#its been a family tradition for years that we always watch die hard together on christmas eve

[dangergays]

apparently it doesnt feel like christmas to me unless i watch die hard

[sunnonymous]

My lips taste of salt.

(Date: January 1st 2024)

We didn’t do Christmas this year. Last year I should say, as of today. We’re going through the motions of New Years, but even Mum says she’s ‘just not feeling it this year’.

It seems to me no one enjoys anything much anymore.

We stayed up till 12:07 to ring in the new year, wowed at fireworks, counted down loudly, set off party poppers.

I span with sparklers on the lawn, and my brother waved one around at my behest. Only because I’d asked him to, only because… something about the importance of ‘tradition’. Even I’m not really sure why I insisted.

When Mum offered me a second set of sparklers after the first burned down to nothing, I almost said ‘nah, would just be a waste.’ But that thought made me uneasy.

So I took them, I lit them, and I waved them around in the dark, watching them fizzle out. Mostly I just waited for them to die.

We went to the beach today. Everyone else set out early but we preferred a lie in. It was afternoon by the time we drove out and it was right as the rest of the families were fixing to leave.

Mum and I hopped right out of the car and walked off towards the water, not wasting any time. I’d made myself come, because I always did, and the trip wouldn’t be complete without going for a dip.

The walk felt endless, sand stretching on so far the sea felt a world away. The tide had already turned. We’d been warned the water was cold and I’d thought, good. Maybe it’ll shock my senses. I hope it’s biting. I hope it’ll be so cold it hurts.

It wasn’t. I splashed my feet in the shallows the way I always did as we walked on and on and on in silence, before finally making it to the shoreline. We barely slowed our strides as we entered the water.

The cutting gemlike crests of low waves winked sunlight up at us, making it hard to see exactly where to put our feet. The sand continued to rise and fall like distant rolling planes, slowly, gradually lowering us further down into the waves.

We reached a valley that seemed to have no end, and decided to stop there, in case the ground beneath our feet never rose again.

Neither of us really wanted to dip the whole way in, but what would be the point of coming all this way if we didn’t? So we agreed we’d sink down to our necks on three. We counted down together, then sunk like stones.

Both of us gasped and cried out, I got a splash of seawater in my mouth and spat it out, tasting salt. It was truly freezing, for a minute, then it was fine.

I felt distinctly like I was supposed to be feeling something.

My eyes roamed over the flat horizon, across to the land masses either side of the beach, back to the dry dusty bank where the cars had become so small they looked like my brother’s toys.

It was clear the little doll people in the distance were going through the motions of rounding up the kids to leave. I closed my eyes and tried to feel something, before it was too late. I wasn’t sure what.

I thought about how I feel this way a lot these days.

I was buffered around casually by the waves, the outward tide tugging me off to sea, but it wasn’t that hard to resist.

I let my hands dance under the water, trying to admire the sight, the wavy reflections, the warped light across my skin. Currents pushed against me, till I got tired and stopped.

One of the cars on the beach drove off. People were starting to go home. It had been minutes at most, but Mum and I decided we should start to head back.

Facing toward land, the wind whipping out to sea was deafening. It whistled and squealed and pulled the water to flow out in its wake. Waves started splashing up in our faces, so for a time we turned around and pushed our way backwards towards the shore.

We tried to stay in up to our necks for as long as possible, now the cold was bearable. Every time a sandbank rose us up out of a watery valley became an obstacle. We had to keep turning around to make sure we were still headed on course, and eventually braving the wind became the easier option.

I overtook Mum, squatting as low as I could in a precarious balancing act between moving smoothly forward and keeping choppy waves from splashing up over me. My lips tasted of salt.

Another looming sandbank near the shallows brought me to my knees. Submerged to my chin, I spread my arms open in benediction, the tide tugged at my hands like it was trying to take hold. Dragging me back, back, back away from the world.

I stumbled forward on my knees still, wind screaming in my ears. It was so loud I could hardly make out my mother’s voice.

When the shallows rose even more, I began to crawl on my arms, spitting out the seawater that coated my chin.

I tried to stay in till the end, until my belly scraped the bottom and I was beached. Stuck there between land and sea, I rolled over and waited for my mum to catch up. Once she did, we joked about something or other, and regretfully rose to our feet, leaving the lapping depths behind.

On we walked, I pulled ahead, and as the peak of this sandbank miraculously tapered off into a deeper section I came across a spontaneously warmer patch of water.

I sat immediately, stopping right there and sinking like a stone into the turquoise waves.

I gave myself no count down this time.

There was no way of telling when the last valley would come. When I would have my last chance to sit in the chill and have the ocean wash me clean.

Mum caught up. I stood, and no chance to sit ever came again.

Dad drove the car out to meet us, to save us the walk back. I was disappointed. I’d thought maybe I would dip my feet in the shallows on the endless walk back. Maybe I’d even like it. Now I would never know.

Mum and I agree we’re glad we came, and glad we’d done it. I didn’t want to think about how this was just because the alternative was not having done it, rather than because of the experience itself.

It was ‘brisk but refreshing,’ we told anyone who asked. Which was true, I suppose, even though it didn’t altogether feel like it meant much. Things rarely do.

My brother and I head back home tomorrow, a day before everyone else leaves. We arrived a day late, too, just like we did with the beach. This whole trip has been a default dip in the water.

I’m glad I did it, but only because the alternative was not having done it.

Ready to leave just as soon as you acclimate to the frigid waters, even if it was never truly comfortable; you’d just gotten used to the discomfort.

It’s tradition, so it doesn’t have to make sense, just focus on the taste of salt on your tongue.

It’s meant to feel a certain way, but for some reason it just doesn’t anymore.

I feel like I’m dropping like a stone into this new year, with the same reluctant, apprehensive countdown. I know it’s going to be cold. I know I’m going to get used to it. I know I’m going to be meant to feel something.

[your-dietician]

Jaime Jarrín, the legendary Latino voice of the Dodgers, retires

New Post has been published on https://medianwire.com/jaime-jarrin-the-legendary-latino-voice-of-the-dodgers-retires/

Jaime Jarrín, the legendary Latino voice of the Dodgers, retires

LOS ANGELES — As the only girl and the youngest among her siblings, Alicia Ayala, 53, grew up in the predominantly Latino neighborhood of Boyle Heights, sharing a special connection with her dad, Raul, a die-hard Los Angeles Dodgers fan.

“We were Dodger blue since forever,” said Ayala, who would ride in the cargo bed of her dad’s white pickup truck to attend Dodgers games.

At the time, she and her family spoke exclusively in Spanish. The only way they could follow along with games was by tuning in to Jaime Jarrín’s play-by-play Spanish-language radio broadcast.

“If we were watching a baseball game, we were listening to Jaime Jarrín. It was just what we did,” Ayala said. “He was always on, always.”

Jarrín, now 86, is set to retire as the Dodgers’ Spanish-language broadcaster this year. His final broadcasts will take place as the Dodgers enter the postseason as one of the Major League Baseball World Series favorites with the league’s best overall record and the franchise’s best-ever season (111 wins and 51 losses).

Jarrín’s contract was the first Spanish-language broadcast contract in the MLB.

It marks the end of a career for Jarrín that spanned 64 seasons and one that saw major demographic and cultural shifts in Los Angeles and within the Dodgers fan base.

For Ayala, the end of his career also symbolizes a heartfelt final goodbye to her father, who died in December 2012. “In a lot of ways, hearing Jaime all this time kept me close to my dad,” she told NBC News in tears.

‘I am like Rocky Marciano’

Jarrín sat down at Dodger Stadium with NBC News correspondent and “Stay Tuned” co-host Gadi Schwartz to discuss his retirement, his impact on the city’s Latino community and his plans for the next phase of his life.

Jarrín was scheduled to retire on Jaime Jarrín Day, on Oct. 1, when the Dodgers played the Colorado Rockies at home. But his retirement was delayed until the end of the postseason, in anticipation of another successful playoff run as the team qualified as the top seed in its division.

“I am like Rocky Marciano; I’m in my corner waiting for the bell to sound for the last round,” Jarrín told Schwartz jokingly.

During the interview and the day of his final regular season broadcast, Jarrín traded his traditional blazer for a Panamanian hat made in Montecristi, Ecuador, and a white track zip-up jacket from the professional Ecuadorian soccer team L.D.U. Quito — a nod to his home country.

He was also wearing a 1988 Dodgers World Series championship ring gifted to him by his good friend Orel Hershiser, the former Dodgers pitcher and World Series winner.

Though the Dodgers don’t have any Ecuadorian players, Ecuadorian flags could be spotted across the stadium on Oct. 1. Fans brought them in honor of Jarrín. They know his voice and his famous phrase as he chronicled the games: “La pelota se va, se va, se va y despídala con un beso!” In English, it’s “The ball is going, going, going and say goodbye to it with a kiss!”

Building community

Jarrín is an institution and in many ways a pioneer. He’s known as the Spanish voice of the Dodgers, the Latino community’s Vin Scully.

Scully, the “voice of the Dodgers” who died in August, was the bridge for Jarrín inside the broadcast booth, as Jarrín became Scully’s bridge to reach a growing Latino fan base.

“He was a titan in my profession, but he was my close friend,” Jarrín said of Scully. “I was so blessed to be probably the person that spent more time with him, because every day here at the ballpark we used to have dinner together and on the road we were always together.”

Jarrín’s kinship extended beyond Scully to fellow broadcasters who joined him in the Spanish broadcast booth through the years. 

“I’ve spent nearly 30 years with him, ‘about half my career,’ Jaime likes to say to me,” said Pepe Yñiguez, a Spanish-language baseball broadcaster for the Dodgers who teamed up with Jarrín starting in 1999.

“We’ve shared many adventures,” Yñiguez said. “We’ve traveled on many long trips talking about how we got to this country and how we’ve navigated the experience.”

Reaching multigenerational and immigrant families

Jarrín was born in Cayambe, Ecuador, and worked as a reporter in Quito before moving to California in 1955 at age 20. He worked as a cafeteria busboy and studied English for a year before joining KWKW-AM (1330) — then the only full-time Spanish-language radio station in Los Angeles.

Within two years, he became director of the station’s news and sports department. When it was announced that the Dodgers would be moving west for the 1958 season, KWKW quickly cut a deal with the team to broadcast its games locally in Spanish, something no major league franchise had ever tried before.

Jarrín was given the role in the booth and had a short amount of time to familiarize himself with America’s pastime. He initially rebroadcast games in Spanish from Scully’s calls before the station sent him on the road.

“Many thousands of Latinos coming in from Mexico, from Central America, the Caribbean area, from South America, they didn’t care much about baseball,” Jarrín said. “Fernando Valenzuela and myself, I think we did our part to not only help the Dodgers in that regard but baseball in general.”

Jarrín estimated that Latinos now account for between 42% and 46% of all Dodgers fans. When he first started and the team occupied the L.A. Coliseum, that number was between 8% and 10%. Through the decades, the city’s population grew, and so did its Latinos, who now account for almost half of the city’s population, according to the latest census data.

One of the factors that brought Latinos to Dodger Stadium was the arrival of pitcher Fernando Valenzuela, a former Mexican professional baseball pitcher most remembered for his stint with the Dodgers, helping them win a World Series championship in 1981.

Jarrín stepped up to the plate and helped bridge the language barrier between Valenzuela and mainstream news media outlets. Jarrín served as Valenzuela’s interpreter, and “Fernandomania” encapsulated the city of L.A. and the country.

At his core, a traditional newsman

Even before he achieved fame as a baseball radio announcer, Jarrín’s work as a Spanish-language radio reporter earned him a place in informing his community of crucial local and national events.

“Radio was the only medium for the community to be in touch with the rest of the country. So I took advantage of that,” Jarrín said.

Jarrín recalled arriving in Washington, D.C., to cover the assassination and funeral of President John F. Kennedy. “I was 20 feet away from where the body was laying there, when Mrs. Kennedy came in with her son,” Jarrín said.

It was his first visit to the nation’s capital. He recalled arriving at a rainy and cold Washington, filled with military guards, after receiving support to access press credentials and a radio signal from California’s first Mexican American member of Congress, Rep. Edward R. Roybal.

“I went to the cathedral where the procession was coming in, described everything that was going on, and then Arlington cemetery, so I was there when the procession came in. It was a very tough assignment, but I think it is the best I have had,” Jarrín said. 

In addition to calling an estimated 10,000 to 12,000 Dodgers games, there are dozens of moments in Los Angeles history that Jarrín witnessed and reported on, including the Chicano Moratorium and the killing of journalist Ruben Salazar, presidential visits from Latin America, World Series games, and the 1984 Olympic Games.

This trust translated into some fascinating moments in his life, like being flown in a helicopter by the FBI from the KWKW parking lot to Los Angeles’ airport in 1972 after Ricardo Chavez Ortiz, a hijacker on a Frontier Airlines flight, demanded to speak with Jarrín from a place of trust and admiration.

His hard news coverage and his voice in the sports broadcast booth during some of the biggest moments in sports history — such as the final boxing match between Muhammad Ali and Joe Frazier III, billed as the “Thrilla in Manila” — cemented Jarrín’s place in many Latino homes.

Life post-broadcast

While Jarrín feels physically and mentally well enough to continue broadcasting for two to four more years, he said “it’s the right time for me to hang the gloves.”

After retirement, he will remain with the Dodgers as an ambassador supporting the team’s ties to the city’s Latino community. Jarrín will also help manage the Jaime & Blanca Jarrín Foundation, in hopes to allocate at least 30 to 50 scholarships worth $10,000 each every year to students.

When it comes to honors, Jarrín’s trophy cabinet contains plenty. They include a 1988 induction into the National Baseball Hall of Fame, the receipt of Ecuador’s highest nonmilitary honor, the first Latino to win California broadcasters’ Golden Mike Award, and others.

“I hope they remember me as a person who came from South America, who came from Ecuador at 19 years old without knowing much of the language, but who tried to prove himself and tried to do something for the community,” he said.

“Jaime Jarrín has been the first voice that I can remember as a kid,” said Jose Benito Garcia, 35, of Inglewood. He’s the “perfect person to personify what the immigrants and Latinos can bring to this country.”

Follow NBC Latino on Facebook, Twitter and Instagram.

Read the full article here

[buckystarlight]

hi write more dad!bucky headcanons please and thank you

there u go

BELLA I LOVE THIS???? IM SORRY IT TOOK SO LONG MY LOVE I HOPE YOU LIKE IT <33

pairing: dad!bucky x reader

word count: 1.1k

summary: just a bunch of headcanons about bucky with his children

warnings: babies; mentions of pregnancy; i think that’s it? otherwise, its pure fluff

a/n: i've never written headcanons before dhajdjjss i'm sorry if this sucks. i’ve talked about some of these on here before, but i added them here anyway. 

Let's get this out of the way: Bucky is the best dad ever.

I mean, you thought you always knew he was going to be a great father. He's a literal angel, after all. But when you had your daughter, Marigold, you realized just how amazing he really was.

Bucky took care of everything. From waking his little girl up for school every morning, getting her ready and even making her breakfast. 

He would often let her hook her arms around his metal arm and lift her into the air, the sound of her laughter filling the home you had built with the love of your life.

Bucky used to be insecure about his arm, once. About the scars that littered his shoulder like constellations in the sky, the vibranium shot through with gold. And while you had managed to rid him of most of these inhibitions, he still wore his gloves when he dropped Mari off at school.

That was, until the day Mari dragged him to meet her friends

"Look, guys," she said, with the biggest grin on her face. "My dad has a robot arm. How cool is that?"

Bucky damn near teared up at the look of pride on her face. Because how could his baby girl ever be ashamed of him? Her father was a hero who had saved more lives with that arm than he had taken, even if he forgot that sometimes.

When Mari decided she wanted to be a nail tech, he bought her a full kit just so she could practice.

Of course, she chose her dad to be her model.

Bucky walked around for weeks with his nails painted painted pink, waiting until the nail polish was chipped so bad he had no choice but to ask Mari to take it off and put on a fresh coat.

Seeing your husband with your daughter, you were completely unafraid to tell him that you were pregnant again.

You had never met a man capable of giving as much love to everyone around him as Bucky was, after all.

Bucky was overjoyed when you told him. He wrapped his arms around your waist, lifting you up into the air and spinning you around, laughing like a child.

And when you found out that you were having twins—there's no way to put into words how delighted he was.

Just as he had when you were pregnant with Mari, Bucky took care of everything.

Only this time, he had Mari to help him.

The two of them repainted the nursery together. One of the walls was left the yellow-splattered orange it had been painted previously—for your Mari's name. One was painted a midnight blue for your daughter, and another a mint green for your son.

Brainstorming names was somewhat of a challenge. Bucky, of course, had two names in mind, but he was unsure of how you would react to them.

That was, until you brought it up yourself.

"I think we should name the boy Steve," you said one night, as he got ready for bed. "And our girl—Rebecca. After your sister."

Bucky froze.

"Are you sure, love? We—I know you had a lot of names in mind, but—"

"They were two of the most important people in your life, Bucky. Of course I'm sure."

The first time Bucky held Steve and Rebecca in his arms, he was shaking. Never in his life had he expected that he would have not one, but three beautiful children.

Three children with your hair and his eyes.

A family he would live and die for.

Mari was the most enchanting older sister. She read to her siblings every night, clambering into the crib and lying in between them, careful and gentle in a way most six-year-olds aren't.

As they got older, little Steve's fascination with his dad's metal arm grew.

He would draw little stars on the vibranium with white dry-erase markers, then rub them off with his thumb.

Steve never failed to boast about how his dad was a superhero to his friends at school—to the point where Bucky was bombarded with little boys asking to touch his metal arm every time he went to pick the kids up from school.

Becca, meanwhile, never let you do her hair. "I like it better when dad does it, Mommy."

And so Bucky did her hair every morning, sleeking those strands back into a silken braid, securing the ends with a black hair-tie that had threads of gold running through it.

"To match Dad's arm," Becca had grinned when she had asked you to buy it for her.

Eventually, Becca decided that if Bucky braided her hair, it was only fair that she braided his too.

It started one morning as Bucky was getting ready for school, when she told him that he was doing her hair all wrong and proceeded to climb up on the bed and put a tiny little braid in her dad's hair.

Of course, Bucky wore it around for the rest of the day.

The braid, coupled with his nails painted pink, thanks to Mari, subjected him to Sam's ceaseless teasing.

He didn't care, though. His heart swelled in his chest every time he glanced down at his nails or his fingers brushed the braid in his hair.

To the point where he grew his hair out again, just so Mari and Becca could braid it.

Of course, Steve decided that he wanted long hair too when he saw his dad skipping haircuts.

In fact, Steve even insisted you braid little sections of his hair like his sisters did for his dad.

It didn't matter to him what the boys at school said about his hair. If it was good enough for Dad, it was good enough for him.

Sam was bewitched by your children too. It was hard to say who was more excited to see the other on the weekends, when choruses of, "Uncle Sammy!" broke through the house every time the doorbell rang.

Spending Sundays at your house became sort of a tradition, as did spending holidays on Sam's boat.

Sarah's sons were enamored with your children. The five of them were inseparable, running around the docks, dodging Sam's neighbors who had now come to know the Barnes family all too well.

Bucky had never really imagined that he would ever know peace like this: with a family that he wasn't going to lose this time.

With friends he was sure wouldn't leave him behind.

He had never allowed himself to hope for it

But as he watched the sunset over the waters, sitting next to Sam with a bottle of beer in his hand, the sound of your laughter mixed with his kids' filling the air around him, he thought that maybe, just maybe, he had done something right with his shot at redemption after all.

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[geo-winchester]

Fairytale of New York

Nathan Bateman x F!reader

Summary: Nathan surprise you after a day of work, but that’s not the only surprise he give you.

A/N: Hi everyone, sorry I’m late for Wednesday writer, I hope you like this is a continue of Here’s Johnny, I hope you like it, and thanks to @autumnleaves1991-blog and @clydesducktape for this.

Warning: a few swearings.

Song:

Here’s Jonny

——————

Its been months since Nathan moves in front of your apartment, since that day you start to spend a lot time together, he went to the hospital and have lunch with you, when you have to spend the night at the hospital he make sure that you eat, he sometime send you food or take it to you, you have to admitted that it was night having him here, specially in this time of the year when everyone talk about their homes, having him here it was a little piece of home, even if he have his character and you love to mock him. You weren’t sure how it happen but one day he kiss you, waking up all the feeling you burried a long time ago, it wasn’t long after that when he asked you to move in with him, you took your time to give him an answer and by the end of that month you start to share his appartment.

-Come on Nathan it’s Christmas, we need to decorate…- he shook his head -Come on! Don’t you remember when we were kids and we used to decorate our families trees and then we watch every single Christmas movie…

-And I always hate it, beside with or without decoration it still be Christmas.

-But it won’t be the same, we need a tree to put the present- he look at you with a smile -What?

-So you got me a gift?

-Maybe, but I won’t give anything unless we have a three to put it under.

-You know- you knew that smile very well -there’s a thing that we can give each other and it doesn’t need a tree- you laugh before you kiss him.

-You know- you knew that smile very well -there’s a thing that we can give each other and it doesn’t need a tree- you laugh before you kiss him.

-It’s so sad I have to go to the hospital- he sighed.

-How many patients do you have to see today?

-I don’t know- you said -Dr mikael want me to be on ER again… let’s hope that everyone behave and be safe- you took your things -I’ll see you tonight

That day went like many others, you have a considerable amount of work but you didn’t care you love to be there and try to help as many people you can, you were a little surprise when you see Nathan waiting for you, he smile at you before he offer you his hand.

-Shit baby, you’re freezing- he said as he took your hands and blow it some air before he put them on his pocket, you look at him -what? I prefer to put them in there before you put them under my arm- he said -So how was your day?

-Good, a kid give me a candy for helping her- you show him the candy -the girl I hate didn’t show up at work, so even if I have to do her work but I don’t have to see her all the day so that’s a good thing.

You talk all the way to the apartment, he tell you about his new idea and how this could change the world, you have to admitted but since you were kids you love when he talk about science, he get passion and he was patient enough to explain you everything, at least with you. When you get to the door of your apartment he stop in front of it, you look at him curious.

-What’s going on?

-I need you to tell you something- he said -I need you to remember that this is going to be a one time thing, I only doing it because of the presents.

When he finished he open the door letting you in. Inside the apartment was a box of some old of you decorations and new ones, a few ornaments and At the corner it was a little tree it barely look like a Christmas three, you smile at him like a little kid.

-I know this doesn’t look like a Christmas three but it was the only one they got…- you kiss him as you hug him.

-I love it- you said -So… are we going to do our childhood Christmas tradition?

-If we watch Christmas movies we have to watch die hard- he said.

-No way…

-It’s my only condition, if you said no I’ll take this back- you think for a moment before you sighed.

-Ok but I’m going to put Christmas song- he rolled his eyes.

You spend most of the night decorating the living room, sometimes you start to sing some of the songs, you have dinner together and you start to decorate the little tree, you laugh when Nathan start to mock one of the songs before you could start putting the ornaments he took your hand and start to dance at the rhythm of the song, both of you laugh as you landed on the couch.

-You’re insane- you told him as you stand up -come on let’s finish our little three.

-Wait… before you open the first box of ornaments I need to tell you something- he said as he stand up an took your hand -You have something on your teeth- he jokes -ok no but what I’m want to tell you is that I’m really happy to be here with you, even if I have to live in this awful apartment, but the only reason I did this is because I knew it make you happy, and I love to see all that excitement on your face… I love it since we were kids- he look at your eyes -I never told you this but the first time I knew I was in love with you was when we were decorating your family Christmas tree, you put the Star on the top of the tree and you look at me with a smile and I knew I was done- he told you, you couldn’t help but giggle.

-Nathan your talking like if you’re about to propose.

-Check the first box- you did and saw the little jewelry box, when you open it you look at a ring you used to play with when you were kids, it was from your grandmother.

-Nathan…

-I know we only been together for a few months but if we’re honest we always knew we end up together, I knew you’re going to be the girl of my dreams and my future wife, I love you, and that never change, no even when I went away, you were always on my mind and I know this is going to be a big step so just think about it ok, I’ll wait as long as you need- you nod -but just don’t wait until I’m 70- you smile -know let’s finish this and order diner so we can watch die hard.

The hole night nathan act like he haven’t say anything, you were grateful, the rest of the night you watch all the movies and have dinner together. On the morning you wake up before him and all that time you keep thinking on his propose, yes you love him and deep down you know he was right and you want to spend your life with him but there’s also this voice in your head that tell you that everything was to fast and you were afraid that in the future that break your relation on the other hand you know him from all most all your life, he’s been there in most of your up and downs and he was your best friend so that was a good point. When he finally wake up he look at you with a smile still half sleepy, he bring you to his chest.

-I want a house, not a big house, a normal one where we can be comfortable, I want a cat, I’ll say a dog but your allergic so that’s a no, and eventually I want kids- he nod -And the most important thing no matter how many problems we are I want us to always be able to talk- he nod again, you lift your hand and offer him your pinky finger -Promise?

-Promise- he said accepting your finger.

-Then yes I’ll marry you- he kiss you -oh I forgot one thing, I want to get merry by Elvis in Las Vegas- you laugh at his face.

-Really funny Mrs Bateman.

-I like the sound of that- you said before you kiss him.

-You are so beautiful to me- he sing mocking the kid from little rascals, you laugh of him.

-You are insane.

-But you love it.

-I most be crazy to- he nod -we should be the crazy Addams instead of Bateman.

-I can call you morticia if you want.

-Ok, Gomez- he smile -then add to the list dance every three hours.

-You want to start now?- you shook your head.

-Let’s stay like this for five more minutes.

[venhedish]

In light of a certain wincest-adjacent blocklist making the rounds and some friends of mine getting smacked with the purity hammer, I have things to say for anyone who would like to listen!

In my experience, antis are more concerned with the rush they get from being angry and feeling morally superior than they are with actually engaging critically with us, the text, or themselves to understand why they feel the way they feel.

This is not actually about the incest thing and it never has been. Incest in the SPN fandom is being used as a dog-whistle to draw a dividing line between us and them, and it’s that shitty black-and-white thinking that tons of young people are falling victim to because it’s wrapped up with a bow that presents a neat little package: incest bad. We can all agree on that, can’t we? But what’s so insidious is that this new-Victorian purity movement is only cloaked in a signifier of moral purity. What it actually is is a giant, authoritarian flag waving in the air, inviting the anti-intellectual to join together behind a concept that sounds righteous on the surface but is actually being used to bully, harass, and harm people who are often already marginalized out of their own communities.

One thing to look out for in particular that absolutely fascinates me is the way language is used as an exclusionary, self-selective force that reinforces these boundaries. Go to any one of the big heller/anti-wincest blogs and look at the way they talk to each other. To be clear, almost all groups will eventually start developing a shorthand that makes them easily identifiable to each other, but sometimes I’ll check out that side of tumblr and legitimately feel like we’re speaking two different languages.

This is a really common thing that happens with political and religious movements and it’s happening here for similar reasons! If you’re on the fringes of fandom and you like destiel and you join tumblr or twitter or wherever these communities are active and you do a search for your ship, you’ll find some blogs that seem really cool and have interesting stuff to say, but they’re full of in-jokes and weird terms and meme language. And because you want to fit in—to understand the community you’re joining—you dive deeper, you search back through history and pick up pieces here and there until you finally get it. And by that point, you’ve basically indoctrinated yourself. You’re doing their work for them, essentially.

This kind of thing is done on purpose for two reasons: it helps to signify that people using this language have passed a litmus test that proves this person is one of us, and it makes it harder for the outsider to engage with you on even footing. I mean, this sounds fucking ridiculous, but how the fuck is an intellectually honest person supposed to engage critically with someone who attacks them by calling them J*red-kin??? (I just made that up but I can 100% imagine a heller using it as an insult). I’m not saying this is done on purpose in the SPN fandom. I mean, maybe a little by people who are shit-stirring on purpose, but this kind of thing just happens and it’s very hard to catch on to. We’re all guilty of it. Language is crazy flexible and always shifting and we flex and shift with it as popular phrases come and go.

Look, all I’m saying is that if you actually think about the response to wincest from the heller community, you realize how flimsy their platform really is. Reading and writing about fictional brothers fictionally fucking each other harms no one, and anyone with a brain who actually cares knows this! That’s why the anti-wincest crowd isn’t citing articles or research about the dangers of portraying incest in fiction – because they don’t exist! We can, of course, talk about the impact that uneven power dynamics in real life incestuous relationships have on victims of such abuse, how most people who are sexually abused are abused by a family member, how to be aware of grooming techniques and watch out for red flags that point towards abusive behavior. But we don’t! Because that’s 👏 not 👏 what 👏 it’s 👏 about 👏

Instead, it’s just an overflowing bandwagon jammed full of empty ideas and a lot of people getting hurt because of it. Innocent – let me say it again: INNOCENT people who are exploring sexuality, trauma, relationship dynamics, and just plain old having a good time minding their own business in an ethically safe and victimless way are being threatened and harassed and told to die. Wonder which one is actually more damaging and morally bankrupt. 🤔

Anyway, imagine a world where the purity police got their way. There’d basically be no safe literature left. Nabokov? Cancelled. Rushdie? Salinger? Ginsberg? All cancelled. Imagine antis whole-cloth discarding hundreds of years of religious tradition because of all the shit the gods got up to! This is the same line of thinking that made a generation of moms believe that violent video games led to real-world violence. Fiction has never, ever, been meant to only tell pure stories. The whole world of literature would be narrowed down to, like, a couple cautionary tales and picture books if anti culture could somehow actually reach the inevitable praxis of its desire. 

Taboos have always been sexy. It’s okay to explore them through the medium of fiction. It’s literally the safest, most ethically responsible thing you can do. Please, please don’t let a functionally illiterate hive-mind convince you otherwise!

For an amazing resource to learn more about anti culture and how troubling it is, check out @freedom-of-fanfic. It’s an awesome blog to browse if you’re even a tiny bit interested in this kind of thing!

[wreckofawriter]

Thorns and Roses

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x reader also Blaise Zabini x reader if you squint.

Word Count: 3.2k

Warnings: Blood, swears twice? Angsty (fluff ending)

Summary: Hanahaki Disease AU! You are despareatly in love with your bestfriend. His unrequainted love causes flowers to grow in your lungs which you are forced to cough up until death overcomes you. The only removal of this sickness is a spell which also takes every memory of the loved one with it.

A/n: look at my dumb ass post late for my own event... this fic is for the first week of Cliche Month. My cliche was Hanahaki Disease. Check out the other writers work. They are amazing!!

    Roses used to be your favorite flower. Their delicate petals stained with glaring crimson intrigued you since you reached for one in your mother’s garden and pulled away with a bloodied hand. They could be found around you constantly; arranged in sparkling vases and patterned on your dresses. Bouquets were gifted to you by friends and family during holidays and birthdays, they surrounded you. 

    Now as you coughed into the toilet of the girl’s lavatory you wished to never see a rose again. You could feel the thorns tearing you apart, your throat sliced to ribbons as you clutched the stark white porcelain. You heaved a final time, petals falling into the clear water, the blood upon them staining it pink. You felt dizzy, copper thick in your mouth. You choked out a sob, tears spilling down your cheeks and dripping off your chin. You brought your hand to your face, whipping your mouth with its back and blinking back a fresh wave of cries. You pushed yourself to your feet, knees sore from resting on cold tile too long. You flushed, watching as the red and white petals spiraled from view. 

    You stepped from the stall going to the mirror and dabbing away melting makeup, a few practice smiles at your reflection flashed before you exited the secluded room. 

    Hanahaki disease had been glorified around you for years. The aesthetic and purity of its cause and symptoms making it seem like some dream or fairytale. You had learned quite quickly it was anything but. While everyone talked of the beauty of growing flowers within you they never talked about the pain of thorns piercing you with every breath or the blood which lingered on your taste blood because of never-ending cuts and tears of skin. They never talked about the stab you felt each time the person you loved looked your way or the times you had to swallow petals to keep your quickening death a secret. 

    Blood and roses painted a pretty picture but they stopped being so charming as you choked them out every few hours. 

    You walked quickly to class, each step you took emitting pain in your chest, pain which you had gotten phenomenal at ignoring. Snape didn’t bat an eyelash, despite the fact that you were six minutes late. The stabs grew searing as you took a seat next to the scowling blonde who had unintentionally bloomed flowers in your chest.  

    “Where the hell were you?” Draco scoffed his tone cold.

    “Bathroom.” You replied plainly, eyes tracing the slope of his nose as he turned away from you. Your eyes continued to follow his profile, creating trails on his jawline and under his light grey eyes. 

    Draco turned back to you, “Is there something on my face?” 

    You shook your head, feeling petals flutter in your stomach, thorns following. 

    He said nothing, eyes flicking around your profile, looking for clues of your strange behavior. “Are you sick?” He asked, “You look pale.” 

    You shook your head yet again, “I feel fine.” Lies came so easily recently.

    Draco didn’t give in easily, his gaze searching your own as if he could read through your words to your failing heart. “You’ve seemed off recently,” he stated turning back to the lesson.

    “I don’t know what you mean.” You replied. Lying really had become effortless.

    Draco didn’t like your sudden disappearances and untrustworthy excuses. You had been distant and unfamiliar in recent days. Your schedule seemed skewed, jokes, and laughter seeming to die as you rushed to unexplained meetings with no one before reappearing thirty minutes later with blood on your sleeves. You always smelled of the liquid, copper had replaced your floral shampoo and tropical perfumes. Everything about you simply felt wrong, like an invisible switch had been flipped leaving you as an imposter. 

    You forced a thin smile at the girl across from you as she said her greetings. Pansy dug into her plate of eggs, glaring up at you suspiciously. Your relationship with the girl had always rested on the edge of a knife. She despised your relationship with Draco, her eyes going green whenever you were seen together. You wish you could tell her there was really nothing to worry about. 

    “You’re hiding something.” She satiated plainly.

    You scrunched your nose in mock confusion, “What?”

    A scoff rose from her lips, “I’m not stupid y/l/n. Something is up with you, everyone can see it.” 

    “I have no clue what you’re talking about.” You huffed rolling your eyes, hoping she didn’t notice the goosebumps that rose on your arms, fear of being discovered chilling you to the bone. 

    Blaise sat down next to you sensing the tense atmosphere and glancing between you both, “This about Draco?” He asked cautiously.

    You shook your head quickly, a stab of agony shooting through you at his mention. 

    The boy shrugged, snatching a bagel and beginning to dress it with jam, “Anyway, you guys are coming to Hogsmeade right?”

    Pansy answered excitedly her high pitch making you wish you’d stayed in bed. The conversation droned for a moment and you focused on your breathing. You knew the time which you would be able to do such a necessary act was limited. It was only a matter of time before thorns punctured a lung or pushed through your heart. 

    “You’re going right y/n?” Blaise asked, drawing you into the words spoken between them. 

    You bit your cheek, “I don’t think so.” 

    Blaise groaned, “Come on, we always go! It’s like a tradition.”

    You frowned, “You didn’t go last week.”

    The trap he had fallen into struck quickly, “Well doesn’t matter, you need to go.” he recovered.

    “And why’s that?” You hummed nursing an orange juice that tasted of copper. 

    “Draco gets pissy when you don’t come.” He explained. The words would have made your heart soar if vines weren’t threaded through your veins. “Especially after quidditch practices.” 

    You sighed, “Draco isn’t my responsibi-” you were cut off by a spear thrust into your chest. The glass you held fell from your grip and shattered on the table. Eyes darted towards you in confusion as you bent over in agony. 

    A muffled voice broke through your momentary disconnection from the conscious world.

“Y/n are you okay?” 

Your eyes fluttered open as you gasped for air, tears pooling in your eyes, “I’m fine.” you rasped standing quickly from your seat as you felt petals push up your throat. You sprint from the room without another word, hand clasping over your lips as you desperately tried to swallow the floral arrangement crawling up towards your lips. You managed to make it three corridors before collapsing to the ground, heads turned, eyes locking with you as let out a rattling set of coughs. 

You didn’t hear the words of concern or cries for help as your mouth filled with blood. You felt something push from your mouth landing on your hands lightly. A rose blossom stared back at you as you opened your eyes. Its white petals unfurled stunningly, deep crimson puddles pooled between them. Red dripped lazily down your hands and you began to cough again. Thorns tore through your flesh escaping into the light of the world drenched in red, petals floated in the small puddle of blood around you like tiny boats in a lake of fire. 

You hiccuped twice, the pain the action caused forcing tears down your cheeks. Your ears rang with shouts and gasps, your hands tightening around the flowers you held, only then noticing the cuts which littered your palms. 

Blaise thundered around the corner, shoving people out of the way to see what they had gathered around. His eyes widened when he saw you, blood drenching the front of your uniform, tears mixing with crimson as they dripped off your chin. But the most alarming thing which sat in that hallway where the roses. Four of them, in full bloom, were littered around you, their meaning sinking terror into Blaise’s head. He dropped to his knees in front of you, hands coming to your shoulders.

“Shit y/n,” he mumbled feeling his eyes prick.

You were sobbing, wincing with every shake your body gave, “I can’t forget.” You whimpered, “Please, I don’t wanna die but I can’t forget him.” Your begs were cut off as you began to cough again.

You felt numb. The potions you had been given driving away not only pain but every other feeling your body had manifested. Moving felt like wading through thick mud, the weight of the blankets adding to the confusion of your nerves. 

The ceiling of the hospital wing had become boring hours before, the dark of the night staining the white a deep blue. Your brain ran through memory after memory, thinking that if they replayed through your consciousness enough they would be stuck there, even after they were cut from your body with the flowers within you. You could hear his voice, smell his cologne, and feel his hair. The pain of your body had left but that of your mind had been so deeply engraved it was hard to distinguish from the former. 

The ache you felt from the image of his angry tears and hoarse screams were far worse than the occasional stab of a thorn. Maybe it would be better to forget. Forget the pain, the love, all of it. To forget him. Yet every time you thought of the idea your eyes welled with tears and that unsettling ache of your chest worsened. 

Memories became more and more recent as the melody of the platinum blonde continued to play. Those of a few hours ago were the freshest, still crisp around the edges, full of brilliant colors. 

You didn't want him to find out, let alone find out from someone who wasn't you. Yet Blasie had told him the second after he had dropped you where you now lay, betraying everything within you. 

He had come into the wing still dressed in his quidditch robes, broom in his left hand as he stormed through the previously quiet area. 

"How dare you." He had seethed, broom hitting the ground with a clatter. 

Your eyes had become focused solely on him the second his voice had graced you.

"How fucking DARE you!" His eyes were glossy with fury.

"Mr. Malfoy!"  Pompfery shouted behind him

You were in a confused daze, dull pain shooting through you as Draco neared. "What?" 

He was in front of you now tears sliding down his flushed cheeks as he gripped the metal of the bed frame.

"You can't just fall in love with me!" He shouted, "You can't just, j-just," his voice faltered and fell and he slumped forward. 

You sat up wanting to move towards him, "I'm sorry." You whimpered a hand coming to rest on his own.

He snatched himself away from you, "You were just going to let yourself die?" 

You paused another stab of pain dulled by medication sending white to your vision. Were you going to let yourself die? Die for the memories of this boy? It seemed a bit pitiful as you thought about it. "I don’t know." 

Draco was appalled, his mind reeling as you stared up at him, eyes wide and glistening, "Don't put your blood on my hands." He hissed turning and storming from the room.

You called after him, voice straining, throat burning. He didn't spare a single glance back and you were left staring at his disregard broom as blossoms bubbled in your throat.

Draco had always had an easy way out when he was younger. His mother loved to spoil him and his father would keep him out of trouble with little effort. He had easy choices that were made for him. But recently things have been different. The expectations of his parents raised as he wanted to do nothing but flee from the life they had given him.

You had been safety for him. Your lack of questions and secret intent made you a safe haven. He didn't have to worry about your thoughts of him because he knew they were positive. He didn't have to be concerned with his reputation or his future or his family. He could just exist with you. Exist freely. The bonds which held him to the earth disappeared in your presence and he could float amongst the pink clouds which you lived. 

You were his best friend. And now you were going to be ripped away from him. And there was no one to blame but himself. His unreturned feelings were killing you, this was all his fault. And now your memories would be pulled from you and you would become nothing more than a stranger. 

It hurt to know you may have died for him. Died to keep him in your mind. It hurt to know all the blood you had spilled stained his palms. 

The dorm rooms were darkened, the murky waters of the lake filtering soft moonlight through their depths. Sleep seemed like a faraway friend to Draco as he stared out at nothing. His thoughts were washed together like paint doused in water. A strange dream-like haze had rested over his life since he saw you on that bed. His thumb ran over the bumps of his knuckles, where your hand had rested hours before.

"You shouldn't have blamed her." 

Draco didn't look up, his eyes locked into the dark waters, "I know." 

Blaise sat down next to him, legs crossed, "You should apologize." 

"I know." 

There was a long pause. Neither boy knew what they were supposed to say.

Draco felt his eyes sting, resent bubbling in his stomach, and having nowhere to go, "I don't want to lose her." 

Blaise sighed, "You are either going to have to lose her or love her. It's up to you." 

But it wasn't up to him. He couldn't choose to love you. 

The next day was unsure like a scene that was cut from a movie. Draco spent his time lingering in his hazy consciousness. The thoughts of losing you slowly driving him insane. His vision swam with your image in hallways, eyes falling through him. He would be a stranger to you. And he would have to keep it that way for your own safety. He would be forced to watch his best friend live her life without the memories they shared. The sting of realization grew with each moment.

Your pain had begun to fade. You weren't sure if it was because of the medication or if your body was simply shutting down. The latest you could get McGonagall to cast the spell was tomorrow night. Then every moment you and Draco had shared would be flushed away. 

At least the coughing fits had stopped, thorns no longer tearing your throat to pieces. No more roses covered in blood. You felt a sense of peace.

Your far away mind was drawn back by Madam Pompfery's shrill voice. 

"You may absolutely not visit her!" 

"I just want to apologize!" Another tone retorted.

You sat up quickly, blankets shoved to the side as your bare feet made contact with the ground. 

The argument grew louder as you neared, words turning harsh. 

"Draco?" You called, peeking around the corner to see Madame Pomfrey standing with her back to you blocking the doorway, the blonde just in front of her.

"You should be in bed." The nurse scolded me, turning to look at you.

"I want to see him." You stated firmly.

She had now turned to face you fully, "Go back to bed y/l/n." 

You glared back at the woman, "Let him in." 

There was silence, you're gaze unwavering as the older woman slowly caved. 

"Make it quick Malfoy."

You wanted to choke on the awkward silence that followed after the woman departed. Dracos eyes were glued to you as your own darted between your feet and the nearby wall. 

“She’s right. You should be in bed.” he spoke.

You shrugged, “I was feeling better. The medication helps.”

“You shouldn’t be standing regardless.” He huffed walking past you towards the bed you had been in a few minutes before. 

    You rolled your eyes but followed him, knowing he was right didn’t make you feel any better. 

    “I'm sorry about before,” Draco mumbled as you set yourself against the headboard. You tilted your head in a silent question, “I shouldn't have yelled at you yesterday. It's not your fault.”

    You cracked a small smile, head tilting back until it hit the wall. “Of course it's my fault.” 

    Draco was silent and you gazed at him from the corner of your eye. His eyes were cast at his feet, the melancholy look on his face making you sour. 

    “Please don’t be sad.” You muttered, “I can't have my last memory of you be sad.”

    Despite your plea, his eyes grew misty, the weight on his chest so heavy he thought it might crush him. 

    Your feet felt light and for a moment you thought you might be dying. Your head felt so clear, you wouldn't have been surprised if Draco started saying you were floating off your bed. Your chest felt warm and fuzzy, like hot chocolate after hours in the snow. 

    “I can’t lose you.” Draco sobbed, tears finally spilling from his eyes. “I can’t lose you, y/n. Please don’t leave me.”

    Part of you wanted to slap him, “It's not a choice.” You swallowed thickly, “I didn’t choose to fall in love with you.” It was the truth. You didn’t choose to plunge into the deep waters of absolute devotion. You were pushed. Pushed by each smile and laugh. By each joke and eye roll. He had pushed you into the whirlpool of love and you had been sucked deep under. And now you couldn’t breathe.

    “I can’t watch you forget me.” He croaked his head held in his hands, “I love you y/n, you can't become a stranger to me. I couldn’t watch you live without me. I couldn't live with these memories knowing you don't have them.” 

    Suddenly the lack of pain made sense. The light, fuzzy feeling overwhelming your body was comprehensible, “Say it again.”

    Draco met your eyes, “What?”

    “Say you love me again.”

    His eyes widened, momentary surprise taking him before it was pushed aside by a rush of relief, “I love you.”

    It was like a drug drawn from his lips, it burnt like whiskey down your throat, warmth filling you. You sat forward quickly, hands coming to cup his cheeks, damp and sticky with tears. Droplets of your own gathered, rivers of relief dripping off your chin.

    Your lips met hastily. The taste of salt mixed with the bitterness of blood was unsavory but neither of you seemed to care as you pulled him closer. Kiss deepening as his hands fell to your waist. You found yourself sinking deeper into the water you had fallen into, oxygen suddenly filling your thirsting lungs.

    You were unaware of the thorns that filled Blaise’s. Yellow petals spilled from his lips, his throat filled with blood. As you tucked your head into Draco's chest, his was buried into his hands, tears filling his eyes. He was hopeless, the thorns would tear him apart and you would put roses on his grave

Taglist:

@accio-rogers @roslea @k3nz-doodl3 @theseuscmander @sleepingalaska @chloe-geoghegan1

Masterlist

[sylvies-chen]

Can you do 64 or 67 for brettsey please?

Prompt 64 can be found here!!

67. “If you don’t want to talk about it then say so. Don’t lie and pretend to be fine when you clearly aren’t.”

Matt should have seen this coming.

His mom's not exactly young. He doesn't know where she's been or how she's been doing these past few years, frankly. He's had no record of whether she's been staying healthy-- through no fault of his own, seeing as how his mom's always been less than reliable since getting out of prison. Hell, even before getting arrested she'd been letting him and Christie down in smaller ways.

So when he gets the call that Nancy Casey has passed away from a heart attack at the ripe age of 68, he thinks it's just one more way in which his mother has let him down; one more member of the Casey family carrying their overwhelming amount of secrets to the grave.

He should feel sad, he knows that, but all he feels is numbness and a slight annoyance at having to deal with the funeral and all her belongings.

Her belongings aren't actually all that numerous, he realizes soon enough, which he assumes is a perk of being so flakey. All he gets is a box of things. He doesn't know what things, exactly. He'd gone to her place, shoved everything he could find into a cardboard box without paying attention to any of it, and left before he had the change to boil over with rage at all the things she'd kept from him and Christie-- the apartment included.

He should book time off or something. Or maybe visit her grave. He hasn't been there since the funeral a week ago (at which he, Sylvie, and Christie had pretty much been the sole attendants), maybe it'd do him some good in theory. But right now, every normal way of grieving flies out the door for him. He feels himself reverting back to the Casey family tradition: internalizing your feelings and keeping them secret until the day you die. Literally. It's not fun, not pleasant, and certainly not healthy. But in some weird way, it feels like his own way of honouring his mother, so he doesn't fight it. He should, but he doesn't.

Until Sylvie notices, and manages to tear down his walls in one fowl, beautifully agonizing swoop.

She picks up on it pretty quickly. He drifts off a lot during shift, he looks even more serious than usual, and he refuses to talk about it all that much whenever she asks how he's feeling-- which isn't for lack of trying, but how the hell can he put every complex little emotion he's feeling into words? Doing that will take time.

She's over to the loft one night, petting gently at his hair with her legs sprawled across his lap as they mindlessly watch TV, when she notices the box of his mom's things collecting dust by the by the basketball machine. Stella and Severide are out and Sylvie knows he's not paying attention to what's on anyway, so she turns the TV off. It manages to get his attention and he looks to her, confused.

Her attention isn't on him though, only on the box. Its flaps are taped shut at the top, his mom's name in black sharpie fading slowly. "You still haven't opened the box of your mom’s stuff?"

"No," he admits.

“Matt…” she sighs, taking her legs off his lap to sit upright on the couch. “You’ve been retreating into yourself ever since your mom passed away. Please don’t shut me out. I’m here, you know that, right?”

“I do. But Sylvie, I’m fine,” he insists. “My mom knew exactly what she wanted in life once she got out of prison and I wasn’t exaclty a part of that. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen her, I probably don’t know half of what’s in that box anyway. She hid her new life from me and Christie. She’s just next in a long line of people in my family who’ve taken their secrets to the grave, that’s all.”

“If you don’t want to talk about it then say so. Don’t lie and pretend to be fine when you clearly aren’t.”

Her tone is sympathetic but has a slight edge to it. She wants him to open up, he knows that. That’s, along with the surprising frustration in her eye, is enough to make Matt want to. So he tries.

“I want to,” he assures her. “But there’s nothing to say. She was gone before, and she’s gone now. It’s just more permanent now.”

“But don’t you think opening that box will give you some— I don’t know… closure?”

“I know it probably will, but I've been busy with contracting work and the firehouse has been busy and... I don't know, it just slipped my mind."

She gives him a look as if to say she doesn't buy it for a second, only it turns quickly into a look of sympathy. Because it always does. Sylvie, through thick and thin, good and bad, just always understands him. That goes both ways, which makes it even better, but it also means he knows exactly what she's thinking right now.

"What's keeping you from doing it now then?"

"Now?" His eyebrows shoot up in surprise, his arm stretching out against the back edge of the couch and rubbing at her far shoulder. "Well for one, I'm having a relaxing night with you, and I'd rather not ruin that with memories of my less than reliable mother. And second, I just... I'm...."

Matt finds himself choking on his words, unable to admit to himself the one word he's looking for. He doesn’t know where this sudden seriousness comes from, this abrupt inability to keep things in. It’s like an old habit, and normally those die hard. Except Sylvie’s lifting a gentle hand to caress his face, is giving him that warm and comforting look, and he knows exactly why it’s hard.

It’s hard because it’s her. It’s Sylvie, and trying to internalize things around her at this point is pointless— even if he wanted to. And he doesn’t want to. He’s stripped of all his walls when he’s around her and honestly, he wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Scared?” She finishes his sentence for him, giving him an expectant look.

He nods, because yes. Matt Casey, a firefighter who’s faced blazing fires and near-death experiences, is scared of opening a tiny little box. It takes a lot for him to admit that but he’s with her, which makes it ten times easier. “Yeah,” he confirms. “I know it sounds silly, but I can’t bring myself to look at all the things from her life that she left me and Christie out of. I’m scared I’ll look in there and realize just how much of a stranger she was to me— and of how much I miss her anyway.”

Sylvie exhales quietly, eyeing him achingly for a moment while she gnaws at her lip the way she only does when she’s thinking hard. Then, she gives his knee a comforting squeeze before standing up. He shifts on the couch, elbows moving to his knees as he scrunches his brow in a pensive and painful train of thought of his own. He thinks Sylvie is just getting a glass of water or a tissue or something else, honestly. But when he looks up from his brooding, he sees her over by the basketball machine, picking up the box and bringing it over.

“Here,” she says, placing it on the table in front of them and sitting back down in her spot next to him. Their legs press together, leaving no space between them on the couch.

“No,” he shakes his head as he responds. “No, I can’t do it.”

“You can,” Sylvie assures him. “We can do it. Together. You don’t have to go through any of this alone, Matt. So if you have to sit here for a minute before opening it, or ten minutes, or an hour even, then you can do that. I’ll be here the entire time.”

Her eyes twinkle kindly at him and Matt swears, in that moment, that he’s the luckiest man alive. Something about everything she just told him strikes him harder than usual, acting as a sharp and wonderful reminder that they’re meant for each other.

“I am so in love with you,” he utters softly.

Sylvie lets out a quiet giggle, moving to hold his hand and lace their fingers together. “I love you too.”

She presses a tender kiss to his cheek as he sucks in a sharp breath, his attention now turning to the box in front of them. The box looks back at him, almost as if challenging him. Only now, miraculously, it seems more manageable to him. It’s still scary, still carries a lot of emotional weight for Matt. But he feels Sylvie’s hand in his and it gives him the strength to do this.

He lets go of Sylvie’s hand for a moment to tear the flaps of the box open. His hand finds hers again as soon as its done, relying on her for more strength as he moves to peer inside the box.

His heart stops.

With his spare hand, he pulls out the first thing in the box, at the very top— the very thing that made his heart stop. Nothing else in the box matters now, he thinks. Because sitting there, in the palm of his hand, is a picture of him, Christie, and his mom. Nancy Casey sits in the center of the picture, with Matt and Christie at her sides. He remembers the day well; it was his fourteenth birthday, after all. There’s a cake in front of them in the picture to prove it. Matt doesn’t ever remember looking and feeling so young. Admittedly, he doesn’t remember being that happy around his family either. Normally, birthdays were sort of a mess for him, a constant struggle of battling with his father over how they should celebrate it that alwaus left Matt grumpy and hurt. But in the picture, his mom’s hand is tickling his side, as well as Christie’s, and the moment captures the exact moment that he and Christie reflexively lean into her chest from the laughter. His mom’s smile is bright and wide— something he rarely saw around his household.

They were happy once. They were a family, no matter how messed up everything got between them. Maybe Nancy Casey wasn’t such a stranger to him after all. That fact alone sends those million complicated little emotions swirling around in his chest.

Only this time, he doesn’t bury them. This time, they all come pouring out at once and the dam breaks. He doesn’t know when the tears started, but they flow now with a painful ease.

Sylvie lets go of his hand and pulls him in, holding onto him tight and close as his head rests on her chest. He feels tears of her own drip on the back of his head as she strokes his hair gently. He so rarely cries like this and yet now that he’s started— now that he has someone like Sylvie who lets him be vulnerable— he doesn’t think he’ll ever stop.

Only she tightens his grip on him, whispers soothing hushes and gentle reassurances that everything will be okay, and he knows that he’ll stop soon enough.

[atlabeth]

talking to the moon

summary: dealing with the aftermath of the worst event of your life. 

pairing: sokka x fem!reader but solely platonic. stan big brother sokka 

a/n: this became so much longer than i initially meant for lmao. it was just supposed to be sokka and y/n talking but then i. wrote the whole death scene and a whole backstory and. im sorry. i made myself sad while writing this 

wc: 4.1k 

warnings: so much angst, death, mentions of suffocation, mentions of arranged marriages, one mention of blood, one single curse i think, lots of anger and lots of sadness but some fluff at the end 

based on the song “talking to the moon” by bruno mars 

living in the northern water tribe wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. 

as a waterbender, it should’ve been a perfect haven. a renowned master to teach her how to fight and become a master herself, a constant feeling of power being around ice and water all the time, and a comfortable life as the daughter of two important councilmembers that worked alongside chief arnook. 

but the only thing y/n had come to know of this place was a complete and utter loss of freedom. 

she wasn’t allowed to learn martial waterbending simply because she was a woman. master pakku wouldn’t even give her the time of day, and when she complained to her parents they cited century-long traditions and told her that was just how things were. 

y/n felt comfortable being around water and ice all the time, but it’s not like the power of the moon helped her when she hardly knew anything in the first place. it was slightly easier to try and teach herself new techniques that she learned from watching master pakku and his students, but it still almost always ended in failure. 

and of course, her noble heritage simply meant that she would be married off once she reached the appropriate age for the benefit of her family. yippee. 

but there was one benefit that came along with being the daughter of nobles that worked closely with the chief. 

princess yue. 

she was without a doubt the nicest girl that y/n had ever known, and they quickly became each other’s closest friends. y/n thought that maybe she wouldn’t like her because yue was two years her senior, but it didn’t matter in her eyes. yue showed y/n a side that she never showed anyone else; the carefree, energetic, loving side. the side that told y/n fantastical stories while they rode together the waterways. the side that encouraged y/n to waterbend whenever she could and to try as hard as possible to get the martial techniques down because ‘i know you can do it!’ the side that was absolutely fascinated by her waterbending, the side that shrieked in surprise then dissolved into giggles every time y/n soaked her at the end of the session. 

yue was the bright light in y/n’s boring days, and y/n was a needed reprieve from yue’s duties.

the young girls didn’t know that there was so much coming for them. 

~~

team avatar visiting y/n’s home was one of the most exciting things to happen to her. it was like a breath of fresh air in the monotony of her life, and it didn’t take too long for y/n to become friends with all of them at the celebratory dinner the night they arrived. 

y/n and katara instantly struck off. as waterbenders of the same age they already had a connection, but it was only strengthened the longer they stayed. y/n had never cheered so loud when she fought against pakku. 

it was impossible not to like aang. he was even younger than y/n with an infectious positive attitude and a smile always on his face. he even offered to help teach her waterbending along with katara after learning from pakku, which was a great plan until it wasn’t. 

her association with sokka came from her association with yue. he was infatuated with the princess almost immediately — it wasn’t a surprise, y/n was sure every boy in the tribe had a crush on her in some form — but he was also very kind to y/n. as time went on, they developed more of a sibling-like bond and y/n loved it. she was an only child raised to the highest expectations, but she was allowed to let loose around sokka. it also helped to see him make a fool in front of himself every time her and yue were together. 

things were looking up for y/n. she had three new friends that all liked her best friend, and she was actually learning a little bit more about fighting with waterbending from katara. everything was perfect. 

until the fire nation attacked. 

y/n had been with yue and sokka when they saw the black snow and immediately rushed back to the tribe to warn everyone. that was how a fourteen year old noble girl who barely knew how to defend herself like y/n got involved in a fight against the fire nation. 

after rescuing aang from zuko and, at aang’s request, bringing the unconscious prince with them, they started traveling back to the spirit oasis. y/n sat in the back of the saddle with sokka and yue, a new friend and her oldest friend, when yue suddenly grabbed her head with a small groan. y/n looked around and the world around them had turned red as blood. something was very wrong.

“are you okay? sokka asked, reaching for her instinctively as if to protect her from whatever was hurting her. 

“i.. i feel faint,” she muttered.

“i feel it too,” aang added. “the moon spirit is in trouble.” 

y/n’s eyes widened as she stared back at yue, horror dancing in her eyes as she shook her head. “no, no it can’t be. yue, you know what that means—” 

it wasn’t hard to catch onto the fearful tone in her voice and katara set an amicable hand on her shoulder. “what are you talking about, y/n?” 

thankfully, yue took over. “i owe the moon spirit my life.” 

“what do you mean?” sokka’s eyes went between y/n and yue, y/n’s worried gaze trained on yue as she explained how the moon spirit had given her life as a baby. when she was done, the water tribe siblings were staring at her in disbelief. 

“if the moon spirit is in danger then we need to save it.” y/n’s voice was hardened as they got closer to the spirit oasis, stretching her fingers out to get the blood flowing again in case she needed to bend. she didn’t know very much about combat besides what katara had taught her, but hopefully it would be enough to at least aid the rest of the team. 

appa slid to a stop in the spirit oasis and aang, sokka, katara, and y/n all hopped off of his back and got into battle stances. sokka took out his boomerang, aang wielded his staff, and y/n and katara got ready to bend. 

“don’t bother,” zhao spat. he held up the bag with tui and positioned his fist next to it, posing the very obvious threat. y/n’s eyes widened and her hands fell the slightest bit. he wouldn’t. 

it turned out that he very well would. 

y/n thought that they would be safe, that yue would be safe once he released the fish after iroh’s threat, but she should’ve known a man like that would never be satisfied. just as the normal hues of the oasis had returned, zhao let out a yell and blasted the koi with fire, plunging the world into various shades of grey. 

y/n let out a strangled cry as she realized what it meant, and she wanted to unleash all of her fury on zhao. she wanted to make him hurt, make him understand just what he had done. but it seemed that general iroh already had that plan as he started firebending viciously, swiftly defeating the soldiers after zhao had gotten away. 

y/n felt like she was in a haze, following through with her movements but not actually there. the four of them rushed towards the water and yue soon joined them, all looking down at tui in horror. the moon spirit was gone, dead, killed. 

her worst fear had come true, and she stared at yue’s blue eyes, the only thing that still had color, mouth opening and closing as she tried to think of things to say. 

“there’s no hope now,” yue mourned. “it’s over now.” 

“no it’s not.” 

y/n watched in amazement as aang merged with the ocean spirit and left to defend her home, but it melted away once again when she joined the siblings, iroh, and yue at the front of the water.

“it’s too late. it’s dead.” katara stared at the dead fish when iroh placed it back into the water. it truly did seem like it was over. y/n felt none of the usual power she felt at night. if she tried to bend, she knew nothing would happen.

iroh seemed to notice yue as she stepped closer and he raised his eyebrows. “you have been touched by the moon spirit. some of its life is in you.” 

“yes, you’re right.” yue set her jaw and y/n immediately knew what she was thinking. “it gave me life. maybe i can give it back.” 

“no!” y/n and sokka cried at the same time. y/n’s voice cracked and she had to do everything she could to prevent the tears from falling. “yue, no. you don’t have to do this.” 

“it’s my duty, y/n.” her kind blue eyes, an image that would haunt y/n for years to come, glistened with unshed tears as she walked over to the oasis. this time sokka grabbed her hand to try and stop her. 

“i won’t let you! your father told me to protect you!” sokka usually guarded his emotions but this time the fear in his voice was obvious, and it hurt. he didn’t want to lose her. he couldn’t lose her. 

“i have to do this.” 

y/n wanted to scream at yue to stop, try and knock some sense into her, hold the girl that she loved back from sacrificing herself. but she just stood there, frozen, as yue hovered her hands over the dead fish. tui began to glow, and yue collapsed. 

y/n rushed over to her as sokka caught her and she fell to her knees. the tears were falling, she didn’t care, her friend was gone, she was dying. y/n felt yue’s ice cold hand on her arm and she grasped it with both of her own. her and sokka were barely holding it together as they watched the girl they both loved die in their arms. 

“y/n..” her voice was already faint, she was using up all of her strength just to talk to them in her final moments. “thank you for everything. never forget what you are fighting for. i will always cherish our friendship.” 

a choked sob escaped y/n’s lips and she gripped yue’s hand as tightly as she could, like maybe if she didn’t let go then she would come back. she couldn’t even hear what she said to sokka, all she could hear was the pounding in her head. this couldn’t be happening. 

and then she was gone. the ice cold hand in y/n’s grip was gone, the girl they were cradling was gone, and in her place was just emptiness. iroh placed the koi fish back into the water and the entire oasis filled with light, and the energy around the lake turned into yue. she was ethereal. she was a spirit. she was gone. 

yue came closer and wrapped y/n in a hug, feeling more like a gentle breeze than a real person hugging her. she then kissed sokka, and a faint smile graced her lips. “goodbye, i love you both. i will always be with you.”

and with that, she was gone. 

y/n couldn’t hold it in anymore. she started sobbing, tears wracking her body and making it hard to breathe. she wrapped her arms as tightly as she could around sokka, burying her head in the space between his shoulder and his neck, and he returned the hug. they were just two kids who had watched a girl they loved sacrifice herself. what else could they do but hold each other and hope to all the spirits that they would be okay?

~~

y/n left with aang, katara, and sokka when they decided to set course for omashu. she couldn’t stay at the northern water tribe. all it served as was a constant reminder of that fateful night, the night that she had lost her best friend. she saw yue in everything, and she knew she would lose her mind if she stayed. so she asked if she could join them on their journey, and they agreed. y/n felt a constant pit of emptiness and hoped that helping the avatar would absolve some of the guilt. 

it didn’t. 

“this is your fault, y/n.” 

the blue eyes that haunted y/n so often appeared once again, staring back at her unflinchingly. there was a certain hardness behind them, a coldness that pervaded her skin, making its way to her heart. but she couldn’t look away. 

“you should’ve been able to save me.” yue’s voice, normally soft spoken and kind, reverberated throughout the endless void y/n was trapped in. 

she looked beautiful, otherworldly. the fabric of her dress floated around her at the edges and her white hair, the ever present reminder of her connection to the moon, flowed down her back. yue appeared the same as she had when she sacrificed herself, and it was the way she would look forever. y/n’s heart ached for her friend, knowing that she would never live out the rest of her life, never get to be the ruler she was meant to be. 

she tried to talk, but her voice wouldn’t work. her throat felt like it was closing up slowly, and her limbs might as well have been cast in concrete with how heavy they all felt. yue’s icy glare disappeared from view, but her voice was still all around her. 

“you did this to me. you’re the reason i’m dead. you should’ve been able to save me.” 

the words repeated thousands of times on top of each other, becoming louder and louder that it was all she could focus on. y/n was suffocating underneath it all, she couldn’t take it. she wanted to sob out how sorry she was, tell yue that her biggest regret was not being able to save her, reach out and bring her into her world again. spirits, she wanted her best friend back so badly. 

“YOU SHOULD’VE BEEN ABLE TO SAVE ME.” the words echoed through her skull so loudly that she felt like it was going to crack from sheer force. 

y/n eyes suddenly flew open and she lurched upwards, breathing heavily, a scream on the edge of her lips that she was barely able to bite back. she clamped her hands over her mouth until she could be sure it wouldn’t come loose, and it took even longer for her breathing to get back to normal.

it didn’t look like she had disturbed the sleep of the others, but she couldn’t stay here. she got out of her sleeping bag and rushed out of their camp, making sure she stayed light on her feet so that the others could continue to rest. momo perked up as she ran past him, and y/n shook her head and raised a finger to her lips. he seemed to get the hint and went back to sleep, and with a strained smile y/n continued out. 

it was at that moment that a certain water tribe boy groggily sat up, able to catch the end of a tunic dress disappearing into the woods after he rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. he thought it was katara at first but a quick glance to his side proved that his sister was still asleep. it was y/n’s spot that was empty. he immediately knew why she was gone, and he got up to follow her; there was no way he was going to leave her alone right now. sokka didn’t exactly want to be alone either.  

‘you should’ve been able to save me.’ they were words that never left y/n’s mind; at this point it was a part of her conscience. the princess had never actually said the words, her last moments had been spent reassuring y/n and sokka before she faded away, but it didn’t matter. she was constantly wracked by guilt, and though sokka did a good job at hiding it, she knew he felt the same way. she wondered if he was plagued by the same nightmares she had. it was no surprise it happened tonight of all nights — today marked one month since yue died. 

no. since yue had been killed. 

she might’ve given her life for the moon spirit willingly, but y/n blamed zhao, that fire nation admiral, for her death. he was the one that killed the moon spirit, so he was the one that had killed her best friend. she had never felt as much rage as she had in the moment that he blasted tui with fire. 

she hoped he was dead. 

y/n got to the edge of the woods and stared at the night sky, the slight breeze and the ambiance around her doing little to ease her mind. she sighed and leaned back against a tree, staring at the sky in hopes it would give her some kind of answer. but all it did was make her feel even worse.

i know you’re somewhere out there somewhere far away

yue was there. the moon was there, but yue was the moon so she was there. it felt like a cruel joke, having her so close but so far away. always within her sight but never in her reach. she longed for the days when she was able to pull the princess away from her duties to engage in a snowball fight with her friends or when yue asked her to show off her waterbending with the childlike wonder she never got to show or when things were normal and her friend wasn’t the fucking moon. 

i want you back, i want you back 

y/n felt the familiar stings of tears behind her eyes and she slowly slid against the tree until she was sitting on the ground. she bit the inside of her cheek so hard she drew blood in an effort to stop the tears, but it didn’t matter, they fell anyways. 

the empty feeling she constantly carried with her got better over time, but tonight it was just coming back with full force. she was reminded of everything that she had lost and it hurt. spirits, it hurt so much. 

my neighbors think i’m crazy  but they don’t understand you’re all i have, you’re all i have 

she pressed the heel of her hand against her forehead and squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block out her feelings, when she heard some branches snap. she opened her eyes and looked up, the corner of her lips quirking up when she saw who it was. 

“hi.” her voice was faint, barely noticeable, but it was all she managed to muster.

“hi.” sokka’s eyes were sympathetic as walked over to her, silently questioning if she was okay with his presence. she nodded and scooted over to make room, and sokka slid down against the tree next to her. 

they sat in comfortable silence for a while, feeling solace in the other simply being there. y/n’s eyes stayed glued to the sky, y/e/c irises reflecting the light of the stars. now that her sobbing was done, she just felt tired. traveling with the avatar was physically demanding with all the fighting and running they did, but this was mental. 

she was tired of feeling worthless. tired of feeling guilty, of feeling angry, hurt, heartbroken, regretful, helpless, weak. 

tui and la, she was so damn tired. 

at night, when the stars light up my room i sit by myself talking to the moon trying to get to you 

y/n tore her eyes away from the sky and looked at sokka. he felt the slight movement and made eye contact as well. y/n couldn’t help but think how similar his eyes were to yue’s. 

“do you talk to her too?” the question came suddenly from y/n before she even knew it, and her voice was just as soft as before. “to the moon, i mean.”

sokka’s gaze turned wistful as he watched the moon and nodded. “all the time. even if i’m just talking to myself in my head, it feels like i’m talking to her as long as the moon is out. sometimes it helps. it makes me feel like she’s still here, or like she’s watching over me. other times..”

“it makes you feel worse,” y/n finished. he nodded again and she sighed heavily. “sometimes i hate it. just looking at the moon makes me want to scream or cry or yell until i can’t anymore, because i hate it for taking her away from me. and i know she had to do it, but the irrational part of me is angry at her for leaving. and then i feel guilty for caring about myself more than her when she’s the one that’s gone, and i just—” 

her voice caught in her throat and the tears started to fall once more. it felt like she couldn’t even think about yue without crying and it made her feel even more weak than before. 

in hopes you’re on the other side talking to me too 

it hurt sokka’s heart to see her like this. yue’s death had affected both of them, spirits, it had left a hole in his heart that he was still trying to mend, but as time went on he had gotten better. but y/n had known yue for years, they had such a close bond that when sokka wanted to know advice on how to get yue to like him he came to her. and now her closest friend was gone and she had left her home and her family behind to help them on their journey.. he couldn’t imagine how she felt. but he wasn’t going to let her go through this alone. 

sokka wrapped his arm around her and though she flinched at first, y/n immediately relaxed when she realized what he was doing. he was trying to comfort her by just being there, and she appreciated it immensely. y/n leaned her head against his shoulder and the two of them sat there in silence once again, watching the sky.

or am i a fool who sits alone talking to the moon 

“you don’t have to feel guilty,” sokka murmured. “she doesn’t blame you for what happened and she doesn’t blame you for how you feel. i know that she’s watching over us right now.”

“you think?” he nodded and the smallest smile graced her lips. “she doesn’t blame you either. every time you hung out together she would come running back to me telling me how much fun she had and how she already felt so close to you, and how much you brightened up her days. she truly loved you, sokka.” 

sokka laughed humorlessly and shook his head. “i loved her too. i didn’t think it was possible to fall for someone so quickly, but she proved me wrong.”

“she was good at that. proving people wrong.” 

do you ever hear me calling? 

more silence passed. 

y/n opened her mouth and closed it again, trying to find the words.

“yue?” she started off timid, but her words gained more confidence as she went on. “i.. i don’t know if you can hear us. but if you can, i just want to let you know that i- that we miss you. not a day goes by where i don’t think of you, and i hope that you are watching down on us. because we love you. and we always will.” 

“thank you for everything you’ve done.” sokka spoke up now. “i hope you’re at peace, yue, wherever you are.”

cause every night i’m talking to the moon  still trying to get to you

y/n swore that the moon glowed a little brighter in the night sky when they finished. 

she didn’t know how time passed so quickly, but her and sokka ended up falling asleep out there, his arm around her and her head on his shoulder.

and for the first time since the siege of the north, y/n slept without nightmares. 

[fandom-puff]

Malfoy!Reader dating Fred Weasley

Requested by: anon

AN: I put the reader as a slytherin bc... malfoys... and at age eleven she wanted to be in the same house as her brother, her dad etc. Also, reader is draco’s twin so their relationship didn’t start when she was too young. Also, this is a bit of an AU, so Fred doesn’t die lol

Gif creds to owner

Warnings: swearing, Lucius and Draco being quite prejudiced, references to sex but no actual getting jiggy with it

You had always thought Fred snd george were funny, and had been rather sad when they left school in your fifth year

Of course, you didn’t let on to Draco, as he would certainly tell mother (he was rather a mummy’s boy, but you couldn’t point that out to him, as he would just tell you that you’re a daddy’s girl)

You spent your summer daydreaming, sitting in the gardens in the manor or gazing out of your window

Your mother was beginning to talk about arranging a marriage for you (she had been in one, as had Aunt Bella, as well as most traditional pure bloods), but you brushed off every suitor she suggested, with increasingly ridiculous excuses

“Oh, honestly, YN, if you carry on like this, mother and father will have to marry you off to blood traitors like the Weasleys,” Draco teased, and you tensed up slightly

“Oh shut it, Draco, at least theyre one of the only pure blooded families that don’t fuck their cousins and force their daughters into arranged marriages,” you huffed, storming off to your bedroom

Several days later, your mother came to your room and asked if you were coming to diagon Alley with her and Draco

You agreed, and while Draco and narcissa were fussing over robes in madam malkin’s shop, you slipped away to check out the brand new Weasley shop

It was wonderful, and you quickly got distracted by all the colours and sounds and displays

That was until a second year bolted past you and caused you to stumble up some steps, but a strong hand grabbed your arm, stopping your fall

“Oi! Watch it- nearly broke this lovely girl’s neck!” He shouted, before leaning down to you. “You alright? Oh. Well if it isn’t Miss Malfoy,” he grinned, without malice.

“Yeah... Draco’s getting his robes fitted and I couldn’t be arsed listening to his whining. I... I really love the shop,” you said bashfully. “Be careful though, Filch will be banning postal orders to the school,” you grinned, and you settled into easy conversation as Fred took you on a tour of the shop

Ron, Harry, hermione and George watched with dropped jaws

Eventually, you had to leave, to stop your mother and brother from getting suspicious

On the train to hogwarts, you sat with Draco and Blaise and Pansy (And you had to stop yourself from gagging at pansy’s simpering)

Draco made a comment on the weasleys finally having a bit of gold yet still wearing their ���tat’

“Enough, Draco. Money doesn’t define people’s worth” you snapped

“Ugh, don’t tell me you fancy one of them, YN,”

“Ha! Which one, they breed like rabbits!” Palsy chimed in.

“I’ve had enough of this,” you said, and went to go and sit elsewhere

The argument was forgotten w little while later, and a few weeks into term, a small barn owl landed in front of you, dropping a letter, addressed to ‘the loveliest Malfoy’

You hurried off to read the letter, which was an invite from Fred to the three broomsticks on the next hogsmeade weekend and the rest, as they say was history.

Your relationship with Fred remained a secret for several months up until the Christmas holidays, when you returned from Fred’s with a rather impressive love bite just beneath your ear that you hadn’t noticed before you left

Your mother knew something was off instantly- you looked a little more... serene than usual, your hair (which you had left the house in a neat braid) was loose and slightly tousled

Her suspicions were confirmed when at dinner, you tucked your hair behind your ear, and Draco’s fork clattered to the floor.

“Bloody hell, YN!” He said, smirking. “Thought you said you went shopping with Astoria and Pansy!”

You frowned, but then quickly realised, trying to sweep your blonde hair back over the hickey, but your father had stood up from the head of the table and marched over to you, grabbing your chin and tilting your head to the side.

“Who did this, YN?” He asked, seething at the idea of someone taking advantage of his little girl. “Tell me, YN,”

You gulped and looked away, your father sighing, pinching the bridge of his nose. “We will discuss it after dinner in my study,”

Draco smirked deviously, eating quicker so he could get in on the action

“Alone,” Lucius said pointedly.

After dinner, your mother healed the bruise with magic and walked you to Lucius’s study.

The three of you say together in silence for a moment, before your father spoke.

“Was it Zabini?” You shook your head

“Crabbe? Goyle? I swear, I will tear them limb from-“

Narcissa placed a hand on his knee soothingly, turning to you. “Who was it, darling?”

“Fred Weasley,” you whispered, hanging your head. “I-I’m sorry, father. We’ve been seeing eachother for months, writing and... well, I went to see him today. I’m sorry I lied about going shopping, but I knew you’d never let me leave the house if you knew...”

Lucius sighed slightly and narcissa frowned between her husband and her daughter, nodding slowly.

“Right,” Lucius said. “YN. Come. I need to have a word with Arthur Weasley,”

You looked at your mother desperately. “Don’t worry darling,” she murmured, eyes twinkling, and you nodded, following your father to the apparition point

***

“Bloody hell... is that... is that malfoy?”

Ron and Harry ran to the sitting room, where Arthur was reading.

“Dad... you’ll never guess... Lucius malfoy’s coming up the path!”

Arthur sighed and sent the boys upstairs, opening the door

“Lucius,” he greeted, tone a little tense.

Your father’s lips curled into a slight smirk as he gestured to you.

“My daughter revealed something rather surprising to me today, Arthur,” he said and you worried your lip. “She told me that she had been seeing one of your sons behind my back,”

Arthur stared at you, eyes narrowing slightly. You looked very nervous.

“I... didn’t know Ron was seeing anybody,” he said hesitantly

Lucius was about to speak again, but your cut him off. “No... not Ron, Mr Weasley, sir. Er... I’ve been seeing Fred,”

“I think you’d best come in, both of you. Molly!”

Ten minutes later you were settled at the scrubbed kitchen table, sipping tea in an uncomfortable silence as Lucius and Arthur stared at eachother challengingly.

You looked over at Mrs weasley apologetically and she smiled kindly, reaching over to squeeze your hand to reassure you

“Honestly, two grown men trying to stare eachother down like fourth years!” She huffed, flinging a handful of floo powder into the fire, leaning down to speak into it. “Fred Weasley, you had better come through this fireplace in the next ten seconds!” She called

Pretty soon Fred was stumbling through, grinning

His eyes softened when he saw you and widened when he saw your father

“Er... have a... nice Christmas, Mr Malfoy?” He asked awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck as you mentally facepalmed.

Lucius stood up and drew his wand

You gasped, grabbing his arm. “Dad no!” You cried, looking at him pleadingly as he marched over to Fred, backing him into the wall with his wand at his throat. Arthur’s wand was also drawn while Molly shook her head

“If you ever hurt my daughter,” your father said in a low, silky voice. “If you break her heart, cause her harm or force her to do anything, I will kill you, Weasley. If I hear that you have used, abused or manipulated my little girl, I will personally see to it that you are never seen or heard from again. Do you understand?”

Fred nodded, eyes wide

Lucius quickly moved away, putting his wand back into its holder. “Well,” he said. “Now that that nasty business is taken care of,” he offered his hand to Arthur, who (after a hard glare from Mrs weasley) shook it.

Molly then turned to Fred herself and said “if I hear that you hurt YN in any way, it won’t just be Mr Malfoy you’ll have to deal with, Fred Weasley,” she said menacingly, wagging her finger at him.

Fred nodded.

As your parents went outside to discuss a sort of truce, you went to Fred, wrapping your arms around his middle, nuzzling into his chest.

From outside, your parents saw your loving embrace, your gentle kiss, the way Fred cupped your cheek and pushed your hair out of your face so he could kiss your forehead gently, molly sighed happily. “He’ll look after her,” she murmured

Both fathers spoke at once

“He’d better.”

Tag List: @a-hopeless-fan @lotsoffandomrecs @justanotherwildstar @kashishwrites @rai-strangebr @zodiyack @haphazardhufflepuff @dumbfuckinslytherin @severuslovebot @darkthought15 @strawberriesonsummer

[supersupernaturalimagines]

Christmas Delights

Pairing - Jack Kline x Reader

Summary - The holidays are approaching, and knowing that Jack hasn’t ever really seen just how excited people get for the holidays, you decide to take him on a special supply run. 

Word Count - 1,767

Warnings - None! Except it’s November 1st, and I’m already posting a Christmas story. 

“Now what’s the rule?” 

You let out an annoyed sigh as Dean held the keys to the Impala in his grip, waiting for your response before he gave them to you. “Don’t do any damage to Baby whatsoever or there will be hell to pay.” You answered. 

“Continue . . .” Dean said, gesturing for you to do so. 

“Don’t mess with any of the music or radio presets.” You added, crossing your arms over your chest as Dean still held the keys out of your reach. 

“And . . .” He said. 

“Oh my god, are you serious? Jack and I are not going to do anything -”

“I’m ready!” Jack interrupted you, joining the two of you in the kitchen, his bright smile easing up your mood instantly. It was so easy to make him excited. Even if all you were doing was going on a supply run, he was eager to go. “Are you ready to go?” He asked you, moving to stand at your side. 

You glanced over at Dean who was still looking at you, this time with a little smirk on his lips. “I promise all right!” You said, snatching the keys from him, and grabbing a hold of Jack’s hand. “Come on, let’s go.” 

Jack looked confused at Dean’s amused look and your words, but let you lead him out the kitchen and into the Impala. As soon as the two of you were alone, you felt your annoyance vanish as Jack began to tell you all about the latest book he had been reading. You had taken it upon yourself to catch Jack up on popular culture, and he was taking to it well. So well in fact that there had been times when the two of you had stayed up talking late into the night about his favorite things. You couldn’t count the amount of times you had woken up on the couch with your favorite blanket thrown across your body after you had fallen asleep talking to him. 

There was no denying that the two of you were close anymore, and because of that, you liked to team up, whether it was hunting or going shopping. So when it was your turn to go into town and get supplies, you asked him to come with you. He agreed at once. He loved to explore the towns that you were near and human behavior whenever he got the chance, so you knew that he would enjoy this trip in particular. “Wow . . .” He said when you pulled to a stop, staring out the window. 

The whole street was covered in flashing lights and decorations ranging from wreaths to fake snow around some of the lamp posts. All of that seemed to pale in comparison to the large tree that stood in the center of the square. That wasn’t what was holding your attention though. 

Jack’s eyes were wide in wonderment as he gazed around, attempting to take everything in from the car window. The smile that lit up his face was brighter than any of the lights flashing outside. It made a smile form on your own face, his excitement contagious. “What is all this?” Jack asked you, tearing his gaze away from the window to look at you instead. 

“Remember how I told you that the holidays were coming up?” You asked him, then nudged his shoulder. “Humans tend to go all out for that sort of thing. Wanna take a closer look?” You asked, gesturing outside. 

You didn’t need to ask him twice. Jack almost leaped out of his seat, and you struggled to catch up, trying not to giggle at how excited he was. As soon as you met each other at the front of the car, he took your hand in his own. “Thank you for bringing me here.” 

“You’re welcome.” You replied, a genuine smile on your face now as you looked at him. “Now let’s go check it out before Dean thinks we’ve been gone for too long.” You said, tugging him forward and towards the Town Square. 

While the holidays hadn’t been your thing in a few years, it was a whole different thing experiencing them with Jack who had never seen something like this. Instead of being filled with memories that upset you, it was as if you were seeing everything from a whole new perspective, just like Jack was. He asked question upon question for you to answer, and you loved how happy he seemed to be. 

Happiness was a rare commodity for hunters after all. 

“Did you celebrate the holidays when . . .” He trailed off, and you knew exactly what he meant. 

You stirred your hot chocolate with your tiny spoon, poking at your marshmallows while you contemplated your response. “We did . . . what I remember was nice. A lot of family time. Relatives you saw once or twice a year all sitting around a table and catching up . . . looking at the Black Friday ads . . . all the old traditions you know? Along with some of our own.” You added. 

His brow furrowed in confusion. “Your own?” 

“Like . . . my mom did this thing that I thought was weird as a kid. I thought that everyone put a star on top of the Christmas tree.” You gestured toward the large tree at the end of the street, sparkling bright in the night with its large star on top. “It was what I always saw on TV, and that seemed to be what friends always had talked about. My mother on the other hand, insisted on a ribbon. A very large ribbon that took up way too much space and distracted from the tree all together. Of course now I realize it was more common than I thought, but still. It was our own.” 

When you glanced back up at him, you noticed that he was smiling at you this time, in a way that made your heart do all sorts of funny flips and flops. 

“What?” You asked, feeling the heat rush to your cheeks. 

“I like when you talk about your family, and it makes you happy. You aren’t usually when you’re talking about them.” He answered, his words honest, and unaware of the brief stab of pain they caused. 

It was hard to remember the good things after having to watch them die so brutally, so when you talked about your family, he was right, you weren’t happy a lot of the time. Now that he had mentioned it, you didn’t want it to happen again. You didn’t want a guilty emotion to ruin such a fun night for Jack. “You want to go for one more walk around before we leave? Dean’s going to think we’re up to something if we stay out too much longer.” You asked, changing the subject. 

You couldn’t miss the concern that flashed on Jack’s face at your clear avoidance at the subject, but you were relieved when he didn’t pry, picking up your now empty cup and putting it in the trash can behind him as he took your hand once more. “I’d love to.” 

As the two of you walked around the tree once more, the memory of your earlier conversation faded to the back of your mind, Jack’s warm body next to yours as you nestled your head against his shoulder, happy and content again. 

____________________

Over the next few weeks, the days began to melt together as they often did when your little ragtag family were working on cases. It seemed that you were finally getting a break though after you woke up at a reasonable time without Dean or Sam banging on your door to get packed. Taking your time, and enjoying the deep sleep you had just woken up from, it took you a few moments to notice the present on your bedside table. 

As soon as you did, you sat up so fast you almost had a head rush, tears flooding to your eyes. 

There, taking up almost your whole nightstand, was a large bow. It was misshapen in some places, and covered with cartoon drawings of penguins, Santa Claus, elves and reindeer, but there was no mistaking what it was. 

Or who had made it for you. 

You grabbed the bow and ran out of your room, hurrying past Sam who was reading, Castiel who was watching television, and almost colliding into Dean who was carrying a large plate of pancakes. “Hey! Watch it!” He called after you, his mouth full of food. 

Ignoring him, you didn’t stop until you found yourself in front of the place you knew that Jack liked to frequent and opened the door, biting your lip to control your tears when you saw what waited for you. 

“Surprise!” Jack yelled, excited. “Merry Christmas!” 

He had decorated the whole room with different colors of string lights, some large and oddly shaped and some small with flashing lights. There were also various plants, and ribbons hanging around in red and white, but the main feature of the room was the tree. It was rather small for a Christmas tree and leaned sideways somewhat, but you didn’t care. It was perfect. 

And waiting right at the top was a large space set aside for what you were sure was the bow in your hand. 

You couldn’t control yourself. You ran to him, throwing your arms around his neck and planting a kiss on his lips. Almost as soon as you had done it, you realized your mistake and pulled away as your cheeks flooded with heat. “Jack, I’m sorry I wasn’t thinking I’m just . . .” You gestured around the room. “This is so sweet of -”

This time you were the one surprised with a kiss. Jack tugged you back into his arms and was kissing you a lot more thoroughly than you had ever expected him too. Not that you were complaining. His lips were soft and smooth as they moved with yours and it felt like butterflies had erupted all in your stomach as his hands caressed your back in such a gentle touch. You couldn’t help but let out a soft sigh and try to move closer, feeling happier than you had in ages wrapped up in his arms with his lips pressed against your own. 

The kiss had to end at some point though, and the two of you were breathless by the time that it did. There were matching smiles on your face as you looked at each other, and then Jack spoke up. “So, do you like it?” 

Your smile widened as you answered him with another kiss.

[lizzielikeborden]

(ɔ◔‿◔)ɔ ♥ prompts for requests (>‿◠)✌

These are some prompts to use for requests. They have labels, so when you request be sure to use the label and the number so I know which section you got it from. Happy requesting!

Fluff

1. “Is that my shirt?” “You mean our shirt?”

2. “It’s you, it always has been.”

3. “You’re everything I could’ve wanted and more.”

4. “Kiss me.”

5. “Home stopped being a place when you entered my life.” 

6. “You should probably go home.” “But I’m already home.”

7. “You’re an idiot.” “But you love me.”

8. “I’d do anything for you.” 

9. “You took all the pillows so I’m using you as one.”

10. “Stop moving and let me braid your hair.”

11. “I’m so proud of you.” 

12. “Could you say that again?” “Were you not listening?” “No I was, I just like hearing your voice.”

13. “I didn’t think it was possible to love someone this much.”

14. “You are my family.”

15. “I’m right here.”

16. “Can you just please hold me?” 

17. “I’m pretty sure (you’re/she’s/he’s/they’re) my soulmate”

18. “You come here often?” “Well considering I work here, yes.”

19. “You know, I think my (mother/father/parents) would be proud if I brought (you/her/him/them) home.” 

20. “I just want to see you happy.”

21. “I haven’t seen (her/him/them) smile like that in ages.” 

22. “You made me a better person. Thank you.” 

23. “I’d rather live in the woods with you than in a mansion with some (girl/boy/person) I barely know.”

24. “This reminded me of you.” 

25. “Your hair is really soft.”

26. “You’re really warm.”

27. “Are you blushing?”

28. “Can I stay here tonight?”

29. “Because I love you.”

30. “I’ve been in-love with you since we were kids.”

31. “I’m never going to leave you. I promise.”

32. “Make a wish!”

33. “I love seeing you smile.”

34. “Why are you wearing my sweater?” “Because it smells like you.”

35. “I just want to be there for you.”

36. “I couldn’t get you out of my mind.”

37. “You’re just a softie.”

38. “You owe me.” “Fine, whatever you like.”

39. “You’re safe now, I’m here.”

40. “Why are you scared of loving?”

41. “You are crushing me right now.”

42. “Darling I love you and all, but please step out fo the kitchen.”

43. “I love you.”

44.“You’re an idiot.” “But I am your idiot.”

45. “Take my hand. Just trust me.”

46. “You’re hurt. Please just let heal it.”

47. “At least let me clean it.”

48. “I told you to take care of yourself.”

49. “You’re the only thing that matters.”

50. “Stay.”

Angst

1. “I’m leaving.” “Of course you are, that’s all you know how to do.”

2. “You started drinking again, didn’t you?” 

3. “You promised you’d stop drinking.” “And you promised you wouldn’t hurt me!″

4.“But it’s my fault right?”

5.“I don’t want to feel this. I want to be numb again.”

6.“You’re lying to me again. Why can’t you just tell me the truth for once?”

7.“I love you.” “No you don’t”

8.“I can’t lose you.” “You already did.”

9.“Did it mean anything to you? Did I mean anything to you?”

10.“How was I such an idiot, to believe that you, out of all people, could ever love me?”  

11.“I loved you.” “Then why did you let (her/him/them) get in between us?”

12.“Maybe they were right, you never did change.”

13.“This is all in my head. It’s all happening in my head.”

14.“Don’t you dare walk away from this!”

15.“What gives you the right to just waltz back into my life after all the pain you’ve caused.”

16.“You’ve changed.”

17.“You win, happy?”

18.“Any other lies left to tell me?”

19.“Why did you wait until I moved on?”

20.“Don’t look at me like that.” “Like what?” “Like you still love me.”

21.“Its (her/him/them), isn’t it?”

22.“It’s always been (her/him/them).”

23.“When did you stop loving me?”

24.“Let me go.”

25.“You’re not you.”

26.“I miss the old you.”

27.“What happened to their happily ever after?” “Not all love stories get a happily ever after, sometimes it’s just once upon a time.”

29.“Move out of my way before I make you.”

30.“I risked my life for you.”

31.“I never would’ve thought (she/he/they)’d end up with someone else.”

32.“They were perfect for each other.”

33.“I was happier with you.”

34.“I would’ve done anything for you.”

35. “I loved you. I loved you so so much but you hurt me.”

36.“They warned me about this.” “About what?” “You.” 

37.“Lie to me. I don’t care what you say, just lie to me. Make me feel okay again.”

38.“You broke me.”

39.“You just threw four years of friendship out the window.”

40.“Hasn’t this addiction done enough damage already?”

41.“Sorry doesn’t fix everything.”

42.“You promised.”

43.“I don’t need help! I need an end to this pain.”

44.“What am I in your life? Because as of lately I feel as though I’ve been nothing to you.”

45. “Leave”

46.“I can’t keep playing pretend.”

47.“Give me one reason why I shouldn’t leave.”

48.“I wish we never met.”

49.“I’m sorry I’m not enough for you.”

50. “You scare me now.”

General

1.“I love you.” “Tell me that when you’re sober.” 

2.“It’s pouring rain why are you here?”

3.“I love you.” “You shouldn’t.”

4.“Where are you?”

5.“What happened?”

6.“Have you been taking care of yourself?”

7.“Is that blood?” “Yes but that doesn’t matter right now, what does matter is-” “You are literally bleeding.”

8. “Is that my book?”

9. “Are they dead?”

10. “You want to play pretend? Well two can play at that game.”

11.“Did you know that you talk in your sleep?”

12.“Come back to bed. Please.” 

13.“You’re who they warned me about.” 

14.“Come back.”

15.“You should’ve listened to me.”

16.“I haven’t seen you in days.” 

17.“Are you jealous?”

18.“Cheers, I’ll drink to that.” “You drink everything.” “Cheers!”

19.“Why is there a lion in the room?” 

20.“Is that vodka? At 7 in the morning?”

21. “Can we take this home?”

22. “Hey, look at me. Focus on me alright?”

23. “I haven’t seen (her/him/them) smile in months.”

24. “(She/he/they) don’t belong with (her/him/them)!” “Than who do(es) (she/he/they) belong with?” “…..with me.”

25. Come home.”

26. “I hope you’re happy.”

27. “They don’t need to know.”

28. “I made this for you.”

29. “Why is arson always your first answer?”

30. “Is this really the time for jokes?”

31.“Wake me up when it’s over.” 

32.“You look happy.” 

33.“I’m sorry, do I know you?” 

34.“Why can’t I get you out of my head?”

35.“Do you want that?”

36.“Don’t let go.” 

37.“Just let me stay.”

38.“Can I at least tell my side of the story?” 

39.“Do you trust me?” 

40.“Are you flirting with me?”

41.“Is the weight of your sins too heavy?”

42.“Just let me see (her/him/them) one last time. Please.”

43.“Are you afraid to die?”

44.“Are they really ‘just a friend’?”

45.“I wasn’t lying when I told you that I loved you.”

46.“I won’t hurt you.”

47.“Have you been sleeping?”

48.“I didn’t know where else to go.”

49. “It’s not 8:00 AM, it’s 8:00 AM”

50. “We should just play our music louder, then we won’t hear theirs.”- “That’s so much noise.”

Mental Health

1.“I didn’t know where else to go.”

2."you can talk to me about anything"

3."I don't understand but I believe you"

4."I'll stay with you as long as you need me to"

5."take a deep breath"

6."do you want me to give you advice or do you just want me to listen?"

7."you don't have to go through this alone"

8."I'll check on you again tomorrow"

9."you're not broken"

10."let's take a five minute break

11."I love you no matter what your brain tells you"

12."I'm always here if you need anything"

13."please don't talk that way about yourself"

14."let me know if you ever need a ride to therapy"

15."don't forget to take your medication"

16."it's okay to ask for help"

17."I'll go with you for moral support"

18."I don't know how to help you but I can help you find someone who does"

19."do you want to talk about it or would you like a distraction?"

20."you're safe"

21."there is always hope"

22.“I will do this with you, you’re never alone”

23.“No one is perfect.”

24.“I will sit outside this door for hours if that helps.”

25.“This is not your fault.”

26.“You do not owe anyone an apology.”

Wordless Ways to Say “I Love You”

1.Holding their hands when they are shaking.

2.Tucking the sheets around them when they stir during the night.

3.Traveling long distances just to see them.

4.Making their favorite meal when they are having a hard day.

5.Giving them a kiss before going to work and they are still in bed.

6.Tucking your head into their neck during a hug.

7.Lightly kissing on top of a freshly formed bruise.

8.Buying them something unrequested because it made you think of them.

9.Participating in their hobby even if it doesn’t personally interest you.

10.Sitting in comfortable silence while eating a meal.

11.Telling them a dumb joke just to see their smile.

12.Following their family traditions that they enjoy.

13.Singing and dancing to their favorite song.

14.Calming them down when they have a bad dream.

15..Having a tickle fight until you’re breathless.

16.Folding their clean laundry and putting it away.

17.Sharing a soft smile across a crowded room.

18.Bringing them a plate of their favorite sliced fruit.

19.Washing their back/hair in the shower.

20.Sharing your umbrella with them in the rain.

21.Listening to them while they vent.

22.Taking a picture together to print and hang later.

23.Tracing your names together in the sand.

24.Wearing clothes in their favorite color.

25.Doing a chore for them that you know they aren’t fond of.

26.Leaving a plate of food in the microwave for when they have a late shift.

27.Sharing a drink with them from the same straw.

28.Tucking their hair behind their ear to help them get it out of their face.

29.Helping scratch that itch on their back they can’t reach.

30.Pulling a chair out for them to sit down at the table.

31.Wrapping a blanket around them when they are sitting on the couch and watching a show.

32.Throwing away their piles of tissues when they have a cold.

33.Mending an item of their clothing that was ripped.

34.Running out in the middle of the night to get a food item they’re craving.

35.Helping brush their hair after a shower.

36.Making sure to be quiet while they’re taking a nap.

37.Letting them warm their cold hands under your shirt.

38.Giving them your dessert when you eat out because it’s their favorite.

39.Making a goofy face until they notice and laugh.

40.Giving them space when they express wanting to have some time alone.

41.Holding their hand while walking, even if there isn’t a crowd.

42.Holding shopping bags that are too heavy for them.

43.Standing between them and a busy road.

44.Rubbing the back of their hand with a thumb.

45.Giving them a back massage when they flop on the couch or bed.

46.Staying up half the night to finish a game with them.

47.Getting them a coffee just the way they like it.

48.Giving them a tight hug that makes them lose their breath.

49. Buying them a special treat when you go out shopping.

50. Watching shitty horror movies 

[your-dietician]

Jaime Jarrín, the legendary Latino voice of the Dodgers, retires

New Post has been published on https://medianwire.com/jaime-jarrin-the-legendary-latino-voice-of-the-dodgers-retires/

Jaime Jarrín, the legendary Latino voice of the Dodgers, retires

LOS ANGELES — As the only girl and the youngest among her siblings, Alicia Ayala, 53, grew up in the predominantly Latino neighborhood of Boyle Heights, sharing a special connection with her dad, Raul, a die-hard Los Angeles Dodgers fan.

“We were Dodger blue since forever,” said Ayala, who would ride in the cargo bed of her dad’s white pickup truck to attend Dodgers games.

At the time, she and her family spoke exclusively in Spanish. The only way they could follow along with games was by tuning in to Jaime Jarrín’s play-by-play Spanish-language radio broadcast.

“If we were watching a baseball game, we were listening to Jaime Jarrín. It was just what we did,” Ayala said. “He was always on, always.”

Jarrín, now 86, is set to retire as the Dodgers’ Spanish-language broadcaster this year. His final broadcasts will take place as the Dodgers enter the postseason as one of the Major League Baseball World Series favorites with the league’s best overall record and the franchise’s best-ever season (111 wins and 51 losses).

Jarrín’s contract was the first Spanish-language broadcast contract in the MLB.

It marks the end of a career for Jarrín that spanned 64 seasons and one that saw major demographic and cultural shifts in Los Angeles and within the Dodgers fan base.

For Ayala, the end of his career also symbolizes a heartfelt final goodbye to her father, who died in December 2012. “In a lot of ways, hearing Jaime all this time kept me close to my dad,” she told NBC News in tears.

‘I am like Rocky Marciano’

Jarrín sat down at Dodger Stadium with NBC News correspondent and “Stay Tuned” co-host Gadi Schwartz to discuss his retirement, his impact on the city’s Latino community and his plans for the next phase of his life.

Jarrín was scheduled to retire on Jaime Jarrín Day, on Oct. 1, when the Dodgers played the Colorado Rockies at home. But his retirement was delayed until the end of the postseason, in anticipation of another successful playoff run as the team qualified as the top seed in its division.

“I am like Rocky Marciano; I’m in my corner waiting for the bell to sound for the last round,” Jarrín told Schwartz jokingly.

During the interview and the day of his final regular season broadcast, Jarrín traded his traditional blazer for a Panamanian hat made in Montecristi, Ecuador, and a white track zip-up jacket from the professional Ecuadorian soccer team L.D.U. Quito — a nod to his home country.

He was also wearing a 1988 Dodgers World Series championship ring gifted to him by his good friend Orel Hershiser, the former Dodgers pitcher and World Series winner.

Though the Dodgers don’t have any Ecuadorian players, Ecuadorian flags could be spotted across the stadium on Oct. 1. Fans brought them in honor of Jarrín. They know his voice and his famous phrase as he chronicled the games: “La pelota se va, se va, se va y despídala con un beso!” In English, it’s “The ball is going, going, going and say goodbye to it with a kiss!”

Building community

Jarrín is an institution and in many ways a pioneer. He’s known as the Spanish voice of the Dodgers, the Latino community’s Vin Scully.

Scully, the “voice of the Dodgers” who died in August, was the bridge for Jarrín inside the broadcast booth, as Jarrín became Scully’s bridge to reach a growing Latino fan base.

“He was a titan in my profession, but he was my close friend,” Jarrín said of Scully. “I was so blessed to be probably the person that spent more time with him, because every day here at the ballpark we used to have dinner together and on the road we were always together.”

Jarrín’s kinship extended beyond Scully to fellow broadcasters who joined him in the Spanish broadcast booth through the years. 

“I’ve spent nearly 30 years with him, ‘about half my career,’ Jaime likes to say to me,” said Pepe Yñiguez, a Spanish-language baseball broadcaster for the Dodgers who teamed up with Jarrín starting in 1999.

“We’ve shared many adventures,” Yñiguez said. “We’ve traveled on many long trips talking about how we got to this country and how we’ve navigated the experience.”

Reaching multigenerational and immigrant families

Jarrín was born in Cayambe, Ecuador, and worked as a reporter in Quito before moving to California in 1955 at age 20. He worked as a cafeteria busboy and studied English for a year before joining KWKW-AM (1330) — then the only full-time Spanish-language radio station in Los Angeles.

Within two years, he became director of the station’s news and sports department. When it was announced that the Dodgers would be moving west for the 1958 season, KWKW quickly cut a deal with the team to broadcast its games locally in Spanish, something no major league franchise had ever tried before.

Jarrín was given the role in the booth and had a short amount of time to familiarize himself with America’s pastime. He initially rebroadcast games in Spanish from Scully’s calls before the station sent him on the road.

“Many thousands of Latinos coming in from Mexico, from Central America, the Caribbean area, from South America, they didn’t care much about baseball,” Jarrín said. “Fernando Valenzuela and myself, I think we did our part to not only help the Dodgers in that regard but baseball in general.”

Jarrín estimated that Latinos now account for between 42% and 46% of all Dodgers fans. When he first started and the team occupied the L.A. Coliseum, that number was between 8% and 10%. Through the decades, the city’s population grew, and so did its Latinos, who now account for almost half of the city’s population, according to the latest census data.

One of the factors that brought Latinos to Dodger Stadium was the arrival of pitcher Fernando Valenzuela, a former Mexican professional baseball pitcher most remembered for his stint with the Dodgers, helping them win a World Series championship in 1981.

Jarrín stepped up to the plate and helped bridge the language barrier between Valenzuela and mainstream news media outlets. Jarrín served as Valenzuela’s interpreter, and “Fernandomania” encapsulated the city of L.A. and the country.

At his core, a traditional newsman

Even before he achieved fame as a baseball radio announcer, Jarrín’s work as a Spanish-language radio reporter earned him a place in informing his community of crucial local and national events.

“Radio was the only medium for the community to be in touch with the rest of the country. So I took advantage of that,” Jarrín said.

Jarrín recalled arriving in Washington, D.C., to cover the assassination and funeral of President John F. Kennedy. “I was 20 feet away from where the body was laying there, when Mrs. Kennedy came in with her son,” Jarrín said.

It was his first visit to the nation’s capital. He recalled arriving at a rainy and cold Washington, filled with military guards, after receiving support to access press credentials and a radio signal from California’s first Mexican American member of Congress, Rep. Edward R. Roybal.

“I went to the cathedral where the procession was coming in, described everything that was going on, and then Arlington cemetery, so I was there when the procession came in. It was a very tough assignment, but I think it is the best I have had,” Jarrín said. 

In addition to calling an estimated 10,000 to 12,000 Dodgers games, there are dozens of moments in Los Angeles history that Jarrín witnessed and reported on, including the Chicano Moratorium and the killing of journalist Ruben Salazar, presidential visits from Latin America, World Series games, and the 1984 Olympic Games.

This trust translated into some fascinating moments in his life, like being flown in a helicopter by the FBI from the KWKW parking lot to Los Angeles’ airport in 1972 after Ricardo Chavez Ortiz, a hijacker on a Frontier Airlines flight, demanded to speak with Jarrín from a place of trust and admiration.

His hard news coverage and his voice in the sports broadcast booth during some of the biggest moments in sports history — such as the final boxing match between Muhammad Ali and Joe Frazier III, billed as the “Thrilla in Manila” — cemented Jarrín’s place in many Latino homes.

Life post-broadcast

While Jarrín feels physically and mentally well enough to continue broadcasting for two to four more years, he said “it’s the right time for me to hang the gloves.”

After retirement, he will remain with the Dodgers as an ambassador supporting the team’s ties to the city’s Latino community. Jarrín will also help manage the Jaime & Blanca Jarrín Foundation, in hopes to allocate at least 30 to 50 scholarships worth $10,000 each every year to students.

When it comes to honors, Jarrín’s trophy cabinet contains plenty. They include a 1988 induction into the National Baseball Hall of Fame, the receipt of Ecuador’s highest nonmilitary honor, the first Latino to win California broadcasters’ Golden Mike Award, and others.

“I hope they remember me as a person who came from South America, who came from Ecuador at 19 years old without knowing much of the language, but who tried to prove himself and tried to do something for the community,” he said.

“Jaime Jarrín has been the first voice that I can remember as a kid,” said Jose Benito Garcia, 35, of Inglewood. He’s the “perfect person to personify what the immigrants and Latinos can bring to this country.”

Follow NBC Latino on Facebook, Twitter and Instagram.

Read the full article here

[taexual]

i’d love you to stay but that’s simply insane // JJK (4)

     jungkook is an uncontrollable lead vocalist of the campus band, and you’re a goal-oriented top student that’s known his rich and complicated family since childhood. you don’t want anything to do with each other, until each other is exactly what you want to do.

pairing: jeon jungkook x reader

genre: college au

warnings: this is mostly jk showing off what a shy tease he is, but with some angst at the end

words: 4.8k

       chapter four

Somehow, Jungkook had managed to keep his wits about him and completed the week without a single party – and without a single drop of alcohol! – so, naturally, by the time it was Friday, everyone was talking. Most people assumed that there was something wrong with him but a surprisingly large percentage of the students on campus seemed to understand his reasons – causing a car crash while under the influence was bound to make a person reconsider some of their life choices.

When your last class of the week, Macroeconomics, wrapped up on Friday afternoon, you were surprised to find Jungkook lingering by the door of the building. You weren’t sure if you were at that point in your friendship where you could just approach him and simply ask what was up or if you two still weren’t close enough for that but Jungkook noticed you and relieved you from making that difficult decision.

“Hey!” he walked over to you as soon as he saw you. “Wasn’t your class supposed to end fifteen minutes ago?”

You looked down at the clock on your phone. “Uh, yeah. The professor is—well, I’ve concluded that she can’t tell time.”

“Clearly,” he said. “I stayed back, thinking we could head home together.”

“Oh,” you said and then looked down, automatically mapping out the campus until you came to a conclusion that you and Jungkook could definitely walk in the same direction without it being weird, so, really, there was no reason for you to get excited about this. And yet your heart disagreed as it cheerfully tossed itself across your chest. “Sorry I made you wait, then. But you could have given me a heads-up. My Fridays don’t start until—”

“See you tonight, bro!” a guy walking past interrupted you as he punched Jungkook on the shoulder so unexpectedly that he nearly toppled over. Jungkook didn’t mind, though, and when you lifted your eyes, you saw a friendly smile on his face.

“Definitely!” he replied to the guy before redirecting his attention to you. “Sorry about that. You were saying?”

“Nothing,” you dismissed that as you two slowly walked out of the building and made your way home. “So, what’s tonight?”

You didn’t mean to pry but, after not hearing about any Parental Advisory parties from Inna, you had suspected that the band was going to take it easy this weekend – perhaps even give the not-so-legendary Brock a chance to host a second party, since his first one only seemed to do moderately well after Jungkook didn’t show up – but, clearly, you’d been wrong to assume that.

“Ah, there’s a party at our place,” Jungkook said and he seemed very uncomfortable admitting this so he tried to find a way to justify it, “it’s tradition, you know? We’re not performing this weekend because we didn’t get to practice as much – my bad, I suppose – but the party’s still on.”

“I see,” you said, not realizing how judgmental that sounded to him.

“Yeah, and it’s not like I can just not go because I live there,” he continued to explain himself, “it’d be weird if I stayed in my room the entire time and, now that I think about it, I probably couldn’t stay in my room anyway. The music would be too loud for me to do anything, so I’d have to—”

“Jungkook,” you turned to look at him and he finally stopped the nervous chatter, “you don’t have to swear off parties altogether. That wouldn’t be you.”

“Yeah, no, I know,” he scratched his neck, “it’s just—I don’t know. I get that most of my friendships on campus are superficial. Really, I do. But it’s—I mean, these people aren’t that bad to hang out with. I just don’t want to make it seem like I’m back on my old bullshit, you know?”

You didn’t know because you weren’t sure what his “old bullshit” involved but you nodded because he looked like he needed reassurance right now.

“Sure,” you said, “but you’re in college. You can still go out and have fun with your friends… or whoever those people are to you. Just be responsible.”

“Right,” he swallowed and both of you turned quiet.

Realizing that he had a limited amount of time to talk to you before you’d reach your dormitory, Jungkook was the one who spoke up again a minute later.

“I talked to my parents last night,” he said. “I called them like you said. They acted like it was the first time I’d ever called them. I’m pretty sure mom thought I only called because I needed to get bailed out of jail.”

You raised your eyebrows in surprise. “I didn’t realize you’d drifted off so much.”

He exhaled slowly. “Yeah, we did.”

“You’re working on it, though,” you said, noticing that your observation seemed to bring him down. Out of fear of having discouraged him, you added quickly, “that’s a good sign, isn’t it? You are actually trying to bring back what you once had.”

“Hmm, that might be a stretch. I don’t think we were ever a perfect family,” he scrunched up his nose as he said this and, for a moment, you were completely breathless because he looked so sweet and homely – it was an insane contrast to the wild, long-haired alternative singer that most of the people on campus knew him as.

“Yeah, well, uh,” you blinked, looking away from him and focusing on the pavement instead, “every family has its flaws. But not all of them are willing to work on them.”

“I feel like that’s a line from a Tolstoy book,” Jungkook said and you snorted. He noticed the disbelief on your face right away. “What? I only act like I’m empty-headed sometimes, but I do read.”

“No, it’s not that,” you said, shaking your head, “I just never pegged you for someone who’d read Tolstoy, of all things.”

“Why? Who did you peg me as?”

You gave him a side-glance, your eyes guarded by your eyelashes as you still wouldn’t meet his gaze – which was good because his heart had already stopped when you looked at him like that – and hummed thoughtfully.

“You always struck me as more of a Stephanie Meyer guy,” you said.

He gasped and pfftched for the next few steps before finding his voice, “Stephanie Meyer? I mean, there’s nothing wrong with her but what is it about me that screams I-enjoy-hot-vampire-drama?”

You shrugged. “You tell me. I remember seeing the book in your bedroom when we were in sixth grade.”

“I am not going to defend my twelve-year-old self,” he declared with mock-dignity and you couldn’t help but smile at the banter. “That must have been the year when the book was the most hyped. I got curious.”

“Hey, I’m not judging,” you said and then bit playfully, “different strokes for different folks, right?”

“I’d rather not have Edward Cullen stroke me, thank you very much.”

You laughed. “Fair enough.”

Jungkook smiled as he watched you but he didn’t get to enjoy the happy wrinkles by your eyes for too long because you two reached your dormitory and it was about to become awkward. Due to the fact that Jungkook lived a little further away, it was starting to feel like he’d just walked you home, which he technically did, but it wasn’t the typical Walking-Home that happened when two people were dating, and now you didn’t know how to act.

“Alright, well, thank you for waiting for me after class,” you said in an attempt to ease the awkwardness.

It didn’t really help because, all throughout the walk over here, Jungkook kept trying to find a way to ask you something and he was still having a hard time choosing his words.

“Yeah, uh, anytime,” he said and then, with a very dramatic stretch of his hands above his head – he wasn’t trying to show off his muscles or anything, he just needed to feel a little more in control of his body – he finally dared to say, “hey, so… do you think you’ll make it to the party tonight? I mean, I assume your roommate’s coming, so—”

“Oh, I don’t know if she is,” you admitted, completely oblivious about how long it took him to gather the courage to ask you to come. “Inna didn’t mention going.”

“She said she was thinking of going when I talked to her,” he said, recalling the time he’d cornered your roommate for your phone number.

“I guess your parties are more her thing,” you said, not wanting to turn him down but also not feeling up for another night with his drunk groupies, “they’re not really for me.”

“Alright, that’s cool,” Jungkook said, focusing all of his attention on a loose pebble on the pavement that he kicked softly with his foot. “I’ll see you on Monday then, yeah?”

He didn’t make it obvious but you could still hear the glints of disappointment in his voice and you’d have been fooling yourself if you said it didn’t make your heart beat faster – he wanted you to come! – which was still something that you weren’t used to.

When you were younger, Jungkook had never made you feel like you were going to die if he didn’t smile at you. Until, one day, that was precisely how he made you feel.

It happened in the final years of your friendship so you’ve had seven years to digest the butterflies and finish wallowing in self-pity. You thought you were fine now.

“Yeah,” you said struggling to swallow because, clearly, the only creatures that were fine, were the damn butterflies that had successfully reincarnated. “I’ll see you Monday.”

But the two of you stayed still for a few more minutes, both stealing quick glances at each other and then looking away when your eyes met. You couldn’t bring yourself to turn around and enter the dormitory because in doing so, you’d begin two and a half days of not seeing Jungkook, and you didn’t feel ready for that yet.

Funny how you’d survived seven years without talking to him but one weekend suddenly seemed too long.

“I should go,” Jungkook said after a while because it was true, he really should have gone. But he didn’t want to leave. “They’re probably going to send me on a booze run.”

“Is that your punishment for last weekend?” you asked.

“Yeah. But also, maybe it’s not? They always order me around,” he explained. “I’m the youngest. Sometimes, I swear, I can’t wait until they graduate and then I won’t have to go on beer runs at six in the morning when they’re too drunk to move.”

You’ve heard about the dynamics of the relationship between the Parental Advisory members from Inna but it sounded different – somehow more real – when Jungkook was the one telling you about that. You felt yourself smile as he spoke of the other members.

“You don’t mean that,” you said. “You guys seem really close.”

“We live together,” Jungkook said with a nonchalant shrug but you could see how much their friendship meant to him in his eyes. “We’ve seen each other go through all kinds of shit. They’re… they’re cool guys. The only ones I’m actually genuinely close to. You’d like them.”

You didn’t doubt that for one second even though, just days prior, you thought his whole band was overrated.

It’s been a long week, that much was clear, and you’d learned that you were a lot more prejudiced than you’d have liked to admit.

“I’m sure they’re nice,” you didn’t disagree, “I hope they’ll take care of you tonight.”

That sounded far too familiar and just plain affectionate when said out loud, and you felt yourself flush as you looked for something else to say to control the damage. But Jungkook didn’t seem to mind your worry in the slightest – in fact, he knew he was going to replay your words in his mind all the way to his house – as he smiled and gave you a reassuring nod.

“I’ll be fine tonight,” he promised and the grateful glitter of his eyes let you know that there were going to be no life-threatening accidents tonight.

Inna did end up going to the party. She felt like she’d already come so far by attending last week, so she couldn’t just stop going now – which made no sense to you whatsoever, but maintaining the perfect attendance clearly meant a lot to her, so you gave her your blessing and patiently endured her nagging as she tried to get you to come with her.

“I can’t bring myself to go,” you said as you settled on your bed with your laptop. “I went through this whole week looking forward to Friday so I could have an American Horror Story marathon until I dreamt of latex-clad monsters. I just can’t postpone that any longer and especially not for something as ridiculous as—well, you know.”

She used to think you were kidding when you first started to live together, but after knowing you for three years, she realized just how much these seemingly little things meant to you: like catching a new superhero movie or re-watching your favorite TV shows. And it wasn’t that you hated social interactions or parties in general, not at all. You just needed them to come in smaller doses than most people.

“I get it,” she said. “But are you sure? I mean, Jungkook is going to be there.”

“I know,” you said and, boy, did you. Him being there was basically the only thing you kept thinking about ever since you got home. “You can tell him hi if you see him. He knows who you are.”

Inna scoffed. “Yeah. As if I can just approach a member of Parental Advisory and start a casual conversation.”

You gave her a look. “You can. It’s the mindset that these people are better than you that’s stopping you. It’s also what keeps them thriving.”

“I know,” she said, “but still. I’m arriving to the party alone this time, and I’m not really a member of their group yet. I need to know my place.”

“Inna—”

“Yeah, alright, I heard how that sounded,” she stopped you before you could lecture her again. “But you know what I mean.”

“Are you trying to get me to come with you out of pity?”

She smiled despite herself. “Well, it worked before.”

You shook your head, smiling at her sneaky attempt. “Get out of here. And have fun!”

“I will,” she promised, spraying some perfume on her wrists before she left. “I’ll keep you updated on what Jungkook is doing.”

“Please don’t stalk him on my behalf,” you cringed, which was, clearly, her intention as she laughed.

“Everything I do,” Inna sang in her best Bryan Adams voice as she exited the room dramatically, “I do it for you.”

You wished her good luck one more time before she closed the door of the dorm and hurried down the hall. 

You didn’t often get to have your dorm room all to yourself so, as soon as she left, you exhaled in content and sprawled across your bed, your laptop resting on your hips, the first season of American Horror Story starting on the screen.

You got through the first few episodes before you had to pause the show and go find yourself a snack. Never having too much actual food in the house, you and Inna always made sure to stock up on snacks, and you returned to the bedroom with a box of Oreo's and a pack of Maltesers. Very content with the current state of things in your life, you continued to watch the show while you unwrapped the box of cookies.

Sometime in the middle of Episode 4, you thought you heard your phone vibrate but, by that time, you were already dozing off and assumed that it had to be a figment of your imagination. Still, just to be sure, you patted the bed with your hand, searching for your phone, and then gave up a minute later when you couldn’t find it without getting up.

Another few moments later, the buzzing sound returned and this time, you were sure of it – someone was calling you. Groaning, you lifted your head off the head rest and cursed yourself when you saw your phone on the furthest corner of the bed. Pausing the show, you set your laptop aside and reached for the vibrating device with a painful strain of your muscles that were aching to sleep now.

They woke up almost immediately after you noticed the caller’s ID, however.

Clearing your throat with wide, surprised eyes, you picked up the call. “Hello?”

“Hi!” Jungkook’s voice was so high-pitched that you didn’t recognize it at first and were about to double-check if it was really him calling you when he continued, “I’ve tried calling you but you weren’t picking up.”

“Oh. Yeah, sorry, I—I didn’t hear,” you explained lamely. “Is everything okay?”

“Everything’s perfect!” he replied. He couldn’t have made his drunken state more obvious if he’d tried. “Wait, no. No, it’s not. You didn’t come.”

Every emotion he was trying to portray with his words was exaggerated as he spoke in a purposefully whiny tone. It tugged at your heart strings and you had to pull the phone away from your face so you could clear your throat again.

“No, I…” you said but the ball of excitement was still stuck tightly in your throat. “I told you I wouldn’t.”

“Yeah but I thought you’d change your mind,” he said and then loud shuffling followed, “oh—whoa—!”

You blinked. “W-what happened? Are you okay?”

“I’m—yes! I slipped,” he laughed breathily and you nearly suffocated from the sound, “I’m really drunk.”

“Yeah, I can tell,” you said, standing up from your bed in hopes that walking would help you calm your beating heart down. “What happened to being responsible?”

“I am being responsible,” Jungkook countered.

“Doesn’t sound like it,” you replied just humorously enough so he’d know you weren’t actually angry or disappointed in him.

But he wasn’t in the mood to over-analyze your words as he seemed to bring his phone closer to his lips to say quietly, “hmm, you should have come then, so you could keep an eye on me.”

The accidental – or purposeful, for all you knew – ASMR had you gripping the windowsill for support.

“I didn’t realize you needed a babysitter,” you tried to play it cool.

“I don’t. I just need you,” he said automatically and your whole body lit up like an artificial Christmas tree. Jungkook reacted first, however, as he tried to back up, “uh, here, I mean. At the party”

“I got it,” you lied. The only thing you got was that Jungkook was just as capable of putting you in a trance over the phone as he was in real life. “I, um… I don’t really do parties.”

He shuffled – probably switching the phone to his other ear – before asking, “what do you do?”

“I like to stay in,” you answered, pacing around your room. “Watch a movie, maybe.”

“Okay,” he said, no longer as bold. “Maybe next weekend we can do something you do together, then?”

It felt like you’d swallowed your own heart and it was now beating all over you until your whole body was buzzing. “Uh—”

Thankfully, an unexpected overjoyed screeching sounded in the background of the call, distracting you both and providing you with the perfect opportunity to get out of the grip his question had put you in.

“S-shouldn’t you go check that out?” you asked with a nervous chuckle. “Sounded important.”

“Yeah, I’m—I’ll go check it out,” he agreed hesitantly, concluding – drunkenly and, most likely, incorrectly – that he’d stepped over the line. “I’ll call you later, okay?”

Struggling to speak, you only hummed in approval, “mmhhm.”

“Okay.”

But just like before, outside of your dormitory, neither of you wanted the conversation to end. Despite you making it awkward by not answering his proposal – he shouldn’t have thrown it at you so unexpectedly – you did enjoy the fact that he’d called – when he had so many other people around him to talk to – and didn’t want to hang up just yet.

You two allowed the silence to settle on the line as neither of you seemed to find a way to break it. You kept thinking about his question, kept replaying it over and over in your mind, and the more you thought about it, the more frightened you became. You’d already given your all to him once before, but he decided he didn’t want you to do that anymore. He didn’t need you anymore.

You didn’t want to spend the few upcoming years exploring the boundaries of your friendship with him, only for him to decide -- once again -- that he didn’t really want to be with you anymore.

And yet, even though your heart was on the line here, you still refused to hang up the call.

“Jungkook?” you said quietly.

“Yeah?” he answered right away as if he was waiting for you to say something – and he was, really.

“Oh,” you exhaled. ���I thought you went to check what happened.”

“No. I’m here,” he said and you heard him swallow. “It’s probably nothing interesting.”

There was no way it wasn’t interesting – you could still hear the sounds of excitement in the background of the call – but Jungkook found himself much more intrigued by the sound of your breathing as you tried to find what to say.

“Okay,” you said and then prepared yourself for another round of silence – only it didn’t come.

“So, uh, hey, tell me about these movies you like to watch,” Jungkook changed the topic in a slightly more upbeat voice and you chuckled in relief.

“You already know all about it,” you said. “I used to force you to watch them with me.”

“I wouldn’t call it forcing,” he disagreed. “It’s not like I did it against my will.”

“You sure made it seem so,” you reminded him.

“Well, you can’t expect me to go down without a fight,” he said. “If I remember correctly, you always wanted to watch horror movies. It’s not good for my dignity when you don’t flinch during the jump-scares and I’m the only one actually getting scared.”

He did remember correctly – so his mind did function semi-properly even when he was intoxicated – and you couldn’t stop smiling. You must have looked like a lunatic. You felt like a lunatic.

“Yeah, you were always a scaredy cat,” you teased.

“Bold of you to say so when you had me climb through your bedroom window to get rid of the spider that was blocking your door,” he said and you gasped, having had him swear that he’d never mention the incident again.

“I was ten!” you protested. “That’s also how many legs that monstrosity had.”

“Spiders have eight legs,” Jungkook said matter-of-factly and then mocked your previous teasing voice, “you were always one to exaggerate.”

You rolled your eyes but the grin did not fade from your lips.

“Thank you, though,” you said before you could change your mind. “I don’t remember saying that after you got rid of it.”

Jungkook was smiling, too. “No. I only remember you sprinting downstairs as soon as you could open the door.”

“That’s because you chased me around the room with the thing,” you pointed out, Jungkook’s teasing ‘come on, just look at it!’ still fresh in your memory. “Actually, that might be why I never said thank you.”

This got him to laugh. “Yeah, that’s probably why. In my defense, I was just trying to help you deal with your arachan—arach—ah, for fuck’s sake. With the fear of spiders.”

“Is it the alcohol getting to you?” you asked, giggling as he stumbled on the word.

“It must be,” he admitted, “but, really, I feel fine. Responsible drinking! Like I told you.”

“And you’re still having fun?”

Clutching his phone closer to his ear, Jungkook nodded to himself.

“Yeah,” he said slowly, “I definitely am.”

“So, in conclusion, blackout drinking is overrated,” you said knowingly.

“It’s—” he started but then stopped abruptly. You could hear his name being called in the background.

“You should go back,” you said then, feeling like, if you weren’t going to hang up, he wouldn’t either.

“Yeah, it’s starting to look like they won’t give me any other choice,” Jungkook said. “I’ll see you soon, though, okay?”

“Yeah,” you said as if that was obvious, “see you.”

“Give me a call if there’s a spider that needs my attention,” he bit one last time and then hung up as soon as you finished laughing – he couldn’t hang up before, it was simply impossible for him to pull away from the speaker of his phone when you were laughing.

You stared at your phone for at least a few minutes after the call ended, still beaming. There was a juxtaposition of feelings brewing inside of you: you were excited about receiving his call – even if it was a drunken one – while still holding yourself back from (re)developing any sort of connection with him out of fear of it all ending as abruptly as it had before.

But, as you put your phone down and returned to your previous spot on the bed – no longer tired enough to fall asleep – you figured that you were really more excited than you were afraid. Because, all things considered, you and Jungkook were no longer in the ninth grade. And maybe it’d prove to be difficult for you to fully open your heart again, but you couldn’t dismiss the possibility that, eventually, you could have Jungkook in your life again.

Three more episodes of American Horror Story later, you were positively dozing off. You did want to finish the first season – and you came so close – but your eyes were already closed for half of the last episode you’d watched, so you decided it’d be best to go to sleep. However, as soon as you turned the laptop off and got up to brush your teeth, you heard the door of the dorm open.

Poking your head into the hallway, you yawned just as Inna stumbled inside – and flinched, grasping at her chest, as soon as she saw you – dropping her keys onto the floor.

“Jesus, don’t stand there in the dark,” she hiccuped, leaning down to pick her keys up while you turned the light of the hallway on. She lost her balance on her way back up and had to lean against the wall to stand.

“Wow, you’re properly drunk,” you said, feeling another yawn coming but resisting it because it was starting to look as though you wouldn’t get to go to sleep just yet.

“Nooo,” she whined. “I didn’t drink that much. Just—just a little. A small little drink.”

You smiled at her description and took her keys from her. “Let me get those. You get yourself to bed.”

“Oh,” Inna sighed wistfully as she leaned against the wall of the hallway instead of doing what you’d told her. “You should have really come with me. It was fun.”

“Yeah, I bet it was,” you replied. “Come on, off to bed now—”

“Can I tell you a secret?” she asked.

“Inna—”

“I have Yoongi’s phone number,” she giggled drunkenly.

“Alright, good for you. Now, let’s—”

“Can I tell you another secret?” she said again and her expression turned grave. “But, shhh, shhh, you can’t tell this one to my roommate.”

Confused how to proceed from there, you hesitated and then ended up choosing not to encourage her to keep going. You’d eavesdropped enough in the past week so the maximum number of secrets that you knew but weren’t supposed to know was reached.

“That’s okay,” you told her, gently wrapping an arm around her shoulders to help her return to the bedroom. “You can tell me tomorrow.”

“No, no, listen,” she disagreed, allowing you to guide her towards the bedroom – and then nearly falling face-down on the floor after she trusted you blindly and ended up stumbling over the threshold of the door because of it. “I saw Jungkook.”

She started to giggle like a madwoman then and you thought that was the whole secret but as soon as you helped her sit down, and squatted in front of her to remove her shoes, she kept going.

“I’m really sorry,” she said, her hand coming to rest on the top of your head as she brushed your hair affectionately.

“Sorry about seeing Jungkook?” you asked absentmindedly, too focused on the removal of her heels to pay attention.

“Yes,” she confirmed. “He was coming over here.”

You managed to pull one of her shoes off and dropped it in surprise.

“What?” you asked. “He was coming here?”

She nodded and you stood up, giving the room a once-over. If Inna was serious, and Jungkook was coming over here, there was no way you were going to let him into your room – it looked very much like a cozy pigsty at the moment.

“With a girl,” Inna added then, “she probably lives here.”

Blinking as you tried to digest this new bit of information that she had dramatically withheld for a whole minute, you felt your stomach sink with heavy disappointment.

“He’s, uh—he’s going over to some girl’s place?” you asked, returning to your previous job of removing Inna’s shoes.

“I think so,” she nodded and, judging by her voice, she was already falling asleep, but she still didn’t forget to mention, “but don’t tell my roommate. She’s just starting to be friends with him again.”

Your hurting heart would have disagreed with her – a friend wouldn’t have cared whom her friends were sleeping with – but you kept your eyes on the floor as you took her heels off and picked them up to carry them into the hallway.

“Don’t worry,” you said. “I won’t tell.”

keep reading | masterlist

[agentlemuse]

Dea!!! I am so in love with your Buddie the old guard fic I've read it so many times now I LOVE IT could you maybe write a little sequel to it with Eddie whitnessing Buck dying and coming back to life for the first time! No pressure obvs but you'd make me super happy! thanks again for writing the buddie old guard au fic ITS SO GOOD!!!!!!!!

Hayley I am so sorry for making you wait!

Also on AO3

“How much are you willing to wager,” Hen challenges, her own stack of bills being dropped on the table like a declaration of war.

Chim eyes everyone carefully, emptying out all the money in his wallet with a confident pop of his gum. “I’m all in. Buck?”

“All in. Eddie?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Oh, come on! It’s tradition,” Buck begs, practically pouting as he tries to get Eddie to join in on the bet. He refuses every time and every time Buck acts surprised.

“Pretty sure the only tradition here is them getting all of your money,” Eddie points out with a smirk, earning a sharp laugh from Athena.

“You are too young to be this lame,” Buck sighs dramatically as Eddie rolls his eyes. He might be lame, but at least he will keep his money.

Just like that Hen is crowing as Buck laments his defeat. He looks to him with wide eyes in hopes of sympathy but all Eddie can do is laugh. He did warn him.

Athena and Bobby were chuckling fondly from their spot in the corner, speaking to each other without saying a word as they do often do. After one night of partaking in too much of Hen’s sangria he asked Buck if they had developed telepathic powers and Buck laughed so hard he snorted red wine out his nose. Considering their immortal status he didn’t think it was quite that funny, but Buck disagreed.

Looking at them now he still says it was a valid question.

“Okay everyone listen up,” Athena announces, drawing the attention of everyone with the simple command. “We have some news.”

“New job,” Buck asks eagerly, already wanting to speed ahead.

Bobby and Athena share a sad look and for the first time since Eddie has known them they look like they’re struggling to find the words to say. Athena stands, picking at a scab on her arm.

A scab.

She shouldn’t have a—

“I’m mortal.”

It’s funny how you can live for a millennia and a single moment can still knock you to your knees.

Athena could still have three, maybe even four, decades with them, but suddenly each moment is finite. He knew this was possible, Buck had told him about Abby, but it wasn’t real until now.

He may not know her as well as the others; hasn’t watched dynasties rise and fall with her, but she’s his family now. He foolishly thought he’d have more time before saying goodbye to family again.

But it’s not about him. It’s about Athena. It’s about the people who have loved her for centuries trying to wrap their minds around life without her.

Eddie doesn’t know much about Buck’s parents, partly because there isn’t much worth remembering from the way Buck tells it, but Athena is his mother for all intents and purposes. Now that she’s - not vulnerable (she’d stab him for even thinking it) - mortal, Buck has been like an overprotective mother hen. Athena has looked ready to strangle him on more than one occasion and he’s pretty sure the fussing is more likely to take years off her life than anything else.

And it’s sweet. Funny even, how Athena looks at him with such exasperated fondness.

Only that overprotectiveness makes a reckless Buck even more reckless.

Which, fine, Buck’s immortal. For now. Because that’s the thing, isn’t it? The idea that immortality just ends was hypothetical before now.

And Buck is—

Buck is—

Buck is his family. His person. The only reason he doesn’t spend this eternity of his lamenting every new day.

Buck has been on this earth for nearly a millennia without him, but Eddie doesn’t want to live without him. Not for a thousand years or a thousand days or even a thousand minutes. Not because he needs Buck, but because he wants him. He wants his kind eyes and infectious laughter beside his side. He wants the feel of his breath on the back of his neck as he lays curled in behind him. He’s not sure he can go back to sleeping alone.

A shame he’ll need roughly a thousand years to figure out a way to finally tell him, which is not going to happen with Buck being so eager to get himself killed.

Buck insists on throwing himself into danger, which means Eddie has to throw himself further. He’s younger, newer, he can take more hits. He knows logically that Buck must have died hundreds of times before him, but he hasn’t died since Eddie killed him. Maybe he can’t keep him alive forever, but he can certainly try.

Bobby catches on first.

“Nasty hit you took today.”

“I’ve had worse,” Eddie says nonchalantly, fingers flexing against a phantom wound long since healed. Buck stormed out earlier, pissed he jumped in front of a bullet for him only to bleed out slowly. Tonight Buck will hold him closer, making sure he’s still in one piece; a bittersweet ritual they’ve formed together. He’ll take the anger if it keeps Buck safe.

“You’ve been taking a lot of hits lately.”

“Saying I should work on my ducking skills?”

“Saying you can’t take them all,” Bobby replies, cutting off whatever comment he might be opening his mouth to say with a look. “When is the last time Buck died?”

“You should ask—“

“When?”

“When I shot him,” Eddie admits, jaw clenching.

“He’s had a good run, but good runs end. He knows what’s at stake just like everyone else. We can’t outrun the inevitable. You’ll drive yourself crazy if you try,” Bobby says softly, an unspoken pain behind his eyes. “Don’t miss out on the good worrying about the bad.”

“Wouldn’t have to if he wasn’t so eager to put himself in harm’s way,” Eddie deflects, no real malice in his words.

“Funny, that’s what Buck said about Athena.”

That was hardly the same. Buck is being reckless, Eddie is just—

Well it’s not like he can take care of him through his cooking, now can he?

The next few months they take it easy on the missions, focusing on time together as a family. It’s good, great even, but it’s only a matter of time before the world has a need for their set of skills.

Which is how they find themselves in this dimly lit warehouse in what is clearly a trap.

He and Buck have taken the front, trying to clear a path to the escape route so they can’t get pinned in. The sharp pops of bullets flood his ears, a fog of plaster dust filling the air as bullets lodge in walls instead of bone.

There are too many blind spots and not enough cover.

There’s shouting, cries of pain, but none of them familiar. They’re gaining ground, they’re getting out, they’re—

The sick sound of a bullet striking flesh, muscle, bone enters his ear. A spray of blood hits his cheek.

Eddie turns to see Buck crumple against the ground.

Suddenly there is no noise, no friends or foes. There was only Buck lifeless on the floor, his head a gaping wound of brain matter and skull.

He falls to his knees beside him, blood soaking his trousers as he reaches out to help him. Only, he doesn’t know how to fix this.

“Buck, wake up. Buck. Buck.” He doesn’t recognize his voice, doesn’t recognize the frantic panic of this strange sound coming out of his mouth.

He thinks of all those zombie movies he used to watch with his sisters when he was young. The only way to kill them was to take out the brain. They couldn’t come back from that. Buck couldn’t—

Eddie shot him in the head once, but this was different. There hadn’t been this hole. There hadn’t been brain matter scattered across the floor. Buck hadn’t taken this long to wake up.

He can’t do this without him. He doesn’t want to do this without him.

“Wake up, wake up, you have to wake up,” Eddie demands, then begs.

“Eddie, we have to keep going,” Chim says from across the room, providing cover from enemies he couldn’t care less about. “He’ll catch up.”

He ignores him. Of course he ignores him. He can’t leave Buck. He’s going to wake up, he has to, so why is it taking so long?

The team moves on, because there is no other choice if they want to get out of here, but Eddie doesn’t move. He waits for a sign of life, anything, but Buck stays perfectly still. He should be healing already, blue eyes fluttering and a smile on his lips. He shouldn’t be so still and pale under the stark stream of red.

He’s so lost waiting for puffs of air that aren’t coming he misses the footsteps behind him. It’s not until he feels rough hands grabbing at him that he remembers the fight. He feels a knife slide through his ribs as they try to drag him back. He thrashes wildly, scrambling for any weakness he can exploit. They’re not going to take him away from Buck. He’s not leaving him alone. He’s not—

A single shot rings out and the man Eddie was fighting falls.

Eddie turns back to Buck who is sitting up with a gun in hand.

Eddie scrambles over to him, pulling him close, feeling the side of his head to make sure he’s whole.

“Eddie, we need to catch up with the others,” Buck urges, already back in the game. How can he be so calm? How can he be so steady? “Eddie. Eddie.”

“Your birthmark grew back.”

Buck’s face grows soft for a moment, letting out a puff of breath like it was punched out of him. Eddie can feel the wound on his side healing, but he ignores it, busy feeling the pulse of Buck’s heartbeat where his hand rests on Buck’s neck.

“Eddie, we have to keep going.”

“You weren’t waking up. You took so long to wake up.”

“I’m here, Eddie,” Buck insists, resting his forehead warm and whole against Eddie’s. “I’m here. I’m not leaving you, okay? I won’t leave you. Now let’s go.”

Eddie goes with him because there is no other option. He doesn’t want to be anywhere without him.

It doesn’t doesn’t get any easier to watch him die, but Buck always comes back to him. He has to believe he always will.

[venhedish]

On the importance of platonic love: fanon romance vs. canon relationship dynamics in Supernatural.

Hey I’ve seen some posts going around about this little niggle, and I don’t want to say I’m exceptionally qualified to talk about it, but I have been an active participant (and celebrant) of relationship anarchy for most of my adult life and I also practice non-monogamy, though that’s far less relevant to what I’m gonna be talking about here.

This applies to all fandoms where people are shipped together and obviously have a connection but are never officially made canon, but since spn is my shit rn and a lot of this particular flavor of discourse seems to be centered around Sam and Dean’s relationship (which I’m also slightly maybe embarrassingly obsessed with?), I thought that’s what I’d focus on.

Basically what I want to say is that there’s nothing wrong with pairing characters together romantically in your fanfictions and headcanons (hello! im a big gay wincest/destiel/wincestiel multi-shipper, myself!), but arguing that Wincest (and Destiel to a lesser extent) went/was always canon really, really undermines the importance of non-romantic long-term relationship representation in popular media. I mean, seriously, how fucking cool is it that Sam and Dean are canonically soulmates and also brothers and also ride-or-die-best-friends? There isn’t much precedent in TV for the kind of complicated, blurred-lines dynamic that these dudes share, and minimizing it to they fuck or they’re just brothers really diminishes one of the best Right Things™ the show managed to accomplish. The same can be said for Dean and Castiel’s relationship, too. 

I think we as fans can do a better job of celebrating non-romantic canon relationships while also still shipping them together in fanon spaces. There’s a problem our communities seem to face where we have a really hard time distinguishing where the line is between The Written Word and What My Heart Wants, and both of those things are totally good and valid! But—here’s the part that I see people struggle with—you can appreciate both at the same time. In my headcanon, Sam and Dean fuck because I have a deep desire for complicated, all-consuming romance and I want to turn any two characters with chemistry into a thing. But as it pertains to my real life and the brain I reserve for fandom meta and social-justicey-intersectionality-ish-issues of representation and breaking from hetero-normative standards, I want to see more varied and sundry takes on the non-traditional family unit, on what it means to be queer platonic with your brother, on loving and cherishing your angel best friend more than society typically considers acceptable but without having the expectation of more.

This is a lot. But I just want to celebrate that we got to watch a television show on thee CW network buck societal relationship norms for fifteen years!!! Despite its failings in like, every other area of representation, this one is a big win from me and it’s just really cool and good so thanks for listening. I love you. Bye.