#why would you go to number 14 at a different address when the other number 14 is clearly not that address??

[greaseonmymouth]

Oddbox: “Hello, we have delivered your oddbox! We left it here *photo of location*”

location: not my front door

me: so why do you have the what3words feature for deliveries if you’re not going to use it????

[dianawinchester03]

Season 1, Episode 14 - Nightmare

Series Masterlist

Y/N's POV

A man pulls into his garage with Michigan license plates while playing rock music.

He turns off his engine and the music stops when suddenly the garage door closes for itself.

He's startled by this and looks around suspiciously but ignores it until suddenly the doors in his car begin to lock itself.

He tries to unlock it but the engine starts itself and smoke begins to barrel out of the muffler.

He tries turning it off but the keys stuck and the radio turns on, flipping through channels on its own.

The smoke begins to surround the car and enter through the vents, causing him to choke and cough.

He tries urgently to get out but he's trapped, the smoke engulfing his lungs as he begins to scream "Somebody help me!" But no one can hear him.

Soon after he tries kicking the window out but it won't budge and he eventually passes out, dying of asphyxiation.

I jump awake in my bed next to Sam and Dean in the three bedded motel room after that nightmare, sweat beading down my neck. I instantly throw my covers off and bolt to the bathroom to see Sam leaning over the sink, throwing water in his face. He sighs when he sees me and gives me a knowing look.

"You dreamt it too, didn't you?" He asks me and I nod shakily. He moves aside so I can wet my face too, rubbing my back as I try to gasp for air. "What the fuck is going on man?" I ask him, rubbing my face and he shrugs, not knowing what to say.

I walk back to the room and Sam turns on the lights while I shake Dean awake, "Dean, hey charming wake up" I shake him awake gently and he groans. "What're you doing princess?? It's the middle of the night" He groans, getting up as Sam begins to pack our bags.

"We have to go" Sam says urgently and I nod, going to pack my stuff as Dean looks at us confused. "What's happening?" He asks us, concerned. "Just trust us, okay? We have to go. Right now" I plead with him and he sighs, throwing the covers over him.

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"McReady. Detective McReady. Badge number 158. I've got a signal 480 in progress. I need a registered owner of a Sedan. Michigan license plate Mary-Frank-six-zero-three-seven" Sam says into the phone while impersonating a detective to get a location on the car that was in our dream while we make our way to Michigan in the Impala.

"Yeah, okay, just hurry" He urges the officer on the other line. "Sammy, y/n/n, relax. I'm sure it's just a nightmare" Dean assures him and my head snaps up at this. "Yeah, tell us about it" I mutter sarcastically. "I mean it. You know, a normal everyday, naked in class nightmare. This license plate, it won't check out, you'll see" Dean tells us convinced.

I huff and roll my eyes, "It felt different Dean. Real. Like when we dreamt about your old house." I say and Sam nods in agreement. "And like when I dreamt about Jessica" Sam adds, the phone still to his ear. "Yeah, that makes sense. You guys were dreaming about our house, Sam's girlfriend. This guy you dreamt, you ever seen him before?" Dean asks us.

And I sigh, shaking my head. "No. Exactly. Why would you two have premonitions about some random dude in Michigan?" Dean asks. "I don't know" Sam snaps. "Me neither" I add. "Yes I'm here" Sam says into the phone and then looks over at Dean with an 'I told you so' look on his face. He picks up his pen and begins writing.

"Jim Miller. Saginaw, Michigan. Do you have a street address?" He asks the officer. "Got it. Thanks" He finishes before hanging up. "So it checks out" I sigh and Sam nods sadly. "How far are we?" I ask Dean and he looks at me. "From Saginaw?" He asks. "Yeah" Sam responds. "A couple hours" Dean replies.

"Drive faster" Sam urges him and he picks up the pace.

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Saginaw, Michigan

In less than a couple hours, we make it to Michigan. Pulling up infront of Jim Millers house that's swarming with cop cars, we see a ambulance that's loading up a stretcher with what seems to be a dead body. The boys and I look on in disappointment.

We get out of baby and approach the scene, my chest heaving with anxiety. "What happened?" Dean asks one of the many onlookers, "Suicide. I can't believe it" She responds, shaking her head in disbelief. Sam and I share a look before he asks, "Did you know him?"

"Saw him ever Sunday at St. Augustine's. He always seems-" She begins and sighs, before correcting her statement. "-Seemed so normal. I guess you never know what's going on behind closed doors" She says sadly. "I guess not" I mutter to myself. "How did...uh...How're they saying it happened?" Sam asks curiously.

"I heard they found him in the garage, locked inside his car with the engine running" She tells us and we all share stunned looks. "Do you know what time they found him?" I ask her. "It just happened about an hour or two ago. His poor family. I can even imagine what they're going through" She says pity filly and my heart drops as the woman by the front door sobs into the officers chest.

An hour or two ago. It basically happened moments after our dreams. Holy shit.

I can't take this anymore, the surroundings were just so depressing, dark. I decide to walk back to the car and the boys noticed this, following behind me. Sam looks at me with anguish in his eyes, sighing pained. We both lean against baby and Dean approaches us. "Guys, we got here as fast as we could" Dean assures us and we shake our heads.

"Not fast enough" I clench my jaw. "This doesn't make any sense, guys. Why would we have these premonitions unless there was a chance we could stop them?" Sam asks and I shrug, shaking my head. "I don't know" Dean responds. "So what do you think killed him?" I ask them sighing.

"Maybe the guy just killed himself. Maybe there's nothing supernatural going on at all" Dean suggests and I scoff shaking myself, Sam does the same. "I'm telling you. We watched it happen" I try to convince him and Sam nods in agreement. "He was murdered by something, Dean. It trapped him in the garage" I tell him.

"Like what? A spirit? A poltergeist?" Dean asks, agitated and unconvinced. "I don't know what it was. I don't know what we're having these dreams. I don't know what the hell is happening, Dean." Sam snaps and Dean looks between the two of us, an unreadable emotion in his eyes.

"What?" I ask him. "Nothing, sweetheart. I'm just worried about you two" He sighs. "Well don't look at us like that" Sam retorts. "I'm not looking at you like anything" Dean says back defensively. "Yes you are. You're looking at us like we're crazy" I add and he shakes his head. "Though I gotta say, you two look like crap" Dean jokes and I roll my eyes, scoffing.

"Nice, thanks. Just what every girl wants to hear" I mutter sarcastically and he chuckles. "Yeah well....come on , let's just pick this up in the morning, alright?" Dean moves to go back to the car. "We'll check out the house, we'll talk to the family" He says, opening the door to the drivers side.

"Dean, you saw them. They're devastated. They're not gonna wanna talk to us" Sam says and Dean nods. "Yeah, you're right. But I think I know who they will talk to" He tells us and we look at him confused. "Who?" I ask, cocking my eyebrow while he just looks at us with a sly smile. Me and Sam exchange looks that say, 'We're gonna regret asking'

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"You've had some bad ideas, Winchester, but this. This takes the fucking cake" I growl in annoyance, fixing my coif and adjusting my nun gown as we walk up the porch to the Miller residence. Dean had the wonderful idea to dress up as priests and a nun to infiltrate Jim Millers wake.

Him and Sam were dressed in traditional priests outfits while I was dressed in a long ass gown and a coif over my head. This certainly just adds to my religious trauma, not making it any freaking better.

Dean just chuckles as Sam sighs, "This has gotta be a whole new low for us" Sam shakes his head disappointed while Dean smirks, flashing me a wink. "I don't know, I'm digging the whole nun thing" He smirks at me, allowing his eyes to roam up and down me and I smack his arm.

"Shut up before I drown you in holy water boy" I grumble and he laughs as I reach over and ring the doorbell. A couple seconds later, a middle aged man answers the door and we all plaster fake smiles on our faces. "Good afternoon. I'm Father Simmons, this is Father Frehley and Sister Criss." Dean smiles, introducing us.

"They're new junior priests over at St. Augustine's church and I'm a nun of the church. May we come in?" I say sweetly and the man looks at us with a sad smile on his face, nodding and welcoming us in. "Thanks" Dean says nicely before turning to us with a smug look on his face as he walks in.

"We're very sorry for your loss" Sam extends his condolences to the man who nods gratefully and locks the door behind us. "It's in difficult times like these when the Lord's guidance is most needed-" Dean begins to preach his bull but the man cuts him off. "Look. You wanna pitch your whole 'Lord has a plan' thing? Fine. Don't pitch it to me. My brothers dead" The man puts it bluntly, surprising all of us.

"Roger, please" A woman's voice behind us booms at the man and he sighs, putting his hands up defensively before excusing himself. "Excuse me" He says to us and he walks off. "I'm sorry about my brother in law. He's just so upset about Jim's death" The woman who snapped at Roger, holding a tray apologizes.

We all nod understanding, "It's okay ma'am. Grief affects everyone differently" I assure her with a kind smile, she returns it and interns, "Would you like some coffee?" She offers us. "That'd be great" Dean says giving her a smile.

We're all now on the couch as she pours three mugs of coffee, "It was wonderful of you to stop by. The support of the church means so much right now" Mrs. Miller thanks us gratefully, handing each of us a mug of coffee. "Of course. After all, we are all Gods children" Dean says in a kind tone.

I hold back my snicker at this and Sam watches him weirdly. Dean is currently seated next to me and Sam across from us. The woman nods before walking off, while Dean grabs a sausage from the plate and stuffs it in his mouth. I roll my eyes and give him a disapproving look. Sam does the same at this, scoffing and Dean asks us.

"What?" His mouth stuffed with sausage. "Just tone it down a little bit....Father" I warn him and Sam nods. Dean gives me a sly smirk, leaning in towards me, "That's not the term I'd prefer but I'll take it" He whispers in my ear quietly so Sam doesn't hear. I give him a puzzled look before realization dawns on me and I stare at him agape.

That kinky son of a bitch. I nudge him in his arm a little roughly and he snickers at the blush that's taking over my face. "Shut up you pig" I grumble back at him, clearing my throat. Sam looks at us confused but chooses to ignore it with a raised eyebrow, thankfully. I'm not gonna lie, Dean in that priest outfit slightly has me going for some odd reason.

Dear God, I'm in need of an exorcism because who in their right mind finds a priest outfit attractive?

I could feel Deans eyes roam up and down me, getting the feeling he's just as turnt on as I am right now but now is not the time or the place. I bite my lip slightly to relieve some tension from myself as Mrs. Miller comes next to me and takes a seat.

"So, Mrs. Miller, did your husband have any history of depression?" I ask her gently. "Nothing like that" She says shaking her head and we nod understandingly. "We had our ups and downs like everyone. But we were happy" She tells us honestly, tears welling up in her eyes as her voice cracks. "I just don't understand how Jim could do something like that" She sobs, wiping her tears.

We all look at her, pity etched on our faces. "I'm so sorry you had to find him like that" Sam says sincerely, my heart grieving for the poor woman. "Actually, our son, Max....he was the one who found him" She tells us, pointing to the young man sitting by himself in the far corner of the room.

"Do you mind if I go talk to him?" I ask her and she nods gratefully. "Oh, thank you, Sister" She says gratefully, "I'll go too" Sam chimes him and she sobs. "Thank you Father" She adds and we give her a kind smile. I lean over and put my hand on hers. "God is with you always" I tell her softly and she nods sniffling, leaning over to give me a hug.

I return the hug and soon after letting go, me and Sam get up and walk over to Max, leaving Dean with Mrs. Miller. "Max? Hey, I'm Sam and this is Y/N" Sam introduces us, pulling a chair for me to sit and then another for himself.

I put my hand out to shake Max's hand, which he accepts and the second I take his hand. I feel an odd chill rise at the back of my neck. Max quickly pulls back and I look at him weirdly, almost as if he felt the same thing I did. I clear my throat and pretend as if I didn't feel it but but Sam noticed the interaction.

"So, what was your dad like?" I ask Max casually. "Just a normal dad" He says plainly, a troubled look in his eyes. "Yeah. And you live— You live at home now?" Sam asks him. "Yeah" He answers quietly, his whole demeanor seems off putting. Granted he did find his dad dead so he's grieving but something about him seems....off.

"I'm trying to save up for school, but it's hard" He tells us sadly. "So when you found your dad...." I ask him warily and he takes a deep breath. "I woke up...I heard the engine running.....I don't know why he did it" He pauses between each sentence, horrified. We give him a sympathetic look before Sam says,

"I know it's rough losing a parent. Especially when you don't have all the answers" Sam says calmly, Max doesn't answer but instead looks at us with a tearful expression.

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Later at the motel, Dean is fixing up his guns while Sam is sticking up any information and research on the walls and I'm by the window smoking a cigarette. "So what do you have?" Dean asks us. "Well I have nothing" I tell him, taking a drag from my cigarette and dusting the ash in the ashtray.

"Same here. Nothing bad has happened in the Miller house since it was built" Sam tells us. "What about the land?" Dean asks, blowing his gun as he cleans it. "No graveyards, battlefields, tribal lands or any kind of atrocity on or near the property" Sam says walking towards his bed and sitting on it.

I sigh as I crush my now finished bud in the tray and discard the ashes in a bin next to my bed. "Hey man, I told you guys. I searched that house up and down. There were no cold spots, no sulfur scent, nada" Dean says as he fixes his gun. "Family said everything was normal?" I ask him, taking a seat next to Sam.

"Well, I mean. If there was a demon or poltergeist, don't you think somebody would've noticed something?" Dean asks rhetorically and we sigh. "I used the infrared thermal scanner, Princess. There was nothing" He assures me and I nod. "So, what, you think Jim Miller killed himself and our dream was just some sort freakish coincidence" Sam suggests as Dean cocks his gun.

"I don't know. I'm sure there's nothing supernatural about that house" Dean shrugs. "Yeah. Well. Maybe you know, maybe it has nothing to do with the house" I suggest and Dean looks at me confused. "I don't know man. When I shook Max's hand. I got this odd feeling....I'm sure he felt it too" I admit, I could feel a pressure rising in my head like a headache.

"Your ESP feeling you mean?" He asks, cocking his eyebrows and I roll my eyes in annoyance as the pressure builds. "Hey, I'm not judging" He defends and just hold my head, Sam doing the same. "Forget it" I mumble. "I noticed it too. He was quick to pull back when you shook his hand" Sam chimes in, giving me a look. "Maybe I'm just being paranoid" I sigh rubbing my head groaning.

"Maybe, it's just- Gosh!" Sam groans, holding his head like me in pain. "Maybe it's connected to Jim in some other way" He says holding his head. "What's wrong with you two?" Dean asks us concerned. "Holy fuck!" I scream, gasping as a blinding pain succumbs me, making me double over in pain.

"Ah! My head!" Sam screams just like me, falling into the ground next to me. "Sam? Y/N?" Dean calls out to us concerned, rushing over to us. "Hey! Hey! What's going on? Talk to me!" He grabs both of us by our shoulders, shaking us as we groan from the blinding pain. As he holds onto us, I see a flashing light that goes into a vision.

Roger walking into an apartment with groceries in his hands.

He rests the bag on a counter and opens a beer, taking a sip when a dark figure walks past him.

Suddenly his window opens on its own, sliding up. He notices this and goes over, closing it and locking it.

He goes back to his groceries and begins packing them in the fridge, only for the lock to unhook own it's down, the window sliding up again, as if someone or something is controlling it.

He turns around slowly to see the window open again, taking a sip from his beer, going over again to try and close it again but it won't budge.

He's confused by this and sticks his head out the window to try and see what's holding it open, only for the window to snap shut in an instant, decapitating him. Blood splattering.

Now I see Dean infront of me again, looking at me and Sam in a panicked concern. Sam has a look of horror on his face and I gasp in shock. "It's happening again!" I gasp lowly. "Somethings gonna kill Roger Miller!" Sam says urgently to Dean.

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Now we're all in the Impala, rushing over to Rogers apartment. "Roger Miller?...No, No. Just the address please" Sam says into the phone. My head still hurts from the vision, I can't believe that this is happening. "Okay, thanks" He says lowly, hanging up the phone, groaning in pain from his headache like me.

"450 West Grove. Apartment 1120" He tells us the address. "You two okay??" Dean asks us concerned as he drives. "Yeah" I respond and Sam nods. "If either are you are gonna hurl, I'll pull the car over because the upholstery-" Dean goes to say but I cut him off. "We're fine. Right Sam?" I turn to Sam who nods.

"I'm fine" Sam assures him. "Just drive" I order him pleadingly. "Yes ma'am" He responds, speeding up. Sam sighs, "Guys, I'm scared man" Sam admits. "Yeah, me too" I agree. "These nightmares were bad enough. Now we're seeing things while awake?" Sam rants. "And these visions or whatever...they're getting more intense and painful" I admit.

"It fucking hurts man" Sam groans. "Come on guys. It'll be alright. You two will be fine" Dean assures us. "What is it about the Millers? Why are me and Y/N connected to them? Why are we watching them die?" Sam asks, turning to me and Dean. I can't answer and neither can Dean. "Why is this happening to us?" Sam asks frustrated and I shake my head.

"I don't know, Sam. but we'll figure it out, okay?" I try to reason. "Y/N's right. We face the unexplainable everyday. This is just another thing." Dean says and Sam shakes his head. "No. It's never been us. It's never been in our family like this. It makes sense for Y/N because her mother was psychic but why me? It makes no sense." Sam says.

"No offense, y/n/n. But you get what I mean?" He says apologetically and I nod in response. "I get it. Don't worry" I assure him with a soft smile. "Tell the truth, Dean. You can't tell me this doesn't freak you out" I turn to Dean, he takes a second to answer but says firmly, "This doesn't freak me out" Me and Sam scoff, not convinced.

I can see the look of contemplation in his eyes through the rearview mirror as his eyes flicker over to me. I give him a look that says, 'You're a terrible liar' but he just shakes his head at me with a sad look in his eyes.

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We pull up to Rogers apartment complex just in time to see him walking in with a bag of groceries. "He's walking in" I nudge the boys to draw their attention to him. "Hey Roger!" Sam shouts from the car as Dean parks. "Hey, holdup a second!" Dean calls out for him.

He turns around and scoffs in annoyance when he sees us. "What're you guys, missionaries? Leave me alone!" He shouts back, "Please!" I call out for him and Dean quickly parks. We all bolt out of the vehicle. "Hey, Roger! We're trying to help!" Sam shouts pleadingly, running towards the building entrance, I run behind him.

"Please. Hey! Hey! Hey!" I beg but Roger quickly shuts the door and locks it. Me and Sam bang against it. "I don't want your help" He says angrily and walks upstairs, Dean catches up to us. "We're not priests! You have to listen to us!" Sam tries to reason. "Roger you're in danger!" Dean shouts but he's already gone.

We groan in annoyance and a thought flashes in my head. "Come on, come on, come on" Dean runs to the side, I run behind realizing he had the same idea. Sam following behind me. We end up in the back but the gate is locked. Dean quickly raises his foot and busts down the door and I give him a look of impress.

We run inside to the fire escape and Sam jumps up, climbing up the side. The height is a bit so Dean gives me a boast so I can climb up behind Sam and Dean follows behind us. We quickly run up the side at least six stories when suddenly we hear a window slam shut. My heart beats out of my chest and we all freeze for a moment, sharing a look of horror before bolting back into action.

We finally reach a window that's covered in blood splatters, dripping down the window just like my vision and I gag in disgust, knowing that the vision came through and Roger was decapitated. Sam behind me sees this, his expression etched with horror at the sight.

Dean thinks quickly and hands us each a rag that he had in his pocket. "Here. Start wiping down your fingerprints. We don't want the cops to know we were here. Go. Go. Come on!" He urges us while we're still in a state of shock. I nod curtly, taking the rags and handing Sam one. We begin to wipe the railing and Dean says.

"I'm gonna take a look inside" He tells us, opening another window that leads to Rogers apartment and climbing inside. Me and Sam gulp as we continue to wipe down our fingerprints, tears welling up in his eyes. "We tried to warn him" I say to him quietly. He doesn't answer and just continues to wipe. I can't even fathom what just happened.

"I'm telling you guys, there was nothing in there. There's no signs either, just like the Millers house" Dean tells us as we walk back to Baby. "I saw something in the vision, like a dark shape. Something was- Something was stalking Roger" I admit to them and Sam looks at me surprised. "I saw it too, it was weird" He confesses and I nod.

"Well, whatever it was. I'm pretty sure it's not connected to their house" Dean says as we cross the road, walking towards baby. "No, but it's connected to the family itself" Sam says. "So what do you think? Like a vengeful spirit?" I suggest. "Yeah, maybe. There's a few that have been known to latch onto families. Follow them for years" Dean agrees, opening his car door.

"Angiaks. Banshees" Sam lists as we jump into Deans car. "Basically like a curse" Dean says as we close our doors. "So maybe Roger and Jim Miller got involved in something heavy. Something curse worthy" Dean says. "And now something's out for revenge. And the men in their family are dying" I add.

"Hey, you think Max is in danger?" Sam suggests. "Let's figure it out before he is" Dean says, starting the engine. "Well, I know one thing we have in common with these people" Sam says. "What's that?" I ask as Dean looks over at his brother questionably. "All of our families are cursed" Sam says ironically chuckling a bit and so do I.

"Our families are not cursed" Dean defends. "We just....had our dark spots" He lamely puts it, causing me and Sam to chuckle at this. "Our dark spots are...pretty dark" I retort sassily and Sam nods in agreement. Dean smirks at my sass, "You're...dark" He lamely counters again, making us laugh a bit before driving off.

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The next day, we're now back at the Miller residence, dressed up again in our priest and nun attire. "My moms resting. She's pretty wrecked" Max tells us. "Of course" Dean responds understandably. "All these people kept coming with, like, casseroles. I finally had to tell them all to go away" Max complains.

"You know, because nothing says 'I'm sorry' like a tuna casserole" He mutters sarcastically. Me and Sam lightly chuckle at the irony of his statement. Max notices and cracks a bit of a smile at our light expressions. Dean then takes a seat on the couch, I settle next to him on his left and Sam settles on my left, sandwiching me between the boys.

"How're you holding up?" I ask Max gently. "I'm okay" He sighs and I give him a sympathetic look. "Your dad and your uncle were close?" Sam asks. "Yeah, I guess. I mean, they were brothers. They used to hang out all the time when I was little" He informs us, a pained look on his face at the mention of his childhood.

"But not lately, much?" I ask. "No, it's not that. It's just- We used to be neighbors when I was a kid. We lived across town in this house and....Uncle Roger lived next door, so he was over all the time" Max tells us, sounding a bit fearful. "Right. So how was it in that house when you were a kid?" Sam asks. "It was fine" Max responds quietly, a pained expression on his face.

As if he's reminiscing about something terrible, I look over at Dean who's intently taking in Max's shaky demeanor, "Why?" Max asks, almost on edge. "All good memories?" Dean queries curiously, Max's face slowly drops. "Do you remember anything unusual? Something involving your father and your uncle, maybe?" Dean asks but Max shakes his head.

Almost guilty, as if he's hiding something, I cock my eyebrow at this, "Why do you—? Why do you ask?" He stutters, feigning a smile on his face. "Just a question, hun" I assure him, the boys notice his shift in demeanor, Sam is now a bit on edge. Max then takes a deep breath and answers. "No. There was nothing. We were totally normal" Max assures us, trying to be convincing but we don't bite the bait.

"Happy" He adds. "Good. That's good" Dean responds, looking over at me and Sam. "Well, you must be exhausted. We should take off" I turn to the boys and they nod. "Right. Yeah. Thanks" Sam greets Max, giving him a tight smile. "Yeah" Max responds quietly as we walk out.

Now walking back towards Deans car, "Nobody's family is totally normal and happy" Dean comments as we walk back. "I mean, did you see when he was talking about his house?" I add. "He sounded scared" Sam responds and I nod. "Max isn't telling us everything. I say we go find the old neighborhood. Find out what life was really like for the Millers" I suggest as I take my coif off, tossing it in the backseat.

I open the door and jump in as the boys do the same.

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A little later, we're at the old neighborhood across town that the Millers used to live, questioning their old neighbor. "Have you lived in the neighborhood very long?" I ask the man sweetly and he nods. "Yeah, almost 20 years now" He responds kindly. "It's nice and quiet. Why? You looking to buy?" He asks curiously.

"No. No. Actually, we were just wondering if you might recall a family that used to live right across the street" Sam tells him. "Yeah. The Millers. They had a little boy named Max" Dean informs him. "Right" I nod and the man's face drops. "Yeah, I remember them. The brother had the place next door" He says, pointing to the house next door.

"So, what's this about? That poor kid okay?" He asks us concerned and my heart pangs when he says this. "What do you mean?" Sam asks, his expression mirroring mine. "All my life, I've never seen a child treated like that" The man tells us sadly, my stomach beginning to churn. "I mean. I'd hear Mr. Miller yelling and throwing things clear across the street. He was a mean drunk. He used to beat the tar out of Max" He informs us.

The boys expression contort to a sympathetic one. "Bruises. Broke his arm two times that I know of." He adds sadly and I clear my throat. "And this was going on regularly?" I ask lowly. "Practically every day" He says, clenching his jaw in disgust. Me and Sam's heads drop as he continues to explain."In fact that thug brother of his was just as likely to take a swing at that boy. But the worst part was the stepmother" He explains, his tone dropping, my eyebrow cocking at the word 'stepmother'.

I could feel the pressure of the headache from last night building up again in my head but I try to ignore it as he talks. "She'd just....stand there, checked out. Never lifted a finger to protect him. I must've called the police seven or eight times. Never did any good" He tells us. From the corner of my eye I can see Sam's face contort from pain like mine, the blinding headache splitting across my forehead.

"You said stepmother" Dean voices my thoughts. "I think his real mom died. Some sort of accident. Car accident I think" He tells us but I can't take the pain anymore. Me and Sam hold onto each other as we groan, gritting our teeth, holding our heads. "Hey, you two okay there?" The man asks us concerned when he notices us holding our heads.

"Uh, yeah" I assure him and Sam nods. "We're fine sir" Sam smiles tightly, holding onto me. "Thanks for your time" Dean thanks the man quickly, "Uh, yeah thank you" I thank him also as Dean escorts us to the car, holding onto us. He goes to open the door for both me and Sam before another vision starts to take over.

Mrs. Miller in her kitchen, cutting up vegetables while talking to Max.

"I don't know what you mean by that" She says firmly. "You know I never did anything" She adds, looking at him.

"That's right. You didn't do anything" Max growls tearfully, walking closer to her in a threatening manner.

Mrs. Miller jumps in fear when the knife she rest down suddenly starts to move as Max gets closer.

"You didn't stop them. Not once" Max cries as the knife starts to float, Max being the one to control it.

"How did you...?" Mrs. Miller is stunned at the floating knife, inching towards her. She gasps in fear as Max and the knife moves closer.

"Max! Please!" She begs, backing back into the wall as the knife inches towards her eye. But Max doesn't stop, adamant on killing her.

A look of hatred is cast onto Mrs. Miller from Max as the knife floats just millimeters away from her eyeball.

"For everytime you stood there and watched. Pretending it wasn't happening" Max grits his teeth angrily as he cries.

"I'm sorry" Mr. Miller cries, gasping as it moves closer. "No you're not. You just don't want to die" Max shakes his head.

The knife then backs away from Mrs. Miller and she whimpers in relief, only for the knife to rush back towards her.

Stabbing her directly in her eye, jabbing straight through her skull and into the wall, blood splattering behind.

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After the shared vision me and Sam just saw, we're all headed straight to the Miller residence now. "Max is doing it. Everything we've been seeing" Sam breathes out as I groan, holding my head in pain, still in shock from what I just witnessed. I knew something was wrong with the kid, but I didn't expect it to be so horrific.

I need to stop chalking my feelings up to paranoia and start listening to them God Dammit. "You sure about this?" Dean asks us both. "Yeah, we saw him" I assure him, holding my head in pain, Sam doing the same. "How's he pulling it off?" Dean asks us confused. "I don't know. It looked like telekinesis" I tell him.

"So he's psychic? He's a spoon bender?" Dean cocks his eyebrow in confusion. "I didn't even realize it but this whole time he was there. He was outside of the garage when his dad died. He was in the apartment when his uncle died" Sam shakes his head in disbelief, listing off all that happened when realization dawns on me.

"Wait a minute. These visions the whole time. We weren't connecting to the Millers. We were connecting to Max" I point out and realizations settles on Sams face. "The thing I don't get is why, man. I guess, because we're all so alike?" Sam suggests. "Whatre you talking about? The dude's nothing like you two" Dean scoffs.

"Well, we all have psychic abilities. We're all-" Sam goes to say but Dean cuts him off. "You're all what?" Dean snaps. "Sam. Y/N. Max is a monster. He's already killed two people and now he's gunning for a third" Dean tells us and I sigh. "Well, with what he went through, the beatings....to want revenge on those people. I'm sorry, man. I hate to say it, but it's not that insane" I say honestly and Sam nods in agreement.

Dean looks at us in disbelief, "Yeah but it doesn't justify murdering your entire family" Dean quips up. "Dean-" Sam goes to talk but Dean cuts him off again. "He's no different than anything else we've hunted. Alright? We gotta end him" Dean says determined, parking the car.

Me and Sam look at him like he's crazy, "We're not gonna kill Max" Sam says. "Then what?" Dean snaps. "Hand him over to the cops and say, 'Lock him up officer. He kills with the power of his mind'" Dean says sarcastically. "Dean. Forget it." I snap while Sam shakes his head. "No way man" Sam says.

"Guys-" Dean bellows. "Dean. He's a person" Sam defends, cutting him off. Dean rolls his eyes, taking off the ignition. "We can talk to him" I try to reason, but Dean looks away from us. I nudge him on his shoulder to look at me, "Hey, promise me you'll follow our lead on this one" I plead with him, he then looks at me with contemplation on his eyes.

"Alright, fine" He obliges, reaching over into the glove compartment. "But I'm not letting him hurt anybody else" He says, taking his pistol out. He looks over at us before opening his door and getting out of the car. Me and Sam share a look. "God, please don't let this stubborn man be the death of us" I mutter to myself.

"Amen" Sam mutters back ironically, before we both get out and follow behind Dean. We run up the porch to their house and knock the door in to see Mrs. Miller and Max in a heated confrontation. Mrs. Miller looks over at us in shock, "Fathers? Sister?" She gasp. Max looks at us, teary eyed, with a guilty look on his face.

"Whatre you doing here?" He asks us, trying to block the knife he was going to use to kill his stepmother. "Uh...sorry to interrupt" Dean says awkwardly. "Max, could we....uh....Could we talk to you outside for just one second?" I ask shakily, trying to remain calm and unsuspecting. Me and the boys feign smiles on our faces.

"About what?" Max asks us in a suspicious tone. "It's- it's private. Um- I wouldn't want to bother your mother with it" Sam says with a tight smile as we approach Max slowly. "We won't be long at all, though. I promise" I assure him with a small smile. Max looks over at his stepmother, who looks back at him fearfully before turning to us. "Okay" He agrees.

"Great" Sam says with a smile. Max then approaches the door and Dean looks at him with a smile, opening it so we can all exit. Max then stops all of a sudden and then force slams the door shut. Suddenly all the window shades in the house starts shutting on its own as Max backs away from the door.

We all look around in shock as this happens. "You're not from the church!" Max shouts in realization. Dean goes to draw his gun but Max uses his telekinesis to draw it towards him onto the ground. Dean is stunned and Max quickly picks it up, aiming it at us. Mrs. Miller gasps in shock as we put our hands up.

"Max, what's happening?" She asks panicked as we start at the barrel of the gun. "Shut up!" He snaps angrily. "Whatre you doing- AH!" She screams as a forces knocks her back into the counter, throwing her off her feet, she hits her head on the edge and falls to the ground bleeding.

"I said, shut up!" Max growls, his voice cracking. "Max, calm down!" Sam pleads. "Who are you?!" He barks at us. "Please. We just wanna talk to you" I plead firming. "Yeah right! That's why you brought this!" He screams, still aiming the gun at us. "That was a mistake. Alright? So was lying about who we were. But no more lying Max, okay?" Sam tries to reason with him.

"Just, please, hear us out" I beg him. "About what?!" He orders. Me and Sam exchange a look before turning back to him, our hands still in the air. "We saw you do it. We saw you kill your dad and your uncle. Before it happened" I confess to him and he looks at us stunned. "What?" He asks shakily. "We've been having visions, Max. About you" Sam states.

"You're both crazy" Max growls. "So you were gonna launch a knife at your stepmom? Right here?" I call him out, pointing to my eye. "Is it that hard to believe, Max? Look what you can do" Sam points out, gesturing to his stepmom and how he threw her across the room. "Max, we were drawn here, alright? I think we're here to help you" I reason with him, Sam nods quickly. Dean has yet to say a word.

Max begins to hyperventilate, looking at his step mom and back at us, the gun still pointed at us. "No one can help me" He cries. "Let us try. We'll just talk. You, me and Y/N. We'll get Dean and Alice out of here" Sam tries to reason with him. "Uh-uh. No way." Dean finally chimes in, against the thought of leaving us alone with Max.

Suddenly the chandelier above us starts to shake, "Nobody leaves this house!" Max bellows. "And nobody has to, alright? They'll just- they'll just go upstairs" I try to reason. "Sam, Y/N. I'm not leaving you guys alone with him" Dean says firmly. "Yes you are" I grit my teeth. "Look, Max. You're in charge here, alright? We all know that" Sam says calmly.

"No one's gonna do anything don't wanna do but we're talking five minutes here man" I add. "Y/N!" Dean calls out to me panicked. Max looks back at his stepmother who's unconscious and back at us. "Five minutes" He agrees hesitantly and the chandelier above us stops rattling. "Go!" He orders Dean, pointing the gun at him. Dean slowly walks over to his step mom, kneeling down, he lightly shakes her awake and she groans in pain.

"Come on" He says gently, picking her up and carrying her to the other room. Max tells to sit down, resting the gun next to him. We sit across from him. He then uses his powers to make a letter opener stand up at the tip on the table next to him. Me and Sam share an unease look at this.

"Look, I can't begin to understand what you went through..." Sam begins in a sympathetic tone. "That's right, you can't" Max spits back angrily, his eyes focused on the letter opener. "But Max. This has to stop" I plead with him. "It will. After my stepmother" He breathes out, eyes still on the letter opener that's standing using his powers.

"No. You need to let her go" Sam insists gently. "Why?" Max grits his teeth and I sigh, looking over at Sam who gives me a look that says, 'Remain calm'. "Did she beat you?" I ask him calmly. "No. But she never tried to save me. She's a part of it too." He sobs as he uses his powers to spin the letter opener. Sam sighs, "Look, what they did to you, what they all did to you growing up. They deserve to be punished" Sam says understandably.

"Growing up?" Max's gaze snaps over to us. "Try last week" He grits his teeth, making the letter opener spin faster and my heart drops. He then stands up, a pained look on his face. He lifts his shirt up to reveal his ribcage that's bruised. I gasp quietly in shock, my mouth agape while Sam is speechless.

"My dad still hits me. Just in places people wouldn't see it" Max growls. I can't even look at him and neither can Sam. My sympathy growing for this kid. Even if he might be a monster for killing them, they're the true monsters. We both grimace at the bruises and he puts his shirt back down. "Old habits die hard. I guess" He says bitterly, sitting back down on the couch.

"I'm so sorry" I say apologetically. "You didn't deserve that. No kid deserves that." Sam adds, his tone pained. Max just looks at us while breathing hard, looking back at the letter opener he makes it spin faster. "When I first found out I could move things...it was a gift" He begins to explain.

"My whole life, I was helpless. But now I have this" Max says. "So last week, Dad gets drunk. First time in a long time. And he beats the hell me to hell, first time in a long time. And the. I knew what I had to do." Max grits his teeth angrily. "Why didn't you just leave?" Sam asks him and suddenly the letter opener drops, indicating Max let go of it.

"It wasn't about getting away." He shakes his head. "Just knowing that they'd still be out there. It was about not being afraid." He explains while we both look at him, pity etched across our faces. "When my dad used to look at me. There was hate in his eyes. Do you know what that feels like?" He asks us tearfully.

"No" Sam says softly as we shake our heads. "He blamed me for everything. For his job. For his life. For my moms death" He says and we look up at him confused at the last part. "Why would he blame you for your moms death?" I ask him curiously. Max then leans forward and says the last thing I expected to hear.

"Because she died in my nursery while I was asleep in my crib" He says chuckling tearfully. I look over at Sam, the both of us speechless. "As if that makes it my fault" Max says angrily. Sam finally musters up some words, "She died in your nursery?" Sam asks stunned. "Yeah. There was a fire. And he's get drunk and babble on like she died in some insane way" Max further explains, tears falling down his cheeks.

"He said that she burned up. Pinned to the ceiling" He says angrily and my heart drops. Me and Sam are absolutely stunned by this, both our mouths agape Max's mom died the same way our moms died. The same thing killed his mom, killed our moms and Jessica? What the fuck?!

"Listen to me, Max" I finally get some words out after being shocked to the core. No pun intended. "What your dad said about what happened to your mom...it's real" I breath out and he looks at me like if I'm crazy. "What?" He asks confused. "It happened to our moms too. Exactly the same" Sam adds, his chest heaving.

"Our nursery's. Our cribs. Our dads saw them on the ceiling" Sam explains and Max shakes his head. "Then your dads must have been as drunk as mine" Max denies and I shake my head. "No, no. It's the same thing, Max. The same thing killed our mothers" I insist. "That's impossible" He denies and realization dawns on me.

"Oh my god" I gasp. "What?" Sam asks me concerned. "This must be why we've been having visions during the day. Why they're getting more intense." I point out and it dawns on him too. "Because we all must be connected in some way" Sam says before thinking. Max has a confused look on his face but Sam asks him, "Your abilities, they started six, seven months ago right? Out of the blue?"

"How'd you know that?" Max asks us tearfully. "Because that's when our abilities started, Max" I tell him and Sam nods. "I mean, yours seem to be must further along, but still, this means something, right?" Sam points out. "I mean, for some reason, we all were chosen." Sam says. "For what?" Max asks us tearfully.

"I don't know" I sigh. "But Sam, Dean and I. My friends and I. We're hunting for your moms killer. And we could find answers that can help us all. But you gotta let us go, Max" I plead with him, trying to convince him. "You gotta let your stepmother go" Sam begs him. Max looks as though his contemplating it and our hopes go up.

But he then shakes his head sniffling and I sigh. "No. What they did to me. I still have nightmares. I'm still scared the time, like I'm just waiting for that next beating. I'm just tired of being scared. If I do this, it'll be over" He sobs, then getting up to go to the room Dean and his stepmom are in. But me and Sam run behind him.

"No, don't you get it. It won't. The nightmares won't end, Max. Not like this" Sam tries to reason with him. "It's just...more pain. And it makes you as bad as them" I tell him honestly. "Max....you don't have to go through all this by yourself" I say gently. Max then sighs shaking his head again.

"I'm sorry" He says, gritting his teeth as he sobs when suddenly a force pushes me and Sam into the closet behind us harshly, the locking infront of us. "No!" Sam and I exclaim in unison. "Max!" We yell, trying to push the door but something is infront of it barricading it, it wouldn't budge.

"No! Max!" We yell pleadingly, banging on the door with all our might. The splitting migraine starts to attack my head again and I scream in pain, Sam does the same, clutching onto me in pain. "Fuck!" I scream as a blinding light takes over.

Dean consoling a hurt Alice with blood dripping from her head, hes wiping the blood when the door opens by itself slowly.

In comes Max and Dean stands up quickly, the door shutting behind Max as the two look at him fearfully.

Dean walks towards Max but he uses his powers to throw Dean into the wall harshly causing Alice to scream.

Dean grunts in pain as Max draws Deans pistol he took earlier. "Max" Alice pleads. "Son of a.." Dean groans in pain, pushing himself up onto his feet.

"No! Max" Alice begs. Dean steps forward and Max lets go of the gun, using his powers to allow it to float in the air.

Dean stares into the barrel of the gun, his face contorting in fear as the gun moves closer to him mid air.

The gun cocks and then turns to Alice who gasp panicked. "No. Max!" She pleads, Dean then steps infront of her to shield her but Max turns the gun to Dean.

"Stay back. It's not about you." He warns him. "You wanna kill her, you gotta get through me first" Dean says bravely, gritting his teeth at Max.

"Okay" Max says calmly. Without hesitation he SHOOTS Dean point blank in the forehead. His blood splattering onto the wall behind him.

He drops to the ground, dead. A prominent bullet wound in the middle of his forehead.

"No." I gasp pained. I look over at Sam to see tears streaming down his face. My heart sinking to the ground. "NO!!!!! AHH!!!" Me and Sam scream in agony at the sight of seeing Dean being killed in that vision. A power urges through me as I try to settle my heavy breathing and I hear something move outside.

Me and Sam look at each other in panic and confusion. I lightly push the door to see the cabinet that Max used to barricade us in, was now pushed forward. Me and Sam look at each other in shock at this. "Did we just..." Sam gasps and I nod shakily. "I think so..." I confirm.

"Come on. We gotta go!" I pull him, we both run to the room that Dean carried Alice in. We burst down the door to see the gun mid air, ready to shoot Dean just like our vision. Max jumps in shock as we do this. "Dean!!" Sam cries out in concern. "No, don't! Don't! Please! Please, Max!" I plead with Max.

"Max...we can help you...alright? But this...what you're doing...it's not the solution." Sam begs, trying to reason with him still. "It's not gonna fix anything" I add while Max looks at me with a pained face, sobbing. "You're right" He says calmly nodding. Me and Sam are relieved by this and I give him a small smile.

He then quickly turns the gun to himself mid air, shooting himself point blank in his forehead before anyone could react. "NO!!" Me and Sam scream in shock as he drops to the floor dead.

________________________________

"Max attacked me. He threatened me with a gun" Alice explains to the deputy that's taking her statement. It's now a couple hours later and we called the police after Max killed himself. I'm still a bit distraught at the fact that we couldn't help or save Max. "And these three?" The officer asks her, gesturing to us. He looks at us suspiciously.

Alice then looks over at us with a teary face. "They're um...family friends. I called them as soon as Max arrived. I was scared" She covers for us, now beginning to sob. "They tried to stop him. They fought for the gun" She cries. "Where did Max get the gun?" The officer asks.

"I don't know. He showed us with it, and he..." She croaks sobbing. The officer sighs, giving her a pitiful look. "It's alright Mrs. Miller" He says gently. "I lost everyone" She sobs painfully and I can't help but feel a bit sorry for her. Granted her husband and brother were vindictive child abusive assholes.

While she stood and did nothing. No one deserves this. Max sure as hell didn't and neither does she. "We'll give you a call if we have any more questions" The officer then turns to us. "Thanks officer" I say nodding. "Come on" Dean ushers both me and Sam to leave.

I give Alice one last look before walking out the house with the boys. "If I'd just said something else...gotten through to him somehow" Sam begins to say and I sigh sadly. "Oh, don't do that" Dean groans. "Do what?" Sam asks confused. "Torture yourself. And you too Princess. It wouldn't have mattered what you two said. Max was too far gone" Dean tells us honestly as we walk to the car.

"When I think about how he looked at me man, right before..." I say trailing off. "I should've done something" I sigh and Sam nods in agreement. "I'm with Y/N on this one. We could've done more" Sam agrees with me. "Come on, guys. You two risked your lives. I mean, yeah, maybe if we'd gotten there 20 years earlier" Dean tells us.

He takes out his keys to unlock the car and Sam sighs heavily. The guilt of not being able to help Max rising in my chest. "Well. I'll tell you one thing. We're lucky we had Dad and Mr. L/N" Sam says honestly. "For real. As much as the old man gets on my nerves. I couldn't imagine having a father like Jim Miller" I agree.

Dean looks at us with a bit of disbelief. Chuckling he says, "Well I never thought I'd hear either of you say that" Dean says smiling. I shake my head with a sad smile, "Well, they could've gone a whole other way after our moms" Sam says. "A little more tequila, a little less demon hunting....then we could've had Max's childhood" I say shaking my head.

"All things considered...we all turned out okay. Thanks to them." Sam says honestly. I sigh as Dean looks back at the Miller house and back to us with a slight smile, "All things considered" He retorts smiling, opening the car door and jumping in baby. Sam jumps in the back and I jump in the front and we all make way to the motel.

Later at the motel, we're all packing up to hit the road. Sam and I had a conversation when Dean went to get dinner and decided to talk to him about it. "Dean, we've been thinking.."Sam goes to say but Dean cuts him off, "Well that's never a good thing" He retorts cheekily with a smirk.

"We're serious" I say in a serious tone. "We've been thinking, why would this demon or whatever it is...why would it kill our moms, Jessica and Max's mother, you know? What does it want?" I ask rhetorically as I help Dean fold his clothes and Sam sorts out papers and books from research.

"No idea" Dean responds. "Well, you think maybe it was after us? After Max, Y/N and me?" Sam suggests. "Why would you think that?" Dean asks confused, cocking an eyebrow. "I mean, either telekinesis or premonitions...we all had abilities you know? Maybe it was after us for some reason?" I suggest.

"Guys, if it wanted you, it would've just taken you" Dean says matter of factly. "Okay? It's not after of you guys' fault. It's not about you two" He says plainly. "Then what is it about?" Sam scoffs. "It's about that damn thing that did this to our families. The thing that we're gonna find and kill. And that's all" Dean shuts the topic down.

Me and Sam share a look and he shakes his head, knowing where I'm getting at. I walk up to him and nudge him, "We have to tell him" I mutter softly. "No, y/n/n. He's gonna think we're freaks" He mutters back. "Tell me what?" Dean voice bellows behind us, we jump slightly to see him with his arms crossed, eyebrows cocked.

I have a guilty look on my face, I look back at Sam and he sighs, nodding, "There's uh...something else too" Sam begins. "Oh jeez. What?" Dean groans. "When Max locked us in that closet with that big cabinet against the door. We moved it" I say quickly, clearing my throat.

Dean chuckles, going back to folding his clothes, "You two got a little more upper body strength than I gave you credit for" He laughs and I shake my head. "No man, we moved it. Like Max" Sam reveals and Dean looks at us stunned. "Oh...Right.." He says softly. "Yeah" I respond back in the same tone.

He then picks up a spoon and turns to us, "Bend this" He says and I roll my eyes. "We can't turn it on and off, Dean" Sam says annoyed. "I don't know. We can't control it. I just....We saw you die and it just came out of us. Like a— like a punch" I explain. "You know? Like a freak adrenaline thing" Sam adds.

Dean looks down and puts the spoon away, "Well I'm sure it won't happen again." Dean says. "Yeah, maybe" Sam responds and I look at them like they're crazy. "Aren't you worried man? Aren't you worried we could turn into Max or something?" I snap and Dean shakes his head. "Nope. No way" He says plainly, packing his stuff away.

"You know why?" He asks us. "No. Why?" Sam asks exasperated. "Cuz you guys got one advantage Max didn't have" Dean says. "Dad and Mr. Winchester? Because they're not here Dean" I scoff. "No." He shakes his head, putting on his jacket. "Me." He answers our question with a smug smile, flashing me a wink.

My heart leaps when he does this and heat begins to rise in my face. "As long as I'm around, nothing bad is gonna happen to either of you" He assures us with a smile, picking up his duffel bag. "Now then. I know what we need to do about your premonitions. I know where we have to go" He says in a serious tone walking towards us.

"Where?" Sam asks, genuinely curious. I cock I eyebrow at his sudden change in tone, crossing my arms over my chest. "Vegas" He says, flashing us a cheeky smile. This makes me burst out laughing because I had a feeling he was gonna say some idiotic bullshit. Sam looks at him in disbelief, rolling his eyes he scoffs walking away.

"What? Come on, man. Craps tables. We'd clean up" Dean calls out to him, walking behind Sam as I pick up my back and follow behind them. I shake my head laughing and he looks over at me with a wide smile, "You're an ass, you know that?" I snort chuckling. "I'm a fun ass" He winks at me, giving me his classic shit eating grin that could make panties drop as he locks the door behind us.

I feel my cheeks getting hotter with a blush but I quickly turn away from him, rolling my eyes I toss my bag into the Impala and jump in the backseat. Dean then gets in the driver pulls out, "I'm serious man, with the both of you we co-" Dean pesters Sam again jokingly. "Just drive!" Sam commands him annoyed, making me and Dean burst out in a fit of laughter.

________________________________

[srbachchan]

DAY 5506

Jalsa, Mumbai                  Mar 14/15,  2023                Tue/Wed  3:43 PM

🪔 .. March 15 .. birthday greetings to .. Ef Amita Fatima Zohra Daheur .. Ef Ankita Dadajwar from Nanded .. Ef Manish Mishra from Unnao Uttar Pradesh .. Ef Shruti Saini from New Delhi ..Ef Mozhgan Tirandaz from Iran .. Ef Avik Ghosh from Kolkata .. and Ef Avnish Dalal .. 🌿🙏🏽🚩 And the wishes of togetherness to Ef Krishna Kant Dangi from Bihar and his respected wife Suman Devi .. for their wedding anniversary on March 13 .. how many years ?? .. 💍💕 .. सालगिरह पर अनेक शुभकामनाएं। .. 🙏🏽🚩 ✨

Birthday Ef - Ankita, from Nanded .. the youngest Ef .. her 21st and all our wishes go out to this very special day  .. 🌹

Wednesday, 15 MarchBirthday - EF - Amita Fatima Zohra Daheur .. Wednesday, 15 March .. and all our wishes for this special day .. your constant presence on the Blog is admired ..love .. ❤️

It is becoming increasingly evident that the regularity of the writing on the Blog is suffering from an assumed lack of interest .. since the odd timings of its presence here, is a suffering that many of the Ef shall and are and will be  bearing ..

Why ..?

Because they all live in different parts of the World , in different time Zones and climates .. climates, since at times it is too hot to open the page or too clod or too wet  .. and every consideration that signifies its need shall and should be addressed ..🤣

The fault lies in the writer and initiator of the writing .. and he must be reprimanded for the discrepancy that has prevailed now for several days .. 

Indeed the irregularity is such that an entire day of routine goes array .. 

Also, there is another criminal in this matter - the social media  !

Once you, at night, start reading and gathering one post, you move to the next and the next and the next .. unendingly .. and before you know it, you have either dozed off or realised that you are just in time for breakfast  !!

But, it must be said that some of the material from the World of the net is indeed remarkable .. it teaches , it educates , it gives you opportunity to cipher the good from the bad to the undesirable  ...

The presence of them that would have gone on unknown, has now diminished in large numbers .. every face every voice has a presence and a following .. how wonderful for that to happen .. 

I do like it - good bad or ugly .. but many do not and drop out  .. 

The systems of the connect are so varied and so many that nothing in this entire Universe shall ever go unnoticed .. 

Some of the writings are filled with intelligent conversation .. some not .. but they all show great adherence to the regulations of the medium they address ..

The ‘unknown’ is a word now .. its meaning has been devoured by massive and unimaginable ogres, that have just initiated a new job .. classification, filing and storing .. 

They say DATA is the new valuable .. so be it ..

So in the hours of  irregularities, one drifts its mind to other pastures - poetry !

A dear friend asked after my health , and whether I was improving ..

I responded  :

 दिक्कत है , लेकिन धीरे धीरे ठीक होगा - ऐसा डाक्टर ने कहा है ।

आभार 🌹

so he replied :

 धीरे धीरे तो आप ने ज़िंदगी में बहुत लोगों को ठीक कर दिया है यह तो बिचारी ऐक पसली है ।

to which I replied  :

जो बिचारी-बिचारा , वही प्रबल होता है ; पस���ी तो असली उसी की होती है  !!

ज़िन्दगी बहुतों को ठीक कर देती है , माना ; काँटों से डरकर, मना है कलियों से नेह लगाना ?

घाव नहीं जिन हाथों में , उनमें किस दिन फूल सुहाये , पसली असली उसकी , जो सदा कलियों को भाये ।।

My responses and interaction is in the form of attempted poetry .. it would be most difficult to translate the essence .. but just a simple expression of its mean would be .. 

So when asked whether I was Improving .. I told him, it is troublesome but slowly and steadily it shall get fixed  ..

He responded by saying that .. ‘slowly and steadily you have in your life , fixed many a person , this is but a mere poor rib’ 

To which I responded in a few lines in verse   .. in essence - 

they that are mere poor , they are the ones with strength, and might , they be the ones dominant  .. the ribs of them are the truest and most strong ..

life does indeed fix many a person, agree .. but when has the fear of thorns desisted one of the love for the flower bud ?  those that have been bruised and whose hands are sore , when did the flower bud not look good in their hands .. the truest and most strongest ribs , are of those, whose bruised hands adorn the flowered bud  ..   

And on this very poetic note I end for toDAY ..

My love 

Amitabh Bachchan

[bhhstilinski]

Chapter 6

Annabeth studied the numbers listed on the sticky label that was currently perched on her fingers. Under her name, it displayed the words “Bus 3, Group 9.” She slapped the nametag onto her shirt and glanced around for Emi.

Wading through the crowds of seniors pushing toward the front of the room for their own nametags, Annabeth headed back to her seat. Emi was waiting for her in the middle of the row of chairs. Annabeth pulled down the auditorium’s folding seat and joined her friend, assessing the numbers on Emi’s nametag.

“Different bus,” she noted, “and a different group.” Annabeth groaned, disappointed.

“How unlucky are we,” Emi stated rhetorically. She slouched in her own chair and pulled her legs up to her chest so other kids could pass by them. “At least we’ll see each other at meals.”

Annabeth shrugged and examined the nametags stuck to the shirts of the people surrounding her. “I don’t see any other group 9s,” she said.

Emi mirrored her action. “Oh, looks like Grover is in group 12 with me.”

“How many groups are there?” Annabeth asked upon spotting a girl with “Group 14” written on her nametag.

Settling back into her seat, Emi shrugged. “I don’t know. My question is, why do we even have nametags? I mean, you’ve been in school with these people for twelve years already, and I’ve been here for three. We know everyone! Actually, what’s the point of this retreat at all? If we haven’t become friends yet, I don’t think we’re going to now.”

“I thought you were excited about this,” Annabeth pointed out, recalling the many instances of Emi’s passionate raving she had been privy to.

Emi sighed and burrowed further into her chair. “That was when I thought we got to choose who we spent the day with,” she explained, disgruntled. “I don’t feel like doing camp activities with a bunch of idiots I don’t like.”

Annabeth ignored this pessimistic comment. “These must be small groups,” she concluded, still stuck on the large number. She turned around to face the auditorium stage again as the principal climbed the stairs and made his way across.

The principal began to address the senior class, but no one was really paying attention. All around her, Annabeth could hear whispered conversations and questions as people figured out who their groups were. Emi leaned over to Annabeth. “Maybe Percy will be in your group,” she suggested in a hushed tone.

“The chances are slim,” Annabeth responded. “And I don’t care anyway,” she added hastily before Emi could flash her knowing smirk.

Too late. “Three weeks ago you briefly interacted with this boy, and you haven’t stopped thinking about him since,” Emi pointed out.

Annabeth wanted to protest, but she couldn’t dispute the truth. “Whatever,” she said lamely, and leaned back from Emi. She pretended to be intently listening to the principal’s explanation about the bus schedules, but really she was just trying not to look at Emi and give her any satisfaction.

Once the principal was done talking, he dismissed the students, and the entire senior class poured out of the auditorium. They stormed toward the lobby and then out the doors, emerging into the faint light from the sun that was still rising. Buses awaited them, lining the sidewalk in a way that reminded Annabeth of elementary school. Those memories seemed to be resurfacing a lot lately.

She was one of the first to board bus 3, so Annabeth made her way to the back and settled into one of the seats there. She pulled out her phone. The bus ride would take about an hour, so she would need to entertain herself somehow.

The phone screen notified her that she already had a Snapchat message from Emi waiting for her. Annabeth sent a quick picture back. Her face assumed an animated expression as she took the photo and returned to its unemotional exterior a second later. Annabeth noted to herself that it was interesting how easy it was for her to fake a smile. She guessed it was because she’d had plenty of practice.

Annabeth pressed the power button on her phone, and the screen went dark with a click. She glanced around the bus as it filled in with other students, all chattering and laughing despite the early hour. Over her shoulder, Annabeth saw the coveted back row of seats were overflowing with boys fighting over who would get to sit there. Thinking back on it, there was no logic behind the desirability of those seats. One of them was only a half seat, so it was comfortably big enough for just one high schooler. But they had always been everyone’s favorite seats nonetheless.

~ flashback ~

“ANNABETH!” came the shout. Annabeth jumped and glanced around frantically, but she couldn’t find where the voice had come from. She had just climbed the steps into the bus, and the voice sounded like it was inside. “BACK HERE!” it yelled again.

Annabeth proceeded down the aisle of the bus, peering at the back. Just then, Percy popped into the aisle from the very back row. She rushed forward in excitement. “You got the back seat?”

“Yes, and I’m saving that one with my backpack, but the fifth graders were threatening to take it if you didn’t show up soon!” Percy responded, pointing at the single-person seat across the aisle from him. As Annabeth approached, he leaned forward and pulled his backpack from the seat into his lap. Annabeth sat down, feeling victorious.

“Wow,” she said with wonder. “I can’t believe I’m sitting here!”

Percy grinned at her happiness. “Best seat on the bus!” he boasted.

As they began their usual end-of-the-day conversation, Annabeth noticed all the other buses had already left the parking lot. She pointed this out to Percy, but before he could comment, the loudspeaker crackled to life. The bus driver’s voice projected throughout the bus.

“During the school year, we are required to perform three fire drills on this bus,” he began, “so today I thought we would do one of those. Now, can I get some fifth-grade volunteers to help the younger kids off the bus?” Hands went up, and the driver selected a few. “If we have a fire, the back half of the bus will go out that emergency exit,” he continued to explain. “You there, will you open that door for me? Just a push and a twist.”

The bus driver gestured to Percy, who looked overjoyed. He jiggled the handle on the back door for a moment before it popped open and he pushed it wide. “I’ve been chosen!” he whispered to Annabeth, eyes crinkling with his exuberant smile.

The fifth-graders chosen as helpers jumped down from the back of the bus first, attempting to look very responsible and mature as they did so, since they were the oldest grade. They turned to help the rest of the kids leave the bus, and Percy motioned for Annabeth to go first. She stepped forward and crouched down, taking the hand of the fifth-grade girl standing in the parking lot to help her make the jump. Once she was on the ground, Annabeth turned around to wait for Percy before proceeding to the “safe area,” which was really just a tree next to the sidewalk.

Percy refused any help from the older students and jumped down himself. He stumbled and fell the moment he hit the ground. He stood and brushed the gravel off of his pants, glancing around furtively. “Everyone saw,” Annabeth said bluntly. He glared at her and they made their way to the tree.

“First one here!” Percy said once they arrived, placing his hand on the trunk to affirm his victory, his embarrassment of a few seconds ago completely forgotten.

Annabeth ignored him. She stood on the grass, watching more kids run over from the bus’s front and back exits. Percy, bored, walked in circles around the tree.

When it was finally time to get back on the bus, Percy and Annabeth ended up near the back of the line. “This is so annoying,” Annabeth remarked. “We’re at the back of the bus! It would make sense for us to get on first.”

As it turned out, there was another reason why being first would’ve been beneficial. When Annabeth arrived back at her seat, she found it occupied. Her backpack had been moved next to Percy’s.

“Hey, you can’t do that!” Percy argued, indignant. “Move, this is her seat!” Before the boy who had taken the seat, who was considerably larger than Percy, could retort, the loudspeaker boomed throughout the bus.

“Everybody sit down,” admonished the bus driver. Percy remained standing, an angry expression on his face, his mouth open like he was about to protest. Annabeth shoved him into his seat before he could say anything. She sat down next to him.

As the driver announced that the fire drill had gone well, Percy turned to Annabeth angrily. “Why would you do that? He stole your seat!”

Annabeth glanced across the aisle at the fifth-grade boy sitting smugly in the seat that had, for a minute, been gloriously hers. She looked back to Percy. “It sucks, but at least we’re still in one of the back seats,” she said, trying to calm him.

“I guess,” Percy conceded, and slouched in the seat. “It is pretty cool that we have this one.”

The bus finally departed the parking lot. Percy was still shooting intermittent glares at the kid enjoying the single seat across from them, but for the most part he and Annabeth talked about their days like normal. Eventually, the stolen seat was vacated as the kid in it disembarked the bus, but Percy didn’t even notice. He was too engrossed in describing to Annabeth his harrowing experience of taking a timed division test that Annabeth neglected to mention she had aced. She also neglected to bring up the fact that the other seat was open, content to remain with Percy.

“Woah, wait,” he said suddenly, halting his story. “Look at how empty the bus is!”

The two of them stood up a bit, clinging to the back of the seat in front of them to remain upright, and peered out at the rest of the bus. Sure enough, it was emptier than it usually was at this point. They thudded back into their seat simultaneously, and Percy turned to face Annabeth excitedly, his math test forgotten. “I have an idea,” he announced.

“Oh, great,” she replied sarcastically. “That could never go wrong.”

“You’ll like this, I promise,” Percy reassured her. He slid to the floor. “Since all these seats are open, we can slide around under them!” With that, he laid down on the floor of the bus and army crawled to the next one. He climbed up onto the seat, crouched on his knees, and looked at Annabeth over the top. “Your turn!”

Annabeth followed his lead of getting onto the floor, but she instead laid down on her back and pushed off against the ground, sliding up to the seat where Percy was waiting. He beamed down at her as her face appeared from under the seat.

“Fun!” she declared, feeling like a spy on a mission. Percy apparently felt the same because the next thing she knew he was sliding under the seat while humming the Mission Impossible theme.

Annabeth joined him under the seat, and they spent the rest of the bus ride feeling like the coolest people in the world to have discovered such a wonderful pastime. She imagined herself embarking on adventures, journeying through tight caves and sneaking through underbrush in wild forests, all with Percy at her side. They were a team of explorers, a pair of outlaws, a duo of spies.

In the end, traversing imaginary worlds with Percy was much more fun than the novelty of the back seat.

~ present day ~

Annabeth wrenched her gaze away from the back seats as the bus began to move, beginning their drive to the camp where the senior retreat was taking place. The boys fighting over the seats seemed to have come to a consensus about who would be sitting there. Annabeth decided the back seat was actually pretty overrated.

The bus picked up speed as it traveled down the road. With her lack of entertainment, Annabeth’s mind wandered. She couldn’t believe she had once laid down on the floors of a school bus without thinking about all the disgusting things that were probably down there. But then, she had always behaved unexpectedly when Percy was involved.

When the bus finally stopped at the wooded camp, Annabeth bounded down the steps. She spotted Emi and made her way through the crowd. Emi twirled her long blonde hair around her finger as she chatted with a muscular, intimidating girl named Clarisse.

“Hey,” said Annabeth, appearing at Emi’s side.

The girls greeted her. “What are you going to do with your free time?” asked Clarisse.

“What?” Annabeth responded, confused.

“Apparently we have two free hours before we get into our groups,” Emi explained.

Clarisse nodded. “We can do the rope swing, the zipline, or rock climbing.”

Annabeth considered the options. “What do you want to do?” she asked Emi.

“I’m rock climbing,” Clarisse offered.

“I want to do the zipline,” said Emi.

Annabeth thought about it. Being clipped onto a rope, high in the air, soaring from one platform to another. It sounded terrifying. “Let’s do it!” she told Emi despite her reservations.

“Perfect!” her friend responded. Before Annabeth could change her mind, a camp counselor led all the seniors to an outdoor amphitheater where they received information about the schedule for the day. They were then pointed in the directions of the various activity options. Annabeth and Emi set out with the group of kids headed to the zipline.

The moment they arrived, they realized they should’ve tried to be at the front of the pack. The line was extremely long and moving at a crawl. As they inched forward, Annabeth became increasingly apprehensive about the obstacle before her.

A tall wooden platform rose up on the grassy hill, overlooking the rest of the camp. A cargo net stretched from the ground at their feet to the top of the platform, where camp counselors stood to assist students with donning their harnesses. A handful of kids were currently climbing the net, making their way to the top, while the rest of the group formed a haphazard line to wait for their turn.

As Annabeth watched, one of the kids on the cargo net reached the top and climbed onto the platform. He pulled a harness over his clothes and was clipped onto the rope. Then he pushed off and flew through the air. The boy took his hands off the rope as he glided, whooping with joy. The zipline seemed impossibly high off the ground. After a few moments, the boy hit the platform on the other end of the zipline. He was unclipped and shouted triumphantly one last time before descending the steps back to the ground, where he was now downhill from the group.

The boy sat down in the grass and watched his friends repeat the experience, each of them enjoying the ride as much as the last. Annabeth found herself growing more and more terrified as kids took their turns and hers came closer.

Finally Annabeth and Emi stood at the bottom of the cargo net, looking up at the platform above. The counselor called for them to climb up. Emi grabbed the net without hesitation, and Annabeth followed a moment later. She hauled herself up the net, wishing there wasn’t a zipline waiting for her on the other side of the climb. Emi reached the platform first, pulling herself over the top. Annabeth clambered over the edge after her. She stood up slowly, willing herself not to look down at the ground far beneath her.

Annabeth and Emi stepped into their harnesses, pulling the straps to tighten them. Emi approached the zipline first. From up on the platform, it seemed like an even longer path to the other end, but Emi didn’t seem to have any qualms. She offered up the loop on her harness, and the counselor clipped her onto the zipline. With a strong kick of her feet, Emi shot off along the rope.

Almost immediately, Emi lifted her hands into the air, shouting with glee. Mentally, Annabeth was backing away from the rope, shutting down. She wanted to climb back down into the crowd of kids below, back to safety. She didn’t want to take the chance and jump onto the zipline, even if she might love it and have a great time. The risk of failing and facing terror was too great.

By now, Emi had reached the other side. “That was amazing!” she called to Annabeth as she was unclipped. “Your turn!”

The counselor manning the zipline clip turned to Annabeth. She couldn’t move. She wanted to back away, but she stood at the edge of the platform. There was nowhere to go but down or forward. Slowly, Annabeth took a step toward the zipline. Then she took another. “Ready?” asked the counselor once she arrived. Annabeth felt herself nodding. Her harness was clipped to the rope. She grabbed the handle with both hands, suddenly aware of what was about to happen. “Go ahead,” the counselor told her.

Annabeth took small steps forward until she was on the edge of the platform. The ground was so far beneath her. She felt dizzy. Her head spun. Annabeth closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and jumped.

The rope caught her, holding her in midair, and she felt herself flying along the zipline. After a moment, Annabeth peeled her eyes open.

The view was incredible. The ground flew by in a blur, Annabeth’s classmates appearing as small, colorful dots. Annabeth’s hair flew out behind her back, her braids swept away from her face by the wind rushing by. It wasn’t scary at all. It was exhilarating.

Once her feet touched the other platform, Annabeth was surprised to feel disappointment settling over her. She wanted the zipline to be longer; she wanted to be soaring over the ground again, feeling carefree and proud of herself.

As she descended from the last step onto the grass once more, Annabeth found Emi waiting for her. “Did you end up having fun?” asked Emi as Annabeth sat on the grass beside her. “I could tell you were nervous, but I thought it would be good for you.”

Annabeth smiled, grateful as always for her friend. “You got me there. It was actually shockingly fun though, once I took that leap. Taking the chance was worth it.”

“You’re welcome,” Emi joked, literally patting herself on the back. “I’m just such an amazing friend.”

“Truly,” Annabeth agreed, but she genuinely meant it.

[therandomfando4]

Right off the bat I'll just say, I wrote this as a here's some facts about this as well as the issues I saw present in Mediexcalibur2012's newest editing for smg4 video, along with a few issues outside of his video.

Also, I'm just going to say. I have seen enough content to know a fair bit about Meggy in the eyes of Luke and Kevin, but I'm not going to go there because that's not the discussion right now.

What Medi got right.

Mario's age - Canonically in the Nintendo lore, Mario is 24-25 years of age.

Meggy's age as of 2024 - She is 22 THIS year

(technically 21 until July 16th but it's neither here nor there due to the topic being discussed)

What Medi got wrong.

The Mario Kart Love Song Music Video - He is technically right about the video containing two adults but he is still using the characters one of which, was a teenager when they met Mario in the canon of the Smg4, while he still supports seeing the two in a relationship outside of the video.

Meggy being an adult, being able to go to college & buying her own house - While yes she has been an adult for a few years now, she was a 15 year old teenager when she first met Mario. (None of which was mentioned in Medi's video, it seems like VERY important information he left out)

Smg4 Fans thinking Meggy is 14 - Now, could there be people who think Meggy is 14? Maybe. But he still hasn't addressed the fact that she WAS 15 in her debut episode. Also, he blames the "You know what else is a number?" video for this "rumour" of her being 14.

The argument of not having a definitive way of aging in the show - This explanation falls flat in the context of Meggy and this excuse only works with certain characters mainly, the Smgs, Mario characters, and characters who weren't given definitive ages or an estimate by the show. The other main girls of the group either have confirmed ages or an estimate of how old they are.

♡ Smg4's Tari was told to fans on reddit to be younger than her meta runner counterpart. The comment has now been deleted it seems. She could be anything from teenager to adult in her debut if we are going by the reddit post/ comment.

☆ Saiko was most definitely highschool age in her debut episode due to her being from a dating sim meaning she could've been any age from 15-18.

○ Melony and Meggy are the same age. This being confirmed in "Smg4: The Watermelon Man"

His argument is that "Even though Meggy is younger than Mario she will one day become older than Mario, wut?" Still wouldn't change the fact she WAS 15 while Mario was an adult in her debut. His "Melony is 21 but served in the Vietnam war" argument doesn't really stand any ground. That would be more of a discussion about the show's continuity vs. the jokes that are made.

For example, why would Smg3 shooting smg4 in "Smg4: You Used To Be Cool.." potentially kill him even though after that episode smg3 then shot smg4 in "Smg4: Trash friends" and smg4 bounced right back?

Making his argument about Melony invalid.

His "Will Jub jub model change when he gets older?" question isn't even related to the issues of Meggy's relationships. That's an entirely different question about models rather than age. As we don't really know Boopkin's age.

Long bit here, but this kinda has to be said; Medi SHOWS the ID of Meggy in his video, so he SHOULD have known about her age history already.

Also, the ID wouldn't have been an "On the spot" move either, as July 16th is the day that Meggy first appeared in a video known as "Smg4: If Mario Was In... Splatoon."

So, one of the team members purposely chose 2002 as her birth year.

I also find it unnerving and upseting at the fact that Medi hadn't brought up ANY of this in his video, EVEN THOUGH he's an editor and has written episodes for the show!!

Overall, it feels like Medi was trying to cover up the fact that the ship had this massive problem within it.

By not stating people's real issue with said ship. Only saying the relationship is between two now grown adults.

As well as claiming the people talking about the ship being unethical towards the teenager now adult Meggy, as people who either haven't researched or are uninformed. This feels like a cheap tactic of trying to excuse the ship's problems as "Unresearched fan's rambling" when it's quite the opposite.

I wouldn't have said anything if it weren't for the fact that Medi is someone that smg4 fans go to source for more information on smg4. He's got quite a big influence on the fandom. So, him saying the people who disagree with an abliet problematic ship haven't researched about this subject. I can see as quite an insulting take and seems negative towards criticism of the ship. Especially when it seems he himself hasn't researched enough or is purposely leaving out details of characters that should have been in the video.

This seems to have already caused problems with mxm shippers going to an smg4 post unrelated to mxm and commenting about the ship, then tagging the people who've told them off for their comment on to their mxm threads when the other party clearly has discomfort for the ship. While the mxm shipper say they are being harassed in the same way. (If there is harassment on both sides then that isn't okay. But you can't say you don't want that treatment while doing it to other people.)

Before you ask, no, I do not like the mxm ship. I think it's ethically wrong and makes me uncomfortable. But this post is more about giving people a better view of the issues involved in the ship itself and the way Medi handled it. It was especially bad towards people who are uncomfortable about the ship.

Sorry for the long post. I kinda kept going and couldn't stop. For anyone who follows me, I apologise if you are uncomfortable with this topic.

(Cute unrelated cat sketch, yay!)

[bookmaxicabmelbourne20]

Eliminate your Doubts and Fears about Maxi Cab Service

There are many reasons why you should take a Maxi Cab instead of a Taxi. There are many transportation options these days, but still, it's hard to decide what to choose to get to your destination. Thinking whether you should drive yourself, hail a taxi or book a Melbourne taxi services. Hiring a maxi cab is often the best option.

There are many misconceptions in the market related to the maxi cab. Though maxi cab is a cab service very similar to any other cab due to its size many people think otherwise.

All our drivers are fully accredited and government registered. We don't let into our system any unaccredited driver. All our drivers must put up their identity card on the dashboard at all time when they are on the shift. This is to make sure that there is transparency to the customers about accreditation.

Our drivers are required to take the most direct, practicable route from when they pick up a customer to the requested destination unless otherwise directed by the customer. The driver can and should briefly consult with the customer when in doubt.

Taxi Melbourne has a total of 88701 taxi cabs registered in Victoria till date. That includes maxi cab and taxi cab both.

Let's first start with the most common of all.

Does maxi cab cost more to hire?

No. As long as you are up to 4 passengers it will cost you the same price as any other taxi cab service. But when you are more than 4 and up to 11, you have to pay an additional cost of $14 apart from the regular metered fare.

How many does a maxi cabs Melbourne fits?

It's a very common question and many people don't know this. Maxi cabs Melbourne can hold up to 11 passengers plus the driver. But commonly majority of the maxi cabs hold 10 passengers plus the driver. 11 seaters are available on special request.

Does Card Payment cost extra?

Yes. When you pay by card in any Taxi not just the Maxi cab in Victoria will attract a service fee of 5% from your Bank. Not a cent in that 5% comes to the company or the driver. Please refer to Commercial Passenger Vehicle Victoria for more info. There is no surcharge when you pay by Cash.

Does the customer have to pay tolls?

Yes. There are different routes to go to a particular destination but if you choose to take the tollway then the driver is liable to pay the toll to the Toll Road Provider hence he collects from the customer.

Does my taxi turn up if I book a taxi online?

100%. When you book a taxi online with book maxi cab Melbourne your taxi will be at your pickup address 5min before the scheduled time. As soon as we get an online booking request, we contact you on the listed number and if confirmed then a confirmation message is sent as an acknowledgment and the booking will be in our system till completed.

Maxi cab Services with baby seat?

If you are traveling with your baby/child and would like to have a taxi with a baby seat then give us a ring on maxi cab number 0456108581 for a prior arrangement. $10 service fee is applicable. Not all taxi cabs carry baby seat owning to space requirement. So, it's important that if you want such a taxi that you call in advance so that your request can be fulfilled.

You can get in touch with the dedicated customer support team in this company and clarify any doubt about booking taxi online deals. You will be stunned by the reasonable prices of maxi can deals and make essential changes in your way to book the taxi online. You will save priceless time as you can access the official website of this company and book a taxi cab with no doubt.

[torontoneckandbackpainclini]

Why Chiropractic Therapy in Toronto Is Different From Drugs and Surgery

Most people experience neck and back pain at some point in their daily lives. Though these pains are often temporary, some pains do not go away, and people can get annoyed with the longer-term back or neck pain. Several people will prefer to go to a medical doctor who will look at the symptoms, including pain, and treat it with a prescription or other over-the-counter medications. In some cases, when necessary, doctors may even suggest surgery to manage the pain and get back to life. 

An increasing number of people are foregoing medical doctors and opting for chiropractic therapy in Toronto, as it can be the best option to come out of such pain without medication. Chiropractic therapy can deliver a pain-free recovery experience from the pain that people face in their daily life. 

Here are some reasons why you could opt for chiropractic therapy other than conventional medication for relieving pain. 

Drug therapy 

When it comes to certain kinds of pain like neck pain, medication may not be the best way to manage it. According to some studies, patients who opted to undergo chiropractic treatment and exercise regularly were more than twice as likely to significantly reduce their pain or even eliminate it completely than those who choose to take medication. 

Though most of the medications come with solid efficacy rates, they can come with unpleasant and even potentially dangerous side effects to the body. Certain prescription drugs can be highly addictive and occasionally create overdose concerns, and sometimes can worsen the health condition by interfering with the healing process.

Surgery 

After medicine, surgery can be considered for helping to make the body pain free, but the fact is that there are several loopholes that can impact the body even more than before. According to studies, the patients who saw a medical doctor as their first treatment option when dealing with back pain are more likely to have surgery compared to the patients who saw a chiropractor first.  

Up to 43% of the medical patients undergo surgery while only 1.5% of the chiropractic patients had surgery for the presenting complaints. That means if you are a medical patient trying to resolve the back pain you are 28 times more likely to eventually have surgery for it compared to if you would have received chiropractic treatment first.

Apart from obvious invasiveness of the procedure along with the recovery time and probable physical therapy that would be required as part of the after care, there are several other downsides. There is a lot of money and recovery time often required to recover, and even though success can be obtained in the areas of concern, the adjacent areas are often impacted and can lead to other problems in the future.

Chiropractic Care 

Unlike the focus on pain by the majority of medical professionals, chiropractors tackle the root of the issue rather than just the symptoms. There is usually a functional component involving how well the parts are working that can be addressed to help solve the problem. The holistic approach also gives patients the freedom to change their lifestyles in ways that will benefit their treatment and recovery. They are able to take charge of their own well-being and pain management, which makes them feel more in control of their healing.

Chiropractors use a natural, all-encompassing approach to pain management, realigning the body as needed, and advising patients on exercises and other activities to help them regain their normal range of motion and flexibility while also relieving their pain symptoms and frequently fixing the underlying issue that is causing them. 

These are the reasons, it is a recommendation to seek the chiropractic therapy in Toronto to recover from many types of physical pain. 

Resource: https://torontoneckandbackpainca.wordpress.com/2023/03/14/why-chiropractic-therapy-in-toronto-is-different-from-drugs-and-surgery/

[whumptober]

Whumptober 2020 - Updated

Welcome to Whumptober 2020! We’re doing things a little differently this year so please make sure to read the Event Info carefully. We are also excited to announce the addition of an AO3 Collection, which can be found here.

We hope you’re as excited as us to watch the Whump Community come together once again for a month of bone-crunching creativity and collaboration!

(All 31 Themes + Prompts, Event Information, and FAQs are posted below the cut!)

No 1. LET'S HANG OUT SOMETIME Waking Up Restrained | Shackled | Hanging

No 2. IN THE HANDS OF THE ENEMY  "Pick Who Dies" | Collars | Kidnapped

No 3. MY WAY OR THE HIGHWAY Manhandled | Forced to their Knees | Held at Gunpoint

No 4. RUNNING OUT OF TIME Caged | Buried Alive | Collapsed Building

No 5. WHERE DO YOU THINK YOU'RE GOING? On the Run | Failed Escape | Rescue

No 6. PLEASE.... "Get it Out" | No More | "Stop, please"

No 7. I'VE GOT YOU Support | Carrying | Enemy to Caretaker

No 8. WHERE DID EVERYBODY GO? "Don't Say Goodbye" | Abandoned | Isolation

No 9. FOR THE GREATER GOOD "Take Me Instead" | "Run!” | Ritual Sacrifice

No 10. THEY LOOK SO PRETTY WHEN THEY BLEED Blood Loss | Internal Bleeding | Trail of Blood

No 11. PSYCH 101 Defiance | Struggling | Crying

No 12. I THINK I'VE BROKEN SOMETHING Broken Down | Broken Bones | Broken Trust

No 13. BREATHE IN BREATHE OUT Delayed Drowning | Chemical Pneumonia | Oxygen Mask

No 14. IS SOMETHING BURNING? Branding | Heat Exhaustion | Fire

No 15. INTO THE UNKNOWN Possession | Magical Healing | Science Gone Wrong

No 16. A TERRIBLE, HORRIBLE, NO GOOD, VERY BAD DAY Forced to Beg | Hallucinations | Shoot the Hostage

No 17. I DID NOT SEE THAT COMING Blackmail | Dirty Secret | Wrongfully Accused

No 18. PANIC! AT THE DISCO Panic Attacks | Phobias | Paranoia

No 19. BROKEN HEARTS Grief | Mourning Loved One | Survivor's Guilt

No 20. TOTO, I HAVE A FEELING WE'RE NOT IN KANSAS ANYMORE Lost | Field Medicine | Medieval

No 21. I DON'T FEEL SO WELL Chronic Pain | Hypothermia | Infection

No 22. DO THESE TACOS TASTE FUNNY TO YOU? Poisoned | Drugged | Withdrawal

No 23. WHAT’S A WHUMPEE GOTTA DO TO GET SOME SLEEP AROUND HERE? Exhaustion | Narcolepsy | Sleep Deprivation

No 24. YOU’RE NOT MAKING ANY SENSE Forced Mutism | Blindfolded | Sensory Deprivation

No 25. I THINK I’LL JUST COLLAPSE RIGHT HERE, THANKS Disorientation | Blurred Vision | Ringing Ears

No 26. IF YOU THOUGHT THE HEAD TRAUMA WAS BAD... Migraine | Concussion | Blindness

No 27. OK, WHO HAD NATURAL DISASTERS ON THEIR 2020 BINGO CARD? Earthquake | Extreme Weather | Power Outage

No 28. SUCH WOW. MANY NORMAL. VERY OOPS. Accidents | Hunting Season | Mugged

No 29. I THINK I NEED A DOCTOR Intubation | Emergency Room | Reluctant Bedrest

No 30. NOW WHERE DID THAT COME FROM? Wound Reveal | Ignoring an Injury | Internal Organ Injury

No 31. TODAY’S SPECIAL: TORTURE Experiment | Whipped | Left for Dead

Alternate Prompt List

Alt 1. Punctured

Alt 2. Falling

Alt 3. Comfort

Alt 4. Stitches

Alt 5. Stoic Whumpees

Alt 6. Altered States

Alt 7. Found Family

Alt 8. Adverse Reactions

Alt 9. Memory Loss

Alt 10. Nightmares

Alt 11. Presumed Dead

Alt. 12. Water

Alt. 13 Accidents

Alt. 14 Shot

Alt. 15 Carry/Support

Event Info

WHUMPTOBER is a month-long, prompt-based creation challenge (think: Inktober, but whumpier). There are 31 Official themes this year - one for each day of the month - which can be used, skipped, or combined in any way you’d like. They are meant to serve as inspiration without being taken literally (e.g. you don't have to include the exact wording into your work). Additionally, there are 3 prompts for each theme.  These are optional suggestions and can be used in conjunction with the theme, or as options/alternatives.  We want to give everyone as much creative freedom as possible, as well as increase event accessibility for folks with triggers and squicks.

Creators can PRODUCE work in any media they choose, including but not limited to: writing, visual artwork, and photo/video/audio edits. Creators can PARTICIPATE as much or as little as they want (i.e. you don’t have to do ALL the prompts if you don’t want to) and prompts can be used in any order. They are also free to use even after the event ends.

When uploading Whumptober content to your blog, be sure to tag the with:

#whumptober2020 …..(the event tag)

#no.1, #no.2, #no.3, …..(theme number)

#bruised, #stabbed,  …..(the theme or specific prompt you chose)

#fandom or #OC

#medium …..(gifs, fic, podcast, art, etc.)

#teeth, #etc …..(trigger warnings & any additional tags. Keep in mind not to add “tw” in front but only use the word/trigger itself, because tumblr sucks)

#nsfw, #nsfwhump …..(only for nsfw content)

PLEASE BE DILIGENT WITH YOUR TAGGING. Only properly tagged posts are considered for archiving on the official @whumptober2020​ blog. They must be tagged in the order above.

Unfortunately, due to the sheer number of participants in recent years, we cannot guarantee your work will be archived. A random selection of properly tagged posts from all genres will be reblogged each day.

Whumpers who produce content for 31 total theme days are considered event completionists and will be tagged in a masterpost at the end of the month.

Questions not addressed below can be directed to this blog as well.

Thanks for reading, and happy whumping!

Frequently Asked Questions

Q. What kind of content can I make? Can it be NSFW?

This is a MIXED MEDIA event! You can write fic, post meta, doodle or paint, create a gif set or photo edit, link a song, or get crafty with video - anything goes. As for NSFW, make what you like, we just hope that you’ll tag your work accordingly so that others participating in the event can stay safe :)

Q. Do I have to do all 31 Days? Can I post early/late?

Participate as much or little as you like, and post whenever! Just be sure to tag your posts properly (ex. #no.11, #psych101). Combining prompts into one piece of work is okay, and posting late is as well so as long as it’s in October.

Q. What if I don’t understand a theme?

Send us an ask! We’re happy to help clarify. That said, the themes are entirely up for interpretation :)

Q. Can I combine Whumptober with other creation challenges?

Absolutely! That’s like shooting two whumpees with one bullet :)

Q. Can I upload/repost my whumptober content to other social media platforms?

Of course! We’ve created an AO3 Collection to archive any fics posted there. The archive can be accessed here. The blog is the official archive, so please respect the boundaries of any closeted whumpers in your social circle :)

Q. Can I use prompts to write a new chapter for an existing fic?

Yes

Q. An existing fic I am currently writing contains many of the Whumptober prompts, can I use it?

If you are actively writing this fic at the moment with the whumptober prompts in mind, yes. If it just conveniently checks the boxes, then please don’t. You can, however, add new chapters answering one or more of the prompts.

Q. What kind of characters can I write for?

Fandom characters, OC characters, human, furry, alien, cyborg, whoever you like.

Q. Can I use a prompt multiple times?

Yes,  but it only counts once

Q. If I’m not comfortable with one day's prompts can I use a prompt of a different day as a substitute and still be a completionist?

Yes, but please do not use a specific prompt twice. We have also created an alternate prompts list that you can draw from [here].

Q. Where can I post my work?

Post where and how you want. You don’t even have to (cross)post it to Tumblr. Just keep in mind if it’s not on Tumblr we will not be able to add it to the blog archive.

Q. Can I start posting early?

You can, but this is an October event and wouldn’t it be more fun with everyone doing it at the same time? That being said, you can post early, but we won’t be reblogging any work predating October 1st.

Q. Do I have to finish a fic I started/can I post WIP’s.?

Yes you can post WIPs. And you’re not obligated to finish it in October for it to count towards being a completionist.  

Q. Is co-writing allowed?

Yes, absolutely, and it would count towards being a completionist for both/all of you :)

Q. Do I have to create 31 standalone pieces to be considered a completionist or can I write one continuous story?

One continuous story is fine.  The challenge is to write something for 31 prompts. If that’s spread over 31 fics or just one, you are still considered a completionist. (The same goes for every other media you choose.)

Q. Is there a min/max limit on word count?

There is no limit

Q. Can I combine prompts? Is there a limit on how many?

No limit and combine as many as you’d like.

Q. Is a hc/angst focus ok?

Of course!

Q. What’s considered nsfw?

See this post

Q. What's whump?

See this post

Q. My interpretation of the prompt isn't whumpy at all, does that count?

No, sorry, but keep in mind that whump [see definition] is something very nuanced and different for everyone and emotional whump/angst is just as much part of it, as is physical whump and torture. So before you dismiss your idea, think about this.

Q. Can I start working on the prompts before October?

Absolutely! That’s why we posted the prompts a month in advance. We recognise how difficult it can be creating for 31 days in “real time”.

Q. How do I tag triggers?

tw at the end of the word, ex. emeto tw

Q. Do I have to use your tags?

Yes, if you want your work archived on the blog. If not, feel free to use whatever tags you want.  

Q. Does combining prompts count towards completion?

Yes

Q. Can we @ you?

Yes but we mostly rely on the whumptober2020 tag

Q. Is there anything we are absolutely not allowed to write?

There are no rules, just be sure to properly tag your trigger warnings. And keep in mind Tumblr’s policies if you are posting it here (or the policies of whatever site you use).

Q. Where can I go for brainstorming help?

Here on Discord

Q. My characters are minors, is that ok?

Yes, but as with everything else, tags are your best friend.

Q. Can I cross post on other blogs?

Yes, multiple platforms and blogs are perfectly acceptable. You can also post different works to different accounts under different names, without posting them everywhere at once.

Note: This is a creation challenge, please don’t repost your old work under our tags (unless it’s been changed or edited for the event).

[mimicofmodes]

“The Ladies Waldegrave” by Joshua Reynolds, 1780 (NGS NG2171)

I’ve complained before about two very big pet peeves of mine - corset stuff and Regency women being dressed in 1770s-1780s clothes - but one that may dwarf them because of how frequently it comes up in historical and fantasy fiction is the oppression of embroidery.

That’s probably putting it a bit too strongly. It’s more like ... the annoyance of embroidery. Every character worth reading about knows instinctively that sewing is a) boring, b) difficult, c) mindless, and d) pointless. The author doesn’t have to say anything more than “Belinda threw down her needlework and looked out the window, sighing,” to signal that this is an independent woman whose values align with the modern reader, who’s probably not really understood by her mother or mother figure, and who probably will find an extraordinary man to “match” her rather than settling for someone ordinary. To look at an example from fantasy, GRRM uses embroidery in the very beginning of A Game of Thrones to show that the Stark sister who dislikes it is sympathetic and interesting, while the Stark sister who is competent at it is boring and conventional and obviously not deserving of a PoV (until later books, when her attention gets turned to higher matters); further into the book, of course, the pro-needlework sister proves to be weak-willed and naïve.

Rozsika Parker, in the groundbreaking 1996 work The Subversive Stitch, noted that “embroidery has become indelibly associated with stereotypes of femininity,” which is the core of the issue. "Instead embroidery and a stereotype of femininity have become collapsed into one another, characterised as mindless, decorative and delicate; like the icing on the cake, good to look at, adding taste and status, but devoid of significant content.” 

Parker also points out that the stereotype isn’t just one that was invented in the present day by feminists who hated the idea of being forced to do a certain craft. “The association between women and embroidery, craft and femininity, has meant that writers concerned with the status of women have often turned their attention towards this tangled, puzzling relationship. Feminists who have scorned embroidery tend to blame it for whatever constraint on women's lives they are committed to combat. Thus, for example, eighteenth-century critical commentators held embroidery responsible for the ill health which was claimed as evidence of women's natural weakness and inferiority.”

There are two basic problems I have with the trope, beyond the issue of it being incredibly cliché:

First: needlework was not just busywork

A big part of what drives the stereotype is the impression that what women were embroidering was either a sampler:

sampler embroidered by Jane Wilson, 14, in 1791 (MMA 2010.47)

or a picture:

unfinished embroidery of David and Abigail, British, 1640s-50s (MMA 64.101.1325)

That is, something meant to hang on the wall for no real purpose.

These are forms of schoolwork, basically. Samplers were made by young girls up to their early teens, and needlework pictures were usually something done while at school or under a governess as a showpiece of what was being learned - not just the stitching itself, but also often watercolors (which could be worked into the design), artistic sensibility, and the literature, history, or art that might be alluded to. And many needlework pictures made in schools were also done as mourning pieces, sometimes blank, for future use, and sometimes to commemorate a recent death in the family. A lot of them are awkward, clearly just done to pass the class, but others are really artwork.

Many schools for middle- and upper-class girls taught the making of these objects (and other “ornamental” subjects) alongside a more rigorous curriculum - geography, Latin, chemistry, etc. At some, sewing was also always accompanied by serious reading and discussion. (And it would often be done while someone read aloud or made conversation later in life, too.)

Once done with their education, women generally didn’t bother with purely decorative work. Some things that fabric could be embroidered for included:

Jackets 

Bed coverings and bedcurtains

Collars and undersleeves 

Pelerines 

Neck handkerchiefs and sleeve ruffles 

Screens

Upholstery

Handkerchiefs

Purses, wallets, and reticules

Boxes

Book covers

Plus other articles of clothing like waistcoats, caps, slippers, gown hems, chemises, etc. Women’s magazines of the nineteenth century often gave patterns and alphabets for personal use.

(Not to mention late nineteenth century female artists who worked in embroidery, but that’s something else.)

You could purchase all of these pre-embroidered, but many, many women chose to do it themselves. There are a number of reasons why: maybe they wanted something to do, maybe they felt like they should be doing needlework for moral/gender reasons, maybe they couldn’t afford to buy anything - and maybe they enjoyed it or wanted to give something they made to a person they loved. That firescreen above was embroidered by Marie Antoinette, someone who had any number of other activities to choose from. It’s no different than people today who like to knit their own hats and gloves or bake their own bread, except that it was way more mainstream.

embroidery patterns from Ackermann’s Repository in 1827 - they could be used on dresses, collars, handkerchiefs, etc.

Second: needlework wasn’t the only “useless” thing women were expected to do

Ignoring the bulk of point one for now and the value of embroidery - I mentioned “ornamental subjects” above. As many people know, young women of the upper and middle classes were expected to be “accomplished” in order to be seen as marriageable. This could include skills like embroidery, drawing, painting, singing, playing the piano (as well as other instruments, like the harp or the mandolin), speaking French (if not also Italian and/or German), as well as broader knowledge and abilities like being well-versed in music, literature, and poetry, dancing and walking gracefully, writing good letters in an elegant hand, and being able to read out loud expressively and smoothly.

This wasn’t a checklist. As the famous discussion in Pride and Prejudice shows, individuals could have different views on what actually made a woman accomplished:

“How I long to see her again! I never met with anybody who delighted me so much. Such a countenance, such manners! And so extremely accomplished for her age! Her performance on the pianoforte is exquisite.”

“It is amazing to me,” said Bingley, “how young ladies can have patience to be so very accomplished as they all are.”

“All young ladies accomplished! My dear Charles, what do you mean?”

“Yes, all of them, I think. They all paint tables, cover screens, and net purses. I scarcely know anyone who cannot do all this, and I am sure I never heard a young lady spoken of for the first time, without being informed that she was very accomplished.”

“Your list of the common extent of accomplishments,” said Darcy, “has too much truth. The word is applied to many a woman who deserves it no otherwise than by netting a purse or covering a screen. But I am very far from agreeing with you in your estimation of ladies in general. I cannot boast of knowing more than half-a-dozen, in the whole range of my acquaintance, that are really accomplished.”

“Nor I, I am sure,” said Miss Bingley.

“Then,” observed Elizabeth, “you must comprehend a great deal in your idea of an accomplished woman.”

“Yes, I do comprehend a great deal in it.”

“Oh! certainly,” cried his faithful assistant, “no one can be really esteemed accomplished who does not greatly surpass what is usually met with. A woman must have a thorough knowledge of music, singing, drawing, dancing, and the modern languages, to deserve the word; and besides all this, she must possess a certain something in her air and manner of walking, the tone of her voice, her address and expressions, or the word will be but half-deserved.”

“All this she must possess,” added Darcy, “and to all this she must yet add something more substantial, in the improvement of her mind by extensive reading.”

Mr. Bingley feels that a woman is accomplished if she has the ability to do a number of different arts and crafts. Miss Bingley feels (or says she feels) that it goes beyond specific skills and into branches of artistic attainment, plus broader personal qualities that could be imparted by well-bred governesses or mothers. And Mr. Darcy, of course, agrees with that but adds an academic angle as well.

But what ties all of these accomplishments together is their lack of value on the labor market. A woman could earn a living with any one accomplishment, if she worked hard enough at it to become a professional, but young ladies weren’t supposed to be professional-level good because they by definition weren’t going to earn a living. All together, they trained a woman for the social and domestic role of a married woman of the upper middle or upper class, or, if she couldn’t get married, a governess or teacher who would share her accomplishments with the next generation.

(To be fair, almost none of the trappings of an upper-middle/upper class male education had anything to do with the kind of career training that college frequently is today, either. Men were educated to know the cultural touchpoints of their class and fit in with their peers.)

There are reasons that an individual person/character might specifically object to embroidery, but it was far from the only “useless” thing that an unconventional heroine would be required to do against her inclination by her conventional mother/grandmother/aunt/chaperone. Embroidery stands out to modern audiences because most of the other accomplishments are now valued as gender-neutral arts and skills.

“The Embroidery Frame”, by Mathilde Weil, ca. 1900 (LOC 98501309)

So, some thoughts for writers of historical fiction (or fantasy that’s supposed to be just like the 19th/18th/17th/etc century):

- If your heroine doesn’t like embroidery, she probably doesn’t like a number of other things she’s expected to do. Don’t pull out embroidery as either more expected or more onerous than them. Does she hate to sit still? I’d imagine she also dislikes drawing and practicing the piano. Would she prefer to do academic subjects? She probably also resents learning French instead of Latin, and music and dancing. Does she hate enforced femininity? Then she’d most likely have a problem with all of the accomplishments.

- If your heroine just and specifically doesn’t like embroidery, try to show in the narrative that that’s not because it’s objectively bad, and only able to be liked by the boring. Have another sympathetic character do it while talking to the heroine. Note that the hero carries a flame-stitched wallet that’s his sister’s work. Emphasize the heroine’s emotional connection to her deceased or absent mother through her affection for clothing or upholstery that her mother embroidered - or through a mourning picture commemorating her. There are all kinds of things you can do to show that it’s a personal preference rather than a stupid craft that doesn’t take talent and skill!

mourning picture for Daniel Goodman, probably embroidered by a Miss Goodman, 1803 (MMA 56.66)

[thoughtfulturtleprincess]

A non-OP fan’s (slashy/romantic)take on Buggy and Shanks’ relationship

Disclaimer: I’m not a One Piece fan by any stretch so I don’t follow the manga or anime but I’ve seen clips of it here and there on the internet, and got intrigued by the one and only Buggy and his relationship with Shanks. I’ve been thinking a lot about them recently and reading a lot of fics/reddit theories so here’s my take. I’ll most definitely miss stuff so actual fans please jump in and correct me/add things!

Warning: My interpretation is that there is some romantic undertones to their relationship. If you don’t agree with this please don’t read! Thanks :D

1. Shanks and Buggy grew up together on the same ship. Some have suggested that they were only 1 when they were picked up by Roger’s crew, although the youngest we’ve seen them tgt was when they were 9 years old. Regardless, they probably didn’t have much of a chance to form long lasting friendships with other children outside the ship, so their peer group consisted only of each other, and that’s crazy. 

2. I feel like these circumstances would’ve led to a form of closeness that supersedes modern friendship. Some have described their bond as a brotherhood, and many have stated that they love each other.

3. However, I feel like brotherly love doesn’t fully explain their dynamic(in the anime version of their Marineford reunion). While it explains why Shanks took care of Buggy when on the Oro Jackson despite their squabbles, why he invited Buggy to go with him after Roger’s execution, and why he seemed quite happy to see Buggy at Marineford aged 39, it doesn’t quite explain why his first instinct there was to make a fool of Buggy, only to brush it off as a whim afterwards. And it most certainly doesn’t explain the most SUS thing about that interaction, which was Shanks’ facial expression and tone of voice. There’s just something very sus about that in particular because it doesn’t feel brotherly, but more like flirtatious teasing??? which Buggy is totally confused by btw.

4. I watched the Japanese version of their reunion. During most of it one of Shanks’ eyebrows was slightly raised in a sort of mischievous way, and just before he walks off he says ‘I know, so don’t be angry.’ in a tone that’s borderline flirtatious???? Does Shanks know that he can placate Buggy with flirtatious teasing?? In that case I wouldn’t call this brotherly love anymore. Does that mean he’s done that in the past and it’s worked???????

5. Perhaps these are artistic liberties that the animators and voice actors have taken, but I assume this is also approved by Oda? Maybe this is a trap for yaoi fangirls and I’ve fallen into it lmao I am not sure how this works - someone more well versed in the mechanics of this please chip in :D In any case, we’ll see where this takes us:

6. There’s 2 things to address here: the trickery, and the borderline playful flirting that happened towards the end. Firstly, the trickery: there’s a power dynamic here and Shanks is the one on top. He’s thinking about how to stop the war, Luffy, and probably other bigger things. When he sees Buggy he probably felt a lot of things then but because of the circumstance, he decides to use him as a way to get something done. 

7. It was a funny interaction, and I’m going to over-analyse it. When Buggy refused to help Shanks with the strawhat, it’s interesting that the latter decided to trick him with the false promise of a treasure map, rather than to just say sth along the lines of ‘why not help for old times’ sake’ etc. Perhaps he thinks that Buggy would be too prideful to be swayed by those types of arguments. But perhaps this is where Shanks miscalculated, and why Buggy was so offended lol just a while ago Buggy had helped Luffy because he had been touched by his innocence and resemblance to young Shanks, and here Shanks is basically saying that even after all these years he still thinks Buggy is below matters of the heart. 

8. Shanks probably also thinks he can trick Buggy into doing things for him without incurring any real consequence. It’s almost like the ‘I’m just going to say this first and then deal with his reaction later’ type mentality. Let’s face it, what can Buggy do? Fighting is out of the question: the disparity in their power levels seems too large for this to be a concern for Shanks, and Buggy is highly averse to fighting battles that he knows he can’t win. Cutting ties? Well, that’s been done: Buggy rejected Shanks’ offer to join his crew years ago, and they haven’t really met since, so the worst has already happened. Shanks has had years to get over that.

9. Perhaps over time Shanks has become more focused than his easy smiles let on. Ironically, Buggy was the one to criticise Shanks for being soft hearted when they were younger, but ultimately it is Buggy who tears up at the sight of Luffy’s innocence and decides to fight alongside him in Impel Down, and it is him that calls out Shanks’ name in the middle of the battlefield, seemingly without a care for their surroundings or consequences, just to be taken advantage of by the other.

10. Some may say I’m making Shanks sound a bit evil, and that perhaps all of this happened subconsciously. Maybe the sentiment behind tricking Buggy is half a funny way to greet his old comrade, and half a sign that he still remembers a lot about him and on top of that trusts him with his hat.

11. While I agree with the fact that Shanks basically does not have any true malice towards Buggy, I can’t ignore the power dynamic between them. The trickery was funny only to Shanks, not to Buggy, but I think this dynamic fits perfectly with Shanks’ role as the Emperor and Buggy’s as the Clown.  

12. Alas, Emperors maintain an indestructible reputation, and Clowns make themselves look bad for laughs. So mb Buggy is just fulfilling that role for Shanks in the story. After all, Shanks is portrayed as a flawless man: he is selfless, ambitious, righteous, protects the weak, stops wars and has never lost a battle in his life. On the other hand, Buggy is portrayed in the complete opposite manner: he is self-serving, duplicitous, scummy, money-loving and lazy. 

13. It’s kind of sad that Buggy was basically born into(afaik his nose is natural) this role though and is forced to make the most out of it.

14. Secondly, the playful flirtatiousness(I keep using this word because I feel like that’s the vibe he gave off at the end of one of the clips I saw lmao): Shanks is not really treating Buggy as an adult in his own right, but acts as if Buggy is a child(or capricious lover??) that has to be coaxed into doing the right thing. That’s also borderline disrespectful, but it could just be a matter of them having been apart for such a long time that Shanks automatically defaulted to their old, childish ways because he hadn’t really had the chance to get to know Buggy as an adult.

15. But then this begs the question of what exactly is the nature of their relationship? Brotherly love doesn’t fit with the flirting, so perhaps it’s a different kind of love? Some possible reasons for why Shanks would ever be flirtatious could be 1. there’s some romantic elements to their relationship in the past that he’s taking advantage of now e.g. maybe Buggy was attracted to him and he is taking advantage of it? or 2. it’s a new thing he’s trying because he thinks it’s funny and Buggy would be too confused to keep retorting so it’s a fun way to end the conversation and at the same time to plant a seed in the clown that might make him follow Shanks later? (Buggy did immediately think about doing that lololol) Is this Shanks’ way of getting Buggy to come back to him lmao without explicitly asking loooool 

16. Judging by Buggy’s reaction it seems like number 2 is more likely but this is all anime-only afaik

17. All in all, I feel like Buggy is a special person to Shanks and vice versa, and even though Buggy is just one element of a much bigger picture for Shanks (whereas for Buggy, Shanks seems to have a much bigger presence in his mind), the fact that they spent their childhood only having each other as peers enabled them to form a deep mutual trust and closeness that didn’t seem to have dampened after twenty odd years of separation.

[misseffie]

Is Gendry illiterate?

Short answer: Probably not. 

Long answer: 

I’ve noticed a lot of fanfiction trying to address Gendry’s illiteracy once he becomes a noble. Most fics depict him as being completely illiterate. Some depict him as having some level of literacy, but not enough for his new position. So let’s try to figure it out, shall we?

Part 1: Literacy

We have this assumption that in medieval times no one could read or write unless they were part of the nobility. That is not quite true. Firstly, we have to understand what it meant to be literate by medieval standards: 

“In Medieval times, “Literate” actually meant able to read and write in Latin, which was considered to be the language of learning. Being able to read and write in the vernacular wasn’t considered real learning at all. Most peasants prior to the Black Death (which really shook up society) had little chance to learn - hard labouring work all of the hours of daylight does’t leave a lot of energy for reading or writing.

It’s worth noting, however the panic amongst the ruling classes when translations of The Bible started to appear written in English. This really started in the late 14th Century (about 30 years after the Black Death). The level of panic suggests that the Ruling Classes knew that the numbers of people who could read and write English was far greater than the numbers who could read Latin.”

However, there is no language quite like Latin in Westeros. The closest we come to something similar is High Valyrian. Which noble children seem to have a basic understanding of. We can safely assume that Gendry doesn’t have extensive knowledge of High Valyrian - so he is illiterate in that regard. But I don’t think High Valyrian is as widely used as Latin was in the Middle Ages. It’s also not a language with religious significance. As the Faith of the Seven doesn’t use High Valyrian the way that the Catholic Church used Latin.

So… taking that into account. What I assume that is meant by “literate” in Westeros is being able to read and write in the Common Tongue. 

I will say that even by those parameters I don’t think most of the commoners would have been literate. However, Gendry was not in the same situation as most of the commoners.

Which leads me to... 

Part 2: Socio-economic class in Medieval Times

The level of literacy among the commonfolk has to be examined on a case by case basis.

Literacy among “peasants” varied a lot depending on circumstance. So, for example, it’s not strange that Davos, who was a smuggler prior to meeting Stannis, was illiterate. Or Gilly, who was completely isolated from the world and in terrible conditions.

But Gendry is in a different situation.

As @arsenicandfinelace pointed out in this cool meta:

Gendry was definitely born low-class, as an unrecognised bastard whose mother was a tavern girl (read: one step away from prostitute). But the whole point of apprenticing with Tobho Mott is that that was a major leap forward for him, socially.

As Davos put it in 3x10, “The Street of Steel? You lived in the fancy part of town.” Yes, a tradesman of any kind is leagues below the nobility, and could never ever be worthy of marrying a highborn girl like Arya. But Tobho Mott is a master craftsman, the best armourer in the capital city of a heavily martial country. As far as tradesman go, he’s the best of the best, and charges accordingly.

There’s a reason Varys had to pay out the ass to get Gendry apprenticed there. If he had stayed, completed his apprenticeship, and eventually taken over the workshop, he would have been very wealthy (by commoner standards) and respectable (again, by commomner standards), despite his low birth.

Tobho Mott is a tradesman and a craftsman. He is part of the merchant class. * Merchants are often referred to as a different class from the rest of the population. The merchant class in Medieval Times was closer to the middle class of contemporary times.

“By the 15th century, merchants were the elite class of many towns and their guilds controlled the town government. Guilds were all-powerful and if a merchant was kicked out of one, he would likely not be able to earn a living again.”

Mott would be considered to be part of the merchant class - and not even a common kind of merchant either. He was the best Blacksmith in all of King's Landing, the capital of the Seven Kingdoms. So we can assume that Tobho Mott was a very wealthy and powerful craftsman and merchant.  

“That many 'middle class' people (tradesmen, merchants and the like) could read and write in the late middle ages cannot be disputed.”

I’m not saying that all tradesmen/merchants/craftsmen were literate back then. It was still a smaller percentage than the nobility. Only the richer and more influential of tradesmen would learn Latin. But I think most of them would be literate enough in the vernacular to run a business. Considering Mott’s reputation and his clientele I’m certain that Mott is part of that literate percentage.

In season 2, Arya accidentally reveals to Tywin that she can read. Realizing her mistake she covers up by saying that her father, a ’stonemason', taught her. Of course, I don’t think that completely fooled Tywin but why did Arya say her father was Stonemason. Why did his profession matter at all? Surely it wouldn’t have mattered if he was a fisherman or a farmer... a peasant is a peasant, right?

Wrong.

“The Medieval Stonemason asserts that they were not monks but highly skilled craftsmen who combined the roles of architect, builder, craftsman, designer, and engineer. Many, if not all masons of the Middle Ages learnt their craft through an informal apprentice system”

“Children from merchants and craftsmen were able to study longer and continuous, so they were able to learn Latin at a later age. This way, everyone learned to read and write (some better than others) sufficiently for their trade.”

Stonemasons were the architects of the time and no doubt the top tier was literate.

Many trades (by the 15th C) required reading and writing, so it was taught to apprentices by the masters. We know from apprenticeship agreements that many masters were expected to continue the apprentice's literacy or start it, which makes sense for the wider viability of the trade.

The War of the Roses took place in the late 15th Century. So I’m guessing that that’s the time period that ASOIAF is mostly based on.

Part 3: Level of literacy

I think it’s safe to say that Gendry has some level of literacy. However, his “level” is pretty much up for debate. If he’d finished his apprenticeship it’s likely he’d have a decent level of reading/writing comprehension. However, near the end of his apprenticeship he was kicked out.

I’m not sure how much Gendry could read/write by the time that he was kicked out by Tobho Mott. But he’d already been his apprentice for 10 years (in show canon). More than enough time to get some basic reading/writing/basic math lessons. 

It seems that show!Gendry is more likely to have a higher level of literacy than book!Gendry. In the show, he leaves Tobho Mott at 16, while in the book he is 14. This is just my own impression, but I think his education would be more complete by age 16 than age 14.

Not to mention that book!Gendry is still in the Riverlands and working for outlaws. But in the show we can assume that Gendry has been smithing in King’s Landing for years and it is insinuated that he owns a shop. Meaning he might have reached “Master” status and can take on apprentices of his own. It might seem like Gendry is too young for that. But it’s actually not that strange. 

“Apprentices stayed with their masters for seven to nine years before they were able to claim journeyman status. Journeyman blacksmiths possessed the basic skills necessary to work alongside their master, seek work with other shops, or even open their own businesses.”

Considering that Gendry has been with Mott for 10 years in show!canon, it’s possible that Gendry was a “journeyman” and not an “apprentice” by the time that Ned meets him in season 1. But he might be nearing the end of his apprenticeship in the books.

Guilds also required journeymen to submit work for examination each year in each area of expertise. So, a journeyman who perhaps crafted swords, locks, and keys would need to submit each item to his guild annually for inspection. If the guild approved the craftsmanship of the products, the journeyman could eventually move up to master status.

The process of becoming a master could take from 2 to 5 years. Considering that Gendry is regarded as talented, it’s likely that he achieved this in a shorter period of time. As a journeyman he also needed to work alongside a master for 3 to 4 years before he could obtain master status. Which would still explain why he was so upset at being kicked out by Mott - it’s like someone getting kicked out while they’re trying to obtain a PHD. 

By the time we meet him in season 7 it’s very possible that Gendry is now considered a master of his trade.

He also seems to be making armour and weapons for “Lannisters” which means he has a mostly noble clientele. He probably has plenty of fancy clients asking for custom-made products. With sketches and measurements and all that shit. Which is not surprising since he probably has a de facto reputation simply by merit of being Tobho Mott’s apprentice (lets ignore how dumb it is that no one discovered that Gendry was in King’s Landing since he made no effort to hide who he was or try to hide from the nobility lol).

Conclusion: 

It’s safe to say that Gendry had some access to higher education. He can probably read and write enough for his line of work. It’s likely that his level would still leave much to be desired once he became a noble though. For comparison, imagine if someone left school at age 11 and was then required to write a college-level thesis. So he’d definitely need some “lordly” writing lessons and further education.

Gendry is still wildly uneducated for what he needs to do. So...

This meme is still gold 10/10

* Correction: Though Mott would be considered part of the same socio-economic class as merchants he is primarily a tradesman/craftsman, and would be referred to as such. Since merchants didn’t produce the goods they sold. However they could belong to the same guild, along with artisans and craftsmen. 

[mehphoobia]

HERE

Pairing- Tom Hiddleston x Reader (news channel anchor)

Summary- People say falling in love can be a scary experience. Well, that scary experience for you had a different meaning for you.

Warnings- blood, horror, mystery, thriller, suspense (I suggest get a water bottle for yourself)

REQUESTS OPEN | MASTERLIST

_____________________________🤍____________________________

"Susan Hive, another 25 y/o was found dead in her apartment approximately at 10:00 am today. Who is the mastermind behind these brutal murders? the mystery is still with the police to crack. The only witness in the case are the walls of the apartment which are covered in parts of human anatomy never seen before just like the other five murders. This is Y/N of NewsToday with cameraperson David on scene." You sighed after finishing your report and looked at the crime scene. The camera person packed his camera and headed towards the van as he couldn't handle the stench. With ripples on your forehead you contemplated your decision. Should you or should you not tell the officers.

But soon you let aside your dilemma. These were brutal murder cases that had everyone shook.

And you had a lead to follow.

"Who are you?" you whispered as you sat in your chair staring at the photo of the deceased Susan Hive with a man. The face was not visible as he wore a black hat and a black overcoat. "Typical" you said gesturing his attire, which was straight out of a murder mystery. Unfortunately, the officers couldn't find him. But the lead you had could directly deliver this man to you.

"North House please" explaining the address to the taxi driver, you couldn't miss his expressions. "You want to go to the North House?" he asked you with genuine concern. "If you are not comfortable, you can just drop me near the curb" you suggested understanding his hesitation. Reluctantly he drove the taxi and there you were. Standing outside the hospital for mental patients. "How much will it be?" asking the driver for the fare you rummaged through your purse.

"I will wait here miss. You can pay me later" he said. Of course, the deaths in this hospital would scare anyone. But you weren't here for the suicides, you were here for the murders.

"I am here to see someone. A Mrs. Hill." you spoke confidentially to the receptionist. "For an investigation, are we?" the receptionist questioned. "It's confidential" you replied with knitted eyebrows. "oh! of course it is." she chuckled.

The receptionist accompanied you to Mrs. Hill's room. She was the oldest patient, who had been in the hospital for for around thirty years. Every patient, every staff member; she had seen for herself. "Are you here for the investigation for Susan Hive?" the receptionist questioned. Your head whipped faster than the wings of a bee. "You knew her?" you enquired. "Yes, I knew all five of them. They were interning under me." she answered.

"Janice Dean" her ID card read. "Of course" you murmured. Ten days back you had found one of the victim's case file from the officers which had something in common. North House, all three of them worked here and now so did Susan Hive.

"Don't worry I won't bug her too much" putting a and on Ms. Dean's shoulder you reassured her. She offered you a tired smile. With that she unlocked the door and you saw Mrs. Hill sitting on her chair.

"He killed another one didn't he?" she enquired in her shaky voice as if she knew it was going to happen. "Yeah. Do you know you he is?" trying to keep your posture, you asked. "No, but I have seen him." she replied. "Black eyes which weren't even his. Long hair which covered his face and the cuts." "Everyone thought, something was wrong in his head. They tried all kinds of medicines but none of them worked. He kept screaming and yelling every day. It would echo you know. The screams. Other patients could feel it too. But the doctors didn't know something." she explained but suddenly trailed off.

"He was possessed" she declared.

"How did he get out. I mean the patient like--" "Demon" she corrected. "We saw a body lying in his room. We thought its him. He had cuts all over his face so it was recognizable. The post mortem reports found out it was one of our doctors. He escaped as his disguise." explained Ms. Dean.

You couldn't get the fact out of your head as you stepped outside the hospital. With quivering hands, you opened the taxi's door. Looking at your condition, the driver ran to the opposite side of the street and bought you a water bottle. "You should go home miss." the driver suggested. "Beverly Hills Apartments please". The driver nodded and drove you home.

Maybe you should tell the police. It was not your job to go after the killer. Of course it would be one of the biggest news article for your company but this, its not worth it. Just then your phone rang. All of that tension and weird feeling in your chest was replaced by a sense of comfort. It was Tom.

"Hey babe! dinner's ready, when are you coming home?" he asked in his cheerful voice. You chuckled and said, "I started right now. Is my kitchen all right?" you mocked. "Uh..sort of. I'll help you clean though" he replied like a child caught doing something wrong. It was comforting to have him in your life. Amidst all of this, he was the exact person you needed. "Love you honey" you said unexpectedly. He could sense your uneasiness and knew your line of work. It can be terrifying sometimes. "Love you too..Hey, I am right here." he said immediately putting a smile on your face.

You met him three years ago. How boring can news conferences be? it was something you knew very well. But it was a little bit tolerable when a hot shot investigating officer suddenly made his way to you. Tom and you immediately clicked. As if you were meant to be. One date led to another and suddenly he started picking you up from your work almost every single day. You remembered he had proposed on your cruise date which had you in complete awe. How could you say no to such a perfect man. His beautiful eyes which were a perfect peek to your universe, his warm embrace and how he fit in your life perfectly made it so much easier. He made it easier.

The sudden nostalgia calmed your nerves and you took a deep breath in. Within no time you were home. You leaped out of the taxi, paid the man and ran to your apartment. As you were going to ring the bell, Tom opened the door and picked you up in his arms. Both of you giggled as he kissed you passionately. With your fingers curling in his long wet hair and his arms coiling your waist, you could melt under his effect and you did.

"Tada!! Fish N chips" Tom declared in his voice that he called his disney voice. You chuckled at his endearing self. Both of you couldn't spend enough time with each other with all these murders. He too was tensed but never showed it in front of you. The least you could do was to help him out. You watched your favorite drama as the both of you ate your dinner.

After the chocolate ice-cream, he got up to get the wet wipe to wipe your face which was covered in chocolate. You were gone out cold because of the tiring day. He picked up the plates and noticed you had run out of kitchen soap. "Back in a few" he wrote on a post it and pasted it on the fridge. He wore his black overcoat and decided to forego his phone and left.

"Tom? babe?" you woke up around five minutes and searched the house. Suddenly the post it note grabbed your attention. You chuckled when you saw it and you knew a lot of unwanted things were gonna be purchased. Who could help it, its Walmart after all.

You saw his phone and found his headphones on the table. He would sit on his chair for hours and listen to his music but he never shared them with you. So you grabbed the opportunity and plugged in his headphones.

"19-21-19-1-14 8-9-12-12" the first song read. Then you realized it was a recording. "Mr Hiddleston sings?" you scoffed as you pressed the play button.

"Ahhh" a woman screamed and with that you immediately grabbed the headphones and threw them. "Oh God" you whined as you rubbed your ears. You played all the five recordings and all of them were similar. Screams. Then it hit you. The numbers were different and were too wrong to be dates. WHAT IF?

"19,S,21,U,19,S,1,A,14,N 8,H,9,I,12,L,12,L" you wrote on a piece of paper. "Susan hill?" you gasped. All the other four recordings added up to the all the other four victims. You sat there staring at the paper.

"It took you long enough" Tom spoke from behind you. You flinched as walked away from him. "Did you?" you asked. "The screams, oh my soul was cleansed" he said as he put his hand on his chest. Tears were rolling down your cheeks as you looked at his face. He was in content, in peace. "Why did you kill them? What had they done to you?" you enquired.

"THEY LAUGHED!!" he yelled. Your eyes widened as you looked at him. It wasn't your Tom, it was someone else.

He was possessed.

"They fucking laughed when I was being experimented on. I cried for help but they were too busy laughing. Fucking bitches" he scoffed. "You know when I made cuts on their skin how peaceful it felt. Slowly, deeply I dragged my knives on their skins and watching them slowly dying because of the pain. So good. They were the ones who cried and screamed and I was the one who laughed." He was a maniac explaining his masterplan. Little did he know everything he said, you were recording it all.

"You think you can run away with it?" you mocked trying to make him spill out. "How will they know Y/N? I am the chief investigating officer." he ran the tip of his fingers on your cheeks. But you didn't waver, he was a demon. "All this time I have been trying to erase all the evidence" he spoke as he turned his back on you.

"But you?" he turned and walked towards you. He bought his face closer to your neck and kissed your neck. If it were any other day, your eyes would slowly close themselves as he would press you against the surface. But today there was nothing but tears. "You are my favorite. I can't leave any witnesses. But don't worry, your screams will live in my recordings. You know how much I love making you scream now don't you my love?" He laughed sheepishly.

THUD THUD. The bang on the door grabbed his attention. He looked at you made a sign with a finger in his lips. Was this the man you loved? Who was he? You thought as you looked at him slowly unlocking the door.

"Ahh LEAVE ME GET OFF" he yelled in surprised as the police officers pinned him on the floor. Slowly you got your phone in front of him which you were hiding behind you and showed him the 911 number. The officers dragged him away but his hooded eyes would not leave your soul.

Two days later, while clearing his room. You found a notebook with all the five victim's name on it which was struck of with a red marker and also five knives covered in dried blood. "Why?" you whimpered as tears made their way down your cheeks. Your company had printed one of the biggest hit ever and were at the top. You were promoted and were appreciated by everyone but at what cost? You were scarred for life.

Back in the North House, Mrs Hill was sitting on her chair as the receptionist were cleaning her room. "Oh no" Mrs Hill exclaimed. "What is it Nana?" enquired Ms. Dean. "Y/N call her!! NOW"

Something was going to happen.

At the prison cell, all the officers were in havoc as one of the security guard was found dead in Tom's prison cell. Hysterical laughs and water droplets echoed through the hallway as Y/N was written on the wall and was struck of by the dead security guards' blood.

You were sleeping when Ms. Dean called you. "Hello" you spoke in your grumpy voice, the sleeping pills were slowly kicking in. "T-TOM!" her line was cut because of the heavy rain. Just then you got a message that Tom had escaped.

"What? where did he go?" you murmured to yourself and then you heard it. The hysterical laughter and the sound of the recording button being pushed.

"I am right here my love" he said.

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A/N: Hey guys, here is my first Tom Hiddleston fic. For the those of you who don't know me personally I am a contemporary dancer and this fiction I had seen being performed on the stage. I loved the suspense and I loved writing it even more. Writing this was a challenge and it was a wonderful experience and I hope you all like this as well.😘

Tom Hiddleston is such a versatile actor and just fits in any character which is the main reason why I love him so much. It was very easy for me to visualize his demeanor in this character and I tried my level best converting it into words. Let me know what you think about this fic.😃

REQUESTS OPEN | MASTERLIST

My requests are open. So ahead and check my masterlist and send me your plots.

Love yourself...you are worth it❣❣

[hwangsies]

LIMERENCE

(n) the state of becoming infatuated with another person

pairing: hyunjin x female reader

summary: you haven’t spoken a word to hyunjin since he ghosted you after a fun new years eve together, so what’s the worst that could happen when fate (or chaeryong,...well, same thing) pairs you up for a road trip across the country?

warnings: e2l (ish), university student!au, non idol!au ,a lot of swearing. alcohol consumption,long flashback, mentions of infidelity, hyunjin is a giggly sweetheart, smut as in: dom!hyunjin, unprotected sex (wrap it up luvs),fingering, oral (f recieving), slight choking, praise kink, hand & strenght kink (manhandleing oopsie), slight overstimulation, hyunjin is really enthusiastic about consent (as you should be, periodt), reader is nervous and scared of hyunjins big pickle (ew i hate myself), motel sex (but it’s not trashy i promise!)

8.6 k words ,meaning grab a snack and a drink,

and enjoy!<3

---

"alright everyone" your professor rubs his hands together "that was it for today... i hope you all have a great break and i'm very exited to see all of you again next semester. hopefully in person again" he chuckles.

You and your classmates exchange goodbyes with him before one after the other exits the zoom call.

"fuck" you sigh after closing your laptop and lean back on your bed.

"you did it girl" your dormmate chaeryong claps, at which you giggle before shifting your eyes to her on the other side of the room.

She's sitting on her bed, folding her clothes before putting it in her suitcase thats placed in front of her.

"finally" you sit up and watch her roll up a pair of socks.

"my last class was yesterday and mrs kim teared up" she giggles "it was kinda cute not gonna lie"

"oh god" you snicker.

"hey did you find someone to take to yongin?" you ask, remebering chearyong talking about wanting to find someone to share gas expenses with in exchange for a ride to her hometown.

"oh yea, i did" she turn to you "i think you know him, seo changbin?"

You furrow your brows in thought, you feel like you've heard of the name.

"he's a music major, one year above us, hes also from yongin" she continues folding a pair of jeans "funny you'd ask actually cause he told me one of his friends was looking for a ride to seoul, isn't that where you're going?"

"Yea i was thinking about finding someone honestly because gas is really fucking expensive if you aint rich" you say, placing your laptop onto your nightstand.

"Mm you aint gotta tell me girl" chaeryong mumbles, folding a sweatshirt.

"so who's that friend?" you ask, stretching out on your bed.

"he's in his grade, hyunjin"

Your neck almost cracks from how fats you whip your head “hwang hyunjin?”

"Oh yea" she points at you "you know him?"

"unfortunately" you huff.

"o-oh, what"s the tea?" your roommate wiggles her brows at which you shake your head.

"nothing much really" you sigh, leaning back again "he's just like the most arrogant and stuck up fuckboy ever"

"wow, well thats not nothing" chaeryong laughs "any reason as to why you think that?"

"you could probably ask any girl on campus and she'll tell you the same" you scoff.

"really girl?" chaeryong squints an eye at you playfully "cause i've only heard of him being hot but never of him being a hoe. And you know i'm the first to know the hot gossip" she winks.

Laughing defeatedly, running your hand through your hair.

"it's just- we hit it off at the campus' new years eve party, like really hit it off- at least thats what i thought"

"oooh spill it spill it" chaeryong leaps over to your bed to sit at the end of it.

"well there's really not much to spill, i gave him my number and he was talking all that smack about taking me out and stuff aaand to make a long story short i never heard from him again"

"well" chaeryong speaks slowly, biting her lip guiltily "i dont think you'll be very happy about me giving changbin your number for him, then?"

"you did what???" your eyes almost pop out of your head.

"sooorryy" she jumps up from your bed, clutching her hands apologetically "i didnt know"

"aaaaarghh" you whine, burying your face in your pillow.

"maybe he won't even text you though" chaeryong tries to console you, but the damage is already done...

-

unknown number - hey i got this number from changbin, i heard you're driving up to seoul, i'd love to tag along if you're looking for someone to share expenses with -recieved at 9:12 am

You huff looking at the message on your phone.

After chaeryong had left last night you really convinced yourself that he couldn't possibly dare to reach out to you.

But here you are reading his message after just waking up, and your day is already ruined.

you - who is this? - sent at 9:56 am

You know who it is, but you're not going to give him the satisfaction of thinking that you do.

Scoffing when he answers almost immediately.

unknown number - this is hyunjin, did i reach the right person? - recieved at 9:57 am

You have two choices at this point.

1. be petty and bitter about a boy who probably doesn't even remember you.

Or 2. move on and help someone who is also just trying to get home and also maybe get some closure.

So you curse your mother for rasing you so well and suck it up.

you - yea sure, i planned on leaving tomorrow at around 6 pm - sent at 10:02 am

Damn you and your common human decency.

he sus - oh okay great :) i only have one suitcase and a backpack btw so i wont take up alot of space or anything - recieved at 10:05 am

he sus - also i feel weird bc i dont know ur name or anything changbin literally just sent me the number and nothing else lol, also 6 sounds good should we meet at the main building then? -sent at 10:06 am

You're quite honestly not shocked that he seems nice over text because he was the same when you met on new years eve.

you - sure lets meet at the main building, my car is white and my name is y/n - sent at 10:09 am

Cringing as you press the send button because you are 99% certain he won't answer anymore; not that you'd care, obviously.

he sus - alright y/n see you tomorrow at 6 then :) - recieved at 10:14 am

You raise your brows when your phone lights up with his message, does he really not remember you?

Was he that drunk?

Well, it doesnt matter because you don't want to pay for all this gas alone and he seems to be the next best option to fix that.

So you shrug it off and get out off bed to run some last errands and start packing.

-

Your heart is beating unreasonably fast when you take a turn towards the main building at 5:55 pm the next day.

Calm down y/n it’ll just be 5 hours and who says you have to talk to him?

However you do know deep in your heart that you only wanted to arrive just a little early so you could complain about him being late.

That plan got cut short because your eyes fall on him as you pull up to the main building.

He’s- oh my god he’s blonde. You stop your car and he looks up at you.

“it is you!” hyunjin smiles at you when you step out of the car.

“who else would it be?” you ask, a little irritated at his reaction.

His face drops a bit when he sees you clearly annoyed by him, but the doesn’t blame you; he’d be mad too.

You open your trunk for him to put his weirdly small suitcase into, looking him up and down as he lifts it inside.

He’s wearing dark baggy pants and a windbreaker jacket, the top part of his chin-length blonde hair is pulled back into a messy ponytail.

He seemed to have bulked up as well, shoulders looking broader than what you remember.

The hair is different than the jet black hair that you remember on him, but it suits him very well; to be honest he would look good in any hair colour, not that you’d care though.

The first thirty minutes of the ride go by agonizingly slow and in complete silence.

When you drive onto the freeway you can’t take it anymore and mumble something among the lines of ‘wanna listen to some music?’.

You don’t wait for an answer, pressing the radio button right as you finish your sentence.

“uh, actually” hyunjin starts, his hand lifting to turn the radio back off, your eyes snap towards him, is he serious? Turning off your radio in your car?

“I wanted to address this situation” he says rather quietly.

You scoff “what? You realized that this is awkward just now?”

“no- I mean- yes I understand why you would think that but I just really want a chance to explain myself” he stutters.

“explain yourself” you repeat after him before mumbling “sure because there’s so much to explain”

“listen, I know you think I’m an asshole who just ghosted you b-“

“listen, I can handle rejection, you could’ve just said that you weren’t looking for something serious and I would’ve accepted that. The thing I’m mad about though is you literally making false promises and shit” 

Hyunjin blinks at you “can I please just explain to you what happened?”

You let out a long huff “sure” you wave your hand “go ahead”

“when you and your friends left at around 4, you wrote your number on my arm with your eyeliner, correct?” he asks.

Glancing over at him, you nod.

“after you where gone, I was already pretty drunk but then my friends decided to drag me with them to a different party that was still going” you see him fiddling with his hands in your peripheral “well I got super fucking shitfaced at that party and ended up puking on this one guys shoes”

You raise your eyebrows and hold back a laugh, which he notices.

“its okay you can laugh” he chuckles as well.

“anyways that guy was not very happy about it and busted my lip before kicking me and my friends out, so then back in the dorm my roommate sat me in the shower because I was full of alcohol, blood and puke”

“ew” you chime in.

“and when I woke up the next morning your number was gone” hyunjin looks over at you “we don’t have any mutual friends, I didn’t know what your major is so I couldn’t even asks for you in the administrating office, and then the covid lockdown happened and here we are”

“you called the administrating office?” you look over at him, he nods a little smile on his stupid pretty lips.

“yep, so, sorry to tell you but your eyeliner is not waterproof” he jokes at which you playfully knit your brows at him.

“believe me, I wanted to text you. I really wanted to take you out; and when you sent me your name yesterday I didn’t know if this was a lucky coincidence or if you’re a different y/n, that’s why I didn’t say anything” he explains.

You take a deep breath as you realize you have to apologize for going off on him just now, you believe him but you hate apologizing.

“well, I feel like an ass for going off on you like that after hearing all this” you chuckle “I’m sorry” you eye him shortly before looking back on the road.

“it’s okay, you don’t have to apologize I get how it looked, very much sus” he laughs with you.

-

Coming back to your car after you took a bathroom break on a highway rest-stop, you see hyunjin sitting in the drivers seat.

“what do you think you’re doing?” you smile as you sit down on the passenger seat.

“I thought maybe you’d like to sleep since its dark already and you’ve been driving for almost 3 hours” he suggests while putting on his seatbelt.

“well, I wont say no to that” you shrug and put your seatbelt on as well.

“so when did you go blonde?” you ask curiously.

“uh- around end of june” hyunjin chuckles “it was a dare if I’m being honest but I ended up liking it and got it redone”

“oh okay” you check out his profile once more and follow his hair with your eyes “I like it”

“yea?”

“yea, which is weird cause I’m usually not into blondes at all” you wonder.

“hm” he grins “must be me then” he says before winking at you.

“pfff, in your dreams” you rebuttal playfully, at which he laughs and mumbles a ‘true’.

You don’t react to it because you think your ears are playing tricks on you.

“hey I have a question too” hyunjin says.

“what’s up” you lean your arm against the window as you look over at him.

His face is slightly lit by the lights of the other cars, no seriously, how can a side profile be so perfect?

“why did you even agree to take me with you if you thought I ghosted you?” he grins.

You laugh “well, I’m a nice person and I know not a lot of people there are from seoul and my mom raised me right, okay?”

“okay okay” he giggles, the way his eyes crinkle when he does makes you smile everytime.

“or…did you have such a good time with me on new years that you just had to jump on this opportunity?” he quips, carefully stealing a peek at you.

“sure, why do you think I was so upset when you didn’t text” you feign sadness.

The both of you laugh before falling into comfortable silence.

When looking outside your window, you think back to said new years eve.

-(flashback)

“oh my god” you said, stepping into the big hall that usually is the universities gym. But whoever planned this outdid themselves.

A dj was placed on one of the tribunes and a whole buffet of drinks and punches on the other, as well as a big disco ball hanging from the ceiling, making the room shimmery and shiny.

You could see people coming out of the doors that connected into the universities hall on one side and into the locker rooms on the others, as if it wasn’t already packed.

“this is fucking insane” lia, your roommate from last semester, squeaked while grabbing your arm and jumping a little, her voice overpowering the blasting music..

“I wanna get fucking hammered tonight” you turned to her.

“oh babe don’t worry,  we didn’t come here to drink soda” she laughed before spotting some of your other friends.

About five minutes before midnight you and some more girls gathered at the buffet of drinks and started doing shots.

You all had decided that instead of kissing someone at 12 o’clock you’d ring in 2020 with a shot, because alcohol can’t cheat on you.

You were laughing at something when some people started the countdown.

10!

9!

8!

7!

6!

5!

4!

3!

2!

1!

“HAPPY NEW YEAR”

Every one shouted and celebrated in union as you downed your shot.

“happy new year babe” lia hugged you after downing hers.

“happy new year!” you shouted into her ear, full of relief that this stressful year was over.

“lets do another one” she grinned widely after your whole friend group had shared their wishes with each other.

A girl you didn’t know very well handed you another shot, just as you emptied your glass you heard a guy yell something before stumbling into your back.

“jesus” you stumbled forward a bit before turning around, ready to throw someone a dirty look.

“I’m so sorry, are you okay?” in front of you suddenly stood a tall dark haired young man with almost too perfect facial features, frowning a little out of concern.

“nothing happened” you smiled, taking a step towards him so he’d hear you better.

“I’m glad” he replied, a grin slowly stretched across his handsome face

“I’m y/n” you giggled as you held out your hand.

His eyes crinkled with his smile as he took your hand in his “I’m hyunjin” he said before pressing a kiss to the back of your hand.

“okay guys let her have her fun lets go over there” you hear lia usher your friends away from behind you.

“happy new year y/n” he said before instinctively pulling you a little closer to him when a group of people passed behind you.

“happy new year hyunjin” you replied, a slow blush creeping on your face from how intensely he was taking in your appearance.

“well yea happy fucking new years to me for running into you” he joked before taking a sip, your brain wasn’t able to function anymore so you just giggled and nervously pushed your hair behind your ear.

It had been way too long since you’d talked to a guy, especially someone as attractive as him

“you’re fucking stunning” hyunjin complimented you and lifted your hand with his to make you spin for him, to which you complied because you took a long time getting ready and always appreciate being appreciated.

“thank you” you were crimson red by now but hoped he wouldn’t see because of the dimmed lights.

“how come I’ve never seen you around? I would’ve remembered you” he tilted his head.

“oh this was my first year here and I live on the other side of campus so…” you nodded slowly “but yea I would’ve remembered you too”

He grinned before downing his drink and putting on the table next to the both of you.

“wanna dance?”

That’s how you found yourself on the dance floor with hyunjin pressed against your back.

Slowly but surely the alcohol made you braver; and it didn’t take long for the dj to play perfect songs to grind yourself against his toned body to.

His reaction was instant, hands gripping even harder at your waist and his own movements matching your own.

You looked back at him just to have the air knocked out of your lungs, a barely there sheen of sweat was covering his forehead; his pupils were dilated and his lips were slightly parted before his tongue swiftly swept over his lower lip.

He looked like sex on legs and moved like it too.

His plump lips formed into a grin when he noticed you staring, you didn’t know if it was the alcohol running through your system but you so desperately wanted to kiss him.

“can’t stop looking at you either, pretty” he lowered his head to mumble against your cheek before pressing a kiss there.

“you’re so goddamn sexy” you blurted out as you turned around to face him, running one of your hands through his dark hair before positioning them on his firm chest.

He threw back his head as his chest vibrated with laughter.

“don’t laugh at me” you laughed as you locked eyes again.

“you’re cute when you’re drunk” hyunjin brought one hand to your face to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear.

“you dont even know me sober” you giggle “also i’m not drunk!” you protested playfully, his hands found your waist in the meantime to pull you flush to his body; at which you gasped almost inaudibly.

“oh really?” he looked down at you, clearly amused “didn’t you drink like 5 shots half an hour ago?”

“well well well, I didn’t know I had an audience” you countered, looping your arms around his neck.

Hyunjin prodded at the inside of his cheek with his tongue before looking away for a swift second, slightly embarrassed because he just exposed himself.

You felt yourself gush a little when he licked his lips again after bringing his gaze back to you.

“so you almost knocked me over on purpose?” you grinned even bigger when he shook his head laughingly.

“listen” he chuckled, leaning down unnecessarily close because you could hear him perfectly fine but you weren’t going to complain.

“I actually didn’t run into you on purpose, that was my friends doing after he saw me notice you” he said.

You mouthed an ‘ahh’ while nodding, feigning disbelief.

“I’m serious” hyunjin laughed “I still have to thank him later; I would’ve probably chickened out”

He got quieter at the end of his sentence, his eyes jumping to your lips when you wet your lower lip with your tongue quickly.

“i-m glad he pushed you then” you replied, trying to hide the fact that your heart was pumping your blood in record time.

“yea” he inched his face closer to yours as you tilted your chin up to meet him in the middle “me too”

His eyes switched from your lips to your eyes one more time before closing the gap between the both of you.

His lips were firm but soft at the same time in the way they moulded against yours, you swore you could hear lia squealing from somewhere but maybe you were just hearing things.

But when his tongue touched yours in the most tentative way you lost contact to what was going on around you, slinging your arms tighter around his neck and deepening the kiss.

A tiny groan escaped hyunjins throat when you carded your fingers through his hair to tug on it and release some of the adrenalin that rushed through you.

He was slow and explorative and let you take control from time to time before sucking on your lower lip and making you loose it.

You didn’t know how many songs had passed; to be honest you didn’t even remember what song was playing when you started kissing.

All you knew in that moment was hyunjins lightly flushed cheeks, swollen lips and dark glistening eyes.

“let’s go somewhere else?” he questioned in a whisper when you bit your lip, nodding at his question.

He grabbed your hand in his before manoeuvring the both of you through the dancing and celebrating crowd.

Before you knew it, hyunjin pulled you into the entrance hall of the university where multiple people had the same idea as you.

Couples scattered across the big room, some just talking, most of them however making out heavily.

“come on” he softly tugged at your hand, smiling when your gaze falls on him.

He lead you up the big flight of stairs onto a floor of the building you’ve never been to, stopping in front of a random room before pulling a small set of keys out of his back pocket.

After unlocking the door, he opened it to let you step inside.

It was a dance studio, the wall right across from you was just one huge mirror through which you could see the big couch in the back of the room and the water dispensers next to it.

“why do you have the keys for this room?” you asked, giggling.

Hyunjin grinned as he closed the door “I’m a dance major, we all have keys for the practice rooms”

“that’s so cool” you beamed “I wish I could dance” you looked around the room, walking towards the mirrored wall a little bit.

“you were moving just fine earlier” hyunjin came up behind you, nimble hands finding your waist as he looked you up and down through the mirror intensely, now that you were under the bright lights of the room.

You couldn’t help but to smile a little at that, the tight little glitter dress that you had chosen really did accentuate your curves in the best way possible, paired with the cute black heels which made your legs look way longer than they actually are.

“but that was like club sexy dancing, you know?” you elaborated.

“hm” he hummed amusedly “whats wrong with sexy club dancing?” you turned around to him.

He didn’t look to shabby himself, all in black, a chic button up with some jeans and a belt; accessorized with rings on his pretty fingers, a  dainty silver necklace and some small earrings.

Some might say he was underdressed, but the way he carried himself with such confidence, and that face of his must for sure be a panty dropper, you thought.

“nothing but… I don’t know, teach me something” you pleaded.

“what do you want me to teach you?” he laughed.

“I don’t know a pirouette or something” you suggested, laughing as well.

“okay” he grinned “this is like the base stance” he positioned himself correctly before looking at you to see if you were following his instructions.

“mhm” you hummed, replicating what he was doing.

“and then you get momentum with one leg to be able to swing yourself around, like this” hyunjin explained before executing a perfect pirouette and ending it back in the base stance.

“that was fast” you chuckled.

“your turn” he grins before moving behind you “try to keep your eyes on yourself in the mirror otherwise you’ll loose balance”

“okay” you said unsurely.

“I’ll catch you if you fall” he winked at you, at which you scoff playfully before carefully swinging yourself into a pirouette.

You landed on wobbly legs but before you could tip over hyunjin stabilized you with a firm grip on your hips.

“you’re a natural” he grinned at you through the mirror.

“well thank you” you playfully feigned cockiness before he spun you around himself.

A few seconds pass of the both of you taking in each others features in silence, the only thing you could hear was the faint music of the party downstairs, before hyunjin spoke up.

“can I kiss you?”

You fell into giggles again as you let your forehead rest against his collarbone before looking up again “we’ve kissed before”

“yea but that was like a moment and I don’t want to catch you off guard or anything” he mumbles cutely.

“mm” you nod “ you can kiss me”

And with a smile, he does.

You weren’t surprised when his first gentle ministrations turned into more desperate ones rather quickly because you could feel the warmth spread in your lower regions as well.

He walked the both of you over to the couch, only parting from your lips when he sat down on the black leather material of the couch.

“come here, pretty girl” he took your hand to help you straddle him, your dress riding up but you couldn’t care less if he saw your safety shorts, and he didn’t seem to care either by the way he feverishly connected your lips again.

His hands travelled down to squeeze at your waist before smoothing over your ass and grabbing a handful of each cheek, you moaned into the kiss when you realized how big his hands were.

Your own hands were squeezing at his shoulders before one moved into his soft hair while the other softly rested on his cheek.

The kiss was messy and desperate, teeth clinking together and tongues licking at each other.

The things that riled you up the most however were his groans and praises.

“you’re so fucking sexy” he groaned before moving down to kiss at your jaw and down your neck.

A needy whimper escaped from your throat when he started suckling the sensitive skin at the base of your throat.

“fuck-hyunjin” you moaned when his teeth grazed over your clavicle.

Your hands fumbled before landing on his belt, at which he pulled away from your skin, gently taking your hands off of his belt.

“I’d love to take you out first, actually” his pretty kiss swollen lips twitched up into a shy smile as he pants.

“oh” you were taken aback, you were almost certain that this was something regular for him “I thought-“

“I mean if you just want to fuck we can fuck of course” he chuckled “but- I actually think you’re really cute and fun and I’d love to get to know you better”

Your mouth stood a little agape “uh- I mean-I” you stuttered, your brain not functioning properly because of the alcohol running through your veins but also him!

“its okay if you just want, you know-“

“no!” you blurted out all over sudden, making him flinch a little “sorry, uhm- its just been a while since I had a date” you smile apologetically.

His expression visibly brightens “that’s okay” he giggled “so is that a yes?”

You grinned, leaning in to just barely brush your lips with his, his head twitching upwards in an attempt to connect them fully.

“yes” you whispered, at which he smiled brightly before pulling your in for a kiss by your neck.

-(flashback end)

“y/n”

“hey, y/n” you grumble when you feel someone gently rocking your shulder.

“mmm-what?” you peek your eyes open just to see hyunjin smile at you.

“good morning sunshine” he teases as you sit up in your seat when you realize you aren’t driving anymore.

“just kidding its not morning” he says as you look around your car, realizing your on a parking lot.

“where the fuck are we?” you whip your head towards him “did you bring me here to kill me? kidnap me?”

“wha?- no” he laughs “no, I’m sorry. Right after you fell asleep there was this huge traffic jam because of an accident and we stood there for almost 3 hours so I drove off and found this” he points out the rear window, where you see a small motel building.

You look back at him before checking the time on your phone, seeing it was indeed almost midnight.

“fuck” you swear to yourself.

“I didn’t know if you wanted to keep driving because I was getting tired so I thought maybe-“ hyunjin starts rambling guiltily, not wanting you to thing that this was an attempt to get in your pants.

“hey” you put your hand on his shoulder after taking off your seatbelt “this is good, you made the right decision I think we both could use some sleep” you say.

You each take your suitcases and walk inside, it’s an old building but it looks pretty clean for a motel off of the highway.

“good evening you two” an old lady sits behind the, probably just as old, reception.

“good evening, could we get 2 single rooms, please” hyunjin speaks up politely.

“I’m afraid we only have 2 double bed rooms available, if you’d like to take them, they will however be more expensive than the rooms for one” she explains politely.

“its okay, we’ll take one of those, please” you decide, hyunjins head snapping towards you.

“is that okay?” you ask him.

“yea- sure” he nods.

“alright, room 301 it is” she hands you the key before stating that you’ll have to checkout before 12 pm and what the room costs.

“do you accept card?” hyunjin asks at which the friendly old lady nods before taking his card and swiping it through her little machine.

“I’ll venmo you half of what you paid” you say after unlocking room 301.

He tsk’s at you before shaking his head “don’t, it was my idea so I’ll pay”

“are you sure?” you ask closing the door behind you when he turns on the lights.

“yup-oh” he exclaims.

“this room is cute” you say, it’s small but the walls are a soft sunflower yellow, decorated with paintings of autumn leaves .

The bed looks clean, and when you smell the mouse gray blankets and pillows, they smell fresh as well.

“stop smelling the pillows” hyunjin laughs.

“I’ve never been to a motel, I thought everything would be dirty or ancient” you confess comically.

He chuckles as he comes out of the small bathroom “the bathroom is clean too, don’t worry” he says when you look at him expectantly.

“I’ll sleep on the floor if you want” he offers as you open your suitcase to get out your toothbrush and pj’s.

“it’s fine, hyunjin I’ve slept in the same bed as a male before” you joke.

“well how am I supposed to know that?” he counters, at which you throw your pj shorts at him out of reflex.

When you realize what you had done it was too late, he was already holding them out in front of him before giggling.

“very cute choice” he mocks the small white shorts with red hearts all over it.

“stoop” you whine, trying to fish it out of his hands but he holds them over his head like a kindergartener.

“I remember why I don’t like you” you pout, crossing your arms.

His face drops alongside with his arms “I thought we were past that”

You use his moment of weakness to snatch your shorts out of his hands “gotcha”

-

“see I told you I was gonna take you out” hyunjin beams at you before looking down at the various snacks he took from the motels vending machine, which were laying in between the both of you on the bed.

“and so luxurious too” you joke, crossing your legs.

“only the best for you” he grins when you open a pack of fruit jellies.

“you know, I was thinking about new years” you say “ and I realized that it was your fault!”

Hyunjin throws his head back as he groans playfully “why?”

“if you hadn’t lost your phone when we got back downstairs, I wouldn’t have had to write my number on your arm; or you could’ve just given me your number and I could’ve text you. But you didn’t even know your own number!” you laugh in reminiscence.

“listen” he laughs “I was drunk and you’re hot! I couldn’t think” he defends himself before taking a bite off a chocolate bar.

You blush a little but play it off with a laugh.

“but yes, I admit, it was indeed my fault” he dramatically holds his hand in front of his eyes.

“yeeees!” you exclaim victoriously.

“I’m kidding though” you pat his knee “I forgive you”

“I’m glad” he smiles.

After the both of you are done eating way too many sweets, you find yourself being really comfortable when talking to hyunjin.

He’s funny, doesn’t seem like he’s full of himself and just in general seems like a very kind person.

“I thought you were a fuckboy when me met” you confess, looking at him.

Propped on one elbow looking down at you, while you lay on your side towards him, his face illuminated only by the little lights on each of your nightstands.

“you did?” he asks confusedly.

“yea” you chuckle “you were so confident and…sexy I don’t know” you place your hand over your face in embarrassment.

“oh that was the liquid courage talking, I’m usually pretty shy” he shakes his head smilingly when you peek through your fingers.

“don’t lie” you push his shoulder softly.

“I’m serious!” he laughs.

“you were the first guy to approach me at a party” you pause “like ever”

“no way, you’re lying now” he furrows his brows.

“nope” you shake your head.

“but I was really close to not talking to you as well, I’m sure there were many guys before me that just didn’t have the liquid courage, like I did” he speculates.

“maybe” you say.

“have any exes?” he asks after a few seconds.

“yea, one”

“well how did you meet him?”

“he showed me around on my first day of freshman year, I transferred like in the middle of the first semester so I wasn’t with any other freshmen” you tell him.

“why’d you break up if I may ask?” hyunjin asks carefully.

“oh we were only together for like three weeks, you can’t even call I relationship. He used me to make his hot ex jealous and cheated on me with her” you say “but hey they’re back together at least” you scoff.

“i’m sorry” he mumbles at which you look up at him.

“it’s not your fault” you chuckle.

“well, still no one should feel that way” he says “you know that you were way too good for him right?”

You nod.

“what about you? Have any exes?” you ask back.

He snickers “only one in seoul”

“why didn’t you last?”

“it was a long distance situation, she was super jealous and couldn’t trust me. which I can understand to a certain degree but everytime I went out she wanted me to facetime her and show her what kinds of people were there with me. That was just too much” he explains.

“wow” you chuckle “that doesn’t sound fun either”

Hyunjin shakes his head “nope, but hey we got rid of ‘em, didn’t we?”

“yea” you giggle “plus if I hadn’t broken up with him I would’ve probably never gone to the new years eve party”

“I guess I owe him something then” he grins as you scooch up on the bed.

“can I kiss you?” you ask after a few seconds of silence.

“hm?” hyunjins eyes almost spring out of his head.

“I don’t want to catch you off guard” you grin as you repeat his words from the night you met, sitting up.

He licks his lower lip as a grin stretches over his face as he sits up as well “do your worst”

You get up on your knees to shuffle over to him, when you get close enough hyunjin grabs one of your thighs and lifts it over his legs so you’re straddling him.

Once you sit down on his lap, your eyes lock again and you’re once again baffled as to how someone can be so god damn attractive.

His eyes flicker from your eyes to your lips expectantly, a shaky breath leaving his lips when you lean in.

Your lips connect and it feels like all the pent up energy of liking him since that night finally gets set free, sparks glowing behind your lit and his hands leaving a trail of fire where ever they go.

They squeeze at your thighs and waist, pulling you impossibly close to himself.

A whimper tears from your throat when his tongue licks at yours, he tastes like chocolate and what could only be described as him.

He moans into the kiss when you tug at the blonde locks that weren’t pulled back into the ponytail; before pulling the hair tie out of his hair to free it and finally card your fingers through all of the blonde glory.

Before you realize what’s going on, hyunjin lifts the both of you before dropping you on your back and crawling above you.

The fact that he just lifted the both of you from a sitting position as if you weigh nothing makes you feel all types of hot.

“you’re so hot holy shit” you pant as you push his long hair out of his face.

“ditto” he only grins before attaching his lips to your exposed collarbone and sucking a bruise into the skin.

“take it off” you moan as you tug on the dark blue calvin klein shirt he’s wearing.

His lips release the skin of your collarbone before sitting up to pull the shirt over his head.

If your mouth wasn’t already open from your heavy breathing, you would’ve opened it now because his body is more sculpted and toned than you had expected.

Your hand lifts to smooth over his abs, muscles flexing as he connects your lips again.

His one hand slides from your waist up to cup one of your breasts, gently palming the soft flesh.

“I know I said I wanted to take you out first but-“ he mumbles against your lips.

“you bought me a lovely dinner” you interrupt him, threading your fingers through the hair that’s falling down into his vision.

He grins, dropping a short peck to your lips before his the grin gets wiped off his face “I don’t have a condom with me”

“I’m on the pill” you let him know “I got tested before the lockdown and I haven’t been with anyone since soo…”

“yea, me too, I was tested a few months ago” he nods.

You nod back, biting your lip as you absently play with his hair.

“do you trust me?” hyunjin asks, observing your demeanour.

“yea- yea I do I’m just nervous” you smile awkwardly.

“no” he coos before kissing you “why are you nervous?”

“just haven’t been with anyone for a while” you confess.

Hyunjin nods understandingly “if you don’t want to do this we’ll stop”

“no I really want to” you look into his eyes as confidently as you can.

“okay” he smiles, planting his lips on yours again.

“can i?” his voice gives you goosebumps when he mumbles against the sensitive skin under your ear, his fingers slowy undoing the loose knot of your heart shorts.

“yes” you say when he locks eyes with you.

“I love these shorts” he softly presses a kiss to your knee, trying to calm your nerves a little, before he gently rocks your hips to pull them off of you.

You blush a little out of embarrassment but smile when you lift your hips to help him.

“cute” he whispers when he see’s your panties have a little bow on the front.

He chuckles when you hide your face in embarrassment, pulling you closer to him again by your thighs before you let him kiss you again.

“can I take this off too?” hyunjin whispers, softly pulling at the fabric of the tank top you’re wearing, at which you nod.

You are still wearing a bra when he pulls it off so you take it into your own hands and unclasp your bra.

Your nipples stiffen a little at the sudden exposure to air, as well as to hyunjin’s admiring gaze.

“fuck” he muses when palming your breasts in his big hands, gently pushing them together an running his thumbs over your nipples.

A whimper involuntarily leaves your lips when he wraps his plump lips around one of the perked up nubs and sucks gently.

“so fucking pretty, princess” you feel yourself pathetically clench around nothing at his praise.

You feel one of his hands wander downwards to provide some friction for you, he slots his lips against yours when you tentatively roll your hips against his hand.

Hyunjin feels his cock get even harder when an almost desperate moan tumbles from your lips against his. So he ads a little more pressure and starts circling your clit with two fingers, your sighs of pleasure mixing into the kiss.

“you’re so sensitive baby” he whispers as he parts his lips from yours “can I go down on you?” he grazes his lips over your chest, looking up at you seductively.

You nod as you bite your lip, hyunjin placing a few kisses on your tummy before shortly sitting up to also free you from your soaked panties.

The first stripe he licks up your slit, and how he swirls the tip of his tongue around your clit expertly sends you to heaven.

His hands are gripping your thighs to prevent you from closing your legs, your hands are tangled in his hair and the sheets.

“hyunj-fuck” you cry out when his tongue enters you.

He carefully prods one finger at your entrance “is that okay?” he asks, his voice hoarse and dripping with lust.

“yea” you sigh.

Once you adjust to one finger, he adds a second one, curling them upwards to search for that specific patch inside of you.

“yes-fuck right there” you moan when his fingers press onto the sweetest spot inside of you, tugging at his hair a little harshly. But you feel him moan against you, getting lost in your taste as he sucks your clit in between his soft lips.

Your hips buckle against his mouth as your eyes roll backwards, feeling the warmth of your orgasm approach rapidly.

“fuck fuck yes-hyunjin” you cry out just before he tipped you over the edge with his skillful ministration, your orgasm rushing up your spine and into your head, endorphins spreading everywhere.

A cry of pleasure fills the room as your thighs starts trembling with the aftershocks, clamping around his head when he drives you into overstimulation.

“oh-shit-“ you pant as you softly pushed on his forehead to get him away from your clit, his fingers still inside you, guiding you through your high.

He nibbles on your inner thigh apologetically. You can still hear your heartbeat in your ears after hyunjin removes his fingers from you and sits up, gently holding your legs together to help you calm down.

“fuck” you mewl, a soft smile tugging at his lips.

He’s wanted to do this for so long and there you are, with all of your naked glory in front of him.

While he’s daydreaming about you, you sit up and start fiddling with his sweatpants.

“you want more?” he quips, once he realises what you’re doing, leaning in to kiss you.

“mhm” you humm into the kiss affirmitavely when his hand holds you close to him by your jaw.

With a quick last peck to your lips he simultaneously shimmies the soft black sweats and his boxers off of himself.

You apparently visibly gulp at the sight of his cock because hyunjin smirks cockily “like what you see?” as he crawls above you again, his lips finding yours again and not waiting for an answer.

“I don’t know if you’ll fit” you mumble when he suckles at the soft nook of skin under your ear.

“we can stop here” he offers softly before locking eyes again.

You shake your head as you reach down to fist his length, slowly pumping it and smearing the few drops of precum around.

“no, you’re just really big” you huff with a shy smile on your lips at which hyunjin groans.

“you’re gonna be the death of me, you know?” he mutters against your lips before kissing you deeply, his hand smoothing over the slope of your waist before coming up to gently pinch at one of your nipples.

Eliciting a soft high pitched moan from you, this only spurs him on.

Rolling his tongue against yours desperately and making you taste yourself before sinfully sucking at the wet muscle.

All the while you’re stroking him with your small hand before cupping his balls, as if he didn’t already feel like he’s gonna blow his load way too early.

“please” you whine, guiding his reddened tip towards your entrance.

Hyunjin releases a shaky breath before replacing your hand with his, rutting his hips against yours a few times, coating his length in your wetness.

This already had your toes curling, suppressing a whine as you lock your legs around his waist.

“tell me if it hurts, yea?” he breathes, only pressing inside you after you nod, dropping a kiss to your swollen lips.

“fuck” he swears softly, tucking his face in the crook of your neck when he breaches your tight walls for the first time.

Your fingers tighten in his hair at the back of his neck when a subtle sting flares up inside of you.

“ah-“ your body flinches a little when he presses further inside, hyunjin notices, observing your expression before kissing your cheek and sitting up slowly.

“you’re doing so good, baby” he lifts his thumb to his lips, swiftly kitten-licking the digit before bringing it to where your bodies join.

Gently rolling your clit under his thumb to distract you from the pain.

“you look so perfect like this” his other hand travels over your stomach to gently squeeze at your breasts “all spread out for me”

You whimper, arching your back when hyunjin thrusts into you carefully; the pain slowly subsiding and the ache to be fully filled up by him growing exponentially when his cock rubs against your g spot.

“hyunjin” you moan, gripping onto his hand, which is resting atop your breast.

“yes baby, I’m here” he groans at how tight you feel once he’s balls deep inside of you, abandoning your clit to grab you by the hips for leverage.

His other hand resting on your cheek now, after a few trusts you moan “harder, please”

Hyunjin groans and fulfils your wish, at one particularly harsh thrust, you latch your lips around his pointer and middle finger, sucking at them.

“oh my god-that’s so fucking hot” he grunts through clenched teeth.

His cock dragging along your walls deliciously, filling you up to the brim as you hum around his slender fingers in pleasure.

“you like my hands that much baby?” his jaw is clenched and the grip on your waist is rough , the contrast to how sweet he was just a few minutes earlier had you clench around him furiously.

“fuck-“ he breathes when you nod to the best of your abilities, eyes wide open and holding his gaze.

You only release his fingers from in between your lips in favour for a loud high pitched moan when his other hand finds your clit again, rubbing harsh circles into the bud.

“-gonna cum-huynjin” you dig your nails into his biceps, eyes squeezing shut.

“yea?” he grits through his teeth the fingers that were previously trapped in your mouth now wrapping around your bared throat.

Not squeezing tightly, just resting there as if to show you that you’re his now.

Your thought gets confirmed when he rasps “you’re gonna date me after this, right pretty girl?”

You do look so pretty right now, tits bouncing and skin slapping because of the fast rhythm that he’s snapping his hips into yours, not to mention the subtle sheen of sweat that’s coating the both of you.

A desperate breathy chuckle tumbles from your lips “ yes-yes fuck” you feel your second orgasm creeping up on you.

“cum for me princess, all over my cock” he urges you on, his tip hammering into the sweet spot inside of you repeatedly before you crash into your second high of the night.

Your body convulses in pleasure as you call out his name mixed with profanities, your toes curling so hard you’re not sure if you can ever uncurl them again, and your nails probably leaving painful indents in his skin.

His thumb on your clit slows down until you grab his hand for him to stop, his hand around your neck grabs your free one, holding both of your hands over your head now.

“so good, baby” he mumbles, kissing your lips; mostly just breathing into each other as he rocks you through every wave of your orgasm.

Hyunjin looses himself in you not long after with a guttural moan and his eyes squeezing shut.

You coax him through it when he rests his face against your neck again, running your fingertips through his damp hair and over his broad back, muscles tensing under your gentle touch.

i“don’t fall asleep on me” you whisper sneakily, grinning when he chuckles against your neck, tickling the soft skin there.

He props himself up again to scan over your features, pushing some hair out of your face before kissing you tenderly.

“you okay?” his hand resting at your temple as he gently runs his thumb over your hairline.

“more than” you assure him, cupping his cheeks to pull his lips onto yours again.You think you can never get enough of his lips, anything about him for that matter; not when he makes you feel so cared about and safe.

“so does this mean we’re dating now?” he whispers after he has cleaned you up and tucked the both of you in bed.

“hmh” you nod your head sleepily, positioned on his bare chest.

“so I can spoon you once we fall asleep?” he asks, grin evident in his voice.

“you can spoon me but you can’t wake me up in the middle of the night if you get horny” you mumble jokingly, enjoying his fingers running down your spine as your eyelids get heavier.

“okay” he giggles softly, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head before you whisper your good nights to each other.

And as promised, he doesn’t wake you up in the middle of the night because he’s horny.

It’s you who wakes him, because after 10 months of wasted time, you have a lot of catching up to do.

-

a/n: oml this is my first ever long fic so pls pls pls give me feedback, i had so much fun writing his even though it made me feel even more single but hey :))))

allsooo i waited til after work to publish this and i just saw i hit 500 followers?!?!?! thats crazy to me omg i started this like 2 months ago and so many ppl liked my stuff so much that they decided to follow me?? so i just wanna say thank u thank u thank u for hitting the follow button even though im very unorganized and everything i do is spontaneaous and not thought out well. but hey i guess there is a reason that u followed me so thank u!

(i’d love if u sent me an ask with the first one of my writings that u stumbled across, and how <3 ...only if u want tho no pressure) 

anyways thank u so much for reading if you’ve made it this far! i hope you have a great day/ night! much love

-aj

(this is a work of fiction and does not represent the real actions of stray kids or hwang hyunjin)

[natromanxoff]

Record Mirror (July 14, 1979): 119/?

THE QUEEN BACKLASH ENDS HERE

WITHOUT DOUBT Queen are among that elite number of bands universally hated by the rock press.

The rancour is, make no mistake, mutual which is understandable. If you find yourself on the receiving end of an inveterate dislike at the outset of your career and watch it being nurtured and carefully cultivated over the next six years you’re bound to retaliate.

Queen’s hatred manifests itself by their continued habit of ignoring the music press i.e. refusing to give interviews. There is the occasional token “chat”, pointless as it is innocuous, but in the main it amounts to a blanket “No.”

One of the last interviews Freddie Mercury gave was the last nail in the perspex coffin. Under a headline which boldly asked ‘Is This Man A Prat?’ the king of the leotards was demolished by one of the old school Queen haters and Freddie obviously came to the conclusion, in its wake, that interviews in future would be both superfluous (he was popular enough) and detrimental.

The curtain, velvet naturally, closed.

Roger Taylor, a little wary, a little weary, sits stiffly in an armchair. The juggernauts rattling the Chelsea Street outside create a sonorous buzz bomb hum in the room.

You expect a member of Queen to look elegant. In fact Roger is only wearing a wine colour mohair jacket, black shirt and blue jeans.

He apologises for being a little late and explains how he went to the wrong address. Roger seems to be the only member of Queen left who is prepared, albeit rarely, to open his mouth in the presence of a hack. A question springs to mind . . . why?

“We all sat around a table before I flew over from Munich to discuss the press situation and we agreed I should be the one to represent the band. Freddie is very uncompromising and refuses to have much to do with journalists.

“Obviously, he’s had a few raw deals with them in the past,” observes Taylor.

Roger himself has a rather low view of the music press.

“Most of it is rubbish. There was something I liked recently, a piece on Malcolm McLaren, but in the main I think I’m the only one of Queen to actually read the music papers.”

Why does he think the band are systemically slagged?

“I think it’s because Queen have always come across as being a rather confident band. We seemed, to other people at least, to be very sure of ourselves. I think the press may have misconstrued the confidence, mistaking it for a form of arrogance. Hence they became wary of our motives which bred a dislike for our music.”

Now that’s what I call a neat conclusion.

At the risk of being sent to Coventry by my colleagues I’d like, if I may, to come clean. I love Queen (you’re fired, Ed).

I think it all began with a simple pre-packed but indisposable line – “Dynamite with a laser beam” and has continued uninterrupted (despite the occasional flaw) right through to ‘Queen Live Killers’.

A combination of reasons, Freddie Mercury’s lascivious lisp – the most attractive intonation known to man . . . Brian May’s reel ‘em off rococo riffs that would, in his capable hands, transform the theme music for ‘Waggoners’ Walk’ into a meisterwork . . . John Deacon’s almost stoic stance, incongruous yet integral . . . Roger Taylor’s intense power, so unexpected from one so slight . . . the ability to go over the top without failing into the trap of caricature . . . a desire to give the punters what they want without pandering . . . that cast iron confidence . . . those nine glorious winter weeks of ‘Bohemian Rhapsody’ which kept the cold away from my soul . . .

Yes, I love Queen.

Roger explains the story behind ‘Killers’ which features just about every Queen classic which ever found its way into a silk lined memory bank.

“We always knew that one day we would make a live album. I think it was well planned. About 90 per cent of our last European tour was recorded on a mobile unit and we then spent weeks sitting through the songs in the studio.

“The result is a 100 per cent LIVE album. Nothing has been touched up in the process of selection, I think that’s pretty rare these days. Many ‘live’ albums are tampered with.”

The choice of single is unusual – ‘Love Of My Life’. “It’s not so unusual when you hear the way it came out. The song seems to have such a wide appeal. Everywhere we go the reaction to it is the same. The audience are just bursting to sing along.”

The result is Queen’s best single since ‘Don’t Stop Me Now’ (that was their LAST one crawler, ED)

As I mentioned earlier the band are currently residing in Munich where they are “experimenting” in the studio.

“We are recording in a totally different way for us,” says Roger who speaks with a delicate London accent only typical of cockneys with dramatic training and David Essex.

“Every time we entered a studio in the past we had a good idea of what we were going to do. This time we started from scratch and the result is amazing. The music is nothing like anything we’ve done before, I guess you could say it’s much simpler.”

And this novel approach to their music also extends to their shows. On their next British tour – in the late Autumn – the band will be playing much smaller venues than they are accustomed to.

“In London for example we went to play to audiences of about two or three thousand in different areas. I think it’s much fairer to the fans.”

But won’t this affect their stage show which is after all a crucial factor for any powerpomp outfit?

“Not really. We will just scale down the show accordingly. Besides,” he says taking another bite out of the biscuit, “we haven’t used dry ice in years.”

The monkey on Queen’s back, as corpulent and cantankerous as ever, has been put there by those who firmly believe the band can never emulate past achievements. Roger is cognizant of its presence but refuses to unpeel its bananas.

“That all began after ‘Bohemian Rhapsody’. When it stayed at number one all those weeks we were kindly informed that we would never be able to make another single to rival it both artistically and from the point of view of sales.

“Yet ‘We Are The Champions’ sold a great deal more and has since become the biggest selling single in the entire history of Elektra Asylum – our label in the States.

“We don’t do the amazingly complex things any more because we’ve moved on from that. We concentrate on the music we are doing now and we intend to do it the best we can, it’s ridiculous looking behind and and what you’ve done.

“There’s nothing like going back on the road to re-unite the bond between the four personalities and strengthening our belief in the band. We are a real working unit and, in my experience of the music business, one of the most democratic bands around today.”

A statement like that cries out to be expounded.

“People think every member of all the bands, not naming any names, are treated equally that is get the same money as their colleagues. That’s rubbish. In many bands there are a couple of guys that get all the money. The rest are on wages. Queen share the profits equally.”

And they don’t have a manager taking his cut either, John Reid departed a couple of years back and now the band themselves make all the major policy decisions. Why did they decide to dispense with the services of a manager?

“Basically because we were fed up with giving other people money. Y’know it never ceases to amaze me how naive those guys are in bands who have just had their first hit. After all this time I’ve forgotten just how naive we must have been at the beginning.

“I mean, everything seems so great when you get into the charts for the first time. You’re living on cloud nine and nothing else matters. But in truth that hit means absolutely nothing. So few people achieve any amount of financial success in this business.

“Oh, you think, you’re really living . . . for a while. Somebody gets you a flat in Chelsea and it’s all free. But one day the rent stops being paid for you and you realise you’re skint.

“Since John Reid has gone the four of us have always made a point of discussing everything together. We have various people working for us but all the important decisions are made by us alone. That way we get freedom of choice – and financial independence.”

My attention is suddenly diverted.

“FORTY-LOVE!” Wimbledon, the Persil White opiate for the hoi polloi squashed in a strawberry crush wrings out its perspiring petticoats on the TV in the next room.  Roger’s girlfriend, an extremely attractive French girl called Dominique, is engrossed. The couple have lived together for two years. Crippled old marriage questions permeate the air.

“I don’t believe in marriage,” says Roger. “It’s simply a contract and the fewer contracts I enter into the better. If you get on well with someone then there isn’t any harm in living with that person – but marriage is something else again.”

They live in a six bedroomed Victorian house just outside London, which is set in 20 acres. Roger has a “tiny” town house in Barnes as well. What’s it like having a bank full of money at the age of 29?

“I don’t hide away from life. Queen have never been one of those ‘being grabbed in the street’ type bands. It may happen when the four of us are together – but when we are out alone we are seldom bothered. That gives me the opportunity to enjoy myself. I go to clubs a lot. I like having a good time. I don’t think you could describe any of the band as leading sheltered lives.

“But I have completely lost touch with how much things cost. When you find yourself living in hotels for so long you never really deal in money as such. Everything is available whenever you want it – but you never see the cash actually being handed over.

“I’ve forgotten what it was like to be penniless which Queen were for years. I guess that must happen to many successful rock bands.”

Another thing that happens to many successful rock bands – they quit the country. But not Queen it appears.

“We have always based ourselves in England and I see no reason why we shouldn’t continue to do so. We could leave at any time but we choose to stay. People believe we are tax exiles because we spend a lot of the time out of the country recording in studios all over Europe and touring.”

And what will happen when the band finally trudge wearily down the road leading to that  ivory strewn elephants’ graveyard . . . ?

“I know it’s bound to happen one day. I suppose I’d take a long, long holiday . . . and then make a solo album.”

[incorrectbandofbrothersquotes]

You Better, You Better, You Bet - Chapter 8

She Makes Me

Ron Speirs x Juliet Fletcher

Summary: Juliet Fletcher reaches a breaking point in her life. When she is at her absolute lowest, she meets Ron Speirs, and something happens between them that neither of them will ever forget.

Word Count: 3.8k

Tag List: @vintagelavenderskies​ @how-are-those-nuts-sarge​ @iilovemusic12us​ @hesbuckcompton-baby​ @tvserie-s-world​ @whovian45810​ @50svibes​ @cagzzz107​​ If you’d like to be added, let me know!

A/N: Hope you guys enjoy this update!

Warning(s): None :)

Chapter 1  Chapter 2  Chapter 3  Chapter 4  Chapter 5  Chapter 6  Chapter 7

AO3 link

Chapter 8 let’s go!!!

LONDON HEIR WEDS UP AND COMING LADY

Arthur William Burns, 33, of London has married Miss Elaine Spencer, 20, of Birmingham. The couple celebrated their union on February 14, 1944 at the chapel on his uncle Edward’s estate in Suffolk. The intimate ceremony was followed by a small reception of the couple’s closest friends and family. The new Mrs. Burns was thoughtful about her war-time wedding, taking extra steps to avoid unnecessary costs or supplies. She updated her mother’s wedding dress instead of buying new, and after the wedding, generously donated the gown to the Army. Her engagement ring was an heirloom of Mr. Burns’ family, but it didn’t stop there - 

The article didn’t stop there, but Juliet did. She couldn’t read another word about Arthur’s wedding. In fact, she slammed the paper down on her desk. It rattled the teacup in its saucer to the side, but miraculously, nothing spilled. Huffing, and her article forgotten, Juliet folded her arms across her chest and stewed. 

She couldn’t really say why it bothered her so much. She had moved on the same as him, but getting married? It hadn’t been that long. What could Arthur possibly know about this girl? For a girl she was at the tender age of twenty. Was that what irked her? That the girl was so young? No, it was fairly normal for an age gap like that, especially among their class. 

Perhaps it was the class issue that was grating on her. Elaine Spencer was - to the Burns family - everything Juliet was not. Young, rich, well-behaved, and (though only Arthur knew this difference) able to bear children. Seeing their announcement, and the kind of wedding they could afford, was a rather harsh reminder of all that. But even that should not have been this upsetting. 

Deep down, Juliet knew what was bothering her was that she was bothered at all. She was happy with Ron. So why did she care about her ex? Why did this feel like such a blow to her pride? Why did she feel as if Arthur had just terminated their engagement all over again? Wasn’t it enough to have Ron in her life, a man she truly respected and cared about? 

That was something else to consider. Juliet realized she had wasted far too much time on someone who wasn’t half the man Ron was. And yet, Arthur had rejected her. If what she thought about him was true - that he was a coward and totally undeserving of her - shouldn’t it have been the other way around? She knew she felt shame for how much she had loved Arthur when she didn’t receive that love in return. Was that what got on her nerves about this? 

She certainly was not jealous of the girl. Elaine. Juliet knew she absolutely did not want to be married to Arthur. In the long run, they could never make each other happy. Especially now that Juliet had experienced Ron, who truly appreciated what she had to give. She had to keep reminding herself of him or Arthur’s dumb face next to Elaine’s stunning smile would drive her crazy. And yet, she couldn’t stop looking at that picture. They looked so perfect. 

Her door opened and she jumped a little bit out of her seat with a gasp. It was Ron, but that oddly made her more nervous. She perked up. 

“Hi, honey!” she greeted brightly. 

His brown knit together over his eyes. “Honey?” 

“Yes, dear?” she returned. 

“Seriously,” he frowned. “Why are you calling me that?” 

“I haven’t before?” 

“Obviously not.” 

“You don’t like it?” 

“Obviously not,” he repeated. “What’s going on?” 

“Nothing!” she insisted. Then it was her turn to frown. “What endearments am I allowed?” 

“Why do you need them, when my name works just fine?” he replied. 

“Oh come on,” she said. “Not even darling?” 

“Darling is meaningless here, you people call everyone darling,” he said. 

She considered that. “Alright. ‘Love’, then?”

“No, thanks.” 

“Baby?” 

“No.” 

“Dear?” 

“No.” 

“Sugar?”

“No.” 

“Sweetheart?” 

“No.” 

She bit back a giggle for the last one. “Daddy?” 

He rolled his eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous.” 

“My heart belongs to Daddy,” she began to sing as she got to her feet and approached him. “So I simply couldn’t be bad -”

“That’s a little bit sick, coming from you,” he cut across her as he shrugged off his jacket.

She ignored him. “Yes, my heart belongs to Daddy! Da da da da -” 

This time, he interrupted with a kiss. Juliet giggled into his mouth, but he was successful in stopping the song entirely. When they parted, she had a goofy grin on her lips. 

“Are you absolutely certain we should disregard the genius of Cole Porter?” she teased. 

“Let it go,” he returned. 

“What are you gonna do?” she challenged, making her voice dramatically husky. “Spank me?” 

He raised an eyebrow. “Don’t threaten me with a good time.” 

She blinked, taken aback by his casual reaction to such a suggestion, but she was also a little curious, so she decided to push the envelope. “You wouldn’t.”

“What’s the matter?” he questioned. “Afraid you’ll like it?” 

Her mouth fell slightly agape. How had he managed to so drastically turn the tables on her? She was supposed to be teasing him and somehow, she ended up being the one flustered and red-faced. She cleared her throat and shook her head to remove the rather graphic images that had popped up inside it. All thoughts of Arthur were certainly out the window. 

“I did not anticipate this backfiring,” she admitted. 

“And yet, here you are,” he said. 

“How tired are you from training?” she asked. 

“Not too tired to make love to you, if that’s what you’re asking,” he answered. 

“That’s the perfect amount,” she said. 

With that, she tugged off her cardigan and pulled him in for another kiss, deep and deliberate, with a nip at his bottom lip to get him riled up. He lifted her into his arms and they fell on the bed together - her pinned beneath him as their lips remained locked. 

Afterwards, as they dressed to get some dinner and Juliet was in the bathroom fixing her hair, Ron spotted the article. Suddenly, her behavior when he first walked in made sense. She’d distracted him with the endearments conversation, and he hoped he had distracted her from what she’d read. But his gut told him there was something more. He’d walked through that door every day without surprising her. There was a reason she had started and panicked this time. He picked up the newspaper, and looked hard at the photo - at the man who had humiliated Juliet, but ultimately paved the way for Ron’s own happiness with her. 

Arthur was not much to look at, which was both surprising and expected. Surprising because well, Ron found Juliet to be very beautiful, and he knew she could do better. Expected because Juliet was not the sort of person to base a relationship on looks alone. Although she had certainly noticed Ron’s. But for the first time, that made him doubt. She told him once she was more upset by the indignity of what Arthur had done, but she must have really seen something in him to have agreed to marry him. And she talked so much about Ron’s looks, he started to wonder if that was all she saw in him. 

He quickly dismissed that thought. She had been incredibly vulnerable with him and shared parts of her life he was certain she had shared with few others, perhaps not anyone. But something was holding her back from addressing this with him, and he wanted to know what. 

“I reckon we can just pop downstairs and have something quick,” she said as she emerged from the bathroom and picked up her cardigan. “That way we won’t get too cold before we - y’know - warm back up again.” 

He faced her, and caught the surprised look in her eye at his expression. Her smile drooped and faded as she realized what he held in his hand. 

“Jules,” he said, voice heavy. “I want you to do something for me.” 

“Sure,” she looked nervously between the paper and his face. “Anything, Ron, just -” 

“Without one fucking joke, I want you tell me why you’re upset about this,” he said, indicating the paper, though she understood perfectly well what he meant. 

She sighed. “Are you sure you want to hear this?” 

“Yes,” he said. 

She waited for him to explain, but he didn’t. But he was not sacrificing his control of the conversation, he was solidifying it. She was going to explain herself to him. 

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but I’m annoyed at myself for letting it upset me at all,” she said. She met his gaze, searching his face for a reaction, but he didn’t give one. “I mean, yes, it’s a wound to my ego that by all rights that announcement should be about me and him. Although, I never would have gotten married on Valentine’s Day. Seriously, of all the cheesy -” 

“No jokes,” he cut across her. 

“That wasn’t a joke, it was a disparaging remark,” she returned. 

“Juliet.” 

“Sorry.” 

She bit her lip, carefully forming how she wanted to say what was on her mind. But, it turned out he wasn’t giving her that either. 

“Don’t think, just talk,” he instructed. 

“I care about you so much,” she blurted out. “You make me happy in a way I hardly thought possible until I knew you. But seeing that announcement made me ache. It’s difficult to pin down why exactly since there are a number of things that bother me about it, but mostly it’s that it shouldn’t matter. I’ve moved on, haven’t I? But if that still hurts me, I’m worried that perhaps I haven’t, and that’s not fair to you or to me. And if that’s the case then perhaps I should let you go, but the thought of that makes me want to hurl myself out of a window. Then that makes me worried that no one will ever be enough for me. Which is ridiculous because you’re more than enough. You’re the most wonderful man I’ve ever met in your own weird way. So, that means there’s something terribly, terribly wrong with me.” 

She stopped to take a deep breath and paused. She considered saying more, that was really the sum of her feelings. Ron stood there calmly. 

“Can you talk now please?” she requested. 

A hint of smirk tugged at one side of his mouth, but he stopped it. 

“It’d bother me more if you didn’t care about this,” he replied, which made her brow wrinkle. “It’s okay to have feelings about someone you were involved with. Doesn’t mean you still have feelings for them.” 

“You don’t think it’s a reflection of my feelings for you?” she asked hesitantly. 

“No,” he said with a shrug. 

She bit her lip. “I just...I just don’t think it would get to him if he saw my wedding announcement in the paper.”

“It would,” he replied. 

She rolled her eyes. “You can’t know that, you didn’t know him.” 

“I know you,” he said. “That’s enough to understand that there’s no way you didn’t have an impact on him.” 

“That’s -” she began to argue but stopped herself as she absorbed it fully. “Well...that’s actually a lovely thing to say, thank you.” 

He set the paper down and walked over to her, gathering her up in his arms so he could kiss her forehead. 

“Don’t hide behind distractions when there’s something serious,” he said gently. “And don’t hurl yourself out a window, I had enough trouble with you on the bridge.” 

She looked up at him and smiled. “You’ve lifted your moratorium on jokes, I see.”

He pecked her on the lips. “Nope, just for me.”

She repaid him with a light jab to his ribs with her pointer and middle fingers. “Shut up.” 

On that note, they headed down to the bar for dinner and drinks. Though Juliet had mentioned wanting to return to her room quickly, they ended up lingering. Talking like they had when they first met. Juliet talked a little more about Arthur, and Ron gave her the space to do so. It didn’t last long. Slowly, he faded from the conversation and they moved on. Ron challenged her to a darts game, and Juliet readily accepted. 

“I’ve never played before,” she confessed. “Well, actually, I almost did when I was seven or so. Dad took Billy and I to the pub with him and left us to our own devices.” 

“I don’t like where this is going,” Ron said. 

She pressed on anyway. “We weren’t tall enough to reach the board, so Billy drew one on the wall we could use. The owner got upset and started shouting at him.” 

“I really don’t like where this is going,” he said again. 

“So, I stabbed him in the thigh with the dart,” she finished. 

“Billy?” 

“The pub guy.” 

“Just checking.” 

“Anyway, he starts screaming -”

“Billy?” 

“Nope, still the pub guy,” she said. “He grabs me by my hair and starts dragging me out. That didn’t sit right with Billy, so he leaps onto the man’s back and starts punching him. Mind you, Billy was only about nine at the time, so he wasn’t the most effective.” 

“I imagine not.” 

“But of course Billy doesn’t care, he’s just looking out for me,” she continued. “So the guy lets go of me, and I grab him round the legs and trip him. Then Billy and I ran out of there as fast as we could, terrified about what Dad would do to us if he realized we’d caused the commotion. Luckily, he never found out.” 

He blinked at her. “Honestly, I’m just impressed you stabbed a guy.” 

“He yelled at my brother!” she returned. “What was I supposed to do?” 

“Stab him, of course,” he said. 

“That!” she cried. “Right there! That’s why we work so well together!” 

She giggled into his mouth as he kissed her in agreement. 

“C’mon, let’s play,” he said. 

He showed her where to stand, how to hold the dart, and some tricks he used to get better aim. She was attentive to his coaching, and it certainly paid off. Each throw got her closer and closer to the bullseye. So much so, he considered tripping her on her last turn. He didn’t, since that would put her dart in rather close proximity to his thigh, and he was in no mood to get stabbed himself. 

She took her shot, and to the surprise of Ron and a few onlookers, she hit the center of the dartboard. She punched the air with excitement and let out an enthusiastic scream before turning to face him, beaming with triumph. 

“That’s right!” she bragged to anyone listening. “Juliet Fletcher is the darts champion!” 

For a moment, Ron genuinely feared she was going to try and chest bump him, and he wasn’t sure there could be romance after that. To his relief, she did not. She did something far more embarrassing. In movements that could only be described as lost and awkward, she...danced. If one could even call it that. Her limbs jerked, her hips lacked any semblance of rhythm, and her feet sort of scraped across the floor. He watched in disbelief as she went about her celebration, completely unabashed. 

“What’s the matter, Speirs?” she taunted. “Upset you lost to a girl?” 

He wanted to laugh, but he was so disturbed it came out more of a grimace. “What...what are you doing?” 

“Victory dance,” she returned simply. “Like footballers do.” 

“No one has ever done anything like what you’re doing,” he said. 

She came to a slow stop, a smirk on her face. “I told you I can’t dance.” 

“I thought you meant the foxtrot.” 

“Well, I can’t do that either.” 

“I’d expect not.” 

“Are you embarrassed?” she wondered. 

“Aren’t you?” he shot back, though judging by her expression, she wasn’t. 

“Nope,” she shook her head. 

“Should be,” he said under his breath. 

She ignored that little remark. “Life’s too short to stifle the joy of kicking your boyfriend’s ass in a game of darts.” 

He rolled his eyes. “I’d hardly call that an ass kicking.” 

“You wanna go again?” she dared him. 

“God, no,” he replied quickly. “If you win, you’ll start dancing again.” 

“So you admit it?” 

“What?” 

“You’re afraid I’ll win.” 

“Yeah, but not for the reason you want.” 

“Whatever,” she giggled. “I’m gonna get another drink, d’you want one?” 

“Sure,” he said. 

With a nod, she headed for the bar. She established fairly early on in their relationship that she was not the sort who wanted to be doted on. She had no problem sharing the responsibility of buying drinks or fetching said drinks. Ron rarely even pulled out her chair for her. Opening doors was different, as Juliet usually had a bag or something, but she never so much as suggested that Ron carry it for her. He once offered, but she told him she’d only allow it if she could tip him, which promptly ended the conversation. 

“Hi, Juliet,” Emily, the bartender, said as she approached. “‘Nother round of whiskeys for you and Lieutenant Speirs?” 

“Yes, please,” Juliet replied. 

“Just a moment, I’ve got to bring some beers to the lads back there,” Emily said, pointing to the other end of the pub. “I’ll be right back.”

“Take your time,” Juliet assured her. 

While she waited for Emily, a man approached the bar. A dark haired, tall, but mousy looking man Juliet had seen at the Blue Boar only a handful of times. He was usually alone and stayed for only one drink before leaving. She got the impression he was not solitary by choice - he was clearly unpopular. The other officers always gave the table a wide berth. 

“Hi,” he said timidly. 

It took her a moment to register he was speaking to her. “Oh! Hello, there.” She stole a glance at his rank and then his name. Sobel. She decided against trying to say it to avoid the risk of mispronouncing. Plus, she didn’t want him to think she was interested. 

“My name’s Herbert,” he said. “Herbert Sobel.” 

She studied his face for a moment. “Herbert, huh?” 

He blinked, surprised. “Um. Yes.” 

“Oh, yeah, Herbert absolutely suits you,” she said. 

He was taken aback again. “I’m sorry, what?” 

“Never mind,” she shook her head. “How can I help you, Herbert?” 

“You could start with your name,” he replied. 

She wrinkled her nose. “Eh. No, thanks.” 

“What?” 

“I’d rather not give you my name,” she said. “Because I’m afraid the follow up is going to be your asking for my phone number or offering to buy me a drink. So I reckon we’re better off if I get the ‘no’ out of the way now. Save us all some time.” 

He sputtered for a moment before she went on. 

“I know this must seem like contempt prior to investigation,” she said. “But even if I wanted to - which I don’t, mind you - I am involved with someone.” 

“Wha - who?” he wondered. 

“Lieutenant Speirs,” she said, and pointed him out for good measure. 

Sobel glanced over just as Emily returned and began pouring the whiskeys. 

“Well, isn’t Speirs lucky,” Sobel murmured. 

“I wouldn’t go that far,” Juliet said, taking their drinks. “I really am a horrid bitch, you wouldn’t like me anyway.” She held back a laugh as his eyes went wide. Emily covered her mouth to stifle her own giggle. “Cheers, Herb. And thanks, Emily.” 

Emily asked a stricken Sobel what he wanted to drink while Juliet left. She returned to her seat next to Ron and delivered his whiskey. He wore a deep frown which told her he’d been watching her interaction with Sobel. 

“What’d Captain Sobel want?” he asked, just a hint of bitterness to his voice. 

“Don’t get your knickers in a twist, I shot him down,” she replied. 

“He hit on you?” he questioned, but his shoulders relaxed a little. “Must not have seen you dance.” 

“Shut up!” she laughed, elbowing him. 

He didn’t say anything in return, he only put his hand on her thigh, giving it a little squeeze. Something about it thrilled Juliet. It was...intensely macho. Possessive even. Normally things like that disgusted her, but Ron made it sexy. Only, she had to question it. 

“Are you serious?” she said. 

“About what?” he returned. 

“You’re not bothered by my talking about my ex-fiancé, but a strange man offering to buy me a drink has you marking your territory?” she asked. 

“I can’t help who you were with before we met,” he said. “I can do something about anyone getting ideas now.” 

“What would you have done then?” she questioned playfully. 

“Stab him with a dart,” he replied, without missing a beat. 

She giggled before she sipped her drink. “You’re ridiculous.” 

She wasn’t able to remain in Ron’s grasp long. Emily approached and told her there was a phone call for her. Juliet excused herself, but not before kissing Ron deeply. 

“So the other girls don’t get any ideas either,” she teased. 

“Fine by me,” he said. 

With one more peck, she followed Emily behind the bar. She picked up the receiver and held it to her ear. 

“Juliet Fletcher,” she said. 

“Juliet, it’s Otis,” said the voice on the other end of the line. 

“Oh, hello, Otis, how are you?” she replied politely. She got along with the investigator most out of all the people involved in Peggy Lee’s case. 

“Quite well, thank you,” he said. “I’m sorry to call you so late, but I’ve just gotten the news that Meredith Fisher’s trial has been moved up. We begin on the fifteenth of March.” 

“Crikey, that’s quick,” Juliet said. 

“I know, but the prosecution is confident enough,” he told her. 

Juliet was tempted to let him know they were absolutely right in their confidence with the way Meredith Fisher’s lawyer was going about things, but she held her tongue. 

“That’s good,” she said. “I’ll be sure I’m there for the trial.” 

“I’ll see you then,” he returned. “Good night, Juliet.” 

“Good night,” she replied before hanging up. 

She returned to Ron, who shot her a curious look. 

“A trial date has been set for Meredith Fisher,” she said. “In just a couple weeks.” 

“Are you ready?” he asked. 

“Damn right I am,” she said. 

“That’s my girl.”

[sunflowerspecter]

haley (a.h.)

summary: hotch doesn’t know if it’s time to move on. then he meets you, and your daughter haley. 

warnings: canon-typical violence, canon-typical mentions of murder, canon-typical mentions of drugs 

pairing: aaron hotchner x fem!reader

words: 3.6k

note: hey? i’m back! with another fic! after like four months! woo. i’m also almost at 400 followers which is pretty wild so cool cool. this is absolutely unedited and i’ve been working on it for literally ever, but i doubt you expected more from me anyways (the plot is also kind of sketch) anywayss, here it is my loves! 

~~~oOo~~~

“JJ!” you yell, crossing the bullpen quickly. She turns to face you and smiles widely, throwing her arms open. 

“Y/n!” she calls as you fall into her arms. “Oh my god, it’s so good to see you! What are you doing here?” 

“My team’s going to be working with your team for the next couple of cases!” As the communications liaison for Operations Support Branch (OSB), you and JJ used to collaborate often, until she was transferred and changed positions. You and her don’t get to see each other half as often as you want, but sometimes you bring your daughter, Haley, to spend time with Henry. 

“Wait, really? Why weren’t we alerted?” she asks. Behind her, a tall man with dark hair steps towards you, and you already know who he is. SSA Aaron Hotchner. 

“Because the decision was just made this morning,” he says. He offers his hand and you shake it. “I’m SSA Aaron Hotchner.” 

“We all call him Hotch,” JJ adds quickly. 

“Y/n Y/l/n,” you say to him. “I’m the communications liaison for the OSB. I’m the only one here right now, my team is heading up as we speak.” You turn to the elevator, where your boss, Sam Holmestead, is standing, talking to Derek Morgan, someone JJ had introduced you to. “Holmes is over there.” 

“Great,” Hotch says, “excuse me.” He nods at you and begins his way over to your boss, and you watch the entire way. 

“Ooh,” JJ sings, giving you a friendly laugh. 

“Oh, shut up,” you say, but you’re laughing too. “Now, I heard there’s a case.” 

She nods. “Come up to the conference room, we’ll introduce your team to my team and give you all of the details.” 

In the room, you, Holmes, and the two others from your team that were joining you— Gary Long and John Wilson— stand at the back, while the BAU all gathered in their seats. 

“These four are from the OSB,” Hotch says. “Strauss wants our team to collaborate with some members of the OSB on the next few cases, so they’ll be travelling with us,” Hotch says. “JJ, want to make introductions?” 

She nods, then says, “Sam Holmestead leads the team, and this is Y/n Y/l/n, Gary Long, and John Wilson.” She turns to her team, then, and says, “This is Derek Morgan, Emily Prentiss, Spencer Reid, Penelope Garcia, and David Rossi.” 

Greetings are exchanged, and then it’s back to business. “Two young women were kidnapped and then killed in Tallahassee, Florida,” Garcia says. “Each one was taken from a parking lot, then held captive for a week, and then killed. A week after the first girl was killed, the second one went missing. She was found dead yesterday. Other than their throats being slashed, they were otherwise unharmed.” 

You blink down at the pictures. You’ve seen things before, awful things, but this was just… so much worse. You feel better about your squeamishness when you look over and see that Wilson is as white as a ghost. 

“So, what does this guy get from the kill?” Morgan says, one elbow on the table. 

“It’s rather clean, as far as murder goes,” Prentiss quips. “No stabbing, no bruising. Even the cut is clean.” 

“How long did it take her to die? This could be seen as merciful,” you say, glancing at Holmes, who nods at you. 

“I’m guessing just a few seconds,” Reid said, looking through his file and finding the coroner’s report, then nodding and glancing up at you. 

“Garcia, do these girls have anything in common?” Hotch asks, and your attention goes straight to him (because he’s talking, and you’re polite, obviously). 

“They both attended Florida state and now work in insurance. Different companies,” Garcia says. 

Hotch nods at her, then says, “Wheels up in 30.” 

~~~oOo~~~

The jet is larger than you expected. And nicer, too. You take a seat between JJ and Morgan, and see Garcia on Skype on the table. The rest of the group files in, and you begin discussing the case. 

“So, what’s this guy's deal? What’s he doing with these girls for a week?” Morgan says. 

“There aren’t signs that they’re tied up, or that he blitz-attacked them,” Prentiss adds. 

“Maybe he kept them locked in a sort of cellar. He wouldn’t need to tie them up.” 

“Did he drug them?” Holmes asks. Reid looks over the report, then nods. 

“Actually, yes, both girls had methylenedioxy​methamphetamine and methamphetamine in their system,” Reid says. 

“MDMA and meth?” JJ says, crossing her arms. 

“Wilson, you still have contacts in Florida, right? See who’s dealing both of those these days,” Holmes says, and Wilson nods, pulling out his phone. 

“MDMA is really hard to get a hold of,” Wilson says, “I’m sure it’s easier in Florida, but still, this guy has to have some way of getting money in. Lots of it.” 

“Okay, so how does he insure he doesn’t hurt them with the drugs?” Prentiss says. 

“And what purpose does it serve? What fantasy is he living out?” Rossi adds. 

The plane hits a bit of turbulence, and your stomach flips. “Is that normal?” you whisper, and JJ laughs, nodding.

“You’ll get used to it,” Morgan says. You nod and give a short laugh. 

“The likelihood of being in a plane crash is about one to 5.4 million,” Reid says, “and even so, it’s improbable that turbulence will cause a crash. Even commercial airlines are built to withstand forces 1.5 times stronger than anything experienced in the past—” 

“Reid,” Hotch says sternly, but softly, “focus, please.” 

“I didn’t know the BAU made cyborgs,” you say, squinting your eyes at Reid. 

Prentiss nods at you, throwing her arms up. “That’s what I’ve been saying! Someone finally understands.” 

“Sorry,” he says, eyes widening. “I’m curious as to whether these girls were using these drugs before or after he took them.” 

“You think they were using before?” Hotch asks, and Reid nods. 

“I just don’t know why he would give the girls these drugs.” 

“I’ll ask the families,” JJ says. 

“When we land, Reid, start setting up a geographical profile. Prentiss and Morgan, check out the dump sights. JJ, talk to the families, and make sure the press doesn’t get the information about the drugs. Rossi, take Long and go check out the abduction sights. Wilson, reach out to your contact. I want Y/l/n and Holmestead to help me with victimology,” Hotch says, looking around. 

“Yes, sir’s” went around the group, and you flip to look at the victim pages. 

Holmes leans across the table and looks at you. “What do you think?” 

You shake your head. “It’s strange,” you say. “They hardly have anything in common. Yeah, they went to the same school, and yeah, they both work in insurance, but two very different jobs.” 

Holmes shrugs, then nods. “I agree. Were they friends?” He looks at Hotch for guidance, who shrugs. 

“We’ll have to find out. Garcia, have you made any connections?” 

Garcia looks up on the screen, then says, “Actually, another girl has just been reported missing.” 

“It’s only been a day,” JJ says, and looks at Hotch. 

“We hit the ground running,” he says, and you all nod. 

~~~oOo~~~

Working with the team goes a lot smoother than expected. Your teams bond together instantly, and you all work quickly and effectively. 

Unfortunately, even a day and a half after the third victim's abduction, you’re no closer. 

“In his comfort zone, there are 14 warehouses, 13 abandoned buildings, 25 apartment complexes, and too many residential areas to count,” you say, looking over Reid’s shoulder as he writes on the board. 

“He could be anywhere,” Hotch mutters, standing beside you. 

“What are we missing?” Rossi says, and you turn and slump into a chair, sitting at the table with the team. Hotch sits next to you, a pensive look on his face. 

“How did he choose each girl? Are these premeditated or spur of the moment? And why did he escalate his time frame?” Morgan says, looking around the table. 

JJ rushes into the room. “The third girl's body was found. And he left a note.” 

The table stands. “Reid and Y/l/n, stay here and analyze the note. JJ, keep the press occupied. No one releases the note. We don’t address it yet. Everyone else, at the crime scene.” 

You nod, finding it a little odd that he left you with Reid (sure, you aren’t a field agent, but the rest of your team is going somewhere), but you stay nonetheless. The team files out and you turn to Reid, looking down at the scan of the note. 

“The paper looks old,” Reid says, and you squint. 

“It’s not old, it was made to look that way. See how it’s not torn or wrinkled, but it’s yellowed?” 

Reid nods and looks at you, for a moment, surprised. It passes quickly, and he’s looking back at the text. “Typewriter, and it’s in third person. It just describes the crime.”

“What does that mean?” you ask, and Reid shrugs. 

“It could mean any number of things. Could be living out his fantasy, could be any number of mental illnesses.” 

You nod, crossing your arms. It’s going to be a long night. 

~~~oOo~~~

The fourth girl was taken in the wide open. There was a witness. With a description of the vehicle. 

“There are more purple Volkswagens in Tallahassee than there should be,” Garcia says, “but only one registered to someone within the comfort zone of our guy.” 

He doesn’t know you’re coming, and the arrest is smooth, and the girl is safe. 

The plane ride back is quiet—everyone is mostly asleep. You sit by Holmes, talking idly about how the court is probably going to rule on the case. Hotch is awake and across from you, but you can tell he’s listening. 

“How’s the little one?” Holmes says, and you laugh. 

“As rebellious as ever,” you sigh. “She wants to be a superhero when she’s older.” 

Holmes laughs, leaning back in his seat and pushing his hand through his hair. “And that’s exactly why I didn’t have kids.” 

You elbow him. “Like you could get someone to reproduce with you, anyway.” 

He gasps, grasping his chest, feigning pain. “Low blow, Y/n, low blow.” 

“Whatever, old man,” you say, leaning back. “How long are we working with the BAU?” you ask, glancing over your sleeping teammates. 

“I’m not sure yet,” he says. Then he lowers his voice and whispers in your ear, “You’ve caught the BAU’s dear boss’s eye, I think.” 

You giggle (you giggle) and say, “No way.” 

“Yes way.” 

“I guess he’s cute,” you say in a whisper. “But that’s a conversation for the morning. I’m exhausted.” 

You look over at Hotch, writing his report and talking quietly with Rossi. You wonder what’s going through his mind. 

“You know she wouldn’t want you to spend the rest of your life mourning her,” Rossi says quietly. Hotch nods. 

“I know that, I do. I just, I wish there was a sign.” 

Rossi puts his hand on his friend's shoulder. “There will be.” He looks over at you, eyes shut, head on Holmes’ shoulder. “Meanwhile, you’ve been looking at her quite a lot.” 

“What?” Hotch says, taking in a shaky breath. 

Rossi chuckles, shrugging. “I think you know.” 

~~~oOo~~~

“Hey, sleep today, but tonight you should come out with us,” Garcia says as you gather your things from your makeshift desk. You landed at 4:30 in the morning, and after finishing your paperwork, you were ready to sleep for the entire day. 

You hesitate, then shrug. “Sure, why not?” 

Garcia squeals, “Yay!” You laugh and nod. 

“What time, and where?” 

“How about I pick you up?” she suggests, and you nod. 

“Actually, that would be great,” you say. She smiles, and leaves you in your office. Your daughter calls you as you're leaving the building, and you meet Hotch in the elevator. 

“Mommy!” the little girl cries happily into the phone. 

“Hi, hon! I’m on my way home right now, what are you doing up this early, baby?” 

She giggles. “Auntie and I have a surprise for you!” 

You freeze. “Haley, what did you do?” You feel Hotch stiffen beside you, but you don’t ask him about it. 

“Nothing! Bye, mommy!” she says before you can tell her no, and she’s hung up. 

“Children,” you mutter. Hotch nods. 

“What’s your kids name?” he asks, barely looking at you. 

“Haley,” you say. “She’s four next month.” He hums, and you ask, “Do you have any children?” 

“Yes,” he says. “Jack. He’s seven.” 

The elevator door opens, and you almost think you’re disappointed. 

“Can I walk you to your car?” he asks, and you nod. 

“Yes, thank you.” 

The walk is silent. 

“See you tonight?” you say. 

He shakes his head. “Probably not.” 

“Why not? Could be fun.” 

He hesitates, meeting your eyes. Then, he says, “I’ll think about it.” 

You smile, getting into your car. “Have a good one, Hotchner.” 

“You too, Y/l/n.” 

~~~oOo~~~

Haley is asleep by 8:00, your sitter is at your door by 8:15, and Garcia is at your door at 8:30. 

Black dress, red lipstick. It isn’t too fancy, but if Hotch shows up, you’ll look nice. (Not that you care, of course. As far as you know, he’s married). 

“You look so pretty!” Garcia says once you’re in her car. 

“Thank you! You too!” you say, and then she starts telling you stories from the team. How Reid will go off about Halloween, how Prentiss faked her death, how Morgan and her flirt endlessly (which you picked up on), how Hotch’s son, Jack, is doing soccer. 

You, in turn, tell Garcia about Wilson’s wife, Mary, and how Holmes once fell down a well while working on a case and was stuck for an hour and a half, and how Greg has this terrible habit of accidentally befriending the worst people. 

You reach the bar laughing, and you find the table everyone (except Hotch) is sitting at. You and Garcia join them, and conversation becomes easy. Until, a few minutes after your arrival, Hotch takes a seat beside you. 

“Hi,” he says, and everyone greets him. 

“We were just talking about how we could run off and buy a house in the woods and live a secluded life together for the rest of time,” Prentiss says, and you let out a laugh. 

“I’m sure that will work out wonderfully, especially with three children,” Hotch says. 

“And the house has to be big, there’s a lot of us,” you add. 

“And we work for the government, they’ll be suspicious if we all quit at once,” Greg says. 

Spencer shrugs. “Not to mention the cost of living would be expensive, and we’d be out of a job. Plus, there’s no one to replace us.”

You lean over and boop Spencer’s nose. “We’re irreplaceable.” 

“Don’t count on that, Strauss has been after my ass since the moment I stepped in that office,” Hotch says. 

Rossi mutters something into Hotch’s ear, and your stomach does backflips. JJ turns to you. “Is Haley still into dance?” 

You shake your head. “That was a short lived hobby. I think this week it’s art.” 

“Henry is the same way! He doesn’t stick with one thing for more than a few days,” she laughs. “Hotch, what about Jack?” 

“He’s stuck with soccer pretty consistently, but he also can’t decide if he likes drums or drawing on the wall more.” 

You and JJ laugh. “Where’s Will?” you ask JJ, raising an eyebrow.

“He stayed home with Henry, but he sends his love.” JJ looks over at Hotch. “I presume Jack is with Jessica?” 

“Yes,” he says, huffing a laugh, his eyes darting to yours. “I really should be paying that woman.” 

“Is Jessica not your wife?” you ask, glancing from JJ to Hotch. They share a look, and JJ turns to Spencer, picking up on his and Emily’s conversation. Your attention is now fully on Hotch, who sighs. 

“No, Jessica is my sister-in-law,” he says, and he opens his mouth to say more, but then hesitates. “My wife died a few years ago. Her name was Haley.” 

“Oh,” you say dumbly. “Oh, oh I’m so sorry.” You meet his eyes, but he shakes his head. “My husband died a few years ago too. Right before Haley was born, actually,” you say, laughing humorlessly.

He nudges your shoulder lightly, then says, “Look at us, two widowed single-parents.” 

“A pair we make, Mr. Hotchner,” you say, and he nods. 

~~~oOo~~~

As you’re leaving the conference room after a briefing, Holmes pulls you aside. He watches as everyone leaves the room, and says, “This will be our last case with the BAU.” You blink at him, disappointment filling you. 

“Why are you telling just me?” you ask, crossing your arms. 

Holmes shrugs, looking out the conference room window. You follow his gaze to where Hotch and Morgan are talking in front of Hotch’s office. “Because you might want to shoot your shot before you never see him again,” Holmes says. You try to ask him what he means, but he’s already left the room.

You sigh, picking up your things and getting your bag, going to stand beside JJ and Emily as you make your way out to the jet. You trail a step behind them, your mind racing. What did Holmes mean by that? Your heart dropped a little bit at the thought of never seeing the team you had been working with for the past six months ever again. Surely, you will. JJ and you are close friends, and you had grown close with the rest of the team too, right? 

“What’s on your mind?” You startle at the sound of his voice, looking up to see Hotch looking down at you, his brows drawn together. 

“Oh,” you say. “Nothing.” 

“You can’t lie to a profiler.” 

You laugh. “Holmes told me this is our last case together,” you tell him, looking ahead, where JJ and Emily are boarding the plane. 

“It is,” he says. His voice is even, steady, normal. There is nothing to suggest he is happy for your departure or upset about it. He is neutral. 

“Shame,” you say, “I was sort of getting used to working with you guys.” 

He’s quiet for a moment, and you board the plane. You sit in your usual seat and he sits beside you; that’s how it always is. It feels wrong, today. 

“It’s not like we’re just going to disappear, though,” Hotch says to you, just so you can hear. “You know where I work after all.” You huff a laugh, your heart rate increasing more than you’d care to admit. “On top of that, we have no idea how long this case will last. Maybe it goes horribly wrong and you’re stuck with me forever.” 

“We better solve it quickly, then,” you say, raising an eyebrow at him. He scoffs, and you shake your head. “But, really. I’ll miss working with you.” After a second, your eyes widen and you add, “All.” 

He nods, shifting in his seat. “I’ll regret no longer having your team’s expertise.” 

“Our teams are good together, for sure.” 

~~~oOo~~~ 

After the case, you try not to look too blue as you step onto the jet for the last time. You and Holmes are the first ones on the jet, and when you sit across from him instead of your usual spot, he raises an eyebrow at you. 

“Do you know where we’re going next? What our next assignment is?” you ask. He shakes his head, and you look down at your hands. 

“We won’t be travelling with the BAU,” he says, “but we will be working at headquarters for the meantime.” 

“That’s going to be an adjustment,” you say, looking over at him. “Watching the team leave, not going with them.”

He nods. “But at least you’ll get to see him.” 

“You mean them,” you say, furrowing your brow. “The team.” 

As the words leave your mouth, Hotch walks on board. He nods at the two of you, his facial expression blank. He sits in his usual spot. He looks small. 

“No, I said what I meant,” Holmes said, shrugging. “Maybe you just didn’t want to hear it.” 

You don’t reply, looking over to where Hotch is sitting. You look to Holmes for permission, and he nods at you. You make your way over to Hotch, sitting next to him. 

“Hi,” you say quietly. 

“Hi,” he says back. 

A beat. 

“So—” you both say at the exact same time. 

“I’m sorry,” you say. 

“You go first,” he says. 

“I’m going to miss you. The whole team,” you add, “but especially you.” 

He flushes, giving a sort of smile as he shifts in his seat, nodding to you. “I’m going to miss you too.” You hold your breath, and he says, “But I figured, you know, there’s not really any reason we can’t still see each other. After this. We could get coffee sometime.” 

You grin, bumping your shoulder against his. “Are you asking me out, Hotchner?” you whisper quietly, jokingly. 

“Maybe,” he says, looking uncharacteristically unsure. “If you say yes.” 

“Well,” you say, looking up and tapping your chin. You meet his eyes, and he’s staring at you like your next words are the most important thing in the world, “I would be an idiot if I said no.” 

He smiles, big and wide like you’ve never seen and it goes straight to his eyes. “Then it’s a date.” 

“Then it is,” you say, smiling right back at him. 

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