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mitigatedchaos · 4 years

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Review: SAC_2045

(~3,700 words, 15 minutes)

This post will contain some minor spoilers for SAC_2045.

Summary: You may have thought SAC_2045 was a poor entry in the Ghost in the Shell franchise - actually, it's just intended for younger audiences.

Previously: Standalone Complex 202045:1-4 (superseded)

-☆☆☆-

And what did you think of the remaining episodes of GitS:SAC_2045?

[ @irradiate-space ]

Standalone Complex

There's a certain indescribable feeling associated with Ghost in the Shell: Standalone Complex as a work, an artistic touch related to the director associated with it, independent of other considerations. SAC_2045 has it, which isn't too surprising since Kenji Kamiyama is back.

SAC_2045 is Standalone Complex. For a brief moment, while watching it, I inhabited my pre-2016 personality and outlook. I can't tell you how much that means to me. Since the arrival of streaming I've tended to bingewatch series, but on the first run-through I decided not to bingewatch this one.

If you approach this show as season 4 of Standalone Complex (Solid State Society being season 3), it's underwhelming. Now, viewing it again, it's become obvious that a conventional season 4 of Standalone Complex was never the intent of SAC_2045 to begin with.

For those of you who have delayed until now, the English dub has been uploaded - it released without one due to the pandemic. They bring back a number of the voice actors from the excellent Standalone Complex dub, though having already watched it with subtitles, I didn't feel the need to confirm the dub's quality.

Sustainable War

To properly describe a new theory of war is the same thing as to invent it. While the idea of war as a for-profit industry has been kicked around for some time, it's generally assumed that this is a kind of parasitic relationship on the part of the war-making industry.

As time goes on, warfare becomes more abstract (partly because warfare happens where it can happen), much like society itself is becoming more abstract as information moves more quickly and humanity gains access to more energy.[1] In SAC_2045, "Sustainable War" is part of the context of the world and its current issues, but we aren't really told how it works - if it's similar to contemporary information warfare and a blurring of the lines between state and non-state actors, it's bound to be quite confusing.

I believe my earlier assessment of "Sustainable War" is correct. The key feature of sustainable war, the reason they say it's safe if you leave it to the experts, is likely that it involves AIs constantly forecasting against each other and moving units around with few direct confrontations. The goal would be to lock in a victory without having to fire a shot, except for small skirmishes that don't escalate to major incidents (due to the AI forecasting).

The presence of armed separatist movements even in Japan may also indicate that the ruling institutional bodies are engaged in a kind of Post-International Politics,[2] which treats all international relations as fundamentally existing between subnational entities - however, I believe that later information suggests this wasn't their original intent.

What makes it "sustainable"? Since if done correctly, very little is actually physically destroyed, the cost is less than conventional warfare, and thus the war can continue indefinitely. Why does it threaten humanity with destruction? Because there's an awful lot of military hardware waiting for someone to actually pull the trigger.

Season 1: Ep. 2

So what is the intent of the series' creators? I think they may be telling us through this dialogue between Togusa and Section Chief Daisuke Aramaki in episode 2.

Aramaki: Seems time has toughened you up. Togusa: Is that supposed to be a compliment? Aramaki: It is if you want it to be. Togusa: Then thanks for the kind words. “I made the right decision by choosing this line of work over my marriage.” That’s what you’re saying? Aramaki: Perhaps. [...] Togusa: They're bringing back Section 9? [...] Aramaki: But my takeaway from the proposal is this: The PM's reason for the urgent reforming of Section 9 takes priority over his personal motives. I believe his true objective is meeting the Americans' demands for the dispatch of special resources. Togusa: So it's as the Liberals feared? An American-born Prime Minister would be no more than an American puppet? Aramaki: I've yet to meet him in person, so I can't really say. But this is an opportunity to have the Major and the rest of you undertake a major operation for me once more. Togusa: What sort of op? Aramaki: Over the past few years, I have searched for an answer on how to deal with a society in turmoil. I'd like you people to lay the groundwork that will help the next generation find that answer. Togusa: I don't know what a man in my position can contribute, but I'll humbly offer whatever assistance I can.

Those of us who cried, Kamiyama, tell us the future once more! based on Standalone Complex's prophetic analysis of a memetic crime wave were bound to be disappointed. SAC_2045 is less rooted in the near future than in the now - cyberbullying, endless war amidst historic prosperity, employment suppressed by automation, savings eaten up by the complex machinations of finance, and a breakdown of national borders? That's today.

Those of us who hoped for a Ghost in the Shell: Unicorn, a psychically overpowering work that synthesizes the full body of Ghost in the Shell into a single coherent form to elevate us to a higher level of understanding, should have tempered our expectations. To reach each new philosophical level is more difficult than the last - to achieve that with Ghost in the Shell of all things would have required a multidisciplinary genius near the limits of current understanding.

Kenji Kamiyama is just an anime director. And anyhow, Gundam Unicorn was a book before it was an animated series. And who among us even knew we'd have to write a book before 2015? Ghost in the Shell was well-understood enough, so I instead wrote 25,000 words worth of hypothetical country and became a blogger, like the infamous Scott Alexander.[3]

If we approach SAC_2045 from the lens that it's a humbler work designed for younger audiences, however, some of the creative decisions make more sense.

Purin

Just how old is Purin, the MIT grad who joins the team later on? If I had to guess, that's '23歳' on that profile she provides, and Ishikawa notes that she 'skipped a few grades' on her way to a PhD. But she acts like someone a lot younger. She's enthusiastic and we're assured she's intelligent, but seems to be lacking social training. For example, she makes the mistake of assembling an era-accurate music player for Batou combined with a playlist after consulting the Tachikomas to find out what he listens to. There are two ways to take this.

The first is that she's intended as a relateable character for someone who would make this class of mistake. It's the sort of mistake I might have made at age 13-14, meaning that the show would probably be aimed at someone that age or lower. Overly enthusiastic, doesn't understand romantic relationships, impulsive, poor reading of boundaries / poor modelling of others outside of certain domains, impulsive in a way that causes social screw-ups? Yeah that could certainly apply to an ADHD kid of about that age.

And all of a sudden the tone of the first five episodes with the gun-fighting, the literal Agent Smith, the decision to place the focus in America, and even the mystery of the series being much simpler than Standalone Complex 2nd Gig's plot regarding Asian refugees in Japan make a lot more sense. This is Ghost in the Shell for kids!

Wow, I didn't think that could be done!

...is what I should say, except that around the time I acquired the ability to futurist shitpost, and I used that ability to predict that it would.

Purin II

The second reading is that the youth of the future are fucked up. She probably has some tricked out modifications, both cybernetic and genetic. Now usually you would tell someone to try to become a well-rounded human being. But...

The global economy has crashed. Batou mistakes her for a robot - creatures that look like pretty young women are a dime a dozen. In the dating market, she would be competing with full sensory immersion VR pornography on the one hand, and at the upper end of society where cybernetics are more widely available, likely women with a similar appearance but decades more experience and professional standing.

Note that in the original Standalone Complex, the team take down an 80-year-old Russian spy with the full prosthetic body of a 20-year-old. Full cyborgs aren't common then, nor are they in SAC_2045 (though cyberbrains are ubiquitous), but if the economy recovers that may change, and the sector she's trying to get in to (full-time salaried government rather than marginal private employment it would seem) is going to be very tough to enter either way.

So Purin may have to be over-optimized even to just appear on the screen. In fact, she says,

"Just so I could work at Section 9, I moved most of my sentimental memories to external storage."

Youch! It's no wonder she's socially maladjusted. Just how much of her social learning (in particular key events necessary to rebuild logical inferences on the boundaries of behavior on the fly) has she locked away?

Purin III

But you know who Purin looks like? Notorious internet personality, Gamer Girl Bath Water seller, and IRL video game character Belle Delphine.[4]

Or rather, it's the other way around - 2D animation compresses real detail into suggestive abstraction, letting your mind fill in the rest. Going from those impossible 2D shapes to 3 dimensions creates strange results, like training your machine learning algorithm on the salient features of a cat's face, applying it to human shape, and putting pink hair on the result. Belle Delphine adopts that otherworldly kind of appearance as part of her act.

Technically, this a stylistic choice. Within the framework of SAC_2045, this is what "a 23-year-old female" looks like.

Purin is in fact so non-threatening that her big red coat obscures her figure. I'm gonna go with younger audience. Now if only I could remember what pronoun she uses.[5/☆]

Motoko

With a full prosthetic body, outward signs of human-like aging are almost an artistic expression, much like in a world with cheap tissue engineering, visible scars are a choice.

When she was first introduced in the original Ghost in the Shell manga, we don't know how old Motoko Kusanagi is. It was once said that her name is analogous to "Jane Excalibur," which in English would be an obvious alias. In the first movie (from 1995), she's cool, almost cold and robotic.

In the original Standalone Complex, Motoko has a more mature personality than in the manga, but she has a clearly adult look by the standards of anime. Seriously, check out this fantastic character design (combat suit), although admittedly the better-known "leather jacket and bathing suit" design is more ridiculous, fashion-wise.[6] (Fortunately, she gets pants in her much more stylish second season outfit.)

ARISE starts off with a young Motoko Kusanagi in a chaotic post-war period before the Section 9 we know was assembled. This shows in her character design, but it really shows in her personality. This was actually why I had joked about an even earlier Ghost in the Shell.

There is a sense in which the 2017 live-action movie's Motoko is even younger. Scarlett Johansson is a killer cyborg with amnesia. She doesn't even have one day of formal combat training.

Motoko 2045

Ilya Kuvshinov designed SAC_2045's Motoko Kusanagi.

Yes, that Ilya Kuvshinov. You could be forgiven for thinking this is a teenager that hardboiled assassins Saitou and Ishikawa in the background have been hired to bodyguard.

Despite this, Atsuko Tanaka has resumed her role as Motoko's voice actress. Standalone Complex's Motoko looked 25 and felt mid-30s. SAC_2045's Motoko looks 16 and has the voice and attitude of 40.

This may make more sense than you might think.

Through Whose Eyes?

Throughout much of Ghost in the Shell as a franchise, Togusa, the only non-cyborg on the team, who is pulled from a police department instead of a military background, tends to be character used to help the people of our time relate to the future. He's the guy that doesn't know the things we also don't know, so in explaining concepts to Togusa they're explained to the audience.

In SAC_2045, most of the team are off doing cool cyborg things in America. Aramaki (whose in-world function is to create the bureaucratic environment within which Section 9 operates) tasks Togusa with finding them. The original Standalone Complex first aired in 2003. It's been 17 years since it was created - a similar situation to finding someone that reached adulthood who was born after 9/11. And during this time, Togusa's life has changed - the family man is now separated from his wife. And the world has changed - Togusa is now working for a private security firm. Togusa's role in the first five episodes isn't to guide the new viewers.

His purpose is to guide or stand-in for the old viewers.

The New Viewers

"Do you still hold a grudge against the Major and the others for leaving you behind?"

For the original viewers, SAC_2045 is your world, too. Togusa is there. Togusa is you.

The new viewers are Purin. Enthusiastic and smart but awkward and not confident in their skills. How could they measure up to these much more talented and experienced characters? (Also consider who is going to watch any sort of Ghost in the Shell - it's probably going to be a moderately bright and introverted kid, who is the kind of person that may be more comfortable socializing with people outside of their age band.)

But Motoko is visually separated from the rest of Section 9. Batou, Saitou, Ishikawa, Boma... they all have a much more adult look in keeping with their appearance in previous versions of Ghost in the Shell. What gives?

Batou is sort of a cool adult male figure - this is actually a pretty natural use of the character and his sense of humor as previously established in other Ghost in the Shell properties. We especially see this come through in 「PIE IN THE SKY - First Bank Robbery」 episode, with the old folks and the 21st century bank robbery.

Motoko's difference in appearance is because she's acting as a bridge between the two. The new viewer (as represented by Purin) is supposed to grow into being like Motoko as they gain confidence and experience. (The characters aren't each limited to a single role, of course.)

But SAC_2045 is still a work that's shared between two groups, similar to how the excellent Into the Spiderverse features both the teenage Miles Morales and an older Peter Parker that has lost his way, with the loss of the vibrant young adult Peter Parker being what starts the plot going.

The Last Quarter

With this framework, the rest of the work should express its nature as targeted at a younger audience itself. Watch the last few episodes through this lens and you'll see how much sense it makes. One takes place at a school. Even the bizarre 3D style that resembles recent video games makes more sense. If we take Togusa's earlier conversation with Aramaki as a discussion of SAC_2045 itself, later on there's even a sort of acknowledgement that Ghost in the Shell is a difficult work for someone of a young age.

So with that context in mind, does it work?

Standalone Complex

If I remember correctly, years ago, when I was perhaps 15 or 16, I was watching a tiny CRT television some time after midnight, and I saw the thirteenth episode of the original Standalone Complex - NOT EQUAL. It was like nothing I had ever seen before. I was immediately taken by it. And, from what I remember, I immediately understood it.

It was as though it were made just for me.[7]

To me, Ghost in the Shell is like a textbook. I thought that as a creator who has reached a place where I am able to be involved in that kind of work, I'm in a position where I have to convey its contents to a younger audience. Well, I knew it would be a lot of work, but I figured it would be my way of giving back to Ghost in the Shell. I thought that I needed to accept the baton and offer Ghost in the Shell to a young audience, to the same degree that Ghost in the Shell raised me to be who I am.

- Tow Ubukata, in a 2015 interview, regarding ARISE

For many people, Ghost in the Shell is a profound influence. I felt that it lifted me to a new level of understanding.

SAC_2045

But what about SAC_2045?

I can't view Ghost in the Shell with new eyes. When I first saw it, I wasn't the kind of person that casually memes futuristic ethical dilemmas as a means of practicing politics.

Compared to the anime I watched back when I was 13, would I have watched SAC_2045? Yes. Is it more philosophically and politically sophisticated? Yes. Would I have found it memorable? I think so.

Would a 13-year these days watch it? That's difficult to assess. I bet someone who does data science for Netflix could tell us, if they wanted. I'm sure Kenji Kamiyama and Shinji Aramaki are considering the same thing.

2017

How does it stack up compared to the rest of the franchise?

For most enthusiasts it's going to be one of the weaker entries, though it certainly does a better job explaining itself than ARISE.

Compare it to 2017's live action movie, however, and I think we'll find it isn't the weakest. The reason is that the writers of Ghost in the Shell (2017) decided to tell a story about bodily consent in which becoming a cyborg is a form of trauma. On some level this may have been a reasonable decision, but they didn't commit to the concept sufficiently fully to execute it well enough to carry the movie - and simultaneously, they dumbed down parts of the regular Ghost in the Shell material for American audiences. As a result the movie flopped both financially and artistically - except for the visuals.

In fact, I wrote a sequence of posts (1, 2, 3, 4) on how to rewrite the live action movie as an actual Ghost in the Shell property. I feel no need to do so for SAC_2045 - and I can't even think of what changes would need to be made.

I look forward to the second season.

-☆☆☆-

[1] It's short, but that's a concept in this post. "Advanced by Left-Wing theorists, Ninth Generation warfare sees all acts as existing on a spectrum of political violence. Most acts of ninth generation warfare consist of extreme pranks."

[2] If we accept the idea of "Fifth-Generation Warfare" as motivated by a desire to prevent the enemy from using their conventional military assets, then a corresponding theory of international politics would involve preventing enemy factions within foreign governments from taking control of those governments' institutions - effectively treating all countries as in continuous level of conflict analogous to a soft civil war.

[3] There is a kind of technique to this, but in my case I substituted ADHD for raw IQ and conscientiousness, which is part of why my posts are so much shorter than, for instance, Moldbug's. In any case, technically, Scott's blog posts on the matter amount to roughly a mere 11,600 words, and the book of the black forest amounts to approximately 26,000 words (which I'm told is entertaining reading), but I'm sure if we go looking we can find an additional 15,000 words worth of worldbuilding from a man known for writing 16,000 word blog posts.

[4] Would it be more of a legal liability to sell regular water with GGBW branding, or actual GGBW that could prove to be a potential health hazard?

[5/☆] There's some future strand lurking beneath the surface here that I can't quite put into words; a culturally divergent moe meltdown where an appearance this ridiculous becomes normalized among some sub-population. To quote the Funko Pop Hatred post,

There are questions about the anatomy of anime people and their internal organs, and particularly about what sort of impact-dampening alien meta-material their softer bits are made out of, but at least homo sapiens gokuensis looks like it’s a branch off a similar starting hominid! Whatever transhuman engineering company was responsible for manufacturing the creatures in the typical harem anime has some weird ideas about human beings, but we’re clearly in their ancient lineage somewhere.

Under Late Safetyism, everyone is a declawed catgirl.

Anyhow, I don't want to alarm you, but I can't guarantee that this won't be the future somewhere. Both Purin and Belle Delphine resemble Xiaoice, "The AI Girlfriend Seducing China's Lonely Men." (2020)

[6] Motoko's ridiculous outfits are a major flex on the non-cyborgs, who aren't indifferent to ambient temperature and whose natural bodies may have unflattering features. Similarly wild fashions can exist in places like Second Life, a 3D digital platform with mostly user-uploaded content. Presumably they're also a flex on every Japanese salaryman who still has to dress like a normal guy.

[7] "It's as though it were made just for me" is also how I feel about the original game Mirror's Edge. Its follow-up, Catalyst, is also a personal favorite of mine.

#miti does media #longpost #flagpost #ghost in the shell #sac_2045 #standalone complex #review

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kyberphilosopher · 4 years

Text

Chapter Twenty Two

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.☆.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

The meeting is quick. It’s just a quick, few minute long gathering where Adamus explains to the officers how long today’s mission should take. By the time we’re done, the Harbinger is already coming out of hyperspace, with Circe over the comms telling everyone to be shut up.

Adamus and I split off outside the door and agree to meet back in the main room in a few minutes. I stride back to the dorm quickly. I feel bad about changing from the new outfit that Aheka gifted me. It truly is lovely. But I slip on some binding and thin armor underneath, then around my wrists and forearms. Overtop the dark tunic I put a deep red poncho and fasten my lightsaber back to my belt. Then I rebraid my hair and leave to meet Adamus.

Aheka catches me on the way out. She widens her eyes and fully leaves her conversation, and she looks excited to see me. “Hey!” she beams, half whisper half shout. “I’ve been waiting for you. You ready?”

“Yeah I’m all good.”

“Are you going to be gone long?” she questions, brows furrowing with concern.

She’s asking a lot of questions. I don’t know how to feel about that, or what it means.

“A while, I’d assume.”

“You’ll be safe, won’t you? Do you need any supplies?”

“No,” I assure with a shake of my head. My stomach is prickling with warmth at so many words I’ve never heard directed at me before. Worry. How many people have ever worried about me before? One. At least… one. “I’ll be alright.”

“Okay,” Aheka nods. “Okay.” Her long fingers reach out to mine. I follow them with my eyes, trying to keep myself still instead of rearing back. It makes me anxious. I can feel my heartbeat speeding up, her hands just ghosting over the stump of the missing finger. Then Aheka’s hands wrap around into my own, clutching around my fingers both gentle and squeezing.

“Come back?” Aheka says. “Please?”

“Yeah,” I say after a moment. “I will.”

We stay still for a moment, staring at each other. I wonder what she’s thinking about. But maybe it didn’t really matter all that much in the end, because I only know what I’m thinking about.

I’m thinking that I’ve never had someone be so intimate with me. I didn’t even know this kind of intimacy existed. The skin on skin, the eye contact, the way only us are existing at this exact point in time. How lucky am I to exist at the same time as her? To share a place with her? To have someone like her care about me as if we were family. I am in her heart and in her mind, and it makes me feel something strange and abstract and indescribable. I want more.

“Keres.”

Aheka’s hands slip away. I look to my right to see Adamus coming towards us. “You ready?”

“Yeah,” I say. “You?”

“I’ve got everything. You be alright, Aheka?”

“Just fine,” she replies with a smile. “You still dropping?”

“Drop?” I question with a raised eyebrow.

Adamus’s lips curve up ever so slightly. You wouldn’t be able to see it if you weren’t looking for it. “You’ll see.”

“Adamus!” Circe calls from the cockpit. “We’re over it!”

“Come on, Keres,” Adamus tells me. “Blitz is coming too.”

The Clone?

I decide to keep my mouth shut. Maybe if we’re lucky, we’ll lose him somewhere. Then I can get rid of him for good and not have to lose sleep over him.

He appears from one of the doorways, which I promptly look away from. Instead I inch my way over to Circe in the cockpit, which I pretend is something casual but actually brings me immense comfort. Through the windows, I can see the planet below. It’s colorful, with skyscrapers and thousands of individual people bopping and weaving around. The only thing that’s especially off putting is the dusty, beige colored air of pollution and stink. It reminds me of Coruscant in a way.

Maybe a minute later, Adamus calls me away from the cockpit. I stand next to him by the door, while the Clone stands at the other side. Truthfully, I thought it would be just us- Adamus and myself. But I guess taking a Clone would be a smart decision, considering they’re talented at hunting force users. Especially killing them, if it comes to it.

“You remember what I said about dropping right?”

I turn my head to look at Adamus, who just barely has the ghost of a smile on his lips.

Oh.

“We’re jumping off the ship aren’t we?” I question, though I already know the answer as I turn back to the front.

“I’d call it more diving than anything, if we’re being honest.”

“Diving?” a sudden new voice pops up. I lean back and past Adamus’s shoulder line to see the Clone looking at him, a bewildered expression over his tough features. It’s so satisfying to see him in fear.

“You have problem with that, Blitz?” Adamus asks.

“With all due respect, I don’t know if I’m the one for the job here.”

“Of course you are,” Adamus smiles. There’s a long buzz, and the metal door in front of us slides open. New wind hits my face, and all I can see are beige and tan colored pollution clouds. “That’s why you’re going first.”

With a flick of his wrist, Blitz scoots to the end of the walkway before us, just hanging on by the tips of his toes. And then Adamus yells “See you down there, man!” and with a comedic scream the Clone disappears off the edge.

It’s quiet for a few seconds. Then I say, “So how are you going to catch him?”

“Hm?”

“Well Clones aren’t force sensitive, I don’t think. And we can slow ourselves down before we hit the ground so I’m pretty sure he can’t. But you’re up here… and he’s… down there…”

Adamus’s eyes widen. He looks to the clouds below, then back to me, then to the clouds. “We have to go now,” he urges. He jogs to the end of the platform and dives off, leaving me alone.

“Okay then,” I mutter to myself, trying to suppress my own smirk. Then I jump off too.

I can’t really explain what intentionally falling through the air feels like. I can’t think of a time where I’ve fallen or dived from such a height of thousands of feet up. Once, on Bracca, I almost slipped to my death over a great trash void before catching myself on a bar. I’ve jumped down from twenty foot heights, but that hardly counts as diving like this does to me.

I just let the wind go through me. I spread my arms and legs, feeling the rush. There’s air all around me, changing between hot and cold and breathy and soft. It’s harsh on my eyes, whipping my hair back, but I’m calm. In fact, it feels kind of incredible. It’s that freedom that I’ve always been wanting. Like I can do anything, like I can fall anywhere I want. Like I’m a free bird who could fly if I wanted to but chooses to do this instead.

But then it ends. I can see the cracked, almost desert ground coming closer and closer, and like a parachute behind me my body slows itself down. It pulls me upright into the standing position, until my toes just barely touch the ground. And I’m finally on the ground, and my stomach is still up in the clouds while my throat tries not to throw everything up.

Adamus lands next to me suddenly, and then he raises both his hands up towards the sound of a loud, loud scream. The Clone lands on the ground safely, though I’m not paying attention. My eyes are focused on the city up ahead, an array of lights and buildings.

Something doesn’t feel right, and it’s not just my stomach.

“General, permission to not do that again, please.”

“No promises, Blitz.”

“Adamus,” I say, turning to face him. It’s a silent question in my eyes, one that he can see and hear just fine. What do you know about this guy?

“Not much,” he says, shifting. His eyes search the city as well. “They’re here.”

The streets of Nar Shadaa are crowded. People of all kinds walk with grimaces, haggling, disappearing into the colorful doors of clubs and bars and shops. There’s dirt in the air, and transports above in the sky. Adamus leads, I come second, and the Clone is right behind me. A few minutes in, I slow down so it can go in front, and I stay all the way in the back.

I have to say, I find it impressive that Adamus can sense aspects of the force. He can sense people and memories and objects that I could not do so easily. My intuition only goes so far in fights, or just survival in general. Like I can feel what’s about to happen before it does. Adamus can feel other people. Perhaps he’s an empath.

I could not possibly relate to that.

Adamus stops and looks to the left. He doesn’t seem phased, so the Clone and I walk ahead of him. I turn to the right, facing a little shop. It’s crowded, with sleek black brick and pink neon lights for several signs. It’s not in Galactic Basic, so I can’t quite understand it. In the windows are several Twi’Leks with bright skin, brushing something against a large, white slab. Colors appear with every stroke. I think it’s paint, but I’ve never seen paint in action. I’ve only used rocks when I wanted to draw something.

It looks beautiful. None of the white slabs are fully colored in yet, and I can’t make out what the colors will become eventually, but it’s enough for me to enjoy. I stand for a full minute watching the scene, just observing quietly. A few people bump into me, but I don’t mind.

When I look back over to Adamus, his brows are furrowed at something in the distance. His soft brown hair is still, jaw sharp, mouth pulled into a frown. I look at him, watching his every move, and then behind him-

I hold my hands out towards the figure. A burst of energy enflames my arms, and bright blue arcs zap out of my fingers. They fly through the air, encaging the person behind Adamus. The boy ducks down, screams from civilians coming up around me. I don’t care about them. With twists of my wrists, the person flies up and back, straight through the glass windows of another shop.

Adamus stands up slowly, wide eyes, mouth agape, staring at me in bewilderment and horror. “Keres,” he says, hoarsely. “You could’ve killed somebody.”

Like that’s a bad thing. Plus, I saved your life.

I start a run towards the shop the figure crashed into, completely pushing over my comrade. My boots crunch against the glass, and just as I’m about to hop through the hole, something kicks me right in the stomach so hard, I fly backwards, all the way across the street, and into a wooden stall that crumbles around me on impact.

My shoulders ache. My neck burns. The back of my head throbs. This must be the force user. They are not friendly.

Adamus unhooks his lightsaber and ignites it. “Where’s Blitz?!” he calls to me, helping a few people from the ground and urging them to safety.

I groan in response, not able to see the Clone anywhere. That seems about right though. Not there when needed, but somewhere responsible for your death.

When I sit up, I see the figure come from the shop. It’s a tall man, with long, black hair and black markings on his face. His face is both pale and tanned, with a broad jaw and angry eyes. One is orange and red, the other black and white. His shoulders and muscles bulge under his ripped-up clothes, dirt scuffing his skin.

I can’t recognize him, but he I know he is not coming with us. Not even close.

Finally, I push myself up from the ground. A cut on my elbow stings, and for a second it reminds me of the scar I have from the Purge. But there’s no time to think about anything like that right now, so it quickly flies to the back of my mind.

This guy, whoever he is, is way bigger than me or Adamus. He’s a fully grown adult, for starters. You can see his muscles from under his dark, dirt ridden clothes. Even Adamus is pretty obviously stockier than myself, I don’t think he’s enough to match the man in front of us. I can’t tell how powerful he is either.

“We haven’t come to hurt you,” I hear Adamus say. In front of me, he’s raising one hand in an almost calming motion, attempting to diffuse the situation. “We’re just here to talk. She didn’t mean to hurt you. We didn’t mean to hurt you.”

I don’t know who ‘we’ is, but it did not include myself in this scenario.

So it seems me and boy wonder had different ideas of how to go about things at this point. Adamus is deciding to try to reason with the force user and stick to the original plan. No doubt, he’ll pay for the damage I’ve caused in the bizarre and keep he and I far away from each other.

I, on the other hand, am way too smart for that. When I zapped this guy, it was because he was coming up behind Adamus, ready to kill him. I could feel it in my gut and see it before it was even going to happen. And now they’ve I’ve caused a ruckus, there’s no use in trying to kiss and make up. We can’t beat him in sheer strength. I don’t know about sheer strength of the Force yet, but I’m still deciding whether I want to take that chance or not. I’ll have to find another way.

Another way… How am I going to get the both of us out of this one?

“We’ve come to speak to you about a proposition,” Adamus is still going. He’s doing it with enough acting to make me almost believe he’s being sincere and innocent in his intentions. “It’ll help more than just you. It’ll help the whole galaxy. Come with us and no one has to get hurt.”

The big man sneers. I could swear I hear him growl all the way from my position across the plaza. Both his eyes are trained on me, obviously still mad about our first encounter. That’s fine with me, but he’s making it awfully hard for me to not automatically respect him.

“Adamus,” I try, even though I know it won’t work. I keep my orbs locked with the force users. “I think that we should go home now.”

Immediately, he spits back, “No, we’re not doing that.” It sounds very annoyed and short.

“Listen to friend,” the big man says suddenly, his voice low and rumbling.

“Adamus, let’s go.”

"I’m not leaving.”

“I don’t leave either.” The man brandishes a cylinder from his hip, but this time I can see the metal of his arm glinting in the light, and I realize he has extra strength from some kind of cybernetic as well. A lightsaber jumps to life, green like sour fruits and bitter bugs. “Stay and play.”

Adamus won’t back down. He never would. That’s a difference between me and him. He would always stick around and keep pushing for the greater good. I would give up and strike a bargain for my own benefits.

The man seems distracted now, his eyes on Adamus. I’ll give him credit, wonder boy is set in stone right now. “What reason could you possibly have to not want to help the galaxy?”

I can’t remember the man’s answer. I was too busy beginning my slink to my right, my eyes glued onto a long tube of cable sparking on the ground.

“I favor loyalty to the good people of the world, then,” I hear wonder boy continue.

I’m bending down to pick it up, getting in a crouch position slowly so as not to draw eyes towards me.

“Then you are fool!” I hear the man say.

“If I’m such a fool, then come and prove it to me.”

Gods, Adamus is cocky.

Well, the man lunges forward. His speed is striking. He’s practically a blur. I would not be able to see him at all if my eyes were not on him in the first place. Even Adamus is stunned for a second, raising his own purple blade just a fraction of a second too late. The man is about to be on top of him, but my fingers grip around the cable too quick for the sparks to register in my nerves.

I whip my arm out with some help of the Force. Luckily, my plan works perfectly. The cable snaps around the man’s ankle and jolts him back. Electrical currents begin to pump from my body and the wire, frying him. When he screams and turns towards me like a mad bull, I jump to the second floor of the glass building a previously threw him into. Then I start running across the windowpane walls, dodging flying thin wires as he whips around the cable I used on him.

Adamus jumps on the man from behind and locks his arms under his chin so he can’t be thrown off. Without thinking, I take a wildly inaccurate guess and jump from the building with my saber outstretched. I think I’m about to kill the man- and so does Adamus, from the horrified look on his face- when I suddenly consider how stupid that action was. I’m reminded when the force user leans back and kicks me in my stomach for the second time, effectively causing me to whirl back and through a hole in the first-floor glass wreckage. I’m dizzy, with a heartbeat in my head. Just when I think it probably can’t get worse, the man rips Adamus’s arm away from him and throws him, like a ragdoll, onto me.

I’m forced back again, hitting the back of my head hard. Adamus’s sudden and unexpected weight is crushing me. It’s forcing me into the floor with the thousands of glass shards. I can already feel them beginning to sting into my skin.

“Children,” the man booms as he begins to stride towards us powerfully. “Useless.”

I try to shove Adamus off of me, but my fingers are sloppy, and it just comes off as a weak and pathetic mess. He doesn’t even move at all, and it’s becoming as clear as it can to me that both of us have concussions of some kind.

We’re both going to die. At least he feels warm.

We didn’t die, but only because the unlikeliest of things happened. Something starts shooting at the man, and when I see who it is, my mouth goes slightly agape.

It’s Blitz, hammering away at this guy with an automatic rifle non stop. The man isn’t falling over, but you can tell by the grunts and the blood spurts he’s taking damage. So me, being brilliant, just leaps at the first solid idea that comes forth.

Adamus’s saber flies into one hand, and the electrical cable flies into the other. I put the cable on the floor, push Adamus off me, and extend the purple light. The cable snaps around the force user’s ankle again, and just as he turns to look at me with wide, understanding eyes, I thrust the blade down into the cable. It erupts into bursts of blue flames and electricity. You can see the man’s giant skeleton as he screams in agony and stays completely still. Then the power runs out, and he collapses to the ground, smoking.

“Holy shit,” Adamus breaks the ice after a minute. “Holy shit.”

I turn around to face him, slowly. It feels like I’m stepping on the world’s most fragile winter lake, and it’ll shatter into a million pieces under me if I’m not careful.

“Is he dead?”

I hear shuffling. A second later, Blitz answers. “Looks like it, sir.”

“You killed him,” Adamus states, like he can’t believe it. “You killed an innocent person- both of you.”

Blitz comes up behind me, but this time I don’t flinch at all. We’re in line with each other at this very specific moment.

“Yeah,” I nod, my throat hoarse.

Adamus stands up, our eyes locked. We’re both a mess, with our hair tousled and dirt slashed across our faces. “You saved my life.”

And if you don’t understand the significance of that statement, it’s because I never would’ve done that before.

#star wars #star wars masterlist #star wars fanfiction #fanfiction #star wars fandom #jedi #sith #fanon #lightsaber

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wildegreenlight · 7 years

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Crossing (Clarification Ch 2)

A/N: Here it is: the next installment of Clarification. I hope you enjoy this chapter as much as the first. I have to give so much love to @callieskye for her beta prowess and to @trademarkblue, @idearlylovealaugh, @remedial-potions, @jenn582, @aloemilk , @theperksofshippingromione, and @azaleablueme for giving me so much amazing feedback!! I love you all & dream of the day I can become wealthy and buy us that island where we will write fic & have permanent book club discussions and drink cocktails and watch movies and just generally be awesome together.

If you have not read part one, it is HERE.

Every bit of him ached.

He had known, even on that first night, that this might be an epically bad idea, but at the time he hadn’t really cared. Not that he really did now.

That first night it had all been completely unselfish, he had only cared about what she needed, what she wanted. She’d asked him to stay-so he did-it was that simple. If she’d asked him to sleep outside on the sand, he’d have done it without hesitation. The fact that she’d seemed so content sleeping on his chest, tucked securely in the crook of his arm, began to fill that part of him that had been clawed out in Malfoy’s cellar.

He had failed her, again, no matter how many times she tried to assure him otherwise, he knew he had, but it would be the last time. He had chanted it like a mantra inside his head as she slept. He had whispered it into her hair in the moments before his exhaustion overtook his vigil. He had proclaimed it as boldly as his hammering heart would allow as they walked on the shore after dinner. With each day that passed he grew more and more bold, they both did: it was no longer strange to take her hand as they walked along, to feel her head on his shoulder as they sat on the sofa, to pull her close as they drifted off to sleep.

But, as brave as they had both been, there was still a final step that they were both unwilling to take. It didn’t upset him, didn’t even make him doubt her feelings for him. He knew why he hadn’t been able to do the things his heart, and his body if he were being completely honest, were screaming for him to do. He could not, would not, give her the chance to misunderstand his intentions. He knew her well enough- hell, he knew her better than he knew anyone, even Harry to know that she was carrying more of a burden than she would ever let anyone know. The last thing he wanted was for her to think that he was only trying to comfort her, or worse, that he only wanted to be with her because he thought they wouldn’t make it through this alive.

So he would wait. As long as he needed to. Gladly.

But

The problem was...the more time that passed, the more looks that she gave him, the more touches they exchanged, the more nights he held her as she slept...the more there was, the more he wanted.

When he had lain in this bed, alone, months ago, he had prayed to Merlin ceaselessly that he could just find her, just see her, just know she was alive, just hold her, just once.

But he should have known...with Hermione there was no just, it would always be more.

So now he was here, lying in the almost light of dawn with the woman than he loved more than his own life literally, he had proven that to her as well as himself

“You can have me! Keep me!’

In the end, his biggest fear, the one buried so deep that even Riddle’s trinket couldn’t suss it out, had begun to show itself in fifth year. He’d brushed it off at first-the dreams were just a rehash of the Department of Mysteries fiasco-usually with some twist: the brains grabbing Harry and Hermione; Death Eaters hurling Harry and Hermione toward the Veil, the two of them in all manner of mortal peril. The only common thread was that he couldn’t save them...both.

He was sure other people had similar thoughts, in abstraction, but even at 16 he was painfully aware that his fear was in no way theoretical, there was a better than fair chance that one day-in a decreasingly distant future- he would have to make the one decision that he saw no possible way of making. And, because he was so sure that there was no satisfactory conclusion, he stuffed it far down to the very bottom of his growing list of dreads that were much too adult for one so young.

It had worked, more or less, for a while, but when the Felix had worn off and the awful reality of Bill’s injuries and Dumbledore’s death began to sink in, the old fears came clawing back, gaining in momentum until they were drowned out by that cursed locket. The first night he had spent in this bedroom, alone, when he’d left them, his dreams had been haunted again. This time, however, he couldn’t save either of them. Every nightmare ended with them both dead in that bloody tent with him arriving too late.

Finding them again had been a miracle, and in the afterglow he had let himself believe that Merlin would never be so cruel as to give him such a choice. That all those times he had worried about it were probably pointless.

In a way he had been right. It had been blind of him to not see that his choice had been made. From the moment the Snatchers had grabbed them, he had one goal above all others, to make sure Hermione was safe. He hadn’t had time to process it until much later, kneeling by her bedside as Fleur tended to her injuries. He supposed it should bother him more, knowing that, as much as he loved Harry, and as much as he knew he was the key to saving the wizarding world, that there was no world for him without her in it.

Would he have volunteered to take Harry’s place as quickly as he had hers? Of course, but only if it could guarantee Hermione’s safety as well. It should have been, perhaps, a more shocking revelation, but it didn’t make him feel anything other than peaceful. He had finally unraveled the knot of his heart, layer after layer, until he could lay it out straight...he didn’t just love her, hell, he had a big family full of people he loved, this was something else, something he didn’t quite have a name for, maybe she would, she was always really good with fancy words.

Hermione made him feel things that he had never felt before. He knew it sounded right corny, like something out of one of those Celestina Warbeck songs his mum loved, but it was true. It was the indescribable simultaneous feeling of heaviness and lightness. As he lay there, he was conscious of both sensations: her body pressed into his, filing his heart to overflowing, her breath against the crook of his neck assuring him that he could in fact fly without a broom.

It was a delicious sort of torture, what she was doing to him, what he was doing to her, what they were doing to each other. He let his mind wander, pulling her ever so slightly closer, to what might happen if he just…let go. She wouldn’t push him away if he dropped his head that ultimate last degree and brushed his lips against hers. She would open her eyes slowly, giving him that look, and every bit of his self control would vanish as he deepened the kiss, rolling her over to…

Fuck...nope..better stop that…

He didn’t know a whole lot about romance, but he was pretty sure waking up to a massive stiffy wedged against your hip didn’t qualify. More than once since they had begun sharing this bed he had been forced to reposition himself to avoid embarrassment. Good morning, Hermione, oh, sorry, I was just thinking about snogging you into the mattress and...well...whattayasay? I know we haven’t really talked about it but I love you and I may actually go mental if I don’t kiss you. He chuckled softly as he imagined her reaction. He cursed himself as he felt her stir, but any negative thought fled his mind when he found her eyes smiling back at him.

“Hi,” her voice was so soft that if he hadn’t been looking at her, he wouldn’t have been sure he heard her.

“Hi...I didn’t wake you, did I?”

“Oh, not at all...did you sleep?”

“Yeah.”

“Enough?”

“Um-hmm,” he wasn’t exactly sure what he was agreeing to, he was currently quite lost in trying to decide if she was more beautiful when she was about to go to sleep, or when she just woke up.

“Good,” she snuggled in to him, “do you mind if we stay put for a bit? I think it’s still rather early.”

“We can stay as long as you like...doesn’t matter if it’s early or not.”

“As long as I like?”

Dear sweet Merlin! She had to know what it did to him when she said things like that!

“Yep. Not one minute before, and not one minute after...I’ll barricade the door if I have to so no one disturbs us.”

“Better make it a strong one, you know how ruthless Fleur can be when it’s time for breakfast.”

“I guess all the Weasley brothers have thing for strong women.”

He had expected her to laugh, or roll her eyes, or maybe even swat him for such a cheeky comment, but instead she looked him very earnestly, “Really?”

He wasn’t exactly sure, was she questioning the fact the she was strong or that he was madly in love with her? Because honestly, he couldn’t see how she could doubt either point. As fun as the banter and the flirting were, he needed her to know that what he said was true.

“Do you seriously not know?” He removed his hand from her waist, bringing it to her cheek.

“Yes, I know...I guess..we haven’t really talked about it, but when we are like this, it seems so simple, but then I’m so used to second guessing,” she sighed, searching for the words.

“I understand...It’s a hard habit to break.”

“I am trying...and you’re making it easier that it has ever been,” the color rose slightly in her cheeks, but she didn’t look away, “I hope I’m doing the same for you.”

He nodded at her, a bit too overcome to speak for the moment, because the most wonderful part of all this was that all of the things that he thought he would never be able to tell her, not only could he, but she seemed to want to tell him the same things. All this time.

“You are, but sometimes,” it was easier for him, but still not that easy.

“It just seems too good to be true?”

“Yeah.”

“And you think...what if I say too much?”

“What if I say too little?”

“What if,” but whatever words were coming after that were trapped as Ron pressed his lips to hers. All the “what ifs” and second guesses were snapped out like boggarts by a flurry of gentle kisses.

They sighed into each other, kisses and hands growing delicately bolder. As much as he had imagined this moment, played it over and over in his mind, a million scenarios of varying believability, the reality was infinitely better. She was really here, kissing him back, running her fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck. How had he ever held out this long? How had he lived this many years without...Bloody Hell! Her tongue! Was it possible for your heart to burst from just a kiss? Although he already knew, with Hermione it was never “just” anything.

If he thought he was going to go mental from wanting to kiss her, that was nothing compared to how actually kissing her was going to affect him. Speaking of affecting, you better slow down before you show her more of the Weasley charm than she’s ready for. Slowly, Ron pulled back just enough to rest his forehead on hers, smiling as he realized that they were both panting slightly.

“Sorry...you were...saying?”

She did roll her eyes at him then, laughing as he pulled her into a tight hug. It was a relief to him that despite this new part of their relationship, the foundations were still the same. That they were still the Ron and Hermione that had, despite all their best efforts at mucking it up, come to love each other in every possible way. He realized that he had been afraid of losing that first love the non-kissing love, it was one of the reasons he had been so hesitant to admit his true feelings not only to her, but to himself as well.

He thought, for months, years if he were being completely honest, that kissing her would be crossing some highly guarded border into a strange land, but he was amazed at just how natural it all felt. His feelings hadn’t magically changed, he didn’t love her more, or even in a different way, he wasn’t in a strange land at all, he was home.

#crossing #romione #rhr #ron weasley #hermione granger #shell cottage #a tiny bit au #maybe #maybe not

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avahuang · 7 years

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green is gold

In the beginning I imagine that there were nebulae and um, planets being formed and the one who dreamed us standing in the middle of all that negative space, thinking, O I guess this is how it will be.

He dreamed us. Or She did--I don’t think there was much fussiness about pronouns in the beginning. And there were agate blue rivers and valleys and buffalo streaming through fields before we paved them over and built large apartment complexes and gas stations. Those came later. We ruined almost everything that was given to us in the beginning but that very act of destruction, which was kind of one continuous act over many centuries, one fluid stroke, or the aggregated Frankenstein of many separate actions depending on your perspective was of course also an act of creation. We were the smartest creatures on Earth and we used our collective intelligence to invent strip malls and Eggslut. We were dreamers. At least part-time. The rest we spent fucking our lives up mercilessly and being trapped in loveless marriages and reading Madame Bovary.

Sorry, I’m just trying to reconstruct it all for myself as a child of modernity. Sometimes I think about what would happen if all of civilization was destroyed and we were living in a post-apocalyptic world that somehow managed to resemble a pre-human world, all the forests somehow lush again, polar bears meandering over restored ice caps, no power lines or cell phones. Nobody to call just to hear them ask you why you called. I think I would feel an indescribable sense of awe at being plunged into the wildness of the world, the savagery of its beauty. And then I would die very quickly, or want to die. I read an article about the Piraha, a tribe in the Amazon who have almost no abstraction. No numbers, no time, no colors. Daniel Everett, a linguist who spent almost 30 years living among them, originally came as a missionary trying to convert them to Christianity. They promptly lost interest in Jesus once they realized Everett had never met him. Adults in the Piraha tribe cannot be taught to count past three, and are completely interested in coercion or outside influences or anything at all that falls outside of direct personal experience. Which is to say that they would not do very well in modern-day America. But you could drop them off in any random jungle and they would emerge two days later fully dressed, with food and a source of warmth. I’m just the opposite--everything I really find interesting requires a wifi connection or a book. I wouldn’t survive very long without those things, and I wouldn’t want to. The most interesting thing about human life is where we’re heading. I don’t mind becoming ever more specialized, removed from rhythms of biology as much as possible. If you inhabit a body you kind of need certain things to feel okay--food and movement and people to touch you and maybe children. And you can’t reason your way out of those drives so you have to make room for them. But the only things that can give meaning to any kind of existence is continued mutation, experimentation, evolution on an ever-larger scale.

So the question is: what kind of mutations are worth dreaming of? What I want to do is make things real. The act of making the imagined real must be enough on its own. The result is often unpredictable. I am trying to figure out what I need to know to build the things I want to build, or at least find people who can help me do it. I feel limited by my knowledge and my taste, which is probably more deceptive of a feeling than I think it is. It’s kind of how whenever I write anything I feel like I need to have a deeper knowledge of Greek mythology because without it I’ll never write The Autobiography of Red. Which doesn’t really make sense. I’m torn between my active life and my reflective life. My active life is execution--doing the next thing that needs to be done, making it sure that fits into the scope of my goals. My reflective life is all imagination, all nostalgia. I know that everything worth doing would make a good creation myth. I think the people I like most ask questions that have no good answers: once we’re all uploaded, are we going to make clones of our virtual selves and force them to become our slaves? I love the impossible and the uncanny. Life is fun because there’s no narrative predictability. Once in a while I get in a rut and start thinking about my life the way I would think about a novel and start wondering where’s the conflict, where’s the resolution? And then I remember that there’s only our own minds, only the struggle to impose desire upon reality and reshape matter. Oh, okay.

I think when He made us He must have hoped that we would spread life everywhere. Because life is active--life is the antidote to emptiness and we have more than enough of emptiness. The Buddhists got it right--existence is suffering. Existence is temporary. But I don’t think it has to necessarily be that way and the desire for it to not be that way moves me. I want to understand pain as much as I can because pain is what sets the upper bound in all the ways that matter. Depression, exhaustion, loss of belief, fear--I want to operate unencumbered by those things. If you are completely okay with the presence of pain, if you do not fear it, you have access to a kind of freedom most people never will.

The last thing He said before He turned away from us: You will live. But it will hurt very much.

The three most beautiful words in the world are I’m an optimist.

#writing

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nothing2fic · 7 years

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Tree in moonlight

“Where’s the eye line?” Timothée asked, staring at the bed, the way the camera was set up, the grip quietly holding a line on the side, and in one corner, Sayombhu squinting his eye at the window. It was a night shoot, necessary because of the plot, of course, and Sayombhu held up one finger to silence the whole set.

Beside him, standing with his arms crossed and expression abstracted, was Armie. He was watching something in the next room – maybe Luca? And Timothée was hit with another wash of pure adrenaline.

Timmy had slept late just to prepare for this shoot. It wasn’t quite after midnight, but darkness fell late in Crema in the summer, and the moon limned the waving branches of the tree outside like it was the hair of some shivery Italian spirit, Pan waving his olive-decked locks to the nymphs.

Just yesterday, Armie had shown him the movie Stealing Beauty – also set in Italy, also about an ingenue’s summer of discovery, of growing up.

“I wonder,” Armie said, afterwards, “I wonder how press is going to handle this movie? I’m in the role usually assigned to a woman, and nobody’s going to know how to treat me.”

“Oh – huh, yeah, you’re the main character’s love interest. That’s true,” Timothée said, glancing sideways at the strapping tall man that was relegated to the role of his object of desire. “I bet they’ll ask you what it feels like to get groped, like you have no agency at all.”

Armie rolled his eyes. “I’ll tell them they should be asking that to every woman they interview.”

Sayombhu clapped his hands together and jolted Timothée out of his memory.

“Okay, guys, I got it. We must put camera here – move from here to here. Light go from outside window, so we put up here – and here.�� The grip came forward and enacted his vision, and the room suddenly took shape. Armie’s face was washed with a silvery moonlit glow, and Timothée wanted to put his hand on Armie’s cheek, to see if the perfect body was as marble as it looked, as cool to the touch.

“All right, are we ready?” Luca’s voice came from the other room, where he’d withdrawn to give Saoymbhu some space to envision the blocking. “Timothée, the eye line…”

And a few moments later, they were ready.

It was a dance, controlled but frenetic. Timothée felt it down to his bones, the fear and hopefulness, Elio’s inability to square his longing for Oliver with the rest of his life … Timothée’s inability to fit this mad Italian idyll into his young career.

They’d practiced the blocking. Turning toward each other, then away. Confusing first Oliver, then Elio. Then, finally, another kiss – but Elio was far too much. He nearly pounced, legs wrapped around Oliver’s waist, his energy far too uncontained for something sweet and tender. None of it was tender; all of it was absurd, from that kiss to straddling Oliver’s legs on the bed, to ripping off their shirts…

In the middle of it all, staring down at all of Armie’s large and graceful form controlling itself for him, Timothée wondered how the hell he could keep these moments from bleeding into the rest of his life.

“Cut,” Luca called, and Timothée blinked out of his daze.

“ Timothée – you’re thinking. Too much. I want you to be like an animal – you are seventeen, your penis is thinking for you right now.”

Pausing to laugh, Timothée felt Armie’s warm hands squeeze his waist a little; Armie’s body was also shaking from giggles. It was probably good to cut the tension of the moment, although maybe not. It felt like a ceremony – a rite of passage. (One that Timothée , for one, had never had. This was his first time too, in a way, first time pretending, and sometimes…it felt so real.)

Smiling down from his position frozen on top of Armie’s lap, Timmy slid his fingers hesitantly over Armie’s shoulder muscles, just feeling the skin. Armie blinked up at him, and then smiled, his expression shifting from Oliver to his own, for a moment.

“I got you,” Armie said, quietly, smiling. “We’ll do this.”

Timmy squeezed Armie’s shoulders again, and dropped his head to rest his chin on Armie’s hair, pulling him close into a hug. He’d never been this physically intimate with a man, and he felt a rush of gratefulness.

“I know,” Timothée said. “I’m lucky.”

The second time, they nailed it.

The third time felt gratuitous. They all knew it was just to continue the moment – but from the smile on everyone’s face, from Luca to Sayombhu, it was clear to Timothée that they were simply wallowing in the love.

Nobody wanted to stop.

Walking back to the hotel after the shoot, Timothée’s entire body felt wound up and hungry. He glanced sideways to find Armie watching him, an indescribable expression on his face.

“What?”

“I have the most enormous case of blueballs,” Armie admitted.

Blushing, Timothée could only laugh and shake his head.

They had three weeks to go.

He’d have to keep his life and Elio’s separate somehow … but with a tiny ache in his chest, Timothée knew that it was probably inevitable that he’d fall into the universe completely. And it would hurt to crawl back out.

But like Elio, he wouldn’t avoid the pain.

Timothée met Armie’s eyes. “…Armie. I…”

“Yes.”

#cmbyn rpf #drabble a day-ish #prompt: first time

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esselley · 7 years

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Kinktober #16: Masks

Second Kingdom of Crows ficlet (this is pretty SFW as well)

Masquerade balls were, Kageyama thought, an unfortunate symptom of castle life.

They were entirely frivolous, but didn’t come bundled with any actual fun activities, like sports or practice duels or horseback riding. There was only dancing, dancing, and more dancing, of which everyone was expected to take part. There was, on the positive side, the food, which was always sumptuous and abundant. But every time he tried to get near the banquet tables, he was inevitably cornered by yet one more person, seeking the attention of the young prince, asking him to join them for a quick dance.

Then they would talk. They all talked, and talked, about things he didn’t care about; court gossip and city building plans and prospects of marriage, though he hoped that was a long way off yet. All of it was boring, but the worst part of it were the masks.

There wasn’t a single uncovered human face in the hall. They were hidden by gilding or feathers or metal, animal and celestial and abstract, with just the eyes peering out, glinting from the holes. They whirled around him in their endless dancing, emotionless and still.

Kageyama was not very good at reading people. It was a skill many people told him he would have to learn, before he became king. For once he was, he would be able to take no one at their word. All would want something from him, but be willing to give very little in return.

But Kageyama found it hard to decipher meaning from eyes and voice and body language. And on nights like these, with masks obscuring the faces of all those he talked to, it became harder than ever. All was just words, and words, and noise; laughter too loud, people dancing too close, the smell of wine too strong. He wanted, more than anything, to escape.

“Why don’t you just leave?” someone asked him, and he was shaken out of his thoughts. He turned.

Standing in front of him was someone new, wearing a mask that seemed in opposition to his own simple black one. Their mask was gold, covering the top half of the face, with a pair of soaring antlers that tapered into wicked points. In between the mask’s eye slots was a brilliant golden sun.

Kageyama gaped at them. Mask or not, he knew who it was without a doubt; there weren’t many people that small, with hair that red.

“What are you doing here?” he hissed, as Hinata stepped closer to him, to take his hands and fall easily into another dance. “You can’t be in the castle!”

“Where there’s parties, there’s food!” Hinata sang, as though that were good enough reason for risking his very life. Belatedly, Kageyama realized that food always qualified as a good reason for Hinata, whether he was stealing for himself or others.

“If they realize who you are—” Kageyama started to say.

“No one will recognize me,” Hinata reassured him. “I’m just a friendly deer.”

“Stag,” Kageyama corrected.

Deer were docile, easily frightened creatures. It was stags who had the vicious horns, who might run someone through if they threatened the herd. Hinata was no tender doe.

“None of the guards even noticed me,” Hinata said, speaking softly. “I snuck past them, and I came here, because I could see you tonight.”

Kageyama sighed heavily. If Hinata was discovered, they would question who he was, first; but his hair and his stature (and the infiltration of the castle) would make them suspicious instantly of his true identity: the fae thief, enemy of the kingdom. Hinata had made himself very popular in Corvus in recent times, popular enough to earn a one way trip to the executioner if caught.

Hinata grinned up at him. The shape of the mask brought attention to his lips, pink and mischievous and full below the harsh gold. Kageyama knew just how they felt against his own.

“Fine,” he said gruffly, and the grin widened. “You can stay—only for a little while.”

Hinata spun him in a circle for that, joyfully. “Then for my next trick,” he said, “I’ll convince you to run away with me!”

“What—” Kageyama started to ask, because that was not inconspicuous in the slightest, but Hinata yanked him along by the hand, straight through the crowd. It would have looked more suspicious to struggle, so Kageyama did not.

“Are you mad?!” he whispered furiously, and Hinata laughed and didn’t let go or stop. He probably was a little mad, Kageyama knew. But then, they both were.

In a moment they were outside in the cool air, a stark contrast to the overwarm hall. Kageyama gulped down great breaths of it, feeling relieved, and vastly less on edge. Hinata slowed, then.

“And now you’ve escaped,” he said with a smirk. “You rebel.”

Kageyama pushed at him. “You made it sound like we were going to leave entirely.”

“Because you’ll believe anything,” Hinata said, shoving back.

“I’ve learned not to count out your stupidest ideas.”

They elbowed at each other violently for a little while, grunting now and again, only stopping when a stately group of women in huge headdresses drifted by them.

“Come on,” Hinata said, grabbing Kageyama’s hand again to pull him along again. Kageyama stared down at their hands, fitted together. He squeezed Hinata’s a little tighter, and Hinata didn’t let go.

He got farther and farther from the hall, until they found themselves up on the castle ramparts. Stealthily, they dodged the guards posted for watch, hiding around the corner where they couldn’t be seen.

“Told you we’d make it,” Hinata said, sticking his tongue out. “I’m good at this.”

“Right,” Kageyama said skeptically. “Remind me, how goes the rebellion?”

“You say that like you assume it isn’t going well,” Hinata said, cheeks rounding out in what Kageyama recognized as a pout. He scoffed. What kind of rebellion leader pouted? Aware that Hinata was probably armed, while he was not, Kageyama kept that thought to himself.

“It’s never going well,” he said instead. Perhaps not much better.

But Hinata sighed. Carefully, mindful of his gilded horns, he leaned his masked forehead against Kageyama’s chest. “It’d go better if you were with me.”

Kageyama blinked. It was… incredibly unusual, to hear Hinata admit something like this. Admit he might need something from someone.

“Hinata…” he said hesitantly, but Hinata cut him off.

“Let me see your face,” he said softly.

He reached up, before Kageyama could say more, and ran his fingers over the black mask—traced the patterns carefully, over Kageyama’s brows and cheeks and down his nose. Staring all the while, into Kageyama’s eyes. Finally, Hinata lifted it gently away. And then he touched his fingers to Kageyama’s bare skin, exposed now, and Kageyama’s eyelids fluttered, as his breath came short. Hinata had touched him like this before, except everywhere; and it always made Kageyama feel laid completely open.

“That’s better,” Hinata murmured, before he took Kageyama’s face fully in his hands, cupping his cheeks in his palms. He pushed up on his toes—and he kissed Kageyama, slotting their lips together gently, like perhaps Kageyama had forgotten that indescribable feeling.

So Kageyama wrapped his arms around him to return the kiss, and all the fire behind it, as earnestly as he could.

He wanted Hinata’s hands on him, he wanted Hinata’s body against his, he wanted to hold onto that warmth and never let go. But if any of that were possible, Hinata wouldn’t have had to come on the one night when nobody would question him hiding his face.

Suddenly, there were raised voices, shouting.

“I think he’s gone that way!”

“Your highness! Are you out here?”

They broke apart, startled. Hinata looked furious, then frustrated, then sad.

“You… you have to go,” Kageyama said. “Now, before—”

“I know,” Hinata spat, and then, seeing Kageyama’s remorse, “I’ll come back.”

“No, you won’t,” Kageyama said. “But I’ll come to you. Your rebellion needs a good kick in the pants.”

Hinata managed to laugh at this, brushing his fingers over Kageyama’s lips. There was the clatter of armored feet on the rampart stones outside, and Kageyama glanced around the corner, beginning to feel alarmed. The guards were mere feet away.

“Get out of here, Hina—”

He turned back, but Hinata was gone.

“I’ve found him—” The guards had turned the corner. “Your highness! Your father has been—”

“Sorry,” Kageyama said, not very sorry at all. “I just needed—a breath of fresh air.”

As he let them lead him back to the hall, he realized something. He hadn’t been able to see Hinata’s face without his mask, though it had been so long since they’d last been together. This was Hinata’s fault, surely; and Kageyama vowed to accuse him of it the next time they met. Newly determined, he vowed to himself: soon.

Soon, he’d breathe freely once again.

More Kinktober? No need to disguise your interest!

#kagehina #hinata shouyou #kageyama tobio #kinktober #kinktober2017 #kagehina fanfiction #haikyuu!! fanfiction #haikyuu!!#esselle writes #tumblr fic #kingdom of crows #essie's hq fic

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ajuimaginary · 7 years

Text

Soulmate Wonwoo

Part of the Seventeen Soulmate Series

Everyone has some sense of tangible connection to their soulmate. No matter how far away you are, they become a physical mirror through which your body experiences the world- your life a string tied with their own.

It’s a very abstract thing which even the greatest minds of the modern age find hard to define. All anyone really knows is that bound soulmates have some sort of bodily connection which seems to provide indicators of well-being and health. When one person is hurt or sick, the other feels an echo of the pain. When one person gets close to death, the other loses grip on their senses. If one person dies, well, the other will experience indescribable pain and then never be the same again...

But when soulmates are together, especially in physical contact with one another, the touch somehow provides healing. Not complete, but enough to make a difference.

Scientists link it back to all sorts of things- the evolutionary benefits of having a connection to your perfectly matched life partner and being able to monitor their survival even from a distance, and to help with it when close. The more spiritual among the population would call it a divine providence- something that gives you a soul deep connection to your destined other half.

And those who are simply romantic minded? Well, they just seek comfort in the fact that they can feel the presence of their soulmate in every breath and beat of the heart.

Wonwoo has read about a thousand books on this soulmate connection, always so interested in the world around him. He keeps them, filled with little post-it note bookmarks, on his shelf. He also keeps a notebook writes down the things he feels through his own soulmate connection- mild colds on your end give him a stuffy feeling in his nose, but produce no snot- vomiting bugs send weird chills through his stomach. He worries about you, feels relieved when your illnesses get better, but for the most part, it feels scientific to him. Fascinating as another thing to learn and uncover.

You happen to be a bit more of a romantic sort when it comes to the soulmate link, though you would never admit just how much you already adore your unknown other half.

The worst day was the one where Wonwoo discovered his seafood allergy. You were still pretty young, and of course had no clue what was happening on his end, so it really hit you hard. You had felt a tingle in your tongue a few times before, perhaps the mild allergy kicking in when he ate small amounts. But one day he had a whole seafood platter at a restaurant. And you felt it.

Echoes of a phantom itch burst across your skin like the breakout of a rash- but most intense was the tightening in your throat, like your tongue was swelling, even though you could still breathe easy. And as the minutes stretched, you suddenly realized your sense of touch was dulling, a ringing in your ears was growing louder, drowning out the world around you.

You were in the middle of class, but this was worth an interruption. A few kids had been excused to the nurse because of soulmate connections before. As the teacher walked past checking everyone’s work, you whispered to them over the dampened sound in your eardrums:

“I think my soulmate is dying.”

Through the strange dizzy sensation of your senses dimming, you could hardly hear the response she gave, gesturing to the door, sympathetic and concerned. Your friends gave you a few worried goodbyes, and you stumbled out of the room, into the halls of your school.

It was painful to even walk to the nurse, mind dull and aching with the thought of what was happening to him.

All you could think of was how the things you experienced were meant to be shadows of his pain, and whatever he was feeling must be worse. But you managed to find the nurse, and to explain to her everything that was happening.

“It sounds like an allergy,” she told you after she heard what you had felt. “It may be that your soulmate will be fine, dear. Someone should be with them. They could arrive at a hospital any second, or administer medication if they already knew about the allergy. Don’t worry yet, okay?”

“Okay,” you said dully, still clutching the pillow as you sat in the sick room at your school, eyes fixed on a peeling poster about drug dangers. “I’ll try not to worry.”

But worry you did.

Until, only fifteen minutes later (what seemed to you to be the worst fifteen minutes of your life), the pain began to ease. First, the ringing vanished, and full sensation returned to your body. The agony lifted out of your throat. The tingling feeling like a rash on your skin slowly evaporated.

Finally, by the end of the period, you were better. Your soulmate was alive.

Miles away, sitting in hospital, grumpy to have had a nice family lunch at the restaurant ruined, Wonwoo was listening as the nurse explained to him and his parents that it seemed he was allergic to seafood.

As you both grew up, the soulmate connection continued to provide you little hints of each others lives. You loved every part of that distant connection, even as you worried about his winter sniffles (it was funny how it helped you work out something as simple as the fact that he lived in the Northern hemisphere, sickness getting common in his winter time), and even as you fussed over the few other tongue tingles you got as he (most likely) accidentally ate some seafood again. You still loved feeling linked in.

Well... you loved most of it. There were hard times too.

There was one thing that made you get irrationally angry with your soulmate. While young Wonwoo was going through puberty, your own school life was disturbed as you were kept up almost every night with the echoes of his growing pains shooting through your legs. By that stage, you’d had health classes and been told that it was one of many weird side symptoms bound pairs could have at this age. But each night, while you tossed and turned and found yourself getting more and more exhausted as school loomed the next day, you found yourself glaring at the ceiling and cursing the boy who (rationally) you knew had no control over it.

You were sure your soulmate had his own share of annoying puberty side effects coming from your end too. Like dull ache of a new pimple about to erupt on your face.

You just wished there was a way to snap at him and tell him off for keeping you awake at night. Then you wished there was a way to apologize for being grumpy, since it really wasn’t his fault. Most of all, you just wished there was a way to talk to him.

Growing up was certainly a time of some inner turmoil. But what teenager didn’t go through some angst?

Once you had settled into yourself a little more, got a little older, you didn’t feel quite so much emotional turmoil when it came to your Soulmate. You were still fond of him, still fretted over him when he was sick, but you were a little more settled into the routine or your connection now. And his growing pains and the resulting sleepless nights had vanished, legs finally free of cramps. Which certainly helped.

On the 10th of May 2016, you and a couple of friends discover Seventeen. You love their cheerful, catchy music. You love their astonishing synchronized dance moves. You love their handsome faces. And then, once the three of you find some subtitled interviews, and a few hilarious variety shows, you love every single member.

Especially Wonwoo.

“Of course,” one friend teases you. “I am not surprised.”

“Why?” you demand.

“He’s so the kind of person I could see you with,” she says, and as you open your mouth to try to ask what that’s supposed to mean, your other friend joins in.

“He really is,” he says. “He’s your type. Completely.”

The other continues: “he’s just the kind of person you find handsome, he’s bookish, intelligent, he raps really well, he has a great voice, he’s funny in a really awful dorky way-” (”HEY!” you protest) “and to top it all off, he’s tall.”

“Tall?” you’re surprised. “Why do I care if he’s tall?”

“I don’t know,” your friend shrugs. “I guess with all your soulmate’s growing pains, it seemed like he was getting tall. I connect you with tall guys now.”

“Huh,” you say. You’ve never considered your soulmate’s height before, and for some reason it sends the smallest shiver down your spine. “I’d never thought about that.”

The conversation moves on quickly, as all of you keep scouring the internet, staying up way too late that night, and you find out that Seventeen pretty recently received their first win on a music show. With so much continuous new content, it’s enough to keep you all fully invested, very quickly becoming solid fans.

Over the next few weeks, pretty much all you guys can talk about is Seventeen, developing inside jokes as you go.

You catch a cold at one point, and you have plenty of time to spend at home sitting around while you wait to get better. Seventeen do a VLive at one point, you and your friends talking in your group chat while you watch together. The funniest thing is that Wonwoo is sitting grumpily in the back of the VLive, and the members start teasing him because his soulmate has a cold and his nose is all stuffy. As you watch, you let out a hacking cough, and after a short lag in the VLive video, Wonwoo suddenly winces like an echo of pain shot through his throat.

Your friends think it’s hilarious to joke that the soulmate must be you, and you roll your eyes and remind them how common colds actually are. It would be ridiculous if he really was your soulmate.

Your cold passes quickly, and as June begins, you’re getting closer and closer to Seventeen’s next big event- the Dream Concert. But one day, while you’re hanging out with your friends and catching up on old videos from before you were fans, you feel dull echo of sharp pain in your stomach.

You double over, crying out, clutching the spot, tears pricking your eyes. As the pain swells, a ringing in your ears begins, a dull numbness in the tips of your fingers, a flicker in the corner of your eyes.

“It’s my soulmate,” you gasp. You can’t believe this is happening again. The dulling-senses feeling of him getting near to death. And it’s not the allergy this time- you had none of the warning signs you had become so familiar with. “Oh god, oh god, something’s wrong.”

The tears spill over.

“Something’s wrong,” you repeat. “Oh god, I have to-”

You try to stand, some instinct in you desperate to run to his side, but with your dull senses, you almost fall over with dizziness.

Your friends gather around you, incredibly worried. You can feel nothing but ghosts of his agony, a terrible weight upon you, a knowledge that he’s hurting in the worst way and there’s nothing you can do. All you can do is sit, surrounded by friends, by their comfort, and hope with every fiber of your being that someone is helping him. That he’ll be okay.

Eventually, with the dizziness rocking in your head, you manage to fall asleep. And you wake up the next morning to your friend shaking you awake and holding out her phone to you. You take stock of your senses, the pain less than before, and the ringing in your ears now faint, but better. And then you read what’s written on the screen.

Time stamped June 3rd 2016, the current date, Pledis Entertainment have put out an announcement that in the middle of the night, Wonwoo experienced sharp pain in his stomach and had to be rushed to hospital. He was diagnosed with acute gastritis. He’ll be missing the Dream Concert and following fan sign.

“Poor Wonwoo,” you gasp, heart aching, tears springing to your eyes immediately. You see your friends exchange a glance. “What’s that look for?”

“Um, Y/N, I know we joked about it,” your friend begins. “But we were talking and... we think Wonwoo is really your soulmate.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, guys.” you sigh, instinctively clutching at the pain in your stomach. “It’s a coincidence.”

“Yeah, but remember that time you had a cold?” your friend begins.

“Easily a coincidence.”

“We also looked at some old Seventeen stuff after we came up with the theory,” your other friend says. “And, well, it all fits. He’s allergic to seafood, and your soulmate has bad allergies. When you broke that bone in your foot a couple years ago, Wonwoo sat out of a dance because his foot hurt. It was captured on Seventeen TV. The date is right. Plus, there’s the VLive from a couple months ago where he kept touching his nose like it was hurting. Didn’t you have a massive pimple erupting that day? I remember because it was school pictures and you were really annoyed-”

“Stop,” you say, shaking your head. “There’s no way-”

But strangely, it actually makes sense.

They keep going. It seems they’ve spent the last couple of hours searching for evidence. Eventually, you’re close to convinced. Though you really really don’t want to get your hopes up. Not about something as magical as this. Because it would hurt you too badly if it turned out you were wrong.

Time passes after that. By mind-July, Wonwoo still hasn’t joined Seventeen in their next round of promotions for the repackage album. Your own body continues to mirror the effects of his illness, slowing you down a little. But at least you’re still able to go to school.

Then one day, while you’re still trying to process the complexity of the situation, you’re walking down the hallway in your house, the familiar dull agony suddenly rises like an explosion and you nearly pass out.

Your senses begin to fade. You stretch your numb fingertips, vision blurring at the edges, and feel panic rise.

Perhaps you’re being too rash and not thinking clearly. But the idea that your soulmate might be in danger becomes your only thought. You don’t care about embarrassing yourself by jumping to conclusions. Not if there’s even the slightest chance to save Wonwoo.

So you take out your cellphone, and find the contact number for Pledis Entertainment that’s saved in your phone (your friends had scoured the internet to find the number and given it to you, saying you should have it just in case). You thought it was silly at the time. But now it’s your only hope...

The receptionist who picks up doesn’t speak much English, but she hears the urgency in your voice and gets her colleague to translate. They don’t believe you at first (of course) but when you plead- “Wonwoo’s condition just plummeted. He’s in danger. Please, I know having a soulmate nearby could heal him.” - they decide to give you a chance. Just in case. They can’t risk being wrong and putting one of their idols in danger.

So they transfer the call through to one of Seventeen’s managers. You re-explain the story to them, and they’re very surprised when you can tell them the exact time of Wonwoo’s sudden downturn in health. Especially since, as far as all his fans know, he’s been recovering lately.

They question you about a few different things, suspicion in their voice giving way to surprise. Then they reveal that they’re actually almost at Wonwoo’s hospital room right now, having been called by the nurse when Wonwoo took a turn for the worst. And they will soon test if your theory is right.

Only a minute later, they’re talking to Wonwoo in the background of the call, and you can hear the distant sound of his voice. He’s weak and tired, but it’s him. You feel your knees shake and sit down quickly, not wanting to fall.

“Y/N?” the manager says.

“Yes?” you answer instantly.

“Wonwoo is going to do a few things. Tell us what you feel on your end. If the connection is real, you’ll feel it.”

“Okay,” you say. “Just- just make sure he doesn’t hurt himself too badly.”

Wonwoo starts by biting the soft pad on his thumb, and you hiss in pain at how hard he does it (of course he doesn’t hold back, why are you not surprised?).

“He’s biting his thumb,” you reply. “Tell him not to do it so hard.”

“Okay,” the manager says, and repeats your request in Korean, to which you can hear Wonwoo laugh, your heart soaring at the sound. “What about now?”

And so it continues, you confirming each thing Wonwoo does very easily. You’re amazed at all the creative methods he finds. In the background of the call, you can hear the rumble of his laughter each time you get it right.

The manager considers it proven after that. Wonwoo refuses to have his first interaction with his soulmate be over the phone, so she takes you away, and you start sorting out the logistics of the situation- to get you to Korea- to get you to your soulmate’s side.

In the end, Pledis pay for everything.

They get you on the first flight to Korea, have a driver waiting to pick you up from the airport, and even prepare a hotel room for the night (though you insist, and they readily agree, that you go to the hospital as soon as you touch down). You spend the ride over full of nervous energy, only half able to keep up a conversation with the manager you met on the phone, who has joined you in the car.

Even as you travel, you could feel Wonwoo worsening. Because of the medical attention he’s been getting, you know the illness is very very unlikely to become fatal (you spent a lot of time researching acute gastritis once he was diagnosed). But it could put him out of action for a very long time if you can’t kick start his recovery.

You get more nervous as you go. When the car finally stops, you and the manager speed through the hospital. You pause only to take one last deep breath outside the door of Wonwoo’s room, and then you turn the handle and enter.

There he is. Propped up against pillows, looking at the door with hopeful eyes, which grow wide when he sees you, your favorite nose squishing smile breaking over his usually serious face.

“Y/N,” he breathes, already knowing from the phone conversation.

“Wonwoo,” you reply softly.

You cover the last distance to his side in a few steps, his hand reaching for you as you approach, entwining your fingers immediately. The second you feel him, skin on skin, you can feel something pass between you.

He doesn’t stop there either. He tugs you in as close as he can, your hips pressed against the hospital bed. Then he lets go of your hands and places his broad palms on the small of your back instead, closer and more intimate. You lift your own hands and cradle his face, looking back at him.

The room seems to lighten, your eyesight returning in full. The ringing in your ears dims to nothing. Sensation flows through your hands. With touch, sight, smell, taste, hearing- your senses rejuvenated- you know Wonwoo is no longer close to death.

Even the sharp medical smell of the hospital, the artificial light, the beeping of monitors, is like a fresh relief.

He’s still sick, of course. It’s not a magic heal-all. You still feel the dull ache in his stomach, the slight weakness of his body. But he’s so much closer to good health. So much better just from being with you.

He’s staring up at you with emotion in his eyes, like he’s drinking in the sight, cataloging and remembering forever.

“Oh, Wonwoo,” you gasp, tears pricking in your eyes. “I’m so- I can’t believe-” and then you remember there’s a language barrier. You laugh, and with the little Korean you’ve picked up, you manage to say “I love you.”

“Thank you,” Wonwoo says in the sweetest English you’ve ever heard. “I love you too.”

He doesn’t even glance at the managers, who must still be standing behind, before he props himself higher on his pillows, lays his hand is on the back of your neck, and pulls you in for your very first kiss.

#jeon wonwoo #wonwoo #wonwoo scenarios #wonwoo imagines #seventeen scenarios #wonwoo x reader #drabble #soulmate au #admin lizzie

933 notes · View notes

limpblotter · 7 years

Text

Happy for You

a/n: Fuck @exadorlion putting Stone Cold and Moreid together. Warning: Unrequited Love. W/c: ~2.3

“You know statistically most marriages end in divorce.”

“Reid…” Prentiss looked him up and down, shaking her head a bit at him as she crossed the room. Her heels clacking against the newly polished floor of their office, she went to retrieve something from the table as Spencer stood there in the middle of their headquarters, stoic and suffocating in a new suit.

“Its true” he watched her with a coldness as she picked up a white box tied with a white bow. “And the rate of divorce of first marriages tend to fail even more so, subsequently we’re really just expending useless time…” It wasn’t going to last, in lame man’s terms. That was a fact…a truth that Spencer was holding tighter to his mind than any psychosis research or neurobiological thesis he had collected over the years. “Also …in Japanese culture white is the color of mourning for funerals and—“

A hand touched his face gently, he looked up and saw Emily Prentiss’s face. She pursed her lips a little, unsure what to say to him. She patted his cheek a bit and nodded, “it’s a good thing we’re not in Japan, we don’t have time to rewrap.” She placed the gift in his hands and soft softly. “Spence you don’t have to go…”

Reid looked down at the gift. He didn’t have t go. His facts were real, the marriage was going to fall apart in a year, two years max since they had a child on the way. He could skip this unnecessarily stomach churning event but avoiding this would only raise some questions even his genius didn’t want to touch. “I have to…I’m the best man.”

Cruel was a good word for what was happening right now. Cruel was the only word Spencer could conjure up for how this all felt. The entire time, Hotch and Jack included, flew out to Chicago. They were at some botanical garden in the middle of the city. It was a pretty place. Rossi and Luke were already looking for drinks. Penelope was making sure she was going to have the perfect angle for the vows and the I do’s to come.

The last ones out of the car were Emily and Spencer. They arrived together and before Emily could give him any more encouragement or words of wisdom Emily’s attention was taken by a blonde sporting curls for the first time. “How long did that take.” Emily gently touched one of Jennifer’s curls, producing a soft pinkish glow to her cheeks. That look was enough to keep Emily distracted for ages...

“Longer than it took getting the boys ready and Will dressed.” Jennifer snickered a bit. “I can’t believe this is happening.” She beamed, happiness rolled off her. So much so, Reid shifted uncomfortably.

“I better go …uh find the groom, I guess.” He muttered, his awkwardness was common but it was especially heightened today. Emily chalked it up to the crowd or the fact he had never been a best man before. JJ ate up the reason, but Emily gave Spencer’s retreating figure one single solemn look.

Reid shimmied through a crowd of men, all larger than he was clapping their hands as Morgan emerged from his dressing room in a perfectly fitted tux. Spencer, watched through the filtered view point of broad shifting shoulders and caught a glimpse of that smile, as he did a ceremoniously slow turn. Just as Spencer thought he could stay where he was and remain hidden until it was time, he heard Morgan call out for him.

“Pretty boy!” He laughed, and just like that, the sea of men parted down the middle leading up to Reid. “Here I thought I was gonna have to find another best man, what took you so long.”

The voice in Reid’s throat was stuck, his eyes glazed over Derek’s suit. He looked amazing, of course. But it wasn’t the suit. It was him. The way he held himself, the way he looked, he seemed so alive so awake. There were times Reid saw him this way, this was the first time…

Morgan’s happiness had something to do with someone else. “I-uh…” He looked down and slowly held out the gift to Morgan. “I was telling Emily how white is—“

“color of death in some countries. Yeah I remember that talk.” Derek held the gift in one hand and then looked around. “Thanks man.” He placed a hand on Reid’s shoulder and pulled him close for a hug. He looked around for a moment at his wedding party and then nodded. “I’ll be out soon, mind…giving me and the kid a minute.”

The groups of men slowly dispersed giving Morgan one last round of good lucks, congratz, and see you out there before emptying out of the room.

“Reid…” Morgan stared at him and Spencer thought he was looking right through him. Guilt grappled at his throat then, “…I shouldn’t be this nervous right? Like…this is it…this is my wedding…I’m about to marry her out there. The mother to my baby…” Derek looked as though he was having an out of body experience. He looked above and around Spencer like he wasn’t even there. He was looking at his whole life…up until now and what he imagined after it. Reid was terrified. He was scared Derek liked what he saw.

Reid didn’t have anything to say to Morgan. The silence grew to a point Derek realized there was something up now. He broke his trance and took a step towards Spencer, eyes ready to ask him what was going on in that big brain when the door opened and Morgan’s sister whispered in.

“Its time.”

Reid exhaled, he looked up at Morgan almost sorry he was getting away with this. “Let’s get you married.” He forced a smile and walked out.

Spencer for one of the few times in his life wished he didn’t have photographic memory. He wished he could say he was going to forget this. Forget the music that played as he joined Derek on his side of the aisle. Forget the way Derek softly gasped to himself as his the future Mrs. Morgan strolled down the aisle a few months pregnant. He prayed to whatever deity he didn’t truly believe in that he’d never remember the sound of their vows.

The never-ending joy that ebbed and seeped out of each word. The immense and indescribable happiness that flooded each phrase, down to the softest promise of an eternity. And for the life of him he wished he could forget the kiss, a scene he watched through side eyeing the way Morgan draped over her and held her as lovingly like she was a frail dream barely in his grasp.

Heat began to build in his mind, it hazed most of what happened for the moment. Perhaps a defensive mechanism, a coping method to keep himself together while they were in public. Whatever it was mixed with whatever Rossi was drinking and willing to share while they were seated at their table was working for the doctor. “How are you holding up?” Emily whispered to read, keeping an eye out for any prying ears that might pick up on their conversation. Luckily for them everyone was waiting, eyeing the doors to see Mr. and Mrs. Derek Morgan.

“Fine, why wouldn’t I be?” Reid chuckled a bit, sipping the bourbon again until the heat pushed back the emotions that threatened to preach his professional demeanor. He fixated himself on repeatedly ringing his hands over and over again under the table when he wasn’t drinking. Something Prentiss could see sitting right beside him. He flinched when Emily placed a hand over his and shared a softness, “Emily, I swear I’m fine.” He smiled, of course he was fine. Social functions were never his strong suit. These mundane emotions and yet…

When those doors opened, when the announcer shouted the words, “Mr. and Mrs. Derek Morgan!!” and ushered them into their first dance. Spencer felt his mood dim along with the ceiling lights. He watched as two people, joined by some frivolous need to commit so publically danced. Worse of all he didn’t hate anyone. A part of him relished in Morgan’s smile, his charming, eye wrinkling laughter as he twirled and danced his new wife around.

A part of him was so happy to see him this happy. It was a happiness that came once and Spencer was at least happy enough to have been there to see it. Even though he had no part in this.

As the danced settled and the people sat to enjoy their meals, the booze swirling around Reid’s gut made his mind’s defenses weaken. He watched with heated annoyance as Derek sat across the way, never looking this way at a table full of his friends. His family, and not once did he try to. He was enveloped in his new life. His whole life that didn’t include them. Worse of all no one seemed to feel this, everyone was happy for him. Everyone so why wasn’t he?

Why did Spencer…hate this? He hated being there, he hated seeing it all and knowing this was going to change everything. This was a deep fissure in the core of all Spencer had grown to love and know… It was all too much that Spencer rose to his feet just as Penelope finished giving Derek and his wife a speech with love and plenty of embarrassing moments of Derek.

“Spence?” Garcia turned holding the mic in her hand. His abrupt jolt to his feet had his table and everyone in the dining hall looking at him. Spencer’s mouth went try as his eyes met Morgan’s who for the first time since saying I do finally looked at him. Morgan’s face got a little more stoic, confused perhaps? Then knowing as if remembering Reid was acting strange only moments before the ceremony began.

“Uh…may I…just…” He pointed to the mic in Penelope’s hand. Emily gave him a wide eye look as he received the mic and held it up to his mouth. “Um…as some of you know …or don’t, I’m Dr. Spencer Reid with the FBI…I’ve known Morgan…well, since I started and well we’re all here for the same reason. To watch Morgan get married but why?” He asked suddenly the question made Emily’s hair stand on end, what was he doing? Was this some cover up or a genuine speech? She prayed to god he wasn’t going to talk about divorces and the meaning of the color white in front of Morgan’s family and half the bureau.

“I’m not much of an abstract guy. I hold several degrees, PH.Ds and have many interests in sciences and written work, so to me love and all this is just…equated to the amount of dopamine the brain can generate. Love is nothing more than a combination of hormones that could be recreated by also eating chocolate or petting a dog or…falling in love.” He stared at Derek and felt his voice drop a bit, “that was…what I had always believed love was…just a series of abnormal spikes of dopamine going off in the brain…then I met Derek.”

And just like that…he felt his brain explode into a white space where there was no guard or script. There was a wall Reid had always shared with his mind. A wall that kept the important things like research and knowledge apart from his emotions and it wasn’t a wall he made but he was made with. Over the years of being here, with these people he loved so dearly that wall had developed a small window. One of which he was falling out of and heading right into a part of him that he rarely exposed.

“Derek is the kind of guy do first think later…Whenever the team needed someone of action or a people’s man…Derek was that guy. There are not many people who can stand me…apart from my mother …and the team. There are even fewer who can manage to teach someone like me something …Derek taught me plenty. Of all the things Derek taught me he taught me how…we can put definitions to things. Research and reasoning to anything but that doesn’t make it less real. So…in a way Derek taught me love, in the sense that…Love maybe defined in science as just a few imbalances making you feel something…but that doesn’t take away how much love can really effect someone. Derek Morgan has more love and dopamine than any substance on Earth. So much so…there is no science behind it.” Reid rose his glass up as Morgan’s serious face turned into a softened smile, one that brought a hot fluid to the corner of Spencer’s eyes as he ended with.

“May you always be filled with dopamine…”

A few laughs broke out, even more warmed smiles as the quirky best man managed to steal the spotlight. Reid handed off the mic to anyone willing to take it then softly excused himself away from the dining area.

With each step he felt his mind pull a memory back from the vault of his mind. Moments that were irreplaceable and now were never to be remade, the moments Morgan smiled at him, held him, touched him. Times were the kid Doctor was just Spencer and agent Morgan was just Derek. He made it out of the venue all together and started waving down valet for his SUV.

“Kid…hey Kid!” a hand came down hard on his shoulder and whipped Spencer around. Rossi took one look at Reid, his eyes red and the tears pouring from his face like a broken water pipe main. “…shit…kid…” He pulled him into a hug. Reid crumpled into him, his face burned into his cigar scented suit shoulder and hands desperately clutching to his back to keep him up.

“I-I don’t understand…I’m happy for him I swear I just…” Reid tried to speak but the sobs broken any explanation other than the searing hole that ripped through his mind down his chest.

Rossi rubbed soft circles into Reid’s back as the car pulled up. “I know…I know…”

#criminal minds #moreid #spencer reid #derek morgan #emily prentiss #jj #rossi #angst #hurt #no comfort #unrequited love #song fic sorta #inspired by stone cold (demi lovato)

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noisylibrary · 7 years

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loudpartofme · 8 years

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Weather You of All Arts (It’s Enough to Have You Here) - Chapter 1

Genre : Fluff, Angst, Psychological Terms, AU

Characters : Kim Taehyung, Park Jimin, The rest of BTS.

Main Pairing : vmin

Summary :

It’s human nature to instinctively fall for an object, without any exceptions, people too. Indeed flowery and jittery when catching it at first. However, as time goes by tons of consideration blow minds up then coming to realisation that the famous legendary certain feeling called love could only kill you.

-too few isn’t good, too much is never better-

Writer’s Notes :

Yup it’s my first time officially writing a fanfiction and post it somewhere bcs I suck in expressing word termly but since I’ve been reading loads of fics these few months, I could finally create the complete part of this prompt I made in my second year of Junior High School which was 4 years ago. Fully inspired by the cycle in this life and it’s filled with cry, cry, cry, snorts, and back to cry- ok jk. Sorry not sorry I’m making Taehyung as the crybaby here.

-marlygins-

Chapter 1: First Impression

Waking up to his mom’s anger was the least Taehyung wanted to face on any morning. No matter if it was a cursed or a blessed one. He rubbed his eyes roughly at the sound of glass scattering to the ground and got up immediately to search the center of the terrifying sound. It was certainly a final turn when he found his parents staring at each other with such indescribable glares. He could almost see a thunderbolt between the two (which he didn’t in reality though).

Didn’t have the gut to say a word, Taehyung hopped soundlessly back into his room, wrapping himself a burrito with his blankie, and started to sob repeatedly.

Kim Taehyung was 5 years old, alone, and lonely.

He was quite adored by his friends in the neighborhood but most practically had the opinion that he was kind of weird. His mom once corrected him while letting out a muffled sigh that he was stunningly weird. Being the loud and hyper toddler was what he could do at best. He could never stay still without rustling out a word and it was his nature to do so.

Time went by, he was about to encounter his first day at school. Looking excited as ever, he put on his sling bag on his shoulder and smiled widely. After having breakfast and pecked her mom on her cheek, he said farewell and jumped on his way to school. First time knowing what school like was rather abstract for Taehyung. Even though he was still considered as a child, the obligations attired at the school were very strict that nobody could say a single thing to any of it, including doing any rebellion things.

The day went well despite Taehyung having no idea about behaving well at the classroom. The teacher kept on shouting at him for being so talkative but it didn’t stop him for doing things he passioned about. The bell rang, he let out his boxy smile and looked at the watch on his wrist. The other kids went out from the room in a hurry and most of them talked to each other while giggling loudly.

It was actually easy for Taehyung to do so but he chose not to since he wanted to observe his sorroundings.

After the class got emptied, he stood up until a soft-sounding, almost resembled a whisper calling him by his name, “Kim Taehyung”. Taehyung abruptly looked to his sides in fright, he was thinking that it was one of his illusions but he found himself looking at a pair of chubby cheeks, a sweet smile, and a pair of eyes that got crinkled up to form a crescent owned by a shorter boy than him afterwards.

“Cute”, he thought.

“Am I?” Taehyung widened his already-big-eyes, stunned to find out that he had said it loudly and the boy in front of him was literally looking at him in the eye while tilting his head.

“U-uh I mean....” He hated himself for stuttering and looked down, too shy to look back at the boy.

The latter broke his glance from the floor to the boy in front of him as he felt a pair of hands were holding his shoulders.

“I’m Park Jimin!” the cute boy indirectly enchanted Taehyung, he blinked and stepped closer. It was unexpected to straightly see an excitement, high expectation, and such a wide smile package meant for him.

And without him realizing, it was the first time he had his heart stopped beating for a second.

Kim Taehyung was 6 years old, alone, but he was starting to feel the existence of a company.

The second time Taehyung met Jimin was the very next day.

Taehyung, strictly bounded on his unfortunate lucks, got up late and arrived at school right a minute after the bell rang. He panted loudly as he reached the school gate to see the school guard was half-about to close the gate, he panicked and tried to stop the guard by setting up his ever puppy faced begging which he always gave to his mom whenever she got angry to him. It succeeded so he sprinted to his classroom as the teacher was right on the corner of the hallway. He sighed in relief and searched for an empty chair.

Suddenly, he saw a pair of hands were waving towards him. The tiny cute hands belonged to no other than Park Jimin. The latter was smiling at him and he didn’t know how to react towards his first friend who introduced himself ever.

Taehyung sat beside Jimin, knowing the latter seemed to be very excited in the morning, he assumed that Park Jimin was a morning person. Taehyung was never a morning person though. He even still had his hair ruffled like he had just woken up from his deep sleep.

“Yah, you’re sitting on my jacket.” Jimin pouted as he tapped roughly on the younger’s shoulder.

Taehyung groaned, he stood for a brief so Jimin could pull his jacket away. “Who wears Jacket in such a humid day like this though? I’m sweating here, yet you seem to be freezing.” Jimin blinked a few times, looking at Taehyung while pouting.

Jimin chuckled as he looked at Taehyung in the eye, with his typical eye smile, he nodded right then. “Hmm I easily get cold, I guess it’s just my nature to feel so. I can’t even stand properly in winter. It’s too cold for me to do activities.��

There was an ‘O’ formed on Taehyung’s mouth and there’s a guilt in his heart.

Hearing no further response from the latter, Jimin opened his mouth again,

“Why are you late anyways?”

“Mom woke me up late this morning, I didn’t even get to eat my breakkie.” This time, Taehyung pouted and knitted his eyebrows while looking at the floor.

“Did you bring packed lunch though?” Taehyung shook his head at this. “Then we can just share mine later, how about that?” Jimin set his sweetest smile ever which made Taehyung blinked a few times after his interlocutor’s offer.

Taehyung could never agree more in his life for someone’s kindness, especially towards himself.

It was always hard for Taehyung to open up his sincere boxy smile to random people but the cute boy in front of him was likely to be assuring him to trust him openly only through some conversation. Taehyung could feel a certain feeling he had never felt before since no kids the same age as him has ever drawn such attention to him.

Later in the afternoon, they ate together and talked about random things or nothing. Taehyung was in awe the whole time for having someone like Jimin who popped out of nowhere on his first day of school. “I guess I can trust him,” Taehyung thought to himself but for the nth time,

“Of course you can.” He didn’t know how to hate himself more because he just realised that he had said that loudly and not only in his mind.

“M-mianhae, I...” Taehyung stuttered, again.

“S’okay, bro. My mom said that everybody has their right to not explaining things to people.So I think it applies for you just now.” Jimin cut him while smiling with his ever angelic smile.

Taehyung could only nod and smiled, the smile didn’t even reach his eyes because he was desperate. For some reason he was, but he couldn’t tell what was the reason. He was also curious, but the things was rather vague. After a minute of consideration, he gaped his mouth and started to let out a soft voice which Jimin thought it was cute to see the younger’s serious face.

“Chim..” Jimin widened his eyes at the nickname, smile becoming even wider afterwards.

“Is that a nickname for me, Tae? I like it” Jimin giggled.

“Um, I like how Tae sounds too.” Taehyung reached for his own hands and licked his lips before saying out something more. “Chim, are you my friend?” He abruptly looked at the older who was sitting right beside him.

“Of course Taetae, I am. We can be best friends too if possible, which is not impossible either.” There was a twinkle on Taehyung’s eyes.

“Best friends?”

“Yes best friends. I’ll accompany you wherever you go, whatever you do, I’ll always disturb you despite you saying no to me, in case. I’ll always be there for you. And it’s a promise.” Jimin assured.

“R-really? You’d do that? To me?” Taehyung widened his big eyes. Jimin nodded a few times at the latter and smiled again.

“Thank you chimchim!” Taehyung felt there was a droplet of tears fell and he still leaned closer to hug his new best friend. “Oof,” Jimin groaned jokingly but he hugged his friend back tightly.

“I haven’t done anything yet, Taetae.”

“No no no, to have someone promised me such things is already a blessing for me. Assa! My mom will be delighted to hear that I have a best friend now. Chimchim, would you like to visit my house? I have so many sweets there, you don’t have to be scared of my mom or even yours scolding us because there is no limit for us to eat as much sweets as we want. Oh oh I also have cookies, loads of cookies, we can buy ice cream on our way back too. My mom gave me money last night for helping her with the house chores.”

Taehyung was excessively excited yet he paid no attention to his friend who was giggling at his antics.

“Tae, I didn’t know you can be so excited....?” Jimin was still giggling. Taehyung’s face reddened at this and smiled shyly.

“What do you say, Chim?”

“That would be my honor, my best friend.” Jimin’s eyes were crinkled to crescents and his giggle were echoing through Taehyung’s mind. Taehyung straightly named it as, The Angel’s Laugh which bursted Jimin out when he told him about it.

Kim Taehyung was 6 years old but he acknowledged that he wasn’t alone or even lonely anymore.

#bts scenarios #bts #bts v #bts jimin #vmin #fic #au #bangtan #cutie #bangtan sonyeondan #bangtan scenarios #bts vmin #vmin icons

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neverending2012 · 8 years

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My Journey to You Chapter 19

CHAPTER 19

SUMMARY: Cooper and Latonya celebrate her birthday. Mercedes, Sam, Finn and Rachel go on vacation in the Smoky Mountains with their kids.

RATING: Mature

WARNING: Sex scenes, language

HAPPY BIRTHDAY

One year after Cooper and LaTonya get engaged

LaTonya snuggled up to Cooper as they lay together under the covers. The orange pink light of the sunrise shined through the partially closed blinds. She kissed the old gunshot wounds on his chest: several, round indentations with puffy scar tissue, and one long scar that ran down the middle of his torso. She never asked him what happened. She only thanked God that he was alive despite everything he had been through. Cooper opened his eyes and smiled down at her, lifting her chin.

"Happy Birthday," he said, kissing her lips.

"Thank you," she said, sitting up, grabbing the sheet to cover her bare breasts. Cooper stilled her hands and pulled the sheet down, revealing her breasts again.

"I love looking at you," he said as he sat up, while stroking her breasts, "You're beautiful."

LaTonya kissed and hugged him, resting her head on his broad shoulder. He held her and they sat in silence, their arms wrapped around each other, enjoying the tranquility. She would never grow tired of his admiration; he constantly touched and praised her body. Cooper's words and touches put something indescribable in her heart, elevating her higher, and whenever she looked in the mirror; her reflection sparkled and she felt joyful.

"I love you," she said.

Cooper kissed her and soon she was on her back, spread open for him, and he filled her, gently caressing her legs, as he slid inside her. It wasn't long before they came together, shaking and moaning, and afterwards, he shifted to the side and hugged her close to his chest, stroking her hair.

"I want to give you your present."

"I thought you just did," LaTonya said.

"That was only one of them."

"What are the others?"

"Wait and see," he said getting out of bed, and not bothering to put on his robe, LaTonya admired his nude muscular physique as he walked out of the room. About five minutes later, he came back with a rectangular box wrapped in shiny white paper that was painted with movie poster of Goldfinger, but she immediately noticed something different. Instead of Sean Connery and Honor Blackman superimposed on top of a gold painted hand, it was LaTonya and Cooper. LaTonya wore a long beige trench coat just like the main character. Her hair was a beautiful, fluffy Afro and Cooper stood behind her in a black suit, with his arms wrapped around her waist.

"I can't believe it," she said, gazing at the picture, "It's you and me. I can't..."

"Do you like it?"

"I love it. How did you - "

"An artist in London made it for me. "

LaTonya kissed him.

"I can't believe you did all of that to wrap my gift."

"It's fine if you tear the paper. I also have the original painting too. Shipping was delayed."

"I can't wait to see it."

"You always said you wanted to be a Bond girl."

LaTonya carefully unwrapped the gift and despite what Cooper said about tearing the paper; she didn't rip it. It was simply too beautiful to destroy. She took off the lid of the glossy white box and underneath the layers of white tissue paper was a Barbie doll that looked just like LaTonya. She was curvaceous with raven black skin and kinky hair that was styled in an Afro. Diamond stud earrings sparkled in her ears and a gold bracelet was on her wrist. Her lips were cherry red and a diamond-studded purse was slung over her shoulder. She wore a form fitting red silk evening gown with a halter top and long skirt with a slit up the right side exposing the most wonderful detail of all: the doll had a prosthetic limb just like LaTonya and the detail was intricate, replicating the exact design of her leg. LaTonya began to cry.

"She looks like me!"

Never in her life had she ever had a doll that looked like her. And the prosthetic leg was what did her in. When she was a little girl, she was tempted to cut off the bottom portion of her doll's leg, so that it looked like her. But knew that her father paid good money for the doll and that would anger him. Cooper hugged her.

"I'm glad you like it."

"Like it? My God Cooper, how did you... I love it."

She cried as he held her and then she pulled away and picked up the doll.

"This is gorgeous."

"Look inside the purse."

She did as he asked and found a tiny black handgun and an alias card. She laughed and kissed him.

"Are you going to give me my first undercover assignment 007?"

"Perhaps," he said, kissing her, "You forgot a few things."

"Did I?"

He pushed aside another layer of tissue paper revealing a stack of outfits sealed in plastic. The first one was a white cream bikini with gold belt buckle in the center of the bikini bottoms and a silver knife hung from a holster on the right side; it was a replica of the bikini that Ursula Andress wore in Dr. No. The next outfit was a long-sleeved, burnt orange and gold maxi dress, with an abstract floral print design complete with a gold choker. Jane Seymour wore that dress in Live and Let Die. Underneath this, was a copy of the turquoise chiffon gown that she wore to Sam and Mercedes' wedding; she picked it up and looked at him.

"Why did you - "

He held her hand.

"You wore that the first time we danced together."

LaTonya was speechless. She leaned over and kissed him. The last outfit was her running gear. Purple compression tights, hoodie and even her Flex blade prosthetic were a part of the ensemble.

"We watched the sunrise," he said, "Remember?"

She placed the outfits back in the box and hugged Cooper tight. There was nothing to say. Who else would remember such a tiny detail as that morning she challenged him to open up as the sun rose in the horizon?

They began kissing again and soon they were making love once more.

PRINCESS

"Thank you for doing this," LaTonya said as Cooper changed lanes to take the next exit off the free way. It was early afternoon and they were driving to see her father.

Cooper said nothing. He reached over and squeezed her hand. LaTonya closed her eyes. That morning the nurse said he was in good spirits. She hoped his mood stayed that way.

When they arrived at the Glenview Retirement Home, Cooper parked the car; LaTonya sat in her seat, not moving until he nudged her.

"LaTonya?"

"Can we stay here for a bit?"

"We said we would be here by 1:00. It's 12:55."

She smiled at Cooper's rigid punctuality.

"I need a minute, ok?"

He stared at her.

"Ok."

She unbuckled her seatbelt and turned to face him. He opened his arms and she snuggled into the embrace.

"I don't know what it's going to be like in there."

"He'll be happy to see you."

"I hope so."

Cooper doesn't answer her and LaTonya knew he was struggling with what to say. They sat in the car a while longer until LaTonya felt ready to go inside. She took her compact out of her purse and touched up her lipstick. They exited the car and held hands as they walked into the retirement home. Cooper squeezed her hand, giving silent support for what was to come. Her rainbow fluorite crystal engagement ring, shined in the sunlight and she smiled, thinking about the upcoming wedding. Upon opening the heavy glass doors, LaTonya smelled the familiar scent of disinfectant. Her stomach turned. She wished this place was less clinical and more "homey" but after looking through countless facilities, she felt that her father would receive the best care in this one. They went to the receptionist's desk near the entrance.

"We're here to see Edward Randall."

The receptionist, a friendly, freckled faced woman, smiled and checked the appointment in the database.

"Ah, yes, LaTonya, his daughter," she said staring at the computer monitor, she glanced at Cooper, "And you are?"

"He's my fiancé, Cooper Anderson," LaTonya said.

Cooper only nodded and stared at the woman, not returning her smile, she blushed and said:

"If you'll both show me your IDs."

After their IDs were verified, the receptionist gave them each a visitor badge and they were permitted to go up to the fifth floor to her father's apartment.

When they got to her father's apartment and rang the bell, a short man with a mustache dressed in nurse's scrubs opened the door.

"LaTonya, I'm so glad you're here," he said, his dark eyes staring at her.

"What's wrong?"

"He won't eat. Maybe you can encourage him."

LaTonya glanced up at Cooper and he squeezed her hand again.

"Hi, I'm Billy, Edward's nurse," he said extending his hand to Cooper.

The two men shook hands and Billy led them inside.

"He's been up since 5:00 this morning. He had his bath and watched TV but he refuses to eat anything. He says he's on a diet. Come on, he's reading in the den."

They followed Billy to the den where Edward was curled up on the brown leather couch wrapped in the bright red knitted afghan that LaTonya made for him, he was reading the Chester Himes' novel, If He Hollers Let Him Go. He looked up from his book and smiled at them, his smooth brown face was wrinkle-free except for a few crow's feet around his hazel eyes; his white hair was cut close.

"Hi Princess!"

"Hi Daddy," she said.

"Is that your new math teacher?" Edward said, pointing at Cooper, "You said you were getting a new teacher. Did he walk you home?"

LaTonya swallowed and looked at Cooper, who said:

"How are you feeling Mr. Randall?"

"I don't know," Edward said, "I got to lose weight. Training is coming up," he held his arms open, "Princess give me a hug. Those bullies bothering you again? Is that why he walked you home?"

LaTonya hugged her father. Every time they came to visit, Cooper was someone different; she stopped correcting him a long time ago.

"Daddy, you have to eat."

"I'm going running tonight in the park."

"It's a shame to let the soup go to waste, Mr. Randall," Billy said, lingering in the doorway, "It's your favorite, chicken noodle."

"My favorite is tomato."

"Very well. I'll make tomato," he said and left the room.

After he left, Edward said: "Don't let them say stuff about your leg, you hear me?"

"Yes, Daddy."

"Now, how was school?"

"You should be proud of her," Cooper said sitting down on the love seat, "You have a wonderful, intelligent daughter, I'm honored to know her."

"She got that from her Mama," Edward said, "She loved you so much. And you loved her, remember how you tried to dig her out of the ground?"

"Daddy, you have to eat."

"You said she can't breathe, and you started digging in the mud, it was raining that day, you had on your little red dress, what happened to that dress?"

LaTonya tried not to cry.

"It doesn't fit any more."

But Edward wasn't listening.

"Rained so hard that day. You got your dress dirty. I loved your Mama… why are you wearing that ring?"

"It's a gift."

"We can see stones like that at the museum. Why don't we go?"

"You're a good father. Mr. Randall. LaTonya can hold her own in the world, she's very loving and kind. Bullies don't bother her any more and she's an excellent runner," Cooper said.

Edward stared at him and smiled.

"Thank you so much. It's not easy with just the two of us but I love her with all my heart. Princess, come closer and let me see that ring."

LaTonya got up from the couch, immediately missing the warmth of Cooper's hand, and she knelt in front of her father, who took her hand, holding it tight, he gazed at the ring.

"Beautiful ring. So many colors. It suits you Princess. I'm proud of you. Those doctors cut you so many times; even a grown man like me doesn't know how you endured that pain, but I was crying right along with you and I still am. You're special, baby girl. I love you."

"I love you too, Daddy," she said, clinging to him, tears falling from her eyes.

Edward looked over at Cooper.

"You watch after her. It gets dangerous walking home from school."

"I'll always protect her. You have my word."

"You're a good man."

LaTonya pulled away from her father and gazed at Cooper, who also had tears in his eyes.

"Yes, he's a very good man."

"I'm glad he's walking you home. I can't do it any more. My foot hurts sometimes."

"It's ok."

Billy came into the den carrying a tray with a bowl of soup, a small green salad, and a glass of ginger ale.

"Say, that looks good!" Edward said, staring at the meal.

"Are you going to eat?" LaTonya asked.

"Yes, I'm starving. What took so long for lunch?"

LaTonya kissed her father's cheek and watched him eat his lunch until he was done. Afterwards, Billy gave him his afternoon pill. Soon he was asleep and she and Cooper left.

As they walked out of the building into the bright sunshine, LaTonya paused on the sidewalk, clutching Cooper's hand; he hugged her close and they stood there a long time, simply holding each other, until all of her tears were shed.

HAPPY TRAILS

"Come on, guys, we're almost there," Mercedes called over her shoulder as they walked along the Deep Creek Trail to get to Toms Branch Falls. They were hiking in the Smoky Mountains National Park in North Carolina. The weather was warm, but not too hot, and with the cool mountain breeze, and shade from the yellow birch and sugar maple trees; their green leaves rustling in the wind; it was a perfect day for hiking. Mercedes carried Rosy in a bright red canvas baby carrier strapped to her belly. The toddler's kinky, curly blonde hair was pulled into a single Afro puff positioned in the center of her head; every time she smiled, Mercedes was reminded of Sam's wide mouth, and Rosy also had his sparkling emerald eyes. She pointed and laughed at the yellow-billed cuckoo that flew overhead.

"Yes, that bird is flying high," Mercedes said and Rosy nodded, her Afro puff bobbing with each movement of her head.

Sam came addling up beside her, he leaned over and gave her a quick kiss. Jake was strapped to his chest in a purple carrier, his coal black straight hair was mussed. He smiled when he saw his mother and Rosy.

"He wanted to look at a moth."

"Where's everyone else?"

"They're not too far behind. Abby and Lucy were taking pictures of some flowers. Matt is trying to get Finn and Rachel to stop arguing."

"They're at it again?"

"Yeah."

Mercedes sighed.

"We should probably wait for them to catch up."

They stood and waited and a few minutes later, Lucy, Abby and Matt, came walking up to them with Finn and Rachel trailing not too far behind. Rachel was throwing up her hands and Finn was shaking his head.

"They won't stop fighting," Matt said looking exasperated, "Can't you and Uncle Sam do something?"

Mercedes kissed the top of Matt's head. He was going through his "I hate the barber" phase as Rachel put it and his brown hair hung to his shoulders. He looked like the son of hippies in his tie dye t-shirt and cargo shorts.

"We'll try sweetie."

"I hear the water," Abby said, "We're close."

Lucy showed Mercedes and Sam the pictures that she and Abby took with her phone.

"We should send these to that nature site," she said.

They agreed with her and as they scanned through the pictures, Finn and Rachel finally caught up to them.

"Sorry," Finn said, "We had to stop for a moment."

Rachel opened her tote bag and took out a bottle of Advil and Gatorade. She shook out four pills into her hand and swallowed them, then took a long drink of Gatorade before returning everything to her bag. She looked pallid and a light sheen of perspiration was on her forehead and cheeks.

"Would you like to sit down for a while?" Mercedes asked.

"No, I'm fine."

They continued walking and when they arrived to Toms Branch Falls, everyone was amazed at the magnificent view. The waterfall cascaded over slabs of dark brown vertical rock formations, resembling a stairway, descending in a steady gush of white water and ending it's path in a collection of foam in the creek below. They stood near the green moss covered trees near the creek banks and took pictures. Due to safety precautions, nobody ventured into the water, but the children, Sam and Finn all threw rocks into the creek, listening to the pleasant plunk they made when landing in the water. Thankfully, Rosy and Jake were content to stay strapped in for now. After a while, everyone was hungry so they wandered away from the creek and found a few empty benches where they unpacked their lunches and ate under the trees that loomed above them, their long branches reaching for the blue sky above.

Rachel and Finn only spoke to each other if necessary. Matt, Lucy, and Abby sat together on a bench next to Sam and Mercedes and chatted together as they ate. The forest smelled like freshly toiled soil, earthy and rich, there was no silence, only soft sounds that you had to pay attention to, otherwise you would miss them. The firm pecks of a woodpecker assaulting the bark of a tree, the crunch of the woodchips and stones underneath your feet as you walked along the trail; the running water of the creek, gliding over rocks. Mercedes loved it all, and she was especially thankful to be sharing this with her family. Sam gazed at her and they shared a long kiss; she inhaled his familiar scent of medicated lotion and Ivory soap, felt the plumpness of his strawberry Chapstick coated lips, tasting their sweetness. No matter where they were or whom they were with, Sam could make her feel like she was a teenage girl all over again, that flutter in her stomach would never go away. After they finished their sandwiches and water, it was time to head back to the car. Rosy and Jake fell asleep. Finn and Rachel kept their distance from each other, and opted to focus on the kids instead. Even with their discontent, it was a wonderful day.

SMOKY MOUNTAIN SUNRISE

Mercedes and Sam sat on the deck of their rented cabin and watched the sun rise over the Smoky Mountains. Sam held Rosy and Mercedes held Jake. The twins woke up hungry and fussy and after they were fed, they now they lay content in their parents' arms. Jake tried to take Mercedes' coffee cup from her, but she gently scolded him.

"No, Jake, this is hot."

"Hot," Jake said gazing up at her.

"Yes, hot."

Jake whined until Sam said:

"Look at the sky."

Jake stared at the golden sunrise filling the coral sky with yellow light and shining on the mountain peaks engulfed in a blue hazy mist. Rosy laughed clapping her chubby hands while Jake remained solemn, his mouth forming an O. A soft summer breeze blew over them, the fresh mountain air smelled sweet and pure. Mercedes looked at Sam who was kissing the top of Rosy's head and smiled at him; he glanced at her, and then leaned over and gave her a kiss on her full lips and she tasted the vanilla creamer he put in his coffee. He caressed her cheek and kissed her once more before pulling away because Rosy was tugging on his T-shirt, pointing to the sky.

"Isn't that pretty?" Sam whispered and Rosy clapped her hands again.

Jake snuggled up to Mercedes and she hugged him close; he loved to cuddle; he watched the sunrise with the much awe, resting his head against Mercedes heart; the thumping of her heartbeat soothed him. She ran her fingers through his silky hair and kissed the crown of his head.

After she and Sam finished their coffee, the twins wanted to get down from their parents' laps and walk around, so Sam and Mercedes took them for a walk on a short nature trail that led to a pond. They held onto to their parents' hands as they toddled along the trail, stopping every so often to pick up an object of interest like a shiny pebble or a wildflower. When they got to the pond, they held tight to each child's hand because they were eager to run off. The water sparkled under the early morning sunshine; and a few red and green falcons flew overhead. Sam and the twins threw pebbles into the water while Mercedes took pictures with her digital camera.

Sam sang silly songs, amusing both Rosy and Jake, who laughed at the odd inflections of his voice when he pretended to be a pig. Mercedes captured their laughter, smiles, and hugs; Sam never looked more beautiful to her; nothing but love shined around him and their children; she blinked back tears and continued taking pictures until they grew tired and walked back to the cabin.

Rachel greeted them as they entered the cabin; she sat on the couch with a mug of tea; her eyes were red rimmed as if she had been crying. Her skin was pale, and there were dark purplish circles beneath her eyes.

"You're up early," she said to them, a faint smile on her lips.

Mercedes nodded and walked over to her; sitting beside her she put her arm around Rachel and gave her a side hug.

"You feeling ok?"

"Of course."

Rosy and Jake went to Rachel and dropped a few pebbles on her lap, pointing to them, and smiling.

"See," Jake said.

Rachel patted their heads and set her tea on the end table.

"Those are nice pebbles."

"Everyone else still asleep?" Sam asked.

"Yes," Rachel said as the twins lifted their arms for her to pick them up and she obliged, giving them each a kiss on the cheek and setting them on the couch beside her, but they wanted to rest on her lap and they climbed onto her, hugging her and smiling. Mercedes shook her head.

"You two are spoiled rotten. Let Aunt Rachel have some peace."

"I don't mind," Rachel said.

Mercedes didn't press the matter, instead she said, "When the kids and Finn wake up, we should all go out to breakfast."

"Could we just eat here instead? Eating out can be… expensive," Rachel said.

Mercedes and Sam glanced at each other.

"Sure," Sam said.

Rachel sighed in relief.

"Thanks. Did you have a nice walk?

"It's beautiful outside," Mercedes said.

"I imagine it is. Thank you again for inviting us."

"You don't have to keep thanking us. I wish the others could've come too," Sam said.

"Maybe next year," Mercedes said.

Everyone fell silent after that. Rachel began playing with the twins, marveling at the pebbles they brought her. Mercedes went to the kitchen for a glass of water and Sam followed her. Once they were alone, he put his arms around her and kissed her, holding her tight. Mercedes could hardly breathe because his kisses overwhelmed her, his hand crept up her shirt, rubbing her stretch-marked belly that reminded Mercedes of a deflated balloon because of the sags and wrinkles; but Sam loved that part of her even more since she gave birth to "their miracles" as he liked to call the twins; he massaged her stomach, patting and squeezing it as they kissed; then his hands roamed upward toward her breasts and he tweaked her nipples through the cotton sports bra she wore. Mercedes was aroused. She kissed him back with the same passion he showed her and pulled away, taking him by the hand and leading him upstairs to their bedroom.

Once they were inside their room, Sam locked the door and the two made love; slowly and sweetly with Mercedes beneath Sam, her thick legs encircling his waist, their eyes never left each other. Neither spoke because all they needed was the touch of the other. Strokes and caresses. Deep kisses that lasted so long that they became lost in them. Sam buried himself inside her and she welcomed him, moaning at the wonderful feeling at being joined with this man who was her heart, life, and joy. Afterwards, they held each other, the warm sunshine on their bodies. Sam kissed her heart.

"Mine," he said.

Mercedes sat up and he did the same. They faced each other, their skin glistening with perspiration, Mercedes skin was a dark dusky brown that was even darker due to hours spent in the summer sunshine; Sam loved her skin, especially when she tanned; his skin now had a golden hue, but he felt it lacked the richness of the woman's skin who sat before him, gazing at him with all the love she carried in her heart; the ceiling fan whirred overhead, blowing air on them, cooling their skin. They held hands, staring into each other's eyes, their breathing patterns synched together, their chests rising and falling at the same moment; like one heart beating. Sam's brilliant green eyes held all his secrets and he kept nothing from her; she saw his strength and love for her and the twins; they were in his eyes too; he leaned forward and they pressed their foreheads together, feeling the great love between them.

WHEN IT RAINS IT POURS

At around noon, the kitchen was filled with chaos. Sam and Finn cooked brunch and the children helped by cracking eggs, stirring pancake batter and getting the ingredients as instructed by their fathers. Lucy towered over Matt who looked like a dwarf compared to his twin sister. They were now twelve years old and growing up too fast in Sam's opinion, he recalled how Finn cried to him on the phone when they were born, and now they were turning into adolescents. Abby was ten and Sam was as devoted to her as ever, she was taller and less "little girlish" and growing more beautiful everyday; she and Lucy were closer than ever, whispering and giggling together, sharing secrets not meant for grown ups.

Abby always wore the emerald locket he gave her on the day he married Mercedes, regardless of what she was wearing, overalls or a dress, that locket hung from her slender neck representing their bond as father and daughter; and Sam couldn't have been prouder. Matt was the odd man out, since his other cousins couldn't come on the trip, he was stuck with his girl cousins since Jake was too young to be that entertaining to him. Sam noticed him sighing as he opened up the packages of bacon on the table.

"Hey Matt, how about you, me and your Dad, go fishing at the pond later on? Just the three of us?"

"How come we can't go?" Lucy asked as she handed Abby another egg for the pancake batter, "I'm good at fishing."

"Because sometimes guys need to be with guys," Matt said, "Besides you and Mom are going to the spa with Aunt Mercedes and Abby remember?"

"Oh, that's right," Lucy said, and added, "But guys being with guys, isn't that sexist?"

"No sex talk," Finn said from the stove where he was frying sausage.

"Dad, I meant – "

Sam held up his hand.

"We'll talk later. Anyway, Matt wasn't invited to the spa."

"I don't want to go to some weird spa and put mud on my face," Matt said.

"It's a special mud," Lucy said, rolling her eyes, "And that' why we didn't ask you."

"It's still mud."

Abby put her arm around Matt.

"I hope you have a good time fishing, and when we get back, we can all go swimming."

Matt smiled.

"Thanks, Abby."

Abby reminded Sam of Mercedes in those moments when she made people feel better; she truly wanted everyone to be happy just like her mother.

After the food was finished, Mercedes and Rachel set the table in the dining room, and everyone gathered there to eat. The ceramic dishes were white with a picture of the Smokey Mountains painted in the center of each plate and the glasses had Mingus Mill stenciled onto each one in black Old English letters. The table was filled with platters of stacked golden pancakes, bowls of grits dotted with butter and a little cream, plates of crispy bacon and juicy sausage patties; and a casserole dish filled with fried potatoes and onions, and a glass dish brimming with fluffy scrambled eggs seasoned with dashes of salt and pepper. There was also a basket of fresh brochten and biscuits. Before the family dug into to their meal, everyone held hands, bowed their heads and Finn said the blessing:

"God, we give you thanks for the delicious food on our table, for the loved ones gathered around, and for you, who make it all possible. We are humbly grateful. Amen."

After a chorus of amens, the plates were filled, and the meal began. The twins sat in matching portable red high chairs; their blue and green striped Mickey Mouse bibs were fastened around their necks. Sam helped Jake eat tiny spoonfuls of grits and Mercedes tended to Rosy who was eager to have some pancakes and eggs; Mercedes cut up little pieces of pancake for her and mashed up the scrambled eggs before feeding an impatient Rosy, out of the two children, Rosy always had a bigger appetite. Rachel's phone rang in the middle of the meal; she glanced at it. Finn was annoyed.

"I thought you were leaving that upstairs."

"I forgot," she said as the phone rang.

"Who is it?"

"Aba."

Finn's face tightened and he said nothing. He took a bite of his pancakes. The phone stopped ringing and Rachel put it away. Then Finn said:

"I'm sick of your father calling."

"Finn – "

"You know what he wants."

"He's only looking out for us."

"Is that what you think?"

"Please not now."

"Yes, now. In fact both of them can go to hell."

"Aba and Pop aren't to blame for –"

"And I am?" Finn said throwing down his fork and rising from the table, "I'm not hungry any more." He walked out of the room.

Rachel hung her head. Matt and Lucy both looked as though they were going to cry. Abby looked at her cousins who were like her brother and sister and Sam could see that she hurt for them. Lucy whispered something in Abby's ear. Then Abby whispered something to Matt. The three of them stood up.

"May we be excused?" Abby asked.

Sam nodded, and they left, with Abby walking between them holding each of their hands.

Rachel sat there, gazing at her glass of water; a few tears fell from her eyes.

"I'm going for a walk," she getting up from the table.

Once she left the room, Mercedes and Sam looked at each other. The twins, oblivious to the tension, patted their parents' hands.

"Eat," Rosy said.

Sam and Mercedes fed the twins. When they were finished, they went upstairs, changed their diapers and put them down for a nap. They stood over the twins' travel crib watching them sleep and then quietly crept out of the room. They went downstairs and put away the food and settled in the den with cups of tea and a plate of rolls. Sam opened his arms and Mercedes cuddled into his embrace. The afternoon sky turned dark and a summer rain pattered on the cabin's roof.

"So much for fishing," Sam said.

"The rain will let up."

"No, I mean, I don't think Finn will want to go."

Mercedes laced their fingers together and squeezed his hand.

"He needs to cool down. I want to know what's going on. They've been fighting since we got here."

"Well I think – " Sam began and he stopped speaking when Rachel appeared in the doorway; her hair and clothes were wet from the rain.

"Hey, guys, she said, "Can we talk?"

"Sure," Sam said.

Rachel sat in the loveseat next to the couch.

"Finn lost his job. Then they cut my hours at the museum. We're having financial problems and we may lose the house. Aba and Pop want us to move in with them since we won't accept their money. Finn doesn't want to."

"Why?"

"He doesn't like them and they've never gotten along. My parents can be judgmental and they think Finn lacks ambition. Anyway, I think we should sell the house and start over. Finn thinks he can save the day. We've kept the bank at bay for now but our time is running out."

"Sweetie, I'm so sorry this is happening," Mercedes said, getting up from the couch and going to Rachel, giving her a hug, "Do you need anything?"

Rachel clung to Mercedes.

"We came on this trip to forget. I know it was stupid but… we wanted to act like a normal family. I haven't been feeling well either. I think I might be pregnant. I've been throwing up and I have these damn headaches."

"Oh, Rachel." Mercedes had noticed the amount of Advil that Rachel had been taking since they got to North Carolina; she figured she was stressed out from traveling.

"We can't afford a house. How can we afford a baby?"

"Have you taken a pregnancy test to be sure?"

"No, I've been too scared to."

"Does Finn know?"

Rachel shook her head.

"No, please don't tell him. I can't deal with his –" Rachel said and couldn't finish her sentence because she was overcome with uncontrollable sobbing.

Mercedes hugged her, smoothing her hair.

"We're family and we're here for you."

Sam had an idea.

"He can work for me. I've got more business than I can handle. And a lot of my clients are in Tennessee. I'd pay him a salary just like any other employee. It won't be charity." Sam said.

Rachel wiped her face with the sleeve of her shirt.

"That's very sweet of you Sam. I don't know if Finn will go for it."

"Pride only goes so far."

"I know. My parents think he's being stubborn."

"I do too."

"If he agrees to work for you that still doesn't solve the house situation. We need the money now."

"We can give him a loan up front and then he can work it off by working for me and I'll give him a wage on top of that. It won't be charity."

"Sam I – " Rachel said and clutched her stomach. She stood up and ran toward the bathroom. Mercedes and Sam followed her down the hall. She barely made it and threw up in the toilet. Mercedes rubbed her back while Sam lingered in the doorway unsure of what to do.

"Oh, God," Rachel said and she threw up again. Mercedes held back her long dark hair as she puked again.

"Honey, take a few deep breaths."

Rachel held onto to the toilet.

"My legs feel numb… I can't feel. Why are they numb."

"We're taking you to the hospital," Mercedes said and looked over at Sam, "Go get Finn."

Rachel slowly stood up and flushed the toilet.

"I'm fine."

"No, you're not." Mercedes said.

Rachel tried to walk out of the bathroom but could only take a few steps, before collapsing to the floor, her arms and legs began to twitch and she was sweating. She held her hands over her eyes.

"Make it stop. It hurts."

"What hurts?"

"I don't now. Everything. I can't –" She began to vomit again and this time it was streaked with blood

Sam dialed 911. Matt and Lucy came into the hallway and saw their mother convulsing on the floor and puking, crying out in pain.

Mercedes told them to get their father. Lucy ignored her and kneeled next to Rachel, grabbing her hand.

"Mommy, squeeze my hand. Can you hear me?"

Matt ran upstairs and moments later Finn came downstairs with him.

"Oh my God, baby," Finn said upon seeing Rachel lying on the floor.

Rachel looked at him and Lucy but her eyes didn't seem to focus and then she closed them.

"Numb," she said.

Finn held her. The paramedics arrived. Sam let them in. Abby, Matt, and Lucy stood near the stairs as two EMT's, who were muscular men in blue uniforms, lifted Rachel onto a stretcher.

"Has she been vomiting for very long?" One of them asked.

"About five minutes," Mercedes said.

They carried Rachel out of the house into the rainy afternoon with Finn following close behind them. Mercedes said to the kids:

"Get your jackets, we're going to the hospital."

Lucy threw her arms around Mercedes' waist and began to cry. Mercedes hugged the girl, consoling her. Matt stood in silent shock; his dark eyes solemn. Abby touched his shoulder.

"Matt?"

Matt hugged Abby. He didn't cry at first only held onto her tightly; and then the tears flowed from his eyes. Sam's heart split in two. He felt helpless.

"I'm getting the twins and then we can go."

He went upstairs and found Jake and Rosy sitting up in their crib, awake and well-rested from their afternoon nap. They looked up at him with big smiles, laughing, holding up their chubby arms to be held.

"Da," they said.

Sam picked up his children and sat on the bed, hugging them and kissing their fat, dimpled cheeks. He heard the sirens of the ambulance wailing in the distance. Rosy and Jake smelled like baby powder, soft and sweet, pure and innocent. He sat there holding them until Mercedes came into the bedroom.

"Baby, we should go."

"Schatzchen?"

Mercedes sat beside him, and gave Rosy and Jake a kiss and then kissed Sam's cheek.

"I don't know what's going to happen. But whatever it is; we have to be ready for it. The kids are waiting. They need us."

Sam nodded.

"Pray with me."

"Ok."

They bowed their heads and Sam said:'

"Lord, please watch over Rachel and her family. Her husband and children need strength during this difficult time. Please give Mercedes and I the courage, wisdom and strength to guide our family through this crisis. Amen."

Together they quickly dressed the twins and grabbed their diaper bag. Downstairs Matt, Lucy, and Abby waited by the doors, holding hands.

"We're ready," Lucy said.

"I didn't know she was that sick," Finn said to Sam while they sat in the waiting room, hoping to hear news of Rachel's condition, "I mean, she's always had headaches. But it was nothing like this, you know?"

Sam squeezed his brother's hand.

"I know."

"I can't lose her."

"Finn –"

"I can't."

"I'm sorry you're going through this."

"Me too. And I'm sorry for acting like a jerk on our vacation. Rachel and I are having problems."

"She filled us in. Why didn't you tell me you lost your job?"

"I like handling stuff on my own."

"You could lose your house."

"Damn, she really did tell you everything."

"She was hurting inside and she needed to talk."

Finn hung his head in shame.

"I let my pride get the best of me. I took my anger out on her. It was wrong and I didn't even notice her being sick. What kind of husband am I?"

"Rachel probably didn't know it was this serious either."

"It doesn't matter. I hurt her. We've been fighting for weeks. And to top it all off, I heard Aba and Pop telling her that I was a loser."

"They really said that?"

"Not in those words. Something about my average intelligence and lack of judgment… I don't know. It pissed me off. Besides, they've always looked down on me."

Sam knew that Rachel's fathers were wealthy and they always had a certain life in mind for their only daughter. Finn never quite fit into their vision.

"Regardless of what her parents think, Rachel married you. She wanted their help because she was scared for your family."

"I hate charity."

"Maybe so, but I would hate homelessness more."

"I'm scared, Sam. What's taking the doctor so long?"

"I don't know."

Sam wondered when Mercedes would be back with the kids. She took them to the cafeteria to get something to eat. They had been in the waiting room for over two hours. He was considering telling her to take the kids home and he would stay there with Finn, but knowing Mercedes, she would want to stay. Finally a doctor, who was only slightly older than Finn and Sam, and rather tall with a black beard, came into the waiting room and sat next to them. He held out his hand.

"Hello, I'm Dr. Ahearn," he said, shaking Finn's hand, "And I take it that you're Finn Hudson, correct?"

Finn nodded, "Yeah, and this is my brother Sam," he said nodding in Sam's direction.

"Nice to meet you both. I'm going to dive into it. Rachel has a brain tumor and it's serious. The medical term is glioblastoma, a form of brain cancer; the tumor is located in the cerebral hemispheres that control thinking, emotions, speech and movement."

Finn took a deep breath and exhaled. He didn't say anything for a moment then said:

"What do we do now?"

"She'll need surgery to remove the tumor and most likely follow-up treatments that may involve chemotherapy. I think you should see a specialist. He's one of the best neurosurgeons in the country. His name is Dr. Randall Jordan and he's located in Kentucky. Here is his information," Dr. Ahearn said, handing Finn a manila folder. This also includes Rachel's CT-scan and a prescription for the pain and nausea. I understand if you already have a doctor in your hometown, but Dr. Jordan is great and he has many years of experience."

Finn took the folder, his hands shaking, and a few tears trickled down his pale cheeks.

"Thank you."

"Rachel should stay here overnight so we can keep an eye on her."

"Ok."

"I'm sorry about all of this."

"Will she die?"

"For now it's too soon to tell. I urge you to see Dr. Jordan."

Finn didn't say anything. Sam shook Dr. Ahearn's hand.

"Thank you."

The doctor nodded and left. Sam put his arm around Finn.

"Mercedes and I are here for you, ok? We'll help you with whatever you need."

"I'm broke."

"I have a solution."

But Finn wasn't listening to him.

"Kentucky? How are we going to manage that? Hotels, doctor's bills, hospital bills…"

"Stay with us."

"What? I can't impose on you like that."

"Yes you can. You want to give Rachel the best care, right? Besides, we would love to have you and the house is big enough. I can give you a loan for your house and you can work for me."

"Sam, thank you but –"

"No buts. Stop thinking about your damn pride. Yes, Rachel's parents aren't exactly your biggest fans, but screw them. Your wife is sick. Matt and Lucy are devastated. This is about your family, not proving something to the world. You fell on hard times; it happens. I'm your brother and I love you. So, please, let me help you."

Finn embraced him.

"Thank you."

"We've always looked out for each other," Sam said, "And now is no different."

FACING THE STORM

Three weeks later

Mercedes sat in the kitchen drinking coffee while enjoying the silence in the house. The refrigerator hummed. The rooster clock ticked. Birds chirped outside the window as the sun rose in the horizon, golden and warm. She sighed, closed her eyes, and yawned. The twins wouldn't be up for another hour and she needed this quiet time to recharge. The cherry wood kitchen table was littered with big plastic blocks, baby bottles, and the remnants of an art project that involved construction paper, popsicle sticks, and silver glitter that was spilled on the table, sparkling against the wooden surface. The house was a wreck, but she was too tired to care. Then she heard footsteps. She turned around and saw Rachel standing in the doorway, her long white nightgown grazing the tiles of the kitchen floor; she was so thin, that her cheeks looked hollow.

"Rachel, you shouldn't be up. Remember Dr. Jordan said – "

Rachel shook her head and carefully walked into the kitchen and sat down next to Mercedes.

"I needed to get up. Just for a little while."

"Would you like some tea?"

"No, I just want some company."

Mercedes patted Rachel's hand.

"How are you feeling this morning?"

"Can we talk about something else?"

"Ok, what do you want to talk about?"

"I don't know… anything really."

"I'm working in the garden today."

"More tomatoes?"

"Oh yes, and cucumbers too. I can make that salad you like. You know, the one with the fresh corn and spring onions? You don't have to eat it, but it looks pretty on the table, you know?"

Rachel held Mercedes hand, squeezing it tight.

"Thank you."

They stared at each other and tears formed in Rachel's eyes. Mercedes nodded and kept up the inane chatter about nothing.

"And I'm going to the post office to mail a package to Aunt Josephine. I'm sending her a spice rack I got on sale at Marshall's."

"Sounds like a full day."

"Sam is helping Abby improve her butterfly stroke today."

Rachel picked up a lump of Play-doh from off of the table and began rolling it between her frail hands.

"When Aba and Pop taught me how to swim they told me not to be afraid."

Mercedes took a sip of coffee.

"Were you?"

"I was terrified," she said, smiling, "But I learned to swim. I remember them kneeling near the pool's edge yelling, "You can do it! And I still hear their voices, when life gets hard."

"They taught you to be strong."

"Yeah, but I'm not feeling all that strong right now."

"Have you talked to them?"

"Last night they called. They're coming back to Kentucky this week. I'm not sure that I want them to come."

"Why?"

"I love them very much. They gave me everything. I'm still their little princess. But they say stuff about Finn. It hurts him. And me. I love Finn he may not be what they think is a good provider, but he's kind-hearted, loving, and only wants what's best for us; he lost his job, that's happened to millions of people; he tried so hard to solve it on his own."

"Have you told them how you felt?"

"Yes, and they say they'll stop but then lo' and behold; a veiled insult here, a few choice words there and we're back to square one."

"I see."

"They're pretty coy about it. And they would never air any dirty laundry in front of others. It happens when we're alone. Yet, in their own way, they love Finn.

She sighed and continued molding the clay into a ball.

"Can I tell you something?"

"Sure."

"I want to find my birth parents."

"Really?"

Rachel nodded squeezing the clay.

"Sometimes I wonder about what my mother and father looked like. Why I was given up for adoption. I've never told Aba and Pop because I don't want to hurt them."

"That makes sense."

"I haven't started looking… with so much going on. But there's a part of me that always wonders. Remember that old children's book "Are You My Mother?"

"Yes."

"Well when I was a kid, they read it to us in kindergarten class and it made me cry because at the end of the story the bird finds the mother and I couldn't find mine. I never told my parents, how could I? Later on I found out it was a closed adoption. Aba said they wanted it that way."

"Oh."

"It's on my wish list. Find my parents. Write a book. Drink champagne on a mountaintop."

"Anything else?"

Before Rachel could answer her, Lucy walked into the kitchen, her long brown hair was tousled and she was rubbing her eyes, the oversized orange nightshirt she wore had a few bleach stains. Since the kids tried to do their own laundry all kinds of mishaps had occurred: shrunken clothes, white shirts turned pink, mismatched socks, and tangled underwear. Mercedes applauded them for trying but said she would have to supervise next time they were in the laundry room.

"Hey, sweetie," Rachel said. "Why are you up?"

Lucy shrugged her shoulders, and sat beside her mother, covering her mouth as she yawned.

"I don't know. I just woke up."

Rachel put her arm around her and Lucy rested her head on her mother's bony shoulder.

"Are you hungry? I can make you some breakfast." Mercedes asked getting up from the table to get another cup of coffee.

"No, but thank you."

"Your hair is all tangled," Rachel said as she stroked her daughter's head, "Go get your comb."

Lucy left the kitchen and moments later returned with a wide-tooth silver-plated comb.

"That's pretty," Mercedes said as she poured cream into her coffee.

"Thank you. Granddad and Zaide gave it to me."

"How sweet. It's so elegant," Mercedes said.

"Yes, my parents know elegance," Rachel said, taking the comb from her, "I'm glad you let your hair grow back. It's gotten so long."

Lucy's hair almost reached her waist. Rachel self-consciously touched the pink silk scarf that covered her own head that only had sparse remains of her once, thick, lustrous mane.

"I missed it."

"Me too."

Rachel began working the comb through Lucy's hair, but after a few minutes, her hands began to shake and she dropped the comb.

"Mom?"

"I'm sorry, Luce, it's hard for me to grip the comb."

Lucy picked up the comb and hugged her mother.

"Are you hurting?"

"No, I think I should rest."

"I can help you upstairs," Lucy said.

"I can sit here."

"Are you sure?" Mercedes asked, "Dr. Jordan said -

"Yes, I'm sure," Rachel said, her tone tinged with a hint of anger and sadness, "I'm sure I want to sit in a kitchen with you and Lucy and comb her hair, talking about nothing and have everything feel normal; I'm sure I need these moments more than chemo, or get well wishes or packages from Tiffany's and Saks that Aba and Pop send because that's what their princess needs, isn't it? More perfume, more silk, more diamonds; I'm sure I want to have a conversation that doesn't involve cancer; I'm sure I want to forget Finn's face every time he looks at me because he wants so much to take this all away but he can't and that's killing me even more, not a brain tumor."

She began crying and Lucy held her mother.

"It's ok, Mom."

"No, it's not," she looked over at Mercedes and said, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to yell at you. I'm just so tired of this. I only want to be who I was before.""

Mercedes leaned over and hugged her.

"No apology needed. We all love you and we're here for you."

The three hugged for a moment longer and then Lucy helped her go upstairs to her room. Once they were gone, Mercedes finished her second cup of coffee and began cleaning up the kitchen. Lucy came back downstairs and joined her at the dishwasher where she was loading in the piles of plates and cups that filled the sink. Lucy picked up a dirty Mickey Mouse plate and put it in the dishwasher; and she was about to put in a pink china teacup but Mercedes stopped her.

"Put that on the counter. It's not dishwasher safe."

Lucy put the teacup back and placed a bowl into the bottom rack.

"She's asleep."

"That's good."

"I never know what to say any more."

"What do you mean?"

"When she cries… what do I say?"

"I don't know. Tell her you love her. Or just listen."

"I saw Dad crying in the back yard yesterday. He thought he was by himself. He didn't see me. I never saw him cry before. Not even in the hospital."

"He's hurting."

Lucy took the last handful of forks and spoons and put them in the silverware holder.

"I like living here. It feels safe."

Mercedes poured detergent into the dispenser, closed the dishwasher door, and turned it on.

"We like having you here."

Just then, Sam walked into the kitchen carrying the twins, with Abby and Matt behind him. Even with his bedhead, sleep encrusted eyes, and two excited toddlers clinging to his bare chest, he looked sexy. Mercedes gave him a long kiss and took Rosy and Jake from his arms, putting them in their high chairs. Matt, Lucy, and Abby began rummaging through the fridge.

"I'm making breakfast," Sam said, shooing them from the fridge, "How about omelets and French toast?"

The kids agreed to the menu and helped Sam cook breakfast while Mercedes occupied the twins with fruit cups and juice until their eggs were ready. Much later while everyone was gathered around the table talking and eating, Finn came downstairs, dressed in bright red running shorts and a black T-shirt. He nodded at everyone, grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and left, mumbling something about working out.

Matt hung his head.

"I thought he would eat with us."

Nobody said anything but the cheerful atmosphere suddenly became subdued. Mercedes ruffled Matt's long hair.

"Tell you what. After breakfast, all of you can help me in the garden and then Uncle Sam can take you to the pool."

Matt gave her a sad smile.

"Thanks, Aunt Mercedes."

Mercedes kissed his cheek.

"Your father needs some space right now."

Matt only nodded and finished his breakfast. After the meal was over, Sam and Mercedes took the twins upstairs, dressed them and put them in their playpen in their room across the hall. Mercedes made sure the baby monitors were on, and she stood at the top of the stairs and yelled down to Abby:

"Abby!"

Abby walked to the stairs.

"Yes?"

"Rosy and Jake are in their playpen. I put the upstairs monitors on, make sure the downstairs ones are on too."

"Ok."

"We'll be in the bedroom."

Abby nodded and walked away. Then they went to their bedroom, undressed, and showered together. As always, Sam insisted on worshiping every part of her body, washing every limb with care, gliding the soapy washcloth across each butt cheek, kneading the soft flesh, while nibbling her neck. He was rather devilish that morning and he teased her so much with his lips and tongue that she almost came, but he would pull back and whisper:

"Not yet."

He slipped his fingers inside her, pumping slowly, as she clung to him, reaching for bliss, but at the breaking point, he withdrew them, kissed her tenderly and began washing her large breasts, massaging the heavy mounds, and sucking her big turgid nipples. But Mercedes loved her husband too much to merely take the body worship without giving anything in return, she took his erect member and held it in her small, soft hands, stroking it at a deliberate pace, knowing the right tempo to bring him pleasure, but not enough for him to reach an orgasm; she teased him, fondling his testicles, kissing his neck and tweaking his hard pink nipples.

"Baby…" he whispered, "I cant'…"

He turned off the shower, carried her to their bedroom, laid her glistening wet body on the unmade bed, and entered her, with her plump legs wrapped around his narrow waist, as he moved within her, he stared into her eyes, rolling his hips, taking his time with each thrust. And Mercedes jiggled beneath him, her breasts did as they pleased, bouncing up and down, slapping together, her thighs quivered, and her belly shook, all of her scars, stretch marks and cellulite were on display in the bright morning sunlight and she didn't care; she moaned at the wonderful sensation of him filling her up. She squeezed his firm ass, urging him deeper, admiring his muscular physique; his biceps bulged as he leaned forward and kissed her; she was imprisoned between his strong thighs and felt so safe and loved. They came together and they held each other afterwards, not caring about how they would have to shower again.

"Thank you," Mercedes said, caressing his cheek.

"We both needed that," he said, kissing her.

"I know."

So many days passed when they would fall asleep too exhausted to do much else except hold each other and kiss goodnight.

"This is our time," Sam said.

Since Finn and his family moved in with them, Sam and Mercedes had trouble finding time to be together; and when they did get time alone, they decided that they couldn't discuss the kids, or family or anything except each other. For a while they laid together in silence, wrapped up in each other, cooling down from their lovemaking. Sam gazed down at her, lifted her chin and kissed her.

"I love you."

"I love you too."

"What's been going on with you?" He asked, kissing her cheek.

"I saw a beautiful rose in the flower garden," she said, "I took a picture of it."

"You're getting good with photography."

"You think so?"

"Yeah."

"How is that house in Louisville shaping up?"

"Pretty good. I found the right stones for the fireplace; and the windows will be installed soon. In fact, we should take a day trip down there one day."

"That sounds like fun."

"I know this awesome restaurant where they serve fried catfish and butter beans and the sweet tea tastes so fresh you'd think you brewed it yourself."

"Let's go."

"Ok, and then we can walk around the flea market and I can buy you turquoise jewelry and a new jeweled comb to wear in your hair," he said, sinking his fingers into her kinky mane, massaging her scalp, "I love your hair, just like this, all wild and free."

Over the past couple of months, Mercedes had acquired quite a collection of decorative hair combs. Sam loved it when she wore them, especially the ones that sparkled with costume jewels. He also made it clear that he wanted her to stay natural and not go back to relaxers; something she had pondered doing after the twins were born.

She lay her head on his, hard, chiseled chest and kissed his heart, as he stroked her back, his big, callused hands sent tingles through her body.

"You're so beautiful. I'm blessed to have you," he said.

"I'm blessed too."

"Have you ever been skinny dipping?"

Mercedes laughed.

"What?"

"Skinny dipping."

"No, I can't say that I have."

"We should go."

"Sam – "

"I'm serious. It's great at night under the stars."

"With the mosquitoes."

This time Sam laughed and tickled her.

"Think about it."

"I am thinking. And it sounds awful."

"You have to use your imagination."

Mercedes sat up and kissed his lips.

"I am imagining bugs, bats, and other things… but for you, I'll try it once."

Sam grinned.

"Really?"

"Yes, really."

He hugged her tight.

"We need a date night."

"Yeah, we need to plan one… oh, I want to show you something."

Mercedes got up and went to the closet and got her photo album; when she returned to the bed, Sam wrapped his arms around her once more, kissing her.

"You're awfully affectionate this morning," she said.

"I miss you."

Mercedes knew the feeling. With the chaos and tragedy that surrounded them, missing each other was a side effect. She opened the album.

"Aunt Josephine sent this. It has a lot of old pictures of my family."

Sam nodded.

"Cool, let me see."

Mercedes pointed to a picture of a full-figured black woman with a huge Afro wearing a white T-shirt and ripped jeans. She's sitting on a couch with a cute, little baby on her lap.

"That's my mother, she said, "And the baby is me."

Sam stared at the photo, running his fingers across the shiny plastic cover that protected the picture underneath.

"You're beautiful like her. You have her eyes."

"I wish I remembered her," she said and pointed to another picture of a tall black man with curly hair and white teeth, he stood in front of a grocery store dressed in a red smock and jeans.

"And that's my Dad. He worked at Safeway."

"What did your mother do?"

"She worked at a daycare."

"You've got his nose," Sam said, pointing to her father's nose.

Mercedes smiled.

"Yeah. My Dad's nose, my mother's eyes, and I guess my mouth is an original."

He kissed her.

"I wish I could've met them."

"Me too."

She closed the album.

"I'm glad she sent this. I like looking at their pictures. I can see that they loved me a lot."

Sam kissed her forehead.

"Of course they did."

"Do you think they would've been proud of me?"

He cupped her face with his hands and stared into her eyes.

"Schätzchen, you're intelligent, kind, open-hearted, talented, loving, giving, and fierce. How could they not be proud of you? You're a treasure."

"Sam…"

"Shhh, let me finish. Everyday I'm amazed at how lucky I am. I have something for you," he said as he leaned over and opened the top drawer of the nightstand next to the bed. He pulled out a cream colored envelope with her name written in calligraphy across the front and handed it to her.

"Here," he said.

Mercedes took the envelope, smiling at the calligraphy.

"Did Stacy do this for you?"

"No, but she taught me how. With some Skype sessions and lots of patience; you know how my little sister is; short-tempered as a wild horse. I know it isn't perfect but…"

She hugged him, kissing his warm, full lips.

"I don't need perfect. I can't believe you learned calligraphy for me."

"Well, I'm not as good as Stacy but I think I got the hang of it. You liked my invitation from our first date so much that I figured you would like this too and –

"Samuel Hummel, you're just too much. Thank you! I have a letter for you too. I didn't forget."

They decided to write each other love letters a few weeks ago, during the darkest, turbulent events that hit their family. Watching Finn fall apart and Rachel soldier through cancer, made them appreciate what they had even more. She got out of bed once more and went to her dresser and pulled out a card from the top drawer. She handed it to him. He gazed at it and tears filled his eyes.

"This is a photo you took."

Mercedes made a card of a photo she took of icicles that formed on the eaves of their old house in Tennessee; Sam loved icicles.

"I fell in love with you in that house that was frozen with ice and snow. And when you told me that story of how much you loved icicles as a little boy, well, this captured everything for me. Open it."

Sam opened the card and read it aloud.

Dear Sam,

I've never met a kinder soul than you. You've opened your heart to me countless times and I'm grateful everyday. Right now as I write this, you're giving Rosy and Jake a bath and singing My Darling Clementine, and our babies are laughing and I can only feel joy. Pure, beautiful joy. It's only one moment, and despite everything, I cling to these moments. I love that you steal kisses when we're doing something as dull as folding laundry; and when we're taking a stroll you always hold my hand, always. It shows the world that I am yours. I love that. I love how proud you are that I'm your wife and how you smile when you introduce me and say: "This is my beautiful wife, Mercedes…" I feel warm inside each time it happens because you value what we have. Sam, you have all of me. I love you. And Abby loves you. Thank you for celebrating her beauty and wisdom. To be clear, she's no longer my daughter; she's OUR daughter. Just the other day, I heard you talking with her in the kitchen, and she was telling you about a bird's nest she found, and you listened to every word she said. Most people don't listen any more, but you're not like most people. You cherish our marriage everyday. I can't thank you enough for everything you do: rubbing my feet when I'm tired, making love to me with your whole heart, holding me when I cry, praying with me, taking care of our family. Such a loving, wonderful man, you are. And I am proud to have your name and to bear your children. I love you, Samuel. Forever.

By the time, he finished reading her letter, Sam was crying, he hugged Mercedes and she rubbed his back.

"I meant all of it Sam. I don't care what's going on in our lives, you will always know how much I love you and what a wonderful man you are. God sent you to me, and I can't sing your praises enough."

They held each other a long time. Mercedes knew that Sam was overcome with many emotions, such a tender heart he had. His tears fell onto her bare shoulder, and she welcomed them, Sam never had to hide anything from her. Finally, he wiped his face with the back of his hand and said:

"Thank you, schätzchen. Now read mine."

Dear Mercedes,

I hear you snoring right now. And before you deny it, yes, my love, you snore, but I don't care. The house is so quiet and I'm sitting here thinking about how blessed, honored, and fortunate I am to have you for my wife and mother of my children. The first time I saw you, I was blown away. You were determined yet vulnerable, strong yet scared, you kept it together when many would've fallen apart. I loved you when you drank hot chocolate and cried in my kitchen and danced with me in front of the fireplace on that cold winter afternoon so long ago, and the first time I held you in my arms, I knew I would love you forever. Don't ask me how I knew. I just did. You're my blue angel, my heart, and my life. And as tired and cliché as it sounds, everything I do is for you. You showed me that intimacy doesn't always mean sex. It's how you hold each other, look inside each other, share moments of silence, and pray together. Don't get me wrong, making love to you is beyond wonderful, but I like the entire sum of all parts that we share. Honestly, baby, I never thought I could get what I have in this life, right here, right now. Rosy, Jake and Abby are my all. I'm blessed with three gorgeous, wonderful children. And you, always by side, challenging me, loving me, holding me, I love you so much. Did I mention that you're beautiful? I'm not talking about your body and face (though they are) I'm talking about your grace and dignity, your kind heart, your intelligence all of it is so beautiful to me. I am proud you are my wife. So damn proud. Schätzchen, I am eternally yours; the fire will never die. Just keep burning bright until the next life. I love you.

Sam.

Now it was Mercedes' turn to cry. She held his letter and the tears fell onto the page, making the black ink run. She set the letter on the nightstand so her tears wouldn't ruin it and held onto Sam.

"Thank you," she whispered.

"No need for thanks. I meant every word of it and then some."

He sort of hummed and rocked her in his arms until she got her voice back and said:

"I don't snore."

Both of them laughed and held each other, wiping away tears, sharing a few kisses and soft caresses on their damp skin. They took another quick shower, dressed, stripped the bed, and piled the sheets into the laundry basket. Mercedes was about to lift the basket from the floor but Sam shooed her away and picked it up himself. Instead of protesting, Mercedes chuckled and was about to open the door when Sam dropped the basket and grabbed her by her wide hips; he pushed her against the door and kissed her, his tongue delving into her sweet mouth; when he pulled away he said:

"Our time doesn't have to stop once we leave this room. I refuse to miss you. I'll steal as many moments as I can with you. It's crazy to miss someone who sleeps right next to you, don't you think?"

Mercedes nodded, standing on her tiptoes to kiss him.

"Steal away," she whispered, and opened the door.

END NOTES: Thank you for reading my story!

#samcedes fanfiction #Samcedes #Sam and mercedes #sam evans and mercedes jones

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