#hope the coloring is not so bad... i just wanted to give that old effect yk

[imagineteamfreewill]

Powerful Magic

Title: Powerful Magic

Pairing: Sam Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 13.7k

Warnings: Brief language, witches, magic/curses, frequent mentions of death and dying, crying, very light blood, angst, fluff

Summary: While on a witch hunt in Boston, Sam puts his life on the line to save Y/N. When he begins to suffer from the effects of the magic the next morning, they’re forced into an impossible situation with no way out. 

A/N: This is a commission for the lovely @park-simphwa. Thank you to them for giving me such a fun prompt to write, and thank you to everyone who supports me in a million other ways. As always, I hope you enjoy this story!

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

You aren’t expecting to run into anyone on the grocery run, least of all your old hunting partner, but life’s been throwing fireball after fireball at you lately, so you really shouldn’t be surprised. It’s been years since you’ve seen Jason, and somehow he still looks exactly the same, maybe with a few more wrinkles and scars. His hair is still greasy and cropped close to his skull, and you can smell the cigarettes on him even from where you stand a few feet away. His boots are caked with dried mud that sprinkles across the tile of the grocery store every time he shifts his weight or takes a step to get out of someone’s way, which is often because he’s always been the type of guy that thinks of himself first and others second.

Smiling tightly, you yank your cart closer to the shelves of jarred salsa and bottles of colorful sodas to make room for people trying to get by, and you use that movement to look over your shoulder. There’s no sign of Sam or Dean.

Damnit.

“So, how’ve you been?” Jason asks. “You look good, Y/N.”

You nod. “Good, fine. How about you? Are you still…?” You don’t dare utter the words aloud, but Jason gets the hint. He nods.

“Still in pest control. It keeps me busy.” He grins, and you try not to grimace at the yellow tinge of his teeth. How had you ignored all of his red flags for so long? With the exception of your last hunt together, it’s not like Jason was necessarily a bad guy, he was just gross and inconsiderate. On top of the constant smoking, he always took too long to shower after coming back from hunts. You know for a fact that he only brushed his teeth once a week. Plus, you don’t remember ever seeing him do laundry, though logically, he’d done it at some point… Right? Or maybe you’d just gotten used to the stench.

“There you are,” Sam’s voice in your ear makes you shiver, but his hand on your lower back warms you right back up. “I was looking for you.” He pauses. “Who’s this?”

You glance up at him, smiling in relief. Sam doesn’t smile back. His face is a hard mask of protectiveness, one that you’re always grateful for, even if it’s being wasted. You know that he’s amping it up a little just because you were approached while he was out of sight. He’s always a little more protective when he thinks you’re getting hit on by some creep. You can’t count the number of times he’s pretended to be your boyfriend to help you avoid men hitting on you at the skeevy dive bars that you always seem to find after hunts. Part of you should be offended that he’s stepping in instead of letting you handle it yourself, but you know he doesn’t do it because he doesn’t think you’re capable. Sam does it because you shouldn’t have to fend them off on your own. You shouldn’t have to be in that position, but because you are, he’s not going to let you be there alone.

“This is Jason. He’s an old coworker, from before I joined up with you and Dean. Jason, this is my…”

You hesitate, instantly knowing that you shouldn’t. You and Sam are just friends. It doesn’t matter how badly you want to be more than that, or how easily the two of you fall into the rhythm of a fake relationship, both for a moment in the grocery store or for a week-long hunt. It doesn’t matter that Dean insists his younger brother likes you. It doesn’t matter what Sam said the one time you’ve seen him really, truly drunk. You’re just friends.

“—friend,” Sam finishes. He holds out his right hand, and his fierce expression has been replaced with a polite smile, though you can tell it’s fake. You know him well, but for a second, he almost looks a bit jealous. “Sam.”

Jason shakes his hand with both eyebrows raised. His smile had faded the second Sam approached, but now he seems uneasy. “Sam. And… Dean?” He glances between you and Sam. “As in…?”

You cut him off with a quick, “I’m so sorry, Jason, but we’re really cutting it close on time.” His mouth snaps shut and he has the decency to look chagrined. Anyone with any common sense in the hunting world knows not to name names, especially last ones. You never know who might be listening.

“She’s right. Dean’s waiting on us, and we’ve got to get back on the road. It was great meeting you,” Sam adds. “Any friend of Y/N’s is a friend of mine.” His hand drops from the small of your back. You try not to let your disappointment show.

With one last smile and a promise to keep in touch, even though all three of you know that you won’t, you make a u-turn with the cart and walk with Sam toward the checkout lanes. He doesn’t say anything as the two of you unload the items onto the belt, nor does he say anything as the items are scanned and bagged. Your stomach churns as the tension crackles between you. Why had you hesitated? Why had you acted so weird? Had Sam really been jealous, or did you just imagine it?

Chill out, you think as you load the bags of groceries into the cart. Sam pulls out his wallet and swipes his latest fraudulent card, then takes the receipt. You watch out of the corner of his eye as he tucks the card into the left hand pocket, the one he reserves for cards he’ll need to ditch soon.

You’re going to make this worse if you don’t relax.

You follow him out to the Impala, pushing the cart slow enough that you won’t run into him if he stops. Dean is already leaning against the side of the car. He has an energy drink in one hand and his phone in the other. Whatever else he decided to buy has already been loaded into the trunk. He glances between you and Sam as you get closer, clearly sensing something is off, and you watch as he straightens and deposits his phone into the pocket of his jacket.

“Everything okay?” Dean asks.

Before you can answer, Sam nods. “Yeah, all good. They were out of the soup you wanted.”

Dean grumbles to himself and opens the trunk, then helps you unload the groceries. His three bags of purchases are already tucked into the back, and you’re careful not to load anything on top of them in case he bought something that could get squished. As you work, Sam goes around to the passenger side and takes his seat, shutting the door behind him.

“What happened?�� Dean asks you. He rearranges some of the bags you’ve put onto the trunk’s false bottom. Though there’s plenty of noise to talk over in the busy parking lot, he keeps his voice quiet enough that Sam won’t be able to hear it through the backseat. 

You don’t meet his eyes. “Nothing. Just ran into an old partner of mine, that’s all.”

“Partner?” You can feel his gaze on you, and your cheeks grow warm.

“Not like that,” you huff. “We were just… partners. For a while, it could have been something else, but it never happened.”

“Why not?”

Unloading the last bag, you glance up at the storefront, where Jason is exiting. He’s only got two bags in hand, but there’s a six-pack of beer tucked under his arm. He already has a cigarette tucked between his lips. Dean looks past you and grunts a little.

“If that’s him, I can see why.”

“Be nice,” you tell him.

“Was he at least a good guy?” 

You shrug. “He wasn’t bad. Just kinda gross, that’s all.”

Dean grabs your arm before you can walk away with the cart. You look back at him, and he’s watching you with the same protective glint in his eye that Sam had inside the store.

“Did he hurt you?” he asks, and you shake your head. “Did he say something to you in there?”

“No. That’s not why it was weird.”

“I gotta know if something happened, Y/N. If I’m gonna ride in the car with the two of you—”

“I hesitated, okay?” you answer, yanking yourself free from his grip. Your cheeks are definitely hot now, and it’s not the sun. It’s still cloudy from last night’s storm. “I went to introduce Sam and I hesitated.”

Dean is staring at you like you’ve just broken into song. “You hesitated?”

Sighing, you look up at the clouds, willing yourself not to be so embarrassed by this. It shouldn’t be this big of a deal. 

“Yes, I hesitated. Instead of just saying that his name was Sam, I said, ‘This is Sam, my….’” You gesture with the hand not holding the cart, letting the unfinished sentence hang in the air.

His face twists. “Oh. Rookie move, Y/N.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“So what did you end up saying?” Dean asks.

“I didn’t. Sam finished and said he was my friend.”

“And you want to be more than friends.”

“I didn’t say that,” you quickly reply, but you look away, and your cover is ruined.

“Why don’t you believe me when I tell you that he likes you? You two are driving me insane. I’m going to lose my mind before we ever get to Boston if this keeps up.”

You roll your eyes and head towards the cart corral, then push the cart in with the others. Dean’s already in the driver’s seat by the time you start walking back, and he starts pulling out of the spot as soon as you have the back door shut. Sam doesn’t say anything. You cast him a quick glance, but that’s all you risk as you settle into your usual spot with the book he’s loaned you. It isn’t one you’re particularly interested in, but you’ve traded books for the trip. You’re fairly certain that you got the short end of the stick. Despite the years of friendship under your belt, he never takes your book suggestions. Then again, you don’t take his.

The universe finally takes mercy on you, and the rest of the drive to Boston goes by faster than expected. You have one overnight stay in a motel, but the boys decide to get two rooms instead of one, so you get a queen size bed and the bathroom all to yourself. 

Once in Boston, you check in to a second motel, then head out to get your bearings. The person who sent the information to Dean had only given you the address for the hotel where the witch is supposedly hiding out, plus the names of two of the victims. Sam decides to look at some old, non-digitized records of the hotel, so you go with him, knowing that if you go with Dean, you’ll most likely end up at the morgue. You’re not really in the mood for a dead body. You’ll take an afternoon with your best friend over that any day, even if your best friend is currently giving you the cold shoulder.

You’re in one of the reservable rooms at the library, looking over the papers and logbooks spread out over the table, when Sam finally brings up the grocery store incident.

“Are you okay?” he asks, and you look up from the patron log you’ve been carefully sorting through.

“Yeah, why?” You try not to seem surprised that he’s asking, considering he hasn’t said much of anything to you since you left the grocery store over 24 hours ago.

“You’ve been quiet since we ran into Jason.”

You shrug a little and look back down at the page, then flip it over to look at the names listed on the back. “I’ve been reading the book you loaned me.”

“It’s not that,” he says. “This is your ‘I made a mistake’ quiet.”

Not knowing how to answer, you keep your eyes on the book in front of you. Sam stares at you, and you can feel him watching you as you gingerly turn the page again.

“I don’t want to press—”

“I haven’t seen him in a while,” you finally say, still not looking up. It’s the truth, even if it’s not the whole truth. “It just… caught me off guard, that’s all. It’s not every day you run into someone that almost got you killed, you know? And then I was flustered when I introduced you, and I panicked. I was worried that maybe you were offended because I got all tongue-tied.”

He’s quiet for a second. You risk a glance in his direction, only to find that Sam is already watching you.

“What?” you ask. You fidget with the corner of the paper for a second, and then you have to force yourself to release it before you damage the time-worn parchment. “I’m sorry, I really didn’t mean—”

“No, that’s not it,” Sam interrupts, shaking his head. “I’m not offended, Y/N. I don’t think you could ever offend me.”

The tension between you breaks, and you grin at him. “Oh yeah? Not ever?”

He laughs and pulls his laptop over to where he’s sitting. “Well, maybe if you—”

“No, you can’t take it back now!” you laugh. You scoot your chair closer to his, closing the palpable gap that had been left between you. Sam shifts his stuff to make room for you, and you smile wide, happy to have your friend back. You try to ignore the way your heart leaps into your throat for a brief moment after his hand brushes yours.

You continue researching, but only a couple minutes have passed before Sam clears his throat and speaks up again.

“So, you and Jason,” he starts, and you close the logbook. There’s nothing useful in it and you add it to the growing pile of books you’ve finished.

“What about me and Jason?”

“Were you ever… together?”

You raise an eyebrow at him. “Like, dating?” Sam nods and you grab another book, not wanting to look at him when you answer, “Yeah, for a little while, right before we split.”

“Ah.”

“Mm-hmm.” You open the book, silently hoping he doesn’t ask any more questions about Jason. The two of you have never really talked about any of your past partners. It’s a sore subject for Sam, so you’ve respected the territory, even though you’ve come dangerously close on a few occasions. You usually don’t mind, considering you’d have to lie if he asked if you were interested in dating, and he can always tell if you’re lying.

“You said he almost got you killed,” Sam says, his voice a little softer. His fingers stall over his laptop keyboard, and the screen goes black.

You look up from the book and he’s watching you carefully, gauging your reaction. He knows how hard it can be to discuss the past, and you’re in public. It’s not exactly the safest place for a hunter heart-to-heart. These kinds of conversations are best held in the bunker, or late at night in a motel room.

After a second, you nod. “Yeah. He… He used me as bait, and I didn’t know that was the plan. And then, while he was waiting for them to approach me, he got drunk. He showed up much, much later than he should have.”

You have to look away and swallow the lump in your throat. Under the table, Sam finds your hand and squeezes. 

“I promise to never do that to you,” he tells you, with such conviction that tears spring up in your eyes.

You squeeze his hand in return, blinking quickly to clear your vision. “I know.”

“I will always keep you safe, Y/N. You know that, right?”

Nodding, you look up and take a steadying breath, then smile a little. Sam’s expression doesn’t change. He’s not smiling back at you. Instead, he’s staring at you with an unmatched ferocity, and your smile fades.

“I know,” you gently reply. “I’ve never doubted that.”

You and Sam stare at each other for a long few moments. The other patrons in the library continue to go about their business, and he holds your hand under the table until his phone chimes loudly and several people look over. Sam pulls away first, reaching for the phone. You turn back to the book, feeling like a rug’s been pulled out from underneath your feet. 

What was that all about?

You and Sam have spent countless hours alone together, even going so far as to pose as a couple on a hunt, but it’s never felt like this before. He’s never been so adamant that you know he cares about you and your safety, and he’s never asked about your past love life. Sam’s a passionate guy, too, but you rarely see this side of him. His passion is normally directed toward hunts, or toward the academic subjects and topics he studies in his free time.

“Dean’s got a lead,” Sam relays, staring at the message on his phone. He texts back a response as you nod and begin to pack up. He puts his phone away and starts to help, and you finish cleaning up together, bumping elbows and hands as you stack the materials the way they’d come. Sam carries them back to the circulation desk before you can offer to help, leaving you to follow behind. You don’t mind.

As soon as the three of you are together again, Dean drives to the abandoned hotel and parks in an alley, far enough back from the street that you won’t be easily seen. You unload the guns and witch-killing bullets while they compare notes. You listen in silence as you load all three weapons. The whole thing sounds very straightforward.

“Ready?” Sam asks, and you nod, holding out his gun. He takes it and gives it a quick once-over before nodding his approval. Dean does the same.

You decide to head into the hotel through the old maintenance entrance. The two victims had been found just outside the door, and you quickly discover that it was the right choice. Dean taps on your shoulder only a minute after you enter the building, then points at a bookshelf half-full of spell ingredients. Jars of all shapes and sizes hold everything from small animal bones to a shimmering blue liquid that reminds you of the “potions” you would make using various soaps and shampoos as a kid. It’s one of the few memories you and Sam have in common from your childhoods, though you made yours at your house and his toiletries came from a long string of motels. 

There’s another tap on your shoulder and you glance behind you at Sam, who gestures to your left with his gun. You turn down the hallway, following the sound of shuffling that you hadn’t heard before. It gets louder as you get closer, and then the person begins to chant. Her voice is deep and rich, and without realizing it, you’re lowering your gun. All you want to do is listen. The Latin is almost melodic.

“What are you doing?” Dean hisses. He pulls you away from an open doorway by the collar of your jacket. You stumble and blink at him.

“She okay?” Sam whispers. 

“I have to…” You struggle to voice the burning desire inside of you, the little voice in your head telling you to find the witch. Deep down, you know that it’s dangerous and that you’re being affected by whatever spell she’s performing, but your hands move of their own accord, pushing the boys out of your way. 

Stop! You have to fight this, you think, but it’s as if your conscience is behind a thick glass pane. Your own thoughts feel muffled and far away. They’re useless against the effects of the witch’s magic.

Sam reaches for you, and you dodge him as you duck into the next room of the hotel. It’s an old ballroom with high, vaulted ceilings. A dusty chandelier with cracked crystal pendants hangs precariously over the center of the patterned dance floor, and cobwebs are strung up in every corner. Broken tables and chairs are pushed against one wall, and boarded up windows separate you from the garbage-littered street outside. A balcony winds around two of the walls, with the staircase behind the witch. The banister is made of marble columns and a dark wooden handrail coated with a thin layer of dust. Lit candles litter the floor, and beneath the chandelier, the witch stands surrounded by metal bowls of ingredients and a sigil painted in white.

She reaches out a hand for you when you enter. You’re in a daze, and as your feet carry you closer to her, your gut churns. Something inside you is screaming—every hunter’s instinct you have is telling you to lift your gun and shoot, but you reach down and place your weapon on the dusty tile instead. 

Chanting louder, the witch’s eyes begin to glow a vibrant red. An aura around her does the same, and your breath hitches at the sight. 

This is wrong!

She smiles then, beckoning you with her fingers, and the sudden onset of nerves dissipates. You smile back, taking another step. 

“Y/N!”

Dean’s voice makes you blink, and you flinch when a gunshot goes off behind you. It hits the banister behind the witch. Her volume increases again, reeling you back in as she pulls a thin, jagged knife from a sheath at her hip. Letters etched onto the blade glow red as well, and your eyes are drawn to it. Your mouth feels dry as you shuffle forward, entirely focused on the weapon in her hand.

“That’s it,” the witch coos, now finished with the incantation. “It’s alright, dear one.”

“Y/N, don’t!” Another shot rings out, but it sounds far away as you step closer. You’re almost to the edge of the sigil. Two more steps and you’ll be within her reach.

Someone grabs your arm, yanking you backwards. She screams a horrible scream, one that makes you shudder and cringe as an arm winds around your stomach, pulling you even further away. Your feet drag across the floor and you cling to the arm of whoever’s holding you. You’re torn between fighting them and letting yourself be rescued, but then the glow from the witch’s eyes fade. You gasp for air, feeling her hold on you relax.

“Dean,” you croak. You can’t see his face, but the feel of his jacket against your palms is familiar and comforting. Your throat feels raw, as if you’ve been screaming for hours. You go to say something, to warn him that her spell is almost finished, when the red light concentrates at her fingertips. “Dean!” 

There’s a flash of red. You close your eyes, turning your head away as Dean pulls you harder against him and whirls around so his back is toward the witch. Over the witch’s shout, you hear Sam yell something, and then there’s a heavy thud.

“Sammy!” Dean releases you, cursing, and you fall to your hands and knees. 

You yelp when you hit the floor. Your bones immediately ache from the impact, and you stay there for a minute. You know that you’ve messed up. Guilt blooms in the center of your chest and tears well up in your eyes. You feel weak and, for a second, violated. You should’ve been able to resist the witch’s magic.

Get it together, you silently order. You have to focus. You can feel bad after you kill her.

“Y/N!”

Looking over, you see Dean crouching beside his brother, who’s laid out on his side. Sam’s eyes are closed and your chest tightens.

“Sam!” you cry, and you scramble over to where he lays just outside the witch’s sigil.

Dean rolls him onto his back, and you kneel beside him, cradling his face in both hands as you search for any sign of life.

“Sam? Sam, wake up,” you plead.

“He’s still breathing,” Dean tells you. “She knocked him out with whatever that was.”

“Please, Sam. Please, open your eyes.”

You stare at him, your heart pounding, and you’re crying by the time he inhales sharply through his nose and blinks his eyes open. They immediately focus on you.

“Thank God,” you sob, and you throw yourself on top of him, hugging him tightly. Sam’s hand comes up to pat at your back.

“You okay?” Dean asks.

Sam grunts and winces as you pull back to look at him. “I think so,” he says after a second. “Did you get her?”

You shake your head and take a shaky breath, wiping at your cheeks and eyes. You sniffle for good measure, then say, “She got away, but she hit you with something. I’m so sorry. This is all my fault.”

He shakes his head back at you, then closes his eyes. “It’s not your fault. She was more powerful than we thought,” he tells you. With his eyes still closed, he feels for your hand. He squeezes it when he finds it, and you squeeze back, just like you had in the library.

“You sure you’re okay?” Dean asks. “You hit the floor pretty hard.”

“Just give me a minute.”

After several minutes, Sam slowly sits up. You and Dean help him to his feet, and then the three of you make your way back through the hotel to the car. Sam seems mostly himself on the drive back to the motel, but you’re on edge. You watch him carefully, cataloging anything that’s even slightly out of character.

“We’ll have to keep you awake tonight, make sure you don’t have a concussion,” Dean says as he sheds his jacket. He throws it over the back of one of the dining chairs.

“I definitely have a headache,” Sam replies. He moves slowly and stiffly, and you don’t blame him. You’ve been thrown to the floor dozens of times. It never hurts any less.

“I’ll take first shift,” you tell Dean. “Clean up and get some rest.”

He nods and heads into the bathroom while you help Sam get settled on the bed. You take his jacket from him, carefully noting how he winces when he moves his right shoulder, and drape it over the second chair.

“It’s a good thing we’re friends,” Sam says. He takes off his socks and shoes, then positions the pillows behind him so he can sit up against the headboard with his legs stretched out in front of him.

“Huh?” Your heart skips a beat. What’s he talking about?

“It would really suck staying up with me,” he clarifies. “If we weren’t friends, that is.”

“Oh. Yeah.” You smile a little before plugging in your phone. “You want some water?”

“Are you okay, Y/N?”

You freeze, fiddling with the lid of the ice bucket. You’ve got your back to him, so he can’t see the way you close your eyes, but he’s caught on to your lingering guilt much sooner than you hoped he would. You were hoping that Dean would at least be asleep before you had to have this conversation.

“I’m fine,” you answer. You grab the bucket and turn, giving him a forced smile. “Just tired. I’m gonna go get some ice.”

Sam swings his legs back over the side of the bed. He tries to hide his wince, but you catch it. You always do.

“I’ll come with you,” he says.

“You already took your shoes off.”

“What’s a little tetanus between friends?” He smiles at you and stands. You step closer, ready to steady him if needed. He’s fine, however, and he takes the ice bucket from you before gesturing toward the door.

Unable to argue, you lead him outside. The two of you walk in silence until you hear the door click shut. You’re already several rooms down, but the motel is larger than most, and the only working ice machine is in the tiny vending machine room at the far end of the building.

“What happened back at the hotel?” Sam asks.

You know he won’t judge you, but you keep your gaze forward. You don’t want to see his expression.

When you haven’t replied after passing several rooms, he gently asks, “Y/N?”

“I don’t know,” you finally admit, shoving your hands in your jacket pockets. You’re glad you kept it on. There’s a receipt in one of the pockets and you crush it into a ball as you continue, “Whatever spell she was doing… It’s like it was directed at me. I didn’t even realize what was happening until it was too late, but by then I couldn’t stop it. I couldn’t control myself. I was just—”

You inhale sharply and stop walking, looking up at the dilapidated roof covering the motel walkway. You’re blinking away tears again, and you hate how weak you feel. 

“It’s not your fault,” he says. He moves to stand in front of you, blocking the sun as it sets over the motel parking lot. “She was more powerful than we anticipated.”

Sniffling, you cross your arms over your chest and stare at one of the support columns off to the side. “I know.”

“You’re still you,” Sam says.

“What?”

“You’re still you,” he repeats. “No matter how her magic affected you, you’re still you. You’re not any less strong or smart or tough than you were before we went into that building.”

Tears truly well up at his words and you look up again, letting out a weak chuckle. “How is it that you know exactly what to say?” You wipe at your eyes and take a shaky breath to try and steady yourself.

When you finally meet his gaze, Sam answers, “Because I know you better than anyone else, and because I’ve been where you are. And you know what you told me the last time I was doubting myself because of all the crap I’ve been through?”

You sniffle and force a wobbly smile, remembering the late-night conversation you’d had months ago after he’d had a particularly awful nightmare. “That you’re still you,” you repeat. “And that we’ll always be friends, no matter what.”

Sam smiles back. After a second, he tilts his head to the side, toward the door to the vending machine room. You nod and start walking again, and he falls into step beside you. The silence that settles between you is comfortable again, and the knots in your stomach have loosened with his reassurance.

You get back to the room to find Dean already asleep, face-down on the bed. Sam climbs back into bed as well, and you fill up both your and his water bottles with ice water. He takes it with a silent, grateful smile. You slide under the covers beside him, intent on researching the witch on your laptop while he reads on his phone. You probably should yell at him for staring at a screen with a possible concussion, but you both know that he’s had so many that a few hours in front of a screen won’t kill him at this point.

Dean wakes up a few hours later and switches places with you. Though you know you should probably shower before you sleep, resting up is more important if you’re going to find the witch sooner rather than later.

“You sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine, Dean. Just tired.”

“Maybe you should hang tight for today, try and get some sleep while Y/N and I do a little more research.”

You blink your eyes open and immediately squint. Dean must have every light in the motel room on. You swear he does it to spite you, and you groan in protest.

“Good morning to you too,” he teases, stepping into your line of vision.

You throw a pillow at him, and Dean catches it with one hand, laughing. You grunt and push yourself up with one hand, using the other to rub at your eyes.

“How’d you sleep?” Sam asks.

Yawning, you start to answer, but you stop as soon as you see him. Sam looks awful. His skin is pale and drawn, and the bags under his eyes are darker than you’ve ever seen. He gives you a weak smile.

“We’re heading to the diner down the street for breakfast,” he says. “You wanna come with?”

“You’re not going anywhere,” Dean replies. He pulls on his jacket and digs the keys out of his pocket. “Except back to bed.”

You sit up a little more, frowning. “You sure you’re not sick?” you ask Sam. “I mean, I’ve seen you when you’re tired, but you look…”

“Like he’s been hit with a spell,” finishes Dean. “I’ve already told him that, but he says that the witch didn’t say anything when she hit him with that freaky red light.”

“I’m fine, Dean,” Sam says. He stands from the side of the bed, but he instantly starts to sway. You’re on your feet in a split-second, steadying him with a hand on his arm.

“Maybe you should stay here,” you quietly suggest. You glance over at Dean, who holds up his hands.

“I’ll be in the car,” Dean tells you, and you nod. 

You and Sam stand in silence until Dean’s gone and the door shuts behind him. Then, you look at him with as stern a look as you can muster having just woken up.

“Be honest.”

“I’m tired.”

“Sam.”

He sighs.

“Sam.”

“I’m… exhausted. I don’t think I’ve ever felt this tired in my life, and I want to sleep, but I’m scared,” he admits.

Your eyebrows push together as you frown even harder, and you guide him to sit beside you on the edge of his bed. “Why are you scared?”

“The witch didn’t say anything when she hit me with whatever it was, but we also know that her magic was strong enough to affect you from several rooms away,” Sam says. “If she did something to me, we have no clues as to what it is.”

You hum a little, mulling over his words for a second before looking over at him. “What if I gave Rowena a call? Had her come check you over, see if there’s any kind of lingering effect we haven’t seen yet?”

Sam takes a deep breath, then exhales and shakes his head. “We already owe her.”

“It’s a price I’m willing to pay. You’re my best friend, Sam. I want to make sure you’re okay.”

Because I wouldn’t know what to do without you. Those words go unspoken, but you hope he hears them regardless.

Nodding, Sam replies, “Okay. Okay. I’ll… I’ll give her a call.”

“No, I’ll do it. You should rest. I’ll keep an eye on you,” you assure him. “I’ll make sure you’re safe, Sam.”

He smiles just a little bit, though you can tell it’s only for your sake. “You always do.”

You get up to grab your phone from where you’d left it charging, and Sam slowly lays back on the bed. As you type out a text to Rowena, you try to remember if the witch really hadn’t said something, or if you’ve just forgotten it.

“I’m gonna text Dean and let him know to go ahead without me. Do you want him to get you anything?” you ask. He doesn’t reply. “Sam? Did you hear—”

Turning, you stop when you see Sam has his eyes closed. For a second, you worry that he’s dead, and you hold your breath as you wait to see his chest move. When it does, you exhale heavily.

He’s okay, you reassure yourself. He’s going to be just fine.

You shoot a quick text to Dean with your order, plus a few things that Sam might want, and Rowena replies as soon as you’re done. She’s nearby. 

The rest of the day goes by uneventfully. Sam sleeps for an hour or so at a time. Every time he wakes, he looks more tired than before, and the smaller-than-usual meals he eats don’t seem to help him at all. It’s hard to tell since he’s been in bed most of the day, but when he gets up around dinnertime, he looks thinner. 

Dean’s pacing the length of the room by the time Rowena shows up at the door, and you’re in even worse condition. You’re pretty sure that if she’d shown up any later, he might actually have relented and taken Sam to a hospital. You caught a glimpse of his phone when he passed by and he had the directions already open on his maps app.

Rowena stands beside the bed and moves her hands over Sam’s chest. He’s awake now, and he stares straight up at the ceiling as she works. A soft glow emanates from her palms, but as you watch from a few feet away, it strengthens, turning from golden to crimson to a vibrant purple.

“Well?” Dean asks. He shifts in place by the small dining table. His fingers twitch and he makes a fist with one hand. “Is he alright?”

She drops her hands and turns to face the two of you. Sam sits back up against the headboard, and you glance over at him. His eyes are bloodshot, as if he hasn’t slept in days. You’ve seen him look like this before, but it’s never been this concerning. He’s never managed to look this ragged so quickly.

“It’s a siphoning curse,” she explains, adjusting the jacket she’s wearing over her black jumpsuit. 

“Siphoning?” Dean questions. “Siphoning what?”

“Life.”

You suck in a breath. It’s cold against your teeth, and Sam meets your eyes. There’s recognition in them, and not in a good way. A lump forms in your throat as you turn back to Rowena.

“Life?” you ask her. “But… Then…”

“I’ll die,” Sam finishes.

You blink. Your eyes burn and you frantically shake your head, taking a deep breath. Inside your chest, your lungs stutter as you try to compose yourself.

“No,” Dean says, shaking his head. “No. There’s got to be a way.”

Rowena purses her lips a little. She clearly knows more, and you take a step forward, clenching both hands into fists.

“Tell us,” you demand. “Tell us!”

You don’t mean to scream—you really don’t—but it just comes out. Dean reaches for you, grabbing your arm and looking toward the door with wide eyes as he listens for a response from anyone nearby who might have heard. Rowena doesn’t react. Swallowing thickly, you look from her to Sam, who has his eyes downcast and his hands folded in his lap. If you didn’t know any better, you might think he was sleeping, but the way he grimaces as you yank your arm from Dean’s tells you that he’s awake and listening.

Your throat feels raw and you swallow again. “How long?” you croak. 

“A week, at most,” Rowena adds. “It’s likely he will be unconscious for the last few days. It takes a lot of energy to stay awake, and his body will try to conserve as much as it can before it fully shuts down.”

Dean mutters a curse and shakes his head again. “No. There has to be a way. A counter-curse?”

Rowena shakes her head, and this time, her expression is almost apologetic. “I’m afraid not. Whoever cast this spell is very powerful, and it would take extremely powerful magic to reverse the curse.”

You look from her, to Sam, to Dean, and then finally back at her. Rowena is the most powerful witch you know.

“Can you reverse it?”

“I’m sorry, dear,” she replies, meeting your gaze. Her lips press together in a sad smile. It’s the first show of genuine emotion you’ve seen from her, and it’s not enough. “But this is beyond even me.”

“And if we killed her?” Dean asks.

“It won’t have an effect. You still need the magic to reverse it. Not even the caster herself can reverse this particular curse once it’s taken hold.”

“Then what are we supposed to do?”

“Go home,” Sam finally says. It’s so quiet that you almost miss it in your hurry to ask about recruiting another witch to help you, but you stop with your mouth open. Sam opens his eyes and sighs softly. “We go home.”

“Bullshit. I’m not taking you home just so you can die!”

“Dean. Enough. You heard what she said.”

Rowena looks between Sam and Dean. After a moment, she says, “I need a moment alone with Samuel here.”

Immediately, Dean is on guard. He straightens up, standing tall as he stares her down with enough ire that you want to shirk back, and you’re not even on the receiving end of his glare.

“I might be able to give him some more time,” she gently adds. With more confidence than you think you could muster if you were in her shoes, she places a hand on Dean’s arm and takes one step forward, guiding him toward the door.

“One of us stays,” Dean answers, nodding his chin in your direction. 

Rowena nods, agreeing, “Y/N is welcome to stay, but you have a habit of riling him up. Big brothers always have a way of doing that, in my experience.”

“I need to know what you’re doing before you do it. No funny business,” he adds.

She nods again and gestures with one hand to the door. “Let’s talk outside.”

You stand by the dresser, watching as she leads Dean out of the room. He exits with one last look over his shoulder at Sam, but Rowena pacifies his worries with words too quiet for you to hear. She gives you a strange look before she follows him out and closes the door behind them.

You stare at the door for a second, then at the window adjacent. The white horizontal blinds have gaps in them after years of use, and you’re able to see Dean, then Rowena, as they move to the side to talk. Eventually, they walk away, most likely to the Impala for spell ingredients. Sam’s been keeping a small travel case in the trunk for the past year or so, especially since you’ve been away from the bunker more and more often.

As you wait for them to return, your gaze drifts back to Sam. He’s watching you.

“What?” you ask after a second.

“Nothing.”

“It’s not nothing.” You wipe your cheeks with both hands, unsurprised that there are tears you hadn’t initially registered. “I probably look a mess right now.”

“Not any more than me, I’m sure,” he replies with a wry smile. You both fall silent for a minute before he continues, “You’re gonna be okay, you know.”

“What?” Your voice cracks. You hate it.

“Without me.”

You inhale through your nose and push your hair back, doing anything to keep your hands busy. “Don’t— Don’t talk like that. Rowena said she might be able to give you more time. We’ll find something, Sam. You’re not going to die.”

“I was going to die eventually. Everyone does.”

“That’s not the point.”

“Then what is the point?” he asks.

You look up at the ceiling, staring for a few seconds at the circular brown water stain that stretches several feet into the room. You’re lucky it hasn’t rained in Boston since you arrived, judging by the darkness of the stain. The dark brown is unchanging, but it’s not enough to steady yourself.

“I don’t want to live without you,” you finally say, your voice trembling.

Sam doesn’t answer, and when you look down at him, he’s wiping tears from his own face. It’s the first time you’ve seen him look truly upset since Rowena broke the news.

Maybe it’s just finally settling in, you think.

His chest shudders as he takes a breath and it’s enough to propel you forward, to move you to his side. You stand beside the bed, staring down at him until he reaches for your hand. He grabs it with more strength than he’s shown all day and you suck in a sharp breath, tears welling up in your eyes all over again.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Sam,” you whimper, and you use your free hand to wipe them away, but he shakes his head. He pulls you down until you’re sitting on the opposite side of him. Your legs are draped over his and your feet dangle over the edge of the bed. You lean against his shoulder and start to cry in earnest, and Sam holds you. He doesn’t ask you to stop, and for that, you’re grateful.

Your cries have petered out by the time Rowena and Dean come back into the room. You can’t bear to make eye contact with them as they return, so you stare at where Sam is holding your hand atop your knees. Besides letting out the occasional sniffle, you simply listen as Rowena explains her plan to help extend Sam’s life. It’s a complex spell, one you’ve never heard of. She claims it will only add a few days, essentially putting off the point where he’ll become comatose, but it’s more hope than you had before. Sam asks questions about the ingredients and the text and the magic, which Rowena answers somewhat impatiently. Dean is strangely quiet.

“You’ll have to move for the spell, dear,” Rowena gently instructs.

Nodding, you clumsily pull your legs from Sam’s lap and move to roll off the other side of the mattress, but Sam grabs your hand before you get too far. You look back at him, confused.

“Stay,” he says. “Please.”

After a second, you nod again, then settle against the headboard beside him. Sam carefully lays down on his back. He rests one arm in the space between his body and the edge of the bed, but he takes your hand with the other. You rub your thumb over his as Rowena takes her place on the other side of him and begins to mix the spell in the small copper bowl they’ve retrieved from the Impala.

She chants, her eyes glowing purple, and Sam squeezes your hand with a grunt. His grip is almost bone-crushing and it takes everything in you not to yelp.

Stay strong, you urge yourself. He can’t help it.

The glow of Rowena’s eyes grows so bright it’s blinding. You look away, closing your eyes and gritting your teeth as Sam squeezes your hand even tighter, but then suddenly, he releases you.

You open your eyes and look over to see him passed out beside you. The purple light is fading and your heart leaps into your chest.

“Sam?” 

“Sam!” Dean cries. He pushes Rowena backwards onto the other bed and pulls his gun on her. “What the hell did you do to him?”

She holds up her hands in defense as you shake Sam by the shoulder, then pat his cheek. “Your precious brother will be fine,” she soothes, a small smile on her face. “The spell takes some time to activate, like I told you. He’ll look better when he’s awake again.”

“And we’re supposed to believe you? Just like that?” Dean gestures a little with the gun, but it stays pointed in her direction.

Rowena scoffs. “Don’t forget that you came to me, Dean Winchester. You already owe me for the spell.”

You’re gentle as you check to make sure Sam’s still breathing. He is and you sit back on your feet.

“She’s right,” you say. “He’s still breathing.”

Raising an eyebrow, Rowena stares Dean down until he lowers the gun. She gives him a satisfied smile when he reluctantly tucks it back into his waistband, then stands and dusts off her hands. 

“Now,” she sighs, smoothing the wrinkles in her jumpsuit from where Dean had shoved her. “I believe some payment is in order.”

Dean turns around to look at you. For a second, you stare at each other, and you have the brief thought that he might do something stupid, or crazy, or both, but then he grits his teeth and his jaw clenches. That’s when you know that he’s fighting the urge to pull his gun back out. The only reason he hasn’t is because Sam’s life is already on the line. One bad choice could lead to Rowena casting another curse on him.

“Go,” you quietly urge. “I’ve got him.” You nod in encouragement, and Dean returns it with one terse nod of his own.

You carefully move Sam’s hands to rest on his stomach, then sit beside him as Dean leads Rowena back out to the Impala. Whatever he’s giving her as recompense for the spell, it must be valuable, because he comes back in with clenched fists and muttering curses under his breath. He begins to pace the length of the room again. You don’t interrupt. Your chest aches and an empty feeling grows as you think of what life will be like if you can’t save Sam. Dean’s jaw is still clenched, and you know he’s doing the same.

“We—” He stops by the door to the bathroom, lifting a hand, but he drops it back down by his side. “Y/N, we have to find something.” His voice breaks and a lump forms in your throat, just as tears form in Dean’s eyes.

You nod. “I know.”

“We’ll— I’ll give Jody a call, and Garth. Maybe they’ll know of another witch that can help us.”

You look down at Sam and inhale shakily. With one hand, you adjust the sleeve of Sam’s t-shirt.

“I’m gonna take him home,” you tell Dean, not looking up.

“What?”

“He said he wanted to go home. I’m gonna take him home.”

“Like hell you are!”

Finally, you look up and meet Dean’s eyes. You have to take a second to breathe when you see him. You’ve been with Dean Winchester for plenty of hunts, but he’s never looked this afraid. He’s a man that laughs in the face of danger, not one whose hands tremble when he thinks about his brother dying.

“We have to try, Y/N,” Dean says, and he’s staring at you with eyes so wild that you find yourself gripping the motel sheets crumpled beside you. “I can’t just let him die. Not like this.”

You have no response. Dean will just argue if you try to reason with him, but you know that Sam isn’t one to prolong the inevitable. It doesn’t matter how terrified of a future without him you are. If he’s made his peace with it, then you need to consider doing the same.

Even if it kills me too, you think.

“Okay,” you murmur. “Okay.”

Dean swallows thickly, then nods once. “I’ll start calling. See what I can find.” He’s just looking for a reason to leave the room so you can’t see past his hardened exterior, and you both know it, but you don’t argue. 

You stare at the edge of the bed, just behind where he’d been standing, as he starts to leave. He’s made it to the door when you lift your head and look over at him.

“Dean?”

“Yeah?”

“Someone needs to be in the bunker. It’s better if he goes with me than with you.” Before he can argue, you continue, “What if you need to check something against one of the books? Or if you need an ingredient we don’t keep in the car? What’s your plan then? Sam knows both the library and the storage rooms better than both of us combined, and he’ll be able to rest when he needs it. Plus, if I need to, I can try and recreate the spell Rowena cast to give him extra time.”

Dean is quiet for a minute, but you see him nod through the gaps in the metal floral divider that separates the door from the rest of the room.

“Okay,” he agrees. “Then you two should get going. The sooner you’re there, the better.”

You’d driven together in the Impala, but it doesn’t take long for Dean to hotwire a car from the farthest row of the motel parking lot. The backseat is, mercifully, big enough for Sam to lay down without being at too strange an angle. You and Dean drag him from the room to the car together. You’re lucky that it’s getting dark and no one is out to watch the ordeal.

Dean loads your backpack and Sam’s duffel into the trunk. Then, he sends you off with a simple, “Drive safe,” and a hug. He holds you a little longer than normal, but you’re not opposed. It’s nice to know that you’re not alone in this.

The drive is uneventful. Sam sleeps for most of the night. He only wakes up a few times during the day for food and bathroom stops, and though he looks better since Rowena’s spell, he’s lost muscle mass and he still looks exhausted. You have to support him on the walk across the street to the motel the following night, but he falls asleep again almost as soon as he’s in bed. His sleep seems to be dreamless, and for that, you’re thankful.

You, on the other hand, don’t sleep much. You probably should, considering you haven’t slept in 24 hours, but your brain won’t turn off. You spend most of that night awake, listening to Sam breathe, texting Dean about his progress, and doing what research you can online. At some point you actually do fall asleep, and you wake to the sound of Sam stumbling across the room to the bathroom.

He’s getting weaker, you think, and you lay on your back, listening to the sound of the toilet flushing and the sink running as you stare up at the ceiling. You’ve cried so much over the past few days that the thought of crying now is exhausting. You just don’t have the energy.

It’s not a strange occurrence for you to lay in bed and listen to the boys move around a motel room. There have been plenty of mornings that Dean has gone out for food while Sam showers after his run, leaving you to soak up a few more minutes of sleep under the covers. Now, you can’t help but feel a little nostalgic for all those mornings. You don’t have many more with Sam, and Dean can be unpredictable when he’s grieving. You’re not sure if he’ll go off on his own or if you’ll be able to stick together.

When the door creaks open, you turn on your side and meet Sam’s eyes. His face, which you’ve come to associate with bright mornings just as much as the sun itself, is gaunt. It’s a harsh reminder that you’re losing him bit by bit. His cheeks and eyes have begun to sink in as well, as if his body is collapsing inwards, like a black hole. The effects of Rowena’s spell seem to have been short-lived.

“Good morning.” He’s leaning against the open door frame of the bathroom, and he’s managed to pull on a pair of clean pajama pants and a t-shirt. 

You try not to let your bad mood show. “Morning. How’re you feeling?” you ask.

Sam shrugs a little and his gaze wanders to the digital clock on the nightstand. You have no idea what time it is or how much you’ve slept. You’re lucky that your phone was plugged in when you finally fell asleep.

“Same as yesterday. Maybe a little bit more tired. Where are we?” asks Sam.

Sitting up, you yawn and stretch your arms above your head, then roll your shoulders and neck to try and release some tension. 

“Ohio,” you tell him. You roll over to grab your phone and check the time—it’s after eight, and you’ve missed half a dozen texts from Dean. None of them are useful. “We’ve only got one more day of driving if I can go straight through. It’s about twelve hours.”

“We can take shifts.”

You look over your shoulder and fix him with a look, raising your eyebrows. He doesn’t react and you stand, then toss your phone onto the bed as you pull your socks back on your feet.

“I’m not letting you drive, Sam.”

“I can do it. I’ll be fine.”

“I’m not risking it,” you say, shaking your head. “I can’t risk it.”

“You can’t? Or you won’t?”

You falter as you rummage through your backpack for your last set of clean clothes. Sam is staring at you from the bathroom doorway, you can feel it, but you don’t look up at him. After a second, you slowly go back to searching. 

“Does it matter?” you finally ask.

He shuffles toward you and grabs your wrist, stopping you. He doesn’t say anything, and he doesn’t move. Reluctantly, you look up and meet his eyes. They’re just as resigned as yesterday, and though it makes your chest ache, you can’t look away.

“If I only have a week—”

“You don’t know that, Rowena cast that spell—”

“—then I want to spend it with you,” Sam finishes, and you peter out, not even bothering to finish your claim that Dean will be able to find something to save him. You know it’s not worth it, not if Sam’s made up his mind.

He continues, “I want to spend it doing all the things I love doing with you. You’re my best friend, Y/N.”

You close your eyes and turn away, hoping he doesn’t see the tear that slips out and runs down your cheek. You hate this. You’ve never felt this helpless before, not even when you’d been held captive for a week. In that situation, you’d known that the boys would find you and save you. You have no way of helping Sam out of this.

“I want…” Sam trails off, and he tugs on your wrist to pull you into a hug. You wrap your arms tightly around him and press the side of your face against him, keeping your eyes closed. 

I wish it was me, you think. I wish it was me instead of him.

“What are you thinking?” Sam whispers. His breath ruffles the hair on the top of your head.

“This is all my fault,” you reply. You can’t tell him what you’re really thinking without him lecturing you, so you pick the next best option. It’s really not that much better, if you’re being honest.

“Don’t say that,” he says. He squeezes you once. “This isn’t your fault. It’s not anybody’s fault.”

“Sam—”

“No, I love you, and I’m not going to let you beat yourself up over this. It’s not your fault, Y/N. Okay?”

You nod. “Okay,” you quietly answer. It hurts to hear that Sam loves you. You know that he does—he’s your best friend, of course he loves you—but it hurts to know that he’ll never love you the way that you love him. He doesn’t have time to love you that way.

“I love you too,” you say after a moment. “I don’t…”

I have to tell him, you think. You start to pull away. Sam drops his arms, and he sits down as soon as he’s not touching you. The way he lowers himself to the edge of the mattress reminds you of some of the people you’ve seen in nursing homes while interviewing family members.

I can’t do this. He’ll just feel guilty.

“You don’t what?” Sam asks, and you look away.

“Never mind. I should get dressed,” you tell him. You turn back to the backpack and grab the clothes, then start heading to the bathroom with your clothes crumpled against your stomach. 

Sam reaches out with one hand and grabs your arm. “Talk to me.”

“Sam…”

“Please. I don’t want you to hide things from me because you think it’ll make me feel even worse. Trust me”—he lets out a wry laugh—“dying is the least of my worries right now.”

You freeze halfway to the bathroom, dropping your arms down to your side with your clothes clutched in one hand. After a second, you turn to face Sam, and you toss your clean clothes onto the bed behind him.

“That really doesn’t make this situation better,” you scoff. “I mean, come on, Sam! I’m about to lose the love of my life and he says that he’s not even worried about it? How’s that supposed to make me feel? Am I just supposed to be all, ‘Oh, okay! Let me tell you all about how I’ve had a massive crush on you—”

You stop talking the second you realize what you’re saying, which is much too late, and you snap your mouth shut. Sam stares at you with wide eyes and you stare back. Your heart is in your throat and when you finally feel embarrassed tears burning along your waterline, you turn around, clenching your hands into fists. 

Of all times for me to say that, you think, and you wish you could hide in the bathroom for the rest of the day.

“I’m gonna shower,” you manage to say. You take a step, then another, until finally, you’re locking the bathroom door behind yourself. 

Bracing your hands on the counter, you close your eyes and take a deep breath. Your heart is pounding inside your chest as your brain helpfully provides you with every possible outcome of the situation. None of them seem good. It should feel good to reveal the secret you’ve been holding so closely for years, but instead it’s only made you feel worse. On top of everything that Sam’s feeling and going through, he now has to deal with the news that you’re the biggest idiot on the planet. What kind of sappy Hallmark movie do you think you’re in? A hunter’s life doesn’t allow for love, let alone for a relationship with your hunting partner-slash-best friend.

A knock at the door startles you, and you quickly straighten up from the sink.

“Yeah?” Your voice is shakier than you’d like. You squeeze your eyes shut.

“Can I come in?” Sam asks. He jiggles the doorknob.

“Um..” Your voice trembles again and you inhale deeply through your nose as you open your eyes and look around. You catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror; your eyes are bloodshot and your hair is a rat’s nest. The neckline of the old t-shirt you’ve been wearing since yesterday morning is stretched out and gaping, revealing a fading scar from a werewolf three weeks ago.

“You can say no,” Sam adds. “I can wait out here for you.”

Reaching out with one hand, you twist the doorknob and open the door. Sam has one hand against the door frame to help keep himself upright. Somehow he looks even worse than when you’d been by the bed just a minute before.

It’s probably just the lighting. He can’t be dying that quickly, right?

He doesn’t speak right away, so you step back into the bathroom and pull back the shower curtain, getting ready to start your shower. 

“I’m sorry,” he finally says. “I reacted to that poorly.”

“I didn’t mean to say all that,” you quietly admit, stopping just past the end of the counter. You don’t dare look up at him right now. Instead, you look down at a yellowed stain on the edge, feeling heat rise in your cheeks. “It’s not fair of me to tell you and then run away, especially since it’s too late.”

He leans forward, slowly entering the bathroom so you have time to back away. You don’t.

“Who says it’s too late? I know it’s not ideal, but I did say that I wanted to spend my time with you.”

You shake your head, pressing your lips together as the new wave tears that have been forming finally escape. With one hand, you wipe them away and press your lips together. Sam pulls you into another hug.

“This is my worst nightmare,” you tell him. “I didn’t even know it was, but it is.”

“What? Spending time with me?”

A half-hearted laugh escapes you, and you blink your eyes a few times to try and clear the blurriness. “Don’t make me laugh.”

Sam kisses the top of your head and squeezes you once before dropping his arms so you can step away. Before you get too far, however, he reaches out to stop you.

“You didn’t let me finish,” he says, and you look back at him. 

The bathroom is tiny. It’s barely big enough for a sink, toilet, and bathtub-shower combo, but it feels miniscule once Sam steps inside. He’s taking up the space between the wall and the sink, leaving you to stand with your back to the shower and both the toilet and the wall within fingertip distance.

“Finish what?” you ask. Your heart skips a beat and your mind begins to jump to conclusions. What could Sam possibly have to finish that involves you? He’s not about to confess his undying love for you, right? That would be too cheesy, and too predictable for a hunter’s life. You don’t deserve that kind of happy ending.

Then again, it’s not so happy if he dies right after. You push that thought away immediately and try to focus solely on Sam.

He takes both of your hands in his, and though he sways a little, he stays upright. You try not to think about how his grip seems less firm than it has in the past.

“I love you, Y/N.”

“I know,” you reply. “I love you too. And it’s okay if you don’t love me the same way. You don’t have to pretend to try and make me feel better. I’m not offended.”

Sam shakes his head and lifts your hands a little. “I love you, Y/N. I—” He stops to cough, a deep, bone-shaking, chest-rattling cough that forces him to lean against the wall on his left. He has to drop your hands to steady himself and cover his mouth, but you step closer and place one on his shoulder, hoping it’s enough to let him know that you’re there. When he drops his hand from his mouth, there’s blood on the side of his fist. Without a word, you tear off a piece of toilet paper so he can wipe it away.

“I’ve always loved you,” Sam manages after a few moments. He wheezes a little, and clears his throat to try and get rid of the raspiness left by his coughing fit.

“What?”

“I’ve—”

You quickly shake your head. “No, I heard you. I just don’t understand.”

He frowns at you, and you glance away, hating that you’re making this difficult for him. He’s balled up the bloody scrap of toilet paper in one hand, but he pushes himself off the wall and drops it into the trash can next to the sink. Without the support, Sam wobbles, and you reach out to catch him before he can fall forwards.

“You should sit,” you urge, and he shakes his head again.

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine, Sam. You look like you’re about to fall over.”

“I’m not going to fall over. There’s no place to fall in here.”

“You could hit your head on the edge of the counter, or you could knock me over and we could both fall into the bathtub,” you argue. “You could land face-first on the toilet which sounds like a horrible way to be knocked unconscious. You could fall backwards and I wouldn’t have the chance to catch—”

You’re cut off when Sam slides one hand up to cup your jaw back with one hand, then tilt your head back to kiss you. He moves quicker than you’ve seen him move in since the curse, and you’re so shocked that it takes you a second to process what’s happening.

Sam Winchester is kissing me, you think, and you let your eyes fall closed when his fingers shift, weaving into your hair as he crowds infinitesimally closer to you. 

When he finally parts, pulling away just enough to catch his breath, you stay close, too. You can feel his chest heave a little as he breathes, and though it pains you to think that every time you kiss him from now on will be more and more difficult for him, you push those thoughts away. You want to savor this. You need to savor this.

“Sam,” you whisper, and he hums, then kisses you again. It’s shorter this time, and your hands migrate to fist in the loose fabric of the t-shirt at his sides.

“You kissed me,” you say the next time he pauses to breathe. He hums again and gives you another kiss. 

“Sam,” you insist, and he gives an impatient sigh. His hand moves to rest on your upper arm. The side of your face feels suddenly cooler in his absence.

Sam opens his eyes to look at you, and you pause for a moment, your breath catching in your throat. You’ve always loved the way Sam looks—you’d be crazy not to—but it’s the first time you’ve felt it’s okay to unabashedly take in the brilliance of his eyes. Sam is beautiful, but he’s also intelligent, funny, caring, strong, and brave. You can see all of that just by looking at him. Maybe it’s a testament to how well you know him, or maybe he’s just that beautiful. 

Both, you think. The thought makes you grin, and you duck your head to try and hide it. It’s definitely both.

“What?” Sam asks, impatience clear, though he’s not angry. “What’s so important that I had to stop kissing you?”

“You kissed me!”

“I know,” he answers. He leans into your space a little more. “I’d like to do it again.”

There’s heat in your cheeks now. It’s hard to tell if it’s from how he’s making you feel or if it’s from his proximity, but you’re not complaining about either of those things.

“Why?”

He gives you a look, one that asks if you’re serious, but you don’t rescind the question. Finally, Sam drops his hand from your arm to your hand, and he fiddles with your fingers as he answers,

“Because I love you, Y/N. I’m not sure how much clearer I can be.”

You gape at him. “So when you said that you’ve always loved me…”

“I meant it.”

Your brain is whirling as you process the new information, and Sam moves to sit on the edge of the counter. He still has your hand, so he pulls you with him. You let him lead you the few steps without a fight.

“So you…” You lick your lips, and you swear that he zeroes in on the movement because his eyes seem to grow darker despite the bright white light from the fixture in the ceiling. “You like-like me?”

Sam’s eyes lift from your lips to meet your gaze. He stares at you a second, then grins wide and lets out a loud laugh. It’s almost a guffaw, and it makes the heat flare up in your cheeks all over again. You feel silly, like you’re a teenager all over again, just waiting for the cute boy in class to make you swoon.

“Like-like you?” he asks. “Definitely.”

He pulls you close again, wrapping his arms around you in a tight hug. His legs bracket you on either side. You close your eyes and revel in his warmth and the scent of laundry detergent and the motel shampoo that somehow always smells better on him than it does you. It’s something you’ve come to associate with him, oddly enough, but you’re grateful. Motel shampoo is a constant in your life and it will always be there, even if he’s not. 

Sam sways a little bit, leaning a bit more on you, and you open your eyes, moving your head back slightly so you can look at him. His head has lolled to the side and his mouth is parted slightly. His eyes are closed, but his eyelashes flutter as if he’s just asleep.

“Sam?” you ask. He doesn’t respond, and panic replaces the giddiness you’d felt only moments before. “Sam? Hey, wake up for me. Open your eyes.”

You unwind one arm from around him, pulling it towards your stomach and out from under his arm that’s still around you. You pat his cheek a little and look for any reaction, but there isn’t any.

Cursing, you try to maneuver him off the counter to the floor. It takes all your strength to keep him from collapsing or hitting anything on the way down. By the time you get him stretched out on the grimy tile and the towel that you pull from the bar on the wall to cushion his head, you’re sweating.

“Please wake up,” you plead, kneeling on his left, near shoulder. His breathing is steady, but he’s just as comatose as he was before.

After a few moments, you launch yourself up and out of the bathroom. Your phone is still plugged in on the nightstand, so you grab it and frantically dial Dean’s number as you hurry back to the bathroom. Sam’s still out when you get back, and you crouch between him and the wall as you listen to the line ring over and over again. Finally, Dean answers.

“What’s wrong?” he asks.

“I don’t know. Something happened, we were just—” You stop for a second, wondering if you should admit what you’d been doing, but Dean beats you to it.

“You were what, Y/N? What happened?” He’s shouting into the phone as he drives and you swallow thickly as tears burn in your eyes.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what I did,” you choke out. “This is all my fault.”

“What the hell did you do?”

“Nothing! I mean, I kissed him! He kissed me first, and it seemed like he was alright, but then we were just talking and he gave me a hug and then he just passed out!”

Dean curses and you flinch at the volume, pulling the phone a few inches away from your ear. You’re on the verge of actually sobbing now, and you suck in a deep breath to try and stabilize yourself. Any sense of calm you’d felt less than a few minutes ago has completely vanished.

“He’s still breathing normally and I made sure he didn’t bump his head or anything—”

“You’re supposed to be taking care of him!” Dean shouts. “Where are you?”

“Ohio. At the Starlight Motel, off of I-71. We passed it on the way out to Boston.”

“I remember. I’m on my way.”

You can hear a turn signal on his end of the call and you set your phone on the floor, putting it on speaker. Judging by the noise in the background, he’s pulling off the road to turn around and head in your direction. After swallowing a few times, the lump in your throat begins to subside and you feel yourself starting to calm.

“How far away are you?” you ask, trying to focus on the steady sound of Sam’s breathing while at the same time listening for his response.

Dean answers, but you don’t hear it because Sam suddenly gasps for air. His eyes fly open as his chest heaves, and he coughs like he’s been suffocated. You shift onto your knees, lean forward, and quickly help him roll onto his side. He pushes you away with one hand as he props himself up with an elbow and continues to cough. You’re flustered and panicked, and your hands hover over his arm as you try to figure out how to help him further.

“Easy,” you soothe, and he takes another deep breath, followed by a few lighter coughs. There’s no blood this time, which is a welcome relief.

“I’m okay,” he wheezes. 

Still propped up on his left side, Sam closes his eyes. He breathes in and out slowly, steadying himself. After several seconds, the hand not bracing himself against the floor searches until it finds yours. He squeezes it once and you squeeze back, watching him intently.

“How are you feeling? Are you in pain?” you question.

He rolls backwards until he’s flat on his back again, but he keeps hold of your hand, resting it on his stomach. He breathes for another few moments before opening his eyes to stare at the ceiling.

“Sam?”

“Y/N! Damnit, what’s going on over there?” Dean is shouting from the phone, and you realize that you’ve forgotten all about it. With your free hand, you scramble to grab it and pull it to your ear, taking the call off speaker with a singular jab of your thumb.

“He’s awake,” you tell him, feeling pretty breathless yourself. Your heart is still racing from the scare of Sam lurching into consciousness. “He’s okay. He’s alright.”

“He’s— He’s okay okay, or just okay?” Dean asks.

You look back at Sam, who lets go of your hand and pushes himself up into a sitting position. When he sees you watching him, he reaches for the phone.

“Hey, Dean,” he says, and he listens for a second before answering, “I’m fine. I think it’s gone.” He glances over at you while Dean replies, probably with more questions. “No, I’m not sure what it was, but I feel fine. Y/N and I will try to figure out what it was, and I’ll give Rowena a call, see if she can meet us here. How far away are you?”

“Tell him I’ll text him the address,” you interject, and Sam nods, relaying the message. He listens for a few moments longer, glances at you again, and then tilts his head away to try and hide his smile.

“Jerk,” he says. He smiles wider at Dean’s response. You don’t have to hear it to know what he says.

Sam hangs up a second later and hands the phone back to you. Without saying anything, you text the address to Dean, then slip the phone back into your pocket.

“Are you really feeling okay?” you ask.

He nods. “I think the curse, whatever it was, is gone. I don’t feel tired, and I’m not even stiff from laying down all day yesterday. Do I look any better?”

You search his face, looking for any sign of fatigue. The color has returned to his face, and the strange thinness that had made your stomach turn this morning is gone. He looks like he did just a few days ago when you’d made up in the library. Even his muscle mass has miraculously returned.

“You look a lot better,” you tell him, beginning to smile. “Like nothing even happened.”

Sam smiles back at you, as radiant as the sun, and you find yourself falling into his arms. He wraps them around you, but after a second he pulls away to look you in the eyes.

“I love you,” he says. “I know I said it before, but I mean it.”

Still smiling, you push his hair out of his eyes, cupping his face with one hand. “I know. I love you too.”

He kisses you then, like he did before, and your heart swells. You sit back on your feet as Sam leans into you. He smiles into the kiss when your free hand skims the length of his arm.

“Don’t ever scare me like that again,” you murmur once you’ve caught your breath. “Okay?”

He nods, his forehead resting against yours. “Okay.”

You close your eyes, reveling in the feeling of him being so close. The two of you sit in silence on the bathroom floor. All the events of the past few days have worn you out, even with the few hours of sleep you got, and you eventually shift to rest your head against Sam’s shoulder. He reaches over with his right hand, rubbing your back in long, soothing strokes. You hold his other hand, the one he’d been using to prop himself up.

The silence is broken by your phone ringing after a few minutes. Sighing, you pull away and answer the call on speakerphone, setting it on the floor.

“I hear that Samuel’s on the mend,” Rowena says in lieu of greeting.

“I’m cured,” Sam answers. “Or at least we think I am.”

She hums in acknowledgement. “I’ll need more detail than that if you want me to tell you for sure. I may be powerful, but I’m not a mind reader.”

You roll your eyes at the haughtiness in her voice and reply, “He was unconscious for at least two minutes, but there was nothing leading up to it. He just passed out.”

“Did you eat or drink anything? Say any spells? Pray any prayers?”

Sam stares at the phone, his eyebrows furrowed together. “No. We were just talking and then—” He stops.

“And then you what?” Rowena prompts.

Sam’s eyes flicker from the screen to your face, and then he lets out a quiet chuckle. He’s smiling again, and you smile back. It’s contagious, despite the fact that you have no idea why he’s smiling.

“We kissed,” Sam tells her, not looking away. 

“I see.” Her arrogance has all but disappeared, and you know her just well enough to picture the sly smile forming on her face. “When it’s reciprocated by both, true love’s kiss is a very powerful form of magic. It’s one of the most powerful forms of magic. Wield it wisely, you two.”

You grin. “We will.”

She ends the call and you leave the phone on the floor, opting instead to lean in and kiss Sam again. 

“We definitely will,” he says.

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[perspectivestarters]

Perspective's Sentence Starters; The Tortured Poets Department by Taylor Swift (Part I)

FORTNIGHT

I was supposed to be sent away.

They forgot to come and get me.

I was a functioning alcoholic.

Nobody noticed my new aesthetic.

All of this to say, I hope you're okay.

No one here's to blame.

What about your quiet treason?

For a fortnight there we were forever running.

You're in my backyard turned into good neighbors.

I want to kill her.

All my mornings are Monday stuck in an endless February.

The effects were temporary.

I love you, it's ruining my life.

I touched you for only a fortnight.

My husband is cheating.

I want to kill him.

I call you up but you won't pick up.

Another fortnight lost in America.

Buy the car you want.

THE TORTURED POETS DEPARTMENT

You left your typewriter at my apartment.

Who uses typewriters anyway?

You're in self-sabotage mode.

Who else decodes you?

Who's gonna hold you like me?

Who's gonna know you if not me?

We'rе modern idiots.

You smokеd then ate seven bars of chocolate.

I chose this cyclone with you.

Sometimes I wonder if you're gonna screw this up with me.

Everyone we know understands why it's meant to be.

Because we're crazy.

That's the closest I've come to my heart exploding.

MY BOY ONLY BREAKS HIS FAVORITE TOYS

Here we go again.

You should've seen him when he first got me.

My boy only breaks his favorite toys.

I should've known it was a matter of time.

There was a litany of reasons why we could've playеd for keeps this time.

I know I'm just repeating mysеlf.

He runs because he loves me.

'Cause you should've seen him when he first saw me

I knew too much.

There was danger in the heat of my touch.

He saw forever so he smashed it up.

Once I fix me, he's gonna miss me

He was my best friend.

I felt more when we played pretend.

He took me out of my box, stole my tortured heart

Told me I'm better off, but I'm not.

DOWN BAD

Did you really beam me up?

Tell me I was the chosen one.

For a moment I knew cosmic love.

Now I'm down bad, crying at the gym.

Everything comes out teenage petulance.

Fuck it if I can't have him

I might just die, it would make no difference.

Come back and pick me up.

Fuck it if I can't have us.

I might just not get up.

I might stay down bad.

Did you take all my old clothes?

They'll say I'm nuts if I talk about the existence of you.

For a moment, I was heavenstruck.

I loved your hostile take-overs.

I'll build you a fort on some planet where they can all understand it.

How dare you think it's romantic leaving me safe and stranded?

Cause fuck it, I was in love.

Fuck you if I can't have us.

SO LONG, LONDON

Pulled him in tighter each time he was drifting away.

My spine split from carrying us up the hill.

I stopped trying to make him laugh.

How much sad did you think I had?

Did you think I had in me?

You'll find someone.

I didn't opt in to be your odd man out..

I founded the club she's heard great things about.

I left all I knew.

I stopped CPR.

Thе spirit was gone.

We would never come to.

I'm pissed off you let me give you all that youth for free.

Two graves, one gun.

I'll find someone.

You say I abandoned the ship, but I was going down with it.

My white knuckle dying grip holding tight to your quiet resentment.

My friends said it isn't right to be scared.

Every breath feels like rarest air.

Just how low did you think I'd go before I'd self implode?

You swore that you loved me but where were the clues?

I died on the altar waiting for the proof.

You sacrificed us to the gods of your bluest days.

I'm just getting color back into my face.

I'm just mad as hell cause I loved this place for.

But I'm not the one

BUT DADDY I LOVE HIM

I forget how the west was won.

I forget if this was ever fun.

I just learned these people only raise you to cage you.

What a mess.

I just learned these people try and save you 'cause they hate you.

Too high a horse for a simple girl to rise above it.

They slammed the door on my whole world.

But, daddy, I love him.

I'm having his baby.

No, I'm not, but you should see your faces

No, I'm not coming to my senses.

I know it's crazy, but he's the one I want.

Growing up precocious sometimes means not growing up at all.

You're this chaos, he was revelry.

Stay away from her.

Lord knows the words we never heard.

I'd rather burn my whole life down than listen to one more second of all this bitchin' and moanin'.

I'll tell you something 'bout my good name, it's mine along with all the disgrace.

God save the most judgmental creeps who say they want what's best for me.

Sanctimoniously performing soliloquies I'll never see.

You ain't gotta pray for me.

It's just my choice.

There's a lot of people in town that I bestow upon my fakest smiles.

Scandal does funny things to pride but brings lovers closer.

We came back when the heat died down.

Went to my parents and they came around.

All the wine moms are still holding out.

Fuck 'em, it's over.

Even my daddy just loves him.

I'm his lady.

Oh my god, you should see your faces.

I know it's crazy but he's the one I love.

FRESH OUT OF THE SLAMMER

I'm running back home to you.

I know who my first call will be to.

He don't understand me.

Handcuffed to the spell I was under.

But it's gonna be alright.

I did my time.

Toss the ashes off the ledge.

I will never lose my baby again.

My friends tried, but I wouldn't hear it.

Watched me daily disappearing for just one glimpse of his smile.

All those nights you kept me goin'.

Swirled you into all of my poems.

Now we're at the starting line.

No matter what I've done, it wouldn't matter anyway.

Ain't no way I'm gonna screw up, now that I know what's at stake here.

FLORIDA!!!

You can beat the heat if you beat the charges too.

They said I was a cheat, I guess it must be true.

My friends all smell like weed or little babies.

The city reeks of driving myself crazy.

Your home's really only a town you're just a guest in.

Can I use you up?

I got drunk and I dared it to wash me away.

Well, mе and my ghosts, we had a hell of a time.

Yеs, I'm haunted, but I'm feeling just fine.

Well, no one asks any questions here.

So I did my best to lay to rest all of the bodies that have ever been on my body.

Is that a bad thing to say in a song?

I need to forget.

I've got some regrets.

Tell me I'm despicable, say it's unforgivable.

At least the dolls are beautiful, fuck me up, Florida

I need to forget, so take me to Florida

What a crash, what a rush.

It's one hell of a drug

Love left me like this.

I don't want to exist.

[nczennie]

summer 1963.

Part One of She's Like The Wind

Pairing: Reader x Stray Kid's Lee Know AU: Summer love, based on the film Dirty Dancing Genre: Angst, Fluff (this part) Preview: “Yeah, I carried a watermelon.” The words tumble out of your mouth before your mind can comprehend them. At this, Minho spares you a judging glance that makes you feel small, not bothering another word before turning and walking back to the dance floor. Words: 7.9k *Warnings under cut

Warnings: Some curse words, mentions of food, eating, and being full, mentions and allusions to drug use and bad side effects of said usage, overall mature themes.

Your head lulls softly to the side, pulling your gaze to the window- the same green stretch of grass stuck in your view for the past couple of hours of your drive. The deep colors seem refreshing even in the summer heat, much more appealing than the grey concrete that you were accustomed to. 

Looking to your right, you see your older sister trying for the fifth time this hour to paint her toes a deep red without messing up with the occasional bumps on the road. In the passenger seat, your mom flips through a home decor magazine- one of the hundreds she brought to keep herself busy during the long ride to the countryside. Driving, your dad stays concentrated on the destination all while humming along to the songs coming from the radio. 

You’ve come to love the idea of spending your last summer with your family at a resort a couple of hours away from the city. When your parents first mentioned the idea, it seemed less than appealing- being more focused on quality time with your friends before everyone moved away for college. But now that you’re here, you’re glad to have this time with them knowing once you leave to the college an hour from home- everything will be different. 

You push those thoughts away for now-  the inevitable change that is making you more nervous by the day but you want to focus on what you have now. 

Not a half-hour later, the car makes its way on the dirt path to the large buildings surrounded by vast fields of green. The many guests loiter around outside, walking to their next destination or sitting, soaking up the sun. The closer you get, you spot a large lake just down the hill, complete with some volleyball nets and kids splashing in the water while their moms try their hand at tanning. 

The scene is so different than the summers you’re used to and suddenly you can’t wait to see what else there is in store here.

Pulling up to the front behind several other cars, your dad parks and gets out, everyone else following in suit. A worker, no doubt a high school student with a summer job, quickly comes to assist with taking your luggage out of your car. You let your eyes wander to him, feeling bad as he’s left to heavy bags by himself as your family follows your father- he’s just spotted the owner of the resort and his old friend and excitedly makes his way to greet him. Staying behind, you make your way to the back of the car and start to hand bags to the boy. He gives you a genuine smile, his eyes nearly closing as he does and you can’t help but return it. 

“You really don’t have to help, it’s my job, ya’know. You’re here to relax.” He claims as he places the bags on the bell cart. You smile softly, “I know, but it’s the least I can do. My sister tends to overpack, that would explain why we have eight suitcases when there’s only four of us.” You chuckle and the black-haired boy joins in. “Well, thank you for your help. I hope you have a wonderful stay.” He says piling up the last of the bags. “Thanks,” you let your eyes wander to his nametag, “Jeongin. Have a nice day.” 

Jeongin waves you off as you make your way to find your family. You’re thankful you don’t have to go far when you see them standing in front of the resort, your dad still talking to his friend. At your presence, your father puts his arm around you bringing you closer into the view of his friend, introducing you as his youngest daughter. 

“And this is here is my roommate and dear friend from college, Max Kellermen. He also owns this lovely place and invited us here for a stay.” Your dad smiles brightly as he talks about his friend. The middle-aged man politely shakes your hand as he smiles just as bright, the two of them clearly excited to catch up. 

“I have no doubt you and your family will have a life-changing experience here. This vacation will be like no other.”

After a slow afternoon of settling in and wandering around the property, you find yourself sat between your dad and sister at the dinner table. One of the nicer dresses you packed feeling much harder to breathe in after the five-course meal that was presented to you.  Dinner at the resort was held in a fancy ballroom-like hall where all the guests gathered to be waited on by the multiple waiters from the kitchen.  The whole thing was enjoyable but the events from the day were starting to wear on you. You quietly stir at your coffee, barely listening to your father who loudly babbles on to Max who has joined your table for dessert. 

“Is there anything else I can do for you all?” Your waiter for the night, a polite, handsome young man with an enjoyable sense of humor, asks checking in on you all once again. Max and your father smile up at him, “I think we’re good, Chan.” 

Chan smiles his charming smile and you speak up before he can leave, “Actually, can I have a box for my leftovers. I wouldn’t want to waste,” You finish off bashfully almost embarrassed by your comment. Your father nearly rejoices by it though, “That’s right, Chan. We could all use some boxes. Wasted food and hunger are the worst problems in our country, could you believe?” You feel second hand embarrassment by your fathers words, clearly being affected by the wine he had for dinner.  “You see,” he speaks to Chan and Max, “My youngest here is going to change the world. She starts college this fall and then after that, the Peace Corps that President Kennedy founded” He smiles proudly at you and you feel nauseous by the statement. You grew up close to your father, whereas your older sister enjoyed tea parties, ballet, and shopping trips with your mom, you tended to golf and volunteer with your dad. You suppose your closeness has allowed for him to push his views on you, so it shouldn’t surprise you at this point how much faith he puts into you and your nonexistent aspirations.

You hate it.

All this he talks of, college, peace corps, those are his dreams not yours. You fear that after all this time you lost a sense of who you are without your father's interference. You love the man to death, but hate the fact that you are living under his idea of a perfect daughter.

Max merely smiles at you before turning to your sister, “Well if she is going to change the world, what are you going to do, Daisy?” Your mother chuckles speaking up, “Oh, she’s going to decorate it.” 

It takes you all by surprise when Chan speaks up as he clears the used dishes, “I think she already does.” He smiles at her before excusing himself. You giggle at the redness of her face and give your mom a look knowing just how much your sister loved it.

The conversation drags even longer between the two and you’ve even ended up asking Chan for another cup of coffee to help keep the sleep off of you. 

Sometime later, a young man comes to your table seeking Max out, “Uncle, there you are. I’ve been waiting at our table or an hour now.” He chuckles and you glance over him.  Max lights up at his presence and stands to wrap his arm around his nephews shoulder, “Everyone, this is my nephew, Neil. He is one of the managers here at the resort.” He proudly smiles at the boy. Neil politely greets everyone before taking an empty seat next to his uncle, “You must be the family my uncle has been talking nonstop about all summer. He’s so excited you all could finally make it out.” He keeps a wide smile on his face, letting his eyes wander over everyone at the table. 

You keep a small smile on your face but inwardly groan at the thought of the conversation continuing any longer.  The next fifteen minutes are spent with your dad being utterly impressed with Neil as he talks nonstop about himself and his accomplishments for being so young. You don’t think you've ever heard one man talk for so long about only his own matters and it didn’t take long for you to be completely put off by the boy. 

Your relief came not long after when the boy stood, “Well, it was so nice to meet you all but I must be going. I’m due in the lounge to watch over the dancing.” He politely smiles. “There’s dancing?” Your sister asks curious about the activity she has yet to see at the resort.  “Oh, yes. Every night we have a live band in the longue and most guests come to dance the hottest dances- from the foxtrot to the mambo. We even have professional dancers staffed that can teach and demonstrate to the guests. It’s really great.” Neil explains the situation and Max nods along proud of the popular activity the resort could provide. 

Your mom and sister look to each other clearly interested in the activity whereas you could care less, never really have been much interested in dancing yourself.  You look up with a start as your dad calls your name, “Doesn’t that sound fun? You know, Neil, maybe you should take her over to check it out, I bet she would love it.” Your dad smiles excitedly and you realize quickly he was so impressed with the boy he’s started to play matchmaker. 

Trying your best to keep your emotions contained, simply looking to your father. “I don’t know, daddy. I’m quite tired from traveling today.”  “We don’t have to stay long,” Neil smiles at you, “You can just check the scene out that way you know where it is for other nights.”  “That’s a good idea, sweetie. Why don’t you go check it out for us and let us know if we should all go over tomorrow night.” Your mom speaks up nodding at you.

The longue is much bigger than you expected and the dimly lit room made for the perfect atmosphere. The live band continuously played upbeat and slower tunes to appease the large crowd of dancing guests.  Though, much to your dismay, Neil insisted on having one dance with you and yet here you both were three songs later.  You were never much of a dancer, not even interested in the deed during your final prom in the spring. Not much has changed as you stand swaying boringly back and forth with your partner. Though all the people around you seem to be having the time of their lives lazily moving to the music, you were bored from the moment you started. 

As Neil continues his nonstop talking, you begin to think maybe it’s your partner that is making the dancing so miserable. The owner's nephew was very polite, but it didn’t take long for you to realize just how full of himself he is. The past fifteen minutes were full of him going on about how amazing he is to have started managing- not one but three resorts, at such a young age. You were able to slip in a few words about how hardworking he must be but other than that, he seemed to be content with you just listening to his whole life story. 

The song finally comes to an end, the crowd stops their movements to applaud the band. You’re thankful for the opportunity to prepare yourself to tell Neil just how tired you were, but the band starts again- playing a much more upbeat tune than that of any you have heard the time you’ve been here. 

You look on with curiosity as the crowd starts to cheer and clap as a couple makes their way into the center of the circle the guests have carved out for them. 

Your eyes follow the couple in awe as they command the spotlight and start to dance, clearly much more advanced than anyone else in the room. 

You’re unable to even find it in yourself to leave Neil as you’re absolutely captivated by the way the pair move across the floor all by themselves. Eyes wandering to the boy as he swiftly and gracefully moves across the floor, effortlessly gliding his partner. 

A smile pulls on your face as he lifts her slightly, spinning her around letting the coral dress she’s wearing flow freely around her. The two were clearly professionals and watching their dance brought you joy as well as all of the other guests who stayed aside to watch their show. You had never seen professional dancers before but watching them now you were allured by their talent, unable to take your eyes off of them. Every part of their bodies seemed to move to every beat, everything about what they did seemed natural and intentional at the same time. “They’re amazing,” you let out as your eyes continue to follow the couple whose looks are as beautiful as their movements.  Neil scoffs from beside you, “Yeah, well they should be we pay them for it.” He shakes his head as he continues to watch their routine, “They’re supposed to be selling lessons to the guests but they’re just showing off.” You want to argue that everyone around them is clearly enjoying the act but you don’t bother using the energy to talk to the boy. 

You stay watching the couple, unable to tear your gaze away from every twist and twirl they make. They eventually end and bow respectively to the crowd who cheers loudly for their talents. Even then, your eyes stay focused on the gorgeous girl and boy who shines just as beautifully. You watch as they go their separate ways, making their way in the crowd to politely dance with some of the guests- a clear part of their attempt to sell lessons. You follow the boy’s head until you can no longer see it, mind wandering to ask your father to pay for dance lessons this summer. That would be a great idea, you thought, if only you liked dancing.

The next couple days of your vacation were uneventful- relaxing but nothing too memorable. You often found yourself wandering the resort by yourself as you parents partook in the multiple activities offered and your sister spent as much time as she could with the waiter, Chan. 

This night wasn’t much different as you wandered around the different paths of the resort after dinner, picking daisies that littered the grass. The sun had fallen long ago but you couldn’t find it in yourself to stay cooped up in the room when Daisy had gone into town with Chan and your parents were watching a screening of a new movie in the small theater within the hotel. So, much like any other time, you found your feet carried you outside and simply walked where you could. 

You hum along to a song that’s tune has been in your head all day as you hop along the rock-paved path going to the bottom of a hill you have yet to explore. Half way down, you notice the presence of another. It was a boy who seemed to struggling to carry something as he walked further in front of you. Squinting your eyes, you notice the boy is familiar. “Jeongin! Hey!” You call out with a smile, happy to see another person you know. You jog briskly down the hill to meet him where he stopped with a smile. You hold your white dress to keep it from flowing too far up and you make your way to the black haired boy, sending him a big smile as you finally reach him. “Hey,” he returns your smile and you look down to see him struggling to keep his grip on a couple of watermelons. You automatically go to grab one with a huff as it’s much heavier than you first expected, “Where are you going? I’ll help take this there.” Jeongin chuckles at you, “What? Don’t you have to go meet your manager boyfriend?” 

You frown at the mention of Neil, the boy clearly having seen your parents attempt of having you spend time with the conceded boy. Rather annoyed by his comment, you roll your eyes, roughly pushing the watermelon back into his arms and turn around to take your leave, disappointed by the boy you were originally pleased to see. 

“Hey! Wait! I was messing around, c’mon I could use your help.” You spin around, sending the boy a glare as you pull the extra fruit from his arms. Jeongin laughs and hoists the fruit he still has further up in his arms, “Well, let’s go then. But don’t you dare even mention what I’m about to show you.” he says the threat with such a light tone that you barely register what he was saying. “What do you mean?” You ask as you follow him further away from where you met. “Where we’re going is only for staff members, so you’re not even allowed to be there.” He says nonchalantly and your confused as to whether he is being serious or not. “And when I say that, I mean only certain staff,” he huffs as you two make your way up a hill, “So don’t mention it to nobody, especially not the manager.” You roll your eyes but refrain from biting back at the comment about Neil once again.

Finally making your way to a small wooden building, Jeongin roughly shoves the two doors open using the back of his body, making sure one of them stayed open long enough to safely let you in. Yet you’re so surprised by your new surroundings you can’t even find it in yourself to thank him.

Though the lighting is dim just like the dance lounge on the main resort - that is the only thing that you find familiar.  The room is hazy and filled with smoke and there is a loud booming from the speakers playing music from the record. A completely different genre from that of the live music you enjoyed at dinner and in the lounge. It sounds much like the music your peers listened to on their own record players when you visited their homes.

As you try to keep your gaze on Jeongin to follow him to the designated destination he had in mind, you find it nearly impossible. The room was crowded with workers who are enjoying their time off, dancing to the loud beat of an unfamiliar song.  And though you try your hardest to keep your eyes on Jeongin through the tight-nit crowd of people, you can’t help them wandering to take in just how the people around you are dancing. 

Never in your life have you seen just- frankly to put it; crude dancing. You weren’t really sure if you could call it dancing at all.

Pairs of people who pressed together so tightly it was nearly difficult to tell where one body ended and the other began.  There was groping with wandering hands and groins pressed and rocking together. Your cheeks flushed as were almost certain these moves were only meant to be done in private. 

Finally reaching your destination, you place the watermelon on an empty table beside Jeongin's. Wiping his hands on his jeans, he chuckles probably taking in your flustered reaction. “Do you like the dancing?” he moves a bit to lean back against the wood, moving his view the the crowd of moving people before you both. 

Following his actions, you move closer to him, making sure he could hear you even with the blaring music, “So they are dancing?”  You aren’t even sure yourself if your question is facetious or not.  Jeongin merely lets out a laugh, “Could you imagine if people danced like this out on the main floor?” He shakes his head just thinking about it, “Max would have all of our asses out on the street.” 

You smooth the fabric of your dress down, suddenly feeling self conscious of how you're dressed. Compared to those around you, you feel like you're dressed for church. "Wanna try?"Jeongin speaks up from next to you, raising his eyebrows, as you swiftly shake your head. There was no way you would dance like that. Not only did you not believe your body would move like that, but you were sure you would be far too embarrassed.

Your attention is drawn back to the crowd when everyone seems to let out a small cheer, looking you notice they make way for a new couple to join the dancing right in the center of the room, where everyone can see them. 

Immediately, you recognize the pair. 

It was hard not to, with the man striking features and the smoothness in which both of them move. Though this dance is completely opposite than that of what they danced to the last time you saw them.  You enjoy watching them nonetheless, you could hardly keep your eyes off of them, absolutely captivated by their swiftness. Automatically, your head starts to bob to music.  “They’re incredible!” You lean closer to Jeongin to express your fondness.  “Right? They’re the best this resort has. That there is my cousin, Minho. And his partner is Momo!” The boy has a smile on his face as though he is proud to introduce you to the talented pair he happens to know very well. 

“They make such a great couple.” You let out, even you could see their chemistry. 

“You would think so, huh? They’re not romantically involved though.”

Pursing your lips, you look at Jeongin after his comment, blown away with the information he just shared with you, “Seriously?”

He nods quickly, crossing his arms, “Oh, yeah. They tried it out once in high school, ended it two days later. Momo actually has a boyfriend who lives in town.”

You let out a small hum of acknowledgment, letting your eyes stay focused on the pair you two talked about, “And what about him, your cousin?”  The younger boy laughs beside you, “Oh he’s single, alright.” The current song comes to an end and some pairs start to break away.  Almost as if he knew you were talking about him, his cousin's eyes wander over to where you and Jeongin are resting. 

And much to your dismay, he starts to make his way over to you both.

As the boy makes his way in front of you both, you realize how intimidating he was. His dark eyes are sharp and unimpressed, sweat lingering on his face from dancing in the hot, crowded room. Maybe it was because you were aware you weren't supposed to be here, but you swear his gaze was intense enough to make you sweat yourself. You do your best to keep your eyes locked on his chest, his arms, his neck, anywhere that kept you from meeting his eyes. All the while you could feel his own locked on you.

“What is she doing here?” The older boy questions his cousin. “Oh, she helped me out on the way here. Saw me struggling and all.” Jeongin trails off as if to observe what his cousin’s reaction would be. “Yeah, I carried a watermelon.”  The words tumble out of your mouth before your mind can comprehend them. At this, Minho spares you a judging glance that makes you feel small, not bothering another word before turning and walking back to the dance floor. And as soon he turns your eyes rolls and you mumble to yourself about your idiotic words, shaking your head with a sigh as you wish you could forget the awkward encounter.

The next couple of songs play without incident; you stay by Jeongin's side, making idle small talk as you enjoy the music. All the songs being played are quite different from those that the live band play on the main floor, but you might even enjoy these songs even more. As each melody goes on you find yourself subconsciously moving and bobbing to the beat, especially as you watch everyone around you flowing along with the instrumentals. 

Continuing your small movements with a small smile upon your lips, your eyes wander around the room, taking in how the crowd changes their movements when a slightly more upbeat song starts to play. As your eyes make their way back to in front of you, the smile you once sported falls just as you still your body. You find a familiar dancer making his way straight towards you. 

He makes his appearance without a word, simply reaching out to grasp your hand with his nimble fingers. Minho gently gives you a tug, head nodding towards the dance floor as he walks you there. You feel your mouth slightly part in surprise but you find yourself unable to protest, head glancing back as Jeongin as he merely gives you a shrug, looking almost as confused as you are.

Minho doesn’t stop until you’re both in the middle of the dance floor, surrounded by the other moving bodies. He makes his way in front of you making sure he has your attention, “Watch.” You swallow deeply as the taller boy starts to move, simply swaying his hips back and forth to the beat of the song. “Go on.” He states again and you bite the inside of your cheek questioning if you would rather run back to his cousin than to attempt to dance in front of him, but you figure you can attempt this basic move he basically saw you doing before he dragged you out here.

You start to move after a deep breath, following along the best you could though you could already tell you were not nearly as smooth as the dancer.

“Good,” he nods his head “Now bend your knees, lower your hips.” He taps his pelvis to draw attention to the next move, his body now lower even as he continues his swaying movements.

Your body awkwardly lowers to try to match him and you suddenly become aware of how foolish you must look. A fish out of water compared to how smooth everyone is around you. Quickly glancing around you, you try to see if anyone else is seeing how awful you’re doing.

“Hey, look at me. Keep your eyes on me.” You draw your eyes back to Minho as he attempts to keep your attention on him. You do your best to keep everyone else around you out of your mind and hope you don’t draw their eyes in with your bad dancing. “Now roll your hips right,” he demonstrates slowly, “And then left.” He smoothly rolls his hips in a circle, alternating sides as he told you. 

When it was your turn to attempt you furrow your brows clearly having to concentrate more to get it done. He chuckles slightly at you but still praises, “Good, that’s it.” 

The two of you continue that for a moment before he creeps closer, grabbing your waist and pulling you flush against him. Your breath hitches in your throat as he holds your hips to his, having to place one of your hands on his bicep to keep you from stumbling, both of you still moving with the flow he taught you moments before. You can feel your face flush at the proximity and the mere movement you both are doing together. The only other time you can think of doing something similar involves the last boy you were with and being between the sheets, the movements could almost be the same you find yourself thinking. Only the thought flushes your cheeks even more.

As the two of you fall into a more comfortable rhythm matching the song, Minho starts to move more. He skillfully sways you both side to side even dipping you back slightly, your hand finding its way to his shoulder to steady yourself. It’s all much funner than you expected and you can’t help the smile that finds its way onto your face along with a giggle that breaks through your lips as he pulls you closer to him.

Unfortunately the fun and the song have to end at some point, Minho separates from you, magically twirling you around as the last notes of the song play. The crowd around you stops dancing and the room fills with claps and cheers end off the music. 

Still giddy, you clap along turning around with a smile only to find the boy was nowhere to be seen. 

Awkwardly stopping your movements, you flatten your hair and start to move through the crowd looking to make your way back to Jeongin, suddenly feeling red and flustered, your heart still pounding in your chest from the small dance you just shared.

It’s only a few short nights later that you find yourself in the presence of Minho once again, but this time the circumstances are very different. 

You stand under a well lit gazebo along with your parents and Max. The large platform acts as a dance floor, many bodies dancing classically to the soft music, a change of scenery from the usual ballroom floor. The fairy lights are bright enough to brighten up the whole area, the music plays from a record player in the corner; a contrast to the live band, and being outside once the sun goes down allows for a coolness to cover the space. It’s not much, but you are glad you decided to wear your cardigan. 

You stand closely to your mother, both of you keeping an eye on your sister who dances in the center of the place with Chan, who had the night off. Glancing up at her you both give each other a knowing smile at the kind boy that has caught Daisy’s eye this summer. 

As they move a bit from out of your sight, you bring your attention back to your father and Neil as they talk of their old college days. 

As the bodies continue to sway and move you can’t help but notice Minho among the crowd, his expert moves sticking out like a sore thumb. You watch as him and his partner move closer to the corner where you stood. You look at the girl in his arms and notice it’s not his usual partner Jeongin introduced to you as Momo. Instead this woman you could immediately tell was much older than Minho in age, that was obvious in appearance. And unlike Momo’s professionalism, this woman seemed much more interested in staying close to the boy rather than any real ballroom dancing. 

“Hello, Ruby. How are you doing?” You turn your head towards Max who speaks to the woman in Minho’s arms. She gives him a cunning smile, resting her head on the dark-haired boy’s shoulder, “I’m doing just fine, Max.” Max keeps a smile and nods as the pair continue their dance moving on along the room.

Once they’re far enough you hear Max sigh, “That’s what we call a Bungalow Bunny here.” This has the attention of both you and your parents, “They come every summer with their husbands, though their husbands only come down on the weekend. Ruby’s husband pays for her dance lessons,” he puts out his head to where she was with Minho. “It’s a difficult situation, she must be lonely.” He states and you swallow at his implications; that Minho is offering much more than dance lessons to this married woman. 

You find yourself getting sleepy the more you stand there, no longer interested in any of the conversation your father and Max find themselves having. And just when you thought your mood couldn’t be more sour, you spot Neil entering the gazebo and make his way over to the corner. You politely greet him but you dread it when he asks you to join him for a dance, “Oh I don’t know, Neil. I’m practically falling asleep here.” You force out a giggle to keep the atmosphere light. “Well how about a walk then? There’s a full moon tonight and the view will be beautiful by the lake.” 

You’re just as ready to turn his offer down again, but you feel your mom slightly push your lower back. You know right away what this means, go on with him. Though you dread it, you know it’s the right thing to do when his uncle is standing right next to you and he being the one to invite your family to stay at his resort. 

So that’s how you find yourself walking along the grass towards the lake, the moonlight being the only form of brightness in the night. Neil has been dragging on about how he got in an argument with one of the lifeguards and you haven’t been able to get a single word in since you started your walk. Finally getting to the dock, you take a deep breath and enjoy the view trying your best to block out Neil’s ramblings. 

Your view seems to almost be ruined though, when you feel the boy place his arm over your shoulder, “And I said, you know what Jimmy doesn’t have? Three hotels!” The boy laughs at his own joke and you give him a tight lipped smile to keep your rudeness at bay. 

But that seems to be getting harder to do when you feel Neil start to play with the ends of your hair, taking it softly in the tips of his fingers. “You know, when it comes time, there are much more important things than looks when choosing a man is involved.”

An unamused laugh leaves your lips as you slip yourself from out of his grip, “You know Neil, I’m actually kind of hungry. Maybe we can head back so I can have a snack.” He smiles at you, not at all fazed by your actions, “No problem at all, there’s actually a small kitchen for the staff in this building, we can grab you something there before heading back.” 

You follow him to the small building by the lake, you look around the dark building as Neil points out the sights. “And here is the kitchen, it’s pretty small but it’s usually just for the staff to have their lunches when they’re working around the lake.” He stands by the doorframe as you walk in the narrow kitchen. The boy continues to talk about some of the different staff schedules as you hear a small whimper coming from the corner. 

Looking alarmed at Neil, he doesn’t seem to notice as he continues his talking. Carefully you move further into the room pretending to look at the different arrangement of snacks. Finally you hear the sound more clearly and look in the corner, someone is hunched between the fridge and the wall. The person looks up and you fight the gasp that threatens to leave your throat. You make eye contact and immediately know who it is, you would recognize his partner anywhere.

Momo looks up from you, whimpering and shaking, clearly having been crying for who knows how long.  

You swallow quickly and trust your gut.

Turning around you make your way back to Neil, grabbing an apple in the basket by the door, “I think it will do, Neil. Thank you for showing me this, and for the snack. I think we should head back now, I wouldn’t want to worry my parents.”

“Of course, let’s go.” He shuts the door behind him and you make your way back to the gazebo as quickly as you can. 

Your heart is in your throat and you consider yourself lucky that Neil has separated himself from you by the time you get back to the gazebo. You try to think of the best way to approach the situation and decide it’s best not to interrupt Minho, whom you still barely know, especially when he’s with his client in the middle of the dance floor. Recalling from earlier in the night, you remember you saw Jeongin in the opposite corner from you, doing his job of handing out drinks to the guests.

Relief floods your system when you see the dark-haired boy in the same spot as before. Rushing over as quickly as you could without drawing attention to yourself, you finally place your arm on his shoulder. A friendly smile starts to form on his face but before he could even greet you, you bring your mouth to his ear, hand cupping around them both in order to tell him of the questionable situation you were in before finding him. 

His eyes widen at your words and he quickly makes his way to Minho in the middle of the floor, obviously not having the same worries as you did about interrupting him. You keep your eyes on the two boys and you notice Minho becomes just as alert as Jeongin when he tells him. There’s a part of you that is relieved you told the boys, it seems as though you made the right decision with how they’re reacting as you watch them rush out of the busy gazebo. 

And before you can tell yourself any better, you follow them.

The adrenaline is still high in your bloodstream as you follow both of the boys as they nearly run to reach Momo. You’ve realized long ago you really have no place to be here but your curiosity gets the best of you once again; you need to know what’s happened to the girl and you can only hope it’s nothing bad. 

“Do you know what happened?” you ask and they get closer to the location and Jeongin looks back as if he’s shocked you’re still there. He answers nonetheless, “She’s having a bad high.” The older doesn’t seem pleased by the information his cousin disposed and he nearly yells back at him, “Fuck, Jeongin! You can’t just go around telling people that shit.”

Your heart is stuck in your throat as you feel you’re being told off, perhaps you now know why curiosity killed the cat.

“Now she’s going to off to tell her manager boyfriend, gonna get us all fired” Minho mumbles even further and you can’t help but your blood to boil at the underming comment. “I would never tell anyone, I’m not some kind of snitch.” You bit back not even getting the chance to explain your nonexistent relationship with Neil before you’ve reached the destination. 

You stay put outside with Jeongin and Minho hurriedly picks up Momo and comes out to continue along the path. 

Figuring you’re already in deep enough, you continue to follow them to where you assume is their home for the summer. 

Further down the dirt road, you’re met with a series of small apartment-like houses; there’s a sign further up the hill reading “Staff Housing”. They’re quaint and obviously not as well taken care of as the main resort. The porch creeks under the weight of you all as you make your way into room numbered 143.

You stay put by the door you’ve closed behind you, keeping your hand on the handle; ready to leave if the hosts deemed your presence unnecessary (though you already knew it was). 

Watching quietly, you take in how Jeongin brings her a glass of water and Minho wraps her in a blanket, sitting beside her on the small couch and urging her to drink.

Momo must’ve had been alone for some time because she already seems to be sobering up and paying attention to Minho who rubs her back comfortingly. 

“You have to do the program, Mo.” He speaks softly to her and you listen carefully to their hushed conversation. 

Jeongin, who had made his way back to stand closer to you whispers to you, “There’s a program she’s found out about that could help break the addiction.” You nod at him, silently thanking him for explaining to you once again. 

The girl finishes her water and the boy beside her repeats himself once again, softly removing the hair from her face in order to look at her properly. She scoffs in return, turning her head away from his hands, “You know I can’t.”

“Why not?” You speak, what you meant to be a whisper where only Jeongin could hear but your voice comes out much louder than you intended. The couple on the couch look at you and your face flushes with the feeling you don’t belong. 

“The program costs a lot of money,” Jeongin murmurs, still answering your question whether the other two wanted it to be known or not. 

Momo, who seemingly just noticed you were here, stares at you for a second before speaking up herself, “Yeah, try three hundred dollars. That’s a whole summer’s worth of paychecks.” She leans back into the couch but keeps her cold gaze on you, “But you wouldn’t understand that, would you? Must be nice to have access to daddy’s money.” 

It’s clear the words are spoken with the purpose to hurt you but you don’t make a move, not giving her the satisfaction. It feels as though you both are in a staring contest until Jeongin makes the first move, “I’ll make you a sandwich, you should eat.” Momo turns her eyes to the younger boy, giving him a smile and you take the chance to quietly leave the room you were never welcome in.

You knew you shouldn’t let the words Momo said affect you so much, she had not been in the right state in the first place. But nonetheless, her comment played through your head as you toss and turn in bed that night. 

The next morning you found yourself trekking to the golf course bright and early to find your father. Walking along in the cool morning you’ve tried to justify your actions by convincing yourself what you’re about to do is for the sake of helping someone else. But no matter how many times you repeat it, you know that’s not the reason at all for your petty actions.

“Daddy!” You call out finally locating your parents practicing their putting. Grabbing his attention, he looks up with a smile, “Good morning, my love. Did you already have breakfast?”. Keeping the bright smile on your face you go to hug him, “I was on my way to but thought I would say good morning first since I didn’t see you last night.” 

He hums, taking another hit at a ball. “Daddy, about last night,” you start recalling the lie you’ve made up, “I made a friend and she’s trying to buy a place ticket. Her mom is sick and she wants to go home and see her but she has no way of affording it.” He silently looks at you and you take the chance to continue, “She’s a worker here and they don’t pay enough for her to buy it herself.” 

He nods and hits another ball, “And what do you suggest we do?” You make your smile a bit smaller, “I was hoping we could help her, daddy. As a doctor I know you always help people in need so I thought this could be my way of helping her, wouldn’t that be nice?” 

Knowing you’ve hit a soft spot with him as he tries to hide his smile, you keep your own bashful. “I suppose you’re right. I’m so lucky that my daughter has a good heart like you. I’ll write you a check at lunch.”

Walking into the workers lounge late that night, you feel almost powerful with the check in your hand. You confidently make your way in, moving through the bodies closely dancing together until you spot Jeongin on the side of the room. 

You make your way to him giving him a smile which he returns. Just to the right you notice Momo dancing with Minho to the calm song playing over the speakers and you take the chance to approach her. Jeongin follows closely, either curious about what you have to say or worried she won’t be happy to see you. 

You slightly tap Momo on the shoulder, grabbing both her and Minho’s attention. Motioning for them to follow you, you go to the edge of the dance floor where they could hear you better. 

The pair follow without question, obviously curious about what you have to say. They stare at you for a moment and you hold out the check to her, “Here.” 

She cautiously grabs the paper and looks shocked when she realizes what it is, “Are you serious right now?” Minho looks just as surprised, grabbing the check to look at it himself. You merely nod at her, keeping your face serious. “How did you get this?” The dancer speaks up as he examines the check and you keep your gaze steady, “It was easy, all I had to do was go ask my daddy.” You look at Momo raising your eyebrows, “Right?” You can’t help but the petty comment to slip your lips but you thought it was the least she deserved. 

She bashfully looks down and takes the check, passing it back to you, “Thanks, but I can’t take it.” 

Your eyebrows furrow, “Why not?” Your confusion grows as even the man beside her looks shocked, “Yeah, why not? You need to take it, Mo.” She merely shakes her head and it’s Jeongin who finally speaks up. “The program takes place on Thursday nights,” at the comment Minho seems to understand, a frown forming on his face. 

“What does that mean?” Jeongin looks at you, “They both have another gig at a hotel a little away from here. If they don’t show up they lose their spot not only this summer but next summer too. They need the money,” he trails off.

You think quickly, “Well can’t someone else take your place?” Minho rolls his eyes at your suggestion, “No, no one can take her place. Everyone works around here but that’s not something you would know about.”

Eyebrows furrowed, you feel fed up with the comments about your work ethic and you’re half tempted to grab the check and leave, never having to talk to them again.

But before you can even process, Momo lights up, “That’s right! It’s perfect, everyone does work but she doesn’t! She can take my place!” You already panic at the weird idea and you can see right away Minho does too, “What, absolutely not! She’s not a dancer!” 

His cousin on the other hand seems to agree with Momo, “I think it’s a great idea! I mean, you were literally just teaching her how to dance the other night, weren’t you?” Jeongin states almost smugly. At this Momo turns her head to Minho, raising her brows, “Well, then that’s that.”

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[frangipanilove]

Richonne’s Yellow Car And Why Ethanol Represents A “Cure”

I just wanted to piggyback off of @emsee22 ’s excellent post about the ethanol theme and provide some additional context for how I understand the way this symbolism traditionally has been used in TWDU, I hope you don’t mind @emsee22 .

I’m writing this from an off grid cabin without phone reception and internet. There’s a pine tree near my cabin where there’s one bar of reception when the weather is just right and the tech gods are well fed and content. Fingers crossed this goes through, and I might edit it into a real post with pics, references and links when I return to civilization.

But for now just wanted to briefly add my two cents to the discussion on the ethanol theme, because it’s something that makes me very excited, and it’s something we first saw a long time ago.

Long story short, it’s a metaphor for a cure, as you say. We know this because TPTB explicitly told us so, in an old episode of FTWD. I can’t remember which season off the top of my head, but Martha, the villain of the season had tried to kill Morgan and company by mixing antifreeze into their water. I wrote a post about it after the episode aired, because the themes of methanol = poison and ethanol = the cure were so overwhelming. It was one of those things that, without interpreting it on a deeply symbolical level seemed rather bizarre and random. I wondered when that particular symbolism would return, and now we know it did, in TOWL 1x5 What We.

For starters, this is significant for TD because, like you mentioned, when Beth in Still said “bad moonshine can make you go blind” she was talking about how moonshine, when produced under less than perfect conditions, can end up containing methanol, which can indeed make you blind, That is, if it doesn’t kill you first. Antifreeze, like we saw in FTWD, contains methanol, and Martha’s intention with giving them the antifreeze was to kill them by way of methanol poisoning.

The antidote to methanol is ironically ethanol, which is simply a different word for alcohol. Morgan and company were conveniently driving around in a truck loaded with beer, and were therefore able to counteract the effects of the methanol poisoning by getting drunk on beer. Heavy plot armor here, as we see, which again suggests there’s symbolism at play.

In plain text: when methanol is the poison, ethanol is the literal cure. Therefore, I think it’s fair to say that the ethanol in the back of Michonne and Rick’s yellow escape vehicle is a direct reference to the episode of FTWD where we see ethanol acting as a cure for methanol poisoning, meaning ethanol is a metaphor for a “cure” And we know that TPTB really wanted us to be aware of that. They needed us to know that so badly, they devoted an entire episode of FTWD to it. If I remember correctly, I think it even was the season finale. I think the entire back half of that season revolved around Martha trying to kill them, eventually culminating in the season finale where they ended up drinking beer/ethanol to save their lives.

We also saw a reference to the antifreeze/ methanol poisoning theme in TWD 4x4 when Daryl and Bob came across a gas station where the people staying there had committed suicide by drinking antifreeze. So again, as we see over and over, symbolism on this show stays consistent over time, it literally stays consistent over the span of a decade. And, they’re sufficiently invested in this symbolism to spend the entire back half of a season of FTWD laying the groundwork for establishing a solid ethanol = cure connection for the season finale.

When Rick and Michonne escaped in their yellow car in 5x4 What We, most TD’ers were instinctively drawn to the “yellowness” because we tend to interpret the color yellow to be associated with Beth, due her yellow polo from Still.

In a post from a few days back I talked about the ways in which the yellow symbolism intersects with symbolism around cars, and how those cars relate to Beth. I focused on Carol’s yellow Jeep Cherokee and the symbolism around the Cherokee Rose, and I will circle back to that now because the ethanol is actually right at the center of it. Carol’s Jeep Cherokee had the same shade of yellow as Beth’s polo and Richonne’s yellow escape vehicle, and there’s a reason for that.

Anybody remember when Daryl in TWD 2x4 placed a Cherokee Rose in a beer bottle before giving it to Carol? Beer is ethanol, remember, it is LITERALLY what saved Morgan and company’s lives in FTWD. In my post about the yellow symbolism and the car symbolism, I argued that the Cherokee Rose is a resurrection symbol, and it’s tied to Beth in a number of ways, but especially through the yellow symbolism, derived from her yellow polo. Remember that TPTB spent an entire episode of FTWD telling us that beer is the cure for methanol poisoning. Beer = cure. The beer bottle with the Cherokee Rose from 2x4 is yet another representation of resurrection symbolism combined with a metaphor for a cure. And it’s all tied to Beth.

(The “beer” symbolism is also tied to the “North” symbolism, but I’ll leave that for a another day)

@emsee22 your post brought up a few new details that I hadn’t considered before, which I can’t wait to start researching once I get back to where I have internet. For starters, a symbolism-heavy episode of FTWD revolved around a funeral home with lots of references to formaldehyde, which I’m now heavily side-eying in a slightly different way. I can’t wait to sink my teeth into that rabbit hole when I get home😄

[flamingskull28]

4 admired the new outfit she donned in the mirror. It was 8's old metro outfit and honestly, 4 really liked the look. Sure it was a bit tight around her chest and waist but tye leather was oddly comfortable, she wondered why 8 didn't.... well scratch that given the weight the metro had put on her girlfriends it made sense that 8 wouldn't wear the outfit.

"Ooo, maybe she won't mind if I keep it then.." 4 pondered, it would be easy to just take it but she figured it wouldn't hurt to ask. Maybe see if 8 and 3 liked the look.

Exciting the bathroom, 4 made a point to strut down the hall. It felt right given the outfit, she really hoped 3 and 8 liked it because she wanted to wear this more often.

Reaching their shared room 4 pushed open the door without revealing herself. Inside 8 and 3 were audiblely chatting away, seemingly about fashion contently.

"4 is that you? You can come in you know, we don't bite.... mostly." 3 remarked jokingly, 4 still has the scar from the time 8 got a bit.... excited while her 4 were making out... Not that she minded.

"Yeah it's me, I got an outfit I want your opinions on." 3 and 8 both gave their go ahead.

4 made sure to do as cunty a walk as she could manage, made only slightly difficult by the heels, as she walked into her girlfriends line of sight. Striking a small pose for extra effect.

"So, whatca think?~" 4 flashed a toothy grin to match her flirtatious tone. "I found it in our closet and..... uh." She paused and scanned her girlfriends faces.

Both their faces shinned brightly with a deep blush in their respective ink colors and their mouths were agape in awe.

"Uh..." 4 suddenly felt a lot more self conscious, her face beginning to match 3 and 8's blushs. Did they not like it? W-Was it that bad on her? 4 rubbed her arm nervously feelong overly self conscious out of nowhere. "Is... is it that bad? S-Should I take it off?"

"N-NO!" 3 and 8 yelled simultaneously, faces somehow blushing deeper.

8 cleared her throat "I-I.. you l-look very good in it... cod you look s-stunning.." the last part didn't seem to leave her mouth willingly, more so like a 'holy squit I need to keep my cool why is she so hot' slip of the beak.

3 picked her jaw from off the floor as well "Y-YEAH.... you look... hot i-in it..."

4 felt most if her self consciousness leave seeing her girlfriends utterly flabbergasted and fully in gay panic mode. A giggle escaped her lips. "Oh? I'm sure you wouldn't mind if I kept it then?"

They both nodded with eyes firmly on her, she took a seat between them. 8 seemed to ignore all her self consciousness and squeezed 4's arm muscles being fully infatuated.

4 pulled both them in, giving a kiss atop their heads. She loved her girlfriends, even if they were both gay losers.... not that she could judge being a gay loser herself...

[raptorific]

Okay but I was just saying today how bad I want a spinoff about how Tigress Snow become who she became. Which is why I'm offering an open question to you: I'd love to hear any theories you have on the trajectory of her life that lead her where it did.

I can always count on you for good stuff like this--

So, the fun thing about Tigris is that when I first read Songbirds, they mention she's Snow's cousin on the very first page, and I literally had to put the book down and go paw through my copy of Mockingjay to see if they'd ever actually referenced that before. It didn't feel like a reveal, because it just made so much sense that she'd be his cousin that I assumed I must've already known it.

So, the thing that's clear to me after Songbirds is that Tigris and Coriolanus have very different priorities with regards to the games. Tigris thinks they're monstrous and over-the-line, and feels for the tributes, Coriolanus thinks they're necessary and that the tributes (and in fact all human beings) are inherently brutal and need dramatic examples like the games to keep them in line

I think this is reflected in their diverging, parallel paths in their participation in the games. Tigris is a stylist, a role which allows her to work directly with the Tributes, maybe even give them more of a fighting chance to survive, while Snow worked as a mentor and gamemaker, and orchestrated ways to make the brutality of the games even more effective

You also see, towards the end of the book and movie, that Tigris has begun to feel fear and disgust towards her cousin, but she is still effectively dependent on him financially, and doesn't want to alienate him entirely. This was a reversal of their positions at the beginning of the book, when Coriolanus was entirely dependent on Tigris' pawn shop savvy, arts and crafts skills, and implied sex work to keep afloat, and she put almost every resource she had towards making sure he could succeed so their family could regain its old prestige

So at the end of the book, Snow is back on top, they've got the fortune back, the people standing in the way of his return to high society are eliminated, and he's been taken under the wing of one of the most powerful people in the Capitol. Of course he used his connections to get Tigris a job, in his mind that's only fair, he did for her what she'd always done for him.

The crucial thing, for me, is that eventually, Coriolanus screwed her over the same way he screwed over Sejanus and Lucy Gray and everyone else who ever got close to him who became an obstacle or liability to his ascendancy. When her furry-ism got to be embarrassing to the family name, she was canned from that job and shoved out of the way somewhere she couldn't get in the way of his political prospects

The thing is, based on Songbirds, I don't think Tigris was necessarily surprised by this. I think she took the job while it was an option for her, because she'd seen her cousin's true colors through the Tenth Games and his time in District 12, and knew eventually she'd be cast aside as well. She was dependent on him, and that wouldn't last forever, and so she needed to take advantage of it while she could.

I think her body modifications were probably similar in motivation to the rest of the Capitol's insane cosmetic procedures, but I also think they come from a place of desperately wanting control over her own life. She spent her whole adolescence serving the needs of her cousin, and then she ended up entirely dependent on her cousin and unable to do anything that would embarrass his standing in high society. I think transforming herself into a human cat was an attempt at feeling like she was, in some small way, in control of herself.

I hope there was a solid answer somewhere in all that rambling! I find Tigris to be such a fascinating character

[coleramse]

the tortured poets department. songs one through five.

i was supposed to be sent away.

they forgot to come and get me.

i was a functioning alcoholic.

i hope you're okay.

you're the reason, and no one's here to blame.

what about your quiet treason?

we were forever running.

sometimes you ask about the weather.

your wife waters flowers.

i want to kill her/him.

all my mornings are monday stuck in endless februrary.

i took the miracle 'move on' drug. the effects were temporary.

i love you, it's ruining my life.

i touched you only for a fortnight.

but i touched you.

my husband is cheating.

i called you up, but you won't pick up.

i think some things i never say.

who uses typewriters anyway?

you're in self-sabotage mode, throwing spikes down the road.

i've seen this episode and still love the show.

who else decodes you?

who's gonna hold you, if not me?

who's gonna know you, if not me?

i scratch your head, you fall asleep.

i've read this one where you come undone.

i chose this cyclone with you.

sometimes i wonder if you're gonna screw this up with me.

you told lucy you'd kill yourself if i ever leave.

i felt seen.

everyone we know understands why it's meant to be. because we're crazy.

that's the closest i've come to my heart exploding.

here we go again.

you should've seen him when he first got me.

my boy only breaks his favorite toys.

i'm the queen of sand castles he destroys.

it fit too right, puzzle pieces in the dead of night.

i should have known it was a matter of time.

there was a litany of reasons why we could've played for keeps this time.

i know i'm just repeating myself.

pull the string, and i'll tell you that he runs because he loves me.

he saw forever so he smashed it up.

once i fix me, he's gonna miss me.

he was my best friend.

i felt more when we played pretend.

told me i'm better off. but i'm not.

tell me i was the chosen one.

showed me that this world is bigger than us, then sent me back where i came from.

for a moment i knew cosmic love.

now i'm down bad, crying at the gym.

everything comes out teenage petulance.

fuck it if i can't have him.

i might just die, it would make no difference.

fuck it if i can't have us.

i might just not get up.

i might stay down.

did you take all my old clothes?

that somehow seems so hollow now.

they'll say i'm nuts if i talk about the existence of you.

for a moment, i was heaven struck.

i loved your hostile take-overs.

how dare you say that it's-?

i'll build you a fort on some planet where they can all understand it.

how dare you think it's romantic, leaving me safe and stranded?

fuck it, i was in love.

so fuck you, if i can't have us.

like i lost my twin.

i saw in my mind ferry lights through the mist.

i kept calm and carried the weight of the rift.

pulled him in tighter each time he was drifting away.

my spine split from carrying us up the hell.

i stopped trying to make him laugh.

how much sad did you think i had in me?

so long, london.

you'll find someone.

i didn't opt in to be your odd man out.

i founded the club she's heard great things about.

i left all i knew.

you left me at the house by the heath.

i stopped cpr. after all, it's no use.

the spirit was gone.

i'm pissed off you let me give all that youth for free.

i'll find someone.

you say i abandoned the ship, but i was going down with it.

my friends said it isn't right to be scared.

every breath feels like the rarest air when you're not sure if he wants to be there.

how much tragedy did you think i had in me?

how long did you think i'd go before i'd self-implode?

how long did you think i'd go before i'd have to go be free?

you swore you loved me, but where were the clues?

i died on the altar waiting for the proof.

you sacrificed us to the gods of your bluest days.

i'm just getting color back into my face.

i'm just mad 'cause i loved this place for so long.

had a good run, a moment of warm sun.

i'm not the one.

two graves, one gun.

[sharingoreozwithbeelfox]

Hi sorry for not claryfying yeah i mean God as intheir father..ooo are you already planning another HC/story?

Don't apologize! I just wanted to make sure I was giving you what you want! 🩷

And yes, sort of! I wrote a small character blurb in my brainstorming document for Obey Me! The Fourth Realm for the boys' father, so he might appear there, too! I gave him the name Khalique, and while I'm still deciding on a few things appearance-wise, I'm seeing him with a lot of hair colors lol. More on that later. For now, onto your request!

The Brothers' Father Visits Devildom

I'll be calling him my hc name Khalique for simplicity's sake.

I feel like Khalique never approved of the exchange program, but since he is an obviously high-ranking angel, he'd probably have to attend a related function at some point. Let's say he had to go to some sort of meeting at Devildom. What goes down?

Have you ever despised someone you've never even met? That's the impression MC has. After hearing the stories and seeing the effect the boys' father had on them, it's hard to feel anything positive. Ig how MC reacts is up to you, but even if you wanna throw hands, you know that it's not a good idea, and you're too precious to these guys to be let anywhere near him.

Lucifer has it rough. His rage is boiling at the surface. He wants nothing more than to tear Khalique limb from limb for what he and his brothers have gone through, but even if Khalique confronts him and makes snide comment after snide comment, Lucifer will not let his pride hurt his brothers again, and he will not ruin a diplomatic meeting for Diavolo, so he holds his tongue. It's so, so frustrating. The frustration becomes angry tears the moment he's alone. Diavolo sees the strain it puts on him, and makes sure he's away the next time Khalique comes down.

Mammon has a bit less self-control. He will be as passive-aggressive as Khalique is, and Lucifer knows that. He also knows that Khalique will smile cruelly and say that Mammon is just like his father, and Lucifer is not willing to test the repercussions of that, so he gives Mammon a special task- staying right by your side and keeping you away from that monster. Mammon agrees at once. He's the Great Mammon, and your first. His old man isn't gonna get anywhere near ya, he promises!

Levi is terrified. His brothers knew that, but they didn't know how bad it was until he lay quaking in his bathtub on the morning of Khalique's arrival, begging to be allowed to stay home. He isn't ready to face his father again, not yet. Lucifer will allow him to, and will probably have you and Mammon just stay with him.

Satan, despite his Wrath, is the brother that Lucifer perhaps trusts the most to attend the meeting. Having been born after the war, Satan does not view the issue with Khalique quite as personally. He doesn't in any way like the angel, but he's not so filled with rage that he may lose control. Let's just hope that Khalique doesn't refer to him as Lucifer's son.

Asmo is in a similar boat. Despite his hatred for Khalique and how personal it is to him, Asmo can actually find his chill about the whole thing. He can attend the meeting without much issue. He knows that he's more gorgeous than Khalique will ever be, anyway!

Surprisingly, Beel is also in a constant panic, but for a slightly different reason. Yes, he is terrified of his father, and he's plagued with nightmares of his wrath, but he's more afraid for you and Belphie. He won't let either of you out of his sight, almost animalistic in his protectiveness. Don't expect him to speak much until Khalique is gone.

Lucifer is even more afraid of Belphie's wrath. Everyone knows how bad things can get when he's angry. His hatred for humans has cooled, but his hatred for Khalique has not. Though he is not as out of control, he is also glued to your and Beel's side, so Lucifer has him stay home, separately telling Beel and Belphie to protect each other, and you.

Diavolo knows that this is a painful endeavor for seven of his closest subjects, but everyone knows how unmovable he is in his quest for peace. However, this time, he will tell anyone who objects that he will not change his mind about the meeting, that he has no choice, but he will apologize very sincerely. During the meeting, he will remain respectful and try his best to keep Khalique's attention on him and on the meeting, not on his sons. Still, if Khalique ever returns, he will not subject Lucifer to his presence again.

Simeon dreaded this day. Of course, he can't outwardly show contempt for Khalique. Even now, respect is a force of habit, but once the meeting is done, Simeon seeks out Lucifer and tries to offer him comfort in his angry tears, whether Lucifer will push him away, or be so emotionally exhausted by the ordeal that he'll finally submit to the affection of his former brother.

Likewise, Luke shows utmost respect for Khalique, and it's more genuine than Simeon's. Still, after seeing how upset his presence made the brothers, Luke sort of wishes that Michael had attended the meeting in Khalique's place...

[ecargmura]

The Yuzuki Family's Four Sons Episode 8 Review - Gakuto's Secret

It’s Gakuto’s time in the spotlight again! What could be bothering the youngest this time? It turns out that his habit of holding back has come into effect again. This time, he’s holding back against telling Hayato about an important school event: parent visitation day.

Gakuto is only six years old. No matter how mature and precocious he may be at his age, he’s not mature enough to fix his bad habits. Once again, he’s still holding back from saying what’s important in order to not burden Hayato. He wants Hayato to prioritize his students more than prioritizing him. I hope that someone tells Hayato about the visitation next episode. Hayato needs to tell Gakuto that even if he wants to do well at his job, his first priority will always be his brothers. Gakuto really needs to learn this important lesson; hopefully it will happen next episode.

Despite this, Gakuto has good people around him. He has the adorable Waka who is willing to help him keep this secret from him. The way he cried when Gakuto tries to reassure him nothing is wrong with him got to me. Waka, don’t cry! He also has the ever dependable Kojiro being an accomplice of sorts. In his family, he has Minato who is protective and overly doting towards him; he and Uta had overheard Gakuto’s plans accidentally. He wants Gakuto to have a good time with class visitation as his first one didn’t go so well as his mom had to go to Mikoto’s class in the middle of his. I rarely see Mikoto and Gakuto interact, so it was nice to see them finally getting that shared screen time. Just like Minato, Mikoto also dotes on Gakuto, but not as much as he dotes on Minato. He even tells Gakuto that he and Hayato have the same personality. I just wish that Gakuto can understand that asking for help or wanting Hayato to prioritize him SHOULD always be a given in their family.

I think my favorite part of the episode was Uta and Minato running. The animation sequence for that running scene was so hilarious. They ran so fast that they ran out of animation reels and had to resort to real life pictures! Another detail I liked was how Chieko, the Yuzuki family’s mother, became colored in once she came into Minato’s classroom, but then reverted back to black and white once she left. It shows how attached he was to his mother. Though, I do wonder why both of the Yuzuki parents couldn’t come together at the time. Haruichi, the father, was a novelist, so he mainly worked at home. That should give him time for him to come to the visitation unless he had business on that day…

Anyways, since this is a two-parter, hopefully Gakuto will learn an important lesson. The siblings’ screen time seems way too imbalanced, to be honest. Minato got a two-parter in Episodes 5 and 6 and then they used up Mikoto’s spotlight episode to tell the story of how Minato and Uta met, so Minato got a third episode to himself. If the next spotlight character is Hayato, then Mikoto really got snubbed in terms of screen time. Justice for Mikoto, man! What are your thoughts on this episode?

[ellie-andthemachine]

The Rookie: Echoes of the Past

Synopsis: From oldest rookie to T.O., John Nolan takes on training the newest rookie, Officer Ellie Moore. In her first 6 months on the force, an unresolved case catches up to her, putting her survival to the ultimate test. A tale of mentorship, resilience, and facing one's demons head-on.

Character bio: Ellie Moore is 29 years old. Fresh out of the academy. Auburn/Ginger hair color, blue eyes. 5ft 3in, average weight, but weighs more than she would prefer (no lack of trying, but health issues hinder). Comes from a single mother and a younger brother. Doesn’t normally delve into her past with others, unless its warranted. Ellie is compassionate and empathetic but can also be closed off at times. Secretly deals with minor to mild depression, depending on situation (would never tell anybody in fear of being kicked out of LAPD). She considers Lucy, Nyla and Angela good friends, but even more so Nolan. She views Nolan not only as a T.O. but sees him as a father figure as well at times. Ellie was diagnosed as a carrier of Fragile-X Syndrome and is afraid of having children in the future in fears of passing on the gene.

It’s a sunny day in Los Angeles as Ellie heads to work. Windows down, music on, and volume up, the lyrics of “Can’t Take Me Anywhere” by Sam Tinnesz blare as she pulls into the station.

Parking in her usual spot, she rolls up her windows. They’re forecasting rain during her shift, and she'll be damned if she has to deal with wet seats again. In her side mirror, she notices Chen and Nolan talking at the station entrance and wonders if they saw her arrive. Getting out and locking her vehicle, she swings her bookbag straps over her arms and hurries to catch up with the others.

“Ah, good morning, Ellie,” Nolan greets her with a warm smile. “How’s my favorite rookie doing?”

“Tired. Apparently the 3 cups of coffee I’ve had this morning haven't counteracted the effects of the Benadryl I wound up taking last night. So, I’m hoping today goes like a breeze.”

“Well, I hate to be negative, but you probably just jinxed it,” Lucy grins.

Ellie rolls her eyes, chuckling, “Yeah, well, I’ll make sure to let Nell know that you're hoping for all the big and bad today, Chen.”

“Don’t you dare! Anyways, I’ll see you guys at roll call. Thorsen apparently had a date last night, and I’m curious about how it went.” Lucy heads for the doors and goes inside. Ellie and John watch her hurry inside."

“Did you have an allergic reaction to something last night?” Nolan asked, his concern evident.

“Huh? No. Why are you asking?” The question caught Ellie off guard.

“You mentioned taking Benadryl last night. Most people use it for allergic reactions. I was just curious about what you might be allergic to. It might be something worth knowing for the future as your T.O.”

“Oh,” Ellie paused, unsure how to respond, “no, I’ve just been having a hard time sleeping the last few days. I don’t do it often, usually only when I’ve had enough of struggling.”

“Is there something causing the issue?”

“Um,” she pauses again, “I, uh... it just happens occasionally. It won’t affect my work, I promise. I’ll, uh, see you in roll call.” Ellie says, making an abrupt move for the doors, leaving John watching her as she walks away.

Nolan decides to give her a moment to reach the elevators and get to their floor before heading inside himself. He makes a mental note to talk to her during patrol.

Taking her seat up front with Thorsen and the other rookie, whom she was sure would wash out within the week, Ellie observed as the more senior officers filed in.

“So, Lucy said you had a date last night. How did that go?”

“Not bad. We went to dinner and sat in my car, talking for a few hours. Natalie seems really nice, and she wants to go out again this weekend,” Aaron replied with a smile, his excitement evident as he started building a better life for himself. Most of the negativity surrounding Patrick’s death and the documentary drama had faded away, allowing him to rebuild and rebrand himself for the better.

“Good. I know you've been looking forward to it. I'm glad it went well.”

“Oh yeah. Nat and I are similar, yet so different in many ways. I'm hopeful. Of course, it's only been one date so far, so who knows? I'm curious to see where it goes.”

Ellie patted Aaron on the shoulder, saying, “So am I, dude. Keep me updated. Seriously.”

Thorsen smiled and added, “You know I will. So, how was your evening? Any fancy dates on your calendar?”

Chuckling, Ellie shook her head. “You know damn well there aren't any. Which is perfectly fine with me. I'm only six months into training; I need to stay focused to get through the rest of this twelve-month torture with Nolan.” She said the last part loudly enough for John to hear, turning in her seat and smiling to show she was joking.

“You've got this, Moore. Hell, from what people say, you're Nolan 2.0. I'd say you've got nothing to worry about.”

Ellie blushed, not entirely used to compliments, and said, “Thanks, dude. I appreciate it.”

Lucy walked in, giving Ellie and Aaron a warm smile before taking the empty seat next to Nolan.

“Hey, can I ask you something before we head out on patrol?” John asked Lucy quietly.

“Of course,” she said, looking at him with concern. “Is everything okay?”

“I think so. I'll talk to you after roll call.”

Lucy nodded.

“Alright, everybody, good morning,” Sergeant Grey's deep voice boomed as he walked in. “For once, the night shift left us with no follow-up cases. So, business as usual. Nolan and Moore, Chen and Thorsen. Harper is assisting Lopez with a case. Bradford will be in a little late. Contact me if you all have any issues. Dismissed.”

The other officers filed out of the bullpen, leaving Lucy, John, Ellie, and Aaron.

“Ellie, could you go set up our shop? I'll be along in a moment.”

Ellie nodded, saying, “Yes, sir.”

“Hold on, I’ll come with you,” Aaron said, rising from his seat as well. “Hey Lucy, I'm also going to go set up ours.”

“Thanks, Aaron,” Lucy said, smiling."

Once Thorsen and Ellie had left to set up their respective shops, Lucy turned to Nolan and asked, “What’s going on?”

“Have you noticed anything different about Ellie? I'm slightly concerned about her,” Nolan replied.

“Concerned? Is something happening?” Lucy inquired, worried about her friend.

“I'm not sure. Apparently, she’s been having trouble sleeping lately. And when she mentioned taking a Benadryl last night, I asked her about it after you went inside.”

“What did she say?”

“She just mentioned she's been having trouble sleeping and was tired of struggling, so she took one,” Nolan explained. “I tried asking her to see if something's going on, but she, well, avoided discussing it. She assured me that it wouldn’t affect her during patrol,” he paused, “which, to some extent, I can agree with; it hasn't affected her work.”

“...but you're concerned it might in the future,” Lucy finished.

"Exactly."

“Look, I know as well as you that she's super private. Even with me, Nyla, and Lopez. Trust me, it hasn't gone unnoticed. We've tried to figure out ways to get her to open up, but we haven't had much luck.”

Nolan sighed. This wasn't what he had hoped for. “Thanks, Lucy. If she talks to you, could you let me know?”

“Of course. Although, you'll probably have better luck. She's basically 'Nolan 2.0',” Lucy smirked.

“You've heard that too, huh?”

“Oh yeah. Hey, it's not a bad thing. You've done well for yourself, and maybe she will too.”

Nolan chuckled, “Yeah, maybe.”

“We should get going. Good luck out there today. Call us if you need backup.”

“Hey, you too.”

Lucy and John headed for their shops, grabbing the assigned body cameras on their way.

“Alright, Rookie, you’re behind the wheel today. Let’s go.”

“Yes, sir,” Ellie replied, taking the keys from Nolan and getting into the driver’s seat. “Think we’ll have an eventful day?”

"Who knows? It’s LA, a city full of crazies. I wouldn’t doubt it,” Nolan responded.

Ellie nodded.

The silence in the car lasted for only two minutes.

“Alright, so you didn’t take Benadryl for allergies. What are you allergic to?” Nolan asked, curious.

“Not much, really. At least, I don’t think so. Just mold; I can’t have Bactrim or dilauded. Pet dander used to affect me a lot, but it hasn’t since I got Gracie. My mother was allergic to penicillin, but I seem to have lucked out there,” Ellie explained. “I guess if anything ever happens, just make sure EMTs don’t use dilauded on me,” she shrugged.

“Why? What happens if they do?”

“The first time, we thought it was a normal reaction. The second time,” she paused, “the second time, we knew it wasn’t. It felt like an elephant was sitting on my chest. I couldn’t talk or really breathe. It was like an out-of-body experience. If you can imagine it, I felt like I was watching myself lying in the hospital bed. Turns out, it stopped my heart for a moment. Scary stuff.”

Nolan absorbed everything Ellie shared. “I'm so sorry that happened to you. I'll make sure you're never given it if I can help it.”

Ellie nodded, driving quietly for a moment. “Thank you. Not many people know about it. I mean, it's in my file, but…”

“…but you haven’t discussed your experiences. I understand. I appreciate you sharing that with me; I can imagine it wasn’t easy.”

“Not really. But I trust you.”

“Thank you. I trust you, too.”

“7-Adam-15, a domestic dispute call. The address is being sent to your box.”

Nolan picked up the mic to respond, “7-Adam-15, show us responding..”

“So much for an uneventful day.”

So, please be gentle. I haven't written anything in YEARS. Also, I've spent the last 2 weeks binge watching The Rookie. BTW Nathan Fillion is cute as hell. Anyways, I am looking for a beta, if anybody is interested!

Also, I hope I did all this right. I don't usually post on Tumblr! -_-

[noahsbookhoard]

📚April 2024 Book Review (Part 2/3)📚

Lots of "first" this month: there are so many classic authors I had never read before! But they were all really enjoyable, it is another good batch.

Monstrous Regiment by Terry Pratchett

To save her family's pub, Polly Perks has to find her brother, a Missing in Action soldier of the Borogravian army. She disguises herself as a man and enlist in the army under the name Oliver. A brilliant idea she might not have been the only one to have.

This one I was impatient to read, the concept was such a classic of fantasy novel that I had high hopes Terry Pratchett would make something awesome out of it.

I love the characters in every Discworld novel but this one especially: all the soldiers have different reasons to be here but they all stay together and care for one another. And I love the clown car effect of "surely this one isn't a woman too!" I couldn't get enough of it.

The story in itself is a bit blury in my memory, sorry. It's probably because I listen to the audiobook and I sometimes lose sight of the plot, on top of it being 5 months behind me. I remember most of all the Nuggan's ever expanding list of Abominations (religious taboos which includes the color blue, people under 3ft tall and sneezing) and the question of The Duchess (deified ruler of Borogravia) being alive or dead.

The message of the novel isn't subtle but if you need to be told that war is bad, religious bigotry and jingoism are bad and misogyny is bad you might be beyond subtlety. I love that Terry Pratchett is definite in his position, razor-like in his satire but always entertaining and funny. Fantasy is a political tool and he proves it everytime.

And (because I am still a fangirl inside) I had my little Vimes cameo as the cherry on top. 10/10 no notes.

Murder at the Vicarage (L'affaire Protheroe) by Agatha Christie

The Colonel Propheroe is widely disliked in the village of St Mary Mead, even his wife is cheating on him. So when he is found shot dead and with a strange half written note, there is no shortage of suspects, not even the Vicar with his very unkind words a few hours before. Miss Jane Marple, the Vicarage's neighbour, decides to solve the mystery.

My first Miss Marple novel! I have absolutely no reading order, this is a bit disjointed so I thought it was my first Christie but I remembered that technically I read And Then They Were None some time ago, it just completely slipped my mind. At that point I hadn't read any Hercule Poirot either so I was quite fresh to Christie's writing and ready for the challenge.

I made the questionable decision to read her novels in french because I wanted to give myself the best chance to solve the mystery. I thought reading in my native language would be easier. Well, apparently the most common translation is old and really not that great so I might rethink that! But for the foreseeable future (at least september) I will have read them in french. And completely failed at solving the crimes but that's another issue.

I don't want to say too much about the plot because that's the whole point of a whodunit but Agatha Christie always has the art of making an asshole the victim of the murder and you still want to know who did it just for the thrill of the chase.

But what I love with Christie is her detectives. The characters are usually quite flat and archetypal, but Poirot and Marple are a delight. Where Hercule Poirot is well established and respected in his craft, Miss Marple is just the nosy neighbour with a sharp mind and an even sharper tongue. The narrator is just so done with her putting her nose in this case which makes it even funnier. I love Miss Marple so much, I want to be her when I grow up.

I was absolutely lost in all the clues, so I did not deduce any part of the revelation but even if I had I would not have seen the murdered coming, I was floored. Everything is there, you know it is, and the culprit still takes you by surprise. Great job Mrs Christie, you did it again.

I, Robot (Robots #1) by Isaac Asimov

In the 2050's Dr. Susan Calvin, famous robopsychologist, answer a reporter's interview and tells him several stories about robot intelligence and their interaction with humans.

Asimov is a legend in SciFi so it was a prerequisite in my discovery of the genre. I read very few short stories anthology so I was a scared I wouldn't enjoy it but as always good books prove me wrong.

I don't remember all the short stories, the one who stuck to me are Robbie, Reason and Catch that Rabbit! but they were all good. Some more compelling than others (Catch the Rabbit! stayed in my memory because I STILL don't understand it) but I'll try to give an overall review rather than story by story.

The play on the Three Laws is at the heart of almost all of them: either it is a source of conflict or it helps in the resolution but it is endlessly creative.

Susan Calvin is an interesting character: a woman, pioneer in her field, a respected authority and she represents a more serious and scientific approach. The stories in which she appears are very murder mystery-like: there is a problem, some set of rules; how do you use the rules to solve the problem? Boom, done.

On the other hand you have the more comicsl stories with my goats: Mike Donovan and Gregory Powell! They approach each assignment as if it was some punishment in a hell design specifically for them (mood) and their first step to solving any problem is always to complain about it and bucket with the other. They are such and old couple together, please give me 10 more shorts stories with Donovan and Powell!

House of Leaves by Mark Z Danielewski

While rummaging in a dead man's appartment, Johnny Truant found a stack of paper, disorganised, written on scraps of paper, some half destroyed. Johnny will lose himself trying to organise the notes, which turn out to be an essay on a documentary film called The Navidson Record. In this film Navidson, a famous photographer, records the exploration of the house he moved in with his family and the strange dark hallway that appeared in the living room.

I've heard about House of Leaves A LOT and had no idea what it was about, I thought it was some dark academia novel and since Fourth Wimg I am weary of social media's popular book rec. A booktube account I follow talked about it and although its reviews was very lukewarm, I was intrigued. The dedication sets the tone: "this is not for you" and that finished piquing my curiosity.

I loved the actual House on Ash Lane subplot the most: it's the heart of the book, the most mysterious and the spookiest. I loved the mise en abyme, and how it saltoed back to be a book in the book's universe. The academic paper language and scientific description of the events contrast with the uncomprehensible nature of the house and the format growing more and more indecipherable as the exploration of the house progresses. It was creepy, I felt pulled in the story, I deeply enjoyed that.

I was more lukewarm toward Johnny's subplot. Watching him slowly lost himself in Zampano's work and lose his grip with reality was chilling but there came a moment where I was lost in references. It was mostly the part with her mother where you can't say what is dementia and what is real. Some theories online are interesting but some or batshit insane and made sense of a small element of the book at the expense of all the rest. At least the Labyrinth under the house doesn't make sense in a somewhat linear matter. I can deal with linear nonsense. The fact that some part of the book (some of his mother's letters and poems) are still undecyphered (That's not just a matter of turning the book upside down) was just frustrating to me: there's content here and I just can't read it? Why?

I read it while oscillating from the french paperback (there's no way you can read it on an e-reader) and a pdf of the original I found in the subreddit for the book. Sadly there's a lot that's lost in translation but also some translating choice I am still pulling my hair about. (September 19, 1988, in which the words aren't translated literally, the name of Parisian streets and landmark aren't the same... either they were throwing things at the wall trying to see what sticks (unlikely) or they knew something us reader don't...)

Overall it is an interesting book, I understand the craze. However I am not obsessed enough to spend much of my free time trying to decypher it. I lurk sometimes in the subreddit trying to see if someone came up with an interesting theory but not much more.

[abbcube]

seeing the words Not In The Groove in your comment made me gasp irl i love that game its such a damn banger

have this gif its funny i think

Always happy to see another NotITG fan! It's truly criminal how few people know about this game. And I've been meaning to learn the chart in that gif for a while. Maybe soon 🤔

Also, this means I now have an excuse to yell about this game to the sorry fools who made the mistake of following me. So...

(Moderate photosensitivity warning btw, this stuff can get spicy for the eyes)

HYPERFIXATION BE UPON YE

I now get the chance to talk about a game I feel exceedingly n̸͓̒̍o̶̹̿͠r̷͚͇͗m̴͈͒̐a̸̝͉̒ĺ̶̹̹̆about.

What's NotITG??

Not In The Groove, or NotITG/nITG for short, is a rhythm game with some of the craziest & most creative visuals you'll ever see. It's an extravaganza of colors, music, and lots and lots of arrows. Words don't do it justice though, so here's an example:

(HiTECH NINJA - Technician's High)

(Chart by Exschwasion + Tetaes)

Whoa, what the fuck was that? Is that even readable?

Yes it is, I promise! It just takes some practice. These are made to be not only doable, but completely feasible to read & learn. They wouldn't be fun otherwise. It's also not nearly as bad as it looks at first glance, especially if you know what sort of stuff you should be looking out for.

In fact, here are some things that can make it a little easier to parse:

The colors of the arrows are indicative of the timing (reds are on quarter notes, blues are eighth notes, greens are sixteenth notes, etc). This means it's possible to identify the rhythm of a song even if you've never heard it before.

If visual effects are getting particularly crazy, it can be helpful to read ahead and quickly memorize a "chunk" of notes to play while your vision is impaired, picking back up when the screen is clearer.

Charts (the arrows for a given song) are made to be played on a dance pad, with your feet. Furthermore, any half-decent chart commits to having good flow (or posture) meaning that the patterns you see are made to be "stepped" through with alternating* feet. This vastly limits the number of possible patterns that can be thrown at you. So if you happen to lose your place while reading the chart, it's very feasible to infer what the next few steps will be, giving you a chance to recover.

(*depending on the song, a chart may have you hit the same step multiple times with the same foot. There are other exceptions too but that could warrant its own section entirely)

If you want a way better explanation of this stuff, some prominent devs in the community did a great job covering all of it during the game's exhibition during AGDQ2022!

This looks completely and utterly insane, there's no way I'd ever be able to play this!

That's where you're wrong, bucko! They aren't all made to be difficult! There are plenty of easier charts out there to learn the basics on & get your bearings. Some of my favorites include:

(Chroma - Phantom Train Journey)

(Chart by Kaypooma)

(Sakuzyo - Altale)

(Chart by PlasticRainbow + mrcool909090)

How do these even get made?

Good old programming! Also math. Lots and lots of math. You wanna make the arrow follow a funny path? Time to learn what a spline is. Want to make a circle? Hope you were paying attention in trig class, because it's time to break out the radians.

In all seriousness, I have nothing but the highest respect for the people that make charts for NotITG. Every single one of them is a culmination of music, art, programming, math, animation, visual design, game design, psychology, kinesiology and so, so much more. It's genuinely dizzying how multitalented these people are.

I'm interested in these man-made horrors beyond my comprehension! Where can I play this game?

You can download it from the game's website: noti.tg. It's free! Completely! There is no way to spend money on it. You'll just have to live with the fact that you can't give these talented creators your money.

I'd also recommend joining the game's discord (noti.tg/discord). They're incredibly helpful & friendly, just don't be a jerk :p. It should have some good information & resources for when you're starting out.

I feel like I've barely even scratched the surface of what makes this game special. I could probably make a whole other post rambling about the lore of UKSRT and the effect that's had on me, but this post is long enough as is.

If there's even one person who read this far, thank you for listening to the ramblings of a madman obsessed with a funny little arrow game! ❤️

[seducemefanficsandheadcanons]

Soul Bound

Chapter Ten- And I find it kind of funny, I find it kind of sad

Also posted on AO3 and Wattpad!

Trigger warnings- descriptions on medical treatments for cancer, implied abuse, and mentions of marijuana.

Authors note- hope y'all don't mind Arons lore drop. This is mostly a filler chapter to be completely honest.

And I find it kind of funny, I find it kind of sad

The dreams in which I'm dying are the best I've ever had

I find it hard to tell you 'cause I find it hard to take

When people run in circles, it's a very, very

Mad world

Mad World- Gary Jules, Michael Andrews version

Piano.

Aron had always loved the piano, the first instrument she’d ever learned to play. The earliest memory she has of them was from when she was a young child, around nine years old. She had blonde hair and big, bright blue-green eyes that were filled with curiosity. She also had a sunburn from swimming in the pool with her kid sister and father the day before, nothing unusual in the Florida summer heat.

She was sitting in her friend's, watching as the slightly older girl had pulled out a small, colorful keyboard. The friend decided to indulge in Aron’s interest and teach her a simple song. ‘Mary had a little lamb.’

Aron had a focused expression on her face as she watched the brown-haired girl easily play the keys. It fascinated her, seeing someone create a tune so effortlessly. She wasn’t jealous, but she certainly felt envious. “You’re so good at that!”

The girl chuckled. “Thanks! This song is super-duper easy.”

She showed Aron a few more times before they decided it was time to give her a try. The first few times, she’d get the key wrong and have to restart. Of course, the young girl would get frustrated, forcing laughs as her friend joked at her expense. Though even as she made jokes, she would correct Aron’s mistakes effectively. It wasn’t long before Aron perfected the simple tune.

As soon as Aron returned home, she went to her dad. He was tall and a bit thin with what some could see as a beer belly, though Aron knew the actual cause of his enlarged abdomen was a tumor. He had tan skin and dark, thinning hair with eyes that were similar to Arons except greener. Even at her young age, Aron could see the exhaustion in them. As soon as he saw his daughter, he lit up and grinned at her. “Hey!”

He was currently sitting in the recliner, Aron’s little sister sitting on his lap as she watched football with him, though she rested far to the left side. He had a black bag resting over the right side of his stomach with wires sticking out of it that connected to his central venous catheter, a tube that traveled through his vein and pumped chemo into his body. Aron didn’t glance at it for any more than a moment; she knew he hated when a big deal was made about it, especially his own young children.

Aron ran over and carefully hugged him, avoiding his pump almost instinctively. “Daddy! Guess what I did at her house!”

“What did you do?” he asked her curiously, making the child giggle.

“I played piano!” she said excitedly, smiling widely. “It was so fun! I loved it and I was really bad at it for the first times I played but then I got better and it was so cool.”

“Good job!” he praised her, giving her a high five. 

She smiled more at his approval. “I want one! Can we please get one?”

Their dad chuckled in response, giving the typical speech about how her birthday would be coming up in a few months. Aron didn’t press farther than that, leaving the hope in the back of her mind that she would receive one.

Just as she hoped, a distant aunt bought her a keyboard for her tenth birthday. It was marketed specifically for children; small and purple with pink star designs and a fake microphone with it, along with a stand that connected to the electronic piano. 

Aron was over the moon, playing and singing with it at any chance she got. She would put up small concerts for her father when he was sick, singing soft melodies as she played simple chords. Along with art and dance, it was something she showed passion in. Sometimes she would play a song with the recorder on, letting it replay the tune as she danced.

The world shifted from her dad’s room. A soft melody continued to play as Aron, now at her current age, looked around and checked out her surroundings. There was a slight smell of rain in the air, a bit of coolness from the approaching winter. She recognized the area, a patch of woods nearby her previous parental guardian's house. She’d come here with her cousin frequently as a young teen, smoking weed and listening to music while hiding from approaching cars with the fear it was a family member.

Aron smiled wistfully at the memory. As awful as living in that part of Florida was, as awful as her family members were, as much as it destroyed her self-esteem, it was hard to deny that time period had some of her best memories.

It was bittersweet.

Aron walked peacefully through the forestland, listening to the piano. The tempo was soft and peaceful, like carnival music. It was a bit creepy, but Aron didn’t mind.

Soon however, the pace began to pick up. She felt an uneasiness in her chest as she tried to force her breathing to stay even and calm. The melody got faster, making it sound almost sinister. Like something one would hear in a horror film. As it continued to get quicker and quicker, Aron felt like there were eyes on her, watching her every move. 

Her walking sped up to almost a jog, speeding up with the creepy tune. The cadence became extremely quick, the notes sounding like they were erratically and carelessly slammed down on. Aron began to sprint through the forest, ignoring the branches that cut and seemed to grab her arms.

She wasn’t sure why she ran, but it was the only thing she could do to get away, though she wasn’t sure what she was running from. She ran for what felt like hours, trying to find her way out of the woods that she once knew so well. Her legs burnt and her sides ached, sweat beading down her face as she bolted through the forest.

Until suddenly, it stopped.

Aron was no longer hot and panting for air, the trees fading away as a new smell entered her nose; salt water.

Her world was transformed into the beach in moments, white sand under her bare feet as the suddenly hot air warmed up her skin and the breeze blew her hair slightly. She looked around, seeing the beach empty with the exception of Erik, who was standing a few feet away from her in his usual attire.

“I figured you would prefer this over running through the woods, Princess,” Erik said with a soft smile.

Aron couldn’t help but smile at him. “I’m dreaming?”

He nodded. “You are.”

She suddenly had a memory of her first night in the mansion, when Erik had shown up in her dream to protect her from Malix. She hummed and looked around, a content expression on her face. The beach held some of her most fond childhood memories. “Thank you,” she told him.

“It’s my pleasure,” Erik said, stepping closer to her. “As much as I would love to take a swim with you, you are about to wake up.”

She sighed. “That sucks.”

He chuckled. “Indeed, it does, Princess.”

“Maybe we could go to the real beach one day,” she mused. “I haven’t been in forever.”

Erik smiled. “That sounds fun, indeed.”

Aron nodded in agreement, looking around and sighing. The soft sound of a piano continued to play, but it was quiet and comforting. She and Erik spent the rest of the time quietly, simply enjoying the view until she awoke.

When Aron woke up, she still felt exhaustion so deep that it seemed to reach her bones. Even so, she got up and got dressed for the day. She put on some long, black basketball shorts and a white tank top with a red zip up jacket.

As she got ready for the day, she felt deep in thought. She still wasn’t sure what to do about Sam. She wasn’t even sure how she felt, or if she wanted to try again with him. Did she love him? Did she want to be with him?

She shook off the thought and went out to the dining room. She glanced out through the window, seeing all of the boys training, aside from Matthew. She figured Erik had woken up and went outside in the time she was getting ready.

Before she could go look for Matthew, she heard his voice from the kitchen. “Hi! How’d you sleep?”

She looked over at him and smiled softly. “I slept okay, Erik came in my dreams,” she said. “What about you?”

He grinned. “I slept pretty good! I’m taking a break from training to cook some food, wanna help?”

Aron shrugged. “Sure, what are we making?” she asked, walking with him into the kitchen.

“Well, we haven’t had the chance to go grocery shopping, so I’m thinking of making something simple. Maybe chicken and rice?”

She nodded. “That sounds good.”

It didn’t take long to start preparing the food. They pulled out the ingredients for it and got to work. While they waited for the rice to finish, Aron leaned against the counter and spaced out a bit. 

Matthew must have noticed. “Aron? You okay?”

She blinked and looked at him quickly, before nodding and smiling. “Yeah, just tired.”

He nodded. “That makes sense, things have been pretty hectic for you recently.”

She sighed. “That’s one way to put it.”

“Yeah…” Matthew came over and stood by her. “But hey! At least now we all know the truth, right?”

Aron frowned at that. She wasn’t sure if she believed them yet. She wanted to, but her mind still doubted it. She tried to sense any spells on her and couldn’t, so she thought it was safe to say they hadn’t tried to sway her opinion. “...right.”

“Have you tried to talk to Sam yet?” he asked her curiously.

She shook her head and rubbed her face. “Nah, I was about to, but Andrew showed up.”

He hummed. “Well maybe you can talk to him later?”

“I mean, I could. But I don’t know what I would say,” she told him honestly.

“Well, you could…” Matthew trailed off for a minute. “Um…I don’t know, but I’m sure you’ll be able to figure it out!”

Aron huffed out a laugh. “Thanks.”

“No problem!”

After a few moments of quiet, she spoke. “Hey Matthew?”

“Yeah?”

Her voice was quiet as she spoke. “Do you think Sam still loves me?”

He raised his brows in shock. “Well, um…I’m not sure. It’s possible, but you’d have to ask him. But I think the real question here is if you still love Sam. Do you?”

Aron froze. Did she?

She felt a wave of relief when James walked in, giving her an out. “Goodmorning, Aron.”

“Goodmorning,” she responded. 

“What's up? Are you taking a break?” Matthew asked.

“I think I have figured out a way to stop Malix once and for all,” James announced.

Aron perked up. “Really? How?”

“Perhaps we should discuss it during lunch, so that everyone is present.”

She nodded. “Okay, that works!”

Soon, Aron and Matthew finished cooking the food. As they set the table, she felt anxious about his question, repeating it to herself. Did she still love Sam? 

She decided to focus on the threat of Malix instead of her complicated feelings, feeling a bit of relief at the possibility James may have found a solution.

[mikuni14]

Only Friends Ep 6

Oh, but they're all nasty now 🥳 Even Sand, who seemed so cool, could throw the guy he had a crush on under the bus when the desire for revenge and to emerge victorious in this stupid and old fight with Top, the desire to have the last word, turned out to be stronger.

Ray and Sand Ray definitely won this episode. I wrote from the beginning that for me Ray was the most withdrawn, bland character who was nothing but a background for others. And it's quite possible that this effect was intentional, because this episode made it clear that Ray IS the backdrop for his crew and even for Sand who used him without any consideration. He is invisible, he is in this group probably because of his money, because I bet that if he were poor, with his drunkenness and detachment, he would have been excluded from this group a long time ago. Let's face it, money makes a whole difference in how drunks and drug addicts are treated 🤷‍♀️ But beyond that, Ray is invisible and the worst things can be said about him, even in his presence. No one noticed the tension between Ray and Boston, the way they looked at each other with hatred at school, during meals, ALL THE TIME. Likewise, what Chueam says about Ray is rude and I'm not surprised that she was the first victim of Ray's outburst when he finally had enough. In general, Ray was treated terribly by his so-called friends who behaved towards him as if he had no feelings and could be easily insulted without any consequences. Because he's a good sport and these are just jokes, right? Additionally, no one notices his depression or his new relationship with Sand. I really like that Ray used the weapon used by Boston - the truth served raw ✨💀 And I love that no one escaped his wrath, not even Sand (calling him whore was, I must admit, very satisfying). (The only thing missing is that Ray is unable to look at Mew other than through rose-colored glasses and sees no flaws in him. Even after he hit him. But that's just me, I simply don't like Mew :P)

It's very good that the series also showed Sand in a negative light, he has been shown too well so far. And here you go, data theft, lies, pettiness, taking advantage of people who trust him :) I hope that seeing Ray on the road to self-destruction will bring him to his senses and reflection. Personally, I think that for their well-being, Ray and Sand should limit their contacts with the rest of this increasingly chaotic crew.

Boston and Nick Poor Nick, every time he thinks he has a chance for a relationship with Boston, a new obstacle pops up 😉 Ah, Boston. His wierd honesty is so incredible. And it turns out that he wanted Top, just like that. He chose him and got him, because fuck you, that's why. And he probably didn't intend to do anything about it, it seems he didn't intend to use it against Mew, he looked genuinely concerned when Ray told him he knew about it. It's amazing that out of this whole team, Boston is the most honest person, who makes things clear all the time and is right about every single person. In fact, the only problem is with his way of presenting the truth - he did not do it nicely and sensitively. Just like Ray suddenly became the "bad guy" when he did the same thing.

Mew and Top I liked Top, who didn't deny what he did, didn't minimize his guilt, didn't lie. But the more I see him, the more I wonder what is so "top" about him... Mew felt a bit inconsistent in this episode. First, he presents himself as a fulfilled person who has plenty of love and doesn't have to look for it, doesn't have to prove anything. Then he makes a whole show of pretending his interest and love in front of Top to triumphantly prove his cheating. What for? I know it was a good scene, because it was, but the fight with Ray, then the whole.. acting in the bedroom… somehow it doesn't fit the story and how Mew is being presented. Because I'm 99.99% sure that Mew will give Top a second chance and will probably do something stupid as a revenge, and that fits Mew, who for me has been a contradiction of the image created from the very beginning. Many things are said about him, by others and by himself, but imo it's very simple, he just wants a specific guy, he wants Top, and that's why he has and will continue to look for excuses to be with him. And unfortunately, living in lies and delusion about oneself kind of poisons the soul, so I think that in his case it may be his villain original story 😃 And, hmm, maybe this scene in the bedroom is the first manifestation of this "poisoning of his soul"? Breaking bad? Maybe this makes some sense after all? 🤔

What this series does well is the butterfly effect, those little bad things that turn into big bad things. That they take on a life of their own and get out of control. Did Nick expect his little recording would cause so much trouble? Did Sand expect his little trick on Ray to cause such chaos? Did Chueam's expect, that her rude, thoughtless comments towards Ray would endanger her own relationship? It is also about underestimating others, their feelings, their habits, which ends exploding in their faces. Boston underestimates Nick, everyone underestimates Ray, Mew underestimates Top, Top underestimates everyone. Chaos is already spiraling beyond control. Woohoo! 🥳✨💀

[lsotp]

Hi-! I'm here for the daily blog attacks!

Questions from Chapter 5 and 6 Incoming-!

1.) Your heavy eyes looked up into the face of your rescuer. His eyes were squeezed shut, his own ears being covered by his hands as he formed a cage over you. You felt a bit better here in this strange man’s lap.

In the world of LSOTP, Is Edge afraid of storms and lightning too?

2.) Figure 1:

“S-sissy?” His eyes opened to look at you, the white eyes that were usually about the size of a dime seemed to fill his whole sockets.

Figure 2:

His eyes snapped open as a shrill scream left his small body. His soul rose from his chest as the scent of watermelon lemonade filled the area, his soul turned a beautiful sunset orange casting the same bright light in the area before shooting up in a beam.

Figure 3:

Whip opened his eyes- once white- were now the same sunset orange as his magic

Before a whelp has reached a certain age/maturity, is their magic generally white before turning to a color AFTER an awakening?

I think i know the answer. The Figures I've provided said it all, but I just want confirmation.

3.) He popped his magic in little pops of orange, as he had practiced while his magic was still white. Little fire works of lemonade scented orange sprang up before a jet of water squirted out of his palm and sprayed Buck in the face.

I would like to know more about Special Skill Sets, please.

4.) they’re sharp teeth biting into your collar bone or neck to put you back in line after you decided to go against the grain.

Mate Marks? 👀.

5.) Figure 1:

You had forgotten about those features, honestly. All the doors in the house had two knobs. One for your taller family members and guests to use,and one for you and (at the moment) Whip to use.

I feel bad for (Y/N). She's essentially a mouse in a family of cats. ಥ⁠‿⁠ಥ.

Figure 2:

It was humiliating to you. Your feet didn’t even touch the floor and your head barely poked above the arms of the chair.

I arrest my case.

6.) What happened during 'The Seige of Coronet'? Just how bad was it?

7.) “She can speak, it’s just hard for her to do. It’s a side effect from an injury from when she was little.

We were in the Siege of Coronet when Old Centry fell in the war. The enemy was after women and children, in hopes to put a dent in our numbers. Sadly both my wife and daughter were injured.”

I FOUND A CLUE-! I'm sure of it.

IM SURE THAT THIS WAS WHAT YOU WERE REFERRING TO!

During this Siege of Coronet, Cobalt basically admitted that there were enemies, enemies that scarred both (Y/N) and Lilith.

He KNOWS who they were fighting with.

But the fic doesn't give any implicit confirmation as to WHO or WHAT the enemy is.

(1) Edge isn’t terrified of storms. He has super great hearing. The noise of the wind, the debris, and other noises were hurting his ears.

(2) Yes. They are born with white magic that they can practice with until they hit puberty, when they start to unlock their abilities.

(3) You may need to open a new ask post for this one with more specifics on what you want to know. It’s too broad of a question for this post and would make this entirely too long.

(4) Not necessarily. The reader is just kinky. It’s a form of discipline between mates and usually how a male will dom a female. By biting- however the bites don’t hurt more so than overstimulate the person being bitten. (Don’t bite someone in the LSotP au. The scandal that would result would be massive.)

(5) Yeah. She’s a lil’ short stack compared to everyone else. Her baby brother is only three inches shorter than her.

(6) Old Centry was a province or state in the region.

The siege of Coronet was an invasion of the state and one of the first settlements hit in the dead of night. It was pillaged and burned down in less than 10 hours. A flag that said “Down with the Queen” was left on the hot ashes of the site.

(7) I never said he didn’t know. And while it’s important, that wasn’t the thing I was referring to. ;p

[magnorious]

Review: The Last Airbender Episode 1 - “Aang”

“Long ago, the four nations lived in harm-”

Lol nope. What is it with writers these days fumbling exposition? You had a template, and you botched it.

I nitpicked the heck out of Disney’s Percy Jackson because if you say you’re going to adapt a book, it’s not a very far leap in logic to hope the script might follow said book. But aside from the likes of Twilight, following the source material as it was written never happens.

Netflix had an even easier job. Netflix already had the show they were adapting in a visual medium. Netflix could have gone two ways with this: Shot-for-shot remake just with live action actors, or with an “inspired by” vibe that takes familiar characters, story beats, and themes but tries to make something new with their shameless cash grab.

So, they wanted to take a beloved children’s cartoon and make it gritty and realistic… okay. Sure. No one asked for that and it shouldn’t be embarrassing for any adult to sit down and *gasp* watch a cartoon. For kids.

The original remains amazing, top-tier storytelling, so instead of these reviews stating the obvious “original did X better, why didn’t they do it that way?” we’ll look at the show as if the original didn’t exist… unless it just goes the route of Disney and Amazon and slaps a famous IP on the title screen without making any attempt to stay true to the original just to get butts in seats.

—

We open 100 years ago in Caldera (renamed generic Capital City) with a pretty decent fight scene and special effects. The choreography is solid, the tone is way darker – and so is the lighting, I had to shut the blinds and turn my laptop brightness all the way up – and it establishes pretty quickly that this is Not Your Kids Cartoon Anymore, even if the fight is bloodless.

*Side note: That no one has a Japanese accent in the Fire Nation is… surprising? I know it’s not actual Japan, I know the original didn’t have any accents, but that they’re going for the whole “gritty realism” vibe and didn’t white-wash the cast, not giving them any accent feels like a bit of a missed opportunity. Just the adults, even. Iroh had an accent in the cartoon.

The costumes are also amazing. The original is still a feat of animation but being able to see all the ornate detail in the costumes, particularly in the Fire Nation, is fantastic. The Water Tribe costumes don’t feel quite so lived-in. The colors are still vibrant, there’s no stains, no wear. They don’t reflect the weariness of a remote village still suffering the effects of a hundred-year-long war. Zuko’s scar doesn’t feel quite as gnarly as it could be, more like a very bad bruise and not the remnants of a 3rd degree burn (but at least it’s not on the wrong side). He still has his entire eyebrow and full visibility.

Sozin is amazing, too. Right off the bat he’s shown as clever, cunning, and violent. The original was limited by Nickelodeon’s censorship, so even though it was a kids’ show and they did amazing still scaring kids without showing the violence (like a graphic depiction of Zuko getting his scar), these are firebenders, and fire burns.

… Though if you’re twelve and watching this expecting a fun adventure, watching a man get burned alive in the first 5 minutes wakes you up right quick. I heard a rumor that they wanted to fill the Game of Thrones vacuum and, yeah, they went for it.

Is there a reason they didn’t lift the original opening narration straight from the old script? It was fine! It’s iconic! This feels like a student cracked open a thesaurus for their essay just to sound smarter. Gran Gran gets to deliver it and that is an... interesting choice.

They did salvage some of the original music, and hearing Aang’s theme and the foreboding horns of the Fire Nation theme redone was ear candy, along with the Sun Warrior chant in the end credits. During Aang’s escape from Zuko’s ship, however, the score sounded uncannily like the battle music from The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe. 

*Side side note: One nitpick. One little nitpick, I think I’m allowed. Aang cannot fly without his staff. It’s a convenient and logical cap on his abilities and there was no reason to not keep it in.

On the one hand, opening the series with the Air Nomad genocide establishes immediately that the Fire Nation is led by an evil warmonger. On the other hand, slowly weaving in that exposition over the first few episodes, culminating with “The Storm” took what we thought was a lighthearted adventure and made it so much more. That reveal in “The Storm” still makes it one of the best episodes of the show.

Gyatso is perfect. The casting is perfect. “Gritty realism” or not, they did their homework on Gyatso. The only voice actor that left a hole not-quite filled is Iroh’s. He doesn’t quite sound like the wizened old sage, just… a guy. Through no fault of his actor’s, he’s solid, he’s just not quite Iroh.

—

While the worldbuilding is fine and all the extra additions in the beginning are entertaining… the original cartoon was limited to a cable-bound, 30-minute time slot, with commercials. They did their best to pack as much as they could within that time limit for every episode and you weren’t left wanting. It was also animated and every single frame cost money to draw. Creativity thrives in a box and not having endless Netflix money forced them to do the best with what they had.

With all this room and time to kill on Netflix it loses that tightly-woven polish. Scenes linger and add in dialogue that could have been concise and short. This show marinates, where the original was multitasking in every shot – developing the characters, the world, the story, the lore, the relationships.

In the time it took an entire animated episode, this show front-loaded all the exposition and mysteries to be slowly teased and solved through the first half of the season. We’re not left wondering how Aang survived the Air Nomad massacre. We’re not wondering why he wasn’t there, we’re not wondering who he is and slowly learning him with each episode. Curious now if the “The Storm” episode will even exist.

When Aang takes Sokka and Katara to the Southern Air Temple, neither know exactly what happened beyond that it was bad, and Aang has no clue his people have been destroyed, that it’s been 100 years. This time, the trio and the audience already have that information so the oomph of seeing the aftermath, of seeing Gyatso, doesn’t hit as hard as it should.

The themes, the personalities, the motivations of the characters so far still feel like them, even with all the extra fluff. Aang remains a reluctant chosen one, a twelve-year old with too much responsibility on his shoulders – even if he explicitly ran away after eavesdropping on Gyato’s conversation about sending him away and didn’t just happen to be gone while his home was destroyed.

Everyone except Iroh, which is a shame. He reads less as a “concerned surrogate father figure trying to raise an angsty, bratty, entitled teenager” and more “old man who’s too old for his nephew’s BS so he patronizes instead of showing any genuine support.”

About the only major element that didn’t get the love it deserves is the humor. Aang’s abrupt “will you go penguin sledding with me?” right after he wakes up is just one of many missing lines. Game of Thrones had plenty of funny characters, a show can be gritty *and* funny and he’s still twelve, he’s allowed to be a little cringey and ridiculous.

For a shameless cash grab remake that lost the original writers and took forever to finally air, this is a lot better than I expected it to be. The script isn’t perfect and there’s some lines that aren’t well-executed, but no actor phoned in their performance and visually it looks amazing. The writers did their homework and, so far, even if they refuse to make it a kids’ show, they’re still making Avatar: The Last Airbender.