#Final Mile White Glove Delivery

[whiteglovedc]

[priyanshisingh]

Global Furniture Logistics Market Forecast and Analysis Report (2023-2032)

The Furniture Logistics Market reached a valuation of USD 110514.2 Million in 2023 and is anticipated to rise to USD 171443.8 Million by 2032, indicating a strong CAGR of 5.0% from 2024 to 2032.

The Furniture Logistics Market is experiencing substantial growth, driven by the increasing demand for furniture, particularly with the rise of e-commerce and online retail. As consumers increasingly prefer to purchase furniture online, the logistics sector has had to adapt to handle the unique challenges associated with transporting bulky and often fragile items. This market encompasses a range of services including warehousing, inventory management, transportation, delivery, and installation of furniture.

A significant driver of growth in this market is the surge in home furnishing purchases, fueled by rising disposable incomes, urbanization, and a growing trend towards home improvement and personalization. The logistics market is also benefiting from technological advancements, such as the use of sophisticated inventory management systems and real-time tracking solutions, which enhance efficiency and customer satisfaction.

In addition, the market is seeing a shift towards sustainable logistics practices. Companies are increasingly adopting eco-friendly packaging materials and optimizing delivery routes to reduce carbon footprints, which appeals to environmentally conscious consumers.

Here are the various types of furniture logistics services, categorized for better understanding:

Warehousing and Storage:

General Warehousing: Storing furniture in large warehouses until it is needed for distribution.

Climate-Controlled Storage: Specialized storage facilities that maintain controlled environments to protect sensitive furniture from damage due to temperature and humidity changes.

Inventory Management: Systems and services that manage and track furniture inventory levels, ensuring timely replenishment and reducing the risk of stockouts.

Transportation:

Domestic Shipping: Transporting furniture within the country using trucks, trains, or other ground transportation methods.

International Shipping: Handling the complex logistics of shipping furniture across borders, including customs clearance and adherence to international regulations.

Last-Mile Delivery: The final step of the delivery process where furniture is transported from a local distribution center to the customer's home or business.

White-Glove Delivery: Premium service that includes in-home delivery, unpacking, assembly, and placement of furniture.

Distribution and Fulfillment:

Order Fulfillment: Picking, packing, and shipping furniture orders from warehouses to customers.

Cross-Docking: A logistics practice where incoming shipments are directly transferred to outbound transportation with minimal storage time, increasing efficiency and reducing handling costs.

Installation and Assembly:

On-Site Assembly: Services that involve assembling furniture at the customer's location, ensuring proper setup and installation.

Disassembly and Reassembly: Specialized services for moving, which include disassembling furniture at the original location and reassembling it at the new destination.

Reverse Logistics:

Returns Management: Handling the return of furniture from customers, including inspection, repair, and restocking or recycling of returned items.

Recycling and Disposal: Environmentally responsible disposal of old or damaged furniture, including recycling of materials when possible.

Specialized Handling:

Fragile and High-Value Items: Logistics services tailored for transporting delicate or high-value furniture pieces, often with additional protective measures.

Custom Solutions: Tailored logistics solutions to meet specific needs, such as handling oversized or uniquely shaped furniture items.

Technology and Tracking-

Real-Time Tracking: Systems that provide customers and businesses with real-time updates on the location and status of their furniture shipments.

Inventory Management Systems (IMS): Technology solutions that help manage warehouse inventory, optimize stock levels, and streamline order fulfillment.

Sustainable Logistics-

Eco-Friendly Packaging: Use of recyclable and biodegradable packaging materials to minimize environmental impact.

Green Transportation: Implementation of fuel-efficient vehicles and optimized routing to reduce carbon emissions.

The Furniture Logistics Market presents numerous opportunities for growth and innovation, driven by evolving consumer behaviors, technological advancements, and the expansion of global trade. One of the most significant opportunities lies in the continued growth of e-commerce, which has transformed how consumers purchase furniture. This shift necessitates advanced logistics solutions to manage the complex requirements of shipping large, bulky items. Companies can capitalize on this trend by developing robust online platforms and enhancing their last-mile delivery capabilities, ensuring timely and efficient deliveries to customers.

Technological advancements also offer substantial opportunities. The adoption of automation, robotics, and IoT in logistics operations can significantly improve efficiency, reduce costs, and enhance accuracy in inventory management and order fulfillment. Real-time tracking and advanced analytics provide greater visibility and control over the supply chain, allowing companies to optimize routes, predict demand, and mitigate potential disruptions.

Sustainability is another area ripe for innovation. As consumers become more environmentally conscious, there is increasing demand for eco-friendly logistics practices. Companies that invest in green logistics solutions, such as electric delivery vehicles, sustainable packaging materials, and optimized delivery routes, can differentiate themselves and attract eco-conscious consumers.

Expanding into emerging markets, particularly in the Asia-Pacific and Latin America regions, presents significant growth opportunities. Rapid urbanization, rising disposable incomes, and a growing middle class in these regions are driving increased demand for furniture and related logistics services. Establishing a strong presence in these markets through strategic partnerships and localized logistics solutions can provide a competitive edge.

Key Players:

Anton Rohr GmbH and Co. KG

ASHLEY LOGISTICS SOLUTIONS LTD.

Asian Logistics Agencies Srl

Barrett Distribution Centers

Bocker Maschinenwerke GmbH

CITYXFER

ColliCare Logistics AS

D.B. GROUP Spa

DACHSER and KOLB

DB Schenker

Deutsche Post AG

FOCUS FURNITURE LOGISTICS

Gebr. Roggendorf GmbH

Homepack Smart Logistics

Noatum Holdings SLU

Rohlig Logistics GmbH and Co. KG.

Savino Del Bene Spa

Trans.INFO Sp z o o

Trasporti Internazionali Transmec SPA

More About Report- https://www.credenceresearch.com/report/furniture-logistics-market

The Furniture Logistics Market is influenced by several trending factors that are shaping its growth and development. These factors reflect changing consumer behaviors, technological advancements, and evolving industry practices.

Here are the key trending factors in the Furniture Logistics Market:

1. E-Commerce Growth

Online Furniture Sales: The rise of e-commerce has significantly impacted the furniture market, with more consumers opting to purchase furniture online. This trend has increased the demand for efficient logistics solutions that can handle the complexities of shipping large and often fragile items.

Omni-Channel Retailing: Retailers are integrating their online and offline channels to provide a seamless shopping experience, necessitating advanced logistics capabilities to manage inventory and fulfill orders across multiple platforms.

2. Technological Advancements

Automation and Robotics: The adoption of automation and robotics in warehouses and fulfillment centers is improving efficiency and reducing labor costs. Automated systems help in faster picking, packing, and sorting of furniture items.

Real-Time Tracking and IoT: The use of Internet of Things (IoT) devices and real-time tracking technologies allows for better visibility and management of furniture shipments. Customers can track their orders in real-time, enhancing transparency and customer satisfaction.

3. Sustainability and Eco-Friendly Practices

Green Logistics: There is a growing emphasis on sustainability in the logistics industry. Companies are adopting eco-friendly practices such as using recyclable packaging materials, optimizing delivery routes to reduce carbon emissions, and investing in electric and fuel-efficient vehicles.

Sustainable Materials: The demand for furniture made from sustainable and eco-friendly materials is increasing, and logistics providers are adapting to ensure the safe and efficient transportation of these items.

4. Consumer Expectations and Customization

Personalized Services: Consumers are seeking personalized delivery services, including options for specific delivery times, white-glove services, and on-site assembly. Logistics providers are expanding their service offerings to meet these expectations.

Enhanced Customer Experience: Providing a superior customer experience through timely deliveries, easy returns, and excellent customer service is becoming a critical differentiator in the furniture logistics market.

5. Urbanization and Infrastructure Development

Urban Expansion: Rapid urbanization and the development of new residential and commercial spaces are driving the demand for furniture and, consequently, the need for robust logistics solutions to support these growing markets.

Improved Infrastructure: Investments in transportation and logistics infrastructure, such as better roads, ports, and warehousing facilities, are facilitating smoother and more efficient furniture logistics operations.

6. Supply Chain Resilience and Flexibility

Adaptability to Disruptions: The COVID-19 pandemic highlighted the importance of supply chain resilience. Furniture logistics providers are now focusing on building more flexible and adaptable supply chains to handle disruptions and fluctuations in demand.

Inventory Management: Effective inventory management practices are crucial to avoid stockouts and overstock situations, ensuring that the right products are available when needed.

7. Globalization and International Trade

Cross-Border Logistics: As the furniture market becomes more global, logistics providers are developing expertise in handling international shipments, including managing customs regulations and cross-border complexities.

Global Sourcing: Many furniture companies source materials and products from different parts of the world, increasing the need for efficient global logistics solutions.

8. Last-Mile Delivery Innovations

Urban Logistics Solutions: Innovations in last-mile delivery, such as the use of delivery drones, electric bikes, and micro-fulfillment centers, are addressing the challenges of delivering furniture in congested urban areas.

Contactless Delivery: The pandemic has accelerated the adoption of contactless delivery options, which are likely to continue as a preferred delivery method for many consumers.

Segmentation:

Transportation Mode:

Road Transportation

Rail Transportation

Air Transportation

Sea Transportation

Service Type:

Transportation Services

Warehousing Services

Distribution Services

Assembly and Installation Services

Reverse Logistics Services (e.g., returns, repairs)

Furniture Type:

Residential Furniture

Living Room Furniture

Bedroom Furniture

Dining Room Furniture

Kitchen Furniture

Home Office Furniture

Browse the full report –  https://www.credenceresearch.com/report/furniture-logistics-market

Browse Our Blog: https://www.linkedin.com/pulse/furniture-logistics-market-analysis-global-6fkbf

Contact Us:

Phone: +91 6232 49 3207

Email: sales@credenceresearch.com

Website: https://www.credenceresearch.com

[innertacoglitter]

Furniture Experts Movers - Final Mile Delivery

If you're needing final mile delivery services, you've arrive at the proper place. With the help of a skilled final mile delivery service, you are able to prevent the hassle of lugging your furniture across town. With one of these services, you don't have to lift a finger, and you won't need certainly to be worried about unpacking, assembling, or installing. This extra amount of service can allow you to rest easy and provide you with a great sense of security.

Professional final miles delivery company

Final mile delivery services will add another layer of service to your product's delivery experience. Most retailers partner with third-party providers with this service, and these professionals have special equipment and install specialists to ensure your products are delivered and installed in the precise location. Choosing the right provider for final mile delivery is crucial, as it can make a positive change in the overall customer care of one's product.

Professional final mile delivery services include assembling, installing, and unpacking services, which require additional expertise. These services eliminate the necessity for the customer to lift a finger and offer peace of mind.

24/7 - Get Final miles delivery quotes Online

Final mile delivery is a built-in element of ecommerce. Retailers often partner with third-party providers for final mile service. The provider may not only deliver a product, but in addition install it. These companies have specialist installation equipment and staff. For retailers, final mile delivery is essential to customer satisfaction. If the delivery company does not execute a good job, it may have a negative impact on their sales and online reputation.

Final mile delivery services aren't for everyone, nevertheless they do work very well if you require a supplementary amount of professionalism and expertise. These services can include installing, assembling, and unpacking your items. This service will remove the necessity for the customer to lift a finger and gives them the confidence that their items are in capable hands.

Best Final mile delivery near me

If you need to move a big furniture piece from one location to some other, consider using a white glove commercial receiving and final mile delivery partner. Whether your delivery requires a small or large box, crate or pallet, it is important to know the precise dimensions of one's furniture to have the absolute most accurate quote. Most shipping services can carry as much as 150 pounds and 165 inches, but some companies can transport larger items with ease. For these situations, using a company that specializes in delivering furniture can allow you to save money.

[candorexpedite]

This podcast talks about Nicole Glenn and the story of Candor Expedite, a leading expedited delivery and logistics company serving multiple clients across US to build their business through smooth logistics movements. Learn more here.

[ashintheairlikesnow]

I’m not sure if you have something planned for this already but wouldn’t it be the height of irony if Tooley got monched on by a starved Chris when he forgot to drug him? Just opens the door and whoops! He eaten!

CW: Whumper death, drunkenness, some dehumanization, blood drinking, bit of gore, vampirism, some very light catholicism

-

New York City, 1936

KING EDWARD VIII ABDICATES THRONE British Monarch to Wed American Socialite Wallis Simpson

Tooley kicks at the sodden, half-frozen newspaper stuck to his shoe, grunting with the effort it takes to dislodge it. His hands are buried deep in the pockets of his thick woolen coat, and he ignores the envious stares of others whose threadbare outfits are patched, whose gloves are little more than rags wrapped around their not-quite-frostbitten fingers.

Instead, he pulls his scarf up higher, tucks his chin beneath its knitted warmth, and finally manages to send the scrap of paper with its water-stained black-and-white image of a stern-faced soon-to-be ex-king and his Baltimore lover into the street, where it sticks in a puddle and soaks clean through.

The old-timers say a heavy rain is coming, citing their aching joints and bones. It's been a wet winter already, and the absolute last thing New York needs is more rain.

Tooley plans to be holed up in his nice warm little house for the whole of it. He's sold three paintings in a month, and he can spend the next few weeks on the next one until his hands want to drop right off his wrists without having to distract himself with petty concerns like money.

The liquor bubbles warm inside him, and even with the frigid air he's broken a sweat along his back, trickling to his waistband, almost a tickle. He stumbles a little, catches himself, coughs out a laugh as the cold air burns deep into his lungs. It can't penetrate the hazy heat of the drink, though.

Mel's always has the best whiskey, and Tooley has the green these days to pay for the very best indeed. He's spent what might be a whole month's pay - if he weren't the luckiest artist in New York - in a single night.

You might say he's made a deal with the devil.

He pulls the brim of his fedora down, shielding his brow from the bit of freezing moisture speckling his cheeks. He struggles not to giggle like a child.

"Got a bit to spare for a hungry man?" A rasping voice calls out from an alley as he passes. "Help me feed my family, sir? I'm out of work, sir! Got three little ones with hungry bellies!"

Tooley ignores him.

There are crowds like that everywhere these days, always pressing for help, for a little something more and more and more. Men out of work, men in bread lines, women with tired faces and sad children. He's had just about enough of it.

They're calling it a depression, and he finds the term apt enough, considering it seems the whole country's been tumbled into a hole and can't find its way out.

He'd take his muse to Europe and paint there if it weren't for the echoing tension that bleeds over across the sea. Every nation he's idolized for their arts is trying to posture at each other. Rattling sabers while the people sigh heavily and keep washing their laundry, like always.

Tooley was a child when the Great War tore his own family apart - losing an older half-brother to the pointless trenches, a father to the mustard gas that ate his lungs to pieces, a mother to her desperate, sharp grief at her husband and stepson's loss.

The War had rendered him alone in the world before he was even twenty, though he'd been too young to hardly understand it and it had had nothing to do with him.

Wars were for rich men to send poor men to fight in, and Tooley is hoping to have enough wealth to maybe just float right past a new one, if the rumors beginning to swirl came true and Europe is going to erupt. Surely, though, no one would let a second war as horrible as the last happen.

Surely not.

Still, even so, he can simply disappear if they try to call him up to fight. He has no one left to lose, after all. No one to fight for, no one to care for. No one but his pretty little model, all locked away, his to keep.

Tooley takes a sharp left and the streets begin to change from the harsher gray of the city proper into neighborhoods, houses crammed tightly together. It's not the best part of town - Tooley's parents weren't the wealthiest, and he doesn't live like a gentleman, he's got no need to, it's not how he thinks a proper artist should live anyway. Have to keep up the image of the nearly-starving creative genius, after all.

There are still lights in some windows, despite the late hour. Tooley isn't the only one drunk at midnight and still moving.

It's a mile or so from the start of his street to where his house is nestled between two others, close enough he could reach out his kitchen window and touch the brick of the home next door. He smiles a little. His nose aches with the cold at the tip of it, but that's nothing to worry himself over.

He's home.

It takes him four tries to unlock his front door, the key jabbing into wood and brass too far to one side or the other. He laughs, breath puffing white clouds into the air, his ears burning with the cold where his hat doesn't quite cover them.

Good thing he's not with a woman, tonight, if his aim's so bad with just his hands.

The thought makes him laugh harder, nearly a guffaw, loud enough that he's sure he's woken a neighbor or two. It's not the first time.

Finally, the key slides home and the lock clicks and Tooley moves inside. The house is chilled in the entryroom, but as he slides his coat and fedora off to leave them on the coat rack and moves into the kitchen, towards the back, he can feel the warmth slowly trickling from the ticking radiators along the walls.

He's due for a coal delivery in the next couple of days, and boy, he's going to need it with the weather the way it's been.

Tooley heads for his perfect little secret, the vampire held in the backroom, once a sort of servant's bedroom for some family that had owned the home even before his own parents did. It's his studio, now, and the place where the little vampire boy is kept.

He unlocks that door, too. A key, a deadbolt, a little sliding lock at the top for added safety.

"Here, kitty kitty kitty," He slurs, and laughs again, delighted at his own little joke.

There's a scrape and a rustle, and Tooley steps back to let the vampire boy move forward, out of the freezing unheated room - Tooley only turns the radiator on in there when he himself is working, it's not like dead things care about being warm after all - and into the kitchen proper, with its little two-person table.

The boy is looking dirty - he's due for a bath, long overdue honestly. Good things he doesn't sweat enough to stink.

His hair hangs lank in his eyes, closer to dark copper than the new-penny shine Tooley prefers. There are smudges along his cheeks, marring his perfect freckles. He's draped in a sweater patched badly where his elbows have worn holes right through, pants that are tied with a rope since Tooley sure isn't going to waste money on a belt for a corpse.

"Is, did, did you, um, did you bring me food?" The vampire boy looks up at him, eyes glinting a little in the dimness, that unsettling cat-like glow-in-the-dark effect. His little fangs flash, too. "I'm... I'm, I'm hungry, Tooley."

"I know you are, bloodsucker."

"It's, it's been, um, it's been weeks, Tooley-"

"I know, I know. Shut your trap." Tooley ruffles his hair, then pulls his hand back with a grimace as he remembers how dirty and greasy it's gotten, walking away to go to the sink and wash his hands. "We'll get t'that. I met with someone very important at th' bar tonight, and first things first, you and I are going to celebrate."

The boy moves slowly, staying half-crouched - he's been hit before, when Tooley didn't want him to stand all the way up. He settles himself against the wall, head tilted to the side. His cheekbones cut sharp angles in his face, edging down to his narrow chin.

Those big green eyes follow Tooley everywhere he goes.

"Celebrate what?" He asks, and Tooley wonders just how old the ridiculous little thing is. He'd said early aughts, hadn't he, on when he was turned? So he'd be, what, in his forties really?

Funny.

Was he locked up during the Great War?

He's still a pretty teenager, but he's probably closing in on fifty. Tooley's twenty-some years younger and looks infinitely older, in his own estimation.

Tooley should look into vampirism, seems an excellent way to hold onto your looks, doesn't it? He wonders if the boy knows how to turn him. They could make beautiful work forever...

Hm.

Something to ruminate over when he's hungover in the morning.

"New commission. I'm taking a few weeks off, give us both a break, but I've got the basic details. I'll pick up a broad, get her all set up for modeling, we'll make us a mint, sweetheart." He moves to the counter, picking up the half-full bottle of gin he keeps there, taking a swig and grimacing, coughing. There's a rattle in his lungs these days he doesn't like much.

"You'll, you'll kill her?" The vampire watches him. He looks hungry, with all those sharp lines emphasized, as though he were a painting himself still in progress, with the outline still written in graphite showing through the colors. He's pale, painted in wash, not yet turned to vivid velvet intensity with oils.

"'Course. You think any of my models would stay alive anywhere near you?" He laughs at the very idea, missing the vampire's little flinch as he turns away. He pulls a loaf of bread from the breadbox, already starting to stale but that's all right, he's going to toast it over the stove anyway. The world swims around him from the liquor, and he catches the counter with one hand to keep himself upright.

The feeling brings another laugh out of him.

The little vampire smiles faintly in echo of it. He has to work to get the stove to gas, narrowing his eyes as it struggles, sputters, before finally a little flame flares up. Just enough to give off a little heat for the toast.

"Fuck. Drank too much. Or not enough." He laughs again, and pulls a knife from the knifeblock, the sharp serrated thin blade best for slicing through the heavy sourdough he buys from a woman down the block. Bit of toast, pat of salted butter, that'll get him through to morning when he can head down for eggs and bacon at Paulie's diner.

Maybe he'll even buy some extra for the hungry men who hound around the doors. He can be a philanthropist.

As he slices, the knife slips off the stale, hard crust and cuts right through the back of his hand, a long line immediately welling with bright red blood. He groans, irritated, and sets the knife down, turning to run cold water over it as the pain flares bright, but slightly muted from his drunkenness.

There's a rustle behind him, and Tooley's mind only belatedly begins to allow alarm to trickle through the warm fuzz of the gin and whiskey. He slowly turns around.

Where the vampire boy had been curled against the wall, a bundle of skinny bones and too-big clothes, there's... nothing.

Tooley glances to one side and sees the boy crouched on the floor by the edge of the lower cabinets, his hands pressed into the ground. He moved five feet in less than a second.

His eyes are flared, wide and with pupils burying the iris in black. He clicks, softly, tongue against teeth in an inhuman way.

Click-click-click-click.

click-click-click.

How'd he move so fast?

"Shit," Tooley whispers. "When's the last time I fed you?"

The vampire doesn't answer, only stares, unblinking, muscles tensing and relaxing, tensing and relaxing. He clicks again.

His lips pull back from his teeth and those fangs that seem so cute and little on every other day suddenly look long, like daggers, dripping a shimmering venom to the ground.

Tooley tries not to blink, too, but his eyes dry and dry and dry and eventually he can't help it. His eyes close, a fraction of a second, and flare open right away.

Not fast enough.

The vampire leaps and Tooley grunts at the impact of the small bony body against his own, his lower back smacking into the line of the counter with a flash of pain. The bread and knife both clatter to the ground.

Panic comes, but it doesn't help. He's still groping to get at another knife when the vampire's fingernails dig into his scalp, grip into his hair and jerk his head to the side to bare his throat.

"Hungry," The vampire boy hisses. "Hungry, Tooley. Hungry."

"I-I know, just, just don't blow your wig, gimmee a minute, I can get you something, just hold on-" Tooley's voice is thin from the harsh angle his neck is being held at, and he swallows, seeing in a bleary haze the way the vampire's huge eyes are focused on the movement of his adam's apple, the bob of his throat.

Can he see the blood pulsing there?

He puts his hands up against the vampire's chest to try and push him off, but it's like pushing against rock. He thinks about painting the vampire as a kind of young Prometheus for a dandy from Boston, tied naked to a rock to be pecked at by eagles, and wonders if the mythological man ever tried to push the rock itself, and if it failed as miserably for him as it does for Tooley now.

"There's blood in the shed out back, just let me go and I'll grab it for you." He pitches his voice soothing and slightly patronizing, like speaking to a whining dog. "Okay, kitten? Just two minutes and you'll be fed, right as rain."

The vampire pauses, hesitates, and Tooley feels his hands working at Tooley's hair and one shoulder, like a cat kneading into your lap before they settle. His little stray. His breathing starts to ease, his heart to slow down, the first rush of panic subsiding.

The world still spins a little, but the rush of adrenaline is settling things into something more solid, wiping away the liquor.

"I'll put you back in your room and go get it for you, it's right outside, good and cold," Tooley coos, and realizes too late it isn't what he should have said.

"There's blood right here, and and and, and, and it's living," The vampire boy says, eyes wide and inhuman, and he's absolutely gorgeous. "Your, your, yours is hot."

Tooley would paint him like this, all feral instinct overwriting the living corpse of an anonymous Irish immigrant who died dozens of years ago. A metaphor, maybe, for the way some of the children who come here lose all their European culture and get boorishly American, and-

The vampire bites down, and all thoughts of art and culture flee from Tooley's mind.

The liquor holds off the pain so long the venom hits before he even feels the way those sharp teeth have breached his skin. He goes limp, dropping in a heap to the floor. He thinks he hits his head on the loaf of bread before it knocks into the floor.

They feel about the same level of hardness.

The knife is right next to his head, lying there, shining in the yellowed lamplight, with its carved wooden handle.

All he has to do is move his hand a few inches to reach it.

Just a few inches.

He tries, desperately, to tell his fingers where to go.

The vampire sucks hard at the wound in his neck, pulling blood from his veins like a man drinking an egg cream after a long hot day's work, and Tooley groans. He can feel the press and pull without the pain, and it's the strangest thing he's ever felt. Stranger than those he's gone to bed with.

The venom makes his limbs feel like stones, weighed down to motionless. He struggles even to swallow saliva, to take a deep breath. His heart never races again with panic. He isn't able to feel it any longer.

Those sharp little fingernails dig hard into his shoulders, the weight of the vampire settled on him, straddling him. A little flirty thought - at least buy me dinner first - makes its way across his mind, barely coherent, slow as molasses.

The vampire starts up his soft rumble, the vibration filtering in through into Tooley's body. It seems like it makes him feel even more frozen, heavy as the ocean and weightless at once.

His eyes are on the ceiling, and he realizes how long it's been since anyone cleaned the corners where cobwebs have grown and grown. They need swept away.

Funny how he never noticed before. Too busy with his art.

There's a moment where Tooley is surprised to look down at himself, as if he's floating somewhere near the ceiling staring down at his own open eyes. When he needed not to blink, he couldn't stop himself, but now the body he is looking at just stares and stares and stares, unseeing, unblinking, unbreathing-

Oh.

As soon as the realization hits, Tooley's awareness of himself as a body he can observe is gone.

There is darkness, and then a point of terrible final light. He feels the grasping of bloodied hands.

And he's gone.

The vampire drinks until the blood stops pumping, until the heart beneath his kneading hand is still. Then a rough tongue laps at the wounds, finding the last few droplets there that still sing with life.

The vampire pulls back, skin flush with life, no longer white as snow. His freckles stand out, scattered like constellations of stars over his skin. The dead man beneath him has all the paleness he had before, they are switched, swapped death for life.

He wipes the blood from around his mouth and looks slowly upwards, breathing in deep gulps he doesn't need but which feel so, so good.

He moves to the stove, to turn it off, but he doesn't quite turn it off all the way. An odd smell fills his nose and the vampire's nostrils wrinkle, but he doesn't know what the scent is, and he simply pulls Tooley's coat on before he leaves, door unlocked.

A few minutes later, a man with his hands over a barrel fire looks up to see a redheaded teenager in a woolen coat far too large for him move under a streetlamp, pausing to look up at it as if surprised by how bright its light is.

He blinks, and the man squints.

The young man's mouth is open, as if scenting the air by letting it roll over his tongue. Before the man can quite understand what he is looking at, the boy's mouth closes and he turns to look at the man. As his eyes shift from being lit by the lamp to draped in shadow, though...

They glow.

"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph," The man whispers, crossing himself hurriedly. "Saint Michael the Archangel, defend us in battle, b-be our protection against the wickedness and snares of the devil-"

The boy looks right at him, head tilted. The flames of the barrel flicker, hissing a little when raindrops start to fall. His lips pull back from his teeth and there are an animal's fangs there, plain as day.

The man feels pure horror at the sight of a demon walking free and unfettered in New York City. He grabs at the cross he wears around his neck and holds it out, his voice trembling. "May G-God... rebuke him, we humbly pray-"

"I, I, I hope that works for you," The boy says, and his voice is soft, and there's almost a lilt of the old country there that the man recognizes, not quite his own but not far off. "It never d-did for, um, for me. Don't worry. I'm... I'm full. You're, you're, you're in no danger from me. When, when, when, when... when did you come here? To this place?"

The man swallows around a lump in his throat, and yet he finds himself compelled to answer honestly. "Two years past, give or take. Came with m'wife and baby girl."

"From where?"

"... Kerry," He says, against his will. He can't seem to hold back the words. "And my wife grew up in County Cork."

The boy smiles, and his horrid teeth disappear when his lips press together. He looks for all the world like any other young man, a bit skinny perhaps and in need of a good meal or three, but no danger to anyone.

But the man has seen the demon that he is, and he finds himself grateful for the fire between them and the cross still in his hand, the shield of St. Michael and the cloak of Christ Himself.

"My, my, my, my parents were from County Cork," The demon boy says, lightly. His lilt is slightly stronger. "Wonder if we're cousins, your your wife and I. Maybe so. Stay home, um, after dark. Don't, don't, don't work when the sun is, um, is down."

The boy turns and walks away.

The man realizes with a start that in the midst of a chilly December night, the boy's feet are utterly bare. He steps over ice like he could walk on water.

There was blood smeared on the back of his coat.

The man flinches as he hears a sudden boom, close enough that he feels it in his chest as well as hearing the sound. A moment later a woman runs by shouting that a house has caught flame, to call for help.

The man looks back at the way the boy went.

He's gone.

-

@mylifeisonthebookshelf @insaneinthepaingame @keeper-of-all-the-random-things @burtlederp @finder-of-rings @newandfiguringitout @astrobly @endless-whump @pretty-face-breaker @gonna-feel-that-tomorrow @doveotions @boxboysandotherwhump @oops-its-whump @cubeswhump @whump-tr0pes @downriver914 @whumptywhumpdump @whumpiary @orchidscript @nonsensical-whump @outofangband @what-a-whump

[keelywolfe]

FIC: Not So Golden Opportunity (BAON)

Summary:  Usually Stretch likes getting packages in the mail, but there is always room for an exception.

Tags: Spicyhoney, Established Relationships, Hurt/Comfort

Part of the ‘by any other name’ series.

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Read it here!

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The knock on the front door wasn’t much of a surprise, not when it came at delivery o’clock. Stretch always had packages coming in, everything from equipment for the lab to a new t-shirt that declared he was a ‘Karaoke King’, there was always something for their delivery person to drop off. At any given time, there was enough cardboard stored in their garage waiting to get dropped off at recycle to make one heck of a box fort, and that was on his list to do with the neighborhood kiddos one of these weekends.

So, the knock on the door? Not a surprise. What they were delivering on the other hand—

“uh, wow, thanks, marty,” Stretch said, a little dubiously. Marty let out an agreeable honk and meandered their way back to their little mail truck, leaving Stretch standing there with an enormous armful of flowers from an unknown source. Couldn’t be from Edge. Sure, he’d given flowers a few times, but Edge was more of an in-person sort of guy when it came to presents.

Welp, there was only one way to find out, wasn’t there. Time to get his Velma on and look for some clues.

Stretch carried the massive thing inside and plunked it down on the coffee table to give it a closer look. It was actually a very nice floral arrangement, even Stretch could see that and he didn’t know shit about flowers or décor. Tiny sprays of white, bell-like blooms and ferny green things surrounding several huge blooms of golden flowers, the likes of which Stretch hadn’t seen in years, not since they were Underground.

Hm. Golden flowers.

The card had Edge’s name on it, but Stretch didn’t bother sneaking a peek. Mystery solves, there was only one person who would’ve had this delivered to their door and he probably made it with his own fuzzy hands. The real question was why that asshole was having flowers sent to his husband, thank you, and the only way to find out if he needed to start making plans to yank out hunks of fur with his bare hands was to ask, with the minimum of simmering jealousy possible.

“babe?” Stretch called. Edge was in the kitchen, making preparations for their new cupboards to be installed next week. “hey, c’mere a minute!”

He’d expected Edge to be pleased, he did like his flowers, heck, maybe even excited in that adorably subdued way he had, and much as Stretch could have done without any surprise packages from Ass-gore in their house, eh, he’d deal with it if they made Edge happy.

The last thing he anticipated was for Edge to stop cold halfway out the kitchen door, the fleeting expression of disgust crossing his face quickly shifting to blankness. Edge wasn’t exactly the most emotive guy out there, but Stretch was pretty good at reading his facial version of charades and right now there wasn’t so much as a twitch of the eye socket or a curl of his mouth as he said, low, “Please put that in the garage.”

“the garage?” Stretch repeated doubtfully. He looked down at the extravagant display of floral dominance in his hands and wondered if he’d heard that right. “you sure?

“Yes, because someone might notice if you put it right into the trash.” That blankness cracked, a little, enough for Edge to snap out, “Just get it out of the damn house!”

Yeah, okay, got that message loud and clear, especially since Edge was starting to look a little glowy around the hands, like he was considering a little impromptu, and violent, floral rearranging. Stretch grabbed up the offending bouquet before it could end up as target practice and shortcutted out into the garage.

Like the rest of the house, it was neat as a pin, no oil stains on this concrete floor and all the tools neatly put away on the pegboard. In the back corner was the motorcycle, shrouded in drop cloths and waiting for Edge to be able to take it out for a spin again. Didn’t seem like putting the flowers anywhere special was part of today’s theme, so Stretch stuffed the thing into the furthest spot, away from Edge’s car so he wouldn’t have to see it when he came out on his way to work tomorrow.

Job successfully achieved, Stretch dusted off his hands and teleported back inside. Edge was already gone from the living room, no surprise there, but he hadn’t gone back to the kitchen. A quick, not-at-all-frantic search found him sitting out on the front porch and that wasn’t really a surprise, either. But the cigarette in his hand? Now that blew past surprise all the way into flabbergasted shock. Far as Stretch knew, Edge hadn’t bummed a smoke in months, his general attitude towards smoking was distaste with extreme prejudice. It took a helluva lot for him to give into the urge for a quick fix to a nicotine craving. Whatever his issues were with the flowers, whether it was the gift or the person who sent them, they were bad.

“babe?” Stretch asked, cautiously, still hovering half in the house. As worried as he was, he wouldn’t push, ready to leave if Edge wanted to be alone.

Edge only shifted the cigarette to his other hand and patted the concrete next to him in silent invitation. A little relieved, Stretch came out and sat down. He dug his own cigarette out of the crumpled pack and the two of them sat hip to hip, quietly smoking. Overhead, the sky was endless sea of deep blue broken only by the occasional streak of a puffy cloud. A nice day, too nice for the unspoken questions hanging heavily in the air, but Stretch didn’t ask them. Edge would talk when he was ready and if he never was, welp, that was fine, too. Edge wasn’t the only one who could be supportive, Stretch was more than willing to take his turn under the weight.

It wasn’t until Edge tamped out his cigarette in the ashtray Stretch kept out on the porch that he spoke.

“I’m sorry,” Edge said finally. “I didn’t mean to snap at you.”

“i think i’ll live, babe,” Stretch replied, dryly, “the wounds were superficial.” He gave Edge a gentle nudge in the side with his elbow. “you okay?”

Yeah, okay, that wasn’t pushing, thanks. Besides, it was a stupid question, because the answer was obviously going to be a ‘yes, fine’ and that’d be it.

Except that he didn’t get the obvious answer he expected.

“Not right now,” Edge said. His sockets were half-closed and instead of their yard, he seemed to be looking miles away. “I will be.” They sat in silence for a while longer, Stretch watching people walking by, waving as required and leaving Edge to his thoughts. He was lighting a second cigarette when Edge finally spoke again, softly. “Golden flowers.” The faint hitch in his voice could’ve meant nothing, if the person he was sitting with didn’t know him so well. “I haven’t seen real golden flowers in years.”

Stretch considered that. “i’m taking it they weren’t sorely missed.”

“Hm?” Crimson eye lights briefly flicked his way. “No, not at all. I hate the blasted things.”

Stretch only took a long drag and exhaled slowly, blowing a smoke ring up into that blue, blue sky. He didn’t ask or urge him to talk, simply being there if he chose to. And Edge did, slowly, as if choosing every word with care. “The only place in Underfell where golden flowers grew was the king’s chamber in New Home. My memories of that place are…not pleasant.”

Not pleasant. Yeah, like lava is a wee bit warmish or the Titanic sprung a little leak. Indisputable truths: water is wet, the sky is blue, grass is green, and any meeting with the king of all Monsters in Underfell was not pleasant.

The explanation made perfect sense, really; if Stretch’d had a minute to actually think about it instead of dividing his attention between ditching the flowers and then finding his wayward husband, he probably would have figured it out on his own. Perfect sense, yep, and that was why Stretch was torn between temptations. First, to grab Edge and hold him close, to keep him there in his arms and do whatever it took to chase away any of the mental ghosts that were creeping in, to be the protector for one damn time. And then there was the equal temptation to take that little flower arrangement on back to the source and see if he could find any handy place to stick it, because right now, he was ready to cram it so far up someone’s fuzzy buns that they’d need their dentist to help get it loose.

But Edge wouldn’t appreciate either of those options. All Stretch could do here was sit here, be here, and hope it was enough.

Stretch was so lost in his thoughts that he startled at the touch of a gloved hand as it settled gently over his bare one, sharp fingertips blunted by fabric lightly stroking his own. “He didn’t know, love. He mentioned to me in passing that he’d started working on floral arrangements again for the summer and that he’d be sending them out to Embassy employees, and I completely forgot.”

Trust Edge to know exactly what direction his thoughts were headed, right off the grid and into a little righteous revenge. Didn’t help that the things Stretch wanted to say to that excuse weren’t exactly helpful. Things like, Asgore should have been able to guess, homey reminders were only good for people who actually liked their past home, and maybe a reminder to pay some fucking attention to anything besides his own personal popularity contest was in order. Or how about suggestion for a visit to emphasis the whole ‘we don’t send my husband any gifts without pre-approval, asshole’.

None of those options were actually useful and either might actually get him banned from the Embassy this time, so Stretch kept ‘em to himself and only said, “i know.”

Then he let out a squawk as that gentle touch on his hand turned into a firm grip around his wrist and he was abruptly yanked over into Edge’s lap. He barely managed to put out his cigarette before it landed anywhere unpleasant. It took a little creative, and occasionally blatant, wriggling to get situated but in the end, he was settled across Edge’s femurs and snuggled in. His own hands were perfectly G-rated, Edge’s only slightly less so but it wasn’t like anyone on the street could see the hand he’d slipped under Stretch’s sweatshirt and settled over his sternum, right where his soul would manifest if he summoned it. Neither of them did, not yet, not out here in front of the broad daylight and the neighbors. The barest suggestion was enough for right now.

“I’m all right,” Edge murmured, and the warmth of his breath against the curve of his jaw was a tempting distraction. But Stretch wasn’t gonna forget to hand over a carefully selected piece of his mind to Asgore the next time he saw him.

Next time fuzzy ass wanted to send a present, he could stick with a gift card.

-finis

[nickgerlich]

Deal Or No Deal

It is no secret that I am a huge fan of bicycling. I was the terror of the south suburbs of Chicago when I was a kid (in my mind, at least). After putting on a little around the middle while at university (I’m blaming all those late-night runs to Burger Chef), I crawled back on in 1983 and now have about 400,000 miles in my legs.

And along the way, I got to know quite a bit about the bicycle industry and its highly fragmented network of independent bicycle dealers (IBDs). It is still the primary retail channel, in spite of recent trends toward small regional chains, corporately-owned stores, and online-only vendors and manufacturers. You can still count on going to your local shop and spending a few hours just shooting the breeze with the wrenches while they work.

Well, when the weather is too bad for riding, that is.

But there are some changes afoot that are causing fear and righteous indignation among IBDs. The biggest brands (like Trek, and the Dutch-owned Pon, which owns the Cervelo and Santa Cruz badges) are buying up more and more dealers. And now Specialized, one of the best-selling names in bicycling, is launching its Rider Direct program next month.

It will now be possible to completely circumvent the IBD, at a time when they are still trying to recover from stock-outs during COVID. Those same IBDs saw their sales skyrocket at the beginning of the lock down, as people turned to exercise to pass time. But they could not replenish their stocks.

The new program offers cyclists a variety of options. They can still peruse the fleet online, and then either go to their local IBD or use the website’s locator to find who has your chosen steed in stock.

But that’s where the IBD starts getting pushed out of the picture, at least in part. Shoppers can buy their bike and have it delivered straight to their home, with only minor assembly required. Or, if they lack basic mechanic skills, have it delivered to their local IBD, who will do the work and receive 50% of their normal margin. Finally, there’s a white glove option, whereby the IBD will do the assembly, fitting, and delivery to your door, and get 75% of the standard margin.

Before we move on, we should note that these are all pricey bikes. It takes about $2000 just to get into this sport, and you can drop $10K pretty fast if you’re not careful. IBDs have traditionally been able to get about a 35% profit margin on bikes. But accessory items normally have at least a 50% margin. They thus make a lot of add-on profit when the customer buys their bike in the shop, because they need extra tubes, bottle cages, bottles, seat post bag, pedals, etc. Oh yeah. Bikes these days don’t come with pedals, because there are too many varieties on the market, and every cyclist has their favorite.

I should also mention that the real money in this business, though, is not from selling bikes and accessories. It’s in repair work. I have a friend in New Jersey with a bike shop, and he reports that a full 60% of his revenues come from wrenching.

IBDs are indeed nervous about getting cut out of 50-100% of their margin with the new program. They depend on customers coming in to buy their bikes and accessories, as well as just hanging out and talking about biking. It’s part of the culture.

With COVID sliding more and more into the rear view, I suspect there will be a slew of lightly-used bikes on CraigsList, Facebook Marketplace, and elsewhere as people resume their old ways of life, meaning little or no exercise. And if Specialized is handling the transaction on new bikes, those blended options that still involve the IBD are zero risk for the local shop. They do not have to have money tied up in inventory. Sure, there’s a loss on potential revenue, but then again, there’s no cost of capital to stock a bike in the first place.

Given Specialized’s market power (they are in third place with 9.5% share), IBDs are not exactly in a place to complain. Brand exclusives are granted for specified territories, and Specialized is one you don’t want to let slip away. Specialized didn’t ask the IBDs last week what they thought about this. They simply told them it’s coming. As in take it or leave it.

I see a tidal shift coming in the bike biz. Local shops will implicitly be discouraged from holding much inventory, which is a very important function in the sales process. Far more important than trying on clothes or shoes, taking a bike for a test ride is critical. It’s the only way to find out if it’s for you. “Try before you buy” is not limited to just apparel and dating.

And I’ll stop right there with the comparisons.

Local shops will become the place you go for accessories and repairs, and of these, what’s to stop Specialized from just going consumer-direct on all the add-ons as well? Maybe Specialized will pay IBDs to become catalog showrooms. It would be a nice compromise.

All I know is I have a lot of fond memories from nearly 40 years in this sport, and hanging out at the shop on snowy days. I don’t want to see the IBDs go away. E-commerce may have killed the book stores, record stores, and the like, but please don’t do it to bikes. I still have a lot of miles left in my legs.

Dr “Ride On” Gerlich

Audio Blog

[danddymaro]

Death Stranding | Sweet Façade

Pairing : Higgs monaghan X Reader // Sam Bridges x Reader

First part : Stay

Previous: Goodbye

Again, this is  just a little direction I want to go;  a little idea that pathed it’s own way.

Thoughts are italics in quotations = ‘Example’

Flashbacks are in italics = Example

Wordcount: 3066

Sweet Façade

Small globs of rain descended from the gloomy sky as a calm shower of precipitation stretched out for miles, something which didn't bother the calm male as he coolly made his way into the shelter, brushing off the bits of moisture that stuck to his shoulders with his gloved hands.

“ Package for miss (f/n) (l/n),” the arriving porter said aloud, his voice bouncing off the walls of the safe enclosure as he stepped forward, all while detaching the special package from his backpack,

“Hello? Anyone here?” He questioned loudly before he stepped right before the access terminal, placing his other hand out to utilize it, waiting a total of three minutes before he received a response back,

"Hello?" greeted a woman’s voice, sounding huffy and breathy, having just run through her little underground home to greet him. 

Before him a holograph appeared, the moving image of the young, (h/c) haired woman greeting him,

“Did you say package?” She said with surprise, her brows raised high as her eyes seemed peeled wide, “For me?” She added with apparent curiosity, all while pointing a single index towards herself.

At the question, she watched as his gloved index finger trail beneath the letters of her name, sounding them out with a sure nod. 

He wore a sweet smile as he addressed her, "(F/n) (L/n), That's you right?" He asked, his liquid blue eyes raised up to her, glued to her artificial image with unmistakable fascination.

Despite the knowing fact that she was simply just a hologram, the porter had trouble straying his eyes anywhere else. Selfishly, he swallowed her whole, not having a mind for anything else but the (e/c) eyed beauty manifested before him.

Oblivious, (f/n) remained calm, not having an idea as to how intensely the man eyed her, nor was she aware of the merriment that shone within his blue crystals as the white cap he wore obscured a good portion of his face.

She did, however, notice his growing smile, and catching onto the subtle curl of his lips she mirrored him, nodding. 

Smiling gently in return she responded, “That's me,” she told him with a firm nod, " But I wasn't expecting anything," she said with a bit of confusion, still offering him the pleasant upturn nonetheless.

" Oh?" He said back to her, his eyes finding hers, staring right at her image with surprised, widened orbs. "That's pretty weird, cause the name here is yours," he said tapping the container, " This is also your location," he added as he placed the package down, a sure grin on his face as he waited for her to receive it.

‘You’ll just love it,’ He thought to himself, certain. ‘I just know it...Just like I know you…’

"Ok, let's see," He heard her mutter as she came down to it, inspecting it with the curiosity of a kitten.

She then opened it carefully, not sure what to expect at first. 

It wasn’t like she didn’t trust the porter, she had no reason to, but still, she was somewhat skeptical.

‘I didn’t order anything,’ She told herself, ‘in fact, it’s rather strange he’s  even made it all the way here,’ She mused, ‘Given the storm and all,’ she went on.

She had doubts, however, the moment her eyes landed on the contents within the secured case, her eyes grew wide, glimmering with absolute joy,

‘Could it be?’ She wondered, swallowing hard, her hand gently skimming over the surface of the hardcovered book.

Stunned, she stared down at the item with stillness before she gave an unexpected jump, a literal hop full of glee that surprised the man,

" I can't believe this!" She said with astonishment , pressing the small booklet close to her chest, twirling around happily. She held it with adoration as she beamed at the porter, unable to hide all the giddiness she felt,

  "You have no idea what this means to me!" She said happily.

  He watched her, his head slightly cocking to the side as he watched the woman gleam, a joy so sweet and pure worn out on display, that he felt it was a shame not many people could get a chance at such a lovely sight.

 He'd never felt his chest hurt so much, and with such sweetness nonetheless,

‘It’s only when I think about you,’ He thought with a shake to his head. 'That's the only time this happens,' He added, wanting to press her hand to his chest so she could feel the heavy bouncing for herself, just so she’d understand how intensely he felt for her.

(e/c) colored eyes seemed so warm and sweet, being windows to a heart he wanted to hold and claim, one that he was certain was deserving of everything lovely the world had left to give,

‘Sweetheart,’ he mused, ‘I’d snatch up what’s left of the world just to give it to you... If it'd make you smile just like that, I wouldn't hesitate.' He silently assured her.

She was like an innocent, little butterfly walking right along his bloodied palm,

careless and free, small and beautiful…

Of course, the lovely, delicate creature didn't know the malicious danger she was in. She was unsuspecting as such, naively crawling over his mercy, trusting in his words and his convincing façade.

He knew who he was, what he was capable of, and with the same little perk to his mouth, he wondered what would take place,

Just how would their love take course?

Would he simply crush her? Unintentionally, would he end up destroying her just as he had a habit to do so to many other things in his life?

‘If you’d be mine, would I somehow ruin you? ’ He thought with a touch of sadness,

Or

Would he adore her so much as to keep her in a glass jar? Far away from everyone else, safely hidden away until only he knew where she was being kept,

‘How long would I have to hide you?’ He wondered, knowing that somewhere along the line he’d be challenged,

‘Eventually, he’ll come looking for you,’ He thought with a little huff of amusement, one so small, the woman had ignored it, not paying it any mind.

‘I know I would. I’d go crazy trying to find you again,’

"Where did you even find this?" (f/n) asked, astonished. " I'd lost hope I'd ever see this again," she said, continuing to hug the small booklet, looking down at the porter with open ears.

“ I know we haven't met personally, but I come here frequently,” He informed her, not entirely lying because he did make frequent deliveries to her as a freelance porter.

However, as of late, he’d been busy with Amelie,

 ‘And her bullshit,’ He thought annoyed.

In fact, he made sure he was the only one that ever really got through,

‘I make an attempt at it,’ He thought with more annoyance, knowing that somehow, Sam bridges made it through to her,

‘Every...single...time.

Somehow Bridges gets a hold of you.’ He added with disdain.

“Anyways, I was just going along with my normal deliveries and I happened to come across it," he further explained, " I've also got some fuel here for you, seems like it's an old order you'd made a month back that just never made it's way here. I  figured  I'd drop it off  to you, and maybe get the chance to finally greet you," He said with a small chuckle, causing her to release one of her own,

"Oh my gosh, I'm so sorry!" She said with true regret evident, even through her little giggle. " Even moreso, Thank you!" she added, 

" It's taken too long for us to meet each other then, " She added while shaking her head.

"Entirely," He added softly, agreeing.

Carefully setting the book aside, she continued to happily chat with the man,

"From the bottom of my heart, I'd like to thank you for your service, " She said with gratitude, wishing she had something else to offer him other than a meager ‘thanks.’

"Oh no, no please!" He fretted, both hands set before him, "I don't do this to get praised, you're making me blush," he added, keeping the little grin she wore alive.

“Um, hey, If you don’t mind me asking,” he started, “ what is it? " He asked, sounding interested, speaking in regards to the booklet she'd earlier pressed against her bosom. 

"What was in the package? It must have been something real important to you, given your reaction," he said with a hint of tease in his tone.

Glowing pink she bowed her head with embarrassment, thinking of how silly she seemed with her little squealing and twirling,

"I'm sorry you had to see that," She muttered with embarrassment, hiding her face within her hands.

 'Are you kidding me?' He thought to himself, 'Baby, you're killing me... being so damn cute with me...'

 "If it makes you feel better, it made my day," he said amused, causing her to release a little groan, "Nooo…"

"I'll remember this day for a long time," he added, causing her to throw her head back, "Stop it!" She whined, continuing to laugh.

It’d been the first time in weeks she’d laughed, so much so, she’d forgotten she even had the ability to do so. 

"I'm kidding, I'm kidding," He told her, "but it is a nice pick me up," He added, not lying at all. 

"Really?" she said with a placid, little pleasant smile taking over as she settled down from her little fit, "How?" She asked with a shake to her head, wondering how her strange outburst could have ever made anyone's day.

"Defiantly. Being stuck out there in this gloomy weather all day,  you're smile feels like the sun," he beamed, causing her face to instantly burn as the words reached her.

"customers like you are the best," he added, loving how easy it was to cause her to fluster. "So I should be thanking you," He continued on, knowing just what he was doing, slipping in little teases masked by convincing innocence.

"Anyways, the book," he pointed out, making (f/n) snap out of her little daze, 

" Oh," She said while calming, " This book...It's actually just a mess of things," she confessed, instantly smiling so hard her eyes were squeezed together.

"it's stupid...really," she muttered with the same cute upturn that had him swooning.

The booklet was full of pressed flowers and leaves, along with  little pictures she'd taken, as well as a written page here and there that were coupled with meaningless, little doodles on every other page.

 It wasn't much, probably worthless trash to others, but a treasure to her, holding memories and sweet moments, all the things she never wanted to forget.

"I guess you could say it's like an old diary of mine," she explained, not going into much more detail before their conversation was interrupted by a loud-sounding crash outside the enclosure.

It was then that a harsh banging sound spread across the field outside, traveling into her home in a violent boom, startling her. A sharp gasp left her as she looked up to her ceiling with a tremor raking her entire body.

Heavy rain continued to fall, all sounding stronger than it had a few minutes prior, and at the recognition of the large, vicious goblets attacking her structure, her gaiety ceased in its entirety, (dark/light) eyebrows creased up with worry as she cringed at the strong downpour that crashed over the roof of her little home.

She could hear it echoing even from her safe enclosure, knowing that just outside, it disintegrated everything it smothered.

'Again with this endless downpour ;  Again with another storm, ' she thought with a mix of bitterness and sadness, because yet again she thought of the traveling porter whose name had become infamous now.

Connecting the world…

Bringing everyone together…

Through blood and sweat; Through harsh breaths and slim escape as well, he did it all.

'I hope you're not out there right now… stuck somewhere with those monsters,' she thought with a forelone expression placed over her. 'that merciless rain that takes everything it touches…the same one that won’t hesitate to take you as well,’ she added as she felt her heart race, anxiousness clawing at the walls within the muscle.

'Please...Please be safe,' She thought while a dark cloud loomed over her.

Meanwhile, the man outside watched, his eyes fixed on her saddened expression, his gaze softened as he looked on to what he considered to be a true gem, because even as she began to grow sullen, she was a charming sight,

'Downright breathtaking,’ he thought astounded.

If only he could run his fingers through those strands of (h/c), and not just that, but coo sweet words close to her ear to lure yet another smile from her.

He’d give anything for another one of those wide grins, much more to see the previously settled cute, little color find it's way onto her sweet face.

'Anything,' He thought while lovestruck. ‘ I’d give anything to do so,’ he added.

' But for now, I have to go. ' he thought with a pout, unloading the rest of the lost cargo he mentioned earlier, sending it through to her.

“Well I should be heading off,” he said with a small wave, causing her to stare wide-eyed, her mouth hanging open at his sudden leave.

'The damn storm is picking up,' She told herself, 'And he just up and leaves?!' she added worriedly.

“Hey! Wait Just a minute!” She cried out, her voice laced with alarm, “ Don't tell me you plan on going out there like that," she said with concern, her hand reaching out to him as a natural response despite the fact that they were in separate rooms, not anywhere near for her to grip him back. 

He looked back at her with a half-smile, his blue eyes staring dead at her startled expression. Grimacing, he spoke, "I think I don't have a choice do I ? besides it's my job," he told her with dismissiveness towards his own well-being, something that astounded her.

"I had just planned to drop off your deliveries and be off, " He told her, " But I got so caught up talking to you, I lost track of time, " He explained, " I should have left a long time ago!" He said shaking his head, seeming disappointed with himself.

"Anyways, don't worry about me mam," he said pulling up a boyish grin while mock saluting her by using his pointer and middle finger, "You just stay safe," he added, not really wanting to leave, but of course not having any other choice.

 It would have been easy for him to simply take her, singlehandedly destroying everything that got in his path from doing so, but he’d decided that with her, he wasn’t taking that risk.

  'He's crazy,' (f/n) thought to herself, jumping at a particularly loud clap from outside her thick, protective walls.

She then better lip tightly,

 Thinking...

Contemplating…

 'What if something happens to him? 

What if he gets caught up in that storm? ‘ 

And much worse, 

‘ What if he never makes it back?' She wondered distressed,

'if any of that were to happen, I wouldn't ever be able to live it down,' she told herself.

He bothered to bring back some lost package, something she'd forgotten already, all because he thought it mattered, coming through what were probably the worst conditions to travel, and much more that that he’d been loyally delivering cargo to her for a long time now.

“ Hey…” she uttered softly, sounding small uncertain at first, swallowing the heavy clump in her throat.

“ You can stay here,” she told him, growing more confident, “ There's a vacant room here that you can use,” she added, nodding with more assurance as she saw him halt in his steps.

“ You can use it if you want or, at the very least stay until the rain stops.” she offered, “That's all I ask of you,” she added, hoping he’d accept. "As far as I know, there's nothing out there to hide under...no other shelters in sight either. " she reminded him.

He then turned back to her, a grateful smile adorning him being a mask to hide the snide that lay beneath.

“You’d do that just for me?” he asked her, eyeing the melting worry that was over her face. As he seemed to contemplate the suggestion, she relaxed her shoulders dropping and her (e/c) eyes brightening.

" Please? At least until this clears up," She said lowly, nodding.

 “You’ve done enough for me already, believe or not,” she further explained, “ I haven't seen another person in what feels like forever. And I know traveling through this area has gotten very difficult. But you did so...All in order to hand me some lost cargo I had honestly given up on finding." She said astounded,

"Not only that, but you also brought me some essential supplies, " She added.

" You risked your life for me when you could have very well walked away at any given moment, especially when the first storm hit. " She rambled on,

" So please," she said again, clasping her hands together, "Please Stay. Take it as a token of my gratitude seeing as I have nothing more to offer you," She bargained.

  ‘Truly….Truly  I am smitten,’ he thought to himself, all while nodding, pretending to be defeated by her plea.

 "Just until then," he said quietly, "I wouldn't' want to impose,"

" But you're not!" She said hastily, "Believe me, you're not!" she said giggling, waving him off.

 Eagerly nodding she went to open the door, “ Just come in," she responded back, all of which was a mistake of course, but how was she to know?

How could she have guessed that the man she invited in her home was none other than the same terrorist in the golden mask both feared and hated by mass populations ; 

 Higgs Monaghan.

 She reached out for him, her hand circling around his wrist, tugging him inside, the sudden coldness of the outside world hitting her hard before she was back within the warm safety of her home with him following in suit.

"come on," she persuaded, anxiously as she heard just how vicious the wind blew.

Safely inside he watched her, eyes fixed on the back of her head, the (h/c) hair making his fingers twitch.

They were loose, the (long/short) strands bouncing with each step she took, teasing him with their bouncing movements,

'My dear...sweet... (f/n),' Higgs mused, head over heels for the woman, mad with desire,

 'I can't wait to have you all...to...myself.' 

Next : Open Heart

A/N: I fixed it. I hadn’t slept for a whole day when i completed this and I just knew I let a lot of stuff slip me. Have you ever been awake, but not awake? It’s an experience.

[whiteglovedc]

[lady-divine-writes]

Kurtbastian one-shot “Where the Ice Grows” (Rated PG13)

Summary: Now that Kurt is free from his self-imposed prison, he wants to move on with his life, try to go back to the future he had dreamed of all throughout high school. But he's known only fear for so long, he doesn't know how to move forward.

He doesn't know how to grow. (1875 words)

Notes: So just to recap, in Special Delivery, we're seeing Kurt and Sebastian travel the country, retracing the footsteps of Sebastian's childhood, the trips his mother took him and his brother on, while Kurt tries to come to grips with the future. This is from their trip to Vail.

Read on AO3.

Kurt eyed the gray mare suspiciously, then his boyfriend, who stroked the horse's nose, murmuring soothing sentiments.

“You really expect me to get on this animal?” Kurt asked. And Sebastian chuckled, delighted at how perfect a snob his boyfriend sounded.

“Yup. The place we’re going is too far to walk, especially in the snow.”

Kurt climbed the pair of wooden steps a portly stablehand brought him, the cheerful man helping Kurt get his balance before instructing him how to mount the mare. “Is the goal of this trip to make me suffer?”

“Nope.” Sebastian watched Kurt hoist himself onto the horse’s back with the grace of a seasoned rider. He shot Kurt an accusatory look. “You say you’ve never ridden a horse before?”

“N-not once.” Kurt's voice shook, looking leery as the mare shuffled forward and back, getting used to the weight of her new rider. "But I've mounted other things ..." 

Kurt meant to follow up with a story about how a good friend from high school, Brittany, had taken him and Finn to motocross once. She'd said he was a natural after he climbed on his bike. That was, of course, before his epically embarrassing crash seconds later. But Kurt didn't, stuttering to a halt, his mouth hanging open as his comment registered. The stablehand sputtered, and Sebastian shook his head, grinning so hard, it looked painful.

"I'm not touching that one," Sebastian said, mounting his Arabian – a sleek black stallion that looked as if it had been born to run. And Sebastian definitely had the seat of a natural-born rider. His parents probably made him take lessons when he was younger, Kurt thought. Wasn't that what the uber-wealthy did? Kurt wondered if there were horses on the Smythe estate. The subject didn't come up when he was there, but he wouldn't be surprised. 

Sebastian seemed so at ease on his stallion. Kurt didn't know for sure, but he didn't think his mare liked him too much, the way she snuffled when he tried to speak to her, tossed her head and shook her mane when he attempted to pet her. He was certain that she would have preferred Sebastian as a rider, what with the rapport they'd been building, and felt cheated getting stuck with Kurt.

Sebastian looked at his boyfriend, rigidly seated in his saddle, trying so hard for Sebastian’s sake. Kurt had been such a good sport during their trip, patiently following Sebastian on his every whim, to every bizarre, touristy, or even hidden locale Sebastian dragged him to.

Little did Kurt know (because Sebastian had yet to tell him) this ride through the hills on their rented horses was less about recapturing Sebastian’s childhood and more about Kurt.

About the spark that had started to extinguish in his eyes.

For weeks, Sebastian sat and watched Kurt in bed, at his desk, on the couch, with his sketch pad opened to an empty page, pencil pinched between his fingertips - sitting, staring, but not drawing. Kurt had wanted a stab at going back, retracing his steps, living the life he felt he was meant to have. But roadblocks had thrown themselves in his path. Unexpected ones. Obstacles of self-doubt.

It hurt Sebastian to watch the frustration, the pain, the disappointment on Kurt’s face every night as he packed up his sketch pad and surrendered to sleep.

“Remember to have them back here before the sun sets. That's in two hours,” the caretaker, Mabel - a husky woman dressed in denim overalls, a quilted coat, and thick, rubber boots - commanded. “Once the sun goes behind the mountains, the temperature will plummet.”

“That’s more time than we need,” Sebastian assured her. With a click of his tongue, Kurt and Sebastian left the stable, making their way up the hillside towards a spot Sebastian found years ago with his mom, and quite by accident. 

Kurt’s mare followed Sebastian’s stallion - a good thing since Kurt had no interest in controlling his horse whatsoever. Nor could he, his hands gripping the reins so tightly, they were digging through his gloves. He did his best to relax, watch the scenery pass, as the beast trodded along. 

He would love to come back during the summer. During this time of year, everything was basically white on white with more white. The snow and ice-covered landscape surrounding them was so overwhelmingly white, Kurt thought he might go blind. Everything looked identical covered in its blanket of snow. Depth perception didn’t exist here. A tree fifty yards away looked like it was growing right next to him. 

It was disorienting. 

Sebastian stopped his horse, waiting as Kurt caught up. He reached into his jacket pocket, pulled out a black glasses case, and handed it to Kurt.

“Here. These will help.”

"Thank you." Kurt popped the case open. The glasses were Gucci because of course they were. Kurt chuckled. He wasn't complaining about Sebastian's incredible wealth. Not by a long shot. But it struck him as funny considering the financial state Sebastian was in when the two of them met: his cruddy apartment with the broken heater and his shower that drooled water; his burner phone; how he rode the bus everywhere. Now he was pulling five-hundred-dollar sunglasses out of his pocket like they were Kleenex.

Kurt slid the frames onto his nose. He felt ridiculous wearing sunglasses while riding a horse like a way-too-chic-for-words drunk cowboy. But once he saw the world through the tinted lenses, he didn’t care how he looked. They lessened the glare, changed his aspect, and he could see correctly again. He could finally appreciate the snow-covered wilderness for its desolate beauty.

Desolate.

That’s how everything looked.

Just like so many other places they had visited.

Kurt was beginning to sense a pattern.

Sebastian brought his horse to a stop beside a small cluster of trees, tying the reins to a sturdy branch before helping Kurt do the same. Sebastian took a moment to hold Kurt in his arms, missing the press of their bodies together during the long ride. He'd originally wanted them to ride double, but with the cold and the climb, he worried about the horse’s back. So he opted for singles instead. He had rented the mare for Kurt because the stablehand told him she was the calmest animal they had.

It also didn’t hurt that her name happened to be Elizabeth.

“Do you have some obsession with these desolate landscapes?” Kurt asked. “Because we seem to visit a lot of them.”

“Desolate?” Sebastian chuckled, his warm breath burning the frozen tips of Kurt’s ears. “Is that all you see?”

"Well ... kind of. Yeah," Kurt said guiltily, suddenly feeling like he was missing something obvious. But obvious to Sebastian didn't mean obvious to Kurt.

Sebastian took Kurt’s gloved hand and led him the rest of the way up the hillside, stopping at a ledge overlooking a large lake. They stopped as close to the edge as Sebastian dared go. He held Kurt in front of him, arms wrapped securely around Kurt’s waist. The land below them seemed to stretch out for miles, but the lake looked close enough to touch. Icicles covered everything. They decorated the branches of the trees, glittering in the afternoon sunlight.

The sun, too, seemed close enough for Kurt to reach up and grab in both hands, but he couldn’t feel its warmth on his face. It was a strange combination of intense beauty and intense sadness.

“Oh God,” Kurt breathed. “It’s beautiful! Like some fairy tale wonderland! But why are we here?”

Sebastian sighed. He could feel the sadness seeping out of Kurt, even as he gazed around him in awe. He had locked himself behind an iron gate for so long. Now that he had his freedom, he didn’t know how to handle it.

“You’re so frightened, gorgeous,” Sebastian said, mouth hovering close to Kurt’s ear. ”Of life. Of failing. You think you’re broken, that that's all you are. So you’re stuck in a place where you can’t look back, and you can’t move forward. That’s why you can’t create.”

Kurt froze. He didn't think Sebastian was paying that close attention.

He wondered how long ago he'd noticed.

“You’ve sort of become your own desolate landscape,” Sebastian continued. “So beautiful, so full of potential, but …”

“So, you’re trying to get me to see the beauty in desolate landscapes." Kurt sniffled. "But you pretty much proved my point.”

“What do you mean?”

“The Salton Sea, Death Valley, here … there’s tons of beauty, but nothing new grows. Animals survive in those places; they don’t live. Plants maintain, but nothing worthwhile blooms.”

“Are you sure about that? Or could it be that your scope of what type of growth is worthy of notice is a little narrow?”

Kurt turned his head to look at Sebastian, confusion clouding his eyes. “I don’t understand.”

“I think I’ll let our landscape here do the explaining for me.” 

"What on earth does ...?"

"Shhh." Sebastian raised a finger to his lips. “Listen …” 

The two men stood quietly, listening to the sounds of nature around them. But as far as Kurt could tell, there were none. The wind didn’t blow. No animals scurried among the bushes and trees, nor crunched in the snow. Not a single bird flew. The only sound Kurt could hear was a faint crackling and popping coming from the direction of the lake.

“I'm sorry. I don’t get it,” Kurt said finally.

“What do you hear?” Sebastian asked.

“I don’t know. I hear … uh … Rice Krispies Cereal?”

Sebastian kissed the back of Kurt’s head. “That’s it!” he said as if Kurt had just told him the secret of the universe.

Kurt shrugged. “I still …”

“Kurt, I tell you to look for growth, and you automatically think of trees, flowers, grass …”

Kurt nodded. "Duh."

“But there is none of that here. Not right now. It’s all hidden under the snow. But one thing here does grow, is growing as we speak. And that’s the noise you heard.”

“Then do you mind cluing me in? Because I’m at a loss.”

“The ice.” Sebastian leaned a cheek against Kurt’s hair. Kurt shivered, moved back closer to him. “Up here where the snow covers everything, the ice is growing.”

"What?" Kurt gasped, peeking out over the ledge from the safety of Sebastian’s embrace. 

“Didn’t expect that, did you, gorgeous?”

Kurt shook his head, staring down at the ice-covered water, at a loss for words.

“You can still create, Kurt,” Sebastian whispered. “It’s in you. You just have to learn to do it in unexpected ways.”

Kurt thought about what Sebastian said as they rode the rest of the way down the hillside, straining to hear the snapping of the ice on the water over the crunching of snow beneath the horses’ hooves. He sat in quiet contemplation the whole way back to the hotel. That evening, after a long, hot shower and dinner in their room, Kurt took out his sketch pad and began to draw. Sebastian fell asleep that night to the sound of Kurt’s charcoal pencil scratching feverishly over the heavy paper, at peace, with a smile on his face.

[helpinghanikan]

One and Only (SoulMate Au)

X-men x Reader

Sum: Soulmates happen no matter who or what you are. 

AN: Picture was found using google, credit to OG making when I find them 

Charles Xavier: Meter of how dangerous

           Past college age it’s pretty accepted that nobody cares about their soulmate or their meter. The only people that really care are those that are 120% sure they have their soulmate. Even then it’s impossible to be sure until one dies and the others meter slams down to zero like a knife in your heart.

           People who still cared about their meter were the absolute worst.

           “Look how tough my soulmate is, they could beat your any day!” And this was said by the husband of the wrestler. Saying this with a smug face while you just smiled back.

           All you had to do was hold up your wrist and that smug face dropped like a beautiful rock.  

           The average number of the populations meter was five or below. Less then twenty percent reach over six and less then five reach ten. You are in that five, even from a young age everyone you showed it to assumed you had just drawn over it. More then one teacher forcing you scrub the area with soap to make sure you weren’t lying.

           Just like everyone else you stopped caring about the number after college. Instead focusing on your teachings and the new school where you were officially the only non-mutant teacher at Xavier’s school for gifted youngsters. Not thinking about that little number until almost two years, and well over establishment of relationship, later. Rubbing your thumb over the number and looking between it and Xavier still looking over papers.

           “Can I see your wrist?” You ask, sitting on the edge of his desk, having gotten bored with waiting for him to pay attention to you.

           Still writing with one hand he holds out the other without looking away from his papers. His arm stretches out for you to hold it, rubbing your thumb over little three etched in black. Placing your wrist next to his, the ten next to the three and looking back and forth between them.

           “I doubt it will change with you staring at it.” Charles says after a few seconds.

           It’s usually not until after marriage that you even consider someone is your soulmate. Avoiding saying it out loud you instead say: “Do you think I’m tough?”

           He hesitates and that’s never good.

           “You’re tough on the students.” He finally says.

           “Yeah, but am I like, fighting tough?” You ask.

           He hesitates again. He’s such a jerk.

           “The students say you’re tough but good.” He finally says. He’s a lying jerk.

Erik Lehnsherr: meter of how in danger

           Since you can remember the little number on your wrist has never gone down below a seven. Rubbing your thumb in soap and water never helped in removing the number, drawing over it with a marker was just sad.

           It was your “friend’s fault that you had gone running to the teacher the first time the little marker hit ten. She looked over your shoulder and said, “they’re gonna die” right in your ear. At that young age it probably didn’t occur to them that there was anything wrong. Instead just watching you run to the teacher sobbing. Even so, you didn’t really hang out with them after that.

           Also, after that incident long sleeves and bracelets were all the rage. Keep your wrists turned down, keep the thought of your soulmate out of your mind and away from your present. Only checking it once a day, when it stayed high that slowed down to once a week. By high school it was monthly.

           By this point in your life it’s stayed at a constant nine, best not to think about it.

 Raven/ Mystique: heterochromia

            It was a scene out of a bad teen movie. Both you and Raven sitting cross legged on the bed facing each other. She stares into your eyes, flicking back and forth between your natural and the yellow that matched her’s.

           “Okay, okay, hold on.” Raven talks like a little girl talking to her new puppy.

           She never really had to concentrate to change her appearance. Staring into your eyes, her own changing slightly until it was created into hazel. Based on the smile that decorated her face your eye had changed at the same time.

           With her mutation Raven didn’t have the same effect on her eyes as the rest of the world. Her body naturally wanting to be even on both sides, giving the impression that she either had a soulmate who could also change their eyes or didn’t have any at all.

           It wasn’t until an off notice that she ever realized she had one.

           A mirror is held up next to Raven’s head. Looking at yourself at the same time she could look at you. A giant grin and one too hazel eye looks back at you. Raven laughing at the same time you did.

           “Now go back,” You say, a high from excitement.

           “Go back to what?” She asks.

           “Yellow, go back to what it is natural.” You say. Gently pushing her sitting for as encouragement. “Come on.”

           You were probably one of maybe a handful of humans who understands what she was going through. Having to live your same young life with a constant changing face and eyes. Being mocked until reflective sunglasses became a regular piece of your wardrobe.

           You were either still too giddy about this interaction or didn’t realize what you had asked. Either way Raven took a second before complying. Her grin wasn’t as wide as it was before, but she still smiled at yours.

Peter Maximoff: Share the same fingerprint

           Your leg is bouncing so hard the table is going to vibrate right through the floor. For the first half an hour in here you were left alone. Listening to the metal table bang and tang against the floor until the first officer came in.

           “I want a lawyer!” You immediately demand, banging the table once more with the top of your thighs. Practically knocking the whole table over.

           “Calm down and sit down.” She says pointing at you with a file, “You’re not under arrest, Ma’am. I just have a few questions.”

           Madam officer is nicer then you expected. The usual tactic was for the first officer to come in guns blazing, acting angry as a badger, slamming files and barking orders. It was the second cop that would be the nice one; apologizing for their partner and asking if you were okay. This time you got the kindness without being bullied.

           “There have been several break ins at stores and museums in the past few years.” She explains. “Some goods were stolen, and they were all by the same person. A dumb-ass who doesn’t know to wear gloves.”

           “I literally just got off the plane, this is my first time in the state.” You immediately say.

           “Oh, I know, I know. We’re taking you for this. Unless you were a sprinter in high school.” She says with a closed mouth smile. Holding up a blurred picture that was nothing but a gray smudge in a black and white still. “We just want to know; do you know who your soulmate is?”

           Just like the idea of a mother’s instinct there was an assumption that everyone is protective of their soulmates. Even when you don’t know who you were meant to be with there was a serious about them coming to harm.

           “No, what was even stolen?” You ask.

           She sighs deeply and holds up a list. “Uh, pop, a souvenir bear, the bathroom sign and almost completely cleared the gift shop of any candy.” She says, tossing the paper back down.

           “Are you sure you weren’t robbed by a twelve-year-old?” Your arms cross in annoyance.

           The officer was toying with her wedding ring. Watching you start to shut down. “We all can’t get lucky with who we’re destined for.

           “And we all can’t be lucky in knowing who we’re destined for.” You almost snap back. “Look, I don’t know who he is, I haven’t met them yet. And since I’m not under arrest I bid you a good day.”

           “Can you try not to leave the state, we might need you again.” She calls after you.

           “Not under arrest, ma’am!” You call back.

           Being new in the state you had to call for a car. Sitting perched next to the police sign, a leg swinging back and forth. The wind picks up to a hundred miles in second and dies in another.

           A little bear still it’s tags left by your side.

Hank McCoy: Color for the first time

           It was a gentle touch that he didn’t notice until glass shattered around your feet. He was too focused on the microscope in front of him to worry about a delivery girl accidentally catching his hand.

           It was anybody’s guess what he was looking at. Probably some DNA that was naturally black and white, he wouldn’t see the whole world of new colors until he looked up.

           In every movie when the soulmates meet there is a second of silence before they quickly grab each other. More then half of the movie would then be each soulmate trying to describe color to their respective friends and family.

           Instead all that came out was; “Sorry, I dropped your-. The sample, fuck, I’m sorry. Hi.”

           He was equally as useless. “I can-I’ll make new ones.” He says, both of your looking down to the liquid that was now obviously purple compared tot eh gray it had been before. “I’m Hank,” He finally says.

           You go to say your own name, he says it at the same time.

           “I’ve read your name tag when you deliver them,” He explains. “Sorry, I haven’t introduced myself before.”

           A small laugh comes out of your mouth. “Could have saved us a lot of time if you did.”

           He laughs at the same level. “You weren’t jumping over things to shake my hand either.”

           “And take away my chance to break stuff?” You say, gently nudging the broken glass.

 Jean Gray: Timer for when your soulmate will die

           There is no better feeling then looking down at your wrist and seeing literal years in neon green numbers. They dwindle down by seconds, stare long enough and it goes down into minutes. Nothing to worry about, though. Jean still has years and years, so much so that you don’t bother covering it up with bracelets or sleeves like most do.

           It’s such a common fashion choice to cover that wrist you didn’t notice Jean did the same. Keeping a firm hand over her wrist to keep the bracelets from slipping, even though nobody would have seen it.

           After you found each other there was no point in asking how much time you had left. A recent poll showed that over eighty percent of people (taking away any factors) would/have lied to their soulmate about how much time they have left. The small percent that did only would because their mate had decades left.

           Jean was in that eighty percent. Refusing to say how much time you had left, in turn you refusing to say either. Taking it as a joke instead of anything serious, even though Jean refused to touch you with that side of her.

           It was only a few months after finding each other that she started to hang around you more and more. The word “clingy” was even used after a few weeks. Not that it stopped her, instead her making jokes that possibly you were following her and that you just happened to know ahead of time.

           Subtle weird behavior is never noticeable until after it’s pointed out. Your mutual friends being kind enough to pull her away for the night. Long enough for you to get away to the store. You loved her, but it was nice to buy some oranges without being hovered over. That your phone kept blowing up did nothing to deter your mission.

           It wasn’t uncommon for one of the team to hit you up when they have one too many drinks. Determined to keep you as much in the loop as everyone in the room. If you had answered you’d likely be given narration of a board game gone violent for the rest of your shopping trip. It’d be better to wait until you get back; hear the narration over a nice glass of wine and your woman leaning against you.

           It didn’t occur that there’d be another reason until the barrel was staring you down. A distant order to “get down” being heard too late to obey.  

 Logan/ Wolverine: Red string of fate

           People always described that stuff in different ways; a long stretch of light, silk ribbons or actual bolts of sparking lightening. No matter how people described it, they were all red in just as varying colors; some call it wine or blood, one particularly creative bartender called it “like a whore’s lipstick before work.”

           Logan had never seen that stuff. Either brushing it off or just not participating in the conversation. For awhile he held his ring finger up to the light, maybe his ribbon was something thinner then dental floss, maybe even thin as hair and barely visible by the strands owner themselves. Eventually he stopped holding up his hand, even later he didn’t even care.

           Forty years and three shots of the hard stuff later and he’s finally looking at his hand again. That little line of red wasn’t there a second ago. It wasn’t a ribbon or a string, certainly wasn’t some cool like lightening or floating liquid. Just a small chain, looked like the same width and strength of a necklace chain. In theory he should be able to rip it right off. He could feel it between his fingers and tell each link between each other, even then he tried pulling there was nothing.

           It took days before he got the balls to actually follow the damn thing. It was a kid thing to take a year off between college and high school to try and find their destined. Logan was a little late to the game but not like he had anything better to do.

           It wasn’t until he reached a hospital that he stopped in his tracks. Little chain of destiny leading right into the exit into the nursery. It only took him a few seconds before audibly going “nope,” and heading back to that bar.

 Kurt Wagner: Same injuries

            At some point it was easier to pop an Advil and ignore the point in your feet and knees then wonder why they were hurting. The real bitch came when you invisible drug was stabbed right into your neck. More then once falling face first onto your desk in school.

           Given that the only cramps you experienced were yours they were a small vengeance. Easily the worst part of the connection were the cramps. Either you were born male and got to experience them without any warning, or you’re born female and get double the dose of them. It’s no wonder business is always booming for pain meds.

[marithlizard]

Ace Attorney: Rise From the Ashes (Day Two, Investigation Former) (part 4)

(There’s so much to speculate on at this point in the game that I ended up just plain narrating all the events in detail.  It was fun to write - but is it fun to read? Or do people prefer the less wordy format?)  Today on Ace Attorney, we have our mission clear in mind:  bring down Stinkyhead Gant the police chief,  thereby saving both Lana Skye's life and Miles Edgeworth's career.  And oh yeah we should probably figure out who killed Detective Goodman.

Twice.

Simultaneously in two different places. Could be twins, but my money's on the second victim being someone else dressed up in a white trenchcoat and fedora, and Gant was playing elaborate word games at the trial to technically not lie about it.    No idea why. 

A quick review establishes that the two crime scenes are 30 minutes apart by car, and then we're off to the parking garage to do Science(tm), I guess?

Ema announces that no body was found in the evidence room murder.  Huh.  That certainly wasn't mentioned at the trial!  How, exactly, do you ID a  nonexistent body? In particular, why would you think it was someone who was provably elsewhere and also dead?

Also Ema: Murder, sure, but my sister would NEVER erase evidence,  that's unthinkable!

She's all excited about spraying for blood traces. And she has a point that we can't trust the police. Pink glasses on, new game mechanic engaged, and... we find some splotches right next to the car trunk.  Not enough for a fatal knife fight, though.  Lana's shoe has more blood on it than the ground.

Hello, lunchlady.  You're  much more friendly today.  Though your bentos are no more appetizing than usual.

Angel Starr:  Yes, I totally lied about  these key facts to make my enemy seem more guilty. But you haven't caught me in any lies about these OTHER things, and that's what's important!  

Instead of pointing out that we have no reason to trust ANY of her testimony,  Phoenix muses that the photo she took must have a Clue in it.  Hm.  Re-examining it, I see:

Lana still has both shoes on and they do not match the shoe submitted as evidence.  Clue or low production values?  

 Lots of blood on her trenchcoat, no scarf, gloves, she's about to shut the trunk.  But she didn't, since the crime scene outline tape shows the body was hanging out of it when found.

I dunno, man.  The Clue eludes me. We ask Angel about her past as a detective instead. I get the distinct sense she is bragging about having tortured suspects.  

Ema rises ten points in my estimation for a perfect delivery of the obvious food-poisoning insult.  Angel barely notices, though; she's too busy being bitter about the case that got her fired.  The SL-9 incident - same name as the tag on the knife, no surprise there.

Our victim Goodman was the lead detective on the case, she says.  The knife was the murder weapon (duh), and in her  eyes the case isn't over.  (Goodman probably thought the same. Does Lana?)  But it seems that's all she wants to say.   We give up and head to the police department.   There's another crime scene that could use a dose of Science.

The moving doll is still out front.   Inside, the head detective won't talk about the situation, but will brag about his plush version of the doll.   The other detective at his desk is working on his Agatha Christie fanfic.  I'm not exactly sensing grim determination to avenge a fallen colleague, here.

We reach the security guard office.   Cheesy cowboy decor, eleven booze bottles plus a full glass right on the front desk, and a line set up for hanging laundry. Somebody sleeps under his desk and has no fucks left to give.  A lasso "trap" in front of the inner door looks like something set by Wile E. Coyote on an off day.

Ema's imagination is good enough to compare her sister to a cactus - but not good enough to think of using the ID card in our inventory to get into the evidence room.  Or looking up stuff on the conveniently unguarded security computer.  Instead we stand around waiting for Marshall until I give up.

Detention center:  Lana is being interrogated.   Will she be charged with both deaths, common sense not being an obstacle around here?     But no, Phoenix remembers that Gant said they'd caught a suspect for the second murder.  I really hope it's not Gumshoe.

The Prosecutor's office doesn't seem to be available right now.   With no other options, we head back to the lunchlady and try again.   I throw everything in my inventory at her this time.    To my surprise, she has some solid observations to make:

- If Angel hadn't witnessed the crime, Edgeworth would've been the obvious first suspect.  ...Was that the plan?  I assumed before that she was planted at the scene as a witness, but now I'm not so sure.

- She's backed off from her blind rage against Lana enough to admit that it's very odd for such an organized person not to have brought her own murder weapon.

- She could've taken her photo from the overlooking guard room, instead of spending five minutes running all around the edge of the parking garage and climbing a high chain link fence.  Her testimony looks fishy because of that.

Ema points out that lying on the stand is fishier.  Angel retorts that her testimony was "disregarded" before in THAT case, and she was determined not to let it happen again. Do tell, lunchlady.   Vent your bitterness at us.

And she does.  (Flashback image:  Angel, Goodman, and Marshall bent over a  map, with a fourth person mostly hidden by the speech bubble.)    The prosecutors, she says, were desperate for decisive evidence of guilt.  They did not find it...so they used fake evidence to convict and execute the suspect.  And then fired or demoted all the detectives involved.

Oof.  So, falsified evidence *isn't* common practice here,  depite the rumors about Edgeworth.  It's so rare and so unacceptable that this level of coverup was needed to prevent major scandal.  Angel has reason for her hatred of prosecutors - but who exactly was responsible?  Edgeworth was new on the job at the time.   It would have been Lana, pressured by Gant.  And that's why Lana has been a cactus ever since.  

I still don't like Angel, but she's smart enough to recognize Phoenix will serve her ends. She gives us an actually tasty-looking lunch!  I thought it was a present in recognition of allyship, but no, it's a bribe. Presumably the smell of steak will lure someone back to his assigned guard post.

Ema blurts out her concern for Marshall, who apparently was a lot nicer before SL-9 and did not use to refer to her as a baby cow.  Angel assures us Marshall is not one of her many boyfriends.  I'm not sure why this makes Ema feel better, but it does.

Back to the PD we go with steak in hand.  

Gumshoe is not arrested! He'd tell us who is, but we only have one piece of protein in the inventory and there's no need to trade it for the name.   I can easily imagine who would be "having a good cry" in detention...but I can't imagine him doing murder.  Even the judge wouldn't buy a whopper like that.

Waving the steak around at the security guard office fails to summon Marshall, so we head back *again* to lend the Sniveling Mailman a handkerchief.   (Phoenix is racking up a lot  of taxi or subway expenses, here.  And he won't have the heart to bill Ema if Lana is convicted.)

S.M. Meekins,  left hand thoroughly bandaged,  can't imagine himself doing murder either.  He is very confused and very loud.    I am confused too, about why the guards haven't taken his portable  loudspeaker away.    But his garbled tale of woe clears things up for me if not for our heroes.

Meekins saw a "suspicious person" in a white trenchcoat and fedora on the monitors in the guard office, went into the evidence room and asked him for his ID. The guy pointed a knife at him and Meekins freaked out  and tried to attack. Then he fainted and awoke alone with a bleeding hand.  Soo...There's no body because nobody died.  Gant is just *claiming*  there was a murder because

well um because

Why would he claim that???  It's easily disproven.  The security videos would normally show what happened clearly so they must've been deleted,  or the cameras weren't working.  And Marshall was not at his post.  

Ema, bless her heart, connects the lack of dots and points out there was no murder - so why is Meekins in jail?  Apparently there IS a security tape, I was wrong, and it shows the crime...and that it really was Goodman in the evidence room.

Twins? Lies?  But which parts are  lies?   I throw some inventory items at Meekins just in case, and he recognizes the knife.    The broken-tip knife with the SL-9 tag that was found in Edgeworth's car muffler, wrapped in Lana's scarf.   Meekins is incoherent so Phoenix  writes it off - but I don't.  

Twin Goodmans AND identical knives is too much even for this series.  And that means the real lie is about the time.  Goodman was not in the evidence room and the parking garage simultaneously.  He was in the evidence room first, perhaps? Getting the knife?    But the security video must have timestamps...

I really want to see this security tape now.   So we take our meat back to the police department, only to find Gant bullying the chief on duty. You.  YOU ARE EVIL AND CONFUSING.  I'm going to leave a 1-star review on ratemyvillain if you don't organize your nefarious plot better.

Gant is demanding that everything of Goodman's be found/removed, down to the trash in his wastepaper basket.   (But he's happy to stop and chat with us and slander Edgeworth some more, with a bonus suggestion that Phoenix too is corrupt for having "proved" his innocence last game.)

The duty chief must not like being bullied, because he shows us something he kept back: a lost item report Goodman half-filled-out  on the day of his death.  It doesn't say what was lost.  His ID,  perhaps?

Surprisingly (suspiciously),  Gant is willing to let us investigate the evidence room. He even gives us a guest ID card.   And Marshall finally deigns to show up to work, though with the clear intention of not actually doing any.

Meat:  deployed Marshall:  impressed Me: ...those two ARE dating, and moreover communicating in a secret code of boxed lunches.    It suits them.

"Steak filet lunch" apparently signals "render all assistance".   Marshall willingly admits he's a grade-A slacker and doesn't even bother to understand the security system.  (That explains the lasso.)  He still doesn't want to tell us what the SL-9 case was about, but reminds us it was officially closed two days ago on evidence transfer day.    

(That's the key to everything that happened  on the day of the murder, isn't it?  Goodman took the knife (and maybe more?) from the evidence room to keep it from being permanently "archived".   He was killed for it - but someone protected it by hiding it in the car muffler, and now it's in the court record.    That knife must be the key to solving SL-9.   ...And that's why Gant showed up at the courtroom! He must be *so pissed* that this deadly piece of  evidence is back in the public eye, it's a real danger to him.  Okay! Now I have the shape of what we're dealing with.)

Marshall hasn't bothered to look at the security tape, but from what Meekins told us, other officers have.   (Wait. Is that a safe assumption?  Since all that matters is Gant's official talking points. they could simply be claiming the tape shows Meekins stabbed Goodman.   I'd say this was implausible but I live in the US in 2020. ) 

Ooh, this looks useful - a list of every use of the card reader on the day in question.  4 different IDs are recorded.  2 of them must belong to Goodman and Meekins.   One is nothing but sevens, that's certainly not ominous.  

Next: the evidence room!

[roses-ruby]

Cherry Muffins and Lavender Tea

Namjoon x Female Reader

Genre: College AU, Sugary Fluff, Humor if you squint, Smut but it’s ugly, and the teeny tiniest angst

Warnings: curse words, sex, orgasms, oral (female receiving), choking kink, daddy kink, hot biker Namjoon, sex with clothes on, might make you hungry (i’m not sure about everything that’s considered a warning sorry! If there’s something you want me to add, tell me)

Word Count: 8,196

Summary: You’ve got feelings for my man Namjoon, the scary looking dork that drops by where you work. But how will you relay them?

A/N: My first story! Omfgsfkhbifb I’m nervous so please leave a kind word, I’ll love you forever. Might have mistakes cause i’m an idiot. None of this would have been possible without the great @countrysundae she’s my darling and inspiration and I love her sooooo much and you should too!!! Please appreciate her Pisces ass, and send her some love! Oof anyway, please enjoy

10:30

Originally set for 8, 10 fucking 30 is when the bells of your alarm informed you to awake for maybe the 99th time that morning. Groaning in displeasure you move your stiffened muscles to shut the damn thing off. This is a process that’s become a routine; waking up way later than originally planned, no matter how many timers set, or reminders kept. Even though you admit you are sleep deprived constantly, it doesn’t make you a heavy sleeper habitually! You wake up to the tiniest noises at night, from your roommate trying to sneak back into the shared room in ungodly hours of the night to the leaking tap in the bathtub. And yet your phone’s alarm is your placebo-it does absolutely nothing for you.

Though you do try. You keep about 5 alarms on at once, to your roommate’s expense who somehow is both a night owl and early bird all at once. Speaking of which-

“So, the witch finally sees daylight,” snickers Sana

“what the fuc--how long were you there?!” You rasped, grabbing at your erratic heart

“Just got in 5 minutes ago, that was my first alarm and trust me when I say I would’ve strangled you if I heard another.”

It’s true, she’s done it before. Your poor roommate was an occasional victim of your ruthless sleeping habits. You’d sometimes slip into conscious from slumber to hear her whine about your blaring alarms in her own sleeping state. Other times you’d wake up from a pillow landing on your face from a girl who’s had Enough.™ But you didn’t feel too bad for her, since you’ve given her the option of waking you up herself and she’s proven frivolous far too many times for such a simple task. Lowkey? She deserves it.

“Ooh another fun night, huh?” You grin in your sleepy state

Sana giggles “Mhmm, think Mark’s in love with me the poor chap,” she mocks his English accent making you both laugh at yet another fuckboi who’s become a victim to Sana’s lethal looks. Giving her a glance over, from her messy hair and smeared lipstick you conclude she indeed had a very fun night.

Sana came from a well-off background and had it all. Good-looks, smarts, the money, and a very good heart. She didn’t have to go to university, but her mom was not having it. The whole ‘be grateful for the opportunity people suffer to receive’ speech led her here. A parent’s guilt tripping wasn’t something you were unfamiliar with. You considered yourself an average person. Kinda cute, smart, headstrong and half of a pretty good character…Your parents on the other hand, were really wimpy.

“We always thought you’d go to the neighborhood community college”, your dad remarked in horror holding the prestige upper state university’s acceptance letter that arrived recently.

Your dad, who thinks jaded denim vests are cool.

“You’re too young to be living on your own, you’re still a bird who can’t use her wings correctly, not ready to leave the nest!” Said your distressed mom, who’s solution to all bad food was to put more cheese on it.

Don’t like your chicken curry? Pass on the parmesan sprinkler!

You hear the bang of hands on the table and a chair screeches, “let her go, she’ll come back with her tail between her legs”, your little brother who plays fortnite all day and is going through his ‘I hate feelings but secretly cry every night’ faze shouts before storming off towards his room.

All you do is sigh and roll your eyes, picking at your over-parmesaned chicken curry with your naan as your parents continue to nag, cause after this whole fiasco your mind was certainly convinced.

You’re going to the university.

_

Now that you are here, nothing was easy even for someone as headstrong as you. You were smart enough for a scholarship, but living expenses were something else entirely. Which led you to seek employment at a small café, a few miles from your university. It wasn’t the most bustling of places as it drew in a handful of consumers a day, even your fellow students chose the McDonalds right across the street. Everyone enjoyed the quick coffee and frozen fries, rather than your place’s slightly pricier fresh brews and handmade savory biscuits. Alas, you considerably appreciated the quiet composure your café provided. From the dim soft white lighting, to the 60’s slow jazz-which you routinely exchanged with a Studio Ghibli playlist from YouTube discreetly, blended well together. Gave you time to catchup on your schoolwork. Your boss was a chill 42-year-old who won the lottery a few years back, and let you clock in any time before 12, even if your morning shift began from 9. Maybe it had something to do with how the last waitress quit to work at McDonalds.

And he was always there.

Kim Namjoon. The quiet stud that had captivated your heart without even trying. Also, the fucking reason you wanted to get up earlier in the mornings damn it!

Namjoon was a psychology major who was always reading a new book. Mostly from his favorite author Haruki Murakami. And he always stopped by at the place you worked to indulged them. Parking his Harley-Davidson Softail outside and softly walking in with his old school leather jacket and gloves, ripped jeans, a book in his hand, his huge hard…helmet forgotten on the bike’s handle. He’d gently relay his familiar order of cherry muffins and lavender tea, raking his hair back with those beautiful black gloves, and striding to his usual seat in the back of the café.

He’d grace your presence 3 times a week, usually at 9:30 before his 10 am classes; another early bitch bird. All you wanted to do since then was to be able to take his order.

You had met Namjoon at the beginning of your first semester last year. But he hadn’t harbored much of your attention until that fateful day. Chilly winds and frequent rain were what you were adjusting to, as fall was in its peak with every other color on the leaves a vibrant orange, grabbing at your focus. Having arrived on time for once, you were engaged in your workspace. The co-owner and your co-worker of the small café, the boss’s niece, had taken a day’s leave, and you knew she’d beat your ass if you were late. Tray in hand, you served a bacon quiche and caffé americano to the table refuging a girl in an infinity scarf and glasses who didn’t bother to look up from her phone, when the door chimed open

It’s him again, you thought at the tall stranger you’ve seen around your campus in all black stepping towards the counter. He had small droplets of water on his leather jacket and hair from the rain. You didn’t realize you were staring until he awkwardly looked directly at you, standing with an empty round tray at the side of the table of the occupied girl, who you know is also taking a secret glance at him, and shyly smiles.

Cute.

You walk yourself behind the counter and smile, “hey there”

“Hi, um two cherr-“

“-y muffins and lavender tea, right?”

He nods

“Why don’t you just say the usual?” You laugh, wringing up his order in your old school register

“I didn’t think you’d remember me out of all the customers,” he states bashfully, dimples on display

“‘all the customers?’’ you laugh louder, “we get like 15 a day, I’m sure I’ll remember you”

“Oh, I thought I just came too early”

“You definitely do! I don’t have the energy to get up and comb my hair at 9 in the morning, much less bike to a café for cherry muffins”

“You like it?” he grins “it’s a Harley-Davidson, my dad owned one”

“It’s as pretty as you sweetie,” you don’t know where that confidence was coming from, because you’ve definitely haven’t talked to a boy like this before. Blame it on the chilly weather.

“oh, thank you,” he rakes his leather gloved hands through his hair, looking down at his shoes

Stepping towards your tea station, you grab open the bag of loose organic dried lavender buds, on the shelf above. Picking up a measuring spoon, you scoop and slide in some buds in the French press. You grab the boiling water on the electric stove, next to your station and slowly pour it onto the herbs. You close down the French Press and set a timer for 6 minutes.

Taking a breath, you look around the café. Namjoon stands there as towering as a tree, looking at his book, ‘Women who Run with the Wolves.’ Most people would go sit down if it wasn’t pickup, but he always stood right at the registrar. Strange. Unsurprisingly, you remember being intimidated as hell in the beginning. Usually people that come to the café are chill in the ‘harmless millennial hippie’ type of way, dressing themselves in mutable colors. But he looked like he would yell if you even slightly messed up his order or gave a ‘wrong look’ to his bike. You loosened up when his order was always so easy, and his book choices always so cute. You almost bust out laughing when he came in with ‘A fault in our stars;’ especially when he sat at his table with glossy eyes, trying to finish the last pages. His smile also melted all worries away.

Infinity scarf girl gets up to leave (but not before giving Namjoon a longing look), leaving you both alone in the balance of your heartbeats. There was slow piano from Kiki’s delivery service filling up your café’s background. The weather still faintly drizzling, the soft gray clouds seeping through the broad windows, making the café’s wooden brown hues a tad bit dimmer, yet the fairy lights radiant. Pedestrians with transparent umbrellas in beige coats and red hats pass by every so often, not a care in the world. Smells of fresh scones and cinnamon filled your nostrils, making you remember holiday nights at home. Though your thoughts often redirected themselves towards the handsome stranger and the harmony of the quiet fall day.

The timer dings and you get back on track, using the handle to press the floating buds down to the bottom of your French press. You head toward the counter’s display case. Below is a steel countertop with coffee/tea cups, silverware, small plates, trays and a set of tongs. You grab a cup and plate, fixing them properly you pour the tea. The steam drifts towards your face, an amazing aroma that complimented the purple complexion of your brew. Grabbing a set of tongs, you take out two large cherry muffins, placing them on a tray, along with the tea. You decide to grab a chocolate chip cookie as well from one of the clear cookie jars set on the wooden crown of the display case.

“Here ya go,” you place the tray in front of him. He places his book and gloves onto the tray and gets out his wallet from his beautifulbooty back pocket. After paying he picks up the tray and halts

“Cookie?” He holds up the chocolate chip cookie in his hand, a bit confused

“It’s on the house, they’re the best thing in the café, but I end up eating most of them, so might as well give ‘em out”

He smiles, “thank you, it looks delicious”

“No problem, anything for our loyal customers,” you both laugh, “it’s beautiful out today”

“Hm, not as much as you,” he states, walking away from you towards his usual seat. Now, he turned around very quickly after he said that, so you didn’t really get to see his face after such cheesy words, but the tips of his ears were red. Oh.

He’s cute cute.

Stunned, you stand there for a moment or two, just wide-eyed; staring at nothing, until you spin on your spot and head back into the tea vicinity of the café. You feel your heartrate rise and alarms go off in your head. But not the loud intrusive kind. The kind where a baker knows his three-layered chocolate fudge cake is ready. The ones where a mom takes freshly baked cinnamon rolls out in the morning. The ones when the apple pie is prepared to be sliced. Those kinds. Covering your extremely warm face with your hands, you muffle a squeal.

Since then, you’ve started paying close attention to Kim Namjoon.

You didn’t know what it was, his tall broad frame and long thick legs, which you wanted to be choked with. His large hands in those chunky leather gloves or when he took them off, to handle the pages of his book delicately; his long skinny fingers would graze over the soft wood, both things you wanted to be choked with. Or his keen eyes that would get larger or darker depending on what part of the book he was reading, and you imagined in which manner they would present themselves with while he’s choking y-Ok. Ok. Ok. You had a kink. Endeared was how you felt at his intimidating appearance.

You also adored how far away from intimidating he actually was. You were smitten with his gentle demeanor in dealing with people. His pacifist nature, and how much he loved tiny crabs, how he was so respectful towards everyone, younger or older, never judging anyone’s appearance or his love for characters that’re as large, and clumsy as him, like Ryan from that Kakaotalk app. And his laughed that carried large amounts of joy over cheesy, silly things ultimately making you laugh as well.

You were sure you loved Kim Namjoon, yet you barely spoke to him-

I mean who’s gonna disturb a huge scary-looking dork when he’s trying to read? Certainly not you. What you desired is a way to get close to him somehow, and for that you needed to know more about him. It wasn’t hard to pick up gossip though, when you were friends with the loudest chatter mouth on the planet.

You told Sana once about your silly crush and she shrieked so hard it sounded like a howl. The next day she had all the deets on who she referred to as ‘Hunkjoon.’ He had an IQ of 148, he hates seafood, he’s so clumsy that his friends refer to him as ‘the god of destruction,’ favorite color is black (no duh), he’s well-known, terribly smart, and to your dismay, associated with the exceedingly popular frat boys Jung Hoseok and Kim Seokjin.

Ugh

Jung Hoseok and Kim Seokjin, or who you so kindly referred to as the Seokbitches, were the schools James Dean. ‘Icon of teenage disillusionment.’ Hehe, perfect definition by google. They were notorious, for playing ghosts in their classes, throwing a party every.single.damn.day., never keeping their dick™ in their pants, and having the most obnoxious laughs on the earth…

Ok, so maybe only you knew them for that. To others they were the teenage love and rebellion dream, James Dean. They never attended classes, because they were fuckthesystem peeps, threw a party everyday so the poor souls stuck in an endless cycle of capitalist warfare aka their fellow students could enjoy the more fun things life has to offer, indulged in every part of youth-including the 24/7 horny part, and had the most beautiful laughs in the damn planet.

How were they Namjoon’s closest friends…How? Anyone with a functioning brain can tell the vast difference between the trinity. Namjoon attended all his classes (yet fate didn’t give you a class with him, the bitch), he actually read books, and he wasn’t hooking up with 2-3 girls every night, unlike certain people.

You heard from a classmate a while back that ‘bout two years ago Namjoon had a serious girlfriend. Since their breakup, he hasn’t been with anyone else. It’s good that he’s single but you’ve still only talked to him here and there. A few shy glances, a few awkward touches. Nothing more, but lord do you want more, alot more. What if a girl more daring gets him first?  Do you really need angst in your life? NO! but you are still at a loss of what to do. You had one boyfriend so far, and it was one of your worst experiences.

The guy was a total creep. And the worst part? You asked him out. All your friends had relationships and he was someone who rode the bus with you, making you laugh here and there. So, being the usual teenager, you thought it’d be a good idea to date him, like a fool. Who knew he wasn’t just being charming, and making fun of people (trying to be edgy as you now know) was a hobby for him? You did. Right after you overheard him announce the fact that you look like a winged bat when you suck dick just to make his jerk-ass friends laugh. It was so humiliating, as you never did something of the sorts with him, yet his friends would stick out their teeth in a ‘vampire like manner’ whenever they passed you in the hallway, as well as your first heartbreak. You got him back by filling his locker with Limburger cheese, from your mom’s collection of cheeses. His gym clothes smelled for a month, and people called him cheeseboi for the rest of the year.

You shed your blind innocence that day and knew that men are trash. Namjoon isn’t like that though, and you’re surer of that than anything. He’s special for you and you want to be the special one for him. Sadly, you just didn’t know how to start a conversation with Namjoon, without looking like you jumped in boiling water. I mean you had hook-ups in college. Who doesn’t play around here and there? But fuck-this is definitely the first time you actually like someone. Like really like them, so you just clam up and don’t know what to do. That’s where you are today.

You bounce from your bed, heading towards the bathroom. “I’m late again,” you mumble.

Sana hears that (at this point she could have better hearing than dogs)

“Hunkjoon, huh?”

“That’s not his name Sasha”

“Listen, why do you even spend your time trying to get with him in that boring café?” Sana shouts, hopping off her bed she makes her way to the bathroom and throws her hands around you who’s brushing her teeth. “You should ask him out, maybe to a club. A little booty popping, ear sucking, mouth licking, and he’s yours”

“Please don’t ever use any of those words in that way ever again.”

“I’m serious!” Exasperated she throws her hands in the air before resting them on each of your shoulders together and squeezes you. “You just need a change of scenery, that place is no hook-up central for us modern kids. Just one party, and he’ll be all over you.” You tug her off your back and narrow your eyes-looking at her through the mirror; you continue to brush your teeth. She knows you want something far from a hookup with Namjoon, yet she-

“And then,” she smirks, “maybe your mouth would be full of his cum-not toothpaste”

You choke.

“Sana what the fuck,” you rage running after the laughing vixen with your toothbrush as a makeshift knife

“Don’t act like it’s not what you want!” She cackles as you tackle her onto the bed ready to stab her eyes out when your phone rings. Oh shit. You know exactly who that is. Picking it up, you run to the bathroom, spitting out your toothpaste

“H-h-hello?”

“Where. in. Jesus’s. name. are. you?!”

“O-oh, coming Linda, I’m in traffic” Sana proceeds to imitate a car beep sound at that-“and I’ll be there in 5 minutes!”

“If you aren’t, I’ll personally serve your head as our main dish this afternoon!” She screeches before hanging up

“Shit,” you catch your breath, “I gotta go,” scrambling around, you find something appropriate to wear in late April weather. You brush your hair in a hurry and throw on a high ponytail. Sana just watches you the whole time, staring at you up on her elbows from her bed looking deep in thought. Grabbing one of Sana’s car keys and your purse, you rush out the door with a quick bye to Sana. She doesn’t reply back but after you are out the door she flings back onto her bed, arms expanded.

“I’ll ask Hobi,” she says to herself

_

Parking in the small lot behind the café, you run inside the back door. You gather yourself, fixing your hair and your fast heartbeat, you wrap on an apron and head to the front.

Linda spots you right away.

“You’re late,” she grits

“Yeah, traffic sucks,” you grin awkwardly, praying she’ll believe you.

“Just get to work, the pound cakes are almost ready to take out,” she points toward the oven. You nod, heading into the vicinity of the oven in the back next to the stove.

“Hey Linda,” someone shouts making you turn, “the person at table 3 wants some sourdough starter”

Linda acknowledges, moving into the back storage where the starters where kept.

You spot a girl. A new girl. A very very pretty girl, with long light brown hair up to her waist, and a delicate body. She meets your eyes and smiles and you return the gesture before looking away like you didn’t momentarily become gay looking at her soft features.

It’s good to have her around, you conclude. Usually you worked the morning shift with Linda 3 times a week, taking afternoon classes during those days. (coincidently when Namjoon comes by) You know there’s a girl who works the afternoon shift, but you never really ran into her. And since you do come late 1 out of 3 times, Linda ends up doing most of the work herself, including making all the café’s delicacies. You’re so very thankful to Linda and her uncle for not firing you, and very glad that Linda has some actual help now.

You’re pulled from your thoughts when the oven timer dings and the door chimes open.

The new girl greets the customer cheerily while you concentrate on taking an enticing whiff of the vanilla pound cakes, about to pull open the oven’s door when you stop dead in your tracks. You’d recognize that deep voice anywhere.

Turning your head so fast, you feel your neck burn from whiplash you spot your Namjoon finishing his order to your co-worker. He meets your eyes for a moment, and god you’re sure you look like a fish.

“Would you like anything else? We have really good chocolate chip cookies,” pipes the newcomer

“I know, they’re delicious,” he catches your eyes again, “but no thank you, not this time”

“Aww, well I love them a bit too much. Even though I’m new I’ve had quite a few,” she starts ringing up his order

“I thought I haven’t seen you around here”

“Moved in recently and kinda have trouble unpacking…I need a stronger body ya’know”

“Is that so,” Namjoon quirks a brow and you feel like you’ll throw up. Why is Namjoon late? Catch 22 didn’t seem like his style of book? Why the fuck is she giggling so much? Who let her steal all your cookies? And why is his hair so much messier than usual? He looks so cute omg?... What’s that burning smell?

…Shit

You gawk at the oven in horror as Linda shouts your name from a mile away.

_

Sana’s scrolling through her phone on her tummy when you bonk her head with your purse

“Ow, what the fuck-”

“When’s the next frat fiasco? I need to relive some stress”

She smiles, “I knew you’d come around, and that’s why I went ahead and asked Hobi to bring Hunkjoon tonight.”

You beam at the mention, “Sana you angel!” Then immediately scowl, “Wait at a seokbitch party? Just fucking great”

“Don’t be so sour,” Sana sighs, sitting up, “Namjoon doesn’t go to many parties anyway so his best friend was the only solid way to bring him.”

Giving it a thought, you beam again, jumping on Sana

“Sana you angel!”

“Whatever’s up with your hair by the way, looks like you’ve been pulling on it.”

“Don’t ask…long day.”

_

Arriving at the party, you grimace at the smoke of marijuana blanketing you as soon as you enter.

“Alright, Hobi should be around here somewhere,” Sana looks around,” standing on the tippy toes of her heels, trying to look past the frisky bodies, but it’s of no use with the amount of people in the room.

The room was packed with tipsy children. There was barely any elbow space even though the frat house was huge as you and Sana squeezed through hot, sweaty dancing bodies. Some unbalanced drunkards clumsily pushing into you every now and then and you wondered how anyone came to these things. It’s hot, and everyone smelled of axe and sweat. Parties would be much better with just a modest group of people you know, or maybe that’s the small-town girl in you speaking.

No! You cringed internally. You must forget about your outdated methods and passive behavior. Tonight, you will become someone completely new. Someone who takes action.

“Oh there!” Sana shouts over the music, waving furiously to someone by the stairs

Soon after you hear the jubilant voice of Jung Hoseok as he comes into view to greet Sana with a hug, and after being temporarily blinded by his smile you give him a once over or call that twice, because fuck He looked good in a simple white tee, tight blue jeans, dark brown Timberlands and his hair pushed up with what seemed like some gel and messy fingers (think back to Gayo Daejejeon 2018 mic drop)

“This is the girl I was telling you about,” Sana points at you

Hoseok joins in on your shameless gawking and grins

Embodying you was a baby pink thin strapped mini dress, and when you say mini, you mean your black Chantelle Présage lace thong is showing mini, but you’re a woman on a mission, and you didn’t care if you were naked at this point. Your hair was thoroughly straightened, and you went for a glossy cherry makeup look, courtesy of Sana. You weren’t trying to look like a cherry muffin, buuuut you didn’t mind if that’s what people thought, specifically one person.

“It’s nice to meet you,” he extends his hand, eyes duskier than a moment ago

You should wear shades in front of him or you’re sure you’ll go blind.

You shake his hand and give him one of your most forced friendly smiles, trying not to make much conversation as you just wanted one thing. Though that shiver upon your spine at his grip tells you otherwise.

Hoseok motions for you both to follow him and you pick his trail

Sana elbows you

“We talked about this! You’re supposed to be acting like a lamb, ready to be jumped on at any time, not a fox,” she whispers at your obvious display of wanting nothing to do with the Hyena

“I’m being nice! I am! This is how I’m nice!”

Sana rolls her eyes, and you sulk. It’s not your fault she is a master seductress, and you just don’t know how to be kind to the guy who’s trying to undress you with his eyes when he knows you’re here for his friend. She told you two things about seducing men, act completely incompetent and laugh at all their lame jokes. The more you feed a guy’s concocted ego, the more you feed his desire for you. And well, a way to the man’s heart is through feeding him…or something right?

But all your thoughts disappear into nothing once you lay eyes upon the man you’ve been wanting for almost a year.

Kim Namjoon, holy fuck.

Never has a loose black tee and oversized maroon velvet bomber’s jacket looked that good on anyone before. He commands your undivided attention with that low-neck line and gelled up hair. Healthy, glowing skin spread out like a canvas. His jeans ripped in all the beautiful places around the man’s thick, strong thighs, and black derby’s? Classic, yet defiant as always. He was fucking beautiful and you were awestruck. Hoseok says something to the group of 3 guys standing by the back sofa, including Namjoon, most likely about you, but you don’t hear anything once Namjoon locks eyes with you. There’s evident surprise in his eyes, which dims into concentration at the dress you’re wearing.

“So Namjoon,” Hoseok interrupts your thoughts, “I heard you both’ve met before?”

Namjoon doesn’t break away from you for a moment, smiling slightly “we’ve met, it’s nice to see you here”

He was being strangely vague. “You too,” you mutter

You could physically feel Sana scoff at the virginity act.

“Alright, I can use a drink-Ali, Jason, Sana let’s go get them”, Hoseok works fast to evade the intrusive attention on the both of you

“Why do you need 3 people to help you with drinks”, says a confused Jason

Flustered at the man’s impaired ability to read between the lines Hoseok scrambles for another excuse, “um…uh, I don’t know what you want? And uh there’s a lot of people, so uh”

Jason stubborn as ever quirks, “well I can just tell you what I wan-”

“JASON! ALI!” Sana shouts and everyone, aside from Namjoon, who won’t turn away from you, glances at her, “be a darling and pour my drink for me,” she uses her sultry voice, throws a sly smile, and they all get led away by her, even Hoseok, looking hypnotized

Watching them walk away you let out a sigh. This is it. This is your moment. You really should’ve had a shot before this. Drunk you wouldn’t clam up and clench her buttocks that sober you is doing for some reason. Clearing your throat, you start blurting out the first forms of conversation that settles in your mind.

“Nice to see you here, finally away from the café-not that I don’t like seeing you there…I mean I do, but this is nice too hehe”

You mentally slap yourself for the worst beginning. When have you ever been this quiet? Sana couldn’t get you or your alarm to shut up most of the time and this is the moment you choose to get awkward? Maybe this is it. He’ll just walk away now and you can wallow in self-pity.

“It’s great to see you too, out of that café…not that I don’t like it as well” he smiles

Your whole form relaxes, and you feel the knot of pressure in your back coming undone. You know you’re overthinking, know that your mind is self-sabotaging you, so it can get out of this hellhole back into its safe space between your bedsheets. So, you take a breath and focus on his eyes, trying to bring back the confidence of an 80’s café waitress. “You got yelled at pretty hard this morning, were you ok?” He asks

“Oh, don’t worry about that. I kinda deserved it and Linda’s the biggest sweetheart, she would never actually hurt me.” Minus where she almost tore your hair out in the backroom

“…speaking of which, why were you late this morning?” You slapped yourself again

He gave you a look. Shit. “You track me?” he grins

“No-no, nonono…n-yes. I track all my customers”, you smile awkwardly, “they keep me on my toes ya’ know the little bastards” If only you could forever tape your mouth

It was a bad joke but he lets out a chuckle where his eyes turn into little crescents and his dimples poke through his skin

“Well, I missed my alarm this morning, so I was too late to arrive on time…but I still wanted to come…”

“…Why?”

“I just,” he stares at you, “did”

“I see. It’s our tea isn’t it.”

Both of you share a laugh

“You look beautiful by the way”

“This little thing?” you twirl your hips, “just found this in the back of my closet”

The brag was true because you never fucking dressed up for anything, yet always shop like you do.

When you look at him again, you see his eyes dark at the move you just did, which you’re sure exposed your ass

Gathering courage, you start walking toward and up the stairs not giving Namjoon another glance. You could feel his bewilderment through your exposed back, as he follows you like a lost puppy. You hide a smile. Heading into an open room, you find its balcony. Outside, the spring wind picks up your hair and you take in a deep breath, letting go of all your nerves that tense up once you feel the balcony door open and close and the presence of another person in the little island.

“Are you alright?” You feel his breath on you, and you barricade a shudder

“I’m fine…I just couldn’t breathe in there with all the weed,” you turn and smile at him.

“I hate it too,” He smiles back

There’s a moment before you both break eye contact and he’s stepping up beside you

Looking out from the balcony, you pander in the serenity of the dark night and silent winds. The music is still mutely conscious in both your eardrums, as well as the laughter of kids who came here to forget tomorrow. There’s always a calmness you feel with him, no matter the weather or locality. The tips of your arms are touching and the barring heat your entire left side simmers in provides you with the translation of your need to be closer with him.

“I’m sorry I’m not good at small talk”

You turn your face to him as he takes a breath before speaking again

“I’m very awkward, sorry about that”

“You aren’t the one who’s awkward, you raise a brow, I’ve been making bad jokes all night. And well, who’s good at things like small talk?”

He smiles at you, “Your jokes aren’t bad,” he says bringing his face closer to yours, “and I love hearing you talk”

“Thank you” There’s another silence before you ask, “started a new book recently?’

“I did!” He quirks, “‘Yellow Wallpaper’ by Charlotte Perkins Gilman, it’s disturbing yet addictive. Like an Edgar Allen type you know. The increasing dread creates a form of suspense, which feels like a drug. Even though you can tell the ending won’t be good, you carry on led by a strange empathy as if you’ve become the character and it-“

Namjoon stops suddenly and stares at you smiling. “Um…sorry I got carried away, I’m probably boring you”

“Nuh-uh” you stop him immediately, “You aren’t boring at all. I love hearing you talk”

There’s a radiant blush on his cheek as red as your cherry lips, and you just want to devour him. “When I,” he begins looking away, “When I come to the café, you always seem so interested in what I’m reading. Most people don’t really care about that from me. They care that I ride bikes or about my popular friends. Not that I mind. I’m fine keeping them on a surface level. But,” He looks at you, “I want to know you better.”

“Me too” you blurt out very quickly

Your faces are so adjacent you can smell his soft mint toothpaste from his steady breathing. He’s staring at your glossy lips, your whole form is covered with his warmth, fluttering your senses leisurely

“Want a taste,” you whisper just for him to hear

“I bet it’s as delicious as it looks,” he lets out a heavy breath

“Well lucky you cause tonight I’m serving them specially for you”

You close the distance between your mouths and take in his plump lips. It wasn’t rushed, yet it wasn’t slow. It felt like the most perfect kind of kiss in the silent spring, the one that’s described in timeless romance novels. The one that you tell your children to look for, if they’re fortunate enough in their youth. That they’ll know it’s from the one.

He brings his hand upon your cheek and rubs it tenderly with his thumb. You both move back and stare in each other’s eyes.

“Well…was it delicious?”

“Better than cherry muffins,” he licks his lips to taste your cherry gloss on them

You crinkle your eyes to cringe and giggle

“You’re so cute,” he says and he’s kissing you again

This time he slips his tongue in your mouth and you hum in content, grabbing at the back of his blonde hair. Your tongues dance wildly, and Namjoon reaches for every nook and cranny of your wet cavern. Immoral sounds are escaping you both as your closed eyes burn in delight. Putting your legs on each side of his torso, he hurriedly picks you up from under your thighs and easily carries you inside the room, towards the bed.

You both break off as soon as he lands your bodies on the spring. His body still contains the heat from your thighs, and he’s pressed so close to you, you can feel your nipples against his rock-hard chest as well as the tent in his jeans. Breathing heavily, you stare in his starry eyes, filled with so much lust it feels like they’re dripping.

With a shaky breath you try to melt his lips onto yours again, just for him to shift back.

“Do you want this?” He asks, determined to move off if you refuse him

That would be a sin. “Yes.” You speak clearly, “I always wanted you, since I first saw you, Namjoon.”

“Fuck,” he whispers, before he’s on you again like the kindest, warmest deity he is.

He’s back into exploring your mouth as your hands find their home roaming his broad back. As he moves his hips up and down your wet entrance, a heat shoots up through your spine. His hands are kneading your ass, and everything is moving in slow motion for what feels like forever. Breaking off your mouth, he moves his kisses along your neck down to your cleavage, sucking hickeys on sensitive areas you moaned around. Growling at the invasive flimsy fabric surrounding your chest, he begins to tear it apart. His hands pulled down your transparent bra. You gasp at the intrusion of air surrounding your upper body.

“Mmm, fuck yes baby,” you could feel yourself soaking his cloth covered crotch as you fuck yourself upon his restricted dick.

Namjoon smirks reaching towards your back to take off your bra, letting his warm fingers tickle your skin as you lift your back to help him remove it and discard it to the side. Namjoon takes you in, caressing your face and you feel like he’s going to compliment you before he’s spitting words in your ear

“You little slut, you came here just to be fucked didn’t you”

Flustered you splutter, “Yes, ah please”

“That’s yes daddy for you baby,” he uses his large fingers to take hair off your face and removes his jacket and shirt

“Yes daddy, please,” you eye his tan muscles and broad chest. He noses your jaw and takes his mouth around your areola. You immediately run a hand through his golden locks, your mouth hangs open as he flicks your nipple with his tongue. Around his arms was sunken skin, in the form of muscles and you run your hands through every cervix.

Your breathing is labored

He moves back, moving your thong slightly to the right as he dips two fingers into you,

“Drenched and shameless muffin,” he mutters scissoring your entrance slightly, staring at you darkly

You are sprawled out for him like an unwrapped muffin. One leg hangs off the bed, while the other is desperately wrapped around his torso as if you’re scared he’ll leave. Your breasts are exposed and wet with saliva, and you’ve just handed him your cunt for the taking. You’re high off his soft sandalwood scent, as he takes your chest in his large hand, rolling your nipple in his thumb and index finger, pulling it slightly. His fingers are wet from your juices and you’re embarrassed you’re this wet. Vulnerable, you shut your eyes and look away before he grabs your cheeks with his hand and brings your face back towards him, hitting a certain spot that has you arching your back and knitting your brows.

“Don’t close your eyes baby girl, I need your focus completely on me”

“Then no more teasing,” you pout

Namjoon chuckles as he brings his fingers dripping with your silk into his mouth; looking straight into your soul he licks around his fingers in the lewdest way possible. “Sweeter than cherries” he mutters, slowly unraveling your wrapped leg and caresses the inside of your wet thigh, never letting go as if reassuring you that he’s right here. Languidly, he noses down your navel and further below until he’s lined with your aching core

“Daddy” you whimper

Giving you kitten licks around your folds, he licks a long strip before placing his tongue slightly inside your walls and suckles your juices. Your legs were on each side of his head, and you pulled at his hair out of frustration. The higher your voice went, the more he licked, bringing his tongue around your bundle of nerves and gently rolling the nub around. His hands traveled from your thighs to your waist, and slowly towards your breasts and kneaded. He flattened his tongue against your folds again, to take a finer taste of you, as he hummed knowing you were close. He took his right hand off your chest and used it to slide two fingers into your inner depths.

His mouth then went back to your clit, slowly rolling it around his tongue in a circular motion as his fingers drilled into you faster and faster. You let out a string of curses as your thighs began to shake, and the knot in your stomach becoming undone. You came with a yelp as your eyes began to see stars and vision whitened.

All your sudden adrenaline left you and your limbs limped onto the bed, fingers no longer in Namjoon’s hair. Letting out heavy breaths you saw Namjoon slowly coming out of your legs to face you. His thick lips were wet with your juices, and he licked through them and smiled.

“You’re so beautiful baby girl,” he said before kissing you again. Your tongues danced through your exhaustion, and you moved your hand towards his hard on. You felt him hiss into your mouth as you slowly rubbed him through his jeans. Backing off his mouth you smiled, it’s your turn daddy, and undid his zipper. You felt his hard dick in your hand, blessed in length. Spreading precum around his shaft, you watched him twist his expression. He reached into his back pocket and took out a condom, tearing off the wrapper with his teeth and handing it to you.

You gave him a smile as you rolled the condom onto his length and lined it with your entrance-giving him a hand job as he gradually moved into you. Once he was fully sheathed, he took a moment, before pulling out a slamming into you again

You let out a gasp at his pace, still a bit sensitive from your last orgasm. He was relentless and pounded into you over and over again, as the whole bed shook at his force.

“F-fuck dadd-y ooh” you cried as the same knot appeared inside your stomach. You grabbed his hand on the side of your head and brought it up to your face to give it a kiss. Light headed from the force of his thrusts, you could still feel him looking at you as you brought his hand upon your neck and laid it out flat

He cursed at your submission, and lightly put pressure on your neck “You’re such a good girl, daddy’s good girl, good girl fuck,” his paced faltered and you could feel your orgasm approaching with the pressure around your neck. With his other hand he stimulated your clitoris and that’s all it took to have you cuming once again.

Your mind travels back to how much you’ve wanted this-wanted him. His strong arms are no longer hidden under his bulky jacket, his fingers no longer clean with traces of paper fiber, but with your juices. How the hands you’ve wanted for so long around your neck, the eyes you waited to be filled with just you, the moans you suffered to hear from his luscious lips. It’s all happening. It’s all yours and no amount of overthinking will take this away.

With a few more thrusts he reached his own peak with a grunt, flopping down on you shortly afterward. You could feel his heavy, hot breathing on your neck and you wrapped your hands around him. You take a few more huffs before talking to him.

“I really like you” you whisper

“So I’ve heard,” he chuckles moving off you, he picks you up to move you upright in the bed with your head on the pillow and your arms still around him. He lays down next to you. “I’m not going anywhere baby. I really like you too. You didn’t really think I came for the tea did you”

Your heart soars and you meet his dimpled smile, He looks so youthful with his after sex glow, “Hey I make that tea with a lot of love and care!”

“Right, I’m sorry,” he laughs

“I didn’t know you liked me, your head is always in your books”

“Well originally, I came to chill and read. Until I found the cutest waitress that makes amazing tea-“

“-Shut up,” you jab him with a giggle

“-and I didn’t want to seem creepy, so I just payed attention to my books. But I did try to talk to you. I would stand as still as a tree next to the registrar trying to think of something to say. You tended to look intimidated of me, so I always froze up and just sat down. I asked my friends how to talk to you, and they kept giving me strange advice. I don’t think they know how to get a girl without sexual innuendos. They didn’t know how you looked, just knew you as café girl. If Hoseok found out you were café girl tonight, he’d probably try and do something stupid”

You took in the information he gave you and put the puzzle pieces together. You both were huge overthinking dorks. “I was only intimidated in the beginning,” you begin, “even if I was I still found you hot and probably would’ve jumped on your dick had you asked”

He suppresses some coughs while turning red

Smirking you lead him on, “Oh, so you’re shy now but wanted me to call you daddy just a few minutes ago”

“T-that’s” he begins, and you laugh out loud thinking this is definitely your Namjoon

“What about your choking kink? That was cute and unexpected” he gives you a sly grin

“Wait, shut u-that’s not…it’s your fault with those leather gloves, and leather jackets”

You poke his dimple out of mock anger and he tickles you. The rest of the time is spent by talking out your feelings, your dreams, favorite books, and desserts until you both fall asleep in each other’s arms.

_

You wake up by what you believe is your alarm. Opening your groggy eyes, you look up towards the ceiling of a room that wasn’t yours. After a minute more in conscious you realize it’s not your alarm ringing, but a pounding residing from the closed door of the stranger’s room.

“Can you guys please give me my room back now,” shouts a frustrated Hoseok

That’s when you remember the nights events and look at a sleepy Namjoon next to you. After checking the time of 7:41 shining through the digital clock on the nightstand next to what you now know as Hoseok’s bed, you smile and cuddle up to the warm body.

“Go away Hoseok,” Namjoon groans, “My baby’s trying to sleep.”

Both of you ignore Hoseok’s whines of protest as you whisper to Namjoon

“It’s fine, I’m glad he’s here so I can get to work on time for once. My alarm never wakes me up”

“Babe don’t worry, from now on I’ll be your personal alarm. As long as you can be my cherry muffin”

“I’ll do you one better and make one for you at the café”

“Those cherry muffins taste good,” he looks at you, “but you taste better,” and winks

You giggle until you hear the disturbed voice of Jung Hoseok behind the door,

“You guys are disgusting and have no idea how to whisper”

...

“GET OUT OF MY ROOM”

[tippitv]

TippiTV recap: SPN 15.01 “Back and to the Future”

First a quick note on the format of this recap: I'm dealing with some neck/back/shoulder pain so I'm not going to make a bunch of captioned screen shots and diagrams and other visual aids like I usually do. That stuff, while hugely fun to do, is time-consuming even under ideal conditions. I will instead attempt to provide you with mental images of graphics I would have made.

Now, let's get on with things.

Welcome to the 15th and final season of Supernatural, everyone! If the show were a person we could give it a Quinceañera.

[Graphic: The Impala in a beautiful taffeta gown and tiara and like... satin mudflaps instead of gloves.]

It's been 5140 days since the show premiered. That's 123,360 hours. Our solar system travels around the center of the galaxy at 490,000 miles per hour. This means we have moved through 6.04464e10 miles of space since this show premiered. I don't even know what that means. Once numbers start getting letters in them, I'm lost. But it's got to be nearly as many miles as are on the Impala's odometer.

[graphic of our solar system and the Chevy Impala zooming through space together, perhaps in friendly competition]

The road so far: Man, I do not remember a lot of this. Relevant to this episode is God throwing a hissy fit, killing Jack, and releasing all the souls and/or demons from Hell.

Currently: Jack's eyeless corpse is lying around as corpses are wont to do. The surviving members of Team Free Will are fighting a lot of freshly risen dead bodies that were possessed by the released souls. If it were me just out of Hell, I wouldn't waste time in a rotted corpse. I'd just fuck off as quickly as possible and possess someone who's eating a deep-dish cheese pizza.

The risen dead are polite enough to mostly attack the Winchesters one or two at a time, so they get to grab Jack's corpse and run into a mausoleum for shelter. Okay I understand why the souls can't get through the iron doors but what's stopping the disembodied ones from just going through a window? Or through a stone wall, for that matter?

Sam asks Castiel if he can bring Jack back but he sounds like he already knows the answer. A mid-level angel without all his original powers isn't gonna be able to undo what God's done unless the plot requires it.

[Graphic of Sam's incredibly sad face as he says or thinks "maybe the plot will require it later?"]

Everyone tries to figure out what they're going to do next. Dean snarkily wonders if they're going to starve to death. I mean, no, because the ambulatory corpses will break in before long. Failing that, they'd die of thirst unless Castiel has like a TARDIS bladder that holds Dasani, and then they could eat Jack. Mmm nephilim jerky....

Proving my point for me, a resident of the mausoleum or perhaps a neighbor tries to bust through some of the loose stones just as Sam starts chipping away at them in search of an escape route. Castiel smashes its head with a big rock, causing the ghost to flee? I guess? Whatever it is looks like a glowy skeleton and ghosts usually look like their living selves for the most part.

"What the hell are we gonna do now?" Sam asks.

Ol' Eyeless Jack pops up and says in a friendly tone of voice, "Hello!" Nobody's super shocked by this turn of events.

[Graphic of Jo and Ellen saying "nobody stays dead on this show except us"]

It's just Jack's bod with a demon in it, though. Was he the one that looked like a glowy skeleton? Whatever. He happens upon some budget sunglasses on the floor nearby. No seriously they're sunglasses to save the budget because it wouldn't be cheap or timely to have to CGI empty eyes for the whole episode.

He introduces himself. "My name is Belvegar." The fuck? That sounds like a horrible portmanteau for shipping Mr. Belvedere with Garfield the cat.

[Graphic of Buckleming: "We'd write that!"]

I suppose I should check IMDB to see how that's spelled...

BELPHEGOR???

Oh okay apparently Belph is a prince of hell and "Lord of the Gap," which is like half a step up from being Lord of Old Navy. I'm looking this up on regular Wikipedia not Supernatural Wiki so the show didn't just make him up. It says here he seduces people by suggesting inventions that will make them wealthy. One time I came up with an idea for pills that would turn people's urine into toilet cleaner. I was going to call it Vita-Wiz. And that's why I've never been able to seduce anyone with my inventions.

Anyway Castiel shoves Belph up against a wall, as is customary on this show, and demands he leave Jack's bod. But Belph says he has some mojo that will get rid of all the hellish souls and demons currently trying to get into the mausoleum. Much like how Vita-Wiz gets rid of hard water stains and leaves your toilet with a minty fresh scent!

[Graphic: a colorfully jaunty ad for Vita-Wiz with Sam's endorsement a la the "Changing Channels" Herpexia ad. "I've got powerfully clean urine."]

Belph knows all about the Winchesters but is slightly surprised this latest fuckery is God's fault. He makes himself out to be a low-level demon so either he's lying or the show's not going with the prince of hell backstory. Judging by his delivery and mannerisms he thinks he's auditioning to be in Goodfellas: The High School Years.

[Graphic: High School Musical promo poster but make it mobster]

He goes on to say that, like the Winchesters, he wants all the souls back in Hell where they belong and he can get back to torturing them. "I like my job!" Unrelatable. He can't fix the main shitsplosion that's going on but says he can get them all out of the cemetery safely.

Using some "graveyard dirt" from the floor and angel blood from Convenienstiel, he works a little spell that turns all the risen dead back into just... dead. Unoccupied corpses litter the ground by the dozens. Man, what a mess. You know who isn't gonna like their job in the morning? The groundskeeper.

Also, that sure is a useful spell. I wonder if it will ever come up again...

"Where are all the ghosts?" Dean wonders.

Cut to two teenage girls somewhere else acting like teenage girls Dabb has seen in Troom Troom videos. One of the girls sees herself as a ghost in the mirror and claws her face clean off. Man, that ghost's wig is terrible. Is she Bloody Mary? I don't remember her wig being this bad. I can't believe they couldn't afford a better one even with the Budget Sunglasses.

Back to Three Men and a Belphy. Riding home in the Impala, Sam checks the news. So far, no mention of any kind of worldwide Ghostpocalypse. It seems like you're mostly safe in this universe as long as you don't live in middle America. Belph suggests they may be able to contain the ghosts before things get too out of hand and he just happens to know the right magic.

"Imagine a salt circle a mile wide," he says. Castiel points out that Harlan, Kansas is less than a mile from the cemetery so Dean hatches a plan to get everyone out so as to not trap them inside with the ghosts and demons. Is it gonna be a lame plan that would never work in reality?

But first they stop for a wrecked car on the side of the road. There's blood on the inside of the windshield but no body. "This look familiar to you?" Dean asks Sam. It looks like a lot of wrecks where someone got wanged on the head and wandered off in a daze, but they figure it's the Woman in White. "If she's back then they're all back," Dean goes on. "Every last one that we ever killed."

Okay shout out to everyone who answered my post where I asked if ghosts used to be obliterated rather than going to Hell. The consensus seems to be that the Winchesters didn't really know one way or the other early on and were guessing.

Cut to a woman running through a house with her young daughter in her arms. The aftermath of a destroyed birthday party can be seen. How late in the day were they throwing this kid's party?? To make a long story short, the ghost of John Wayne Gacy is chasing them. I'll just reiterate my hatred of this character, not because Gacy is a serial killer obv, but because it lacks internal logic! Why is he dressed like a clown?? He wasn't executed in his old clown outfit!

Suddenly it's daytime. It's like Bugs all over again. Sam, in a jacket with an FBI decal on it approaches what must be the dumbassiest dumbass sheriff in three states. He convinces the sheriff to evacuate the whole town because of a benzene leak and the sheriff just... takes his word for it. Like, he's never heard of a benzene pipeline in his hometown but doop de doop this handsome giraffe in a cheap jacket said to evacuate so it must be true!

Also why isn't the sheriff down at the cemetery?? Someone would've called that in by now! You know what I don't really care.

Meanwhile, Dean is in the car and tells Castiel to take Belph to go get supplies for the spell. Cas says he can't do it, he can't even bear to look at him. And Dean! Rolls! His! Eyes! Like, Jack's the closest thing Cas will probably ever have to a child. He was with Kelly through her pregnancy. It's only been like eight hours since the kid died horrifically. Don't roll your dang eyes!

Cas leaves and Dean puts the Equalizer gun in the glove compartment along with a copy of The Complete Works of Anton Chekhov.

Belph notices that everyone walking down the street is good-looking. Yeah, that's casting agencies for ya. He says back in his ancient penis-worshiping days, people were uglier. Belph appears to be an equal-opportunity ogler. He turns to Dean. "I mean look at you. You're gorgeous!"

[Graphic: Belphegor replacing his penis-shaped rock altar with that Skittles poster of Jensen Ackles.]

"So who was he anyway?" Belph asks, referring to his meatsuit. "He was our kid, kinda," Dean says. The show manages to resist making a Gay Dads joke that I feel like it would've given into in an earlier season. So, yay progress I guess?

Sam and Castiel split up to check every house for ghosts. That seems super time-consuming. How many Reapers are left besides Billie? I feel like they should get one on the horn unless they're all dead. Anyway, Cas's house is where the Troom Troom girls were killed. The ghost's wig looks even worse in daylight. Do they get their wigs from the Hobby Lobby doll crafting aisle or something?

Sam's house, meanwhile, is where John Wayne Ghosty went on a sartorially illogical rampage. Somehow the mother and daughter are still alive. Dumbass ghosts can't see behind a shelving unit, I guess. The instant Sam gets them safely down, Ass-Clown immediately slices him across the belly. Castiel shows up to blast the ghost with rock salt.

Meanwhile, Belph is fanboying over Dean's torturing skills. Gasp! The show remembered Dean was in Hell. It'd be nice if they were consistent about it but whatever. Belph casually mentions that all the doors in Hell opened and Dean realizes this means the cage, too.

[Graphic: That dancing gif of the actor who played Adam that says "Still in Hell" but now it says "Maybe not in Hell."]

Castiel heals Sam's wound and the fabric of his jacket! The mother and daughter are still standing there seeing all this. Cas is like, "Whatevs, I'm an angel of the Lord & Taylor." The mom is pretty flabbergasted, and even more so when Sam mentions the wound he sustained after shooting God. Castiel can't heal that one, though, because it's probably gonna be a recurring plot point judging by the flash of Evil Sam we see.

The sheriff is making a final sweep through town when he happens upon the Woman in White. The sun looks to be setting, which means it's probably been 16 hours since all the souls and demons escaped, but they're still basically within a mile of the cemetery? Even I, burdened with an easily exhausted flesh body with shitty joints could have gotten farther than that.

Anyway, Belph needs a fresh human heart for his spell so it's pretty handy of the sheriff to die! That way none of the mains need to do the morally objectionable thing of murdering someone.

Dean senses a sudden drop in temperature. "Winnie the Pooh, right now!"

WHAT THE FUUUUCK??

Hold on. I'm watching this at 1.2x speed. Let me rewatch it at 1x.

Okay he says "we need to move, right now."  My apologies to Mr. Pooh for thinking you could ever be a part of this.

[Graphic: Winnie the Pooh chipper as anything. "I CRAVE THE BLEAK ABIDING COMFORT OF DEATH AND HUNNY."]

At the same time, Sam and Castiel are walking the two survivors through town. The little girl pauses at a badly placed fish pond because she sees a woman in it. Is it Bloody Mary? What's she doing in a pond? Seriously though putting a pond right on the street corner is just asking for trouble even without spectral shenannigans. How many people have driven over the curb and right into that thing?

Okay I gotta stop getting hung up on landscaping issues. Even if they are HIGHLY IRRESPONSIBLE AND NONSENSICAL.

Dean is attacked by the Woman in White. Ass Clown goes after Sam and the others, and is soon joined by... a tall ghost and... Lizzie Borden? Sam accidentally shoots Cas full of rock salt when Lizzie vanishes, which is pretty funny although move ya pretty self out of the way, Cas. When she pops up behind him, she tries to choke him with the ax handle. It reminds me of that lesser known poem about Miss Borden.

Lizzie Borden had an ax Gave her mother 40 whacks Tried to choke the angel Cas 'Cause axing would've been too fast

In the ensuing fisticuffs, everyone has time to throw punches while Belph performs the spell. All he does is put the heart on a little pile of salt and chant some Latin. Is like the thing Ruby 1.0 did with that poor virgin girl's heart a million years ago?

Oh sweet Jeebus the sight of these ghosts chasing everyone on foot is... bad and funny. Y'all are ghosts! You can just blip in and out of wherever you want to go! One of the only upsides to being dead has got to be not having to do cardio anymore and here you are running the hundred yard dash like it's 6th grade PE class. They come screeching to a halt where the spell has created an invisible boundary. This might be worse than Hell.

[Graphic: Parisian street mimes trying to escape an invisible box]

But wait... Why wasn't Belphegor affected by this spell? Did he write in an exception clause? Or is it only for ghosts and not demons?

The Good Guys plus Belph bring the mom and daughter to the high school down the road where all the evacuees are sheltering. With no sheriff to coordinate things, isn't it all just gonna... fall to pieces now? How are they gonna convince everyone to stay away from their homes? What if someone needs their prescriptions? ("Oh no my Herpexia!") They can't get rid of the ghosts as long as Hell isn't in business anymore, right? This is a mess. Dean seems to know it.

Dang why are Castiel and Dean on such icy terms? Why do I not remember last season?

Now that they have a five second breather before the shit hits the fan, Dean wants to see Sam's godly bullet wound. It looks a little crusty but not too bad except... "There's no exit wound," Dean notes. He gives it a swipe with some alcohol which will surely kill whatever supernatural E. coli is in there.

"So when Chuck said this was the end I guess this is what he meant," Sam says. Yes being trapped in a high school with my neighbors seems like end times to me, too. Tonally, things seemed a lot more dire in All Hell Breaks Loose 2.

Dean's feeling a bit embittered about discovering they didn't have as much free will as they'd thought, that everything was part of Chuck's personal lab experiment. "What did it all mean?" he wonders. "It meant a lot," Sam says. "We still saved people."

But what even are people, man? I'm going to have an existential crisis and I can't drink as much as Dean because I have that "Asian flush" gene thing. One drink and I turn super red and hot and queasy and then I pass out.

Sam thinks God has fucked off to who knows where because he hasn't seen the promos for episode 2 yet. "He gets bored and starts another story." Ah yes like me and my WiPs. Relatable. Overall, Sam is feeling much more optimistic. "Once we win this, God is gone... and it's just us. We're free."

Dean catches his optimism cooties. "I like those odds," he says of fighting billions of evil souls. You know what that means? We got work to do. Quick intercut of Baby Winchesters with Middle-Aged Winchesters saying the same thing and closing the trunk of the Impala.

[Graphic: Impala with the solar system again. This time the Impala is pulling ahead. "ONE MORE TIME AROUND, SONS O' BITCHES"]

So there we are at the first episode of the final season. Reblog or reply with what you thought of the episode and thanks for reading!

One final note:

You can read more about my writing and general life situation and GoFundMe here: https://tippitv.tumblr.com/post/188224749207/supernatural-final-season-recaps-and-assorted

If you enjoyed the recap and are able, please visit my virtual tip jar: paypal.me/TippiBlevins or https://ko-fi.com/A4017DA

Henry Hound and I could use the financial help!

See you next week.

[hippychick006]

15.01 Back and to the Future - Episode Recap/Review

Finally managed to find time to watch the episode all the way through.  I miss the old days where nothing would have stopped me watching it as soon as it aired, but those days are long gone. 

I’ve put the review under a cut to avoid triggering those that don’t like criticism of the show and think everyone who watches should only see the same rainbows, puppies and sunshine they appear to view when they watch it.  If this is you, it’s easy to just scroll on by or block “spn critical”, but I personally won’t stop making posts that cover both things I love about the show and things that lead to eye twitching.

We open on the last ever road so far of the series (sniffles).  As I’m useless as always with identifying music, Shazam advises me the montage was done to the music of Bob Segar and The Silver Bullet Band.  “The Famous Final Scene”. Lyrics are worth noting here:

Think in terms of bridges burned Think of seasons that must end See the rivers rise and fall They will rise and fall again Everything must have an end Like an ocean to a shore Like a river to a stream Like a river to a stream It's the famous final scene

And how you tried to make it work Did you really think it could How you tried to make it last Did you really think it would Like a guest who stayed too long Now it's finally time to leave Yes, it's finally time to leave Take it calmly and serene It's the famous final scene

It's been coming on so long You were just the last to know It's been a long time since you've smiled Seems like oh so long ago Now the stage has all been set And the nights are growing cold Soon the winter will be here And there's no one warm to hold Now the lines have all been read And you knew them all by heart Now you move toward the door Here it comes the hardest part Try the handle of the road Feeling different feeling strange This can never be arranged As the light fades from the screen From the famous final scene

 How dare they!  I’m feeling feelings!

Kudos to shazam by the way for identifying the music, even over the dialogue. Impressive.

I like that we open through Jack’s burned out eyes to the fighting taking place and the final verse of the song continues during this scene. The boys are doing well, and Badass!Castiel has made an appearance. Hello and welcome to the only version of Castiel I can watch these days.

Great scene of the brothers fighting side by side as they escape through the graveyard, flying Sam and ninja kicking Dean, great to watch and what I’m here for.  

I like the titles for this season, someone else did a great post on this (as long as you ignore the bi purple reference in their otherwise great analysis!).  I personally associate pink/purple with endings and beginnings and I would suggest this is much more likely what the season is about than Dean wanting to get it on with a 2000 year old beam of light in a corpse, but you know, what do Jensen and I know about Dean’s sexuality, am I right?

As always, I like the scenery and lighting so far, the show always does a superb job with both of these and another reason I continue to watch.

However, I am gravely disappointed we didn’t get the demon/ghosts/zombies/what the fuck ever dancing to Thriller, possibly that will come on the gag reel. We can live in hope, because otherwise it’s a missed opportunity.

Sam and Dean standing in front of the door together. Love it.  Any little brother moment makes me happy these days.

Poor Sam, he’s asked Castiel if he can heal Jack. ☹ Of course not, Sam, it’s only episode 15.01. Sheesh.  We have 19 episodes to go.  Pace yourself.

I think some of the dialogue in the mausoleum scene is the weakest in the episode and some of the delivery wasn’t great.  I can’t think of a more boring storyline than manufactured drama between Castiel and  Dean - yawn!  I’m also long past Castiel’s not understanding references stick. “I wouldn’t starve” That would have been funny season 4/5.   Now… not so much.  Also, thanks to Dabb, I don’t have any characters that I’m worried about dying. I know Jack will be back and I have the opposite problem with Castiel.  I didn’t feel any urgency in the whole opening scene.  Just, meh.

I do like however that during Dean getting worked up over Chuck, we see Sam getting distracted in the background and he sneaks off and we know he’s looking for a solution to their current predicament.

Dean eventually notices his brother has wandered off and asks what Sam’s got. Sam suggests there might be a drainage pipe or something.  Dean thinks they’re not that lucky and suggests sewer line.  Oh boys.

Brothers working together to break through the brickwork is what I think most of us are here for.  

RME at Sam and Dean stepping back from the zombie coming through the brickwork they’ve just opened up as if they’ve never hunted anything in their life. Either one (or both because that would have been cool) could have stuck the iron bars they were holding into the zombies head, but no, they needed the side character to rescue them.  So Dabb’s still not averse to making his leads look dumb in order for his side characters to have a purpose. Awesome writing, said no critic of Dabb ever.

Having said that, I have a weakness for people protecting Sam “fucking” Winchester and we get that in the very next scene where Castiel and Dean are slightly in front of Sam when Jack makes an appearance.  

Sam thinks Jack is alive. ☹

Immediately loving Demon B (can’t spell whatever his actual name is), love that Alex is getting the chance to do another character, and he’s killing it so far.  

Dean and Castiel have an argument about whether to listen to the demon, which is settled by Sam saying quietly, “Cass… Dean’s right.” Castiel stops.  Sastiel for the win y’all!

Lucky that spell was so easy, huh?  Hmm, graveyard dirt and angel blood might come in handy this season.   And if you were lucky enough to miss the Heller “Destiel is end game” meta on this spell, consider yourselves incredibly lucky and do not under any circumstances go looking for it.  

Two teenage girls we don’t know are doing what I presume is teenage girl stuff (which I never did by the way, but I might be unusual in that respect). I fear they are the red shirts of this episode so are not long for this world.  Those fears are confirmed when we see Bloody Mary in the mirror.  I’m more than a little confused since nobody said, “Bloody Mary”, let alone 3 times, so how on earth is she doing her mojo?  Anyway, spoiler alert, two girls we don’t care about die.  

Meanwhile, back in the Impala, which has 2 humans, a moody angel and a demon in Jack’s body, we find out 2-3 billion souls might be able to get out of hell through the rift that opened up in the graveyard.   Demon B says he knows a spell that will contain the current ones within a mile of the cemetery which might buy them some time.  Castiel says there’s a town that’s within that distance which would be in danger, so they decide they need to evacuate it and then perform the spell.  As they are talking about all of this, they come across an abandoned car.  Another great brother scene here where Dean and Sam investigate the car together.  Sam seems to flashback to the woman in white from the pilot.  

Sam: This could be our woman in white”.  

Dean: Dude, we sent her to hell years ago.  

Sam: Yeah, she could be back.  

Dean: Well, if she’s back, then they’re all back.  Every last one that we ever killed.

The next scene shows a woman with a child running through a house and there’s blood everywhere.  Again, I’ve got no emotional connection to them so this entire scene is meh for me, even with the child. Sorry.  If I’m going to be perfectly honest, the mom is kind of annoying for me.  Is it bad that I’m currently rooting for the ghosts?

Fast forward this scene, and it’s now daylight. How far did they drive?  Like Jack was killed in daylight, then it got dark – but I think that was Chuck’s doing, and now it’s light again.  I’m going to presume all of the graveyard stuff was 1 hour before dawn, otherwise the timing doesn’t make sense to me.  Anyway, Sam gets out of the car, he’s posing as an FBI agent which gets the suspicion of the local sheriff because that is not regulation FBI hair Sam!  

Meanwhile, Dean suggests Castiel go with “Crowley Junior” to get everything he needs for his spell.  Castiel refuses, he can’t even look at the demon wearing Jack’s body.  Suck it Castiel.  You’re a few millennials old angel, just get the job done ffs and stop being a wuss. Sam and Dean lost Jack too and you don’t see either of them crying into their coco pops!  Grrrr.  

Due to Cass being a weenie, we get brother separation from about half-way through the episode.  Sam with Castiel (Sastiel fans rejoice) and Dean with Demon B.

Castiel leaves the car and joins Sam who is still trying to convince the local sheriff to evacuate the town due to “the pipeline outside of town.” which Sam says has sprung a leak. Sheriff: What pipeline? Oh Sam.  Sam handles it well though, he goes into annoyed mode, which seems to work as the sheriff agrees he can move the towns people up to the high school which he says is 5 miles away.  I like Sam looking silently at Castiel here to check if that’s far enough, which Castiel confirms.

Meanwhile back at the car, Supernatural is as unsubtle as ever, we have a shot of Dean putting the god kiling gun/colt (not sure which) in the glove compartment. Hmm, idly wonders if Demon B is going to steal it at some point.

Demon B thinks Dean is gorgeous.  Calm tf down hellers, Dean is uncomfortable because he considers the meat suit the demon is wearing to be “our son, kind of” (his words, not mine).  Dean asks what Demon B needs to perform the spell and luckily it only requires a bag of salt… and a human heart.

Sam and Castiel are going house to house.  I like the difference between the two, Sam is wandering through the house, gun aimed and ready. Castiel holds the gun loosely at his side. Oh Castiel.  Castiel finds the two girls that were killed by bloody Mary.  Sam finds the little girl and her mom from the earlier scene. Sam is so good with the little girl, but putting his weapon down is a great big anvil to what’s coming next, particularly when Sam says “Everything’s going to be fine”.  

Hurt!Sam alert, but it comes with lame!ghost alert.  I mean that ghost clown is bad. I’m not sure how I feel about Sam still being afraid of this loser, plus he got over clowns several seasons ago, so why have him acting afraid.  Luckily, side character Castiel is here once again to be the hero of the show. Wait, what?

Back with Demon B and we find out he is a fanboy of torturer!Dean.  We also learn that the cage door is open, which means our dimension Michael (and likely brother Adam) is loose.

Castiel heals Sam (and repairs his clothing – have we seen this skill before or is this another continuity error?).  The mom is shocked and Castiel explains he’s an angel.  She asks about the clown, which Sam says was a ghost.  The woman asks about Sam and he says, he’s “just a guy” which is completely inaccurate, especially when his next sentence is “When I shot god…”

Castiel remembers that Sam’s injured and insists on seeing Sam’s shoulder wound and he’s not taking Sam’s bull “it’s nothing, it’s fine…”   So much Sastiel, and I really wish I could get behind this ship, but I won’t ever forgive the panic room, blaming Sam for the apocalpyse, or the bringing down of Sam’s hell wall amongst many other betrayals.  Love Sastiel shippers though and glad they are getting all the cookies.

Ok the vision scene, I’ve seen people thinking it’s Castiel that sees the vision, but it looks like it was Sam to me by the way he reacts, but it’s not 100% clear so it’ll be interesting how this progresses, particularly since the wound has an energy that Castiel’s never felt before.  I also don’t think it’s a vision, but a glimpse of one of the alternate realities. Sam goes back to insisting he’s fine and luckily he gets a call from the sheriff so Castiel can’t call him out on it.

Guys, I’m getting a bad feeling that the sheriff isn’t going to be around much longer.   A feeling that just grows when he comes across a lady wearing white and…

…what the hell?  That isn’t our Constance!  Great cheek bones though.  I have chipmunk cheeks like Paul McCartney so always jealous of great cheekbones.

Demon B and Dean are struggling with the heart ingredient. Dean’s thinking morgue, Demon B is a little fussy and would prefer fresh…

…  Wait a minute… was that a scream?  How fortuitous that I think Demon B’s about to get his spell ingredient.  Poor sheriff.  Damn you show!

Uh, Castiel and Sam, I don’t want to teach you how to do your job, but one in front, one behind the survivors would have been the way I’d have done it.  Horror movie survival 101. Just fyi. Plus your walk is not in sync.

See, I told you one of you should have walked behind! One of your survivors just wandered off and is now in danger and neither of you even noticed.

I’m getting whiplash again from the frequent scene changes during this entire segment, I hate when they do this.  Back with Demon B and Dean who realises the air is cold.  

Uh no Constance bitch, Dean did not take you home.  Sam did, but what is canon on this show any longer? Anyway, Dean gets thrown and knocked out.

Back with Castiel and Sam, clown ghost appears.  Castiel: “It’s just one ghost.”  

They walk closer and two more ghosts appear, Castiel, “…just three…”  Oh dear.

Sam and Castiel start shooting the ghosts.  Sam accidentally shoots Castiel instead of Lizzie Borden (I think it’s her), but given it’s rock salt, Castiel is okay.  While they have a “you shot me moment”, they take their eyes off the third ghost. I am not shocked at all that the third ghost takes advantage of their stupidity and tackles Sam to the ground.

Back with Demon B who is telling Constance she is a “Bad ghost.  Bad!”

Sam is getting whaled on.  Let’s put this down to his shoulder injury because otherwise Sam “fucking” Winchester has completely forgotten how to fight this episode.

Back with Demon B and Dean rescues him using iron to dispel Constance.  Great job Dean!  A+

Which gets reduced to a B- since the very next scene Dean throws his only weapon away.  Dean come on! This is horror movie survival 101.  I’m questioning your 30+ years of training at this point.  

Back with Sam, little girl survivor is entranced by a pond, which suddenly has a woman appear in it.  Sneak attack from Bloody Mary.  If that face had appeared at night and the pond water had not had an anvil dropped on it several times over the last few minutes, I might have been a little scared, but nope.

Back with Dean and Demon B who start the spell. Going back and forth between this and Castiel and Sam who are still getting whaled on.  Well actually, Sam is getting whaled on, Castiel is doing okay. Ooh, kick to the face shot on Sam. Hurry up Demon B.  The pretty is getting hurt!

Lovely, Sam “fucking” Winchester gets rescued for the third time in a single episode.   We may have to remove the middle name until Sam’s allowed to be a competent hunter again!

Demon B finishes the spell and it’s quite impressive, we see a light zoom towards Castiel and Sam that comes to an end a few hundred yards down the road -  which means they are still in the same zone as the ghosts, which all appear again. This spell looks like a firewall and I’m wondering if my firewall theory might ye be a possibility.

Sam tells Castiel to get the others across the line. Castiel doesn’t want to agree but Sam insists.  Sam stays behind to hold off the ghosts saying “bring it” and… his gun clicks empty. Oh Sam, this is a really bad day for you.

Sam gives his “look how cute I am smile” and starts running.  I have absolutely no idea why the ghosts are running.  They were able to appear a few seconds ago, I would think this would be faster.  

We do really need someone to edit the Benny Hill Yackety Sax music into this chase scene because it isn’t the least bit scary.  I’m sorry.

I like Sam protecting the little girl as he thinks he’s about to get stabbed, but in the first lucky moment of Sam’s really, terrible bad day, they made it just across the invisible barrier.

Lame Ghost!clown is a tad upset and whines.  Sam tells him to “Shut up!” Yeah Sammy!   With a final glare at the ghosts, Sam follows Castiel and the 2 survivors as they walk away.

They get back to Dean who drives them to the school. The impala is now even more full with 2 Winchesters, a still moody angel, demon B and 2 survivors.

Sam walks the survivors over to the school building and he’s just… sigh.  

However, I quickly realise this means we’re going to get a Dean and Castiel scene and prepare to cringe.  Dean asks Castiel: “You ok?”  Castiel: “Yes, but…”  Dean: “Good” and he walks away.  

Okaaaay, that went better than I was anticipating.  I do think Castiel was about to tell Dean about Sam’s shoulder injury though (because let’s face it, those two only talk about Sam or on rare occasions, Jack) so Dean not knowing about the “energy” Castiel felt might come back to bite later because Sam’s definitely not going to tell him about it.

Demon B thinks it was awkward, and I agree.

Okay, everyone shhhh!  It’s the 20th last ever broment!  Dean wants to take care of Sam’s injury. Sam’s “fine”. Dean’s not having any of it and insists.   Dean distracts Sam with a story from their childhood and these are the moments I continue to watch the show for!  

They talk about Chuck, Dean thinks they’ve had no free will, that they are just rats in a maze and he’s questioning what any of it ever meant. Sam ever the optimist believes they made a difference, that they saved people.  He thinks Chuck’s gone and that means it’s just them.  

Dean: and about 3 billion ghosts

Sam:  Yeah, well, what’s one more apocalypse, right?...   But seriously, if we win, when we win this, god’s gone. There’s no one to screw with us. There’s no more rats in a maze, it’s just us.  And we’re free.

Dean: “So, you and me, verse every soul in hell…. I like those odds.”

Sam smiles: “Yeah, me too.”

Dean: “Well, you know what that means?”                                               

Sam: “We’ve got work to do.” Sam closes the trunk and we flashback to pilot!Sam doing the same thing.

How dare you show.  Now I obviously need to go do some dusting… as my house has suddenly become dusty or my spring allergies are playing up a couple of seasons early...  

Other than some lame, eye rolling moments that I’ve covered throughout, I didn’t mind this episode, and I didn’t mind the separation. I’ve said before I don’t mind some brother separation, I like the different dynamics we get to see, but if we get a lot of brother separation again, I will not be such a happy bunny.  Don't care about other people’s views on this, but that’s mine.  I’m primarily watching for J2′s chemistry and you can’t get that if they aren’t on screen together.

I’m interested so far in where we’re headed which is good.  The only thing I’m not interested in which I commented on earlier is the 😴 fest (imo) that appears to be the Dean and Cass falling out that’s still hovering since last season. My main concern right now is that Dean will be made to apologise at some point and placate the wooby angel’s hurt feelings with a soap opera esque dramatic scene (which Dabb will cry while he writes it and' I’ll cry for entirely different reasons while I endure it) . Dean will no doubt declare yet again that Castiel is “brother/family” which will be as meaningless as the other times he’s said it.  

I’ve never been here for a storyline less than this one. And that includes Amelia that at least gave us great hair Sam, soft focus Sam, Sam with a dog and jealous!Dean.

I really hope I’m completely wrong and that Dabb won’t throw one of his lead characters under the bus in favour of a side character, but... then I remember it’s Dabb and he has thrown his lead characters under a bus for the sake of side characters.

All this is just my speculation.  It may or may not come to pass, but I like to get my concerns down so I can work through them.