#my frog photos are gonna be NEXT LEVEL

[fresh-frogs]

Spring is here :3

[aluminumneedles]

The Great Knitted Christmas Gifts Bonanza of 2024

(Working title)

Besties and beloved mutuals, welcome to the chaos.

This will be wacky. Zany. Incredibly boring at times and possibly excessively dramatic for no reason at all except my (and hopefully your) amusement. We will laugh! I will cry! We will perhaps commiserate over things and also I will aggravate my carpal tunnel! I will ask for advice on things I don't know how to do! I will make polls because audience participation is enrichment for me! Good shit good shit let's get started

At the time of writing it is September 18, 2024, also known as 98 days before Christmas Eve, which will heretofore be known as The Deadline™️. I have, at present, four family members for whom I am making gifts. Now you may be thinking "Kay, that's only four people. That does not warrant a big post." But I'm making one anyway so here we goooo

PERSON #1

Mom. I already decided on my mom's gift, she's getting a shawl. It's my first shawl and I'm kinda geeked about it. It's the Cosmos Textured Knit Wrap from Mama in a Stitch

(photo taken from Mama in a Stitch's website I hope that's ok??)

Yarn is Red Heart worsted weight acrylic in Royal. Now here's the situation: I haven't made a wearable with acrylic yarn in awhile and I wasn't a huge fan of how it felt last time. But I know people do it literally every day, so: when the time comes I will be soliciting advice on how to make it soft and comfy. Plus I hate blocking and I'm gonna have to block this so yay growth!!

PERSON #2

My sister. Adorable, likes a pastel, super long hair, so I was thinking...scrunchies? And then I was thinking scrunchies are not necessarily on the level of gift I was aiming for so I thought...scrunchies + matching leg warmers (babydoll goes to the gym sometimes so i thought it would be cute)? And then. AND THEN. Was scrolling Pinterest instead of sleeping and I found these!!!

Now there are pros and cons

Pros:

I have been wanting to knit lace

I have been wanting to knit socks

Cons:

I have no experience knitting lace or socks

Oh well f*ck it we ball! Will still try to match the scrunchies to the socks. Send thoughts/prayers/advice/yarn recs, because idk what I am doingggg

PERSON #3

My brother. So, at the first of the year I started knitting a blanket kind of just because--I really liked the pattern and I wanted the feeling of starting something new in the new year. In April I decided it would be a gift for my boyfriend at the time, in May it became too hot to knit with wool, and in July the relationship ended. My brother has expressed interest in a blanket from the same pattern and has offered to take this one off my hands. I'm about 3/4 of the way done. Should be an easy gift, right? Maybe I'll throw in a matching pillow?

However, I once promised to make him this sweater:

(image snagged from the MomentsinTwine Etsy shop)

I bought the pattern, I bought the yarn, and I never delivered. (I started it and frogged it twice because my gauge was so so off.)

So uhhh PLEASE do the poll I need help deciding. Yarn would probably be a golden yellow wool blend, because that is the color he wanted 3 years ago and if I ask for an updated color choice he'll know what I'm working on 😭

PERSON #4

My dad.

Y'all.

I have no idea what to do for this man. He is a very classic "I don't want anything" person, and I am a classic "Must. Give. Gift." person. So already, times are tough!! What am I supposed to knit this man???

So I was thinking slippers-- I found a pattern for Woodland Loafers on Ravelry (pattern by Claire Slade) and I thought they were adorable. But then I was thinking why not make a whole, like, cozy care package? So I thought slippers, mug rug + mug cozy, maybe something else? He likes music, he likes to relax and watch his lil shows, he likes M*rvel?? Open to so many suggestions babes.

So...yeah. That's the show. I'll update as I go along, and if you're ever curious about how things are going or want to bully me about not making progress, please nudge me!! Sorry this was so long okay bye

[enigma-absolute]

when u get this u have to answer with 5 things u like about yourself, publicly. then, send this ask to 10 of your favorite mutuals (non-negotiable, positivity is cool!)

Both you and @choasuqeen had sent me this at roughly the same time, so I guess I’m gonna have to answer this with ten things instead, which is fine!

I was able to cut, sew and stitch on a collar on to my Steve shirt in time to wear it out to my local convention with Blue in hand! Here's one of many photos!

2. Still can't believe I'm saying this, but I managed to rope in three friends to help me sing a cover of 'The Rainbow Connection' for a friend's belated birthday present. I genuinely still listen to it because... wow. It genuinely made both my friend and I tear up when we listened to it together over discord.

(And honestly, we could all do with a bigger choir together...)

3. I'm actually kinda proud of how far my art's come since I started keeping sketchbooks. Looking at the shelf on my right from 2019 to now (though I started in 2013), it's nuts how much I've drawn in those years.

4. On the topic of sewing and sketchbooks, I'm actually kinda surprised I still have bookbound my own sketchbooks, and now they sit in wait to be used someday, ready and waiting in their drawers until I choose the next to go ham with.

5. ...oh my god I still can't fully grasp the weight of having written my show's complete pilot episode, complete since last year for Honours. I know I usually talk and think about it in a very light manner, but dude! I have LORE for that story in SEVERAL notebooks, building and retconning and rewriting as I've gone. I did that??? I DID that?????!!!!!

6. If I really like someone international and online (PLATONICALLY), I'm the kind of woman to mail them physical gifts. The fact that I've sent so much mail and have a minor hoarde of envelopes and sealing wax should say something. This only comes at a certain level of closeness though, since, well, of course. You don't go exchanging physically addresses that easily.

7. Something I hadn’t noticed myself until someone had pointed it out to me is that I’m very outwardly silly in front of my friends. And why shouldn’t I be, I love it! I love that I can say or do something that can make my friends laugh; that I have the lack of care to just do a family guy death pose in a video games shop, get a lab coat for a Beaker Bit, or even have the dumbest grin and cackle while everyone else is done at another dad joke I can think of on the spot.

8. It’s hard to believe it now, but me ten years ago on this hellsite didn’t really have two cares about fashion aside from emulating her idol at the time. Now? I’ve developed some tastes and aesthetics, and while I still have a way to keep growing, I’ve found multiple styles and dream outfits and even outfits I own that not only work in comfort, but also style. Velvet green flared pants? Gold jeans? Bright blue overcoat? Vests? YES.

9. Now that I think about it, I’m… actually kind of impressed with my range of voice acting and impressions? Yes it’s very silly and often for the bit, but I’ve had people compliment my Kermit the Frog voice before, and even if I can’t reach the octave Columbo is at, I can still do the vibes.

10. This is off the back of having a psychology appointment recently, but... I'm kinda proud of how far I've come, honestly. From a lost and lonely and scared girl stuck in NZ to someone about to get a teacher's aide job (hopefully, pray for me y'all!) at her old school's sister school for kids on the spectrum - WITH a Bachelor's and Honours in Animation. In Australia. Who would've thought? I sure didn't. But now I'm here.

[robinofgothamcity]

♡ "the next time i see you, it'll be in hell" / "you're the best thing that's ever happened to me"

♡ pairing: connor kent (superboy/RotS) x fem! reader

♡ note: not checked for grammar or spelling mistakes / i was listening to 'esa hembra es mala' by gloria trevi so if you do speak spanish, that's a song rec while you read this fic. if you don't, listen to 'hermit the frog' by marina instead!

"connor please, you're giving ME a headache and it's only seven in the morning," his friend, jake, spoke as his hands covered his face, "wait, shut up, who is that?" connor asked, seeing you with a few friends.

jake sighed, "that's ( your name )," he spoke softly, "she's friends with everyone here. some like her, some can't stand her. it all depends on how she feels with you." you were schools resident 'popular' girl and had a bit of a following among your class.

"i'm gonna go talk to her," connor said. his friends eyes widened, "connor no!" jake screamed, grabbing his friend and pulling him back, "she's a complete bitch, don't do it!" jake exclaimed as he could tell that everything he was saying was going over connor's head.

you fixed the newspaper that had superboy's face plastered on the cover, "i just think that superboy could beat robin if i'm being honest. PLUS he's attractive because you can actually see his face," the day old conversation between you and your friends about who was the better sidekick struck up again and anyone who knew you knew how much you adored superboy.

"hey ladies," you turned to look at the boy, confused on who he was as you had never seen him around school. you gave him a small smile, "uh, hi?" you asked, "do i know you?"

the boy who approached you was wearing sunglasses which threw you off considering your school didn't allow anyone to wear them inside the building. you looked to his other friend, recognizing him as someone you had in your Calc class.

"just wanted to introduce myself, i'm connor," he said, giving you a sly smirk. you shook his hand, half awkwardly, "please i'm ( your name )," you replied as you saw the way connor gave jake a wink, "is there something you wanted or?" you asked again, not knowing why he was still here.

"no, just wanted to say hi to my future girlfriend," you let out a laugh, catching everyone off guard, "please, as if," you replied as you grabbed your friends and walked away, kind of taken back by the new boy.

"he was kinda cute," one of your friends said as you rolled your eyes, "uh, not really? kinda weird if you ask me," you replied, looking down at the newspaper, "well, i'm going to class, see ya," you said, walked towards your AP Lit class.

you sat down in the front, immediately talking to the friends you had in the class. it wasn't even five minutes later when connor entered the class, immediately smirking when he saw you. you growled, instantly annoyed at his expression.

"ah, so you've met the resident new boy?" you nodded as your friend giggled, "he's really nice. made more than a friends already," she said as you shrugged, "okay and? he had a lot of nerve coming up to me and telling me i'd be his future girlfriend," you replied.

she let out a belting laugh, "yeah, he told meghan from fifth period the same thing," you saw connor walking up to your desk and before he could make himself comfortable next to you, you instantly put your leg on the chair, "don't even think about it," you said, not even looking at him, "the desk in the back is available though," you smirked as you watched your teacher roll her eyes at your attitude.

connor bent down to your level, "don't gotta be so hostile, sweetheart, i know you like me," he whispered before getting up and leaving.

your friend, looked at you, laughing at disbelief at both of your attitudes. you rolled your eyes, trying to pay attention to the discussion as you could feel connor's eyes on you almost the entire time.

+

throughout the weeks and going into months, your relationship with connor didn't change. he arguably became the biggest pain your ass from the beginning of the day until the final bell rang. he managed to befriend a few of your friends which meant that you were around him at times.

you sipped your coffee as you were reading the newest article on superboy, "ah, ah, ah, what do we have here?" connor asked, taking the magazine from your hand, "superboy fan, huh?" he scanned the cover, a smug smirk coming onto his face as you snatched the magazine back.

"yeah, someone who's actually useful in life," you replied as he walked with you to your locker. he had never saw the inside of it and taken back by the amount of photos you had....of him, "aww, don't be that way, sweetheart! maybe one day superboy will actually give you a chance," he joked.

your annoyance instantly shot up as you slammed your locker and walking away, "see ya later sweetie!" he screamed. you stopped in the middle of the hall and flicked him off, "the next time i'll see you, it'll be in hell!" you yelled, storming off to class.

you walked into class, sitting down as your friend, henry, walked up to you, "hey babe," he said, a warm feeling crossing your face at the term of endearment, "hey henry, what're you up to?" you asked, seeing him looking at you, a bit nervously now.

"i was wondering if you were free-," before henry could say anything else, connor walked up behind him and tapping him on the shoulder. he had heard the conversation between the two of you and knew exactly where it was heading, "uh, she's not interested, better luck next time," connor stated, surprising henry with his sudden angry attitude.

henry knowing he didn't want to risk the chance of getting his ass kicked walked away from the conversation as you stared at connor with rage in your eyes, "what do you want?" you seethed as you saw connor's smirk playing on his face, "you weren't actually entertaining him, were you?" he asked in disbelief, "i literally hate you with every ounce of my being," you blurted, finally sick of connor's attitude.

his mouth hung open as you got up from the desk, "do me a favor and PLEASE leave me alone, that's all i ask," you stated as you walked out of class and deciding to ditch for the rest of the day.

"told you she was gonna blow up," jake informed as he sat down in his seat, connor still standing in place, taking in everything you had said. he knew he was being a bit of an ass but he didn't know you were that angry with him.

connor knew he had to make this up. he genuinely did like you and he didn't want to ruin his chances with you because of his shitty attitude. throughout the class period, he picked his brain for ideas until sirens went off in his head.

SUPERBOY.

he knew you were practically in love with his alter ego and he knew he could use superboy as a way to persuade you into giving him another chance. that is if he played his cards right.

+

you reluctantly showed up the next day, trying to avoid connor as best as you could. you were talking with a few friends, gossiping about the fight that superboy and robin had against a few low level villains in metropolis last night.

"hey, look at connor," jake whispered, seeing his friend practically beat up. you were taken back by his appearance as he had a few bruises on his arms and legs, "are you okay?" jake asked connor.

connor shook his head slowly, his body still recovering from the night before, "what were yall talking about?" he asked, trying to redirect the conversation. everyone looked to you, "someone was gushing about superboy, so please, if you'd continue," meghan said playfully.

"oh shut up, like you don't have robin posters all over your room," you retorted as you watched connor struggling to stay upright, "all i'm saying is that superboy remains the best sidekick there is. did you see the way he walked out of that fight scratchless and look at robin, he nearly died," you continued.

meghan instantly retorted as you noticed how eerily silent connor had became. you turned over to him, about to say something sarcastic towards him until he flopped on top of you, passing out completely. you looked down at him, "connor?" you whispered, "hey connor, wake up," you whispered, shaking him a bit.

"take him to the nurse!" jake yelled at you as you grabbed connor by the arm and pulling him against you, "fuck off, he's heavy as hell," you breathed, trying to steady his weight against you before walking slowly towards the nurse.

you made the walk to the nurse but by the time you made it, connor had woken up, "don't take me to the nurse, please," he whispered, "what are you talking about?" you exclaimed, "you clearly aren't okay and you don't look okay either," you added on.

he steered the two of you to the family bathroom and grabbed the first aid kit, "clean me up here, i really don't want to be questioned right now," he said, nothing cocky or playful in his voice. you sat him on the toilet, bending down to clean his face first, "hey, is everything okay....you know at home?" you asked.

he laughed, shaking his head, "these injuries aren't from my guardians if that's what you're wondering. i kinda got into a fight last night," you stared at him confused, "did you lose or something? these injuries look horrible," you replied.

"course i did, just took a nasty beating before i won," he said as he flinched at the rubbing alcohol hitting his arm. you muttered a sorry as you put a band-aid on a few of his cuts, "listen, i wanted to say sorry for acting like a prick," connor muttered a few minutes later.

you were taken back by his apology, "i knew i was being an ass but please don't take this as me joking but you're actually the best thing that's happened to me since i transferred," you remained silent, not knowing to respond as you put the last band-aid on his knee.

"and if i could have a second chance, that would be super dope, ya know?" he tried to say without sounding nervous, "you better not be joking, kent," you threatened, putting your finger on his chest and shoving him a bit.

connor flinched back in pain as you muttered a sorry, "i'm not joking, i'd really like to take you out for coffee sometime," he asked as he grabbed your hand and gave it a kiss. you agreed as you responded with a kiss on his cheek, "also, i had this lying around my room and figured you'd like it more than i would," he dug into his backpack and gave you a magazine.

your eyes widen seeing what it was. it was the magazine that superboy first appeared in and you had analyzed a few signatures of his to know that it was his signature on the front, "did superboy sign this?" you practically tried to contain your excitement as you ran your finger over the sharpie.

connor nodded, "i met him one time after he saved a few people in metropolis last year and got him to sign the magazine. i figured since you like hm a lot more than i do, you'd take care of it better than i would," overwhelmed with excitement, you grabbed connor by the neck and kissed him.

connor was taken back by the sudden kiss but awkwardly responded with another kiss as you held the magazine close to your chest, "i can't thank you enough for this connor," you whispered, your lips still on his a bit. he chuckled, "just meet me at the coffee shop near the school and that'll suffice," he replied, giving you another kiss before slowly getting up.

"now lets get to our second period before we get marked truant again," he grabbed your hand and held it as softly as possible, "you know how much shit our friends are gonna give us, right?" you said, laughing a bit. connor nodded, "nothing we can't handle," he replied as he squeezed your hand in reassurance.

[ohblackdiamond]

little t&a (paul/gene, nc-17) (part 12 of 29)

part 1   part 2   part 3   part 4   part 5   part 6   part 7   part 8   part 9   part 10   part 11   part 12   part 13   part 14   part 15   part 16   part 17   part 18   part 19   part 20   part 21  part 22   part 23   part 24    part 25   part 26   part 27   part 28   part 29 Four weeks before KISS gets back on tour, Gene discovers that Paul’s been cursed by a groupie. For the sake of KISS’ finances, Paul’s comfort levels, and Gene’s libido, this crisis must be resolved. Sexswap fic. In this chapter: Ace and Peter discuss Paul’s crisis, with and without him, and Paul gives Gene some lessons.

            Peter and Ace stuck around for a couple hours. Long enough that Paul heated up the leftover pizza for them, and Gene ended up getting two more delivered, while the forgotten remains of both their Dairy Queen milkshakes just melted in Paul’s car. Paul confessed to nearly everything, from when Gene had first come over to the call to Steve Rubell’s secretary.

           Peter had been pretty loath to talk about witchcraft and ways to alleviate the curse at any real length. It seemed to make him as queasy as it did Gene. Ace, on the other hand, perused Paul’s occult books for awhile, and offered to scour some old hippie contacts and see if they still knew any witches.

           “Or Suzie. But she would’ve told you herself if she knew anyone good.” Ace had shrugged, devouring another slice of pizza. “Thing is… thing is, you’re better off going to the source.  You just don’t wanna mess with it yourself if you don’t have to. You got really fucked up. You don’t wanna risk making it any worse, getting someone else to try to fix it.”

           “You think someone might turn me into a frog on accident?”

           Ace had laughed.

          “We could get you a cute costume that way. What d’you think, Geno?”

          “We could get him a cute costume now.”

          “Bet you already have.”

          Paul’s face went red. Ace winked.

          “But… really, thing is, this kind of shit isn’t your basic curse.”

          “I didn’t know there was such a thing.”

          “Y’know, bad luck for a couple months, bad acne, psoriasis, that kinda curse.” Ace ran a thumb across his own pockmarked cheek, then added, unnecessarily, “I’ve had this since I landed on Earth, it ain’t a curse—but that’s about all most witches could’ve done to you.”

          “Anybody ever do anything to you, Ace?” Paul asked. It was a pretty fair question, Gene felt like. Ace used to run with a weird crowd. Still did. But Ace shook his head.

          “Nah. Well, Suzie told me KISS’d never get a number-one single here. But that was more of a prediction—”

          “She’s wrong.” Gene dismissed her out of hand. Across from him, sitting on the coffee table, Peter nodded in agreement. Ace shrugged.

          “What I mean is, it could take awhile to fix, and that’s if she wants to fix it.”

          “Ace, we’re not canceling the tour.”

          “’M not saying cancel.” Ace gnawed heavily on his lip. Gene could tell he was just about to ask Paul for a beer. “But how far back do you think we could push it? Couple months?”

          “We couldn’t push it back any without Bill wanting a reason why,” Gene said flatly.

          “So let’s give him a reason why.” Ace exhaled. “I’ll… y’know, I never did have a big honeymoon with Jeanette. I could tell him I wanted three weeks for that.”

          “That’s only three weeks—”

           “Yeah, but…” Ace reached for the Tab Peter had been drinking out of, finishing it off with a gulp. “It’s about buying time. We could keep on finding excuses if we had to.”

           “I don’t want you to have to,” Paul said. “I don’t want to fuck things up for everybody.”

           The silence lingered for several moments. No one said a word to argue his point. Paul’s gaze lowered to one of the cardboard pizza boxes, and, next to it, the box of Gene’s Studio 54 clothes. Finally, Peter spoke.

           “You can’t help it, Paulie. We’re gonna do what we can.” He rubbed his arm. “Could probably get my doctor to say I’ve gotta take off another month if I have to.”

           “Don’t say anything yet.”

           “I won’t. We won’t.” Peter hesitated. “Hey, you want us coming to 54 with you tonight?”

           Ace perked up.

           “That’d help. Four guys looking for the same girl. One of us could be in the basement, one in the VIP lounge upstairs—”

           “You’d just be fucking in the basement,” Paul accused dryly.

           “It’s good for running into people. Groupies all over there. Besides, Steve’s bunch is just as loaded as he is. They may not remember what girl you wanted.”

           Ace had a point. Gene mulled it over, glancing at Paul, who nodded, before he answered.

           “Yeah, okay. But not all in the same limo.”

           “Aw, c’mon! Why not?”

           “It’d attract too much attention. Everyone would be wondering where Paul was.”

           “Me and Pete’ll go together. We’ll get there later so it’s not as obvious.” Ace took another slice of pizza. “Remind me again, yeah? Brown hair, freckles, short?”

           “Yeah, that’s it.”

           “Carol… Carol Johnson?”

           “Jensen.”

           “Gotcha.” Ace shook his head. “God, Paulie, you gotta start making photo albums like Gene. You get better descriptions outta those police sketch artists.”

--

            The rest of the afternoon was placid enough. Paul and Gene lazed around after Ace and Peter left. Gene turned on the T.V. and they watched The Edge of Night (how the hell that soap was still on, Gene didn’t know), Paul flopping next to him with his legs hanging over the couch. There was something comfortable about it. Paul only got up once the show’s credits streamed down the screen, turning it off.

           “You don’t want to watch the news?”

           “No. We’d still have half an hour. Besides, I wanted to show you something. C’mon.”

           Gene followed him out of the living room, down the stairs to the den. He’d been there before, sure, but Paul had never really given him a house tour. KISS’ gold records hung from the wood-paneled walls, along with an assortment of posters and memorabilia from their earlier tours. All stuff Gene had at home himself—if anything, Gene had a lot more of it—but Paul didn’t acknowledge it, heading for three bookshelves packed with records.

           “Back when I was in high school,” he said, “I used to try to buy one album every couple of weeks. I’d have to get the cut-outs.”

           “Yeah, I know.”

           “So once we got big, I decided I’d get every record I ever wanted.” Paul grinned a little ruefully. “But I didn’t really think it through, so this is what I ended up with.”

           “Uh-huh.” Gene tugged out a copy of Alvin and the Chipmunks’ “Witch Doctor.” “I think that goes without saying.”

           “C’mon, I was a kid when that came out.”

           “Do you have ‘Flying Purple People Eater,’ too?”

           “Don’t laugh, I might.” Paul started thumbing through the shelves. Gene almost told him not to go looking for it, but instead of the Sheb Wooley single, Paul took out a copy of Rod Stewart’s latest offering, last year’s A Night on the Town. Gene looked at it quizzically.

            “What’s this for?”

           “Good luck.” Paul slid the record out of its sleeve and handed it to Gene. “Put it on.”

           Gene put it on. The vinyl crackled appreciably. Last year’s hit on that first track. Rod Stewart could pair filthy lyrics with a number-one hit, while KISS was stuck going the clean ballad route just to hit the top ten.

           “‘Tonight’s the Night’?” Oh. That made sense. Well, it made some sense. Gene was getting the impression Paul might not have thought his selection through, as Rod started to gravel-voice his way into getting a virgin into bed. “Hoping for a pretty exciting evening, aren’t you?”

           “Not—Gene, I meant we’d find the girl.” Paul tapped Gene’s shoulder with the album jacket. “It’s positive thinking. Norman Vincent Peale and all that.”

           Gene grinned.

           “Pretty raunchy. I thought you’d pick a cleaner pick-me-up.”

           “Whatever, I like it.” Paul propped the jacket against the record player. His face was faintly flushed. “The whole album’s pretty good.”

           “I know. I have it.” Gene listened to the saxophone’s croon before cutting in again. “You really just wanted me to see your record collection?”

           “No. Not exactly.” Paul shifted. “Look, I know you don’t really go to the discos much.”

           “So? Paul, I don’t mind doing it for you.”

           “Yeah, but… shit, I don’t know. You got bored last night.”

           “I didn’t get bored. I had a pretty good view.”

           Paul rolled his eyes.

           “There’s not a lot to do at 54 besides get wasted and dance. And neither of us is going to get wasted.”

           That was true of any club, and most of why he didn’t go. He could get laid just as easily in his own neighborhood, without the hassle of dressing up and schmoozing.

           “It’s fine. Maybe I’ll bring a book.”

           “Gene.” Paul had his tongue peeking slightly past his teeth. Nervous. “I wanna teach you to dance.”

           “What for?”

           “So you’ll have something to do. That way, we don’t look like creeps waiting around.” The first track was edging towards the halfway point. Paul took his hand. “What do you say?”

           “Don’t you want something a little faster?”

           “No. This is good.” Paul took Gene’s other arm, positioning his hand on his shoulder. “You can dance to anything, if you’ve got rhythm.”

           “You’re leading.”

           “Damn right.” Paul had his other hand on his waist already, was urging him forward with that hand. Gene took an obedient, offbeat step, and Paul sighed but stepped back in time with Gene instead of with the beat. A couple more steps and Paul had them back on track again, although Gene felt about as awkward as he had during senior prom ten years prior. “It’s mirroring, mostly. Mirroring and—getting a feel for your partner, what they can do.”

           “A feel, huh?”

           “Getting a feel, not copping one.” Paul pursed his lips in consideration. “Don’t watch your feet so much. Keep it up here.”

           “When did you start dancing?”

           “I dunno. I always wanted to.” He was starting to get more complicated than the sort of forward-back motion that was all Gene could readily accomplish. Shifting more than his feet around. Had he been doing that from the beginning? Paul’s grip on him was more relaxed than the reverse, that much was definite. “Just one of those stupid things. I used to watch all those variety shows when I was a kid, and think, ‘hey, I could do that.’ Dance, sing�� puppeteer…” Paul snorted, and dropped his arm from Gene’s waist. Gene almost let go entirely, but then Paul squeezed his hand, raising it up. Gene gave him a blank look in return, before realizing, several beats too late, that Paul had been trying to get him into a spin.

           “Puppeteer?”

           “Howdy Doody’s a—formative influence—”

           “Uh-huh.” The mildly disappointed expression on Paul’s face made him a little concerned, and he added, “Try that again, I wasn’t ready.”

           Paul lifted his arm again. Gene made the spin, his movements stilted, feeling a bit stupid for all of it until he saw Paul start to grin.

           “Maybe we should try it like this.”

           “Like what?”

          Rod had just about made it with the girl, the moaned-out French at the end of the track something Gene could only guess at. Paul just took him by both hands.

          “A little less formal, right? Hang on.” Paul let go, hurrying back to the record player. Gene watched him take the vinyl off and stuff it back into the sleeve and jacket, before rummaging around the shelves again. He pulled out another record, though this time he didn’t show Gene the jacket before putting it on. Not that it mattered. Gene recognized the harmonies anyway, well before Paul made his way back to where he was standing. Crosby, Stills, Nash, and Young’s Deja Vu.

          “Figured we could go way back.” Paul took his hands again as the record played, his steps faster, more energetic. Gene didn’t really think the band had meant for anyone to dance to their stuff. He kept up awkwardly at first, but something about how enthusiastic Paul was, how much he put into every move, how he tried to fit the steps to the songs, buoyed him. His curls would bounce a bit depending on the tempo. It was almost cute to watch. Almost infectious. Gene hesitated before trying to get Paul into a turn himself, getting a gratified look and an eager spin in return. He was starting to get it, a bit, the way just a shift or a squeeze of the hand was enough of a signal of where to turn or where he was headed. Like that sense he’d get, that sense they’d all get, if one of the guys was having an off night and they needed to cover during a concert. It was warm, intuitive.

          Paul was breathing a little heavily by the time they’d gone through the first few tracks, hands sweaty. Gene tried to get him into one more spin as the record buzzed. He caught Paul’s shoulder with his free hand while he was halfway through, his back towards Gene’s. He wasn’t sure why he’d done it. Paul stopped there, turning to look at Gene, questioning.

          “Something wrong?”

          “No. I’m fine.” Gene shifted forward—a bad idea; they’d been closer than he realized, and now he was up against him. The melancholic harmonies of “Country Girl” were starting to swell. Gene pursed his suddenly dry lips, feeling stupid, no, feeling absolutely moronic, as he let go of Paul’s hand. “I—I think we better get ready.”

          Paul’s expression drooped only for a moment, like the hesitant flicker of lights just before a power outage. His hand went to his side.

          “Oh. Oh, yeah. Lemme get the record.” He took a step, Gene’s hold on his shoulder slackening to nothing, Gene’s hand faltering down to his own side, and walked over to retrieve the record, the moment fading away before he even lifted the needle.

--

           A few hours later, Peter and Ace were in a limo, grousing. They’d gotten ready for Studio 54 earlier than they’d meant to from sheer antsiness, and now they were reduced to making the driver get them fast food they didn’t even want to kill time.

          Well, Peter didn’t want it, but he was pretty sure Ace would eat his share for him. He was also sure it wasn’t quite enough of a delaying tactic to keep him and Ace from arriving right around when Paul and Gene did, but Ace reassured him he could keep that from happening. Peter sighed, glancing out the window to make sure the driver wasn’t on his way out of the restaurant yet, before speaking again.

          “What do you think about it?”

           Ace raised his head slightly at the question. He had brought a deck of cards and was shuffling them as they waited. Sometimes he’d lift the cards up into a sloppy arc as he riffled through them. He’d been fairly quiet, no real goofing off, not even any drinking, since they’d doubled back to Peter’s, gotten ready for the evening, and scrounged up the limo. Two nights in a row at 54 might’ve been murder on a normal human being, but in his less-sober moments, Peter could convince himself he’d spent the last four years with Jendell’s most questionable export.

           “What do I think about what, Pete?”

           “What we’re gonna do about Paul.”

           “Nothing to do about Paul. Either he gets back to normal or he doesn’t.”

           “I meant the band.” None of them had really wanted to bring it up. Ace had only barely alluded to it when he’d offered to delay the tour with a honeymoon. “If we don’t find that girl, or Paul doesn’t get back to normal, what’s going to happen to the band?”

           “You know what’s going to happen.” Ace sounded more quietly cynical than he had in a long time. “We all know what’s going to happen.”

           “I’m not kicking Paul out of his own fucking band.”

           “I’m not, either. And Gene’d rather get a tongue reduction than hurt Paul like that.” Ace shifted, kicking his heels up to the glass partition between them and the driver, while he kept toying with the deck in his hands. “We’ll all just have to pack it up. If he doesn’t get fixed, KISS is gone.”

           Pack it up. The thought felt like the gum beneath a desk at school. Peter didn’t like thinking about the options. They could all try solo acts—he felt like he had a better shot than the others, given “Beth”… or join up in some other band, but it felt… dirty. It wasn’t like Paul had gotten on drugs or turned into a completely insufferable asshole or blown out his voice. He’d just had something shitty happen to him that they couldn’t—

           “Do you think Bill could spin it? Let’s say… let’s say we don’t tell him everything.” Peter was trying to think. “Let’s say Paul’s fucked off, but hey, we found a replacement that kinda looks like him. A real pretty girl. We got a whole new market. Chicks don’t ever front rock bands—”

           “Petey, we couldn’t keep it up.” Ace gnawed his lip. “Bill’d still wanna know who this girl was. Even if Paul could fool him, we’d still get blown out of the water the minute people started asking questions. We’d need IDs, a passport…”

           “We could get fakes made.”

           “Then what?” Ace shook his head. “Paul’d be living like that guy in The Fugitive. Worse. Having to pretend he really was some random chick in front of the whole damn world… I don’t wanna shoot you down, man, but we’re sunk.”

          Peter groaned.

          “KISS is sunk and Gene gets a girlfriend. Fucking terrible trade-off.”

           “Poor Geno.” Ace laughed. “He might figure it’s worth it, you think?”

           “Nah. Gene likes money more than he likes getting laid.” Peter swallowed. “You think they’ve fucked yet?”

           “C’mon, Paulie’s a lady,” Ace managed, before bursting into those weird, high giggles again. “He won’t give it up that quick. How long did it take you to warm him up to it?”

           “Not too long.”

           Ace held the deck up. Peter shook his head. Shrugging, Ace started trying to cut the deck with one hand, and flip the halves over with his thumb. He only succeeded in spilling most of the deck onto the floorboard and seats. Peter reached over, obediently helping him gather up the cards and handing them back over. Ace winked, taking the stack.

           “What’s on your mind, anyway, Cat?”

           “Nothing.”

           “Bullshit.” Ace said it lightly. “You’re not really worried about whether Gene’s made it with him or not.”

           “God, no.” The thought was more disturbing than it needed to be. “It’s just that I should’ve figured it out from the start.” Peter let out an irritated breath. “Gene only saw him once and figured it out. It took me three times. Paul had to tell me before I—"

           “Hey, you got him, that’s the important thing.”

           “Yeah, but… he wasn’t good at pretending the first time. He called me Pete. And the second time, he kept trying to tell me—”

           “Pete, c’mon, you weren’t expecting him to look like that—”

           “Makes me think I don’t really know him.”

           Ace looked at him almost sadly. He’d stopped fiddling with the deck of cards, setting them on his thigh.

           “You know him better than you think.”

           “You think so?”

           “Positive.” Ace’s head jerked up suddenly. Peter’s gaze followed his, and he saw the beleaguered limo driver heading out of the restaurant, with two sackfuls of barbeque sandwiches, fries, and a couple of sodas. Ace put an unnecessary finger to his lips as the driver opened their door and handed over the sacks. “Hey, man, thanks. Didja get yourself anything?”

           “I shouldn’t eat on the job.”

           “C’mon, I used to drive cabs, I’d eat in there all the time.” Ace cackled, digging awkwardly in his back pocket. “Get some food if you want. Then come back in here. We’ll play some poker before you take us over.”

           “You’re not worried about the time?”

           “Nah. I got the time if you got the money.” He grinned. “Hey, hey, Petey’ll spot you, right?”

           “I ain’t spotting anyone.”

           “Then the best hand gets… aw, hell, I dunno. You beat us three times in a row and we’ll bring you into the disco, you dig?”

           As the driver sidled into the back of the limo, Peter scooted over to give him room. Five minutes later, barbeque sandwich in one hand, a straight in the other, Peter decided they were going to be late after all.

[ichigopanhpff]

BNHA Fic: Blink! Ch. 20

We’ve reach chapter 20! Does anyone really read this thing though? lol

SPOILER ALERT: This is leading up to the Redemption Arc, so there’s a bit of spoiler to the main story here. This one is a much shorter chapter compared to the last one.

Read. Ch. 19 | Masterlist

With November coming to a close, winter was in full swing. There was always something about the cold in Japan that made Ren want to bury her body under a kotatsu and hibernate. She lethargically emerged from the her warm cocoon of her bed to get ready for class. The chill of the air made her shudder aloud and rubbed her arms furiously to stay warm. Putting on her designated “home hoodie,” she grabbed her belongings to wash up downstairs. Even after fully clothed, 1-A’s resident advisor found herself moving much slower than she liked. And her monthly visitor’s cramps did little to help. She saw Asui coming down with half-lidded eyes and yawned aloud.

“I’m sorry, ribbit,” the amphibian girl apologized and rubbed one of her eyes. “Winter is always hard for me.”

“You’re preaching to the choir, Tsuyu-chan,” Ren agreed and proceeded to boil water for some tea. “Would you like some? Maybe it’ll help wake you up.”

Asui slowly nodded and let out another yawn.

Leaning her head on the refrigerator door, the pink-haired girl found herself drifting asleep, only to be rudely woken up by Bakugou.

“If you’re gonna sleep, don’t do it somewhere where people need to grab stuff,” he exasperatingly refuted and pinched her cheek hard to get her to move.

The stinging from the pinch woke her up halfway as the electric kettle turned off automatically. Heaving a heavy sigh, she wobbled over to the other counter and made English Breakfast tea for herself and Asui. Adding a splash of milk and half a spoon of sugar, she stifled a yawn before sipping the hot beverage. She then handed the second cup to the napping frog girl, to which she thanked her for. Heaving a long sigh, she grabbed two pieces of toast and munched on it like a turtle.

Class went by in a blur and Ren managed to halfway wake up just as the day ended. The classroom door to 2-A suddenly slid open and revealed a very excited Ito with something in his hand.

“Everyone! The photos from the festival have been printed!” her classmate announced.

“About time!” one student chimed.

The class crowded over Ito as he opened the album and flipped through until they found the group shot of their class.

“Whoa! We look out of this world!” Tomoe exclaimed.

“I do have to say, the costume team did a wonderful job,” Seri commended. “My dress was so comfortable to move around.”

“And thanks for adding that last minute train to mine,” Ren sighed out. “It was much appreciated.”

“You’re still sensitive ‘bout that?” Tomoe asked with a tone of surprise. “Dude, let it go. Flaunt it.”

“I absolutely refuse to,” the pink-haired girl deadpanned and blushed. “I don’t want it to be bodysuit-gate all over again.”

“Speaking of your costume, Takahiro,” Ito interjected with a sly smile. “Your photo was one of the top three most requested for reprints next to Hadou-senpai’s.”

She blinked stupidly.

“I’m sorry, what now?”

“This one.” He flipped to the page where her photo had the full page spread of a mid-action shot from when she jumped off of the swing. She let out a panicked scream.

“It seems the audience was quite entranced by your wisp character,” Hayasaka remarked, staring at the photo. “Maybe it was a blessing in disguise I injured my ankle and helped backstage instead.”

“Your quirk would’ve made the wisp freakin’ legendary!” she reasoned. “I did what I could while running on 3 hours of sleep and barely remembered half the shit I did!”

“So?”  Akiyama huffed. “ I was on energy drinks and was awake for nearly 36 hours making all the costume adjustments.”

“Well no matter,” Miyake disregarded. “What’s important is the festival was a huge success and we were able to pull off the performance thanks to your help, Takahiro.”

Heading back to 1-A, she found Aizawa with the Big Three and Eri-chan sitting on the couch. She overheard Aizawa saying U.A. was now in charge of her well-being. Before Ren was able to go over to say hi, Togata and Aizawa waved her, Uraraka, Midoriya, Asui and Kirishima out the door to talk.

“It seems like Eri-chan’s parents abandoned her,” their homeroom teacher revealed. “And her closest blood relative is the boss of the Hassaikai, who is currently in a coma. So she has no where to go.”

“You may have heard this from sensei, but her horn is the source of her quirk,” Togata chimed in and tapped the left part of his forehead.

“We heard it shrunk and everything was good though...” Kirishima replied.

“The horn seems to have grown a bit recently,” the third year blond revealed.

“So… we need to make sure “that” doesn’t happen again?” Ochaco asked, thinking back to what happened to Midoriya after Overhaul was taken down with Eri’s quirk.

“That’s why her transfer was U.A. rather than a foster home,” Aizawa summarized. “I’ll be watching over her in the teacher’s lounge to monitor her situation. Hopefully, we can find a way to work out her power.”

“Aizawa-sensei, it seems like you’re taking on a lot of work,” Asui said with a tone of worry.

“This is where, I, friend of Eri-chan and student-on-hiatus, come in!” Togata shouted happily with both hands on hips hero pose.

“We’ll be busy but you can visit her every once in a while,” Aizawa finalized to which those present agreed to.

“If Eri-chan’s mind and body are stable then maybe...” Amajiki clasped a hand on Togata’s shoulder. “The return of the fearless hero could be soon.”

“That’d be nice,” Togata replied with a dry laugh.

“Third years, this is sudden, but can I leave Eri with you for a bit? I have something do.”

“Of course!” Togata enthusiastically agreed.

The first years were asked to return to their dorms to receive some guests. Ren followed them back in and saw the Wild Wild Pussycats talking with the class. She remembered from the report Aizawa gave her they were there at the training camp when the villains attacked. The resident advisor politely greeted and introduced herself to the idol heroes, noticing a small boy bashfully standing with Midoriya.

Talks of their return to the spotlight and the JP Hero Billboard Chart came about; the list of heroes aggregated twice a year based on their level of contribution to society, approval ratings, popularity, etc.

The following night, everyone tuned into the official announcement of the top 10 heroes. As expected, Endeavor was in the number one spot, with Hawks moving up to second. The R.A. glanced over at the bi-hair coloured boy, unflinching and expressionless watching the ceremony. His back almost felt distant from everyone. She wanted to ask how he was feeling about all this, but didn’t want to pry into something that’s not her business.

The next day, everyone was doing their own thing in the dorms. The TV could be heard in the background as several 1-A students hung out in the common area; Ren was huddled on the corner of a couch knitting. Some of the guys were talking and joking around with a few of the girls.

Kirishima, however, was entranced and emotionally invested with how fast their R.A. was going through the yarn, trying to figure out how she was creating something tangible from a thread like magic. Stopping momentarily, she counted her stitches and clicked her tongue. Muttering under her breath, she immediately removed the needle and unraveled a row. The spiky redhead exclaimed loudly as she did it, catching her attention.

“Did something happen?” she looked up and blinked in surprise.

“Gah, you worked so hard at it and you’re taking it apart?!” Kirishima groaned out. “Just leave it!”

“It’ll be uneven if I did. Besides,” she looked down to smooth out the yarn thread before starting again. “One row is nothing. I can remake it in my sleep.”

“What are you making anyway?”

“Something for Eri-chan,” she answered mid-stitch and picked up the rhythm after figuring out where she went wrong. “Christmas is coming up and I figured I’d give this to her as a present.”

“Oh that’s right!” Ashido chimed in. “We should all do something as a class!”

“We can’t exactly go off campus to have a party,” Kaminari lamented and leaned back on the couch across. “Kacchan and Todoroki still have their provisional lessons too.”

“How about we throw a party here after those two take their licensing exam?” Ren suggested and looked up. “As for presents...”

“We can do a Secret Santa!” the pink-skinned girl excitedly proposed.

“Oh, that’s a great idea!” Hagakure agreed and clapped her hands together.

“Looks like we got a plan!” Uraraka eagerly said. “I’m getting excited!”

“Mina-chan, I’ll let you take care of the Secret Santa details then, budget and everything,” Ren directed.

“Roger!” The alien queen saluted with a wink and toothy grin before heading up to her room.

The TV suddenly turned to a breaking news screen, showing part of a city in ruins somewhere in Kyushu with the headline “Endeavor, Number One Hero, Fighting Engineered Nomu.” The camera then pans into a bloodied Endeavor laying on top of rubble. The once vibrant common room fell silent with shocked eyes on the screen. Midoriya grabbed the remote and turned up the volume to hear the newscast. Ren dropped her knitting needles and clasped her hands to her mouth.

Feeling a new presence, those sitting on the couch turned to see a shocked Todoroki staring at the TV. It was like time suddenly slowed down and all the noise faded away from the loud beating of his pulse in his ear. Ren could only look on at the boy with extreme worry.

“Todoroki!” Kirishima called, with Midoriya following right after.

“The scene here, is sadly reminiscent of the nightmare from three months ago...” the caster presented.

The camera zoomed in at the Nomu beginning to walk away, with Endeavor immediately getting back up and rushed the monster with his flames. The scene then cuts to civilians panicking and screaming as they’re trying to escape from the disaster.

“This is society without a symbol of peace!” the live voice over strongly stated.

The main entrance of the dorm bursted open, revealing Aizawa running to them.

“Todoroki...” he panted. “You already saw what’s going on?”

“You’ve got to be kidding me...” the red and white colored haired boy uttered out nervously.

“Stop saying that crap already!” A voice from the TV abruptly shouted, revealing an angry young boy on camera. “Open your eyes before you say that crap! Especially at a time like this! You still see those flames up, right?! Endeavor’s still alive and fighting! So don’t give up just cus the other guy’s gone!”

Panicked pedestrians were still pushing the boy, but he wasn’t giving up.

“He’s still out there risking it for all of us! Can’t you see?!”

The camera changed back to the aerial view they have of the fight. As the broadcast continued on, everyone watched on with bated breath, hoping for a good outcome for Todoroki’s sake. Endeavor’s flames discharged with intensity out of his body and at the Nomu. Hawks then came from behind to assist him with his feathers. By now, the newscaster had changed her tone.

“Dad...” Todoroki’s voice quivered out with strength. “I’m watching!”

All they could see on the screen was a blinding exploding supernova in the sky on the screen and in that instant, two falling figures dropped from the sky at an alarming rate. After the smoke cleared, the victor was clear.

There he was, Endeavor bloodied and beaten up holding a victorious pose with his right fist up in the air and a super crispy Nomu on the ground.

“It’s Endeavor! He’s standing tall in victory, no! Standing tall for his beginning!” the newscaster shouted in elation. The once panicking crowd then erupted into screams and cheers. The other students jumped off of their seats and ran to over to him. Any energy Todoroki had was completely zapped when he squatted down and breathed a sigh of relief and placed his hands together over his forehead. But that peace didn’t last long as the surrounding area was engulfed with blue flames.

“It’s him!” Aizawa stated. “What’s he thinking being out in the open like that?!”

“The League of Villains is here! It’s league member Dabi!” the newscaster announced. “He’s surrounded Endeavor and Hawks with a wall of flames!”

The three got into a confrontation and a fight started breaking out, but was soon broken up by Mirko’s powerful kick.

“You’re one of those League of Villains bastards ain’tcha?!” she proclaimed. “I’ll kick your ass till kingdom come!”

As fast as Dabi came, he disappeared with a black essence coming out of his mouth. And moment of silence filled the void, with only the TV caster announcing the fight was won. Heaving another soul-leaving sigh, Todoroki gathered the strength in his legs and slowly stood back up. Aizawa took him to the side to talk one-on-one. All Ren could do was look on like an outsider.

After a quick discussion, 1-A’s homeroom teacher gave special permission for him to go home for a few days. With the rest of the students retreating back to their respective rooms, Ren decided to stop by Tororoki’s to check on him. She stood in front of his room door and swallowed hard, her right hand freezing mid-air.

What kind of face would he show her?

Would he even want to talk?

Was she here as his friend, the R.A. or something else?

Gathering what courage she had, the door opened just as she was about to knock. She met his hetero-chromatic eyes expressing surprise. All she could do was stand there in stupor, unable to move.

“Ren-senpai...” he softly greeted. “Did you need something?”

“Huh? I, er, uh…” she stammered out at a higher pitch than she liked, feeling her cheeks get warm and looked down at her now fumbling hands. “I-I just wanted to see how you were d-doing and–”

She cleared her throat and calmed herself from her botched words.

“I came by to see how you were doing, that’s all,” she managed to get out and looked away.

Todoroki merely blinked at her slowly. It took him all of his willpower to not pull her into his room and embrace her. He wanted to feel her warmth to comfort him, but he had to hold back. Anyone could come out of their rooms at any moment and would misunderstand their relationship.

But… what was their relationship exactly?

He wanted to say more, but all he could default to was, “I’m fine. Aizawa-sensei’s letting me go home tomorrow to see my siblings and my dad.”

“Oh, right. I’ll… leave you to it then,” she said with a look of distance in her eyes.

Watching her small form walk away from his door, Todoroki felt that sensation bubbling up again. The tinge of pain in his chest she’ll disappear if he dared look away for one second. His hand instinctively grabbed a hold of her wrist, jolting her muscles and turned her head. He looked at her with loneliness reflecting off of his glassy gaze.

“Todo-kun?” she questioned.

Realizing what he’d done, he immediately released his hold.

“I-I’m sorry...” he whispered and grabbed his hair by the roots, looking away with shame. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

Ren slowly walked back and stood in front of him with a softened gaze.

“Just remember it’s okay to not be okay,” she gently spoke with an encouraging smile, making sure to keep a moderate distance from physical contact in case anyone saw. “You have people on your side to help.”

[chezzkaa]

Numb pt 5

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Lumberjack AU Pairing: Ryan Haywood x Reader WC: 3200+ Warnings: graphic depictions of violence

Your bag hits the floor with a loud thud, but it’s nothing in comparison to the beat your heart sings too. You’d hoped it would quieten once Ryan wasn’t around, but the sound that rushed through your chest had followed you home. Up the snow banks and stairs, and through the lodge until it stands in front of you. Granting it your attention, it sings for a few more minutes before eventually fading with the nervous smile you put out of your mind. Absent fingers dive into your pocket, pulling out two small, smooth and dark stones, passing them across one another in your hand. Flashes of the gold inscribed against their surface sees you calming, tight giddiness in the centre of your chest relaxing. It doesn’t dim the smile, but it’s enough to think straight.

Then your phone is pressed to your ear, waiting for the distant rings while you continue to fold the stones. Your best friend’s voice greets you after the click, making your heart leap and the smile on your lips widen into a grin.

“Hey Y/N, what’s up?”

You try and sound as flippant as possible, suppressing the excited stretch of your lips. “Oh, hey Lauren, how’s life-”

She cuts you off, familiar with the tone and willing to take none of your teasing. “What’s his name?”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me, Y/N. What’s his name?”

“How rude,” you hedge through a smile, “my energies are struggling in this new environment and my stones need charging, and you think I’m all foggy because of some-”

“Shut up, Y/N. I know damn well that your energies are fucked, I can feel it all the way from here. Stick your fucking stones in the moonlight, damn it. But don’t you dare try and get out of this. What’s the fuck’s name?”

“Ryan,” you cave, the eager blip fluttering in your chest seeing you glare at the stones, abandoning them on the windowsill in the hopes bathing in the moon will help. “Stupid fucking things, I swear ever since I’ve moved they’ve been acting up. I tried using them the other morning, right? And nothing, absolutely nothing. They’re not even touching the weird fuzzy whatever-the-fuck thing is going on and making me feel kinda out of it. But oh my god dude, he’s amazing. His eyes are so fucking blue, Loz, and oh my god his fucking smile!”

“Spill, spill! So help me, Y/N, if I don’t get every juicy detail I’m gonna fly to those mountains and-”

But you don’t give her to opportunity to finish, pouring your heart into the phone line, agonising over every description, every flirtatious smile, and every heart skipping laugh. “His puns are fucking terrible.”

“Marry him,” she demands, “marry him right now.”

“I’ll make sure to propose as soon as I get to work tomorrow.”

“Wait, he’s your coworker?”

“Lauren,” you fold the words over slowly, feeling her excitement vibrate against your cheek, “he’s practically my boss.”

“YOUR BOSS?! Fuck, Y/N.”

“I know!” you throw yourself sideways, splaying across the couch and grinning at the ceiling. “Trust me, I know. But hey, enough about me. My face is gonna fucking split if I keep thinking about it. Speaking of bosses, how are things with you? How’s Trevor?”

It’s her turn to gush, voice quickening with her enthusiasm. “Dude. DUDE. Cus of you guys moving and shit he decided to take me out. We got all dressed up, and I mean dressed up. Heels, black lipstick - I looked like I might kill a bitch. And bitch, I might. But he picks me up and we’re driving, right? And he pulls into a burger joint. My favourite burger joint. So we’re sat there in this grease filled room surrounded by people in pj’s while I’m in this fucking expensive dress and he’s in this hot as fuck tux and bow tie, and Y/N?”

“Don’t tell me,” you giggle, “you fucking loved it, right?”

“I FUCKING LOVED IT.”

---

It takes a while for you to start moving, slumping off the couch and to your knees. Shuffling towards the fireplace, it's as simple as lighting a match; last night's set up of tinder and newspaper catching almost instantly. Lost in the hypnotic flames and the comfort your best friend is always able to provide without even trying, the room is engulfed in amber; warmth wrapping its arms around you as you wander to the kitchen, flick on the kettle, and get a cup ready. Scrounging up what the herbal ingredients you’ve stashed inside the island counter, you’re careful when measuring out quantities, muttering under your breath before starting your tea. A few quick stirs and deep inhales levels you, the feeling of the floor far more solid beneath your feet.

It's only once you draw your bag closer that you stop, tea pressed to your lips and fingers coming across something smooth.

Drawing the folder out of your bag, you stare at the file. It’s worryingly large. Jam packed with stapled sheets and post it notes, paper clips so heavy the top threatens to fold under the weight. Turning it over in your hands, you come to face the case printed on the front before you drop it like you’ve been stung. Your palm burns, recoiling away as the energy that’d started to smoulder diminishes. Still, the title glares from the floor, demanding your attention as it screams.

Case no. 30574208 Head in Charge: Det. Insp. J. Dooley Lumberjack of Motbury Active: 2016 -

It’s not the whole file - but it doesn’t have to be; because you can already see the first name poking from beneath the discoloured card. Can already see the smallest section of a lime green coat littered with tiny frogs, caught in the corner frame of a photograph. Can already feel a painful sting encasing your neck uncomfortably. A sharp pain that shoots through the centre of the back of your skull, harsh and demanding.

You’re on your feet in an instant, circling it as though it’s going to lash out with quick, erratic steps. But it doesn’t. It stays deathly still, like the bodies you’re sure remain buried within it. Just photos, sketches blotched with trauma and cross hatched with wounds while the real things rot in the morgue.

As quickly as you were moving you’re stopping again, cold despite the heat that leaves you suddenly sweltering, skin slick with sweat beneath the numerous layers plastered to your body.

You know what will happen when you pick it up again. It’s going to consume you, you think reproachfully, discarding the offending fabric that has you struggling to breathe, shedding and strewing it across the living room. It’s going to destroy you, just like last time. And just like last time, you won’t be able to help them.

You’d realised what being a detective meant a long time ago, and you’ll never forget. Never be able to ignore the fact that for you to do your job, people had to die. Names had to stack up so you could find the pattern, so you could ram their faces beneath the suspect and hope for some crack in their facade. Hope that one would die covered in stains, or with fingernails chock full of DNA. And when you’d come to rely on a tiny body still clinging to the crime that had seen it taken too soon, you’d been sick. So violently that you’d shaken for weeks. So violently that everything you ate came back up, so you just stopped eating.

And you could feel it. Feel every sharp wound and tattered bullet hole, limbs so restless that you’d wanted to scream.

Never again, you’d sworn, never fucking again would you pray that the next body would be more broken than the last for the benefit of another. You don’t care if one death could save the many. It didn’t fucking matter if that tiny, tiny person held the key to stopping the next body arriving on the coroner’s doorstep; because a life had still been lost. You’d hoped for it, you’d felt it, because it’s what you needed to do your job.

A shock of pain shoots through your scalp as your hand swipes through your hair, the old habits of stress already seeing you pull too hard. Gingerly withdrawing your hand, the clump of hair caught between your fingers is enough to spur you forward. Snatching the file from the floor you toss it on the counter, completely intent on storming into the station and ramming it down Dooley’s throat.

But you stop as it falls open, the photo staring at the ceiling far too familiar to ignore. You approach it as though it’s explosive, peering at the treeline you see outside your window every morning, covered in red markings and arrows. Taking it in your hand, you flip the photo over and read the notes jotted on the back with a falling stomach and burning palm.

17/04/2018

Body, male 10 yo (no. 6). Found 500 meters past tree line. Footprints entering. None leaving. Within vicinity of victim 3 and 5. Wounds consistent. Small incision at base of neck. Lacerations.  

You recognise the handwriting. Jeremy’s scrawl had always been all over your notes, and the later he’d stayed at the office, the worse it had gotten. The curves of his ‘g’s and ‘y’s are clumsy, ink smudging as he’s forced his numb, tired fingers to write down another death. Number 6. And now you have to look, have to see the body that’d reduced him to such sloppy functionality. The body found just beyond your treeline only a week before you’d moved in.

It’s the lime green coat again, tiny frogs leaping across the thick, puffed fabric donned by a smiling little boy. Mousey blonde hair sticks out at every angle, but he doesn’t seem to care, brown eyes wrinkling in delight while he laughs. You don’t want to look at the picture behind it, but you do. Taking in the tiny body curled in the snow, knees tucked into his chest. If he wasn’t wearing the coat, you wouldn’t be able to tell it’s the small boy from before. Tom, you tell yourself. Number 6. Tom.

You’ve seen a lot in your professional career, seen more vile, disturbing acts of violence than many can even dream of existing. Felt them prickle across your skin and scratch in your veins, itchy and raw. But this was more perplexing than it was nauseating, but it’s more certainly both of those things. Because rather than a beaten face covered in blonde and bloodied hair, there’s simply nothing at all.

The neck just… stops.

The wound is there, granted. But it isn’t messy. Blood and gore doesn’t coat the snow, nor does it soil the jacket. But it’s not a clean cut, either. Tattered around the edges, curling, bruised and blackened. Sagging.

And they’re all the same. As you search through the file’s contents you can’t find a single child with a head. Every body found in the same position, curled up as though they were sleeping. Found in the woods directly surrounding your home.

No wonder this place was so cheap to buy.

Curiosity burns intense over your concern, sitting heavily on one of the stools surrounding the island and shifting through the papers. The more you try to understand, the more confusing the case becomes. No matter how many times you fold it over in your head, you can’t comprehend the information you’re taking in. Only able to feel the pinch at the base of your skull, and a terrifying calm that numbs your chest and makes it harder to breathe.

And honestly it sounds more like an urban legend to scare children into behaving, or scare parents into disciplinary action. Because it just doesn’t make sense.

At first, it seems, the police force was inundated with complaints. Petrified townsfolk calling in as a snow storm rages through the night, the sound of knocking hammering against their doors. None dared answer. A group of kids messing around, you assume. And you notice that Jeremy had thought the same. Or perhaps a lost traveller caught in the harsh weather and seeking help. But there were no one there in the morning. Porches untouched by the snow but tattered by something, deep grooves tracing the frames of the entrance with vicious brutality. Camera’s cut out and sensory lights left undisturbed.

And then the trail of death started. Livestock, in the beginning. Bloody, brutal maulings that eventually left sheep with lolling necks and a glaringly absent skull - as though the bone has been sucked from the skin. But what bothers you isn’t the carnage, nor the senseless violence that has an animal killed and unused.

It’s the damage, the aggression once the creature was obviously dead. You can see it; can feel just how frenzied it all was. It’s not the first time, either. Every case you’ve witnessed like this leaves you with only one thought. Passionate, you’d argue. Angry. But the closer the timeline gets to the current date, the cleaner the kills become. Until they stop all together.

And the kids start disappearing.

The first one was just as messy as the livestock. Beaten and bloody, a pile of skin the only remnants of a face. But eventually, even that too disappeared. Like whoever it was, was getting better. Getting into the rhythm.

Your stomach twists, staring down at the file you’ve scattered across your counter.

It’s going to consume you, a small, defeated voice whispers in your head while you collect the pages, taking them to the scanner and copying the file before arranging it back the way you’d found it. It’s going to destroy you, just like last time. And just like last time, you won’t be able to help them.

You head for the car once you’re done, not bothering to wrap up against the cold.

---

The station isn’t fancy, barely recognisable as a place of authority when nestled between the other buildings. But regular shop fronts don’t normally have this many patrol vehicles lined up out front. 2, you correct while your foot meets the curb, only 2 cars. The late night doesn’t both you, and neither does the sterile atmosphere you step into. It’s a small space that offers a short line of chairs before the room is cut off by a reception desk, sliding glass protector open wide. Behind the divide you can see what you assume to be the staff room dotted with couches, and offices and files on the opposite side.

The door shuts gentle behind you, and with it’s quiet click you can hear the frustrated voices approaching the room. You don’t wait for them to arrive and beckon you forward, already moving to the reception and leaning against the ledger.

“I’m serious, Michael,” comes Jeremy’s exasperation through the walls, “I swear I just fucking had the damn thing.”

“Obviously not, asshole,” replies Michael smugly, “otherwise we wouldn’t be turning the station upside down.”

“I don’t get it. I had it at Jon’s, had it when I got into the car…”

“So you must’ve lost it on the way in this morning.”

“But I didn’t do anything else with it!” cries Jeremy, finally rounding the corner with his head hung in defeat.

“You must’ve,” insists Michael, coming into the room moment’s behind him. “If the boss finds out, he’ll be pissed.”

“I am the boss,” Jeremy groans into his hands, oblivious to your presence.

Michael, however notices you, his eyes narrowing suspiciously. “What do you want?”

You go to respond, but Jeremy interjects. “The damn case file before my fucking head explodes.”

“Not you, idiot,” laughs Michael, nudging his superior’s hands from his face and motioning to you. “You’re lover.”

“Gross.” Your nose wrinkles distastefully, as does Jeremy’s when he finally spots you. It doesn’t take long for him to beam, despite the teasing. “Never in a million years.”

“I’m way out of your league,” he insists around a comedic frown, “I’m arguably too good to be talking to you. But I will, because it’s weird seeing you back in a police station and I’m concerned.”

It’s your turn to laugh. “Don’t get used to it. I just wanted to return something I picked up by accident earlier today.”

“If you pull out this missing file I swear Jeremy is gonna fucking come.”

Jeremy’s expression agrees with Michael’s off-hand joke, the file you pull out of your bag seeing him light up. “Oh thank fuck! I thought I’d lost it, I was about to fire myself!” He takes it eagerly, holding it to his chest with a sigh of relief.

“Don’t leave your shit lying around next time,” you scold, “especially something as important and weird as that.”

He’s nodding until he realises the insinuation of what you’ve just said. Even Michael turns to you, the pair studying you critically. “How would you know it was weird?”

You shrug, seeing no harm in answering Michael’s question honestly. “You think I wasn’t going to look at it?”

“You said you’d never look at another case,” says Jeremy slowly, concern and excitement creating a strange, bubbling concoction in his chest.

“I didn’t really have a choice,” you admit ruefully, rubbing the back of your neck. “But it looks like you’ve got a serious problem to deal with. They all look… very angry.”

“Angry?” His brows furrow, casting Michael a quick glance before snatching a pad and jotting the word down. “What do you mean by angry?”

Instead of answering his question you pose your own. “What do you think it is?”

“A wild animal attack, mostly.” Michael grimaces as the words leave his lips, seemingly upset that they have nothing else to go off.

But you’re shaking your head, dismissing the thought. “No way this is an animal.”

“I’m sorry,” he says, more out of curiosity than ill intent, “but who the fuck are you, exactly?”

“Shit,” mutters Jeremy, jumping in before you can introduce yourself. He holds out a hand to you with a broad, proud beam. “This is Detective Inspector Y/N of the L.D. FBI squad. We used to work together, she was my boss.”

“My god.. You’re legendary around here.” Michael’s eyes are wide as he offers out a hand for you to shake, his grip firm and eager. “I didn’t realise you and the woman Jeremy’s been raving about were the same person. I thought you retired?”

“I am retired,” you say flatly. “What’s he been saying about me?”

“Nice things!” interjects Jeremy rather quickly, his hand covering Michael’s face to shut him up. He struggles, grunting and pulling away with a yelp. But Jeremy pays the complaints no more mind, now looking at you intently. “Does this mean you’re going to join the team as an external source?”

“No, I’m sorry Jeremy.”

His face falls. “No no, I get it. I appreciate you bringing it back. I owe you one.”

“I’m glad to hear you say that.” He eyes you up suspiciously, not trusting the smile crawling across your face. “Actually, I know exactly how you can pay me back.”

[bapyess1r]

Sum���n Bitch: pt1

It started 10 years ago…

“Maya, I mean it, it’s time to go!” I heard my father yell from the bottom of the stairs. I groaned as I blew out my candles and grabbed my book bag. He was interrupting my morning rituals.

“I’m coming…” I shouted back as I stood up. I went to the closest mirror and checked to see if my hair was still in place and it was. I opened the door, running downstairs to greet my father with a kiss on the cheek. He held out the brown bagged lunch he made for me so early in the morning and kissed my forehead. “Sorry I’m late, pappy.” I joked.

“Don’t call me pappy. That makes me feel old.” He replied laughing a bit.

“You are old!” I said walking towards the end of the driveway to go to my school bus. I was too far away for him to rebuttal and he just smiled and waved.

It was just another dreaded school day. When I got closer to my bus stop, my friend Louise waved at me from across the street. Her long copper hair hanging on either side of her pale face beneath her black page boy cap, a stunning smile pulling at her thick, curvy lips. I grinned, waving back and running towards her to engulf her in the biggest hug. We chatted like every day as we waited in the humidity of dawn for the bus. Luckily, it wasn’t too cold today, I had forgotten my jacket on my way out and the sheer white top I wore wasn’t doing me any favors. “Damn…” I exclaimed as the bus pulled up, trying to gather my thoughts as the day approached. I got on the bus and nodded to my acquaintances, smiled at my classmates, and made my way to the back of the bus and we people watched while looking over each other’s homework like the good students we tried our best to be. I looked up from Louise’s government essay as the bus stopped to pick up more students and I smiled when I saw his face through the water spotted window. The sun seemed to peak through the heavy clouds to shine just in his direction. Logan stood up from his couch position as he talked to his best friend. His smile was blindingly white, damn near perfect and carefree. He ran his hands through the front of his short thick dark locks as he threw his faded red book bag over his shoulder. My jaw dropped practically looking at him. When he got on the bus, he waved at me and smiled. I gave a closed lip smile and continued to look over the work before me.

“You know we could do a love potion thingy. I know you know one.” Louise suggested raising a thin copper brow. I could see the mischief sparkling in her dark orbs.

“I’d rather not stoop to that level.” I groaned. The idea was tempting but I knew it was wrong. I wanted to keep my dignity for as long as possible.

“You never wanna do anything fun.” She pouted playfully.

“Get a new friend then!” I joked with a laugh and she clung to my arm in protest, giggling.

Classes were ok. I got A’s on my assignments and asked questions and stuff. In Biology, Louise and I dissected a frog and she hated it. I had one friend in photography named Ian. He was funny and had an incredible eye. We were often models for each other’s photos. He would often flirt with Louise when she walked me to class. In history, we watched Newsies. I still didn’t know what it had to do with what we were learning but I loved musicals so I said nothing. Geometry was boring, P.E. sucked, English was ok, Drama was interesting. I mean, it’s drama class…. Lunch was different. Nicole Healy was the bane of my existence. She was everything I could never be. She wore her highlighted dark brown hair in coils and eyelashes so long, you’d think she’d fly away if she blinked too fast. She was tall and light skinned with a slim, curvy figure and that made me jealous. She was a Sophomore and the Regina George of the school. This particular day, Logan came by to pick up some flash cards I made. I passed but he failed the Geometry test but he got a retake. In the midst of the small talk, he began flirting with me a bit. The wind blew by messing up my hair a bit and I was already fidgety from nervousness. “Thank you so much for this, Maya. That test kicked my ass today.” He chuckled, scratching the back of his neck.

“It’s not a problem. If you next flash cards again just y’know….let me know.” I said awkwardly in the cringiest fashion.

“I definitely will…. do you uh….have anyone to go to the uh….Halloween dance with...by any chance?” He asked, blushing a little bit.

“Oh my god!” I snorted. I was geeking out. I couldn’t believe he wanted to take me. “No! No I don’t!” I told him, enthusiastically.

“Oh great! Do you maybe wanna-”

“Maya, your blouse is torn!” Nicole interrupted. She and her two friends stood behind her like puppies waiting for her command. I freaked out and stood from my seat to try and touch my back and the back of my pants.

“Oh my god, where?” I exclaimed feeling nervous. Logan also checked around my body as Nicole approached us.

“There’s no tears anywhere.” He said to me, shaking his head and shrugging.

“Sure there is! Right there!” Nicole exclaimed as she grabbed the front of my sheer white top and torn it wide open, exposing my bra to the whole school. I frowned in humiliation as Louise got up and covered me with her big black bomber jacket. Nicole and her friends laughed as the cafeteria reacted with mixed noises. I looked back in a snarl as my friend walked me to my gym locker. I still had a tee shirt. I changed in the girls bathroom and Louise paced back and forth in anger. I just stared off into space. I couldn’t believe that had happened. Logan saw me. Not only him but the whole school…

“We’re doing something about this right?” Louise growled. I shrugged. I didn’t want the drama. “What is that?”

“What?”

“That. That shrug. What the hell is that?”

“I’m not gonna do anything. I’m just gonna keep my head down. I just wanna get through the week.” I groaned.

“No you’re not. You’re gonna do something about this. Nicole has been humiliating you for far too long and this is not ok.” She exclaimed.

“Well!.....what would I even do?” I pouted.

“Do you have a spell for eternal diarrhea?” She joked and I laughed a bit. Suddenly, I became full of darkness and my brain thought of an evil thing.

“I have an idea of what we can do. Meet me at my house tonight around 9.” I smirked.

“Oh hell yeah.” She said.

“Also… I need you to do something for me. I need you to get me a strand of her hair.”

“I can do that. Don’t worry about it.” She said as the lunch bell rang and my name was suddenly called on the PA. I was to be sent to the school counselor. I groaned.

“I don’t have time for this!” I exclaimed.

“I’ll meet you after class.” She said. “Be strong.”

“Yeah…” I mumbled as I dragged myself to the counselor’s office.

When I arrived, she sighed upon seeing me. She took her glasses off and placed them into her snowy white short feathered hair, rubbing a small hand over her wrinkled face. “Ms. Andrews…. wanna tell me what happened?” She asked me as she leaned back into her chair.

“No, Ms. Sykes. I don’t.” I said sarcastically as I took a seat in one of the chairs at the front of her desk. I flopped as I sat down and sighed.

“Jesus, kid…. why won’t you let me call your father- at the very least, her mother? Get her in trouble for a change.” She groaned.

“Because I don’t want to deal with everything that comes out of that.” I snapped in a monotonous voice. She sighed heavily.

“Don’t cha ever get tired of her doin’ this to ya and gettin’ away with it? Hmm? I can only help if you let me.”

“I won’t need it. I appreciate the offer though.” I said snarkily.

“You sure, kiddo?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Alright...fine.” She said this to me reluctantly but I didn’t care. I just wanted it to be 9 o’ clock so I could get my revenge.

|9 o’ clock|

“Am I doing this the right way?” Louise asked as she placed the black candles in a circle around us indicating North, South, East, and West after casting a circle with olive oil. Then she placed two red candles on either side of the southern candle and the last one near the northern.

“Yeah, this is perfect. And it’s a full moon tonight which is perfect because I had no clue that it needed to be present….” I said looking up at the moon in our backyard, taping the hair strand to the back of a picture of Nicole we printed off her social media. I wondered suddenly what lengths my friend went to in order to acquire this strand of hair. “How’d you get this so easily?”

“You know how the art room is so close to the gym? Well her last period is P.E. So I excused myself to the bathroom, snuck to the girls locker room, got a strand off her brush.”

“Just like that?”

“Just like that.”

“And you’re positive this is Nicole’s hair?”

“Yeah! Look at it! How can it not be? What are we even doing?”

“I’ve decided that I’m going to perform a hair loss spell.” I smirked and my friend giggled with glee and mischief before we continued with the spell. I sat facing South as Louise stood outside of the circle to watch. I closed my eyes to gather all my rage to center my energy and breathed in deep. I picked up the candle behind me and bowed in each direction lowly and humbly, seeking pardon from the gods for what was about to go down. With that same candle I burned the strand of hair all the way up to the picture and placed it on the porcelain plate in the middle to burn to ash. When it had completely burned, I quickly blew out all the candles and looked at Louise.

“That’s it?”

“That’s it. The spell works overnight.”

“..... is it forever?”

“Unfortunately not. It’s only temporary. Her hair will grow back. Slowly.”

“Nah…..Nah- she needs something else. A little extra.” She said pacing and thinking.

“Jesus, Lou. Nicole Healy is losing her hair.her hair! Do you know how fucked up she will be from this alone?”

“I don’t care. It’s not enough after all she put you through…. what about bad luck? Don’t you have like a cursed object or something that I can place on her?”

“Do I look like Dumbledore to you?” I chuckled.

“For a bad luck curse, just wear a pentacle, light a black candle and think negatively about her.”

“Oooohhhh! I can do that!”

“Do you own a pentacle?”

“No….”

“I’ll lend you one and a black candle if you wanna do it that badly.” I said cleaning up.

“Yes please!” She grinned.

“You’re a psycho you know that, right?”

“Would you still be my friend if I weren’t?”

That was an excellent question. She balanced me in a way no one else could. If anything, I needed her! After we cast the spell, Louise went home. My father, Virgil, watched his tv programs as I did the dishes from tonight’s dinner, casually asking me questions about what Louise and I did. “I saw you take some candles out back. What were you guys up to?”

“Just a full moon ritual. We needed some good luck for a test tomorrow.” I lied. Usually if I just make shit up and use a bunch of fancy words, he believes me.

”Did it work?” He chuckled with his deep voice.

“We’ll find out tomorrow.” I smirked. I couldn’t wait to see her tomorrow. Oh how I wished I could see the look of something awful on her face when she gets that first clump if hair in her hands. I grinned at her suffering. The next day was going to be interesting. I had been messed around with the Heathers for far too long and it was time I took action. I felt liberated doing the spell somehow, like from here on out it was going to get better. But I knew I was gonna have a price to pay for it. I just didn’t know what yet.

[dong-hyucks]

Cupid’s Stupid Arrow ; Jimin

Prompts: 19. “You look cute.”, 3. “You look cold.”, 11. “You’re warm.”, 22. “You... want me to act like I’m your lover?”, and 25. “I love you.” Characters: Park Jimin // Reader Genre: angst + a bit of fluff // college!au // we haven’t really had a lot of angst so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯   Word Count: 2.5k+ Admin: CJ

Masterlists || Ten Days to Christmas Prompt List || TDC/CNY Masterlist

it was a cold december day when the question was asked. the inquiry itself was enough to stop the small puffs of breath that escaped through jimin’s plump lips.

his stare bored into yours like a pair of lasers. his chocolate brown gaze was different—and it wasn’t the best type of different either.

he was surprised (at the least) and he didn’t look very happy. his next utterance was enough to send a shiver down your spine. it was most definitely not because of the cold.

“you... want me to act like I’m your lover?” 

jimin’s face had paled, but the look you were giving him won him over. he played his nervousness off with an awkward chuckle, and pat your head with a sweaty palm.

“yes please—it’ll only be for one night. i’m going to christmas dinner with my parents, and if i don’t have anyone with me, they’ll pester me while i’m trying to enjoy my food.”

your pleading eyes were what finally pushed him over the edge. he let out a defeated sigh and prayed that his condensed breath would shield your face from his view.

it did

and he continued on with his schedule.

but, one little phrase that you said was like an ear-worm. it wriggled itself into his brain and wouldn’t stop repeating. 

‘it’ll only be for one night.’

yeah

only one night.

that was what he was afraid of. 

yeah sure, jimin was in college. he’d had flings before. he’d been in a fwb relationship (which had broken ungracefully). he was a normal twenty-something year old (you begin to lose count after all the years)—

 but you were special to him. the first time he laid eyes on you, you just about set his insides on fire. and, for the first time since tenth grade, he’d actually been in love.

love was confusing though

especially when it was unrequited.

although, this time, jimin had a plan. he’d mapped it out on his civics notes. he would take you to the dinner with your parents, and win them over—that was the easy part. then, he would win you over.

that was the hard part.

for four years (in undergrad) he’d tried to make you fall for him, and now that the two of you were at the same graduate college, he was given another chance. 

it was as if something from the heavens was smiling down upon him. and, though the situation would most likely make him nervous, he realized that it was the perfect opportunity to capture your heart.

cupid would use his bow only once tonight—

and jimin would do all that he could to guarantee that you two would fall in love.

he wished the day would speed up

he got more and more jittery as the sun cycled in the sky. jimin considered cutting for the rest of the day to prepare for the long night ahead. he tossed the idea around in his head for the rest of civics

then, he went for his free period and never returned to finish his school day.

when he reached his dorm door, he fumbled to open it, and when he did a frightful sight awaited him—yoongi was sprawled out on his bed—

not wearing a single article of clothing ...

jimin launched a (dirty) pair of boxers at him, and scoffed. “i thought we talked about this yoongi?! stop skipping class so you can lounge around in your birthday suit! seriously!”

that when he realized another, important fact

“AND ON MY BED?! C’MON MAN!” “sorry.” “NO YOU’RE NOT, YOU ASSHOLE.” “eh, you’re right. i was just trying to make you feel better.” yoongi hadn’t moved from his position on jimin’s bed, and jimin threw yet another pillow.

“get off!” 

yoongi complied,,,, making no act to cover himself. jimin yelped and his hands flew to cover his eyes, and yoongi snorted. “what’s your deal? we both have one y’know?” 

“just because i have one, doesn’t mean i want to see yours too.” “fine, fine, fine. damn you’re harsh.” yoongi’s sly smirk did not make anything better.

“you’re annoying, y’know that yoongs?” “so i’ve been told ... but what i really want to know is what you are doing cutting class.”

jimin’s face flushed a crimson red, and his hands flew together, fidgeting around in front of his stomach. yoongi groaned and planted his face into the cheap sheets he’d bought from target

“you’ve got to be fucking kidding me! (name)?! are you serious!?” yoongi’s lips curled into a snarl when he spat out the question. he lifted his head and shook it slightly. but jimin’s eyes were already glued to the ground.

“she asked me for a favor,” he muttered.

“yeah, no shit. and lemme guess, she won you over with her infamous ‘gaze?’ one that she’s been using on every guy since the freshman year of undergrad.”

“yes.”

“you know what. i’m not gonna help you this time. because, i swear to god, this will finally break your heart for good. jimin, you’re so naive that it’s actually fucking funny. no joke. you’re in for it this time, and i’m warning you, this won’t be any different from any of the other times she’s hurt you.”

“you’re wrong.”

“no—i’m not wrong, jimin. in fact, you know i’m right. but, you’re so desperate for validation from her, that you’ll do anything.”

“stop.”

“you clean her dorm, you do her homework, you cook for her. it’s like you’re repeating the seventh grade for the seventh time.”

“stop, yoongi.” jimin’s voice was almost deadly. it’s tone was enough to send a poison dart frog into toxic shock.

“shit—no! you don’t get it do you?! jimin, she’s using you! she’s been using you. i’ve seen it with my own two eyes. i’ve been your best friend since grade school, i’m not dumb. i have a college degree. maybe not in optometry, but i can still fucking see!”

“shut the fuck up!” jimin exploded. his face was still that bright shade of crimson, but it was for a different reason this time. “(name)’s not like that, yoongi, you don’t know her at all. and since when have you been my best friend? since now? since two seconds ago? just because my roommate has a fucking opinion about me for once in his life, doesn’t mean he’s my best friend.”

yoongi’s gaze flicked to the floor, and his eyes hardened. “get out. get out of here.” he shooed jimin away and had to restrain himself from slamming the door in his face.

“i know you’re angry right now, but that was unnecessary. we’ve been best friends since grade school, and you know it. i’m sorry that she’s gotten you this wrapped around her finger, but there’s nothing i can do now. all i’m gonna say is that when she dumps you in the trash chute with all the other men she’s thrown away, i’ll be there. you can tell me whatever. and who knows. maybe i’ll have an idea—or god forbid another opinion.”

and with that, yoongi swung his arm once and the grating sound of the door rattling on its hinges made jimin grit his teeth.

‘there won’t be any trash chute, ‘cause i’m not getting dumped. when i come back with her by my side, i’ll have to ask you to leave.’

when jimin arrived at your house, he was decked out in a rented black suit and tie. he had to return it of course, but while he had it on, it made him look quite dashing.

but the sweat on his palms made him stuff his hands into his pockets. jimin was a bit nervous.

it was pretty obvious.

he rang the doorbell and waited patiently. his glances became more and more panicked as the seconds ticked by. jimin wondered if you would even open the door after a couple minutes passed.

and, when he heard the sound of the door being unlatched, he let out a sigh of relief. but then it was sucked right back in when he locked gazes with you.

you looked absolutely stunning. in a long, elegant red dress. strapless, sweetheart neckline, sequined in all the right places. definitely a high dollar brand. lv or—dare he say—gucci?

did i forget to mention that jimin is a fashion merchandising major

“you look cold.”

your smile almost brought him to tears. jimin stared at you like you were aphrodite herself. but, after a few minutes, your smile faded and you snapped at him playfully.

“well, are you gonna come in or do you want to freeze your ass off.” jimin just chuckled and entered your house, taking his dress shoes off at the door.

he looked up and down the walls of your home. taking in everything. the pictures that have been hung since you were in kindergarten, the warm feeling of the fireplace, the burning sensation that engulfed his hand whenever it happened to brush yours—everything.

“wow,” he murmured, “it’s all so nice.” he reached out the touch a picture frame, and you swatted his hand away.

“don’t touch jimin,” you laughed, eyes crinkling, “that picture frame is real wood. you could get a splinter.” jimin smiled in return, turning his attention back to the photo.

“you look cute.” jimin’s comment didn’t go unnoticed, and you punched his arm lightly. “don’t say that, idiot,” you shied away from his compliment, “that was like, third grade.” 

“what? it’s true.” jimin touched the tip of his finger to your nose when you scrunched it up. you turned your head away, acting like you were embarrassed.

but, jimin wasn’t acting. 

and—if only he knew—the reason you were being so sweet was because your parents were right around the other corner.

but that probably would’ve hurt him more than just having to pretend.

as the night progressed, you got more and more touchy. at the restaurant you were almost on top of jimin. but, he wasn’t complaining. having you this close was something he’d wished for for a long while.

then, the words came back. ‘only for one night.’ 

that’s what he dreaded.

‘not this time. she’ll love me this time. i know it.’

no he didn’t

and, when dinner was over, the four of you headed back to the house. you just chatted for hours. after a few hours, realization had struck him, he had completed the easy part. jimin had advanced to the boss level.

winning over your parents was too easy. but, winning you over was going to be difficult. you were so headstrong, so restless, so free-spirited—yes—it was going to be difficult, but this time, there was no room for failure.

“hey, (name), so you think i could talk to you outside for a bit?” your parents glanced at jimin hopefully, probably wondering if a proposal was in the works.

no way in hell.

“are you sure? it’s three degrees outside, y’know.” jimin just nodded, and grabbed your hand. he placed his coat on your shoulders, and sat you down on your porch bench.

he shivered, but soon learned to ignore the pleads his body was pouring out, begging him to go inside, or at least put a jacket on

jimin should’ve listened.

you stared up at him, not knowing what would come next. your eyes were as big as saucers, but jimin stayed silent. he lifted his hand to scratch the back of his neck, and you still waited for him to speak.

“jimin, say something or i’m going back inside.” he reached out to your form as you began to stand.

“(name), this may come as a shock, but, i love you,” jimin continued, “i love your smile, i love your laugh, i love everything about you. you’re nice, you’re funny, you’re warm. (name), i’ve loved you for years. take a chance on me, please? it’s the least you can do.”

once he let that sentence slip from his lips, he knew he had ruined whatever the relationship used to be.

your face darkened, and you glared daggers back at him. jimin’s face paled, but he gazed into your eyes—not wanting to give up.

but, what he didn’t see coming was you hand. everything outside your little bubble froze—including jimin. his eyes widened in horror, and the only sound that could be heard was the harsh slap of hand colliding with fist in the blistering cold of the night.

“for your information, jimin. i don’t date. sure, i might ask for favors, but it doesn’t mean anything! i live for me, not anyone else. i’m sorry, but we’re just friends—or we were.”

“you don’t date?! then why can’t you just tell your parents that, huh!? why?” jimin persisted, and you tilted your head down towards the ground.

“yeah, that’s what i fucking thought. you’re too much of a coward. y’know, i thought we were friends too. i thought we could’ve bee something. i thought we could’ve been happy together—with each other—as more than just friends!”

jimin winced as he held a hand up to his cheek. you reached out to him, but he batted your hand away.

“don’t touch me.” his growl was enough the curdle blood. you paused, fazed by his venomous remark. “my heart’s already broken, why not have something to match,” he spat, his voice bitter.

“jimin, i’m—i’m sorry.” “what?” “i’m sorry.” “no you’re fucking not.”

“just stop. stop trying to be sorry. stop trying to make everything okay. because, i sure as hell am not okay.” “i—” “no. i told you to stop. i’m not okay, but that doesn’t have anything to do with you, does it?”

you looked helplessly at him. you wanted to save him from himself.when jimin finally cut himself off, he stared pitifully into your eyes. he was broken. he was hurting. you wanted to pull him out of the man made abyss he had plunged himself into, but your rope wasn’t long enough.

“i’m the one that should be sorry,” jimin began to speak again—

“i’m sorry for ever falling in love with you. i’m so sorry. even though you’re beautiful, and smart, and kind—even though you’re perfect—you never wanted me.”

“jimin no—” but, he was already walking in the opposite direction. 

“you forgot your coat!” “i won’t be needing it!”

jimin walked and walked, his hands stuffed inside his gucci suit’s pockets. he walked, replaying the conversation between the two of you over and over again. he walked cold, alone, and without a coat (that he desperately needed).

he walked until he was no longer in your field of vision.

he walked away.

and, when he reached his dorm room door, he knocked, and yoongi let him in. he threw an arm around jimin’s shoulder, and led him to his twin bed. they sat together, a quietude unfolding over the two of them.

“i hate love.” “isn’t that a bit of an oxymoron?” “i hate it.” “well, then i hate it too.” jimin yawned and yoongi climbed out of the man’s bed and into his own. yoongi scoffed as he saw jimin’s frown still present as he fell asleep

jimin thought of your face as he fell into a deep slumber, and he felt a sharp pang right where his heart rested in his chest. 

cupid’s stupid arrow was still there.

[jiemba]

Sanvers Week Day 4 - Hogwarts

Another rush job. Many apologies! Hope you enjoy nonetheless.

As soon as Gertrude swooped through the Great Hall and dropped a howler on her plate, Alex knew immediately who it was from, the dread of its message like a bludger to the gut. “Alex, you have to open it.” “Look, it’s already twitching.” “Open it, hurry  up!” There was no avoiding it. Almost as red as the envelope itself, Alex felt every eye in the room on her as she tore it open like a wound. “ALEXANDRA DANVERS! WHAT THE HELL WERE YOU THINKING, LETTING YOUR SISTER DO THIS? SHE IS 14 YEARS OLD. I DON’T KNOW HOW YOU GOT HER INTO THIS BUT YOU’VE PROVEN ONCE AGAIN THAT YOU’RE CLEARLY NOT RESPONSIBLE ENOUGH TO LOOK AFTER. WHAT WOULD YOUR FATHER SAY IF HE WERE HERE RIGHT N-” That’s when Alex stopped listening. Shoving books into her bag, she glared across the room to where Kara was sitting at the Griffindor table, mouth hanging open. “Thanks,” she snarled. “Of course I’m getting blamed for this.”

“Alex, I didn’t do it! I swear!” “Save it, Kara,” she muttered, storming out of the room, her mother still screaming. In the end, it was Maggie who followed. “Danvers! Hey Danvers, wait up.” Alex let herself slow, trying to blink away the tears in her eyes. “This is so typical,” she scoffed. “Of course it’s not enough that I’m in the stupid Triwizard Tournament, my sister just had to go and get herself thrown into it too.” “Come on, Kara couldn’t have gotten her name in the cup by herself.” “I know. But everyone thinks I’m the one who helped her.” “Hey,” Maggie murmured, stepping a little closer. “I believe you. The magic needed to outsmart the cup is way beyond the levels of a sixth year. No offense.” Alex smirked. “None taken.” “Besides,” Maggie continued, her voice low. “I think looking after her in the competition’s the least of your problems, Danvers. She’s just a kid – a smart one, but… Whoever did this probably wants to see her hurt.” Alex sighed, knowing Maggie was too smart to be lied to. “The school’s worried about that too,” she confessed. “They’ve got the Ministry working to try and find out what happened.”

“Well I’ll do my best to help. You just focus on the challenges, get the two of you through them safely. I’ll be in the background seeing what I can scope out. Same with James and Winn. We’ll keep her safe together, Alex. I promise.” When Alex looked at Maggie, she felt her whole chest open up, a weight off her shoulders. “Thank you.” A clattering of boots on stone sounded down the hallway, a group of Slytherins passing in a way that made sure their presence was known. “A prefect should be more careful who they associate with, Danvers,” a fourth year spat in her direction, all his friends laughing. “Who I associate with is none of your -” “Alex, forget it. They’re not worth it,” Maggie told her, her hand gently hooking around Alex’s elbow as she watched them go. “I’m sorry. That wasn’t OK.” “Why are you in that house anyway? You could probably suit Ravenclaw.” “Slytherins aren’t all bad,” Alex sighed. “The house stands for ambition and resourcefulness and -” “Yeah yeah, I know. All things that’ll help you survive the Triwizard Tournament, right?” As she spoke, she gave Alex a reassuring smile, tugging her Hufflepuff scarf tighter around herself. The winter had come early this year, frost already covering the common room windows in the mornings. “Yeah,” Alex chuckled wryly. “But first I have to survive my mom.”

It truly was a team effort – James sneaking around the grounds with his camera, stealing photos of whatever he could; Winn designing flame resistant under-clothes as soon as they deduced that there were dragons in the first challenge; Maggie helping the girls learn all her best defence charms. Together, they stayed up late in the Slytherin Prefect’s Lounge whenever Alex could sneak them in, drawing out plans, anticipating every snare. But when they aced the first challenge, when Rita Skeeter wrote a dozen articles portraying Kara as an innocent prodigy and Alex as her bitter sibling, Kara’s owl dropped her pies from home, cards that read You’re being so brave, sweetie and Keep trying your hardest, I’m so proud of you. Gertrude only ever brought Alex howlers. She never cried in the Great Hall. Never in the common room, in front of the other Slytherins. But somehow, Maggie always found her – in the library, in the bathroom, on the bridge – and sat with her until it passed. Now, it seemed, it was Alex’s turn. Shaking the frost from her feet, Alex bounded up the stairs to the library, bag full of chocolate frogs and every flavour beans and bottled butterbeer for her sister. “Hey Kara, I got you – oh hi, Maggie.” “Hey,” Maggie replied, barely looking up from her textbook. “We’ve been researching mer-people, for the next challenge,” Kara explained. “Max Lord’s still telling everyone it’s banshees, but he doesn’t know you cracked the egg message underwater.” “Max Lord’s an idiot,” Maggie muttered, scribbling away on her parchment. “The clue would never be that obvious.” Sensing her tone, Alex sat carefully at their desk. “I didn’t see you in Hogsmead today.” “I had a lot to do.” “Oh. Well thanks for helping Kara. I really appreciate it.” “Anything to help a Danvers.” Kara smiled, trying to lighten the mood. “Do you want some snacks? Alex always gets tonnes.” “Yeah, because you eat like a troll.” A slight chuckle escaped Maggie, but she still shook her head. “I’m OK, really.” “Come on,” Alex insisted, placing the bag discreetly on the table so they didn’t lose house points from the librarian. “It’ll help us study.” When Maggie relented after a moment, smiling softly, Alex saw that her eyes were a little red around the edges, watching her cautiously pop a bean into her mouth, exhaling in relief. “Tiramisu. Thank God.” Later, when Alex walked Kara back to her common room, her sister nudged her. “She couldn’t get a permission form from her parents,” Kara confessed, her voice low so the paintings wouldn’t hear. “I think… Alex, I think they don’t like her.”

The night before the second tournament challenge, Alex knew there was no hope of sleep. She’d prepared Kara as much as she could, snuck her some gillyweed from the herbology storeroom, and there was nothing left to do but count down the seconds until the whole damn tournament was over. No more howlers. No more expectations. No more fame and glory she never wanted. But she didn’t expect to find Maggie in the Great Hall, lying on a table, staring at the sky above. “Hey,” she called out to her, stomach clenching at the way Maggie flinched and scrambled up, breathing a sigh of relief seeing that it was only her. “You OK?” “Fine,” she said shortly. “Shouldn’t you be studying for a challenge or something?” Alex exhaled, glanced up at the roof. “The stars help me think. Reminds me of home.” Setting her books down on the seat, she climbed onto the table with Maggie, laying down and waiting for the girl to join her, when she was ready. Finally, Maggie swallowed, settled. “I’m guessing you heard.” “Heard what?” “Come on, Danvers. Your Slytherin buddies weren’t gossiping about it in the common room?” Alex pushed herself up on an elbow. “What happened?” For a moment, the only sound in the room was Maggie exhaling. “I asked Fleur Delacour to the Yule Ball.” “Oh,” Alex stammered, her face starting to blush. “I – I didn’t know you…” “Yeah. It didn’t go well.” “Maggie…I’m so sorry.” “I don’t know what I expected. I figured half the kids here already hated me. My parents could come to terms with me being a witch but decided they didn’t want me back home after they found out about the last girl I liked, so what was there to lose?” “God, I had no idea…” “It’s whatever. Professor M’orzz helped me get a scholarship so I can stay, so…” She sighed, blinked tears from her eyes. “I guess being a non-white mudblood wasn’t hard enough, huh?” Alex tried to keep herself from squirming. “You shouldn’t call yourself that.” “Why?” “It’s… It’s a horrible word.” “Only because someone made it a horrible word. That’s why I call myself a mudblood, call myself queer. If I take the words back, they’re mine. I decide what they mean. I can be those things and still be proud. You know?” Alex didn’t quite understand, but she nodded slowly, trying to support her friend. “I guess. I’d never really thought about it like that.” She sighed, settling back down with Maggie. “I’m proud of you - for coming out at school, after everything. That was really brave.” Maggie laughed dryly. “A Triwizard champion calling me brave. You getting soft on me?” “No,” Alex laughed. For a moment they lay together in silence, watching a star shoot across the sky. “Though I have to say, you have good taste. Half the school’s chasing Fleur. She’s really pretty.” Maggie tilted her head, squinted a little at Alex. “What?” “Nothing, I just…think I read you wrong.” Alex blinked. “What do you mean?” “I didn’t know you were into girls.” “I’m not,” Alex said quickly, heat rising in her face. “I mean no offense, Maggie -” “No, I’m sorry - that was way too forward of me. Forget it,” Maggie replied, shrugging it off. “Look, we shouldn’t even be talking about me anyway, you have a big day tomorrow. You’re gonna ace it. You both will.” Alex’s heart swelled with the confidence Maggie had in her – that she lacked in herself. “You’ll be watching, right?” When she smiled, it was like the stars in the ceiling shone a little brighter. “Cross my heart.” “Miss Sawyer?” They both sat up quickly, each wrenched from their gaze on the other, seeing Professor M’orzz walking briskly towards them. “Could we speak in my office, please?” “Yes, professor,” Maggie answered, quickly turning back to Alex as she scrambled off the table and wiped the tears from her eyes. “I’ll see you after the challenge, OK? You’re gonna do great.” Professor M’orzz smiled warmly at her as Maggie collected her things. “Yes, good luck tomorrow, Miss Danvers. You should get some rest. Even prefects shouldn’t be up this late.” “Thank you, Professor. I’ll go up soon.” But when they left, all Alex could do was lift her eyes to the stars, trying to convince herself that the tournament was the reason her heart was pounding.

When they first stood on the platform in the middle of the lake, Professor J’onzz had told the champions that something had been taken from them – a treasure. Their task was simply to bring it back. It sounded simple. But nothing in the tournament ever was. Alex was barely listening, trying almost telepathically to reassure her little sister, the skin of the girl’s neck already starting to raise from the gillyweed, and when Alex first dove into the water, the first thing she felt, away from the screaming crowds, was relief. She’d never expected, down in the deep, to see Maggie among the reeds, bound and limp, hair splayed around her head. Next to her were James and two other kids she didn’t recognize. She felt Maggie’s name escape her chest in a desperate rush, her hands cupping the girl’s face. She was warm. But she wasn’t waking up. Alex spun around. Again. Again. Kara. She needed to find Kara. She inflated her bubble-head charm a little further, scanning the water. Finally her sister arrived, swimming over to help untie James, and Alex felt like she’d released her first real breath since the start of the challenge. “Go,” she tried to scream to her sister, giving James a mighty shove upward to help them get started before swimming back to Maggie. Next to her, Krum was already untying another girl. But they were running out of time, and Fleur was nowhere, nowhere, nowhere – the remaining chained young girl bobbing, lifeless, in the dark. Alex couldn’t leave her down there. Only minutes to go, she scrambled to untie both girls and drag them to the surface, blasting mer-people as she went, her chest crying out for air, her lungs shredding. She pushed the girls upward, saw them wake and swim as soon as they found air, and fought the mer-people as hard as she could, charming herself to the surface. “Alex!” someone screamed as her body slammed into the deck, and Kara crashed straight into her. She choked on air, grasping her sister tight. “I’m sorry,” the girl cried. “I tried to go back in the help you but they wouldn’t let me.” “You did the right thing,” Alex choked, blinking, steadying herself against the floor. “Maggie…” “Right here, Danvers.” She felt a hand on her back, and closed her eyes a moment. She was breathing. They were all breathing. Somewhere off, a girl was speaking frantic French. Closer. Then there were two hands grasping her face, Fleur weeping before her eyes. “You saved my sister, even though she wasn’t yours to save. Thank you, thank you,” she told Alex desperately, punctuating her words with kisses on each cheek. “And you! You helped!” she exclaimed, doing the same to Maggie. Both girls glanced at each other in the wake of that tornado, cheeks pink, and burst out laughing. “Don’t say I never do anything for you,” Alex joked. But Maggie shook her head, knowing all along that Fleur was never the girl she wanted to kiss. Not really. She crawled over to where Alex was still sitting on the floor, wrapped her arms around her tight. “Thank you for not letting me go,” she murmured against her shoulder. Alex smiled into her skin. “Never,” she replied, letting herself breathe – beside her, her sister, and in her arms, her treasure.

Since that day, Alex hadn’t been able to sleep through the night. At first she tried to convince herself that it was the tournament, but the truth edged in on her slowly, like ice over the lake, and when she was walking around the grounds with Maggie as she laughed about something or other, crumbs of snow in her hair, she simply couldn’t wait anymore. “Do you want to go to the Yule Ball with me?” Stopping in her tracks, Maggie’s eyes were wide. “What?” “Go to the ball with me?” she tried again, her voice and stance unsteady. “Please?” But Maggie’s eyes filled with tears, her head shook without permission, her lip trembled. “Is this some kind of joke?” “What? No!” “You heard your Slytherin buddies laughing behind my back and thought it’d be funny to stick me up on the night, is that it? Or you feel sorry for me? After Fleur?” “No, that’s not -” “God, Alex, enough. I confided in you, I thought… Everyone knows you’ll take Max Lord or someone like that. Someone from a good wizarding family, someone who -” “Maggie, none of that matters to me.” “Well, it matters to your mom. And that matters to you. Face it, Alex, you were never gonna go with me,” Maggie spat, the pain in her voice raw now. “Besides, you’re not even into girls. And even if you were, why would you choose me, when you’re perfect Alex Danvers, Triwizard champion, Slytherin prefect? You could have anyone, and I’m just -” “Maggie, stop,” Alex pleaded, trying to reach for her, to stop her from turning away. “Even if I could have anyone, I’d still want to go with you.” But Maggie’s face crumpled with her voice, the words “I don’t believe you” coming out in a strangled whimper, before she turned on her heels and ran.

The owlery was where she found her. Avoided by most students, the farm-like smell always reminded Maggie of home – if she could even call it home anymore. And owls, it seemed, were way less judgmental than people. When Alex called her name, she didn’t turn her face, didn’t even glance up. “Just leave me, Danvers.” “You’re my friend,” Alex insisted. “I want know if you’re OK.” Maggie turned, eyes red, hard around the edges. “You wanna know?” Alex shrugged in exasperation. “Yeah.” “Well I’m not OK, Alex. I’m not OK because I’ve liked you since we had Defence Against the Dark Arts together in fourth year, and this whole time I thought you could never like me back. But now you’re saying you do, and it’s too good to be true, and your mom will never let this happen -” “I don’t care what my mom says,” Alex insisted, taking her hand and drawing her out to the balcony, where it was quieter. “She’s already mad even when I’m perfect. So I may as well be who I am. Kiss the girl I want to kiss.” “Alex, you don’t get it,” Maggie wept. “My parents completely disowned me. If that happened to you, because of me, I don’t know what I’d do, I’d -” “Maggie, shhh….” she soothed her, taking her face in her hands, snow falling around them. “It’s gonna be OK. She’ll be mad, but she needs me to help with Kara too much to get rid of me. I’m over it. I’ve spend my whole life trying to be everything she wants, spent this whole year risking my life in a competition I don’t want to be a part of. I just want you, Maggie,” she said desperately, tears freely tumbling down her own cheeks now. “God, Maggie, I just want you.” It was Maggie who let the space between them shrink down to zero, brushing her lips against Alex’s in a kiss she’d never thought she’d have. Alex gasped against her mouth, and she was all warmth, all light, as they brushed the tears from each other’s cheeks. Alex pulled back a little, eyes still closed for a moment. “So you’re saying you want to go with me,” she said, making Maggie laugh. “Coz that’s what I got.” She sighed. “We still need to talk about if you’re really ready for your mom to know,” Maggie admitted, but then she smiled, eyes bright. “But of course I want to, Danvers.” A laugh broke out of Alex’s chest, and she shook her head a little, eyes shining. “Enough about my mom for now. Just let me kiss the girl I want to kiss.” She pressed her lips to Maggie’s cheek, her forehead, her nose, and when they kissed again, they knew no matter what happened next, they would always have a home in the castle. A home in each other.

[austindailyglobe-blog]

FBI Knew Nikolas Cruz Was Stockpiling Weapons And Wanted To Kill

Florida governor Rick Scott is calling for Christopher Wray to step down from the top spot at the FBI after the agency admitted to ignoring information it had received about Nikolas Cruz from a source close to the shooter.

‘The caller provided information about Cruz’s gun ownership, desire to kill people, erratic behavior, and disturbing social media posts, as well as the potential of him conducting a school shooting,’ said the FBI in a statement on Friday.

The agency went on to state that this information, which came in over their Public Access Line, should have been classified as ‘a potential threat to life’ and the Miami field office notified about the information.

Those protocols were not followed however for reasons that are still not clear, and on Wednesday Cruz shot dead 17 people.

‘Seventeen innocent people are dead and acknowledging a mistake isn’t going to cut it,’ said Governor Scott.

‘We constantly promote “see something, say something,” and a courageous person did just that to the FBI. And the FBI failed to act.’

He then stated: ‘”See something, say something” is an incredibly important tool and people must have confidence in the follow through from law enforcement. The FBI Director needs to resign.’

His anger was shared by many of the friends and family members who attended funerals for loved ones on Friday soon after the FBI shared this news.

Trouble: The FBI released a statement on Friday revealing that a call came in alerting the agency about Nikolas Cruz being a possible threat in early January

ArsenAL: ‘The caller provided information about Cruz’s gun ownership, desire to kill people, erratic behavior, and disturbing social media posts,’ said Cruz

Signs: That same caller, who contacted the FBI on January 5 via their Public Access Line, also shared their belief that Cruz might conduct a school shooting

Shock: Governor Rick Scott of Florida is now calling on Christopher Wrey to resign as director of the FBI and parents of victims voiced their anger at funerals(friends and family arrive for the funeral of 14-year-old victim Alyssa Alhadeff)

‘We are still investigating the facts. I am committed to getting to the bottom of what happened in this particular matter, as well as reviewing our processes for responding to information that we receive from the public. It’s up to all Americans to be vigilant, and when members of the public contact us with concerns, we must act properly and quickly,’ said Wray on Friday.

‘We have spoken with victims and families, and deeply regret the additional pain this causes all those affected by this horrific tragedy.’

This marks at least the third mass shooting in the past two years that was carried out by an individual the FBI had been alerted too but opted not to further investigate.

Omar Mateen was known to have possible terror ties when he massacred 49 people back in 2016 at Pulse nightclub in Orlando and Esteban Santiago walked into a field office in Anchorage, Alaska with a loaded handgun to report having terrorist thoughts just days before he killed five at the Fort Lauderdale Airport.

Attorney General Jeff Sessions also announced on Friday that he would be launching an investigation into how both the FBI and Department of Justice handle report and tips moving forward.

‘I have ordered the Deputy Attorney General to conduct an immediate review of our process here at the Department of Justice and FBI to ensure that we reach the highest level of prompt and effective response to indications of potential violence that come to us,’ said Sessions. his includes more than just an error review but also a review of how we respond. This will include possible consultation with family members, mental health officials, school officials, and local law enforcement.

The first tip in the Cruz case came back in September when they were alerted to comment made by YouTube user ‘Nikolas Cruz’ proclaiming his desire to be a ‘professional school shooter.’

At the same time, he was posting photos to his public social media account which showed off an arsenal of weapons, including multiple semi-automatic guns.

YouTube vlogger Ben Bennight alerted the FBI to a comment shared by Cruz on one of his videos back in September when the boy wrote: ‘I’m going to be a professional school shooter.’

Bennight revealed that the FBI was quick to respond to the concerning statement, arriving at his office the very next day to find out if he knew anything about the young man.

No go: ‘Seventeen innocent people are dead and acknowledging a mistake isn’t going to cut it,’ said Governor Scott (above on Thurs)

That was after he called a local field agent, revealing that his initial attempts to send in a screengrab of the comment failed when the email address he found listed on the federal agency’s website came back with a domain error saying that it did not exist.

He finally heard back from the FBI on Wednesday, when they called with some additional questions after 17 people were murdered at Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School.

On Thursday, Special Agent Rob Laskey revealed that the agency was unable to learn anything about the person who posted the comment.

‘No other information was included in that comment which would indicate a time, location, or the true identity of the person who made the comment,’ said Laskey.

‘The FBI conducted data reviews, checks, but was unable to further identify the person who actually made the comment.’

‘The FBI just left my house in regards to this situation and let me give you a little bit of backstory back in September or 2017, matter of fact on September 24, I sent a screenshot of a comment on one of my videos,’ said Bennight in a video posted to his YouTube channel on Wednesday.

‘Now people keep asking me which video was it, I don’t know … I screenshot the comment I hit the report button and reported it to YouTube.’

Bennight stated that YouTube quickly removed the comment, though Cruz’s account on the Google-owned, video-sharing website remained active through Wednesday night.

The problems began when he tried to reach out to the FBI.

‘I found an email address tips at fbi.gov, sent it to that email address, I immediately got back a domain error basically that email address didn’t exist,’ revealed Bennight.

‘So I looked up the number for our local field office and called him and left a message.’

Bennight continued: ‘Well the next day I had two FBI agents standing in my office taking down the information, taking down taking copies of the screenshot and asking me questions that of course, I couldn’t answer.’

He went on to discuss how people leave upsetting and angry and ‘heinous’ comments on his page all the time, but this was a different situation.

‘What I did think was, you know, this comment said “I’m going to be a professional school shooter,” and I knew that I couldn’t just ignore that so a screenshot of the comment.’

The FBI was then back in touch again on Wednesday.

‘I think we spoke with you in the past about a complaint that you made about someone making a comment on your YouTube channel,’ said an FBI agent who identified himself as Ryan Furr in a voicemail received by Bennight on Wednesday.

‘I just wanted to follow up with you on that and ask you a question with something that’s come up, if you wouldn’t mind giving me a ring.’

Bennight said that FBI agents were at his home by 5 pm while lamenting the fact that he could not offer more information to help with the investigation.

He also said that he believes the FBI and YouTube handled the situation as best they possibly could at the time.

‘I’m not sure that there’s really anything the FBI could have done with that information other than keeping an eye on somebody,’ said Bennight.

‘So I don’t know, I’m not here to judge, I’m just here to share my experience. And I hope that everybody involved can start the healing process soon.’

Bennight then closed out his video by stating: ‘You never really heal from this kind of wounds, but anyway I’m gonna end that here. That’s all for now. Ben the Bondsman signing out.’

(Parkland residents attend a vigil for the victims on Thursday)

Students who knew Cruz have also been speaking out, including one young man who wrote: ‘Nick attacked one of my friends once. He brought shotgun shells to school and made many threats against others. He had an instant full of pictures of dead animals that he killed.’

The teen, who wrote that his parents had prohibited him from giving interviews, added: ‘Mental illness needs to be recognized or things like this happen. People I know are f***ing dead.’

Cruz has not been attending Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School at the time of the massacre, having been expelled for disciplinary reasons during the 2016-17 school year.

It was at least the third time that Cruz had been forced to leave a learning institution, and came at a particularly difficult time in his life.

Cruz, who has a younger brother Zachary, lost his mother Lynda back in November as a result of complications from the flu.

The 68-year-old mother-of-two developed a case of pneumonia shortly after checking herself in to receive treatment for the seasonal sickness.

On Instagram, Cruz could be seen holding firearms, ammunition and the semiautomatic AR-15 rifle he likely used in the attack.

That weapon was legally obtained said the family’s lawyer Jim Lewis.

Another photo shows several guns, including rifles with scopes, laying on a bed. Another appears to show a frog that had been killed.

His father Roger died of a heart attack back in 2005, just a few years after he and wife Lynda adopted Nikolas and his brother Zachary.

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FBI Knew Nikolas Cruz Was Stockpiling Weapons And Wanted To Kill was originally published on Austin Daily Globe