#we’d be a possessive obsessive couple it wouldn’t be end well

[wakatshi]

when i was 12 i’d only fall for emo(ish) anime characters until i discovered mystic messenger and jumin at 14 he’s caused me irreversible damage

[blorbosondeck]

fic rec masterlist

canon divergent/finale fix its

Anamnesis

THIS! FIC! this fic lives in my head rent FREE it is so good and it makes so much sense in the narrative that the shitty finale concocted, as to why they wouldn't mention cas or anyone else and its just. so good and they write chuck in the most villainous way that i love!!!

"Chuck is depowered, Jack is the new god, and the world is free. Dean and Sam get into the Impala and chase down the miles on an endless highway, and their story is finally, finally their own to follow. At least, that's what Dean tells himself. But the diners and motels and painted interstate lines are blurring together and the smallest details keep catching at his brain like tiny fishhooks and he can't quite shake the feeling that not everything is exactly as it should be. Fix-it/alternate series finale. Canon-compliant through the end of 15.19."

Sunset Sound: Stairway to Heaven by @adhdeancas

GOD FUCKING CHRIST this is so good and sweet and im such a sucker for team ups and reunions!!! its 3:30 am rn and i just finished it and i love it SO much it made me laugh a lot and the last few chapters i had the stupidest grin just plastered to my face

The Closer the Star, the Greater the Parallax by @rocksalts​

repressed bastard dean submits to the mortifying ordeal of being known and receives the rewards of being loved but only after some miscommunication i LOVE this i read it last night and it’s a fast favorite. my interests have overlapped and i am INTO it

“When Dean sits down to watch some bullcrap Discovery Channel episode with Cas, he doesn’t expect to actually learn anything. Except, with Cas explaining, he makes an effort to connect the dots.”

Don't We All Deserve To Be Happy?

VERY sweet and a VERY good pick me up. all around feel good fic!!! 

"Post-canon fix-it, divergent from 15x19 where Jack stays and Dean doesn't die and Cas comes back and everyone is happy. Take a shot every time I'm salty about the finale."

Keep Your Love Alive

okay. okay okay okay this may be my favorite finale fix it just because of how well reasoned it is. like this feels what should have happened i love it SO much

"Dean gets to spend eternity sharing beers with Bobby on the Roadhouse porch and riding around in his Baby with Sam. He’s at peace… or he feels like he should be. But a few things nag at him: Where is Cas, and everybody else Dean had been hoping to see in Heaven? Why does he feel like he’s stuck in a loop, reliving the same memories over and over again? And who are the strangers wearing Sam’s and Bobby’s faces?"

The GoldenRod Revisions by @aethylas​

this is one of the most well written things ive ever read. the script format DID make it feel more real and honestly? this is better writing than this show deserves. the finale that could have been ♥️

“A rewrite of Supernatural’s final two episodes, expanded into a five episode arc - in which Chuck needs to be defeated, Castiel deserves to be saved, and the characters in this story get a very different ending.“

Ascend by @wanderingcas​ 

THEE finale fix it fic!!! written by the AMAZINGLY skilled and talented @wanderingcas !!! it’s 50k of angst and hurt/comfort and pure bliss

“Something in the world is wrong.

Demon activity is rising where mysterious black substance oozes and unusual ecological events are shaking the world. Dean, grief hanging on his shoulders, restlessly searches for answers that might lead him to the Empty… and to Cas.

But what Chuck wrote can’t be undone. The narrative thread pulls Dean along, forcing him to comply. Because once a story already has an ending, it can’t be rewritten.

Or can it?”

Things Happen (They Do, And They Do, And They Do) by THEE @sobsicles

i KNOW everyone has already recommended this and likely you’ve all already read it. but it has to go here bc REPRESSIOOOOOOOOON i LOVE this so much it is one of the most perfect things i’ve read. are you bisexual? did you have a kind of weird relationship with your best friend and not realize that how you felt about them wasn’t necessarily how other people felt about them and you were maybe a little bit in love with them but were too repressed to realize it? you’ll feel seen. maybe a little too seen

Closer (isn't close enough)

are you a sweet and sappy yet horny bastard? do you like cas exploding light bulbs? you will like this.

“the one where they finally talk about what cas said before the empty took him”

You and Your Husband

it is exTRMELY sweet!!! repression dean strikes again <3

"Five times Dean corrects someone about his relationship with Cas, and one time he realizes he doesn't need to."

Tall Grass

miscommunication and a slowburn! despite being written in 2017 and finished in 2018, it feels like a fix it. ft. plant obsessed cas <3 

Invictus

a LOVELY and short (relatively) finale fix it

“They saved the world. They're free. It's done.

Except it's not, and carrying on is the last thing any of them are thinking about.

They still have someone they need to save.”

Unchained Link

post finale- it’s a great case fic and i am compelled i want more!!!

"It's after the end of things. Life continues on while Dean is "livin it up" in heaven. But it's never that simple, is it? A freak occurrence sends Dean into another time stranded back on Earth. And he thought his hunting days were over. But, no worries. His knight in shining armor comes to the rescue. Hijinks, therefore, ensue."

fun and time unspecified

Ladies and Gentlemen, This is Love Potion No. 5

very funny and sweet! miscommunication at its finest ♥️

"Cas gets drenched with a mystery potion from the ‘love spell’ shelf and... Dean has a sneaking suspicion, angel or no— the spell may have taken effect. And Cas might be in love with Sam."

The Way We Were

Y'all. It is so good its a great mix of funny and serious- extremely fun to see dean as like a base bisexual

"Dean and Castiel pose as a couple to gain access to a gated community known as 'The Glen', a pleasant if secretive location that the boys believe might be linked to several dead bodies showing up over the years bearing signs of ritualistic sacrifice. All seems well until Dean's memory is affected from an incident during a solo exploration, leaving Dean convinced that their cover story is true. Castiel is left trying to resolve their case without taking advantage of an increasingly enthusiastic Dean"

While You Were Sleeping

this is basically just the movie but replacing sandra bullock with cas. this is my comfort movie and imo, one of the most perfect rom coms. the fic isn’t finished but i still have the tab open on my phone and i will straight up go back and re read it when i need a pick me up. 

aus/rewrites

The Harvelle Gospels: Offscript

i know everyone ever ( @jewishcharliebradbury ) has recommended this fic. and for good reason go fucking read it

“The Apocalypse is averted, the angels are in Heaven, and Jo is free from the threat of possession. Somehow it couldn't be farther from a happy ending.“

absolute riots

An Ineffably Profound Bond

i honestly would have put this in the finale fix it section! look. i know. i know you've been burned by crossover fics before. but this is Thee good omens/spn fic you want. its funny as hell and immensely satisfying. im weak for everyone working together tropes and that is this

"After Chuck sets 'The End' in motion, the remaining members of TFW make a miraculous escape. Not willing to waste any time, Castiel comes up with a plan to travel to one of the other worlds to try and get help from the angels there, but after a fight with Dean, it's the hunter who gets sent into an alternate universe,with seemingly no hope of return.

When a mysterious human with a heavenly weapon shows up in Aziraphale's shop, he and Crowley learn that their world is not the only one. Now it is up to them to decide whether or not they want to join forces with the human and help him save his world or simply find a way to send him home."

Somebody Up There Likes Me by @lafilleredige

cas is hit with a spell that turns his vessel into a woman, hijinks and sexuality crises ensue etc etc sam is a supportive and bitchy little brother and its all SO fucking funny and also. horny as hell i love it i love it i LOVE it

“’Dean doesn’t want to talk about your breasts, it’s making him uncomfortable because he hasn’t acknowledged the complex fluidity of human sexuality.’“

Stray Cat Strut

a long crack fic that IS one of the funniest things i’ve ever read and i can’t explain why. it’s so ooc but its so funny that i don’t care. if you need a laugh you gotta read this

"Sam and Cas are immediately in love with the adorable kitty they find outside the bunker door, and occupy their time planning how to convince Dean--who they believe is off sulking after a botched hunt--to let them keep their cat. Along the way, Dean learns to use a litter box and hears some confessions he maybe wasn’t supposed to hear, all while realizing just how much he loves Castiel.

Now all Dean has to do is convince Cas and Sam their new pet cat is actually him before they do something crazy--like neuter him!"

canon compliant or slight canon divergence

Give

by @doublestuffedimpala post season 7 episode 7, kind of ambiguous ending but truly a cas is happy to bleed for the winchesters fic

Punch Like Bones 

short, post 5x04 homoerotic moment that i wish we’d gotten

[imaginejamesandsirius]

A fic that includes a Voldemort obsessed with James Potter. Sirius does not like Voldemort interest in James. In this fic, James is a brilliant leader with powerful magic, and is always one step ahead of Voldemort. Love fics that includes a possessive Sirius. Please and thank you!

“I don't like it," Sirius said, aware as the words came out of his mouth that he was beginning to sound like a broken record.

"I know," James said. It's what he always said these days. In the beginning, he used to explain to Sirius why it was necessary or how it didn't matter because Voldemort was never going to get what he wanted.

What Voldemort wanted was, in a word, James. He found him 'fascinating'. Naturally, as his boyfriend, Sirius took personal offense to that. Voldemort also wanted to rule the Wizarding World and have everyone bow to him, but he thought James was a much easier target. Joke was on him, because ever since he'd picked up that little obsession, James had gotten proactive, and Voldemort's position in the Wizarding World was worse than ever. "You're not considering it, are you? It has to be a trap."

"A trap wouldn't do him any good," James said, tapping his fingers against the table as he thought. His brow scrunched up, and Sirius wanted to kiss him there, so he did. James shot him a quick smile, then went back to thinking. It was war, and time was often important-- the difference between life and death for everyone opposing Voldemort.

"A trap could get him you," Sirius said, but James shook his head.

"A trap would get me killed; that's not what he wants."

"Maybe he changed his mind." The only thing worse than James getting kidnapped was James being killed, in Sirius's opinion. Getting captured was something he could be saved from. Death was death. It was permanent, and no amount of thinking on Sirius's part would get around that.

James shook his head, dismissing Sirius's concern out of hand. It used to be that that would bother Sirius, but he trusted James to have a better grasp of the situation than he did. He went back to tapping his fingers on the surface of the table, and when it got a touch too frantic, Sirius put his hand on the back of James's neck and rubbed.

"Why don't we put this down for the night? It's late, and you know that you don't think as good when you're tired."

James sighed, sagging a little. Sirius knew that he was going to agree before he even opened his mouth. "Yeah. Yeah, you're right. Thanks. I don't know how much sleep I'll be able to get, though, when I'm worried like this."

"Let's go to bed anyways and see. If you can't get to sleep in a couple hours, you have my full permission to start working on this again."

James glanced up at him, surprised. "Really?"

"I promise," Sirius said. It was a stacked deck though, because he knew exactly how to make James unwind. He'd be out like a light in one hour, not making it anywhere close to two.

*

"What's the one thing Voldemort is obsessed with?" James asked, walking around the table. He had his different tics that helped him think, and right now, it was more nebulous than usual. Hence, pacing around the table in countless circles. Sirius was sat with his feet propped up, acting as a sounding board. He wasn't half as good at this chess, secret war planning thing as James was, but sometimes James needed someone to talk to.

"Other than you?"

James snorted, giving Sirius head a fond nudge when he passed by. "Yes, other than that. Besides, you have him beat out in that department. He wants me on his side, but it's not what he desires more than anything. He wants to rule the Wizarding World, but again, that's a want, not a need. What does he feel he needs?"

"Sycophants?"

"They're definitely nice. A good bonus, but not the end goal," James said. "We're thinking too small. He already has those. He already has a manor and all measure of wealth. He's set up for life."

"Several lifetimes," Sirius corrected. Between all his followers, he had enough to live in luxury for a millenia.

"Several," James repeated, chewing on his lip. "Several." He stopped walking and turned to Sirius. "That's it."

"It is?" Sirius asked, raising an eyebrow. He didn't know what 'it' was, much less if 'it' was the thing Voldemort wanted above all else.

"He wants to prove beyond a shadow of a doubt that he's the best, most powerful wizard of all time, and how do you do that? Taking over the Ministry, all the followers, those are facets. Window dressing, but not the goal. What is everyone afraid of? Death."

"Right, but he's not invincible," Sirius said. "Hell, back at the start, you caught him in that explosion and he started bleeding."

"Exactly, and that's when he decided that he wanted me on his side. Not invincibility, but something even better: immortality. It's why the setbacks from our plans-"

"Your plans," Sirius corrected.

"-didn't piss him off. He thinks that he has all the time in the world. Whatever he's done to extend his lifespan, he's already done it. If he lives for three hundred years, it won't matter to anyone that it took him ten years instead of five to take over Britain."

"That makes sense, but how did he do it?"

James went back to pacing and made a vague gesture with one hand. "Still working on that, but there's a trick to everything. No spell or ritual is infallible. Something that extended his lifespan would've given a boost to his power, so at least we know why no one can take him on in a one-on-one duel."

"Can't be a vampire," Sirius said, and James shook his head in agreement.

"Too many drawbacks. He'd be indebted to whoever turned him, and he's not willing to give someone else that kind of power. So what else is there that could extend his life?"

Sirius made a face. "Mating a veela." He knew Voldemort wouldn't have done that, but they were talking about every possibility, and technically mating a veela did give a power boost and extend a wizard's life, even if that extension was only twenty years and the power boost was said to be negligible.

James laughed. "I'm sure you're right, but I think we'd know if he was hooking up with a veela. That's the sort of secret that would get out."

"Something completely hidden, then," Sirius said, and James nodded. "A ritual for something that powerful would take years."

"And take place during solstices, full moons, et cetera. One of his followers would've noticed that he was missing during those times."

"Before he started the war, then."

"Has to be," James agreed.

They were both silent for another two trips around the table, then Sirius scratched at his ear. "A deal with the fae?"

James looked at him curiously. "Are they real?"

"Not sure."

"Same issue as with vampires though. Voldemort's not what I would call honorable. He wouldn't make a deal if he had to give up anything important for it."

Sirius shrugged. "Just throwing it out there."

James hummed, chewing on his lip some more. Sirius wanted to kiss him, but he thought he should wait for a slightly better time. Distracting James with sex while he was thinking usually resulted in some epiphany while Sirius was balls deep, and he didn't appreciate having to stop then.

The topic turned from how Voldemort accomplished immortality to what they were going to do about it. If they had a theory for what he'd done and just needed to confirm it, that would be easy, but James felt that getting a read on him would be their best bet. After a while, Sirius stopped trying to change his mind and helped him plan it.

They decided on a complicated network of runes to put in place and plan a fight happening there. There wasn't any chance of Voldemort circumventing it, which meant that they had to make sure he was drawn to that fight. The easiest way to do it was for James to be there, but that was a whole other parcel of worry. Sirius was equal parts wanting to convince James to change his mind and wanting to shag him blind. He kissed James once they were done planning for the day, pushing him against the table. James just grinned and hopped up, giving Sirius space to stand between his legs.

"You love me, right?" Sirius asked, pausing in pushing James's robes out of the way.

James smiled and tucked Sirius's hair behind his ear. "Always have and always will. I'm yours, love, and I wouldn't have it any other way. You love me too, yeah?"

"What kind of question is that? Of course I do," Sirius said, rolling his eyes but giving James another kiss just in case he'd ruffled any feathers by rolling his eyes at him.

"Well you asked first, so I thought I'd check."

Sirius kissed him again and stuck his hand down his pants. It was the last thing either of them said for a while.

[lushscreamqueen]

BLOODY PIT OF HORROR -1965 on The Schlocky Horror Picture Show

OPENING: Bonjourno . He was a homicidal maniac who LIVED TO KILL!, They were a bunch of actors who just happened to wander into the castle hoping to take some lovely photographs of girls draped in blood and guts, for a book cover and I… am Nigel Honeybone and this…is the SCHLOCKY HORROR PICTURE SHOW. So before the evil spirit of a former resident known as 'The Crimson Executioner' is released on Channel 31 by accident to possess the owner of the afore mentioned castle and takes it upon himself to punish his unwelcome guests for their physical and spiritual imperfections. I will say sit back grab an Absinth and enjoy the "Bloody Pit of Horror.

"BREAK: So then, what unspeakable evils have been unleashed? What soul wrenching things will we see to warp out mind so we wake screaming in the night? And the ad breaks more of THE SCHLOCKY HORROR PICTURE SHOW. We'll be right back

MIDDLE: You know you're in for a special treat when a movie starts with a quote by the Marquis De Sade. "My vengeance needs blood!" (Insert maniacal laugh here).Bloody Pit of Horror begins with a flashback of a red-hooded criminal being led to his death. Helpful narration explains that the aptly named Crimson Executioner "…took life not from any sense of justice, but from hatred and self gratification." As the prisoner is being strapped into one of his own iron maiden looking like it was constructed for a primary school play. He decree's loudly "I'll return and be avenged!" Then his body and soul were locked up inside this coffin shaped painted plywood prop, complete with a really cool wax seal. What I love about these wax seals is that they last for hundreds of years, but instantly fall apart as soon as some photographer brushes against it. Mickey Hargitay who plays Travis Anderson aka the Crimson Executioner was Mr Universe 1955 and starred in Hercules Vs. The Hydra, and a couple of other schlock flicks, but the most impressive item on his resume is that he was once the husband of Jayne Mansfield and is father to Mariska Hargitay of Law and Order fame. I guess she didn't get ANY of the looks from those two. Mickey even appeared in an episode with her as her Grandfather. Now that's funny.!! He puts all that vital life experience to use in Bloody Pit of Horror as the guy that runs around shirtless in red tights, torturing and killing the folks who just wanted to use his castle to do some cheesecake photo shoots for some type of horror anthology they were working on. Happens to me all the time. As you watch this, you may be struck with a sense of de ja vu. The film is remarkably similar to The Playgirls and the Vampire. In that film you had a gaggle of babes with a broken down bus staying at a mysterious castle, only to get killed off by some crabby count that owns the castle. For for the anal retentive among us, and that means you, yes it was Walter Brandi who played the count in The Playgirls and the Vampire also plays Rick in this film and as you may have guessed by his name, this time Rick will be the hero. So if you've already seen The Playgirls and the Vampire, bully for you. Is there really any reason to see this one? Well, heck no but we are playing it anyway! Mr. Mansfield acts about as well as you would expect from a guy that starred in Lady Frankenstein and Revenge Of The Gladiators, but his role doesn't call for anything approaching subtly. If you're going to prance around like an overripe PHANTOM making faces at people, and command a posse of muscle-bound henchmen in form fitting striped shirts, it's okay if you camp it up a bit. It's probably compulsory.*sigh* It's hard to be a quietly tortured monster that hides in the shadows and strikes a pose when no one is looking. Especially when Crimson Executioners had such awesome bodies! Fast forward to the mid sixties when fortunately for us, a group of beautiful models and horny photographers out on a photo shoot wander straight into his self-righteous clutches. After being told that the dungeons are strictly off-limits, surprise, surprise, the girls and their handlers go down to the basement to set up the photo shoot. This involves a montage of scenes of the girls getting into their costumes which consist of fairly skimpy attire, but nothing you wouldn't see on a Western Suburbs school girl today. And while some of the guys are running around down in the bowels of the castle, they bump into the seal that has held the Crimson Executioner in his tomb, it drops off and the next thing you know there's an accident at the "pit and the pendulum" attraction. I you or I found ourselves in this situation, I'm quite certain we'd take that as our cue to drop whatever it was we were doing, call an ambulance and then get the hell out of the castle.  So, good thing we aren't characters in an Italian horror movie. The plot is all downhill from there so enjoy with me, the rest of "THE BLOODY PIT OF HORROR"

CLOSING: How long did it take Edith to figure out that former movie star Travis Anderson, is dude that she used to date! What are the odds? You couldn't help but like Travis with his self-obsession and preening, all the while complaining about the half naked nubile chicks laying around his basement posing for their cheesecake horror photos. Unlike a lot of movie maniacs, he doesn't kill women because he's never been good enough for them, but because they aren't as great as he is! He also kills men for the same reason And how in the dickens did Mickey Hargitay end up in a castle with all these really nifty torture devices?

by Lushscreamqueen for the Schlocky Horror Picture Show October 28 2008.

[eldritchsurveys]

674.

have you ever violated school dress code? >> I wasn’t allowed to wear anything that would have violated any school dress codes, so I have no idea how that would have ever happened.

if you are listening to music, is the singer male / female? >> I’m not listening to music.

what [ if anything ] do you give up for Lent? >> I don’t observe Lent.

what phrase leads your mind directly to the gutter? >> I mean, I can’t think of any on command, but there are plenty I come across online and stuff that make me snicker. I just like wordplay, tbh.

when you feel like giving up, how do you convince yourself not to? >> I mean, it’s mostly Can Calah who gives the impassioned arguments in defense of not giving up. I just listen and gripe and wait for his infallible logic to work its magic.

what are your opinions on immigration? >> I don’t have a blanket opinion on immigration. I have no personal issue with individual immigrants, no matter their story. They’re just people to me, who want the same things I want -- to survive, to have their needs met, to make a better life.

would you tell an actual immigrant your views? >> Of course I would, if they were unsure where they stood with me.

what was the subject of the last list you made? >> I don’t remember the last time I made a list.

do you ever get nervous before interviews / important meetings? >> I mean, I would if that was a thing that occurred in my life.

who pays for the majority of your belongings? >> It’s pretty evenly split between me and Sparrow.

would you ever willingly shop in a thrift store? >> Of course...?

what is the most that you would ever spend on an outfit? >> I mean... that depends on many factors, including what the outfit is for and how much money I have.

is there anything you do that just outrages your parents? >> ---

when was the last time you were embarrassed in public? >> I don’t remember.

have you ever won an award you were actually proud of? >> I mean, maybe a long time ago. Doubtful, though.

the importance of education, rate it from 1-10, 10 as most important? explain your choice to rate it as such? >> I rank formal education rather low on my personal importance scale, but I rank informal, interest-based learning very high on my personal importance scale. I love to learn, but I don’t operate well in school settings and actually end up learning less in those settings.

what is the coolest science experiment you've ever done? >> I haven’t done any cool science experiments. :(

are you experiencing difficulties with any friends right now? >> No.

how do you deal with a fight between yourself and a friend? >> I don’t know how to deal with that kind of thing anymore.

when you apologize to someone after a fight, how do you go about saying that you are sorry? >> I haven’t been in this situation in a long time, I don’t know.

have you ever played around with "dry ice"? >> No.

do you think parents are responsible for the actions of their children? >> Of course they are, if we’re talking literal children (not teenagers). It takes some time for a small human to develop the sense of independent reasoning and reckoning of consequence that would allow them to take full responsibility for their actions.

how do you, personally, define music? >> I never really thought about it, it’s one of those concepts where I basically take my understanding of it for granted.

should the military draft take both men AND women? why / why not? >> That’s not a debate I’m willing to get into. I want nothing to do with a draft and I ideally wouldn’t want anyone else to have to deal with getting drafted, actually.

when was the last time that you corrected someone? >> I don’t remember. It was probably something really minor and not a big deal for either party. --Oh yeah I remember now, it was about why Bourbon Street is named Bourbon Street.

when was the last time you were corrected? >> It was also probably about something minor and nbd. I think the last time might have been when I misspelled “Lolth” because believe it or not, I’ve been doing that since 2009. I always misspell it “Lloth”, it’s just what happens.

when did you last say " i told you so "? >> I don’t remember. I try to avoid saying that unless it’s about something funny/silly.

is there any celebrity you like to " keep up with "? >> Not especially. I mean, there are definitely actors and directors that I pay attention to more than others when they get involved in new things, but I always forget to like, keep regular tabs on them or whatever.

celebrity gossip: YAY or BOO? >> Boo.

what is the most life-changing book you have read? >> I couldn’t say. A lot of books I’ve read have had a significant impact on me in some way.

have you had a negative impact on anyone's life? >> Sure.

has anyone had a negative impact on yours? who / why? >> Absolutely. I’m not going to elaborate, the negative impact that others have had on me is both 1) way too lengthy and sensitive to elaborate on and 2) not worth dwelling on right now when I just want to chill and take a survey.

what does marriage mean to you, specifically? >> It means legal recognition of our partnership, which is necessary for things like, say, being each other’s advocates in a medical emergency.

how will you know when you are ready to get married? >> I didn’t bother fretting over whether I was “ready” or not. We’d been living together for a couple of years by the time the topic even came up, it didn’t seem like a weird next step to make.

how much time have you spent contemplating your own death? >> Way more time than is logical, probably.

is there a joke that you just can't stand? >> I mean, probably. There are a lot of insensitive jokes out there.

have you ever read any self-help books? >> Yeah.

what's your take on the obesity problem in america? >> I don’t have a take on it. You know what I do have a take on? The constant social pressure to be thin, and the resultant contagious obsessions with eating the “right” foods, compulsive exercising, and worrying about a number on a scale. Being fat, of all things, shouldn’t be this dramatically frightening or repulsive to people, but that’s what we’re made to believe, and that’s the message we’re all internalising on a daily basis. I’m fucking tired of it. I got enough problems.

what is something you used to love, but now greatly dislike? >> I don’t think I’ve ever flipped that hard on anything. There are things I’ve liked casually that I ended up not caring about later on, but nothing that I loved that I started hating later. I might shift from being obsessed with something to just being chill about it, but that’s it.

what is something you used to dislike, but now like? >> I disliked Metallica as a child.

when ( if ) you become a parent, what will you do differently, compared to how your parents raised you? >> I don’t plan on being a parent, but how I treat children in general is almost directly in contrast to how I was treated as a child. I treat them with respect, I listen to what they have to say, I let them feel their feelings, I show interest in their interests, etc.

do you equate spanking with physical abuse? would you spank a child? >> Let’s just say that I did not ever feel loved or respected when I was spanked. I felt terrified and shameful and being left alone to self-soothe afterwards with no real understanding of why I was being punished so harshly definitely didn’t help. I don’t feel like my understanding of right and wrong was healthily developed by corporal punishment. I don’t see any benefit to it, but I see a lot of harm. So, no. I would not spank a child.

what's the most ridiculous thing you've done this week? >> I have no idea. I don’t think I’ve done anything especially ridiculous?

--- did you regret it / love it / hate it / want to do it again / etc? >> ---

is emotional cheating ( in a relationship ) as bad as physically cheating? >> I have no opinion on this, it’s irrelevant to my life.

if your bf/gf wanted to wait until marriage for sex, would you be willing? >> ---

when you look at the sunset, what do you think about / feel? >> I mean, it all depends, don’t it? I don’t have the exact same thought every time I look at something.

is there someone you wish you could trust / you wish was trustworthy? >> No. I just wish I didn’t have such overdeveloped trust issues.

is there anyone that you no longer want in you life? who / why? >> Well, yeah, and those people are, therefore, no longer in my life.

how has your outlook on life changed in the past few years? >> I’m not sure, I haven’t really kept track.

have you ever walked out of a boring movie ( in theaters )? >> No. I did want to walk out of Infinity War, though. Not because it was boring, but because it was pissing me off. (Also, that was back when Anthony was still around, and he wanted to walk out too.)

how open are you with people you know online? >> It depends on how I know them, what we have in common, how long I’ve known them and to what degree, etc.

what do you think of athletes that take steroids? >> I don’t think about that.

if a celebrity is involved in scandal after scandal, is that likely to effect how you view him/her & his/her work? >> Not really. I barely notice when scandals like that happen, anyway. It also seems like most scandals are just sensationalised overhyped nonsense to get people talking about whoever it is, for publicity, and has nothing to do with, like, the merits of the performer’s art or whatever.

what is one celebrity that you have zero respect for? >> ---

what is one fashion trend that you hope makes a comeback? >> ---

what is one that you wish would just die out already? >> ---

have you ever driven under the influence of alcohol / drugs? >> I don’t drive, period.

are you overly attached to your material possessions? >> No. I can be a bit under-attached, in fact. I’ll throw a thing away in a heartbeat. (This doesn’t apply to like, electronics, or any other expensive thing that I use on a constant basis. But like, t-shirts, books, toys, novelty items, other shit that ends up just taking up space and collecting dust? Bye.)

have you ever ridiculed anyone for their clothing choices? >> Not since I was a teenager, most likely.

living in poverty: what do you think it'd be like? >> I... I have lived in poverty. Poverty is my default state of existence. I don’t really know what to tell you about “what it’s like”. What’s it like to not be poor?

what is one " diet " that you think is just utterly worthless? >> All of them are worthless to me.

what advice would you give someone that is uncomfortable with his or her body / appearance? >> I wouldn’t give them advice. Advice is what the entire world is going to try to give them. I’d imagine they’d be tired of advice (unless they’re specifically asking me for it, I guess). But I’ll always have a “mood” or “I know that feel” to offer, because... yeah. Same. The shit sucks and there’s no easy way out of it.

what advice would you give someone about to start high school? >> I don’t even want to think about that phase of life, I’ll pass.

what foreign food are you NOT interested in trying? >> *shrug*

what foreign country do you believe is misunderstood? >> I mean, I don’t know. USian attitudes towards and assumptions about a lot of countries are... misinformed at best.

have you ever felt entirely unwanted and alone? >> Yeah.

in your eyes, which is worse: rape or murder? >> Nope, don’t care.

do you understand / read shakespeare? >> I have never been able to grok Shakespeare, and I’m not interested enough to keep trying.

would you feel comfortable living with someone that owned a gun? >> Most likely not. Luckily, that’s not likely to happen.

do you know anyone that lives in a foreign country? >> I mean, yeah, I use the internet.

[memorylang]

Easter Epilogue in America | #35 | April 2020

Friday, March 6, 2020, I disembarked in North Las Vegas, Nevada, to a home I hadn’t lived in since high school 2015. I’ve been here a couple months now, by time of writing. 

With today’s stories, I bring you from my first days and weeks back in the States through April’s end. I share reverse culture’s shock’s role in my readjustment to Vegas life, as COVID-19 grew across the States. But I’m a hopeful man, so you know my stories end well. 

As a good friend reminded me the night I learned all Peace Corps Volunteers had to go, "The steps of a man are established by the Lord, when he delights in His way" (Psalm 37:23). Consider this the epilogue to my very fruitful, memorable, and—dare I write—life-changing adventures. I've no regrets. 

Overture

Week 1 (March 6-12) was a blessing, having just returned to an America vaguely like the one I knew. Gosh, I love fruit. Thankfully, a few friends saw me. 

Then Week 2 (March 13-19) brought big changes and new deadlines. But, meanwhile, Week 3 (March 20-26) began my home improvement operations. The following weekend saw a drive to Reno to see my 19-year-old sister at uni. 

Weeks 4 and 5 (March 27-April 9) saw my 21-year-old sister visit Vegas from LA, starting with the 24th birthday of my older brother and ending after Easter Sunday. 

Week 6 (April 10-16) began with Holy Week, then driving Sister back to LA, followed by the restart to fitness routines. My routines expanded, Week 7 (April 17-23). Week 8 (April 24-30), Dad visited that weekend, so I braved minor puncture wounds from yard work with him plus an excruciating medical procedure. Fitness routines continued, and I shifted my diet from a fruit obsession to increasing my protein intake. 

Week 9 (May 1-7) began by closing loose ends with my Peace Corps stories. I’ve begun next steps while home, as we lead into Mothers’ Day. 

Landing—Returned to Vegas

From tens of thousands of feet in the air, I felt the end of an era. Nine Mongolian months ended. 

The midday we landed, I wanted to get up and leave elsewhere, not to the house in Vegas. 

I’m an English teacher. It’s a school day. I should be teaching. 

My 18-year-old high school senior brother picked me up from the airport. Haha, he said he skipped English class to get me. Dad seemed upset that my bro missed class, but Bro had stable senioritis, with college plans secured. I loved the irony of skipping class to get a teacher. 

Neighborhood in Reverse Culture Shock

A few hours after we came home, I went forth to community walk around the neighborhood, trying to make sense of things. 

“Hello, how are you?” said someone in passing. “Oh, doing great,” I replied in usual fashion. 

Well, I wasn't [doing great]. 

As I walked I weighed how when I used to live in Vegas, in 2015, I was more concerned with, what's the newest game? What's the latest episode? Yet now I feel more detached, less purposeful. I continued on to the park. 

I love the fragrances and fresh air beneath the trees. I lied in the grass. 

In another way, I felt, I only tolerated Vegas. There's more for me out there. There are so many cities and places with people I'd rather see and be with. 

But God is with me here, too. It's the second Friday of Lent. 

School buses drove by as I walked home a couple hours later. Middle schoolers walked and biked my neighborhood. (Was it my neighborhood? I'd hardly reintegrated...) 

Middle schoolers jeered to each other about whatever. Some kids probably had crushes on each other but felt too shy to speak up, uncomfortable with the status quo. I felt like a watcher no longer a participant. Yet I was them, here, 10 years ago. 

I had some dinner then slept shortly after, from 6:30 p.m. to 1 a.m. in our home’s guest bed. There I realized, I might be sleeping here a while. 

Strange Days Ahead

By Saturday morning, my first one waking at home, I still felt I’d feel lonely without my senior cohort if I came back to Mongolia. Thankfully at least a half dozen said they plan to return. And senior cohort members who continued keeping in touch with me were great comforts. I still felt encouraged to apply to be a Resource Volunteer, sometime after conquering my 16-hour jet lag. 

“Frozen II” tracks from the day before looped in my head most mornings. Film themes of change, grief and controlling the few things we can felt uncommonly personal. From Saturday on, I looped English and Chinese tracks from “Frozen II” while coping with being home. One jetlagged 3 a.m. morning, I even transcribed and translated the tracks between languages. 

Later Saturday morning, I walked back to the park. I spotted a tree. So I climbed it. Surprisingly my park had a sturdy one. Who knew? The tree’s been here all the dozen years my family has... 

Atop its branches, I felt I might wake up from a dream and be back in Mongolia the next day. 

I felt still reeling from my bewildering first Peace Corps Week. From seven days ago, I left my Mongolian city, came among nearly 100 fellow Volunteers, joined half on a journey across Europe, then found myself back in Vegas with my four siblings still in school. So mystic. 

American Culture Redux

I’d jot general musings about culture during these first days back in the States. 

We say, “Pardon me,” as though the mere act of engaging a stranger in conversation might offend against a stranger’s time. 

In the West, we highly value possessions, and we treat time itself as something to possess. 

In the States, we travel separately to functions. We might chit chat some before or after. Then we part ways to do whatever we’ve already scheduled. 

I wondered if I should ask to visit people or accompany them. Would that be weird? I felt my integration habits of Peace Corps lingered. But I considered, I still had plenty I could do by myself, like taking time to process my sudden evacuation.

In the States, we decide against reaching out to people. Perhaps we fear simple greetings to friends, with nothing more, might impose on their time. On the flip side, I receive multiple messages per week from Mongolians simply writing to say good morning or hello—so pleasant. I should cherish others’ care, never reject. 

Resettling In

I cut my hand dropping down the tree, so I applied pressure, elevated the wound and headed home to clean and bandage it. I felt weirdly at ease, remembering Peace Corps health trainings. I recalled “Dear Evan Hansen,” too. 

My family was busy with life, so the house felt rather quiet and still most hours. Already, though, I brainstormed ways to keep busy as a Peace Corps Volunteer on admin hold. 

I began by finishing my Peace Corps blog stories. The day after, I’d already have my newest online, “Trilingual Adventures, My First Mongolian Winter | #22 | January 2020.” Coincidentally, that story was my last from before Coronavirus quarantines in Mongolia began. 

Mongolian friends still messaged me every so often. They're so kind. I hoped they wouldn’t lose hope I'll return. [Nine weeks later, they’re still hopeful.] Meanwhile, I still wanted to search for a Vegas Mongolians Facebook group when my jet lag was up and I felt ready to start speaking Mongolian again.

I considered planning a trip to my alma mater in Reno, Nev. for a week later that month, once I settled more into the States’ routines. On the topic of routines, I decided maybe I'd visit church most weekdays to establish some semblance. I'd help my folks as best I could, so I’d still feel like I'm serving somebody. I even thought of getting my 23-year-old brother's bike repaired, to borrow it every so often! 

To end that reflective weekend, later that Saturday, my little brother drove me to the bank to deposit the funds I withdrew earlier that week in Mongolia. Then he treated me to my first American fast-food in a while. I attended Mass for the first time in weeks that evening. On Sunday, I marveled at seeing free to-go boxes, when Dad’s fiancée’s family invited my brother and I to celebrate the oldest daughter’s birthday. I enjoyed my first Thai tea in a long while. 

That week, I frequented daily morning prayer, rosary and Masses at church. Then walked around the community and continued blog tales either from the public library or from a local Starbucks (coincidentally the same one in which Black Friday 2018 I committed to Peace Corps service). On separate days, a couple friends also reconnected with me. I attended Mass seven of eight days this period, returning to Reconciliation that final Saturday and dreaming dreams most every night two weeks thereafter. 

Peace Corps Global Evacuation

Week 2 (March 13-19), my cohort learned we were being reclassified as being Returned Peace Corps Volunteers—as in, we’d officially completed our service. This followed with sudden paperwork, thankfully not due for a few weeks. This led to global headlines of all Peace Corps Volunteers coming home, too.

Between home projects to tidy the house or weed the yard, I joined up with the National Peace Corps Association group writing to our legislators to support Returned Peace Corps Volunteers worldwide. I spent the days preceding the Holy Triduum completing my final paperwork. 

I felt comforted nonetheless Peace Corps Mongolia insisted we could reinstate, assuming Mongolia’s situation resolves within the next year. I felt willing to take that bet. 

COVID-19 Escalates Across the States

My second week, church closed. I still frequented the park but felt amazed to see more people than usual. A couple more friends reconnected. 

A few weeks later, businesses shut down, schools closed, and I felt more adjusted. America was looking like the rest of the world. I trusted Americans generally had a good sense of sanitation practices, so I felt less concerned about establishments open. Mongolia lacked drive-throughs, so businesses there often closed outright. 

But my weekend between Weeks 3 and 4, March 26-28, felt the first time I heard how rapidly COVID-19 escalated in the States. My little brother played podcasts as we drove to deliver supplies to our uni sister sheltering in Reno. From the news, I heard the U.S. now led the world in Coronavirus cases. That sounded bad. I felt especially baffled hearing that Nevada, with a population slightly less than Mongolia’s, topped over 100 times as many cases. I felt more at risk in the States! 

During the trip, I also encountered American jargon, like, “Out of/due to an abundance of caution…,” “social distancing” and “Flatten the curve.” I felt critical of whether many Nevadans really knew what the jargon meant, considering how many cars remained on the road, how close people gathered in parks and how shoppers hardly kept distance. Though, I also recognized that Mongolian media might have used similar stock phrases that I just didn’t know... Nonetheless, Mongolians officials seemed more willing to pause operations to let health workers build capacity, and citizens tended to comply. 

If any last brave friends wanted to see me, the closest we got to physical touch was to raise our feet toward each other and bump our shoes, as bros might fist bump or clasp hands. I commented touching each other’s feet together in Mongolia would’ve been a serious taboo, hehe. Still, I left those as my last in-person meet-ups to #StayHome and limit concerning others.  

Perks of Being American

At home, my time zone matched most friends’ again, which made phone and video calls so feasible. I chatted with whoever reached out or replied to my outreach, which led to lovely chats with relatives, mentors, past classmates, fellow Peace Corps evacuees and more. 

Introverted friends inspired me much when I checked in with them. They joyously shared how much time they’ve had for uninterrupted time to themselves and work from home. Introverts often touch my soul. 

Being an ambivert feels weird for me sometimes, in how I straddle both sides. Extroverts often seem the ones I want, but introverts seem the ones I need. Nowadays, when being extroverted takes the effort, I find inspiration flowing from introverted bliss. 

Community members I met in Mongolia continued keeping in touch with me, which helped me remember and stay close to my prayerful Lenten commitment to consult God on my projects. 

Easter 2020 #WithMe with Family

My fourth week, my 21-year-old sister, the USC junior, flew in to celebrate our older bro’s 24th birthday. She brought her Nintendo Switch, so I soaked up the fun of “Super Smash Bros. Ultimate,” Nintendo’s “ARMS” demo and Jackbox Games with the family. After unis went online, our older bro transitioned to quarantine with his girlfriend and her sisters, but he still visited to celebrate his birthday with us. 

I also felt joyful during Holy Week when the World Youth Day 2019 Mass soundtrack appeared on Spotify. It was an incredible choral and rhythmic masterpiece I never thought I’d hear again. I recently learned, too, a childhood best friend would receive confirmation this year—magnificent!

As on Sundays, I saw the Lent and Holy Week services on YouTube, between channels like Shalom World with Pope Francis, Ascension Presents with Fr. Mike Schmitz, Word on Fire with Bishop Barron, and Our Lady of Wisdom Newman Center with Fr. Nathan Mamo. A Kansan relative joked how COVID-19’s let us “attend” Mass in our jeans, haha. Dad’s fiancée and I talked about the newfound freedom to just choose any online pastor per week. 

My Easter 2020 apex came Good Friday. I felt moved by the Vatican’s Way of the Cross, which read Italian reflections written by incarcerated and those whose lives they affected or whose lives affect them. They reminded me, for many of us, COVID-19 is nothing compared to the ‘normal’ sufferings of those behind bars, starving for hope. 

Renewed Motivation

After Easter Sunday, my lil’ bro and I returned Sister to L.A., Dad returned to work in northern Nevada, and Older Bro returned to sheltering away. So since the beginning of Easter, April 12, 2020, I’ve spent my days seeking to accelerate into a newer, more stable motivated state. 

I decided first to honor Dad’s suggestion to work-out and, with my lil’ bro’s help, added focused fitness to my days. I borrowed my siblings’ game system and games to finish one I started years ago while on the treadmill. I personally doubled-down on blog stories to get two through a week. And, setting up my new horizon after, I started looking back into language studies. Week 7 (April 17-23) added my return to polyphasic sleep to boost productivity. 

I’m a hopeful man. So some days, especially between 4 and 6 a.m., I draw or write stories about the ideal life I wish I could be living. This helps me delve into where my yearnings really are, mentally. After seeing “The Rise of Skywalker,” I even doodled an Avatar like Rey meditating in the air. Then I try giving my wants back up to God, accepting I can’t have all those things right now. Usually this process illuminates desires I hadn’t acknowledged before. 

I also recognize the steps I can take now to draw me closer to my future desires.

I spend idle thoughts when possible praying for others. I realize with so many people already praying for me, I needn’t worry about myself, since I’m taken care of. Instead, I should think to the ones who do not know the hope I feel. I wish some encounter might intrigue them and offer new peace. Such exercises remind me too of my privileges and help root me in my giving self. 

Ecclesiastical Latin’s been a fun quest toward greater knowledge. It bridges both Mongolian and Spanish grammar, while drawing vocabulary I’ve encountered across English, Spanish, Mandarin Chinese and Mongolian, too. Plus I understand church music better now. It’s a fun journey. I found regarding Church language that Mandarin and Mongolian more frequently transliterated straight from the Latin, where English and Spanish adapted. Fun reading. 

Five Months of Freedom

I read the soonest I might return to Peace Corps service in Mongolia would be October 2020. So, I’ll be here in the Pacific time zone for long, if you want to call someday. I’ve cherished my adventures and look forward to those ahead.

I’m ostensibly home for the summer, so I plan to write at least once monthly a new piece sharing unpublished bits from Mongolia, maybe a few new tales from American life, too. 

Hard to believe after packing my Mongolian apartment, evacuating in our caravan to the capital, saying so-long to many, flying around the world and finally landing in Vegas, I’d finish revising and editing these blog stories #22 through 38. I’d been drafting them for months, weeks and days! At last, we’ve caught up. 

So, as the days come, I’ll rise, read Scriptures, reflect, journal, chat with Asia, take to the treadmill, play some games, see some films or shows, try to eat well, try to work most muscles, try not to strain something, then return to writing, other reading, napping, showering, sorting, teeth-brushing, thinking and marveling. This leaves plenty of time to socialize. And I do miss you, wherever you shelter.

Keep in touch, Friend! 

Up next is a 2020 Mother’s Day reflection. 

You can read more from me here at DanielLang.me :)

[junqkook]

— EVERY BREATH YOU TAKE; 2 (m.)

— notes; this fic is not condoning abusive/unhealthy relationships in any way. please do not read if you are triggered by anything relating to stalkers/stalking. this is a repost from my old account.

pairing; jungkook/reader genre; stalker au, thriller, smut, angst words; 11,698 rating; explicit

— synopsis; you and jungkook are getting closer as the days go by, but the chill that goes through you every time you’re alone has you on edge; between everyone around you, who can you really trust?

contents; obsessive, toxic behavior, violence, gore. possessiveness, choking, unprotected sex, creampie, cum play, dirty talk, rough sex, biting, marking, multiple orgasms, jealousy, dom!jungkook.

— chapters; one. two. three.

“He still hasn’t asked me out!” you pouted to Hoseok, picking at your food. Hoseok groaned, smacking his lips together as he attempted to swallow down the food stuffed in his mouth.

“Will you stop whining about that?” he yelled around the food. He continued eating, rolling his eyes as you sighed for the millionth time.

“I can’t help it!” you replied, taking a bite of your food and swallowing blandly. “He texts me all the time and we even went out for food, but—”

Hoseok shot you a dirty look as he took a swig of his water. “Have you thought maybe he doesn’t want to date you?”

You tried to ignore the sting of his words, sharp little jabs into your chest. Your best friend was always completely honest with you, as per request; when you two became friends at a much younger age, you’d promised to never be fake with each other. “Shut up,” you replied quietly. “Who wouldn’t want to date me?”

Hoseok laughed and shoved your leg with his. “Yeah, you’re right; you’re a total catch.”

“See?” you huffed. “Even you’re in love with me!”

“We’d be the power couple of the century,” Hoseok agreed. “Too bad you don’t tickle my pickle.”

You scrunched your nose. “I don’t need to be thinking about your pickle, thanks.”

Hoseok hummed and shrugged. You sighed again and checked your phone, bottom lip sticking out into a pout as you saw the many messages Jungkook had sent already.

[from jungkook 11:07am] — soooo bored — what are u doin? [from jungkook 11:09am] — i miss u — still remember how good u taste

You shut your phone off again, squeezing your legs together at the insinuation of the text. You turned your eyes to Hoseok again, who reached over for the remote to turn the TV on to something else.

“… come back with the still unidentified suspect on the loose—”

Hoseok flipped the channel to a drama that had just started playing recently. You snorted and shoved at his shoulder, leaning back and laying down on his couch. “You’re such a romantic,” you whined. “Maybe I wanted to watch the news!”

Hoseok only raised an eyebrow. “Sorry, but my drama is more important than some news about some guy that got beat up in Daegu.” You simply hummed in response, the two of you lapsing into a comfortable silence as he watched his drama and you scrolled through your messages.

[to jungkook 1:05pm] — what u up to?

[from jungkook 1:05pm] — hey — just doing hw :/ — what about u?

[to jungkook 1:07pm] — just chillin

[from jungkook 1:07pm] — by yourself? — i can come help u pass the time ;)

You chuckled under your breath and peeked at Hoseok, who didn’t even bat an eyelash your way; his eyes were glued to the screen of his TV.

[to jungkook 1:08pm] — nah its fine — i’m with hoseok

Jungkook’s reply didn’t immediately come, which was odd since it usually did. When your phone finally buzzed with the response you’d been waiting for, Hoseok’s doorbell rang and he started smacking your thigh.

“Ow!” you hissed, snatching your legs toward yourself and away from his palm.

“Can you go get the door?” he asked, still not looking at you.

You rolled your eyes and got up off the couch with a loud sigh to indicate your displeasure with his request. He paid you no mind as you made your way to the front door of his apartment, swinging open the door without much thought. Your eyes widened at the person stood on the other side, his own eyes wide and focused on you.

“Uh.” you said, forcing a smile onto your face as you stepped to the side and allowed him inside. “I didn’t know you were coming over—”

“Hope didn’t mention you were here,” Yoongi replied gruffly, still glancing at your face. You ignored the flare of jealousy that lit up inside you at the nickname he used for your best friend. You made an uninterested noise from your throat and the two of you just stood awkwardly together. When you glanced at his face, his eyes were already trained on you and he shifted his gaze away and cleared his throat.

“Who was it?” Hoseok shouted from the couch.

“It’s—it’s me!” Yoongi replied, turning away from you and walking further into the apartment. You let out a long sigh and squeezed your eyes shut. You barely knew the guy, but his presence had you shaken from merely a minute of standing in the same small hall leading into the rest of your friend’s apartment.

You followed after a few seconds, finding Yoongi seated beside Hoseok. You frowned visibly and gathered up your bag and things, packing your barely eaten lunch and shoving it into your bag.

“Hey, I’m going to go home,” you informed Hoseok.

He furrowed his brows and looked up at you, matching your frown with his own. “What? Why, it’s not even two o’clock yet—”

“I have some stuff to do and I have to pick up some things for my roommate,” you lied. Hoseok pursed his lips and didn’t reply, so you straightened up and turned to make your way back to the door. You heard a scoff from behind and you bristled as you stomped over to the front door, needing all of your strength to keep you from turning and confronting your best friend’s other friend.

Once you were out of the apartment, you finally felt like you could breathe. You pulled your phone out as you walked to find numerous messages from Jungkook and you smiled as you started to type out a response, apologizing for the delay.

You’d gotten overly hostile with Yoongi in the past few days, your mood only dampened by the fact that you’d been working with Namjoon only for your past few shifts. You had exams coming up in your classes and every time you wanted to just spend some down time with Hoseok, Yoongi always showed up just in time to steal his attention away from you. You knew at this point the composer was well aware of your dislike for him, and you assumed he held you in the same regard by the looks he threw your way and the way his presence seemed to stifle your breathing.

But, to be honest, you really couldn’t care any less so long as he stayed away from you.

You stretched as you walked into the music store for your shift, excited that you’d be working with Seokjin this time. You’d been texting Jungkook on and off, slightly tired from how many texts he sent; he sure was talkative through texts for someone so quiet in real life.

Namjoon was waiting near the back door and you visibly slumped as you gave him a strained smile. “Hey,” he greeted, face impassive.

“Hi,” you replied blankly.

You tried to walk past him, but he grabbed at your elbow and you jerked back, surprised; you don’t think you’d ever touched Namjoon in the entirety of your employment here. When you looked up at him, his hand still wrapped around your arm, his eyes were harsh.

“Your boyfriend’s not allowed here anymore,” he muttered.

You furrowed your brows. “I don’t have a boyfriend.”

“Whatever, your friend then. He’s not welcome here anymore.”

Anger bubbled in your stomach, twisting your organs around. “And why is that?” you asked, trying your hardest not to scowl.

Namjoon’s lips turned down into a frown. “He just isn’t. You’re always too distracted when he’s around. You’re at work when you’re here, you aren’t just playing around.”

“I am not!�� you yelled petulantly, yanking your arm from his hold. “You can tell him that yourself! You can’t just ban a customer from coming into our store because you’re jealous—”

“Jealous?!” Namjoon scoffed, pulling his hand away from you as if you’d scalded his palm. “Get over yourself,” he growled, leaning in closer. Your heart rate sped up and you attempted to take a step back. “Your boyfriend is just a fucking psycho—”

“____!” a voice called out from behind.

You and Namjoon both turned to see Jungkook, wearing his usual hoodie but with the hood itself down around his shoulders. He was sporting a baseball cap instead, eyes trained on the close proximity between you and your coworker.

“J-Jungkook, hey,” you breathed, hands shaking.

He took a few steps forward, reaching the two of you in seconds. He brought a hand out to touch your arm, but Namjoon grabbed you and yanked you back, his palm warm and a touch of cold metal kissed your skin by one of his fingers. Your eyes were wide as you stared up at the man, half of his body in front of you. Jungkook’s eyes were ablaze as he looked at Namjoon’s fingers wrapped around your wrist.

“I remember you said you were working today and I wanted to stop by to say hi,” Jungkook said, gaze flickering between you and Namjoon. You wiggled your hand away from your coworker and paused for a split second; had you told him you were working today?

“Oh, that’s fine, I’m working unti—”

“You need to leave,” Namjoon said quietly.

“Excuse me?” Jungkook replied, tone lowering. You could feel your heart pounding against your ribs as you watched the two of them in this weird pissing match. Their tones frightened you, making your hair stand on end and your fingers started to tremble.

“You heard me,” your manager told him, still half covering your body from Jungkook’s view.

You were about to intervene, grabbing at Namjoon’s arm, and Jungkook’s expression softened, eyes focusing on you. You felt a spike of something—fear?—before he showed you the same bunny smile he always did and you relaxed, fingers still grazing Namjoon’s skin. If you had peeked down at his hands, you would have seen the way they clenched into fists so tightly that his knuckles had turned white with fury.

“I’ll see you later then,” he chirped. You nodded, feeling nervous and sweat accumulating at the nape of your neck as you waved and he turned away, walking back up to the front of the store before leaving with the tell-tale ding of the door.

“What the hell was that about?” you hissed to Namjoon, who didn’t even look your way before he walked back to the front, snatching his arm away from you as quickly as you had yanked yours back. You scoffed when he ignored your question and walked into the back room, halting in your steps when you saw Seokjin putting his name tag in place.

“Jin!” you called, smiling widely. “I haven’t seen you in forever.”

Seokjin faced you quickly, giving you a quick smile in return. As you walked over to him and started to place your own things into an empty locker, he leaned against the small table and pursed his lips, silence engulfing the two of you for a few seconds.

“Is Jungkook coming?”

The question hung in the air awkwardly and you couldn’t help but let a frown tug the corners of your lips down. Why were both of your coworkers bringing him up?

“Why?” you asked, turning to give him an odd look as you pinned the name tag to your shirt. You made to move past him but he stopped you easily with a hand on your arm. His face looked regretful, lips pulled down and eyes downcast.

“You shouldn’t see him.”

You sighed. “I’m not seeing him, though.”

He looked up and gave you a hard look, fingers tightening around your skin. You winced. “I’m serious, ____. Stay away from that guy.”

“You’re hurting me,” you mumbled, attempting to wiggle your arm out of his hold. “What’s the big deal about him, anyway?”

Seokjin let go of your arm and stood to his full height, sighing loudly and shoving his hands in his pockets. “That day, when he came into the back after me—”

You chuckled, disbelieving that this was what everything was about. “Really? You and Namjoon are just pissy because he came into the employee only back room? I told him he could go back to ask you for that CD! It’s fine, he’s a nice guy.”

“No, listen to me—”

Namjoon’s voice cut him off, the door banging open and making the two of you flinch. “Hey! Your shifts have started, get to the front right now.”

“Coming!” You left Seokjin to groan his frustration alone in the back as you slipped past Namjoon to go to the register at the front. Namjoon was all set to leave, giving you a blank stare as you went to sit behind the cash register and counter. The two of you were silent, and then he turned to leave, scoffing under his breath as he shoved the door open and you rolled your eyes, not waiting to see his back disappear to the parking lot.

Your shift was uneventful, like it usually was, and only one customer had come in. The girl had been looking for a CD, but didn’t interact with you at all and you only spoke to her when she was checking out. After she left, you checked your phone and were surprised to see no messages from anyone, not even Hoseok.

Seokjin hadn’t left the back room and you were surprised since he usually came out to check up on you or to just goof off. The rest of the shift passed agonizingly slowly, with no other customers, no messages, and no Seokjin to brighten it up. You could feel the irritation sizzling under your skin when you finally went to the back to grab your stuff, seeing him stretching as he shut his locker.

“You can go first,” you said gruffly, glaring at his head. He faced you and your eyes darted away from him. He sighed from beside you and waited until you had gathered all of your stuff, shoving the name tag into your bag and slinging it over your shoulders. When you turned and saw him still standing, his own backpack hanging from his broad shoulders, you rolled your eyes. “I said you can go first.”

“Like hell I’m letting you go home alone,” he muttered darkly.

You didn’t address his comment until the two of you were outside of the music store and you had locked the door, handing him the keys silently. He walked along with you down the sidewalk and you finally decided to break the tension that had started festering between the two of you.

“What did you mean when you said that?” you asked, fingers trembling. Your eyes darted around nervously and you felt a chill go down your spine. You shrugged it off and waited for Seokjin to answer you.

“Your emo band liking boyfriend threatened me,” he finally said.

You furrowed your brows. “What? Wait—first of all, he’s not my boyfriend. Second of all, what the hell do you mean threatened you?”

“When he came to the back room!” Seokjin huffed, crossing his arms as the two of you stopped at the four-stop. This was where you usually parted, his place straight ahead and yours about ten minutes down the right side of the road.

“What happened?” you questioned. “He said he was going to look for a CD!”

“Listen, ____, I don’t know what the fuck he told you,” he started, eyes burning through you. The unsettled feeling remained, swirling under your skin like a snake slithering through your veins and leaving venom wherever it touched. “He didn’t come looking for a fucking CD. He came into the back room and went nuts—like some kind of psycho—and started telling me to stay away from you! The guy’s fucking crazy, ____, he hit the wall next to my head and started shoving the boxes over.”

“Why the fuck would he do that?” you asked shakily, fingers trembling.

“I don’t know!” Seokjin shouted, making you flinch. His features immediately softened and he gently gripped your shoulders in his hands. “Hey, hey—I’m sorry for yelling at you, I’m just—I’m just worried about you, okay?”

“Did you tell Namjoon?” you asked, voice barely coming out as you stared at Seokjin’s face blankly.

“What?” His brows furrowed and his grip tightened on your shoulders.

“Did you tell Namjoon?” you repeated, shrugging his hands off your body.

“Why does that—yes, I told him about it, why does that even matter—”

“Of course it matters!” you screamed, balling your hands into fists. “If he’s so fucking crazy then why the hell wouldn’t you tell me?” You were breathing heavily, skin crawling as Seokjin watched you silently, eyes wide and mouth hanging slightly open in shock. “It’s been over a week since that would have happened, Seokjin! Why wouldn’t you tell me if you’re so worried about me?”

“I—I didn’t—” he sputtered, cheeks tinting pink and hand going up to scratch at his cheek.

“You didn’t what?” you hissed, seething. “You have my number, and you could’ve told me at work if you hadn’t switched shifts with Namjoon. So what other excuse do you have, huh?” Silence fell around the two of you, only the streetlights illuminating Seokjin’s face. He was gnawing on his bottom lip, eyes unable to stay focused on you. “Nothing?” you scoffed.

“____, please, it’s—it’s not like that!”

“Not like what?” you shot back, crossing your own arms across your chest. “Not like you could have just made this whole thing up and put Namjoon up to it?” At his baffled look, you continued. “How the hell am I supposed to trust you two? You’re already chummy with him, don’t think I don’t know that. And if either of you were truly worried about my safety while I was with Jungkook, one of you would have told me by now! Not—not waited over a whole week!”

Seokjin stayed silent, digging the toe of his shoe into the sidewalk.

You scoffed again. “If you didn’t like Jungkook, you could have just told me. It’s not like we’re dating, anyway.”

Seokjin sighed. “How else do you explain his hand, then?”

Your gaze silenced him and you could see the nerves starting to take hold of him under your gaze. They were radiating off of him, but instead of feeling empowered, the hairs on the back of your neck stuck up and goosebumps raised on your flesh as your mouth dried. “He already told me he hurt his hand when he was with his frat buddy, Taehyung, or something like that.”

“Taehyung?” Seokjin asked, brows furrowing again.

“Yeah, whatever,” you muttered. “I’ll see you at work, Seokjin.”

“At least let me walk you home—”

You turned away from him, shaking your head. “No, I’ll be just fine on my own.” He yelled out your name in exasperation as you started to walk toward your apartment, your stomach churning uncomfortably. “I’ll see you at work!” you called back, finality in your tone.

You didn’t hear his footsteps behind you and right before you turned the corner at the end, you turned back to look and didn’t see anyone. Sighing, you told yourself to relax, sure that Seokjin had just gone his own way home. Your body refused to listen to your mind, heart still thudding harshly against your ribs and hands still trembling slightly. Your phone was shoved somewhere deep into your bag, from where you’d angrily shoved it at the end of your shift along with your name tag. Hoseok hadn’t been waiting for you, which was becoming startlingly normal, so you now had to trudge back to your apartment alone in the dark.

Your heart rate spiked again as you passed the windows of the closed up shops on the street, the alleyways especially dark and daunting with the lack of visibility. You heard a noise somewhere behind you and you whipped around, stomach churning and throat clogging up.

Nothing.

You let out a shaky breath, knees wobbling. There wasn’t anything behind you and you swallowed past the lump in your throat roughly. Sweat broke out on your forehead and you tried to shove the thoughts of someone watching you into the back of your mind, or better yet out of your mind completely. Wrapping your arms around yourself, you breathed in deeply and your eyes darted around the deserted streets. A few cars passed by as you walked, but nothing was out of the ordinary and you kept repeating that as you neared your apartment.

There’s no one there, you told yourself. Don’t be ridiculous. The person from last time wasn’t following you. The thoughts weren’t completely helpful, as your heart continued to attempt to lodge itself into your esophagus and your hands were clenched so tightly into the fabric of your shirt that your knuckles were turning white and your fingers were starting to tingle with pain.

You heard another sound, similar to the one before, but you were too scared to look behind you. Your steps quickened and you got to the stoplight across from your apartment complex, your feet tapping incessantly against the pavement. Your breathing was coming faster and heavier, and you turned your head to face the way you’d come from, not seeing anyone or anything remotely suspicious.

“Stop being paranoid,” you told yourself quietly. You brought your hand up to your hair and scratched your ear nervously, letting out a shaky breath of relief as the crosswalk light lit up and you had to stop yourself from sprinting across the street. You continued feeling odd, your arms shaking as you hugged yourself tighter, eyes darting to your surroundings more frequently and chest tightening. The goosebumps were still spread across your body and you nearly sobbed with relief when you saw the familiar sight of your apartment complex, pulling your keys out of your bag quickly and shakily unlocked the door, the back of your neck tingling and more sweat than ever before dripping down your neck.

The glass door opened and you made your way in quickly, attempting to shove the door shut behind you. It caught on something and you looked back to see a hand gripping the side of it, holding it open. You screamed, the sound tearing through your throat painfully as your heart lurched down into your stomach.

“Jesus, ____!” a familiar voice called out, making the screams die down in your throat. You stood, baffled, as Hoseok appeared into your line of vision, coming inside and letting the door shut softly behind him. You stood with your mouth slack, blinking away the tears in your eyes as he rubbed at his ear and shook his head, as if to get the sound of your shout out of his mind. “You’d think you were getting murdered!”

“What the hell, Hoseok?” you sobbed, knees shaking.

He finally took a good look at you, seeing your no doubt distraught face, and he came closer with an alarmed expression. You fell into his arms, gripping his shirt in your fists. “Hey, hey, I’m here,” he comforted you softly, letting you cry into his sweater as he wrapped his arms around you. “What happened?”

His arms brought with them the sense of familiarity and you breathed in the smell of his cologne as you got your bearings. You removed your hands from his sweater and pulled back, his arms still loosely wrapped around you. Looking up at his worried face, you gave him a shaky smile, your lips still quivering and your nose runny from the tears.

“I’m okay,” you assured him, clearing your throat. “I’m alright, just—I was just getting a weird feeling and you scared me.”

“Weird feeling?” he questioned you. “What do you mean?”

“It’s nothing, Hoseok, don’t worry about it.”

“It’s clearly not nothing if you were screaming bloody murder,” he pushed, stepping closer and running his hand down the side of your face, wiping the tears from your cheek with his thumb. “Wait, did you walk home alone?”

You nodded your head, wiping at your eyes and accidentally dislodging his hand. He simply moved it up to smooth your hair, knowing exactly how to comfort you. “Yeah, Seokjin wanted to walk me home but we had a fight, so…”

“A fight? About what?”

You pursed your lips, not sure if you wanted to tell him. But he was your best friend, so you opened your mouth to tell him—but you stopped, eyes catching on something outside across the street.

“What is that?” you mumbled, squinting.

“What’s what?” Hoseok turned around, facing the glass doors and looking out trying to spot whatever you’d seen.

The something shifted and your blood felt like ice in your veins, freezing your limbs. Was that a person?

Hoseok muttered under his breath and shuffled forward to the door. There was a bright flash and then he exclaimed loudly. “What the fuck?” He bolted toward the door, shoving it open and rushing outside.

“Hoseok, wait!” you shouted, moving to follow after him.

“Stay inside!” he yelled at you, barely glancing at you. You swallowed and stayed put, watching him from the door. By the time he got across the street toward the greenery where you’d seen whatever or whoever that was, he was looking blindly. You knew because you could feel the frustration rolling off of him all the way from inside the building.

He left the greenery as it was and came back to you, huffing dejectedly. “You’re not staying here alone,” he told you immediately as you moved to let him inside. “I came back to give you your charger, but I’m not leaving you here by yourself with some creep out and about.”

You tried to fight off the anxiety that rushed through your body, locking your limbs in place. “Hoseok, it was probably nothing.” He gave you a look that you knew meant even he didn’t believe the lie you were trying to tell yourself. “I’ll be fine, everything is locked here! I’m safe.”

“Absolutely not. No way. Either you come stay at my place or I’m staying here.”

Relief flushed through your entire body, making your fingers tremble and tears well up in your eyes as you looked at Hoseok. He gave you a small smile and you licked your lips as you gestured behind you. “I’ll go get some of my stuff then.”

“Okay, I’ll be here,” he replied gently, waving you off.

And when you came back down, he was; the two of you left your apartment complex with his arm wrapped protectively around your shoulders and made your way down to his car, which was parked a few blocks away. You felt safe as he held you close to his side, the familiarity of him overwhelming you until everything else was pushed from your mind.

It was odd, staying with Hoseok. You’d never much stayed over at his place, nor he yours, so it was a very strange thing to get used to, seeing him so often now.

Plus, you saw Yoongi a lot more now too.

It had been a week since whatever happened outside of your apartment building, but Hoseok was adamant about keeping you close to him; There was some shit that went down in Daegu, he’d said. I’d just rather have you close and safe.

You didn’t have the heart to tell him that you did not, in fact, feel safe. Especially when you’d found out Yoongi came and went as he pleased since Hoseok was also his best friend. You would always catch his eye when you turned around, having to deal with the awkward silence as he darted his glance away from you. You were unsettled, preferring to leave the apartment and hang out with Jungkook instead when Hoseok wasn’t around.

The tension in the workplace hadn’t gotten better either, you and Seokjin remaining icy around each other and Namjoon treating you the same way he always had. Jungkook didn’t come to visit you at work anymore, resorting instead to just send you texts to make you smile throughout your shift.

Now, you were sitting in your class, bored out of your mind as you waited for the minutes to tick by so you could leave. You heard something clack against the floor and you looked down to see a pen rolling over by your feet. You grabbed it and looked up, meeting the pretty brown eyes of the boy seated two seats down from you, his bag occupying the spot between you two. His hair was blonde and he shook it out of his eyes as he gave you a sheepish smile.

You handed it to him and he mouthed a, “Sorry!” to you. You smiled back at him and shook your head, going back to your laptop to take notes. A few minutes rolled by and you blinked blankly at your screen, unsure of what was even happening in this class anymore.

“Hey,” the boy whispered, leaning closer to you. You faced him and lifted your eyebrows. “Which question did you pick for the paper?”

“Uh,” you turned back to your laptop and pulled up the paper prompts. “I’m trying to decide between two and three,” you whispered back. “They seem like the most straight forward. How about you?”

He hummed, nodding his head. “I’m thinking of doing four; I feel like it’s abstract enough that I can BS it and he’ll just assume I’m thinking outside the box.”

You stifled a giggle; he did have a point, though. “That’s a smart idea, actually,” you told him, smiling widely.

“I’m Jimin,” he introduced himself, smiling just as wide as you. You gave your own name and he nodded his head. “Nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you too, Jimin,” you replied. You pulled your thoughts away from Jimin and checked your buzzing phone, opening your messages underneath your tiny desk.

[from jungkook 12:32pm] — when are u done w/ class?

[from hobi 12:33pm] — i’m picking u up after class

You sighed, texting both boys back quickly.

[to jungkook 12:36pm] — i finish at 12:45

[to hobi 12:36pm] — ok i’m done at 12:45

Your phone vibrated again, but you gave Jimin your attention again as your professor began to dismiss everyone, handing back extended papers and everyone started to pack their stuff up and exit the classroom.

“Do you think he’ll let the BS slide?” Jimin murmured to you as he walked beside you down the steps toward the door. He gestured for you to go ahead and you stopped to the side of the door outside in the hall, smiling up at him as he stood in front of you.

“I don’t know, he’s a pretty tough grader,” you replied.

“Bold of you to assume my BS isn’t top notch,” the boy shot back, giggling as you shoved at his shoulder playfully.

“____!”

You turned around and met Jungkook’s eyes, who then smiled widely at you and came to stand beside you. Your eyes averted from him for a split second and you saw Hoseok also waiting for you along with Yoongi, whose lips were pursed.

“Hey, Jungkook,” you greeted, smiling and turning to look back at Jimin.

“Hey,” your classmate said, nodding with a small smile on his face.

Jungkook’s smile was a little more tense. “Hey, man.” There was an awkward pause and you glanced over at Hoseok and Yoongi, who seemed to be waiting for you. Jungkook’s hand slid up your back gently to your shoulder and he rested his arm atop your shoulders.

Jimin cleared his throat and gave you another sweet smile. “Well, I’ll see you in class. Good luck on your paper!”

“Yeah, you too,” you replied, waving as he took his leave. You looked up at Jungkook, but before either of you could speak Hoseok was stopping in front of you along with Yoongi, who was pointedly looking down at his phone.

Jungkook and Hoseok greeted each other with a quick nod of their heads and you wanted to roll your eyes at the boys. “You coming?” Hoseok asked you, not really looking at Jungkook. You snuck a glance at Yoongi, who did have his eyes on Jungkook. Jungkook’s fingers were playing with the fabric of your sleeve and it tickled your skin, but you couldn’t bring yourself to shrug him off.

“Coming?” Jungkook piped up. He looked at you with wide eyes. “Aren’t we going out for dinner?”

“I have work, actually,” you lied to both boys easily. You willed yourself to maintain eye contact with both of them and tensed up your hands so they wouldn’t tremble with anxiety over getting caught in the lie. You stepped away from Jungkook, dislodging his arm from your shoulders, and you gave them all a shaky smile. “I’ll see you guys later, though.”

Hoseok stepped forward, reaching out and resting his palm on your upper arm. “You don’t want me to drive you? I can put off practice for a bit to take you there—”

You brought your hands up and waved them while shaking your head. “No! No, it’s really fine. I can go by myself.” You didn’t want to tell him that his overprotective actions were starting to grate on your nerves, wearing you down. You did want to spend more time with Jungkook, as the two of you had gotten closer in the past few weeks, but you couldn’t exactly blow off Hoseok right in front of him and his friend.

Without allowing any of them to say anything else, you waved goodbye and turned on your heel, walking briskly out of the building and heading down the long path toward the music store, which also happened to be the same way you usually took to get to your apartment as well.

The entire way to your apartment, you had an odd feeling that you couldn’t place. You checked your surroundings a few times, but there hadn’t been anything amiss, so you dismissed the weird churning in your gut and pushed forward toward your apartment building. Plus, walking around in broad daylight had comforted you, the busy streets filling your head with noise.

You let out a breath of relief when you saw your complex come up, the thought of seeing your own room building a sense of urgency in your limbs. You reached out for the handle and froze, your eyes focusing on your apartment’s mailbox a few feet just inside the door. You could see something taped to it. Your fingers twitched above the door’s handle and the fingers holding your keys trembled enough to clang the metal together and jolt you out of your thoughts. Something unpleasant twisted in your stomach and your throat felt clogged up, but you swallowed past the lump in your throat and shakily unlocked the door, opening it slowly and pulling it shut quickly behind you.

You glanced outside and saw nothing but groups of students walking down the streets and cars zipping down the streets. Your chest was tight and your muscles clenched as you neared the mailbox and picked off the large envelope that was taped to the metal, your apartment number glaring back at you loudly.

With trembling fingers you opened the top of the yellow envelope and looked inside; there were two sheets inside. You pulled them out, latching your eyes immediately on the one on top. Bile rose up in your throat and your eyes widened as you took in the picture staring back up at you, of you and Hoseok. More specifically, it was from that night when you’d come home from work and your best friend had scared the living daylights out of you. His arms were around your body and your head was buried in his chest, hands clenched around the fabric of his shirt. You snapped your head up, looking outside through the glass, but feet rooted to the ground where you stood, too afraid to step outside and look for any traces of who might have left the picture.

You quickly moved the picture to the back, looking at the other sheet that had been behind it. Your mouth dried and your heart lurched into your stomach when your eyes swept across the small note. Shoving the letter and the picture back into the envelope, you rushed to the stairs and up to your apartment, needing to curl up in your bed to feel safe again.

Don’t forget you’re mine. I don’t like when others touch what belongs to me.

You had no idea how you’d managed to fall asleep considering how unnerved you’d been, but you woke up a few hours later to the buzzing of your phone beside you on your bed. You sat up and rubbed at your eyes, squinting at the darkness outside your window. You quickly walked over to the window and shut the curtains, your mind still racing from the picture in the envelope, which you’d shoved in your dresser drawer.

You didn’t even want to look at your messages, the bright screen of your phone making your head throb. When you went out to the kitchen, you couldn’t find any of your favorite snacks and you grumbled as you saw the note from your roommate on the fridge door.

‘Out of snacks, pls get some!’

You waddled over to your bedroom again, grabbing your purse with your wallet stuffed inside, and slipped your phone into your pocket. When you reached the door you slipped on your shoes and grabbed your keys, locking the door behind you as you left your apartment.

You reached the glass door leading outside of the building and you shuffled in place for a few moments, doubt rising in the back of your mind; should you really leave tonight? How long had that envelope even been on your mailbox? Was whoever taped it there outside waiting for you right now?

Sighing, you made up your mind. You couldn’t just hide away forever out of fear—plus you were really hungry and you needed to get the snacks because you knew your roommate would bite your head off if you told her to buy them instead.

Opening the glass door hesitantly, you breathed in the cool night air. The streets were definitely not as busy and bustling as they had been hours prior, but you could still spot a few people out and about in groups. You pouted, wishing you were with Hoseok—he made you feel safe and he’d provide some much needed humor and entertainment as you went to get your snacks.

Your body tensed up and you crossed your arms over your chest as you turned a corner toward the convenience store. The lamps lighting your path did nothing to ease your nerves and your gut was swimming with bees, spreading the anxiety through your bloodstream. Your steps were moving faster, wanting to just reach the store already while your purse knocked against your hip.

You only had to walk for a few more minutes and you’d arrive at the store. You mumbled little pleas under your breath as the hair on your arms stood on end and you spared a quick glance behind you. There was nothing there.

The feeling didn’t go away as you hoped it would; instead, it seemed to get stronger. Your heart rate sped up and you could feel every thud reverberate through your chest. Your stomach clenched and your breaths came quicker. Your eyes were wide and darting around, peeking into the store windows to make sure no one was there. Your heart lurched up into your throat and you whipped around to look behind you, faltering in your steps.

Again, nothing.

“Stop being paranoid,” you chided yourself quietly, taking deep breaths to attempt to calm yourself down. Your body was still on edge, your fingers twitching and chest feeling like it was caving in the longer you walked. You glanced behind you one more time as you speed walked to the last corner you needed to turn and ran straight into another person.

A bloodcurdling scream tore itself out of your throat, your hands shoving at the chest and throwing your entire body backwards. Your jerking movements made your heel catch on the pavement and you stumbled, hands grabbing your arms and keeping you in place. You looked up into the person’s face, heart dancing in a frenzy within your chest as you barely managed to swallow down the scream.

“Yoongi?” you asked breathlessly, panting as he held your arms in his tight grip. You let your hands rest on his chest, fingers digging into the fabric as you both stared at each other. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” he murmured, finally releasing you. He cleared his throat and you took a step back, head swimming.

“No—no, you can’t,” you said, leveling him with a glare. “I live a few minutes away! You live on the other side of campus, so again, what the hell are you doing here?”

He scowled at you and his glance darted away from you as he stayed silent for a few agonizing seconds; it felt like an eternity had passed as you waited for his answer. “Where are you going so late anyway?”

“That’s not a fucking answer, Yoongi,” you replied immediately. Your knees were wobbling and you were afraid that at any moment you were going to collapse.

“I don’t owe you an answer,” he told you gruffly.

You swallowed nervously, glancing around at the empty streets. Was he the one that you had felt watching you for the past few weeks? Your stomach was churning and your fingertips were tingling with static while your mouth dried.

“Did you take that picture of me?” you asked him quietly, voice shaky.

His brows furrowed. “Picture? What picture?”

“You know what picture!” you yelled, hating how hysterical you sounded even to your own ears. “That stupid picture taped to my mailbox! Were you the one that took it?”

“Listen, ____, I don’t know what picture you’re talking abou—”

You took a step back and away from him. “Just tell me if you took the picture!”

“No!” he shouted. “I didn’t take any stupid fucking pictures of you, okay?”

Your entire body was trembling; you wished you’d stayed home and just dealt with your roommate’s fury. “Why are you here?”

Yoongi rolled his eyes at you and sighed loudly. “I was coming to check up on you, okay?”

“Why?”

“Hoseok’s been texting you for hours,” he explained, shoving his hands into his pockets. “He got really worked up and I told him I’d come see if you were okay. I was on my way to your apartment since your music store’s closed already.”

You swallowed thickly, mind spinning. You had no idea what to say, what to believe. It sounded reasonable enough, and he had been heading from the direction the store was in.

“Where are you even going alone and panicky like this?” he asked when you didn’t respond, just stared blankly at him.

“I needed to buy some snacks,” you replied numbly.

He huffed and brought his hand up to ruffle his hair. “I’ll walk with you.”

You simply nodded your head in response, shuffling past him and heading down the road toward the convenience store. He stayed by your side, never letting himself fall behind you or walk ahead of you—you assumed because he wasn’t familiar with your neighborhood, so he wouldn’t have known where the convenience store was anyway.

When you’d reached it after two minutes of walking, Yoongi waited by the door outside as you collected your snacks and went up to the register to pay. The employee mindlessly scanned your snacks and asked if you wanted a bag, to which you’d said yes, and then dropped them into a bag while you dug out some money from your purse. After paying, you thanked them and took your bag of snacks, which crinkled loudly as you walked back out to see Yoongi on his phone.

“Are you going to Hoseok’s place?” you asked him, fidgeting in place.

He looked up at you with unreadable eyes, blinking owlishly at you. “We’re both going. He wants you to stay over for a few more days.”

You chewed on your bottom lip as you thought about said offer; it was very tempting, especially after you’d come home to a picture and an ominous note taped to your apartment’s mailbox. You nodded your head, not needing to think any longer on the subject. “Okay, but I need to get some things from home first.”

Yoongi pushed himself off the side of the store where he’d been leaning and gestured for you to lead the way. “I’ll come with you.”

The walk back was unnerving and quiet, the atmosphere between the two of you tense and uncomfortable. When you finally did reach the apartment building, you let the two of you inside and Yoongi told you to go up and he would wait for you in the lobby. You’d agreed and walked up the stairs to your floor, aimlessly making your way to the door.

Before you could unlock the door to your shared apartment, you noticed a small box and a little note taped to the side of it right outside the door. You furrowed your brows and crouched down, picking up the wrapped box in your hands and standing up again, slipping your keys onto your finger so you could pull the little folded note off of it. You stopped halfway, your skin crawling and every nerve in your body protesting what you were doing; alarms were going off in your head, but you needed to know what this was.

With trembling fingers, you opened the note the rest of the way and nearly dropped the box from the shock.

I’ll always keep you safe.

It looked the same as the first note that came alongside that picture of you and Hoseok hugging. Dread filled your belly as you stared at the lid of the small box, heart hammering against your ribs painfully. You lifted the lid slowly, an odd smell wafting immediately into your nostrils and you gagged, shutting your eyes. You blinked them open again and peered inside the box, a startled shout slipping past your lips as you let it drop from your hand and thud against the floor, flopping onto its side.

The severed finger lay beside the tiny box, dried blood smeared across it and a ring resting snugly around it.

Your back hit the wall opposite your apartment door and you slid down it until you were crouched, eyes wide and staring at the box and its contents spilled out on your floor between you and the door. Bile was building up and you had to swallow it back down, wrapping your arms around your knees as your entire body started to shiver and a violent chill ran down your spine.

A few moments later, Yoongi had appeared and you faintly heard him swear before he was touching you; you’d flinched away from the sudden feel of his skin on yours, but when you looked up at him, his expression was twisted with repulsion and concern as he helped you to your feet. You had fallen into his chest, eyes moving back to the finger, and he’d wrapped his arms around your body to hold you close.

“Don’t look,” he’d whispered into your hair, his hand sliding to the back of your head to press your face into his neck so you wouldn’t be able to see the box and what lay beside it.

When you came to your senses, thirty minutes had passed and there was a detective standing in front of you, asking you questions. Yoongi had stayed with you and you assumed he’d called the police since your brain had completely shut down in response to what you’d seen. Now, he was standing a few feet away from you speaking to a different officer.

“Miss,” the detective said, grabbing your attention again.

“Yes?”

“Can you tell me what happened?” he asked gruffly, hands on his hips as he looked at you with hard eyes.

You licked your lips and nodded. “I went out to the store and—and when I came back, that box was outside my apartment door.”

He hummed, narrowing his eyes. “And you didn’t see anyone coming or going?” He glanced back toward Yoongi and then met your gaze once more.

“No, I—Yoongi was with me when I was at the store,” you told the detective numbly.

“So you two left together and came back to this surprise?”

You shut your eyes, a headache coming on. “No, I left alone to go to the convenience store. I met Yoongi on the way and he walked with me to the store and back.”

The detective nodded his head. “So you came up here and found that box just lying there?”

“Yes,” you replied. “The note was taped to it.”

“Do you have any idea who would send you this?”

“No,” you mumbled, tears stinging in your eyes. “I don’t know, but I—recently I’ve felt like someone’s been watching me.”

The man’s eyebrow shot up. “Watching you? Did you see someone?”

You shook your head. “No, just a feeling like someone’s following me. It started a few weeks ago, I guess—oh, wait!” The yellow envelope came to the forefront of your mind and you pointed at your door, which was open with police officers moving in and out. “I got a—a note, too.”

“So this wasn’t the first time you’d gotten a gift like this?”

“Well, no, the first one was just a picture and a note.” You made your way inside of the apartment, the detective following suit and staying behind you the entire time. When you reached your bedroom, you pulled out the envelope and its contents from your drawer and handed it to the detective.

He pulled out the picture and the note and pursed his lips. “And how long ago did you get this?”

“I don’t know,” you responded. When he gave you a harsh gaze, your nerves acted up and your lips started to quiver as you forced yourself to keep talking. “A few weeks ago, I felt like someone was following me and—well, we saw a flash go off outside but didn’t find anyone—”

“I’m sorry, ‘we?’”

“Oh, right, uh, me and my best friend. When he didn’t find anyone outside, he freaked out and I’ve been staying with him the past week. I came back here earlier today for the first time to get some stuff and I found that envelope taped to my mailbox.”

“And you’re sure it was taped to your mailbox?”

Frustration built up in your lungs and you had to resist the overwhelming urge to huff and stomp your foot like a toddler. “Yes. It was taped right under my apartment number. And when I came back after leaving, I found that box right outside my door.”

The detective led you back outside to where only the officer with Yoongi remained. “Anything else you need to tell me?”

Something nagged at the back of your mind, something you knew was important, but you couldn’t figure out what it was. You tried to remember, but nothing came to mind, so you shook your head at the man. He nodded and mumbled something about keeping in touch and trying their best to catch whoever was doing this, but you knew not to keep your hopes up; stalkers were rarely ever caught in the early stages, not until they did something. You just hoped whoever was doing this would lose interest in you somehow.

You quickly looked at your phone, seeing a barrage of messages from a bunch of different people; the most were from Jungkook and Hoseok, but you spotted one from Seokjin hours ago and you clicked open the thread, something compelling your finger to touch his name.

[seokjinnie 5:28pm] — namjoon didn’t show up for his shift — can u come in and cover?

The thought that was stuck in the void of your brain came screeching to a halt at the forefront of your mind and you gasped, your heart sinking and your chest squeezing painfully.

“Detective!” you shouted down the hall, rushing toward him. He was still only a few feet away, chatting with the officer and Yoongi, presumably getting a few more pieces of information and checking to make sure your stories matched up.

Yoongi gave you a worried look and the detective raised his eyebrows at you. “Yes?”

You could feel the tremor in your fingers and knew your voice was going to be weak and shaky as you spoke your next words. “I think I know who the finger belongs to.”

You told Hoseok what had happened, of course. He was terrified for you, maybe even a tad bit more than you were, and you loved him for it. All of your friends took shifts, staying with you wherever you went, even walking you to work. You were picking up more shifts, now, to cover for Namjoon. He’d officially been labeled a missing person since you’d brought the police’s attention to the gift left for you; when they asked how you’d known, you’d answered with his ring. That familiarity knocking on the back of your brain had been telling you that you’d seen Namjoon wearing the same ring that was on the severed finger inside the box.

The atmosphere between you and Seokjin was still tense, especially when it was Jungkook walking you from class to work. Seokjin and Jungkook didn’t interact, but since Namjoon was gone the latter would come and spend time with you during your shift, sometimes even staying until closing.

Like today.

“It’s so weird,” you were saying to Jungkook as you were packing all of your things away in the front, Seokjin having waved you off when you were in the back. “I haven’t seen him in days.”

Jungkook held the door open for you and you walked through, shivering from the slight chill in the air. He fell into step beside you and wrapped his arm around your shoulders, tucking you into his side. You leaned into his warmth, smiling at him gratefully. “Haven’t seen who?”

“Jimin,” you said. “I told you already.” At his blank look, you elaborated again. “The guy from my class last week that you guys met outside.”

“Oh, him. Maybe he’s sick.”

You hummed, pouting your bottom lip out as you pondered. “Yeah, maybe. It’s just odd, you know?”

Jungkook hummed in response, rubbing his hand into your arm to help warm you up. “You wanna go back to my place?”

You looked at him with wide eyes. “I’ve never been to your place before, are you sure—”

He shrugged. “Yeah, it’s not a big deal. I usually take you to Hoseok’s place, right? But my place is a lot closer.”

You raised your eyebrows. “How much closer, though?”

Jungkook gave you a soft smile and pinched your arm. You yelped and then you two fell into a fit of giggles as you crossed the street. “A lot closer, actually. I only live a few minutes down this road.”

“Huh,” was all you said. He was pretty close to your apartment—instead of taking a left at the stop, the two of you took a right; only a few blocks away from you, you were guessing.

And you were right, as you two had reached the apartment building within only a few minutes. As he unlocked his door, you pulled out your phone.

[to hobi 9:32pm] — i’m at jungkook’s place — might not come to urs tonight!

You sent the texts to Hoseok, smiling at Jungkook as he walked in and kept the door open for you to follow. “It’s still weird,” you said as you took your shoes off and he shut the door, the click of the lock and his uninterested hum reaching your ears. “He was talking big game about the paper and then he didn’t show up for any of the important discussion days? You can’t tell me that’s not really weird—”

Your breath hitched when you felt Jungkook’s hands came to rest on your shoulders, his grip tightening and turning you around to face him before he backed you into the wall. You leaned against it and met his dark gaze.

“I think it’s weird that you’re talking about another man when you’re in my home,” he said lowly, voice sweet and tantalizing. His nose brushed against yours and your lips parted as your eyes darted down to his. He kept his eyes trained on you and it made you shiver with anticipation.

“I’m just worried,” you whispered, voice cracking. Your cheeks flushed as he chuckled quietly, breath fanning against your face. His hand moved up from your shoulder to your neck, wrapping his fingers around it gently.

“You should be worried about your punishment,” he growled, leaning the last few centimeters in and pressing his mouth roughly against yours. You gasped softly at the feeling of his soft lips on yours and he took the opportunity you presented him with, licking into your mouth and deepening the kiss. His fingers tightened around your neck and you let out a small noise, muffled by his tongue and mouth.

“J-Jungkook—” you mumbled into his mouth.

He pulled back for a second, biting down hard on your bottom lip and making you whine quietly. “My name is the only name you should be saying, baby,” he breathed out, squeezing your throat. You blinked a few times as little dots swam across your vision, the pressure of his hand around you only making heat pool between your thighs faster. You rubbed them together and it got his attention.

“Jungkook, please,” you whispered, squeezing your thighs together as an ache throbbed between them.

“Are you already wet for me, baby?” he mumbled, pressing small chaste kisses to your lips. You nodded and he brought the hand not around your neck down to your thigh, dragging his fingers up slowly until his hand was sliding the hem of your dress up. You nipped at his lip in retaliation and he snarled, digging his fingers into your inner thigh and making you whimper.

He pulled his hand away and landed a loud smack with his palm against your bare skin. A strangled sound ripped its way out of your throat and he squeezed around your windpipe gently before letting go, letting you suck in a startled breath. Jungkook slid his hand up the rest of the way and cupped you with his palm, pressing his middle finger into your slit through your panties.

“I can feel you through your underwear,” he groaned, pressing kisses into your neck. “You’re such a dirty girl; do you like being punished, baby?” You didn’t answer, too busy starting to grind into the heel of his palm, which rested directly on your clit. The layer of fabric separating his skin from yours only added friction and you shuddered as pleasure built up in your abdomen. He bit down on the skin of your shoulder, hard, and your hips stuttered in their movements. “I asked you a question,” he mumbled into your flesh, pressing the flat of his tongue against his bite mark and then sucking it into his mouth.

“Yes,” you rasped, moaning loudly when he pushed his finger up harder against you. “I like it when you punish me, Jungkook.”

He swore and pulled away from you abruptly, letting your dress fall back into place. You looked at him with warm cheeks and you could feel your panties sticking to you uncomfortably, the ache between your legs growing as you watched his expression. He took you by the hand and led you down the small hall to where you assumed his bedroom was.

Once the two of you were inside, he immediately turned to you and grabbed at your dress, reaching to the back and unzipping it. He shoved at the sleeves to get them off of your arms and then let the article of clothing slip down your body and land in a heap on the floor. He stopped for a moment, ravaging your body with his eyes before he groaned and started to unbuckle his belt.

“Get on the bed,” he ordered, shoving at his pants and then kicking them off. You did as he commanded immediately, crawling up onto the bed and sitting in the middle. You watched him take his shirt off and let your eyes wander his physique as he pulled his boxers off. Your mouth watered immediately at the sight of him, your pussy throbbing at the natural curve of his dick.

Jungkook got on the bed after you, crawling up until he was towering over you. He sat on his knees and pressed his mouth onto yours, swiping his tongue across your bottom lip and pulling away just as you opened your mouth for more. He peeled your bra off and hooked his fingers into your panties and tugged them down quickly, pupils dilating at how wet you were.

“Fuck, ____,” he whispered. “You’re so wet already, I could probably just slip right in.”

You muffled a moan into your hand and felt yourself clench around nothing in anticipation.

He looked up at you sharply, pressing his hand to your shoulder and pushing you to lay down on your back on his bed. “Would you like that?” he purred, laying over you and spreading your thighs apart. His dick pressed against your folds and you moaned, clenching and rocking your hips up. He bit back a moan at the feeling of you spreading yourself all over his dick and you were so aroused that you couldn’t even be embarrassed at your own actions.

“Please,” you begged, opening your eyes and wrapping your arms around his shoulders to bring him down and closer to you.

“Since you asked so nicely,” he murmured, lips barely brushing yours. He pulled his hips back and lined up the head of his dick, rubbing it into your clit a few times and relishing in the sounds that bubbled out of your mouth in response. With a smirk, he pushed it inside slowly, gritting his teeth at how you clenched so tightly around him.

“It’s so big,” you whined, clenching and unclenching.

“Do you want me to stop?” he asked quietly, brushing some of your hair away from your face.

“No,” you moaned, rocking your hips up and pushing yourself farther on him. He slid in half way from the sudden movement and you both groaned at the feeling. Jungkook rolled his hips a few more times until he was completely buried inside of you. He paused to let you adjust to the size since he hadn’t prepared you with his fingers first.

“You feel so good and so tight, baby, you’re such a good girl for me,” he breathed, kissing your lips quickly. You ground your hips into his as your reply, clenching as tight as you could and laughing breathlessly at the sound that came out of his mouth.

“Fuck me, Jungkook,” you whispered, closing your eyes and letting them roll to the back of your head as he pulled out until only the head was still inside.

“With pleasure,” he grunted, shoving back in roughly.

He started a brutal pace, fast and hard, the sound of your skin sticking and slapping together from how wet you were and the sweat only adding to the pleasure running through your body. Every drag of his dick against your walls built another layer of ecstasy in your abdomen and you writhed underneath him, your body moving up and down with each thrust.

“I love your pussy,” he muttered, slowing down his thrusts to hold himself still inside you for a second longer with each one. “So hungry for my cock, isn’t that right?” He shoved his dick as deep as he could inside of you, the head brushing against the rough patch on your walls and you cried out, clenching around it. “Such a good girl for me, always ready to take this cock.”

He held himself still inside of you, grinding his hips against you instead and rubbing the head of his dick into your g-spot. He brought a hand down between your bodies and ran his fingers up and down your folds around his dick, gathering your slick on the tips. Then he slid them back up and pushed them into your clit, rubbing it quickly and as hard as he could while he bucked his hips into you as if trying to reach even deeper.

You clenched around him even tighter, the fullness of his dick inside of you, pressing against you so completely, and his fingers working your clit building up your orgasm faster than ever. You came without warning, the air slipping from your lungs as you arched your back and spikes of pleasure spread to the tips of your fingers.

Jungkook started up his thrusts again when you came, pulling out halfway before shoving his dick back inside and leaning down to bite into your neck and shoulder. He rocked his hips into yours erratically, his thrusts sloppy as he chased his own orgasm and helped you ride out yours. He kept pushing slow circles into your clit as snapped his hips one more time and spurted all over your walls. Your clenching pussy milked him of every last drop while he gave a few last strokes and fucked his seed into you until it was leaking out from around his dick.

He pulled his dick out quickly, moving his fingers off of your clit and replacing them with his thumb. You yelped and tried to shift away from him.

“Jungkook, no, it—it hurts,” you whined, shutting your eyes as he continued to push his thumb against your clit, shoving it harder each time. He slipped two of his fingers inside of you and swore under his breath at how full of his come you were. You keened at the oversensitivity and clenched around his fingers hard.

“You want another orgasm, baby?” he asked sweetly, finding your g-spot quickly and rubbing the tips of his fingers into the rough patch. You mumbled something incoherent, nodding your head and lifting your arms to fist the bedsheets beside your head. Then he stopped his movements completely. “You’ll have to fuck yourself on my fingers, then.”

Your mouth fell open in shock and your cheeks flushed as he raised an eyebrow at you, smirk present on his lips.

You grit your teeth and did as he said, rocking your hips down onto his fingers repeatedly. The pad of his thumb rubbed into your clit and you let out a shaky breath as you worked yourself on his fingers, aiming for your g-spot every time. Soon, your thighs were shaking and you whimpered as you felt your second orgasm building in your abdomen.

Jungkook moved his thumb away and you started to whine at the loss so close to your high, but then the flat of his tongue pressed into your clit hard and a strangled moan left your mouth as you ground into his tongue and fingers and your orgasm washed over you hard. You slowed your hips to a stop, panting hard, and Jungkook moved away from you, pulling out his fingers and marveling at how messy you looked.

You let him look, too tired to be embarrassed enough, and he maneuvered your thighs every which way he wanted so he could watch his come slip out of you and down to his bedsheets. When he was done appreciating the sight of you stuffed full of his seed, he got up and grabbed a washcloth to clean you up.

He laid beside you, covering the both of you with his blanket. You smiled at him in a daze and he pressed a chaste kiss to your lips before shutting his eyes and dozing off to sleep, just like he had the first time. You shut your eyes too, but you could not fall asleep. Your body was too wired to rest after that round of sex and you sat up in his bed, stretching and reaching for the remote on his bedside table. He had a TV directly across from the bed and you got comfortable as you switched it on and started to channel surf.

“—you for the weather, now on to the ongoing case involving Lee Jieun, who has still yet to be found after months of searching—”

You changed the channel in your haste to find something entertaining by accident, and you quickly went back to the channel, ears perking up at the news of a missing person.

“—ice have been doing everything they can, but still haven’t been able to locate her or her attacker. Their only hope was Miss Lee’s boyfriend, Kim Taehyung, to wake up from the injuries he sustained months prior in Daegu after allegedly confronting the suspect. However, in an unfortunate turn of events, Mr. Kim passed away from his injuries in the ICU earlier tonight, leaving the police with no le—”

You stopped listening, heart battering your ribcage. Had they said the name Taehyung? Your limbs felt heavy and you suddenly felt too exposed as you turned to look at the man sleeping peacefully beside you. Didn’t he say Taehyung was his friend from your university, not from Daegu?

You couldn’t tear your eyes away from Jungkook, your hands shaking as you clutched the remote tightly to your chest and the sound of the news reporter’s voice becoming white noise in the back of your mind.

Was Jungkook really who he said he was?

all rights reserved © junqkook | 30 AUGUST 2018 | the reposting, modifying, and/or translating in any form on any medium is strictly not allowed. ORIGINAL POSTING 20 JUNE 2018.

[la-vita-in-arancione]

Killer Queen: Chapter 3 - The Bitch Is Back

Summary: Arabella Ruth White is the fifth member of the Marauders. And life at Hogwarts certainly isn’t easy. Especially when you have alcohol, relationships, unhealthy music obsessions, a fake stage persona, weird ass friends with weird ass problems and actual school all thrown into the equation. (This story is also on Wattpad of the same name. I will always update on there first.)

A/N:

Warning(s): swear words as per usual, shitty writing as per usual

Word Count: 1k+

Taglist: @missqueeniewrites

Ask to be on my taglist!

"We'd better get changed, we're almost at Hogwarts." Remus pointed out, finally looking up from his copy of Fantastic Beasts And Where To Find Them.

"Alright then, everybody out!" I said, shepherding the boys out of the compartment, "I'll call you back in when I'm done." I shut the door, pulled down the curtain and got my trunk down to get changed into my uniform. However, my definition of 'getting changed into my uniform' is changing my top into the dress shirt, putting on the robes and attempting to tie my tie, which I always seem to fail at. I left on my skinny, black jeans and red converses (this is where my Gryffindor house pride starts to show.) because since when did I ever follow the rules? I put in a pair of large, gold, hooped earrings and reapplied my red lipstick (again, house pride.) before letting the boys back in.

They were all in at least half of their uniforms, and all with tied ties. I gave my irresistible puppy eyes and gestured at my tie. Sirius immediately did it for me before sitting down. James and I burst into laughter and the others gave us strange looks.

"How come you fall for that every time, mate?" James sniggered.

"Do you know how hard it is to resist her puppy eyes? It's literally impossible!" he exclaimed. I rolled my eyes. We had about 10 minutes left on the journey, and I was getting fidgety. I do that when I'm really hungry/excited/tired. Finally, I decided to change into some sort of animal because it is more fun when I am an animal for some strange reason. Where I had been sitting, was now a slightly smaller-than-average Rottweiler. I jumped down off of the seat and barked to get the boys' attention. They straight away started petting me because I have to say, I am pretty cute as a dog. After a few minutes, I changed back so I could actually talk to the boys.

"When will we be able to do that?" Peter asked curiously.

"All in good time, my friend," I answered wisely. "Did you guys want to try to become Animagi this year, then?" I asked, looking at the three boys (Remus didn't count seen as he is a Werewolf, and the reason they were going to attempt to become Animagi in the first place). They nodded their heads in agreement, looking at me eagerly. "Well, I did some research over the summer with the help of my mum and I know exactly what you need to do." Just as I was about to explain, the train came to a stop and everyone started getting off.

I grabbed my handbag and jumped off the train with the others. I had to literally hold onto the boys so I wouldn't lose them and get lost in the sea of students. This earned me a couple of cat calls but I ignored them and focused on not getting trampled to death. James ended up giving me a piggyback to make things easier - I enjoyed towering over other people. We reached the carriages and I jumped off of James and straight onto the carriage seat.

"What's gotten into you?" James asked.

"What do you mean?" I asked back, confused.

"You're being really playful all of a sudden," he explained.

I just shrugged and we soon arrived at the castle. I hopped off the carriage and skipped merrily inside the great, oak doors of Hogwarts. I was the first person to enter the Great Hall and I ran straight towards my seat. Yes, I have my own seat, and if anyone sits in it, someone's going to get hurt. I am very possessive. As I sat down, I looked around and the seats were slowly being filled. Finally, once everyone was in their seats, Dumbledore stepped up to the golden, owl podium and silence fell around the hall.

"Good evening, students!" Dumbledore greeted, "I'm glad to see you all back here for another splendid year at Hogwarts. I would like to welcome our new first-years, who will now be sorted into their houses." He stepped down from the podium as a bunch of nervous first-years were led into the hall by a stern-looking McGonagall. My stomach rumbled loudly and I instantly wished that they would hurry up. It seemed to go on forever until the last child sat down at the Ravenclaw table and Dumbledore stood up to speak again. "Now I shall not delay your dinner any longer. Let the feast begin." I cheered along with James and Sirius who were all longing for food. Everyone stared at us but I was too busy piling up my plate with food.

By the end of it, I had eaten so much that it was hard to believe that I hadn't exploded already. Magic, eh? We trekked up to the Fat Lady's portrait and slipped inside the common room. Luckily, there was no need for the password seen as there was a large group of first-years and prefects that were all going in at the same time.

I flopped straight onto the sofa, so stuffed with food I felt as if I was going to burst. Remus rolled his eyes at me before sinking into the armchair next to me. I noticed James, Sirius, and Peter climbing through the portrait hole, trying hard to not step on anyone's feet. Sirius plopped down next to me, "Budge up, Merlin how much room do you need?" I reluctantly moved to the end of the sofa and Sirius moved also so James could sit. Peter sat in the other armchair looking quite unsure of what to do with himself.

"So!" Sirius began, looking at me eagerly, "Back to the Anima-"

"SHHH!" Remus and I exclaimed, wary of other students walking past. Sirius gave us a questioning look. I gestured to any on-lookers in the common room and he understood. "Tomorrow, after class," I whispered, indicating when I would talk to them about how they would transform into Animagi.

I checked the clock. It was almost 8 o'clock. I decided to go in for an early night so I could catch up on my sleep. I said goodnight to the boys and made my way up to the girls' dormitory.

[ladyfireheart-and-buzzard]

The Flames in Her Eyes, Chapter 3: Princess

Masterlist

Tyler

I’d followed Celine outside barely two minutes after she’d left. I had to admit-- she walked fast. By the time I reached her, she’d already entered someone’s house. So, I waited outside, leaning against a tree.

She came out less than ten minutes later, wiping at her eyes and sniffling slightly. She spotted me quicker than I expected her to. Scowling, my mate went away from me, in the direction of her house.

“Wait!” I yelled after her.

She stiffened but continued her walking. Somehow managing to increase her speed.

By the Goddess, that female was infuriating.

As I caught up to her, I could see something on the back of her exposed neck-- a black symbol of sorts, a tattoo. It looked like a small lying crescent moon, resembling a smile, with two tiny stars above it.

She sensed my approach, despite my silent steps, and growled out, “What do you want, Alpha?” My title on her lips was even more mocking right now than it’d been last night.

“You’re crying.” Not a question.

Still wiping away the remnants of her tears, she said, “No, I’m not.”

She reached inside her hoodie pocket and took out a misshaped chocolate chip cookie. She smiled sadly at it as she munched on it.

I snorted. “Fine, you’re not crying. Those are tears of joy, aren’t they?”

She didn’t answer. I grabbed her wrist.

She whirled on me, snarling, but I said to her, a growl lacing every word, “Tell me what happened in there.”

“No.”

“Alright then, I’ll go see for myself.”

She yanked her hand out of my grasp and pointed a finger at me. “You will do no such thing.”

I grinned. “You can’t stop me, Princess.”

I was a head taller than her, but despite the height difference, and the half-eaten cookie in her free hand, she wasn’t intimidated. No, those signature blue flames of hers shone once more in her eyes as she whispered quietly, but not weakly, “You have no idea what I can and cannot do, Mate.”

I cringed at the way she said that word-- mate, with such harshness, such rage.

Apparently, she didn’t take me announcing our bond as well as it seemed.

Her scent overwhelmed me-- a wolf and not a wolf at the same time, mixed in with rain and citrus and cinnamon. It was intoxicating.

“Very well then, why wouldn’t you let me into that house?” A smirk found its way to my face again.

Celine lowered her hand slowly and stepped away a couple of steps. She bit her lip in thought, drawing my attention to her mouth. Finally, she said, “A... friend of mine lives there. I just don’t want you scaring the shit out of her.”

Deep down, I knew that not to be the whole truth. Regardless, I let it slide, nodding my head.

“And the crying?”

She scowled. “She’s a good friend. Thanks to you, I’ll be leaving this horrible place I call home. I went to say goodbye.”

Her words made me frown. “You sound as though you hate this place but don’t want to leave. Why?”

She resumed her walking again. I followed her.

“Sometimes home isn’t necessarily a place, but a person. Or people, in my case.”

She spoke softly, with a gentleness I didn’t expect to hear from her.

“There are people here, that I don’t-- that I can’t leave here. They could face danger, and I wouldn’t be here for them.”

“I’m sure your brother can protect himself just fine,” I offered.

She shook her head. “I wasn’t talking about him.”

“Oh?”

“My father has a… strange obsession, per se, to hurt those I hold dear.”

“Why?”

“He hates me. I look a lot like my mother. Now that she’s gone, I am nothing but a reminder of the mistake he made.”

That made me pause. I had seen Celine’s mother just over twenty minutes ago.

“But Ellen--”

She cut me off. “Ellen is not my mother. She may be Father’s mate and Nate’s mom, but we’re not related. My mother was a drunken one-night stand. Now she’s dead because my dear, beloved dad couldn’t be bothered to get her the treatment she needed. She died when I was twelve.”

She had been so young back then, with a hateful father no less. Sympathy coursed through me at that. “I’m sorry,” I said, and meant it.

She waved me off, so I asked instead, “How’s your leg?” She was walking just fine, much better than last night when she had it practically dragging behind her. I never knew a limp to disappear so quickly and without a trace.

“It’s fine,” as though sensing my question, she added, “my body heals faster than most, so after I removed the poison, I just wrapped my leg in a bandage, and it was fine in the morning.”

Removing the poison? My pack had the best healers on the Continent, yet I’d never --not once-- heard of the removal of poisons from one’s body.

“Removing the poison? I thought you drank an antidote?”

There were no people outside: only Celine and me.

“I did. But it’s a different kind of poison. Extremely deadly. It needs to be treated very, very carefully.”

“Which one? Maybe I heard about it.” I asked, rage filling me with each second at whoever used it on my mate.

A chuckle. “Doubtful. It is a very uncommon one,” she began. “Few people possess it, and even less know or actually can make an antidote that works and would save their lives.”

“Then how do you know of it, and how to treat it?”

Celine looked over at me. “Mother taught me. She was skilled with such things.”

She still hadn’t answered my question. “What is the poison called?”

My mate sighed. “Night’s Ash. You can recognize it by the black veins around the entrance wound. If treated immediately, they shouldn’t spread too much, but once it reaches your heart-- certain death. And not even a pleasant one, I’m afraid.”

I froze. I had seen those veins on her foot, over each and every toe. I remembered Celine rubbing her calf, seemingly to ease the pain.

She looked at me questioningly, fiddling with a braid.

“How long have you had it in you?” I ground out.

Her eyes darkened. “Nearly three weeks,” blinding fury shot through me. “It took time for the berries to arrive.”

“How far have those veins gone? I saw them on your foot the other night.”

Celine gestured with her hand just below her hip, and I couldn’t help but snarl.

“Tell me who did it. Now.”

She started walking, but I gripped her wrist again.

“Tell me. Right the fuck now.”

I didn’t tend to swear in front of people as much. However, Celine didn’t seem to care about my choice of words.

She didn’t flinch away from the harsh look on my face, either, and simply tore away her wrist out of my tight grip. Again.

“What’s the point? They’re dead. I killed them. You get into it with them and only end up getting killed. Or worse.”

“I think you might be underestimating my fighting skills, Princess. I am Alpha of the most powerful pack on the whole Continent for a reason,” I smirked down at her.

Rolling her eyes, she said, “Pride will get you killed even faster, Alpha. You don’t know them, and you haven’t seen them, haven’t fought them. But I have. And I can tell you that without a silver of doubt-- they will kill you.”

“They? You keep saying they. Rogue isn’t a bad word, Princess.”

Her gaze turned hard, unyielding. “If only they were rogues.”

I paused. “What are they then?”

I had only realized we’d reached her house when she stepped onto the porch.

She smiled at me. There was no joy in it. Opening the front door, she said, “Trust me, Alpha, you don’t want to know.”

And with that, she closed the door, leaving me to ponder our whole conversation until the evening. And throughout the night, too.

[judedoyle]

Magic and Mentions

Well: The baby and I survived our first run-in with the Chapos. 

I kept my pregnancy secret from the Internet -- not a very well-guarded secret, granted; my friends knew, my co-workers knew, the people who attended the multiple readings and shows where I was hugely, visibly pregnant on stage knew; hell, I did things like Tweet about my iron-deficiency anemia and post “just wondering” polls about baby names, so I’m pretty sure a ton of my followers knew -- for several reasons. 

One was pure superstition. Thirty-four is relatively late in the game for a surprise pregnancy. Her father and I weren’t exactly trying to avoid a baby, but I figured that at my age, we’d actually have to plan one. Instead, we followed time-honored Irish Catholic tradition, in that we got married and I was somehow knocked up within five minutes of leaving the reception hall. For Lulu to just happen, after all this time, and for her to be healthy on top of everything else, felt unreal. Every time we went to get an ultrasound, I’d be possessed by this sudden, irrational fear that the doctors wouldn’t find anything. They’d have to tell me it was all a misunderstanding, I wasn’t actually pregnant, the previous tests were all false positives, this almost never happens, it really did look like a baby last time we did this, so sorry for the mistake. I mean, I was worried about that in the third trimester, when I could feel her skinny little back thumping against my abdomen every time I moved. Lulu felt like magic to me, and magic is delicate. So I didn’t brag about my pregnancy. I didn’t want her to turn back into a pumpkin when I wasn’t looking. 

But the other reason to stay quiet, the more practical reason, is just that I attract a whole lot of Internet creeps, and I’ve attracted a record number of them in the past two years.

It’s not a unique problem. Any vocally feminist woman on the Internet gets her fair share of Internet creeps, especially if men get in trouble as the result of things she’s written; my Creeps largely come from a few disgruntled “comedians” I wrote up in the Rape Joke Wars of ‘13, plus a couple of Bernie Sanders fan podcasts. Which, since one of the Sanders fan podcasts is run by one of the rape-joke comedians -- and the other is run by that comedian’s roommates -- is a group with more overlap than you’d think. 

I wanted to wait the creepage out. I had hoped that by the time Lulu was born, people would have worn themselves out on having the exact same Sanders/Clinton fight over and over. And yet, they evidently haven’t, so a large percentage of my Internet Creeps are still obsessed with “punishing” me for... something. Disagreeing with them on the Internet, I suppose. Not subscribing to their podcasts. Talking. Breathing. The kid was, inevitably, going to be drawn in to that, for the same reason that my hospitalization for an illness that nearly killed me got drawn in; it’s a vulnerable spot, an easy way to hurt me. These people tend to get so excited about the prospect of hurting me that they rarely pause to consider how they might hurt someone else.

This time last year, when I was getting married, it was not uncommon to go in on my husband. He’s never gotten involved in the Sanders/Clinton debates -- being both very well-adjusted and very unlike me, he believes arguing about politics on the Internet to be stupid -- but they’d still send him the same “funny” threats they sent me, or screencap and send around his Facebook posts to fuel drama, or post thinly veiled anti-Asian stereotypes about how emasculated and “timid” and submissive and unmanly he must be to put up with a big hairy feminazi like yours truly. (The anti-Asian stereotypes, of course, also had the benefit of being anti-feminist stereotypes about how I must be a castrating shrew and needed A Real Man to dominate me and Put Me In My Place. Hurrah for intersectionality!) Or, you know, they’d just call him a ch*nk. It wasn’t because of anything objectionable my husband did or said. He literally didn’t do or say anything. My husband’s first post explicitly acknowledging the harassment campaign was in December 2016, and he acknowledged it only because he was posting to warn our shared social circles not to engage with Jeff Kunzler (Jeevesmeister), a former friend who had been part of the campaign and was facing rape allegations. My husband didn’t bring this on himself or pick a fight or post a “bad take” or whatever excuse these people use to justify targeting someone; he just loved me, so they tried to hurt him. 

None of that really got under his skin -- like I say, he’s a stoic kind of guy -- but it got under mine, the same way it got to me when people would be harassed just for being friends of mine, or RT’ing me too often, or whatever. And I was going to be an especially soft touch due to the pregnancy hormones -- at a Trainwreck reading in Portland, I spent the entire day crying because I’d lost touch with a college friend who moved to Portland -- so I decided I would keep my magic baby to myself. Every day I spent growing Lulu, I’d actually be thinking about Lulu, and not about what some toxic sinkhole of a human being said about Lulu on Twitter. They wouldn’t be able to insult her, or threaten her, because they wouldn’t know she existed. 

It worked for nine months. But I couldn’t go through life with a secret child. I mean, I seriously considered it. But what was I going to do, teach her to flee from the sight of iPhones? Lock her in the attic like the first Mrs. Rochester? I had to let people know about her eventually. I had to let the world in, for better or for worse. 

The first e-mail telling me Lulu would be mentally disabled and ugly and that she should be taken away from me by Child Services came within 48 hours of the birth announcement. 

I have to let the world in. But I have to raise her in a world that has evil in it, and I’m still trying to find some way to accept that. 

In the days leading up to Lulu’s birth, I started letting myself tune out bad news. I didn’t want to know anything about Trumpcare, for example. Nothing about NICU babies or pregnancy as a pre-existing condition or lifetime caps that made babies lose their coverage before they were a week old, nothing about what could or might or would go wrong. The murder of Charleena Lyles shot across my social feed. I picked up the key words -- pregnant, mother, mentally ill -- and put the story to the side, telling myself it would be all right to read it when every word in that constellation wasn’t viscerally terrifying. 

The urge was at least partly white fragility -- I am not Charleena Lyles, I do not face the same injustices or dangers Charleena Lyles did, it is undeniably selfish of me to process Lyles’ story in terms of its impact on me -- but the pain and fear were real. Whatever challenges I face with my mental health, or with sexism, I also have substantial privilege. Women who get sick without the safety net of whiteness don’t end up with platforms to combat stigma or fight back against misrepresentations of their health. They don’t wind up like me. They wind up, an awful lot of the time, like Charleena Lyles.  

And Lulu will not have white privilege. I mean: She won’t be a black woman in America, either. Neither of us can appropriate Lyles’ story. But Lulu, unlike me, will face racism. When she meets her first bully, when she comes home from school crying for the first time, I don’t know what she’ll be crying about; I don’t know whether it’ll be something I’ve experienced and can talk her through, or some form of cruelty that is new to me. Or, worse, whether it will be something I’m implicated in as a white woman -- something I do, or have done, without realizing it. Something I can’t even try to fix without making the situation worse. 

This train of thought is not exactly linear. But in the days leading up to Lulu’s birth, when I was getting hit with huge surges of hormones every few hours, I wasn’t thinking in linear terms. I felt half human at best. I kept remembering the pregnant barn cats I used to see out on my cousins’ farm, frantic and raw and instinctively, protectively vicious; I remembered them pacing, hissing any time one of us got too close, shredding cardboard, hiding under the porch, and I wanted to do any or all of those things, all the time. Any piece of bad news would spiral out of its proper context and into the terror of Something Happening To The Baby, get swallowed up by that weird animal frenzy of impending labor. And I just couldn’t handle it, hearing about the horrible things the world does to its girls. I couldn’t stomach the thought of sending my baby out there, with a mind at least partly like mine, and none of the safeguards I took for granted. 

Yet I can’t tune it out forever. It’s my job to keep track of terrible things being done to women -- a job I’m working my way back up to now, even as I find that my beat increasingly looks like a list of horrible things that could happen to my daughter: ‘90s celebrity found running sex cult for underage girls. President Trump. Newspapers leak nude photos of actress to punish her for taking a traditionally male role. President Trump. Man with several dozen rape allegations not convicted at his rape trial. Beloved progressive journalist repeatedly tried to force female coworkers to give him oral sex because “it’s funny.” President Trump.

President Trump.

President Trump.

The horror is less the violence itself than how the world keeps rolling on regardless. If we really felt what the world is doing to its girls, we would be in the streets, howling at the sky. We couldn’t parse a single one of these headlines as anything other than an atrocity. But we live in this world, where most of these incidents don’t even alter the course of conversation. We live in a world with evil in it, and most of us are used to it by now. 

So I spend a lot of time thinking about him, that first bully. Or her. Whoever the first person to make my daughter cry will be. I spend a lot of time worrying about how I can be ready for the attack -- how I can anticipate all the angles, unlearn all my blind spots, have a good defense ready, without being some clueless overcompensating white mom. It’s what I do, instead of howling at the sky. I get ready. 

Because every little girl gets bullied, sooner or later. Every little girl is a light the world tries to put out; to make smaller, meeker, quieter, less alive, less assured. What matters is who you come home to. Whether they find a way to protect the light in you or just quietly let you know that it would be a lot less trouble, for you and everyone else, if you let yourself go dark. 

There’s another level to all this. I didn’t come into the world under ideal circumstances. I’ve talked about it and written about it; I honestly thought that I was over it. Then I got pregnant, and it all came back to life. 

I don’t think I’ll ever fully understand my father’s violence, but I know it started when I was born. He didn’t like having children. He didn’t like how it took my mother’s focus off him; “he wanted,” my mother says, “to be the baby of the family.” I can’t imagine that the actual work of a child -- the diapers, the crying, the feeding, the constant need to keep hands or eyes on them; having to re-train your reflexes so that you can force yourself to get out of bed instead of grabbing five more minutes of sleep, having to keep your voice and your gestures calm and sweet when they’ve been fussing for hours and you want to jump out a window -- made things easier. It was just a big dose of adulthood, all at once, and he couldn’t take it. So while my mother cared for their newborn daughter, my father got into bed for a few months, didn’t get up except to grab himself more beer when he needed it, and then, when he felt properly rejuvenated, expended all that newfound energy on doing a bunch of cocaine and beating up my mother. He got better. She got pregnant again. He got worse. We had to leave the house before he killed us.  

So that’s it, my origin story -- one that has probably been told, at this point, only slightly less often than Spider-Man’s. I came into this world having to fend off the temper tantrums of a self-absorbed, abusively entitled baby-man, and thirty-five years later, I have not run out of baby-men yet. It has occurred to me, more than once, that I started dealing with men’s bullshit the day I was born, and that I will probably be dealing with it on the day I die. I’ll be in the nursing home, stroking out, hearing some male nurse scream about what a bitch I am for not listening to his podcast. It is my calling.  

But you can’t fight fate. You can only make them sorry they didn’t manage to kill you the first time around. Which, for the most part, is what I do. Or did, until I was pregnant. At which point, everything scared me. I was scared that my husband would leave, hate me, hate the baby, lose his mind. Or that I’d get drunk once the baby was born, drop her, forget her, sleep through her crying. Or we would have to leave, the baby and I, we’d have to live with my mother -- that’s what we had to do, when my mother left my father; we lived with her parents -- and there would be no money, just like there was no money back then, it would never stop, we would never have enough, we would always be in the act of losing everything, running in the night and in fear to a cold, strange place where we were poor. 

They say one of the strangest things about trauma is how it creates an eternal present. The traumatic event never gets entirely integrated into the narrative of your life, never becomes something that happened. Instead it gets stuck in the present tense; the traumatic event is always still happening, somewhere in your brain. You just have to avoid that part of your brain. I didn’t fully understand this, until I was walking around with my conscious mind in 21st-century Brooklyn and the rest of me stuck in Mississippi in 1985. 

We live in a world with evil in it. A world where people hurt each other for no reason and to no great end, where people hurt the most harmless people they can find, or the people they’ve sworn to love and protect; a world where men hurt women for power, for attention, for control, for assurance that they are the most important person in the room. I know that; I’ve always known it. It was probably the first thing I ever saw. 

The challenge, for me, is not believing in the existence of evil. It’s believing in anything else. It’s letting myself think that my trauma ends with me. That my daughter will be allowed to have a different story. 

Which brings us, I suppose, to the past few weeks. 

The actual particulars of the latest Chapo pile-on are pretty banal. One of the hosts went off on some ridiculous supervillain monologue about how, in order for the Democratic primary rifts to heal, all Democrats must kneel, KNEEL BEFORE CHAPO; the supervillain monologue was quoted in a magazine article, the magazine article was screencapped in a Tweet, and the Tweet then floated through my social-media feed, at which point I made a blowjob joke, because men really shouldn’t yell into microphones about how badly they want people to get on their knees if they’re not prepared for someone to make the association. 

Anyway, they took it about as well as fearless free-speech warriors usually take any mild joke at their expense; thus, I’ve spent the past few weeks hearing about how I am a wicked identitarian feminazi who makes False Rape Allegations, and also a rape apologist who makes Rape Jokes, and also, of course, fielding hilarious jokes and/or serious suggestions to the effect that I, myself, ought to be raped and/or murdered for my lack of proper reverence to their podcast.

I stand by my joke, for what it’s worth; it didn’t posit rape as fun or trivial, it didn’t posit being a rape victim as shameful, it wasn’t even necessarily about rape so much as it was about some dude being unattractive. It did, admittedly and intentionally, posit “being a dude who demands other people get on their knees for you” as shameful, which it is, which is why the Chapos were upset. But, more importantly, I doubt it’s worthwhile to debate the finer points of tasteful and appropriate humor with folks who not only explicitly defend their friends’ rape jokes, but have mocked actual rape survivors for talking about their rapes online. 

I mean: Everyone knows Chapo turns people’s lives upside-down for criticizing them, and at this point, everyone knows what the victims usually look like, too. Parker Molloy gets told that she should have her skull crushed by a Nazi. Alana Massey gets called a geriatric bipolar stripper. Arthur Chu gets doxed because people find his divorce funny. I get accused of making False Rape Allegations. (I’m a survivor, by the way. Life is not kind, and the story that started with my father didn’t stop with him.) Everyone who pays attention to Chapo knows this; the only real question is whether they think it’s a bad thing. Because it’s pretty impossible to keep insisting that it’s an accident or a coincidence, when it’s happened this many times. 

So the point is not what I said; the point is not even, really, what they said in response. The point was forcing me to deal with them once again. Anyone who obsessively scans and screencaps my feed like the Chapo crowd does would have known that I’d just given birth. They probably would have known that I’d had a complicated labor that required some pretty major surgery, that I was still in a lot of pain, that I was sleep-deprived, and -- given their obsessive focus on my mental health history -- that I was at relatively high risk for post-partum depression. “the craziest shit is she literally had a baby last week,” one of them posted in a forum during the pile-on. The others then began digging for nasty things to say about the baby. The most common line, so far, is that I don’t love her. Lulu is “the baby [Sady] openly resents for having caused her physical pain with its birth.” Another gentleman concludes that “[Sady] may not actually hate her baby, but she sure as shit wrote a lot of words” denying it. After I posted an old death threat aimed at my potential future children, one dude chimed in to say that he’d combed all the articles I wrote, and had found one article in 2010 that made it seem like I didn’t want children; “if you think the person who wrote that piece liked kids and wanted one, you're deluded,” he chided my followers. 

So that’s what it’ll be. It’s an entirely logical sequel to Castrating Shrew Sady and her Submissive, Henpecked Asian Husband -- Selfish Career Woman Sady and her Neglected, Resented Baby. (Or the more virulent version of the same story, Devouring Monster Sady and her Abused Baby That Someone Should Take Away From Her, who shows up in my e-mail from time to time.) Both are stories about how I’m not woman enough to love somebody; both, just under the surface, are stories about how love for women means being dominated, about how women who refuse to be subjugated or erased by their family responsibilities are refusing their proper place in the world, and passing up their only chance at happiness. The tropes being deployed are classically sexist, like something you’d see in a shitty alarmist magazine piece from 1980 or 1960 about “working women” -- something you’d see, to be quite honest, on Breitbart today. But they’re also describing me, a real person, and my relationship with the baby I longed to protect so much that I refused to speak her name, lest the wrong person repeat it.

It’s evil. What makes it more evil, somehow, is that it is so, so pointless -- it’s not police racism, it’s not the rise of fascism, it’s not my father beating his pregnant wife. It’s just small, useless, playground-bully evil, trying to convince the world that a mother doesn’t love her children because she made fun of your favorite podcast. Frankly, it’s the same stupid, petty, pointless bullying many of us heard in that “bend the knee” monologue -- the assumption that you should run the show, that everyone should do as you tell them, and that if they don’t, you are entitled to do or say absolutely anything you can think of, in order to shut them down or intimidate them into compliance. 

It’s not the worst thing in the world. It’s silly to even get upset by it; for the most part, it’s background noise, wasps swarming in a pale ugly nest in your backyard. You walk around the nest. You put it out of mind. You hope not to get stung. It’s been going on so long that I more or less take it for granted. But it matters right now, just as a reminder of what I’ve been dreading: No matter what, the world will always have bullies. And despite what we tell our children, those bullies don’t necessarily go away or get better once they’re all grown up.

Lulu knows nothing about the evil in this world. She knows very little. She gets the boob, and she gets a nap, and she gets to wake up when it’s time for the boob again; she likes it best when the cycle is continuous, where she can just fall asleep on my chest while she’s eating and let me know she’s woken up by opening her mouth again. So we do that for most of the morning, me holding her curled up on a little breastfeeding pillow and reading from an iPad I’ve propped up on the arm of the chair. I’m trying to learn to type with one hand, so I can take advantage of the down time. I’m okay at it. Not great. Let this post bear witness to my progress on that front.

She also spends more and more time awake without being hungry, these days. So we read to her -- you have to read to them from the time they’re newborns, it creates a positive association with books; so far, she’s read Everywhere Babies and Green Eggs and Ham and some back issues of n+1 her father meant to get through before she was born -- and we do Tummy Time on a little orange mat we inherited from our friends. There’s a bunny-shaped rattle attached to the end of the mat, to give her something to work for as she learns to crawl, so I sit there and watch her push her little legs around, and Mr. Bunny dances and delivers his various encouraging monologues about how Baby is made of desserts. (”Mommy had a raspberry ice cream, and a rose-flavored ice cream, and a macaron, and another macaron. And the doctor said, stop! You have to make that baby out of healthy foods! And then Mommy had fifty almond croissants. Lulu is a sweet little almond croissant baby...”) She’s very strong for a baby her age, apparently. She flipped herself over on her first try. Which they shouldn’t be able to do for a few months, so we have to check on her in her crib periodically to make sure she hasn’t done it in her sleep. 

The thing about babies flipping themselves over is that they can get stuck that way, like a turtle. They can flip from back to belly and forget how to reverse it, choke to death on their own bedsheets. There are just so, so many things to be afraid of, with a baby. Loving someone this much, when they’re this helpless, is just one long exercise in fear. 

I don’t know who will make her cry for the first time. Some bully at school, someone on whatever terrifying version of social media her generation winds up using, or one of us -- her father or I, losing patience, saying something she won’t forget. So I sit over my baby and applaud her as she works her arms and legs. So strong, so strong, mommy has such a strong girl, I say, in my happiest voice. And I don’t say the other thing. That she may actually be too strong; that being this strong might kill her. She’ll figure that out on her own time. Girls always do.

And I look at the news. All the terror, all the bullies, all the men harming women to convince themselves they’re the most important guy in the room. It happened the day I was born, it will be happening on the day I die. I left my father. But somehow, as I’m sure any decent therapist would tell me, I chose a career and a way of life that guaranteed I would always be screamed at by some emotionally catastrophic man-baby who behaved just like my father. I left him without leaving him. As long as these guys are calling me an ugly castrating bitch with a fucked-up nose whom no-one could ever love, the experience of living with my Dad is still very much ongoing. 

It got to be the worst it’s ever been, right before I had this little girl. In the Hero’s Journey, Joseph Campbell says, the midpoint of the story is always the most dangerous moment. The hero has been called into another world, tasked with finding something so wonderful it passes comprehension -- something that could change the world, or save it. But he must earn it. He must undergo a form of suffering precisely as terrible as his reward is wonderful. So, at the very midpoint of the story, his worst fear, or his oldest enemy, rises up and nearly kills him. Sometimes, it actually does kill him, and he has to find a way to resurrect himself in order to proceed. He has to pass this test, walk through the underworld unarmed, before he can get his reward and go home. 

So that’s what I do. I sit here, looking out at the world, the evil in it; podcast hosts and Presidents and whoever will use the information here to send me some horrifically personal string of insults through my Squarespace page. I look into the eyes of my hundred-headed father; my original death, which I escaped without escaping. And I say the only three words that matter.

You missed, asshole. 

Because he did. Because they always do. Because I’m still here, and I will be here until their aim gets better, and I do not plan to shut up or become more convenient or submissive until that day. For now, it’s enough to meet the demon on the threshold and keep walking. And so I take my reward, my magic baby, who will grow up with a whole new story about how the world treats girls, and she and I go home. 

[hostelfish]

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Traveling Mishaps and Lessons Learned ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When traveling, your possessions become more important than ever. If your keys and wallet are stolen at home, you may simply be able to figure a way for a friend to come help you out. On the road, however, the retention of your personal things becomes exponentially more imperative. The following is a story that illustrates how easy it can be to be complacent, and how in a matter of seconds, an absentminded mistake can change the entire course of a trip. 

Never potentially compromise yourself by assuming everyone has the same good morals as you…especially in a high volume area. In fact, never underestimate the audacity of thieves. 

This is a lesson that is generally learned the hard way. (A couple of times.) 

I have personally been on the losing-end of this situation several times, and each time has come as an extremely frustrating surprise...a heartbreaking slam back to reality, really. After you’ve had multiple cameras stolen, your backpack ripped apart and taken, your photos from a long trip swiped, and your phone absconded with- all in different instances- it becomes a second-nature obsession to try and keep that from happening again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

My buddy Jake and I were in Los Angeles last week, and we decided to rent a car for a couple of days. The idea was to drive down the coast to San Diego and stay at a hostel in Ocean Beach for the night. I’d stayed in OB before, and I was excited to get out of LA and back to where I could see the thin blue line far out on the horizon. That murky-brown LA smog isn’t really my cup of tea. The drive went fine, and we were able to successfully check into the hostel, which was three blocks from the beach. Although Ocean Beach is certainly part of San Diego, it feels like the most stereotypical SoCal surf town. When I was there previously, I loved it, and I remember thinking about trying to return every 6 months or so. It was good to be back.

 The USA hostel rented us surf boards for $10, and we were able to pick up wet suits across the street for an additional $7. I was looking forward to getting back on the water. We’d attempted to surf while in Venice Beach, and it was an enthralling new experience. We trudged the few blocks to the beach in our skin tight suits, lugging the boards and trying not to knock passersby. When we arrived, I noticed that the waves were much larger and more numerous than they’d been at Venice Beach. The people out on the water were of a much better caliber, as well. No matter, though…sometimes you take the time and spend the money to get instruction, and other times you just dive right in and try to figure it out. Jake said he wasn’t feeling it as much as the day before, but I was gung ho to give it another whirl.

We walked past several clumps of people who were lying on beach towels, enjoying the sun. We found a good spot, and set our things down. Jake asked me whether or not I thought it would be okay to leave his backpack on the towel…...I told him “I wouldn’t do that.” Then I asked him to hand me my wallet and phone, which I’d put in his backpack for our walk to the beach. He handed them over and I promptly wrapped them up in a pair of my shorts. I then buried the loot in the sand about a foot deep. I smoothed out the sand and placed my Chacos to mark the spot. One of the travel mantras that I’ve learned to keep in mind is “out of sight, out of mind,” and I said that out loud to Jake a couple of times.  I did leave my sunglasses and cap on the towel. I would’ve been disappointed if they’d been swiped, but it certainly wouldn’t have mattered that much, all things considered. With my stuff more or less secure, I trotted off towards the water, invigorated by the salty brine and glad to be in a more pristine place. Jake hung back for a while.

I was doing my thing, paddling back and forth trying to catch waves, observing the more practiced surfers, and experimenting with each aspect of my approach. From diving the board under the incoming waves, to trying to ride over the top; varying my way of popping up on the board, and differing foot placement and weight distribution: it was all a new study for me. Several times I was able to stand and (precariously) ride out a small wave; plenty of other times I was pounded, churned, and twirly-birded down below the surf. At one point, I waved at Jake to come out. “There aren’t even any sharks!” I laughed, as I beckoned. He grabbed his board and slowly made his way towards the water.

I attempted a few more waves before I noticed him parallel to me, paddling out further. I gave him the “Kowabunga” hand gesture and decided to head out further, myself. It was probably another 10-15 minutes before I decided to head in for a break. It’s hard work, all that paddling and battling and crashing; and I’m sure my technique was spectacularly inefficient. As I rode a small break in, I remember noticing that there was no backpack near our things. I figured Jake probably hollowed out a place in the sand and placed it under the towel, having taken my “out of sight, out of mind” advice to heart. I hoped so, anyways. I’ve learned that lesson the hard way a few times, and certainly knew how much of a downer it would be if he hadn’t.

He followed me out and up the beach, and once we arrived back at the towels he reiterated that he just wasn’t feeling it as much. About 30 seconds passed before I asked “yo, where’s your pack, man.” I really hoped he was going to respond with “oh, it’s buried under the towel,” buuuut, instead, came that classic “oh shit” look, and a frantic look around. “Oh this isn’t good. This is not good.” I told him to run down the beach to where we’d stopped for a few minutes before deciding to move to a better spot. Of course it wasn’t there, and he returned flustered. “Well my trip is over.”

It turns out that his keys, phone, wallet, and the car rental key were all in his bag. We weren’t even going to be using the rental car again that night...*sigh*...

There are definitely two lessons to be learned from this: First of all, “out of sight, out of mind;” Secondly, don’t keep all of your important shit right together.

Always err on the side of caution. Always.

We walked through some alleys hoping the crook had discarded any bit of it, but to no avail, of course. Immediately the trip changed. I started paying for everything and sharing my phone every couple of minutes. He had to convince people at the hostel (and the hostel in Hollywood the next night) to let him in, time and time again. We weren’t able to go out and see any live music, because of course I would’ve felt bad for ditching him. We had to get the rental car towed to the San Diego airport, which Jake was charged for, along with plenty of other fees. He was also told to get to the airport in LA way ahead of time, because security will be more extensive. (Imagine TSA cracking their knuckles, and us nervously twiddling thumbs at the security gate…) 

The final kicker was that the Hertz representative failed to update the return location on the car I subsequently had to rent for us to get back to LA. (We’d explicitly talked about us taking it back to LAX.) Therefore, when we were returning the car at LAX and trying to get to our flight, they initially wouldn’t take it. I had to call and update the return location, which included plenty of mud-raking through conversation with people I couldn’t understand a lick, and then they charged me $400 to update it. 

Life goes on, and traveling is first and foremost about learning. It’s about learning the ways of the world, and how to carry yourself within it. I think Jake and I both learned plenty of lessons from this silly escapade.

[todokori-kun]

(THAT GIF. IT’S THE GIF I WAS OBSESSED WITH WHEN I FIRST GOT INTO THE MCU OMG)

ehehehehehe I’m sure you’ll get over it :) (but you won’t, really. I should probably go and make sure you don’t have any sharp objects in your possession.)

Don’t be upset! *hugs* not until you listen to ‘Words Fail’, 'I am damaged’ and watch Civil War + Thor 2, at least…

I read the chapter! One of the things that immediately stood out to me was Shuu’s design, because it really shows how much it’s changed since the first series (he looks so pretty(?) now. Look at those eyes (down for the count and I’m drownin’ in 'em)).

As for Naki, my boy. The moment I saw him using a freaking PROVERB I think I teared up a little.

But obviously, the one thing he will never learn is Shuu’s name.

And that ending…since it’s the 'king’ it should be Ken, right? But if it is, there’s definitely something wrong (I mean just look at the last panel). When did he get back? Where’s Touka? What has he been doing? I mean, from the spoilers, some fans were guessing that was actually Arima and that’s possible now with the whole 'bring back the dead’ thing, but I don’t think it’s him. For one thing, Arima’s story had a heartbreaking ending, but it was satisfying…it was a clean, simple conclusion. I feel like it wouldn’t be a good idea to mess that up, since it would just makes things that much more complicated. It would also be cruel to Arima because COME ON, he chose his own death because that was the best option for him and he died happy! WHY would you make him do it all over again?!

And weirdly, this chapter is like 'lol Touken? what Touken?’ like the last few chapters never happened. Not sure how to feel about that XD

Also Kou is adorable and if Ishida hurts him I don’t know what I’ll do.

yeah, I do know that 'Aishiteru’ is such a powerful phrase that even married couples hesitate to use it ^^ I just wanted something to compare it to. Apparently Saiko’s 'I love you’ was the same 'I love you’ she uses with the rest of the Q squad…? Idk if that’s 100% accurate though.

OTL that freaking scene…

'Ravenclaw or Slytherin’ ^^ hahaha…ehehehehehehe…the thing is…

King Evans, bringer of angst, breaker of feels, mighty lord of the tragic OTPs, is 98% Hufflepuff. The other 2% is probably Ravenclaw.

MY HEART. Queen Luna…

Ronald and Evans would have the most casual relationship- in public, if they didn’t bother to make it obvious, people would probably think they were just BFFs.

Marco is honestly the best option tbh (he IS freckled jesus after all). Thank you so much for that <3

Vitya is a darling. His PDA would probably embarrass me a lot though haha

You said 'Steve might not be a good choice’, dunno if that’s a typo or not LOL honestly I’m not sure who I’d like as an s/o from the MCU… I mean, Loki is one of my favorites but I would NOT want to date him under any circumstances (dude tried to commit genocide in Thor 1 by killing every single Frost Giant…probably because of his self-loathing about being one himself). And like I said, though I really relate to Bruce, we’d probably just be like 'I’m so anxious’ 'You are? I’m totally anxious too’ 'I’m anxious about you being anxious’ and so on and so forth…

Wanda (Scarlet Witch) seems like the kind of person I’d get along well with though, since we’re pretty similar personality-wise but Wanda seems less sensitive than me and a bit more outgoing/willing to take charge. The reason I picked the Captain is because of out of all the avengers we have the most similar beliefs (I can talk like a nihilist at times but at the end of the day I’m probably Team Cap) and he’s got the nicest personality.

YAS another Joker fan! I thought we were extinct ;-; Luna/Joker sounds cute but Luna/Soma sounds absolutely adorable.

-“I like cute animals,”

-You (sort of) regret those words when Soma gets you a baby elephant for your birthday

-He doesn’t get how you can study so many things and concentrate on all of them. He’s not sure how to feel about it either, because he thinks you’re awesome and calls you a true scholar (he’s just so proud “Ciel, YOUR girlfriend may be a fencing prodigy but MY girlfriend is a genius!” “Well-” “What’s that? I can’t hear you over the sound of how amazing she is!”), but then he doesn’t understand how you don’t get bored of all those things, and he’s kind of jealous that it takes up so much of your time.

-jealous soma=pouty soma asking Agni and Ciel for love advice

-his nickname for you is 'princess’

Armin/Luna is one of the new OTPs

-though you’re an introverted couple you’re both willing to speak up for each other when it’s needed

-Armin loves to tell you stories about the world outside the walls and you often look at the picutres in his books together, making up wild and crazy theories about what’s out there

-Eren approves

-Mikasa gives you The Talk

-'I have two functioning blades and dozens of titans waiting outside. Hurt him and no one will ever find your body’

Phichit/Luna…

-Of course he wants to skate with you. If you already know he’s overjoyed and loves to have friendly competitions/races, and if you don’t he’s happy to teach you. He’s very sweet about it (until you realize he’s been taking pictures of your 'progress’ throughout the entire lesson)

-Phichit FLOODS his instagram with pictures of you and him together 'Look at this goddess’ 'Me and my bae’ 'Georgi’s jealous’

-In fact he just rambles about you on social media to the point where everyone decides that either he’s lost it or this Luna person is, in fact, a goddess

-Phichit also has a tumblr so he quickly becomes a part of the constant fandom discussions between Luna and Evans

-expect a ton of Hamilpuns

-Evans third wheels like a pro

Oh I Ken totally Hide (sorry)

YES those are also some of my favorites parts! (Thor is very disappointed with his little bro. Though I have to say, it’s a bit like

Thor: “COME HOME MY DEAREST BROTHER AND END THIS MADNESS I KNOW YOU CAN STILL BE REDEEMED”

Loki: “I am a strong, independent frost giant who don’t need no Odin. Go home yourself.”

Thor: “Ok.

HAMMER TIME.”)

Ah, you’ll get to see Loki’s softer side in Thor 2…prepare for the feels. Also, I do recommend you watch Thor 1 sometime. You may already know the plot but Thor 1 is the only movie we actually get see Loki before he turned into a complete and utter mess. He was actually a nice guy before the daddy issues…I was planning not to watch the first movie either but after watching it I’m glad I did.

Yeah, I don’t think you have to watch anything other than the ones you’ve listed, since those seem to be the ones most involved with the main, running plot (the Infinity Stones).

Also, idk if you’ve heard, but the post-credit scenes matter A LOT in marvel movies so I suggest you try to watch all of those :)

I think I’ll try BHA if I get the time ^^ it’s easier to get into that than Love Live in Korea. Manga is more common than anime over here unless the anime in question is really popular

Don’t worry, I’ll have you sobbing over them soon enough :)

And I suppose you’re talking about the Hamilton Believer PV? I look forward to your reaction! :D Mine was to sob and then start screaming the lyrics all over the place

I love pretty much all the Loki gifs. Like, look at them:

Also, that knife gif. When I search ‘Loki’ in gifs, most of the results are that one. I understand why, though. I mean, dayum,

Oh I’m sure I’ll get over it once I’m deep enough into the fandom. And I’m slowly, but surely getting there :)))

I loved Shuu in the new chap! I was like ‘oh la la the gourmet has returned, finally’.  The chapter does raise a lot of questions, though. I mean, who’s the king? What’s happening to the world? Kaneki? Touka? ANYONE?

When Naki started talking my reaction was ‘slow down, kid’. I’m so prout T^T

I don’t want it to be Arima. He finally found peace (in death, tho), so let him have he’s peace. He deserves it. We’ll just have to wait a week until we know, I guess. There better be some good explanations in the next chapter!

Well, I guess we’ll never know. Unless I somehow find a raw. Then, I guess I could at least see which form she uses. It’s a mystery, though, and I really want to know what she used.

You what. Hufflepuff? Nah, can’t be. Feel murderers don’t go into  the house for cinnamon rolls (but, then again, you are a cinnamon roll with an evil side).  Ever heard of hybrid houses? Yeah, I think you belong to one of those. 

Yeah, of all the character you’ve chosen, I’d say Marco is the best for you because he’d always be able to calm you down and make you laugh when you’d need it. It’d be the most adorable relationship ever and I’d be that stalker friend who’d secretly take pictures of the two of you together and would try to get you together before you’d confess. 

Yeah, that was a typo. I mean to say ‘Steve would be a good choice’.  I think the two of you would make a cute pair. Like, he’s a huge sweetheart and somewhat old fashioned. My new OTP is forming....

Ah, you and Loki might be cute, actually. I mean, once you’d open up and let your sass out, he’d be like ‘I like this mortal’. I must admit, though, I think Steve would be just a tiny bit better choice...?

The second I saw Joker, I was like ‘he’s my new problematic fave’. And then he died. And I cried. Then I heard the dub and almost threw my phone out of the window because they ruined his voice. I know he’s not the youngest person ever but he sounds like he’s in his 40s or something. 

THERE GOES MY HEART AGAIN, IT WAS NICE HAVING IT FOR A SHORT WHILE.  Goddamit.

Souma is the purest cinnamon roll in the series. I have no idea why some people dislike him so much. Sure, he’s oblivious and a tiny bit annoying at times, but he’s a nice person and does his best. NOt to mention what happened in the recent chapters. He definitely deserves more love :)))

Armin and Luna would have reading dates 90% of the time. Also, random glomping from my side because he’s too adorable.  But something I found out recently: he’s also ripped. Like, damn. It might be a consequence of his new... condition, but still.

Evans would never be a third wheel. In fact, I’m sure Luna would ditch Phichit every once in a while to talk to you hahah  Tbh, from YoI, I’m not sure I’d actually date anyone, but if I had to, Phichit would be my top choice. 

I am proud to say that I stayed up until 3:30am, binging on all the Avengers fics I could find and came to the conclusion that Loki is number 1 after all. Thor is nice and all, but I think I would get a tiny bit fed up with his constant obliviousness. Also, Jane.  And a lot of the fics described Loki as a huge bookworm, however I’m not sure if it’s fanon or canon. Either way, I like it hahah Also, imagine the sass battles. I’m 100% sure everyone would be fed up with us hahah

I am going to get all the feels during Thor 1 and 2, aren’t I?

Actually, from the ones that aren’t one the list, I only haven’t watched the Hulk, but I know what happens.

One of my friends is a huge fan of MCU and constantly yells about the post credit scenes, so i’ll definitely remember ^^

Oh, I see! LL has a mobile game, though ;) Your choice!

I almost cried over believer. It really does fit well ^^

[additionallysad]

How To Make Long Reclaimed Wood Shelves http://ift.tt/2iL4wj6

Long ago we promised more details about how we made the reclaimed wood shelves that we hung as part of our big kitchen remodel, so we’re finally back with every last measurement, stain method, and hanging tip.

We hadn’t originally planned to put shelves there, but after our initial idea to display a large piece of art fell flat (literally – it felt like that wall needed more dimension) we turned our attention to shelves. Besides adding some storage for things in heavy rotation like drinking glasses (if you cycle through things fast enough they don’t have time to get dusty), Sherry has never met a shelf didn’t have fun accessorizing. Also, plants. Gotta love plants.

These shiny polished nickel brackets were our first decision. They’re from Rejuvenation and it gave us the chance to tie in the polished nickel finishes elsewhere in the room (they come in 3 other finishes too, FYI). And if you listened to Episode #24 of our podcast, you heard all about how we found ourselves in possession of two dozen of them instead of just the four we needed (and what the heck that has to do with Chipotle).

The actual shelving material/color was less clear to us. At first we considered doing some simple white shelves for a low contrast look, and even picked up some stock shelving boards to test out the idea. You may remember the picture below from our kitchen mistakes post, so ignore all of the other not-right things going on (we later tweaked the wall color, the pendants, and the door color, etc). For now let’s focus on the not-rightness of the white shelves. They just felt kind of thin and boring to us. And when we stepped back and stared at the kitchen from the living room, we pretty quickly realized that some wood tones on the left wall would add balance and warmth like the blinds on the right wall.

So we pivoted (picture Ross from friends screaming “PIVOT!”) to the idea of wood shelves. But the problem was that the basic wood available in the lumber aisle at the store was mostly sold in the same 3/4″ thickness that the too-thin white boards came in. And if it was thick enough, it didn’t have the depth or length we wanted (our ideal shelves would be 65″ long, 9″ deep, and a little over 1″ thick). At one point we almost purchased these salvaged boards from Rejuvenation that we spotted during our bracket purchase, which were noticeably thicker (1″) but even their most expensive option ($119 per board) was more than a foot too short of our desired length.

We really liked the old look of those Rejuvenation boards, so we called around to a few lumber and reclaimed wood places to see if we could find a longer solution locally. After a few strikeouts (some wouldn’t entertain such a small order) a place called E.T. Moore Manufacturing near downtown Richmond seemed promising. We were still a pretty small order for them (they do lots of full house floor installs and stuff) but we were able to pick from a ton of old salvaged boards they had collected from various tear downs & renovations in the state (and beyond!).

Ours ended up coming from an old barn in rural Virginia, and – the best part – they would cut and plane them to our preferred length and thickness. So we were able to get exactly what we wanted: two 65″ long pine boards, 9″ deep, and 1 1/4″ thick. Here they are coming home in the back of our car.

It was $100 total, so definitely more than grabbing a couple of 1 x 10″ project boards from Home Depot, but less than half the Rejuvenation option – and made to our exact specifications! The nicest part for us was that they have the interesting imperfections of old wood, yet they were the PERFECT size and FLAWLESSLY level and straight (thanks to their planing process, they weren’t warped or bowed like some boards you might grab off the shelf).

When we laid them on the brackets, the only thing left to contend with was the color. We were initially tempted to just to clear seal them and preserve the natural tone.

But after living with them for a couple of weeks we decided we’d prefer something a little less orange… closer to the color of the stools at the island and the floor.

The gentleman at E.T.Moore had been nice enough to toss in a short scrap piece from the same batch of wood so we could test some stain before committing on the big boards (so helpful!). Because I was not about to ruin $100 worth of wood with the wrong stain choice (this is foreshadowing, btw).

After way too many hours spent googling, we decided to try a new-to-us technique involving vinegar and steel wool to help achieve that less orange undertone we were looking for. The process was pretty simple: we soaked a few pieces of steel wool in small bukcets of distilled white vinegar for about a day. We tested just 1 piece of steel wool vs. 2 pieces, along with straight up gray stain (Minwax’s Classic Gray). This is what it looked like when it was freshly applied to our little test piece…

…and here are the results once they dried. You can see how the vinegar + steel wood mixture neutralized the orange undertone really nicely (even more effectively than the gray stain!), while still allowing the grain of the wood, and it’s imperfections, to show through. In fact the “vinegar + 1 steel wool” test spot was almost an exact match to our kitchen stools when everything dried. So we charged ahead confidently with that option.

Now here’s where things got weird. The full board reacted TOTALLY DIFFERENTLY than the scrap board. We still can’t explain exactly what happened, but as we were staining the second board we noticed the first one was drying really, really, really red. Gulp.

I’ll be honest – I was super bummed. I know we were being crazy particular about these, but we were being extra meticulous in the hope of getting the exact result we wanted. And I was actually pretty psyched about the tone the vinegar and steel wool wash had created on the test board.

Ever the optimist, Sherry bravely (or foolishly) tried to make them better by “graywashing” them with some leftover gray paint (Benjamin Moore’s Shaker Gray) mixed with a lot of water – about 5 parts water to 1 part paint. If all went poorly we could theoretically sand them all down and try again, but if it worked, well, that would be nice.

She brushed the watered down paint on and then rubbed it off, just like applying stain. It definitely cut the redness down A LOT, without taking away from the wood grain and those cool old cracks (we thought the roughness of the reclaimed wood was a nice foil to the sleek polished nickel brackets).

Is it an exact match to the stools or the floor? No. Is it the precise color we hoped the vinegar/steel wool would create? Nope to that too. But it’s not like our cutting boards and our blinds and our stools and our floors are all the same color anyway, so we decided to dial back our crazy a bit and just enjoy them. It’s kinda like there’s a family of wood tones that are living together in here – and the shelves are just another relative that’s not identical, but related. So when we let go of this expectation of perfection and stopped obsessing, well, everything looked pretty great together.

And for anyone wondering how we hung them, we used heavy duty anchors on one side, and actually got the other side into a stud, so they’re nice and secure.  There’s 18″ between the counter and the first shelf – since that’s the same gap between the counters and the upper cabinets on the other side of the room – and there’s 13″ between the shelves themselves. Another 18″ gap between the two shelves looked crazy, so we ended up at 13″ – leaving Sherry enough room to go to town without things getting cramped.

If you wanna see them “in action” in this downstairs house tour video – they show up around the 2:00 minute mark. (note: you might have to click through to the original post to see this video if you’re reading in a feed burner):

  In the end, they’re a pretty great addition to the kitchen for the dimension and interest they add (we have a little bit of “old barn” in our house!) and for the sheer joy they give Sherry whenever she gets the urge to rearrange them (which happens pretty often). Also: the fact that three of the plants that were in the kitchen reveal post are still alive today is what Sherry likes to call “a post-Christmas miracle.”

P.S. Here’s where you’ll find all the kitchen sources (where we got things, the paint colors we used), and here’s how we completely reconfigured the layout, and here’s how we gutted and rebuilt it, and here’s how we organized it (complete with a video tour through all of our drawers & doors). We also shared this brain dump of all the mistakes we made (so you can avoid them). And here’s a page full of all of our house’s paint colors & a room by room source list.  

* This post contains affiliate links*

The post How To Make Long Reclaimed Wood Shelves appeared first on Young House Love.

[vincentbnaughton]

How To Make Long Reclaimed Wood Shelves

Long ago we promised more details about how we made the reclaimed wood shelves that we hung as part of our big kitchen remodel, so we’re finally back with every last measurement, stain method, and hanging tip.

We hadn’t originally planned to put shelves there, but after our initial idea to display a large piece of art fell flat (literally – it felt like that wall needed more dimension) we turned our attention to shelves. Besides adding some storage for things in heavy rotation like drinking glasses (if you cycle through things fast enough they don’t have time to get dusty), Sherry has never met a shelf didn’t have fun accessorizing. Also, plants. Gotta love plants.

These shiny polished nickel brackets were our first decision. They’re from Rejuvenation and it gave us the chance to tie in the polished nickel finishes elsewhere in the room (they come in 3 other finishes too, FYI). And if you listened to Episode #24 of our podcast, you heard all about how we found ourselves in possession of two dozen of them instead of just the four we needed (and what the heck that has to do with Chipotle).

The actual shelving material/color was less clear to us. At first we considered doing some simple white shelves for a low contrast look, and even picked up some stock shelving boards to test out the idea. You may remember the picture below from our kitchen mistakes post, so ignore all of the other not-right things going on (we later tweaked the wall color, the pendants, and the door color, etc). For now let’s focus on the not-rightness of the white shelves. They just felt kind of thin and boring to us. And when we stepped back and stared at the kitchen from the living room, we pretty quickly realized that some wood tones on the left wall would add balance and warmth like the blinds on the right wall.

So we pivoted (picture Ross from friends screaming “PIVOT!”) to the idea of wood shelves. But the problem was that the basic wood available in the lumber aisle at the store was mostly sold in the same 3/4″ thickness that the too-thin white boards came in. And if it was thick enough, it didn’t have the depth or length we wanted (our ideal shelves would be 65″ long, 9″ deep, and a little over 1″ thick). At one point we almost purchased these salvaged boards from Rejuvenation that we spotted during our bracket purchase, which were noticeably thicker (1″) but even their most expensive option ($119 per board) was more than a foot too short of our desired length.

We really liked the old look of those Rejuvenation boards, so we called around to a few lumber and reclaimed wood places to see if we could find a longer solution locally. After a few strikeouts (some wouldn’t entertain such a small order) a place called E.T. Moore Manufacturing near downtown Richmond seemed promising. We were still a pretty small order for them (they do lots of full house floor installs and stuff) but we were able to pick from a ton of old salvaged boards they had collected from various tear downs & renovations in the state (and beyond!).

Ours ended up coming from an old barn in rural Virginia, and – the best part – they would cut and plane them to our preferred length and thickness. So we were able to get exactly what we wanted: two 65″ long pine boards, 9″ deep, and 1 1/4″ thick. Here they are coming home in the back of our car.

It was $100 total, so definitely more than grabbing a couple of 1 x 10″ project boards from Home Depot, but less than half the Rejuvenation option – and made to our exact specifications! The nicest part for us was that they have the interesting imperfections of old wood, yet they were the PERFECT size and FLAWLESSLY level and straight (thanks to their planing process, they weren’t warped or bowed like some boards you might grab off the shelf).

When we laid them on the brackets, the only thing left to contend with was the color. We were initially tempted to just to clear seal them and preserve the natural tone.

But after living with them for a couple of weeks we decided we’d prefer something a little less orange… closer to the color of the stools at the island and the floor.

The gentleman at E.T.Moore had been nice enough to toss in a short scrap piece from the same batch of wood so we could test some stain before committing on the big boards (so helpful!). Because I was not about to ruin $100 worth of wood with the wrong stain choice (this is foreshadowing, btw).

After way too many hours spent googling, we decided to try a new-to-us technique involving vinegar and steel wool to help achieve that less orange undertone we were looking for. The process was pretty simple: we soaked a few pieces of steel wool in small bukcets of distilled white vinegar for about a day. We tested just 1 piece of steel wool vs. 2 pieces, along with straight up gray stain (Minwax’s Classic Gray). This is what it looked like when it was freshly applied to our little test piece…

…and here are the results once they dried. You can see how the vinegar + steel wood mixture neutralized the orange undertone really nicely (even more effectively than the gray stain!), while still allowing the grain of the wood, and it’s imperfections, to show through. In fact the “vinegar + 1 steel wool” test spot was almost an exact match to our kitchen stools when everything dried. So we charged ahead confidently with that option.

Now here’s where things got weird. The full board reacted TOTALLY DIFFERENTLY than the scrap board. We still can’t explain exactly what happened, but as we were staining the second board we noticed the first one was drying really, really, really red. Gulp.

I’ll be honest – I was super bummed. I know we were being crazy particular about these, but we were being extra meticulous in the hope of getting the exact result we wanted. And I was actually pretty psyched about the tone the vinegar and steel wool wash had created on the test board.

Ever the optimist, Sherry bravely (or foolishly) tried to make them better by “graywashing” them with some leftover gray paint (Benjamin Moore’s Shaker Gray) mixed with a lot of water – about 5 parts water to 1 part paint. If all went poorly we could theoretically sand them all down and try again, but if it worked, well, that would be nice.

She brushed the watered down paint on and then rubbed it off, just like applying stain. It definitely cut the redness down A LOT, without taking away from the wood grain and those cool old cracks (we thought the roughness of the reclaimed wood was a nice foil to the sleek polished nickel brackets).

Is it an exact match to the stools or the floor? No. Is it the precise color we hoped the vinegar/steel wool would create? Nope to that too. But it’s not like our cutting boards and our blinds and our stools and our floors are all the same color anyway, so we decided to dial back our crazy a bit and just enjoy them. It’s kinda like there’s a family of wood tones that are living together in here – and the shelves are just another relative that’s not identical, but related. So when we let go of this expectation of perfection and stopped obsessing, well, everything looked pretty great together.

And for anyone wondering how we hung them, we used heavy duty anchors on one side, and actually got the other side into a stud, so they’re nice and secure.  There’s 18″ between the counter and the first shelf – since that’s the same gap between the counters and the upper cabinets on the other side of the room – and there’s 13″ between the shelves themselves. Another 18″ gap between the two shelves looked crazy, so we ended up at 13″ – leaving Sherry enough room to go to town without things getting cramped.

If you wanna see them “in action” in this downstairs house tour video – they show up around the 2:00 minute mark. (note: you might have to click through to the original post to see this video if you’re reading in a feed burner):

In the end, they’re a pretty great addition to the kitchen for the dimension and interest they add (we have a little bit of “old barn” in our house!) and for the sheer joy they give Sherry whenever she gets the urge to rearrange them (which happens pretty often). Also: the fact that three of the plants that were in the kitchen reveal post are still alive today is what Sherry likes to call “a post-Christmas miracle.”

P.S. Here’s where you’ll find all the kitchen sources (where we got things, the paint colors we used), and here’s how we completely reconfigured the layout, and here’s how we gutted and rebuilt it, and here’s how we organized it (complete with a video tour through all of our drawers & doors). We also shared this brain dump of all the mistakes we made (so you can avoid them). And here’s a page full of all of our house’s paint colors & a room by room source list.  

* This post contains affiliate links*

The post How To Make Long Reclaimed Wood Shelves appeared first on Young House Love.

[vincentbnaughton]

How To Make Long Reclaimed Wood Shelves

Long ago we promised more details about how we made the reclaimed wood shelves that we hung as part of our big kitchen remodel, so we’re finally back with every last measurement, stain method, and hanging tip.

We hadn’t originally planned to put shelves there, but after our initial idea to display a large piece of art fell flat (literally – it felt like that wall needed more dimension) we turned our attention to shelves. Besides adding some storage for things in heavy rotation like drinking glasses (if you cycle through things fast enough they don’t have time to get dusty), Sherry has never met a shelf didn’t have fun accessorizing. Also, plants. Gotta love plants.

These shiny polished nickel brackets were our first decision. They’re from Rejuvenation and it gave us the chance to tie in the polished nickel finishes elsewhere in the room (they come in 3 other finishes too, FYI). And if you listened to Episode #24 of our podcast, you heard all about how we found ourselves in possession of two dozen of them instead of just the four we needed (and what the heck that has to do with Chipotle).

The actual shelving material/color was less clear to us. At first we considered doing some simple white shelves for a low contrast look, and even picked up some stock shelving boards to test out the idea. You may remember the picture below from our kitchen mistakes post, so ignore all of the other not-right things going on (we later tweaked the wall color, the pendants, and the door color, etc). For now let’s focus on the not-rightness of the white shelves. They just felt kind of thin and boring to us. And when we stepped back and stared at the kitchen from the living room, we pretty quickly realized that some wood tones on the left wall would add balance and warmth like the blinds on the right wall.

So we pivoted (picture Ross from friends screaming “PIVOT!”) to the idea of wood shelves. But the problem was that the basic wood available in the lumber aisle at the store was mostly sold in the same 3/4″ thickness that the too-thin white boards came in. And if it was thick enough, it didn’t have the depth or length we wanted (our ideal shelves would be 65″ long, 9″ deep, and a little over 1″ thick). At one point we almost purchased these salvaged boards from Rejuvenation that we spotted during our bracket purchase, which were noticeably thicker (1″) but even their most expensive option ($119 per board) was more than a foot too short of our desired length.

We really liked the old look of those Rejuvenation boards, so we called around to a few lumber and reclaimed wood places to see if we could find a longer solution locally. After a few strikeouts (some wouldn’t entertain such a small order) a place called E.T. Moore Manufacturing near downtown Richmond seemed promising. We were still a pretty small order for them (they do lots of full house floor installs and stuff) but we were able to pick from a ton of old salvaged boards they had collected from various tear downs & renovations in the state (and beyond!).

Ours ended up coming from an old barn in rural Virginia, and – the best part – they would cut and plane them to our preferred length and thickness. So we were able to get exactly what we wanted: two 65″ long pine boards, 9″ deep, and 1 1/4″ thick. Here they are coming home in the back of our car.

It was $100 total, so definitely more than grabbing a couple of 1 x 10″ project boards from Home Depot, but less than half the Rejuvenation option – and made to our exact specifications! The nicest part for us was that they have the interesting imperfections of old wood, yet they were the PERFECT size and FLAWLESSLY level and straight (thanks to their planing process, they weren’t warped or bowed like some boards you might grab off the shelf).

When we laid them on the brackets, the only thing left to contend with was the color. We were initially tempted to just to clear seal them and preserve the natural tone.

But after living with them for a couple of weeks we decided we’d prefer something a little less orange… closer to the color of the stools at the island and the floor.

The gentleman at E.T.Moore had been nice enough to toss in a short scrap piece from the same batch of wood so we could test some stain before committing on the big boards (so helpful!). Because I was not about to ruin $100 worth of wood with the wrong stain choice (this is foreshadowing, btw).

After way too many hours spent googling, we decided to try a new-to-us technique involving vinegar and steel wool to help achieve that less orange undertone we were looking for. The process was pretty simple: we soaked a few pieces of steel wool in small bukcets of distilled white vinegar for about a day. We tested just 1 piece of steel wool vs. 2 pieces, along with straight up gray stain (Minwax’s Classic Gray). This is what it looked like when it was freshly applied to our little test piece…

…and here are the results once they dried. You can see how the vinegar + steel wood mixture neutralized the orange undertone really nicely (even more effectively than the gray stain!), while still allowing the grain of the wood, and it’s imperfections, to show through. In fact the “vinegar + 1 steel wool” test spot was almost an exact match to our kitchen stools when everything dried. So we charged ahead confidently with that option.

Now here’s where things got weird. The full board reacted TOTALLY DIFFERENTLY than the scrap board. We still can’t explain exactly what happened, but as we were staining the second board we noticed the first one was drying really, really, really red. Gulp.

I’ll be honest – I was super bummed. I know we were being crazy particular about these, but we were being extra meticulous in the hope of getting the exact result we wanted. And I was actually pretty psyched about the tone the vinegar and steel wool wash had created on the test board.

Ever the optimist, Sherry bravely (or foolishly) tried to make them better by “graywashing” them with some leftover gray paint (Benjamin Moore’s Shaker Gray) mixed with a lot of water – about 5 parts water to 1 part paint. If all went poorly we could theoretically sand them all down and try again, but if it worked, well, that would be nice.

She brushed the watered down paint on and then rubbed it off, just like applying stain. It definitely cut the redness down A LOT, without taking away from the wood grain and those cool old cracks (we thought the roughness of the reclaimed wood was a nice foil to the sleek polished nickel brackets).

Is it an exact match to the stools or the floor? No. Is it the precise color we hoped the vinegar/steel wool would create? Nope to that too. But it’s not like our cutting boards and our blinds and our stools and our floors are all the same color anyway, so we decided to dial back our crazy a bit and just enjoy them. It’s kinda like there’s a family of wood tones that are living together in here – and the shelves are just another relative that’s not identical, but related. So when we let go of this expectation of perfection and stopped obsessing, well, everything looked pretty great together.

And for anyone wondering how we hung them, we used heavy duty anchors on one side, and actually got the other side into a stud, so they’re nice and secure.  There’s 18″ between the counter and the first shelf – since that’s the same gap between the counters and the upper cabinets on the other side of the room – and there’s 13″ between the shelves themselves. Another 18″ gap between the two shelves looked crazy, so we ended up at 13″ – leaving Sherry enough room to go to town without things getting cramped.

If you wanna see them “in action” in this downstairs house tour video – they show up around the 2:00 minute mark. (note: you might have to click through to the original post to see this video if you’re reading in a feed burner):

  In the end, they’re a pretty great addition to the kitchen for the dimension and interest they add (we have a little bit of “old barn” in our house!) and for the sheer joy they give Sherry whenever she gets the urge to rearrange them (which happens pretty often). Also: the fact that three of the plants that were in the kitchen reveal post are still alive today is what Sherry likes to call “a post-Christmas miracle.”

P.S. Here’s where you’ll find all the kitchen sources (where we got things, the paint colors we used), and here’s how we completely reconfigured the layout, and here’s how we gutted and rebuilt it, and here’s how we organized it (complete with a video tour through all of our drawers & doors). We also shared this brain dump of all the mistakes we made (so you can avoid them). And here’s a page full of all of our house’s paint colors & a room by room source list.  

* This post contains affiliate links*

The post How To Make Long Reclaimed Wood Shelves appeared first on Young House Love.