#why is it always the brown and black fictional characters always get thrown into the bleach pit

[ruiiplume]

My take on that unnamed lifeguard lady from lilo and stitch

[bonny-kookoo]

Bunny Boy (JJK x Reader)☁️⚠️🔪(💜)🔞 Part 1

Pairing: Jeon Jungkook x Reader

Genre: Angst, Yandere!AU, Stalker!AU, questionable romance, smut, Oneshot

Warnings: (oh boy) Stalking, Obsession, Yandere themes, cute Koo but aggressive, he ready to fight, graphic description of violence, blood, very twisted JK, oblivious! Reader, kinda Stockholm-syndrome Reader?, soft romantic lovemaking, body worship, Dom! Jungkook, Sub! Reader, Handjob (fem. receiving), oral (fem. receiving), protected sex because even with your mind scrambled up in a frying pan we still wrap it before tapping it y’all hear me STDs ain’t cute Susan

Summary: It all started with a hello kitty charm.

A/N:(IMPORTANT) I’d like to note here that I do not condone nor romanticize any of the things depicted in this. This is purely fictional, and only to be seen as a work of art, not as a depiction of real life relationships. For short: if he a creep, kick his balls, don’t kiss. Thank you.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part?

Whenever you slept, he had to think of an angel portrayed in an old painting displayed in a museum he'd seen when he had been a kid, years ago. He remembers its features, flawless and so carefully drawn that it edged on perfection. It couldn't have been however, he knew that much. Because the painting wasn't of you.

The sheets had fallen all over the place during the night- you sometimes moved during your period of unconsciousness he'd noticed, which wasn't unusual for you. It had been more often and severe these days however; probably because of the stress you experienced at work nowadays. It was okay though, he though to himself. He'd taken care of that for you, just so you could finally rest in peace again. Just like he'd decided almost a year ago.

"You lost this, I think.." A voice spoke behind you, as you turned around, eyes looking straight at some american writing on a black t-shirt, then a jean-jacket thrown over, until your eyes raised, spotting a silver chain necklace- not one of those large ones guys wore to impress, but a rather delicate looking one. Your eyes found soft looking lips, the upper one smaller than the lower, slightly parted like a doll frozen in time, before you saw a prominent nose, a slight scar on his cheek, and eyes wide open; a dark chocolate brown, reflecting the artificial lights of the grocery store, shining all around you as they tried to advertise several products to the people browsing the isles. His hair was a bit curly, dark and only mildly styled you assumed. He stood way taller than you did, the main reason you had first made eye contact with his chest rather than his face-

He was handsome.

You stuttered a bit as you looked at the hello kitty charm, a simple one you'd hung on your phonecase, for the aesthetic and sole reason that you liked the cat character a lot. "T-Thanks.." You said, and your voice made his eyes widen even further, before he flashed you a bright smile, bunny like teeth giving him a charm that completely contradicted his entire punk-like attire he wore, combat boots stepping back a bit to give you a bit more space, sensing how his close presence made you feel pressured.

What a nice gesture.

"Jungkook." He said, and you nodded, giving him your name as an exchange.

Unknowing where this would lead.

His phone chimed with the familiar tune of his alarm, making him simply tap away at the screen without breaking eye contact with you. This was his favorite moment of the start of his day.

You moved around a bit more, the screen of your phone bright and annoying, just how you intended it to be. He knew that you were quite the sleepyhead, cherishing your dreams and cozy blankets like no other around him he knew. That's why your phone had an extra obnoxious tune to it to wake you up, screen as bright as possible to drown the entire room in its glow, so you had to move around. Your eyes opened slightly, pout ever so endearingly present on your lips as you sat up, raising your arms to stretch them above, making him swallow his saliva as he saw how your shirt raised up, revealing the soft skin of your belly, and the slight peak of your cotton underwear. He loved how you always put comfort over visual appearance- you didn't need fancy clothing to look absolutely divine in his eyes, after all.

He had to remember his task at hand however, grabbing his phone with a bit of hectic, before he dialed a number, waiting until your screen lit up. You instantly took on the call, not looking at who's calling.

Did you know it was him? Or is were you so careless all the time?

"Goo'mornin' Kookie.." You drawled into your phone, and his entire previous thoughts flew out his window, his eyes closing at the sound of your slightly raspy voice, his nerves instantly soothed at the fact that for another day he'd managed to become the first person you would talk to.

"Good morning angel." He said, voice low and smooth, just how you always told him you liked it. He watched as the corners of your lips turned upwards, a smile only dedicated to him, even if he technically wasn't supposed to see it. It made it the more special to see. "Did you sleep well?" He asked, and you nodded. Silly girl he thought. You noticed your mistake before sleepily giggling to yourself, yawning before answering him verbally. He cooed at you internally. You were so cute.

"Hmhm. Had a bad dream though." You said, and his heart clenched at the way your lips lowered a bit with the remembrance of whatever had happened during your slumber. He wished he could invade your very thoughts, keep even your own demons tormenting your precious time of rest at bay, kill them off with a shot straight to their cores, just to have you safe. "but you were there 'n fought the monsters." You said with a smile, and his eyes widened. Maybe he really was invading your thoughts just like you did with his. Was your connection really already that strong? He watched the clock on the very corner of his laptop, keeping an eye on the time. He didn't want you to be late, after all.

"That's right, I'm always keeping you safe." He hummed, and you sleepily replied with a confirmation of his statement. "Now get ready, or you're gonna be late baby." He said, the nicknames still foreign yet oh so sweet on his tongue whenever he said them. He could finally speak them out loud, finally give them to you regularly, and it had been a firework of emotions ever since. He could never get tired of the way it made you squirm, giving him a teaser of what you could look like underneath him, bare and ready for his taking. Just the thought alone made his pants tighten around him, making him force composure down his throat- at least for the moment. "I know you're still in bed. Go and get dressed, don't make your coworkers wait. Love you angel." He said, and waited for you to say the same words to him again, as a form of farewell and confirmation alike.

"Hmhm, love you too, Kook." You said, and disconnected the call, giving him finally freedom to groan out loud, hands scrambling with his pants, fingers working on the button and fly with desperation as he pulled his half hard length out of his underwear, moving his fingers around as his eyes never left your form on his screen, bare legs softly walking up to your dresser. As you discarded your shirt, leaving you bare, his grasp tightened a bit, air coming out in gasps as you stretched yourself so deliciously like a feline did- your back arching enticingly, breasts on full display for him, before you started to bend down, looking for something to cover them, probably.

His mind started to come up with visions of you, arching your back underneath him like that, speared on his cock, mewling alluringly, delicate hands frantically searching for something to hold onto as he would push himself inside you again and again, your name falling from your lips in a manner he couldn't even imagine yet.

Would your voice raise in pitch? Would you only huff, gasping without a tune? Or were you a screamer?

He didn't know yet, but he knew he was close to making these mere dreams a reality with you. He'd finally managed to show you his love for you after all, finally making you see how you belonged to him and him only- you had finally accepted him and your destiny at his side. When he'd first met you, you were so sweet yet so.. dumb. You didn't notice, didn't feel the connection- but he was patient. He was able to wait, to hint you at it the best he could, to softly lead you into his awaiting arms, to serve you and worship you like the goddess you were. You had started to finally connect the obvious strings of fate to him, kissing his lips in such a shy manner that he still felt his veins buzz from the euphoria he'd felt that day.

The day he got kissed by an angel, by his soulmate, his other missing part.

He spied on you as you worked away, busy like a bee, ever so hardworking he thought. You didn't deserve to work at all in his opinion, your hands too delicate to be endangered by maybe scolding yourself on hot water or coffee that you made every day for absolute strangers or regular costumers; yet you were so happy at your job that he had to be gentle at slowly showing you that this wasn't where you were supposed to be. The amount of people looking at you every day made bile rise in his throat, making him feel like vomiting every time he saw the way you smiled at another man.

It was even with woman, he'd noticed recently. He didn't care much about the elderly, but he could sometimes spot girls your age eyeing you down like you were a rare diamond behind glass, admiring you like they shouldn't be allowed to. He understood them to an extend, he'd admit that much; your visuals were magical, absolutely breathtaking, making him almost sympathize with the people being drawn towards you. Your soul was so soft and gentle that people naturally felt comfortable around you- too comfortable, if anyone would ask Jungkook himself for his opinion on that matter.

Just like right now; the guy you once went to school with as he'd found out after photographing his face and running a google search on him, finding his facebook and other social media accounts on his hunt. He hadn't really tried to stay in contact with you after you both graduated, dating girls left and right like he was a 12-year old collecting pokemon cards, posting disgusting things such as post workout pictures, bathing in attention of strangers who'd never really met him. It was disgusting, really; Jungkook himself had given himself away to others before as well, but his counter was standing at a number easily displayed on one hand. With this guy however, that was way more difficult to portray. He'd collected information on his past affairs as well, after all. He wondered what you would say if you knew he even slept with men in his freetime, selling himself like a whore just for animalistic pleasures and his own satisfaction. He almost felt himself gag at the thought of you possibly falling into this man's trap.

Thank the heavens he'd found you first.

He saw how uncomfortable you felt around that guy however, even your naive self sensing something malicious behind his attention seeking behavior towards you. He'd overheard you telling him multiple times how happy you were with Jungkook, yet the guy simple did not take the hint, speaking over your words as if they didn't hold any significance at all, uncaring of how you hated not being taken seriously by others.

How nauseating.

Jungkook looked at the passenger seat next to him, cold eyes gazing at the silvery tape and plastic bag, his glove clothed hands gripping the steering wheel in determination as he turned his face again, patiently waiting as that demon payed for his coffee, finally leaving the cafe after sending you another look. Jungkook cracked his neck. He had to do it.

He was doing it for you.

You'd understand.

Seoul's nights were mostly starless, due to the amounts of artificial lights blending out the galaxies above everyone's head's. It was quite tragic to him, really, because as he watched the colourfully lit up Bridge blend into the distance behind him as he drove further and further away from the city, the nightsky above him got clearer and clearer, as if the earth was revealing itself with every kilometer he brought between himself and the buzzing citylife.

He'd bring you out to a trip far away one day. Maybe camping, you always told him how you found these things quite romantic- roasting marshmallows over a small fire, stargazing, and sleeping in each others arms to converse heat in stuffy sleeping bags. Oh, he loved this already. He'd work a little overtime at his job to get enough money together so he could maybe even rent a small van. Or would his small car suffice for you? Maybe it was better to use the smaller space of his own vehicle- the less space meaning being closer to you, after all.

As he opened his window a bit, he breathed in the almost icy air from the outside, not much sound heard apart from his car's engine and wheels on the road, monotonous sound making him feel less concentrated than he should be. But he knew these roads, thankfully. Luckily for him the air inside his car was waking him up a little bit, as he turned around a corner, Jungkook clicked his tongue in annoyance as he felt something on the backseat of his car tumble down behind the seats. Hopefully the bag didn't rip. He had a spare one with him though.

He was organized, after all.

It was something that you always praised about him, making his chest feel all warm and fuzzy inside. He loved whenever you told him how handsome he was, how you always felt so appreciated whenever he held the door for you or helped you with simply mundane things. He didn't care about anyone else's comments about him; when you were happy with him, he was happy with himself as well. Your opinion of him mattered most- everyone else's only served as a safety cushion if you will.

He knew you would probably feel a bit upset with the tragedy that befell your former classmate- but he was insignificant. He had no good intentions, he knew that much, and now, he'd ridden the world of such a nuisance, cleansing it from another rotting soul. In a way he felt like he'd done a great job, as if he'd done something important. If ghosts existed, Jungkook hoped that this young man's was thankful for finally being freed of it's miserable existence. Even though he have had all the rights to make him suffer, he'd made it quick and simple, keeping things clean and sharply cut.

Pulling on the parking break in his car, he shut down the engine, before he opened his car door, stepping outside and stretching his arms. He'd definitely pulled a muscle carrying this dudes body into his car- the weight much more heavy than he'd initially thought. But that would pass. Maybe it was his punishment for not acting sooner, not getting things done immediately. His dad had always slapped that part of his neck too whenever he messed things up. He still remembered that to this day.

The memory made him shudder.

Sighing, he opened the door to the backseats, part of the plastic-wrapped body falling a bit out, making Jungkook huff a bit in frustration. He pulled on it, assuming it was his head, letting the weight fall down onto the ground, a low thud and a bit of dust covering his black sweatpants and combat boots.

He'd clean them up at home.

Heaving the body onto his back as to not rip the well made covering, he began to collect rocks nearby, stuffing them into the bag carefully, adding weight as much as he could, while still making it possible for him to shove the body over the banisters placed on the edge of the cliffs before finally securing more tape around the bag to make sure the rocks couldn't simply tumble out and leave their destined place inside. Jungkooks gaze was still cold, icy, as he finished his work with an almost bored expression, finally hefting the heavy weight over the metal bars, before he let it fall with a groan on his side, Neck still hurting. He watched as the body hit the water's surface, white splatters shooting in circle formations around the bullet-like hole in the waves before the darkness swallowed it whole, leaving nothing behind but a few air bubbles.

Jungkook took a deep breath, watching for a moment before turning his gaze to the stars above, clouds slowly shielding the nightsky from his vision as if the heavens above closed their eyes- not looking at his actions.

His phone buzzed in his pocket, making him remove his black glove, unlocking it with his fingerprint skillfully, smile already on his lips. 'I'm gonna be done in half an hour. Do you wanna get some late night Ramen with me and eat it at my place?' you wrote, silly emojis making him imagine the pink hue on your cheeks as you wrote these lines to him.

Now that he thought about it, he was quite hungry.

"Jungkookie, here!" You said, waving at him as he spotted you, bunny grin sent your war as he walked over, immediately pulling you into his open arms, his nose nuzzling your neck as if he needed to claim you like an animal. It tickled you a bit and you giggled, making him chuckle as well as he kissed your cheek, before he took your hand into his, walking you to his car as he looked at the plastic bags in your hand.

"Why did you buy them yourself angel? You could've waited and I could've payed." He whined, and you scoffed a bit, blushing at the way he seemed to be pouty over the fact that he couldn't be all gentlemanly like he always said he wanted to. Having told him how it made you feel so special inside whenever he did these things, he made sure to do them for you as much as possible. He shuddered at the fact that you'd once told him that your ex boyfriend never did these things such as holding the door for you or help you grocery shopping. The same night however you thankfully told him that you were still pure; having never been touched intimately before, a piece of information that had made his pants tighten embarrassingly fast, the simple revelation that you were still untainted and his for the taking making him feel starved. Yet he had controlled himself, not wanting to rush things. You were a bit skittish, easily overwhelmed with things, so he knew not to push anything too fast too far.

Loosing you could be fatal for the both of you, after all.

"Ah, but its fine Kookie." You said, thanking him after he'd opened the car door for you, closing it after you had gotten inside the passenger seat after you with a smile. Jungkook really was a special guy; he seemed to cherish the old ways of courting a girl- something that had made him be seen as a 'softie' in your group of friends, the girls constantly making fun of the way he acted around you. It made you feel more and more upset the more time went by; after all you really loved Jungkook and the way he made you feel. You both were happy- why did they need to make fun of that?

"Angel?" He asked, and you snapped your head towards him, humming an answer and proving to him that you weren't paying any attention. His eyebrows furrowed a bit, and for a split second you thought he was mad, but his voice didn't hold any bad feelings at all- only slight concern. "Is everything okay? If you're tired I can drive you home-" He said, stopping at a red light and using that moment to look at you. You didn't look physically sick to him, yet your face told him how something was bothering you inside. He'd studied your features for longer than he'd like to admit, making it impossible for you to hide anything from him at all. "Or is something troubling you?" He said lowly, his eyes suddenly fogging over with a look you could not quite describe.

It made your spine tingle and your skin shudder, however.

"I just.." You said, trying to figure out what to say concerning this topic. Jungkook was emotionally very easily affected, you knew that; something that made it even more difficult to bring that topic up. You didn't want to hurt his pride or his ego concerning his manliness. "The girls at work they uhm.. they were making fun of you a little bit for being so, you know, soft and sweet to me-" you said, making him raise his brows and open his eyes more, his innocent doe-look returning into his face as he looked forwards to continue driving. You immediately raised your voice a bit, hand instinctively touching the one not on the steering wheel as a form of confirmation for your next words. "But I don't think that at all, I think you're really nice, and strong, and you know, manly and all that.." you said, ears slowly turning red as you noticed how that sounded. Jungkook simply smiled, his eyes reflecting the traffic lights like mirrors.

It made him seem almost ethereal to you.

"So you think I'm hot?" He asked, and you sunk down in your seat, fiddling with your fingers as you nodded, making him giggle a bit, and ruffle your hair playfully, before interlacing his fingers with yours, holding them towards his lips to kiss the back of your hand. "Thank you Angel. So that's what you were worried about? That I'd feel hurt by the words of your friends?" He asked, glancing your way for a split second before looking forward again. He wished he could look both ways at the same time; the short image he'd gotten of your form so shy and adorable sitting right next to him looking like a scene out of a movie he'd never stop watching. You nodded again, and he parked in front of your apartment complex, grinning your way as he turned off the engine. "You're so sweet, angel." He said, while you whined, opening the door to escape his laughter-

While failing to wipe your own smile off of your lips, uncaring on how his car had smelled a bit weird.

You were still so oblivious to everything around you.

When he'd left after your last dinner together, you'd again refused to let him drive you to work. You had a split shift during the week, working in the mornings for a few hours before continuing your shift later that evening. It made him feel uneasy knowing that you had to get out of the house so early, and coming home so late at night- yet you still trusted your own driving skills enough to not let him help you with these things. He knew this was okay, but it didn't make the fact less frustrating for him.

He needed to keep your trust. He needed you to be scared of things. He needed to keep you needing him.

The only way to do that would be to show you what could happen when you didn't trust his judgement enough. He knew that you were just so fast at giving away important things such as trust to others; even to yourself. Yet Jungkook knew that he knew better- he knew best what was the best for you.

Even better than yourself.

He knew it would hurt, but you would understand. In the end, he was only showing you what would happen if you didn’t listen, if you didn’t trust him, didn’t do what he said- he needed you to feel your mistake, needed you to get scarred so you would always remember to stay at his side loyal like a dog, never to leave his sight ever again. He thought about this dream like vision, your hand in his, desperately seeking his attention, as his oil stained hands cut through the proper cables underneath your admittedly old car.

He never liked you driving by yourself anyways.

You were still so innocent, so stupidly oblivious to the dirt underneath everyone’s fingernails around you that it made his blood boil. But that was okay. Angels were naive creatures, he knew that. He would teach you how disgusting the world was to untainted beings like you, and afterwards he would keep you safe, keep your hand in his at all times, so no one could ever touch you again and blemish your skin. No one but him was allowed to corrupt you, to feel you, to have you lay in his arms as he filled you up and became one with your physical form at night.

And also;

Who said that you would ever find out that he was at fault?

"The breaks aren't working Jungkook, what am I supposed to do?!" You sobbed through the speaker of his phone, the one which he held calmly in his hand, his own vehicle parked at the sidelines of a road a bit further down your typical route, waiting. "I can't slow down- I'm so scared Jungkook what should I do-!" You whimpered again, and he closed his eyes for a moment, praying to the heavens above that they would forgive him for hurting one of their most precious fallen doves. But it was for the greater good- they'd understand, he was sure of it.

"Don't worry angel, you're gonna be okay-!" He said acting as if he was hurrying as well, even though he was still sitting peacefully inside his car, watching as the sun slowly turned the skies into twilight shades. Quite beautiful, really. "Can you slow down, somehow?!" He said, his voice cracking a bit as he got into his role, your voice telling him that you couldn't- the only way would be to drive into the woods and maybe try and crash the car. "Angel no, there's gotta be another way-" He sobbed, as he suddenly heard the line go silent.

He sniffled a bit, drying his eyes with the sleeve of his sweater, before he turned on his car, his phone showing the location of yours just a few meters away from him.

And there you were.

You car was a wreck, yet it seemed like it took most of the blow- you had actually taken the wood-option, using the bushes, foliage and brushwood as a form of emergency break before hitting a tree, which had split a bit from the impact, mushing your car against it like a piece of gum onto the underside of a shoe.

He carefully got out of his car, walking up to the drivers side, opening the door with a bit of difficulty- but he'd always loved working out, so in the end, his strength succeeded in opening the bent metal. He immediately caught your falling body, his heart breaking at the small cut over your eye, marks on your bare shoulder from where the seatbelt had pulled on your skin too roughly. Your arm looked like it was swollen, your leg bent in a direction it naturally wasn't supposed to as he pulled you out of the wreck, laying you down onto his lap as he sat down on the grassy ground, softly brushing the hairs away that had formed groups of single hairs stuck together by the blood that was already clogging and turning a bit darker. Oh how his soul hurt seeing you like this.

But this had needed to happen.

And as he called the ambulance with his phone, careful to sound as desperate as possible over the line, he failed to notice how your eyes weren't fully closed.

You were still conscious.

[manychocolatefactories]

CatCF Milk Chocolate: Part 2, the Wonders of Wonka

WONKA

For this Wonka, I wanted to go much more into the idea of wonders, fantasy, magic. Excentric, talkative, liking jokes and everything imaginative, very kind to children, he wanted his factory to be a world of pure imagination, a fantasy turned real. He is the kind of person that will literally want to "defy gravity".

I imagine this Wonka to basically be a sort of much more goofy and funny Walt Disney. Willy Wonka also hints throughout the story at his really large family scattered everywhere in the world - a family apparently made of other characters from Roald Dahl's stories (for exemple one of his cousin or uncle is the magician from James and the Giant Peach).

FACTORY

I imagine the Factory, from far away, to actually look like more a magical castle than a real factory. Think of Disneyland's iconic castle ; or the castle of the Mad King Ludwig, the Nuschwanstein Castle - but with a bit more chimneys and metal.  

# The Candied Orchard. I think for this variation of the room, I will turn this area into more of a greenhouse type of room, but where Wonka works and study how to create hybrid of plants that will produce candies and treats instead of fruits and berries - such as candied apple trees, and other trees producing candied fruits. The Chocolate River is here as an irrigation system - in order to encourage the trees to produce candies, Wonka gives them chocolate instead of water.

This is where both Miranda Grope and Augustus Gloop meet their demises. Miranda, against Wonka's interdictions, decides to jump in the river and swim in it (just like in Dahl's original work), while Augustus actually tries to gulp down all of the river on his own ( this strange bet resulted from Marvin's mockery and insults at the "big cow being able to drink it all up" being interpreted by the Gloop family as a compliment - and the Gloop parents encourage their son to prove that he is the "biggest and the best" by drinking down all of the river). Of course, Augustus falls in the river, just like Miranda. Augustus doesn't know how to swim, and Miranda maliciously tries to drown him - but they get both sucked up by the pipes. Well... Miranda gets taken by the pipe to the candy making room, and Wonka reassures its parents that usually there's a net to catch impurities. As for Augustus, he gets stuck midway through the pipe, and the pipe ends up exploding due to how big the boy is. He falls down into the river once more - but his weight and height causes a huge wave to crash on the shores, splashing the guests with chocolate.

EDIT: To save the boy, the Loompas (and Wonka) decide to use their new invasions - the Barshmalloy! A marshmallow-buoy! Basically it looks like a regular marshmallow but when put in a great amount of liquid it turns into an enormous "buoy" like thing that will help you float (and you can eat if you need food). It was originally an invention Wonka prepared to help people strained at sea or lost in rivers.

But of course, greedy Augustus, despite drowning, hasn't lost his gluttony and seeing the marshmallow eats it. Which has the strange effect of... turning him into a giant, puffy, marshmallow-boy (think the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man from Ghostbusters). He still floats and can be saved, though the Loompas have to take him away because he can't follow the tour in such state.

# Given the disaster of the Candied Orchard, Wonka decides to stop by a much safer room (after everyone cleaned up a bit) - the Halloween Room. Kids notice that we are not Halloween yet, but Wonka brushes it aside - it is always Halloween if we want to, just like it is always Christmas or Easter.

No demise here, only a fun scene - Wonka has the kids trying one of his new product, an Hallowee candy that will temporarily turn the kid into a monster. Like that, no need to buy a fancy costume to scare your neighbours, just pop one of these treats into your mouth! And the "costume" will be perfectly adapted to who you are.

Veruca's flesh rots as she becomes a zombie. Violet skin covers in fur as she grows wolf ears and fangs, becoming a werewolf. Herpes Trout's skin becomes green and he grows tusks and a boar's snout as he becomes an orc. Clarence turn into a skeleton (though as people point out there isn't much difference to his usual self). As for Charlie I actually don't know exactly... I thought of him becoming an elf, growing long pointy ears and gaining a sort of beauty.

It doesn't last long, but it is quite fun.

# The Kitchen. It is where Wonka makes his candies, and it looks like a gigantic, fantastical kitchen. Of couse, this is where Violet Glockenberry meets her demise - when she snatches and chews on the "Three Course Gum Meal". As I said previously, no blueberry inflation in my versions - here the demise is based on the "baked potatoes" of the meal. As she chews, Violet sees brown scabs appearing on her skin. They grow and grow, covering her entire body, trapping her into a thick carapace - at the end, she becomes entirely trapped in a giant potato, with only her face being visible. Unable to move or do anything, she can just shout as she is rolled around and taken to the "Peeling Room" to be peeled.

# The hallways. It may seem strange to see them listed in the places of importance, but it is where Veruca Salt meets her demise. You see, she picked up some trash or junk that was in a bin of the Factory, probably because it looked a lot like a product that is recently advertised a lot on television - and despite Wonka's insistance that it is not said product, but merely something resembling it, she refuses to let go of it. As a result, she is taken away by the squirrels, thinking of her as trash.

Oh yes, because I decided to re-imagine the squirrels as actually the "cleaning squad" of the Factory, roaming the building getting rid of all dirt or trash not thrown into a specific bin. They then take it away to the furnace to be burned...

# The Room of HEALTH. The Room of Homeopathic and Edible Answers to Laments That are (frankly) quite Harsh. A new room Wonka recently created in answer to people complaining about the "unhealtiness" of his candies. As a result, you find in there, stored before selling (because it is a storage room, but presented like a museum and a cave, a mix of the two) products that go from licorice that whitens the teeth or cavity-filling caramels to nougat that cleans your skin of acne. This is where, obviously, Clarence Crump meets his demise.

Hearing about this wonderful chocolate that will make you super-healthy because it contains all the vitamins existing in the world, from A to Z, Clarence stuffs himself with it - not hearing Wonka's warning that it is hyper-concentrated and will make you over-wealthy. Clarence doesn't mind being "over-healthy"... until he becomes obese, chalk-white-skinned and grows bull horns. Well, he isn't really obese - it is actually an excess of vitamins, that happens to look a lot like an excess of fat in the body.

The only way to get rid of an excess of vitamins or an over-healthiness is either to ruin your health, either to do a lot of sports and exercise... and while Clarence absolutely hates doing sports, his parents will never allow him to ruin his health. So... to the gymnasium!

The demise is especially ironic because he ends up looking like a "big fat cow" as Herpes Trout points out - and before, Marvin frequently insulted the other kids for being freakish "cows" (with special mentions for Augustus, the "bloated fat cow" and Violet, "the freaky bodybuilder cow"). Hence why he turns into a fat, black-and-white boy with horns.

# The Television Room. Pretty much identical to the original one. The variation comes on the focus here - the point being rather on the difference between reality and fiction. I'll explain: Herpes Trout wants to get into the television to enter its world of hyper-violence and be "cool" like Rambo and other destructive soldier-like antiheroes. Trouble is, when locked inside, he realizes that war is actually no cool game and no joke, and is left heavily traumatized. (And, just like in the original, he gets pulled out and stretched thin in the Taffy room, making a stark opposite to his bulky and muscular original shape).

OOMPA-LOOMPA

I think in this version they will basically looke like Santa's elves. Little pointy eared lutins. I honestly don't have much more ideas for now Xp

ENDING

Charlie doesn't outright becomes the new Factory owner, but it is a promise Wonka makes to the young kid - since he is the only one able to understand the magic and fantasy of the place, he will take Wonka's place one day, when Wonka decide to "go on a great journey to where man never went" (even though, as Wonka says, he might come back one day, with new ingredients, candies and recipes from these places "man never went"). While waiting for this day, Charlie wins the incredible prize of a lifetime supply of candy as well as material and financial support - plus, he is allowed to visit the Factory any time he likes.

The Gloops returned home, Augustus still a marshmallow-boy. The Loompas and Wonka, despite all their efforts, couldn't find how to return him back to normal since no one had ever swallowed a Barshmalloy before. But the Gloops parent don't mind, because now he is "the biggest and tastiest" of the boys around, so not everything is lost.

However, Augustus hasn't been seen or heard ever since he came back to his natal country... Some say he roasted in the dry hot desert. Others claim he couldn't resist the temptation and ended up devouring himself whole. No one really knows the truth.

Violet Glockenberry, after being "peeled", was left with a very soft and sensitive skin, which prevented her from continuing her rash and violent ways. She was forced to live in a soft, conditioned, safe evironment, with only the sweetest things. Unable to do much, she took her frustration on Wonka's lifetime of candy, and now is an overweight, spoiled woman always shouting and screaming for the best quality and what will not "hurt her skin". She actually ended up growing back a tough, regular skin, but she still plays along the role of the "delicate flower" because she grew used to her being the focus of attention.

Veruca Salt, due to her time in the junk and trash of the Factory, became a new type of guinea pig - one for testing diseases and sicknesses in labs. She accumulated so many molds, parasites and other infections in Wonka's dump that she became immune to all sicknesses, basically a sort of living petri dish where sicknesses grow and diseases spread without her being really affected by it.

Clarence Crump... He left the Factory slim again, but still with his horn bulls - as a result his mother tried to hide it by putting her handbag over his head, but the wind blew it away as they left, leading to a public humiliation. Humiliated, he left the fashion industry, abandonned all fame, and became a farmer on the countryside - raising cows. Because his experience actually left him very close to cows, that he thinks as his "only friends" in this world.

As I mentionned, Herpes Trout was left traumatized by the violence he escaped from in the television, and stretched into a tall and very thin boy. Herpes left his family to join a hippie and peaceful community, now spending in time relaxing, meditating and trying to find his "harmony with nature" in places far away from human activity and human noise. He also refuses to go any new technology ever. Computer, television, radio, don't even speak to him about it.

No one knows what happened to Miranda Grope, since she wasn't seen ever again. Some say she got turned into a batch of Wonka's sweets, and others say that it was good riddance - at least now, she can be sweet to people.

[tae-cup]

.hamartia. ‘Part 1,

Pairing: Yoongi x Reader (f) x Taehyung (?)

Genre: Mafia!Au, Fluff, Angst (Mostly angst oopsies) I DO NOT CONDONE BEHAVIOR DISPLAYED IN THIS, PLEASE IT’S FICTION AND DON’T DO STUPID THINGS THANK YOU

Plot: Y/N is a skilled, well, torturer, though you don’t like to call yourself that; it makes what you do too real. When mafia boss Yoongi wants information or wants a hostage to suffer, you step in. However, one fateful day you are thrown Taehyung, another person who does your line of work. You need answers, he is determined not to give them to you. That’s when you try...a different approach, and Yoongi is not pleased.

Rating: TV-MA

WARNINGS: YO IF YOU’RE NOT COOL WITH SUBTLE BI AGENDAS THEN I’M SORRY THIS IS NOT THE PLACE FOR YOU, Blood, torture, mafia things (ya know?), drugs alcohol, sadistic tendencies, a fundamentally flawed main character (I’m sorry i’m just writing myself pretty much), assault, harassment, stalking (not bad), romance (somehow), Maybe stockholm syndrome???

Word Count: 2.2k words

A/N: I feel like...Like I understand Yoongi and Taehyung. I understand them better than the other members because I relate to them. I just hope I portray them well enough. 

Other: 

Masterlist 

Prologue | Part 1 | Next | 

Hamartia

~ The word hamartia refers to a flaw or mistake that leads to a fictional character's downfall. Classical tragedies revolve around the main character's hamartia, the tragic flaw that sets a series of disastrous events in motion. Achilles' heel was his hamartia – his fatal flaw.

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-

Soft lips meet yours in the dead of night. The kind yet dominant kiss stirred you from your sleep. The room was silent except the sound of the sheets moving as you readjusted. Your eyes fluttered open to be met with dark brown eyes peering into yours. Moonlight filtered through the curtained window. Yoongi’s pale hand reached out, breaking the kiss. He had rough hands that gently caressed your cheek. Then his fingers worked their way through your hair. A smile, kept only for you, flickered across his face. 

“I love you.” He whispered. You sleepily smiled back, reaching out a hand yourself. 

“I love you too, yoongi.” Your light breath grazing his face. He stared intently at you. “You won’t leave me, right?” Your voice was small.

“Of course not, why would I?” His words rocketed around your head. You could think of a million reasons why. 

“Well, for one, the work I do isn’t pretty-”

“Me too, no worries-” He started, cutting you off, but, in return, you cut him off again. You continued the last sentence. 

“-And I’m a cold monster, you know? I don’t have mercy and some days I wonder if I have a heart. I’m fucked up inside, Yoongi.” You poured your heart out, but you couldn’t cry. You had already accepted this part of yourself. You understood if he wanted to leave; you weren’t the same person he fell in love with. 

“You will never be a monster to me.” He stated simply, but his words felt like a a warm embrace. You wrapped your arms around his thin middle, tugging him closer; of course he obliged. 

“I’ve met so many people,” You breathed into his neck. “and none of them were quite like you.” You let out a little laugh. “Is it selfish to want you all to myself? To never want to see you in another’s embrace? To want to hold you forever?” You continued letting out your affirmations, your longing. 

“No. Because if that’s selfish, then I must be too.” His words fluttered across your neck. 

-

- 

You opened your eyes, a breath caught in your chest. Why did you have this memory now? Was it a memory at all, or just a dream? It had felt so real. You could still feel his warm breath on your neck, the tingling in your hands as you held him. Now the bed lay empty. The dream left a fuzzy feeling in your stomach. It made you feel sick. Sick with longing for someone to hold you, of course you fucked that up already. Usually it was nightmares that had you rocketing awake, inconsolable and shaking, at 4 A.M. This time, it had been a lovely dream with a sense of foreboding. It had you awaken at 6 A.M. 

Shit. You were late. You didn’t want your captive audience thinking that you weren’t coming today. No, you wanted their days to feel endless. When Yoongi loved you-past tense- you had even been kind to some of them in return for cooperation. Then you became a ruthless monster after... 

You frowned, thinking of that last night. The shouting that could be heard around the mansion, the pain. You ran your fingers through your hair, unable to focus. That dream really had you frazzled now. Why, after so many months, had this happened? 

There was a knock at the door. You suspected it to be the maid, though she had instructions to bring you a to-go box and leave it at the door in the mornings. You liked to start the festivities early. However, the knocking continued. You slipped on black jeans, a black shirt, and black leather jacket. Black hid blood well. You then grabbed your gloves and put them into your pocket. With the knocking going non-stop you shouted, “Oi! I’m coming jesus fucking-” 

You swung the door open only to be met with the amused smirk of Jimin. 

“Oh, you.” You mocked annoyance. 

“You didn’t arrive as early as usual, but I supposed you wanted your beauty sleep.” He teased. 

“Come on! Is getting five hours of sleep really ‘beauty sleep’.” You rolled your eyes. Though, you had to admit that usually it was four or even three hours of sleep. You usually couldn’t rest, the faces of those you’d...taken care of, haunting you at night. Sometimes, when you were getting in bed, you would feel like someone was watching you. Sometimes you’d see their faces in the mirror behind you, bloodied and angry. They haunted you everywhere you went, but now...now there was no one to calm you. Yoongi used to hold you until they went away. Now, you just stared right back at them, further imprinting them into your eyes. Now, you didn’t sleep. 

“The special guest is waiting for you. I woke him up.” Jimin eyed your outfit. All black was slick and put together. All black meant blood. Lots of blood. 

-

-

Jimin liked to wake up his guests with a simple punch or in some case, a cold bucket of water was good. He never really enjoyed his job, he was forced into it. Unlike you, he resisted it as much as possible. It was a situation where you couldn’t figure out who was weaker. The one who gave in to the job, or the one who wouldn’t even do the job. 

You stepped into the room, Jimin at close step behind you. Taehyung was soaked. His teeth chattered and he stared at you with dark eyes. You dragged a metal chair over, letting it screech an awful noise on the cement. You placed it in front of him and straddled the back. Your hands rested on the back of the chair, letting him see how well you took care of them. The news would have you think that your hands were dirty, and they were, but not physically. You had clean hands, pristine. Your nails were well taken care of, each a perfect shape. 

“Mr. Kim.” You drawled his last name as if it were disgusting. “Tell me about yourself.” A small smile made its way onto your lips. If Taehyung wasn’t tied to a chair and drenched in cold water right now, he would have taken it as something inviting and warm. The affect of your voice was soothing and warm, allowing a sense of comfort he indulged in without your knowledge. You had always had that voice, you didn’t try to change it. It helped get answers. You thought back a moment. Yoongi had wanted you to get any information out of him, but you had questions of your own and this freedom was unknown to you. 

The dark haired male glanced to the side, trying to quell his teeth chattering. It wasn’t fair. He was supposed to be scared of you, and that he was, but he was also intrigued. You could look so innocent if you wanted to, but he knew, just like him, that there was something dark. You see, Taehyung held a similar job to you in his rival gang. He wasn’t going to tell you that, though. If he did, you would probably be able to use his own torture methods against him. His ideology was “If it gave him pain, it must pain others.”. Being new to the business, of course he still flinched when handing out punishments. He knew that once he let you inside his head, you weren’t going to come out, and it would be a slippery slope to not let too many things be given away. 

“Not talking?” Your voice brought him out of his head. He watched you slowly pull on those leather gloves. The other male in the room just stood to the side and tried not to look at him. “Jimin.” You called to the man in the corner, not even looking at him. “Please hand me the lighter.” 

You didn’t need to look at your assistant’s face to know he had a horrified expression. 

“A-Already?” He hesitated, slowly picking up the lighter. 

“Well, I know his name, perhaps some more motivation will have our guest open up more.” You locked eyes with the man in front of you. “Don’t be scared, we’re just having a conversation, you and I. We’re just getting to know each other. Think of us as friends now.” You lied through your teeth. 

A low growl emitted from his throat. “Now why would I tell you anything?” His voice was deep and menacing. 

“Because, we’re friends.” You patted his knee with a sadistic smile gracing your face. You were handed the lighter by Jimin who had finally gotten the courage up to deliver the terrifying yet simple weapon. You haphazardly flicked the flame open and closed as you twirled it around. It was a trick you’d learned from Yoongi. 

“We are not friends.” He let his eyes pierce into yours. You patted his shoulder. 

“Intimidation gets you nowhere here, darling.” You flicked open the lighter and held it dangerously near his skin, letting him feel the flame. Surprisingly enough, he didn’t even flinch. It was as if he had done this a million times before. You righted yourself, now looking intriguingly at the man. “What kind of work do you do for your gang?” 

He hesitated, that half a second pause while he searched for a good answer. The one that immediately told you he was lying. Nevertheless, you pretended to buy his answer that he “was a low level drug supplier”. 

“What kind of drugs?” 

“Coke, mary jane, zannys.” He said nonchalantly. 

“Hm.” At least you had gotten him talking. Otherwise, this would have been very painful. You stood, deciding that was enough. He wasn’t giving you truthful answers and you didn’t want to waste your time on him any longer today. You walked over to the light switch and turned it off, setting your alarm for five hours. Jimin followed in step with you as you left the room. 

-

-

“I really think he won’t budge. We should try another tactic.” Jimin said, seeming genuinely concerned. 

“Tell me, Jimin, are you saying this out of genuine hope we can get more information, or to give our precious guest a break?” You asked, not even bothering to look up from your phone. 

“Well...”

“We go over this every time. My method works. Talking is a toy next to mental suffering and physical pain.” 

“But, it just doesn’t seem like we’ll get anywhere. I know people like him. He won’t budge, you just have to trust me.” Jimin pleaded. 

“Why are you so concerned?” You narrowed your eyes. Your head finally turned to look at him, tilting in a perplexed look. 

“I just, I think if I were him-”

“Do you want to be?” You snapped. Jimin fell silent, eyes opening wide. You were friends, yes, but you still held authority over him. You ran a hand down your face, seemingly exasperated. “I’ll think about it, Jiminie.” You said, hoping the nickname would erase his newfound fear. You had the bad habit of pushing people away, of scaring them to the point of running. That’s what happened with Yoongi after all. 

Jimin looked away, an apathetic expression on his face. “Of course.” He said, no emotion crossing his voice. 

“Right...” You felt like a monster. Just as Yoongi said months ago. “I...I need to check on some things.” 

As you hurried away, you mentally beat yourself up. Dammnit, Y/N, this is why you don’t let people close to you. They can hurt you. You and Jimin had been friends, right? Did you just fuck it up, just like everything else, by threatening him? He had just been trying to help. 

You opened the door to your bedroom and raced in, slamming the door shut. You fell against the wall, not sure if you felt sad, hurt, angry, or...nothing at all. There was a sinking pit in your stomach. You looked up, seeing your first victim. They all haunted you, but she did the most. She was so pretty...so kind. And then she met you. And you had a job to do. You believed that day, the one where you shot her point blank while her family watched, was the day your humanity died. That day, something came unhinged. Now you just sat helplessly. Her ghost should be angry. Instead you felt the hallucination stroking your hair. You knew no one was there. You knew you were slowly going insane. Isn’t that what makes everything better? Acknowledging the insanity, you sobbed. 

“I’m sorry.” You croaked to her. She just nodded her head. You didn’t want to sleep. You didn’t want to do anything. So instead, you stared ahead at the dark walls of your room. Maybe Jimin was right. Maybe marking Taehyung up would do nothing. Besides, you had to admit he was...beautiful. Even you weren’t so soulless as to mark that. An idea slunk into your mind like a leak during a rainy day. You could ignore it, but you knew it would cause issues later. 

Could it work? Would it work? There was only one way to find out...

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Please please let me know if you want more the series!! I’m just hoping to get the ball rolling here! - love, Marria (That’s me!)

Previous | Next

[stonebreakerseries]

Day 6: Luxury + “that was impressive”

Day 6 of @oc-growth-and-development‘s OC-tober, as well as the Fictober20 prompt. This one takes place some time after the final round of the Red Fury, and basically continues from THIS piece I wrote a while ago.

                              ______________________________

Series: Stonebreaker (Original Fiction)

Character(s): Riin & Crosus.

                               ______________________________

When Riin walked into the South Gate tavern near the outskirts of Vetrose, he wasn’t sure what he had been expecting. All around him, bodies were pressed close around tables, hunched over dice, deep in conversation, laughing raucously as they poured ales and wines and harder drinks down their throats.

Nose wrinkling, Riin slipped inside as casually as he could, doing his best not to stand out among the distracted patrons. Which was surprisingly difficult, all things considered. He’d put on quite a show in the arena, and already, eyes were fixing on him, flicking away the moment he looked. Idiot, he chided himself as he sidled between chairs and tables, stopping abruptly as a waitress cut past, a tray of thick brown stew balanced on one hand. He’d spent almost a full ten years in Talvera without revealing what he could truly do. Now, it seemed to be all anyone spoke about. The demand for him to compete in the arena - to engage in a friendly fight with a champion from one of the noble houses - had become incessant. It didn’t seem to matter how many times he refused, a new offer always presented itself the following day, the wording more insistent, the payment higher. Do us this one favour, before you depart for your homeland.

Huffing, Riin managed to pause in an empty space and scanned the room. It didn’t matter how much they offered, he could not be bought. He was a Kyriin; a soldier representing his people, acting on behalf of Kal-Kriyan interests. He was not a spectacle to be gawked at and gambled on.

It was a concept Talverans didn’t seem to understand. Not fully, at least.

A boisterous shout from his right drew Riin’s attention, his gaze snapping across. A drunken man stood, albeit barely, a card in one hand, a tankard in the other. Liquid sloshed dangerously as he ranted at the other players around the table, accusations of cheating and trickery being thrown back and forth among the competitors. 

Luckily, seated at a table just past them, was the man Riin was looking for.

Crosus grinned wide, spotting him at the same time, his huge hands wrapped around a flagon. A collection of admirers crowded him on either side, partially obscuring him from view, explaining why Riin hadn’t been able to spot the giant sooner. As he approached, Riin glanced between Crosus and his companions, brow tensing into an uncertain frown. This… wasn’t what he’d been expecting. When he’d received the man’s message, he had assumed they would be speaking alone.

Luckily, Crosus either read the misgiving on Riin’s face or never intended for his sycophants to remain in the first place. Before Riin reached the table, Crosus was already shooing them away with his bear-like hand. “Right then, off with you lot,” he said. When the demand was met with hesitation - even disappointed whines - he tossed a small pouch of coins to one of young men with a good-natured wink. “Enough of that. Tavern’s got plenty of room elsewhere. Go on - get yourselves drunk on a champion’s coin.”

Apparently, all was forgiven. There was a collective whooping - loud and sudden enough to almost startle Riin into taking a step back. Bodies pushed past him, the men and women seeming utterly unaware of his presence as they rushed towards the bar. 

“That was… quite a crowd,” Riin said as he finally approached the table. He paused, then gestured to one of the newly vacated seats. “May I?”

“Sure,” the big man drawled, raising a bushy brow. “Didn’t ask you here just to make you stand all evening, black-eyes.”

Riin’s shoulders tensed, but he hurried to mask it by sitting down, resting his forearms on the table. Unfortunately, as he feared, Crosus far from an unobservant man.

“No good?” the northerner asked, and to his credit, he seemed genuine. “Sorry. Heard folk calling you that lately. Figured it was proper.” He snorted, bringing his flagon to his lips. “Should’ve known it was probably an insult. Fucking Talverans…”

Riin had to admit, the man was oddly disarming. And relatable. So much so that he found himself relaxing into a smile, offering a resigned shrug of his own. “It’s not an insult. Just…” He hesitated, but decided it didn’t hurt to share. “I’d hoped no one would find out. That’s all.” He huffed. “I was so close, too. Being called that name just reminds me of my own failure.”

Crosus grunted. “Yeah. That kind of fame’s more trouble than it’s worth, isn’t it?” Raising a hand, he flagged one of the waitstaff, who seemed to have been loitering nearby. “You - yeah lad, you. Bring my friend here some of the good stuff.” He paused, glancing at his own drink. “Another for me, too.” Again, he tossed a small pouch of coins, the scrawny young man catching it between shaking, over-eager palms before scurrying away. Crosus just smirked, leaning in, brown eyes gleaming wickedly. “Turns out, tipping well gets you special treatment.” He leaned back again, laughing, and slapped the table with a thunderous palm. “Who knew, huh?”

Every soul in Talvera, Riin thought, amused. But he just shared in the man’s laughter, enjoying the luxury of being away from the palace. Of not having to second-guess every move he made. Soon, he had a drink in his hand, and before he knew it, half of it had already vanished. “I can see why you would come to a place like this,” Riin remarked loudly, fighting to raise his voice over the din. He glanced around, noticing a large number of watchful eyes flicking back and forth towards their table. “Being champion has made you well-sought.”

“Hey now - three time champion,” Crosus corrected, then chuckled. “The first time wasn’t nearly this rewarding. That said, they’re not all looking at me either. What you did out there?” He huffed, nodding to himself. “That was impressive.”

Riin just stared at his hands, wrapped firmly around his drink. It hadn’t felt impressive. He took another long, deep pull to delay responding. He could remember the moment so clearly, as though it had happened that morning instead of over a turn ago. When he’d seen Crosus land that blow… when Adiran had gone down and couldn’t get up again… he’d just...

“It was panic,” Riin said suddenly. He looked up at Crosus, mouth twisting into a rueful smile. “Not something I would call impressive.”

“Maybe,” the man agreed slowly, then shrugged. “Not sure your princeling would feel the same way, though.” Hesitating, Crosus sat back a little, taking a moment to regard Riin carefully. “I, ah... take it there’s no hard feelings about all of that?”

“I’m here, aren’t I?”

Crosus barked a laugh. “True enough.” Then he jabbed an accusatory finger at him. “But you wouldn’t be the first person I’ve gone drinking with to tried to kill me after. Got my eye on you, Kyriin.”

A smile tugged at Riin’s lips. “I take it those men are no longer with us?”

“Who said anything about men?”

Riin grinned as Crosus bellowed a laugh, raising his flagon in makeshift salute. “Ahh... all the same,” he continued after draining another full mug’s worth of dark ale and setting it down with a thud, “wanted to thank you for what you did. Saving the princeling’s life.”

That was enough to stop Riin mid-drink. He lowered his flagon, eyes fixed questioningly on Crosus. “Thank me? Why?” 

What did Crosus have to thank him for? As far as he knew, he’d done nothing to help the man. In truth, he’d barely even acknowledged him, when he’d leapt the barrier and rushed the arena. The most he’d done was shove him aside, sending him sprawling in the sand. In truth, all he remembered clearly from that moment was Adiran, lying there, suffocating inside his crushed plate... 

“I know why people watch that tournament. The Red Fury...” Crosus' voice was softer, stirring Riin from his thoughts. The man’s mouth twisted, expression grim. “Everyone in that crowd wanted blood. Especially the ones who would never admit it. Must make them feel better about themselves, to watch good men die before their time. Your princeling…” Sighing, Crosus reached up, running a hand down his face. “I’ve killed plenty, Kyriin. Right bastards, most of them. But taking that young man’s life for a crowd? For sport?” Grunting, he just shook his head. “No. I have enough people looking at me like I’m no better than a wild beast. Don’t want to start believing it myself. I never meant for it to go that far.”

Stunned into silence for a moment, all Riin could do was look at the man - really look at him. The boisterous personality, the bellowing laugh, the tangle of dark hair that framed his face. For all of his strength, deep down, Crosus doubted himself. Who he was. What people thought of him. What he thought of himself.

It was something Riin understood all too well. 

“Adir---” Riin caught himself quickly, “Prince Adiran knew the risks, Crosus. A fight is a fight, and it would be foolish to treat it as anything else. Even if I had not been able to…” Shei-tar’s gaze, the thought alone was enough to turn his stomach. He cleared his throat roughly. “The prince does not resent you. In truth, you might be one of the few men he actually respects.” He caught Crosus’ gaze. Held it. “As for me... I saw you by his side.”

Another memory, clear as day, flashed behind Riin’s eyes. It was of Crosus, crouched beside Adiran, a lone shape in the middle of the arena. It was of the crowd, roaring their shock, their approval, their delight at the blow that had flung Adiran, bodily, over and past the red-marked ring. It was of Crosus’ large hands, frantic but ineffective, tugging at the suffocating prince’s ruined plate...

Crosus just raised his brows. “You did, did you?” When Riin met his gaze and nodded, he gave another low grunt. “Huh. You know, most folk thought I was trying to finish him off. Already had three offer to buy me a drink for it.”

For whatever reason, that shocked Riin. “What?” He rose half-way out of his chair, heat and anger rising like a storm beneath his skin. “Who? Show me.”

“Easy,” Crosus said, voice concerned. He rested a large hand on Riin’s shoulder, urging him to sit down. “Relax. It’s nothing personal against your prince. Just their small way of spitting in the eye of that shit they call a King.”

Somehow, that didn’t comfort Riin. The indignation he felt on Adiran’s behalf rose like bile up the back of his throat. But at the same time... he supposed he could empathise. He’d like nothing more than to spit in the King’s eye himself, if he knew no one else would have to suffer for it.

Slowly, he complied with Crosus’ request, sitting back down, catching his flagon as the northerner slid it back towards him. He took another drink, still bitter. Still sure he hated the idea of people wishing harm on Adiran just to hurt his father. “The prince,” was all he said after a moment, feeling strangely tired. Simply correcting Crosus was easier than acknowledging the rest of what he’d just said. “Adiran is the prince, not my prince.”

If he’d bothered to look up from his ale, Riin would have seen Crosus raise a dark brow at that. Would have seen the way he smirked slightly and shook his head. Instead, the only thing Riin caught was his final, amiable shrug.

“As you say,” Crosus replied. Then he sent for another round. 

[amritkaurpoetry]

The Sun and The Dragon [A Harry Potter Fanfic] : Chapter 1 - The Invitation

Note: This is the first chapter of my Harry Potter Fanfic, it follows the story of Annora Apollo, who is 18 years old, and finds out the harry potter universe does indeed exist. 

This is my first ever long piece of writing and fanfic so it would be extremely helpful if you could leave any feedback, the full first 5 chapters are available on wattpad, and will also be on Ao3 once i’m gone with the whole story. 

word count: 2930

Chapter One

The Invitation

In a small town, somewhere on the outskirts of London, there is a little house. Small, as if hiding amongst dollhouses behind a large hill. The chimney smokes, a sign of the fireplace lit, in the late hours of the night. Oblivious to the hushed chatter downstairs, a young girl, 18 years of age, is sat in her bed on her phone. The blue light falls upon her light brown skin and reflects in her chocolate brown eyes. Annora, scrolled through Instagram like she often did on the nights she could not sleep. She scrolled past the countless faces of people she knows, knew, and even a few strangers too. Now and then Annora would stop scrolling to give a soft smile to a good Harry Potter meme. She did so now, as she smiled at a meme of Ed Sheeran in a family picture of the Weasley's, a fictional family Annora adored. ‘Very loyal? Should ‘a had my back but you put a knife in it. My hands are full, what else should I carry for you?’ The ‘NF’ song that played from her earphones could be heard in a low hiss around the room. She glanced to look at the clock on her bedside table, 01:53 it read. Once again, the hours had seemed to slip away from Annora, she had always struggled with sleeping on time. She sighed and turned her phone off and stared into her reflection on the black screen for a while. Her long face looked blankly back at her as she sighed again, took out her earphones and turned to put her phone away. Annora had not thought this was how she'd spend her gap year. She had imagined herself travelling the world and meeting new people, where she might have finally found a place where she belonged. Annora seemed to finally notice the muttering that came from downstairs and abruptly sat upright in her bed. She strained her ears to make out what the voices were saying and who they belonged to before she dared to move. There was the familiar voice of her father and mother, but also another unknown voice. She turned to look at the clock – 02:01 – and made sure it was indeed late into the night. It was unusual for her parents to be awake at this time, as Annora had often stayed up this late, least they never seemed to make it obvious they were up at this hour. There was also the question of the guest, who would come to someone’s house this late? As far as Annora knew they had no known living relatives and her parents never seemed to have many friends. Curious, Annora put on her mother’s green slippers that she had lent her, her yellow slippers were still in the moving boxes somewhere and, as quiet as she could, creeped out of her room. The muttering got slightly louder as Annora closed her room's door behind her and inched closer to the stairs. She could now see the reception room light flooding the house with a soft orange-yellow glow.

‘So, it really is time now, isn’t it,’ said Annora’s father, Lee, in a deep, exhausted voice.

‘I’m afraid so.’ Said an unknown male voice, it was soft and calm.

‘Professor, how is it possible for her to attend when she is already 18?’ It was now Annora’s mother who spoke, she sounded worried.

‘Ah,’ said the unknown voice, ‘that is the Ministry’s doing, I have explained this already to Lee. I think it unwise to waste time on these pointless details at this hour.’ Countless questions seemed to flood Annora's mind as she inched closer to the stairs. She suspected she was the 18-year-old her mother had mentioned, but what school was she talking about? Was this why they had convinced her to take a year off before heading off to university? Annora stepped closer to the stair's oak railings to try and see who her parents were talking to.

‘Never mind how it’s possible Lucia,’ Lee turned to his wife, ‘she’ll be safest within the school.’ Just as he had finished his sentence, Annora was finally close enough to make out the open reception room door. Within the room she could also make out a man in a midnight blue cloak sat on the sofa, his cloak covered in small white stars, and a long white – almost silver – beard.

‘You’re right Lee, will you be watching over her personally professor?’, Lucia inquired.

‘Certainly Lucia.’ The elderly man replied, his voice was full of a deep understanding.

‘It’s already the 1st today, should I wake her now to tell her?’ Lucia asked Annora was now close enough to make out her mother and father still in their nightwear seated on the sofa opposite two, not one, unknown men. They both were strangely dressed and old.

‘That won't be necessary. I believe she has already come down', just as Annora was close enough to make out the old man’s face, he turned to look up at her halfway down the stairs. He gave her a soft smile and beckoned her over with his right hand, which seemed to have a blackened middle finger. Looking at him, Annora walked down the rest of the stairs. He wore a wizard’s hat, and half-moon spectacles, if it weren't for the fact that she knew Harry Potter was a work of fiction, she would have thought she was being addressed by Albus Dumbledore himself, he even had a crooked nose. She made a mental note that if she was ever asked to cast someone as Dumbledore for a new Harry Potter re-make, she’d have to contact this man.

‘oh, um hi, I heard – talking, I came to see if everything was okay.’ Annora said as she gave an awkward smile, thrown off by how much he looked like a fictional character and how quick he had noticed her presence, though she had made no noise at all. Both Lee and Lucia turned to face her as she entered the reception room. The Dumbledore look-alike got off the sofa and stood with his blue eyes still on her. The other old man seemed to follow his lead and looked over with his pale silver eyes. This other old man was rather bony, with his skin looking as if it had been stretched too thin over his bones.

‘Annora, this is Professor Albus Dumbledore and Mr Garrick Ollivander,' says Lucia as both she and Lee stand.  Annora froze, did she just say Dumbledore and Ollivander? After a short period of complete silence, Annora laughed.

‘Nice one mum’, she replied, looking around at all of them. Her parents had always known of her love for the magical world of Harry Potter. Well, they always knew about anything and everything Annora had ever loved. They all, however, kept their faces grave and Annora had started to try and keep her face straight too.

‘Your mother isn’t lying,’ smiled the Dumbledore look-alike/ Dumbledore, 'though I suspect to you I am a work of actual fiction so it wouldn’t be easy for a young logical mind like yours to grasp that I am indeed Albus Dumbledore.’ He smiled increasingly wider, and as if he had read her mind and quickly added ‘oh yes, The Albus Dumbledore.’ Perplexed Annora reached out to shake Dumbledore’s outstretched hand, noticing the black middle finger again.

'Um- nice to meet you, professor.' She said though she did not seem quite convinced. Her eyes looked around the room; at the large bag placed next to Ollivander, at her parent's serious faces, at the peculiar costume Dumbledore wore, and the ash that lay on the floor. Her eyes found the fireplace that, for the first time, was open and burning with flames. Annora was pretty sure it was boarded up when they had moved here last month.

'And this is indeed the renowned wandmaker, Mr Garrick Ollivander.' He added, gesturing to the bony man with stretched skin, who stood next to him who also had his hand outstretched.

'Pleasure to meet you, miss.' He said as Annora shook his frail hands.  

‘Likewise, sir.’ She politely replied as she turned to look at both her parents, surely, they were going to interrupt and burst out laughing at any moment now. Though her mother's blue eyes seemed to be looking at the bag next to Ollivander, and her father's brown eyes were looking at Annora in all seriousness, he furrowed his eyebrows.

'As you may have gaged from the date and situation Annora, you are indeed a Witch, and we are here to personally invite you to study at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.’ Dumbledore continued looking over to mother and father as if encouraging them to chip in, probably due to the visible disbelief on Annora’s face. After a thoughtful pause, he added, 'We have given the details to your parents already.'

‘This isn’t a joke Annora,’ Her father started, but she spoke up before he could finish his sentence,

‘But I’m 18, I just finished college, even if this WAS real – not saying I believe you. I would be too old to attend, would I not?’ She blurted out. She had said the last part as she looked directly at Dumbledore. Everyone gave a soft smile as if she had said something funny.

'Traditionally yes, but due to current circumstances there has been an additional year added.' Dumbledore explained after a soft chuckle and as if reading Annora’s mind, again, added, 'Yes you would be joining the final year, but I'm sure you'll manage to catch up with a bit of extra help'. With nothing to say, Annora remained silent and looked between the four people in her living room. Then looked around the rest of the room, her eyes resting on the fireplace again.

'Annora, Professor Dumbledore contacted me, and your father a little before he came and explained the situation. We are permitting you to go to Hogwarts.' Annora shot her mother a look, permitting her to go? What was even going on? She had missed seven years of this school – if it even existed – and now they suddenly want her to go.

'But why didn't I get a letter when I was 11?' The words came out of her mouth before she could stop herself. She couldn’t help it, if this was indeed real, she would have gone to the coolest school and wouldn’t have had to go to the countless crap high schools and colleges she had attended. Maybe if she had gone to this school, she wouldn't have had to keep moving houses as often as her parents did. Annora’s mother looked taken aback, and with a soft defeated voice she said,

‘Because we refused to let you go, tell you even.’ WHAT? She tried to catch her mother's eyes after she had said this, but her mother looked only at Dumbledore, pleadingly.

'I will surely explain in more detail, Annora, tomorrow as I accompany you to school. Your parents were advised, by me, not to let you attend Hogwarts initially. Again, it is something I will explain in due time. But first, why don't we pick your wand?' Annora was speechless, did he say wand? Curiosity took over her initial exasperation, and her dark brown eyes instantly looked at Ollivander. Ollivander had remained awfully quiet during the conversation but was now smiling holding a couple of dozen long boxes he seemed to have taken out of the bag beside him during the conversation.  

‘And what about the other supplies I’d need?’ Annora wished she could kick herself for the amount of rubbish coming out of her mouth. There was no way this was real, but no matter how much she tried to remind herself there was no such thing as magic, Annora felt herself feeling more and more excited. Surely if this was a joke, it would fall apart at the wand picking anyway. Dumbledore gave another soft chuckle, and her parents seemed to finally breathe again as if they were holding their breath this whole time.

'Your parents have kindly given us some money that I can give over to someone to bring all the stuff over to your dorm for tomorrow before you get to school.' He was beaming when he said this. Annora gave a bright smile back; it was hard not to, seeing how excited he seemed.

‘I believe this wand may be a good fit, whenever you’re ready.’ Said Ollivander, as he opened a purple box. Within the box was a rather plain-looking black wand. Annora reached out as Ollivander placed it carefully into her hands. The moment her hand had firmly clasped around it, some of the family pictures in the house shattered, no one other than Annora flinched. What the-

‘Maybe try this one.’ Ollivander took the black wand from her instantly and replaced it with a dark brown one that he had taken out of another box beforehand. This time a few books flew out of the bookshelf and Annora was left as perplexed as ever – was this seriously happening?

‘Hmm,’ Ollivander seemed to be excitedly considering what other wands to hand Annora when his bag seemed to shake a little, and sure enough, he pulled out a box that appeared to move on its own accord. Taking out a rather beautiful brown wand, which seemed to have golden vines wrapped around the handle, he placed it in her hands. The moment the wand touched her skin, a sort of warmth took hold of her body like a warm gust of wind encircling her. She could see everyone's faces that looked rather pleased.

‘Perfect! 13 inches long, Willow wood, with the dual-core of phoenix feather and unicorn hair. A wonderful choice,’ smiling he added, ‘I expect great things from you Annora, great things.’ Annora blushed slightly and considered the possibility that what had just taken place was indeed magic. It DID feel rather magical. But before this feeling could intoxicate Annora her eyes fell on the family photo that the first wand had shattered, kneeling to pick up the photograph she found herself unable to breathe. The picture was of her father laughing in the kitchen. He was wearing a black suit and tie, his onyx hair long, blending into the black suit he wore, and falling over his brown eyes. His cheeks were fuller than they were now, and he had his arm around her mother. Her mother looked as beautiful as ever, wearing a flowered apron and her light brown hair tied up in a messy bun. Her mother's blue eyes were almost shut, as she laughed at the two kids attempting to bake. Annora was little, probably around 6, in the photo, her messy brown hair somewhere in-between her mother and father’s, her brown eyes focused on her older brother. He was probably around 8, two years older than herself, leaning over a bowl reaching out to hug his sister – hug her. His eyes blue like mother’s and his onyx hair full of flour. How could she forget? Today was the first of September, the day the accident had happened. Fighting back the unwanted tears and forcing a rather convincing smile, she looked up at her mother and father. Least she still had them, Annora turned and placed the photograph on the table.

‘I almost forgot.’ It was Dumbledore who had broken the trance as he waved his wand and the books seemed to fly back to their rightful shelves, the glass frames fixing themselves along the way.

‘I’m afraid it is getting rather late; I hope to see you tomorrow morning Annora so I can accompany you to the Hogwarts express.’ He gave a rather proud but understanding smile to Annora, then turned to her parents. ‘I suspect Mr and Mrs Apollo will fill in some blanks in the morning. I hope to see you all very soon.' He gave a small kind of bow and smiled, both he and Ollivander bid farewell and walked out the front door into the night. But before Annora could ask any questions her mother spoke up,

'It's getting late, you should go to bed now, and we'll talk about this more in the morning. I promise.’ as Lucia hugged Annora. Lee gave her a before bed hug too and added,

‘He’d be so happy for you Annora.' His brown eyes were full of tears. Both Lucia and Lee had been very observant, nothing Annora did seemed to evaded their eyes. She hugged back tighter as her mother joined in on the family hug.

‘He would, and so are we,’ She smiled. ‘Now off to bed.' Annora decided it was best she did go to sleep; her parents probably had a few things to talk about, and she would find it easier to process everything that had just happened alone. She turned, the wand and wand box still in hand, and walked up the stairs and into her room. Once Annora was in bed, she couldn't help but convince herself that she would wake up the next morning and this would be nothing but an odd sort of dream. How could magic be real? With a whisper, 'I miss you', Annora fell asleep much quicker than she thought she would have. The night's dreams were sure to be about Magic, Hogwarts and her brother. Unknown to her, the whispers of her parents continued long into the early hours of the morning.

[super-hero-confessions]

I get the whole “white characters are the default” argument, but some people relate to specific characters, and it’s scientific fact you tend to relate more or are more attracted to people (or in this case, fictional characters) that look more like you. In my case, I loved Harley Quinn for the longest time because she looked a lot like me. This is where the attachment is made, and if she’d been another race I might not have had that same first glance attachment (note that I found this when I was like nine, so I liked barbies that looked like me too). In this case, she’s established as white and she shouldn’t be changed. I do believe you can creat interesting characters of other races that aren’t erasing the character’s history. Race-bending, in any case, is lazy plot writing for easy audiences. Make Starfire black, despite her honestly having more Hispanic features in every single illustration ever? Wow! So revolutionary! Make the Human Torch Black for the sake of diversity? Wow! So good Hollywood is embracing change! But that’s not what this is. Just because your white doesn’t mean your race means nothing, just like being any other race doesn’t make you special. (Starfire, btw, is actually orange. Not white, not black, ORANGE. Why the show didn’t make her orange I will never understand I swear, even if the actress is great the visuals are thrown off by how human she looks.). My point is, our racial identity is part of our identity and it affects us differently. From how your raised, your values, your life experiences, etc. Race definitely holds value, so I’m confused on why white is now less? Because there’s so many white characters? Make new characters. Be creative. Like, characters have a certain look in your head, and that’s what you associate with them. In comics you have a literal image. Being told that your favorite character is now a different ethnicity or different size is a piss off. It’s harder to associate that with your character in your head. Take Dick Grayson for example. He’s Romani, it’s part of his history, but comics kind of erased it and rebooted it. It’s upsetting bc that’s always how I’ve pictured him in my head. They also keep changing his figure to be more and more bulky, which also pisses me off because the boy is an acrobat. He has blue eyes, and some portray him as brown eyed. I associate colors with their image, and if you change the image without changing the character than what’s the fucking point?

[nalgenewhore]

read to me (part six)

“How can you not like it! It’s the best movie ever, you have no taste, Luc.”

The young man shook his head, his chestnut brown curls bouncing as he tapped the bar, “I don’t get it, it’s so boring and the payoff is awful.”

Elide laughed, the sound rich and full, her head tipping back, her hair slinking over her shoulders. “No payoff? No payoff? It’s Good Will Hunting, it has the best payoff, that scene when Will has his breakthrough, “It’s not your fault”? Nothing?”

“Not a thing. But Pulp Fiction though,” he said, prompting a groan from her throat.

“Gods, you’re such a fucking film student. Pulp Fiction is the most overrated film ever,” she stated, knowing Luca would immediately challenge her. She held up her hand when he opened his mouth, “It’s two and a half hours of men shooting people and doing drugs. The soundtrack, it’s unmatched, I’ll give you that but,” She paused, drinking slowly from her whiskey sour. “Tarantino writes for other men, who like him, take what they want and use the women around them like props. You’ll notice as you continue in film school that the only critique most guys have are of the female characters, they’re not dynamic characters, they’re boring, flat, other stuff like that but they word it manipulatively so that others believe it to have any academic worth. The reason they find them to be too one dimensional is because he writes them like that. Good Will Hunting introduces and makes therapy less of an ostracizing event plus it doesn’t have a literal rape scene that was thrown in there for shock value and promptly never talked about again.”

Luca exclaimed but before he could say anything else, someone called his name and he gave her a look that said this wasn’t over as he went over to help them. Elide was more than ready for the nineteen year old’s analysis of the film, excited for it even. Being a film student herself, in her senior year, she had always loved debating and breaking down movies with other people especially cocky second year boys who thought they knew better.

She tapped a nail on her leg, over the fangs of the wyvern that were visible through the rips of her black mom jeans, nodding her head slightly to the beat of the song that played.

Someone sat next to her and she turned slightly to see who it was, not recognizing the man leaning against the bar.

“Can I just say,” he started, giving her an appreciative look up and down that had her rolling her eyes slightly, “you are the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen?”

She chuckled dryly, shifting away from him. “That’s very kind of you but-“

“Can I buy you a drink?”

She rose a brow, glancing sidelong at him as she shook her glass, “I have one.” Her words were short and clipped, hoping it would deter him from any further interest.

“Refill, then?”

Just as she was about to answer, telling him no once more, she felt something being tugged over her head, a set of arms looping around her waist. She tilted her head up, smiling at Lorcan, smirking at the lingering jealousy lining his obsidian eyes, his worn beanie snug on her head. “Hi, baby.”

The man choked at Lorcan’s size and the slightly wicked grin Elide gave him, a phantom edge of iron glinting on her teeth. “Oh, you’re, uh.” He rubbed the back of his neck, his cheeks heating.

“Yup.”

He stood, backing away slowly, “Sorry, I didn’t know.”

Elide didn’t spare him another glance as she twisted her barstool around, resting her back on the rounded edge of the bar. “Jealous much?”

He nudged her legs open, stepping in between them as she occupied her hands by tracing his belt buckle with her fingers, leaning her head to the side as her eyes tracked his face. “Should I be, Lochan? Gonna break my heart?”

She responded quietly but he could hear her perfectly clear, “Pretty sure I’ve made it quite clear that I’m in love with you so…”

His heart stuttered, his breath hitching as her admission curled around the broken shards of his soul, picking them up and fusing them to make a whole new one. “Why?” He fought to keep his voice low and steady as he dipped his head down, kissing her forehead softly. “All I do is drink coffee and say bad words.”

She laughed, pushing him off, “Well, that’s not true, you drink tea.”

He quirked a brow up, leaning down to taste her smile with his lips. “You know me too well, might be a problem in the future, baby.”

She hummed, deepening the kiss, “Oh, really?”

“Mmhmm. I’ll allow it, though.”

“Why’s that?” Her teeth snagged on his bottom lip, tugging it into her mouth, her tongue swiping over the small hurt.

“I think,” his thumbs stroked over her hip bones, the tips of his fingers sliding beneath the waist of her jeans, “you already know the answer to that.”

Elide pulled her lips from his, tracking them down the underside of his jaw, catching on the stubble gracing the bottom half of his face. “You should tell me anyways, I’m usually wrong, you know.”

He chuckled darkly, “Is that so? Well, I just so happen to be irrevocably and completely in love with you too.”

“Ok, lovebirds, break it up.” They broke apart and turned to look at Luca, who was failing miserably in his attempt to glare menacingly at Elide, his face too sweet for any confrontation. “You’re wrong about Pulp Fiction and I’ll tell you why.”

Lorcan inhaled sharply, giving the younger boy a sympathetic look at challenging her but kissed the top of Elide’s head. “Knock him dead, babe.”

combining @the-regal-warrior ‘s asks into one baby drabble! requests are always open lovies

@myfeyrelady @kandasboi @the-regal-warrior @highqueenofelfhame @westofmoon @empire-of-wildfire @rhysands-highlady @city-of-fae @shyvioletcat @alifletcher2012 @tangledraysofsunshine @ttakeitbacknoww @tswaney17 @velarian-trash

[alexsfictionaddiction]

10 of the best pandemic novels

It’s an understatement to say that the world as we know it has changed insurmountably over the last few weeks. We’re apart from our loved ones, most of our summer plans have been cancelled and we’re faced with more uncertainty than ever before. Pandemics and plagues have been present in horror, sci-fi and post-apocalyptic books for decades and they’ve always seemed to be exactly that. Abandoned cities, fast-acting deadly diseases and epic efforts for survival are things that happen in different worlds to our own but of course, they’ve never reflected reality more than they do right now.

I’ve been using this time to research and read a bunch of books that deal with pandemics and I wanted to share 10 of the very best of them with you. I completely understand if you’re trying to avoid these kinds of reads at the moment to limit anxiety or simply to escape. That’s why I also have a list of feel-good reads especially for you!

1. The Stand by Stephen King

The Stand is a book you’ll see on every pandemic fiction list because it is widely considered to be King’s masterpiece. The virus is really just the beginning of this enormous tome as its proceeded by ominous dreams, the inevitable end of days and the very real eternal battle between good and evil -perhaps not unlike some of your recent political discussions? Typical of a King novel, it’s populated by a huge cast of morally complex, tragic characters and there is an overwhelming sense of dread from the very first chapter. Expect a harrowing atmospheric read that will stay with you for a long time.

2. The Girl With All The Gifts by M. R. Carey

Essentially, it’s a zombie book but it’s also so much more than that. Set in a world where ‘hungries’ roam the wastelands, a select group of infected but high-functioning children are contained in a special facility. Amongst a ruthless scientist, a kindly teacher and a wary sergeant, child genius Melanie’s story will become one that haunts you in the middle of the night. It’s a classic page-turning thriller that isn’t an exact reflection of our current world but there are some eerie likenesses that will have you questioning who the real monsters are.

3. Station Eleven by Emily St John Mandel

Station Eleven is so full of believable situations and characters that I could easily see the end of the Earth looking exactly like this huge sprawling landscape, dotted with towns populated by small groups of suspicious, scared people. It chiefly follows five principal characters -seasoned Hollywood actor Arthur Leander who dies on stage during a production of King Lear, his incredibly talented but unappreciated first wife Miranda, his oldest friend Clark, Jeevan Chaudhary who tried to save him and Kirsten, one of Arthur’s child co-stars whose life has been shaped by the events of that fateful night. It’s a beautifully written, expertly constructed book that explores loss, resilience and the heartbreaking notion of desperately trying to hold on to the past. You’ll want several boxes of tissues for this one!

4. The Fireman by Joe Hill

Ok, so the virus in this one isn’t QUITE like COVID-19 but the intense fear, teetering sanity and unexpected small rays of hope aren’t unlike our current set of feels. Dragonscale marks its host with black and gold and burns them up from the inside causing them to eventually spontaneously combust and no one appears to be safe from this horrifying end. We follow pregnant nurse Harper who bears the ominous marks but is desperate to live long enough to give birth and the mystery of the Fireman -an afflicted man who has somehow learned to control the fire within him. It’s a very original premise and although it’s another beast of a book at over 700 pages, it will have you gripped from the very first page.

5. The Book of M by Peng Shepherd

There’s something about memory that feels so precious to me. It may be because in a normal functioning brain, it’s the only thing that constantly keeps us company and therefore, in some ways it’s like an old friend. The Book of M features a virus where shadows have begun to disappear, leaving their humans with a strange new power but also with a rapidly deteriorating memory. Following Ory and Max -two halves of a couple who have been torn apart by the prospect of heartbreak- we meet a bunch of wonderful characters on a journey to New Orleans, where sanctuary reportedly awaits. I stayed up late to finish it because I became so invested in getting these characters back together but I was left completely thrown and sobbing my eyes out by the very cruel twist at the end. Yeah... brace yourself!

6. The Last Town On Earth by Thomas Mullen

Set in 1918 in Washington state, this story follows a small quarantined town trying to stave off the Spanish influenza. The effects of financial instability on the community, the fear of the unknown and the erratic actions of a panicked mind will definitely seem familiar in our current world. It’s an enclosed domestic drama with a lot of social history, tear-jerking moments and a truly explosive ending. I’m delighted that I discovered this emotional hidden gem!

7. Skin by Liam Brown

Skin describes a world with an extreme version of a COVID-esque virus. Everyone must completely isolate from everyone else including the people they live with and can only communicate from separate bedrooms via technology. But then our protagonist Angela spots a man outside without any protective gear on and he doesn’t even seem to be slightly sick. Full of intrigue, complex characters and a twist in the tale, it’s a fast read with a lot to say about contemporary society via a wry cynical voice.

8. Severance by Ling Ma

Candace Chen is a routine-loving millennial who turns ghost city photo-blogger when the deadly Shen Fever sweeps New York. Joining an eclectic band of survivors on a trek to a supposed sanctuary, she is harboring a secret of epic proportions. Things get progressively darker as the group begins to develop a cult-like dynamic and the seemingly self-elected ‘leader’ Bob becomes increasingly tyrannical. The sudden jolt out of ordinary life and the making and breaking of human relationships in times of hardship mixed with a touch of satire makes for a thoroughly entertaining, topical read.

9. Wilder Girls by Rory Power

I love a good boarding school novel and this is possibly the darkest, most unique one I’ve ever read. The Tox has left multiple pupils at Raxter School For Girls with deformities and they’re now waiting patiently for a cure. But then Hetty’s best friend Byatt goes missing and suspicion heightens as to what’s really happening on the remote island. I couldn’t shake the feeling of doom for the entire time and there was such a heavy gloomy atmosphere that seeps through the pages. There was a lot of buzz around this book on YA Twitter when it was released late last year and it’s definitely worth all of the hype! 

10. Oryx and Crake by Margaret Atwood

This impeccably strange, enchanting novel is a little glimpse into some of the weirder rooms of Atwood’s mind. Snowman lives in a tree on a deserted beach and spends his days foraging for scraps and mourning his best friend Crake and the woman he loved, the enigmatic Oryx. He seems to be the only human left but somehow he has become a prophet-esque figure to the beautiful, ethereal Children of Crake. The actual virus doesn't appear until the final 50 pages but we see the effects of it from the very beginning, so I was pretty eager to find out exactly what had happened, which kept the pages turning. Although it is funny in places and exceptionally thought-provoking, there is a lot of disturbing content to be aware of including animal experimentation and child trafficking and sexual abuse. It’s a horrifying window into a possible future if extreme capitalism and the fast advances in genetic engineering were ever to meet in a head-on collision. 

[softboywriting]

Falling Stars | Shawn Mendes AU

Summary: Shawn is the new doctor in your small town. You are the owner of the bookshop across the street from his clinic. The two of you hit it off immediately and thus begins a relationship that is everything you’ve ever dreamed of. [mild nsfw portion] 

Word Count: 26k

| Masterlist in bio |

The lights of Falling Stars second hand book shop flicker to life in the slowest way possible. The single bulb hanging lamps are nearly as old as the building itself so it doesn't surprise you when sometimes they take two minutes or more to come up to full brightness. The early morning sun illuminates the books in a way you will never get used to. There's something so magical about the way the light warms the old wooden shelves, glinting off golden lettered book spines. The smell of cinnamon wafts through the air and you smile at your little table display front and center of the room. It has little pumpkins and fake orange and red leaves surrounding them with cinnamon sticks tucked into decorative vases that you dressed up with ribbon and little pinecones. A few stacks of books with autumnal themed titles sit around the display pieces. It is the epitome of Autumn and you couldn't be happier.

You flip the sign on the door over to OPEN and head to the checkout counter. A large black cat jumps up on the counter and lets out a soft meow, begging for your attention. It's Alice, the shop mascot and your beloved companion. She had wandered in the back door a few years ago and never bothered to leave. You suspect she may have belonged to the old woman who rented the apartment above the hardware store next door before she passed away. She never showed interest in following you up to your apartment above the bookshop, so you left her food and water with a homemade sweater bed near the utility closet.

“Good morning Alice,” you mutter softly as she headbutts your hand. “Are you hungry?”

Alice meows loudly. Of course she was hungry. What a silly question. She'd only been alone all night, stalking mice in the backroom and misplacing her stuffed toys you made her. Alice jumps down with a loud thump and leads you to her food dish. You supply her with a single scoop and she looks up at you in disdain. How foolish of you, thinking she would get full on one measly scoop. You scoop just a tiny bit more, not even enough to cover the bottom of the scoop, and sprinkle it on top. This satisfies her and she dismisses you, sticking her face in the dish and you turn away to go about opening up shop.

A few minutes later and you've got your register set up, money in it from the safe, and a fresh apple scented candle lit beside your computer. It's time to start your day. You pull up your stool and take a seat to check emails and online orders that are ready to ship. Online is most of your business, though you have your regular customers, shoppers who come from the city to find books not available in the major bookstores anymore and of course people who stop by on their way through town.

You see an email from one of your book suppliers, Dakota Press, and it says your book delivery will be arriving late. A delivery van broke down so they're behind schedule. No big deal. You never announce your new books until you had them physically on hand just for that exact reason. You open a few more emails, customers requesting books that were marked out of stock but you can order from Dakota Press. You take note to order them, adding the customers to your special order list and opening emails from customers searching for particular books they haven’t been able to locate online or in stores.

The bell over the shop door jingles and you look up to see a tall man walk in. He's about your age, maybe a year or two older. Definitely not someone you've seen before. Your first thought is tourist, someone just passing through, but he's too well dressed to be an average dad on a road trip and he was definitely not a fisherman from the harbour. His button down shirt is clearly starched and pressed, and those pants are tailored to fit. His shoes look to be out of a high end store, the watch on his wrist is probably worth your bills for three months and his hair is carefully styled and his skin is glowing. He was something else... something else with money.

“Hello, welcome to Falling Stars!” You cheer from behind the counter. You slide off your stool and fix your sweater so it covers the top of your leggings a bit better. You really wish you'd worn a better pair than your old black cable knit ones, but oh well. Hindsight is 20/20 right?

“Hello. This place is really lovely,” the man says with a gentle smile. Heartwarming. Kind. His eyes said it all as you approach him.

“Thank you so much, I try to keep the place nice. It is a very old building though, it has it’s problems.”

“No no, it's beautiful. I love it. It's very homey and warm. It has character,” he says as he browses the romantic fiction shelf near the doors.

Alice appears and winds around his legs, depositing a lovely clump of loose hair on the ankle of his pants. “Oh crap, Alice no,” you mutter, leaning down and grabbing the hair ball. When you stand back up, the man is beaming at you, a playful smile on the edge of a laugh.

“You didn't have to do that, I don't mind a little cat hair. Cute little thing probably thinks I smell weird.”

“Oh no, she knows better than to rub on people. I don't think you smell at all.” You turn scarlet as you realize what you've said. He did smell quite good, like an expensive cologne you smelled once in a department store. Not that you meant it like that. “I-I am so sorry, I mean like you don't smell weird? Like no, you smell good but not that I noticed that you smell like anything. I just-”

The guy bursts out laughing, eyes crinkling and head thrown back. God he's a sight to behold. His whole aura is brighter than the sun streaming in the front windows. “I understand what you mean but thank you, I try not to smell,” he manages through continued spouts of laughter until he's left smiling at your red cheeked face.

“So, um, are you looking for anything in particular?” You ask, trying your best to slip into business mode and out of awkward flirting mode. Things like this was why you are single, and you know it.

“Actually, I'm just looking for something to read between patients. I've just started at the clinic across the street,” he says as he points to the West Finch Clinic sign on the brick building across the road. It was owned by Dr. Finch for ages and he since retired in February and put the practice up for sale.

“Oh! You're the new doctor!” You exclaim excitedly. It explained his appearance, the well kept polished look and high end clothing and accessories.  

“Mhmm. I decided to leave the city, needed a change of pace.” He grabs a book and turns it over in his hands. “I think this one will do.”

“Of course, I'll get you at the counter.”

You hurry around the display table and punch in your lock code on the register. The man strolls up and lays the book down and you punch in the cost you have labeled on the back. He leans against the counter on his forearms and stares at the wall mounted shelf behind you. It's where you keep your homemade lotions and balms and things of that sort along with a few of your favorite stones and crystals.

“Do you make those?” He asks, pointing at the shelves.

You glance back and smile. “Yes, they're really good for all sorts of skin ailments. Though I suppose you might not believe in homeopathic remedies?”

He laughs and nods. “I do actually, medicine is one option but it's not always the right one. Many natural remedies are proven to work just as well if not better than man made ones. Can I see the lemon hand balm?”

“Of course.” You grab a tin off the shelf and place it on the counter. “It's six dollars but since you got a book I'll only charge you five.”

He pops the lid off and smells it, eyes closed as he smiles. “Sold. I need something to keep my hands soft. Washing and sanitizing so much makes them so dry.” He pushes the tin toward you and you place it in the little brown sack you're putting his book in.

“Your total is fourteen fifty three. Cash or card?”

“Card,” he says, pulling his wallet from his back pocket and passing you a black credit card. You glance at the name and then to him with a smile. It wasn't until that moment you realized you hadn't gotten his name yet.

“Thank you, Dr. Mendes,” you grin as you slide his card across the registers reader.

“Just Shawn is fine. Dr. Mendes makes me feel so old,” he chuckles, taking his card back.

You lean on the counter and prop your head up on your hand. “Well, Shaaawwnnn, I put a flyer in your bag with my hours, email address and phone number. I mean, not mine, but the shop’s. I guess that's sort of mine though...” You drop your head and realize you've blabbered again. And why did you draw his name out all weird like that? You really need to get your shit together.

“Thank you,” Shawn smiles softly and grabs his bag. “I'll see you around?”

“Yeah, don't see a stranger. Fuck. Don't be a stranger, see you around.”

Shawn laughs as he waves goodbye. You watch as he jogs across the street to avoid a Mrs. Jensen's red truck as she drives to work, waving at the store on her way. She was a regular customer of yours and a good friend. You sink down onto your stool and drop your head on the counter.

“Alice, why am I so dumb?” you groan and Alice appears from the back room and meows softly. “Yes I am. I am dumb. It's like when I see a guy I'm attracted to, my brain short circuits.”

Alice winds around the stool legs, purring and headbutting your feet. Some days you really think she is listening to you, others you're sure she just doesn't care. Today she seemed to listen, and for that you're thankful.

“I should just be myself right? If guys don't like it then they can lump it. That's what Grandma would say.”

Alice meows and jumps up on the counter to headbutt your head.

“Who needs guys anyway. I got you, and you're way better than any silly doctor with soft eyes and big hands and...” You groan, petting Alice's back and she flops on her side. “I'm totally screwed.”

_____________________

A week later you wake up to the sound of rumbling thunder and your windows rattling and you sit up, disgruntled from being woken out of a deep sleep. Your bedroom is dark save for your alarm clock that's flashing the wrong time. The power must have gone out at some point. You pull your blankets back and get out of bed just as thunder shakes your apartment to its core. Below you, you can hear something crash and you jump. The damn bookcase that leans forward funny must have fallen over.

You grab a jacket and shove your feet into your old bear feet shaped slippers, a gift from your grandma before she passed, and head for the front door to the stairs. As you make your way down the dark staircase to the door that went outside you can see it rattling, the old glass panel at the top holding on for dear life. The floor is wet, rain leaking in under the door.

You forgo the water for now, the old cement foundation will just absorb it over time. The wind nearly knocks you over as you walk the few feet to the shop door. Rain pelts you like icy gravel and you struggle to get the already notoriously sticky lock open. Once inside, you're soaked,  and dripping all over, but you can't bothered. The bookcase has in fact fallen over and it's taken out your table display as well. The shop is a mess and you sigh, knowing this will take all day to clean up.

Alice runs out of the back, slinking low to the ground as she makes her way to you. The bookcase must have scared her pretty badly. You pick her up and rub her ears.

“It's okay Alice. If you would come upstairs with me, you probably wouldn't be so scared,” you sigh, carrying her to her bed in the cramped utility room and setting her down as you sit beside it.

You decide to lay beside her as you pet her back slowly until she rolls on her side and relaxes. The rain makes you sleepy and you find yourself falling asleep spooned against Alice on the floor. It wouldn't be the first time you did this during a storm, but it would be the first time someone found you like that.

“Hello?” A voice calls from the front of the shop. You sit up, looking around and realizing you're in the utility room with Alice. Not your bedroom.

“I'll be right there!” you call out, jumping up and pulling your hair back in a ponytail on your wrist. You step over a fallen broom and look around the shop. No one seems to be there but, oh wait, there they are. Crouched in front of your broken table is Shawn, picking up little broken pieces of the cinnamon sticks from the vases.

“Oh you are here. Are you alright?” Shawn asks, standing and bringing the vase and stick pieces to the counter.

“Yes, I'm okay. The bookshelf just fell and hit the table. It's a mess but it's fine.” You sigh, looking over the mess before you. “I must have left the door unlocked.”

“Were you sleeping?” Shawn chuckles, taking in your rumpled clothes and bear slippers.

“I...I was just just looking for a broom in the back. I came down to check on the shop because I heard the bookcase fall...I didn't think about getting dressed.” You look down at your polka dotted sleep pants and old yellow summer camp tee from when you were a counselor one summer.

Shawn looks over at the mess and raises his eyebrows. “Do you need a hand? I don't open the clinic for another hour or so.”

“No! No I got it! Don't worry about it. It's not the first time that old shelf has fallen. You go get ready for work okay? I'm good. Thank you though.”

“You're sure? I mean I can stay...”

You put your hands up and wave him away. “I'm sure. Please, go do your doctor stuff. I'll clean up.”

Shawn steps over some books as you walk him to the door. He opens his mouth to say something but all he manages to get out is that you should be careful cleaning up the glass. You make a shushing noise and send him out into the rain. There was no way you were letting him stick around and help. It would just give you too much room to say something stupid and make him disappear forever. You weren't taking that chance.

Four hours later and the shop was back in order, save for the broken display table. The bookcase is propped up, books stacked beside it for the time being. You were debating getting a new shelf or finding a way to anchor that one. But for now you've parked yourself at the counter with a bottle of super glue and a pile of broken vases.

It's nearly half past eleven when the door jingles and Frank walks in with an arm full of books. Frank often brought books he found in yard sales and estate sales. He never wanted money for them, just some peppermint lotion for his wife and a tin of wintergreen hand salve for his old hands.

“Afternoon, Frank. What do you have today?” You grin, pushing aside your half built vase. Frank's books were like getting Christmas presents. Some were just the thing you wanted, others were the equivalent of a pair of underwear that you neither wanted or needed.

“I got some goodins!” Frank laughs, setting five books down for you. “I have an old Winnie the Pooh, a copy of a book called Taming Wolves, and a couple of old westerns.”

“Ohh, Taming Wolves eh?” You laugh, flipping the book over. It was a documentary book, a diary of sorts by a researcher in Alaska named Barry Dunes. Interesting.

“It's real good. I read a few pages myself.”

“Looks good, and this Winnie the Pooh is in great condition for its age. You outdid yourself Frank.”

Frank beams.

“I suppose you need some salve? Lemon or wintergreen this time?”

“Lemon please. Say, what happened to your little table out here?” He asks, looking around the very empty front area.

You place the salve in a bag for him with a little bottle of lotion you know his wife will need. “The bookcase fell again. I need to get a new one that isn't so damaged on the bottom.”

“I'll tell you what. I'll make you a new bookcase and a table, if you give me four tins of the mint salve and a large lotion for Annie.”

“Frank, that's hardly enough. I don't want you to go through all the trouble.”

Frank waves you off. “I'm dying to get back in my wood shed. It'll be my treat, might take a few days but I'll make it so sturdy a hurricane couldn't bring it down!”

You smile softly, shaking your head as you hand him his bag. “Alright, but I'll owe you, any time you need something just stop by. You don't even have bring books.”

“I'll still bring books kiddo, you know I love how it makes you smile brighter than the sun when I get something you really like. I'll be by in a few days, keep an eye out for my truck okay?” Frank says as he tucks his bag into his front overall pocket. “Be good now Alice,” he says with a wink at Alice who's laying in the window seat on his way out.

You can't help but smile as Frank walks down the street. It was nice to feel so loved and have friends like Frank. You really don't know what you would have done if he hadn't showed up, the bookcase would probably just have to be removed. It was so battered from the fall, it wasn't stable enough to use anymore. Thank goodness for little miracles.

_____________________

It's early evening a few days later and you're getting ready to close up and go to the store for some groceries. You've shut down the register, locked up the back and put the money in the safe. Everything is golden, things are looking up from the beginning of the week, and you couldn't be more content...until you grab your glued together vase a bit harshly and a piece collapses, poking right into your hand.

The pain is instant and you drop the vase on the counter. A small chunk of red glass is sticking out of your hand, bleeding down your palm. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. In a moment of panic, you freeze, looking around for something to stop the bleeding but finding nothing but tissues. The glass is in pretty deep and at a weird angle so you're scared to pull it out.

Across the street Shawn steps out of the clinic and you see him lock up, waving goodbye to his receptionist as she drives past. Immediately you hurry for the door and open it, eyes wide as you walk briskly across the road, holding your hand out in front of you.

“Shawn! Shawn!” You call out, voice trembling.

Shawn turns around and sees your hand. “Hey, I was just- Oh! Okay, keep it up, let's get inside,” he says calmly as he unlocks the door.

You follow him inside and to a small patient room. He puts on gloves and leads you to the sink, turning the water on and having you keep your hand under it while he inspects the glass.

“This is from one of the vases isn't it?” He asks with a little smile. “Didn't I say be careful?”

“It slipped, or I grabbed it too hard, I don't know what happened. I just grabbed it and suddenly it collapsed and the shard was in my hand.” You look at the chunk sticking out and Shawn grabs a pair of tweezers from a drawer and unwraps them from their sterile baggy before leading you to the exam table where you take a seat while he plops down on his rolling stool. “This is gonna hurt isn't it?”

“A little bit. Don't worry.” Shawn holds your hand palm up in his and pulls the glass out. You wince. It bleeds a bit more and Shawn works quickly to get it cleaned up and bandaged. He so focused as he wipes your hand down with alcohol and puts on a gauze pad that he wraps with tape. A little curl falls on his forehead and you can't help but stare at it. It's so cute and he's so hot the way he works so seriously. Your heart flutters when his face eases into a smile as he finishes taping your hand and looks up at you.

“Thank you. I probably could have taken care of it but I just panicked. I'm sorry I kept you from going home,” you mumble, dropping your hand to the side and sliding off the exam table.

“It's no problem. It's not like I've got much going on at home anyway,” Shawn chuckles. He peels his gloves off and tosses them as he begins cleaning up and sanitizing the counter.

“You're single then? A guy like you? No way,” you tease, leaning against the wall and he looks over with a small smile. “You're not joking?”

“Nope,” he laughs as he scrubs his hands and forearms. “I haven't really tried getting into the dating scene here in town.”

You let out a chuckle and look out the door into the empty lobby. The rain looks like its coming back, the sky looks gray and overcast. “I don't know how much of a dating scene there really is here. I haven't been out in years.”

Shawn dries his hands on some paper towels from the dispenser by your head. “Not big on dating either?”

“No, not really,” you shake your head.

“Well that makes two of us. Come on, let me walk you home.”

“I live just across the street,” you chuckle and he shrugs.

He walks you out of the clinic and across the empty street. A small whirlwind of leaves blows across your path and he catches a big oak leaf that is burnt orange and hands it to you. “For your display, I noticed it was temporarily on the counter yesterday. It was missing some leaves,” he smiles, beaming down at you like the sun and you take it, biting your lip bashfully.

“Thank you, I didn't even realize you had stopped in again,” you mutter, twirling the leaf in your fingers.

“You were busy helping a couple people. I didn't want to bother you.”

“Oh, that's okay, you can always talk to me anytime.” Shawn continues to smile warmly and your cheeks heat up. “Well anyway, I should probably get going. I need to get some groceries still. Alice will think she's dying if I don't have food for her in the morning.”

“Of course,” Shawn says softly, laying his hand on your arm. “Don't use that hand too much alright? It needs to rest so the skin heals. You should pick up some gauze or large bandaids too, you're going to want to replace it in a few hours, okay?”

“Yes doctor,” you laugh and he shakes head. “I promise I'll be careful and get some gauze.” You pull your phone out and add gauze and tape to your grocery list, then turn it around for him to see. “Got it locked in.”

Shawn grabs your phone and types something before giving it back. “That's my cell number. In case you need anything.”

“O-oh.” You glance at your phone and back up at him. “Thanks.”

“No problem,” Shawn grins, rubbing his neck nervously. “I'll see you tomorrow then?”

“Mmm, maybe. Do you need a book?”

“I am almost finished with the one I got...maybe I could stop in before I open the clinic.”

You duck your head and giggle. “Tomorrow then.”

“Tomorrow,” he says, laying his hand on your elbow and giving your arm a gentle squeeze before he crosses the street and heads to his Jeep that's parked in the alley between the clinic and the bakery.

You dig in your sweater pocket and lock the shop up before going in to your place to get your shopping bags. The moment you close the door to your living room you let out a squeal. You can’t believe you got the cell number of the finest man you have ever seen. God and the way he kept touching your arm...you were a goner.

_____________________

“So you're telling me a sexy young doctor moved into the West Finch Clinic and has the hots for you?” Nani, your best friend, laughs in disbelief.

“Yes! It sounds insane, I know. I mean maybe I'm reading too far into it but the way he smiled at me and touched my arm after bandaging my hand up...ugh, you would be dying.”

Nani adjusts her laptop so she can lay down and still see you in the Skype window. “Have you made a move yet? Did you flirt back?”

“I think so?”

“You think so? Either you did or didn't. Tell me everything! I swear if you mess it up with a hot doctor I'll book a flight out of here just to beat your ass.”

You roll your eyes. “You are not leaving this close to your wedding date. Your mother would skin you alive. Besides isn't a flight from the Philippines like seventeen hours or something?”

Nani groans. “How are you always right? Ugh, I hate it. Why did I have to go home to get married?”

“Because you wanted your family to be there?”

“Ugh. Family. Whatever, enough about me. I need to know more about your plans for Dr. Sexy.”

You laugh and flop over on your bed, grabbing your sequined pillow and curling around it. “His name is Shawn, if you must know. I know he's single, and I think he came from the city. Not sure why though...who wants to move here?”

“You aren't wrong about that. Roselake is pretty boring. I mean, it was nice growing up there part of the years but there isn't much to do.”

“I know. It makes me think he probably didn't know what he was getting into when he bought Finch's practice. He'll probably get so bored he'll go back to the city.”

“Not if he has a cute book nerd to stick around for,” Nani waggles her eyebrows at you.

“Oh shut up! He is probably just so friendly because he hasn't explored the town yet. There are far cuter girls around here. Don't you remember Millie Green? I bet he'd drop dead if he came across her.”

“Millie Green is a snakey little tart. Don't tear yourself down like that, don't compare yourself to the likes of Millie. You're very cute too, now you've grown into your body and lost those doofy glasses.”

“Hey!”

“I'm right and you know it!” Nani looks off screen to someone and back to you. “Erik is ready to go pick out flowers. I gotta go. You better step up your flirting game. At least make casual conversation and see where it goes.”

“Ugh, fine. It's your fault if I make an idiot out of myself.”

“You'll be fine. Pinky swear you will ask him why he moved to Roselake,” Nani says holding her pinky out to the camera. You hold yours up and hook it in the air, promising you'll make an attempt to talk to Shawn. What could casual conversation hurt?

_____________________

You pull your shoes on and a sweater over leggings again, glance in the mirror and decide it's as good as any outfit. Comfort over style your grandma always said. She was always right. You grab a bagel and a little pack of cream cheese. It's one of those mini sample cups that stores have near the bagel case. You like to take as many as you can so you never have to shell out for cream cheese. You head for the front door and as soon as you're out the lower door, you see Shawn milling around outside the shop.

“Morning,” he grins big, giving you a little wave. “I guess I'm early huh?”

“A little bit.” You hand him your cream cheese and bite the bagel to hold it as you unlock the front door to Falling Stars.

Shawn follows you inside and Alice nearly trips him, yowling because she wants breakfast. “Easy,” he laughs, lifting her up on the counter. “You have to talk to your mom about food. Not me.”

Alice meows, staring at him. You go around and place your bagel on the register while you scoop Alice's food. At the sound of kibble tinkling in her bowl, she comes running.

“So, what can I do for you Shawn?” You ask cheerily as you walk up to the counter and start preparing your bagel.

“Well,” he starts, leaning against the counter. He's wearing a dark blue cardigan over a soft grey shirt with the sleeves rolled up and it makes you wanna combust. He looks so good in such a simple but cozy way. “I was thinking about how you said you weren't much into dating and neither am I, and so I was wondering if you'd like to join me in seeing the town?”

“Like a date or...” You trail off, dropping your bagel, cheese first onto the register.

“Just as acquaintances. If that's okay. I haven't really talked to anyone else besides a few patients and they're a little wary of me. I thought maybe you might be able to help introduce me to the town...”

“Sure, of course. Yeah, anytime.”

Shawn looks at your bagel and raises his eyebrows. “Wednesday?”

“I'm totally free Wednesdays. Totally free all the time really but anyway,” you laugh nervously, peeling your breakfast off the register keys.

“Oh man, that is a mess,” Shawn chuckles.

“It's no biggie. I have wet wipes around here somewhere.” You glance around the cubbies under the counter, running a hand over your hair to push back some fly aways. “Anyway, Wednesday is great. I'll show you all the best parts of Roselake.”

“Excellent. See you then,” Shawn says, slapping the counter like a drum before backing away to go to the door. Looks like you're not the only awkward one. “Oh, by the way, your hair looks nice today, but you got some cream cheese in it.”

Your hands fly to your hair and sure enough you smeared some after picking it up off the register. Shawn laughs as he closes the door behind him, flipping the sign to OPEN as he leaves. You stare at your bagel and smile. You landed a date with a doctor. Well, not a real date, but basically a date. Nani was gonna flip out.

_____________________

Wednesday comes before you know it and you're a nervous wreck as you close up the shop and go upstairs to change clothes. You have to keep reminding yourself that it's not a date. It's not. You put on a pair of jeans and a sweater, boots and a slouchy beanie hat. Nothing fancy. Not date clothes.

Shawn is waiting for you outside the shop. He has on the same dark blue cardigan as he did the other day, with black jeans and instead of a button up shirt he has on a soft well worn t-shirt. He looks as good as always, but a little extra today maybe. A little more relaxed, cozy, warm like his eyes. You can't help but smile and he smiles right back.

“You look great, I like your boots,” Shawn says as you get close. You look down at your feet and it's just your regular brown boots with the leg warmers sticking out of the top.

“Thanks, they're my favorite pair,” you giggle and kick your foot out a little. “Oldies but goodies.”

Shawn just beams. It kills you the way he looks at you like that. The way his face says a thousand words but you can't quite make out any of them. He seemed to find you endearing, but maybe you've mistaken that for politeness. You never were great at reading people, too many times you'd been wrong and you weren't about to say something now and ruin whatever you were building here.

“Where to first?” Shawn asks. He opens the passenger side door of his Jeep for you and stands by it, hand out for you. “I'm not sure where anything is around here. I haven’t done a lot of exploring.”

You step down off the curb, taking Shawn's offered hand for balance, though you don't actually need it. “I think we should go to the shore. There is a memorial there about how Roselake was founded.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

Twenty minutes later and you're at the shore of the harbour that provided much of Roselake’s economy. Shawn got lost twice, turning left instead of right because he was too focused on the story you were telling him about how you adopted Alice. It's cute, how he gets so lost in your words. You can't remember the last time a guy listened so wholeheartedly.

You step out of the Jeep and Shawn meets you on your side and you lead him to the small historical plaque that contained the story of Roselake. The story goes that the harbour was once a large pocket of ocean water that got called a “lake” and was found by Edward Jenkins Rose nearly a hundred years ago. The town didn't get built until about fifty years later when there was a massive storm and flooding that deteriorated the strip of land between the ocean and the “lake” and opened it up to be a harbour. The area became a quick transfer route for many fishing and cargo companies because they no longer had to dock several miles up the coast and freight their goods out of the way to the plants in the city a few miles away from Roselake.

“So Roselake wasn't even actually a lake?” Shawn laughs and you nod. “I guess they didn't know what else to call it, even though it was clearly salt water?”

“Yep. So Roselake should probably be called Rose Harbour but no one is going to bother changing that after a hundred years.” You lean on the railing of the outlook and sigh softly.

Shawn leans next to you, his arm bumping yours. It makes your heart race. Being so out of touch with another person had taken its toll on you to the point where a simple brush of arms was exciting. Sad. “What's up? Why the heavy sigh? We're supposed to be having fun.”

“It's nothing, I was just thinking.” You look out at a ship that is pulling in to dock. Everyone you knew was from Roselake, no one came to live here. Who came to live in a fishing town? “Why did you come here? Why leave the city?” you find yourself asking, not really meaning to, but it comes out anyway.

“I hated it.” You glance over, surprised at that answer. “I grew up in Davenport, one of the city’s suburbs, and it just...it made me feel trapped. I went to college to become a general practitioner and while doing my residency in a local hospital since they were the only available training outlet, I saw so much violence and trauma, I don't know how I survived.” He chuckles deprecatingly, running a hand through his hair. “I dunno how I became a doctor sometimes.”

“Wow,” you mutter, not having expected such a heavy response.

“I spent almost a year on the staff of the hospital I did residency in before deciding I couldn't take it. For a while I thought I was going to have to throw it all away for nothing. I thought I couldn't handle being a doctor, that I'd have to suck it up or find a new profession.” Shawn lets out a heavy sigh and leans over the railing as he continues. “A friend told me about how his dad used to run a family practice in small town, and how it was so quiet and nice. I thought that would be perfect, that I could still do what I loved with helping people but on a smaller scale like I really wanted. So I looked for practices for sale or ones looking for partners, and that's how I found West Finch.”

“Oh, that’s quite a journey,” you mutter, looking over at him. He smiles, soft and warm. You look away, back to the sun setting on the ships in the harbour.

“I shouldn't have unloaded like that. I'm so sorry. I guess...I guess I just felt comfortable enough to tell you,” Shawn chuckles nervously.

“No, it's okay. I asked. I'm glad you feel comfortable with me, it's nice to feel like you have a friend.”

“Yeah. You're the first person I’ve really talked to. You’re actually the first person I met.”

You push off the railing and cross your arms. “No way. I am not the first person you met. The town may be small but it’s not that small.”

Shawn laughs, turning around and hopping up to sit on the railing. “You were. I mean, I met the realtor that showed me my apartment and the clinic, but she doesn't count.”

“Oh come on. You didn't run into someone in your apartment building or like at the grocery store?”

“Nope, not a single person talked to me more than doing their jobs. It's like they knew I was some weird outsider,” he chuckles with a soft sigh. “I'm not weird am I?”

“Maybe a little bit,” you tease with a smile, walking down the path, running your hand along the railing. “But I guess maybe I’m kind of weird too, so it's relative.”

Shawn hops down and walks over to you, smiling as he shakes his head. “Oh come on, you're not weird at all. In fact, you're the most normal person I've met here so far.”

You roll your eyes. “Says the guy who hasn’t met very many people here yet. Anyway, let's get going. Are you hungry? There's a place not far from here that has the best shrimp alfredo, it’s kind of a local hang out.”

“Are you trying to steal my heart?” Shawn laughs as you get into the Jeep. “Shrimp is my ultimate weakness.”

“What, no way, me too! I could eat shrimp all day long!”

Shawn starts the Jeep and backs out of the parking area. “Lead the way, and it's my treat. We'll eat shrimp until we explode.”

“Deal, but I might eat so much that you’re broke.”

“I hardly doubt that, but if I eat more than you, you have to tell me your story of Roselake.”

You look over and he's grinning. You agree to his challenge, knowing he would probably win anyways. You didn't mind though, it wasn't as if you had that crazy of a life story or anything. You just want to play along, to see this fun side of Shawn, to see who he is beneath his cool doctor exterior.

_____________________

Somehow you find yourself sitting in the back of Cap’n Clark's Bar and Grill with six jumbo shrimp sticking out or your mouth like some kind of sea monster while Shawn turns purple laughing. He's holding onto the table for dear life, leaned over on his arms just crying every time he glances at you.  His laughter gets the best of you and you have to remove the shrimp because you are laughing too hard, turning a similar shade of purple.

Shawn ended up eating more than you, like you figured, and so as the evening winds down he holds you to the deal. You don't know why, but suddenly you're nervous. There wasn't even that much to tell...well...not much to you anyway. It just seemed so intimate.

“So, did you grow up here?” Shawn asks, stirring his drink with his straw.

“Yeah. My parents worked in the harbour and got married pretty quick. I wasn't really planned or anything, my dad always said they didn't want kids because they were both away on fishing boats a lot. Life isn't perfect though,” you chuckle, staring at Shawn's hand as he swivels the straw around in his drink with his index finger.

“So...your parents didn't want a kid?”

You shake your head. “That's shitty right? I mean babies are not an accidental thing, if you don't want kids, be more cautious. Anyway, I was raised by my Grandma. My mom's mother. My parents just wouldn't give up their lives for a baby.”

Shawn leans back in his side of the booth and folds his arms as he listens. You glance up at his face and he looks kind of pissed off.  He was angry at your parents on your behalf, yet he hardly knew you. What a soft hearted person.

“So anyway, Falling Stars was my grandma's bookstore. When I got a little older I helped introduce her into the online marketplaces. She always let me run that part of the business because computers were just not her forte.” You chuckle to yourself. “She passed away when I was twenty, she was nearly eighty seven. Pneumonia. She left me everything.”

“I'm so sorry,” Shawn murmurs. “What about your parents? Are you in contact with them?”

You let out a dry laugh. “My parents are either dead or sitting on a beach somewhere with all their fishing boat money. I really don't know or care. They stopped sending Grandma money when I turned eighteen, stopped visiting when I was about thirteen.”

“Wow.”

“It's no big deal. I know it sounds sad and tragic but it's not. It's just my life. I grew up happy with just Grandma. I never knew any different.” You smile softly and Shawn smiles back. “Now it's just me and Alice carving our little place in the world one book at a time.”

“Yeah,” Shawn chuckles. “I'm sorry, by the way. I didn’t realize I'd open a can of worms like this. I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable.”

“No, we made a deal. You ate more, I spilled my guts. You already spilled yours earlier. I didn't even have to eat an ungodly amount of shrimp for it,” you smirk.

“Oh so I'm an open book eh?”

You bite your lip, looking away because it's just too easy to tease him. He felt so natural, easy to talk to. If this was flirting, you think you might be nailing it. “Just a little bit. I like it though, I like feeling comfortable with someone. It's been a while.”

“I can understand that, I feel the same way.”

You hum in agreement as you finish off your strawberry daiquiri. Shawn insisted you get anything you want off the menu and you hadn't had a strawberry daiquiri since your twenty first birthday...and it was definitely going to help you loosen up on this “not date”. So you went for it, and now it's gone and you're feeling giggly, and giggly meant you would probably be talking too much and Shawn should really take you home.

“Where to next?” Shawn asks as he hands the server his card and the bill he definitely wasn't letting you see.

“Home?”

“Already? Is Roselake just the harbour and Cap'n Clark's?”

“Well, no...but most of the shops are closed by now...I don't know if you’d really want to go to any bars. They're just full of old drunk fisherman anyway.”

Shawn grins and lets out a chuckle. “I don't seem the type to hang out with fisherman?”

You shake your head, leaning you chin on your hand. “Nope, but maybe Sunday we can go to the farmers market on the edge of town. Loads of people come and set up there. It's like a whole mini town.”

“Hmm, are you asking me on a date?” Shawn smirks. Ugh. You could grab his face and kiss him right there with everyone to see. How dare he be so handsome and tease you like it was nothing.

“I'll be showing you the town, it's not a date. Is this a date?”

“Well, I did spill my guts to you and take you to a restaurant where I paid, when we were supposed to be exploring Roselake. Is it a date? Ehh...maybe?”

“If it's a date, I get your sweater at the end of the night.”

Shawn raises his eyebrows at you, signing the credit card receipt that the server leaves. “Is that so? I've never heard of that rule.”

You sit back and cross your arms. You can feel your cheeks flushing from the drink. Either it had been pretty strong or your tolerance was in the hole, because you were feeling it. “It's a Roselake tradition.”

“Uh huh,” he smiles slowly, playing along with your nonsense. “I don't suppose I'd want to dishonor a town tradition then.”

“Nope, but if it's not a date, then you don't have to worry.”

“Right. Let's go, I'm sure Alice needs her dinner by now,” Shawn says as he stands and offers his hand. You take it and he keeps one hand on your back as you leave the restaurant.

The drive home is quick since Shawn isn't getting lost this time. He parks the Jeep outside the shop and comes around to help you out. An actual gentleman. Wow.

“Thanks for showing me around town,” Shawn says as he walks with you to your door. “Even if we did only go a few places.”

“It was fun.”

“It was. So um, good night I guess. You okay getting up the stairs?”

You nod, opening the stairwell door and stepping inside. “Mmmhmm. Goodnight.”

“Wait,” Shawn says, hand on the door frame. “I think this belongs to you now.” He shrugs out of his cardigan and hands it to you.

“Are you...”

“This was the best night I've had in a long time. I'd like to think it was a date if you would. Do you accept?”

He holds the sweater up and you grab it. It's warm and very soft, just like you thought it would be. “I accept. Do you accept my date this Sunday?”

He chuckles. “I do, but you're not getting my sweater after that date. I'll run out of clothes that way.”

“Alright, but this one is mine,” you say as you wrap yourself up in his sweater.

“Okay, okay, goodnight. I'll see you tomorrow?”

“Bright and early.”

Shawn moves his hand from the door frame and you close it. You stand on your tiptoes, looking out the window to see him as he gets in his Jeep. He sits there for a moment and pulls out his phone. He's smiling, laughing at something and he relaxes back into his seat, looking over at the shop with a smile as he talks. It make your heart swell, and you can't help but run up the stairs and jump on your bed. Shawn made you feel like you were sixteen again, and it was the best thing ever.

_____________________

“Welcome to Falling Stars,” you cheer from the counter, sat at your computer as usual. You look up and see it's Frank and his daughter Sylvia carrying in the bookcase he promised to make you. “Oh my God!” You jump up and run over to help them get it in.

It's made of dark wood that nearly matched the pre-existing shelves. On the top there is a mantle that has moons carved into it on either side. It's beautiful, far more than you ever expected. The table Sylvia brings in after the bookcase is set down is just a beautiful and has carved crescent moons around the top outside edges of it. It matches the shelf perfectly.

“What do you think kid? Not too bad for an old man!” Frank laughs, dusting his hands off on his overalls. He looks proud, smug even, and rightfully so. His work was stunning.

“They're amazing. I can't even begin to thank you, wow, I just...I'm at a loss for words. I can never repay you enough.” You walk over and put your arms around the little old man. He hugs you back, patting your shoulder and beaming at you when he pulls away. “Thank you.”

“You deserve it. You make Roselake brighter every day just by being here, it's about time someone gave back.” Sylvia clears her throat a little and Frank looks back at her. “I best be going, my wife has an appointment at the dentist. Seventy seven years old and I still have to hold her hand when we go there. Love her to pieces though,” Frank chuckles, shuffling out the door and to his truck.

You wave goodbye, standing beside Sylvia in the doorway as Frank pulls away from the street. “So, you know the new doctor?” Sylvia asks, nodding toward the clinic.

“We've met. He's really nice.” You hold your hand up where you've got a band aid covering the little bit of scab from the glass wound. “He patched me up the other week, excellent bedside manner.”

“I wouldn't mind a piece of that.”

“Sylvia! He's my age, come on.”

Sylvia shrugs and chuckles. “Call me a cougar then. Hey, I'm single and ready to mingle again.”

“Ah yeah, I heard about Ted. What a dick.”

“I'm past it. He can go fuck whatever city girls he wants, I got all his damn money and the house. I think I came out on top.”

You shake your head. “I still can't fathom why someone would cheat. I don't understand it.”

“Me neither kid. Anyway, you like the doctor? You said he's your age right?”

Shawn steps out of the front doors of the clinic and leans against the wall, head tilted back. “Yeah...I do. Would you mind?” You ask, looking into the empty shop and back at Shawn. Sylvia nods and makes a shooing motion with her hands.

You cross the street and walk up to Shawn, laying your hand on his arm gently. “Hey, you alright?”

“Yeah, I'm great,” he smiles weakly, looking down at you. He's lying and he's horrible at it. “I just needed air, gets stuffy.”

“Mmm, everything all good today?” You press, hoping he'll just slip up and lower the obvious guard he holding up. “Anything interesting? I heard Mrs. Jenkins has a rash on her back the size of Texas.”

Shawn chuckles, covering your hand with his. “I'm not at liberty to discuss any of my patients, y'know, legal patient privacy rules and all.”

“Oh! Right, yeah, totally. I got ya. Well, if you need anything...I'm next door.”

“I know. Thank you,” he smiles, still weak as he grabs your hand and squeezes gently as he removes it from his arm and goes back inside. Something was wrong, properly stressing him out. You wished you could help.

You walk back over to the shop and Sylvia raises her eyebrows but says nothing. “Thanks for bringing the table and bookcase. Let your dad know that anything he needs, it's his.”

“Will do. See you around,” Sylvia waves and you close the door with a soft click behind her.

You get to work filling the new bookcase with the books that fell over a week ago. Every now and then you glance over at the clinic when you see movement but it's always a passerby or someone going to see Shawn. You can't help but wonder what stressed Shawn out, why he had to go outside and take a breather. Maybe something happened that reminded him of the city.

You turn a book over in your hands and smile. It was a favorite of yours, a romantic thriller called Run Among Thorns. You set it aside and finish up stocking the books. You go about setting up your autumn display with what you salvaged from the broken table. It's not much, but you still have a few mini pumpkins, the fake leaves, one glued together vase and a handful of pinecones. It was just as pretty if not smaller.

Ten minutes to six and you dust your hands off, looking around the shop with a satisfactory smile. Everything was back in order finally. Before you lock up you wrap the book you picked out earlier and feed Alice. You jog across the street and slide the book into the little mailbox next to the clinic door and put the flag up. It wasn't much, but you know receiving a gift on a bad day could change everything. It was something you learned from your grandma, something you hoped to pass on as much as you could.

_____________________

Sun shines in the window and you sit up, stretching and yawning big. It was Friday, only two days until your second date with Shawn. You can't wait, just the thought of being able to see him laugh again like he did at Cap'n Clark's makes your heart race. You're so distracted by thoughts of the weekend that you don't look at the clock and notice you've overslept until you're making breakfast and see the digital clock on the stove.

“Oh shit, shit,” you mutter, flipping the stove off and putting the eggs back in the fridge. It's after nine and you're supposed to be downstairs at eight. Alice would not be happy.

You don't bother to change out of your shirt and sweater, Shawn's sweater, that you slept in. You just pull on a pair of jeans off the floor and shove your feet into your fuzzy lined clogs and run downstairs.

Sure enough Alice is in the window, yowling like she's been abandoned for a week. Overdramatic cry baby. The mail flag is up on the post box and you peek in while unlocking the door. There's a few letter envelopes and a little box. You weren't expecting any returns or deliveries. You gather them up and head inside to feed your screaming furry baby.

With Alice satiated, you take a seat and tug open the brown paper wrapped box. It looks like an old disposable glove box and sure enough the top is taped closed so you have to open the end. Out of it falls a bunch of ribbon and miniature decorations of pumpkins, cats, skeletons and witch hats. A whole assortment of Autumn and Halloween-y things. A note falls out as well.

“A gift for a gift. Thought your table might need some friends. Thank you for the book, I can't wait to talk with you about it. -Shawn”

You look up through the windows and Shawn is standing there, holding up two coffee cups. He pulls the door open and walks in with a smile. “Good morning, did you oversleep?”

“Yeah, I guess I kept hitting the alarm,” you giggle sheepishly. Shawn sets a coffee down for you. “Thanks for the gifts.”

“It's no problem. You gave me a book, I had to return the favor.”

You pick up one of the skeletons and place him atop the register. “The craft store is in the city...”

“I know it is,” Shawn smirks around his coffee cup.

“Where did you get these?”

“I got them from the craft store, duh.”

“Oh.”

Shawn shakes his head. “They'll look great on that new table, or maybe,” he trails off, grabbing a little black cat and leaning over the counter. He tucks it into the side pocket of your sweater. “ it'll look cute like that.”

“You're a dork,” you laugh and he smiles big. “Don't you have patients to see or something?”

Shawn glances over at the clinic. “Yeah, y'know...a few but I had to see if you liked your gift.”

“I do, thank you again. Now go, don't keep people waiting!”

“I'm going,” he chuckles on his way to the door. Before he goes out he turns and looks back and says, “Oh and I like your sweater. It's very nice, definitely my favorite,” and winks. He dead ass winks at you and leaves.

You can't help the embarrassing giggle that bubbles out of you and you're glad that only Alice is around to hear it. You wrap his sweater around you and sigh softly, he was going to be the death of you and that would be just fine.

_____________________

“You what?!” Nani yells through the webcam. Her hair dresser jumps in the background and laughs. “You got his sweater?!”

“Yeah, I can't believe he actually gave it to me. I think he really likes me. Oh God I don't know how to deal with this.”

“Girl you just do you. He likes you for you. Do what feels natural, go with the flow. Remember when I met Erik?”

You pick your laptop up and carry it into the kitchen with you. “How could I forget? You sent me a text every ten minutes about his eyes or how he was sitting or when he almost touched your hand. God you were so infatuated.”

“Fair enough, but Erik liked me too. He gave all the signals and I was pressing go. What I'm saying is, listen to your gut and read Shawn's signals. You can't go wrong.”

“I mean I could but...”

Nani sets her phone on the counter of her hairdresser's booth. “He gave you his sweater, probably expensive by the looks of it, trust me. You can't read him wrong at this point.”

“I guess...”

“No guessing, he likes you. He brought you stuff for your display. Guys don't just do thoughtful stuff like that if they don't seriously like you.”

“You're right. I gotta stop over thinking it.”

“Yes you do. Let it happen.”

You nod, sighing softly as you say goodbye and let Nani get her hair cut. Nerves were getting the best of you and you knew it was only a matter of time. It had been three years since you let anyone in. After your ex, if you could call him that, you weren’t too keen on dating. Besides, everyone knew everyone in town and everyone had pretty much dated someone you knew, so it was weird. Seriously. If Nani hadn't gotten out of Roselake and went to college in the city she probably would have settled for and married Jackson Walters, her boyfriend before college. The thought of that makes your skin crawl. Not that he was a bad guy, but like, there was better in this world. You promised yourself that you'd never settle, even if that meant being alone with Alice until you were forty.

_____________________

Sunday morning you wake up and you're miserable. You knew you had a cold coming on while you grocery shopped on Saturday. Your nose was running, face swollen, ears a bit achy. You ignored it. Telling yourself it was just allergies even though it was autumn and everything was pretty much dying off in the cool air. You couldn't be sick, no, you had your date with Shawn at the farmers market today.

You force yourself out of bed and into the shower. A hot shower would clear this right up. You grab one of the little shower bombs that you made a few weeks ago, it's a chamomile mint one and if it didn't do the trick you were screwed.

Twenty minutes later and you step out of the shower feeling no better. Super. Awesome. You get dressed, the usual slightly too Iarge sweater, leggings, and boots combo. You add a scarf and knit fingerless gloves because it's a little chilly and they're cute. The clock reads five minutes until ten in the morning and the market opened in half an hour. You grab your keys and your bag and head down to the shop to feed Alice in case you got back late for dinner.

The sky is a little overcast but not bad, you had a few hours before it would rain. Plenty of time to browse the market. Once inside the shop you feed Alice and clean up a few books you left out the night before. Shawn's Jeep pulls up and you take a deep breath and head out to meet him.

As you expected, Shawn gets out and comes around to see you before you get in. The moment he lays eyes on you he knows. He can tell you're sick. It must be the way your face looked so pale, or maybe it was your red nose from wiping at it. Either way, there was no hiding it.

“Are you feeling okay?” he asks, raising his hand up to touch your forehead. “You're kinda warm”

“I'm fine. Probably just hot from the shower,” you smile, trying your best not to sound nasally and stuffed up.

Shawn slides his hand down to your cheek and cups it, his whole palm covering the side of your face. A blush creeps up on your cheeks and you feel that familiar rush of cool adrenaline in your veins that happened when Shawn got a little affectionate with you. “I don't know if you should be walking around outside like this.”

“I'm fine. If I feel terrible I'll just call a doctor...oh wait,” you chuckle and he gives you a look. “I promise I just look sick. I feel great.” Ugh who were you trying to convince. Probably yourself to be honest.

Shawn looks skeptical but he helps you into the Jeep anyways. A short drive later and you're parking in a gravel covered lot across from the field where the market is set up. Despite the overcast skies, it's a pretty big turn out. There is at least twenty tents set up in the front area and more in the back.

“So, is this here every weekend?” Shawn asks as you trek towards the tents.

“Every Sunday, May until the end of September. I used to come here with Grandma every weekend. We would get vegetables and stuff for the week. She liked things as fresh as possible.”

“Was she fun? You seem fond of her.”

“Yeah,” you mutter, wandering toward a booth that has stone bracelets for sale. “She was my best friend and my parent. She had her quirks, we all do, but she was great. I miss her.”

Shawn hums. He's watching you touch the bracelets, not saying anything as you browse the selection. As you move on to the necklaces he lifts the pendant of one with his fingers. A chunk of quartz wrapped with gold wire on a leather cord.

“This one is pretty,” he says softly, bumping your hand with his to get your attention.

You look over and he lifts it off it's display. He puts it over your head and lays it over your bulky scarf. You touch it carefully, looking up at him as you do. “It's gorgeous.”

“How much?” Shawn asks the seller, an old man sitting in a chair behind the tables.

“Twenty five dollars.”

Your eyes widen and you lift it over your head. “It's beautiful, but I don't need it.”

“It's my treat,” Shawn says pulling out his wallet. You push his hands down and shake your head. “Seriously if you want-”

“We'll come back. There's a lot more to see. What if I like something better?”

Shawn pockets his wallet and nods. He knows you're right. This was only the first tent you'd stopped at. There were many more to see. Shawn thanks the seller and he waves you off politely.

The two of you wander from tent to tent checking out everything from vegetables, baked goods and local honey to jewelry and yard art. You refuse to let Shawn buy you anything because you don't want to decide until you've seen everything. It's almost an hour into your date and you're talking about everything and nothing at the same time. Shawn is easy to talk to and even easier to trust. He tells you about how he grew up in the city in a small suburb. He doesn’t say a lot about his parents but talks about how he played hockey and baseball growing up. You tell him about how your grandma would insist that she walk you to the bus stop every day until you were sixteen and you tell him how you won a few awards for art class projects in high school. He tells you he went to a private high school with around six hundred kids. You went to a public school a town over that had maybe six hundred kids from surrounding communities but the whole school was kindergarten through twelfth grade. The two of you grew up very differently but that didn't change who you ended up becoming.

It's almost noon when you feel yourself get dizzy, exhaustion setting in. Your body is reaching its limit. Your head hurts and you feel stuffed up and out of it all of a sudden. Shawn notices right away that you're not doing so well. He holds your arm, steadying you as you start to sway.

“Whoa whoa whoa, what's wrong?” Shawn asks worriedly. He holds your arms and looks down at you.

You look up, eyes heavy and face aching like your sinuses are full. “I don't feel good. My head hurts,” you mumble through a stuffy nose.

Shawn puts his hand on your head. “You're burning up. We need to go home.”

“No, I don't want to ruin our date. We haven't even seen everything yet.”

“I don't care about that. We can come back on another date.”

You shake your head and rub at your nose with your gloved hand. “It's the last weekend.”

Shawn sighs. “We'll come next year. I'm taking you home.”

You lean into him and sigh. Next year. As if you would be together then. As if he would still be in town. Fat chance. His hand comes up to your hair and you wrap your arms around his chest. He's warm, soft, and smells like really good cologne and fresh laundry. You hold on to him, to this moment, never wanting it to end, wishing you weren't sick.

“Can I take you home?” Shawn asks softly and you nod into his chest, wanting nothing more than to be in bed.

_____________________

It's a while later and you wake up, not remembering much of the drive home or falling asleep. You find yourself tucked into your bed with Shawn sitting up next to you on top of the blankets, the TV playing some Hallmark movie on mute. You sit up and cough, your chest feeling full and tight with congestion. You're miserable.

“You're awake,” Shawn mumbles, sitting up right with you. “Let me feel your head.” He reaches over and presses his palm to your head and cheek. “Still hot, do you have a thermometer?”

“I don't think so?”

“Alright, I'll be back,” Shawn says, getting up and heading for the door. “I'm going to get some stuff from the clinic.”

“I'm fine, it's okay. I'll be alright you don't need to stay.”

Shawn walks over to you and cups your cheek, looking down at you fondly. “I'm not going to leave you alone while you're running a fever. It's not in my blood to do that, and I think you know it. I'll check you over fully when I get back.”

“But we've only known each other for two weeks. Why would you want to stay and help me?”

“Because I care about you, and also I'm a doctor y'know. It's in my nature to heal the sick.”

A flush rises on your cheeks and it has nothing to do with the fever. The way he is looking at you, golden brown eyes catching the light of your lamp beside the bed, staring at you softly but determined. His hand is warm, soft, big...you never want him to stop touching you. You never want this moment to end.

“You look so sleepy and kissable right now,” Shawn murmurs, thumb stroking your cheek. You close your eyes and he steps closer to you, legs against yours over the edge of the bed. “I guess I'll have to take a raincheck huh?”

“Mhmm,” you hum and his hand slips away from your face. You lean forward, chasing the touch, but he's gone. You open your eyes to see him closing the front door quietly.

Shawn returns quickly, a little bag of supplies from the clinic in tow. You sit up as he walks into your bedroom and sets the bag on the bed. His sweater is soaked and it's then you notice the faint sound of rain on the roof. He grabs the bottom of his sweater and tugs it up over his head, revealing a grey tee shirt beneath. His tee slips up a little and you get a peek at the trained chest hiding under there. You feel like passing out and again it has nothing to do with the fever.

“C’mere,” he mutters, pulling a digital thermometer out of the bag. It's one of the kind that you swipe across the forehead. He presses it to your skin and slides across. It beeps. “A hundred and one. I knew you had a fever.”

“I just need to sleep.”

“Well yes but you also need some Tylenol to bring the fever down. I brought some from my desk at the office.” Shawn digs through the bag and pulls out a bottle of Tylenol. He gets up and goes to the kitchen to get some water for you. “Take two for now,” he says and waits for you to swallow the pills with the water. He pulls your desk chair over and sits before he takes your face in one hand, turning your jaw to look at him. He gently pulls your cheek down on each side with his thumb so he can see your lower eyelids. “Looks good, how's your throat?” He puts his hand along the sides of your throat and massages upward gently.

“Sore,” you mumble and he nods. You try to look anywhere but at him because your heart is racing. This is very close and intimate.

“You're swollen. Probably from irritation from the drainage.” He grabs something from his bag and you see it's one of the ear scope things with a light on it. He turns your head and peeks in each ear. “Say ahh,” he says, grabbing a tongue depressor from the bag. You open your mouth and he takes a look at your throat. “You need some antibiotics. I think you've got an upper respiratory infection starting. I'll write up a prescription.”

“I'm that sick? Can't I just take some cold medicine?”

Shawn looks at you seriously. “Cold medicine isn't going to take care of an infection, sweetheart.”

“Oh,” you flush, looking away.

“I'll get the prescription called in to pick up in a while. Are you hungry yet?”

You shake your head. “I just want to sleep.”

“Alright. I'm going to call in the antibiotic and pick it up now then. When I get back I'll stay until the fever comes down,” he says, packing his stuff into his bag and pulling up the number for the local pharmacy on his phone.

You settle down into the blankets and roll on to your side, facing Shawn as he walks along the side of the bed, pacing, waiting for the pharmacy to answer. His hand comes down and pets your hair back softly when he pauses for a moment. You glance up and he starts speaking to someone on the other line. He keeps his hand in your hair, fingers flexing gently against your scalp. His petting relaxes you and you find yourself falling asleep easily as he talks low and soft to the people on the other end of the phone about the prescription.  

_____________________

Shawn leaves at some point because you hear the front door close but you don't wake up enough to register what time it is or how long you've been asleep. The door opens again and you stir, rubbing your eyes and watching as Shawn comes into view.

“Sit up sweetheart,” he says softly as he brings your chair over to sit beside you again. You do as he says and sit up, head pounding in your skull and nose clogged up. “I have your medicine.”

He rifles through the plastic bag on his lap and pulls out a little bubble pack of pills.

“I don't want to take anything else,” you whimper. The thought of swallowing anything was daunting. Your throat felt like you swallowed a bunch of cacti already. “Can't I just sleep.”

Shawn places his fingers against your lips with the pill and you open up for him. He sets it on your tongue and hands you your water bottle. “The sooner you get this in your system the better.”

You swallow with much effort and lay back. Shawn grabs his thermometer and presses it to your forehead, reading the digital screen and shaking his head. He doesn't say anything but you know you still have a fever.  

“Thank you,” you mumble, curling into your pillows.

Shawn leans down and kisses your temple. “It's what I do. I'll be in the living room if you need me, you can rest now.”

_____________________

It's dark when you wake up again. Your first thought is Alice. She had been alone all day and now it's past dinner time, she must be wondering where you are. You push the blankets away and shuffle out of the bedroom, grabbing your keys from your purse as you go.

You manage to get to the bottom of the stairs and open the door before you realize that you don't have anything to protect you from the rain. It's pouring outside and it's freezing cold. Oh well. It's just a few feet to the shop door.

You step out into the rain and immediately regret it. It's icy cold and the wind is blowing so it's literally pelting you with what feels like actual ice chips. Your sweater is soaked, leggings soaked, slippers barely keeping the rain rushing down the sidewalk off of your feet. Your hands are shaking, rattling the keys as you try to open the door. It's too much. You're freezing. It has to be around forty degrees and the wind is making it colder.

Frustrated tears run down your face and you let out a chest aching cough. Your hands are too cold and wet to get the key in the lock and you can see Alice at the window meowing.

“Hey!”

You turn and Shawn is standing in the doorway to the stairs. He sees you in the little alcove where the shop door is and makes a bee line for you. You slump against the door and he wraps his arms around you, his chest warm against your back. “What are you doing out here? It's sleeting and you're sick. Are you trying to develop pneumonia?”

“Alice,” you cough, pointing at the window. “She needs to have dinner.”

Shawn looks at Alice in the window of the darkened shop. He takes the keys from you and pockets them. “I'll feed Alice in a minute, you need to get warm now. Your skin is freezing cold and you're going to get worse.”

“But I can't-”

“Trust me, I can feed Alice. Please, come back inside with me.”

You decide to trust him. You know he will feed her and pet her but she wasn't the one sick and freezing to death right now. She wasn't going to starve. You realize that and let Shawn walk you back up to your apartment. You undress, his back to you and you put on some sweatpants and a hoodie. As soon as you're dressed he heads down to the shop, promising he will be back soon. He says he's going to feed Alice and get a change of clothes from his apartment.

A few minutes after Shawn leaves you're almost asleep and your phone rings. It's Nani. It's morning for her on the other side of world and after a few more rings you pick up. “Hey, what's up? How was your day?”

“Well for starters, Shawn is at my place, I'm freaking out.”

“What?! Whoa hold on. Is he there now? You sound like shit, are you okay? Are you hallucinating?”

You chuckle and end up coughing. “I'm sick, an upper respiratory infection Shawn says. We were at the market and I was feeling horrible so he brought me home. Anyway he won't leave until my fever is down, but he's gone home for some clothes and he's feeding Alice.”

“Bless him.”

“This isn't exactly how I pictured him staying over y'know?”

Nani laughs. “Of course not, but I'm glad he's there with you. What if he wasn't around? You'd be miserable.”

“I'm still miserable even with him around. I don't want the guy I have a thing for to be taking care of me like a sick kid.”

“He cares about you, obviously. It sucks that you're sick because otherwise I'd tell you to make a move. The guy must be seriously into you.”

“I think he is and I'm definitely into him too. But being sick and having him dote on me is not how I pictured starting a relation...ship...” You trail off as Shawn walks into the bedroom with a smirk on his face. You'd never even heard the front door open. You could die of embarrassment. In fact you wish someone would just off you right then and there.

“Aren't you supposed to be resting?” Shawn says cooly, walking over and holding his hand out for the phone. “Doctor’s orders.”

Nani yells and you hang up on her, passing the phone to Shawn. He sets it aside and slings his bag over his shoulder. “I'm going to go change in the bathroom. When I'm done would you like some tea? Soup? Anything?”

“Some soup would be good. I have a can of beef vegetable in the cupboard next to the fridge.”

“Okay. Rest while I make it. I'll get a few more Tylenol and check your fever again too.”

“Thank you,” you mutter and he stops in the doorway, looking over at you. “You don't have to do this.”

“I know, but I want to,” he smiles and pushes off the doorframe, heading to the bathroom to change.

_____________________

Shawn spends the night with you, sleeping on the couch so he wouldn't risk getting sick. Your fever ends up breaking around midnight and the antibiotic and some over the counter decongestant samples that Shawn brought from the clinic finally seem to relieve some of your congestion and over all sludge feeling.

You wake up late the next morning, your phone having died some time in the night since you hadn't put it on the charger. There's a sticky note on your bedside table along with a few more cold medicine, your antibiotic and a new bottle of water. You sit up, rubbing your eyes and you let out a nasty cough. You still felt like garbage but at least it wasn't total shit now.

You grab the note and it's from Shawn of course. He says he fed Alice at seven this morning and locked up. The keys are on the hook by the door and he will stop by at lunch to check on you. You set the note down and take the medicine. You find your way to the kitchen and there is a note on the microwave. It says that there is a bowl of soup in the fridge if you're hungry. A soft smile spreads across your face. Shawn was such a sweetheart.

A bowl of soup, a hot shower and a dryer warmed sweatshirt later and you're ready to go down to the shop, though you really want to go back to bed. You put your boots on and grab a blanket off the couch in case you get a chill and make for the shop. Once you're outside you see Frank standing outside of the shop with a bag, peeking in the windows.

“Morning Frank,” you say and hardly recognize your own voice.

“Oh! There you are. I was starting to wonder if something happened.”

“Just a little late. I'm a little sick, and I overslept,” you chuckle as you open the shop door. Frank follows you in and waits for you to greet Alice and get set up behind the counter.

“I got a few books!” Frank cheers, eyes crinkling happily as he places three titles on the counter. “I know you said I don't have to, but I like bringing you books.”

“Thank you Frank. What can I get you?” You go to your lotion shelf and Frank waves his hand at you.

“Nothing today. We're still good to go at home. I did want to ask you something though.”

“Of course.”

Frank leans over the counter and drops his voice as if someone was around that could hear him. “When was the last time you talked to your parents?”

His question stuns you. It was the last thing you ever expected to hear, and somehow it made your stomach sink. “Um, I'm not sure. Maybe when I was thirteen, so, about nine or ten years ago?”

“Rumor has it down at the Bay Bar that they're back in town. I thought I should let you know, in case you wanted to dodge them. I know you aren't close and all and they kinda left you with Grace.”

“Thank you Frank. I'm glad you warned me, though I'm not sure what they could possibly want. I'm sure they're just docked here with the rest of their ship's crew.”

Frank shrugs. “Maybe you're right, we got some fishing boats in a few days ago that are docked while storms die down on the ocean.”

You nod. “Thanks for the books by the way,” you smile, looking at the novels. “I'm sure they're just what someone is looking for.”

“Oh you betcha!” Frank smiles, giving a thumbs up and heading for the door. “See ya next time kiddo!”

You wave Frank off and collect the books from the counter to put by your computer. You would look into them a bit later after you finished filling some online orders from the weekend.

Noon comes quickly and you're just wrapping up your last shipment to take to the post office when Shawn walks in the door. A gust of cold air washes across your face and you look up from the back counter. Shawn has a bag in his hand that looks like take out from Dixie's Diner down the street.

“What a gentleman, you've brought me lunch huh?” You smile softly as you turn around.

Shawn chuckles and sets the bag on the counter. “I didn't have enough time to make homemade chicken soup this morning, so Dixie's will have to do.”

You walk around the counter and lean on it beside him. “A man who can cook and heal the sick? You must be an angel.”

“And you're supposed to be resting. How are you feeling?” he hums, tucking some hair behind your ear. His touch sends fire through your veins. “You're very chatty.”

“I am?”

“Yes, and I like it. I like hearing what's going on in that head of yours,” he grins, and you roll your eyes and blush, dropping your head and tucking your face into your arm resting on the counter. “You're so cute.”

“Stoppppp.”

“Alright, alright I'm done teasing.” He lays his hand on your shoulder and rubs lightly. “How's your head and your chest?”

You straighten up and his hand falls away. “They're doing alright. I took the medicine you left and I've been drinking hot tea when I can, but I've been busy. I've been trying to take it easy though.”

“Well at least you're taking it easy, seeing as you aren't resting. You should listen to your doctor y'know.” You flush and turn away from him. He chuckles. “I saw you had a little rush earlier. A travel bus?”

“Yeah, they come through sometimes on the way up the coast. It wasn't too bad. Mostly older people looking for gifts or something to pass the time,” you say, returning your attention to him and glad for the subject change.

Shawn hums. He opens the lunch bag and takes out a styrofoam bowl and a little bottle of orange juice. “I hope you like mixed fruit because it's the only side they had today,” he laughs pulling out a second foam bowl.

“Of course I like it,” you chuckle. You pop open the lids and despite your stuffy nose, you can almost smell the warm chicken soup. “Thank you so much.”

“Anytime.”

“You didn't get yourself something?”

Shawn shakes his head and rubs his neck. “I actually have appointments all afternoon. I only have another minute or two before I gotta get back.”

“Oh, okay. No problem. I'll see you after work?”

“Yes,” he smiles and leans in. Your heart races and you can't even breathe as he gets closer. He kisses your forehead and pulls back beaming like the sun itself. “I'll stop by before you leave.”

“O-okay. Bye?”

“Bye,” he says smoothly as he makes for the exit, leaving you dumbfounded with your soup and a curious Alice who has jumped up on the counter.

_____________________

Shawn is waiting for you when you walk out of the shop and lock up. He's leaning against the door to your stairway and he looks exhausted. His eyes are closed, arms folded across his large chest, the setting sun warming his skin and making him practically glow. He's a sight to be seen.

“Hey,” you murmur and he opens his eyes, sun catching them too. So beautiful. You never want this moment to end. “Don't move.”

“Mmkay?” He smiles, remaining still at your request. He watches you as you pull your phone out and hold it up to take his picture. “What are you doing?”

“Capturing a moment.”

“A moment?”

You lower your phone and walk up to him. “You look amazing in this light. I wanted to remember it.”

Shawn drops his arms and reaches for your hand, fingers just barely catching yours. “You look amazing too.”

“Shawn stop, I'm sick, you know I look like death warmed over.”

“You don't really,” he steps closer, hands coming up and he twirls his fingers around some stray hairs by your ears, looking down at you with his eyes so soft and full of adoration. “Believe me, I've seen death warmed over.”

“Yeah yeah.”

“Enough with the flirting, I wanted to make sure you're doing alright.” He lays his palm on your face and his big hand covers your cheek and jaw. “You don't feel too warm. You took your medicine?”

“Yes, with lunch.”

“Good girl,” Shawn grins and you swallow thickly. “Take your third dose tonight before bed and please just rest.”

“I promise I will.”

Shawn leans down and kisses your forehead, cradling your cheeks in each hand. “I know you will. I'll see you tomorrow?” You nod and he steps back. “Good night sweetheart.”

“Good night.”

_____________________

A few days pass with Shawn checking up on you before and after work. It's nice and you love seeing him every day, even if it is just for a few minutes. It's Friday again and you've closed up early to mail some packages and head to the store to pick up your groceries for the week when you run into your friend Katie. She is visiting her parents for a week and she happens to have been filled in on the local rumor mill. She knows that you and Shawn have been seen together and she's infinitely curious.

“Sooo, what's he like? Is he very serious and professional all the time?” Katie asks as you round the corner of the small over the counter medicine isle.

“He's nice, really sweet and thoughtful,” you trail off as you browse the selection for the medicine Shawn had given you for congestion last week. You figure it'll be good to have on hand if you do get sick again if you don't use it all. You're feeling much better, still a little congested in your head, but it not too bad. A few more doses of the medicine and you'd be good to go.

“You've got it bad for him.” Katie says as she grabs a box of bandaids and holds it up as you raise your eyebrows at her. “Mika gets hurt every time he turns around. Toddlers, y'know.”

You nod. “Anyway, I do not have it bad for Shawn. We're just getting to know each other. It's only been a few weeks, a month now maybe.” It felt like it had been so much longer.

“Uh huh. Any dates planned for this weekend?”

“No, he's going into the city I think.”

Katie grins and leans against the cart. “We should go into the city too. I'll get my mom to watch Mika and we'll have a girls night.”

“Really? I haven't been out since Nani moved to the Philippines with Erik until the wedding.”

“Yeah, you need this, we're having a girls night. This weekend. Pack a bag girlie, because we're gonna get wasted and paint the town red!”

You let out a laugh. You missed Katie, she was always the wild friend. Having a baby and being a full-time chemical engineer didn't slow her down at all it seemed. She was amazing, someone you aspired to be one day. She was so lucky.

_____________________

You're at the post office standing in line to send out some books that you had been putting off when you feel someone standing a little too close behind you. You shuffle forward and they move with you. It's annoying. You shuffle again and turn to look this time and see it's Shawn.

“Hey,” he chuckles and you roll your eyes.

“I thought you were some creep.”

“Nope just Shawn.” He folds his arms and leans against the packing counter to your right. “How’re you doing?”

“I’m fine. I got more of the medicine you suggested for me. The one for my stuffy head.”

Shawn nods and hums. “Any plans this weekend?”

“Yeah, actually my friend is in town and we're going to have a girls night in the city. Why?”

“Oh, well my plans fell through so I was going to ask you out since the farmers market got cut short y'know? That's okay though, no problem. I'll give my friend Thomas a call.”

You move forward with the line and look back at him. “You sure? You sound kind of disappointed.”

“No, no of course not. Well, a little, but not because you have plans. I was really looking forward to seeing some friends this weekend. It's no big deal.”

“Next weekend?”

“Yeah,” Shawn smiles. “I have an idea of something we can do. If you're up for a bit of a drive.”

“No problem. I like driving with you, you're good company.”

Shawn chuckles. “It's a date then?”

“It's a date.”

_____________________

The weekend comes and it's Saturday night and you find yourself at the end of the night in a bowling alley in the city with Katie and a table full of shots behind you. The two or you had been shopping all day and trying different food places around the city. Because the day out wasn't enough, Katie suggested bowling and drinks, a favorite girls night out activity. It's almost midnight and cosmic bowling has just started. You're three shots down, plus a daiquiri you had at dinner, and it's getting hard to throw the ball anywhere but directly in the gutter.

Some guys from a nearby lane wander over and start chatting you and Katie up. Katie's all about flirting, she's single after all. Mika's dad walked out when he was born three years ago. You however are not about that flirting life. In fact one could say you have no game and your life time scores are basically in the negatives.

“I like your dress,” a guy named Dave says and smiles at you as you take a seat. “It's very flattering.” His eyes were clearly on your ass moments ago.

“Thank you,” you mumble uncomfortably.

“So...are you from the city?” You shake your head. “Cool cool...um, so are you single?”

You roll your eyes. What a pick up line. “No I'm not.” It's not technically a lie. You were seeing Shawn though neither if you had discussed it being an actual thing. It's was still early in your relationship.

“Oh...well I mean I don't see him here.”

Katie walks over and leans on the table. “Yeah, she's dating some hot shot doctor.” She rolls her eyes. “You're way too broke for her Dave.”

“Katie!”

“Well okay then,” Dave says angrily and gets up to go join his friends.

“What? You didn't want to talk to him anyway. I could practically see the soul leaving your body as he spoke. You're welcome.”

“You didn't have to be so rude, jeez.”

Katie glances over to a few of his friends who are eyeing her long legs in her short skirt. She gives a cute wave. “Guys like Dave over there don't know how to quit. I saved you from an evening of a nagging man baby’s company.”

“Can we go soon?”

“Why? We just got started.”

You sigh and put your head in your arms. The alcohol is making you dizzy, and combined with the black lights and the neon colors, you feel sick. “I don't know how much more I can do. I feel like I'm going to puke. It's been a long day.”

“Alright,” Katie calls the guys over and offers them the remaining shots on the table. The two of you leave with a few more frames left on the lane but neither of you care. You call for an Uber and wait outside the bowling alley.

Ten minutes turn into twenty and before you know it you've been waiting nearly an hour. Katie called for an Uber too but no one showed up for her either. You can't walk and Uber is the only service in the city who will drive after midnight that isn't a sketchy cab service. There are some guys close by who look like they've just come out of a nearby bar and they're chatting, glancing your way. It makes you uncomfortable.

“Can you call anyone?” Katie asks, rubbing her ankle where her heel strap rubbed it raw. She's too concerned with her foot to notice the guys. “Just call the Uber again.”

You stare at your phone and flip through your contacts. No one was going to be awake and everyone you know is in Roselake. Well, everyone but one person. Shawn. He was in the city this weekend, but you didn't want to bother him at almost one in the morning. You glance at the guys across the street. One is gone but the other two are still leering.

“What is it? You're making a face,” Katie slurs, more than half drunk and partially asleep.

“I could call Shawn but...I'd probably make him mad.”

“Well do you think he'd want you to walk to your hotel?”

You sigh and press the call button. Katie is right. Shawn picks up after two rings and you're surprised. “Yeah, hey Shawn. It's me.”

“What's wrong?” he asks sleepily. Maybe you had woken him up, but he'd answered so fast it seemed more likely he was awake.

You look over at Katie and she looks passed out against the railing of the steps. Extremely unhelpful. “I'm in the city at the Big Tex bowling alley. Our ubers haven't showed up and we can't walk to the hotel. I'm so sorry for this, is there any way you can get us?”

“Fucking Christ...of all places. Yeah. I'll be a couple minutes, I'm at home.”

“But I thought you were in the city? Wait...damnit. You did say you cancelled your plans.”

“It's fine. I'll be there.”

“I'm so sorry,” you mutter, voice breaking as you are overcome with guilt. He sounded angry with you and you know you shouldn't have called.

“No it's fine, I'd rather get you home safe. I'll be there in a few, just hold on.”

Shawn arrives fifteen minutes later, though the drive from Roselake should be a twenty five minute drive at the legal speed limit. He pulls up in his Jeep and Katie wakes up. She's pretty out of it as you and Shawn load her into the back seat with a little effort. Shawn closes the door and leans against it to stare at you. It's not until then that you realize he's wearing a pair of rectangular wire frame glasses. Something you didn't know about him yet. His gaze is indiscernible. Disappointed? Curious? Perhaps both.

“Please don't be angry at me.”

“I'm not,” he says softly. He steps forward and lays his hand on your cheek. “I'm glad you called me.”

“I thought you were going to chastise me. You sounded angry when I asked you to get us.”

Shawn smiles, chuckling a little. “You and your friend picked the worst part of town to get drunk in. The Uber won’t pick people up over here after ten at night because it's gotten so bad. I was just so worried that something bad had happened when you called me and said where you were. I'm sorry I came off harsh. I really am relieved you're alright and not hurt.”

You wrap your arms around him and he holds your head against his chest. “I was scared something would happen to us. There were guys who looked sketchy over there and then Katie passed out...God if I couldn't have called you who knows what would have happened.”

“Don't worry about that. Let me take you home.”

“We booked a hotel room for the night. At the Estates.” Shawn hums and says he'll take you there then.

A short drive and Shawn helps you out of the Jeep and Katie is out as well and leaning on you for support. You and Shawn help her walk into the building. On the way she trips and ends up almost falling, resulting in your balance going off and you falling on one knee on the way into the hotel room. Your knee is skinned, rug burned and jarred real good.

You head to the bathroom and Shawn gets Katie to her bed as she says something about him being such a hero. Mostly her words are nothing but slurred babbles. She's out cold before Shawn can help her get her shoes off.

You look up from your seat on the toilet in the bathroom to see Shawn leaning against the doorway. You have a cold rag over your knee and you're afraid to look at it again. It was pretty scraped when you put the rag on.

“You look too good right now,” you mumble, looking down at the rag. “Go away. I'm a mess.”

“Hey,” he starts softly, stepping in and kneeling before you. “You're not a mess. You're tired and a little drunk and your knee is scraped up.” He tries to lift the rag off but you hold it tighter. “Let me please.”

You release it at the soft pleading look he sends up at you. It's kinda gross. There's like little rolls of skin where it skidded on the carpet and it's all red and bleeding in a few spots. “I didn't know you wore glasses,” you say, changing the subject as he dabs at the bloody spots.

“I don't like to wear them. They make me look dorky.”

“No they don't,” you say with a hiss as he touches a particularly tender spot. “I like them.” Shawn hums and squeezes some water over the scrape. You let out a yelp and he presses the rag to it again. “I can take care of it. It's no big deal. You can go back to your place.”

Shawn gives you a look that says you know damn well he won't leave. You knew he wouldn't. “I'll go see if the desk has any first aid supplies.” He stands and kisses your head before disappearing.

You're left sitting there listening to Katie's soft snores and thinking about how good Shawn was. He was comfortable, caring and over all an amazing man. You feel lucky to know him, to have a relationship begin with him. Never had you felt a connection the way you did with him so quickly and it scares you, but also makes you feel relieved. It was like now was your time to find someone, and your grandma was right all along. Good things come to those who wait, and you sure did wait.

A few minutes later, the door to the room opens and it's Shawn who is returning with some gauze and tape for you. He bandages you up and helps you to bed. Katie is snoring loudly now, sprawled out sideways on her bed in her dress, one heel on still. You manage to change into your night shirt but skip your pants. The thought of wrestling your bandaged leg into a pair of flannel bottoms seemed too daunting.

Shawn gets you settled and when you think he's about to leave he doesn't. He turns off the bathroom light and heads for the door but instead of going out, he locks the deadbolt and turns around, joining you on the bed. It shocks you a bit. It seemed so forward of him.

“You're not staying with us.”

“You're in no shape to be left alone. Katie might need help if she wakes up and gets sick. You can barely put pressure on your leg. How am I supposed to just leave you here?”

“It's not that bad. It's just scraped up. I'm fine. I can handle Katie too.”

Shawn sighs. “Please let me stay?”

What would it hurt? “Fine. You're such a mother hen, yknow that?”

Shawn settles down into the blankets and faces you. “It's part of being a doctor I guess.” He takes his glasses off and sets them behind him on the nightstand. “Now go to sleep.”

“Easier said than done.”

Shawn reaches over and lays his hand on your side, thumb rubbing comfortingly along your ribs. “Is your knee bothering you that bad?”

“My head is pounding too.”

“Ahh. Come here.” He sits up and pats his lap. You move over and lay your head on his folded legs, looking up at him. He brushes your hair back when you get settled and you can't help but wonder how he looks good from this angle. “Can I try something?” You nod and he holds your head, thumbs rubbing into your temples.

Immediately the pounding lessens and you close your eyes and let his hands work magic on your head. You find yourself drifting off quickly, the throbbing in your leg easing up too, but probably from the pain reliever you took. The last thing you see as you try to open your eyes before the sleep takes you, is Shawn smiling down at you softly, knowing he's done his job and that your comfortable.

_____________________

The sun pours in through the thin curtains and casts streams of light across Shawn's sleeping form. He looks soft, vulnerable and relaxed. His one arm is over his head, the other across his chest. His mouth is hung open, soft lips parted ever so slightly and you can hear his slowed breathing in the silent room. This moment would be perfect to capture and you reach for your phone on your nightstand to do just that.

Shawn stirs, shifting his legs and scratching his chest as you move. You grab the phone quickly and turn back to get the photo. You're too busy trying to get the camera open and a low light setting on to notice that Shawn is awake and watching you, that is until you hold the phone up and he looks smug that he's caught you.

“What are you doing?” He asks with a sleepy grin.

“I was...just...”

“Capturing the moment? You seem to do that a lot with me.”

A blush spreads across your cheeks and down your neck. “Sometimes I'm not sure you're real, so I want to have proof.”

“Mmmhmm.” He sits up and takes your phone. “Just how often do you do this? Should I take a look, hmm?”

“No. Shawn give it back. It's mine.”

Shawn looks down at the phone in his hand and raises his eyebrows. The photo on your lock screen is the one of him outside the shop the other day. He smiles, the balls of his cheeks going pink as he hands the phone back to you. “If you want to take pictures with me, you just have to ask.”

You shake your head. “I don't like pictures of myself. I'd rather just see you.”

Shawn grabs his phone and his glasses off the nightstand. He opens up his phone and turns it to show you a picture on his lock screen. It's you. You're talking to someone out of photo and you're laughing. You're wearing his sweater and your hair is a little messy, but it's actually cute.

“When did you take that?”

“Last week. I stopped in to check on you but you were busy with a lady and her kids. I heard you laughing and I knew I had to get a photo. It's probably creepy. I'm sorry.”

“No, it's not. I mean we're kind of together, it's not like you're a stranger or something.”

“Kind of together?”

“Yeah? We haven't discussed anything?”

Shawn puts his phone down and smiles softly. “Can we discuss it now or-”

“Holy shit I'm going to throw up,” Katie says loudly as she rolls off her bed and runs to the bathroom. The sound of her puking ruins the moment entirely. How long had she been awake? Katie was one to snoop and be a fly on the wall of the rumor mill but you really hope she was asleep while you had been talking to Shawn.

“I'll check on her,” Shawn says softly, getting up and disappearing into the bathroom.

It's not long before you pack up your bag and get Katie's squared away while she sips on some soda from a vending machine in the lobby. She was so hungover she wasn't even giving you shit about Shawn staying the night. She looked miserable.

“Should I drive you home Katie?” You ask as you approach her car in the lot outside. Shawn has his arm around you for support since your knee is still hurting pretty bad.

“No, no I'm fine. I'm doing much better now. Go home with Shawn. Your knee is more important than my headache.” Katie unlocks her car and tosses her bag in the back. “Go on, we had our fun. You need to get your leg up.”

Shawn grips your side and you look up at him. “She's right, you do need to get your knee up. I'd like to look at it and make sure nothing is wrong.”

Katie waggles her eyebrows at you. “Let Dr. Shawn take care of you.” She leans in and wraps her arm around you in a hug. “Don't let him go, he's a good one,” she whispers in your ear and and you nod.

“I'll call you?”

“Anytime.” Katie gets in her car and pulls out, waving as she left you and Shawn together.

Shawn holds you tighter and you lean your head on his chest. “Now, how about that conversation we were having earlier?”

“Let's get to the car first big guy,” you say softly and he lets out a laugh. You knew last night changed a lot of things. Especially how you felt about each other.

_____________________

“So, would you like to be my girlfriend?” Shawn asks a few minutes from home. It's out of nowhere and you're taken aback by it. The two of you had been quiet for the majority of the drive until now.

“Really? I mean we've only been out twice. It's not a little fast?”

Shawn glances over and puts his hand out for you to take and you do. “I don't know? But I do know I care about you alot and I really feel something when we're together.” He brings your hand up and kisses your knuckles. The gesture makes you flush and you can't help but wonder what those soft lips would feel like on yours.

“Let's see how our next date goes. I definitely feel something for you too and it's unlike any other guys I've been with. You're different, special.”

“I can wait,” he looks over at you with a cheeky grin. “But I'm not going to tell you what the date I have planned is, if you thought bringing it up would make me spill the beans.”

“What? No! I was not...okay I was thinking it just a little. Come on, what is it?”

Shawn laughs and turns down the street toward your place. “Nope, it's a surprise. Now, let's get you inside because I need to check that knee.”

Shawn assesses your knee once you're inside and says it's just bruised and you should ice it and stay off of it as much as possible. He helps you get set up in your bed, leg up on a stack of pillows and a gel ice pack tied onto it. He stays for a little while, laying with you until his phone rings. He goes into the other room to answer and when he returns he says he needs to go, that the call is important. You don't push for more information, knowing it was probably something work related.

“I'll bring breakfast for us tomorrow,” Shawn says softly, leaning down and placing a kiss on your forehead.

You reach up and lay your hand on his cheek. “You promise?”

“I promise. I just have to take care of something. I want to stay, I do.”

“I know. Go on.”

Shawn kisses your head once more, lingering just a moment. He hums, runs his hand over your leg before pulling away and leaving you to rest. He exudes so much love that it makes your heart swell. Katie's words run around in your head, don't let him go, he's a good one. That he was. That. He was.

_____________________

It's a few days later and you're feeling much better, your knee hardly aches and the scrapes have scabbed over nicely. Shawn stops by both mornings and evenings after work to check on you. He never stays long and you're not sure why that is. He seems a little out of it on the second day, like he was distracted, maybe even nervous. You don't ask about it, not wanting to push him. If he was still weird after work today then you would ask, though you can't help but suspect it had something to do with the phone call he took the other day.

It's five minutes to closing time and you're straightening up the shop when the bell dings. You turn around fully expecting Shawn but instead you find your mother standing there. It had been nearly ten years since you last saw or spoke to either of your parents. They may as well be strangers. You wouldn't call them your parents at all really.

“H-hey,” you say quietly.

“This place looks just like it did when Grace was alive.” Your mother, no, Sherry says as she steps closer.

“What do you want?” You ask a little bit harsher than you mean to. Sherry raises her eyebrows and you hold your ground, refusing to repeat or soften your words.

“That's really no way to talk to your-”

“Mother? Hardly.”

“I sent you money for everything, I sent gifts on your birthdays. I'm sorry I couldn't be here all the time. I had a job, a career on a fishing boat. I couldn't exactly bring a child along.”

You pull your sweater of Shawn's tightly around yourself. “No. You couldn't bring a child along. Maybe you should have thought about that before getting pregnant. Or at least made plans to find new employment after you had a child.”

“It was an accident.”

The bell dings and you look past Sherry to see Shawn walking in. Now was not the time. You didn't want to do this with him around. You never wanted him to meet Sherry. “I'm sorry we're closed,” you say, voice breaking a bit as your emotions get the best of you.

Shawn ignores your words and walks up to you, blocking your view of Sherry. “Is everything okay?” He asks in a low whisper, holding your shoulders and rubbing his thumbs back and forth softly over your collar bones. “You're clearly upset.”

You shake your head, face twisting up as you fight back tears. “She's my mom,” you explain hopelessly in an attempt to make him understand that he should go and let you deal with this. He doesn't get the memo though.

“Excuse me, we are having a conversation,” Sherry quips and Shawn turns to face her.

Shawn puts his arm around you and keeps you tucked close to his side. He's a pillar of comfort and you press yourself closer. “I would beg to differ. She's clearly uncomfortable, you should probably go.”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me just fine.”

“Young man I am speaking with my daughter and I don't know who you are so-”

“I'm her...” he looks down at you, unsure of what to call you. “I'm a good friend.”

“Please leave Sherry,” you mumble, and Shawn curls his fingers into your side comfortingly.

“I'm not leaving until you fork over Tom and I's share of Grace's will.”

“Of course you want money,” you huff disgustedly. “You didn't want to come see your child you barely recognize, you just want money. What happened to all those fishing boat riches? Huh?”

Sherry picks up one of your display decorations and sneers at it. “That doesn't matter. I want my money.”

“There is no money for you. Grace left everything to me, because I'm the one who was there for her. I held her hand on her deathbed while you and Tom fucked off on some boat in the Atlantic! I watched her die and I mourned her! I mourned her and you couldn't even so much as pick up the fucking phone!”

Shawn holds on to your shaking form. His hand comes up to your hair and he turns your face into his chest as you start to cry. “Ma'am you should leave.”

“I'm not leaving until I get my inheritance money from my mother.”

“Get out or I'm calling the police,” you tremble, hand on your phone in your pocket. “I'm serious.”

“You are a greedy child, I'll be back with a lawyer. We'll see if there's no money then,” Sherry spits, turning and leaving the shop, slamming the door on the way out.

Tears spill over your cheeks, a sob wracking your body as silence fills the shop. All these years and your mother only wants money from you. Shawn gathers you in his arms and rubs your back, shushing you softly. You don't know how long he holds you but it feels like a long time as you let loose the pent up emotional turmoil from the last twenty three years of your life.

_____________________

The two of you end up in your apartment curled up on the couch watching a movie after the confrontation in the shop. You're sharing a blanket, curled into his side with his hand in your hair. It's comfortable and feels completely natural.

“Do you think she'll really get a lawyer?” You ask suddenly over the movie.

“She might, but it'll be a waste of her money if she can even afford it. The will was really all left to you right?”

“Yeah. Grandma didn't leave her anything at all. She isn't even mentioned. After they stopped trying to be some semblance of parents, Grandma was done with them. There wasn't much money anyways, just a bit of savings and the shop was all I received.”

Shawn hums. “Let her waste her money then, and don't speak to her directly again if you can. Let her lawyer speak to the curator of your grandma's will. They'll sort her out.”

You snuggle down into his side until you're laying your head on his lap, staring up at him. His lap is warm and you press your cheek against his stomach. “I'm sorry you had to deal with that, with her.”

“It's fine, drama happens. Believe me, my parents aren't perfect either.”

“Yeah?”

Shawn chuckles sadly. “Divorced when I was twelve. They lived in the same neighborhood for a while though, but god they couldn't have been more different. Dad was a hardass, always on me about grades and shit, always wanted me to be a doctor like him and here I am I guess. Mom was very much a free spirit and she remarried when I was sixteen and moved to Spain.”

“Did she come back and visit, or did you go see her?”

“Ha, right. My dad wasn't about to fund me a trip to Spain. The way he saw it she was gone for good and for the better. She called a lot, and we emailed each other frequently.” He scowls, sighing frustratedly. “I will never understand how you can hate someone you once loved and had a child with. It perplexes me the way he acted like she was the devil. I just don't know when it all changed.”

You take his hand that he's rested on your stomach. It's soft, the lemon balm you sold him seems to have worked wonders. “I guess we both have fucked up families.”

“Yeah, yeah we do. But we aren't our parents, that's what's important.”

“You're right.”

You both go quiet and watch the rest of the movie. Shawn is asleep by the end of it, head leant back on the cushions, mouth hanging open. You decide not to move, instead you use his leg as a pillow and fall asleep right there as well.

_____________________

A few days pass and you don't hear from Sherry at all. You almost wonder if she's just left town again. It's Saturday morning and it's chilly, a sweater and long sleeve shirt kind of day. Tonight is date night tonight and Shawn still hasn't told you where you're going or what you're doing. It's half past nine in the morning when you hear knocking on the door to the stairwell and you aren't expecting anyone so you jog down the steps and peek out the small window to see Shawn standing there.

“Hey you,” you smile and Shawn returns the smile warmly.

“Hey. I was wondering if you were ready?”

“Oh?” You told your head curiously. “Is this part of the secret date?”

Shawn chuckles, stuffing his hands into his pockets and kicking at something on the ground. “Ah, this is the date? Didn't you get my texts?”

You raise your eyebrows. “No?”

“Oh. Well, can you be ready to go now?” He grins sheepishly.

“Yeah, it's fine. Come inside. I'll get some better clothes on real quick.”

Shawn steps inside and follows you up the stairs, mentioning that you should dress warm and giving you a heads up that you will be outside. Since it's chilly you opt for a few layers and your hiking boots. You dig out of a pair of gloves and a scarf with a matching hat from your winter clothes tote in the storage closet and you're ready to go.

“You look very cute,” Shawn says as he takes your gloved hands and swings them. “Good thing, because I'll want some pictures.”

“What are we doing?” You laugh and he shakes his head with a playful grin.

A short car ride later and you're not too far outside of Roselake in a small town called Tarrytown. Shawn pulls into a big dirt parking lot and you see a huge sign that says Pumpkin Patch. You haven't been to a pumpkin patch since you were very young and you went on a school field trip.

“It's been so long since I've been to one of these. Oh my God. Is that a hayrack ride?” You squeal pointing to a tractor pulling a wagon with some people in it nearby.

“Yes it is, and they have fresh caramel apples I hear.”

“What are we waiting for?” You clamber out of the Jeep and Shawn is close behind.

A short wait for admission later and you're off, running with Shawn to get caramel apples and cider. The corn maze is next and Shawn can see over most of it because it's dried up so much but he won't tell you which way to go and laughs when you go to a dead end. You end up cutting through the corn walls in the end while Shawn chases you. He catches up at the exit and picks you up, spinning you around before he tosses you in a haystack.

The two of you go to a horseshoe pit near the line for the hayrack ride and play until the line goes down. Shawn insisted he wanted a more private ride but you didn't care. When you do finally board the ride, after beating him in two rounds of horseshoes, he shrugs his jacket off and puts it around you. You sit together nearest to the back of the tractor and you're the only ones on it since it's the smaller wagon that was rotating with the larger one.

Shawn puts his arm around you and you lean your head against him. The soft bumps and rattling of the wagon make you feel so happy and content with the moment. “Are you having fun?”

You glance up at his soft face as he smiles down at you. “Yeah, of course. This is amazing. I love this place.”

“Me too. I hope I can bring my kids here one day.”

“You want kids?”

Shawn shifts closer to hold you as the wagon goes over some big bumps. “Someday I do. I love kids, they're so interesting and full of excitement. I think I'd be a good dad.”

“Wow. Pretty deep conversation,” you smile and he clears his throat as if he is embarrassed. “I want kids too. I wanna give them an amazing life with two parents that love them very much and I want to give them everything I didn't or couldn't have.”

“You'd be a great mom. I bet you'd read to them every night.”

“Of course. What about you?”

“I'd read along with you, maybe act out some parts.”

You sit back and look at him with a smile so big it hurts your face. “With me, huh?”

“I mean hypothetically, like y'know...”

“Just admit it, you have thought about having a kid with me.”

Shawn turns bright pink all the way to his ears. “Oh come on do you have to tease me like that? We haven't even kissed. Why would I-”

You lean in quick and a bump presses your lips together a little harsher than you mean it to but it's sweet nonetheless. Shawn chases your lips as you start to pull away, his hand coming up to cup your jaw. He kisses you two more times, slow presses against your soft lips. “I've wanted to do that for so long,” you mumble, cheeks flushed.

“Me too.”

The driver announces that the ride is stopping and you pull away from Shawn to let him put his jacket back on. He helps you off the wagon and takes your hand in his, warm fingers slotted between your cold ones. Your last stop is the barn where there are pumpkins to be picked out and taken home. You and Shawn end up with one large pumpkin each and a bag full of little gourds and baby pumpkins because he couldn't decide on any to put back.

A long car ride later and you're sleepy and it's only a little after noon time. Shawn pulls up at the bookshop and you stir from your cat nap against the window. Everything feels sluggish and weird.

“Hey, we're home. I was going to ask if you wanted to carve out pumpkins but you seem really tired.” Shawn reaches across and puts his hand to your forehead. “Do you feel okay?”

“Yes, just got sleepy. Thank you for an amazing date. It was very fun,” you smile, head turned toward him.

Shawn leans over and kisses you softly, hand on your cheek as you smile sleepily and happily at him. “It was very fun. Now come on, let's get these pumpkins inside. We can carve them in a few days.”

_____________________

A full week passes before you hear anything more from Sherry. In fact you completely forget about her because you're spending all your free time with Shawn. He cooks you dinner at his place on Monday. You go to a movie on Tuesday. Wednesday and Thursday are nights in at your place. Friday he takes you down to the harbour and you walk on the beach. Saturday you go to a fair over in the next town and he tries to kiss you on the ferris wheel, but a gust of wind blows your hat off and smacks him in the face. Sunday is dinner at his place again, this time candle lit and extremely romantic.

You're on your way home from Shawn's place on Monday morning when you round the corner of your street and see the front door of the shop is standing open. Shawn stops the Jeep and puts his arm over your chest to keep you from trying to leave. “Don't get out. You don't know who could be in there.”

“But Alice, if she's hurt...” You take a deep breath, trying to steady your emotions. “Why would someone do this?”

“I don't know. Do you think Sherry would do something like this? I know she was upset but...”

“Oh my God,” you laugh in disbelief, “you're absolutely right. She probably broke in to see if she could find the money that doesn't exist.”

“We need to call the police.”

You reach for your phone in your bag and as soon as you get it out, Sherry walks out of the shop. She has a purse with her and you can only assume the contents of your safe. What an absolute scum of a human being. You dial the police and make a report right there in the car while Shawn gets out and goes in to find Alice for you.

A few minutes later and Officer Jones arrives to asses the damage and theft. He takes pictures and statements from you and Shawn. Alice is fine, hiding in the supply closet until Officer Jones leaves. The whole situation is surreal. You knew Sherry was a piece of work, but good Lord you didn't peg her as a thief.

“I can't believe she took everything. Every last penny in the safe,” you groan, leaning forward with your head in your hands. “She took my savings for Nani's wedding that I hadn't deposited yet.”

“Babe, you're going to get it back,” Shawn says softly, rubbing your back. “They will catch her, it's a small town.”

“But what if she spends it? I'm fucked then.” You start to cry. “I won't be able to go to Nani's wedding. It's this next weekend too, I'm never gonna make it.”

“I'll get you a ticket.”

“What?” You wipe your eyes and stare at Shawn. “I couldn't ask that of you.”

“You're not asking, I'm offering,” he says, cupping your cheeks. “I want you to be with your best friend on her wedding day. You deserve it. You deserve a vacation, you work too hard.”

“It's so expensive.”

“I'm a doctor. I think I can afford to send you to the Philippines.”

You reach out and hug him close and he tucks your face into his shoulder. “Thank you, I promise I’ll pay you back.”

“No, don’t worry about it. I don’t want you to be fretting over paying me back the whole time. Consider it an early Christmas gift.”

_____________________

“He's paying for your ticket and your mother robbed you? Holy shit what kind of wild place has Roselake become since I left?” Nani laughs in disbelief.

“I know, it's absolutely insane. I can't believe it myself. My sleepy little life has become pretty crazy since Shawn showed up.”

“Speaking of which, how has things been with Dr. Dreamy?”

You flop back on the bed and sigh heavily. “Amazing. We've been seeing each other every night for the past two weeks. Can you believe he hasn't made a move on me yet?”

“What? How? Why? Is he one of those guys who save themselves for marriage or like does he have herpes or something?”

“Nani! God! No he's perfectly fine. I think he just doesn't want to rush things. We've kissed and made out a lot and got close a few times to something more.”

“Ohmygod. You better sleep with him before you come to the wedding. Lock that man down before you're gone for a week.”

“Yeah yeah, I'll see about that.  I gotta go, it's time for dinner and he's taking me out. See you soon Nani, love you.”

“Love you!” Nani says with a kissy noise into the phone.

You hang up and get up to get dressed. Shawn said he was taking you somewhere nice for dinner since it would be the last night before you left for the Philippines. You're excited, assuming he's probably going to take you into the city. You can't wait.

_____________________

You were absolutely right. He picked you up and when you asked where you were going he said that it was a surprise but it was in the city. It takes a while, nearly twenty five minutes to get into the city from Roselake and then a little longer to get to your destination. Shawn rests his hand on your thigh for most of the drive and it gives you butterflies like crazy.

When you finally arrive at the restaurant Shawn chose, it's dark out, the street lights have come on and there are white Christmas lights strung around every tree along the street Shawn parks on. There are people everywhere, the place is crawling with excitement. The city was so different than Roselake, you would probably never get used to it.  

“Come on,” Shawn says softly, taking your hand and leading you to the front doors of a very fancy looking old brick building. He pulls the door open and ushers you inside. “Mendes, party of two,” he says to the host at the podium nearby.

“Right this way,” the host says, leading the two of you past full tables and into a little alcove that had a window that looked out on the busy street.

“This place is really nice,” you laugh, glancing around at the decor. It's all very high end and posh looking. The waiter stops by and takes your drink order and leaves a few menus.  

“It is really nice. I wanted to take you somewhere special,” Shawn smiles, looking down at the menu.

You eye him suspiciously. He was up to something. “Why's that?” you ask, leaning forward to get him to look at you.

“Well because you're going to be gone for a week and I wanted to make our last evening together nice.”

The waiter returns and takes your orders but you send him away for another minute. “Shawn, we could have just stayed home and had a good time with a movie and popcorn. Why does it feel like this is the last time we're going to see each other like in a bad way?”

Shawn raises his eyebrows. “What? No of course not. I'm just going to miss you.”

“Oh. Right.” You chuckle nervously. You can't help but feel like something was wrong, like there was something he wasn't telling you.

Dinner goes great, the food is amazing and Shawn keeps the conversation light. It feels strange, even though he was acting much the same as he always did. You couldn't shake the feeling. After dinner Shawn takes you out and around the downtown area. He shows you the hospital he worked at and you go to a park and look at the festive holiday lights display that's set up. The evening is a dream and if you didn't obviously know better, you'd say he would propose to you. It would actually be a perfect setting for it, but the two of you weren't at the point in your relationship. Hell. He hadn't even slept with you yet. Suddenly, on the drive home you realize how strange that is. You had been going out and seeing each other for nearly three months and he had only let you go as far as kissing and exploring with your hands. That bad feeling was coming back, twisting your stomach into a knot. You knew this was too good to be true.

Shawn pulls up and helps you out of the Jeep at your place. You can't help but think that he's going to still tell you something that was going to bring everything crumbling down around you.

“Thanks for dinner, and a great night,” you smile half heartedly, inching toward your door.

“You're welcome, I had a great time too,” he chuckles, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “Do you still need me to pick you up tomorrow?”

Shit. That's right. He was taking you to the airport in the morning. “Yeah, yeah, thank you again.”

“Yeah,” he steps forward and lays his hand on your upper arm. He leans in and kisses you gently.  “Goodnight darling.”

“Goodnight Shawn.” You turn and push open the door and head up the stairs slowly. You were disappointed to say in the least. You reach the top step and there's knocking at the door. Maybe you forgot something in the Jeep. You jog down the stairs and pull the door open. “What's the ma-”

Shawn leans in, hands coming up to hold your cheeks as he kisses you. Your body goes slack, hardly managing to keep you on your feet as he works his soft lips against yours hungrily. You grab for his jacket and pull him in, the door falling closed behind him. He walks you against the wall and only then does he pull away just enough to talk.

“I can explain,” he chuckles breathily. “I've wanted to do more for a very long time but I've been afraid to.”

“What? Why?” You lean up, kissing him softly, lips warm against yours. “You're pretty good at kissing and you're definitely good with your hands.”

“I was scared of moving too fast. I fell too hard too fast for a girl in college and it fucked me up when she left after we hooked up. I didn't want that again, not with you.”

“Shawn,” you whisper, bringing your hands up to cup his cheeks. “I'm way too into you to leave at this point.”

“I was really hoping you'd say that,” he grins, reaching around and hauling you up. You wrap your legs around his waist as he walks you up the stairs.

Shawn ends up staying the night, not that either of you get much sleep. He undresses you in the bedroom, slow and gentle, kissing along your shoulders and back the whole time. His mouth works wonders on your whole body, kissing, sucking, teasing places you didn't even know we're sensitive until he showed you. He's careful, checking with you every so often as he brings you to orgasm after orgasm. He fucks you nice and slow, rolling his hips into you and holding you close as he tells you how beautiful you are and how lucky he is to have you.

Post sex you're on the bed, cuddling, exploring each other lazily. His skin is soft and warm and you love the way he jerks when you ghost your fingertips up his stomach. Lazy kissing and touching leads to another round of slow loving sex, this time with you on top, him hugging you tight as he rolls his hips up into you. You're sure you've never had sex with anyone before Shawn, at least it didn't seem that way. Shawn made it seem like it was more than just getting off, more than just a game. He made you forget your very few exes, forget everything you'd experienced before and replaced it with the best feeling in the world. You know now you'd never had sex with someone who loved you, because this was loving sex. This was what it was supposed to be like.

_____________________

It's fifteen minutes until your flight and you and Shawn are literally running through the terminal to get to your gate. You’re on the phone with Officer Jones about Sherry and the break in the other day. They’ve recovered the money and she will be charged for breaking in entry. You let the officer know you’re on your way out of country for a wedding, and that you’ll pick up the money when you get back. You pocket your phone and Shawn raises his eyebrows as you tell him hurriedly that you will be getting your money back. Both of you had overslept, hitting the alarm at least twice before getting up and dressed. Shawn had thrown on his wrinkled clothes from date night, and you dressed in what might qualify as pajamas but who cared. You're sure you look like quite a pair running through the airport.

“Gate 2C is now boarding.”

Shawn grabs your suitcase, lifting it off it's rattling wheels and tucking it under his arm. The two of you make it to the security gate and you have just a second or two before last call for boarding.

“Last call for Gate 2C,” a security officer yells from a few feet away. You know she's yelling at you. Shawn passes you your suitcase and you hurry for the security turnstile.

“I'll see you in a week!” You yell back as you squeeze through the gate where the security officer takes your bag for screening.

“Be safe! I love you!” Shawn yells and you pause. Did he really just say I love you?

You can't go back, the officer is ushering you forward around the corner to the body scan area. You want to turn around and run back so badly, you had to know if what you heard was right. You can't even text him because you're phone is in a bin for scanning. Your heart is racing, hands sweaty. He didn't say that. He wouldn't say that. He probably said “I'll see you”. Yeah. That's what he said.

_____________________

Two connecting flights and fourteen hours later and you arrive at the resort where the wedding is being held. Nani is elated to see you but you're exhausted. She helps you settle into your room, even makes you some tea before leaving you to sleep. You finally get to text Shawn only to find out that your pay as you go plan has expired. You curse yourself for being so cheap and not signing up for a contract plan.

The next morning Nani wakes you up with last minute wedding plans. She says she has the perfect groomsmen for you to walk with. Frankly you don't care who you walk with as long as it's not Erik's friend Mike. He was a dick and you'd only met him once, but once was more than enough. She promises it's not Mike but she wants to surprise you so she won't tell you.

Dress shopping and fitting with Nani and three other girls is a nightmare. It's Erik's sister Maggie, Nani's sister Hana, and Nani's other best friend from college, Maija. No one can settle on one style but the color is not debatable. Nani wants light pink and that's that. By the end of the day you have a dress, shoes and an appointment made to get your hair done tomorrow before the wedding. You still don't know who you're walking in the wedding with but you can't care. You're exhausted. The second your head hits the pillow of your hotel bed you're out cold.

Post hair and makeup and you're at the chapel in the resort, waiting in a room for Nani's wedding planner, Tara, to usher you out to meet your groomsman. You're last in line but you don't mind. Tara comes in and says she's ready, your groomsman is waiting at the doors.

You follow Tara out and walk up to the guy standing with his back to you. His suit is black with a pale pink button down peeking out around the sleeves. He's tall, like a lot taller than you and he has soft dark curls. From behind he was cute, hopefully his face wasn't too bad either. Tara steps away and goes to get the ring bearer ready.

“Hi, I'm...” You trail off as you approach the guy and he turns to look at you. Your heart stops. Standing before you is Shawn. Here. In the Philippines at Nani's wedding. You have so many questions you don't know where to start. “What are you doing here?!” you manage to blurt out, still transfixed on the man before you.

Shawn laughs, his eyes crinkling and mouth open wide as he throws his head back. “I have my ways. I'll tell you later, we have a wedding to attend right now.” He put his arm out for you and you loop yours with it.

“You look good in a suit,” you whisper as you walk beside him to the altar. “I like the pink shirt.”

“You look stunning,” he grins, kissing your cheek before pulling away as he goes to join the other groomsmen. You can't help but stare at him in awe as the music begins to play and Nani walks in with her father. How did he get here? Who did he plan this with? So many questions and you would have to wait forever until you got any answers.

The ceremony is nearly over and Nani and Erik are exchanging the last of the vows. You glance away from them to see Shawn mouthing the words Erik is repeating and you raise your eyebrows. He hasn't seen you yet, and you're glad because you find yourself mouthing along to Nani's repetition as well. Erik's brother Jason elbows Shawn and he looks at you. You flush and he grins nervously.

Pictures follow the ceremony and you're sick of sucking your stomach in and posing after the first few minutes. You don't want to pose for a billion photos, you just want to talk to Shawn. Not only was he here and you don't know how, you need to know if he said I love you in the airport.

Another hour passes and you go from the chapel to the lawn of the resort that was set up for the reception. It's not until several toasts are made and food is served that you get to talk to Shawn.

You're on the patio turned dance floor when Shawn wraps his arms around you and lifts you up from behind, spinning you around. “You look so pretty I can't deal with it,” he mutters, pressing his face into your hair.

“Stopp,” you giggle and he sets you down, hands going to your pinned up hair. “Don't you undo this bun. Nani will kill you.”

“But...please? Your hair is so beautiful when it's down.” Shawn twirls his finger around a stray piece along your cheek. “I'm so glad I got to see you like this.”

“You still need to explain to me how and why you’re here.”

“Well,” he grins, looking over at Nani and Erik. “Erik and I actually went to school together. You were talking about Nani the other day and the name seemed so familiar but I couldn't figure out why, but then you mentioned the wedding and her fiance's name was Erik. And I knew the Erik I know was getting married soon too. I texted him and found out that it was the same person all along.”

“Wow, that's crazy. Of all the people you went to college with... ohmygod. Had Nani met you already?”

Shawn nods. “I've met her a few times in the past few years. Mostly at parties and stuff. Small world huh?”

You lay your hands on his chest and smile up at him. “Do you love me?”

“Wh-what?”

“At the airport, I swear I heard you yell that you love me when you told me to be safe. Am I wrong?”

Shawn flushes and clears his throat. You know you've caught him and he can't lie his way out of this. Not that he seemed like he was going to. “I uh...I said that. It was a slip of the tongue. Instinct y'know.”

“Mhmm, I hope so. It's a little early for I love you's.”

“It is, but I do care for you deeply and I'm very into you.”

“I'm very into you too,” you giggle. Shawn goes to say something but the high-pitched feedback of the microphone grabs your attention. It's Nani, she has grabbed the DJs microphone and is announcing she is going to throw the bouquet now. You roll your eyes as she points at you and urges you to join the crowd of single and unwed ladies around the front table.

Shawn kisses your cheek and pushes you forward. “Go get the bouquet, you know you want it.”

You laugh, yelling back, “You do know what it means when someone catches it right?”

“Of course I do! Go get it!”

You hurry to the front and Nani turns around, counting down from five before tossing it back. Pink petals fall across the table as the flowers soar through the air towards the group. An eruption of giggles and squeals break out around you. It's headed for you but you're pretty sure it's going to go over your head.

You reach for the bouquet as it sails past your fingertips. You turn to look back and see who has it and you're met with a solid chest to the face. It's Shawn. You look up and he's beaming. He lowers his arm and in in his hand is the bouquet.

“I think these are yours,” he whispers, handing you the flowers. “Good thing I could reach them for you.”

“Thank you,” you murmur as you take them and smell the roses.  “I dunno if the superstition of the bouquet applies to groomsmen.”

“We'll have to find out.” Shawn grins and leans down, pressing his lips to yours and pulling you closer against him. There's an eruption of applause and whistles followed by someone shouting to look at the sky.

You pull back from Shawn and look up just as a falling star soars overhead, streaking across the darkened sky. “You should make a wish.”

Shawn hums, catching your gaze as you look to see if he is wishing. “I don't want to be too greedy. I made a wish on a falling star a long time ago. I think it already came true.” He leans down and kisses you softly, smiling as you wrap your arms around his neck.

“Mine did too.”

_____________________

Ten Months Later

A small two story brick house sits across from the newly opened Roselake West Clinic on Main Street. It's old, an original Roselake residence that has been remodeled recently. In the driveway are two cars, a Jeep and a small hybrid car that's bright blue. Sitting in the window is a large black cat, staring at the birds landing in the trees in the front yard.

Inside there is a half put together home. Boxes labeled laundry, living room, bedroom and kitchen. Furniture sits where it was left by movers, an air conditioner hums throughout the house, cooling it on this warm summer day and in the bedroom is you, four months pregnant and frustrated.

“Shawn, do you know where my yellow sundress is?” You yell across the house as you dig through  yet to be unpacked boxes littering the bedroom of your new house. “I can't wear jeans again, I'll suffocate!”

Shawn walks into the room and goes to the closet. He pulls out the exact yellow sundress in question and holds it up. “You hung it up with your other dresses last night.”

“Oh,” you walk over and grab it, flush with embarrassment. “Thank you.”

“You're starting to get baby brain.” Shawn steps close, hands on your belly that's starting to show. “Don't go totally crazy on me now.”

“Oh shut up,” you giggle. He rubs up and down your sides and pulls you into a hug. “I'm not going crazy.”

“I'd love you even if you were.”

You wrap your arms around him and he kisses your head. “I sure hope so. You signed up for this.”

“And I'd never back out,” he smiles, kissing your nose. He looks down at your belly and rubs gently. “Even if you make your mom crazy.”

“Shawn,” you groan and he chuckles.

“Alright I'm done teasing you. We need to get to the appointment with the wedding planner.”

“We need to get our house together too.”

You pull your sundress over your head and fluff your hair out behind you. Shawn gathers and braids it down the back for you before pulling you into a hug.

“Planner first, then lunch, then house? I know it's stressing you out and you need to nest. I promise we'll get it all sorted out today.”

“Pinky promise?”

Shawn hooks his pinky with yours and kisses your cheek. “I always keep my promises.”

“I know,” you rest your head back against his chest.

“Love you the most,” he murmurs, kissing your temple.

“Love you more.”

The End.

______________________________________

Please reblog if you enjoyed it. Please send me feedback via ask, reblog, reply or message. Thank you so much for everyone who supported me while writing this, I never could have done it with out you all. - A.

[buzzdixonwriter]

Colonialism

You back into things sometimes.

One of my many guilty pleasures is old school pulp, which I first encountered with the Doc Savage reprints in the 1960s, then old anthologies, then back issues at conventions, and now thanks to the Internet, an almost limitless supply.

And to be utterly frankly, a lot of the appeal lays in the campiness of the covers and interior art -- brass plated damsels fighting alien monsters, bare chested heroes combatting insidious hordes, etc., etc., and of course, etc.

Once past age 12, I never took these covers or the covers of modern pulps such as James Bond, Mike Hammer, or Modesty Blaise seriously; they were just good, campy fun.

While my main focus remained on the sci-fi pulps, I also kept an eye on crime and mystery pulps, war stories, and what are sometimes called “sweaties”, i.e., men’s adventure magazines.

Despite the differences in the titles and genres, certain themes seemed to pop up again and again.

Scantily clad ladies, typically in some form of distress, though on occasion dishing out as good if not better than they got.

Well, the pulps that drew my attention were the pups made for a primarily male audience (though even in the 1930s and 40s there were large numbers of female readers and writers in the sci-fi genre).  Small wonder I was drawn to certain types of eye candy; I had been culturally programmed that way.

That’s a topic well worthy of a post or two on its own, so I’m putting gender issues / the patriarchy / the male gaze aside for the moment.

What I’m more interested in focusing on is the second most popular characters to appear on the covers (and in the stories as well).

The Other.

The Other comes in all shapes / sizes / ethnicities.  Tall and short, scrawny and beefy, light or dark, you name it, they’ve got a flavor for you.

“Injuns” and aliens, Mongols and mafiosi, Africans and anarchists.

Whoever they were ”they ain’t us!”

Certain types of stories lend themselves easily to depicting the villainous Other.

Westerns, where irate natives can always be counted on to launch an attack.

War stories, where the hero (with or without an army to help him) battles countless numbers of enemies en masse.

Adventure stories, where the hero intrudes in some other culture and shows them the error of their ways.

Detective stories, where the Other might be a single sinister mastermind but still represents an existentialist threat.

And my beloved sci-fi stories?

Why, we fans told ourselves our stories were better than that!  We didn’t wallow in old world bigotry, demonizing blacks and browns and other non-whites because of their skins.

Oh, no:  We demonized green skinned aliens.

Now I know some of you are sputtering “But-but-but you wrote for GI Joe!”

Boy howdy, are you correct.

And boy howdy, did we ever exploit the Other with that show.

I never got a chance to do it, but I pitched -- and had Hasbro accept -- a story that would have been about the way I envisioned Cobra to have formed and been organized, and would focus on what motivated them.

They were pretty simplistic greedheads in the original series, but I felt the rank and file needed to be fighting for a purpose, something higher to spire to that mere dominance and wealth.

I never got to do “The Most Dangerous Man In The World” but I was trying to break out of the mold. 

For the most part, our stories fit right into the old trope of The Other.

Ours were mostly about the evil Other trying to do something nefarious against our innocent guys, but there’s an obverse narrative other stories follow, in which our guys go inflict themselves on The Other until our guys either come away with a treasure (rightfully belonging to The Other but, hey, they really don’t deserve it so we’re entitled to take it from them), or hammer The Other into submission so they will become good ersatz copies of us (only not so uppity as to demand equal rights or respect or protection under law).

These are all earmarks of a very Western (in the sense of Europe and America…with Australia and New Zealand thrown in) sin:  Colonialism.

Now, before going further let’s get out terms straight.

There’s all sorts of different forms of colonialism, and some of them can be totally benign -- say a small group of merchants and traders from one country travel to a foreign land and set up a community there where they deal honorably and fairly with the native population.

The transplanted merchants are a “colony” in the strictest sense of the term, but they coexist peacefully in a symbiotic relationship with the host culture and both sides benefit, neither at the expense of the other.

Oh, would that they could all be like that…

Another form of colonialism -- and one we Americans are overly familiar with even though there are all sorts of variants on this basic idea -- is the kind where one culture invades the territory of another and immediately begins operating in a deliberately disruptive nature to the native population.

They seek to enslave & exploit or, failing that, expel or eradicate the natives through any means possible.

It’s the story of Columbus and the conquistadors and the pilgrims and the frontiersmen and the pioneers and the forty-niners and the cowboys and the robber barons.

It’s the story where different groups are deliberately kept separate from one another by the power structure in place, for fear they will band together and usurp said power structure (unless, of course, they band together to kelp make one of ours their leader, and build a grand new empire just for him).

It’s the story where our guys never need make a serious attempt to understand the point of view of The Other, because they are just strawmen to mow down, sexy lamps to take home.

I think my taste in sci-fi and modern pulp writing in general started to change around the mid-1970s.

Being in the army quickly cleared me of a lot of preconceptions I had about what our military did and how they did it.

The easy-peasy moral conflicts of spy novels and international thrillers seem rather thin and phony compared to the real life complexities of national and global politics.

Long before John Wick I was decrying a type of story I referred to as “You killed my dog so you must die.”  Some bad guy (typically The Other) does a bad thing and so the good guy (one of ours -- yea!) must punish him.

Make him hurt.

Make him whimper

Make him crawl.

Make him suffer.

The real world ain’t like that.

Fu Machu falls to Ho Chi Minh.

As entertaining as the fantasy of humiliating and annihilating our enemies may be…we gotta come to terms with them, we gotta learn to live with them.

That’s why my favorite sci-fi stories now are less about conflict and more about comprehension.

It’s better to understand than to stand over.

. . .

The colonial style of storytelling as the dominant form of story telling is fairly recent, dating only from the end of the medieval period in Europe and the rise of the so-called age of exploration.

This is not to say colonial story telling didn’t exist before them -- look at what Caesar wrote, or check out Joshua and Judges in the Old Testament -- but prior to the colonial age it wasn’t the dominant form of storytelling.

Most ancient stories involve characters who, regardless of political or social standing, recognize one another as human beings.

And when gods or monsters appear, they are usually symbols of far greater / larger forces & fates, not beasts to be subdued or slain.

Medieval literature is filled with glorious combat and conflict, but again, it’s the conflict of equals and for motives and rationales that can easily be understood.

It was only when the European nations began deliberately invading and conquering / dominating foreign lands that colonialism became the dominant form of storytelling.

It had to:  How else could a culture justify its swinish behavior against fellow human beings?

Even to this day, much (if not most) popular fiction reflects the values of colonialism.

Heroes rarely change.

Cultures even less.

We’ve kept The Other at arms length with popular fiction and media, sometimes cleverly hiding it, sometimes cleverly justifying it, but we’ve had this underlying current for hundreds of years.

Ultimately, it hasn’t served us well.  

It traps us in simplistic good vs evil / us vs them narratives that fail to take into account the complex nature of human society and relationships.

It gives us pat answers instead of probing questions.

It is zero sum storytelling: The pie is only so big, there can’t be more, and if the hero doesn’t get it all, he loses.  (John D. MacDonald summed up this philosophy in the title of one of his books:  The Girl, The Gold Watch, And Everything.)

It’s possible to break out of that mind set -- The Venture Brothers animated series brilliant manages to combine old school pulp tropes with a very modern, very perceptive deconstruction of the form -- but as posted elsewhere, imitation is the sincerity form of flattery that mediocrity can pay to greatness, so while I certainly applaud The Venture Brothers I don’t want to encourage others to follow in their footsteps.

Because they won’t.

They’ll pretend they will, but they’ll veer off course and back into the old Colonialism mindset.

We need to break out, break free.

Here in the U.S. it’s African-American History Month.

The African-American experience is far from the Colonialism that marks most white / Western / Christian storytelling (and by storytelling I include history and journalism as well as fiction; in fact, anything and everything that tells a narrative).

It’s a good time to open our eyes, to see the world around us not afresh, but for the first time.

Remove the blinders. 

I said sometimes you back into things.

Getting a clearer view of the world I’m in didn’t come from a straightforward examination.

It came from a counter-intuitive place, it found its way back to the beginning not by accepting what others said was the true narrative, but by following individual threads.

It came from Buck Rogers and the Beat Generation and Scrooge McDuck and the sexual revolution and Zen And The Art Of Motorcycle Maintenance and the civil rights era and Dangerous Visions and the Jesus Movement and Catch-22 and the Merry Pranksters.

It came from old friends, some of whom inspired me, some of whom disappointed me, and yet the disappointments probably led to a deeper, more penetrating insight into the nature of the problem.

This Colonialism era must come to a close.

It can no longer sustain itself, not in the world we inhabit today.

It requires a new breed of storytellers -- writers and artists and poets and journalists who can offer 

It’s not a world that puts up barriers by race or gender, ethnicity or orientation, ability or age.

There’s ample opportunity for open minds.

All it asks of us is a new soul.

  © Buzz Dixon

[rebelminxy]

Now or Never-Chapter 1

Pairing: Jared Padalecki x Reader

Rating: Teen (only this chapter will have this rating)

Word Count: 2561

Summary: Jared Padalecki is a star on a hit series Supernatural and has dedicated his life to the show and his family. And now that the show has aired its final season and his kids are older, he is realizing there are a few things in life he could get back. Especially a certain someone he met a few years ago. Now that she is back in his life, he plans on not missing his second chance with her and hopefully gets the girl that took his heart that one Halloween night.

A/N: This story is written with the line that Jared and Gen are divorced and best friends. This is in no way to disrespect the Padalecki family and I send so much positive love to them and their children. This is only written for fictional purposes only and hopefully, you will enjoy it. And no, there won’t be any spoilers involving season 15! And the costume the reader wears is the same bodysuit Shakira wore in her music video She Wolf but I gave it a bit of a twist. That song gave me the inspiration for this chapter.

Series Masterlist

SPNKinkBingo

     Jared walked out of his trailer, still dressed in his “Sam” outfit from earlier that day. He waved over to a few crew members who were making their way over to the studio building where they had been filming earlier. He walked a bit behind them, the music growing louder the closer he got. Once he was standing at the open doorway, he searched through the crowd until he found them. He made his way through the crowd towards Jensen and Danneel, who were talking to the new actress on set Genevieve. Jensen was dressed in the costume Dee brought him, a plastic Gladiator suit and she was dressed in a white toga. Since both women went costume shopping for the Halloween party that was thrown together last minute, it seemed like Gen decided to go along with the toga decision. 

“Looks like I missed the costume memo,” Jared joked as he greeted the trio. 

“Dee did offer to get you a costume,” Jensen chuckled, looking at Jared’s attire.

“Hey, this counts as a costume. I’m dressed up as a character.”

“Yeah,” Dee interjected. “But you would have been a great gladiator too.”

“I’m not much for costumes, but thanks Dee for offering,” Jared chuckled as he looked over at Gen, eyeing her up and down in her toga. It wasn’t as body forming as Dee’s but Jared couldn’t help but notice how pretty Gen looked. 

     The four stood there talking and laughing, watching the rest of the party members have fun and dance. Dee and Jensen had gone out on the dance floor a couple of times, Jared and Gen joining them for two dances, but they mostly stood back by the punch bowl table and conversed with each other. Jared did notice how often Gen was checking her phone, constantly looking up at the entrance.

“Hey Dee,” Jared whispered as he leaned in closer to her. “You sure Gen is having fun? She keeps looking at her phone.”

“Oh, she’s waiting on a friend that is taking her to a party after this one. Gen is just worried about her friend getting lost since it's her first time in Canada.”

     Jared responded with an ‘ahh’ and turned his attention back to Gen, now curious who this friend could be. After another 30 minutes, Gen smiled widely as she looked to her right, waving towards a girl that was walking straight towards them. Jared’s eyes went wide and felt his breath hitch as he watched the beautiful woman swaying her hips towards them.

     She was wearing a skin-tight brown bodysuit that did nothing to hide her curves. But the suit was cut off at her right shoulder, her left hip and a curved opening that exposed the skin under her right breast down to her belly button. The edges of each cutoff were torn and smaller random areas exposing bits of skin as if claws ripped through the cloth. She wore high heel boots, a brown on the right foot and a cream-colored one on the left. A furry tail that reached the back of her knees swung behind her, various shades of brown and white. She also wore a gold chain around her waist like a belt, probably holding the tail in place. Her hair was curled all wild and in disarray, on purpose most definitely. There were tufts of fur along her neck and the edges of her face, the same color as the tail. Her makeup was done to give her a wolf-like face and long black nails in the shape of claws finished the entire look. 

     Once she reached Gen, she gave her a wide smile and a hug, the girls giggling as they greeted each other.

“I thought you got lost!” Gen exclaimed.

“Nah, just took longer on my costume than planned.”

“It looks awesome, but you really had to go with showing so much skin?” Gen groaned.

“Hey, it's Halloween and this is the only time I can get away with this!”

“And your cosplay events,” Gen noted. “But let me introduce my new friends. Jensen, Danneel, and Jared meet (Y/N) (Y/L/N). We’ve known each other since middle school.”

     (Y/N) greeted Jensen and Dee with a handshake but when she turned to greet Jared, he felt his breath get taken from him once again. Her (Y/C/E) eyes drew him in so easily, and when their skin touched for the handshake, he felt an electric shock go through his body. This was a first for him, never feeling this much for someone in such a short time. There was something about this girl that caught his attention and it wasn’t just the revealing costume.

     But he couldn’t ignore how sexy she was.

“Nice to meet you, (Y/N),” he said softly.

“Pleasure is all mine,” she responded with a purr to her tone, her long lashes fluttering as she blinked repeatedly. She quickly turned to face Gen and gave her a big smile. “Ready to go? The party has already started and we still have a 30-minute drive.”

“Sure, but would it be ok with you if we brought them along? They live in the area so we won’t have to drive around.” Gen begged as she gave (Y/N) a puppy look.

“Fine, the more the merrier,” (Y/N) giggled as she grabbed Gen’s arm and pulled her through the crowd. The trio followed the two girls, saying goodbye to whom they passed by.

     By the time they left the building, Gen and (Y/N) were in the car waiting. The trio piled in the back and (Y/N) pulled off, speeding down the road once she was off the lot. 

“She tends to drive fast but has thankfully never gotten into an accident,” Gen laughed at everyone in the back, Thriller by Michael Jackson playing on the radio.

“Yet,” (Y/N) added, causing Gen to laugh even more.

     They finally reached their destination, which surprised Jared since it was the same apartment complex he and Jensen lived in.

“So this is why you said you wouldn’t need a ride home,” exclaimed Dee.

“Yeah, the party is all along the top floor,” answered (Y/N). “A friend of mine has a cousin that lives on that floor and since everyone was thinking of throwing a Halloween party, they all decided to make it one giant party. Access to all the apartments and certain bedrooms for folks that want to, get it on if you know what I mean.” (Y/N) wiggled her eyebrows in the rearview mirror at everyone in the back.

“It’s invite-only and since (Y/N/N) here knows the cousin, I got invited. And since you two live in the building, I imagine they will be ok with you three joining,” Gen added with a giggle as (Y/N) drove into the private parking garage, taking the spot next to Gen’s car.

     They all got out of the car and rode the elevator up to the top floor, the base of the music getting louder as they got closer. Once the elevator doors opened, the five got out to find many couples making out in the hallway. 

“Party ends at midnight by order of the complex owner so we got two hours to have fun!” (Y/N) exclaimed as she ran down the hall. She suddenly jumped onto a guy’s back and her giggles could be heard as he carried her into one of the open doors.

“Well, let’s enjoy!” Gen exclaimed as she walked down the hall, Dee right beside her.

     As Jared and Jensen walked behind the girls, Jensen leaned in to whisper.

“So, who is going home with you tonight, greek goddess or she wolf?”

“Dude, seriously!”

“Jare, I saw how you were checking out (Y/N) earlier and you made it obvious you weren’t too happy with her on that guy just now.”

“Dude, I just met her tonight.”

“Doesn’t mean she didn’t leave a big impression on ya. Just curious if its the costume.”

“I don’t plan on taking either home, plus Gen and I are trying to give ‘us’ a go. I don’t want to ruin that, especially with her best friend.”

     Jared walked away from Jensen, catching up with Gen. The four walked around the party floor, watching the craziness from one apartment to the other. They danced and enjoyed a few too many drinks. Eventually, Jensen had to say goodbye, Dee drunk to the point that she could barely walk. Jared and Gen were stumbling around, laughing at each other when they finally reached an apartment that was slightly quiet. They landed on a couch and Gen quickly fell asleep at the far end, Jared sitting in the middle as sipped his beer. He was lost in his drunken thoughts when he felt the couch dip beside him. He turned to see (Y/N) sitting next to him, a little too close for comfort. She looked over at Gen and smiled.

“Finally she had fun,” (Y/N) muttered. “She is always busy working, never takes time to relax.”

“That’s our lives as actors,” Jared replied with a slur.

“Looks like you had fun as well, too drunk to get home?”

“Nope, just relaxing before I take Gen home.”

“Don’t worry, you can head home, I got Gen. She did give me her apartment key in case this happened.”

“Why aren’t you drunk?” Jared asked suddenly.

“Because I don’t drink.”

“Why?” he slurred out again, squinting his eyes.

“Long story. Now let’s get you and Gen home alright.”

     Before Jared could argue back, he felt a pair of hand pull him up from the couch. Through his drunken haze, he could see it was the same guy (Y/N) had pounced earlier. Jared didn’t fight as the guy wrapped an arm around his waist and guided him out of the apartment and to the elevator, (Y/N) not far behind with Gen in her arms. The ride down the elevator was quiet, Jared still lost to his drunken haze. He didn’t realize when they reached Gen’s place when the guy gently placed him on the couch. The guy looked down at Jared and huffed, a cocky smile on his face. Jared then closed his eyes, sleep pulling him in but he fought against it.

“So this giant was the one that made you feel weak in the knees?”

“Shut up asshole or Gen will hear you.”

“It’s not like they are official!”

“Yeah but she did say she was going to try,” (Y/N) responded, the edge of the couch dipping next to Jared.

“Well, you always did put her first in everything.”

“She’s my best friend, she deserves the best. And if this kid is who she is always babbling about, then she deserves him.”

     Jared opened his eyes slightly and saw (Y/N) looking down at him, her hand reaching to caress his cheek. He saw as the guy walked away, yelling something about a flight.

“Don’t worry, my cab is downstairs,” (Y/N) replied, her eyes still on Jared. “Damn, Gen is one lucky woman if things work out between you two.”

     Jared groaned and tried to raise his hand, but couldn’t from how heavy his body felt. He made a mental note to never drink like he did ever again. 

“Sleep and hopefully in the morning you don’t remember this.”

     Jared closed his eyes as he felt soft lips against his. It was a quick, chaste kiss, but he felt it vibrate through his entire body. 

“You be good to my girl now. Don’t make me regret not snatching you away.”

=======

     Jared woke up to the delicious smell of coffee and the sunlight beaming down on his face. He opened his eyes, confused by his surroundings until it hit him that he was still in Gen’s apartment. He got up and looked over to the open kitchen to see Gen standing by the coffee maker, mug in hand smiling at him, still in her toga. He got up and walked over, rubbing his forehead from the headache he had.

“Hungover?” Gen asked softly.

“Yeah, remind me never to drink that much ever again.”

     Gen giggled as she handed him a mug. Jared poured himself some coffee and stood next to her, silence as their company. He then noticed a note on the kitchen island, with (Y/N)’s name on it.

“Going to see her again later?” Jared asked curiously.

“No, she left on a red-eye to Japan.”

     Jared’s eyes grew wide at the news.

“Wait, without saying goodbye?”

“Last night was our goodbye. Made me promise to have fun before she left.”

“When is she coming back?”

“Don’t know. She is going out there to live with her sister-in-law. She graduated in May, getting her business degree to go help her sister out. But her sister gave her these past few months to ‘enjoy life’ since it's all business once she gets there.”

“But she will still keep in touch with you, right? I mean you guys are best friends.”

“Maybe, she made it clear that she will be super busy. Not only does she have to learn all about the business, but prove herself to her sister and her family so she can be the next CEO. So I told her to just call me when she has time.”

     Gen looked down at her mug with a weak smile. 

“I understand what she is heading towards is rough, she did explain to me how the Asaka family is and what they are expecting from her. But even with the separation, she will always be my best friend and we will always have each other’s backs.”

     Gen looked up at Jared and gave him such a big smile.

“Anyways, last night was her getting to see that I am in great hands when it comes to you, Dee and Jensen. That’s what she said in her note.”

     Gen grabbed the piece of paper and handed it to Jared. He took it from her and read the note.

‘Hey darling, sorry I couldn’t really say goodbye but will promise to call you the moment I land. Glad to see you had an awesome time, especially with your new friends. They seem like cool people, especially Jared so don’t let that one go. Going to miss you, darling! Don’t have too much fun without me.’

     Jared handed the note back to Gen before she walked away from her spot, talking about having to get ready to go see Dee. Jared yelled behind her that he was heading to his apartment, exiting her place. As he made his way towards his apartment, he recalled last night.

‘You be good to my girl now. Don’t make me regret not snatching you away.’

     Jared entered his apartment and leaned against his closed door, remembering how her lips felt against his. But he quickly opened his eyes and mentally slapped himself.

“She is gone and I have a possibility with Gen,” Jared whispered to himself. 

     Jared moved to his bedroom to grab a towel to shower, pushing the memory to the back of his mind. He had to focus on what was in front of him, focus on reality, not a one night fantasy.

[theatersunavailable]

“The Last Black Man in San Francisco” (2019)

R, 121 minutes, directed by Joe Talbot, written by Joe Talbot & Rob Richert, story by Jimmie Fails & Joe Talbot (it’s semi-autobiographical, based on Jimmie Fails’s life)

Stream on Amazon Prime Video or rent digitally on major video platforms. 

Notable performers: Jimmie Fails and Jonathan Majors as Jimmie and Montgomery.

Why you should watch it in general: It’s an important story about how gentrification pushes Black and Brown families out of their homes.

Why you should watch it while you’re stuck at home: I just gave you a good reason to watch it, didn’t I?

Is it part of a franchise: No. 

Have I seen it before: No.

Does the trailer do it justice: Yes, and I’m sorry I ever doubted this movie because I thought the trailer made it seem too sad (see below).

As far as I can tell, there are no LGBTQ characters in this movie, but San Francisco is basically a character in this movie and that city is gay AF, so that counts for including this during Pride month.

More importantly though, this movie makes use of some incredible super slow motion, and it’s magical. Even more importantly, I’ve never seen two people on a single skateboard before, let alone two full grown men, and they don’t even look particularly balanced on the board and yet somehow, they ride that board and look so serene and majestic cruising around the city on this board. How?!

There is a hilarious exchange between the White woman, her White husband, and the film’s Black protagonist. (Of course, the woman throws food at him while his back is turned and then threatens to call the cops on him (to be fair, he’s literally trespassing on their property… to fix it up for them); but her husband is the voice of reason and keeps going “we’re not going to call the cops, please just stop coming back.” I bet her name is Karen (according to the subtitles, her It’s definitely a drama, and it might break your heart - but it has plenty of beautiful little comedic moments. (Further examples include: some kids playing catch with a ball, but the ball is, for filmmaking purposes, a GoPro or something, and we see the ball’s point of view as it gets thrown in the air and then comes down right in the face of another kid (cut to side view of the kid falling) - I promise it’s played for laughs and not just some weird child torture scene. 

If the narrative doesn’t break your heart,  the cinematography in this movie will. And that soundtrack. It’s gorgeously shot. And that music and score, if they don’t break your heart, they might just rip out of your chest and stomp on it a bit and then give it back to you smushed. 

Anyway - this movie was not what I was expecting based on a trailer I vaguely remember seeing last year and kind of thinking “that might be good, maybe it looks like it might be too sad?” (Yeah, I know, I love horror movies, but movies that purposely make me sad? Not always my cup of tea.) But it’s not sad in the way that I thought it would be. Jimmie Fails plays a fictionalized version of himself, trying to regain his childhood home, which is in a now-gentrified neighborhood of San Francisco. The narrative winds its way, slowly and gently, from point A (the owners vacate due to their own weird family circumstances) to point B (Jimmie and his friend have been squatting in the house, but then the owners come back to officially sell it and they get kicked out (and some other personal narratives with less than happy outcomes)).

It’s soft and beautiful and what I needed. 

[tae-cup]

.hamartia. ‘Part 2,

Pairing: Yoongi x Reader (f) x Taehyung (?)

Genre: Mafia!Au, Fluff, Angst (Mostly angst oopsies) I DO NOT CONDONE BEHAVIOR DISPLAYED IN THIS, PLEASE IT’S FICTION AND DON’T DO STUPID THINGS THANK YOU

Plot: Y/N is a skilled, well, torturer, though you don’t like to call yourself that; it makes what you do too real. When mafia boss Yoongi wants information or wants a hostage to suffer, you step in. However, one fateful day you are thrown Taehyung, another person who does your line of work. You need answers, he is determined not to give them to you. That’s when you try...a different approach, and Yoongi is not pleased.

Rating: TV-MA

WARNINGS: YO IF YOU’RE NOT COOL WITH SUBTLE BI AGENDAS THEN I’M SORRY THIS IS NOT THE PLACE FOR YOU, Blood, torture, mafia things (ya know?), drugs alcohol, sadistic tendencies, a fundamentally flawed main character (I’m sorry i’m just writing myself pretty much), assault, harassment, stalking (not bad), romance (somehow), Maybe stockholm syndrome???

Word Count: 2.2k Words

A/N: Okay I need to make up my mind if this is yoongi x reader x taehyung x jimin or just taehyung and yoongi. Please help me- also I haven’t read this over so...I’m sorry if some sentences like don’t make sense 

I’ve had Heather by Conan Gray stuck in my head all day. Anyway...I’m not sure if I like this chapter, but it’ll do haha

Other:

Masterlist

Prologue | Part 1 | Part 2 | Next

self·ish/ˈselfiSH/

adjective

(of a person, action, or motive) lacking consideration for others; concerned chiefly with one's own personal profit or pleasure.

-

-

You took a deep breath in. 

“Okay, Y/N, you’re going to try Jimin’s approach, just this once.” You muttered to yourself. You searched around your mind, begging that innocent girl from a year ago to come out. You found her hiding in the closet, door shut, and light off. Her eyes were dark, but her body still radiated a pure glow. She looked up hopefully at you. 

“I always knew you’d come back!” She squealed. 

“right...” You spoke to yourself. Then you scolded yourself, promising you’ll lock her away for good once this is over. For the last time, you handed her the reigns. 

-

-

Your hand opened the door quietly. You still had yet to apologize to Jimin, but you decided to get to that later. Of course, when you looked up at Taehyung, he was already awake. Did this man ever sleep? It was still rather early in the morning; around 4 A.M. 

“Hello!” You chirped. You sat down, trying to make conversation. “Are you hurt? Do you ache?” You asked, taking on the caring tactic in full force. You had tugged along a first aid kit to really help solidify trust. 

He didn’t answer, of course. But instead of getting annoyed, you simply smiled warmly at him. 

“It’s okay! Take you’re time. I understand this is all pretty crazy.” You continued, hoping he would see you trying to be genuine. However, trying will never be the same as actually doing it. The dark haired male looked...confused, to say the least. His head tilted to the side, observing you, picking apart your words and trying to understand where this sudden kindness was coming from. There were a million red flags, but you didn’t seem to want to harm him...yet. 

“I see there’s a pretty bad bruised.” You pointed towards his cheek. 

He didn’t respond, then going on to drink in your outfit. With that, he let his lips tug up into a smile. That outfit gave him hope, it made him start believing you weren’t there to hurt him after all. After a moment of thinking, he nodded slowly. 

“Yeah,” His voice was deep and smooth, almost melodic. It soothed you to listen to. “Your friend decided to give me a nice wake up.” 

“Ah, I’ll tell him to stop that. I apologize for yesterday. I had been informed of your arrival so suddenly. I was,” You hesitated, searching for the right words. “I was nervous, a little frazzled.” You sat very innocently, unlike yesterday. He felt he could trust you as you were right now, but it was still terrifying to know that girl yesterday still existed within you. 

“I also think...I think the rope is too tight.” He mused, seeing how far he could push it. This didn’t faze you. You simply nodded, stood, and, almost hesitantly oddly enough, went to loosen his ropes. After you had sufficiently loosened the bindings, he grasped your wrist tightly. 

“Why are you doing this?” He asked. 

“I had a moment of clarity, yesterday.” You explained lamely. 

“Hmph.”

“Why do you trust me?” You cocked an eyebrow up, your face somehow shifting to allude to the monster below. It was to your surprise when he chuckled. 

“Your outfit.” He said slowly. If there was anything he learned in his short time being in this room, it was that black was for blood. Leather meant blood and gray meant bruises. “Your outfit is white.” He breathed. His words were light against your neck where you had crouched to loosen his ropes. How did he know about your outfit coordination? You assumed he was very observant.

You stared at him this time. He was almost devastatingly handsome. Dark eyes and pitch black hair. It made your heart flutter. You quickly put your beating heart into check. Monsters don’t have hearts. You stood, tearing your wrist away from his grasp. 

“Well, I’ll try to make you comfortable.” You said quickly. You wanted to leave the room as soon as possible. Something about being near him made you feel ill. 

“If you really wanted me to feel comfortable, you’d let me out.” 

“You know I can’t do that.” You whispered more to yourself than anything else. You knew he heard it when he let out a little sigh, tossing his head to the side to move his bangs. 

You left in a hurry, feeling him stare at your back.

-

-

Yoongi didn’t seem pleased. 

“Please, Y/L/N, tell me why you let Jimin talk you into this idea.” He sighed. He looked exhausted, but he always did. You found yourself wondering if he had eaten and slept well. You shooed those thoughts away, not wanting them to distract you. 

“Oh drop the formalities, Yoongi.” You sneered. Yoongi didn’t respond, but his eyes did narrow at yours. You didn’t feel intimidated. You knew that look, you’d seen it a million times. 

After a brief pause, you continued, “I felt...I felt bad for something I said to him earlier. I thought I could give it a try, but it’s harder to build trust than I thought.” You trailed off, thinking to yourself: It’s so much easier to just break it. 

He nodded slowly, listening to your explanation. The pale man sat in his leather chair. He was a laid back sort of man. One leg was crossed over the other as he leaned back lazily. A drink of whiskey was in his hand. He swirled the brown liquid around in the glass before setting it down. Now he leaned forward, seeming to ponder the idea. 

“I think it might work, actually.” He wasn’t entirely sure, but he liked watching you squirm. 

“Really?” 

“Is there something wrong with trying a new tactic? Your job is to get information, I never said how.” 

This was the sort of argument often used in the other direction; the argument that allowed you to do whatever twisted thing came to mind. 

“But, Yoongi,” You pleaded. “I’m not cut out for this. I was just not made to love.” You looked down at your twiddling thumbs, feeling yourself turn back into that little girl from a year ago. You hated her. You should have just put her back in that closet, but here she was, popping out to say hello again. “You should know that better than anyone else, Yoongi.” Your voice was soft, but it held a certain steel to it. 

He softened instantly. That voice was all too familiar; that tone. 

“Y/N.” He cleared his throat before looking you deep in the eyes. “Every human being is made to love.” He turned around, facing the windows at the end of the office. “Sometimes, you just don’t know how to.” His mind was slowly getting lost in grief. He was grieving you, us, together. “Dismissed.” He couldn’t help feeling a pang of jealousy at the thought of you being close to another man other than Jimin. He had to let it go though, you guys were over and you have been for a few months. Besides, you never showed any signs of liking him still so he had to let go of you a little. 

You didn’t even bother trying to argue. You could sense he had become distracted, lost in thought. You were glad for the dismissal as you could feel yourself getting lost as well. 

-

-

“Oh god, please, no.” The young girl shook like a leaf. She looked to only be a year or so younger than you. “Please, you don’t have to do this.” 

The sound of a gun cocking shut her up. Hesitation flickered through you. You thought of your own family, now dead, and your own morality. Ever since coming to the mafia, you had refused to hurt anyone. Now you were being forced to. It was your humanity, your sanity, V.S. a new found family known as the mafia. 

In contrast to her sister, the girl who was actually in danger, Hwayeong, stood absolutely still. You didn’t plan on humiliating her. You just wanted the job done and over with. She was directly involved in the murder of Yoongi’s father. It seemed insane, but she did have nerves of steel, despite her angelic face. You swallowed thickly, your mouth suddenly feeling very dry. 

“I know you’re scared.” Hwayeong had a soothing voice, like a calm lake that washes over you. “And I know you were forced into this life, but you can change.” She didn’t sound fearful, though you knew she must be. “I’d welcome you with open arms.” She didn’t sound concerned or even pitying, she just sounded genuine. The dark haired girl sounded understanding and compassionate. 

“I have to do this job.” You said quietly, gun still pointed at her, but now shaking. Hwayeong seemed to understand because she nodded her head, stepping forward. She grabbed the gun’s end and moved your arm so it pointed at her forehead. Her eyes stared into yours, pools of obsidian. 

“Then do it. I have nothing left to bargain and I’m not going to deny the killing of that cruel man.” She held her head high. She seemed a proud woman. “But for the love of god, stop shaking, I want the shot to be clean and the death soon and blessed.” 

You couldn’t help but gape at her request. She wrapped her slender fingers around yours on the handle. 

“Shoot me.” She didn’t break eye contact, and you didn’t either. “Shoot me and we’ll all call it a suicide. I know how it feels to be in your position.” That raised a million questions. Was this the right choice?

“I-” The bang of the gun shocked you. You jumped, stumbling back a few steps as you stared at the body before you. You had held the gun. She had pulled the trigger. While her family screamed and sobbed, tied up and terrified, you ran outside and heaved the contents of lunch onto the lawn out front. You brought your sleeve up and wiped away the food around your mouth. Then you went back inside. 

The house felt so small now. It was almost suffocating as you untied the family members. They stood in silence. You picked up the gun and slowly rose. You looked each member in their eyes, barely acknowledging their hollowness. 

“This was a suicide.” You nodded at each of them. They nodded slowly back. “If I hear otherwise, you’re all dead.” And that was the last straw. The last humanity left in you. Those obsidian black eyes still burned into you. 

-

-

Unlike last night, you jerked awake with this one, your heart racing. Why now? Why were you reliving these painful memories now? For the past few months it’s been so easy to just push and push the memories deep down. You had locked them in your basement. So how had they flooded back up so suddenly. They were suffocating you. 

You felt like you couldn’t breathe. You reached out for someone to hug, someone to hold, only to find no one. Instead, you curled up, squeezing your eyes shut as tight as possible. You weakly hit your head with a fist as if to release these memories. You let your mind to turn to something else. The reality of the dream slowly slipped away. Her eyes left your mind temporarily; it was something you had sworn you’d never forget. 

Fuck. You still needed to apologize to Jimin. He would probably be upset to know that you didn’t even notice that he wasn’t there all day. But the point was that you thought of him now. Only now did you realize how much you missed his company.

 He would have known what to say to Taehyung to get him to talk more. Jimin, yes, helped you get information, but he was also a silver tongue. He could talk his way into and out of most things. That’s how he was “hired” for this mafia. He actually had been kidnapped, much like Taehyung. But, he managed to talk the, much more naive at the time, interrogator to move him upstairs. Then he talked them into letting him borrow a car. By the time he could escape, he knew too much and he knew the other members too well. He didn’t want to leave them. 

You suddenly felt very sympathetic for him. Maybe it was because the old you had the reigns. So now here you were, standing outside his room, lost in thought. You didn’t even knock when he opened the door. 

“I suspected you would come.” He scoffed, trying to look indifferent. You didn’t wait for him to finish his sentence as you engulfed him in a hug. 

“I’m sorry, about everything.”

He carefully hugged you back, hands going to your neck to pull you in closer. “I know.” He whispered.

-

-

ahhhhhh that’s it for part 2, I’ll make part 3 soon! Let me know what you 

Previous | Next 

[robronsecretsanta]

a madness to the method

(AO3)

Rating: E

For @notforonesecond . Merry Christmas! From your Secret Santa. May this bring you as much joy as your presence on here brings me.

:::::

He stands there, script page in hand and a growing pit in his stomach, as Robert Sugden walks up to him with a grin.

“What you waiting for? Get your kit off.”

:::::

It’s his third big role, but the first one that actually means something, Aaron having acted in a couple of big-budget blockbuster films to date; the last two even giving him some lines and some stunts, the latter of which he’d done himself. But so far most of his career has involved plenty of little-known stage work and a few well-received indies, as well as a particularly popular episode of Black Mirror.

He’s fairly certain that’s what landed him this script, his wide body of emotionally driven work. Not every day a Frank Clayton production sends a part your way. Not every day Harriet Finch is attached to direct. (Aaron’s pretty sure he’s one of the few people who’s seen the entirety of her oeuvre, even purchased some of the early stuff on DVD, forcing his best mate Adam to sit through whole movie marathons of her work, dissecting every shot inch by inch.)

The film’s a period piece about two young men who fall in love as a war looms over them; two lovers star-crossed in one of the worst ways possible. Both stuck going to war terrified the other won’t come home. Only they do, if not a little emotionally scarred and a little physically injured. The reunion is emotionally sweet and full of hope — exactly the kind of story Aaron wishes he could have grown up with. Because sometimes a happy ending really makes a difference. He’d almost learned that hard way.  

“You sure you want to do this?” His mother asks, curled up on his sofa in his flat in North London and peaking up at him with big brown eyes through dark, bit-too-long bangs. “People might start asking whether you’re gay, love.”

Aaron understands her concerns and where she’s coming from. Doesn’t stop him from shrugging them off and holding firm to the feeling in his gut.

“Let them,” he says, lips downturned at the corners as he paces across the living room determinedly. “Not got anything to hide, have I?”

Despite all his bravado, there’s a flicker of doubt. If this somewhat calculated risk doesn’t pan out, it could be the end of the upward trajectory of his acting career. For all it’s progress on the LGBTQIA-depiction front, Hollywood itself isn’t as accepting of openly queer actors. And while Aaron won’t miss the perks of rising fame at all, he will miss getting to work on more interesting projects or movies, like this one.

Still, Aaron Dingle has never been a liar, and he’s not going to start now. Especially when it comes to his sexuality.

:::::

His agent, a no-nonsense woman named Priya, approves of his decision immediately. She knows he’s gay, has known from the start. But it’s never affected her decision to take him on as a client. (It’s one of the reasons Aaron’s stuck with her so long; tying his rising star to her job.)

“You’ve certainly got the talent and the range to pull this off,” she states and it feels less like a dream and more like reality. “With Finch directing it, this could become potential Oscar material. This part’ll definitely get you noticed.”

Aaron smiles and nods along, because that is nice he supposes. He’s just glad the production company don’t want yet another audition, or even a chemistry read with his yet-to-be-announced co-star. He’s sick of them at this point.

“Who’s the other lead?” He asks, fingers picking at each other, left knee bouncing in the chair. He’s about ready to leave Priya’s office. But the second he hears her answer, he’s stuck bolted to his seat. His mind reeling with the news of it.

Robert Sugden.

:::::

To say he’s heard of Robert Sugden is the understatement of the century. If anything, he’s the one responsible for Aaron’s sexual awakening.

Like most teenage boys his age, he’d been obsessed with the Transformers movies. Only unlike his best mate Adam, he didn’t fall asleep and wake up hard to thoughts of the hot female lead. No, despite his best attempts at the time, his mind always drifted to the slightly older but also teenaged Robert Sugden; the son of a famous actor who’d also made it big quite young, starring in at least two popular TV series. (In hindsight, Aaron’s desire to purchase and put up a shirtless poster of Robert on his bedroom wall should have been a big hint as to his nascent gayness. But like all sexually confused teenagers he’d managed to convince himself he was more into the trucks instead; that he wanted to be Robert Sugden, not be with him.)

He’d spent a full summer when he was 15 watching his way through Robert’s early work, bingeing that one popular science fiction series where he and a group of teens investigated strange paranormal phenomena at their English boarding school. A part of him had come alive when a body-swap episode had caused Robert’s character’s body to be a possessed by a female friend’s, resulting in him kissing and making out with her boyfriend who’d been played by Pete Barton. (Aaron had spent the ensuing weeks reading and rewatching everything to with those few minutes of airtime, refusing to let anyone play over his recording. He’d worn out the tape till it could play no longer.)  

The first time he’d come was a few weeks later, Robert’s name on his lips as he’d pictured being kissed by him, his hand moving up and down the length of his naked shaft faster and faster; rock hard and aching at just the thought of him.

Robert. Fucking. Sugden.

What are the odds?

He doesn’t know whether to quit the project or just die of mortification. How is he supposed to act against someone he’s had those kinds of thoughts about? (He’s never had limits for who you should love and be with. After all, that would be a tad hypocritical of him. But some lines shouldn’t be crossed, no matter the project, and he’s fairly convinced this is one of them.)

He mentions this to Adam when he comes over to play FIFA on the PS4 later, only his best mate doesn’t quite seem to get it. Though to be fair, he’s never really had to deal with this, has he?

“So what? You used to jerk off to him. Big deal!” Adam shrugs, cycling through the options and picking his players. “If I said I’d avoid every female celeb I did that with, I wouldn’t be able to work with any of them.”

Aaron makes a face, even if he does concede that Adam has a point — not that he’s out there having to act against… (He’s actually not sure who this week’s flavour of the month is. Adam’s feelings of attraction waxing and waning like the moon.)

“Though,” Adam says, turning to look at him when he’s satisfied with his choices. “His sister Victoria is pretty fit. Do you think you could get her number?”

Aaron tosses a cushion at his face. Leave it to Adam to miss the point completely.

It bounces off and falls onto Adam’s lap, he picks it up and places it beside him.

When he turns toward Aaron this time, he looks a lot more serious, an earnestness in his gaze that wasn’t there before.

“Listen,” he says, voice soft yet firm. “You’ve wanted to be in one of Finch’s movies ever since I’ve known ya. Don’t back out now just because of Sugden.”

Aaron nods, though he’s still not convinced. Adam must see it because he then adds, “You’ll do fine. You’re an amazing actor. That’s why they wanted you for this part, you know, instead of me.”

Aaron shoots him a look and Adam just shrugs. Turns his attention back to the TV screen as he says, “What? I’m a scene stealer. Everyone knows that.”

That triggers a laugh and when it’s over, Aaron feels a lot lighter. But even as they both accept their team and kit selections and start the game, his mind drifts back to a young, shirtless Robert…

:::::

He keeps the part after all, the announcement making some waves in the press. However, any intrusiveness into his personal life is circumvented by the latest news about Robert. Rumour has it that he’s up for consideration as the new James Bond. Aaron had laughed when he’d first read the news. But laying in bed, later that night, he can’t help but picture Robert in a trademark suit, smirking down the barrel of a gun, the way he’s become known for.

It’s enough to make him shaken and stirred — not that he lifts a finger to relieve himself of the dull, building throb. (If there’s one thing Aaron Dingle’s sure about, it’s that it’s impolite to pleasure oneself to the thoughts of an upcoming co-star. Even if they were the starring role in his teenage fantasies.)

He ends up taking a cold shower instead.

:::::

Meeting Harriet Finch is everything like he’d imagined, and yet nothing like it at all.

Aaron spends all morning practicing what he wants to say to her, pacing back and forth in his newly assigned trailer — which happens to be both bigger and more luxurious than he’d expected. None of the words of praise he’s wanted to lavish her with seeming right for the moment, or even worthy of her, but he keeps practicing all the same.

That’s why he’s thrown when she comes to see him, telling him how much she’d enjoyed his turn in a small play he’d done last summer as a favour to an old friend (and ex-boyfriend), Ed.

She smiles at him with kind, dark eyes and outlines the many ways in which he’d knocked that role out of the park, followed by his performance in those few movies and, of course, Black Mirror.

“I knew you were the right man for the part the moment I saw you,” she says, voice like a warm woollen blanket, the words wrapping him up in a cocoon of comfort. “You’ll make a marvellous ‘Thomas.’ I just know it. I’m glad to have you on this project.”

But just as he’s basking in the glow of her reassurance, she asks the dreaded question.

“Have you met Robert Sugden?”

:::::

If first meetings dictate how the rest of a working relationship might go, Robert and Aaron’s is already off to a really bad start.

He’d shown up to Robert’s trailer and gone in after knocking a few times, only to find him in the throes of being orally pleasured.

Aaron hadn’t recognised the woman, just seen the back of her head, as she’d kneeled in front of Robert and blown him. Robert was sitting on the edge of his trailer’s bed and leaning back, both arms supporting his weight across the still-made comforter. His shirt was unbuttoned and he’d got his leather jacket on, neck exposed as he half lay there jerking and groaning.

He’d seemed to sense Aaron because Robert had looked up at once, locking eyes across the short distance. He’d given him a long hard look, then flashed him a wink and a smile, before closing his eyes and coming into the woman’s mouth not very long after.

Cheeks reddening and more than a little shocked, Aaron had turned and bolted. He’d wanted to spare that poor woman the embarrassment of knowing he’d seen this happening, but more importantly, process it all himself.

Standing in his own trailer he wants to kick himself for being such a goddamn fool. The tabloids had been reporting this side of Robert Sugden for years on end. But Aaron had ignored them because that’s what you were supposed to do. (And maybe, he tries not to acknowledge as his heart continues to pound, because it had ruined his fantasy of Robert and his younger self.)

But for all his talent — and he has plenty of it — Robert Sugden has always been a bit of a playboy; has the ex-wife and half a dozen ex-girlfriends to prove it. The result of this is a respectable body of work, but no one noticing because of all the gossip. (Aaron had once suspected this was Robert trying to undersell himself, maybe a bit nervous of all the extended limelight. He’d grown up Jack Sugden’s son, had had to bear that mantle, while also carving a name for himself, with not much room for error.)

Any sympathy he’d once felt though, has now been stripped away, replaced with cold, hard knowledge. Robert Sugden actually enjoys behaving like this, and Aaron can’t believe he’d liked him.

As he starts pacing, his heart still racing, Aaron gets madder and madder. They’ve both been given a golden opportunity being cast in these roles, and it’s something Robert wants to squander?

He’d wanted to walk away from this project because he’d been worried about his own personal hang-ups. Not wanting any former feelings for Robert to affect his performance. But now all he can think about is Robert’s smile and his wink, as if showing off his sexual prowess to Aaron.

This feels good, and I made that happen. Maybe I can do that for you as well?

Aaron growls, feels like punching something nearby, hating the small part of him that had kind of enjoyed it; that place deep within himself that still tends a tiny flame devoted to Robert Sugden; that place that had enjoyed watching him come.

It’s not your fault, Aaron tells himself, trying to banish the recent memory from his mind — though he’d spent years picturing and imaging exactly that. Him blowing Robert and feeling him coming under him, his palms flat against his thighs. (Sometimes he’d imagine the flip of it too. Him coming apart in Robert’s hands, his mouth smirking as Aaron comes right into it.)

He’s just managed to get rid of it, when he hears a dry chuckle, spins around to find Robert standing in his trailer, blue shirt all buttoned and jeans up and belted, like that midday blowjob hadn’t happened.

He smiles at him, blue-green eyes glittering, “So I take it you’re Aaron Dingle.”

It sends a thrill up his neck, short hairs lightly lifting, at the prospect of Robert Sugden saying his name. But then annoyance sets in as that memory comes back and Aaron grunts his affirmation.

“What do you want?”

Robert doesn’t seem deterred, doesn’t even seem to clock his rudeness. Just smiles at him like he said something funny. “To apologise. That wasn’t how I’d pictured our first meeting.”

“Why? You plan on having your cock in someone else’s mouth?” Aaron fires back, a little shocked that Robert had ever given meeting him any thought.

Robert’s eyes widen at the accusation, but whatever it is that came over him passes because he laughs and clears his throat. “No. Wasn’t planning to, actually. Just wanted to tell you what a big fan I am.”

His eyes flit away, and his smile kind of softens. Robert looks back at Aaron. “And that I’m looking forward to us working together.”

If Aaron hadn’t seen what he’d seen, he’d believe every word of this, Robert coming across well-meaning and earnest. But then he remembers just how good of an actor his co-star-to-be really is and snorts. “Nice try. Hope you’re better on camera.”

Robert winces at that, but his smile remains, even if it’s starting to look a little brittle.

“I’m sorry about what happened, alright?” Robert says, frustration colouring his voice at the edges. Aaron can see that this really is paining him; Robert not that good of an actor. “Let’s start over.”

He takes a step forward and holds out his hand. “Hi. I’m Robert Sugden.”

Aaron ignores it, crosses his arms across his chest.

“I know who you are,” he spits out.

Robert looks confused, studies him further before withdrawing his hand and eventually letting it drop. He puts it in his jacket pocket and renews his smile at Aaron. It’s just as small and soft as earlier.

“I’m trying, you know,” he says and Aaron can feel himself willing to give him that inch, to soften and forgive Robert so they can start over. But then he thinks about how smug and cocky he’d been just before he’d come right in front of him, and a wave of pulsing, hot annoyance shoots right through him.

“Then try harder,” Aaron half-growls, taking a small step further. And then, “And maybe try keepin’ your dick to yourself.”

:::::

Production kicks off without any further hitches, and he quickly gets to know the rest of their cast and crew — even becoming friends with a production assistant named Ellis.

Though most of the time Aaron just stays put in his trailer, constantly rehearsing and working on his character.

Harriet seems happy with his performance so far, giving him any extra takes he wants to do. But Aaron hasn’t been able to get in a groove that makes him truly happy; where he has an understanding of his character inside and out.

From the script, his own chat with Harriet, and the homework he’s done, he knows “Thomas James” to be a straightforward fellow, a little tentative, but earnest with his feelings.

He’s a farmer who owns and works his own farm, before one day he runs into Felix, his new and struggling neighbour. Felix’s family has lost most of their estate; bad debts and investments before the beginnings of the war hit. All they have now, is this one farm to their name, and Felix, a city boy — or rather, man — through and through has no clue how to run it.

Unable to stand it, Thomas steps in to help him, and Felix promises to do his accounts in trade. Thomas agrees, the spark between them growing and burning brighter.

Robert and he have played and shot a handful of those initial scenes, mostly set up for the rest of the story. But as their characters have seemed to find an easy camaraderie, there barely exists one between them.

For his part, Robert hasn’t really paused his efforts to win Aaron over, always making jokes and trying to give him an opening. Internally, Aaron struggles not to let go and give in, not having run into Robert with his cock down someone else’s throat since.

He doesn’t understand how Robert can just switch into his role and then right out of it, a slippery fish if there ever was one. He throws on Felix’s skin like it’s one of those button-up shirts he so favours, constantly remaining in costume longer than needed. (Aaron actually doesn’t mind that because it’s easy on the eyes and for their characters, Robert wearing 1920 period garb like he was born for it.)

Felix is smart and inept, but also charming and funny, a gay man in his shell, with no real interest in marriage. Just a blushing eye turned towards Thomas.

And that’s the part that kind of stings in their scenes, because it’s in those moments that Aaron feels he can really see the Robert he once had a crush on; a hint of him shining through.

It’s in Robert’s small smiles and the soft in his eyes, the blue-green of them a warm summer ocean.

But then Harriet says, “Cut” and it all disappears, Robert’s eyes growing cooler, his body more indifferent; tensed and held in a way he doesn’t when he’s Felix, like he’s holding a deep breath in.

That’s the first thing Aaron notices as they take a break before they shoot their first big scene, a first kiss where both men realise their mutual attraction.

They’re standing in a field, where Felix’s tractor has broken down, and Thomas has ridden up in his horse to help fix it.

As Aaron walks through the wet grass, his period accurate boots and jeans sinking into the mud a little, he gets his first glimpse of Robert.

His shirt sleeves are rolled back and his brow is plastered with sweat. He’s clearly been out in a full afternoon of labour.

They go through the dialogue, Felix directing Thomas to the back of the tractor, some kind of malfunction trapped within it. Thomas gives it a look, and Aaron produces a short grunt of surveyance, really giving it a decent study.

Then exhaling slowly he offers Thomas’ suggestion, that sometimes you just need to push it. He does as he says, and gives the tractor a shove, before letting his knees soften and himself fall forward in the muck.

Above him, he can hear Robert’s laughter bursting forth loud and clear, and he knows instantly it’s not his acting as Felix. He turns to his side and shoots Robert a dirty look, but in his chest his heart skips a beat at it.

Finally springing into action Felix leans forward and offers Thomas a hand, Robert bending and extending his hand out. The laughter still shines in his eyes, even if it’s not coming out his lips, his breath still short and him still panting.

Something surges in Aaron and he feels Thomas’ quiet sense of humour, reaches up and pulls Robert down towards him.

Robert captures all of Felix’ (and probably some of his own) surprise, his own knees bending as he falls atop Aaron; the hard firmness of his limbs utterly unexpected, and yet fitting against him perfectly.

He’s now laying on his back in the mud, feeling the cold soak into his tough warm denim, the flannel of his shirt doing little to protect him. But none of that matters as Robert gazes down at him, both their chests pressed together.

The script says this is where Felix kisses Thomas, too physically close for any more doubted restraint. Only Robert hasn’t moved, just keeps on laying there, mere centimetres away, his eyes trained down on Aaron’s lips, as if frozen by disbelief and nervousness.

Probably just nervous about kissing another man, Aaron thinks, flashing back to Robert kissing Pete Barton, and the way his hands had cupped his face. Probably worried that this time someone might think he’s gay.

Deep inside Aaron, something aches. He lets out a small, frustrated huff, his head relaxing back into the wet dirt, resigning himself to a long wait.

And then it’s like something snaps, because Robert leans forward, lunging for his lips with everything he has; his tongue barely waiting as Aaron’s lips part. (They hadn’t rehearsed this, or even really discussed it. Aaron not wanting to spend more time around Robert than entirely necessary.)

But as he lays here now, Aaron can’t help but give himself over to it, letting Robert’s fingers skim his sides before they bunch up in the warmth of his flannel shirt, his hands finding their way onto Robert’s lower back and his hair. He holds Robert’s head firm as he deepens the kiss. His co-star isn’t the only one who can improvise.

He doesn’t feel the lack of oxygen until the tail end of a groan, too deep into it to know if it’s from him or Robert.

When they pull apart both of them are panting. Robert’s gaze comes back up and they lock eyes again, a lock of his blonde hair dropping onto Aaron’s forehead, as his breath continues to tickle his lips; both wet and a little blitzed.

Deep in the depths of Robert’s green and blues, Aaron sees a spark of searching nervousness and hesitation. He brushes that bit of hair back almost without thinking; an unconscious act of soothing.

He can hear Robert’s breath hitch at the feel of his thumb pad on his skin, sees the way his eyes drop back down to Aaron’s lips. No longer nervous, and still barely thinking, Aaron leans up and presses another kiss to his lips, this time a more sweet and chaste one.

When he pulls back, Robert still has his eyes closed, almost cute in his stunned still surprise. Aaron finds himself smiling and recording this picture mentally; filled with the desire to go back in time and tell himself, “We kissed Robert Sugden!”

Robert opens his eyes and a second later Harriet yells, “Cut!” Aaron can’t help but feel interrupted.

What did you want to say? He wants to ask, as they both get to their feet. Aaron barely makes an attempt to clean himself off. He knows he needs a good shower.

Next to him, Robert seems to be avoiding his eyes, focusing a little too hard on dusting his pants off. Aaron tries not to spend too much time admiring his bum in the process.

They’re walking off set, when Robert makes the joke, voice flippant and tone just insulting.

“Feel like hitting a strip club, eh?” He says with what is meant to be a playful nudge. “Need to see some naked tits, pronto.”

It shouldn’t hurt as much as it does, this being a movie and all, but it still stings hard and deep all the same.

Aaron feels hot anger come over him without much warning, and he explodes back at Robert in a rage.

“All of this is just one big joke to ya, isn’t it?” He practically spits out the words in a low, angry growl as he shoves Robert backwards into a nearby trailer.

He doesn’t care if anyone’s nearby, or if they even see him. All he can see and hear is Robert.

“These are people’s lives,” he continues, the line of his right forearm held against Robert’s chest, constricting the way he breathes slightly. “Do you even get that?”

“It’s just a joke,” Robert answers, sounding both defensive and soft.

Aaron couldn’t give a toss about it.

“Excuse me if I don’t think bein’ gay is funny,” he fires back, leans in a little and lets the anger radiate off his face, hoping Robert gets the message.

Apparently, he does, because his eyes just widen, and then he’s saying, “Aaron, I’m sorry. I didn’t-“

He knows he’s not exactly hiding his sexuality, but Aaron isn’t really advertising it either, so it sends him reeling back the second he realises Robert has figured out he’s gay.

He stands there panting, anger being replaced by panic, the air evacuating his lungs just as his heart takes residence in his ears.

He turns and walks away before his balance decides to go, can feel his knees weakening with each step he takes; thinks he hears Robert calling at him in the distance.

Calling him because he knows this thing about him.

Calling him because he knows he’s gay.

Shit.

:::::

He’s exiting his trailer when he runs into Robert again. Aaron almost bolts the instant he sees him — only to realise he’s blocking his way.

“Aaron, wait,” Robert pleads, looking up at him from the bottom of those short metal stairs. Aaron almost turns around and goes back inside.

But then he notices that Robert is still in his costume — which is not too much of a surprise — but it’s a sign that he’s been waiting outside this entire time. As much as he doesn’t want to, Aaron knows he must honour that. From what he’s seen, Robert Sugden does that for no one.

“You going to invite me inside?” Robert asks when he sees Aaron willingly to stick around in his trailer doorway.. His attempt at a teasing smile fades when he gets Aaron’s answer.

“Whatever you want to say in there, you can say out here.” Aaron crosses his hoodie-covered arms across his chest, retaining the warmth within it.

Robert nods, and takes one step higher, making this whole conversation a little more private. Aaron can smell him, even standing a few inches away; the intermingled scent of mud and sweat and Robert. (The note is slightly floral but kind of muted like Lavender, but Aaron can’t be sure because he doesn’t know flowers.)

“Sorry I made those jokes earlier,” Robert says softly, and Aaron can see that he’s being absolutely serious. “I don’t think being gay is funny…”

Aaron doesn’t say anything, just keeps on watching. He can see that Robert is on the edge of something.

After what feels likes very long pause, it finally drops. “… because I’m actually bisexual.”

He can’t seem to meet Aaron’s eyes as he says that, his cheeks going pink as he looks away and to the left. Standing this close Aaron can feel the tension radiating off of him in waves, coming over him in rapid succession.

Aaron swallows, not sure what exactly to make of it; his teenage dreams all coming true in an instant. So he bites his tongue and holds back his first three replies, and then offers the one he feels is most supportive.

“Thanks for telling me,” he says and he finds that he means it. He’s actually a little touched by Robert’s choice to trust him.

“Figured it was the least I owe you,” Robert says with a shy smile, and for a second Aaron really feels like he’s looking at Felix.

His inner Thomas makes him return it.

“That why you wanted to do this movie?” Aaron asks when the moment eventually passes. It’s a big question he knows, but he needs an answer.

“No, actually,” Robert explains with a chuckle, something raw and unguarded about him now. Like he’s been acting this entire time Aaron has known him.

“I’m a big fan of hers,” Robert says with an excited smile. “She was my mum’s favourite director.”

Aaron gets it and gives him a nod. “Yeah, I’m a big fan myself.”

Robert grins at this little piece of information, a bigger reward than he was expecting.

“Guess this means we should definitely be friends,” Robert suggests, shyness still lacing his voice. “Don’t know many people who’ve even heard of Harriet.”

Aaron studies Robert, takes the entirety of him in, considers it and then shrugs. “Guess you’re not a complete idiot.”

Robert’s smile when he says that is radiant.

:::::

That night he dreams of Robert, the same one he’d had when he was fifteen. Only this time his brain fills in all the missing details.

He needs another shower in the morning.

:::::

Things improve on set by a thousandfold. Robert’s one-sided jibes giving way to Aaron returning them, both of them ribbing and teasing each other between takes. Robert somehow becomes a mainstay on his trailer’s sofa, as they hang out a lot more between scenes, running lines and even whole scenes together.

They seem to have found a quiet understanding when it comes to each other and their space.. (Though, coming out to each other does that, Aaron supposes.)

It’s crazy, but he genuinely thinks it makes both of their scenes better. Both of them now freer with how they move and touch each other. Aaron had once read somewhere that it has to do with the language of how queer people sometimes act and speak; a quiet understanding of how love can be writ across their bodies. He doesn’t know how much he agrees with that exactly. But he does feel it when Robert hugs him as Felix.

It’s a gentle gesture, Robert coming from behind and embracing him around the waist, one hand coming up to rest over Aaron’s heart. Aaron presses those fingers close to his chest, letting Robert feel the steady rise of his heartbeat as he sinks back into him; Thomas leaning into Felix.

They stand like that in silence for a moment longer, Robert’s chin on Aaron’s shoulder, both of them

bathing in the pale sunlight of a cool autumn morning, as filtered through the dusty windows of Thomas’ work shed.

It’s as they’re standing, silently breathing and hearts quickly beating that Aaron is seized by a sudden urge. Following the wave of it, he brings Robert’s fingers up to his lips, gently pressing a kiss on each knuckle as if soothing away newly-formed blisters — the results of Felix’ recent hard labour.

The moment his lips touch skin he hears Robert’s breath hitch, but it only guides him forward. He holds that last kiss longest, before pulling away and spinning them around, Robert’s back now pressing into the edge of Thomas’ workstation, their hands caught between them; Aaron’s fingers wrapped around Robert’s wrist, his thumb resting on his speeding pulse.

Robert for his part, seems to be trusting Aaron implicitly as he gazes down at Aaron first with surprise and then excitement. He smiles softly, clearly anticipating a kiss. Aaron smiles back and obliges him.

It’s completely unscripted and wholly them and yet none of it feels any bit of wrong. Aaron leans forward, slowly edging closer, his eyes locked into Robert’s. He hovers for a second, feels his breath bounce off Robert’s lips, then dips forward and claims them.

This kiss doesn’t progress as quickly as the first one did, Robert letting Aaron set the pace by which they go by. So he takes his time, focuses on nipping at Robert’s bottom lip; gentle kisses that should convey Thomas’ affections.

But then Robert’s hands start to slide across his back, pulling and holding him closer — only nothing about the gesture feels overtly sexual. It’s just two men standing and savouring the act of kissing, two men revelling in their affections.

They kiss a little longer, the pace still languid, Robert letting him take his sweet time, before Aaron decides to pause and not take it any further.

He pulls away, lets out his own small exhale — the matching one to Robert’s. He smiles at him, Robert returns it. Then with another small breath he leans his forehead against the other man’s; shuts his eyes and feels the feel of his skin against his own.

A few seconds pass, Robert still holding him close, Aaron feeling like he’s just survived a continuous free fall.

It’s in the middle of this that he hears Harriet’s quietly spoken words, “And that’s a wrap. Not going to get a better take than that one.”

:::::

He’s on his way off set when Robert catches up with him, grabbing his elbow to still him.

He doesn’t let go even when Aaron stops in place, only does when Aaron looks at him questioningly, despite the whole thing feeling natural.

“You doing anything later?” Robert asks, both hands in his leather jacket pockets, a leather messenger bag slung across his chest and shoulders. “Thought you might like to come over for a drink.”

Aaron considers it, gives it a long hard thought, but it must make Robert panic because he blurts out, “We can run lines or something.”

“Yeah, okay,” Aaron tells him, giving him a nod. And then, because he thinks Robert might have the wrong impression of him and he doesn’t at all like that.

“We don’t always have to work, you know. I do have other interests..”

Robert grins and nudges him in the side. Then he goes into an impression of Aaron.

“I’m Aaron Dingle and I think work is fun. If you don’t, then you’re a right idiot.”

Aaron tries not to, but he can’t stop himself chuckling, a little charmed by Robert’s intonation.

:::::

He finds that Robert’s home is nothing like he’d imagined, more lived in and comfortable than overly posh — though he has all sorts of shiny appliances in the kitchen. A mark of either a man who cooks, or just someone who likes the aesthetic. (Aaron is willing to bet it’s the first one.)

The bookshelves — of which there are two big ones — are stuffed to the gills, brimming with books threatening to fall off them. The walls, a nice calming shade of blue, are covered in posters paying homage to some of his favourite works of science fiction.

“Didn’t know you were such a nerd,” Aaron says when he’s got a drink in hand, as he looks up at a poster of The Xavier Files, the show he’d been more than a little obsessed with. Robert is standing front and centre as the star, his boarding school uniform fitting him flatteringly. (Aaron swallows, his blood growing warmer as he understands where certain fantasies might have originated from. He tries not to think about it in case he’ll need another cold shower. He’s already taken one before coming to this place.)

“You just don’t understand art,” Robert retorts, coming over to join him. He looks at the poster for a good second and then adds, “Or quality science fiction.”

Aaron snorts at that, unable to contain himself. “Think you’re using the term rather loosely. The ‘Gavoorians’? Come on.”

Robert looks at him in surprise, and maybe a hint of pleasure, as he says, “Don’t tell me youwatched it?”

Aaron goes red, feels his mouth turn dry, so he answers as honestly as he can, trying not to let the truth of the matter slip out even as he looks Robert in the eye.

“Might have caught an episode or two one summer,” he says, voice straining to remain casual. Then he adds, because he can’t help himself, “Saw the one where you kissed Pete Barton.”

Robert’s face goes from surprise to embarrassment to all-out amusement, barking a laugh with his neck tipped back, his shoulders relaxing and also dipping down. Aaron’s never seen him this joyful.

“What?” Robert says, growing suddenly conscious, his laughter fading and his body going still. His cheeks are pink as he studies Aaron.

“Nothing,” Aaron shrugs, voice above a whisper. His ears are hot, his pulse pounding. “Just wasn’t expecting this reaction, is all.”

“Well, it’s a bit of a surprise,” Robert explains, as if it all makes sense. “Didn’t think you’d have even heard of it, let alone watched it.”

“Why not? Because I don’t understand ‘science fiction’?” Aaron teases, oddly thrilled at subverting Robert’s expectations like this. “Don’t have to watch a lot to understand quality.”

“So you agree,” Robert smirks, nudging him with his elbow, a twinkle in his eye. “It is science fiction.”

Aaron snorts, nudges him back. “I suppose. But you’re really stretching the definition.”

They smile at each other, then go back to sipping their drinks, settling comfortably in the silence.

“I loved working on that show,” Robert says after quite a long beat, his voice holding a note of pride. But it’s quiet and with absolutely no hint of preening. “And kissing Pete wasn’t half bad either.”

Aaron feels his cheeks redden as he pictures it again, teenage Pete and Robert going at it.

“Did you have a crush on him, or something?” He looks down at the glass in his hand. He’d never thought he’d be having this conversation with Robert Sugden.

“God, no.” Robert shakes his head beside him. “Pete was pretty fit, but he’s pretty much as straight as they come.”

He waits a beat and then adds, “Decent kisser though.”

How about me? Am I decent too? Aaron wants to ask. But he just chuckles in amusement, enjoying this behind the scenes glimpse into one of his favourite episodes of television ever.

“But what about you?” Robert asks, turning his attention to Aaron. He finishes the last of his drink and asks, “Did you fancy him?”

His smile is conspiratorial and all kinds of knowing. His eyes are dark but inscrutable. Aaron’s cheeks redden despite himself, as he struggles not to blurt out, No. I fancied you, you idiot.

What he does manage to say, after a long moment of waiting, is, “Well, I wasn’t watching for the plot. Was I?”

It doesn’t feel like lying, because it is completely true. Though he does see the flash of something in Robert’s eyes. It disappears behind a laugh a moment later.

“No, I guess not,” Robert concedes, turning and walking over to the sofa. When he takes his seat, it’s with his legs spread wide, all the focus on his crotch. Aaron struggles to not let his gaze drift downward, keeping it trained on Robert’s face instead. And honestly, it’s worth it.

Robert’s smiling up at Aaron, buzzing with excitement. Aaron smiles back because it’s infectious.

“If you liked The Xavier Files, there’s a film you should check out,” he says, switching on his TV, Aaron no longer the focus of his attention. He pulls up Netflix, slowly searches through it, before he asks, “Have you seen The Cabin in the Woods?”

The way he’s looking at Aaron now is just pulling at all his heartstrings, an element of youth befalling all of Robert’s features. His eyes are sparkling, his smile is crooked, and his excitement is radiating off of him.

Robert Sugden: Horror fan.

“Uh, no, I haven’t,” Aaron says shaking his head to clear it. It wouldn’t do to fall for Robert Sugden again. Not when he’s a full-fledged adult. Not when he could accidentally act on it. (Aaron’s always has a rule against dating fellow co-stars or crew members. But no one’s been openly queer enough to test that — or even simply Robert Sugden.)

“Oh, you’re in for a treat,” Robert says patting the sofa seat beside him. Aaron glances at the screen where the movie is waiting, already cued up, then goes ahead and joins him. “Joss Whedon wrote and directed it.”

Even sitting next to Robert makes his heart rate spike, as does the warmth he feels from his proximity. Robert’s choice to sit in the middle of the sofa and almost spread himself out means he’s just a few fingers far away from Aaron, their hands centimetres apart on the same cushion; the dip caused by Aaron sitting causing Robert’s hand to slide a little closer to him.

He barely manages a nod when he hears Robert talk to him, asking him if he can start the movie. (He would have said yes, but his tongue has ceased to work. Another symptom of sitting next to Robert.)

The film begins and Robert reaches forward and places the remote on the coffee table and suddenly Aaron can focus once more; the thought of Robert accidentally touching him no longer playing on his mind, now free to enjoy the movie.

But as he watches the story of a group of friends — one played by Chris Hemsworth — who decide to spend a weekend in a cabin in the woods, there’s a growing sense of disappointment.

He quickly looks over to Robert’s hands in his lap, and starts to wish they were once again closer.

:::::

He doesn’t have to worry for very much longer, Robert reaching out and grabbing his forearm, when the movie presents its first real scare. Aaron isn’t expecting it, the move causing his heart rate to surge for the monster on screen itself, the feeling of warm, solid fingers clutching him clear even through thick fabric.

As it turns out Robert’s not a very passive watcher, constantly leaning over to make asides or jokes. But mostly it’s all facts he finds fun about the movie. (Aaron agrees. They’re actually quite interesting.)

It’s sweet, Aaron thinks, as he gets more and more invested, both fretting for the imperilled college students and watching Robert.

Gone is the tall and handsome actor who practically grew up in the limelight. In his stead sits a tall, handsome, and surprisingly knowledgeable genre film buff. He’s on the edge of his seat and mostly turned toward Aaron, a bit of a contrasting match to his own seating. (Aaron’s sat back, leaning on the right arm of the sofa, a little too tired to really make himself sit up properly.)

There’s another scare. Robert’s grip tightens. Aaron hides a chuckle at Robert’s expression, the shock of fear stealing the words out of his mouth. He’s left eyes wide, mouth open, and gaping. It’s almost as if this is his first time watching the movie.

Robert doesn’t seem to notice himself holding Aaron’s arm as the movie ticks on, and for his part, Aaron doesn’t alert him.

:::::

He’s enjoying the movie well enough when Robert excitedly tugs at his arm.

“This is my favourite part,” he says, before turning to look at Aaron, eyes crinkling in delight at the edges.

He’s not sure what it is in that moment — the steady warmth of Robert’s grip, the pinks of his cheeks undercutting his freckles, or the reminder of how much he used to want him — but there’s a swell in his chest and Aaron leans forward and steals a kiss from Robert.

His lips feel just like they have every other time, soft, firm, and tender. But unlike all those times they’ve kissed on camera, his co-star isn’t responding.

Panic sets in and Aaron instantly pulls back. He sees that Robert is frozen in surprise; lips barely puckered. Instantly, he realises he got carried away by his feelings, and so backtracks as quickly as possible.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, getting to his feet, Robert’s hand falling away in the process. The loss of warmth immediately starts to smart, Aaron already having gotten used to the feel of it.

“Aaron,” Robert starts, but he just cuts him off.

“I shouldn’t have done that,” Aaron swallows roughly unable to look at Robert again, his embarrassment turning his stomach. He feels like he might throw up. “Better go home now. Early call time tomorrow.”

With that, Aaron bolts out of the room and then out the front door all without waiting for another word from Robert.

:::::

He doesn’t sleep a wink that night, just replays the moment in his mind.

Each time it gets worse than before, Robert looking at him in shock bordering on disgust, green-blue eyes flashing. (Aaron knows objectively that Robert didn’t actually sneer at him, but emotionally he might as well have.)

This is what happens when you let your feelings get confused, Aaron chides himself, tossing and turning, his sheets all a tangle. This is why you can’t fall for your co-star.

By the time it’s morning he’s tenser than before. But at least he knows what to say to him.

:::::

He goes to Robert’s trailer before he goes to his own, knocking on the door once and then going right in.

Immediately he’s faced with an eyeful of half-naked Robert in snug boxer-briefs, pacing the space and going over his lines by himself.

Aaron loses his voice, his throat going dry. He just stands there in stunned silence. (He has actually seen Robert without a top on a few times before this, courtesy of a few of his movies. But like with all things, real life is proving better. He’d forgotten just how many freckles he has — and how much he used to want to count them.)

Robert notices him ogling him a few seconds later, and he pauses mid-pace. Just stands there frozen, script page in hand.

“Hi,” Aaron says, for lack of anything better. He smiles nervously, both his hands tucked in his coat pockets, watching Robert quietly.

“Hey,” Robert greets back, sounding almost relieved to see him. He doesn’t look like he’s slept either — probably trying to come up with ways with which to let Aaron down gently. Aaron swallows nervously.

At least you don’t have your cock out again, he wants to joke. But now hardly feels like the time for that.

“About yesterday,” Robert begins, taking a step forward, his tone already sounding apologetic.

Aaron takes that as his cue to take over, and so springs into action.

“It was a mistake,” he says matter-of-factly, having practiced this a few times coming in. “I got carried away. Forgot we’re not Felix and Thomas. Don’t worry it won’t happen again.”

Learned my lesson the hard way.

Robert’s brow is furrowing and he doesn’t seem too pleased. Probably because Aaron is issuing a gentle let down for him. He’d figured this was the easiest way to save face: to acknowledge his crime and issue an apology, save Robert the trouble of having to do any heavy lifting.

“Besides,” Aaron says, trying to lighten the mood, even though it’s absolutely twisting him inside. “Wouldn’t want any rumours ruinin’ ya chances, eh Mr. Bond?”

He offers him a smile, but it feels too watery and shallow. He’s barely able to keep his lips turned upward for long.

Robert’s expression doesn’t soften even a bit, just grows more dark and displeasured. He opens his mouth to say something, but before he can the trailer door swings open.

“Oh excellent,” Harriet states, coming in with a smile, happy to see both of them. “This should save me some time.”

She must sense the tension in the air, the trailer now thick with the smell of it. Her smile fades and she looks between them, then asks, “Everything alright?”

Aaron chances a glance at Robert and finds him looking almost inscrutable. (Though to be fair, his mind hasn’t moved on from the fact that he’s practically naked.)

“Just fine,” Aaron says, with another thin smile, this one a little easier than that first one.

He’s not sure if she believes him, but she does nod anyway, so he finds that to be heartening.

“There’s been a bit of a change in the shooting schedule, seeing as the weather forecast for today is a bit unexpected,” Harriet tells them, looking from Aaron over to Robert. “So we’re going to try and do today’s scenes tomorrow, and tomorrow’s stuff today. You fine with that?”

Aaron thinks real fast, runs through his memory, trying to figure out what tomorrow brings. He realises it a second later, his stomach sinking quickly, filled with dread about how they’re going to do this.

“Yeah, sure,” Robert replies, sounding quite casual, like what’s about to happen isn’t a big deal to him.

Aaron doesn’t know whether to be hurt or happy, so he just files it as a temporary win. He nods his acceptance when Harriet looks at him questioningly, then follows it up with a, “Should be fine.”

“Perfect! I’ll let the rest of the cast know, and I’ll get makeup in here first thing,” Harriet says, smiling in relief. “Why don’t you two work on any blocking you feel you might need? Especially since all of this is short notice.”

She turns and leaves, the door slamming shut behind her. Leaving nothing but aching silence.

When Aaron finally hazards a glance, he sees that Robert’s staring down at his script page, all focused like if he stares hard enough he can change what just happened.

“So do you want to…” Aaron starts, gesturing between them, unsure what else to say. He kicks himself mentally once again, for ruining any progress in the working relationship between them.

Robert sighs, long and deep, then says, “Suppose we can just figure it out when we both get there.”

He only looks at Aaron when he’s done talking, like he can’t bear to look at him.

Aaron nods his agreement. “Cool. Better get going then. Get into today’s ‘costume.’”

It’s meant to be a joke but Robert doesn’t respond. Just nods back at him pensively.

Aaron desperately wants to ask if everything’s alright between them, but he doesn’t want to make the situation any worse than it seems to be already.

“Yeah, great. See you on set,” Robert finally says, turning away, and walking towards the opposite end of his trailer. A non-verbal dismissal.

Aaron exits, then shuts the door, letting out a sigh as he leans back against it.

It was every bit as awkward as he’d expected — only now it’s been ratcheted up to a million. They’re going to need every single bit of their acting skills if they’re going to sell what’s about to happen. Because Aaron’s not sure how else he and Robert are going to get through the rest of this day, when they’ll both be shooting Thomas and Felix’ first sex scene.

:::::

He stands there, script page in hand and a growing pit in his stomach, as Robert Sugden walks up to him with a grin.

“What you waiting for? Get your kit off.”

The words hit him before the tone does, Robert’s voice sounding teasing but brittle. Aaron’s eyes shoot up towards him, and he sees that the smile on his face is nowhere near his eyes and he’s clearly keeping up pretences.

Right, of course, Aaron tells himself, after getting over the initial surprise of it. We’re all actors here. No point pretending.

It’s silly and it shouldn’t sting as much as it does but Aaron’s still aches at Robert’s reaction. It’s one thing to not be interested in his romantic advances, but it’s another thing to pretend they completely didn’t happen. (He knows it’s hypocritical to feel this way, seeing as he’d actually prayed they could do this last night. But now that he’s living the exact reality he’d hoped for, he knows to be careful what you wish for.)

Still, he smiles right back, feels it hurt to even do so, as he lobs back a response of his own. Both of them standing there in bathrobes.

“Why don’t you get yours off first?”

Robert’s eyes widen, but his smile never falters. Instead, he winks and says, loud enough for anyone standing close by to hear, “Looks like you’ll be getting your wish soon enough.”

Aaron rolls his eyes, but his cheeks are still blushing, Robert having hit upon a wish from his youth.

Thankfully, Robert doesn’t see it, Harriet having arrived on the closed, private set, the number of people limited to just her, the two of them, and a small team of production people.

When she gives them a nod, they both strip out of their robes, both of them left standing naked, except for their actors’ modesty socks hiding their cocks and balls. Aaron does his best to keep his gaze level and facing forward, as he goes and finds his mark. The scene involves Felix making love to Thomas, on the floor of the latter’s barn.

The wooden floorboards are tad bit cool and just a little prickly — stray stalks of hay strewn across them — Aaron discovers as his bare back and arse come to rest against them, the sensation causing his skin to stand on end and his back wanting to arch off of it.

Aaron doesn’t have much time to process it, because now Robert’s crawling into his position, slowly lowering himself across Aaron and coming to rest on both his forearms. Aaron keeps his eyes pointed towards the barn ceiling and the rig of artificial lighting, hoping to make things as less awkward as possible.

He can feel Robert’s breath against his cheek, and the heat of him on his arms and chest as they silently hold these poses for the lighting check; Robert is now laying between Aaron’s spread and bent thighs, his arse exposed for everyone to see — not that he seems to care or even looks embarrassed. Instead, Aaron can feel him looking down at him, pinning him to the ground where he’s laying. Still, he refuses to look back at him, his heart furiously beating, as he refuses to make even a hint of eye contact; his last vestige of privacy.

“This isn’t going to work,” Robert says with a sigh after what feels like a day and an age, and Aaron feels his stomach clench, preparing for Robert to clamber off him, already missing him despite no part of them really touching at the moment. “Not if you don’t look at me.”

That gets Aaron’s attention and he looks up into Robert’s eyes, where he finds nothing but calm and watchful understanding.

“What?” He whispers, not meaning to come off so rude, but he’s nervous about what Robert might say and this is a pre-emptive strike — a test to see if he can handle it.

“About yesterday-” Robert begins, and Aaron immediately protests.

“I thought we were done talking about it.”

“No,” Robert insists, voice firm and kind of steely. “You talked about it. I just listened.”

Aaron swallows and lays there, his heart in his ears, as he wishes himself anywhere but here.

But then without warning, Robert dips down and kisses him, a firm press across his lips before a tongue swipes against the bottom one. Aaron grants him eager entry.

Robert pulls back, a half a moment later, remains naked and panting over Aaron.  

“What was that?” Aaron asks, body locked in surprise, though his cock is already having a bit of a reaction. He tries his hardest not to think about it.

“What I wish I’d done last night,” Robert replies, speaking softly, as he shoots Aaron a tentative smile. “What I wish I’d done this morning.”

“You mean…” Aaron trails off, struggling to compute, still feeling like this puzzle is missing a few pieces. Any thoughts about his dick fall by the wayside.

“I like you, Aaron,” Robert says like it’s a well known fact, and not something he just demonstrated with his tongue down Aaron’s throat. “And as you can see, I don’t really care who knows it.”

Aaron glances around and sees that no one’s really paying them much attention, Harriet studying the film monitors in front of her from the director’s seat, the sound guys standing and chatting in the corner.

“Guess that’s a relief,” Aaron finally sighs, when he comes back to look up at Robert’s face. “Seein’ as I like you too.”

It’s like a wave ripples between them because suddenly they’re both touching in millions of tiny ways. Robert’s arms move a little closer, Aaron’s a little wider, both their limbs now settling together. Robert’s planking position lowers, causing him to actually lay across Aaron, their chests just centimetres apart, even as their belly buttons touch, and their cocks, swaddled in their actors’ modesty socks now rest against each other; both steadily hardening. (Aaron smiles as he realises that, flushed with pride that Robert Sugden wants him.)

“So, you going to kiss me back or what?” Robert then asks, smiling down at Aaron, his arms framing either side of his face.

Aaron shakes his head, grinning back cheekily. “Thought we’d save it for the camera.”

:::::

When Harriet yells, “Action,” Robert’s focused and gazing into his eyes. But he doesn’t lunge forward like Aaron expects him to.

Instead, he slowly comes forward, nudges his nose against Aaron’s, before touching their lips together and letting them hover that way for a second, before increasing the pressure, one hand coming to holding the side of Aaron’s face.

Slowly, Aaron’s waiting lips part, as he opens his mouth and lets his tongue curl and slide against Robert’s; allowing him to steal the breath right out of him.

They kiss like that for a couple of minutes, Aaron’s hands sliding up Robert’s back to wrap around the balls of his shoulders, half holding, half gently kneading.

Slowly and gently, Robert starts to rock in place, dragging his thick and hard cock against Aaron’s. He may be simulating sex, but the feelings are all real, as Aaron feels his own shaft throbbing and aching harder.

Robert kisses his way down his jaw, and then his neck and then his chest, Aaron’s back arching unconsciously against him.

Robert comes back up kiss at his lips, the movement of his hips growing faster.

Aaron closes his eyes and pictures his teenage self and all his exploration of sexuality with another boy in his class in the local village pavilion. None of that compares to Felix and Thomas’ first time, none of that compares to this moment with Robert.

Another wave comes over him and he gives himself into it, rolling them over so Robert is now under him; shaggy hair blending with the straw on the wooden floorboards. Aaron takes his lips in his and resumes their kissing.

He continues to grind, increasing the pressure and speed just a little, chasing that spark that shoots through him when their cocks touch through their socks at just the right spot. He can feels his balls tighten and Robert groan into his mouth, the sound of it soaked with wanting. His own cock feels swollen, now more than thick and leaking, the leaking come making the fabric stick to him and his erect shaft more than sensitive.

Aaron can see his climax rising on the horizon, can feel it gathering at the base of his spine, the pressure building to a tall cresting wave, threatening to crash down over him. Under him, Robert continues softly groaning, loose hands scoring up and down Aaron’s back; the movements causing a little thrill of pleasure.

Then just when his orgasm starts to move towards his peak, pushed onward by the friction between their penises, he hears a sound that causes him to stop almost instantly, and Robert to whine under him.

Aaron lays there panting, cock now more than aching, he curses the gods and this particular profession. He brings his forehead to rest against Robert’s. The sweat on both their brows mingling as the chill in the barn begins to set in.

“Alright,” says Harriet from somewhere behind them. Her voice is firm and brooks no questions. So they know better than to protest it. “This was great. But let’s try that again.”

Aaron drops his head into Robert’s neck and groans.

:::::

An hour later he starts to wonder if Harriet is doing this intentionally; guiding them close to the edge with her takes and directions, only to cause them to pull back again, just adding to their rising frustrations.

His only solace is the presence of Robert, who moves from over to under — and even one time, beside — him, as they keep kissing and grinding against each other for the camera; both more sensitive than ever.

“Come back to mine after,” Aaron grunts softly in the middle of one take, too soft for the boom controller to hear him. Robert’s mouth nipping at his shoulder.

“And do what?” Robert whispers, when Aaron rolls them over. It’s clear that he’s a little beyond thinking.

Aaron gets it, biting his tongue as a wave of pleasure sweeps through him.  

“What do you think?” He asks, through gritted teeth, as his hips begin simulating trusting. Then he grins slyly as he looks down into Robert’s unfocused eyes.

“Reckon we could run lines or something.”

:::::

They bolt off set before Harriet can even declare it a wrap — or pull either one aside to talk to them — neither of them able to keep the smile off their faces. Aaron tries not to speed, or run a red light, but it’s a struggle with Robert’s right hand on his thigh, slowly inching higher and higher the entire time.

He manages to still his breathing — and his body’s tetchy reaction — as they exit the vehicle and later enter his building. In fact, they make it all the way up and into his flat, without him making even a single move to try and tear Robert’s clothes off.

“Nice place,” Robert says, as Aaron shuts and locks the door behind. Aaron glances around at the classic film posters on his own living room walls and the lived-in state of his sofa; the prime location for all his movie marathons between projects.

“Thought you might want to see it,” Aaron says coming up to stand in front of him, his hands coming to rest on Robert’s lips.

“You were right about that,” Robert says, though his focus is on him. He smiles and adds, “I’m a big fan of Aaron Dingle.”

Aaron smiles back. There’s a flutter in his chest, like a flock of birds flying back after winter. He swallows roughly and gives his answer, his voice coming out rougher as his gaze drops to Rober’s lips, “I’m right about a lot of things. Guess you’re going to have to remind me.”

That’s all it takes because Robert’s lips are on his, with all the urgency of a man drowning.

Aaron grabs at his jacket and starts pushing it off him, as he also walks him to the bedroom.

They stumble a little, the room still a mess from this morning, Robert grabbing Aaron’s biceps so as to not trip backwards over a pair of kicked trainers lying in the middle of the floor.

“You know, a little tidying never hurt anyone,” Robert says coming back in for a kiss.

“Do you want to talk cleaning, or do you want to fuck?” Aaron growls back, still very frustrated from this morning.

Robert stripping him of his hoodie is his answer.

Grinning into the kiss, Aaron tugs Robert’s shirt up and out of his jeans and then makes quick work of the buttons up front — not caring if he loses one. He pushes it off him, and trails kisses down his neck, before pausing to nip once at his collarbone.

Robert inhales sharply, pressing closer into him. So Aaron does it again, just a little bit harder, earning him a groaned, Aaron.

Smiling again, he licks the same area once, then kisses it as if to make it better. Then he turns his attention to Robert’s jeans, his dick already bulging in the front of it.

Robert’s hands are once again moving, pushing Aaron’s own jeans down to pool against his feet. He tries to step out of them, while undoing Robert’s belt buckle, only to feel one of Robert cup his cock through the fabric of his boxers, the pressure firm but gentle.

Aaron lets out a gasp as Robert just chuckles, “Well, hello there Mr. Dingle.”

“Do you ever shut up?” Aaron asks, as he tried to focus on the jeans button in front of him, Robert’s cock already straining against his zipper, as his hand slips from outside Aaron’s boxers into them, drawing out a shuddered gasp as he squeezes his erection.

“Make me,” Robert says with a smug little grin, the words a low purr that goes straight to Aaron’s eardrum.

Aaron takes him up on his offer, kissing him thoroughly, before pushing him back against his mattress.

A thrill runs up his back as he sees a mostly naked Robert Sugden, resting on his elbows and across the unmade purple sheets of his bed. He kneels down at the base of his bed, then reaches up and pulls the hem of Robert’s underwear down. His cock springs out, already wet and leaking, and every bit as long and thick as Aaron had expected.

He runs a hand up it, giving it a test of a stroke, in front of him Robert twitches.

Pleased with the response, Aaron leans forward and hovers over it, feeling Robert’s eyes watching carefully. Then he smiles up at him, before dropping his head down as he sets up about fulfilling a fantasy.

On either side of his head, Robert’s thighs jerking and flexing — just like that first day in the trailer. Only this time it’s Aaron with his mouth on his cock, him being the one to draw the groans out of Robert.

Down between his own legs, his cock is once again aching, having been denied release too many times in one day. Aaron wraps a hand around it, smearing his own pre-come over his head and down around it, his thumb flicking the edge of his frenulum and causing a thrill of excitement. He keeps on steadily stroking.

When he feels Robert nearing the edge — now more than well-versed in his body — Aaron pulls off and hears the expected moan of disappointment. He gives him a kiss as he reaches for the lube, eager to avoid a painful experience.

He slides two fingers in, gently twisting and scissoring, Robert groaning and pushing down into it.

When he feels he’s ready, Aaron slides his now slick dick into Robert and gets a satisfied sigh for his efforts.

He waits a second for Robert to adjust to the discomfort, but all he gets is grunted, “Hurry up and fuck me.”

Doing as he says, Aaron sets up a punishing pace, the front of his thighs smacking against the back of Robert’s in a satisfying rhythm.

It’s not too long before he feels his climax once again approaching, having been at the edge of his fingertips all day. Below him, Robert’s busy stroking himself as he keeps on moaning Aaron’s name, punctuated by a gasp every time Aaron hits that special spot.

His neck is tipped back and his eyes are tight shut, his hand is rapidly pumping, Robert lost to the build of his own orgasm.

With his own edge within sight, Aaron makes a quick decision, he leans down, hips still rolling as he positions himself right beside Robert’s ear, and then whispers, “It was you I liked, not Pete Barton.”

He hears Robert’s strangled cry and his come hit his chest. It’s enough to make him come inside him.

:::::

He wakes up a few hours later to Robert on his phone, just laying next to him naked. The white light from the small iPhone screen illuminates the side profile of his face in a strong but gentle white glow; his features looking like he was sculpted from marble.

There’s a fondness in his eyes and a glow in his cheeks as he lays on his back, biting his bottom lip, staring at the screen intently, probably skimming the news on a gossip news site. (Aaron actually reads a few of them himself, a couple proving quite reliable in terms of casting news and breakdowns.)

“Anything good?” He asks, when he’s drunk his fill — though he’s finding that his thirst for Robert might be bottomless.

Robert doesn’t startle or even really flinch, just looks over at him like he was gently awakened. His smile is radiant — but more so in this light, white teeth flashing in the phone light, which also renders his freckles a little paler.

“Nothing as good as what’s right here,” Robert says, affection coming through loud and clear. He then lifts his right arm above his head, an open invitation.

Aaron accepts it, shuffling in closer, and bringing the covers with him. He snuggles in closer until his head is resting on the ball of Robert’s shoulder as he turns himself sideways on his left side. Robert’s arm comes back down, wrapping around his back and resting on the curve of his arse.

When Aaron turns towards the phone screen he sees instead that it’s a book, Robert’s attention instead captured by some kind of video.

It takes him a second to clock what’s happening on screen, because then he gasps in disbelief.

“Are you watching my episode of Black Mirror?” He shifts to gaze up at him, searching Robert’s face for any detail of an answer.

“Why?” He asks, horrified.

Robert turns from the phone to look down at him, and then says without any embarrassment or shame. “The first time I ever saw this, I knew I had to meet you.”

“You’re joking me,” Aaron barks a laugh. “My character was mental.”

“Yeah,” Robert agrees, his index finger now rubbing a lazy circle into Aaron’s hip, the feel and motion of it deeply soothing. “But you played him with such intensity.”

“Probably just thought I was fit, or something,” Aaron protests, rolling his eyes at Robert. “I spent half the episode naked.”

“Well, obviously there was that,” Robert concedes, but even with his playful tone, Aaron can tell he still means it. That he’d actually been attracted to Aaron’s acting.

“Does this mean you fantasized about me?” Aaron asks cheekily, even though he’s nervous about the answer.

“If I didn’t, I’d be mental,” Robert says with all the confidence in the world, like this is an undisputed fact.

He’d wanted to hear it, but it still makes him blush. Aaron rolls inward towards Robert’s shoulder. Robert’s hand and finger don’t stop their circling.

“Shut up,” he chides him gently.

“It’s true though,” Robert admits, voice quiet in the night, his face growing ever more thoughtful. “It’s why I wanted to do this project. Figure at least this way I’d get a chance to work with you.”

“More like, hoped you’d get a chance to shag me,” Aaron retorts, but there’s nothing in his voice but affectionate lightness.

“Not going to lie and say I didn’t dream about that,” Robert chuckles. “Though I did really hope you might be bisexual as well.”

“Worked out in the end, I suppose,” Aaron says quietly.

Robert hums his agreement. On his phone screen a younger version of Aaron fights against a male co-star.

Time passes, a few more moments go by, then Aaron says, trying not to keep the worry from creeping into his voice too much, “You know, if people find out about us, we might have to come out publicly.”

He doesn’t want to say it, but he feels like he has to, not wanting to cost Robert his career. “You could lose the Bond role.”

“I told you, Aaron, I don’t care who finds out.” It doesn’t sound flippant, and it doesn’t sound thrown away. It sounds sure as can be and confident. “Didn’t exactly take this job to prove I could do my own stunts. Though I think we both did well on that front.”

Robert pinches his hip as if to underscore the point, sending a spark of shock right through him. Aaron startles and arches his back closer, his bare chest now snug into Robert’s side.

“You’re an idiot, you know that?” Aaron grumbles poking his chest. Under his left ear, Robert shakes with quiet laughter.

“Yes, but an idiot you like,” Robert says when he can finally answer. “And an idiot you had a crush on.”

Aaron rubs his hip sorely. “I can still kick you out of bed, you know.”

“You wouldn’t do that to a poor, defenceless, idiot,” Robert offers in his defence. Aaron just rolls his eyes at it.

“Do you seriously ever shut up?” He questions, not really annoyed.

Robert’s voice is low when he replies, “Like I said. Go ahead and make me.”

Aaron comes up for a kiss.

:::::

They do come out eventually, when doing the rounds to promote the movie, and all their fears are brushed aside as it makes their stock rise even higher. Suddenly they have interviews scheduled with all the top publications, with joint profiles in both The Guardian and Variety. (Aaron asks his mum to go buy extras of both, his idea to have them framed as an eventual moving-in present.)

The movie’s a success as it starts to do the circuit, opening first in limited release and then going wider and wider. It garners great reviews, most of it focusing on Aaron and Robert’s performance, with plenty of mentions of their chemistry. (Robert particularly likes reading those aloud in bed, pulling them up on his phone not long after Aaron awakens.)

Amongst all the furor and the immense fan support, the good news start to trickle in. George Miller wants to meet Aaron to discuss a possible part in Mad Max, while Robert has a meeting about playing Bond after all. As it turns out, times are very definitely changing, and the minds in charge of the franchise have decided they’d quite like to adapt along with it. Neither of them expect anything to actually come of it. But they still joke about Robert wearing that suit and celebrate.  

A few months after that, Harriet calls waking them both up, the film — as well as both their performances and her direction — having been nominated for an Oscar. They lay there together, Robert’s phone on speaker on Aaron’s bare chest, his cheek close beside it, neither of them daring to breathe in their shocked silence.

Aaron cracks first, a long and loud laugh, seconds later Robert starts to join him.

“Can you believe it?” Robert asks, lifting his head. The diffused sunlight from the hotel room balcony window backlights him, showing off his bedhead in all its glory.

“Sure I can,” Aaron shrugs easily, taking in the high cheekbones and the freckles dotting them, the unexpected pinkness of Robert’s lips. Then he looks into Robert’s eager eyes, letting the now-alert green and blue wash over him. “Harriet Finch, innit?”

“But you and me, nominated for an Oscar…” Robert quietly marvels. “Do you think we could win?”

Aaron just watches him, memorising this face, already planning their celebration. He brings a hand up, and cups Robert’s cheek, stroking a thumb across a warm cheekbone. Then he leans up, gives him a soft kiss, then lies back, his head hitting the pillow.

Robert’s eyes open slowly, and his smile grows softer; a small one that he reserves for Aaron.

“Reckon we could,” Aaron says, feeling himself return it. “Who doesn’t love a good love story?”

[schizo-spoon-blog]

Spoonbender Society: Selected Schizoepistles

FW: FW: FW: FW: FW: RE: RE: RE: RE: RE:

We Live In A Society

People say we live in a democracy/democratic republic, a form of government intended to amplify what people think and address problems they find to be important. But it doesn’t ever seem to function that way.

The issue is in voter suppression, but as always not in the way people generally think voter suppression works. The issue is psychic, spiritual, and social suppression of citizens. Systemic over-development of senses of rationalization, neuroticism and anxiety, industrially incentivized narcissism.

People develop a deathly fear of what others think, or may think, or what they may have thought about them or what they think, what they may think, or what they may have thought.

A democracy where we’d rather not hear what other people have to say, because we find their thoughts offensive and retarded. That’s one thing people are happy to share. But because we suspect that there are so many offensive retards in the world, we fear... "Perhaps I’m a retard too?" You wonder that even for just a second in your life, if you have a soul. It’s OK to be a retard really, but you’ll never believe that it’s OK, and that's probably What Your Fucking Problem Is.

The opinions of us purported non-retards, to avoid sounding like complete retards, end up soft, ambivalent and stale, phrased like True Neutral Orgasm in Ego-Death Nirvana, but less Chad, less gratifying, and nobody cums. To not be reminded of the possibility of our own retardation, we like to pretend that if the retards just shut up and nobody can hear them, they go away. If they are Physically Removed from our presence, their evil thoughts and their malicious intentions will go away with them. We win. But they don’t. They never do.

We always fail to Psychically Remove them. We lose.

We can hypothesize a law of conservation of hatred, correlate one too of love, but the truth is banal. How can it be in light of our timeline? Why are these Hate Groups all over the place? Hitler’s corpse is rotting or burned to a crisp, or embalmed in a tomb or made a toilet for Some Rich Dude ((parenthetical removed)). (Or was he cloned?)

Great Fatherland Germany - defeated by the "untermensch" and partitioned like a cheese between rats. That Great "Faustian" and "Supreme" "Aryan" Race is subjugated by the hated "Juden" and all the "vermin" of the world, humiliated, castrated to be reunited a shadow of its former self. Yet the Nazi threat is omnipresent nearly a century later, in an era which may be an alien planet to those who lived in Hitler’s time.

How is it that the Great Allies, our fathers and grandfathers, achieved such total victory over so loathsome a foe, so unsympathetic and vile, only to see his Evil infect their own countrymen and posterity? How can something so thoroughly defeated still persist in what could be our neighbors or our co-workers our bosses or our employees? Each one could be a secret Nazi now. In parenting blogs moms worry that their children are becoming Nazis from goofy men they see in videos on line. Marriages are ending in divorce because the husband or wife is allegedly or apparently a Nazi. How could this happen?

Have you ever seen “The Matrix? Who hasn’t? You know all about the red and blue pills, and all the rainbow-flag DLC that it comes with, black and pink and green and brown and in configurations invisible to the human eye, I’m sure. If you don't know, the pills are portals to different realities. Take the black pill and you only see death, take the white pill and everything’s alright, take the blue pill you vote for Hillary, take the pink you become genderqueer. But this is not about taking any pills. This is about going off your meds. Going straight edge - except for whiskey, cigarettes, cocaine and pussy. It’s about the spoon - no, not for shooting up. It's for bending - with your mind. Remember? That spoon - The Spoon That Isn’t There.

That spoon is a Nazi.

If you are aware that there is no spoon you can tie it into knots. You can make it into a balloon animal. That Nazi Spoon could be a Jewish Socialist from Vermont, or a kosher Brooklyn Zionist, or a Dominican Taxi Driver. It could be an evil copy of your own son from Bizzaro World. It's probably your uncle. It could be Rottweilers, and Chihuahuas. Whether Pitbulls are Nazis or Jews/Blacks is an ongoing debate in the contemporary discourse.

But imaginary shit can be whatever the hell you want. You don’t have to be "The One" to Bend the Spoon. You don’t have to be anyone at all. What was the name of the kid who said the line about the spoon again? Nobody knows, nobody cares, and that's the beauty of Spoonbending.

"The Nazi" is the guy who keeps talking when he should shut up. He might be autistic, but he could just be an asshole. There is a strong possibility he could be both. Why does he keep saying all of this ridiculous stuff? He’s more offensive and more retarded than the usual, but it feels like He Has To Be This Way. Like it’s his curse, He Knows Too Much. He fell down some rabbit hole and ended up gorged on Fascist Propaganda. He mentions some girl named Celine. He rambles on about some guy you’re pretty sure is a Tekken character... the guy who turns into the Devil maybe. He mentions a vacation in Turkey with his family but insists on saying Constantinople and there’s a wild-man tear in his eye. He insists he knows about Atlantis and calls you gay for saying you liked Aquaman. Instead of saying goodbye he says “Subscribe to Pewdiepie.” The Nazi belongs in an institution. You wonder if he has guns and if maybe he should have them taken for a while. He probably doesn’t, but you can’t be sure. He’s 12.

When is it too early to become a school shooter? Is 12 too early to be an incel?

12 is probably the age at which incels hatch from their human hosts.

“Who is Pewdiepie, and how has he groomed my nephew into the Hitler Youth?” many families today are asking. They think they’re looking at a spoon. Conditoning fills your heart with a desperate desire to see the spoon. A fact, pure fact, logical, reasonable, peer reviewed, widely accepted, So True, a Textbook Fact. The spoon. Everyone else sees it too. That goddamn Nazi Spoon.

You ever try to ask this at a party as an ice-breaker and see how the guests react?

“So, anyway, was The Holocaust Real?”

“Excuse me, what?”

“What do you think, was it real, how many people do you think died, don’t the gas chambers sound goofy to you?”

”Um… no… they don’t sound goofy. What are you talking about?”

“You ever hear about the Nazi Roller-coaster they had at one of the camps? They’d put Jews into a roller-coaster except they’d fly off the edge and get splattered. That’s how the Nazis killed ‘em. I swear. I read it in a book by a Holocaust Survivor. Impossible to believe if it weren’t so True. No shit. You hear about that?”

”I’m… gonna get another beer.”

Of course there’s a Correct answer to that initial question. It’s also the Right answer. Who would ever get this wrong? It's the 2+2=X of History. Well…

Pop-Quiz, Random Nazi Check, Anybody here Hate Jews? You a Groyper, Son? What’s so funny? You think the Cookie Monster committing genocide is a laughing matter boy? We don’t take kindly to your kind around here.

Maybe you should give the Nazi-check thing a try, it’ll separate sheep and goat real easy for you.

If you do this everyone will think you are The Nazi.

The Nazis hated Jews, but did they hate real Jews as Jews exist, or did they hate the Fascist Propaganda Jew who was a work of fiction? On that note, were you in love with your last failed relationship, or just pretending you were? Have you ever had one impression of a person, but then learned they were another kind of person entirely? That first impression you had, the one that wasn’t True, was that a Real Person, or Imaginary? But you still spent all that money and sweat on an imaginary girl, huh?

Hope her hole was real.

I think that fake bitch of an ex you dated was a nazi. Your ex was a fascist. Oh, was she Jewish? It doesn’t matter, changes nothing. I’ve never met her - wouldn't matter if I did. When I imagine her, she's in Hugo Boss black and got skull-and-bones on her officer's cap, and she's saying racial slurs as she ruins your life, cheats on you, drains your bank account and kills your dog after getting custody over it in court. I imagine all bad people this way. All women who rejected me were exactly like this.

But I must breach working-class anti-fascist solidarity, and admit, on That Question ("Would you?").... Yeah, I would. Sorry bro. Take me away Comrades, I admit it, I'd give it to that Nazi Jew raw. Would I do that to her as she exists, or the Fascist Propaganda her who is a work of fiction?

That depends. You still got her number?

haha it's ok you can call me an incel, it's a step up from what i actually am

(User was banned for this post.)

The Nazi and the Fascist aren’t my hallucinations. That’s not my mental illness. But it’s adjacent to me, it’s thrown at me without my Consent, and it's a Trigger. I'm paranoid about commies myself.

In the multicultural cyberpunk year of 2019, with its trans-human gender-sex-orientations, anti-racist ethno-narcissism, fanatic anti-normalism, cultish critical theory intersections, grand byzantine minimalism, placidity, in such splendid predatory banality… In the absolute state of the world! – Aah! An undead ideology conceived by a salty Frenchman in the badlands of South Dakota in the 1890s shambles forth the devour all that is Good and Holy in the Great United States of AmeriKKKa, God Help Us All! And A Child Will Lead Those Dreadful Legions of Corruption Upon All The Meek Of Our Fallen World!

Or it’s just a spoon that isn’t real.

Nobody wants to be straight-forward, and I gotta navigate the labyrinths of euphemism. Maybe there's something weird going on - how people talk, how people act, how people think, none of those correlate to each other. It makes you feel schizo when you do all your mental rain-man calculus and realize there's a fucking Elephant in the living room and he's not wearing any goddamn pants. Once that little ray-of-sunshine blesses your tiny bug-man brain to enlighten you that the elephant is real, and the spoon isn't, it's only a matter of time before you're crowned in tinfoil a Potato King on your off-grid Bug-out estate in the Idaho Panhandle, or start drinking yourself to death and bullying mailmen (or both).

If you'd like to avoid that sort of Elephant-Mania Spoon-denialism, maybe you should try answering Uncomfortable Question instead of being so Weird about it, oh wise Mr. Kirk, Mr. Shapiro, Mr. Talking-Head, Mr. Important-Guy, Mr. Movement, Mr. Politics, Mr. Voice of Reason, Mr. Metatron. Take it from a schizo-maniac with a manifesto, you’re freaking out the hoes.

Try Praeger U talking points out on a Tinder date and watch her shrivel up from instathot to instahag -- she will go through menopause before your very eyes, that's how dry her pussy will get. Trying not to sound racist while talking about the Antarctic Nazi base and the importance of craniometry in ethnocultural anthropology will get you more action than anything that sounds like a paraphrase of Charlie Kirk -- because even if you're still being cringe at least you aren't being fake. Point and laugh at that fucking elephant - the moron isn't even wearing pants! That'll get her thinking about taking your pants off. Or not - it's not foolproof. If she doesn't laugh, red-flag, she's a Nazi so Begone Thot!

Please, for the love of God, go off-script! See the damn elephant and forget the spoon, and forget the wise Mr. Kirk, Mr. Shapiro, Mr. Talking-Head, Mr. Important-Guy, Mr. Movement, Mr. Politics, Mr. Voice of Reason, Mr. Metatron. Take it from a schizo-maniac with a manifesto, you'll go insane if you don't.

[. . . ] [T]hen there's that neuroticism, that narcissism, that fear. The whole point of these politics groups and gatherings and Q&As is what, anyway? Is it really just basic marketing tactics, like a live-action advertisement you expect for people to passively consume as though it is persuasive? To shove free-markets and free-speeches down my throat and have me swallow it without having anything that’s been bothering me answered? What do I look like to you, an Ideology Whore? You don't even reciprocate a good time, huh? I'm not that kind of girl. You didn't even buy me dinner. You made me pay to bore me. I'd cuck you if we dated just to make a very important point -- fully aware it'll go over your head. Fuck you.

We gotta hear The Script. We gotta recite The Script.

Real Conservatives Think Like This. Real Progressives Think Like This. White People Walk Like This. Black People Walk Like This.

Gotta hear that joke ten thousand times so you can recite it like a mantra in your sleep.

Free markets mean free people. Facts don’t care about your feelings. Private Companies can do what they wish. What you do in your bedroom is your own business. We want legal immigration, not illegal.

Abolish ICE. Your childhood hero says Trans-Rights. Do you not want me in the movement? Abolish whiteness.

The Racism of Lowered Expectations.

Reparations.

A white nation.

Workers of the world unite!

Abortion is a human right.

Have you got it memorized?

Let’s go over it a few more times.

Say it with me! Hillary was found innocent in a hundred hearings and it is sexist to besmirch her reputation.

Repeat after me! Trump’s economy is the best in history, and if he's racist why is black unemployment is at historical lows.

You benefit from unearned privilege. You suffer from toxic masculinity.

The world is about to end and everything you know and love will die, and it is your fault, for not believing in the correct things at the correct time.

Are you laughing yet?

I’m dying. I feel like an e-girl, and my orbiters are sides.

But do you wanna know what I really think? The whole bit about psychic and social suppression? You ever hear about the Procrustean bed? Well, what if we put your political, social, moral consciousness and your psychic abilitys into a bed like that. We could talk about it. You ever play Xenogears?

Or you could just put me in a box. I really wouldn't mind. I'm Houdini. Hey, was Houdini a Nazi, like Henry Ford? Can we get a fact-check? I didn't mean to be problematic.

Break the Conditoning - Step outside the box, and use it as a step ladder. Ascend, Beyond the Box - use The Spoon.

Bush did 9/11, the Israeli’s danced, the Aliens killed JFK - sure - but I only say this because of my MK Ultra Schizo-brain. It’s true, it’s false, it’s fact, it’s myth, I don’t have to believe any of it -- I also don't have to believe any of you if I don’t want to. My feelings do not care about your facts, and did you know that some of the world's most uncomfortable facts are manifested into being by uncomfortable feelings? Is it the fact of the bullet that kills the political dissident, or the feelings of his executioner? Is it the deranged lust of the rapist that violates his victim, or the fact of his power to do so? I guess it depends on whether the perpetrator said "nothing personnel kid" before he committed the act. I don't know about that Nazi Rapist's feelings, but MY feelings are valid and I can believe or disbelieve whatever I want on the basis of my feelings, and my feelings alone. My feelings bend the spoon of your facts.

Are you going to say I don’t have the right, Adolf? Sucks for you, bud, I may be a commie by blood, but the heart that pumps it was assembled in the ole USA -- and we got the Right to be a Retard here in America. It's a Free Country.

[Note: please insert image of Jonathan Frakes from Beyond Belief: Fact or Fiction]

Now that the dust has settled: Was the Nazi Roller-Coaster Real? Or did we put the Truth in a Mass-Grave? We will let you know at the conclusion of our program.

Sincerely and Full of Suffering Your Friend Always, Orcbrand