🏆 This is the Amazing Person Award 🏆 ✨💚 Once you are given this award you are supposed to paste it in the ask of eight different people, who, in your opinion, deserve it. If you break the chain nothing will happen, but it is sweet to know someone thinks you're amazing inside and out 💚✨ :P ♥

<3<3<3

Until Yesterday

➜ Words: 10.4k

➜ Genres: 75% Fluff, 22% Angst, 3% Smut

➜ Summary: You and Taehyung are hopeless as you are hopeless romantics. But five months after tying the knot and saying "I do", you're hospitalized after a car accident with him. But upon waking up, the doctors tell you that you don't have a husband.

➜ Notes: Inspired by the movie The Vow (2012) and a bit of The Notebook (2004). This is purely an indulgent fic for all my hopeless romantics out there, so it’s a bit different from my usual!

cr.

Marriage was nothing like they told you.   It’s true that not much has changed from when you were dating or engaged, that merely the title of your relationship has slightly altered, but you have no regrets doing it at all. They always told you to wait until the honeymoon phase was over — that you'll find yourself tired and driven crazy by him. They told you to wait a few years down the line when you’re not having sex anymore and you’ll be so sick of each other, it’ll be like living with an awful roommate-child than being a couple in love. You’ll be bored when something becomes a normal routine, they said.   But it isn’t like that at all.   If anything, you’re more in love with Taehyung than ever.    “We should put the couch right here.”   “Well, we need to buy a couch first, Tae.”   “Didn’t you like the leather one we saw today?”   “I mean...I didn’t love it and it’s a bit pricey, don’t you think?”   “It’s fine. Leave it to me and the bank account!” The blonde grins and pats his own chest and it only garners your scoff. “I’ll take care of you. It’s the least I can do.”   “I make the same as you, idiot.”   It took years of hard work and dedication for the two of you to get to where you are, to have landed your dream jobs and built your dream house together. But of all the sweat and tears, you wouldn’t trade the outcome for anything else.    The house was newly built in a developing neighbourhood, the scent of cut wood and paint still lingering in each room. The white picket fence surrounds the seashell home with the dark brown roof, glass windows large and bringing light into the open concept structure along with the skylights. It has the cherry wood door reminiscent to that of your old dollhouse and a swing out back tied to the tree that Taehyung wanted. It was all the two of you could’ve ever dreamed of and you’re eager to move in, to bring in your furniture and allow this home to grow with you.   “Why is the master bedroom larger than I remembered?”   Taehyung’s laugh echoes down the hall and you hear footsteps becoming louder against the wooden floorboards. “Maybe the construction team came in during the middle of the night and expanded the room for us for free.”   “Yeah maybe,” you playfully quip back at him. “Maybe they’ll consider expanding our backyard too, so we can put that marble fountain in. It might cost more than this house, but you said I could trust in you and the bank account, right?”   Taehyung peels you off of him when you glue yourself to his side and giggle. Batting your lashes at him has little effect. “Fountain is still a no-go, sweetheart.”   You grin at him and waltz to the adjacent room, peeking your head into the modest space. “We still need to decide what to do with this spare room, Taehyung. If we want to turn it into another bedroom for when your mom visits or maybe an office.”   Suddenly, arms wrap around your waist and you ease as your husband props his chin on your shoulder. It’s one of his many habits of his that you love. “How about we save it for a nursery?”   The corner of your mouth quirks and you turn your head. “Are you sure?”   “As sure if you are.”    You spin around in his arms to plant a kiss against his mouth — one where Taehyung steals the opportunity and deepens it, catching you off guard. He pulls you in by your waist when you threaten to pull apart and he smiles at the whimper that comes out of you.   When the pair of you finally part, you’re unable to resist the smile that spreads into your cheeks and your arms loop around his neck. “Kim Taehyung, aren’t you blessed? There’s no one I’d rather have a baby with than you.”   His mouth forms into a rectangular grin. “You shouldn’t tempt me when we’re going to be late for our reservations already.”   “Late?” Your lips fall and you check your watch before your eyes grow wide.    Taehyung laughs and strolls behind you as you rush out, grabbing your coat and screaming at him to get the car started.   It’s another one of those date nights. One where intimate conversations are shared over a candlelight dinner. Until Taehyung accidentally catches the tablecloth on fire and the candlelight is removed by an exasperated waiter and the intimacy in your discussion ends up with him doing something dumb and water nearly spewing out of your nose from laughing, and the other patrons are glaring at the ruined atmosphere.   Still, with a generous tip paid, you leave full and happy.   “Anything you want to watch tonight?” you ask as he’s driving. It’s peaceful with the roads emptier at this time of night and the radio playing some generic pop song in the back. You count the lamp posts that pass by.   “Hmm...how about we do something else tonight.”   Your head turns. “Like what?”   Taehyung steals a glance at you and smirks. “I was thinking that we would drive back to the new house and break in that mattress we just got. Maybe get that kid you were talking about.”   You scoff, looking straight out the windshield as you feel your face heat. Even after so many years with him, he still knew what to say to affect you. “It’s not that easy, you know, and that mattress is still wrapped in the living room.”   “It’s fine. Better start now than later. And it’s our house, we can taint it however we want to.”   It doesn’t take much for you to agree — and you do so in the midst of laughter.   You shamelessly stare at Taehyung’s profile, the strands of his blonde hair that desperately needs a trim, his long lashes that you’ve always been envious of, the slope of his nose and his thin lips that always knows how to kiss you right. Taehyung’s thick brow cocks when he notices your blatant staring, but you don’t care. You’re just filled with joy and at a loss for words at how he’s with you.   He’s yours.   The two of you are too wrapped up in one another to pay mind to the car behind you. To the piercing beam lights. The wheels that screech against the asphalt. The sheer speed of the vehicle and recklessness of the intoxicated driver.   So when the rear of the car is slammed into and you both lurch forward into the intersection of the road, it’s a shock.    //   The white fluorescent burns your eyes.    It’s hard to see and you can’t feel your body. Not even your fingers that begin to twitch. You’re disoriented and delirious, not sure what day it is, how long you’ve been out, where exactly you are. It’s all muddled in your mind. All you can discern is a constant rhythm of beeping beside you and the odour of disinfect filling your senses. You’re scared — but you’re overwhelmed with the thought of Taehyung.    Taehyung.   You jolt in your spot and the rhythm of the machine quickens until it’s like an alarm, sounding aloud and making you panic even more. But then there’s a rush of people entering the room, white coats and scrubs checking the machines and lines hooked up from you.   “Ms. Y/N, I am doctor Jeon.” There’s a man looking down at you and you blink blearily at him. “You’ve been in a coma for three days now. Is there anyone we can call for you?”   “M-My husband,” you cry out with a parched throat.   The doctor looks to the nurse but she frowns and shakes her head. “The patient doesn’t have a husband.”   You don’t have a husband?   At once, sobs wrack through your entire body and you thrash despite the aches in your bones and your ankle wrapped in bandages. The doctor and nurse are alarmed and you choke out the words— “I-Is he okay? Is he dead?”   “Ma’am,” the doctor calmly says, “you were the only one injured on the scene.”   Before you can utter a word, a man comes from the doorway. His hair is dark, matching the hue lined underneath his exhausted eyes. His features are soft and evidently tired like he hasn’t slept in the past few days. You don’t know who he is but he stares right at you — and then a relieved smile draws upon his features, one that is too comfortable and familiar.   “Y/N?” His voice is deeper than expected and he closes the distance. The nurse is visibly confused, but he quickly introduces, “I’m her partner, Min Yoongi.”   You recoil back before he can touch you, even when the hurt comes across his expression.    “I-I’m sorry.” You don’t know who he is. “I think you have the wrong person.”

It’s hard to cope — your entire universe has been flipped upside down and you don’t know what to think. Suddenly by opening your eyes, your entire life has been swept from underneath your feet. Everything that you loved and cared about is gone. And you’re left alone to deal with it.   “I-I remember being with my husband. We were driving back from dinner and planning to take a detour to the new house, but then a car rear-ended us and we were brought out into the intersection,” you recall.   But the doctor’s brows furrow. “I see. Well, I can tell you that you weren’t in a car accident, Ms. Y/N. You were injured after falling down the flight of stairs at the subway station. You’ve been in a coma for three days.”   It doesn’t make any sense and you squeeze your temples. But it hurts. Everything feels like a dream, like you’re floating and not truly grounded in reality. Your surroundings are hazy and you wonder if this is just a hallucination — a very frightening one, a world where Taehyung doesn’t exist.   “What year was the car accident?” the doctor asks suddenly and you exhale, trying to remember the date.    “It was late January of 2016.”   “Ms. Y/N, it’s 2020 right now.”   It’s a shock through your system. At first, you sputter, choking on your own spit. The doctor is kind enough to give you a moment but when you press your hand to your chest, you wince at the bruises around your wrist. Then you open your mouth and close it, finding yourself rendered absolutely speechless. Your brain is melting into itself and you have an urge to get up and scream.   “What?”   “It looks like you have a four year memory gap,” Doctor Jeon says as if he’s prescribing you with cold medication and if you weren’t bedridden, you might just throttle him to the floor. “It’s okay, these things happen with your sort of injury. It should be fine and only temporary. You can get your memory jogging again after looking at mementos, pictures, or talking to the right people.”   “Anyways, we’ll keep you here for a few more days just to monitor that head injury, but it looks like your ankle is healing nicely. There’s no cause for concern, really.”   The doctor ends up leaving and you repress the urge to cry again.   You don’t know where Taehyung is and you miss him.   //   Your so-called partner appears days later to help with your hospital discharge and pack up your belongings. You learn his name is Min Yoongi and that he’s two years older than you are. He works as a car mechanic in a shop and you’ve apparently been with him for a whole year.    Yet, you can’t help but stay guarded, watching him from the corner with your arms crossed while you try to decipher his impassive expression. The man is quiet, but not in an angry or frightening way. He never asks you questions, makes demands out of you or once appears exasperated with your distant behaviour. He seems gentle somehow.    You wonder what your relationship with him was like.   “T-Thank you,” you murmur as he packs the slippers he had brought for you into the duffle bag.   Min Yoongi turns his head and the corner of his mouth pulls into an oddly warm smile. His voice is husky when he says, “You don’t need to thank me. I’m just happy to see you walking around again.”   You’re taken aback.   You aren’t used to receiving this kind of love and affection from someone other than Taehyung and from a stranger no less. It makes you unsettled. Conflicted.   The car ride is smooth. Yoongi helps you into your seat and buckles you in without making you speak much of a word. You’re not sure where you’re going, but you spend your time looking out at the window and taking in what you’ve missed for four years, or rather what your mind no longer recalls.    Luckily, it seems like the world hasn’t changed too much.   The streets are familiar, lined with lamp posts and bike racks. There are different billboards and some buildings you don’t recognize, but it looks like many things have stayed the same. The street names, avenues and boulevards, the people jogging and walking their dogs — it hasn’t changed.   “Hey, Tae—”    Except for the person driving beside you.    You turn your head and blood drained from your face, realizing that it’s not your husband you’re sitting beside. “N-Never mind.”   There’s a moment of quiet.   Then Yoongi’s lips part. “It’s okay.” He glances at you and your eyes meet. “It’s okay,” he repeats with a small smile that makes you even more burdened.   The apartment is modest yet cozy. A living room with cushions out of place and souvenirs on the shelves next to the television. The kitchen is to the left, cups in the sink and refrigerator haphazardly filled with take out boxes. It’s lived in, full of memories that you don’t have. But above all, you notice there’s only one bedroom and there are male belongings assorted with yours.    Shaving cream. Gel. Cologne.    “You live here?” you ask Yoongi, coming to the living room where he was giving you a chance to look around for yourself, perhaps hoping that you would remember something.   “We live together,” he corrects with a tiny smile. “But it’s okay. I’m planning on staying at a friend’s place, so you don’t have to worry about me being here if that makes you uncomfortable.”   “You…” Your mouth opens before closing, startled at how considerate he is. “You don’t have to. I mean, this place is yours too. It seems unfair if I kick you out. You should...stay.” Yoongi smiles and you shy away from his attention. “I...might not be comfortable sharing a bed with you though…”   “Okay.” He nods. “I can take the couch.”   That night, you lay awake in the foreign bed, unable to sleep and staring at the ceiling. It feels like you’ve been asleep for four years anyways, although it’s technically only been three days.    Your brain is swimming in confusion. You’re not sure what to think. One moment you were with Taehyung and the next, you don’t have him beside you anymore and you’re with someone else.   Taehyung….   You reach over to the nightstand and switch on the lamp. A dim yellow light softly fills the room and you begin to truly investigate your surroundings. On a pinboard near the door are pictures of you and Yoongi, selfies taken where you’re both smiling with one another, one of you at a carnival and another at an aquarium. The vanity drawer holds jewelry that you don’t recognize, perhaps ones that Yoongi had bought for you. Your phone contains grocery lists and miscellaneous notes that make no sense. There’s nothing on your social media, no connection, nothing once you search his name up. All you discover is work-related things in your calendar, more pictures of you and Yoongi and affectionate texts between the two of you.    There’s no trace of Taehyung whatsoever.   But when you dig into the closet and find a box at the top shelf hidden away, your answer is found. It’s inside a box of paperwork — school awards, certificates of achievements, evidence of your first paycheck, your birth certificate, social security papers, and divorce papers.   You and Taehyung got divorced in April 2018.    Two years and eight months after getting married. And it’s been a year and ten months since.   The paper crumples underneath your hands and you gather your knees together on the floor as quiet sobs break through you once again. You don’t know what happened. Where it all went wrong.   //   When morning comes, you hope the swelling and redness of your eyes from crying so much isn’t noticeable. If it is, Yoongi doesn’t say anything and only regards you with a gentle smile.    “I was going to stay home today, but I thought it might be overwhelming for you,” he says before you can protest otherwise, “so I’ll be at work. Take it easy, okay? You can call me anytime you want for anything. My number is in your phone.”   You nod. “Thank you, Yoongi.”   His smile is sweet. “I already told you, it’s not a problem.”   But half an hour after Yoongi leaves, you prepare for your own departure. Hobbling with your weight on one foot and off the one with your injured ankle, you grab a coat and the car keys laying on the counter. It takes a moment to figure out which one is your vehicle in the lot but you find it after pressing the panic button. It looks brand new — apparently recently repaired and the reason why you had to take the subway and how you got your head injury in the first place.   It might be wrong to leave without giving a warning to Yoongi, especially when he’s so worried about you, but you can’t stay idle at the apartment. You can’t sit still. You need answers.   You drive to the house — turning down the familiar streets and roads before coming into the neighbourhood that feels like you had been in just a week ago when it’s probably been years.   But you don’t recognize it anymore. It's more developed than you last remembered. What once were empty lots have other homes built. All the sidewalks are paved, there’s an elementary school down the avenue, a new playground that shines, neighbours that have moved in.   What hasn’t changed is the house itself.    There’s still the white picket fence that surrounds the seashell white home, a shade you had personally picked yourself when building it. The roof is a dark brown and the front door cherry wood. The glass windows are large with baby blue curtains and you wonder if there’s still the swing in the backyard….   You get out of the car, feeling your emotions swell up to your throat and your eyes becoming watery as you gave upon the house. This was the place you had built with Taehyung. The place you both had planned to live in for years. The place you wanted to raise your kids, grow old and retire in.    It was perfect. The combination of your dreams.   Where did it all go wrong?   You close the distance, limping up the path to the door and knocking on it. After a moment, you ring the doorbell properly. But even then, there are no answers and you notice that the Kim nameplate under the mailbox is gone.   Of course. It’s been over four years after all.   You cross the street back to your car again, but not before catching sight of a woman bringing groceries up her driveway and towards her own house.    “Um, excuse me.”   She turns at your voice, brows lifted.   “Do you happen to know who lives there?” You point to what was once your home.   But unfortunately, she shakes her head. “Sorry, I don’t. I know that house has been sold a few times and the owners have recently changed again.”   “Oh. Thank you.”   It’s hard to leave the house behind you, but you keep your foot on the gas pedal and drive, never glancing out the rear-view mirror in fear of bursting into tears again.   You still have more questions than answers, so your next destination becomes downtown where Taehyung’s engineering firm is. The two of you had met in school, back when you were awkward and chasing after your ambitions of being a chemical engineer like your aunt while for him, he wanted to take his childhood lego dreams to the max and become a civil engineer.   Your neck hurts to look at the top of the skyscraper, the many windows reflecting the bright sunlight into your eyes and blinding your vision. If there was any place where you could find Taehyung, it would be here.    It’s his dream job. What he had wanted for so long and legitimately cried when he found out he got a position at. You remember that day, how proud you felt of him for achieving such a goal.   But when you approach the receptionist at the lobby’s desk, her response only fires the confusion further.   “Sorry. We don’t have a Kim Taehyung working here. Are you sure you’re not mistaken?”   You miss him. And you wonder at what point, he wasn’t a part of your life anymore.   //   In an attempt to find Taehyung, you contact your friends and work your way down your list of contacts on your phone. They’re happy to hear from you, some even knowing about your accident and asking if you’re alright.    But when you ask about Taehyung, they tell you that they haven’t spoken to him since the divorce. That they’ve lost contact. That the months leading up to it, the two of you were distant from them and they’re unsure of the reasons for what had happened. It was frankly unexpected.   “You always told me it wasn’t any of my business, dear,” your mother says over the phone. “You actually got quite upset when I asked, so after a while I didn’t anymore. Do you want to talk to your dad? He’s watching the news right now.”   “No.” You press your temples, holding in your sigh. “It’s fine.”   Frustration overwhelms you.    No matter where you turn, you can’t seem to get the reasons for yourself.   You can’t find him.   “Is the take out okay?”   At once, you’re snapped out of your thoughts and you lift your head to meet kind, cat-like eyes staring at you.    “It’s good,” you try to smile and nod.   He seems to sense how disconnected you are. “I’ll learn how to cook. I know you like carbonara, so maybe I can find a recipe this weekend and try to make it, so we don’t have to eat out all the time.”   You stare at the man across from you.   How tired he seems, his dark hair shagging in front of his forehead, his downcast head facing his food as his fork scrapes against the bottom container, never quite taking a full bite. Yet whenever your eyes meet, his plump lips always tugs into a small smile and his eyes crinkle.   “I’m sorry.”   Yoongi’s brows lift at the sudden apology. “What for?”   “For not remembering you.” Even if Min Yoongi is a stranger, you can feel how intimate the pair of you used to be by the photographs you’ve seen, by the way he still regards you. You feel guilty for not being able to return his affections.   “It’s fine. It’ll come back with time, right? Don’t stress out about it too much. It won’t do you any good.”   “Yoongi.” You have his attention by the way you say his name like he hasn’t heard it uttered from your lips in quite a while. “I went searching for my...ex-husband today.”   It’s foreign to call Taehyung that. It’s unsettling and makes you uncomfortable.   But your eyes never divert from Yoongi’s. “I need answers.”   “I know,” he murmurs in a low voice, still playing with his food. As intimidating as he might appear on the surface, you’re quickly learning how considerate and soft-spoken he really is. “And I want you too. I don’t want you to have any regrets. I want you to know you’ve made the right choice by being with me.”   Your heart squeezes at his thoughtful nature and you sigh lightly before stuffing your mouth with some of the noodles, trying to alleviate the tension. “You’re a good man, Yoongi.”   He chuckles, gummy smile emerging for the first time that you can recall. “Maybe that’s why you chose me in the first place.”   //   The avenue is nostalgic, a street that you and Taehyung spent many dates at with its cheap street food and cute stores. And when you were both working, it was the halfway point between your workplaces and where you’d meet to have lunch on those special occasions. A few things have altered from when you remembered them, the stationery shop closed and that ice-cream parlor changed into a pancake café instead. But for the most part, it remains the same.   You aren’t sure what you’re doing here.    Of all your ways and methods in searching for Taehyung, even you know that it’s unlikely you’ll find him on a Tuesday morning at such an obscure location. But it’s where you’re drawn too, where your body told you to go and your mind followed.   Otherwise, you’re not sure what to do anymore or how you should contact him. You wonder if it’s too drastic to drive hours away to visit his mom on the off chance that she’s still living in the same place after four years. If she moved, the journey would be for nothing. But even then, if you somehow found him and reached out, would he even be willing to talk to you?   A sigh escapes your parted lips. You tilt your head up to the sky, wondering where on earth he is. And in your reverie, you fail to notice the strapping brunette humming to the music he’s listening to. Not until your shoulder collides with his as he’s walking the opposite way.    But instead of an apology spilling from your mouth, you’re interrupted by a call of your name—   “Y/N?”   It's shock that has taken hold of his expression. His hand rips out his earphones and the loud music becomes silenced from his world. With the way he looks at you, it would be like he’s seen a ghost. A stranger from his past.    In your mind, it’s only been a week since you’ve seen him. And you’ve been missing him so much.   On sheer instinct, you wrap your hand around his wrist, afraid to let go. “Taehyung.”   //   It’s awkward, the stiff air almost suffocating your lungs. You’re sure that the first date wasn’t even as bad as this. But you don’t mind whatsoever, even if he’s shifting uncomfortably at the intent way you stare and how it makes him break out into a sweat. Even if Taehyung hates you now, as long as you can see him like this, it’s enough to bear.   Taehyung clears his throat, diverting his vision elsewhere. “So….you look like you’ve been well.”   “Not really,” you murmur.   Taehyung is still a man of intense habit. His drink order hasn’t changed, a cappuccino with extra whipped cream and chocolate shavings. At the same exact coffee shop since you were dating. And he’s taken the same table in the corner of the shop too, the spot of your many study dates.    It’s these habits that have led you back to him.   “I heard you weren’t working at the engineering firm anymore,” you say after another tense pause.   Taehyung’s brows curiously raise. “I haven’t been working there in years. You knew about it.”   “Did I?”   He’s wary that you can’t recall. “Yeah….”   “What are you doing now?”   “I’m in animation.”   Your eyes widen, surprised. “I never knew you could animate— well, I knew you could draw, but you never even watched much animation.”   Taehyung shrugs. “It’s a good fit. I didn’t know I’d like it either until I tried.”   Your expression softens, a tender smile pulling into your cheeks. Taehyung’s gotten older but in a refined way. His hair is back to its natural colour, a few wrinkles set into his skin but his features are sharper and less rounded and boyish. He seems less mischievous and irresponsible too, a little more mature and quiet. Or maybe he’s reserved because you’re his ex-wife.    The thought makes you nauseous.   He sips his drink. “So...what have you been doing?”    “Not great. I recently got into an accident, Taehyung.” That seems to grab his attention and his eyes become rounded while you brace yourself. “Apparently I fell down a flight of stairs at the subway station and I was in a coma for three days.”   “Oh shit. That...must’ve sucked. I...I’m sorry to hear that.”    “I’m fine now.” You pause, clear your throat. “But the last thing I remember is us, Taehyung. We were planning to spend the night at the new house and we got hit by that car…”   “I remember.” He nods slowly and murmurs, “But the accident wasn’t that bad, Y/N. We were only bumped.”   “I don’t remember that,” you tell, earnest eyes connected with his that makes him believe you. Even after all this time apart, Taehyung can still tell when you’re lying and telling the truth.    Your voice raises in pitch, in frustration and exasperation. “And...and I’m trying to understand how this happened. I’m trying to understand how we…..how we ended up divorced.”   Taehyung’s brows furrow and he fiddles with the paper cup. “What’s there to tell? We fell out of love.”   “That doesn’t make any sense!” Your shrill voice garners the attention of other patrons, but you don’t pay mind to them. “We got married and were planning to have kids and we just built a house in a new neighbourhood—”   “We lost that house.”   Taehyung doesn’t look at you. His downcast head allows his eyes to stay on the floor. He looks small — shoulders slugging and frame slumped.   “I lost my job and then we lost the house. It went downhill from there and one day, you couldn’t do it anymore and packed your bags. You were the one who divorced me, Y/N.”   You’re stunned, unable to get a single word out at the revelation he’s given you. An answer to your questions that you had never expected. That you didn’t want to hear.   Taehyung’s eyes are saddened and he never once meets your gaze. “You’ll remember sooner or later. I’m sorry this happened to you, Y/N. I really am. But it was still nice to see you.”   He gets up before you can protest, leaving as fast as he came into your life again.   //   Yoongi arrives home visibly tired, his hair in a disarray and his navy workwear stained with oil and grease. Still, he greets you with a warm, sleepy smile that you still aren’t used to.   “I saw my ex today,” you tell him during dinner, breaking the silence by deciding to be open and honest. It at least alleviates some of the guilt weighing on your chest. “I found him coincidentally.”   Yoongi’s eyes flicker up, peeking at you. “How did it go?”   “It didn’t help. I’m still confused.” You can’t understand why you would ever leave him, even if you lost the house and he lost his job. It didn’t make any sense. “Do you know anything about the divorce, Yoongi? Did I….ever tell you anything?”   “You told me that he was pathetic,” he informs but without any malice like he’s simply stating facts. “He was unemployed for two years and didn’t get off his ass to find a job. Hey, your words, not mine.”   The corner of your mouth curls even when you’re still stupefied.   “Are you alright, Y/N?”   An exhale leaves your lips. “I’m not sure.”   That night, you find another box in the closet while alone in the bedroom. There are pictures of you and Taehyung from when you were younger and just friends, small mementos like movie tickets and keychains won at arcades while you were dating, and photographs of the wedding day, the two of you with enormous smiles and swollen cheeks.   But they’re buried underneath your belongings with Yoongi.   //   His expression is one of repulsion, like he bit into a lemon or something bitter. But you don’t pay any attention to it.   “What are you doing here?” Taehyung is incredulous to see you in the morning, standing in the same café as if you own the place.   “I’ve been waiting since eight,” you complain and he repeats his question with increasing skepticism. You suppose it’s not everyday your ex-wife is waiting to run into you, so you don’t blame him for his apprehension. “I’m trying to understand how the two of us got divorced. I know this is probably really weird since for you, I’ve shown out of nowhere after two years.”   “You think?”   You ignore his playful quip. “But for me, my last memory is still going on that date night and getting into that car accident.”   Before Taehyung can utter a word, the barista is calling him as the next person in line. “Can I get—”   A cappuccino with extra whipped cream and chocolate shavings.   “A cappuccino with extra whipped cream and chocolate shavings,” he says without missing a beat and your mouth tugs into a smile. Lots of things may have changed in the time that you no longer remember, but the fact of how constant he is comforts you greatly.    You wait with Taehyung at the counter, feeling his eyes glancing at you every so often. When your eyes meet, he realizes he’s been caught staring.    “Once I remember again and make sense of the situation, I’ll leave you alone,” you say even if it hurts, but the last thing you want is to be burdensome to Taehyung. “I just want to understand and get over it and move on like you have.”   Taehyung sighs, never saying a word.   He picks up his drink and you follow along with him, quietly as to not disrupt the comfortable silence between the both of you.   He walks down the street and enters the modest grocery store, beelining to the deli to pick up a ham sub. But he notices your quirked brow. “What?”   “No.” You shake your head. “Just reminds me of uni. You used to eat those too. Same brand and everything.”   The man scoffs lightly, but he knows. You’ve pointed it out to him many times in the past that he has a tendency to stick to specific habits — the odd quirks that you once said you loved about him.    “Like what?” he had once asked when you mentioned it.   “Like you always put your beverages on your left side and you chug half a glass of water before going to bed and you always close the entire toilet when you’re done going to the bathroom and you have the same brand of cereal every morning and after you sneeze, you always scratch your nose every time,” you had said in the midst of giggles and then lifted yourself up to plant a kiss on his cheek. “Don’t worry. They’re cute and it’s part of why I love you.”   The two of you walk together down the street. The early morning air is crisp and chilly, slightly nipping at his nose. He grips his drink still steaming to warm his hand and Taehyung can’t help stealing a glance at you, wondering if you’re cold too.   “How’d you get started into animation?”   “Huh? Oh. Well, if you really want to know then after you packed your bags and dumped me, it was a pretty good wake up call.” Taehyung laughs as if he’s recalling a funny memory, but then his expression softens, touched with sorrow. “I decided to get myself picked back up and get a job. They liked my personality enough at the interview to give me a chance. At first I didn’t know what I was doing, but I learned and I like it a lot.”   He turns his head when your silence is prolonged.    But his eyes widen when he finds your tender smile. “I’m happy for you, Taehyung.”   And you really are — even in spite of him not technically being a part of your life anymore.   //   The next day, Taehyung is not any more impressed to see you there at the café.    You enthusiastically smile and wave at him. And when the barista calls the two of you in the line, you have no hesitation. “Can I get a cappuccino with extra whipped cream and chocolate shavings? And just an iced americano for me.”   Taehyung eyes you when you pay and stroll to the other counter to wait. “Don’t you have a job to go to?”   “I’m still technically in recovery and it’s not like I can work if my head’s a mess.”   Taehyung scoffs lightly. “What do you want to know this time?”   He can tell by the look in your eye that there are questions on the tip of your tongue. And when you take out a whole laundry list like it’s things you need to buy at a grocery store, a rectangular grin plasters on his face. Taehyung wouldn’t expect any less of you.    “Hey, I was thinking about it all night, alright? I was afraid I was going to forget so I wrote it down.”   He leans over to look at the list but you move away. “Don’t peek.”   “Okay, okay.” He laughs and gestures for you to start.   “First question. What did I say before I left?” You look at him, eyes meeting his. “What were my exact reasons for the divorce?”   He hums a low note, staring off into the distance. “I don’t remember well. You called me a motherfucker though,” Taehyung chuckles and becomes solemn. “Probably something along the lines that I’ve stopped trying and that you were leaving. There was a lot of crying and screaming. I…..don’t really like to think about it.”   There’s a pause and you clear your throat, paper in your hand crinkling and forgotten.   “Why didn’t you ever do anything to stop it?”   A sigh leaves his lips and he runs his hand through his hair. “I don’t know. Maybe because I’m an idiot. But it’s not like I could’ve forced you to stay with me.”   “I’m sure if you had said something, I would’ve stayed.”   Taehyung’s smile is meek and sad, not at all like how it usually is. You wonder just how much you hurt him, how much you hurt each other. “A lot can happen in two years, Y/N.”   A lot can happen in the two years they were apart too.   “Have you been seeing anyone?”   “No. I haven’t,” he says.    It’s a question that tumbled out of you, one not on the list.   //   The evening comes and you hear the front door open and shut. Immediately, you call out from the kitchen, “Hey!”   Yoongi emerges from the hall with another tired smile. “Hey.”   “I got takeout for us,” you say while heating said food up. “How was work? Busy again?”   “A little.” The man comes closer to see what you’ve bought but before he’s able to assess, he mindlessly leans in and plants a soft kiss against your cheek. You instantaneously freeze, the muscles in your body becoming rigid and tense, and Yoongi realizes. “I’m sorry. It’s a bad habit.”   He pulls away, disheartened and guilt wells up in your throat. “It’s okay.”   Yoongi nods and he shrugs off his coat, walking back towards the hall to hang it up, but you stop him before your conscience can berate you, before you hurt him further—   “I saw him again. This morning.”   He halts. He stands still as you watch his backside.   The both of you know who you’re referring to.   “How was it?” Yoongi inquires hesitantly as if he’s not sure if he even should.    “It was good,” you murmur. “I got a few more answers.”   His head turns, the black strands of his hair sweeping against his forehead. Yoongi’s gentle eyes are glossed over, his tone low and husky as he quietly asks, “Can’t you get answers without seeing him?”   “I…..I’m sorry, Yoongi.”   You divert your vision, but from the corner, you can see the way his mouth curls gingerly.   “It’s okay.”   But you know that it isn’t. It’s unfair to him to wait for your memories to return, for you to continuously see someone of your past as he waits for you to come to love him as you once did.   The man retreats into the darkness and you feel guilt overwhelm you.   //   When Taehyung wakes up, does his daily routine and heads to the café, he opens the door and expects to see you. Standing there, waiting for him as if you were the owner or a barista working full time.   “Are you sure you’re not healthy enough to go back to work?” He grins, brows lifted and almost impressed at how adamant you are.   “No.” You loll your head to the side. “I’m still feeling tired.”   Taehyung scoffs lightly, noting that you always show up earlier than he does. “Tired, huh?”   “You must be tired too. Your shirt is inside out.”   “What?” His line of sight follows to where you’re pointing and Taehyung looks down to see that his shirt is indeed inside out. He groans in embarrassment as you laugh.   “Did you not notice?”   He doesn’t answer, grabbing his drink from the counter once the barista calls his name and he books it out of the shop. But not without you following behind him and still giggling.   “Are you sulking?” You quickly catch up to him and quirk your head almost to his shoulder. “I’m just teasing, Tae. It’s not that noticeable.”   “You noticed it.”   “Well I’ve always noticed everything about you.”   He clicks his tongue in feigned annoyance and stops, making you halt on your heels. “Don’t flirt with me, woman. Didn’t you say you were seeing someone?”   You scoff, continuing to walk and this time, he’s the one who follows after you. “Who says I’m flirting with you? I think you’re terribly mistaken and quite frankly, full of yourself.”   Taehyung grins. “It’s not my fault I was born this handsome and have so many people regularly flirting with me.”   “Uh-huh. You’re beginning to sound like Seokjin.”   “He’s not half as handsome as I am.”   You burst out laughing, knowing that your old friend would probably throw a fit if Taehyung openly fought him for the position of most handsome in your group of friends. “I beg to differ.”   “Then why didn’t you marry him back then?”   “Should’ve,” you sing-song much to Taehyung’s chagrin.   The pair of you stop in front of his building, the destination of every morning journey. You know this is where you’ll have to leave him off and see him again tomorrow, wait for just these ten minutes of conversations and banter. But unusually, Taehyung doesn’t bid you farewell right away. He doesn’t run away with his tail in between his legs, shooting you a playful glare over his shoulder.   Instead, he stops with you and smiles. Taehyung lingers on the sidewalk with you.   “Y/N…” He gazes at you.   Your eyes connect with his warm irises and something lodges in your throat, an emotion that only seems to come with him. “Hmm?”   There’s held silence—   “There’s a bug in your hair.”   “What?!”   His palm slaps your forehead before you can flail, not enough for it to hurt, but enough that you’re stunned. You lift your hand to rub the spot and at the same time, a rectangular grin spreads into his face. Taehyung laughs childishly. “Kidding.”   “Are you five years old?!” you shout but it only eggs him on more.   “Sorry, sorry.” He bats your hand away and his fingers come to rub the spot for you instead. “I’m pretty sure it was your face cream and not a bug.”   The proximity is closed. You can feel his breath against your face, count his thick lashes, draw constellations through the tiny freckles around his nose.   You swallow hard, feeling the heat rise into your cheeks and Taehyung catches it. For a moment, his eyes linger against your lips and yours follows down to the dip of his cupid’s bow to the corner of his mouth. There’s a thick tension between the two of you, a kind of intimacy not found between a pair of old friends on a normal morning. It’s a kind of longing that you recognize in Taehyung’s gaze as it’s similar to your own…   You lean in to close the distance completely. But then Taehyung abruptly pulls away.   His vision is diverted to the ground.   All traces of mischief are gone. His mouth has fallen into a straight line, brows knitted together as if he’s in physical pain. “What are we doing, Y/N?”   He doesn’t wait for a response. Taehyung turns and walks away while the knots in your chest constrict you. But you run after him. You take three strides before he can vanish from your life — like what you found when you woke up in that hospital bed. The thought of that returning is terrifying.   “Taehyung!”   “No!” He turns around to face you, shutting you down before the way you call his name can affect him. You’re taken aback by the hurt etched on his expression. “It took me two years to get over you and even now I’m still not over you,” he declares angrily and your eyes widen. “And then you come out of nowhere to make a mess out of my head, playing these games.”   Your brows furrow, upset at his accusations and you shout back at him, “What games?!”   “I know that the moment you remember again, the moment you get over your stupid fucking amnesia, you’re going to dump me!” Taehyung swallows hard. “You’re going to make me go through all of that again. It’s downright cruel, you dense woman!”   “Don’t call me dense!” Without conscious decision, tears begin to shed down your face and you shake your head. “You know that that isn’t my intention.”   “I know.” Taehyung sighs. “But it’s going to happen anyway.”   The pair of you look at one another and then the doors to the building open. A tall man with dimples comes out and is absolutely bewildered at the ruckus. He’s seemingly familiar with Taehyung, perhaps a colleague of his. “Is something wrong, dude?”   “It’s fine.”   “Who’s this?” the stranger asks curiously, smiling at you.   “She’s my ex-wife.”   The man is caught off guard, eyes becoming rounded. “I didn’t know you were married.”   “Yeah, well, I used to be.” Taehyung peeks at you in a silent farewell and you watch his backside leave.

When Taehyung wakes up, does his daily routine and heads to the café, he opens the door and then his breath catches in his throat. He doesn’t know why disappointment seems to overwhelm him when you’re not there and he wonders since when he expected you to be in the first place — standing there, waiting for him.   He stands in line by himself. Makes his order by himself. Picks up his lunch by himself.    Taehyung walks to work alone.   And every so often, he unconsciously glances to his side and then sighs when he catches himself. He’s not sure why he keeps anticipating you to be with him. Why he allows himself to feel frustrated when he remembers you’re not here.   You’ve become Taehyung’s habit.   And now you’re gone.

There’s a timid knock at the door.   A moment later, it cracks open. “Hey, dinner is ready….” Yoongi’s puzzled to find you standing on a stool, reaching to the top of your closet but he smiles, glad to see you lively again. “What are you doing? Do you need help?”   “It’s okay.” You grab the album you were reaching for and wipe off the layer of dust that covers it. “I just remembered I kept old albums up here. Jeez, it’s so dusty.”   Yoongi’s brow lifts. “You remember?”   You nod, smiling at him. “I do.”   The album is flipped open and you step off the stool to sit on the edge of your bed. Yoongi watches you for a moment and exhales softly. “Well, I’ll leave your food on the table.”   You thank him and he takes his leave, shutting the door.   You guess no matter how bad your relationship with Taehyung got, you never had the heart to throw away or burn the photographs. And you’re glad. The photographs of your wedding day are still in tip-top shape, images showing the pair of you glowing in the sunset with his arms wrapped around you. You remember that wedding dress and that suit of his that had to be tailored twice. You remember being late to the ceremony and having to run with Taehyung who snuck out to see you beforehand even though he wasn’t supposed to...…   There are also photographs of your honeymoon, a vacation to the Caribbean, and another trip of Europe that you went on during your university days. But above all, there are photos of the pair of you in front of the newly built house. Proud and ecstatic. The seashell white home with the dark brown roof and large windows and skylights standing tall behind you two. Ready to house your future.   Some things change but these memories won’t.   //   The sprinklers spritzes across the freshly mowed lawn, a sputtering hiss that leaves a mist in the air. You step up the stone path to the cherry wood door, noticing the golden nameplate under the mailbox, but you don’t dwell. In your haze, your closed fist comes to steadily knock at the door.   It swings open.   Inside, you find someone with warm eyes, brunette hair and a boxy smile. He encapsulates the sunlight itself, so bright that it’s hard to discern who exactly it is. But you feel like you know. Like you had known before you even knocked and the door opened.   The man calls your name.   And you’re shaken awake from the beautiful dream. And you wake to an empty bedside, tears welling up in your eyes. It’s the middle of the night, darkness surrounding you and weighing heavily against your body. But you fight against it and rip the covers off of your body, grabbing a cardigan off your chair and rushing down the hall.   Yoongi is stirred from the noise and gets up from the couch.    “Where are you going?” he asks in a husky voice, running a hand through his hair that’s sticking in all directions. But the sleepiness leaves the man as he watches you shake your head, struggling to put on your shoes with tears in your eyes.   “I-I need to go, Yoongi.”   But for the first time, he reaches out.    Yoongi’s hand clasps around your wrist to stop you, having an inkling that you might never return. “I won’t let you.” His foot is finally placed down, but the decision has long been made.   “I’m sorry, Yoongi.”   “Don’t say that,” he desperately pleads.   “But I am. It’s unfair to you. That I’ve treated you this badly while all you’ve ever been is patient and considerate and understanding. But I don’t want you to wait for me anymore.”   “You’re not going back to your asshole of an ex-husband. He was horrible to you.”   “Yoongi, what do you expect me to do?” It’s a genuine question that you ask. You’re at a loss and the words choke out of you, but you had these feelings the moment you had awoken in that hospital bed. “I love him.”   The pause draws on and you lower your gaze.   “It’s not fair for you to wait for me to love you instead. I’m in love with Taehyung.”   Yet in spite of your words, Yoongi still pulls you into him. He wraps his arms around you and squeezes you tight as if you might vanish between his fingertips. You come to realize that you never gave Yoongi a chance to express his love to you — you never kissed him or held him despite how long he waited.   You feel him tremble against you. The man who you had woken to presses his face to your shoulder, his quiet tears staining your thin clothing. You return his hug, arms lifted around his torso and grasping him close. You remember who he is. You know well.   He’s Min Yoongi, the man who you loved.   After a moment, he releases you. “Go.”   You nod. “I’ll always be thankful to you, Yoongi. More than you’ll realize.”   //   The car door slams shut.   You cross the street, approaching the house that still stands tall on the quiet suburban street illuminated by lamp posts. You’re not sure what you’re doing here at this time of night and you know you’ll just be disheartened when you see another family inside, living in the space that was meant for you and Taehyung. But you needed to see it.   It’s your home. What you made with Taehyung. Physical proof of your planned devotion to one another.   The house is dark and you assume that the people inside are long asleep. So you take a moment to gaze at it, heart aching inside your chest, and after ten minutes, you turn to walk away and leave your home behind. But then a car drives down the road. It’s a modest vehicle and as you wait for it to pass to cross the street, it instead pulls into the driveway of the house.   The headlights turn off. The engine dies. The car door opens.   And you freeze, watching the person emerge.   “Taehyung?!”   The strapping brunette man is unmistakable. He’s dressed in his work clothes, casual sweater and black trousers, his leather crossbody bag slung across his torso. He looks tired from what you can see with the glow of the many street lights, his hair messy and eyes weary. But he still has the energy to be shocked at your sudden presence.    Shocked as if he’s been caught in the act. “What are you doing here?”   You speak on an exhale. “Y-You bought the house back again?”   He bought it after the two of you lost it. Even when there’s no reason to.   Not unless it still holds sentimental value. Not unless the memories held in there were ones he still cherishes. Not unless he still loves you.   Taehyung murmurs your name, “Y/N…”   You run to him, closing the distance, throwing your arms around his neck. And you kiss the silly man breathlessly, pressing your mouth against his and swallowing the groan that leaves his lungs. His arms wrap around your back, holding you close and quickly reciprocating. His head tilts and his tongue slips into your mouth, drawing noises out of you like when you were young and still exploring one another.   But it’s a kiss of sadness and longing — yet still sweet even after so much time has passed.   After a handful of seconds, Taehyung pulls away.   “W-What are we doing?” He shakes his head, letting go of you.   But you grab hold of his hand. “I still love you, Taehyung. I love you.”   His earnest eyes search yours. “How….how do I know you won’t just remember why you wanted to leave me. How do I know it won’t happen all over again? We’re still the same people, Y/N. It didn’t work once.”    “I don’t care,” you spit at him desperately. “To me, it feels like it was until yesterday that we were still married and in love. And right now, right now I still love you, Taehyung. I miss you. I don’t care what happened, that you lost your job, lost the house and started to feel bad about yourself and gave up on us.”    Taehyung’s eyes are rounded and his lips part. “You….remember?”   You nod. “I have gradually for a while now.”   Bits and pieces had fallen together the longer you spent with him, the more you looked at pictures and mementos, and searched your memories. They were loose puzzle pieces, moments of time, until you fit them together to create a whole picture. To finally understand why things happened the way they did.   And you can finally recall the downward spiral of Taehyung all those years ago. How he abruptly got laid off, losing his dream job that he had worked so hard to obtain, how the two of you lost the house when your sole income was no longer enough and how depressed he became about losing that home. How he sat at his desk for two years in the dark, playing games and wasting time, giving up on searching for a job and refusing to get himself help in his poor mental state.   You remember how he ignored you until you felt like his mother and couldn’t take it anymore. How he pushed your sanity enough that you had to walk away before you were damaged.    But in spite of all that has happened…   “I still love you.”   He’s an absolute shit, but you love him.   Without being able to blink, Taehyung tugs you in by your waist and he presses his lips against yours, holding you close to him. You smile against his mouth before your hands lift to cup his cheeks, cradling his face as he deepens the kiss. It’s desperate, hungering to make up for lost time, fulfilling the yearning that has dwelled between the pair of you each time you spoke.   Taehyung kisses you like he’s missed you more and the pair of you barely manage to break apart to stumble into the house.   “I can’t believe you bought this place back.” It’s a whirlwind, nostalgia slamming into you as you step into the foyer. You’re overwhelmed with emotion, feeling a staggering urge to start crying.   “Had to do a lot of negotiating, but I did it,” he murmurs proudly, happy to show you how he’s picked himself up, how he found another passion and followed the path, that he’s no longer so pathetic. “All on my own too.”   “Taehyung…”   He kisses you again, less gentle than before. He’s merciless, hands placed on your hips and your back arches into him until the force of his body causes the two of you to fall backwards onto the floor. Taehyung catches your head so that it never hurts and he hovers over you, leg between your knees while he peels off his coat.    “I’m sorry,” he says softly, gazing into your eyes. “I never got to tell you that. I’m sorry for hurting you.”   You nod, grasping at his forearms that’s next to your head and he takes the opportunity to lean down. Taehyung lay pecks against your cheek until he moves his way down to suck bruising kisses into your neck. You cry his name, writhing against him as he palms your breast and leaves his marks all over you.   Taehyung eats you out on the cool tiled floors of the foyer entrance, filling the house with obscene sounds that make you embarrassed. But you can’t complain, not when you’re sobbing his name and your fingers are sinking into his hair.   You end up cumming all over his swollen lips and chin, and you bat at him when he grins and says it’s delicious. Before Taehyung can completely ruin the mood, you grab him and with little warning, his cock sinks into your cunt, head poking right at the entrance of your cervix. You feel full and he begins to pound into you, satisfying that itch you’ve had for so long.   Taehyung makes you look at him the entire time and as you hold him, it hits you just how much you missed him. Tears leak from your eyes and it only eggs him on to be rougher. His fingers sink into the meat of your thigh and his mouth leaves hickeys down the valley of your breasts to admire later. You cum again and then he presses his pelvis into yours and cums in you as well, painting your walls in white.   Despite being sweaty and sticky, Taehyung kisses you again and the two of you hold one another. He’s sweet and affectionate until he starts to push his cum back into you with his fingers when you begin to leak.   “Now you’re not even trying to hide the fact you want me to get pregnant.”   The man mischievously grins. “Last I checked, it was yesterday that we wanted kids.”   You burst out laughing, unable to argue with that but…. “We’re not even married anymore. What would your mom think?”   “She would probably cry tears of happiness if she knew we were together again. And marriage…” He interlaces his hands with yours. “We could make it happen again. If you want.”   You nod. “I do.”

It’s another chance. Another do over.   You wonder if you had never lost your memories and tried to chase them down, if you would’ve ever reached out to Taehyung again and reignite the spark between the two of you. Had you not found him again, you wonder if you would’ve known that he’s picked himself again and returned to the man you fell in love with. It’s hard to say but those things are yesterday’s problems.   Today, you look towards the future.   “Wake up, sleepy head.”   On any other day, you might kick him in the knee for waking you up on a weekend, but it’s been so long that you don’t mind whatsoever. Taehyung’s mischief is world’s better than waking up to an empty bedside or to someone you can’t genuinely love as much.   “Ugh.” You open your eyes and immediately slap a palm against his mouth. “Don’t kiss me. Morning breath.”   Taehyung peels your hand off, grins and smooches you anyway. You laugh and quickly reciprocate.   When it’s all done and over, he snuggles into you. “You know…” You’re wrapped in each other’s arms and you slowly blink awake, glad that you’ve finally woken up with him beside you. “...those brown walls in this room are going to have to change.”   Taehyung laughs. “Happily.”   There’s nothing been more certain of. You want to spend tomorrow with Taehyung and the day after that and the day after that.   Until eternity.

Emergency! Part 2

Part 2 – Accidents

Summary: Dean and Cas of Squad 51 discover Dr. Kline involved in a car accident. The car accident killed another driver involved, but orphans the daughter. The Reader has to cancel her and Dean’s date night for her to go into work. Squad 51 is on the rescue again, a house fire. The night begins to calm down, Dean is off finally and heads to the reader’s house for much needed R n R.

Warnings: Smut (P in V, Protected and Unprotected sex (always use a condom)), Language, Dirty talk, Car accidents, scary situations, mild angst, fluff

Word Count: 1,925

Mobile Masterlist

Emergency! Masterlist

a/n: The timing of these is not a daily event, it can bee weeks/months apart. Sadly, I’m jumping it ahead, I just don’t know how far ahead. Joys of me being creative.

~

They sat on his couch, starting out watching Netflix. Then it turned into a make out session.

Their lips danced with one another, their tongues gliding across one another.

Her hands guided down his chest and stomach.

The mere contact caused a moan to escape his throat to which she swallowed down.

They pulled away finally for air, their lips plump and swollen.

“If we keep this up, I’m not gonna last.”

“Neither am I, Dean. I’m getting to the point I want you in me, and fuck me so hard…”

His lips crashed into hers once again, only kissing her harshly quick. He pulled away.

“Keep talking dirty like that sweetheart, and maybe I will.” He growled.

“Fuck me Dean, I want you in me, now.”

He picked her up, kissing her again. Her legs wrapped around his middle as he carried her to his room.

“As you wish sweetheart.” He says between kisses.

 Jack Kline, one of Rampart Emergency hospital’s youngest doctors. He does specialize in surgeries, baby deliveries, and even orthopedics. He does a little of everything at the hospital.

He drove down a residential street to get to work. He approached a four way stop. The intersection was pretty empty. He was the only one there. He looked both ways, despite cars parked on the curbs, and the summer season with the trees low branches fully bloomed of vibrant green leaves, he could see no car coming down from either direction. Determining it clear, he slowly accelerates. Only to be hit on the passenger side, the impact hard enough to knock him out.

 Dean slowly pulled out of her, her legs trembling from the sheer force of her climax slowly calming down.

“You okay sweetheart?” Dean asked.

“Oh yeah. More than okay.” She hums.

He smiles, and works out of the used condom to throw it away.

He heard her phone vibrate on the nightstand next to them.

She groaned.

“I got it for you.” He says. Getting up to get it. He hit answer.

“Y/N Y/L/N’s phone, Dean speaking.” He answered.

“Hi, my name is Dr. Singer, tell Ms. Y/L/N we need her to come in if possible.”

“Sure thing, I’ll let her know.”

The phone call ended quickly.

“Work?” she asked.

“Yeah, Dr. Singer, they need you to come in.”

“He didn’t say why?”

“No, because I’m not you.”

“Well, I’ll shower really quick and then I better go.”

 She gone into work, heading for Bobby’s office.

“What’s up Bobby?” she asked walking in.

“I called you in here because, one someone called in and two…Jack was involved in a car accident.”

“How is he?”

“Just some bumps, bruises, minor cuts. Nothing major. But the other car, the driver died on the scene, and orphaned a seven-year-old girl.”

“Does he know?”

“He doesn’t. I almost don’t want to tell him because he will beat himself up over it.”

“We all beat ourselves up over loss. It’s normal. But he needs to know the accident wasn’t his fault. My brother’s a cop, he said the accident wasn’t his fault. That driver ran a stop sign and caused a chain reaction.”

“Still, you know how Dr. Kline can be.”

She nods.

“Now, your just doing Nurse Ruby’s 6am-6pm shift. She was scheduled to be in the ICU working the Eastern halls, you better head up there.”

“Will do, see you later.”

Bobby waves her off with a kind smile.

 Back at Station 51 the very next day, Dean came in at his usual time. So far a quiet morning.

“So how are you settling at the new place Cas?”

“It’s great, closer to the station, it has extra room. My neighbors are pretty friendly. One of them, Meg, she happens to work with Y/N at the hospital.”

“Wow, small world.”

“Yeah. How about you? How’d your date with Y/N go last night?”

“She had to go into work, a nurse called in. She called me on her break letting me know that. But the date went well.”

“Think there’ll be another date for you guys?”

“She and I are planning on seeing a movie tomorrow night since I’m off two days.”

“You two, I swear are meant to be.”

“We’ve only had two dates Cas, slow down.” Dean chuckled.

The stations alarm going off.

“Station 51, Squad 51, Station 64 Squad 64, and station 72, structure fire. 623 North Lions street.” Said over the alarm’s intercom.

“Here we go, another one.” Cas says, jumping into action, running to the squad truck.

“Another one.” Dean says. Getting in the driver seat roaring the engine to life and everyone in the station left to the location.

 “Jack, it was not your fault.” Bobby tried to soothe the young doctor.

“But a girl is orphaned because of me.”

“Because of her dad driving recklessly. You didn’t do anything wrong.” Y/N pitched in. “My brother said he ran a stop sign according to eyewitnesses in the area. He was speeding, and ran a stop sign.”

“We can fix wounds as if they were nothing. But how can we fix this? How can I fix this?”

“You’re not gonna let this go are you?” Bobby groaned.

“Not until I know someone can take care of this girl.”

“I’ll go make calls, you go home Kline, you need to rest.” Bobby insisted firmly.

“But—”

“Jack, go home. We got this.” Y/N says.

“Fine, just, call me. Keep me in the loop. Please.”

“We will, no go home and rest man.” Y/N says as Bobby left the office.

Jack left with a slump in his shoulders, as he walked back out of the hospital to take a cab home.

“Who told him? I knew this would happen if he found out.” Bobby asked.

“Think it was Abaddon. Don’t think she was thinking it through, as always.”

“How’d she find out in the first place?”

“She stood outside your office when I saw you the other day. My guess she overheard.”

“I’m gonna have a talk with her, she needs to watch it, or it could lead to major HIPPA Violations.”

“Alright, well, my shift is technically over, and my three day weekend starts. Need me for anything before I go?”

“No, go home, rest up. have a great weekend.”

“Bye Bobby, see you Monday.”

But she couldn’t make it out the door fast enough when a squad brought in a familiar face.

“Cas?!”

“We had a fire, a back draft shot him across the property.”

“What are his vitals?” she asked, kicking back into nurse mode.

“BP 130 over 85, breathing labored and shallow,” Dean began reading off of his chart. “Head injury sustained, pupils uneven and dilated.”

The emergency medical staff managed to cut Cas out of his clothes. And she saw a bruise right around his ribs.

“Possible broken ribs, get him x-rayed, and lets get other scans to find any bleeding. Especially of his head. Stat, go.” Y/N ordered.

The medical team taking Cas to radiology to get scans necessary to find anything else wrong so they can work on fixing him up.

Y/N turned her attention to Dean.

“Dean, are you okay?”

“He knocked me out of the way, Gabe opened a door, we thought the fire was under control. And he knocked me out of the way just as the backdraft happened.”

“Dean, he’s fine. Just banged up. It could have been worse, but it’s not. He’s fine.”

“Son,” John says, tearing the couple’s attention.

He saw Dean’s distraught expression as his son turned to face him.

“Y/N, can you take him home. I can have Michael drive the squad back to the station. But I don’t want him alone tonight.”

She nods. “I can do that Mr. Winchester.”

“Please, call me John. And thank you.”

She managed to guide Dean to her car, and she drove them to Dean’s house.

 “Jack, I have good news.” Bobby says.

“What’s that?”

“That girl, she has an aunt that lives up north. She’s coming down to pick up her niece. She got full custody of her yesterday.”

“That’s good, at least she has family to take care of her.”

“It is.”

“’Scuse me.” A sweet girl’s voice was heard behind the doctors.

“Hi sweetie, how are you doing?”

“Good, I heard I’m gonna live with my aunt. I’m just so happy and I just want to say thank you.”

“Thank you? Really?” Jack asked.

“Yes, my dad wasn’t a good dad. He was mad at me for getting an D on my report card, he hit me a few times and we were going home.”

“Did everyone in your family know your dad abused you like that?”

“Yes, my aunt always threatened to take me away from daddy if he hit me again or hurt me again.”

“Then I’m glad to know you’re going to be safe from here on out.” Jack says with a smile.

The girl smiles back and gives the young doctor a hug.

“Thank you again doctor.” She says sweetly.

“It’s no problem sweetheart.”

 Just as Y/N and Dean turned in for the night, Dean lied down flat on his back, staring blankly at the ceiling.

“Dean,” she says quietly. “You okay?”

“That could have been me.” He says just above a whisper.

“But it wasn’t, and you know he’s going to be fine. Meg updated me and Cas is going to be okay.”

He nods.

She turned towards Dean, kissing him on his cheek, then down to his jaw line.

He closed his eyes to her giving him this attention.

Just as her lips pulled away, he turned his head to her meeting her lips with his in a sweet kiss.

Their lips moved in perfect sync with each other.

Dean moved, hovering over her, his hips between her legs, humping against her clothed core. Pulling a moan out of her.

“I need you sweetheart.” He says quietly.

“I’m here baby, you’ll always have me.” She says, bringing him down to kiss her more, deepening the kiss.

He worked his boxers off of him, she also worked out of her panties.

He lined at her entrance, and gave her a glance.

“I’m on the pill, you’re good.”

He slowly pushed the head of his half hard cock through her soaking folds until he was fully seated in her.

Their lips meet again in a loving kiss as they slowly moved against each other. His hips guiding him out slightly with each thrust. Hitting her sweet spot with calculated and angled thrusts.

She met up with his slow pace, a thin sheen of sweat building on both of their faces and bodies.

His pace began to speed up just as his breathing picked up as well.

Her hips were beginning to jump out of rhythm.

Their lips pulled away, but only slightly, just ghosting over the surface as their breathing began to pick up faster.

“Dean,” she whined.

“I’m almost there, I got you baby girl.”

With three more thrusts her walls clamped down hard around him, milking him of his release. Their thrusts slowing, getting them through their high.

His hips came to a stop, still fully seating in her as he rested on his elbows, brushing her hair from her sweaty face.

“You okay?” He asked.

“I’m so good, you?”

“Better, now that I’m with you.”

“Get some rest Winchester, I’m not going anywhere.” She says, holding him close. Feeling him relax in her hold as they cuddled.

“I love you, Y/N.”

“I love you too Dean.”

~

Dean Girls:

@pandazombie69, @luci-in-trenchcoats, @supernatural-jackles, @becs-bunker, @evansrogerskitten, @winchesters-favorite-girl, @mlovesstories, @jayankles, @jeaniespiehs20, @akshi8278, @lyarr24, @anotherspnfanfic​, @flamencodiva​, 

~

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Droplets of Lethe, Chapther 2

Well, it’s up late but it’s here - the second chapter of my @do-it-with-style-events mini-Bang fic, Droplet’s of Lethe!

(Though I’m now at over 11k and just getting started, so there’s nothing mini about this mini-fic!)

In this chapter, Crowley begins to look for answers, but must leave Aziraphale alone in the shop to do so...

-- (Excerpt) --

The Bentley roared across the Thames, squeezing down the space between lanes, bypassing cars and buses and the occasional pedestrian. Crowley missed them all, one miraculous escape after another. Nothing would dare get in his way today. He didn’t have time for that.

He held the ring in his fingers, clutching it as tightly as he could.

Already the black tarnish had brushed off, which was good. It meant it probably wasn’t actual Hellfire, which would have destroyed the ring entirely. But there were still many types of fire down in the pits, and a faint scent of sulfur and brimstone hung over the bright gold metal.

It had to be Hell. He didn’t know why they’d come for the angel, but who else could it be? The claw marks all over his wards spoke of multiple attacks, yet Aziraphale hadn’t said anything. Not a word. Any time Crowley had asked, he’d just smiled and said this shop is the safest place in all of London, my dear boy. Stop worrying about me.

He’d almost let himself start to believe it. And now...

Crowley hadn’t really been able to reset the elaborate protections, merely looped the two ends of the wards together. Hoped it would hold. But above that, he’d woven his own protections, and once they were in place, no mortal or supernatural being would be able to see the bookshop until he personally pointed it out.

That was the kind of protection he could count on. Aziraphale might be the Guardian, but Crowley was very good at hiding.

Certainly much better than the demon he was looking for.

South of the Thames and eastward, the winds started to pick up, clouds dotting the sky that hadn’t been visible from Soho. He paused the Bentley at an intersection, cranking down the window to take a deep sniff. Despite the signs of rain, there was a hint of desert in the air.

It had already taken over half an hour to get here - and another ten minutes of driving around that Crowley could not afford - before he finally saw his target, lurking outside a park on an otherwise unremarkable street lined with brownstone townhouses. Dark curls of hair tugged and twisted in the wind, and the playground equipment rattled. Three children who had been clamoring all over the jungle gym clutched for dear life, trying not to fall on their heads, while their mothers pulled sweets out of backpacks for afternoon snacks.

“Oi. Wanker,” Crowley called, jumping out of the Bentley. “Stop creeping around kids’ playgrounds, you get arrested for that these days.”

The other demon turned to him with a smile more like the baring of teeth, showing fangs wide and curved like a lion’s. “Ah, Crawly. Where have you been hiding?”

“Crowley,” he snapped, shoving the demon’s narrow frame back against the fence. For a second, the pointed face seemed to pass through an inky mist, emerging from the other side with different, softer features - straighter hair, rounded chin, wider shoulders. “What the Heaven have you been up to?”

“Oh, you know,” the demon dragged fingertips across Crowley’s arm. They looked like human fingernails, but he could feel the claws tugging at his sleeve. “Chaos. Destruction. Someone has been letting the humans feel content and safe for thousands of years. Time to bring back a little of the old ways, don’t you think?”

“That include attacking angels in their homes?”

“They are the enemy,” the shifter scoffed. “And we are at war.”

“No, we aren’t. There is no war, there was this whole big thing about that. In case you missed it.” Crowley shoved the demon again, causing the fence to rattle and creak under their combined weight. Again, the face dissolved into black shadow, and returned, this time with soft dark eyes and pouting lips. “And I specifically recall telling you lot that he and I are to be left alone.”

“Can’t blame an udug for trying, can you?” The demon slid out of his grasp as easily as water, and moved down the fence, swaying like the wind. “I thought he was supposed to be this big, scary unstoppable warrior. What’s he doing, sending you to make his threats?”

“Like you don’t know.” Crowley clenched his fists, trailing behind. “What did you do?”

“I? Not a thing.” The wind howled again, and the jungle gym rattled, shifted, until one bar broke, leaving a child suddenly dangling, screaming in true fear. “Just as I won’t do a thing to those children over there. Just the work of gravity. I won’t intervene until someone asks me to.”

Crowley watched the mothers rush over to pull the children free, clutching them close, herding them away from danger. “It won’t work, you know,” Crowley grumbled. “Maybe three thousand years ago you could convince them to sell their souls to keep their children safe, but these days? If that thing breaks they sue the company that made it. Write angry letters to the council. And the kid gets to walk around school with a cast for everyone to sign. They don’t need you to protect them.”

“You sound almost proud.” The demon turned again to face Crowley, passing through swirling blackness to emerge looking ten years older, short hair streaked with grey, stubble growing across a square jaw. “We will teach them to fear again.” A cold smile, showing just a hint of fang. “But to more immediate matters, no, I didn’t do anything to your angel, apart from rattle his defenses in the night. Sounds like someone else was more successful.”

“You’re Hell’s new agent in London,” Crowley pointed out, crossing his arms. “If it wasn’t you, you know who did it.”

“Perhaps.” The demon circled around Crowley and sauntered away, ignoring the mothers as they hauled their children back to the bench, checking for injuries. “If you tell me what happened, I’m sure I can...guess.”

“I didn’t come here to play games. Who was it? How did they get in? What did they do?”

(Find out the rest on AO3!)

Adventure Ride

Some pretty big stuff has happened since I last wrote an entry, but for now I’m going to step back to recap a fun ride that I did just before winter hit here.

There’s a great and eclectic group of people that I’ve connected with through the local bike shop, Vermont Bicycle Shop, who are part of the shop’s “adventure club.” It’s not exactly a team, and not exactly a club in the traditional sense, and not exactly anything else.  It’s a somewhat loose collection of people, most of whom hang around the shop fairly frequently, who get together and go on halfway madcap rides that deliberately seek out challenging, weird or nonsensical destinations and routes. The one thing I’ve seen that this ragtag band of cyclists (in the broadest of definitions) all have in common is that bikes are an extension of their identity in one way or another.  Lots of people enjoy cycling; for these folks, the line of distinction between themselves and the bicycle is hard to find.  

I’m the only triathlete in the group, and one of the few with a roadie background, so I amicably bear the brunt of a lot of jokes about aerodynamics and fancy equipment.  I don’t mind.  It’s always good to receive perspective from others, and there’s plenty of opportunity for me to jovially strike back when the mood is right.  

The ride of the day was to be a gravel ride, on dirt roads with quality ranging from “maintained” to what’s known around here as “Class IV.”  To normal people, a Class IV road is something you would normally only see on the Discovery Channel or if you got lost in the woods.  Usually just a vestige of the past and only technically a road, they are swaths of relatively clear space cutting through the remote Vermont forests, littered with rocky glacial remains and leading to places only the hardiest of folk will ever see. To adventure bikers, it just means ‘fun.’

The group gathered at my house, as it was the ideal starting point for this particular loop.  That gave everyone plenty of opportunity to make fun of my brand new Bont triathlon shoes, which I had just gotten fitted since literally tearing the soles off my ancient pair of Garneaus.  Considering it was about 35 deg. F and these shoes are basically open-air slabs of carbon with velcro straps on top (they don’t even have a tongue), they were definitely an unusual choice for the day. They were my only choice, though, apart from putting platform pedals on my bike and wearing hiking boots.  I was too excited to try them out to miss the chance, so I doubled up my socks and stuck some plastic baggies over my toes in between and let the ribbing fly.

We set out, starting on dirt roads and heading further away from civilization as we went.  One of us realized he had a soft tire, but luckily we were riding right by his house so he stopped to swap out his bike (the N+1 rule is widely followed in this group.  I’m an outlier, having a mere two bicycles in my possession). No big deal, and we continued onward.

Some of my favorite parts of the day were when we paused to regroup, and found ourselves in a serene section of the forest, where nobody was around, but there were quiet signs of life if you knew where to look.  A farmer’s field, just through the treeline.  The peripheral lines of a sugarbush down the hill. An abandoned cabin by a pond, once idyllic, now forgotten and reclaimed by the encroaching wilderness.  Artwork on an old barn.

These are the moments that give ‘adventure biking’ its definition for me, personally.  But everyone has their own ideas of what it means, which is part of why it’s such an interesting thing to do.

Our first Class IV section was traversed with great enjoyment, and spilled us back out onto a dive-bombing gravel road that intersected suddenly with a main asphalt town highway.  Brakes were vigorously applied.  Luckily, none failed.

From there, a decision was to be had. Do we continue on the planned route, or do we diverge back into the woods to tackle a serious Class IV section that promised adventure of the hardiest sort, an incredibly technical downhill on terrain that could only be called a ‘road’ if you squinted real hard, were slightly drunk and had never seen a river before?  I had the suspicion that this was the plan of the ride’s organizer (shop owner and mechanic Darren) all along, and that he lured everyone in with the relatively sane route in order to spring the change of tack on them at the fateful moment of divergence.  It wasn’t a far stretch with this group; the decision was all but foregone.  Plus, Darren brought snacks.  So off we went.  To adventure!

Getting to the challenging bit required some more climbing on dirt roads, which was fine by me.  I love climbing, and I love doing it on dirt roads, now that I’m the proud owner of an Orbea Terra, which is basically a carbon frame road bike with almost-all-terrain tires.  I felt great and looked forward to every foot we went up.  

Back into the woods we went, and the challenge was suddenly upon us.  Photographs and videos unfortunately can’t do it justice, and my phone died from the cold before I made it to the bottom, which is where the better perspective would have been provided.  But picture a steep hill in the forest.  Now, make it twice as steep.  Now, rake out all the trees in an 10-foot-wide swath, straight down the hill.  Then erode it with wind and particularly water for about 100 years.  Find all the boulders and rocks under the soil that you can, and leave them there.  Call it a “Class IV” road.  Now get on your bike.

Those riding fat bikes were the only ones to make it down successfully.  The more experienced riders on gravel bikes generally made it about halfway.  Darren made it 3/4 of the way down, displaying excellent bike handling skills, but then missed a line and over he went.  He was certain he’d cracked his frame and damaged his drive train because he landed right on a boulder, but he miraculously evaded consequences.

For my part, I stopped about halfway down and walked.  I knew there was no way I was going to survive the descent without falling, and I didn’t want to break anything - on myself or my bike.  What I hadn’t accounted for was my shoes.  Walking down a mostly-dry glacial riverbed meant I was slipping and stumbling off boulders with every step.  Not exactly the surface a pair of triathlon shoes were meant to walk on.  After I got home later, I photographed the bottoms of my brand new babies and sent the picture to Darren in horror, asking if I had just ruined everything.  Luckily the damage is largely cosmetic.  But I’ll be re-thinking my footwear choices for this kind of ride in the future for sure.

Once we all made it down, across an intersecting stream bed and up a hill on the other side, it was back out onto gravel roads and onward to home.  We had all met a challenge together, survived it and had a blast doing it.  Exactly what an adventure ride is meant to be.

10 Ones to Catch at Coachella 2018

Photo: Courtesy of Coachella

It’s officially that time of the year again. Coachella 2018 is right around the corner, signifying the beginning of festival season -- and what a lineup it is. At the top of the poster, you’ll find some of the biggest names in popular music today -- Beyoncé, The Weeknd, and Eminem lead the charge, but not to be outshined by some living legends and indie darlings. David Bryne, the founding member, principal songwriter, and lead singer and guitarist of seminal art pop, rock band Talking Heads joins Jamiroquai, the definitive band of the ‘90s London’s acid jazz and funk movement, to make Coachella 2018 a festival for the ages. And where would Coachella be without its indie-darlings-turned-cult-favorites, with King Krule, HAIM, Fleet Foxes, The War On Drugs, and St. Vincent rounding out the lineup nicely.

The vast amount of talent on display is immediately apparent, and that’s only touching upon the tip of the iceberg. With over 150 acts making up the Coachella 2018 lineup, where does one possibly start? Well, that’s where we come in. We have handpicked some of the most promising and interesting rising talent that is not to be missed for the nearly 100-thousand music fans who will make their way to the Empire Polo Club in Indio, California. These are 10 Ones To Catch at Coachella 2018. PLUS, follow our Spotify playlist to get pumped at your pregame!

Jorja Smith

Jorja Smith has earned comparisons to legendary figures such as Amy Winehouse and Ms. Lauryn Hill, and one listen makes it clear why. The 19-year-old English rising star began her career making striking and emotive R&B music informed by the political and economic issues that surrounded her upbringing. Every one of Smith’s songs is relentless in the way that it pierces the heart, and we would have had no complaints if Smith solely continued on creating some of the most transcendent R&B in recent memory. However, the last year has showcased just how deep Smith’s level of artistry goes, as she adventures off and experiments with new genres. 2017 was the year that Smith would find herself both featured on Drake’s acclaimed More Life and on the club-ready “On My Mind.” Proving herself as a multi-faceted talent in the last year, Smith is sure not to disappoint when she takes the stage.

Tom Misch

When it comes to eliciting emotion through wonderfully layered instrumentation and soulful vocal stylings, no one does it quite like Tom Misch. Utilizing a DIY approach to song making, Misch creates songs that feel like living, breathing works of arts, each with their own unique stories. The South Londoner originally found inspiration from such seemingly disparate places as J Dilla and John Mayer whose influences can be heard throughout Misch’s music in the way he crafts mesmerizing hip-hop style beats that are never lacking as far as layers of hypnotic bass lines and guitar riffs are concerned. However, to categorize Misch as an artist with a penchant for groovy bass lines and a love for hip-hop is far too simplistic, as his pieces fuse together not only elements of hip-hop but shimmering disco-funk and jazz instrumentation as well. Tom Misch is an act surely not to be missed as he transforms the polo fields into a sonic daydream.

Elohim

Elohim has found herself on our Ones To Catch list before and for good reason. The enigmatic nature surrounding Elohim’s persona is in and of itself highly alluring, as Elohim shrouds herself behind an array of animal masks or her layers of straight black hair. While the mysterious nature surrounding Elohim may serve as the original entry point of fascination for some, her music will surely keep listeners enticed long after the fact. Creating lush and dreamy electro-pop numbers, such as the surprisingly at-home Mariachi instrumentation found in “Hallucinating,” Elohim’s music speaks volumes for the enigmatic figure. This sense of experimentation bleeds over to Elohim’s live show as well, where one is treated with not only an auditory trip but a visual one as well, as computer-generated voices and captivating imagery add another dimension entirely to this not to miss performance.

The Regrettes

One of the biggest regrets you can find yourself agonizing over this post-Coachella season is missing out on The Regrettes. All bad puns aside, The Los Angeles-based punk act is an act to behold for those seeking out an act unmatched in raw, brazen energy and talent. The Regrettes’ style of punk rock is very much informed by the band’s upbringing in sunny Los Angeles, as tracks like “Seashore” with its Beach Boys-style instrumentations bring forth sun-soaked imagery without ever sacrificing the punk sentiments the band is so adept at delivering. For those who said punk was dead, it merely took a new form, in the sun-tinged ‘50s and ‘60s pop-inspired sound of The Regrettes. So, if you’re looking for somewhere to mosh to your heart’s content as some of the infectious punk stylings out there soundtrack the whole experience, then you’ll find yourself overjoyed catching The Regrettes.

Yaeji

Yaeji may have just been the breakout act of last year. Seemingly emerging from nowhere, the 24-year-old Korean-American electronic producer is one of the newest and most exciting voices in house music. Placing herself at the forefront of her own tracks, singing in hushed tones that shift between Korean and English at a moment’s notice, and crafting irresistible bouts of production are a few of the aspects in Yaeji’s repertoire that serve as a testament to why the buzzing house producer is such an intriguing act to follow. Yaeji’s versatility with beat-making is another one of her strongest suits. Tracks like “Therapy” seemingly have more in common with dream pop, yet one can find tracks like “passionfruit” that showcase Yaeji as an artist capable of repurposing a hip-hop hit into a slow-burning dancefloor jam. So, as Yaeji continues to take over dancefloors across the world, from living rooms to warehouses, we can’t wait to watch her add Coachella to her ever-growing list.

Greta Van Fleet

The film Almost Famous is a music lover's classic for a number reasons, one of the reasons being its portrayal of the “death rattle of rock and roll.” Well as anyone who has heard Greta Van Fleet can attest, rock and roll is alive and well. The four-piece rock band emerging from Frankenmuth, Michigan has all the trademark stylings of what makes a great rock band so great. From each song’s anthemic nature, the arena-sized hooks, the earth-shattering vocals, unrestrained guitar solos and riffs, and a frontman who sounds like he was born solely to lead a rock band, Greta Van Fleet has it all. But don’t be fooled, Greta Van Fleet isn’t merely imitators or revivalists. They are hands down innovators breathing new life into rock and roll. Championing the next wave of rock and roll, Greta Van Fleet are bound to turn their Coachella set into a Woodstock-worthy performance.

LÉON

Sweden has served as a wellspring for the most veritable talent in pop music. From Lykke Li, Tove Lo, to Robyn, some of the most memorable acts of recent memory have been a byproduct of Sweden, and LÉON is an artist poised to follow in those very footsteps. LÉON’s music embodies some of the best indie-pop has to offer, crafting spellbinding pop numbers that perfectly capture a lingering sense of melancholy. While a certain air of mysticism surrounds the Swedish-pop sensation, the reasoning behind her music sounding like that of a seasoned veteran is clear as day. While LÉON in her current incarnation may be new to the world, the singer first got her start as the frontwoman of a ten-piece hip-hop and soul band at the young age of seventeen. The experience undoubtedly rubbed off on her, as the amount of energy LÉON brings to any performance, and will indisputably bring to her Coachella performance, is palpable.

Cherry Glazerr

Founded and based in Los Angeles, Cherry Glazerr is the definition of a band that has stayed true to its roots, refusing to compromise an ounce of its authentic sound. Led by Clementine Creevy, Cherry Glazerr first found its start in Creevy’s bedroom in 2012, where the at-the-time high-schooler recorded songs under the name of Clembutt. Since then, Cherry Glazerr has gone on to release two critically-acclaimed albums, 2014’s Haxel Princess and 2017’s Apocalipstick, as well as bringing to life the noisy and beautiful “Had Ten Dollaz,” as a commission for Saint Laurent. Indeed, the very fact that Cherry Glazerr presented a noise-rock powerhouse when asked to commission a song for one of the world’s leading fashion icons is a testament to the band’s ethos and tenacity as a tried and true noise rock band. The type of band that is sure to deliver in large amounts at this year’s Coachella.

Tash Sultana

From busking on the streets to selling out worldwide shows, Tash Sultana is the very personification of a fantastical music story in the making. Whatever your introduction may be to Sultana, whether it be through the awe-inspiring videos of her busking or listening to her beautifully crafted numbers, it's immediately apparent why the Melbourne artist is universally praised. The solitary powerhouse is an absolute virtuoso on the guitar, looping herself to create stunning creations abounding with an array of arresting sonic textures. While Sultana’s most evident talent is her guitar prowess, it is not the only area where she exceeds. The young powerhouse has a voice that shines with an enchanted quality, transforming the artist into a full-fledged one-woman act that can stop an entire crowd, or rather, a polo field full of people dead in its tracks.

Nothing But Thieves

At the perfection intersection between passionate indie rock and pop sensibility, you’ll find Nothing But Thieves. Hailing from Southend-on-Sea in Essex, England, the critically-acclaimed band crafts atmospheric and artful indie rock that has earned them well-deserved comparisons to Arctic Monkeys and Foals. The comparison isn’t limited solely to the stunning use of instrumentation Nothing But Thieves have on display, but also in the gripping and thought-provoking lyricism underlying the band’s songwriting. With the band’s recently released sophomore album, Broken Machine, Nothing But Thieves are bound to deliver an exciting new live set brimming with energy and a wealth of previously unheard material. And trust us, as previous presenters of a Nothing But Thieves tour, we can confidently say that this band puts on a show that delivers in spades.

Prompt #22: While Nick is out of town, Judy is taking care of his crappy basement apartment. When she inevitably begins cleaning up the messy place, she finds a hidden tunnel system in the floor.

AHAH!  You have given me a window in which I can show I fic idea I have wanted to write since I saw the movie.  And I’ve really wanted to write the idea or share it, but never have because I love it too much.

—-

Nick got sent to a law enforcement convention for a week.  With a pawful of other randomly selected officers.  And it wasn’t something the fox could wiggle his way out of, because the convention some how caught wind he was coming and decided to give Nick a panel to discuss being a small mammal on the force, and well…the first fox.

Judy, of course, wished him the best of luck, and tells him to at least try to take decent notes for her.  He rolled his eyes at her and coolly told her to just worry about looking after his apartment.

Which, really, barely fits the definition of apartment any better than Judy’s.

It’s in the basement of a dated apartment building.  It never failed to smell moldy or off rusting metal, no matter how much Nick sprayed air fresheners when ever she came over.  The buildings pipes were all exposed in his ceiling, and they from time to time rattled insanely.  There are three slits for windows in his living room area, and they barely let any sun in.  And that was just ignoring the general mess that was Nick simply living inside.

It always bothered Judy how content Nick was with living here.

The first few days Nick is gone, Judy doesn’t have much time to spend in his apartment.  Judy enough to get his mail and water the fern she gave him, before rushing home or back to work.

But Saturday rolled around, and Judy has nothing better to do when she came to tend to his apartment.

She only intended to sort Nick’s mail into organized bills of bills, promotional mail, coupon flyers, and whatever else was left.  And like maybe trim of his fern, or replant it in a larger pot, just give it some more attention.  Maybe even move it to spot with just a little more life.  Maybe straighten up his coffee table a little and pick a few things off the floor.  Nothing to much.

But then she started dusting.  Then picked a few more things off the ground.  Cleaned his counter tops, along with his toaster, microwave, and oven. Put some books back on his shelves and made them all flush and nice.  Then she folded a few blankets on his couch and re-fluffed all of his pillows.  Cleaned his bathroom vanity and mirror.  Fixed two leaks in a pipe and tightened on the ceiling more to minimize the rattling.

Then she broke out the vacuum.

And that was when she found it. 

The trap door under the rug.

Judy stared down at the door in shock as she flicked the vacuum off.  She knelt down in front of the flush metal looped handle on the door, shoving the rug away to reveal the rest of it.  It was only slightly smaller than the width of the hallway she was in, maybe a good four inches from the baseboards, and square.  Something she or any mammal close to Nick size could enter and exit through.

Curiously she pulled up the hatch.  Half ignoring her thoughts as to why the door might be hidden.  Like the door simply didn’t work, or Nick used it for storage and didn’t want to constantly look at the door in his floor.

But the door pulled open easily, only a slight squeak in protest.

Leaning over the opening, Judy could see the floor was a good five or six feet below her.  The light caught a small folded ladder leaning against a wall to the on the left side of the opening.  Just tall enough for someone to jump and pull themselves up through the opening. 

Carefully peeking her head in through the opening, she did her best to survey the space.  It was too dark for her to see how deep the space below went.  But from what she could see, there didn’t seem to be much down there.

Curiosity get the better of the doe.  She knew she should be snooping around.  But the cop in her was just itching to see what was down there.

Judy carefully moved to dangle her feet in the opening, before dropping down through the opening.  She landed easily on her feet, rolling to avoid putting too much impact on her knees.  She glanced back up through the door opening, as she straightened up.

Pulling out her phone, Judy quickly turned on her flashlight.  It illuminated space in front of her, which seemed to be the same width of Nick’s hallway and end where his main living area started it.  A piece of play board leaned against the right wall, and an old rusting barrel.  But there was little else.

She turned around, to look behind her, and her breath caught.

A few feet behind was a wall.  A concrete wall covered in bits of newspaper articles, aged looking photographs, and slips of paper with scribbled writing on them.  All connected by bits of string leading to a larger line of red yarn that covered the whole width of the wall.

Judy swallowed, before taking a cautious steps towards the wall for a closer look.

A few of the larger headlines from the articles caught Judy’s eyes as she advanced. 

‘First Rabbit Officer Graduates from Academy.’ ‘Savage Predator Attacks on the Rise’.  ‘Disease or Nature, City Hall Enforces Safety Measures’. ‘City Hall Passes New Predator Policy.’  ‘Violent Protests Break Out In Downtown, Mayor Calls for Peace’. ‘Extremist Groups Create Chaos at Collar Factory.’ ‘Treason! Director Bellwether States Sergent Judy Hopps is a Wanted Member of the Resistance.’

Judy stared at the last article title for a while.  The date in the bay line years down the line from ever happening.  As were most of the other articles upon closer attention, or they had dates that had already happened, yet events that never happened.  And pictures that shouldn’t even be possible.

There was a photo taped next to article about her being a member of the resistance.  Most of the mammals in the photo were predators, all of which beaming excitedly, only a pawful of prey mammals among them. All the mammals in photo were wearing similar looking cloths, though most were worn, torn, or patched up.  In the center appear to be a grey rabbit that looked almost like an older version of herself.  To the rabbit’s right was a small fox that looking like Finnick, who appeared older and meaner.  And to the left was a young red fox, who looked exactly like Nick.  His arm looped over a badger in an over sized lab coat.

Judy turned her attention to pieces of with scribbled writing.  She recognized the writing to be Nicks.  The doe reached out to touch one of the slips that read Collar Law Passes. Around it are articles and pictures about collars that administered a small shock to their wearer based on their emotional state.

Another slip of paper read, Director Bellwether comes to power.  Near that paper was a picture of the sheep waving at a podium.  And a handful of articles claiming she won the mayoral race.

A yellow sticky note with a date on it caught her eye next.  It was stuck close to the large red string with an arrow pointing at the string.  It took Judy a moment to realize why the date sounded so familiar.  It was her first day on the force.  Yet it was the words written in Nick’s handwriting that bothered her the most. 

Intersection point.

“What in the world…is this?” Judy asked as she took a step back from the wall.

The room didn’t answer.  Nothing answered, everything around Judy just seemed to fall quiet at her question.  A sticky note merely fluttered out of nowhere in front of her.

Bending down, Judy picked it up quickly, holding it up to the light of her phone. 

Change the past, save the future.  Best of luck, was written on it in Judy’s own handwriting.

—-

AN: And I end it there because this will drag on and I need to get to other prompts!

But, basically the orignial plot of the movie is the future of Zootopia had Bellwether never been caught.  Nick was sent back in time (though he was over shoot by eight years) to change the outcomes of the future. The idea is far more detailed than this little summary, but you get the idea.

how to live a flawed life or “rolled round in earth’s diurnal course”

“A Slumber did my Spirit Seal”

By William Wordsworth A slumber did my spirit seal; I had no human fears: She seemed a thing that could not feel The touch of earthly years. No motion has she now, no force; She neither hears nor sees; Rolled round in earth's diurnal course, With rocks, and stones, and trees.

---

i don/t know what to do c/ her accusations of hypocrisy. on one level i find them anemic, because i am not asking her to change her behaviour, i am simply expressing my own sadness in reaction to it. perhaps she would say that the communication of my sadness to her (not to be confused c/ my internal expression of sadness, which only i know) is in and of itself a request for her to cease her actions. it is not however. it is the communication from one friend to another, the way i am feeling in a moment, a reaction to a multilayered series of events which are all connected, and yet separate, but pinned together nonetheless. perhaps what lacan would call a quilting point. 

https://nosubject.com/Point_de_capit

i am fighting off the desire to comb through each error i believe she makes, her account of my actions in the past. i believe she is wrong, and she believes i am wrong. but how do i proceed in the future? can i avoid accusations of hypocrisy, while remaining friends? should i ask her to avoid subjects of discussion, for both of our sanities? perhaps this is the only pragmatic answer.  perhaps it is my ego that resists this answer, because i don’t want her to think that i don’t want to talk about her lover because i am jealous, insecure, etc etc. i want to be able to communicate in a sophisticated way my emotions about a situation--but this appears impossible, at least in this context. perhaps i should just humbly accept that. perhaps to believe that i am right means to also accept when silence is the only way to maintain a relationship c/ someone you love.  perhaps l’s actions pain me so deeply, because they so loudly resonate, like hammered drums, throughout the years of our relationship. a bright line has appeared which was previously invisible. and while i certainly had spotted it before, it is unavoidable now. i am always walking alongside it now.  (she says that i treated her badly in the past. so now she is treating me badly? there is an equivalency in her rhetoric that she promotes and yet she herself does not believe. she is not treating me badly now. her actions are more...disembodied? distended? or perhaps, merely disassociated... in many ways our relationship has looped in on itself, a figure 8, or maybe the rings of a snake, she loved me in the beginning, when i was closed off, uncommitted, infidelis. and while we both changed, there was never a moment of possible intersection. the lines never intersected at a median. she loved me madly for years, and then, it seems, just stopped.  i was on and off, rarely fully committed for years, until the last 2 or so. but she was already gone. driven to distraction. ) a year or so ago L began saying that she didn’t want to live in the same house as me, just near me. i have never agreed more strongly. our diurnal cycles will rarely intersect. 

To The End of Time

SPN FanFic

~Dean picks up the pieces after a devastating accident~

Dean x Reader, Sam

2,600 Words

Warnings: Angst. Death. Blood. Implied Sexual Activity. Mostly just Dean Angst.

A/N: This is my entry for @butiaintgonnaloveem Baby’s Big 50 Writing Challenge! My song prompt was Meatloaf’s ‘Paradise By The Dashboard Light’. I went in a totally different direction than I had originally planned, I hope you like it... 

For the first two days he did nothing. Bruised and concussed, Dean sat on a stool in the garage staring at the wreckage.

Sam checked on him every few hours. He brought him food at mealtimes and cold beers now and then that sat at his feet untouched. He didn’t bother him; Dean was grieving. Sam had seen it before, but this time it was worse. He didn’t speak, refused to look up when Sam entered the room. Gone was the brave front, the placations that so often peppered the elder Winchester’s vocabulary. He wasn’t fine, so he didn’t say it. Sam kept a watchful eye, but he left Dean alone to do what he had to do.

On the evening of the second day, Dean got up; he legs protested with the sudden movement and his muscles twitched, reminding him with each step of the trauma. He ignored the pain and set to work, silently walking around his Baby, deciding where best to start. His hands passed over the hood, dipping into the fresh dents; his fingers catching on the mangled metal that stuck out at odd angles.

Her eyes sparkled as she turned to him, a beautiful smile tugging on her pink lips. Moonlight reflected off of the lake, the beams glistening on the still water. They were parked, taking a moment to relax in between apocalypses, their easy conversation illuminated by the stars.

Dean stretched out across the hood, his back against the windshield, his arms behind his head. “We should do this more often,” he remarked, taking a deep breath of the fresh air.

Y/N nodded in reply as she hugged her chest, a slight shiver passing through her as the cool air nipped at her skin. “It’s beautiful.”

“You cold, Baby?” He asked, sitting up.

“Maybe a little. I’m fine.” She answered with a smile.

Dean unbuttoned his flannel and pulled it off, tossing it over her shoulders and rubbing a hand down her arm. Y/N sighed and shoved her arms into the sleeves, letting his carryover warmth ease her chill.

“Why are you so good to me Dean?”

He laughed and licked his lips as he pulled her close, “You just bring out the best in me Y/N.”

Y/N settled against him, his arm slung over her shoulder, her head resting against his chest. “Will you love me forever?” she whispered.

He replied like every other time, with a smile and a kiss to her forehead, “Let me sleep on it.” It was an old exchange, words they said often; one of the little, secret things they shared. Another way to say ‘I love you’.

Dean moved on to the passenger door. He wrenched it open, cutting his hand on the broken shards of glass where the window had been. He watched as his blood dripped down, disappearing against the black paint.

Y/N laughed, tossing her head back against the hood as Dean pressed her up against the door. His fingers looped in the waistband of her jeans, tugging her hips up towards his as he kissed her perfect lips. Her hands gripped his neck, keeping him locked to her as their tongues danced together. In his mind there was nothing sweeter than her kiss, no taste he craved more than her lips.

His hands traveled up underneath her cotton tee, fingertips circling her nipples through the thin fabric of her bra. She moaned into his mouth, her fingers pulling tightly at his neck as he revved her engine. His lips fell to the base of her neck, sucking hard against the spot he knew would seal the deal. Sure, he could wait until they were back at the motel, safely tucked away in bed with the door locked; but he didn’t want to wait. He wanted her every second of the day, dreaming of her touch during the long hours of sunlight until they were alone and he could wrap his arms around her. The job was done, the adrenaline surged through them both; there was no reason to wait.

Y/N pressed her palms against his chest and pushed him back, grinning when she saw the hungry look in his eyes. Without looking away, she opened the car door and slipped into the front seat, laying back and shimmying out of her pants. Dean watched, growing ever harder as she kicked away her jeans and lifted her arms to beckon him down to her.

They lay together, tangled and cramped on the long bench seat, their breath fogging the windows as they rolled in the dark. Sweat covered their bodies, making them stick to the hot leather; their passionate cries filled the emptiness.

“Will you love me forever?” she asked, leaving a heavy kiss on the corner of his mouth.

Dean’s hands pushed through her hair, pulling her down to cover his bare chest. He wanted her close, next to his heart. It’s where she belonged. “Let me sleep on it.”

Sam watched from the doorway as his brother took apart the Impala piece by piece, laying out each mangled part carefully nearby. How many times had he done this task? Lovingly restoring each detail until it seemed like nothing had happened.

He walked towards Dean, making sure his boots fell loudly against the hard floor so as not to startle his brother. Sam stood next to the workbench and handed Dean a beer. For the first time in days, Dean accepted the drink, turning it in his hand, his eyes full of pain as he looked down at the white and red label.

“You want to talk about it?” Sam asked carefully. Just seeing Dean out of his chair was a victory; he didn’t want to push him.

“No.” Dean croaked, his voice hoarse from lack of use; his lips dry and cracked. “Not yet.” He put the beer down without opening it and picked up a rag, turning back to the car.

“Dean, it might help you to talk about it,” Sam pressed, even though he knew it would do no good.

A pathetic laugh issued from Dean’s lips, “And when has talking about anything ever helped either of us?” He moved to the car, bending down to climb into the front seat.

“Dean…”

“I said no.”

Sam walked away, leaving his brother alone as he began clearing the broken glass from the dashboard. He scooped the shards into a pile, carefully covering them with a rag and dumping them into a bucket. Pile after pile he cleared away, the scabs on his knuckles opening anew as he worked slowly, not caring about his wounds or the sting as dirt entered each cut.

Wind whipped through the open windows, filling the car and roaring in their ears. Y/N kicked off her shoes and scooted over in the seat, laying her head in Dean’s lap so she could hang her naked toes out of the window. She laughed as the wind tickled her skin, and Dean lay his hand on her stomach, loving the closeness. It was so easy with her, so calm and gentle; even the bad days seemed brighter with her there, and Dean found himself dreaming of something more. Maybe Sammy was right, maybe they could leave this life behind one day; say goodbye to the horrors and seek out a better way.

He could get a job in a garage or maybe even build his own business. Y/N could stay home and raise their kids. They’d have three, he imagined; two girls and a boy if he was being picky. After a long day he could come home and find them playing in the front yard, blowing bubbles or jumping rope; whatever it was that kids did nowadays. On the weekends they could go on long drives to nowhere, just enjoying their free time. He’d teach his kids to ride bikes and build forts, not fight monsters. The next generation of Winchesters would be different, normal, happy.

Y/N’s fingers closed around Dean’s hand and she pulled it up to her lips. She kissed him sweetly, her lips brushing gently across his skin as the dashboard light fell over her closed eyes, giving her an angelic glow. It was such a tiny gesture, an intimate little thing, just to let him know she was thinking about him. Dean smiled, his heart soaring with love and ideas. Yeah, he thought, maybe it was possible.

“Dean?” Her voice broke through his thoughts, pulling his attention down to her. She looked up at him with wide eyes, a teasing smile on her lips. “Will you love me forever?”

“Let me sleep on it,” he laughed and clutched her hand tighter.

Dean rang out the sponge until it was merely damp, leaving behind a stream of red in the sink. He returned to the Impala, gingerly wiping down the seats, soaking up the dried blood that caked the leather. With each pass he felt his chest tighten. A vice was clamped around his heart, threatening to choke it, to stop its beating forever. He could not stop the tears from falling as he washed away the garnet mess; he was washing her away. The last traces of Y/N cleared away with a dirty tan sponge.

His head fell to the seat as he broke down, a loud cry pushing up from his gut. He beat his fist against the leather; his fingers clawed at it, wanting to rip it away. Dean screamed as he tore at the upholstery, his hands working together in his rage to destroy the place where she had lay.  

 The road was slick, oil mixing with the rain, making the Impala shimmy over the blacktop.

Dean clutched the wheel, his foot easy on the gas as he navigated through the downpour. The windshield was flooded and even with the wipers on full speed, it was hard to see the lines on the ground.

Y/N turned in her seat, swiveling towards Dean as she spoke. Her voice calmed him, settling his nerves as they made their way home after an easy hunt.

As he drove through the intersection he peeked over at her, smiling as she laughed at her own joke. He hadn’t even heard her words, the pounding rain on the hood blocking out most of her conversation, but the look on her face was enough for him. He loved her laugh, loved seeing her happy, loved the look in her eyes when she looked at him. It was all love, he realized then. It was all love, and it was all her.

Headlights filled the car, bright beams pointed at them, haloing Y/N in blinding yellow light. Her body was thrown forward as the truck hit them; connecting with the right side of the Impala and shoving them across the highway.

Dean’s head hit his window and his eyes closed, his hands sliding off of the wheel as the darkness took him.

The roof was caved in; the shining black metal contorted by the rocks where the car had landed, upside down in the ravine. Dean opened his eyes, pain pulling him from unconsciousness. He blinked furiously as the world came back into view and he screamed her name, calling for Y/N in a panic. Her answer came slowly; her voice barely a whisper next to him. She lay, broken and twisted on the overturned ceiling, blood flowing freely from her chest and mouth.

Dean’s hands flew over her body, afraid to touch her, afraid he’d hurt her more. He listened to the low gurgling in her lungs as she struggled to breathe; there was nothing he could do. He lay beside her and lifted her head in his hands, cradling her to his chest as she wheezed. His tears fell on her cheek, mixing with her blood. He wiped them away with shaking fingers as he spoke to her softly, swearing to get help, promising to fix her.

Her fingers wrapped around his wrist and he stopped his frantic words, looking down into her fading eyes. She gasped, taking in as much air as she could. “Will you love me forever?” she asked, her eyes fluttering closed, a tiny smile pulling at her lips.

Dean kissed her; one final kiss before she left him. He felt her go, felt her breath stop; felt the warmth escape her skin, leaving her cold and limp in his arms. He watched through tear soaked lashes as his love, his hopes, his dreams, his Y/N faded away.

He shook, his body convulsing with pain and anguish while he rocked her lifeless form in his arms. He smoothed the hair back from her forehead and wiped his tears from her cheek once more as he whispered, “I will love you to the end of time.”

Dean worked without rest. He tore apart his beloved Baby and pieced her back together inch by inch; smoothing out her metal and replacing what could not be saved. He stitched the leather by hand, he oiled the dash. He peeled away the ruined carpet with his bare hands and laid new, taking his time making sure everything was perfect.

He stopped only when he couldn't see straight any longer, falling asleep for short clips in the backseat. He gave in to his brother's nagging and his stomach’s growls and ate when food appeared, but he never really stopped. Not until the paint gleamed again; not until every memory was back in place.

When he was satisfied, Dean pulled her out of the garage. He drove slowly down the hidden tunnel and out into the starless night. He pressed his foot to the floor, opening her up and listening to the engine roar. It filled his ears and blocked out the sound of the choked sobs that shook his chest. He clawed at his eyes, wiping away the tears that pooled in the corners and took a deep breath to settle himself. He dropped his hand to the seat next to him, empty now where Y/N used to sit. Light was shining from the dashboard, and he dreamed of her face, imagining her carefree smile once more.

“Turn this junk off,” Dean said, reaching for the radio.

Y/N swatted his hand away, shaking her head, “No! You cannot change this song! It's a classic!”

“It's horrible!” Dean protested, covering his ear as Meatloaf blared through the speakers.

Y/N pouted dramatically. “It's my favorite. And you love it too, so just shut up.” She laughed and leaned towards him as she began to sing along. It was loud and off key, but Dean loved it, rolling his eyes teasingly as she serenaded him.

“Will you never leave me? Will you make me happy for the rest of my life?” Y/N clutched a hand to her chest as she sang, acting out the words with theatrical flare. Dean watched from the corner of his eye as he drove on, pretending to hate the song.

“Will you take me away and will you make me your wife? I gotta know right now, before we go any further…” She turned back to Dean, crawling over the seat towards him, “Do you love me? Will you love me forever?”

He stayed silent, still teasing her by not joining in. Y/N lay a hand on his thigh, squeezing just enough to grab his attention. He smirked and turned his head slowly to face her, winking as he sang along, “Let me sleep on it…”

Forevers: @1-800-misha @27bmm @amanda-teaches @arryn-nyxx @atc74 @autopistaaningunaparte @ayeeitsemry @bea789 @because-imma-lady-assface @babypieandwhiskey @blanketmadeofstar @brewsthespirit-blog @britt-spn @buckysmetallicstump @bulletscrossbowpie @charliebradbury1104 @chaos-and-the-calm67 @chelsea072498 @chumi-la-chula @cici0507 @clairese1980 @collectivekiera @cosmicpeanuthologram @createdbybadappreciation @cyrilconnelly @dannnyphantomm @dancingalone21 @deadinside-muser @deanxfuckingadorablexwinchester @demonangelimpala @docharleythegeekqueen @dustycelt @evyiione​ @faithfulpanicmoon @feelmyroarrrr​ @flowermisha​ @freaksforthewin​ @frenchybell @fuckyeahfeysand @gemini75eeyore @ghostkitty1103 @hamartiamacguffin @impalaimagining @im-super-potter-locked @inmysparetime0 @jpadjackles @jotink78 @kristaparadowski @kas-not-cas @katrodriguez99 @lavendellove @love-kittykat21 @luciisthebest @maddieburcham1 @mamaredd123 @mogaruke @megansescape @mija-novella @milkymilky-cocopuff @mogaruke @mrsbatesmotel53 @mrswhozeewhatsis @my-life-is-here-soo @myfand0msandm0re @mysteriouslyme81 @naadestiel @notesfromalabprincess @notnaturalanahi @obi-wan-my-only-ho @pain-of-artifice @percussiongirl2017 @percywinchester27 @petrovadixon @pinknerdpanda @poukothenerd @riddikulus-obsessions @riversong-sam @sam-winchesters-long-locks @sandlee44 @sarahgrace-1989 @scxrchy @smoothdogsgirl @spectaculicious @spontaneousam @summer-binging-spn @superbasementflower @supernaturallymarvellous @supernaturalyobessed @tennesseewhiskey-and-pie @thecynicalnerd @the-latina-trickster @therewillbeblood @tom-is-in-my-tardis @typicalweirdbookworm @thegreatficmaster @vine-colored-assbutt @whatareyousearchingfordean @wi-deangirl77 @winchestersmut @wvnchxstxr @xxthevampirediariesexpertxx @yearoftheweasley @youtubehelpsmesurvive @yvngkinggchristyy

The Dean’s List:  @anokhi07 @assbutt-fan @bringmesomepie56 @deangirl-withanimpala @delessapeace-blog @ellexirmalfoy @just-a-touch-of-sass-and-fandoms @leather-moccasin-hero @msdooos @mskitty416 @ruprecht0420 @soullessbabee  @tmccarney @torn-and-frayed @twoboys-and-afallenangel @vesperlady04  

dwink water u foole

With Ryan Bishop we wrote the following short oral presentation as part of the opening panel of the Earth/Sky exhibition that is on at the Calit2 gallery at UC San Diego! Please visit the show if you are in the region and for those interested, below the short opening introduction. Ryan Bishop and Jussi Parikka March 7, 2019, UC San Diego Earth/Sky exhibition – introductory remarks Where the vertical X line meets the horizontal Y line in the X/Y axis is called the origin. Although we are not going to pursue myths of origins in this panel, that intersection is certainly the origin of inspiration for our exhibition and the works that comprise it. What is the relationship between the X/Y axis and the horizon? Where is the horizon in the X/Y axis and how is it constructed, reconstituted, erased, or negated by the visualizing technologies these artists deploy, explore, exploit and query? The question of the horizon in relation to technology emerged in its contemporary guise in the aftermath of WWII and remains with us, cast by Martin Heidegger as “the age of the world picture “. The telecommunications technologies developed to provide constant real-time surveillance of the earth necessary to conduct the Cold War and enforce the Truman Doctrine simultaneously converted the earth into a globe (a bounded sphere visible at all times) as well as into a flattened world without horizon (due to the use of “over the horizon” visualizing technologies and complete surveillance of the entire planet all at the same time). It found visual form in two works produced about the same time as Heidegger was writing: Buckminster Fuller’s Dymaxion Air-Ocean World Map, and Jasper Johns’ large-scale painting for the Montreal Expo ’67 inspired by Fuller’s map (and installed in Fuller’s massive geodesic dome erected there for the expo). The multi-pieced and multi-shaped canvas painting measures more than 30 feel long and over 15 feet high. As with Fuller’s cartographic vision, the icosahedron Dymaxion map created by Johns could be disassembled or assembled at will. Fuller’s map could be folded together to create a sphere or unfolded, origami-like, to be a flat two-dimensional object. Co-created with Shoji Sadao, Fuller’s map provided the model for the interactive, data-driven version used in his real-time teletechnological teaching tool called the World Game. Fuller and Sadao’s map moved easily, then, between 3-D and 2-D representations of the earth’s continents. These were represented in size based on population distribution and resource usage instead of the standard cartographic nod to physical coverage. While Fuller’s optimistic vision of the map’s pedagogical elements was at odds with Johns’ more pessimistic view of the geopolitical agonism that marked the moment, the map mimetically reproduces fully “the age of the world picture”. The globe as stage for Fuller-inflected neighbourliness also became a site of contiguous land masses locked in Johns-depicted animus: 3-D holistic vision coupled with 2-D Cold War strategically-generated economic inequities. The cultural politics of Heidegger’s interpretation of modernity’s generated metaphysics can be charted in the capacity for representation to equate with both experience and the real, for the map to create the territory and the technological means for cartographic representation to become the tools for human crafting of the earth as globe, as flat observable plane or, as Fuller termed it, Spaceship. The visualizing teletechnologies on display in the Dymaxion Map, as well as the works in our exhibition here, are just such tools, for they chart a trajectory in which the world travelled from being construed as plane to orb to globe to flat, surveilled entity again. Our capacity to see and render the planet whole erased the horizon of the world and made it capable of being held in our collective teletechnological grasp. This is the “negative horizon” theorized by Paul Virilio: the conversion of the surface of the earth to pure surface, pure plane, to salt flat deserts and “mineral cemeteries” (141), a screen for projections and visions, a platform for unfettered terrestrial and aerial acceleration and optical realization. The age of the world picture is evoked in these maps made by Fuller and Johns, and it is so in the means by which we have enframed, delineated and curtailed potential futures, realized or not. This leads us to our works on display in the exhibition (as well as the one screened as part of this opening panel, Susan Schuppli’s vertical cinema piece Atmospheric Feedback Loops). Schuppli’s audiovisual installation “Nature Represents Itself” presents the Deepwater Horizon oil spill in its legal and aesthetic form to propose the ecological site as a material witness capable of representing its own damaged condition. This auto representation of environmental disaster posits a new medium unique to the components of the disaster; in many ways, it is a visual analogue to Reza Negarestani’s philosophical fiction writing that fabulated the non-human revenging force of petroleum in Cyclonopedia. Furthermore, it taps into the multiple camera angles of the Anthropocene: the live feed of the underwater oil leak, the aerial view of the region as a massive size oil painting (as Ubermorgen, art group, coined it), the cultural politics of TV footage, the scientific imagining, and so forth. Concerns about the horizon are omnipresent in the name of the documented disaster: the Deepwater Horizon oil spill, with its connotations of X and Y in itself as well as the dimension of depth as the passage to the underwater realms that link from Jules Verne’s fictional Captain Nemo’s megalomanic world tour to the as megalomanically disastrous seascapes of drilling and deep sea mining. While the melting arctic ice that will flood vast coastal areas and towns presents its own new northern passages as well as oil and mineral opportunities, we are left with the archive of disasters that already took place across the petrocultural century. Deepwater is one where the various axes are again brought together both as its spatial coordinates and as part of visual culture of disasters. The Gulf of Mexico was made an unintentional canvas of human intervention and failure, as seen in the many images of the disaster taken by NASA’s pertinently named Terra satellite. The visual register on screen in Schuppli’s work is that of the accident, which is a recurring feature of that axis where visual culture and technological infrastructure and political decision-making meet. As Paul Virilio reminded us, the invention of any technology is also the invention of its failure, of its accidents. The technology in its operation and its failure provide equally fodder for planning, speculation and aesthetic production. This also applies to the speculative side in more ways than one: not merely inventing technologies, but inventing their accidents around which technological systems can be laid out as large scale systems. Virilio in fact posited that the history of technology could better be queried and understood through a Museum of Disasters than our usual technolophillic celebratory institutions. If such a site were to be built, Schuppli’s work could take a proud place there as one example of the long term legacy of petroculture as itself an invention of an accident around which modern culture takes place, from transport to industry, from lifestyle to the variety of materials that sustain our sense of the everyday. Another kind of an accident lurks in Herregraven’s “Sprawling Swamps,” a series of fictional infrastructures dispersed within the cracks of the contemporary financial geography that operate on a technological, legal and social level. Herregraven’s focus is on the littorals, the ambiguous shifting zones where sea and land interact, the port and the portal interface. These ambiguous and ambivalent spaces, gaps between economic and environmental certitudes, speak to Paul Gilroy’s arguments for a “critique at sea level”. Picking up from Gilroy, Francoise Verges asks: how do we develop cultural theory that starts from water, the sea, the oceans – from the middle passage, but then also the northern passages, the various forms of colonial and other kinds of disasters, including contemporary ones that take place across liquid and swampy landscapes? What is sea level in the current moment and in this moment of warming currents? Increasingly land can become water, arable land can become desert, etc. in the weird mixes of the classical four elements; as Gary Genosko puts it, these four elements are not however anymore the stable sort of earth-water-fire- air. A longer quote from Genosko (in the Posthuman Glossary) gives a clear picture of the new synthetics of elements: The new fundamental elements… EARTH : dust; WATER : blood; AIR : lethal fogs; FIRE :flammables. Wrapped around these elements is the planetary phylum, a great tellurian cable bunch with its own products: EARTH : electronics; WATER : liquidities like water bottled in plastic, which throws forward diagrammatic intensities in the explosion of plastic debris; AIR : gases (green house); and FIRE : smouldering car tyres, slashed rainforests and seasonal wild fires in the great northern forests. However, as we have seen, the new elements combine both in existing directly – blood mixed with dust in the extraction of conflict minerals and oil fields, or methane, a flammable unnaturally mingled with the water supply, and which contributes to the green house gas effect – and by means of especially communicative matters, like microscopic fragments of plastics that perfuse the oceans and get into the food chain, and constitute fine dusts that affect respiration, settling among the fogs, gases and lethal clouds. The Ovid-like metamorphoses of nature, of bodies changed, operates in pre-socratic thought in relation to the elements with the universe composed of these elements battling or playfully transforming into one another, as Empedocles theorized. But from Empedocles, we should move further to the chemical period of the past 200 years of chemistry and its multiple forms of interaction and escalation of planetary deposits. What we are witnessing now is a rapid reshaping of the elements of the planet, some by design but most not, some by human actors and some by technological systems working autonomously or in tandem with others in unintended ways. The dynamic nature of matter, and of nature, finds form in precarious legal, financial and governmental infrastructures poised along the liminal littorals. Nonetheless urban human forms as a guiding set of imaginaries are seemingly impervious to the vicissitudes of unstable ecologies, in spite of high winds, hurricanes, typhoons, floods and drought. Visualizations of the XY axis rarely show the air or the sky. The seeming transparency of atmospheres is however a source for another sort of “light media” and “sky media” that is often crystallised in technological figures such as drones or satellite infrastructures or then in the toxic legacies such as smog. It also includes the longer legacy of the aerial perspective – sightlines lifted from the ground. We most often see the earth as surface (with the X line being the literal line of sight). The horizon is usually implied, what we know lies beyond the frame. Heba Amin’s lyrical and witty projection piece, “As Birds Flying,” allows views of the sky, the earth, the horizon, savannahs and wetlands, settlements and aviary migrations, which in turn allude to human migrations on the rise throughout the world. Her use of found footage and non-human surveillance techniques, in this case mistakenly believed to be strapped to a migrating stork, reveals horizons of visualization, tracking and the continual geopolitical struggle for contested terrain. This view is not stable but one in movement; a survey of landscapes and velocity, of movement and tracking, of cinematic visions projected onto daily existence. It is worth noting in closing that the aerial views on view in the show now are visible by humans but the majority of the images of the earth’s surface being produced today are by machines for machines: they are not representational but informational and automated; this is what Harun Farocki coined as the world of operational, or operative, images, which also includes an increasing amount of environmental imaging. These are also a dominant strand of the Earth/Sky and X/Y axis visualizations of the present that expands from aerial views to soil analysis, and to interplanetary visual cultures as with the recent Mars Rover images too. These images as measurements are used for their data despite the at times glamorous views we get a glimpse of. That which isn’t visible can be translated into data visualizations that help feed a vast machine of charting, control and most importantly prediction. In so doing the X-Y axis extends to include the Z axis, and enters into predictive temporalities: planning, investment, policing, and so forth. The role of AI techniques of prediction in the futures markets results in manipulation and prediction that links governmental sovereignty to data visualization technologies and their capacity to shape and generate financial systems and markets. The particular surfaces that are catered as massive datasets are the past archive for the hypothetical future-nows that open up a new horizon. Questions surrounding the large-scale production of premediated near-future predictive strategies linking geomedia to algotrading speeds up the earth as the manipulation of its materials for control and gain set the data-gathering agenda in spite of the many admirable and altruistic projects that may complement it. In this way, the images and the predictive data scraped from them replicates bureaucratic tools of domination past. Sean Cubitt writes: “That trinity of fundamentally bureaucratic media—databases (filing cabinets), spreadsheets (ledgers) and GIS (maps)—still operates, not least at the level of companies and institutions, where it continues to provide the backbone of a residual early-modern biopolitics.” These instances of administration , Cubitt continues, “were the dominant media of the early 21st century, because they were the media of domination.” The techniques and technologies have changed but the larger cultural technics and their ontological rationale have not. The origin of the X/Y axis remains literally and figuratively in place, if not accelerated and exacerbated by our visualizing technologies. by Jussi Parikka https://ift.tt/2VNbHvg March 09, 2019 at 11:17AM

https://jussiparikka.net/2019/03/09/earth-sky-exhibition-opening-talk/

14 Copywriting Examples From Companies With Unbelievable Copywriters

The years-old “The Man Your Man May Odor Like” marketing campaign was memorable for a lot of causes, however one among them was that it gave Previous Spice a voice — voice that got here via in each video, industrial, tagline, Fb replace, tweet … you title it.

Copywriters. The power to seek out the precise proper phrases to inform your organization’s story is not a simple feat, and it is even tougher to take action constantly.

So once we come throughout corporations which might be doing it efficiently, we predict their copywriters deserve a pat on the again (and a increase?). Check out a number of the corporations we predict have stellar copywriting, and when you’re trying, possibly get some inspiration on your personal model, too.

UrbanDaddy has mastered the artwork of getting me to open emails. And after I click on into them, they do not disappoint.

Under is the copy from an electronic mail they despatched me with the topic line, “Enjoyable.”

There are a pair issues on this electronic mail that caught my eye.

To begin with, there isn’t any lengthy preamble. The writers get straight to the purpose — a smart selection for one thing so simple as a rubber band gun lest the reader really feel cheated studying sentence after sentence for one thing so frequent.

Secondly, check out the purposeful sentence construction. This copywriter eschews typical grammar guidelines by combining run-on sentences and conventional product promotion copy in sentences like:

Lock and cargo with Elastic Precision, a Kansas Metropolis-based workshop that manufactures high-powered weaponry besides in no way as a result of they really simply shoot rubber bands, now obtainable on-line.”

Preserve studying, and also you see a conversational tone that mildly mocks the silliness of the product, but in addition loops the reader in on one thing kinda enjoyable.

After which, in fact, they shut with badgers. And how are you going to go flawed with badgers?

Better of all, UrbanDaddy’s distinctive tone is present in each single piece of copy they publish — from emails, to homepage copy, even to their editorial coverage:

This firm clearly is aware of its viewers, which jokes to crack, and has saved it constant throughout all their property.

2. Articulate

Articulate, a HubSpot Company Accomplice based mostly within the U.Okay., is an inbound advertising company, and their web site copy is filled with witty, assured copy on pages the place you would not suppose you’d discover it. This is exhibit ‘A’:

The copy above introduces Articulate’s “Meet the Crew” web page — not a web page you’d suppose can pull off witty copy, proper? Nicely, Articulate’s web page goes past worker photographs and their job titles.

Along with the playful header, “not the same old blah blah,” the copy above takes on a farm theme, assuring guests that staff aren’t merely “caged hens.” Reasonably, they are a “free-range, artisanal, cruelty-free staff.” Humorous on the floor, however useful to job seekers who, very like meals, need to know the place their work comes from and the way it’s made.

3. Moosejaw

Not many manufacturers are courageous sufficient to the touch the merchandise they’re promoting with unconventional copy … however Moosejaw is not afraid to have a little bit enjoyable.

The out of doors attire outlet retailer makes use of humor as a technique to promote their merchandise with out being overly ahead about it. By interesting to individuals’s feelings, they’re extra participating and memorable.

Listed below are a couple of examples:

Similar goes for the call-to-action buttons that present up once you hover your mouse over a product picture — like this one, which reads, “Look This Cool.”

Does their model voice carry over to the product descriptions, you ask? See for your self:

If you happen to suppose the sensible copy stops at their homepage, suppose once more. They prolong it to their return coverage, too. Right here, they do an excellent job of not sacrificing readability for humor. Their copywriters efficiently made individuals snigger whereas nonetheless being useful.

4. First Spherical Capital

Whereas an indication of nice copywriting is making individuals smile, one other is making individuals really feel understood. The copywriters at First Spherical do an exceptional job at letting the worth of their choices for his or her clients promote themselves.

For instance, they maintain over 80 occasions yearly connecting their neighborhood collectively. As an alternative of simply explaining that they’ve occasions after which itemizing them out, they start that part of their web site with a easy assertion that hits near residence with many entrepreneurs: “Beginning an organization is lonely.”

Utilizing phrases like “imperfect,” “security web,” and “susceptible” encourages readers to let their guards down and really feel understood by the model and their neighborhood.

Plus, you’ve got gotta love that final line about stick-on title tags. These issues get caught in my hair.

5. Trello

Have you learnt what Trello is? If the reply isn’t any, then behold the copywriting on their web site. Their product description — like many of the copy on their web site — is crystal clear:

After which try how clear this explainer content material is:

Among the use case readability will be attributed to how sensible the product is, however I feel copywriters deserve some credit score for speaking it clearly, too. They name it like it’s, which finally makes it very easy to understand.

And I could not write concerning the copywriting expertise at Trello with out together with the intelligent references within the microcopy of their login web page:

Every time you refresh the login web page, you see a unique, equally intelligent instance electronic mail belonging to a fictional character, like Ender from Ender’s Recreation and Dana Scully from The X-Recordsdata — an excellent instance of nostalgia advertising. This can be a small element, however nonetheless a reminder that there are actual people behind the web site and product’s design. Pleasant microcopy like this kinda appears like I simply shared a non-public joke with somebody on the firm.

6. Velocity Companions

No publish from me about wonderful copywriting could be full with out mentioning the oldsters at Velocity Companions. A B2B advertising company out of the U.Okay., we have featured co-founder Doug Kessler’s SlideShares (like this one on why entrepreneurs must rise above the deluge of “crappy” content material) repeatedly on this weblog as a result of he is the grasp of phrase economic system.

What’s “phrase economic system”? It is taking care that each phrase you employ is the proper phrase. It means getting your level throughout concisely and never dwelling on the small print when you do not have to. In a world of shortening consideration spans, that is the final word purpose when speaking your message.

And since we’re speaking about phrase economic system, I will shut up and allow you to try one among Kessler’s SlideShares for your self:

Whereas SlideShares are usually visible, Kessler’s is closely targeted on copy: The design stays fixed, and solely the textual content adjustments. However the copy is participating and compelling sufficient for him to tug that off. Why? As a result of he makes use of easy phrases so his readers perceive what he is attempting to say with none effort. He writes like he speaks, and it reads like a narrative, making it straightforward to flip via in SlideShare kind.

The copy on Velocity Companions’ homepage stood out to me, too. Try, for instance, how humble they’re when introducing their case research:

I additionally like how informal and sincere they saved their electronic mail subscription call-to-action. The header is particularly eye-catching — and it performs off of the favored SlideShare about crappy content material we talked about earlier.

The truth is, Velocity Companions’ Harendra Kapur lately wrote a weblog publish on what goes in to nice B2B writing — beginning with this disclaimer, in fact.

7. Intrepid Journey

The copywriters at Intrepid Journey, a Melbourne-based journey journey firm, are on this listing as a result of they’re on the intersection of attention-grabbing and informational.

I like seeing copy that’s completely and totally useful — that delivers vital info, however is so nice to learn that you simply truly hold studying. Fairly a feat on the web as of late.

Check out their firm description, package deal names, and package deal descriptions beneath for some examples of this fantastically useful copywriting in motion:

After all, they do profit from fairly a beautiful subject material, however nonetheless — hats off you to, Intrepid Journey.

8. Cultivated Wit

The copywriters over on the “comedy firm” Cultivated Wit do an excellent job of embracing their very own model of quirk all through their web site. They have already got one among the most effective “About” pages within the recreation, however their pleasant copy is unfold all through their web site — generally in probably the most surprising of locations.

For instance, check out the copy round contact info on the very backside of their homepage:

This part of the homepage is an afterthought at finest for many corporations. However for these people, it was a chance to have a little bit enjoyable.

In addition they have two, distinctive electronic mail subscription calls-to-action on totally different pages of their web site. They’re very totally different, however each equally humorous and pleasant. This is one from the homepage:

And one from the “About” web page:

9. Playing cards In opposition to Humanity

Chances are you’ll or might not be aware of Playing cards In opposition to Humanity, the self-declared “get together recreation for horrible individuals.” It is a card recreation — one which’s concurrently entertaining and inappropriate. The copywriting on the playing cards themselves are assured to make you snigger.

The model voice may be very distinctive, and may appear a little bit abrasive, and even a little bit offensive. However that is their complete shtick: They don’t seem to be attempting to attraction to everybody, and that is completely okay. What they do do an excellent job of doing is interesting to their audience.

One take a look at their FAQ web page and you may see what I imply:

This is a sneak peek into a number of the solutions to those questions. You may see they make enjoyable of each themselves and the reader — which is strictly what the cardboard recreation is about.

10. R/GA

With the exception or UrbanDaddy, I have been focusing loads on web site copy to this point, so I needed to take a look at some examples of fantastic social media copywriting.

I do know you all prefer to see some extra B2B examples in right here, too, so I surfaced among the best examples of the holy grail: Twitter copy, from a B2B firm, that is humorous. Behold, some latest highlights from the R/GA Twitter account:

HOW CAN I RELAX WITH ALL THESE WEEDS pic.twitter.com/T1x78HnPhr

— R/GA (@RGA) Could 24, 2016

Your prolonged household going all caps with the Fb posts like, hey we’re all simply individuals right here and I’ve bought some OPINIONS

— R/GA (@RGA) Could 24, 2016

Think about residing in a time when horrible music wasn’t pumped into each sq. inch of public/industrial house.

— R/GA (@RGA) Could 19, 2016

Simply noticed an inventory of prime tech expertise known as “poachables,” which sounds scrumptious. Like refined Lunchables.

— R/GA (@RGA) Could 16, 2016

If solely viewers segments knew how they have been referred to in technique decks.

— R/GA (@RGA) Could 11, 2016

11. harmless

Try U.Okay.-based drink makers harmless, and you may see a language, type, and tone that matches their philosophy, product, and even their branding and design. It is all simply clear, easy, and easy. And imagine it or not, easy is a extremely, actually arduous factor to nail in copywriting.

This stands out finest on their “Issues We Make” web page. (Is not that web page title even superbly easy?)

This identical straightforward-but-charming copywriting philosophy extends to their web site navigation:

Their meta description is fairly superior, too:

And my private favourite:

12. GymIt

I’ve at all times liked the copy at GymIt. The truth is, I examine their web site and social profiles on a regular basis to see in the event that they’ve freshened something up. Fortunately, they’re no one-trick pony. They proceed to maintain their web site recent with charming copy.

Listed below are a few of my favorites, all of which hit on the ache factors of gym-goers that they attempt to remedy — and really do remedy with their customer-friendly insurance policies.

I can vouch for that one. I understand how a lot of a trouble it’s to maneuver distant out of your gymnasium — and the way refreshing it have to be to have the ability to stroll in and simply … stop.

All of this rolls as much as their philosophy, espoused eloquently on their “About” web page, that gyms ought to simply be about figuring out:

Discuss having an understanding of their core viewers. The copy each in its worth proposition and throughout its advertising supplies displays a deep understanding of their clients.

And the way did their copywriters select to ensure everybody knew what this new gymnasium franchise was about in the event that they did not learn that “About” web page? This tagline:

Would not get a lot clearer than that.

13. ModCloth

ModCloth is a model that has at all times had a wonderful grasp of their purchaser persona, and it comes via of their pun-filled copywriting. All of their merchandise are foolish performs on phrases — try this display screen seize of a few of their new arrivals, for instance:

Dive into their product description copy, and it is equally joyous, evocative, and intelligent — similar to their clients. Usually, it’s going to additionally inform the story of what you will do whereas carrying their objects:

After studying their descriptions, one can think about what their life could be like in the event that they owned this product. That is Copywriting 101, however so few manufacturers can truly pull it off like the oldsters at ModCloth do.

14. Ann Handley

In the case of build up your personal private model, it may be straightforward to get a little bit too self-promotional. That is the place the copywriting in your web site could make an enormous distinction.

On Ann Handley’s private web site, she added bits of microcopy that reveals, regardless of her many accomplishments (like being a best-selling creator and award-winning speaker), that she nonetheless does not take herself too severely.

Try her electronic mail subscription call-to-action, for instance:

Anybody could be a profitable copywriter with the precise model voice — and a little bit editorial steering alongside the way in which. Wish to discover ways to write superior copy for your enterprise? Seize the free e-book beneath. 

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source https://webart-studio.com/14-copywriting-examples-from-companies-with-unbelievable-copywriters/

Mapleton

It was getting dark in Mapleton Mobile Home Park on Thursday night.  As twilight softened the rusting edges of the metal haciendas, addresses on the mailboxes became more and more indistinct.  This was the last stop on my Homebound route for the library, dropping off books for shut-ins. Already frustrated by one of those days I thought I had left behind when I quit working – a tense board meeting, a program planning session on another project that started out nowhere and went downhill from there, a too challenging exercise class - I had little patience.  My GPS was no help, since it merely listed the address of the two main streets intersecting nearby, giving me no help with the labyrinth of crooked lanes snaking through this little aluminum village.

 Where the hell was 35? I had managed to find 37, which was at a dead end street – nothing beyond.  I got out of the car and knocked on doors, asking if the residents knew where 35 was. Nobody did. I stopped pedestrians and asked them.  Nothing. I entered the park from the back, thinking to reverse my trajectory. The numbers started at 55 and went up.  Nada. So, hungry and tired, I gave up.

 Early the next morning, I got on the computer to see if there was a map on line that listed the individual units there.  Nope. I emailed Kate, the volunteer coordinator who looped me into this activity, but she was not yet at work.  On the way to the gym, I drove once again through Boulder’s low-income nirvana, a maze of very used cars and dilapidated patio furniture gracing weed stricken patios. Once again retracing all my previous topographical mistakes, I suddenly saw the UPS man. Eureka!  Surely he would know the end point of my hopeless quest.

 Yup!  “Go straight through until you come to a bridge,” he said. “Then make a sharp left. There is a hidden cul-de-sac around the corner and that is where the low numbers are.” Halleluiah! I sniggled my car into the lane, maneuvered around the trash cans and there it was, 35. Voila!  

 Except now the weather looked iffy.  Could I leave a bunch of books out on the porch in a cotton tote bag if it might snow? Probably not.  So, I knocked on the dented screen door.  I could hear movement inside. After a few minutes, a tiny, elderly denizen peeked at me through the creaky screen.  Her face lit up.  Leaning on her walker and adroitly moving aside her oxygen cord, she pushed the door open.  “Hello,” she said.  “I waited for you yesterday.  I am so glad you came.”  

 I explained my fruitless search the day before and apologized for being one day late.  Her smile was dazzling, as she handed over her old books and accepted the new ones.  Promising to be on time next week, I waved goodbye.  Some things are priceless……one of them being the gratitude of a lonely old lady in a trailer park. Great books took me away from the turmoil of a sad and violent childhood.  I hope that these books will transport her to a world of interesting people and vivid ideas.

A GIRL

I see how silly it was for me to title my last piece, “A Girl In A Boy’s Bod,” It was always just *my* body. It was a piece I wrote in distress at coming to my mother in distress and having that turn in on me. Having the conversation yanked right out from underneath me and the desperation of just being a voice in pain. It has been a full ten years now, since I wrote that, and I still have not read it since that night. It is too painful for me.

I have come a long way since that night. My world torn from underneath my feet. It was as though reality had slipped away. I knew it was pain. Terrible pain, but I never knew the course, just the correlation with certain things. I had said three words, and that was that. How dangerous the notion? I felt considerable pain all the time, a deep, psychological pain that were *as* intense as one of those medieval torture devices could muster. And I knew what lessened that pressure, and I knew what intensified it.

But this what never the argument people wanted to hear. This was an affront to their world view. They were blinded by faith and lost all semblance of reality. They would make fun of me, stand in my way, question if I was insane. All sympathy was lost in a clinical language and I languished in pain for years waiting for people to care enough about me to understand why I had tossed my life away with three words.

Prove to me you are not mad they said. How can I prove a negative? It makes no goddamn sense.

But I tried.

Here are my results:

First, I needed to study philosophy. If I have to answer an impossible question, I might as well understand the science of asking questions.  Dan McCullough's “Out of the Cave” is my primary source for this stuff. He’s an amazing teacher and he distilled the arguments from many philosophical debates. Well, I came away from that knowing that using Synthetic *A Priori* (Assuming things) probably won’t get you very far to understanding something. Basically what I already knew, you can’t prove a negative.

But, what if you could?

Douglas Hofstadter wrote an amazing book about knowledge and understanding. He does this by analyzing human thought looking for all the little bugs. The mistakes we make, and understanding the code of the brain like that how you can watch that buggy Pokemon TAS to get a better understanding of how Nintendo games were made. His examples are MC Escher, famous for subverting the illusion of art to confuse human identification process, Bach, notable for playing with Shepard Tones and key stacks to leave different audio impressions.

(I tried to hear it myself, but I fear my partial childhood deafness left me with the inability to process music psychologically. I can hear it, but I am musically illiterate. But, I understood it through the descriptions of others. I looked at the patterns on the screen to see if I could understand it like that, but they just looked like mountains and valleys to me.

Kōsei Arima from Your Lie In April is a pretty good example of how I feel when trying to understand music, though his illiteracy is as a result of strong abuse associated with the process leading to pain whereas I just kinda hear key changes like they are blurry and indistinct.)

And Kurt Godel, who demolished the Principalia Mathematica by creating a little program using the logic therein to call for logic not contained inside.

Hofstadter uses these subjects to make a guess about human thought process so we can make artificial intelligences. He comes to the conclusion that knowledge is gained precisely by trying to assert a negative. He told the story about how all the mathematicians were super afraid of of testing Euclid’s Parallel Postulate and just kinda assumed there was proof of it. Like, two lines that are not parallel have to intersect somewhere, right? If it didn’t the entire system would fall apart.

Lewis Carrol, another influence of Hofstadter, dreams of a world of madness without this fifth postulate. In his ignorance of never trying Carrol’s imagination got the better of him. But, in the end, it was just hyperbola.

Two lines that never intersect, right there. A Hyperbola. Heck, it might even be one line, a parabola. Non-Euclidean isn’t nearly as scary as Lovecraft painted it out to be. In my experience treading into the unknown never reveals horrors, but the woefully mundane.

Assume you are wrong, and try yourself. It’s amazing. I had a lot of help trying my ideas against the nice people over at /r/GenderCritical. They were motivated by a fear of me that made them react to me with extreme rigor. I figured I’d entertain their debates long enough to feel them slip past the point of rationality or good faith, and give up. Here was the evidence I complied during this time.

If there is a heuristic approach to the universe, it’s science. Never assuming what is real, merely testing things, and recording the results. The scientists never sound confident, but when has confidence ever been a sign of wisdom? See, the scientists observe something. And, then they seek to understand it. They have a very pragmatic approach. They take a list of ideas as to what might be going on, and then arrange them based on what they have come up with as the most likely scenarios, and then they see if they can devise a test that they could iterate through to the point where it’d be improbable not to do.

Heck, sometimes you come up with a theory that can have a positive aspect to it. Zhou had a theory that “transsexuals” (Kind of an ugly word, makes it seem like we are motivated by sex), were experiencing a hormonal condition and neural biology. Early dissections of men’s brains and women’s brains showed slight differences. Things like longer dendrites on certain cells. The amount of neurons was fixed, but the structure of them was different. Zhou had decided to test various trans people, and he found that trans people had the structure of their gender identity, at least in some cases. Some people claimed that HRT spoiled the pot, so there have been experiments since then that have controlled for that.

“But that’s one person.” I only need one positive example to assert that it the possibility is true. And with the the GCers couldn’t touch me anymore, and they would have to deny empirical evidence itself. The continuity of the universe to continue arguing this point.

Well, I have an experiment that I could run. Well, it was not a good one because it would involve cutting open my head.

Maybe if I understood how this whole “brain” thing worked, I could see if I could find yet another test. So I studied neural networks. Mathematical simulations based on the neurons in the head.

So, we have known about the structure of the neuron for a while. Observed it under microscopes. We found that each neuron was structured in the same way. A bunch of fingers on one side, a pool in the middle, and a long tube on the other, sometimes with fat between them. (The layer of fat, an insulator layer, works like capacitors and allows the transfer of electrons through the space to shift the saline in the next segment of the cell into the next “drum” of fatty tissues. Makes for lightning fast transfer speed on those cabling neurons or input neurons)

They basically take data from the previous batch of cells, or in the case of certain cells, chemicals nearby. Convert that data into sodium or chlorine using pumps, and create a voltage level using the PH of the cell as a battery. These trigger a feedback function with another set of pumps to decimate the voltage and bring it to a normalized output for the next set of cells. Genius eh?

They use feedback loops, and the fingers, the dendrites, grow or shrink based on various forms of chemicals in the brain. Zhou’s work seemed to imply the the dendrites of these BSTc cells got seeded to their position during the third trimester of pregnancy, and laid dormant until puberty shifted them.

One neuron can provide the logic for AND, OR, NOT, ADD, SUBTRACT due to the pumps used. Two layers of neurons can give you an XOR, and after layers and layers of these, you have a heuristic sort program that can basically process any data.

So, we know there are cells there, and the are permanently affixed to one position. No amount of meditation or forced feedback can make those little suckers grow to my body, and I fear disrupting the processes of the neural network to try a hard-reset on them. It seems that my hormone levels are being reported in my brain through these cells, and the experience is pain.

Eureka, I had it.

I just needed to test it for myself.

This is where I’m going to say I engaged in a bit of mad science. I know how dangerous it is, but I’m dealing with finitude here, and if this is my one life, I’m going to make the best of it. I decided to see if changing my hormones took my pain away.

I also knew what the results of HRT would do to me, and so I asked for a new name and adopted pronouns of my new hormone levels. I knew not long into my treatment, significant changes would occur.

I could do it by taking a common diuretic that could suppress my natural testosterone count, and appending my estrogen levels with estridiol, a hormone already in use by many post-menopausal women and women taking birth control. Neither are radical or hard to get drugs. Neither are kept in pharmacies purely for my sole benefit to say the least.

I hunted around and selected my doctors. I didn’t want gatekeepers for this experiment, I wanted enablers. I knew that if my problem wasn’t hormonal, I’d have 6 months to cease treatment before any changes had occurred.

I didn’t last a week on the the treatment until I called it an amazing success. You know that video of the color blind guy wearing glasses that allow him to see color for the first time? It was like that for me for everything.

My pain was gone, and for the first time, I felt like I could see the world for how beautiful it was.

It was true then. I have been a girl this entire time. But, what did it all mean?

Do you always feel the need to band the rules to your liking?

“Do you always feel the need to flap about shitting on roofs?”

@vuuelo​ said: KISS DE BARD | random asks (always accepting!)

“Is this a friendship kiss or something a little more -- involved?”