#then they should go back and edit their slides on our group presentation…

[sp00kypumpkaboo]

Yesterday, my nutrition professor sent an email to the class basically saying that she’s checking everyone’s post for this week’s discussion for the use of AI and everyone in a group for a group project will get a zero if someone is caught using AI. While the professor left a good note under my discussion post, it made me paranoid tbh 😭 however, the other people in my group were talking to each other in our group chat and they all basically gave the impression that they all like/use AI 🙃

[grad604-amber]

Week 8: Body copy

This week we need to go back and look at what we wrote over the break and try to solidify it into something more conceptual that can be used for the poster. The text is 50 WORDS MAX, so for me I need to ensure that I don't waffle and write too much. Below is the rubric, or what we are aiming to achieve with our writing.

Discuss the relationship between design and a range of historical, cultural and contextual issues.

Apply critical thinking through academic research contexts

Analyse and synthesize key texts in relation to cultural and contextual issues in design. 

Communicate key ideas and concepts through a range of visual, written and oral methods

INVESTIGATION: Proficiency in evaluating and extending links between a complex range of conceptual and contextual content.

COMMUNICATING: Your command and expertise of new - tools and methods to advance and document the research process.

REFLECTING: Your cohesive questioning and reflection of material to extend the inquiry.

INTEGRATING: Your ability to articulate and integrate research thinking, processes and findings, clearly and fluently to present ideas.

Below are examples we were given on the slides to guide us so we can use them as a template to ensure we are writing the right thing.

Here is what I have done from the activity:

These are not my finalised writing pieces rather just made sure I have ticked all the boxes for my written part, ensuring it is giving the right information. I will begin to finalise it from here.

CONNECTIONS:

Task 1:

We were given a task that can be "Used to develop and refine your element selections and categorisations through analysis, reflection and discussion, and make timely and appropriate changes if needed."

This should be for all 20 elements to be included in your final assessment, or as many elements as you have at present. You can always add and/or edit some of the elements in response to this exercise. 

Name your categories in terms of the main defining feature: e.g., “Tools I use in my design work” or “Possessions of personal significance which influence my design practice” 

Because I prefer doing things analogue I have a rough little map sketched out grouping my objects:

Needs refinement this is just a rough grouping - will refine to determine How I want it to be presented in my poster with strong meaning.

Task 2:

As a designer/creative, you could also explore creative, visual and non-logical methods to create new typologies, if consistent with your strategy. E.g., do you notice half the elements are pink in colour or hand-crafted? Is this interesting, helpful, or offer opportunities or limitations worth considering?

I have noticed a lot of items are hand crafter or second-hand - they feel very exploratory and random but at the same time all very fitting - they have had to be discovered, which takes time and patience but shows the outcome is worth it.

What do your current categories tell you about the elements contained in them?

A lot of the hand-crafted items are considered very personal and meaningful to me while also relating to the designer tool kit I have - which consists of analogue materials.

What underpins your categorisations? Are the elements grouped by a key characteristic, material or medium – or something else? e.g. typography, fluid type, poster design, etc?

Mine may feel slightly broad as I have said all the items are mainly analogue or illustrative but I think that describes me as a creative well, an explorer.

When seen together, what story do these elements and their categorisation tell an audience?

I want the audience to see this journey throughout my life and upbringing and how the little things that have stuck with me and become so significant to me not only as a person but as a creative - from the sea glass collection to the little ceramic I have collected and made some unique items that depict my love for hand crafting and analogue process. It will not only reflect in the way the poster is presented but also in my additional designer tool kit which is displayed within the 20 elements.

This task has helped me to reevaluate from the last task where I felt I didn't really categorise it well and it was quite broad - by answering these questions I have been able to think of a better way to organise.

[katnissmellarkkk]

Chapter Three

Hiiii, all you cool cats and kittens 😂😂😂😂. Okay but seriously, imma just word vomit all the things I need to cover in this author’s note — that I can remember.

I’ve been writing this chapter for like a week, I’m super nervous about it, I’m really sorry if this angst is upsetting you, I am gonna do my best to make it all right in the end, the angst is gonna continue though for a bit longer, yes this fic is only 10 chapters, yes I still want your comments even if you’re upset, my eye is still having trouble so I can’t look at a computer screen for too long because it physically hurts so I’m editing on my phone and there is a high chance I’ll re-edit these chapters after my eye isn’t all Heltor Skeltor anymore.

Okay I think that’s everything, I very much am gratefully for all the feedback I’ve received and I hope you all continue to read this fic.

Peeta stayed for hours after that. He smiled and laughed and, for a while, made me forget all about my unbearable loneliness, how empty this home feels, how uncomfortable I am with the prospect of my mother moving on with her life, how much I really miss my sister right now.

How I miss my sister more than anything.

He still makes me feel safe, I realized, as we sat on the couch and ate our third helping of the chocolate cake he’d baked for me. He knows how much I love chocolate from all the meals we shared on the train.

“Actually, from the time you decided to just eat the chocolate fountain by itself,” he had corrected. Off my quizzical look, he added, “At Snow mansion? We were there for a party?”

“Our engagement party?” I amended, teasing him a little.

My attempt at levity works as I watch his mouth contort into smirk in response. “Sorry, I guess I forgot what party it was.”

“They did drag us to a lot of them,” I agreed, not foreseeing the jab he was about to throw.

“And you pigged out at every one of them.”

I pretended to be offended for a moment but his proud laughter made me lose the facade far sooner than I should have. The joyful glint to his gaze, the way his body language was relaxed and open, the way he seemed to remember small details of our shared past now, I just couldn’t hold even a false grudge against him. I just couldn’t help giggling alongside him.

But he had to leave around dinner time, having an appointment to get the construction for the new rebuilt bakery approved and in motion.

As soon as he departs, and I’m left once again inside a void, hallow house that only emphasizes the greatest loss of my life���the one I’ll probably never go a single day without feeling the ache of—I decide I need to leave too. I decide as soon as I glance around the empty place that it’d be in my best interest to get out as well, to prolong the inevitable despair the deserted home brings come nightfall.

My first thought is to drop off the liquor I picked up for Haymitch a few days ago at the train station. He was passed out drunk and I was already there and it seemed at the time like a good bargaining chip when he was feeling particularly caustic towards me. Which lately had been often.

Now it just poses a good excuse to go talk to the sour man, to perhaps pick his brain about Bailey Robyn. To perhaps see what he knows that I don’t about the mysterious girl who blew into both our lives.

And only evidently disturbed one of them.

He has clearly has gotten to know her better than I have, and he’s quite transparently taken quite a liking to her. If I want to know this girl, or even begin to understand what Peeta sees in her, it only makes sense to get Haymitch to share some details in exchange for his favorite liquor.

After all, our entire relationship has always been a series of bargains, one way or another.

Throughout mine and Peeta’s entire time together—which amounted to the whole afternoon—he had never once mentioned Bailey. He hadn’t said she was waiting for him or what she thought about the cake or if she even knew he would be at my house today.

And for some reason that led me to assume she was busy in town somewhere. That she was working on the salon she mentioned wanting to start up, that she was out doing things herself, that she wasn’t even concerned with Peeta celebrating my birthday today.

That she wasn’t sitting on Haymitch’s counter, talking to him about that very subject.

“It just doesn’t make me feel great, you know?” Her clear and high voice rings out from the window right as I’m gearing up to barge my way inside the pig sty. “I want to go with him, in case he has an episode or something, and he tells me no. Like flat out, full stop, no.”

I slip in through the unlocked front door, quiet as a mouse, eavesdropping like I know I shouldn’t. Like I know is a complete violation of privacy, both for Bailey and for Haymitch. And maybe even Peeta, since he’s the one they’re conferring about.

“He’s stubborn,” Haymitch agrees, sounding more sober than I’ve heard him in months. Sounding more sober than I’ve seen since we were in Thirteen. “Try mentoring him in the games.”

Bailey scoffs at that. “No. You couldn’t pay me enough.”

They share a laugh and I feel my hands tighten around the bottle, as an extremely uncomfortable sensation settles into the pit of my stomach.

They sound like old friends. They sound happy and pleased to be hanging out and conversing. And if I’m being honest, it gives me one more reason to instinctively dislike Bailey, despite the fact that I’m trying hard not to.

Because in the short time she’s been in Twelve, she’s slid into my place in both Peeta and Haymitch’s lives with complete and utter ease. Even beyond taking my place, she’s outrankedme in both men’s lives and entirely knocked me out of the saddle.

That’s what disturbs me above all else. Because—even though I’d never admit it about Haymitch—they were mine. They were my family. They were all I had. They were my haven from the darkness surrounding my entire life. The three of us were a team once.

And now it feels like she didn’t join the group, she kicked me out of it entirely. Haymitch has never had me sit on the counter of his kitchen—not that I really wanted to, the place is absolutely filthy—and talk about my problems. He’s always mocked my feelings and troubles, when they didn’t pertain to the war or rebellion.

I don’t get what is so special about this girl that the two most important people in my life are willing to just let her in. Are just willing to let her take me out without a second thought.

“I mean, is it odd that I wanted to be included?” She inquires genuinely and to my surprise, once again, my old mentor gives her a pretty thoughtful answer. For Haymitch Abernathy, at least.

“They’re both a little weird. War messes with people. Especially kids,” he murmurs and then grunts uncomfortably. “Don’t get worked up over nothing. Just let whatever happened go and try to be happy.”

For some reason, even without hearing my name mention specifically, I’m fully convinced that they’re conversing about me as well as Peeta. About our afternoon together, void from Bailey’s presence. Without hearing my own name, I still know in my bones I walked in on a talk about me.

Bailey wanted to come today and Peeta told her no? Peeta told her an unequivocal no? Because he wanted to spend time with just me?

That satisfies me beyond measure. That makes me even happier than the carefully handcrafted birthday cake did.

Suddenly, for the first time since she’s arrived in Twelve, I don’t feel like Peeta put me on the back burner to make her more comfortable. I don’t feel like I’m being slided so she can be accommodated to her liking. And that’s a better present to me than anything else I could have asked for.

“But I’m his girlfriend,” she states quietly, before sighing deeply and setting down a glass that she must have been drinking from. Risk-taker, she is. “And I just feel like every day all he thinks about is Katniss. He’s either worried about her or afraid of her.”

Now that catches me completely off-guard. Peeta’s afraid of me? Is he telling Bailey something I don’t know? What did I do that he’s so afraid of?

Please, I internally beg to no one. Please tell me he doesn’t still think of me as a mutt. Please tell me he doesn’t feel the same way about as he did in Thirteen.

No, I venomously refute. That wouldn’t make sense. If he still thought of me that way—the way Snow tried to brainwash him into—he would surely not be baking me a cake and spending an afternoon alone with me.

At least, I don’t think so.

But I’m always wrong nowadays and I long ago learned to stop trusting my instincts because they don’t any good for me in the end anyway and I just end up more jumbled and confused and stressed than I started out.

I take a deep breath to calm myself down just as Haymitch mutters, “That description isn’t a far cry from the kid I met two years ago on the tribute train.”

Evidently, I breathed out too loudly almost immediately, Haymitch barks out, “Is that you, girl?”

Realizing I’m caught, I rip off the bandaid and step out of the corner of the entryway, where I was hiding. “Sorry, I just got here,” I quickly explain. And then, despite my atrocious acting ability, I throw out for good measure, “I didn’t hear anything you guys said, I just didn’t want to interrupt.”

Neither of them believe me. In fact, they both appear pretty disgusted with me now. But when I pass Haymitch the bottle of liquor, his features shift and I feel him lightly pat me on the head as he passes me to grab a bottle opener.

“Haymitch,” Bailey murmurs unceremoniously, as she hops off the counter with a grace I have no dream of ever possessing. “I’m going to head on home.”

Her eyes meet mine for a split second before flirting away, and all I see there is irritation.

I hope she doesn’t try again to make nice in a day or so. Quite frankly, there’s a reason I never made many friends. Social interactions aren’t my thing and they just wear me out unnecessarily. Especially girls, who only want to gossip about other people or share clothes or irrelevant life tips. I’d much rather be left alone in solitude than have to yo-yo with Bailey’s mood swings.

Haymitch has always empathized with this trait of mine. More than empathized. He embodied it to the fullest, in a way I never even have. That’s what makes it so startling to me that he’s found such a friend with Peeta’s new girlfriend. It’s downright shocking how pleasant he is towards her.

When he returns now, she’s already gone and he’s right back to his surly self.

“No one clears a room like you do, sweetheart.”

But I’m not interested in swiping back and forth with one another. “Why are you hanging out with Bailey Robyn?”

Haymitch rolls his eyes as he takes a seat at his still unwashed kitchen table.

I mean, if Bailey wanted to help clean in here, that’s where I would have suggested to start.

“The better question, Katniss, is why are youhanging out with Peeta alone? How do you think that makes his girlfriend feel?”

“He’s my friend,” I argue, infuriated by the implication that I have to go through a random stranger to be around Peeta now. Infuriated that it’s Haymitch making the implication nonetheless.

“But he isn’t!” The old man snaps back. “Peeta isn’t your friend, Katniss. You look at him like he hung the moon and you do it right in front of his new girl.”

“No, I don’t,” I retort sharply, because I definitely don’tand I repel the accusation.

“Anyone with eyes can see your stupid little crush,” he exclaims and it stings. The words sting for some reason and I feel the ache in my chest come back once again, because apparently I’m stepping over a line I didn’t even know was there and I’m once again the root of every problem and it’s all becoming too much.

Evidently, Haymitch just doesn’t care if he hurts me today. “Just back off of the boy. Let him be happy for once.”

I uncharacteristically spit an unkind name at Haymitch as I slam his door in my furious wake.

Through his still open kitchen window though, I hear him chuckle. “Well, that’s one I haven’t heard before, sweetheart.”

Read More On AO3 Where The Italics Actually Work

[cotncandyboifics]

1989 [High School AU]: Chapter 2

AO3 Link

Masterpost

Chapter 1 ~ Chapter 3 ~ Chapter 4 ~ Chapter 5 ~ Chapter 6 ~ Chapter 7 ~ Chapter 8 ~ Chapter 9 ~

Pairings: slight Logince, eventual Prinxiety & Logicality

Word count: 1,974

Story summary: Roman Prince is your stereotypical Jock, with everyone swooning after him. Every day a crowd of people follow him around, only to disperse at his personal whim. In reality, he's lucky to have such good acting skills that help him cover up the disdain he has for his life. He only wishes he could use his skills properly.

Patton Whitelock's always there to lend a helping hand, no matter who you are. If you need a favor or just need someone to talk to, go to him. In reality, he's been taught from a young age that kindness should be held above all else. No one suspects that he took it the wrong way.

Logan Montgomery is the smartest boy in the Senior class. He's stern, and most people are too intimidated to speak to him. In reality, he despises most all of his fellow students. He sticks to his studies and doesn't stray, for fear of being stuck in his father's shadow his whole life.

Virgil Black is the most emo kid in school, let alone 12th grade; everyone knows to leave him be. In reality, he's very fortunate. He has two parents who love him dearly. But everything beyond his life, everything within his mind, is utter chaos and turmoil.

what will happen when they're assigned a biology project together?

General CW: food, swearing, implied s-lf h-rm, non-graphic descriptions of s-lf h-rm scars, graphic and non-graphic descriptions of anxiety attacks and panic attacks, drug abuse, minor character intoxicated on heroin, non-graphic drug overdose description, sickness/description of sickness, blood, non-graphic descriptions of needles, (will be added to as I write more)

Chapter CW: <none> (let me know if i missed anything please!)

Author notes: there's an excessively detailed description of the biology project in this chapter. I haven't read it since i first wrote and edited this chapter two years ago. :)

...

Logan walked into his 4th Period class, biology, with a glint in his eye. He enjoyed the class quite a lot, and the teacher was passionate about the material, making the learning process all that much better.

"Good morning students!" He said cheerily from the whiteboard. "As you can see, I've rearranged the desks into groups of 4, and if you look up here at the board, you'll see the seating chart. These will be your groups for this semester's project." Logan scanned the projected seating chart and found his name. Near the center of the room, and his desk at an angle which he could still see the teacher. He glanced at the other names. he recognized two of them; Roman Prince, the school jock, and Virgil Black, notoriously introverted and depressing. The third name he didn't recognize; Patton Whitelock. He took a seat at his assigned desk, and awaited the arrival of his group mates.

Patton and Virgil arrived together. Logan recognized Virgil with his purple hair and sulking form, and as they walked closer, assumed the perky boy walking with him was Patton. Upon seeing him he realized this was someone he actually had several classes with, but had never bothered to pair a name with his face. He seemed to radiate an infectious joyful aura, and Logan felt a smile tug at the corners of his mouth as he approached. Virgil just gave Logan a small nod, while Patton smiled wide and stuck his hand out across the desks to shake Logan's pale steady hand.

"Hi there!! My name's Patton! You're Logan, right?" Patton's voice went perfectly with his demeanor. Logan allowed a smile to cross his face - just out of politeness, of course -  as he shook Patton's hand.

"Hello Patton. Yes, Logan Montgomery. And you must be Virgil, correct?" He said, looking over at the dark boy sitting across from him, who was now slumped over on his desk with earbuds in. Virgil just glanced at him and gave a small nod.

Then, in a burst of flamboyance, Roman arrived at the table with his signature smirk displayed proudly on his face. He glanced around at his teammates. His smirk faltered at the sight of ta certain purple-haired emo, but he continued to scan as he sat smoothly, sliding his backpack under the desk. He greeted Patton with a handshake - the two were relatively friendly, as Patton often helped organize football events - and upon seeing the tall pale boy seated next to him, changed tone.

"Why hello there," Roman said in a deep voice, leaning over to Logan, who tensed up momentarily. But he regained himself quickly, and turned to face Roman.

"Salutations. Logan Montgomery. You are Roman Prince, I presume," Logan said cordially, holding his hand out to the jock. Roman only smirked and took Logan's hand, kissing his knuckles gently. In that moment Logan cursed his off-white skin, as he felt his face heat up and was sure the blush was plain as day. It only made Roman smirk more to see the effect of his actions.

"But of course. I suppose I should be thankful for the honor of being grouped with such a handsome-" In the midst of his courting, Roman was interrupted by the teacher clearing his throat and giving further instructions on the project.

"These will be your groups. No buts, this is final. Unless there is a serious conflict, I will absolutely not be changing your groups. Now that that's out of the way, I'll explain the project." He clicked a button on his computer, and the projection changed to a presentation about their project. "You are to write a detailed, extensive report on Lepidium Sativum, or Garden Cress, and its attributes in various environments. there will be three rounds in this project." He clicked a button again, and the slide changed. "in the first round, you will have two plants being given the same amount of water and light, but two different types of fertilizer. after two weeks, the fertilizer that has been the most effective in helping the plant thrive will be used for all future rounds." Next slide. "in the second round, you will have two entirely different garden cress plants, that are to have the exact same amount of sunlight and both be planted in the better fertilizer from the previous round. you are to take the recommended amount of water you should give the plants per day, and give one plant less than said amount and the other more. repeat this process for two weeks, and note which plant thrived more. This plant's dosage of water will be used in the next round as well." Next slide. "For the final round, two new plants will be given the optimal fertilizer and amount of water, but different amounts of sunlight. One is to be in the sun constantly, the other is to be kept out of the light. Whichever one is the most successful after two weeks time, will be presented in class at the end of said time period. these plants will be 10% of your grade for this project." Next slide. "Your report will include the following 11 paragraphs; 1, prior knowledge. any and all things you collectively know about Garden Cress. If you know nothing, then I'd devote some time to researching the plant. 2, the procedure for the first round. step-by-step description of what you did in the two weeks. 3, hypothesis or predictions for the outcome of the first round. 4, the results of the first round. 5, 6, and 7 repeat 2, 3, and 4 but for the second round, and 8, 9, and 10 for the third round. the 11th paragraph will be the conclusion; comparing all the results and analyzing them, whether you think your experiment was accurate, etcetera. I expect before and after pictures of both plants for all three rounds in your report as well." He then turned off the projector and walked over to a table, which had 16 plants on it. "Today is the beginning of the experiment, one group member will be chosen for the entirety of this lab to be conducted at their house, and said group member will come up and take two plants from here at the end of the period. We have... 10 minutes left. discuss among yourselves."

With that, they were off. Logan had been furiously scribbling notes in somehow impeccable handwriting. He looked up once the teacher had stopped talking and cleared his throat, adjusting his glasses. "I will take the plants to my house. We should meet there every week at least, preferably on a consecutive weekday," he said.

But Roman had other plans, that he thought were absolutely brilliant in terms of his suddenly enticing pursuit of Logan. "Au contraire, my bespectacled friend," He began, "I believe that the best household for our project to be conducted in would be chez-moi," Roman finished with a dramatic hand-to-the-chest pose. Virgil couldn't keep in a scoff and a smirk, murmuring something under his break about how Roman didn't speak french. The others ignored him, but Patton looked at him curiously.

"And what could have possibly led you to that conclusion? I strongly believe that of the four of us," Logan said, looking around at his partners, "I am the most responsible. So, I'm curious to hear your reasoning," Logan finished, adjusting his glasses again and facing Roman more prominently.

"Well, Microsoft Nerd," Roman said, at which Virgil smirked again, "My house is only a few blocks away from school. Its very accessible, and I for one know that at least two of us would prefer to be near school," Roman said, looking over at Virgil.

Virgil considered protesting, but decided against it. "...I mean, he's not wrong," He said quietly.

Roman rolled his eyes. "Thanks for the assist, JD-lightful. Patton, what do you think?" Roman said, turning his attention to Patton, who was staring at his desk with a hint of a blush on his face.

He looked up upon being addressed, and responded. "Oh, um, I'm alright with either honestly." He said, slightly less perky than usual, glancing at Logan before looking back down.

Logan simply sighed and adjusted his glasses again. "Well, I'm not going to argue with you over something so trivial, so fine. We can go to your house."

Roman clapped loudly and put his hands down on the desk. "Wonderful! How's about tonight? And every Monday hereafter?" He said, looking between all of them. Logan nodded once, Patton nodded vigorously (only after Logan had given his nod), and Virgil just slowly bobbed his head up and down as if he was exhausted, leaning into his arm that was propped up on his desk. "Okay, it's a plan! Meet you all at the front of the school when 8th period is over." And with that, the teacher got the students' attention again.

"Alright students, it's time. Send up whomever will be taking the plants to their house." Roman stood up proudly and strut over to the table, where he picked out two of the nicest-looking plants on the table. There was a minute or two before they were dismissed, so the four of them took the opportunity to exchange phone numbers. Then the bell rang, and the students immediately filed out the classroom door and dispersed.

...

When Roman walked up to the bench at the front of the school at the end of the day - followed by a few of his fan girls, of course - only Logan was there. As Logan noticed people walking his way, he put away his phone hastily, as if embarrassed, and quickly began pulling different notebooks out of his backpack, trying to look busy. As Roman approached, he dismissed his pursuers and sat on the opposite side of the bench, while Logan attempted to start his Calculus homework.

"Well, if it isn't the Microsoft Turd," Roman said, looking over at Logan.

Logan didn't look up, merely scoffed. "You already made that joke."

"Well, it was a variation, and I can think of a Microsoft Third!" Roman shot back, smirking once again.

Mr. No-nonsense Logan responded, "have you heard from the others? it's been approximately... 12.4 minutes since 8th period ended," he said, checking his watch.

"No, not particularly. However, I did see Virgil sulking in the hallway on my off-block. Ugh, the nerve of him; he's constantly ruining the mood for everyone, in every situation! Are you listening to me?" Roman said, watching as Logan did his same scribble in a graph paper notebook, breezing through his work.

"No."

Roman put on an extremely offended face, and would've retorted, had Patton and Virgil not walked up at that exact moment. Roman opened his mouth to say something to Logan but his eyes caught Virgil's radiant hair, and he was momentarily distracted.

"Hey Logan!!" Patton said cheerily, waving to him while keeping his thumbs behind his backpack straps. "Are you ready for some science!?" He said the last word with zeal, and Logan looked up at him, smiling softly.

"Yes, I am rather looking forward to the actual project," Logan said, then glancing over at Roman, "though I expect there will be plenty of distractions on Roman's account."

"Only distractions you'll enjoy," Roman said, wiggling his eyebrows "flirtatiously". Virgil scoffed yet again from behind Patton, trying to hide his smile.

"Well, then let's get going!! I-I mean, if you're ready, Logan." Patton said, referring to Logan having surrounded himself with textbooks and notes.

"Oh, right." Logan pushes his glasses up the bride of his nose, and made quick work of putting his things away. Roman made an attempt in vain to carry Logan's pack; Logan said he wouldn't trust Roman with his backpack if it was "consisting of objects of an inconsequential nature, which it is not."

And they four made their way down the sidewalk, talking and teasing each other, unaware of the growing bonds between them.

[fabrowrites]

Oh, can I be your Bibilly Hills?

For Lloyd’s very late birthday! also on ao3 and ffn.net.

----------

Kai stands at the entrance to the cafeteria.  The bustle in the room is loud with kids meeting up with their friends, the snapping open of lunchboxes, and chairs and tables being squeaked across the floor.

Kai exhales.  He hikes his backpack higher onto his back.  Then he squares his shoulders and walks over to the table in the far corner of the room where only one person sits, despite the overcrowding at all the rest of the tables.

Lloyd Garmadon’s eyes lift as Kai drops into the seat across from him, only to return to his plate again just as quickly.  One by one, the rest of their secret ninja crew arrive.  They send glances at each other, and at Lloyd, who has started to eat his food with laser-like focus.  

It’s only been a week since Master Wu gathered them all together for a “very important meeting”.  It’s only been a week since he told them they were ready to take the next step in their team-building.  It’s only been a week since their eternally-masked leader took off his hood, only to reveal the son of Ninjago City’s very own warlord hiding beneath it.

Needless to say, conversation is stilted.  

A hand comes down on the table with a resounding smack.  Chen, captain of the cheer team, leans over their table.  “Hey, look, everyone,” he says mockingly.  “Garmadork has a dork squad now.”  He gives their table an obvious once-over, grin widening.  “Aw, why are you sitting with him?  Are your daddies super-villains too?”

“Hi, Chen,” Lloyd says.  “Nice insult.  Much more original than your last one- what was it?  The Bad Dad Lad?”

Chen’s face twists up in a sneer.  His hand snakes out and smacks Lloyd’s water bottle over, instantly flooding his lunch.  “Oops,” he says, sounding not at all sorry.  “I didn’t see that there!  Hope that wasn’t all you had.”

He saunters off, looking inordinately pleased with himself.  Lloyd, on the other hand, stares for several long seconds at his ruined lunch.  Kai expects him to look furious, or at the very least, upset, but there’s only this sad sort of look on his face.  Like he’d been expecting it to happen.  It’s so awful to look at that something in Kai snaps.  

“Here, have some of mine,” he says, shoving his bento forward.  “I always take too much rice anyways.”

Nya gives him a near-imperceptible nod from across the table; she’s thinking the same thing.  God, Kai loves his sister so much.  “This is true,” she says.  “The day Kai doesn’t bring home leftovers is the day he’s been replaced by his evil clone.”

Kai opens his mouth, intending to say just what he thought of that, when a quiet noise brings him back to the situation at hand.  Lloyd looks at them both, mouth parting slightly.  “Are you sure?” he asks, but he can’t disguise the way he’s already eying the bento up.

“Take it,” Kai insists. “It’s not doing me any good sitting here.”

Kai can see Lloyd’s hesitation wavering.  A moment later, the other boy accepts it with a quiet, “thank you”.  

The other ninja are watching.  Kai catches their eyes and mouths ‘later’ above Lloyd’s head.  After lunch wraps up, and Lloyd excuses himself to use the restroom, they all gather near the window.

“What happened at lunch-” Kai says without preamble- “it can’t happen again.”  It’s not like he was expecting them to protest, but something warms in his chest at how intensely they immediately nod.  They must look like a pack of bobbleheads to anyone passing by.

“He was just so sad,” Nya says.  “It makes me want to punch something.  Preferably Chen’s face.”

Jay backs a step away from her, laughing that nervous laugh of his.  Cole hums.  His ever-present headphones are hanging around his neck, which is how Kai knows just how seriously he’s taking it.  Headphone removal: truly the highest form of respect in the modern age.  “We should do something for him,” he says.

“Normal human teenager things?” asks Zane.

“Exactly!” says Kai.  “He’s an only child!  I bet he’s never had a blanket fort before!”

“We can make it at his house so he can keep it up longer,” Cole says.  “I’ve dropped off homework for him before.  I still have his address in my phone.”

“I’ll take him out after school to the comic book shop so you guys have more time,” Jay offers.  He twists his hands in his ever-present orange scarf.  

“And we’ll get the snacks,” Nya finishes.  She sticks her hand out.  The rest of them do too, and then there’s a period of silence where they look at each other awkwardly.  Wow, they really are lost without Lloyd.

Cole sighs.  “Ninja go,” he says.

“Ninja go!” Kai says.  The game is afoot.  

------------

The walk to the comic books shop is literally the definition of awkward silence.  

Jay and Lloyd walk three feet apart on the sidewalk.  Their eyes meet fleetingly across the way before skittering away.  People who pass them stare, and Jay ducks his head and meeps at each hateful glare sent his way.

“You don’t have to do this,” Lloyd mumbles.

Jay jumps.  “Huh?”  

Lloyd shoves his hands into his hoodie pocket.  “I said,” he says a bit louder, “you don’t have to do this.”

“Do what?” Jay says nervously.  He wrings his hands in his scarf.  “I’m not doing anything?”

Lloyd looks pointedly at his hands.  He huffs, dipping his head so his bangs cover his eyes,  “Make yourself be nice to me, or whatever it is that you and the rest of them are trying to do.  I have eyes, Jay,” he says, when Jay opens his mouth to protest.  He glances up at him through his curtain of hair, and something in his face softens.  “It’s okay.  I’m used to it.”

Jay doesn’t know what to say to that.  But something comes over him, and before he can talk himself out of it he’s bridging the gap to walk right beside Lloyd.  Lloyd looks up sharply.  

“We want to be nice to you,” he says softly.  “You’re part of our team, aren’t you?”

Lloyd snorts.  “Some might go as far to call me the leader,” he says, but there’s this quiet, sort of pleased look on his face.  It’s enough for Jay to stick by his side, even as they move towards the busier part of the city and the glares and angry whispers increase.  

It takes them about fifteen minutes to get to the comic book shop.  Jay swings the door open, inhaling that paper-ink-and-smelly-teenager scent he’s become intimately familiar with.  Lloyd follows more hesitantly, blinking at the racks upon racks of books, merch, and everything in between.  His eyes widen when they land on the display case right in front of them.  

“No way!” he says, springing forward.  “I didn’t know this came out!”

“What?” asks Jay, jumping sideways to see.  “Is that the new edition of Starfarer?  Wait, you like Starfarer too?”

Lloyd is already flipping through the chapter, eyes scanning the pages.  “It was my favorite as a kid!” he says excitedly.  ‘I didn’t know they were still making it.  The library only has through chapter sixteen.”

“I think there’s forty-two now,” Jay offers.  Lloyd gives him a look that’s halfway between horrified and delighted.  Jay can’t help but grin back.  He goes to say something else, but a sharp exhale nearby interrupts their moment.  

Two men are standing across the room, muttering and glaring alternatively at them.  No, at Lloyd.  One scowls at them and leaves, heading towards the front desk.

“We should go,” Lloyd says.  With great reluctance, he sets the comic back down and pats it into place.  “I don’t want you getting in trouble for me.”

It’s like that one tumblr post- and Jay will deny to the end that he has a tumblr- that’s like: ‘if somebody is more uncomfortable than me I am suddenly able to Do The Thing’.  “No, we just got here,” he says.  “We can’t leave yet.”

Lloyd looks obviously torn.  Jay sees the manager heading their way and makes the decision for him. Seizing his hand, he pulls Lloyd deeper into the store.  They speed-walk through the isles, ending up near the back.  

“They shouldn’t do that to you,” he says.  

Lloyd shrugs, eyes cast off to one side.  “It’s not like it’s anything new.”  

“Still,” Jay says, feeling his ears heat up.  The adrenaline of the moment has worn off, and now he’s feeling the embarrassment from his spontaneity.  “It’s not cool.”

Lloyd stares at him for several long seconds.  Jay squirms.  Lloyd looks like he wants to say something, but then his eyes slide past Jay and land on something behind him.

Lloyd’s entire face lights up.  “I thought they discontinued this years ago!”  He starts pawing through the container, making little mumbling comments and noises underneath his breath.  

Jay takes out his phone and surreptitiously sends a text to the group.  

bluejay: okay we are keeping him!!!

kaiguy: was that ever even an option?

-------------

The woman who opens the door for Cole and Zane looks… tired, for lack of a better way to put it.  Her hair is done up in a messy bun and there are dark circles under her eyes as she regards the pair of them warily.  

“Mrs. Garmadon?” asks Zane.

“Ms. Ito,” says the woman.  Her expression flattens the longer they stay silent.  “Look, if you’re looking to hassle me or Lloyd, it’s been a long day and-”

We’re some of Lloyd’s friends from school,” Cole blurts out.  He freezes the moment the words leave his mouth- interrupting someone?   Idiot, Mom taught you better than this - but the words themselves don’t feel false in his mouth.  They feel right, an unshakable truth like the laws of gravitation and motion, steady as the earth beneath his feet. He spares a look at Zane and finds the other nodding his agreement.

Lloyd’s mom, however, looks like she’s been slapped in the face.  ‘Friends?” she echoes, almost like she doesn’t believe them.  Which, as Cole reflects, shouldn’t be that surprising.  He’s seen the bullying at school firsthand.  A wave of regret knocks into him for all the times he’s stayed silent and watched- not participating, just not stepping in.  Never again, he swears to himself.  

While Cole’s been having this epiphany, Zane’s been barreling on ahead without him.  “Lloyd was harassed this morning in school,” he says primly.  “We want to build a structure of blankets for him in your apartment.”

Zane, Cole thinks, internally slapping his palm against his forehead.  

But Lloyd’s mom looks so grateful that Cole feels suddenly sick.  This woman has two complete strangers standing on her doorstep, practically demanding to be let in so they can destroy her house with pillows and blankets and loud teenagers.  She shouldn’t look like they’ve just saved her dog from a house fire.

“It’s really nothing,” he grits out.  “We just wanted to do something for him.”

He’s staring at the load of blankets in his arms, so he doesn’t see Lloyd’s mom move.  Suddenly, there are hands taking the pile from him.  Her face appears in front of his.  “It’s not nothing,” she says softly.  She doesn’t elaborate, but neither of them need her to.  “Come on in.  I’ll show you where everything is.”

------------

“Vegetable or Sriracha?’

“Does he like spicy things?”

Kai looks down at the two bags of chips in his hands.  “Both,” he decides.  “Both is good.”

Both their phones go off at the same time: Kai’s the default BorgPhone ringtone he’s never figured out how to change, Nya’s the Wilhelm Scream.  Nya digs hers out first.  “It’s Jay.”

Kai juggles the chips with the rest of the snacks in his arms.

jaybird: were almost done here

jaybird: well be at his house in like 20

jaybird: r u guys done yet?

do it for the vinyl: 👌

frozane: 😁 🥰 😚 😋 🤗 😇 🙃 😆 🤣 😘 🤪 🤩

Kai pockets his phone.  “Guess that’s our cue to go.”

They pay quickly and rush over to Lloyd’s house, using the address Cole had texted them all earlier.  

Kai hands off his bags to Zane, switching his shoes.  “Let’s see what you’ve done!”  He catches sight of the fort from the corner of his eye and his jaw drops.  “Woah.”

“Right?” Cole smirks.  

Kai’s too focused on the mass of colors and fabric swallowing up the living room, otherwise he would pick a fight.  He crawls through the entrance, a sheet hanging loose between two cushions.  

The fort is nearly tall enough to stand up in.  Cole and Zane have slung sheets from the lamp to the couch to a coat rack, using tape, clips and pillows to secure the blankets down.  A music stand supports the entire thing in the center.  Kai didn’t know that Lloyd took music, though maybe he should have expected it because, hello, Asian?  It seems like not knowing is a depressingly common thread running through all that they’ve been learning.

Kai squares his shoulders.  Nope.  Now’s not the time for beating himself up.  He’s just gonna do better, be better, from here on out.  

“Bring the snacks in already!” he hollers, sticking his head out the hole.  “Lloyd’s gonna be here any minute!”

Cole raises his eyebrow judgmentally, even as he passes him the bags of chips.  Nya has no such restraint and throws dried squid at his face.  

“Lloyd just texted to say he’s on his way,” Lloyd’s mom tells them from the kitchen entrance.  Kai thinks her expression is a mix of fear and awe, which is always a good reaction to one of Kai’s ideas.  

Kai can hear them now, feet thudding softly on the wood of the hallway through the thin walls.  They’re laughing at something- presumably a meme on Jay’s phone.  The dork has thousands of them.  Someone bangs against the door and then it swings open.  

“Hey, Mom,” Lloyd says, and Kai doesn’t think he’s ever heard him this happy.  The blond is switching his shoes, completely unaware of the spectacle behind him.  “Sorry that I’m late, we lost track of-”

He turns around and freezes.

“Surprise!” Kai shouts.  Behind Lloyd, Jay starts cheering.  Nya salutes him from her position sprawled on the couch and Cole and Zane wave at him from beside the fort.  

Lloyd’s mouth drops open.  “What?” he splutters.  “Wait, what’s going on?  What is all this?”

“Can’t we do something nice for our bro just ‘cause we feel like it?”  Kai crawls out and goes to him, slinging his arm across his shoulders.  

“Guys,” Lloyd says.  

To Kai’s horror, his eyes are wet around the corners.  Shoot, did they mess up?  “Don’t cry!” he yelps, voice cracking embarrassingly at the end.  “We’ll pick it all up, don’t worry!”

“No, no,” Lloyd says hurriedly.  “You did this for me?” he asks, awe in his voice. He glances around the room.  “All of you?”

“Of course,” Zane says.  “You are our friend.”

“We realized we’ve been a little lacking in that department,” Nya chimes in.  “So here’s us, making up for it!  We’re nowhere near done yet either,” she warns.  “Constant vigilance!”

Lloyd discreetly wipes his eyes.  “Thanks,” he says.  “I love a good threatening in my own living room.”

And for a moment, they all stay put in their places, grinning widely from Lloyd to each other.  Lloyd’s mom smiles softly, unseen, from where she stands in the kitchen.  

Kai grins.  The moment breaks.  “Well, don’t just stand there.  C’mon!  You’ve got to see what Cole and Zane did inside.”

[itmighthavebeenintentional]

Walk Me Home

Summary: Twenty-four years ago, Kimberly Harper met a boy who changed the course of her entire life before up and leaving one night. She spent years moving past the memories, building a stable, satisfying career as professor of folklore and mythology at the local university. Then the accidents start, and she’s forced to seek help among her hunter contacts. All it takes is a knock on her office door to send Kimber’s carefully built emotional walls crumbling to the ground.

Featuring: Teen Winchesters, high school romance, reunions, misunderstandings, high intensity emotional turmoil, Dean’s love of pie, Dean being adorable, Sam being adorable and maybe a bit nosy eventually, much group adorkable-ness, show-style investigation, mention of our favorite werewolf, gratuitous  love of fall, DID I MENTION ROMANCE, fluff, smut, tension. 

Warnings: Show level violence, show level parental neglect (let’s not John bash, I’m just saying), show-style witchcraft, show-level mental manipulation, stalking, bit of angst, sexual content (higher than show level),swearing, general yearning

Word Count: 3229

Author’s Note: Here we go, fam! New story, new adventures, new thrills and chills and feels! Who’s excited?!? This story was inspired by P!nk’s song “Walk Me Home”, which you should totes listen to (and watch the video, it’s so COOL) if you haven’t. This was a birthday present for @thoughtslikeaminefield​ , though I will admit it was a few...well, either days or years late, depending on how you look at it. I hope y’all enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it! SHE ALSO MADE THE IMAGE!! HOW GORGEOUS?!?!

Mega thanks to @mskathywriteswords​ , @fangirlxwritesx67​, and @cracksinthewalls​ for editing, revision, flailing, and generally knocking sense into me when I’m being stubborn. You all made this story way better than it started it, and I love you.

Keep in Mind: There are a lot of flashbacks. I tried to write current events in present tense and flashbacks in past tense. Here’s hoping I got everything right!

Please read/heed the warnings. 18+ ONLY. 

ItMightHaveBeenIntentional’s Masterlist

Chapter 1

A firm tap on the door of her office makes Kimberly’s head snap up. She blinks, her eyes unable to focus quickly after looking up from her computer screen. She remembers she’s wearing her reading glasses, and slips them off her nose, letting them dangle from the chain around her neck.

“Dr. Harper? Could I take a few minutes of your time?”

“Yes, I…” Her eyes finally focus on her visitor, and the room is suddenly devoid of oxygen. “Dean? Is it...really?”

“Kimber?” 

The astonished man framed in the doorway is a far cry from the brash, charming boy she met in a different life, but she’d know him anywhere. Time has been more than kind to Dean Winchester, and Kimberly has to admit some things really do get better with age.

Which is saying a lot, considering.

“God, no one’s called me that since high school.” She stands and takes a couple of measured steps around her desk. Seeing him unexpectedly like this after so much time leaves her physically and emotionally off-balance, but the smile she offers him is genuine. “You’re a helluva sight for sore eyes. It’s been a while.”

Dean recovers from his shock quickly, crossing the small room in a few quick strides, and sweeps her into a hug. She’s engulfed in his presence, not just his physical stature (she does not remember him being this tall or broad or...solid) but also the scent and feel that is absolutely Dean. She feels a shock of vertigo as memories and emotions she’d long laid to rest all vie for immediate attention.

It hits them simultaneously that they’ve embraced for a few moments longer than necessary, and they disentangle with sheepish smiles.

“What are...no, I’m sorry, I’m being rude. Have a seat!” A lop-sided smile pulls at Dean’s lips, and suddenly she’s seventeen again, trying desperately to keep her cool as she finally gets to talk to the handsome, mysterious new kid. Warmth floods every cell of her body, and she comes dangerously close to giggling. 

“Coffee?” she offers, forgetting most of her hard-earned vocabulary in the face of her teenage dream.

“Always.”

...

The last time she’d seen Dean Winchester, his father was burning holes in his elder son’s back from the driver’s seat of his precious Impala. He glowered at Dean and Kimber, impatiently drumming his fingers on the steering wheel as the teenagers stumbled through their good-byes. Dean’s younger brother sat, slump-shouldered and defeated in the back seat, resigned to yet another relocation.

“Don’t forget my number,” Kimberly murmured, her palms sliding over his jaw, fingers threading into his close-cropped hair, and they both knew she meant, “Don’t forget me.”

“I couldn’t if I tried, sweetheart,” he whispered, his voice breaking on the last word. He cleared his throat, trying to turn away before she could see any weakness.

“Don’t,” she said, holding his face firmly. “If this is all I get of you, don’t even take that much from me.”

Five blissful weeks they’d had before Dean’s father concluded his mysterious business in the area. Five weeks since she’d begun tutoring Dean in AP American History; an absolute sham, she had realized exactly five minutes into their first session. Dean may not have been caught up on the exact dates and details of what they were covering in class, but once he set eyes on the material, even she had a hard time keeping pace with his reasoning.

“Just wanted to talk to you alone,” he’d admitted that afternoon, his olive eyes sparkling. He flashed her what had to be an award-winning half-grin, showing a glimpse of perfect, dazzling white teeth and the merest touch of uncertain vulnerability. 

“Does that usually work on girls?” she asked, genuinely curious. He had to practice that expression in the mirror; it was too perfect to be natural. His face lit up as his smile spread, his cheeks gaining the faintest hint of pink. In that one moment, Kimber realized she’d lived her entire life under an overcast sky, and now the clouds had parted. His smile was the sun on her face for the first time, dazzling and vital, and she soaked it in with dizzy abandon.

“Why, is it working on you?”

“Yeah, it, um, it really is.”

They spent the next month or so getting to know each other as only kids can, when everything is new, the absolute pinnacle of priority and passion. They studied each other as fervently as they should have studied for midterms. Explaining how the Age of Enlightenment influenced the American Revolution was a complete waste of time next to finding out that the beautiful, smooth-talking, tough-as-nails Dean Winchester was actually ticklish.

Dean told her the most amazing stories, which she only learned were true after he and his family disappeared. She caught him up in history enough for the teacher to get off his back, and in return he showed her how to get rid of unwanted physical attention with minimal risk on her part.

Dean wasn’t her first kiss, but he wiped the memory of every other fumbling embrace from her mind with a searing permanence. Some nights they snuck out to the treehouse in her backyard, and some nights she snuck him into her room. He would never take her out to any of the famous local make-out spots, though; he said they were too dangerous and just begging for trouble. 

She knew better than to argue with him when he got “that look” on his face, spoke to her in “that tone.” It took many years and some hard experiences of her own, but she did eventually learn that he’d been protecting her from so much more than she ever could have understood at that point in her life.

She found herself in awe of the sheer amount of wisdom contained in such a carefree, often goofy package. That they were chronologically the same age, almost to the month, was irrelevant; Dean Winchester had lived far beyond his years, and it showed.

And then one night, he’d arrived on her doorstep in the middle of dinner, asked if she could come outside for a minute. When he told her he was leaving, she knew he wasn’t joking. He’d warned her it would happen this way, that he had no idea how long they’d be in town, but she’d always imagined that future as some vague, misty destination, like “graduation” or “college.” Definitely going to happen, but not anytime soon, so might as well relax and enjoy things while you could.

“I…” But she couldn’t say it, not yet. She wanted to, had read so many novels and seen all the movies. It was the thing to say, and half her friends had already proclaimed their hearts belonging to various celebrities and hot guys around school. But staring into Dean’s eyes, so much older than they should be, she knew better than to throw that word out so lightly, carelessly.

“Yeah,” he sighed. His eyelids dropped, shoulders heaved once, and when he met her gaze again, that smooth front of cool confidence had slid back in place. “I know, sweetheart. Me, too.”

He kissed her then, despite his father’s glowering, despite her parents’ astonished looks from between the living room curtains. His hands were tight on her waist, and she raised up on her toes, pulling his face just a little closer. 

They pulled apart after a long moment, eyes locked, and she kissed him one last time, chastely, savoring the plush of his velvet-soft lips against hers. 

Then she let him go, and he went. There was nothing else they could do.

She hugged herself against the chill autumn night, ignoring the first dashes of icy rain that stung her bare arms as she watched the black Impala turn a corner and disappear.

She didn’t see him again for nearly two and a half decades. When he knocked on her office door, asking for Dr. Harper, the years melted away. She felt the sting of the rain, the chill of the night he’d left, and for a long moment, all she could do was stare.

…

“How did you find me?” he asks. His fingers slip around the coffee mug she offers him, and she has to make a physical effort to keep her thoughts focused on the task at hand. Everything about Dean has aged so gracefully. She would be envious if she weren’t also granted the absolute gift of drinking in the sight of him. 

“I didn’t,” she says, “not exactly. I’ve been teaching mythology, folklore, and urban legends at the university for a long time now. You got me started on that, back in the day.” She offers him a small smile, hoping he understands she remembers all the stories he told her.

The grin he offers in return melts something in her chest that’s been rigid and frozen, deliberately separated from the rest of her emotions for most of her adult life, and she can’t breathe for a second.

“After you left town, I started digging a little. I looked into some of those stories you told me, some of the places you’d mentioned, and then some of the weird stuff that had been happening in the towns where you said your dad was working. I’m sure you know what I found,” she says, eyebrows raised. 

Dean’s lips purse as he considers her words. He opens his mouth, brows creased, but then he seems to change his mind. He takes a long drink of coffee, and when he lowers the mug his expression is once again neutral.

“Well, I stayed interested. Made a career out of it, somehow. And then people started coming to me, asking for help finding bits of information here, some lore or ancient knowledge there. Some were hunters, some scholars, but it kind of became my thing. I’d hear stories about you and your brother occasionally, Mr. FBI’s Most Wanted,” she adds, and he chokes a little on his swallow of coffee.

“Why didn’t you ever reach out?” He brushes stray droplets of coffee from his chin absently, and her eyes laser in on a particularly enticing drop on the corner of his mouth. His tongue flicks out, catching it before it falls, and her breath hitches.

“To be honest, I was too nervous,” she admits as he sets his mug on the coaster in front of him. For the first time in many years, old feelings of abandonment, inadequacy, rear their nasty little heads. She has to work to keep her tone even. 

“It’s been how long? I figured you’d forgotten all about me; I thought maybe I was just another conquest to you-”

“You were never a conquest to me, Kimber. You know that.” His jaw works in agitation as he frowns. Hurt and something else - guilt, maybe? - cross his face before his expression smooths out, replaced by a blank mask. “You should have known that.”

Doubt cartwheels through Kimber's mind, sending her thoughts reeling. Twenty-four years of thinking Dean Winchester had forgotten her are suddenly put into a new, alien perspective. She scrambles internally to regain her bearings, stunned in a way that only comes from a solid blow to one’s core beliefs. 

Despite her parting plea, he’d never called her, not once in all the years after, and she’d convinced herself she was just the girl of the month. She’d been angry for a long time, well into college, but bit by bit, she forced herself to shut away her feelings, ball them up into a tiny hollow in her chest where she could at least ignore them, and moved on.

Apparently, somehow, she’d been mistaken. 

“I’m sorry. I shouldn't have said that.”

He nods stiffly, sitting back in his chair a little, putting a touch more distance between them. He raises his hand for her to continue, his gesture abrupt, and she shrivels inside. She sees she’s offended him, but if she’s in the wrong, then why did he never call? 

“Dean, look, I shouldn’t have said conquest. That was insensitive of me, but from my perspective, what was I supposed to think? You say you won’t forget me, then you vanish into the night? What happened? Not even a single call to let me know you made it to your next stop alive?”

There’s another flash of pain, chased quickly from his eyes by what she’s pretty sure now is guilt. Exhaustion finally settles in, and he suddenly shows every one of the twenty-four years since he last saw her.

“Look, we’ve got a more immediate problem here, if the little bit Garth told me is true. Let’s…” he sighs, scrubbing his face tiredly with his hands. He steeples his fingers in front of his lips, coming to some sort of decision. 

“We can sit down and talk Memory Lane over some pie and coffee, but let’s get through this first. Now tell me what’s going on.”

As much as she wants to argue, force him to tell her exactly why he never reached out, she can tell he isn’t going to budge. 

“I...so...I wasn’t looking for you specifically,” she stumbles, “but I reached out to a former student of mine, Garth Fitzgerald, who I knew had been a hunter at one point and still had contacts. He said he would send someone my way, and then…”

“And then I showed up,” he finishes. His tone is efficient, economical, and all business. “Garth didn’t tell me much except his old professor was having some supernatural stalking issues. Gotta say,” he adds, and she is relieved to her bones to see the tiniest of crinkles by his eyes, “Sure didn’t picture you when Garth said ‘old professor.’ Figured I’d get Indiana Jones or his dad, maybe, but not...yeah.”

His attempt to add a little humor makes the wash of guilt and confusion in Kimber’s stomach even more uncomfortable. 

She fills him in on the details, odd accidents happening to the people she’s closest with at work, strange noises around her house at night, the ever increasing sense she’s being watched. 

“You talk to the police?” he asks.

She nods, letting her sour expression do most of the talking for her. “Went as well as it usually does. They didn’t even talk to my neighbors to see if anyone had seen anything. I had to do that.”

“Still, though. Doesn’t sound too supernatural to me,” he finally says, eyebrows furrowed. He isn’t dismissive, though; he stares hard at his coffee mug as he considers her story.

“Well, I guess you could explain away Helen’s fall down the stairs as a horrible but mundane accident. She could have tripped, but the people near her said she looked like she was pushed. Except no one was near enough to have done it.”

Now that she's getting over the shock of finding him on her doorstep, she remembers why he's there in the first place, and reality rushes back in. Kimber’s composure falters, but she does her level best to keep her voice steady.

“But Professor Lawrence was by himself in his office when his skin just started...boiling, not burning. I don’t care what the police report says. And Allen Simpson didn’t actually want to staple his hand to his dissertation, I promise you. He had just talked with me about one of his sources over coffee an hour before...before…”

Her throat closes as the whole nasty scene flashes before her eyes. She’d found him in the grad student workroom after following the sounds of his anguished howls, and there was just so much blood. She’d heard stories from the hunters she’d worked with, read her own share of horrific incidents, but to see it first hand…

“And sometimes, when I walk home at night, there’s...I’ve never seen anything, but I hear footsteps. Always behind me, and there’s no one there, but I know there isn’t anywhere for them to hide, whoever they are. I can feel them just...watching me. Even at home, a couple of times, when I should be absolutely alone, all my blinds and drapes closed. Once when I was making dinner, and once when I was...showering, and...Dean, it’s...I don’t understand.”

She takes in a stuttering breath and dashes at her eyes with the back of her wrist. Her hand drops limply to the desk as she stares at the glossy surface, finally allowing herself to feel the full depth of her fears.

“I’ve researched, tried to figure it out on my own. It shows all the classic signs of witches, but there’s been no evidence of a coven in town before now. I suppose a new one could have moved in, but I haven’t found any evidence so far. No one suspicious hanging around that I’ve noticed.”

Breathe, she reminds herself sharply. 

“I checked back through as much of my notes as I could find on the hunters I’ve helped with witch cases. I checked in with anyone who had an open case or hadn’t called me back to let me know how their hunts went. Nobody had anything helpful to tell me.”

Silence stretches between them, both waiting for the other to say something, anything. Kimber cracks first.

“Dean, I’m no hunter. I’ve worked it as much as I can from the research end, and I just...I need help. Please.”

Dean’s hand settles atop hers, its warm weight an echo of familiarity, and she swallows hard against the rising bile in her throat. She meets his eyes, and his gaze is malachite.

“We’re gonna figure this out. I know you. You say this sucker’s a witch, I say bring me that bucket of water, Dorothy. We’ll get this fucker, I promise.”

That secret spot in her chest brightens, warms by another degree or two, and she nods her gratitude. “Thank you. So much. Now...it’s been a long day, and I’m kind of beat. Could I invite you over for dinner without it being too weird?”

He squeezes her hand before releasing it with a roll of his eyes. “I can behave myself, if that’s what you’re getting at. I’m not feral, Kimber.”

“You’re not exactly tame, either,” she says, softening the words with a half-smile as she stands. She swings her jacket on, and he mirrors her actions. She shuts down her computer while he waits in the hall, looking up and down the corridor.

“I’ll need to do a full sweep of your office and check the scenes of the accidents,” he says as she pulls the door shut behind them and locks it. “Who all has keys to the professors’ offices?”

“Just the cleaning staff and the department secretary, and the professors themselves,” she says. “I can’t think of anyone else who would.” 

He nods, pursing his lips. Suddenly, a smile lights his entire face and he sweeps into a ridiculous bow before popping up and offering her his arm. The years dissolve in an instant, and he’s that seventeen-year-old boy again, still too old for his age but trying so desperately to hang on to that carefree spirit, holding his elbow in her direction after slinging her backpack over his shoulder.

“Walk you home, milady?”

“I would be honored, good sir.” ...

Chapter 2

[nc7dr3am]

LILY INSTAGRAM STORY Q&A

“hello my loves!! let’s chat~~”

TAGLIST (lmk if u wanna join! it’s for all of my lily verse content, even the other oc blogs): @aqueenieme​ @moonbeamsung​​ @atinygracie @jinsoulorbitzen12​ @btshook

“how are you tonight? could we have a tmi?”

i am very sleepy. i’ll be going to bed soon, actually.. for the tmi... i’ve had three coffees today

“lily!! read any good books lately?”

YES!! i am reading ‘to live’ by yu hua and it’s very .. thought-provoking, i suppose. i’m reading it in chinese, as well, to practice. mila and evie help me occasionally if i need it. please read it!!

“nct siren!!! i’m so excited- can you tell us about hyeyoung and evie?”

i’m excited too~~!! hyeyoungie unnie is very talented at dance and singing. she is a kind and caring unnie, and she calls me her baby. she is one of my very best friends, and i rely on her a lot. evie is also extremely talented, and her voice is very unique. she is a really cool unnie and plays with me a lot. she is also one of my best friends. i love them so much🥺

i know you all will love them- support them, okay? they deserves the world.

“how is the dorm these days? honey and mr. darcy are PRECIOUS... but isn’t jeno allergic?”

yes, jeno is allergic, but you all know that won’t stop him from cuddling them .. dummie. but at least mr. darcy is hypoallergenic! honey sheds quite a bit, though .. also, i’ve actually recently moved out of the dream dorms

“GIRL WHERE DO YOU LIVE NOW?? IS JIMIN NA FOR THE STREETS??”

LMAOO I NEEDED THIS BABE HAH jimin na is too much of a lil wimp for the streets. but! i live with my nct siren members now! i love it!! it was hard to say goodbye to my dreamies, but i literally see them constantly anyway

“have you been resting enough? i love your solo and your promotions but i hope you’re eating and sleeping well :((“

thank you for caring, babe!! don’t worry though, i’m okay. i appreciate your kindness more than you know.

“lily babe what smells do you associate with the dreamies? and siren?”

*answered on ten different instagram story posts, one for each member*

oh my god there’s so many of them .. mila is definitely oranges and green tea. she uses green tea lotion, but the smells just remind me of her as a person since this is what we’re basing it on

i know we’re not really doing LITERAL scents, but hyeyoung unnie uses this givenchy perfume, l’interdit. it smells floral, but with spice. she reminds me of clean laundry and roses.

evie unnie is like paint. she’s an artist, so when i smell paint, i think of her. and champagne!! floral scents remind me of her as well, but bright floral scents, not the soft ones like hyeyoung. and rain. mixed bag

jaemin oppa reminds me of clean but slightly floral smells. i think if i had to pick a smell for him, it’d be this one aloe and rose toning spray i have. lavender is also a good one for him. calming smells

jeno oppa is like a soap? yknow just the regular body soap with no added scent? it still smells good and it’s just nice and familiar. also, like when something is baking in the oven on an early morning.

fullsun is like if you’re walking somewhere nice and catch a scent of some nearby flowers and freshy cut grass. the way summer days smelled when i was a child. i also would choose honeysuckle for him

renjun oppa is like a forest? he also reminds me of the smell of books, or paper. i’d also pick a beach, but on a cloudy day and there aren’t many people around and the air. he’s like nature

jisung reminds me of the summer nights smell where you have a bonfire. do you all know what i mean? i dunno, it just fits him! and he’s like a nice fresh smell. maybe like when the air smells colder.

chenle reminds me of a pool and i don’t know how to explain that. on another note, mint. he always has a bit of a minty smell in person, too, so that’s probably why. also cologne because he has a lot of it

mark oppa really reminds me of just... that comfortable home smell? and candles? i think amber and cashmere too... those warm, comfy scents. laundry and clean hair. nice smells. he doesn’t wear cologne btw but he always smells nice

“if you can’t talk right now and are doing hot girl shit, what are you doing?”

deadass just rewatching the twilight saga

“should i get a sugar daddy”

i feel like i will get in trouble for answering this

“me love you long tim”

who’s long tim

“do you also still use l’interdit for your perfume?”

OKAY so i use it every now and then!! it’s hyeyoung’s signature smell, and i liked it so sometimes i switch it up and use that. my regular perfume is amazing grace bu philosophy. i’ve used it every day for years

“do you watch crack videos? ily”

ily too!! +yes and i ENJOY THEM it’s very much my sense of humor. johnny irritated me when he only laughed a little. i also watch edits you all make of me >:) i see a lot of czennies posts.

and yes that should scare you

“do the kitties get along with beetle? and are there any other pets in the siren dorms?”

our pets get along pretty well. honey was very hostile at first, but she got used to mr. darcy pretty quickly and they’re best friends. the cats are indifferent to beetle but sometimes they cuddle. and there’s not anymore pets yet!! well, mila has a goldfish too- she just got him and his name is bird.

“bestie i would drink your spit”

i KNOW you didn’t think i would see/respond but i’m built different

“jimin my love what should i do if my ex is trying to get back with me? he kinda broke my heart nd cheated but i still have feelings :(”

um babe he is a FLOP for breaking your heart nd a FLOP for cheating. please don’t get back with his bum ass. idc if it’s harsh- no excuse for cheating. if you trust someone with your heart and they cheat, you know they’re not to be trusted with them again. stay strong bub- i believe in you!

“lily babe your solo was beautiful shskdhs can we expect more solo/lily-written things soon?”

okay i. cannot maybe should not say anything but uh .. LOL

“jimin may i please have your hand in marriage”

okay so i definitely scrolled your account, i definitely think you are beautiful, and i am definitely in love now. also i accidentally liked an old photo gosh i seem creepy i am so sorry

but basically she said yes

“who have you texted most recently?”

*the photo for this story is the cats*

i feel like you wanted to hear a member or one of my friends but i was texting in a group chat with me and my parents. i sent them this picture of my cats, and i also told them i miss them

“ma’am what are your favorite shows”

favorite show of all time is euphoria! i also love the end of the fucking world, joe pera talks with you, the office, seinfeld, i’m now very into steven universe!!!”

“cat girl?”

maid costume is better

“what did u get johnny and jisung for their birthdays!!?”

OO yes!! he loves hats a lot so i got him a balenciaga cap. he really loved it. i also made a decorated corkboard with pictures of our members having fun. i put string lights around the frame and put pretty things on it with evie’s help

johhny is hard to get presents for because he buys whatever he wants. i ended up getting him a pair of vetements slides and a bottle of wine i know he likes. 

also!! i got seulgi unnie and i matching bracelets <3

“why is no one talking about the fact that her favorite show is euphoria oh my GOD”

hhhhhh it’s literally art. the best show i have ever seen in my entire life. a few of the other members have watched it, as well, but evie is also really into it. it made hyeyoung cry the whole time.

“favorite food and song right now? i love you you’re so precious”

i love you more, darling!! food is gyoza, but i really love all dumplings right now. my favorite song at the moment is lovely day by bill withers

“STEVEN UNIVERSE OMG tag siren as the crystal gems”

OKAY hyeyoung is def pearl, shes our mom. mila is garnet, for obvious reasons. i’m steven :D

and evie is amethyst but my mind also is saying greg universe so do with that what you will

“answer 100% honestly there’s a gun to your head who is your favorite member”

NOT JOHNNY

“will you flirt with me queen”

no problem baby :) your recent is fine as hell i’ll be in your dm’s waiting

“are you in love”

how can i not be when i am living on the same planet as you

“girl don’t be shy send us hand pics”

GUYS-

“do you have any western artists you’d like to collab with?”

it’s britney, bitch

“i really hope the dating rumors with renjun didn’t but strain on your friendship :(”

okay i actually really wanna address this because a lot of y’all have been saying this stuff, but it didn’t mess up anything. we’re adults now, we’ve known each other for years, and none of us are stupid- including the other guys. we know there will be rumors about us, it’s fairly obvious, but nothing will ever change the fact that we are all best friends, and nothing more. i’m so, so grateful for all of you that were kind, and believed me us when we told the truth. renjun and i, once again, for the people in my dm’s and asks, are not, and never were, dating. our friendship is as strong as ever, babes. 

it’s time for me to goooo, i’m sleepy! goodnight, petals! see you soon~~

[unsafepin]

Optical Illusions: A Study of Aesthetics in Activism in Two Accounts

There’s been a particular thing bothering me about social media for a while. I should probably get a cool editing app, write it in a few bullet points and post it on Instagram. You know what I’m talking about, right? The goddamn infographics. If I have to sit through another slideshow explaining to me another military conflict, another societal issue, another existential unfairness on a baby pink background in a cheery font, I might combust. But the cognitive dissonance of aesthetics in activism has been a problem for a while, hasn’t it? So today, I want to examine the effect of focusing on aesthetics over content, or, on the flipside, not considering the optics of your activism enough, and what it does to the consumer of your content by picking apart two local activist-adjacent media projects, Tetraedras and Giljožinios.

Firstly, I want to make my own bias abundantly clear. I am personally acquainted with the teams of both projects, so obviously there will be innate personal bias involved. I highly encourage anyone reading to check both projects out themselves (@t3traedras and @giljozinios on Instagram, as well as Giljožinios’ YouTube channel) and make their own conclusions on the matter. I believe that while my familiarity breeds deeper knowledge of my subjects, it also makes me more vulnerable to assumptions about individuals involved. My insights come from the perspective of an observer, not an expert. Welcome to the circus.

The use of the word “optics” in a metaphorical political sense sprung up in the 1970s to describe the way major political decisions would not necessarily affect an average citizen, but how it would appear to them, e.g. 'U.S. President Barack Obama temporized for weeks, worrying about the optics of waging war in another Arab state after the Iraq fiasco' (Toronto Star, 19th March 2011). However, it’s become increasingly relevant in our age of social media, an age of perceptions over substance, of shortening attention spans and increased barrage of information one has to stomach daily. Social media is the great equalizer - a random person off the street can theoretically hold as much influence as a politician - thus it is becoming increasingly crucial for the average Joe posting on the countless apps owned by Facebook to be as familiar with PR terms as a firm with a six figure salary. Or at least that would be nice, seeing that more and more average Joes are becoming actively involved in politics and education, seeking to influence their newfound audience.

So, let’s see how successful average people with no media or politics degrees are at balancing their image. Both Tetraedras and Giljožinios lean into their 2010’s social media project optics: millennial pink themes, bold names, young teams. But that’s where the similarities end. Tetraedras’ brand is safety. The shades of color on the profile are calming, the illustrations are youthful and playful, their more serious posts are interspersed with more relaxing content (poetry, photoshoots, etc.). Giljožinios is confrontational. The colors electric, posts loud and to the point, they’re what it says on the box - a leftist project - and unapologetic about it. This might help to explain why audiences react as differently as they do to these two, on the surface, similar accounts. Because while you might’ve stumbled on Tetraedras organically while browsing, them having almost two thousand followers, Giljožinios crashed into the educational/political social media scene by being featured on the goddamn national news, that’s how controversial the project is. And obviously I am oversimplifying the issue, Tetraedras slowly built up to posting more opinionated content, while Giljožinios came in guns blazing accusing USA of imperialism, but you’ll have to let me explain. Tetraedras, in its essence, is a welcoming environment. They explain complicated problems in short bullet points with accompanying comforting visuals, their mascot is a inoffensive geometrical figure and their face is a beautiful girl, make-up matching the theme of the post. Giljožinios is named after a revolutionary device, their profile picture is a monarch being beheaded, their host quite infamously sat in front of Che Guevara memorabilia in their first and (as of writing) only video. It’s a lightning rod for angry comments by baby boomers, no matter what comes out of their mouth. In fact, I would argue that, if presented accordingly, the idea that the US is conducting a kind of modern imperialism is just a simple fact and personally can’t wait until Tetraedras posts that with a quirky illustration of Joe Biden to introduce the concept to the wider public.

This leads me to my next point, because despite what’s been previously suggested, I’m not here to solely sing Giljožinios’ praise. There is a cognitive dissonance in both of these flavors of social media activism, but while I can understand Tetraedras’ on a PR level, I’m kind of personally insulted by Giljožinios’. While purely personally I find aspects of Giljožinios’ radicalism distasteful, I appreciate the honesty in the youthful maximalism, of coming in strong and not backing down, but from the guys that made a communist Christmas tree once I almost expected something more stirring than “military industrial complex bad”. This leads me to ask: who is your content for? Your average breadtube-savvy twenty-something already heard this a thousand times, because they consume similar english-speaking content and I doubt any minds of the vatniks that came by to fume in the comment section are being changed. I’m obviously harking on a newborn project here, the team of which has already been bitten by authorities censoring their content, but so far there has been a lot of optical bark, but no substantial bite, especially considering the team seems to be in a safer place now. And the inverse is true for Tetraedras, while I can understand wanting to be visually interesting yet inoffensive, their visuals are sometimes laughably, morbidly light for the topics they discuss Sexily posing in Britney Spears-inspired outfits while discussing the horrors of her conservatorship springs to mind (funny how Britney’s conservatorship leads her to have next to none bodily autonomy, including her public costume choices). And, once again, your target audience is teenagers. They understand English, they’ve seen the news, they don’t need you to translate infographics filled with statistics and information that’s locally completely irrelevant. There needs to be some kind of middle ground between aesthetic cohesion and common sense, because this all signals to the viewer that the content is meant to be mindlessly consumed first and to educate second.

Which leads me to ponder what kind of consumption accounts like these encourage, which will surely lead me to an early grave as I drink away the existential dread of how social media rots all of our brains. Because yes, actually, producing funky visuals to convey an idea way too complicated for an Instagram post is fun. I myself got distracted multiple times during writing to make the first slide for my own post. Meta, I know. This is obviously more of a problem for Tetraedras, who seem to fervently resist injecting their content with a few more paragraphs and a tad more nuance, but even with Giljožinios choosing a more appropriate long-form format to educate, I still pray everyday they don’t get lost in the revolutionary reputation their group built up and forget to make a point, not just talking points.

Because what all this all inevitably leads to is misinforming the public. Again, this seems to be less of a problem for Giljožinios, as the amount of critical eyeballs they have on them leads to them being corrected on every incorrect numerical figure and grammatical mistake, I just hope all this harassment, once again, doesn’t get them all caught up in the optics of a revolution against all the Facebook boomers and forgetting to do their due diligence to the truth. As far as I know, the only factual mistake is miscalculating how much Lituania invests in NATO and there’s still a historical debate in their comment section about the existence of a CIA prison in Lithuania, if anyone’s concerned. Tetraedras, however, is safe. And safe content goes down just like a sugar-coated pill, you don’t even feel the need to fact-check it. And fact-checking is what it sorely requires, or else you’re left with implying that boxing causes men to become rapists and citing statistics of every country except the one in which, you know, me, the team and the absolute majority of their followers live in.

So what’s my goddamn point? Burn your phone and go live in the woods, always. But in the context of this essay, if you are a content creator that aims to educate, inform, incite, whatever, you need to put aesthetics on the backburner. And, more importantly, we as consumers need to stop tolerating content that puts being either pretty or inflammatory first instead of whatever message it’s trying to send, because the supply follows where the demand goes. Read books, watch long-form content made by experts, not teenagers on the internet chasing followers out of not even malicious intent, but almost a knee-jerk reaction. Because while the story of those two accounts cuts especially deep, expectations for local-, even friend-made content being much higher than that for some corporate accounts shooting their shot at activism, the problem is entrenched deep, thousands of accounts exhibiting the same problems racking up millions upon millions of followers. Having said that, my attention span is barely long enough to read the essays I write myself, so maybe do burn your phone and go live in the woods.

Also, pink is actually my brand so both of these accounts are being contacted by my lawyers and the rest of you don’t try any shit.

[sandalaris]

SethKate for the 10 sentence meme?

one sentence per genre for a pairing

How can anyone do any of these with just one sentence?! At least I tried.... there’s a lot of run on sentences in this, btw, although after a few I just decided the one sentence rule could shove it and went with keeping each one short, and at least one I said screw it and made it pretty long for a one-sentence story.

1. Angst

A shadow self, that’s what Amaru called them, the ones she twisted and turned and brought forth from the other side, and logically Kate knows he had no choice, knows he did what he had to do to save Richie and her and the world, but logic has no hold in the face of screaming gaping wound in her chest that pulses and weeps grief and guilt when she looks at Seth’s face. It’s a cruel and ugly twist of fate, to still love the man who killed her brother.

A/N: A mild AU I will never write (but have thought about what would happen before) in which Amaru did her shadow-self thing on Scott and Seth is forced to kill him.

2. AU

There’s nothing wrong with the school itself, she decides, even if she does find some of its rules and traditions a bit odd. She wouldn’t even need to be here except Our Lady of Sorrow holds the only duel credit program with both an opening in Statistics and Intro to Psych that was willing to let Kate in given her... unusual circumstances (being homeschooled, a devout Baptist, and technically enrolled at a local public high school - a PE credit apparently requires a bit more than her daddy and the internet can provide - had her sure that even applying was a lost cause). She only has to spend half a day on campus and only one of her classes is even near the annex building so she hardly sees Seth (she refuses to call him “Mr. Gecko” on principle. She’s only somewhat a student here, and he is certainly not her teacher, even if he is a teacher.. she thinks).

She’s counting the weeks until the semester ends.

A/N: I would love to read this as a full fic... just not sure I want to write it, lol. 

3. Crack

No. Nuh-uh. No way. Seth is not some pansy assed prince charming setting out on a quest or one of those glory seeking wannabe knights who graduate from the Fairytale Training Academy, and he’s certainly never wanted to be anyone’s goddamn hero, so little miss damsel in distress, who’s probably some secret lost princess because Seth’s read this tale before and he hated it the first time around, can save her sob story for some other guy because he is absolutely not-

“Please.”

...fuck.

A/N: A reluctant Seth who is entirely too aware of fairy tale tropes and trying everything he can not to be in a one? Way more amusing than it should be to me.

4. Future fic

Seth eyes the group of sparkly wrapped boxes sitting on the counter with distrust, part of him already counting their numbers and trying to figure out how many have his name on them. After last year, when Seth managed to sneak a peek at every single last gift and “ruined the surprise,” Kate had managed to hide every Christmas present so well he’d begun to wonder if she’d decided he didn’t get any this year.

He reaches for a small, shiny box, the tag just peeking out from the curly bow and revealing a “th” in a familiar loopy penmanship, when Kate suddenly hisses behind him.

“Don’t even think about it.”

A/N: “Future” makes me think domestic fic (at least in FDtD), and that’s not an area I’m real familiar with, so *waves hand* this is what you get. :P

5. First Time

Her hands are shaking. Not visibly, but enough to make her fingers feel weak and the gun in her grip far too dangerous.

“You ready?”

She doesn’t know if she’s imagining the doubt in Seth’s voice, regret bleeding through at agreeing for her to play a bigger role, but she nods firmly anyways, tightening her grip and stepping forward.

A/N: Kate’s first heist... although I doubt Seth let her use a gun the first time. Too dangerous in the hands of an amateur. And I’m pretty sure Seth kept Kate’s role as danger-free and background as he could, because she was still fighting so hard to be considered an equal partner at the beginning of S2.

6. Fluff

She’s just managed to settle into the perfect spot when the bed shifts slightly behind her and a familiar hand fumbles sleepily at her arm and over her stomach before finding the hollow dip of her waist. Kate lets out a half-hearted protest, bits of warmth escaping at the blanket slips down and the sheet bunching beneath her as Seth wastes no time tugging her across the mattress, the sound dying into a soft laugh as he tucks her half under him and grumbles wordlessly against her temple without even opening his eyes. She shifts, tugging the corner of the pillow down a bit so its not digging into her neck before letting out a happy sigh. Perfect.

7. Humor (I had a hard time with this one, so I just wrote something random)

Kate makes a noise of frustration, pushing herself from her chair and snapping, “I’m gonna die a virgin. Again!”

“You know,” Richie says with far too much brotherly glee, “if you’re looking for someone to-”

“Shut up, Richard!”

8. Hurt/Comfort (another one where I didn’t exactly want to go full hurt/comfort, so instead I went Hurt? As in injury? Yeah, lets go with that.)

“Ohgodohgodohgod.” She can’t seem to stop the litany of words, repeated phrase cycling through her mind as she presses harder. There’s blood, so much blood, seeping red and too thick through her fingers that she can’t even feel the pain.

She should feel it, she thinks, she did before. Or maybe its better that she can’t, she doesn’t want a repeat of the well.

She takes another step, seeing the door just a few steps away. There are people beyond it, Seth and Richie’s people (Seth’s going to be so pissed, she thinks with a kind of worrying detachment.) It’s a simple goal: get to the door. Everything will be alright if she can just get to the door.

A/N: Kate is totally OK in this. It’s bad, but not as bad as she thinks, and while she doesn’t make it to the door before collapsing, someone comes through really quickly and sees her.

9. Smut  Hand holding?

The leather is soft against his skin, well worn from years of near continuous use and Kate’s dedicated care. He remembers when she first got them, the fancy looking box with its folded tissue paper holding them inside like they were a gift. He had hated them, hated the way they covered Kate’s small, deadly hands, the way Dad expected for her to be grateful, how necessary they were.

He slides his hand up, pad of his thumb brushing over the expensive leather covering her palm before it presses against the soft, vulnerable skin of her inner wrist, and he swears for a moment her can feel the nervous flutter of her pulse before he curls his fingers to lock around her wrist.

She looks at him, an amused quirk of to the edge of her lips as he raises her hand between them and he meets her gaze, not bothering to measure the redness of her eyes as he reaches his free hand up to pinch the fabric just above her pinkie.

“What’re yo-” She cuts off with a choked gasp when he tugs, but doesn’t jerk back. He’s inexplicably proud of her for it.

Her eyes are wide and a little panicked, bottom lip trapped between her teeth as she watches him tug at the top of each finger, loosening the well-fitting glove until it sits loose on her small hand.

He takes in a shaky breath, feeling unaccountably nervous as he grips the empty tip of the glove’s middle finger, like he’s removing far more than just a simple bit of leather. But then again, maybe he is. After all, Kate’s almost never lets any of them see her without her gloves, not willingly.

He pauses at the thought, gaze flicking away from his task to look at Kate. He regrets it almost immediately. He wasn’t going to stop once he started, wasn’t going to give Kate cause to think he held any of the fear she’s convinced he must feel. But maybe she sees the question in his eyes, or feel it in the sure way he holds her wrist because she nods, small and hesitant but there. He pulls the glove the rest of the way off and lets it fall to the floor.

He lets out a breath just as Kate seems to suck one in, her gaze locked on her bare fingers and Seth loosens his grip, fingers already turning so he can run the flat of his palm up her wrist, forearm pressing against forearm as his hand aligns with hers.

He’s grinning, sudden and full of too much smug satisfaction if Kate’s affectionate eye roll is anything to go by, but Seth doesn’t care, already lacing their fingers together so he can hold her hand proper for once.

A/N: This is part of a tUA inspired AU that has no plot and therefore will never be written. But I know exactly what Kate and Seth’s abilities are, which is part of why this is such a thing for Kate here and why Seth feels her fears are unfounded.

10. UST (Unresolved Sexual Tension)

She doesn’t blink, barely seems to be breathing, holding herself so carefully behind her desk, straight backed and fingers laced together as she stares stubbornly up at him. He smiles, slow and measured and knowing, letting his gaze sweep over the cardigan she’s begun buttoning all the way up since he joined her little class, before leaning close, meeting her gaze and dropping his voice low, like a secret between them.

“And what do I get if I get it right?”

A/N: Seth goes back to school to get his GED, Ms. Fuller is not what he was expecting. I actually had a whole scene playing through my head for this, because I like build up, and it was really hard to pick just a small part to put here.

None of these are edited, despite how long it took to post, meaning I have mixed feelings on them, lol. I think I like more of them than I expected to, so yay!

[howwelldoyouknowyourmoon]

Testimony of Ingo Michehl – assault by Japanese leader caused lung collapse

▲ Camp K, Macaama Hills

• This testimony has been very lightly edited to improve clarity.

STATEMENT ABOUT MY EXPERIENCE WITH CARP, THE STUDENT BRANCH OF SUN MYUNG MOON’S UNIFICATION CHURCH

How I joined

In October 1986, after completing my high school back home in Germany, I decided to travel the United States for three weeks to evaluate universities and to visit my host family in Auburn, California, where I had been an exchange student for 1 year in 1982. After visiting them, I went to San Francisco to meet with one of my “host sisters”, and to then move on to Yosemite, Southern California, Florida and finally back home. (I had a “Welcome America” ticket which gave me four flights in the U.S.)

Having just arrived in San Francisco by Greyhound, I went to Powell and Market Streets to observe the famous turning of the cable cars. As I was standing there looking around, I was approached by two Japanese “students” (though as I found out later they were not students), one of them being a woman in her thirties by the name of Hitomi Kanepa, who, since her husband left the Unification Church, has resumed her maiden name Saito. She is most likely at the present still at the Unification Theological Seminary in Barrytown, New York. She and her companion, Yoshihisa (I believe his last name is Nozawa), smiled at me with a bright and loving smile which rendered me completely unsuspecting, and when they invited me for a “a cup of tea” at their “international student club”. I, considering myself an international student, accepted their invitation.

▲ Powell Street, San Francisco

I was impressed by the luxurious location of this student club in a marble-walled office building, as well as by the people who seemed very energetic, bright, intelligent and ... international. Steve Greene, a British man in his thirties, said that he had been involved in this student organization for about seven years doing volunteer work as a staff member. His altruistic ambition impressed me. He gave me a short lecture about the principles of “CARP” – their vision to unite students from all over based on the idea that truth is universal. Then I was invited to dinner at the “Bush Street Center”, where all of the participants were shown a slide show about a beautiful workshop site [north of Santa Rosa], Camp K (now known as Maacama Hills), with many obviously excited, joyful young people of all nationalities. After dinner we sat together in small groups of 3 or 4. After joining CARP I learned that these groups were composed of 2 or 3 members and one “newcomer” – for the purpose of pushing the guest to go to workshop that night.

We were encouraged to join the workshop to meet international people, to exchange ideas and learn about this exciting new vision. Having been to many music, exchange-program and school-related workshops, I consented to sign up for a 7-day workshop, although it meant altering my travel plans. The high energy at the center, as well as my having been somewhat lonely after traveling by myself for about 10 days, dispelled any doubts regarding this apparently harmless opportunity.

At no point was I told that this was part of Rev. Moon’s Unification Church, a religious organization, and that the purpose of the workshop was to recruit me as a full-time member of CARP, to serve the rest of my life for an average of 18 to 20 hours a day to further the cause of establishing a totalitarian theocracy under the leadership of the self-declared Messiah Sun Myung Moon.

I come from a well-protected, stable family background in Germany. My dad is an engineer, my mom is a loving housewife. I have never seen an illegal drug with my own eyes. I was rather naive and utterly unprepared for this kind of subtle and “loving” manipulation. Also, I had broken up with a girlfriend in Germany not too long before, which had left my heart shattered and vulnerable, starving for love.

In the camp, I was overwhelmed with the love I was shown by members. Everyone was serving each other, surprising each other with little “love bombs” (tokens of one’s affections such as secret notes of affirmation, etc.). I was to believe that is the ideal world family of true love – and I did. I did not notice that I was being isolated from the outside world. The schedule was rigidly regimented, including precise wake-up time, two 2-hour lectures in the morning, specific sports and game times in the afternoon, followed by two to three more lectures, sometimes until 8, 9 or even 10 PM at night. Having had a major in German and English literature in my German high school, and being by nature interested in philosophy and truth, I did not find it odd that we were being bombarded with all this one-sided information. In retrospect, however, this procedure reminds me much of the “thought reform techniques” used on American prisoners in North Korea who were indoctrinated with communism and turned against their own country and its values by the communist regime during the Korean War.

I was deprived of information from the outside world as a frame of reference. And also the location of the workshop was in a remote area, there was no TV, no newspapers and telephone calls were only possible after getting permission and were highly discouraged.

I soon found myself fascinated and entangled with the doctrine, feeling compelled to stay by the message that upon continuous repetition I had unconsciously come to accept. I was unable to overcome the fear I had been indoctrinated with, i.e. the fear of betraying God and of being invaded and destroyed by satan if I left this “heavenly fortress” (or “bootcamp”) that, I had come to believe, protected me.

The fear I had been “injected” with, and my desire to serve God, were from then on often used to manipulate my decisions, to eliminate choices which did not serve the group’s purposes – thus undermining my own freedom of choice.

My leaders in California, including Mr. Aokie (regional director), Myra Stanaecki, and a woman named Jossenta, upon learning that I was scheduled to begin my civil service (the mandatory substitute for military service) in Germany by December 1, 1986, had a meeting, and rather than advising me to return home, told me that ... “I should decide.” Since I had accepted their teaching, choosing the option of returning would have been equal to betraying God and committing spiritual suicide. As a freshly committed new member I would never opt for this choice – and they knew and relied on it.

All attempts by my father to reach me and to warn me, as well as to pressure the leadership of CARP to send me home to attend to my obligation in Germany, were blocked. Most of his messages did not get through to me. My father has kept all the records of phone calls with leaders in California, such as those to the people named above and to Tom Frohlich, which were kept secret from me. I was blocked from all negative information, and at the same time I was being programmed against my parents – that satan was using them to pull me out of the movement, to destroy my eternal spiritual life. My group leader at that time during 40-day actionizing) was Myra. She one day told me that my Dad had called and that I should call him back. But she also prepared me, saying that he might be very negative about the movement, and that my mother and brothers might also respond very emotionally and negatively against the movement – which is a normal form of persecution, since satan does not want us to do God’s Will. I did not believe my parents would not believe me that this is a legitimate group – but to my shock her “prophesy” proved 100% correct – which of course reinforced my faith in her judgment. I was numbed to the pain of my family and friends regarding my decision to evade the draft (which made me an outlaw in Germany) and to stay with the group in America.

After the 7 day workshop it was expected that I would stay for the “formula course”: 21 day workshop, followed by 40-day actionizing, then for 3 ½ years of MFT (Mobile Fundraising Team – soliciting funds for the group by selling products such as “laser etchings”which were pictures engraved on aluminum foil), then 3 ½ years of witnessing ... and then the rest of my life serving the group’s purposes in much the same ways. Of course I was “free to go (or run away)” – and betray God and True Parents!

Apart from inducing me to violate the law in my home country, I was also asked to join the MFT team and to break the American law by selling products without a permit, traveling from state to state, and soon to become an illegal alien when my visa expired. I was not the only illegal alien CARP entertained, working without wages for 18 to 22 hours per day, making an average of $200 to $300 per day. Most of the team members were foreigners (predominantly Japanese and European travelers who had been recruited during their vacations much as I had been.)

All 11 of us slept in a Ford van. We travelled at night and fundraised during the day. We heard of a few other teams who had serious accidents with even some people getting killed because “the driver had been invaded by satan”. What that usually meant was that the driver had fallen asleep behind the wheel. I met several members with severe health problems due to such accidents. And the medical care for them – as later for me when I developed back-problems due to carrying my 25 pound backpack day in and day out – was insufficient, if provided at all. How much more effective is it to have slaves working for you that don’t need ‘physical’ chains?!

Other illegal activities we were led to engage in through our leaders were such things as sleeping with 5 or 10 people in a one person bedroom (without paying the extra amount), sneaking into state parks to sleep there, use the showers and leave before they would open so we would not have to pay. All this was justified because according to Rev. Moon’s teaching, the end justifies the means – and we were working and living to help America and the World.

Rev. Moon himself once stated, upon being asked about “white lies” by a member, “If you tell a lie to make a person better, then that is not a sin. ... Even God tells lies very often.” [Master Speaks: Rowlane Farmhouse, England, 1974] This may account for the practice of “heavenly deception” we were taught in order to accomplish the group’s goals. So when I later went to recruit new converts, I likewise hid the true identity of the group – “for the better of the newcomer” who would otherwise not join. The end justifies the means.

Another example of “Reverse Psychology”: My last leader, Mr. Tetsuo Yoshizumi in Chicago, once came to me after my not having completely followed one of his instructions. He stuck a few hundred dollars into my shirt pocket, pushed me and yelled “I don’t want you in my center any more! You are satan! Go back to Germany – with satan! NOW! Pack your stuff and GET OUT!”

I was shocked! If I obeyed his command I would be committing “spiritual suicide” We had been taught that upon leaving the church satan would invade us completely, he would destroy our family, cause us to become insane or die because of some horrible accident. At meetings we would continuously hear testimonies from leaders about members who would not “unite” with their leaders (called CF’s or Central Figures).

One story the regional director of Chicago, Rev. Hong, one of Mr. Moon’s first disciples, told us was that upon disuniting with his directions, a member’s child had just been born without any ears. Another disobedient member had developed cancer – satan’s punishment.

What would you have done in my situation if you had been indoctrinated with all these very real fears? Well, some part of me was rebellious, saying “OK! If all my work is not enough, and you really want me to leave – I’ll go!” However, another part of me, which was dominated by fear, guilt and low self-esteem which my leader had beaten into me (verbally as well as physically), was stronger. Consequently I lowered my head and said, “I repent! I’m sorry! I’ll never do it again!” But that was not enough! He wouldn’t accept it, telling me with an ice cold voice that I was insincere and arrogant – until I cried. Only after what seemed like an agonizing eternity he showed “mercy” and accepted my repentance “one last time! The next time you know what will happen!” He gave me a fasting condition (I believe it was a three day water-fast. At other times it had been 40 hours or even seven days of fasting to repent and separate from satan.

Another time I was just about to do my two hours of prayer conditions which would be finished at about 2 AM – when he told me through his assistant that I had to add another two hour repentance prayer because of some goal I had not accomplished. He added with emphasis that if I “failed”, that is if I fell asleep for even one minute, I would have to do it over again until I succeeded. So, feeling almost dead, I finished at 4 AM that night – only to rise as usual at 6:20 AM for the standard morning service, during which we would be expected to pray with a loud voice. He would listen, and if our prayer was not deep or loud enough, he would rebuke us and make us do it over again.

Perhaps due to my exceptionally high fundraising average, I “graduated” early from MFT, and was sent to Chicago at the beginning of 1989 to witness, that is to recruit new members, at the University of Illinois at Chicago (UIC). After flying to Germany for a very short time to get a new visa, I was enrolled in language school so I could get a student visa. Although I had been promised that I would be able to study, I was later only allowed to enroll at a junior college to take easy, non-time consuming classes in order to maintain my visa. I was made to feel guilty for even spending this time of studying “for myself”, instead of my “public mission”. I was not allowed to pursue a degree, and finally I had to drop school when my leader felt I was spending too much time there.

Each of the foreign CARP members had mailed in 200 applications for the green card lottery, and I had won a green card. Yet, because my German passport had expired and I could not get a new one without returning to Germany, my leader, Mr. Yoshizumi, forbid me to go, saying that I had made some “bad condition” again. It was more likely he knew that I would have to deal with the German government which was still looking for me since I evaded the draft, and that would mean my parents and friends might eventually have gotten a hold of me.

This happened in the spring of 1992. During my stay in Chicago I had to visit a chiropractor for a while because of the severe back problems I had developed during MFT – which I am still struggling with today. Again I was made feel guilty for “wasting public time” and “enjoying the massages while brothers and sisters were working so hard for God’s Providence”. I stopped going. Besides witnessing all day and preparing lectures until 2 AM during the week, I still had to fundraise each weekend, selling pictures from Friday to Saturday. Also I had to sell flowers each Holiday, regardless of the temperature. On Thanksgiving, Christmas and New Year’s Eve our flowers, the water in which they were standing became frozen solid. It’s amazing to me that despite the insufficient clothing we only got stiff faces and extremities instead of frost bite. The wind in Chicago gets VERY cold. Since I was a top fundraiser I was fortunate enough to have my own vehicle in which I hid when the weather got too terrible.

On New Year’s ’93 I was “blitzing”, selling flowers bar to bar in Chicago with my Central Figure who was driving the van. He dropped me off at different locations. I could not go back until I had sold out both buckets of flowers that remained – which took me until 4 AM. I remember the empty and sad feeling walking out of a bar I had just gotten kicked out of when I heard the popping of champagne bottles and joyful congratulations when the clock turned to 12 AM and the new year began. I walked outside and ... cried. I felt so lonely and homesick, full of despair and crushed. But as so often I caught myself and redetermined to accomplish my goal ... for God and True Parents. After all, I was sacrificing myself for the sake of the world.

How I left

Having been in Chicago for over three years, I was still having a very difficult time with my leader, Mr. Yoshizumi. I often could not understand his broken English and because I still included my own ideas in trying to accomplish his directions. I could not “deny myself completely” and I still had a spark of self-esteem left, which to him was arrogance. The weekend of Easter ’93, April 9-11, I again had to sell flowers on my usual pitch in South Chicago Heights. However, on Easter Sunday I also had to travel to Quincy, IL, about 6 hours Southwest of Chicago, to conduct a meeting for the network marketing mission I was pioneering. I had planned it several weeks ahead, but the night before, my leader told me that I could only go if I sold out all my flowers except for $20 or $30. So I “blitzed” the bars until about 4:30 AM Sunday morning, trying to sell my last few bunches. Knowing that I had to be in Quincy by 1 PM I stopped, because I knew that I needed at the very least 2 hours of sleep to be able to drive the 6 hours non-stop. So I distributed the last few bunches to the other team members’ buckets, took a nap from about 5 to 7 pm and left. I conducted the meeting in Quincy, slept for about an hour there and returned late at night – only to get up at 6:20 again the next morning, Monday.

As I was washing up after morning service, Mr. Yoshizumi suddenly was standing in the bathroom. He scolded me for disobeying his orders. “WHY did you disobey my order? I TOLD you you could only leave if you sold all flowers! But you distributed some to the other members!” He hit me and pushed me twice. Each time I fell with my back against a sharp, protruding corner of the bathroom wall. I was devastated, too weak and tired to even think. I was angry inside but I pushed it aside. I blocked it out of my mind. It was simply too much to take. Again I had to fast and repent. A day or two later I could hardly walk or breathe because of intense chest pain. Each step hurt tremendously, even each bump in the road I hit while driving the car. But I had to continue to make my appointments and fulfill my mission.

As my pain got worse and I began to feel cold and miserable, I called a Filipino doctor friend of mine, Dr. Juliet Dumlao, whom I had become acquainted with while fundraising. As I described my symptoms to her over the phone, she was very worried and said I should go to a hospital immediately because I might have had a heart attack. At the time I did not connect my symptoms at all with being pushed against the wall. I couldn’t do that, I replied (because of my mission work), so she ordered me with a doctor’s authority to at least go to bed. I said OK – but knowing my leader I did not do so until 10 PM, after finishing the most important tasks. Nevertheless, when he learned of my early return he ordered me to his office. I said I could not come because I was having cold sweat and I was very weak, but his assistant, Mr. Yone, insisted. So I dragged myself to his room and explained my pain and my conversation with the doctor. He was furious. “How come you are so incredibly selfish? You don’t care about our spiritual children you are killing every day (which meant that I couldn’t “save” or convert them through my lectures) – but you call a doctor for yourself!” He yelled and screamed at me but I was so sick I could only stand there and receive it. When he finally felt it was enough he graciously permitted me to rest some the next day.

All this was still not enough to make me leave, since my commitment was not to any person, but to God and the truth. I could only leave if I came to believe that the Divine Principle, the teaching of the Unification Church, was not the truth, and that Rev. Moon was not the Messiah. Thank God, this lifesaving information was finally supplied by a Christian engineering student at the UIC campus. I met him when I was distributing flyers, and on our first appointment on April 20th and in following meetings he pointed out to me that the DP is in clear contradiction to the Bible. Finally I came to realize that the DP could not be the truth, since, because we believed in the Bible as a revelation from God, He cannot contradict himself with a later revelation.

I left on Mother’s Day, May 9th, after selling out over $2,000 of roses as my last commitment to the church. Lesly, whom I had informed about my intention to leave and had asked for a place to stay, was able to oblige, so I stayed with him for a few days. However, because I was still coughing, we went to the Lawndale Christian Health Center in Chicago. I was worried that I might have picked up a tuberculosis virus. The test turned out negative, but when the doctor did an x-ray, he noticed that my left lung was collapsed to almost 20%, which was at the border of being fatal. He said, if I was lucky it would reinflate by itself, but if it had been more than 20%, I could have died. Puzzled about the cause he asked if I had had any trauma to my back recently. At first I denied this, but when he illustrated his hypothesis, I realized that I had indeed received a trauma injury recently, which I had completely blocked out of my mind. It was the incident in the bathroom when my leader had pushed me!

Since the incident had already happened almost a month previous, the deflation may well have been over 20% at the time. He said that I should wait for about 10 days. If it did not reinflate by itself by that time, he would need to introduce a hose through the back to suck the air out and reinflate the lung. I was terrified, but fortunately it DID reinflate.

Back in Germany, the prosecution against me was still under way, but thanks to indescribable efforts on part of my dad, the government finally dropped the draft and I only had to pay a $1,500 fine ... on top of the approximately $15,000 to $20,000 my dad had spent in lawyer’s expenses and phone calls, etc.!

Summary of some of the unethical practices I experienced during my time in CARP/the Unification Church:

a) Fraud – The deceptive, manipulative tactics of recruitment, including mind control, used to get and keep me in the group and the hiding of the true identity and religious nature of the group. This cost me the loss of seven of the most important years of my life, during which I could neither get a proper education nor earn any money for my future family.

b) Assault, personal injury and mental cruelty – such as the bathroom incident, etc.

c) Health problems as consequence of rigorous fundraising requirements: back problems (lower back pain, worsened scoliosis), extreme tension headaches, sleep disturbances. I almost died after my pneumo thorax condition because, like several other members I know of, I was forbidden to see a doctor.

People involved:

Tetsuo Yoshizumi 
(my leader in CARP who assaulted me)
 Unification Theological Seminary
, 10 Dock Road, 
Barrytown, NY 12507
 (his last address; I was instructed to use his name to do the network marketing business)

Jim McAuley, M.D. (the doctor who examined me)
 Lawndale Christian Health Center
 3860 W. Ogden Ave.
, Chicago, IL 60623


Juliet M. Dumlao, M.D. (the Filipino doctor)
 1159 Westgate
, Oak Park, IL 60301


Note 1. I still have the copies of my X-rays which show the partial lung collapse, and the doctor at the Christian health center, as well as Dr. Dumlao should be able to verify my claims. (Dr. Dumlao was the doctor I first called when I could hardly walk due to the pain in my chest – a day after the incident where I was pushed against the wall.)

Note 2. The “Women’s Federation for World Peace” is founded and headed by Mrs. Hak Ja Han Moon, Mr. Sun Myung Moon’s wife. Although to the public it is declared as being “separate” from the Unification Church, inside the group it is viewed as the same. It is a means through which to recruit new members and gain public respect. According to speeches of Mr. Moon it is OK to lie to the public because “the end justifies the means.” A practice known as “Heavenly Deception.”

____________________________________

Ingo Michehl has a website:

Introduction: http://minet.org/www.trancenet.net/moonism/intro.shtml

Unificationism/Moonism
: A Threat to Democracy, Freedom ... and Families http://minet.org/www.trancenet.net/moonism/index.shtml

"Blessing" ceremony in Washington, DC http://minet.org/www.trancenet.net/moonism/wedding.shtml

Deutsche Seiten http://minet.org/www.trancenet.net/moonism/deutsch2.shtml

He has many other pages which can be explored.

____________________________________

Moonwebs by Josh Freed (the book was made into a movie)

Video: Ticket to Heaven movie

Barbara Underwood and the Oakland Moonies

Mitchell was lucky – he got away from the Unification Church

My Time with the Oakland Family Moonies – by Peter from New Zealand

Crazy for God: The nightmare of cult life by Christopher Edwards

Ford Greene – the former Moonie became an attorney

Papasan Choi and Boonville’s Japanese origins

[kitsutaes]

pluto protector

pairing: taehyung x reader

genre: fluff, coming of age-ish, bffs2lovers!, astrophysicist!reader, & artist!taehyung

word count: 2.6k

rating: pg-13 i guess

warnings: none

a/n: this is inspired by rex orange county’s song pluto projector, a song i love so so much. also this fic is split up into small parts & it focuses more on tae’s and reader’s small but important moments together !! i hope you like it even though it isn’t too heavily edited. p.s. thank you teresa / @sketchguk for looking this over !! you da best !!

summary: you and taehyung have been in the same galaxy, orbiting one another for as long as you could remember. but as time passes, gravity pulls you in closer and closer, ready for the two of you to collide.

Kim Taehyung was your protector. Just at the age of nine, Kim Taehyung held your hand as the two of you ran around the playground, feet hitting the wood chips that spewed around. His disheveled chocolate brown hair bounced around as he ran, eyes bright as he turned around to look at you. He had a goofy smile plastered on his face, exuberant as any nine year old at the park with his best friend should be.

“___! Let’s go on the swirly slide!” Taehyung yells, pointing at the bright red slide ahead. The playground near your neighborhood was huge since it was already part of an already massive park. While the park had its own variety of plants and wildlife, the playground consisted of slides, swings, monkey bars, and corkscrew climbers that allowed you to climb up and slide down like you were going down a fireman’s pole; only round and round instead of sliding straight down.

“Okay, but only if we go on the monkey bars next Tae!” You respond, swinging your arm that held his hand. Your eyes matched his, bright and bubbly. Taehyung nodded as the two of you climbed the blue steps that led to the big red swirly slide.

“You first or me?” Taehyung asks, letting go of you hand to grasp the yellow metal bars on the sides of the red slide. You roll your eyes, seeing his mischievous grin, basically telling you he was he was ready to go first.

“You.”

Sticking out your tongue at him, Taehyung takes off, gravity pulling him down until his sneakers hit the ground. He turns around, motioning for you to slide down.

“C’mon ___!” Taehyung calls from below. His arms are crossed as he waits for you to come down. You nod, your own hands gripping the metal bars Taehyung previously held onto as you’re seated on the bright red plastic. Letting go, you slide down, feeling parts of your hair stick up to the underside of the slide.

Taehyung’s eyes widen as he knows what’s coming next. You’re up and off of the slide, ready to chase him and zap him with your finger charged with static.

“___! Come and get me!” Taehyung giggles running off to the opposite side of the playground to avoid getting shocked. You’re right behind him, but you trip on your own foot, falling onto the wood chips.

Instead of a smile, you’ve got a pout on your face. Eyes turning red, brimming with tears, ready to cry. Taehyung’s looking back at you with a worried expression, heels turning around as he’s running back towards you.

“Tae!” You cry as his arms are helping you up, feet standing upright once again. His hands are gripping onto yours, leading you back to where your parents were.

“It’s okay ___, I’ve got you.”

At the age of twelve, Kim Taehyung was still your protector. Although you ended up with different teachers and classes, the two of you didn’t drift apart like most friends did as they entered middle school. Most kids ended up finding new friends, groups, cliques–forgetting and leaving the friendships they made when they were just a few years younger. But, you and Taehyung weren’t like most kids. The two of you stayed together in gravity’s grasp, never leaving the solar system you shared.

Just like always, after school, Taehyung came over to do homework with you since you shared the same subjects. His green backpack would be plopped onto your carpeted floor right beside yours, colored pencils and papers almost spilling out of them.

“You had to read The Monkey’s Paw too?” You ask turning around in your seat, nose scrunching at the thought of the story Mrs. Tang read to your class today that gave you the chills. It was a story written by W.W. Jacobs that just had to be a part of your English class’s “Poetry and Short Stories” unit and you couldn’t wait for it to be over.

Taehyung was seated on your bed while you were seated at your desk. Taehyung looks up from his math homework, nodding at you. 

“Yeah, I kinda liked it.” He says, giving you a small shrug as you shudder.

“It was creepy!”

Taehyung laughs at your expression, your face showing that you were totally repulsed that he slightly enjoyed the supernatural short story that was required to be read in every 7th grade class.

“Just a little bit,” he responds as he looks down at his homework, “I bet you’re enjoying science right now though.”

Taehyung was 100% correct, you were loving science this week. This week’s unit was about space and that was something you held close to your heart. There was just something about the universe, galaxies, protostars, and planets that intrigued you to no limit. You wanted to be like Neil deGrasse Tyson and Carl Sagan, exploring the vast universe full of the unknown. Just last year it was announced that Pluto would no longer be considered a planet and just that, broke your heart to pieces; Taehyung was there to witness it. Your love for the little planet was undying, feeling as if it deserved much more appreciation just like Neptune and Jupiter. In your eyes, Pluto was something special.

“Yes, oh my gosh! We get to make a presentation of a planet of our choice, and I’m still picking Pluto. I don’t care what Mr. Peterson says.” You scoff, a determined look gracing your face as you turn back around in your seat.

In that very moment, in Taehyung’s eyes, you were something special.

Graduation had finally fallen upon you. After days of graduation practice, you were finally here; sitting in the risers, that was placed on the fifty-yard line of the football field, clothed in your graduation gown that possessed one of your school’s colors. The night had overtaken the sunny skies, leaving you and your fellow classmates and friends underneath the shining stars as well as the bright stadium lights your school used for all sorts of events.

Your parents were in the stands, most likely with Taehyung’s family, along with other parents and family members of graduating high school seniors with their phones and cameras taking pictures to capture this once in a lifetime moment.

You didn’t graduate a valedictorian or salutatorian, but at least you made it until the end. It may pain some to hear it but grades aren’t everything. Despite getting kids into higher level colleges, grades don’t and can’t define a person, you learned that the hard way. High school’s about learning about yourself and the people you surround yourself with. Are they real friends? Do they talk about you behind your back? To you, it’s about exploration, finding the people who fit you well and help you shine brighter like the stars, and hopefully avoiding space debris that just get in the way.

Taehyung’s seated a few rows above you with only a few people separating the two of you, meaning you’re still able to make faces at each other, winking and scrunching your noses while the ceremony proceeds.

He looks great, handsome even. Dark locks trimmed just for this special event, since his mom made him. His bright eyes are shining even brighter with the reflection of the stadium lights as you peer up to look at him. 

Seeing him like this, you realize how grown up he looks. Despite only being eighteen, the Kim Taehyung sitting a few seats away from you definitely does not look like the Kim Taehyung you met in 3rd grade. That Taehyung you met years ago is still somewhat the same as the Taehyung now, but just older, more mature–not mature, but more. It makes you realize how time flies, because it literally just seemed like yesterday where Taehyung first moved in a couple houses down from yours. Your neighborhood was full of elderly people, so when you found out a kid your age had just moved into town, you were ecstatic. Ecstatic to the point where you bugged your mother to take you to meet your new neighbors.

You smile to yourself as you look away, eyes reaching the stars that you were always fond of. 

This was a moment you hoped you would remember forever.

“I felt like gouging my eyes out.”

Taehyung’s eyes roll at your complaint. You just came out of your physics class with Mr. Garcia’s lecture picking at your brains during the entire hour and a half. You and Jungkook (the only person you knew in that class) walked out looking as if your souls had left your body; even though that was exactly what happened. The two of you part ways with a tired wave as he had another class to attend. 

Taehyung had been waiting for you since his class finished a few minutes before yours. He was nose deep into a book when you find him sitting on a bench just outside your building. His bright blue hair made him easy to spot anywhere. He made you dye his hair before the semester started, insisting on trying a brand new look.

Before the two of you graduated high school, you’d done college applications. You’d gotten into one of your dream colleges, opening the acceptance letter in front of Taehyung and your parents. Taehyung on the other hand, didn’t tell you what college he got into until after the graduation ceremony. It led to you punching his arm while exuding tears of happiness. Now, at the age of 21, you’re spending your time attending classes, studying for exams, while downing cups of coffee during breaks with your best friend.

“Seriously ___, your fault for wanting to be an astrophysics major.” Taehyung scoffs, wrapping an arm around your shoulder as the two of you head off to one of the coffee shops you and Taehyung frequent the most. Fortunately it was close, just a couple blocks away.

Smacking his arm away, you frown. “You say that every single time.”

“I’m just stating facts.” Taehyung shrugs, wrapping an arm around you again, and this time you don’t fight it.

Your own arm wraps around his waist, gripping onto a part of his coat. Taehyung, even though you didn’t want to admit it to anyone else but yourself, made you feel safe. Whenever he’d scoop you up into his arms for a hug, or just had his arm around you as you two walked down the street, it made you feel loved. Knowing that someone cares in this world full of fortunate and unfortunate events, is one of the greatest feelings in this world. 

“I wish I was still in astrology 101 or 102, learning about the stars, black holes, and the Milky Way,” You say, grinning cheekily at the man beside you. “—not the chocolate.”

“I literally wasn’t even going to say that.”

“Liar.” You snort, nudging his side with your elbow. The two of you have reached your destination, ready for caffeine that you’re desperate for. Taehyung’s arm has left your shoulder, a certain warmth departing with him, as he opens the door for you like the gentleman he’s always been.

“What do you want?” He asks as you both reach the cashier and glass display case showing an ever so wonderful variety of pastries to eat with an already amazing cup of coffee.

Peering through the glass you see some newly added goods, alongside the usual but you already have your order in mind.

“I’ll have a macchiato and some madeleines please,” You say to the woman manning the cashier with a soft smile, while taking out your wallet from the small pocket of your backpack. Taehyung’s hand stops you, handing his own credit card to the lady who grins cheekily at the two of you. She was around maybe thirty years old.

“Tae—”

“And I’ll have a hot chocolate please.” Taehyung’s lips are pursed, nodding his head as she repeats your order.

“You guys are a really cute couple by the way,” She smiles, handing Taehyung back his card along with the receipt while you’re left standing there staring at him with wide eyes as he thanks her for the compliment.

At the age of 24, you’d think you would have plenty of things figured out. You don’t.

But at this age, you’ve learned that things really aren’t constant in the world, and that everything’s prone to change. Although somehow, there’s one thing in your life that hasn’t really changed.

“Tae, where are we going?” You whine, head leaning on the car window. Taehyung had just picked you up from work, a long day of work, and all you wanted to do was go home.

You and Taehyung had been dating for awhile now, after he admitted his long time feelings for you when he took you to his studio and painted you your favorite planet in the Milky Way. His feelings for you were returned, having loved him ever since you were kids as well. Now, he spends most of his time at your apartment as if you two shared it; not like he didn’t do that before already. 

“___, you’ve asked me that 5 times already and I told you that it’s a secret.” He says, turning his head towards you for a moment before looking back on the road. You don’t see it, but he’s sporting a small smile on his face. Taehyung’s been waiting to show you this secret of his for quite some time.

Your head isn’t leaning on the window anymore as you recognize where you’re headed to. “Wait, we’re going to your studio?” The road to Taehyung’s art studio is one that isn’t too familiar but isn’t unknown as well.

After a few more minutes of driving and parallel parking (which actually doesn’t take Taehyung long to do it) you’re already standing in his studio, gazing at his works of art.

“Tae, these are incredible.”

While you’re gaping at his paintings, Taehyung’s laughing at your reaction to his creations. This is the first time in a long time you’ve visited his studio, and the first time in a long time that he’s shared his pieces with you. While you’re studying about outer space and the secrets of the universe, Taehyung’s in his studio painting his heart out whenever he wasn’t busy.

Whenever he was in the mood to paint, he’d enter this zone, totally blocking out anything and everything, letting his passion for the arts take over. Sometimes when he’d pick you up to have a cup of coffee or when he’d come over to have dinner at your apartment, he’d have paint marks all over his hands and occasionally his face. 

Like you with your science idols, Taehyung admired plenty of incredible artists who worked with various mediums like, Claude Monet, Keith Haring, and especially Vincent Van Gogh. Taehyung had this affinity for Van Gogh’s artworks that even he couldn’t fully explain why he loved them so much.

“Wait until you see this,” Taehyung says, reaching towards one of the canvases he had stacked and leaning on the side of his wall.

You’re so immersed into some of his other paintings you don’t realize he’s right beside you, ready to reveal one of his latest pieces. Taehyung loved to experiment with different mediums, always trying to find his niche. You noticed even though he painted a variety of things, he loved to paint scenery. You could feel yourself getting absorbed into his creations full of lush greens and calming sunsets, fluffy clouds, and sometimes quite the opposite.

“___,” Taehyung nudges you, poking your cheek to get your attention and it definitely works. You’re turning your head, eyes catching a painting of Pluto that looks exactly like the real deal, as if you’re seeing the planet with your own eyes.

“I love you ___. As much as you love this little planet and as many light years it would take to reach other universes out there.”

[embeanwrites]

Finding Home Gavin Reed x Reader

Chapter 19

Masterlist

There had been a pit of nervous energy in my stomach since I had woken up this morning, my first day of class. I was on autopilot as I got ready, I was stuck in my head worrying about how class would go. While brushing my teeth, spit had dripped down my chin all over the black shirt I was going to wear. It took five minutes for me to find my purse, which was just sitting on the edge of the couch. 

By the time I got to my office, I had bitten down all my fingernails and was worrying at the skin around them. I skipped lunch, half because of my stomach and half because I just spaced it. I had been writing some emails, having sent out my syllabus the night before I couldn’t really edit that anymore. 

With an hour left till class and nothing to do, I just paced around my office, writing a little script for myself for how I would start class and introduce myself, muttering the words under my breath. I knew in my head that I was prepared, that there was a very good chance that class would be fine, but it felt like I was forgetting something important.

The past week or so Gavin and I had hung out a decent amount. We spent the first two days of his suspension playing with his cats, going out and getting food, and watching movies. I got him to watch Into the Spider-Verse and he made me watch Robocop in retaliation. Though we didn’t really pay attention to the movies, too busy cuddling and making out. It was easy being with him, but I didn’t know how to make the next move, I didn't want to make him uncomfortable like I had the night of the fight with my dad. So I resolved to let him take it there, but he never did. Since his suspension ended, we’ve avoided meeting at the DPD since I’m not ready to talk to my dad. Gavin hasn’t mentioned anything about him or Connor. I hadn’t heard from Connor either. I’ve talked to Tina a bit. When I told her Gavin and I were dating, she flipped out. Even though Gavin was already invited to the wedding she keeps insisting I should ask him to be my “plus one”.

I was interrupted from my thoughts by three short knocks on my office door. I stopped pacing and looked up, it was Nines.

“Nines! How have you been?” He walked in slowly, staying close to the door.

“I have been well. Chris and I wrapped up the android black-market case.” I nodded. “I have come to ask you a favor.”

“Of course, what’s up?” I sat on my desk and waited for him to continue.

“I believe Lieutenant Anderson has been under extra stress since your fight and Connor is worried it may be affecting his health and work performance.” Nines paused. “Connor wanted me to ask you if you’d stop by tonight to talk with both of them.”

“Why isn’t he asking me?”

“He was unable to get away from the Lieutenant without raising suspicion.”

“Why didn’t he text or call?”

“We both found you would be more likely to comply if one of us talked to you in person instead of over the phone.” I groaned and started rubbing my temples.

“Does Gavin know about this?” He nodded. “Okay, what time?”

“Connor and the Lieutenant should arrive home around 6 tonight. I should be returning to the DPD.”

“Alright, Nines. Thanks for stopping by.” He walked out of my office and I sighed again. Great now not only was I anxious for my class, but now I had the possibility of a fight to worry about. I got my phone out of my skirt pocket, which just this morning Gavin had made fun of me for texting him about how great this skirt was. Looking at my phone I saw I had new texts from Tina and Gavin.

 Good luck today!!!! I love you!!!!

 Love you too, T! Lock up some bad guys today!

  good luck pipsqueak teach them assholes some stuff

 Thanks, Gav! Although I doubt all of them are assholes…

 …babe its detroit

 I laughed and put my phone away, grabbed my bag, and headed to the lecture hall. Since I was going to class early, I took the long way around campus. Admiring how full it was compared to this summer. It felt nice. I’ve always loved being on college campuses, they feel more alive than anywhere else.

My class was located in the General Lectures building on the first floor. I checked my phone, I had about 20 minutes before the class right before ours would be out of the classroom. I stood nervously by the door. There were a few students sitting on the ground on their phones. I decided to text Gavin.

 I’m 20 minutes early

 lol y

 I got too nervous! Nines stopped by and threw off my rhythm

 ur rhythm of pacing???

 Go call someone else out lol. Did you know about Nines asking me to go to my dad’s tonight?

 yea

 I don’t want to go.

 but u told him yes

 I’m going, it doesn’t mean I want too.

 i guess

hey almost a crime scene text me after ur class

 Will do, be safe

 I shoved my phone back in my pocket and took my backpack off, kneeling down I started double checking I had everything.

“Flash drive, class list, pen, hard copy of syllabus.” I mumbled. Students were starting to exit the classroom. I peered through the door and saw the professor was logging off the computer. She was taller than me, with tan skin, long brown hair, and she was wearing a nice summer dress. I walked in and over to the podium and front desk and smiled at the other professor.

“I’m Dr. (L/n), it’s nice to meet you!”

“I’m Dr. Morrison.” She smiled and we shook hands.

“What class are you teaching?”

“Classical literature. You’re the new sociology professor, right?”

“That’s me!” I laughed nervously. “I actually have a minor in classical studies, those were some of my favorite classes in undergrad.” She smiled.

“I’m glad someone else sees the importance.” She continued packing up. “You can go ahead and log in if you want.” I nodded and started getting ready. Most of her students had left and a few students filed in, most sitting in the back. The classroom was tiered, which I hated. It was nice to be able to see everyone’s faces, but these types of classrooms always made me feel so small. “Well, I’ll see you Thursday, good luck!”

“Thank you! See you Thursday!” I turned on the projector, got my slides up, and tested the remote. I looked over at my class list, I was expecting about 50 students and so far there were about 35. Which isn’t bad considering class didn’t start for another ten minutes. I looked around the front of the classroom. I had a podium and a small table at the front of the classroom. I walked over and moved the table, so I’d be able to sit on it and still see the projector screen. I walked back to the podium and got out my phone and hid it behind the desktop. I made sure my phone wouldn’t go off while I was teaching, and I did a last-minute check for text messages. I smiled.

 Good luck, you’re going to be amazing!

 Thank you, Connor.

 I checked the time and took a deep breath and walked out from behind the podium.

“Hi everyone, I’m Dr. (L/n) and welcome to SOC 345: Human and Android relationships. First day agenda,” I clicked the remote to get the slide show going and sat on the table. “I’m going to tell you guys a little about me, our goal for the semester, and what you can expect from this course. We do have the classroom for an hour and fifteen minutes, but I highly doubt we will need all of that time.

“As I said I’m Dr. (L/n). I’m new to WSU. I received my doctorate at (dream/school). A little about me…I really like cats and I was born in Detroit. I enjoy old movies and I’ll probably try to weave some into the class. I’ve been studying android and human relationships before deviancy was known about and I’ve spent most of my life dedicated to this subject. I was recruited by WSU to write an extensive report about the android revolution.

“I’m aware many of you were in Detroit during the revolution and I know you may have some feelings towards what happened whether it be negative or positive. I want you to all know that I firmly believe androids are alive and deserve to be equal to humans. My classroom will be run on that basis. This isn’t a class to debate that, but rather a chance to use a sociological lens to see what led to the revolution, what happened during the revolution, and what the future may hold for both groups.

“This is my first class at WSU, but not my first class I’ve taught. So far in the syllabus I’ve decided that we will have two tests, one in 6 weeks and another in 12. Instead of a final exam we’ll be doing a final project. By project I really want to leave it up to you. You can write a paper, give a presentation, or anything else you want as long as it hits all the points of the rubric. I should have that posted in a couple months.

“Are there any questions about the course I can answer right now?” I looked around. A blonde young man in the front row raised his hand.

“There’s some days on the syllabus that are blank, what does that mean?”

“Those are days I have blocked off for possible speakers to come to the class. Those days will be optional, but if you come and participate you can get up to five points of extra credit on your lowest test for each day. My hope is to have at least two days of guest speakers.” A dark-haired young woman in the back raised her hand and I pointed at her.

“There’s no textbook listed, is that right?”

“Yes! I was a student too and textbook prices are ridiculous. For the most part nearly all the material will come from my lectures, but occasionally there may be a paper you have to read. Those papers will be posted online. Attendance is really important in this class. I have no plans to post my lectures, but if you come to my office, you’re more than welcome to look over the slides.

“Oh! Before I forget there is going to be one assignment, I wanted to tell you guys about it. So, before every class I would like someone to research a topic related to what we’re talking about or something in the news that has to do with androids and humans and bring it for discussion. On Thursday we’ll make the order and talk more about the assignment, but you really just need to read one article and tell the class the issue and then we’ll talk about it.” I looked at the clock. We still had 30 minutes. “Are there any more questions?” No one moved. “Well, I’ll stay here for about 15 minutes if anyone has any other questions, but other than that I’ll see you all on Thursday! Have a great rest of your day!”

The students quickly packed up and started leaving. No one stopped to talk to me, which I get there’s not a lot to talk about. I took out my phone and sent Gavin a text.

 Talked to fast and ended 30 minutes early lol

 He didn’t respond which made sense, since he was definitely still at a crime scene. I looked up and a young woman was nervously shuffling in front of the podium.

“Hi! How can I help you?”

“Hi Dr (L/n), I’m Lisa Turner. I just wanted to introduce myself and let you know I’m really looking forward to your class.” I beamed at the nervous girl.

“Hi Lisa! I’m glad you’re excited! Please feel free to come to my office hours anytime you want to discuss…well anything! I’ve done a lot of research that we won’t be able to cover in class and I love getting to know my students!” She smiled softly.

“Okay, umm…I’ll see you Thursday.” She quickly ran away. She reminded me a lot of what I was like in undergrad. Nervous, but desperately wanted to learn. I waited another ten minutes and decided to head back to my office to start working on my interview list.

 It was about 5:30 and I was nervously biting my lip. I knew if I wanted to be on time to my dad’s I needed to call a taxi within the next few minutes. I looked at my phone, Gavin hadn’t texted me back yet and I had no other messages. I sighed, put in a request for a taxi, and headed outside.

When I got to my dad’s house his car was already in the parking lot. At least I wouldn’t have to wait outside for them to get here. Sighing, I walked up to the door and knocked. It only took Connor a few seconds to open the door. He gestured for me to come in. I nervously walked in and took off my shoes.

“Where’s dad?” I asked softly. I followed Connor to the couch where he sat down.

“He’s walking Sumo. He should be back shortly.” Connor sighed as I sat down next to him. “I’m sorry, I hadn’t kept in touch this past week.”

“You’re fine Connor. Things have been crazy for me too.”

“How did your class go?” He asked.

“I think it well, the first day never really counts because you’re not really teaching anything.” He nodded in agreement. “Connor, are you okay?” I gently put my hand on his shoulder. He gave me a small smile.

“Of course, (Y/n). It’s just been a difficult week at work.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” Before I could ask anymore questions my dad and Sumo walked inside. My dad noticed me and rubbed the back of his neck.

“Hey, (Y/n).” Sumo ran up to me and I started petting him.

“Hi dad.” He walked over and sat in the armchair. He shifted in his chair uncomfortably under Connor’s glare. After a few moments Connor pretended to clear his throat, which made my dad roll his eyes.

“(Y/n), you were right and I’m sorry. I’ve known Gavin for a while, but that doesn’t mean I know how you two will be. I shouldn’t have started that fight.” I nodded gently, keeping my eyes on Sumo.

“I’m sorry for what I said. I was angry, but that doesn’t excuse my words.” Connor shifted next to me.

“Hank, tell her about work.” My dad groaned.

“I’m guessing you’re still seeing Gavin?” I nodded and looked at him. “Gavin’s been…less of an asshole since he got back from his suspension and I’m pretty sure you’re the reason.” I smiled.

“He can be nice when he wants to.” I whispered. “Could the four of us grab dinner sometime? I really want you to give him a real chance.” My dad sighed and Connor gave him a sharp look.

“Dinner sounds fine.” I smiled and stood up.

“Both of you give me a hug right now before I lose my mind!” They laughed and compiled. I missed them both this past week and I didn’t even realize how much until I was in their arms.

[arecomicsevengood]

AGING ALTERNATIVES

We live in a culture that worships the large-scale spectacle of the obvious. Partly because of this, the most affecting thing a person can do is something with a large amount of effort behind it, delivered to a small audience: An elaborate meal cooked for a loved one, a labored-over zine in an edition of ten. But of course, time has this great leveling effect, and attempting something large scale can easily crash and burn, and in so doing become something only for a limited audience.

There is an ongoing conversation being had about older comics but they are almost always superhero comics, with some weird eighties genre trash thrown in. This conversation includes a great many alternative cartoonists, but it is very rare for a forgotten art comic to slide its way into the discussion. There’s numerous reasons for this: The larger the print run, the larger the chance a work will find its way to a bargain bin. But also, artists are competitive, and largely inclined to promote themselves or their peers. Once an artist is no longer producing work, they are rarely championed.

Obviously, not everyone finds their way into “the canon,” but you would think that work intended to be somewhat personal would end up being valued enough by individual people that you’d hear about it now and again. The case for alternative comics is the same as it ever was: It’s an artistic medium that can do anything, and it’s released in the fairest most egalitarian way, via mass production, for it to find people who will support it. The art is immediately striking in a way that gives it an edge over the written word, but it’s distributed to shops across America rather than galleries, and so should have long life after its initial release. Of course, the vision falters due to the reality that most of what gets produced is pretty bad, and not really expressing anything particularly unique or individual, and this only goes unspoken at the time of a work’s release due to admiration for the amount of labor that nonetheless went into it.

But what ends up happening in retrospect is this thing where banal superhero work gets reevaluated, with certain aesthetic decisions dictated by the technology of the time (like the coloring) becoming romanticized and recognized as things of beauty, while tons of black and white comics made by people who were desperately trying to push the medium forward and make something that works as art or literature get tarred with a blanket dismissal, associated with either the indulgences of the highest-profile practitioners or simply casualties of their pitiful attempts at graphic design. Only the small handful of practitioners whose publishers have steadily championed them and kept their work in print get to escape this fate. But obviously, if you’re working at something risky, you might end up working with publishers who are not economically viable in the long term, or, if they are, it’s because they’re being subsidized by projects way more commercial than yours.

There’s plenty of stuff which had a large enough print run for copies to be found, but functionally exist at the level of visibility of a zine. But, while I might be interested in extending the same amount of charity I would to someone making work with no hope of commercial success, to engage with the work honestly means that the fact that it was attempting to find its place in the world of commerce must be taken into consideration when thinking about the goals it set out to fulfill. That so much fails to meet these commonly-held goals can make one feel pretty depressed about the medium, and maybe this is another reason for people to avert their eyes: When you’re talking about superhero comics of a certain vintage, while they might not have attempted to be art, at least the people making them got paid.

Obviously, The Comics Journal has been fighting this fight for decades. I am sure all of the books I am going to write about, they have already covered, and they probably came to the same conclusions, and depending on the writer, they might’ve been more entertaining to read than I will be. But I want to offer these reconsiderations in light of all the other reconsiderations being made, that are coming to the opposite conclusion of what The Comics Journal would’ve. It is easy to look back at the 1980s now and say, for instance, that Elektra Assassin is a better comic book than American Splendor.  There’s a discrepancy between what is the best work being produced at a given historical moment and what is the most exciting scene to be a part of. I like to think if I had been writing for the Comics Journal in the early nineties, I wouldn’t have gone all-in praising Palookaville, but I get that in the moment it would’ve felt important to do so. Now, of course, there is very little that feels exciting at all, in the context of real-world community, due to the global pandemic. This is an incredibly lonely moment, and nostalgia has a powerful allure.

But I’d like to ensure the nostalgia we feel compels us to fight for what’s human, rather than allow us to simply surrender our past to the colonizing forces of corporate interests. In the interest of the human, I will not make any grandiose claims for the works I’m writing about. I’m not describing anything as a masterpiece. These instead fulfill the humble virtues of being charming, cool, interesting. They didn’t upend my value system of what the comics medium could be. But, since it was all of the Picturebox releases that shifted my perspective on comics on its axis when I was in college that caused me to ignore some of this stuff, that its virtues can endure after such a flip is itself notable. Anyway, I have no reason to have written such a long preamble. I could’ve easily just made separate posts for each comic I wanted to talk about, but all this additional context seemed important to me to articulate. All of these are books I bought online over the past few months.

Shuck Unmasked, by Rick Smith and Tania Menesse

Feel like the main thing holding this comic back is a certain lack of joie de vivre to its line. There’s a certain cuteness to its designs that seems reminiscent of Jeff Smith or Goodbye Chunky Rice era Craig Thompson but it’s a little bit stiff in ways those cartoonists aren’t. The mask Shuck wears resembles the face Chester Brown draws himself having in Paying For It. I feel like this is maybe the only comic I’ve seen that frequently has dialogue that’s misspelled in an attempt to capture phonetic dialect and presents that through lettering that feels like a font. There’s a sense of being rounded instead of being scratchy, a lushness that feels hinted at, but also tamped down. There’s a literary flavor to it, an attention to the language, a deliberate and delicate sense of stately melancholy that’s present.

The Shuck of the title is a demon, living on Earth, tasked with making sure the dead don’t escape the afterlife and roam around. Despite his horned form, he’s able to wear the mask of an old man, and fit in with his neighbors, which include a little girl, with whom he develops a bond. There’s a gentle quality to it, but also a sense of darkness that prevents it from being cloying, an interest in the esoteric that suggests the profound. The premise could be a recipe for sitcom-ish stasis, but actually the status quo shifts quite a bit, over the course of these self-published comics, collected into a book by Top Shelf.  It feels like each individual chapter should be reread a few times before proceeding on; the chapters have a nice density to them. That’s the funny thing about a lack of velocity to the line, it suggests a studiousness with which to approach it, but doesn’t invite the eye to return to it. Two issues of a sequel were self-published afterwards, I would read those.

Tales Of Woodsman Pete, by Lilli Carré

I’ve heard a couple people call Lilli Carré the best cartoonist of her generation. The first time I heard it said, I had never read anything by her, but I was struck by the assertion because there’s so many heavy hitters in that cohort I’m not comfortable making such declarations about anyone. There’s a collection of Carré’s short stories I’ve checked out from the library, but I found that collection inconsistent, with notable highs that didn’t still didn’t quite bowl me over. This could be partly an issue of format - Few cartoonists of Carré’s generation have a short story collection of their work available, and it might not be the best way to examine the work and see its strengths.

(A sidenote irrelevant to the larger thrust of this conversation - I started keeping a google doc of what years cartoonists were born, and have a my own idea of “generations” of cartoonists in terms of whose work it makes sense to consider alongside one another. 1960-1967 is one cohort, then 1968-1975, then 1976-1982, then 1983-some point unclear to me at this point, there’s a generational divide for sure but I don’t yet know the rules of it. I lump Carré in with Eleanor Davis, Dash Shaw, and Michael Deforge, rather than the slightly older group which includes Kevin Huizenga, CF, and Sammy Harkham. That’s not to say the people championing Carre are making the same distinctions, these generational lines are weird and arbitrary and some people are “on the cusp” and everyone chooses their own peers to a certain extent. However, I do think these generations are important or useful to think about, in terms of who came up with access to alternative newspaper strip jobs vs. the Xeric Grant vs. Tumblr, and it’s just generally interesting to think about what was around to serve as an influence at a formative age. People born after 1967 have had very few opportunities or chances for institutional support, by my reckoning. Over time, more people became acclimated to making uncompromising art, and there also became way less economic opportunity for people making work intended for adults. I suspect the forthcoming generation will be more inclined towards making content for kids because they grew up with things targeted to children, and they can be part of the push to make that stuff more diverse. This coincides with all of the economic infrastructure except for libraries being obliterated.)

Tales Of Woodsman Pete is a smaller object, of digest proportions, that Top Shelf released, early in Carré’s career. It’s worth noting her style nowadays is far more experimental and minimal, although I suppose at the time her work might’ve been considered pared-down, closer to folk tales than novels. This comic follows a woodsman, who monologues to no one, speaking to the trophies he’s made of his kills, in a series of short strips. This is juxtaposed against bits involving Paul Bunyan and his ox Babe, who share a camaraderie between them that doesn’t truly abate Bunyan’s sense of loneliness. It is, like Shuck, a gentle thing, and is able to conjure up some emotion, but I wonder if the sense of tweeness present within it is something Carré feels she’s outgrown? That’s not to say I object to it, just that I recognize a shift away from that stuff. I believe Carré is a Calvino fan, this stuff might be closest to the early stories in Our Ancestors, but Calvino’s work became far more overtly experimental afterwards. I don’t know, I still don’t have a bead on who Carré is or where she’s going. And that’s great, why should I?

Hectic Planet: Checkered Past, by Evan Dorkin

In high school, I read a Hectic Planet comic called The Bummer Trilogy, and liked it a lot. That was a single issue collecting three short stories that were the last work Evan Dorkin would do with the characters. While in retrospect, high school is probably the ideal age to read this material, those strips still feel more mature, in a sense of being personal, than much of Dorkin’s work. He’s written some superhero comics for the big two that never did much for me, and he has some collaborative genre comics I’ve never read, but he’s most associated with his humor cartooning, which I have kept up with despite only finding them intermittently funny. There’s always a sense of Dorkin as a performer of his material, where the humor tends to feel angry, but his most self-consciously autobio material is about the fact that his psyche is a dumping ground for assorted pop culture detritus. What’s interesting about this material is that is, in fact, still kind of immature, but it’s moving away from the science fiction premise, to be present enough to make jokes and talk about feelings. It’s the falterings towards finding a voice and having confidence in it, a youthful move towards what might not be maturity, but is, at least, work. So chunks of this are about a dude who’s heartbroken because he caught his girlfriend cheating on him and so he’s annoying all of his friends by complaining all the time and he’s thrilled to meet girls who like the same bands as he does and he goes to the grocery store and only buys junk food and while this might sound dumb, in context, it’s the beginnings of a worldview that feels fairly true to life for someone who would’ve been that age, at that point in time.

So, considering the era, and the sense of a science fiction premise being abandoned, it might make sense to think of this comic as following in the footsteps of Love And Rockets, albeit from an East Coast Jewish male perspective, and nowhere near as good. It almost feels like if a low-budget eighties sci-fi movie had cast a stand-up comedian in it, and when the budget got cut, they let him fill out the runtime with his routines and riffs, in an attempt to make it a star vehicle in case he ever got cast on SNL. Slave Labor put out a lot of alternative comics, and they all kind of got looked down upon to one degree or another. Much of what they published is both really poorly drawn and nakedly chasing whatever youthful subculture audience they could. Dorkin is easily one of the better artists they had, but the desire to be cool according to the terms of the subculture of the times makes for comics that feel dated now. All the characters in this book are really into ska, the back of the book has all these images taken from ska compilations and 7-inches featuring the characters. But that’s also interesting, because sensing the book’s quest to find its readership lends such authenticity to the young adult milieu, of what it means to be on your own and trying to find your people. It’s from a moment in time when talking about young people put a work in dialogue with alternative culture and not major book publishers, who due to generational differences, would not have understood any of the things this comic is about.

(This piece is sort of a variation on what I talk about in my article in But Is It… Comic Aht 2, by the way. There, behind a beautiful Lilli Carre cover, you can see me talking up more explicitly “all-ages” comics Slave Labor published, like Zander Cannon’s Replacement God, and Scott Roberts’ Patty Cake. Halo And Sprocket was a little bit later than the time period the article focuses on, but I liked that as well. Maybe the most interesting thing I’ve read from Slave Labor that wasn’t all ages and was never collected into a book would’ve been Jon Lewis’ series Ghost Ship. I also like the issues I’ve read of Bernie Mireault’s The Jam, which ran at multiple publishers, and I would like to read more of.)

[itmighthavebeenintentional]

Walk Me Home - Ch 3

Summary: Twenty-four years ago, Kimberly Harper met a boy who changed the course of her entire life before up and leaving one night. She spent years moving past the memories, building a stable, satisfying career as professor of folklore and mythology at the local university. Then the accidents start, and she’s forced to seek help among her hunter contacts. All it takes is a knock on her office door to send Kimber’s carefully built emotional walls crumbling to the ground.

Featuring: Teen Winchesters, high school romance, reunions, misunderstandings, high intensity emotional turmoil, Dean’s love of pie, Dean being adorable, Sam being adorable and maybe a bit nosy eventually, much group adorkable-ness, show-style investigation, mention of our favorite werewolf, gratuitous and obvious love of fall, DID I MENTION ROMANCE, fluff, smut, tension. 

Warnings: Show level violence, show level parental neglect (let’s not John bash, I’m just saying), show-style witchcraft, show-level mental manipulation, stalking, bit of angst, sexual content (higher than show level),swearing, general yearning

Word Count: 3422

Author’s Note: Mega thanks to @mskathywriteswords​ , @fangirlxwritesx67​, and @cracksinthewalls​ for editing, revision, flailing, and generally knocking sense into me when I’m being stubborn. You all made this story way better than it started it, and I love you. Thanks to everyone who read/reblogged/liked the first chapter. I hope you enjoy the story as much as I do. 

@thoughtslikeaminefield​ , babe, I love you, and I love this story so much.

Keep in Mind: There are a lot of flashbacks. I tried to write current events in present tense and flashbacks in past tense. Here’s hoping I got everything right!

Please read/heed the warnings. 18+ ONLY. 

In Case You Missed It: Ch 1 | Ch 2 ItMightHaveBeenIntentional’s Masterlist

Chapter 3

“Breathe, sweetheart, take a deep breath and hold it. Watch me, follow my breathing.” Dean’s hands, warm and solid against her clammy skin, hold her face so she has no choice but to look right at him. 

His eyes pierce the haze of fear that locks her lungs, and she pulls in her first shaking breath since she spotted the doll. She must have screamed, because one moment she was alone with the damned thing, and the next he was by her side, pulling her out of the room.

“Come with me, we’re getting out of here. Right now.” In a habit that miraculously stayed with her since she first knew him, Kimber stumbles after Dean, her fingers clutching his with a level of desperation that would leave her shamed if she had the thought capacity to care right now.

They’re out the front door, in his car, and speeding away before she even realizes he’s on the phone. 

“Yeah, Sam, I saw the doll on her bed. Front door was definitely locked when we got there, but I didn’t get a chance to check the windows or back door. She’s talked to the cops before this, they didn’t do shit then, but maybe now that the bastard actually went in her house. I’m taking her back to the motel.” 

He’s silent for a long moment, listening intently, his lips pressed thin and tense. Her face is wet, and she realizes she’s crying. She takes a moment to wipe away the tears streaming from her eyes, discreetly clearing her throat. She has a strange, disconnected moment of panic when she realizes she left her purse in the house and the door unlocked, but she shoves the words back down her throat so fast she nearly chokes.

That horrible...thing...on her bed, and she’s worried about her purse?!

Priorities, Kimber, she scolds herself. Dean is talking when she comes back to the moment, and she catches him mid-sentence.

“-agree with Kimber, I think it’s probably a witch. Gonna check for hex bags, ask her about anybody that might have a motive. We’ll go over her house when you get here, but I’m gonna try to keep her out of sight in the meantime. Don’t have a tail, but I’ll keep an eye on the way to the motel. See ya in the morning.”

He hangs up, eyes flicking over to Kimber then back to the road.

“How you holdin’ up?” The genuine concern in his voice breaks through the worst of her panic, giving her something other than her growing dread to focus on.

“I...I’ve been better. I mean, I know that nothing actually happened, but...Dean, I-”

“Oh, no, I totally get it,” he says, his eyebrows rising high on his forehead. “Fucking dolls, I hate ‘em. That creepy shit absolutely ain’t right. Anyway, we had no idea if someone was still at your place. Better to high-tail it, regroup, and plan than get stuck in a shootout with somethin’ that might not even go down with a bullet or five in it. You heard me talkin’ to Sam?”

She nods, doing her best to hide her sniffling. Without a word, he opens the glove box, pulls out a napkin, and hands it to her. She takes it gratefully, failing in her attempt to discreetly blow her nose while boxed into a moving vehicle.

“Thanks. The thing is, though, as far as I know, nobody has a motive to want to hurt me.”

This time he only lifts one eyebrow. “You, a college professor in a highly specialized academic area that’s typically full of eccentrics at best and nutbags at worst, have no students with chips on their shoulders? No jealous colleagues? Never forgot to tip the barista or leave a Christmas bonus for the janitors? Really?”

Her face heats up. She’s thinking like a scared kid, and she should know better. She may not be a hunter, but she knows the lore, knows the signs, and she really should know better.

“Okay, you’re right, you’re right. I’m not thinking clearly. Just...gimme a sec to get my head on straight.” 

She sucks in a sharp, deep breath through her nose, focusing on a droplet of water that’s sliding down her window. She presses air slowly from her lungs, watching the drop gain speed as it joins with more water dotting the outside of the glass, repeating the process until the raindrop slips off the window and her thoughts are focused again.

“I haven’t actually had to fail anyone in my classes lately, but I suppose someone could have held a grudge from previous semesters or just not been satisfied with a lower passing grade. As far as I know, no one in the department is jealous of my position. I’m not really anything special, literally just a glorified storyteller. I’m not on any boards or committees, I haven’t received any awards in a few semesters. No particular nutbags lately, but…”

She frowns as he pulls the car into a motel parking lot. Something is tugging at the back of her mind, an almost non-incident from a few Thursdays ago. She’d dismissed the conversation as random but harmless, but even the smallest details could be life or death. She’s been shown this over and over in her dealings with hunters. It’s about time she learned from other people’s mistakes.

“There was something, a few weeks ago, but I can’t quite remember,” she says, frustrated at how inadequate her memory is proving at the moment. The vestiges of panic still cling to the edges of her mind, leaving her thoughts scrambled and disjointed. 

“Think on it. Let’s get checked in, get somethin’ to eat, and you can tell me then,” Dean offers. 

She smiles her appreciation at the reprieve and climbs out of the car to follow Dean into the motel office. She uses the time Dean spends, first talking and then arguing with the clerk, to jog her memory, trying to recall everything she can about her encounter at the end of a self-defense class the previous month. 

It had seemed so harmless at the time, and nothing odd happened afterwards. At least, not that night. But as she stands next to Dean, straining her memory, she realizes Helen’s accident was just two days later. Her unseen watcher trailed her for the first time a week after Helen’s fall. Then Professor Lawrence a few days after that, and just last week Allen and the stapler.

She feels the heat of shame flooding her face. She’s a researcher by profession. How did she never put the pattern together? People have been hurt, nearly died, because she was too stupid to connect some dots? 

“I connect dots for a goddamn living,” she mutters to herself, earning her an odd glance from Dean. He turns back to the clerk, who shrugs.

“Take it or leave, sir.”

“Fine,” Dean growls, shoving a credit card at the man. Five minutes later, Dean unlocks the door to a room with two queen-size beds whose decor calls strongly back to a decade long past and best forgotten.

“I think they decorated this place before we were born,” she murmurs, earning her a tired smile from Dean. “At least it’s clean?”

He nods, tossing his bag on the bed nearest the window. “Sorry we have to share, they’re full up. Some sort of convention in town?” 

She hesitates, her stomach fluttering uneasily at the thought of a wall between her and Dean. “I don’t mind. I think...maybe it’s safer this way, in one room. I would offer to get dinner, since you paid for the room, but…” She trails off, empty hands spread at her sides. 

“Not a problem,” he says, dropping down on the bed and reaching for the phone. “Know anywhere good that delivers?”

 Forty minutes and two cheeseburger combos later, Dean lifts her reprieve and presses her for information again. The food helped ground Kimber’s jittery brain, and she’s thinking clearly for the first time since she spotted the doll.

“A few weeks ago, after self-defense class concluded, a guy came up to me. I’d never noticed him before, I thought he was new, but he said he’d seen me a few times and wanted to know if i would go get coffee with him. I wouldn’t have said yes, regardless, because...I mean, picking up dates at a self-defense class? Feels kinda predatory.”

Dean nods, lips pursed as he listens. He’s stretched out on his bed while she’s opted to sit in one of the two chairs by the table a few feet away. Kimber scrubs her face with her hands before running them back through her hair. 

“I just...I got this weird vibe off him, though, Dean. He may have found me attractive, I don’t know, but I seriously doubt it. He didn’t really want to ask me out. I have no clue why he asked; I could tell he wasn’t into me. He wouldn’t meet my eyes, his face was kind of stoney the whole time? Almost like someone put him up to it even though he really didn’t want to?”

Dean frowns, just as perplexed as she is.

She sighs, resting her chin in her palms and elbows on her knees. “I know. He was acting just a little too off. On top of that, I didn’t know him at all, so I turned him down. I wasn’t rude, at least I don’t think I was. He just accepted it, though; he didn’t push or even look upset. He didn’t really look anything at all. He just left. I didn’t see him in class again after that, and, honestly, I’m certain I had never seen him before.”

Dean rubbed the stubble on his chin thoughtfully, eyebrows furrowed. “I don’t...I mean, yeah, maybe. A strong maybe,” he conceded. “But we need more information. Even if that guy is our perp, we need to find out more about what’s actually going on. Sam can help me look over your place tomorrow; you and I can search your office. We should check out the other accident scenes. Did anyone else in your class see the guy or talk to him?”

“Maybe the teacher?” Kimber offers, stifling a yawn. She’s weary to the bone and suspects she may still be feeling the after-effects of shock. She stands, intending to hit the shower in the bathroom, when she remembers just how quickly they had to leave her house.

“Um...Dean, I didn’t get to...we left my place so quickly. Do you have anything to wear that I could...borrow?” She doesn’t mean to sound so hesitant and vulnerable, but her emotional filter is fading with her energy, and she doesn’t have it in her to put up a tough front.

His eyes widen, and he jumps up from the bed to rifle through his sports bag. He reaches out, holding what looks like a white t-shirt and pajama pants. She takes a step towards him to accept them just as he moves over to meet her, and they both stop just shy of a full-body collision.

His fingers brush her skin as she accepts the clothes, and she’s annoyed at how her hands tremble from the brief touch. Her eyes flick up to find him watching her, his color high and lips parted. His hands close more solidly around hers, fingers rough and welcome against her wrists. Her pulse quickens, and that cold spot near her heart ratchets up a couple more degrees. 

His pupils dilate in response, black circles swallowing the mossy irises. Dean’s tongue flashes over his lower lip as he swallows convulsively, and her eyes track the movement. She wonders for the span of a single breath if he still tastes the way she remembers. It would be so easy to find out; just step in, drop the clothes.

All she has to do, really, is reach out.

…

Her fingers paused halfway between them, hesitating. He glanced up from his plate of pie, eyeing her curiously. Feeling suddenly, deliciously brave, she brushed her thumb over his lower lip, swiping a bit of whipped cream he’d unknowingly smeared there. She sucked her thumb for just a moment, self-consciously looking away as her cheeks blazed red. 

She’d never been so forward before, brazen even, and while she was proud of her courage, she was still shocked she’d had such nerve. She risked a peek at him across the table just in time to see him flick his own tongue over the exact spot her thumb had just been. He caught his lower lip under his teeth, grinning at her, somehow looking just as flushed and off-balance as she felt.

“You, uh...taste good,” he murmured, eyes shining. She couldn’t help the giggle that bubbled up at his sweet, simple sincerity. 

“You do, too.”

They had finished tutoring early, and it was only their second week. Dean was keeping up just fine in class, so she was more than happy to accept his invitation for a snack at the nearby diner. The day was pretty warm for mid-September, and they were technically still supposed to be at the library, so she asked if he’d like to maybe take a walk and talk some more.

“You’re just using me for my stories,” he said with a mock pout as they strolled down the sidewalk. “Is that all I am to you? A source of entertainment?”

“Dean, you’re the best show on. I wouldn’t even skip the reruns.” She felt so light around him, so comfortable and giddy all at once, like he was sucking the oxygen from her atmosphere while giving it right back to her all at once.

Just when she felt like her chest might burst holding all this inside, she reached out and linked her fingers through his. She felt a slight falter in his stride (or maybe she imagined it), and they walked on. She asked him about his family. He told her less about his Dad, more about his little brother, and nothing about his mom, but mostly he asked questions.

What did she like to read? Where was the best pie in town, because that place was not it. Where did she have her favorite birthday party growing up? What did she want to do when she graduated? Favorite family vacation? Favorite holiday? Was it as awesome being an only child as it seemed, or were there actually drawbacks he didn’t know about? What did she really think of his jacket, be honest?

Eventually, they found themselves back at her house, not quite time for her to be home yet. She was reluctant to say good-bye, and if his grip on her hand was any indication, so was he.

“I know!” she said suddenly. She tugged his arm, leading the way around her house and into the backyard. Neither of her parents were home from work, so she didn’t have to worry about their well-meaning interrogation as to why she was dragging the new boy around by the arm.

“Ta-da!” She spread her arms wide, grinning as she indicated the treehouse she and her dad had built together only a few years earlier. “Best craftsmanship, all the comforts of home, minus electricity, heat, air conditioning, and plumbing!”

“You mean it’ll hold us both, and there's some pillows and blankets up there?” He laughed, his grin growing as she glowed back at him. 

“You get me so well!” she squealed, grabbing his hand and tugging him forward again. “Come on!”

Though the structure swayed ever so slightly, it didn’t embarrass her by creaking, and there was plenty of room for the two of them to prop up against one of the walls, stretching their legs out on the nest of cushions and blankets she kept up there during good weather.

Rather than settling down, her heart began to beat against her ribs so loudly she was certain Dean could hear it. Her shoulder brushed his, and she could feel every minute shift of his body. Her nostrils flared a little as she steeled herself and turned to meet his intent gaze.

“I would really love to kiss you right now,” he said, his voice low and velvet soft. 

“Does that usually work on girls?” she asked breathlessly, her eyes glued to his impossibly lush mouth.

“Why, is it working on you?” The raw want in his voice was unmistakable, even to her inexperienced ears. No boy had ever looked at her the way Dean was right now, as if he’d never seen anyone else he’d rather kiss. He reached up, slid his fingers into her hair, thumb brushing her cheekbone.

“Yeah, it, um...it really is.”

He tasted of cherry pie and coffee. Years later, she would recognize that kiss as the moment her dependency on the caffeinated beverage began, but at the time, she wouldn’t have recognized her own mother. His lips moved gently, so tenderly it stole her breath and made some random spot in her chest clench painfully. 

She turned, leaning across him, almost on her knees. Her fingers slid over the impossibly silky bristles on the back of his neck. He shivered under her touch, lips parting from hers as he sucked in a sharp pull of air. 

“Kimber,” he murmured, eyes closed. She nudged the tip of his nose with her own, her eyes fluttering shut as she pressed the smallest of kisses to the corner of his lips. Dean’s breath caught, and then he pulled her up into his lap suddenly, tilting her head just so before claiming her mouth again.

She didn’t know how long they sat in the treehouse exactly like that, learning each other’s contours and tastes, trading kisses and caresses but nothing more, until she heard the front door of the house close. 

Kimber jerked upright, shocked as if she’d been dashed with a bucket of ice water. She’d honestly forgotten there was a whole world that existed outside the two of them in the treehouse. The sun was much lower in the sky, almost gone in fact.

“It’s almost dark, Dean, I have to go inside.” She spoke reluctantly, the words pulled out against her will. She didn’t ever want to be responsible, even indirectly, for telling Dean he had to leave.

Dean’s chest rose and fell rapidly, one hand holding tight to her waist as the other began to reluctantly untangle from her hair. He leaned forward, brushed her lips with his one last time before wordlessly encouraging her to put herself to rights.

Kimber checked the backyard to make sure the coast was clear before leading Dean down the ladder to the ground. 

“If you go that way,” she said, pointing out a thin spot in the hedge at the far side of her yard, “it’ll take you right out to Evergreen Drive. One more block over, and you’ll be on the same street as the school.” He nodded, glancing in the direction before turning back to her. 

God, his eyes. 

She was frozen to the spot and on fire all at once. In all her seventeen years, she’d never felt anything as intense as Dean just looking at her. How did he do that?

“I think I’m going to, uh...need a few more study sessions,” he said softly. “We might need to really get...in depth with the material.” This time his smile was a little shy, a lot less cocky than the first time she worked with him. And yet there was a mischievous glint in his eyes that let her know Dean Winchester would absolutely be worth every bit of trouble he got her into.

“I’ll see you at school tomorrow,” she said, intentionally not addressing his statement. For one thing, she didn’t think she could match his level of casual innuendo without sounding like a complete idiot. For another, she didn’t trust herself to respond without turning bright red. 

She turned towards her house when Dean seized her hand, yanked her carefully back, and caught her face between both of his palms. This time the kiss was blazing, not a trace of the gentleness from the last hour, and when he finally released her, she stood dazed and shaken, staring at him completely unfocused.

“See ya,” he said. He grinned as he released her and turned, loping across her yard with an easy grace before disappearing into the hedge. ...

Chapter 4

[shreddedparchment]

Of Two Minds Pt.05

You’re Extremely Essential

06/10/2019

Pairing: Bucky x Reader x Steve          Word Count: 5,517

Masterpost          Warnings: smut, unprotected oral sex, angst, Steve in a red t-shirt

A/N: I was going to wait before posting this. I should also warn that I haven’t gone back to edit so it might be messy. Forgive me. I am still waiting to clean out my forever tags so as of right now my forever tags are still closed. All that aside, I hope you enjoy this chapter. It’s...a lot more smut than I intended but does touch on some very important things in between. I hope you like it! As always, if you happen to reblog, thanks so much for helping me spread my work. xoxo

You know what Bucky’s thinking.

The possessive wrap of his arm around your waist is obvious to you and will most likely be obvious to everyone else.

You don’t feel guilty about having just had Bucky ravish you. He’s your man. Your boyfriend for lack of a better word.

The two of you walk into the common room and climb the two steps up to the conference tables. The meeting has already started, and Nat is already busy presenting her findings on Aaron, your Cayman Islands mark.

Wanda, Vision, Rhodey, Sam, and Bruce sit around the table. Each one looks over a small thin packet of pages with photos and batches of paragraphs with information.

Standing by the monitor Nat glances at you and Bucky as you join the group then gives her attention back to the screen. Standing against the railing at the head of the table—opposite Nat—with his hands shoved into his pockets, Tony stares at the monitor, frowning.

Closest to the two of you as you step up to the table is Steve. He’s standing tall, changed out of his sleep shirt and into a bright primary red t-shirt. It clings to his angular shoulders and narrow waist, a delicious sight though one that comes with a small ache as you search his storm blue eyes for any sign of pain. Resentment maybe?

You remember Bucky covering your mouth with his hand a few minutes ago while you were moaning beneath him and the way he silenced you with his lips. Steve would have been on his way down to the meeting then. Had he heard?

You can see the hard planes of his pecs, accentuated thanks to his large muscular arms cross across his chest.

As you sidle up beside him, Bucky taking his arm from around your waist to take hold of your hand, you notice Steve’s gaze drift over your head to meet Bucky’s.

A quick look at him lets you see the small grin in place. It’s bragging but despite the look, Steve doesn’t rise to the taunt. Instead he turns his gaze down on you to smile softly.

He’s happy for you. For both of you.

It hurts.

You feel Bucky’s hand go slack around your own and you look back up at him to see the confusion on his face at Steve’s reaction then turns to listen to Nat.

Desperately you want to reach over and take Steve’s hand too. You want to hold it in and show the room that this man is also your man. You love him and he loves you and he’s yours and you’re his but Bucky isn’t comfortable with that yet so you can’t.

“We know they’re coming out of Ecuador. We don’t know the precise location of the facility, but we’ve got S.H.I.E.L.D. agents down surveying possible sites. As soon as we hear from them, we’ll head out.” Nat explains. She clicks to the next slide and you watch as your Hawaiin God, the mysterious Aaron’s face fills half the screen.

You release Bucky’s hand and wrap your arms around yourself, staring at the handsome face.

“Aaron Keahi.” Nat states, looking over at you specifically. “Your Cayman mark. This guy is as shrouded in darkness, Y/N.”

“What do you mean?” Your interest piqued; you move closer to lean on the back of Sam’s chair. He looks up at you then notices the two large super soldiers flanking you.

Both of them had moved up towards the table with you but stand about a foot behind you since you’re too close to the table for both of them to stand beside you.

“I mean, aside from the typical bad guy rap sheet we had on him when we sent you on that mission with Bucky a few months ago, we know nothing about him. He’s got no history in real estate, investments, no school records or a comprehensive criminal record of any kind.” Nat states, clicking a button that states the money laundering, arms deals, and other smaller crimes usually out of Avengers jurisdiction.

“Then how was he on our radar?” You ask, suddenly suspicious.

“Honestly? I have no idea.” Nat admits. “I don’t even know where that first mission came from.”

She looks at Tony who is deep in thought and frowning as he stares at the table. His eyes move from side to side, deep in thought as he thinks through what you know must be a hundred different scenarios all at once.

“Did we end up finding anything significant on that data drive I stole?”

“More small-time stuff.” Wanda says, “Nat dove pretty deep into the files and nothing important popped up. We forwarded the information to local authorities but nothing that warrants our immediate attention.”

“So, what?” You ask, bewildered and frustrated. “We were sent on a dead-end mission to-”

“Draw you out.” Sam says and everyone looks at him.

“No.” Steve protests. “That’s not possible.”

“Why not?” Bucky asks, and you tense for a second.

The silence between them lasts only a split second too long before Steve replies.

“Because I didn’t even know I was sending Y/N on that mission with you until almost the day of. Nat backed out. If they’re after anyone, they’re after you or Nat. Not Y/N.” Steve nods.

Tony looks up to meet his eyes and they share a long look before they both look between Bucky and Nat who are also busy staring at each other in serious contemplation.

“Who would be after them?” Wanda asks.

“Hydra?” Rhodey offers casually as if it’s the most obvious.

“Hydra’s dead.” Bruce says.

“Is it?” Sam asks.

“Hydra explains me.” Bucky says. “But not Nat.”

“Old KGB operatives?” Vision offers. “My research on the dark web has brought to light several factions that are still loyal to the old Soviet government and are highly focused and motivated in bringing back the old ways or so their manifesto states.”

“They’d have plenty of reason to want me dead.” Nat agrees.

“And I was quite the asset in my time with Hydra. I could see them wanting me back.” Bucky reasons.

Your desires for loving both Steve and Bucky give way to your fear and you hurry to his side to take his hand. He gives it a squeeze before he tucks you into his side, metal hand cool and reassuring on your suddenly furious and blazing skin.

“Bucky…”

“We won’t let them get him back, Y/N.” Steve reassures you. He moves over to stand closer, looking at Bucky as he speaks to you, however.

You look up to find him staring intently at his best friend.

“Even if they caught you, your programming has been gone for a long time, Buck. They wouldn’t be able to use you.” Steve assures him.

“I know.” Bucky nods, relaxing under his friend’s gaze. “I’m not afraid of them.”

You see Steve frown as you’re turning to frown at Bucky too. The two of you are well aware how Hydra makes Bucky feel. Maybe it isn’t completely fear, but it’s not bravery either. He submits to them. Not completely, but he still recognizes the authority there and it’s something you and Steve have discussed often.

“Bucky-” You begin.

“I know what you’re going to say and trust me. I’ve been working on it. I’m good.” He promises.

You look over at Steve and this time he is looking at you. He sighs then looks at Bucky one last time before he slips to stand behind the two of you.

You do it because you know it’s what he needs and honestly? You need it, too.

You reach back and feel a wave of warm comfort as Steve’s fingers intertwine with your own behind your back. He moves up to stand right behind you. Close enough to look natural but not close enough to look too intimate.

Bucky stiffens beside you, but he also doesn’t let you go.

He meets your gaze and looks slightly surprised to find you looking up at him, worry etched across your face.

He’s thinking. You can see the thoughts racing through his mind behind those startling steel blue and sometimes ice colored eyes. He’s watching you take comfort in Steve. He’s listening to Steve and you worry about him. He’s very aware of the need you seem to have for Steve’s touch and the way your hand has tightened even more around his own hand.

Your love for him is pouring out of you in buckets but there’s also a flow of that being diverted to the man behind you.

Bucky can see it and you can see him taking note of it. What you can’t see is how he feels about it. Does he like that you’re still clinging to him, harder still because you’re so scared that someone is going to try and take you away from him? Does he not like that you need Steve’s physical support to get through these terrifying few minutes? Is he jealous?

“So, what’s the plan?” Sam asks, bringing everyone back down to reality.

You, Steve, and Bucky all switch your attentions to Tony who is still lost in thought.

“We wait.” He says. “They’ll find the drug den. We get in there and we use those two as bait.”

“What?!” You nearly shout.

“No.” Steve says sternly.

“Okay.” Nat says.

“Bring ‘em on.” Bucky says.

All of you speak at the same time and then all of you look at each other.

“Bucky, no.” You growl.

“They want me, they’re gonna die trying to take me.”

“Bucky…” You plead with him, releasing Steve’s hand so that you can turn to face Bucky.

“I’m not going to let them make me fear them again, Y/N. I won’t hide.”

“But you don’t have to throw yourself at them in hopes of drawing out their true intentions. Is this because of us? Is that why you’re suddenly so ready to be reckless?” You accuse him and he takes offense to it.

“This has nothing to do with you.” He snaps. “This is my fight, Y/N. Mine.” He pokes himself hard in the chest. “And if you can’t support my decision maybe we need to take a step back.”

Your chest caves in and with a gasp you move around him and head back towards the stairs.

You know that he’s not responding to the truth of this new situation. He’s responding to you needing Steve. To your need to hold onto him when the thought of losing Bucky becomes too much.

Space will help clear you mind. The anger you have for him in this moment will pass and you might be able to see past this attempt to push you away. Will he always do this?

Will he always put this distance between you when you can’t help but cave to your impulse to turn to Steve?

The grounds around the compound make for a nice escape. You stay there for hours and Bucky doesn’t come for you. Neither does Steve. Not until it’s late and the sky is dark. That’s when you hear footsteps.

You turn around, expecting to find Bucky finally stomping towards you, moody at you for staying out so long but instead you find Steve moving towards you with his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his jeans.

Tight denim, pale against the bright red of his t-shirt. Even in the dark the color makes his skin glow.

He stops just outside of the small circle of diffuse yellow light from the singular bulb that hangs under the wooden slat roof of the pier that extends out onto the lake.

For what feels like minutes, torturously slow minutes, the two of you stare at each other. You let your eyes bore into his for a bit before you bring them down to his chest and stare at the rising and falling muscles.

Because your mind is preoccupied, Steve doesn’t speak. He lets you think, and you appreciate him knowing you so well. You’re grateful that he’s your best friend. You’ve always taken your time to think things through but this decision of wanting both Steve and Bucky had been such an immediate decision.

You have never been so sure of anything in your entire life. You love Bucky but you love Steve too. You can’t bear to keep this distance between you and Steve.

Standing across from him by a few feet, staring at each other in silence while wanting more is painful.

You feel the urge to run to him, throw your arms around his neck and give in to your desire to kiss him. You want his lips pressed against yours. You want to feel the thump of his hear against your chest. You want his large hands splayed out against your back, running down low on your waist until they can flick the bottom hem of your white t-shirt away until his skin is on yours.

You want him moaning and pressed against your body, burying you into his mattress—or yours, you’re not picky—or hell, even into the wooden floor of this pier. The grass. Against that tree over there. You want Steve anywhere and everywhere.

His soft smiles. His warm comfort. Anything but the uncertainty of those storm blue eyes, still staring at you with unwavering confusion.

You’re putting that expression on his beautiful face.

The soft tendrils of his hair sway in the breeze and you want to slip your fingers through it.

“He’s going to tell me no.” You realize, speaking with so much confidence that it startles even you.

Steve nods slowly. “I know.”

“I’m going to have to leave, Steve. I-I can’t pick. There is no choosing between you and Bucky. I love him so much. I’ll die without him. If anything happened to him, ever, if Hydra gets their hands on him-”

“That’ll never happen.” He assures you passionately. “I won’t let that happen. And you won’t have to leave, Y/N. You’ll stay here with Bucky. I’ll leave.”

“What?” The shock your body struggles through at the mere thought of the Avengers existing without Steve is too much. “Don’t be stupid, Steve. The team needs you. You’re essential. Captain America! It needs you a lot more than it needs me.”

“And Bucky needs you more than he needs me. You’re extremely essential to his recovery.” Steve reasons. “I won’t be gone for good I’ll just…I’ll get away so that I can get over this. You. I’ll still come back if I’m needed.”

“I-” You should take this out. He’s offering you a chance to move on, but can you?

It feels like Steve is in your very bones. It feels like if someone were to cut you, you’d bleed Steve’s blood, not yours because you’re one with him. Maybe not sexually yet…listen to you. Yet.

“I don’t want you to get over me, Steve. I need you. So much. Every day.” You confess. “I love him, Steve. So much but you’re my best friend. How do I make this go away? How do I stop loving you?”

Steve mirrors your pain, taking a step forward as his hands curl into fists.

“You were everything that I wanted for so long. I thought you-this is what you wanted. Us always standing at a distance. I thought that there was no possibility that you could ever want me, and you did? The entire time?” The pain in your chest brings tears to your eyes. Angry tears because this could have all been avoided in some ways if Steve had just told you he liked you earlier.

You could have told him too, but you’d dropped hints. You’d talked about guys and waited to see his reaction when you went on dates. Every time Steve had smiled and wished you luck. Not once had he betrayed his neutrality to show a smidge of jealousy or want or love.

Somehow you know that if things were reversed, Steve would be easier to convince. He’d have let you explore Bucky top to bottom and what it is that you two share.

“Y/N…?” Steve asks, careful to keep himself as far away from you as he can. He doesn’t want to slip up like that night in Brazil. He doesn’t want the guilt that comes from betraying his best friend.

You don’t want to feel torn like this. You don’t want to be unable to make up your mind. The thought of losing Bucky—of Hydra wanting him again tears your will to shreds because you need the reassurance.

You want to hold Bucky and ask him, plead with him, not to put himself in harm’s way on purpose but you know that you can’t because he’d never listen. It’ll only make you angry and you’d wind up back out here by the lake, still needing comfort and to have your fears assuaged by soothing words.

Even if they’re not true, you need to hear them.

“Would you just get the hell over here already?” You sob and Steve is at your side in two large steps.

He wraps you up in his arms, splayed out hands moving slowly up and down along your back. You cling to his chest, hands fisting his red shirt that reminds you of blood. Of pain. Of Hydra.

You bury your face into his chest and let your fear overwhelm you.

“You’re shaking.” Steve realizes and holds you tighter.

“I’m so scared, Steve. I don’t want him anywhere near this. I don’t want him near them. Even if it isn’t Hydra and it’s only a guess, I don’t want him there. I want him safe and untouched and mine.” You growl the last word.

You realize that you’re fighting with Hydra for possession of Bucky. They want to erase him. Own him. Control him. You want him to be happy. You want him in your bed. You want him laughing and able to make up his own mind about what he wants for himself. Even if that means that he chooses he can’t do this with you and Steve, you want him to have that freedom.

“We’ll keep him safe, hun. I promise.”

Your system freezes then short circuits. Sparks fly in every direction as your heart picks up speed. You look up at Steve, staring into his reassuring blues, so desperate to give you comfort and smiles.

“What did you just call me?” You ask him, stunned.

“Hu-I…sorry. It just-” He stutters, blushing like you’ve never seen him blush before. You’ve heard stories from Bucky about how useless Steve had been back in the day with girls. How he’d fumble and fidget and blush scarlet when his confidence waned.

You had no idea that when Bucky had described Steve’s embarrassment that he would look this damn adorable. This irresistible.

You push yourself up onto your toes and grip neck of his shirt and pull him down towards you.

The tiny moan that escapes you as your lips touch his is involuntary. The heat that courses through you as he puckers his lips back against yours is natural and unrelenting. He wraps his arms low on your waist and dips to lift you up, kissing you passionately as his tongue slides along your lips to coax your mouth open.

You moan again, just a whisper of it as you wrap your arms around his neck and give in to this feeling. He fits perfectly against you, like you’d always daydreamed he would. His mouth moves in perfect tandem with yours like you’d always hoped it would. His heart pounds in his chest, creating beautiful music as it pounds along with yours like you never knew it could.

He pulls back but only to let you catch your breath.

Gasping, you bring your hands to the back of his head and pull his lips back towards yours.

“No.” He says, halting your tug. “Wait. Bucky…”

You huff, sliding your hand down to trace his plush bottom lip. It’s so pink and inviting. You want to keep kissing him but Bucky…

“He’s gonna say no.” You whisper, taking hold of Steve’s ear with your other hand as you continue to trace his lip. “He’s going to say no and I’m never going to kiss you again and I’ll have to leave.”

Steve puts you down, anger flashing across his face. “I already told you, you aren’t leaving.”

“I have to.”

“You don’t. I’ll go. You stay here with Bucky.” He orders, Captain voice used and all.

“Excuse me? You can’t tell me what to do.”

“I can and I just did. You’re staying.”

You scoff, the stern set of his jaw reminding you too much of Bucky’s as he’d declared the need to step back. To what? Take a break? Is that what he’d been trying to tell you at the meeting?

“Fuck you.” You spit at Steve and make to move past him.

You’re yanked back hard as Steve pulls you to him. At first you make to tear your hand out of his grip but then he’s pulling you up to kiss you and your heart is swelling and aching and burning and his lips feel so good.

You feel wooden slats on your back, and he twirls you out of the light into the shadows around the pier’s small dock. He pulls you onto the farther side, hidden in darkness then tugs at the front of your jeans.

You’re both on autopilot, moving in frenzied gropes and tears as you each attack the other’s clothes. Your pants sit open, unzipped and unbuttoned. Steve’s hand nestled in against your core, his fingers teasing your clit.

You gasp, open mouthed and hold tight to the sleeves of his shirt. He’s pressed up against you, breathing heavily as he watches himself work your slit.

“No…wait…” You cry, pulling him closer despite his words. “Steve, we-we can’t.”

He moves his fingers faster, making you twitch and buck against his hand. The muted squelch of your juices as they flood around his fingers make it harder to pull away. You want him so badly. You’ve wanted him for years and now you’re so close to having him.

“I want you…” He whispers, deep voice trembling against your ear.

He pulls back to look at you, staring into your sex-hazed eyes. “Let me taste you.”

You want to shake your head, to say no. To tell him that you can’t because Bucky. Instead you nod.

It happens fast in shaky eager movements. Slightly rough in the frenzy. Steve slides his hand out of your underwear and pulls your pants down. He pulls your left foot out then slides your underwear down too.

Once your foot is free, he drops down to his knees. Your leg lift up at the knee and hooked on his shoulder, he presses his nose against the small hidden cove of your clit.

His heated breath makes your skin erupt into shivers, despite the warm night. The sound of cicadas and crickets is deafening despite your labored breathing. The muggy heat of the lake coats your skin in a thin sheen of sweat.

You bring your hands down, resting them against his wide shoulders. He leans forward, tongue first, and has a taste.

You shudder at the gentle lick to your nub, then bring your hand up to the back of his head.

He looks up at you, storm blues dark in the lack of light, and assess your reaction.

You bite your bottom lip, fingers massaging his scalp as you wait for his second lick.

Instead, when he brings his large hands under you and back behind you to pull you forward towards his face, he open his mouth and kisses your core. He tongues you, licking and lapping up at you as he maneuvers the slick folds of your cunt.

You cry out, surprised by the eagerness with which he eats you out. You know you shouldn’t make so much noise, but you can’t help it. You had no idea that Steve knew how to do this so well.

You’d never seen him go out on a date much less bring a girl home. The very thought of him having done this to someone else fills you with such jealousy that you fist his hair and pull him against you harder.

He huffs a laugh but obeys and opens his mouth wider then closes it around your nub. He sucks hard making your knees buckle then pulls back to flick it wildly with his tongue.

You’re not expecting him to tilt his head back, to look up at you with those blue eyes and when he meets your gaze the sight of him pressed against you is so salacious that your heart begins to pound harder.

You shouldn’t be out here with Steve. You shouldn’t be half naked with Steve. You shouldn’t be hidden in the dark with Steve. You shouldn’t be watching him eat your pussy and liking it so much that you flood more for him.

You stroke his hair, thrusting up towards his face with your hips as he closes his mouth around your nub again. This time he doesn’t stop sucking and instead brings his right hand out from behind you. He uses it to find your entrance and without warning he plunges one finger within you.

You gasp but don’t dare look way.

He inserts a second finger and your knees buckle again. You catch yourself on his shoulders and he doesn’t spare you a second to recover before he’s thrusting those fingers into you hard and fast.

God you wish it was his cock.

He can see the desire in your eyes and since he can’t give you that he releases your clit and presses the flat of his tongue against it as you thrust your hips against him. He flicks it and licks it and lets you face-fuck him while his fingers pump into you until you feel that familiar pressure build around your hips.

Your breathing grows ragged. Wild high-pitched gasping escaping your throat and Steve presses harder. Fingers you harder.

You grab his hair harder as your core explodes and Steve stills his fingers but keeps his tongue moving. Your orgasm washes over you in waves of euphoria until all you’re left is twitching against Steve’s face as he lick you up some more.

As your body relaxes and, slumping against the wooden slat wall, you caress Steve’s hair and face. The sight of him down there between your legs, wide shoulders hunched so that he might fit there with you, fills you with such bliss.

He comes up, a quick wipe to his mouth on the back of his hand but he licks the rest of you away, then meets you in a lazy and lusty kiss.

You can taste yourself on him. Woman and satisfied. You’re so turned on by the flavor of you on his lips that you grind against his pelvis and he pulls back, stunned.

“No.” He tells you.

“Let me make you feel good.” You plead.

“Bucky…” He reminds you and you almost give in. You almost let him convince you but the fear of not being able to do this, ever tears your heart in two.

On one side you have Bucky, your loyalty to him is resolute, strong, unyielding. But you’re also mad at him for the stupid things he said this morning. You’re angry at him for the way he so easily told you that if you can’t handle his choices then maybe you should take a break?

The other side of your heart is full of Steve and Steve is giving you everything that you need right now. Reassurance, comfort, warmth, soft touches. You want to fuck him, but you know that you can’t do that. As much as you want to. So instead you undo his jeans and reach in and find him rock hard.

He’s so big and you want him.

“Fuck.” You sigh, pulling him close so that you can rest your head against his shoulder as you pump him.

Steve grunts, sighs, and then falls forward into you. His hand moves the shoulder of your t-shirt aside to press soft tender kisses against your sweaty skin.

“I want you so much, Steve. I want you inside me.” You gasp, moving your hand faster along his cock.

“Y/N…” He moans, whisper quiet as he kisses up along your neck and then nibbles your ear.

“Steve…” You reply, just as quiet. “Let me taste you.”

You repeat his words back to him and he pulls back. Once again, it’s a frenzy of movement. It happens so fast you’re not sure how you wound up squatting in front of him, his cock’s head pressed against your lips.

You lick it and Steve shudders.

“Th-that feels good.” He sighs.

You smile against him and then wrap your lips around him and circle his head with your tongue, tasting salty-soft skin. He’s burning in your mouth and God, you want him inside you. Since you can’t do that, you take him in quick and sudden.

He gasps, falling forward to press his hand against the slats of the wall. His free hand finds your hair and he slides his hand into it, caressing your skull with deep affection.

“Oh, hun, that feels so good.” He whispers, almost hissing his words.

His reaction gives you pride, and you keep one hand held at the base of his cock while the other lands on his bum. You pull him forward then reach forward to grab his hip and pull him back.

He understands what you want, and he starts to move his hips on his own, fucking into your face while you slide your tongue along the base of his cock.

You can’t speak with him inside you, but you hum around him, shifting your head left to right as you take him in long strides.

“Shit…” He mutters, as you reach down to cup his balls.

He slows down and that’s not what you want so you move your neck, bobbing your head on him to take him faster. His cock hits the back of your throat and you swallow. He shudders and you suck harder. He grunts and you hum loudly, moaning around his thickness from the pleasure of his satisfaction.

“I’m gonna come, Y/N.” Steve whispers, hands fisted into your hair as you move fast, gulping and gasping around him.

You move faster, making your passes shorter but tighter, tongue tickling the skin of his head.

It catches you by surprise because you’re so used to Bucky’s tell, the way he grabs your head and holds you still when he comes but Steve is different. Steve thrusts into you, shoving himself into your mouth more as he shoots his release into your mouth.

You stop moving but swallow him, not wasting a single drop as he finishes.

“Shit…” He sighs. “I’m sorry, I-”

He pulls himself out of your mouth and you pump his cock a few times as he does, licking him clean as he goes.

“Holy…” He begins but you smile at him as he falls out of your mouth.

You don’t get to say anything because he wraps his hand around the back of your neck and pins you against the slat wall to kiss you.

The kiss is eager, happy, and then lazy as the lust dies out and satisfaction takes its place.

Without prompting, Steve helps you put your underwear back on and then helps with your jeans before doing up his own.

He leans over you, staring down at your sweet smiling face.

“We have to convince him.” Steve says, and you laugh once.

It makes sense that he’d have a change of heart after what just happened but you’re just glad that you had the chance.

You want to be with him like this, forever. You want to love him openly, freely. Both of them. However, you’d seen it in Bucky’s eyes at the meeting. He can’t share you. Or maybe he’s unwilling to. You don’t blame him.

Your mood falls, taking with it your smile and Steve responds by cupping the sides of your face.

“We’ll convince him, Y/N.” You reach up to place your hands over his.

“I love you, Steve.” You whisper, lamenting the goodbye that will eventually come because you know it will.

“Don’t do that. Don’t tell me goodbye yet. We haven’t even really tried to convince him.” Steve argues, pleading gently for your patience.

“Just tell me you love me, Steve.” You reach up behind him to trace the planes of his shoulders. So wide. So perfect. Yours in this moment if not forever. “I wanna hear you say it. I’ve waited so long to hear it.”

Steve sighs, wrapping his arms around your waist. “I love you. I love you, so much, Y/N. It kills me.”

Then he kisses you until you can’t breathe.

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[charmingcentry]

Bechloe = high school AU. Love popular Beca/nerd chloe

thanks for the suggestion anon! hope you enjoy :D

-

“Hey, you’re drooling again.”

Chloe fixates her attention back towards her best friend Aubrey, immediately clearing her throat nervously. It’s lunch period and presented before Chloe is an untouched, unwrapped, peanut butter and jelly sandwich; she didn’t enjoy how peanut butter stuck on the roof of her mouth anyway. The redhead would have been consuming the poorly-made cafeteria food yet she finds a petite brunette more appealing than satisfying her hunger. 

The brunette chuckles loud enough for Chloe’s table to hear; the redhead couldn’t help but smile. The redhead continues staring and notices Beca’s head drift towards Chloe’s table and she shoots a small smile at Chloe when the two make eye contact. Oh, how the redhead’s heart nearly jumped out of her chest. She notices one of the guy friends rest his arm against Beca’s shoulder as the brunette snatches a sandwich from another person.

“Chloe, seriously, I think your glasses were fogging up too at this rate…” Chloe blushes and removes her oval eyeglasses, cleaning the lenses with the microfiber cloth. 

“She’s really pretty Bree. I mean, just look at her!” 

Her best friend doesn’t miss a beat with her response. “Yes because the dozens of ear piercings are totally attractive.” Aubrey notices Beca’s gaze return onto her best friend as Chloe rolls her eyes and lightly smacks Aubrey on the shoulder. “I’m joking… kind of. I mean, whatever works for you.”

Another female slipped into the rectangular lunch table - Stacie Conrad. “We talking about Beca again? I saw Chloe blushing like miles away.”

The redhead groans and buries her face into her sweater sleeves, ignoring the slight push against her face from her glasses.

Beca, a name that swiftly induces a noticeable blush across Chloe’s face with no hesitation. Starting from Day 1 of freshman year where the redhead’s seat was directly behind Beca’s, she couldn’t help but notice the immediate butterflies fluttering in her stomach or an immediate stutter when Beca would ask her something; Chloe felt enamored by her presence.

Perhaps Chloe loves how blunt Beca is or the amount of confidence the brunette exerts around her huge group of friends; nevertheless, Chloe definitely feels something for Beca and could possibly rant how amazing she is.

One problem.

The popularity circulating around the brunette would raise attention to Chloe if she ever communicated with Beca and its definite rumors would be spread. And, she’s definitely dating that Jesse Swanson guy. So, the redhead prefers to admire from afar, even if it may hurt. 

She slowly raises her head and is met with bright light along with the bell that echoes throughout the school, signaling that it is time for 6th period. Chloe sighs as she slings her baby pink backpack over her shoulders as she waves goodbye to Aubrey and Stacie. She adjusts with the sleeves of her sweatshirt as she walks towards her AP Calculus classroom. Heading up the staircase, she feels a slight tap on her shoulder. 

Tap-tap, tap-tap

It’s almost too rhythmic for a simple shoulder tap... Chloe glances over her shoulder and finds navy blue eyes looking directly at her. The redhead trips on the final step of the stairwell, her heart rate picking up faster. Chloe immediately springs up and repositions herself against the wall, avoiding the swarm of underclassmen and upperclassmen. Again, she finds a short brunette, quirking up an eyebrow.

“You seem clumsy…” Chloe’s mouth goes dry as she attempts to create a response. A taller male wolf-whistle at the two, Beca immediately whipping her head back and glaring at the male. Chloe swears he mouthed “Good luck Beca.”

“I-I, uh, yeah! Heh, sorry about that. Um, d-did you need something or… something.” 

Beca lets out a short amused chuckle. “Actually, I just transferred classes and I know you’re in that class and stuff.” Chloe could feel her knees go weak and her head become light-headed. “Can you like take me there maybe?” 

The redhead nods enthusiastically and immediately wraps her hand around Beca’s wrist, pulling her towards the classroom. To her surprise, the brunette doesn’t pull away. 

Chloe and Beca enter the classroom together, the redhead escorting the brunette towards an empty seat that luckily is next to the redhead. Chloe lets herself relax as the teacher begins class once the tardy bell rings its annoying popping pattern. He claps his hands together and walks to the front.

“Team-up. You will be preparing a project about limits, basically a lesson video. Groups of two, no exceptions since there are now 28 of you.” He makes eye contact towards Beca who surprisingly sinks lower into her seat. “It is due next Friday. You will have today and tomorrow to prepare. I will not accept any late videos. Good luck. The rubric will be distributed at the end of class.” The teacher claps his hands together and the class roams about with the sound of desks and chairs scraping against the tiles echoing throughout the room.

Not having her friends in this period, Chloe immediately turns to Beca, a smile spreading across her face. Yet, someone is asking Beca already.

Damnit.

Before the redhead turns back around, she notices the person walking away sadly and Beca turning towards her; the feeling of light-headedness came back.

“You uh, wanna work on this together?”’

Chloe couldn’t believe it, Beca Mitchell is asking her to be her partner! The redhead clears her throat, biting back a gigantic grin. “Yes, that would be awes.”

Beca slides her desk towards Chloe’s. “Uh yeah… awes.”

“Time’s up.” The class goes silent. “What are you waiting for? Go work on it!”

Chloe notices how Beca tenses up: her jaw is stiffened, her shoulders are raised slightly, and her navy blue eyes are wide open. She clears her throat and turns her body towards Beca, who’s tugging her sweater sleeve frantically. The redhead taps Beca on the shoulder. “Hey, are you okay?”

The brunette immediately stops tugging her sleeve. “Uh, yeah. Just, kind of nervous I guess? So let’s get started on this fucking project!” Chloe raises an eyebrow at Beca’s hand gestures and emphasis of the cuss word. The brunette immediately shoves her hands into her pockets. “I-I I’m sorry, I don’t know what I’m doing.” 

Chloe only smiles at Beca’s nervousness. “You’re fine Becs… let’s get started on the project before Mister yells at us.” The redhead slips out a piece of lined paper as the brunette slips out her phone. 

“You wanna like… exchange numbers or something?” 

Chloe happily complies, taking out her own phone and swapping numbers with her project partner.

She found it amusing that someone who exerts an intense amount of confidence is actually pretty nervous and awkward.

-

Aubrey finds her friends in the library, Stacie beside a seemingly giddy Chloe. The redhead’s face has flushed shade of pink with Stacie trying to capture her attention. Aubrey walks closer to the table and notices the Cheshire Cat-like grin washed over Chloe. She pulls a seat across from the two and sets down her belongings.

“Uh, what’s going on?”

Chloe doesn’t reply but instead lets out a series of giggles. “Beca is coming over to her house tomorrow… found her like this after the bell rang.”

Well, well, well, looks like Chloe is perhaps one-step closer to dating that annoying alt-girl.

-

Chloe is running back and forth throughout her household, arranging her family’s belongings to ensure that her home is tidy and clean. She spent around an hour and a half vacuuming around her place, making sure the floor is free of crumbs. Although Beca wouldn’t care since she generally seems laid-back, Chloe wanted her first impression of the Beale household to be perfect; she even went as far to mow the lawn!

She glances towards the clock, 12:45 P.M, Beca is scheduled to arrive in 15 minutes. The redhead storms up the stairs, dashing swiftly into her room - the untouched place of her household. Chloe quickly gathers the scattered clothes and tosses her laundry in the closet. She arranges the school items on her desk in the corner and quickly makes her bed. The redhead’s adrenaline finally simmers as she takes a step in her doorway, feeling satisfied with the cleanliness of her room. 

Her adrenaline quickly emerges once again when she hears the first note of the doorbell; it has her rushing down the stairs, attempting to not slip and fall. Chloe unlocks the door and takes a deep breath; thank God her family isn’t home.

She swings the door open and finds Beca with her backpack and laptop and Chloe notices how her mouth slightly parts. “Hi Becs! Come in.”

“Oh, uh yeah… where are your uh-” The brunette gestures towards her face

Chloe slightly blushes as she leads the brunette towards her room. “Oh… I wear contacts at home.”

“You should wear those at school y’know… you look really pretty.” The redhead widens her eyes at Beca’s comment, her blush growing frantically. “Not that you’re not pretty without them! Uh, just like, you should wear those more often… I guess.”

“Why thank you! You’re so sweet… uhm, let’s get started on this?”

The brunette takes a seat on Chloe’s freshly-made bed, booting her laptop up. “Yep.”

Once Beca’s laptop starts up, she notices dozens of MP3 files scattered across her home screen, each one labeled as a song. Her background is her gigantic group of friends at what appears to be an amusement park… she sure is well-known. The brunette selects the editing program and retrieves a USB cable from her school bag along with the Calculus textbook.

“How come you just transferred into our class? It’s the third week of school.” 

Beca flips through the book, settling on the page where the Limits lessons and problems are located. “Uh, my math teacher beforehand told me to ask the counselor to see if it was possible… the teacher for AP Calc let me in.”

“How come she wanted you to switch?”

The brunette meets Chloe’s gaze. “Said I’m ‘too smart’ for the regular math class.”

“Is popular Beca Mitchell secretly a math whiz?” 

Beca rolls her eyes, an amused smile spreading across her face. “That’s one way to phrase it… and I’m not really popular dude.”

“Says the one with like what? 3 friend groups? And a boyfriend!”

Chloe notices how quickly Beca’s demeanor changes, her eyebrows raising and her face scrunching up, her smile quickly replaced with a grimace.“Boyfriend?”

“Yeah! That Jesse dude?”

Beca pauses for a bit before breaking out into a fit of laughter. “You think Jesse and I are dating? Dude gross! Not in a million years… he’s like my brother.” The brunette catches her breath after laughing for a bit. “Besides… I uh, play for the other team y’know?”

Chloe attempted to hide her felicity, a smile fighting to be seen. The redhead bit the inside of her cheek and tightened her hands into fists, bundling an area of her bedsheets. The girl she’s been pining on since freshman year is gay! Chloe might have a chance only if Beca feels the same way. “That’s really cool… but you are popular though. You’re always going to those parties right?”

The brunette skims over the textbook, dragging her finger delicately across the thin pages. “Uh yeah. For money.” Beca notices the redhead tilt her head like a confused puppy… cute. “I just play music. A DJ type of gig I guess?” 

“Do you make your own music?” 

Beca exits out of the editing program seeing how their conversation is clearly not math-related. She leaves her home screen visible for Chloe and slides the laptop towards her curious project partner. The redhead drags the cursor over each file, reading the titles of her mashups. Her mouth drops open when she comes upon a certain file.

“Titanium AND Million pieces? Those are my favorite songs!” 

A corner of Beca’s mouth lifts up. “Really? None of my friends have heard of them. You wanna listen to it?” 

Chloe immediately nods her head enthusiastically, double-clicking on the file. The audio player appears on the screen and the redhead’s room fills with the melody of Titanium and the lyrics of Million Pieces. A smile gradually grows on Chloe’s face as Beca appears to be worried, tugging at her bottom lip, looking at the redhead who seems happy with the music.

“This is so good Beca! No wonder you get paid for these types of things…”

The brunette returns a soft small to Chloe, adjusting her position on the bed to face towards Chloe. “I guess… it’s not that much. Maybe like $20 or $30 dollars.”

“An hour?”

“No for the whole night.” Chloe lets out an astonishing gasp

“You need to be paid by the hour! Your an amazing DJ. I’ll talk to those party people if I have to!”

Beca snorts, laughing at Chloe’s exasperation. “What are you, my manager?”

“I could be.”

“Since you seem so good at math and all… I’ll consider it.”

The redhead nudges Beca’s shoulder. “You’re good at math too you nerd.”

“Not as good as you though… you’re like what, the top of the class?” Chloe goes silent as she reopens the editing program, sliding Beca’s textbook between the pair. “Knew it~”

“Oh shut up, let’s just get started on this.”

--

Sprawled out before the pair are stacks of lined papers along with Chloe’s whiteboard that is filled with graphs and mathematical equations. The brunette is arranging the video clips together as Chloe leans in, directing which clip should be placed. The textbook is wide open, a few pencil marks marking the thin laminated pages and the clock reads 6:23 P.M… Beca’s been at Chloe’s house for five hours which the redhead is trying to remain calm about. As the last video file transfers into the editing program, the brunette’s phone vibrates once. Chloe leans away, allowing space for Beca to retrieve her phone from her back pocket. A slight smile is replaced with a frown as the brunette slips her phone away.

“My mom is here, I need to leave.”

Chloe frowns as well, hoping to spend more time with Beca. “Aw… okay. I’ll walk you down.”

The brunette gathers her belongings and gently slips them into her backpack. Beca puts her shoes back on and as the two are about to walk out of Chloe’s bedroom, the brunette springs back around and looks at Chloe.

“You wanna come to a party with me next Saturday?” Before Chloe could answer, Beca interrupts her with one more proposal. “And if you want… we can go out before? Like uh… a date.”

The redhead’s knees go weak as a wide grin appears on her face. “I would love to. Both the date and the party.”

Beca smiles. “Sweet.”

The two walk downstairs, Chloe escorting Beca to her mother’s car. As the two drive away, the redhead whips her phone out and messages the group chat with her two best friends.

GUESS WHO ASKED ME OUT

Stacie immediately replies YES CHLOE!!!!! 

And of course, Aubrey isn’t as enthusiastic oh dear god.

Saturdays are becoming to be Chloe’s favorite day.