i finally have wifi who else cheered 😽😽

Tolerate it - Part 4

Notes: Here is the part everyone waited for. I have been receiving so much love from you guys, and I don't know how to thank you. You guys are completely utterly amazing, and I cant wait to give you guys more of this story. I think i can write part 5 in a day, idk, but I will try my best for you guys. 

Thank you so much for your love, it means the world to me. I receive any type of feedback, comments or request, I posted a prompt list so you guys can have a little idea for your request but if it is your own then I have no problem writing it.

Thank you again for reading, I hope you like it.

Lena Luthor x reader, Kara Danvers x reader, Alex Danvers x reader. Baby Danvers.

24 hours before

The raindrops overwhelmed the streets of National City. The overwhelming sound of the rain falling was heard all around the city. The way the cold breeze moved the trees. The light of the posts illuminating the city during the cold and rainy night.

You were happily cleaning the decoration table, as you hummed to the melody that has been in your head the whole day. JJ, your boss came walking laughing when she saw your mood. “Why is my favorite pastry chef so happy may I ask” 

“First of all, I'm your only chef, and well like you know I finally cracked it. The lemon pie cake recipe, Lena loves so much. It was a success boss I made four cakes and they are all gone, third I got Lena's favorite flowers and favorite pastry, fourth I don't know, I think that is it” You stopped cleaning before showing her the flowers you had gotten earlier that day, and then the other box with the cake while smiling widely.

The blonde looked at you before sighing, you had worked with her for 5 years now, and she had seen you in the past with Barry and now Lena. She cared about you in her own way, you were her principal chef and somehow you became her friend. The blonde said as she closed the register walking to get her things.“Never change, Danvers.”.

You nodded and kept cleaning and organizing your workspace. Lena never leaves your mind, you knew you had to talk to your sisters and your girlfriend soon because it had been two weeks since the school decided to fire you since they found a better fitting music teacher.

The fact that you worked your ass off in the school, so the children could have the best of you, wasn't enough for them, and it hurt you. What other things have you done, are doing, or will do that are not going to be enough?

Like the time you worked on a project for 6 months straight, not taking care of yourself, working in three jobs, going out of line to make sure the movie sample was perfect. Trying to achieve your dreams, only for the executive director to call you one morning to tell you, they had found some else, someone better. 

It scared you to think about the fact that Lena may find someone else, you knew she deserved everything she wanted and needed it, she deserves someone who was smart, stable, powerful, someone strong who can give her anything, someone without trust or abandonment issues, someone perfect for her, and you had a long way to be that person for her. 

But every time she had seen your insecurities, she had come and reassured you every single thing, she had made your insecurities go away. She had made you feel worthy and perfect for her. But your insecurities had always been a part of you and somehow Lena worked in every step of the way with you.

Your boos whistle pulling out of your thoughts, before making you look up as she threw the store keys for you to close before she concluded “You are way too deep kid”

You murmured as you looked at the raindrops. “How could I not? she is my everything”

The rain covered you completely as you rode your bicycle, the coat on your basket covering the pastries boxes and the flowers. The way your cold shirt cling to you, and your socks getting wetter every time you passed through a puddle. Your soaked hair taking over parts of your face, as you felt the cold breeze hit your face, your breathing became stronger when you started to feel the freezing temperature.

Before entering the lobby of the large building, you tried to get rid of the extra water from your clothing, but it seems impossible. Grabbing the things you entered and smiled when you felt the warm temperature. You watched the clock and noticed the time it was 8:35 PM, meaning it took you over 10minutes to get there. 

Mr. Simmons, the doorkeeper of the penthouse chuckled at you, you were too stubborn to take a taxi or let Lena’s driver, Mr. Smith, to drive you even when it is dangerous outside, you had always preferred to ride your bike. 

After Jeremiah, your dad died, and you felt your world crashing down, you didn't want help. You kept quiet about your feelings, trying to comfort your loved ones, every time you felt you need space to open up alone, you rode your bicycle to the beach and sat for hours thinking, and crying. After a time your bike was the only way you went to places alone, it was the way you remember it was okay to be alone and to be hurting as long as the ones you love are okay and happy.

“Ms. Danvers, good evening,” The man said as he called the elevator for you.

You rolled your eyes at your name, before speaking “Good evening Simmons, we have talked about this call me Y/N, we have known each other for 3 years�� 

The old man responded as he chuckled, maintaining the elevator open for you.“Yes miss-...Y/N, I hope you don't get sick”

You mention as you walked inside, giving him boxes with various types of cheesecakes smiling.“I hope so too, Simmons. Here this is for you ” 

“Thank you Y/N, have a great night,” The man said waving at you.

You yelled when the door began to close, the old man nodded and smiled at you. “You are welcome! good night and say hi to your family for me”

Each floor of the building was elegant, classy, and minimalist. The soft LED lights on the top and bottom corners of the corridors, the way the blue and gray color made pop up the white vintage doors. 

You took the key chain out of your pocket, putting the security code in, waiting for the green light meaning you could put the key card in. The keychain was simple, it had the keycard and a polaroid photo of you and Lena, the day you moved in. Lena was laughing at something and you were looking at her as if she had brought down the moon for you. 

You entered with difficulty at the apartment trying to not let anything fall as you spoke before you stopped completely when you saw your girlfriend in one of the bar stools drinking wine.“Baby, I'm home! Sorry it took me a while but it was raining and I tried my best on the bicycle, nut that is not important, what is important in that I have something for you, you are not going to believe me when I tell you that after 3 years of dating you and knowing your favorite cake, I cracked the recipe- ”

You didn't even think about anything else, you immediately turned to her side, putting all of the things on the kitchen aisle, as you asked worriedly while checking her for any types of injuries.“Lee? Are you okay? Are you hurt? Did something happen? Do you want me to take you to the hospital? Do you want anything?-”

“I need to tell you something” Your girlfriend interrupted with a tone, you swear you have never heard from her. It was cold but at the same time vulnerable. She glances at the wine glass, not looking at you.

Pain and worries flashed through your eyes when you felt the sudden change of attitude. You felt the wall she had put between you guys when you entered the apartment, no greeting, kiss, or hug. It felt like you were nobody. That morning everything was perfect. Why is this happening now? Why the sudden change?.

You started to say before stopping, taking her in. She was not okay and she needs you now. It didn't matter if you would wake up tomorrow sick, what matter was that Lena was okay.“Lee do you mind if i- you know what that doesn't matter, you are first.”

You quickly went to one of the bar stools and sat down facing Lena. You went to grab her hands, and she quickly put them away from you. There was the moment you knew the hurt in your eyes could be seen by everyone.

You cleared your throat, shaking away the tears that were overwhelming your eyes before speaking, as carefully and softly as possible.“What's up? What did you want to tell me, Lena?”

“Kara told me she loves me” After a few seconds of silence, she took another sip of her glass before admitting.

Your stomach drops. Your throat was caught. You stopped breathing. You felt the world fall down on you. You saw how every piece of the future you had imagined left in the late nights. You knew what was going to happen, just because you studied film doesn't mean you can't solve a simple riddle. You knew the other shoe was going to drop.

You whispered incoherently, still not being able to think or speak “Ohh- i...I didn't- Ummm”

When Lena cleared her throat and her glance and yours connected waiting for an answer. You whispered softly not figuring out what to say “I didn't know”

The silence overwhelmed you. You felt your chest tighten. Your sense of cold and wet clothes in yourself became uncomfortable. The smell of the wine made you nauseous. The way you felt your mouth to go dry. Your eyes blinked away the tears, but the hurt in them couldn't go away. Your hands closing tingly almost cutting blood with your nails. You knew you had lost her, but did you lose her if you never really had her.

“Can you say something?” Lena said with anxiety in her voice, you could see her walls slowly coming down. 

You pulled away from her glance, painfully looking around the apartment not wanting for her to see the pain in your eyes. As your eyes ranked around the apartment memories of the two of you came running through your head as you responded quietly, pained and hesitant of the answer ”Do you...?”

You went, you heard her sigh again, you knew everything was over. You closed your eyes hoping it was all a nightmare, that this wasn't happening, that Lena loved you, and that she wanted to be with you, not someone else, someone better.“Somehow, deep down I felt the same, and that came crashing down”

When the words finally fell out of her lips, all you felt was pain and emptiness. There wasn't anything else but it. You knew you had lost everything, your light, your heart, your world. Right there you had empathized with Kara’s feelings after leaving Krypton. 

You kept your eyes closed, putting yourself together knowing that if you did or said the wrong thing, Kara and Lena would not be happy. And how selfish of you could be, to make two of your favorite people in the world to hurt. You wouldn't do that, to anyone less to your sister and the love of your life.

You knew Kara was better for her, Kara had a stable job, a great personality, a status that can be compared to Lena’s, She had superpowers, she is Supergirl, She was out of this world literally. For Rao’s sake how could she not want her instead of you, she was perfect.

You who was only a 24-year-old woman. You who studied film school but weren't good enough to get a job in your field. You who played soccer and basketball in high school but weren't good enough to make it to college. You who could barely survive in National City with two jobs. You who the school fired because you weren't a good enough music teacher. You who worked at a bakery as the pastry chef. You with trust and abandonment issues. You who had some much baggage because of your past relationships. You who were scared of the dark as a grown woman. You with self-esteem issues.You who were broken. 

You wouldn't be good enough for anything and less Lena Luthor, the good Luthor, a genius, the CEO of one of the most important companies in the world. How could you ever be enough for her?

You took a deep breath before opening your eyes, to see the two eyes you felt more in love with every day staring at you, waiting for your reaction. Lena had thought she was subtle but you saw the fear in her eyes, as tears overwhelmed them. There was the border, you would never want Lena to cry, or Lena to be other than happy and okay. 

You whispered as you slowly got up from the stool putting it back, taking her in, one last time. The weight of the world in your shoulders as you did. “Okay” 

Your eyes examined her hair, as you remember how many times you had comfortably run your hand through her hair after a long day. You saw her nose and remembered how many times you had softly leaned in, sharing an Eskimo kiss. You looked at her eyebrows as you remembered every time she had raised them, when you did something childish funny, before laughing with you. Her cheeks made you remember every time you would make her laugh as the dimples came out. Her lips remained you of every kiss, every time she would ground you with only one breath when you were panicking.

“You know, you two deserve the whole universe, and I know Kara will give it to you, as you will do with her. I know she will give you everything I couldn't, and that she is the better option. I mean we are talking about Kara, she is perfect. What isn't it to love?”Lena was perfect for you, but you knew you had to let go, for her and Kara to be happy. You concluded before walking to the door not bothering to take any of your belongings.

Lena watched you as you walked away in silence, her glance burning in the back of your neck. It was a second before grabbing the doorknob, with tears threatening to come out and a hitched breath you spoke with a sad smile.“You deserved all the happiness in the world, I will come for my things tomorrow morning, I wish you the very best Miss. Luthor”

The moment you closed the door, the world came down on you. Everything was gone. You didn't know what was going to happen to you, you knew you wouldn't go to Alex and any less Kara. You couldn't blame your sister, it was Lena you were talking about. She was perfect, she was the person you fell in love with after 3 months of dating. And you couldn't blame Lena for not wanting Kara. She was royalty, she was perfect, she was the sun, and you were not.

You just knew you had to be okay...for them.

“What now?”

“This just doesn’t make sense.” Hyun thought out loud as he got into the car.

“We can try to track the next call.” The other suggested.

“We need an unit to check her home daily. That guy said he’ll give her a tip, so for all we know, they might start meeting in private. Check all her friends, new contacts, all that. Her family. He said he’ll find out where they live too, right?”

“He did.” Hyun’s partner commented. “But still, I think you’re looking into this too much. We looked everywhere for that thing.”

“She sounded nervous. Really nervous.”

“She’s just a kid, in a radio station, alone, at midnight. She probably just felt intimidated. It’s almost as if you want her to have something to do with this, so it would bring you closer to catching this man.”

“I’m just doing my job, unlike you.” Hyun spat before he drove away from the apartment complex towards the police office.

—

“See you tomorrow!”

“Yeah, I’ll email the project files when I get home later!” Jiyeon waved at her classmate before she stopped at her bicycle and took out her phone.

‘Reminder: Send Sana presentation slides when I get home’ Jiyeon pressed the ok button to confirm the reminder in the calendar, before she made her way back home.

As she made her way upstairs, she noticed some of the elderly neighbours whispering to each other, but she didn’t quite grasp that they were gossiping about the detailed investigation at her own place. Instead, she smiled and greeted them before she made her way to the second floor.

—🎙

It didn’t take long before Jiyeon’s apartment felt oddly inviting, with a sweet smell ringing in the air that brought a small smile to Taehyung’s lips. Was it vanilla? Birthday cake? He couldn’t quite tell.

The apartment is what you could expect from a typical university student - small in square footage, textbooks and papers stacked about, ramen cups near the sink and in the garbage. He walked throughout the apartment, dragging his finger across various items of furniture before pausing at a desk. The grin slowly turned into a smirk as he eyed an open notebook.

“Perfect,” he murmured to himself before ripping off the bottom half of the page, interrupting her half finished notes. Taking one of the girl’s various coloured pens, Taehyung simply wrote down an address on the one side before flipping it over. On the other, he scribbled down a thoughtful little message:

Always remember, darling -

Curiosity killed the cat.

And underneath, he scribbled down a phone number. He whistled a tune as he walked towards the cramped kitchen, searching through all the drawers before he came across what he was looking for. After pulling a knife out of the drawer, he stabbed the piece of torn out paper onto a random cabinet door.

“Now you can’t say I didn’t leave you a proper warning, babygirl ..”

Taehyung made his way to Jiyeon’s bedroom, where out of no other reason than slight fascination - he began to snoop around. And through his adventures of rummaging through her closet and drawers, he made an amusing discovery.

“So you did keep it after all, hm?” He questioned out loud after pulled out the old jam jar filled with human teeth, “And you hid it in your underwear drawer? Such a twisted girl you are ..”

And how completely disappointing for the police department, and their canine unit, to not stumble across it. After all, she hid it in one of the most obvious spots a young woman could.

Hooking a piece of fabric around his finger, Taehyung let a pair of her panties dangle in the air before dropping it back into the drawer. He slipped the small jar into his jacket pocket - considering she wouldn’t be needing them anymore. With the police sniffing around her apartment, they simply weren’t safe here any longer. Then, he made his way back towards the door.

But before he showed himself out, a glass bowl caught his attention. Collected inside was various miscellaneous items, but what drew his eye was a pair of keys. A set of spare apartment keys. Just to be sure, he tested them on both door locks - the deadbolt and doorknob - before happily slipping them into his pocket too.

“Very cute place you have here, Jiyeonnie .. I can hardly wait to come back and visit.”

With a quick snicker under his breath, Taehyung walked out, leaving the apartment building the same way he came.

touch me someone

HIIIII it’s your favorite fic writer back from the dead with TWO whole fics real close together maybe I’ll finally become a consistent publisher?!? we can dream. Anyway. JJ and Kiara are my new Bellamy and Clarke I guess so enjoy this VERY angsty smutty hurt/comforty poetic nonsense the idea for which would not leave my brain til I wrote it. Please for the love of god read this bc I actually kind of love it and need validation or concrit or literally any feedback at all bc my none of my irl friends like this show so pls interact/comment 

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ao3

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He pulls away from her, and his eyes are wide but dry as his chest heaves. He looks wild, uncaged and raw, the moonlight turning his blond hair white and his blue eyes into pools of silver. Tragedy and shock have destroyed him, the chains he’d wrapped around his brash, heedless, unending want twisted into shards by an explosion of hurt and grief. He has always been the victim, the boy left behind in empty rooms with nothing but loss and bloody fragments, told to piece himself back together. Finally, they’ve taken the last thing. When he told John B they had nothing to lose, they still had each other. And now, he doesn’t even have that.

But she’s still here.

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

Touch me someone 

I’m too young to feel so

numb, numb, numb, numb 

You could be the one to 

Make me feel somethin, somethin. 

The Phantom went down around 8:30 PM. Or maybe 10:30. Kiara doesn’t remember. She only knows that the hours between then and now have felt like a lifetime and also no time at all. Like she’ll turn and John B will be there, behind her shoulder, laughing at something JJ said, Sarah hanging off his arm; but also like the world is dark and will be dark and has been dark forever. Like the sun will never rise after this. Like the storm took the light and heat from the world just like it took her best friend. 

Later, she’ll learn that John B’s official time of death is listed as 8:34 PM, when they stopped trying to establish radio contact with him and Sarah. Later, she’ll watch news stories about the manhunt for Rafe Cameron and the scandal of Ward Cameron’s property being left to his second wife, rather than his remaining daughter. Later, she’ll get an email from an internet cafe in Bermuda and her whole world will flip upside down one more time. 

But now, she is laying in her four-poster bed, watching the ceiling fan lazily trawl the same, tired circle, listening to the pull-chain tap not-quite-silently against the glass fixture. Now, her hair still damp from the shower that her mother made her take, eyes stinging from sharp wind and tears not yet shed, the inside of her mouth shredded and sore from the hours she spent chewing on her lips, the world is too quiet, too peaceful. The crickets outside sing soft and gentle, just like they have every night her whole life, and the texture of her comforter, the quiet harmony of the night, the soft click and whoosh of the fan -- it all feels so chokingly familiar, like spiralling back down to earth after spending weeks dipping in and out of orbit. 

She wants to scream until her throat is raw, sob and fight and unleash herself on every single adult that hurt John B, that brushed him off or refused to help or wouldn’t listen to him. She wants to gut Ward Cameron for ripping everything away from John B, first his father, and then the gold that was his by right. The gold that was theirs. She wants to rip off Rafe’s skin piece by piece until he’s in shreds at her feet. She wants to eviscerate his father with the same gaff hook he used to rip apart those two mainlanders and ruin John B’s life. She’s so full of hurt and grief and anger that her fists keep clenching white-knuckled in her blankets and she wants to bring down the sky itself. But at the same time, she’s haunted by that same emptiness that followed her after Sarah’s childish betrayal, like she’s watching it all from the outside. 

She can’t sleep. She won’t. Sleep is just an escape, a place to forget, and she’ll have to wake up and remember what happened all over again, remember the rush of hope and the hours of adrenaline and apprehension that ended in a tragedy none of them could have ever predicted. What child foretells death? 

Rolling over, she presses her face into her pillow, smothering herself until her lungs force her to turn her head for air. She opens her eyes, no less heavier than they were hours ago. Her throat tightens like tears are about to well up, to spill over and stain her sheets, but they don’t come. Itchy and claustrophobic, she throws back the sheets and paces over the smooth boards of her room, bare feet making soft noises over the lacquered wood. She has to get out, to make sure that she didn’t dream up the whole goddamn thing. 

She dresses quickly, throwing on denim cutoffs and an old drug rug that cycled its way through at least two of the boys’ wardrobes before landing in hers. She doesn’t know where she’s going, doesn’t know what she needs, but she throws her wallet, her charger, a flashlight, and her water bottle in her beat up backpack, and, on second thought, a toothbrush and some deodorant. She picks up her keds and tiptoes down the stairs, avoiding the creaky eighth stair. 

The key rack is empty, and, chastising herself for believing her parents would leave the car keys out after everything she’d pulled in the last few days, she rocks on her heels, assessing her options. The most prudent one is probably just to go back to bed, given the usual risks of going out at night as a teenage girl, the massive punishment that looms in her future, and, now, the lack of a vehicle. But the thought of returning to her stale room, skin crawling and mind racing at a standstill, makes the decision for her. She slips out the back door, making sure to catch the screen door before it slams, and digs out her bike from next to the garage. The tires could use air and the gears are misaligned, but it still rides, and it’ll get her… somewhere else. 

Her original intention is to go to Pope’s house, mostly because it’s closest, but then she thinks about how she kissed him earlier that afternoon -- and God, was that just this afternoon? There’d be implications, now. Showing up in the middle of the night, throwing pebbles at his window -- it would mean something. So she stands up on the pedals and pushes past his street, floating like jetsam through the night. 

She ends up heading for the chateau, which is where she was going all along. After her family moved to the outskirts of figure eight just before high school, it was the only place that felt like home anymore. She cruises deep into the cut, where even the smell of the air changes, from freshly mowed grass and chlorinated in-ground pools to gasoline and oil, rotting seaweed and the salt marsh. 

The little house sits in the reeds, ramshackle and welcoming as ever, tired and reaching under the moon. It’s empty and forlorn, alone on the edge of the edge, out past the main cluster of the cut, pushed past the tideline, separated from the rest of the flotsam by a freak wave. The Routledge boys never fit in, even with the outcasts, and they made their home like they knew it. Skidding to a stop in the gravel driveway, the sting of tiny rocks against her bare ankles is the only thing she’s really felt in hours. Her heart picks up, skipping over itself as her memory stumbles over all the years seeping out of the wind-weathered boards and the sinking foundation. 

Again, it feels like this would be a moment for tears, like the sight of John B’s house, the memory of Big John’s booming laugh and all the bonfire-scented nights on that sagging porch should mean enough to make something in her crack, to finally shatter the glass walls of shock and let the grief come pouring in. But it doesn’t. She just stares up at the chateau, one part of her aching for the ease of a found family she’ll never get back, the other dreading the fate of the little house. 

The breeze changes directions as she stares up at the rickety shutters and holey screens, bringing with it the tinny sound of music played out of a cell phone in a solo cup, a noise she knows well. Her stomach drops to the hard-packed dirt, crashing there with her bicycle and sending up a cloud of dust. Maybe John B survived. Maybe he made it back to shore, and he’s laying low, doing that stupid, chivalrous thing he does, trying to protect them by not letting them know. Maybe he’s out by the shed in that old metal lawn chair, Sarah in his lap, exhausted and defeated and alive. But as she gets closer, the moonlight glints off tawny waves crusted with sweat and salt, and the momentary, wild hope crashes and ebbs away from the shore. 

JJ hears her, of course, sitting up in the hammock and turning toward the sound of her flat-soled sneakers slapping the dirt. “Hey,” he says, his expressive face, for once, inscrutable. 

“Hey,” she says, slightly out of breath from the sprint. “I thought you were…” she trails off, because he knows. Because he’s the only one in the whole world who can look at her and understand the cathedral dreams and vaulted memories crashing down in her chest. 

“I’m not,” he says, an answer that belies more than either of them knows. JJ gets this look, when he’s seconds away from doing something particularly concerning (and usually criminal). Manic energy lights up in his blue eyes, burning anywhere from mischief to stubborn determination to full-tilt rage. The well-developed muscles in his shoulders and arms refuse to relax, and his hands get so fidgety they lose the coordination it takes to flip the zippo lighter between long, practiced fingers. His face fights with itself, half already spitting with well-steeped anger, the other tired, and broken, and grieving. 

“I noticed,” she responds.  She drops her bag on one of the metal folding chairs, dooming it to a coating of flaky, faded paint. Crossing the grass, hoping her broad strides will disguise the rattling breath in her chest, the shake in her hands, she moves to sit next to him in the hammock, and he shifts his weight to allow her. 

There’s no verbal communication, no squabble about personal space or indignant demands she find her own seat. There never is, not with her boys. The Pogues. It seems so silly now, hiding behind that name for themselves, a name she’d never really belonged to, anyway. He’s holding a lit joint in one hand, a bottle dangling from the other, and he offers her one while swigging from the other. The old favorites of a Maybank in crisis. She takes it. 

He falls back next to her, sending the hammock swinging as he gazes up at the stars. Sarah had known the most about constellations, of the five of them, but JJ knows a fair amount, too, some of the only memories of his mother the nights when she would hold him under the stars, tracing the designs across the sky, her hand wrapped around his tiny one. His eyes keep drifting off the sky and landing on Kiara, eyes distant, bathed in moonlight. 

“He’s not dead,” JJ says, surprising himself as much as her. He sits up, and she follows. He stares at his feet for a while, and she thinks about putting her arms around him.  “I --” he picks his head up to look at her and stops, voice stolen by the hope in her eyes. “I’d feel it,” he finishes lamely, and watches the spark die. 

“The first stage of grief is denial,” she says, and it’s supposed to be at least slightly lighthearted, but it falls cruelly to the crabgrass. 

“You sound like Pope,” he counters, and there’s too much weight to that name to throw it around for long. They’re both thinking of Kiara kissing him, and the memory is pleasant to neither. 

She doesn’t really know why she did that. Maybe it’s because he’s everything she’s supposed to want, intelligence and ambition and ingenuity, everything she tells herself is important in a guy. Maybe because he’s in love with her. Maybe because she’s definitely in love with one of her best friends, and he’s the one who makes sense. She takes another hit and hands the blunt back to JJ. 

“I’d know,” he repeats, and she knows it’s not her he’s trying to convince. He lays back in the hammock, putting the blunt between his lips and dragging deep before tilting his head back and blowing the smoke into the tumultuous night. She looks back over her shoulder, watching his jaw and the movement of his throat as he exhales. Laying back next to him, she tries not to think about the warmth of his skin against hers, the strength of the body pressed to her side. It’s only JJ, the same reckless, stupid asshole who carried that damn pistol everywhere all summer and has a talent for getting into trouble. He’s not giving her butterflies with his proximity, and she’s not thinking about reaching down and lacing her fingers through his. 

Eventually, JJ flicks the roach into the darkness and stands as quickly as he can without tipping Kiara out of the hammock. She starts, not realizing she was dozing on his shoulder until it’s gone. “It’s late,” he says. 

She stands as well, tucking her hands into the pocket of her sweatshirt as he kicks at the dirt. “I don’t --” she starts, and the hesitation makes him stop his nervous movement, meeting her eyes. “I don’t want to go home.” He opens his mouth to say something, but she interrupts him. “I can’t go home.” 

“Okay,” he says, after a second. He doesn’t want to be alone, either. She nods, and walks past him, picking up her bag. He follows her up to the house, and they stop at the foot of the stairs to the porch, staring at the buzzing light. JJ takes a stuttering inhale Kiara pretends not to hear, and he goes up the stairs first, wrapping a shaking hand the handle to the screen door. He pauses before going in, frozen, and it isn’t until she lays her hand on his shoulder that he summons the courage to push the door open. 

They knew the place was going to be tossed, but it still hurts Kiara and kills JJ, to see the overturned table and scattered papers, the couch cushions scattered on the floor and the coffee table flipped. He tries to shuffle backwards, to run from the sharp, fresh grief and the deep, familiar ache of loss and violation, but Kie is in the way, and when he turns to escape she catches him, her arms around his shoulders, his clutched around her waist. “I can’t --” he chokes, his face pressed to her neck, “It’s not --” his breath speeds up, his shoulders shaking. “They --” 

“I know,” she says, swallowing down tears, herself, in that same small voice from the night in the hot tub. She knew JJ was broken, on that deep, fundamental level that, intellectually, she could conceptualize, but she could never feel. But that night, seeing the bruises on his ribs, damning as fingerprints, the ghost of his pain, the whisper of breath knocked out and the brush of betrayal, turned her chest inside out. This feels the same way, watching him lose the last shred of some semblance of home to the same kind of mindless anger and selfish authority that claimed the first one. “I know.” 

He pulls away from her, and his eyes are wide but dry as his chest heaves. He looks wild, uncaged and raw, the moonlight turning his blond hair white and his blue eyes into pools of silver. Tragedy and shock have destroyed him, the chains he’d wrapped around his brash, heedless, unending want twisted into shards by an explosion of hurt and grief. He has always been the victim, the boy left behind in empty rooms with nothing but loss and bloody fragments, told to piece himself back together. Finally, they’ve taken the last thing. When he told John B they had nothing to lose, they still had each other. And now, he doesn’t even have that. 

But she’s still here. “Kie…” he breathes. She opens her mouth to reassure him again, but then his hands are on her face and he’s kissing her, deep and rough and desperate. She bursts into flame underneath him, paralysis broken, stupefaction overcome, as the glass walls she’s been watching through crack and shatter at her feet. JJ’s hands wrap around the back of her neck and spread across the small of her back, pushing her up against the door, and she twists her hands into his shaggy, sun-streaked hair. Every desperate question is met with his touch, and she chases it, even as he pulls away in horrified shock. 

“Fuck,” he gasps. “Fuck, Kie, I’m so sorry --” He tries to shove himself away from her at the instant she curls her fists in his shirt, and it almost rips as she pulls and he slams back into her. Teeth clash and noses bump and it’s not perfect or soft or loving, but passion born from desperation and terror of what it would mean to stop. Putting his hands on the door on either side of her face, he pushes himself off of her, even as she tries to yank him back. “What are we doing?” he asks, in a voice that won’t like the answer. 

“JJ,” she gasps, pushing her fingers back up to tangle in blond, salt-sticky waves. “Shut up.” Pulling his mouth back down on top of hers, she gasps into him as his hands come down and frame her ribs, one of his arms sliding around her waist and the other pushing back up into her hair. 

“Don’t you think --” he tries, even as he leans over her, their breathing ragged, his knuckles white in her impossibly soft curls. His forehead is pushed to hers and he can’t pull away any farther, sucked into her gravitational field, helpless to it. 

“I don’t want to think,” she insists. “I want this, I need this,” This momentary pause is already too long, and if he stops kissing her, stops touching her, the tears she’s been holding back will crash over her and they won’t stop. The dark room is loud with heavy breathing as she catches the scent of him, salt and sweat and smoke. “I need you.” 

His grip falters and the momentary relaxation has her pressing herself against him. “Are you sure?” he asks, and this is a choice, now. This isn’t something that either of them can pawn off as a mistake made in the heat of a desperate moment. He wants this, has wanted it, ever since he met her, but he won’t be a decision half-made, won’t take advantage of vulnerability only to become a regret. He’s giving her a way out, knows her pragmatic nature and her anxious need for well-thought plans. He wants her to think, even if she’s desperate not to. 

He’s right, when he almost never is, but she knows that if she waits too long or lets in the doubt that expects her, she will break. “JJ,” she gasps, “Please.” His name, she knows, he can’t resist, not when paired with urgent pleading, and in this way, she makes her choice. He surrenders to her. 

They fall onto the creaky pullout, still set up from JJ’s most recent stay, not minding the sheets and blankets wrought asunder by the angry police search. He can’t let go of her, his hands pushing up her sweatshirt, dragging over her sides and up her thighs, tangling in her hair like he’s drinking her in with his touch, intoxicated with the smell of peach in her hair and the taste of sweat on her skin. Kiara lets herself get lost in him, ride the wave of desire pushing through her, moans and gasps when he hits the right spots and closes her eyes as he lifts her shirt over her head and attaches his lips to her neck, his hands finally coming up to cover her tits, and the long careful fingers she’d spent so many afternoons watching prove adept at twisting and pinching her nipples and leaving her begging for him. 

She almost rips his t-shirt off, pulling his bare chest against her own and letting the feeling of skin on skin light her up, setting fireworks off behind her eyelids. Wrapping one hand around the arm holding him up, she can feel his teeth on her neck, and she knows he’s leaving marks, and, for once, it doesn’t feel like she’s being claimed. She knows what it is -- proof this is happening, that they’re alive and feeling and crashing together again and again. She sinks her nails into his bicep as his fingers skim below the waistband of her shorts, and feels him smirk against her lips. 

“Yeah?” he asks, and the teasing in his voice is tortuous and reminiscent of his old, humorous self, just enough to make her sad for a moment, and when she nods quickly in return, it’s a bid to forget that sadness. His fingers flick open the button of her shorts and as his fingers dip lower, the only thing she can think about, the only thing she can feel, is his touch, his all-consuming presence, radiating heat. The bastard takes his time, her only gratification the press of him against her hip, hot and hard. He teases her through her underwear, and she can’t say she doesn’t enjoy it, arcing into his touch, shocks of pleasure building in incredible anticipation, but he’s going too slow, and he’s wearing too many clothes, still, and the intense want gnawing at her has too much potential to turn into grief. 

“Would you just --” she grunts against his mouth, cut off on a moan as he presses his fingers against her clit. “Fucking -- ah,” he works slow, hard, circles, enjoying himself as she tries to form sentences with his hands on her. “Fuck me already!” Because even this can’t be easy, not between the two of them. Because she’ll always be fighting with him, even with her bare chest pressed against his and his hand down her pants. 

JJ grins, scraping his teeth over her ear. “What,” he says, still teasing, still bittersweet, as he finally pushes his hand into her underwear, “aren’t you enjoying this?” Slowly, much too slowly, his fingers part the lips of her cunt, pressing down over her clit before finding the wetness further down. JJ practically growls as his middle finger dips between her folds and he finds her soaked, dropping his forehead against the forearm braced above her head. “Fuck, Kie,” he moans, and he can’t disguise the wasted crack in his voice. “God, you’re so fucking wet.” He’s already drunk on her, every new sensation dragging him deeper.  

“Your fault,” she stutters as he puts his hands, lean and strong and practiced, to good use, dragging slick fingertips back up to her clit and teasing small circles, rough, calloused skin creating delicious friction. And this -- this is what she was so desperate for, to feel only his touch and the way he pushes her higher, closer to an edge far away from the bleak grief of their every day world. He moans, too, as he dips his middle finger into her and she keens into his mouth, and she’s not thinking anymore, only chasing heat and skin and pleasure, the rest of the night foggy and distant, moonlit and blurred. 

She doesn’t even know how much time passes before he’s kissing his way down her body, only that he’s fucked her so well with his hands he has three fingers inside her and she’s asking for more. He pulls his hand away and she lets out an embarrassingly high-pitched noise at the loss of contact, only to end on a gasp when she opens her eyes to see that he has his fingers curled around the waistband of her shorts and his face is hovering near her hips, pupils blown wide as he looks up at her. He asks her something, but blood rushes in her ears as her heart pounds and her chest heaves and it isn’t until his tongue darts out to wet his lips that she realizes what he’s saying. 

“Fuck, yes, please,” she whines, and it feels like less than instant before her shorts are on the floor and his head is between her legs, his tongue on her clit, and she screams, pushing her hands into his hair as his mouth launches her higher and keeps her there, wave upon wave crashing over her until her legs are shaking, and when she feels the pull deep in her stomach and he takes half a second to breathe, she has enough presence of mind to yank him back up, slamming his lips down onto hers, tasting herself there. 

“Inside me,” she gasps, ragged and raw and scraping. “Now.” 

“But you haven’t --” he breathes, and she reaches down, shoving past the waistband of the shorts he’s still wearing, her hand on his cock stopping him dead. 

“Now,” she repeats. And then, leans up to kiss him, slightly softer than before, as if in apology for being so rough, but more as a distraction as her hands unbutton his shorts and shove them down his thighs, her hands finding him again and stroking his cock until he’s gasping into her mouth. “Unless,” she says between short kisses, trying to keep her tone light, even as her cunt aches for him. “You changed your mind?” 

He scrambles out of his shorts and boxers so fast it’s almost funny, but the laugh falls out of her chest as he braces his forearms on either side of her face, pushing her hair back from her forehead and looking at her so carefully it almost hurts. “I don’t have a condom,” he says, uncharacteristic worry trembling in his voice. 

“I’m clean,” she says, her hands reaching up to tangle in his hair once more, to ground her, and disguise their shaking. “You?” 

He nods. “What about --” 

“I have an IUD,” she says, more grateful than ever for her liberal mother and her own presence of mind. 

He licks his lips again, eyes dropping to her mouth before flicking back up to her eyes. “Last chance,” he says, like she’s going to change her mind and push him off of her, run off into the night and leave him here, disgraced and embarrassed. “Still sure?” he asks, like he’s expecting her to say no. She nods without hesitation, caught in his blue eyes, turned cobalt in the half-light. He kisses her one more time, and it’s laden with years of things he hasn’t said, and she surges up with urgency, not ready for the tenderness in his touch. JJ tries to slow her down again, to revel in the moment of bare skin and vulnerability, no matter how guarded it may be, but she reaches down, wrapping her hand around his dick, guiding him closer to her, and he’s falling into her touch, into her orbit, helpless. 

She draws him inside her, his forehead dropping to her shoulder with a forsaken, heavy breath. It’s too soft, this moment before he moves, too easy to break, every sense on fire. The air is too close to her skin, too tight around her arms, like she could rip the fabric of it with the barest movement. She wants to be lost in him again, to feel separate, far away and floating above herself, not so torturously in her body, JJ trembling and present above her. “JJ,” she says, opening her eyes to find his, a split-second mistake, the next word hitching on its way out of her chest. “Move.” 

He does, mercifully lowering his face to press against her neck, the eye contact too substantial, too burdensome to hold. The bubble surrounding them expands as he works her up to that blissful edge with ease, his mouth letting out a stream of filthy words about how good she feels surrounding him. Closing her eyes, she tilts her head back, letting her hands have free reign over his back, his shoulders, his arms and up into his hair, every place she wants to touch him when she watches his ridiculous muscles ripple under his young, tan skin. He shifts his weight, hooking her knee over his hip so his cock hits exactly the right spot with every thrust, and she cries out, racing higher. 

She should have expected that JJ likes to run his mouth -- she only catches parts of what he’s saying, things like ‘so fucking hot’ and ‘sound so fucking good’ and ‘so fucking wet for me’ and as her moans increase in pitch and volume, he growls “c’mon, Kie, cum for me,” and she falls apart. He fucks her through the aftermath and she barely knows what noises are coming out of her mouth, her nails digging angry welts in his back. Just when she thinks she can’t take anymore, he tenses and spills inside her on a half-broken sigh. 

Her vision sharpens as he rolls off of her, collapsing on the squeaky bedsprings, and the house is too quiet all of a sudden, the air once again too close. Her breath slows, the sweat cooling on her skin in the soft breeze pushing through the wooden walls, the still-open front door. Neither of them says anything, and Kiara can feel him looking at her, his blown out smile too loud in the fallout. She sits up, almost flinching at the light touch of his fingers on his spine when he picks up a strand of her hair. “I’m gonna pee,” she says, finding her underwear and pulling them on, and then, after half a moment, pulling his discarded t-shirt over her head. 

Her head echoes as she steps over the scattered mess to get to the bathroom, like she’s walking through a tunnel. Her legs ache and tremble, and she wraps her arms around herself, numb and falling. She fights tears as she washes her hands. The bathroom is, as always, a deplorable mess, products everywhere and hair all over the sink. Her green bikini top is still on the floor from when she’d forgotten it just the other day, and that girl feels impossibly far from the one staring at herself in the mirror, wearing her best friend’s shirt while he’s naked in the next room. There’d be shame, and guilt, too, if the smell of John B’s deodorant didn’t choke her with overwhelming loss. Bracing her hands on either side of the sink, she can’t hold it back anymore, and sobs spill out of her, harsh and echoing in the small space. 

JJ is behind her an instant, half-dressed in basketball shorts and drawing her into his arms, tucking her close to him, her tears hot on his skin. “He’s gone,” she whimpers. “He’s really gone.” He doesn’t say anything, just guides her back to the pullout and straightens the blankets enough for her to fall in. She curls up on her side, crying so hard she can’t breathe, and he climbs in across from her, pushing one arm under her neck and using the other to pull her against him, his lips pressed to her forehead. 

Tears leak out of his own eyes, silent and soft to her earth-shattering grief. “It’s gonna be okay,” he reassures her, fighting the quiver in his own voice, his chin shaking with the effort of it. He stares into the empty darkness above her head, every jerk of her prone body another crack in his breaking heart. “He’s coming back,” he says, more to himself than her. “He’s coming back to us.” 

When she finally quiets down, the betrayal of dawn is beginning to lighten the sky, the moon fading, and the idea of this night being over feels impossible. For a short while, they breathe each other in, her forehead pressed to his collarbones, his hand trailing up and down her spine. Her head aches and her eyelids fall heavy over gritty, exhausted eyes, but she still fights sleep, stubbornly resisting another day, the beginning of a life without John B and Sarah. “I can’t stay here,” she says, finally, pushing back from him. “I should go home.” 

He reaches up to catch her chin as she watches her hands curled close to his chest, reluctant to go. “Kie,” he murmurs, lifting her gaze to meet his. He moves forward to kiss her, and she flattens her palms against his skin, stopping him even as her eyes fall to his lips. 

“JJ,” she says, an exhale more than his name. “We -- I mean, I --” 

“Shit,” he sighs, and it almost sounds like a laugh, formed from expectations he wished hadn’t come true. “Okay.” His eyes flutter close, and she watches him draw back into himself, close all the doors, like he wants to turn off the lights and pretend he’s not even here. But then, he looks at her again, gently smoothing a curl behind her ear. “It’s just --” he starts, and inhales again, wetting his lips as he struggles to keep his eyes on her deep brown ones. “Can we go back to normal tomorrow?” Her eyebrows push together a fraction of an inch, and he focuses on the wrinkle there, a thousand times easier than holding her gaze. “Please,” he says when she inhales to say something. “I don’t want to be alone.” 

It’s the first time either of them have been completely honest all night, and the most he’s said in hours. “Yeah,” she says, agreeing without thinking. Making it about him instead of admitting to herself that she wants to stay, that she doesn’t want to be alone either. “Yeah, okay.” She allows herself to be kissed, to be held and kept softly. JJ twists his fingers in her curls, skims his lips over her hairline before pressing his forehead against hers. 

He tucks his hand against the side of her neck, his fingers spanning from her ear to the juncture of her neck and shoulder. “It’s gonna be alright,” he promises, and they both pretend he’s saying it to her. She’s seen JJ cheerful and stubborn, breaking and angry, seen him a thousand different ways. But never like this, kind and soft, quiet in the grey, grieving dawn. Eventually, she falls asleep under his touch and reassuring whispers. 

The morning is just as sticky and unforgiving as every other that summer, and she wakes up damp and sticky with sweat. JJ is stretched out on his stomach, arms tucked under his head, mouth slack and hair falling over his eyes. Her head still hurts, and now so do her back and thighs, and she stretches her hand out across the rumpled sheets, tracing the red lines she’d left down his back. He blinks awake, closing his mouth and freezing when he feels her touch on his skin. 

“Hey,” she murmurs. 

“Hey,” he replies.

She waits for him to say something, but he just watches her, his clear blue eyes unflinching. She bites her lip. “I should get home,” she says, keeping her eyes on the knuckle tracing over his back, his gaze too heavy to hold. 

“Yeah,” he says, “okay.” Neither of them move. The world waits on a hair trigger, and JJ’s more familiar with this kind of silence than she is. She wants him to break it first, to be the impulsive hothead he always is, to make the choice for both of them. But he doesn’t, and the moment crumbles, and she sits up and goes in search of her clothes. 

He doesn’t say anything until she stoops to pick up her bag, sweatshirt in hand, ready to shove it into the biggest pocket. “Kie,” he says, and she stops dead, looking up at him. She doesn’t know what she wants him to say, but she deflates anyway when he just asks “my shirt?” 

She’d forgotten she was wearing it. Pulling it off, she feels his hungry eyes trace up her bare chest as she untangles the drug rug before pulling it down and arranging it around her hips. She tosses him the shirt, and he holds her gaze as he flips it right side out and tugs it on. They stand on either side of the disheveled living room, daring the other person to say something, move, do anything first. He knows what he wants, what he can’t have, what he’s convinced himself he never will. She remembers the line she drew, the boundary she’d very clearly set. He chooses to respect it while she waits for him to break the rules.

Birds sing in the unflinching morning, and a breeze stirs the hair around her face. She slings her backpack over her shoulder. The sun blazes as gulls call and waves lap against the dock. He tilts his chin back, like he always does just before a fight. She turns to go.

Travel Day

11:49: Left Fränkisch Crumbach. I got to Frankfurt Hauptbahnhof and I had some time, so I wandered outside and found a train station cafe. I bought a cola and sat by the most beautiful hydrangeas you’ve ever seen. I found out trains come every two hours for Zürich. We could leave at 14:06, 16:06 or 18:06. We would make this happen. I got us our tickets so that when Bethany arrived we could hop on a train. The tickets were 211.00 euro, for us both, which was a great price. We could fly but we were going to be able to chill and relax on the beautiful train together. Bethany would probably want to sleep, from being jet lagged.

  I think it’s priceless to just sit, relax on a the train. See the country side. Cross a land border vs go through airport customs. Also the train gets you to the towns central train station already. You don’t have to fly in, then buy a ticket for a shuttle or bus or train to get into the town, basically to get into the towns central train station, anyway. 

13:03: I was drinking my cola, and taking in the people around me at the cafe. I was peeking at the business men next to me. They did what I did, they did the caffeine drug instead of the alcohol drug (at 13:00).. They had their suits on, they looked ready for business. I watched one dapper man order a small shot of espresso with steamed milk on top. So mini and tiny and like the cutest cappuccino. I just couldn’t help but notice that it’s like a shot. Like a shot of booze. Just a shot of an upper instead of a downer. (Sorry, I was really going with this drug theme).. Then I realized that with a group of people.. the shot of espress was super smart.. You can sip it or you can shoot it and run, if you have to run. The drink makes you more versatile.

I had my headphones in and was listening to a pod cast but then I realized they were speaking another language. Not German, or English or French.. They are speaking Spanish. The Spanish business men. Behind the Spanish business men there were two guys at a table, drinking. One guy was Irish, with an Irish accent, and the other guy was speaking English but didn’t sound Irish. They both had two large beer steins on the table. They went the other way with their drinks.  They got booze instead of coffee. 13:07. I started getting ready to go, got my check to pay and paid for the cola. It was time to go meet my friend in the train station. 

My friend was going to arrive at 14:03 and we were going to try to book it for the train. Our train was on track 6 and she came out around track 16. We would have to just start running as soon as we saw each other. I waited impatiently at the top of the escalator, looking at each new person stepping on from the S bahn. I did this from 13:50 on.. Then I saw her and frantically waved. She waved back. When she got to the top, I said “Let’s try!” It was 14:05. We ran. Then we got to our track and it said the train was running 15 minutes late. That was good, cause then we could grab a snack, take a breath, give each other a hug, etc.

We eventually got to Zürich. We took a tram from the train station to go find our key for our AirBnb. Then we walked to our Airbnb in the beautiful old town of Zürich. We got in, dropped off our things and then we decided to go find food in town. We walked across the river from our place and found a great little fondue restaurant. We ordered Fondue and salad and some delicious drinks. We ate delicious little potatoes dipped in the cheese and pieces of bread dipped in the hot melty cheese. We ate, talked, laughed and drank. We watched the #4 tram go by. We watched the people go by on foot, on scooters, on bicycles and watched the sun sink over the river. After dinner we walked back over the bridge towards our apartment. We sat on the bridge and looked out at the river, the city, the churches and listened to the church bells chime the time. We took in the evening. We saw different groups of girls come to a certain point on the bridge and all take selfies, that was pretty fun. Then we found a Döner store and bought a bottle of rosé. We drank rosé and people watched. Then eventually we walked back through the narrow beautiful streets to our AirBnb. My friend made it way past 11:00 PM. I was very impressed! 

House Keys

chase…oh chase i love you so but you’re in for it now. chase brody, the former bro average superstar, comes home for the first time in a year.

part 1 part 2 part 3 Even if Chase Brody had moved out the year prior, he still has the keys to his brothers’ house. He stands now on the crisp, green lawn and swings the key-chain around. He cards a hand through his hair and rubs his eyes—he doesn’t get much sleep these days. Three years before he moved into his brothers’ house, he was sleeping in the back of his car. He’s been conditioned to fall asleep on the hard leather of the car seat, not in his own bed. He didn’t have a bed those weeks. Stacy and him still don’t talk.

He shoots Marvin a text.

hey bro im outside. will come in with the keys. jackie okay? are you all okay? There’s no response. Chase shrugs and tucks his phone into the pocket of his jeans. He’s a little hurt, but it’s fine. It’s Chase’s first visit since he’s moved out. It’s exactly as he remembers it. The lawn is in immaculate condition, with the hedges trimmed neatly and flowers springing up all over the place—Jameson was always in charge of that. He has an eye for lawn care. He takes after Jack. The door and porch are dark mahogany, though it’s washed in orange now as the sun is starting to set. The house itself is painted an egg white. The tiles of the roof are black. Potted plants litter the porch, some new, some old, but all beautiful and trimmed to perfection. No doubt it’s Marvin’s work. The sidewalk he stands on is decorated with faded chalk drawings. Robbie. Of course. Chase is standing on his own face drawn in chalk. It’s a wonderful likeness and Chase can’t help but smile. Robbie even got the faded green in his hair. He steps off. He doesn’t want to ruin a masterpiece. The light in the wide upper story window—Henrik’s room—is off. The doctor’s probably getting his much needed and deserved forty winks. The only light on is in the living room. He takes a deep breath, the kind that pulls his shoulders up like he’s shrugging, and walks towards the door. Anxiety wriggles in his belly. He clutches the keys tightly in his hand—they bite into the skin and leave an impression with their teeth. He remembers the call with Marvin the night before. He had been in his apartment putting together some videos when his phone had rung. Marvin had explained everything to him; finding Jackie bleeding out in the city, teleporting him home, the surgeries…all of it. Jackie was okay, Marvin had assured him, and that he would heal. But the fact that it was…was you-know-who’s work… It hadn’t stop his hands from shaking as soon as he said goodbye and dropped the call nor did it let him breathe. His panic attacks were always bad, but he managed the one he had that night fine. And the one in the bathroom this morning. On the drive here, too. He doesn’t have everything under control yet. Being here again reminds him of all the times you-know-who had been there. He had been there, for Jack and Henrik. It went the same way; a phone call. A panic attack. The fear. Now it’s happening all over again. Why can’t he ever escape the demon? Why can’t any of them? Even a year after…he still looks over his shoulder and tosses and turns at night. When will he stop being afraid? The keys bite into his palm like his old dog had lovingly done. He misses him. Stacy had to take that away from him, too. The sting and the thought of Bulls-eye grounds Chase and he lets go, letting it hang by the key-chain instead. Deep breaths. He slides the key into the lock and turns. The door opens. Chase looks around as he steps into the hall. It’s just the same. The walls are orange. The umbrella stand to the right of the door filled with Marvin’s props, the coat hanger opposite, and the stairs upwards at the very front. To his immediate left is the closed door to Henrik’s makeshift clinic. To his right is the doorway to the living room. There’s a movie on, though Chase can’t identify it as the volume is set way down low. He doesn’t know where to go first as he stands awkwardly in the middle space. “Hello?” He says to the seemingly empty house. “Is anyone home? Marv? Schneep?” “Chase,” His heart skips a beat when he hears the raspy call from the living room, but he brightens when he recognizes the voice. “In here.” Chase has to stop himself from running into the living room. Brown couch, flat screen TV (playing Die Hard, of course), wide windows, and white curtains that blow softly. The coffee table has coffee mug rings on it and abandoned medical supplies like gauze, cotton balls, and antibiotics. Henrik’s neatly folded coat, too. Jackie sits on the couch in a black t-shirt with the brightly coloured graphic of a cartoon dog on a bicycle. He wears the flamingo shorts to accompany it. It’s the first time Chase has seen the hero out of his supersuit; it almost feels wrong. His hair is the neon green Chase remembers it to be. He’s wearing his mask. The only sign he’s been hurt at all are the bandages around his neck and forehead. He’s hardly watching the movie. He has a big smile on his face, the toothy kind of sunshine Chase missed so much. “Jackie,” he breathes. Chase wants to cry with relief. He settles with hugging Jackie as tightly as he can. “I missed you, Jackie,” he says, muffled as he buries his head into the hero’s chest. “I was so worried about you!” “O-ow, ow,” the other hacks out a laugh and winces, patting Chase’s back. “I missed you, too, bud, but…stab wound.” “Shit, right, sorry.” Chase lets go, albeit reluctantly. “Dude, how are you? It’s, I mean—I’ve never been stabbed before.” “I don’t recommend it,” Jackie grimaces. There’s humour in his voice but he also sounds exhausted. “You get here okay?” “Parked out front,” he says, “Came in with the keys. Still have ‘em.” He holds them up to confirm that. He drops them in his lap. “How’re you holding up?” “This thing—” Jackie pats his stomach, presumably where the wound is. “—is a bitch and a half of pain. The neck thing I can handle. It just hurts to talk.” He coughs. It sounds like shaking a dead bush. “Really hurts.” “Oh, I can do the talking, if you want.” “No, it’s okay, Chase. Marvin did something to me, I think, when I was out. Makes my mouth and throat taste like mint. Pretty soothing, actually. Besides, I haven’t seen you in forever! I want to talk.” How can he be so chipper even after he almost died? Chase doesn’t understand it. He really is a comic book superhero. Always getting back up again. “Aw, it hasn’t been that long,” Chase ducks his head, sheepish, but straightens right away. “Can I ask, though? What…what happened?” The silence is thick with tension. Chase bounces his leg, the sole of his sneaker squeaking against the hardwood floor, and pulls at the rubber bracelet around his right wrist under his hoodie sleeve. He picks at the multicoloured bandages on his fingers and arms. Jackie turns the TV off just as John McClain launches himself through a window. He turns to Chase. Their knees touch. “This is what I remember,” Jackie says, and begins. He had met Anti during one of his day patrols, but it wasn’t the song and dance number they usually did; it was in the back-alleys where no one could see them. Maybe that’s what Anti wanted. Maybe it wasn’t. “Anti had…had said something to me,” he mumbles, “that I’m not the hero I think I am. That all of what we do, this hero versus villain thing, is just a show. I-I don’t know why he’s been pretending this long, or…or what he hopes to gain, but…” Chase watches him closely. Jackie stops, shakes his head, and moves on. That’s how the hero has always been. Hit a wall? Just go around. Forget about the wall and keep going. He remembers the fight—and the pinning stab through the gut. The words Anti whispered into his ear. Chase is trembling with raw anger as he sees the large dark bruise marks wrapped around Jackie’s neck where Anti’s hands had been. “But after that,” he growls in frustration, “I can’t remember anything else. By my wound here, I can guess what finished me off.” He taps his neck. “Everything else is beyond me.” “Fuck him” Chase breathes, voice quivering with fury, “You’re a hero to me, to everyone. To Jack.” Jackie flinches when he hears those words. “I don’t have any powers,” Jackie mutters. “What? Yeah, you do! That—that super strength of yours!” “Anti can manipulate objects,” Jackie shoots back, “Time and space, just like Marvin can. How do I know he hasn’t been doing it for me this whole time?” “I…I don’t know.” The anger evaporates as quickly as it came. “I-I don’t want to talk about this.” Jackie throws his hands up. “Please, Chase, let’s…let’s talk about you, okay? I want to hear about where you’ve been—what you’ve done.” Chase bites his lip, trying to find a way to stop the subject from changing. The one frustrating thing about superheroes? They build walls around them, shutting the people they love out hoping to save them from whatever inner turmoil they’re wrangling with. …Chase isn’t stupid or in denial. Even he can admit the similarities between them. But that’s just it. Chase knows he does it—Jackie doesn’t. He’d rather not push further and get into an argument, spoiling the whole visit, so Chase drops it. It’ll sit in the back of his mind, though. He tells Jackie about the new apartment; it’s spacious and less of a dump than the last one. Modest kitchen, shower instead of a tub. “I miss the tub here,” he says forlornly, gesturing to the stairs. “And my little rubber ducky. Shower’s okay, though.” He earns Jackie’s laugh. The apartment is far into the city, maybe ten blocks away from the alley Marvin had found Jackie in, and just across a coffee shop. Having cleaner, more colorful walls than ugly white granite that popcorned helps a lot to take his mind off more…painful things. He hung up posters, bought a flatscreen, had a whole new gaming rig up for himself—he’s doing okay for himself, he thinks. The therapy, the talking, has brought him out of the hole he was in three years before. He tells him about new friends. Baristas at the coffee shop who’ve recognized him as a regular. YouTube is more fun than anything for him right now. The Bro Average brand was dissolved, but he couldn’t care less. It had been time for a fresh start. His channel is up and running and he’s been invited to panels, talks, and conventions. Some people from AA said they had watched his videos. He tells Jackie about how good it is to just. Work. To produce content for others to consume, to make people happy, but not at the cost of his own happiness. He notices he’s rambling when Jackie says nothing and keeps beaming at him. He falters and lets his words trail off into silence. “What?” Chase says. “I’m so proud of you,” Jackie replies, and the pride is trembling in his voice. “Chase, you’ve gotten so far without us. You’ve got a job, a new house—you’re practically shining!” “You’re…you’re proud of me? You mean it?” Chase feels himself smile, too. “Yes. I’m proud.” Jackie puts a hand on his shoulder. “You’re my bro. You’re the bravest damn person I know and you’ve come out of this so strong, so…it’s…Jack would be proud too.” Chase understands why he starts crying. That’s all he ever wanted. To hear those words come out of Jackie’s mouth. It means he’s done it. He’s gotten better. Maybe not recovered fully, not just yet, but better. Even in his joy, he hates himself for crying because whenever he cries he bawls like a big baby. He buries his face into Jackie’s chest, shoulders shaking. He’s staring at the cartoon dog through blurry, teary eyes. The dog says, in a neon bubble, “RADICAL!” The other rubs his back in soothing circles. “That’s it, buddy,” Jackie whispers, “I’ve got you, bro.” Chase swallows thickly, sniffles, and wipes his face with the back of his hand. Jackie hands him a tissue and he blows. His eyes are stuffy. He looks up into Jackie’s eyes, milky white, hidden behind the film in the mask, but he can tell they’re full of soft, unspoken love. The hero holds his cheek. “Chase Brody Mcloughlin,” Jackie declares, “I, your loving bro, will never stop being proud of you. Don’t forget that.” “Thanks, Jackie,” he sniffs, wiping his eyes. “Thank you. It’s…i-it’s nice to hear that what I’m doing is finally right.” “We’re all proud of you.” Jackie’s hand drops but gives Chase’s shoulder one last firm pat. “S-speaking of,” Chase clears his throat. “Speaking of…where is everyone?” Jackie blanks. “Uh,” he says, unsure. “Good question, actually! No idea. I woke up, like, ten minutes before you came in. I kind of assumed Henrik went to work, and who knows where Marvin is at any given time? JJ and Robbie are out on vacation or something. It’s just Henrik, Marvin, and I.” “Huh,” Chase frowns and stands. “You wait here, Jackie. Henrik can’t have gone to work; he’d never leave you here alone.” “Marvin would be watching over me!” He argues. “This is Marvin we’re talking about!” He shoots back as he leaves the room. He considers going upstairs but stops before he can do it. He notices, to his surprise, that across the hall the clinic’s lights are on. How did he not notice that coming in? The harsh white fluorescents bounce off the tiles and under the door. Chase knocks. “Doc? Marv?” He says, “Yoo-hoo. Anyone in there?” Of course, unsettling silence follows. Great. Chase has played enough horror games to know that whatever’s on the other side is bad. He flinches as glass shatters behind the door. A shadow moves under the door. “Henrik?” “Schiesse!” comes a muffled curse to answer. Angry German swearing? Yeah. That’s Henrik. “What the hell was that?!” Jackie says from the couch, halfway to standing. Chase notices he’s wobbling like a newborn deer. “Jackie, get back on the couch,” Chase scolds the hero, “You’re in no condition to walk!” He turns back to the door. “Doc, I’m coming in.” He takes a deep breath, grips the doorknob, and turns. What he finds on the other side isn’t horrible, so he releases the breath he didn’t know he was holding. Henrik, hair messy and eye bags seemingly darker, clutching his head, is kneeling among shattered glass. From the way the metal table beside the hospital bed is on its side, Chase surmises that Henrik knocked it and the beakers that were on it to the ground when he tried to stand. “Doc!” He exclaims, rushing over to Henrik. He takes the doctor by the arm, helping him up, and looping the arm around his shoulders. “Danke,” Henrik grumbles, eyes still squeezed shut. “Chase, is that you?” “A-are you blind, Henrik?” Panic momentarily flares up in him. “Oh, jeez, I can get something for your eyes. Maybe ice—” “No,” Henrik sighs, but in the most affectionate way possible. He opens his eyes halfway, tired grey-blues looking up at him. “Chase, relax. I’m not blind. It’s these damn fluorescents—they could make me go blind. I don’t know why I thought they were a good idea. This nausea…it’s like someone took a hammer to my skull. Might as well have… I see enough of those lights in the hospital. Is it any wonder I wear glasses…” Henrik reaches into his pocket for something. He swears again as he brings out the bent and cracked frames of his glasses. “Oh, that is just great,” he hisses under his breath, “They must’ve gotten smashed in the fight.” “T…the what?” This is plenty strange already, but of course, he just has to notice only now that Marvin is crumpled in a desk chair, long, flowy hair messy and tangled, falling behind him as his head leans back, showing his neck. “Oh my God—Marvin!” “He’s okay,” Henrik straightens, though he’s still too weak to stand. Chase helps him into another chair. The doctor sits down with a sigh of relief, pinching the bridge of his nose and squeezing his eyes shut. “What the hell happened here?” Chase gestures vaguely to the entire room. “To Marvin? Actually, to you? Was it…was it you-know-who?” “Anti,” the doctor spits. Chase winces at the name. “It’s not right to fear his name. He and I had an…encounter last night. I thought I was going to die.” He briefly touches his neck. Chase sees all the scars crisscrossed there; it’s why the doctor wears turtlenecks to work. He’s always been insecure about them. “I thought it was all over but…but I woke up here. My head hurts like a bitch but I’ve got no other wounds. My neck, my concussion—they’re healed, like they were never there. "So, I have reason to believe,” he continues, “Marvin used the full extent of his magic to save me. It’s probably why he’s passed out.” “He’s always been shit at restoration magic,” Chase jokes, but turns serious right away. “Jesus, doc. Are you really okay? Why the fuck did you-know-wh—I mean,—A…Anti go after you?” “Teach me a lesson? Finish me off?” Henrik raises his shoulder in a shrug. “Your guess is as good as mine. God, I’m sorry, Chase, that this is the scene you’ve returned to. You’ve had enough of this…this Anti business, and now we’re dragging you back into it. Forgive me.” “No, doc, don’t say that,” Chase waves him off, “it’s not your fault. Besides, the guy’s messing with my brothers. That’s not gonna fly with me.” His voice shakes. He knows how unconvincing his moxie is. He swallows the stone in his throat and turns away before Henrik can call him out on it. The man crosses the room and takes a trauma blanket from the cabinet—he practically knows the clinic as well as Henrik does—and drapes it over Marvin. The magician barely stirs. He’s completely out. “CHASE? IS EVERYONE OKAY?” Jackie shouts from the living room. Chase startles and nearly knocks some important doodad over. Henrik’s blue eyes crackle to life at the sound of the hero’s voice. “He’s okay,” he says more to himself than Chase, “Oh, God, he’s okay.” To Chase, he says, “Chase, help me up—I must see Jackie.” “But what about Marv?” “He’ll need rest. Neither of us are strong enough to move him upstairs. Please, Chase, let’s go.” Henrik is almost begging. The tone unnerves and stirs Chase into action. He helps the doctor, slowly and surely, into the living room. “Henrik?” Jackie breaths, “What happened to you? Why are you limping? Is Marvin o—” Henrik launches himself from Chase’s arms and onto Jackie, nearly tackling the hero into the sofa. Jackie grunts in pain. “You idiot,” Henrik growls, though with utmost love. “You had me so worried! You could’ve died.” He hugs Jackie tight, despite his weak state. “Don’t ever do that again.” “What, get stabbed?” When Henrik glares up at him, he sobers. “Okay, okay. I won’t. I promise. Chase, where’s Marvin?” “Getting some rest,” Chase explains, “He used a whole bunch of his magic to heal Henrik. A-Anti attacked the doc last night.” “He…what?” Jackie’s tone is dangerously quiet. His shoulders are tense—he looks like an apex predator. It takes everything in Chase not to back away. “Calm yourself,” Henrik cautions, “I’m okay now. Marvin made sure of it. It is true; I had a fight with Anti and…I did not emerge the victor. But it’s alright. I’m alright.” Jackie deflates and hugs Henrik back. “I’m glad you’re okay, doc.” “You too, Jackie.” Chase bites his lip and leaves the room. He knows what he said about Anti, that he’d be ready to fight the demon again, given the chance. It’s one big lie, because he is fucking terrified of Anti, terrified of the fact that this is all very real, and that it had gotten all too real very fast. He wants to run away in that stupid little way of his, where he drives and drives until he can’t or locks himself up in his room, anywhere where Anti can’t reach him. He’s managed not to see the demon for a full year. He can’t do this. He can’t. Not again. Not again. – Chase goes up to his room and finds the hatch to the roof still unlocked. He goes out and sits there, on the uncomfortable tiles, and stares up at the stars. It’s somewhere around 11:30, maybe midnight. He doesn’t check his phone. Henrik’s gone to sleep. Jackie had helped Chase move Marvin to the couch. The both of them weren’t nearly strong enough to bring him up to his bedroom. Some part of Chase is telling him to relapse. To drink. He snaps the rubber bracelet against his wrist over and over instead. It makes an angry red mark. It’s a distraction. It makes him all the more ashamed of how fast he crumbles in the face of all this. He’s hasn’t gotten better. Even in the darkness, he knows what the bracelet says. He’s seen it, worn it ever since the last time Anti had tormented him. Alcoholics Anonymous, in white letters against a garish neon green. His mouth tastes of smoke. His eyes are heavy. He is tired and deflated. His brothers nearly dead—what a sight to come home to. At least now, he’s here for them. He is so tired, he doesn’t turn around when the hatch opens and Jackie sits beside him. He’s changed out of that cartoon dog shirt—he sports one of Henrik’s striped shirts. “Hey,” Jackie greets him softly. Chase can see the hero watching the bracelet snap repeatedly against his wrist, which he doesn’t stop. “Hey.” Silence. Cicadas. Snap. Snap. Snap. “How long have you been sober?” Chase knows how much Jackie wants to say more, but he doesn’t. It’s a simple question. “A year.” An exact year from the last time Anti hurt him. He and Jackie match in scars now. Not on the neck, though. “Dude, that’s awesome. I’m proud of you.” The words are hollow. He doesn’t deserve them. Snap. Snap. Snap. “Chase?” Snap. Snap. Snap. “Welcome home.” Chase breaths shakily. His wrist stings. He cries, the fourth time that day, and bites back the urge to scream. “He’s g-going to f-find me again,” he says through quick breaths, “I’m n-next.” “Chase…” The man shakes his head furiously. “I-I’m not leaving. If he think he can fucking s-scare me,” Chase hiccups, “he’s w-wrong. I’m tired of r-running away. I’m going to fight.” Nothing, for a moment. Then, Jackie says, “It’s what Jack would’ve wanted.” Chase cries harder at that. He wants to toss his house keys off this damn roof and never see them again, because they remind him too much of the doors he’s just opened up. He’s not afraid. Shaking and sobbing, he is not afraid. He is furious.

Control and Release - 23

Series Masterlist

TEDTalk!Sam x Reader

Summary: After the rest of the staff is caught in a snowstorm, you find yourself acting as a personal assistant to the notorious Sam Winchester. As the arrangement becomes more defined, you and Sam begin a sexual adventure with dangerous consequences.  

Warnings: Dom/Sub, humiliation, embarrassment, sexual objectification, mutual masturbation, spanking, cum play, fingering, anal play, orgasm control, nipple clamps, dub-con, breath play.

Beta: @ilikaicalie

Words: 2.8k

Parts  24, 25, 26 & 27 are currently available on Patreon for a monthly pledge of $2.50. This includes early access to all my stories, including the ABO series Gods of Twilight and Patreon exclusive content.  >> CLICK HERE <<

-

Forbes: At 30 years old you ranked as one of the top 25 most successful men in business.  You are a huge success. You’ve done all this by the seat of your pants, with no particular training in management. How did you learn how to run a company?

SW: You know, throughout my years in business I’ve discovered something. Coming up, I would always ask “why do you do it that way?”. The answer I would invariably get is: “Oh, that’s just the way things are done around here.” Nobody knows why they do what they do. Nobody thinks very deeply about processes. That’s what I’ve found.

In business a lot of things are folklore. They are done because they were done that way yesterday. And the day before. You have to dig in, ask questions, and not be afraid to piss people off.  It’s not the hardest thing in the world. It’s not rocket science.

Forbes: What drives you?

SW: As a kid, I read an article in Scientific American. It measured the efficiency of locomotion of various species on the planet. Bears. Chimpanzees. Raccoons. Birds. Fish. How many kilo-calories per kilometer did they spend to move? Humans were measured too. And the condor won. It was the most efficient. Humankind came in with an unimpressive showing about a third of the way down the list. But somebody there had the brilliance to test a human riding a bicycle. We blew away the condor. Off the charts.

This really had an impact on me. Humans are tool builders and process creators. We build things that can dramatically amplify our innate human abilities.

If you set a vector off into space, and you change its direction just a little bit at the beginning, the difference is dramatic when it gets a few miles out in space. If we can nudge it in the right direction, it will be a much better thing. I think W & S has had a chance to do that a few times. That gives me tremendous satisfaction.

Forbes: What drives Winchester & Singer employees?

SW: Most people don’t get a chance to do that many significant things in their life. I’m offering people the chance to be on the forefront of change. Everyone person is handpicked to be here. They could be sitting in a monastery somewhere in Japan, or out sailing. Some of the executive team could be playing golf, they could be running other companies. Everyone at W & S chosen to work with this emerging corner of law and technology. Plus I pay people what they’re worth. A rock star deserves a salary to match. I’ve never shied away from rewarding those who deserve it.

Forbes: Let’s just get it out there, the elephant in the room. How has the shooting changed the way you run W & S? What would you do differently in hindsight?

SW: The most effective change I’ve made has been hiring outside managers to monitor each department’s cultural cohesion. I hire the best and brightest, with that comes egos, reputations, and unrealistic expectations. It’s a balance between heavy-handed micromanagement and understanding what’s truly going on. We’re placing a greater focus on not only the quality of work produced, but the quality of the work experience.

Forbes: You’re a notorious figure with a demanding reputation. How do you see yourself?

SW: My job is to not be easy on people. My job is to make them better. My job is to pull things together from different parts of the company and clear the way and get the resources for key projects. To take these great people, push them, and make them even better, coming up with more aggressive visions of stale concepts.

Forbes: What advice would you give to someone looking at you as their model for success?

SW: Your work is going to fill a large part of your life, and the only way to be truly satisfied is to do what you believe is great work. And the only way to do great work is to love what you do. If you haven't found it yet, keep looking. Don't settle. You'll know when you find it. Your time is limited, so don't waste it living someone else's life. I learned that the hard way.

Forbes: You’re known for being stubbornly private regarding your personal life, but in one of your most famous quotes you said things such as hobbies and even family were a distraction. You’re older and wiser, do you still believe that?

SW: (long pause) Yes, but there’s someone in my life now who won’t be too pleased with my answer. The right partner makes you better. Distractions can turn into strengths, but I still believe it’s important to screen who and what you let into your life.

You sit back on the couch smiling at the photo of him on the opposite page. The photographer managed to make him look like some kind of billionaire playboy. He’s wearing a designer suit, something edgy and slim with no socks and leather shoes. His trademark glasses are nowhere to be seen and his hair is wild around his face. He looks like a different Sam, a doppelganger from another universe.

This is his second Forbes cover. The first showcased him as a new powerhouse executive but this article goes on and on about the way Sam is reshaping the way law will be written as it regards to intellectual property rights.

And that last question and then his answer. The right partner makes you better. You wish he was here in your tiny apartment so you could crawl into his lap and show him just how much better things can really get.

Monday

On Monday morning you follow Cole to the nearest conference room. You’ve worked hard to put together the right team for this maiden case. Everyone is feeling the pressure, pressure that’s only made worse by Sam’s attendance.

Sam makes you slightly nervous, but only because you want him to be proud of your work. Truth be told you’re more concerned about proving to Cole you can do this job and do it well.

Everyone else is terrified of incurring the wrath of the great Sam Winchester.

Despite working for W & S most employees never meet him face to face, so this is a big deal for the team and even more so for Cole. They have a lot to prove. This morning is the first in a battery of tests to come.

You set up the presentation while the team trails in. Each junior associate has been assigned an assistant and you’re happy to see the familiar faces of Millie and Lexie.

“Is he normally late?” Cole glances at his watch. “It’s 9:15.”

“No, not normally,” you reply as the door opens and a blonde woman you’ve never seen before scurries in ahead of Sam. The look on his face tells you everything you need to know, something didn’t go his way. He’s pissed.

He takes a seat, opening a legal pad full of notes. The woman sits beside him, offering a pen. He sighs and plucks it from her fingers.

“Let’s get started.” Sam begins. The room is so quiet you could hear a pin drop.

“Right,” Cole stands up, adjusting his suit jacket. “I’ve put together an overview, the key players and areas we believe there’s wiggle room to make our case.” He turns to you on cue. “Y/N.”

You start the presentation from your laptop, doing everything in your power not to look directly at Sam.

Cole presents, he’s well spoken and thinks on his feet. Sam interjects with questions designed to test Cole’s agility as much as hear an answer, but your new boss performs just as expected.

Next up are the associates and they don’t fare as well. Leon hasn’t done his homework, he doesn’t have the correct cases with the legal precedent. Jasper looks like he’s going to throw up as Sam goes down his list of suggestions and eviscerates each one, piece by piece.

While Sam speaks it occurs to you for the first time perhaps this is less his intolerance and more about the frustration of being the smartest person in the room. He already knows the answers, he doesn’t make a move without planning five steps ahead. He’s just trying to get everyone else caught up.

Halfway through his interrogation of Jenny Salter, a leggy redhead who started two weeks ago, the soft strains of a radio can be heard, growing closer. The guy who runs the coffee cart listens to classic rock on a little radio as he wheels around the office and at the moment Blinded By The Light is getting louder and louder.

“What the hell is that?” Sam cocks his head.

“I’ll go check,” Millie gets up.

As you watch her stand up your heart flutters. Little palpitations, once, twice, and then a tightness spreading out. Shit. This couldn't be a worse time.

Your palms go sticky-sweaty, a heat starting in your belly and fanning out like wildfire, until it seems the walls are closing in.

“Can someone help her,” Sam gestures toward the open door. “Is it that difficult to turn a radio off?”

“I need to get out of here,” you whisper, grabbing Cole by the wrist.

“What’s wrong?” he whispers back, turning to look at you. “Jesus, are you sick?”

“I just, um…” the words get caught as your breath goes choppy. “I can’t breathe.”

“Are you okay?” Jenny inquires from across the table. Under any other circumstances, you’d be horrified to have all the attention focused on you but right now you’re desperately trying not to pass out.

“Y/N?” Sam’s voice drifts in from somewhere far away.

“I’m gonna…” are your last words as everything fades to black.

-

You blink once, twice and a third time cobwebs begin to clear. There’s a pounding in the back of your skull, a heavy thump thump that hurts like a motherfucker.

It takes a moment to place the location but you’re lying on a couch in Sam’s office. When you turn your head both Sam and Cole are standing near his desk, both of them watching you.

“Welcome back,” Cole smiles, moving forward. You lock eyes with Sam for a moment, before focusing on the other man in front of your.

“I passed out huh?”

“Yeah. You hit your head on the table on the way down. You’re gonna have a goose egg.” Cole makes a pained face.

“Shit,” you feel at the tender lump on the side of your head. “This is so embarrassing. Sorry I ruined the meeting.”

“Nothin’ to be sorry for.” Cole nods. “You should probably go get checked out.”

“It’s just a panic attack. I get them from time to time. PTSD.”

“I’m familiar.”

Of course he is, the man fought in a war and you’re talking to him about PTSD.

“You should go home,” Sam suggests, studying the interaction between you and Cole.

“Really, I think I’ll be okay. I’ve got some work I need to finish-”

“Go home.” Sam raises his voice. It’s not a suggestion.

“Probably a good idea.” Cole agrees. He offers you a hand up from the couch. “You live close? I can-”

“We have people who can take her,” Sam interjects. “I’d like if you would go back down and pull everyone back together. Have the team regroup and we’ll reschedule for this afternoon.”

“I’d kinda like to stay with her.” Cole looks to you. “I feel responsible.”

“I’ll watch her until a driver comes to take her home.” Sam holds out his arm, ushering him toward the door. Cole looks hesitant, but nods in agreement.

“Check in later and let me know how you’re feeling okay?”

“Sure thing.” You’re thankful for his kindness. He’s proven himself to be an upstanding guy. You’re lucky to have him as a direct supervisor.

As soon as the door clicks shut Sam is kneeling on the carpet in front of you. One hand slides into your hair, finding the growing bump.

“Ouch,” you hiss.

“It’s big,” he cautions. “You should have a doctor look at it, make sure you don’t have a concussion.”

“I passed out before I hit my head. I think I’m fine.” You force a weak smile, looking over his face as he looks up to you.

Sam rarely looks up at anyone or anything, this position is vulnerable, submissive but he doesn’t seem to mind as he studies your face.

“It was a bad one,” Sam denotes. “It came on fast and you were on the ground in under a minute.”

“So embarrassing.” You watch him as he carefully pushes hair away from your forehead. “Do I have to go home?”

“Yes,” he maintains. “Go to my house.”

“Really, I’m okay. I can just go to my own place and lay down.”

“I’d like to check on you later. I’d prefer if you stayed with me.”

You forget sometimes that safety is Sam’s flag ship. He’s afraid of losing the only person in his life, in moments like this you get a glimpse of the acute anxiety. It looks exhausting.  

“Alright, your house. But I want dinner.”

“You can have whatever you want.”

Wednesday

“Y/N…” Cole starts, his voice trailing off.

“Yeah?” You don’t look up from the document you’re working on, scribbling a note in red ink. It’s been a long week of case review and making sure that everyone is on the same page. The real work begins in a few days so the team is trying to prep as they can. You’ve been spread out on the small couch in the corner of his office for hours, reviewing and taking notes. Trying to memorize the details.

“I’m gonna say something and I hope you take it the right way, because I’m coming to you from a place of good intentions.”

“That sounds ominous.” Sitting up, you close the folder and place it on the table giving him your full attention. “What’s up?”

“Is he always like that with you?”

“What are you talking about?”

There’s an immediate nervous feeling. A wispy flutter of panic.

“I’m talking about Sam Winchester. He brought you up to his office after you passed out, offered to personally watch over you until a driver was free. He can’t even remember the name of his new assistant but with you he was...attentive.”

“I worked on a project with him last year. We spent a significant amount of time together,” you counter.

Stay cool. All this time and Pepper had to walk in on you to see there was something going on. But Cole’s sharp, observant. He picked up on it right away.

Cole stares at you, pursing his lips and trying to decide whether or not to share what he’s really thinking.

“You should watch yourself.” His words are careful. “The way he looks at you, I’ve seen that look before.”

“You’re wrong.” Your entire face is hot. “He’s not like that.”

“I hope you’re right. Just keep my voice in the back of your head, kay? Don’t let yourself be in a situation where you’re alone with him.”

“Cole-”

“I’m serious. He’s interested in you. I’ve known men like him. I wouldn’t want you to be put in a position where something happened. A guy like that is used to getting what he wants. He might not wait for consent.”

That takes you back. The tone shifts and you swallow, thinking about how you want to respond to this curve ball.

“You’re jumping to a lot of conclusions,” you bristle, trying to subdue the urge to put Cole in his place. “Even if he was interested in me, that doesn’t mean he’s a freakin’ rapist.”

“I’m not saying he is.” Cole tries to explain himself. “There’s just something about him. You’re intuitive, you have to feel it too. You have to know the rumors about his brother? How they grew up? You can’t be sure some of that crazy isn’t lurking below the surface-”

“Sam has been nothing but kind to me,” you interrupt. “He’s hard to work for but he’s given me opportunities no one else ever has. You shouldn’t talk about him like that.”

“You don’t wonder why?”

“Why what?” You stand up, taking a step toward the desk. “You don’t think my work is good enough that he would see some talent in me?”

“I didn’t say that, either. You’re smart, articulate, you think on your feet. But that describes most of the employees here. I only meant there could be a reason he singles you out.”

Fuck.

In four short weeks Cole Trenton has managed to see what no one else could.

Scenic Route 5/47

Read on AO3 : https://archiveofourown.org/works/18268208/chapters/43229774

Start over : https://elopez7228.tumblr.com/post/620919089893933056/scenic-route-0147

Rey stretched languorously, savoring the silky softness of the bed sheets and the over-plush duvet. Sunshine filtered into the room through a gap in the curtains as she blinked to adjust her eyes to the daylight.

“Wait a minute—where am I?”

As the panic set in she scrambled to get out of the sheets so ardently that she got tangled up in them and rolled out of bed without being able to stand up. Having landed on the heavily carpeted floor, she worked her limbs furiously to free herself from the mess.

She was fully dressed apart from her jumper and her shoes. She looked around the room for her belongings, spotting the clues she needed to reorient herself in the process. Bland furniture. Deco feel. Cleaned spotless. Zero trinkets anywhere—no photos, no books.

This was a hotel room.

She was on her knees looking for her shoes when a voice made her heart jump.

“Hello. Sleep well?”

She turned abruptly, propping herself up on one elbow, and stared furiously at the hulking frame of none other than Ben Solo, who had just come out of the bathroom.

“You! Did you just kidnap me—“

Ben’s expression was mocking, part amused and part exasperated.

“That’s likely what would have happened to you if I had left you unconscious on the sidewalk last night. You can never slow down, can you? Are you always this overwhelmed?”

Rey was suddenly overcome with an unspeakable sort of anguish as she traced her stomach and thighs for any sign of bruising or pain. “Did I sleep with you?” her voice trembled slightly.

He rolled his eyes. “If that were the case, I wouldn’t have bothered to redress you. I never touched you, apart from taking off your jacket and your boots. They’re over there on the chair, along with the rest of your things.”

Rey heaved a sigh of relief and closed her eyes to try to calm down, to slow down the rampant beating of her heart. “Where are we? Your place?”

“Denver. The Four Seasons. It took me forever to figure out where you were staying, Jessica didn’t know anything so she had to call Finn. It took ages to figure out that you were down at the Four Seasons and even more time to realize that you didn’t even have a room reserved, you—“

“Stop!”

“What?”

Ben’s eyes widened at the interruption, Rey was brandishing a single boot in her right hand as she got up and stalked menacingly in his direction. Her icy glare stopped him in his tracks.

“What did you just say? You actually called Jessica and Finn?”

Her voice was shaking with rage. Ben held up his hands in the universal gesture of innocence. “Look, I had to, I had to find out where you were staying, would you have preferred I take you home?”

“How’d you have the number—Jessica’s—did you go through my stuff?”

“No, no need. You called her yesterday with my phone, remember?”

“And what, exactly, did you tell her?”

“Nothing but the truth. That I found you drunk and unconscious outside a bar at two in the morning and I wanted to know where you were staying so I could take you back. That’s all, I swear.”

Rey leaned against the bed and slid to the floor as her legs threatened to give out.

“Good grief…”

Jessica had to call Finn to find out which hotel Rey booked. She had told him what she knew. The news that Rey, drunk and faded, washed up on the street and ended up in a hotel room with a stranger was making the rounds, Finn and Poe and all her friends would know.

“Listen Rey, you have to be glad that nothing truly bad happened to you. Don’t get me wrong, this whole thing is ugly, the wedding, the breakup, all of it. But you’ll self-destruct if you continue like this,”

Rey leapt at his words.

“How’d you know about the wedding? Was it Jessica who told you?”

Ben was walking back into the room armed with armed with a steaming cup of coffee which he gingerly handed her.

“Not even. You talk in your sleep. You seem to really like Finn, and I can tell that you’re dying inside, but you should really let the past die. Pick yourself up before you get into any real trouble,”

“You have some nerve don’t you?” Rey was furious. ”I never asked for any of this! I never asked for your help! You just waltzed into my life, called my ex, tucked me in like a child, and sought to give me some life advice? Who do you think you are, you’re not my father or my husband, alright? What will it take to not be treated like a kid anymore—I’m  twenty-four and I don’t need a chaperone!”

Overwhelmed by anger and humiliation, she tried to hit him but he grabbed her wrist with a sudden tenacity that startled her.

“I’m not your enemy, Rey, I’m just trying to help,”

His calmness only served to fuel her anger, she continued through gritted teeth,”You’ve gone too far, Ben Solo. You have no right to meddle in my private life or to judge me for my actions. Leave. Now.”

Ben slowly loosened his grip on her wrist, looking her straight in the eyes.

“That’s not what you said last night, when you curled up next to me, calling me Finn and begging me to kiss you.”

Rey exploded into a stream of insults, hurling the contents of the mug at his face:

“You damn prick! Get out! Get the blazes out of my room!”

Ben wiped his face with the back of his hand. His black shirt was soaked in coffee, a few droplets beading his eyebrows. He grabbed the leather jacket that was hanging from an armchair and rummaged through his pocket. He slipped a fifty dollar bill onto the nightstand.

“The word you’re looking for is “thanks”, so this is for your suitcase and now we’re even. Best of luck, Rey.”

And with one last look in her direction, he shrugged his jacket on and retreated into the corridor, the door closing behind him.

Rey waited a few minutes to see if he would come back, like Finn often did when they got into an argument. After she determined that he was well and truly gone, she took to the bathroom for a quick shower. Later, she collected her things, double-checking that her travek papers and her money were still there. She made one last sweep under the couches to find anything she could have possibly left behind (telephone, check, keys, check, socks, check) and left the room for good.

Her hair was piled up in a hasty up-do today, stray hairs escaping everywhere to frame her face. She held her key out gingerly at the reception desk, dreading the bill. The receptionist was all smooth complexion and perectly prim uniform again. She smiled knowingly at Rey as she informed her that the room was already paid for.

Rey chewed the inside of her cheek as she repeated the amount due: 430 dollars, not including tip. Was it Ben who paid? Who else, right?

She suddenly felt a pang of guilt, but she fought it off. She wasn’t for sale. Flaunting his money around didn’t make meddling with her private life any more acceptable. She wasn’t impressed by his flashy car or his punk rock leather, or his overflowing pockets or his ears poking out ever so slightly beneath his dark locks of hair. Well, on second thought they were cute, and she wondered if it was a secret turn on for him if she just nibbled a—Hey.

Down, girl. What had gotten into her just then?

Well. She hated to admit it, but he was right. She couldn’t keep going like this. Floating around here and there with no purpose and no itinerary for days on end. Her fingers accidentally brushed against a bit of glossy paper in her pocket. She realized it was the business card that Rose had left her. She had completely forgotten.

Leia Skywalker

970-571-3350

Still at the entrance of the Four Seasons with no idea of what direction to take, she dialed the number.

A woman's voice answered. An older woman. Rey stifled her surprise—she had expected a punk, an artist, or some strange combination of the two who hired strangers to drive cars. But an elderly woman? What kind of woman could she be, if not the wife of an ageing Italian mafia boss?

She hurriedly explained that she had met Rose who had told her about a car to drive to California in exchange for payment. The woman suggested that she come for coffee, slowly dictating an address. Rey hesitated a moment. This was the point of no return. Should she go or back out now? Was she going to be kidnapped and forced into a prostitution ring? Locked up by MK Ultra 2.0? Exploited by the mafia and drowned in the bottom of a river with a block of concrete chained to her feet? Or simply have a tea with a gran who no longer had the energy to drive 3500 kilometers?

Here goes nothing.

The taxi dropped her off at the entrance of a trailer park, a sort of wasteland littered with mobile homes and manufactured houses. All kinds of rubbish piled high on the roadside: old bicycles, rusty trolleys, and other garbage languishing in the dust. Tattered clothes hung from clotheslines that swayed in the wind.

Rey remained frozen in front of the sad spectacle of an area of residence. Was it a trap?

As a safety measure, she took a screenshot of her GPS location on Google Maps and texted it to Jessica, with the name and number of Leia Skywalker. If she disappeared, her friend could at least alert the police.

His phone rang immediately. It was Jessica, asking for an explanation. Rey kept the conversation brief and put her phone on airplane mode so as not to be disturbed. She did not want to talk right now.

With her bag on her shoulder, she stepped onto the dusty road, looking for numbers on the houses. She realized she was being naive: this was no fancy suburb managed by the municipality! The few houses there had probably been hastily constructed and certainly not numbered neatly and precisely. She approached a woman, clad in denim and cowboy boots, who was smoking a cigarette on the steps of her porch.

“Hello, do you happen to know a Leia Skywalker who lives around here?”

The woman gestured with her chin to one of the tiny houses a little further down the sreet. Approaching it, Rey found it relatively elegant, the exterior well-painted, with colorful flowers overflowing from planters arranged along the windows. No rubbish, no rust, just a modest little house whose occupant was obviously very attentive.

Rey sighed with relief. She blamed herself for her hasty judgement. Not having money and living modestly did not make you a bad person. This Leia Skywalker had no money to throw out the windows, obviously, unlike Ben Solo, her subconscious snickered. She was probably harmless. Or was she? Stars, she had to stop already.

Rey knocked on the door.

Moments later, a little woman stood before her. She was no more than five feet tall, clad in a long indigo dress with matching bangles. His dark gray hair was tucked into a complicated braid that rose above her head, adding ten centimeters to her height. Her face was wrinkled but her features were delicate, and Rey thought she must have been much more beautiful in her youth. And above all, her eyes were bright and her figure poised and graceful. She was no gran.

Leia Skywalker invited Rey to come in, sit down, and poured her a cup of tea that smelled distinctly of bergamot. The little house was clean and tidy. Framed photos of a young woman in military regalia or a pilot's uniform were hanging on the wall, and Rey realized with amazement that they were all various portraits of Leia, in her youth.

On the couch, an old gray cat yawned sleepily and on the carpet, an orange dog with a curved tail had approached Rey, eyes begging for a pat. Rey let the dog sniff her hand to get to know her, then smiled and patted her head affectionately.

“Well, hello! Hello! What's your name?”

“Her name is BB8,” answered Leia, sitting on a worn wicker chair. My brother’s dog, actually. She is the one I need you to take to San Francisco.

Ayesha Liveblogs Cardcaptor Sakura S1

For faithfulness reasons, I’ll forgo rewatching in English even though I’m Jared 19 and never learned how to read 

I will say the original English dub had a BANGER of a theme song and I do miss that

"I’m a Fourth Grader at Tomoeda Elementary” I know I watched this like when I was age 7 or smth but SHE’S LIKE 10?? OH MY GOD who is letting this ten-year-old roam the streets

“I’m gonna stomp on him” [Lucille Bluth voice] good for her

I fully forgot Sakura had a dad I was ready to accept her Grade 11 brother raising her

Sakura’s roller blades give me visceral memories of my barbie skates

Lmao is Yuki’s ability to throw a piece of candy at a child from a moving bicycle backwards foreshadowing his superhero abilities

Okay having checked this scene in both English versions and Japanese, my opinion no one asked for: the Aminax version is bad voices on all counts, Japanese has a better voice for Toya and original English dub has a better voice for Sakura and Yukito (who they called Julian lmao) I am not accepting constructive criticism 

Tomoyo and Sakura sound so similar I could not even tell that Tomoyo was speaking omg

“There isn’t anything cuter or more interesting than you Sakura-chan” Tomoyo is really honest with her feelings I guess ten-year-olds be like that sometimes

“Is someone there” home invasions are what happens when you don’t lock your front door

This is not a study lmao this is a personal library there is hardly a workspace just aisles of shelves

Oh shit The Clow WIND RAIN SHADOW WOOD SWORD POWER THUNDER SLEEP CARD CAPTORS OF THE CLOW EXPECT THE UNEXPECTED NOW

Wait if this is hanging out in her dad’s study was her dad the last Cardcaptor lmao

Or probs her mom, since she’s gone the way of all anime moms

Sakura is accepting this whole “tiny magical flying lion” thing p well

“I accidentally fell asleep” “For how long” “30 years” same

“Stand right over there” Kerberos does not ask permission before magical girl transforming you lmao

“Why are you acting so wimpy” bc she’s 10 and you’re asking her to fight a giant ghost bird???

Honestly I love a good quest-to-collect-important-items maybe Inuyasha and DBZ ruined my taste but it’s a great formula 

“You’ll be a better adult if you have all sorts of experiences in your life” r u going to take career counselling advice from a tiny flying lion Sakura

I do kind of miss Kero’s slightly unhinged young man energy

I like that whenever Sakura’s brother is rude she steps on his foot or kicks him fkjhjgkh excellent little sister depiction

I was expecting more secrecy but it is very funny to see Tomoyo try to convince her friend to be a superhero

“Do a flashy one” kfhkjdhkj Kero supports the use of magic powers for showing off

“Trademark poses and skills are the basic parts of being a magical girl” oh my gooood

I mean if I walked into my school and there was a mountain of haphazard desks waiting there I too would be threatened 

Sakura is the only one in this group who has a reasonable understanding of what ten-year-olds should be allowed to do

LMAO @ Tomoyo’s team of bodyguards dropping her off to break into the school ONLY TO DRIVE AWAY

Tomoyo and Kero’s friendship is killing me the SHENANIGANS

I’m not sure I accept this light logic bc you need light to cast a shadow

Sakura’s “heart-racing first date” ur TEN oh my god

I mean it’s nice that Sakura wants to save the penguin but why did it take that for her to get upset it was going to drown a whole adult woman

Did Toya just RIP APART a WHIRLPOOL with his BARE HANDS

I wonder how Toya feels that his little sister has a crush on his boyfriend lmao

This cell phone is really top of the line for 1999 lmao I love it 

U know if I were a high school student and my friend asked my 10 year old sibling out to lunch instead of me I’d be confused

"They’re not even gonna hold hands? Kids these days” This is a VERY weird vibe for an episode

You know I guess if you never watch the second episode you never have context for all of these superhero outfits LMAO

None of these locations have security cameras I guess the 1990s was a lawless time

Will all of Yuki’s magical advice be delivered in the form of mysterious field trips

LMAO @ YUKITO ALWAYS TAKING SAKURA TO TOYA’S TEMP JOBS

Say what you will about the ominous influence of the other card, I think Wood is being fairly polite since it’s contorting around her house instead of destroying it lmao

“I was planning to film ‘Sakura Dances in the Jungle’ in the park today” I love Tomoyo 

Every little girl in this show sounds so similar lmao this is not good for my distracted watching style 

Wow Ms Maki is really unloading on these two fourth grade girls 

Since Tomoyo clearly interacts with even the more spirit-like Clow Cards I really have to wonder why no one else in this town is seeing these giant ghost monsters loom around the city

Well I guess this episode is a direct response to my previous comment 

“I can’t stand scary stories” says the girl who spends her nights going into isolated areas and fighting magical ghosts

Seeing Sakura activate her Fly card really gives me overwhelming nostalgia for the days I wanted nothing more than to be a Cardcaptor I used to wave around a toy broom like that magic key ahhhhhhhh

In the absence of the first English voice and with the added gentle Japanese intonation for his speaking, I am constantly forgetting that Yukito’s character is a 16-year-old boy 

Toya is really casually bomb-dropping the fact that he used to see ghosts and Yuki’s just like ‘dope are there ghosts around now’

Omg Kero’s sad face as he dropped the flower in Sakura’s lap 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

“I want to see if she wants to tell me something” like maybe ‘don’t run around town at night chasing ghosts ur 10!!!’ 

UHHHH AGAIN TOYA REAL CASUAL ABOUT THE GHOST THING 

Yukito Tsukishiro: Chronic Aid-er and Abet-er of Pre-teen Mischief 

Also if I’m right his name means something like “Ice White Moon?” Very heavy-handed foreshadowing lmao

“After we left, I went to the museum again and borrowed one” TOMOYO U CASED THE JOINT KJDHFKJHF

WHY IS EVERY ELEMENTARY SCHOOL KID IN THIS TOWN ABLE TO BREAK INTO THIS MUSEUM SO EASILY

Tomoyo is eerily well-prepared for this mission it’s like she has been planning to burgle a museum all her life

They really made an executive choice to have both a Yuuki and a Yuki that was a decision that someone made

Oh hey it’s the other pre-teen supehero!!! That guy!!

The more I think about it, the stranger the height difference between Sakura and her brother becomes bc compared to him she’s really like 2.5 feet tall they did not pick a proportion scale

U see this what I mean by gentle intonation, Syaoran somehow sounds older than Yuki simple by roughness of voice

YEAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH TOYA U DEFEND UR SISTER

“Here, a steamed pork bun” Yuki sure nows how to de-escalate lmao 

“That is made out of an insulator as well” Tomoyo is really prepared for any and every situation

It’s not fair of Li to compare what is probably years of magical training from his family to ‘trial by fire for eight weeks with a plush toy who doesn’t explain anything important until critical moments’

I’m really not sure what’s happening with Rika and the teacher but I DON’T LIKE IT

“I just want to be with you as long as possible” [cut to floral pattern] Tomoyo is aiming to supersede Yuki as Gentle Shojo Protagonist Sakura Fixates On looool

I’m sure there’s NOTHING significant about this familiar-looking sword brooch

Kero biting Li whenever whenever he says something rude to Sakura kghkjghk direct feminist action

What IS THIS business with Li running away flustered like that are pre-teen Cardcaptors ONLY allowed to have a crush on Yukito

“I guess I’ll have to beat him up once” Toya has zero qualms about fighting a ten-year-old

Two fourth graders giving Yukito chocolate while he peacefully hangs out with his boyfriend is the funniest version of executing this weirdness that could happen

What I’m really wondering is how the hell they cut out or explained away Li’s crush in the first English anime

“You were just a fledgling teacher and you married one of your [high school] students!!” u did WHAT what the FUCK MR. KINOMOTO I’m on Sonomi’s side

“Mother got married when she was 16″ MR. KINOMOTO CANCELLED! BANNED! THE HELL IS THIS!

“It was I who was granted time with Nadeshiko from her 16th to 27th birthdays” GO 2 JAIL DO NOT PASS GO 

This episode has added a lot of layers to this show none of which I like

“What kind of person was my dad” someone who should be banned from teaching

“Your father is a disgusting person” WELL

SONOMI I KNOW UR TRYING TO BE NICE BUT HE HAS AT LEAST ONE MAJOR FLAW

Lmao they’re not even giving context why Yuki is around anymore he’s just an accepted artifact of the Kinomoto household

How is that the Time card is Li’s but not Thunder since he also returned that one to its original form

“Their fastest confirmed speed is over 100km/h” Yamazaki leave Li alone he just wants to adore the sloths jhfkhgjhgkhg

Ahhhhhh Li helping Sakura get the Power card?? These motives are quite hard to read but it seems sweet

OMGGG @ TOMOYO MAKING SAKURA DEADLIFT A PLAYGROUND

“I heard a rumour that everyone who asked Kinomoto out has been denied.” Well. [x]

“It’s one of the seven strangest things at this school, that both Kinomoto and Tsukishiro don’t have girlfriends.” WELL. [x]

AWWWWW YUKI DOESN’T LEAVE THE OTHER PRE-TEEN FAN CLUB MEMBERS OUT OF HIS KIND GESTURES

[Hannibal Buress voice] I was so caught up in euphoria of festival arcs, that for like a minute I lived in a world where the rest of this anime didn’t exist 

TOYA BEING THE STAR OF DRAG CINDERELLA... OP UR MIND

I have no idea what the premise of the next Clow Card is but I really hope it’s “turn u into whatever ur acting as” bc I will LOSE my mind

I have not heard Yuki once intone as passionately as he did when he thought Toya was going to fall 

“You like someone else” 👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀

“I didn’t promise anyone else a dance” Can I just say I LOVE TOYA?

The moment of stillness before Yukito revealed who he was asking to dance lmao... the repressed teenage wlw inside me LIVES

Yuki and Toya tag-teaming as the Sakura Support Team my heart!!

Geolocating someone from a fax... the incredible 90sness of this act....

I seriously don’t understand this world in which you leave 5- and 10-year-olds unattended for hours where are your child welfare laws

I am really choosing to ignore how absolutely bananas the concept of Tomoyo having a hidden Sakura Movie Theatre is

Speaking of weird, are we just trusting that this old man is normal? Is everyone doing that? I’m still not ready to trust yet the Sakura’s dad situation really burned me

“Girls look their best when they smile” a sweet thought that would not fly if an old man I just met told me that lmao

I’m REALLY not trusting this old man dressing up this girl in his dead (missing?) granddaughter’s clothes and staring broodily when she mentions there is a parent with her

“My great-granddaughter seemed happy” YOUR WHAT NOW 

Their school trips seem much more fun than ours were we never went to the beach or fishing or got disappeared briefly in a cave

It continues to be funny how Sakura and Li have 0% tension re: Clow Cards, 99% tension re: Yukito who is already in a committed Something or the Other with Sakura’s brother

“Why were you on the roof” “Because it’s nice out today” LOL YUKITO

There’s no rhyme or reason to these card types huh some are like “I will destroy an entire zoo for fun” and other ones are like “mood lighting :)”

Sakura really isn’t out here to teach us any lessons lol it’s really a ‘get others to do your homework if you can get away with it’ episode

Rounding out the triad of superpowered pre-teens with Meilin I suppose

“Syaoran is my fiance” I have had it up to HERE with this anime cousinfuckery I don’t CARE if it’s cool in Japan or Hong Kong or whatever STOP BEING WEIRD WITH YOUR COUSINS

Poor Syaoran he was doing so well with getting along with Sakura until Meilin got here

"It was done by a girl again?” Oh my god is Meilin beating up grown men in parks for street cred

“It seems our relationship chart has gotten rather complicated” Tomoyo probably means astrology chart but here’s my understanding so far:

Speaking of complex relationships I wonder how Meilin will react to Syaoran’s crush on Yuki

This rivalry between Sakura and Meilin could not be more one-sided

I really was wondering for a second if the card was going to split in half

I love the vibe of Sakura and Toya teaming up to help their creepy dad but even MORE SO I love that Yukito is In This Household

“The contents are already up here” This episode really doesn’t hit the same way now that cloud storage exists and also what were all those floppy disks for if not to save your work Mr. Kinomoto

I love that Tomoyo always pulls her weight in her superhero sidekick role like she is here to support and help whenever needed 

Sakura using her powers to impress her crush with a ghost duet lmao these priorities 

“Sakura’s Little Adventure” I see what u did there

Kero’s little shoulder pat with his paw to let Sakura know he’s there aw

Omg this Clow Card is so cute “Is it your fault I’m so small now?” [nods pleasantly]

It is very bold of Sakura to be doing magic so casually when her brother and Yuki are right downstairs 

I like that this show recognizes the inherent intimacy of allowing someone to cut your hair

“Information about you has gotten around to the cards” well this is an ominous start to this funky tarot reading

Well the experience of seeing his little sister try to murder him has got to be traumatizing for Toya I hope he doesn’t remember this

UMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM DID TOYA JUST FALL OFF OF A CLIFF

“Can you give me a break... and stop looking like Sakura” EXCUSE ME

“My mom’s up there too, so say hi to her for me” OH MY GOOOOD TOYA REALLY DOES SEE GHOSTS AHHHHHHHHHHH

WAIT SO IT WAS A CLOW CARD DOES TOYA HAVE MAGICAL POWERS TOO

Omg @ Toya feeding Yuki from his bed this really is an intimate episode

I kind of appreciate the slow build of this show like it took them 25 episodes to introduce meaningful stakes

“But it might be tougher than the earth going ‘boom!’ Depending on who you are...” Well hello threatening figure in sunglasses standing outside Sakura’s house what’s up

“I’ll look the other way” Ms Mizuki is literally this meme:

I can only assume that if Toya knows Ms. Mizuki then she must be a ghost

Personally if Mizuki gives Syaoran the heebie jeebies I trust his instincts

“Um... do you like Yukito too?” Oh my goooood they’re sincerely discussing being Not Straight in middle school in this 90s anime that I watched when I was 7 I cannot believe

“And it’s been a year since you told me you loved me here” WHY DOES EVERYONE IN THIS FAMILY WANT TO DATE SOMEONE TOO OLD FOR THEM WHAT THE FUCK WERE YOU DOING DATING SOMEONE TOYA’S AGE MIZUKI

Also I have to rethink every thought I had about Toya being gay. I mean bi is great too but my thoughts..... racing...........

“Because the next time I see you, you’ll have someone else that you’ll be in love with” Yukito BF confirmed but oh my GOD this relationship chart IS complicated good lord

If there’s anything the episode “Sakura and Her Shrine of Memories” has taught me it’s that everyone in this show is bisexual and all teachers in their neighbourhood should be in jail

I understand that Meilin is a kid but poor Syaoran he is constantly being harassed 

I love Yuki’s bottomless stomach lmao

Syaoran and Sakura have such a genuinely supportive relationship but it is very funny how they try simultaneously to get Yuki’s attention with the exact same words

“I’ve been thinking for a while that Mr. Terada is a lot like my dad” oh thank you Rika for someone finally being normal in this show

“Well it’s a harmless one” You see this is what I mean the dichotomy of Clow Cards is like... “I’m going trap you in a maze until you perish” or “I’m gonna give you a sugar rush :]”

I like that Sakura and Syaoran are starting to partner up as a duo on purpose like yessss I love a 1-2 finish and friendship development

Ahhh poor Syaoran he’s realizing that Yukito’s #1 in his life is the Kinomoto fam

We’re all familiar with the eternal struggle of whether using ur superpowers for school sports is cheating 

AWWW SYAORAN USING HIS POWERS FOR MAGICAL PEP TALKS AFTER HE HELPED TURN REI’S PET FOX INTO A POKEMON CARD THAT’S MY BOOOOY

“I will stomp on him” it’s been 31 episodes let Sakura stomp on her brother

Oh my GOOOD does this Big card mean that Sakura WILL FINALLY STOMP ON TOYA LMAO

Ur telling me that no one else in this ENTIRE TOWN notices this altercation of a giant preteen vs a dragon

Why does the logic for how voices travel based on size apply for the Little card (when Toya was speaking) and not for the Big card (when Sakura is speaking)

Sgskdhgkhkgjh honestly body switching as a trope will never not be funny

Syaoran blushing and running away from Sakura oh how the turn tables

Every domestic scene that Yuki and Toya have adds ten years to my life we love some gay/bi teens about to be gay/bi adults

Ffskhhfkj I absolutely cannot relate to this Southern Hemisphere nonsense of finding ten degrees celsius arctic cold like BRO that is a normal spring day here

“We’re not frozen because we have magical powers” I know that cutaway was to confirm Mizuki’s magical powers again but this would’ve been a hilarious time to reveal that like Yamazaki the Compulsively Lying Classmate had powers

Awwww he likes her now that’s cute 

“I got work that day” I will bet someone ten dollars that Toya is working at that quiz rally

Update from 5 minutes later: PAYPAL ME $10

Kero keeps whispering to the moon when in fact some iteration of the moon is right around the corner (literally)

GOOOOOOOOD SYAORAN REALIZING HE HAS A CRUSH ON BOTH HALVES OF THAT TEAM KILLS ME SWEET BOY

Shared Gaze of People Who Have Dated* Toya and Have Magical Powers They Haven’t Revealed Yet

*Go to jail Mizuki

I am really going crazy wondering when they’re gonna reveal stuff about Yukito like bitchhhhhhh I know you’re a moon man when will u tellll usss

How many more times will Sakura have this same threatening dream before she realizes her math teacher is probably going to try to kill her

Update from one minute later: I guess it was exactly one more time

“That’s right, Yukito’s birthday is on Christmas day” is this coming to be a coming of age where he like suddenly sprouts wings at age 17

I’ve been thinking this for a while but this show makes it seem like Japan has a much more fun approach to athletics than my school experiences

Yukito really is unflappable about hanging out with a bunch of kids half his height huh he’s like the Fourth Grader Whisperer

I KNEW IT YUKITO NEVER GOES WITH SAKURA ANYWHERE UNLESS HER BROTHER WILL ALSO BE WORKING THERE DFHKDFHKJ every time it’s just “Hey Toya :)”

“This kid...” HAHAH TOYA HAS JUST REALIZED THAT SYAORAN HAS A CRUSH ON HIS LITTLE SISTER AND HIS BOYFRIEND THE UTTER SUSPICION IN HIS TONE

“Wind become a binding chain” Whoops Sakura foiled by 4th grade knowledge of the elements

Oh shiiiit love a world-building moment now we have two card combos in play ayyyyy

Lmao @ Kero using his returned powers immediately for fireworks mood lighting is a serious Clow Card priority

“I would like to come again this year” everything in this show feels like foreshadowing for dramatic irony

- ̗̀ * ( sophie turner + cisfemale + she/her ) have you seen ( aster holloway ) walking around campus ? they are a ( twenty-one ) year old, studying ( botany + entomology ). we hear they are in ( theta sigma eta ), and can be ( opinionated & daunting ), maybe it’s because they are an ( aries ). they sort of remind us of ( abandoned greenhouses, spinning bike wheels , iridescent pocket knives ), maybe we can find out more ! *  ̖́-  + habitat

i yeet’d holliday for this child o’ mine pls love her bc i love her sm i’ll prolly change her fc to sophie turner as soon as i get tired of cropping gifs of saoirse but enjoy her face for now sksksk. like this n i’ll come to u!!

tw: fire, death, cancer, etc. etc.

gen. info

full name: aster holloway

nickname(s): n/a, give her one n she’ll cut you probably

b.o.d. - april 1st.

label(s): the hellcat, the minefield, the connard, etc. etc.

height: probably like 5′7″ or 5′8″ tbh

hometown: inglewood, california

sexuality: chaotic. lesbian.

bio. info

hasn’t had the most......stable, life

born to dahlia verbeck, a botanist, wildlife conservationist, and volunteer firefighter whose presence was very well known in south california’s environmental scene

to keep a long story short, she married maverick holloway; a sleazy low-rank cop with a smoking problem and an obnoxious personality when she was 19. he was nearly twice her age. nobody knows why she married him, or why she tolerated him

the relationship was by no means abusive, but it was lackluster

this led to dahlia having a one night stand, and baba boom baba bing, aster was conceived

 the only one who knew that the child wasn’t maverick’s was dahlia’s twin brother, donovan, whose career was p much the exact same as dahlia’s

they were basically both mad scientists; when dahlia started slacking because of her pregnancy, donovan would kick it up

like ykno the twin scientists in bioshock infinite ?? that them like they were eerily alike, always finishing each other’s sentences. nightmare fuel.

the only difference was that donovan was considerably less intense than dahlia b/c dahlia was the kinda lass who would set fire to your car

anywAYs so aster was born and everything was fine n dandy until she got a lil older and it suddenly became clear that this child was absolutely not maverick’s at all because they looked. nothing alike. like u know when u can just tell ?? yeah. yeah u could tell

maverick left dahlia afterwards and it was essentially up to her to raise aster alone. donovan had his own wife and kid to take care of and sort of backed down from his career to do so. house dads ftw

aster grew up knowing her dad as some ‘deadbeat no good’ simply bc dahlia was bitter

also grew up as the kid who would hold worms over another kid’s face and taunt them w/ it. so like, playground bully. that was aster. she’s not ashamed of it

she was often left on her own to do her own kinda shit b/c her mom was always busy out in nature n’ shit but aster never minded; loved her mom a Lot

aster’s life changed when she was nine

her mother had been doing research out in the ~wilderness~ with donovan, after months of convincing him of doing this one last project with her~ when the wildfires started

it spread so fast, and they were already too far away from the road

it took them two months to confirm that the twins were dead

rather than leave aster to maverick, elaine--donovan’s wife--took her under her wing and moved across the country to boston alongside myra, her daughter

elaine always held a resentment towards aster because of her mother, but never did anything about it--it was just always, sorta, implied ?

but myra and aster got along swimmingly despite being polar opposites

aster was p much a feral child, and myra had been receiving etiquette lessons since birth, practically--like, literally

elaine put them in the same hobbies but aster always found ways to be wildly different from the ~standard~

myra learned cello and flute, aster started up on bass and drums (breaking both instruments, repeatedly, for many years)

elaine forced dance onto the both of them, and whilst they both excelled at ballet--aster switched over to a more free-flowing dance as soon as she was able to

(that and when elaine tried to put aster in sports instead of dance--figuring her fiery nature would be put to good use--aster managed to get kicked off of every single team of every single sport she tried b/c of her aggression. theyve had to fight a few lawsuits after aster’s broken a number of noses and sporting equipments)

myra was learning two languages, aster? dyslexic and could barely read english as it was; science made sense to her, however. plants? especially.

people confused myra and aster for twins nearly all the damn time, despite only being cousins, they were so alike and yet so opposite

that was, of course, until they got into a nasty spat when they were seventeen

it was something about dead parents and resentments and yadda yadda; it didn’t end well

aster wound up running away......all the way back to los angeles.

n i mean like......homegirl literally managed to run away across the gd country w/o getting caught or murdered

by the time she arrived in los angeles her aunt was sort of like ‘fuck it ur almost 18′ b/c....aster was nearly 18 by the time she arrived in the city, and elaine contacted maverick who in which found aster

aster did not want to go with him, after hearing stories about him just being no-good

but at that point, maverick was one of los angeles’ head detectives with a beautiful apartment and a beautiful wife and a beautiful dog and just kind of living his best life ?? after dahlia’s death he had really cleaned himself up y’kno

aster still kind of resented him but that was more of an inner thing

anyways she started attending ucla b/c her mother attended ucla, but her mother wasn’t a part of a sorority

it was one of those spur of the moment decisions and like nobody knows how aster ended up in theta sigma eta b/c she’s like a grumpy grandmother

but like she dun’ did that

we stan

a year ago maverick was diagnosed w cancer and has been in the hospital battling it ever since, aster is admittedly effected by it but like would never tell anybody ever

she doesn’t really tell anybody anything about her life, like, it’s a gd mystery

uuuuuuuuh aster works in a floral shop as a florist and grows her own shit ranging from fruits, vegetables, weed, shrooms, uh opium poppies yeah she Does that

it’s organic n fresh n shit like the devil works hard but aster works harder

she doesn’t really ~sell~ too often b/c she’s kinda selfish w her stash but it’s some top notch shit when she does 

no she doesn’t grow in the floral shop she’s not Stupid

aster inherited some of her mother’s properties Out There so she drives up almost everyday to take care of her plants

uuuhh fun fact, aster’s part of a dance like...company, kind of? but not really ? outside of ucla b/c she hates being involved in school shit besides habitat for humanity

personality

v v v harsh tbh

she won’t beat around the bush, usually...brutally honest, tbh?

like lbr she’s kind of a bitch too

just v offputting at first b/c she tells it like how it is n doesn’t rly care abt ur problems

doesn’t go around lookin’ for new friends but if you’re tight w her then she’ll probably die for u like she’s v loyal

but if u wrong her like even once she’ll drop u and treat u like right shit

she either feels intensely or nothing at all n that’s like. smth u have to deal w/

she’s v v v chaotic neutral, bordering evil--really works in her own favors

became a botanist after her mother bc she admired her mother more than anybody else

not saying that being vegan is a personality trait

but

aster’s a vegan

n just super hardcore into saving the earth n shit?

litter and she’ll break ur nose, basically

v into sustainable living n shit. rides her bicycle everywhere if she can, rly rarely drives, doesn’t do fast fashion at ALL

v v passionate, will argue w/ u until u admit she’s right even if she’s painfully wrong

like super stubborn, v opinionated, assumes the worst of u immediately

a lil cynical, but is more realist than pessimist

BIG FUCKING GAY

like so gay

she’s not Out-Out but she definitely doesn’t hide it, just doesn’t think it’s necessary to be like ‘im gay’ every 5 minutes n doesn’t think it’s necessary to let ppl kno she’s gay b/c shes just like....its my business

kinda bitch to flirt w dudes for fun in order to lead them on, get them to do things for her, etc. etc. just to disappoint in the end

this is big dumbass energy b/c that’s how u get stabbed

unless aster stabs u first

kinda gal who’ll key ur car if u piss her off during a class debate, but will also stick thumb tacks into ur wheels n shit too

like.....i said she’s spiteful, right? b/c she can b so spiteful

really, genuinely, has no regard for other ppl’s feelings

her music taste is either heavy rock or straight up like grimes/die antwoord there is no in between (prolly listens to billie eilish tho)

owns a pet tarantula n yes she has it in her dorm n Yes she brings it out n plays w it n shit her name is stevie nicks n u better respect her

big slut

would never cheat on u but also probably wouldn’t date u in the first place bc she’s scared of like....being in a relationship b/c all of hers are p much on the rocks

probably carries around a pocket knife at all times

probably bought said pocket knife from a dude in an alleyway for like $5 

myra also goes to ucla and theyre 100% still not speaking but that’s bc they’re both too stubborn to go to each other but like lbr aster misses her cousin

v unruly, nvr brushes her hair, usually got dirt on her clothes bc she’s prolly been digging in gardens or stealing flowers or some shit

bright side is tht she always smells like flowers

theta sigma eta is lucky b/c she cooks her own meals w her own fresh veggies n shit n she always makes too much food n like ? so good

but anyways she’s also got like no manners okay she’s so impolite

uuuuuuh god i dunno what else

wanted connections

ride or die

other friends of varying closeness

ex-friends ???

...like somebody she’s into but also...not into? v conflicted feelings

on-and-off-agains bc their relationship is awful n probably toxic but it just. hurt so good

ex-gfs

ex-hookups

boys she’s led on

boys she’s currently leading on

flirtatious encounter gone wrong [not clickbait] ??

enemies

enemies but gone sexual [not clickbait]

buyers of her products - either weed, shrooms, or opium teehee

roommate

give her somebody she was a uwu soft crush on but would nvr do anything abt bc gross romance !!

alternately, unrequited crushes of any sorts

fellow gays b/c gays always end up knowing each other

party pals

frenemies ??

sdfgh give me her dad’s trophy wife pleathe....it’d be so funny

childhood friends tht knew her b4 she moved to boston so like...ages 0-9

childhood friends tht knew her after she moved to boston so like...ages 9-17

or acquaintances bc she was....a mean one

A TUTOR just b/c she can rly struggle w her dyslexia

Tic Tac Toe (Part-31)

Word count: 4.6k

Pairing: Sam X Reader

Warnings: Angst, Kidnapping, Graphic violence, blood and injury.

Series Summary: The reader shifts into a new city after being offered a dream job by a big firm. The timing couldn’t have been more perfect after an ugly break-up with a douche-bag Ex. But things turn out not as dreamy as she’d want them to be and the only thing that keeps her smiling is a totally coincidental game of Tic Tac Toe.

A/N: It’s taken a lot of effort to both write this chapter and post it. And not just by me, but by both my betas too <3

Beta: @sdavid09 and @deanssweetheart23. You girls are a blessing. Despite being so busy, thank you for reading this at the last minute, Shanna. And Athina, I just hope you get better soon, thank you for reading this despite being unwell. This one is for you girls <3

Please consider leaving some feedback! Pretty PLEASE?

Catch up: Part 1, Tic Tac Toe Masterlist

Sam’s POV:

Sam was sitting on the couch, elbows resting on his knees and hands clasped in front his face. His lips rested on his intertwined fingers, a silent, desperate prayer continuously leaving from them.

The moment Sam had asked Phil to call Jody, Phil's training as a skilled bodyguard had overtook him. He'd scanned the whole house up and down, ripped curtains and moved furniture.

But Sam? He'd known something was wrong the minute he'd seen that game. The phone conversation hadn't made anything better.

"Sam?" Jody asked genially. "How are you?"

"It's Y/N," he croaked. "She's missing. Someone took her."

"Missing?" Her voice had immediately taken a professional edge. "When was the last she had been seen?"

"Uh… I don't know," he ran his fingers through his hair. "Around lunch time she had picked the keys from my neighbor's house. She and my dog have been missing since."

"What was she wearing?" Jody asked.

"Hang on," Sam put the phone on speaker and repeated the question to Steve who promptly launched in a description of what Y/N was looking like that day. Black skirt and white flowing blouse. Steve also described what Sophie looked like which was well, because Sam wasn't sure he could speak anymore.

"What makes you think someone kidnapped her?" Jody's voice was sharp.

He couldn't explain about the game or even the necklace. "I just know," he all but sobbed. "Just find her."

"Okay. I'll put an APB out on her, and I'm coming over right now to see if there's any evidence or signs of struggle in your apartment."

"Okay."

Jody had arrived a short time later with an entire team, and mechanically Sam had repeated the story behind the games and the locket. Jody hadn't looked entirely convinced but Phil had ushered her inside the house, whispering something urgently.

Sam couldn't bring himself to care where he was taking her. He couldn't bring himself to even breathe.

"Sammy!"

Sam looked up to see Dean rushing past the officers towards him, his face chalk white.

Suddenly Sam felt like an 8 year old. Jacob from the 6th grade had stolen his bicycle and pushed him into the ditch. Sam had ran all the way home and hugged Dean tight, sobbing hard. His cycle was all he'd had and someone had yanked it away. Dean had soothed Sam, telling him it was okay to cry as long as he found it in himself to fight for what was his. The next day the two of them had walked to Jacob's house and, with a little encouragement from Dean, he had taken back what was rightfully his.

Sam wanted to go hug his brother, and ask him to fix everything for him like he always did. But Sam couldn't even stand without his legs giving away. This wasn't 4th grade and it wasn't about a piece of metal. Y/N was his life.

Dean crouched down before Sam. "Hey, look up."

Sam didn't.

"Sammy, we're going to find her, man." Sam knew his brother too well to know every inflection in his voice. Dean was trying to reassure himself as much as he was trying to assure Sam.

Before Sam could respond, Jody came out, her face somber.

"You think someone else might have a bone to pick with her?" She asked.

"So, you believe me? You didn't look convinced a minute ago."

She gave Phil a hard look, and he turned his eyes away from Sam. "You didn't tell him?" She asked Phil.

"Tell him what?" Dean questioned, standing up to face Jody.

She sighed. "There's a huge blood stain on the carpet around the corner to the library. It isn't exactly fresh, but it's definitely less than half a day old. Someone had moved a piece of furniture to cover it."

"Blood? Whose blood?" Dean's voice was an octave higher, from both fear and anger.

"I can't say for sure. There was a lot of blood there, and some stains behind the wall, along with dark animal hair. Could have been anyone, really."

Sam heard the conversation, but the words seemed to be coming from another reality. This whole scene seemed to be straight out of a horror show.

Then it struck him.

"Wait…" He rasped. "You said, 'else.' You said 'who else do you suspect?' What did you mean by that?"

She looked at him like it was the most obvious thing. "Walker, of course."

"Walk- what?" Sam stuttered. "Isn't he in the prison?"

"No. He was bailed out a month ago."

What the hell? "Weren't you supposed to tell me that?" Sam said, his tone angry.

"You think I didn't try, boy?" She shot back. "I called you so many times, I lost count. And I left messages on your phone, too. I thought you'd have bothered to check them by now."

Sam's face crumpled. Of course she had tried. He'd been so busy with work that he'd barely checked his phone.

She sensed his pain, and softened her voice. "I'm sorry, Sam. I really am. But I'm doing everything I can to find her. I have the entire police department looking for Gordon Walker right now."

"What about that Bela?" Dean interrupted. "She had a bone to pick with Y/N. She could have been involved."

"I'll need to know more about her, too, then." She turned towards Sam. "We'll find your girl, Sam. We will." She clapped his back once and then she was out.

"I'm going to go with her, and keep you guys updated about what happens, okay?" Phil reassured, clasping his shoulders and following Jody.

Sam sank back into the sofa, the little package in his pant pocket, digging in painfully. Dread was overcoming him in new bouts.

Blood?

What had happened to his perfect life?

"Sam? SAM!"

Blinking, he looked up to see Dean calling his name, looking scared.

How long had he been calling him? How long had it been since Jody had left?

"Sam," A new, soft voice called, and through the unshed tears, he recognized the familiar face of his red headed friend. Charlie was crying too and she looked ready to go into shock any minute now.

Sam had no idea when she had come in. Before he knew it, her small arms were wrapped around his shoulder, offering comfort, maybe expecting some in return. But there was nothing he could do except feel numb.

"I'm so sorry," Charlie was whispering. "But we're going to find her. They're going to be okay. Y/N is stubborn. She's a fighter, if I ever knew one. You know that."

Charlie wiped her tears, trying to put on a brave smile. "And you know how Sophie is. She always comes back. The sheer number of times that we've lost her. Remember two years ago we were in a park and she disapp-" Abruptly Charlie stopped, then gasped.

"Sam!" She shook him violently. "Remember that time we lost Sophie? You went so berserk that we went and got that tracker chip installed in her collar."

Sam's head whipped around, the sudden jolt in his stomach sparking some emotion.

Charlie jumped to her feet, looking from one side to another. "Where the hell is your computer?"

For a second Sam couldn't gather his wits. "I- It's in my bag. But the battery is dead." Both of them knew that it took ages to charge.

"I have one running next door," Steve said quickly. "C'mon."

Charlie followed him out of the door and so did Sam and everyone else, thoughtlessly.

Sam watched with bated breath as they worked their magic, both taking two different computers and hacking into Sam's history through his IP to find the tracking program that had been buried deep, because it had been over a year since Sam had to look at it.

"There!" Charlie pointed to a blinking point on the map. "That's where Sophie is."

"Where is it?" Sam asked, letting some hope seep into his chest.

She tapped the spot on the screen once more. "An hour out of town, towards north. It's that debunked industrial zone full of warehouses."

"What are we waiting for?" Sam shouted. "Let's go."

Charlie hesitated. "Uhh… Sam. The dot is not moving."

It took a minute before the implication behind her words struck him. It felt as if a stone had dropped through his stomach. Sam gulped harshly, and then said again. "Let's go. NOW."

************************************

The car was moving too slowly. Dean was pushing the Impala to its limits but it wasn't fast enough.

Charlie was muttering directions from the backseat as she kept a constant watch on the blinking, unmoving dot when it got closer and closer, while Dean ripped the car through the night road, a furious expression on his face.

Sam didn't know what expression his face held, but his grip on the window frame never loosened, even if the glass edges were beginning to make painful dents in his skin now.

"You know what, Sam?" She asked, smiling softly

"Yeah?" He glanced at her from the passenger's seat.

"I've always wanted to do this."

"Do what? Drive a jaguar?"

"No. Have hot illegal sex in the backseat of the car," she smirked.

Sam could feel blood rushing to his cheeks. "W-we haven't done that," he stuttered and her grin grew more pronounced.

"Yet!" She cocked an eyebrow. "We are heading into the garage now, you know!"

Sam just couldn't look away. The way her smile had the ability to make him forget every problem was nothing short of magical.

"I was actually talking about this," she gestured around him with one hand as they eased to a stop in the traffic. Phil had taken a day off and Sam had suggested that Y/N drive them back home. The way her eyes had lit up at that had been a sight to behold and Sam wanted to congratulate himself on getting one thing right.

It had taken a little explaining with all the gears and how the key slot was in a different place, but she drove the thing like a pro. The excited smile seemed permanently plastered on her face.

"This?" Sam asked again, expecting another smartass response. Instead, her eyes glazed over.

"I meant having you in my life. You must have noticed by now that I'm a very steady person, and for a long time, I used to think that it makes me boring, you know? And I hate to admit it now, but there was a part of me that thought Michael cheated on me because he found me uninteresting. After that, I never thought I'd have something so beautiful in my life."

She was looking straight ahead, but Sam could hear the waver in her voice. She was fighting to keep it steady. Either she still believed that she was boring, or that she didn’t deserve living like this, and neither of those was acceptable.

"Hey, look at me," Sam said, "You're the light of my life. It's okay to be steady, and there's nothing I would want to change about you."

Y/N nodded, still looking straight ahead.

Sam put a hand on one of hers, where it rested on the gear stick. "I love every little thing about you. You are beautiful just the way you are, Y/N. I can't imagine living without you."

The truth of his own admission caught him by surprise. She had dissolved herself in his life so bindingly, there was no separating them now. His life would lose its essence without her. It wouldn't even be life anymore.

She looked at him then, eyes watery. "I'm just scared this is too good for me," she whispered.

She had that backwards.

The car cruised into the garage slowly and she parked it in the slot perfectly. Sam reached out and pulled her into his lap, finding her lips in a desperate kiss. Desperate because he wanted to somehow convey just how good she was. It was easy to be smart, easy to be beautiful. What set her apart was how good she was in her heart. Kind and loving.

Just because she had had the bad luck of meeting that dick, who didn't treat her right, she shouldn't be feeling this way.

And then, she kissed back, challenging him to prove it, challenging him to make her see she was worth it.

Sam's hand fisted in her hair and he pulled her impossibly close in the cramped space. The other hand dug into the skin of her lower back through the fabric. This was different than every other kiss. It was frantic, like she wanted him to remember, and messy like it was a first time. They were both hot and sweaty within minutes, but neither wanted to back down.

"I love you," Sam repeated urgently. "I need you to believe that you're it for me, Y/N."

She never let her guard down like that with him. Whenever he'd needed, she had been his strength, standing right next to him. To think that even a little part of her doubted if she was enough for him was blasphemous.

"You believe me, don't you?"

She just kissed him harder, and he had to push her back a little. "I need you to believe me."

Sam lowered his head to meet her gaze. Her eyes seemed like watery crystal, a little scared but brimming with love. While he was searching for his answers there, she seemed to find hers in his.

At long last she nodded, and threw her arms around his waist.

"I never wanna be away from you," she mumbled.

Sam knew she was just as worried about the presentation on Monday, and a part of her still wasn't convinced that his decision to give up the CEO's position wasn't because of her.

He kissed her hair, wrapping his arms around her. One of his hands slipped under her blouse, and unclasped her bra, rubbing circles into the skin of her back. He knew that it always calmed her down. "You won't have to be."

Sam held her like that till her breathing eased, till her shoulders relaxed. Till she stirred against him.

"We should go up," she sighed. She seemed just as unwilling to let go of him.

Sam smirked, knowing exactly how to get her to smile. "Hey, what about the hot illegal car sex you promised?"

She looked up and Sam noticed with a smug satisfaction that there was shock all over her face.

"You're kidding. The security is like 50 feet away. You wouldn't dare." Y/N raised an eyebrow, trying to call out his bluff.

Sam shrugged slyly. "They don't have to know." With one quick motion, he tugged at the knot of her blouse, making it fall apart from her shoulders, then drew her closer, his lips grazing her ear. "Just don't make a single sound."

The blaring noise of sirens pulled Sam back to reality, jerking him. That was the sound of his nightmares, the fire brigade siren.

His hands instinctively shut his ears, and he realized that Dean was maneuvering the car towards the sirens. Why would he? Dean of all people knew what that sound did to him. It rendered Sam helpless.

Sam turned to look at his brother, to ask him why they were heading that way, but the look on Dean's face silenced him. Behind him Charlie seemed to be drawing shaky, muffled breaths too. They weren't passing by the fire sirens, they were heading towards it.

Sophie.

Up ahead, the building was up in flames. An orange, fiery, red blaze was consuming the northern facade. Sam flattened back against his seat, his heart accelerating to double its speed.

"Sam," Dean shook him by his sides. "The tracker ends here." He let Dean drag him out of the car. Every nerve of his body was fired up, telling him to run in the opposite direction, away from the prickling heat, but he knew he had to do the right thing.

The logical part of his brain was analyzing the situation, noting that the ladders were just being drawn out, the men were still unrolling the hoses. It couldn't have been more than a few minutes since their arrival. Either the fire had just erupted or they had been notified late. Either way, Sam averted his gaze from the building, looking around for his dog. She had to be somewhere close.

She couldn't have been inside, right? The sensors on the tracker would have melted if Sophie had been anywhere close to the fi- … No, he mustn't think this way. Sophie had to be out somewhere. He stumbled along with Dean and Charlie, looking around, trying his best to not look at the roaring fire.

In his peripheral vision, he saw a fireman accost Dean. His brother was quick to explain what had happened and they were following the dog's tracker. Before the man could object to their presence, Charlie smoothly followed Dean by bullshitting about how Jody was family and they had been allowed here.

Sam didn't pause to give explanations.

There was no point in calling out loud over the roar of fire, or the noise of the sirens. Even if it could help, Sam was sure no voice would leave his throat.

The razing building seemed to be a warehouse, and all around it tall, wild grass covered the land for acres at a stretch till the highway. Sam's breath was coming out in bursts now, as he looked around, running away from the north side, the fire, everything.

"Sam!" Charlie called, coming up from behind him. "Look there!"

Along the southern edge of the concrete monolith, huddled by the sides of a faded blue car was a dark form, darker even than the darkness shrouding this side.

Without thinking, Sam's feet rushed towards it and sure enough it was his beloved German Shepherd, lying on the dusty floor, eyes closed.

"No… no…." Sam pleaded lowly, coming to crouch next to her. "Sophie!" He shook her lightly, noting with some relief that she was still breathing. A ragged cloth was wrapped around her flak that seemed to be caked with dried blood. "Is she gonna be okay?" Sam asked Charlie desperately, knowing deep within that she didn't have answers for him.

Charlie let out a quiet sob, but she pulled out her phone and turned the flashlight on, holding it towards the wound. Sam was scared of unraveling the cloth, scared of knowing how deeply Sophie was hurt underneath. But he also knew that removing the cloth might be the opposite of helpful because it might cause the stopped blood to flow again.

He felt a heavy hand rest on his shoulder and with blurred eyes Sam saw his brother's silhouette against the blood tinted night sky.

"Jody is on her way. She should be here any minute now."

Sam was still running his fingers through Sophie's matted hair, holding her against his chest. Tears streamed down his face now, the despair so overbearing that hope seemed like possibility only in another life.

Where are you, Y/N?

"Sam, we need to get her to a vet," Dean reminded him gently.

Sam sniffed. "Right," he cleared his throat, then awkwardly reached out for his phone from the back pocket without letting go of Sophie. He tossed the phone to Charlie. "The number is saved under 'Dr. Pamela Barnes."

Charlie nodded, tapping at the phone.

Sam hugged Sophie a little tighter, thinking about how she got there. There was a car around, with the trunk popped up. So, Sophie was in there? And someone pulled her out. The car itself seemed to have been handled roughly. The front door was propped open and the glass had been shattered.

His eyes followed the pattern of the glass crystals scattered on the floor, something had been dragged out of it, something that left a wet, bloody trail.

A sharp intake of breath and then Sam's eyes snapped to find his brother. Dean seemed to be following the track too, immobile and scared, till its end leading inside the building.

"No."

It wasn't a prayer this time. It wasn't a lament either.

It was a statement. One that dictated the decision of Sam's existence now.

No. It couldn't be.

Thoughtlessly, Sam was back on his feet, his eyes finally meeting the sky high flames. Frozen now.

Sam was pushing, Sam was pushing hard. The hands restraining him were digging into his body painfully now, doing everything to keep him from propelling inside. The voices around him were painfully confident about the outcome. Instead of consoling, they were grieving, urging him to believe that all was gone. That she was gone.

"But she's in there," he kept crying, between the lamenting shouts of her name. "She said she would bake cookies for me. I need to get her out!"

But the hands wouldn't yield. They wouldn't let go of him.

"Listen to me, son," A quiet, gruff voice whispered from somewhere behind, "She's gone. The fire has been raging for a few hours now."

"No," Sam yelled. Dad was wrong. This couldn't be happening. It had to be a nightmare. Any minute now he would wake up and it would all be gone.

Amongst all the hands, he felt another land on his shoulder. A touch so comforting, so reassuring that Sam would identify it anywhere, even in the middle of this hell. Because this touch meant safety. It meant everything was going to be okay.

Sam turned towards his brother, somehow wrenching all those hands away.

"She's in there, Dean. Jess. She's still in there. I have to go in." He pleaded with his brother. Dean would understand. He had to understand.

But Dean's eyes were fraught with anguish, tears shining through the green.  

It seemed to ache him from the insides as he said, "Sammy, you need to listen to me."

Sam heard the next words even before Dean said them.

"She's gone, Sammy, there's nothing you can do."

*snip* *snip*

Sam fell to the ground, a marionette whose strings had been cut.

This was it, this is how it ended. But it hadn't quite. That one last blood curdling scream was still remaining.

This time, Sam did not wait. Through the tears, burning anger and the absolute soul crushing fear, he did not wait. He was already running now, hurtling as fast as he could towards the southern exit, like his life depended on it. It did.

A hard grip landing on his shoulder brought him to a halt, to a twisted Déjà vu so cruel that it left him reeling, out of balance.

"No," Sam spoke, his voice dead. "I'm going in. I-I have to…. You can't stop me today."

Dean's grip tightened on his arm, but instead of pulling him back, he jerked Sam forward. "I wasn't stopping you. But you're not going in there alone, I'm coming with you."

For a second Sam faltered. As much as the mere thought seemed to sear Sam from inside out, the idea of Dean being in there somehow, impossibly added to the terror.

Dean sensed his thoughts without words. "I am coming. You're not stopping me."

The determination in his voice was so strong, Sam knew there was no wavering it.

Sam turned around, gulped every instinctual shred of the irrational dread that the engulfing fire seemed to instill in him, and flung himself in through the exit.

This side of the structure wasn't ablaze, but it was still sweltering hot. Hot enough to make Sam's eyes water and his skin swelter. The further in they went, the harder it became to breath.

"Y/N-!" Sam tried to call fruitlessly, instead, a coughing fit overcame him because of the smoke.

It was dark, hazy and suffocating. Sam could barely put one foot before another through the crippling fear, but he had to find Y/N. If he couldn't find her, what was the point of even getting out of this inferno?

"That way," Dean pointed through his own wheezing. "I- think it's that way."

Sam followed blindly, not giving himself the time to consider that he was heading towards the heart of the fire, checking every corner. The place was huge and confusing, adding to the pure panic he was feeling, but it also made his mind detach from the body, mechanically go through the motions that were expected of his limbs. Head in, look around, find her. His mind however was trapped in a limbo of constant chaos and unbelievable pain.

In a brief second of utter desperation, Sam turned a corner and there she was, lying on the floor, unconscious and broken. Her leg was bent at an odd, painful angle and her white blouse was covered in red. Blood matted the hair on the back of her head and tricked down from the side of her mouth and nose. In fact, every exposed part of her body seemed to be covered in some kind of bruise or burn.

"Fuck!" Dean exclaimed behind him, rushing forwards to the girl who meant more than the world to Sam.

"Y/N?" Dean crouched by her side, straightening her head. "C'mon… c'mon… c'mon," Dean muttered under his, placing two shaking fingers against her throat. 3 heartbeats, then his brother sagged to the ground, and Sam's heart stopped.

Dean looked up, eyes wide. "She's breathing, Sam. She's alive."

Sam felt himself collapse against the wall behind him.

She's alive.

"What're you looking at? Help me!" Dean yelled urgently. "We have to get her out of here."

When Sam did not move, Dean pleaded, "Sam! Snap out of it. She's not going to make it if you don't move."

His legs gave out beneath him and Sam fell on his knees, right in front of her.

"Here," Dean lifted her torso up. "I think her leg is broken. Hold her up."

Gingerly, Sam placed a hand behind her back, pulling her into his lap. Before he could hold up her broken knee, the staircase behind them cracked and with a deafening thud came crashing down.

Instinctively Sam threw his body against hers, shielding her from the chunks. The shrapnel embedding in his back didn't even register.

"Get her out of here," Dean shouted from behind him. Sam turned to see his brother shifting the broken joists and stringers that were blocking the door.

"Damn it, Sam! fucking MOVE! Get her out," he said, face furious now.

Finally, Sam moved, tucking her into his chest and walking away towards the staircase. Dean was still holding the hot wooden beam away from the door, so, Sam ducked through it, pulling her out.

This time Dean took the lead, guiding Sam through the winding passageways, and finally out of the building before coming to a halt outside.

The sirens behind them were blaring louder now, the voices shriller, Sam's hand resting on Y/N's chest however faltered.

"She's gonna be okay," Dean huffed.

But Sam refused to meet his brother's eyes, hugging Y/N tighter against him, as his voice cracked. "The- then why isn't she breathing?"

*********************

A/N 2: Okay, as a writer, I had no option but to end it there. But, as a reader, I don’t think I could have tolerated another cliffhanger. If you’re ANYTHING like me, and don’t mind it, I’ve added the spoiler about what happens to the reader in the tags. Help yourself if you want ;) 

A/N 3: THANK YOU TO ALL YOU GUYS WHO ALWAYS REBLOG AND COMMENT! I FUCKING OWE YOU GUYS!! The fact that y’all think my work is worth spreading and sharing makes me cry happy tears tbh <3

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You know, sometimes life gives you a chance to feel the earthiness of your existence, which borders on a feeling of unchangeable happiness and simplicity.

   My most memorable day, surprisingly, was not at all memorable for all other people. Foggy streets of the city, light humidity and deep silence, which only occasionally interrupted the sound of a bell on a bicycle. The day was so ordinary, that I did all the movements on the go. As every Monday I got up at 5:30 in the morning to get to work. I was 16 years old and I worked in a music store on King's Road, not unremarkable, but still people went there. Usually they bought new records and tapes, which they delivered in the morning. I worked as a sales consultant, helped people with a choice, wandered my fingers through countless dusty plates in the hope of finding what the buyer so asked. Since the store was located in the heart of London, my journey from Thamesmead took about 2 hours. I did not have a car. I had to go every day by bicycle to the bus stop, then go by bus to the city, and there already by the subway go to the center. It was a kind of "morning ritual". Getting up at 5:30 I did not hurry to go to the bath, it was very nice to feel the warm trickle of water after a tiring evening study. Having washed off the fatigue from my body and cooked an omelette with cheese, and a glass of almond milk, I set out on my journey. While I was riding the bike to the stop, I enjoyed the cloudy weather of London. For the first time in 2 years in this city, he seemed to me relaxing. It was so quiet and calm, I heard only my own thoughts and the rustling of the wheels of the bike beneath me, nothing more. It was spring, April, it was already warm enough, 16 Celsius, and the funny, hardened "snobs" appeared to show their new light clothes, which they hurriedly bought in a hurry in the winter. The trip on the bus was for me a game, it's always interesting to look at people, trying to understand where they are going so early. The time is already 7:30, and people who could go to work and could not be seen. There were schoolchildren, students, punks who go home after a stormy night at the club, elderly people hurrying to the opening of their favorite coffee shop to have time to discuss the latest news in the world of politics, as well as scold young people. There were all but office workers, which was very strange, because today is Monday. Since I arrived very quickly to the metro station, I decided to walk a little to enjoy the morning calm, which I constantly miss in haste. The fog has already dissipated, there was not a drop of what could foreshadow the rain or bad weather. How wonderful it was to go and breathe the fresh air. I watched the city begin to wake up, it was beautiful, and the sleepy people are simply adorable. They were "hurrying" to work so lazily and awkwardly, that it seemed that they were doing everything possible to get there late. So I already came to work, I took out the keys and opened the store, surprisingly, I came first.

The sunlight barely penetrated through the window into the store, the dust rose from the plates, and the red walls and the blue floor more resembled long-extinct colors on the spoiled photo film. When I went to the store, I walked around it for a long time, trying to understand, but where are everyone else? An hour, two, three, four passed, but no visitor entered the store, no salesman or our boss, who likes punctuality, has come. No one. The frightening situation condemned me to sadness and anguish, fear and at the same time happiness. That state is very difficult to describe, but probably the word "loneliness" is very suitable here. The whole store was lonely and ringing silence, and here it is a miracle, the first buyer came. It was a young girl, looking about 19 years old with bright red curly hair. I did not have time to tell her "welcome", as she immediately screamed in her high voice, "and here there is a record of the Pink Floyd band ?!" She had a French accent, she had some kind of incredible charm, from her and went happiness, which was already so full of me all day, but thanks to her I could happen "overdose". I was incredibly glad that she came to my store, it seemed that she was the person whom I so lacked for complete happiness. "Yes," I said. "We have what you need, wait a second." While I was walking behind the record she cried out, "But let me help you find?". I was not against, it was even funnier, though some kind of communication for the day. Finding what we have been looking for, we switched to other records, other bands, simultaneously discussing them, as well as our musical tastes. We did not notice this conversation, as it was already nine o'clock in the evening. It was time to close the store. I was very lucky, because she bought more than one plate, and as many as 4! It was a small victory for the day, the only buyer and so interesting. It began to rain outside. The terrible English climate made itself felt. Nature as if said "now April! What did you want? ». It's good that she had an umbrella. She offered to take me home, so that I was not so bored, and I did not get wet. I readily agreed, because she was an interesting person, and indeed she did not present any danger. All the way home, we did not notice passers-by people who were escaping from the rain. Our umbrella was blown away by the wind, so we had to walk all the way wet to the house.

The buses did not go at such a late hour, and they were not really needed. All the way I listened with rapture about her life in Paris, about her passion for art and the dream of becoming a famous artist. She was so carried away by stories about her dreams that she even read Rambo by heart for me. I was delighted. When I reached the house, I decided to invite her to my house to warm up, drink hot milk and honey, but when I turned around, I did not see her. How?! She just was next to me, just a couple of seconds ago. Where could she have run so fast? After all, we were standing in the open country! I decided to shout her name to find her, but she remembered frantically that I had no idea about her name ... I did not even ask her ... I was holding a bicycle in my hands, on the handle of which hung a bag with its plates. I decided to go into the apartment. While I was in the shower, all the time I was in my head spinning that excerpt of Rimbaud, which I was so delightedly told by the red-haired French girl. When I went to bed, I kept thinking about what was happening, how it could have happened. I was terribly ashamed that she forgot my records from me. Now a new morning, a new day. As every Monday I got up at 5:30 in the morning to get to work. I worked in a music store on King's Road, not unremarkable, but still people went there. I did not hurry to go to the bath, it was very nice to feel the warm trickle of water after a tiring evening study. I washed off my body fatigue and cooked an omelette with cheese and a glass of almond milk, I noticed that there were no plates on my bicycle handle, and the beautiful date "April 28, Monday, 1981" flaunted on the calendar.

   I dreamed everything, but this day was the most memorable day in my life, and in my head the fragment that the beautiful girl "Rambo" told me so well.

— Zlata Semina

BEST PICTURE NOMINEES (2018) AESTHETICS.   repost, don’t reblog. bold whatever applies. tag whoever you want and feel free to add to the categories.

TAGGED BY :  @missionmade my wife TAGGING  :  @simnsays @fishsaves @gvinreed @bitterdeviance @detroitreznikoff @bewitcheds @artifilius @programbound n u !! i love y’all <3

THE SHAPE OF WATER  : early mornings. art on an easel. being trapped. flashy cars.  self-righteous intolerance. speaking volumes without a word. being submerged. learning and adapting. raindrops on windows.  bubbles rising in water.  cats.  taboo desires.  tanks of water.  kitschy nostalgia.  kissing underwater.  silence.  isolation. golden age hollywood.  sign language.  scales.  egg shells. jell-o.  the smell of cleaning supplies.  creature features. the space race. red coats. monstrous fairy tales.  lab coats. lunches in brown bags.the click of shoes.  smog.  dance routines.  slices of pie.  toxic masculinity. chains.  government secrets. seeing past flaws. floating aimlessly. needles. greens and blues.  deep, inexorable scars. gills.  music from the 30′s.  retro-futurism.  bloody handprints.routines. record players.  old movies. love in unexpected places.

PHANTOM THREAD  : a doll in a gilded birdcage.  butter to bread. the death of a mother. cycles. hidden messages. a disruptive presence.  longing.  wedding gowns.  posh control. post-war. brightly colored socks. inner turmoil. poison. an air of quiet death.  hallucinations. family dysfunction.  rich fabrics.  curses.  soft piano music.  restrained anger.  spinning out of control. artist and muse.  dark love.  pastels.  peace in the countryside.  clockwork dynamics.  perfection.  wild mushrooms. giving up every piece of yourself.  rags to riches.  ghosts.  new year’s. lingering gazes. needle and thread.  fine dining. hearing every sound.  being ambushed. ego.  flowing dresses. a person out of place.  defiance. ink to paper.  an artist tortured by their art.  obsessive personalities. peepholes.  soothing elegance.  silk.  spiral staircases.  driving at high speeds. high society.

THE POST  : typewriters.  newspapers. tense climates. distrust of authority. internal battles. a legacy at stake. secrets.  cover-ups. defending what you believe. peering through windows.  melodrama. political corruption.  behind closed doors. sniffing a scoop. ringing phones.  lying for over a decade.  cramming and crowding. cold grays. war. fluorescent lights.  treason.  shuffled papers. the jungle. a weight on your shoulders. fresh coffee. thousands of deaths. burglary. finding your voice.  risking everything.propaganda. tough choices. exposure. type being set by hand. workplace rivalries. abuses of power.  security breaches.  hierarchy.  a  bed strewn with papers and books.  paranoia. orders. clicking keys.  redacted files. desk clutter.  cigarette smoke. precious cargo.  vanished technologies. suspenseful conversations. facing charges.  courtroom battles.  suits and ties.

DARKEST HOUR  : never surrendering. duty. countless negotiations.  the flash of cameras.  beaches.  historic buildings.  guzzling booze.  resignation. utter catastrophe. bunkers.  radio broadcasts.  going against the odds. bathed in red light. a sense of humor. allies.  shouting matches.  small square windows.  selfishness.  walking with a cane.  war rooms. chandeliers.  dust floating in air.  righteousness. a poor reputation.  an elevator surrounded by darkness. a world at war. needing a miracle. interruptions. a last hope. cigar smoke. quoting poetry.  photos of a loved one.  a single sunbeam.  monarchy.  vanity. rescue missions.  refusing peace.  pallid chambers.  military uniforms.  taking a stand. common folk. suicide missions. drums of war.  tears down sullen cheeks.  reluctance.  complete collapse. evacuations.  enveloped by fog. changing history. blood, toil, tears and sweat.

THREE BILLBOARDS OUTSIDE EBBING, MISSOURI  :   severe burns.  police uniforms. sirens. the calmness of a deer.  strumming guitars. grieving. horrifying memories.  sucker punches. a lack of respect. facing threats.  skin under fingernails. flicking cigarettes.  awkward dates.  nasty rumors.  claustrophobia. lush green pastures. molotov cocktails.  the fire of anger and revenge.  strangers. no remorse.  bashing in windows.  the midwest. provoking a fight.  pointing fingers.  being pressed for time. rundown old houses.  grey morality. dark undercurrents.  insurmountable losses.  cruel laughs.  the american flag. dive bars.  guilty no matter what. buildings in flames.  ambulances. coughing up blood. spitting.  chewing on fingernails.  one versus many. black and red. not understanding another’s feelings. a mother and child. the pain of others.  a quest of justice. abandoned billboards. a hardened gaze. driving to nowhere.  small towns.  last letters. absurd violence.

CALL ME BY YOUR NAME  :   heartbreak.  unbuttoned shirts. fields of flowers. having to say goodbye.  cobblestone streets.  rendezvous at midnight.  battling temptation. academic paperwork.  peeling an orange.  80’s nostalgia.  classical music.  long walks. ancient artifacts.  abundant orchards.  shoulder massages.  expressive sexuality. remembering everything. staring into a fireplace.  dipping your feet in cool water. uncertainty. villa vacations. curly hair. longing gazes. riding a bicycle around.  mystery of love. balconies.  swimming naked. first times.  bathing suits.  roman statues.  secret sensuality.  peaches.  piano music.  sun-soaked summer.  having your nose in a book. just rooms apart. crystal blue water. growing attractions.  changing your name. intimacy beyond physical. love affairs.  rich wines.  finding pleasure in grief. daring to desire.  european lyricism. loving father figures. dancing to disco.  laying in green grass.  awkward adolescence. hands interlinked. sentimental jewelry. connection through identity. the magen david.

DUNKIRK :  burying a body.  warm cider. narrow escapes.  a race against time. a small boat. all hope lost. being unable to come home.  taken prisoner. shipwrecks.  assuming the identity of someone else. setting fire to it all.  smoke rising from a crash. sea foam.  seaports.  rendered blind.  dropping to take cover. land, sea, and air.  entangled in chain. toast with jam. suspense. waiting for escape. wounded men. lying in the sand. trauma. blank spaces.  sinking ships. commended a hero. cocking a gun.  swallowed by darkness.  bullet holes.obstacles and delays.  a hero’s welcome. planes overhead.  the sounds of a ticking clock. bullets ricocheting off metal.  people by the thousands. shell-shocked. the explosions of shells on shores. the sound of destruction.  rising tides. head injuries. target practice.  compressed time and space.  the perennial threat of death. oil ignited into flames. lying for the greater good.   blocking out the noise.  primal dangers. taking command. sole survivor.

GET OUT  : deer antlers. suburbs.  hypnosis.  strange behavior. familial tension. chopping wood. uneasy stares. tears and a smile. deception. fight or flight. blindness. survival.sinking into the floor. watching but powerless. strapped to a chair. plugged ears. a failed handshake.  car accidents.  sunken places.  something out of a nightmare. going hysterical. bingo cards.  smoking cigarettes. static on a television set. doing more harm than good. a hint of a smile. a stranger in any environment that is foreign to them. waiting for someone to come when they never will. overturned candles.  wealthy garden parties.  constantly looking over your shoulder. silence no matter how hard you scream.  trances.  catharsis. a battle of wills.  layers being peeled back. a cup of tea. nosebleeds. addiction. last bits of life leaving a body. black and white photography. sprinting at high speeds. conspiracies.  surgery. blankly polite speech.  noise of a spoon scraping across a teacup.  a deer in headlights. staring at your own reflection. unable to sleep. loyal friends.

LADY BIRD : california landscapes.  budding romance. uniforms.  consolation.  plain and luscious colors. apologizing. boorish sex.  prom dresses.  secondhand dresses.strong personalities. the theatre. being simultaneously warm and scary.  battling depression. 90’s fashion.  dreaming of elsewhere. partying. signatures on a cast. living on the wrong side of the tracks.  not being bound by any era. rejection.  sparklers.  thrift stores.  high school.  identity crisis. a place that looks like a memory. going behind backs.  disappointed parents. catholicism.  poverty.  busy new york city streets.  monotonous hometowns.  shitty bands.  teenage anarchy.  drifting in and out of friendships.  menial jobs. red hair.  self-given names. coming-of-age. a broken arm. excessive drinking.  first kisses.  cupcakes.  smudged eye makeup. strained relationships. screaming in the middle of the street. thoughtful letters.  standing out. decorated bedroom walls.  having a change of heart. expressing individuality.

Chapter 20

I lit some candles, we still had power but it still seemed fitting given the fact that all the internet was down. I heard the front door close of my parents house. My mom and dad were both outside, and so was everyone else. Neighbors who hadn’t seen one another in months were giving each other waves and head nods. Making small talk about the cable companies and how everyone hates their cell phone service provider. My dad started walking back to the garage, he hadn’t been back here in ages and I suddenly got self conscious. He walked up to the door and I let him in. He was wearing a oversized teal t shirt and pastel pink plaid shorts. Pretty much the most dadlike outfit you could ever imagine.

“Haha! Looks like you kids found something to do during the outtage! “ he said in reference to the strong smell of marijuana in the air. Guy was the first to respond and he always had this habit of being overly formal.

“Hi sir, we’ve just been playing Pitfall until the power went out” he said.

“”I can imagine” my dad said dubiously in response. He then took a look at me as if he hadn’t seen me in years and said “So, what have you been up to lately?” A million things raced through my head, we had just been transformed into gophers to carry out some mission we weren’t even sure of and were saved by an owl that previously wanted to kill us, and were responsible for taking out service for an indiscernible portion of the country.

“Not much, just chillin” I responded

“Well, I hope you kids can find a way to keep yourselves busy without the internet. I know how much y’all depend on it. But get outside and live a little! See the world!” My father said, patting me on the back.

“That’s a good plan sir. We were about to go on a bike ride” Erin piped up.

“Go for a bike ride!” My father retorted with more excitement than made me feel comfortable. “I saw you got that old beast fired up the other day!” he said to me, referencing my bike which had been outfitted with a gas motor. “How’s it running?” he continued on.

“Umm, pretty good. Runs good I guess” I replied.

“Well if you ever want to take a break and work on it together just let me know!” he said with a bit of flair. “I’m always inside there, come say hi sometime!”

“Will do dad. “

Erin and Guy said their own goodbyes, as did I, and he wandered back up the driveway, and looked at the flowers which were planted around a tree in the front yard before waving at the neighbor across the street who was doing the same.

Guy was playing with the roach of the joint, and was lighting it up again, trying to get a couple more hits off of it. Erin looked over at me and I asked “So what now?”

“We wait. What else can we do?” Erin replied.

“You showed a lot of determination out there. With your gopher teeth and all!”

“You just sat on the fence and watched” “What else could I do?!” I retorted, laughing along with Erin.

“You could’ve chomped on some cables!”

Guy interrupted “Sorry to crash the Disney film y’all have going on… But do you want to go on a bike ride? It’s so quiet out!”

Erin and I agreed, and Guy drove my bike and I sat on the front handlebars as we whizzed through the streets of my neighborhood to his place. Everyone was outside, waving, and yelling their salutations as the wind blew in our hair.

We got to Guy’s place, which was in the lower level of an apartment complex. My butt took a beating on the ride over sitting on the handlebars but it was worth it. After dropping out bikes in the grass in front of his place we followed guy to his “storage unit” he had behind it. Guy opened the garage door and it was absolutely bursting at the seams with all sorts of outdated computer technology. Old drum machines that nobody cared about, a brokem synthesizer, balls and balls of cables and monitors piled on top of each other, piled on top of organs, jammed in between old couches, betamax players, overhead projectors, glass hippie lights that once hung from the ceiling, and piles and piles of old computer language books next to stacks of CD ROMs and VHS cassettes. Erin walked over to a box of 8 track cartridges. “What the hell are these? John Denver, Jimmy Buffet, you definitely got all the hits!” she said, holding one up in her hand. Guy responed with a look of disgust “You don’t know what 8 tracks are?”

“Can you even play these?” Erin continued

“Sure, I’ve got the player right there!” Guy exclaimed, as he bent over a tan torn up couch. He fished out a silver box, it was a Pioneer Stereo Receiver with a built in 8 track player, it had some inlaid fake wood in the front, and the silver was polished and glistened in the light. He pulled the cord free from the grip of the couch. He then pulled a couple small cabinet sized speakers free from an adjacent shelf. “Altec Lansing?” I said, speaking about the brand name plastered on the front. “Yeah, they’ve been around forever, since the 1920s” Guy said as he screwed the speakers wires to the back of the 8 track receiver unit. “Pick something out of the box” Guy instructed Erin as she rummaged through the box full of 8 tracks. “This looks badass” she said as she pulled out a white cartridge with what appeared to be an ink drawing of a large batwing shepherding a sea of skulls and other dark drawings. “Oh that’s Nazareth, Hair of the Dog, it’s a fantastic choice!” Guy piped up excitedly, grabbing the 8 track from Erin’s hand and jamming it into the front of the receiver, which was now glowing blue as he had plugged it into an outdoor outlet. The speakers began to cry out into the otherwise quiet atmostphere. A male rockstar voice screamed out into the void “now you’re messin with a… A sonofabitch! Now you’re messin with a sonofabitch!” Guy yelled over the speakers which were far too loud for pleasant company “They’re from fuckin Scotland!”

Erin and I both nodded our heads as the music continued to blare out. An older woman was walking by with her dog and took a hard look at us before walking up. “Oh Nazareth! I haven’t heard them in ages!” she exclaimed, and Guy and her both bobbed their heads with the music, looking at each other in the eye. They were from different generations but both shared the passion for kickass heavy metal music. Erin and I continued to sit there like we were in some sort of nature documentary, watching the madness unfold all around us. The woman, in her mid 40s was now playing air guitar as Guy continued to head bang and play air guitar. “A SONOFABITCH!” guy yelled out and the woman responded “NOW YOU”RE MESSIN WITH A SONOFABITCH!” the woman responded. Erin began to laugh, and her head fell onto my shoulder for a split second. I looked down at her and smiled back. She mouthed to me “What the fuck” and we both continued to watch the nature documentary unfold before us. The song ended, and the woman gave Guy a high five. He turned down the music as she began to peer into his storage unit. “Oh my ! This is all the best stuff! I didn’t know you kids cared about this stuff!” She picked an old atari controller in her hands. “Oh my what a treasure! “ she continued. Guy just kept on smiling. “Now that the internet is down, you’re the man!” she said in a jolly middle aged mom sort of way. The idea had never really hit me, but what if the internet never came back, or what if it were down for days? What would everyone do if they couldn’t play their games or stream their films? Guy had thousands of movies, and music, and projectors, and everything else we had all taken for granted. Everything in that garage could be stored on a single laptop computer, which could be folded and put in a backpack. It wasn’t even on the computer, but in a cloud somewhere, streaming. The music didn’t even exist as an MP3 on a computer anywhere. But what Guy had still resonated with them. Why? Music was still music. Why did it matter if it was played on an 8 track, or an LP, or streamed on Spotify? Guy was now finagling an old ten speed bike out from underneath a pile of records. The middle aged mom continued to sway back and forth with her eyes closed as “Love Hurts!” sang out through the speakers. Erin looked at me shaking her head and smiling.

Guy had got the bike out of the garage now, and the woman was now serenading Erin and I with her own off key rendition of “Love Hurts! Love Scars! Love Wounds! And marks!” We looked at her, and felt a bit of our own destiny in her goofy movements. The song came to an end, and she thanked Guy for showing her his collection, and made her way down the driveway back onto the sidewalk, still moving her hips and quietly singing to herself. Guy was pumping up the tires of his bike with an ancient bicycle pump. The rotten old tires sprung back into life, and within a few minutes we were all riding together into the cool evening breeze. But in the back of our heads, the incident, and all we had been through still lurked. Had we shut off all the power? What would happen when it came back on, and rebooted? We tried to push these thoughts back into our minds as we careened down a hill.

BEST PICTURE NOMINEES (2018) AESTHETICS.   repost, don’t reblog. bold whatever applies. tag whoever you want and feel free to add to the categories.

THE SHAPE OF WATER  :  early mornings. art on an easel. being trapped. flashy cars.  self-righteous intolerance. speaking volumes without a word. being submerged. learning and adapting. raindrops on windows.  bubbles rising in water.  cats.  taboo desires.  tanks of water. kitschy nostalgia. kissing underwater. silence.  isolation. golden age hollywood.  sign language.  scales.  egg shells. jell-o.  the smell of cleaning supplies.  creature features. the space race. red coats. monstrous fairy tales. lab coats. lunches in brown bags. the click of shoes.  smog.  dance routines.  slices of pie. toxic masculinity. chains. government secrets. seeing past flaws. floating aimlessly. needles. greens and blues.  deep, inexorable scars. gills.  music from the 30′s.  retro-futurism.  bloody handprints. routines.  record players. old movies. love in unexpected places.

PHANTOM THREAD  : a doll in a gilded birdcage.  butter to bread. the death of a mother. cycles. hidden messages.  a disruptive presence.  longing.  wedding gowns.  posh control. post-war. brightly colored socks. inner turmoil.  poison.  an air of quiet death.  hallucinations. family dysfunction. rich fabrics.  curses. soft piano music.  restrained anger. spinning out of control.  artist and muse.  dark love.  pastels.  peace in the countryside. clockwork dynamics.  perfection.  wild mushrooms.  giving up every piece of yourself.  rags to riches.  ghosts.  new year’s.  lingering gazes.  needle and thread.  fine dining.  hearing every sound.  being ambushed. ego.  flowing dresses. a person out of place.  defiance.  ink to paper. an artist tortured by their art.  obsessive personalities.  peepholes.  soothing elegance. silk.  spiral staircases.  driving at high speeds. high society.

THE POST : typewriters.  newspapers.  tense climates.  distrust of authority.  internal battles.  a legacy at stake. secrets.  cover-ups.  defending what you believe. peering through windows.  melodrama. political corruption.  behind closed doors. sniffing a scoop.  ringing phones.  lying for over a decade. cramming and crowding.  cold grays.  war.  fluorescent lights.  treason. shuffled papers.  the jungle. a weight on your shoulders. fresh coffee. thousands of deaths. burglary. finding your voice.  risking everything.  propaganda. tough choices.  exposure. type being set by hand. workplace rivalries. abuses of power.  security breaches. hierarchy. a bed strewn with papers and books.  paranoia.  orders. clicking keys. redacted files.  desk clutter.  cigarette smoke. precious cargo.  vanished technologies.  suspenseful conversations. facing charges.  courtroom battles.  suits and ties.

DARKEST HOUR  : never surrendering.  duty.  countless negotiations. the flash of cameras. beaches.  historic buildings.  guzzling booze. resignation. utter catastrophe.  bunkers. radio broadcasts.  going against the odds.  bathed in red light.  a sense of humor.   allies.  shouting matches. small square windows. selfishness. walking with a cane.  war rooms. chandeliers.  dust floating in air.  righteousness.  a poor reputation.  an elevator surrounded by darkness.  a world at war. needing a miracle.  interruptions.  a last hope.  cigar smoke.  quoting poetry.  photos of a loved one.  a single sunbeam. monarchy.  vanity. rescue missions. refusing peace.  pallid chambers.  military uniforms. taking a stand. common folk.  suicide missions.  drums of war.  tears down sullen cheeks. reluctance. complete collapse. evacuations.  enveloped by fog.  changing history. blood, toil, tears and sweat.

THREE BILLBOARDS OUTSIDE EBBING, MISSOURI  :   severe burns.  police uniforms.  sirens. the calmness of a deer.  strumming guitars. grieving. horrifying memories. sucker punches. a lack of respect.  facing threats.  skin under fingernails. flicking cigarettes. awkward dates.  nasty rumors.  claustrophobia.  lush green pastures.  molotov cocktails.  the fire of anger and revenge.  strangers.  no remorse.  bashing in windows.  the midwest.  provoking a fight.  pointing fingers.  being pressed for time.  rundown old houses.  grey morality.  dark undercurrents. insurmountable losses.  cruel laughs. the american flag. dive bars. guilty no matter what.   buildings in flames. ambulances. coughing up blood. spitting.  chewing on fingernails.  one versus many. black and red.  not understanding another’s feelings.  a mother and child.  the pain of others. a quest of justice. abandoned billboards. a hardened gaze. driving to nowhere.  small towns. last letters. absurd violence.

CALL ME BY YOUR NAME :   heartbreak.  unbuttoned shirts.  fields of flowers. having to say goodbye.  cobblestone streets.  rendezvous at midnight.  battling temptation. academic paperwork.  peeling an orange. 80’s nostalgia. classical music.  long walks.  ancient artifacts.  abundant orchards.  shoulder massages.  expressive sexuality. remembering everything.  staring into a fireplace.  dipping your feet in cool water. uncertainty.  villa vacations.  curly hair.  longing gazes.  riding a bicycle around.  mystery of love.  balconies.  swimming naked. first times.  bathing suits.  roman statues.  secret sensuality.  peaches.  piano music. sun-soaked summer.  having your nose in a book. just rooms apart.  crystal blue water.  growing attractions.  changing your name.  intimacy beyond physical. love affairs.  rich wines.  finding pleasure in grief. daring to desire.  european lyricism.  loving father figures. dancing to disco. laying in green grass.  awkward adolescence. hands interlinked. sentimental jewelry.  connection through identity.  the magen david.

DUNKIRK  :   burying a body. warm cider.  narrow escapes. a race against time. a small boat. all hope lost.  being unable to come home.  taken prisoner. shipwrecks. assuming the identity of someone else.  setting fire to it all. smoke rising from a crash.  sea foam.  seaports.  rendered blind. dropping to take cover. land, sea, and air.  entangled in chain.  toast with jam.  suspense.  waiting for escape.  wounded men. lying in the sand.  trauma.  blank spaces.  sinking ships. commended a hero. cocking a gun. swallowed by darkness.  bullet holes.  obstacles and delays. a hero’s welcome. planes overhead. the sounds of a ticking clock.  bullets ricocheting off metal. people by the thousands. shell-shocked. the explosions of shells on shores. the sound of destruction.  rising tides. head injuries. target practice.  compressed time and space. the perennial threat of death.  oil ignited into flames.  lying for the greater good.   blocking out the noise.  primal dangers. taking command.  sole survivor.

GET OUT  : deer antlers.  suburbs.  hypnosis.  strange behavior. familial tension.  chopping wood.  uneasy stares.  tears and a smile.  deception.  fight or flight. blindness.  survival. sinking into the floor.  watching but powerless.  strapped to a chair.  plugged ears. a failed handshake.  car accidents.  sunken places.  something out of a nightmare.  going hysterical.  bingo cards.  smoking cigarettes.  static on a television set.  doing more harm than good.  a hint of a smile. a stranger in any environment that is foreign to them.  waiting for someone to come when they never will. overturned candles.  wealthy garden parties.  constantly looking over your shoulder. silence no matter how hard you scream.  trances. catharsis.  a battle of wills.  layers being peeled back.  a cup of tea.  nosebleeds.  addiction. last bits of life leaving a body.  black and white photography.  sprinting at high speeds. conspiracies. surgery.  blankly polite speech. noise of a spoon scraping across a teacup.   a deer in headlights. staring at your own reflection. unable to sleep.  loyal friends.

LADY BIRD  : california landscapes. budding romance.  uniforms. consolation.  plain and luscious colors.  apologizing.  boorish sex.  prom dresses.  secondhand dresses.  strong personalities.  the theatre.  being simultaneously warm and scary.  battling depression. 90’s fashion.  dreaming of elsewhere. partying. signatures on a cast.  living on the wrong side of the tracks.  not being bound by any era.  rejection.  sparklers.  thrift stores.  high school. identity crisis. a place that looks like a memory. going behind backs.  disappointed parents.  catholicism.  poverty.  busy new york city streets.  monotonous hometowns.  shitty bands.  teenage anarchy.  drifting in and out of friendships.  menial jobs.  red hair.  self-given names.  coming-of-age.  a broken arm. excessive drinking. first kisses. cupcakes.  smudged eye makeup.  strained relationships.  screaming in the middle of the street.  thoughtful letters.  standing out. decorated bedroom walls. having a change of heart.  expressing individuality.

tagged by: no one. i stole it from my dash hehehe tagging: @nogoodwitch​ / @lazergrrl​ , @rebellionheir​ , @cmissary​ , @khakeravdova​ , @mckaytriarchy​ , @neverarhyme​ & anybody else who wants to do this! 

200 Followers: 11 Things About Me

So I was re-tagged a week ago by @eldarya-scenarios. (I had no idea I tagged you twice, dear. ^_^ Having two aliases is awfully sneaky.) 

If you’re a little curious on who your friendly fan blogger is behind the Leiftan icon and the barrage of text-winks, feel free to read on. Watch out though: it’s a long post like everything else I write... 

And if not, please continue to enjoy this blog’s smart-assery and the text-winks. ;)

1) Why did you name your blog the way you did? ...Because that’s the screen-name I use for my main Eldarya account. I’m not very creative with names. :( Not to mention that it’s probably very politically-incorrect to say ‘Barbecued Phoenix’ in the faery realm. Huang Hua would not be amused. And my blog is guaranteed to be politically-incorrect as far as folklore and faeries are concerned. ;) My screen-name is actually homage to a Neil Gaiman short-story called ‘Sunbird’, which is still one of my favorites from its double serving of dark humor and culinary catastrophes. And it sounds really funny when you say it out-loud (at least that’s my opinion).

2) What was your last meal? *checks bowl next to laptop* Eh… a fruit salad I scraped together from some Rainier cherries and leftover cantaloupe slices. It’s summer here, and I enjoy my fruits. :)

3) Jeans or skirts? …I must have at least nine different pairs of jeans in my closet, half of which I don’t even wear most days. And just one pencil skirt. Because at least once in my life, I’ll need to go to a court room. So there’s your answer. :)  

4) What’s your favourite letter of the alphabet? In the English alphabet, ‘L’ is my favorite. It just rollllls off the tongue so nicely. :) 

5) Favourite fandom/shipping? I’m a mercenary crack-ship writer. Anything goes so long as characters are in-character. ;) *cough* Truthfully, I haven’t shipped anything in a fandom since I was eleven or twelve, and that was waaaay back when the cartoon series Avatar the Last Airbender premiered. I think that experience has inoculated me to serious shipping. So now, while I enjoy seeing a well-developed, well-paced canon romance (because it means the creators have really thought the story through), it’s never a huge concern for me who’s paired up with whom. Romance isn’t actually the selling point for me for a lot of stories; it’s individual character development and plot direction that counts.   And anyway… fan shipping is really a fabrication. With a bit of imagination, effort, and tactical writing, functional relationships can be spun between anything and anyone, and unraveled in the same way. Even when keeping all parties in character. So why blow a gasket over shipping? To each their own dirty little fancies. ;)

As for my fandoms… they’re a patchwork quilt of games, books, movies, TV shows, anime from a lot of different sources, and it changes every year. For the sake of time, I’ll give a rundown of just the fantasy/supernatural genres I’ve been following for a while (translating some of the titles to English when possible):  

Games: the Dragon Age series, Folklore (also called FolksSoul), Uncharted, the Persona series 

Books: Discworld, His Dark Materials, the Dr. Siri Paiboun series, the Temeraire series, The Tiger’s Wife, Brisingamen, pretty much anything done by Neil Gaiman… the list goes on. With a few rare exceptions, I’ve shifted from being a high fantasy lover (those tropes get old after a while) to an acolyte of more low-key genres like magical-realism, fantasy-historical-fiction, and satirical-fantasy.  

TV Shows: Supernatural  

Anime & Cartoons: the Fate series (even though my fanfiction ends up making fun of it 95% of the time, it’s still a really intricate universe), the Avatar series  

Movies: Practically anything done by Studio Ghibli and Tomm Moore, ‘Coraline’, ‘Corpse Bride’, ‘Therapy for a Vampire’, ‘Let the Right One In’, ‘Groundhog Day’, the very first installation of ‘The Hobbit’   

6) What’s your favourite sport? (You don’t necessarily have to play it) Favorite sport I can’t do, but love to watch: Surfing. Forget berserk football matches; give me a crazy Australian riding a tunnel wave any day. :D  Favorite sport I can do: Bicycling. I’m no Tour de France candidate, but my bike regularly takes its share of unreasonable hills and descents in the city where I live. Personally, It’s a great way to get around. ^_^

7) What’s your idea of a perfect day? Getting everything on my list done with minimal coffee and hair-pulling.  -_- Sorry… I’m still listening to the robot half of my brain. Switching over.  Start the day by making a difference and sharing a good time with both the students I see where I work, and the odd friends and colleagues I do have. Attend a really good lecture. Then take a quiet bus ride to the beach or an aquarium, where I can watch all the wildlife shenanigans I want. Tourists included. Cook something awesome for lunch or dinner, and eat it to discover that it’s still more awesome. End the day with a good book, an avalanche of blankets, and a conveniently-rainy night. And maybe a quick Skype/phone call with my dad.  ;( Oh there I go, listening to the sappy half of my brain. Switching over.  

8) What animal do you hate with all your soul? The logical part of my brain tells me I have no cause to loathe any animal for existing. But the cave-woman part of my brain still gets creeped out by a few of them…. Geckos especially. Because the house where I grew up was infested with them (like a typical equatorial house, actually). The geckos could be found on absolutely any flat surface, even the underside of the table and on the ceiling, so we always had to check right before sitting down that something cold, bug-eyed, and squirmy wasn’t going to drop on us in the middle of dinner. And they also liked to appear in other surprising places: like in your shoes (as my father found out one day while rushing to work), inside drawers, inside trash cans, crushed between door hinges, trapped in the kitchen sink, and inside the refrigerator a couple of times (worst idea ever, for a lizard).      One of the best things that happened to me on moving to this corner of the United States: no geckos anywhere. I can clean my apartment with an easy heart. \o/    

9) Can you dance? Besides some lingering muscle memory from my early days doing classical ballet... no. :(  I’d really like to take up Spanish Flamenco though. Generally, I do better with choreographed dances rather than impromptu club-dancing. As all my friends have told me. I’ve given them so many priceless memories on the dance-floor… 

10) What’s the name and age of your favourite character? (OC or otherwise) I can’t decide on a ‘favorite’ character in media; there’s too many of them. So how about a favorite OC instead? ^_^   Right now among the Eldarya OC cast, my favorite would have to be Zephania ‘Zee’ Tantiango because she’s a magnet for trouble as a protagonist very dynamic heroine to work with. (She’s 23, in case you’re interested.) Zee is actually the latest incarnation of the ‘funny-but-unlucky action heroine’ archetype I’ve spent years working on, and I’m happy with how she’s turning out so far. On one hand, she’s the typical small-town heroine who’s sharp, plucky, energetic, and more than a little kooky herself; the story never stops moving once she starts improvising in a tight situation. :) But there’s a strong undercurrent of tragedy in the way she continues to isolate herself through her pride and her decisions, especially because she’s allergic to either admitting that she’s in real trouble, or cutting herself some slack for her mistakes. There’s a lot of sadness behind that finger-snap smile. I’m still debating on whether to give her a good ending, or a bitter one. :(  No, that was not a spoiler for the fan-fiction that’ll one day hit this blog.

11) What got you into your favourite activity?(i.e how did you start?) Favorite activity? Like… a hobby?  Well the longest-running hobby I’ve ever had is writing (no guesses there). And it was more-or-less self-taught. As a kid, nobody could take me anywhere without a book in my hand, or some other adventure happening inside my own head (which made it awfully inconvenient to get my attention in a mall… but hey, I never wandered off). And writing short stories was always the most entertaining school assignment for me.  But it wasn’t until I started home-schooling at thirteen that I found the time and need to write something for myself, putting to paper those increasingly-complex sagas and fan-fictions that lived in my head (because my short-term recall just couldn’t keep track of all the dialogue and plot twists anymore; I needed to start recording my stories to make sense of them.)   And I haven’t stopped since. :)

Uh-oh. Here come… my questions. For @mentacomchocolate, @areyntheheartseeker, and @the-irish-hoor​. 

Why did you name your blogs the way you did? ;)

What would your honest personal reaction be if you accidentally stepped into a fairy ring, landed in a strange place, and got threatened by a fox-lady wielding fireballs?  

What’s your dream job in this life?  

Is there anyone you have a crush on that you’re still really embarrassed to admit? Would you like to mention them anyway? ;)  

If there’s only one book genre you could spend the rest of your life reading, what will it be?  

What are the top 5 things you geek out over? (Today, at least. ;) )

If you’ve been given a 24-hour advance warning that the world is definitely going to end (i.e. via Death Star), what will you do?

And if you’ve been given an exclusive two-person escape pod during above scenario, what/who would you bring with you to escape the planet? Would you want to?

If your friends can agree on one thing about you, what would it be? Do you agree with them? 

What’s the most embarrassing thing that happened to you this past week?  

What do you remember as your most incredible feat of endurance to date? Physical, mental, and/or social?

*looks up* ...All right, those are some weird questions. I won’t blame you at all if you ignore them.