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howdoyousleep3 · 4 years

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Miss K! Have you seen ozarkthedog’s edits of silverfox Senator Chris??? Reminded me of silverfox Senator Rogers oh god and I just know he’s gonna treat little itty bitty baby Intern Bucky so right 😍

YES I am finally getting to this, wowza. First, we must quite literally soak in @ozarkthedog‘s gorgeous edits, let us drool.

W O W.

Okay, so keeping those in mind here are some Intern Bucky and Silver Fox Senator thoughts...

This Senator Rogers has known he’s wanted Bucky since the interview, fresh eyes and bubbly spirit and sharp tongue, “You’ll bring somethin’ special to this team, kid…”

Mr. Rogers is all direct touches, wandering eyes, slick lips. He is squeezes on the back of Bucky’s neck, hot praise on his ear, proud eyes. The Senator is obvious, so much so that Bucky questions if what he is experiencing is indeed what he thinks it is or if this is the same treatment everyone else receives

It isn’t

One late evening proves just that. A one-on-one meeting, a lingering hand on Bucky’s waist that pulls him in tight between Senator Rogers’ thighs after a few tense seconds

A whispered, “Hear an awful lot’a hissin’ and spittin’ comin’ out of that mouth, Barnes. I’ve been wonderin’ if it’s possible for it to be sweet. God, it’s gotta be sweet sometimes, right? Look at it…” and a swipe of a thumb along his bottom lip is all it takes for Bucky’s insides to crumble and fall apart

He didn’t stand a chance against such an advancement

It was the, “Feisty bratty boys like you love callin’ a man like me ‘Daddy’. Ain’t that right, honey?” that sent him dick-first into this whirlwind secret physical relationship with Senator Rogers

Getting involved with his much older boss is simultaneously the worst and best thing that has ever happened to Bucky. He is both the dumbest but the most well-fucked he will ever be in his life

Bucky earned this scholarship and position, fought for it with his test scores, his grades, his involvement in the community and at school. He has tenacity, shows grit, fights for all things just. But get him on his knees in front of Senator Rogers and that rich and smooth voice, skilled hands, and high expectations, and Bucky is one dumb fuck

Mr. Rogers, Daddy, has rules, has expectations that he will not waiver on, will not soften on. Steve is a hard Daddy, only gives Bucky praise and reward when Bucky deserves it, tells Bucky to do better when he doesn’t. He runs a tight ship, both within this thing they have going and outside of that realm, in his career and office

Bucky’s favorite rule, and the one he has trouble with the most, is eye contact

No matter what Bucky is doing (sucking the Senator off as he continues diligently working at his desk, going sweet settled between those thighs with his mouth full, bouncing in the Senator’s lap and fucking himself on that fat cock) Mr. Rogers always expects Bucky’s eyes to be on him

“Wanna see you lookin’ at me any time I look at you. Daddy wants to see what he does to you, baby. Can you do that for me? Hmm, practice?”

Bucky tucked between the Senator’s legs behind the older man’s desk, putting his mouth to work, lazy and long strokes and suckles just like Mr. Rogers said he wanted. Bucky’s eyelids so very heavy, whimpering each time the Senator clicks his tongue or snaps his finger, pinches Bucky’s ear

Senator Rogers says training Bucky is his “goddamn favorite” because Bucky always wants to fight, is quick to retaliate, wants to snap and bite and throw a fit, “but with Daddy you wouldn’t fuckin’ dare. Know you’re gonna be sweet just for me…”

The Senator training Bucky to properly deepthroat his cock was remarkably memorable, something that Bucky touched himself for weeks and months to come, something that was so very intense

Daddy is big, and Bucky can take big, but Daddy is thick, very much so, toe-curlingly so. Bucky had made the mistake of scoffing, of rolling his eyes and dismissing Daddy’s warnings

He ended up sputtering around a mouthful of cock, drool on his chin, tears in his eyes, Daddy telling him to “hold it, hold it. Whats’a matter, sugar? Thought you said you could take it...”

Bucky has never wanted to be good for anyone. He prides himself in his confidence, the fight that courses through each and every bone in his body. He’s never met someone that makes him yearn to be good, to be sweet, but Bucky wants to do everything right for Mr. Rogers

There’s nothing better when the Senator purrs, hums, when he curses low under his breath, when Bucky makes him come just like the older man told him to

There’s nothing sweeter when he refers to Bucky as “kitten”, when Bucky gets cockdrunk and his sweet lil’ brain dissolves like cotton candy in a puddle

“S’a boy, there you go. Just love keepin’ Daddy’s dick wet, don’t you? Look how dumb you are for it. Yeah lemme have you, lemme have all’a you, come on…”

Nothing but the best for Daddy, absolutely nothing less, taps on Bucky’s cheeks, his thighs when he is caught slipping up

Which happens a lot because Daddy can last so fucking long

This Daddy has stamina, this Daddy fucks for pleasure, prolongs it as long as he can. He has such control over his body that it makes Bucky’s own feel like it’s been put through the ringer after Daddy is done using it

“Look at that,” Steve tends to say, hands spreading Bucky’s ass cheeks apart, a looker. “That’s a happy boy pussy right there, ain’t it, Buck? All that pretty pink, tight and warm all for me, huh? Yeah, know it is, s’right. This pussy hungry? S’it ready to be fed, is it ready for Daddy to fuck it full?”

There is absolutely nothing Senator Rogers loves more than seeing the aftermath of their fuck. He never fails to grip Bucky’s chin, to give him a good once-over and a hot kiss, after he pulls himself out of Bucky’s body

Bucky is well-trained, knows to stay where he is once Daddy pulls out, no matter how messy he feels

Daddy’s purrs and sighs and curses as he sits and watches his come drip out of Bucky’s pussy, down his balls, down his thigh, bring Bucky far too much joy

"Fuck, that’s nice. Show me, show Daddy all of it, c’mon. You know what I like to see,” are shamefully Bucky’s favorite moments, where he lays in whatever position he is in and works the Senator’s come from his ass, where Steve rumbles and plays with him, plays with Bucky’s bitty hole and his own come, occasionally dropping his head down and using his mouth to continue to savor and enjoy the remnants of their fuck

This tends to be Bucky’s favorite moment for another reason as well, where he’s rewarded if he’s done a good job. Sometimes Senator Rogers leaves him waiting, leaves him hard, but other times he touches Bucky, hot and heavy, tells him he can come for being so good

Bucky is to always say thank you as he comes, always squeals it as Daddy milks him for what he’s worth, “thank you, thank you, thank you, Daddy...!”

There’s always a debrief, always skin-on-skin contact, always a discussion of what was acceptable and what can be improved upon. It always leaves Bucky wanting to do better, looking forward to the next time the Senator gets to coach Bucky through a fuck...

Lord have mercy this got away from me. I hope these thoughts suffice! Similar yet a little different than my normal Senator. A little more filthy but more strict, hehe. No projection here, no no...👀 Thank you, nonnie! Also, another thank you to @ozarkthedog! 💕✨💖

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ptersparkers · 4 years

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best friends

summary: john b. always seems to be the talk of the town when tourists party with pogues and kooks alike, but what he doesn’t know is that you’re as attracted to him as these female tourists.

warnings: implied smut and typos, probably.

a/n: uMMMM tell me why im highkey in love with this show. also, let me know what you think!! i love feedback. 🥺

add yourself to my taglist!

You had to admit. John B. looked good when he exposed his chest when he wore button downs. His attractiveness did not go unnoticed, however. Nearly every tourist who came to visit always had some sort of comment about him and it took nearly everything in you to shut them up.

Puberty hit John B. like a truck during your first year of high school. Maybe it was JB becoming more consciously aware of how he dressed and working out, or maybe it was you realizing you had the biggest crush on your next door neighbor and best friend of ten years.

What made it worse was how oblivious he was to everyone’s advances and obvious flirtation, including your own.

Currently, you were sitting with JJ on a sturdy branch away from the bustling crowd filled with mostly tourists. A few Kooks who didn’t seem to bother you and your friends kept to themselves and only interacted if they wanted more alcohol. People were chatting around multiple campfires and crowded around kegs to get more cups of beer, and you couldn’t help but scowl at the large crowd gathered around John B.

“If you stare at him long enough, maybe he’ll explode,” JJ teases. You scoffed and bumped his shoulder with your own. Your “brother from another mother,” as JJ often put it, loved teasing you about your not-so-obvious infatuation with the boy.

“Shut up, JJ,” you retorted. He looked at the crowd beyond him and laughed at the tourists who would be leaving within the next week or so.

“You might as well protect what’s yours,” he said with a wink.

“JB’s not my property,” you replied. “He’s a grown man. He’s capable of making his own decisions.”

“If you mean he’s capable of asking out other girls, you’re doing that to yourself.”

You looked at him. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” he said, “he’s smart, but not that smart. We’ve all noticed the hints you’ve been dropping but John B. hasn’t. Maybe it’s time for you to up your game and say something to him. All of us know he’s practically your boyfriend, for goodness sake.”

“Well what am I gonna do? Say, ‘Hey, we’ve been friends since we were five years old and I have the fattest crush you on you’?”

“Exactly,” JJ said, chugging the rest of his beer. “I’ll even stay sober for the rest of the night if you do it.”

You scoff. “You, sober during a party?”

“I’m that serious, Y/N.”

You look at him and he has a “no bullshit” expression. Not one to lose a challenge (and wanting to see if JJ will keep his word), you hop off of the branch and grab his cup from his hands.

John B. always played the role of bartender and you couldn’t help but wonder if he liked being in control of the alcohol flow or if it gave him a reason to stay sober. Whatever it was, it always seemed to attract a crowd of women who shamelessly checked him out while buzzed or drunk. He looked good — his skin was tan and glistening under the moonlight. He wore a snapback and a shirt that was, again, unbuttoned. But this time it was completely unbuttoned, leaving nothing to the imagination. You cursed and found yourself in that group of girls who were doing the same thing you were — drooling over the man behind the keg stand.

You awkwardly waited patiently as you watched a brunette laugh a little too loudly at JB’s joke. Upon seeing an empty spot after someone left after they had gotten their fill, you walked into the empty space. It was clear that the women around you had glazed eyes and were trying to make it seem like they were more worthy of John B’s attention than anyone else. Upon realizing this, you turned to JJ to see him give you a thumbs up, to which you just shrugged. You were not about to partake in making yourself seem better than other people if it meant embarrassing yourself when the night was over.

As you were about to step away and tell JJ you’d find some other time to tell John B. how you felt about him, a familiar voiced echoed through the crowd.

“Y/N!” John B. shouted. You turned around and saw his goofy smile plastered on his face. “C’mere.”

How could you say no?

“Hey,” you said coolly. “You’ve been busy.”

John B. looked at you with a smile and saw the cup in your hands.

“You drinking tonight?”

You shook your head. “Nah. JJ asked me to get another cup for him,” you said, lying.

“JJ and his beer,” said John B., shaking his head. “Maybe I won’t pour him another one this time.”

You laughed and watched as he gave the keg spout to someone beside him and step out of the crowd, which caused some people to groan in annoyance. You couldn’t help but laugh at the expressions of buzzed women who pouted when they saw John B. leaving his post.

“You stayin’ sober?” you asked, discarding the cup in the trash.

“Might as well,” he said. “I’m not in the mood to get wasted tonight.”

“Me either,” you said.

“You rarely drink,” he teased, fixing his cap. “But that’s not a bad thing.”

He maneuvered himself so that he’d be standing next to you and you glanced to your right, seeing his abs poke out of his shirt that being moved by the wind. You bit your lip and looked at his prominent jawline and saw that he was looking across at the ocean ahead of you.

“You look really good tonight,” you blurted out somewhat nonchalantly. John B’s attention snapped down to look at you and you had caught his gaze.

“Yeah?” he asked, licking his lips.

“Whatever you’re doing, keep doing it,” you said.

John B. put his arm around your shoulders and pulled you in for a side hug, his fingertips brushing the skin of your arm that sent goosebumps up and down your body.

“You look stunning,” he said, whispering in your ear. Maybe it was the chill of the wind or the fact that you had been up for a long time without a wink of sleep that made you feel more confident than usual. You didn’t need to be drunk to want John B’s arm around you.

“Prettiest girl on this entire beach.” You blushed and hid your face in his side.

“Shut up,” you mumbled. John B. laughed and pried you away from him so that he could move his hand from your shoulders to your waistline, his hand making its way up and down your side almost as if to convince you to stay next to him.

“I’m being serious, Y/N,” he said, looking down at you. “So pretty, baby.”

You knew your relationship with him was always somewhat flirtatious, but this was the first time either of you had taken it to the next level.

Not that either one of you minded.

You maneuvered your hand to rest on his lower abdomen and leaned your head on his shoulder, watching as tourists partied the night away and your friends make fools of each other while making fun of the people who would be leaving within a week. Nonchalantly, your fingers moved to caress the skin underneath and you felt his body tense underneath your touch.

“You okay?” you asked him, looking up at him.

“Perfectly fine,” he said, his jaw clenched. “Some party, huh?” You rolled your eyes at his lame attempt at small talk and moved yourself so that you were holding onto his hand and standing right in front of him.

“Before I decide to do anything else tonight,” you stated, looking at JJ who was behind John B., “I gotta ask. Do you enjoy this dance that we’re doing?”

John B. recalled the many conversations he’d have with JJ, Kie, and Pope about his obliviousness, and your question (along with everything else you had been doing that night) had confirmed you felt the same about him as he had about you.

“No, I don’t,” he said, intertwining your fingers together. He gave your hand a gentle squeeze and kissed the back of your hand. “The gang’s been telling me how oblivious I am to your flirting.”

“That’s true,” you said, tilting your head to the side. “We’ve been friends since we were five. What a cliche, huh?”

“Even if that’s true, to hell with the rule,” he said, referring to the “no pogue on pogue macking” rule all of you had created before you knew what relationships were really like and before two members felt the same about each other.

“And,” he said, pulling your body closer to his, “I really want to kiss you right now.”

“Then what’s stopping you from doing it?”

You didn’t need to ask him twice. John B. grinned before leaning forward to capture your lips in his and rest his hand on the small of your back, squeezing your hip and moving at a pace that seemed excruciatingly slow, almost as if he wanted to continue teasing you despite having confessed your feelings to one another. Classic JB, you thought.

But you weren’t having it. The tips of your fingers grazed his abdomen and John B’s mouth opened in surprise, letting out a quiet, deep moan that left you chuckling at how vulnerable he was, putty in your hands. He wouldn’t disagree.

His lips moved from yours to kiss your jawline and you watched as you caught the eyes of a few girls who had been following John B’s movements for the past hour as he served beer to anyone who wanted it. He seemed to notice your displacement and gazed at what you were looking at, only for him to wink at the group of girls that gathered before you and resumed his attention on your jawline.

“We’re in public,” you said, pushing him so that he would meet your gaze.

John B. laughed. “I was waiting for you,” he said. “I wanted to stay sober because I was going to find the right time to tell you how much I loved you.”

“Funny,” you said, tapping his chest. “I was doing the same. And JJ swore he’d stay sober for the rest of the night but I doubt that’s happening.” John B. turned around to see JJ hollering in your direction.

“Eh, I think this is the one time we can bet on,” he said, clasping his hands behind you. John B. had you in his arms and there was nowhere better.

“My girl,” he said, swaying you both back and forth.

“I think,” you began, “that we should leave this party early.”

He raised his eyebrow. “Oh, sweetheart? And why’s that?”

You laughed coyly and brought your hands to his chest, tracing random patterns and felt the way his body tended underneath you. All he could think about was how good you looked, how he didn’t have to wonder if you were going to reject him or not, and that his pants were growing tighter by the second.

“Well, I think your pants are getting tighter and one more minute on the beach means JJ gets an opportunity to make fun of you.” John B. looked down and mentally groaned at the thought of you noticing, but let out a literal groan when you pulled yourself against his body and snapped his waistband.

“Let’s get out of here, yeah? I can help you out with your problem,” you said with doe eyes.

“Oh yeah? And how are you gonna do that?”

You smirked.

“By letting you do whatever you want to me.”

#john b x reader #john b imagines #obx x reader #outer banks #obx imagines #chase stokes #chase stokes x reader #chase stokes imagines #my writing #DHFKJDHSFJ #idk where i was going with this #john b #best friends

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rachelkaser · 4 years

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Stay Golden Sunday: Second Motherhood

Blanche dates a rich, charming man, but balks at marrying him when she discovers he has young children. Rose and Dorothy attempt to install a new toilet.

Picture It...

Rose and Dorothy consult with a plumber on their bathroom repair, but object when he quotes an estimate of $3,000. Dorothy throws him out when he tries to talk down to them. When Rose shows unexpected plumbing savvy, Dorothy asks if they could repair the bathroom themselves, and Rose agrees; Sophia is skeptical. Blanche enters and asks to borrow some of Dorothy’s jewelry, as she’s on a date with her rich new beau, Richard. She becoming very fond of him, but is feigning disinterest in his money so he won’t think that’s why she likes him.

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Later, in Richard’s private jet, Blanche fumbles around but plays it cool when Richard enters. He’s impressed that she’s not overwhelmed that he’s flying them to Atlanta for dinner as he plies her with champagne and caviar -- has the show mentioned this guy is loaded yet? Blanche is struggling with a recliner while Richard drones out his life story. He tells her that there’s just one thing missing in his life: “Someone to share it with.” Blanche is ecstatic to hear that.

Rose is puttering around in the bathroom late at night and tells Dorothy, who comes in to see what the noise is all about, that she’s made a revolutionary plumbing discovery. Blanche comes in and excitedly tells them about her date -- Rose has to be pulled away from the toilet to listen -- saying that Richard wants to introduce her to his family. She thinks this is a prelude to a marriage proposal.

BLANCHE: Girls, I’m so excited! Just imagine being Richard’s wife! I would be married to a gorgeous, intelligent man -- I’d be living like a queen! SOPHIA: *coming into the bathroom* Think about it in your room, your Highness. I need to use the throne.

Rose and Dorothy are making progress on the repair and are awaiting the arrival of the new toilet -- Sophia is still skeptical. The plumber, (uh) Lou, arrives carrying their new “Dolan Standard Lowboy.” When he offers to install it, Dorothy tells him they’re doing it themselves. He starts rambling about how one needs to be a man to install a toilet, and spitefully leaves the toilet in the living room when Dorothy chastises him. Rose and Dorothy can’t move the toilet themselves, and Blanche nearly walks in to introduce Richard but backs out when she sees Rose sitting on it. She says goodbye to Richard and comes in to show the Girls the engagement ring he gave her. They’re happy for her, but Blanche says she can’t marry him.

The Girls interrogate Blanche about why she can’t marry him. She says when Richard introduced her to “his family,” he failed to warn her this included two children under the age of 10. She’s not sure if she wants to become a stepmother to such young children. The three of them discuss it in the kitchen and the Girl’s opinions are opposite to Blanche’s expectations: Dorothy wouldn’t marry him, while Rose would. They discuss the pros and cons of being a mother. Blanche says she was happy when she was raising her children, but she still doesn’t want to do it again. Rose and Dorothy encourage her to spend time with Richard and the kids.

SOPHIA: Dorothy, you’re a genius! DOROTHY: Ma, wait a minute, what are you talking about? SOPHIA: I walk into the living room, and there’s a toilet in front of the television set. It’s an old lady’s dream come true!

Around a week later, Dorothy and Rose are working on the pipes in the wall, but are running into problems. When Rose tries to wash her hands, she turns on the shower for some reason. (Uh) Lou the plumber arrives, having been summoned by Sophia, and turns off the water. He again tries to tell the Girls that they need a man to fix their bathroom -- Sophia inexplicably agrees with him, though mostly because she’d like a working toilet sometime this century -- but Dorothy physically throws him out of the house.

Blanche comes in, having just returned from a trip to Bermuda. She spent the whole day with just the kids because Richard was busy. She really likes the kids, but now she has a new issue: She’s spent more time with the kids lately than Richard has spent with either her or them. It’s so bad that his kids are now used to it. She’s now worried that the only reason Richard wants to marry her is to have someone to raise his children. Dorothy tells her she needs to talk to him about it, and quickly.

BLANCHE: Even Little Richard came up to me and said, “Now don’t worry. This happens all the time.” ROSE: Little Richard was in Bermuda?! DOROTHY: Yes Rose. He was burying Fats Domino in the sand.

Blanche is on the private jet with Richard, as he conducts business over the phone. When he hangs up, he wants to start talking about their honeymoon, but Blanche stops him and tells him they have a problem. She lays her cards on the table: Richard’s business takes up so much time that he has precious little to spend on her and the kids -- and she thinks he needs to be spending what time there is with his kids. Richard correctly guesses she’s turning him down, and she tells him to focus on the children for now, and if he’s still looking for a wife years later, to get in touch with her. She then tries to walk off triumphantly, before remembering she’s on a plane.

Sometime later, Dorothy and Rose put the finishing touches on the now-repaired bathroom and installed toilet. Blanche comes in and admires their work. She’s finally ready to start dating again, even though she says she will miss Richard. Sophia comes in, and Dorothy is eager to show her they managed to finish the work in spite of her doubts. With Blanche and Rose’s help, they simultaneously flush the toilet, turn on the faucet, and start the shower. The three high-five each other. Sophia’s reaction?

SOPHIA: Knock it off. It’s water, not oil.

“Our biggest worry will be tank sweat.”

Men give the Golden Girls some mighty big headaches, but I think this episode has my favorite scenes this season of them putting men in their place. Whether it’s two separate misogynist plumbers getting the wood of the front door in their noses, or Blanche’s latest boyfriend being (politely, lovingly) told that he actually needs to pay attention to his small children, the Girls straight-up take apart every single man who appears in this episode -- even Sophia gets a chance to call (uh) Lou a “moron,” even as she’s ostensibly on his side against Dorothy and Rose.

Though it may be the B-plot, the plumbing story that takes up Rose, Dorothy, and Sophia’s attention this episode is by far the more interesting of the two plotlines. The question of why it’s Dorothy and Rose’s responsibility to foot the plumbing bill when they’re both Blanche’s paying tenants does create a bit of a plothole, but this is one of those times it pays to listen to the MST3K Mantra and just relax, because the scenario is one of the funniest in the whole first season.

DOROTHY: Honey, do you know what’s behind that wall that you’re banging on? ROSE: A lateral fusion pipe. DOROTHY: And do you know what’s on the other side of that lateral fusion pipe? ROSE: No. DOROTHY: MY HEAD!

One of the lasting sources of this show’s appeal, for me, is that it’s one of the best representations of women making in on their own and supporting each other, and yet doesn’t need to be in your face about its feminism. The Golden Girls accomplishes what takes Designing Women an eight minute-long rant in two seconds, with that little “uh...” before Lou the Misogynist Plumber’s name as Dorothy looks at his nametag.

Honestly, Dorothy’s refusal to remember the plumber’s name, her treating this self-assured prick with the same amount of casual dismissal that I know I and many women of my acquaintance have experienced from the other direction is just the best. And she is doing it deliberately -- notice she has no problem remembering his name when she’s hauling him out of the house by his wrist.

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The only thing better than that is the door slams. Dorothy and her door slams are the best. I don’t know how the set’s door was hung, but something about the way Bea Arthur slams it makes the most satisfying noise. Honestly, I hope that I can slam a door that hard in the face of every man who uses phrases like, “your feminist phase” or “You gotta be a man, for god’s sake.”

Rose knowing her plumbing stuff is pretty cool, I have to admit. I live in the age of YouTube tutorials and endless internet info, and even I would be intimidated to repair a bathroom and replace a toilet myself. They’re doing it with actual books! I do wonder about something though: This episode indicates that there are only two bathrooms in this house, the main one and Blanche’s. Yet on the set in Rose’s room, there’s a door that leads into what’s pretty obviously a bathroom. The layout of this house is ever-changing and mysterious. It’s like the Winchester House, but cooler!

Moving over to Blanche’s story, Richard might take the crown (at least for this season) of Most Outwardly Appealing Boyfriend Who’s Quite Troubling Under The Surface. I’ll leave aside his conspicuous displays of wealth, his referring to Asia as “the Orient,” and how he seems to be lowkey testing Blanche -- he mentions how every other woman he’s dated has been impressed with his stuff, and he connects with the first woman who manages to hide it. I have a bigger problem with him: Why is it he’d been dating Blanche for long enough to want to marry her, and yet she didn’t know he had two kids until she met them?

I understand not introducing your kids to a new paramour until it’s very serious -- I don’t have kids of my own, nor have I been the kid in that position, but everybody I’ve ever spoken to says that’s basically the first rule of dating as a parent. But not even letting the new girlfriend know you have such young children is a new level of WTF. I’m going to assume, based on Blanche saying, “Babies need a mama,” that the mother is no longer in the picture. The fact that Richard has, by his own admission, dated a lot of woman when the mother can’t have been gone for very long paints a very unflattering picture of a rich-yet-distant father who dates around, probably to obtain the mother Blanche fears he’s trying to make her.

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Honestly, I think Blanche’s assessment that he’s marrying her because he wants a mother for his children is right on the money. I mean, I will give him the benefit of the doubt that that’s not the only reason he wants to marry her, but after he introduces them, this guy who was showering Blanche with attention suddenly can’t make any of their dates. He specifically bails when she’s with the kids, despite the fact that she’s virtually a stranger to them. It’s almost as if, now that he thinks he’s got Blanche hooked, he’s comfortable pushing all his childcare responsibilities off on her.

When Blanche imitates Richard Jr saying, “Now don’t worry, this happens all the time” to Blanche when his father gets another mysterious “last-minute appointment,” my heart breaks a little. I have the feeling that Blanche’s imprecation that he spend time with his kids lasted just long enough for Richard to find someone who was willing to take being his third priority in exchange for his money. While her taste in men leaves something to be desired, I’m extremely glad Blanche was savvy enough to realize that that would have been her life had she married Richard. And I sincerely hope he got his kids a nanny on par with Fran Fine to compensate.

Now, I don’t usually comment on the fashion of this show, and I don’t intend to make a habit of it -- I suspect there’s some budding Joan Rivers out there who can do the job far better than I could. But for certain episodes I have to make an exception, this being one of them. Blanche’s outfits in this episode are something else. Specifically, she spends the first third of the episode dressed in this:

A silky, violet top beaded with shiny plastic discs is certainly a choice, especially when paired with indigo satin pants that are a close-but-not-quite color match. I will go to bat for any of the outfits on this show, even the pastel diamond-patterned evening gown with noticeable shoulder bumps Blanche wears later in this episode, but this is the one that makes me cock my head to the side and go, “Huh, so they wore that in the 80s, did they?”

Of course, her corn-colored ensemble -- which is a flawless color match on three separate pieces of clothing -- is without peer, so I don’t know where I get off criticizing her.

Episode rating: 🍰🍰🍰🍰 (four cheesecake slices out of five)

Favorite part of the episode:

Every single line and beat of the toilet delivery sequence is solid gold bullion:

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#golden girls #stay golden sunday #s01e19 #blanche devereaux #rose nylund #dorothy zbornak #sophia petrillo #stay golden #picture it #second motherhood

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homosociallyyours · 4 years

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ok so @dulcimerharry tagged me in this little game again and i REALLY love this sort of thing so i’m giving it a second go. here are the rules:

put your music/a favorite playlist on shuffle and write prompts for the first three songs that come up

Afternoon Delight, Starland Vocal Band--

GOD SUCH A CLASSIC!!! I’m picturing a girl direction fic set in the late 40s/early 50s. Harry is married to a man who she dated in high school, trying her best to be the happy homemaker. When her husband’s best friend from war time moves to their home town with his British war bride (Louis), it makes sense for the two women to spend a lot of time together. They fall for each other relatively quickly considering the circumstances, and every morning after their husbands go off to work and they’ve tidied the house, they get together. First it’s just for coffee and cigarettes, but eventually it’s the only time they’re able to really touch one another. I’m picturing lots of scenes where one of them burns breakfast because she can’t stop thinking about putting her hands over the other’s skin, and lots of dappled sunlight streaming in through cheery curtains. The happy ending is that they catch their husbands together and are all instantly filled with relief. They stay in their lavender marriages until the 70s, but it’s a bit of a grace and frankie situation.

Break Up With Your Girlfriend, I’m Bored; Ariana Grande--

I wanna take this not so literally, so let’s see if this works: Character A works for Character B’s PR firm, and while B is used to having a new “relationship” every 6-9 months, they feel like something weird is happening when that number keeps shrinking. When B gets the call about a new relationship after just over a month, they’ve had it. Storming into the office they’re shocked to run into Character A, the ex they dated before becoming famous who they think of as the one who got away. A tries to play it cool, but this is sort of the outcome they hoped for...they just thought it would happen a lot sooner.

I’m Not Gonna Teach Your Boyfriend How to Dance With You, Black Kids--

GOD this song!!! I LOVE IT!! So I love this being a miscommunication fic with (girl direction) dance instructor Louis who has Harry in a bunch of her dance classes. Louis has a HUGE crush, but she’s waiting for the right moment to take things to more than a casual level. Unfortunately she thinks she’s a moron when she finds out that Harry has referred a friend-- a male friend, who kisses her cheek hello and who she touches the whole time they’re talking --for private lessons with Louis. What’s she teaching him? Oh, just a WEDDING DANCE. That Harry has a part in. Convinced that Harry is marrying this perfectly nice but very straight man, Louis sulks through every lesson. He is terribly uncoordinated, but Harry looks so happy when she sees him learning the dance (she calls the man BABE and Louis feels her insides dissolve in the acid of her jealousy) that Louis feels like she’s gotta try and do a good job. The day of the wedding approaches, and both Harry AND the groom say Louis should come to the wedding. She can’t make herself say no. When she shows up and sees that Harry is actually the best man and not the bride? Well. She feels like an idiot, but a lucky one.

WHO TO TAG!!?? @newleafover, @tobeakingbesideyousomehow, @gaycousinlarry, @haztobegood, @stylex, @and-id-marry-larry

honestly idk who will want to do this! so if you do PLEASE tag me, I love these things and want to see them!!

#1d #girl direction #writing prompts #to write

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girlfriendsofthegalaxy · 5 years

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the larger courier six verse, media influences

tagged by @sybil-writes ty

the bibliography for this thing is extensive. my taste is wide and omnivorous. i try to drop what i was thinking about when i wrote a particular bit into the author’s notes, and i think i’ve credited all the direct references, but I consume a lot of dystopia and post-apoc media and harder scifi/fantasy with rules, and i don’t keep an accurate running list of shit I like, so i’m certainly not going to get everything in one post. this is mostly me looking at the very limited number of books i have with me and frantically looking at wiki lists like “yes read that liked that stole that”. if i link everything i will die. if you have trouble finding a specific thing lmk tho. this feels real goddamn pretentious like Ah Yes Look At The Media I Have Consumed but here goes

music: one of these days I will drop links to the network of playlists I have for these kids, but they’re all of Spotify and not super accessible. Danger Days, a post-apoc desert graffiti/neon/cars album by My Chemical Romance. the soft, nonsense love songs off Pretty. Odd by P!ATD. the poppy but sad neon bullshit of Too Weird To Live, Too Rare To Die also a P!ATD production. Wasteland, Baby! by Hozier, specifically Talk and Dinner & Diatribes. Halsey’s cover of I Walk The Line, Rihanna’s Desperado. Everything by Orville Peck but mostly Roses Are Falling and Take You Back (The Iron Hoof Cattle Call). Instrumental stuff: the opening to Silverado, the Billy the Kid musical, bits of Lawrence of Arabia. It’s Been A Long, Long Time. Fitz & The Tantrums’ Get Away. Mother Mother’s album O My Heart. Gorillaz’ Plastic Beach.

filme:

the Dollars trilogy ofc

the sheer bullshit nonsense of Wild Wild West and Blazing Saddles and Turbokid.

a lot of the interaction between many characters in a tight space from Stagecoach. my dad really loves John Wayne, so I am constantly thinking about Monument Valley even though that’s nowhere near the Mojave. honestly whenever i’m thinking about how to describe landscapes I’m thinking about The Searchers, even though I have a lot of problems with that film.

the colorful nonsense future of The Fifth Element.

the gritty self-surgery and prospecting of Prospect (2018).

SO much Trigun and Cowboy Bebop, for space western flavor and the same sort of analog-cassette-future. u kno how everything in Star Wars looks like it’s been there forever? the absolute opposite of a slick Apple future? that.

god I wish Firefly was...good

Akira, bc every time I think about motorcycles the Akira motorcycle slide gif plays in my head.

speaking of which probably a decent chunk of Adventure Time, esp the Super Porp episode.

a smidge of how a platonic trio works from Samurai Champloo.

anything with a big sprawling market and a chase scene, even though the only things I can think of are Valerian and the City of a Thousand Planets and the first Indiana Jones. oh Skyfall also

the set dressing from Tank Girl

Sky Captain and the World of Tomorrow. look I just really like airships and retrofuturisum but art deco

honestly a lot of Ghibli- the aviation fantasy of Porco Rosso, the gardens from Castle In The Sky, a lot of Sophie Hatter energy from Howl’s Moving Castle, the underground bits in Nausicca, the otherworldly sea from Ponyo (except the Fallout sea is probably much emptier). the lovely homey-ness and gadgetry of Sherlock Hound.

almost certainly some Metropolis for how I think about cities

thinking a lot about The Incredibles and earlier James Bond movies recently for that sort of sleek but still small physical gadget spycraft 60s bullshit

the team and found family dynamics in Leverage

The Man From U.N.C.L.E. the more recent film which I have stolen ENTIRELY too much of the Angel + Blondie + Six dynamic from

mad max: all of them, to some extent, but a lot of Fury Road. I have a theory about how the Dollars films take place in reverse order, bc of how they feel next to the Mad Max films. The first Mad Max film is about a specific person in a specific place and time doing really specific things. it feels like a movie made off the info of someone who was there. GBU also feels like that- it’s really place-specific in a way? The second Mad Max film is a little hazier, and focuses on mostly people trying to accomplish a goal. For A Few Dollars More also feels a little hazier, like it’s a little more metaphorical/a morality tale and it’s being told by someone heavily embellishing secondhand events. the third Mad Max movie is just over the top nonsense. feral children living in the wreckage of an old plane escaping in a working plane? sure. why the fuck not. For A Fistful Of Dollars also feels like this. of COURSE this big bad gunslinger drifts into town and escapes in a coffin and invents the bulletproof vest. why the fuck not.

books: i like shit that goes beyond the wander/scrounge/defend trio of verbs.

the trying to wrap your life around a huge unknowable event from Roadside Picnic,

too much Le Guin and Butler to really fit here,

god if anything i write ever has a tenth of the flavor of Kill Six Billion Demons i’ll be happy,

the postwar feel of Vonnegut and Heller,

Margaret Atwood’s biopunk Oryx and Crake trilogy

the incredibly sad decaying biopunk/mutation/last days novelette The Drowned World by JG Ballard.

the space-opera political machinations from the Ancillary trilogy by Ann Leckie.

World War Z’s accounts of survivors has always felt like reading terminal entries from Fallout games.

Philip Reeve’s Fever Crumb trilogy, for its interpretation of high-tech artifacts and archaeological reinterpretation of those artifacts.

Tales of the Bounty Hunters. Tales from Jabba’s Palace.

A Canticle for Leibowitz of COURSE.

the original three books in the METRO (2033, 2034, 2035) trilogy, for their tight dense locations and resource management and life-threatening travel/exploration.

the Family Trade comic by Jordan & Ryan, for setting and intrigue and a very unorthodox power source

Elizabeth Bear’s short story And The Deep Blue Sea, about a different kind of courier.

how Gibson’s The Sprawl trilogy (a trilogy i have MANY opinions about, not all of them positive) does worldbuilding when it implies a vast sprawling richly imagined world with casual in-universe references that you can extrapolate a lot from.

The Gernsback Continuum, for making me think about stranded architectural bits that survived

a little bit of the Empress’ energy from Cavendish’s The Blazing World.

the short story The Rational Ship by Caro Clarke, about a ship that runs on orgasms, from the EXTREMELY out of print Memories and Visions: Women’s Fantasy and Science Fiction edited by Susanna J. Sturgis. i’ve scanned it in as a pdf and will send it to anyone who asks. the stories in this volume are WILDLY varying in quality and terf-yness. i would not buy this book on purpose.

i think each separate Vault storyline is a tiny separate Lost World story, so just pick your favorite and insert it here.

Westerfeld’s Leviathan trilogy was FORMATIVE for baby me. biopunk! big trans energy! SKY WHALES

fucking hate Paolo Bacigalupi for what he does to his female characters but Ship Breaker was good from what I remember of it

there are three very oblique Sherlock Holmes references in “blow a kiss, fire a gun” for my own amusement.

Fallout scifi seems to be very Verne and Wells and Burroughs derived? a lot of very pulpy “pseudojournalistic realism to tell an adventure story with little basis in reality.” or “hey look at this COMPLETE NOVEL i found in a bottle by the sea OR locked in my weird great-uncle’s things, i shall retell it to you here”

idk i think The Road and the Hunger Games have so profoundly shaped the state of the genre, there’s probably at least a little bit of both these things in here even if I didn’t particularly like either of them. There’s also a lot of super bleak post-war stuff I read but am not necessarily incorporating, like Nevill Shute’s On The Beach. probably some Dune in here too if i’m being totally honest. why have a desert if there’s not going to be a giant worm, Fallout: New Vegas???

jesus i gotta read more lady authors. there are probably way more that i’m not remembering bc almost all the books i own are in a storage unit seven hours away that i haven’t touched in three years. there are probably way more comics also.

OH not a book but the decaying-rich-people-paradise of Bioshock. pity how they never made a third game

#ain't that a kick in the head #ty!!!#this was really interesting to think about #i'm not sure i answered it Right bc there's probably a way i could answer this more directly and draw closer parallels to shit #but here we are in an imperfect week with my imperfect brain

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maxortecho · 5 years

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Confessions - 1x01

For today’s Echo appreciation, I thought I’d use the theme of confessions and kick off a meta series following Liz’s S1 journey towards Max.

Liz has been closed off and emotionally drifting for the past 10 years. She doesn’t connect. Once she hits Roswell though, she’s met with a shock to the system in the shape of Max Evans. Max emotionally blindsides Liz throughout S1. She likes to see herself as a rational person separate from her emotions, but she struggles to rationalise Max. Bit by bit, Liz finds herself becoming tethered to a connection and to her feelings again. Ultimately, Liz’s S1 romantic arc builds to her confessing these feelings to herself, to Max, and to Rosa.

So let’s start with episode 1!

The Crashdown

The first episode opens with Liz spitting fire at an unknown cop for pulling her over at an ICE checkpoint. Except, well—turns out it’s Max Evans. Her anger subsides, her voice softens, and she’s suddenly remembering him smiling at her in high school. The thing is, Max is still the cop who pulled her over. Liz is shocked to see him, sure, but I think it’s her automatic association of goodness and safety with her memory of Max that has her combativeness and suspicion evaporating on the spot.

Then Sheriff Valenti comes over. Liz’s walls immediately go back up.

Liz: “Are you going to breathalyze me, or?”

Later, at the diner, Max causes the same shocked and breathless reaction.

I still find it cute that Liz spends a good thirty seconds speechless and staring at Max wide-eyed while he’s talking to her. She seems more stunned than she was the first time--he was in full uniform and a strange context there; here, he’s lost the hat and the jacket, and he’s in familiar territory at the diner and her family home.

Max is only dropping in to let Liz know her left front running light is broken, and then he promptly turns to leave in the middle of her staring. Liz flounders and mirrors his spin, walking in the other direction--

(to where, honey? the window? lmao)

--before making a split-second decision to dive headfirst into that familiarity sparking between them.

Liz: “You want a milkshake?”

Liz doesn’t get time to rationalise in these initial moments. She stays in that vulnerable space during their diner discussion, tries drawing Max there with her (”You wanted to be a writer. So why did you join the force?”). Max references Rosa’s death and Liz visibly closes herself off. This is the first time she does so in reaction to Max--which is fitting, considering what happens next.

In the OG Roswell, Liz actually gets shot in the stomach. But Liz gets shot in the heart in RNM. I definitely think RNM upped the drama and the symbolism here. Max and his family’s betrayal has lead to Liz dying by the heart. It’s time for him to start fixing his mistakes or Liz is gone forever. Eight minutes into the series, Max literally and symbolically restarts Liz’s heart.

Big Sisters

After Liz is shot and Max tells her it didn’t happen, Liz decides she’s going to confront him. But directly before she does, Liz visits Rosa’s roadside grave. Liz doesn’t have a memory here that is specifically about Rosa. Instead, she has a memory where she talks to Rosa about Max. When I first watched this, I found it a strange choice for introducing Rosa. But!

I now view this Liz/Rosa conversation as representing Liz’s conflicting perspectives about Max. Flashback Liz is all heart and driven by emotions: “Maybe I don’t want to miss Max Evans”.

Flashback Rosa is arguing to think with her head and not her emotions, and pushing the ‘cage around your heart’ narrative that Liz adopts after Rosa’s death: “He’s already in the rearview mirror, trust me”.

Liz’s memory at Rosa’s roadside grave feels like she’s seeking out her big sister’s advice. What’s interesting is that Liz already knows Max is lying to her and she has suspicions he’s hiding something bigger—and yet an emotional plea is her first plan of action. The rational, scientific plan (what we are consistently told is characteristic of Liz) is her back-up plan when it comes to Max.

So Liz finds Max and gives him a milkshake. She reveals some personal information in an attempt to appeal to his goodness and sense of right. She can trust Max to tell her the truth. All he needs is a push. A secret for a secret, right?

Liz: “Can you keep a secret? My mother is mentally ill. My sister Rosa too. I was always afraid I’d end up like them. Hallucinating. You know I thought I was shot?”

Except Max doesn’t meet her halfway. He denies she was shot. Max changes his mind when Liz becomes more upset, but he gets interrupted by Michael exploding a car’s windows. Liz leaves the conversation without answers. She takes Max’s straw instead.

Even though Liz has fallen onto her rational plan, how does she follow up the Max interaction? With another big sister. She seeks out Maria and The Wild Pony. The next step of Liz’s rational plan should be checking out Max’s DNA. But Liz doesn’t do that yet. Instead, Liz actually follows the next step of her emotional plan failing: girl’s gotta eat her proverbial bucket of ice cream before she can move on. Liz tells Maria that she thought she felt a spark with Max, but now she just feels like an idiot after getting the cold shoulder from him.

Liz finds that switching off her emotional reaction towards Max--and transitioning into a rational scientist about him--isn’t coming easily to her for some reason. Strange. That usually works. I don’t think this is an influence of the psychic bond either; Liz has the same problem in the beginning of 1x03. She’s there to gather data about Max but has to visibly shake off her emotional reaction and the pull towards him.

By the time the handprint turns up and Liz checks his DNA, Liz is ready to confront Max again. Except Max has already decided he’s ready to share his secret. Like their first scene at the ICE checkpoint, all of Liz’s fire evaporates on the spot.

The Desert

This whole episode, Liz has been trying to get some vulnerability and honesty out of Max. And boy does she get it. Max flays himself open in the desert for Liz—his identity, his feelings, his memories—and the amount he’s giving her blows Liz and her reservations away. HER FACE JOURNEY, Y’ALL.

Liz: “Max... Why me?”

Max: “Do you remember the first time we met?”

Liz: “I feel like I’ve just always known you.”

I ache at this line. This idea of Max embedded in Liz’s history and a piece of her identity. Max associated with familiarity and home, despite him literally being an extra-terrestrial figure. She isn’t bothered nor put off him by him being an alien. He’s still just Max Evans to her. (And, okay, for Max who simply wants to be the guy from Roswell, who feels scared of being extraordinary, I find this really sweet.) Max can show her his memories and how he feels about her (why her), but he’ll have to touch her.

Liz: “Okay. Do um… do whatever you want.”

Which is essentially the point of this meta where I descend into incoherent yelling. Liz will say in 1x04 that she keeps a cage around her heart. But here, Liz doesn’t even hesitate to give him full access to it. Max made himself vulnerable for her, so she’s comfortable fully reciprocating. Liz entered Roswell wary and closed off, but a few days later she’s 100% on board for weird, unknown, psychic alien bonding with Max. Damn. Over and over, we are shown that Max Evans is an exception to Liz’s rules.

Max refuses to kiss Liz after, thinking he’s interacting with a Liz mirroring his own feelings back at him. Liz doesn’t seem to agree. Instead of arguing the point though, she leaves it at “Fine. I’ll kiss you [when the handprint fades].” (His delightfully scandalised reaction? Chef kiss!) She can prove him wrong later, if he won’t believe her right now. I do think Liz reflects Max here in some kind of feelings loop--but at the same time, she knows she’s also experiencing this purely, as her own source of feelings.

While I’m here, if Max believes Liz is reflecting his feelings, then what does Max believe he’s feeling because of Liz? Does he consider that possibility? Is he feeling any doubt or fear? And if he is, is that Liz or him?

The Reunion

Hmm, reunion indeed.

Liz says she can’t connect. But she does.

Liz says she doesn’t dance in Roswell anymore. But she does. And she drags Max along with her.

Oh, I’m sensing a theme for Liz here.

#roswell new mexico #echo3days2019 #liz x max #liz ortecho #max evans #meta #confessions #echo #s1 #1x01 #ep: pilot

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meta-for · 6 years

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Meta Meta Everywhere, Let’s Drop Dean in the Drink

I want to talk a little bit about Exodus in 14x12, particularly in relation to Tony Alvarez’s three victims.

First, let’s summarize what we know about Tony. When we first see him drowning Jane Doe in the bathtub, we know nothing about him. For all we, and our favorite brothers, know, he’s the monster of the week, carrying out senseless acts of violence for ritual sacrifice/personal gain/marinating a home-cooked human for his freak pallet, etc. We later discover that Tony is a malformed prophet, firing at half-potential due to Donatello’s comatose state. He believes he is carrying out the Word of God by kidnapping, torturing, and killing his vics (or at least, most of them, but hey, two-out-of-three-ain’t-bad).

Our first introduction to Tony is the second scene in the episode, in which he tosses vic number one into a bathtub filled with salt water. After dunking her head back under (baptism, anyone?), he slits her wrist, turning the bath water red with her blood. When Sam and Dean break into Tony’s apartment, we find that Tony is recreating the destruction of the Egyptians in the Red Sea (Exodus 14).

Vic number two meets his death for being the eldest of two twins—the first by four minutes, we learn—and is taken as the First Born Son. Whether this ties in to the King’s command to kill off all first-born sons of the Israelites, or the subsequent plague God sends down to slaughter the first-born Egyptian sons is left to interpretation. (Exodus 11)

What is striking about both victims is the wrongness of their deaths, and not just in terms of, say, basic human morality. Taking into consideration the story told in Exodus—in which Moses (notably, the first born son of an Israelite who is later saved by the Queen after his mother sends him in a basket up the Nile to save his life) receives the true Word of God—it should be clear that Alvarez’s version of the Word is incongruous with this part of the scripture. This is not to say that there is no bloodshed in the Old Testament. In my personal, unsolicited opinion, it’s the most metal religious text out there. However, this particular book of the Old Testament leaves the bloodshed in God’s hands—the Israelites themselves, even Moses, never directly intervene or seek revenge (except for that one Egyptian dude Moses buries in sand, but that’s before he receives the Word so, I mean, can’t really blame a guy).

What it boils down to is this: God gives Moses ten rules when he speaks to him on the mountaintop, the Commandments, the first of these being “I am the Lord your God. You shall have no other God before me.” Pretty important stuff—we’ll examine later how this ties into the 3rd vic’s story.

The second Commandment is “Thou shalt not kill.”

Whatcha doin’ there, Tony?

I recognize that this may be kind of a long shot, given the actual bloody history of the Old Testament. However, this may be our fist indication that something’s off with prophet boy.

Aside from this, though, the vics Alvarez chooses just don’t quite fit the bill.

We don’t know too much about vic number 1. We don’t get an interview with a grieving family member, or a peek into her apartment. We can pretty readily assume, though, that she hasn’t enslaved anyone.

In Exodus, God drowns the Egyptians in the Red Sea for pursuing the Israelites on their diaspora from Egypt. They had previously enslaved the Israelites—apparently for being too numerous, and overpopulating to the point of there being more Israelites than Egyptians in Egypt, leading the King to order the death of all the first born sons of Israel—and were now coming to stop them from fleeing their oppression by either re-capturing or murdering them on the way out. So God tells Moses to go ahead and shake that stick, and He collapses the Red Sea down on them after granting safe passage for the Israelites to cross first.

What has vic number 1 done to merit that same fate for herself? Is she a slave owner? Probably not. Is she trying to prevent someone from leaving her? Leaving an oppressive relationship with her, in some way? No indication of the same anywhere, but even if that was the case, does it warrant a death sentence? There’s not even anything to allude to her being Egyptian in some way, which would be the absolute shoddiest reason for Alvarez to pick her.

The fact is, we don’t know why Alvarez chooses vic number 1 as his first sacrifice. We don’t even get a feel for who she is by seeing his initial kidnapping of her.

What we are asked to understand pretty immediately is that vic number 1 is absolutely a wronged victim here—we do get to see, at length, Alvarez murdering her. This second scene of the show opens with tight shots of her wounds, her sweat-stringy hair, her bound hands. We hear her pleading and whimpering through her gag, and eventually trying to beg. We see the abject fear and desperation in her eyes. The majority of the scene is arguably shot from the victim’s perspective, right up to the point of her drowning where she’s shot from beneath, seemingly floating high above us in the water, and illuminated by a bright yellow, almost Heavenly light.

This coupled with the shots of Tony’s cold eyes, his uncaring, vacant expression, his apparent glorious satisfaction upon the completion of his task—it’s clear that we’re meant to sympathize with, possibly even identify with, the victim here. We don’t yet know who is whispering to Tony at the end of the scene, and we don’t particularly care outside of our boys finding out who it is and ganking their evil asses. The whole thing is black-and-white up to this point; victim. Monster. Presumably evil motive. The works.

Then we learn about vic number 2, and things get a little more complicated. Deciding to take on the case, Sam and Dean don their fed suits and pay a visit to 2’s heartbroken twin brother. We learn, through their conversation with him, that the vic was friends with Alvarez prior to this whole mess, and that Alvarez had an Enochian tattoo meaning “the Word” on his forearm. Sam and Dean struggle to parse out what kind of monster would be fluent in Enochian, what the motive of this apparently otherwise zealously devout man would be. Something’s off. The boys know it, and as they know it, we know it. A standard salt-and-burn, monster-of-the-week, last hoorah for Dean this ain’t.

After a quick, heart-shattering call to Cas, the boys find out that this Tony Alvarez is next in line to be prophet, after Donatello eventually dies. They discover that Donatello is still kicking, and there’s no way that Alvarez should be rockin’ and rollin’ on the prophet express at this point. So what gives?

Turns out, Donatello is sending some mixed messages to Alvarez subconsciously. He’s muttering bits and pieces of bible verses, and Alvarez hears him, taking his incoherent ramblings as the Word of God, and interpreting them to mean he should act out these scenes from Exodus.

But he’s failing. Again, vic number one is no slave-owning murderer, and vic number 2? Can we really count him as a First Born son?

We find out from 2’s twin that he was born earlier, and refers to himself as the big brother, because he was born first—by four minutes. That’s some fast and loose interpretation on Alvarez’s part. Is it because he knows vic 2? Maybe. If he knows his buddy calls himself the big brother, the eldest, and he already knows where to find him, well, maybe that’s just gotta be good enough.

The point I’m trying to make here is that Alvarez is pulling off half-cocked reenactments of Exodus, in direct defiance with the actual Commandments Moses receives as the actual Word of God, and it turns out he’s not even getting the Word from the man himself. What he’s getting is a faulty half-message from a half-functioning prophet who’s stuck in dream land. So, in sum, unclear messages from a presumed higher-power that he’s ultimately misinterpreting and carrying out incorrectly.

Hm. Sounds like someone we know.

Before I finally address that point, I’d like to touch briefly on the third vic, our escapee.

I couldn’t quite catch all of what Alvarez was saying as he was getting set to deep fry our pal extra crispy, but what I did get was something about Abraham, and being purified in flame, or meeting one’s salvation through fire. That struck me as odd, because Exodus? It’s not Abraham’s story. He’s the outlier here, and so, consequently, is the one that got away.

I couldn’t think of a biblical book that particular tie-in was from, as a matter of fact. It’s not that Exodus is flame free—far from it. We’ve got the burning bush where Moses first hears the voice of God (first referred to as an angel speaking for God, and then referred to as God himself…more mixed messages), and the pillar of fire God appears as in the night to light the way of the Israelites. But neither of those instances include someone being lit on fire for their salvation. So I did some digging (read: I Googled it).

What I found was pretty interesting, and I am wide open to counters or suggestions on this. But the best link-up I could find was the story of Abraham in the Genesis Rabba (original cut of Genesis), as a midrash positing possible tales about Abraham’s childhood and early life, which we do not get in the Bible itself. “What’s a midrash?” you may ask. Fear not, fair reader—I didn’t know either. I am but a simple gentile, but based on what I read, a midrash is essentially a rabbinical teaching or interpretation based on biblical text.

This particular midrash tells the story of Abraham working in his father’s idol shop. His father leaves him to man the shop one day while he goes off to do something else (God knows what…HA), and Abraham subsequently mocks all of the customers who come in to worship the assorted idols, challenging their beliefs, and questioning why they would choose to worship false Gods, essentially. Abraham’s dad hears about this, and he’s not too happy. He takes Abraham for a little visit to a guy named Nimrod to educate him on proper worship.

Bare bones of it is, Abraham argues with Nimrod the whole way through, and eventually Nimrod decides to chuck Abraham into the furnace, saying that if Abraham’s God is so great, he’ll come save him. Long story short, He does, and Abraham walks off Scott free because of his absolute faith in God, who, at that point, he’d never seen or heard from. The same can’t be said for his brother, who decided he’d only side with Abraham if he came out of the flames unscathed, but I digress.

So, essentially what we’ve got going with the third vic, from what I understand, is Alvarez’s interpretation of Donatello’s coma-babble about an interpretive tale meant to illustrate a story from the original cut of Genesis that isn’t a part of the modern-day old testament. AND Alvarez is, once again, doing it wrong. It’s safe to assume he means to really burn the third vic alive, not to yank him out of the flames and expect him to be unharmed. So unless vic number three is meant to represent Abraham’s brother, who doesn’t get saved, Alvarez is once again misinterpreting the jumbled Word from a middleman.

It’s important to note that this is the only story that actually gets carried out correctly, despite Alvarez’s attempts to the contrary. The false prophet dumps some gasoline, lights a match, and gets ready to watch our vic go up in flames—only to have Sam and Dean bust in and save vic 3 at the last minute.

What does this mean for the episode at large?

The episode opens with Dean’s anxiety dream about pulling off his stellar “let’s throw me in the ocean” plan. Much like with vic number 1, we see Dean in a state of absolute distress, his eyes squinted against tears, his nails clawed bloody from trying to scratch his way out of the Mal’ak box. He is at the bottom of the ocean, bleeding, alone, and desperate, crying out to someone that isn’t going to save him, not this time. When Dean wakes, he finds himself in bed in another motel room, but his reality is essentially no different. The wallpaper mimics ocean waves in style, blue-green in color. The lamps on the walls cast a bloody red light here and there.There are claw marks in the wall next to his bed where he chipped his nails bloody against his imagined coffin lid.

Cut to drowning vic number one in the Red Sea. The imagery surrounding her establishes that she shouldn’t be there. Should Dean?

Vic number two is, again, an eldest brother by four minutes. Dean’s older by four years. Hm. And, of course, there’s the brother left behind, who says he’s “lost a part of” himself. Who is clean cut, and quiet, and heartbroken. There’s no righteous mourning for Sam’s mirror (shameless plug—I hope to address all the fun mirrors everywhere in this episode in a separate post).

Dean tells Sam and Mary that the only way for him to keep Michael contained and stop him from destroying their world is by locking himself and Michael up in that box forever at the bottom of the ocean. He says Billie’s books say it’s the only way.

And what do we have here? Instructions from a higher power that we never actually got to see. We never read the book Billie handed Dean, the one with the only apparent way out of this situation. We’re relying on Dean’s interpretation of what Billie’s book says or does not say. What her Word means. Just like Alvarez is relying on the faulty Word he’s getting from Donatello. Cas reveals that Donatello is essentially muttering nonsense in his unconscious state. Alvarez carrying out a word he doesn’t really understand, but is convinced is the righteous, correct thing to do. But he didn’t really get clear directions. Maybe Dean didn’t either.

Maybe Dean, like Alvarez, is damn wrong.

Again, I’m not going to go into mirrors in this post, but I will drop this little tidbit. Alvarez, dressed in a way that’s pretty reminiscent of Dean, at least in the army green jacket, carries out his supposed orders without so much as a flinch. Until he learns the truth, discovers that he has been doing the wrong thing this whole time.

Then he shoots himself with Dean’s gun. Dean’s white hilt, cowboy-flower-engraved, can’t-watch-the-show-and-not-associate-this-gun-with-Dean, gun. Hm.

A final word (ha) on the third victim. What saves Abraham is, ultimately, his faith. Abraham believes that God will save him from the fire, and therefore, he is saved.

What will save Dean, it seems, is Sam’s belief in him, and ultimately his belief in Team Free Will. In Sam, in Cas, and in himself. He affirms for Sam, “I do believe in us,” and decides to go on home and hash things out before proceeding with what Cas refers to has his “suicidal plan” to drop himself in the drink. Suicidal like Alvarez, who, based on Sam and Dean’s reaction when they realize what he is about to do, doesn’t really deserve the death he gets either, despite it all.

Earlier in the episode, we have the bro-ment in the car, in which Sam, for the first time I can personally recall in the series, directly states that Dean “practically raised” him in lieu of their absent father. He recognizes Dean as his father-figure, at least in part. Sam then goes on to talk about his belief in “us” as a unit. Dean agrees that he believes in “us…in all of us,” factoring Cas in as the third in their Trinity. Dean of course now recognized as the father, Sam the son...and Cas?

Cas the celestial wave of intent, a brilliant, angelic, burn-the-bad-guys-from-the-inside-out entity inhabiting a humanly body? Who is Cas if not the Holy Spirit in our little Trinity?

So Abraham’s belief in God saves him from the fire. And Dean’s belief in his own Trinity, maybe, is what will save him from misinterpreting how his story ends.

#dean winchester #spn #spn s14 #14x12 #meta #exodus #prophet and loss #this is my first meta you guys!#please feel free to rip it apart

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kassa799 · 6 years

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“All your wildest dreams will come true” fic rec. 1/10.

For http://whydouwantaname.tumblr.com/ Request: “Evanstan inviting some friends to tell them that they are a thing now and Anthony being like “When did this happen?” All the fluff.” Fandom: Marvel Pairing: Chris Evans/Sebastian Stan Rating: G Characters: Chris Evans, Sebastian Stan, Anthony Mackie, Robert Downey Junior, Don Cheadle, Scarlett Johansson, Elizabeth Olsen, Paul Bettany, Jeremy Renner, Paul Rudd, Mark Ruffalo. Additional Tags: RPS, fluff, ER.

Title: It’s time.

- Are you sure we should do this? - Chris rubbed his neck with wet fingers and stroked freshly washed hair, – maybe it’s not the right time? Seb came closer and whipped the drops of water running down Chris’ cheeks. He put his hands on boyfriends face and looked into those incredible blue eyes. - Chris…- he whispered, - we both know it’s time. We’ve been together for how long, 7 years now? – Chris smiled softly, - I knew I wanted to be with you since that night we went out after filming our first scene together. And I never doubted it since. Chris blushed. He knew Seb was telling the truth. He knew he also loved Seb for years. - Yeahh, - Chris nodded. – You had me at “hello”. Sebastian smiled. He pulled Evans closer and kissed him. He knew that Chris is ready but he always needed a little encouragement. Chris pulled out his phone, typed a few words and pushed send. - You better buy some damn good food – he smirked at Seb, - RDJ is called the greatest caterer of MCU for a reason.

*** Even though Chris’ place was a big one it became crowded in a minute. People were coming in bringing liquor, Mackie was chatting with Don Cheadle on the balcony (Chris regret that he didn’t actually put the feeder there), Scarlett and Elisabeth were playing with Dodger in the kitchen and RDJ was being RDJ – offering Bettany and Jeremy snacks, pouring more champagne in Rudds glass and keeping everyone satisfied with Latin music. Ruffalo arrived a bit late but Chris was kinda happy about that –he was really nervous to reveal such big news; even though it was the right thing to do. Seb saw that in Chris’ eyes so he apologized to Ruffalo and came up to his man. - You’re not going to back down now, are you? – he put his glass on a table and grabbed Chris’ waist. – I spent a thousand bucks on that foie gras baskets, don’t even try to tell me that was only to impress Downey. Chris giggled. Seb always knew how to cheer him up. He feels so good and safe in Stans’ arms he would never give it up for the whole world. And now he is ready to let that whole wide world know. - No, I’m not gonna back down. Since I met you I only move forward, - he pulled Sebastian closer and hugged him, - because love is the only way. Seb smiled and even before he had time to respond Chris grabbed his hand and dragged him into the center of the room. Evans handed Seb a glass of champagne, got himself one and called for everybody’s attention. Scarlett pulled Mackie and Don out of the balcony, Elizabeth sat on the couch with Dodger on her lap, Jeremy shoved 5 mini-sandwiches into his mouth so he wouldn’t have to toast and Downey gathered other guys around the table. - So what’s the big news, Cap? You’ve decided to return to the Marvel bunch? Chris shook his head in laughter, – You’ll be ok without me, RDJ, we have to let newbies to rule for once – he winked at Elizabeth, - we old geezers gotta move. - Talk about yourself! – shouted Renner with full mouth, - I’m still in my best shape. - No doubt, Robin Hood, - Mackie giggled, - keeping your fur clean is not that exhausting* /reference to Disney cartoon where robin hood is a fox/ - Watch it, Birdman! – Jeremy threw Dodgers rubber ball at Mackie – I’ve warned you! - Guys guys guys, - Chris interrupted, - there’s something I wanna say. He looked at Seb. Stan nodded. Chris knew their friends will support them, like they did every time, but confessing something this personal was too overwhelming. - I know you guys for years, - he started. – You’ve always been supportive and kind to me, helping me through my way. And as I said we sometimes need to move on. Downey raised his eyebrow. Everyone looked around confused and looked like even Chris didn’t know where he was going. - I’m glad I worked with Marvel but my contract made me keep some things in secret. – he started to pace nervously. – I had this… - he took a deep breath, - project I’m working on for 7 years and I couldn’t tell you about it. It’s the best thing that ever happened to me, - he softly glanced at Sebastian – for sure. I’ve never been this happy in my entire life and even though I had to hide it - it changed my life. Seb couldn’t hide the biggest smile on his face. He knew Chris is not that good at confessing but comparing him to a project was a bit odd even for Evans. But Seb liked it. - I always struggled with finding my place in this world but this…project…showed me what really matters in life. And since it started I knew I’ll always belong somewhere. To somebody… - he whispered. - So what’s that, some sort of a screenplay? – asked Bettany. - You want to direct another movie? – added Rudd. - Or shave that porn stache?? – jokingly shouted Mackie. - No, that something more personal, - Chris answered. - Come one tell us, honey! – supported him Scarlett. – What’s that thing that made you so happy? Chris breathed in. He couldn’t keep it inside anymore and just as he was about to burst he felt someone touching hid hand. He looked up and saw the most beautiful man holding his hand and not being afraid to show that to entire world to see. His man. - Me. Stated Seb proudly. If he was sure about something in his life it was that his boyfriend needed his help right there. Chris never felt so nervous and relieved at the same time. His friends were looking at him in shock but he didn’t even care – Sebastian was holding his hand in front of everyone and that’s the only thing that really mattered. It always been. - When did this happen??! – Mackie was the one to break the silence but his voice was so high Chris would never have guessed it was Anthony. – You live like 2500 miles away from each other! - Love finds a way, Ant, - Bettany stated with smile on his face. – I live in London and that didn’t stop you from kissing my wife. Everybody laughed. - You asked me to do it! So don’t give me hard time! – Mackie smiled, - But let’s get back to business! – he pointed at Chris and Seb holding hands. – How I’m gonna be without my wingmen? - You’re married, Mackie! – pointed out Elizabeth. - But that doesn’t mean I don’t have a chance with Black Widow! – he winked at Scarlett erotically. - You wish, - she giggled while sipping on champagne – I’ve got ornithophobia. Mackie burst in laughter. Downey raised his glass and toasted - To a happy couple! Everyone raised their glasses. - So you’re…okay with this? – Chris asked carefully. -Evans, - RDJ came closer and put his hand on Cap’s shoulder, - the best thing for us is to see you happy, and to tell you the truth you’re only happy when you’re next to this guy – he nodded at Seb, - so don’t lose it. He’s a keeper. – he winked. Chris blushed. The crowd was cheering and congratulating them and he never thought that it would be so easy. No judging, no starring looks, just love and support. He always thought marvel knew how to cast but now he was sure. Sebastian pulled him closer and wrapped his hands over Chris’s waist. Stan kissed him softly and leaned over his ear: - See? They are so happy for us. We told everything we had to. - Not everything, - Chris shacked his head and looked Seb in the eyes. - I love you, - he whispered. Seb smiled. - I love too, Evans. But you don’t have to whisper next time. We’re out already. Chris tickled his man. - Punk. - Jerk. *** It was 3:30 on the clock and last guests were making their way home. Dodger was already sleeping in the chair while Chris and Seb were kicking Mackie out of the apartment. - 7 years, huh? – smiled Anthony, - who knew #givecaptainamericaaboyfriend will work out like that? All three laughed. - The power of Twitter is underrated, - giggled Seb. – Bye, Mack-attack, see you tomorrow. - Bye Sexy Seabass. Guys hugged and Seb went to the bedroom. - By the way, - lowered his voice Chris, - thanks for starting that hashtag.

Anthony smiled. Who knew his little observation would turn him into a matchmaker.

#evanstan #chris evans #sebastian stan #fanfic #thoughts #marvel #slash #rps #anthony mackie #love #robert downey jr #elizabeth olsen #scarlett johansson #jeremy renner #paul bettany #fic rec

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zaddyzimmermann · 7 years

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Hot Off The Press Pt. 2

OKAY SO I have to apologize for taking months to write, especially since it’s been sitting in my google docs folder waiting to be edit. There’s actually more but I have to finish it first lol. So there will be a part 3 and I PROMISE it won't take as long to post. Sorry for such a long wait I know a lot of you guys enjoyed this story.

Again take into consideration artistic license lol hope you guys enjoy

Pt. 1

***

Kent and Jack have a complicated past, but what people fail to realize is that no matter how things turned out when they were teenagers, it has no effect on them now. Their “feud” has been played up so much in the beginning of Jack’s career, it never died. It’s so far from the truth, that sometimes Kent and Jack read articles together on how much they hate each other and laugh about it. They agreed a long time ago that if they ever did start up a relationship again, there had to be no hostility existing between them. However, what they realized after growing up and Jack’s eventual spot on the Falconers is that they much rather be friends.

So no, they do not hate each other or have unrequited feelings on either side. Kent is the only person Jack can talk to about Eric, so when Kent isn’t overly supportive over Skype tonight, it hurts a little.

“Jack, you’ve got to be kidding me.” Kent looks upset, with no ounce of joy on his face. “Don’t you remember what happened with me--”

“Yes, but Eric is different. He would never do that.” Jack protests, hearing the irritation in his voice.

Kent’s face is still tight and he takes a few seconds to answer. “I beg to differ. I know who Eric Bittle is, Jack. He wrote an article about dangerous plays and referenced me, but not in a positive way.”

“Well, in his defense, you do rush the net a lot--” Jack’s input didn’t improve Kent’s mood, so he stops himself before he can continue.

“How do you know he’s not trying to get close to you so he can write an article on the Zimmermann name just like every other thirsty journalist looking for a big break?”

“That was a bit harsh.” Jack says in Eric’s defense. “He’s not that kind of presser, Kent. Thomas Caswell is that type of reporter.”

Kent runs a hand through his blonde hair that’s in need of a haircut. “Whatever, Zimms. If you want to risk your career like this, go ahead. I don’t trust him, and I don’t think you should either.”

“Bye.” Jack closes his laptop and tries to take deep breaths. If Kent isn’t supportive, the only people he could talk to is his parents, and they don’t really count. Jack doesn’t talk about his sex life with his parents.

He spends five minutes self-deprecating before opening up his laptop and looking up the article Kent was talking about. It’s one that Eric wrote a year ago, and overall it’s not even that bad. He doesn’t insult Kent in a rude manner, he just points out that there should be more rules put in place so players stop running into goalies. Eric has a point when he says, “Goalies are there to protect the puck; not barreling bodies with blades strapped to their feet.” Goalies often get hurt by skate blades that cut places that have gaps in the gear.

Reading the article makes Jack feel worse, but not about his decision to keep in touch with Eric. There is no way Kent would have such a grudge against Eric over one small reference in an article posted a year ago. Kent is hiding something.

***

A couple days later, with no word from Kent, Eric texts Jack that he’ll be in Boston for a couple days because the Bruins contacted him for a more permanent job. Which is good news if they work out and terrible news if things go south. After Kent’s reaction the other day, Jack has doubts and they aren’t even dating yet. Jack isn’t sure what they are.

With much more time on his hands, Jack gets to the small coffee shop twenty minutes early that Eric tells Jack to meet him at. He finishes his coffee before Eric shows up ten minutes late.

Seeing Eric in person again kind of wipes away a lot of doubts. He’s wearing a black blazer that fits him very nicely, and knowing full well what’s underneath it, Jack takes a few moments to control himself.

Also, Eric’s genuine, bright smile when he first sees Jack wipes away about the rest of his doubts. He doesn’t know why Kent is being complicated, but at the moment Jack doesn’t care. What Kent also fails to realize is that Eric is a sports reporter, and the two of them spotted having lunch together is extremely easy to cover up. Eric could be using him for a piece for all anyone knows.

“Jack.” Eric says a little breathlessly as he sits down across from him. His cheeks are flushed from the abnormal warm weather of May and possibly embarrassment for being late. “I’m so sorry I’m late, that’s so rude of me.”

“It’s okay.” Jack means it too. “I know you had that interview this morning with the Bruins.”

Jack feels Eric’s foot wrap around his ankle under the table. They were in a corner in the back, so no one would see it. So far, Jack hasn’t been bothered once. He has a feeling Eric chose this place for a reason.

“Oh lord did that take forever.” Eric laughs a bit nervously. “But from personal experience, that’s usually a good thing. Quick interviews mean you’re a bore and they aren’t interested. Also, she said, ‘We’ll definitely keep in touch’, and not ‘We’ll let you know’.”

Jack feels a small smile creep up onto his face. “Is that second option a bad sign?”

“Yes.” Eric sighs, resting his head in his hands. “I’ve gotten that a lot and it’s always been bad news that follows. However, the first means they are considering you.”

“Thanks for the tip.” Jack laughs. “The next time I apply for a job I’ll keep that in mind.”

Eric doesn’t say anything and just stares at Jack, which causes him to falter a bit. “Did I say something wrong?”

Eric begins to play with Jack’s foot under the table with a small smirk on his face. “No, Mr. Zimmermann. I was just admiring your laugh. It’s pretty fantastic, just in case you aren’t aware.”

The thing is, Jack doesn’t see him as a reporter right now. It’s not weird, because it’s easy to separate Eric’s job from his actual personality. Jack does not personally know a lot of presser, but they typically don’t have a personality like Eric’s. Jack doesn’t think anyone has a personality quite like Eric Bittle.

“You want me to order you something?” Jack asks, suddenly feeling rude. “Did you have a chance to have lunch?”

Eric blinks in surprise like he did in fact forget about having lunch. “Oh wow, I guess I didn’t. I was just so excited to see you I forgot to get something. I’ll be right back.” Eric slides out of his chair and Jack has no shame in admiring his ass as he walks towards the counter to order lunch. A buzzing in his pocket disrupts his staring, so he quickly pulls it out of his pocket to check.

Kenny: Sorry about the other night. I didn’t mean to be a dick.

I just worry about you.

Jack doesn’t know how to respond to that just yet, so he ignores it and saves it for later. Eric comes back a few minutes later with an iced drink that has whipped cream on the top and a small sandwich.

“So, Jack Zimmermann,” Eric starts before taking a bite. “What have you been up to? I notice you avoid talking about yourself whenever we skype.” Eric doesn’t point this out unkindly, just with curiosity.

“Um…” Jack has to think for a moment, because no one has genuinely wanted to know besides his parents. “I like photography. Parse made me an instagram, but I don’t really know how to use it.”

Eric smiles into his next bite, looking extremely endeared. The mention of Parse didn’t seem to phase him. “Photography, huh? An athlete, model and now an artist. What can’t he do?”

Jack’s face grows hot at the mention of being a model. “It was one shoot, I wouldn’t call myself a model.”

“One shoot.” Eric scoffs, but in an amused way. “Yeah, one shoot that absolutely killed ninety-eight percent of the population.”

Jack isn’t used to this type of praise so directly. Because of this, he directs the conversation to something else. It’s not like he doesn’t enjoy Eric talking about him that way, he’s just worried his skin tone will show how embarrassingly red he’s getting. So he decides to play fair. “Aren’t you a genius? You avoided that label the last time I mentioned it.”

Now Eric turns a bit red, so Jack counts that as deserved payback. “Like I said, it’s all relative. It’s an ivy so they don’t award scholarships, but they provided me with some nice financial aid when they sought me out for hockey which is kind of like a loophole if you ask me--”

“Hockey.” Jack blinks, a little surprised. It’s not like Eric doesn’t look capable, it’s just… Well, Eric doesn’t seem like the kind of person who would like the violence, judging by his stance involving more safety regulations in the sport.

Eric isn’t offended by Jack’s reaction, just amused. “Yes I know, shocking. However, being skilled at a sport only takes you so far in an ivy with ‘cutthroat academic scholars’, and with the threat of losing my spot on the team and possibly a big chunk of my financial aid for future years, a guy’s gotta do what a guy’s gotta do.”

Jack feels a slow smirk creep on his face. “So like any normal guy, you became Valedictorian.”

“Ha! They didn’t even see it coming.” Eric laughs before taking a sip of his drink. “Mostly everyone there was nice and supportive, but there are always a select few who think the world owes them something just because they have a high GPA.”

“Sometimes I wish I finished my junior year at Samwell.” Jack admits. “But when the Falconers sought me out I thought I would never get another opportunity quite like that one. Besides, it was relatively close to my friends and I didn’t want to go too far.”

Jack and Eric talk a little bit more, and suddenly Jack realizes this lunch together possesses all the traits of a date. Jack is still confused on where they stand with each other, but he also feels like, as always, he’s reading too much into something that might not even be there. However, it’s hard to think that when Eric keeps looking at him like that.

Jack makes an extremely risky move; he takes Eric back to his apartment. It’s mid-afternoon, so it’s not like Jack has any explicit plans. Eric seems genuinely interested in an apartment tour, and gushes about the kitchen for some reason. Jack will ask about that later. Maybe he likes to cook or something.

Eric jumps up onto the kitchen counter and glances around like he’s looking for something. And for what? Jack has no idea.

“So how often do you eat on this lovely surface?” Eric swings his legs back and forth, waiting in anticipation for Jack’s answer.

“Usually I just eat on the couch or use the table in the--”

Then Eric is pulling off his shirt and grabbing Jack’s tie to pull him closer. “Perfect.”

***

It’s been a few months of texting, skyping, then escalating to sexting and skype sex. Eric Bittle is certainly not his boyfriend, mostly because Jack was too afraid to ask. Eric is no one to ignore, and with his job involving interviews of multiple hockey players, Jack doesn’t expect him to just… well, to just not be with other people.

However, Jack wants them to be something more. He knows it’s an unappealing offer, especially since Jack is all the way in Providence and they only play the Penguins on average four times a year. It would be a long distance, closeted relationship. Besides, what they were doing now is fine for him. It’s not as much pressure, even if deep down he knows he wants Eric all to himself. Which is why Jack doesn’t clarify their relationship the next time they skype, or the time after that.

***

“So,” Eric says on the other side of the screen, absently chewing on a pen as he edits an article one of his colleges submitted. Apparently, he’s often asked to edit the more important pieces for grammar and spelling. He says it’s easier to spot mistakes when his eyes aren’t strained by a computer. “I have super super good news... and terrible news.”

This piques Jack’s interest a little, but not particularly in a good way. “What’s that?”

Eric puts down his pen and rests his head in his hand, a slow smile creeping up on his face. “I got a new job that’s more permanent.”

Now Jack’s interest is definitely piqued in a good way. “Oh yeah? Where?”

“Boston Bruins.” Eric’s smile is so bright, Jack can’t help to mimic it just a little. It seems almost too good to be true. Eric would be only about an hour away, so they could meet up in person instead of their online relationship which isn’t clarified as a relationship.

“Bad news.” Jack reminds Eric to tell him, which causes Eric’s smile to fade.

“Tom Caswell will be my boss. I know there was this big article on how he’s changed, and maybe I’ll give him a chance, but I seriously doubt that old bird has changed even a little bit. You can’t teach an old dog new tricks.”

Jack just stares for a moment, not knowing how to respond. “How did he even get that job?”

Eric shrugs, looking disappointed and defeated. “Honestly? Because the stuff he writes sells and he’s always on television. He’s been in this field for over twenty years, and the Bruins social media platform has improved significantly since they hired him.”

“But… He assaulted you.” Jack says, incredulous. “How does that look good for their organization?”

Eric shrugs, like he’s already accepted his fate. That makes Jack frustrated a little, because Eric doesn’t deserve the harassment he’s probably going to get from Thomas.

“Listen, Jack. No one really knows who we are, much less what our track records are. If a hockey player punched me, that would have been different.” Eric doesn’t look at Jack anymore, he just draws something with his pen that Jack can’t see. “I can deal with him. I’ve been dealing with him from the beginning.”

“When would you start?” Jack asks, needing to change the subject.

“In a couple weeks.” Eric still doesn’t look at Jack, which kind of sets off an alarm bell in his mind. He wanted to change the subject so Eric wouldn’t be sad anymore, but Thomas must not be the sore subject that’s bothering him.

“Eric, what’s wrong?”

He pauses with his pen before slightly glancing up. “You don’t seem to want me in Boston.”

Jack frowns a little at that, because in a way that is true. However, it’s not true for the reason Eric probably thinks. “Of course I want you in Boston, but not if Thomas is just going to make you miserable.”

“I can deal with him, Jack--”

“I’m serious.” Jack cuts him off this time, which he typically never does. He loves listening to Eric go on rants or just when he speaks in general, but this is different. This is harassment. “Do you truly think he’s changed?”

Eric clears his throat before responding so softly, Jack almost doesn’t hear it. “No.”

“Maybe I could talk with the Falconer’s PR department--”

That didn’t seem to help the problem at all, because Eric’s head snaps up and he looks borderline angry. “No, Jack. I’m not using you to get a better job or a leg up, that’s not what this--” Eric gestures between both of them. “--is about. So absolutely not. Like I said, I can handle Thomas. If the Bruins are smart, they will keep into consideration what Thomas did to me. If they want to look good, they won’t let that happen again.”

“Okay. I trust you.” Jack means it this time, but he also can’t give up this perfect opportunity to ask, “But what exactly is this, Eric?”

Eric’s determined expression changes to one of shy happiness so fast, Jack nearly doesn’t keep up. “I don’t know, honey. That’s up to you. What do you want it to be?”

Jack wasn’t prepared for that response at all. He clears his throat a couple times to buy just a little time. “Well, um, I really like you. A lot. And… I’m not so good at this.” Jesus christ, he sounds like a thirteen year old.

“I really like you too, Jack Zimmermann. A lot. And I’m not good at this either, because I’ve never really had anything like this before.” Eric gives him an excited smile before saying, “So I think it’s better if we discuss this in person, yeah? Because I really wanna kiss you right now and it’s botherin’ me that I can’t.”

“Okay.” Jack lets out a breath he doesn’t realize he’s holding. “Okay, yeah. When are you getting here?”

“In one week.” Eric grins. “You think you can wait that long?”

“I can try.” Jack smiles back.

“Good, because I have no patience and at least one of us needs to have some self control. I’ll probably send you a super inappropriate snap later on. Talk to you soon, honey.”

“Okay, Eric.” Jack laughs before signing off. It’s been a long time since he’s been this happy during an off-season.

***

“I mean it has…” Jack observes Eric’s small apartment with skepticism. “...personality.” It actually looks like a death trap, but Jack doesn’t say that. He’ll probably sneak some people in here to fix up the place as a housewarming gift.

“It has a functioning kitchen and a window.” Eric argues. “So, not that bad.”

“Oh yeah, you still have to bake me one of those pies you go on and on about. For all I know, you could be lying to me.” Jack smirks when Eric gives him a horrified look.

“I’m going to ignore the fact you just said that in knowledge of your ignorance.” Eric huffs out before dumping a box onto the blue couch the owner left behind. A cloud of dust bloomed in its wake.

“I just have to clean it up a little.” Eric says more to himself than to Jack. “That’s all.”

“If anyone can do it, it’s probably you.” Jack places down another box on the small coffee table so he can wrap his arms around Eric’s waist. His head falls back against Jack’s shoulder as he wraps his own arms around Jack’s.

“You are quite the charmer, Mr. Zimmermann. I mean, besides your pie comment--”

“Will you be my boyfriend?” Jack suddenly blurts out, even though he planned on making it less awkward and immature.

Eric just laughs a little as he turns around in Jack’s arm. He glances up at him with a warm smile on his face. One that nearly causes Jack to melt right then and there. “My goodness, so formal. Of course I’ll be your boyfriend. I’d be an idiot not to.”

Eric initiates the kiss by wrapping his arms around Jack’s neck to pull him closer. It’s pretty innocent for a while until Eric wants more and slips his tongue into Jack’s mouth. Jack has to break away for a moment, because he did have something else important he needed to say. “I know it will suck being in the closet again, but it won’t be like this forever. I’m not giving you an empty promise. I want to come out, but when I’m ready.”

Eric reaches up to gently pat Jack’s cheek, and stares at him with complete adoration. “I don’t doubt you, Zimmermann. You are one of the most genuine guys I have ever met. I’m a journalist, so those are hard to come by. You are destined for great things.”

“You seem to have a lot of faith in me, eh Bittle?”

Eric pecks him on the lips before saying, “I always have, Jack.”

#omgcheckplease #omgcp #eric bitty bittle #eric bittle #jack zimmermann #zimbits #zimbits fic #hot off the press zimbits au

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thecreativeangel · 7 years

Text

Catching (Peter Parker x Reader) Hogwarts AU

Peter Parker x Fem!Reader

Part two of the Improper series

*Please don’t plagiarize my work, thank you :3*

Summary: A game of Quidditch leaves both you and Peter injured, but he definitely gets the worst out of it.

Warnings: Mention of broken bones, minor violence, cursing, and Wade Wilson.

Words: 4,111

Previous Chapter Next Chapter

You sat in the Great Hall, moving your carrots around the plate with your fork. Today had been awesome. First week of school, no homework, aced that surprise Charms quiz, food served for lunch was the best so far. Today was supposed to be great, and it was, except for one small detail; Peter wasn’t sitting next to you like always. No, he was talking to Inigo down the table. You stabbed a carrot so hard the fork bent. Peter was talking to Inigo and it didn’t look like the usual conversation, entailing Inigo being a jerk and Peter trying not to punch him. This time, Peter looked happy. He was laughing and smiling and absorbing the attention like a sponge. You observed him from afar, hearing pieces of what they were talking about. “Quidditch” and “finally” were used a lot, and you stared down at the food, wishing you could sneak off to the Slytherin table and talk to Abby, Keira and Erin. If I could just crawl under the tables. You think, devising a plan. Maybe McGonagall won’t see-

Peter sat down next to you and began putting food on his plate, humming under his breath.

“You excited for the quidditch tryouts?” He asks, shoveling chicken in his mouth. Like nothing was wrong. Like he wasn’t just talking and laughing with your bully.

“Definitely. Yeah.” You answer, cheering up a bit, but not enough. The image of Peter laughing with Inigo was burned into your mind and it left bitter thoughts floating in your head. I just need to get away for a bit. You reason. Peter will understand.

“Can you cover for me?” You ask hurriedly. “I don’t want Morgan catching me sneaking off.” Peter gave you a blank look at why you would want to distract the Gryffindor prefect but you didn’t wait for his response and slinked off the bench, briskly walking down between the two tables and turning to continue towards the Slytherin table. It would have been easier to go around the other way, but that was nearest to the professors table at the front, and they could not know that you were sitting at another house’s dining table. Your friends looked confused and alarmed when they say you approach the Slytherins. Abigail frantically motioned for you to sit at the empty space between her and Erin.

“Why the bloody hell are you here?” Erin asked wildly, looking around to see if anyone knew of your table change. When she knew no one saw, she faced you, grinning brightly. Erin loved breaking rules, from scribbling on the bathroom stalls to secretly giving Professor Barton a rabbit tail and cat ears. “Did that little shit give you a hard time again?”

She was referring to Inigo of course, but instead of feeling better you saddened even more. “I think Peter-he was, I mean I’m not-” You began, stumbling over words. Huffing, you calm down and try again. “Peter was talking to Inigo…”

You finish the sentence in a dejected whisper, realizing how stupid the problem was when said out loud. “Talking to Inigo how? Like usual? Or was Inigo being an even bigger twit than usual?” Keira interrogated at lightning speed, becoming irritated and heated at the mention of the boy she hated so much.

“Please,” Abigail scoffed, rolling her eyes. “Would she really come here if it was just ‘Inigo as usual’? God Keira, think about it! Peter wasn’t just talking to him-they were having a good old time. Didn’t you see them? Peter was loving the attention, that little-”

Erin jabbed Abigail slightly in the rib to make her stop talking. “M’ sure Peter didn’t mean to leave ya out.” Erin says soothingly, slinging her arm over your shoulders. “You know he loves you very much.”

Keira smirks and Abigail snorts, which does not go unnoticed by you. “‘Course he loves me, we’re best friends.” You say slowly, narrowing your eyes at your friends.

“Yup, of course. Best friends,” Keira assured gleefully in a somewhat suspicious manner. “And-oh look! He’s staring over here right now.”

You whipped around to see Peter sitting at the Gryffindor table, watching you. He waved sheepishly when he saw you turn around, and you returned the wave more enthusiastically, giving him a wide smile.

“‘ell ‘im oo liek ‘im.” Erin says through a mouthful of truffles. You tilt your head to the side and snigger at her puffed out cheeks. She swallows thickly and grabs her glass of pumpkin juice, downing it it a couple gulps.

“Tell him you like him” She repeats, smiling smugly.

“...What?” You ask, trying to hide the redness seeping across your cheeks and nose. “What are you talking about?”

Abigail raises an eyebrow. “Cut the crap, we know you like him, even if you don’t know it yet.” She says, breaking into a smile and turning your head to where Peter is sitting. “I ship it so freaking much!”

You swat her away and put your head in your hands, hiding the embarrassed blush before pulling your head up to give a comeback.

“Abigail, shut up for god's sake!” You whisper yell urgently. “I came here to vent about Inigo and you start shipping me with Peter? Seriously?”

Erin laughed good naturedly, giving your shoulders a squeeze. “Start shipping? We’ve been shipping you for what-a year and half now?”

“I don’t like Peter,” Keira stated, throwing a dark look in his direction. “And he did just talk to Inigo like they were freaking friends… He better not start being a bratty Gryffindor.”

“Hey!” You piped up, crossing your arms and feigning a hurt pout. “Not all Gryffindors are bratty!”

“You’re right.” Erin says seriously, nodding at you. “It’s just you then.”

You pinch her side and she lets out an ‘oof’, clutching her stomach as Keira and Abigail giggle, both of them reaching over to tickle her too.

“I want a good clean match!” Coach Wilson yells to the teams. He gives them a stern look, then doubles over, cackling like a witch.

“Just kidding you losers,” He manages between wheezing giggles, wiping his eyes for tears of laughter. Just as suddenly, he becomes deathly serious again. “Go do whatever the fuck you want. Just remember if anyone dies your body will be burned out behind Hagrid’s shack because I am not going to Azkaban again.”

The newest members of the quidditch teams look at the older players with wide eyes, deciding whether asking if the coach was serious would provide the answer they wanted. You couldn’t help but chuckle at Coach Wilson’s attempt to scare you. Peter on the other hand, actually seemed alarmed.

“He’s kidding, right?” Peter asks, his knees shaking as he held his broomstick tightly. “Tell me he’s kidding. Does he know me and you are only second years?”

“Good luck Peter.” You say pointedly, trying to get him to focus on being the Gryffindor chaser and not worrying about Wade Wilson being his usual asshole self. In reality though, you were just as nervous as Peter. This was the first game of the season after all, and tension was high with the Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors. You stood in position on the field, gripping the sleek handle of your Firebolt Supreme and preparing for the whistle that starts the game. The crowd spoke in hushed voices, taking bets about who would win. When Coach Wilson blew the whistle, you kicked off the ground as practiced and rose into the air, enjoying the cool breeze that came with being so high up. A Hufflepuff chaser flew past, closely followed by Liz Allan, the Hufflepuff team captain. You observed the scene below, searching for any signs of the Golden Snitch. Being the seeker, you trained your eyes to see the flashes of gold and wings from many meters away.

You saw a shimmer of polished metal zoom downwards and you dove after it, the wind rushing through your hair. Reaching forward, the tips of your fingers were almost touching the Snitch’s delicate wings as it flew past the other players. Dodging and pushing the speed of your Firebolt, your hand almost closed around the small golden sphere when a body rammed into your side, slamming their elbow into your ribcage. You screamed and grabbed the broom with both hands as you were sent spinning off course. The Gryffindors in the stands exploded with rage as the whistle was blown and you barely managed to whirl around and stop without colliding with the viewing stands. All the players descended down to see Coach Wilson yelling at a small Hufflepuff girl who, instead of being terrified, looked unimpressed at most.

“Cobbing and blocking? Really Leslie-Macy?” Coach Wilson shouts, throwing his hands up in defeat.

“My name is Lisa-Marie.” The girl answers coolly, straightening her quidditch robe.

“I don’t give a flying horse fuck you stupid shit!” The Coach yells. “One more penalty and you’re out!”

Lisa-Marie began to protest but Coach Wilson pulled out his wand and in a flash of light it changed into a katana blade, which he pointed at her menacingly. “Don’t test me you shitty excuse for a quidditch player.” He growls and the katana changes back into a wand. He tucks it into his pocket as if nothing had happened.

“Are you alright?” Peter asks frantically, darting around you to find any damage. “Does it hurt? Can you still play? ‘Know what-you shouldn’t play. Oh Merlin, wait ‘till I get my hands on-”

“Peter!” You shout, stopping his rambling. “I’m fine, honestly. Doesn’t even hurt that much. C’mon, we gotta get back to the game.”

All the players kicked off the ground once more and the match continued as planned.

“There goes Liz Allan of the Hufflepuffs chasing after Fredericks of the Gryffindor team!” Flash Thompson yells into the microphone. “She takes a dive for the quaffle and catches it, obviously. Never seen Allan miss a pass. Never.” You stop paying attention because at that moment, the Snitch had flown past you at high speed, its little wings beating rapidly. Chasing after it once more, you knew that this time, you would catch the Snitch. The score was tied and this could guarantee Gryffindor the win.Your long quidditch robes whipped behind you as the little golden ball was centimeters from your palm, and with one final jerk forward you trapped it in your hand, skidding to a halt mid air. The people in the stands roared with approval or booed as Flash announced the closing of the match. You were on cloud nine, high on happiness and pride. Peter was a small distance away, pumping his fist in the air and cheering you on. All you were feeling was elated, like you were in space and you could never come down. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw a furious Lisa-Marie use her beater's bat to angle a bludger. You didn’t have time to react before it hit the hilt of Peter’s broomstick. He wasn’t given the chance to scream.

Peter fell in slow motion as you gave an strangled shriek, plunging after his flailing form. Blood pounded in your ears from the sudden altitude drop but it was nothing to your panic stricken self. The ground was nearing fast, your eyes stinging as you shot your hand out to grab Peter’s arm, robe, leg-anything! If it would just slow down his fall. Right before his back hit the grass field you latched onto his wrist, jerking him up. Peter’s spine slammed against the earth, not as roughly as it could have but you still feared for permanent damage. The wrist you had grabbed was bent at disgusting angle, the sight of which made you want to empty your lunch. You still held his wrist when you threw your Firebolt aside, falling to your knees next to Peter. His chest heaved but no oxygen entered his lungs and he gasped for air.

“Peter! Peter!” Your breathlessly cried his name, hands traveled from his pale face to his neck, checking for pulse in your state of hysteria. “Oh my god, oh my god, answer me dammit!”

You raked a hand through your hair, at a loss of what to do. Peter opened his eyes and groaned, snaking his clammy fingers through yours. You almost wept with relief, a laugh bubbling in your throat. Teachers and students alike crowded around you and Peter, someone attempting to pry you away from him but you dug your nails into their arm, scratching them until they jolted away.

Nurse Maximoff appeared next to you, lifting Peter into the air on a stretcher of red mist and you followed her, not listening to the yells of the teachers. The nurse didn’t seem to notice your presence during the trek back to the school or as she laid Peter on a bed in the Hospital Wing, her scarlet magic flying bottles and flasks of medicine around. Peter gave another sharp cry and you stuffed your fist in your mouth to keep from wailing at his misery. Nurse Maximoff’s red magic began to forcefully push you out of the Hospital Ward, shutting the big wooden doors behind you. Footsteps thunder down the hall towards you and seconds later a hoard of people turn the corner, stopping in front of the doors.

“Holy shit you’re fast.” Keira puffs out, leaning on the wall to catch her breath. Keira, Abigail, and Erin crowded around you along with a couple people you don’t know. You looked around helplessly at your friends, dizzy from attention.

“Oh, I forgot,” Erin says, noticing your lost expression. She pointed to four other students behind her, three of them clad in yellow and black. “These are some Hufflepuffs who felt Lisa-Marie was barking for doing’ what she did. Think they wanted to say sorry-since the bitch won’t say it herself.”

“Hello.” A pretty dark skinned girl shook your hand, and you recognized her as Liz Allan, the captain of the Hufflepuff team. “Erin’s right, we’re sorry about Lisa. She’s been known to be-”

“Bat shit crazy.” A younger boy finishes, earning a glare from Liz.

“What? It’s true-I have no idea how she became a Hufflepuff.” He burst out, probably relieved to say it aloud. “Not a nice bone in her body. Nope.”

“Lisa isn’t too bad.” A small, frizzy haired Hufflepuff girl defends.

“Ned’s still right.” A tall Ravenclaw girl agrees, crossing her arms and leaning against the wall. “She’s a damn pain, man.”

The tall girl extends a hand, shaking yours lazily. “Michelle Jones. Ravenclaw, art club founder, Stella’s personal babysitter.”

“Michelle,” The little Hufflepuff girl whines, bouncing up and down on the heels of her shoes. “I don’t need a babysitter!”

Michelle gives her a cheshire cat grin. “Hush child, mummy’s talking. Anyway, how’s the loser who fell?”

“He’s not a loser.” You grumble, staring down at your feet.

Abigail grunts in amusement and shakes her head. “She’s just saying that ‘cus she fancies him so much.”

You sock her in the arm.

Visiting Peter in the Hospital Wing was tricky. Combine tons of homework, tests and the “no sneaking around after dark” rule and the result was the few times you could actually see him. Every Saturday and Sunday were spent almost entirely with Peter though. You’d practice weird spells, eat all kinds of junk food, and Nurse Maximoff turned out to be a very nice lady who you now had the permission to call Wanda. She was a lot younger than you thought, and most of the time was like a big sister to you and Peter, helping you sneak in sweets and keeping your night stays with Peter a secret. You walked briskly to the Hospital Wing, ready to relax and have a good evening when giggling reaches your ears. You stop in your tracks at the doors, inching forward to hear more.

“I’m still sorry the Hufflepuff prat got you like that, Pete.” You internally groaned at the high pitched, annoyingly nasally voice. Oh for the love of-why does Inigo have to be where I plan to be all the time?

“If I’d been out there flying you would be here, right Ned?” The mention of Ned made you want to groan again. Ned was an incredibly polite, shy, dorky nerd who didn’t deserve to be sucked into Inigo’s gang of idiots.

“I-I guess.” Came Ned’s uneasy reply.

“Bet I’d have saved you, no problem. How’s that friend of your, huh Pete? Didn’t she break your wrist tryin’ to save you?” That sentence made you nauseous. I broke Peter’s wrist? No, no, no. I was just trying to help, I-

“She didn’t mean to!” Peter assures and you instantly feel better, even just by a smidge. “It slowed my fall. I might be dead if she didn’t help.”

“Where is the little savior you talk about so much now, anyway? Isn’t she always here on the weekends?” Inigo’s question was seemingly innocent, but you knew the scheme behind it.

“She’s just held up a little.” Ned’s chimes in.

“Well then,” One of Inigo’s friends announces. “We’ll stay here ‘till she get’s here. Y’know, keep you company.”

Your hand hold the door handle, face growing pale. I should go in there. You think, knuckles turning white as your grip on the handle gets tighter. I should march in there and maybe Inigo will leave. Yup, just open the door and move your feet… The aura around you is hot and timid. Walking in would be so easy, only a few steps and you would be at Peter’s bed, talking and laughing with him and Ned. But Inigo’s still there… A small, anxious voice in your head reminds you. What happens when you leave and he comes with you, with all of his huge gorilla friends? You, alone in the hallway, with Inigo and his gang. The thought makes you even jumpier than before. It would be so, so easy to walk in and plop down next to Peter and Ned.

But your grip on the handle is removed. And you walk, head low, back to the girls dormitory. A coward.

“This is so wrong.” Stella squeaks excitedly, caught in the moment. Abigail peeks around the corner and gives you a thumbs up without looking back. The rest of the group, namely Keira, Michelle, Erin, you and Stella, tiptoe forward, wary of the distant sounds of talking in the dark corridors. Slinking around the halls at night was sort of a new hobby as your friends tried to find an obscure hangout to use when escaping the stress of end of year schoolwork.

“No offence Stella but can you hush up for a second.” Michelle quips, pulling Stella along to quicken their pace. “Abby mighta found a great place down near the Slytherin commons.”

“The Slytherin-the Slytherin commons?” Stella yelps, automatically being shushed by everyone.

“We’re almost there and… Aha!” Erin explains, also being shushed by the group. She gives an exaggerated eyes roll. “Well, here’s the entrance.”

You squint in the darkness and pull out your wand, muttering “Lumos” so a helpful burst of light emits from the tip of your wand. What Erin was referring to was a particularly old statue of a witch that had its back connected with the wall a bit away from the doors to the Slytherin common room.

“I suppose this needs some sort of charm to activate it?” Keira asks, leisurely waving her wand around.

“No, we’re just going to sit here until morning.” You deadpan, sending Keira a bored look. “Of course it need a charm! Now, who knows it?”

“Need you even ask?” Abigail answers snobbishly, brandishing her wand.

“Káto apó ti límni.” She whispers, making a little swirling motion with her wand and swishing it to point at the witch's chest. The statue rumbled as moved to the side, making you hope no one heard. A gust of cool wind swept out, pleasingly chilly compared to the hot mid June weather. All girls gasp and marvel as they walked through the passageway. The old brick walls were just like the rest of Hogwarts, but the roof was a clouded glass, the waves of water above creating beautiful shimmers of light that illuminated the passage, along with old metal lamps that decorated the brick. You could see schools of fish dart by, seaweed slowly drifting along with the current. This passageway-

“It’s under the lake.” Stella gasped, tilting her head up to take in every detail.

“Uh huh…” Keira answered meekly, distracted by a grindylow that was swimming past the roof, growling when it saw them. The passage only ended when you entered a small circular room, also with a glass roof, marble columns supporting the structure. Someone had scattered fur rugs around the floor, and old coffee table was put in one corner, surrounded by pillows and blankets.

“Didja bring the stuff?” Erin asks, sitting cross legged at the coffee table. Nodding, you pull strings of lights, stacks of DVD’s, books and hoards of stuffed animals out of the bag you had on your shoulder. You silently thanked Merlin for undetectable extension charms and everyone began to string up the fairy lights, putting the DVD’s and book on the table. Stuffed animals were handed out and all of you sat down at the coffee table.

“Exactly why did we bring DVD’s?” Michelle questions, looking at Abigail. She grins and pulls something from under her pillow.

“How did you get a computer to Hogwarts?” Keira asks, in awe at the sleek new model. A couple hours and movies later, you yawned loudly and shut the laptop. You nudged Stella, who was leaning against you, fast asleep, and gathered your things. The six of you make your way back out, rubbing your eyes to keep from falling asleep. The statue slid back into place and you were about to mumble a sleepy goodbye to your friends but were interrupted by a snicker.

“Well if it isn’t Pete’s little friend.” Inigo says, sickening glee dripping in his voice. “And you brought the whole gang. Wonderful.”

Too tired to find a witty comeback, you sighed and turned to him. “What do you want?”

Inigo tutted, shaking his head. “Oh, nothing really. Just wanted to tell you how sad poor Pete was when you were a no show all those weekends.” He simpers. “Very rude, if you ask me.”

Bastard. You think. He knows perfectly well why I skip a lot. “Go boil your head Inigo, or I’ll do it.” You snap, trying to pull your friends away from him and his gang. Too late. His mates moved between you and yours, separating your group.

“But that wouldn’t be as fun.” Inigo sneered, walking around you. And just like that, the air was suffocating you, choking you with its denseness. “Look at yourself, hanging out with these Slytherins. A right disgrace, if you ask me.”

“Drop dead you moronic git!” Abigail retaliates, pushing away Inigo’s friend who was closest to her. “The hell do you think you’re going to do to us?”

A boy shoves her back and she stumbles into Stella, who grabs her arm for support. Anger boils in you, picking you up from the previously sleepy state.

“Don’t touch her!” Michelle yells, then cries out when the boy circling her pulls on her messy ponytail. Stella’s chest was heaving, and you knew she was going to freak out if anyone got hurt more. Inigo dug his nails into your jaw, which must have been a funny sight, him being the same height as you. It wasn’t funny to you though, it stung badly.

“I want,” Inigo pauses, glancing at your friends. “I want you to stop being such an embarrassment to the Gryffindor name. A couple Slytherins? A Hufflepuff I could excuse, but Slytherins?”

“Let. Go.” You growl, your words coming out choked because of his death grip on your jaw. Inigo looked about to hit you but footfalls somewhere down a couple corridors stopped him. He let go of your face and motioned for his friends to follow him. They run off towards the Gryffindor commons and you massage your jawline, knowing there would be red marks by tomorrow.

“Run!” Erin whisper yells. All of you sprint in different directions, each to your individual common room.

You panted heavily, barely muttering the password to the Fat Lady. Going to your bed in Gryffindor Tower was bittersweet, knowing that very close is the boys dormitory, where sleeps your enemy and the boy who is your best friend. Who you have avoided because of a stupid bully. Who waited for you to come visit when you never did.

Authors Note:

Okay no one reads authors notes but I thought I would warn you guys. It’s going to get real heavy, real quick. Angst, betrayal, gossip, and that weird tingly feeling you get when something really unfair is happening to a character and you just wanna give them a hug. Yeah that character is you, so... Anyway, the chapters have been pretty fluffy so far. That’s going to end as of this chapter. And if you’re confused at why the reader was a first year in the first two parts, but is now a second year (because they’re allowed to play quidditch in second year) then let me explain. Every chapter is another full year, unless I say otherwise. The very first part was a prequel, it doesn’t count. I may split a chapter into two parts if it gets too long, or a special edition over the Hogwarts holidays... I don’t know. Hope you love it, hope you aren’t offended by the cussing, yada yada. Stay weird!

-A

Tags: @madithemagicalfangirl

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daysixdreams · 7 years

Text

you bite and hold on until we all fall down | Sungjin [1/2]

you gotta see blood, girl

flangst, supernatural mystery, paranormal romance | ~5.6k words | werewolf!au | Blood | Part Two

prompt: Hey can I get a werewolf!au for sungjin where he and the reader are in a forbidden relationship??? Please let it be as angsty and fluffy as possible!!!😉☺Thanks so much!!!☺😊😙 - requested by @taespiration

a/n: hope you like it? I took a few liberties with the werewolf aspect but i hope it still works? let me know what you guys think =) part 2 will be up next week. ish.

“I hope there isn’t anywhere else you need to be,” I say as soon as Sungjin appears from the street corner. He’s dressed as usual: scuffed sneakers, dark grey jeans torn at the knees, black shirt, and that leather jacket he’s grown a liking to recently. As have I. It will be a sad day for humanity when the weather warms and to the back of the closet the jacket goes. Or maybe not. Summer does have its wardrobe perks.

He grunts and scrunches his nose. “You mean at eleven in the evening on a Friday night? Where else would I be?”

Clearing my head of the image of exposed collar bones and knees, I gesture toward the dark alley without explanation. Mostly because I don’t have a good one, but that does allow me to receive an unbiased opinion.

Sungjin turns to me with a barely stifled grimace. “Another dead body. Why am I not surprised.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You only call me when someone’s dead.”

“Oh, come on,” I contest weakly, “I call you for other things, too.”

Cleansing the city of evil is not the one-person job my ancestors liked to think it is. Especially when murder is involved. Even less so when you’re the only openly practicing witch in the country willingly offering your services to a special unit law enforcement agency for a consulting fee. Extra difficulty points when you’re next in line to inherit the responsibility of protecting the city. Raise that to the power of nine when you’ve spent your formative schooling years and part of your early adult life in another country studying for said witchcraft degree, thus alienating you from the culture and heritage you were born in.

Hence, Sungjin.

The incidental fact that Sungjin is a Lycanthrope is a happy coincidence I just happen to benefit from. Unlike a shifter, he doesn’t transform into a wolf neither through magic— his own or someone else’s— or through a curse via the rise of the full moon. Physically, Sungjin is human, indistinguishable from any other regular person— at least on the surface. On the inside, he’s a little more unique. Born as a natural channel for a spirit of rage, Sungjin houses a Wolf spirit, an alpha that makes him stronger, more aggressive, and resistant to physical damage and disease.

This means I get to walk around undetected with a guide/bodyguard. Heavy on the guidance, light on the bodyguarding. Sungjin knows I’m more than capable of defending myself. It’s embarrassing myself and doing something I shouldn’t that he’s worried about. And fine, I may have a history of getting myself into life-threatening situations but that doesn’t minimize or invalidate my skill. It just means that sometimes, I can’t go into these things alone.

Sungjin steps into the alley, and with the light of the full moon, large and silver, overhead, our shadows cast long and gangly on the concrete. I follow closely behind him extending my Sense. The easiest way to explain what Sense is is to liken it to an awareness of the paranormal and the supernatural, it’s not simply seeing, hearing, or feeling more the way Sungjin can. It’s that weird ghost of a feeling that makes the hair at the back of your arm stand on end, that niggling that you’ve forgotten something, and that odd just knowing something isn’t quite right.

“What do you think?” I ask. It’s never good when Sungjin takes this long to assess the crime scene. His heightened senses help cover what my Sense fails to catch— which is very little but ever since that one time with the raining frogs, Sungjin’s made this rule about never running into a scene until after he’s cleared the vicinity. I do as he says because you really don’t want a Lycan’s rage directed at you.

Further in, the expression on his face pulls into a mix of concern and confusion. “Well, whatever it is, it’s not good.”

The smell reaches us first, a sickly-sewer smell, rank and metallic. I knew it was a dead body even before I crossed the street, felt the void taking a life left behind in the energies surrounding the area, but I’m never prepared for it. My stomach quails and I press my palm against my mouth to keep from gagging. Up ahead, is blood. A lot of blood. It pooled thick and scarlet around a mound of bodies, two of them, both with their ribcages expanding outward like their hearts had exploded right out of their chests. I sway backwards despite my strict training and the walls of self-control I’ve built. Sungin’s hand, just barely touching the small of my back, anchors me to the present.

“You okay?”

I close my eyes and take a deep breath. “Yeah,” I answer, voice steadier than I thought it would be. I don’t ask how he’s doing even if I see the tightness in his jaw and the strain in his eyes. Sungjin hates showing vulnerability, and the last thing I want is to tell him I notice he’s not okay. On that vein, I right myself before I fall into his arm or something ridiculous like it. With his senses turned up to eleven, being touched becomes an unpleasant experience for him. I can’t imagine what it’s like for him now, seeing all this, smelling all this, experiencing all this and just being here at all. “Can you get anything useful?” I ask. “Do you think you can track...anything?”

“I’ll try. But we need to take a closer look before the local police arrive and process the scene.”

And then we’re out of the loop. Human crime scene units don’t exactly cooperate with, or are even aware of, the High Council of Elders that govern the Others— Magic folk, every other sentient being not quite your strain of plain regular human, you get the picture.

Sungjin and I circle the scene carefully, noting down all the details we can as fast as we could. I can remember most of the details, look back in my memories for whatever I can’t recall immediately, and cross-reference with Sungjin should the need arise.

“What do you think?” Sungjin asks.

“I don’t know, we’ll need more information. But something like this can’t be a crime of opportunity. There’s too much involved in making someone’s heart explode like that.”

“So that’s what you’re saying? Their hearts exploded? What about the defensive wounds?”

“I can’t explain the defensive wounds right now, but exploding hearts is the only way to explain why their ribs look like they were pried open from the inside. This is really powerful magic. We’re looking for a very specific individual and I might have ideas where to start asking around.”

Like me, Sungjin isn’t looking at the bodies anymore, both of us with our heads turned away and leaning toward the main street. “I’ll see what I can find. I’ll see you again tomorrow?”

I nod and we go our separate ways just as the lights from a patrol car pass by.

***

The following morning, Sungjin drops by the bookstore just before lunch to exchange notes and updates. He comes into the shop, announced by the bright tinkle of the bell above the door, with a large brown bag of sandwiches and coffee, and a smile that rivals the sun. When he’s like this, dressed in a warm grey hoodie and denim jeans, it’s easy to forget he’s a natural born killer trained for the hunt.

“Hello?”

“Up the loft,” I answer. I’ve been looking through the old texts and reference scrolls for anything that might be useful for tracking down what kind of magic is needed to blow someone’s hearts up.

Needless to say, the bookstore is a cover. On the outside, it’s a 24-hour off-the-wall kitschy affair just off-campus. Your non-standard independent bookstore. You’d think 24-hour bookstore equates to study cafe or a euphemism for something, but it’s exactly what it says on the label. On the inside, it’s an actual bookstore with shelves lined so closely to each other the ends fade into each other’s shadows. The inventory is eclectic: used books in excellent condition, the nigh unheard of trade books, and nothing from the Top Anythings. Just a lot of books that make you feel like you’ve walked into a wizarding world. And it smells. Like old books, wood varnish, and bergamot that’s permeated through the old walls. The guy who takes the nightshift, Jae, loves it.

“Find anything interesting?” Sungjin asks, climbing up the narrow spiral staircase.

I’m on the ladder, about a full storey up, retrieving a book on Thaumaturgy. The way the shelves are set, dizzyingly high and looming above, always make me think I’m climbing into another world unknown. I’m fairly certain the air is thinner up here, too. “I think so? I might have some ideas. And you didn’t have to bring me lunch.”

“I didn’t,” he deadpans. “Wonpil made me do it.”

Wonpil is his housemate, information I know of as a side effect of having worked with Sungjin for more than a year now. I’m not sure what Wonpil is exactly as we’ve never met, but the way Sungjin talks about him gives me the impression Wonpil isn’t human. Or at least he gives Sungjin an inhuman amount of mental stress.

I crane my neck to look at him from over my shoulder. I almost fall off, and Sungjin rolls his eyes at me. “Did you hear anything interesting from your network?”

He sets the paper bag on a work desk. “Get down from there before you fall. And then we’ll talk.”

“Let me get this book first.” With one hand, I’m holding on for dear life, while my other is pressed white on the lip of a shelf. I spot the spine of the book I’m looking for and lean until my fingertips graze the old leather. Obviously, the solution here is to go back down the ladder, move about an arm’s length to the left, and go back up to retrieve the book. But, no. I lean.

It all happens so fast. First, there I am leaning. Next, my finger catches the edge of the book dislodging it from the shelf, but only just so. Then the books are whizzing past me in a blur of colorful spines and the floor is zooming in at me in alarming speed. Before I know it, I’m landing in a tangle of limbs with the air knocked out of my lungs in a muffled oomph. The fall hurts, but not as much as it does on the inside.

Sungjin catches me, of course. Inhuman reflexes and all that. I look up just as he lifts his head to give me his most insufferable I told you so look. The fact that he is right is only secondary to the fact that I am sprawled on top of him— my nose on top of his chest, his hands on my upper arms, my knees splayed over his hips, and my eyes hovering over his parted lips. For a moment, I am distracted by his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat as he swallows. I know it’s taking him all his strength to make sure he’s not crushing me in his hands. Only Sungjin would take the impact of a fall and ask you if him saving you is hurting you. I look up and our eyes meet.

This is not the time for this, and yet it’s as if we are both frozen in the moment. Sungjin’s eyes are a deep, earthy brown with flecks of gold revealing the beast within. Yet when he’s looking at me like this, there is nothing but warmth and safety in his eyes. He’s afraid he’ll hurt me, but he’s the only person I trust to never do that. He thinks he’s a monster, but I can’t remember the last time I’ve seen him as anything but brutally soft. Like this, feeling the warmth of the soft fabric of his hoodie against me, and inhaling his clean oceany scent, it’s almost as if I can just be a girl, and he can just be a boy, and there could be something more. But in this world, attachment is both a vulnerability and a weakness. Sungjin and I, we have no room for anything but duty and honor-bound responsibility.

Sobered by the thought, my heart comes to a stop from its wild beating in my chest. It’s an easy roll to the side and we’re back up on our feet, both of us feigning nonchalance. I pick the book up from the floor, silently muttering an apology to the book deities watching over us.

“There aren’t a lot of ways someone can make someone’s heart explode,” I begin, “So we’re looking for someone really strong or really stupid. Definitely a wizard. Definitely premeditated. That kind of magic...” I shudder at the thought. “It’s dark. And angry.”

“And it’s personal.”

“Very.”

Magic in itself is a personal experience. It comes from inside you. Not everyone is born with the aptitude to tap into the energies of the universe to harness its power, and even for those who do it’s hard to explain. Magic isn’t just something you do. Magic is the flow of energy from one form to another, it can neither be created nor destroyed, only redirected and transformed. Magic is created by life, it is awareness, intelligence, and emotions. For magic to cause death, and in such a violent way, is the utter perversion of its very nature.

Through lunch, Sungjin fills me in with the information he’s gathered over the night and I update him with what I’ve found out so far. All in all, we know nothing about who could have done this, how, or even why. Only that the victims were two university students, a couple celebrating their first anniversary at the club. Witnesses say they were arguing, but what kind of argument would explain the kind of defensive wounds they had? They had been in a fist fight before their hearts exploded.

After lunch, Sungjin and I comb through our known networks and contacts through the Underground and the Magic Folk hiding in plain sight. We visit clubs and other establishments that catered to Others but find nothing. The old antique shop near the palace, always the source of local gossip and whispers offer us no new information, saying they heard nothing, know nothing of any dark magic being used around the city. No one seems to know anything about what’s going on. Which only means everyone knows about it but no one wants to talk about it.

“You’re asking about something that could get you killed,” the old pigeon lady by the church said to us. “I’d stay away from those deaths if I were you.”

Which only meant we had to work harder finding answers. This is easily becoming one of those days when neither Sungjin nor I feel much like useful members of the Magic World’s secret society of Guardians. At least for me, that’s the role I was born into. For Sungjin, his participation is by association. But he hasn’t abandoned me. Yet. Even on the days when we look and look and look and find nothing. All this magic and resource under our disposal, there exist days when we still come up with blanks.

“Do you want to take a break?” Sungjin asks just before sunset.

“I hate this,” I answer.

We’re strolling down a busy thoroughfare down a strip mall. Everywhere I look, it’s colors from fashion boutiques or cosmetics, or from stalls selling street food. The smells are the best part of this, sweet and spicy all together and all at once. The better food smells, the more likely it’s bad for you. Be it sugar or meat or something cooked in fat and oils. It’s life’s greatest irony. But then again, who knows. Maybe this is the sign from someone out there watching over us saying we don’t have to diet all the time. So I take it all in, the scent of food, perfumes, air conditioning, and a hint of beer and alcohol. I love my sense of smell.

You nose knows. I’m sure Sungjin would agree.

“How can folks not know anything? What are they so afraid of?” I say, resigning myself to the twilight. “Dark magic like that doesn’t go unnoticed. I felt it happen. You felt traces of it too, didn’t you?”

Sungjin nods somberly. “Whoever was there with them didn’t leave enough of themselves to track down. I’m starting to think our killer did this from afar. Which leaves a magic trace. And tracking down magic is your specialty.”

“I’m good but I’m not that good. There was barely a trace left. No dust or breadcrumbs to follow at all.”

He releases a small laugh from his chest. “Come on, I’ll buy you an ice cream. It’ll make you feel better.”

“Catching the killer will make me feel better.” But even as I say that, I follow Sungjin to a stall and pick out the flavors I want on my cone: strawberry, milk, and green tea. The girl behind the glass case carves the ice cream into a rose and hands it to Sungjin who hands it to me.

“This is for you,” he says with a smile so tender, I look away.

I don’t dwell on the split second our fingers touch, or on the lingering heat from where the rough pad of his fingertips come in contact with my knuckles. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

A blanket of awkward silence envelopes us, and I struggle to fill in the blank spaces. All those other nights with Sungjin, tracking a bad guy or searching for clues, not once did the silence bother me until tonight.

I clear my throat after he gets a cone of his own. “Is it just me, or are there more flowers than usual?” Specifically roses. Red roses. Single, long-stemmed red roses or large bouquets of red roses. Couples everywhere wearing matchy-matchy outfits.

Sungjin grunts and scratches the back of his ear. “You really don’t know?”

“Know what?” I scrunch my nose at the group of couples who pass by us. This place is known to have couples in varying states of lovey-doveyness everywhere, but something about tonight has them all extra ooshy and ugh.

“It’s Valentine's Day.”

“That’s today?”

“You seriously don’t know?”

“I don’t keep track of these things,” I counter, annoyed. “I can barely keep track of what I need to accomplish in a day and this case...it’s driving me crazy.”

Sungjin just hums and keeps walking alongside me.

“I’m serious. Besides, look at all these people. They look like they’ve all been brainwashed into celebrating the day when what’s there to celebrate? It’s all so...I don’t know. Fake. And manufactured.”

“If you say so.”

“Wait, is there somewhere you need to be tonight?” Like a date. I don’t pry into his personal life, only picking out the details he’s comfortable sharing, blurted out confessions I wasn’t meant to hear, habits I find out only because we tend to spend inordinate amounts of downtime together like this. Of course, he’s free to see people if he wants to. He probably should.

“I’m exactly where I need to be because if you die in a ditch, this city loses its last Guardian and I don’t think the High Council will appreciate that.”

“I won’t die in a ditch,” I mutter petulantly. “And you need a life. You should probably go find yourself a girlfriend or something. I mean, I’m a lost cause because, well, Guardian and all that applies, but you…”

“You and I both know that’s physically impossible for me.” Because he’d be too much. Feel too much. Give too much.

I shrug. “Maybe you’ll find someone who’s fine without being physical? There are all sorts of people in the world. Or maybe you’ll find another Lycan and you won’t be so afraid to touch her for fear of tearing her into pieces—” I pause mid-step and hold back a war cry.

“You just had an epiphany, didn’t you.”

I start down the street in a power walk just below the level of a jog, acceptable enough without rousing suspicion. “I can’t believe I didn’t think of this before.”

“Good. Now this time use your words and share with the rest of the class.”

“Those two students must have been possessed by a Horror.” Horrors are amorphous blobs of pure negativity, parasites that possess objects that in turn posses humans and Turn them into shapeshifting monsters. Part of my job is hunting down these pools of evil and eliminating them before they find a host and wreak havoc. Yes, my ancestors decided this is a one-person job. I may be magic, but I’m still only human.

“If that’s the case, why didn’t they Turn? They were human when we found them.”

“I don’t know yet,” I admit. Then, “That’s what we’re about to find out. We need to get back to that club.”

***

Sungjin and I make it halfway to the club when I realize we’re being followed.

The trick to this is to keep yourself from reacting. Stay cool. Calm. “Could be just me, but I think someone might be following us.”

Sungjin doesn’t even raise a brow and his face is almost always out of his control. “Tall guy, black coat, face mask, sunglasses? I’ve seen him all day, I think. But considering this is standard Look at me, I’m cool look, who knows for sure.”

“You would know for sure,” I shoot back, “I’ve seen him just standing there trying really hard to make it look like he’s not watching us. And he has a very distinct set of piercings.” I notice these things now because Sungjin also has a very distinct set of piercings that are utterly fascinating to study if only it weren’t so inappropriate.

“It’s not like there’s anything we can do about it,” he offers, “Everyone’s out tonight, there are about a bajillion people on the street and when we get to the club, that’s two bajillion people.”

“You know, the sass? It doesn’t help. But fine, if that’s how you want to play it.”

“You can’t just go whacking people around,” he chides, “besides, what if it’s not that? Maybe he wants to ask you out tonight. He looks lonely.”

I snort. I happen to be good at whacking people, and other sort, around. It’s very effective. “Maybe he wants to ask you out tonight.”

“Well I am pretty good looking, aren’t I? Can’t really blame him.”

“Your confidence astounds me.”

“As it should. Let’s just play it by ear and see what happens.”

***

A shiver runs down the back of my arm as soon as we reach the club’s vicinity. It’s a tactile feeling owing to my witching Sense. Nighttime always did amplify powers from creatures of the dark, and while Night and Day themselves are neither good nor evil, there’s something about the shadows and the moonlight that make things go bump in the night.

Sungjin and I drift around, our Cool Friend always at a respectable distance behind us. The club, called Daydream, is located underground with the entrance located in a narrow alley between two commercial buildings. You’d miss it if not for the long line of people, about fifty or so, waiting impatiently along the street. This section of the city is full of university students, another kitschy affair of the fashion forward, the nonconformists, and the otherwise artistically inclined. It was full of excited yelling, raucous high-pitched laughter, and music blaring from every imaginable direction. Lights flashed and danced, buskers filled the streets each of them inside their bubbles of merry chaos.

I feel it then, a near unnoticeable quiver like a metallic ping from an unplugged electric guitar. Stepping closer to the club amplified the feeling. Something is definitely going on in there. I can feel it in the thrum of the music and the concrete beneath my feet.

Sensing the change in my tension, Sungjin says “Something’s here, isn’t there.”

“Something for sure. How’s our friend?”

Sungjin inhales sharply and his eyes flash amber. “Still interested. I’m not entirely sure if he’s following us because he’s looking for what we’re looking for, or if he’s following us to make sure we don’t find what we’re looking for.”

“If only we knew what we were looking for.”

Sungjin rolls his shoulders. A gesture of frustration. “Only one way to find out.”

We don’t have to communicate the decision out loud. Sungjin and I are already on our way toward the back of the club to find an alternative entrance. The back of the building is dark with shadows the light of the full moon cannot reach. I keep my guard up, just in case. Next to me, I can feel Sungjin do the same, his now amber eyes alert for any physical danger. Just knowing he’s with me, feeling his calm assured strength around me, is more than enough to rest my fears.

Because no matter how long I’ve been doing this, no matter how much training I’ve endured to get to where I am or how confident I am of what I can do, it doesn’t change the fact that every day I risk my life and that I’m afraid of death.

But not as long as Sungjin is with me.

“Just stay close to me,” Sungjin mutters close to my ear.

“I’m not a child,” I shoot back, voice steadier than I expect. “I’m a trained witch. And Guardian of the City. I’m not helpless. I can defend myself.”

“I know,” he says patiently. “That’s why I said stay close to me. Did you ever consider that I need defending? You’re not the only one putting your life in danger here. Don’t be selfish.”

I stifle a smile. Now is not the time for this. “We’re just going into a club. With dancing. Do you like dancing?”

“I’m an epic dancer,” he says, leveling me with a look. “But we can go dancing some other time when there isn’t a probability of some kind of murderer or Horror in the club.”

We step in through the back door, me first then Sungjin behind me. Music blasts at us, a deep psychedelic trance mix all the patrons are swaying to. The bassline goes straight to my bones, anchoring the music to time and pulling me deeper into the pit. Like a hive-minded organism, the moshpit flails and writhes to the hypnotic beat and neon lights. Everywhere the strobe hits, it’s body to body, eyes closed and gyrating against each other. We tread carefully through the darkness, avoiding elbows and other extremities while navigating our way to the center of the dance floor. On stage is a DJ shrouded by the shadows, but it’s from there I feel the center of this dark energy. No wonder this club is so popular.

“Anything?” I ask Sungjin. I have to stand on tiptoe and tug at his sleeve so he’d lean closer for me to speak into his ear. I don’t even need light to know his ear’s probably flushed neon pink.

“Nothing you haven’t figured out yet.”

I don’t let go of his sleeve. “Is our friend still here?”

Sungjin closes his eyes and hums. “Shouldn’t you be tracking his energy signature?”

Stepping closer, I lay my other hand on his chest. His heartbeat is slow and steady in this sultry heat. My heart starts beating faster. “Sungjin…”

“Yeah?”

I look up at him, and my fingers curl and tangle into the collar of his hoodie. “You’ve been really good to me. No one’s been this good to me.”

His breathy laugh tickles my cheek. “That’s because you don’t know a lot of people.”

“You risk your life for me.”

“According to my last count, we’re split 60-40, but I’ll give you a chance to save my life if that will make you feel better,” he answers quietly.

I lick my lips. “You and me…we’ve never really...we’re not a we-we.”

“No, we’re not.”

“Why not? I know we’ve only known each other for a little more than a year, but after all we’ve been through? How come nothing’s ever...happened?”

“Reasons,” he exhales softly. “Work, mostly. And I am what I am, and…” He runs his nose down my cheek. “And you...it wouldn’t be right.”

I shift just enough to touch my nose to his. “But...technically...we could...if we wanted to. Even if it were forbidden, it’s so easy breaking the rules…”

“Are we deciding to?”

I push up on my toes and press my lips to his. Gently, at first. Very gently. Sungjin sighs into the kiss and pulls my body against his and I entwine my arms around his neck. The kiss turns hungry, deep. Hot and desperate. Sungjin all but growls into my mouth.

He pulls away first. “We’re working.”

“We’re always working,” I whine. “It’s all we ever do.”

He grins. “Doesn’t look like we’re getting more information out of tonight. We’ve been hitting dead ends from the start.”

“We can take a break for the night, right?” I feel a rumble of excitement deep inside me.

“We could. We should. We’ve been working too much.”

My face splits into a smile before I’m even aware. “We deserve a break, right? Why haven’t we thought about this before?”

“Can we go back to your place?”

I giggle into his collar bones. My heart is beating so fast. I can’t remember if it’s ever gone off this way before. “Sounds like a really good idea. You always did have the best of ideas.”

We start moving again, this time toward the exit. Hand in hand, we slip through the moshpit laughing silly at each other. When we emerge back out the alley, he kisses me again, pressing me hard against him.

“Sungjin,” I wheeze between the kiss. “Let go a bit, you’re crushing me.”

“I just can’t believe we’ve never done this before.”

“I know, it’s crazy.” It’s so crazy my heart hurts.

“I think I’m crazy.”

“Sungjin, let go. I can’t breathe.” But his hold on me tightens and my feet lift off the ground. I push against him. “You’re hurting me.”

Sungjin blinks and lets go so quickly I drop to my feet on unstable legs. He runs his hand through his hair and mutters to himself. “What just happened? Something happened.”

I look up, confused. “What do you mean?”

“Something weird is happening.”

I feel a sledgehammer in my chest. “Something good is happening. Why are you making it sound like it’s a bad thing?”

“I’m not saying that, I’m just saying...look at us.”

“I am.” I take a step closer to him. “I am looking at us. Don’t you like what you’re seeing? How long have you felt this way? And pretended not to? Denied the feeling? Because...this doesn’t just come out of nowhere. There could be something real here.”

“Listen to yourself.”

I launch myself at him and shove him as hard as I can. My heart hurts so much. He doesn’t even budge so I hit his chest with my fists. “You can’t just do this to me. You can’t tell me you don’t think we have something here that could be real. I’m not crazy!”

But even as I say that, the words bounce around in my head. Real. Crazy.

“Oh,” I groan. “Oh no.” My heart is still beating fast, but this time it’s from embarrassment.

“Hey, it’s okay. We got hit with something, maybe it was the lights or the music…”

“Oh no.”

Sungjin smiles warmly at me. “Hey. It’s okay. I got hit, too.”

Until his trigger words slapped sense into him. “I should’ve known better.”

“You’re right. I should’ve too…I shouldn’t have...you know. I’m sorry.”

“Nothing to apologize for,” I tell him. I clutch at my chest to calm my beating heart. “It wasn’t us. If it were...it would’ve been…”

“Different?”

“Yeah. Not like this.”

He nods. “It was a little too easy.”

“Shouldn’t it be easy?” I may not know much about love, but I know I’ll know it when I feel it. I’ll know it when it’s there...and it’s been there. But...

“Not for you and me.”

I take a deep, shaky breath. “How messed up is that?”

“Pretty messed up. You know for someone’s who’s tasked to keep the city safe, you’re terrible at avoiding traps. Physical, or otherwise.”

He looks away when I turn to him, and I study his averted face. “That’s why I have you.” And that’s why we can’t have each other.

A cold shiver passed through the air. Dark and twisted. Sungjin glances at me, and the color drains from both our faces. We run down the direction of the void and careen to a stop.

Two more dead bodies, a couple with their hearts blown out of their chests. Exactly like the first murder.

#day6 #sungjin #day6 fanfiction #day6writersnet #sorry this took forever

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The Thots Of Your Instagram Feed Explained By Bratz Dolls

If there’s one thing we all know about so-called viral makeup trends, it’s that 90% of them are bullshit. Squiggly eyebrows? Show me one person who is actually doing that in public. Just ONE! The people demand receipts! That being said, the latest viral makeup trend that may have slightly more credibility involves doing your makeup to mirror a Bratz Doll, aka what Kylie Jenner does every damn day of her life. We all remember Bratz, the heavily made-up dolls with lip fillers no feet and the most extra looks imaginable. These dolls took the Betches “dress like a slut” philosophy and monetized it for children. The early 2000s really were something, eh? Basically, the Bratz were thots before Instagram launched thotism as we know it today. In hindsight, we can now see clearly that each Bratz doll corresponds to a very real and very special variety of thot who fills our feeds with her selfies daily. Here’s how each of them break down:

Chloe – The Wannabe Thot

Truly a special breed, Chloe—nicknamed “Angel” because she doesn’t get how nicknames work (see: Sami Sweetheart)—wants desperately to be a background vocalist on a local rapper’s mixtape, but is quite simply too white to function. She makes vague references in her Insta photos about being “hard” and her “struggles,” but you remember her from second grade and are pretty sure she grew up in the rich person suburb next to yours. Chloe’s biggest accomplishment are her contributions to thirst-trappery, where she is truly unmatched. Your feed is constantly filled with photos of herself that you are legally required to screenshot and send to your group chat with the text, “You can see her vagina in this, right?!?!” Occasionally, Chloe’s Instagram will go dark because too many people reported her account as porn, but she always comes back with a long screenshotted note directed at “haters” full of strange grammatical choices and vague references to how you “just gotta do you.”

Occupation: Aspiring Pop Star

Insta Bio: “All U Bitches Mad” – My new SiNgLe oUt NoW On SoUndCloud! Link In Bio<3 xoxoANGEL

Example: Iggy Azalea, Niykee Heaton

Jade – The International Thot

Jade, whose nickname is Kool Kat (again, not how nicknames work), wants you to know that she is the ho the phrase “hos in different area codes” is referring to. You keep following Jade mainly because you’re trying to figure out how a person who does not appear to have a job is constantly traveling to different countries. Your entire group chat has basically concluded she’s a high-end escort of some kind, but the rules of feminism state that you must continue to support her by liking her photos in hopes that one day she’ll invite you along on one of her journeys. You know she has at least one boyfriend who is a sultan because of the time she stayed in that spinning hotel in Dubai, and she appears to be on a mission to Instagram herself standing next to every luxury hotel pool on the planet. 20 years from now you’ll check back in on her and find out she’s in jail for smuggling cocaine in her butt and everything will make sense.

Occupation: “Entrepreneur”

Insta Bio: They say a smile is the same in every language, well so is Resting Bitch Face<3 Jetsetter <3 Student of Fashion <3 HMU On WhatsApp

Example: Tila Tequila (Before she became an alt-right Nazi)

Yasmin – The Actually Successful Thot

Yasmin, nicknamed Pretty Princess (can someone put me in touch with a Bratz representative? we need to talk about nicknames…), doesn’t need the thot life for money or food or weight loss tea endorsements. Yasmin is a thot purely for the love of the game, and honestly, you kind of respect it. You started following Yasmin because you were fascinated by her ability to seemingly have erect nipples at all times, but you stayed after she requested you on LinkedIn and you realized she was a low-key successful businesswoman. Sheryl Sandberg by day, Ariel Winter by night, Yasmin’s account is private for a . Does she have her own line of lipsticks that makeup vloggers are raving about? Yes. Is that going to stop her from posting pics of herself in bed with captions like “Come find me ;)?” Hell the fuck no. Is Yasmin a feminist icon, or does her very existence set women back thousands of years? Unclear, but you’re not going to unfollow until you find out.

Occupation: CEO Of Yas Cosmetics

Insta Bio: Follow @yascosmetics for latest swatches! Get money, get paid. Real friends only. Not accepting new follow requests.

Example: Kylie Jenner

Sasha – The Batshit Crazy Thot

You don’t know Sasha IRL, but you are legitimately concerned for her safety. Every other week, Sasha appears to be embroiled in some kind of major crisis, and she has no qualms about sharing every detail of those crises on social media. Bless her heart. There was the time she was moonlighting at a Florida strip club and a loose dog bit her on the leg (“Please donate to my GoFundMe surgery page y’all! My foot is fucked!”). There was the time her ex boyfriend Snoop Dogg (different Snoop Dogg) crushed her apartment with a helicopter (“Venmo me @Sasha2Fierce2Furious y’all! My roof is fucked!). And, of course, there was the time she didn’t post for a few weeks and you were sure she was dead but then her Insta story revealed she just trapped on a boat (Tweet my whereabouts using #FindSasha! Where tf am I?!?! Our navigation tools are fucked!”). Sasha’s life is a beautiful human train wreck, and you have no choice but to follow obsessively and hope you can make it to her funeral. It’ll probably be lit.

BTW, her nickname is apparently “Bunny Boo” and I’m calling the police.

Occupation: “Dancer”

Insta Bio: Bitches Ain’t Shitttttt – http://ift.tt/2wWdJwk to help me find my son!!! where tf is he!?!?

Example: Blac Chyna

Raya – The Religious Thot

Raya, aka Sun Rayz (kill me), was the fifth Bratz doll added to the pack, mainly because she was a full-fledged Christian before that point. Raya was raised in the light of the Lord, but after a fashion-internship-turned-stint-on- took her to New York, Raya has converted to the Church Of Thotism and she is never looking back. But don’t worry, Raya has not fully turned her back on Jesus. Each of her selfies, cleavage pics, and thirst traps are accompanied by a caption like, “God is great!” or “Living in HIS light<3” and she is not above just straight-up posting a Bible verse from time to time. How she reconciles her thot lifestyle with her love of Christ, you’re not sure, but photos of herself at Sunday service in a bodysuit tell you she’s doing just fine. One day she’ll scrub her entire Insta presence and return with an entirely new persona after marrying a secretly gay pastor and popping out a baby named Zion or Abraham or some shit. She’ll act like everyone has forgotten her former thot life, but you have the screenshots to prove it.

Occupation: Homemaker

Insta Bio: The Lord Has Plans For This One Right Here <3, Christian, Future Mommy, 32D

Example: Raven Gates