#i am saying that reading frankenstein will make your brain think about things that a series of unfortunate events will not

[thelordofshrimp]

hey. don't let go of media just because you're older than the target audience. my dad is 61 and watches the cartoons he loved as a kid.

BUT

consume media meant for your age group, too. you might find something you like and, more importantly, your brain needs to consume morals and lessons beyond what stories aimed at kids can provide.

you don't have to grow out of your favorite things but you do have to grow into new things. that is all

[angel-sweets666]

Sweetheart~

Chapter 2 The creature x fem!reader

warnings! Murder, mentions of sexual harassment, mentions of sex and a author who hasn’t actually watched the movie because it’s not streaming in Australia 😭😭

A/n CHAPTER TWO IS OUTTT (read chap one here) UGHHH, I’m sorry I’m not the best writer I feel like i rush things but I am learning, I’m going to try and release more fanfiction with more fandoms so it’s not all Lisa Frankenstein <3

It had been a few days since you and The creature had smashed Janet’s head into a sewing machine and cut off her ear to use it for his own purposes, taffy and your father were none the wiser! They think she is at a work trip. You walked downstairs in a lacy tank top, sweat pants and your hair in a messy scrunchie bun. Taffy giggled up at you “don’t tell mom but… it’s actually nice when she’s gone.. right dad?” She smiled warmly over to the other side of the table were your father was standing “uh… yeah.. it’s quiet” he said as he sipped his morning coffee and holding up the newspaper. You pulled the chair out and sat down “so uh… have we heard from her?” You questioned, acting clueless “nope! Must be realllll busy” taffy smiled innocently, not knowing the true fate of her mother. You bit your lip and nodded “mhm… yep…” you acted as normally as you possibly could; knowing you had murdered someone, or rather you were the accomplice to a murder. You used your manicured fingernails to tap on the table, making clicking noises “ah I love your nails! See it’s so nice to look after yourself” taffy giggled as she ate a strawberry “oh uh.. yeah..” you were awfully quiet…. “You okay? Your acting funny” taffy’s dark eyebrows furrow, her once bubbly smile dropping “oh I’m just.. worried about uh.. mom..” taffy’s eyes lit up “AWWWW, it’s okay I bet she’s okay..” she rubbed your back to “comfort” you.

Once the breakfast was over you rushed to go back upstairs and to your room, the sounds of your feet against the carpet made a pitter patter as you rushed up the carpet “ughhh! What do I do?!” You yelped to the creature, he grunted and his body twisted towards you, making a sickening cracking sound from his rusty and old joints “okay.. ew… anyways, are you sure they won’t find the body?” You asked frantically, he groaned and slowly nodded; making a familiar cracking noise from his neck. “Are you sure sure?” You pressed. The creature seemed annoyed with your constant worrying about being caught. He grabbed your shoulders and held you in place, looking at you with a ‘it’s fine’ look. You sighed and began to count to ten in an attempt to calm yourself down “1….2….3….4….5… oh god… 6…7….8…9…” inhale “10…. Im calm… I’m very calm… I’m very very calm…” you sighed and leaned onto the creatures chest, noticing the lack of heart beat “oh.. yeah… your dead.. you.. you don’t have a heartbeat huh..?” You looked up at him, his somewhat stiff face looked back down at you as he grumbled in an attempt to say “yes”. Your shoulders slumped as you sighed, leaning back onto his “that’s… that’s okay..” you smiled and closed your eyes, for a dead man… he was oddly comforting…

the next morning…

you opened the closet door to find him against the wall, asleep. “Hey buddy..” you smiled and woke him up “I uh… I have an idea!” You smiled to the now stirred zombie man. The creature grumbles, tilting his head to the side “well.. remember how I went to that party the other day..?” You tried to jog his foggy memory, in hopes despite his heart not working, that his brain still worked! The creature nodded again, but it was slow and stiff due to the fact he was fresh out the tomb. “And remember how that Doug guy kept grabbing me and hitting on me and ended up yk.. sexually assaulting me..?” You asked him quietly and he nodded again “I think… we might just have a hand donor!” You looked down at the creatures “nub” which was where his hand mustve been in the 1830s. The creatures face lit up the best of its ability, you slowly walked over to the pink landline phone laying on your wooden table. Dialing a couple numbers then placing your phone to your ear

“Hello doug..? I was wondering if maybe, we could go on a walk with me today or tomorrow..?”

“yeah! Of course beautiful”

you grinned to the creature as a good sign, you suddenly put on your acting skills “oh thank you Doug… what time today?” You said as you twirled the cord around “2:30? Too easy. See you then~~”

2:30

“Hey… I’m so glad you came..” you said breathily to Doug, he smiled to you. You two started walking together in the woods as he grabbed your hand, you swiftly pulled your hand away from his hand “w-what you don’t wanna hold my hand..?” He seemed surprise that you didnt want to be romantic with him at all.“I… just wanna show you something” you said as you began to speed walk ahead of him. “Hey wait up!” He yelped, you slowly bushed some old bushes away to show him the bachelors grove cemetery. “This is my uh.. this is my spot!” You smiled and giggled as you held your hand out to him to follow you into the cemetery and to be honest he looked wary “r-really? A cemetery?” He stuttered, looking up at the metal sign…but by the time he lowered his head to look back at you; you were already way ahead of him. Little did he know the creature was waiting for him with a axe in one hand and a shovel in the other. Once Doug catched up to you, you acted clueless for a while, not even listening to his ranting about you and how pretty you were, as you looked over the thorny bushes you could see a head of curly hair, the creatures head of curly hair to be exact. The dirt and leaves crunched beneath your feet as you and Doug walked closer and closer to Doug’s future grave. The deep hole you and the creature had dug for him this morning waiting for him. Doug didnt even get to finish one of his many sentences before you violently shoved him into the hole, he screamed like a little girl “w-what?! *name* who’s this?! what.. what’s he doing?! Oh god…” he began to violently scream as the undead man hacked his hands off and then just began to swing the axe at him. Repeated blows turning Doug’s body into nothing but skin tissue and blood. You smiled as you finally got the revenge for the assault you faced at the hands of that grubby little boy.. you slowly climbed into the dirt hole and grabbed one of Doug’s bloody and amputated hands and held it up to the creatures wrapped up nub he once called his wrist “it’ll work” you shrugged and smiled to him, throwing the hand into a plastic bag with a uncomfortable thud.

The blue thread weaves in and out of the creatures skin, as you sewed the hand to him. Finishing up the last stitches “how’s that feel..? Handy?” You giggled, he didnt make a noise back “right yeah.. we gotta electrocute ya don’t we?” You smiled warmly to him, he seemed to have grown to you as a great comfort in your life. You had been miserable since the death of your mother and now.. the creature filled that void in some ways, he wasn’t your mother but he certainly was something. “Let’s go get ya zapped up huh..?” You went to go play with the curls in his hair “hm?” He grumbled and leaned into your hand “hey.. you’re actually pretty cute…” you muttered only to go a pink shade “w-what? Nobody said anything.” You tried to cover up what you said as you helped him up and down the stairs to the tanning bed. The creature stumbled into the tanning bed room, and laid down into the bed. You fidgeted around with the crank again until you could turn it on and close the magenta lid. You waited almost 15 minutes for him! A ear would take 5 minutes to attach, so a hand.. a whole limb! Must take longer right..? When the 15 minutes were up, the familiar ‘ding!’ Noise rang in your own ears, you jumped in surprise and quickly rushed to the tanning bed to see if it worked. Not only did it work, but it did something else. It made him look more…. Human. His face looked more alive and he had now grown eyebrows, a feature he lacked before. “Woah..” he looked at you, equally as surprised! You pulled him up so he sat up in the tanning bed, he looked at his new hand and attempted to wiggle it, the fingers wiggled and you gasped, clapping your hand excitedly “it worked! You have a hand, can you talk now?” Instead of trying to speak like you were suggesting, the creature stood up and offered his hand to you like men did back in the 1800s when they wanted to dance with a woman “no no.. I can’t dance” you turned away and before you knew it, he grabbed you and yanked you backwards towards him. You yelped in surprise, then looked up at his smiling face.

The creature spun you around, grabbed you by your waist and hand then kept slow dancing with you in the back yard.. you blushed deeply and leaned onto his chest. He bowed you down then brought you back up and once again, kept twirling and dancing; the green grass making a slight noise with each step, it felt so romantic… the hand that was originally on your waist reached to play with the scrunchie in your hair, and the curling iron curls in your hair. “W-what are you doing..?” You looked up at him, he made a hum noise “we.. we should go inside.. it’s getting cold…” you suggested, shivering against him.. he nodded slowly and ushered you inside; holding you firmly and securely by your waist, treating you like your made of porcelain…

You took him upstairs, into your warm cozy room. “Should we find you some cozy clothes..? I’ll let you lay in bed with me…” you said sweetly to him, his face lit up “mhm..” you smiled and then walked into the closet, looking around for a pair of pyjamas that would fit him, and you successfully found some old Christmas pyjamas “here you go!” You tossed it to him then ushered him into the closet, he stumbled out in the Christmas pyjamas “awe how cute!” You squealed and hugged him, he wrapped his arms around you, then you pulled away “oh wait I gotta get into my own pyjamas…. Don’t peek” you scolded him and he smiled, the creature sitting down on your bed. You put on a lacy night gown and placed your hair in braids with ribbons on the end and to finish it off, frilly cozy socks. “Tada!” You bursted out the closet, pretending to hold a fashion show for him, he tried ti laugh but it sounded more like a wheeze… oh yea… he’s dead. You laid into bed with him. You and him spent hours talking.. or rather, you talking and him making noises due to his lack of tongue. “If I’m going to die… I don’t want to die a virgin…” you said quietly, and he chocked on his own spit “what! Did you die a virgin..?” You wiggled your eyebrows at him, “tsk…” the creature let out “your not gonna tell me..?” He shook his head “I tell you everything

he sighed

and held up one finger

“YOUR NOT A VIRGIN AND I AM? NOT FAIR”

a/n that’s the end of todays chapter! I would write part 3 but I’m honestly too lazy😖😖

[jeanmoreaux]

top 9 books

tagged forever ago by @doctorsrose & @rosesau (🫶🫶🫶)

tagging: @lvnchs | @permanentreverie | @tolerateit | @speaknowtv | @henwilsons | @newtmsa | @greenribon | @brimay | @hollyfhumberstone | @tbosas | @alinastarkovz (ofc no pressure <3 would love to hear about your fav books in whatever way you wanna share and if you don't then that's okay too!)

rules: list your top 9 books obviously. like the people before me and probably most people who did this i cheated and put series or several books by the same author as one thing bc rules are made for breaking <3 this is very much both an 'off the top of my head' as well as a 'laboured over this for hours' kind of list that's heavily biased to the present moment.

(1.) all for the game by nora sakavic; i don't even know what to say about this. either you read it and Get why this is on my list or you Don't. and if you haven't read it this is not a recommendation btw. this is just me saying these books did irreparable damage to my developing teenage brain. hit me like no other series probably ever will again because i read this at the Right Time while being the exact right amount of Insane. and just like seed mentioned in her list if you want to know Me and Understand Me then you need to know this series. i am sure there are traces of it in my dna by now.

(2.) the raven cycle by maggie stiefvater; same goes for this one tbh. if you want to know Me and Understand Me then you need to know this series. another instance of Right Time and Right Me. these books burrowed themselves deep into my bones and became a part of my dna. they shaped soo much of my taste in prose, storytelling techniques, tropes, and dynamics. this story and these characters took me apart and put me back together again but rearranged some essential parts inside of me. much like with aftg, i came out of this series irreversibly changed and drenched in blood final girl style.

(3.) frankenstein by mary shelley; a beautifully written story with soooo much room for whatever literary lens you want to apply to it. i know i answered an ask once where i talked about my love for this book in detail but i can't find it. but i found this rant on frankenstein and the creature. i think a lot of my love for this story comes from the fact that i had the chance to work closely with the text several times. but also it's just a heart-wrenching tale about how we define humanity and how love is essential nourishment for the soul. it reminds me of that one quote from the good place: "people improve when they get external love and support. how can we hold it against them when they don’t?" because frankenstein basically answers the question what happens when someone gives you a life you didn't ask for and then opts out of any (emotional) responsibility and leaves you desolate and utterly forsaken.

(4.) the green bone saga by fonda lee; an epic family saga i still think about A Lot. kinda succession without logan but make it fantasy mafia. sibling relationships are a big part of this story too. which if you know me. big fan of that. it's also a series that grows in scope (world building wise) and keeps adding complexity So Naturally it's impressive. amazing storytelling craft at work fr. definitely an underhyped series in my opinion.

(5.) the sword of kaigen by m.l. wang; another fantasy story focusing on family dynamics but also functioning as a character study. it's a self-published work and it shows in the BEST way. there's just something about it that makes me insane one a storytelling level because it breaks so many conventions and you either hate that or love that but no matter your opinion on it i think it's undeniable that this book has some of the best character work written in recent years. i desperately need to reread.

(6.) on earth we’re briefly gorgeous by ocean vuong; another book that fucked me up with its beautiful prose and incredibly gut-wrenching emotional honesty. it really feels like you're reading about someone ripping out the most vulnerable and messed up and complex parts of their soul and laying them bare for you to see expecting nothing but acknowledgement in return. and while my own lived experience is nothing close to ocean vuong's the emotional core of this book rings so true. also i just have to say it again. the prose fucks severely.

(7.) the grisha trilogy & the six of crows duology by leigh bardugo; another (two) series i read in my teens that shaped my taste to a drastic degree. the crows are just forever ingrained in my brain. alina's story will forever fuck me up. you all know. you all understand. w're not getting into it. i think the fact that tgt is so misunderstood and undervalued just makes me love it more. because if you get it. damn. devastating. if you don't. so sorry for you because you're missing out.

(8.) the song of achilles & circe by madeline miller; tbh both of these retellings did something to my brain. you all know these i don't have to elaborate. it's very typical queer of me to fawn over anything to do with greek mythology and retellings but. these two just HIT different. also, the prose? makes me a little insane.

(9.) giovanni’s room by james baldwin; this book has some of the most insane prose i have ever read. baldwin's grasp on language is uncanny fr. every other sentence packs a punch in one way or another. he manages to capture some aspects of the queer (specifically the bi) experience in a way that felt so familiar to me and put words to so many of my internal experiences. it's about the self and identity and being lost and refusing to let yourself be found. it's also about human connections and how you'll wither when you deny yourself to open up to the people closest to you. it's about so many things without being about one think in particular. like all the other books on this list, love and belonging are at the core of it, but in a very distorted way. i don't think you can really understand unless you've read it. it's So Good.

honorable mentions; emma by jane austen (cunty women RULE), wuthering heights by emily brontë (severely fucked up in the most entertaining way. that's how you write drama.) east of eden by john steinbeck (cain and abel shit and deranged women? sign me up), these violent delights by micah nemerever (be gay do crime in the most mentally ill way possible), if we were villains (love it when characters haunt a narrative. also definitely a book about the gay sex that is not happening), women in love by d.h. lawrence (still currently making my way through this one but it's so deliciously messed up and queer i am almost certain it will leave a permanent mark)

[dragon-of-timeless-blue]

@ocean-waters

HI OCEAN 🌊❤️ (⁠｡⁠･⁠ω⁠･⁠｡⁠)⁠ﾉ⁠♡ Sorry, Tumblr got weird and deleted the draft of my response to your ask, but luckily I took a screenshot before the tragedy (because this has happened before), so yeah, here it is

1. What are 3 things you’d say shaped you into who you are?

There are so many things that have contributed to building the Frankenstein-like creature person that i am, but I think three basic things (that do not include lessons or lifestyles directly related to my parents) were:

1. the music i listened in my childhood

Literally throughout my childhood I listened to TOO much music and of many types and genres, (in home we had a lot of records and cassettes from my parents, from a compilation of children's songs from around the world to pink floyd) and I think the impact that that had on me was huge, like the being able to know the true diversity that music can bring and the magic of being able to express your feelings in that way is something that I think many of the children my age did not have (my town is small and there were not as many options of what to listened)

2. Educational TV shows and books

It's a bit silly to say it like that, but if it weren't for educational television and how i got my hands on every book about science facts, animals, fantasy, etc that I encounter, i wouldn't be the person I am. the shows I watched made the whole concept of knowledge AND learning extremely fun for me and it helped me in school and, well, reading is one of the things that has had the greatest impact on my life (for a reason I'm studying literature lmao) and many of the lessons from those books continue to guide me today in one way or another.

3. Anime

I won't go into much detail because I would end up writing an essay about how thousands of series marked my life, but let's just say that after finishing watching Dragon Ball Z I was already a different person than when I had started watching it.... and the rest came like an avalanche

14. What’s something you’ve always wanted to do but maybe been to scared to do?

Diving in a pool.

WHENEVER I SEE LIKE IN FREE! WHO THEY DIVE INTO THE future WATER I'M LIKE: I WANT TO DO THAT!! obviously not at the level of a professional swimmer or anything like that,b just jump into the water and receive it like an old friend, the water is alive after all, but...BUT, the sensations scare me too much, I feel that they would shock me too much. Ironically, the first time I went to a pool (i was like 5) I went into the water throwing myself with all the confidence in the world, that almost made me drown, so maybe my brain remembers that situation and is scared by instinct lmao

17. Name 3 things that make you happy

Chara, my cat, the bastard is too adorable and too spoiled, he thinks he is the god of the world and I believe him, LOOK AT HIM, HES SO AKKDKFLODLELFKDOXKLDNXLD

Spaghetti. is one of my comfort foods, at the level that just eating it makes me feel like life is the most precious and meaningful thing of all

Listen to JOY, It really lives up to its name because it fills me with joy every time I listen to it, IT HAS TOO MANY THINGS THAT MAKE ME HAPPY 🎶i feel so free and joy...🎶

AAAAH THANK YOU VERY MUCH FOR THE ASK, and sorry for the inconvenience

[steelycunt]

ten books 2 know me!

thank for you the tag @pancakehouse @fruity-individual @serethereal @rollercoasterwords !

-> skulduggery pleasant, derek landy.

starting with this one because this WAS my childhood i was. i never read percy jackson never read twilight read [redacted] and it wasnt even good but my dad thought id like these so he bought me the first skulduggery pleasant one day...oh man oh boy...these were. i was eight queuing up outside a whsmith with a schoolbag full of books for the author's booksigning...also he was so nice ta derek x

-> giovanni's room, james baldwin.

cannot get into this too much before i start wailing and biting and stuff but well. giovanni's room is my favourite book of all time i read most of it. last year in june laying on brighton beach while the sun was going down and i have never recovered from and will you bring me home again / yes. i'll bring you home again since and fear i never will. also! first james baldwin book i read who has come to be an author whose writing style i adore and carry in my mind whenever i try to write something myself.

-> young mungo, douglas stuart.

not the first book i ever cried at but. first book i ever experienced disgusting full body sobs while reading and fierce competitor also for. my favourite book. had to reread so much of those final pages because i couldnt concentrate with all the crying and after that i am so excited to never have to experience the physical chest-aching worry that i did for the duration of reading this. also i think the very quiet way love is written here through. very trivial small things is something i loved very much and that has stayed with me!

-> wuthering heights, emily bronte.

read this when i was about eleven, and then again a few weeks ago with my mum (whose favourite book it is) and it was still so. absolutely sickening i just think its excellent xx and without it we wouldn't have kate bush's 1978 single wuthering heights so xx think on that xx

-> the autobiography of malcom x, alex haley.

when i was a child my younger sister joined a sunday league football team and my dad used to give her a tenner every time she scored a goal. to even things out since i refused to get up at the arsecrack of dawn to contract hypothermia on a frozen football pitch, he started giving me books exclusively on malcolm x to read and would give me a tenner every time i finished one. this one was the first i read and was indeed the first book that ever made me cry at the end xx

-> my brilliant friend, elena ferrante.

so many of these are recent reads because it was only jan 2022 that i made a genuine effort to get back into reading for leisure and mbf is no different but well. the way friendship is written here is just unhinged and incredible and the series in general so far has been. there is nothing like it i fear

-> the raven boys, maggie steifvater.

gansey unfortunately.

-> macbeth, william shakespeare.

okay i know i know but. when you are studying it in englit class for your gcse it might as well be a book innit. anyway of all the texts i did for english both at gcse + a level macbeth is still my favourite and probably the most effort i ever put into an english essay. special shoutout to frankenstein which i can enjoy in hindsight but unfortunately it fucked me on the exam so out of bitterness it doesnt get a place here x

-> the secret history, donna tartt.

i did inhale this book but also it gets a place purely for being my first exposure to donna tartt's writing and style in general which is so very distinctive and has. undoubtedly had an effect on me for better or for worse we shall one day see but for now. who can say!

-> foster, claire keegan.

it is a little pamphlet of a book at eighty six pages but. i read it just over a month ago and havent properly stopped thinking about it since it was just everything quiet + mundane + understated that makes my brain start sparking and whirring and. im bringing it on holiday in the summer so i can read it again in the appropriate season xx

tagging. but no pressure. @gaewaren @dykefever @emerqldv @fastasyoucan1999 @forlorngarden @writteninverses @boyjoan !!

[chaoss-incarnate]

Am I not shunned and hated by all mankind? You, my creator, would tear me to pieces in triumph; remember that, and tell me why I should pity man more that he pities me? You would not call it murder if you could precipitate me into one of those ice-rifts and destroy my frame, the work of your own hands. Shall I respect man when he condemns me?

Mary Shelley - Frankenstein

This line has affected me and made me apply it to other situations in my brain, which i wish to share.

on one side, i apply this line to women in society. we'll work are way through it shall we:

'Am I not shunned and hated by all mankind?' very straightforward, misogyny is taught from very young and women are always the lower life force and therefore hated and uncapable.

'You, my creator, would tear me to pieces in triumph' in this context man would be the 'creator' (i think i see this more as a father-daughter thing, of course there are many wonderful fathers). a father will put down his daughter with misogyny without a second thought.

'why I should pity man more that he pities me?' women are expected to pity and care for men, though they put us down constantly.

'You would not call it murder if you could precipitate me into one of those ice-rifts and destroy my frame, the work of your own hands.' there are men who inflict harm on women, and even so, insist that they haven't. its so normal to view that men hurt women (its even portrayed as 'love') which makes many men believe they aren't actually hurting women when they obviously are.

'Shall I respect man when he condemns me?' again, the above point: women are supposed to respect and care for men, even those who have hurt them and put them down.

on the other hand, this could be referring to how abusive parents view their children. we'll work through it again:

'You, my creator, would tear me to pieces in triumph' lots of parents tear down their children, maybe subconsciously, because they grew up with their parents doing the same. the point is that some parents actually delight in putting down their children.

'why I should pity man more that he pities me?' there are many children that grow up and have less contact with parents because of their behaviours, and are labelled as 'heartless' for getting away.

'You would not call it murder if you could precipitate me into one of those ice-rifts and destroy my frame, the work of your own hands.' many parents use hitting as discipline, and see absolutely no problem with it. they wouldn't call it abuse themselves.

'Shall I respect man when he condemns me?' children are always expected to respect a parent, even if the parent is abusive.

* i want to clarify that this is generalizing, and its what went through my brain when reading this line, so i decided to write about it. you don't have to have the same opinion as me. I'm not saying all men act this way, but its so many it is a problem. if this post bothers you, please either let me know respectfully, or just ignore it. thank you.

[house-of-slayterr]

Major Blog Updates!!!!!

TLDR: I will be on a Writing hiatus as I do some digital spring cleaning and restart some old stories I’m not happy with. But expect many new crazy life updates now that I’ve moved. And some old, or maybe new ocs will start slowly trickling back in.

No wonder I was so stressed last year, I have 11 active series and counting… 💀 and yes, I am insane enough that I’m about to restart most of them from scratch. I wasn’t happy with the way things were going with most of them, and how sloppily they were written as I never expected there to be so many of you, to whom I’m very grateful for 🥺🥰🫀

This move seemed like the perfect time to just reinvent myself as a whole, and that includes my social media presence. I’m trying to build better, healthier habits this year. And one of them is learning how to say no every once and a while. Slow down and enjoy the little things. My Autism and OCD make it very difficult for me to say no to writing requests. But I’m working hard to make sure to only accept requests when I have the energy and the excitement to do so. I would be devastated to give you all content that I know is not my best, which is why I think a rewrite is in order. 🥰

It will be a big daunting task, but the point of it is to teach me to learn to approach my fear tasks like this. I have seriously considered becoming a writer for real and taking this more seriously, and Fan Fics are the perfect way to practice. Because you all always leave such lovely feedback 🥺 and it’s my favourite of writing. There would be no point to my words if they couldn’t be shared, and to have you all want me to write for you all the time is one of the greatest honours I could ever receive.

I love being able to give you all back even a fraction of the joy you bring me, by bringing your wildest dreams to life. You’re all like family to me and I love you so much. 🫀

So yeah, sorry if your faves aren’t back for a while, EVERYONES getting a MAJOR makeover, but they will be back and better than ever! I’ll keep the old stories up in case people liked reading them. But pretty much from here on out, assume none of my old writing is “Cannon”.

Also, New rule for any future requests. Please, please, please make them specific. DO NOT as questions like “can I get a micheal Myers fix” 💀 like sure, you can… but it’s not gonna be good unless you give me a prompt. Also please try to state any specific details you want added if it’s not just a vague x reader I.E. pronouns, name/nicknames, ethnicity…

Bare With me as my tumblr gets a major face lift. I’m gonna be doing a mass edit, making new master lists and fixing side blogs. From here on out all master lists and things to do with OCs will be posted and backed up on @the-slayter-archives I will still post fan fics on here first, but they’ll be backed up on there so they don’t get lost in all my reblogs 😅

Nothing makes me happier than writing for you all, but last year I let it get out of hand and stress me out to a very dangerous point. This year I will be more proactive about taking my time and not overloading myself with requests.

As for the Role Play blogs, they will also be getting a face lift. But do not fret my sweets, I will have everything neatly organised for your handy Dandy viewing pleasure. I will do my very best to keep on top of master lists and links (bare in mind I am still disabled and chronically ill so sometimes it just takes me a while to do things) that way there’s no stress for me in the future and I can keep track of all my things nice and neatly. My autism demands routine and hyper-specific organisation categories. And I’m tried of trying to fight it, so I’m willing to put in the work to make some healthy routines in the hopes that my brain will feel less like that of Frankenstein’s monster.

I will make Rule posts and DNI banners for all my pages. Therefore there’s less room for miscommunications. And I will be far more active about remembering to put Tw/CW. My wonderful partner @disableddee has agreed to help me edit works in the future and proof for triggering topics. Unfortunately Due to the environment I was raised in, it’s hard for me to tell when things are traumatic or abusive. So I never mean to trauma dump or forget tags on purpose. I genuinely do. It realise some of these topics may be triggering to other people, and of course I want to be very sensitive to that. 

Was I sobbing typing this post? That’s a secret I’ll never tell… xoxo Gosip Girl

Tag: @queer-and-utter-chaos @emeraldfangs @mothmans-kingdom @spencermaybank @joelsgeetar @x-littlemoth @frenziedslashers @willowbrookesblog @myers-meadow @ajarofpickledtears @keffirinne

[hologrammana]

If a character has a distinct voice seperate from others and the authors.

If a character is able to elicit their intended emotions from the reader.

If a character can be understood and believed to be real (or at least a part of the fiction you can suspend your disbelief for).

If a character can be understood and fit within the confines of the world and characterization of the work.

They are well written.

It doesn't matter if you LIKE them, there are plenty of well written hateable, detestable, repulsive characters that are themselves still well written, doesn't mean your aren't allowed to hate them dispite that or the reverse you can really really like to watch because you can't wait until they fail/die/bad fate befalls them or just love watching them chew the scene and be magnificently mean.

You can completely dislike or even hate a work or a character thereof and recognize it is still well written, it seems like a strange connection a lot of people have formed between "I don't like x thing because of YZ" and "x thing is bad simply is cause I obviously like all good things and because I don't like x clearly it is bad"

No that isn't how anything works silly, and no I am not saying everything is good and media criticism is pointless cause well ^, no thats not true either and on top of that its a bad faith retort, really what matters is dissecting a work on its actual merits, its ability to portray its messages & themes & motiffs & characterization in an understandable way to the demographic it seeks to entertain and engage with that determines if its written well.

If you agree or disagree with what you think the author is trying to say that is up to you. Infact what the author is trying to convey can be an issue people can debate forever death of the author and all.

This doesn't mean you have to watch or read anything or keep up with something you don't enjoy, mandatory viewing isn't real. Being entertained by a work is an entirely seperate matter from how well its written, sometime you just vibe with a slow movie about people talking in a room and sometimes you don't maybe a particular character makes you mad or maybe your just bored by the acting or premise doesn't speak to quality of a show or your media literacy necessarily, we all have different opinions on what we find fun to watch and read.

What really matters is diversifying your media diet so you can draw on that wide pool and compare and analyze properly if you only consume like 7 pieces of media everything will start looking like a frankenstein's monster of those things; "What instead of your 50 things?" Well if I give you 7 lines max to draw something and I get 50 lines I'm probably going to make a better picture. (Probably not, my drawing skills suck but walk with me its a metaphor)

Truthfully media literacy isn't dead its just people are way more vocal now about what they personally got from a work, a combination of the internet anonimity and constant overflow of things releasing both professional and amature is always increasing, for there must always be more.

IF I were to blame some other outside factor for this I would have to say its because since there is more to consume some people feel obligated to consume it, regardless of if its FOMO or boredom consuming so much so quickly has the opposite effect. You don't get the chance to sit back and analyze something, for your brain to really break it apart because you're almost instantly berating it with more more more without even thinking.

Basically its partially capitalisms fault.

jk except not really.

Some thoughts at the end of this post likely to be a lot of run on sentences and unedited and unorganized: Can a work be universally panned? well you get into weird areas with that I mean sure there are examples someone will throw out like The Room but a project like that clearly made sense to someone at somepoint if something is intentionally made to be bad and you tell nobody someone is likely to get something from it hell even if you do announce that someone will probably defend it and a couple people will defend it ironically.

The same logic applies to something being universally beloved there will be contrarians and the wealth of human differences so likely no nothing will be loved by everyone though it can feel like you get close at times. I truely do feel some people hate certain media just to voice contratian opinions maybe just to feel better than others which is a shame but whatever.

No, I am not saying you have to agree or internalize harmful messages but being able to recognize when someone is having a discriminatory or monsterously cruel take can help you not get influenced by things like that the obligatory nobody is immune to propaganda insertion I did feel like I needed to put in because "Have a wide media diet" shouldn't be confused for "you should watch these shows that preach hate and ignorance"

[timextoxhajima]

Love Me A Little Less: Chapter 1 - Frankenstein

LOVE ME A LITTLE LESS CHAPTER MASTERLIST

Member: (3rd person pov) arranged marriage au with Lee Juyeon

Genre: angsty wangsty

Taglist: @hyunvelies​

“We buried you.”

The feast before Kim Jang Won is absolutely stunning. Lemon meringue tarts, strawberry smoothies (with actual strawberry bits in them), pancakes and freshly buttered croissants, a gorgeous transparent glass pot with the golden shade of chamomile tea and a beautiful tray of puffs and eclairs.

It would be even more stunning if it wasn’t her view every morning though.

“Hey, um, don’t we have like alternating menus or something for breakfast? I feel like I’m eating the same thing every morning now, it’s kinda getting tacky.”

“Miss Kim, I hope you know you’re the one who decides what the menu is. You chose this set like a week ago and you told us not to change it for the next two weeks.”

Jang Won sneers at her butler, arguably the only person on the property to has the guts to talk to her in a way that could get her fired.

“You’re lucky I can trust you.”

Ro Il Jung purses his lips into a thin white line, scratching his cheek with one of those knuckly, wrinkly-skin-covered fingers of his. “You seem to forget that I wanted to retire last year, Miss Kim.”

Jang Won huffs childishly, sticking her tongue out, now a gentle, thick shade of smoothie on her tongue. “I’ll let you retire when I find someone else I can trust, Mr Ro. It’s just too bad I don’t have anybody in mind right now.”

Mr Ro shakes his head like a parent disapproving of his child, but a house guard pulling the heavy doors of the entrance over accompanied by some urgent yelling tears his attention away from the owner of the mansion. 

Jang Won looks up from her butter and croissant, at Mr Ro, who excuses himself before heading for the entrance hall. 

“Sir,” He begins before he can even note the visitor. “If you could--”

“Mr Ro!”

Jang Won hears her butler’s words fade to a complete silent, only listening to their visitor talk. But it’s strange, because it’s a familiar voice...

Mr Ro cannot believe the sight before his eyes.

“I can’t believe you’re still working here. It’s so great to see you again!” Then the visitor pulls Mr Ro into a hug, harshly patting the space between his shoulder blades. 

The lady of the house cannot take it anymore, not when she can’t eavesdrop on the conversation occurring in her own halls. So she gets up from the table, heels clacking against the marble floor as she heads into the entrance hall.

“Alright now, who’s got the guts to stop me in the middle of my French breakfast this morning?”

Mr Ro turns in silent shock, eyes wide and glaring while Jang Won processes the face of the visitor. 

The man hadn’t looked like he aged a day since he was--

“I’m sorry,” Jang Won scoffs, waving her beautifully done manicured fingernails in the air. “If this is some impractical joke, please do tell because my brain is just about to explode from the sight right now. Y’know,” She gestures to her head and mimics the sound of a bomb. 

“Jang Won...” The visitor strides towards her, arms wide. But she raises a palm and shifts backwards, a cautious half-smile mixed with a frown plastered to her flawless skin. 

“Not another step, nuh-uh,” Waving a finger before his nose, she shakes her head. “There is no way in Hell you can be standing here.”

“Oh, but I am, love,” Once a warm voice that sang her to sleep, Jang Won cannot decide if the tears in her eyes are welling from relief or fear. “I’m home.”

“No... no!” She slaps away his outstretched hands. “We... we buried you...”

“And I can only imagine what you’re feeling right now, my child, but... we have more important things to worry about.”

Mr Ro’s face is contorted with a mess of confusion and anxiety and he watches the first tears fall down Jang Won’s cheeks. 

“What...? ‘More important’-- No, how is anything more important than you... standing here?” The last word comes out like a final breath, at a volume just enough for him to hear. 

“I came bearing news, Jang Won. I-- Well...” He rubs the back of his head, eyes tilted down to his feet. “Because I’ve return to the board of administration now... part of the company now comes back to... me--”

What?

“And... you cannot inherit any part of the company unless you are married to someone from a family from the same administration board.”

Jang Won’s tears solidify into fumes of anger as the thought runs through her neurons. The middle aged man begins to panic when he can read the rage in her eyes, her fists now clenched and the markings of her rings probably embedded into the flesh of her palm. Her knuckles begin to turn white as does his face, ever so slightly.

“Now, now, love. I know what you’re thinking and we can sit down and have a chat about this--”

“‘Sit down and have a chat’?” Jang Won scoffs miserably, lower jaw hanging agape. “Why don’t we sit down and let me ask you whiCH SCIENTIST MADE YOU FRANKENSTEIN?!”

The hallways of the mansion echo the shouts, the sound waves bouncing back and forth between the marble walls mostly adorn with gorgeous, one-in-a-million paintings. 

“That’s not important now, hun. I just need you to understand that without this marriage, you will lose the house and everything you own from HERA & ARTEMIS.”

“I built HERA & ARTEMIS after you were fucking bURIED! Who are you to tell me that you will inherit it ownership and I can’t just because I’m not married?!”

“These were instructions from The Board, Jang Won. I had absolutely no say over this--”

“BULLSHIT! If you have the power to take ownership of HERA & ARTEMIS just because you climbed out of your own grave, why don’t you have the power to help m-- Oh, oh...” Jang Won frowns in disdain, disgust welling her lungs and her gut. 

“What?” His eyes widen and shoulders shrug.

“You came back just to tell me this... because you want HERA & ARTEMIS for yourself.”

“What-- No--”

"You... low-life... scumbag!" The sharp shatter of the glass cabinet behind him echoes through the entrance hall of the mansion. One of the palm-sized statues sitting on the table in the middle of the circular hall lands amongst the billion pieces of glass on the marble floor.

"You give me my freedom and now you tell me I have to get married?!" The final word is literally pushed through her teeth when she cannot clench her jaws even harder. The tremors vibrating up her fist and into her arm and then her entire body makes her look like a volcano ready to erupt, so if these people haven't gotten enough, they have yet to see what's in store.

"Just who the HELL do you think you are?!" Grabbing another one of those tiny statues, Jang Won throws it into the other glass door of the cabinet.

"Jang Won, will you calm down?!"

"Don't you DARE tell me to calm down! You waltz back into this house after GOD knows how long- Hell, we BURIED you!"

"There was a mistake of the body identification and frankly, I expected a warmer welcome from you!"

"HA! A ‘warmer welcome’?! What do you want me to do? Set the entire house on fire? Do you want me to? Because I will!" The man has his brows furrowed back, palms out stretched to her. The mansion staff have all gathered a safe distance around the two of them, Mr Ro and some of those closer to Jang Won trying their best to get to her and calm her nerves but there is just absolutely no way she isn’t going to hurl a brick at her father.

"I can't BELIEVE you're standing there as if you own this place," The muscles around Jang Won’s nose twitches as the frown sinks deeper into her forehead. "I want you to hear this mighty well and crystal clear. You may have been the one who gave me life, but you will never EVER be my dad.”

The huffs that are billowing out Jang Won’s nostrils are starting to hurt.

"There is not a single cent you're stepping on - or touching, for that matter - that belongs to you. The only reason why I haven't fucking put a bullet through your right eye is because I'd go to jail and every thing I've worked for would be thrown out the window.”

“Now, now, love, we can sit down and be civilized about this—”

“Fuck you,” The anger surges through her, and she picks up one more palm-sized statue from the blue resin table. The heavy bronze weight leaves her fingers, and before it can hit the slightly aged man, someone reaches out and catches it instead.

“What the HELL are you doing?!” The scream echoes through the hall of the mansion. Younghoon sighs heavily, hand retreating back to his side as he hands the statue to one of the house staff.

“You have no right to get involved in this—”

“Jang Won, let’s go,” Younghoon strides across the space and grabs her arm, back-facing his father and trying to pull her in the opposite direction. “We can talk about this in your office.”

“How are you thinking straight?! We BURIED him! We watched his coffin get lowered into—”

“I know! I was there!” His eyes flutter shut in frustration, shoulders raising as he sucks in a deep breath, flaring his nostrils. “There’s no point destroying your own property over this. We can carry out some investigations, figure out what really happened, then we’ll work from there.”

The grip on her arm tightens when her instincts try to writhe away from him, but obviously, he doesn’t relent.

“Don’t do it. It’s not worth your time, or mine.”

He stares down at Jang Won, but it doesn’t scare her, not when she has a ghost standing right in the middle of some shattered mess. Not one cut on him.

Younghoon grimly shuts the door as Jang Won stomps over to her office desk and rests her palms flat against the Agar Wood surface. With a sharp, swift feat, she swipes nearly all the documents off the furniture. But when she misses the empty glass (that would usually be filled with some kind of alcohol or soda), she doesn't hesitate to pick it off the desk and propel it into the marble by the television mounted to the wall.

The shatter startles Younghoon as he whips around, eyes darting frantically between her and the mess she’s made.

"Jang Won!"

"Should I be concerned you don't seem one bit bothered that a dead man is standing in our living room - MY living room?"

"That dead man is our father."

"No, that dead man WAS our father before he ditched us! How are you not- UGH!"

Frustrated, furious and absolutely exasperate, she plops down into one of the two sofas sitting in the middle of the office, feet almost tempted to kick the frosted glass table in the middle but she holds herself back. Younghoon manages to get a few house staff into the room, who hurriedly help clear the glass and return the documents to the table. Fingers pressed into her temples, Jang Won could only imagine the gratification she could receive have if she had the chance to ram her first into someone's face.

Younghoon waits for the staff to leave, then stands by the sofa opposite her, one hand on his hip and the other running through his hair. The late morning sun reflects off his soft, dark brown locks when he absent-mindedly rubs the back of his head and he proceeds to unbutton his blazer to allow him a seat. The leather squeaks under his weight before he leans his elbows on his knees, knuckles resting under his lips and chin.

"Please tell me you're actually thinking and not just trying to look pretty. You're in my house now, not some studio photoshoot."

"I'm thinking about where to put a whole person for you."

"Don't bother, he's moved half his things into the first guestroom. He's probably holding a conductor's wand right now and asking the staff to help him with the second half."

"Have you called the funeral services?"

"And say what? 'Hey sir, have you... perhaps mis-screwed a coffin about 2 years back and now we might have a problem of a zombie'?"

"I'm just saying someone might've paid someone to replace the bodies!" Younghoon frowns, eyes stuck to the rug under his feet. "We don't know how it happened but someone MUST know, right?"

"I think your best bet is the asshole living down the hall now."

"He's not gonna budge, we both know that."

"Well, Sherlock Holmes, thanks for pointing out the obvious."

"I'm just trying to help. You need to stop your nonsensical whining and use your brain like how you used it to get all this money."

Jang Won picks up a pillow and hurls it into Younghoon. “You’re lucky you still stick around, else I’d have the both of you screwed over.”

Younghoon catches the pillow, holding it to his side. “The day I stop looking out for you is the day I die, alright? So you can be rest assured I’ll--”

“Miss Kim!” Mr Ro’s voice calls out from outside the office. 

“What is it, Mr Ro?” Younghoon turns and returns the call, head tilted towards the door. It croaks open, and Mr Ro’s eyes are tired, wary as he sticks his head in.

“Your father just left and... and I think you should see the news.” Mr Ro pushes past the heavy door and reaches for the remote sitting on the frosted glass. The television screen mounted above the fire place flickers on, and there it was, her father’s face.

“The Board has just confirmed the ownership of HERA & ARTEMIS will thus forth be returned to Kim Jo-Pil, father of Kim Jang Won, the current owner. Investigations as to Kim Jo-Pil’s supposed death two years ago are still ongoing.”

“I’m gonna kill him.”

“You can’t.”

“Watch me.”

“We’ll be-- Wha-- The Board’s just come in with some new information! Kim JO-Pil has announced a marriage between Kim Jang Won, current owner of HERA & ARTEMIS and Lee Juyeon, the next-in-line to becoming the next Director of Apple, South Korea.”

Younghoon’s eyeballs are about to bludgeon out of his eye sockets. “Jang Won... I know what you’re thinking... But don’t--”

“I’M GONNA FUCKING KILL HIM!”

[razielwriter]

Theory for "Working through intrusive thoughts" Sander Aside *Spoilers ahead*

Okay, I'm just going to say it. I think Orange isn't a new side. I think he's a new side of a side.

So there's been this theory I've seen going round about the "Orange side". The last Dark Side. He's been hinted at through things like the orange score that appears in "Putting others first" and that he may have been influencing Logan in "Learning New Things" to be more aggressive and throw his vocab card at Roman, and of course the Orange eyes that Logan gets when angry in "Working through intrusive thoughts" (And lets be honest the colour pallet of the characters could be gayer and make a full rainbow if they had orange.)

However I don't think Orange is "Influencing" Logan. I think he is another side of Logan. Another half. The same way Imagination was split into two halves within Thomas, making Roman and Remus, so is Logical and Illogical thought. The Ego (rational) and the Id (Primal) parts of the Brain.

*Spoilers again, but this time for the Murder of Roger Achroyd by Agatha Christy.*

We all know that "The murder of Roger Ackroyd" is Logan's favourite story, which he is seen reading in "Working through Intrusive thoughts" while Thomas is clearing up. But the big twist of that book, which maybe an interesting parallel to Logan, is the end. The murderer was... the narrator. Dr Sheppard, Poirot's assistant for this book, and narrator of the entire story.

So how does that apply to Logan? Remember in "Losing my Motivation" where Logan paints himself as the detective, but then turns out to be the cause of Thomas' problems? That is what is happening here.

If Logan has two sides within him, one logical and one illogical, he is both the problem and the solution. "The snake devouring its own tail in order to satiate its hunger". He is both the reason for Thomas' constant struggles, and his solution. This is different from his struggles with Patton (think "The Mind vs The Heart"), as that lies in intellectual vs moral. No, this is a fight between intellectual and mindless behaviour. Acting with and without thought. Control vs untamed. Prometheus and Epimetheus.

Also quick Aside (haha) but going back to the "Putting others first" episode, who's the only characters that we see entirely in digital form through that whole episode, and gets rather angry because of the constant interruptions and disregard for his words? Logan. When does the orange "Hello" turn up? During the "fighting game" part of the video, with character Thomas punching bad guys like a mindless brute. And the part in "Learning new Things" where he threw the card at puppet Roman and hit him in the eye, mirrored in "Working through intrusive thoughts" with Remus getting hit in the eye by the soapy knife and having to wear an eyepatch? V Interesting (okay, Aside over)

Logan is not Apollo here. He is Artemis. Blue, distant, only able to shine brightest with others light. Apollo is what is inside of him, and something he must come to terms with. He is Dr Jekyll and whoever Orange turns out to be will be Mr Hyde. Logan is Dr Frankenstein, and the "Scary monster dude. You know, the real Frankenstein" is Orange.

Logan is imperfect as logic, because all logic, however well researched and considered, is imperfect. He is an unreliable narrator. An unreliable, sometimes toxic logic. And both he, and Thomas, will have to come to terms with the fact that he must be listened to, but not all the time because of this. You can't logic your way out of that.

(this is only my indicial theory, and I am v tired (its nearly 3am here) but boy oh boy that was a good episode and I have so much material to work with)

[twopoppies]

hi, Gina! how are you? I thought a lot if I would send anonymously or not but I decided to because I'm too shy. This message is basically a review of literally making love.

I am going to be completely honest with you, Gina, I was very reluctant to read mainly because I don't like robots, I really don't, specially after watching I, Robot. But there is a big but on this and that's why I'm sending you this. The reason I decided to read literraly making love was because of gathered on wings. I first read gathered on wings and I really enjoyed the way you write so I decided to give a chance.

I am always rambling, so I'm sorry if I'm not following a train of thoughts.

As I was reading I stopped seeing Harry as a robot and started to see him as a human, as the creation of Frankenstein -> I mean, someone who was created the way the creator wanted - so with the specific colors in the eyes or the size of the hand etc - but at the same time they were not created to be perfect; and even if is not a real person, it doesn't mean is a monster, he still has emotions, he still has a world to discover, he still has a lot of things to do and learn. So I started to like the fic I think mainly because you started to describe who was Harry, like his soft skin, his lips, his warmth, how he reacted when he felt jealous and I just stopped seeing him as piece of metal and really started to seem him as a creation of Frankenstein.

What I really enjoyed in the whole fic was to see the maturity been grown up in both, not only in Harry because he doesn't know anything but in Louis as well. I could see a lot of what I am learning in college (psychology) and what my therapist say to me in sections. Example: harry had to googled a lot to learn abour things but he had to learn as well that there is a difference between having information and what you do with that, how do you use in your life, with whom and when. And when I had this thought it just clicked in my head something my therapist said to me last week -> There is idealizantion and there is reality. And I kinda saw this in louis' point of view, like he was imagining what it would happen and it turned out totally different.

I really enjoyed to see the whole narrative being really close to what is in real life, specially some speeches coming from Louis like you need to respect privacy, you need to talk, you just cant act the way you want because you live in a fucking society and you're with someone/something that has feelings, has a life, has they own problems, you just can't live like you own the world. So thank you for emphasizing this part, I think is really important. You wrote your fics in a way that readers can catch some parts and try to do a connection to the real world and their own lifes. I think it's fantastic.

At the end I had I tought that I thought I would never have, specifically coming from someone who doesn't like robots. Maybe louis could do himself just like he did Harry, he could maybe do an android that looks exactly like him and maybe when he died his brain could be put on the android and all his memories will be safe and both of them will live forever. But at the same time I was thinking about it, I started to think that some cycles need an end, that nothing will last forever, everything has phases. I dont know, I'm in limbo. Do you think doing a part 2?

In my head I have a lot more to say, a lot more that I have analysed but I just can't put in words. To finish I just wanted to say thank you for this fic! I had a prejudgment and today I think totally different. And what it gave a spicy in the fic was your drawing! They are beautiful! you totally nailed it! Congratulations on everything!

have a nice night/day Gina!

Oh my goodness. This is such a thoughtful and thought-provoking message. Thank you so, so much for taking the time to message me. I’m so happy that you picked up on so many little things and honestly, I’m really touched that you read it, even though you didn’t expect to like it, and ended up loving it. That truly is the greatest compliment

As for your question about what comes next and a part two, I would love to write more in that ‘verse because I love those characters so much. Right now I don’t think I could do it any justice. But your idea of building a robot Louis is so intriguing. 🤔🤔🤔

The way I imagined the rest of the story is that as Louis grows older, he builds older versions of Harry so they get to experience growing old together; greying hair, achey joints and all. And, at some point, Harry convinces Louis to set his system up so that when Louis ultimately passes away (after they’ve lived a very long and happy life together, thank you), Harry simply powers down for good, and neither one has to live without the other.

I’d love to write it, I just need to figure out a story that’s worth reading. But bless you for being intrigued. It means a lot. And I’m so glad you liked my art, as well!! 🥰🥰🥰🥰

Literally Making Love (E, 30K)

Holding up one of the android's eyes to the workshop’s windows, he smiled as the light picked up the gold flecks in the pale green of his irises. Louis had always paid attention to even the tiniest details.

--

All Louis intended to do was rescue someone in need from loneliness. He had no idea it would be himself.

[abarbaricyalp]

handholding- 10/12/13

hugs - 34

kisses - 7/13/27

touching - 47

sambucky :)

Buddies, I literally cannot believe I managed to get all of these done without being too repetitive.

Handholding 10: Happily doing everything with one hand if that means they don't have to let go is already posted on my blog and on AO3: ElisabethMonroe: (til i carry you home) Your Hand in My Hand

Reblogging with AO3 links in a second

Kisses 27: Desperate Kisses

Inhale My Soul

(Listen, listen y'all, you don't know how many different universes of them dying and bleeding out in each other's arms y'all aren't reading here. I didn't do that to you. You're welcome)

Dissolving hadn’t felt like anything. Sam wasn’t sure he even understood what was actually happening. Maybe he’d thought it was just a trick of the reality stone. Maybe human minds weren’t meant to comprehend anything close to what had happened.

Coming back felt like dying.

He woke up on his back and he couldn’t breathe. It was like he had no lungs at all, just a trachea spasming in his throat without air, like a gills with no water. He grasped for the ground and the feeling of dirt was horrifying, a grave waiting to swallow him down into the Earth. The wind was knives on his skin. His suit felt like it was trying to pry his spine from his ribs. His legs ached like someone was trying to stretch the bones on a crank.

He must’ve screamed but there was no air to make a noise.

Finally sight came back and the first thing he saw were the trees falling over him, ready to crush him and hide him again.

Had anyone seen him disappear? No one was by his side. No one looked for him.

No, the trees weren’t falling. They were swaying in the wind. The sun kept gliding down through them with every shuffle of the leaves.

It was so quiet he felt like he could hear the leaves sighing as they grew.

It took him too long to realize the ragged breath that broke the silence like a gunshot came from his own chest. The hands digging his own grave shot to his chest, felt the rise and fall of his ribs and lungs, the proof that he was breathing. He was alive again.

He rolled onto his side and heaved until his ribs creaked, still firmly attached to his spine. There was nothing to come up, but the noise was comforting, the ache that he could name and handle was safe. Human. Living human.

His knees were in his legs when he leaned back on his haunches. They sank into the earth but the grave didn’t swallow him down. No unwilling sacrifice to be taken from him. He brought his dirt covered fingers--firm and whole and attached to him--up to his face. He found his cheeks, a beard with edges that were too straight for a man who had died and been put back together, his teeth. They throbbed in his gums like they were all about to fall out but they were there in his head. His tongue.

He could speak.

“Steve!” he shouted and his throat screamed in protest, the air in his lungs turned to fire. “Steve!” he called again and forced himself to his feet. His boots were tied. His pants were still tucked into them. There was no blood, which seemed wrong. He felt flayed open and left to soak into the ground. How could there be no blood?

“Steve!”

God, if Steve was dead…

Sam couldn’t lose more people. He couldn’t fight his way back. Not after this. Not while everything hurt so fucking much.

“Steve, please, God, where are you?!”

“Sam?”

Sam whirled around at the tired voice. The trees danced in his vision. The grass clutched at his legs, which still felt like they were being stretched out and sunk into the earth. The trees were going to take him over. The grass was going to eat him again. No one was looking. No one would find him. Why wasn’t anyone ever looking for him?

“Sam?” the voice called again.

Footsteps. Crushing grass. A metal screech in the bark of a tree. A colorful curse. “Sam, fuck, shout again!”

Sam stumbled forward, breaking free of the natural world trying to take him away again. He shoved himself away from a tree and crashed into a warm, solid, human body.

“Jesus, Sam,” Bucky breathed and wrapped his arms around Sam tightly. It hurt in the best way. Sam held him back, face hidden in Bucky’s shoulder. He didn’t even care about what gore he was smearing all over himself. Bucky’s hand came to the back of Sam’s head and Sam almost expected it to hit exposed brain but it didn’t. Instead his calloused fingers brushed over Sam’s short hair, smoothing over the natural lines and divots in it until goosebumps erupted over Sam’s skin.

Right. Things could feel good. That was part of being human and alive.

He had no idea how long they stood there. His shoulders were aching, but in a pleasant way that reminded him that there was something he loved right in front of him, in his arms.

Bucky was the first to move, stepping back half a step, a quarter of a step, barely any at all, just enough to bring his hands up to either side of Sam’s face. The cheeks and the mouth and the skin that was all there and new again. He tilted Sam’s head back, eyes intense and clear in front of Sam.

Had it not felt the same for him? Was he not grappling with his ridiculously weak claim to existence? Or, fuck, was this how he always felt after being frozen and woken up? Had he been going through this for seventy years with no one to run to? With no one to hold him and remind him that things could feel good?

Sam’s fingers tightened in Bucky’s vest and just as Bucky was starting to say something Sam couldn’t honestly answer--something about how he felt, if anything hurt, if he needed medical attention--Sam hauled him down into a desperate kiss. Their noses smashed together and pain bloomed across Sam’s face, made his eyes water, made him want to sneeze, made him want to lean into it all the more, like the pressed-on-bruise ache of Bucky’s arms around him.

He felt Bucky’s teeth notch a split into Sam’s lip by accident, crushed together with nowhere to go. Finally it softened. Bucky’s mouth pressed against his until Sam felt like he could actually breathe, until he could make his mouth do what he wanted, catch Bucky’s lower lip between both of his, wring out a noise he’d never heard the other man make before. Bucky’s hands on his face kept him close and Sam’s fingers tightened in his vest. He wanted to crawl into Bucky’s chest--felt like, maybe, he could after being unmade and remade. Their noses knocked together again as Sam tried to turn his head, kiss the other side of Bucky’s mouth, let Bucky bruise the rest of his lips.

Bucky pulled away, but didn’t let go of Sam’s face. Cool air flowed into Sam’s lungs until all of his bones and muscles felt like they slotted back into place.

“I can’t tell you how fucking happy I am to see you alive,” Bucky breathed.

We should talk about this. That. Later.

“I thought everyone was gone. I don’t know… I didn’t know how I came back. I thought it was just me.”

Bucky shook his head. “No. There’s hundreds of people. Not everyone, but at least half of us.”

Half of them.

“Oh my God,” Sam said. “Thanos won. He wiped out half of the universe.”

“I think that was us. I think...someone brought us back,” Bucky said. Pain flashed over his face as he looked at Sam and then pulled him in for another kiss. Sam tried to understand a second chance in it, but all he could feel was Bucky and relief and adoration. He wasn’t sure where that one came from more--him or Bucky.

“There’s still a fight,” someone said from behind them. Another magic shithead. Terror clutched at Sam’s chest like magic itself was enough to unmake him again, take him away again. “There’s still a world to save.”

Bucky’s hand found Sam’s between their bodies. Sam took a breath with lungs that almost seemed to work again. “What’re we waiting for then?” he asked.

Kiss 13: Frustrated Kiss

Better Than None

“Barnes, you wanna jump in? Any time’s fine,” Sam called out, though the volume wasn’t actually necessary, since he had an earpiece in and Bucky was only a few feet away, leaned on what was left of a building’s wall.

“Nah, you seem to be handling it just fine,” Bucky called back with a nod.

Sam ducked under the robot arm that had been flung at him. “Barnes, I swear, as soon as I get my hands on you--” he threatened.

“Y’know, normally that gets me going but seein’ as you were so anti-giving me a good luck kiss, I don’t know if I believe you anymore.”

“We don’t have time for this!” Sam threw the shield to cut through seven wire-y necks and caught it at degree 355 of its arc.

“It’s just a kiss. Takes two/tenths of a second,” Bucky said.

“I meant this dumbass argument.” Sam jumped out of the way of an electrical charge and Bucky watched it sail dangerously close to his head.

“Damn, maybe I am lucky without you,” he said and didn’t move at all.

“Bucky,” Sam sighed and ripped the head off of the nearest robot.

“Hot. Wish I could show you my appreciation.”

“How does me not giving you a good luck kiss translate you into not giving me any kisses?”

“It only seems fair. You’re putting my well-being at risk. There should be consequences.”

“That’s not how it works! You’re the one not--” Jesus, he didn’t have time to fall for the bait. He freed a mini-EMP from his utility belt and hurled it at the cluster of robots trying to scale the debris that first responders were using as a barricade to the rest of the street. A few seconds later, the robots fell away, powerless and useless.

“I kind of felt that in my arm,” Bucky said.

Sam growled out a huff and stalked over to Bucky. He shoved the front of the shield against his chest a little roughly and leaned in to kiss him, mostly teeth and irritation. The bastard still looked pleased when Sam pulled away.

“Good luck. Now will you please go do your job?”

Bucky grinned, all teeth and victory, and bolted into action.

Kisses 7: Passionate Kiss

Hand holding 13: Linking hands during s**

Bring Heaven to You

Sam swore he could feel Bucky’s mouth all over him. Every inch of his skin felt electric and alive. Frankenstein’s creature surging to life after a bolt of lightning, every nerve and muscle singing at the same time, overwhelming sensation in the best way. Like a freefall that keep him tethered to the mismatched hands clutching at his hips, his ribs, his chest, his shoulders, his thighs, the backs of his knees. Like Bucky couldn’t decide where he should be shocking Sam back to life either.

Bucky dragged his hand down Sam’s side, flat and steady so Sam could feel the golden band on his finger scorching his skin like it was made of fire. Like vows and rings and heavy promises weren’t enough to prove they belonged to each other, like they needed it written in flesh and blood like everything else about their lives.

Hahahaha, no. The rest is on AO3. Link in the reblog

Hand holding 12: Possessive hand holding

A Green Monster, And No We Don’t Mean The Hulk

“Welcome back to the show, Captain America!” a bubbly, young talk show host greeted. Bucky assumed he’d watched at least a few seconds of the program at some point when he was making it his life mission not to leave his apartment, but he couldn’t place her name for the life of him. “And you brought Mr. Barnes with you!” This she said with much less genuine enthusiasm and didn’t seem all that thrilled to have to look away from Sam to address Bucky.

“Well, you know I can’t stay away too long,” Sam said with a friendly smile. He held out his hand and the host took it in both of hers. It was less a hand shake and more an excuse for her to hang onto Sam, it looked like.

Sam and Bucky sat in the cushy seats for guests and, even though they’d already walked through the staging of this whole farce, Bucky was still deeply tempted to take Sam’s seat so he was between Sam and the host.

“So, Sam, last time we saw each other, you weren’t yet Captain America.”

“Funny how fast things like that can change, right?” Sam asked with twinkling eyes. Bucky wondered if the cameras were bolted down and if he could wrench one free even if they were.

“Well, I think it’s still not soon enough,” the host said and tossed her long hair over her shoulder. “You’ve always been Cap to us here. You’ve been so vocal about your mission statement as Captain America, so I won’t make you repeat yourself.” Sam nodded gratefully, though Bucky knew he’d repeat his goals and wishes until he ran out of breath if it meant one more person heard them and got inspired. “So I thought we could focus on what’s going on behind the scenes with you. Has anything else changed for you since you’ve been back?”

As if coming back to life wasn’t enough.

“Oh, definitely,” Sam said. “Buck and I just finished flipping a house down by my sister. Y’know, we got decent temporary accommodations--Buck still has his in New York--and staying with my sister again was nice, but there’s nothing like having a house to come home to that’s just ours. No pre-teens stealing all the food outta the fridge immediately after grocery shopping.”

The host laughed along with Sam, though her eyes couldn’t quite keep from flickering to Bucky. “It’s fun that you’re rooming with Mr. Barnes. Does it feel like having college roommates again?”

Sam frowned, opened his mouth to answer, ran through a bunch of diplomatic ways to say what should’ve been obvious but wasn’t because this lady was into Sam. Which, like, Bucky couldn’t blame her for. But he was anyway.

He reached over to grab Sam’s hand where it was picking at a loose thread in his pants. “Actually, it’s more like just living with a partner,” he answered for Sam. “That’s something else that’s changed too, huh?” he directed at Sam. “Turns out, with consistent showers and therapy, he thinks I’m pretty charming.”

Sam frowned again and scoffed. “No, I do not. That hasn’t changed.”

The host laughed again, forced but a decent show anyway. “Sure, we all love a good bromance,” she said.

Bucky’s eyebrows shot up.

“Don’t,” Sam warned.

“It’s a lot like a bromance, yeah. Just without the B,” Bucky said. “We kind of figured my name had enough Bs to last us for a while.”

“Sam, are you saying--”

Sam sighed and brought his other hand up to the bridge of his nose. “Unfortunately. And, yeah, he’s always like this. Some kinda puffed up bulldog or something.”

Bucky’s fingers tightened around Sam’s. “You’re my partner. I’m allowed to tell people that.”

“You don’t ever stop telling people.”

“Can’t blame him,” the host pointed out. Okay, maybe some of the hostility was misplaced, Bucky thought. Only some of it. “How did we not know about this, Cap?” she asked jovially, though Bucky thought she was still a little upset.

Sam shrugged. “Guess it’s not as exciting as superheroing. And cameras keep ending up destroyed,” he added pointedly.

Bucky narrowed his eyes at the accusation. “Half the places we go could be classified as an active war zone. It’s not always on me that media cameras get crushed under debris or aliens or something.”

“Every single one that catches you touching my face?”

Bucky shrugged.

“So...how long has this been a thing?” the host asked.

“Since before Sam took the shield. It’s actually a package deal. If you want the shield, you have to have me.”

Sam rolled his eyes and let out another long suffering sigh. “I’m sorry he’s ruining this interview.”

“Oh, no, I’m about to win an investigative journalism prize, I think,” the host laughed.

“I don’t know how investigative it is when your subject is physically incapable of shutting up,” Sam said, looking over at Bucky with a glare and the smallest pout that made Bucky want to kiss it off of his face.

So he did, holding their interlaced fingers next to their face to hide from the cameras at least a little bit.

Hugging 34: Hugging while grabbing butt

Get Sprung

(Man, I meant to put this in the fr@ story and forgot :/ )

The building came down faster than Sam expected it to. He supposed well placed explosives would do that. What happened to uncertain, uneven dynamite? Why was everything electrical and precise nowadays?

He had no idea how Bucky managed to get Sam and the shield bundled in his arms before the ceiling came down. He didn’t know how Bucky had managed to kick a piece of wall upright and then locked his metal arm to hold the shield in place above them. He had no idea how Bucky knew it’d make the perfect alcove for them. For someone who pretended not to know what math was when AJ asked for help on homework, he was very calculation savvy.

Bucky slowly freed his arm from the straps of the shield. The rubble shifted a little, pressed a little closer, and then stilled again. They both let out a small breath. There wasn’t enough room to lay out totally, or to stand fully, but they weren’t being crushed. Bucky’s arm joined the other around Sam’s waist. Sam dropped his face to Bucky’s shoulder and let Bucky’s pulse drum against his cheek for a second.

“Are you grabbing my ass?” he finally asked and Bucky coughed out a startled laugh.

“Yeah, you better hope it’s me and not some darkness monster.”

“Couldn’t blame the monster if it was,” Sam said.

“I gotta make sure it’s still there. Would be a shame to lose America’s ass, y’know.”

Sam shook his head and pulled away from Bucky enough to light up his wristlets. He shook them off and rested them on pieces of concrete and rebar to light the space.

Bucky sank down to the ground, legs bent a little to accommodate the space and Sam followed him down, settling between his legs.

“So, now we wait, huh?” he said, reaching for Bucky’s hands to tangle their fingers together.

“Guess we gotta,” Bucky agreed. “Are you hurt?”

Sam shook his head. There was still a ringing in his ears from the explosion and he was sore from Bucky tackling him out of the way, but nothing felt crushed or cut or broken. “You?”

“I’m fine,” Bucky said and then let out a breath at Sam’s arched brow. “I mean it. I’m not playing tough or anything. We got lucky. It came down on us, not sideways into us. I think there’s something lodged between the plates in my arm, but I don’t want you to do anything about it until we’re safe. It’s functional right now. I don’t need to be down an arm if we have to dig out.”

“We’re not gonna have to dig out,” Sam said. “Torres’ll track Redwing to us.”

“How’s your dumb robot?”

Sam reached for a wristlet and navigated to the Redwing menu. “Operational. Some exterior dinging, but nothing serious. He’ll be functional if we need.” Sam set the wristlet aside again and sighed. “Fuck, that was close, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah. C’mere,” Bucky said, opening his arms. Sam shifted forward on his knees and leaned against Bucky’s chest, hugging him close. “‘M glad you’re okay,” Bucky murmured, lips brushing Sam’s temple.

Sam nodded and rubbed Bucky’s waist for a second. “Buck?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re grabbing my ass again.”

“I know.”

“Alright.”

Touch 47: Touching their elbow to get their attention

Quiet Birds Circling in Flight

(Jeez, the only thing that came to mind for ages on this prompt involved a spaceship but these men have SEEN aliens and spaceships so that’s not as fun :(((((( )

Sam stood outside the cenotaph long after everyone else had left the service. And that was quite the feat in and of itself. It felt like the mourning could go on for years. There’d been enough tears around him that he wasn’t sure what his own would add to the spectacle.

To everyone else, the cenotaph was a mausoleum. But Sam had been next to Bucky when he told the military to quietly bury him in the cemetery where his parents were both buried. “You know,” Bucky had said one afternoon while they watched the cenotaph being built stone by stone, engraving by engraving, “I’d wager that most mausoleums are just cenotaphs. Grave robbing and reactions to grave robbing mean probably everyone just got moved somewhere safer.”

“Plus decomposition.”

“Well, shit, Wilson. When do you stop being you after death? When does dirt become dirt again? When isn’t it your resting place? Does it even matter where your body is when alls said and done? Is that ever actually you or just a space filler?”

Sam had elbowed Bucky’s ribs and they’d each taken a piece of stone and pretended they didn’t see.

Sam weighed the shield against his shin, knocking it slightly to the side, and then looked up at the stone one ten more feet above his head.

Steve would hate this so much. Sam felt like he could feel his raging blush from the after life. Sam and Bucky had both asked for something more muted, something quieter. Hell, something that would do good for the world Steve was always trying to save. All this money and work and art, for what? A place to take pictures for likes on the internet?

No, Sam had to remind himself, it was a place for memory too.

As much as Sam kind of hated the whole thing, he couldn’t deny that looking up at the effigy of his friend inspired him the same way glancing over at him had in life too. The words wrapping around and around the base of the cenotaph sparked the same intense pride and righteousness they had the first time he heard them.

Maybe he didn’t hate the cenotaph. Maybe he just wanted the real thing back.

He startled at a gentle touch at his elbow. He thought it might’ve been another mourner come to offer condolences, though those mostly went to Bucky when someone was brave enough to approach him. Most people hadn’t looked at Sam twice. Not when Captain America was, in theory, laying in rest thirty feet beyond.

Sam was not in the mood to listen to anyone else talk about the time Steve smiled at them in a cafe or grabbed their cat out of a tree. If he heard his name again, he was going to break down.

But he had the shield now. He had to do the things Steve did. Smile when he didn’t want to. Hide any sign of weakness, lest it reflect poorly on the red, white, and blue he carried now. So he ground his teeth together until his gums ached and turned with a screwed on smile.

But it wasn’t a mourner. Not a random one anyway.

Bucky still had his fingers on Sam’s elbow, a sad look on his face. Dawn was creeping over the horizon and Sam realized with a start and a bloom of despair in his stomach that he’d spent the entire night in the park.

“Think if we wait two more days he’ll shove that stupid stone shield out of the way and come out?” Sam asked, voice wavering like a flag in the wind.

“We would literally never hear the end of it if he did,” Bucky pointed out.

Neither of them smiled. Neither of them really meant their jokes.

Sam finally broke down.

He collapsed against Bucky’s chest. It wasn’t until he lost his breath in the middle of a sob that he realized he wasn’t the only one shaking. Bucky was crying too. They clutched at each other, both terrified they might drift away, that the other might decide this was too difficult too and go back to something better at the first opportunity.

Sam didn’t even blame Steve. He’d laid awake in the temporary accommodation the government had put him up in and tried to convince himself that if he was in Steve’s shoes, he wouldn’t have saved Riley and stayed in that timeline. But he couldn’t. He knew he would have, almost certainly. And it wasn’t fair to ask Steve to give up a happy, quiet ending after more than a century of fighting and hurting.

But understanding it and accepting it didn’t make it hurt any less. “What are we supposed to do, Bucky?” he asked with an irritatingly genuine hiccup at the end of his words.

“I don’t know,” Bucky said, sounding for all the world like he was grinding his teeth together, trying to pull himself back together. “You have a lot more options than me.”

And it was true. Sam had had a job. The Air Force had reached out since he’d been back stateside. He had a family who missed him, who he missed. But it felt like something heavy and tethering had been locked away in that empty cenotaph. He didn’t want to walk away yet.

Bucky stepped back, kept a hand on Sam’s elbow. “For now, we should get back home. You need to sleep.”

Sam didn’t want to sleep. Everything hurt too much.

“Sam, come on,” Bucky insisted. “You don’t have to make any decisions right now.We could both use a few hours of being quiet, right?

Sam reached up to wipe the tears from his face. He had the shield. He had to act like it. “My place or yours?” he asked, still watery.

Bucky pretended like he didn’t notice. “Yours is nicer than mine.”

“And I have a bed.”

“I have a bed.”

“It’s unassembled in a box.”

Bucky squeezed his elbow and then tugged him into a brief hug that Sam was pretty sure they’d never speak of again. “Let’s get out of here. He’s not goin’ nowhere.”

Sam rubbed at his face again and nodded. “We-- We should order in. When’s the last time you ate?” he asked as they walked away.

“I had a better breakfast than you.”

“You didn’t have to give a speech.”

“Yeah, I’m surprised you didn’t throw up in front of everyone.”

“Shut up, I’m a great public speaker.”

“Sure, Wilson.”

“Screw you, Barnes.”

The dawn bloomed before them.

Do not stand

By my grave, and weep.

I am not there,

I do not sleep—

I am the thousand winds that blow

I am the diamond glints in snow

I am the sunlight on ripened grain,

I am the gentle, autumn rain.

As you awake with morning’s hush,

I am the swift, up-flinging rush

Of quiet birds in circling flight,

I am the day transcending night.

Do not stand

By my grave, and cry—

I am not there,

I did not die.

[luxekook]

trivia love | knj

⇥ pairing: kim namjoon x reader

⇥ genre: non-idol au with fluff and smut

⇥ summary: in which the reader and namjoon become ridiculously attracted to each other over weekly late night trivia sessions

⇥ word count: 5.4k

⇥ warnings: 18+, cursing, dirty talk, terrible trivia team names, namjoon being devastating, low-key exhibitionism, smut in a bar bathroom, oral (f receiving), sub!joon, switch!reader, everyone being nerdy af

Weekly trivia used to be so fun. Your team - The Multiple Scoregasms - used to demolish the competition with ease. You used to be able to think so clearly and answer so correctly. You used to revel in the free drinks earned with your $20 bar credit winnings.

Keywords: used to

For the last two Thursdays, not only had your team lost miserably, you seemed to have lost all recollection past your own name.

The reason? Team Text Us, We're Single.

First of all, their team name was highly deceptive. There was no way that all seven of those beautiful team members were single. It was absolutely ludicrous.

Second of all, only one member of the group seemed to even take trivia seriously. And they still won. Twice.

And last of all, you were high-key attracted to said member. You sighed, thinking back to simpler times before you first saw him two Thursdays ago…

The first thing you saw when you walked into Queenie’s Bar was a squad of middle-aged men debating the merits of Draco Malfoy’s redemption arc.

And the second? Just the cutest smiling boy you’d ever seen in the entirety of your existence. He was tall and deliciously tan, with cute dimples that surfaced suddenly when he smiled at the bartender in thanks.

As you stood in the archway of the bar gaping at this dimpled god, you got jostled from behind by your friend Olivia. “What’s the hold up? Go claim our usual table, (y/n)! I’ll get the drinks.”

You snapped out of your reverie. Cute boy or not, he was likely to be part of tonight’s competition; and, therefore, you needed to annihilate him accordingly.

Nodding inwardly, you stalked past the men who now had moved on from Draco to a heated argument surrounding house-elves and their rights.
 “Hermione just dropped her whole campaign! S.P.E.W. was never mentioned again!” One man thrust his hand through his thinning hair in exasperation, “God, did the campaign buttons mean nothing?”

You cracked a smile as you settled into your usual table in the middle of the crowded bar. You loved Thursday night trivia with everything you had.

Thursdays brought in an eclectic sort of crowd to Queenie’s. The groups scattered throughout the bar represented everyone from middle aged Potterheads to skulking e-boys to nerdy young adults (READ: you) and - apparently - to models (READ: Dimples).

You spotted your roommate Jordan and your friend Marlene hurrying through the door and raised a hand to wave them down. Marlene noticed you first and yelled, “Yo, (y/n)!”

Typically, you would have been embarrassed by this behavior, but it happened each week without fail. So, you just gave a half-assed salute.

The only thing that Marlene, the only extrovert in your circle of friends, loved more than being the center of attention was forcing the rest of you into the spotlight with her.

Her reasoning? Something about comfort zones and shit. Your reasoning? Pure evil.

Jordan rolled his eyes at you and grabbed Marlene, dragging her over to your table. “She needs to be stopped,” Jordan said in lieu of a greeting, “She’s a menace to introverts everywhere.”

“Puh-lease,” Marlene plopped into her seat dramatically, “Y’all love me. Besides, if you got rid of me, who would do speed trivia rounds for you?”

You and Jordan exchanged a panicked look at the mere thought of being put on the spot in front of a large crowd. “You make a convincing argument,” you sighed, “I guess we’ll keep you.”

“Well,” Marlene concentrated on something over your shoulder, “I might leave voluntarily if other teams are out here looking like that.”

You turned, seeking out the team in question, and locked eyes with Dimples. He blushed furiously and ducked his head, blonde hair falling to cover his eyes. His friend to his left, equally as attractive, gave Dimples a weird look and shoved his shoulder. You whipped back around before you got caught staring - again.

“What the fuck?” Jordan whispers-yelled across the table to you, “Do you know that boy, (y/n)?”

“No,” you choked out, already halfway to whipped over someone you’d never even met.

“Well, damn,” Olivia finally arrived, somehow successfully holding four drinks, “What’d I miss?”

“Nothing,” Marlene smirked, “Just a cute boy thirsting over (y/n) from afar.”

“He is not thirsting!” Your disclaimer went by unacknowledged.

“Oooh, we love a thirsty boy,” Olivia slid into her seat next to you and turned around to assess the crowd, “Shit. Which one is he? All the boys at that table are hot.”

“The one with the dimples,” you automatically answered, your mind replaying his squinty-eyed smile in full HD.

“Whoa, hold on a minute,” Marlene whipped out her pen and notepad like she was about to take notes, “Now, how do you know he has dimples?”

“Uh,” you sank low in your seat, “A good guess?”

“Nope, try again,” Jordan cackled, “You twirl your hair when you’re lying, bitch.”

Goddamnit. You released your traitorous hand from your hair immediately. “Fine, because I saw him smiling when I arrived, okay?”

“Interesting,” Marlene scribbled gibberish on her notepad, “And how do you feel about that?”

Now, two long weeks later, you still had no idea how to answer that question. However, you did know that you longed to talk with him for hours and absorb the knowledge he seemed to hold in every crevice of his brain. You did know that a darker part of you wanted to see him kneeling before you, completely at your mercy. You did know that his thighs were distracting, to the point where you accidentally dumped your entire beer down your shirt because you were too gaping at the way he leaned over the bar to order drinks.

And, unfortunately, you did know that he seemed to be equally distracted by you. This bit of knowledge came via your friends; and, therefore, you were in full denial.

“Question nine,” the bartender-turned-announcer cleared her throat, jolting you from your inner thoughts. “Who wrote 1818’s Frankenstein?”

“Mary Shelley!” You whispered across the table to Jordan, who then scrawled the name onto your team’s answer sheet. Satisfied, you shot a furtive glance around the bar and frowned as the surrounding teams all seemed to be confident in their answers as well. Your gaze strategically skipped past the table in the back section of the bar before returning to face your teammates.

From her seat next to Jordan, Marlene spotted something in the very direction you had been avoiding and giggled, “Dimples is staring. Bottoms up, fam.”

“Again?” Olivia rolled her eyes and drank from her dwindling gin and tonic. “He just looked at her, like, thirty seconds ago!”

Your eyes swung to Jordan as he attempted to covertly take a sip of his vodka cranberry.

“Please tell me you all aren’t drinking every time he looks over here,” you groaned, crossing your arms, “How are you even sure that he's looking at me?”

“Maybe because his eyes were glued to your ass when you walked by his table earlier on the way to the bathroom,” Olivia cackled, “I mean, I can’t blame the guy. Those jeans really do make you look thick.”

“And that’s ‘thick’ with at least three C’s and possibly a Q,” Marlene added, shooting you a thumbs up and nod of approval.

Jordan arched an eyebrow slyly, sipped his mixed drink, and drawled,“Well, why do you think she wore them?”

That snake!

“Top ten anime betrayals,” you whispered, eyes wide in the wake of being exposed.

Marlene and Olivia gasped in unison and turned towards you. Olivia hissed, “You bitch. Have you been holding out on us? Have you been seducing him?”

“Question ten,” the announcement blared from the bar’s speakers, saving you briefly from the brewing interrogation you felt was headed your way. “What novel begins with the words 'Call me Ishmael’?”

“Moby Dick,” Marlene answered, “Now, back to the matter at hand. I cannot believe you didn’t tell us this crucial information. We could have been scheming together if we knew you liked him.”

“Like him?!” Your shriek drew the attention of the neighboring table, and you shot them a sheepish smile. When they finally looked away, you immediately reverted back to your murderous state, “I don’t even know his name! And when have you been scheming?”

“Fine,” Jordan acquiesced, stirring his paper straw around his drink, “Maybe you don’t like him yet, but you definitely want to sit on his dick. Am I right or am I right?”

Gleefully, Marlene and Olivia faced you with fierce looks of anticipation.

“Fine,” you sniffed, trying to scrape your shredded dignity off the floor, “Yes, I want to sit on his dick. Is that so wrong?”

“Oh, this is going to be good,” Olivia rubbed her palms together, grinning deviously, "I mean, we already know he's into you. Why can't you just say something to him?"

You looked at her like she had just spoken Latin backwards, "Have you seen him? He’s so sweet. I could ruin him.”

“I don’t think he’d even mind though,” Marlene sighed, gazing over at the boy in question.

Jordan snorted as you buried your head in your hands and audibly prayed for anyone out there to take pity on you.

"We're moving on to our next category, folks," the bar's sound system crackled to life, answering your prayers, "Harry Potter."

"Oh, fuck yeah," You and Marlene - resident Harry Potter dweebs - exchanged high fives. Finally, a category you could probably win with your mind functioning on minimal capacity.

"Question eleven: In the Goblet of Fire, who poses as Mad-Eye Moody, Harry's Defense Against the Dark Arts professor?"

"Barty Crouch," you and Marlene said, pausing for dramatic effect, "Junior."

You cracked up as Jordan and Olivia shook their heads. "I question our friendship every damn day," Olivia joked, gazing off into the metaphorical distance - aka at the wall.

"You love us, bitch-ass," Marlene aimed a kick in Olivia’s direction under the table.

You grinned at their antics and went to take a sip from your beer, only to discover it empty. "Another round?" You ask your friends, standing to head over to the bar.

"Yes, please," Jordan groaned, "Anything to make it through these next four questions."

"Anyone - besides Jordan - want another round?" You revised your original statement aloud.

"Wow, have I mentioned I love Harry Potter lately? Like, yes, ten points to Hogwarts, bitch," Olivia thrust her empty glass in the air.

"That's not even how House Points work, Liv," Marlene sighed, "Solid B- for effort."

You turned to leave. "Wait!" Jordan drew your attention back to your group, "Stick your ass out when you order. He'll be watching." He shot a quick glance in He Who Shall Not Be Named (Because You Don't Know It)'s direction. "Oh, wait. He already is. Go get 'em, Hedwig."

You inwardly screamed at the knowledge that you were being watched by the current focus of your attraction and decided not to comment before leaving.

"Hedwig?" You heard Marlene addressing Jordan as you walked away, "Did you mean Hermione? Hedwig is Harry’s fucking owl. RIP, by the way."

God, you loved your friends.

Arriving at the large wooden bar running the length of the room, you flagged down one of the bartenders and circled a finger in the air to indicate another round. You and your friends came often enough for most of the staff to know your orders by heart. It was awesome.

"Question twelve!" The sound jolted you upright. You hadn't noticed you were standing right next to one of the extra speakers the bar used for trivia. Idiot, you cursed yourself, why must you be like this?

"Why was the Whomping Willow planted?" Cringing again at the volume, you craned your neck and located Marlene, who gave you an affirmative nod of 'I got this, fam.'

"Here you go!" The bartender placed your drinks in front of you, "Same tab?"

"Yes, please," You nodded, attempting to smoothly grab all four drinks, "Thank you!"

"Need some help?" The sweetest voice you had ever heard in your life sounded from your left side. You slowly turned your head to face its source and was equally as stunned by the beautiful boy in front of you.

This was one of Dimples’ teammates - one of the Team Text Us, We're Single boys.

"Um," your brain resembled the scene from Spongebob where he forgot his name. Your eyes darted over the boy's shoulder in a deliberate attempt to avoid his cute scrunched eyes and wide smile. But, you were only faced with something even more devastating.

Six boys openly gaped at you from the back table. When you caught their eyes, three looked away, two grinned shamelessly, and one blushed right to the tips of his ears.

Cute. Your insides turned to mush over how adorable your Dimples was.

"They're the worst, right?” The boy in front of you commanded your attention once more, "So nosy. Now, let me help you. I'm Jimin, by the way, from Team Text--"

"Us, We're Single," you finished, "Yeah, you guys beat us the last two Thursdays. We had such a nice winning streak going, too."

"Well, if it makes you feel any better," Jimin smiled wide, "Most of us don't even care about trivia."

"That makes it even worse," you groaned, sliding two drinks his way, "I'm (y/n), from The Multiple--"

"Scoregasms," Jimin laughed, "Awesome name."

"Thanks!" Your confidence soared at his praise and you smiled genuinely, "It's some of my best work."

"Question thirteen!"

"Oh shit," Jimin muttered, "Let's go before I miss any more questions. Joon will have my ass on a platter."

You nodded, mind whirring to try to determine which team member this 'Joon' was. Maybe the intimidating-looking boy with the bleached blonde hair pushed back in a headband? Or the really muscular one in all black with the doe eyes and long brown hair?

"When Dumbledore and Harry first visit Horace Slughorn, what is he disguised as?"

At the question, you grabbed the two remaining drinks and head back to your table with Jimin following close behind. As soon as you began your journey, you rolled your eyes at the completely obvious way your friends were pretending they hadn’t been watching you and Jimin interact this entire time.

You had never seen them having such an animated conversation about... "Bagels are so good! I love how you can choose from so many different types, like cinnamon raisin, sesame, blueberry, honey wheat--"

"Hi," you forcefully placed the drinks down in front of your friends and succeeded in interrupting Marlene's riveting tirade about bagels, "This is Jimin. He was kind enough to help me."

"Hey, Jimin," Jordan eyed the boy appreciatively, "Decided to scope out the competition, huh?"

"Honestly, sort of," Jimin chuckled. Your eyes narrowed suspiciously, not liking the sly edge his grin took on in the slightest.

"Well, hopefully (y/n) didn't give much away," Olivia giggled, staring up at Jimin with heart eyes, "She's our team leader."

"Damn straight." You plopped back down in your chair, "Want to sit with us? We can grab an extra chair from a nearby table."

"Nah," Jimin glanced over his shoulder at where his teammates were probably still staring, "I should get back. Want to hang out after trivia though? We can merge tables!"

Before you could even answer, Marlene enthused, "Yes! That would be so fun. Don't you think, (y/n)?"

You gave her your most lethal side-eye, catching onto what seemed to be happening here, "Yes... so fun."

"Great!" Jimin ignored your dry tone, "Talk to you later then!"

You all watched as he sauntered away.

"Damn," Olivia sighed, "That boy is fine." You nodded sagely as your eyes stayed glued to Jimin's firm ass as he walked away in those tight jeans.

"So, what's the plan, team?" Jordan clapped, "We have T minus twenty minutes to get 'Operation Get (y/n) Dicked Down' up and running. Let's do this."

God, you hated your friends.

Twenty minutes later, your team had solidly lost. However, unlike the last two weeks, your loss did not come as a surprise or alongside any hard feelings. You four were too busy prepping to hang out with seven intimidatingly hot boys.

You were the only one not excited.

“And that concludes trivia for tonight, folks,” the bartender announced, “Team Text Us, We’re Single wins once again. Please come to the bar to collect your bar credits, lads.”

“Oh my god, okay, it’s happening,” Jordan bounced up and down in his seat as you all watched the bar start to clear out, “Stay calm. Stay fucking calm.”

“I don’t know how you have any room to call (y/n) and I nerds while you straight up quote The Office, Jord,” Marlene laughed.

“The Office is an Emmy award-winning show,” Jordan sniffed, “Come at me when Harry Potter wins a Pulitzer.”

“The Pulitzer is only for American authors,” Marlene cried.

“I rest my case,” Jordan lifted his glass.

“What?” Marlene yelped, “That makes literally no sense.”

“As much as I hate to interrupt this fascinating argument,” Olivia drawled, “We’re being summoned.”

You gulped, glancing behind you. Sure enough, Jimin was flagging you all down from across the bar, while a few of his teammates dragged over an empty table towards their own.

“Shit, I guess this is it,” you sighed.

“Jesus, you’re not going off to war, (y/n),” Jordan rolled his eyes, “You’re literally about to meet the your trivia daddy.”

“Please— and I cannot stress this enough,” you paused, “Never say that again.” With that, you stood, grabbing your drink and sauntering over towards Jimin with all the confidence you could possibly summon.

You heard your friends’ laughter behind you, and you discreetly flashed them the middle finger behind you back.

“Hey, Jimin,” you smiled at the boy as he greeted you and your friends.

“Hi, welcome!” His eyes were completely encompassed by his cheeks, and you internally screeched at his cuteness.

“This is Taehyung,” Jimin gestured to the curly-haired boy to his right. Taehyung greeted you all with a deep ‘Hi’ and a peace sign.

“Yoongi,” Jimin pointed towards the intimidating boy you noticed earlier with the bleached hair and the headband. Yoongi only nodded in your general vicinity as greeting.

“Hi, I’m Jin!” The stunningly handsome boy at the end of the table burst out, evidently unable to wait until he was introduced. Jin blew you all a kiss as his friends groaned.

“Please ignore him,” Jimin rolled his eyes before moving on, “Those two are Hoseok and Jungkook.” Jimin gestures towards the bar where two boys were collecting two pitchers of beer.

“And, last but not least, our trivia leader Namjoon,” Jimin’s grin turned devious as the boy in question raised his hand in greeting and ducked his head back down.

“Please sit,” Jimin gestured towards the scattered empty chairs amongst his group.

“(Y/n)!” Jin called suddenly, his arm flopping frantically in the air, “Come sit next to me!”

Your eyebrows shot all the way up as your heartbeat accelerated. Sitting next to Jin meant sitting next to Namjoon - your Dimples.

Nodding, you made your way over. It would be rude to refuse his request, and you could not help but wonder if Namjoon’s friends were also schemers.

You rounded the corner of the table and plopped down between the two boys. “H-hi,” you offered, eloquent as ever. You sipped your beer to cover up your burning embarrassment.

“Hi,” Jin grinned at you, “Thanks for joining us at the handsome end of the table.”

You choked on your beer, before cracking up, “The handsome end?” You loved this boy already and couldn’t resist the urge to tease him, “Oh, you meant Namjoon.” You shot the boy you just mentioned a sly smile as Jin spluttered.

Namjoon cocked his head slightly as he slowly broke into a shy smile, “Yeah, he definitely did, (y/n).”

Lord Almighty, the way he said your named almost sounded like a confession.

“Oh, this is insane, you fools!” Jin shook with incredulity, “I am worldwide handsome. Not Namjoon. Ugh, I need new friends.”

Jin stood and skulked over to the other side of the table as you all laughed. He was so extra, you could already tell. However, his antics had done wonders for your nerves.

Turning back to Namjoon, you leaned in closer, “Did he just make an Always Sunny reference? Or was that just me?”

Namjoon nodded, eyes glinting in amusement, “He did. You watch that show, too?”

Your conversation delved into your favorite shows, your favorite movies, your favorite meals. You felt like you had known Namjoon forever with how comfortable you already were with each other. Yet, you couldn’t help but notice how his eyes strayed to your lips every so often or how his hands crept closer to your thigh with every parting word.

The boy was into you. You were almost 85% sure of it. So, you decided to test him.

In the middle of Namjoon’s story about the time Jungkook almost burned down his apartment complex, you slid your hand over his. Namjoon paused, and you looked up innocently. He gulped and continued.

You smiled viciously on the inside. Your fingers played with his, intertwining with them, playing with his rings, brushing over his palm.

As Namjoon’s story drew to a close, you tugged his hand onto your thigh and released it. Nonchalantly, you picked up your beer and took a sip.

Shooting the boy a quick glance in your periphery, you found him staring openmouthed at his own hand encompassing your thigh. He gave your thigh a tentative squeeze, and you hummed in content. His eyes shot to yours.

“W-what are you doing?” Namjoon’s pupils were dilated as he blinked at you.

“I just wanted your hand on me, Joon,” you pouted, “You can take it off if you want.”

You moved to shift his hand off you, but his grip tightened. “I like having my hands on you, (y/n),” he said, his voice deeper than ever, “I also like you calling me ‘Joon’.”

“Two more things we can agree on,” you smiled at him, stomach full of butterflies and anticipation. Glancing around you, you realized that your friends were dispersed throughout the bar.

Marlene, Jordan, Hoseok, and Jungkook were dancing wildly in the middle of the bar’s tiny dance-floor. Jimin and Taehyung were bothering the DJ to presumably keep playing an assortment of random songs from the early 2000s. 

Olivia, Yoongi, and Jin sat at the bar, watching the others and laughing as Jungkook kept hitting the whoa no matter what song played. Currently, he was hitting the whoa to Baby Got Back.

Turning back to Namjoon, you find him looking at you with an unreadable expression.

“What?” you questioned, eyes searching his inquisitively.

He shoved a hand through his messy hair. “You’re so intimidating, (y/n). You’re so smart and beautiful, and it messes with my brain.”

“You’re intimidated by me?” You arched an eyebrow before smiling sweetly, “I promise I don’t bite… Unless you want me to.”

“I do,” he answered automatically. You both paused. His eyes widened comically, “F-forget I said that.”

“You want me to bite you, Joonie?” You sighed into his ear, relishing in his shiver, “You want me to mark your pretty skin?”

“Yes,” he breathed out.

“Okay,” your mouth descended to his neck, searching for a weak spot. His breath hitched as your mouth neared his thrumming pulse point. Bingo.

You placed an open-mouthed kiss onto his warm skin before sucking lightly. Namjoon moaned, shifting in his seat. 

You bit down, and his hips bucked instinctively. Pulling back slightly, you licked over the mark that was slowly blooming on his neck.

The clear imprint of your teeth on his neck had you grinning like a fool. You really wanted to own this cute, shy, intelligent boy.

You looked up at Namjoon. He was watching you with his puffy lips parted, his breathing hard. “Can I kiss you?” You asked, eyes focused on his. He nodded frantically, and your lips tugged up in a small smile.

Slowly, you inched your mouth closer towards his. Your breaths mingled. You pressed your lips to his gently and wrapped your arms around his neck.

You kept kissing Namjoon until you finally had to come up for air. Leaning your forehead against his, you locked eyes, breathing each other in.

“Can I sit on your lap, Joon?” You asked in between peppering kisses on his reddened cheeks.

After getting a nod in confirmation, you straddled his lap and returned your lips to his. The small part of your brain still thinking rationally reminded you that you were in a very public bar. The much larger and irrational part of your brain urged you on as your hips shamelessly grind onto Namjoon’s. The hardened cock that you felt through his jeans was too tempting. And, besides, exhibitionism was fun, right?

You bit down on Namjoon’s bottom lip, and he thrust against you.

You broke away and turned your head to the side, needing another moment to breathe. Namjoon began to kiss your neck, and you let out a small laugh as he nipped at your skin. He was marking you right back.

Namjoon lifted his head again as your lips parted. His face was inches away from yours. He stared at you like a starving man.

“Fuck, baby,” Namjoon said lowly, “I’m beginning to think you might be the devil, because you just snatched my soul.”

You stared at him. “That was so goddamned cheesy.” Your giggles made him turn an interesting shade of maroon.

“I knew I shouldn’t have listened to Jin-hyung,” you heard him mutter before you captured his lips once more.

As you kissed, his fingers slowly inched downwards, caressing you. You decided then and there that you would have this boy.

“Undo my jeans,” you commanded after pulling away from his mouth. His eager fingers dropped to your zipper, fumbling in their haste. Once your jeans were undone, you felt him hesitate. You instructed him, “I need your fingers.”

He thrust a finger into you. “Mm, Joon,” you dropped your head into the crevice of his neck as he pumped another one in, stretching you. His fingers curled inside you, as you shifted your hips.

“Rub my clit,” You demanded, and he pulled his fingers out and circled it immediately. You moaned at both the new sensation and at the loss of his fingers inside you. “Keep your fingers in me, use your thumb.” You gripped onto the back of his head, pulling on his hair in punishment.

His fingers thrust back into you without warning as his thumb circled your clit. You felt yourself clenching around him, so close to coming just from his hands. Still, you needed more. You were definitely a greedy bitch.

You pulled his hand from your pants, and he stared at his fingers, which were sticky with you. You watched enraptured as he lifted his wet fingers to his lips and sucked.

His eyes widened, “Fuck, (y/n), you taste so good. You have to let me eat you out. You need to let me put my head between your thighs. Please.”

“Bathroom,” you gasped out, “Now.” You shimmied off of Namjoon’s lap and onto shaky legs.

“Follow me in one minute,” you kissed his cheek and tried your best to casually make your way to the bathroom. However, you were pretty sure you had already blown all efforts to be casual as soon as you sat on Namjoon.

Finally, you entered the empty single-stall bathroom and let out a sigh of relief.

Two seconds later, a knock sounded. You barely opened the door wide enough before Namjoon was all over you. His hands gripped your ass as he backed you against the wall next to the sink.

He gazed down at you with hooded eyes, “You still want this, right?”

“Yes, Joon,” you leaned up to kiss him one more time.

Namjoon sank to his knees before you.

You audibly moaned at the sight. Quickly, you tugged your jeans down your legs and kicked them to the side. Your underwear followed suit.

Namjoon cursed lowly as you lifted a leg onto the ledge of the sink, baring everything to him. “Well,” you smirked, “You wanted to put that smart mouth on me.”

“You are going to kill me,” he muttered. His hot mouth closed over your clit. Parting your lips, he caressed you as he sucked and licked. His fingers thrust into you once more, pulling out slowly then pummeling back in.

“Harder,” you moaned. He fucked you faster, adding another finger, stretching you.

He pulled his mouth away from you, his lips swollen and pink. “How the fuck can you taste this good?” He panted as he carried on fucking you with his fingers, grabbing at your ass with his free hand.

His mouth returned to your pussy, circling your clit with his tongue and moaning against it. His fingers continued to push into you relentlessly.

You felt your toes curl as your orgasm approached at a maddening rate. “J-Joon,” you cried his name, your back arching as the pleasure built up with each stroke of his tongue and movement of his fingers.

Without warning, he sucked on your clit harshly, and you came, clenching around his fingers. Namjoon continued to pump them in and out of you, carrying you through your orgasm. He licked your pussy, lapping up everything you gave him with his tongue. After a bit, your fingers wound into his hair and pulled. “Stop,” you begged, legs shaking with overstimulation.

He pulled back immediately and lifted his head, looking thoroughly fucked-out. His lips were more swollen than ever. His hair was a tangled mess. You had never seen anything better. “God, you look so sexy right now,” you mused, reaching a hand to stroke at his cheek.

“Are you guys finally done in there?” You cringed as Jordan’s amused voice shouted at you through the bathroom door, “You have work tomorrow, (y/n).”

“Jesus H. Christ, Jordan! Go away!” You screamed back at your infuriating roommate.

“…I’m going to take that as a ‘yes’,” he replied, laughing, “See you out there, champ.”

“I’m going to murder him,” you seethed, accepting your jeans from Namjoon who held them silently out to you.

You scanned the floor of the bathroom, “Wait, where’s my underwear?”

Namjoon’s cheeks flooded with color as he lifted a hand to rub at the back of his neck, “I needed some form of reminder of tonight.”

You shrugged, giggling as you tugged on your jeans, “Let’s make a trade.”

“I’m listening,” he grinned, goddamned dimples popping out and making you want to kiss him forever.

“You keep my panties; I keep you,” you grinned back at him.

He blinked rapidly, “Keep me?” You nodded, nerves erupting. Had you misread the situation? Did he just want this to be a one-time thing? Shit, had you royally fucked this up already?

He kissed you suddenly, and you relaxed.

“Please keep me,” he mumbled, “I’m a mess, but I can be your mess if you’d let me.”

“We can be messy together,” you gripped his hand in yours, “Now, come on. We have to go face our friends.”

Namjoon gulped, looking rightfully terrified at that prospect. “Or we could sneak out the back?”

A smirk wound its way onto your face, “I really do like the way you think, Joonie. Let’s go.”

With that, the two of you snuck out of the bathroom and out the backdoor of the bar.

“I knew it!” Marlene and Jimin greeted the two of you with triumphant fists thrust high in the air. Jimin whipped his phone out before you or Namjoon could even say a word. “Hey, hyung? Yeah. They’re out here.”

Ignoring the gloating pair, you turned to Namjoon, “We could still make a run for it?”

He met your eyes; and, without a word, you both took off.

Shouts of your names followed you down the dark alley as you both cracked up. This was definitely not how you had pictured your typical Thursday trivia night to go down, but you were not disappointed. No, you shot the boy running beside you an affectionate look, you weren’t disappointed at all.

© luxekook. please do not repost, modify, edit or translate.

[ineloqueent]

Hello! I would like to ask for fluff with Joe since you haven’t written for him yet. How about Joe dating/flirting with someone way more quiet and shy than him? A shy! Reader

here’s some fluffy joe for you! i’ve made y/n into a bit of a bookworm, because i’m a bit of one myself, oops. hope you enjoy :)

⭒

Joe had been the first person in your life to understand that being shy wasn’t mutually exclusive with not wanting to be spoken to, that you were human, and craved connection as much as anybody else.

You’d first encountered him at the local hybrid cafe-bookshop, Paracosm. Perhaps that was why you’d been a little more at ease than usual, that day; you knew the place. Paracosm was your favourite haunt, filled with the familiar comforts of tea and yellowed pages, the glittering light bulbs that hung from the ceiling like little planets and kept the atmosphere of the cafe cosy, even on the coldest of days.

Or perhaps it’d been the look of kindliness about him, the slight ginger tint to his hair, the snow dusting his eyelashes, the way he’d shivered and shared a laugh at his own expense with the barista. It was a beautiful quality, to be able to laugh at oneself.

Or maybe it was none of those things at all, and instead simply that he’d smiled at you when he had accidentally made eye contact with you, instead of hurriedly looking away, as most people— including you— did.

“I should’ve worn a warmer jacket, I think,” he said conversationally, and with a start, you realised he’d been talking to you.

Your first thought was why? Why was he speaking to you?

You were sitting by the door, yes, in the spot where you normally did, because the way the bookshelves were positioned by the table ensured that no draft would sweep over you, but just because you were closest to him… Was that why he had directed his remark to you, in polite resolve of the mistake he’d make in looking at you earlier? Or was he speaking to you because he wanted to speak to you?

No, of course not.

But he was still smiling at you, almost expectantly, as though he thought you would reply.

“Wrong day to wear a thin jacket,” you said, and your tonelessness could have been mistaken for hostility. You cursed yourself inwardly; it wasn’t hostility, it was nerves. Admittedly, the man was attractive, and as you already struggled with small talk in the company of people you knew, talking to this auburn-haired stranger turned your words more nonsensical than normal.

But he laughed again, lightly, easily. He had an easiness about him, a simplicity that boasted earnesty and depth, both wit and charm. “You’re right,” he said, simply. “But you look like the clever sort.”

You blinked at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?” you said.

The memory of a smile remained on his face as he told the barista, “A latte for me,” glanced in your direction, then added, “and another hot chocolate for the lady, please.”

Your expression turned further puzzled, and the man said to you, “Mind if I sit down?”

He’d said it so kindly, as though he genuinely cared that you would not be bothered by him taking the seat across from you.

“No,” you managed, “sit down.”

He pulled out the chair and sat down, made as though to take off his coat, then changed his mind, instead wrapping it more tightly around himself.

“You’re reading Shakespeare,” he said.

“Sorry?”

“You’re reading Shakespeare,” he repeated, and you glanced down at your book.

You were reading Shakespeare, but as to why that was relevant, you couldn’t guess.

“And?”

He shrugged. “Call me simple-minded, but if you’re reading Shakespeare for fun, you have to be some kind of smart. You can’t read between the lines if you’re not smart, and most of Shakespeare is between the lines, not in them.”

Pulling your book closer to you, you challenged shyly, “How do you know I’m reading for fun?”

You noticed, as you leveled your gaze on him, that his eyes were a lovely brown, the kind of colour one might wish to sink into, merely to fathom a whisper of the warmth that lay within them. “You were smiling at the book when I came in.”

He’d noticed you even before you’d seen him.

How often did that happen?

The answer was never. You were one to shrink into the corner, preferring to deflect most attention, and careful observation was your greatest asset in this world of loud-talkers and scatter-brained thinkers. You imagined that nothing about you drew the eye.

But you’d drawn his.

A flush touched your cheeks. “That’s embarrassing,” you muttered. You were only half-joking.

That smile was back on his face again.

“I’m Joe,” he said, reaching out to shake your hand.

“Y/N,” you responded quietly, taking his hand. His skin was soft.

“Joe! Latte and a hot chocolate.”

Joe raised his eyebrows at you, then went to retrieve the drinks. Returning, he set down the hot chocolate in front of you.

“You really didn’t have to do that,” you said, avoiding his eyes.

“Oh, but I wanted to,” he winked. “Gotta make a good first impression.”

Your book was a refuge as you glanced down again, the reliable pattern of black lettering stamped into creamy paper offering you familiarity in this unfamiliar situation. You weren’t used to this… interest.

“And anyway,” he resumed, “what I meant to say was, that’s not embarrassing,” he jammed a finger in the direction of your book, “but the fact that I know how to recite the entirety of Macbeth backwards is.”

“Backwards?” you couldn’t help but laugh. “Why do you know how to recite the entirety of Macbeth backwards?”

Joe winced. “See, that’s the embarrassing bit.”

You raised your eyebrows, and with a heavy sigh, he continued.

“It was a bet. I was being stupid and thought it would be a good idea to bet my friend a hundred dollars that I could memorise any play within a week.”

“Okay, that does sound a bit embarrassing,” you conceded. “But still, why backwards?”

“I’m getting there, I’m getting there,” he said, blowing over the surface of his latte, gingerly taking a sip. He recoiled when it was still too hot, wrinkling his nose in an adorably childish manner. “Backwards, because my friend decided to teach me a lesson for being an idiot, and one-upped me that I should learn it backwards. Before I knew it, there was an entire bar-full of strangers chanting for me to do it, on pain of death if I refused.”

You laughed, finally slipping your fingers from your book, closing it gently with the bookmark inside, your attention captured by how this man told stories in such a lively way, the lilt of his voice akin to how one would narrate a fairytale.

“Go on, then,” you said, trying your hot chocolate. It was perfect, as ever. Perhaps a little more so because it hadn’t come out of your weekly budget. And because it had been paid for by a handsome stranger, one who actually wanted to talk to you. “I want to hear some backwards Macbeth.”

Joe’s eyes twinkled. “You don’t believe me, do you?”

“I do,” you answered. But you didn’t, really. And he knew it.

He narrowed his eyes.

When you didn’t flinch beneath his gaze, he began, “Despair thy charm, and let the angel whom thou still hast served. Tell thee, Macduff was from his mother’s womb untimely ripped.” Here, he changed his voice to represent the change in speaker, and you smothered a laugh in your hands at how dramatic his facial expression had become. “Thou losest labor as easy mayst thou the intrenchant air with thy keen sword impress as make me bleed. Let fall thy blade on vulnerable crests; I bear a charmèd life, which must not yield to one of woman born.”

A few more lines, and he had you utterly in stitches; you did not bother to quiet your laughter. Of course, the lines now sounded completely meaningless, but Joe’s sense of humour was as ridiculous as your own, and in deriving pleasure from the ludicrousness of a Shakespeare work read backwards, Joe was more likable to you than ever.

“I believe you, I believe you!” you cried, and his composure crumpled, a grin spreading across his face.

“Thank god,” he said eventually, when the two of you could contain yourselves. “I thought I’d have to recite all of it before you gave in.”

You shook your head, still smiling.

“I would’ve done it, though,” he said, and you felt your chest tighten at the look of earnesty in his eyes.

“You should be an actor,” you told him, and he chuckled, the warmth of the sound warming you.

“I’m glad you think so. I am an actor.”

“Oh!”

“But I’m not pretending I want to be here with you,” he said.

Something like butterflies had fluttered beneath your skin.

He’d returned to Paracosm every day after that, and though he seemed happily surprised each time he encountered you, you weren’t so foolish as to believe that your meetings were actually a coincidence.

As the days went by, you grew more comfortable in Joe’s presence, until you were relaxed enough to begin an argument with him about which of the Brontë sisters was more forward-thinking in terms of women’s rights. Unlike most of the men you’d come across in your lifetime, Joe was perfectly comfortable debating such topics, even going so far as to slag off the more conservative male classical writers of the same time period. The two of you had then pored over the difference between Oscar Wilde’s poetry and his literature, examined the metaphors of Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein, trawled through the conspiracy theory regarding Shakespeare and whether or not he had really authored all of his own works. The latter conversation had become so heated that other cafe patrons had begun taking their own personal sides on the matter, loudly voicing their opinions until even Paracosm’s baristas had a thing or two to add to the discussion.

“How are you so well-read, anyway?” you’d asked Joe.

“My mom forced me through all of the classics before I was ten,” he’d said with a shrug. In his nonchalance, he became all the more alluring, the humbleness a complement to his personality.

Not many days into the routine of running into you at Paracosm, Joe had asked you to go out with him, properly.

You’d nodded, “Okay.”

“Okay?” he’d laughed, nervously. “You don’t have to go out with me if you don’t want to.”

“No,” you’d shaken your head, adamant that you get your point across. “I want to go out with you, Joe.”

His face had broken into a smile. “Okay,” he’d said, making you laugh, and his smile had broadened until it reached his lovely eyes.

The first time he’d kissed you had been on that first date.

He’d taken you to see a musical, one you’d struggled to pay attention to because Joe kept looking over at you to gauge your reaction to certain parts of the show, laughing with you, smiling when you smiled.

After the show, the two of you had wandered down the boulevard, and as it had been cold, you’d used this as your excuse to hover close enough by Joe’s side that your sleeves occasionally brushed as you walked with your arms by your sides.

You’d been content to walk like that, floundering for breath when his eyes caught on yours, your heart stumbling along its usually steady course. But then, in place of sleeves, his fingers had brushed your fingers, and suddenly you wanted more, to be closer to him in this blistering cold where his touch would surely warm you.

And he slipped his hand into yours.

You could hardly breathe.

“Look,” he said quietly, pointing up at the sky.

Confused, you frowned, but it wasn’t long before you realised his meaning: snow drifted down from above, snowflakes spinning through the air like dancers. It was beautiful, light snow, not the heavy kind, the kind there’d been on the day when Joe had first stumbled into Paracosm, the kind that would warrant a panic about losing one’s way home.

The snow was beautiful, but you couldn’t take your eyes off of Joe.

He stared up at the heavens, his eyes wide with childlike wonder, and for a moment, you lost yourself in watching him, drenched in your own memories of a simpler time.

Snow glittered in his hair, on the shoulders of his coat, on his eyelashes and on his collar. The word ‘angelic’ came to mind.

“I like snow,” he murmured.

You laughed softly. “I can see that.”

He lowered his eyes until they met yours.

You remembered that he was holding your hand.

“And I like you,” he said, a smile finding its way to his lips. His eyes were homely and familiar in his face, the face you’d looked into for so many days now, gazing at him and wondering at how it was really nothing more than a coincidence that the two of you had met. What a wonderful coincidence.

“I like you too, Joe,” you whispered, your hold tightening on his hand.

He lifted his other hand to your cheek, not quite touching you, but close enough to make your breath hitch.

His own gentle exhale tickled your skin.

Tentatively, he asked, “Is it okay if I kiss you?”

“More than okay,” you murmured, already gravitating toward him.

“Okay, because I wasn’t sure, and I wanted to be sure, and I—”

You cut him off, pressing your lips to his as he hummed a soft oh against your mouth and finally, finally pulled you into his arms.

You felt him wrap his coat around you, and you leaned further into him, relishing his warmth in the coldness of the night.

When he pulled back, he combed snow from your hair with the lightest of touches, laughter in his eyes.

“You know,” he said, “you must be more well-read than I am.”

You blinked at him. “What makes you say that?”

“Well, because that was classic, cutting me off.”

You rolled your eyes at the ridiculousness of his joke.

The snow fell more thickly now, but neither of you moved. You simply stood, you with your head nestled against Joe’s chest, Joe with his coat and his arms wrapped around you. His breath ruffled your hair.

“My well-read girl,” he whispered.

⭒

[aellynera]

Frayed Wires (Nathan Bateman x Reader)

FRAYED WIRES (Nathan Bateman x Reader)

(so i decided i may turn the drunk texts thing into a series? i decided at least to do one with Nathan because...well...it’s Nathan. the poem he quotes is Ozymandias by Percy Bysshe Shelley, who was incidentally married to Mary Shelley, the author of Frankenstein (or: The Modern Prometheus) which is also kind of appropriate for Nathan and anyway i sat down today and this happened.)

Word Count: 2122(ish)

Summary: All you want to do is sleep. All Nathan wants to do is talk.

Warnings: Language, naturally.

(Nathan’s texts are in bold. Your texts are in bold and italic.)

Buzz. Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.

You reached blindly for your phone as it rattled on the bedside table. You had no idea what time it was but you did know it was the middle of the night, your phone should not be going off, and you had gotten entirely too little sleep. Like, maybe two hours worth. You were so tired and groggy that you made the mistake of checking your messages before you actually even thought about what you were doing.

Do you ever think about the meaning of life?

I mean like really think about it.

Why we’re here, why the sky is green and the grass is blue?

No wait that’s not right.

You sighed and buried your face in the pillow. It was 3:27 in the morning and Nathan was texting you. Which was just odd anyway, since he knew where your room was and it was much more his style to just walk in and start a random conversation with you in person. 

He was probably drunk.

And now he could see that you had read the messages, so you were going to have to reply, or he really would show up at your door. Technically it was his door, it was his house, you just worked for him and stayed there, but the point was you were not in the mood to deal with him at all right now, and most decidedly not in the flesh.

You rolled your eyes before sending him a reply. You really should just ignore it, but...you were annoyed. Nathan was annoying. And it was now 3:30 in the morning and you were going to push a few buttons. Figuratively AND literally! your sleep-deprived brain cheered.

And things like why is water wet and air is invisible?

YES exactly see that’s why I want you.

I’m sorry?

Your brain. I want to pick you up. Your brain I mean. Pick your brain.

You just want me for my brain, huh?

You have a very nice brain.

Yep, Nathan was definitely drunk.

Not that him being drunk was anything out of the ordinary. But a few hours ago, when you were both in the lab testing some of his most recent ideas about the AI code, he had seemed...normal? Well, normal for Nathan anyway. He wasn’t irritated, he wasn’t condescending, he was actually (you honestly could not believe you were even thinking this) pleasant to be around.

You had been working for Nathan as his personal assistant for a few months. It was a promotion for sure over being a code slinger in a cubicle, but sometimes you honestly wondered what made you say yes to this bizarre existence. It was a beautiful house, beautiful scenery, interesting and highly intellectual conversations...when Nathan was sober.

There was also something you could never quite put your finger on. Something that was shifting as the weeks went on and you spent more time working alongside Nathan in the lab. As you spent evenings eating sushi and steaks and whatever else you were in the mood for that night (most nights, he actually let you choose the menu, you realized.) As you took afternoon walks around the estate, just taking in the scenery. As you debated various philosophies and ideas and theories and tried your damndest to prove Nathan wasn’t always right about everything. He almost seemed like he appreciated it all, but he would never say anything.

And you weren’t about to open that can of worms. Especially when he wasn’t sober.

How drunk are you right now?

On a scale of shitfaced to really fucking blitzed I would say I’m feeling no pain.

Jesus Christ. Well that was obvious. It was obvious just from the fact that he was texting you. Nathan was so uptight about security and data leaks and wiretapping and signals being hijacked (he’d admitted to doing it himself, so he did have a point) but had decided, after much insistence from you, that rigging the cell phones to only work inside the compound was an acceptable idea. It was so vast, you’d said, and what if something happened and one of you was all the way across the house or down in the lab, how were you supposed to let the other person know? It made sense at the time.

Now you were vaguely regretting it.

You could count on one hand the number of times you’d actually considered your boss to be pleasant to be around, and you still had your thumb left over just in case you needed to add to that tally.

At least personality wise. He was definitely pleasant to look at. Very pleasant.

You coughed and cleared your throat. That was not a line of thought to travel right now. The proper course of action was to get him to stop texting you.

A few minutes passed in glorious silence. Maybe a new, shiny thought had occurred to him and he was madly writing it down on a Post-It note. Maybe he just got bored and went to get a new drink. Maybe he’d finally just passed out and---

What are you thinking about?

Dammit. How to make you shut up, your brain snapped back. How to get you to let me sleep. How good your arms and shoulders look in that tank top after you’ve been hitting that punching back and you’re flushed and sweaty and…. Oh no. No no no. Stop it right now, brain.

Nathan hated to beat around the bush. Straightforward was the best policy with him, right?

How to get you to shut up and let me sleep.

Wonderful, glorious silence for exactly forty-six seconds.

Bro...that’s...so not cool.

Okay, this was getting ridiculous. Why were you participating in this? Why was he? You narrowed your eyes and looked toward a corner of your room. You hoped he could see you glaring into the camera that you knew was there and that he was watching while he was texting you. If not, you were sure he would watch it in the actual morning and you hoped the look was withering enough to make him think twice. Probably not. Because this was Nathan Bateman.

Your incredibly narcissistic, incredibly intelligent, incredibly attractive...stop it brain.

But he was pushing your buttons right back. Neither of you could ever really back away from an exchange like this..

I’m not your “bro”, Nathan. Please knock this shit off.

Dude, it’s a figure of speech.

I’m not your dude, either. Please just stop talking.

What’s wrong with dude. Dude is a gender neutral term, anyone can be a dude. Guys are dudes, chicks are dudes, dudes are dudes

Yeah, well, you’re kind of being an asshole, dude.

Dude. Chill.

Turning my phone off now.

No, wait, don’t. I’m sorry. I’ll stop.

Now that was...unexpected. Nathan Bateman just apologized to you? For being a drunk asshole in the middle of the night? Your eyes narrowed again. Suspicious.

You’ll stop texting me so I can go back to sleep?

No not that. I’ll stop calling you dude.

Oh for the love of...you closed your eyes and briefly considered the merits of hurling your phone at the surveillance camera.

Nathan, seriously, can we please just leave this until the morning?

A whole minute of wonderful, glorious, blessed silence this time. You couldn’t believe he might be considering this.

You were right.

Tell that its sculptor well those passions read

Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,

The hand that mocked them and the heart that fed

Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!

Nothing beside remains Round the decay

Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare

The lone and level sands stretch far away

If a brain cramp was an actual thing, yours would most certainly be doing it now. You could barely even process it. He was drunk as hell and he was quoting poetry to you? You supposed you probably shouldn’t be entirely surprised, he’d quoted Oppenheimer once in a worse stupor (which you could only quantify because he had actually passed out that time.)

Are you fucking serious right now.

What.

Are you fucking quoting Ozymandias to me right now?

I am.

You couldn’t get the color of the sky right earlier, and now you’re just flawlessly quoting philosophical Romantic poetry at me?

I am.

You are not a normal person, Nathan Bateman.

What is normal anyway, besides really fucking boring? Who wants to be normal?

I would like to be somewhat normal, at least between the hours of midnight and 8am.

See, I knew there was a reason I liked you.

That was the second time he said that, you noted. You found it hard to believe. Nathan liked his work, his routine, his own brain. He liked talking about his work and how smart he was. Other than telling you that you were doing a great job, he barely handed out a single compliment, and if he somehow accidentally did, it was so backhanded you weren’t sure you could actually define it as one.

You mean you like my brain.

Well, yeah, your brain is fucking amazing. It has to be if you work with me.

I work for you, Nathan, not with you. But thanks?

No, no, see, that’s where you’re wrong. You work with me. We’re like partners. None of that employer employee bullshit.

Oooookay now I am one thousand percent sure you are completely piss drunk.

I am but that doesn’t make it any less true.

You could almost hear him saying those words in your head. You could see the way his eyebrows went up, the intensity in his eyes, the way he held his finger up to make the point.

The thought made your brain go slightly fuzzy, and not from exhaustion. Because now you were wide awake. Damn him.

Okay, Nathan, I’ll bite. What do I have to do to get you to stop doing this right now?

There was a pause before he answered, and you swore you’d heard a phone alert that wasn’t your own. It sounded like it was coming from...oh no, he wasn’t…

Getting tired of typing. Can I come talk to you for a while?

Are you outside my door right now?!

You heard the phone chime very clearly this time. He was, definitely.

I am.

You sighed, deeply. So deeply.

Is that really a good idea?

I think it’s a great idea.

Nathan, being serious here.

You could have sworn you heard him sigh from the other side of the door. He could have just come inside. It was his house, his keycard worked on all the doors.

But the door didn’t open.

So am I. Please can I come in? My mind just won’t shut off and I really am fucking drunk but talking to you is helping but tired of typing shit out, I’d rather say it to you.

I wanna see you. And tell you how sexy your brain is.

And that I like you for more than your brain.

And you knew in that instant there really was only one way to get him to shut up. And it was to just let him talk. It made sense, in an oddly Nathan kind of way. What’s the worst that could happen, really? He’d come in, you’d talk, he’d eventually pass out, maybe you could get a couple more hours of sleep, and then in the morning you’d either talk about it on a very deep cerebral level or you’d just pretend it had never happened at all. 

A press to the door release button on the side of the table and the latch let go. The door opened, revealing Nathan standing on the other side. Still wearing what he’d been wearing in the lab earlier that night, black lounge pants and that tight white henley he seemed to love so much. The corner of his mouth turned up in the most miniscule of smiles, but it was there.

You were about to toss your phone back onto the bedside table, when the text alert went off again. You shot an exasperated look in his direction, but gamely checked the message.

Did you mean what you said before? About biting?

You glanced up at Nathan and saw that the sliver of a smile had taken over most of his face and his eyebrows had raised to emphasize his question.

You didn’t say anything. You didn’t text him back. You just nodded your head to the empty spot next to you in your bed.

You had a feeling you weren’t going to get any sleep tonight after all.

~end~

taglist: @anetteaneta​ @rosemarysbaby13​ @darksideofclarke​ @girlwiththemostcake​ 

(taglist is open, let me know if you’d like to be tagged for future fics)

[haddonfieldproject]

<<PREVIOUS⏺<<CONTENTS>>

1.3.3 November 1st, ‪8:17 AM‬

Haddonfield, Illinois

“Mr. Mayor?”

Bob Dodge stirred.

“Mr. Mayor?”

Bob rolled over and wiped the drool from his chin. As he went to put his hand down, it landed on a mesh of soft frizzy hair. He peeked open an eye and saw his reflection.

Mirror on the ceiling.

He hadn't noticed it last night.

Of course there was a mirror on the ceiling in Lou Martini's spare bedroom.

He saw himself, shirtless, on top of the covers, in a pair of silk black boxer shorts. Asia lay on her belly on one side of him. She lay under the giant black ostrich feather comforter, atop the satin purple sheets. Her mocha colored naked back gleamed in the sunlight peaking through the zebra striped curtains. Dodge didn't remember the mirrors on the ceiling, but he remembered she was naked under that blanket.

On the other side of him was another woman. She was a pale white, with a butterfly tattoo on her naked shoulder. She also lay on her belly. Her hair was long and black, the covers down near her waist. She was naked as well. Bob Dodge didn't recognize her at all.

Who is that? Amy? Lacy?

“Mr. Mayor?!”

Bob grunted and touched his chin to his chest, looking toward the foot of the bed. His brain started to swim into consciousness.

Somebody is calling me.

A figure stood in the doorway. He was tall, skinny, wearing a bowling style shirt and cargo jeans. He wore a porn-stache, rose tinted glasses, and a gawdy gold necklace with a pendant with some sort of Egyptian heiroglyph on it.

That's Lou's right hand man? What's his name? Henry? Huey?

“Mr. Mayor, are you awake?”

Bob sat up on his elbow and looked over Asia at the bedside table. There, beside the silver tray bearing the remnants of Dodge's cocaine, as well as the straw and razor blade that went with it, and the half-empty pack of Asia's Camel cigarettes, was a pink and white alarm clock. It read ‪8:37‬. He had been asleep for around four hours.

“What?” Bob croaked.

Asia stirred. The brunette snored.

I think it's Lacy, Bob thought.

“Someone's here to see you.” The man in the doorway said.

Howard. The fog was lifting. Howard Boggs.

“Tell em to go the fuck away!” Bob waved his hand.

The brunette stirred this time.

Pretty sure it's Lacy.

“I think you need to come downstairs,” Howard said.

Bob didn't like his tone.

🔪

Three minutes later, Bob descended the mahogany staircase, wrapped in a fuzzy black robe. Lou Martini stood behind a marble-topped bar, cooking scrambled eggs on a giant stainless steel stove. The smell made Bob's stomach flop.

Howard stood on one side of the bar, looking at Dodge with an expression-less stare, a cigarette between two ringed fingers on his right hand. He was bent over the bar with his hands on the top of the counter, as one pulled over by the police would have their hands on the hood of a police car.

Standing beside Howard and blocking Dodge's view of Lou in the kitchen was a gentleman Bob knew well and never had any desire to see. He was a tall, thin, old man, with hair as white as cotton, and a small thin mustache around his wrinkled mouth. His eyes were icy blue, his head covered in liver spots, his gait that of a skeleton who had forgotten to shed it's skin long ago. He wore a ridiculous white shirt with a blue pattern on the breast, jeans too tight for even Lacy or whatever the hell her name was to wear, cowboy boots and a cowboy hat and one of those belt buckles bigger than his head. It almost made Bob Dodge laugh to see him. He'd known this man his whole life, and he knew this old geezer had never been to the Wild West. He'd never ever left Warren County Illinois.

“Well well well,” the old man said behind his icy glare. “Sleeping beauty awakes.”

Lou looked up from his eggs as Bob padded across the bear skinned rug toward the kitchen area. The living room was decorated in green wallpaper, and adorned with a great many wild animal heads. The killer of most of these animals, Lou Martini, was wearing a plush purple robe, his hair was that ridiculous shiny black and his skin still bore a faint green palor left over from the previous night's make-up where he had been Frankenstein’s Monster.

Bob yawned before asking the older man in the cowboy hat, “What are you doing here Ron?”

The older man scoffed. “I wonder whatever happened to that fat little kid still in grade school who used to serve me curly fries at the Drive-In and say, 'Good evening Sherriff Barstow' or pass me in the Rite Aid and say, 'Good morning Mr. Mayor.' What happened to that kid Robert? Huh.”

Lou looked up with another smirk as he pushed the scrambled eggs off the pan and onto a plate with a spatula.

Bob burped, “That kid grew up Sherriff” He said with a smile.

“Yeah...grew up to be an asshole,” Ron Barstow spat.

“Still sore from losing that election a few years ago?” Bob said as he reached the bar. He sat atop a barstool and put his elbows on the counter.

“Please,” Barstow laughed with no amusement.

Lou put the plate of eggs in front of Bob.

“Oh I don't want that,” Bob said, making a face at the plate.

Lou was about to say something but Ron Barstow cut him off. “Oh you're gonna want to eat today Mr. Mayor, you're gonna be in for a long day.”

Bob cocked his head in confusion.

“You want coffee?” Lou asked. “I have juice too.”

“Coffee...please.” Bob replied.

“Cream and sugar?” Lou asked.

“Oh I think he needs it black from the smell of him. Black and strong.” Ron looked Bob Dodge up and down with disgust.

“What the hell are you doing here? Just what do you want?” Bob asked.

“What am I doing here?” Ron scoffed again, “I should ask you the same thing. Why aren't you at home with Leigh Ann, Christ knows she deserves better than you. And what about Leighton Bob? How do you think your little girl feels about her father, the mayor of the town, sneaking in the early morning. She's getting older now, you think she doesn't know what you're up to?”

Lou put the coffee down in front of Bob. Bob grabbed his wrist. “What the fuck Lou? You let this asshole in to ream me this morning? What gives?”

Again, Lou was about to say something and Ron cut him off.

“Do you have any idea what is going on in this little town of yours this morning?” Ron asked.

Bob let go of Lou's hand, “What are you talking about?” He turned to Lou, “What is he talking about?!” He barked.

“I don't know,” Lou said, he turned to Ron, “What the hell are you talking about Sherriff?”

“Turn on the god damned news!” Ron barked.

NEXT>>