubrey Posen (Pitch Perfect): ESTJ

Dominant Extroverted Thinking [Te]: Aubrey enjoys being in charge and has no problem giving orders and commands to the rest of the group. She dislikes when her authority is questioned and wants to remain in control of the Barden Bellas. Instead of enjoying herself and trying to create a fun environment, she treats the Bellas like soldiers and prepares them for “war.” It’s Aubrey’s responsibility to prepare the Bellas, which she does in a bossy, domineering manner. She imposes strict rehearsal schedules on the group (two hours a day, every day), and she expects that they make additional time individually for cardio exercise. Aubrey creates and firmly enforces rules, and is intolerant of those who beak them. She pushes the girls hard and doesn’t settle for less than their absolute best.

Auxiliary Introverted Sensing [Si]: Tradition is extremely important to Aubrey. She takes her duties as a Bella extremely seriously and looks down on those who don’t. She’s convinced that the key to winning is sticking to the same songs they’ve always one, none of which are from the 21st century. This clearly isn’t working for them, because they continue to lose, but Aubrey refuses to try anything new. She is completely committed to the Bellas and her role within the group. Aubrey takes the oath very seriously and does not go easy on those who fail to treat it with the same level of respect. She’s a stickler for rules and believes that things need to be done in a certain way. It’s hard for her to accept change, leading her to clash with Beca, who is innovative and unique in her approach. Aubrey is a perfectionist and everything needs to be just so. She has an incredibly detailed plan, which she writes out on a white board, showing the group how they will become champions. Aubrey’s upbringing has a significant impact on her, and she blames her father and the way he raised her for why she is the way she is.

Tertiary Extroverted Intuition [Ne]: Although Aubrey is resistant to change and prefers doing things the same way they’ve always been done, she is able to use her intuition in other aspects of her life. She was immediately able to sense the chemistry between Beca and Jesse. Although she shoots down all of Beca’s thoughts and proposals, she is eventually able to see the value in her way of doing things. Once she and the rest of the group put Beca’s suggestions into practice, she realizes that her ideas will benefit them in their performances and becomes more open to stepping outside of her comfort zone.

Inferior Introverted Feeling [Fi]: Aubrey has little patience for people who violate her values. She kicks out Bellas who sleep with Trebles because the Trebles don’t respect them, so having sex with one gives them their “power.” She ruthlessly cuts any girl who becomes sexually involved with a Treble, forcing her own values on others. She is judgmental of people who do things she disagrees with and won’t hesitate to humiliate them for their actions. Aubrey doesn’t have much consideration for the group’s feelings and doesn’t care if they’re unhappy. She just wants them to win.

Enneagram: 1w2 3w2 6w5 So/Sp

Quotes:

Aubrey: I will stop at nothing to take those ding-a-lings down.

Aubrey: Just keep flyering. We have a tradition to uphold.

Aubrey: My fellow a-ca-people. We will not let egotistical, big-headed, garbage dirtballs, whoever you may be, get in our way. I promise you, we will return to the ICCAs and finish what we started last year.

Aubrey: Okay. Sopranos in the front and altos in the back. As you can see, Kori is not here. Last night she was Treble-boned. She has been dis-invited from the Bellas. Beca: That oath was serious? Aubrey: Dixie Chicks serious. You can fool around with whoever you want to, just not a treble.

Aubrey: Stacie, the Trebles don’t respect us and if we let them penetrate us, we are giving them our power. Fat Amy: Not a good enough reason to use the word “penetrate.” Aubrey: So, does anyone here have anything to confess? Mary Elise: It was an accident. I… Aubrey: Turn in your scarf and go. Beca: Was that necessary? Aubrey: This is war, Beca, and it is my job to make sure that my soldiers are prepped at go time with three kick-ass songs sung and choreographed to perfection. And there are only four months until regionals. So if you have a problem with the way I run the Bellas, then you should just…

Aubrey: The sopranos. Jessica, Mary Elise, Lilly. The mezzos. Cynthia Rose, Stacie, Kori. And our altos. Fat Amy, Denise, Ashley and Beca. We shall begin by drinking the blood of the sisters that came before you.

Aubrey: We will practice every day for at least two hours, seven days a week. And I trust you will add your own cardio.

Aubrey: Okay, moving on. This is a list of all the songs that we have ever performed. And you will notice that we only do songs made famous by women. Beca: There’s nothing from this century on here. Aubrey: Because we don’t stray from tradition. Now this is how we will become champions.

Aubrey: Beca, a word? Beca: What’s up? Aubrey: You know you’ll have to take those ear monstrosities out for the Fall Mixer. Beca: You really don’t like me, do you? Aubrey: I don’t like your attitude. Beca: You don’t even know me. Aubrey: I know you have a toner for Jesse. Beca: A what? Aubrey: A toner. A musical boner. I saw it at Hood Night. It’s distracting. Beca: Yeah, that’s not a thing and you’re not the boss of me. So… Aubrey: You took an oath. Beca: That oath cost you two girls already today. I’m pretty sure you need me more than I need you. Aubrey: I can see your toner through those jeans.

Aubrey: Well, I hope you all remember the way you feel right now, so you will never wanna feel this way again. Chloe, your voice didn’t sound Aguilerian at all. Chloe, for serious, what is wrong with you?

Aubrey: Before everybody goes to bed tonight, I need you to make a list of everything you did wrong. Fat Amy: I’m gonna melt that cabbage patch kid. Beca: Hey guys, what we just did was great, right? Aubrey: Calm your pits Beca, we still lost. Beca: Yeah but it was spontaneous. It was awesome. We were actually listening to- Aubrey: Okay everybody, hands in. “Ahh” on my count. On three of after three?

Aubrey: Well Beca doesn’t want a solo, so… Beca: I would be happy to do it if I got to pick a new song and do an arrangement. Aubrey: Well that’s not how we run things here. Chloe: Aubrey, maybe Beca has a point. Maybe we could try something new. Aubrey: A-ca-scuse me? You can sing Turn the Beat Around and that’s the last I wanna hear of this. Beca:That song is tired. We’re not gonna win with it. If we pull samples from different genres and layer them together, we could make some… Aubrey: Okay let me explain something to you because you still don’t seem to get it. Our goal is to get back to the finals and these songs will get us there. So, excuse me if I don’t take advice from some alt-girl with her mad-lib beats because she’s never been in a competition. Have I made myself clear?

Aubrey: Beca, I’m glad you’re here. I’m calling an emergency Bella meeting. First up… Our score sheet revealed that the Sockappellas almost beat us. And Fat Amy, you need to do it exactly how we rehearsed it, okay? No surprises. Beca: We should be taking risks. It’s not enough to be good, we need to put ourselves out there, be different. Cynthia Rose: Beca’s right. The Trebles never sing the same song twice. Beca: The audience love the Trebles, they tolerate us. We could change the face of a cappella if we… Oh my god, that sounded so queerballs. What’s happening to me? Um… let me show you this arrangement I’ve been working on. Chloe: I didn’t know you were into this stuff. Beca: Yeah. Aubrey: Okay, I have the pitch pipe, and I say that we focus on the set list as planned. From now on, there will be no more wasting time with work or school or boyfriends or partners. Sorry, Cynthia Rose. Chloe: But Aubrey, this stuff is pretty cool. I mean… Aubrey: Okay rehearsal tomorrow. 8 A.M. sharp.

Aubrey: What the hell Beca? Were you trying to screw us up? Beca: Are you serious? Aubrey: Newsflash. This isn’t the Beca Show. Beca: Okay, I’m sorry that I messed you up, but in case you hadn’t noticed, everybody pretty much dozed off during our set. Aubrey: It’s not your job to decide what we do and when we do it. Why don’t you ask the rest of the group how they felt about your little improvisation? Beca: Amy? Fat Amy: It was cool. But it did take us a little bit by surprise. Aubrey: Yeah, a lot like surprise. Fat Amy: Mmmm a little. Aubrey: I told you she wasn’t a Bella. Chloe: Aubrey, don’t. Beca: No, that’s okay. You don’t have to pretend you’re allowed to have a say in the group, right? Aubrey: Your attitude sucks. You’re a grade-A pain in my ass, and I know you’re hooking up with Jesse.

Chloe: I texted Beca. Aubrey: You did what? Chloe: She makes us better. Aubrey: That’s not an opinion for you to have, Chloe. Chloe: Why? Because it’s not yours? You’re not always right you know. Aubrey: We will win without her.

Aubrey: Okay, stop! What is happening to us? Chloe, you sound like you smoke three packs a day. Stacie, you are so behind on choreography. And Jessica and Ashley, it’s like you haven’t been here all year long.

Cynthia Rose: We need Beca. Chloe: Maybe if Aubrey loosened the reins a little bit. Aubrey: Okay, shut it Chloe! Oh, I’m sorry. That was rude. Chloe, could you please get your head out of your ass? It’s not a hat.

Aubrey: Oh, so this is my fault? Chloe: That’s not what I’m saying. Aubrey: No, no, no, that’s what you’re all thinking, isn’t it? That I’m the jerk. I am the girl obsessed with winning. Chloe: Aubrey, you’re too controlling and it’s gonna ruin all of us. Aubrey: You know what, I can lose control if I want to. I can let go. This time I’m not gonna choke it down.

Aubrey: Beca, I know that I’ve been hard on you, okay? I know that I’ve been hard on everyone here. But I am my father’s daughter. And he always said, ‘if at first you don’t succeed, pack your bags.

Aubrey Posen (Pitch Perfect): ESTJ was originally published on MBTI Zone

[heart-attackinblackhairdye]

Sparks Against the Railing

*I fucking hated flying. Hated it. I had a list, actually, of things I would rather do than fly and it included a pain-killer free root canal and spending Sunday morning with Beulah Burchett. In fact, eating a meal composed entirely of feta cheese was the only thing I thought would be worse. And then I flew into L.A. with a rock band. And a five year old. And a diminutive deputy. Miles was staying back at home with Lynne and Cinda because Lynne claimed, ‘You take him and you’ll regret it, Jorja Jeanne. Believe me, I traveled with you as a baby. And you already have your hands full.’ I’ll take that feta anytime now. My experience with flying was minimal at best, and with the family I currently had with me, well… Gracie was, honest to fuck, better behaved than some of the so-called adults that we met during the seven hour flight and four fucking hours in the airports but dark glasses and oversized hoodies could only hide so much. Tristan’s hair was a goddamn fire-engine red beacon and Jett’s distinctive fro wasn’t any better. Benji’s tattoo’s were recognizable even from a distance and Christian and Max were just…. Christian and Max. They towered, quite literally, over everyone else in our crazy little group. Atlanta wasn’t quite so bad, a few whispers and some brave fans, only two that I had to glare at for fucking hands on my goddamn husband, but it was a huge improvement over our last airport debacle. And then we landed in LA. Nothing, nothing in the entire fucking world could have prepared me for this. I had thought I was pretty used to chaos and bullshit. I was wrong. I could almost smell the desperation as soon as we had stepped into the terminal proper and it made my stomach turn. Even inside, everything seemed so… fake. When the first leggy blonde brushed past me to flat out gush over my husband and the men who were, for the most part, my brothers, I was annoyed. By the third, I was pissed. By the fifth, I was thankful that Brian had a good grip as he caught me around the waist and got whacked in the face with my newly-dyed pigtails for his trouble. The manager may have been shorter than Benji, but he was deceptively strong. He kept me from an assault charge, so I was thankful for that. The press though… motherfuckers. I’d thought the very few that had dared to come to Lost Lake were bad. And again, I was so wrong. There was a crowd following us as soon as we passed through security and they stayed at a nearly respectable distance through the baggage claim until we disappeared into the cars sent from the label. The stream of questions and taunts designed, almost specifically, to evoke a response was stomach turning and I thanked a god I didn’t believe in that Gracie was wearing noise canceling headphones as question after question was hurled at us. The guys seemed to take it in stride, though I did notice more than a little bit of tension at a few questions, from everyone except Max and Jett. Those motherfuckers were unflappable. I was fine, or at least I pretended to be, until Gracie and MIles were mentioned. There were fucking limits and if I hadn’t been holding both my and Gracie’s bags and I would have taken a swing at the cowardly hack that had just questioned my children’s paternity, in front of not only one of them, but their actual father. Gracie, for her part, was happily clinging to Tristan’s back, singing along obliviously to an album Patrick had sent her. The implication wasn’t lost on anyone old enough to understand it, and Benji and Tristan’s both went rigid and Jessie, who had literally nothing to do with this bullshit, looked faintly green beneath her flaming cheeks. I already hated L.A. and I wasn’t even out of the airport yet. Fortunately, things got a bit easier once we were all piled into the van the label had sent, basking in the air conditioning and music both blasting as we headed into the city. It was a business trip, a celebration concert and party for the label’s thirtieth anniversary, but we had all decided that it wouldn’t hurt anyone to enjoy the city a little, if we could. The ride was quiet, save for the music, until Gracie shattered it with an ear-piercing shriek of excitement. “MAMA! IT’S YOUR SONG THAT YOU HELPED P-TRICK WITH. LISTEN MAMA! I’m gonna tell him I heard him on the radio when we see him. Is it gonna be soon, Mama? Cause you promised and I brought my hat. ” My child was something else entirely, with a set of lungs that rivaled her father’s, whom I was pretty sure I saw wince as the tiny girl yelled in his ear. She also wasn’t wrong; the song playing was one that I had polished a bit through a series of skype meetings and conference calls, all of which Gracie had wormed her way in on. As my child somehow managed to do, she had wrapped Patrick around her finger, and plans to get together and finally meet in person were peppered with stipulations from Gracie, especially after the Christmas package came, containing a pair of fedoras for my kids. That child was fucking magic, there was no other explanation; she got that from her father, I had zero doubt.* Yes, Gracie, we will see Patrick soon, that’s where we are going right now. And I know you brought your hat, I packed it, remember? *Grace nodded her head, her pigtails bouncing on her shoulders, eyes hidden with a pair of child-sized Ray-bans that matched Christian's. That child was so, so spoiled. I could see Christian hiding a smile as he texted, most probably to Kloe, who was still in New York. Jessie and Tristan were in the back, talking far too quietly for me to hear, but the soft smiles on both of their faces spoke volumes. They were ridiculously adorable. Grabbing Benji’s hand, I gave it a squeeze as we both laughed at Brian, seated up front in the passenger seat, alternately yelling at whoever was on the other end of his phone, and typing on the computer that was balanced on his lap. That man worked harder than any of us put together. As strange as it was, this was my family, and I couldn’t ever, ever, imagine it any different. It didn’t take long before we were pulling easily up in front of the venue for the show that evening. It was a club, which kind of surprised me, but just based on the size, and the goddamn crowd wrapped around the block, this wasn’t going to be a flashback to the New York days, quite the opposite. The building looked big enough to pull a crowd and yet small enough to give an illusion of intimacy. We all piled out quickly, slightly jet lagged and weak-kneed after spending hours in flight. The air was hazy, but there was a cool breeze that counteracted the blinding sun, and I slid my sunglasses on, once again matching Gracie’s, as I stretched my arms over my head, my back cracking in a series of satisfied pops. “Jorja?” I turned at the sound of my name but before I could open my mouth, Gracie was squealing with excitement at the sight of her favorite new friend and had pulled her hand free from Tristan’s to run across the asphalt as fast as her Chucks could carry her, her black fedora held on her head before she threw both arms around a slightly stunned looking man’s waist. The laughter was immediate and genuine, and I shook my head as I followed in Gracie’s footsteps.* You’ll have to excuse my daughter, she has absolutely no fear of anything at all. She gets that from her father. *I could practically hear Gracie’s eyes rolling and shook my head as I grinned at the small welcoming committee. Patrick was smiling brightly, flanked by a petite redhead on his left and a bleach blonde man with tattoos and a blinding smile on his right. “Mama, I get that from you.” Gracie’s interest in me was short lived, however, as she turned her attention back to her new friend. “P-Trick! Guess what? We heard your song that Mama helped with on the radio when we were driving here. I like it alot, and I even saw My Daddy singing along, so that means it’s really good.” Patrick smiled, Benji waved and Gracie, ever the ice breaker, glanced at Patrick’s companions. “Hi, I’m Gracie. My Mama says I talk too much for my own good. Who are you? Are you P-Trick’s band?” Another round of laughter and Patrick shook his head, crouching to get on Gracie’s level. “Your Mama is a smart lady, Miss Gracie. And no, I don’t have a band, but I do have friends. This is my friend Pete, and My- well, this is Teddy and she has been my friend since we were younger than you.” Gracie, for her part, eyed the strangers, sliding her sunglasses down her nose just a little, looking for all the world like some kind of miniature punk rock librarian. Apparently, she liked what she saw. “You have tattoos like My Daddy and Mama had hair like yours until last week. She made it black again because she fucking hates LA. Teddy, you have kind of a funny name, but I like it. You have nice hair too.” Gracie’s matter-of-fact observation had everyone laughing. Introductions were made quickly and the guys started to unload the van, brushing off all offers of help. It wasn’t anything new, or them being humble in the least, they just liked to handle their own equipment as much as possible, they always had. It was a small show with a minimum of necessities as Killjoys weren’t the only band on the bill, but the cases that we did bring were pretty damn important. I was mid-conversation with Patrick about an idea he had pitched me during one of our Skype meetings, Gracie inside using the bathroom with both Teddy and Jessie whom she quickly proclaimed as twins, when I heard it, the sound was unmistakable and chilled me to the bone. Everything stopped as time stood still and the world around us sprang into sudden, blinding clarity. For just a moment, everything was too bright, too hot, too quiet, too everything. And then the screeching of tires and the squealing of metal against metal shattered the silence. I couldn’t move for a minute, rooted to the spot as I watched the crash play out in slow motion. It didn’t process, not at first, what exactly what was going on, but then I heard the familiar yell and time started moving again, and so did I. Well, I tried, but strong arms caught me around the waist, a voice that I vaguely recognized as Pete’s in my ears holding me back. Not the right move. Slamming an elbow back into a solid pair of ribs, I twisted out of his grip and ran towards the now mangled van, even as it slid further down the street, propelled by the garbage truck that was still, somehow, moving down the street. Cases were scattered on the cracked asphalt and the sound of breaking glass ranging in my ears, the shards crunching under my feet as I ran past the crowd of photographers and concert attendees already lining up, phones and cameras out to of course capture every small detail as the garbage truck and van finally skidded to a stop against the back end of a parked tour bus in a moment of deafening, paralyzing silence broken by screams and shouts. I fell to my knees beside the stopped van, my sunglasses discarded and searched desperately, trying to take stock of my family, my entire fucking world in the wreckage. I could see a flash of red hair to my left, Tristan of course, limping badly with blood trickling down his pale face. Max crumpled on the sidewalk by where the impact had initially happened. I knew, somewhere in my mind, that I should be searching for everyone, but I couldn’t - not in this moment. I needed to know where Benji was. I couldn’t see him, couldn’t hear anything but screaming. That was coming from me. Shit fuck. My breath stuck in my throat as I caught sight of a familiar black sleeve poking out from under the fender of the truck… literally under it, a heavily tattooed hand grasping for purchase over the glass covered pavement. I couldn’t move as Benji squirmed free from under the front of the garbage truck, standing on shaking legs. Screams pierced the air and brought me back to myself as I finally started moving, running and throwing my arms around Benji’s neck with a broken sob as sirens pierced the air.* #SparksAgainstTheRailing #KilljoysAndSinners