#its like a big circle passing a dollar back and forth

[marsixm]

i was lit just having this convo w my coworker the other day that the yt bubble is bursting this year and shes like youtube is never gonna fail like no the platform will keep being used and people will keep watching videos but its very obvious making it a full time job, unless youre literally mr beast, is not really a sensible option anymore for most people

[a-pretty-nerd]

Self Indulgent Shigaraki Nonsense Part 5

Tomura Shigaraki x pregnant!reader

A/N: Oh wow part 5 and I'm still not done with this.

Warnings: Emotions? Cursing?

You tossed and turned in your sleep, groaning and moaning in frustration. Your joint ached, and fatigue plagued your body. You tried everything you could to get to sleep but nothing was working and on top of your aching body, the nearly fully developed fetus in you thought now was the perfect time for exercise.

Tomura laid beside you, having fallen asleep hours ago. But your movement and sounds of anguish gently woke him up. Groggy and a little frustrated he looked over his shoulder to see your upset form shift back and forth.

"Is it the baby?" He asked in a low, hoarse voice. You huffed.

"Everything hurts and they keep moving around and I'm exhausted but I can't fall asleep!" You cried. You felt silly crying like this to Tomura, you felt like a little kid throwing a tantrum. Weren't you supposed to be the mild mannered, mature and wise mother?

Tomura turned over to face you, his gloved hand reaching out and planting firmly on your enlarged belly. He gently ran circles around it, trying to sooth the mysterious being inside. He had grown used to this routine, grown used to the idea of you being pregnant. But the idea of being father and actually having a baby was still out of his reach. For now, he was content to have you tucked away and all to himself where he knew you would be safe.

"My fucking BONES hurt." You complained as you rubbed circles into your eyes. He chuckled at your declaration for a moment before wrenching himself from the bed and shuffling into the kitchen where you could hear him rustling about. You laid there and closed your eyes, trying to emulate the soothing sensation of rubbing circles across your belly. They clearly liked it better when Tomura did it. You didn't even know how they knew the difference.

"Here." Tomura entered the room with a hot cup of tea in hand. He sat it down on your bedside table as you struggled to sit up properly. You laid against the head board and slowly took the mug. "Careful. It's still hot." He noted, sitting on the edge of the bed.

"Thank you."

"Mhm." He watched you blow and sip on the tea, running his gloved hand up and down your calf.

"This is new." You scoffed.

"What?"

"You taking care of me." You smiled.

"What are you talking about? I've taken care of you before. Remember Jaku?"

"Ugh, I don't want to." You cringed. A particularly rough battle had left you broken and beaten black and blue. If it wasn't for Tomura, you would have been dead. But that was before you knew he loved you. Before you knew you loved him. "You're right you have taken care of me. But not like this before." Your smiled made him blush.

"This is a different situation." He explained. You chuckled.

"I know." You finished your tea and he took it from you to put the mug in the kitchen sink. But before he left the room you called to him. "Hey...Tomura?"

"Yeah?"

"Thank you."

"Sure."

"No. Really. Thank you. For everything." He watched you for a moment, engraving that sweet smile of yours into his brain forever. Before nodding and walking back to the kitchen. You adjusted yourself, laying back down and watching him come back in and lay in bed. You watched him, your hand reaching up to gently scratch down his bare back. A comforting gesture he loves but will never out right ask for. It put him to sleep quick, and soon you followed him.

When you woke up the next morning, you found yourself alone in bed. You struggled to get up to use the bathroom and wash your face before waddling into the kitchen. A note had been placed over wads of cash on the kitchen counter. The note read:

I'm sorry there was an emergency and I had to leave early this morning. I left money on the counter for breakfast. Take it easy. I'll see you soon. I love you.

- Tomura

Money for breakfast? You looked down at the wads of 20 dollar bills and giggled. Tomura still had very little grasp when it came to money. He just never had to really worry about it. It's not that he wasn't good at budgeting or math, but, this was enough to pay the mortgage and groceries for the rest of the month. Some breakfast you'd be having. You took the cash and put it away where the rest of it went. You were to pay for everything in cash. The mortgage, the car payments, groceries, furniture, absolutely everything. As if that didn't make you look suspicious enough. But Tomura insisted on it because it wouldn't leave a paper trail to your name.

Your new name would have no debt no credit, nothing. It had to be perfect and unremarkable.

You fed, washed, and clothed yourself which took all morning now but finally you made up your mind to take a short walk to the local grocery store and do some shopping. Normal house wife shit, right?

So you waddled your fat ass out the door to take a leisurely stroll all the way to the super market. You looked up and watched grey clouds gently float above, bringing a cool breeze and the faint smell of rain in the air. You made it to the store before it started to sprinkle. The bright and fresh atmosphere of the store made you uneasy. Public spaces still made you feel out of place. Suspicious. Like you still had to hide.

You paused in the middle of an aisle, sudden movement stopping you dead in your tracks. The baby had been moving less, and the false contractions had started. Your midwife had taught you that this was normal, you still weren't due for a while longer, there was no need to worry. But they were a big pain in the ass.

You held your belly and took a deep breath. It soon passed and you went back to searching for your grocery list.

"First one?" A voice asked. You turned and found a young woman standing there pushing a stroller. She gave a friendly smile.

"Oh, yes."

"How exciting. I had a lot of false contractions with my first too. How far along are you?"

"I guess about, eight months. Give or take a week or two."

"You sure look it. I'm kim by the way, nice to meet you." She held out a hand and you shook it. Her bright smile and relaxed attitude bring comfort and warmth. You looked down to the stroller, an infant cradled towards Kim, and an absent-minded toddler glaring at the floor sat in the front. He angrily pouted at the ground, before his gaze slowly came up to you.

"Nice to meet you, I'm Y/-...." fuck! What was your new name again? You almost blew your cover. "Ota." You remembered. Thank God.

"Your the new family down the road aren't you?" Kim nodded in recognition.

"Yeah, yeah. How long have you lived here?" You tried to make conversation.

"Oh I've lived here all my life."

"Wow."

"Yeah my husband and I met in high school here and been together ever since. He travels for work now though, so,"

"My husband travels too." You told her. Shit. Was that the right thing to say? Could you really call Shigaraki your, husband? What would he think about that? He'd probably be irritated you even bothered to socialize at all.

"Oh really? What does he do?" You paused.

"Uh, he works closely with heroes." You croaked.

"Oh like management er' whatever?" She was so nonchalant.

"Yeah, yeah. Real boring stuff." You agreed. 'Er' whatever' what a great way to put it.

"Yeah mine's a lawyer for cities suffering from 'big hero blow-outs' they call em'. He works with cities about destruction of public property and what not. I don't really know the details or anything but hey, maybe our guys have crossed paths a couple times! What did you say his name was?" Shit. Shit. Shit.

"Uh, Ota. Ota Kurai." You lied.

"Kurai...huh..." Kim thought for a moment, taking in a deep breath and sighing. "Well, that doesn't ring any bells. How long have you been together." Was this something you were supposed to lie about?

"Five years now, I think." You pondered.

"You think?" She chuckled at you.

"Yeah, it's hard to remember sometimes. All of a sudden we went from friends to more. Its difficult to explain." She smiled.

"Yeah, I understand. Well, I better be off. The boys need a nap before lunch. It was lovely meeting you, Ota."

"Likewise!" You smiled back.

"See you around."

"See ya." And with you that you went on shopping, a successful venture. You were lucky you were able to purchase an umbrella in the store, it was really coming down now. You waddled along the sidewalk, making your way back to the stretch of suburbs you occupied. As you walked the final stretch to your home, the wind began to pick up. Violently wrenching the umbrella out of your hand and throwing it behind you. You turned, panicked and now vulnerable to the heavy rain. It came down fast and hard, the droplets almost painful on your skin.

You turned around to find your umbrella flying through the air, tumbling over to a distant figure. A young man, no, a teenager. The kid snapped to attention, jogging for the object from under his own umbrella and quickly making his way back to you. You tensed up, the weight of your groceries, the rain, your condition. Clearly you were in distress. You cursed yourself. You were once a feared villain. You fought the greatest heroes Japan had to offer and lived to tell the tale. You were an activist, pioneer, warrior, leader. You had the scars to prove it. And now look at you. A helpless, pregnant house wife.

"Here miss!" The boy called. You sniffed and reached for it as he handed it to you.

"Thanks!" You barked, trying to shuffled off without anymore talk.

"Let me help you with that!" He insisted, taking your groceries from you and shielding you from anymore rain. You were soaked by now. You couldn't argue, he insisted and you had to admit that the help was nice. He walked you home, standing and waiting at your house's gate as you took back your bags from him.

"Thank you for your help." You tried to be polite.

"Sure thing miss. No trouble. Are you sure you got it?"

"Yes. Thank you." You insisted, turning back to disappear into your home. Only to find the front door open. You let out a startled gasp. A familiar figure stood in the doorway, dark eyes glaring at the boy behind you. Your eyes shuffled back and forth between him and the boy. Shigaraki wore a painfully mediocre disguise. A face mask, and a black wig. From far away he easily blended into a crowd. He was always good at hiding himself in a strange way. He was an oddly good actor.

"Sara. You should be more careful." He barked your fake name in a fake tone. Like he was a concerned husband.

"Sorry Kurai, I didn't think the storm would get this bad." You chuckled in a panic. He approached you, averting his gaze from the boy. Hiding his face and taking the bags from you. You turned back to the boy who's eye shifted from Shigaraki then back to you. "Thank you for your help. Here." You shuffled around in your purse before handing him a few hundred yen.

"Oh no Mrs, really it's fine."

"No. I insist." You huffed with a smile.

"Thank you. My names Sato by the way, I live just down the road."

"Nice meeting you Sato." You smiled and closed the gate before waddling back inside. You closed the door behind you, panting as you recovered from your adventure.

You watched Tomura remove his disguise in a frustrated huff before putting the groceries away. You leaned against the wall after shuffling into the kitchen, leaving water to fall from you and pool on the wood floor. Soon he turned to look back at you.

"I thought there was an emergency."

"False alarm." He muttered.

"Are you mad at me?" You asked. He paused and gave a frustrated huff.

"...I told you not to get friendly with people. That puts you in danger." You scoffed. "You're soaking wet, you better shower off before you catch a cold."

"I didn't have a choice, okay? It's not like I sought out his help! He was just there, he insisted he help! And yknow what, I can't say I didn't need it. Because I'm incapable of doing anything apparently!" You shouted. Oh shit. He angered you. You could see it in his eyes. He hates it when you get angry, it makes him uneasy. "And I'm a walking beacon of chit chat too! Everyone wants to talk to the new pregnant lady. Last week, I had fend off like four old ladies from touching my belly. And the week before that, the clerk at the bookstore kept trying to sell me these weirdly religious parenting books. And- And today even! Today some other mom stopped me to talk about my false contractions at the store and I almost forgot our names and I- I-" You're crying now. He hates seeing you crying more than he hates seeing you angry. He slowly approached you, watching as you sniffled and sobbed and wipped away your tears.

"Come on, let's get you comfortable." He guided you to the bathroom to help bathe you in a warm bath to calm your nerves and ease your aching body. You shuffled out into the living room, the warmth of your pajamas easing your tense feelings.

"She wasn't that bad." You mumbled.

"Hm?"

"The other mom at the grocery store today. She was actually nice. She has two boys. She was really chill."

"Mh."

"I told her you worked in management with heroes and you travel a lot." You chuckled to yourself. "Her husband works as a lawyer for cities regarding damage from heroes. She said you might have crossed paths." Tomura pause and flashed a goofy smile.

"You never know. Maybe we have." He joked. You laughed for a moment before finishing your bath and getting changed.

"How come you came back?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well usually you stay away. But you've been here so long I figured you'd have left by now so you don't take any chances getting caught. Why'd you come back?" Tomura starred at your stomach and placed his gloved hand over it before looking up at you.

"I'm just finishing a few preparations. But I've made plans so that I'll be able to stay longer than I usually do." He didn't answer your question.

"Plans? Like what?"

"Don't worry about it."

"Don't tell me you put Dabi in charge." He scoffed and rolled his eyes. "Toga? No!... Spinner!?"

"Y/N. Please." He begged.

"Sorry. But you never leave someone else in charge."

"Well now I have a reason. I'm...I'm taking a few months."

"What? But what about your work?"

"I'm not quiting. I'm still the true ruler. It's just a small...vacation. I can go back at any time if an emergency occurs. But for now, I'm staying here."

"You really miss me, don't you?" He pulled his hand away and rolled his eyes one more time before strolling away.

"Of course I miss you." He said it like it was a well known fact. "I miss you every second. I miss working with you. It's so frustrating without you. You understand, you got it. You always knew what needed to be done, what I was trying to do. Now it's like herding cats to get the simplest of tasks done sometimes. I mean you- you were always one step ahead. Half the time I didn't even need to ask you to do something you were already there. You were so smart and cunning and strong."

"And now I'm just a housewife..." He slowly turned to look at you. "I'm just the knocked up mistress you gotta hide."

"No. You know that's not what I meant."

"It's how you make me feel."

"Y/N..."

"I miss it too, y'know. Working with you, with everyone. I miss doing something that actually matters. I miss the planning, and the training, and the fighting. I miss it all. And now look at me. I couldn't even fucking walk home from the grocery store without needing to be rescued. It sucks, it really sucks. I know I chose this life. I know I chose...." Your hand hovered over you belly. "But I just...I just..." You're crying again.

Tomura places a hand on your back and hold you close and the other to stroke your hair in an attempt to calm you again. You clung to him, rocking the two of you back and forth.

"I know. I know." He whispered.

"I just wanted...wanted to be happy. Like how- normal people are happy." You cried.

"I know."

"And I am- I am happy I just... I miss working so much. And I miss seeing everyone and seeing you and fighting heroes and just...I even miss negotiations!" You sobbed. Tomura couldn't help but flash a smile.

"I know. I'm sorry." Your crying started to subside for a moment. Giving him the opportunity to plant a kiss on your cheek.

"Tomura?"

"Yes?"

"I love you."

"I love you." He nodded and placed his hand on your belly once more.

"So you'll be here for it?"

"Yes I'll be here." You smiled.

"Thank you."

"Don't thank me. It's the bare minimum."

[moonlitceleste]

Elevator Love (Ch. 1)

A/N: Welcome to my first multi-chaptered fic! This was supposed to be a one-shot but I kept writing and here we are. I’m not super happy with this, so I’m probably going to rewrite it eventually. Staring at my document hasn’t seemed to help so far, so I’m probably gonna take a break on this and work on requests. For now, just sit back and enjoy :D

Marinette gnawed on her lip nervously as her fingers toyed with the ladybug keychain on her white crossbody purse.

Her eyes were glued to the towering Wayne Enterprises building before her. The big “W” atop it seemed to stare her down, issuing a silent challenge for her to walk past its doors.

“You got this, Marinette!”

The heroine smiled weakly at Tikki’s assurance—although she did appreciate the sentiment, Marinette wasn’t quite sure she could agree.

She was not prepared to meet Tim whatsoever.

Sure, they had been friends for nearly two years—but regardless, Marinette couldn’t help but stress.

It had all started when Tim decided to commission MDC for a few pieces, offering a large sum of money in exchange for her efforts. Despite being doubtful of whether or not he was truly who he claimed to be, Marinette accepted the request.

Soon enough, back-and-forth emails progressed to casual texting, which led to an eventual friendship. The two seemed to click naturally, which was evident in their smoothly-flowing conversations.

Tim knew everything there was to know about her (barring her identity, of course), yet they had never met in person.

He was the co-CEO of a multi-billion dollar company and she was a prominent designer that moonlighted as a superhero—finding time to video chat one another was hard enough.

But now that Marinette had finished université, she had nothing tying her down to Paris. 19 was a young age to be done with school, but her life wasn’t exactly normal.

That’s why a few weeks before graduation, Marinette decided to email Bruce Wayne.

It was a spur-of-the-moment decision; Tim had made an offhand remark about how he wished he could be there for her graduation, and the cogs in Marinette’s brain began to turn. Maybe he couldn’t come to Paris, but she could go to Gotham.

Once her mind was made up, it was only a matter of planning.

It was surprisingly easy to get ahold of Tim’s father; from then on, everything else fell into place.

Perhaps attempting to surprise someone as smart as him went against her better judgement, but it was too late to turn back now.

Marinette’s phone pinged, and she scrambled to press her thumb to its home button. Speak of the devil.

Mr. Wayne

It’s ready.

Tell your name to the receptionist at the front desk, and she’ll give you a lanyard with a pass into Tim’s office as well as a set of directions.

I apologize again for not being there to guide you; unfortunately, I have other matters to attend to.

Marinette tucked the gift box she was holding under one arm, freeing her hands to type out a response.

Marinette

Thank you so much for your generosity, M. Wayne!

I really appreciate all your help in planning this, and for allowing me to surprise Tim in the first place.

Despite your busy schedule you’ve gone through so much trouble to help me. I really can’t thank you enough!

Once she pressed send on her last message, Marinette inhaled deeply.

Her hands moved to smooth down the soft fabric of her blush pink dress.

It was an admittedly simple ensemble, but the billowy sleeves and fluttery skirt gave it a delicate flair. Her white strappy sandals, circle purse, and wavy half-up braided hairstyle tied it all together nicely.

Marinette checked herself over one last time to make sure she wasn’t forgetting anything. She tucked her phone into her purse, grabbed the box containing Tim’s gift, and turned to look at the imposing building with a burst of newfound confidence.

Here we go.

-

“To the right…” Marinette muttered. “Or was it to the left?”

The designer scrunched her nose in confusion, turning around in a circle to better survey the building.

She had already obtained the lanyard and directions, but decided to make a last-minute detour to the bathroom. It shouldn’t have been a problem since Marinette was a few minutes early, but now she was lost. Sure, the place had a fairly open floor plan, but it was enormous! She couldn’t be expected to navigate this.

In hindsight, maybe deciding to deviate from her original schedule had been a mistake.

Marinette sighed and started walking. She didn’t want to disturb anyone, so wandering aimlessly was her only other option.

Well, it wasn’t her only option—she could easily use her Ladybug magic to give herself a push in the right direction, but Tikki would disapprove. Oh, and it was wrong to use her powers for selfish gain. Marinette totally remembered that.

Turns out she didn’t even need to use her Ladybug powers, though; it only took  a few minutes of searching for her to stumble across what she was looking for.

About 10 meters away was a set of elevators lined up against the wall. A glowing “up” arrow was visible on the panel beside a pair of open steel doors.

Marinette’s eyes widened at the sight of the open elevator. She promptly broke into a jog, careful to keep her speed somewhat appropriate for the environment. The doors started to close, and Marinette’s heart raced faster. There was a shadowed figure inside, but due to the angle they likely couldn’t see her.

“Wait!” she called as loudly as she dared.

It was almost funny how similar the experience was to her lycée days.

Marinette pushed the thought to the back of her mind—she would rather not taint her day with memories of that dumpster fire.

She turned her attention back to the elevator, whose doors had retreated. Thankfully, the person inside heard her. Marinette slowed her pace as she covered the last few meters, but was mindful to not walk obnoxiously so.

As she approached her destination, it became increasingly apparent that whoever was inside was remarkably tall.

Ugh, she could practically hear Tim’s jest in her head—are you sure it’s not just because you’re short? He loved to poke fun at her height with short jokes, even though he was only 8 cm taller than her.

Anyways, despite her petite stature, Marinette was sure the person inside would be considered tall by any standards.

She prepared a friendly smile, a “thanks” on the tip of her tongue when they finally came into view.

The first thing she saw was a pair of worn black men’s work boots on what was an admittedly toned body.

Marinette didn’t let her eyes linger on the muscles there, rather opting to trace her gaze from the man’s body up to their face. And wow, was that a gorgeous face.

She wasn’t the type to fall for someone based on appearance alone, but Marinette would be crazy to think this wasn’t the most attractive person she’d ever seen.

He had messy black hair with a pure white streak in the front, tousled to perfection in a way that would make a supermodel jealous. His brilliant green eyes were pools of emerald, richer than any shade she had seen before. Marinette would gladly drown in them.

Speaking of his eyes, he was looking at her with his captivating gaze and mesmerizing face...

Marinette would forever deny swooning at the sight. She would never swoon.

(She totally did.)

Say something! she scolded.

“Uh, than-thank you.”

Oh no. It was the stutter.

Not just a stutter, but the stutter. The one that only appeared when she was nervous and/or talking to hot guys.

Marinette had long outgrown it—or at least, she thought she had—but apparently now it was back with a vengeance.

Her face heated up, and she moved forward to press the button to her designated floor before taking her place some distance away from the man. She turned her head away in embarrassment, hair shielding her face so he couldn’t see her flushed cheeks.

If she had been looking up, perhaps Marinette would have been prepared for the flood of incoming mass. But she was too busy cursing herself to notice the group of people entering until she felt a nudge on her right side.

Marinette squeaked at the stack of boxes that was suddenly in front of her face and looked up to see a small group of workers entering the elevator, pushing a large platform truck stacked with packages. She shuffled on instinct to make more room.

The cart seemed way too big to fit, especially with the capacity of the elevator. Someone would have to contort themselves, or at the very least they’d be squished up against one another uncomfortably. 

Marinette watched as they pushed the platform truck in all the way. It left the tiniest bit of wiggle room, just enough space for someone to squeeze past.

The designer found herself slowly edging towards her left each time another person wiggled their way past the load.

The elevator wasn’t too crowded, and the process went relatively smoothly—that is, until the last worker attempted to get inside.

He had a build somewhat similar to her Papa: tall and large, so his struggle was understandable. It took a minute of grunts and loud sighs, but he managed to slip past the obstruction and into the elevator.

His large frame, however, meant less space for everyone, and Marinette felt the sudden impact of being shoved.

She couldn’t help the soft yelp that fell out of her mouth as her feet stumbled, and before she knew it her left side was firmly pressed up against someone.

Oh god. It was Hot Guy. Of course it was him.

She pressed her lips together in mortification, arms squeezing Tim’s gift to her chest even tighter.

“Sorry.”

Marinette nearly jumped as the husky voice spoke quietly next to her ear. Her head whipped towards the direction it came from, which wasn’t exactly hard to place. There was only one person on her left side.

She turned her head to face the man with the white streak. She had to crane her neck awkwardly in order to properly see him, which really put into perspective their height difference.

His green eyes were sincere, and Marinette could see the apology in them.

The lack of space wasn’t his fault whatsoever, but it was nice to see someone care about her boundaries.

“U-um, it’s okay.”

Marinette smiled at him shyly, then diverted her eyes away. Her brief burst of courage could only take her so far.

Before she knew it, the ride was over. The elevator stopped with a ding, and coincidentally enough, everyone was headed to the same floor.

Marinette fished out the set of directions Mr. Wayne had written from her purse, skimming over them once more. Her stomach filled with butterflies at the thought of finally meeting her best friend.

She barely noticed the workers pushing out the platform truck or Hot Guy walking away, the outside world long forgotten.

Marinette’s body went on autopilot, following the instructions on the paper until she found herself stopped in front of a sleek door. She didn’t know what it was made of, but she was glad it wasn’t glass like many other things in Wayne Enterprises. That would make her surprise a lot harder to pull off.

Above the key card security system on the left was a name plate, nearly identical to others she had passed on her way here. The name Tim Drake was written in elegant silver cursive letters, the metal gleaming as if it were brand new.

Marinette’s chest tightened in anticipation as she pulled out the lanyard Mr. Wayne had given her. She took a deep breath before knocking twice.

There was a short pause before a familiar voice responded.

“Who is it?”

She scanned her card and opened the door.

“Marinette?!”

-

A/N: For reference, Marinette is 5’3” (160 cm) and Jason is 6’4” (193 cm), so there's a 13" (33 cm) difference. I tried to use French terms and measurements so it'd feel more like Marinette's perspective.

And yea, I'm not super proud of this so I'm probably gonna rewrite it in the future. I have a bunch of other WIPs to work on though, so sorry in advance for my wacky updating schedule!

-

PERMANENT TAGLIST @avengerthewarrior @enternalempires @freesportspalacesalad @h1sss @nathleigh

[warmau]

☆ ko-fi request: punk band!yuta au

“this is a bad idea”

you look up at yuta who is balancing on the amp for his electric guitar, one foot raised and with what looks like a stack of the bands cds on his head

“it’s a great idea. jaehyun said i couldn't do this for a whole hour and when i do - he owes me fifty bucks.”

you throw a look to the corner of the room where the culprit, sly grinning main vocalist jaehyun, gives you a thumbs up

sometimes you wonder why in the world you work for these people 

you give it another five minutes tops until either his leg falls asleep or he gets distracted by something shiny 

as you walk away from the mess that’s about to happen and continue working your way through the checklist for todays rehearsal

ever since news of the new album in the works, you’ve been painstakingly trying to keep everyone in the band on track

and that was a feat in itself - since wrangling so many strong personalities was practically impossible

still, you had to admit, you did like all of them. they were great people, just slightly insane musicians

but one person - he was different from all the rest

you close your eyes when you hear the sound of a loud thud and a long, pained groan

yuta, the electric guitarist and forest fire among flames of the group

with long, silver hair - shaved undercut - multiple tattoos and piercings that you’re sure some he gave to himself

he’s a fearless, rowdy, and talented individual who sometimes forgets that things have consequences

and those consequences are usually tied to his health

though among the group - he isn’t all that different in style and punk rockesque spirit

he is unique, because you know that there is a side to him that is deeply affectionate and you can tell that parts of him just yearn for positive attention

which is why when he falls off the amp, you could leave him to it and say “i told you so”

but instead you rush over and squat down beside him

“did you twist your ankle? are you ok?”

the cds are pooled around him and you don't even have time to be mad about the fact that they’re probably broken

“um - let me check”

he sits up a bit with your help and then tries to move his foot before falling back into a heap on the ground

now the other members have rushed over, jaehyun and johnny - even the sound tech mark is hovering over your shoulder

“yuta?”

you ask - worried as he lays there without movement for a second

“hey, promise you won’t be mad?”

he looks over at you as he asks this and your lips thin into a line

“yu-”

“i think my foots like. broken.”

it’s not broken, but it is sprained pretty badly. the doctor explains what happens and you listen intently

while yuta just scribbles something on the cast

when the doctor leaves to get the prescriptions in order you turn to him and sigh

“well - we can’t practice today because you have to r-”

“of course we can! im good as new!”

he gives you big grin and slaps his cast before wincing, you blink and shake your head

“your safety comes first and im not letting you actually break your foot-”

“i can just play sitting down, c’mon. im not even in that much pain!”

“yuta please, im just thinking about it in the long run-”

he takes your hand in his and you sort of stutter

you’re not new to his flirtations - you’ve seen him pull moves on everyone and so you aren’t easily fooled

even still, he is so attractive its bonkers, so your shyness is just a reaction of the body

“im sorry, i know im just an idiot that makes you worry for no reason but i promise im ok.”

you slowly pull your hand out of his and turn around

“fine, but just promise you’ll stay seated.”

you suddenly feel a preassure on your back, where yuta has rested his head

a weird sensation makes its way up your spine and you try your best to ignore it

when the doctor returns you jump slightly away from the guitarist and do your best to ignore the look that the doctor passes between you

of course, once you’re back at practice, everyone is way more interested in signing the cast than recording

you’re so tired from the days events and the traveling back and forth that you just sit down next to the producer and mumble that they’ll be better behaving tomorrow

you don’t notice yuta’s eyes glancing every now and then your way 

as the day draws to an end you start helping tidy up around - yutaa waves you over as everyone else trickles out of the studio 

he’s got his guitar in his lap and even though nothing got done - it looks like he wants to ask to stay a little longer for practice

you’re about to start the usual speech, that the company wants them to practice together and blahblahblah

but then he puts the guitar down beside him and taps his cast

“you need to sign it, you’re my good luck charm.”

you roll your eyes

“ill do it tomorrow”

he stops you from turning away, eyes usually ablaze are now a soft and welcoming honey

he points to a spot and you lean down to write something like ‘get better soon!’

when you notice the other scribbles

among the band members names and silly drawings are the words

‘im sorry for being an idiot all the time’

you look up at yuta and then back at the cast

‘but is it ok if im your idiot only?’

you dont really register it at first and then yuta taps the empty spot beside it

“write your answer here, i wont look.”

you blink and then it clicks

“yuta, are you asking me out - by making me sign your cast?”

part of your question is because you really want to know, but the other is because if he’s joking - you think that really might be crossing the line

but when he looks between the gaps of his fingers and you see the twinkle of his grin

and his absolutely bizarre answer:

“i could also tattoo the question on me and you can tattoo the answer on me too-”

you shake your head at the mention and just scribble the word down in the space

because if hes offering that, then he must be serious 

yuta looks down at it - it’s a yes, circled in a heart

he tugs on your wrist so you’ll lean in toward his lips but you stop him

“not going to kiss you until we’ve had our first date.”

“the trip to the hospital doesn’t count?”

“no nakamoto now lets go.”

you help him up and as you’re making way for the door he adds

“see, i told you it was worth it.”

“spraining your ankle over fifty dollars isn’t worth it-”

he throws an arm around you, and you let him

“nah, i meant spraining my ankle so i could finally ask you out.” 

[lovely-necromancy]

A Cure for Insomnia CH.12

It's late Friday night or very early Saturday morning depending on how you want to look at it. You're just laying on your couch playing Stardew Valley when your phone goes off. Without looking you answer it.

“Why are you even up?” comes Kirby's exhausted voice from across the line.

“Medical condition, wbu?” you place the phone in between you ear and shoulder but don't really change your position as you continue with your game.

“Jesus fucking Christ you did not just pronounce 'wbu' like 'wah-bah-u'.” he's ranting a bit and you know from experience this is the tired slap happy ranting where he sets himself off every five minutes on new topics. So, you wait it out and continue your quest in learning the wizard's secrets.

Kirby finally calms down after a few moments to get to the point of why he called. To remind you that Saturday Night Dead was canceled tonight due to the Pride Picnic tomorrow.

“I know.” you said plainly barely paying attention to the ginger on the line.

“You're a little shit.”

“I know that too.” a smirk graces your lips and you pause your game.

You listen to Kirby's rant for three minutes before asking if anyone else still “needed” a reminder. And when he said 'no' you sent him off to bed and said you'd see him Sunday morning. With a cranky man toddler dealt with you went back to your game.

Contrary to what you had originally thought, this week had been pretty chill. Everything had been going great, no drama in the town, no set backs with the picnic, your stalker had been keeping a low profile, and sure you were on day three of no sleep but that's just a you issue really. You didn't even have a foreboding feeling about the picnic. Everything was going great...at least it would be had Jo not   specifically requested you wear something red, to her recital in a few weeks.

It's going to be so hard to thrift something school appropriate, red, and in your size. You thankfully have three weeks but unfortunately you're limited to weekend trips since you work during the week and wouldn't be able to go a few hours out to larger thrift stores to drive a few hours back home.

Your do nothing day is turning into a do something day. And you definitely can't get any sleep tonight because now you know you have something to do at five AM and you just wouldn't be able to rest peacefully at all. Scared that you'd fuck up the shopping trip you had planned. God you hate executive dysfunction and the anxiety it gives you, even for something like sleeping.

Thursday evening you spent all night googling the towns within a five hour radius and their second hand shops, after Jo had made her request to you. Your big ticket shops were two closer to the border of Pennsylvania. They were in pretty medium to high income neighborhoods so were the most likely to have formal wear on hand. Your plan was to drive there and get to the closer one by eight maybe get some breakfast while you waited for the shop to open. Then go to the second, and if you still hadn't met the requirements for an outfit you'd go to the town an hour away from there. Just to rinse and repeat until you went to all eight locations on your list. Making one big circle back to Kepler.

You really hoped you find something to wear at the first two. Seriously you don't want to be out shopping all day but you'd rather have a buffer of looking for things now than rushing the night before her recital.

Checking the time you see it's just a little after one in the morning. You've been playing Stardew for a few hours and are starting to get bored. Maybe you should switch games? Exiting out you ruin any progress you've made for the day, but you couldn't remember so it probably wasn't important progress. And you are now scrolling through your games looking for something to play.

Spiritfarer? No you don't feel like crying right now. Undertale? No you really don't feel like crying right now. Onion Boy Commits  Tax Evasion? Hmm, possible...but it's a quick game and you'd be done and back here in thirty minutes. Sally Face? Yea! You've been meaning to replay it for a while now and this seems as good a time as any.

Loading the game you settle deeper into the couch to become a teenage ghost detective. And you stay like that for the rest of the night until your alarm goes off mid way through chapter two. You'd been so focused on trying to get secrets that you hardly noticed the time going by. Okay, you were looking at Gizmo and taking pictures of the silly furball.

Stretching you get up and make your way to your room to grab a change of clothes, neck snapping to the side as you went. When you enter your room you're met with a white face with blocks of black for the eyes and black lipstick as its only facial features looking at you from the corner just feet away from the door. Even though your heart jumps into your throat at the sight you notice the figure doesn't get closer to you. Noting that and its immobility you figure it's a really weird and specific hallucination.

'Fucking weird?' you think as you ignore the hallucination and start rummaging through your closet.

It wouldn't be the first time a source of media has either triggered or inspired one of your hallucinations. But the face isn't exactly Sal's mask but it is mask like. Maybe Sal mixed with a panda. That's a fun thought. But overall nothing you need to worry about. Just have to get sleep tonight so you could enjoy the picnic tomorrow without any issues.

When you turn back around with your clothes in hand the hallucination is gone. You shrug before going to your bathroom to change. In a blink you are out the door and on the road by five after five. You hope you pass a Dunkin' in an hour or so, you'll need a little energy boost to get your day started. But pushing that thought aside you turn up your radio and turn off your thoughts.

Just vibes for right now, just you and the empty road.

Making it to the first thrift shop you are pleasantly surprised to see a string of old ladies shopping today. Wonderful, they'll look at knick knacks and you'll look at clothes. Looks like there won't be a need to guard clothing with your life. However when you get into the store it becomes incredibly apparent that the only thing to look at here are in fact the knick knacks.

Sighing you figure it'll at least be worth it to comb through skirts and shoes. Skirts are very limited to paisley prints that give you middle school dance flash backs, and long khakis. Neither are really what you're looking for right now so you leave them be. They'll find their homes with some home schooled kid eventually. Shoes are a bit more promising as you find a pair of red kitten pumps in your size immediately, they're a little worn but nothing a little shoe polish and leather paint can't fix.

That is until you think you see something grab at your wrist.

When you jerk back a shoe drops from your hand and the heel pops off. Again a very easy fix, plus this may get you a discount. Dropping to your knees you try to grab the heel from under the rack and when you do you notice a pair of boots that look like they've been hidden behind several pair of knee high riding boots. You grab them, they're reddish brown suede heeled boots. They're in pretty good condition and the price tag says thirteen, not bad. And they're in your size! Best find of the day, calling it now. You quickly collect your shoes and make your way to the register. While you may not wear the kitten pumps often you for sure have just found your new favorite boots.

Getting back in the car with one of three pieces for your outfit and one store down you make your way to the next town over for its store. The second store had a much wider selection of clothing however you didn't find much of anything this time. But there was a cute mini pencil skirt that had a tiny orange heart on the left side hem. You couldn't resist it when it was only two dollars.

Third times a charm or so they say. But as you're looking through the racks of dresses and skirts you start hearing whispers. Briefly looking up to see if anyone was actually around to where you'd be able to hear them you see no one. It's weird that you'd get auditory hallucinations without a visible one or without being asleep. That puts you on edge but you ignore the feeling to continue your shopping.

You've just turned to go have a look at the blazers when a voice pops into your head.

'He's here.' there's an edge of static following the words and the buzzing is enough to cloud your own thoughts.

Neck snapping to the side twice before cracking on the third time, “There we go” you say as you look around  only see families with kids in the store with you. No one is on their own or even looking your way.

'That you can see.'

Your heart is pounding harshly against your chest and while every fiber of your being is saying run. You can't it'd be obvious or it'd make you look like a whack job. So with a sharp intake of air you steady yourself and being to walk calmly to your car.

It's broad daylight and you would definitely be making a scene if your stalker tried anything. If anyone even came near you right now you'd probably scream in self preservation.

But it turns out you didn't need to worry as you got into your car, locking the doors without hassle. You didn't bother turning your radio on as you drove to the forth store. There wouldn't be a point not like you could focus with your nerves so frazzled. And that frazzled feeling doesn't go away as you arrive at the store.

Staying in the car a moment you wait to see if any other car near by seems familiar. Or any persons exiting seem familiar, like you've seen their faces in passing. No one does, and while that puts you at ease you'll still be vigilant of your surroundings.

The store's much smaller than the previous three and you decide to start with the blazer section this time. It seems like a good choice, even though it looked like a sea of black ¾ sleeve blazers and jackets you caught a glimpse of red from inside one coat. Pulling the hanger off you notice it isn't a richly colored lining but that someone shoved a red Chinese inspired silk skirt into the blazer. You aren't sure if they were judging the compatibility of the items as an outfit or if they were trying to hide it, but either way it's ended up in your hands. It's beautifully decorated in golden swirls and a dragon pattern embroidery. Putting it up to you it curls around your waist. Could mean it'd be a bit big for you, but nothing a little sewing couldn't fix.

You're pretty sure you had a black turtleneck tank top that would look great with this, and still be appropriate for hot late July weather. But maybe an additional red blazer or shawl would be a good idea. Looking at the sea of black before you you think it'd be best to continue this hunt another week.

Right now your nerves are fried and the sun is already starting to set. With thoughts of getting caught alone in the dark with your stalker you can't help but want to get home as soon as possible or at least get to a town where people would know you if your body showed up in a ditch.

Checking out with your skirt you once again find yourself in your car driving along the highway.

You get back to Kepler a little after nine, gas tank near empty so you drive on to the mini mart rather than stopping at home. You notice another car, which isn't strange for a gas station but very rare that more than two customers are here at the same time. Getting in to pay for gas you're stopped by Ronnie's pissed off voice.

“Leave Dave or I'll ban you from the shop!” she seems to seethe at the man in front of her.

“You don't have that kind of power Veronica.” gross it's David.

Whatever feeling of uncertainty you had before vanishes instantly at seeing the slime ball try to “flirt” with Ronnie. He continues to pester her and the two don't even register your entrance. Unfortunately for Ronnie she really can't do anything to stop these advances without getting in trouble. Fortunately for you, you have no such qualms.

“She said fuck off.” you push past the man shoulder checking him as you get to the counter to start talking with Ronnie.

David stumbles away not expecting the rough push. He glares down at you and you ignore him now that you're in a setting with another person. A person who has access to a silent emergency police button if things go sideways. You have back up this time and an escape plan, there's no way David can harm you right now.

“Hey, I'm gonna need thirty on pump four.” you said hoping you could just ignore the man and stall by talking about useless merchandise in the store to get him to leave. But that was before you're interrupted.

“Oh did someone grow a back bone while I was away?” you roll your eyes and pause before you lie.

“...anyway is Tim on break yet?” hoping she caught the look in your eyes to play along.

Tim was a new hire that David probably didn't know since he just got back into town. Easiest one to lie about and make excuses for why there wasn't a fourth car in the lot. The boys only seemed to have the RV and the sedan so perfectly reasonable that he got dropped off because one of his roommates needed the car.

The way Ronnie's eyes widen at you aren't out of relief but more out of realization. She shakes her head slightly, and you want to smack her for being an idiot and ruining your attempt to scare David off when she turns and yells towards the back.

“Hey Tim! You have a visitor!” you jump a bit at her volume and notice that David tenses by your side as well.

'...is she bluffing...' if she is this is the dumbest fucking bluff in the world and so easy to catch on to. You'll have to get her acquainted with true crime podcasts and shows so she can be better prepared in the future.

It isn't until you hear muffled swears and the sound of thudding from the back room of the store. It isn't long before the door to the back opens and you hear Tim's hushed voice speaking to Marigold for a second, “can you please not walk in front of me.”, and you see Tim walk through the door.

Tim's brown eyes scan the store clearly trying to find either Brian or Toby. His gaze barely passes over David but when it settles on your form leaning away from said creep and Ronnie shifting from one foot to the other the situation seems to click.

It was such a subtle change in his eyes, something you're sure that had you not been trying to catch his gaze to get your message across you would have missed. The way the highlight died before picking back up. It was probably just a trick of the over head lights, maybe he shifted a bit and it caused the light to hit differently. Something you could brush off...something you would have brushed off had you not heard a different voice speak when he opened his mouth.

“YN hey, did'ya need somethin'?” it was a notch lower than normal and somehow the tone was smoother than his usual rumble. For a moment you think he put on a voice for bravado.

Something inside tells you that's not Tim. But right now you need someone who looks like Tim. Someone who despite their “short” stature has an obvious muscle mass to them. One that confidently says “authority” to scare off the creep next to you.

You wrack your brain for something anything to say that would seem normal in this situation while you could try to assert the discomfort of Ronnie and yourself in your current situation. Just as you go to speak David begins to talk over you as he greets the man in the room.

“Hey there, name's David. Nice to see a new face in this place, how long you been here?”

Tim slides his eyes away from you and back over to David. He seems to straighten out his posture and looks over you and Ronnie before staring back at David.

“A while, is there a problem up here?”

“Oh no 's nothing like that!” David says jovially as he wraps an arm around your shoulders. You jerk from the contact. “Just talking to these nice ladies.”

'Disgusting, disgusting, disgusting' plays over and over as you squirm out of his arm.

There's an emotion you can't quite place running through you as you heart rate picks up. You feel sick as if you can feel the bile rising to your throat. Are you having a panic attack? No that's not it you're too conscious and your thoughts aren't a jumbled mess. You're probably just over stimulated. You want to calm down.

'Do you' the whispered voice is back, 'Do you really?'

It's mocking you and the strange emotion from before spikes. Is this...is this rage? Are you so upset at being touched that you're experiencing genuine rage? One with such a burning passion that you can feel your body grow warm all over.

But what did the voice ask 'do you?' do you what? Do you want to calm down?

….no....

No you didn't you can feel it in your veins, in your bones, in your entire being. You didn't want to calm down you wanted to hurt David. You want to tear him to pieces. You wanted him to give you  a reason...any reason at all. Any reason to fucking destroy him.

You aren't entirely sure where these thoughts are coming from. Maybe you're just overstimulated, your  nerves fried from the weird feeling at the thrift shop today and then paired with someone you hated very much, touching you out of no where seemed to be your ultimate breaking point.

It's Tim who brings you out of your thoughts.

When did he get so close to you?

“I think you should leave. I know for a fact YN's boyfriend won't take kindly to you upsetting them like this.” he stresses the 'them' and it seems you've missed a few key points...like when the hell you got a boyfriend?

“Oh right, what's that scrawny kid gonna do twitch at me.” when did David start taking that tone with Tim and why was he talking about Toby? What did Toby have to do with this? How did David even know about Toby?

Seems David's taunt and knowledge of Toby unsettled Tim as well, if the hand on your shoulder gripping tightly had anything to say. Has that been there this whole time? When did he put it there?

“Trust me the kid's bite 's lot worse than his bark.” there's humor in Tim's voice as he says that but it's like an old joke no one else has context for.

'Fuckin' dick...is that suppose to be a joke about his mutilated mouth?' it really does sound like it. Maybe you're reading the clues wrong...maybe you heard Tim wrong.

Thankfully whatever the fuck is building up comes to an end when Pigeon walks through the doors. Oh she's on duty, Deputy Pigeon. She looks at the four of you and your positions. And although she has a pretty good idea what's happened from Ronnie's texts she can't help but ask.

“Al'ight, what's going on here?” it's clearly been a long day for her.

“Harassment. We've asked him to leave the store but he's refused and keeps bothering our customer and us.” Tim's fast response had you and Ronnie stumped.

Did a white cis male actually come to the aid of two decidedly not male people...instead of the other white cis male? Has Hell frozen over?

It's like he knew just what to say to the officer. And he didn't try to tiptoe around it to save the other man. Tim clearly didn't want this dragging out any longer than it already has. Even David himself seems a bit taken aback by Tim's, accurate, claims. Meanwhile Pigeon looks around the room and sighs. While she knows her younger sister wouldn't have texted if this wasn't serious she was the only one on duty tonight and would only be able to take the other three's statements.

“Al'ight I'll grab y'all's statements starting with you Nychn c'mon.” the tired looking woman took David outside so he could tell his side of the story. But even with two against one he'll probably end up getting a ban from the store. Especially since he did harass a customer and not just an employee.

After getting his statement and watching him drive off from the establishment Pigeon returned back inside.

“I swear tha' boy's head has never been on right.” shaking her head.

Pigeon asked for both your and Tim's sides of the story taking you a little ways away from each other  to “prevent compromising the other's story”.

“So... looks like I've got everything, I'll have the station call Monty in the mornin' and let 'im know that he's got a new ban.”

“What about Ronnie's statement?” Tim asks as Pigeon put away her pocket pal.

“Oh Tim, Pigeon's my sister.” it's the first time Ronnie's said something since calling for Tim.

At least you think it is after all you did have a little spell after being touched.

Tim nods and Pigeon heads off after warning the three of you to stay out of trouble. Now with just the three of you in the shop you turn to Tim.

“Thanks for the save Tim.” He just nods again.

“No problem, but you really should'a said somethin' sooner.”

“I don't know what happened I like blanked and forgot you went on break before he came in.” Ronnie pipes up looking flustered.

Weird. You've noticed that does tend to happen when David's around. Maybe you should look into memory stealers. Might be why David's vibes are all off. That or he's a fucking serial killer and your instincts are trying to warn you but there are so many red flags your brain glitches instead. Whatever the reason may be you'll have to keep your guard up when he's around. It's super sketchy he left when Bambi went missing and it's a strange time to come back to town after “helping” your sister after her divorce. Two months isn't enough time to find a new routine or settle court battles.

Tim leaves to clock in and continue his break for another twenty minutes. You aren't sure that's right but Ronnie doesn't seem to complain and you've got to admit he did save you guys from that creep unpaid so he kinda deserves it. You go to pay Ronnie for gas and for some of the frozen taquitos that they normally have on the rotation cooker. But she puts thirty dollars on your pump and then just hands you a pack of the taquitos.

“Thanks for...y'know.” she might be a bitch but Ronnie can be nice if the situation calls for it.

Plus you can see by the expiration date that she'd have to just toss these out at the end of the night anyway. Who are you to turn down free food?

You head home and take your clothes and taquitos inside. You toss the clothes in an arm chair in your living room. And fall asleep on your couch shortly after eating. You are thoroughly exhausted and you had actually been tired last night. Had it not been for errands you'd have slept last night. Now you definitely have to sleep early to wake up early to finish cooking for the picnic.

[jj-lynn21]

You will remember things that we never said ch 3

Warning: flirting, fluff?, angst, jealousy

 Dolly Trauma Songs: Fade into you (cover)   Alastis: , Sky May Fahl , Stitch  

ch 1, ch 2   ch 4  ch 5  ch 6  ch 7

Stephanie is in the art building after another class. She sees Axel in passing. She smiles. He nods stopping.

“Zeigeist is playing Thursday and Saturday night, you coming?” Axel asks.

Stephanie shrugs, “Most, probably.” She thinks, who in the hell says most, probably.

“Well, I hope so.” He darts into the bathroom.

Stephanie is flying high emotionally as she steps outside to the sunshiny crisp day. Her sunglasses come out of her hoodie pocket to cover her sensative eyes. Her legs feel weak the more she thinks about Axel hoping to see her. Of course, she does realize it is another five dollars at the door and that is how his band gets paid. But maybe its just a little more.

That evening she catches Bella as soon as she come in from class, “Hey, you want to go see Zeigeist Thursday and Saturday.”

“Since Dark Breed is also playing those shows, I’m in.” Bella stated drably not nearly as excited as Stephanie.

Stephanie is unfocused as she tries to read her history lesson. Axel had her core aching like she had never known without even touching her today. Barely talking to her really. She decided to work on his portrait. Her tongue stuck out the corner of her lips as she focused to get his eyes just right. She worked on it a few hours. She was lost in thought sitting on her bed trying to per-fect his look, which she knew was impossible really, when Bella knocked on her bedroom door.

“You going to your afternoon class today?” Bella had her arms crossed across her chest and legs crossed at the ankles as she leaned against the door jam. “I didn’t think you ever skipped.”

Stephanie looked up at her, glanced at her cellphone, “Oh fuck. I’m going to be late.” She tossed the picture aside. “Thanks Bella.”

“Watch getting so wrapped up in um,” Bella glances at the drawing. “Your studies.”

“Sure thing,” Stephanie runs out the door to class after grabbing her bag.

Stephanie made it to class a second before the professor walks in and started his discussion about sculptures in ancient Greece. She rushes to the closest seat in the back of the room sitting and grabbing a notebook to start taking notes.

Since she is in the back Axel sees her writing madly to catch up. He stops to take in how she looks in such a flustered state. Then he moves on just as she looks up to see him go past. She tries to shake off the thoughts in her mind so she can try to concentrate on taking notes.

After class Stephanie heads to the student union to grab coffee and dinner. As she walks in one door, Axel is walking out the other side. They don’t notice each other. She walks out the same door he did and heads to her next class eating and drinking in route. 

She has two more classes before going back to her and Bella’s dorm for the evening. Stephanie and Axel pass each other many more times through the rest of the week without even realizing it most of the time. Or one sees the other without both parties seeing each other. Its fates cosmic joke perhaps.

Thursday rolls around. Stephanie finds herself to excited to really study. But she does finish Axel’s portrait for Monday. At eight-thirty that evening her and Bella walk to Hide & Seek for the show. Todd is taking money at the door. He waves her in at no change.

Todd whispers, “Just don’t tell anyone.”

Stephanie nods. She thinks, there goes the theory Axel wanted me here just for another five dollars through the door. She hears Drake, the drummer for Zeitgeist, warming up as her and Bella grab beers at the bar. She drags Bella to the front of the stage with her. Todd and Tyson join Drake warming up. Stephanie’s heart beats faster waiting for Axel to appear. Zeitgeist starts the music for their first song of the evening, Alastis. The Mosh pit circles each other. Bella and others watch the pit guarding Stephanie from becoming part of that scene as her big blue doe eyes fixate on Axel as he comes out and grabs the Mic. This is one of the band’s heaver songs.

“Now I got the time to watch you run(watch you), I can’t see what’s made you afraid, see I have my cynical side, save my fingers up, make you shake, go on, go on…COWARD!..” 

The pit goes nuts. Stephanie screams along with others.

Axel continues, “ Now I got the time to think for us, sacrificing all the control, you do nothing passionately (As I like), such endorphins I need in soul, What I write, I say, what I write…I keep true, I keep it real, it real, What I write, I say…” He leans down with the Mic looking right at Stephanie. “Still I wanna go down and take you there.” He stands looking back out to the audience while the band rips into the songs heavy sounds as Stephanie’s core tightens and lets loose juices dampening her panties. “Got time to fuck me, but you got no time to fuck me. I can’t believe the faces that you think you fake. Why go out tonight, why stay home…I stay home.”

“I’m going to slow things down,” Axel said to the crowd. “You guys and I see a few chicks involved to, are fucking monsters in the pit. We don’t perform to many covers, but we’ve fucked around with this one over the week. It’s called Fade into You  . He turns his back to the crowd of screaming fans, mumbles into the mic, “for Stephanie.”  

Stephanie’s eyes widen. Bella shakes her head like this is the worst idea Axel ever had.

 Axel starts singing with his back to the crowd. “I want to hold the hand inside you, I want to take a breath that's true, I look to you and I see nothing, I look to you to see the truth, You live your life, you go in shadows, You'll come apart and you'll go black, Some kind of night into your darkness, Colors your eyes with what's not there” 

Stephanie’s eyes are closed as she rocks back and forth singing along. Axel turns around, “Fade into you, Strange you never knew, Fade into you, I think it's strange you never knew, A stranger's light comes on slowly, A stranger's heart without a home, You put your hands into your head, And then smiles cover your heart…”

 Axel kneels in front of Stephanie. “Fade into you, Strange you never knew…” She opens her eyes seeing him there with his eyes closed singing. She closes her eyes again just feeling the moment through her entire body, “Fade into you, I think it's strange you never knew…”

He stands to finish the song. After Axel finishes, he disappears off the side of the stage. Stephanie wants to go check on him but there is no way for her to get through the sea of people. Todd puts his guitar and amp to the side off stage as Dark Breed setup for their set.

He grabs a few beers before making his way to Stephanie, “Hey, Steph.” She turns around to him. He hands her a beer. “Axel wanted to stay to hangout after the show, but he wasn’t feeling well so took off already. He wasn’t feeling well all day but didn’t want to disappoint you, so we still played.”

“Oh, it’s cool,” Stephanie acted like it didn’t faze her. “Is he going to be ok?”

“Yeah, he’ll be fine to sing Saturday.” Todd informed her. “Oh, let me get your number so Axel can message you the address for the club we’re playing Saturday. It’s a dive bar in the middle of nowhere called Cigs.”

Todd takes a piece of paper and pen from his pocket. Stephanie writes her info on it.

“Take care of him tonight Todd,” She was concerned.

Todd chuckled, “Will do. You are to sweet for this scene. Be careful. That pits about to get ignited.”

Bella walks up between Stephanie and Todd. “Axel already ditch her?”

Todd ignored Bella’s comment. “I’ll catch you later Steph.”

“See you guys Saturday night,” Stephanie decided to ignore Bella’s comment also.

Ryan came over as the heavy metal sound of Dark Breed started to thunder. “Hey, girls. Can I get you a few more beers?”

Stephanie finished the one she had, “Sure Ryan, thanks.”

Bella nodded she wanted one or more also. She held up five fingers.

Somehow, he got through the crowd and back with a buck of beers. The three of them sucked them down as they jumped around to the pounding music. Stephanie and Bella were laughing as they held each other. Several big guys stood between them and the frantic chaos going on in the pit. At some point, Stephanie wasn’t sure how or why, she was holding Ryan’s shirt as he flung around into others in the pit.

The three of them walked back to the dorms together. Stephanie and Bella hanging on each other. Ryan’s hands in his pockets on the opposite side of Stephanie as Bella. He was watching her laugh and smiling. 

“Did you see when Axel was actually in my face singing to me?” Stephanie’s body was on fire just thinking about it. Her eyes glossed over with intoxication.

“He should have never done that. “Bella spat on the ground disgusted how easily Stephanie was buying what Axel was selling.

“Well, he did so there is nothing you can do about it now.” Stephanie laughed.

Ryan looked away not wanting to hear yet another girl he liked fawn over Axel. He parted company with the girls as soon as he walked them safely to their dorm building. “I’ll catch you later.”

They both giggled, “Catch you later Ryan.”

Soon after they got in their bedroom, they crashed out cold. The sunlight streaming through Stephanie’s open curtain mid-afternoon hit her like sledgehammer. She cried out while pulling her hot pink comforter over her pounding head. She hears Bella stumbling around outside her door.

 Stephanie can’t remember the last time she had a hangover this bad. She jumped up as her stomach lurched. The room was spinning. She held the wall as she got to the restroom to puke as quickly as she could. She almost didn’t make it. Bella came in with ginger ale and aspirin. She held Stephanie’s hair back.

When she got Stephanie tucked back in bed she turned to leave, “I’ll bring you a bagel.”

“And coffee,” Stephanie mumble. “Strong, sweet, coffee.”

Bella laughed, “Alright Steph.”

“I need to study,” Stephanie grumbled her eyes barely open.

“Rest one more hour,” Bella left.

Stephanie might have dozed back off for a half hour when her cellphone buzzed with a message. She looked at it and sat right up.

      Axel:

      What’s up Stephanie. Its Axel.

      Stephanie:

      Hey, Axel. How are you feeling today? Todd said you left sick last night.

      Axel:

       I’m fine. Ate something yesterday that didn’t agree with me.

      Stephanie:

       Glad you’re feeling better

       Axel:

      Thanks, have to get back to work but here is the address for Saturday.

        1521 North outreach

        Stephanie:

        Thanks  

        Axel: ttyl

Stephanie gets up slowly. She grabs her rob to take  in to  put on after she gets a shower. Her head isn’t throbbing as much. Her stomach is only a little upset. After her hot shower washes what is left on her from last night, she drinks a few sips of a ginger ale. She opens one of her books to start studying.

Bella comes back with a bagel and coffee for Stephanie. “How you doing, babe?” She puts the coffee and bagel by Stephanie.

“I’m ok now, “She takes a nibble of the bagel and a gulp of coffee. “This should help wake me up more to study.”

“Good, I should study a little to.” Bella grabbed a book from her bag. “There is a horror movie starting tonight. We are going with Albre and Ryan, cool?”

“Yeah, sure.” She flips the full page of notes to the next empty page.

The evening rolls around and they walk to the local theater. Everyone is chatting along the way. Ryan is do his best to keep Stephanie laughing. After they grab some snacks Stephanie turns around and sees Axel a few steps away.

“Hi Axel,” She smiles at him.

He gives her no emotion in return which she senses is his normal response in most situations. Its one of the reasons she is fascinated with him. She can’t read him at all. Usually she reads people pretty well. “I’m here with Albre, Bella and Ryan.”

He just nods. Ryan offers his hand to shake. Axel almost breaks it as he stares him down. He turns away and goes in the theater with the guys he is there with. Ryan makes her laugh during an intense part of the movie. Axel glances at them seeing Ryan put his arm around her and Ryan’s hand sliding up her leg. He looks away fuming.

Stephanie drives Bella, Albre and Ryan to this show. The bar is at the end of a dark street. Only a field for parking around it. They are running a little late. Stephanie pulls everyone with her to the front where her eyes attack Axel. He focuses on everyone else in the audience as he starts performing even though he did see her out of the corner of his eye with Ryan, Albre and Bella around her.

“This is Sky May Fahl “ Axel screams. The crowd hoots and hollers. “God gave you legs, you got to find your way out, don’t call my name, I couldn’t care less, got to find your way out, This doesn’t fit your phony needs, got to find your way out, Another drink for everything, got to find your way out,NOW REALIZE I CARE, We could never be honest, we could never be have, like some father’s illusion, we don’t have to pretend. God gave you friends, some walked away, got to find your way out, Don’t call my name I couldn’t care less, got to find your way out. Suck up to them, suck up to me, got to find your way out, another drink for everything, got to find your way out. NOW REALIZE I CARE…We’ve come a long long way child, don’t want to miss you now…You went to Hell, you took it well, got to find your way out…don’t dissipate, don’t look to fade, got to find your way out, this boring day, this belly ache, got to find your way out, The sunrise remind you all of which way the sky will Fall…And I don’t care what you are…”

Axel throws the mic down making a loud distortion as he bolts off stage through the back.

Stephanie pushes her way through the crowd. She goes out the side door around the back of the building. Axel is banging his head against the wall not hard enough to bust his head open but hard enough to cause himself pain.

“What the Hell was that Axel,” Stephanie screamed her ears still ringing from the loud music. “Are you alright?”

“Get the fuck back inside Steph,” He stopped banging his head but stared at the wall. “You don’t really fucking care anyway.”

“What do you mean I don’t fucking care?” She didn’t have any idea why he was so angry.

“You can whore around with anyone you want,” He turned spitting the words at her. “But I don’t take sloppy seconds. I don’t share like that. So, go back in there with Ryan. I know you came with him.”

“What the fuck Axel?” She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “First I don’t know where you get off thinking I fucked Ryan and…”

“He had his hands all over you at the movies,” Axel glared at her. “He was making you laugh, and he was groping you and you fucking let him, you bitch.”

“Hold the fuck up Axel. I know what you thought you saw. Why the fuck were you watching anyway and stopped watching right before I grabbed his hand off my thigh and went to sit on the other side of my friends. And my second thing is I don’t want him; I want you, you asshole.” She leans against the wall, “You’re such a fucking dick.”

Axel leans his body onto hers against the wall as he takes her face in his hands making her look up at him. “You didn’t want him to touch you?”

Tears stream down her face, “No, I just want you to touch me.” Her lip quivers.

“I’m a fucking dick,” He leans down closer. “I’m sorry Stephanie, I’m such a jealous fucking dick.”

He kisses her deeply. Her hands ride along his waist.

“Hey, Axel,” Mick screams from the back entrance. “You going to finish your set or are we switching out?”

Axel rest his forehead on Stephanie’s both their eyes closed. “Go get in your spot babe. I need to do one more song for the masses. I’ll come get you when we are done.” He wipes her tears away before heading back inside, “I’m coming, startup Stitch. I got some shit to get out of my system.”

Stephanie composes herself the best she can before going inside.

Bella is waiting at the door. She notices Stephanie’s puffy red eye, “Are you alright baby girl?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” She attempts a smile but doesn’t quite have a complete one in her yet. “Let’s go up front where I’m suppose to be for Axel.” She gets right where he can see her. He nods his approval before ripping into the song.

After, they sit on a sofa in the back corner.  Stephanie lays on Axel’s shoulder. Most that go by nod a hello. Axel drinks a beer as he runs his hand through Stephanie’s wavy hair. 

“Your such a pretty girl Stephanie,” He’s starting to slur his words a little. 

“Thanks Axel,” She knows he was the one that said that first when others were calling her pretty. 

Todd comes over and sits by Axel. “Everyone good back here?”

“Yeah, Man, we’re cool now.” He leans over and kisses Stephanie softly.

“You driving him home Todd,” She was concerned since Axel seemed to drunk to drive.

“Yeah, I got him Steph.” He took Axel’s beer. “Hey bud let’s take off. We both have normal jobs in the morning.”

Everyone filtered out of the club. Stephanie was the only one awake as she drove Bella, Albre and Ryan home.

[witchqueenofthemoon]

BODY AND SOUL Part 4 (Duncan Shepherd/Mackenzie Stone Millory AU)

BODY AND SOUL MASTERPOST

Author’s Note: CAN’T STOP WON’T STOP okay y’all, buckle up. I’m sorry, first of all, that you don’t get to know what Kenzie’s dress looks like until Part 5. I just really want everyone to see it through Duncan’s eyes with him because he’s a soft Cancer prince and he’s falling hopelessly in love with an angel. A reminder that Claire is my AU version of Coco; Morgan is obviously Myrtle if that’s not immediately obvious. I’m sorry it’s taking so long to get back to pretty smut; Part 5 will be full of it, and patience brings forth riches. It’ll probably take me a few days to write Part 5 because I want it to be perfect, so please be patient and stick with me. I’m really happy with how Part 4 turned out in the meantime, and I had so much fun writing it. Mallory/Coco’s hidden friendship was one of my favorite surprises in APOCALYPSE. I promise to deliver in the CLOTHES department in Part 5 regarding both Mackenzie and Duncan. CLOTHESSS.

Mackenzie stopped outside Duncan’s building, her heart pounding a hundred miles a minute, pressing her clutch between her breasts, the intense and yet not unpleasant sensation of Duncan’s wool cardigan pressing against her back and shoulders, giving her goosebumps. I’m wearing Duncan Shepherd’s hundred-dollar cardigan. Oh my fucking god. She tried to take a deep breath, suck the cool May air into her lungs, calm her nerves which were racing along like she was high. She stood outside his high rise, breathing in deeply, breathing out slowly, measuredly, the way her mom had taught her when she was a little girl; breathe, Kenzie, just breathe. Her thoughts flashed to the way he’d knelt there, tying her shoes, looking up at her with liquid blue eyes. Holy fuck it had thrilled her. It had made her feel like her body was on fire, immersed in liquid heat. Duncan Shepherd had looked at her like she was made of magick, like a prince from a far away land kneeling at the feet of a queen he wished to woo. She couldn’t help but think of all the fairy tales she’d loved as a little girl when it came to Duncan; he looked like a prince, truly a dream boy from a fairy tale, Prince fucking Charming, come to save her from a dragon on a white horse, his curls falling over his forehead, his blue eyes stabbing into her heart, his body wrapping around her, but what she wanted to do with him, what she had done with him, was far beyond the fairy tales of her girlhood; when he put his hand around my neck in the shower, she thought, her cunt spasming with the memory of her orgasm. Fuck, I want him to do that again. Fuck, his tongue on my clit. Fuck, the way he made me come.

Okay, okay, Kenzie, just breathe, she reminded herself.

And you’re fucking going to dinner with him tonight. He asked you to go out with him again tonight. He asked for your phone number, practically begged, after you fucked twice and he ate you out fuck he did and you sucked his cock and he made you fucking breakfast and you told him your mother is Madeline Stone. Duncan FUCKING Shepherd.

She unbuttoned her clutch again, grabbing her phone out (its case was gold, an downwards-facing black crescent moon sticker pressed into the back), staring down at it in a daze for a moment, as if unsure of what it was for, remembering the call he’d pressed through his phone to it a few moments before. A text dinged through, the trumpet-sound ringing twice in a row. Kenzie, what happened at that Republican party you were trying to get into last night? Give me an update. Love, Mom

“Fuck, I forgot,” Mackenzie whispered to herself. Hey Mom, she typed, went okay, you know how that shit is, they’re pigs. But I did manage to pick up some interesting tidbits with my recorder. She glanced at the little recorder in her clutch, confirming that she hadn’t lost it in the abandon of last night. Oh, and I fucked Duncan Shepherd.

She didn’t type the last part, but it slashed through her brain, and she couldn’t help but giggle nervously into her hand. Her mom would think she was joking; her mom had an excellent sense of humor. But no. How the fuck could she tell her mother? No way. Not yet. She didn’t even want to think about what Madeline would say, the look that would fall over her face. She couldn’t even begin to go there. Her body still ached from where Duncan had fucked her with his big, hard cock (oh my fucking god) in wild rapture, staring into her eyes like she was cake he was going to devour. Her neck was marked with several darkening welts from his ardent, demanding lips and ached from where the heavy necklace had pressed into the nape all night after she’d passed out. She smelled like his soap, like his musky body, like his clothes (fuck, she was wearing his clothes). The afterglow of his kisses tingled all over her body, her lips swollen with the memory of his. Those lips. Fucking god. His large, beautiful, long-fingered hands. Everywhere. His eyes, impossibly clear and blue and intense, staring into her soul, laying it bare. It was as if he’d left an invisible tattoo all over her skin and she could feel its tender, shimmering glow, like it was alive.

“Fuuuuck, FUCK, holy shit fucking fuck!” She screamed, bouncing back on her heels, unbalanced. She couldn’t help it. A burst of nervous, wild laughter shot out of her; some pigeons nearby on the sidewalk nervously fluttered into the air, cooing their shock out towards her. A man in a suit with a briefcase walking across the street looked towards her with an annoyed expression, his gaze sliding away as she grinned at him. Yes, I am fucking insane, she thought towards him. I fucked Duncan Shepherd last night and this morning and it’s probably the stupidest thing I’ve ever done and fuck me, I can’t wait to do it again.

She was still clutching her phone in one hand and she jumped as another trumpety text rang out from it. Did everything go okay with that shitty party? It was Claire.

She yelped, fumbling with her phone and practically dropping it on the sidewalk, frightening the pigeons again. CLAIRE. She had to tell someone, and it had to be Claire. She imagined her best friend’s pink-lipsticked mouth hanging open when she heard what Kenzie had done and could feel the wild grin plastered on her face at the thought.

OH MY FUCKING GOD, she typed, adding the haunted face emoji and the skull emoji, hitting send. She saw the telltale dot bubbles come up a second later, indicating that Claire was replying.

Clairebear: ??????? Are you okay???

Kenzie typed quickly. Can you meet me for coffee at Emissary? I have to tell you in person. I’m okay but holy FUCK, something happened. Something insane.

Clairebear: Uhhhhh??!?! YES. I can walk over there now.

I’m in Georgetown, I’ll be there in 15 minutes.

Clairebear: KENZIE, WHY ARE YOU IN GEORGETOWN, IT’S 10 AM ASFKHGSDKGHG

I’LL TELL YOU IN FIFTEEN MINUTES BITCH

Mackenzie opened the Lyft app on her phone and was relieved to see a car was two minutes away. She bounced on her heels, feeling dizzy (his lips on her neck), heart racing again. Claire was going to lose her fucking shit. And holy fuck, I’m seeing him again tonight. He’s picking me up in his fucking private car. She glanced up at Duncan’s high rise, up to the top floor where she knew his penthouse was, biting her lip in that familiar way she tended to. God, I need to remember to look at the view next time between kisses, she thought, her cheeks glowing in the early morning sun.

-----

Kenzie thanked her driver, stepping carefully out of the Prius that had picked her up in front of Duncan’s building; she felt dizzy and ungainly still, as though she might just fall over and not be able to get back up, her limbs shaking. Kenzie, be cool. Tell Clairebear what happened.

She pulled the glass door of Emissary (her favorite coffee shop, it helped that it was a few blocks from her apartment in Dupont Circle) wide, eyes searching for Claire’s telltale platinum blonde modern shag and carefully applied lip stain. She zeroed in on her friend at one of the more discreet tables in the side-room (Claire was in knee-high boots, a beanie, and a copious checkered scarf that twisted around her shoulders), and her eyes widened in anticipation. Patrons on their laptops and with books or talking in low tones were scattered around the cafe; thankfully, it seemed busy enough that no one would pay them any particular attention.

She walked up, still feeling shaky, to the counter, ordering a small soy latte, stuffing a five-dollar bill into the tip jar. Karma, please be with me, she thought, every little bit helps. “Geez, thank you,” the barista (a nonbinary person with a short bob, glasses and a black sweater with a white collar) had said, eyeing the bill, smiling at her. She smiled at them, that nervous energy still humming along under her skin. “I’ll bring it over to you,” the barista said, turning away from her to the espresso machine. “Thank you,” Kenzie murmured, whipping around and sprinting as quickly as she could on those godforsaken heels to Claire’s table.

Claire looked up, eyes wide, as her friend crashed into the seat in front of her.

“Kenzie,” she stated, staring into the smaller girl’s wild eyes (god what the fuck is going on there), the way she always did when her best friend had done something dangerous or impulsive and had this deer-in-headlights look. Usually it had to do with a story, of course. Kenzie was an excellent journalist, and she was always putting herself in strange positions to get the best angle on a story. But this seemed to be something else.

“Claireohmygodfuckinghellohmyfuckinggod,” Mackenzie breathed, words blending to the point where they became nonsense.

Claire reached out to her, snorting, smiling nervously, grabbing her friend’s small hand. She noted that Kenzie wasn’t wearing any makeup, that her hair still looked a little bit damp, that she was clearly wearing last night’s dress and heels, and that she was wearing a black cardigan that was much too big for her and was clearly cut for a man. Claire’s eyes flickered to Kenzie’s neck, where she saw several telltale red marks. Oh, my god.

“Kenzie. What did you do. Tell me right now.”

“Claire, don’t get mad. Promise you won’t get mad at me.”

“Kenzie.”

Kenzie steeled herself, (deja vu, she thought, I just did that with Duncan when I told him my mother’s name), grasping her friend’s hand with cold fingers.

“Duncan Shepherd was at that party last night. I--I went home with him.”

Just as she’d imagined, Claire’s mouth fell open in a gigantic oval, her bright eyes blinking rapidly in disbelief. “WHAT.”

“Clairebear, oh my god. I don’t even know how to tell you. He’s nothing like what you’d imagine. God, he was so wonderful. God, he’s so hot. He was so gentle and beautiful, you wouldn’t believe. I’ve never felt like that before. God, you should see his penthouse, it’s insane, he made me fucking breakfast, Claire--”

“MACKENZIE.”

“CLAIRE, DON’T BE MAD AT ME.”

“Duncan Shepherd?” Her friend hissed at her quietly. “The Duncan Shepherd? Annette Shepherd’s son? Annette Shepherd who owns ten of the most prominent centrist publications in the country? Shepherd Freedom Foundation Duncan Shepherd? Mackenzie Louise Stone, are you out of your fucking mind!”

“Claire. He wants to see me again tonight.”

“Kenzie, oh my fucking god.”

“He wants to pick me up in his private car.”

“KENZIE.”

“Claire, I’ve never had an orgasm like that in my whole fucking life. Two orgasms like that.” She whispered the last part, leaning in close to her friend’s raptly staring face. “His eyes. He’s so tall and so fucking gorgeous and his smile, fuck, I almost died.”

Claire tried to hide her smile behind her hand, bringing her matcha up to her mouth to stifle the laugh that Kenzie could see behind her eyes.

“Who are you and where did you take my Kenzie Stone?”

“I know. I don’t know. I can’t explain. He’s so fucking gorgeous in person, Claire. I’ve never see anyone as beautiful him, ever. He looks at me like I’m made of cake or something. His eyes, they’re like blue crystals, god, the way he kissed me--”

She took a breath, watching her friend’s face, which was rapidly running a gamut, strange mixture of happiness and concern.

“Are you wearing his fucking sweater.”

“Yes. He insisted. Clairebear. I don’t know what’s happening to me. He made me feel like...I don’t know how to describe how it felt. He’s so lovely. It was like a dream.”

“Lovely? Jesus, Kenzie.”

“His dick, oh my god.”

Claire tried to stifle her snort of laughter again as the barista came over with Kenzie’s latte. Kenzie pressed her lips together, trying to keep a straight face, thanking them. They nodded, walking back towards the coffee counter. Claire was still staring at her, her eyes goggling, a smile playing around the corners of her mouth, shaking her head.

“I bet he fucks a new girl every night, Kenzie. Guys like that are notorious.”

“I--Claire.”

“Kenzie, I do not want you to get fucked over by some idiot rich boy. Like, jesus. I’m shocked...and appalled.” She grinned at the last part, though. Clearly, Claire was excited over what Mackenzie had just confessed to her. She was trying--and obviously failing--to be the sensible one. A snort of amusement bubbled under her words and as she and Kenzie stared at each other, they both burst in laughter.

“Claire, what the fuck do I wear tonight.”

“Honestly, it sounds like it doesn’t matter. He’s already seen you in your birthday suit.”

“Clairebear. It was like a fairy tale. I can’t believe it happened. I smell like his soap. Like his cologne. It was like...wood and...I don’t know.”

Claire reached out, grabbing Mackenzie’s wrist, bringing it up to her nose. “Fuck,” she breathed. “That smells fucking good. Like sandalwood and jasmine.”

“I know.”

“If he does a single thing to hurt you, I will break his fucking jaw.” Claire held fast to her wrist, shaking it in a display of motherly scolding. “You know I trust you with my life, Kenzie. You know I trust your judgement. I’m gonna trust you here. But please be careful, jesus. Men like that are living in a different universe. A bizarre one where the laws of life and decency don’t apply to them. And that shit makes me nervous. And Annette Shepherd is terrifying. Even watching her on TV gives me the creeps.”

“Claire, I promise, I’ll be careful. Clairebear. Oh my god. Fuckfuckfuck.”

Kenzie saw a warm smile fall over her friend’s open face. “I cannot believe you, bitch,” Claire said, reaching over and grabbing Mackenzie by the shoulders, shaking her gently. “God, that’s a nice cardigan. What about your mom? Holy shit.”

“I know. Do not tell her, swear. Cross your heart.”

Claire crossed her right pointer finger over her ribcage, marking the spot with an X.

“You should see his walk-in closet. I thought I was gonna faint.”

“I better meet this idiot soon.”

“Claire, I love you so much.”

“I love you too, Kenzie Lou. Please be fucking careful. Oh my god.”

-----

Kenzie pushed through the door of her studio apartment, throwing her clutch in a moment of abandon across the room where it landed on her futon’s duvet, covered in constellations. Now that she was back in her little room, she wondered in awe if she’d dreamt all of it. But no. Here she was in his cardigan, bathing in the musky smell of him, totally intoxicated. She brought the arms of the sweater up to her nose, breathing in deeply. It made her dizzy. It made her think of his lips on her neck. His tongue in her mouth. His hands around her breasts, his cock pounding into her--

“Breathe, motherfucker, breathe,” she told herself. Claire was right. She would need to try to be sensible about all of this. The Shepherds were one of the most powerful families in the country, let alone in Washington. They could fuck you up in a heartbeat and throw away the key. The thought of Annette Shepherd staring her down with judging, sharp eyes made an icy chill course through her veins.

Maybe tonight is the last time I’ll see him, anyway, she thought, trying to be practical. Maybe he just wants more of what he got last night, and nothing else. You have to admit that might be true.

But then she remembered the way he’d looked up at her while he tied her sandals this morning; the way he’d slammed his coffee cup onto the counter with so much force it broke, and reached for her hand, holding it so tenderly. The way he’d pulled her into him, with such tender longing, tried to catch hold of her to kiss her again as she’d slipped out the door. Some men are really good at faking it, her mother’s voice leaked into her ears. Some will do whatever it takes to get what they want, and that includes fucking you over to fuck you.

But maybe not, she argued with the imaginary version of her mother in her head. Maybe he’s different. I have to at least let it play out. After last night, I have to, mom. If you were me, you’d do the same thing. That was the most amazing thing that has ever happened to me with another person. That felt like the look that comes into people’s eyes when they talk about soulmates. That was something else. He got into my heart. I can’t deny it. I’m already falling for him.

Oh, fuck.

Kenzie’s apartment, small as it was, was full of green falling plants and succulents, sun, moon and star motifs everywhere, from the moon cycle tapestry hanging over the door to the bathroom, to the triple moon goddess symbol she’d painted on one wall in shimmering gold, to the sun wind chime over her bed and the matching moon and star chimes that hung over her little kitchenette, little pots of succulents lining the window sills. Dozens of jars of herbs and spices lined her countertop; she saved jam jars and labeled them in her looping handwriting, some of which she’d grown herself in the shared lot behind her apartment complex. She loved the earth, being near it, nurturing it, seeing what gifts it would give her in return. She wondered if Duncan would accept a plant from her if she gave him one. She’d noticed he hadn’t had anything growing in his penthouse; wondered absently if he was too busy to look after plants. I could take care of them, the thought bubbled up in her subconscious, shyly. I would love to have so much room. I’d fill it with so many living things. I’d love to take care of them for him; a little love letter from me to him. A secret one.

She fell into her ratty armchair, a chair her mother Madeline had had since she moved into her first apartment before she’d met Madeline’s father (Richard Mapother, a successful film critic, but he and Madeline’s marriage had been short-lived after Mackenzie was born; she seldom saw her father as he lived in LA now, presiding critic for Empire magazine; Madeline had gone back to her maiden name after their divorce, had Mackenzie’s surname changed on her birth certificate, and kept it through her second marriage, which had also ended badly, this one after only a few months; he had been a fellow journalist at the Post, and it had caused a scandal). This chair Mackenzie had demanded to keep when her mother had thought about throwing it away; it had once been dark brown, but was now fraying to the point that it its color had begun to wash away. She’d covered it with a thick woven blanket covered in constellations, similar to her bedspread. Mackenzie thought of Duncan’s long leather couch, ominously immaculate and stern, and she let out a sigh. I’m sure he’d be impressed with my armchair.

Here, in the daylight, she wondered what she’d been thinking last night. She’d been so angry and annoyed after a Senator she recognized (for his infamous misogyny, no less) had attempted to chat her up at that terrible party, and she’d managed to escape onto the balcony, her nerves rattled. But the way Duncan had looked at her; she shivered recalling it. It wasn’t just desire. There was something else there. Wonder? He had looked at her in awe. The look in his eyes had been one of fascination. Dare she even think it; of reverence. It made goosebumps rise on her arms, made her heart thump in her throat, at her temples. She launched herself out of the sagging armchair, grabbing a glass out of her little cabinet, filling it with water from the tap, and draining the whole thing. She looked down at her shoes; those painful heeled sandals that Duncan had untied and re-tied with such gentle adoration. God, the way he looked at me, she swallowed, sighed, set the glass down, leaning against the counter, pushing a hand through her now almost-dry hair, moving her hands to unhook the crystal earrings from her earlobes, setting them down quietly, pensively. I don’t think I’ll ever forget it. Like I was the stars in the sky.

“To the mystery of first meetings,” he’d said. His sweet, low voice rang in the memory of her ears. Baby. You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. Kenzie. I love that.

“I could love him,” she said out loud, to no one. Her cat, Holt, had died over a year ago, and she hadn’t had the heart to get another; she’d buried him in her herb garden in the backyard. “If he could love me, I could love him. I don’t even know him, but I think I could. I can’t have imagined it. I didn’t imagine him. I can’t have invented the way he looked at me; the way he touched me. The way he spoke to me.”

She blushed; also to no one. She would keep that secret in her heart, for now. No matter what happened, she’d keep last night and this morning in her secret heart, always.

She stepped over to her futon bed, sitting on the edge, pulling her clutch over to her from where it had landed on her pillows, pulling her phone out and setting it on her lap, leaning down to unlace her sandals. She paused, her fingers against the laces, remembering his large hands there, his long elegant fingers, pressing ardently into her skin. She almost didn’t want to take the shoes off; it was almost as if she would break some kind of spell he’d weaved there if she did, break the spell of the evening, bring her crashing back into reality. But she unlaced them anyway, biting her lip, pulling her feet out of their trappings, remembering that last night he’d kissed the red marks the laces had left on her ankles, and she shivered again, brought the cardigan’s long sleeves to her face again, feeling as though, for some reason, she could cry.

Her phone was still on silent, but through misty eyes she noticed the screen light up on her lap. She looked down, pushing the sudden tears away, banishing them behind her eyes, which, though she could not see them herself, glowed with a similar dark green shade as the one they’d turned last night, looking down at Duncan between her legs. She flipped the sound switch on the side of the phone.

You left your necklace in the bathroom and your headband on the nightstand. I can give them back to you tonight. I can’t wait to see you, Kenzie.

“Oh, fuck,” she muttered. Now he probably thought she’d left them behind on purpose. She’d been so dazed, so dizzy in his embraces, she’d felt like she was on some other plane, in some other world, and she’d forgotten her jewelry utterly.

Ugh, sorry. She typed, biting into her lip. I didn’t mean to do that. You were distracting me. She couldn’t help it. She was honest to a fault, and that was the truth.

Her heart jumped around in her chest as she watched the telltale text bubbles appear for a moment. They disappeared. Then reappeared. She didn’t notice, but she was holding her breath.

I’d keep them forever if it meant I’d see you again. I want to distract you again. And again. And again.

“Oh my fucking god,” she whispered to herself, hands gripping the phone with white fingers.

She typed something, erased it, and then retyped it. She closed her eyes, and hit send. No takebacks. It was gone. She did it.

I want you to.

She stared at her phone, breathless, for a few moments. No text bubbles appeared. The moment stretched; became a minute. She had to breathe; she felt the tightness around her heart.

Then, the text bubbles appeared.

She stared, her eyes still cast with that greenish hue she couldn’t see, her phone grasped between her fingers in her lap, her feet bare, her hair smelling of Duncan’s jasmine soap.

I am waiting for tonight with an ache in my heart for you that I’ve never felt before for anyone.

She read the text. Again. Again. Five times, six times, her breath catching in her lungs, refusing to come out, filling her mind with a sound like angels singing at the gates of heaven. Duncan Shepherd had just sent that to her. Reality no longer made any sense. She resolved deep inside her soul that she was going to let this happen to her. Come what may, the hand of destiny was pressing down on her. A sixth sense spoke to her: now is not the time to play it safe. Open yourself to this. Let this happen to you. To live is to love. That’s all there is.

“Okay,” she whispered. She typed one more time.

Duncan, I feel the same way. You’ve touched my heart.

The text came back right away.

See you at 9. Tonight, everything is for you.

She laid back onto her blanket of constellations, her head falling between the lower arms of Cancer, Iota Cancri extending into the heavens above her, Acubens and Altarf on either side of her chestnut waves, adorning her temples like a crown. Everything is for you.

-------

She woke a little later, her phone dinging its trumpet sound out again into her little apartment, her eyes falling on the sun-shaped celestial wind chime that hung beside her bed. She liked to listen to its soft rustling at night; it helped her sleep now, a unique white noise that she had become attached to. She grasped the phone, heart pounding again; an hour had passed, she hadn’t even realized she had fallen asleep, there had been so much adrenaline coursing through her since this morning, she must have crashed particularly hard.

The text was from Claire. She swallowed, pushing down the disappointed feeling that rose unbidden under her skin. You’re seeing him in a few hours, calm down.

Clairebear: Kenzie Lou, I found the perfect dress for you tonight.

Claire worked for a designer; her name was Morgan Winthrop, and her work was dark, beautiful, and romantic. The velvet dress Mackenzie had worn last night to that terrible (wonderful, fateful) party had been a sample piece from Winthrop’s collection from the previous fall. “I thought of you right away when I saw it,” Claire had said, holding it up to the warm evening light of her stylish living room over their Chinese takeout. Mackenzie trusted Claire more than anyone, and knew her best friend understood her taste and her body; if Claire said she had found her a perfect dress, Mackenzie believed her.

A photo followed the text. Kenzie gasped. Claire hadn’t been kidding.

It was perfect.

------

Kenzie glanced down at her phone with fingers that refused to stop shaking. It was 8 PM. One hour. She turned back to her bathroom mirror (surrounded by small prints of celestial scenes and constellations in gold-painted frames), trying to steady the hand that was applying kohl under her hazel eyes, which looked far too big and worried and round in her little bathroom mirror. Kenzie. What are you doing. What’s happening. She blew a shaking breath out; just get your shit together, you can do this. You can be calm and collected. You can be a goddess.

No, I can’t.

You can.

Her little bluetooth speaker sat on top of her toilet tank, the only steady, non-damp place for it. An angelic soprano’s voice rang from it, soothing her shaking fingers. And I, I feel it after midnight, a feelin’ that you can’t fight / my one, it lingers when we’re done, you’ll believe God is a Woman

She’d gone to Morgan’s studio after Claire’s text; Morgan had been pleased to see her and fit the dress for her. “Darling, you’re a muse, your coquettish charm is indescribably lovely,” Morgan had cooed to her, gloved hands beckoning to her, Morgan’s wild, frizzy orange hair catching the afternoon light from the windows of her open-spaced studio with its black-and-white striped walls. “I’m delighted to fit you for a romantic evening, you of all people deserve joy.” Mackenzie had looked down shyly at her words; if only Morgan knew what would probably be happening to the dress later, tossed to the floor. She stood in front of the long mirror quietly as Morgan pinned and prodded with agile practice; as she watched, the dress melded to her body like a second skin.

“Ravishing,” Morgan had stated, matter-of-factly, as she stood back to gaze at Mackenzie through the mirror. Claire looked on from a little further away, seated on a bench, watching as she had for the past hour or so. “Oh, Kenzie,” she breathed. “He’ll die.”

And he see the universe when I’m the company / it’s all in me

Kenzie set down the kohl pencil, reaching for the choker she’d placed carefully on the side of the sink. It was black velvet, with a downwards-facing crescent moon charm hanging from the throat, similar to the one on the back of her phone case. She fastened it around her neck, her thoughts flashing back to Duncan’s hands there, pressing with their impossible soft heat, thrilling every nerve ending in her body, like they belonged there. She stared at herself in the small mirror.

Fortune favors the bold, she thought, staring into her own eyes. Yet another one of her mother’s sayings.

Make me bold, she whispered silently, out into the universe, to whoever was listening, if anyone was at all. Give me a heart made of light, the better to see with, the better to feel with, give me the heart to see him. And give him the heart to see me. Give us both courage to say the things we feel.

She felt that indescribable heaviness again; like the giant wheel of time was turning on some far-flung stage of the universe, a colossal event that she couldn’t see; she could only feel it. She could only hang on and hope. Kenzie took another breath, shook out her long chestnut hair (adorned with another gold headband, this one with three moons, waxing, full, and waning), turned off the bathroom light, and went to her mother’s ratty armchair to wait for the clock to strike 9, the music still ringing in her ears.

You’ll believe God / God is a Woman

[fancydancing]

The 8½ Laws of Rumor Spread

***Please read this article and think about every rumor you’ve heard about Scott and/or Tessa in the past year. I think it’s very enlightening***

Some rumors grind to a halt, while others circle the world. Why some ideas spread and others die.

By  Taylor Clark, published  November 1, 2008 - last reviewed on June 9, 2016

If I'm not gullible and you're not gullible, how come some improbable stories take a long time to die?

"The money it's cost me," said clothing designer Tommy Hilfiger. "It hurt my integrity."

"It" was the shocking story that had circulated for years on the Internet and through word of mouth: Hilfiger, known for his colorful, preppy styles, had supposedly appeared on The Oprah Winfrey Show to air a disturbing grievance. "If I had known that African-Americans, Hispanics, and Asians would buy my clothes, I would not have made them so nice," Hilfiger complained. "I wish those people would not buy my clothes—they were made for upper-class whites." According to the tale, an outraged Winfrey immediately asked Hilfiger to leave her show—and when she came back from a commercial, he was gone.

Never mind that intentionally alienating your core market isn't exactly a shrewd business strategy. Never mind that Hilfiger had founded a philanthropic fund to benefit inner city youth long before the rumor even appeared, or that he donated over $5 million toward building a memorial to Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., in Washington.

Of course, Hilfiger had never said anything of the sort. At the time the rumor surfaced and spread, Hilfiger had never been on The Oprah Winfrey Show. In fact, the two had never met until 2007, when Winfrey did invite him onto the show to try to squelch the rumor once and for all. "The next time somebody sends you an email or somebody mentions this rumor to you, you know what you're supposed say to them?" said Winfrey. "You're supposed to say, 'That's a big fat lie!'"

Nor did the president of Procter & Gamble appear on The Phil Donahue Show to "come out of the closet" about his company's ties to the Church of Satan. Nor did Liz Claiborne tell Oprah that black people shouldn't wear her clothes—which didn't stop director Spike Lee from telling Esquire magazine, "It definitely happened. Get the tape. Every black woman in America needs to go to her closet, throw that shit out, and never buy another stitch of clothes from Liz Claiborne."

Skeptical or gullible, we all buy into rumors sometimes. Even Barbara Mikkelson, who runs the popular myth-debunking Web site Snopes.com with her husband David, admits she's swallowed some whoppers. "A friend told me that when his friend's daughter was off on vacation, she had a whirlwind romance with this charismatic guy," Mikkelson says. "When it was time for her to come home, he gave her a package. Inside was a ceramic coffin with a message on it: 'Welcome to the world of AIDS.' I believed that one hook, line, and sinker."

Rumors have a way of slipping under our mental defenses before we think to question them. The best ones sidestep common sense entirely. "Think of the lawsuits parents filed over subliminal messages in heavy metal songs," says Martin Bourgeois, a rumor researcher at Florida Gulf Coast University. "People believed Judas Priest was planting messages to make teenagers commit suicide; no one thought to ask, 'Why would a rock band want its audience dead?'"

Most of us don't like to think of ourselves as gullible. But we're especially likely to accept as true—and do our best to spread—tales that have several specific characteristics that take aim at our best defenses.

At its core, a rumor is just an unverified scrap of information we pass among ourselves to make sense of the world. In one case study conducted at Ohio University by psychologist Mark Pezzo, students had heard that someone on campus had died of meningitis. The story spread because the anxious students were trying to find out what was going on: "Is the rumor true?" "How do you get meningitis?" "I heard that everyone on campus will need to have a painful spinal tap, did you hear that?" In the marketplace of misinformation, fit rumors survive and spread like epidemics, while unfit rumors die quick deaths. So what separates the fit from the unfit? What, in short, are the laws of effective rumors?

1: Successful rumors needle our anxieties and emotions.

When Hurricane Katrina struck New Orleans in 2005, water wasn't the only thing that flooded the city. In the environment of intense anxiety and uncertainty, grim rumors flourished: Sharks have infested the water! Terrorists planted bombs in the levees! Murdered babies and piles of corpses filled the Superdome!

Unfortunately, the national media reported many of the rumors as fact—especially after a misinformed Mayor Ray Nagin told talk show hosts like Oprah Winfrey that "hundreds of armed gang members" were killing and raping at will inside the dome. Yet once the crisis began to abate, investigators found that almost all of the widely circulated stories were false. FEMA doctors even showed up at the Superdome with a refrigerated 18-wheeler to cart away the hundreds of dead bodies rumored. They found six—none of them a homicide victim.

So why did these stories pop up? Fear breeds rumor. The more collective anxiety a group has, the more inclined it will be to start up the rumor mill. As Rochester Institute of Technology rumor expert Nicholas DiFonzo explains, we pass rumors around primarily as a means of deciphering scary, uncertain situations: Exchanging information, even if it's ludicrously false, relieves our unease by giving us a sense that we at least know what's happening. "One major function of rumors is to figure out the facts and find what the appropriate, adaptive thing to do is. Look at 9/11. I don't ever remember feeling so threatened as I did after 9/11, and people used rumors to try to manage the threat."

Thus when 9/11 left people terrified and searching for answers, they heard a horde of alarming (and completely false) rumors—that terrorists had injected anthrax into one of every five cans of Pepsi, that no Jews showed up to work at the World Trade Center on 9/11 because they knew about the attacks beforehand. (In fact, about 15 percent of those who died in the attacks were Jewish.)

Very few of the tales were positive, because we're naturally more inclined to pass on negative information. "As humans, we have a tendency to weight negative information more," says Helen Harton, a psychology professor at the University of Northern Iowa. "It makes evolutionary sense. It's more important to know how to avoid a tiger than to know where a field of nice flowers is."

Of course, most of us don't have to worry about tiger attacks anymore, but we do dread things like layoffs at work. So we toss rumors back and forth to figure out what's really up.

2: Rumors stick if they're somewhat surprising but still fit with our existing biases.

If you ever open endlessly forwarded e-mails, you're probably familiar with at least one notorious malapropism from President George W. Bush: "The problem with the French is that they don't have a word for 'entrepreneur.'" Or this embarrassing gem from the pop starlet Mariah Carey: "When I watch TV and see those poor starving kids all over the world, I can't help but cry. I mean, I'd love to be skinny like that, but not with all those flies and death and stuff." Can you believe they actually said these things?

Well, don't. Both quips were made up by pranksters. Even so, they enjoyed viral spread for the simple reason that both are juicy enough to be shocking—yet not so far-fetched that we doubt the two parties could have uttered them. They confirm what many already believe—that Bush is, let's say, not quite firing on all cylinders, and that Carey is a vain diva—without setting off too many common-sense alarms.

In short, we're primed to accept them. As Mikkelson explains, "These stories get in under our radar because they click in with what we already believe, or want to believe." If you already think liberals are waging a war on religion, you'll be more likely to buy 2008's (untrue) rumor that the new dollar coins omit the customary "In God We Trust." (It's printed along the side.) If you buy the idea that too much money unhinges people from reality, you might believe the story that Tiger Woods rented a mansion for the 2007 U.S. Open, moved everything out, and flew in all of his own furniture so he would feel at home during the four-day tournament.

Even when presented with evidence refuting a rumor, we often stick to our biases. A 2007 University of Maryland study found that only 3 percent of Pakistanis believe Al Qaeda was responsible for 9/11. "It's difficult for them to accept that Al Qaeda, their fellow Muslims, could have perpetrated these acts," says DiFonzo.

3: Easily swayed people are more important than influential people in passing on a rumor.

In the mid-1970s, the Life Savers Company introduced a product that revolutionized the way kids chewed gum: Bubble Yum. Before it came along, you had to work on a piece of gum for ages to make it soft enough to blow bubbles. But Bubble Yum was squishy right out of the wrapper. It was the perfect gum… maybe a little too perfect, kids thought. What was making it so soft? Soon, the obvious answer presented itself: spider eggs. Bubble Yum was made with spider eggs.

This bit of schoolyard conjecture became ironclad truth with staggering speed, sending Bubble Yum's sky-high sales into a tailspin. Within 10 days of first getting wind of the rumor, Life Savers executives commissioned surveys that revealed "well over half" of New York area children had already heard it.

The spider egg story didn't zoom from kid to kid so quickly because of well-connected playground information magnates or influential adolescent gum mavens, but because kids are credulous, and credulous people make rumors go. "It's your willingness to pass things along that matters, not necessarily how much status or respect you have," says Duncan Watts, a sociologist who researches information spread for Yahoo. Kids will believe almost anything (another long-lived schoolyard rumor claimed the "Mikey likes it" Life cereal kid died after a mixture of soda and Pop Rocks made his stomach explode), and thus rumors run rampant in schools. But the same is true of gullible adults: They're the ones who really fuel rumors.

4: The more you hear a rumor, the more you'll buy it��even if you're hearing that it's false.

According to a poll, 11 percent of Americans believe the rumor that Barack Obama is secretly a radical Muslim who refuses to say the Pledge of Allegiance and was sworn into the Senate on the Qur'an (and probably hates mom and apple pie as well). The myth that he is a Muslim is so pervasive that The New Yorker could satirize it on a cover depicting a cheery new prez Obama hanging out in the White House in full Islamic garb—with an American flag burning in the fireplace and a portrait of Osama bin Laden on the wall.

But if the hyper-liberal New Yorker was trying to expose the absurdity of the rumor, someone probably should have talked to Mark Pezzo first. Even hearing that a rumor is bunk, he observes, tends to plant it deeper in your mind. "No question, the more you hear something—even the same thing from the same person—the more you believe it," says Pezzo. "Politicians know all about this; the more I heard about weapons of mass destruction, the more believable they seemed to me. Even a denial can be a repetition of a rumor." (Just ask Senator John Kerry, whose 2004 presidential bid sunk thanks to whispers about his swift-boat service in Vietnam—even though most of the media stories were about how the rumors were false.)

What's more, repeating a rumor can also make people believe it came from a credible source. In one Stanford study, the more subjects heard a rumor about dried rat urine on Pepsi cans, the more likely they were to attribute the information to ConsumerReports rather than to The National Enquirer.

5: Rumors reflect the zeitgeist.

Every fall, right around mid-September, Barbara Mikkelson starts receiving urgent reports of a grisly new trend in gang initiations. Prospective gang members are driving around in the evening with their headlights intentionally turned off, the story says, and when a well-intentioned motorist flashes his brights at them, the would-be gang member has to follow the car home and kill everyone inside. SO NEVER FLASH YOUR LIGHTS THIS IS FOR YOUR OWN GOOD PLEASE FORWARD THIS TO EVERYONE YOU LOVE!

It's always in mid-September that the rumor resurfaces. "That's when you first have to start thinking about putting your headlights on when you're coming home from work," she explains. "Headlights are on people's minds. That's why you never hear it in the dead of winter or the height of summer."

Rumors have the greatest chance of multiplying when the topic is something people are already pondering. As University of British Columbia psychologist Mark Schaller points out, "What matters is a match between the nature of the information and the goals of the people who are trafficking that information." So what's on our minds lately?

The election of 2008, and the thousand plausible and implausible tales swirling around the candidates. Among the best ones: As a Navy pilot, John McCain executed a "wet start" (a maneuver that involves flooding your fighter plane's engine with fuel so that starting up unleashes a huge and macho burst of flame) so reckless that he actually set an aircraft carrier on fire. Then there's the one about how Barack Obama has been endorsed by the Ku Klux Klan—they're tricky, those Klansmen.

6: Sticky rumors are simple and concrete.

Examine your stockpile of offbeat conventional wisdom: It takes seven years for swallowed gum to pass through the body. We only use 10 percent of our brains. The Great Wall of China can be seen from space. People swallow eight spiders a year in their sleep.

These tidbits are all simple and specific, with a vivid detail that sticks in the mind. They're also false. But they illustrate the point that tangible, easily graspable tales have an excellent chance of catching on. "Complicated ideas are not that spreadable," says Duncan Watts. "Ideas with content, when they do spread, lose their content." Rumors work just like a game of telephone; after they've been transmitted a few times, the details get lost and the message grows simpler.

According to Mikkelson, the spider-swallowing rumor got its start when a columnist for PC Professional wrote a story bemoaning our tendency to believe every harebrained factoid in mass e-mails; the writer made up the statistic as an example of the kind of ludicrous thing credulous people will, um, swallow. In time, the fact that it was a joke got lost in transmission, and now millions live in fear of sleepingwith their mouth open.

The principle of concreteness also helps spread urban legends (which are rumors presented in story form, usually as something that happened to a friend's ex-girlfriend's mechanic's second cousin). Ever heard the tale of the guy who accepts a drink from a stranger at a bar, then wakes up in a tub full of ice, one kidney poorer? How about the one where the woman tries to dry out her wet lap dog by putting it in the microwave? Chances are, you remembered those tall tales because a visceral image—fingering your stitches in an ice-filled tub, watching a live dog sizzle in a microwave—got lodged in your mind.

"Urban legends survive only if they conjure up very visual or very tactile images," says Chip Heath, a Stanford business professor who studies idea spread. "Our brains are wired to remember concrete, sensory things better than abstract things." For example, if researchers give people lists of words to memorize and then recall later, the tangible ones ("apple," "pencil") will spring to mind more often than the conceptual ones ("truth," "justice").

7: Rumors that last are difficult to disprove.

Ever wonder why even the craziest legends and conspiracy theories never seem to die? Why do people still believe there's a giant prehistoric reptile prowling Loch Ness, even though innumerable hours of investigation have produced zero proof of such a creature? Well, it's a pretty big lake: How can we be sure she's not in there? It's tough to disprove the idea definitively.

As DiFonzo explains, a rumor like "On Thursday's Late Show, David Letterman's hairpiece fell off!" doesn't work, because people can check it out and easily find evidence it didn't happen. But a rumor like "I heard David Letterman's hairpiece fell off during a show, but they destroyed all the tapes!"—that's more like it.

Persistent rumors tend to have what Chip Heath calls a "testable credential," some element that can be misconstrued to give the story a whiff of credibility. "Rumors very often have a little truth test that people can run," he explains. "There was a rumor in the San Francisco Bay Area in the '90s that Snapple supports the KKK. You turned the label around, and you saw a capital letter K with a circle around it. People were doing that test, and then all of a sudden this seemingly preposterous rumor becomes more plausible." (For the record, Snapple bottles do bear the K—the symbol for "kosher"—as do thousands of other drinks and food products.)

8: We are eager to believe bad things about people we envy.

Is there anyone in America who hasn't heard about Richard Gere and the gerbil? The story goes something like this. Gere checked himself into Cedars-Sinai Hospital in California complaining of intestinal pain and rectal bleeding. When doctors investigated, they found Gere's beloved pet gerbil Tibet, shaved, declawed, and dead, lodged in Gere's rectum—the result of "gerbilling," a sexual practice common among gay men. So doctors performed an emergency gerbilectomy on Gere. The gerbil was removed—but the story stuck.

Needless to say, none of this ever happened. Gere was never admitted to the hospital for rectal bleeding, and "gerbilling" is not a sexual practice at all, among gay men or anyone else. Gerbils aren't even legal in California (for agricultural reasons, not sexual ones). Like most rumors about celebrities, its origin is unknown, but we do know the rumor hit a tipping point in the 1980s after a hoaxster, claiming to be from the ASPCA, flooded Hollywood fax machines with a bogus press alert about Gere's putative "gerbil abuse."

Celebrities are easy targets for sordid tales. An almost equally widespread rumor is the one about the lead singer of New Kids on the Block being rushed to the emergency room, where doctors pumped his stomach and removed more than a gallon of semen he'd swallowed during an orgy of oral sex. The details vary: Sometimes the quantity of ejaculate is reported as one gallon, sometimes 10. Sometimes the substance removed is human semen; other times it's dog semen. The rumor has variously featured Rod Stewart, Elton John, David Bowie, Marc Almond, Mick Jagger, Andy Warhol, Jeff Beck, Jon Bon Jovi, Alanis Morrissette, Li'l Kim, Foxy Brown, Britney Spears, and Fiona Apple. But the basic story stays the same.

Once someone hits a certain level of celebrity and adulation, it seems, the mill starts to churn automatically—and the more beautiful and successful the star, the more depraved the rumors. Jamie Lee Curtis is a hermaphrodite. Cher (or Janet Jackson) had a rib removed so she'd look skinnier. Catherine the Great died trying to make love to a horse.

What is it about celebrity rumors that makes them spread so widely and stick so hard? Part of it is good old-fashioned schadenfreude. "People pass along rumors that they, on some level, tend to agree with, if there's something in the story that they identify with, that they want to be true," says Mikkelson. "We envy celebrities, and it's just human nature to pull down what has been raised so high."

Richard Gere is so annoyingly handsome that we want to believe he's really a sicko or otherwise flawed. Girls were so taken by the New Kids on the Block that men longed to believe they were actually secret gay dog fellators.

The easiest way to tarnish the reputation of a male heartthrob is to undermine his masculinity and suggest he's not interested in women at all—but rather, men, gerbils, or dogs. Which is why gay rumors have plagued so many handsome Hollywood leading men, from Tom Cruise to Johnny Depp to Orlando Bloom. "Saying that so-and-so good-looking male actor is gay is seen as pulling him down a peg or two," explains Mikkelson. "It's like, well, he may be attractive to women, but he's not attracted to women—so there!"

The Ninth Law

We might also postulate a final law of rumor survival: Sometimes, there is no "why." Often, we tell remarkable tales to build relationships or show off our yarn-spinning prowess—not necessarily because we think they're true.

And hey, sometimes they are true. Research by DiFonzo and Prashant Bordia, of the University of South Australia, has found that in groups with an established hierarchy—like large offices—the scuttlebutt you hear about company affairs is around 95 percent accurate.

"Every Halloween, you hear the rumors about people putting razors in apples and giving them to trick-or-treaters," DiFonzo says. "Actually, my own family had an experience where my wife found a sewing needle embedded in a piece of our kids' Halloween candy. I know, it sounds crazy—the rumor expert believes a rumor. Don't tell anyone."

The 8 1/2 Laws of Rumors Spread

[aestheticvoyage2019]

Day 236: Saturday August 24, 2019 - “Ragged Road”

I really love my Backpackers Magazine - its great.  Last week, flipping through the Fall issue, a “hidden gem” literally was within driving range, just like the article suggested!  And now it called to me, and so I spent my Saturday night out there looking for and being introduced to, ole Ragged Top in the Ironwood Forest National Monument west of Marana.  

Felt like Mother Nature was welcoming me to the party and asking if I missed this....  that certain amount of adrenaline spurt doing something mildly stupid, out on the road.  For sure, I do!  Thats some rough new track out there!  They could have easily named this “Ragged Road” - the magazine hadnt mentioned anything about needing a high clearance vehicle.  Luckily, through test of experience, I knew Silver was up for it....or at least I hoped.  After clearing the first two obstalces, I figured “in for a dime, in for a dollar” - hey, wait - isnt that one of the rules?  Exactly. Press on, cowboy.  I had a plan in place should I get stuck in these sandy washes.  I made it in, and then back out, living to hike another day.  Silver had some big bruises to show for the effort, but also collected a story to go along with a collection of tracks run imitating a Jeep.  Its been a good horse, and today, it was proved to still be.  The pictures, the scenery, the walkabout looking for snakes, had nothing on the experience of that painful drive!  If I ever come back to summit and hike this beautiful rock, I’ll have to do it from someone else’s car/truck/SUV/tank!  But damn that sure felt great.

It took me a lot longer to make it back to the North Gully, and with the sun setting here in the Pueblo much earlier than most anywhere else (7p tonight), I only got to kickaround in the wash out there for about 30 minutes before deciding I needed to resume the battle ro(ad)yale while I still had sunlight. Before I left, I met the Ironwood tree, saw a snake and lizards that ran fast and jumped, was impressed by the different level green the prickly pears achieve out here, and snapped some decent shots of todays muse.   As I bumped my way back out of there the sun set all around me.  Beaming off the tall proud Saguaros, practicing or celebrating their individual expression of stubbornness.  The sky lit up growing monsoon clouds, safely in the distance, beautiful like big whales in the sky.  I was happy to get back on pavement.  Still got a bumper?!   Whew!  A little to much gravel in my travel!  

Pretty and desolate place out there - the depths of the wild so close to civilization.   Definitely need to play out here more.  Now that Ive had a sniff of Ragged Top, I want to know all it can teach, and if the first act stoked the palate of my nature-hunger with an eventful scootcher in the desert.

Song: Rodney Atkins - Take  A Back Road

Quote: “It was a lone tree burning on the desert. A heraldic tree that the passing storm had left afire. The solitary pilgrim drawn up before it had traveled far to be here and he knelt in the hot sand and held his numbed hands out while all about in that circle attended companies of lesser auxiliaries routed forth into the inordinate day, small owls that crouched silently and stood from foot to foot and tarantulas and solpugas and vinegarroons and the vicious mygale spiders and beaded lizards with mouths black as a chowdog's, deadly to man, and the little desert basilisks that jet blood from their eyes and the small sandvipers like seemly gods, silent and the same, in Jeda, in Babylon. A constellation of ignited eyes that edged the ring of light all bound in a precarious truce before this torch whose brightness had set back the stars in their sockets.”  ― Cormac McCarthy

[villainsblog97]

A Place Like This (Stray Kids Racing AU)

Warnings: Mild Language

Scenario: Romance, Fluff, Angst, Racing AU, X reader

Prologue

“Racers to the starting line!”  You pulled up next to your opponent, he had this look plastered on his face, like this was gonna be a piece of cake or something, it was cocky, and it was only getting your blood boiling more!

His black curly hair was blowing gently in the wind, he gave a little side smirk as he revved his engine.

A girl walked up to the starting line carrying a Blue bandana, she brought it high above her head as you heard the crowd cheering for the race to finally begin. 

“Racers ready!” She smiled, you revved your engine in response.  “GO!” She swung the bandana down as both of you shot down the line like a bullet. 

You maintained good speed, using every opportunity you had to pass your opponent, you didn’t know his name, or anything about him, all you knew was that he was going to loose, big time.

The first corner came and you drifted it smoothly, leaving the other racer in your pit of dust, you couldn’t help but smile a little, it felt good... no, it felt Amazing.

Dad would be so proud,  you thought to yourself. 

You saw the headlights of your nemesis coming closer and closer, you couldn’t let him win.  You shifted your speed and managed to stay in front, but you kept almost falling behind.  You finally saw the finish line, the line to mark the new champion, and dammit, it was going to be yours. 

Sure enough your tires slid across the finish line, you hit your brakes and sat back in your seat, you couldn't believe it... You had won. 

The car pulled up behind out you, he got out and his friends circled him, completely in shock. 

“What happened Man!?” one asked him.  “Guess she was just better than me” He smiled.

You collected your prize money that was put out at the beginning of the race, the flag girl congratulated you. “You got some serious talent girl! it’s almost impossible to beat one of the members of Stray Kids” 

“Stray what?” “Stray Kids, they pretty much run our streets” She smiled.  You walked up to the group a tapped one of their shoulders, it was your opponent. 

“I heard you guys are called.... Stray Kids?”  “That’s us” a ginger said, you definitely picked up on his Australian accent.  You looked at your opponent.

“So is Stray Kids what I call you, or do you all have names?” “Well, that one there is my buddy Felix, and next to him is Hyunjin, Jisung, and Changbin, that one is Woojin and Minho, and Seungmin, and that’s our youngest Jeongin, as for me... I’m Chan” 

“Nice to meet you Chan” You smiled.  “You too... you had some killer skills out there, what are you doing in a place like this?” He smiled back. “I heard about this place from some guys, I thought I’d check it out, but I didn’t know you guys all ran these streets, I was told it was almost impossible to beat you guys”  “It’s definitely not easy” Hyunjin spoke up.  “I see... so you all race together... how long have you been doing that for?”  “Just about two years now, Jeogin is our newest to the road, he’s only 18 as for everyone else, we’ve been at it since we got licensed, what about you?” 

You were about to respond when your phone went off in your back pocket.  “Hold that thought” You said as you reached into your pocket, you saw your Uncle’‘s name on the caller ID. 

“Sorry, I gotta go!” you smiled as you bowed to the guys and walked back to your car.  “Wait” Chan stopped you.  “We never did catch your name...” “Right.. Its (Y/N) sorry but I have to go” You smiled as you walked back to your car.  “(Y/N)” he repeated as he watched you walk to your car.  “Something about that name seems really familiar” He thought.  “Yeah no idea dude” Jisung said stretching his arms out to the sky.  “Don’t tell me you’re suddenly interested?” Woojin asked him with a raised eyebrow.  “N-No... I just... I feel like I've seen her before, even talked to her a little bit as well. 

You pulled up to your house and turned your engine off, there was something about that guy that seemed really familiar, you couldn’t put your finger on it, but you felt like you’ve seen him before. 

You shook your head and got out of your car and walked inside.  “Hey kiddo” You uncle greeted you.  “Hey...” You sighed as you sat your bag down.  “You were out late” he laughed.  “I am twenty one... I am allowed to go places” You smiled as you sat your keys down.  “I was just stating a fact” He laughed.  “What did you do today?” You asked as you pulled a bottle of water out the fridge.  “You know the usual activities of a sixty year old retired man” He smiled as he saw you sit on the couch.  “Sounds nice... “ You laughed as you sat the bottle on the coffee table. “What about you?” He asked, you froze for a second, you hadn’t be exactly telling him that you were out racing.  “Oh you know.... just running around town” You smiled. “At almost midnight?” He asked confused.  “Well you know... I was kind of looking for a quiet place to read and just have some me time” You smiled. “I guess that makes sense” He smiled as he got up out of his chair, you gave a silent sigh of relief.  “Well this man is tire and old, he’s going to be turning in for the night, I’ll see you in the morning before work” He kissed your head and walked into his room. 

The next morning you walked into the small diner you worked at, it was like an old 50′s diner, vintage stuff was all over the place, you slipped on your apron and grabbed your note pad and walked out onto the floor and began taking orders. 

Chan, Jisung and Felix walked inside the diner looking around, he was mostly trying to drown out Felix and Jisung stating the obvious fact that they were apparently starving. 

“Why did I agree to take you two with me...” He sighed.  “Hey Mate, isn’t that the girl that whipped you yesterday?” Felix asked.  “That so is” Jisung finished cutting off Chan completely. 

They took their seats inside a booth and grabbed the menus, Chan couldn’t take his eyes off of you, and then it hit him.  You were the waitress that he had a crush on.

“You think that’s the same waitress that he’s been staring at for weeks now?” Felix asked as he looked up from his menu.  “Definitely… look as Chan Hyung, he has that same dumb face he always made every time he saw her” “It’s not dumb!” Chan pouted.  “Sh! here she comes” Jisung whispered. 

“Hi what can I... Oh! hey Chan, Felix, Jisung”

“Hey (Y/N)! I didn’t know you worked here!” Jisung spoked sarcastically. 

“Yeah.. anyway what can I get you guys” you smiled holding up your notepad. 

“Felix and I will have the ham and cheese omelet with two chocolate milkshakes and Chan will have the bacon and eggs, orange juice and your Phone number!

Chan looked at Jisung and Felix with a red face, but you couldn’t tell if it was out of embarrassment, or anger. 

“He’s kidding” he laughed nervously.  “No I’m not” “Yes he is” He laughed again making sure he was giving Jisung a death glare right out of hell. 

“Sorry, I can give your everything except the number, I like my job and can’t get fired” You smile writing everything down on the note pad.

“I’ll be right back with those drinks” You smiled as you walked off. 

Chan smiled as he watched you walk again, he waited until you were in the back before he whipped around and smacked Jisung right in the arm. 

“Ow! what was that for?” He whined as he held his newly bruised arm.  “Her phone number! Really Jisung!?” he snapped, Felix looked back and forth as if he were watching a tennis match.  “I was just trying to help you out!”  “I don’t need your help thank you!”  “You literally never say more than two words to her and now that she kicked your butt in a race you decide that you’re Mr. Confident?” “I don’t need your help, end of story” 

You brought the drinks to them and let them know the food would be done soon.  “Um...Hey…(Y/N)” he began.  “Five O'clock.... I’ll be waiting” You smiled, he was completely taken aback, it was like you could read his mind or something.  “Really? What are you uh... thinking?” “I’ll leave that to you” You smiled as you walked off. 

“Did... she just ask you out? Or did she answer you asking her out?”  “I think... I just asked her out... I think” “I think she definitely answered your question mate” Felix nodded talking a drink of his chocolate shake.  “Looks like Channie Hyung has a date!” Jisung cheered. 

When you gathered up all the stuff from there table, there was ten dollar tip lying on top of a napkin, you looked at the writing and saw Chan’s number on it, with the message I’m Thinking Pizza.... Sound good? above it. You smiled and slipped the napkin and the tip in your apron, you went on home to change out of your work clothes, you pulled out your phone and texted the number and told him your address and what time you would be ready. 

[6:25] You put on your outfit of choice and did your makeup and your hair, you checked yourself in the mirror to make sure you weren’t overdoing anything.  “What is this? Does my niece have a date!?” Your uncle squealed.  “A friend from the r-.... from the diner, apparently he has been wanting to ask me for a while now...” “What’s his name?” He asked.  “Chan...”  “Interesting name, do I get to meet him too?” “Don’t embarrass me...”  “I won’t”  The doorbell rang and your head shot up.  “I think that’s for you” you jumped up and ran out of your room to answer the door. 

“Hey there” You smiled at Chan, damn he looked good, did he look this good when you raced him? “Hello” You smiled, your uncle came up behind you giving him some kind of dad glare.  “Oh Chan... this is my uncle...” “Please to meet you sir!” He smiled  “Yeah... you too” He glared. “Oh for the love of god... we’ll be going now” You smiled and grabbed your jacket and bag. 

“Sorry for all that... he doesn’t usually act like that” You laughed as you walked to his car. “No it’s no problem” He laughed back. “So what pizza place did you pick?” You asked as he opened your door.  “Actually I picked up some... I kind of wanted to take you somewhere if that was okay” you smiled and nodded a little nervous. 

Chan pulled up to a cliff and opened your door.  “Is this where you kill me and throw my body over the edge?” You smirked.  “Darn you figured it out” he laughed as he pulled out a blanket and laid it on the ground and sat the pizza box down with two sodas. 

“Wow you really thought of everything didn’t you?” You asked as you sat on the blanket. “Well if it’s more memorable there’s a chance I might get a second one” He smiled at you, you couldn’t help but blush a bit.  “Can I ask you something?”  “Sure ask away” “Why me? out of every girl at the race tracks, hell just even in town, why me, of all people?”  “I don’t know really, the minute I saw you I just... got this feeling, that.. I had to get to know you, and then I saw how you raced and kicked my ass and... it made me want to know you more” 

“I see...” You nodded as you took a slice of pizza.  “However if you end up finding me really boring, you don’t have to talk to me anymore”  You laughed a little, “I’ll let you know” you laugh. 

The night went better than you’d ever thought, Chan was a really sweet guy, he was funny and charming, he cared for all his friends as if they were his brothers, the way he talked about them, almost made them sound like they were his brothers. 

You shared your stories too, you told him how you lost your parents in a car accident and you were living with your uncle since then, you told him some of your hobbies, you also told him how guilty you felt because you were lying to your uncle about racing. 

The sun started setting, the wind started picking up and it made you cold.  “Here” He took the blanket and shook all the dirt off of it and draped it over you as you two sat on his car.  “Thanks...” You smiled pulling the blanket over your shoulders.  “I hope you had fun tonight” He smiled. “Best date…” You smiled at him locking eyes.  “This is gonna sound like a really weird thing to say... but I really want to kiss you... would... that be alright”  “Okay” You smiled as he took your hand gently into his, he caressed your cheek and slowly leaned in to you, your eyes slowly closed, you could feel his warm breath on your cold lips, but they went warm when you felt his lips against yours, his kiss was tender, and gentle, you couldn’t help it, you leaned in more kissing him back, his hand ran down to your neck pulling you closer to him, his kiss was getting deeper, you ran your fingers in his hair feeling every curl brush against your knuckles.  You two finally pulled away for air, your breath against his, he laid your head on yours.  “I don’t think I’ve ever felt this way about anyone...” He sighed out. “I could say the same thing...” You smiled.  “Does this mean I get a second date?”  “I think your pizza on a cliff with the sun setting and making out on your car definitely qualifies a second date, and a third, and a fourth and -” you were cut off with his lips against yours again, you couldn’t even think anymore, what year was it? what month was it, was it still September? 

“That works too” You smiled.  “Sorry” he laughed a little.  “No no It’s fine” you smiled. 

He brought you back home and you two shared you third hundredth kiss that night, knowing that was only one of many kisses to come. 

[67midnightwriter]

Words I Couldn’t Say

A/N: Snippets of You and Dean’s life over the years.

W/C: 1673

Dean Winchester x Reader

Fluffy with a little angst

Warnings: none

Beta’d by the fabulous @dragonchica !!

4/19/19

Dean leaned up against you, his long legs stretched out in front him, a half empty glass of whiskey between his knees. The cool spring air tousled the loose ends of his flannel shirt as you watched the sun set. This was how you had spent every Friday night of the last five years.

“I should have said it sooner. I know you know, but hearing it is different.” Dean sighed and drained his glass. “I guess what I’m trying to say is that I love you. Always and forever.”

Your reply was interrupted by Dean’s cell phone, signaling the end of your quiet Friday night.

6/28/19

“She looks just like you, you know.” Dean said, watching your six month old daughter as she tried to crawl across the grass. “Sam says she has my opinions though, so we’re going to have to keep an eye on her.” This time the Jack had been replaced by a Coke, and Dean chuckled to himself as he pressed the bottle to his lips. “Had anyone told me that I would be right here a year ago, I would have punched them in the face. Look at us now.”

You sat there in silence, happy to just enjoy each other’s company as the Katydids and crickets began to sing the night in. Time lost all meaning, but all too soon the baby started getting fussy. Dean sighed and checked his watch.

“Alright little one. I get it, you’re tired. Time to go home.”

1/24/2020

“One year, can you believe it? She’s walking now, probably giving Sam a heart attack as we speak.”

Dean laughed, but you noticed he was playing with his wedding ring, which was something he only did when he was stressed. The whiskey was back again tonight, and when he picked up the glass his hands were shaking. You reached out a hand to comfort him, and he turned to look at you. His face was somber, his eyes dark with an emotion you couldn’t place.

“I have no idea what I’m doing Y/N/N. It’s been a year since she was born and I still feel like I’m going to mess something up. Hell, I probably already have.” A nervous laugh bubbled up from his chest. “Why don’t these things come with user manuals. Life would be so much easier.”

10/28/2022

“Look Momma! I’m a princess! Uncle Sam is my horsey.”

Mary’s high pitched squeal rang out across the park, bringing smiles to a few faces as Sam lifted her onto his shoulders and started prancing around making horse noises. Dean’s deep laugh joined hers, and they became a joyous chorus. Your heart swelled as you watched them, finally a happy little family. Your happy little family.

5/7/2027

“Go ahead, read her what you wrote.” Dean beamed proudly as he stood behind your daughter, a handmade Mother’s Day card in her hands.

Mary took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, swallowed her nerves, and began reading the card. She really was her father’s daughter.

“What makes my Momma the best: she is strong, she is pretty, and she is the best listener.”

You smiled as you watched Dean wipe a tear out of the corner of his eye; he was turning into a real sap.

7/4/2031

“Can you believe how big she’s gotten?” Dean asked as he watched Mary run through the grass in the twilight glow. She was chasing fireflies with Sam, not a care in the world.

She was ten now, and she was already a handful. She was the cause of Dean’s slowly graying hair, and the few added stress lines on his forehead. For every gray hair though, she added twice as much joy. The corners of Dean’s eyes now sported laugh lines, as did the corners of his mouth. It was a look you had never imagined you’d see on him, but now that you could it was perfect. His shoulders no longer hung with the weight of the world, and he had no new bruises, no angry red cuts, and no fresh pink scars.

“Daddy! Is it dark enough for the sparklers yet?”

“Oh, I don’t know…” Dean looked at the setting sun, pausing to take in its beauty while Mary squirmed with impatience.

“Dad!” Dean’s lips twitched as he tried to hold back a grin.

“Yeah, come on Dad!” Sam joined in, breaking Dean’s resolve as his deep laugh rumbled out of his chest.

“Okay, okay, let’s go.”

You watched them chase each other, sparkles in hand, laughter carried away on the wind, bodies silhouetted against the setting sun, inexplicably, undeniably happy.

4/18/2036

Dean’s jaw twitched and you knew he was clenching his teeth. His lips were pressed together in a thin line, and he couldn’t stop pacing. You watched as he walked back and forth, twisting his wedding ring and letting out the occasional sigh. He checked his watch for the tenth time in the last fifteen minutes before looking at you. He let out another sigh, his shoulders dropping in defeat as he came to sit down and lean his back against you. He pressed the bottle of whiskey to his lips, having forgotten glasses.

“I know we raised her right, and I know he’s a good kid, but can you blame me for being a nervous wreck? It’s her first real date. I keep thinking she’ll be okay, but then I remember what I was thinking about when I was 15 and I get worried all over again.” Dean groaned and laid his head back, his eyes closed.

His phone rang, and he scrambled to pull it out of his pocket and answer it.

“Mary? Is everything okay?”

“Yeah Dad, everything is perfect! I just wanted to call and let you know what we came home early in case you still wanted to watch a movie tonight. Love you!” The call ended, and Dean leaned forward, placing his elbows on his knees and his forehead against his palms.

“Fuck. She sounded happy. I swear to God if she says she’s in love I’m going to need another liver.”

5/28/2038

“Can you believe prom is tomorrow? I can’t believe prom is tomorrow.” Mary gushed, pulling on Dean’s arm as she jumped up and down.

“I can’t believe I bought you a four hundred dollar dress.” Dean groaned, causing Mary to wrap him in a hug and kiss his cheek.

“Because you’re the best Daddy a girl could ask for!”

A car honked in the distance, and Mary’s face lit up.

“Those are the girls, can I have some money? We’re going to get our nails done for tomorrow, and then maybe go get some food.” Dean let out a mock sigh, groaning as he pulled out his wallet and fished out a hundred dollar bill.

“You know the rules.”

“Don’t spend it all, tip 20%, bring you the receipts, home by 11.” Mary called over her shoulder as she ran towards the car.

“10:30 Princess!” Dean yelled as she got in the car, and she waved away his response. “I swear she’s going to be the death of me.” He mumbled as he sank to the ground beside you. “I don’t know what I’m going to do this fall. She leaves for Stanford in August.” Dean chuckled to himself as he opened his beer. “Funny how it’s all coming full circle. I know that we always said that we’d raise her, and then when she was off at college we’d start hunting again but… The world hasn’t ended in 17 years, and I’m tired. Sam and I have the bar, and Sam’s got kids now. I’ve been thinking about doing what Bobby did. It makes sense now. Stay out of the field, stay safe in the bunker.” A soft breeze blew, and Dean closed his eyes as it ruffled his hair. “Yeah, that sounds nice. Field calls, give wayward hunters a place to stay and catch their breath.” A smirk crossed his face and he shook his head and tipped his beer back. “Who would have ever thought; Dean Winchester, with an office job.”

6/26/2048

Dean stood before you, cooing at the baby in his arms. Mary and her husband stood next to him, his arm wrapped around her waist.

“Sorry it’s been so long. Time got away from us.” Mary smiled.

“You’re here now, that’s all that matters. And you brought our grandson, so that’s all that matters.” Dean’s eyes never left the baby, and you marveled at how those green eyes now spanned three generations.

“We also got you this t-shirt.”

Dean laughed as he read it: Sexiest Grandpa Alive.

“You know it’s true.”

When Dean Winchester passed away, it wasn’t at the edge of a blade or the end of a barrel of a gun. He was 90, with a good life behind him, and he went in his sleep. He stood next to you, watching Mary as she knelt before your graves.

“Dean?” You whispered.

“Y/N?” He turned around, his tired eyes wide with shock.

You ran to him, wrapping your arms around him. The years melted away under your touch, until he was as young as the day you left him.

“Every Friday. You kept your promise.” Tears rolled down your cheeks as he crushed you to his chest. He held the sides of your face and backed away, taking you in before he kissed you, slow and long, and deep.

“I keep all my promises.”

“There are so many things that I wanted to say-”

“It’s okay. I’m here now.”

You both looked on as Mary sat a bottle of Jack between your gravestones, a sad smile playing on her face.

Y/N Winchester: Y/B/D - 1/24/2019

Dean Winchester: 1/24/1979 - 7/22/2069

All I can hear in the silence that remains

Are the words I couldn’t say

Rascal Flatts

[alanaknobel99]

Red Lipstick and The Green New Deal

Have you ever been told as a child, if something isn’t working then find a new solution? At this moment, our country is like that child, and it needs to be told to find a new solution. The way the United States of America has been operating works, but not for everyone, and our climate is changing. Not just our environmental climate, but the political climate as well. Our country is depleting, poverty is soaring, healthcare is unaffordable, student loan debt is atrocious, and climate change is quite literally killing people. Young people feel our country is stuck. The older generation is holding onto it like their youngest child leaving for college. Ultimately, no matter what, that child will leave. Everyone has to grow up, even this country, and it’s going to happen whether the parents like it or not. Every movement, and this is a movement, to push our country forward needs a voice. For us, that is Congresswoman Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez.

Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez or AOC is a 31-year-old Latina-American born and raised in the Bronx of New York City. Her parents ended up moving 30-50 miles north of the Bronx to a better neighborhood to afford better education and a future for their children. In a 2019 TIME Magazine article, AOC said that those 40-minute drives taught her that zip-code matters. What a lesson to learn, that where you grow up has more impact on your future than you do. Her mother cleaned houses, and her father owned a small architecture business. In 2008 her father died which spun the family into financial turmoil. This caused AOC to pick up multiple jobs, working for a nonprofit by day, and bartending by night. She has constantly said that she never saw herself going into politics, but it’s hard to deny that she was built for the political stage. Her brother submitted her for Brand New Congress and Justice Democrats who are actively looking for young people to run for Congress. They want people who are working class, poor, educated to be the Americans who represent other Americans. I believe it was on her way to a protest at the Dakota Access Pipeline when she received a call asking if she wanted to run for Congress. From there on began the development of a grassroots campaign, that is the ultimate underdog story.

She was running against Joseph Crowley, an incumbent who hadn’t been challenged since 2004. He was your average democrat, swearing loyalty to fight Donald Trump, and that was a majority of his campaign. What he didn’t pay attention to was AOC, who ran on true issues and the need to help the residents of the 14th district in New York. Her campaign was made up of volunteers, a majority of whom were actors, and they knew how to put on a good show. They didn’t accept any lobbyist money, and were completely donation based. That was quite fascinating that she was able to beat someone who had millions of dollars being poured into his campaign fund. However, her winning wasn’t about the money, it was about this newfound energy and spirit that she has that led her to victory. She really cares about people, she cares about what policies are being put forward in order to help those people in the future.

She continues to radiate this fiery passion to fight, even into her 3rd year in Congress. This passion and honesty are what make her so radical, likable, and attention-grabbing. Allowing her presence on social media to skyrocket over the years. We can see this in news clips that have gone viral of her during committee hearings where she pours her heart out. In one of her most famous clips where she exclaims, “People are dying” while using her passionate words to defend the Green New Deal. In this specific video, she is speaking the absolute truth. The climate crisis is about human lives, and there should be no debate around that whatsoever. It’s come to the point in politics where people need to speak up and fast because the climate crisis has a ticking time bomb, and if we do not tackle this issue before it’s too late there is no turning back. AOC is the person speaking up, she doesn’t sugar coat anything, and she does it with grace. Even if people don’t like her, whether that’s the haters and trolls online or her coworkers across the aisle, continues to not let others silence her.

I remember when a Republican congressman called her a “fucking bitch” she spoke up. Whereas others, I feel, would keep quiet, I’m sure Nancy Pelosi has been called that by some of her coworkers, but the world has never heard it. Alexandria took the time to approach the situation like the female hero everyone knows she is. There is no politician filter when she speaks, it’s raw, and it’s fully and truly her. She is not afraid to use social media to call out people on their stupidity, wrongness, or even disagreement with others.

Some will say that she just became a congressperson at the right time, during the social media boom. While that may hold some truth, it’s really how she uses social media to create a space of transparency that has caused the public to flock to her accounts like a moth to light. At the time the TIME article was written they said, “her Twitter following has climbed from about 49,000 last summer to more than 3.5 million.” Her Twitter following is now at 12.6 million. I believe, just from my own research, she has the most Instagram followers of her other coworkers at 8.8 million followers. When I look at her Instagram feed compared to Bernie Sanders, Nancy Pelosi, Ted Cruz, and other big political names, her feed is very different. Others have a lot of information pictures, news clips, and statistical slides that may grab some people's attention, but it’s very political because there is no connection. When you look at AOC’s feed a majority are videos of her doing live Q&A sessions. I haven’t seen this on any other politician's platform. She is directly and in real time, answering questions about current legislation in which she is able to clear up misinformation. I watched her live Q&A about what was in the second COVID relief bill, and I learned so much. She has created this space of truth, transparency, and faith all because she chose to include people in what she is doing for them. Just a few days ago she posted a short weekly vlog where she explained what she did during that week. You don’t see others in her same position doing that. Many may think it’s irresponsible, not politician-like, but in actuality it’s what they should be doing.

Now, is this a generational thing or something else? She’s 31 years old, grew up during the social media boom, tends to have younger interns, is more in tune with the “lingo” as the older people may say. While it may be all of the above, she has actively chosen to use her social media like this. Others can use their accounts like this but choose not to for some reason. AOC is one of the only people actively getting the younger generation involved in politics, and she does this through the internet. During the pandemic, she live-streamed her playing the vastly popular game, Among Us, where she talked about legislations and let people ask her questions. She has made countless statements that the older generation in Congress always talks about young people, but never makes space for us, allowing us to show our potential. It’s always, “it’s not your time yet” never “come show us what you can do now.” AOC is leading the path for young people to have a space in the political circle. There is also one more major reason why people like her so much, and that’s because she is a working-class American.

I have said my entire life that I would love to see Republicans switch shoes with a steelworker for one day. The majority of people who run our government have grown up in a life of privilege that afforded to get them there. They don’t know what real working class, poor Americans go through every day. Our government has a real problem that if they can’t see it, it doesn’t exist. AOC has lived check to check, been on the other end of taking someone’s order, worked overnight just to have some extra cash to pay off student loans. I’m not disavowing anyone's upbringing, but she has consistently put forward a policy that helps the average American. Even policy that helps everyone, like The Green New Deal.

The Green New Deal is a Resolution put forth by Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez and Senator Ed Markey of Massachusetts. It is not a piece of legislation, but a call to action that the federal government takes steps to cut its emissions of greenhouse gases to zero by 2030. The 14-page resolution has a ton of what seems like radical changes. This includes updating the country’s infrastructure, energy grid, and ensuring livable wages for all American jobs. There is a lot to discuss when it comes to the Green New Deal, as within those 14 pages the goals outline almost everything that makes up the US economy. There are so many benefits that could happen to our country if something like this is passed. For instance, guaranteeing higher education for everyone in order to receive the knowledge needed to acquire a job with a livable wage. The Green New Deal also addresses issues such as systemic racism and puts forth proposals to invest in certain neighborhoods. These are the types of legislation that need to be put forward in order for our country to evolve. The fact that not everyone is guaranteed higher education, shelter, clean water, healthy food, is unacceptable.

Most of the rebuttal to the Green New Deal is that it’s too expensive, unrealistic, and the federal government shouldn’t have that much power. While the GND is expensive, estimated to be around 50-90 trillion dollars, the federal government will end up spending more money in the long run from disasters related to climate change. The Green New Deal says the federal government could spend up to 500 trillion dollars in economic relief by 2100. The more we wait, the more money we will have to spend in the long run catching up to those problems, until we cannot. To those who say the Green New Deal is unrealistic, I ask them to read a history book and identify all the major life-changing events that others have said were unrealistic as well. Americans freeing themselves from Britain, the abolishment of slavery, the civil rights act, The New Deal. For my response towards the issue of government power, if the federal government isn't the ones putting forth legislation to protect American lives I don’t know what they are there for.

With all that being said, is AOC the right person to bring forth this Green New Deal? To that, I say absolutely yes. She represents the new millennium, the rise of the younger progressive generation who is fighting to make real change in this country. Her use of social media, and how she connects to people across the world set an example as to who we want our elected leaders to be. Transparent, honest, and inclusive in their media. Her story, who she is as a person, what she stands for is what the Green New Deal stands for. Rightfully so when someone mentions her they think of the Green New Deal, and vice versa. Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez is what the future of this country will look like, and she will continue to lead the pack.

Bibliography

Alter, C. (2019, March 21). Inside rep. Alexandria Ocasio-cortez's UNLIKELY RISE. Retrieved April 19, 2021, from https://time.com/longform/alexandria-ocasio-cortez-profile/

DSouza, D. (2021, January 26). The green new deal explained. Retrieved April 28, 2021, from https://www.investopedia.com/the-green-new-deal-explained-4588463

What is the green new deal? (2020, December 08). Retrieved April 28, 2021, from https://www.sunrisemovement.org/green-new-deal/?ms=WhatistheGreenNewDeal%3F

Grunwald, M., White, J., Sitrin, S., & Gerstein, B. (2019, January 15). The trouble with the 'green new deal'. Retrieved April 28, 2021, from https://www.politico.com/magazine/story/2019/01/15/the-trouble-with-the-green-new-deal-223977

(2019, June 12). The Green New Deal Explained [Vox]. Retrieved from https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GxIDJWCbk6I

'People Are Dying:' Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez Defends Green New Deal | NBC News [Video file]. (2019). Retrieved from https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zGtuDCZ3t2w

[homosexualisopod]

Donald Trump is a secret virgin. His giant hand never plunders the sodden honeysweet hormone folds of woman or man. No sex germs ever leap from the perfect angel penis of Donald Trump, bumblebee, into the electric rosebud of a beautiful lady who is singing while astride a crescent-moon, lowered from above. He never deposits a check for fixed semen assets into the asshole of a broad-shouldered middle-class knowledge worker nor does he dump a gallon of warm-but-not-expired sex milk down the pants of a woman that he "merely" meets on the street and takes a shine to on account of her Gumption and Stride.

Because he is a virgin.

Me and Donald Trump were chowing down on a hambone together, kicking back in our overalls and passing back and forth a thermos full of black coffee after a hard shift of Work Bizness, sitting on a steel beam inside a skyscraper, legs dangling.

“Hey there, my favorite man,” I tell him in a ribald fashion. “How do you like your sex? What is your preferred sex situation during an intimate time?”

But he does not answer. Instead I can see the bashful computer in his perfect mind clicking away. He is red with exertion, perhaps embarrassment. Am I mocking him? Do I know his shame?

“Sex is quite the act,” he tells me, growing arch but morose. “I enjoy it and it feels like singing straight from your heart directly into the heart of another...it is like punching, but punching with love.”

“You are exactly right,” I tell him, putting him at ease. There is brown skyscraper grease on both of our faces from another day of hard labor. “You have hit the nail on the head about sex, thus proving that you are not a virgin.”

I prefer to lie to Donald Trump. He is a painted eggshell tumbling along a conveyor belt into the smashing machine, and his pain is my pain.

He relaxes, but it is not the tranquil unknotting of concubitus supreme. It is barely relaxation at all, sans spurts, sans triumph, sans attainment of loosened repose. His face retains its angelic rictus.

For he is a virgin. He is a secret virgin. No one knows about his unravished flanks and glands. He must hide his non-crime from sinister America. But there is no shame in such a man! He is a soaring vestal, a sexless raptor, circling imperiously over unplowed fields, spying defenseless quivering prey from afar, which he must ignore, instead soaring majestically in the opposite direction to avoid being soiled by the false fluids of Another.

One time his butler tried to console him: "All heroes are virgins," he said, offering him a plate of summer sausage and yellow cheese. "To be strong, one must never come of age. It is not shame! It is a badge of merit to be so pure and to be made of so much white light that other people want to bathe in your very name the way that native women might bathe beneath a waterfall."

But Donald Trump could not be so easily consoled.

He cried forlornly, weeping secret tears of secret shame, because his mighty heart was hurting. His heart is the loneliest of his organs but not the least used. That distinction belongs to his pristine penis, which might as well still be in its original packaging: unblemished, untasted, unhandled.

He eats his husk of summer sausage while staring at yet another beautiful woman he has purchased but who must be made to stand in another room behind a sheet of one-way glass and disrobe for him in what amounts to a self-created mockery, a temptation, a woman he can never touch and who must never see or know him. She does not know why she is being paid to "remove her top" and to "smile like she is in love." He must remain continent as the pressure mounts inside him, must not reach out, smash the glass, try to grasp her long hair as his gift bubbles forth. His abstinence is not necessarily a choice, but it is his by unshakable disposition. When he is finished, his gift is scraped from the smooth one-way window by his butler and deposited with the others, and the woman is taken to the "old elevator" and given kindhearted advice about investments by his strategic manager.

He is a virgin in an identity way. It is as much a part of him as his perfect face. And yet it is a secret. No one can know.

His stubby, snuffling penis, like the wet nose of a blind hound, has never burrowed into a vagina to get out of the cold world, digging and digging a shallow hole and then collapsing into it, only just penetrating the surface membrane of alien flesh, paws over eyes, too timid and too stumpy to nuzzle any further.

He has never even done this. He has never even nuzzled his knuckle of a peesnout into a woman or man for even one instant of neritic relief.

The closest Donald Trump has ever come to completing a sex act inside a person is the time he accidentally ejaculated in his sports car while rounding a deadly curve (he was not driving, but his eyes were closed and he Forgot) and a woman tried to Own his semen from where it dried against his wide leg (it was a pleasant day and he wore a man's cargo shorts), wiping it with her camisole and then attempting to take it into herself by dabs and thrusts. Never again does he ride in cars with women who might try such a thing. Now he only rides alone.

Normally, his gifts are kept in jade jars that he purchases directly from trusted antiquities traders in modern Qatar, filling one a month and storing these emoluments away in his family vault, the way that other members of his proud family have stored treasures taken from the sea and trophies of war. The gifts harden into a smooth paste in the jars, and then a glassy calculus. Does Donald Trump make jewelry for his friends and admirers from this smooth, frosted shale?

What careful hands craft this rare jewelry? What powers of ensorcelment and magnetism might these pieces contain?

His children were made in America. They are not imports, as has been whispered. They were made by powerful and strong American artistry and science, ripening in office buildings standing proud and alone on suburban greenswards. His children are native to this land. No one must question this. They gestated inside the bellies of American breeding cows, cows that had all four legs amputated so they might be comfortable laying on giant purple silk mats, being fed grapes and fine finger sandwiches and delicious brie. These wombcows gave his big, lumbering fetal Trumps room to grow and play. No women were harmed, and Donald Trump remained chaste and unruint.

Would his Trumps be like him? Would they look like him? Would they have his grace and intelligence?

His Trumps were manifested from special gifts he created for the specific purpose of passing on his best traits, squeezed forth while staring into his own eyes by way of a video machine. He chose the women who would combine with these gifts lovingly and purposefully, manfully, using real executive vigor and decisiveness.

The process you don't even want to know about! There were races and wrestling matches and world challenges. A competition at the klavier might become a disputation in Ancient Greek that might last all night long.

The frenzy! The fevers of competition!

He never ceased inspecting these prospective Mothers. He was unsparing with the calipers, seeking perfection, knowing that to combine his gift with a woman's gift...her Blood Clot full of Frail Humors and Sensitive Touches... would be a dangerous thing, and yet he knew he must not hoard his essence, his excellence, his light.

Alone, away from the vicious throng, he is free to be as simple and honest and innocent and full of virtue as any other virgin. Alone, in his tower, he removes his suit and puts on a simple sailor's frock, an honest shirt with modest shorts. He pulls up his knee socks and puts on a humble cap with a special ribbon and he dances and sings and practices learning new facts about the world. He tells the world how he feels...brain to brain...finger to phone...watching the television and speaking to the television.

He has a virgin's simple trust. He loves the world and the world loves him.

He watches himself on the television and he sees something more than even you or I might see. His butler gives him rubs and tests his blood and skin to make sure he is still perfect. He is still perfect.

Does he wonder, wistfully, what he might become if he gives in to his darkest longings? If he risks infection and injury to slake his unholy passions inside a woman or man the same way you or I might do?

Me and Donald Trump are eating fried oysters from a red pail while laying on our backs on a raft made of logs and floating lazily down the mighty Mississippi river, our nation's hardest-pumping muddy artery.

He tells me his hopes and fears, telling me of his noble purpose in fulfilling the destiny of our great land, of protecting us from infection and disease, from being penetrated by outside penises, from accidentally lowering ourselves by commingling the skin dirt of the high people with the skin dirt of low people.

I am listening, but I cannot stop staring into his perfect ice blue eyes. I am lost in them. How has he avoided the probing of a glistening mons pubis by his muscular and swarthy cock nubbin, a nugget as hard and strong as an American silver dollar (I have felt it against me when he has become too excited, discussing his plans for our country, and has fallen over with delirium and I have steadied him)? How has he avoided concupiscence for so long? I feel myself drawn toward him, hypnotized, opening to him, and I can sense his discipline, how hard he must work to stay celibate, to keep away from the needs of admirers like me.

He pays the women prime wages to tell the television that he is not a virgin. He pays them better than celebrities are paid to pretend to be real.

"Oh yes, Donald Trump has definitely done the business," they say, averting their eyes.

"He has definitely mounted me and I have definitely felt the sweat from his jowls fleck my backbones as he grunts his way to victory in my belly, in my hand, in my anus, in my mouth. I have definitely had his penis and I am definitely not the only one."

He has watched others mate, of course, many times, even encouraging this, urging his wives to express themselves; to explore. But he can never join in such a way; never, never, never. He would lose everything...himself, his maidenhead, his answers, his virtue, his light. Build the wall. Build it high.

When he is with a woman in public, he must pretend to dominate her, to be above her, to prove that he "could have her" to the People. His wife must be of such attractiveness that it is "obvious" that he has had sex with her and will do so again. No one must question this. There must never be a Time of Testing. He will never pit his fantasies against the reality of her body, and so the sport is good and the People cheer. But it is exhausting to wonder, to know if his domination is correct, if the sham of his brutality is done with the proper rhythm and anger.

The way that he loves his land...America...is the only intimacy that he truly knows. The way that he speaks to his people...America...is his only erotic poetry. But he will never melt inside his true love...America...as he drifts to sleep beside his only mistress...America...because he has never done such a thing with anybody and he never will. He wants to have America because she is the most beautiful, but then what?

America will never be aseptic enough for Donald Trump to actually sub-agitate and smash out. Donald Trump will never hitchhike South and gag America's meat hole, IRL. His fat, glowing cherry--as jolly and eternal as Santa--will continue to fuel his legendary endurance, but he will never seal the Deal: he does not want to; he does not know how.

He is a secret virgin. He doesn't have to be a virgin and it doesn't have to be a secret. But he wills it so with his enormous soul.

It is his shame, but he should not be ashamed about the one thing that makes him Great, that makes him different, that makes him strong, that keeps him compelling in a world full of flaws and weakness and boring withered skeptics who have been drained by their own vices.

There is one holy truth that his fans and acolytes and servants whisper to each other in the furtive penumbra of his glowing heat as they orbit around him, basking in his healing radiation.

They whisper to each other, proudly and in awe.

They whisper:

Donald Trump is a secret virgin.

[gaiyofanfiction]

If you get a chance,Am I allowed to request a Monsta X Jooheon Mafia AU where you're new to the city and he falls in love with you and your passion for life but have no clue what he does for a living so you're always wondering why everything goes so smoothly for you like finding a job, getting an apartment, people being nice to you, etc after you meet him. I'm not sure what sort of genre would be best for this so can you help decide that? Thanks! :)

Thanks for your request Anon! Jooheon is my bias from Monsta X and I’m totally excited to write this! I hope you like it

Reader x Jooheon Mafia!AU - “Precious Thorns”

You have just moved to Chicago and finally settled into your new apartment. Peering out your window to look at the skyline you sigh and say,”wow, this is it! The Windy City! I may have spent most of my savings to move out here, but I think I can go for a few drinks. Mama needs to wind down.” You start to put on your outfit; a cute slim black dress that went down to mid-thigh, fishnets with a rose design, and black boots with studs. Last but not least, winged eyeliner, a little bit of mascara, and a maroon matte lipstick to top it off.

Walking down the street you’re in complete awe by the bustling streets and the beautiful lights. You stumble upon a night club and decide to go in and have a little fun. The music is loud and there must have been at least a couple hundred people in the building. You squeeze your way to the bar and order a drink, “vodka and cranberry with a lime please.” Taking a few sips here and there you start to people watch and enjoy the view.

“You’re not going to dance?” asks a young, handsome man in a black suit with a cherry red tie. “Oh, haha. I’m a terrible dancer. I prefer to people watch and enjoy the music,” your say nervously. ‘He’s really good looking. I don’t know how he can make dark brown messy hair look so sophisticated.’ “So, why aren’t you dancing? What’s your excuse?” You take a sip of your drink while keeping eye contact. He moves a little bit closer and you try not to show that your heart is ready to jump out of your chest. “Well, unfortunately the only girl I want to dance with is busy people watching,” he gives you a sly side smile. “Well played, sir, well played.” You reach your hand out for him to grab and guide you to the dance floor.

“I’m serious though, I really don’t know how to dance, I might even step on your nice expensive shoes,” you jokingly say, but being very honest. “Just follow my lead, sweetheart.” He twirls you around like you’re a beautiful princess in a ball gown. Suddenly he brings you closer and his hand sits at your lower back. “You know, I don’t think our dancing matches the upbeat club music.” He stops. “You’re right, but who wants to conform?” He winks at you and smiles. ‘This man is killing me. He is way too charming.’

After a few drinks and getting to know each other a little more you finally ask, “So, how does a man like you become interested in a girl like me?” You twirl your straw around. “What do you mean my dear?” He tilts his head. “Oh c’mon, I’m just another punk city girl and you’re clearly a big businessman. The suit, nice shoes, and you even have a Rolex watch.” You raise your eyebrow challenging him. “Even so, it doesn’t mean I don’t know when to appreciate a beautiful rose such as yourself.” He leans against the bar table like he just won. “And every rose has its thorn,” a snide comment only you would say. He claps and chuckles at you. His phone rings and he answers it. “Ah, I see, I’ll be there in five minutes.” He hangs up the phone. “Well, it looks like I’m needed for a late press conference.” He slides a business card to you. “I’ll leave it up to you to make the decision on whether or not our paths will cross again. Till then, Y/N.” He winks and walks away with his hands in his pockets. ‘He is TOO good.’ You look at the card and read: CEO Lee Jooheon. ‘Ugh, he even has a sexy name.’

Two Months Later…

“I’m home!” You come walking in to your apartment and immediately take off your work shoes. “My dogs are killing me! Babe, could you please give me a foot rub?” He motions for you to put your feet up on his lap. “Anything for my jagiya. Now, tell me how was work?” You had explained to him that waitressing is really taking a toll on you and you’re not sure how you’re going to make rent this month. He genuinely looked sympathetic for you, but you didn’t want him pitying you. “It’s okay. I make things work out.” You giggle and head off to the kitchen. He remained on the couch thinking to himself.

The Next Week…

“You did what!? How!? I-I don’t understand.” You start to pace back and forth. “Honey, baby, relax. I have contacts everywhere. I told them how much of a hard worker you were and besides, they owed me a favor. So, I got you a new job as an executive assistant for a major law firm.” He gives you a silly grin. “I’ve been a waitress ever since I can remember! How am I supposed to fit this new role!?” You start to freak out. He grabs you and kisses you. “You deserve more. Just please give it a chance?” He stares at you with his puppy dog eyes. You couldn’t resist.

Another Month Passes…

“The people at the law firm are so nice to me! I’m so used to customers complaining about their meals that it feels like I’m getting the special treatment. Do you have something to do with this?” You furrow your brows. “Me? Whaaat? No way. Don’t be silly.” His phone rings and he continues to sit there and look at you. You roll your eyes, “aren’t you going to answer that? You pretty much get a call every five minutes.” He let the call go. He quickly pulls you in close and grabs your hand to kiss it, “you’re more important.” His phone rings again. You let him answer it this time. “DAMNIT WHAT!?” He explodes leaving you suddenly anxious. “You fucking get the shit situated and I’ll be there as soon as possible. Do not let him go.” He slams the phone on the coffee table and lets out a long sigh. You were left completely speechless. 

‘I have never seen this side of him. He’s always been so sweet and full of charisma.’ You tug on his suit. His shoulders drop from being tense and he turns around to face you. “I’m sorry you had to see that. *Ahem* It seems we’re having trouble with a client so… I need to go to work and sort this out.” He kisses your forehead and heads for the door. “By the way, I have you scheduled to move into my condo tomorrow. I suggest you start packing.” He blows you a kiss and closes the door behind him. ‘He did not just…’

Several Months Pass…

You have never been happier. You have a wonderful job, you live with your handsome boyfriend in his massive condo located in on of the cities most expensive high rises, and he even bought you a new car. But, you start to wonder. ‘It’s… It’s way too good to be true.’ It was your day off and you were totally bored with yourself. You start to think even more. ‘To be honest, I have no idea what company he even works for or where he goes most of the time. He never bothered to show me.’ You go snooping into his belongings and stumble upon his laptop. You went to Google maps and decided to track his footsteps. ‘God I feel terrible doing this… But, I have a right to know my own boyfriend and his whereabouts. Right?’ Your fingers clicked away on the keyboard. You finally found a destination he’s been to almost every day since the day you met him. You printed up the directions and headed for the door.

It was late and Jooheon already texted you that he probably wouldn’t be home till tomorrow because of an emergency business meeting. You were just a few blocks away from the destination. Your heart was pounding and you felt so uneasy. ‘Why do I feel like I’m being a horrible person? Oh my god, I’m stalking my own boyfriend!’ You arrive to the location. You sat in your car for what seemed like hours, but was only a few minutes. Swallowing the lump in your throat you take a deep breath in and head out to the building before you.

The location was fairly secluded on the outskirts of the city. You walk towards one of the side entrances and try to take a peak into the windows. Unfortunately all the windows were covered by closed blinds so you had to look around. “Ah, jackpot!” You found a basement entrance. The door was surprisingly unlocked and you let yourself in. There was nobody around. It was an interesting room. The only things in the room were a wooden desk with one lamp and some scattered papers. 

You looked at a few papers and started to notice a pattern. Each one had a picture of a man or woman with a written profile of the person. All of them had an ‘X’ over their faces except for one. You read that one’s profile. “…Several fraudulent accounts… Millions of dollars stolen… Five accounts of… MURDER??? And… RECENT ASSOCIATE OF JOOHEON!?” Your head was spinning and you had to prop yourself up against the table. ‘I’m starting to think I know nothing about my boyfriend.’ You hear yelling in the adjacent room and a loud crash. You try to peak in through the cracked door. 

“I didn’t take you under my wing so you could eventually undermine me and my work. I came from nothing and built an empire of my own from the little amount that I had. Did you really think that this would slip past me so easily?” You see Jooheon pistol whip the fallen man. You cover your mouth with a shaky hand. Jooheon starts to circle the man. “Do you know what we do with people like you? People that steal from me and my mafia?” He crosses his arms and whistles to his men. A couple men in black suits start to drag the man away. 

“Also, will someone please bring in my beautiful jagiya. We are not monsters here. Please show her some manners.” Your heart stops and knees become weak. You try to bolt away, but a strong man drags you into the empty room and forces you to sit in a chair. “My dear, I’m sorry you had to see such a sight.” He caresses your face with the back of his hand. “W-what is the meaning of this? Joohoney? I d-don’t understand… Why -” He covers your mouth. Tears start to fall down your cheeks and onto his hand. He licks the tears from his hand. “Are you afraid my precious flower?” He lifts your chin up although you flinch. “I think you will get used to it. Just let daddy do his work…” Suddenly he pulls your hair back making you shriek and he’s face to face with you. “But, if I ever see you back here again meddling in my business, we’re going to have a problem.” He gives you a kiss on your cheek. 

“Every rose has its thorn,” he says before he laughs maniacally and exits the room. You’re left in the chair, alone, and with an empty mind. You say to yourself with an insane look on your face, “and now I bleed from picking the rose with the most thorns.” 

[charminglyantiquated]

a short unpolished elsewhere fic

Students who sought out contact with the Fae at Elsewhere University where normally rejected by other students, I was no exception to this rule. The faeries at Elsewhere where the trickster type who liked to steal people, make wagers, and steal people. My first year at elsewhere had been hard for a different reason- people didn’t accept who I was. I very much looked like a typical boy and talked like a typical boy so they all thought I was a boy, this lasted about a week. When I thought people where starting to like me I became more comfortable expressing the fact that I wasn’t a boy, not always at least. You see they had trouble understanding that my gender was so fluid that one day I could be a boy, the next a girl, and one some days both or neither. At least thats what I thought. The real reason why everyone was uncomfortable when I would express this fluidity is because students like me where more likely to be taken by the faeries here, or make deals with them and no one wanted to be friends with someone who would be stolen away, possibly to not return until. During midterms in my second semester people started opening up to me and I made a few friends, this however was an especially hard time for me and I began to want to seek out a faerie that would help me. I began taking my mood ring on walks around the school glancing through it to see the truth and when I would find a faerie I would simply put the ring on and talk to them. I must have talked to a dozen faeries posing as students before I got the answer I was looking for, that if I were able to win a contest with the faerie they would give me the ability to control my voice and then at least I would sound the way I wanted whenever I wanted. This “parlor trick” as the faerie called it wasn’t very costly. I had to wager my second favorite dress (one that I had bought for less than twenty dollars) so I thought the risk would be well worth the reward, the ability to change my voice. This contest was a game of quarters, I became very good at quarters in high school when I would drink my dysphoria away at parties with all the “cool” kids. This was the first of three contests I won with the Fae in two years. The second contest won back a student who had been taken, and the third wager won me a potion that would grant happiness and inspiration for a day (I used this potion to finish my first novel and the short story that secured my A in my creative writing course.) Each wager became more dangerous than the last. For the student me and two others had to put up something with extreme emotional attachment- the teddy bear my grandmother gave me, Hannah’s bracelet their dad gave them before going off to a war they would never return from and Johnny’s blanket (he wouldn’t explain why it was so important to him but the faerie we were dealing with seemed surprised at how much it meant to him.) The potion, well I nearly lost that wager and my voice along with it. But this is nothing compared to the last wager I made at Elsewhere University.

I was on a mission to find the most powerful faerie who would be willing to gamble with me, I knew that was the only way. Even my closest friends told me that they wouldn’t support this endeavor as the risk would be too high. “They’ll take you forever” they warned. I didn’t care anymore, I was tired of the body I was living in and I was going to find a faerie powerful enough to grant me the power to change it. I had seen one student win a wager with a faerie that changed their body once, her name was Ellie and she graduated much happier than I ever imagined she would be, but still not as happy as she deserved to be as her fear of what her parents would think gnawed at her from time to time. But what Ellie had done wasn’t what I wanted, I wanted to be able to change my body, to be the way I felt like I should be on any given day, and that was no parlor trick. That feat was no small task of magic and no complex potion could grant my request. This was strong magic, magic that the faeries only ever used on themselves, I wasn’t even sure it was possible for any Fae to grant my request.

One day though in class room 231- the classroom that time moves the slowest in- I met a faerie who gave off an imposing energy, I knew instantly that if anyone could grant my request it would be them.

“Oh great and powerful one of the fairfolke what might I call you, if you do not mind my inquiry?”I knelt as I said this in sign of respect and recognition of their strength.

“My name is too long and complex, it would get lost on your tongue.” It spoke at me “Humans always did have a way of butchering our words, if they even bothered to learn.” I remained still and silent, eyes fixed on the ground. “You might call me prince, young one.”

I took the offering of the name as an invitation to conversation and stood slowly. Humble in posture and meek in tone I began my request.

“Prince” I started, swallowing the lump in my throat. “I entreat you, I have a desire that I fear only you may make reality.”

“Interesting. And what is this desire, and how would you pay for it?”

“Prince, I would like the ability to change my form, as a faerie would but only between different human forms so that I may have a body to match the way I feel.”

“Phhhuh” the prince scoffed “there is nothing that you possess that could be worth such magic. No human could possess such an item. So you are either offering me your life in servitude or you are seeking to win what you seek in a game. No?”

“Yes, prince” I bowed my head again “I seek to make a wager with you if you win you earn my life, and if I win I earn the power to change my form in any way I wish, when I wish it. I would not be bold enough to choose the nature of this wager, that sir shall be allowed to you.”

He pondered the idea for a moment. He scratched his head and stopped himself from speaking many times before he made his response.

“Human, I will accept this wager if you will accept the game I propose.”

“I will play any game, try anything, I need this.”

“I see your pain, your maturity, your wisdom. This isn’t a childs wager so we will not be playing childs game. This wager is of magic and faeries so we will be playing a game that reflects that. We shall play a game that my people have been playing a long time, you should learn it very quickly as it is much like your human chess or checkers. You will be given a copy of the rules today and in three nights, when the moon is full, you shall come here and we will play, if you win you will have your request. If I win I will own you you will exist in servitude for the rest of your life. Does it sound like a deal?” he held his hand out and smiled at me, he was leaning forward in his chair in anticipation. Hesitantly I reached out to grasp hands with him, realizing I had never touched a fae before. He threw back his head in laughter.

“I haven’t had a good challenge in ages, please do entertain me.” And then prince disappeared. Leaving nothing behind but a packet of papers, the rule book. The game was simply called “kingdom” and it involved several different pieces that both players were allowed to place on their side of the board in any way they wished to start the game, after this players were only allowed to move one piece a turn then they could make an action with one of their pieces and that would be the end of the turn. The object of the game was to capture or defeat all the pieces that an enemy controlled some pieces could capture and others could attack making an infinite variety of strategies that players could make. Prince had left a note for me saying that this was a copy of the abridged rules and that we would not be playing with the more complex set. I thought to myself that the game was already so complex that he had done me a kindness omitting the more challenging rules for our showdown. I didn’t go to class for the days that followed, I stayed in one area or another that would give me more time to study the rules and become any kind of proficient at this game. I left the areas that time moved slowly in only to sleep. And when the day came, I prayed I was ready. I picked out my favorite dress, and put on my most comfortable shoes.

The walk to the room seemed to go on forever, none of the fae in the halls even looked at me as I passed. When I arrived prince was standing next to the chair he had been sitting in when we first met.

“Greetings” he said “I hope you’ve had a productive few days it would be a shame if you made this easy on me.”

“I plan to win tonight, prince”

“Lets commence then” he waved his hand over the table and the game board appeared, he sat in his chair and motioned for me to sit opposite him. “Just remember this is a game, so have fun with it.”

I simply nodded as I laid my pieces. The pattern I had chosen was very daring. I sat my king in the middle of my side of the board with all my other pieces around him. It appeared that he was exposed but the placement of my other pieces just meant that this was a big trap and if he tried to move on my king I could take a large lead in the game. This however isn’t what happened. In actuality he knew what I was doing and instead set about demolishing the defenses I had made for the king taking an offensive strategy that started to widdle down my pieces with minimal gain on my end. I tried to counter his moves by counter engaging with my pieces which proved effective for a few turns until I fell into his trap. The game lasted for hours going forth and back and my knowledge of the game was stretched to its absolute max as I tried to find out what his real end strategy was, and how much of this he had known I would do from the start. Eventually I had nothing but my king as his last few pieces circled around.

“You seem to have lost” he said “now what is it that we agreed upon?”

“That you would have me, own me, for the rest of my days.”

“Yes I see, that was a truly desperate wager you made wasn’t it?”

I only nodded.

The moments that followed are a blur to me now, the next thing I remember clearly happens in faerie castle that prince called home. More accurately in his bed chamber. He showed me his true face. He was a tall, very human looking creature with antlers growing from his head, he was attractive. I found myself shocked at his allure.

“Now you see, human” his voice was like silk as he almost whispered to me “there a few things I didn’t tell you, a few things that you have to do.” I became fearful that my servitude would become more physical than imagined. “In my eyes you won our wager as you won me over, and asking you to do the things I want to ask of you would be very wrong. So instead I brought you here because in this room there is an artifact thats magic I can use to grant your wish and after I grant it I have a request for you but since I will not hold you in a bond of servitude you have no obligation to humor my request. While I was recovering from the revelation that I would be getting what I wanted and that I would not have to commit my life to a faerie, he rummaged through the chest at the foot of his bed and pulled out an amulet. “Take this. Touch it and absorb the power in it and you will have your request granted. But be warned, once you do this, you are one of us, stuck here in our world. You may only leave in limited amounts. My request, if you choose to accept the magic of the amulet, is that you stay here with me, get to know me and perhaps one day, learn to love me as I have come to love you in the years I watched you in that school perform tasks both for yourself and others.”

Without hesitation I touched the jewel of the amulet and started to absorb its power, but soon after I started I stopped, and tested my gut theory. Without absorbing all the power of the amulet I was still able to change shape, but I had to remain humanoid, which was my only intention to begin with.

“The rest of the power in this amulet isn’t needed, I only asked for the power It has already given me, I don’t need the animal shapes. Am I still bound here?”

“No” he hung his head “you are not bound here. You are merely half faerie now, and half faeries break the rules when it comes to traversing worlds. But be warned the point of your ears will not be changeable. That will be the only thing that cannot be changed by the power you have gained here.”

I touched his face gently, drawn to him as if by magic and found myself wanting to kiss him. “If you dont stop with the desire magic I’m never going to visit you again. Then what poor human will you rope into playing kingdom?”

“You mean?”

“Yeah. We can be friends. As long as you don’t keep using that magic on me. Humans find it invasive.”

x

[fortey]

The King of the Wasps

There are some days in the heart of summer that seem to almost stop, stuck like a tire in mud, stalled out and sweltering while the world ceases its spinning, and everything just is.  The sun beats down and everything is still and quiet except for the insects in their frenzy to live their short lives. Even the shade is oppressive, and the breeze doesn’t dare to blow.

On a day like this, you could find the love of your life as you share a glance.  On a day like this you could walk a hundred miles and just lose yourself in your own thoughts.  On a day like this you could die screaming and not a soul will hear it.

Billy Baumgartner is a man who’s going places. True, he’s only seventeen, but he has plans.  Big plans. Plans you don’t even know, man.  Billy is saving up his money from his job stocking shelves at the Kroger.  He’s already got over one thousand dollars. And this time next summer, he’s going to be in Los Angeles.  Screw this town.  Screw this town and everyone in it with their boring lives that go nowhere and do nothing. How can 6,000 people agree to get together and just rot in place for the rest of their lives?  

Billy Baumgartneris not going to rot here with everyone else.  Once he’s done school, he’ll hit the west coast and start his band.  Everyone agrees he’s the best guitar player in town, and probably as good as anyone you hear on the radio.  It’s true, he’s been playing since he was six years old.  He could drop a riff right now and you’d swear Hendrix had just entered the room.  Billy Baumgartner is that good.  

For too long nothing has gone on in this town. A Wal Mart opening three towns over a decade ago was the biggest thing that happened here in Billy’s entire life. Yesterday, the front page of the local paper had a story about the library changing its hours, so it closed at six instead of seven. This town has been on life support since the first house was built.

It’s not that Billy hates this place and everyone in it, he just doesn’t get it.  Why is everyone just settling?  Maybe 100 years ago this made sense, but good God, doesn’t everyone have cable TV and the internet?  Can’t they see the world they’re missing?  It just doesn’t make sense.

Billy Baumgartner has argued with his parents about leaving about a million times.  They don’t understand why he’d want to leave.  It’s quiet and safe here.  It’s a great place to raise a family.  He has a job, and he has friends.  LA is big and dangerous and expensive.  What could possibly happen in LA that’s worth leaving.  Billy just shakes his head.  What couldn’t happen in LA?

Billy Baumgartner wipes the sweat from his brow. It’s got to be at least 110 degrees out here today.  Because he’s been saving so much money, Billy never bothered getting a car like his friends. The Kroger is literally a 20-minute walk from his house.  Why not get the exercise?  Better to be in good shape when he gets to LA anyway.  Lots of ladies to impress. Lots of beaches to hit. Lots of photoshoots to do.

The field past Welch street is like an outdoor sauna.  The tall grass and weeds are just standing still, crunching in Billy’s wake as he passes, swatting gnats and mosquitos and black flies away from his face.  He should have invested in some bug repellant.

Welch field is one of those spots the world forgot about. It's just empty land. Who owns it? The government? The bank? No one really knows. Overgrown for acres. That grass that scratches and cuts your bare legs if you brush against it the wrong way. The skeletal frames of rickety, gnarled old crab apple trees all abuzz with hungry insects eating the mealy fruit.

The sound of a lone cicada is all that dares break the silence here.  Not for the first time, Billy finds himself stopping to look around.  The world feels so damn big sometimes.  This vastness that just needs to be explored.  Why does everyone want to sit still all the time?

On a cloudless day the sky is a blank slate. But some days, when the clouds are just right, you get that depth and the sky looks so big. The world looks so goddamn big, it practically begs you to spread your wings and experience it. Why can't Billy Baumgartner be a part of that?

The cicada’s trilling dies off.  Silence rolls in like the tide. That crushing sense of nothing that has been the bane of Billy's existence for years. Across the field, the old Marsh barn catches his eye.  The rickety, faded red structure has been here much longer than Billy has. As far as he knows, the Marsh family have been gone for at least 20 years.  It’s just no one bothered to use the land for anything.  As a kid, he used to play in the old barn, until his parents found out and had a fit.  It’s dangerous, you know.  What if the roof caved in?  What if he got trapped and no one knew where he was?  What if what if what if.  

Billy Baumgartner thinks “screw it” and changes direction, heading through weeds that haven't seen a human in years.  The cans at work will survive without him for a half hour.  If he has to be stuck here on a day like today, may as well have some fun. The world is built on the promise of adventures. He needs this. A nostalgic trip to something almost dreamlike. Something from a time when he still felt hopeful and alive.

Thick grasses grip at his bare legs as he trudges across the uneven field.  That rough, sandpapery feel scraps against his shins and he curses to himself. Still, better than having all of this mowed under and turned into more housing for boring, do-nothing people to fester in.  In a weird way, this field of nothing was the most alive thing in town.

A tangle of roots snare his foot and Billy stumbles.  He swears out loud as his hands hit dry, rough earth and some flesh scrapes off. As he tries to regain his footing, a sudden pain under his palm causes him to pull away sharply.  The sting is like a tiny stab of fire, digging into his nerves.  He cradles his hand instinctively and lurches backwards as a wasp twists in a frenzy before righting itself and turning a circle on the ground.  

“Goddamn it,” Billy mutters, looking at the insect. It paces, facing him a moment, before testing out its wings, seemingly as annoyed with Billy as he is with it. The insect flies off, no worse for the wear after its run in with Billy Baumgartner.  As for Billy, he checks the fiery sting on his palm.  It throbs, and is already turning red.  He doesn’t think he’s allergic, but he also can barely remember the last time he was stung by a wasp. When was it? Doesn't matter.

Billy gets to his feet, dusts himself off.  He heads out again after a quick look around to make sure no one else saw his misfortune.  Just the grass and the bugs, and the barn.  No harm, no foul.

The old Marsh barn looks like it was made from driftwood that someone sent adrift about four or five times.  Planks aren’t flush, the little paint remaining is flaking, and the roof sags at the far end.  Inside, the support beams look like they’re made of solidified dust, and the loft has caved in.  There are small relics of a bygone era; a rake with no handle, some rusted chains, an old barrel, trash from years of kids making it their clubhouse, but not much else.  Billy and his friends used to hang out here and play, read comic books and eat candy. It seemed fun at the time.

In the corner is a flaccid and filthy mattress and some dusty bottles, the remnants of a party spot from some teens, or maybe a drifter who set up shop for a time. The heat in the barn is no different than the heat outside the barn.  The only difference is the air seems more stagnant.  The smell is like a guinea pig cage in need of cleaning. Dust and rotten hay, the smell of old earth and a hint of mold. It is the smell of a yesterday no one can remember anymore. A storybook kingdom that has lost its magic.

Billy Baumgartner enters with confidence. There are piles of refuse in the corners here and there.  On the far side, below the sagging roof, is an old tarp.  His face lights up when he sees it.  He and the guys had found a rundown old motorcycle in the field and brought it back here with plan to fix it up.  None of them had the first clue how to fix it, and it was missing any number of parts, but when you’re 10 you think anything is possible. They’d hidden it under the tarp.  There was no way it was still here.

Striding over o the mildew-encrusted and rotting tarp, another wasp makes a beeline for Billy’s face.  He feels the hard, little body hit like a pea shot from a straw, and latch onto his cheek. He swats it away, more panicked than he’d like to admit, and curses again.  In the dimness of the barn he can’t see where it went or where it came from.

The throb in his hand keeps him rooted in the moment. The last time he was stung by a wasp was when he was a boy. He had gone into the old shed at the back of their yard and seen what looked like a ball of paper stuck to the corner of the ceiling. A single wasp paced back and forth around a hole near the base of it and, being a stupid kid, he did what stupid kids do. He took a stick and broke it open.

There must have been a thousand wasps in that nest. They rushed I a swarm, furious at little Billy Baumgartner for destroying their home, for declaring war o the hive. The stings were like fire on his arms, his face, his neck. He ran screaming and they gave chase. How could he have forgotten that?

A quick circle on his heels in the barn, looking for his winged attacked, and Billy Baumgartner sees nothing.  The pain in his hand has lessened, but there’s a definite lump there now.  Last thing he needs is one of those on his face, people will think he has crazy acne.

Another wasp buzzes past his ear and Billy flinches, ducking dramatically.  He moves forward quickly, wary now, and grabs the tarp.  The old material feels crusty in his hand, flakes of ancient blue plastic come away in his grip.  He yanks quickly.  For the briefest of moments, he is unsure of how to react.  

The barn erupts. The buzzing is a chorus, a symphony of angry activity.  A thousand wasps, a thousand thousand, burst from the darkness beyond the tarp.  Billy screams and recoils.  The handleless rake catches his heel and he falls back.  The insects swarm and Billy tries to cover his face crawling backwards in a panic.  And as he tries to protect himself, as the swarm of insects detect their target and dive to attack, Billy Baumgartner sees it.  

In the center of the storm, writhing with the bodies of countless wasps, a massive thing. Black, hollow eyes regard Billy Baumgartner, wasps crawling in and out of the papery coating.  A slit below, lips made of mud-brown parchment, slowly expands, widens.  A mouth. It returns Billy’s scream and the wasps pour outward.  The sound, a buzzing, hollow roar of rage.

Billy Baumgartner screams as he has never screamed before.  As each wasp deposits its venom into his exposed flesh, a pinpoint of fire burns inside of him.  And it happens over and over, under the unflinching, hollow gaze of the hive king.

Paper flesh rustles.  The vague shape of a man pulls away from the wall of the barn. Flaky remnants like phyllo dough cling to the wood.  The wasps still pour from its face, even as Billy Baumgartner’s vain attempts to beat away the assault grow weaker. His screams are muffled by writhing little bodies as they fill his mouth, stinging his gums, his lips, his tongue.  In moments, he can no longer even hold his arms up to protect himself. He lays on the floor, his body seizing as his eyes roll back in his head, the toxin overloading his system, the pain engulfing him. His flesh swells and bloats, angry and red.

Billy Baumgartner does not even register the presence of the hive.  He does not see as it lowers itself to a crawl, straddling his body.  He does not feel the paper of its dry, dead lips on his own.  Does not feel the army of wasps as they crawl down his throat.  He senses nothing as they begin their work, mixing saliva and wood fibers, covering his body, entombing him and the hive man together. There is no life left in Billy Baumgartner as he joins the hive.