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chirpsythismorning · 4 months

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Can we talk about how Jonathan might've been able to clock Mike simply because of what happened with him and Nancy in season two?

This will be a long post, so you might want to strap in or save it for later.

In Will and Mike's case, it would obviously be much different from Jonathan and Nancy's situation, given that you know, they're gay. But we still have Jonathan arguably going through a similar experience as Will, while Mike is going through a similar experience as Nancy.

In s2, we see Nancy confront Jonathan about how she waited for him before getting back with Steve, which is a revelation to him. Then they're at Murray's and she's struggling to say she loves Steve, after a handful of moments between them that felt like she might return Jonathan’s feelings. And you can clearly see it in his eyes, listening to Murray imply that they have feelings for each other, with him looking back and forth sort of in awe of what's happening, like he's starting to question if she might actually like him back.

Will doesn't have that same affordance as Jonathan to really hope, at least not anymore. Which is why these relationships in s2 and s4 end differently for these two brothers.

Based on all the signs he was seeing that Nancy felt the same, Jonathan decided to take the plunge to admit to Nancy how he felt, and at that same moment Nancy had the courage to show how she felt. In Will and Mike's case, Will wasn't ready to take the plunge to admit to Mike how he felt, at the same moment Mike didn't have the courage to show how he felt.

What's so painfully hilarious to me about all of this though, is that Jonathan arguably starts the season in the same shoes as most of the audience, where from his perspective, it's becoming obvious to him now that Will like's Mike, but that Mike does not feel the same way.

First at Rink-O-Mania, Mike appears a little uncomfortable upon hugging Will. Then as the happy couple continues on their adventure into Rink-O-Mania, he watches Will lagging behind moping. And then unfortunately he's out of commission for the rest of the evening...

But once he's sober and back to being an attentive brother the following morning, we see him watching them at breakfast, with Mike barely sparing Will a glance, all while Will is blatantly staring, almost like he's waiting for Mike to look back, only for Mike to get up and walk away.

All of these instances gotta be SCREAMING unrequited gay love to Jonathan. He's already gotten signs for years that Will is gay, these are now just the signs that are instilling his suspicions that Will has feelings for Mike. He could have easily interpreted their relationship in the early seasons as young best friends, with Will seeming to have a crush on Mike, and with them growing up and that potentially including Will's straight friend distancing himself from him because he doesn't feel the same. It's not the most unexpected thing in the world considering.

But then there's a shift.

Suddenly he's creeping up on them talking in his room. And we know he was listening in on the conversation because he brings up Owens when he sits down. As he's eavesdropping, he's probably thinking something innocent like Aww they're making up! And like, hey! Even if Mike doesn't feel the same, which is okay and entirely expected honestly, at least he still cares about Will enough to make things right after acting so out of character. Still, I'm not gonna lie, that sounded a lot like flirting to me--

Then he's knocking on Will's door like 30 minutes or less later only to find Mike and Will back on their bullshit. Mike suddenly isn't going out of his way to ignore or put Will on the back burner. In fact, he's on his bed and they're talking, again! The door is even closed this time, which is interesting. This has gotta be a good sign in Jon's eyes. Nothing to worry about! Right? Right...?

But then suddenly this shift continues, going in a direction he probably didn't expect.

I mean, this is literally an identical jancy parallel we have here with byler on the hood of the car, with Jonathan right there to witness it. Despite him maybe only now subconsciously picking up on the similarities between Will and Mike to him and Nancy here, he's at least taking note (I mean he's even got his gay map out and everything).

It isn't until the van scene happens, that I think Jonathan starts to genuinely consider his suspicions, which is that Mike might actually like Will back.

EVERY time we get a shot of Jonathan looking back at Will and Mike in the van, followed by a shot of his POV from the rearview mirror, we're faced with Mike looking at Will while Will is looking away.

As Jonathan is hearing Will confirm his suspicions about his feelings for Mike, he's simultaneously witnessing Mike not looking at Will with disgust, but something more akin to reverence. All of those moments in the van that we witnessed, including all the ways Mike looked at Will and everything that was said, Jonathan was right there.

And what's even more insane about this scene, is that it circles back to Jonathan as a character himself.

I remember when people were talking about how odd it was that we never saw Jonathan with a camera in s4. After 3 seasons in a row of making his passion for photography a big part of his identity, that part of him was apparently absent entirely this time around... But was it really?

This is the same guy that said, "Sometimes, people don't really say what they're really thinking. But you capture the right moment, it says more."

Jonathan might not have had his camera in s4, but this was without a doubt one of those moments where he captured something more.

Something that I also think get's highly overlooked about this scene, especially when it comes to Jonathan looking back at them, being followed by a shot of Mike staring at Will, is that he could see both of their reactions the whole time, from beginning to end. Will nor the audience had the affordance of knowing because Will was facing the other way at the end, while we on the other-hand were blurred from even having the chance, despite Mike literally being in the frame. But not Jonathan. He even lets us see what he sees, a few times, but not at the very end, which would have been nice after they didn't let us see Mike's reaction seconds before this.

Let's just stop right there for a second though and circle back to what I consider to be the first time Jonathan really picked up on Will's feelings for Mike, which was at the end of s3, in a sequence that is a little too relevant to the van scene if you ask me, given that they are almost direct parallels.

While these parallels are pretty spot on visually, they are also near spot on narratively when it comes to the evolution each of these characters are experiencing.

For Will in the first scene, it's sadness that he's moving away from his friends in Hawkins and also feeling like he's losing Mike, after what looks like him and El making up, which makes him scared he'll distance himself again. For Jonathan, it's sympathy for his brother who appears to have some very deep feelings for his friend, feelings he can't quite grasp yet but soon enough will.

For Will in the second scene, it's heartbreak that he has to accept that Mike will never feel the same, knowing that supporting his relationship with El (encouraging it honestly) will likely turn out just as it did last time, with him losing Mike all over again, for the last time. For Jonathan it's sympathy for his brother who has now confirmed his suspicions that the feelings he has for Mike are more than just that of a friend.

Given that this parallel reinforces the same feelings Will and Jonathan had in s3 to now, why would this not also reinforce those same feelings that Mike had in s3 to now?

In the first scene, Mike was visibly distraught, with dialogue from Hopper in the background applying a little too perfectly with what he was feeling in that moment, which was scared. He’s apparently back together with El now, despite them doing just fine as friends for the last 3 months, as well as him and Will just having finally gone back to them being on good terms again. But now, it’s like he’s right back where he started at the beginning of s3, feeling obligated to be the perfect boyfriend to El, and as a result, having no choice in his eyes but to distance himself from Will. Mike then walks into his house looking like a zombie, almost emotionless stepping into his mother's embrace.

Now, I say almost emotionless because it looks like Mike was trying to hold back showing how he truly felt in this moment. He's not crying like he did in s1 when he lost Will that first time. Time has passed and things have changed (he doesn't want things to change). And he's trying his best to keep it together. But the in-focus close-ups make it clear that he is definitely not okay.

What's so impactful about these parallels is that it presents the inner struggle both of these characters are having, both queer and experiencing doubts, but in different ways and for different reasons.

Will is the one who covers it all up with lies, hiding the tears in his eyes, because boys don't cry.

Mike is the one who has never cried to them, just to his soul (RUN AWAY! TURN AWAY! RUN AWAY! TURN AWAY! RUN AWAY!!!).

If you actually try to get a gage on Mike's in-focus emotions in that first scene vs. his out-of-focus emotions in that second scene, well they're not that far off from each other.

We go from Mike smiling vibrantly at Will, to him now slowly turning away to look back down at the painting, with whatever the hell emotion this is...

It's near impossible to catch because of how out-of-focus it is, but looking a lot closer, it honestly appears like Mike is feeling something akin to sadness that he's trying to mask. For a moment it even looks like he turns his head to wince emotionally, only to correct himself.

And call me crazy, but these shots also low-key parallel each other. Mike looking down trying to keep his emotions in check and failing miserably, only to look up and meet eyes with someone whose witnessing it.

With each shot before this of Jonathan observing Mike looking at Will, with him showing all the emotions Will never got to see and everything else in between, I wonder what Jon saw this time? Probably another thing he didn't expect.

Can you just try to imagine the silence in this van, accompanied by Will's muffled sobs, and then try to imagine Mike turning to look down at the painting, only to sneak a glance, and then go right back to looking at the painting, IN SILENCE, and then try to tell me how the assumption that Mike didn’t notice Will crying makes any sense, like realistically?

Yeah me and Jonathan are confused too.

Right now, Jonathan's probably wondering why Mike was acting a little fruity and repressed during the painting reveal. And that although he may have a penchant for being able to 'capture the right moment', Mike is sticking with his story (despite all the stalling and doubt). He is 100% straight!

And so maybe this is where Jonathan tries to accept what is being presented to him as the truth, despite the contradictions in front of him. It's likely that despite the way Mike looks at Will and acts around him, in ways he would have assumed coming from Nancy in s2 would've been evidence that she felt the same, it probably doesn't apply to Mike.

Maybe Jonathan's ready to accept that it's a lot more likely Will is experiencing unrequited love as a gay kid growing up in a small town, the most predictable experience a gay kid could go through, and in contrast Mike just feels too bad to let Will down easy.

Or who knows, maybe Mike could still be a little bit gay too...

But it doesn't matter anyways. Mike seems to be adamant about this and so there's really nothing else Jonathan can he do besides tell his brother he'll be there for him no matter what. And so he does just that.

But then Mike just has to surprise him one last time.

For those that don't know, the line Mike gives here in his monologue was in part pulled from Will's monologue in the van. Most don't know this because this line didn't make the final cut for the van scene, but in the official script the writers posted, what we find is an almost a direct parallel.

Which makes the reaction shots of Will and Jonathan directly after Mike says this all the more epic.

From Will's end he was probably hearing Mike say this and just thinking 'Damn. Well, that's what you get for using your feelings to inspire Mike to profess his love to El.'

But from Jonathan's end, I don't think his outside POV of these events overlapping was nearly as naive as his brothers understanding of the events. Because why the fuck would Mike need to use Will's feelings to inspire him to profess his love to El in the first place? Is this what Mike has been struggling with? Really? Why before every moment Mike takes action in this scene, is Will's hand literally pushing him into it? Why is Mike being so dramatic about saying I love you, stuttering and rambling about her being a superhero, not saying nearly as meaningful of things as what Will said in the van?

And then it hits him.

Mike is reminding him a little too much of another Wheeler right now...

Nancy Wheeler, who was afraid of what would happen if she accepted herself for who she really was, leading her to retreat back to the safety of Steve. Because Nancy liked Steve, but she didn't love Steve.

And now here is Mike Wheeler, who has went from being incredibly distant with Will after reuniting with El, something that is very unlike the Mike he knew in previous seasons, to something more himself again after they make up, with him looking at Will with adoration after hearing his words in the van, only to turn away and look heartbroken. Mike who is now struggling to simply tell El he loves her with Will right behind him literally yelling at him to do it.

And now it's like all those little moments are starting to add up to Jonathan.

Suddenly all those signs he picked up on from Will when he was younger are now blending in with moments Will shared with Mike. It was Mike who jumped in after him and his mom's speech to Will in the shed in s2, with tears in his eyes recalling the day that they met (without being asked, let alone pushed to). And it's Mike who is now looking like he's at war with himself as he attempts to give encouragement to El, just like he did with Will in s2, but this time he needs someone to push him to do it, and that person just so happens to be Will. After just finding out about Will's feelings and also while assuming El wants him to love her that way still, Mike is stuck.

I don't think it's takes a genius to consider Jonathan is capable of realizing how fucked they all are in this situation.

As much as Mike isn't ready for a sleuth of reasons, Will isn't ready either.

This provides a huge contrast between the bylers ², because while Jonathan and Nancy went through a similar experience to Will and Mike, them being ready to accept it and act on it didn't involve nearly as many factors and risks. Will and Mike also have the added barrier that is homophobia.

Will's internalized homophobia lies in part with assuming Mike could never feel the same based on some of the words he said in their last two fights, with parts being painfully reminiscent of the things his dad and bullies used to say about him. These are also words that contradict Mike's own words and actions from the previous seasons, things that did once give Will hope. The shame and guilt that comes with falling for your best friend, who you now know will never feel the same after being foolish enough to believe it not too long ago, and who might not even want to be your friend anymore upon finding out the truth, is understandable. He can't have hope like Jonathan can. It's just not the same.

Mike's internalized homophobia lies with assuming El wants him to love her, along with their relationship being expected and socially acceptable from everyone around him. Though unfortunately for her he feels abundantly more in love in the moments he shares with Will. Despite trying to make it work with El as hard as he could, because she's amazing and all any guy could hope for in a girlfriend, he can't ignore the fact that the feelings he has for these two people are different. The shame and guilt that comes with you, a boy, falling for your best friend, who is also a boy, and who is starting to show that he feels the same, all while you can't muster up the courage to break up with your girlfriend, nor can you muster up the courage to tell her that you love her, not when she's begging you, dying or even just simply at the end of a letter, is pretty understandable too. He can't have hope like Nancy can. It's just not the same.

Spoiler: They were not ready.

PS: I'm still not over the fact that they low-key confirmed these events elsewhere in the story...

#byler #st analysis #pocketgate #lettergate #i'm aware this is a hot (big brain) take #but i'm like 76% sure mike understood will in the van scene #also why mike is gonna finally be dealing with some personal business in s5...#just want to add that this makes the scene at Nina hit harder #also #mike trying and failing to tell el he loves her or break up with her at surfer boy and stalling because he just can't fucking do either?#mike's face when will pushes him to profess his love to el right in front of him???#honestly i dont think mike would've gone through with his monologue if he didn't think this is what el wanted in large part #i think he thought that if he did break up with her she wouldn't need him at all anymore #or more specifically if told her the truth she might hate him for it and just not want to be in his life in the aftermath of that #this is why he struggled so much with being honest #it was either lie and suffer but get to keep her in his life most likely or tell her the truth and potentially lose her and still suffer #it's just that now he has literally no choice but to conform and be with her all while knowing it's not what his heart truly wants #the heart not being true to himself jumpstarted the apocalypse #everyone act surprised #byler getting jonathan’d in s5 can be something so personal #no but imagine jon getting even more signals mike feels the same 😭#and he tries to talk to will about it but will just gets upset like pls stop why are you saying this?#or imagine him talking about it subtly with Nancy and her being like no way #only to see it for herself #maybe then Nancy would try to talk to Mike about how he’s feeling #idk I could genuinely see byler just getting byler’d individually #but it’s clear at this point Jonathan is extremely suspicious #honestly all I think it would take is him having intel about their previous fights #if he found out mike defended his behavior by insisting that they’re friends…#jonathan would just be like… oh shit.. the first lie…

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stevenbasic · 2 months

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GITJ Post 394: Cat n Mouse, p5

Melissa had been fucking her boss, standing with legs spread by the sliding glass doors of the great room in her mother’s house, holding his limp, 79 pound body by nothing but his cock. Using her internal muscles to keep him suspended up above the ground she’d made him come with her, in spades. Dr J had utterly exhausted himself and was now lying limply in her arms.��

The dining room table lay halfway across the room. In its path through the air to where it now rested, it had broken her mom’s favorite Iranian vase. And some hanging lamps, a curio table. And the wall.

She'd thrown the massive, nearly thousand-pound table like it was a child’s toy.

But now, as she held him tenderly, stretched across her strong arms like a babe, the devastation on the other side of the room went unacknowledged. She cradled him. Her muscles still dominated him, cocooning him in her power and post-workout bulk, but, in the pleasant afterglow, they had already begun to soften. Her more womanly curves returning.

Her voice - lovely in its own way - hummed to him, relaxing him as she swayed him back and forth. She watched as his eyes started to flutter, and, without a thought, she released some pheromones to help keep him awake for her, at least for a little while. I wanna snuggle.

Some 0001.55.6677.xc, a dash of 0001.55.6009.xx and, haha why not, a little 0001.55.6344.gf as well.

”y-you’re not getting tired?” he asked, pulled up against her, bare but not shivering, warmed by her likewise naked body. He’d been exhausted, but now he just felt…relaxed. Unsuprisingly, aAfter only a few minutes past his last climax, he was starting to become aroused again, aided by the indulgences of her body and fully exposed to her bare skin and firm nipples against his side. All strength, whatever meager amount there’d been, began to leave him and he slumped entirely in her embrace.

Tired? Me? That doesn’t happen anymore. Melissa giggled. ”No, I could do this all night.” She giggled again, and brought her nose down to nuzzle his. “Oh my god you’re so cute,” she mused, “so cute.”

She had begun to notice - now that their lovemaking was over, and that her mania had mostly faded - a strange tingling inside herself. Familiar, but more intense than she’d felt in the past. It wasn’t unpleasant. In fact, if she closed her eyes and let herself bask in it for a moment…it was delicious. She knew it, she’d known this before. Someone, somewhere was jerking off to her. And not just someone…but lots of someones. She’d gotten this feeling many times, whenever she put up a new Instagram post. It was funny to her. Like clockwork, a new photo could bring about the tingles. She didn’t really know what they meant, but it kind of amused her to feel the devotion of all of her little followers doing whatever it was they were doing to themselves. But now, wow. This was a lot. What was going on? What could be bringing it o-

Oh, wait haha. I think I know. Tonight was the night of-

Melissa was brought back from her reverie by Jay's adorably timid voice. He’d begun stroking her big arm, her right one, her bicep, and he could no longer hold back his praise.

”I…I can’t believe how big you are,” he said dreamily. The awe and wonderment in his words? Poetry to her.

”haha yeah,” she replied. Despite the pride she felt, an uncharacteristic, almost demure modesty warmed her response. “And it’s all for you, sweetie. All for you.”

He flushed. Her attentions were strong, overwhelming at times. He’d never had a woman this into him before. With anyone else, it might have been scary. Well, sometimes it was scary. He’d heard the stories of the crazy girlfriends, and having one that could bench press a car could be understandably troubling. Melissa, though, was just so…beautiful. Maybe too beautiful. It made it hard to let these anxieties scare away his feelings for her, like she was worth ignoring all the red flags in the world. She just kinda made it hard to think straight sometimes. Was he blinded by his feelings? Perhaps, yes - but ignorance is bliss, right? And in moments like these the worries just seemed so unimportant.

A crash, as something toppled in the mess across the room. A plume of plaster dust blossomed into the air. It fazed neither of them. They were lost in this private, tender moment.

Juices, his and hers, still dripped out from between her thighs. Her mighty leg muscles flexed as she lazily walked them both around the room, away from the destruction. She was getting antsy again; he was growing. His member’s tumescence was starting to return and she was having a little trouble ignoring it.

Give the poor boy a minute, Missy!

“So, you train every day?” he asked, recalling her trip to the basement earlier this evening as he continued stroking her hyper developed bicep. He’d never, ever been with someone so…physically incredible. So powerfully strong. Compared to his own body, hers was titanic.

“Pffft me downstairs, tonight?” she scoffed, playfully, “That wasn’t ‘training’. That was me just trying to, I dunno, work off some anxiety. I haven’t really trained in a long time.”

Jay cocked an eyebrow. That was a little confusing to him. “What do you do when you go to the gym? You and the girls are members of that one down the road, right? You don't work out?”

“The gym? Oh, haha, well that’s more like entertainment,” she answered, appreciating his interest in her and her routines, “I don’t go there that often really. I go to Evolution more. They have…bigger weights.”

“You mean the headquarters? Evolution?” he probed. He felt, here in this moment, an openness between them. Maybe he could, like, unearth a little more about her, or at least find out some about her connection to the pharmaceutical company that was bankrolling the study and, well, everything out about the practice. “You train there?”

“Yes. Well, it’s more like a check-up than training, really,” she said. She was being refreshingly a bit more honest with him, but she was still watching her words, “The doctors want to keep track of my abilities. Track how much I can, like, lift. And other things.I don't really do it a lot, but it does help me get stronger, I think.”

His heart skipped a beat, with a feeling he didn’t recognize. What are these…’other things’? “C-can I ask…what exactly is happening to you?”

Oh, god. I want to tell him so bad, she groaned, silently, He deserves it, he really deserves to know. She struggled to control her breathing and heartbeat, knowing he’d be able to feel it all through her chest. She was excited not only at the prospect of telling him everything, but showing him everything. He’d only, really, had a small sampling of what she could do. If she were to tell him what she was, show him her new talents and gifts, and explain to him what she was becoming…well, just the look on his face would be priceless. As she considered it her legs, and the area in-between them, started to warm.

I have to give him a little.

“Well,” she began, “I’m not like other girls…”

“That, I know…” he chuckled, stroking her arm, glancing at the enormous breasts squashed up against his body.

She laughed too, soaking in the appreciation he had for her figure. “Yeah, but I’m, like, really not like other girls,” she started again, looking down on him, feeling the love she had for him unlocking doors, opening windows. She was glad there weren’t any cameras here, in her mother’s house (there weren’t, were there?), because she knew there would be people who wouldn’t appreciate her, uh, candor. “I’m - and this is gonna sound stupid - kinda special. Ever since I was a little girl. I’m made different. They’ve known it, my mom at least always has...”

“S-special?” he blinked, looking up at her.

“Yeah, like…things come easy for me,” she continued, “My body is able to, uh, adapt. Really, really quickly, to things I need it to do. They call it - and, uggh, sorry, I don’t always get this right - ‘Reactive Self Adapt-station’”

“‘Adaptation’?” he spoke, correcting what he thought was-

“Yes! ‘Adaptation’! That’s it, ‘Reactive Self Adaptation’, that’s what I can do.”

The furrow in his brow was sooo cute. He was mulling it over, trying to figure it out. He was so smart, he’d for sure know what it meant.

“So, like, what?” he asked, “If you need to get stronger, you get…”

“Like, really strong. Really fast.” Her response came quickly.

“And if you need to get taller, you get-”

“Yeah, REALLY tall,” she finished, “yeah, that’s why they think I’m growing, now, shooting up.” He’s getting it!

“And, uh, wh-why do you need to be, like, really tall, and…?”

“And strong? Because you like it,” she answered, plain as day, “I started getting tall, I started growing my huge boobs even huger first because it helped me get this job, and then, well…because I liked you. And it was obvious you liked them. You liked big boobs and you liked…tall girls.”

<gulp> Jay felt exposed, not just from being stark naked.

“And if I was going to get your attention, make you my boyfriend, well…”

She pushed her chest into him.

“...these helped. And so does the hair, and the legs and the butt and all…this.”

He flushed with embarrassment, but - she noticed haha - he didn’t deny a single word. When he did finally speak, it was apologetic. “S-s-sorry…” he stammered, with his head down as if he was asking forgiveness for the entire male race.

Good.

“Oh don’t be sorry you can’t help it,” she giggled. The precious little nervousness in his voice, his embarrassed expression was beginning to get to her. She was starting to feel naughty again. More and more tingles, throughout all this, had also been coming. They all like it, they like what they’re seeing apparently, all the little gobs.

Melissa turned her attention back on Jay with new intent. “So, you like when I use my…abilities on you? My…’woman’s charms’?” she asked, her voice once again growing husky as she made sure to push her bust firmly into him.

Jay hesitated, but only for a moment before his honesty took over. ”Y-y-yes,” he answered.

He had no reason, she knew, to deny his attraction to her. She liked that he seemed fascinated, too, with what made her special. She was glad she��d opened up to him a bit, and told him what she could, for now. She was hoping that - with a little time - she could get him to go beyond just a sense of fascination, and he’d come to her with some of the same feelings that her little men down in the basement were growing. Nnnnngghhh oh god, Missssy, stopppp….

That could be for later, later, later. For now…

“What do you like best? My stompy feet? My Big Bossy voice?” she asked playfully, “Besides my boobs, of course. They’re my biggest superpower.”

He flushed..

“Seriously, what do you want me to use on you?” I’m not going to tell him I’m starting to be able to read his mind, she decided, That’ll freak him out haha. “You have an almost full-blown supergirl here…”

This time, he didn’t hesitate for long. ” Will you please…kiss me again?” he asked, his voice and eyes and face tremulous, “Like you did before?”

“When I…sucked all the air out of you” she asked, cocking her head in curiosity. That's a surprise. “Is that what you want me to do again?”

”Yeah, well, more like…” His chest trembled. “wh-when you, uh…when you breathed for me.”

Oh god, that made her shudder. ”omigod okay.”

The feeling of her lips, suddenly on his, was sublime. She’d gathered him up towards herself, brought him in for a kiss as she held him in her arms, and then put her mouth on his. Her lips, so much bigger than his, easily wrapped around his mouth, and her tongue found unchecked access into it. He’d opened for her, he wanted her in there, and his surrender made her groan. And so she kissed him, forcing herself in deep and causing him to tense up and shiver in her arms before immediately melting again in her embrace. Their tongues slid against one another, hers pushing his back and forth, up onto his palate or down into the floor of his jaw. They played, but it was clear in their kiss who wore the pants, who was in charge. She dominated him. She’d pushed herself in hard enough so that the side of her mouth pushed up against his nose, and with just a little adjustment she now had it blocked completely.

He began to tremble, anticipating that feeling again. It wasn’t just his lips or mouth or even his whole face that were made to vibrate but the sensation radiated throughout his whole body, from head-to-toe. He quickly couldn’t breathe, and yet in that sensation, in that terrifying vulnerability, he began to feel pleasure. He felt his limbs losing their strength, and if his hands hadn’t once again found sanctuary on her breasts they might have fallen limply to his side. The pleasure from the kiss was so intense that he didn’t notice himself beginning to sweat as his body sought oxygen. Even the pain and burning from his lungs was muted, overwhelmed by the rapture of the moment until it began to build, and build, and build. He thought to pull away, when his peripheral vision began to flicker with stars, but then he felt something sweet and powerful flow into him.

Oxygen, suddenly, was being pushed into his lungs and surged throughout his body. It revitalized him, freed him from the pain, and filled him with life. His vision began to clear and the pins and needles in his fingers and toes disappeared. His fear abated, and a new fear replaced it: the thought that the kiss might end. But it didn’t.

Melissa waited for his body to start to recover, her mouth still clamped over his. Though she didn’t fully understand how it all worked, she knew his body needed time, a moment. She was letting his blood take in the oxygen she’d given him from her lungs and replace it with carbon dioxide. She could sense when she needed to draw it out, and once again, she drew his breath from him, taking it into her own lungs. She felt the air inside her chest changing. What her body was doing with the carbon she wasn’t certain, but it didn’t worry her. In fact, she fought back a smile as she waited for her partner to be ready, so she could breathe into him once again.

He squirmed. Just the feeling of this new air of hers flowing into him was like taking her inside himself. He was letting her in, letting her become part of him. When he breathed out again, she let him wait, wait, wait, letting him know that it was on her accord, that it was by her mercy that he was able to breathe. She breathed into him again, with air sweeter and richer than anywhere on earth, and she felt his body shudder again in delight. He opened his body for her, and she went in, and out. Air in, and air out. In, and out. Huge lungfuls into him, and then huge lungfuls out.

She was fucking him with her lungs, and it was making her so wet.

How long had they maintained the kiss? He didn’t know but when her lips finally left every part of him tingled, and not for lack of air. Rather, quite the opposite. He didn’t need to draw deep breaths, he felt as if he barely needed to breathe at all. She’d given him what he needed. She’d super-saturated his cells with something better than the earth’s air.

He wasn’t certain what to say; he wasn't certain he could speak.. He looked up at her, to her lips, and found them parted into a warm, brilliant smile.

“See, sweetie? I can breathe better for you than you can for yourself,” she said.

He knew what he wanted to say. He wanted to collapse, submit himself entirely to her control. He wanted to tell her: ‘yes, please, let your lungs breathe for me. Let your heart beat for me. Do everything for me. Take away all my problems, fill me back up with yourself.’

She felt his longings, but knew that him submitting to them would take strength, strength she knew that he didn’t have. He wasn’t strong enough yet to shed everything he’d known, everything he’d been taught, everything he’d become through his however-old-he-was years on this earth. He would, though, allow himself to be taken along for the ride and maybe, along the way, she could help him find that strength.

“Jay, baby, honey,” she began, her own eyes welling up with the love she had, “you’ve taught me a lot, so much. I was always told, always taught that boys, guys, men were…weak. My mother made me see men as, like…less than human, more like objects. She told me that only women had the strength needed to…to…”

He knew what she wanted to say. Her words were failing her but it was the mantra that - unspoken as it may be - was permeating everything, changing society. She wanted to say that it was only women, superior women, who had the strength to rule the world. But, strangely, in that moment it made her feel bad, like she’d be gloating. Hadn’t he been through enough? Didn’t he deserve a little tender ignorance?

But they both knew it was fucking true. No one really needed to say it. Women were in charge.

“But I love you. I love you more than I could ever love a thing, an object, or, like, a pet,” she finally spoke, “You’ve shown me…so much. You’re so much more than my mother ever told me a man could be. And we’re perfect together.” She watched his face, read every twitch and tingle of his thoughts and emotions. “We belong together, like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. Except you’re a small piece and I’m the…” She stopped, paused, giggled. “I’m the really big piece. And you just…fit. Right into me.”

“Oh, my god, Melissa,” he quavered, gathering something.

”Yes, sweetie?” She cocked her head, unsure of what he was going to say. Was he going to lash out?

“I l-love you so much,” he said.

Her heart, she felt, might burst from her chest. “Oh my god honey I love you too.” She was sure he could hear her mighty heart beat, that he could feel it quake his bones. It was a behemoth, bigger she felt than anything else about her and its thunder, now, would shake the earth.

It was time. She needed to ask him. She drew a deep breath.

“Jay, sweetie, you’ve started to see all these things my body can do. But will you…” she began, looking right into his eyes, “let me…do things to you? So I can…protect you better?”

He paused, taken aback. “w-what do you mean - ‘do things to me’?” he asked, tremulously, “Wh-what are you asking?”

She knew she needed to be gentle, careful. She could force it, but it wouldn’t feel right. It would only be right, really right, if he asked for it himself. She continued on.

“Like, you’ve seen it,” she began, “Like I’ve told you. I’ve been working on myself, changing, growing, so I can be a better office manager. So I can be a better girlfriend, a better protector for you. I’ve been doing it all for you.”

She knew he was confused. He didn't know what to think. It all maybe still sounded cryptic, and she maybe sounded crazy, but she needed to ask him this. “I’ve been working on myself, a lot. But…will you let me work on you, too? So I can do what's best for you?”

“Uhhh…”

She could tell he wasn’t sure if he liked the idea of that. “Maybe that sounded a little bossy haha,” she giggled, “But…I am the boss, right?”

“Ummm…”

“C’mon…” she urged playfully, “You know I can make you a better man.”

He paused, not wanting to disappoint her or deny her something she really wanted to do, but he also didn’t want to commit to something when he wasn’t one hundred percent sure what she was asking. “You mean like…self-improvement?”

“Sure yeah kinda sorta,” she giggled, “I can help make it so we can have more fun? Do more of what you like?”

“Like..?”

“Like, well….kinda like this-”

Suddenly, a huge wave of pheromones exploded from her bare flesh and skin and - just as suddenly, with one breath - he was hard. Beyond hard, he was quivering again. She’d not only taken control of his body and caused him to become piercingly aroused, erect as a pole, but she’d forced her will into his mind and regressed him back to something so much simpler. His thoughts were slowed, and his brain was made deliriously foggy. All within the course of about five seconds she had him immediately swimming in a warm sea of pleasurable feelings and - above all - they’re all totally centered on me.

“You like?” she asked, with a crooked smile. He looked like a blissed-out child, and it made her so happy.

“Oh my god yes Melissa please,” he replied, eyes glazed over in his adoration of her and cock a throbbing, iron monument to her beauty, “Do whatever you want to me.”

She giggled, feeling herself becoming giddy at the thought. Yes, he was drunk on her perfumes but they were only getting him to express what he truly felt. With all that stress and anxiety washed away, and with his mind clear of any big, complicated thoughts, this was who he truly was. So, she didn’t really feel bad, she was just helping him find himself. “Whatever I want?”

“w-w-whatever you want.”

She giggled again. “Okay honey, then get ready to become the perfect boyfriend.” She could do it, she knew she could do it, start reshaping things the way she wanted, and she could start right here. She was gaining more control over how things were changing. Her thoughts, and her manifestations these days, had been becoming powerful. She could make him into the perfect boyfriend, and at the same time make herself into the perfect girlfriend…and maybe much, much more. She could change them both, she could change herself into what she’d truly always wanted to be. And she could make him love it.

So exciting!!!

“Okay okay, sweetie,” she began, taking a moment to tuck a lock of her long, thick hair behind her ear. I love how I can cradle him with one arm. “If we’re going to do this, if you’re going to let me do this for us, you’re going to need to start thinking about me a little differently.”

“W-what do you mean?”

Well, I could tell you a little about the guys in the basement.

“So, for starters, now that you know some of the…special things I can do, I need you to acknowledge them, and acknowledge me. I need you to accept that I can do things that other people can’t. I do them all for you, but you have to accept that I’m becoming something more than, like, human.”

He shivered, there in her arms. Yes, you’re incredible Melissa. His arousal had shot an electric shock throughout his bones. He said nothing, and she pressed on.

“I’m growing, I’m developing, I’m becoming something…greater than human. Something bigger, and stronger, and just…so much more,” she said, golden-green eyes glimmering as she looked down into him, “And you’re going to help me get even better.”

“what do y-you mean?” he asked again, in a voice as small and weak as he looked, but one that was now sparkling, crystallizing with a new understanding of purpose, “m-me? What can I do?”

“Oh honey it’s easy, it’ll be so easy. All I need you to do is wish. I want you to wish, I want you to imagine. I want your dreams to go wild. And I want them all focused on me.”

“okay..yes…o-“

NGGGH!!

Her hand had found his cock.

“Okay?” she asked, giving him a first, long, slow stroke.

“o-okay…” he agreed, eyes fluttering as he endured the pleasure.

“I…” she started again, “…can be so much more than your 'girlfriend'. I can be perfection, and I need your help with that.”

“okay…” he repeated reflexively, already losing himself in the ministrations of her slow, gentle hand. In the crook of her left arm, he luxuriated in pleasure.

She had continued to walk, slowly, around the house. They were now in the grand entry foyer.

“So, those guys? The ones we have living in the basement?”

“yes..?” he moaned, struggling to listen as she stroked his erection.

“They…they 'work' for us, they’re staying with us because they have nowhere else to go,” she explained, her voice soft and gentle as she continued her slow, lazy attentions on his cock, “but they're also learning something. They’re learning a new way to be, and they spend a lot of time, well…thinking. Thinking about me.”

“y-yes…” he repeated, agreeing as if he knew already.

“Thinking about me, writing about me, making up songs and poems about me,” she continued. <stroke…stroke…stroke> “Honey, sweetie, Jay…they’re making up prayers for me. Prayers, honey, prayers. They spend their nights, and days, all their free time praying. To me.”

“oh god Melissa…” he groaned. So lost in pleasure was he it was hard to say if he was responding to her words or to her hand.

“And, honey, these prayers, these poems and songs and all the ‘thinking’ about me…it makes me stronger,” she pushed, feeling the tingles still dancing through her skin. It wasn’t tingles coming just from the basement, though, or her old followers. These were mostly new tingles. Thousands of Channel 5 tingles. “And if I’m going to get really strong I need you to do this most of all.”

“oh god oh god oh Melissa yes.”

“That’s right, that’s good, honey. Say that again.”

“oh god Melissa.”

They had arrived in front of a wall of photos, one he’d been examining earlier. “What were you doing, when I was downstairs? Hmm? Snooping around, looking at my stuff? Looking at old pictures of me? Here let me help…”

With that, she shifted him in her arms so - cock still gripped firmly in her hand - he had a clear view of a framed photo, hanging on the wall. A scene on some exotic, faraway beach, Melissa as a teen.

“Here. Look at this picture of me, this picture of the girl bursting out of the bikini her mom bought for her and think, think, think. Can you do that?” She’d resumed stroking him again. “Can you think about her growing up, growing up taller, growing up big and strong? Growing up and becoming the woman you always wanted? Into the woman she always wanted to be? Making you into the man you always wanted to be?”

He felt as if he was shrinking already.

“Can you do that? Can you keep thinking about me, saying my name? Can you imagine me bigger and stronger and just so much more?”

“Yes, Melissa, god, yes.”

“That’s your new goal, that's your job, that's your passion. Make. Me. Bigger.”

“Melissa…god…Melissa…god…” She was so beautiful, even back then.

“Give it to me. Give it to me now, all you got. Make it your prayer. Make it your first little prayer to me.”

“Melissa, my god, Melissa”

“‘Goddess’ honey, the proper word is ‘goddess’”

“My goddess Melissa,” he finally spoke, his eyes plastered on the photo of the smiling young teen in the bikini on the beach as he came.

“That’s right, good boy…come, come for me,” she chanted, “Look at that picture and come for me. Make that girl into a goddess...”

===============================================

thanks to RiF for help in editing and copy

#growingintothejob

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freesia-writes · 6 months

Text

Lil Life Update for Y'all <3

I've been a lil cryptic or back-n-forth, I think, and just wanted to share a little bit about what's been going on. I say it's not for attention but who knows what motives lurk under there, LOL. It's mostly because I love you all and want to let you in, also hope that it's encouraging or connective for anyone else who's experienced the same, and also I just miss the community I have sooooo loved here. 🥹

I'm a 34yo female with 2 kids aged 4 and 7. I had depression like crazy during and after my second pregnancy especially. In Aug 2021, my primary doc suggested I try something like Zoloft since I'd been complaining of irritability, no capacity, constant worry, and other anxiety symptoms. When I did feel some relief and felt encouraged that I could "feel like myself" again, I pursued solutions for other issues I was noticing. Over the last year and a half, it's been quite a ride. ADHD symptoms led to Adderall for 4 days, then Wellbutrin for a few months, then Buspar for a few months, then Strattera (tapering up and then back down) for about 3 months, then Ritalin for 1 month, which I thought was helping until we realized that the entire month of October was basically an increasingly manic episode.

Whew.

We're talkin 2007 Britney here (ok I didn't shave it but I cut my hair off into a pixie). Spent thousands on a new wardrobe of the "dark academia" style. Bought Disneyland tickets. Invested in a photography mentorship. So much energy and inspiration. Then we realized it was getting out of hand.

I had also been tapering off a lot of the meds over the last two months, so it was just a crazy cocktail of chemicals that made my brain finally go kaput. I finished the last dose of Zoloft on November 5th, and that was the last of the meds, so now I'm off everything. My therapist thought the mania was medication-induced due to all the changes plus the addition of the stimulant, so the goal was to try to allow everything to settle down and see what "baseline" is for me right now.

And it has been frickin HARD.

Cervical vertigo. All-or-nothing sleep and appetite. Extreme sensory sensitivity. Random itchiness. Racing mind. Total inability to focus. And the worst part has been the mood swings.

I'm basically having all the symptoms of bipolar disorder in a rapid-cycle format. It may be cyclothymia, or it may be the withdrawal effects from all the meds, but regardless... It's been quite the roller coaster. The nerd in me has been fascinated by the experiential knowledge of it all, since I majored in Psychology and have always loved learning about it, but the overall negative effects on me and my family have been difficult.

I'm someone who has always relied completely on being highly capable and in control. I find my worth in my productivity and competence. And it has caused increasing stress throughout my life. I've been praying for years that God would break me of it, and I can see how he is using this to do precisely that -- lovingly trying to answer my request to be freed of this relentless pursuit of the illusion of control. He's inviting me to simple, joyful life of trust. The perspective shift is so freeing when I realize that I don't need to have it all figured out because he already does, and I can just rest in his loving guidance and look to him for the next step instead of trying to plan out every possible outcome and strategy. I went on a reflective retreat in the Santa Cruz mountains and just felt so encouraged and loved in the way he invited me to let my shoulders down and to ground myself in his warm provision and care.

But the change doesn't happen overnight.

So in the middle of a total storm of bipolar symptoms -- days of mania followed by days of depressive episodes and being so new at it all that I don't know how to navigate "normal life" with all of that -- I'm also trying to rewire 34 years' worth of the way I think and act. BUT it's a blessedly simple process: the only thing I have to worry about is this moment. I can't affect the future or the past. So all I have is right now, and I can turn to God for guidance, encouragement, insight, or anything I need in this moment, and he is so faithful to give it. But man, it's easy to forget. ;)

Literally me with that right now, trying to figure it all out on my own before I remember I can't and don't need to:

Anyway, this got LONG, surprise surprise, but I've always enjoyed being vulnerable for the sake of connection and potential encouragement. And selfishly, I'd LOVE to hear from any of you who may have had similar experiences. Right now the fixation of my [very limited] capacity is on my photography business, but I've been feeling drawn to writing more and more, and have attempted a lil drabble here and there. So I'm just patiently waiting for the inspiration to return. :)

I have so appreciated the love from you all. I also haven't been as active with reading/reblogging/supporting/etc as I was, and that's just where I'm at right now, but please know that my heart is with you even if my brain is not, LOL.

If you made it this far, you get a gold star. Or a Howzer hug. Or somethin. :)

#freesia writes #mental health monday #just another manic monday #jk today was depressive

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soufcakmistress · 11 months

Text

Unveil

Part IV

A/N: I know yall wanna fight me LOL I couldn’t figure this next part out to save my life. But my brain is working a little better now, and I wanted to get this out. Not me posting two fics two days in a row! Don’t get comfortable because this is out of the norm LOL stay tuned boos!

Pairing: Erik Stevens x Thick Black Reader

Snoring peacefully in the king bed of the guest house with an open window, the loud buzz of a lawnmower startled you almost to death. Erik’s baritone carried over to the guesthouse, guiding the landscaper while giving him notes. Rolling your eyes internally at the thought of Erik, you gather up the courage to roll over and pick up the burner Erik gave you. It was time to let your best friend know what’s up. Knowing her cell number by heart, your fingers tremble as you input the digits. It only rings once.

“Y/N???? Y/N? Sis is that you??” Denitra sounded like she had been waiting by the phone the whole time for a call from a number she wouldn’t even recognize. You immediately burst into tears. Everything from the past is flooding back. You and Nitra busting ass for midterms. You supporting her when she crossed and wrangling all the balloons at her probate. Y’all squealing over the gigantic engagement ring Eddie proposed to you with. The last embrace you guys ever had before you left behind all that you ever knew.

“Hi baby. I’m sorry. It’s just so good to hear your voice. I’m okay! I’m okay.”

Denitra shut her office door closed, and paced back and forth nervously. “Where are you, Y/N? Are you alone??? Do you still have money? Has he tried to still—“

You give a good belly laugh with your face still wet with tears because that’s how your best friend is. Making sure A and B equal C. “Nitra, take a breath sis. I promise I’m okay. I’m not gonna tell you where I am, so do not ask. Just know that I’m being taken care of properly.”

Nitra looked at her phone like it had three heads. “Bitch, who is taking care of you???” More belly laughs from you. Y’all chat it up for the next 30 minutes. You’re very careful about revealing any info to your best friend. If there’s anything you know about your ex fiancé, it’s that he will stop at nothing for information. Giving her plausible deniability could save Nitra from his wrath. Or push him further into mania. You had to believe in your heart of hearts she would be safe if she didn’t know anything, for your own sanity.

“Miss Y/N, I have prepared breakfast for the house in the dining room. I would love for you to join us!” Leah, Erik’s middle aged housekeeper, spoke over the intercom to make you aware. Maybe you and her could spend some time alone today.

“Yes ma’am, I’ll be there!” You finish up with your best friend, shower and cross the pool to the house. The house smells absolutely amazing— a spread was made of scrambled eggs with cheese, turkey sausage, and homemade biscuits. “Leah, this is awesome! Thank you so much!!”

Leah was definitely one of those Black women who could throw down in the kitchen and cherished when people enjoyed her food. She leaned back on the island and sipped her coffee with pride. It was only you and Leah downstairs, but you did happen to peep some luggage by the front door. Who’s leaving? Black Barbie? Or Black Ken?

Holding no qualms about your outer appearance, you dug in. You were starving, and Leah put a hurting on them biscuits. Light steps are heard coming from the upper floor and Monica appeared looking completely ethereal. “Good morning everyone!!”

It was still a bit early for her to be elongating her vowels but you greeted her accordingly. Leah didn’t speak, just peeping over her coffee mug. “I unfortunately have a day trip to Cali—Christopher John Rogers’ publicist has been incessant about me modeling their new spring collection. I’ll be back tomorrow evening though! You ladies have a splendid time!!” Monica split a biscuit in half, gave you an unexpected bear hug, and traipsed out the door.

“Thank God. I’ll at least have one person to talk to with more than half a brain cell.” Leah washed out her mug, and you snickered when she said that. It was petty. But, oh well. Leah winked at you, when Erik decided to show up.

“Ladies. Good morning.” He typed away at his phone while he made himself some coffee. Leah responded. But not you. What could you say to him now that you seen what that dick was hitting for? It’s evident he caught you looking last night and he wanted you to look….right? Not stopping to sit down at the table with you, he picked up a biscuit and headed back upstairs. From the bannister on the upper floor, Erik could look into the kitchen from above. You lost the fight not to gaze at him. Looking up, he was already staring at you before going into his office and shutting the door. Why is this man so intense…

Leah began clearing the table since you were done eating and cut her eyes at you. Something was up between you two, but she didn’t push. Erik told her everything about your situation and how you both came to meet. Leah was trustworthy and lived a lot of life before working full time with Erik. She empathized with you wholly, seeing that you were lost in the world. She was proud of Erik for doing the right thing—the boy was certain he was damned to hell. This was proof he wasn’t.

“I’ll wash if you dry.” You offered. Leah accepted happily, nice to have someone who didn’t act like she was a personal maid. You noticed that Leah didn’t say much. She was always watching though.

“Leah, what do you have planned for today?” Putting your hand on your hip, you turn to her with a smirk on your lips.

“Well, I do need to coordinate with the pool boy, wash a couple loads, vacuum the guest rooms, start on lunch—“

“Ehhhh, that can wait. Let’s go shopping. I gotta get off this property or I’m gonna go postal. Erik’s a big boy, he’ll be all right for a few hours. I’ll go tell Caleb to start the car.” You leave to let the driver know, not even allowing her to respond. Fun was majorly needed.

Meeting Leah at the front door, you pile in the expedition to head to the nearest mall. Scratching your veve tattoo on your side, your thumb scrolls through the mall directory when you get an iMessage from an unknown number.

“Going somewhere?”

Who else would it be but him? It was purposeful to leave without telling him. Erik had you twisted all the way up inside…….it wasn’t totally smart but this gave you some semblance of control back into the dynamic. Being a helpless damsel in distress wasn’t a good look on you and you didn’t want it to start now….even if you really did need all the support you could get. You weren’t gonna pass this moment of brief freedom up. “Yes I need things. And I need some fresh air.”

“This ain’t no damn vacation. Get what you need, and have Caleb return you ladies back to the property.”

Oh? He is feeling very jazzy this afternoon. You leave him on read, and hop out with Leah. She’s very patient and a very good listener. She can sense the wheels turning in your head, sorting what to do and what’s already been done.

The two of you scoured through Old Navy, Five Below, Rainbow, Bath and Body Works, Aldo, and left a whirlwind in Macy’s. Caleb fought his frustration watching you traipse from store to store. Retail therapy was a balm to your open wounds. The cares of your world fell away trying on different jeans and comfortable jumpsuits while you reconciled everything. A blessing also came in the form of companionship with Leah.

Widowed at 45, the Nashville native was blessed to have two pensions and an empty nest. She let you in on how her and Erik met and how he was like a son to her now more than anything. The two of you conversed over piping hot Japanese teriyaki in the food court surrounded by department store bags. “He reminded me of my son Travis. His father died when he was so young, and it was an uphill battle to wrangle him back from the dark side. Erik has his demons and yet he still has a code. I could never deny that boy.”

You listened intently and soaked it in. Demons huh? You figured he had access and resources being an alleged government contractor but it appears his baggage is a bit more nuanced. What had Erik seen and done? Why go out of his way to help a stranger? You had more questions than answers but were still somehow pleased with the new info.

Caleb had been staring a hole in your head for the last half hour. You put him out of his misery and he comes to gather your bags. Leah squeezed your arm and y’all headed to the car. The mean grinch awaits you both and had lashings for you for sure.

“Split up. Go. Ven allá!” Eddie directed his goons to search the town square in the sleepy little town of Randolph, Vermont. Two guys took the north end, while three guys took the south end. They questioned jewelers, shoe repairmen, butchers, ski shop owners, hotel clerks, etc. Nothing revealed any inkling of you. Eddie himself called every single roach motel in the surrounding area and nobody by the name of Y/N Nazario. He even asked if you went by your maiden name, and still nothing. “Something’s not right.”

Him and his goons reconvened at a late night diner. They couldn’t look more out of place—Cuban and Haitian American men with no sense of humor being served by lily white folks whose most lively occurrence were a cat getting stuck in a tree. “Boss, could she have been tipped off?”

Eddie ran through the scenario again and again in his mind. There should have been no time that you would have known he was coming. “Are you guys sure that she didn’t see Arturo at the train station? If she saw his fuckin face, she would have been spooked.”

Eddie’s lieutenant, Carmen insisted personally that he didn’t. Arturo wouldn’t be able to eat without a feeding tube for a while to make sure of that. “Let’s go. We need to pay a visit.”

Back at the ranch, you and Leah have situated all of your new purchases in the closet and bathroom in the guest house. No more living out of a purse. To end the night, you guys head back to the main house while Leah popped the cork on a Merlot that was to die for while some smooth jazz played on Erik’s surround sound.

He comes from his garage after playing around with a transmission for an old school Chevelle he’s been restoring, to see you two cozied up. At least you found someone to confide in. “Thelma and Louise have returned I see.” You both cackle and pour him a glass.

“Better watch your wallet!” You bust out laughing, clearly tipsy.

“Wel I’m glad you had fun but can you please let me know that you’ve left the house before you just duck off like that? We’re trying to keep you safe remember? I can’t do that if I don’t know where you are.” Erik gives the warning tenderly but with some steel as well. Leah says nothing and sips more of her wine, secretly amused at his overprotective nature. She knows he means well.

You drain your glass and go to pour another one. “Yes Dad. I’ll always check in before curfew.” Red wine always does this to you.

“Well kids, I’m going to lay down for the night. I’ll see you both bright and early for breakfast.” Leah rinsed her glass out and placed it in the sink and kissed Erik on his cheek. “Good night, son.”

“Good night, Leah.” His dimples make another appearance and your stomach does a hurdle. She squeezes your shoulder and heads upstairs. You take your glass and the whole bottle to the couch, and you feel his eyes on your back the whole time. How was this going to work?

The wine fills your mouth adding to your buzz and your eyes close as you bob your head to the jazz. You feel the couch dip as Erik sits right next to you. “I see someone ran it up today.”

“I deserve it, don’t I? With all things considered..”

His eyebrow raised and he inhaled more of the Merlot. “No complaints from me, Y/N. Just pointing out the obvious. I see you and Leah have gotten close. She’s an outstanding woman.”

“Yes she really is. So sweet and so wise. I enjoy her company. Reminds me of my mom..” Damn. How long has it been since you’ve spoken with her?

“Have you used the burner phone yet? I hope you have, I told you it can’t be traced.”

“Yes, I reached out to my best friend. She’s sworn to secrecy. Not my parents though. One word from me and Eddie would absolutely know something right away, they can’t hold water.”

Erik drained his Merlot and poured the rest of the bottle into his glass. “Well at least you know who to trust with certain information. Can I ask you a question?”

Your heart fell in your butt when he said that. Oh God. You weren’t ready to reveal that you been daydreaming about his bare body all day. “Shoot.”

“Your tattoo. It’s a Haitian veve with a Kongo cosmogram around it. Does it mean something?” Erik was fishing for info for sure. How could someone so sweet and tender as you get caught up in such an evil force as Mr. Nazario?

“We’re gonna need more wine, if we’re going to get into that.” Erik immediately got up and got another bottle of Merlot and a corkscrew and poured generously for the both of you.

Words start pouring out of you. The whirlwind of you and Eddie’s romance and how intense and handsome he was had you under a spell. It didn’t take much for him to convince you to become his queen of his empire. Erik listened intently and engaged with you. It’s no wonder why Monica is head over heels. He’s fine as fuck, incredibly sharp and got bank. But he’s holding something back.

Him and Eddie weren’t that different in that regard you found. Erik revealed very little about himself yet was able to extract information from you with ease. Too easily, for that matter. Eventually, you were all talked out, and fell asleep on the couch. Erik was comfortable himself and didn’t want to move. He pulled the throw blanket over the both of you, whispered “sweet dreams” in your ear, and dozed off himself.

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#soufcakmistress #erik killmonger #erik killmonger smut #killmonger fanfiction #killmonger smut #erik stevens #killmonger x reader #black panther #wakanda forever

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rose-tinted-vision · 1 month

Text

Fic: You're taking my heart by storm

Fandom: White Cat Legend (大理寺少卿游)

Relationship: Qiu Qingzhi/Li Bing

prev | chapter 3/? | read it on ao3

Qiu Qingzhi wakes up the next day with a blaring headache, and a bone-aching need to destroy. it takes a while for him to recall where he was, his hard-earned title, and he laments that he had tied his own hands. He had been made general– had completed what he had set out to do, but everything else was lost– what was the point of it all?

What was stopping him from running out and tearing everything asunder?

He very nearly does, except that he gets summoned by Her Majesty, who wants to meet the newly minted General Qiu.

Qiu Qingzhi feeds her the appropriate pleasantries, pledging himself to her and the nation, and his anger subsides in the meantime. His head clears enough for him to realise that he cannot bring himself to destroy a world where Li Bing is still in.

Being a general came with far too much paperwork. Too many reports to write, requests to sign off on, cases to study. He had never been one to sit still, and ends up fidgeting more often than not, itching to practise his sword forms instead of sitting behind a desk.

Qiu Qingzhi knows that the court is keeping an eye on him– expected as much, from the day they let a slave become a General– as such, he makes sure to distance himself from Li Bing. Tries to erase their history as much as he can from the public’s memory.

It is not easy.

He has to physically stop himself from rounding the corner to the Li residence out of habit, has to avoid their old haunts lest he runs into Li Bing by accident, and he pays his respect to Mr. Li from a distance.

There is a sense of shame, as he walks down streets that he used to dash across with another, pretending not to hear the murmurs that start up behind him.

They spurn him, condemning him for biting the hand that fed him, for turning his back on the person who moulded him into a General.

He knows these street vendors– they practically watched him grow up alongside Li Bing– he was the one to introduce them to Li Bing, and now he walks amongst them flanked by his Jinwu guards. They too, remember him, and he has to pretend that their whispers do not wound him.

(It's the truth, and so he says nothing).

—

His public image aside, he knows that the Yong'an Pavilion is planning something. They have tried sending him away from the city, passing down orders for him to settle the unrest that has been stirring at the borders. Anywhere but the centrals, where the Li residence was.

That wouldn't do.

If they tried to attack Li Bing again, it would be when he was most vulnerable– while transporting Mr. Li’s body back to his hometown.

So Qiu Qingzhi studies everything he can about the state of Zixu, about their famed Fengsheng beast, about their cat god. It sounds familiar, his mind dredging forth the memory of Yi Zhihua promising him eternal life, his claims that he is a god.

He discreetly enquires about the demon, poking around for cases with unnatural deaths. His search soon reveals that Yi Zhi Hua had been thrown to the Secret Prison and immediately put on the death row.

(He plans a prison break, discreetly drugging the guard's water and steels himself to make a deal with a demon again).

Yi Zhihua’s eyes glimmer with hatred, radiating a killing intent so immense that Qiu Qingzhi feels a chill run down his spine. But he holds his glare resolutely, refusing to back down. He knows that the other would not kill him yet, not when he was still a viable pawn in his plans.

“Help me, and I'll get you your dagger.”

“You do know I could have escaped if I wanted to, right?” the demon sneers, slamming a hand against the gate, “I am a god! Nothing can trap me!”

“But you have not.”

Qiu Qingzhi does not mention how he had, in fact, trapped the god in quicksand once.

Yi Zhihua considers this for a second before breaking into maniacal laughter. It is bone-chilling, a threat hidden in its mania. Qiu Qingzhi had wondered why the demon hasn't escaped yet- he knows of the demon's powress, knew that even the Secret prison may not be able to contain it- he had banked on the fact that the demon had been waiting for him to make the first move, which was telling that there was something he was still useful for.

“You're offering to break me out,” the demon states, “that’s a capital offence. How are you so sure that I'll help you?”

He isn't sure.

“You need someone working for Yong’an to help you look for your items.”

“I could just burn this city to the ground.” Yi Zhihua snarls, eyes glowing ethereal in the dark of the prison gloom. In that moment, Qiu Qingzhi could almost believe his claims of being a god.

(But god or demon or whatever he is, Qiu Qingzhi would fight them all to protect the one he loves).

“I'd make sure you never find your dagger, then.”

That triggers a reaction from the demon, who lets out an angry yowl, trashing in his chains as he bares his teeth at him. “I'll kill you!”

“So, are you going to take my offer? It would be much easier for all of us.”

—

Yi Zhihua upholds his end of the deal, setting off after Li Bing’s procession silently. Still, the feeling of unease lingers, and Qiu Qingzhi hurriedly signs off on the last case report before running out of the city.

“Where's Li Bing?” he yells, voice nearly lost to the howling winds.

“Look no further! he's right in front of you!” Yi Zhihua replies, tone a touch too hysterical as he waves him over, and dread pools in his stomach.

“Li Bing?” he hurries over, to see a slight white cat, curled up in the grassy field– he nearly would've missed it, its coat nearly as white as the snow around them.

That damned demon must've done this in revenge, he thinks distantly, his hands trembling as he reaches out to pull the cat into his arms.

“ –I’ll see you soon!” he hears Yi Zhihua call as he skips away, his crazed laughter trailing after him.

The cat is frail, bonier than a healthy cat should be– it's probably inherited his human ailments, Qiu Qingzhi speculates– Li Bing had lost weight in his grief, his hair turned white overnight. It shivers, and Qiu Qingzhi despairs, torn between bringing the cat back with him or to leave it in the field with his cape.

He eventually walks away empty-handed.

Better to keep him out of the political turmoil taking over Shendu, he thinks. Away from Yi Zhihua and those chasing after dreams of immortality.

—

Qiu Qingzhi learns how to be a leader, amongst everything that goes down. He learns how to live with the weight of his men’s lives on his shoulders, how to settle disputes amongst them, how to manipulate the court elders into giving him what he needs.

He starts studying war strategies, learning how to apply them in the political landscape, learns how to shed his compassion.

Li Bing had taught him how to read, back in the Li residence, but he had never been as well read as the other. Between the two of them, Qiu Qingzhi had been the brawns to Li Bing’s brains as they settled cases together. His knowledge of the judicial system in Shendu had not been as vast as Li Bing’s had, not nearly as sufficient as he needed to navigate his new position in the court.

So he starts getting to work.

He starts small, making purchases through means that could not be tracked back to him, starts accumulating a small collection of military strategies, historical records and past cases that he thinks Li Bing would be proud of.

—

There are rumours of a Demon Cat spreading amongst the people. The image of a frail white cat, curled up in a grassy field flashes across his mind, and Qiu Qingzhi feels his breath stutter. He throws himself into the investigation, leaves no stone unturned in his search for clues– he has to make sure that Li Bing is not involved in this, for his own peace of mind.

(He finally lets out a breath when the case is finally settled. It was not Li Bing, there had been no connections made to Yi Zhihua either, the Elders too hasty to maintain their secret.

There is no news about Li Bing for the next three years).

#thats the last of my pre-written chapters #how many times can i write the same scene with a twist challenge #white cat legend #qiubing #qiu qingzhi #li bing #rose writes

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georgethequeerpuppet-blog · 3 months

Text

For @strangerfandomfiascos

Some good ole Steve-centric angst!

Pathological

By George The Puppet (curiouser_n_curiouser on Ao3)

Trigger Warnings

Implied ED

Implied SH

Implied S*cidal Thoughts

Dissociation

Mania/Hysteria

Mental Breakdowns

Mentions of Vomit

Word count: 1561

Enjoy!

He'd been convinced he was okay.

Eddie was healing.

Dustin was slowly becoming himself, again.

Max was awake.

Everybody was alive.

And yet...

He was drowning again.

Steve found himself stuck in a cycle. Boredom meshed with his downright shit mood, and suddenly he was walking in circles around his empty childhood home.

He was sure that there would be a visible path along the floorboards, soon. His socks caught on the cracked floor sealer. His steps felt crackly.

It made him want to throw up.

Steve was stuck. The knowledge that he was hungry pressed against the back of his mind. But every time he stepped onto the kitchen tile, his knees grew weak and his stomach sank to his feet.

He couldn't do it.

And so, the loop would start again. Through the kitchen, with nothing but a sidelong glance at the fridge. Back out into the dining room, and through the doorway into the living room.

There, he'd sit on the couch for hours at a time. His thoughts echoed in his ears. Deafening in the silence of an empty house. He was choking. Suffocated. Smothered by an irrational fear that it was all just going to stop.

Then he would heave his aching body off the couch, drag himself up the stairs with legs made of lead, and collapse into his bed. The plush mattress and light blue sheets weren't comforting, anymore. The fabric felt greasy against his raw skin. The mattress held his body in such a firm grip that he was suffocating all over again.

A sleepless night bled into a restless morning. On the days he could force himself out of bed, it would be the beginning of another loop.

On the days he couldn't... well... he'd spend hours in the same position. Eventually forced to move by his screaming joints and tingling muscles.

Sleep continued to elude him.

Steve couldn't remember the last time he had gotten more than an hour or two at a time.

It was torture. Self-inflicted. Brutal.

Days bled into weeks, and Steve could feel himself wasting away. Every few days, his body would push him just that little bit further. Survival instincts would kick in. He'd eat a couple of the frozen dinners out of the freezer in the basement, turn on the TV for once, drink some hot chocolate, and pass out on the couch for a day.

His body was trying. But that was more than he could say for the rest of him. Steve wasn't even sure if he could feel anymore.

The moments when he thought he could... When he felt it swell in his chest...

They would quickly turn to hysteria.

Mania. Something so fucking toxic that he'd end up in the bathtub, rocking himself back and forth under the lukewarm stream from the shower– desperately trying to stop the hysterical laughter that often had him leaning over the toilet, spitting bile.

It fucking hurt. In more ways than one.

And what hurt more, was the fact that he'd had practical radio silence from the others.

He was alone.

It's where he was now.

The shower was running cold - it had been for a while. His hands and feet ached with how long they had been subjected to the harsh spray of water.

Steve was just trying to breathe. It had stopped a while ago - he was trying not to think about it. If he didn't think about it, he would be okay.

Someone was knocking on his front door.

Which was weird, because he hadn't had any visitors in a month - and now someone was here.

Steve dragged himself off the couch, bringing the knitted throw with him. He could feel it dragging along the floor. It was fine.

The dread didn't settle in until his hand was turning the deadbolt. Even then, it took an extra moment for him to figure out that it was, in fact, dread. And the door was open by then.

Four familiar faces looked back at him, each a portrait of shock and concern. Each more distraught than the next.

He moved to close the door again– only for a leather-clad arm to shove back against it.

"Nuh-uh, Harrington. Don't you dare close this door on us."

The words were firm and hoarse.

That bubble was growing thickly in his chest. Fuck.

But he couldn't speak. He couldn't tell them to leave. Because if he opened his mouth now, it would all spill out before he'd prepared himself for it.

He felt like he was dying.

Steve stepped back from the door, eyes locked onto the tiles of the entryway. He watched them come inside, each toeing off their shoes next to the empty shoe rack.

Steve kept backing up. His feet tangled in the knitted blanket. His ankles ached something fierce. And there, right in front of the stairs, his knees buckled.

Shouts of panic bounced off the walls. Around the inside of his skull. Behind his eyes.

Hands gripped his shoulders, his chin, his wrists. His head was tilted up, and his eyes left the floor. She was close. Almost too close.

But he hadn't seen her in so long that it didn't feel as intrusive as it should have.

"Steve, do you feel okay?" Her hand drifted from his shoulder to his forehead, feeling for a non-existent fever. "What's going on?"

A shiver shot down his spine. Steve shook his head. He didn't know how to answer that question. He didn't know what was wrong.

"We've been trying to come see you for weeks! You never answer your door, Steve. What the fuck is going on?" Robin's words cut through the brain fog. Piercing his fragile soul.

The lump rose up from his chest and into his throat. His breath caught against it. A whine tore from his chest. The sound was nothing but pathetic.

Steve jerked his chin out of Nancy's hand, curling in on himself. Every time he swallowed around the lump, it threatened to break. To send him into another episode. He hadn't been ready for this.

He didn't want to do this.

"Steve–"

He ripped himself away from them before Jonathon could say anything else, darting up the stairs faster than he'd moved since March. The blanket made it to the top of the stairs with him, before it caught on the wood skirting panel and flopped back onto the floor.

He shut himself in the bathroom and locked the door behind himself before they could even make it up the stairs behind him. His knees slammed into the tile, sending sharp pains up into his hips.

Steve ignored the banging on the door. He ignored their calls for him. Their concern.

Everything around him melted away as the lump in his throat cracked.

It started like it always did. Hot tears and lurching sobs. Fingers tangling in his already matted hair.

Heaving for a breath, Steve dragged himself into the bathtub. A shaking hand reached up to turn on the shower. Cold water slammed into him like a truck.

He curled up on his side, facing the wall - away from the door.

A loud crack echoed through the room, and Steve couldn't help the full-body flinch.

Like a switch flipping - a trigger - the laughter began. The sobs competed with it, fighting his lungs for the next breath. His head was splitting open. Throbbing incessantly.

He wished it would just stop.

At first, it was just one hand. It had him shuddering against the side of the tub, pulling away on instinct.

But the hand didn't leave. It stayed. It moved. Rubbing slow circles over his arm. Steve shuddered, his breath hitching.

"What's going on, Steve?"

What was going on?

"Is it... the Upside Down?"

It wasn't that. He knew it wasn't. This was nothing but his own mind tearing itself apart.

He was fucked. He'd actually lost it.

Steve shook his head, his hands moving back to his hair. They gripped tight and pulled hard as another hybrid noise tore from him.

It sent him into a coughing fit. Dehydration and exertion were wrecking havoc.

"Steve, Vecna is dead. So what's going on?"

He tried to pull away again. Someone turned the water off, and he had to bite back the impulse to hiss at them like a wild animal.

He didn't try to answer. He knew he wouldn't get anything out around his breakdown. More firm hands gripped him. They forced him out of his less-than comfortable position and back out of the tub he had been treating like a second bed.

They tried to get him to stand, but Steve's legs were still adamantly staying out of it. Nancy and Jonathan lowered him back onto the tiles, and Robin was on him the second he was still.

The laughter was fading faster than usual. They were distracting him from his own head. He was well aware if it, and yet every part of him screamed to just... let it happen.

They forced his fragile frame out of his icy-wet clothes. Swaddled him in towels, tighter than anyone had held him since he was a baby. Held him together with nothing but their arms around him.

Steve fell apart on the bathroom floor. But they never let him fall far.

#stranger things #steddie angst #steddie #steve harrington #steve harrington centric #stranger things fanfiction #fanfic #steddie fanfic #pre relationship #fanfiction requests #heavy angst

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betweenlands · 1 year

Text

legundo's been going back and forth around his villagers for about half an hour now by viking's best estimate. sometimes he talks to himself, but it's all idle chatter that viking really has no interest in, so in effect viking is getting nothing by just sort of waiting around -- and he's not even phased into the wall, he's just standing on top of something and legundo straight up hasn't looked at him yet.

which just won't do, so, viking waits until legundo's right under his perch, at arm's length, to make his next move.

"bell noises."

legundo scrambles back several paces, not only nearly dropping the pickaxe in his hand but also knocking a villager in a minecart down a railtrack. "viking, you can't just -- how long have you been here, nearly gave me a heart attack,"

"eh," viking says, shrugging, "five, ten, fifteen minutes maybe? you just didn't see me."

"you were in the wall," legundo protests, "what, do you expect me to just assume you're always watching me?"

viking's snicker is less of an unhinged giggle and more of a soft, low noise. "eheh. wasn't even hiding, legs. i was out in plain sight. you just didn't see me."

legundo stops with his hand on an empty minecart, and his involuntary shaking slows just a bit, which viking is pretty used to in terms of body language by now, because it means-- "viking, you're doing the voice again."

which isn't quite true and they both know it -- there's been no mania, no fervent and desperate energy behind the low tone. but viking will take partial recognition, honestly. at least legundo's picking up on things, unlike -- no, wouldn't do to think about that, stay focused. "which i shouldn't do," viking says, slowly, "because it scares you?"

"okay," legundo says, "okay no this is actually new and worse to be honest. how did you get worse. i don't like that."

viking snickers again. there's no joy in it. "i don't either."

legundo stares at him. just. stares at him. viking sits down on the wall, leans his head against one hand, and stares back. legundo backs away slowly, like he's worried viking is going to lunge.

"i'm not gonna hurt ya, buddy," viking says. "wouldn't do that to a friend. friends don't hurt friends, right legs?"

"i cannot express enough how uncomfortable this is making me," legundo responds, fiddling with his crossbow.

viking snorts. "shoot at me and i phase through the wall and you accomplish absolutely nothing."

legundo's fingers slip on the crossbow bolt he's loading, fumble and cause the bow to fire early and snap the arrow in half uselessly. he curses softly and closes his hand around the broken arrow.

"i just want to talk," viking continues. "that's all."

"right," legundo says, and his voice has reached that exact pitch between annoyance and fear that tells viking he needs to make a point quickly, "so, out with it, what horrible scheme are you going to try and rope me into this time?"

viking rolls his eyes, waves one hand, head still propped up on his other hand. "no scheme, just wanna know something."

"which is?"

viking hops off the wall onto the ground, pushing off the side with both hands to land a respectable but short distance between himself and legundo (who, predictably, backpedals, but not enough to get away entirely). "you. you're scared of me, legs. why are you scared of me?"

legundo does that nervous, panicked laugh that viking has always understood to mean he needs to close distance or legundo will bolt. "viking," he says, "seriously, what's going on?"

viking takes a step forward. "answer my question first."

"no, seriously-"

"answer the question, legundo."

"i don't know," legundo says, almost squeaks, "you're just creepy!"

"mhm," viking says, and now he is right up in legundo's face and there is just a little tiny bit of manic light back in his eyes. "so! how do i get worse?"

"worse!?" legundo looks a little like one of those toys where you squeeze them and their eyes bulge out right about now. it's not exactly the reaction viking was hoping for, but it's within the expected range of reactions, he'll take it.

"yeah," viking says, "worse. 'cause you take me seriously when you're scared of me, gundo. but everyone else? nobody else takes me seriously at all. therefore: how do i get worse."

legundo raises a finger, one hand clutching his heart, and takes a shaky breath in. viking waits patiently for him to compose himself. "ohhhhkay. okay. listen, viking, you don't want to go where you're going right now."

"nope," viking says, popping the p just a little, enunciation extra strained, "but it's either this or start killing at this rate, and c'mon, we don't need a second shadowmech type situation around!"

"oh," legundo says, "oh you're serious serious. oh i don't like that at all."

he turns. viking's pickaxe is already in his hand and then stuck into the waystone before he can get that distance. "nope," viking says, voice still flat and dull, "no, you are not running away right now, we are going to talk."

"viking," legundo says. "viking. buddy? you need to calm down. you need to take several deep breaths and you need to calm down."

viking's laugh, unlike the glint in his eyes, can no longer be mistaken for mania. it's just pure desperation all the way down, nothing else to temper it. "already tried that!"

he stops. shakes his head like it'll help clear his thoughts, even though he already knows it won't work. forces his tone back to steady. "already tried that."

#dominion smp #vikingpilot #legundo #not really happy with the ending of this one but i don't really have more thoughts #anyway this is related to stream last night: what do you do when people only take you seriously when you're threatening them?#and even then it's only one person who really seems to understand the depth of what you mean by those threats?#maybe it's not enough! maybe you need to get worse!#maybe this is a warning and a call for help. ''i can't be the bigger person for much longer. i'm going to snap.''#''and if i am going to snap it won't be your fault so tell me -- which way does the rubberband go?''#legundo's people don't rule by fear though so viking will never get the advice he thinks he needs #and maybe viking knows that and maybe he doesn't. i don't think he'd care though.#the important part. the most important part. is that legundo listens. because legundo actually sees viking for what he is.#a threat -- whether or not he wants to be.#and legundo takes threats seriously so he takes viking seriously.#yt #txt #orig #solar scraps #solar scrawls #dominioners #ANYWAY. more polished version of this might go up on ao3 or might not. idk #obviously it needs to go into proper capitalization first. i might do that on this post but i'm not sure #i like my metaposts in lowercase and honestly this minific is just one big metapost

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cicidarkarts · 5 months

Text

Blood Defied - 10: Mudblood

< Previous Chapter | Chapter List | Next Chapter >

Ominis stood before Cree.

“Pl-please, Ominis,” she said, quivering.

But her voice was drowned out by a sharp, nasty susurration. Generations of Parselmouths envenomed him with their ideals and hatred. The sound formed together in some sort of coherence. It sounded like his mum, hissing in distinguishable parseltongue.

“Put an end to it.”

As if something mad had claimed him, he shoved Cree to the ground. She hit the floor, yelping in terror. He knew she was unarmed. He knew she was helpless against him. The tiniest part of him that begged for this to stop was quashed by his madness.

“Don’t do this,” Cree begged.

He lifted his wand, expecting his voice to call out the Killing Curse. His heart dropped into his churning stomach when his mania forced out,

“Crucio!”

She screamed. It sundered his ears and ravaged his mind. His younger self accompanied her, cacophonous, overwhelming. His lucid part cried out for it to stop. The hissing laughed, sneering and wheezing in its joy. His own lungs expelled a laugh—cackling that turned to uncontrolled and venomous hissing.

When he stopped, Cree panted and sobbed. The static of the curse and smell of tears drenching Cree’s flesh pierced his nostrils.

“Why?” she begged. Generations within him hissed, “Kill her.” “I trusted you, Ominis.”

He struggled against himself. But this was simply how things were. She was nothing to purebloods—to him.

“Shut your mouth, mudblood.”

The word assaulted his tongue. His coherent side pleaded for her to release him from his madness. But that umbral half only held contempt for the helpless mudblood. He lifted his wand. He felt the words bubble up in his chest, ready to spew from him and destroy everything.

“Avada Kedavra!”

Bright green flashed across his blind eyes. Then Cree’s breaths halted. Her silence rang in the air like the tolling of a thunderous bell. Her sobs and voice were gone forever. Her arms would never again hold him tight. And she could no longer reassure him that he was sane.

Ominis jerked awake. Shooting upright chilled his damp and clammy skin. A dream. A nightmare. His lungs burned with heaving breaths. He felt his heart pounding against his bones. Warm tears burned at his eyes and new sweat trickled off his forehead. He still felt that atmosphere—cold and dark and oppressive, swelling in his lungs and fogging his mind. That insane half of him ripped apart his brain, picking out things he was sure rested deep within him; things that prepared to burst forth one day when he least expected it.

Sebastian mumbled from his side of the dorm. “Ominis…? Are you all right?” “Y-yes, I’m fine.” “Actually speaking to me?” he mumbled again with a hoarse voice, stirring as though he sat up. “You sure you're all right?” Ominis sighed and pulled his cover over him. “Come off it.”

He rolled to face the wall. Sebastian groaned softly and collapsed back into bed. After some sheet rustling, the room went quiet again. All that was left was the sloshing of the Black Lake.

Dirt scraped Credence’s legs. Her muscles burned, desperate for respite as she hurried out of the Great Hall. She’d been running for who knows how long, yet she was still going to be late! With her food in hand, she practically tackled the Floo Flame.

Her feet hit hardwood flooring. She panted and looked around the common room entryway. Ominis sat on one of the benches, surrounded by the usual Ravenclaw books and clutter. He held his own plate. A few bites had been taken from it already.

“Credence, where have you been?” he asked. “Sorry,” she said between breaths. “I don’t— Mean to be— So late.” “All right, what insane story do you have for me this time?”

She walked toward him, kicking some of the dirt clumps out of her pant leg. One of his brows cocked in response.

“I was in the Forbidden Forest,” she said. “Uh-huh.” “Looking for pearl moss.” “Right.” “And I fell.” “....” “In a niffler den.”

He paused and she watched a smile forming across his lips, though he tried to push it back down.

“Oh. Well, I’m glad you’re—” He forced away his giggles. “I’m glad you’re okay.” “It was so not funny,” she said, though she was also giggling. “I was stuck for ten minutes!”

She opened up the door and they headed inside.

“And what do you mean I have insane stories?” she demanded. “At least several times a week,” he said, nodding. “You’re exaggerating.” “Don’t you remember the last time?” “Hyperbole.” “It was three days ago.”

He reminded her of the time she’d come into the Great Hall, feet slapping wet against the floor. She’d sat next to him with a loud smack of sodden clothes.

“Why are you all wet?” he’d asked. “Remember that transfer thestral we got? The one that’s been following me everywhere?” “Ashes, yes.” “I had to go out near Lower Hogsfield to get some supplies. When I got there, I realized I also needed some leech juice. Well, those leeches were running from me, I swear. Getting really close to the lake and everything. When I was chasing one, Ashes bowled me over. Right into the lake. I guess he saw me running and wanted to get involved.”

“And you laughed at me then, too!” she said in the present as they headed toward the rooftop. “Oh, let’s not forget that other time just last week, when you came into the Great Hall reeking of dungbombs and swamp water.” “It was the hinkypunks!” “How did you and Regalian get lured in by hinkypunks?” “We were searching for them!” she said, flustered and indignant and dramatic. “They didn’t ‘lure us in’. It’s not that we’re just stupid! Well, maybe Regalian is, but I’m not!” Ominis clutched his sides in laughter. “Okay! Okay, I’m sorry!”

She recounted that day again, having to go into the Forbidden Forest with a sneering and snarky Regalian. By the time they’d found the three escaped hinkypunks, she’d just wanted Regalian to shut up. While arguing and chasing the hinkypunks to catch them, the ground had suddenly disappeared under Credence’s feet. She fell right off an embankment.

The noisome mud of the bog greeted her. Regalian cackled at her for that one. She’d glared at him, belly-first in the muck, eyeing up that small, unsteady outcropping on which he’d stood. She took great pains to ensure Ominis and Sebastian knew that she’d kicked the ground out from under him, which sent Regalian tumbling into the mud.

Ominis was cracking up as they reached the roof. “That one was definitely not funny!” she said, also laughing. “Regalian also smelled so horrible that day, I bet he was bloody pissed!”

He took the lead up the stairs to go at his own pace. As their giggles quieted, they breached the cool air of the rooftop. Outside with them was another Ravenclaw huddled with her Hufflepuff girlfriend on one side of the roof.

Credence and Ominis took the other side. They enjoyed the last bit of warm sun before Christmas as they ate. Right when they finished their plates and got comfortable, a frigid gust of wind blew along the rooftop. Credence nuzzled closer to Ominis. The two girls squealed at the frozen air. They giggled together and jogged back inside. Credence relaxed knowing she and Ominis could talk without interruption.

“Are you signing up for that winter tournament Brattleby wants to hold?” asked Ominis. “Can't. Lucan says I'm not allowed to participate in tournaments with my Protego. It still sometimes can't tell the difference between a friendly competition and an actual threat.” “That's fair,” he agreed. “Too bad. I would've loved to see you participate.” “See me?” He nudged her. “You know what I mean.” “At least I'll get to see you in the tournament, right?” “Yes, I'm already signed up, actually. There’s a surprising amount of participants. I guess they want some excitement before heading home for the holidays.” “I'm guessing you-know-who is in the tournament.” Ominis, despite having never seen it done before, gave her the most impressive eye roll. “You don't have to call him that; he's not a blight, even though he feels like it sometimes. But yes, the bloke with whom I'm not on speaking terms is joining. Wouldn't surprise me to know Garreth is already getting bets on Sebastian winning.” “Have you guys talked about what happened?” “I can't get him to shut up about what happened. He's been pestering me ever since, constantly apologizing.” “Sebastian really doesn't know when to quit,” she said. “Yes, he's under the impression that if he just says sorry enough times that it'll make it all magically disappear. He brings to mind a toddler throwing a fit rather than a sincere adult.” “Yeah, I know. I don't think he really understood what he was doing. I mean, he's so caught up with this Anne thing.” Ominis stiffened and his hand upon her hip grasped her. “He acts like he's the only one being affected by that. We're all hurting over poor Anne. It's been a truly horrible situation. I’d find it admirable he won’t give up, if he wasn't stepping on everyone's toes in the process. But he thinks he knows better than everyone else. Not even the experts at Saint Mungo's know how to help Anne. I'm sorry to say that even I've given up— Oh.” He put his fingertips over his mouth. “Oh, I shouldn't have said that…” “It's okay,” she assured, massaging his deflated shoulders. “It's a hopeless situation. It's okay to feel like you've tried everything and there isn't anything left.” “I feel so awful about it.” “I understand.”

She knew it had to have been weighing on him for a long time. At least as long as the semester if not longer. Ominis so tightly held onto guilt and negative thoughts that she wondered when he'd last remembered good times with Anne and Sebastian.

If she ever thought about her brother, she tried to remember his smile; his excitement (and confusion) about finding out she was a witch. She thought about him telling off one of her schoolmates for making fun of her for being muggle-born. How Kameron promised to keep her safe as war stained their backyard.

If she ever thought about her father, she thought about how he fought for his family. She thought about him twirling her about when her magic schooling letter came in. How her father held all of them tight as bloodshed knocked on their door. Surely, Ominis had similar memories of Anne.

“What's Anne like? she asked. “I've only heard a little.” “Oh, she's great,” said Ominis, a soft smile upon his lips. “She's always so energetic. It was usually Anne coming up with pranks and silly stories. She's really intelligent, even though her humor is like a twelve year old boy's. I think she does that to appear less smart than she actually is, but she's hilarious. Between her and Sebastian, I've never laughed so hard in my life.” “She sounds wonderful, Ominis.” “Yes, she is.”

Credence tried to keep her smile up but there was a little twinge in her gut. That couldn't possibly be—jealousy? The moment the realization hit her she tried to beat the beast back into the recesses of her mind. Ominis brushed his hand over her knee, getting her out of her thoughts.

"Thank you for listening,” he said. “You're the only one who does. Sebastian is so wrapped up in his own life, and Anne… Well, I haven't spoken to her ever since she fell ill, I'm afraid.” “Why not?” “I just… Can't bear to see her like that. Then my worst fears will come true—I'll know for sure that she'll be gone soon. Her and Sebastian were the only people who didn’t judge me for being a Gaunt, before you came along.” “I bet Anne would love to see you again.” He sighed and frowned deeply. “I know. It's so selfish of me.” Credence put her arms around him and held him close. “You need to do what's best for you. If seeing Anne is too much—” “I should see her anyway.” “I'll support whatever you want to do, Ominis.” This eased his frown. “Thank you, Cree. Would you come with me if I went to see Anne? I feel like I'll need you there.” “Of course. You and Sebastian just let me know when.” His face went quite cold, frown returning with a vengeance. “Right. Sebastian. I'm sure he'll be there as well. If there's ever an opportunity to get up to Feldcroft and see Anne, he takes it.” “Well, better to face him in that Crossed Wands tournament first, right?” “I plan to.”

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dinitride-art · 2 years

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Accusing Michael Wheeler of Being a Main Character in Season 4 (and an unreliable narrator)

The first scene in season four is Mike reading El’s letter. Now, cinematic parallels and tropes are used in different types of media to convey a message that the audience can read. It is not that the creators of the media necessarily took inspiration from these, but that the commonalities are there because they are saying the same thing to the audience. Normally in scenes like this, it’s a montage of sorts that includes a character actually writing the letter- or some indication of them having written it visually- and then the character reading it at the end. When the letter scene happens, El is not seen writing. The point of the scene is to convey a harsh juxtaposition between what El is telling Mike and what is actually happening. What’s important about this is that it is showing what Mike sees and what he doesn’t, which furthers the theme of light and dark in this season. Will in the light, Mike in the dark. We can see what Mike doesn’t, he can’t. In the airport scene, we have to find out from El that they’re having problems. The card on the flowers is only brought up by El. Mike has been ignoring it, so we don’t see it. Even then, El literally has to spell it out for us when she’s yelling at Mike in her room. We’re confused at first and in the dark because our narrator is being unreliable.

The scenes with Mike in them are centered around the mike. At Rink O’ Mania he’s placed in the middle of Will and El when they’re sitting down and putting on their roller skates. On the ride home, he’s in the middle again, looking forwards, while El and Will look out of the windows. This positioning flips back and forth between Mike and El. When El is the main focus of the scene she’s in the middle of Mike and Will. Like when she hit Angela in the face, and Mike asked, “What did you do?” We, as an audience, know that right there she’s the main one driving this section of the story. It’s the same when they’re at the dinner table later, El framed in the middle while Mike and Will are on her sides. She’s the central focus there, where as Mike was the central focus when he was in that positioning as well. It’s the same as the end of the season where Mike, Will and El are in the middle of the ending shot. Those three are going to be important in the final season. But also, Will is framed in the middle in the scene right before that which further indicates his importance later on.

The way that we see Mike for most of this season is through a very neutral gaze. Unlike will, who we see covered in light, or El who we see in somewhat sinister tones (like at rink o’ mania following Mike’s gaze from Argyle and Jonathan arriving to El. Then we zoom in and see she’s just scared, but Mike’s perspective of her is very interesting) and in distress, we see Mike exactly as is. We have nothing to go off of because there isn’t looking at something happening to Mike, it’s just happening and Mike is leading the way. Mike’s scene’s tend to show his reactions to what’s happening but not much of an indication of his actual thoughts and opinions. The most we’ve got of an honest look inside his head is when he talks to Will when he apologizes and in the van when they talk about El.

Mike has been described as “oblivious” by many different characters in the series. Most - if not all- of them being his close friends. We can’t see shit because Mike can’t see shit. What is Mike thinking? What is he feeling? He sure as hell doesn’t know.

Or, he has the inclination that something is wrong but he doesn’t want to look further into that because he’s scared of what he’ll find.

The end of season three when El says that she loves him and kisses him. Right there is when he gets scared. He’s still scared when he goes to California and sees Will there. Maybe he doesn’t know exactly why, but it could also be that he doesn’t want to know. Mike and Nancy are better at ignoring things and pretending they never happened than processing them. If you pretend everything’s fine and never bring up any problems then it’s fine, right? We see that with Nancy and Steve and we see it with Nancy lying to Jonathan about if they’re okay.

Don’t bring it up and you won’t know if you don’t like the answer. I didn’t like Nancy in certain parts of season three when I first watched it because at first glance I didn’t understand why she was acting the way she was, because she, like Mike, is an unreliable narrator. She didn’t tell Jonathan what exactly was going on, she just pushed it away until it imploded. And then she and Jonathan had a fight because Nancy was put into a situation where she couldn’t deal with what was happening and was absolutely miserable. But Jonathan couldn’t understand it and she went into a defensive mode. She and Mike are written very similarly in how they handle situations.

So, back to Mike. He’s a terrible liar, to himself and others. An unreliable narrator if I’ve ever seen one. But he’s still being shot like he’s the main character, like we’re seeing what he’s seeing. We only get a few outside perspectives on him, and those usually belong to Jonathan, or El when she’s the center of the scene. Most of the time, we are getting Mike’s reaction to the situations put in front of him.

His reactions just don’t make sense to us. And maybe that’s because they don’t make sense to Mike either. And he’s not ready to deal with that.

#stranger things #byler #mike wheeler #the lights #the byler is implied #i just didn't outwright say it but thats- it is in fact my point #mike wheeler i know what you are #also origional title when i wrote this was 'DEFENDING MY THESIS'#this is directly related to my post about will and lighting #this was also created because I've been going though Mike's scenes in season four #hes drinking main character juice the whole time #I swear #so i wrote this to try and figure out why

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downwiththeficness · 8 months

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Shadow and Veil-Chapter Twenty Three

Summary: Eva Moore’s life was a carefully constructed fiction. Every day, she did exactly what her mother in law, her husband, and his best friend expected of her. No mistakes. And, that was going pretty well for Eva right up until a huge complication literally tried to run her over. Now, she’s faced with trying to keep the pieces of her life from falling apart while attempting (and failing) to keep her feelings for her husband’s new business partner at bay.

A/N: This fic is a sister-fic to A Need So Great and A Need Unleashed. You do not need to have read ANSG or ANU to read this fic, but there are Easter eggs from those fics in Shadow and Veil for readers with keen eyes. This fic is explicit for canon-compliant blood, gore, violence, and sex. As such, it is intended for an adult audience, only. A/B/O dynamics come with their own warning. Anyone under the age of 18 should not interact with this work. I do not consent to reposting this work to other platforms. Reblog only to Tumblr.

Word Count: ~4,300

Start from the beginning Previous Chapter Next Chapter

Masterlist Read on AO3

The budget lines were blurring together. Eva squinted down at them and couldn’t make her brain comprehend the numbers. They were nothing more than hieroglyphs on the page. Vague shapes with no meaning. She took a deep breath and tried again from the top. Her pen traced along each line slowly, but Eva wasn’t absorbing a single thing.

Distracted.

She knew she was distracted—had been for over a week. It was so hard to go about her daily life when the memory of Horacio moaning her name replayed over and over in her mind. Eva’s skin remembered the feeling of his touch. Her mouth remembered the taste of his kiss. Her body remembered the weight of him between her legs.

Fucking distracting.

Pushing the paperwork away, Eva leaned back in her chair and stared at it. She was only halfway through closing out the finances and it didn’t look like she was going to get any more done that evening. It was fine. She had time to wrap things up.

The garage door opened.

Definitely not going to get it done.

Stacking everything together, Eva slid the packet into an accordion folder. She picked up her pen and note pad, added them to the folder, and stood. Then, she moved to push the chair back beneath the table with the intent of heading upstairs for the evening.

Josh cleared the kitchen and rounded the doorway to the dining room, “Birdie! Just the person I wanted to talk to.”

She did not want to talk to him. Since the day he got back from Texas, Eva had done everything within her power to avoid her husband. She couldn’t look at him without feeling absolute contempt—which wasn’t exactly new, but she was losing the struggle with hiding it from him.

Her face wouldn’t relax into careful neutrality and she had to bite down on her tongue to keep the vitriol from spilling out of her mouth. Not that he noticed. Josh was the same as he had always been. Eva learned a long time ago to see through all his charming smiles, all his social graces. Knowing how he really felt was the only way to predict his behaviors. Concealing how she really felt was the only way to protect herself.

Lately, Josh was constantly in and out of the house. He spent his evenings either drinking in The Lounge (with or without Alexei) or at the lab. His moods swung back and forth from boyish excitement to sullen withdrawal. And, what was worse, she was beginning to think that Josh was on a path to self destruction that was going to take her with him.

Eva might be able to write off his growing mania as a celebration of solving the Texas problem. But, she’d seen him after a big win before and it never lasted longer than a day or two. The bender he was on now had gone on far too long.

“How are the books?”

She shrugged, “Um, they’re okay. We’re a little behind last year, but that’s to be expected with the reallocation of resources to your new project.”

Josh smiled, “The ROI is going to be insane. More than enough to set us up for life.”

Eva nodded along. He was slurring slightly and his hair was mussed on one side. The scent of flowers and alcohol drifted towards her. She wondered how much he had to drink and who he slept with. Lizzy, maybe? Eva guessed that it didn’t matter. Whatever kept him busy.

“I’m talking millions of dollars, Birdie,” he continued as he stepped towards her.

His hands lifted to cup her face and Eva had to fight to keep still. The touch was repugnant. It made the bile rise to the back of her throat and her stomach turn over. She held her breath to keep from gagging.

“I know you’re upset with me for leaving you,” Josh said lowly, “I didn’t mean to be gone for so long.”

She remained silent. If a single word made it past her lips, Eva would tell him to fuck off and die. His excuses meant nothing to her.

To her great surprise, Josh leaned down and kissed her. He hadn’t kissed her in what was probably years, except for the occasional peck to her cheek when they were among company. Eva’s neck ached with the force it took to keep from jerking her face away from his.

“Things are going to get better. I promise.”

He kept holding her face, kept looking at her for an answer. Eva stood there looking back at him. She didn’t know what he wanted. And, more importantly, she didn’t care.

“You don’t believe me,” Josh muttered.

Eva stumbled when he pushed her away. She caught her balance with one hand on the back of a chair and tried to think of a suitable lie.

“No,” he cut her off, “You’re right. I have been a terrible husband. I asked too much of you.”

Her hand tightened on the folder. She held it to her chest and wrapped her arms around it. Josh never apologized. She stared at her husband, took in the look on his face, and he kind of looked like he was actually sorry.

Suspicious.

“Its all for us. You know that, right?” His voice took on an entreating tone, “Once this is over, we’ll be set.”

Or, you’ll be in jail.

Josh put his hands on his hips, “You’re mad. That’s okay. But, I need you to stick the landing, Birdie.”

Eva finally found her voice, “What landing?”

His smile was not friendly, “Can’t tell. It would ruin the surprise.”

Annoyed, she shot back, “How am I supposed to stick a landing that I can’t see coming?”

He wagged a finger at her, “Very smart, Eva. Very, very smart.”

She hated the way he complimented her. Smart—with a heavy side of sarcasm.

Fixing him with a serious look, Eva said, “You need to tell me what’s going on. Right now.”

Mouth pursed, Josh made an ‘oh’ sound of intrigue, “So serious.”

“You said it, yourself. This whole plan will determine the course of our lives. I need to know what’s going on so that I can help you.”

He rolled his eyes and spun around to walk towards the kitchen. Eva followed him. If he’d had enough to drink or had taken a pill too many, she might be able to pry the truth out of him. It might not be a pretty truth, but at least she would be prepared .

With his back turned, Eva used the back of her arm to wipe her mouth.

“This is too important to keep to yourself,” she asserted, “Does Alexei know?”

The Russian might tell her if she could catch him at a good time and convince him that Josh was losing control. With the way he was swaying as he walked, she thought she would have a pretty good argument.

“He knows enough,” Josh said over his shoulder.

She watched him rummage around in the pantry until he found a bag of chips, “Josh, please. What are you planning?”

“I’m going to find the source,” Josh said around a mouthful of chips, “for the product.”

“What product?”

“The product,” he emphasized, “for the new project. I’m going to find the source—cut out the middle man.”

She stared at him in disbelief, “That’s the plan? Cut Mr. Jimenez out of the deal.”

Josh put more chips in his smug little mouth.

“How is that going to gain us millions? The price cut can’t be that different.”

Swallowing, he threw the bag onto the island and walked around Eva to the cupboard, “I haven’t told you the best part.”

Taking down a glass from the cupboard, Josh went to the fridge and got out a pitcher of sweet tea. He poured a healthy serving and drank it down. All the while, Eva waited impatiently for him to elaborate.

He set the glass down with a loud exhale, “The best part, Birdie, is that Diego has no fucking clue what he’s dealing.” A pause, “He has no idea what it can do.”

“Okay,” she said levelly, “what can it do?”

Josh grinned, “It can give you the rush of cocaine without any of the pesky side effects.”

Eva blinked, “So, an amphetamine.”

“No! You’re not listening,” he groaned, “Its hyper focus, endless energy, the ability to work through three whole days without sleep. No irregular heart beat. No headache. No hangover, and no withdrawal.” Josh held out his hands with the palms towards the ceiling, “Every office worker in the country is going to want a piece of this. Blue collar, too.”

Her mouth hung open. On the surface, Eva could see why Josh was so excited about this new discovery. If it was true and he could patent it, Josh would never have to work another day in his life. They would need the additional factories just to keep up with demand.

“You’re sure?”

He nodded, “Never more sure of anything in my fucking life.”

What the fuck was she supposed to do with that information? What the fuck was she supposed to do?

A hundred different things whizzed through her brain all at the same time. The volume of variables was so overwhelming that Eva became paralyzed. She couldn’t do anything more than stare at her husband while he licked salt from his fingers.

She needed to lean into an old reliable, “Where are we with clinical trials?”

Josh tossed his head, “That’s my Birdie. Always thinking ahead.” He set down the chips, “I put in the application this morning with the FDA. If we line a few pockets, we’ll be into our first set of trials at the beginning of the year.”

That was an extremely short timeline. Josh must have lined quite a few pockets.

“Well,” she breathed, “I hope it works out.”

Resting his hands on the island, he fixed her with a focused look, “It will. I am telling you that it will.”

“Okay.”

Josh looked at her a moment longer. Eva met his gaze with one of her own. She was neither going to condone or support this kind of project. Mostly because it really wouldn’t matter. There was only one cache of money left to retrieve and, after that, all Eva had to do was have a single conversation.

Freedom was very, very close.

“Anything else?”

He shook his head.

“Alright,” Eva said, “I’m going upstairs. You let me know when I need to start preparing to take on additional staff for the trial.”

The front door opened and Alexei called out for Josh.

“There’s fresh bourbon on the bar,” Eva spun on her foot and left the kitchen. Folder still cradled against her chest, Eva climbed the stairs and went to her bedroom. After closing the door, she leaned against it and let out a long breath.

It was perfect.

So fucking perfect.

There was nothing Josh loved more than a new project, especially a new project that he knew would make money. With what he told her, it would be him that was distracted over the next few weeks. Eva could use that distraction to her advantage.

Setting down the folder, Eva sat heavily on the bed. She carefully planned her next few days around a calendar that was already packed with meetings. There would be a lot to do and Eva was more than motivated enough to do it.

But, that was a problem for tomorrow.

Tonight, Eva just wanted to relax.

A knock at the terrace doors.

Her gasp was very nearly a scream. Eva whipped around to look through the glass on the other side of the bed. Horacio. What was he doing here? Why would he come to the house when Josh and Alexei were in the house?

She rushed to the door and opened it, “What the fuck are you thinking?”

Horacio stepped inside, “I need to talk to you.”

Eva carefully closed the door so that it wouldn’t make a sound, “What is so important that you have to come here when other people are present?”

He held up his hands in defense, “I know. This is important.”

Hands on her hips, Eva cocked her head to the side and waited for him to explain himself.

“My superiors have enough to arrest.”

After knowing about the investigations for so long, Eva thought she might be a little less surprised when they came to their inevitable end.

“When,” she croaked, “do I need to be ready?”

“We’re waiting for a warrant,” he answered, “given that its Friday, you should be prepared for it to be served next week.”

Eva nodded, casting her eyes around the room in thought, “Which judge?”

“Judge Riser.”

She laughed, “That’s one of ours. I don’t think you’re going to get your warrant signed off on.”

Horacio’s lips pursed, “We have a lot of evidence.”

“We have a lot of money.”

His expression was not amused, “We’ll go over his head.”

“That’s a better plan,” Eva replied, “But you’ll have to sit on your hands for more than a couple days.”

Horacio’s jaw worked, “I’m happy to do that as long as I get results.”

“Good.” Then, “Should I prepare to be put in handcuffs?”

“I think you’re already pretty prepared,” he drawled, “Unless you’ve forgotten my lesson.”

Eva’s chin dropped. She definitely hadn’t forgotten, “You know what I mean.”

“I do,” he said with a smile, “But, you’re worried about nothing. They’re more focused on Dr. Moore than they are on the wife he locks up when he’s mad.”

Her eyes widened, “You told them?”

“Yes. I did,” Horacio confirmed with an edge in his voice, “I had to make them understand why they shouldn’t throw you in a jail cell next to your husband.”

Eva turned from him. She pushed her hands through her hair and tried to calm her frazzled emotions. The room fell into silence. Eva horrified that the secrets of her marriage were out in the open for others to judge and Horacio standing silently while he waited for her to cope.

“Pack a bag.”

“What?”

“Pack a bag,” he repeated, “or a suitcase. Whatever you think will hold what you absolutely need with you.”

Eva squinted at him, “Why?”

He approached, “Because I’m going to kidnap you.”

The ghost of a smile formed on her lips, “When?”

Horacio shrugged, “Soon. After the warrant, but before the arrest.”

She searched his face for honesty and found it. The sense of safety that was absent for the last week returned. As did her doubts.

“Why?”

Horacio tilted his head to the side.

“Why,” she said, “do you want to kidnap me?”

“We have been over this,” he groaned.

Eva sighed, “I know. I’m sorry. I just...I don’t understand why you’re going through all this trouble.”

For me.

She didn’t say the words, but they wandered between them all the same. Eva knew that it made her sound weak and insecure. She knew it. Over six years of hearing how she fell short as a wife and as a woman did nothing for her self esteem. All this work he was doing, the way he was putting his career on the line, its didn’t make sense that he would go this far for her.

Horacio’s shoulders dropped. His expression closed off and for one panicked second Eva thought he would turn around and walk away.

It would be better if he did.

His hand passed over his mouth and a new expression formed. It was a thunderous thing that made Eva take an involuntary step back. He charged her, had her caught up in his arms. His scent sharpened, sweetened. Eva could barely breathe as she stared, wide-eyed, at him.

He kissed her recklessly—uncaring that her moan might be heard through the door, or that her lips might bruise. Horacio’s arms squeezed the air out of her, leaving her gasping against his mouth. His teeth bit down on her lower lip. His tongue followed to soothe the pain.

Eva’s knees threatened to give out under her weight. Her heart felt like it would beat out of her chest. A pressure rose between her legs that reminded her of how long they had been apart. She could not fight against it. Horacio wouldn’t let her.

Hands roamed her body, pulling her against him so that nothing but their clothes separated them. His mouth trailed down her neck, sucking hot, wet kisses that sizzled on her skin.

“Do you understand this?” he asked in a rough voice. “Huh?”

She couldn’t speak. Her brain simply couldn’t form the words. It had taken a step back from center stage, leaving her body to do all the work. And that body was pulling at his shirt, tugging at his hair. It was rolling her hips enticingly and drawing the taste of him into her mouth.

Horacio groaned lowly. He dragged her along with him until they were standing in her bathroom. Clumsily, he closed the door and shut them inside. Then, he pushed her against it and returned to their kiss.

Eva worked her fingers under his shirt, frustrated when he pulled away. His breaths were quick and the look in his eyes was the same one he had when he dropped to his knees before her.

Horacio’s thumb rubbed against her cheek, “You want it?”

She nodded.

“I’m going to need you to say it out loud.”

“I want it,” she said in a small voice.

He let out a slow breath, “You gonna pack that bag?”

Eva nodded. When his mouth thinned, she said it out loud, “I’ll pack it.”

Another slow breath, “Just what you need. What you can carry.”

“Uh huh.”

“Good,” Horacio replied with pride in his tone, “I’m gonna fuck you now. That okay?”

“Uh huh.”

He didn’t say anything after that. Just went about kissing her deeply and getting her out of her clothes. When he had her down to her bra and panties, he maneuvered her a few steps until he could haul her onto the counter and step between her thighs. From his pocket, he threw down a condom that would wait until he needed it.

Eva finally managed to get his shirt off and his belt pulled from the loops on his pants. Her efforts to unzip his fly were derailed when he got her bra off and sucked a nipple into his mouth. Both of her hands carded through his hair to anchor herself against the arousal that was rising fast and hot.

The sound their breaths echoed off the tiled walls, too loud. Although the door was shut, it wasn’t locked. It shocked and surprised her that Eva didn’t care if they got caught. All she wanted in that moment was to feel the heat of his mouth wander its way across her chest and neck.

Horacio worked the final piece of clothing down her hips and dropped it to the floor. Palming her mound, he rotated his wrist and pushed two fingers inside. Eva bit down on the inside of her cheek to keep the whimper at bay. She could hear how wet she was, knew that he could feel it.

The muscles along his shoulder and arm flexed as he built a rhythm that was almost too fast. She couldn’t focus on what she was doing. Struggled with the button on his pants. Horacio let her push them down to free his erection before he stopped her with a deep, lingering kiss. He pulled away to tear open the condom and roll it on. And then he was setting one of her feet on the counter so that he had enough room.

It had been a long time for Eva. Long enough that she almost forgot what it felt like to have someone line themselves up and push inside. It hurt, and the pain was hot and sharp along her slit. She tilted her head back and blinked rapidly at the ceiling. He was bigger than Josh. Thicker. Impossibly thick.

Her body clamped down on him, earning a hiss from Horacio. He buried his face into her neck and eased forward another inch. Another. Another. Until his hips were flush against hers.

He paused, head lifting. Eva sat there, mesmerized, by the awe on his face. The pain was dim against the light reflecting in his eyes. Eyes she could drown in.

A knock on the bathroom door.

Eva’s whole body flinched, her knees pulling up and her hands gripping his shoulders for dear life. Horacio grunted, but remained in place.

“Eva?”

Ah, shit.

Alexei.

“...Yes?”

“I need to talk with you.”

Her mouth opened and hung there. The man in her arms grinned and she could see the battle he was waging to keep from laughing. Eva swatted at him and tried to get down from the counter. Horacio pulled her into his chest and held her still, his expression clearly telling her that he was not going anywhere.

“I’m, um,” she stammered, “naked right now. I was about to take a shower.”

God, she hoped that he believed the lie.

There was a long pause of tense silence. Eva stared at the door, willing Alexei away. A hand snaked between her body and Horacio’s. She felt a thumb press against her clit.

Eva shot Horacio a murderous look that was completely ruined by a soundless exhale. Little circles. Slow. So slow. Horacio held her gaze, completely at ease with the fact that they were one careless sound away from disaster.

“Listen,” Alexei said from the other side of the door, “I’m going with you to meet the contractors. We should talk.” A beat, then, “Be careful with Josh until then. Okay, Birdie?”

She was barely hearing what he was saying. Her body was once more overcoming the insistent yell from her mind. It pushed her hips into Horacio’s hand, ignored the burn of his cock as it sank deeper. She rode a wave of pleasure, pulled along by the tide brought on by the steady circling of his thumb.

“Okay,” she replied, voice high.

Horacio smirked, kissed her lightly.

“Okay,” Alexei said. “See you then.”

Almost as soon as that final word was out of Alexei’s mouth, Horacio started moving. Small thrusts that stirred his cock inside her. Coupled with the way he kept pressure on her clit, Eva found herself lifting her hips to match him. She laid sloppy kisses on his shoulder, his neck, his jaw. She held him so tight that it felt like she would never let go.

Horacio rocked forward, until her head met the glass of the mirror behind her. His movements quickened and he hid involuntary sounds against her breast. Eva closed her eyes, shut out the world so that she could feel both the pleasure and the pain. The feelings moved within her at the same time, two sides of the same coin.

In the end, it was when he pressed his teeth to the inflamed gland beneath her ear that Eva felt herself come. Teeth bared and almost soundless. She couldn’t catch her breath. The burn in her clenched muscles mirrored the burn at her core.

He followed her down into it, groaning.

Limp-limbed, Eva nuzzled her cheek against Horacio’s. He leaned into the touch and she could hear the way he was smiling through is breaths. They shared a kiss or two before he pulled out. It was only then that Eva realized how sore she was.

Horacio realized it, too.

He froze in place, his eyes staring down at a condom that was red with her blood. Eva didn’t know what to say, couldn’t tell what he was feeling. Her silence, when she could have reassured him, made it worse.

With quick, perfunctory movements, Horacio removed the condom and tied it off. He threw it into the sink beside them. Eva swallowed, unsure. She picked her foot off the counter and went to close her legs protectively.

“Wait,” his voice was not much more than a whisper, “Let me see.”

Careful hands eased her open so that he could get a good look at her. Eva felt her face and chest warm with embarrassed vulnerability. She bit her lip and looked at him, looking at her.

“I hurt you.”

She almost denied it, “Only a little.”

He cut her a look, “You’re bleeding.”

Eva searched for an answer, “Its been a long time.”

Horacio shook his head, “I should have been more patient with you. Slower.”

“Its fine.”

“Its not fine,” he bit out, “I never want to hurt you.”

That last sentence was said so earnestly that all Eva could do was cup his cheeks kiss him.

Against her mouth, he murmured, “I should have been slower. I wanted you too much.”

Eva huffed a laugh, “I wouldn’t call that a problem.”

Horacio made a low, disgruntled noise, “You’re okay?”

“I’m okay,” she replied as she kissed away the frown.

Eva could tell that he was still thinking about it even after he was dressed. To keep from having to talk more, she peeked her head out into her room and found it empty. At the terrace doors, Horacio kissed her again.

“Pack a bag. Put it somewhere you can grab on your way out of the house.”

“I will.”

He nodded, clearly reluctant to leave, “Remember: between the warrant and arrest.”

“I’ll remember,” she assured him.

“Good. I’ll see you soon.”

When he was gone, Eva took stock of her room. Tomorrow, she would dig the duffel out of the back of her closet and fill it. Then, she would figure out a nice place to stow it away along with the money she was hoarding.

But, that was a problem for tomorrow.

#Shadow and Veil #narcos #horacio carrillo #carrillo #maurice compte #au #A/B/O dynamics

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blowflyfag · 1 month

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Wrestling World presents Wrestling Maniacs: JUNE 1999

BAM BAM BIGELOW: IS HE FOR REAL??

He’s big, he’s bad, he’s bald! He’s Bam Bam Bigelow and he’s after Goldberg! The man known as “The Beast of the East” will soon let the wrestling world know that he is “for real” as he continues to make life miserable for Bill Goldberg and anyone else who stands in his way!

By BT

[Bigelow goes for the pin on Jim “The Anvil” Neidhart.]

MONDAY night television record breaking wrestling WCW Nitro was recently interrupted as a man with a head full of tattoos walked out. Bam Bam Bigelow emerged and let it be known that he wanted Goldberg and he wanted him now. The announcements proclaimed that this man “does not work for our company!” He stomped through the crowd and security held him back. He demanded to wrestle Goldberg and, yes, the fans wanted to see it.

Even though this man did not work for WCW, Eric Bischoff probably felt he had to prove something. Bigelow was most recently seen in ECW, and Bischoff wanted to prove that Goldberg was better than any wrestler in ECW. He agreed to allow the match, but the match never took place. As Goldberg stood in the smoke, the huge Bigelow jumped Goldberg from behind. They brawled back and forth until there was another pull-apart. Within a hour Bam Bam Bigelow went from being a ECW main-eventer to successfully challenging one of the top men in the business of pro wrestling!

When Scotty Bigelow was born on September 1, 1961 no one would have imagined this New Jersey-native would grow up to be the monster he is now. Rumored to have been a bounty hunter before getting into pro wrestling, he always left a mark everywhere he has ever wrestled. The man known as the “Beast From the East” is on a mission to win the WCW World title and many feel he may be one of the few men who could actually beat Goldberg.

[Bam Bam gets in the face of former New York Giants’ linebacker Lawrence Taylor at a press conference before their WrestleMania bout.

Bam Bam has flames tattooed on his head and likes nothing better than tattooing his opponents.]

Bigelow made his debut in the sport in the ‘80s and is trying to make his name well-known as the 90’s come to a close. He wrestled many years on the indy scene in the U.S. He was trained by wrestling legend Larry Sharpe and later sued Sharpe for his rights to wrestle. He went to the WWF in ‘85, but left to wrestle in the New Japan Pro Wrestling rings in Japan. There, he was a big favorite of the Japanese due to his size and his agile ability. He was voted as one of the most popular U.S. wrestler to ply his trade in Japan.

He returned to the WWF in 1993 with Luna Vachon and joined Red DiBiase’s Million Dollar Corporation. He went to the Finals of the King of The Ring ‘93, losing to Bret Hart. He would then team with Luna to beat Doink and Dink at WrestleMania X in ‘94. Although he would lose in the first round of the King of The Ring ‘94 Tournament, he would finish the year with victories at SummerSlam ‘94 (teaming with IRS to beat The Headshrinkers) and Survivor Series ‘94. At Survivor Series, he would team with King Kong Bundy, Tatanka, and the Heavenly Bodies to beat Lex Luger, Adam Bomb (WCW’s Wrath), Mabel and the Smoking Gunns.

The next year didn’t start very well for Bigelow as he teamed with Tatanka only to lose to 1-2-3 Kid (X-Pac) and Bob Holly in the finals for a WWF Tag Team Tournament at Royal Rumble ‘95. And then, he would have what many feel was the match of his career.

Undertaker and Sting fan, Charlie Gentry, doesn’t think Bigelow has a chance in WCW. “Bam Bam got beat by Lawrence Taylor at WrestleMania XI. How do you think he is going to beat Goldberg?”

Lawrence Taylor made sports page headlines when he faced Bam Bam Bigelow in one of the co-main events of the 11th ‘Mania. LT won the match, as he was seconded by an “All Pro” squad (including current WCW star Steve Mcmichael) and serenaded by Salt ‘n’ Pepa. Taylor’s WrestleMania appearance may have been the lowest point in the career of Bigelow. Taylor was much better than Karl Malone or Jay Leno, but he was a celebrity outside of the sport. He came in and pulled a big upset on the beast. Bigelow came into the bout thinking there was no chance of defeat, but left the ring with his head down.

His relationship with DiBiase was strained by the loss to Taylor. Bigelow soon turned against the Million Dollar Corporation. Two months later he teamed with Diesel (Kevin Nash). Bigelow and Diesel teamed at the King of The Ring in 1995 to beat Tatanka and Sycho Sid of the Million Dollar Corporation. He soon served his ties with all the WWF and headed to ECW.

Longtime ECW fan Danny Ivy has nothing, but good things to say about Bam Bam Bigelow. “This guy is one of the toughest S.O.B.s in wrestling. He did nothing but kick ass in ECW and that is what he is going to do in WCW.”

ECW history will not be complete without giving the accomplishments of Bigelow. Most notably, he was a well known member of the Triple Threat of Wrestling–Chris Candido, Shane Douglas, and Bigelow.

During Hardcore Heaven ‘97. Bam Bam beat Spike Dudley with the highlight being Bigelow hurling Spike out of the ring and about four rows deep into ringside spectators. Bam Bam then won the ECW title from Shane Douglas in October 1997. Eventually, he lost it at November To Remember ‘97, to his soon-to-be-partner Douglas. This trio will always be remembered as the most successful in ECW history. They had the “wrestler” (Shane Douglas); the “showman” (Candido); and “toughman” (Bigelow).

During the Living Dangerously ‘97 PPV, Bam Bam took the TV Title from ECW’s Taz. It was a hard-fought victory for Bigelow. The ending saw Taz go for a submission and Bigelow sent Taz through the ring. Bigelow grabbed Taz from inside the ring and pinned him 1-2-3.

Unfortunately, he lost that title a month later to “Mr. Saturday Night,” Rob Van Dam.

[Within a hour Bigelow went from working in ECW to successfully challenging one of the top men in the business of pro wrestling!]

Bigelow and Taz continued their feud to Heatwave ‘98 in typical “Beast of the East” fashion in a Death Match with “falls counting everywhere!” At the finish of the match, Taz and Bam Bam went out to the ramp. Bam Bam went for a slam and Taz reversed it and hit a DDT that senf them both through the ramp!!! There was no movement! Bam Bam came out first, but Taz came out next and ran behind Bigelow and put the Taz submission hold on him. Before long. Bam Bam tapped out. Taz was the winner.

November to Remember ‘98 had The Triple Threat team to go against the trio of Sabu, Taz, and Van Dam, Bigelow’s team was on the losing end, but Bigelow proved to still be one of the toughest wrestlers around. Shortly after this PPV, Bigelow disappeared and then the world saw his debut on WCW Nitro.

So, will his stint in the “barbwire jungle” of ECW help him defeat Goldberg? Experience may be the key here. Bigelow’s experience may be the final straw that breaks the camel’s back. In a recent, special issue of Wrestling World during a roundtable discussion of Austin/Goldberg, Goldberg scored a measly 4.25 out of 10 points in the “experience” category. Stately Wayne Manor summed it up perfectly when he said, “Do you realize The Nitro Girls have made more appearances than Billybob?” Bigelow’s vast amount of experience from the indies of New Jersey to the rings of New Japan to the mats in the WWF to the “barbwire jungle” of ECW will do nothing but help him in his quest to defeat Goldberg.

[Bam Bam will soon let the wrestling world know that he is “for real” and will continue to make life miserable for Goldberg and anyone else who stands in his way.]

Bigelow has more to worry about than Goldberg, however. Recently, when he went to fight Goldberg, his old buddy Kevin Nash interfered.

“There will not be a match between those two tonight!” said Big Sexy. And, he made sure of it as all three of them battled it out for the top spot in WCW.

No matter which of these three has the title, each could be beat on any given night…by each other! A locker-room source has heard Nash say, “I know Bigelow very well. I have the book on how to beat him. Believe me, all I would have to do is pencil it in and it would be a win for Big Sexy.”

Somehow, we don’t think it would be that easy!

The focus of Bigelow vs. Goldberg would not be complete without these words from wrestling fan Wayne Jarred. “I have to agree with Jim Ross of the WWF, Goldberg is just a copy of Steve Austin. Why is everyone making such a big deal of Bigelow vs. Goldberg? Goldberg is nothing.”

Many fans feel that Goldberg is very overrated and has been fed his opponents, much like modern-day boxers”handpick” their opponents. Could Goldberg survive a “real” opponent? One that has one thing to prove–he can beat anybody and he especially can beat Goldberg? The wrestler known as Bam Bam Bigelow will soon let the wrestling world know that he is “For real” and will continue to make life miserable for Bill Goldberg and anyone else who stands in his way.

#bam bam bigelow #magazine scan #magazine transcript #wayne i agree on ur thoughts on goldberg buddy

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moonlightjongin · 2 years

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Storge (Jongin’s Series Of Love)

♡ Pairing -- Kim Jongin x Reader ♡ Genre -- Supernatural, Fluff, Angst ♡ AUs -- Guardian Angel!AU, Heaven!AU ♡ Description -- (concept) ‘Storge’ is the Greek word for the natural affection people feel for those closest to them. Storge is a love that exists between parents and their children but can go beyond this, storge can also be displayed in companions, and exceptionally close friends. It is said that storge is a casual form of love usually based in memories; storge is an underlying love driven by the desire to compassionately care for another. (summary) ...Your Guardian Angel Jongin, who has been guiding you from afar all this while, hopes with everything in him that he’s done a good job with that, vowing to continue doing so as you take upon yourself a very new challenge, working alongside him in the realms of aether. ♡ Wordcount -- 11,414 words. ♡ Warnings -- Non-descriptive mentions of dying, descriptions of grief, blood/injuries. ♡ A/N -- Feedback is very welcome and very appreciated. ♡

Main Masterlist || Series Of Love Masterlist || 🏹 also in the series... Storge (familial love; natural affection). Philautia (self love). Philia (platonic love; the love of friendship). Ludus (playful love; uncommitted love). Pragma (enduring love; practical love). Eros (passionate, sensual love). Agape (unconditional love). Mania (obsessive love).

When Jongin first lay his eyes on you, they had brimmed with tears yet to spill, a warmth coursing through him that threatened to engulf each atom of his being. The most gentle smile graced his lips as he watched you grip your mother's finger with your tiny hand, placing his own, much larger hand against his chest. He proceeded to exhale one deep, heavy breath, the tenderness of the moment having been too much for him to take in that the thoughtlessly effortless and wholly necessary function of being -- breath -- felt like it were suddenly a world away, entirely out of reach.

Like you. Though separated by several dimensions, realms and perceptions, in that moment Jongin had wanted nothing more than to whisk you up into his own arms and cradle you gently to his chest, rock you back and forth until the confusion and unrivalled chaos of coming into existence settled.

He'd heard numerous tales of the intensity of the moment, every Guardian Angel had. Of the honor of being assigned one's very own human to watch over, protect and guide to the best of their ability. But nothing could have prepared him for the sheer gush of love and amazement he'd felt as it truly dawned on him, that finally, after all the years of preparation and intensive training, he had you.

As much as he'd assisted and offered humanity a helping hand in guidance over the course of his own existence, he was finally taking his very first step into fulfilling the sole purpose he had as a Guardian Angel.

True as it were that he didn't know all there was to know about you and had, still, a long journey ahead with you, it was as if the previous woes of separation that had been dragging him into a deep pit of anxiety and despair whenever he'd overhear a fellow Guardian Angel gush about their Human -- as if the awful, nagging question of when hadn't already been creeping into his own thoughts during the nondescript, menial tasks of his day as it were -- when would he be allocated his own human to watch over, when would he be allowed onto the most defining chapter and journey of his existence, all but washed away.

The timing must've been divine, because it led him to being assigned you.

And truly, even though he had much to learn about you, much to learn through you, still, he already knew he wouldn't exchange you for the world.

With the intensity of the feeling coming onto him this strongly, already, the joy and pride burning through him, singeing itself into his very bones, he wondered if this first encounter with you would be the peak emotionality of the experience, if from this moment forward, his emotions would settle into a feeling much more contained, calm, like the lapping waves of the deepest, wisest ocean against its much cherished shorelines; perhaps in a manner of knowing similar to the way his wings would flutter against his shoulder blades with such natural ease, the internal process having ingrained itself into his very essence after a lifetime of being directed on how to do so by Jongin himself.

Until the next day hit. Then the next month. And endlessly he'd find himself bathing in a feeling of such pride, of the most gentle affection and adoration, an unfathomable joy every time you so much as blinked, or made a movement that showcased your awareness of your existence to your parents -- who, as he'd observed -- were quite the turbulent pair within the vicinity of each other, which all but seemed to dissolve when their eyes fell onto you, the apple of their eyes, the highlight of their day.

He was a sobbing mess when you said your first word, when you took your first step. He'd never had the best control over his emotions, which was something his fellow angels would chuckle at and tease him about from time to time, telling him he'd been cut from a much more sensitive end of the cloth than they had, but he surely hadn't cried as much in all his years as he did the first few years of your life. ...And this was only from the joys of the experience.

He daren't even contemplate the fabled sadness that humanity had also been blessed, or perhaps cursed with. Time was vastly different for the two of you, the distance between your realms wasn't quantifiable in human terms and an absolute impossibility for you to breach on your end, one with a catch on his own. Though he could visit you, he'd never be able to be visible to you, unless you well and truly believed in him and could sense his presence. Guardian Angels were told to not get their expectations and hopes up about that because humans mostly called upon their Guardian Angels in times of desperation and grief.

In the vast majority of cases it was a feeble and half-hearted call at that, and as humanity had never been taught that there exist definite connections such as this -- that of a human and their Guardian Angel -- they never viewed it as a possibility for themselves, besides being a last resort in reference of what they believed to be a religious fable or fairy tale that evidently had no true basis in reality.

Guardian Angels were fiercely warned about the repercussions of causing such stress in humans, just so they could interact face to face with their human or humans in general, and it could result in them losing both their connection to their human and their status as a Guardian Angel.

Jongin was coming to you from a place of utmost care, protection and devotion, he felt, so he would never do anything to place you in harms way, jeopardize your bond, nor did he ever want to see you sad. He'd been told to prepare himself for it, because the human sphere of emotion was truly volatile at the best of times and the vast majority of humans would go on to face many ups and downs during their time on the earthly plane, but even so, he knew he would find ways to comfort you from afar and lend a helping hand in any form he, as your Guardian Angel, had been allocated and allowed.

The earliest months of your youth passed smoothly and to Jongin, you were a blissful assignment, so full of joy and wonderment about the world around you, that the thoughts of any sad times you may have been on the path to encounter slipped to the very backs of his mind.

Until that changed in one swift moment at eight months old, as your mother stormed into your room in a haphazard disarray, mascara lining her cheeks, screaming obscenities at your father in the living room, as she pulled you from your crib, disturbing you into a startled cry in an instant, and marched back to face your father head on. Knowing all he could do to protect you in this moment in time was to wrap you in a sheen of protective, healing light and energy, Jongin watched with bated breath as your own cries eventually lessened, however, he had no way of telling you how your world was about to change, and neither did your parents, you were in no way able to understand the severity of the situation. Frankly, neither was Jongin.

It was a bitingly cold, bitter blue morning when your mother pulled up at the airport, and an even colder night, clouds heavy with rain, when you arrived in Paris, completely unaware this journey had been a one-way trip, for the both of you. Your mother had met someone months prior, a Parisian man of much renown, and before they even realized what was hitting them, sparks flew, and in their lovestruck daze, your mother accepted this man's advances behind your father's back, delighting in the excitement he brought to her difficult circumstances, her failing marriage.

Through his rage and hatred, which Jongin felt viscerally and had to carefully view as to not singe himself, your father demanded you be left with him if your mother preferred to ‘gallivant around Paris with her new lover’, mouth poisoned with the most vicious of insults, telling her she'd destroyed the sanctity of marriage. To which she replied, bitterly, "wherever had it ever been, with you?". Neither cried, as behind the rage and resentment, they felt a wave of relief and ease wash over them, realizing they had freed themselves from the shackles of unhappiness they were currently causing themselves, even if the method of doing so held the many immoral tenets it did.

But you were a different topic to them, entirely. A bitter, relentless battle. They would go on to spend years vying for sole custody of you, years vying to tie you solely to either Korea or France, your father losing sleep over it, nearly falling into debt because of it. Though you'd flitted between both countries like a homeless butterfly during this, the court eventually ruled in your mother's favor, perhaps because of her lover's influence and seemingly ever increasing bank balance, but that didn't mean you never got to see your biological father again. Some summer and winter breaks were spent in Korea. There was also this fascinating invention called a smartphone that allowed you two to videocall as often as you could.

Eventually, your father moved on, as well, with a kind-hearted, gentle lady who would treat you with nothing but respect, though still wearied of overstepping any boundaries. Unlike on your mother's end, no half-siblings were added into the equation through your father's newfound love.

Settling in took a bit of getting used to, at first. You worked hard at your French, practising most often through your stepfather; a lean, well put together man, who offered you day trips and homemade bread dipped in the finest of olive oils, and would eventually go on to buy you a grand piano, which had been your first love, prior to meeting your soul mate in the violin.

He was insanely musically inclined himself, and picked up on your talents early, something you feel eternally grateful for. And as initially awkward as the relationship had been, you began to find a solace in your stepfather, in his ability to stop arguments before they stewed and simmered and boiled over into something much greater than they were destined. He treated you as equally he did the children he'd go on to parent with your mother, considering you one of them. That wasn't as easy for you, considering you loved your biological father as much as you loved your mother, and you would only get to see him a few times a year in person, but eventually you grew fond of having two fathers, so to speak. It was especially fun having siblings, and not being the only child, any longer.

The first seed of confusion was planted within you, when your mother crouched beside your bed on the evening of a stormy Thursday night in June, sobbing, as she proceeded to tell you just how much she wished she had've met your stepfather first. You pretended to be asleep, your back towards her. She didn't see how your brows furrowed softly, as she'd then go on to tell you how you were her only saving grace but the shame ate her within, how your grandmother wanted nothing to do with her after the divorce. The fact she had children with two men. But she made it clear that night that if she had the choice between the two, your father and your stepfather, she'd have chosen your stepfather. It confused you because where would that place you on this spectrum? She didn't specify besides letting you know she loved you and she'd never regret you. But if she could, would she want you to be borne to your stepfather too? You tried not to think too hard about it. Tried not to wonder if your father felt the same, but with his new partner.

The reason behind your first time crying yourself to sleep was because of school. The even more confusing, terrifying realization that now, in this entirely new country, nobody looked like you, nobody sounded like you, nobody ate the same foods you did, a situation you initially thought was a point of celebration, how within you existed a vast piece of knowing of another part of the world, the unification of cultures and experiences, but not everyone seemed to agree with that. And though you did as much as you could to avoid these people's harsh, pointed gazes, it seemed like they'd find a new difference to point out everyday, until you hid the depth of your heritage behind their own, and didn't bring it up in conversation unless it was brought up first, which tore into your spirit and cracked your heart greatly.

Be it only a select few who acted this way with you, Jongin would still watch on everyday, painstakingly wishing he could just intervene, show you that you didn't have to take this treatment from anyone, ever. He knew some experiences and findings were your own to discover, but that didn't stop him from intervening as slyly and delicately as he could, such as blowing the main perpetrator's completed homework sheet out of his binder and ensuring it fell far away and that it happened gently enough to not alert him. He saw your own eyes flit to it for a second, and usually you'd react, likely hand it back to the person regardless of how they'd been treating you, but this time you blinked, a moment's movement, and decided not to.

Which was good enough for Jongin. Minor instances like this would persist any time the main perpetrator acted up and though he would still sneer at you from time to time, his acts of violence stopped flat when the mother of a fellow student told his mother about the way her son had been terrorizing his classes, how he'd been terrorizing fellow students, her own child included. Seemingly, his mother's grounding of him paired with her taking away his prized possessions and making him write a hand written apology to each and every student he'd tormented as well as having to read it in front of the class to them, seemed to do the trick.

You'd long since lost interest in any of that, however, having found yourself in the music room in your spare time, drinking up each and every note, learning everything you could. By this point, your French had improved to the point you were finally contemplating calling yourself bilingual, but music was a language within itself, and you were starting to realize your fluency in it came before any spoken tongue, as much love as you had for both Korean and French at this stage. Music... felt freeing. Like an adventure and home all in one. A safe sanctuary and a push outside of your comfort zone all the same.

Jongin watched every moment, every fear, frustration, woe and setback on your path to becoming the renowned and famed violinist you now are, experiencing all these emotions alongside you, crying with you, worrying with you. He watched every triumph, celebration and gleeful cause of enjoyment also, celebrating alongside you, even though you couldn't see him. Sometimes he felt sure you could at least feel him.

And how proud of you he was. How proud of you he'd always be.

Jongin's fingers thread through his hair as he lets out one, long exhale. The outward breath releasing all the stresses of his day, however minor they may have been in the grand scheme of things. He straightens his posture as he gently rolls up his daily task scroll, watching the enchanted piece of parchment glisten as he does so, the neat, cursive lettering slowly disappearing within itself as he ties a bow over it and brushes it off to his side. His days are jam-packed from the moment he awakens from his 'rest', though not at all necessary for his kind, it certainly helps to quicken any necessary healing process, prevent fatigue and reinforce routine.

Today had been a much lighter workload than usual, and he wonders if he's been allocated some semblance of free time to simply enjoy this defining moment of your life. Your first broadcasted concert, nationwide. In a venue you'd thought you'd only ever dream of performing in.

Strangely, despite how huge today is for you, he feels peaceful, oddly serene. You'll do well, he feels so within every fibre of his being.

Truthfully, as much as he'd convinced himself he'd been prepared for this, for everything it would entail to take on his duty as a Guardian Angel, he had, for a long time, dismayed of this -- of watching over someone who would never know of him or his existence, never feel his presence, never engage in conversation with him, but over the years, the feeling simply simmered into something else, shifted into a much gentler, warmer understanding, unconditional in its marker.

As much as he would still love to be able to openly converse with you, give you a warm helping -- corporeal -- hand whenever you needed it and remind you that within you existed all you needed to achieve all you had ever wanted, the truth was, you didn't have to know him, openly call to him and rely on him for your bond to legitimately feel as real, corporeal, precious and necessary as it was.

Sure, the bittersweet element would always exist, but everyday, his heart swells with joy and pride from simply knowing you, from having been entrusted with the honor of being your Guardian Angel. He hears of it often, hears fellow Guardian Angels sing the praises of their humans from the highest corners of the heavens, witnesses the jovial steps a Guardian Angel will take when they've finished their daily contact with their human, hears it in lulling wisp of their words, however soft, it's hard to miss the protective layer these words will be wrapped in; the innate knowledge that if a Guardian Angel had a life to give, there lay no doubt that they would give it to ensure the safety of their human in a mere heartbeat.

Truly, through all of this, Jongin feels he's lucked out with you.

Jongin leaves his work desk and decides to dress for the day ahead, slipping into a sheer, glittering pink ensemble, a lot freer than his usual attire, though still as outwardly ethereal. By the time he's ready, considering the intricacy of angelic clothing, with all of its buttons and laces, you will be thirty minutes away from pulling up at your destination. Though extensively separated, the nerves and excitement bubbling within you are also washing off on him, though he feels that the excitement outweighs the nervousness in this case. You'll do so well, he knows it. Today will be unlike any other, it will be a night to remember. The day, the evening, the night everything you've worked so hard for becomes yours.

He'll watch every second of it, he's vowed to. But just as he's about to finish buttoning his much too intricate shirt, a flash of light catches his attention, which makes him look away for a split second. Thinking nothing of it, he turns back to his table, glancing down at his most frequented corner of the only world he's ever known.

Before a silence washes over the room. Though everything looks as it should, there's been a stark change in the atmosphere. There's nothing to be heard, except for the even sound of his breath, nothing to feel but the suddenly deafening thunder of his own heartbeat. When it hits him hard and all at once how unusual this silence is, he only just picks up on how dark his surroundings are becoming, how they're beginning to blur into each other like they were never separated to begin with, before it all fades to black.

"What--?" He starts, upon reawakening, before a harrowing realization hits. This wasn't normal.

"No," Jongin chokes out. "No, no, no. That can't be." But he can't hear you, can't sense you and certainly can't see you right now. It's a mere ten minutes until your performance if his calculations are correct, and yet here he is, still not ready, presently having no idea what it is that is happening in his realm. Power outages were extremely infrequent, infrequent enough that a guardian angel could be taken aback by the unusualness of them, but why now? Why today, on the most important, defining moment of your life?

Jongin's thoughts are running wild, a frenzied energy overwhelms him as he contemplates what's happening. Why can't he move? Why is this ever deepening darkness swallowing him whole, why is the world he knows blurring within itself and most importantly... where are you?

Finally, realization hits.

In a wave that threatens to engulf the entirety of his being whole. The entirety of heaven's being, he feels.

He hears the sound before he truly understands what is happening, hears the glass shattering like it's right there in front of him digging into his own features and clawing away at his own flesh, hears the cheers of the fans you've accumulated over the years silencing, before they become shrill gasps and pained cries and screams, hears the sound of hundreds if not thousands of cameras clicking before they also fizzle out into the stark understanding and realization that something isn't right.

...Then it's chaos.

The sound of you being rushed to the hospital, of your mother's, stepfather and half-siblings' sobs and screams. Doctors and nurses pleading with them, telling them that they'd do all they could, just to, please, please let them work.

"A drunk driver," the nurse eventually whispers, though Jongin swore he hadn't missed a moment, the nurse's words are what break through the debilitating wave of agony that's drowned him, seemingly muted everything around him. Though her tone is stable, trained, she knows of you, she knew what day this was for you, it's a blatantly harrowing statement for her to make, but that knowledge doesn't comfort Jongin. "I'm sorry."

No one. No one, between land nor sea, no one was expecting this. And especially not Jongin. The room of imprisonment is in a disarray, his arms are thick, wet with the blood he's somehow managed to etch and tear out of his supposedly unbreakable vessel in the hopes of identifying and locating the exit of this blatant room of imprisonment he's been forced into. And it'll continue; he'll force and tear his way out of any forceful holding that his higher ups try and keep him in if it continues to mean no news of what's happening with and to you, where, how and what will come next of it.

Caring little that his arms are lined with self inflicted etchings, dismissing a pain that begins to seep its way through him that he can't remember feeling for at least several millennia, knowing it can't even begin to compare to what you just went through. How you didn't even arrive to the biggest show of your life, the turning point of your career, the day that defined the rest of your life -- your entire future.

Gone, in an instant. Head on in a collision no one saw coming. Not even your Guardian Angel, who prided himself on his knowing of all things you.

He catches his frazzled reflection in the long, windy mirror in front of him and screams, a fraction of a second passing before the mirror itself shatters into a thousand pieces before him. He contemplates picking up one of the shards and carving his way out of the room of holding, but before he even has chance the glass morphs and moulds into a fine, sand-like substance, disappearing in between the space of his toes.

Finally, comes a knock. Minutes, hours, days, had they passed? He doesn't know. The silence outside of his inner and outer turmoil has persisted, his thundering heartbeat and deafening sobs serving as the only indicator of the time between.

"Jongin?"

"Leave me," he chokes. Simply sitting. Blatantly the room of holding had different laws than both heaven and earth, it seemed to be a room of his own making, a room he could change the dimensions of just by the depth of his feeling, his agony. So something as simple as sitting should be fine, should it not?

Not that he'd cared if the ground swallowed him whole either, at the present moment in time. Maybe any moment from here on out.

When he can taper into the connection you share -- fuzzy, muted and agonizing as it currently is, he watches the world mourn, but he feels it pales in comparison to his own grief, the unfamiliar feeling of sentience, self hatred, anger. An anger that burrows deep and cements itself inside him, demands to be felt. He screams, cries and kicks for all his might, but it won't change what happened to you. It won't allow him to live the day over and do everything in and outside of his power to bring you back. Here he was, as your Guardian Angel, and yet even he couldn't protect you, stop this atrocious crash from taking place?

The room shifts again, but Jongin doesn't bother to take any note of its changes until lights are pushing through his self inflicted darkness and blinding him. He curls into a ball, but refuses to close his eyes, not caring about the damage these lights may cause him, preferring the blindness to be his, if it comes to that, than yours. If there were a way to exchange his eyes for yours, his internal processes for your own, his own beating heart for yours, there wouldn't even be a question.

You'd be here right now. Alive.

What would heaven expect of him now? How dare they?

Moments, hours, days, it's one of the three, he knows that much, but he's done with pretending he cares to differentiate right now or ever again. There's a creasing, crinkling sound, akin to the sound of movement, albeit angelic.

The being places itself beside Jongin, who refuses to look up, caring not about the consequences right now. If ever again. What did any of it mean, anymore? What did any of it matter, without you, his sole purpose for existing, the one being above all else he had to keep safe and protect... gone in a instant. How could anyone look him in the eye again, if he were so useless as to not be able to predict this when he had the encyclopedia of all things you tucked away in his shirt's pocket, embedded into his own, horribly, selfishly beating heart.

Yours wouldn't beat again, would it?

Finally, after what must feel like an eternity to the being, but can't possibly compete with the eternity of agony Jongin's going through, he forces his head upwards meeting eyes with a messenger-in-training, a small, fluttery being, clad in blue-white robes. Their expression indiscernible, yet seemingly prepared for an outburst.

He hoped they wouldn't get one and he'd apologize in advance, but he had no notebook of heavenly principles and elements to follow in a situation like this, no guidebook on how to react when his sole reason for being had been taken from him with no warning.

Instead, a millennia's knowledge on how to be a good soldier, how to have emotion but not too much, an innate agonizing realization of how he'll more than likely be expected to report back to his desk and record everything after the period of grief heaven's so 'graciously' granting him ends. Somehow be expected to continue existing without you.

How?

"It was not just her," the messenger-in-training cuts straight to the point, their body language telling him they're not here for a fight, and are genuinely hoping not to have to go on the defensive, and simply here to deliver the message. "That is why you could not interfere."

And blatantly why he'd been so at ease, having had his senses numbed so he couldn't pick up on any change in the atmosphere, sense this collision prior to it taking place.

Jongin says nothing. Jongin doesn't move. He's not sure where he is or even how this place exists, but suspended space or not, he's managed to convince himself it's a room, that there's a floor, objects, glaring overhead lights, that currently he's sitting, and the patch of ground his eyes are honed in on is truly, somehow there. The mirror's gone, but that had been there, too. So had you, once.

"Understandably you wish for me to leave you be, but--" The messenger-in-training won't meet Jongin's gaze directly. "I must inform you."

Five minutes pass. Jongin says nothing.

"Will you speak?" The messenger-in-training asks. "Is there anything you wish to ask?"

It's at this moment the messenger-in-training notices the trail of blood that surrounds their own higher up, which results in a wince. They say nothing, but the miniscule moment doesn't go amiss to Jongin. How he wished for the messenger's naivety at this moment, their lack of understanding of a bond like this. Just bright hope for their future journey and development. Their eternity. Turn back, the grief within him wants to scream. Ask for another journey, another placement within heaven. This is your future.

But he can't. He can't because he knows that he'd exchange everything if it meant having you to watch over, again. How could he knock this naive present day messenger away from the most defining aspect of their existence, the one thing a Guardian Angel desires and hopes for above all else? Even if this present moment in time feels like a slow, torturous death of the most unspeakable kind, still, nothing in heaven compares to the bond you share, nothing in heaven can compete. Nothing in heaven could ever hope to compete. Perhaps that's why he stays silent.

"...And what happens now?"

"I though you would never ask." The messenger-in-training smiles here, a smile Jongin can't even begin to comprehend. His fellow Guardian Angels used to say he never stopped. Smiling, that is. Now he wonders if he'll ever smile again. "It is the most unusual happening, sire. Y/N..."

Jongin winces at the use of your name. Deeper than the messenger-in-training had prior. He wills himself not to fall apart, crumble into sand like the mirror had with him, however long ago that had been.

As if nothing is wrong, the messenger-in-training continues, "she will arrive in a day or two. Here, in heaven. Human time, of course."

As if the messenger is playing a cruel joke, Jongin stay quiet. He locks eyes with the messenger, the pain swirling in them so visceral, the messenger has to look away to compose them self.

"Here?" He finally chokes out.

"Here," they confirm. "To be trained under you. Your journey is not over. Not that any of us expected it to be."

The pained cry that threatens to swallow the room whole results in confusion on the expression of the messenger-in-training but they daren't press Jongin on the matter. So much so that when he requests, possibly in the smallest voice he's capable of mustering, "leave me," the request is met.

"But before I leave, you must be back in your quarters before she arrives, you are aware of that?"

Waves crash against a bleached white shore, the air cool against Jongin's skin, an unruly lock of his hair slapping against his forehead with every other gust of wind that comes his way, but he stay still as a rock, posture straighter than ever. Waiting.

Some angelic beings chose differently than Jongin. Some chose not to guide humanity, some chose to watch over earth itself, some chose to upkeep the heavens. It has been said that some heavenly souls chose to incarnate as human themselves, to then come back once their time was up on the earthly plane.

Surely, two of those three paths had their ups and downs also, but if Jongin's sure of anything, he's sure they're not expected to hold up and keep face in the position he currently is. He's sure they're not expected to stand strong and tidy when their whole world has been taken from them, the very ground they're used to standing on, pulled from underneath them. He hasn't measured the days... in days. Hasn't looked at a clock since, hasn't taken note of the changes in the daylight, the night sky.

Maybe you'll be the only one to understand what he's currently feeling, in the instance this was what you chose. But he knows within himself, even if he can't confide in anyone else about it, that you didn't choose this. And if you didn't choose this, Jongin finds no other alternative explanation than to blame himself for what happened to you. Blame himself for not being able to foresee what was about to take place when once again he'd been nothing but the encyclopedia of all things you, since you came into your earthly existence. Sees no other alternative for not being able to save you in time, even if it entailed losing everything he had forged for himself, even if it meant losing everything heaven had given him.

At this point, you'll arrive when you arrive and he'll try his utmost to act like heaven expects of him. Deliver your training, pretend like any of this was justified.

When it wasn't.

Isn't.

Never will be.

Some time has evidently passed. A rustle of leaves is heard in the previously deafening silence. Jongin's wide, white feathered wings flap once, an instinctual movement, one he has no control over. His breath is sharp, shallow, as he holds the blade he and every other Guardian Angel is in possession of to his chest. These weapons were mostly precautionary, in case of intruders of heaven, something heaven and its inhabitants hadn't need worry about in at least several millennia, but wars had existed in the past, and the inhabitants needed to be trained in case of one ever breaking out again, or in the extremely rare case of an intrusion into heaven's walls. These days, these weapons were mostly for decoration. Jongin's had never been used.

Right now, he has one purpose. Collect his underlings and guide them to their rooms, help them settle as much as he's been allocated to. Answer any of their questions as he does so, do everything he can to make this journey easier for his underlings, for the newer, younger angels in training. This time, a gnawing, visceral pain cuts through him, splintering him within. Even though he now knows beyond a doubt that your eternity was promised, the guilt still bubbles within, cuts into every joint, every blood cell. If illness could materialize in heaven like it can on earth, he's sure he'd be the very definition of decay, this moment in time.

He knows not if it's a blessing or a curse that it can't. At least this time. As he takes one step closer, he's not sure what he's expecting, how many underlings he'd been expecting, but in some sick twist of fate, it's you, alone. You don't look like you've just had your life taken from you in a metal death contraption, at least not physically. You're not bloodied, broken or bruised like you once had been. You're not strapped to a million and one wires that are doing overtime to ensure you're allocated one more year... month, week, hour, minute of life. The light in your eyes hasn't been drained and torn from you, like it was that fateful day.

He knows he wouldn't be able to keep his composure if any of that were to be presented before him, but is this worse? That it's now being painted like a rebirth, or even worse, like a surprise ending to a chapter of a book that abruptly ended. Like a beautiful eternity you've somehow unlocked from a premature death, a violent, bloody death. One no one saw coming.

As if that makes up for it. As if you could've ever contemplated such brutality for yourself on the most important day of your life? Like you would've ever chose that. Jongin knows you wouldn't. You know you wouldn't.

All for an eternity you didn't ask for, in a realm you'd re-enter with no memory of. A foreign, alien land so unlike that of the earth you'd known. It didn't sound like a good deal to Jongin.

Didn't feel like one when he had to watch you cry, scream and try your hardest to claw your way out of this seemingly new body and realm you'd found yourself in.

"I don't want this," you say. And he's speechless. All he can do is look at you, feel the crease between his eyebrows, feel the heart beating in his chest that's already been shattered into pieces innumerable, shatter all over again.

You're on your knees now, the sand around you caring not where it ends up. On your clothing, mixed into your hair, your eyelashes, wet with tears unending. If your emotion would materialize on your being at this very moment, you'd look like you did after the crash had taken place.

Jongin wants to fall to his knees too.

"Let me go back," you sob, and though you're a far distance away, you reach out your hand but he's not even sure if it's to him, or even if you've noticed him properly, it's like in this present state you're reaching out to anyone who'd listen. Who could grant you your desire.

Maybe instinctively you know Jongin can't.

He takes a deep breath as he edges closer, ever so gently taking hold of your arm, but it's still like you don't feel it. You're limp when he picks you up, guiding you onto your feet. Again, just like that god-awful day, your eyes have no light, your body has no fight. It comes on suddenly, so suddenly and it takes everything in him to not fall to his own knees and beg for your forgiveness, regardless of what anyone could or would say in protest.

This clearly had to have been his fault. He wanted to know you, too much. Wanted to converse with you, too much. Maybe he'd slyly intervened just a little too much? Who knew, but the reasons within his mind seemed numerous. He wouldn't accept that you would've chosen this.

"This too, will pass," he feels like a hypocrite to his own ears. Would it? Really? And maybe the words sound distant, floaty and stable to your own ears, but he hears the thickness of his words, tastes the way he chokes them out. He's not poised right now, even if he seems so to an untrained eye. If this were training, he'd have already failed. And he's thankful you're not coherent, because he'd give anything to cry the tears for you, than have to sob alongside you, for the life you've had cut short from you. The world you've been torn away from.

Counting the days comes a little easier now you're in front of him, existing in the same realm as him. But every hour stings still, every minute, even. Three long weeks take place, three weeks that you spend the most of in agony, he, the same, though he knows you can't tell. Before you arrived, he couldn't hide any of it, but now you're here, he feels that he must. He refuses to make your transition harder, refuses to make this any more harrowing and painful for you. You need some sense of stability. He has to try his hardest to be that for you.

Until you finally meet eyes with him, eyes dry of tears you thought you'd never run out of, an emptiness residing there instead. His own demeanor falters. Hope had always been something so tenderly threaded within your being, even at the worst of times, that it felt so agonizingly out of place to see it depleted, entering into a realm of hopelessness.

Maybe you don't notice how he gulps the lump down in his throat, the way he averts his gaze only slightly.

"What am I even supposed to do here?"

He explains everything. The seemingly endless possibilities. How you'll train and study and help upkeep the heavens, keep watch. From A-Z, he explains it all, sounding like a trained salesperson to his own ears. It's almost humorous. Just how long had he been here, really? On the manual of all things heaven, Jongin knows he wouldn't miss a punctuation mark. None of that is your focus right now, though, and he can see the burning question swirl within your irises.

"Do I get to go to earth?"

His lack of reply as he composes himself seems to be all the confirmation you need that... that's not currently on the cards and may never be again. His eyes follow your movements helplessly as you kick the ground beneath you, your eyes once again welling with tears, falling onto your knees, hands balled into fists, before they fan flat, your nail almost chipping from the pressure you're exerting as you dig it into the ground below you, as if you can claw your way back.

He understands.

Training is going as planned, as are the lessons. Whilst your spirit isn't in it, not even slightly, it's no lie that you grasp concepts well and excel in ways he once had, during his own days of training. It's almost a case of rinse, rest, repeat as you fall into this routine. Wake up, study extensively, rest, repeat. The light in your eyes still isn't back, and Jongin's trying to come to terms with the possibility that it might never be there again. But you're excelling, grasping everything the way you're expected to. Though he knows the hours that aren't allocated to studying, they're filled with your despair, endless tears you swore you'd seen the last of, the day before, the day before that. But now you hide them from your peers and Jongin feels that's even worse.

Even more difficult.

He doesn't expect that of you, but he feels he has no way of telling you so.

Today's lesson ends a little differently, however. You approach him, determination lining your features. "Teacher," you start, and he nods to encourage you, let you know he's listening, though his eyes don't fully meet your own, they stay trained to the piece of paper he's writing on. "Is there a... way to go back?"

He stills, glancing up at you, breath slightly hitching.

"To earth, I mean."

"I know what you mean," Jongin says gently. He's not sure how guarded his own expression is because he watches some semblance of understanding flitter behind your eyes. Jongin shakes his head and moves to get up from the desk he's sitting at. Now you know he has more insight on the topic, this is not something you're just going to drop, not with your inquisitive, determined nature.

"Please," you then plead, catching up to his long strides as you reach out to stop him from leaving the room. "Can we at least just discuss this? Even if briefly?"

Sitting you back down, you're not expecting the extensive reply you receive. How Jongin covers every basis. From every angle. The possible impossibility, the warnings if it were possible, the consequences, so far, so forth. None of his words are judgemental, you can't actually pinpoint the emotion behind them, if there is an emotion behind them. It's all just factual, as theoretically factual as it can be, considering no one in heaven has ever pulled this off, nor ever attempted to. You listen, intently. Trying not to zone out here and there, which you find yourself doing a lot of, since arriving in heaven. The frequency of heaven is so different than what you remember of earth, as faint as that's starting to feel.

This was a much rawer, confusing process than people made it out to be in the movies. There was no beautiful transition, no peaceful acceptance. Just agony, a lot of it. And even more confusion.

If you hadn't had your teacher Jongin with you, you know you'd be having an even worse time. So you're thankful for that, at least. But you know any which way, if there's a way to return to earth, you're going to find it. And attempt it. You just hope Jongin isn't given the blame for your own actions, if that fateful day ever does arrive, knowledge-giver or not.

His eyes haven't left your features since he started explaining, as if gauging your reaction. "If you did find a way to return to earth, though we have no idea what the consequences of that action would be for earth, time, your human life and your existence itself, I can guarantee that it wouldn't go unnoticed by heaven."

Somehow you already knew that to be the case. You nod and thank him for all he's told you today, excusing yourself as you make your way to the door to exit the room. But just as you're doing so, you murmur, mostly to yourself, the sadness in your voice penetrating your own eardrums, "I still had so much left to do."

"I know."

"I had so many more plans," you find yourself continuing, forlornly. It's been so difficult to get these words out, to voice how unfair all of this actually feels. If you're sure of anything, you're sure you intended to tough out the human mission. Live as long as you could naturally. That had there been the option to opt out of 'accidental deaths', you'd have done so. You have no way of retracing your steps, but if pre-human you had've agreed to that, you'd love to have a word with them, ask them what the - and pardon your usage of this term - hell was wrong with them...

...What was wrong with you.

Do the angelic beings just sit conceptualizing lives they could live if given the option like these very lives are an endless array of video games options, or an episode of some ongoing sitcom show? Signing up for horrific ends of lives just like that, as if they won't be the ones feeling that very death take place, with none of their prior memories in tact? Just what kind of meta-masochism is that? God, the questions you actually had, they were unending. You didn’t even know where to begin with verbalizing them all.

"I know," Jongin repeats, quieter. By this point he's caught up with you, and passes by gently. "E-excuse me," he says, as he reaches for the door handle.

But you stay still, eyebrows furrowed.

You'd been reading this wrong, hadn't you? Your prior encounters and conversations with your teacher seem to flit by in chronological order in your mind, highlighting all the things you seemed to miss, in the emotional sphere of things. No, none of it was lack of emotion. All of it was emotion, so much emotion, that it became that seeming lack of emotion. Like an emotional shutdown, a timed and practised one. Only here, in this proximity, do you notice it falter.

"Jongin?" You start. "...Teacher?"

His next breath is shaky, it falters. You don't even need words here, he's on your wavelength, he seemingly already knows what it is you're about to get at. "We have bonds too," the words don't exactly falter, but the way he fumbles with clasping and unclasping own hands as if he's trying to calm himself down, tell you his true emotional state. "You... remind me of someone, that's all."

You look at his dark brown hair, notice how he won't meet your gaze, how he swallows as if this will convince himself of the words he's saying.

"I think recognise you from somewhere," you push.

His exhale eludes him. His entire being seems to wash with dread, and somehow you know you've hit the nail on the head. "Maybe the artwork," he offers. The artwork of angels in the human realm, you suppose he's referencing here, however, short and sweet answers aren't like him, at least as you've come to know. And no, you haven't been here long, but when it feels like there's not a lot else to do, learning about others and trying to understand them apparently ranks high on your list of priorities.

"No, I mean. ...I've seen you somewhere," you insist. "You, teacher Jongin. As you are. I don't mean an artwork I witnessed in my human life. I recognize you." Gently you reach over and place your hand atop his and watch as he winces and snatches his hand back. But not before you feel the chorus of: 'I caused this, I'm to blame for what happened to you. I caused this, I'm to blame for what happened to you. I caused this, I'm to blame for what happened to you. I caused this, I caused this, I caused this' emanating off his very being.

Startled is an understatement, as you wince, also flinching to the same severity Jongin just hand.

His wince follows. His sole desire to encounter his human face to face, to wish for it so strongly, surely that caused this in its entirety. Rather than offer any explanation, which you're half heartedly expecting at this point, Jongin flits out of the room, leaving you bewildered and in even more confusion than prior.

Some days pass until your next encounter. You're swaying on a swing set located in the heavenly gardens, that seems like it overlooks earth and the cosmos itself, it's a fascinating sight, one you could stare at and try decode all day. You don't really have the time for that right now, your schedule is surprisingly packed and has been since you arrived here, but you do have a small amount of free time allocated during your days. Mostly you spend them exploring the mass that is heaven, the endless, ethereally beautiful mass. And today, you’re entirely taken by this.

Your eyes keep flitting a little to the left every time your swing reaches high up into the air, landing directly on an array of looking glasses, snow-like globes, that seem to contain the image of a different person's life, human after human, situation after situation, in real time, and you find yourself longing even harder to be back on the earthly plane, which surprises you, considering you're encountering a view like nothing you've ever seen before. Something so outside of the human scope of understanding, something so fascinating, that everything else on earth genuinely seems to pale in comparison.

Though what you're looking at is that, everything on earth. In real time. Seemingly every person that's ever been, is, or will be, reflected all at once, on their individual snow globes. Some are playing in the park with their dogs, others are trying their best not to flunk their upcoming exams, some are in the midst of a job interview they've lost sleep over, others are deep in meditation, but all, ultimately, even those that would argue within an inch of their life that they knew otherwise, are completely unaware of the sheer scope of transcendence and timelessness that exists outside the human lifespan. The human existence. All are equally unaware of just how deeply special and fascinating their little stretch of life and existence actually is. Most take for granted the beauty of the earth, too.

You're not trying to evade blame in any of those facets, because you were the exact same and now you'd do anything to return.

Oddly it's only when your eyes fall onto a young woman, much like you were, unzipping and picking up her violin do your hands shake and the enormity of emotion you're experiencing as you view all of this hit you, all at once.

You hadn't known he was there initially, he has a very quiet way of appearing alongside any of the inhabitants of heaven, but as soon as you notice his presence, Jongin is no longer looking at you. Things had been a little uncomfortably quiet between you two since the conversation in the classroom, but Jongin was nothing if not the perfect teacher, mentor, guider... and angelic being. He didn't hold grudges towards anyone he encountered, didn't push anyone to explain them self or force anyone to talk about things they weren't ready for.

He certainly didn't outwardly showcase how shaken that conversation likely left him, truly, he treated you as normally as he could. Taught you as normally as he could. Guided you as normally as he could.

But it had cast a shadow of something over your dynamic that neither of you were reaching to iron out and discuss, at least not yet. Still, you find yourself discussing anything and everything around him. Asking questions you probably shouldn't be asking, yet still find yourself asking.

Usually he had the perfect answer. But you had a knack for choosing the instances he didn't.

"Did I ask for that?" You start, as he places himself beside you. "Would I have really asked for that?"

Jongin says nothing, this time, which you're half expecting. He knows the answer to all these questions, you feel, there's just something else he's not telling you. Sometimes that's intentional, some things are your own to figure out, you're well aware of that. But this seems like it is something he can't seem to tell you. And by answering these questions you randomly throw his way, sometimes, it appears like that in itself would be the key to the exact piece of knowledge he can't diverge.

"I see it over and over," you continue. Both of you know what you're referencing. The change, the transition, as heaven would like for you to call it. The awful experience with death is all you can remember it as. "Then I see sand, then I choke on the sand, then I'm here. And it's blindingly white before it's beautifully iridescent, lukewarm and sterile, but the sterility has not left nor shifted into its true beauty and at this point I'm wondering if it ever will."

Sterile's a good descriptor, Jongin thinks, as he listens to you intently. Beautiful, monotonous living, gift wrapped in a scope of color the human eye couldn't even process, let alone keep up with. Jongin, he's never known any different, but you have. Of course you'd want to go back. Especially when you both knew you had unfinished business.

No, not business. An unfinished life. A life curt short.

"They're a lot more free than here, huh?"

"In all the ways you could and could not imagine. But we don't hurt in the same way, we have knowledge of the infinite. Our pain can't create worlds in the same way and our love, I'd argue it can't be measured in the same scale, at least as I've observed." If it could, wouldn't you be safe right now? Securely sleeping in your cozy, warm bed after the most meaningful night of your life?

"I don't believe that."

"Well, I couldn't help," Jongin finally chokes out, "I mean--"

Something akin to understanding clicks in your expression and Jongin regrets his words. There were languages without sound, truly, weren't there? "Jongin--" You reach out to grab him, but he's already on his way.

"Have a rejuvenating rest," he says curtly. "It's a busy day tomorrow. "

It's a day or two later, during your free time, as you travel down another unexplored corner of heaven, hoping to learn all you can about your new place of residence. You glance to the unending hall titled 'Music', and find yourself flitting towards it as fast as you can, eyes scanning and cascading down every section, barely withholding your gasp. For a minute, there's nowhere else, the individual souls you've known are but a second, passing thought as you drink in everything before you, the endless beauty of all things music. What it was, is and could be in every realm of possibility, in every realm of existence. Songs and scores that humanity hadn't even considered being possible, instruments that made the beauty of the violin - your most prized and beloved instrument - pale.

Today marks your first true smile, on this strange, heavenly plane, your first day of true happiness and contentment. And from today, you're sure it won't be your last.

You tiptoe back to the heavenly gardens you find yourself viewing in an entirely new color. The heavenly gardens whose beauty you haven't given yourself chance to truly witness. It strikes you that today is the first day you've been anchored in the present moment, noticing the happenings around you, instead of existing in your own heavenly little bubble. There's a line of newly turned - slash - recruited angels a few footfalls away from you, congregating together as they take a class you don't really remember taking yourself but surely must have, and there in all his glory, stands your mentor, in his flowing pink robes, with his truly unmistakable aura.

As floaty as it is - and it is, every angelic being seems to be - his presence is unlike any of the other angels you've met, it's more stable, somehow less floaty in comparison.

Jongin pats the space beside him as he instructs the new angels to sit beside him. They do so happily, all smiles and grace... and peace. Something tells you none of them were traumatic deaths, so likely no murders or accidents. Likely terminal patients who'd long since accepted the end of their lives, already lived out the grief and denial stages. Were actually looking forward to what came next.

Not one inch of you relates, and maybe that's for the best. Because you wouldn't have wanted to face the severity of their struggles on the earthly plane, either. There was no game of comparisons, at the heart of it. Those that ended up in heaven, ended up in heaven. That was the one truth. Regardless of how that came to be.

You were here now, and so were they. You actually wanted the best for them, and hoped they settled in as easily as they could have done, and as happily. You hoped that contentment and happiness followed them for all of their days.

"Guardian Angel, Jongin," is what breaks you out of your reverie, a statement that is intended as both an introduction and a greeting to the new angels.

But one that leaves you feeling cold, numb, and confused. Not mentor angel, Jongin or teacher angel, Jongin as he'd referred to himself with you on numerous occasions, but Guardian Angel, Jongin. For some reason the name rings loud and clear, it almost deafens you. A warmth floods through you, it's not necessarily anger, but it's not wholly understanding either.

You’ve waited a few days to approach your 'mentor' slash 'teacher'. Cutting straight to the chase, though it seems he’s half expecting you. Maybe this should stop you in your tracks to assess the situation, but it doesn’t. "When were you going to tell me?"

The ice water is colder than he anticipated, and Jongin had spent every moment since you arrived anticipating this exact encounter. How could he have been so stupid as to instruct a class during your break, knowing you frequented the heavenly gardens so?

"...That you knew me all this time?" You don't miss a beat. "That you were my Guardian Angel?"

He glances the other way, but you're closing in on him. He half fears an altercation, but heaven had never seen the likes of that between its own inhabitants. Slim chance as it was, you did not look happy. His heart pangs in pain, but also in understanding. Had he prolonged your confusion and anguish during your transition by not letting you know his truest position in heaven? Suddenly, his grief and anger at himself hits him tenfold, and he wants to re-imprison himself in his room of holding. Things weren't bad enough already, were they? Now he'd only gone and added to your pain and suffering when he could've been helping you adjust and heal properly through the bond you naturally shared.

He felt like the worst Guardian Angel that had ever existed. His next sentence seeming to only cement this fact in his own mind. "I slept through the car crash." He shakes his head. "...Rather was positioned somewhere where I couldn't correct this, but that is the same as sleeping through it considering my connection to you, and how close I have been to you all of your life, considering how well I know you. What I am to you. There is no justification of that, there is no logical way of explaining it, there is no redemption for that, Y/N. I failed you. At present, do I even deserve the title Guardian Angel? I should've been stripped of my position the second this took place."

It’s as if this opens the floodgates of all that is yet to be said, explained, or experienced. You can feel the tears cascading down your cheeks, you can feel yourself edge closer to the beautiful, angelic being before you and you can feel yourself wrap yourself in his embrace and sob until there are no tears left, and knowing you can't get a coherent word out here, you listen as well as you can. To all he has to say. The pain, and slight anger you'd been feeling dissipating, though he feels his words should evoke the exact opposite reaction. The guilt and suffering within him feels like it could tear apart worlds, and yet he sees himself as being unworthy of his position. It's easier to pinpoint all the ways he assisted you and helped you during your earthly life, especially in his embrace, adding in all the ways he's helped you here in heaven, and yet he dismays of himself so much, when he's the shining example of what heaven wants their angels to be, and especially their Guardian Angels, that’s as much as you can gather, if any of your classes are to go by.

"A foreboding sense like that can't be ignored, and there's no doubt that I would've fallen if it meant saving you, maybe someone knew that somewhere, and thus... I ended up in that room of imprisonment. You have every right to hate and despise me to your heart's content, but you think I wasn't mad too? At the feebleness of the human form, how easily that beautiful life can be taken away, like it never even existed in the first place? But that anger never settles on you, it is always directed at myself. I was chosen to guide you, to protect and defend you and I failed in the moment you needed me the most. I should've found my way out, I should've stopped that day's events taking place. You should be alive right now, and we should've met many, many, many years from now. I should've held onto patience, waited for you to come to heaven in your own time, yet I fear my unending desire to meet you face to face, to know you face to face, resulted in that day's events, somehow. Regardless of what anyone else can say on the contrary. I love you, Y/N, in all the ways a Guardian Angel should. I adore everything you are and everything that makes you, you. I have been so blessed to know you, to have been assigned to you. I have such endless love and pride for you and everyday it kills me in how much I failed my one true purpose, as a Guardian Angel. Truthfully I care not if I lose everything after today, but I haven't been doing nothing in the time since you arrived. I have been studying like crazy. Reading documents that even I am not allowed to chance upon. Or shouldn't. I may lose everything, and I know you won't remember any of this after a few weeks back on the ground but... at the end of your days, your natural days, I do hope we will meet again. And be face to face once more. Until then, it has been the loveliest thing in existence to know you, like this. The most prideful and honorable thing to be your Guardian Angel. Please remember me, somewhere within. And know I am always on your side. I am always with you. Though I know not will happen to me after today, for you, it's worth it. You will always be worth it."

"Guardian Angel Jongin...?"

"Our past few weeks have have barely counted down there, on earth. It’ll be hours, tops. Truthfully, regardless of what it takes from me, I will alter that day's events. Though I wanted to meet you face to face so, so, so much. I didn't mean like this. It shouldn't have happened like this. Not like this. Never like this."

Before you can blink, or even realize just how closed in you’re suddenly feeling, how the sense of your surroundings seems to have blurred since you entered this strange room you just, for some reason, seemed to assume was his classroom, but blatantly isn’t upon second glance, he places his hand atop yours as a shrill, ear splitting sound enters the room and elicits an even shriller gasp from you whilst a blinding off-white light envelopes you within and twirls and twirls, and keeps twirling, until all you knew of heaven and your Guardian Angel Jongin fades, and fades, and keeps fading...

Awaking with a start, the familiar Parisian trees come into your line of vision. You glance around you and notice your manager, and driver bopping along as normal to the radio, as the car pulls up to your destination, exactly on time, as safely as ever. You blink once, then several times more, wondering where your head-splitting headache came from and why you suddenly feel so nauseous and out of place. "I had the strangest dream," you finally settle on, directing this towards your manager who's hardly paying any attention to you at this moment in time. Still, you continue, "I think I met my guardian angel."

Your manager guffaws, rolling his eyes. "Guardian angel? Y/N, there's no such thing!"

As you glance back at the trunk of the car, the droplets of light rain trickling down the window, you wipe the lone tear that also trickles down your cheek away. "Thank you," you whisper, not knowing if this will be your only chance to tell him that, if these memories are to leave you soon and though you swear you must've been back on earth barely two minutes, it already feels like they are leaving you. But you know in your heart, that you will meet him again, someday. Thank him, someday. For all he did for you, today.

For a moment, you see Guardian Angel Jongin's outline in the empty seat to the right of you, along with his faint, but unmistakable pink glow. You feel the warm, comforting energy you've felt around you so often, during good and bad days, and anything in between, and finally understand that this being really has been watching out for you as long as you can remember, that he has been with you through everything, and hopefully will continue to be, regardless of the possible severity of his last actions.

Maybe it was nothing but a test for him, a screening for him to understand the worst possible scenario a human and their Guardian Angel can go through together, for him to truly cement and prove the fact that he truly was as devoted to you as his position expected him to be, and in doing so, you suppose he passed with flying colors, or he lost everything he was... but it was your life, and now you intend to live it. To the fullest you can.

For everything you've got left to do, to be.

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