#the other two posts mentioned are the free college one (sleep deprived)

[mokeonn]

Why are my posts that get made under the influence of something (sleep deprivation, caffeine on empty tummy, read a good book) the ones that take off

[hansolmates]

cherry contact |🍒

summary: jihoon has access to all versions of you - your credit score, shopping habits, work emails, even your terrible tinder history. pairing; fbi agent!jihoon x civilian!reader (f) genre/warnings; fluff, crack, it’s really just that “your fbi agent” meme that caused everyone 8 years ago to put tape over their webcams, questionable viewing habits for an fbi agent, language, dick talk, mentions of sex, jihoon has feelings and is confused, he is a PINER, tw—sexual harassment  w/c; 3.3k  a/n; i can’t believe i finished this😭😭 part of meraki’s job collaboration and i’ve been dying to do a svt collab since the dawn of time and finally today’s the day! it’s been a hot moment since i’ve written for jihoon, glad i managed to get those svt writing muscles going! a huge thank you to @merakiiverse​ and @woozisnoots​ for putting this together. readers pls definitely check back on the masterlist linked above to see more of the other talented cwc writers and their rendition of the job prompt!

if you like this fic please consider giving it a like n’share!🤓🖥🤓🖥

“Kevin, 32, works at Kodak,” you scroll further to the description, “I love being tied up and need a dominatrix, have swing at home—no.” Swipe right. 

“Lisa, 24, works at Infinity Dance Studio,” you definitely are weak for athletic ladies, “My hobbies include cuticle care and online shopping! Looking for a sugar daddy or mommy that can spoil me rotten—definitely can’t afford that kind of relationship.” Swipe right. 

“Hansol, 26, works in an art museum,” sounds promising, you love art, “wait, why are all his pictures of him holding fish? Is he inside a fish? Who the heck finds that attractive?” Swipe right. 

“Billiam, 31, works in finance. Needs a bratty baby girl who can triangle,” you grimace, “what is with these guys and stating their kinks from the get-go? Gotta take a girl out to dinner first, and the fuck is a triangle?” 

You swore off Tinder since the dark ages, also known as senior year of college. However you’re in a particular slump, thirst-trapped between needing some serious dick and a committed relationship. You’d prefer the latter, but after a stressful day at work and the fact that it’s the ass crack o’dawn, you’ll take what you can get. 

“Bye Billiam,” you sing-song into your phone, moving to swipe right. 

Except you accidentally drop your phone between your sheets, and when you pick it up you accidentally swipe left. 

“Fuck fuck fuck me with a fuckin’ fuck nugget!” you cry out into oblivion. You’re so glad you live alone at the very least, it stops you from looking like a crazy person when you talk your potential sexipades out. 

Billiam has Super-liked you! 

“No. Nononono—” you bludgeon your head against your pillow, frowning when your phone opens up a chat for you and Billiam. 

Billiam: hi can u check if my dick is too small

You: please, don’t send me a picture of your dick. 

Billiam is typing… 

You: for fuck’s sake—

“—that’s disgusting,” Jihoon curses, and immediately sends out the screenshot for sexual harassment. 

“What’s disgusting?” Mingyu chimes, swiveling in his spinny chair from his side of the room.

“Don’t look,” Jihoon gags, reaching for a bottle of Coca-Cola from the mini-fridge. “You’ll throw up your fried chicken.” 

“My person is a twenty-one year old nympho who also happens to be a incel,” Mingyu chastises to his screen, closing up the eighth tab of BBC porn he’s seen this week, “he doesn’t know how well he’s avoiding the FBI’s eyes,” Mingyu shakes his head, “so I’ve seen some pretty bad shit, but I’ll take your word for it.” 

“No,” he echoes your name like you’ve done the most heinous thing in the world, “no, no! Why would you swipe left on Jackson? You’re way out of his league! He literally looks like he has a pea-sized brain!” 

“He does look like he has half a brain cell,” your voice reverberates through his noise-cancelling headphones, unknowingly agreeing to Jihoon’s passionate throw of anger, “but I’m deprived and desperate, so!” 

It’s like you can hear his sentiments exactly. 

“Literally, you could have any person you want,” Jihoon chastises through his desktop, glaring heavily at your bedroom camera, “you’re wasting your time with these losers!” 

Oblivious, you let yourself dangle across the bed. The camera isn’t the best quality, but Jihoon watches intently at the rise and fall of your chest as you attempt to fall into a fitful sleep. 

“Some yell at screens for soccer,” Minghao says to the air from his cubicle, “some yell for Starcraft, but Jihoon yells for Tinder like it’s an Olympic sport.” 

“Jihoonie,” Mingyu rolls around his chair, resting a long arm over the backrest, “do you have a crush on your civilian?” 

Jihoon immediately swivels around his hair, meeting the amused eyes of Mingyu. “No,” he says sharply, whipping around to glare at his screen. 

He glares harder the longer Mingyu’s simple question sinks in. He doesn’t have a crush on you, he likes you. Jihoon swallows his sigh, wondering why you would want to go as low as Tinder to look for a potential tryst. From your profile, you’re absolutely beautiful and intelligent. You have simple pleasures that match his—a hot cup of tea right after dark, snuggling under a weighted blanket while watching anime, and sleeping in on Sundays.

Unlike him, you don’t see the world through half a dozen lenses and a plethora of information right at your fingertips. No, you’re lucky. 

“Hey can you grab me my water bottle?” Mingyu asks over his shoulder. 

Jihoon thinks nothing of it, leaving his post for the thirty seconds it takes to get to the mini-fridge and grab Mingyu’s Hydroflask. 

“You got a call,” Mingyu says when he plops the bottle on his desk, indicating to the red blinker on Jihoon’s computer. 

It isn’t until he puts on his headphones does he take care to see why his blinker is going off. 

He’s getting an incoming call. From you. 

You’ve been waiting on the line for about two minutes. He lets two additional minutes breeze by because Jihoon is internally screaming. You’re calling again. There’s a fire blazing in his brain, his fingers hot as he twitches against the spacebar of his keyboard. 

From the monitor he can see that you’ve given up on sleep, hands pawing through your drawer so you can take a final swipe at your magenta-tinted lip balm before nesting yourself in the sheets. You’re kicking around as if you don’t have work at 9AM, smacking your lips to apply the shiny salve while you wait for your call to be picked up. 

“Why is my civilian calling me,” it isn’t a question, it’s a thinly veiled indication that Jihoon is ready to fight whoever compromised him like this. 

Mingyu and Minghao fail to answer. That’s okay, he isn’t opposed to killing both if neither fess up. 

It would be so easy for him to ignore the call, or redirect it to another part of the office. Yet he aches to talk to you, for real talk to you. As if you’re just two regular plain-old human beings with normal lives, and as if he didn’t know every nook and cranny about your daily routine and your favorite breakfast foods.

Call it pride, call it confidence, but Jihoon’s been pretty good at games and he hopes prior experience helps him get over this hurdle. Slipping on his headset, he accepts the call and answers in a controlled voice, “This is the local hotline for sexual harassment reports, are you here to report a case?” 

Okay, so this is the closest thing he can get to having a full-fledged conversation with you, so he’ll take it. 

“Hi,” you mumble your name into the phone, and he nearly disintegrates right then and there. It’s different when he can hear your voice directly in his ears, definitively reaching out to him as opposed to being a fly on the wall, “I received an email that a report was sent out for my previous chat as sexual harassment, but I didn’t send out a report.” 

“Yes,” Jihoon replies smoothly, tapping his nails against his thighs, “it’s a new update.” 

“Oh, well thank you,” you reply, and Jihoon sees from the camera that you’re staring at your phone in curiosity. 

“It’s my job,” he says, and the words hold more weight than you think, “are you okay?” 

“Is it also your job to ask how I’m doing?” 

He smiles wryly, and he looks up at the monitor to see how you’ve considerably relaxed on your bed. Your legs dangle in the air, and you’re hugging a mango plushie with all the love in the world. “Not really, but I figured I’d ask. I don’t think I’d be able to recover from a dick that looks like an unhinged toenail.” 

Your laugh flutters in his ears, and his stomach is flip-flopping with more than just his shitty ramen lunch. Your face curls and wrinkles into happiness at the lewd joke, and you rest your chin on your stuffed fruit. 

“I’m okay,” you finally answer, “it’s not the first time I’ve seen subpar dick. But thank you… what’s your name?” 

“Uji,” he says, a codename that he considers as precious as his actual name, “feel free to call or text this number if you’re ever feeling uncomfortable and in distress.” 

“I’ll keep that in mind, good night Uji.” 

“Good night.” 

That wasn’t so bad, Jihoon thinks as he hangs up the phone. He dims the monitors to let you freshen up and get ready for bed, as per your schedule. After tonight, he hopes he can be sated with his curiosity of you. Maybe he needs to follow your plans and open up a dating account or something, he feels that he’s starting to get a little too engrossed in your presence. 

The waning starts today. 

You: help, i’m feeling uncomfortable and in distress

Uji: what is it this time? 

You: i can’t decide which weighted blanket i should get. Will more weight make me feel more comforted or will i accidentally suffocate myself in my sleep? 

The waning of you did not start that night, in fact it never began. Jihoon’s been on edge for weeks, simultaneously teetering between what he calls the high-school equivalent of the talking stage and an absolute catastrophe. 

It started as an accident, you meant to call your friend’s number for cooking help but since the last call before your friends was his, you called Jihoon instead. To your surprise, he knew how to roll out homemade pasta without a pasta machine. You kept him on the call for the entirety of dinner preparation, and he couldn’t help but feel a twinge of pride when your pasta turned out perfect and you were happy and full for the entire night. 

Weeks later, and you’ve been texting each other for shits and giggles. At first you chalk up your insistence that he’s basically Human Google and has the answers to seemingly anything and everything, but over time it seems that you enjoy your daily interactions with him. Whether it be a simple phone call asking how to unclog your drain or a screenshot comparing two different KitchenAids, he’s at your disposal. 

The burner phone he’s been holding as of late is on silent, but he’s able to pick it up immediately. It’s almost intuition, coupled with the way he notices whenever you seem in a pickle and you need to contact him. However he does not have a chance to formulate a reply, as you’re now calling him.

“Couldn’t wait?” he speaks as if you’re familiar with each other, as if you’re friends. Jihoon longs for that so much, he would love to be upgraded to someone other than the IT guy you text for funsies. 

“Yes,” you say, voice laced with determination, “I’m deciding on whether to just like or Super-Like this guy on Light a Flame.” 

Jihoon deflates a little, but steels himself. You’d never want to go on a date with the IT guy, it seems that you enjoy the anonymity of your recent communications. Your conversations are definitely meme-worthy. 

“Who is it?” 

“His name’s Lee Jihoon, 25, works in the FBI.” 

He chokes on his coffee, precious beans from Argentina, and the liquid is flying across his keyboard. 

Pulling up your phone view, it confirms the worst. In a moment of Weakness with a capital W, Jihoon had caved and made a Light a Flame profile the other night. It’s an app reserved for more serious relationships, which means you’ve finally graduated from Tinder. 

“Are you okay?” he wants to cry when he hears you on the other line, genuinely panicked. “Do you need me to send you his profile?” 

“N-no,” he sputters, rubbing a rough napkin from McDonalds over his dripping chin. He thought he privated his profile last week after he realized there was nothing he could do to let loose of you. Turns out that isn’t the case, because you’re currently pursuing his profile and actually kinda-sorta considering him for a potentially serious relationship. 

“C’mon, Uji,” you tease lightly, “you always seem to know what to do. This is your area of expertise after all, since you work for that kind of department.” 

What should he do, scratch that, what can he do? It’s a complete violation of policy to be fraternizing with his civilian life. Sure, there has been episodes of civilians and agents meeting each other, but only minor violations that both parties forgot about shortly after. He’s so far deep at this point, he can risk being relocated or losing his civilian—losing you. 

“Do you think he really works in the FBI?” you say when he doesn’t reply immediately, “he’s really cute, though. Totally looks like my style, and he likes My Hero as well! C’mon, I just need for you to check as to whether he’s a homicidal maniac or a compulsive liar.” 

Liar. He’s a liar. 

That self-accusation prompts him to slump in defeat, and he mumbles in the phone, “I don’t think he’s worth it. I’d say pass.” 

“Hey, Coups has seniority,” Soonyoung pats Jihoon thoughtfully on the back with one hand, and grilling meat with the other. Barbeque always lifted up Jihoon’s spirits. “Why don’t you give it a chance and meet her for real? And then he can give me your super cute civilian and then he can give my shitty civilian to some newbie.” 

“And if it doesn’t work out, I just lose her,” Jihoon’s eyes are watering, most likely from the excess smoke around their grill, but it does align with his current state of sadness. It was the right thing to do, he thinks over and over as he replays that phonecall from last night. “Hoshi, if you were in my situation, would you have done the same?” 

“Like I said–” Soonyoung—codename Hoshi, waves his tongs around like a magic wand, “your civilian is super cute, so I would be making a beeline to her house and—” 

“Okay, don’t finish that sentence,” you’re his civilian, not Soonyoung’s. 

“Cheer up, c’mon,” Soonyoung’s filling his bowl with all sorts of delicious things, charred vegetables, mixed rice, and pork belly. Jihoon’s favorite is pork belly, so eventually he relents with a timid smile, taking out his chopsticks to appease his friend, “there it is, Uji. Food always makes things better—” 

“Uji?” 

Both off-duty agents freeze, hearing the familiar ting of your voice as it glares holes into Jihoon’s back. It’s you. Since they’re off the clock, he would have no idea you’d be here. Usually that’s fine, it’s early morning and it’s pretty unlikely that you’d run into your civilian considering you’re supposed to know every second of their schedule. It seems that tonight you’ve varied from the norm. 

“Uh, hey?” 

His back is still facing you, and he’s side eying Soonyoung in a panic. He’s wearing a cap and a nondescript hoodie, feeling like a shlub as your familiar voice pings back at him with excitement. 

“I knew I recognized your voice!” you’re unfazed, definitely not realizing the distress the two men are currently going through. “What a small world, I didn’t think we’d ever actually run into each other!” 

“Talk to her, you ass!” Soonyoung hisses, and immediately swivels his chair so he has no choice but to face you.

You’re so, so pretty. Prettier in person, prettier than any crappy 480p screen can give him. You’re definitely not dressed for barbeque, in fact you look like you’re just passing by to pick up a to-go order after a night out. You’re dressed in a silky looking velvet off-the-shoulder top, the cherry red color practically melting onto your skin. The black skirt paired with it has Jihoon salivating for more than just barbeque, and he has no idea how to look away. 

The smile is wiped clean off your face however, and you recognize him almost immediately. “Jihoon?” 

This should be a moment of joy for him, after all it’s far too late to go back at this point. You look a little hurt, your face twisted in confusion as you put two and two together. 

Soonyoung excuses himself to go to the bathroom, although neither party seems to care. The lame, over-distended EDM music that plays over the cacophony of the barbeque place seems to melt in the atmosphere, much like how the smoke hits the fan, and it’s just you two in the room. Jihoon gestures a pale hand to Soonyoung’s seat, and you take a beat to reluctantly sit yourself down. 

You clutch your skirt with both hands, thumbs ringing against the pleats and ironing them out. “So, you’re also Jihoon?” your voice is tiny, small and sad. Jihoon feels liquid guilt inject in his veins, and he wishes he could reach out and pat your shoulder, hold your hand, something. However no matter how much he knows you, he’s a stranger to you. “Why did you lie to me?” 

“It’s… complicated,” you shake your head at his pathetic reply, and Jihoon hates this. He feels like he’s drowning in smoke and mirrors and the cloying scent of pork belly is now sticking to all his senses, immobilizing him. 

With a cross of your arms, you scoff, “It’s always complicated.” 

“Please don’t think I said those things the other night because I don’t want to date you,” Jihoon tumbles the words out like a hamster wheel, wanting to speed up to your pace as fast as he can, “I want to, I really do, but it’s—”

“Complicated.” 

“Yeah.” 

The two of you sit in silence, letting the noise back into your little bubble. Jihoon feels his stare on you, akin to how a teacher looks over your shoulder during an exam. He robotically eats rice, grain after grain as he lets you have your look. 

The slope of his nose, the cotton smooth skin, the lean yet strong stature. You can’t believe he matches the Light a Flame profile perfectly. Other than the frumpy clothes, he matches the man on your phone, a simple picture in a black suit that reminds you strangely of the movie Kingsman. You mentally roll through what you remember from his profile, his hobbies, his likes and dislikes, his occupation—

“Wait,” you pause, your brows knitting together, “so the FBI thing on your profile… is not a joke?” 

Jihoon forgets to chew his last bite, and he swallows a whole two centimeters of meat down his throat. Ouch. 

“It’s—” 

“Complicated.” 

The adjective has a whole new meaning now. It’s crazy how in so little words, so much is exchanged between you two. You might not be realizing it, but Jihoon’s so attuned to you he feels like the pick to your guitar, strumming and humming along your chords like it’s second nature. It really isn’t fair, but anticipating your reactions helps greatly. 

“There’s things you’re not telling me.” 

“Right.” 

“And things you can’t tell me,” you add. 

“Yes.” 

“Then what are some things you can tell me?” 

“I’d… rather not here,” Jihoon’s eyes dart around the room, looking for all the pinholes and micro cams attached to the restaurant. By the bonsai, under the table, in the koi tank, “I need to work out some paperwork before anything.” 

“Paperwork?” 

Jihoon nods mutely, but he looks at you with a litany of emotions in his eyes you’re reeling back in your stool. Why do you feel like this man knows you from a simple five-minute interaction? And why do you feel like you can trust this man with your life? 

“Okay,” you finally say. 

“Really? Okay?” you think he’s cute, the way his eyes perk up and his back straightens. 

“Really.” 

Silence fills the space once more. This time however, it feels more at ease. 

“The only reason why I’m saying yes,” you pretend to nonchalantly play with your fingertips, a manicure reserved for a date you’ve long abandoned for this evening in favor of a new flame, “is because I think FBI agents are kinda hot.” 

A flush blooms on Jihoon’s cheeks, and you can’t help but giggle. 

[liamscxtt]

a day in the life ; self para

when: thursday, august 28th

where: literally everywhere

nb: just a brief (long) narrative of what the typical day looks like for liam.

trigger warnings: homelessness, death and drug mentions, drug abuse

5:00am

there’s a moment when you first wake up when everything is just a haze. a moment when you forget who you are, what day it is -- all of your problems just don’t exist, for that moment. the moment only lasted a few seconds before the blaring sound of the alarms coming from the phone bring you back to the brutal aspects of reality. and yet, those were the best five seconds for liam.

groaning, he turned over and tapped on his screen, desperately trying to shut the alarm off; the bright screen burning his already sleep deprived eyes. he probably only got about three hours of sleep, if that. he was used to it at this point, and then there were days like today. days where he wanted to wither into the depths of his own self-loathing. 

he looked out the window to see the sun beginning to rise. a sky painted with shades of blues, purples, and oranges, almost like a messy yet somewhat neatly put together painting made by a middle schooler. there was something beautiful about waking up with the sun, parts of it that brought him peace. his sister loved watching the sunrise - she always went on and on about how sunrises were the true underdog; how mother nature picked it’s most beautiful mixture of colors for the sunrises, all because it took a special person to appreciate the beauty that came from it. he never really understood what she meant, until he was forced to watch the sun rise every single morning. and as always, she was right. sunsets had nothing against sunrises. 

these quiet mornings were the best part of liam’s day. the hours where he felt most connected to his sister and to himself. the hours he felt truly at peace. it was crazy to think that liam’s favorite time of the day was between 5:00am and 6:30am. 

he turned on his car to play youtube on his aux before climbing out of his vehicle. the sweet melody’s of the soft pitched tunes filled his car and the immediate area surrounding it, and a smile creeped on his face as one of her favorite songs began playing in the background. he wasn’t religious, but there was a part of him that truly found strength in knowing that his sister wasn’t far away. 

he rolled up the worn down mattress topper, collected his pillow and blanket in one hand. he broke down his bed as he pushed the backseat of his 2006 ford escape upright and neatly tucked his belongings into his trunk. 

5:30am

he pulled into the vacant parking lot of the soulstice gym. the gym was set to open in a half hour; luckily for him, there weren’t many college students that would dare to wake up at the crack of dawn just to work out. he stuffed everything he needed to get ready for the day into a duffle bag; shower supplies, and a clean outfit. he desperately needed to do laundry, and he needed to get food...but pay day wasn’t until next week. he was gonna have to find cash, and find it quick - maybe he’ll just pick up another shift at the bar. he practically lived at that place now.

his footsteps echoed through as he walked through the empty fitness center; not even the cleaners had arrived for their early morning shift. he quickly hopped into the showers and get ready for the day. lord knows he needed to wash the dirt and sins that painted his skin from the previous nights festivities. he couldn’t even recall what exactly happened, and that was both a blessing and a curse. it was shortly after he turned on all the lights and greeted the early morning cleaners, jimmy and george. 

“good morning, son!” greeted george. 

“mornin’, will.” jimmy greeted shortly after. 

jimmy and george worked closely together, and were usually gone for the day 2pm; and yet, liam knew the guys quite well. 

jimmy is in his early-forties, married with two children. he worked two full time jobs to get his children through school. his son played division II baseball at a school somewhere in the midwest, and is majoring in sports education. he wants to be a gym teacher. his daughter is studying to be a nurse at monarch. she aspires to work in women’s health. jimmy always spoke so highly of them two. 

george is in his mid-sixties, but is still kicking it like he’s twenty. he’s also married with children and even grandchildren, but his story is more tragic. he’s a retired firefighter, who is still working a full time job because his pension wasn’t enough to make ends meet. can’t make ends meet. his only daughter passed away at a young age - drug overdose, he says. his only son is constantly in and out of jail for drug charges - leaving george and his wife to take care and raise their two grandchildren, layla and michael. layla is 14 and is getting ready to start high school. she loves to play volleyball, and apparently is a natural. michael is 9 and is getting ready to start fourth grade. he love cars, spider man, legos, sonic, and baseball cards. he wants to be a youtube gamer when he grows up. liam didn’t know the kid, but he thought he was fucking awesome. 

two completely different stories, and yet liam believed that those two men deserved the world and then some.

“what’s up, guys?” liam greeted with a smile as he filled up his metal water bottle at the nearest filling station. “when are the kids set to go back, george?”

“this coming monday. mikey’s already complaining how he doesn’t need school to be a youtuber. apparently he’s ‘done his research’.” the comment makes both liam and jimmy laugh. 

“tell the little man to put that energy into a sport, or a trade. i need a new mechanic.” jim jested, once again causing the other two to laugh. “what about you, will? getting ready to start the semester back up? gabby is already stressing because some of her professors already posted the syllabus.” 

“shit, i haven’t even gotten my textbooks yet. i might have to join mikey with this whole youtuber plan and hope for the best.” liam said with a nervous chuckle. he almost had completely forgotten about the upcoming semester approaching. 

to quickly divert the question away from him, he spoke once more. “say, george. i found a few baseball cards at the bar the other night. remind me to bring them in for you.” 

“you’ll make that boys entire week. maybe i’ll use that to bribe him to go to school.” 

jimmy just smiled. “you’re a good kid, scotty boy. never change.” 

2:30pm

it had only been a half hour since liam clocked out from his morning job, and he quickly made his way over to the library. the mention of school that morning brought liam into a panic. he grabbed a spot at one of desks in the computer station, powering on the device and pulling out his notebook. luckily enough, most of the textbooks he needed the library had available. leaving his stuff behind, he went to go fetched them. 

he already had mastered the technique of not having his own textbooks. every week, he would go and scan all of the chapters he needed for each and every class. luckily, monarch offered free scanning and printing. he made small talk with the librarian that sat at the desk nearby as he printed out at least three weeks worth of chapters for each of his classes. 

he sat down once more, and took the time to put the pile of papers neatly into his binder. it was time to start planning. 

6:30pm

now it was time to work his night time job, mars bar. he was working with adrian tonight, so he knew it wouldn’t be that bad.

his stomach had been grumbling half way through his shift. he hadn’t eaten anything all day. but he continued to push through. he had to, at least until pay day. he continued to chug water; if his stomach was full of water, his body didn’t have time to remind him that it needed some sort of nutrients. he was a master manipulator when it came to his own body now. 

1:00am

the rounded out the tips that he received from his customers. it was a good night, and luckily enough he would be able to do laundry the next day. his body was tired, though; aching from the lack of sleep and abuse his body endured from the festivities. he felt like he could sleep for an entire month, and then some. 

he drove around for a bit after his shift, a thing he did as he needed to both unwind and find a somewhat safe space to park his car. university police were patrolling the parking lots that night, which immediately told him not to park there. he couldn’t park in greek row - too many people he knew by this point. he was left to park in a nearby park, in a nearby neighborhood. he found himself saying a small prayer that nobody would mess with him that night. 

he lit up a joint once he found his place, feeling the smoke fill his lungs as he listened to the calming music that played on the radio. ed sheeran was playing, a song from his multiply album. it was one of his and his sister’s favorite albums. that’s the one thing they shared in common, their taste in music. but she was more pop in a sense, and he was more edgy. but still, the music brought him comfort.

he got his bed ready; a mattress topper, paired with a pillow and a blanket. he made himself comfortable and looked at his phone, just to see he missed a text from his mother at 10:45pm.

hi honey! spoke with your aunt today, and we’re making plans for christmas. did your father reach out to you? let me know what plans he has set. i’ll arrange my trip around your plans. 

i hope you had a great day! i love you! ❤️

her message was followed by a bitmoji image of her holding a huge heart. and he smiled. 

i haven’t spoken to him all week, but i’ll reach out tomorrow and let you know. i’ll call you tomorrow. love you ❤️

there was a huge part of him that wanted to call her now, that wanted to tell her he had been struggling both physically and mentally...but then he remembered the damage and the financial burden his injury left. it ruined his family. he ruined his family. and just as he was about to press call, he let out a frustrated sigh before locking his phone and tossing it not too far away from him, rolling over to attempt to get some sort of rest.

just to do the same thing. all. over. again.

[rocknrollarticles]

The Artwoods Story

The Artwoods’ 100 Oxford Street is a UK compilation album released in 1983 that features a four-page booklet (pictured above) that tells the band’s story, written by guitarist Derek Griffiths.

Since there's a limit on the number of photos that can be added to one post, I'll be reblogging this a couple times until I have all the info up. To see this post with all the info added in reblogs, click here.

Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoy Derek’s words as much as I do!

Transcript under the cut (main text + Record Mirror article from page three's rightmost side)

“  It's difficult to pinpoint exactly when the Artwoods came into being because everything just seemed to evolve naturally. The one date however that does stick in my mind is the 1st October 1964 which is the date I turned professional, thus depriving the accountancy profession of a valuable addition to its ranks! But seriously, one must go back to previous events in order to trace the history of the group.

I first met Jon Lord at a party in West Hampstead when he was a drama student at The Central School of Speech & Drama. He was introduced to me by Don Wilson whose claim to fame was his membership of the famous skiffle group Dickie Bishop & His Sidekicks. They had had a hit years previously with "No Other Baby But You", and Don now ran a band on a semi-pro basis called Red Bludd's Bluesicians in which I played guitar. Well, I say we were called this, but only when we were fortunate enough to cop an R&B gig. We used to play The Flamingo Allnighter and lots of U.S. air bases. The rest of the time we played weddings and tennis club dances as The Don Wilson Quartet! Jon Lord was brought in on piano and was a very valuable addition especially as he could get his hands around a little jazz and all the old standards. Jon used to ring me at work and interrupt my vouching of sales ledger invoices in order to discuss the coming weekends gigs. We would bubble with excitement at the approach of an R&B gig as we really hated all the weddings and barmitzvahs.

Around this time Don made a very important policy decision and we suddenly became the proud owners of a Lowrey Holiday organ for Jon to play. Shortly after this Don contrived to drive the band-wagon into the back of a lorry on the North Circular, doing himself considerable mischief in the process. This brought about the unfortunate end of Don's career with us, but not before he had masterminded an important merger of two local bands.

For some time we had been aware, and not a little envious, of The Art Wood Combo led by none other than Art Wood himself. His band underwent a split at that time and Red Bludd's Bluesicians, alias The Don Wilson Quartet, were neatly grafted on. We really felt we were moving into the big league by doing this as Art not only had more work than us but, wait for it, used to sing with Alexis Korner's Blues Incorporated with Charlie Watts on drums and Cyril Davies on harmonica! The next problem was a replacement for Don, and this was solved by stealing the bass player from another local group The Roadrunners, a good looking cove who went by the name of Malcolm Pool. The offer and acceptance of the gig were transacted in a pub car park somewhere in West Drayton staring into the murky waters of the Grand Union Canal clutching pints of local bitter (Fullers?). (Authors note: drugs had not been invented at this stage, as far as most groups were concerned, apart from the odd pill to keep one awake on an all nighter!)

~

The next personnel change took place some time in 1964 and this involved the retirement of drummer Reg Dunnage, who did not want to turn pro. Auditions were held in London and lots of drummers attended. However it was more or less a foregone conclusion that Keef Hartley would get the job. You see we'd already decided that what The Artwoods needed above all else was a Liverpool drummer! Unfortunately none came to the audition, but Keef hailed from Preston which was near enough for us. Keef had previously played with Rory Storm & The Hurricanes, replacing Ringo Starr in the process (heady stuff this), and Freddy Starr & The Midnighters. Both were such influential bands of their time that these credentials combined with Keef's quasi Liverpool accent (at least to our ears) provided him with a faultless pedigree.

~

So that was it, the line-up that would take us through to 1967 when Colin Martin eventually replaced Keef Hartley on drums.

For a while we worked as The Art Wood Combo but then decided it was hipper to drop the Combo and become The Artwoods.

The period when The Artwoods were operating was one of musical change when groups went from recording and performing other writers' material to writing their own. In fact the last year of the group's existence was 1967 which heralded the arrival of "Hendrix", "Flower-Power". "Festivals" and experimental use of mind expanding drugs! 1966/67 were particularly exciting years to be based in London and every night would be spent in one of the many clubs which had recently sprung up. The Ad Lib, The Scotch of St. James, The Cromwellian, Blaises and of course The Speakeasy to mention a few. Many of these we played in and the trick was to be well known enough not to have to pay the entrance fee on nights off. Any night you could be sure to meet your mates "down The Speak" and it became the unofficial market place for rock musicians.

It was also the days before huge amounts of equipment took over. Equipment meant road-crew and trucks and in turn financial hardship. This simple equation has been the downfall of many bands over the years. We used to travel in a 15 cwt van together with all the gear-no roadies, just us. It's amusing to recall but after recording the TV show "Ready, Steady, Go" (in Kingsway in those days?) one would be besieged by autograph hunters on the way to the van with the gear. Even really 'big groups of the day like The Zombies would hump their own equipment and apologetically place an amp on the ground in order to sign an autograph! Because it was financially viable to travel to small clubs in this way, we would often average 6 or 7 nights a week, every week, on the road. A bad month would probably mean less than twenty gigs. This meant we were living, sleeping and eating in close, and I mean close, proximity. You really found out who your friends were.

The subject of equipment is an interesting one as it really distinguishes the bands then from those of today. The average pub band of today would carry more equipment than we did. As I've already mentioned we were quick to realise that we could elevate ourselves musically by investing in a proper electric organ as opposed to a Vox Continental or Farfisa that many groups used. Consequently the group purchased a Lowrey Holiday and we thought this alone would provide us with the Booker T and Jimmy Smith sound.

What we failed to realize was that we also needed a Leslie cabinet with a special built-in rotor to get that "wobbly" sound. Our friend and mentor Graham Bond, the legendary organist/saxophonist, was quick to point out the error of our ways one night when we were gigging at Klooks Kleek in West Hampstead. We groaned inwardly when we discovered the extra cost and humping involved, but it had to be bought. We were fortunate very early on to score a deal with Selmers, who provided us with free amps and P.A., but we had to make the trek to Theobalds Road once a week to get it all serviced as they were not as reliable in those days. I used a Selmer Zodiac 50 watt amp and Malcolm had Goliath bass cabinets with a stereo amp.

The P.A. comprised two 4 x 12 cabinets and a 100 watt amp! When we toured Poland we played in vast auditoria and linked our system with the Vox system being used on tour by Billy J Kramer & The Dakotas. This meant we were pumping out no more than 300 watts which is laughable by today's standards. Although it would never have compared in quality, I can remember standing at the back of extremely large halls and being able to hear clearly all the words Billy J sang. One day in 1963 Alexis Korner sent me off foraging in and around Charing Cross Road for a new guitar, with instructions to mention his name whereupon I would receive a discount of 10%. Previously I played a Burns Trisonic (collectors will appreciate this model did not have "Wild Dog" treble) but fancied owning a Gibson ES335 as favoured by many blues players. Sure enough one was hanging invitingly in the window of Lew Davis's shop.

I ended up paying £135 and still use it regularly today although its value has multiplied five fold. Malcolm came with me that day and bought an Epiphone bass, the same colour and shape as my guitar. For years we looked like matching book-ends on either end of the group! Keef started off using a Rodgers drum kit, but somewhere along the line changed to, I think, Ludwig. There was no out-front mixing as is common today, just the P.A. amp on stage with the vocalist. Primitive I know, but everything revolved around bands being able to travel economically with their gear and perform at small clubs anywhere in Britain. The college circuit was much sought after and provided the icing on the cake while package tours were not necessarily well paid. We did our first with P. J. Proby and got £25 per night (for the lot of us) and we had to pay for our own accommodation!

~

I have already mentioned "Ready, Steady, Go" a show on which we appeared on more than one occasion. The original format called for groups to mime to their records but after a time it was decided that it would become "live" and that the show would be re-titled "Ready Steady Goes Live". We were proud to be picked for the first "live" show and learnt the news via a telephone call to our agent in London from a phone box high in the Pennines. We managed a drunken war-dance of celebration round the phone box believing that this meant we'd really cracked it. As I remember the first show we did featured Tom Jones (complete with lucky rabbits foot) miming to "It's Not Unusual", The Kinks, Donovan and Adam Faith's Roulettes playing live (without Adam). We were promoting our first single "Sweet Mary" and I would put the date at around late 1964.

~

Our first recording deal was with a subsidiary of Southern Music Publishing called Iver Productions and I reckon that would have been mid 1964. Southern had a four track studio in the basement of their offices in Denmark Street ("The Street") and getting the gear downstairs, especially the organ, was "murder". Our first producer was Terry Kennedy and we recorded several tracks with him. Without going too deeply into all the details of recording techniques of the period, one tended to compensate for the lack of tracking facilities available, by attempting to duplicate the live excitement. In many ways it was a frustrating experience particularly for ambitious guitar-players. I was a Steve Cropper freak and I knew as a musician that a lot of his sound on record resulted from him working his amplifier hard in the studio— thus the speaker would emit the sound he was used to on stage. In Britain however, engineers would say "You don't need to play loud man, we can turn you up on the desk". The result was a weedy, thin guitar sound. From way back I'd been experimenting with "feed back" on stage and I really had to dig my heels in about the guitar sound in the studio. Once when I turned my amp up to give it a bit of "wellie" on a solo the engineer bounded out of the control room screaming that the level would bust his microphones!

~

Sometime during the career of The Artwoods it was decided that we should graduate to a better studio. This was arranged by Mike Vernon who also became our producer. Our records had all been released through the Decca Record Co. and Mike was a staff producer with them. Mike w also an authority on "The Blues" and the relationship led to our only single chart record "I Take What I Want" a cover of a Sam & Dave U.S. R&B hit. Mike was also producing John Mayall at the time and it seemed only natural that Mike and The Artwoods should team up. From this point on we recorded at the Decca studio in Broadhurst Gardens, West Hampstead, but I can't honestly say it did any more for us than our previous efforts in the Southern Music basement, although we could now indulge ourselves in the comparative luxury of the eight track studio. Later on, towards the end of the groups life we were signed by Jack Baverstock at Philips Records who was looking for a group to cash in on the thirties-style gangster craze which had been triggered off by the film "Bonnie & Clyde". As a result we changed our name to "St. Valentines Day Massacre" and released a single of the old Bing Crosby hit "Brother Can You Spare A Dime?" It was an ill- fated venture, which I would prefer not to dwell on, virtually signalling the end of the band apart from a few heavy-hearted gigs with a changed line-up.

~

Before that though, there were many great times to remember, and a fair number of gigs that were memorable in one way or another.

One of our favourite gigs was Eel Pie Island which we regularly played once a month; in fact we held the attendance record there for a while until the ageing blues artist Jesse Fuller took it from us. Eel Pie Island is literally an island in the middle of the River Thames at Twickenham and there's never been a gig like it since. It was an Edwardian ballroom originally I believe, that achieved notoriety in the 50's with the Trad Jazz boom. At that time, an overloaded chain ferry was used to convey the crowd across the river, but during the 60's a small bridge was in existence although it was only wide enough to take the promoter Art Chisnall's mini van. He had to make three separate trips across with the gear strapped to the roof and hanging out the back doors.

The audiences were exceptional for those times and I don't know where they all came from... very much like art students and very much more like the 70's than 60's. Long hair predominated and this was before 'hippies' had officially been invented! If you can imagine a ramshackle wooden ballroom, bursting at the seams, condensation pouring from the walls, the audience on each others shoulders leaping up and down, the sprung dance floor bending alarmingly in the middle, in the summer couples strolling outside and lounging on the river bank ... all this and not a disc jockey in sight! One other bonus was that it was a “free” house and therefore sold many different types of beer— we always favoured Newcastle Brown. Back on the 'mainland' afterwards it was always riotous packing the gear into the truck. I don't know how he managed it but one night Malcolm drove our truck over the support band's guitar which happened to be lying about, thus breaking the neck. I'll never forget the shocked look on that poor guitarist's face as Malcolm smoothly slipped the van into gear, apologised and drove off in that order!

~

No trip up north was complete without stopping at the famed Blue Boar on the M1 for a "grease-up" on the way home. I do not refer to truck lubrication but to a particular rock'n'roll delicacy known as “full-house”. This comprised double egg, sausage, chips, beans, tomatoes, fried slice, tea, and (if you were man enough) toast. It was considered a Herculean task to break successfully the 10 bob' (50p) barrier-all served on wobbly cardboard plates that doubled as items to sign autographs on for the self service waitresses.

Waitress: What band are you?

Me: You won't have heard of us.

Waitress: Oh go on, tell us.

Me: OK. The Artwoods.

Waitress: Never 'eard of you!

It was everybody’s dream to walk into the Blue Boar just as their hit of the moment was playing on the Juke Box.

~

One time we were chosen to represent the twentieth century at the centenary celebrations of the State of Monte Carlo— a most lavish affair which the aristocracy and dignatories of Europe attended. Princess Grace and Prince Ranier were the hosts and people like Gina Lollobrigida and the like were there. The ball was held in the famous Casino at Monte Carlo and we stayed in an opulent hotel called The Hermitage, I think. All I can remember is that we all had single rooms (a rare luxury) which were massive, and you could have pitched a tent under one of the bath towels, they were so big. After this we jetted off up to Paris where we played next door to the Moulin Rouge at a club called The Locomotive.

Whilst we were there we were taken out by our friend Mae Mercer, the American lady blues singer who we backed in England. She lived in Paris and took us out to Memphis Slim's club where we all set about drinking like it was going out of style. At the end there was an embarrassing scene concerning the bill with the result that Mae ended up in tears. Whilst we were bumbling about in an alcoholic stupor, an upright looking gentleman put his arm round Mae to comfort her and a wallet appeared magically from his inside pocket. Without further ado the bill was despatched and we later learned that our anonymous benefactor was none other than Peter O'Toole who was busy in the street outside filming 'Night Of The Generals' and was an old buddy of Mae's.

~

One Boxing Day we loaded up with turkey sandwiches and Xmas pudding and headed off for a gig down in Devon or Cornwall somewhere. We arrived to find the club closed and boarded up, and as usual we were broke. Naturally we were livid, checked into an hotel and located the promoter who lived with his mum. Next morning we drove round to where he lived and burst our way past his confused mum. We found him in his bedroom nervously cowering against some fruit machines which he collected. He had no money so we forced him to empty his damned machines with the result that we drove back to London with 50 quids' worth of 'tanners' (approx 22p for the younger reader!)

Whilst on the subject of disasters I suppose I am duty bound to mention Denmark. The first time we went there we caught the ferry to the continent, drove up through Germany, then caught another ferry to Denmark. There was no promoter to meet us when we arrived so all we could do was drive to Copenhagen and check in at the Grand Hotel. It cost us an arm and a leg but at least we got a good nights sleep after being awake for nearly two days travelling. The next day we made a few phone calls and finally tracked down the promoter. He said: "Didn't you get my telegram cancelling the tour?" We politely said no we hadn't and what did he intend doing with us? He checked us into another hotel (cheaper of course) and set about booking us at places that were similar to English coffee bars and youth clubs. We made enough to survive on and paved the way to more successful tours of that country. In fact by now we had Colin Martin on drums and were pursuing a much more adventurous musical policy and writing our own material. It was just right for Denmark who had taken Hendrix to their hearts to name but one, and we subsequently became quite big there in 1967.

The Artwoods achieved modest success-a minor hit single in "I Take What I Want", but we worked constantly, travelled abroad, had fantastic fun and made a living doing so. We had seven single releases, one album, and one EP, and we broadcast both on radio and TV many times. We did stage tours such as the P. J. Proby tour and covered most aspects of "show-biz" apart from actually making a movie. It was the era when bands still had to prove themselves as a live act before being offered a recording contract. now frequently happens of course that an act can become huge record sellers without so much as venturing to do a live gig.

~

So what happened to everyone? Well Art returned to his former occupation as a commercial artist and finds some time to fit in free-lance work between accompanying brother Ron Wood on raving excursions between Rolling Stones gigs. Malcolm moved into the same field as Art and they now work in the same building. Both of them gig occasionally on a semi-pro basis although Malcolm spent some time playing with Jon Hiseman's Colosseum and Don Partridge in the early 70's. Jon Lord became famous with Deep Purple and Whitesnake as did Keef Hartley with John Mayall and various bands of his own. Colin Martin is now a BBC Radio producer of repute. I played in various bands such as Lucas and The Mike Cotton Sound, Colin Blunstone's band, Dog Soldier (with Keef again), before I somehow drifted into studio and theatre work. Recently I formed an R'n'B band called the G.B. Blues Company, and it's great to be back on the road again.   ”

Derek Griffiths.

Clipping from Record Mirror on June 5, 1965, by Norman Jopling.

“We aim to excite!” … say the Art Woods

Just for the record, the Art Woods aren't a part of Epping Forest. In fact they're a group of five interesting young men, named after the group's leader Art Wood. They also happen to be one of the most realistic groups on the scene.

For a start, they are the awkward position of having a large following, a club residency but no hit record. Secondly. they don't mind pandering to commercial tastes, even though they have been hailed as one of the most authentic R & B groups in the land.

NO PULL

“But authentic R&B just isn't pulling the crowds any more,” says Art. “The audiences want to be excited, not to be lectured on what is 'good' and what is 'bad'. Although there was a time when you could spend half an hour on one number with long solos by everybody, it didn't last long. And although there are some clubs like that still, most of them want something fresh and new.

“And we try to cater for them. We like authentic R&B, but we also like playing everything and anything else. So far, our two discs haven't meant a light. Of course we'd love a hit. But we're lucky enough to make a good living without one.”

DISCS

The Art Woods latest disc is "Oh My Love" and the one before that “Sweet Mary”. Of them Little Walter has said that he couldn't believe any white group could sing and play the blues like they do.

Line-up of the group is Art Wood, leader. vocalist and harmonica. Derek Griffiths, lead guitar, Jon Lord, organ and piano. Malcolm Pool— base guitar, and Keef Hartley on drums. The boys use a specially adapted Lowrie organ, and get a sound that's really different.

But even if the boys sometimes become depressed about no hits records, they should remember groups like Cliff Bennett, the Barron-Knights, the Rockin' Berries and the Yardbirds, and how long THEY waited before they had a hit!

N.J.

[redjaybathood]

My WIP&Completed List (upd 2024/3)

Like, I need to keep track of this shit, I keep forgetting about things.

COMPLETED:

1) Unfounded Family - gen, T, 14K, Jason doesn’t join Batfam.

Jason doesn't go back to Batfam after the resurrection, and it does kind of work for him, up until he does go back to Batfam and it stops working

2)  questions, answered - brujay, E, 5K, asexual!Jason Todd, trans!Jason Todd. Post-Cheer.

Jason asks Bruce for a favor: he needs to have sex, medical orders, or it's several thousand bucks for an operation. Money isn't an issue for Bruce, right? Wrong.

3)  Our road to happiness starts here, 10 years later - short series where Jason comes back 10 years later. Gen, Batfam, 4K.

Look, if you were dead for ten years and then suddenly woke up, it would be an adjustment for you too.

4) The Killing Kind - get, T, series of 12K, BftC rewrite where Dick assumes that Bruce and Red Hood (whose identity is unknown) fucked. Crack treated seriously with a bit of angst.

Bruce Wayne never revealed that he knew Red Hood's real identity to anyone. In fact, he took such great pains to keep others out of the loop that people started to speculate (Dick, mostly, and Barbara, and then all the others — it just made sense at the time). So, when Batman dies, and Gotham city is in chaos, Nightwing decides to use an unlikely ally to fight the good fight. There's no way Red Hood won't agree to help, being in love with Batman as he was.

5) That's rough, buddy - 28 fics, 30+K so far, initially posted or prompted at tumblr. mostly gen, AUs, and angst.

6)  together we stand - gen, 1K, Diplomat’s Son divergence. deals with “where did jason got it from?” question nobody really asks.

After Gloria Stanson ends her life, and Felipe Garzonas gets out scot free, Bruce talks to Jason.

false dichotomy - E, brujay, 1k, basically exactly the same thing but, you know. underage. should have named it “united we fall”. if you don’t see bruce’s behaviour towards jason as absuive, it won’t be your cup of tea. (it might not be your cup anyway because tw:incest)

Bruce doesn't let Jason leave when they find Gloria Stanson's body. That night, Garzonas doesn't die. Something else happens instead.

7)  Swinging for the fences - brujay, M, 5K. Joker dies here.

Jason comes back to life, comes back to Gotham, comes back to Bruce. Several times. With vengeance. (Just kidding, he has other priorities)

8)  This is the way - Bizarro/Jason, T, 6K, time travel, first crush.

In Qurac, Jason is looking for two people: his mom, and the Joker. Who he finds: two strangers with almost god-like powers who may or may not want to kidnap him for ransom.

9)  about trust - gen, M, 11K. tw: rape/non-con (referenced/mentioned). All Caste!Jason, Titans Tower fic (in a way), evil!Dick Grayson. Not for the fans of him or Tim Drake.

A stranger visits Titans Tower while Tim is there alone, sleep-deprived, vulnerable. In another universe, he beats Tim up until he can't get up. In this one, this meeting brings a series of awful revelations - or spins an intricate web of lies and delusions.

10)  It's a deal - brujay, M, 4K. Soulmates, body swap. Joker dies here too!

Jason didn't expect to wake up in Bruce's body on his Switch day. He's nothing if not adaptable.

no deal - brujay, T, 2K. Also Soulmates body swap + Joker does not die bc Bruce is a dick.

There are days when you feel shitty as soon as you wake up. Yeah, it's like this.

11)  third day - jayrose, M, 11K, College AU, murder mystery.

From the young age, Rose Wilson knew that people come and go. You can't make them stay, but you damn well can make them leave.

12) misplaced feelings - short series, brujay, 7K, T-M. Post!Batcat Wedding (or the lack whereof). Asexual Jason, tw:incest, family finds out.

Sometimes, you feel right things for the wrong person. Sometimes, you're just plain wrong. Question is, what are you going to do about it?

13)  No Loss No Gain - Jason Todd/Kent Parson (omg check please webcomic), T, 1k. Meet-cute (the only one I ever written!), fake/pretended relationships.

Kent's team lost to Gotham Blades tonight. He gained something else instead.

14)  faintest clue - gen, T, 2K. Time loop. tw: trope-typical suicide, canon character death (but several times)

Jason doesn’t wake up with a scream, or in tears, or coughing from thick black smoke. He doesn’t wake up: one second he is on top of Sheila, shielding her from the rubble as much as he can, the other he’s in the passenger seat of a canary-yellow Humvee.

15)  The fruit of discord - technically get despite het pairings (Batcat, Jason/Isabel, implied brutalia and jaytalia) and implied/referenced past brujay (tw: underage, incest, abuse), 11K, M. Joker dies.

Catwoman doesn’t marry Batman - Selina Kyle and Bruce Wayne have their (very public) wedding. Before that, though, Selina visits some of Bruce’s kids.

Or, your ability to uncover family secrets is directly related to how well you can stomach it.

16)  Old Feelings - joyfire, 3K, M. Amnesia. technically part of the series but the rest is WIP and it can be read as standalone.

"He and Kory wanted Jason back, and they got him, only it wasn't him. It was a guy strongly resembling him, if you took everything that made Jason Todd Jason Todd, and put it into the blender, and pour the resulted shake down the sink."

Roy adjusts to the new Jason Todd.

WIPs:

1) 11K Jason&Steph, Jason&Bruce, Steph&Bruce DitF AU, Shiva is Jason’s mother AU: i wish we met before (though it’s mostly on ao3)

Jason Todd doesn't believe a word an adult says, truth serum or no truth serum. So when DNA test shows him Lady Shiva is his biological mother, he abandons his quest, choosing instead to help Batman apprehend the Joker. It changes things a lot and not at all.

2) 13K Jason & Bruce & Steph & Cass, UtRH AU/No War Games/Robin!Steph/Batgirl Cass/Not Red Hood!Jason: perspective (on ao3) 

There's some value in learning from the best. Knowledge is priceless. It can literally turn your life around.

3) 5.5K Jason Todd, Roy Harper, Dick Grayson, Cassandra Cain, Damian Wayne, Stephanie Brown, Tim Drake, Bruce Wayne, no capes!AU: priorities (most of it on ao3 tho)

Anonymous asked: Prompt: Damian and Jon need a baby sitter for a night, and Jason is the only person available.

4) 5K Brujay, DickBabs, StephCass, Tim Drake, Alfred Pennyworth, tw: accidental incest, Amnesia: Good Intentions (on ao3)

After Bruce almost loses his life fighting the Joker and completely loses his memories, his old guardian decides it would be better if his children, still leading vigilante life, stayed away for his sake. That made Bruce's life less dangerous, sure. But it also opened him up to a threat nobody could have predicted. 

from the same universe as Old Feelings linked above

4) 6K Jason Todd&Sasha, Batfam BftC AU/omega!Jason: Response and Responsibilities (on ao3)

If Jason watched Bruce’s last words on any other day, he might have had a different reaction. He would be fronting at the mouth, he is self-aware enough to tell. He would be full of desire to prove something, to Bruce, to himself, to all the citizens of Gotham. He wasn’t a failure. Instead, what he got, was - tired.

5) 2.5K Stephanie Brown/Talia al Ghul, post UtRH, noir-ish:  Look

Steph gets ambushed by a mysterious woman in need of her help.

6) +/-7K Jason&Bruce Platonic Soulmates/UtRH AU/Secret Identities: Soulmate AU -

7) 16K Tim Drake, Stephanie Brown, Bruce Wayne, Barbara Gordon, Rena, Jason Todd, and characters to be added; docu series, Jason in prison!AU: hey, judas

8) 3K Talia al Ghul, Damian Wayne, Dick Grayson, other characters and pairings to be added, AU: good life

They were living a good life. Damian’s parents said so.

9) <1K Jason Todd/Kent Parson, crossover, AU, working title: Woke Up Married

10) <1K Jason Todd, Amnesia, YJ universe, AU: Young Justice: Outlaw

11) 22K written, 6k posted so far. Jason Todd, Bruce Wayne, Alfred Pennyworth, with Roy Harper, Dick Grayson and Barbara Gordon coming right up: Jason runs away earlier.

12)3K, Talia al Ghul, Damian Wayne, Jason Todd. reasons to be missed.

13) Not posted, 5.2K, Post-underage Brujay, POV Outsider, Dick Grayson, Tim Drake, Damian Wayne, Jason Todd, Bruce Wayne: codename not really time travel

14) 8K fae!AU jaysteph crossover with Dresden Files: Lost in the In-Between

A tale about a girl without a name and a bird-entrepreneur. Of a sort.

15) 1,2K Bruce Wayne & Jason Todd, gen, AU, codename: marriage of convenience

16) 8k+ Bruce Wayne, Jason Todd, all of the Batfam, gen, AU, codename: Jason doesn’t return to Batfam AU. (yeah ironic considering the character list)

17) <1k Tim Drake, Robin!Jason, gen, Dark Tim AU.

18) +/- 8K not posted: post-wedding brujay AU, tragic doomed romance/romantic comedy, codename: jason’s biggest failure

19) +/- 4K not posted: Urban Legends brujay AU, fear gas codename: misattribution of attraction

20)1K+ Reader|Jason Todd, Gen y/n transmigrated into jason todd

21) <1K Jason Todd, Joker dies, Gen, Rebirth of villainous fake son of a rich man.

22) 8K Bruce Wayne, Jason Todd, Batfam and misc, Gen, Unfounded Family (on tumblr)

Jason doesn't go back to Batfam after the resurrection, and it does kind of work for him, up until he does go back to Batfam and it stops working

23) 9K  female!Jason Todd, Stephanie Brown, Tim Drake, Barbara Gordon, Aflred Pennyworth, Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson, Roy Harper. Teenage pregnancy and the implications of whereof. Jane Todd/? Myth you have to believe

24) 6K, Batman!Jason Todd, Dick Grayson, Bruce Wayne, Selina Kyle. Identity porn on crack, with no actual porn. This Should (not) Have Been a Love Story

[mittensmorgul]

Plastic fantastic

I've put off doing this long enough, and spent the intervening days reading everyone else's interpretations, so there's gonna be a lot in here, but also a lot that I've probably not focused on too heavily because other folks have already said the things better than I could've. So this is just a recap of the things I personally feel are most significant and thematically cool going forward. It's... a lot... :'D

15.04 was infused with an element of surreality. Which I ended up referring to throughout this post as “plastic.” Hence the title. But this got super long, so here have a cut. :’D

Right from the THEN segment, we're reminded of Cas. Rowena's sacrifice, Cas's own suffering at Chuck's hands, and how this has affected Sam and Dean-- Sam miserable for having done what they had to do (right?) in sacrificing Rowena, and Dean PISSED but feeling like this was the only way to free them from what he sees as Chuck being a "fanboy" of them. It shifts directly into BECKY, who was described previously as a "fangirl" and involved in a supremely unhealthy relationship with both Chuck AND Sam (even if it was completely one-sided and creepy with Sam). And then shifts to Chuck being told-off by Amara in 15.02, in essentially a recap of all the best insults and condemnations she could fling at him... because he deserved it honestly, I mean HE LOCKED HER AWAY FROM THE DAWN OF CREATION TO SUFFER ALONE WHILE HE DID HIS THING TO MAKE HIMSELF FEEL BIG.

Okay, sorry, I just really hate that guy and his hypocrisy sometimes (read: all the time).

Right. Where were we. At the beginning.

Gunfight in the bunker, with the Danger Lights activated. I've been waiting for this scene since we got BTS photos of Jensen all battered and ragged with the beard. This... isn't real. It's not SPN universe real anyway. Since the SPPT promo came out, I have been eager to see this episode just for this scene. I guessed it was a vision Sam was having/receiving because of the Equalizer Wound, the beginning of his glimpses into "Chuck's writing process." Is this an AU that Chuck actively created? Is it just the sort of thing Chuck daydreams about? Or in the style of Supernatural episodes past, is this some sort of window into the ending Chuck wants/intends to write for them, which obviously would be something they absolutely could not let stand?

Like Dean’s nightmare he awoke from in 10.09 where he saw himself slaughtering a room full of people at the beginning of the episode, which became reality by the end of the episode? Is Chuck’s horrific ending that Becky hated what we actually saw play out in Sam’s nightmare? The show has invited us to consider that as at least a possibility. Or, to at least assume Chuck’s horrifying ending was at least that awful.

There's so much in this scene that doesn't match up with what any of us might imagine Sam would even consider a nightmare of his own mind's creation, you know? And yet it's SAM who is plagued by these incongruous nightmares that don't even really connect up with things that are relevant to the things currently on his mind, you know? After recent events, one would think the things that would plague Sam's nightmares would be the loss of Jack, or his role in Rowena's apparent death and his guilt/depression over it, or even the fight against the ghostpocalypse and the people who lost their lives as a result of that. Instead, he's having "nightmares" about having gone full Boy King of Hell demon blood addict, which hasn't been a pressing personal fear of his for more than a decade. He's even talked specifically about how he's made his peace with that entire time in his life, such as his talk with Magda in 12.04. NOT coincidentally also written by Davy Perez.

That's because... this is NOT Sam's "nightmare." Why would Sam "dream" about Dean's regular gun having the power to spark out demons? Why would he "dream" about BENNY being a human (and alive!) ally of Dean's that Sam had sent his own army of demons to destroy? Why would Sam dream that his demonic-self would hunt down and kill his loved ones (Bobby! Jody! and nobody else mentioned! as if this was some weird time-travelling situation combined with Benny's human presence!), and then in the end hunt down and murder Dean in cold blood? This wasn't Sam-As-Lucifer (though I believe we will be seeing that particular nightmare in next week's episode), but SAM. HIMSELF. Turned into the demon he always feared he was "destined" to become before they learned how to tear up the story and make their own choices about their destiny.

The problem now is that they actually believe that Chuck has gone, and they're on their own now. Sam believes that this must be his own nightmare, and therefore he's just stuck with it, as his own mind and memories and fears come back to torment him. He's lost his power to fight against it, like Dean's lost his power to fight against his current experience. It's as if the only power Chuck retains over them is in the fact that they BELIEVE he's gone, you know? Magic's power is in the belief of the caster, Rowena has recently reminded us with her own life. And I think that's exactly what's leaving Sam and Dean so completely vulnerable to manipulation by Chuck, in ways they've never before been vulnerable to it. Because they've both staked their entire futures on the fact that they so firmly believe they're free of Chuck's story.

Sam is just... so confused by this nightmare, he can't even make sense of it at all. And the sleep deprivation isn't probably helping.

I think we've all covered the Meat Man conversation already, as well as all the Dean vs Food stuff, so I'll only add that commentary in here if I think of something I haven't already said on the subject.

Dean calls out Sam's assertion that he's fine, directly telling him "No, you're not," and expressing his understanding of what he's going through.

And here come the cheerleaders. And doesn't this (as I believe many of us have already said over the last two weeks) just smack of Sam's "fake case" Gadreel had him trapped researching inside his own mind in 9,10? Crowley had to convince Sam that what he was trapped inside wasn't real, that he was possessed by an angel who was forcing him to experience these things. And obviously the God Wound isn't direct possession, and I don't doubt that this is a real case, but how much of this case might have been "arranged" by Chuck, or how much of Sam's perception right now may be clouded or colored because of the effects of that Wound?

Not only that, but Dean is also a participant in this entire odd case, and he doesn't even HAVE a wound connecting him directly to Chuck, you know? But his judgment seems to be equally clouded by something, as well... I'm gonna call it Intense Denial. Dean is basing his entire life right now on the presumption that Chuck has stopped interfering in their lives, when I think the exact opposite is true. I think Chuck is now focused on them more directly and more intensely than he ever has been before, and their obliviousness to that fact is only strengthening his hold on them, and amplifying his power over them.

But back to the current point in the episode:

Sam interviews the vice principal of the school, and the girl who was killed was in the drama club, debate team, cheerleading, campus ministry, you name it. That's... an awful lot of potential friends, so Sam asks about BEST friends, and we're directed to Veronica "and the girls." Veronica is singled out, which makes her speech to the empty room later even more interesting...

This episode relies on a lot of the elements of the case they're investigating to seem rather... plastic. And Veronica stood out as one of these elements. She could've just been "one of the girls," but she was identified specifically here, and it's like that designation itself somehow altered reality just a little bit. Heck I think I'm gonna need to put this line of thought on hold until we get to the speech scene. Remind me to come back to this.. >.>

The Whitmans interrupt (oh those crazy parents from 1.08, at it in a completely different role), seemingly uncaring of the dead girl and demanding their son's future not be ruined by postponing the lacrosse game. (OH THE IRONY) Sam rightly calls them out on framing it as "the end of the world" if he doesn't get into his first choice college. These parents have already been established to be Those Kinds of Parents who will do anything for precious little Billy to get whatever he wants in the world. They'd probaly strangle kittens on live TV if it would guarantee their son's future, you know? We haven't even seen the full extent of what they were willing to do for their son, and they already feel like cartoonish villain types.

I need to take another aside here to talk about the boy’s name. BILLY. Which, considering how we left things in 14.20, we’ve all been wondering about what Billie is up to in the Empty, right? This boy that will, by the end of this episode, become a literal stand-in for Jack on a cosmic scale? Is called Billy. Just... consider that.

I can already hear Becky critiquing Chuck's Monster of the Week here... and in turn parts of the fandom cynically saying that this is the complaint on MotW episodes forever-- that they're boring or unimportant or skippable because the monsters are predictable and boring, and just... NO. YOU HAVE OFFICIALLY MISSED THE POINT.

I think the general assumption is that the case we watch Sam and Dean solve is being directly affected by Chuck's simple act of typing it out. In exactly the same way we believed Metatron influenced the events of s9 by the simple act of typing it out. Could he control the thoughts of the people he wrote about? Not exactly. Could he manipulate the situation via the power of the angel tablet-- the direct word of God-- to influence the scenario and events in improbable ways? Yes, I absolutely think he can. And I'll continue discussing this as we go along.

But we return to Dean leaning against the car eating pretzels. I've already written about his constant eating and drinking in this episode, but PRETZELS?! That's a new one for Dean. It's usually jerky, or chips, or candy, or... all sorts of other things. Where did he even get the pretzels from?

He'd apparently been at the morgue examining the body, and found a vampire tooth. So this case that seemed NOTHING like a vampire case based on how the body was found, suddenly there's irrefutable evidence that it's a vampire instead. Almost as if the facts of the case have shifted somehow, rather improbably and inexplicably. Just as inexplicably as Dean finding the beaver mascot riding a scooter "awesome."

The second girl to be abducted calls out Veronica as being "so fake" in her grief over Susie's death. And yet, improbably, after a long cheer practice, she's the only one alone in the school parking lot late at night. Where's the rest of the cheer team? The coach? Anyone? How was she there all alone? Yet she was, because the case needed her to be.

It's plastic.

Like the little square of crime scene tape left unattended in the woods. Weird, right? That after the scene was cleared and the original investigators left, it was still left there around an empty patch of dirt. And Sam and Dean... are just... standing there at the edge of the woods, boxed in by yellow crime scene tape and orange cones while they have their conversation about the fact the police have no idea what could've done this, and Sam laments the fact that it's THEIR job. THEY deal with the truth and carry the weight, while everyone else gets to go back to their blissfully unaware lives.

Dean busts out the flask while the two of them stand there in their own personal crime scene box, like their lives are the crime here. They ARE the victims of a cosmic crime. And the corpse of what their lives could've been, of what Sam had always thought he'd want of his own life, to live in a little town like this and just be NORMAL, is what they'll find on the autopsy here. And Sam is just beginning to realize he can't identify with those sorts of people at all.

And then we jump right from Sam lamenting the lost white picket fence to Becky's house-- where the front railing is white pickets, where she's built a real life for herself. Yet even something about it seems... off... just a little bit. That older kid seems way older than 7, which I assume would be the oldest any of her kids could be based on when we last saw her in canon, before she began to recover from her obsession and begin building a true happy life for herself. Heck maybe I'm talking myself into a problem that doesn't exist, and he's supposed to be just a really big 6-year-old, but okay. Or maybe he's adopted, or the kid of her husband from a previous relationship. GAH This is so not relevant to anything, why can't I let it go... >.>

Regardless, she clearly loves her family, and is invested in her life with them. Her husband is a man who truly appreciates and loves her in return. I'm really happy for her. Her husband at one point says, "Where would I be without you," and she jokingly replies "Covered in puke." And it's the same sort of cute exchange we saw between Sam and Jess in the pilot, where he asked, "What would I do without you?" and she jokingly replied, "Crash and burn." And considering that Sam himself will mention Jessica at the end of the episode, it seems worth pointing out the thematic similarity they're trying to set up here.

I wonder how much Becky has told her husband about the reality of the Supernatural books she's built her business and hobbies around, or her own part in the events of the books? More than Sam ever told Jess about the reality of his life? At this point, I'm gonna be glad her husband didn't end up pinned to the ceiling on fire.

Becky waves goodbye to her family as they leave for a day of fun, and Chuck waves back at her. He's inserted himself into her life again, and it's freaking creepy.

Chuck says he "wanted" to see her, and corrects himself to "needed." And here we have the laying out of the classic “NEED VS WANT” conundrum we’ve been yelling about for literal years. Funny that Chuck has it all wrong himself, you know? Becky makes herself clear that she neither wants nor needs him. He's not welcome there at all, and yet he presses on, past her assertion that his problems aren't her problem. I've already written a little bit about what Chuck apparently wanted from Becky, and what he actually got from her, so I'll try not to repeat myself, but to say that Becky was far kinder to him than he deserved.

So we learn about the second cheerleader's kidnapping, Dean makes an uncharacteristically flippant comment in front of the Vice Principal (somebody has a fetish), and kinda... blinks in shock at himself before professionally affirming they'll look into it and turning and walking away. Like he can't quite believe he actually said that. Which is weird, right? Because this is the sort of thing Dean has made flippant and kinda gross comments on in the past, right? But even when he's made comments about which cheerleaders are legal (4.13), or suggestive comments about even college students, he's rarely done so this blatantly directly TO the school principal, you know? This was... odd... like everything is just slightly out of sync.

I'm fascinated by the tiny models of Supernatural things that Chuck is prodding at in Becky's house. The first thing we see is Lil Levi's gas station. The only time we have EVER seen this gas station was in 10.03, when Hannah and Cas stopped there for gas, and yet Becky has the Impala parked by the pump, and what looks like a yellow classic car of some sort on the other side, hidden by the pumps so it's impossible to really see it there.

(I swear I will replace these Mittens Quality Screencaps™ as soon as HotN properly caps the episode... apologies for the photos of my tv in the meantime)

It was Cas's pimpmobile we've actually seen at this location in canon. And this was the gas station where Cas was losing his grace, desperately trying to get to Dean in time to save him, and Hannah kept getting them lost. He calls her out over her feelings-- dangerous temptations-- clouding her judgment and getting in the way. They're attacked by Adina, and Crowley arrives just in time to save them both from her, stealing her grace and force-feeding it to Cas, enabling him to power up again and save Dean. Aah, callbacks! And I mean, it might just be a visual callback to the fact that Jensen also directed that episode (and that gas station was named after his nephew), but it's still a reference that brings an awful lot of baggage with it, regardless of what prompted its appearance in miniature in Becky's house. Not to mention, this reference happened LONG after Chuck had supposedly stopped writing about the Winchesters' lives. And yet... Becky seems to know this reference, which had nothing to do with Sam and Dean and everything to do with Cas.

The second model we see looks incredibly like (or at least should all be having us THINKING of) the Carver crypt from the first three episodes of s15. And that's... super creepy, right? What is this building? Why did Becky have a model of it at all? This happened DAYS ago in canon.

And the third is Singer Salvage yard, with the Impala parked out front. How long has it been since we've seen it? In an episode that opened on Sam's "nightmare" that involved him strung out on demon blood having just killed Bobby and Jody in Sioux Falls? Interesting that Chuck expressed fascination with that particular model in this episode, isn't it?

He asks if Becky is still obsessed with his work, and she corrects him. She's obsessed with HER work. She'd essentially dismissed Chuck as the creator of Supernatural, and relegated him to the role of Recorder Of Events, as a prophet. It wasn't actually HIS story. But what she's made of it, what she's made her life's work, IS HER OWN CREATION, based on the same reality she believed that Chuck had been nothing more than a conduit for. And OUCH for a guy like Chuck to not even get credit for any of it now, because of the lie he'd told to insert himself into his own creation. It's incredible to me. He wants nothing more than recognition as the creator, as the writer, and Becky's far more interested in her OWN stories about the same characters. She saw herself as more than Chuck’s equal as a writer, she saw herself as his superior. He just recorded, she CREATES. She dismissed everything Chuck was most interested in, and writes the characters all having achieved a measure of peace and happiness, the same as she has. And Chuck... hates it. :'D

Remember, this is the guy who invented monsters before he invented anything else. Leviathans were his first creation, even before the archangels. But they had a nasty habit of eating everything else he tried to create, so he grudgingly locked them in Purgatory, and moved on to the next thing. And he's had a lot of similar failures over the years... like the original hellhound that Lucifer stole away (and that Sam killed in 12.15). Seems like this has always been the story Chuck wanted to tell, because he's always only ever had his original drama with Amara as a source for his creation. He's... obsessed... with his version of events, no matter how many times he's confronted with reality, he weasels out of personal responsibility for everything. Like he does in this scene with Becky, letting her believe he's just a poor dude who wants to keep writing and lost his writing mojo because his prophet powers dried up.

This is probably the first Becky's heard Chuck had a sister, who Chuck only explains rejected him because she "sucks." And... Chuck... you're leaving out the horrific things you've done to her as an explanation of why she refused to help you. He's still hiding behind the “super cute” Chuck Facade. And nothing he says is an out and out lie, but it's entirely a manipulation, a complete reframing of the cosmic scale of what's happened into something he expects Becky to be able to offer him sympathy over. And she's just not having it. And again, good for her.

Chuck admitting that he's lost and hates himself at least engages Becky enough to try something to get him moving forward (again, still thinking he's just a guy who's lost everything). And tells him if writing makes him happy, then he should write.

Meanwhile Dean's incongruously eating a hot dog (WHERE IS HE GETTING ALL THIS FOOD?!) and interviewing a beaver. Sam questions why, and Dean's not only gotten information about the case (mascots have access to cheerleaders), but information about the kid inside the suit (he's a smart kid, got a full ride to IU). Dean's been unusually productive while chewing that hot dog, apparently. But he’s basically a caricature of himself during this case, like he’s trying to wear a suit he hasn’t worn in 15 years, and is finding it really ill-fitting. (it’s probably all the snacks he’s eating, honestly)

Veronica hands Billy a black wristband printed SUSIEFOREVER, which... is probably how Billy's feeling at the moment (hello, she was his girlfriend and he accidentally killed her... this is gonna haunt him forever). Veronica (who we've already been told by the latest girl to disappear is "so fake" in her grief over Susie's death) seems to be coming on to Billy, or at least making her interest in him known. And we DON'T know how all of this will resolve yet, but there's an awful lot going on in this scene. Did Veronica actually kill Susie? Is she the vampire and is that the reason for this OTT "so fake" grief on her part? Did Billy's "anything for my kid" mother who interrupts the scene actually kill her and Billy know something about it? Why is everyone acting so... weird?

Because we're back to the plasticity of this entire case again. What's actually killing cheerleaders? What's really going on here? If this entire case is Chuck's machination, because he wrote it down, and therefore subtly affected the situation, is that why everything seems just slightly off? Slightly malleable, as if Chuck is only working out the details of the case as he's writing it all down?

Billy leaves with his mom, and Veronica is left in a dimly lit gym filled with empty chairs and programs for the memorial service. She's practicing her speech to this huge empty room, speaking into a microphone. And as she talks, she edits her speech.

We've seen Chuck do this. in 4.18, he had Dean push the doorbell with determination, and then went back and edited it to read "with forceful determination." Just before the doorbell rang, and it was a forcefully determined Dean doing the ringing... So Veronica's self-edit here seems almost like a Chuck self-edit.

Remember how I mentioned way back toward the beginning of this mess how Sam asked the VP for a clarification on who Susie's "BEST" friends were, and Veronica was singled out among a group of her close friends? And now Veronica stands alone not only as the sole person in the room here talking to empty chairs, but as the one with apparent motive to kill Susie, who's been accused of expressing a lot of over-the-top melodramatic "so fake" grief. And... she edits her relationship with Susie on the fly:

Veronica: We are here to celebrate the life of my friend Susie. No. *clears throat* *takes a breath* We are here to celebrate the life of my best friend Susie. My best friend Susie who I miss like... *sigh* like she was a part of me. And in many ways she's still a part of me. She'll always be a part of all of us. Susie Martin was as rare as a ghost orchid and as unique as a snowflake. So beautiful inside and out. But as Robert Frost tells us, nothing gold can stay. And that's what Susie was. Pure gold.

And during this entire speech, to the empty room, the music in the background is ominous, looming, tense. The musical cue is telling us to doubt her performance here, with the high strings picking up the tension just as she comes to a close and Dean shows up with his slow clap. I mean, it was a pretty OTT speech, delivered with an intensity that literally does feel rehearsed. Stilted. Plastic. Everything in the case so far has pointed the arrow at her being the monster. The framing of the narrative would support it if it had been true, but the background of the entire case feels exactly as Becky has described it. What if THIS was the original ending to the case that Becky had voiced her complaints about, as if THIS is the story that Chuck would've written.

But that's such weaksauce. MotW episodes are nothing if not thematically consistent. Vampires are about revenge cases, and this case is a very specifically pointed bit of revenge, of Chuck against the Winchesters. They ruined the last story he tried to tell, and the fact this started out looking like something OTHER than a vampire case (possibly a ghoul, based on the parallel to 9.10, and a dismembered body), and then seemingly remolded itself INTO a vampire case halfway through... it feels like that first fang Dean found at the morgue was Chuck sinking his teeth into their lives.

And Veronica, no matter how the case had painted her to this point, was completely innocent. A bit plastic, because she's a victim of this reality bend as much as Sam and Dean are, because the real monster of this case is Chuck-- only Sam and Dean don't have any idea yet.

Dean calls her on her fake emotions, and they directly accuse her of killing her friend. And get the proof that she was innocent because she HAS BRACES, which she's apparently self-conscious about, but it proved she wasn't a vampire. *SIGH*

Plastic.

So Sam and Dean look for video evidence from surveillance cam footage, which the police had apparently already looked at and found nothing, but now they find a car driving past immediately after the second girl's abduction. Did the police not see it? Or is this another bit of plastic?

Meanwhile back at Billy's house, his parents refuse to even hear him say Susie's name, and suspicion immediately shifts to their entire family. Billy's father washes blood off his hands, and nobody seems to find this strange. Are they all monsters? Did one of them slip up? What the heckeroo is actually going on here? Whatever it is, it feels like they're all complicit, and Billy seems to be having reservations. Except they've also got the latest victim tied up and blindfolded in their storage room. So... they're definitely guilty of something. But we're only halfway through the episode at this point, so there's clearly more to the story.

Chuck tells Becky he can't see what Sam and Dean are doing anymore, as he conveniently scratches at his left shoulder where his wound connecting him to Sam is. Which is wild, right? Because what little we know about the Equalizer gun was that it fired INTENT. And that it affects the person shot and the shooter identically. So what was Sam's intent when he shot Chuck? Dean had just told Chuck to "Go to Hell," but Sam didn't say anything out loud when he shot Chuck. Was his intent "stop fucking with our lives" or more vaguely grief-filled "go to hell" or something more? Because whatever intention Sam shot at Chuck seems to have directly caused both Chuck's loss of power AND his inability to see directly into their lives now. And after having watched the Sam and Dean show for their entire lives, Chuck is PISSED about not being able to see what they're up to.

And I wonder, incidentally, if this will be the same factor that's causing problems for the Winchesters, too... that Sam may have inadvertently severed whatever protective force had made their lives as hunters as... implausibly unproblematic as they've always been, you know? I think we'll be seeing that develop more in the next episode, but we saw hints of it happening in this episode too (like with Dean's comment about the killer having a cheerleader fetish). But regardless, I think this is why Sam is suffering these grief-fueled nightmares, his inability to breathe, and his general current mental state. He’s suffering from the same intent he’d fired at Chuck. Only it hit Chuck with a case of writer’s block, while it hit Sam with something he’s been unable to truly define or explain. Yet.

Becky tells Chuck to write about the Winchesters if he loves their story so much, because that's what SHE does. Her stories don't have to be based in reality for her to enjoy them, but Chuck's only metaphorically a writer. He doesn't just want to make up tales, he wants to literally create reality. During Becky's entire pep talk, Chuck's holding a little figurine of Sam pointing a gun, and ain't that just on the nose? She plucks Sam out of Chuck’s hands and puts him back on the mantle (and I admit to at first thinking it was the Cas doll from 5.06, because Dean did the same thing with Cas, putting him up on the mantle like that), but Chuck still expresses doubt in his ability to actually write.

And here's where the most incongruous stuff in the entire episode begins happening-- the family dynamics of a killer family. It's still unclear who the monster is among them, but like Dean, we are leaning toward the father. The thing is, none of it's actually plausible. That's the beauty of this entire case. It's plastic.

How did this single kid out of this entire town get turned by a vampire, and his parents just... completely accepted what happened immediately without question? How did they KNOW what to do for their son in this circumstance? They went out and killed animals for their blood for him. Where did they learn to do this for him? And then how could they so casually just... kidnap a whole human being just to feed their son? Why not go back to feeding him animal blood like he'd done before? They didn't see anything wrong with any of this, either. DID THESE PEOPLE NOT HAVE QUESTIONS?!

And what of the vampire that made him? Did that vampire just... turn him and run? Did he give the kid a pamphlet explaining vampire life to him or something? It's just utterly baffling that this whole family just... incorporated this development into their lives as if it was all an entirely normal thing to accept about their kid. The dad KIDNAPPED A WHOLE ENTIRE HUMAN BEING for him on his own initiative, the mom was ready to shoot Sam and Dean for interfering in their plans. LIKE HOW IS ANY OF THIS NORMAL?!

And perhaps most bizarre of all, Sam and Dean didn't see anything wrong with it in reflection later that night. But I'll get to that when we get there. Heck this note-writing thing is really hard when I already know everything that's gonna happen. I have enough trouble staying on point without the benefit of foresight. :'D

So these parents are insistent that they're doing all of this, sacrificing all of this, just for him. And when he tells them he doesn't want them to, they just beg him to tell them what he wants from them. And he's just so frustrated because they aren't listening to him. Like they don't even care about him despite professing they're doing all of this so he can be happy. And he's just... profoundly not happy.

So the father, when Sam and Dean show up, still thinks they're going to ARREST him. Which is a weird thing for a suspected vampire to believe, and he's horrified when Dean pulls out a machete instead of handcuffs. This is a totally shocking development for him, and yet he STILL holds it together enough to bargain for his wife and son's lives. And the wife is profoundly confused by this, and our suspicions shift to her. But that's still... not quite right. She's prepared to literally shoot what she believes to be two FBI agents to save her son, again, as if all of this was entirely normal. As if this is what normal people are willing to do for their monster children.

I've already written a bunch about Becky's critique of Chuck's writing, and how poorly Chuck takes her notes. Chuck... is really out of touch with fanfic culture. Becky's reading this story as if it was fic, not reality. She kudos'ed and commented, and expected Chuck to just accept that and move on, because that's how fic culture works. But he demanded a beta read level critique, and Becky gave it. And he shouldn't have asked for it if he didn't actually want it.

And here comes the revenge that justifies the Vampire Plot. Chuck... is the vampire. he's the monster that doomed Billy for no reason. Who drove the parents to such extreme lengths to protect their child. Because that's how CHUCK saw what TFW had done to protect Jack. He saw it as just that outrageous and unfounded, even though it was in no way the same. We just witnessed Chuck's critique of TFW's actions in 14.20, and it was scathing, mocking, and vindictive.

Plastic.

But I also suspect that Becky wasn't reading ~this case~ exactly, because she complained that Sam and Dean were tied up (they were never once tied up in this episode), and she complained about the villain monologue being stale (Dean does most of the monologuing here, and it's Sam who figures out what's actually going on). Just one more bit of plastic.

But Chuck somehow managed (even if he couldn't see it) to put Jack's 14.20 realizations about himself into Billy's mouth. As if Chuck's story had already been written, and through some power of its own it was brought into reality via these previously innocent people. The story itself is more powerful than the author.

Like Jack, Billy has been trying to accept responsibility for his actions. He couldn't control himself, he didn't know it would happen, but he's dangerous and needs to be stopped. And Billy's speech isn't a "villain monologue," but a painful confession of everything he'd done. So what story was Becky reading?

Sam angrily judges the parents' actions, and Dean expresses his shock that the father would've just let him cut off his head to save his son. And is taken aback at the comment that he must not have kids, if he doesn't think he wouldn't have done the same for his own child.

And Dean's like... well, no I wouldn't have done the same for my own child. It's a super messed up situation that I'd really been trying not to think too hard about, thanks. It's been less than a week and here you go bringing up the worst day of our lives, so thanks for that... but they carry on. The mother says they just wanted him to have a normal life, and that's something Jack never would've had regardless because of what he was. But he had *a* life, with the Winchesters. If Jack had been a vampire, they wouldn't have gone out hunting and kidnapping teenage girls for him to eat, you know? But they were willing to raid heaven and shout down God for Jack. But context matters. And this hastily assembled vampire family ready to play revenge/victim for Chuck's story lacked all context. They were plastic.

It's Billy who ends up dictating how his parents are to handle everything, calm as can be. And his parents finally listen to him. And he sacrifices himself to the Winchesters. And they just... go along with it, take him out to the woods, and Dean kills the boy kneeling at his feet, accepting his fate as he's clearly crying, while Sam watches on. It's what Chuck had wanted in 14.20, and Dean had refused to give him. And now this entire situation has been Dean, manipulated into providing that demanded sacrifice, one way or another. And the most interesting bit of it? Chuck... couldn't even see it playing out. He missed the whole show that played out in Chuck Puppet Theater despite the fact. Like whatever he actually wrote was irrelevant, because his intent is somehow still connecting through to the Winchesters in pantomime.

And Sam and Dean's reactions to all of this are also just weirdly plastic.

I've already written about Chuck and Becky enough I think, but Chuck's moved on from "Writers lie," to "I can do anything, I'm a writer." With some of the worst villain monologue we've ever gotten, with "There, see, it's making you feel something! That's good, right?" While Becky is outraged and heartbroken over Chuck's ending. The only thing I need to say about whatever Chuck's planned ending is, is that if the series ends the way CHUCK wants it to, it'll go down as the biggest intentional betrayal of a fandom in the history of television. The show has stated to us in this episode that Chuck is the final boss big bad, and that he cannot be allowed to win. He can't have the final word in this story.

In *our* world, the current writers have officially called out a good number of sins of their past and exposed them via Chuck. They wrote the Leviathans being a personal favorite of Chuck's despite being pretty universally hated by fandom... well... they're looking for redemption for themselves in s15. THEY can't allow the story to end horribly. They've staked their current writing cred on it, as well as the entire history of 15 years of building TFW into the heroes. Sure, they've joked that not all fans will be happy with the ending, but in serious comments they've also promised a "real" ending and not some advanced level deus ex machina that wipes everything clean, either. That's a lot to deliver, and Chuck's suggested ending of the Winchesters horrifically dead doesn't deliver any of it.

So... back to the denouement of the episode. To the Impala! The least plastic thing in the entire episode. But it's pretty plastic.

Sam suggests that what Henry did for his son, was something they would've done for Jack, given the chance. And no, he's not talking about kidnapping teenage girls to feed him, he's talking about offering himself as a sacrifice in his son's place. Because Dean literally did do that. He was willing to sacrifice himself to kill Jack before he could kill again. It's what Chuck had presented as the ONLY way to stop Jack from destroying the world, with the examples of Jack having accidentally killed Mary, and then the whole of society crumbling because Jack told everyone to stop lying. But Sam? He wasn't willing to sacrifice both of them. And then he learned the truth from Chuck, about the manipulations that forced them all to this point, how Chuck probably did have the power to make everything right, restore Jack's soul, everything... but he didn't want to because it was more entertaining for him to watch them act out his plots instead. He WANTED that drama, that horrible sacrifice. He ENJOYED it.

But given the choice, I think Sam and Dean both would've traded places with Jack. We actually *saw* Cas literally exchange himself for Jack in 14.08. But Chuck wasn't satisfied with that trade. He wanted more from them, and they decided they were done playing on his stage.

There's a bit of incongruity in the speech Dean gives Sam about his current state, as well. He's usually so much better at reading Sam, yet he's comparing Sam's current mental state to his own back in the crypt, after Chuck. And just... no? This is not it at all? When he told Sam he's felt like cashing in, *we* think of 13.05, where he literally DID think of cashing in, you know? That feels far more similar to how Sam's feeling right now than to Dean's ANGER and "we need a plan!" bossiness from the crypt after Chuck. It's jarring as a comparison, because IT'S THE WRONG THING ENTIRELY.

But it's wrong, because it's the glaring omission of Cas that's already been lampshaded in the episode. That Dean's current blind spot here is shining a violently bright light on what SHOULD be said. Just like the end of 13.05 when we all yelled "HELLO, DEAN" at the television when Cas didn't say the line to him. We've been talking FOR YEARS about how this show uses narrative negative space like this, how it expects us to shout HEY WHAT ABOUT CAS?! at the screen, or to see that even this driving scene in the dark, in the car, is a perfect inverse mirror of that scene in 13.05, where Sam had spent that entire episode feeding his favorite junk food that he criticized Dean for in this episode, Dean and dragging him out on a case in the hopes of making him feel like himself again and... that's what Dean's telling Sam he wanted to work this case for now, to show Sam exactly what Sam had tried (and failed spectacularly) to show Dean in 13.05.

Dean even quotes some of Cas's last words to him before he left, that he should "move on."

But they needed to walk around the giant Cas-shaped hole in the narrative. And they needed to do it this incongruously. And that's exactly why it works.

And it's why Sam CAN'T move on. He doesn't feel free. I've already written a bit about this, and how it's directly tied to Sam's wound, and what it's probably doing to him. And what IS it doing to him? Chuck wobbles his head side to side, and the Sam and Dean bobbleheads on the desk beside him follow suit.

[twilightofthe]

for the OTP au post, Coffeeshop au! Herasoka pwease :3

Ooooh this’ll be a new ship for me, I hope you like what I did with it!

(OTP prompts list found here)

Herasoka 1 - Coffee shop AU: Who is the barista, and who frequents the coffee shop?

Hera did not know that she was such a sucker for pain before she decided that maybe an intensive college major wasn’t enough, no, aerospace engineering was just a little too easy for her.

No, she needed to get a job at Starbucks too to prove to her dad that she knew how to be independent.  She’d rather get a job at the local mechanic shop, honestly, but they aren’t hiring and to be honest, she doesn’t like the way one of the guys working there looks at her.

So churning out too much caffeine to already over-caffeinated fellow college students at the heart of campus is where she’s at instead.  When the boss decides to make the switch to 24/7 service, Hera must still be braindead after her last exam because she decides that you know what?  Agreeing to take the midnight shift for a miniscule payraise is a great idea!  Yeah!

Cue her frantically studying for her next quiz module under the counter at two A.M., the only person currently in the store because she’s the manager and she had to send her only other employee home and it is dead fucking empty in this store.

She’s trying to memorize theorems, she really is, but the next thing she knows her face is smushed into the sticky counter and someone is tapping her on the shoulder and she’s jerking awake to face one of the prettiest women she’s ever seen, dark skin and bright blue eyes and a curiously concerned smile.

The woman’s lips are moving and Hera’s realizing that the woman is asking if she’s okay and Hera’s stammering to say that she is fine, she is also so sorry, would she like a free pastry item (please don’t report me and get me fired).

The girl laughs and holds up her hands and says it’s quite alright, that it’s frankly ridiculous that they’re making kids Hera’s age stay up all night for the sake of capitalism.

Hera’s eyes narrow because this chick can’t be that much older than Hera herself and says so.  

The woman laughs, scolds her about not asking a lady’s age, and while Hera feels her face heat, the woman reveals her age and hah, yep, only three years more than Hera is.

Hera tells her this too, and the woman laughs again.  Hera’s sleep addled brain really likes her laugh.  Since her sleep-deprived snark seems to be getting her somewhere, she adds in that if she’s so sympathetic to the sleep-deprived prisoners of capitalism, why is she here at ass o’clock in the morning?

The woman’s eyes glitter and says that if it’s open, she might as well stop by.

Hera agrees without really thinking much of it because this woman is pretty and Hera is Weak.

She remembers she has a job to do and asks the woman her name for her order and gets “Fulcrum” as a response.  Hera can’t help but snort.

Like the earthquake centerpoint?

The woman laughs again when Hera asks-- yes, good --and asks if Hera’s a STEM major.  Hera agrees, mentions aerospace, and “Fulcrum”’s eyes light up, says one of her best friends is a grad student who TAs for the undergrad classes in the engineering school.

Hera narrows her eyes and asks who.  Something about “Fulcrum’s” personality rings familiar

Fulcrum confirms it by stating the name of Anakin Skywalker, Hera’s hectic TA who stands on the desk, throws overly complicated paper airplanes at students, has atrocious handwriting and whose unique way of explaining the prof’s complicated jargon honestly saved Hera’s midterm grade.  She tells Fulcrum this and smoothly uses her thankfulness to her friend as an excuse to offer to pay for the woman’s drink in.

Fulcrum denies her, making Hera damn near melt by adding that her friend never told her his students were so sweet.

Hera needs to cool down by agreeing to make Fulcrum’s iced drink.  As she punches her name into the system, she hesitates, and maybe her sleep-deprived brain is what prompts her to do it but she asks if that’s Fulcrum’s real name-- because it’s really cool if it is.

Fulcrum laughs and says that no, her real name is Ahsoka, but since baristas literally never get that right, she comes up with something else.  Hera challenges her, let her try and spell it right on the first time.  

The woman arcs a brow.  And what does the winner of this bet get?

Hera has no filter right now so she goes for it: winner’s choice.

Ahsoka agrees, and Hera thinks long and hard, sounding it out in her head, thinking on how most people would try and spell it and what might make it different enough to stump all the baristas before her.

Eventually, she gets it, feels Ahsoka’s eyes on her while she makes her her Pink Drink, and eventually plops it in front of her with the name Asokah attached to it.

The woman stares at the drink for a moment and breaks out into a smile, and for a moment, Hera thinks she’s won.

But then she is informed that nope, Hera spelled it wrong, though nice job remembering the “h”.  It’s actually missing the “h” after the first “A” and the digits of Hera’s phone number aren’t there either.

Hera jerks her head up at this, stunned, and Ahsoka is smiling almost shyly, asking that if Hera was interested, she’d like to--

Yes, Hera interrupts, fumbling in her apron for a Sharpie so she can snatch the cup back, scribble out the “h” and put it in the right spot, and then jot down her number below with her name next to it.  She hands it back to Ahsoka.

“Text me” she says.

Ahsoka reads the name out loud and smiles, asks, like the goddess?

Hera’s gotten that a million times before, but this is one of the first times hearing it makes her feel like one.  She awkwardly confirms yeah, like the goddess.

Ahsoka nods, heads for the door and yells over her shoulder that she will text.

Hera’s heart flutters as Ahsoka calls out, “Goodbye, Your Majesty!”

Maybe the night shift isn’t so bad after all...

[nosferatyou]

Double Indemnity: Ch.1 (Josh Kiszka x Reader)

Summary: After an incident their freshman year they could barely stand to look at each other. Now it’s their senior year and are grouped together for their final project. What could go wrong?

Warnings: Cursing

WC: 2.3k

Authors note: Well. I flipped into Josh’s lane and thought of this sucker and couldn’t get it out of my head. After I heard the story behind the writers of “Double Indemnity” I just had to make this. Heres to me hopefully finishing a series! Enjoy!

Let’s go back to the day when I “met” Josh Kiszka and when I actually met Josh.

It was the summer before my freshman year of college, and at that point, film sets weren’t a stranger to me. But I sure didn’t have the experience that most of the already film majors around me had. I was roped in by my long time friend Jack who I hadn’t spoken to since graduation, but due to the circumstances, he needed as many crew members as possible. He had 2 days to write, shoot, and cut together a short film. I was a PA (production assistant) and was frantically running around helping in any way I could. I was smart enough to stay out of the way and speak up when needed.

 I met most of the crew except one, the cinematographer/camera op, who was the busiest on set. The exception being Jack, who was the director. I heard the camera OP was only there because he had the nicest camera, but my mind may have tainted what I heard about him that day.

With only an hour to spare we had finished the film. All of us dehydrated and starving, sleep-deprived too. I was cradling a horrendous migraine from the lack of water and was ready to leave before someone suggested we go to Cookout. Which is arguably the best food at 3 am. 

Against my will, I was dragged to the fast-food restaurant with the rest of the crew. At that point, I was barely conscious and sat in the back seat of Jack’s car. The stranger cinematographer who I hadn’t noticed was next to me until he tapped my shoulder. With a concerned look, asked me if I was okay and needed anything. Which was nice of him considering we’d never spoken. 

After the short exchange of words, he never seemed to fully leave my side. May it be his glances from across the table with the same concerned look, or him bring me cups of water, which I still don’t remember him getting up for. 

After that night it would be months until I see him again. 

I didn’t expect him to be in my Post Production class, but I was definitely happy to see him. It was my first day of classes and to see a familiar face was a nice change of pace compared to whirlwind of a day. Though it wasn’t too long after that that my feelings for him changed.

If you’re a film student you’re going to edit a Gunsmoke fight scene, it is basically a right of passage. Anyways I was an experienced editor and of course, was going to cut the fight scene to the beat of an Ennio Morricone song. If we were going to work on a western scene then Ennio was a must. 

 I was damn proud of my work, I seemed to be one of the best editors in the class, josh being right there with me. We didn’t exchange many words, but we kept each other company by simply sitting next to each other. 

Then came the critique day, when everyone watches your video and gives you notes. Usually its never good notes.

 After our class watched it everyone had a lot to say, mostly over small slip-ups I didn’t notice, that’s normal. Josh’s video was next and the moment the music played I was livid, he had used the same exact song, even cut it the same way I did. The worst part was that no one had anything bad to say about it, all good comments. I kept it contained, for the most part. I didn’t verbally say anything, but my constant tapping and dirty looks in his direction said otherwise. I don’t think he’d noticed.

I waited until everyone left and simply gave him a piece of my mind. Maybe I snapped at him… either way, it led to us getting into our first screaming match. Josh saying he “didn’t” copy my video and me disagreeing. I honestly don’t remember how it ended, but I do remember us getting kicked out of the building for it. 

Anyways that was three years ago, and we still hate each other. Yet here we are still in all the same classes, but the difference is we have silent warfares. Constantly competing with each other, showing each other our higher grades, and besting each other’s videos. I can barely stand to hear him talk anymore, but I do have to say. He knows how to make a good line. 

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

Even with the cold chill of the November air prickling my skin and the wind whipping my hair, my mood couldn’t be damped. Maybe “chill” is an understatement. Living in “The City by the Lake” aka Chicago brings on the harshest of winters, and as crazy as it seems, I always weirdly miss it when I go back to Michigan. Sure it has it’s many feet of snow, but Chicago makes the wind weirdly dazzling. 

This is my last coffee, I’ll switch to tea. Is something I say every morning when I get up before classes, but here I am again, with an out of place cold brew in hand and a raging caffeine addiction. In hindsight, it is better than my previous vice, cigarettes, but the headaches it brings on is just as bad as missing a cig. My one hand shoved in my pocket and the other is clutching the same cold brew as before. I may have said that I couldn’t be bothered by the weather, but I’m not immune. 

As soon as I enter Columbia’s Media Production building everything becomes flush with warmth. Its a bit uncomfortable really. I remove my gloves and quickly checked my phone, affirming that I’m right on time as always. As I stroll through the halls I tune more into the music, enjoying my free time. There is just something about Chet Baker and Chicago that just mixes so well. 

Todays a good day though, it marks my one year of quitting cigs. Did I mention that I quit? Because I quit. Anyways my roommate made a big deal out of it, I also figured out the coolest riff, I’m kind of shit at making music out of thin air so it’s a big day. 

After taking the long way to my Directing class (Cinema Directing III if you want to get technical) I finally made it to the small class. Most of the class was there, luckily for me my two-year seat partner, Gwen, was already there, waiting where she always does. We met in our Single Cam 1 class and have been inseparable since, well actually Gwen, Cora (the previously mentioned roommate), and I have been inseparable ever since. 

I made my way to my usual seat and peeled my overworn leather bomber jacket off, already feeling more comfortable. Slumping back in my chair I lazily grabbed my sketchbook and pencil out of my bag. Its become a kind of habit to draw my professors and classmates every day, something is just so fascinating about their compositions. I got to work on Gwen who was hunched over, focusing on her book in front of her. I got to work and as soon as I finished up on the basic shapes she quickly sat up, focusing on me. 

“You ready for the final project?” She questioned, stealing my coffee in the process.

“I’ve been working on a few ideas already, but then again I don’t know the assignment yet. I do know I will be grabbing the usual 4 of you the moment he says “groups.”

“Heres to hoping we can pick- Oh!” She almost spilled my coffee when she interrupted herself. 

“I forgot to text you! Happy one year of being ciggy free!” She exclaimed, handing me back the bottle.

I took a swig from the bottle when she gave it back. “Well thank you, darling. I feel like having clean lungs shouldn’t be such an achievement, but I guess here we are.”

“Be proud! Besides gives us a reason to head to Jerry’s.”

“We’d celebrate over anything if it meant going to Jerry’s and getting pissed.” I smirked at her.

“Well. You got me there. Anyways you are right, we will be getting drunk out of our minds tonight. Bless the man who decided to open a bar directly next to your apartment building.” She said, with a playful smile on her lips.

“Bless him indeed.” I laughed. 

At that moment I locked eyes with none other than the aforementioned, Josh Kiszka. It’s oddly enough what we do every time we see each other. Which is more often than I think both of us care for. But seeing him roll his eyes every time I glare at him is kind of fun. 

I followed him with my eyes as he sat down in his seat, instantly sticking his nose in- wait what is he reading? I focused and realized he was reading the screenplay for Tarantino’s “Reservoir Dogs.” Where the hell did he even get that? 

My eyes snapped up to the professor when I realized he started class.

“Alright, I’m just going to jump into this. Today we start on your final projects, and I think it’ll be very fun. A challenge for sure, but fun nonetheless.”

I slipped a sly smile to Gwen, already thinking of the best ideas in my arsenal to use.

“In groups, you all will be recreating a favorite film, but it should max be 20 minutes long. Now that’ll be your job to rewrite and format it so you can fit in the timeframe. Oh, and I swear to god if another person does Pulp Fiction I will actually scream. You can hold me to that.”

Oh Jesus okay this will be hard as hell, I guess something with a simpler plot will be easy. Ooh, or something that’s so overcomplicated I can rewrite it so it’s simpler. What’s something that’d be good for Gwen, she’s a good actress, but she can only play so much-

“I already have your groups picked out let me just put them up on the board.” My professor said, searching for the list on his computer.

Oh god. He’s never done this. We always pick groups. If Gwen and I aren’t grouped together I may just riot. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him drag the document over to the screen, so I quickly directed my attention to it.

I searched all of the lists, finally finding my name at the top of group four. Rob, Eric, and- Oh shit Gwen! Wait. There’s one more. The moment I saw the J I knew exactly who it was. My eyes darted over to Josh’s seat and had the same look I could only guess that was on my face. We both glared at each other, if we stared any harder we’d burn holes in each other.

“Motherfucker!” I whispered to Gwen, trying not to raise my voice.

“What? We are in the same group.” she looked back over to me with confusion on her face. She followed my eyes to the equally angry man across the room from me.

“Oh, shit..”

“Oh shit is right! I can’t work with that guy, I swear to god… Damn it, I can’t think of an insult! Quick help me!” I stammered out, you could practically see the steam coming out of my ears.

“Um... You can’t work with that Frodo look alike?” She suggested, both of us whispering to each other now,

“I’ll take it. I can’t work with that Frodo look alike! He’s just gonna take all of my good ideas and throw them into the lava like that fucking ring. Wait is it Frodo or sam who throws it? Know what, I don’t care. Look at what he’s making me forget important plot points in movies. I can’t work with someone who hinders my thinking process.” 

“First off, Gollum falls in with the ring in hand. Secondly, drink your coffee and focus on what movie we should do. Suggest something so good so fast that it’ll make his head spin.”

She put the almost empty coffee in my hands and I took a swig, still glancing back at josh, making the same face. 

Gwen started to ramble on, her words in the back of my mind. All I could focus on was wanting to be in any other group than his, even Leonard. He refuses to watch a Tarantino film, and simply because he thinks he’s beyond that. Leonard is someone I talk to if only necessary.

 I tuned back in to hear. “I mean if you think about it, as much as you and Josh are to Frodo and the Ring. You’re more like Billy Wilder and Ray Chandler. I mean they hated each other, but damn if they weren’t good writers. Plus, they respect a good line-”

Inspiration was swept over me. I knew exactly what we had to do. Before I knew what was happening my feet carried themself over to Josh’s seat. Same as before, we both had the same expression, except this time it was one of surprise. 

“Double Indemnity!” I blurted out a bit too loudly.

He seemed even more confused. “Double insurance money?” He questioned.

“Fuck. No. It’s the film we are going to make. It’s a fantastic idea, and it’s happening. Not even you can argue with me!” I sped out.

He sat for a moment in thought, his brows furrowed together and a cliche hand positioned on his chin. 

“Fine.” Is all he said, his arms were crossed. He seemed defeated.

I simply turned on my heel and headed back to my seat. An overexcited grin plastered to my face. 

[winterromanov]

we will grow taller together - bucky x reader

PART ONE - THE GENTLE HUM OF EXISTENTIAL DREAD

parts: zero

Pairing: bucky barnes x reader

Extract: “No. No, what I’m saying is, he needs—they both need—someone. He needs someone to help look after Clover while they both get their lives back on track.” Steve pauses, looking you straight in the eyes. “Someone like you.”

Genre: romance, nanny x single father!AU

Taglist: @blindedbyyourgrace17 @verygraphicink @igotkatiepowers @welcome-to-my-studylife (taglist still open, reply/message to be tagged)

PART ONE

“Next please!”

The queue shuffles along until your face-to-face with yet another tired-looking college student, purple eye-bags visible underneath a pair of circular rimmed glasses. It’s fall dead week and if most of your customers are anything to go by, it certainly lives up to its name. Every single one of the tables spread out on the main floor of Vormir Coffee has been crammed with sleep-deprived teenagers and textbooks, meaning you and your colleagues have been swept off your feet with orders for caffeine products refills. You expect the rush to continue over the next few days as revision turns into actual mid-terms—as is tradition, you’ll be offering free chocolate muffins throughout the week by the door, because nothing heals the pain of a shitty Econ paper like chocolate muffins do.

Yet…as you look in the near-dead, distant eyes of your latest customer, you feel a pang of jealousy deep within your chest. While you’re pouring coffee into refillable mugs and forcing your best service smile (which is a difficult feat nine hours in to a ten hour shift) they’re reading and learning and absorbing.

You miss learning. God, you miss learning, even the terrible impossible chaos of one exam after another and deadlines piling up around you like sandbags. But being, y’know, poor, means there’s not much you can do about your grad school dreams, even if you do spend your free hours searching the internet for outlandish scholarships and funding schemes.

So. For now, it’s coffee. Potentially forever if you want to continue to eat and have electricity, which is just about all you can afford right now. And the occasional lipstick if you’re feeling particularly extravagant.

“What can I get you?” you ask the student, whose scruffy brown hair doesn’t look like it’s been washed in a few days. Oh well. Desperate times require desperate measures. At least you’re not his roommate. He grunts for an inevitable espresso and fishes round his wallet for some spare dollars while you get to work. Moments later you offer him the finished product and he drops the exact change into your hand, skulking away to a table without another word. Well, you’ll forgive a lack of manners during one of the most surreal weeks in the academic year.

“Hey, (Y/N).”

On the announcement of your name your glance flicks back to the remainders of the gradually quietening queue, and your face subconsciously breaks out into a grin when you finally see a customer that doesn’t look like a vacant zombie.

Steve Rogers grins back at you. He’s wearing a beanie over his blonde hair and a warm winter jacket—the temperature was freezing when you practically slid from the subway to work this morning and as the day slowly eclipses into evening, the temperature is falling back down with it. His cheeks are flushed from coming into the warm.

“Hey Steve!” you greet him cheerfully, because seeing an old friend is the perfect way to end a tiring shift. “How are you? How’s Natasha?”

Steve dips his head bashfully, like he always does when he’s asked about himself or his girlfriend. “We’re both great, thanks. What about you? It’s been a while.”

You gesture around you as an answer. Taking all the shifts you possibly can means you probably spend more time in Vormir than your own apartment. From what you can recall Steve has been back in the States for a few weeks after his most recent tour of Afghanistan; him or Natasha keep dropping you invites here and there, but you’ve been working or too dog-tired to accept them. It kind of makes you sad, as you watch your social circle shrink, but being an adult is the worst and staying alive is reasonably important to you.

“That bad, huh?” Steve asks sympathetically. You nod back, dramatically rolling your eyes.

“That bad. Always that bad, Rogers. I’m a slave to consumerism, but don’t let my boss know that.”

Steve laughs, leaning onto the counter. “I actually… (Y/N), when do you finish up here? Do you want get a drink? I’ve just got something I wanted to run by you.”

You narrow your eyes with curiosity. The clock that ticks mercilessly above the door reads six forty-two, so you’ve got less than twenty minutes left of your shift, and the look on Steve’s face is too intriguing to turn down just so you can rush home, open a bottle of cheap white wine and watch Stranger Things on Netflix. Even if you are up to the season three finale.

“I clock off at seven,” you reveal, but you nudge your head in the direction of the remaining customers who are starting to get annoyed at the hold-up. “Grab a seat. I actually have to do my job for a while longer and I’d rather not get fired because you’re distracting me.”

Steve holds his hands up in mock surrender and slowly backs away from the counter, allowing your next customer to slide into his position. You watch as he drops into a two-seater by the window, scrolling through his iPhone, a muted grin tugging at his lips.

-

Steve’s favourite bar is a short walk across town, the kind that is warm and dark and a little bit retro. You’ve been to Endgame before with him and Natasha, and you’d all split quarters so you could play ABBA songs on the Jukebox by the entrance. Right now it’s playing Go Your Own Way by Fleetwood Mac, so it seems today’s patrons have taste.

You grab one of the more private booths through the back while he gets the drinks. You’ve not seen your phone since your lunch break so you take the spare seconds to scroll through your social media—less than an hour ago Natasha’s posted a photo to Instagram, both her and Steve making stupid faces in the living room of the apartment they share. It’s captioned who do I have to kill to make sure you’re not deployed again?

Your heart melts a little. Steve and Nat. Nat and Steve. Two people who have been together for longer than you’ve known them, and they just work so fucking well, two halves of the same coin and all that. Your thumb hovers over the like button for a moment before clicking it, because you’ve never had someone in your life like that. You’ve not found the other half of your coin.

Most days you’re too exhausted to really think about it. But sometimes…something will click in the back of your brain and it dawns on you like an avalanche that this might be your life forever. You’ll be serving coffee forever. You’ll be on your own forever.

Fortunately Steve slides into the seat opposite before you can go into a full-on existential crisis, but you sure as hell know that’s what will inevitably cross your mind when you’re stuck staring at the cracked ceiling of your apartment in bed tonight.

Steve’s smile is concerned as he pushes a desperado in your direction. “You look troubled.”

“When am I not?” you say with a shrug, taking a sip of your drink. The alcohol burns in your empty stomach. You haven’t eaten since lunch—maybe liquor isn’t the best idea, after all. “Anyway. As much as I love seeing you, Rogers, this isn’t just a friendly drop-by is it?”

Steve is drinking some generic American beer. He wipes his lip before speaking. “Yeah. Like I said. There was something I thought I’d run by you.”

“Ominous.” You wiggle your eyebrows. “Are you going to spend the next half an hour or so pushing a pyramid scheme you swear isn’t a pyramid scheme? Because I really didn’t think that was your style.”

“No. Not a pyramid scheme.” He shakes his head in mild disbelief, probably wondering why he’s still friends with you. “It’s more…do you remember my friend? James?” When you look back blankly, he elaborates. “Bucky. Guy I used to go to school with. Dark hair. Lost his arm in Afghan about a decade ago…”

“Oh! Oh. Bucky Barnes. James Barnes.” You feel kind of bad that the arm was what made it click, but you do remember a quiet, well-mannered guy standing in the background of a few of Steve and/or Nat’s social events over the last few years. You’ve never been formally introduced but Steve talks about him every so often, just casual mentions in conversation, nothing detailed. They’d grown up together, trained together, but their career paths parted after Bucky’s car nicked an IED on the outskirts of Kabul. Truly horrifying. “Yeah. Sure. I remember him. What about him?”

Steve grimaces. “Well, it’s a bit…complex, to explain, so I’ll just go straight into it. About seven years ago he met a girl, she got pregnant, they had a daughter.”

“Oh! I never knew he had any kids.”

“Yeah. Clover. She’s six now. Way too smart for her age, really mischievous—doing crazy things like sending vegetables in the post to the grandparents she doesn’t like and reading fucking Frankenstein. Big Mary Shelley fan, to Buck’s sheer delight. Awesome kid.”

You smirk, not sure what any of this has to do with you, but little Clover sounds exactly how you were at her age. “She does sound pretty awesome.”

“But Connie, her mom…she passed away just over a year ago in a really awful car wreck.” Steve’s face falls into a look of heartbreak, empathetic as always. “Her and Bucky haven’t been together for years but they shared custody of Clove, Connie having her a lot of the time.”

You feel something shift in your chest, like shards of glass are pressing in between your ribs. Real loss stories have always been pretty hard for you to digest, regardless of who they belong to. You think about death a lot in, like, an abstract and unreachable kind of way. You think it gives you size, an awareness of your place in the world, the universe. But that’s your own death. You’re kind of comfortable with that one day you will cease to exist. It’s just the people that you care about you fear for. And everybody cares about somebody.

“God, that’s awful, Steve,” you murmur, eyes softening. “Is he looking after her on his own now?”

Steve nods, biting his lip. “Yeah. And he’s not doing too great, (Y/N). It’s not my place to go into details about what goes on in his head, but nobody gets over the trauma he went through and goes back to before. And the loss of Connie and suddenly becoming Clover’s only parent, and her trauma, as well as trying to hold down a full-time job…like Jesus, I’m surprised he can even get up in the morning. Sometimes he doesn’t.”

You ache for Steve’s oldest friend as is only natural, but you’re still at a loss as to where this involves you. You rest your chin in your hands, looking at Steve intently. “It sounds like he’s going through a tough time. I’m really sorry. But is this…any of my business? Because you can always confide in me about things that are on your mind, but this sounds really personal.”

“No. No, what I’m saying is, he needs—they both need—someone. He needs someone to help look after Clover while they both get their lives back on track.” Steve pauses, looking you straight in the eyes. “Someone like you.”

The laugh that erupts from your chest is involuntary, but Steve’s expression is still completely serious. Is he really suggesting what you think he’s suggesting? “What? You’re asking me to be a nanny?”

“I suppose you could call it that.” When you stare at him with disbelief, he rolls his shoulders. “(Y/N). Why is this such an eccentric idea? You hate your job. Buck has a spare room at his place which, no offense, is way nicer than your apartment. You’re great with kids, you’re funny, you’re smart…and you’ve already said you think Clover sounds like an awesome kid. You two would get on great.”

“That’s all irrelevant considering a, I’m not a nanny and have no experience looking after a child in that close and intense an environment. And b, Steve, this is an eccentric idea. Other than the scraps you’ve given me I know absolutely nothing about James, and what the hell does he know about me?” When Steve’s face looks a little guilty, you roll your eyes. “Oh my god. Steve. James hasn’t even said he wants a nanny has he? He doesn’t even know you’re asking me this.”

“This would be so good for him,” Steve half-pleads, puppy dog eyes engaged, “He’s fussy about strangers and Clover, but he knows you through me. He’ll trust my judgement.”

“Steve. You can’t just go making decisions like that! This is insane.”

(Steve has a habit of thinking he knows what’s best, for himself or other people, and rampaging down that path in the pursuit of a happy ending. Sometimes people don’t need his version of a happy ending.)

Steve eventually relents, relaxing back in his seat. He’s forgotten you’re not usually one for blindly going along with one of his Heroic Schemes, preferring a more idealistic approach. “Okay. Yeah. I’ll discuss it with him first. But I think you should come along when I do that.”

“Steve.”

“It doesn’t have to mean anything, but I think you should meet them both properly. You could be a good friend to him either way. It wouldn’t hurt, (Y/N). Maybe it would be good for you too.”

God, you’re way too done for this shit, your legs aching from a day of being constantly on your feet and dead inside from getting up at six this morning. Steve is not the kind of guy to give up on something he’s clearly passionate about in his quest for the greater good, and this point it is just easier to agree to his requests. Even though his idea is way too bizarre for anyone normal to actually accept.

Being a live-in nanny for a guy you barely know and his daughter, both of whom have just lost someone extremely significant in their lives? And him being totally unaware that his best friend is proposing a job he has no authority to give? Yeah, fuck that.

Steve is right about one thing, though. You do really, really hate your horrible job.

When you reluctantly nod, and Steve grins, you jab a finger in his direction. “Like you said. It means nothing. This is weird as hell, but you’re super annoying when you don’t get your own way, and I’m totally allowing you to receive all the backlash when it backfires.”

“I think I can deal with that.” He gestures at your empty bottle. “Want another drink?”

The alcohol has made your body a little lighter, but your stomach growls loudly in argument. Instead, you clamp your hands on the table. “No, but you can buy me a pizza. It’s the least you can do for me, weirdo.”

Steve raises an eyebrow, used to your directness. “Pizza it is, then.”

Okay, so maybe Steve Rogers is the most annoying person in the world, and maybe his aggressive selflessness in the hope of doing right for his friends will eventually be his downfall, but he’s usually a pretty nice guy. You sometimes forget that you’re lucky to have him.

[the-siren-saga]

What Happened That Night

SHANNA

LoneCameraman: Anyone else get taken recently? Kellamity: not that I've seen, no. Asra hasn't mentioned anything either. Kellamity: I'm going to the Cathedral tonight to rescue Iskandar. They're all gonna be at the Golden Door, it'll give me a great opportunity to get in and out before I'm seen. LoneCameraman: And you're telling me this now? Who even GAVE you that intel Kellamity: Who do you think? Moirah told me. LoneCameraman: Due to personal reasons I'd rather not hear anything about Moirah. Kellamity: ...What happened?

As if on cue, there was a sharp, yet hesitant, knock on the door. Timothée jumped to his feet.

LoneCameraman: Nothing. Don't focus on that. Remember how I said I could get us Shanna?

At the door was Shanna Averil, cold and shaking. There was a look of panic in her eyes, like a wounded prey animal. He opened the door, gesturing for her to come in and sit down.

"What's mine is yours," he said, offering a hand. "I know it's not much, but it's what we've got."

She took his hand, walking with him to the couch. "Has my aunt talked to you?"

"She sent me this long message when she heard you were coming over… Seems like she's pretty pissed off at herself for pushing you away the way she did." Timothée shrugged, sitting down beside Shanna.

"Yeah, well, I don't wanna hear her apology. Not yet," Shanna grunted. "And after what I did, I doubt she'll want to hear mine."

LoneCameraman: Just happened… a little sooner than I expected.

A pang of guilt came over him. I am a horrible, horrible person, he thought to himself. He repeated to himself that he didn't know what would happen when he showed Shanna that post-- he was trying to be a good person, and after living in a world of lies the way they had, who wouldn’t want to know the truth?

"You have a right not to," he soothed, holding out a hand for her to take. Awkwardly and hesitantly, she placed her hand in his. “It was an accident, I don’t hold it against you.”

She leaned against him. Timothée was a safe person. He wouldn’t hurt her or sell her out, he knew exactly what she’d gone through and how it affected her. “I used my… My thing I can do. I promised I never would again. But it just happened,” she muttered. “How do you move on from that? How do you deal with the fact that your power makes you a danger to others?”

The silence that followed seemed to hang in the air like a thick fog.

"Maybe I shouldn't have asked," she sighed.

LoneCameraman: I think we might need a couple of days. Kellamity: Take your time.

He wrapped one arm around her in a loose hug. "It's fine," he said. "My advice is to put it out of your mind for now. You're… you're not just your power, okay? And you're not the person who hurt you."

Hesitantly, Shanna settled down, her head on his shoulder. His words rattled around in her mind for a while– You're not the person who hurt you. Coming from someone who'd been hurt in similar ways, that meant a lot more than it otherwise would. She believed it, at least for a moment, in a way she wouldn't believe it otherwise.

LoneCameraman: Thanks for understanding. She's been through a lot today.

"Who are you texting?" Shanna asked.

Timothée, the lovable idiot, merely responded thusly: "You'll meet them soon."

KELLAN

The city was quiet. Only the soft hum of electricity and the distant sounds of feral animals prowling the streets disturbed the silence as a lone hoverbike sped through the deserted cityscape. On this hoverbike was a man with a mission. His name was Kellan Dehara, and he was a member of a certain clandestine organization– a resistance cell, covertly fighting against the actions of the Society of the Purple Rose.

"Are you sure about this, Kellan?"

The man on the hoverbike laughed. "I've never been sure of anything in my life," he answered with more confidence than such a statement warranted.

Asra paused. "Come again?" Their voice had a nervous edge to it. "Because we need you to be sure. We've never done a retrieval mission this risky before."

"More sure," Kellan corrected. "I've never been more sure of anything in my life. Let's do this."

"Right, right, let's get on with it, then." A few shuffling noises could be heard over the earpatch as Asra looked around for the mission plans. "Okay. You should be nearing the entrance point soon… again, are you absolutely certain you want to do this?"

Kellan sighed. "I just said so."

"Roger that."

"Four times, Asra."

"Roger that," Asra said, clearing their throat. "Let's just get this over with."

For a long time, there was silence. Silence enough for Kellan to bring the hoverbike to a stop behind a certain purple and silver building in the Entertainment District.

With Marchosias and his attendants on some sort of mock pilgrimage to the great golden door, to touch it and stand beside it and pat themselves on the back for supposedly bringing such a divine sign into the world, Kellan was free to enter the Cathedral without fear of being found and indoctrinated. Every single corridor was so intimately familiar to him from his own time spent walking these halls, every room an echo from within his own mind. It was maze-like. Intentionally so.

And only by accepting His love can we find our way to the center. To the Heart, Kellan recited to himself, not even realizing he was doing it. No. No, no, stop. I don't want to find my way to you. I want to find my way to Iskandar, I need to make sure he's okay, I need to get him out of here. Nothing else matters right now, not even you, 'Master.' In his own internal monologue, he said the last word mockingly, disdainfully. The version of himself that existed in his mind was every bit as cruel to Marchosias as Marchosias used to be to him.

He continued his exploration. The hallway he was in looked to be a dorm hallway, with gray, undecorated walls. Much of the Cathedral was richly decorated, but the dorms, save for the temporary rooms designed to impress new members and the luxury suites inhabited by Marchosias's favorites, were sparse and cold. Ostensibly, this was to encourage "contemplation," but it had an effect more similar to sensory deprivation if a person spent too long in one of the tiny gray rooms. A few of them had windows. He peeked inside one– yep, it was definitely a dorm, and it was every bit as bleak as his own when he was a member. Gray walls. Gray carpet. Gray furniture. The only color in the room was a skinny purple vase, holding one long-stemmed, deep purple rose. The bed was inhabited by a woman who had to have been at least eighteen, as only adults lived in the main building, but looked sixteen. She tossed and turned fitfully in her sleep.

Demetra, he realized. Oh, Hethe, that's Demetra. She had been a member of his cell for a few months before returning to the Society without so much as a goodbye. Many suspected she'd been kidnapped, Kellan included. He pulled on the door, trying to see if it would open. It didn't. Fuck, he swore silently.

The voice that interrupted him was soft and anxious and so familiar. Turning around, Kellan saw a man in a white silk robe, with dark skin, short braided hair, and eyes that had once been a deep, rich shade of brown. "She's being punished," he said as if talking about a teenager who’d been forbidden from going out on dates rather than a grown woman locked in a colorless room. "You'll be punished too if they find out you came back. But it's okay. We'll get to be together afterwards."

Paying no mind to the creepy things that the other man was saying, Kellan ran to embrace him. "Oh, Iskandar, mirthali Hethe. I was so worried I'd never see you again."

"All you had to do was come back to His embrace, Kellan Dehara. You know this." Iskandar stood motionless, not returning the hug, just continuing to speak in the same soft yet unnerving tones. "We could have been together this whole time, had you only accepted your place under His guiding hand. But it's no matter. You're here now. Here with me, and with our Most Divine Ruler."

Kellan shook him gently, trying to snap him out of it. "Hey, stop, this isn't you. Remember in college when the two of us went on that bar crawl and you got so plastered that you ended up belly-dancing on a table and singing karaoke to The Sisters Wander? Because I do. And let me tell you, that is not belly-dancing music." He wondered briefly if it was like those Ersis fairy tales, and a kiss would be all it took to awaken Iskandar, however, he wasn't keen on the idea of kissing someone who didn't explicitly make it clear that they wanted it. Instead, he just sighed. "Do you even remember anything before this place? Anything about us?"

"He took all of that from me so I could serve Him without distraction," Iskandar said, again, as if it was the most ordinary thing in the world. "I missed you so much when you left us. He eased my pain– isn't our God-Emperor wonderful?"

He forgot about me? Kellan thought. He wanted to forget about me?

This was too much for him to bear. "I'm sorry," he whispered to his former lover. With a quick, precise nerve pinch, he rendered Iskandar unconscious in a pile on the floor. "I'll come back for you. Just… not tonight."

And out he ran, away from the maze-like Cathedral, away from the former lover with the dead-eyed stare, onto his hoverbike and towards the last person in the world who he was certain still loved him.

[miss-choco-chips]

Miraculous Ladybug Au part 1

For @iphoenixrising who I think might like the idea. Thanks for always giving me confidence hon. I hope this cheers you up a lil bit.

Where Dick is guilty for wanting what he wants, Jason is confused about who he wants, and Tim just wants to sleep.

<<-Hey, Tim, check this out! You missed big time! That’ll show you not to go on vacation without me to keep you in touch with the real, exciting world.

-Uh?

-Someone on Instagram just posted a twenty seconds clip of Robin doing something.

-People are always posting about the bats. How is this news, Steph?

-Shh, I’m getting there. Look at this. This Robin is waaay too short. It’s not the one we’ve had for the last three years.

-... and? There were two different Robins before him, maybe he just outgrew it or something.

-But, where is he? The others came back, with new names and powers, they… they didn’t left us.

-Maybe it’s just taking him some time, to decide who is he going to be now.

-...Yeah, maybe. He saved me and my daughter once, you know. Took one hell of a blow for us. Wherever he is, I hope he’s doing okay, and gets himself on track quickly. The city needs him.

-I’m sure he’ll appreciate the sentiment. And… I hope that, too.>>

Now...

He tumbled through the open window, face planting into his bed, the transformation letting up even before his forehead was properly buried in the pillow. His muscles practically melting against his Nightwing comforter (birthday present from Dick, oh the irony), the scent of smoke still clinging to it from the last time the boys dropped in for a impromptu visit (nearly scaring the bejesus out of him when he heard their voices and footsteps climbing up the stairs to his bedroom while he still was in the suit, holy fuck-!).

He wanted to sleep so badly. But he had maybe (it was around five a.m, right?) two hours until he needed to leave for work, and if he took a nap now, he might not be able to wake up on time.

-Are you alright, Timmy?

Gathering whatever leftover strength he had in him, he turned his head to the side, his almost closed eyes finding the worried ones of his kwami.

-Yeah. Only tired.

-I’d bet -the little bird-like creature huffed, his tiny black and red chest puffing like an offended peacock-. You are running yourself too ragged.

-Well, lots of things to do. Work stuff, Red Robin stuff, Tim Drake stuff... Not to mention, college.

-Speaking of… -trailed off the kwami, his big blue eyes signaling towards the desk, where his Advanced Economic’s paper awaited for attention.

Tim followed Rouge’s line of sight and promptly groaned when he got the hint, dropping his head once again in the mattress.

-Fuuuuuck. When was that due for?

-Tomorrow. And you’re supposed to met up with Jason today, and dinner with Dick after that. If you cancel on any of them again...

-...Well, it’s not like I actually expected to get any sleep today.

-Two all nighters in a row?

-It’s like you read my mind.

----.----.----

Then...

He met Richard at the circus, when he was four, but since the other boy didn’t remember (his parent’s death probably overwrote anything else in his memory of that night), their official meeting happened two months later, when Dick was formally introduced to high society as Bruce Wayne’s ward.

-Mister Wayne -his father shook Bruce's hand, fake smile firmly in place- and this must be young Richard. Hi, champ, I'm Jack Drake, and this is my lovely Janet.

Behind his mother, Tim couldn't repress a giggle. Champ, dad? Really?

-Good evening, gentleman -his mother, the perfect picture of a lady, smiled delicately behind her gloved hand. It didn't reach her glacial blue irises, but it was enough to fool most businessmen in lowering their defenses.

Tim himself had eyes only for the boy clutching the taciturn billionaire's sleeve. He wondered how was he feeling, if he had tried to fly at all since his parents deaths. He hoped so.

Dick had looked so happy while flying.

—I'm Tim —he butted in, when it was obvious his father intended to speak business and leave the introductions behind them— A pleshure.

He winced internally when the last word was mispronounced, and externally when his mother's nails sank into his shoulder in consequence.

-You'll have to forgive him, he's a baby still -laughed his mother, her hand letting him go and reaching for his father’s elbow-. Go explore, Tim. Your dad has people he needs to talk to, all boring stuff. I’m sure it’s the same with Mister Wayne.

Said man seemed to agree, though how Tim knew, he couldn’t tell, as the man’s expression barely changed.

Dick, on the other side, seemed absolutely crestfallen.

And he knows, he knows he's going to get into trouble for this the moment they are home, but the expression in the boy’s face is just… He wants to wipe it clean, like his nanny does for him when he gets tomato sauce on his cheek.

(It's so different from how he looked that night, soaring the skies besides his parents. Had been so… free)

«Was it then, when he started to put Dick's happiness before his own?»

—Mister Wayne -he finally gathered enough courage to talk, going as far as to interrumput his father’s speech about current politics- can Richard come play with me? Please? We’ll behave.

Dick's small, thankful smile was enough to warrant Bruce's permission, and seal Tim's destiny away.

----.----.----

Now...

-Tiiiiiiimmmyyyyyyyyyyyy!!!!

He regrets picking up without double checking the caller id. So strongly.

In defense of his sleep deprived brain, it was an unknown number. So either Dick had a new phone, was burrowing someone’s for any reason, or he had caught on on Tim’s attempt at taking distance, decided to try and catch him when he knew he had his defenses low (before eight a.m) and bought a burner to accomplish it.

-It’s six in the morning. You better have a damn good reason to be calling me so… chirpily, at this ungodly hour.  You don’t even have to work till nine, why are you awake?

Because Nightwing, along with Red Robin, had been fighting an akumatized nurse  not two hours ago. But, since Dick didn’t know Tim knew, his obvious response at such a close corner was to deflect with a practiced, not awkward-totally-but-still-noticeably laugh.

-Come on, honey, where’s my happy Timmers? Who spat in your cereal?

Rouge passed by his bathroom mirror, where Tim was inspecting his reflection in search of his will to live, and like the god-like tiny thing he was, he rubbed comfortingly against his partner’s cheek, as if lending him strength.

Tim sighed and put the phone in speaker, dropping it on the marble countertop. He wasn’t getting out of this conversation anytime soon, so might as well continue with his morning routine.

Tam once compared it to watching a snake changing skins. From the tired, more-than- slightly-murderous teen, to the wow-lookit-a-respectable-young-man.

-First, you ever call me that again, I’ll rearrange your face a la Picasso. Second, no one uses that expression. And lastly, only you eat that crap anyway.

-That’s a lie, I know for a fact you have at least two different brands in your kitchen, even though one is an insult to the cereal industry. Fiber, blegh.

-Because one is for you when you visit, and the other I bought on an impulse of spite to punish you for… I don’t remember now, but I’m sure it was horrible and deserving of drastic measures.

He could hear Dick’s laugh over the line. Once upon a time, the sound would make Tim’s mood  lighten, like an echo of the other.

Now it hurt a little.

-You’re spending too much time with Jason and not nearly enough with me. You used to be such a sweet, eager to please angel. What happened?

-I asked your dad to let you play with me, and here I am, fourteen, fifteen years later, looking at my life, looking at my choices -and looking for his damn tie, which he swore he left by the toothbrush yesterday, where the fuck… - Asking myself where I went wrong.

-Yeah, now I remember why I never call you this early.

-About that, was there a reason, or you just wanted to take Jason’s place of honour in my hit-list?

Dick choked on a laugh, and Tim took the chance to quickly brush his teeth. His hair was a lost cause and he had learned to ignore it or risk spending too much time in a battle he wouldn't win. Easier to just ask Tam to brush it for him at the office, because that woman was a magician and Tim would fire the whole board of investor from D.I  before letting her go.

-Just checking in. We are still on for movie night, right? Because I might just use my power as a law enforcer and arrest you if you cancel on me again.

With one last look at his reflection (making damn sure his concealer hid both the black and blue spot by his jaw and his ever-growing eye bags), he picked up his phone and started for the kitchen. Rouge, bless his little soul, had plugged in the coffee maker, and the smell called to him like light to a moth.

And there was his tie, by the pot. Score.

-Movie night? -he asked, dubiously, glancing at his kwami. Rouge’s brow furrowed and he shook his head- No, we were going out for dinner. I’m sure.

-It’s Tuesday. Tuesdays were always movie night days. I thought it was implied, Timmy, for God’s sake.

Tuesday were movie night days back when they were five and eleven respectively, even before Jason was adopted, up until Dick started getting busier and calling it quits more often than not. It had been a while since they followed the tradition.

-Uhm, no, sorry. I have a paper due tomorrow, and was going to work on it after dinner with you. Can’t stay the night at your place. Rain check?

-...Yeah. Okay, sure. But you aren’t getting out of dinner.

He could hear Dick’s disappointment over the line. Once upon a time, the sound would ruin Tim’s mood, like an echo of the other.

Now, it still hurt a little.

(More than a little. Fuck)

It’d be easier if he could just cut ties with them all as Tim Drake. If he could get up and leave them, betray their trust, their love.

Like Nightwing had done with Red Robin. Or, to be fair, Robin.

----.----.----

Then…

Tim had known of the Akumas since… forever, really. They had been haunting Gotham long before he was born, hurting people, destroying things, breaking everything in their reach apart.

And then, when he was but a baby, the Batman appeared. Mrs Mac, the housekeeper, told him about it once. How, when the city was going through it’s darkest times, a knight of shadows and justice had risen, taking upon himself the responsibility of protecting the city.

Protecting everyone, really.

He, as any gothamite born and raised, had watched in wonder at whatever recordings the News Channels could provide, talked theories with his friends, stayed up at night wondering who the magic hero might be…

Until said magic hero recruited a sidekick, and Tim stayed up at night for totally new reasons.

(He’d recognize those moves, those tricks, but above all else, that laugh, anywhere)

He wanted so badly to knock at Wayne Manor’s doors, hunt down Bruce and fucking scream at him. Akumas were dangerous, whoever sent them was dangerous, fucking Gotham was dangerous, and Dick was his friend. His thirteen year old friend, who had been a hero for years before the lucky camera man had caught him on frame, revealing the mysterious partner to the world. And while Tim was a kid himself, barely seven, he was smarter than tons of adults he knows. Smarter than Bruce, at least, since he, unlike the other, understood the dangers of the night. Of Gotham herself.

He got as far as the inner gym, where Dick was practicing by the trapezius, flying from end of the room to the other, spinning, twisting mid air, laughing when the roof got too close to his face in one of the highest jumps. And then (maybe because he caught sight of Tim watching by the door, maybe he wanted to show off just a little, maybe he wanted to tell him something and this was the only way to properly express it...), a quadruple somersault, the one he performed for Tim that first night -even if he doesn’t remember that-, the one Robin was caught on camera doing, the one that gave him away.

And Tim, caught in his amazement of the boy, unable to take away this if it was what gave him his wings back, could only clap and yell ‘again!’.

----.----.----

Now...

-You look like death warmed over -greeted Tam when he passed by her desk in his way to his office. Like the well trained boy he was, he detoured, dropping in the empty chair by her side she always had ready for him. Within a second, his assistant took a hairbrush from her purse and started to work her magic in his head.

-Didn’t sleep and had to deal with a morning person before seven. You’d look just as bad, thank you very much.

-Dick called?

He huffed. Rouge, in the inner pocket of his jacket, pressed closer to him for the movement. He stilled immediately, knowing the kwami needed all the sleep he could get.

-That obvious?

-You don’t associate with a lot of morning people.

-There’s something inherently wrong with them, if they are happy that early.

-One of your best friends is like that -Tam tutted, working on a specially difficult knot. Tim didn’t dare complain, even when the tug to his scalp made him wince.

-Bart is a special case, he lives in a perpetual state of high. I still believe he takes cocaine and redbull with his breakfast.

She hummed, hairbrush now discarded in favour of her fingers. They passed through his hair without resistance, his bedhead (could it be called that, when he hadn’t actually slept?) all but gone, the movements soothing. There weren’t a lot of things capable to relax him, these days.

-Well, you have an eleven o’clock appointment with a possible investor, but between that and the board meeting at three, you are a free man. I can make sure no one bothers you while you cat nap.

-I’d love to, but Jason will come and drag me out of here kicking and screaming if I miss lunch with him. Or worse, he might find me asleep and princess carry me all the way to the restaurant in plain view of as many cameras as he can as punishment.

Tam shook her head in amusement and fondness, releasing his hair and straightening on her chair, her ‘back to business’ pose- I’ll never understand your relationship with those boys, I swear.

A sigh, roll of shoulders and he was ready to face the day too.

-Neither will I.

-But you’ll miss them, if they leave.

A flash of something passes through his eyes.

----.----.----

Then...

-I miss you. Don’t you miss me?

Dick, sixteen in body but about five in soul pouted at the screen of his computer, trying to convey the ‘mean, little brother!’ expression as perfectly as possible.

Tim snorted through his nose, getting comfortable on the bed; the notebook on his lap, back to the headboard of the too-big matres, pillows everywhere.

-I can use your bed whenever you go away, so I’ll go with a tentative ‘maybe’. ‘sides, you’ve been gone for two months, Dick. The exchange program goes for seven to eight. Give me another one or so, and I’ll be crying for you to come back.

-That’s an ugly lie, but I appreciate the effort -a change of stance, then the voice turned utterly blank- How are things over there?

Tim bites his lip, wondering, but what would he gain hiding it? If Dick already knew, he would expect Tim, as a young kid, to mention it. If he didn’t, he would find out soon enough and wonder why he didn’t tell him.

-You know how for the last few months Robin just… stopped appearing?

-...yeah?

-Well, he came back a few days ago, and either he shrunk, or it’s someone else.

Dick’s expression doesn’t change, so Tim knows he made the right call telling him; he was already aware.

-Oh? Another kid, putting his life in danger? I wonder what those child activists think about it.

-Keep asking for Batman’s head on a platter, like usual. I think it helps that this one isn’t as small as the previous one was when he first appeared, but, you know. Still setting on fire Batman merchandise in the streets.

-The original Robin wasn’t small. You are small.

-Reaaally mature, Dick. Since when are you in Robin’s protection squad?

-Always been my favorite hero.

Self centered, much?

-Hm… And what about the new one?

-...Let’s wait and see if he can fill the shoes.

-Lucky for him, they’re just kid shoes, no clown ones.

A small, real smile steals his way into Dick’s face, and Tim wants to throw a happy fist to the air.

He lives for that smile.

-You are a dork. Anything else new?

Again, uncertainty, but this one was easier to explain if detected. After all, Dick was aware of how uncomfortable was Tim in his new position as the mediator.

-Jason’s adapting. His grades went up and…

-Oh, look at that. Sorry, Timmers, I gotta go. My roommate is texting me that he wants to hang out.

-Oh… okay. Are we… are we face timing for movie night later? right?

-Yeah, yeah, sure -he waved a hand, as if discarding Tim, and he just knew Dick was going to forget about it… again-. Go have fun. Your parents are still traveling, right? Give Bruce a few white hairs while you’re at the Manor for me. I think he might get bored, without me there to spice things and kickstart his nervous system once an hour. The life of a businessman is soooooo dull.

(Except when said business man is practically a magical girl. God, once Stpeh had made that comparison, Tim just couldn’t unsee it)

He tries to laugh, but it’s empty. He won’t push the issue, and Dick won’t talk about it willingly, but they are both aware of the elephant in the room.

-Wouldn't dream of taking your place as the ever-evolving ulcer in his stomach. Take care. Bye.

He closed the computer lid and rubbed at the bridge of his nose. The situation made him uneasy. It was hard, being Dick’s loyal, loving little brother, Bruce’s unproblematic charge (since his parents decided that letting Tim stay with Wayne during their trips was cheaper than the nanny and housekeeper), and Jason’s-

-Hey, Baby Bird, you done talking to the jackass?

He nearly jumped out of his skin, neck almost breaking with how quickly he turned to face the door.

-Jason! -the automatic smile, brought to fore by the mere sight of his friend in workout clothes (he must have been training) melt into a frown when the words sank in- Don’t be a jerk.

-He’s a dick, pun unintended.

-Cut him some slack, it’s the ‘no more single child’ symptom. He’s just jealous to have to share Bruce’s attention.

-Ain’t he a little too old for that?

-I don’t think ‘old’ is a word you could ever use to describe Dick. Ever. I mean, he’ll be retired and have like twenty grandchildren, and still give off the ‘young, single and ready to mingle’ vibe.

The laugh is so sudden, so surprising, Jason chokes on his own spit.

-You’re a riot. Why do I like you, again?

-Because if not for me, you’ll be alone in this big, scary house, with only Alfred and Bruce for company.

-Alf’s cool.

-Yeah, but he’ll put you to do chores if he thought you’re bored enough to get up to some mischief.

-Sometimes you talk like an 90’s British book.

-Shut up, Harry Potter is my Bible. Besides, not like you can talk about british literature.

Another laugh, and the last of Jason’s tension faded away like a charm. Tim left the computer on the bedside table and stretched, getting up.

-Come on, let’s go find some way to make your Dad rethink his life choices.

-Fuck French, you speak the language of love.

----.----.----

Now...

It was on his way to that new Barbeque on Cameron Street, northwest from Diamond district, when the ground beneath his feet shifted and he and another fifteen passers-by were caught in what seemed like an asphalt cage.

In the middle of the street. With no corner to hide and transform.

Great.

There wasn’t any villian in sight, so the akumatized person probably had just wanted some back up hostages. Most likely, they weren’t the only ones trapped.

And that in the corner was a street cam. Fuck.

He needs to get out and help catch the bad guy of the day, but can’t exactly break asphalt with his bare hands, and transforming in front of fifteen eyewitnesses and a camera isn’t exactly an option.

So, he takes out his phone.

-What’ll you do? -comes the whisper from within his jacket, and he looks down just enough to look at his kwami without drawing attention at himself.

-Well, at this rate I’m going to be late for lunch. It’d be rude of me if I don’t tell Jay about it -he types quickly while he talks, making sure the annoyed (and it always stuns Conner, his friend from metropolis, how Gothamites consider freaks and monsters running around a minor inconvenience; how used to crazy they are) people around him aren’t paying his actions enough attention-. There. Sent.

-Hope he’s not  mad at you.

-He can't be, I didn't postpone anything. Just told him I'll be held up here until Red Hood gets his ass on gear and does his job.

-Should you text Dick as well?

-Nah, that'd be too much of an overkill.

-...

-...

-...How long until he comes guns blazing to the rescue?

-Two, three minutes tops.

It was the basis of his and Jason's relationship, the knowledge that, if in peril, they could always count on the other to come running to either save them or hold their hands while everything went to shit.

----.----.----

Elsewhere…

-Hm… the little shit is taking his time. Think I should go get him?

The kwami popped her head out of the bike helmet Jason had left in the extra chair he requested for the table. She seemed deeply unimpressed.

-okay, okay, I'll give him five more minutes. Then, it's fair game.

A sudden ping called his attention to the cell phone carelessly left above the tablecloth. It was the most obnoxious sound he could think of, and was as such his ringtone for the young man he was actually waiting for. It was a sound he couldn't ignore, or sleep over it.

BabyBird:

^Hey Jay, might be a little late for lunch

-That little…

Another ping.

BabyBird:

^Got held up on my way there, some akuma caged me and other fifteen people. Don’t know how long until one of the masks comes to the rescue

^Lol, some woman doesn't give a DUCK and just keeps fighting with someone over the phone about someone named Jerry

Ping.

BabyBird:

^update; Apparently Jerry is her son and she's fighting her ex.

Another ping, quickly following the former.

BabyBird:

^...I'm going to kill either you or Dick. Who programmed my phone to replace all swear words? You motherHUGGERS.

He was out of the door before the last text actually sank in and, by the time he ducked behind a corner, was already laughing.

-Tireur, arm me up!

----.----.----

Then…

He didn’t care who he pushed or tripped on his way to Jason’s room. He wasn’t hearing their screams and complaints. The sound he heard when turning left on the next corner might have been a paparazzi’s camera, or an IV stand he knocked down in his haste, but, again, it wasn’t important at the moment.

The only thing in his head right now, was the echo of that psychotic laughter, of Batman’s screams, of his own gasp when the news coverage showed footage of Robin, bloodied and hurt, trying to get away from a building about to blow up… and failing.

The full blown panic attack that followed made him hyperventilate so bad he actually lost consciousness, only to wake up to the sound of his phone going off and Alfred’s voice on the line telling him how Master Jason, along some other victims, had been caught in the same explosion the Joker, the clown that got akumatized every other week, caused. The same that took Robin out.

He refrained from yelling at Alfred to not lie to him, he already knows who Robin is and who he was before. He knows everything, so don't lie to him, not about something as serious as this…! But only because it was Alfred, and no one yelled at him.

Instead, he asked for updates, still on his phone while running to Wayne Manor, where the butler was ready to give him a lift to the hospital.

Jason was just asleep, they told him, like he was too young and naive to hear the truth. His body needed time to get better, so his head had taken a little vacay.

He was just asleep, the doctors said. All the while Tim kept running numbers in his head, statistics on how likely it was for comatose patients to wake up.

But Jason wasn’t another statistic. He was his friend, his brother, his hero.

Robin. His Robin. The one he watched from the very beginning, the one he discretely helped easing into the hero life by being always there, to unwind after a fight or hang out when the dangers of the life he lead hounded up on him.

The sobs he tried so hard to reign in were now freely bursting out of his dry lips.

When Tim cried, it usually was a quiet thing, tears rolling down marble cheeks, not a sound escaping his mouth. A cry for help from a child who knew no one would come running at the sound of his pain. A resigned thing.

There, at Jason’s bedside, clasping the boy’s hand on his own, what came out of his chest through his mouth was a full out, loud, broken wail.

The next couple of days were kind of a blur to him. He was aware that, at some point, Mister Wayne had tried to coax him away from the room and to his home. He knows, too, that had his parents been there to witness his hysterical tantrum, he would have been grounded until it was time for him to leave for college. Every few hours, Alfred would came and feed him small bits of food. Sometimes he threw up, sometimes he didn't. It was like tossing a coin on that one.

He thinks it’s a week later, but it could very well be a month, when he weaseled his way into Jay’s bed, careful of the IVs attached to his arms, and spoke out loud for probably the first time since the explosion.

-You don’t have to keep hiding. I know about you. About how… you gave Dick, and then Jay, their powers. I… I know I’m not the only one grieving, so if you want, we could… keep each other company.

A few moments passed by. It was okay. Tim wasn’t going anywhere.

Then, a small green and yellow head poked out of Jason’s pillowcase, big blue eyes staring at  Tim in wonder and wariness.

-...how?

-Dick’s not nearly as inconspicuous as he believes he is. I already knew he was Robin, but couldn’t figure out how exactly did he get his powers… Until one day, he thought I was asleep, and transformed in the bathroom attached to the room I was in. Doofus didn’t even completely close the door.

The little thing laughed, like a bell. Tim borrowed deeper into Jay’s side.

-My name is Merle, Robin’s kwami.

-I’m Tim.  Robin’s friend.

----.----.----

Now…

Red Hood arrived at the scene in record time. He was almost impressed.

Once there, the masked hero drew his guns, loading each of them with a brown and gold magazine. As far as Tim understood, Hood’s powers derived from his firearms, and he had different kind of bullets for specific situations.

He shot at strategic points in the asphalt cage, crumbling it to the ground. Coincidently, none of those points were near the corner were Tim was crouched. Typical.

-Is everyone alright? -asked the hero, once the dust had settled and they were free.

A few nods, some ‘thanks for the save’ then and there, the occasional ‘any clue where the Akuma is? I’d like to avoid it today’, and then the people scattered. A woman strode past Red Hood, phone at hand, yelling something about child support.

Tim took his time getting up, straightening his tie and running his fingers through his hair in an attempt at controlling the strands again.

-Hey -the masked man approached him, concern palpable in his tone- you alright, Tim?

It said something about his life as Tim Drake, that he was on first name basis with Gotham’s heroes.

-Yep, just hungry. I was on my way to have lunch with my friend, so I’ll be leaving now.

He saw the anxiety flash through Hood’s expression at the mention, remembering that Tim was expecting to see his alter ego at the restaurant, but he still had an Akuma to catch.

-Ah, wait! You mean, that Jason dude, right?

-Yeah?

Tim wondered if it made him a sadist, the satisfaction he got from making Jason, Dick or Damian squirm like this, putting them on the fence with his ‘innocent’ worry about their alter egos.

-I saw him on m’way here, actually. Said somethin’ came up, and he’s gonna take a raincheck on lunch.

He let the tiniest bit of disbelief slip into his facade, before seemingly deciding to trust the masked man.

-Oh, what a shame. I’ll be very busy the next couple of weeks, it’s going to be a while before we can meet up again.

-That.. that sucks. But, ah, ‘m sure he’ll get it. I gotta go now, kid. See ya around.

He watched Hood’s retreating back as he shot a line at the nearest rooftop. Perfect, since now he’d have the time to transform and catch up with him to help with the Akuma as Red Robin. If Tim Drake got the chance at skipping bonding time with Jason? Even better.

He wasn’t mad at Jason, the way he was at Dick’s alter ego, Nightwing. Jay never hurt him, never casted either him nor Red Robin out (exception made for the very first encounters they had as heroes, back when he still used the Robin miraculous).

But, since his alter ego had slept with Jason’s, he figured he had every reason to feel a little shy.

----.----.----

Then…

-You never tried to get to know him -he said, and it wasn’t a reproach, just a fact. Nevertheless, Dick still cringed in place, bending in on himself like a kid sent to time out.

-I… I know.

-He is just a kid Bruce saw something in. Like you, a kid who needed someone to see his brightest parts, and take him in to give him a chance at a better future.

-I know.

-He’s… he’s a very good person. Really smart, loyal and caring.

-I… know. You told me.

-You are/ Dick, you are one of the best people I know, if not THE best. Why would you treat an innocent kid like the gum stuck in your shoe?

Dick squirms in his place by the door, not daring to get closer to the bed where both Tim and Jason laid, but obviously wanting. Not that it mattered. Jason wouldn’t want him so close by, specially at his most vulnerable, and Tim was nothing if not the ferocious dragon protecting the sleeping Prince’s will, his surname all too fitting.

-Just… It’s just stupid, okay? And it doesn’t matter now. All that matters, is that he gets better. And if… when, he wakes up, I’ll explain it to him.

Dick wouldn’t be able to see him, because of the angle, but Tim catched the yearning and sad look Merle, hiding between Jason’s covers, sent his oldest partner. The little fairy (kwami, Tim reminded himself), his companion this last weeks in guarding Jason’s room, seemed as troubled as Tim had been when he was expected to mediate between the two adopted brothers.

-But not me.

There was something a little dark, a little sad and a little empty in Dick’s eyes. For the first time ever, he didn’t feel the compulsion to fill that void with happiness.

-I don’t think I can stomach telling you, BabyBird.

----.----.----

Now…

He intercepts Red Hood two blocks away from Newtown, still in Crime Alley territory but close enough to the other neighborhood. Since D.I was by Moench Row, just between the Fashion and Diamond districts, it took some time to catch up on the hero.

The fight is well in its final course when he arrives. The Bat is here, which means Red Hood is content on just sharpshooting from a close by rooftop. N and R are missing, but Tim already knew they would be: it’s not Dick’s patrol time, and R must be at school.

As the independent vigilantes, neither Red Robin nor Red Hood follow Batman’s patrol routes nor schedules. For the later, it means he can choose to stay close to the Bowery, Crime Alle and Chinatown, where he feels he’s more useful. For himself, it means he doesn’t have someone putting a hand to his shoulder and mandating down time after a few  consecutive hard patrols.

When he was Robin, he wasn’t allowed to fight during school hours, nor after three a.m. If there was some kind of emergency that required all hands on dock, it meant almost a week of taking things slow, because even if B didn’t know his nightlife protege was also his daylife charge, he would never leave a kid under his protection unsupervised enough to hurt themselves. Now, he can choose whenever the fuck he wants to help, and when he feels like leaving the others to deal with it (watching from afar how Dick and Jason dealt with a akuma with the powers of body switching people, and how the heroes had to improvise working with bodies and powers that didn’t suit them, had been too funny to actually put any effort to stop).

Shaking his head to clear it from the memories, he landed softly by Hood’s side, careful to not startle the hero laying on his stomach by the edge of the roof, with a long-distance rifle ready to go on his hands.

-Ya came all t’way here for nothin, Pretty Bird. The old man has it all in hand.

Letting himself fall at the edge, legs dangling and resting his weight on his arms behind him, he allows his gaze to travel through the skyline of buildings. It was a nice view, for those used to the air pollution and angry drivers yelling a few stories bellow.

-Had lunch cancelled, thought I might as well.

Hood grunts, shifting his stance to a less alert one. B clearly didn’t need their help.

-I had fucking plans, man. If B wasn’t in the fucking way, I’d put a bullet through the bastard, see if he lets himself get akumatized again.

Tim crooked his head to the side, analyzing the crazy of the hour.

-It’s a new one, though. I don’t recognize him. Probably his first time getting transformed?

-It’s already one too many. Our lives are just as shitty as anyone’s in the city, and you don’t see us fucking shit up.

-To be fair, we get our chances at therapeutic skull smashing when we keep those guys in check.

A few feet under them, Batman’s batarang was already boomeranging past the former akumatized transit police woman, slicing through the black and green butterfly and setting free the white and pink one trapped inside it.

And he hadn’t needed to move a single muscle. Sighing in defeat (he sooo could have used this time to power nap before his next meeting at work), he climbed to his feet.

-Seems like you were right, we shouldn’t have bothered to come. See ya, Hoo/

-Hey -interrupted the other, suddenly standing, rifle out of sight and way too deep into Tim’s personal bubble-, since we r' both here… no energy lost… n' we didn’t use our miraculous, so no chance of us de-transformin' suddenly…

Don’t say it. Don’t say it. Hood, please don’t say it.

-One of my safe spot’s near. Want ta come for a cup of tea?

Don’t play along. Don’t play along. Goddammit, Tim, Don’t play along.

He takes that last step separating them, hands carefully delineating the outline of Hood’s suit of armor.

-You know I don’t drink your dirty leaf-water.

The other hero’s hands were big enough, they could almost completely envelope his waist, something never failed to arouse him.

-Good. Then we can go straight to the cake.

All the way to Hood’s (Jason’s) secret apartment, Tim berated himself, again and again, about how bad of an idea this was. How fucked up (in both senses, oh my god) was he going to be by the end of it. How uncomfortable was it going to be for him to actually talk to the man when the masks came out and Jay was looking at his best friend, not knowing he had had his tongue on his mouth, his neck, deep inside his ass. Not knowing why Tim was suddenly avoiding him.

Why he felt so goddamned guilty.

But, once they arrived to the place, and his back was to the wall not two seconds later, Hood’s strong body pressed tight against his, hands grabbing anything they could, mouth hot and dirty and doting…

He could only throw his head back and moan.

----.----.----

Then...

The city was in absolute chaos. From his place by Jason’s windowsill, Tim winced at the fiery remnants of the last explosion (by the library? It could have also been the post office), the hospital one of the few places untouched by the madness that was Gotham right now.

In his hands, his smartphone kept him up to speed about what was taking place on the streets. Apparently, the patients at Arkham Asylum had been akumatized again, only at the same fucking time. The Joker, Harley Quinn, Poison Ivy and Two Faces so far. Apparently, the first two had already been apprehended and de transformed, and the third was calm and unobtrusive at Robinson Park, but since they had kept the Bat focused on them until now, that meant the last of the lot had enough time to completely cover the city in bombs.

Which exploded two at a time, every two hours and twenty two minutes. There was a serious OCD there.

Perched on Tim’s propped up knee, Merle’s sky blue eyes danced from one burning spot to the other, shining like little red and yellow dots on the map that was Gotham from such a height.

-The library -quietly commented the kwami.

-And the Museum -Tim added, fingers tapping the location on the screen of the phone, on the downloaded blueprints of the city.

-Before that, it was the park.

-And the Aquarium.

-And the first two where the Zoo…

-...and planetarium.

-Why those places?

Minutes were ticking by. Bombs kept going off, unpredictable locations being blown up with everyone inside with them. Batman and Nightwing, Gotham’s newest hero, were running themselves ragged, trying to contain the damage and stop the villain. Batgirl worked with the authorities to keep buildings standing, her Eye of Insight (which, Tim was now aware, was her Miraculous) determining the most flimsy spots in the structures, the ones they needed to reinforce before the entire thing crumbled down.

And Tim was here, at the hospital, hearing the nurses and doctors doing their best to save everyone from being a casualty of the akuma’s violence, useless to both his family and the innocents from Gotham that were most likely going to die today.

(Everything because Bruce couldn’t think straight)

-Kids, Merle -he answered, his phone going, once again, to the billionaire's voicemail-. Those are all places where kids like to go, or have to. If he keeps the timeline, the next attack would be at two twenty two a.m, and it’s going to be…

-Gotham’s kindergarten? -the little creature tried to guess. It wasn’t too far off, since, judging by how many witnesses on twitter swore to have spotted the bat at Gotham’s primary school, B thought the same.

But it was wrong.

(Everything because, since Jason died, Bruce stopped thinking about the akumatized people as… people. People with minds of their own. With feelings)

-The orphanage.

(Horrible and twisted feelings, but feelings after all)

-We have to stop him!

-How? B isn’t picking up. Neither is Alf. Dick’s phone is at my house where he left it yesterday. I have no other way to contact them. And Bruce is so deep in his rage because of Jason’s accident, he’s so desperate to hurt something, he’s being impulsive. Reckless. He’s not going to think about orphans until it’s too late.

-We can’t just stay here! -Merle cried out, desperate at the sight of his city in flames, of one of his boys out there risking his life, and the other fighting for it in the bed behind their backs.

-Well, what would you have me do? -Tim finally snapped, standing from the windowsill and turning to face the kwami- I can’t just take a bus to Gotham’s school and yell at B to move his ass!

-Yes you can! You have to!

-I’ll never make it in time! There’s no vehicle that could dodge the shitstorm that must be the streets now, and unless you have some way for me to travel via rooftops, I would never make it there! I can’t help anyone! I’m not Robin!

When no reply came, Tim’s eyes, that had strayed to the window again, looked for the kwami.

Merle floated right in front of him, face determined, eyes pleading. He held a too familiar necklace, that almost every boy and girl wore as an ode to their hero. A green ‘R’, encircled in red, on a golden chain.

Robin’s necklace.

-But you could be. If you take this and fly with me, you could be. Gotham needs a hero. Batman needs a Robin. Your family needs you.

On the little screen, the reporters said something about Nightwing being hurt by a burning beam falling on him.

He made the decision before he could even think about it.

-Merle, help me fly.

Robin soared the skies again.

[pinesconessecrets]

Ice to Meet You

Merry Christmas @ladynightmare12 ! I hope you enjoy the fic!! <: I had a lot of fun with the soulmate AU, since it’s something I’ve always enjoyed. I combined it with the first meetings AU too. Have a great Christmas! <3

****

Wirt had given up on trying to find his soulmate when he was thirteen. He still remembered the conversation that came after he mentioned it to his mom. She had choked on her tea, wheezing until she’d managed to regain control of herself again. Then began the spiel about, “Oh, sweetie. You’ll meet her at some point in your life, don’t give up now!” and Wirt just sighed. Internally, of course. He didn’t want to upset his mom any further. A good bit of everyone in his grade had found their soulmate, leaving Wirt feeling terribly alone. Sara tried to comfort him, except she ran into her soulmate a few months later; it was some guy named Brian. That was a fun day.

He was a little more than relieved to graduate high school, which meant moving away to a college in a different state. A college in Oregon had caught his eye and he applied, half expecting to get denied. But lo and behold, the college actually accepted him and even had a full ride scholarship too.

Greg was against Wirt moving across the country when he broke the news. Wirt reassured him that he would call every day and keep in touch. He wouldn’t be left out just because Wirt didn’t live in the same house anymore.

Wirt enjoyed the trip to Oregon. His parents rented a small u-Haul for the stuff Wirt could take to put in his dorm. He was lucky enough to score a single person room, complete with his own bathroom. He didn’t think he could have managed if he had to share a dorm and a bathroom, much less having to suffer from public bathrooms.

They made the drive out to be like a mini vacation, taking their time since they left a few days early. Wirt’s nerves almost got the best of him a few times, the realization of him living somewhere that wasn’t with his mom and stepdad. Thankfully Greg managed to quickly distract him before he grew too anxious, eerily able to quickly figure out when his nerves were beginning to act up.

With the help of everyone, it didn’t take long before Wirt’s room was set up. He still had a few things to tweak here and there, like moving his desk closer to the window and hanging up his poems on the walls. He didn’t have much time to be particularly picky about how his room was set up with his parents and brother around.

They stayed in town for a few days, exploring the place with Wirt in tow. It definitely was a college town considering the absurd amount of fast food restaurants around. Like seriously, who needed this many fast food places? At least there were a few cafes for Wirt to hang out in. Cafes were pretty sweet places to chill at and they had a great effect on Wirt when it came to writing poetry. He was excited about that.

Tears were shed by his mom and Greg on the day they had to leave. Greg made Wirt promise to call him every day, and that was a rock fact. Wirt lingered in the parking lot for a bit longer than he intended, staring off into space before letting out a long sigh. He hoped he would be able to survive the semester before Christmas break. His next adventure in life had begun, only to bring challenges he had no way to prepare for.

Wirt got to studying diligently when the semester began. The majority of his classes were the core classes every freshman were required to take, including math. Thank god that he only needed to take two semesters of it due to his major in English. Math was one of his most detested classes; it was the worst. Maybe he was being overly dramatic, but Wirt would rather prefer to listen to someone scrape their nails on a chalkboard repeatedly for hours than be stuck in math class for even an hour. The entire point was above him, and the fact that other kids were majoring in math just blew his mind. They were to be feared.

The semester started out slow but picked up steam as the weeks went on. Midterms came and went, letting Wirt breathe a sigh of relief when his passing grades were posted.

He video called Greg before he went out trick or treating on Halloween, both happy and mortified that Greg decided to go as a garden gnome. Their trip to the Unknown was still very present in their minds years after it happened. At least now it was easier to deal with, and they didn’t have to worry about being sent into a fit of panic when winter rolled around anymore. Wirt admitted that Greg wore the outfit far better than he did, earning a protest of “No, you wore it better!” from Greg. They bickered back and forth until their mom told them to knock it out or else Greg wouldn’t be getting any candy that year. That shut Greg up and he hastily told Wirt goodbye and that he’d show him how much candy he got before going to bed.

Wirt found himself growing progressively more stressed as the end of the semester rolled around. His professors shoved study guides down their student’s throats and made it very clear that passing their finals would make or break their grades. Wirt found himself spending more and more time at his favorite cafe. He would have been surprised that he hadn’t drunk all of their tea if he wasn’t so stressed about passing his finals.

A week before finals, the unthinkable happened.

Wirt was on his way to the Jasmine Brew Cafe, lost in thought about his upcoming math final. It was the one he dreaded the most, and rightfully so. Other students in his class struggled as much as he did. The professor didn’t know how to break down the lesson so other kids could understand what he was trying to teach. Wirt barely managed to understand what the heck he was talking about most the time, and he hoped it would be enough.

Of course, the dork was so lost in thought that he wasn’t watching where he was walking. His foot made contact with frozen ice on the sidewalk, causing him to slip and fall down to the pavement. Wirt miraculously held onto his notebooks, laying on his back, winded from his fall.

Someone with unruly brown hair peered down at him with a look of mild concern. Wirt wished he could turn invisible because he knew that everyone around him saw what just happened.

“Hi there. It’s ice to meet you finally.” The other boy paused, before continuing. “I hope that’s not weird? I’ve seen you around campus before and I noticed you were always alone and I was going to say hi but I always got distracted and oh my god I’m sorry I’m kinda rambling. I tend to do that a lot and my sister always punches me and yep I’m gonna shut up now.”

Wirt’s wrist burned. That was what his stupid soulmate mark said. ‘Hi there, it’s ice to meet you finally.’

He wanted to say something witty back, but all that could come out of his mouth was, “Was that a motherfucking pun?” He rarely cussed, but dangit he was sleep deprived and angry that he was stupid enough to fall and slip on ice.

The other boy blanched, his extended hand frozen in shock. Wirt shuffled to his feet, clutching his notebooks to his chest. An awkward silence enveloped the two, only to be broken by the other boy.

“Do you want to go somewhere warm? Get some coffee or something?”

Wirt broke free of his surprise. “Uh, um, sure. I was heading to the Jasmine Brew Cafe to get some studying done. It’s right up the street here.”

“Cool. I’ve only been there once or twice, so lead the way.” He stuck his hands in his pockets, looking at Wirt expectantly.

“Right.” Wirt turned on his heels and began walking to the cafe, fidgeting with the spiral of a notebook. He knew that he was probably acting slightly like a jerk. Okay, a lot like a jerk. He had spent the majority of his teenage years resenting the idea of soulmates, knowing he’d never find his and that he’d live the rest of his life alone. But look what happened. He ran into his soulmate.

The rush of warm air made Wirt feel grateful for heating, heading to his usual spot by the wall. He sat with his back to the wall, and a large window to his left. Being able to look out into the street helped declutter his mind.

He almost relaxed, until the other boy - his soulmate - slid into the chair across from him. He looked as nervous as Wirt was.

“I’m Dipper, by the way. I don’t think I introduced myself yet.”

“Wirt. It’s um, nice to meet you, I guess,” he mumbled, his awkwardness hitting him like a fricking train. Now that the fact that yep, him finding his soulmate was a thing, was starting to sink in, a feeling of panic also begun to set in too.

“Hey, are you okay? You look like you’re freaking out there a little. I mean, I’m kinda freaking out too, but that’s because I’m super pumped to have finally run into my soulmate.” Dipper looked giddy almost.

Wirt chewed on a nail. “Y-yeah, I’m okay. It’s just… I gave up on finding my soulmate years ago, so I never thought I would actually run into them. I hope you don’t think I’m a jerk or anything because oh my god I feel so bad for being cold to you.”

When Dipper was silent, Wirt looked up to find him holding back a snicker. With the biggest shit eating grin, Dipper replied, “Was that a motherfucking pun?”

“Oh my god.” Wirt groaned, dropping his face into his hands. “Do not use my own words against me.”

“Kinda hard to considering they’re right here.” Dipper rolled his sleeve back, revealing the words scrawled across his arm. God, they were even in Wirt’s own handwriting. How crazy was that?

Wirt reached out to touch the words on Dipper’s arm, stopping short once he realized what he was about to do. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay. I know it’s a lot to take in. But I don’t mind if you wanna take a closer look at them.” His voice was quiet.

Figuring that he may as well roll with the punches, Wirt pulled his own sleeve back, exposing Dipper’s godawful pun written on the inside of his forearm. Dipper didn’t hesitate before running his fingers over Wirt’s pale skin, tracing the scratchy letters of his own handwriting. It looked different from his own, his letters rushed and hurried versus the flowing loops of Wirt’s.

Wirt finally caved and traced the words on Dipper’s arm. The two dorks sat in silence, no words needing to be exchanged as they let the importance of the day truly sink in.

The corners of Dipper’s mouth quirked up in a grin after a while. “So, did you wanna get a coffee and chat? And maybe tell me how you’ve bean all these years.”

Wirt had a feeling the puns weren’t ever going to stop.

[goingknowherewastaken]

Diagnosis: Love

*not my gif

Title: Diagnosis: Love

Fandom: Star Trek

Relationship: McKirk

Warnings: swearing, flirting, pissed of Georgian doctors

A/N: Happy (slightly belated) birthday Tia ( @captainsbabysitter-blog )!!! ♥

This was done for Tia’s Birthday Challenge! I signed up and claimed the prompts of McKirk and the College Professor!AU because I had this little beauty - that I had shared with @thevalesofanduin and @jiminthestreets-bonesinthesheets -floating around my head for months! This was just the perfect opportunity to write it :D

And, oh, this is also the idea that sparked the reader fics, At the Center of the Universe and High Energy ;)

Anyways, Tia, I hope you enjoy it :D

Enjoy!! ♥

Diagnosis: Love

Pressing down the edges of the bandage one last time, Leonard stepped back away from the examination table. “Alright,” he said, “That should be it. Just keep an eye on it and replace the bandage as needed. If it doesn't look any better come Friday, come back here so I can look at it again.”

The kid on the table, Pavel Chekov, nodded his head, the short blond curls bobbing with the movement. “Da, I know.”

Leonard did his best to smother the frown that wanted to form before giving him final instructions and sending him on his way. Once the door closed, leaving Leonard all alone in the small exam room, he collapsed into the lone, rickety chair and rubbed at his face with a sigh.

This was not the path he ever expected to be on.

He had had everything - a gorgeous wife, a dream job, and the perfect home.

Then everything had to go to shit.

Now look at him.

Freshly divorced and living in an okay apartment as he crushes the dreams teaches bright-eyed med students and plays campus doctor in his free time.

Okay, sure, Starfleet is technically one of the top schools in the world and teaching the kids has its moments, but the doctoring has been grating on him.

The panicked patients coming in for various sex related treatments and advice he expected.

Treating overly caffeinated and sleep deprived, stressed out students wasn’t a shock.

The repeated treatments he had to hand out to the engineering majors...that was a bit out of the blue.

His first month at Starfleet, Leonard thought nothing of it. Just treated the kids, gave them a warning to be more careful, and then sent them on their way. It was during his second month that he began to take notice of how many replied with “engineering” when he asked about their major. And it was barely into his third month that he noticed a name that tended to be brought up by these engineering majors - James Kirk.

Correction.

Dr. James Kirk.

“You mean you’ve never heard of Kirk?”

Christine Chapel had given him an amused look when he had questioned her about the guy. Apparently, he was a pretty big deal at Starfleet, enough that Leonard should have already known this dude.  

Leonard pinched his nose.

Knock. Knock.

And Chris should have been thrilled that he had even thought to ask her! Nurses know everything and since she was the core instructor for the nursing majors of course Leonard thought that she would give him information about this irritable thorn in his side.

Knock. Knock.

“Dr. Kirk is a genius, Len, and one of the most popular professors! He’s only been here for two years and you would not believe the influx of students wanting to take Astrophysics that Starfleet got. Not to mention that his Robotics Club is one of the most popular clubs on campus.”

Of course she handed over the information he wanted, but not without teasing him from then on.

“Robotics Club?”

Knock! Knock!

That just explained everything.

Click!

“Hello - You okay, Doc?”

The sudden appearance of the low voice had Leonard jerking his head up. The action causing him to lock gazes with the most stunning pair of blue eyes he’d ever seen set in the face of an incredibly handsome man. A man whose head was not only currently popping through the small opening he’d made with the door, but also giving him a very quizzically amused look.

Leonard didn’t even realize he’d been shocked into silence until the man had questioned him once more. Flustered, Leonard shook his head and stood, motioning for the man to step inside the room and take a seat on the bed. As he did so, Leonard took a chance to take in and assess his new patient.

With black, vintage glasses set upon a delicate nose, the man’s face was framed with a bushy beard and hair in a burnished gold that just begged for someone to run their fingers it. Going lower, he noted a well tailored white shirt with its sleeves rolled up as the man cradled his right hand to his stomach, a dark blue suit jacket hung over one arm, black honest-to-god suspenders running down his torso and attaching to a pair of fitted dark blue pants that nicely accentuated the man’s pelvic area and thighs -

Leonard’s mind ground to a halt as the man tossed his jacket on the bed and hopped up to take a seat, cradling his hand once more.

Cradling his hand…

Injured hand…

Leonard was quick to pull his healing instincts to the front of his mind. “What happened?” He asked, grabbing gloves before stepping forward into the man’s space - between his spread legs - and his heart absolutely did not stutter when the man peered at him with those baby blues .

“I, uh, I was working and cut my hand,” he said, holding out his hand for Leonard to take. Which he did, taking great care to not think about knees on either side of his hips as the man’s warm breath ghosted across his face nor the faint scars and calluses that littered the hand as he examined it. Upon finding the cut, however, Leonard’s brows knitted together as he processed what he was seeing.

“This - This is what you came in for?” He looked up then, meeting those blue eyes that were completely free of shame.

And there damn well should have been shame in those eyes, because walking into a medical professional’s office and requesting medical treatment for a tiny fucking paper cut was one of the most shameful acts a person could possibly do.

Instead, the man just gave a casual roll of his shoulders and flashed a grin. “Well, I just wanted to make sure it was properly taken care of by a medical professional and all of my kids spoke rather highly of you.” By the end of his spiel, the expression he exhibited had shifted into one that had a knot twisting low in Leonard’s gut, sparking whispers of thoughts not welcome at the present moment.

“All it needs is to be cleaned and have a bandaid slapped on it.” Shifting and regaining his focus, Leonard squinted at the man as the gears in his mind went into overdrive over the latter part of the man’s sentence. “Who the hell are you?”

“Kirk,” he responded, plush lips tipping up into a smug smirk. “Doctor James Tiberius Kirk.”

...Fuck.

Leonard straightened, eye twitching as he stared down the still overly pleased Kirk.

This man - this gorgeous, golden man that he’d been attempting to not ogle this entire time is the same man who, due to the repeated appearance of his students in Leonard’s office, has become the bane of his existence?

“You son of a bitch.” The words ripped their way out of Leonard’s mouth in a hiss, triggering Kirk’s brows to jerk up in surprise. Much to Leonard’s chagrin, though, Kirk did not lose his grin and that just set him off even more. “Are you out of your fucking mind?! You have spent the past five months allowing your kids to be so pathetically careless where they have to come to me to fix the injuries that they shouldn’t even fucking have and then you have the goddamn audacity to march in here with a fucking paper cut like this is all just a fucking fantastic joke?!”

By the end of his tirade, Leonard’s chest was heaving as he glared at Kirk, unaware that he had leaned in closer during the scolding.

Close enough that they were nearly nose to nose.

“...wow…”

Close enough that when Kirk’s breathless word ghosted across his lips, Leonard found himself blinking in shock, listing and unsettled by the realization that he couldn’t tell which type of frustration was the cause of his thrumming, heated blood.

The slight bump of Kirk’s nose against his, the briefest tickle of his silver streaked beard, had Leonard swallowing. “Christine was right; you are incredibly hot when you’re frustrated.”

Another blink. A flex of his hands revealed that he was still holding Kirk’s hands in his. “Excuse me?” He said, voice coming out rougher than what he would have liked.

Kirk, on the other hand, appeared more than pleased by the sound, his eyes brightening and grin widening as his knees squeezed Leonard’s waist. “Sampson’s on Saturday night at seven. They have fantastic food.” His voice lowered. “And I make amazing pancakes,” he added with a wink.

And just like that, Leonard was left sputtering as a kiss was placed upon his nose and he was left alone as Kirk slipped away with a quick, “See you Saturday,” tossed over his shoulder.

Son of a bitch...what the hell just -

With a curse, Leonard snatched up the suit jacket and ripped open the door, holding the jacket aloft, yelling, “You left your damn jacket, infant!” Hearing no response, he dropped his hand with a huff, but a flicker of white had his irritation turning to curiosity.

And the scrawled out number on the slip of paper he picked up had him reevaluating his weekend plans as his lip twitched in amusement.

~ ;D ♥

Post A/N: So idk if I’ve mentioned this anywhere, but I imagine Jim for these fics to be the Astrophysics professor and the supervisor for the Robotics Club - well, okay I know I mentioned those bits of info but in regards to his own education I imagine him to have doctorates in astrophysics, engineering, and physics. Or a doctorate for at least one of those 

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[wewillsurvivethistoo]

How to help when someone wants to commit suicide...

There is no easy way to do this. There is no list of instructions that if followed everything will magically work out. Every person who is considering suicide is doing it for a different reason because of events in their own life so not every technique will work and sometimes none of them will. This takes time, patience, flexibility, and heart to try and help.

Not everyone can do this. And that’s ok. There is no shame in it and it doesn’t make you a bad person. You do what you need to do to keep yourself safe. The best thing for you to do is to get them in contact with someone who can help them.

Don’t force yourself to be ok to help someone either. If you aren’t doing the best then don’t try to help them too. You need to focus on you. And only when you are at your 100% can you focus on other people. You are important so make sure to take care of yourself.

You can also just message people to help you as a back up, to give you support and help you decide what to say. Other people can also be used to step in and take your spot if you get overwhelmed.

Ok. So you are here and you’re doing this. The very first thing is not to panic. Yes it is scary, yes it is serious but you need to have a clear head. If you panic you could make it worse. So deep breaths. Get some water. Put on some calming music. You are going to be fine. Now it’s time to focus.

So there is no best thing to say. As I said before everyone is different and they need different reassurances. You have to read what they need by what they are saying and how they are acting. Try a couple things out. If it doesn’t seem to be helping them, don’t worry just try something else. There aren’t really any right responses. There are some wrong ones, but I’ll go over those later.

Ok so the first thing to see is if they are panicking or on the verge of having a panic attack. If they are, help them through that first. The best thing to do is count for them. I use the following pattern: In two three four. Out two three four. But if there is something else that you prefer feel free to use that too. I have made a post specifically for helping people through panic attacks so if you need it you can find it under the tag #how to help when.

Help them breathe until their breathing is evened out and they aren’t panicking more.

If you can, see how much they are willing to share about why they want to commit. If they are willing to open up a little bit it can help you understand the best way to help them. If they don’t want to tell you don’t push. You will just have to go a more generalized route and that’s ok.

If they do share take what they say and disprove it. If they don’t feel wanted or loved or needed it is your job to disprove that. Show them how they are the opposite of what they feel. Don’t skip over details. Every small comment helps. Don’t be afraid to get descriptive. Shower them in compliments. One thing to keep in mind though is while it is tempting to write page long responses you don’t really have a lot of time. You can take a minute or two to form your responses, that’s perfectly fine. Just be wary if you are taking five or six minutes to answer. Sometimes lots of short messages are better than one really long one.

If they don’t share then you have to go for a more generic approach. It just means you can’t get into specifics about what is troubling them. But you can always give general compliments and reassurances and those often help.

No matter what information you have some things that I have found that help are:

- You are safe

-You are loved

-You are wanted

-You are valid

-You are not alone

-I am here for you

Those are some good ones that can always be changed to fit the situation.There are also the more common things that everyone says that are worth mentioning, like: it will get better and you just have to be strong. Whether you use any of these or not is up to you and what you think what would help them the best.

As a side note about the more common sayings. Some of these can cause an adverse reaction. “It will get better” is very comforting to optimists, but for the people who are unsure of the future and who have a hard time believing, it can sound like an empty promise. “You just have to be strong” is attempting to bolster the person up. But, it can hurt people who have constantly been told they need to be strong, or if they don’t want to be strong anymore. If a person is saying that they are tired of life this is generally NOT a good one to use. Again, it is up to you and your judgement on what the person needs. Just be aware.

*If a person is reacting negatively to “You have to be strong” one possible way to help is to say something along the lines of: I will be strong for you, You don’t have to be strong, etc.*

Try to talk it out. Help them see their options. No matter what the situation is, there is always more than one option. Help them get an outsiders view and try to brainstorm up somethings that they might not have thought of before. Really just try to show them that they do not have to do this, there is a way to be better and there is always a way to change the situation for the better. Be calm and be comforting.

One good way that I have found is to have that person make a list of everything that they have to live for. It can be big stuff, it can be small stuff. For example it could be graduating from college or finishing a book. Movie releases, travel plans, promotions, holidays, basically anything and everything that the person could get excited for and look forward to. It could be something as small as eating the donut you just bought. It doesn’t matter. It all goes on the list. This can help a person see what they have to live for in a way that they can hold in their hands and it is not just some abstract idea. It  can also serve as a reminder with them where ever they go. Encourage the person to keep the list and keep adding onto it. Those things on the list are their reasons to live.

See if they want to be distracted. If they do, talk to them about random stuff that would help take their mind off things. Steer clear of topics that would add emotional stress or anxiety to the person. Make small talk.

Encourage them to get some water and to eat something if they haven’t in a while. Water can help restore balance in the body if the person has been crying and can prevent dehydration. It takes a lot of water to actually hurt the body, so chances are the person should drink some. It can also help with queasiness and can calm a persons stomach down. Small sips of cool water are best for this.

If the person is hungry enough to eat a full meal that is good. If they aren’t, try to encourage them to have a small snack like crackers or an apple.

Get the person comfy. Tell them to shower if they want to. Get them to change into comfortable clothes. Go someplace warm and comfortable if they can. If they need to call off of work or school they can. Get the person to relax. Maybe suggest turning on the TV or putting on some soft music. You could suggest they make something comforting like hot chocolate, tea, or cookies. Help them get to a place where they can just relax.

See if they want to sleep. Sleep can help a person a whole bunch, especially if the person is stressed and sleep deprived. Sleep will allow for their brain to reset and will give them a fresh start so to speak. It can also help certain problems that were magnified become a little bit clearer.

If you are helping through the internet, see if there is someone in real life that they would want to get in touch with. A parent, friend, or therapist. Someone they want to let know. If the answer is no, again don’t push, accept the answer and move on.

If you feel like they might need more help than you can provide, send them a couple numbers to some hotlines. Make sure that the hotline matches the person and the hotline will help that person. Also make sure that the hotline goes to where the person is in. So check to see if there is one based in the same country or in the same region as the person. There is also one hotline that is activated by texts.

There is one last thing that I need to say. There is a possibility that they still commit suicide. Sometimes, people have already made up their minds and they don’t want help. If this happens please know, it is not your fault. You tried to help them. You did everything that you could. And that is all anyone can ask for. There is no you should have done this or could have said this. You did what you thought was right and it is not your fault. Sometimes there is nothing you can do. But you tried and that is what matters.

While many things vary on the situation there are some things that are not good no matter what. Here is a quick list of some things NOT to do:

Do not patronize this person. Do not say the person is too young to want to do this. Just because the person is contemplating suicide does not mean that they have been transformed into a three year old. Do not treat them like one. It is patronizing, rude, and counter productive. Don’t treat them like a child. Simple.

For the love of everything good in this word, do not guilt trip them. At All. EVER. I am dead serious about this. It might seem like a good idea, but it’s not. This includes, but is not limited to, things like: “You are gonna make all of these people so sad” “If you do that then I am going to hurt myself” “If you do this then you will mess up this thing for someone”. I could make a list that could take up an entire page of guilt trips that could be said, BUT SHOULD NOT. The person most likely feels guilty already so don’t make it worse.

Don’t make it about you. You are just as important as the other person, but right now they need support and they are the focus. Be wary of the amount and kind of “I” statements you use.

Don’t leave with no explanation. If you have to leave, then tell them and then go. Don’t just remember that you have to be somewhere and stop replying. Tat relays the message that you forgot them and don’t really care. If you have to go just explain why. If you are about to fall asleep, and you can’t wake yourself back up, then warn them that you are exhausted and might fall asleep.

Don’t make this seem like an inconvenience to you. Just don’t.

If the person is not sharing with everyone that they feel like this, do not do it. If they did not specifically tell you to make a post to publicize that they feel that way, do not do it. This is their thing to tell. Not yours. On a second point, they might not want everyone to know. So don’t tell people unless you are given explicit permission.

Don’t force them to talk about things they do not want to. Even if you are trying to help, some things are private and people do not want them shared. You have to respect that and do not push them.

You might have to accept that the person does not want your help. If you are not particularly close with that person, they might feel uncomfortable talking to you and would rather get help from someone that they are closer to. That is ok. It might be a hard thing to come to terms with, but it is what is best for them so it is what needs to be done.

Again, this is a really hard topic and there is no way to cover every single thing that might happen. Most of what I have written are generalizations and not every method will help every person. Some people might not be helped by this at all. You just have to think and try to help the person as best as you can. You got this. I believe in you.

I hope this helped you. If you have any questions, need any help, or have a suggestion for the next thing, feel free to send me a message and I will help you as best I can. Deep breaths. Stay safe darlin. We will stand strong together.

Love y’all, Eve 💜

[btsgroupchat]

Away From Home Pt. 11

Word Count: 7,716

A/N: Just leaving this here for anyone who’s still keeping up with the story...lol it took a really long time, but I think i know how I’m gonna finish the story. Please feel free to leave comments or questions, it helps encourage the writing process :)

< Part 10 

Finals arrive faster than you can prepare for, and in the past few weeks of the semester you try your hardest to focus on studying. You sit at your desk, mindlessly staring at all the roses you’ve accumulated, bundled into a makeshift vase in an old plastic cup with a fading gold embellishment around the rim.

Since receiving the last rose, you haven’t been able to think about anything else. What was supposed to be an endearing gesture turned a bit cryptic when the prospect of May Lee’s involvement became a growing possibility. Whether or not you will meet with your secret admirer is still up in the air, but you’d be lying if you said didn’t care enough to find out.

A loud knock on the door interrupts your thoughts as Soojan bursts into the room squealing in glee.

“Oh my god,” she leaves no room for explanation as she shoves her phone in your face. “Can you believe it?”

It takes a few seconds to comprehend what she’s trying to show you; the only thing you’re able to zone in on is a bright, cheerful, boxy grin that you know all too well. Your eyes then traverse to another figure, delicate and petite and one you’ve never seen before.

“I...rene?” her name rolls off your tongue as a strange sound and you ignore the feeling settling at the bottom of your stomach.

“Yeah! Irene from Red Velvet! They just debuted not too long ago,” Soojan plops down on your bed as she begins to read the article out loud.

“Fans believe that vocalist V from BTS is dating Irene from newly debuted rookie group Red Velvet. Many accounts have stated seeing the two together and noticing how close they seem.”

You place your hand on your stomach and give it a small squeeze, trying to distract yourself from the growing distaste that you can’t explain. Soojan rolls onto her side and continues to scroll through the article while providing commentary you hadn’t asked for.

“It was only a matter of time, right? BTS and their first scandal! I’m surprised it hasn’t happened sooner,” she exclaims.

“Huh,” you grunt back in response as you pretend to busy yourself in your textbooks.

You know it’s not out of the ordinary for celebrities to get wrapped up in dating rumors, but Taehyung of all people…

You look up from your feigned studies to find Soojan peering at you from her phone. You dodge her stare in hopes she didn’t catch you but she sits up and props her elbows on her knees.

“I’m sorry, this must be weird for you, huh?”

“Not really,” you smile. “Taehyung can date whoever he wants.”

“That’s not what I mean,” she frowns.

A couple seconds pass before she sighs, knowing you’re not on the same page.

“You and Taehyung were best friends, it’s okay to feel upset with this news.”

“I don’t know what you’re implying here, but whatever it is, you’re wrong,” you divert your eyes back to your book but the words blur under your stare.

“I lost someone really close to me,” she continues in a small voice. “She was my best friend in high school and she moved away for college. I’m still not sure what happened but somewhere along the way she just stopped making time for me.”

You meet her gaze to find her staring at the floor, physically present but mind elsewhere.

“Her life kept going without me in it. So I had to accept that and move on with mine too. So I know how it feels.”

“I never told you how close I was with him,” you cautiously respond.

“You don’t have to. I can see it in your face when any mention of BTS or his name comes up. You’re not very good at hiding things,” she retorts.

“That’s not very conclusive evidence,” you roll your eyes slightly annoyed she’s pushing so far with this.

“Okay...you’ve said his name in your sleep a few times,” she looks ashamed, as if she’s tapped into a secret you weren’t willing to show her.

You freeze, knowing there’s no way out of this so you stare at her trying to contain your horror like a deer caught in the headlights. Luckily she gives you a way out.

“Look, I’m not here to pry. I just want you to know that whatever happened or is happening, you can always feel free to talk to me about it.”

She gives you a small smile, rising from your bed to give you a firm pat on the back. She wishes you luck for your finals before leaving you alone in the solidarity of your room.

“I’m free!” you exclaim as you step outside from your last final of the semester.

Kayla walks beside you, tiredly rubbing her eyes but joining in on celebration. Her blonde hair is cut in a sharp bob and the wispy ends flutter in the summer breeze.

“That was the easiest final I’ve ever taken. It’s no wonder this exam was only twenty percent of our grade,” she yawns.

“I’m just so glad it’s over. Just one more year and we’re out of here, can you believe it?”

“What are your plans when you graduate?” your blonde headed friend asks.

“Hmm, I haven’t thought about it yet. I’ll probably stay in the area and try to look for a job.”

“You’re not gonna move back home?”

“Nah, there’s nothing for me there. Just a broken family and a mother-in-law that I can’t stand.”

Kayla tenses next to you, unsure of how to respond but you laugh it off. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to get so dark on you. I’m just deprived of sleep.”

You’re too busy trying to bring the tension back down that you don’t realize you are walking right into the path of a group of students. Before Kayla can warn you, you bump into one of the tall males in the group who yells out in annoyance. He spins around in irritation to tell you off but instantly softens when he realizes who you are.

“_____, what a surprise!”

Kai leans in to give you a one armed hug as Kayla watches in awe. You shrink back a little, unable to disconnect his association with May Lee as you force a smile. It’s a shame, he’s such a good looking guy.

“How have you been?” you ask him while scanning the group for your favorite redhead.

“One more final to go,” he sighs loudly. “But hey, if you’re free tonight we’re having a small post final celebration at the pub here on campus!”

“Oh, maybe I’ll come check it out,” you smile and wave him off as the rest of his group turns to leave.

“Great, see you at 7!”

You turn to go your on way as Kayla trots beside you, a wide grin on her face. “You and Kai?”

“Oh my god, no,” you can’t help but laugh at her assumption. “We met at one of May Lee’s parties.”

“You’re so lucky,” she throws her hands up in the air. “Kai’s one of the best dancers on ICON.”

“Now that you mention it, I don’t think I’ve ever seen him dance before.”

You think back to the dance workshop the team held back in the beginning of your second year and can’t recall seeing his face on the stage. The only person you had been able to focus on was Jimin.

“Regardless, are you going to accept his invite later? He seems to be into you,” Kayla elbows you teasingly.

“Maybe,” you laugh as you shrug her off. “But I swear, it’s not like that between us.”

Later that night Soojan comes into your room holding two tops in each hand, one a white silk and the other a black cropped one.

“I’m going out with my club later, which one should I use?”

“Depends, where are you going?”

“We’re probably going to go bar hopping,” she says as she studies herself in the mirror.

You point at the black cropped one before resting your head back onto your pillow. You’ve been lying on your bed for the past half hour, determined to do nothing for the rest of the night.

“What about you? Don’t tell me you’re just going to be lying around all night.”

You roll over and groan, annoyed at your roommate for calling you out. “It’s been a rough semester, let me have a few hours to do nothing.”

She raises a brow at you but says nothing more, thanking you for your opinion on her outfit before leaving the room.

Would it be a good idea to show up at the pub tonight? You check your phone, it’s already 6:15. You decide on a whim to get ready, maybe an hour or two at the pub won’t be so bad.

You never liked the pub. The one on campus is small, lined with brick walls and wooden tables crammed into any space available on the floor. The bar area is usually filled with buzzed college students, most of them too far gone to even offer you any personal space. To the right of the bar you spot Kai and his group of friends, two empty pitchers already on the table and their laughter adding to the cacophony of sounds in the cramped space. You take a deep breath and head over.

“Hi Kai,” you shyly greet him, hoping your voice will be heard over all the noise in the room.

It takes him a few seconds to notice your presence, but when he does he stands up immediately. You can tell he’s already pretty buzzed.

“Guys, ______ came to see me!” he sloppily clambers out from his corner at the table to give you a touchy welcome.

He slings his arm around you to show you off to his friends as he goes around introducing their names. The only one you somewhat recognize is a blonde headed man named Sehun, as the both of you had shared a stats class together. He offers you a small smile before Kai is shoving a beer in your hand.

“Join us,” he scoots you over into the chair next to his and everyone eyes you in expectancy.

“What’s everyone staring at?” you can feel the flush of your cheeks lighting up in embarrassment.

A petite girl speaks up, her cheeks equally as flushed as yours. “Is it true you went to high school with Taehyung?”

Oh. May Lee must have told them. Your heart sinks a little bit at the sound of his name, so you take a swig of your beer and nod. “We all grew up together.”

“That’s sooo cool,” the petite sighs as she rest her chin on her hands.

“Seriously, he’s gorgeous,” another female pipes up. You can’t help but notice that she eyes you as if you are unworthy.

“But that’s all in the past now. I haven’t heard from him since he debuted,” you answer in a small voice.

The rest of the group looks at you in disappointment, hoping to have heard more stories and intel about Taehyung and BTS.

“I think it’s pretty cool May Lee knows Jimin. He’s been such a big help bringing people to join our club since he came for that workshop,” the second girl flips her hair and turns her attention away from you.

You stare at her, at a loss for words at how much she reminds you of May Lee. It doesn’t surprise you at all that these are the kinds of people she chooses to associate herself with.

For the next half hour, a few individuals continue to chat with you about predebut Taehyung. You speak fondly of him, but there’s a pain associated with reliving such cherished memories. It’s almost as if they were meant to be kept in the past, not quite forgotten, but shelved in the back of your mind as something that once was.

May Lee waltzes in around 8:00 and it is only then do you check your phone as a source of distraction. There’s a single text from Soojan from about half an hour ago.

“So who was the secret admirer?”

It takes you a moment to realize what she’s talking about before you instinctively freeze, remembering the card that accompanied the last rose. Your secret admirer had asked you to meet with them at 7:30. So it wasn’t May Lee…?

“Sorry I’m late, guys,” May Lee takes a seat next to the petite girl who had asked about Taehyung. “My last final got moved to a different time because our professor had an emergency. Can you believe how inconvenient that is?”

Luckily, a few of her friends usher her towards the bar for a drink before she has a chance to notice you sitting in the corner. You take this as an opportunity to sneak away.

You take off in a sprint, not quite sure why you’re running but you decide to call yourself an uber, punching in the address on the card while you head to the nearest lot. It’s a good fifteen minute drive, but you’re hoping that if you’re lucky, you’ll still be able to catch a glimpse of your suitor.

By the time you arrive, it’s 8:30. You scan the premise but don’t find anyone out of the ordinary, so you so decide to try your luck inside. It’s a small cafe wedged between a music shop and bakery, with string lights lining the tinted windows. It’s quaint and homey, very romantic in appearance, and you muster up enough courage to reach for the handle just as the door simultaneously swings open.

“Ow.” You rub at your forehead, closing your eyes from the sting of impact with the door.

“Oh jeez, I’m really sorry about that, I-”

The apologetic man stops speaking, just in time for you to open your eyes.

“Jimin?”

The look on your face brings a slight tint of pink to his cheeks, as if embarrassed to have been caught under such circumstances. A black beanie covers his head while a matching black mask conceals the lower half of his face. His eyes seem tired, but you can make out a dim source of light in elation to see you.

“Are you leaving?” you ask when he doesn’t speak.

“Oh I uh...no actually, I just got here,” he pulls his face mask down and offers a small smile.

He holds the door open for you and the two of you head inside. The interior is as charming as it is from the outside. Potted plants hang from garnishes on the wall and a string of fairy lights coat the perimeter of the room. The tables and chairs are glossed white, with a mini potted succulent as the centerpiece.

“Woah, this place is really cute,” you exclaim while taking a seat by the wall.

Despite the charming decor and aesthetic, you glance around to find no one else in the shop. There’s a considerable amount of noise coming from the small kitchen in the back and you crane your neck to see a barista peek his head out from behind the curtain.

“Hello, welcome!” The middle-aged man greets you with a smile. “Shall I bring out the refreshments?”

You look to Jimin in confusion, only to realize that the man was addressing him. Jimin nods to the barista and takes a seat across the table from you, visibly nervous as he offers you a crooked smile.

“Do you know him?” you watch as the man behind the counter begins to clunker through some dishes and tray platters.

“He’s a good friend of my mom’s, actually. He owns this shop.”

The barista brings out two lattes and you study them incredulously, the detail on the art is too intricate for you to ruin. He returns again with a plate of pastries; oven-melted cookies, fruit-topped tarts, and melted frosting on warm, flaky croissants. He smiles at the two of you before retreating back into the kitchen.

Jimin rubs the back of his neck as he watches you nibble on a cookie. He fidgets with his hands, something you’re not used to seeing him do - your usually confident friend seems unusually anxious.

“Jimin, is everything okay?”

“There’s something I have to tell you,” he nervously smiles. “I um, well you see...there’s this thing…”

You watch in sympathy as he struggles with his words and you immediately decide to rid him of the pressure. You reach into your bag and pull out the note, placing it on the table in front of him.

“You...you kept it?” there’s a look on his face of disbelief. “When did you figure -”

“Jimin, you were the only one in here when I arrived.”

His cheeks glow in embarrassment but you give him a sincere smile. “It’s okay, it’s just me. No need to be so nervous.”

“But that’s exactly why I’m so nervous, it’s you.”

He removes his beanie and runs a shaky hand through his soft hair. Softly laughing as if it would help ease the tension, he keeps his eyes trained on the card in front of him, not daring to peek at you through his long lashes. You give him the few moments that he needs before he speaks up again.

“I’m not very good at this, but I wanted some way to show you how important you are to me.”

He turns around to reach into the backpack hanging off the back of his chair. You take the moment to nibble on another cookie, but almost choke when he pulls out the seventh and final rose.

He hands it to you, an intense gaze on his face as he watches you closely. Your hand trembles slighty as you reach out, knowing very well that whatever happens in the next few moments can change the course of your friendship.

“It’s...fake?” you inspect it in your hands while your fingertips rub the velvet cloth of the petals.

“Think of it as a symbol of our friendship. Roses are nice but they wilt and fade. This is a reminder that they can still be beautiful and everlasting.”

Friendship. You give out a small sigh of relief and meet Jimin’s eye contact. You never would have taken him for a hopeless romantic.

“That’s really beautiful, Jimin. Thank you.”

He doesn’t respond but instead continues to watch you closely. You shift under his gaze, keeping yourself busy by studying the rose in your hands.

“______,” his voice drops a full octave. “These past two years with you in my life has been the best i’ve ever had. I don’t want it to end.”

“I’m really glad you’re back in my life too,” you answer in a small voice.

“But lately I can’t help but think things could be better.”

You know exactly where this is going and you’re not sure if you’re prepared to handle it.

Jimin tilts his head back, his eyes lidded but trained on you. “I can’t help myself anymore.”

“W-what?”

You’re taken off guard by his sudden change in demeanor. What happened to the bashful Jimin from just a few moments ago?

“______, I want to be yours.”

Your stomach is doing back flips as your heart beats in your throat. You dryly swallow as you wring your sweaty hands together on your lap. Jimin’s gaze is unrelenting.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” you manage to reply. “Think about your status, about Bangtan, about your music...can you imagine what that would mean for you if people were to find out?”

“I’ve thought a great deal about it,” he runs his hand through his hair. “We’ve been able to meet for the past two years without any trouble. I think as long we’re careful there shouldn’t be any problem.”

“Jimin…”

“I’m serious here, ______. I want to be as big a part of your life as you’ve been in mine. I promise I will take care of you...if you let me,” he adds.

You bite your lip. You like Jimin, but you would never do anything to put him or his career at risk. As much as you want to give him an answer, you would never be able to forgive yourself if something bad were to happen.

“Please don’t do that,” he runs a hand through his hair again looking slightly uncomfortable. “It’s driving me crazy.”

You freeze. By now you can hear your heart pounding in your ears. It’s hard to believe you of all people could have that kind of effect on Jimin.

“I don’t know, Jimin...I…”

“It’s okay,” he smiles in reassurance. “I don’t need an answer right away. I know this must be a lot for you.”

You smile in gratitude, grateful that your friend has given you a way out for now.

“But I don’t want this to change anything in the meantime. We’re still friends after all, right?”

He gives you his cutest smile, the corners of his eyes wrinkling and his cheeks squishy and plump. You can’t help but laugh.

“Of course.”

You feel a lot better. Jimin continues to ease the tension and you’re amazed at how effortless he is at making you feel comfortable. You both enjoy your lattes and refreshments while basking in the enjoyment of each other’s company.

It’s well into the night when Jimin declares he has to go.

“They’re giving us a strict curfew,” he admits while holding the door open for you. “We’re going to start preparing for our tour.”

“What time is your curfew?” you shiver at the first instance of contact with the night air.

“Don’t worry about that,” he laughs as he wraps an arm around your shoulder to offer some warmth. “But as a result, I can’t take you home.”

“Ubers are a thing, you know,” you tease him, already filling out the info on your phone.

“I just want you to be safe,” he rubs your shoulder.

You smile, allowing yourself to lean into his warmth and take him in. He offers a comfort you can’t seem to find anywhere else and you know that’s something you don’t ever want to lose.

“You smell good,” you can’t help yourself.

His chest rumbles as his laugh fills the air. “I was thinking the same thing.”

“That you smell good?” you laugh and look up at him as he pats your head.

He laughs along with you, and the melodic sound brings a warmth to your chest that you can’t explain. Your cheeks flush instantly, did he always have this effect on you?

Your uber pulls up as Jimin sees you off and you watch from the window as he sticks around and waves. He heads back into the cafe and you close your eyes, noting how cold you seem to feel in his absence.

It takes about a week for you to decide to tell Soojan. She sits at the edge of her bed, cross legged and determined to find out about your secret admirer. The roses on your desks have long disappeared, replaced with the fake one that you recently received.

Your best friend has been pestering you all week, dying to know the mystery man after you had subtly hinted that you went to meet with him. There’s no point hiding it from her any longer.

She doesn’t believe you at first, and the sound of her laughter makes you think that maybe it would have been better off that way. But you don’t relent, and she soon realizes you are telling the truth.

You’re not sure how you expected her to act, but she turns around to grab one of your pillows and immediately starts assaulting you with it.

“How dare you!” she huffs as she swings the lump of cotton at your face.

You dodge her first attack but completely miss her second swing at your shoulder.

“Ow, what are you doing?!”

“We’re supposed to be friends! Yet you hide such important information from me!”

Another blow smacks you across the face before you try to grab the pillow from her hands.

“I’m sorry, please stop!” you try to calm her down. “I didn’t want to put Jimin at risk.”

She halts, mid swing to give you a chance to explain yourself. You exhale, carefully choosing your next words knowing very well that she could start swinging any minute.

“I didn’t want anyone to know I was meeting with him. It’s not like I don’t trust you, but I didn’t want to take that risk of people finding out. It could ruin his image or career.”

She takes a moment before going back to your bed to take a seat, choosing to keep the pillow with her.

“Okay,” she begins slowly. “I can buy that. But you guys have known each other from before his fame.”

You cock a brow, not sure what she’s getting at.

“It shouldn’t matter if he chooses to talk to an old friend. It’d be a lot worse if it was a fan instead.”

“Who says I can’t be a friend and his fan at the same time?” you place your hand over your chest in feigned offense.

“You know what I mean,” she rolls her eyes. “Something like that shouldn’t keep you from holding back.”

“What are you talking about?” you’re completely lost now.

“Your feelings for him...you’re going to return them, aren’t you?”

You bite your lip, not entirely sure how to answer her. Jimin gave you time to think about his confession, but to be honest you’ve been actively avoiding it. Is his fame and status really what’s holding you back?

“I...don’t know yet,” you give in.

“I don’t think you should make him wait too long,” she counters.

She’s dropped the pillow now, but you can’t help but feel uneasy. You know she’s right, it’s not fair to keep Jimin in the dark. If this is hard for you, it must be even worse for him.

You spend the next few hours filling Soojan in on everything. Her reactions are entertaining, and you’re able to relax knowing that everything is safe with her. She leaves you for the night, whacking you in the head with the pillow one last time before warning you to not hide anything from her anymore.

Another week passes without contact from Jimin. He’s busier than ever, having to prepare for his tour with what you can only imagine endless hours of practice and drills. Is he taking care of himself? You decide to shoot him a text.

Your phone blips to life and you see a message from Soojan. Included in her text is a blog post from a dispatch source showing pictures of Taehyung and Irene. You roll your eyes, why would she send you this?

Unable to bury your curiosity, you click on the link which takes you to a fansite cafe for Taehyung. You’re immediately flooded with fan-made pictures of him and Irene, a lot of them looking realistic to the point you can’t tell the difference anymore.

There’s a video at the bottom of the page that you click on, regretting it immediately. Taehyung is standing on stage with the rest of BTS as they share the stage with various other artists. He is looking to his left, smiling down and looking fondly at Irene while comments flood the screen and fan-inserted hearts drown out the surroundings.

You close the page immediately, suddenly feeling incredibly heavy and stiff, and on a whim, decide to call Jimin. You relax a little bit when you hear his voice.

“Is everything okay?” he greets you.

“Is this a bad time?” you’re ready to hang up, immediately feeling guilty for having probably disturbed rehearsal.

“No, i’m just doing some self practicing. It was probably time I took a break anyway,” his breathy laugh fills the other end of the line.

You smile at the sound, noticing as goosebumps run up your arms. He asks how you’re doing after a long exhale.

“I um, was just wondering if you think you’ll be able to hang out sometime soon?”

He huffs on the other end of the line, wanting very much to see you but knowing it’ll be hard to find time to sneak away. Much to your dismay, he lets you know that it’s going to be a few months before he’s going to have some free time, but promises to keep in touch in the coming months.

“You’ll watch all our videos, yeah?” he chuckles.

“Of course! I wish I could come to the final concert but tickets sold out so quickly,” you frown.

“No problem,” Jimin’s silvery laugh fills the other line again. “I’ll send you some.”

“Are you serious?!” your heart pounds at the prospect of seeing BTS live.

“It can’t be too hard for someone like me to get tickets to my own concert.”

“Thanks Jimin, that’s really thoughtful of you,” you smile in gratitude.

“No problem!” you can tell he’s smiling as well. “I’d do anything for you.”

Your heart begins to pound. “Thanks, Jimin...I...miss you,” you answer in a quiet, shaky voice.

He smiles even harder, responding with much more confidence, “I miss you too.”

You can hear someone entering the practice room and calling out to Jimin for curfew hours. Jimin bids you farewell and leaves you lying in your bed in the dark, thinking about the next time you’ll get to see him again.

Just as Jimin promised, the concert tickets arrive in the mail a few weeks later. Soojan literally blows your ears out screaming when you ask her to come with you. She hugs you hard, thanking you for the opportunity to see Min Yoongi live and you can only laugh and roll your eyes at her dramatic display of affection.

There are only three stops on their tour and the final home concert is two months away at the end of summer. You spend a majority of the summer in Soojan’s company, taking small trips out of town but mostly staying in and bumming around. She’s great company, and serves as an adequate distraction for your growing need to see and speak with Jimin.

Every so often you think about the night of his confession and how vulnerable and anxious the usually confident male appeared that night. It’s such a stark contrast to his on-stage persona that you would think he was a completely different person...

In the next couple of months, you try your best to watch all the fan cams and stage videos of their tour. You can’t even begin to explain how incredibly proud you are of Jimin and the group as a whole. Not to mention Taehyung who has come a long way. You find your eyes trailing to him in all the videos you watch, only to realize how much this affects you. There’s always an empty feeling in your chest accompanied with the thought of him.

You won’t deny you miss him, but the part of you that’s angry at him for forgetting about you is still present. It feels like he left you behind, after promises to try and keep you in his life. You wonder if it’ll ever be possible for you to move on without having some kind of closure or even just an explanation for why he disappeared.

You think about what Jimin said before, how Taehyung still writes in that black book of his, how he’s hesitant with other females and how he’s said your name in his sleep a few times. Is all of that really true or was that just Jimin’s way of making sure you held no feelings for Taehyung?

It’s hard to believe that you have tickets to watch them live. You’re going to watch them perform live...and you are going to see Taehyung again.

Just the thought makes your heart pound. There’s no way he’s going to see you in that crowd, but knowing you’ll be under the same roof again makes you incredibly anxious. Again so close, yet so far away…

“Woah, you’re wearing that?”

Soojan pops into your room asking you to zip the back of her dress up. Your outfit pales in comparison,  clad in a cropped top with black short shorts, complete with high knee socks and low top converse.

“Dress to impress,” she snickers as you button the top part of her collar. “You look cute, though.”

“I’m comfortable,” you remark eyeing the loose fabric of her dress.

Her dress stops just below her upper thighs, and she’s thrown on some sheer black thigh high pantyhose to pair with her booties. She looks good and you wish you had the confidence to pull something like that off.

“Anyway,” she waves you off. “Our uber should be here in ten minutes.”

“The concert isn’t for another two hours.”

“You don’t know how these work, do you?” she laughs at your naivety. “It’s always better to be early than on time.”

You roll your eyes but comply, grabbing your things before getting ready to head out. You take a quick look of yourself in the mirror and decide to add one last thing. You retrieve the necklace Taehyung had given you before he left for training. A silver T hanging from a silver chain, with a small engraving on the back that reads “Muffinman.” Without another thought, you slip it around your neck and follow Soojan outside.

Soojan was right, the concert hall is swarming with people eagerly waiting in line to enter the dome. There are a multitude of fans of all ages and backgrounds squealing in delight as they anticipate the concert. The two of you take a place in line closest to the entrance and prepare to wait out the next two hours.

“Are you nervous?” Soojan whispers about an hour in.

“A bit,” you admit. You watch her twirl a curled strand of hair between her fingers as she sympathetically nods.

“I would be too. But maybe seeing him on stage will give you a bit of closure.”

“I don’t know about that,” you bite your lip.

You thought she was asking about Jimin. You’re probably more nervous to see him after his confession than you are about seeing Taehyung again. There’s no way he’d be able to pick you out in the crowd anyway.

Jimin was nice enough to get you both floor tickets, so the prospect of being right by the stage makes you really anxious. Half an hour left of waiting, he shoots you a text.

Just finished sound check! Were you able to make it?

You peek at Soojan who’s busied herself on her phone, but turn away cautiously regardless.

Yeah, we’re waiting in line. I’m excited for you!

Don’t you mean excited to see me?

You can’t help but laugh. There’s the Jimin you know.

That too. Good luck out there!

Thanks. I’ll keep an eye out for you!

The screams around you grow louder before you realize the staff has opened the doors. It takes a great deal of effort for them to keep everyone in neatly filed lines as they push their way past to enter the dome first. You latch onto Soojan’s arm in fear of losing her and the two of you make your way towards the entrance.

It doesn’t take you long to situate yourselves out on the floor. Soojan is determined to get as close to the stage as possible, so you have to attempt to keep up with her as she pushes her way through the crowd which of course doesn’t come without angering some people.

There’s a video playing on the big screen of the seven members, smiling and laughing about something. Their music filters into the speakers as the movie introduces them one by one, and the crowd grows wild as the film progresses.

The lights then cut out as the stadium goes quiet before a loud bass fills the space and lights point towards the stage. The boys step out, all in sync to the music as they begin their performance.

It feels so surreal. They each have such powerful stage presence, yet the only one you can seem to keep your eyes on is…

“Min Yoongi!” Soojan screams and grabs your arm hard enough to bruise. “Oh my god, he looks so good!”

“Stop that,” you laugh as you try to wiggle from her grip.

You look at Yoongi. He’s passionately rapping in to the mic, a fire in his eyes you’ve never seen anywhere else. The other 6 members dance behind him, as if his voice commanded their movement and being. Such a powerful stage presence.

Jimin then takes center stage and begins to sing. You can’t help but smile, he’s as flirty on stage as you’ve seen from all their videos. The choreo picks up and he suddenly lifts his shirt to flash his abs, causing the crowd to erupt in a cacophony of chaos.

“Holy shit, that was hot,” Soojan’s eyes are nearly popping out of her head. You notice how warm your cheeks have gotten as well. It’s incredible how much of an affect such as simple action has on everyone, including yourself.

The set continues on in the same fashion, the boys bringing incredible energy to the entire stadium as everyone screams and sings along. At some point, you’ve lost Soojan as she’s inched closer and closer to the stage but you try to not to worry too much and enjoy yourself.

Towards the end of the set, the boys take center stage to thank everyone for coming. They each give a heartfelt speech about how far they have come since debut, being able to perform on tour, and how all of this is only possible because of the fans who are constantly supporting them. You can’t help but tear up, knowing that they deserve everything they’ve worked for.

They walk off stage after a few encore performances and the lights turn back on all around the stadium. A majority of the crowd begins filing out, but the few who linger are all screaming for the boys to come back out. You take this time to leave the floor area in hopes of finding Soojan.

You take your phone out to call her, only to find another message from Jimin.

I should have known how impossible it would be to find you in the crowd lol

Oh my god, you guys were amazing!! You did so well!

Thank you :) Can I see you?

You frown. That would be even more impossible.

I don’t think that’s a good idea...there’s fans everywhere, it’d cause chaos lol

He takes a while to respond, but he eventually agrees with you.

It’s just hard to know you’re here but I can’t see you

Taehyung flashes in your mind but you quickly shake his image away.

Yeah...I know what you mean

Soon though, okay?

Of course! Congrats on a successful performance once again!

A call from Soojan cuts your conversation there and you make your way outside to meet her. She greets you with a huge smile on her face before she encompasses you in a suffocating hug.

“That was the best experience of my life,” she squeals. “Thank you so much for taking me with you!”

“Of course,” you manage to huff out. “You’d never forgive me if I didn’t.”

She laughs at that and the two of you continue to discuss the concert as you head over to the parking lot to call an uber.

Two weeks pass before you speak to Jimin again. He’s called you on a Thursday evening as you’re lying on your living room floor directly under the ceiling fan. It’s been incredibly hot the past few days.

Since the end of the tour, Jimin’s schedule has been more hectic than ever, attending talk shows and sitting through interviews. You’ve been getting restless as you watched him through your screen, waiting for the right time to talk again. From the sound of it, he’s been getting restless too.

“Tomorrow?” There’s hope in his voice as he sits on the floor of the empty practice room.

His voice echoes off the walls and you take note of how much deeper it makes him sound.

“I thought you’d never ask,” you tease. “Should we meet at the same cafe?”

“No, I want to take you somewhere else. Can I send a car?”

You almost choke, the idea seems so ridiculous.

“I know it sounds crazy, but the place is a little far out of town and I don’t want you paying for an uber just to see me.”

“But what about you?” You’re sitting up now, the shock from his proposition still hanging over your head.

“I’m going to be in that area for an interview. So i’ll be sticking around there and I can wait for you close by.”

“Okay,” you agree still a bit skeptical. “What is this place anyway?”

“You’ll see tomorrow!” You can pick up the excitement in his voice. “I’ll send the car to be there around 6. Wear something nice!”

“Something nice?” You frown wondering what he has in store. “Okay. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Bye, Beautiful!” he chimes before abruptly hanging up.

Your heart flutters not only from the name, but from the thought of finally being able to give him your answer.

The car arrives the next day at six sharp. You awkwardly climb into the back seat, greeting the driver before popping in your headphones for the remainder of the ride. It takes about an hour and fifteen minutes to reach your destination, and you thank your driver before getting out to survey your surroundings.

At first you think you have been mistakenly dropped off at the wrong place. You stare at the looming building before you, an upscale hotel that looks like something out of a luxurious movie. You frown and reach for your phone before you hear someone calling out to you.

Jimin’s black hair is neatly slicked back, and his black button up is crisply ironed and tucked into a pair of fitted black slacks. The first few buttons of his top are undone and you allow yourself to shamelessly oogle as he approaches you with one of the biggest grins.

“You look really good,” you close the gap as he pulls you in for a hug.

Your compliment boosts the male’s moral as he squeezes you tighter.

“I was worried it’d be too much,” he laughs. “The stylists always choose dark colors for me. Besides, we match.”

He takes a step back to admire your little black dress as it hugs your frame and shows off your curves. Courtesy of Soojan, of course.

“I’ve missed you,” he smiles, eyes crinkling in delight.

“Me too,” you smile back, allowing him to grab your hand and lead you into the building.

The inside is as promising as the exterior. The high ceiling gives the illusion of a palace, vast and endless with lit chandeliers carefully placed in the center of each room. The floors are lined with crimson velvet and the draperies on the wall compliment with gold-lined satin.

Jimin takes you past the entrance, past an even fancier waiting room with a grand piano in the corner and down a dimly lit hallway into a private dining room. A single round table is set up in the middle garnished with silver cutlery and a fresh bouquet of white roses.

A waiter comes out to serve the meal as you both take your seats across from one another. Neither of you waste any time with catching up, Jimin telling you about everything he’s been up to and you asking questions along the way. He seems to be doing well despite his busy schedule.

You find that the hotel is another company owned entity, so you relax a little bit knowing that Jimin isn’t spending all this money on you.

“Our interview was actually down the street from here at the radio station.”

You’re now walking around the gardens at the back of the hotel, an impressive water fountain displayed in the center with hanging greens and potted flowers sprung around it.

“That’s convenient,” you follow the ripples in the water as Jimin places a flower on the surface.

“We’re actually staying here for the night,” he absentmindedly reveals.

“W-what?”

Your heart skips a beat. We? As in...all of BTS?

Jimin seems to take notice of your change in demeanor and cocks a brow in your direction.

“Everything okay?”

No. Everything is not okay. Taehyung is here again under the same roof…

You force a smile,  stepping towards Jimin and grabbing his arm which seems to catch him off guard. “Remember what you told me last time we met?”

The male licks his lips to hide his nerves. His eyes look to your hand clutching at his arm and then flick to your face before giving you a soft, “of course.”

You grab his other arm without giving it another thought and slam your lips into his. Your cheeks are burning and you’re pretty sure your heart has stopped beating, but you hold your position for what feels like forever, lips unmoving and frozen in fear.

It takes a few seconds for Jimin to relax before he grabs your waist and returns the kiss. You melt into his touch, unable to think about anything else.

He pulls away first, his voice breathy and barely audible.  “Does this mean you feel the same way?”

You can’t help but giggle, pulling him back in for a kiss for which he happily obliges. The two of you stay like this for a while, in the secrecy of the garden, just the two of you. If there’s anything you’re sure about, it’s that Jimin never fails to make you feel better. In fact, nothing else matters when you’re with him and all other thought or worry dissolves in his presence. At this time in your life, maybe it’s exactly what you need.

[peggyfromtheblockk]

Get to Know the Blogger

Hey! So, I’ve realized aside from a few comments here and there, I haven’t really talked on here at all! This sad thought made me realize it was time to share a lot of unnecessary stuff so maybe you can get a basic--detailed--idea of who I am. So here’s a bunch of word vomit and feel free to come talk to me, I promise I’m a lot nicer than a lot of my answers make me seem lol

Name: You can call me E.

Age: 20

Zodiac sign: Aries

Height: 5’7

Languages spoken: English but I do remember a few random words of Spanish

Nationality & Location: American and Michigan

Work: Currently working in the infant room at a daycare

Favorite fruit: Blueberries

Favorite scent: Lavender, vanilla, or apple

Favorite animal: I really love otters and llamas

Favorite fictional character: Dana Scully of course (though, I do have a soft spot for Stella Gibson)

Favorite candy: KitKat’s but currently I’ll devour almost any chocolate given to me

Favorite holiday: Christmas and Halloween. But probably Halloween more because I love the prep and the actual day, whereas I just really love the prep for Christmas

Favorite season: I really like autumn because my hometown and college towns are so beautiful but I love spring because I love everything coming back to life

Favorite Social Media? Twitter, but like, stan twitter

Favorite thing about where you live? I just love that I have some of my favorite people within literal minutes of me. It’s a really comforting feeling. And we have a fair every year which is gross but entertaining at the same time

Favorite swear word? Probably shit, but fuck and damn do escape quite often

What are you listening to:  As of right now When I Kissed The Teacher from MM2

What Books Are You Reading? I have three books I haven’t finished and haven’t touched in like two months. We, Beaches, and Yes Please

What Time Do You Usually Go To Bed? Around 1 in the morning usually

What Makes You Happy? A lot of things, though I don’t always realize that. I’m usually an “It’s the little things” person too. BUT to answer, Gillian and msr never fail to make me happy

What Are You Craving Right Now? I could smash a plate of spaghetti right now

What Is Your Gender? Female (she/her pronouns)

What Is Your Sexuality? Bisexual but I’m definitely like 85% women, 15% men

What’s The Next Movie You Want To See In Theaters? MAMMA MIA 2 IM SO EXCITED

What Eye Colour Do You Find Sexiest? I’m a sucker for blue eyes

What Do You Wear To Bed? A tee and shorts usually but if I’m in The Mood I’ll wear just a tee (Yes, That Mood)

What Sounds Are Your Favourite? I love the sound of a campfire and babies laughing or babbling literally melts my heart

What’s the first thing you notice about people? Usually, their eyes but I’m drawn to those with a bright genuine smile

What’s something that makes you feel all warm and fuzzy inside? Being With My People. They never fail to make me feel warm and fuzzy. Also when I get a cute little note from my favorite professor on an assignment because she is like the light of my life  

What are your hobbies? When I’m not in school I like to read and I’m able to write some. During school, you can find me watching x files, sleeping, or enjoying movies or music

What’s your favorite book? I love anything by Laurie Halse Anderson and really anything in the YA genre

What inspires you? Gillian is really inspiring to me because of all the work she does to help others. Bette Midler too

What’s your favorite place in the whole world? well, ok. So, I love Mackinac Island because it’s so beautiful and peaceful (even with thousands of tourists covering the tiny location) but I also just love when I’m with my people. When I’m with one of My People wherever we are, that’s my favorite place because I’m really happy. Also, I really love my work because nothing exists outside those four walls except the babies I take care of

What do you typically have for breakfast? A big cup of coffee and the occasional bagel or bowl of cereal

What’s the longest you’ve ever gone without sleep? The first semester of my sophomore year I had this 60-70 page case study due for the end of the term for an education class. For at least a week I would stay up until about 5 am working on it, go to sleep, get up at 7:30 am and do it all over again. That’s been my most stressful and sleep deprived time of my life so far and just looking bad makes me shudder. At least I got a 99% on it

What makes you angry? A lot of things. Let’s not get into that.

What makes you nervous? Uh, everything. But thinking about the real part of my future (bills, working, adulting) really gets me going

Do you wear glasses: Yes and these specific frames fucking suck and my eyes keep getting worse (my doctor told me I’d need surgery before I turned 30, wtf thanks dude)

Do You Have Freckles? Yes and it used to bother me how many I have but thanks to fics that mention Scully’s, I’ve become fond of them

Do You Sing In The Shower? When my family or suitemates aren’t home, then yes I usually belt it all out but usually, I stick to humming

Do You Collect Anything? Postcards and shot glasses. And llama things now too apparently

Do You Prefer To Swim In A Pool Or The Ocean? Pool because it’s clean and I can see the bottom

Do You Study Better With Or Without Music? It depends on the subject or the task but I almost always need some type of constant sound

Do You Save Money Or Spend It? Save it usually but I also tend to spend it all on a big impulse purchase

Do You Have Any Obsessions Right Now? That’s why I’m here lmao

Do You Have Strange Dreams? Alright so I just started taking Zoloft and before it, my dreams would be weird but like unrealistic-weird, like having-a-bad-trip-weird. But since starting the med, my dreams have become realistically-weird, like sometimes I wake up and question if that all really happened

Do You Make Your Bed In The Morning? When I’m at school, yes, but when I’m home I usually just say fuck it because I’ll be back in it at least 8 more times

Do You Like To Read / Write? I love to read (fics, duh) but I do try my hand at writing but I struggle to finish anything and I’m terrified to post any of my work on here

Do You Have Any Homework Right Now? If So, What Is It About? YES and it’s just barely halfway into summer break and I’ve got a huge assignment due the first day back

Do You Get Homesick? Sometimes but I really do love my college life and wouldn’t change it

Do You Wear Jeans Or Sweats More? A mix but because of work, jeans most days

Do you use sarcasm a lot? Sarcasm is my middle name

Do you believe in miracles? Yeah I think so

Do you have any special talents? I don’t think so but I’m good at taking care of kids. Sometimes my supervisor calls me the baby whisperer lol

Do you have any pets? Three cats and a dog and some succulents

Do you have any siblings? A little (half) brother and then technically I have four other half-siblings but they don’t know I exist

Do you believe in the paranormal? Absolutely. A big secret of mine….I actually could, and sometimes still can interact with spirits...Just call me Mrs. Spooky

Do you play any instruments? Nope but somehow I have managed to have a guitar and a keyboard in my possession. I do sing though and was in choir for 7 years

Do you have any crushes? Do celebrities or fictional characters count? If no, then no

Do you have any bad and/or anxious habits? I just have panic attacks a lot lmao and I tend to get really bitchy and mean when I’m anxious which I feel bad about but I can’t stop it

Do you believe in anything enough to fight for it? My right to marry whoever I want and have kids with whoever I want and be in control of my body. There’s probably more but those have been on my mind today

Do you keep a journal? Yeah a few actually but I lose motivation after a little bit and it takes so much to start it over

Do you like your age? Yes and no. I’m an adult which is cool and all but like….most of my friends are old enough to drink and it really pisses me off that I’m 9 months short of legally doing that. I’m super responsible and mature for my age like what will 9 months do to change that? It’s just stupid that I can join the military and go thousands of dollars into debt but I can’t have a glass of wine with my mom at a block party. UGH. American laws  S U C K

Do you like your own name? Yes, I love my name. When I was a kid I hated it, I didn’t get the sentiment of being named after someone. I finally got the sentiment around the time my grandma started getting sick. Now that she’s gone, I know just how blessed I am to carry on the legacy of my full name and try to make her proud.

Do you have any scars? Oh plenty, I’m really clumsy. My most notable is the one on my thumb from a freak childhood accident that nearly cut my entire thumb pad off. What a wild time

Do you have a strong accent? I’m from Michigan so apparently, I have a strong Midwestern accent but I don’t hear it. But anytime I’m on the phone/skyping with my friend from Missouri, she always points it out and laughs

Do you talk to yourself? Probably too much but also not in the way that I think is expected. I’m just constantly talking in my head like a constant tv interview about whatever the fuck I’m thinking about which 99% of the time is msr lol

Coffee, tea, or hot chocolate: All of the above

Beer or wine or neither: W I N E

When was your blog created: I knew this was the place to find the best gifs and fics and I wanted to be in the fandom more since I’m so new. Also, I wanted to try my hand at fic writing but I continue to lose the motivation or the courage to write/post

Last movie you’ve seen: Hotel Transylvania is pretty much on repeat in my house thanks to my little brother, so most likely it’s that

First job: My first job was customer service/field hand on a blueberry patch but my first legit legal job is/was at a daycare

Pet peeve: The first I can think of is slow walkers because I walk so fast because my legs are like a mile long

The color of your eyes: Green but they used to be giant sky-blue saucers

Night owl/day person: I don’t like getting up before 9 but past midnight I’m a grouch

Tattoos:  None yet, but I have two planned, it’s just a matter of money and timing

Like to cook: Not really but I can cook enough to survive which is typical for college

Grab The Book Nearest To You, Turn To Page 20 Give the last two lines: “Action: Today I will be kind to myself. Affirmation: This is who I am, and I feel glad to be me” - We

Last Person You Cried In Front Of? I cried while holding a baby at work because my shift is changing so things will be different and also my hormones are really out of whack right now

If You Were A Crayon What Colour Would You Be? Any shade of purple

Name One Movie That Made You Cry: Beaches is my go-to crying movie, same goes for Steel Magnolias (what a typical answer, I know)

If I Handed You A Concert Ticket Right Now, Who Would You Want The Performer To Be? Cher, Reba, DD, Bette Midler or Straight No Chaser. Reba especially though because she’s going to be near me soon but it's a 21+ event and I’m nine months short of that so I’m really pissed I can’t go

Would You Rather Carve Pumpkins Or Wrap Presents? Carve pumpkins but I do a damn good job wrapping too

Did You Like Swinging As A Child? Do You Still Get Excited When You See A Swing Set? I loved it even though it made me sick. There’s a park down the street from my campus so if I’m really upset, I’ll go down there and blast my headphones and swing until I forget what’s happening. It’s really therapeutic

Name Something That Relaxes You: I have some relaxing instrumental playlists and I’ll put one of them on, turn on my lavender oil diffuser, and hop in a nice hot shower (and the hot water at college doesn’t run out so I can pretty much be in there for like ever really) or I’ll watch a fav movie that tends to soothe me

Scary movie or happy endings? Happy endings give me life. The fluffier the better

When was the last time you cried? I’m sure I’ve cried today and just don’t remember. There’s literally not a day that goes by that I don’t shed tears but I literally cry so easy (This video or this video will make me cry almost instantly)

Where would you like to visit? I’ve wanted to visit Barcelona and California since I was a kid but in the past 4 years I’ve really wanted to visit New York and Greece

Describe your favorite people in the whole world? I’ll just sum all five of them up with they literally make me feel so warm, happy, and validated. I love them so much I could cry just thinking about them. And don’t get me started with Gillian because I do often cry when I think  about her I just really love her a lot ok

Who would be your ideal partner? Gillian Anderson, Dana Scully, or Fox Mulder of course. No, but I want someone who’s like me morals/humor wise

Most used phrase? Right now I’m really into saying “Yikes” but “god fucking dammit” leaves my mouth A LOT

Most used word? Probably “like” as much as I hate to admit it

Extrovert or Introvert? Introvert 100% except when I’m with My People of course because I feel comfortable with them

Who was your first real crush? I had plenty of crushes during early school years but I think my first real one was on a school employee. Wowza I was head over heels for her and the very obvious knew-it-was-coming heartbreak hurt a lot

How many piercings do you have? Just my first holes in my ears but I’ve been thinking about getting my Helix pierced (upper portion of the ear)

How do you deal with stress? Uhhhh I panic first lol. I tend to listen to music—very specific songs that I know will drown out the anxiety/stress, or sometimes I’ll write what I’m feeling, go for a walk, read an absolute favorite fic in my list, watch x files, or I’ll just scroll through my thousands of pictures of GA lol

How many pillows do you sleep with? Three, sometimes four and then I have four accent pillows when I make my bed. Too many, as I’ve been told by everyone

Have you ever been to the hospital? Been to? Yes, plenty of times. Been in/admitted? No, thankfully

Have you ever met any celebrities? In 2016 I went to a rally for Hillary that Cher was speaking at so like…I was in the same room as her. AND THEN my friend shoved me up to her path as she was leaving and she touched my hand and I literally nearly passed out

Have you ever been in a position of authority? I am always deemed the mom friend so I’ll let you figure out that answer...

Have you ever drank underage? Yeah but nothing crazy. I just really like my wine. The craziest I’ve ever gotten was after I turned in that case study, I chugged half a bottle of wine (on an empty stomach), got bad heartburn, and then went to bed for like 14 hours

Are You Easily Influenced By Other People? Depends on the person, but I’d have to say no unless it’s Gillian/Scully/Stella

Are You A Picky Eater? I say yes, but compared to my brother and my uncle, no

Are You A Heavy Sleeper? Usually yes

Are Both Of Your Blood Parents Still In Your Life? Just my momma, but I do see my *gag* father around my hometown every now and again

Are you religious? Not really. I used to go to church a few years back, and then went to another church which ruined a lot of stuff for me and then I went through some tough stuff that made me question, idk

Are you a good liar? I like to think so (I say that as if lying is something I should be proud of), at least to everyone but my mom because I swear I can pull off the best lie ever and she always sees right through me

Are you a clean or messy person? My home life is messy. My room is trashed but the things that are put away are organized. But life at college is completely opposite, my dorm is very clean and organized and I clean it top to bottom every weekend

If you made it this far, thank you for putting up with my crazy long first post, and I’m sorry that I practically vomited my thoughts into a jumbled mess but I wanted to share myself with you!