#it was actually in collecting baseball cards

[randomfusilier]

me: collecting baseball cards

friends and family: but you hate baseball, you will talk at length about how much you dislike baseball, the concept, the rules, everything

me:

[berternies]

so obsessed with the fact that every single person at this wedding was up to something absolutely unhinged. like we started off with aniq planning to propose at someone else’s wedding and i was like well that doesn’t seem like a good idea. and then it turns out that was actually easily the least insane plan that anyone had.

[mars-ipan]

komahina - komaeda is rlly into fashion and drag race and hajime likes baseball

i was gonna draw komaeda geeking out over fashion stuff but then i read "hajime likes baseball" and became so endeared immediately

[pathologicalreid]

spring into summer | s.r.

in which Spencer pursues a relationship with you. you try to resist every advance - for your own protection.

[previously] | [next]

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: angsty content warnings: blowing smoke part tew, at a bar but it's not specified whether or not reader drinks alcohol, kissing, if you have a problem with my bar music keep it to yourself, maeve as a plot device, love confessions, not edited word count: 2.25k a/n: y'all i wasn't gonna do this, but listening to this song... yeah i had to.

“Spencer’s here!” Penelope exclaimed from her bar stool, her heels clicking on her way to the front of the bar, hoping to lead Spencer through the crowd to where the team had decided to set up shop.

Your head snapped up in alarm, tilting your head to the side and trying to get JJ’s attention, “I didn’t think Spencer was coming out tonight.”

She frowned slightly, placing her glass on the bar and shrugging, “It was an open invite.”

An open invite that you extended to the guy you’re seeing. You huffed, pulling the strap of your dress back over your shoulder and flagging down the bartender, hoping to get a drink before you need to play defense against Spencer.

“Hey,” Ethan said from behind you, a cute guy from counterterrorism that Penelope had introduced you to. His hand sat comfortably on your waist as you got the bartender’s attention again, letting him know that you’d actually need two drinks.

You smiled back at him, panicking slightly when he leaned in to kiss you. Evading his kiss, you let his lips land on your cheek, turning your head so that you were facing Spencer.

The two of you had as little contact as you could manage in the past two months, ever since Spencer’s attempt to ask you out had gone completely awry. Of course, ceasing all contact was unavoidable, between work and Spencer’s continued pursuance, you continuously found yourself under his net.

Ethan squeezed your waist gently, taking the glass that the bartender had placed in front of him and grabbing a straw for yours. You thanked him, crushing the straw wrapper against the bar and taking a sip.

Admittedly, you weren’t interested in the guy in the slightest. The second time you went out together, he’d gotten your name wrong, but he was friends with Penelope’s crush, so you were trying to be a good sport.

It felt like the world was playing a cruel joke on you, pairing you with someone who couldn’t be bothered to remember your name while you were trying to shut out a guy who remembered your favorite flower from a conversation three years ago. Yesterday, you’d found a bouquet on your desk for the third Thursday in a row.

Every time you read the card that he sends with the arrangement, you almost forget yourself. It would be a waste for you to get rid of them, which is the only reason you’ve kept them on your desk.

Or so you keep telling yourself.

“You look nice,” Spencer whispered to you, reaching between you and JJ so he could grab his drink from the bar. He looked good, you noticed him against your better judgment, even the embroidery on his tie managed to catch your attention.

Before you could collect yourself enough to respond to him, Morgan had already pulled him back to a booth, putting an arm around his shoulders and pointing out different girls in the bar while Savannah rolled her eyes. His hair was growing out from the undercut that he’d debuted in the fall, falling in front of his eyes until he inevitably flicked the stray hairs away.

Peeling your eyes off of him, you looked back at Ethan, who’d already made his way through half his drink. His eyes were glued to the baseball game being displayed above the bar. If your date had noticed you ogling your coworker, he didn’t show it.

Tentatively, you tapped his stool gently with your toe, “Hey,” you tried to get his attention, batting your eyelashes. “Do you wanna go over to the jukebox with me? We can pick a song together,” you offered.

He frowned and shook his head, “Nah, the Nationals game is on.” He nodded his head up to the TV, refraining from sparing you a glance.

You looked up at the screen, they were at the bottom of the second inning, and you were in for an exhausting night. “Right,” you said flatly, “I’ll be right back.”

Sharing a look with Penelope, who shot you a supportive thumbs up from the other side of the bar, you got off your stool and adjusted your purse over your shoulder. You liked that this bar still had a real jukebox, as opposed to the updated touchscreens commonly found in bars nowadays. You dug through your purse for a quarter, half paying attention to your rummaging and using the rest of your brain power to study the available songs.

A few things caught your eye, most of the available tracks were classics—Journey, Queen, and a Meatloaf track that was suspiciously out of order. Probably because the song was over eight minutes long. “Here,” the familiar voice—that you’d been trying to avoid—spoke.

Spencer held a quarter out for you, leaving the coin displayed in his palm until you graciously accepted it. “Thanks,” you said, “Do you have any suggestions?” You expertly dodged his attempt at eye contact, sliding the quarter into its slot and reading through the titles again. Pressing your lips in a thin line while you ignored the way he was leaning over the jukebox.

“Why did you ask him to come out?” He asked, pointing at one of the songs and chuckling when you shook your head. He should’ve known better than to actually make a request. After all, you were just being polite.

You squinted at a title, worn with time, and you distracted yourself with the task of reading it. “I didn’t know you were coming with us,” you muttered, refusing to let your curiosity get the better of you and resisting the urge to just select the worn button. “You don’t usually like this bar,” you reminded him. You couldn’t remember the last time Spencer went out to a bar that wasn’t O’Keefe’s.

He hummed next to you, standing so close that you could feel his body heat intermingling with your own. “So,” he started, “You wouldn’t have asked him to go out if you had known I was going to be here.”

“I didn’t say that,” you told him, your eyes flickering to the side. Not enough to see his face, but enough to notice that he’d taken off his suit jacket, his sleeves pushed up to his elbows.

“You might as well have,” he returned, watching as you finally chose a Fleetwood Mac song, concluding that you’d either have to choose a song you didn’t want or waste Spencer’s quarter.

You peeked around him, your date still preoccupied with the sporting event. Even so, you tried to make your way around Spencer, but he grabbed your elbow and held you back.

There was nothing forceful in his action. If you wanted to snatch your arm away and stalk away from him, he wasn’t going to stop you, but you found yourself interested in staying with him. It would be worth your while to stay with someone who was begging for your attention rather than return to the bar to beg for someone else’s.

Spencer looked around, mindful of the members of your team who were still in earshot while he led you away from the crowds. He tucked you away, resting your back against a shiplap wall in a corner, perfectly concealed from curious profilers. “I want to talk to you,” he whispered, leaning against the wall.

You crossed your arms in front of your chest in preemptive defense, making sure he stayed at least a foot away from you. “I’ve said everything there is to say to you,” you made no effort to avert his gaze, no attempt to duck away from the conversation.

“I haven’t,” he responded immediately, his voice steady despite the noticeable pounding of his carotid. It was almost as if he’d practiced this speech before, going through every permutation of the conversation in his mirror before meeting you out.

Raising your eyebrows, you looked up at him; the sun was setting, the orange light reflecting in his brown irises while he studied you like it was the last time he’d ever see you. “Spence,” you breathed, waiting expectantly for him to continue.

“You never actively pursued me, how was I meant to know you were interested?” His question made you want to scoff, but the earnest look in his eyes gave you pause. “Admittedly, social cues aren’t my strong suit, and I know you know that.”

Your shoulders relaxed, “So, because I never actively pursued you, it’s my fault that we never ended up together? Was I supposed to declare my intentions to you?”

He shook his head, sending strands of wavy brown hair tumbling in front of his forehead. In another life, you would’ve reached out to fix his hair. “No, I’m saying that while you never actively pursued me, I am actively pursuing you. I just want to make sure you know what page I’m on,” he told you, nervously picking at his nails.

“Spencer,” you sighed his name, “I already told you I couldn’t do it.” You’d cried it to him, actually. You expected this conversation to be more of the same, pleading with Spencer to understand your perspective on the situation while he relentlessly begged you to reconsider.

Reaching out, he touched your arm gently, nothing more than a graze of his fingertips across your bare skin, “And I want to prove to you that we can do this. I can be the guy that you want.”

You pressed your lips together, trying to push yourself further into the wall until you phased right through it, “I can’t take the back and forth.” You needed something stable, but what you needed would never be reflective of what you wanted. The most brutal truth of all was that you still wanted Spencer. You considered him your first love, and no one ever gets over their first love.

Just like he’d never get over his.

“There are just too many years between us, Spencer. It’s too complicated,” you told him, trying to keep your breathing steady. It would be exhausting to explain your tearful look to the rest of the team.

He waved your reasoning away, “It’s not. It’s not complicated. I love you and you love me. So, why can’t we be together?”

Your lips parted, staring up at him with wide eyes as your brain frantically tried to catch up with the situation at hand. Each beat of your heart was like a repetition of the word—love, love, love.

Spencer took your silence for rejection, “Maybe it’s just me then.”

“It’s not,” you croaked, fear and love and sorrow causing your throat to strangle your words. You looked up at him and wondered how long he’d been sitting on that confession. You wondered how long he’d known you loved him. You wondered if he still dreamed about Maeve. For whatever reason, that’s the only curiosity that you voiced, “Do you still dream about her?”

“I only dream about you these days,” he answered, his voice soft in the cacophony of the bar, keeping the conversation private despite your public stage.

“You can’t mean that,” you murmured, your face warming in response to his confession.

Your response only seemed to encourage him further, leaning his head down to allow himself contact. He pressed his lips to yours gently, and you found yourself leaning into him more than you’d like, each movement of his lips reminiscent of a chisel against the wall that you had constructed between the two of you.

Reaching your arms up, you propped one over his shoulder and used your free hand to weave your fingers in his hair—just as silky as you had always imagined it would be. His lips were soft against yours, and you knew you were fighting a battle that you could never win. You’d always run back to him.

Even when you pried yourself away from him, there wasn’t an ounce of regret in your bloodstream, but there was an outpour of sorrow. “Spence,” you breathed, blinking tears from your eyes while he pressed his forehead against yours.

“I’m sorry,” he responded, “I shouldn’t have done that.” His tone didn’t reflect his words in the slightest, there was no remorse in his eyes when you met them for the first time in a new light.

You shook your head instantly, “It’s okay.” You understood why he had done it. Telling you he loved you. Kissing you. He hadn’t done either of those things with Maeve. Spencer was trying to make a statement with you; he wanted his actions to speak louder than words.

He frowned, “You’re crying. I’m so sorry.”

Your lips parted to respond, but you hesitated for a moment. Curiosity was rapping at your door, wanting to know if the last person he had kissed was Diane. “I’m not crying because I didn’t want you to kiss me,” you admitted, hoping that your candor would serve to bring him some comfort.

“Oh,” he breathed, “Oh.”

You nodded, confirming his suspicions, “But I meant it when I told you I can’t do this. I just… not right now.” You needed time to come to terms with the fact that the love you never expected was right around the corner, and you needed time so that Maeve wasn’t the first person you thought over after kissing him.

“Okay,” he said, taking a small step away from you, “But you… you’ll let me know?”

Your head bobbed, “I’ll let you know.”

"I love you and I always will and I am sorry. What a useless word." - Ernest Hemingway

[oh-no-its-bird]

Who do u guys think makes bingo books. Is there like. A committee? Are there village specific bingo books? I feel like there is, right? Does that mean all the villages are just constantly playing catch up with eachothers books?

Before the villages, did they still have bingo books? Who made them then? Did each clan have their own books? And different webs of allied clans would have better, bigger, more informed books because they had access to eachothers information? If there was a general "good" bingo book with the best, most reliable information, then who was compiling that? Was it a specific guy or a group? With how isolated and uncooperative so many clans were back then, if the books were maintained by individual clans, then there must have been so many types of bingo books. Or maybe there were a few specific clans who would produce them...? I can see that as a Nara thing.

Id like to believe some nin like collecting old bingo books.

From enemies, as trophies. Bought from markets or found in old abandoned shinobi bases and clan homes. Passed down from a grandfather along with stories of having faced off with the unfamiliar, powerful nin from ages past recorded inside them.... the options are limitless.

I think many nin add their own little notes to their own bingo books, opinions, doodles, theories on enemy nin, etc. So collectors will value books with notes in it, especially if the books used to belong to a famous shinobi (cool insight into their mind !!) or is really old (cool time capsule comments on shinobi from forever ago !!)

You can make some serious money on an old bingo book filled with personal notes that belonged to a famous shinobi...

Rumor has it the first Hokage's bingo book was sold off by Tsunade to cover her gambling debts. And that when the Nidaime's bingo book dissapeared into the pockets of one of his students after his death, people were straight up ready to kill to get it back— but no one knew who'd taken it (it was Danzo)

Jiriyah lost his old bingo book from the war in a bet, and was surprisingly, genuinley upset over it die to the sentimental value. It was sold for some crazy money later on, as it had personal notes and doodles from all sorts of famous shinobi inside of it

Jiriyah, Tsunade and Orochimaru all drew over eachothers photos in their section of the book, and all three left sarcastic comments in many a corners. Minato left his own comment or two, as Jiriyah asked him to sign his own page after he broke S rank, to celebrate. Then Sarutobi also left some comments here and there too, and Sakumo had actually left more than a few— signing his own page, writing a little congratulations under Minato's S rank, drawing a wolf in the corner of Orchimaru's page after Jiriyah insisted he join him in defacing it, etc.

Jiriyah's bingo book being his team's official unofficial shared bingo book... all three of the sanin tossing it around and marking off shinobi they'd fought, leaving stupid notes and doodles for the others to find later, getting other shinobi to sign it on their own pages.....

I think a lot of shinobi do similar things with "personalizing" their own books, but the sanin certainly ended up creating one of the most valuable with their own endeavors

And then in Boruto, bingo books are probable even more of a collectors item. Especially w shinobi becoming even more commercialized / sort of idol-ified

Just like how some middle aged dad's will save up their baseball card collection to one day sell, telling their children it will be their college fund one day, shinobi are doing similar things with their bingo books

(One of the most valuable editions of the bingo book was the one produced exclusively during the war with Madara, covering many, many shinobi, both dead and alive. Only so many ended up being printed, as the war ended up being shorter than expected, and while there are newer knockoffs and reprints, OG books from that period can make some crazy money.)

[luvologyy]

Crew headcannons.

Characters: Anya, daisuke, curly (before crash), Swansea, jimmy..(ik ik🙄)

Dating headcannons next ! ᵔᴗᵔ

A/N: my first post hai guys 𖥔 ࣪ ᥫ᭡

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪

Anya

Age: 27 ᡣ𐭩.ᐟ

Height: 5'6

Anya is Vietnamese and Brazilian 🇧🇷🇻🇳 her mom is Vietnamese, and her dad is from Brazil.

Graduated at the age of 18

She's closer to her Vietnamese side of her family but still close with her dad's side

She's the oldest sister over her younger brother and sister

She's bisexual but prefers women

LOVES TABBY CATS AND PERSIAN CATSS

Her favorite subjects in school were math and science

Has a small shelf with shoes, sandals, and slippers near her front door

NEVER WEARS SHOES INSIDEE ALWAYS.

Used to have doctors play kits and play doctor with her dad when she was a kid🩷

She prefers wine over any other kind of alcohol. Fancy.

She uses rose scents or clean scented hygiene products/perfume (daisuke HATES when she uses floral stuff)

HATES seafood.

Is an older sister figure to daisuke, always looking out for him

She used to smoke then quitted (proud of her)

Dresses in frilly long skirts with bigger shirts and cardigans for everyday clothes

Wears sm eyeliner or mascara she literally brings like 6 tube's of each

Wear doc Martin loafers

Loves Sims 4

Listens to artists/bands like The Cranberries, TV girl, Clairo, Laufey, Beabadoobee, MARINA, and Lana Del Rey.

She'd rather smell like roses or raspberries

Her favorite color is purple

Daisuke

Age: 22 ᵔᴗᵔ

Height: 5'11

His full name is Daisuke Juarez

He's filipino and Hawaiian 🇵🇭 (WHERE MY FILIPINOS ATT?)

Gooner.

He listens to K-pop groups like stray kids, enhypen, or kiss of life

He listens to artists/bands like Steve Lacy, beabadoobee, Tyler the creator, creepy nuts, frank ocean, and sun-kissed Lola

LOVES LISTENING TO ATARASHII GAKKO

SOME BEABADOOBEE REFFERANCES IN HEREE.

He's from Californiaa

He smells like oranges or fruit punch

Daisuke is fluent in tagolog

Taught Swansea to say "putang Ina" thinking it meant "thank you" 💀

Him cackling in the corner when Swansea says it to the other crew members.. hay nako.

Likes watching ghibli movies, his fav ghibli movie is spirited away.

Sometimes, accidently calls anya "ate anya" (ate = older sister) he gets embarrassed but anya doesn't mind it.

He plays baseball

Gossips about old people from school with anya

LOVES PHÓ NOODLES (anya would always make it)

Loves building lego sets

If he was in the hunger games, he would die IMMEDIATELY. He'll just start crying

Daisukes a horrible liar. HE'LL LIE ABOUT THE MOST STUPIDEST THINGS.

Reader: "daisuke, did you take my candy bar?"

"... no." The wrapper sticking our his pocket..

*You raise your eyebrow at him*

* sigh* "yeah.."

He thinks that santa is real

He would have anime girl posters in his room😭

He likes reptiles. He'd have a pet beared dragon and put tiny hats on it

He collects Pokémon cards

He likes beetles

Daisukes favorite drinks are Arizona teas or apple cider

SNORES SO LOUDLY.

Captain Curly

Age: 35 ˊˎ-

Height: 6'5

He's Australian 🇦🇺 NO DENYING.

He moved to the U.S. in his early teens (13 or 14) with the rest of his family, then met Jimmy in high school

Actually enjoys watching YouTube shorts..

He'd have the newest or most expensive iPhone and not know how to use it 😭

HE CRIES WHILE WATCHING DISNEY MOVIES.. what a REAL man.

PLEASEE teach this man to season his food😭🙏 ITLL SAVE HIS LIFE.

Decorates his house in Christmas decorations as soon as November starts

He's sings in the shower and wears shower caps (he's extra like that)

Played hockey in high school

PLEASE INTRODUCE YOUR CULTURES FOOD TO HIM, it'll be his new favorite

Snores but isn't as loud as daisuke

He loves history. It was his favorite subject in school

He smells like clean laundry

Uses dove products or method bodywash

Has containers of protein powder

Goes to the gym almost everymorning

He still has an Australian accent (MMMH🙈)

He's allergic to peanuts or other nuts straight up (he missing outt)

Growing up, he had a tree house in his backyard and hung out with Jimmy when they were teens, and they always decorated it with posters and lights

Went to military school with Jimmy

He's such a millennial.. he'd laugh at the most unfunniest Facebook quotes. It's sad.

"Cmon, you can't say this is so funny!"

"Curly, it's not that funny.."

"IT makes sense though!"

"CAPTAIN NO.."

"..aw."

He always helped Jimmy with his school work in high school

He HATES it when people crack their knuckles. HATES IT

He likes musicals his favorites are Hamilton and Chicago

He keeps old trophies and jerseys from his high school hockey team hung up on shelves or frames

He listens to punk floyd, cigarettes after sex, the weekend, beyonce, and sade

Jimmy

Age: 34 ᝰ.ᐟ

Height: 6'2

He's polish and white 🇺🇸🇵🇱

He drinks really bitter black coffee. He thinks adding sugar ruins it.

He smells like cigarettes and liquor

He only uses men scented products (idek if he showers but wtv)

He met curly in highschool

He always skipped class and snuck out of school while curly was the exact opposite

He took a little Spanish in highschool

He also went to military school with curly and made him sneak out of campus with him

He listens to divorced dad rock like blink 182, linkin park, limp bizkit, ac/dc, and radio head

Listens to other artists, too like icp, judas priest, metallica, Nirvana, Rob Zombie, or ozzy osbourne

He used to steal or break into cars when he was in his teens.

He lived with his dad and older brother after he lost his mom at a young age.

He sleeps in his underwear. If not, he's sleeping in pj pants with no shirt

His favorite subjects in high school were gym and history

Even though he skipped class, he still has favorites!

Besides the rock and metal he'll listen to, he loves listening to SADE. (It's his guilty pleasure for him) aww

Every time he'll listen to SADE, it'll remind him of his mom he lost

Thinks toaster struddles are better than pop tarts

He used to smoke weed, I can kinda see it in him.

He honestly likes chemistry and math, even if they weren't his favorites

SUCKED ASS in English class, He couldn't write poems and essays for shit.

Swansea

Age: 58 ᡣ𐭩.ᐟ

Height: 5'10

MERICAAA🇺🇸🔥 RAHH

Married to his wife of 30 years (sorry, Swansea fans)

He sneezes so LOUDLY

He snores like a loud train

Has 2 daughters and 1 son

Likes cooking barbecue

He likes to take his family camping and teaches his kids how to fish

He definitely shops at Costco or Sam's club

He'd get confused when his daughters would put selfie filters on him, but he doesn't mind. Whatever makes em happy

He always puts his kids in sports clubs

He used to be a coach for baseball

A/N: sorry these suck😑

[4linos]

toilet phobia rescue.

seo changbin x gn!reader

synopsis: desperate to escape a boring date, you enlist a stranger, changbin, who creates a bizarre emergency to get you out.

warnings: strangers to friends, awkward date, no romance! completely platonic.

wc: 937

It was supposed to be a simple date, a casual meet-up with someone you'd matched with on an app. But the moment he opened the door to the restaurant, you knew you were in trouble.

His idea of a “romantic” dinner was at a place that looked like it hadn’t seen a new menu item since the '90s. The dim lighting wasn’t charming, it was just bad, and the scent of old leather mixed with... fried food didn’t scream intimacy, it screamed regret. But the worst part? You two weren’t clicking at all. He was either too eager to talk about his collection of rare baseball cards or awkwardly staring at his phone. You couldn’t even pretend you were enjoying it. You were already planning your escape, but it wasn’t until you made the fateful decision to take a bathroom break that things really took a turn.

As you exited the restroom, ready to face the social torture ahead, you bumped into him, Changbin. He’d just stepped out of the men's room and, frankly, looked way too cool for this place. Maybe it was his quiet confidence, or maybe it was the fact that he looked like he could do absolutely anything, even if he didn’t know who you were. His strong presence was like a beacon in the middle of your disaster, and you didn't hesitate.

You walked straight up to him, ignoring the fact that he had no clue who you were. "Excuse me!" you said, almost too urgently. "Can you help me? I’m in a terrible situation, and you’re literally my only hope."

He blinked at you, clearly confused, but something in his eyes, was it curiosity? It made him pause. "Uh... sure? What’s going on?"

"Look, I’m on the worst date of my life right now," you explained in a frantic whisper. "This guy—" you jerked your thumb back toward the table where your date was visibly waiting, probably texting his mom about how things were going "– is so boring, and we’re not even connecting! Can you pretend to know me? Like, seriously, just make something up. I’ll pay you. Name your price."

Changbin’s eyes lit up at the mention of money. "Oh, so you need an acting job? Let’s do it."

You quickly returned to the table, barely able to hide the excitement bubbling in your chest as you returned, apologizing profusely for your extended absence. "Sorry, took longer than I thought," you said with a forced smile. Your date nodded but gave you a look like, What took you so long?

And then Changbin swooped in, strutting over like he owned the place, exuding confidence with every step. "Hey! What’s up, Sarah?" he said, slapping you on the back in a way that made it clear he definitely didn’t know your name.

Your date blinked. "Sarah? That’s not... her name?"

Changbin’s face froze, eyes flicking over to you, and you could see the wheels turning in his head. He had no idea what your name was. You leaned in quickly. "It’s… uh, Y/N. Yeah, Y/N. You know, Y/N’s my name."

Your date looked skeptical but nodded slowly, like he was trying to convince himself this was real. Meanwhile, Changbin, with a flair for the dramatic, turned to him and nodded knowingly. "Oh, right, Y/n, my bad. I’ve known her for years! I’m Changbin, by the way. We go way back."

Your date squinted at him, clearly trying to make sense of the situation. Changbin didn’t seem phased in the least. He grinned, and just as you thought the situation might actually work out, he struck.

"Actually," Changbin said, his tone shifting dramatically, "I’m so sorry to interrupt, but I need Y/n’s help with something urgent. It's... an emergency."

Your date raised an eyebrow. "An emergency?"

Changbin nodded gravely. "Yeah, see, I’m really nervous about cleaning the toilet. It’s a long story, but I can’t do it alone, okay? It’s... it’s a whole thing. Y/n promised she’d help help me clean it. I get this weird... phobia about toilets. Like, I’m convinced I’ll fall in. You know how it is."

You could barely keep a straight face as your date stared at Changbin in disbelief. It was the most ridiculous excuse ever, but somehow, Changbin was selling it like an Academy Award-winning performance.

Your date, finally processing the absurdity of the situation, looked at you for confirmation. You shrugged dramatically, as though this was completely normal. "Yeah... he’s really sensitive about the toilet. It’s just one of those things, you know?"

Changbin pulled you away, nearly dragging you across the room. You could hear your date muttering something about “toilet phobias” and “strange friends” but you were already halfway out the door. Changbin stopped abruptly, turning to you with wide eyes.

“Alright, where’s the money?” he asked, his hand outstretched.

You sighed, defeated, and pulled out your wallet. Then, just before you handed over the cash, you paused.

“No,” you said firmly, pulling the money back. “You really couldn’t think of a better excuse? This one was so far-fetched, I’m not paying for this one. You really saved me from that disaster, but you’ve got to earn it a little more.”

Changbin gasped, dramatically clutching his chest. “Oh, so you’re saying I didn’t just save you from the worst date of your life?” He grinned mischievously. “Alright, fine, I’ll take the glory. You can keep your cash.”

And just like that, you realized that despite the disaster of a date and the absurdity of the whole situation, maybe this strange encounter with Changbin was the best part of your night after all.

//

masterlist.

[ramblinscramblin]

I know you only have one post rn but hsgagshagaghssgahsh I love how you write😭

Anyways, giving you a request since I'm already here :)

Reader who really likes Scout's whole clumsy way of flirting. He's like "I got a bucket of chicken" and the reader is just "😍😍😍😍". Or he stumbles over his words when flirting and thinks he's made a fool of himself, meanwhile the reader is basically swooning right next to him.

Bonus points if Spy is observing this all and is just like:

→Reader who enjoys Scouts awkward flirting!

Genre: Fluff!

Characters: Scout tehe

THANK U FOR THIS. This is incredibly real, he is so so so silly.

Scout

Scout took immediate interest in you.

He couldn’t place exactly what it was about you that just made you instantly attractive.

But it was because of his immediate interest that made him such a colossal disaster in front of you.

He just cannot stop, making a fool out of himself. Going to great and insane lengths to try and impress you, literally getting blown up on the battlefield to try and show you a cool jump he can do.

You find is so so endearing and funny, you always laugh at his silly attempts at impressing you.

He mistakes this as genuine malicious intent, thinks you’re making fun of him and feels like the world’s biggest idiot.

“Hey Scout,” you greet one day, feeling a little bold.

Scout straightens in an instant, now was his chance to put the moves on you, make or break time scout.

“Oh! H-hey. Yeah, wassup,” he says before sniffling “you wanna see my baseball cards?” He says abruptly, already mentally berating himself.

You chuckle a little, and he deflates feeling like human garbage. You bump his shoulder with your arm “sure. That sounds fun,” you say with a smile.

He immediately perks up, shows you his nerdy card collection for way too long. Worries the whole time that you think it’s dumb, really cannot tell if you’re making fun of him.

Spy really does not help his anxiety, makes fun of his attempts extremely outwardly, really confused on why you keep coming around…

After watching a few more of your interactions he is appalled to find out that you actually like him back.

Does not let Scout in on this realization.

Him watching you full send the most intense signals to Scout that you’re interested and it’s just soaring over his head causes him physical pain.

“Hey Scout, I was wondering if you wanted to show me your baseball card collection again?” You asked one day, Spy secretly watching from a nearby corner.

“You wanna see it again? I haven’t got anymore,” he says.

You shrug “oh? That’s a shame, I was looking forward to having you all to myself today,” you simper leaning into him.

He’s already told himself that you’re so not interested (plus he’s got a complex from how hard he was rejected from Pauling) so he hardly even flinches “oh well. Next time ‘den I’ll have sumthin’ new to show.”

Spy face palms, mumbling about how dumb he is as he sneaks away.

You find it really endearing though, total heart eyes over this dumbass.

Eventually when you finally stop torturing him and tell him how you feel he’s so flustered and surprised, like: you actually liked how much of an idiot I was? Cannot believe it.

Rubs it in Spies face so hard.

“Look at this hottie I bagged by bein’ a total dumbass. Hah! I win!” He proclaimed loudly.

No because I’m tweaking I love him so much. Anyways thank u so much for the request I took some creative liberties but obviously I had a lot of fun with this one haha!

[alexsoenomel]

Through The Amplifier

Summary: Seeing Metallica with Dean for his birthday 🎶

Based on: THIS

Pairing:  Dean Winchester x Reader

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI , implied smut, actual smut (but cute fluffy smut), mentions of death, Dean and Reader being nerds

Word count: 8k (I like writing backstories sue me)

Song mentioned (The actual setlist btw): Ride the Lightning,  For Whom The Bell Tolls, Lux Æterna, Until It Sleeps, Whiplash, Too Far Gone? Welcome Home (Sanitarium), No Leaf Clover, The Call of Ktulu, Moth into Flame,  Wherever I May Roam, Inamorata, Blackened, One and Enter Sandman ( Also Wrong Side of Heaven and Jekyll and Hyde by Five Finger Death Punch)

Note: This year I saw one of my favorite bands and finally fulfilled my lifelong dream. I went by myself and had an absolute blast so this idea just came to me.

Like/ reblog or both if you like it :)

“Are you sure you don't want to come with us, Sam?” I said as I pressed the buy tickets button. The website loaded for a couple of seconds before my phone went off. 

“Yeah, I'm sure. I don't listen to Metallica,” Sam told me as I checked my email to see two tickets for Metallica in Inglewood, California in six months.

“How can you NOT listen to Metallica?”

“Not my cup of tea, I guess.” 

“You, Charlie?”

“I don’t like old men in leather,” she simply said, making me chuckle.

To say that I was excited would be an understatement. I was overjoyed, ecstatic, and adrenaline-filled, already mentally preparing for the concert. It was indeed destiny. Metallica was performing two days after Dean's birthday in Inglewood, and since we both shared one dream: seeing them live, I saw it as a sign. Videos from their M72 world tour have bombarded my social media ever since it started, and I decided it was now or never. 

“How much are the tickets?” Sam asked.

I bit my lip and mumbled: “14k.”

“For two tickets?!” Charlie’s eyes widened in disbelief. 

“Each,” I simply said. 

" (Y/N)?! " Sam's gaze was on me, and I could feel it burning. I looked at him and smiled awkwardly, and he gave me a silent look of judgment. 

“I can explain!” 

“I'm listening!” He said, voice as sharp as a knife. 

“You know that rich vampire guy I was sleeping with before we met?” 

“The son of the rich vampire?” 

“Yeah, that one. After we killed them I found his laptop where he kept all of his secrets plus his bank account and asked Charlie to transfer everything to me.” 

“How much?”

“Everything,” Charle said proudly. 

“Untraceable and undetectable thanks to her, so technically it’s not our money,” I added.  

“But wasn't that two years ago?” 

“Yeah, he had a lot of money,” Charlie told Sam as he stared at me connecting the dots.

“That explains why the fridge is always full now.” 

“Yeah, you’re welcome,” Charlie said.

I chuckled. 

Sleeping with a vampire was probably the stupidest thing I have ever done. I didn’t know he was a vampire until I woke up one morning in his bed drowsy with two small holes on my neck. By then, I had been a hunter for ten years and The Winchesters were not in the picture yet. I’ve only heard stories about them; some hunters told me that they were monsters in human form, savage, causing chaos wherever they went; and others had kinder words in mind, like heroes, good, impossible to not like. After I realized what he was I was shocked, but not surprised. I had been collecting red flags like baseball cards all of my life, but I’ve never slept with an actual monster. I’ve been with narcissists, egomaniacs, momma’s boys, but never with a vampire. That day I made a mental note: “Never trust guys on dating apps. Sleazy pubs are better for finding sex.”

The day I planned to kill him and his old man was the day that I met the brothers and Charlie. I caught them trying to sneak into the property from the back, since the cameras there weren’t working. I saw them because I was trying to do the same so the servants wouldn’t see me. I could smell hunter’s blood from a mile away and they could too. Sam told me bodies were piling up in LA and I had no idea because they would cover their tracks well and I was too busy having sex with one of the perpetrators. Dean on the other hand was rolling his eyes because he couldn’t believe how reckless and stupid I was. We didn’t start on a good foot whatsoever. He thought I was annoying and I thought he was an obnoxious jerk. That was before we killed the vampire family. 

After we finished the job with minor injuries we went to celebrate –drink. It was Charlie’s idea and I still thank her for that. A few beers later I realized the reason why Dean and I didn’t see eye to eye. It was because we were two sides of the same coin. He was a stubborn nerd with alcoholic tendencies and daddy issues and so was I. And the best part was we both liked the same type of music. Sam and Charlie saw right through us and left after two hours and we stayed and talked for hours. A few more beers and a whole lot of bickering and flirting later, we were fucking in his car like it was our last day on this Earth. I collected one more red flag that night and had too many orgasms. Drunk on sex we both went to his motel room where we had even more sex and barely got any sleep. 

The next morning Sam and Charlie were grinning at us while we were trying to wake ourselves up with caffeine. 

“I see you guys had a lot of fun,” Sam said, noticing our dark cycles. Charlie giggled. 

“Yeah, too much fun,” Dean said, trying to keep his eyes open. 

When it was time to say goodbye and exchange numbers, Charlie had yet another brilliant idea. 

“You should come with us,” she said, leaving the brothers speechless, Dean especially. 

“A hunter alone in a world is a terrible thing,” she told them. 

“Did you just quote Maester Aemon?” I asked her. It was nice meeting a fellow Game of Thrones fan.

“You just became even more awesome!” She said and high-fived me. “She is coming with us, guys!” 

I was indeed alone. I started hunting when my parents got killed by a werewolf when I was 19. I had no extended family just one friend and she had no idea what I was doing in my free time.  

Sam and Dean just stared at each other but naturally agreed since Charlie was running the house and therefore I was moving to Lebanon, Kansas. 

For the first time, I had my room and a place I could call home. The bunker was gray and dark and grew on me rather quickly, but things between Dean and I were strange at first. We both thought we were going to fuck each other’s brains out and never see each other again, but the universe (in this case Charlie) had other plans. He was actively avoiding me until I told him to suck it up and talk to me. We didn’t speak, instead, we were memorizing each other’s scars and moles in different positions…over and over again. We even woke up Sam a couple of times while Charlie was clueless since she slept with headphones.

Slowly, we were falling for each other and each kiss became more fatal than the last and since we now lived together, we were spending every waking moment in each other's presence. It wasn’t until one evening we were drinking and a young handsome guy decided to shoot his shot with me and Dean in a drunken jealous rage told him to piss off when he saw his hand on my hip. When the guy refused to leave me alone Dean punched him in the face and we got kicked out of the bar. 

“What the fuck is wrong with you?! I was about to tell him to fuck off!” I screamed at him and he just stared at me in complete silence. 

“DEAN?”

He came closer and cupped my cheeks with his hands kissing me gently. This time the kiss was different; it wasn’t filled with lust; it was more gentle and vulnerable. His lips were as soft as ever and for the first time I was so painfully aware of them, I wanted him to devour me whole. 

“Why are you such a dick sometimes?” I asked, his face inches away from mine.

“I don’t like when people touch what’s mine,” he said, putting a strand of hair behind my ear. I suddenly became aware of my heartbeat. 

“Since when do I belong to you?” I asked him, trying to keep a cool head even though my body was on fire. We never made it official, but we both knew it was inevitable. 

“Since I belong to you, dickhead,” he said, and from that day on I was his and he was mine. 

***

 I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t in love with Dean. We never said the words, maybe because we were too afraid to verbalize our feelings like grownups, but I knew he loved me just as much as I loved him. His eyes would always sparkle whenever we shared eye contact – even when we fought. He fought a lot, but mostly on hunts, because I would never listen to him and he knew better. In the end, we would get the job done and have angry sex to blow some steam. I’d never thought I’d end up dating a male equivalent of me. I could finally say I was happy with my life, even though objectively speaking it was awful 99% of the time. I was thankful for my chosen family and the fact that I got to experience love for the first time. 

***

I had a hard time keeping the secret, but six months later it was time to celebrate his day. Sam, Charlie, and I decided to make everything Metallica-themed. His cake was a classic chocolate cake but the candles were two small guitars one white and one black (one had the number 3 on it and the other one had 6), The frosting was black and had a picture of the band from the 80s when Cliff was still alive. Dean loved Cliff’s bass, so we knew he was going to love the cake. 

“Happy birthday, Dean!” We all said in unison as I was putting the cake on the table in front of him. Dean’s eyes widened, sparkling with delight, as he stared at the cake. His mouth dropped open in a gasp, revealing a grin that spread from ear to ear. His cheeks flushed with a rosy shade, and he could hardly contain the bubbling excitement as his eyebrows lifted in disbelief. It was a moment of pure wonder etched across his face. He blew his candles after we sang Happy Birthday to him and now it was time to open the presents. 

“This is from me,” Sam said and gave him a bag. 

 Dean pulled a black shirt from it. 

It was a beautiful Metallica shirt, a brand new one from their 72 Seasons merch collection with their yellow album cover and Metallica written on the top. 

“Holy crap a Metallica shirt!” Dean said looking at the beautiful design. Sam smiled at him. 

“Thank you, Sam! It’s perfect!” He then added. 

“You’re welcome, Dean,” Sam said and hugged his brother.

“Now it’s my turn!” Charlie exclaimed and gave him her present. 

Dean pulled out a CD and a cassette tape from a small box– their 72 Seasons CD and a limited cassette tape of the same album. 

“Oh my God! Charlie!” Dean was bursting with excitement and my heart was melting. I don’t think I remember the last time I saw him this happy. His inner child was healing mine – he deserved the world.

“One is for your car and the other is for your laptop!” 

Dean immediately jumped from the chair and hugged Charlie as tight as possible. 

“Thank you,” he whispered. 

“You’re welcome, birthday boy.”

Now it was my turn. While he was licking the frosting with his fingers I sent him his ticket. 

Dean was staring at me as I was smiling back at him. 

“Check your phone, handsome,” I told him, trying to contain my excitement. 

Dean's brow furrowed just a touch, creating a faint line across his forehead as he checked his phone to see that he got an email from me. 

“What is this?” He mumbled under his breath and opened it. 

Dean’s face lit up with pure joy as realization washed over him. His eyes widened. His mouth dropped open in a wide grin, showcasing his astonishment, while a breathless laugh escaped him. He looked at me for a second before staring back at his phone.

“ARE YOU FREAKIN’ SERIOUS?” He then asked in disbelief. 

“Yeah, and guess what? We will be right in front of the stage,” I said and showed him my ticket on my phone. 

His cheeks flushed with color, and his eyebrows shot up, giving him a look of sheer exhilaration. He could hardly contain himself, there was an almost childlike glee as he wrapped his hands around my waist and lifted me, completely swept away by the moment. I squealed as he spinned me around like I was a ballerina. It was a mix of shock and joy, a perfect reflection of his excitement to see his favorite band live. When he kissed me my feet hit the ground. 

I knew he would remember his 36th birthday for the rest of his life.

***

We packed our bags the next day and went to the airport. Our flight was at 6 pm, so we arrived around 3 pm after lunch. Sam and Charlie came with us because Dean didn’t want to leave Baby at the airport parking lot. We said our goodbyes and went to check in. 

“Don’t let him do anything stupid,” Sam told me. 

“Don’t worry I won’t! We will be stupid together,” I grinned and Sam looked concerned. 

*** 

The flight was quick and smooth; we didn't even feel it. Since it wasn't my money (well not really) I decided to splurge and booked us two nights in the four-star hotel next to the YouTube Theater where the concert was scheduled. They had a pool, spa, and breakfast buffet, so naturally, I figured Dean was going to appreciate it. 

“I don't have swim trunks, (Y/N),” Dean told me as we were entering our room. 

“Yeah I know, that's why I bought you a pair a couple of weeks ago,” I said.

The room was an epitome of elegance, bathed in warm light from sheer curtains. A plush king-sized bed, adorned with crisp white linens and a couple of soft pillows was calling our names. A sleek nightstand held a vintage lamp in the corner, while a polished desk offered a coffee maker and a big flat-screen TV handing across the bed was screaming Dean’s name. The en-suite bathroom was heaven, featuring a spacious glass shower, complete with fragrant candles and premium toiletries.

Every detail was screaming luxury and I knew I made the right choice.

We put our bags on the floor and I turned to Dean to see him staring back at me. 

“Happy birthday, handsome!” I said and kissed him gently. He immediately pulled me closer to him, closing the gap between us, deepening the kiss, and making me moan a little. I could feel his stubble on my face, his hands on my hips, slowing moving downwards to cup my ass. 

“Shower?” He asked before moving his lips to my neck. 

“Please,” I managed to say. 

After having a quick shower we went to bed and he made love to me until we eventually fell asleep only knowing the sound of each other's names. I loved that man with all my heart and soul. 

***

The next morning we woke up at around 8 am, which was our usual time, and went to have breakfast. 

The breakfast buffet was a sight to see. There were freshly baked pastries like croissants, danishes, and muffins, all warm and inviting. A big bowl of colorful fruits sat nearby, with strawberries, melons, and pineapple ready to be picked.

In another section, you could find hot dishes: scrambled eggs, crispy bacon, and plump sausages. There was also a selection of artisanal breads, with butter and a variety of jams to choose from. The drink station had fresh coffee and juices. Dean and I were salivating. 

“Oh, this bacon looks crisp!” Dean said joyfully as he put a handful of bacon on his plate. 

“If monsters don't kill us, high cholesterol sure will,” I chuckled and put a couple of pieces next to my eggs. 

Breakfast of champions: bacon, eggs, fluffy croissants, coffee and for dessert fluffy American pancakes with maple syrup. No matter where we went we would always eat the same thing for breakfast.

“The pancakes are so good, my God!” I said as I stuffed my face.

“I need more bacon!” Dean said and went to get more. 

After breakfast, we ended up taking an hour-long post-breakfast nap.

***

The concert was at 9 pm. After we woke up Dean wanted to go swimming before lunch so I gave him his new and only pair of swim trunks: blue shorts with yellow ducks all over. 

“Seriously?” Dean said, looking at himself in the mirror next to our bed.

“I look ridiculous.”

I tried so hard not to laugh.

“It was either ducks or small purple dildos.” 

Dean's face went blank as he looked at himself once more.

“Ducks are good.” 

I, on the other hand, bought a black bikini that was perfect for my body. The sleek design highlighted my figure, and the black color added a touch of elegance. I was oozing confidence and sexiness and Dean couldn't get enough of it. His gaze never left my body and it was filled with admiration and affection. His expression was a mix of pride and appreciation. He was on another planet.

“Dean?” 

“Um?” He asked, his eyes still fixed on my figure, his mouth partially opened. 

“Your gun is showing.” 

He looked down and saw what I meant. 

“Crap!”  

“Let me take care of that before we go!” I chuckled and pointed to the bed. 

***

The pool was nice and big. After an hour of fucking like rabbits we went for a swim only to realize we were too exhausted to do anything with our bodies, so we went to the sauna. 

In the sauna, my skin felt like it was being enveloped in a warm embrace. The heat made me aware of every pore, and I could feel the sweat starting to bead up and trickle down. It was both soothing and invigorating; my skin felt alive, flushed with warmth. 

“I can't believe you planned all of this,” Dean said and closed his eyes, enjoying the sweat dripping from his skin.

I wanted to say it. I wanted to say those goddamn words, but I bit my tongue once more. 

“I know, I'm the best,” I said proudly, while in the back of my mind the sentence "Love makes you do crazy things" echoed over and over again. 

***

Lunch time, another post food nap and it was time to get ready. Dean wore his usual: jeans, a new Metallica shirt he got from Sam, a leather jacket, and combat boots. I decided it was time to turn myself into a rock’n’roll bombshell. I was going to wear leather black pants, Dean's old Ride the Lightning shirt I “borrowed” and never gave it back, and my staple: black Dr. Martens. I did my hair all nice and curly, and my makeup was a bit over the top and not something I usually do.

I was standing in front of the mirror as I started with a flawless matte base, then created a smokey eye with deep blacks and a dramatic wing. Thick eyeliner and voluminous false lashes (that I bought just for this occasion) made my eyes pop. I swiped on dark, matte plum lipstick and defined my brows to frame my face.

A touch of contour enhanced my cheekbones, and I added a hint of shimmer to my inner corners. Feeling powerful and sexy I was ready to heal my inner child with the love of my life. 

“How do I look?” I asked Dean as I put on my leather jacket. 

He bit his lower lip and scanned every inch of me in a second.

“Freakin’ gorgeous,” he exclaimed, making me blush. 

He was never shy to give me compliments and show me how attracted he was to me. Even in pajamas, dying from period cramps, and crying because my favorite ice cream was sold out, he would still tell me how amazing and pretty I was. Like I said, I loved that man with all my heart and soul, it was pathetic and beautiful.

I kissed him and we were on our way. 

We came four hours earlier at around 5 pm, a few minutes before they opened the gates and let us in. In an hour Ice Nine Kills was going to perform and after them Five Fingers Death Punch. When we came in, the pit was already filled with people, but it wasn't full yet. We found a spot just a few inches from the stage. My heart was pounding, I couldn't believe I was there, while Dean was squeezing my hand tightly not wanting to let go. 

“Do you want a beer?” Dean asked me. 

“I don't think that's a good idea. If we drink we will have to go and if we have to go we will abandon this perfect spot. A lot of people are already coming in.” 

Dean nodded.

“Water?”

“That will do,” I agreed, considering we would be standing probably until midnight, staying hydrated was important.

He left to buy us two cups and came back after five minutes. The space was already getting crowded and I was growing impatient. 

“I still can't believe we are here,” he told me. He was buzzing with excitement, eyes shining and bouncing on his heels. 

“Do you think they will play Enter Sandman?” I asked him. 

“I hope so. Pops used to play that song all the time in the car when I was a kid. Sam hated it.” 

“My dad used to sing me that song whenever I couldn't fall asleep. I was a lousy sleeper but for some reason, that song would always put me into a coma.”

I told Dean as I remembered how much I missed my old man.

“You're still a lousy sleeper,” he said, tucking a piece of hair behind my ear. 

“Yeah, because now I cannot sleep without you,” I said and kissed his cheek. I always had trouble sleeping, going to bed after 3 am, waking up at 3 pm, tossing and turning, nightmares, and so on… until I started sleeping next to him. I was never a big cuddler, especially since I would always feel uncomfortable whenever someone would try to hold me while I slept, but with him it was different. I would sleep like a baby next to him, he was home to me. His heartbeat was my white noise and his warmth was my safe space. 

He smiled back at me and at that moment the show began. 

Ice Nine Kills was…something else. Dean and I were trying to decide if we liked the music or not, but one thing we agreed on was: that we LOVED the performance. Gore, blood, and chainsaws were all far too familiar, but we especially loved horror references. The music was not bad, but considering we were both classic rock fanatics it wasn't something we would actively listen to. 

“I love the Nightmare on Elm Street reference,” I commented after they finished the first song. 

“Not bad,” Dean agreed as he wrapped his arms around my waist from behind and pulled me closer. 

We were jamming to songs we'd never heard before. People around us were either utterly confused or dancing and head-banging like it was their last day on Earth. 

“Oh! That's the Texas Chainsaw Massacre!” Dean said in my ear. 

“I know,” I laughed, but I don't think he heard me considering the music was pounding in my ears. 

After a good hour, they were done. The crowd was growing impatient again and so were we. 

“Five Finger Death Punch is next!” I said and took a sip of my almost empty cup of water. 

“I'm kinda excited about that.”

And to be honest I was too. We heard a couple of their songs like Wrong Side of Heaven and Jekyll and Hyde and instantly fell in love with the singer's voice. Dean even said the vocalist sounded a lot like David Draiman of Disturbed and I definitely could hear that. 

We were waiting for what felt like hours and my legs started to hurt. I forgot what it felt like standing for so long; the last time I went to a concert I was 16 and my family was still alive. Dad took me to see Deep Purple, it was an unforgettable day. 

Five Finger Death Punch came at exactly 8 pm. The band made everyone jump and scream. Their energy was unmatched and the vocalist was giving his all. His voice was strong. The guitarist even threw a couple of picks and Dean almost caught one.

“Damn it!” He shouted. 

“Don't worry, maybe you will catch one from Kirk later.” 

We all completely lost it when they closed the show with the iconic song Dean and I both loved: Jekyll and Hyde. I was singing my heart out with my man and the rest of the crowd while the singer was jumping around the stage. This whole band had such a strong presence, and I decided to check their other stuff after the show. 

"Thank you all for being an incredible audience! Your energy means the world to us. I hope you enjoyed the show as much as we loved performing for you. It was an honor to open for one of the greatest bands to ever exist! Enjoy the rest of the show and be safe!” The singer said and the whole stadium screamed and clapped. 

“DAMN RIGHT!” Dean yelled and I smiled. 

Seeing Dean so at peace with life and enjoying the present moment made my heart flutter. That man deserved the world and even though I couldn't give him one where he was truly happy (mainly because that would require him to leave hunting behind and he would never do that) I could still make his world a little bit brighter. 

I turned around and kissed him, leaving a smudge of lipstick on his perfectly full lips. 

“Are you ready?” I asked him whipping the stain from his lips with my thumb. 

Dean grinned widely, his eyes sparkling with excitement. "Abso-freakin’-lutely!” 

People around us were shouting, screaming, and clapping from excitement, and some people went to get more beer, and pee before the show– it was a beautiful chaos around us. 

“My legs are killing me already,” Dean complained, trying to stretch as much as he could in the sea of people. 

“Yeah, mine turned to stone,” I said and checked my phone only to see they were 20 minutes late. Being late was my biggest pet peeve; even the legendary band that was Metallica didn’t have an excuse. I groaned silently and looked at the empty stage again. I was impatient and filled with adrenaline; ready to sing my heart out, but at the same time I was missing the hotel bed. 

Ten minutes later, our favorite chaotic drummer appeared, sending the whole stadium into a state of pure excitement and borderline madness. He waved and then Robert and Kirk appeared with their guitars and big smiles on their faces. The crowd was cheering even louder. 

“Kirk’s hair is fabulous!” I told Dean, while we were clapping. 

“Yeah, Sam should take some notes!”

And finally, there he was, in the flesh, our favorite voice and my favorite silver fox: James. I've had a crush on James ever since I was a little girl and seeing him right in front of me in his black leather pants, black boots, black shirt, and his beautiful gray beard and hair made my heart beat faster. The man had the presence of a God and I was his loyal worshiper. 

“Oh my God! IT'S HAPPENING!” Dean yelled and hugged me from behind. 

As the lights dimmed and the crowd erupted, Dean and I felt a surge of adrenaline once again. The opening chords of Ride the Lightning sliced through the air, and we couldn’t contain ourselves. With a wild grin, Dean threw his fists in the air, the pulse of the music igniting a fire within him. I was too starstruck to sing, my voice too shy to come out as I was standing there with my phone in the air trying to record a video with my shaky hands. It was my dad's favorite song and I wanted to immortalize this very moment.

Meanwhile, Dean was transported into another dimension. He swayed to the heavy riffs, shouting the lyrics as they echoed around him. Each note was a release, a reminder of the thrill of being alive. At that moment, we were just fans—no monsters, no worries—lost in the pure magic of live music.

“GOOD EVENING INGLEWOOD! ARE YOU READY TO HAVE SOME FUN?” James' voice was powerful with a gravelly timbre that conveyed excitement. We all screamed and with that, they started playing the second song. 

“HOLY SHIT!” I yelled when I realized it was indeed For Whom The Bell Tolls.

As the iconic opening riff surged through the venue, Dean’s heart raced. He felt the familiar rush of nostalgia wash over him, memories of late nights with Sam on the road in the Impala echoing in his mind. The deep, heavy chords resonated in his chest, and he instinctively raised his fists, the crowd's energy fueling his excitement. 

With each thundering beat, he found himself singing along. His grin widened, and he couldn’t help but sway with the music, lost in the moment. For Dean, it wasn’t just a song; it was a reminder of everything he fought for—the bond with his brother, the battles they faced, and the moments of joy amidst the chaos. This was rock and roll at its finest, and he was right where he belonged.

 I, on the other hand, was trying so hard not to cry. The haunting melody of For Whom the Bell Tolls wrapped around me, pulling at my heartstrings. I felt a mix of exhilaration and nostalgia, the weight of the moment overwhelming as memories flooded back—times spent with my family, laughter shared, my mom telling my dad to turn the volume down. Oh, how I missed my parents at that very moment! The intensity of the crowd, the energy of the band, and the raw emotion in the music made it hard to hold back tears. It was a cathartic release. Dean was standing behind me pulling me closer with one hand as I was holding onto his index finger. I wiped my tears and sang my heart out for my mom and dad and after they finished the song I was left with a slight pain in my right ear. I might have forgotten to bring earplugs, but the truth was I didn't want to nor cared about protecting my ears from potential damage. To quote Dean: “Metallica is too good for earplugs.” 

After bringing back so many good memories it was time to mix it up and play something from their newest album.

The melody of Lux Æterna hit me like a bolt of electricity. It opened with a powerful, aggressive guitar riff that instantly raised the tension in the air. As the verses rolled in, the haunting yet energetic melody intertwined with a sense of urgency. When the chorus exploded, the vocals soared, filling me with a mix of exhilaration and defiance. I was completely engulfed in the sound, feeling every note resonate deep within me, embodying everything I loved about Metallica as Dean pulled me closer to him while we were jumping in sync. 

“Lux Æternaaaaaaaaa!” We would sing completely out of tune with James. 

As Lux Æterna blared through the speakers, the crowd became a living entity, energy surging with every note. Fans pumped their fists and sang along, their voices rising in a powerful roar. Some swayed with eyes closed, while others jumped, danced, and headbanged, united in exhilaration. 

“You guys are amazing!” James said. He was covered in sweat and I was salivating. The man was a definition of aging like fine wine and my daddy issues were showing. 

I turned to Dean who was hypnotized, his eyes never leaving the stage. 

"Would you give me a hall pass if I cheated on you with James?"

Dean arched an eyebrow, a playful smirk crossing his face. “James, huh?”

Amusement in his eyes, he added. “If you think I’m letting you run off with a rock star, you’ve got another thing coming.”

“Really?” I smirked.

“You’re mine—rock star or not.” 

I couldn’t help but laugh at Dean’s reaction. “You think I’d leave you for James Hetfield? Really?” I teased, arching an eyebrow. His playful jealousy was endearing, and it warmed my heart.

Dean smirked, leaning in with that familiar teasing glint in his eyes. “Just making sure you know where my head’s at,” he said, his tone light but with an edge of seriousness.

“Rock star or not, I’m the one who gets to take you home.” He chuckled, and I could see the warmth in his gaze. “It’s you and me against the world, always.” At that moment, I felt a rush of affection, knowing our bond was stronger than any fleeting fantasy.

As the opening notes of Until It Sleeps fill the venue, the crowd erupts into a frenzy, a sea of raised fists. The energy was electric, and I felt the pulse of the music vibrating through me as everyone swayed together, singing along with wild abandon.

Beside me, Dean’s face lit up with pure joy, his excitement infectious. I glanced at him, my heart swelling with happiness, knowing this moment was deepening our connection. Surrounded by the thrumming bass and the roar of the crowd, I realized this night will be one we’ll always treasure. The crowd swayed around us, but at this moment, it was just us. He sang every word with fervor, and I couldn't help but join in.

The set list was out of this world: Whiplash, Too Far Gone? Welcome Home (Sanitarium), No Leaf Clover, The Call of Ktulu, and Moth into Flame are just a few they chose. 

During Wherever I May Roam Dean and I were screaming every word so hard that I knew our vocal cords would hate us later. We would usually listen to that song after every successful hunt. It became a staple, a reminder of why we do what we do, and a beacon of hope. 

“HOLY SHIT!” I shouted at him with a huge grin on my face.

“HOLY SHIT!” Dean shouted back and kissed me.

The band was looking so good.

I loved seeing Robert jamming with the fans with his signature long and beautiful braids while absolutely nailing every note on his base and Kirk just being Kirk and owning the stage in his green leather jacket. Lars was an absolute beast even at 60 years old. 

When they started playing Inamorata, James took his time to walk around the stage while playing his guitar and smiled at us all. I could see his face as clear as day: his blue eyes had that sparkle of happiness; he had been doing this for decades and you could still see how much it made him overjoyed to see people enjoying his band's music, his smile was infectious and captivating and I couldn't believe he was standing right in front of me. 

I turned to see Dean – he was completely mesmerized, eyes wide and mouth slightly open, staring at James as if he were witnessing a miracle. I chuckled softly, knowing he was the happiest man alive. It was beautiful to see this vulnerable side of him, and I couldn’t help but lean closer, sharing in his joy as the music enveloped us.

The next two songs were Blackened and One. To be completely honest I forgot about Blackened. I was so high on adrenaline, oxytocin, and serotonin that I couldn't remember the song and I was too embarrassed to ask Dean about it. I knew it was an old song, a classic, and I knew Dean would give me a death stare so I kept my mouth shut and listened to him sing (yell). 

After the forgotten song James and his bandmates decided to rip our hearts out.

The ominous sounds of distant gunfire and explosions played through the speakers and the crowd fell into a hushed reverence. The chilling audio of war set an intense backdrop for the song that used to make me cry. The moment I recognized the opening notes of  One, a thrill shot through me, and I felt my pulse quicken in anticipation. It was as if the world around me faded away, leaving only the haunting melody that resonated with the depths of my soul. I never thought I would hear this song live. My dad showed me the music video when I was eleven (my mother was furious, and thought it was inappropriate) and I cried my eyes out, but loved the song. I rarely listen to that song though, it was too raw and reflected sorrow and despair in a way I knew far too well. 

Dean took my hand and placed a soft kiss as James started to sing. I pulled him by his shirt and kissed him, wanting this moment to last forever. He cupped my face pulling me closer, ignoring the sound of people around us screaming the lyrics. It was just me and him, always. 

When I broke the kiss I was inches away from his face. 

As the crowd roared and the lights pulsed, I turned to Dean, adrenaline still rushing through me. With One echoing around us, I blurted out, “I love you.”

Time froze as surprise washed over his face, vulnerability breaking through his bravado. “Yeah?” he asked, his voice barely audible over the music. At that moment, amidst the chaos, I saw that beneath his tough exterior, he was just as scared of love as he was of losing it.

His eyes locked onto mine, and a slow smile spread across his face. “You mean that?” he asked, his voice softening amidst the music.

Before I could respond, he pulled me close, his arm wrapping around my waist. “I love you too,” he whispered in my ear.

At that moment, surrounded by the concert’s chaos, everything felt right. 

Throughout the concert, I took a couple of videos and even got a picture of James shredding his guitar for my new phone wallpaper, but nothing could prepare me for the next song.

“ARE YOU STILL ALIVE?” James said as the opening riff of Enter Sandman sliced through the air, the arena exploded into a frenzy of energy. Lights flashed in sync with the relentless beat, illuminating faces filled with exhilaration. The heavy guitar reverberated through my body, a primal force that united the crowd in a shared heartbeat.

“DEAN!” I shouted, jumping up and down in excitement. 

“I CAN DIE HAPPY NOW!” He screamed. 

Everyone was singing, fists pumping, the raw intensity of Metallica's sound creating a charged atmosphere that felt almost electric. It was a moment of pure chaos and exhilaration, where the music enveloped us, and nothing else mattered.

Suddenly giant yellow and black balls began to fall from above, bouncing energetically into the crowd. They bounced and rolled, creating an atmosphere of pure chaos and fun. Fans reached up, trying to catch them, laughter and cheers erupting as the balls added an unexpected burst of excitement to the already electrifying performance. The sight of those bright, playful orbs amidst the intensity of the music created a surreal, unforgettable experience. One fell on us too as we jumped with other people making it fly to our left. I was trying to take a video but my hand was shaking while I couldn't stop jumping next to Dean screaming and feeling my throat slowly tighten. 

Kirk nailed his solo, while his hair stayed fabulous and James was getting himself ready for the big finale. 

“Hush, baby, don't say a word,”

“And never mind that noise you heard,”

“It's just the beasts under your bed,”

“In your closet, in your head!” 

Dean and I were screaming at each other's faces, filled with nothing but love for one another. 

“Exit light!”

“Enter night!”

“Grain of sand!”

“Exit light!”

“Enter night!”

“Take my hand!”

“We're off to never-never land, yeah”

James voice was so raw, so strong, I was still trying to figure out how he was 61 years old. 

“Boo!”

“Yeah-yeah!”

“Yo, whoa!” 

The song ended. I was already getting sad because I knew it was the end. I checked my phone and it was almost midnight. 

The song finished and we all cheered and clapped wanting more.

I heard people yell encore, but after 15 songs they were done. Lars threw his drumsticks at us and someone behind us caught it. He said thank you but the crowd was so loud I couldn't hear him. Until he got in front of the microphone and said: “You were amazing tonight! Thank you for coming!” 

We all screamed even louder. Robert came and tossed a couple of picks and people in front of us were fighting to catch it. He threw five picks in total, covering every part of the pit.

“Come on! I want one!” Dean yelled. We were all still clapping. 

“Wait for Kirk! We are close!” I told him. 

He indeed came next and blessed fans with a couple of picks, but Dean was now too close to catch one and it flew right above his head…

“DAMN IT!” 

James, covered in sweat and looking like a God came right in front of us. I was standing there, completely ignoring Dean and trying to remember every corner of that man's face. While I was in Neverland and watching James throw his picks I didn't even register Dean screaming my name. 

“(Y/N)!” 

“Huh?” I snapped back finally and saw him holding a small white pick that had White Fang written on it.

“OH MY GOD!” I yelled. 

“I DID IT!” He yelled back. 

I loved seeing my man truly happy. I loved that band and I loved everything about that day. 

***

Getting out of the venue was a nightmare. The crowd surged around us, bodies jostling and voices blending into a chaotic mix of excitement and exhaustion. I clung to Dean’s arm, grateful for his steady presence as we stepped into the cool night air.

“That was insane,” I said, smiling up at him. He grinned back, eyes still shining with adrenaline. As we navigated through the sea of fans, I felt a rush of happiness, knowing we had shared something truly unforgettable.

“That was incredible!” Dean exclaimed, his voice full of energy. “ Best night ever! Best birthday ever!” His smile widened as he looked at me, clearly still buzzing from the concert. 

My legs were in pain, I was thirsty and sleepy but it was all worth it. 

We were back in our hotel room 10 minutes later, both covered in sweat ready to sleep. 

I took off my clothes right away, feeling like my legs were on fire. 

“I'm in so much pain!” I complained. 

“I cannot feel my legs!” Dean said. 

“I'm gonna shower. Wanna join?” I was in my underwear standing next to him waiting for him to stop staring at my boobs.

“Coming!” He simply said and started taking off his pants while his eyes never left my boobs. I loved the fact he loved my body. I, like any woman in this cruel “man's world” sometimes would look at myself in the mirror and just hate what was staring back at me. His little stares were a strong reassurance that I was bullshitting.

Usually, showers meant fooling around (shower sex was complicated), but we were too tired for anything but kisses. We lazily washed ourselves in silence, kissing each other here and there. 

“So you love me, huh?” He smirked between kisses. I just smiled at him as the warm water was pouring down my back. 

“Yeah, imagine that! You're loveable,” I said as I was shampooing his hair. His eyes were closed but his mouth formed a small o. 

“Well…” 

“Shut up!” I told him. 

After we were all nice and clean it was time to finally get some sleep. I put on a clean pair of underwear and Dean's old Led Zeppelin shirt I also “borrowed” and he put on a clean pair of black boxers. 

We snuggled underneath the blanket, my head resting on his chest, feeling my body slowly relaxing and falling asleep. 

“You really think I'm loveable?” Dean asked, suddenly. I was half asleep, but this question tore my heart a little and now I was wide awake. I knew he thought he was unworthy of love, unlovable, unclean and it made me incredibly sad, especially because he was the definition of a hero with a heart of gold. 

“It’s hard to not fall in love with you, Dean. If you could only see yourself through my eyes, you would understand,” I told him and lifted my head and kissed him, but this time deepening the kiss. I was tired, and my body was in pain, but the urge to be close to him, to love him, was consuming me. He moaned into the kiss and immediately got on top of me. My hands went in his damp hair. 

We kissed for a while, our souls intertwined, our bodies keeping each other warm before his hand went into my now wet panties, his finger entered me making me arch my back, moaning even louder into the kiss. I was still in pain, but Dean's touch was slowly healing me until all I could feel was pleasure and love. His finger suddenly left my panties and I was left needy and desperate, but he wasted no time and took off his boxers, his dick fully hard. “Lift your hips, sweetheart!” He demanded and I did, letting him take off my underwear. 

He kissed me again before he positioned himself between my legs and entered me. I was so wet and desperate that I took him all instantly. 

“You feel so good!” He whispered, his voice deep and raspy, sending shivers down my whole body. I dug my nails into his back as he started to move, light moans escaping my lips.

We were one. One soul, two bodies, always. 

“Dean!” I moaned pathetically over and over again as his pace became more erratic. I was so close, so so close.

“God, I love when you say my name!” He managed to say as his face was buried in my neck. “Say it again!” He said and slammed into me. 

“FUCK, DEAN!” I screamed, digging my nails into his back, even harder. I could feel the orgasm coming like a tidal wave. 

“Oh God!” He moaned into my ear and slammed into me over and over again. 

My toes curled, my whole body stiff as my skin was covered in goosebumps. An intense wave of electricity rushed through me as I came so hard I could see stars. Dean didn't stop until he came into me, filling me up completely. I'll have to worry about potential pregnancy tomorrow since we completely forgot the concept of condoms. 

We were both breathless, covered in sweat, and panting in each other's faces. 

“Best birthday ever?” I asked him.

“Best birthday ever,” he smiled. 

I was not ready to check out tomorrow. I was not ready to board that plane and say goodbye to this hotel room. I was not ready for this to end. 

As I was laying on his chest, slowly drifting away with my thoughts and as my body relaxed and felt heavier with each passing minute, Dean was playing with my hair and before I started dreaming I heard him whisper:

“I love you so much, sweetheart.” 

[bring-forth-his-sac]

The Christmas Party - Chapter 1

Summary: Your first year at Alexandria High is going smoothly, until you accidentally offer to plan the staff Christmas party. To make matters worse? You're stuck planning it with the one person you made a terrible first impression on; Negan.

Tags: Modern AU, Teacher AU, Gossip, Swearing, Pet Names, Slow Burn, Misunderstandings

Word Count: 5.3k

A/N: ok this is partially based on how common Negan's surname is... I mean, Smith?! Really??? Also I have written this very fast and there are many more chapters to come. My plan is to have it complete by Christmas Eve so hopefully you stay tuned until then!!

You tend to avoid Negan Smith. From what you’ve heard, there isn’t a good reason to go near the man. Womanizer. Loudmouth. Curses like a sailor and a professional at ghosting.

But, the job of a teacher sometimes means dealing with people you don’t like. Whether that be talking to a parent who’s convinced their child is a saint or, like in this case, him . 

You haven’t even made it to the Christmas break yet and you’re about to knock heads with another teacher. Great. You suppose this is a good thing considering you’ve managed to make it past Halloween unscathed. 

Still, it’s not a good look to be confronting another teacher in your first year at a new job, especially when he has taught here for years. You sigh, hand automatically raising to block the surprisingly warm rays of the Winter sun as you scan the track and field. 

Ew. Sports. Or more specifically, track. You've never understood appeal to any sports, whether to participate, watch or worse; teach.

With it being midday already, the field is quite busy, with more students mulling around than you anticipated. Some kids sit on the grass surrounding the running track, lacing up sneakers and complaining about upcoming tests.  

On the far side of the track, a smaller group of students mess with the plastic javelins that are stuck in the ground, bouncing them back and forth to see how far they’ll bend. You know you should probably tell them to stop and that it’s some kind of safety hazard to be messing with them but this isn’t your class. 

If it was in the classroom then of course you’d tell them to stop to save your own skin, but out here, you can pretend to have not noticed the incessant messing they’re doing. 

On the actual track is where the bulk of students are, running at a good pace while getting yelled at by some middle aged man with a whistle. The joys of high school.

It takes a certain kind of person to be a teacher, you should know. But to teach gym ? Yeah, that’s some sociopathic shit.

You watch as who you assume is Coach Smith yells at one of the quieter kids to keep up. Well, he’s definitely living up to the loudmouth tag he’s been labelled with.

But that’s not all he has a reputation for. Negan happened to be some of the first gossip you got when you moved here. Well, you’d call it gossip. Others might say it was a cautionary tale or a straight out warning.

Word on the corridor is that he's basically tasked himself to sleep with every female teacher, adding more notches to his bedpost and undoubtedly collecting diseases as if they’re baseball cards.

“You…” the sudden voice catches you off guard, snapping you out of your thoughts as another teacher approaches “do not look like you belong here”.

Another one of the gym teachers, oh goodie. 

Considering the size of the school, there were three in total; Coach Smith aka the town bike, the other coach who teaches basketball and another new teaching addition who deals with the tennis and badminton teams. Despite not knowing the new coach, you’d like to think there’s an unspoken alliance between you two since you’re both newbies this year. 

Unfortunately, luck isn’t on your side today and it’s the one that teaches basketball that approaches you

You put your best generic smile on and shrug. “Yeah, I’m more at home in the classroom,” you agree “I’m the new teacher for Literacy studies”.

He shook his head in response “No fuckin’ kidding, English teacher, eh? They’ll slap a fancy title on anything nowadays”.

You give a small laugh in response, subtly glancing around to make sure none of the kids are in earshot. And you thought you had a potty mouth. 

“And why’re you out here? Checking out what the coaches have to offer?” he comments with a hint of amusement, stuffing his hands into his pockets as he casually leans back against nothing but air, tilting his tall frame.

“Oh I just need a quick word with Coach Smith,” you gesture in the direction of the running teacher, ignoring the latter half of his question. 

“About?”.

You try not to let his crass or nosiness annoy you.  Pushing down your slight irritation, you keep your smile in place “Just a mix up with a student we both have… he stayed late at one of my classes because we had a test, then he was late for gym, got detention, you know the drill”. 

‘Now please fuck off ,’ you so desperately want to add to the end of that sentence, but bit your tongue.

“And what?” the hint of a smirk begin to grace his face “You’re here to get the kid off the hook?”.

“Well, it was my class that kept him behind,” you reply, keeping your gaze on Coach Smith. 

That’s all you were going to say but even with your eyes focused on the other coach, you could sense the man beside you practically sizing you up. A flutter of panic pangs at your heart and for a brief moment, you wonder if this other coach thinks you’re being incompetent, or that you’re somehow in the wrong. 

“I mean, I did give Henry a note explaining why he was late but obviously that wasn’t enough for Coach Smith” you’re starting to ramble and the worst part is, you know it. 

He hums in response, nodding as if he knows all too well “So he’s being a real jackass, huh?”.

“Uh-huh, jackass” you agree, before quietly mumbling “along with a few other things”. 

You know it’s time to stop talking now. The last thing you want is to ramble on about things that are none of your business.

“Oh?” that piques his interest.

“Well, y’know… word travels fast and all that,” that rational part of your brain begs you to stay vague “small town gossip spreads like wildfire”.

“And I am just dying to know what that small town gossip is” he turns his face to you fully, giving you his undivided attention.  

Being truthful, it’s intense. His gaze is welcoming and yet it’s as if he’s waiting for you to slip up, to say the wrong thing so he can swoop in to defend his colleague.

“Oh it’s nothing really,” you quickly backtrack, every fibre in your body screaming how it’s a bad idea to gossip about another teacher “just stupid hearsay”.

“C’mon, sweetheart,” the man coaxes “let me indulge a little”.

Shrugging, you look back at Coach Smith who’s still in the middle of a class and with no intention of stopping anytime soon. 

Don’t do it. It’s not worth it… but can it really be considered gossip when it’s true? 

“I’ve just been told it’s best to stay away” you answer honestly.

“ Me-ow !” he punctuates the word, a large grin on his face and undeniably revelling in the small nugget of information “is there a cat fight on the horizon? One of the other teacher’s already got her claws in him?”.

You laughs at that, mostly out of shock. “Not that I would know,” you reply “but by the sounds of it, he’s got enough claws in him as it is”.

A surprised look spreads across the coach’s face, eyebrows raised and mouth slacking open as he uses his thumb to point to Smith, mouthing “Him? Really?”.

You nod. This is going better than expected. A part of you presumed all gym teachers would be macho men with zero personality but this one’s actually charismatic.  “Guess they really call him coach for a reason,” you jibe, watching as the man’s face shifts into confusion.

“And why’s that?”.

“Well from what I’ve heard, he’s definitely surpassed the status of player… though he’s probably riddled with… y’know” you raise your eyebrows, hoping the insinuation alone would be enough to get your point across.

He chuckles, glancing back at his colleague with a sigh “His poor wife”.

By now, it looks like Coach Smith is slowing to a halt, his students quickly following suit. About time. Though he’s not completely done yet, giving his class a rundown of the lesson and squirting water into his mouth from a water bottle he’s holding a little too high above his head. 

“Yeah,” you sigh solemnly “I heard about that”. 

This piece of information was also included in your warning. Apparently Coach Smith’s wife died a few years back. Cancer. And that’s what subsequently led to his quest to fuck anything that a) has a pulse and b) has a vag. 

Damn, maybe you really are a gossip. 

"It's pretty awful, though," you mutter without thinking, continuing to ramble "I mean, from what I've heard, her side of the bed wasn't even cold and he was already crawling into the beds of other women”.

The man watches you intently, his expression growing flat and unreadable. That’s the shift you feared—the ‘you’ve said too much’ look settling into place.

“But I-“ you’re about to continue, hoping to seem more genuine in your regards when the newest coach appears. 

“Sir! Sir! Have you moved the javelins? I was supposed to use them for my ’Aerodynamics in Training’ lesson but they’re not in the storage room” he blurts out as if this is a national disaster.

The man puts up a hand to stop him “Fa–, Joey , can you not see I’m in the middle of something? And the fuck did I tell you about calling me sir all the damn time?”.

Joey, or well, Coach Joey, stumbles over his words before replying, his eyes darting between the two of them “Oh! Oh, I am so sorry sir– uh, Coach Smith,”.

You’re not too sure what Joey said after that, your brain pausing for a moment to process his words. That can’t be right.  Not when Mr Jones, the economics teacher specifically pointed at the Ken doll that’s still giving the exhausted teenages a pep talk and said that that’s Coach Smith. 

“Coach what?” you blurt, unsure whether you’ve just interrupted Joey or not. You’re surprised the words actually came out coherent, your throat growing tighter by the second. 

“Smith” Joey replies without missing a beat. The other man stays quiet and frankly, you refuse to look his way, not wanting to see the look on his face.

“What?” your generic smile graces your face yet again, a defence mechanism to hopefully stop any genuine facial expressions from leaking out “But I thought… over there… that’s Coach Smith”.

Joey gives you a reassuring smile “It’s ok, it confused me too when I got here”. 

That still doesn’t answer your question.

“He’s Coach Mark Smith,” Joey points passed the two of them and to the Ken doll “and then this is Coach Negan Smith”. He tries to put his hand on Negan’s upper arm but he quickly shrugs him off, gaze trying to catch yours.  

You refuse to meet that gaze, the reality of your fuck up sinking in. While numerous responses whizz around your head, you fail to vocalise any, instead opting to stand there utterly dumbfounded.  

Joey doesn’t notice and laughs to himself “It’s confusing, I know but it gets easier when you just associate Coach Smith with Mark and Coach Negan with… haha, well with Negan”.

Your mouth opens but you have no idea what to say or where to ever start. Not that it matters because you’re cut off by the alleged Coach (Negan) Smith. 

“Or if that doesn’t suit, you can always tell us apart with him being the clean one and me being… What did you say again? Riddled?”.

Oh dear God no.

That makes your look at him, your eyes wide with sheer embarrassment. “What?” Joey speaks up.

The look in Negan’s eye isn’t one of offence or even annoyance. He’s more pleased that he’s caught you in such an elaborate snare, a glimmer of playfulness in his intense stare that tests you endlessly. Before you can even process what to do, your instincts kick in and you use your best teacher voice to say “Henry won’t be going to detention today. He was late and that’s on me, not him so leave him be”. 

Turning on your heels, you quickly walk off and disappear back inside the school building. You don’t look back as you walk away, unwilling to look at the man you were just badmouthing to his face again.

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

Mondays are usually good days but considering your earlier mishap, you‘re beginning to doubt that. Thankfully, you have a few classes off so you can spend your time overthinking your recent mistake. 

Propping your head up with your hands, you look around the classroom you can now call your own. It’s one of the older rooms in the school, a bit drafty but yours nonetheless. 

With a quick knock at the door, the skeptical face of Ms. Peletier enters your peripheral vision. “Hi! Is it just you in here?,” she asks in a cheery voice, waltzing into the room. 

You give a silent nod and she drops the act.

“I don’t know why I do this to myself. I mean, the kids… it’s like they’re getting more annoying” she huffs, pulling up a chair.

Ms. Peletier, the home ec teacher usually stops by on Mondays. She has a free period at the same time as you and likes to use it venting about how much she hates kids, but also enjoys teaching them and then realizes that maybe she actually likes her job. 

It’s a love hate relationship. 

But today you’re not as eager to listen. “Have I entered the Twilight Zone?” she does another quick glance, double checking there’s no lingering teacher or student outside “Where’s the bubbly ‘Hi Carol!’ that makes me want to rip my hair out?”.

Bringing her attention back to the statue that is you, an eyebrow quirks up “Are you�� moping right now?”.

“It’s been a rough morning” you admit. 

“How so?”.

“I bad mouthed another teacher,” you grimace as you explain “to the teacher”.

That doesn’t make sense to Carol, her head tilting to the side like a confused puppy “Huh?”.

You explain the situation briefly: a kid in your class stayed late because of a test but he had gym class afterwards. Despite you giving him a note explaining the delay, Negan gave him detention anyway.

Carol nods along, listening intently. 

“And he told me his gym teacher was Coach Smith, so in my head I was like ‘fuck, ok, this is the infamous womanizer guy’ ”.

“No, you’re getting them mixed up that’s-” Carol stops when she sees the look you give her, vaguely beginning to understand where this story is going.

“Well I didn’t realise that and while I was waiting for Coach Smith as in Mark Smith, I was talking to Coach Smith the second, aka Coach Negan” you want to end the story there and save yourself from reliving the trauma. 

“Ahhhh,” Carol leans back in her seat, drumming her fingers on the desk that separated them. She gives you a laid back smile “Did he ask you out? Is that where this is heading?”. 

You suppress a sigh “No, I started talking about what I thought I knew about Coach Smith but it was actually information I had on Coach Negan Smith and I basically called him a man-whore to his face”.

Carol's face turns blank as she tries to yet again process this. “There’s no way I’m hearing this right” she concludes, though the small shine of amusement in her eyes lets you know that she is in fact computing what she’s hearing. 

Deciding you may as well throw this grenade out there too, you add “Oh and I said he’s awful for screwing around right after his wife died”. Now that bomb almost makes the eyes bulge out of Carol’ head.

“You what?” she splutters, losing all composure.

“It wasn’t like anything bad, I didn't do it mockingly-”.

“ Mockingly ? Oh, you just don’t think, do you?” Whatever sense of amusement that was in Carol’s eyes is overtaken with panic.

“No! No, not mockingly, just like— casually, but obviously I wouldn’t have said it if I knew I was in front of a widower” you hurriedly clarifies “it’s not my fault it’s so confusing with all the Smith’s here!!”.

Carol sinks her head into her hands “Oh god”.  

After a moment of silence, she collects herself “So you’re never going near the gym hall or track and field again, right?”.

“Never,” you swiftly confirm “not talking to either Smith after this too… actually I think this is a good excuse to avoid gyms in general”.

Carol smiles at that, leaving the wave of panic subside. “Oh! Actually,” she takes out her phone “I keep meaning to add you to the teacher group chat. It’s awful and mainly it’s Gregory complaining about one thing or another but I’ll add you anyways!”.

A few seconds later and your phone buzzes: “You have been added to: Alexandria High’s Teacher Midlife Crisis Support Line”.

“Oh… well, that’s a cheery name,” you tilt your head “that’s… good?”.

Carol gives a small laugh as she stands, slipping her phone back into her pocket “Well, we can’t all be as creative as you Ms Literacy Studies”. You laugh, rolling your eyes as she leaves and the bell rings. Maybe today won’t be that bad. You hope that the bad start to the day just means the day will end on a high. 

But you’re wrong.

By the time your last class rolls around, everything is calm. You’ve told Henry he’s off the hook for detention, no one is acting up in your classes and there’s been no gym teachers around. Everything was calm.

“Alright guys,” you announce to the class, glancing at the clock “how’s about you start that grammar worksheet for the last ten minutes of class? If you get it done now then no homework for the night but if not, make sure it’s done by tomorrow”. 

The class immediately starts, mumbling chatter and the sounds of rummaging pencil cases filling the room. 

You look to the clock again, as if it’ll magically have moved at least five minutes. It hasn’t. But that’s ok, ten more minutes until freedom. You can do that.

“Knock knock” an unfamiliar voice enters, catching both you and your students off guard. A few heads look up to the door but none match the ‘oh fuck’ expression that is plastered across your face.

What makes it worse is that he knows it too, basking in your reaction. You try to hide your expression, quickly masking it but the smug look you’re met with tells you it’s too late for that. 

“Coach Negan,” you greet, getting it right this time “what can I do for you?”.

“I’m sure there’s plenty you could do for me” he moves deeper into the room, taking no notice of the students and shooting you a promiscuous grin you ignore. 

Making his way over to your desk, he takes his time peering around at the various trinkets that litter the surface: a mug that says “I’d rather be reading” filled with different pens, a colourful stapler, an empty bowl that was filled with sweets about a week ago, and a stress ball. 

“No sweet treats going?” he asks teasingly “well besides the obvious”. Negan winks at you, making your face scrunch up with a mixture of confusion and repugnance. 

“Is there a reason why you’re here, Coach?” this time you raise your voice a little more, hoping to remind him of the other ears in the room that are undoubtedly listening in.

Concluding that you won’t take the bait that easily, Negan gives you a firm nod “Just hear to let you know detention starts at four o’ five”.

Your eyes go to the students, most of which are focusing on their work. Of course there are some nosy ones that are hanging onto their every word, loving the idea of hearing some juicy teacher gossip. Oh god. The very reminder of gossip makes you want to shiver. 

Lowering your voice to a whisper, you lean across the desk “I already told you, Henry won’t be attending detention today”. 

You debate saying more but with Negan, simplicity seems to be key. The less you say then the less he has to pick apart or use against you in some taunting way.

“I know, I know,” he concedes “you got some big ol’ lady balls for practically demanding I let him off the hook… and for some of the other shit you said”.

Oh for fuck’s sake. Your eyes go wide but you manage to give him a glare as you scan the class, hoping no one heard him. Unfortunately, going off the number of smirks the kids are trying to hide by looking down at their worksheet, they heard. 

You want to argue back, tell him off for using such language in front of the kids you’re in charge of for the next seven minutes but instead, you take a breath. 

After all, you catch more flies with honey.

“And I would like to apologise for what I said,” you keep her voice low, just because Negan has no problem with the kids hearing his side of the conversation doesn’t mean they get to hear your response “what I said was completely inappropriate and insensitive, I’m really sorry and-“.

Looking at his watch, Negan acts as if you aren’t  even speaking let alone issuing him an apology.  “Oh shit, would you look at that, I’ve got to shoot but remember,” he loudly slaps his hands against the desk, poorly creating rhythm as he heads back to the door “you got detention at four o’ five”.

He goes to leave but you speak up again “Wait, what? Me?”.

“Yeah, you're on detention duty” he casually replies. 

No, you’re not. That kind of thing gets rostered usually at the monthly staff meetings and considering this is your first year here, they’re yet to bestow such a vital job upon you. 

“No I haven’t been scheduled for that-“ you’re seriously getting pissed with how much this guy interrupts you.

“Yes, you are, honey,” he says as if this is well known information “so don’t be late”. 

And with that, Negan disappears, leaving you more confused than before. At least he didn’t seem that pissed at you for your previous comments. Still, you don't understand how you didn’t know beforehand that you’re on detention duty or why Negan of all people would willingly seek you out to remind you. 

Before you can contemplate it too much, the bell goes and you reboot yourself back into teacher mode. 

Once everyone has packed up and left, you let out a long huff, packing up your own belongings before heading to the designated classroom for detention. With the rush of bustling kids wanting to leave, you’re able to get there fast, weaving through the current and into the barren classroom.  

Going over to the old cabinet that’s tucked away in the corner, you find the clipboard full of the names of the attendees. You skim it haphazardly, seeing if you recognise any of the names before plonking down at the desk at the top of the room. Although one of your student’s older sisters is supposed to show up, no one that you directly teach is listed, which gives you a strange sense of pride.

Pulling out your phone, your attention span forgets about the clipboard in no time. Just as you do, the phone buzzes in your hand, lighting up with a notification from Alexandria High’s Teacher Midlife Crisis Support Line.

Gregory: Friendly reminder, do not park your vehicles in other people’s spots.

Some students filter into the hall, avoiding eye contact despite the small smile you give each of them. Unsurprisingly, none of them are in a talking mood and take their seats, pulling out homework or some study material to occupy their hour with.

Paul J Monroe : good idea, stop parking in my spot

You move your hand up to cover the smirk tugging at your lips.  Gregory, the vice principal, isn't known for his popularity. His entire personality is marked by his distinct sense of entitlement and self-perseveration. It’s baffling that he somehow ended up as vice principal when his leadership style is rooted in only helping himself.

Scrolling through the list of members on the group chat, you recognize a fair amount of names. Of course Carol and Mr Monroe, the counsellor, are in there. The likes of Ms Espinosa the geography and Spanish teacher is there too, as is Mr Abrams the music teacher, both Coach Smiths and surprisingly the Chaplin, Father Stokes, is there too. Unfortunately, most of the names you don’t know, having not done much socialising since getting here.

Sasha: there was a Christmas lights installation van parked across my spot and Rosita’s, will they be there again tomorrow?

Rosita: if it’s there tomorrow I’m slashing its tires

Rosita: that’s a joke

Gregory: I hired them, they’ll be here all week to make things more festive 

While waiting to see how the others react to that, you look back at the clipboard, your gaze hardening as you look to the very top of the page. There, in black ink, is the date, followed by which school week this is and finally, the name of the teacher on duty. 

And guess what, it sure as shit isn’t your name up there.

If it isn’t for the room full of kids, you would be swearing out loud, having to bite your tongue to stop the words from actually coming out. 

That motherfucker. That sly, riddled and sleazy motherfucker. The name Coach N. Smith is at the top of the page with a horizontal line next to it for him to sign, proving that he did actually show up and do his damn job.  Yanking your phone back up, you stew silently and watch the messages flow.

Rosita: ur shitting me

Sasha: why weren’t we told about this?!

Gregory: this can be discussed tomorrow

Sasha: discussed tomorrow while they’re parked in our spots AGAIN?

Aaron: Does anyone know where we’re going for the Christmas party? Is it still on for next Friday? Need to hire a babysitter haha :)

Rosita: Gregory?? Reply??

Scrolling to the top of the group chat, you tap to see its members, noticing how it says Gregory is now offline. Typical. Thankfully, Aaron’s message moves the conversation in a new direction and teachers begin to lightly debate whether they should go to the Kingdom for the staff Christmas Party or if they should venture further afield. 

Amber: can we not go back to the Kingdom? Pretty sure I got food poisoning last year :S

Gregory: budget for Christmas party is very low this year, if anyone can plan it for next Friday then it can still go ahead. 

Rosita: what about our parking spaces? Hello???????

Rosita is once again ignored by Gregory and the topic of the Christmas party stays. You know you shouldn’t be getting such entertainment from this but watching as the teachers try to assert their points, shooting down what the others have to stay while simultaneously trying to stay as polite as possible provides some great amusement.

And, it’s extremely passive aggressive. Oh, what joy.

One of your favourite moments is the science teacher Mr Porter’s response when Gregory struck down his idea of making the Christmas Party a weekend getaway to the closest city. 

Eugene: For clarification, are you suggesting the staff members in this here group chat don’t have the sufficient financial funds to rent a hotel room for a night or two?

You want to let out a low ‘ooooo’ noise as if you’re watching a sports game. In all honesty, if you weren’t supervising detention, you probably would be making gleeful noises as you read each text. Gregory ignores Mr Porter’s accusation and instead proposes his own idea. 

Gregory: Having it at the school is the best opton, everyone can get there and it’s big enough 

You presume that’s a spelling mistake on his part. The next text comes from one of the Coach Smith’s, the one you haven’t badmouthed. 

Mark: The gym hall can definitely fit everyone

When you see Mark’s name pop up along with the thumbs up emoji he adds to his text, you go into your options for him, deciding to set yourself a little reminder of who’s who.

Mark (Coach Smith): but I’ll be taking next week off for vacay

Sherry: who’s the new number that’s been added ?

“Miss?” You look up as a student approaches with a bored face “can I borrow a pen? Or even a pencil?”.

“Oh sure!” You perk up, dropping your phone on to your lap so the student can’t see. The last thing you need is to be the teacher who leaked the mere idea of a teacher group chat being real. 

Hurriedly typing out your awkward introductory message of yourself to the group, you send it and focus on helping the student. Taking out your little pencil case, you begin rummaging around for a pen you wouldn’t mind a student ruining. 

Mark (Coach Smith): so someone else will have to help Negan set up the gym if we decide to have the party there

Sherry: oh are you the new English teacher?? I haven’t had a chance to meet you yet! hi!

After selecting a black pen, you pause, eyeing the kid with suspicion. “Wait… you spent the whole day at school without a pen or pencil?” you ask, raising an eyebrow.

You look down at your messages as the student stalls to answer, rocking back and forth on his heels. There’s a strange socially awkward panic that bubbles in you when you see the new message, knowing you can’t be rude and start texting again when dealing with a student.

But at the same time, the longer you stall in answering, the more you’re convinced you’re coming across as being rude to the group chat.

The kid just shrugs “Yeah.”

“How is that even possible?” you start to ask, but the words fade as your phone buzzes again.

With a silent sigh, you hand the pen over, offering it a quiet farewell. Picking up your phone a little too eagerly, you type out a fast response to Sherry’s question.

You: Yes!! :)

Ok, maybe you went a little overkill with the exclamation points and the smiley face but that’s where panic gets ya. Now that the rush is over, you swipe your finger up a little to look at the message you missed.

Gregory: anyone willing to help plan the Christmas party?

Oh fuck. Your stomach drops as you read the order of messages again. Mark saying he’ll be gone, offering up the gym for the staff Christmas party while knowing full well he’s gone the week leading up to it and won't even be attending.

Sherry asking if you’re the new English teacher. 

Gregory, who would rather ask others to help rather than offer any help himself, wondering if someone else can help set up the party. 

And then you, enthusiastically texting in a yes. Fuck. Please no. No, no, no. That message was in response to Sherry's message!

You put your phone on the table, screen facing down as you lean back in your chair. This can’t be happening. The last person you want to be around is Negan, never mind plan a goddamn Christmas party with him!  

You take some deep breaths, hoping that your message won’t be misread. Surely, it won’t be, not to anyone who was actually paying attention to the different conversations happening.

It buzzes again, louder this time as it vibrates off the table. You don’t want to pick it up. You don’t want to see what it is and yet you still reach for it. Slowly flipping your phone to see the screen, there’s only one new message from the group chat.

It’s Gregory, calling you by your teacher name as he replies…

Gregory: great! I’ll leave it to you and Negan to sort out the finer details

———

Read Chapter 2 here!

gif made from scenepack provided by harleys.scenes on insta <3

[midnight--sadness]

my found family headcanons!! ---

gayeong and cheol still collect & trade pokemon cards til this day. their older siblings find out and get hit with a wave of nostalgia, like woah kids still play these??

daeho grew up with sisters, and has sisters once more :') THEREFORE he always looks out if any of them has lipstick on their teeth or if their eyeliner look uneven on one eye (give him a cosmetic bud and an angled brush he'll fix it in no time). he also knows how to thread eyebrows

junhee is starting to get into sports lately. she is becoming... A FUTBOL ENTHUSIAST ⚽️ it all started with a clip of diego maradona on her insta fyp and she went down into the rabbit hole. after many hours of practicing, she can juggle the football for a long time!

saebyeok is bob the builder of this family. she can assemble ikea furniture with no issues. the air conditioner is not working? give her the right tools and it will be running normally in seconds. oh and all the girls at her uni have the biggest crush on her, their home mailbox often full of loveletters for her~

whenever gihun is at a store, he'll always buy something that's not on the shopping list only bc it reminded him of his kids or his husband. "ooh, i think gayeong will love this new flavor of juice!" or "this small statue of a grumpy cartoon wolf looks like inho... i should get this one for him!"

inho absolutely is an airport dad. they arrive on time thanks to him, all the passports and papers are always with him, he does headcount every 30 minutes, makes sure his wife and kids are comfortable. first class seats to somewhere sunny~ 🌅🏖️🌊⛱️

minsu knows how to crochet things. thanos got curious about it and now he knows how to crochet too after being taught. better use of time than staying out late vaping! thanos decided the first things he would make are a pair of socks for gihun and a scarf for inho. BUT NOBODY NEEDS TO KNOW THIS, OR THANOS' STREET CRED IS ON THE LINE.

i love your idea of semi being a gamer! 🎮 she does has a significant audience on a streaming platform as her personality is cute, her sense of humor is fun, her looks are sooo pretty <3 also whenever gihun appears in the background to place folded clothes on her bed or some snacks during the livestream the entire chat goes wild. "HI MAMA 🫶" "OMG MOM ❤️" "MAMA!!". and when they see inho it's only deep respect and admiration "hello boss 🫡" "mr. hwang sir 🫡" "big man in the buildinggg 🫡"

THESE ARE ALL AMAZING 💖💖💖💖💖 AND SO MUCH BETTER THAN MINEE 😭😭😭

junhee practicing football actually gave me the idea that maybe daeho could join the baseball team? jungbae was a player and he is daeho's favorite uncle so it makes sense if daeho joins as well 💖

i love that semi's audience all love gihun 🥺

[shin-tsucommunist]

i'm really bored so uh. here have some of my headcanons for the main yttd characters

sara: wears expensive strawberry perfume. probably class president, and one of the, if not the, top student at sonobeno. really likes shortbread. dated ryoko briefly but they ended up just being friends again

shin: he's trying to make it as a twitch streamer. he doesn't have many followers but is actually really good. dropped out of university due to chronic illness making it hard for him to attend. never really bullied at school, but completely ignored (he's so me fr fr)

keiji: has definitely made those weird police officer thirst traps on tiktok (the ones kurtis connor made a video on). megumi had all of them saved to her phone. he now moderates a police rp discord server. bisexual with a lot of internalised homophobia

gin: he's scared of spiders, but will never admit it. he's also eaten bugs before because he saw a cat doing it. has a pet rock and collects little plastic animal figures and pokemon cards. was absolutely obsessed with dinosaurs when he was younger

reko: did ballet as a child. will never admit this and would probably kill anyone who brought it up. was in an idol group as a teenager and still has trauma from the idol industry. burnt out gifted kid

alice: took up knitting as a hobby in prison and always sent reko incredibly lumpy jumpers (it's the thought that counts, it's fine). she never opened the parcels. used gonbee as a name when he socially transitioned in high school, but ended up changing it back to alice. history buff. got top surgery from a friend in uni

nao: her favourite food is creme brulee. works part time at a convenience store to pay for college. went to high school with shin but doesn't remember him. most of her money goes into hair upkeep and scrunchies. has a mishima shrine in her dorm room (her friends want her to go to therapy). has an anxiety disorder

mishima: he has several pet rats, most of which are named after famous artists. still kind of an alcoholic but mostly drinks unhealthy amounts of tea instead. intentionally makes himself look weird (specifically in terms of his hair) because he's slightly more unsettling when he doesn't. in a similar vein, he smells of oil paint because it covers up the smell of cigarette smoke. was homeless as a teenager and has never had a good relationship with his family. owns a copy of the communist manifesto

kai: he doesn't cook tiramisu because it reminds him too much of sei. mr chidouin gave him a 'kiss the cook' apron once, and kai hates it but wears it sometimes anyway to make him happy. has always enjoyed being sara's bodyguard because it gave him a chance to experience a normal childhood. has never given gashu a father's day gift. sometimes has hallucinations of sei

q-taro: was never adopted due to not being japanese, which made him really insecure. always got rejected from the baseball team in middle school, but had a full-on anime training arc before high school and got on the team. still watches the koshien championships every year. got into a pretty good uni on a sports scholarship. goes on holiday to the usa every year. has an incredibly low alcohol tolerance

kanna: has actually kept pudding under her bucket before to hide it from kugie and their parents. her favourite ice cream flavour is vanilla. kind of a theatre kid and especially enjoys six and heathers. almost as good at video games as shin, except minecraft which she is much better at. usually plays minecraft on peaceful mode but is unbeatable at pvp. makes incredibly messed up sims 4 storylines. likes vocaloid music

joe: listens to idol groups sometimes (sara bullies him over it). massive one piece fan and has played danganronpa. has a part time job at an arcade and always helps sara and ryoko cheat at the games. loves ramen. actually a pretty decent cook

[liminalbeans]

A collection of some non-stuffed animal beanie baby merch, and some information about it (and links to buy each one)

Beanie baby collector pins! These were pins that could only be bought by members of the BBOC (beanie baby official club) and there was a few different ones, mostly featuring the original 9 beanies.

I can't find a lot of them for sale, but the set of 5 in the bottom image can be bought here.

More pins! These ones feature the teenie beanie babies that were included in happy meals back in the 90s. These were actually never sold to the general public, they were reserved for McDonald's employees to put on their uniforms to advertise teenie beanies.

There's a bunch of different listings for either sets of pins or individual ones, but you can get a good amount of them here.

A beanie baby poster! "But Liminalbeans" I hear you say, "there's no beanie babies on that poster!" This is true! But that's because this poster was actually meant to be used with another product....

...THESE stickers. You could technically stick these on whatever you want, but the poster was made for people to have one themed spot to put their whole collection.

Poster here

Stickers here

We also have some trading cards! I feel like I've seen these more than any other non-stuffed animal product. These were like Pokemon or baseball cards, each one had a beanie and they came in little packs. These never really took off, because having a collectible OF a collectible is kinda going too far. But they're still cool little trinkets

Buy some here

Beanie babies coins! These came in BBOC exclusive packages and each one had a classic beanie

Get them here

This is probably the most recent item on the list. It's a plastic cup from McDonalds that was part of a "blind bag" series with different cups commemorating the most popular/successful happy meal toys. This one was for the teenie beanie babies, and there's some secondhand ones available.

Buy it here

This last one isn't an official TY product, but it's still beanie baby related. Back when beanie babies were a huge craze and everyone thought they'd be worth tons, a bunch of the most avid collectors and fans would make these guidebooks to help people learn more about beanie babies and track their "worth". It's funny looking back on it, since they're all worth basically nothing now, but these books are still an interesting read and fun to flip through

Buy the one pictured above here, and there's also tons of different ones out there.

And feel free to reblog this with any I might have missed!

[centrally-unplanned]

Another big stop in Tokyo for me was Jimbocho Book Town! It is a neighborhood of, depending on who you ask, up to 400 generally-secondhand bookstores flanked by some of the major universities in Tokyo. The local government even prints out maps of the stores to help people find them all:

Which, you will note, is not 400 stores, because the process of becoming an "official" Jimbocho Town Bookstore is an intensely political operation run by local stakeholders with tons of fights over what should qualify and what rights that entails - never change humanity!

"Book Towns" used to actually be quite a common thing, and they peaked during the literary boom of the late 19th century. Figuring out "what books existed" was a hard task, and to do serious research you needed to own the books (you weren't making photocopies), so concentrating specialty bookstores in one area made sense to allow someone to go to one place and ask around to find what they need and discover what exists. It was academia's version of Comiket! Modern digital information & distribution networks slowly killed or at least reduced these districts in places like Paris or London, but Jimbocho is one of the few that still survives.

Why it has is multi-causal for sure - half of this story is that Tokyo is YIMBY paradise and has constantly built new buildings to meet demand so rents have been kept down, allowing low-margin, individually-owned operations to continue where they have struggled in places like the US. These stores don't make much money but they don't have to. But as important is that Japan has a very strong 'book collector' culture, it's the original baseball cards for a lot of people. The "organic" demand for a 1960's shoujo magazine or porcelainware picture book is low, but hobbyists building collections is a whole new source of interest. Book-as-art-collection powered Jimbocho through until the 21st century, where - again like Comiket - the 'spectacle' could give it a lift and allow the area to become a tourist attraction and a mecca for the ~cozy book hoarder aesthetic~ to take over. Now it can exist on its vibes, which go so far as to be government-recognized: In 2001 the "scent wafting from the pages of the secondhand bookstore" was added to Japan's Ministry of Environment's List of 100 Fragrance Landscapes.

Of course this transition has changed what it sells; when it first began in the Meiji area, Jimbocho served the growing universities flanking it, and was a hotpot of academic (and political-polemic) texts. Those stores still exist, but as universities built libraries and then digital collections, the hobby world has taken over. Which comes back to me, baby! If you want Old Anime Books Jimbocho is one of the best places to go - the list of "subculture" stores is expansive.

I'll highlight two here: the first store I went to was Kudan Shobo, a 3rd floor walk-up specializing in shoujo manga. And my guys, the ~vibes~ of this store. It has this little sign outside pointing you up the stairs with the cutest book angel logo:

And the stairs:

Real flex of Japan's low crime status btw. Inside is jam-packed shelves and the owner just sitting there eating dinner, so I didn't take any photos inside, but not only did it have a great collection of fully-complete shoujo magazines going back to the 1970's, it had a ton of "meta" books on shoujo & anime, even a doujinshi collection focusing on 'commentary on the otaku scene' style publications. Every Jimbocho store just has their own unique collection, and you can only discover it by visiting. I picked up two books here (will showcase some of the buys in another post).

The other great ~subculture~ store I went to was Yumeno Shoten - and this is the store I would recommend to any otaku visiting, it was a much broader collection while still having a ton of niche stuff. The vibes continued to be immaculate of course:

And they covered every category you could imagine - Newtype-style news magazine, anime cels, artbooks, off-beat serial manga magazines, 1st edition prints, just everything. They had promotional posters from Mushi Pro-era productions like Cleopatra, nothing was out of reach. I got a ton of books here - it was one of the first stores I visited on my second day in Jimobocho, which made me *heavily* weighed down for the subsequent explorations, a rookie mistake for sure. There are adorable book-themed hotels and hostels in Jimbocho, and I absolutely could see a trip where you just shop here for a week and stay nearby so you can drop off your haul as you go.

We went to other great stores - I was on the lookout for some 90's era photography stuff, particularly by youth punk photographer Hiromix (#FLCL database), and I got very close at fashion/photography store Komiyama Shoten but never quite got what I was looking for. Shinsendo Shoten is a bookstore devoted entirely to the "railway and industrial history of Japan" and an extensive map collection, it was my kind of fetish art. My partner @darktypedreams found two old copies of the fashion magazine Gothic & Lolita Bible, uh, somewhere, we checked like five places and I don't remember which finally had it! And we also visited Aratama Shoten, a store collecting vintage pornography with a gigantic section on old BDSM works that was very much up her alley. It had the porn price premium so we didn't buy anything, but it was delightful to look through works on bondage and non-con from as far back as the 1960's, where honestly the line between "this is just for the fetish" and "this is authentic gender politics" was...sometimes very blurry. No photos of this one for very obvious reasons.

Jimbocho absolutely earned its rep, its an extremely stellar example of how history, culture, and uh land use policy can build something in one place that seems impossible in another operating under a different set of those forces. Definitely one of the highlights of the trip.

[presidentbungus]

Um, It's Kind of a Lot

demo/scout, demo&eyelander - 30k words

Read on Ao3

Lonely men find each other in a place that collects failures like baseball cards. Things don't take long to get complicated. The 600-year-old haunted sword is NOT happy about it Written with care for the 2024 TF2 Big Bang, with illustrations from toasty and George Henry

in other words: demoscoutheads come get yah mutual pining juice!! ignore the ancient cursed sword she is nice and will cause no problems or angst or anything of the sort

Excerpt under the readmore :)

Boy, Jeremy shoulda picked the pool table. About half the party's grouped around it, shooting shots, yukking it up, and he's over at the side of the room, standing alone with an empty cup in one hand and a bunch of darts in the other, like a dipshit. Staring at a bunch of old guys with huge axe-murderer scars wiggle their asses and speak in faintly European-sounding tongues. Like a dipshit. He’s not even good at darts.

This whole settling-in thing’s been kind of a wet fart, actually. He was hoping this job’d be something better than sitting in a jail cell and looking at contraband porno mags but then he got on the bus over, and the cabin was full of about two toddlers worth of scar tissue and more stupid accents than he’s ever heard come out of an improv class, and the only reason he survived the trip was at least now he knows he’s getting paid something. Every time he’d try and speak up he’d get eight chilling glares and then everybody would get back to beating on each other, and the time he really tried he ended up sprawled across the floor, with the dried blood and the gum wrappers, and with a shiner the size of fucking Alaska.

It’d hurt worse if he hadn’t had at least a dozen on this eye before. Maybe it’s a good thing no one’s come over here to talk to him yet, because he probably looks like a fucking dipshit just standing here, sweating through his pants, black eye, empty cup, darts, no friends, no money, no future.

Feels just like home. God dammit.

Eventually somebody finally taps him on the shoulder, and he spins around and two darts fall out of his hand and he does a slightly embarrassing please-don’t-stab-through-my-big-toe shuffle, and it’s Heav… De… the eyepatch guy. With two cups of shitty beer from the keg on the other side of the room, one in each hand. And he’s smiling, and his teeth are disgusting, and while Jeremy’s staring all wide-eyed (like a dipshit) it takes him a very long time to realize that the eyepatch guy is trying to hand him one of the full cups, and he mostly notices because he eventually gives up and just slots it into his empty one.

Then he cracks another, slightly different smile. “I cannae be that ugly, can I?”

Jesus christ, he sounds like a goddamn leprechaun. Jeremy chokes out a laugh into his newly-refilled beer cup, and unceremoniously dumps the darts onto a weird side table that’s just kind of sitting there in the middle of the room, like most of the furniture in here is kind of doing. “No, I just—sorry, pal. This place is throwing me all off.”

“Mm, sure it is,” with a glint in his eye that seems to instantly settle into the back of his skull. There’s just the faintest trace of a slur in his voice—it would definitely track if he’s already kind of drunk.

Honestly, Jeremy’s not flying the straightest right now either, and he wonders if that’s why eyepatch guy’s staring at his cup of beer—just watching, waving his own around like he’s not gonna drink from it until—oh wait.

“And thanks for the refill, pal.”

“Ah, love to hear it.” He pulls out a third version of the same smirk and Jeremy wonders what his face looks like right now, and decides it’s probably something really stupid. “You looked like a kicked bloody puppy all alone over here. Thought it was the least I could do.”

Jeremy laughs at this. It’s not funny. He figures maybe he should shake a hand or something, whatever people do at this kind of thing, but his palms feel really sweaty and he feels like he’s done enough to ruin this first impression anyway. “I’m, uh. I’m Jeremy.” Wait. “Wait. I don’t think we’re supposed to say our names. Wait, pretend I didn’t say that.”

And he just watches. Beer to his lips. Smirk number four. Jesus christ, just bring out some popcorn at this point.

“Um, I’m Scout, is what I meant to say. And I’m… gonna do that, I guess. Scout, I mean.”

“Name’s Tavish,” he says, and he sure lets that one sit for a while. “But I’m the Demolitions Man. Demoman for short, and some of the lads over there already started callin’ me Demo.”

“So… like, bombs ‘n shit?”

“Aye. Pretty much.”

“Cool.” And then what the fuck else is there to say? “So… what’s up?”

Good one, Jer, top-notch. Hall of fame performance. Jesus christ.

Smirk number five, and it finally tapers out as Demo thinks for a second, and eventually comes up with: “Darts?”

God, he was hoping he wouldn’t ask that. “Hell yeah, brother.”

… Demoman stares at him. He places three darts in his hand… then awkwardly lowers himself to the ground, picks up another couple, and adds those to the stack.

Smooth. Suave. Good thing he doesn’t look like a fucking idiot or anything, because that would be really embarrassing.

They awkwardly stare at each other for a couple more seconds before Demoman says, slowly: “You start?” in a way that definitely says ‘I have no fucking idea how to play darts’, and that’s okay, because this game sucks anyway. Scout nods and mumbles something stupid, and he goes and leans against the back of the couch and squinches one eye shut even though he know that probably makes his aim a lot worse—and he fires three stinkers, right in a row, two of which land in the wall above and below the board, and one perfectly strikes just the rim.

At least Demo follows his lead, and he sucks too. That makes him feel a little better.

On his way back the second time, Scout takes a little longer to pick up his darts and says: “Why’d you come over here?”

“What?”

“Well, you guys seemed like you were having a great time in that little jerkoff circle around the pool table.”

“Someone’s jealous.” Demo waits for a response, and Jeremy doesn’t give him one, because he doesn’t want to. “I like to mingle. Get around, get to know.” He throws a 4 and a 3, and the third dart misses the board and embeds itself in the wall underneath—he’s real bad. “And ye looked so sad moping over here with your empty cup and your… you know.”

He brushes the black eye and instantly regrets it, and Tav… Demoman nods. “I bruise easy,” he mumbles.

No response. What’s this guy’s goddamn deal?

God, Jeremy fucking hates that sense of… what’s the word? Guilt? Feeling bad-ness? Radiating off him. “If you’d given me a couple more minutes, I woulda gotten this party goin’.” God. Dipshit. He misses the bullseye three times, one after the other, gets like a 9 or something, he doesn’t really give a shit. “Brother, I swear to god, I’m all off my game tonight.”

Game as in game, but maybe it’s less embarrassing if he’s talking about darts.

“I believe ye.”

“I dunno. Somethin’ about this place, man. It’s killin’ me.” Pauses to see if he’s gonna get interrupted, and gets nothing, so he goes on. “Like, I kept tryin’ to say hi to some of the loonies during the meet-‘n-greet earlier—couldn’t get out ten words to most of ‘em before they started turning around, like, I’m-gonna-crush-your-face-with-my-bare-hands fuckin’ death stare, like brother, what do you want from me?” Demo’s squinting, his tongue barely poking out over his bottom lip, and Jeremy watches three darts in a row sail directly into the wall. “You suck at this, man.”

“I have one eye,” he says, without missing a beat, and oh yeah, that’s kind of awkward.

“Oh, yeah… your death perception, or somethin’?”

“Close enough.”

“Anyway.” Just go ahead and skate past that one. “So we kinda moved things in here—miserable excuse for a rec room by the way, the one I had when I went to juvie had more to do—and I kind of assumed, like, there’d be some people around the pool table, a couple guys throwin’ darts, and—you know, whatever else… people do.” He dries up the last few drops in his cup and grimaces. “But I forgot,” he says, “that old guys just frickin’—just love pool. And the old guys that don’t, love leaving fun places and going to do something boring in their rooms instead.”

“Why didn’t you just go over?” he interrupts, and frankly Jeremy is shocked he’s still listening at this point, and he can almost feel his voice rattling around in his head, and gee maybe it’s best he doesn’t get another refill.

Pity. That’s the word. It’s pity.

“‘Cause—‘cause I’d already staked my territory, y’know? And I didn’t wanna be this little pussy showin’ up after everybody’s already settled in, just… crawling back.”

“So your solution was to stand sadly in the corner and look—“

“Like a dipshit.” He crosses his arms and leans against the wall, since it looks like they’re not really playing darts anymore. “I know.”

Out comes the ugliest snort Jeremy’s ever heard in his entire life. “Well, I would’ve been nicer, but sure.” Then a few shaky steps forward, then a really, really warm-and-sweaty palm lands on Jeremy’s shoulder, and their fingers brush on the way down. “At least ye got me now.”

He starts to wonder if Demoman’s really doing him that big of a favor, and realizes yes, yes he is. “… Yeah.” Then weakly raising his stack of empty cups: “Cheers, man. To the worst job ever.”

“I dunno if I’d say that.” He pinches his lips together. “To a pretty bad job.”

And they knock their cups together, and Demoman drinks on it. Jeremy pretends to. It sucks.

READ THE REST ON AO3!!!

[a-very-tired-raven]

what do their bedrooms look like (boys of your choice)

Nado: He has a very pleasing room to look at. While the overall colors of his room(walls, bedsheet) are a nice sky blue and grey, he has many models of air planes, storm chasing vehicles, and race cars that give a nice vibrant contrast. Not to mention a modest baseball hat and jersey collection donning one wall. He has a regular sized closet.

His room is very neat and organized, saved for a couple playing cards scattered between his model shelf and work desk, a couple pencils and pens left out, a trashcan filled with rejected sketches, and spare model parts laying around.

Also..his bed sheets have clouds on them, the bedframe having engraved stars and tornados, and a signed baseball bat in the corner next to his bed.

Beats: His room is a contrast between being both retro and vintage themed. His room is rather big, as he needs space to relax and practice cordeo when he doesn't want to go to the studio.

Under his bed, and stretching out underneath his desk and tables, he has a very large black rug. It has the same colored shape patterns on it you'd see at old skating rinks. He has numerous vinyl records, tour posters, and glass frames of albums on his wall of his favorite musicians(two of those including two of tangos biggest hitting songs.) He has a huge closet.

In the corner, he has a large bean bag. Next to it, he has a vintage vinyl record table, a very very old radio(both with their own tables.), and a big shelf with a cd player, CDs, and a whiteboard.

His walls are a weird grey green color that fits oddly nice, and he has a full length mirror behind his door.

Boxer: He doesn't have a very big room. It's not small, but it's just big enough to his liking. He has a smaller bed, not too big, and the kind that has shelves underneath as the bedframe. It has a red comforter with a basic pirate design printed all over. The walls are brick, with a smooth floor the same as gym floors. He has a black mat directly in the center of his room, with a punching bag. There's a rack with three hooks right above his bed that he keeps his three hats on.

He has a dart board on the back of his door, weights in the corner of his room, and very very small shelves with vintage comic books. On the bottom of his shelf, is pre-assembled models of two helicopters, a train, and a pirate ship. He also has a couple figures of his favorite heroes made of paperclips that he paid gen to make him. He doesn't have a closet, but does have a very small chest at the foot of his bed and a mini fridge.

Next to his bed he has the skinniest nightstand you'll ever see, with a family photo, and a small box with a ring collection, and a silver watch dead center. His is the only room here without a window

Sap: Sap has a very cozy room. The walls are a lovely maple color, and his floors wooden with a red stain. He has a small walkway from the door to his bed made of carpet.

He has a small closet, though instead of hanging his clothes up, he keeps them in a wooden chest that's inside his closet. Because of this, his closet is pretty empty actually, save for a trashcan, and a suite and hat that's hung up for special occasions.

He has one desk in his room, that's actually pretty big. It has a computer modled from the 2010's, a vintage radio, a stack of journals, a cup holding pens and pencils, and a very very very old rubix cube he got from his Alphys. He only has three things in his walls. A mirror above his nightstand, a huge world map above his bed, and a dart board all alone on his wall across from his bed.

And lastly, he has a cute nightstand next to his bed. It has a photo of him and his brother, a photo of his undyne, a beautiful pocket knife his undyne gave him, and a pack of playing cards in the one drawer that's in it.

Patch: His room is the biggest mix between a hippie vibe and a clinic. He has a hammock for a bed, to which he sleeps with a patchwork blanket. He has a metal desk, with numerous lab equipment, sharped pencils, and notebooks laid across.

On the wall behind his door, he has a bookshelf filled with books, photo albums, CDs, and wood carvings. Next to it, is a huge circular window with a ledge you can sit on. Right next to his hammock is a small bin filled with knitting tools, and he has numerous cross-stitched fabrics on his walls. He also has a huge cage for his pet rats.