#i saw these two go at each other in 2020 and i understood the Vision fr | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

animedaddymilkers · 4 years

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Kinkmas 2020: Day Two

Prompt: Pegging w/ Guy

Genre: Smut/18+ || Tags: Pegging, Anal fingering, Oral || Characters: Might Guy, Female Reader || read it on ao3 here

"Still sure you wanna do this?" You questioned for probably the tenth time that day, just making sure Guy hadn't changed his mind.

To no surprise he swiftly nodded at you, "Yes! I want to do this."

When he set his mind to something he never went back on it. This was no different, after you talked over the idea of him bottoming it barely ever left his thoughts. The past couple missions were especially interesting, leaving him distracted and generally off his game. It was a rather private topic, so he didn't want to bring up with any of his friends. Instead, choosing to do his own research through books and the internet. He'd be lying to himself if he said the first video he watched on pegging didn't have him immediately sold on the idea. The notion of experiencing pleasure to the point the men in the videos had was tempting and soon after, Guy told you he wanted to try it.

The actual purchasing of the strap on was a bit embarrassing, but the staff of adult shops are always over friendly to offset the awkwardness. Now, you had the emerald green dick strapped to your waist. The sheer energy and power the attachment gave you was overwhelming and you couldn't wait to wreck your boyfriend with it. Seeing him kneeling in front of you, mouth open and waiting for your cock was enough to get you lust drunk. It'd be rude to keep him waiting, so with a slow and tentative thrust you began to slide the dick into his mouth.

It was a bit obvious he didn't have much experience with this, though he said he had some. In hindsight, it was a nice little bonding experiment for you two as a couple. He could finally understand what you have to go through every time you try to swallow his own monster cock. The best redeeming quality about Guy was that he was ambitious and eager to learn. And it was clearly showing in the way he was quickly learning to twist his head as he went up and down your green cock. Eager might have been an understatement. For something you weren't exactly receiving any physical pleasure from, Guy was sure going hard at the dick sucking.

At a certain point you had to just take a hold of his hair and pull him off your cock just so you two could move onto the main event. When he stood back up you kissed him deeply, the taste of the cherry lube still on his lips. Then you laid him down and put some of the lube on your fingers before prodding at his entrance. Already, he was tensing up, before forcing himself to relax and allow your fingers to slide into him. The sigh that left his lips was delightful and only encouraged you more. Slowly, you pushed your two fingers deeper, gently prodding as you added another digit inside of him. Guy's thick legs spread wider, silently begging you for more

His cock was hard and weeping yet he didn't dare touch himself because he knew all too well the pay off would be better if he waited.

"Oh, Kami, please… more." It came out more of a whimper than a moan.

The thought that you had one of Konoha's strongest shinobi underneath you begging for more gave you a wave of confidence. Your fingers worked him open before slipping out, earning a full fledged whine from the black haired hunk spread in front of you. You couldn't help but snicker, wiping your hand on the nearby towel and instead focused on lubing up your cock. Then, you held your breath and watched one of the best sights as your emerald strap-on slid into his ass. Your eyes wandered up his chiseled body and met his as he sighed happily, reveling in the fullness he was met with.

As a test you pushed until your hips until they met his and without any surprise, he took it without complaint. With the first thrust his thighs tensed, hands quickly reaching to find yours. Fingers interlocked as your hips trusted again, this time earning a delicious moan from Guy. Not like you needed any more initiative to keep fucking him, but the sounds coming from him definitely helped. After the first handful of thrusts you found a nice rhythm. It was slow and powerful, enough to please him but also leave him wanting more. So it was no surprise when his hips began to lift up and try to meet yours, soft begs leaving his lips.

"(Y/N)..." his voice was different than it normally was, now deeper yet broken by desperate whines, "I need more. Please, move faster…"

You smirked and completely pulled your cock out, laying down next to him. The action earned a shock look from him making you laugh softly, "You want more? Come and get it big boy. Ride it all you want."

His eyes widened slightly before he understood and scurried to straddle your waist. The contrast of his large form looming over yours was almost comical and you would have laughed had it not been for the sight of Guy sinking down onto your cock again. That signature bowl cut was now a messy mop at best, bouncing along with him, framing his face like a goddamn painting. His hips moved on their own, up and down faster than you could ever ride him. Must be all those squats he does paying off. He didn't bother holding back his pants and moans as he used you solely to get himself off, his cock moving up and down with him.

At this point everything from his face to chest was darkened with a blush and the way his eyes were nearly rolling into the back of his head let you know he was close. Teasingly, you gave a couple thrusts up, meeting his hips as they came down, making him cry out. To add fuel to the fire your one hand held onto an ass cheek while the other wrapped around his neglected, leaking cock. He moaned at your touch and leaned his head back. His movements were getting desperate as your hand worked his cock.

The hand on his ass moved and you held one of his hands, "Go ahead baby, c'mon, cum for me~"

His only response was a long whine, followed by a moan as his hips crashed down fully onto your emerald cock. It was there where he stayed, hips rocking back and forth as his cock spurted cum over your hand and stomach. His face contorted, eyes clamming shut while his mouth fell open. Honestly, you wish you had a camera to capture the sight for eternity as Guy came down from his high, panting on top of you.

"You did so good~" you rubbed his thighs as his upper body slowly leaned over, burying his head into your neck.

Your hands moved to his back and rubbed soft circles as you slowly pulled your fake cock out. Guy kissed your neck softly, his attentiveness taking over after his climax. The notion made you smile as he pressed gentle kisses all down your shoulder, his hands ghosting down your sides.

"Why don't we get you cleaned up, hun?"

"Mmm, I think you're the one that needs to be cleaned up, beautiful."

The statement confused you for a minute until rough fingers slid under the strap and made contact with the wetness between your thighs. In hindsight, you should have known better. Guy is a people pleaser, especially when it comes to making sure you're satisfied and this time was no different. Before you could refuse his act of service the strap-on was discarded to the side and your hunk of a boyfriend began sliding down your body. Along the way he trailed kisses until his head was in between your thighs. Now it was your turn to spread your legs and sigh as his warm tongue locked up your soaked slit. His strong hands wrapped around your thighs, ready to dig in for his meal and dig in he did.

Never one to half ass anything, Guy immediately began to work you like always. His lips wrapped around your clit and sucked gently, while two of his thick fingers slid inside of you. The roles reversed as your head fell back against the bed, hand tangling into Guy's hair. Fingers curled inside of you, hitting your sweet spot almost right away. You moaned and held his head in your crotch, thighs squeezing around his head. It should be illegal for a man as perfect as Guy to also be this good at giving head. His fingers quickened as he flattened his tongue against your clit. Really, he was so good at giving head because he loved doing it, loved making you cum just from his mouth and hand. He let you know it too, moaning against your pussy as he only increased his fervor.

It didn't shock you anymore that you were on the verge of orgasm already. Your thighs would be shaking if Guy didn't have such a commanding grip on them. But that didn't stop your toes from curling and tugging harder on his hair. The reactions from you only encouraged him more and he once again quickened his actions. Before long you were thrown over the edge, wetting his hand and clutching the bedsheets. As your vision returned, you saw Guy happily licking his hand clean before laying next to you. You both met with kisses and cuddles, falling into each other's warm embrace, ready to settle in for the night.

hope you enjoyed! ;) remember likes & reblogs help me reach more people! :)

#naruto #naruto x reader #naruto smut #kinkmas 2020 #might guy #maito gai #might guy x reader #maito gai x reader #smut #reader insert #might guy x you #x you #maito gai x you

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ranmanjuu · 3 years

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titled “shin shin”.txt

came across a post... a long, long while ago about a god of death type reader and got super interested, since of all the cyikemen games, ikesen is the one most surrounded by death on a larger scale (cause, war and stuff), so i wrote this at... 2020? almost one year before, at 21th of july. i had more of it written, but i really didn’t like it cause it felt too “quirky wattpad reader” and plus me just copying from the original prlogue without adding anything, so... yeah. enjoy!

(also, very important that anyone who wants to do whatever with this idea, feel free, no need to ask me)

You didn’t like your existence

To call it “your life” would be simply wrong; you don’t breathe, you don’t eat, you don’t sleep. All you are is a walking, talking existence that has a job to do until you fade away. You didn’t even like your job.

To lead a soul from their death to the Land of the Dead was a grim job. You learnt their regrets, their anger, their sadness, all which you knew was personal. But you had to be there. You had to ensure that their soul is at peace, so when the time comes to cross to the afterlife, they don’t get reincarnated as a ghost, stuck forever with their past emotions.

Shinigami, was your kinds’ name. God of Death.

You were a part of the blanket term ‘yokai’, or as some would call in other names such as ‘ayakashi’. Those who fall under the category were spirits, demons, animal-like creatures, or, similar to you, gods. For as long as you’ve known, supernatural creatures didn’t mesh with humans well most of the time.

Fear of unknown from both parties led to anger, rashness, and cut communication and involvement altogether for perhaps half your life.

You’ve existed for long; you stopped remembering the exact number after 1.000 years. All you did now was remember the year you came to the world, and do the math. But that doesn’t matter much, does it? The only thing you concerned yourself with is when you’ll fade away.

However, for your own sake, you do take a break. Such a job is heavy for the heart, and a walk doesn’t help as much, but it’s a nice thing nonetheless.

Kyoto. You were just done leading a soul that got caught in a traffic accident. You never traveled outside of the country, but would it really matter if you did? You still appreciated everything as it were; there has to be some light in a life to look forward to.

This particular city was rich in human history, you knew that. Maybe it’d be a fun thing to do, even if you didn’t have much an interest in it.

“All your famous warlord knowledge, packed in a mag! Come get one now!” A boy’s shouts filled the nearby streets, attracting attention from the occasional passerby’s. Including you. A Quick Guide To Your Warlords, the magazine read on the cover. Sounds interesting, and you were bored, so you took one and stuffed it in your pocket.

With a blank mind, you were brought forth to a temple by your wandering legs. Honno-ji. A small, quiet, quaint place. The setting sky burned up above as the small cries of the crickets sounded all around.

You’ve heard some stories of the small memorial in front of you. One of the unifiers of Japan died here—betrayed, as you remembered. But you can’t draw an exact name.

While drowning in your thoughts, the approaching presence coming to you was acknowledged but not paid mind to further. Until you shift your eyes to the side as said figure was in your peripheral vision—a man dressed in a lab coat. The two of you said no words, only continuing to gaze at the stone in front of you.

You only started to react when the sky above you turned darker and darker—not by the setting sun, but by the awfully black and almost purple clouds gathering up above you. That’s unusual, you’ve never seen anything like that in your life.

The once bright and bold sky now rained down drops of water on your face. You didn’t even notice you shifted to your human form—and a look at your hands covered in specks of droplets confirmed that.

“What poor timing.” The man next to you said, causing your eyes to glance at him. He looked solemnly to the monument, then to you, “Are you alright? Do you have an umbrella?”

“No, unfortunately. I didn’t expect it to rain. . .” your eyes linger to above his head, where a set of numbers and a small text was visible to you only. The death profile, as the others call. A set of information that shinigamis can see in most creatures, usually entailing their names, time of death, and cause of it.

It’s a cursing bit of information; always reminding you of what you are.

Out of nowhere, a thunder ripped through the clouds and hit directly on the small monument—a loud crackle following along. Your arm flew up to protect the man next to you by reflex, as your body stood there in momentary shock. You’ve seen death by lightning, but that was unlikely to happen now.

You whipped your head towards the human next to you, who seems the slightest bit appalled, but stood his ground. A strange thing catches your attention. . .

His death date. It’s flickering—changing.

From a century where he was supposed to die. . .to the 15-16th century.

A date of death changing has been a rare thing that happens, however unlikely, but—it’s never jumped that far before! To the past, too?

Utter shock froze you in place as the numbers flicker back and forth, leading your attention away from everything else—him asking you if you were okay, and most importantly—

—the black ball that formed where the stone was.

“Watch ou—“ before you can warn the man, the image of him next to you twisted and distorted, slowly getting sucked in whatever it was.

And so were you.

Wait! He isn’t supposed to die yet—!

The world faded to black.

Ugh. . .my head. . .

Your vision fades in and out, clear then blurry, until you’re finally wide awake. The scenery around you changed drastically, what was first a small place in the city of Kyoto is now. . .a dark forest. You’ve seen this kind of environment before in your memories—you just don’t know how you got here.

The lab coat guy—!

You immediately stood up from the dirt beneath you, looking around and trying to sense his soul around you. Nothing. Pursing your lips in slight unease, you started making your way through the criminally underlighted woods.

You’ve roamed around in the forest before. Most of your time on this world, you didn’t settle in a house or anything, you preferred to just wander around like a lost ghost. You didn’t have a need for one—you don’t need shelter, not food, not clothes, nor drinks. You were a lost ghost.

The branches and rocks and whatever else you tripped on didn’t bother you. All you were focusing on is now just. . .walking. Without even a set destination. The only guidance you had was the occasional moonlight that peeked through the trees up above.

As minutes pass by, you start feeling a faint presence of human souls.

It’s distant, and not much from how weak it is, but I should go and see.

All other senses were rendered useless for now as you focused on the source of the souls, and slowly marched your way to it. It grew closer and closer, until you saw a faint light coming in the middle of the forest.

Two people, you now concluded. Your footsteps remained silent and your presence unknown as you creep near the light.

A fire was set in a small clearing, and you can now see the two people. A man with dark hair, dressed in monk’s clothes and a scar marking his face, with another feminime-looking boy, purple-haired in armor.

“Are you ready for this, Ranmaru?” The monk spoke in a low voice. “You’re about to kill the demon. Bring him down for good.”

Kill, huh. An assassination was about to commence.

“. . .Yes, Master Kennyo.” The boy—Ranmaru—spoke, wavering in unease but still tried to be certain.

‘Master Kennyo’ smiled; a bitter, unresting one, “Good. They’ve light the fire at Honno-ji, arrive there and kill him. I will follow shortly once the fire has spread,”

“. . .Understood.”

Clutching his sword until it shook in his hand, Ranmaru turned around and walked off from the clearing.

You overheard the conversation and calmly watched his figure fade away. It isn’t your place to intervene—not if this is fate, but even so—you’ll follow him. At least you can rest the soul of the victim.

In silent steps trailing him, you heard a last piece from Kennyo. “Finally, we’ll have our revenge. . .”

You took your time in following Ranmaru’s path. If whoever’s assassinated dies, it’s soul will still remain until they can go to the afterlife. Time stops for them as long as it takes to get their soul guided away from the living land. Is it immoral in a way? Perhaps.

Unless. . .you can stop them from getting killed. But often when you try to intervene, the death happens either way.

So what’s the point?

Nihilistic thoughts aside, you sensed more human souls coming your way; five, from what you can tell. But you paid no mind to that. Until it got nearer, and nearer, and nearer, and—

“Oof.” In your blank stated mind, you bumped into someone, causing them to huff in surprise. You yourself paused and looked—a brown haired man wearing red armor, “Hey, watch where you’re going—!”

His complaints died on his tongue as soon as he finally saw who he bumped into. His expression, from a slightly irritated frown, turned more into one of confusion, “Huh? Hey, what’s someone like you doing here in the woods? Nighttime, also? Such weird clothing, too. . .”

His spoken words made you raise an eyebrow, “Ignoring all that, I’m sorry for bumping into you. I just had some business is all.”

“In the dead of night? What are you, an. . .enchantress? Those stories of w-witches in the forest?” The man’s voice wavered more with each passing word. The quirk in your eyebrow deepens.

“I assure you, I’m not—“

“Yuki~! We leave you for a few seconds and you’ve already found yourself a partner?” A velvet and rich voice arose from behind the dark bushes and trees, all of them being pushed aside to reveal an auburn haired man, this one more built in his body.

The one you’ve been talking to—Yuki—blushed and shook his head vehemently, “Ugh, no! I’m not like you; we just bumped into each other is all. And I think it’s some kind of witch, too—”

The redhead man tutted at Yuki in a disapproving manner, “Now, now, Yuki. Have I not taught you how to talk properly in front of such a beauty all this time?” His attention turns to you, and in a second, his eyes lit in passion, “Forgive me for his prudeness, my goddess, dear Yuki needs a lot more lessons than I thought. However. . .if you want to be with a real man, I’m always up for service.”

“Will you stop flirting with everything you meet. It’s disgusting.”

Three more people emerge from the shadows, the small bits of moonlight pouring to their features. The one who spoke was a blond one, cladded in blue armor and with eyes that said he wanted to have nothing to do with any of this.

“But Kenshin, you can’t just turn away at such a beauty laid in front of your eyes.” The flirt replied to the cold comment with a smirk.

“Stop. Or I’ll kill you.”

The bickering of the two were left unnoticed as another man with dark blue hair stepped up, far closer than what you were expecting. His hand reaches and caresses lightly on your clothes, “I have never seen such a design or material like this before. How fascinating. Would you like to switch with one of my kimonos?”

“Yoshimoto, I’ve already claimed them! Don’t steal them right under my nose.” Flirt Man threw a light complaint, turning away from Kenshin for a moment.

“Art is to be appreciated by everyone, Shingen.” Yoshimoto simply responds, now tugging lightly at the sleeves of your shirt.

Okay, you’ll admit it. You’re slightly overwhelmed.

So far, you haven’t said anything, mainly because you don’t want to. It feels like anything you say won’t make the situation better anyway. But still. . .even in your long life, this is quite bizzare.

You observed each of them one by one. Then your eyes landed to the last one, the same brown haired man you saw earlier. Now, in. . .some sort of ninja attire. While you tilted your head in slight curiosity, you’re at least satisfied to see he was safe.

And his death date has changed, too. . .

Speaking of death, you’re finally reminded of following. . .who was it, Ranmaru? to an assassination.

Gently freeing yourself from Yoshimoto’s admiring touches to your clothes, you bowed slightly in front of them, “I appreciate meeting all of you, but I have to go.”

You don’t see Sasuke opening his mouth to say something, and neither do the others, as you walked off to the darkness.

You thought by losing your way from your unofficial guide, you wouldn’t find the destination. But luckily, even going in the same direction as he did led you to it. Honno-ji. This time, it’s in the midst of drowning in fire. You made your way through the front door and entered where the fire wouldn’t reach you—but it wouldn’t make a difference anyway.

And in the middle of the room not yet entirely covered in flames, was who you assume the victim, sleeping. The cause of death, “died in an assassination while the building was set on fire”, said as much. Dressed in black armor, you could tell he was important, somehow. Not everyone can casually wear one, despite the past few people you’ve met been donning it.

The text displayed above the man’s head displayed the same old. Nobunaga Oda.

On the other side, you see a silhouette approaching steadily, sword in hand. Ranmaru, you guessed. You double checked yourself to make sure you weren’t visible to the human’s eye, and you were just fine with watching another death as you have—

Until, for the second time today, the death date for Nobunaga Oda flickered.

You froze as what was 21st of July, 1582, blinked into a later date. Much later.

What. . .?! That was the second time today—what am I supposed to—

Your chest felt heavy, and your hands trembled in uncertainty of what you should do. Do you save him? Watch him die? Would he even die at this moment? Or would it be later? You’ve never been in this position—the answer was always clear. And now you’re terrified.

Your body swayed back and forth violently, as two sides fought in your head of what to do. But time was running out—he’d be assassinated if you didn’t take this chance. And he’d die. That’s the same as you killing him, you thought, and you’ve sworn to never do such a thing.

From your disarrayed thoughts, your legs moved on their own and walked to him. You’re saving him, then.

#ikemen sengoku #ikesen #cyikemen #*writing #scenario #ikesen nobunaga #ikesen ranmaru #ikesen kennyo #ikesen sasuke #ikesen yuki #ikesen shingen #ikesen kenshin #ikesen yoshimoto

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obx-imagines-07 · 4 years

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You Deserve to Be Loved - Part 1

READ PART 2 - HERE

JJ Maybank x Fem!Kook!Reader - Platonic!John B Routledge x Fem!Kook!Reader

Universe: Outer Banks

Type: angst but really fluffyyy cuddly JJbae at the end <3

Summary: John B and JJ can't understand why you are always protecting them and when they ask you, you get kinda emotional... And they start to take care of you too.

Request: yes|NO

Prompt: xxx

Warnings: if 'really cuties jj and jb' is a warning | mentions of abusive parents and death(?)

Song: xxx

Word Count: 1.9K

Posted: 20th of June 2020

A/N: i had this little idea for a blurb but got carried away, and i really hope that it got as good as i wanted it...

My Others Accounts: @hp-imagines-07 (Harry Potter) | @mcu-imagines-07 (Marvel Comics Universe) | @stit-imagines-07 (Stranger Things & IT)

Having JB and JJ as your best friends since always is the best thing ever, you three meet when you were just little kids and everything was perfect at the time. Their parents weren't something chaotic yet, but your life didn't change a bit.

You still had both of your parents and they loved you more than anything in this world, but in their case was something different.

JJ had lost his mother, his dad became an alcoholic and drug addict, and he had a few problems with anger that always gave JJ more bruises then you wanted to think or see. John B's mom went away when he was just a baby and his father went missing, a few years after that.

They don't have parents at all.

And that makes you feel so bad every single time because they're just such good boys, that deserve the hole love of the world for them, but the people that were born to love them the most on the world, just don't. And because you never felt what they must feel every day, looking around the house and not seeing a mom making breakfast or a dad watching the football match from yesterday, that he didn't watch because you two were fishing, swimming or just having fun together...

That's why you are always showing to them how much you love them, saying good things about them, holding them when they need someone... Always doing things that they're parents should.

You would be the one to bring more food to the chateau so they could have anything to eat for days, you would bring a few blankets when it was cold, you would clean around their house and cook - you first sucked at it, but you learned so you could make food for them -, you would even buy a few clothes for them as noticing that something was missing... You would look after them.

But something that you can't control is your feelings, so you ended falling for JJ, and, for your surprise, he felt the same way about you. But you could separate the moments you acted like a girlfriend and the moments that you had to be his mom.

You just did all of it for them 'cause they deserve it and 'cause you adore them.

And seeing them, right now, looking at you with angry faces and asking you the same question for the past minutes - that you didn't pay attention to count -, just broke your heart in a million pieces.

You just acted like that boring girl to help them. You want just the best and anything else to them because you love them because they deserve and need someone to take care of them.

"[y/n], I'm done asking why you act like that. We just want to understand why you are like this with us, we're not kids!" JB said angrily and you only sat at the couch from John B's living room, trying to normalize breath.

"Bro, chill. She'll answer us, just calm down." JJ tried to stay calm to not push any pressure on you because that boy knew too well how much you hated to be under pressure.

The two of them stayed quiet and looking at you waiting for an answer, while all you could do was try to control your breaths so weren't going to cry in front of them - that was the last thing that you wanted to do right now.

"It's just that..." You started and tried blinked the tears that started to blurry your vision away. "I want to protect you..." Your breathing started to get heavier by the seconds and John B was going to say something, but you stopped him. "Just let me finish, okay?" The boys just looked at each other and then nodded at you. "My parents do everything for me, they take care of me, they love me... But I think about you two and the unique people that were made to love you, just don't. And you don't deserve any of all of what you pass through, so I try to avoid it." At this moment, you couldn't control your tear anymore and even JJ was trying to clean his wet cheeks with the back of his hand. "I love you too much to just watch, I have to help you the way that I can, and I know that my love won't ever be able to get close to the one that you should get, but it can be a distraction or even help at any other way a little bit... I want to make sure that you know you're not alone and that I love you two." You said and sighted, so you could finish your thoughts. "So, the reason that I'm always bringing food, organizing the house, buying new clothes for you, paying attention to how many beers you drink, taking care when any of you gets sick, making breakfast, bringing blankets when it's cold and all the other stuff you were complaining about, is because you deserve to be loved and I love you."

Your red and puffy eyes locked with the baby blue ones and then meet the bright brown ones. All of you were with teary eyes, but you were the one that cried the most.

JJ and John B just looked at each other and looked like they were talking by their thoughts or sharing the same one because the two of them just came to your direction at the same time and hugged you.

They were so different from each other, but at the same time, they were so much alike. Well, they held you for the same reason, but you were able to differentiate them by the way they were hugging your little body against theirs. John B was holding your torso with both of his arms, trying to bring you impossibly close. And JJ was with one arm around your hips and the other one holding your shoulders, trying to stop the way that they were shaking and breaking his heart together.

JB was feeling so guilty by pushing you to say all of that for them, while JJ was feeling shitty by being able to read you like an open book, but never even dreaming about something like this, and you were wanting to hold them and never let them go.

So you hold them. With your trembling and soft hands, you held the blond locks of JJ's hair so he wouldn't take his head off of your shoulder - and you could still fell his shaky breaths hitting your neck and hear his low sniffs and sobs -, and the back of John B's neck so he wouldn't move his head and took his chin out of the top of your hair. Your hands were so delicate that if anyone else saw the way you were touching them would think that they were made by glass and you were afraid to break it. JJ just noticed that one of your hands was lost in his hair when you started to play with it.

And you three stayed there for God knows how long, until John B took his arms off your torso and you took your hand off of him. But JJ wouldn't let go of you so early, so he brought both of his arms to your waist, hugging you from behind.

"Sarah wanted for me to call her after talking to you..." JB said and you knew pretty well that he was asking if he could call someone else at the moment, and you just smiled at him, that understood that he could call her and that you wouldn't be mad at him. "Would it be a problem if I go to spend the night there?"

He had never asked that to you, maybe because he never slept at any other place that wasn't his own house but with the way that John B was expectantly looking at you. He was asking for your permission to spend the night at Sarah's.

To anyone else, that question would make them think that he was being crazy to ask your permission to sleep at his girlfriend's house, but you noticed how things would change after the talk you just had...

"Of course not, just don't forget to text me when you get there." You said and the smile that John B gave to you, made everything you ever did feel worthy. JB got another outfit that you were pretty sure he would wear on the next day on the HMS POGUE and went to the van.

JJ's arms around you always felt that they belonged there and you could get used to his scent and warm body against yours so easily... Your thoughts were stopped by the felling of sweet and soft kisses at your bare left shoulder and blond locks lightly tickling the side of your neck and jawline. Your head tilted slightly to give JJ more bare skin to kiss and your left got lost in his hair, while your right one interlocked fingers with one of his hands.

"J..." Your voice betrayed you by going out as a whisper, but it caught his attention that just hummed against your soft skin as an answer and you knew you could continue. "Could we just cuddle today?"

Your voice was low and begrudging and you hoped that JJ wouldn't notice it, but he did. And you didn't even need to explain why, because he already saw that you were afraid that he would want to have sex and just the fact that you weren't in the mood, would make him upset.

"And I thought you would never ask..." JJ whispered in your ear, sending a shiver pass through your spine and you didn't need to look at him to know that he is smiling, just like you.

You pulled him by the hand that was already in contact with yours to his bedroom, as he closed the door, your hands slipped away from each other and you grabbed one of the shirts that you bought to JJ, putting it on after taking off your bikini's top. When you looked at JJ's bed, you saw him wearing just his boxers and a huge smile with open arms and grabby hands. You chuckled seeing your hot ass boyfriend just with his black boxers, looking like a little boy.

But you didn't waste any time going there with him and holding his huge body against yours. JJ immediately dropped his head at his favorite place, between your breasts with one of his arms holding your waist against the bed and the other one going under your shirt and rubbing your back with his thumb. His cold hand made your whole body flinch and he just giggled, kissing your collarbone through his shirt. One of your hands started to play with his hair and the other was lightly caressing his wide and muscular back with your nails.

The boy loved when your nails barely touched his back and the way it sends goosebumps all over his body.

And it tickles.

"Love." JJ's voice got muffled by his shirt and your skin, but you still listened and looked down at him, that was already looking at you with his chin resting at your chest. "'Just wanted to say that I love you." He softly and passionately kissed your lips and lied back between your breasts.

You couldn't ask for a better life, a better boyfriend, or either for better boys to take care of. You loved JJ and JB, and if you were with them, you were safe, happy, and loved. And you knew that when you need them, they'll be there for you, just like you always did for them.

Taglist:

@ifeelinfiniteee @maybankluvr @queenmegzuniverse @fanficscuziranout @losers-club6 @rozz-alyne @caswinchester2000 @mendeshollandhood @queendmegzuniverse @p0gue420

(if you want to be part of my taglist, click here)

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javisjeanjacket · 4 years

Text

Saturated Filter - (ezra x fem!reader)

A/N: “hi and welcome back to me screaming. AHHH” this is part two of how hai is coping with the 2020 election.

I definitely cried while writing this and I’m not for sure if it’s from the tension of the election or because it just really hits but i guess we’ll see! lol

Also Zeek if you see this....I FEEL WHAT I FEEL OKAY DONT COME FOR ME

Warnings: reader has some anxiety (lol SAME) but not a full on attack or anything, just a lil fluffy angsty boy :)

Word count: 2.1K

A soft mist settled over the harsh lines of your helmet and your breath fogged up at the bottom of glass orb.

Your hands rooted around in the moist earth in front of you, your eyes scanning the soil for any hint of a rouchestone bed. Your breath was flighty, your bones felt as if they turned hollow and avian. You pushed aside a clump of foliage and you saw the tell tell waved lines of water venturing through the dirt, down towards the promise of a bed of dainty gems. You pawed at them gingerly, brushing away the earth and insects as you looked. Your heart burned just under your collarbone, scratching and clawing for her way upwards. To spill down your lips and come alive in the oxygen in your helmet.

'You be careful out there, little bird.' He had warned. He had strapped a fresh filter into your air purifier and allowed his hand to linger at your side. 'Not the friendliest of vermin out here.'

You had smiled at Ezra softly, his tenderness extracting a strange pull from your chest. Letting out a loud sigh, you swallowed and pulled a small pad of paper from your utility belt and began to jot down the coordinates of the rouchestone nest. You tried to make the earth look as undisturbed as possible so as not to alert other prospectors, and then started back again on the trail you and Ezra had mapped out the night before.

Stark mountains stood astutely over the dark treeline ahead of you, clouds and mist sojourning around the massive structure. The planet was beautiful, be it a little harsher than Lah'Mu and the planet the two of you had worked on before it.

Codes to the pod launch sequence, the smell of Ezra's sheets, the happiness of the beetle scurrying across a thick blade of grass by your knee all swirled around your mind, intertwining the drama of an aching heart with the mundane of a hike on a clear day.

'You'll need to take a sharp right here, otherwise you're going to get into a conundrum with an arianic sinking pit.' Ezra had warned you, his eyebrow quirked up and the scar on his cheek stretching to accommodate his expression.

You remembered chuckling at his seriousness, "Ezra, I know how to read a map, I'm not helpless."

The man had spread out his large hands, the tattoo by his thumb catching your eye. "I know you're not, I know..." He had trailed off and run a hand through his hair, the blonde patch near his face mixing with the deep brown strands.

It hadn't felt like falling, realizing you loved the charismatic prospector. It was more like turning on a light switch.

You had felt your hand reaching for the light and your heart dripping from your fingers as you switched it on, and then that was it.

It wasn't a falling, it was a knowing. It was a click and then everything else had become illuminated by that knowing.

You had felt the beginning and end of it at once, almost strong enough to knock you to the dirt floor below.

The lines of him, the home that housed the spirit, had become so familiar to you that you felt you could take him with you anywhere. Draw his figure when you needed it, take a brief reprieve in his presence.

And that knowing, the fact of love and it's permanence, sent a shiver down your spine.

Sure, you had been with other people before Ezra, even convinced yourself you loved some of them, but it had never been as absolute as this.

It felt as if you were made of glass, the way he could pinpoint each emotion and quirk of your lips.

He could somehow understand you better than you understood yourself.

~~~~~~

The cot had never been particularly comfortable. Granted, it was more comfortable now that Ezra had fashioned the two of yours into one larger one, but with the unsupportive bottom of the contraption, the only way you could really rest comfortably was with Ezra's outstretched arm under your neck. You laid like this now, your eyes drifting lazily from one freckle on his arm to the next one, creating a map of them in your mind. Where your breath landed on his arm, the hair on his skin laid flat, but towards his wrist they stood high, outstretched for warmth.

Ezra snored softly and you jerked when his heavy arm gently hit your back, stopping after to rest against you.

You let out a shallow breath, the air surging across his sleeping skin. Water welled in your eyes and burned in your throat.

'What will happen when he's not there to let you lay on his arm anymore?' You thought. 'How will you sleep when he leaves you?'

Air rose in your throat, heat and vigor quick to overwhelm it. A few precious tears escaped from your eye, slipping quickly down your cheek and then dripping onto Ezra's arm below.

The more breaths you took in, the less you felt like you could breathe.

Your chest thumped rapidly and the feeling was not unlike being stuck out in the Green with an over-saturated filter.

The panic rising under your cheeks, the chill creeping up the back of your neck, the forced stillness in your mind.

"Birdie, what's-" Ezra's gravelly voice whispered from behind you. He yawned and ended, "What is it?"'

‘Shit.' You thought. You quickly wiped the tears on your cheeks and sat up from the makeshift bed. "Nothing, I'm just..." You trailed off as your eyes landed on your boots by the side of the cot. "I need to go for a walk." You sniffled as you bent down to wiggle on your boots over your sleep socks.

Ezra chuckled, his hand reaching for your shoulder. "A walk? Honey, I am going to have to protest, it is not in your, or my, best interest to lose you to a free-roaming carnivore." He squeezed your shoulder tightly.

You wiped your dripping nose on your sleeve. "I need to leave, I'll be back."

"Wait, are you crying?" Ezra sat up in the cot, his hand stilled on your shoulder.

Tears construed your vision, making the sealing of your boots incredibly diffucult. You sniffled and continued.

"Sweetheart, talk to me." He whispered, his mouth pressing gentle kisses to your shoulder. One of his hands ran across your back softly, coaxing you back towards him.

Your breath caught in your chest and you looked up from your shoes, eyes fixating on a stack of Ezra's notebooks that were stuffed into a crate on top of a storage unit of rations. You took in several short, hiccuping breaths, but none of them allowed you to exhale as heavily as you needed to.

The creeping and prodding of panic settled over you, forcing you to pump air in and out of your chest rapidly.

Ezra sat up behind you fully, his strong chest pressing against your trembling body and his arms holding your shaking breaths in their embrace. His mouth moved from your shoulder, up the back of your neck and behind your ear. His mustache and patchy beard distracted the panic long enough to provide you a splitsecond's peace.

The gentleness in his touch and the care with which he held you was all together overwhelming.

You rebelled against the ledge he was pushing you towards, the loss of control required in an admittance of love for another person, grinding your heels in and gritting your teeth. "Stop, stop, Ezra, please." You whispered, pushing his arms off of you and standing from the cot. You hurriedly sealed your boots around your sock feet and walked to the other side of the tent, readying your suit.

You could feel the jagged edges of Ezra's emotions as he rose from the bed after you. "Now you have got me as up and bothered as a nest of hornets, birdie. I am missing a part of this equation and I shall be very perturbed should you continue to choose to hide it from me."

Sighing and letting your head fall backwards, you wiped away burning tears from your cheeks. "Ezra, it's not-" You let out a whimpering exhale. "It's not about you, okay. I'm just..." You shook your head.

"I do not like to see you in such pain, honeybee." Ezra said. His feet taking timid steps towards your rigid figure.

You froze, your suit in your hands, clenching and unclenching your jaw. Hot tears rebelled against your tears ducts, screaming for freedom. Two trembling breaths later, you said, "I'm...afraid." The admittance of vulnerability and the rush of a release that came with it washed over you, allowing you a heavy exhale.

Ezra took a few more steps in your direction. "About what?" He asked softly, his tone tender.

You ran a hand over your face and let out a heavy breath. "About you. About us."

You could feel his body heat behind you before he touched you, could sense his body towering over yours, could imagine how hot his hands burned for you. "What have you found to be scared about, sweetheart?" He whispered, a smirk on his face.

"I don't," You began and then turned around to face him. You looked up to his eyes and then back down to your hands fiddling with your suit. "I don't see me the way that you see me. I don't see whatever it is that you see, I just look at me and see you leaving." Your hands shook as they picked at a piece of caked on mud on the wrist seam of your suit, your chest trembling under his gaze. "I see me, alone. And I don't know if I could be alone again."

Ezra crossed the space between you, gently tugging the suit from your grasp and dropping it to the floor. He placed a gentle hand on your cheek, moving his thumb back and forth across your chin. "Sweet girl," He whispered, his voice cracked as he looked over your face. Swollen and innocent and looking at him, needing him. "I very much look forward to the splendor of your company on our expeditions and rather enjoy our banter and the warmth of you in sleep. If you were not a living, breathing, creature, I would likely keep you in my belt pocket to carry you along with me. There is no reason to prepare yourself for the end of our venture, as I could not see it ending short of a complete and total upheaval of each of our lives." His dark eyes searched your features for a response. After not finding one, he continued with a lightened tone, "That is, unless you are harboring a grievance with which you have plans to decimate my poor heart, in which case I ask, my honeybee, that you kill me slowly, so that I may look upon the contours of your face as I go."

His teasing pulled a smirk out of you, subsiding your tears for a beat. "I wish I could trust me the way that you trust me." You looked down to the space in between the two of you. You swallowed against a dry throat and added, "I'm just...terrified."

Ezra nodded and hummed, "Mmm. What's not to trust, birdie?" He flashed you a smile and ran his hand from your cheek down to your shoulder. "Just stay even though you're terrified."

You looked up at him, tears burning at the corners of your eyes. Words felt as if they were never meant to hold a feeling as overpowering as the one currently harboring itself in your chest.

"Be as scared as you need to be, just don't leave me." He said, his hands reaching to take both of yours in his grasp. He looked down to your intertwining fingers and then back up to your eyes. "Please." He breathed the word so softly it had a kind of half life, the prospector fearing it would somehow offend you.

You nodded yes, your eyebrows scrunched in adoration. "Okay."

Ezra ran a big hand over the side of your face, tucking strands of your hair in between his fingers and then placing a strong kiss to your forehead. "Would you lay down with me?" He whispered, his breath hot on your face.

You smiled softly and nodded yes.

Ezra smiled back, the meat of his lip in between his teeth, and gave your hand a squeeze as he lead you back to bed.

GENERAL TAGLIST: @mcolbz14 @softly-sad

#ezra x reader #ezra x y/n #ezra x you #ezra (prospect)#hai writes

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indestinatus · 4 years

Text

Yellow Brick Road

TIVATOBER 2020 // DAY 17

↳ prompt: Scarecrow - rated T (1,726 words)

summary: Alone in the hideout from Sahar, Ziva finds herself doing something she didn’t expect, which brings back memories from the past.

A/N: also known as - if you chose to read one story of this whole series, please let this be the one.

read it on AO3 🌾

Heavy rain poured down on the gray tiles of the sidewalk. There was enough water on the street to reflect the blurry traffic lights and undefined skylines, at least until a car passed by and splashed it all over the closed stores. Umbrellas piled up in front of a popular restaurant and some moved across the street, but Ziva’s vision was out of focus enough to only distinguish them as blurs of color, disappearing quickly.

It had been hours since she had passed the point of tiredness, now breathing only out of instinct. Her eyelids burned but she kept them open, watching the skies fall.

It was rare for her to need a break like this, though it was turning even more frequent these days. She could only track Sahar down for so long - with just a name, the mysterious woman quickly vanished only to reappear again in another city a few weeks later - and after so many failed attempts of getting to her, Ziva decided to wait until they came to her instead.

That usually didn’t take long.

A taxi stopped just in front of her and a man rushed to open the door, motioning for a woman just behind him to enter ahead. She did so hurriedly, holding what looked like the man’s suit over her head as she disappeared into the backseat of the car.

A second later, the man did the same, hastily running a hand through his wet hair before disappearing. Ziva thought she saw him smile to himself, but the car sped up and she lost track of them before she could confirm.

Two strangers she would never see again, nor hear the end of their story.

She didn’t really process how or why, but suddenly she found her reflection staring back at her, heavy bags under her eyes and hair dripping wet. Ziva blinked, realizing she had crossed the street and now stood in front of the glass door she’d been watching from the opposite side all evening.

Before she could change her mind, Ziva’s hands moved on their own accord and pulled the door open. Blaming the tiredness for her poor choices, she stepped into the movie theater, searching for the ticket booth.

The air conditioning of the room made her soaked clothes feel cold. She picked a spot near the exit, blending into the shadows. In a second she had memorized all viable routes of escape, but it had been more out of habit than from a real necessity.

Her heart was in her throat when the main title started to play. It was this loud melody with a classic tune to it, the high notes revealing the passage of time. As the title appeared, nostalgia burned in her chest. It had been too long since she’d last seen it, way too long.

“I thought this was a colored one.”

“Do you really want me to spoil it to you, woman?”

“I’ve read the book, you know.”

“Then how come you always manage to quote it wrong?”

“How do you know they’re the right lines? Perhaps they’re different in the book.”

“I wouldn’t know.”

“Yes. Exactly. You would not know.”

“Don’t brag now. You’re the one who hasn't seen a movie that’s seventy years old.”

“I had other things to do.”

“That’s older than Gibbs.”

“That’s older than you.”

“Miss David. You hurt me this way.”

“Shush. It’s about to start.”

“You… Wicked Witch of the West.”

“Hm… Doesn’t she die?”

“You’ll have to watch and see.”

It knocked the breath out of her. She already knew it was coming, but the sudden change from sepia to technicolor was still a marvelous thing to see. Bright colors invited the viewer to enter this brand new world, and Ziva let herself get lost in the songs and the details.

The room was almost empty, some people scattered across the rows ahead. She wondered if they had seen this movie before. Probably, considering how old it was. Though she knew the story by heart, it was because she’d read the book a dozen times while growing up, it being a classic in her mother’s personal library.

He had teased her the whole day when he discovered she’d never watched it. She remembered it clearly—quoting lines and singing lyrics, he’d succeeded in driving her crazy enough for her to give in, which led to them renting a DVD copy on a free Friday night. She brought the beers and he led the place, the one between them who had a television at home.

Tony’s selective memory always surprised her, though his insistence in getting under her skin was a force on its own. He would bug her until he got what he wanted, and she was used to it—most times great at fighting back—but some days she just wanted to give in and see that typical smile of his, the one that stretched over his face until the corners of his eyes got wrinkled.

She could picture it so clearly, the image still imprinted under her eyelids.

It was a memory she visited often, that day. It had been one of those moments no one could know it would become a memory until it did. Their laughter, the sureness of safety and the genuine feeling of happiness were things that still warmed her heart, whenever she thought of it. They were so young and worry-free, she always felt a sting of regret for not cherishing the moment more when it was happening.

Dorothy reached a crossroad, unsure of which path to go next. When the Scarecrow changed the arm that pointed where to go, some people chuckled, and Ziva smiled weakly. He had always been her favorite one of the group. There was something really endearing about his clumsiness and care. He was smarter than he would ever know, and it was a charming quality she rarely saw in people.

“How can you talk if you haven’t got a brain?” quizzed Dorothy, tilting her head.

“I don’t know,” replied the Scarecrow. “But some people without brains do an awful lot of talking, don't you think?”

“Yes!”

“And what do you mean by that?”

“Nothing.”

“Yeah… Right.”

“What? It’s true. Plus, he’s cute.”

“He’s a scarecrow.”

“So…?”

“Don’t tell me you’re turned on by a scarecrow.”

“I did not say I was ‘turned on’. You are wiggling my words.”

“Twisting.”

“I thought it had been a twister.”

“Just… Watch. See? Now your scarecrow is also part of the narrative.”

“I like him.”

“Sometimes I just can’t respect you.”

“He talks a lot.”

“You say that to me all the time!”

“Well, you do talk a lot.”

“Are you admitting to like me, David?”

“I will call Ducky right away. We finally solved it - your brain is there, only it is made out of straw.”

“Ha-ha. Very funny.”

“Hm.”

Ziva felt her heart clench when the thought of Tony showing it to Tali crossed her mind. Had he done the same? Was he excited over little details and quoted its famous lines just like he did with her? Or did it remind him of them? Did they ever get the chance to watch it together or he avoided it? She certainly stared at the movie theater marquise for hours before she gave in, the tiredness making her too vulnerable.

She missed him so much her bones ached from it.

Ziva wondered if she would ever feel the same again. That flickering in her chest whenever they spoke in riddles, both of them catching each other’s stolen glances more frequently than not. They had always been good in sharing non-verbal cues, and even if they bickered until one of them got tired, the silence was the one thing she missed the most.

To be able to be understood like that by someone else, it was the closest she had ever been to love.

“Oh,” confided Dorothy to the Scarecrow, “I think I’ll miss you most of all.”

She pressed a kiss to his cheek, saying goodbye. Both of them were too emotional to say anything else, Dorothy wiping the tears with her hand and him giving her a sad smile. There was something incredibly bittersweet to have known it would have come to this all along.

Ziva struggled to breathe. She didn’t recall when exactly she had started crying, but she couldn’t see a thing now. There were only blurs.

She tried to remember the last time she did cry. Her chest ached from keeping it silent, the loud beating of her heart the only thing she could hear. She knew it would happen as soon as she bought that ticket, but there was something quite soothing about being in a dark room where no one else knew her.

She could finally be free, even if for a brief moment.

Ziva stood up before the credits started rolling. Hastily wiping the tears from her face, she exited to the street, hoping for once that she was really invisible, and no one would approach her now.

The rain had stopped. It was much darker now, though the street lights seemed brighter. The line of people outside of the restaurant had disappeared, probably already inside. Some taxis were available at the other side of the street, but she preferred walking. She couldn’t take any risks now, knowing she could quickly become the prey.

Ziva looked up to the sky, clenching her jaw. Letting the cold air inundate her lungs, she tried to ease her breathing. Tony and Tali were somewhere safe, far away from there, but at least they were under the very same sky. She wondered if it was raining there. She wondered if they were okay.

Closing her eyes, she pictured them again. Happy. She needed them happy, even if it meant they had found happiness without her. There was no other way to keep her going, other than to imagine them alive. Even if it looked like nothing more than a dream, she needed them there, safe, tucked away in her heart.

When Ziva opened her eyes again, the sadness had already been buried.

With Dorothy’s words still ringing in her mind, she ducked her head, following the gray brick road into an adjacent alleyway.

There is no place like home, she had said.

And wishing for nothing more than a pair of ruby slippers, Ziva David disappeared into the shadows.

#ncis #tiva #tiva fanfiction #tivatober2020 #once upon a halloween #my fics #this is by far the one story i'm proudest of #so pls give it a read if you can! <3

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penpatronuswhump · 4 years

Photo

WHUMPTOBER 2020

No. 29 Alt. 1

Fandom: Avengers

Whumpee: Tony Stark

Caregiver: Steve Rogers

Title: If Steve Was On Titan

Part 1 of 2

By: PenPatronus // PenPatronusAooO

Steve woke up from the hardest punch yet, but remained flat on his bearded face, inhaling the rotten Titan soil. A tremendous ache weighed down his body and he had to order it to move three times before it actually did. He raised his eyes. The spider kid was on his left, not moving. The Guardians were on his right – they were unconscious, too. Strange was ahead, also on the left and Tony – Tony was fighting Thanos all by himself. And that was when Thanos ripped off part of Tony’s own suit, and skewered him with it.

“NO!” Steve cried. His voice came out in a whimper.

Thanos walked Tony backward until he collapsed, then put his massive gauntlet on his head. “You have my respect, Stark,” said the Titan. “When I’m done, half of humanity will still be alive.” He shoved Tony away, and Stark gasped. “I hope they remember you,” Thanos continued, standing tall. Blood rained from Tony’s mouth.

“No,” Steve cried again. He tried to stand, but only managed to do a push up. That power stone sure packed a punch.

Thanos raised the gauntlet. In seconds there would be no more Tony Stark.

“Stop!” said a new voice. Steve looked to his left and saw that Strange was sitting up. “Spare his life, and I will give you the stone.”

Steve’s stomach flipped, then sunk.

“No tricks.”

Strange shook his head.

“Don’t,” said Steve, at the exact same time as Tony. As much as Steve cared for his friend, not even Tony Stark’s life was worth half the universe.

Strange raised his right hand and the time stone appeared between his fingers. Steve fought his way up to his knees, then up to his feet. He stepped forward, desperate to tackle Thanos – to do anything – but his left knee gave out and he collapsed.

Strange surrendered the stone. The Titan added it to his gauntlet. “One to go.”

Steve summoned the last of his strength. He got up and started to walk – started to jog – started to run – but Quill flew out in front of him, towards Thanos. The Titan disappeared through a portal. Steve changed directions and sprinted to Tony’s side. He knelt beside his friend and clasped the back of his head with his right hand, and Tony’s hand with his left. “TONY!”

Tony’s blood-soaked lips formed words, but didn’t speak them. He looked into Steve’s eyes, his own bouncing back and forth between dazed and distant, and narrowed and focused. “C-Cap,” he finally slurred, “get it out of me.”

“We – we don’t have any bandages. You’ll bleed to death.”

“Trust me,” Tony insisted. “Steve – get it out, now!”

The sword was larger than Steve’s arm. He gently wrapped his left hand around it, then looked at Tony’s whitening face. “Hold on to me,” he instructed. Tony wrapped his arms around Steve’s neck and pushed his nose against his blue uniform. Steve counted to three, and pulled.

Tony screamed, nearly deafening his friend. His arms went limp, followed by the rest of his body, and he collapsed against Cap.

“Tony!”

“Is a’righ…” Tony said. He regained a bit of strength and sat up, his left arm against Steve’s right arm. “Is a’righ, C-Cap…” Tony aimed what was left of the suit that covered his right hand, and sprayed what looked like a thick mist of chemicals against his wound. The bleeding instantly stopped. Steve touched the sealant, mesmerized. It was warm. Tony took the device off his hand, then, and handed it to Steve. “Press your middle and forefinger down and to the left,” he instructed. Steve, realizing what Tony wanted him to do, put the device around his hand, gently leaned Tony forward so that he could get to his back, and applied the sealant to the exit wound. Tony grunted and coughed. He put his face in his hands and groaned, then leaned, once again, against Steve’s chest.

Then, Tony reached past the pain and returned to reality. He sat up with a start and stared back at a wide-eyed Quill. “Did we just lose?”

Tony rotated his body so that he could see past Steve to Strange. “Why would you do that?” he whispered.

Strange didn’t even look sorry. “We’re in the endgame, now,” he said.

The other Guardians ran over. Peter rushed to Tony’s left side and, after looking back and forth between him and Steve, decided that it was a moment to shut up.

Steve was grasping at straws, and he knew it, but he still tried to put on a brave face, for Tony’s sake. “The others – Wanda, Bruce, Nat… Maybe Thor returned… They’ll stop him. They’ll protect Vision.”

Tony looked at him, emotionless.

“We’ll… We’ll get home – back to Earth. We’ll get home, and we’ll help.”

Tony blinked. He pursed his lips together once in a deep flex, then allowed his mouth to open part way. “I…” he started to say. Then he shook his head and lowered his chin to his chest. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“For what?” Steve asked. “Tony?”

“I should’ve done more…”

Steve looked at Peter, who shrugged slightly. “Tony…”

Tony looked at him. There were tears in his eyes. “I… I had a vision, once. You and the others – earth – invasion… You told me I could’ve saved you… You asked me why I didn’t do more…” A tear dropped onto Tony’s bloody face. “I should’ve done more… I – I lost.”

Steve cupped his cheek. “WE lost…” The two teammates nodded at each other. Tony sat up straighter and pressed a series of buttons on the chamber on his chest. The nanotech – what was left of it - slowly floated across his skin into their home. Steve and Peter helped Tony stand up.

Just then, the mantis girl suddenly said, “Something’s happening.” Seconds later she – she just dissolved. Her body morphed into ash, and she just floated away…

Every mouth dropped in shock. “Oh, god,” Steve whispered.

The muscled man disappeared next. Quill looked at Tony with wide, scared eyes. “Steady, Quill!” Tony said.

“Oh, man…” Quill was gone.

“Tony.” Steve and Tony turned around. Strange still sat on the ground, looking at them, blood on his cheek. He shook his head and said, with a confidence neither man understood, “There was no other way.” And then he was gone, too.

“Mr. Stark.” Steve and Tony turned again. The kid – Peter – was staggering towards them looking, dumbfounded, at his hands.

“Oh, no,” Steve whispered.

“Mr. Stark, I don’t feel so good.”

“You’re all right.”

“I don’t know what’s happening.” The kid collapsed forward into Tony’s arms. Steve put his hand against Tony’s back to steady him. “I don’t wanna go. I don’t wanna go, Mr. Stark, please, I don’t wanna go.” Then the kid went limp, and Tony did his best to lower his body gently to the ground. Steve followed, kneeling on Tony’s left.

Peter looked at Tony with an expression Steve couldn’t identify. “Sorry,” he whispered. And then he was gone, too.

Tony collapsed forward, Peter’s body no longer supporting him. Steve grabbed his shoulder and turned him around before he smacked his forehead into the rocks. Tony sat flat, then looked at his own palms. Steve did the same thing. Both men waited a full ten seconds – waited to see if they would die, too.

“He did it,” the blue woman said. Tony folded forward in frustration. Then he put his hands to his mouth – then he shut his eyes – and then a small tear exited his right eye.

Steve sat on the ground beside Tony and put his hand on his friend’s shoulder.

A minute passed, and then suddenly Tony started breathing deeper and faster, deeper and faster, deeper and faster, like he was having a panic attack. He gave Steve a flabbergasted look, and in that moment Steve knew that the blood loss had caught up to him. He immediately rotated his body so that they were chest-to-chest.

Tony’s eyes rolled back into his skull, and he collapsed forward into Steve’s arms.

“TONY!”

To Be Continued

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definegodliness · 4 years

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Halloween 2020

It was the night of Halloween, and in its uncanny way the full moon had energized Little Red Riding Hood and The Phantom for hours after midnight. Yet now they were finally Paige and Sam again, spooning and whispering their last conversations of the day in the queen-sized bed Paige had made with blood-red sheets to fit the date. The candles were running on empty, and the pain of the high-heels that had pinched Paige's feet finally faded when Sam's half-drunk, half-sleepy voice all of the sudden turned clear for a question:

"What's the last time you were actually afraid?"

"Oof... that last IT movie, I don't know why I watched it. I hate ---"

"No, I mean, like, in real life?"

She hated it when he'd interrupt her, but there was a certain tone in his voice that made the question seem pressing. She let it slide, and sighed a soft pondering hum before answering.

"Can't really remember. There must have been times as a child, but... nothing stuck. I guess I don't scare easily in real life."

"I.R.L.", she giggled, doing the high pitched bubbly voice that had often made Sam laugh, but this time he was unresponsive.

"Good," he yawned, "I can't stand cowardice."

And that was that. Big spoon Sam rolled over to his side of the bed and remained silent. Not even a good night. Leaving Paige puzzled. All night long he had been all over her, rubbing her thighs over the smooth silk of her little red dress as they danced, and more than once she had to stop him from going too far in public; plucking the elastic of her thick white stay up stockings; kissing her neck as he pressed his pelvis against her tick-tocking bottom. When they got home he even lit those candles in the bedroom, creating a circle of magical light. But then when they finally went to bed, all he did was bother her with supposedly scary Halloween stories and odd questions.

'I'm never letting him drink whisky again', Paige thought, turning away from him administering an unseen, unfelt cold shoulder; simmering in the silence of her scorn, 'what a waste of a wet cunt.' The lust had long left her body.

That night she dreamt. A hellish nightmare where she roamed between fiery pillars, cages and gibbets filled with scrawny wailing humans. Their arms reaching. Flaying. Blackened nails clawing at her. She looked on with horror as thick blood gushed over the captive's faces in a continuously oozing, drooping flow. And these beings would laugh at her maniacally whenever she'd make eye-contact. Louder and louder until laughter was all that echoed in her brain. Then, at the peak of the pitch, with a shock so sudden, their eyeballs would explode, splattering her body, naked and vulnerable.

She picked up the pace and started running. Rushing. Fleeing past the gibbets and cages with her heart pounding in her throat. Away from the fire. Away from it all. She heard the sharp metallic clangs of the cages presumably opening. She did not look back, though, wouldn't dare for the life of her. She kept her eyes peeled to the end of the fiery pillar surrounded path. There, where the path turned darker, dimly lit, she saw their bedroom's door. And as she walked into that very darkness, all turned calm as of sudden. No more wails, no more laughter. She grabbed the door's handle and stumbled inside the room that waited as a safe haven for her.

The candles were still burning, and Paige cursed herself for not seeing how they were situated before. Surrounding the bed, now clear as day, brightly flared a pentagram with her locked in the middle, neither sleeping, nor breathing, nor moving. Eyes wide open. She looked around. Sam was nowhere to be seen. Yet as she inspected the room, soon chills went down her spine. Paige noticed she was floating. Aimlessly floating through her bedroom. Her hands transparent. So, her body. Helplessly she was as she rose to the nook of the ceiling. She understood she was now her soul watching her body. An onlooker, merely. Another jolt of fear slashed through her gut.

An onlooker... for what?

Eight thin and sharpened pins of shiny metallic black lowered down from the shadowy vortex whirling above her body, piercing her ankles, knees, wrists, and shoulders. Pinning her down in sharp pains as the beast sank down from the darkness. Painstakingly slow. Its bulbous abdomen, hanging from a thread of shimmering silver, displaying that same metallic shine under the full moon's glow. Wriggling, or rather pulsating, in presumed anticipation. So, its fangs, alternating in an up-and-down motion, oozing a milky fluid that drooped down to form thick droplets. Like a starved critter rubbing his hands and salivating before his meal. Yet the nearer it drew to Paige's face, its fangs moved faster and faster, sputtering that milky fluid in droplets blurring her vision. Likewise, the swift moving daggers blurred in motion. A malformation. And in the grotesque maw that appeared where once was the head of the creature, a shape-shifting shadowy face tore at the fabric of existence. Struggling to get out into the light, it seemed. Twisting, contorting, until suddenly and violently dead-locking its hollow eyes with Paige, sending a shockwave she felt through body and soul.

She now saw them clearly, the eyes of the demon. Bright red and flaring, consuming all her thoughts and vision. She now saw them, in her flesh, as well as in her ethereal existence. Petrifying. Suffocating. Paige felt a strong gale blow right through her, as if her every atom was consumed by this... thing, trying to engulf her. Closer and closer. She felt weak, anguished. So nauseated by the waves and waves of terror, she could not even feel the sharp pains of the animal's piercing pins anymore. It was a battle, and she was losing. Till panic struck in the sudden realization what the demon was doing. Entering the vessel of her body, taking over completely. Leaving her soul to wander eternity aimlessly like itself once did.

Paige's heart thumped violently as adrenaline surged through her body. Then, as if amassing all the energy, power, and vigor she possessed as a living being, she started to glow as a soul, gaining control of her ethereal form. She pounced down from the ceiling nook and lunged herself to the back of the creature. Immediately vanishing in the dark of its being. And there, as the breath before the plunge, she braced herself, and in her dream silently screamed from the top of her lungs:

GET OUT!!!

With those words still ringing in her ears, Paige woke up. The all too known maniacal laughter of the underworld faded in its echoing. With eyes wide open she saw a shadow dash through the bedroom, zig-zagging past the candles, then disappearing in one of the ceiling's dark upper corners. She jerked her head to the left where Sam should be. Where he was. Blissfully sleeping, apparently. Gasping for breath and with her heart still pounding violently in her chest, she had to force her voice out to peep:

"Sam..."

He answered a muffled moan.

Paige paced herself, and hissed a whisper, "Sam, wake up", and, shaking his shoulder, whimpering, "please turn the lights on."

With that, Sam, who's body had been limp asleep while she shook him, froze up in the tightness of resistance.

"No."

Another wave of fear undulated through Paige. Sam's voice was cold and harsh. Yet peculiarly clear. Clear in that way his voice would change from half-drunk half-asleep when they were whispering conversations earlier that night.

"Sam, please..."

He remained unmoving, and his back looked so much broader. As if he had sucked in all the air his lungs could fit, and he spat out the words as if he was choking.

"You shouldn't have feared."

The shadows in the room thickened, like thunderclouds swirling, rolling over each other, closing in toward the bed wherein they lay. Panick-struck, Paige fumbled to find her phone, lying on the bed stand next to her. All the while Sam kept retching words.

"You should not have shown us fear. Not me...", a snakelike hiss, "I despise cowardice." He continued, "Not him...", and following a groan, Sam's voice got louder, to the point of almost shouting, "Now, he knows you are weak, Paige."

"He knows you're a target."

A roar:

"And that's exactly what you'll forever be!"

Paige turned 'round and pressed the button of her phone's flashlight, illuminating the room with its harsh light, yet in that she found herself staring directly into the pitch-black of Sam's eyes. Sam, who had turned around and now lay with his hand supporting his head. Grinning. For a second she froze, seeing those eyes. Yet it was not the first time she had seen them. They were like the shark's, pools of the merciless empty, and in that she understood Sam's true predatory nature.

She leapt out of the bed, flashing the light of her phone through the near impenetrable thickness of the darkened fog around her. Then, thinking on her feet, jolted across the room to reach the window. Something inside her screamed she had to open it. Let fresh air in. Air. She grabbed the French window's handles and pulled on them, all the while hearing the two demons' maniacal laughter, gaining in loudness and penetrating her mind again. Finally, the window's panels flew open and a strong gale came washing in. Paige did not look back, agilely climbed on the sill, and in a fit of fear and insanity promptly plummeted toward her redemption.

With a shock Paige woke. This time for real. She knew because their bedroom never had French windows, but tilt and turn windows, and she was directly looking at them, awash in light as she had instinctively pressed the light-switch next to her side of the bed. She turned back, toward Sam, who had woken up and looked at her sleepy-faced. Kind eyes. Normal eyes. Needing little more than a half, still adjusting to the light, look to open his arms for Paige, taking her in a warm embrace.

"Bad dream?", he sighed, softly kissing her cheek. Caressing her back as she drove her face into his neck. She whimpered softly in his arms, softly shuddering in release of emotion. He lulled, "Shh, it was just a dream." Then, hugging her more tightly, "damn, that must have been a wild one."

"I'll hold you."

The light-switch on his side clicked.

"You can tell me all about it tomorrow."

As her heart paced itself, and her breaths returned deep and normal, Paige was awash in relief. The power of the nightmare already faded within her, so much that she even rolled her eyes at her first thoughts beholding their old alarm clock, and the violent orange light of its numbers displaying 3:33 AM. Instead, she kissed Sam's neck, and welcomed the fact that the hand caressing her back had already trailed down to find her butt, and was teasingly squeezing her.

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cuthian · 4 years

Text

A Song Only You Can Hear Chapter Three

Hi guys!

Next chapter, unbeta'd so far. Any mistakes are mine.

This is the last chapter I had a plan for, and since I still have one more exam, that unfortunately takes precedence before I can get back to planning and writing.

I'll try to get things out soon though!

Thanks for all the lovely feedback, please feed me more <3

Love Annaelle

PS Thanks to all my lovelies on the Discord server for helping me work through this chapter. You know who you are.

THREE

“I stood still, vision blurring, and in that moment, I heard my heart break. It was a small, clean sound, like the snapping of a flower's stem.”

—Diana Galbadon

18 DECEMBER 2020 (3:56 p.m.) LUKE

Luke had written his bandmates countless songs over the years.

He’d written Alex and Reggie cute little bobs when they’d been kids, with easy beats and clumsy lyrics, had written Alex several love songs while they’d dated and dozens of apologies after they’d broken up. He’d written Reggie ballads and love songs, had written him country songs because he knew that Reggie loved those, had written down everything he didn’t know how to say into Crooked Teeth and dozens of unnamed songs, hidden in the back of his songbook.

Listen closely to the songs I play because the lyrics speak the words I fail to say.

Luke couldn’t remember where he’d heard that line, but it described his own thoughts and process so well it stuck with him. It helped him deal with how he saw the world, helped him figure himself out when he got into arguments with his mom, when how he felt about Reggie threatened to entirely overwhelm him—

When the thoughts in his head were entirely too loud.

Since they’d died, since they’d met Julie, since Luke had told Reggie how he felt about him, he hadn’t been as overwhelmed by his own thoughts so much. He hadn’t felt anything akin to that overwhelming storm of emotions since their deaths, but Reggie’s words now fed into that maelstrom mercilessly and Luke felt like he was going to be sick.

Since the day Luke had found out that Reggie and Alex had had a semi-serious relationship when they’d been alive, he’d been a little afraid of what that meant for his own relationship with Reggie.

Not because he didn’t trust them—quite the contrary.

He’d readily believed his friends when they’d assured him that what they’d had was over, of course, and when Reggie had confessed that he was in love with Luke too, Luke had been so stupidly happy that he hadn’t given Reggie and Alex’s previous relationship a second thought.

For a while, it’d even stayed that way.

Alex and Reggie were more open about their past, joked and laughed about it, and while Luke was fine with it, the thought of his current boyfriend and his ex-boyfriend together flustered him more than he liked to admit to anyone—even himself.

It was just a lot.

He’d been very much into Alex, at one point, and while Luke currently had very little desire to find out of Alex still kissed the same way he did when they’d been fifteen, he wasn’t blind either. Alex was pretty damn hot, and Luke didn’t blame Reggie for having seen that at all. And Reggie… Luke was obviously in love with Reggie and very much into everything about the other boy, and Luke…

Luke was not jealous of Alex and Reggie’s past relationship.

…a little too into the aesthetic idea of the two of them together?

Probably.

But he wasn’t jealous.

After all, Luke had dated Alex too, at one point, and it would very hypocritical of him to make an issue out of it while still expecting Reggie to be okay with Luke’s own past relationship with Alex.

He’d not been suspicious about them, their relationship or their continued close friendship at all.

Maybe he should’ve been.

He sat down heavily on the beach, on the sand, leaning his elbows on his knees and digging his hands in his hair, blinking hard at the sand. “Reggie,” he said slowly, his voice hoarse and shaking lightly. “Would you please sit down and talk to me?” He looked up to his boyfriend, who was pacing restlessly in front of him, still pale and shaky and utterly apologetic, and immediately looked back down.

He couldn’t—he couldn’t quite bring himself to look at Reggie without wanting to scream and he had promised himself—and Alex, but he couldn’t quite manage thinking of his friend without wanting to scream either—a long time ago that he wouldn’t ever yell at Reggie if he could help it and he wasn’t going to start now.

However justified he might be.

Reggie let out a shuddering breath and paced one more round before he plopped down in the sand in front of Luke, the tips of his boots nudging lightly against the nose of Luke’s worn sneakers.

“Okay,” Luke exhaled. “Okay. What happened?”

He steeled himself before looking up at Reggie, who was looking at him with an expression that bordered between desperate and guilty. “I kissed Alex,” Reggie whispered, and the words hit Luke just as hard as they had the first time, knocking the breath from his lungs and squeezing tightly, painfully, around his heart, and more than upset to hear the words again, he was sad because his best friend and his boyfriend had kissed behind his back and he was angry because something was clearly happening between Reggie and Alex and he’d been left out again and he wanted to know why.

“I heard you the first time,” Luke hissed through gritted teeth. “Why would you—”

“I don’t know,” Reggie exclaimed, eyes wide and filled with tears, “I don’t know, Luke, but I swear—”

“Reginald,” Luke interrupted, his voice trembling with barely suppressed anger—because he was, he was angry that his boyfriend had seen fit to appear on their first date just to tell Luke he’d kissed their best friend, his ex-boyfriend. “Reggie. Baby. I’m trying very hard not to be mad at you and to let you explain, but you’re gonna have to do better than ‘I don’t fucking know’.”

Reggie looked taken aback by his harsh tone and Luke felt a little bad for raising his voice, but he deserved answers. Reggie looked like he was on the verge of bursting into tears but he looked determined too, like he was just as set on providing answers as Luke was to find them.

“I’m not trying to weasel out of anything,” Reggie said, his voice trembling ever so slightly. Luke watched as he pulled the sleeves of his flannel down over his hands, twisting the fabric tightly around his fingers. “I—when we—it’s just… back when we broke up, Alex never really told me why. All he ever said was that he didn’t think it was working anymore, and I—”

He broke off, sucked his lower lip between his teeth, biting down so harshly Luke could see little beads of blood well up—he hadn’t thought they could bleed anymore—and shook his head.

“Reg,” Luke breathed, reaching out before he could stop himself, tugging Reggie lip out from between his teeth gently. Reggie exhaled shakily, leaning into Luke’s touch just a little, eyes fluttering shut for a heartbeat before he leaned back and continued talking.

“I loved him,” he said frankly, honestly, “A lot. And I was so ready to tell all of you about us. But we’d promised, you know, when we first got together, that we’d just tell each other when it wasn’t working anymore, because we never wanted to risk our friendship, and he did, so I did my best to get over it, and I wrote… I wrote a lot of songs.”

“Reg—” Luke whispered quietly, reaching out for Reggie’s hand, because he was still upset but he couldn’t stand to not be touching Reggie anymore.

Reggie offered him a shaky, apologetic smile and twined their fingers together. “Today I was—I was going through my songbook, you know, and I did in Julie’s room, because I didn’t… I wanted to look by myself, and I found… I found a couple of the songs I wrote after… after we broke up.” He breathed in shakily and added, “I hadn’t really looked at them since I wrote them, but now… it didn’t seem so daunting anymore, so I played them.”

Luke exhaled, suddenly flush with understanding. “And Alex heard you.”

“Yeah,” Reggie whispered faintly, before he inhaled sharply and continued, “Alex—Alex walked in, and he heard the song and we… argued, I guess, and we—we talked, I talked and Al—Alex said—”

“Reg, baby,” the endearment fell from his lips before he could stop himself, “You’re rambling. You’re not—you’re not making sense.”

Reggie nodded sharply and closed his eyes, taking a few deep breaths. “We argued. And talked,” he repeated. “And Alex told me he broke up with me because he figured out you were in love with me too.”

Luke… Luke didn’t know what to say to that.

He’d never, for a single moment, even considered that a possibility. “He did what?” He breathed, shocked.

“Yeah,” Reggie choked, shaking his head, and Luke could feel the way his fingers trembled between his own. “Yeah, he… he said that—that I would never have picked him if I knew you were an option, and I hate that he took that choice away from me, because I loved him.” He looked back up at Luke with teary eyes and admitted, “I love you, so much, Luke, but I think I loved him first, before I even knew I did. But then he broke up with me and I—I put it out of my mind.”

And for the first time since Reggie appeared in front of him tonight, Luke felt like he… he understood what had happened between his two best friends—between his boyfriend and his ex-boyfriend. “And Alex telling you everything brought all of that back,” he sighed. “Everything you felt back then.”

Reggie’s lower lip trembled as he nodded. “Yeah. Yeah. And I guess I—I kissed him because I wanted to know—I needed to know—”

“If you still love him,” Luke finished.

Reggie gave him a pained, guilty look. “Yes. And no. I—I’m always going to love Alex. He’s Alex. I don’t know how to not love him. But it’s… it’s different now. It’s not like that anymore, not… Not like you. You’re… you’re it, Luke. You’re the Jim to my Freddy. Luke to my Han. I fucking adore you. And I’m so, so sorry for doing this, for…” Reggie shook his head, blinking away tears. “… I’m sorry for hurting you. I never meant to.”

Luke swallowed thickly and looked away.

“I know,” he muttered. “I know, Reg. I just… I think that before you and I can talk about this any further, you and Alex need to. There’s… there’s clearly a lot of things unsaid between the two of you, and you need to talk about that. Seriously. Hash everything out.” He inhaled deeply and looked up, trying to ignore the way his own eyes burned too, and whispered, “I’m giving you a carte blanche for that. To do whatever you have to, just… figure yourselves out. And then I think all of us—you, me, Alex, Willie… we need to talk about it too.”

He squeezed his fingers around Reggie’s. “I think we’ve been putting this off way too long already.”

“Luke…”

Luke huffed a little in surprise when Reggie threw himself forward into Luke’s arms, ducking to bury his face against Luke’s neck, slipping his arms around his torso to hug him close. “I love you so, so much,” Reggie muttered. “And I’m sorry.”

Luke let himself have this, have this tight, warm hug, for a couple of seconds before he pushed Reggie back a little so he could look at him. “I love you too, Reg, you know that.” Reggie pouted at him, but he leaned into Luke’s touch when he tracked his fingers through Reggie’s hair nonetheless.

“I’m hurt,” Luke told him quietly, his eyes burning with tears. “But I love you. And I love Alex. I want you both to be okay.” He leaned in to lean his forehead against Reggie’s, brushing the tips of their noses together, breathing him in, feeling him while he could.

“Thank you,” Reggie breathed, eyes shut and fingers tight on Luke’s sides, and God help him, but Luke was pretty sure he’d let Reggie shatter his heart into a million little pieces as long as it made Reggie happy, as long as it made him smile.

He hugged his arms tighter around his boyfriend and tucked his face against Reggie’s shoulder.

They’d figure this out.

--------

18 DECEMBER 2020 (4:29 p.m.) JULIE

“Julie,” Flynn told her seriously, holding Julie’s face in her hands so she couldn’t look away, “sweetie. They’re never going to give us openly queer characters in major Hollywood productions. Third Wonder Woman movie or not, they’re just going to keep focusing on her romance with Steve.” She pouted severely, and Julie knew she was trying to convey just how much agony the thought caused her, but all the expression really did was make Julie want to kiss her ridiculous girlfriend.

“Flynn,” she chuckled, “I know they’ve been shitty about LGBT+ characters in the past, but it’s been getting better! There’s more and more openly queer characters in books and television shows every day, it’s only a matter of time before they’ll be on the big screen too.”

Flynn grumbled at her and dropped her hands, but she still smiled and kissed back when Julie leaned in to press their lips together. “You’re too hopeful for this world,” Flynn groused as she settled back against the large pillow she’d propped up against the armrest of the couch. “They’re going to make her straight, you’ll see. She had a relationship with a guy, they’re never coming back from that.”

“Excuse you,” Julie gaped, tossing a smaller pillow at Flynn in indignation. “Bisexuality is a thing!”

“I grew up with you,” Flynn snorted, throwing her pillow back. “I’m dating you. How I could forget?”

She stuck out her tongue and Julie really had no choice but to retaliate, because they may be dating and in love and Julie was very much invested in making sure Flynn remained attracted to her, but they’d also known each other since they were three.

They were allowed to weird and childish to each other. It was part of the fun.

Of course, it was just as much part of the fun when Flynn crawled across the length of the couch and wedged herself between the back of the couch and Julie, tangling their fingers together as she lay her head on Julie’s shoulder. “We should do this more often,” Flynn said quietly after a couple of seconds, sliding closer still, her knee knocking against Julie’s as she shifted.

“Do what more often?” Julie frowned, glancing from the television, playing a random Golden Girls episode, to her girlfriend.

“This,” Flynn repeated, gesturing lazily at their entwined limbs. “Cuddle, talk, have a date night with just the two of us. Without the guys. They’re always around,” she pouted, trailing her fingers up and down Julie’s arm, sending a pleasant shiver down the length of Julie’s spine. When she abruptly stopped, fingers hovering just over Julie’s elbow, it took Julie a second to stop herself from whining out loud, and an incredulous glance towards Flynn, who was squinting suspiciously at the rest of the room.

“They’re not here now, are they?” Flynn demanded.

Julie grinned and pushed one of Flynn’s braids behind her ear. “No,” she said. “I would’ve told you if they were. I think Reggie’s up in my room—he wanted some privacy to look through his songs before his date with Luke, and Alex had a date with Willie, I think.”

“What about Luke?” Flynn asked, settling back against Julie’s shoulder, turning her head so that her lips grazed against Julie’s throat.

“I don’t know,” Julie exhaled. “Probably visiting his parents or pacing the pier until it’s time for his date with Reggie. He was really nervous about it.” She chuckled at the memory of Luke poofing into her room, wide-eyed and panicked, demanding she tell him how to behave on a date with his best friend.

“Oh,” Flynn hummed, rolling her eyes a little as she resumed the soft, rhythmic strokes of her fingers on Julie’s arm. “Poor guy. Imagine not knowing how to talk to your best friend while you’re on a date.” She fell silent for a second and then asked, “I thought they’d been dating since we found Maggie? How have they managed to avoid going on a date for three months?”

Julie snorted a laugh. “Apparently they’ve been too busy doing other things to actually go on a date.”

Flynn wrinkled her nose and shook her head. “Boys.”

“You brought them up,” Julie laughed, giggling when Flynn grumped and then tugged her closer for a soft, lazy, chaste kiss—her dad and Carlos were in the other room, after all. Julie hummed contently into the kiss and draped her arms around Flynn, pressing more firmly into their embrace. “I did miss this,” she breathed against Flynn’s lips, barely allowing herself the luxury of pulling away to actually saythe words. “Let’s not go so long without spending time alone together again.”

Flynn giggled in response and tangled her fingers in Julie’s hair. “Agreed,” she replied breathily, before leaning back in and taking Julie’s lips in a breathtaking kiss again.

Julie sank into it, relishing in the fact she didn’t have to worry about her dad and little brother walking in and interrupting them. Her parents had always been very respectful of her relationship with Flynn, had always taken it seriously and had always afforded them a level of trust that most teenagers were not given so easily.

She grinned against Flynn’s lips, and when the kiss broke, she breathed in deeply, giggling when Flynn nudged their noses together playfully. “We should go out too,” Flynn said. “On an actual date. We haven’t done that in forever.”

Julie hummed. “True. We could go see a movie, get sushi, people watch for a while, rate their outfits.”

Flynn nodded and leaned in to peck her lips again, tightening her fingers in Julie’s hair a little as they kissed. “Sounds perfect,” Flynn whispered.

Julie was just leaning in to kiss Flynn again when she heard the soft, subtle poof of a ghost appearing in the room and looked up, ready to tell whichever of the boys interrupted them off, and then froze when she realized it was Willie. Willie never came into the house without Alex or Reggie or Luke, and he certainly never poofed in unannounced.

He looked… he looked a little spooked, honestly, eyes wide and confused and lips parted in what looked like shock, and a thrill of alarm ran down Julie’s spine immediately. “Willie?” she said, sitting up and pushing Flynn off softly. “Are you okay?”

Flynn made a concerned sound and Julie flashed her a quick, hopefully reassuring, smile before turning back to Willie, who had now turned his wide, surprised eyes on her. “Shoot, I’m sorry,” Willie blurted, “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to poof in here, my aim—my aim must’ve been off. I was—I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Julie said soothingly, because Willie seemed extremely wired and it was very unlike him. “Were you looking for Alex?”

Willie blinked rapidly a couple of times and Julie noticed him shoot a nervous glance up to the ceiling. “Uh,” he said hoarsely, “Yeah. Yes, I—I think he and Reggie are busy talking though, and I—I didn’t want to interrupt, to bother them, so I… uh—I’ll just… I’ll come back later.”

“Alex is up there with Reggie?” Julie frowned, glancing towards the ceiling too. “I thought he was with you. Didn’t you guys have a date planned?”

Willie exhaled shakily. “Uh, yeah, I was late, I was late, I was at the Club and I heard—” he broke off, and his expression flitted through several emotions so fast that Julie couldn’t even make out half of them before he settled on worried. “Shit, I—I heard something, and I need to tell the guys, I can’t—shit, I can’t let this wait.”

“Uh,” Julie frowned. “Okay. How about I go up and get Reggie and Alex, and you poof down to the studio. Luke’s probably there, and I’ll come down with the other two, and you can tell us what you overheard, okay?”

Willie nodded shakily and smiled, “Okay. Thanks, Julie.” He poofed out before she could say anything else, and she turned to Flynn with a slight grimace.

Flynn smiled tightly. “Ghost emergency?”

“Yeah,” Julie sighed. “I’m sorry. Willie seemed really shook up, I don’t think it’s a good idea to ask him to postpone whatever this talk is.”

Flynn raised a hand and stroked her cheek gently, offering a kind smile. “It’s fine. Do what you have to.”

Julie exhaled in relief and leaned in to press a brief kiss to Flynn’s lips before getting to her feet and hurrying up to her bedroom to find two of her wayward ghosts. She wasn’t sure what was going on, why Willie was so shook up—whether it was Alex and Reggie’s conversation or whatever he’d overheard at the Ghost Club—but she was going to find out.

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

18 DECEMBER 2020 (4:31 p.m.) ALEX

Alex sat frozen on the edge of Julie’s bed, staring at the far wall in a daze.

He could still feel the imprint of Reggie’s lips on his, could still taste that damn chapstick Reggie used to wear when they were alive because his lips were perpetually dry and split and the most prominent thought in his head was that Reggie still kissed the same way he had when they were alive and—and—

He just kissed his ex-boyfriend.

Or… got kissed by his ex-boyfriend. Who was also his best friend’s boyfriend.

Reggie had written him songs, had wanted to tell everyone about their relationship, had told Alex that he’d loved him and Alex—Alex would’ve kissed him if Reggie hadn’t moved first.

What the hell was he supposed to do with that?

Reggie—Reggie had a boyfriend, who was Alex’s best friend, for God’s sake. Reggie loved Luke and Alex knew that he did. Alex had a boyfriend—a boyfriend he loved, and Christ, how was he supposed to tell Willie about this? How the hell was he going to explain all of this? He’d promised Willie there wasn’t anything to worry about because he and Reggie had been broken up for months even before they’d died.

God, what if Willie hated him for this? For not recognizing that he’d broken up with Reggie for the wrong reasons, for not recognizing that he should’ve talked to Reggie about this ages ago, before Luke and Willie were also involved, before he broke Reggie’s heart all over again—

Crap, what the hell was he supposed to do now?

The thought of trying to talk to Willie or Reggie or Luke left him breathless in a way he hadn’t been since he’d died, since death had cured him of asthma or anxiety-induced panic attacks, and his head was spinning. His breath was wheezing in his lungs even as he tried to remember the counting system he’d used when this happened when he was alive, and his breathing was way too fast and he was getting lightheaded and he didn’t know if ghosts could faint but he had a vague idea he was about to find out.

“Alex?”

His head snapped up and suddenly Luke and Reggie were standing in front of him and that—that would just make things worse, wouldn’t it? He was almost afraid to look at Luke, to see the anger and hurt on his best friend’s face, hurt that Alex caused—

“Hey, hey, come on, man,” someone was kneeling in front of him, but his vision was a little blurry and he still wasn’t breathing quite right. “’Lex, listen to me,” and that was Reggie for sure, “I’m going to count, and you’re going to match your breath to it, okay? Just like we used to when this happened before.” He could feel Reggie’s hand on his chest and Luke leaning against his side, warm and solid and soothing in a way Alex didn’t deserve.

“One,” Reggie started, voice calm and soothing, “Two, three, four—”

Alex’s breath slowed more easily than it ever had when they were alive, and he didn’t know if it was because he was dead or because both Reggie and Luke were here and their presence was comforting even with how messy things were between the three of them.

Before long, the world stopped spinning around him and he felt a lot less like he was going to choke on thin air—if he even could anymore.

He wasn’t sure how long they sat like that, Reggie kneeling in front of him and counting quietly under his breath, hand pressed to Alex’s chest, and Luke sitting next to him, their shoulders pressed together and Luke’s fingers curled around his wrist, thumb rubbing soothingly over the inside of his wrist like he’d done hundreds of times when they’d been alive.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, words slipping from him before he could think about them. “Luke, I—”

Luke didn’t say anything for a moment, and Alex focused on Reggie, who looked like he’d been crying the entire time he’d been gone. Luke exhaled shakily, tightening his fingers around Alex’s wrist before he said, “I’m not… I’m not exactly happy with either of you right now, but… but I do understand that you need to figure this out.”

Before Alex could even begin to process what that meant, the door flung open and Julie spilled inside, looking a little frazzled. “Good,” she exclaimed, “You’re all here. Come on, we have to go to the studio.”

“Jules,” Luke said quietly, “We’re kind of in the middle of something.”

“It’ll have to wait,” Julie shrugged. “Willie’s waiting for us in the studio. Apparently he overheard something at the Ghost Club and came here to tell you right away.” She bit her lower lip and added, “He looked very frazzled, Alex. We should see what’s going on.”

Alex exchanged a glance with Luke and Reggie and then nodded.

This thing between them had waited a year—or twenty-six—already.

It would keep a few hours more.

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

READ IT HERE:

Start from the beginning:

Unfinished Business:

(1) (2) (3)

Becoming a Memory, Becoming a Treasure:

(1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6)

A Song Only You Can Hear

(1) (2) (3)

Or read it HERE (BaMBaT), HERE (UB) OR HERE (ASoYCH) on AO3 :D

#A Song Only You Can Hear #ASOYCH #BamBat sequel #bambat #ruke #peterpatter #willex #Luke/reggie #Alex/reggie (past)#julie and the himbos #julie and the phantoms #jatp fanfic #Lisa writes #my writing

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jooneggs · 5 years

Text

Rain, Forever | Namjoon ☁

⤑ Pairing: Namjoon x Reader ⤑ SUMMARY: Since the lack of rain and the coming of Winter, Namjoon hadn’t been the same. He didn’t seem to smile much and his grin never quite met his eyes. He’d lost passion for everything he once loved. Well..everything but art. Specifically that one black and white watercolour painting in the Seoul Art Gallery that resembles a lonely figure standing in the rain.. ⤑ Genre/AU: Fluff + Angst / non!idol Joon + alt!universe Joon ⤑ Warnings: The main component of this story mentions depression and suicidal ideation*, swearing, burglary, suffocation and a sprinkle of magic ⤑ Word count: 7.4k

⤑ Rating: +14

*This story, in no way, attempts to romanticize or idolize mental health issues. I can only say it comes from a personal perspective which is somewhat unique and subjective to every individual.

A/N: A song that touches the crest of my soul and speaks to so many others. I hope this helps, heals and warms many people who, like myself, miss the rain.

☁

“I don’t know whether I should take you seriously or not..”

“C’mon it’ll be fun!”

“You’d better not make me regret this, Kim Namjoon.”

“As long as you trust me, it’ll be fine.”

It was October of last year and you and Namjoon had found yourselves in Haneul Park.

Standing under the shelter of a bleak cafe, he had been tugging at your sleeve, urging you to run out into the open with him. But you hadn’t the slightest clue why you’d want to be anywhere else but under the shelter. It was cold enough in the cafe, but outside it was completely meek. It had been windy yet pleasant just an hour ago, but now the wind was just pelting rain drop after rain drop at the windows.

In a light cardigan and an impractical corduroy skirt, you dreaded the prospect of having to run through the rain to get to your car. You’d taken shelter, narrowly avoiding the rain, and now you’d practically holed yourself up in the cafe after downing two mugs of tea and a triple chocolate cookie. Namjoon, however, was quite the opposite. For the past thirty minutes, his eyes had been glued to the window. Despite his lack of warm-clothes, he seemed more desperate than ever to get outside. While you had finished your cup of tea in just over ten minutes, he’d simply downed his, pouty cheeks sloshing with liquid before swallowing the beverage in one ecstatic gulp.

Now he was standing right by the window to which you’d hesitantly joined him. The rain fell harder that day than it ever had before. Namjoon absolutely loved it. You never quite understood his thinking, but he’d always be willing to explain it to you. He’d said tt was the way the trees moved to the sound, the way the clouds gathered, watched, hovered over you, better than any shelter. It was the way the grass leaned, succumbing to its force, the way the pavement shimmered in its grasp. It was the way it felt to be amongst it all, like an unknown spectator, just a pair of eyes. It satisfied more than any drug could, oxytocin soaking through your pores, melding flesh and bone like a soldering iron.

You wished you could feel just as excited about all these small droplets of h20; you were desperate to make sense of it. Especially when it came to Namjoon.

“Well..I do want to understand.” You spoke, leaning into his pull. At that he only tugged your sleeve further.

“C’mon then, Dew-Drop!”

He walked you toward the door with an overwhelming sense of eagerness. You thought yourself to be mad, but still your hand remained in his.

“So we’re running to the car?”

“Running, walking, admiring the view; whatever you want to call it.” He said, pulling the door open, taking you with him.

“Ah!” You yelped as the first draft of rain lashed out on you “I’d much prefer to just run Joon.”

He couldn’t hear you though, almost dancing ahead. Namjoon was fervent in the rain; he always had been. You remembered meeting him like that, when you used to teach and he came in as a motivational speaker to talk about his career as a musician.

After his speech, you’d been given the duty of cleaning the chairs in the school hall. Eager to finish, you began to stick them out in stacks in the courtyard, and that was when you saw him, far off in the distance, leaning against the rails of the basketball court, rain pouring down his face.

Like the feeling you felt looking at him now, you were magnetized, curious.

“It’s fucking freezing!” You began, clenching at your sides, hopping on the spot “Can we run now?”

“You, miss l/n, are no fun.” He chimed.

“And you’re a polar bear!”

“An endearing term, but i find my pace akin to a cheetah.” He joked “Now chase me!”

Before you could blink, he had bolted across the grass, down towards the car park.

Now, you not only had to fight the rain, but focus on keeping up with your long-legged boyfriend.

They say girls are good at multi-tasking - and they are - they just struggle with things like this because it involves the tedious process of thinking and being sensory-aware all the time; something which lengthy boys like Namjoon don’t take into account.

“A fucking polar bear isn’t this fast!″ You puffed, circling a bed of drooping flowers to further keep up with him,

As the rain pelted heavier, giddiness overcame you. You couldn’t help but laugh, thinking of yourself (merely a few years ago) watching this man, as a primary school teacher, from the playground - almost untouchable, unreal - now encouraging you to chase him, soaking wet, through the rain like lovestruck youth.

“Catch me if you can.” He laughed.

☁

That was three months ago..

Today was March 13th. 2020.

Friday the 13th...

The balcony of your third floor apartment was glowing that day. As you sat on its cobblestone base, dusting your plant pots, you felt the sun cast warm rays on your neck.

Friday the 13th, that one day that came up so seldom, never seemed to hold any negative connotations for you. Every day you felt lucky: to have a quaint little flat, thriving plants, an endless supply of herbal tea at your feet, and of course Namjoon.

Right now you were tending to his favorite small bonsai, gently seated between two lucky bamboo plant pots, shaded by a leafy green hanging plant. You polished its black base, sprayed some water on its soil stones and gently trimmed any stray stalks growing from its arms. Namjoon had called him ‘peet’, an affectionate name that often made you forget that this plant was more an inanimate object than a human body with full-functioning organs. You were often reminded of this when he’d catch you in lengthy conversations, strewn across the balcony floor at night, bonsai leaves tickling your cheek as you tried to lean back further to watch the stars. But these plants were a huge healing tool for you; something that kept you occupied, just as well nourished as them, and excited to see how they’d blossom each day.

Finishing off by cutting the last wandering stalk, you gently got to your feet and headed for the kitchen. Only 11am, you’d had your breakfast but felt slightly parched for a drink. Fortunately enough, when the clock struck 11.10 every day, you’d find yourself coincidentally hunched over a mug of steaming green tea; you knew there was no coincidence, just the pure, unrelenting fact that you loved the warm, floral taste it brought you. It gave you just the right amount of energy each day, and it was always a wonder to watch Namjoon puff his cheeks like a hamsters as he’d swallow a cup whole in one go.

You’d left him asleep this morning, waking at 9am to grab some groceries and sort yourself out. You hadn’t disturbed him since, knowing he was a heavy sleeper and knowing he really needed some rest since working the past few weeks. Night after night he’d been slaving in front of a laptop, attempting to draft and file possible lyrics for his upcoming album. It wasn’t helping that his producer had him on a leash and under a constricting time limit. What could you do but give him the time and space he needed to get things done.

Sealing the kettle and the tea bags, you lifted Namjoon’s mug and carried it over to your bedroom. Approaching the door, you listened carefully for the sound of snoring, aware that waking Namjoon wouldn’t do any good for the level of guilt you felt entering the room anyway.

When all you heard was silence, you decided to nudge the door open and slip through into a darker room.

“Joon, I've made some tea for you.” You approached the bed and placed his mug on the bedside table, anchoring it away from him so he wouldn’t hit it off with his elbow when turning; he was clumsy like that. You watched as he shuffled in response to your entrance, the caramel of his skin sliding against the sheets as he adjusted his neck to gently turn to you

“Mmh Morning.” He yawned, his eyes forming crescent moons as they squeezed shut before opening to clear the haze from his vision. He was a beautiful little shape of a human, shrouded in cosy bedding as he watched you in the dim light.

“You coming out today Joon? I’ve got some exciting things up my sleeve.”

“I can’t..I'm sorry.” He replied, a certain lifelessness in his tone.

“Are you sure? I can make us some cake and we can go to some park. It’ll be nice.”

“I don’t feel like it.”

“Oh, okay..”

“I’m sorry.”

“No, no, it’s fine!” You whispered, bringing your palm to his cheek, feeling its heat coarse through your fingers. “We’ll try another day. Don’t feel bad about it at all. Have a nice rest Joon.”

With that, you slowly turned from him and made your way back out into the living space. You let a sigh wash over you and attempted to rejoice in the fact that at least you had a warm mug of tea ready for you. Swigging it down, you sat in silence, watching the outdoors from the distant balcony window. It was still just as bright outside, much brighter than the bedroom, clouded by dark curtains. You felt sad for Joon, powerless even. How badly you missed even the simple things like swigging tea with him. How long had it been since you’d done that?..

Too Long.

☁

The rest of the day painted itself in a slow and monotonous fashion. It wasn’t unbearable - you got things done - but it all seemed watered into the same actions, the same meaning, the same routine.

It started with finishing your tea, slower than you had intended. Lost in monotonous thought, before you knew it, it had gone cold so you had ended up pouring the remaining portion down the sink. You then went on to finish the laundry, have lunch, check on your beloved plants, read a book, watch TV, yawn and sigh a countless number of times, and take a quick nap.

Before you knew it, the room had darkened and the sky had taken on a delicious yellow tone. Before you knew it, the whole day had almost passed.

You didn’t want to lie to yourself, this is the way the days had gone for the past few weeks. It was just you, the sun, a cup of tea and the rest of the world. Namjoon, every day, had been stuck in the bedroom, occasionally popping out each evening to say hello. Now that was something you had a problem with confronting. You felt it was appropriate for him to get some rest, especially after the few weeks he’d spent finishing up his work. But it had reached a turning point now. One which you didn’t know how to address.

You weren’t too happy about it, but Namjoon was clearly broken. Were you scared to face the extent of his unhappiness? You never wanted to see the one you loved so much feel so hollow. At least that’s how you assumed he felt. You’d felt a similiar emotion before, but never to the extent Namjoon was experiencing. How badly you just wanted to rip the shreds of dread from him like a stuffed toy, or hug him to death and fill him full of love, stitching him back up to like he’d been before.

What could it be that made him feel like this? Perhaps it was nothing at all, just a fragrant aroma of unease that settled upon him - something he couldn’t shake off. When would you build up the courage to ask him? Talking to someone might free him from his bonds, but you couldn’t force him, you just couldn’t.

He had to be the one to make that choice.

Shifting on the sofa and taking a rather taxing stretch, you moved from your napping position and onto your feet. You stepped out onto the balcony, greeted by a golden radiant light, seating yourself on the heated stone floor, your feet nudging blooming plant pots.

You watched through the rustic balcony bars as the air grew wispy and chill around you, a harsh brick wall supporting the stability of your back. The clouds were starting to fade into the distance as stars pushed forth through the air. Was it time for another cup of tea yet? Probably. You felt spurred to go and get one.

“Morning.”

“N-namjoon.” You turned in surprise from the gruff voice to be met with his tall figure slouched against the door frame. “Evening, sleepy-head.”

He yawned in response, ruffling that luscious hair of his that now seemed so tangled through his fingers.

“Come sit down.”

Shuffling, he came to a seated position, one knee bobbing against yours, the other scraping the soil surface of his bonsai. Another yawn again, and his knee was now fully perched on your thigh, his back hunched over, shoulder nudging yours. You watched him as he shook out his tawny hair and took in his features in the setting sun.

“What’s up?” You smiled, your hand resting on his leg.

“Wanted to see you, dewdrop.”

“If you aren’t the biggest charmer.” You grinned in response “I’ve been missing you all day.”

“Yeah..i know.” He whispered.

“Then what’s up? I’m always here for you Joon.”

He sighed, fingers now raking into his scalp. Moon pools, darkened and tenebrous sat under his eyes, his thick lips chapped and his face a starker cream against the fading light. You turned to him, watching more closely, waiting for him to open up, praying that he would just open up.

“If you’re not ready that’s fine, i don’t -”

“No, no..I need to.” He shuffled nervously “I know things haven’t been the same since a few weeks ago. I’ve been pouring all my energy into my work and now I've been pouring it all into sleep and it feels like I've finally used up all my resources - like i’m at a dead end for solace, for what to do.”

“It started a few weeks ago. Things were fine, then all of a sudden, it stopped raining. It was probably just one of those years where the weather just wanted to let up and stay sunny, but for me, it felt like the first. It really did feel like the first time it hadn’t rained. I didn’t know what to do. I was at a loss. All my fondest memories, all my comfort and all my shelter came from the rain - it was a thing I could not deny, and I'm still desperate to get it back.”

“I just..I wish it rains all day. Cuz i’d like someone to cry for me. Cuz then people wouldn’t stare at me. The umbrella would cover the sad face, people would be busy minding themselves. I felt like i just needed to stop, I needed to breathe a little slower because my life and my rap, they’re usually too fast.”

“Yeah..that’s it..”

He let out a strong exhale, letting the air around him encourage the entire earth to fall silent. With that breath, his hand found yours on his thigh, his fingers lacing into your own. A strong thumb pawed across your palm, pressing softly into the flesh, the ultimate grounding tool.

But it wasn’t you needing to be grounded, it really wasn’t. It was him, the friendly giant who had lost all hope and solace to the power of the rain.

“Thank you for telling me. Really thank you.” You squeezed his hand “It’s you i want to protect. If I could hang clouds in the sky and make it rain for you I would..you know that.”

“If only I could find something else to make me just as happy..”

“Hey..” You chirped, a thought springing to your head. “You know i checked on you this morning to see if maybe you wanted to do something? Well..maybe we could go to the Art Museum on the waterfront tomorrow?”

“Okay. Sure.”

“It might help. And maybe we could get a coffee as well and see if we bump into any visiting artists.”

He grinned at you, a sense of adoration and respect filling the lakes of his eyes and the hollows of his dimples. You smiled back, a slow and affectionate grin that you hoped could transcend from your heart, right into his to fix him completely.

“Cool. Well, lets get some dinner on and look forward to a beautiful tomorrow.”

☁

That night, with full stomach’s and a coruscating sunset washed over your bodies, you lay in your bed, arm in arm, the night falling into the next day. You slept on your side, your arms crossed over your chest. Namjoon rested behind you, his stomach against your back, hands set in the violin crests of your waist, his head latched against your neck. Perhaps this was the first time, you thought, in weeks that you’d layn like this. The past few days, you’d been laying in bed alone, or an oceans distance from Joon, leaving him to get the best rest possible without your heat leaching onto him. This felt nice. It felt so much more than natural. He smelt of vanilla, and long nights and restless days. It reminded you of the angel you’d met so long ago.

The only thing you missed was his damp, fresh, rain water scent.

☁

“Catch me if you can.” He laughed.

Running further down the hill of the park, you felt your feet race ahead of you, almost slipping, as you begged yourself to catch up to him. Oaks, maples, alders, zelkovas, and birches all fade into one collective tincture as Namjoon dominated your vision. Despite your distance, his smell, his touch and his colours blocked out all sensory notion and summoning around you. You would not be held by the bounds of nature, he was yours and you were his, and in this race all there was, was blank space and the two of you.

“We’re nearly there!” He yelled again, bringing you from your thoughts.

“I’m -” You huffed. “I’m. So. Close.”

“Ah. So now it is about the race and not the rain. Perhaps you have a newfound love for it?”

In response, you slammed the brakes, watching him as he skipped into the car park, unlocking the doors to your vehicle and climbing in, beckoning you over.

“In your dreams.”

☁

“For this week, to celebrate the Seoul Arts Festival, we are holding a two for one deal for all art lovers. Therefore, your ticket entry to the art museum is only half price! Enjoy your visit.”

The gallery was lit with stars this afternoon. In awe, you walked through the reception and into the main hall to peer at the strings of golden paper in the shapes of stars decorating the ceiling and the walls. Clearly, this week was a week to be celebrated in the arts community.

You hoped Namjoon felt as excited as you to spend this time with him and on such a special day. You watched him, a small smile poking at his cheeks, not giving away whether he was displeased or not. You took the nervous drum of his knee to be the latter.

You always spent a lot of time in each room when you were with Joon. In love with his adoration for exhibitions, each time you joined him, you simply stuck to his side, viewing every single detail of every single painting.

At first, you felt the visits to be somewhat taxing - much preferring living, breathing art such as himself. Eventually, however, you succumbed to his ways - finally realizing that all exhibits were living things with their own lives and stories behind all their individual brush strokes. Like most things, it was him who taught you that, with his silent yet ethereal way of just being and learning and loving.

“Okay..wow, so this is the central room for this real highlight exhibits.” You breathed, Namjoon echoed your awe with a slow nod.

Now this was a room you felt you could really spend hours in. From Eunho, to Hye-Sok, to Eungro, to Jiho, you span around in a flurry of colour as you attempted to absorb the true joy of being amongst all this art at once. You knew Joon felt it too, immediately joining him by the first exhibit to gape at the thatched lines and geometry sitting on the canvas before him. You wondered how long he’d felt this way about the things before him: from paintings, to people, to the rain itself. Had he always been so sensitive and in-tune with his environment? Did he always care so much concerning the life buzzing around him?

After crowding around a few of the exhibits, you decided to head to the bathroom and grab a drink for the two of you. Almost ten minutes in, you’d realized you would probably need a drink to support your long and meticulous visit. Now was the perfect time to head off and grab one.

“Joon, I'm going to grab us a coffee, okay? Don’t go too far.”

“You know i won’t.” He chuckled “This room is way too fascinating.”

Almost fifteen minutes later, and a large queue for the cafe, you hurried back to the central room with two piping cups of pure vanilla fuel. Walking through the doorway, you searched for him in the crowd, but to no avail. You’d told him to stay put, and you were convinced he would do so, but now he’d ran off, almost as if your exit was the perfect opportunity to get away from everything that bound him. It was the perfect inconvenience.

Walking through the room, you decided to take the door to the next section of the exhibit and see if he was there. Entering into a more low lit space, you squinted your eyes, looking for him in every corner of the room. After a short amount of time, you came across his figure, hunched by an exhibit in the far left hand corner.

Positioned diagonally, you could see the features of his face in pure scrutiny. His eyes, wincing, paced back and forth across the painting, his teeth sandwiched between his lip, chewed at it gently.

You’d watched him before like this, staring at paintings, watching life go by on the apartment balcony, tending to his plants, but it had never quite been like this. You stood there for (what?) ten to fifteen minutes, simply wondering when he would stop staring at the canvas..if he would move on. Was he waiting for you to join him? Was the painting simply that jaw-dropping?

“Joon..”

He turned in surprise, immediately standing straight. You smiled at his action, and approached him to look at the painting further. From a distance, in the dim light of the room, the painting was a monochromatic smudge with the tall figure of Namjoon shading its central half. Now, up close, it looked much different.

A figure in a long white trench coat and cap stood in its centre. Beneath him, a flowing stream of black ink submerged the better half of his shoes, meandering forward through the painting and toward a large black hole hanging in the sky ahead. Black arcs of rain shot through the surrounding sky like hasten sparks, falling into the reflection of the figure wavering below in the light of the tenebrous stream. The painting, as a whole, had been crafted in monochromatic watercolour, its brush strokes melting down the canvas like tears to paper. It was a sad yet inspiring vision, you thought.

“It’s beautiful.” He answered, a tear pooling down his cheek.

☁

That night you lay awake for a while.

A long while.

At 9pm, you turned to your side, and slipped out of your bed to sit on the balcony. The weather was tinged with cold, but you brought a blanket to shawl across your shoulders and drape under your naked toes.

You’d tried getting to sleep that night around 8pm. Joon had huddled against the corner of the sofa before bed and downed a mug of green tea, before watching you finish yours, lacing your hand with his and heading for dream-land.

But as soon as you hit those warm, delicious covers, you knew there was something much more pressing calling your name.

Ever since leaving the museum that afternoon, you couldn’t draw your mind from that watercolour painting. Like an obnoxious poster of propaganda, or an inviting store-front display, the picture sat in your mind, a prized possession, and mocked you your entire journey home. You thought about Joon’s face viewing the canvas, the time he spent simply looking at it and the silence and serenity that followed him afterward.

He wanted the rain, he yearned for it, he called for it ever since its disappearance. You only realized this last night, once he opened up to you, but it had made sense. The long showers he took when you were distracted at the grocers and would come home to him singing away to the sound of the running water in the bathroom. The way you would sometimes wake just as he was heading to sleep and watch him kiss the sky goodnight with a certain desperation for the rain to come. Even the long, delicious sips he took of green tea, feeling the liquid wash down his throat and cleanse him of his doubt. It all made sense.

He was waiting for the rain to answer him and it was that singular painting that seemed to pick up his call.

It was that realization, again, on the foot of your balcony at 9pm at night that made you stoop through the house, throw on your shoes and run back to the museum to bring home that painting.

Racing down cobblestone streets and narrow lanes, you found yourself driving all the way back to the museum with only yourself and the headlights of the car to guide you.

All your life, you’d learnt better from the mistakes you’d made and soon realized it was best to follow a calling and take an opportunity when it came to you. Even if it ended up failing. This particular calling was stronger than ever, a migraine in your head, an instinct that screamed that there was more to this painting than what meets the eye. You knew it would help Namjoon.

On special events, the museum closed at the ripe hour of 10pm: in just fifteen minutes time. What on earth were you doing? You didn’t know. You would enter the museum, visit the catalyst that stuck itself in your mind and hopefully the answer would come to you.

Jumping out from the car, you ran toward the entrance, bursting through the doors like some crazed artist, desperate for information.

A man halted you just as you were headed through to the main hall, his gentle touch on your shoulder.

“Ma’am, this gallery is closing in ten minutes time.”

“I-i understand. I just need to take a look at one of your exhibits.”

He nodded, an uncertain look crossing his features “Of course..go ahead.”

And with that notice, you sped walk to the dim lit room without a single thought but of the canvas in your head.

“Good evening, this gallery will be closing in five minutes time. Can all remaining visitors please make their way to the exit on the lower floor. Thank you for visiting.”

With the echo of the final closing announcement following you into the dark exhibit room, you had to make a decision. A dangerous decision.

With no rational thought, plan or hope in mind, you would decide to stay at the museum past its closing time. Searching the room, you peered for somewhere to hide. Unfortunately, galleries never really delivered in this particular apartment, often baring clean white walls and flat floorboards. In your case, frantically scouring the room, you had found an exhibit sitting on top of a white box with a possible way to unfold itself and hide you in it. With urgency, you got to your knees and tugged at the side of one of the corners, digging your nails in, in an attempt to open up one of the sides and slide inside.

And just as if it really was your calling, one of the sides slid open - albeit with a tremendous screeching sound against the floor - but it still very much opened. With that, you were asking no questions, simply bending yourself into a rectangular shape and sliding back into the box, closing the side behind you.

Now to wait.

For a few minutes, you sat in silence, wincing at a cramp in your ankle. Suddenly, you were hearing footsteps and jangling keys announcing themselves in the room. With a held breath, and extreme concentration, you sat rock solid as the steps circled, stopping occasionally to scent out a visitor, and continuing before finally click-clacking goodbye. If there was any time you thought you would be in need of an oxygen tank (surprisingly not in 50 years time) it was now. You were never one to break the rules or to find yourself being ridiculously spontaneous, so this was really a first. You felt on edge, yet devious and buzzing with an electric pulse of energy. It really was time for you to try something new, and for Joon to finally get his dose of happiness.

In a succession of fox-like footsteps, you peeled yourself from the box and made your way over to the painting. You thought, standing still, that the answer of what to do would just come to you.

Certainly nothing had happened straight away, but you were definitely taken aback by the painting in this light. With only the back-up lighting on, a shadow was cast on the canvas before you, washing the monochromatic tone over in a blue haze. Things looked even sadder from this angle, but ever more fascinating. Almost unconsciously, you leaned forward and traced the painting with your finger, letting your palm slide flat against the cold canvas. So melancholy and so mysterious, the longer you stared, the more you fell. Before you could even comprehend your actions, you were again applying another hand to the canvas, feeling its ridges and bends. Slowly, you came closer to it, pushing forward past the small rope barrier to reach nearer in its gaze.

Black, white, grey, it all melded into one in a romantic and tragic spiral of colour. Your eyes fell onto its detail, its strokes, its edges, and soon you couldn’t even tell what you were looking at anymore - simply a puddle of water absorbing your interest, absorbing all consciousness.

☁

“Hello”

“Hello..”

“Are you okay?”

In a buttery, and gooey, and delicious state of silence a voice filled your ears. Slowly you felt your touch, your scent, your taste and everything return to you. You were a warm body on a cold floor, palms clawing roughly at its spongy surface. You were a clouded head, lost in direction, coming to your senses with the figure above you.

Eyes squinting and pleading to open, you heard his voice again. It rang a deep, husky, baritone chill through your spine and reminded you of someone oh so familiar. As you squeezed your eyes open again, everything came into view.

The figure above you was a tall, looming shadow. Dressed in a long white trench coat and cap, with loose trousers and messy black hair, he stared ominously into your eyes, confusion and worry painting the slight lines smudged across his face.

It only took you a second, but before you knew it, you were free of numbness and doubt, standing to your feet and cradling the shadow in front of you.

It was your Joon.

Well, it was him, but rather a slightly altered version of him. A small wedge of his collective person so to speak. In fact, to put it definitely, it was the figure that stood central in the watercolour painting.

And now you were in the painting itself. Standing with him as if you’d never left the house, as if you hadn’t ever had a care in the world. But you most definitely had; in fact, the biggest question shrouding your brain was how on earth did you end up inside the canvas? Was this a dream?

“I’m sorry.” You whispered into his shoulder.

“Hey, hey. It’s okay Dewdrop.” He replied, leaving you frozen with the familiar nickname. “I missed you.”

“Joon..” You mumbled, a hand lacing itself against his collarbone “Hey..this isn’t some weird calling is it? Or some nightmare that will leave me on my knees in penance?”

“No, no. I know this feels weird and I know this was the last place you expected to be in order to help the one you love..but it is. And you won’t be here forever, don’t worry, I just need to explain things.”

“Okay okay.” You nodded, pulling back from him to fully process the situation.

Viewing him from such a close perspective, and viewing the strange yet ethereal world floating in your peripheral wasn’t even the weirdest thing. The weirdest thing was how quick you had been made to suddenly process this all, as if it were foreshadowed in the flecks of your bloodstream.

Always one for make-believe and skipping class in favor of daydreaming dungeons & dragons, this would seem custom for you. And it was in a sense. Crossing that initial bridge of fear and the unfamiliar, you felt strangely calm in this new world’s clutch.

“Y/n? Are you alright?”

“Sorry.” You pulled yourself from your sudden thoughts. “I was just..i’m just a bit taken aback that’s all.”

“It’s fine, honey. Come here, let’s walk.”

In the still slight state of shock, you took his hand and walked. Before, the world feeling silent, you could now hear rain. Long flecks of it smashing against the ground like fireworks bouncing beyond the stratosphere. In some strange way - like everything that had happened to you this evening - you felt calm.

In the weeks it hadn’t rained, you forgot what it had felt like to hold Joon’s hand, to hug him, to really feel him near you. In the early hours of morning, you had missed his warmth, his feathery kisses, his pleasure that was true sin of the flesh. Feeling him here, being next to him now, you had a hope that his more unfortunate, lonesome counterpart would soon be reunited with his true-self again.

“It was a few weeks ago, when the rain halted all action. When the skies fell to rest. A part of me left and found itself here, a strange deity of happiness, an outlier in a world of strangers.”

Looking around, you felt his words. To your left, and to your right stood figures masked with umbrellas, floating in the inaudible wind. Some figures had their umbrellas angled so you could see their faces. Strange features marked the upper half of their torso: hollowed cheeks with eyes sitting in the banks of their flesh, botanical hair, melding into faces, blossoming into sharper spikes. Some figures were full of expression and stories, others were simply black smudges, scribbles atop slouched shoulders moving with the current.

“When it rains, I get a little feeling that I do have a friend. Keeps knocking on my windows; asks me if I'm doing well. And I know that when Namjoon’s at home, writing his music, waiting, he will answer: ‘I’m still a hostage of life. I don’t live because i can’t die, but i’m chained to something.’” Joon responds, talking about the physical side of himself, the man you’ve left sleeping at home, dreaming of the rain. You sense a sadness in his tone, a longing to be reunited with his other half. To make him whole again.

“What can i do? Please tell me?”

“We need to get out of here; but i can’t do it without your help. You need to help pull me out through the other side, to set me free, to help me reach him.”

You take a fresh gulp, anticipating instructions, waiting for an order of where to go, something to help you complete your task. But nothing.

“Where do i take you?”

“Through..through that black hole over there.”

With an unsteady, ghostly white watercolour finger, he points ahead of himself, toward a tenebrous pool of ink, hanging in the sky. Walking with hope, an inkling of dread at your side, you tug further on his hand to approach the crevice, the tear in the seams.

Approaching nearer, you feel your feet start to become submerged in a tar-like substance. Upon looking down, you notice that your wading further out into a lake of ink. But there’s no way out. Stepping to the side to try and climb out of the stream is no use. You are not the floating figures around you, you never will be and neither will Joon; you are simply grounded, falling deeper, yet becoming more assured of the goal you must now reach.

Before you even comprehend it, your right up against the hole, your vision shrouded in darkness and dripping ink, like a fountain from the devil himself. But you know on the other side that there’s the gallery room, and you know that a stone's throw from there, is your home, and your safety again.

“When i count to three, we’ll jump in.”

“Okay..” You breathe.

“Just help me through once you're safe and sound.” He grins, dimples kissing his cheeks.

“Of course I will, silly. We’re in this together.”

“Okay. One..”

“Two.”

“Three!”

The first thing you feel is damp wet sludge, then the tugging sensation of being pulled through a tumble dryer.

The next thing you know: you’re out the other side, and he..

..he’s gasping for air,

tugging onto your arm,

and gurgling.

And - oh god - you don’t think you’ve heard such a sound before, but it terrifies you and leaves bile pooling against your gums.

Against the arcs of rain spilling from the painting, his arm shakes further, fingers gripping so hard you’re afraid they’ll simply shrivel to bone. He’s screaming now, low and hollow and you’re teetering on the decision to just denounce this is a bad dream, pinch yourself and wake up. But you know this isn’t.

You feel you’ve had nightmares similar to this one before. Visions of losing him to a pool of ink, watching him fade into just an image. You’ve tried to imagine life without him, taking long walks and cold showers to prepare for the worst, but you had never wanted this.

“H-elp, PLEASE, he-”

“It’s okay!” You felt breathless “Joon, stay with me, please!”

What on earth would you do if you couldn’t get him out of here? Would the Joon at home you knew so well forever lose his spark? Would you get to try again the next day? Or would the love of your life simply fade away forever..

With that thought you tugged harder, putting all of your energy into the pull. Grounding one foot in front of the other, you leant back against the rope barrier of the exhibit and fastened your grip further up his arm. With excruciating strength, and the need to make sounds akin to an engine revving, you pulled further and further. Further and further, until you could see his shoulder, then his neck, then his head, the waist, the thighs, the knees, the ankles..

All of him.

In an instance, he was falling into your arms, your grip fervent and desperate on him, cradling his body as if he would melt away.

Little did you know, he would melt away if you weren’t fast enough.

“We need to be quick. I’m so so sorry. You need to hurry before i gradually fade; i can’t exist in this world normally as a painting, you need to get to him. Now”.

☁

Racing down empty streets, steering near desolate corners, your car drove with the solid ambition of getting to him.

The longer you rode, the harder you found it to look across to the passenger seat at him. Every single minute, he was fading away. First it was his shoes when you first fastened the seat belt, then his ankles, and now the evanesce was reaching toward his thighs. There was no point in looking a little further or breathing a little faster or thinking a little longer. It was your eyes, ahead, on the road. Just you and the world.

And soon it would be you and him.

Turning another corner, you felt the engine stutter and pool to a stop. With a long, steady breath, you pushed at the pedal again, urging it to move,

“C’mon just a little more -”

But to no avail.

Again you pushed and pushed, just like how you pulled and pulled earlier, but life could only give you so much, it would only give you so much.

A feeling of despair overcame you, throwing you instantly onto the bed of the steering wheel. You lay there silently for a while, face nested against the cold fabric, questioning it all.

Did you do enough? What would Joon think of you? Why were you so hopeless? Did you really think you could finish this on your own?

You had to finish this on your own.

...

....

......

*pit*

*pat*

*pit-pat*

You blinked, lips brushing the wheel in an attempt to shut your mouth and hold your breath.

*pit-pat*

*pit-pat pit-pat pit-pat -*

It was raining.

Looking up, flecks of water were falling from the sky. They were landing like confetti and surging through the air in the trillions. The ground, in seconds, had become a stone riverbed, and the car windows a submarine tanks.

You’d be damned if this rain wasn’t going to turn into the most magnificent storm you’d ever seen.

“C’mon Joon, we’re nearly there!”

With a thrust, you pulled yourself out of the car and up into the rain. Following your steps, he trailed behind you as you stepped out into the cold, exposed to an onslaught of flood.

Out in the open, and with one more step to complete, you took your hand in his and began to run.

If tears were rainy days, you think you’d have experienced a drought. But now, you were crying, crying like there was not enough rain in this world, like there couldn’t ever be enough.

Ushering a melting figure through the torrent of rain, you’d become desperate to reach home. Looking back, you saw the rain was having its effect on him. Every second now, he was simply being washed away.

You turned the final corner to your apartment, readying yourself to rush down a long street to reach the end of it and enter dry-land. To run back home with the risk of turning back and no longer seeing a figure following behind you.

But was it luck, or the final piece in this discombobulated puzzle, that Namjoon was standing right there, at the end of the street, waiting for you?

Now you were running even faster, your legs pacing ahead of the rest of you before you could even think.

Closer and closer and you could start to feel Joon’s grip in your hand fade away, only urging you to hold on stronger.

With watery, shut eyes, you made the final distance and collided with a strong chest, sending Joon forth into his physical counterpart.

Pulling apart from him suddenly, you watched to see his watercolour other-half melt into the crest of his heart. With no urgency, he was sucked in, and you stared in awe as Joon slowly stood straighter, grew brighter, felt happier.

It was a gasp of air that finally brought him back to you. You saw it before you truly felt it: lips on your own like soft, rubbery buds. He kissed you with tenderness, with concern, with desire. Kissing you further, the light poured into you too. You felt it in the way he held your waist, in the way he held your face, in the way he made sure the both of you were never ever ever displaced.

He sang against your lips,

“Please don’t ask any questions.”

“But do keep pouring forever.”

#ficswithluv #luv library #btswriterscollective #bts #bts fanfic #bts oneshot #bts fluff #bts namjoon #namjoon x reader #kim namjoon #kim seokjin #bts imagines #jung hoseok #min yoongi #park jimin #kim taehyung #jeon jungkook

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hija-del-trueno · 4 years

Text

Sacrifice

Anidala Week 2020 - Day 2: Canon Divergence

Authors Note: Sorry everyone. I am like 21 min late to post but honestly this was the first idea I had in my head since I read the AnidalaWeek prompts and I kept having so many rewrites because it wasn’t too Anidala, butttt I think I got it right now. Make sure to like, send a comment, anything. Thanks!

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

There is no emotion, there is Peace.

“Don't do this. Don't shut me out, let me help you”

There is no Ignorance, there is Knowledge.

“You don’t know the power of the Dark side.”

There is no passion, there is serenity.

“I am a Jedi, like my father before me.”

There is no chaos, there is harmony.

“I feel conflict in you, it’s tearing you apart.”

There is no death, there is the Force.

“I know what I have to do, but I don't know if I have the strength to do it.”

Love is sacrifice.

“Wake up!” Anakin sat up startled. Soon he got up and packed his simple bag. He left Varykino that night. He left Naboo and bought himself a ride back to Coruscant and back to the Jedi Temple.

The next morning Padme Amidala, in her white wedding dress, went to look for her betrothed only to find him gone.

The year thereafter they did not see nor speak to each other. Except that one time they both were walking in the Senate hallways and she had walked straight ahead with her head held high, as if he did not exist. He would be lying if he didn’t say it hurt him just a tad bit more than he would have liked.

But the Clone Wars kept Anakin busy. Soon after he was knighted, he was made General of the 501st. Ahsoka came then soon after.

While his multiple responsibilities surely kept him at bay, there were still nights when he’d look into the sky and hope that wherever Padme was that she would one day forgive him.

The next time he saw her was when she helped him and Ahsoka with the Hutts, but truthfully he couldn’t really count that. She had hologrammed in and with a few words rescued them from their demise. He thanked her but she simply nodded and disappeared. At least Anakin knew she was willing to rescue him.

Then it became his turn to rescue her when she was on board the Malevolence. But again, Padme only spoke curt replies, and simply thanked him and Obi-Wan at the end of the mission. It seemed he would forever be subjected to her cold shoulder. Obi-Wan simply patted his back.

The next day as he was climbing into his Starfighter, Anakin turned around to meet a familiar beep. R2-D2’s projector light turned on to show him a message.

I kept your droid, so I guess you should keep mine. -Padme

Anakin smiled, “Hop on Artoo.”

And so it seemed that they went back and forth in rescuing each other throughout the war. The Blue Shadow Virus. Then the Zillo Beast. Clovis. Alderaan. By then they were in speaking terms, and Anakin was glad to have a friend in Padme. He’d lend Ahsoka to her many times. There was Mon Cala soon after, and then she’d represent Ahsoka in her trial.

Padme had done so well defending Ahsoka that the council allowed her to become a Knight simply as reparations.

And then there had been that mess with Clovis, again. Truthfully, Anakin was a bit disappointed of Clovis’ deceit and eventual demise. If there had been anyone who could possibly be a good candidate for Padme, it might have been him.

They had been quite the quadruple, Obi-Wan, Ahsoka, Padme and himself. They had survived the last three years if only because of their friendship.

Sometimes he caught Padme staring at him from the corner of his eye but he would turn away and pay no mind. Anakin had also learned much in the past three years. How to be at peace. How to rein his passions. Patience.

“You have become a far greater Jedi than I could hope to become,” Obi-Wan told him once. Little did Obi-Wan know that what Anakin saw on Naboo long ago had been one of the far greatest lessons from perhaps one of the greatest teachers.

It should have been to no one’s surprise that all four of them found out the truth of Darth Sidious’ identity around the same time. Ahsoka had gone to Mandalore to capture Maul, only to come rushing back with the news. Obi-Wan, similarly, had come from defeating Grievous. Padme, Senator Organa, and Senator Mothma had discovered incriminating evidence, which included a list of orders that could have been carried out by the clones and the chip that was embedded in their brain. And Anakin, well he found out because the Force revealed it to him when he was sitting next to Palpatine in an opera show. It might have also been because Palpatine shared with him the tale of Darth Plagueis.

“Alright Padme and Ahsoka go to the Senate. You must have an emergency meeting revealing Palpatine as Sidious and the evidence. Obi-Wan and I will go seek other Jedi masters who will help us against him.”

They all nodded and hugged. Padme stared at him, if only a little bit longer, in case it was the last time.

“May the Force be with us,” he stated and then turned to the matter at hand.

Sidious killed Masters Fisto, Kolar, and Tiin in seconds. The battle intensified and soon enough Windu was down and Obi-Wan was critically injured. It seemed all hope was lost when Sidious disabled him with Force Lightning, but it happened again, just like in his vision long ago. Except this time, it was not the girl, it was him being enlightened by the Jedi past and present. Calling to him his and Obi-Wan’s lightsabers, Anakin defeated Darth Sidious. He watched his body disintegrate and turn to dust in the Coruscanti skyline.

While Anakin and Obi-Wan fought Sidious, Padme and Ahsoka presented the evidence to the Galactic Senate. With the help of the Loyalist Committee, Padme was able to sway many of the systems when she called for vote of no-confidence against Palpatine. Bail Organa was chosen as the new Chancellor of the Republic and that same time he ordered Ahsoka and the 501st to capture and bring in all the remaining leaders of the Separatists. All the droid army was shut down by next morning. All was right in the galaxy.

There was a huge celebration in Coruscant. All the galaxy rejoiced on behalf of the end of the war and those who understood more rejoiced for the end of the Sith. A grand parade stretched out leading up to the Senate building. All the clone troopers marched joyously, and at the front of the parade, the four heroes.

After the parade, continued a ceremony of recognition. Anakin, Ahsoka, Obi-Wan, and Padme were awarded medals of bravery for their heroic acts throughout the war and its ending. The celebration continued with a grand ball. Truthfully, Anakin was tired. The war and now this final battle weighed on him. He made a silent escape but realized someone else was too.

“Padme,” he ran up to her. “Wait. Where are you headed to?”

She pointed to 500 Republica which was a bit ahead. “Home.”

“You’re not taking a speeder.”

“You know this whole time I’ve usually walked home and there was a war. I can’t imagine what danger lies ahead now,” she smirked.

“Let me walk you.”

She simply nodded and the two headed off into the night.

Anakin cast a glance at her. It seemed her beauty continued to grow with age, or perhaps it was the glow of the Coruscanti moon that made her glimmer to him.

“What will you do now?” He asked.

She continued walking quietly, not seeming to find an answer.

“What I always do. Follow my duty to the Republic”

Anakin pondered for a bit. “While you are essential to the Republic, there might not be that much duty to attend to now.”

She scoffed, “You’d be surprised. It’s moments like these where the next evil takes an opportunity. Besides there are multiple things to take care of: clone rights, the syndicates….slavery.” She glanced back at him to gauge his understanding.

“All wonderful things but I am also sure there are multiple suitors who have just been waiting for this opportunity for the war to end to -“

She laughed “-to what?”

He stared at her. He didn’t understand what was so funny to her. “Well, I mean, look at Rush Clovis. Despite everything, the man loved you.”

She scoffed again. “Rush Clovis never loved me. He was infatuated of me and was an opportunist that thought he would get his way with me.”

It was best to stay quiet now, besides they were approaching 500 Republica.

Once they reached the door to the lift, Padme stopped in front of him. “Thank you for accompanying me.”

He bowed his head. “Your welcome.” This was it. No more missions meant no more rescuing her, which might mean less contact. Their friendship was a bit awkward at times. Perhaps this would be the end. She turned around and walked toward the lift and so did he turn around as well toward the Temple.

“Anakin, wait.”

He lifted his head and turned around….only to a resounding SLAP!

Kriff could she slap! He lifted his gaze only to find Padme with angry tears storming her eyes.

He lifted his other hand in peace. “Now hold on, I thought we had surpassed this.”

“Anakin Skywalker, I have never surpassed this. Wartime creates necessity But now the war is over, so now I can say my piece.” She gulped for air. “You will NEVER know how embarrassed I felt the day you left. You will NEVER know how many tears I shed that night and the following.”

Her tears broke and fell as streams across her cheek. “I loved you and you broke my heart. But it’s my fault isn’t it? I fell for your charade of you feeling the same for me.”

“I am truly, deeply, sorry Padme,” he whispered. Being close to her, he could feel her heartbreak through the Force. It hurt him too. Tears threatened to form in his eyes as well.

She brushed her own tears and lifted her chin. “All I want to know is why?” her voice wavered. “Why couldn’t you stay?”

If Anakin told her, would she believe him. He looked down at his boots.

“Please,” she begged.

He looked to her apartment. “It’s a long story, maybe we should head inside.”

——

“So this young man….the Force brought him to you?”

“Yes.” He nodded. They sat in her veranda as he explained how the Force had brought this young man who then whisked him away on a vision that seemed like a journey of a lifetime. Stuck in the world between worlds, Ben found the opportune time to take Anakin out of his world and show him the chaos he would cause if he carried on with his attachment. It seemed like ages, but really there were glimpses of horror, pain, suffering for his generations. There were glimmers of hope too but for Anakin those were eclipsed by the destruction he had caused. Coming back to the world between worlds Ben had explained that love itself existed amongst sacrifice and that Anakin would need to let go if he were to stop himself from becoming evil.

“Who was this man?”

There was no simple way to explain that to her. What she did not know, might not hurt her. “I’m not sure. Perhaps a Jedi past or present. I never asked.”

She looked at her hands that laid on her lap.

He stood up and kneeled before her. “I couldn’t tell you. I didn’t know how. I saw you die…at my hand.”

Anakin took her hands in his. “I have loved you ever since you entered Watto’s shop. And when we were in Geonosis, I loved you. And when I told you we would marry in Naboo, I loved you. But then the Force revealed to me the truth, this lesson I had to learn. My trial. You couldn’t come. You mustn’t.”

Padme stared at him intently. “It is because I loved you that I left you. To protect you from myself. So you would not be used as a pawn to Sidious against me.”

“And now?”

He cocked his head to the side, puzzled.

“You said you loved me in Geonosis and on Naboo.” He could feel her hands tremble. “Do you love me now or no longer?”

His hands let go of hers and reached to cradle her face. Tears streamed down her face and his thumbs across her cheek tried to brush them off.

“Padme, I will always love you. Yesterday, today and tomorrow.” And as soon as he said that she leaned in to kiss him. He was caught off guard but quickly melted his lips to hers. They kissed passionately. More so than when they were being brought to death in Geonosis. More so than when they fell in love in Naboo. This kiss represented all the ones that were not given.

When they broke apart, Padme held his face. “My heart has ached every night not knowing. Anakin there is no other….there is no other man I have loved as much as I love you.” She kissed him again and again, as if she were to never see him again.

He held her in his arms and they fell asleep like that. When the morning rose, Padme was surprised to still find him there, his arms around her. Her finger traced the scar across his eye. Slowly he stirred awake.

He lessened his grip around her and stretched. The sofa on the veranda wasn’t the most comfortable but he did not want to ruin the moment.

Padme lifted her head and stared intently at him. “What does the Force say now?”

He smiled. Ever since last night the Force voiced - no, screamed its harmonious approval. “Well I have defeated Sidious. I am sure other evil will arise….”

She propped an eyebrow. He chuckled, “But I think I have learned my lesson.”

Anakin saw her huff and stare at the rise and fall of his chest. Suddenly she crawled to be parallel to his face and kissed him.

“Anakin Skywalker, if the Force allows, then will you please marry me?”

—

Anakin was not a fan of medical bays but this time he gave in. He wanted to be present. Padme stood next to him squeezing his arm. She was nervous, she wanted to be inside. And Luke…well Luke just kept pacing.

He cocked his head at Ahsoka. Can you keep your apprentice in check?

She glared back. He’s your son, Skyguy.

Suddenly the doors bust open and Solo appeared. “He’s here everyone!” The bundle nestled in his arms stirred at his outburst.

Anakin rolled his eyes.

“Oops. This is going to take some getting used to,” he whispered.

Han moved closer to him and Padme first. “I want you to meet Ben.”

Anakin motioned to give him the child and Han carefully placed him in his arms. He was a longer baby than he remembered Luke and Leia being, lighter too. He had Leia’s nose and beautiful brown eyes, although his facial features looked like Solo. It seemed the perfect combination of them both. Padme stared lovingly at her first grandson but the baby held its gaze to Anakin.

Anakin smiled. At long last he was here again, his savior from the dark. His teacher on love and selflessness.

He brought the babies head to his lips and pressed a kiss on his forehead.

“Thank you.”

#anidalaweek2020 #star wars #anidala #anakin skywalker #padme amidala #ben solo

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thelastchair · 4 years

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Powder Magazine

(Written by Sam Cox - December 28, 2020)

Growing up in Montana, my winter free time was consumed by skiing. Big Sky was the destination when I was barely old enough to walk. Eventually we made the move to Bozeman and Bridger Bowl became my second home. During the early years, my family made the trek to a handful of Warren Miller movies when they were on tour in the fall and Snow Country was the magazine subscription that landed on the coffee table. I was vaguely aware of Jackson Hole, Snowbird and Squaw Valley and my father would occasionally regale me with tales of skiing (read Après) in Germany when he was in the Army. At some level, I already understood that there was something special about Bridger, but realistically, my sphere of outside influence was quite small. Christmas of 1989 turned my entire world upside down. My aunt and uncle are longtime Salt Lake City residents and Brighton skiers. Typically they would send a package each year with the customary cookies, toffee and a card. However, this year they sent two VHS tapes and a magazine - Ski Time, Blizzard of Aahhh’s and a copy of Powder. Things would never be the same for me. Scot Schmidt became my hero, Greg Stump was taking skiing into uncharted territory and above it all, Powder created an eloquent voice for our sport and was the fabric that held things together. Even at my young age, everything that I’d intuitively sensed before was distilled into a potent desire to devote myself to the simple pursuit of being a skier.

Johan Jonsson, Engelberg, Switzerland - Photo: Mattias Fredriksson/POWDER

Powder was founded in Sun Valley by the Moe brothers in 1972 as an annual portfolio of The Other Ski Experience. After several years of running the magazine, Jake and David Moe sold Powder to the owner of Surfer Magazine. A repurposed aircraft hangar in San Juan Capistrano became the new home of skiing’s most prestigious publication. Over time, there was an ebb and flow to the size of staff and cast of characters, each person leaving their unique mark. For decades Powder weathered corporate acquisitions, office relocations and the constant metamorphosis of the ski industry - never losing its voice, Powder remained the benchmark. It was a source of creativity, inspiration and a defacto annal of history. For many it was also a shining beacon, a glimpse into a world filled with deep turns and iconic destinations - even if this world could only be inhabited inside the constructs of your imagination.

My story and the impact Powder had on the direction I would take is hardly unique. The magazine left an indelible impression on countless skiers. When the news broke this fall that operations were being suspended indefinitely, a heartbroken community took to social media to pay homage to the magazine and how it changed their lives and in some cases, careers. This is my version of a tribute and it’s definitely not perfect. In order to gain some perspective, I reached out to former staff members - a collective I admire and respect. It’s an attempt to articulate the essence of Powder, capture its influence on the skiing landscape and give credit to the people who made it come to life.

Bernie Rosow, Mammoth Mountain, CA - Photo: Christian Pondella/POWDER

HANS LUDWIG - The Jaded Local

“Skiing has always been really tribal and one of the last vestiges of having an oral history. Powder was a unique concept, because they weren’t really concerned with the family market. They were just concerned about being really into skiing. Growing up in Colorado and skiing moguls, my coaches Robert and Roger were featured in the early Greg Stump films. Being in their orbit, I knew a little bit about skiing culture and what was going on out there, but didn’t have the whole picture. The Stump films resonated with me, but Ski/Skiing Magazines didn’t really do it for me. Powder was the door that opened things culturally, it was the only entry point before Blizzard of Aahhh’s.”

“Something that nobody gives Powder credit for, is sponsoring the Greg Stump, TGR and MSP movies and giving them full support right from their inception. It legitimized those companies and helped them become one of the catalysts for change and evolution in skiing. Ultimately this change would have happened, but at a much slower pace without the support of Powder. Getting support from Powder meant they’d weeded out the posers and kooks and what they were backing wasn’t something or someone that was “aspiring” they were a cut above.”

“Powder brought a lot of things into the mainstream, raised awareness and helped to legitimize them: Jean-Marc Boivin, Patrick Vallencant, Pierre Tardivel, telemarking, monoskiing, snowboarding, the JHAF, Chamonix, La Grave, Mikaela Shiffrin, fat skis pre McConkey, skiing in South America….the list goes on.”

“I had some rowdy trips with Powder. Writing “Lost In America,” I went Utah-Montana-Fernie-Banff-Revelstoke via pickup truck, only backcountry skiing and camping in the mud. It was a month plus. I did another month plus in Nevada, which was after back to back Jackson and Silverton. Total time was two plus months. That was fucked up, I was super loose after that whole thing. So many sketchy days with total strangers”

“People forget that Powder was around long before the advent of the fucking pro skier. Starting in 1996, the magazine was in the impact zone of the ski industrial complex. There is limited space for content each season. It was a challenge to balance the pressure coming from the athletes and brands to cover something that was going to make them money vs. staying true to the Moe brothers original intent and profiling an eccentric skier, a unique location or even fucking ski racing.”

Full Circle - Photo: MJ Carroll

KEITH CARLSEN - Editor

“When I was young, Ski/Skiing didn’t do anything for my spirit, but Powder lit me up. It ignited a passion in diehard skiers and gave them a voice and community. It was focused on the counter culture - the type of people who rearrange their lives to ski. This was in direct opposition to other magazines that were targeting rich people, trying to explain technique, sell condos or highlight the amenities at a ski area.”

“Skiing has always been my outlet and mechanism to get away from things in life. My two talents are writing and photography, so I enrolled at Western State with the direct goal of landing an internship at Powder. Even at 19, I had complete focus on the direction I wanted to take. If it didn’t work out, my backup plan was to be a ski bum. 48 hours after graduating, I was headed to southern California to live in my van and start my position at Powder. When the decision was made to close the magazine, it was really personal for me. Powder had provided me direction in life for the last 30 years and I needed some time to process it. In a way, it was almost like going to a funeral for a good friend - even though it’s gone, the magazine lives on in all of us and can never be taken away.”

“It was, and will always remain, one of my life’s greatest honors to serve as the editor-in-chief for Powder Magazine. It was literally a dream that came true. I’m so grateful for everyone who came before me and everyone who served after me. That opportunity opened literally hundreds of doors for me and continues to do so today. I owe the magazine a massive debt of gratitude. Every single editor was a warrior and fought for the title with their lives. They were doing double duty - not only from competition with other publications, but the internal struggle of budget cuts, staff reductions and trying to do more with less. Powder never belonged in the hands of a corporation. The magazine spoke to an impassioned community and never made sense to an accountant or on a ledger.”

Trevor Petersen, Mt. Serratus, BC - Photo: Scott Markewitz/POWDER

SIERRA SHAFER - Editor In Chief

“Powder celebrated everything that is good and pure in skiing. It highlighted the old school, the new and the irreverent. The magazine also called bullshit when they saw it. It was a checkpoint, a cultural barometer and an honest reflection on where skiing has been and where it’s going.”

“My involvement with Powder came completely out of left field. I was never an intern or established in the ski industry. My background was strictly in journalism, I was a skier living in Southern California and editing a newspaper. I knew that I wanted to get the fuck out of LA and Powder was that opportunity. It was a huge shift going from my job and life being completely separate to work becoming my life. Literally overnight, Powder became everything - friends, connections and part of my identity. It derailed my trajectory in the best possible way.”

Brad Holmes, Donner Pass, CA - Photo: Dave Norehad/POWDER

MATT HANSEN - Executive Editor

“Keith Carlsen was a man of ideas, he had tremendous vision and influence. He came up with the ideas for Powder Week and the Powder Awards in 2001. In some respects those two events saved the magazine.”

“Powder was the soul of skiing and kept the vibe, it changed people’s lives and inspired them to move to a ski town. As a writer I always wanted to think it was the stories that did that, but in truth it was the photography. Images of skiing truly became an art form, 100% thanks to Powder Magazine and Dave Reddick. Dave cultivated and mentored photographers, he was always searching for the unpredictable image from around the world and pressed the photographers to look at things from a different angle.”

“It sounds cliche, but writing a feature about Chamonix was the highlight for me. Sitting on the plane, things were absolutely unreal. I linked up with Nate Wallace and the whole experience from start to finish was out of my comfort zone. Ducking ropes to ski overhead pow on the Pas De Chèvre, walking out of the ice tunnel on a deserted Aiguille du Midi right as the clouds parted, late nights in town that were too fuzzy to recall. The energy of the place taught me a lot. I didn’t have a smartphone and there was no Instagram - I had time to write, observe, take notes and be present with who I was and with the experience. As a writer it didn’t get any better.”

“The true gift of working for Powder, was the once in a lifetime adventures that I wish I could have shared with my family, I was so lucky to have had those opportunities. It almost brought tears to me eyes.”

Peter Romaine, Jackson Hole, WY - Photo: Wade McKoy/POWDER

DAVE REDDICK - Director of Photography

“Just ski down there and take a photo of something, for cryin’ out loud!” “I’ve found that channeling McConkey has been keeping it in perspective. Powder’s been shuttered. That sucks. What doesn’t suck is the good times and the people that have shared the ride thus far and I’m just thankful to be one of them. There’s been some really kind sentiments from friends and colleagues, but this must be said - Every editor (especially the editors), every art director (I’ve driven them nuts), every publisher and sales associate, every photographer, writer, and intern, and all the others behind the scenes who’ve ever contributed their talents get equal share of acknowledgment for carrying the torch that is Powder Mag. There’s hundreds of us! No decision has ever been made in a vacuum. Always a collective. At our best, we’ve been a reflection of skiers everywhere and of one of the greatest experiences in the world. It’s that community, and that feeling, that is Powder. I’m not sure what’s next and I’m not afraid of change but” “There’s something really cool about being scared. I don’t know what!”

Scot Schmidt, Alaska - Photo: Chris Noble/POWDER

DEREK TAYLOR - Editor

“Powder was the first magazine dedicated to the experience and not trying to teach people how to ski. It was enthusiast media focused on the soul and culture. It’s also important to highlight the impact Powder had outside of skiing - today you have the Surfer’s Journal effect where every sport wants that type of publication. However, prior to their inception, everybody wanted a version of Powder.”

“Neil Stebbins and Steve Casimiro deserve a lot of credit for the magazine retaining its voice and staying true to the core group of skiers it represented.”

“Keith Carlsen is responsible for the idea behind Super Park. This was a time when skiing had just gone through a stale phase. There was a newfound energy in park skiing and younger generations, this event helped to rebrand Powder and solidify its goal of being all inclusive. Racing, powder, park, touring - it’s all just skiing.”

Joe Sagona, Mt. Baldy, CA - Photo: Dave Reddick/POWDER

JOHNNY STIFTER - Editor In Chief

“What did Powder mean to me... Well, everything. As a reader and staffer, it inspired me and made me laugh. I learned about local cultures that felt far away and learned about far away cultures that didn’t feel foreign, if that makes sense.”

“But I cherished those late nights the most, making magazines with the small staff. Despite the deadline stress, I always felt so grateful to be working for this sacred institution and writing and editing for true skiers. We all just had so much damn fun. And it didn’t hurt meeting such passionate locals at hallowed places, like Aspen and Austria, that I once dreamed of visiting and skiing. The Powder culture is so inclusive and so fun, I never felt more alive.”

Doug Coombs, All Hail The King - Photo: Ace Kvale/POWDER

HEATHER HANSMAN - Online Editor

“Powder is a lifestyle and an interconnected circle of people. It’s about getting a job offer at Alta, opening your home to random strangers, locking your keys in your car and getting rescued by a friend you made on a trip years ago. Through the selfish activity of skiing, you can create a community of people you cherish and can depend on through highs and lows.”

Ashley Otte, Mike Wiegele Heli, BC - Photo: Dave Reddick/POWDER

The contributions of so many talented individuals made the magazine possible. I would like to express my sincere gratitude to everyone who shared their experience at Powder with me. Also, I want to thank Porter Fox and David Page for crafting inspiring feature stories that I enjoyed immensely over the years.

After the reality set in that the final issue had arrived, a void was created for generations of skiers. I’ve been focused on being thankful for what we had, rather than sad it’s gone. It’s a challenging time for print media and I wholeheartedly advocate supporting the remaining titles in anyway you can. In a culture driven by a voracious appetite for mass media consumption and instant gratification - I cherish the ritual of waiting for a magazine to arrive, appreciating the effort that went into creating the content and being able to have that physical substance in my hand. Thanks for everything Powder, you are missed, but your spirit lives on.

Captain Powder - Photo: Gary Bigham/POWDER

#skiing #powder #last chair #powder magazine #the other ski experience #the skiers magazine

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zathuraroy5 · 4 years

Text

Supernatural Rewatch : 1x1

Disclamer: Got into supernatural in my early teens, I think the first three seasons were already out. We bought all the dvds as they came out until season 7. I think once we caught up to the first three, we watched some on tv, but we mostly watched them through the dvds. At season 7, I got a bit tired of the leviathan plot, so I took a break, but never went back into it because I started university in 2012.

I used to read some fanfic (mostly TMNT and… *shudder* twilight), but never got into Fandom proper until mid 2015 in the Hobbit fandom. Was stuck in bagginshield hell for a while, then drifted into different ships in the MCU, then of course Good Omens, then the Witcher, then… November 5th happened. (Also love love love Critical Role but not actively in fandom because I’m super late)

I grew up in a small hockey town. And I was a very oblivious teenager. Think Castiel is oblivious? He understood innuendos faster in two years than me in my 5 highschool years. Ace spec will do that to you. And so before 2015, I did not have my Queer goggles on. (can’t believe it’s only been 5 years…) Now, as we all know, I can’t take them off since they’ve been on.

So now we come to nov.5th. Tumblr broke under the shock of Canon Confession. Now it’s december 29th and I’m still spireling in a pit of nostalgia, angered at the finale that I never watched, newfound Feelings and despair for a ship that’s 12 years old. I’m so late it’s not even funny. But now that I have my goggles on… I really want to rewatch it. I know a lot of it is bullshit. But I want to get in the hivemind of the Secret Good Supernatural. And I want to put those 6 years of schooling to good use. So I will attempt an analysis (read: rant) of Supernatural with my new 2020 vision (hah) and the osmosis I gathered from tumblr gifs and metas. I also watched Dylan is in trouble on youtube where he watched the first and last episode so I have that in mind.

Expect a lot of swearing and incoherence but hopefully good insight.

(oh god what am I doing)

S1:E1

First impression: baby J2!!! My god they look young. And Jensen is about the age I am now and I’m just like 0.0 How is he so fucking pretty I can’t. Also I love how they’re using their normal voices, like ever since Jensen made a comment that he and Misha were having a competition on who can go lowest range I can’t not notice it.

Now more technical (ish). I do miss that more Horror/thriller vibe they had in the first few seasons. Like yes please I miss that monster of the week. That opening sequence is killer. But 1) I am almost positive that it’s the same actor for John that is standing over the crib as Yellow eyes. Like it’s the same profile? And they probably didn’t have anyone picked out yet, so they just shrouded him in shadow. Also 2) they probably didn’t have the whole backstory written out yet, but now that we know more about Mary, like SHE WAS A HUNTER, HOW DID SHE TAKE THOSE SIGNALS LIGHTLY. Flickering lights? weird noise feedback? Come on girl. (in hindsight, I think she was willfully oblivious, because… she just DID NOT want that life)

Dean is awfully loud when he breaks into Sam’s appartement and I’m almost convinced it’s on purpose to wake him up. Also kinda weirded out by how he talks to Jess but 2005 Misogyny™ I guess.

So many Iconic lines in the first episode, already «driver picks the music, shotgun shuts his cakehole» and «Jerk, Bitch». Like they already have the Siblings Trolling Each Other energy it’s fucking great.

The police having the journal is some serious shit, that could have gone sideways really badly.

…. How did Dean know to come back when the fire started? Was he just in the street? And he saw the fire?? They never answered that. Like he had left…

Anyway I don’t think I have much more to say except Episode 1 is a great attention grabber.

some tags: @adhdeancas, thank you for being my scream buddy while I rewatch, @lobotomycas, your posts are hilarious, @elizabethrobertajones, cause I thought you might be interested, @livebloggingmydescentintomadness, I’ll only tag the once cause I don’t want to overburden but at least here’s the first one :)

I’m gonna tag these “spn rewatch” with the episode for anyone else interested. I have a good backlog at the moment so I’ll try to have one post a day. For however many days I keep doing this.

#spn rewatch #1x1 #rant #spn #here we go

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edgewoodrp · 4 years

Photo

A recap of character experiences from October 1st, 2019 through July 31st, 2020.

Enjoy!

Caterina Singh

Following the events of the Wolf Moon, Cat tried to do some investigative work interviewing people in town to get a better picture of what happened - and ran into Heather during her investigation.

Caught up with Vice Principal Holloway during the speed meet.

After being followed by someone on a walk home, some friends stepped in to assist.

She threw a birthday party for her dear friends, Madison and Valerie, which turned into drunken shenanigans, with Heather sitting on her lap at one point, and a kiss with Charlotte at another.

Interviewed some townies on what Edgewood Pride meant to them.

Saw something strange during the firework show at Riverfest which resulted in her hospitalization and now there are some pieces that she’s trying to sort out.

Charlotte Kingsley

Confided in Beatrice her idea to host a small Halloween party at the Kingsley family house. It turned into a heart-to-heart, instead.

Braved the cold to help an acquaintance arrange the festivities at the bonfire on the Bluff.

While driving home on the night of the Wolf Moon, Charlotte (and her car) were attacked by one of the monsters terrorizing the town. It was only thanks to a mysterious barrier spell that Charlotte wasn’t mauled by the monster, and only thanks to Monty that she didn’t freeze to death on the road.

Charlotte recounted what she remembered of the accident to the witches SCC Representative, Rose-Marie Arceneaux the next morning at BHM. She also discovered Logan Cree had been attacked by a creature and admitted as well. Having seen the human face of the one that attacked him, Charlotte attempted to scry for them, but was unsuccessful in locating them.

To keep her mind distracted, Charlotte started helping Karen Pierce with some projects for the PTA.

While out one night, Charlotte met Juliet in the midst of househunting. She put the woman in contact with local real estate mogul and her former neighbor, James Hawthorne, to help speed up the search.

Volunteered to sell raffle tickets at the H.A.G.S. Carnival and sold so many tickets. Many were gifted back to her, so she wrote down other attendees names on the tickets before depositing them in the buckets.

Lost track of an ancient, bespelled tome downtown and performed a ‘lost and found’ spell with the help of Spencer Hawthorne. There were some... unforeseen consequences, but eventually they set things right.

Danced, drank, and played games with all who attended Madison and Valerie’s birthday, hosted by Caterina Singh. Later, per the decree of a Jenga block, Charlotte kissed Cat.

Ran into Monty, Demitri, and Madison at Riverfest in her quest for scented candles and general excitement.

Helped avert a bar fight from breaking out during Spencer’s birthday at Two Old Cows, but may have learned something sinister about the party crasher in the process. Further research has to be done.

Dominic Kingsley

Dominic has been helping his sisters. Charlotte lost her keys, and Bridgette… well, she just wanted some cheep booze.

He has been busy serving the citizens of Edgewood at the Underworld’s bar.

He caught the magic show at Edgewood’s Independence Day Riverfest and then spent the afternoon with his partners.

At his partner Spencer’s birthday party, Dominic took care of ordering refreshments and cheered on the intense game of darts.

Heather Payne

Heather and Xavier have developed a strong friendship after meeting at the grocery store then reconnecting at a speed dating event.

She did some investigating around the hospital after the strange attacks of the wolf moon. There she ran into Caterina doing some more legitimate digging of her own.

As far as investigations go, she finally figured out that Charlotte was the third Kingsley sibling. The two get along fairly well.

The witch has been meeting up with Spencer to discuss potion making.

Heather has been actually socializing, going to two birthday parties within a few months. At Val and Maddie’s birthday party, she partook in a game of truth-or-dare jenga. At Spencer’s birthday, she let out her competitiveness in a game of darts.

She met up with Maxine at the HAGS carnival as well as the aforementioned parties. The two teamed up for a game of darts at Spencer’s party.

Demetri has been steadily climbing up Heather’s shit list, and they almost came to blows at Spencer’s party. She is growing increasingly suspicious of his motives.

Juliet Hawthorne

Has grown more comfortable being in around Edgewood and has built up the courage to speak to Preston and Spencer (separately, of course) on different occasions.

Made friends with Charlotte Kingsley after she helped Juliet house-hunt and introduced her to realtor James Hawthorne, another possible descendant.

Moved out of the motel and into a home the Hawk’s Hollow neighborhood of Old Edgewood to be closer to her family.

Maxine Beauchamp

Sought advice on costume ideas for Halloween, and didn’t get quite the advice she needed

During a town event, where she was drinking in public, she found out about Charlotte’s car accident during the wolf moon

After seeing Maggie openly carrying an axe in public, Maxine offered to aid Maggie in creating an aesthetically pleasing case for it.

Was paired up with Maggie for the speed meet, and chaos ensued.

Subsequently, Maxine is now convinced she can help give Maggie learn the art of flirting.

Devised another plan with some residents to change the endlessly repeating playlist during the H.A.G.S festival (even if it was to something totally inappropriate, it was in a language no one there understood)

Reminisced the pros and cons to bartending with Xavier.

Attended Madi & Valerie’s birthday, and gave the birthday girl a kiss on the forehead.

After some planning with Spencer, she threw a party for her partner with Nic, which nearly resulted in a bar fight thanks to an uninvited guest arrival, whom she is now suspicious is less than human, given his immunities to her charmspeak.

Monica Rodriguez

Moved to Edgewood at the end of September, moving in with her long-term best friend Monty McAllister; she quickly began to establish friendships with people in town and settle into life in Edgewood

Around the holiday season, she and Monty welcomed a golden retriever puppy they named Roscoe into their home

During the Wolf Moon, she stumbled across tracks from one of the wolves, and later went out with several other weres to investigate; they handed off their investigation to the Callaghans once it led to the Olympus development

As things following the events of the Wolf Moon began to normalize, Monica brought home a stray cat

At the Speed Meet, her dislike of Logan Cree solidified beyond first impressions, and she befriended Phoenix Castillo

The Worm Moon saw her having an uncomfortable first introduction with Heather Payne following an earthquake

In the last few months or so, she has been reigniting one of her former relationships—with Gabriel Alvarez—albeit now long-distance

Has started reaching out to and interaction with some of Monty’s childhood friends, including Maggie and Trevor, to forge friendships of her own

At the Riverfest, she shopped and chatted over one of the magic shows. She found herself in the middle of unfolding chaos when something went awry with a firework display on the northern end of the Riverwalk; she assisted in getting people to safety

Monty McAllister

Struggles with his vision dreams drove him to the library, where he ran into Maggie See and he avoided directly addressing his own reasons for being there

Right around the holiday season, Monty and Monica added a puppy to their household

Leading up to the Wolf Moon, Monty experienced some intense visions, some of which detailed the wolves and some of their attacks. Close to 1 AM of the following day, he came across Charlotte Kingsley in the wake of one of the wolf attacks, and brought her to BHM for medical treatment

As things began to normalize towards the end of January, Monica returned home from a Run with a stray cat, which she declared part of their household with only minor protesting from Monty

The Speed Meet saw him further developing budding friendships

Encouraged a long-term friend and Monica’s ex to rekindle that romance

On the night of the Worm Moon, Monty found himself at work handling panic customers of the Lake House Bar and Grill as the haze rolled in

Continuing struggles with his dreams, as well as mounting family tensions over trust fund legalities, have led to a number of sleepless nights. And some sleepless nights have led him to coffeehouse encounters with friends both old and new alike

Monty spent some of the Riverfest exploring all it had to offer. He was at the northern end of the Riverwalk when the fireworks began exploding over the park, and assisted in getting people to safety

Phoenix Castillo

Phoenix is continuing to connect with Juliet and is starting to see her as another family member.

The girl is still frightened of vampire Logan, who barely resisted her blood and then used his to heal her.

She met Maggie at the Winter Solstice bonfire and the two have become friends.

She and her tour group had a scare on the Wolf Moon as something howled outside, trying to get in.

Phoenix and Beatrice initially bonded over their love of exploring the woods and are starting to see each other a bit more in civilization.

She is creating a bit of a reputation with her powers as she encountered other psychics Monty and Xavier who were not happy to have their minds read.

A child spilled their snow cone all over her at this year’s H.A.G.S. Carnival, making a huge mess. Luckily, plenty of Edgewood’s friendly faces were willing to help.

Spencer Hawthorne

Spencer agreed to an interview with Caterina Singh for a piece on Pride in Edgewood

In desperate attempts to find an old magical tome, Spencer and Charlotte decided to cast a lost and found spell… with yet unknown side effects oooooh

He met up with Heather to talk about magic, potions and ingredients

Spencer bumped into Juliet while visiting the Hawthorne estate garden thinking she was an associate of his father (he didn’t reveal that he is James’ son tho) and offered her a tour of the garden; they talked about plants and ended up doing a bit of gardening work in the herbs section; Spencer offered her some of the german chamomile to take with her; he found out she lost her kids

He bumped into Monty at a cafe and they shared what they’ve been up to since high school

Together with his partners they gathered a few people for Spencer’s birthday at the Two Old Crows, where an uninvited Demitri antagonized them almost & ending in a bar fight, but Juliet (working that night) threw him out before anything could escalate beyond some strong words; a round of darts was played, the teams being Spencer/Charlotte and Maxine/Heather with Dominic and Valerie as cheerleaders; Spencer and Charlotte won the darts game

The trio went to the Riverfest on the first day; they reminisced about previous years and talked about proposing new ideas for the next year; the second night they stayed in and went outside to watch the fireworks, strangely only a few could be seen even though they could still hear more going off…

#edgewoodrecap #caterina singh #charlotte kingsley #dominic kingsley #heather payne #maxine beauchamp #monica rodriguez #monty mcallister #phoenix castillo #spencer hawthorne #car accident mention #juliet hawthorne

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kaepop-trash · 6 years

Text

Ideologies

Rated: M for Smut, Angst.

Pairing: Jaehyun x Reader xYuta

Summary: The story of secrets, deceit and greed. Three characters with unlikely alliances and one common goal; power. Jaehyun is stuck between his own thirst for power and his need for the one thing that could take away everything. Yuta has ambition growing from an unlikely alliance and convinces himself to do anything to protect it. Between both of them is her, ambitious but with one weakness, she does all it takes for Jaehyun, even if it’s putting herself aside. But how long can she hold up her own fragile games?

(A/N): This is the timeline in case you missed it or need a remainder. Also the anon who wanted to know what Jaehyun wanted to ask in this, here’s your foreshadow.

November, 2020

It was the year Jaehyun got elected for his first term. She hadn't seen him in months; she didn't know how she felt about it; So she decided that getting a promotion this year would be her one goal.

“I don't have time for Pro Bono. Mr. Long.” She sat back at the edge of her desk, her cordial voice only a cause of the position the man in front of her held.

“We're seriously backlogging on pro bono (Y/N), if I put one good lawyer on this. One win will keep us off scrutiny, I hope you understand.” He said, extending the file in his hand.

She understood. (Y/N) knew that she was Mr. Jung's associate to keep at hand for important tasks. Nobody gave her work— nobody wanted to rattle the authority. Of course, except one with an equal bit of it. Mr. Jung's partner had a habit of reminding his professional better half that they were in fact equals: this time his weapon of choice just had to be her.

It was a dreadful five in the morning when she sat in the diner in the less glamorous part of Philadelphia. She ordered a coffee out of sheer politeness.

(Y/N) regretted trying to give away this case the moment the door opened. A young girl of what the case file mentioned as 18 walked in, glancing around till their gazes met. She stumbled towards her a little uncomfortably. (Y/N) got up unhesitant, pulling the seat of the booth back to let the girl fit. When she made space she stood back, noticing how her usual small structure seemed to cower over the young face that looked up at her, her heels were the culprit. She stepped back and waited for her to be seated before occupying her previous spot.

“You don't look like you belong here.” The girl spoke, a soft innocent voice still untouched by experience. (Y/N) allowed herself to laugh.

“I'm afraid I must admit that I haven't had the pleasure of visiting this part of town before.” She sat back with a shrug and the girl scoffed.

“Yeah, I guess people like you have ideas about this place.” The girl sat back, crossing her arms in front of her to mimic her posture. (Y/N) furrowed her brows.

“I only recently moved back to town you see, I've been all over the place before. Plus my house was up in the hills.” She smiled, like she was explaining to a child.

“There are ranches up in the hills lady. There's a house up there that keeps a poor horse inside the stable all day to just die.” She said with a little indignation. (Y/N) ears flared at the words, but she decided to set the thought aside for the work needed to be dealt with. She rummaged through her bag picked out the audio recorder, clicking it on and placing it in full view of the girl.

“Do you know why I'm here?” She asked and the girl seemed to curl back in.

Great, she thought.

“Yeah. Mom said you're going to help me with this. That some guy once hit Uncle John's scooter so he owed him a favour and that I should be grateful and not go around being snooty like I usually am.” She spoke in one flow, (Y/N) was amazed at her child-like habits.

“The guy who did this is serving time right?” She inquired, the girl seemed to flinch like the thought burned her; (Y/N) sat back and bit her lip.

“Would you like to eat something? Your mom told me on the phone that you love waffles, so do I. How about we get a plate each?” She asked, tilted her head down to try to meet her lowered gaze. Her cheeks turned red, but she looked up and nodded. (Y/N) sighed in relief, asking her to order for her.

(Y/N) was amused at the thoroughness of the girl's order, she seemed to have come here often and let the man know exactly how to make a perfect waffle to show to the stranger. (Y/N) wondered if it was because she mentioned having the best waffles in Belgium.

She chewed her lip a little, the hesitant glances and angry eyes she saw was something she understood. But in a passing bitter thought she relinquished, she would never be as good as Jaehyun as talking in a way that moved people: she just understood.

As the thought passed, she sat up— conviction in her eyes.

“Lily, that is your name right?” She asked and the girl nodded, eyes wide at the sudden confronting tone. (Y/N) looked up at the man who took their order, arriving with two plates, placing it between them. (Y/N) thought she saw him asses her with his eyes, she wondered if she imagined it.

“I was just hoping that I could get an understanding from your side.” Her voice was awkward.

“Understanding?” Lily scoffed, her eyes rimming a little red. “He asked me to go buy him a bag of beef jerky from the convenience store: I had to buy tampons for my mother. He said his joints ached from the cold so I did it because I wanted to be a good person— I had fight with my sister and showed her secret diary to my mom; she was definitely crushing on swim team captain but he does like drugs or whatever. I thought if I helped him God would forgive me because my mom's changing my sister’s school now. I got him the jerky but he had moved his car, I didn't think much of it then: figured he was eager to leave, but he took it further away from people. When I took it to him he opened the door on the other side instead of cracking down the window. When I leaned in he pulled me in and shoved me in the back seat. He drove away so fast I couldn't understand what was going on before he stopped at some corner and crawled back: his knees seemed fine. He put his hand on my mouth and it smelled like jerky, he was eating it before. I bit into his palm but he kept saying that he knew I wanted this and I was being prissy because he was old. He said no one would ever do me like him. He freaked out when he saw blood on my dress: it was white— I shouldn't have worn it that day: it was new and I wanted to wear it to school, mom said I should wait but I wondered: I'd just quickly go to the store.” (Y/N) saw tears prick at the corner of her eyes.

“I screamed that God would punish him and he said that God didn't listen to deflowered whores like me. I knew him, so I said: Mr. Paul I don't know where you're leaving me. He looked at me with the cruelest eyes I've ever seen, I saw him at church every Sunday; he's the bishop's, well, dad.” She laughed humorlessly.

“He picked me up and dropped me at the bus station; I hadn't realised when he managed to drive out of town. I remember standing in the bathroom thinking: my mother would kill me if she found out. So I washed up and called my friend and went to her place— I told her and both of us cried and we were so scared that we burned that dress, I cried because I really thought that dress could be my favourite if I had it longer. They told me in court later that I made a mistake, that I shouldn't have done that.” She sat back, seemingly reminded of something as she looked down.

“Of course it didn't matter in a few months, I had living breathing evidence in me sucking me dry.” She seemed to curb her thoughts looking up with guilty eyes and an unsuspecting smile

“But we are all god's children. But I enjoyed the look on the bishop's face when he found out, he worked so hard to protect that man and he couldn't even pull out— that's what he said, I didn't know what that meant till later: but in that moment I felt like it all finally meant something. Then they send me to a fake abortion clinic. So I want to sue the church, Lady: they quite literally fucked me and then fucked me over— I hope you can forgive my language— But I also want to make sure that any girl who was left on the bench of a bus station in a torn bloody dress at 3am doesn't have to face that humiliation over and over for nine months every time they see themselves in a mirror.” She sat back, her hands shaking as she grasped her now rattling cutlery, she sniffed a little and the rim of her eyes seemed redder.

(Y/N) was at a loss, she seemed to feel the anger, hurt and confusion radiating off this young girl in waves and it seemed to suffocate her. Instead she let herself breathe it in, understanding this in a way that made her realise that maybe she was the person meant to do this.

“Lily. I know it seems like I might not understand. I also get why your mother doesn't want you to do this. I'm being honest, I didn't see it either, till I saw you. I am grateful because I feel that I've only met two people as firm in their beliefs, and you are the second one. I can't imagine how you must have felt. They made you kept coming back, weeks after weeks. They gave you hope that you'd be able to leave this darkness in the past. And then they betrayed you.” Her eyes traced down to Lily's nursing belly, sorrow evident in them.

“I cannot imagine how brave you must be. You're going to give birth to the child of the man who violated you and you decided to fight so other girls don't have to.” She felt the bottom of her vision blur a little, “You're a child.” A tear fell through and she cursed herself internally, she was supposed to be impassive about this, as her lawyer.

“I'll do everything in my power to make sure you win.”

She sat in the bar in the heart of Washington the same way she sat at the hearing for her writ, helplessly. She stared down her empty glass and wondered if she could smash it against her forehead, but it would definitely ruin her hairline. She had texted him an hour ago, she wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt, he probably didn't check his phone till after work hours. Still a part of her thought of the days when one text meant a call back. She blamed herself for indulging in such fruitless journeys of the mind. She looked up and saw a man across the bar watching her hopefully, she wondered if she'd indulge in that instead; instead she turned to the bartender.

She refused to make conversation even when the man came and sat beside her with an empty seat in between them, his hopeful eyes came with him— maybe she could indulge. Her phone vibrated against the counter, she asked for the cheque before looking. When she looked, she got up.

“It's already paid for ma'am.” The bartender said, when she frowned he looked away with a shrug.

“I insist.” The man finally spoke and she didn't have the time, still she fumbled and yet again he interrupted.

“A new face is rare around here these days. It's definitely necessary, consider it a warm welcome.” He lifted his glass to her, not fazed as she got up, ready to leave.

“I'm not staying.” She laughed a little condescendingly at his assumption.

“That's what they all say.” He cut her off again, she bit her lip but his smile was convincing: she only walked away.

Sitting across from him after so long, she was quite irritated that her first thought was that he looked tired. She formed her second carefully, he choose this life— he could live with a few eye bags, even his current pitiful ones.

“What do I owe this pleasure to (Y/N)?” He got straight to the point, she almost smiled. Instead she handed him the file.

“Those are transcripts from a client's testimony.” She pointed at the file and he looked at her with knitted brows instead.

“What am I supposed to do with this?” He asked, looking down at it, refusing to touch it.

“I came to D.C. to speak to the supreme court bench, over a writ I filed last month.” She explained and he sat back, amused irritation sparked at the corner of his guarded gaze.

“I almost thought you came to see me.” His voice was spiteful; she didn't address it.

“They took it into consideration.” She continued.

“So then you have it.” He stretched, his posture seemingly closed, “What do you need me for?” He yawned and stretched a little more, before retracting back into his chair, staring at her with leisurely eyes.

“I'm here because,” she spoke through gritted teeth, frustration somewhat evident in her tone. “I know how this works, the Supreme Court won't discuss a matter till it's a national debate, everybody only cares about approval ratings down here.” She said with exasperation.

“And you want me to shake this thing into relevance?” He pushed the file with his index finger, her nostrils flared; she leveled her voice before she spoke.

“Congress is in session two months from now. Bring this up, once the networks pick this up people will care.” She sounded desperate in a way that made him actually look down at the file meaningfully this time.

“Why do you care about this so much?” He asked, his voice softer, more curious.

“She's a child Jaehyun,” Her back shivered at the utterance of his name— something she thought she had come past, she sat back with her back against the chair. “She doesn't deserve what happened and I know I have an opportunity to do something, so I came here despite whatever is or isn't between us. I want you to respect that Jaehyun, I want to be pitiful and say that if you can't care for a girl who was promised a way out and instead got used in some people's sick way to feel superior to the rest of us sinful people. She doesn't want to kill a beating heart Jaehyun, she just wants to make sure other people aren't deceived like her.” She sat back, knowing when to stop before her eyes betrayed her. She sniffed and turned to him with defeated eyes.

“I'm saying that I've done everything I can and if this isn't enough for you then you could just–” She sighed, looking away. Wondering if she would get up and walk around maybe her tears wouldn't fall.

“You could just do it for me.” She stayed in her spot, turning her eyes back to him again. Jaehyun decided to pick up the file this time.

She watched his face as he read what she heard with her own ears, in a small way she wondered if Jaehyun had lost his conviction to change the world. Looking at him now, she realised that this city wasn't strong enough to change that about him. She knew no one else could do this.

“Have you eaten anything?” She looked up from her phone at his question, his eyes waiting expectantly for an answer.

“Not since the flight no, I was with the clerks all day. They aren't exactly hospitable I learned.” Her sentence came out long and clamoured, Jaehyun watched her with those eyes that stripped her down; she looked away.

“I'd order food but there's ramen here.” He bend down, rummaging through a bottom drawer. She found the idea of Jung Jaehyun keeping cup noodles in a drawer in Capitol Hill absolutely the most unexpected experience, and that in itself made it so essentially him.

“I bet you still eat them like you did in law school. Mom says father makes you work like a slave.” He glanced up; his eyes visible as she heard the sound of keys and an unhinging lock, before he placed two cups on his desk. He smiled in the straight lipped way he did when he was pleased with himself, her lips tugged; somehow that made her snap out of it.

“I should go.” She said packing her things, “I have a flight at 6. I should be at the airport in four hours.” She glanced at her watch, his face fell for a moment before he sat up.

“I'll drop you. Just eat for now, it's midnight. You won't eat till breakfast then.” He chastised and she was a little too caught off guard by the situation to be too assertive. She would have said yes, had she not realised with a startling halt just how badly she wanted to.

“I'll eat at the airport. There are plenty of fine restaurants.” She already got up and made her way to the door, the panic that set in her when she heard his footsteps was unprompted but it made her legs shake as she tried to pick up her pace; his office was big and his strides were longer. When he grabbed her by the waist, her back was against his chest so soon that her body curled from the feeling.

“Why can't you just—” He spoke, grunting when she struggled to escape, he wrapped his other arm around her stomach. Jung Jaehyun had the eyes that burned with the conviction of Sisyphus, it was almost be shameful to say unless one saw it themselves. She kicked and thrashed multiple times but she knew that his grip was one of conviction: they were going uphill again.

“Stop moving. (Y/N), (Y/N)!” His voice was stronger.

“Let me go Jaehyun, I'm not going to whore myself out to you anymore.” Her voice cracked with emotion, when his arms loosened she thought she'd finally done it; she finally made him hate her. Instead her face spun and her back met the wall of his office. She wondered if she should have come when the office when it was full of activity, she wondered if it would make a difference.

“You were the love of my fucking life you heartless bitch!” He shoved her harmlessly but his knuckles dug into her diaphragm; she winced, she wasn't sure which caused the reaction. Jaehyun's chest was pressed flat against her, one hand on her leg and the other arm holding her captive around her neck.

“You made me believe I could have it. And then you handed him the stone yourself. You shattered my glass house and now you show up out of nowhere demanding favours.” He lifted her up, he made sure they were meeting eyes and he made sure she had to wrap her legs around him if she wanted balance.

“What makes you think you can walk in here with one text message then? If you think you're just some whore I'm going to sleep with. How dare you insult the realest thing I've ever felt in my life. Not even you have that right.” His breath fell on her neck in laboured pauses, she slowly listened to his words as her protests died. She hated how the hurt and betrayal that radiated off him didn't outdo his genuine emotion, she wanted to go back to the time she believed he was just incapable of the very things that currently settled into the deep crevices of his sunken eyes; she wanted to push the hair out of face and remind him to drink some water before he sleeps. Instead she let the silence marinate as she watched him; she wished she could mask her indignation in this, give them a longer moment of silent peace like this that made their delusions grow. But her throat opened and her voice cracked.

“You were supposed to tell your father. Three years Jaehyun, I spend all of Law School in your bed.” She hit her bag in his hand helplessly on his chest: once, twice, till she was weeping and her shaking figure didn't allow her to keep up her assault— he didn't move the entire time

When she didn't have the energy to be angry anymore her voice held persistence. Her hair stuck to the beads of sweat on her face and she groaned when he pushed her hair away, “You blame me because the man who gave me a future asked me to do him a favour he considered as essential. I couldn't say no, he thought he was looking out for your best interests.” She scoffed, ignoring the way his hand hesitated to hold her wrist, in her exhaustion she let him, turning her gaze up to the ceiling.

“He didn't even know about us Jaehyun. You can hate everybody as much you want. You fucked up, and now neither of us will ever be happy.” She looked down at him, “We were given a house of glass because we don't deserve much else, we broke other perfectly stable ones. We didn't even deserve that Jaehyun, now it's gone. Maybe it was meant to.” She sighed and he pulled back to her again, voice shaking: conviction, she noted.

“No, You're lying to yourself. You aren't just someone I can let go, you aren't meant to be.” His voice was a mix of a submissive pleading and aggressive belief— he was a hurricane.

“Please just. Let me go, it's been almost two years. I can sleep without you, I'll make it. I know you're better at this, so just help me.” Her head dropped, “Make it easier for me Jaehyun.” She weeped mercilessly, wondering why she thought she could even try to hold on to this pathetic piece of pride in front of him: he was the only person who made her physically react and he knew it like he knew her.

“I just want to.” His voice was low, afflicted. He brushed his fingers against her jaw; she closed her eyes, his lips followed next with a dip of his head, “I just want to make it better.” He mumbled against the skin of her neck and she wanted to believe him.

“I want none of these things to not matter. I want to be people who do stupid shit like elope or get pregnant and hate each other by the time they're fifty.” He licked his lips against the skin of her jugular and she felt it in a dangerous lick of her stomach.

“You don't know how mad it makes me that you make me want to be fucking mediocre.” He paused, his palm connected to the wall, passing a deep vibration inside it: against her back.

“But it's not fair (Y/N).” His voice was a mumble deep behind her ear this time, his hand was already at the elastic of her underwear, she unceremoniously lifted her hips off the wall.

“You and I can't be mediocre can we? Because people like that girl need us to care.” His lips touched the base of her hairline, making all of the hairs stand uncomfortably in unison, he continued.

“But I need you.” He mumbled too close to her ear, his kiss under her ear was to distract her, he knew her weakest spot and used it to his advantage a plenty; this time she decided to duck her head away from him.

“I can't be that for you. And if you really meant all of this, you wouldn't try to extort me for this.” She tried again, one day she'd say the right thing and watch the hatred grow in his eyes, today he gave her a look akin to being slapped across the face. But she knew it was more over being caught than being misunderstood. The clock behind his back read one am, she put her head against the wall again, she was really dreadfully tired; she wanted to stay in this silence she just wanted him to let her breathe.

“Jaehyun.” Her voice was vanquished, she had never felt so tired. She hoped he would just understand, she didn't want to speak anymore— it only made things worse. He let go, she had decided that she would go the moment he did that; instead she let her back fully rest on the wall and her legs shook in a way that made her put a hand on his shoulder, it also made him stay close. To anyone else, standing and watching each other for so long would feel strange, to them it felt like a privilege.

“I can't stand anymore.” She sighed, pushing the hand on his shoulder and he let himself be shoved aside. Her legs wobbled visibly but she braved the distance and sat on his chair, her fingers caressed it with a sense of pride.

“I hope you remember the part I played in your acquisition of this chair.” She looked up at him, he walked up and leaned on the desk in front of her, watching her with patience, “Your campaign manager was old and he couldn't hold a thought for an entire business day. You know I shaped your entire campaign.” She stated and Jaehyun nodded thoughtfully.

“Is this a collection then?” He crossed his arms in front of his chest, staring down at her.

“No it's an opportunity. I want you to remember that I'd never ask you to do something that wouldn't be beneficial to your goals. You can punish me for the rest of my life, don't let the girl suffer because of that.” She said with deductive reasoning and he huffed.

“You didn't have to reduce it to the numbers.” He groaned.

“It's all about the approval ratings isn't it?” She scoffed, it was the superior tone of her voice that made something in him snap. When he leaned down to meet her gaze, she was expecting itt. But him lifting her up and putting her on the table like she was a substance without mass, left her unguarded.

“You know what your problem is baby?” His voice was low and taunting and dripping with anger, “You think this game works, where you say something to make me hate you and you assume something to try and hate me.” When she tried to look away his gaze followed her, Jaehyun was a polite guy but he had the anger of the gods themselves rolling under the surface of his ice-white skin. He grabbed her chin and forced her to look: he wanted to see her eyes, he searched deep in them; his fingers dug deep into her jae till it stung.

“Is it that you think it will help?” He watched her eyes, they gave her an affirmative answer, he laughed bitterly.

“Don't you see?” He asked, recognising her confused glance, he sneered.

“I already despise you with resolution.” His face was so close to her, her jaw felt sore from his force.

“Save yourself the trouble (Y/N), otherwise one day you'll realise that you'd rather hate me then love anybody else and you'll never recover.” His finger traced down her neck, yet again he said words with the gravity of mountains while he tried his best to distract her with lust.

“I don't know what I've done to deserve your hate.” She didn't wanted them to stop talking, she needed something to remind her of the world, it was so easy to forget with his hands so close to her skin, “Because I didn't take a job on your team? Just so you had a fuck doll?” His nails were blunt, they still stung against her thigh, his retaliation.

“Is it that I'm just using you for your body then?” He tilted his head, she didn't answer; both of them knew it wasn't true. His wandering hand shoved her legs open impatiently and he ungracefully shoved his hand inside her underwear, she bit her lip and her hand dropped down to his wrist.

“Does that not feel good (Y/N)?” He asked with a sort of detached voice he only got at the extent of his anger; maybe he was right, maybe he did hate her. She didn't answer, his finger went from rubbing her clit to being two inside her; so quick and rough she mewled. When her head dropped down he moved closer and let her put it on his shoulder, her arm wrapped around his neck, she moaned into his ear. He pulled his fingers out all the way before shoving it in with a lewd pop of air.

“How do you feel?” His own voice was laboured.

Alive, she wanted to tell him. He made her feel like she wasn't tangible till he touched her, that she was invisible till his eyes found her. He made her feel alive.

“Jaehyun.” She whimpered into his neck and he seemed to have gotten an answer for himself, pulling away too quickly and sitting back in his chair.

“Come here.” He grabbed her arm as he sat down, she was no one to refuse. She slipped off the desk, knees pushing down the cushion on the sides of his seat, he looked up at her for a moment, if this was real it felt like an illusion, if it was an illusion he wanted to remember what she looked like in this moment. He slid his hands up her shaking legs and pulled her even closer.

“No one can keep you away from me. It's only about the right way.” His confession seemed like an important one, she wanted him to remove his stroking hands on her thigh, she wanted to hear his words— she wanted to believe him.

“Top drawer.” His voice was quick and merciless, her stomach turned and heat pooled in its depths; he swivelled forward and her back met with the table, inches from being crushed, he seemed confident as he sat back. She pulled the drawer open and threw a foil packet at his face.

“You must be needed them if they're in your top drawer.” The sharp tone in her voice drove him wild.

“They had a planned parenthood workshop in a school nearby, I had to go.” He explained like he was being gracious.

“I didn't ask Jaehyun, it was simply an observation.” She pushed him back into his chair, he picked up the packet on his lap.

When she turned to push the drawer back in place, she realised that she pulled the old thing too hard, without proper mechanics it fit in a bad angle and she groaned.

“If you don't fix that I won't be able to stop thinking about it.” Jaehyun stated and she scoffed softly.

“I know.” She mumbled, shaking her head at the situation. As she sat in the most obscure angle and tried to fix the drawer in a table older than her life, she wanted to laugh. But her eyes caught a box at the very back corner, suddenly her heart clamoured. She stopped her struggles making Jaehyun look up and tighten his hands on her thigh. Her fingers shook as she lifted the box out.

“(Y/N) put that back inside.” He sat up so quick that she had to lean against the desk; his voice was too nervous.

“Is this for her?” Her voice didn't hold any accusation, but she hung her head low.

He had an engagement ring.

“What?” He asked feeling a little knocked out of his senses. He pushed his hair back as his head seemed to spin from being overwhelmed.

“Keep it back.” His voice was weak, desperate. She looked up with sad eyes and he bit the inside of his cheek.

“It's beautiful Jaehyun.” Her voice was small as she looked at the rock, four carats and the sharp princess cut made it sparkle under the ceiling lights, it was beautiful. She closed the box back and put it where it was previously.

“It's yours.” Jaehyun said a little softly; she cracked a sad smile.

“I can't believe you'd say such a dreadful lie just to get laid.” Her voice wasn't laced with malice. He grabbed her hair and pulled her to his face.

“Do you remember that night (Y/N)?” The way he said her name was scary.

“I took you to dinner. It was our night, but you left.” He frowned, distracted by his own memories, “You left and you went to choose a different person for me. You left, before I could say anything.” His fingers slipped from their grip in her hair and fell down to her back, he slowly wrapped his fingers around the back of her neck, his lips brushing against her forehead more as a result of proximity than a deliberate attempt, “If you only waited five more minutes.” His voice wavered.

“We were watching the news the week before that, it was a week to our last contract law class and we were watching the presidential debate.” He smiled, so close to her that she had to be rather harshly reminded that Jaehyun was nothing short of otherworldly in every aspect, she herself just happened to be pitifully human.

“I almost said it then, but I couldn't get the words out. I knew you needed something solid. It's yours (Y/N).” His nose brushed her temples, her eyes; their lips met for the briefest moment, he pecked it twice and she thought in that moment, she'd say the world's most dangerous words herself. His hand cupped her cheek, he kissed the corner of her mouth, looking up into her eyes once.

“If you don't believe me take it to the showroom, ask.” His voice was pleading, she didn't want to say that she believed him from the first word. He heard the sound of the drawer finally close and she connected their lips first. The way he kissed back she wasn't sure how she'd stop her lips from swelling, she was sure the skin of her thighs were littered with the marks of his finger digging into the flesh— he always seemed to leave her physically marked with the war in her mind. She sat back so suddenly that the chair pushed away with a jerk, she got out swiftly before he stopped the chair with his legs.

“I can't.” She pushed the hair out of her face with the eyes of someone waking up from sleep.

“I can't do this, not after that.” She pointed at the drawer, when he got up she stepped back

“No!” It was aggressive, it was a real refusal. Jaehyun stopped in his path.

“I mean it Jaehyun, I can't think right now. So much just happened, even if you hate me. Don't be so cruel, I can't do it.” She stepped back again, there was a deep sorrow in his eyes but he didn't move. She hesitated once, before giving him one nod and turning away.

By the time she arrived home an email from staff let her know that Jaehyun was drafting a bill for the agenda.

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dfroza · 4 years

Text

will you “believe...”

in your beautiful heart, even before seeing?

for we have been given the True message of rebirth, written down and conserved by the inspiration of the Spirit of our Creator who has set us free from the power of death and its fear.

Today’s reading of the Scriptures begins with chapter 20 in the book of John:

[The Empty Tomb]

Very early Sunday morning, before sunrise, Mary Magdalene made her way to the tomb. And when she arrived she discovered that the stone that sealed the entrance to the tomb was moved away! So she went running as fast as she could to go tell Peter and the other disciple, the one Jesus loved. She told them, “They’ve taken the Lord’s body from the tomb, and we don’t know where he is!”

Then Peter and the other disciple jumped up and ran to the tomb to go see for themselves. They started out together, but the other disciple outran Peter and reached the tomb first. He didn’t enter the tomb, but peeked in, and saw only the linen cloths lying there. Then Peter came behind him and went right into the tomb. He too noticed the linen cloths lying there, but the burial cloth that had been on Jesus’ head had been rolled up and placed separate from the other cloths.

Then the other disciple who had reached the tomb first went in, and after one look, he believed! For until then they hadn’t understood the Scriptures that prophesied that he was destined to rise from the dead. Puzzled, Peter and the other disciple then left and went back to their homes.

Mary arrived back at the tomb, broken and sobbing. She stooped to peer inside, and through her tears she saw two angels in dazzling white robes, sitting where Jesus’ body had been laid—one at the head and one at the feet!

“Dear woman, why are you crying?” they asked.

Mary answered, “They have taken away my Lord, and I don’t know where they’ve laid him.”

Then she turned around to leave, and there was Jesus standing in front of her, but she didn’t realize that it was him!

He said to her, “Dear woman, why are you crying? Who are you looking for?”

Mary answered, thinking he was only the gardener, “Sir, if you have taken his body somewhere else, tell me, and I will go and . . .”

“Mary,” Jesus interrupted her.

Turning to face him, she said, “Rabboni!” (Aramaic for “my teacher”)

Jesus cautioned her, “Mary, don’t hold on to me now, for I haven’t yet ascended to God, my Father. And he’s not only my Father and God, but now he’s your Father and your God! Now go to my brothers and tell them what I’ve told you, that I am ascending to my Father—and your Father, to my God—and your God!”

Then Mary Magdalene left to inform the disciples of her encounter with Jesus. “I have seen the Lord!” she told them. And she gave them his message.

That evening, the disciples gathered together. And because they were afraid of reprisals from the Jewish leaders, they had locked the doors to the place where they met. But suddenly Jesus appeared among them and said, “Peace to you!” Then he showed them the wounds of his hands and his side—they were overjoyed to see the Lord with their own eyes!

Jesus repeated his greeting, “Peace to you!” And he told them, “Just as the Father has sent me, I’m now sending you.” Then, taking a deep breath, he blew on them and said, “Receive the Holy Spirit. I send you to preach the forgiveness of sins—and people’s sins will be forgiven. But if you don’t proclaim the forgiveness of their sins, they will remain guilty.”

One of the twelve wasn’t present when Jesus appeared to them—it was Thomas, whose nickname was “the Twin.” So the disciples informed him, “We have seen the Lord with our own eyes!”

Still unconvinced, Thomas replied, “There’s no way I’m going to believe this unless I personally see the wounds of the nails in his hands, touch them with my finger, and put my hand into the wound of his side where he was pierced!”

Then eight days later, Thomas and all the others were in the house together. And even though all the doors were locked, Jesus suddenly stood before them! “Peace to you,” he said.

Then, looking into Thomas’ eyes, he said, “Put your finger here in the wounds of my hands. Here—put your hand into my wounded side and see for yourself. Thomas, don’t give in to your doubts any longer, just believe!”

Then the words spilled out of his heart—“You are my Lord, and you are my God!”

Jesus responded, “Thomas, now that you’ve seen me, you believe. But there are those who have never seen me with their eyes but have believed in me with their hearts, and they will be blessed even more!”

Jesus went on to do many more miraculous signs in the presence of his disciples, which are not even included in this book. But all that is recorded here is so that you will fully believe that Jesus is the Anointed One, the Son of God, and that through your faith in him you will experience eternal life by the power of his name!

The Book of John, Chapter 20 (The Passion Translation)

Today’s paired chapter of the Testaments is Judges 17 that documents the life of Micah and an act of idolatry in forming a god out of metal:

[Micah]

There was a man from the hill country of Ephraim named Micah. He said to his mother, “Remember that 1,100 pieces of silver that were taken from you? I overheard you when you pronounced your curse. Well, I have the money; I stole it. But now I’ve brought it back to you.”

His mother said, “God bless you, my son!”

As he returned the 1,100 silver pieces to his mother, she said, “I had totally consecrated this money to God for my son to make a statue, a cast god.” Then she took 200 pieces of the silver and gave it to a sculptor and he cast them into the form of a god.

This man, Micah, had a private chapel. He had made an ephod and some teraphim-idols and had ordained one of his sons to be his priest.

In those days there was no king in Israel. People did whatever they felt like doing.

Meanwhile there was a young man from Bethlehem in Judah and from a family of Judah. He was a Levite but was a stranger there. He left that town, Bethlehem in Judah, seeking his fortune. He got as far as the hill country of Ephraim and showed up at Micah’s house.

Micah asked him, “So where are you from?”

He said, “I’m a Levite from Bethlehem in Judah. I’m on the road, looking for a place to settle down.”

Micah said, “Stay here with me. Be my father and priest. I’ll pay you ten pieces of silver a year, whatever clothes you need, and your meals.”

The Levite agreed and moved in with Micah. The young man fit right in and became one of the family. Micah appointed the young Levite as his priest. This all took place in Micah’s home.

Micah said, “Now I know that God will make things go well for me—why, I’ve got a Levite for a priest!”

The Book of Judges, Chapter 17 (The Message)

my personal reading of the Scriptures for friday, September 11 of 2020 with a paired chapter from each Testament along with Today’s Psalms and Proverbs

A set of posts by John Parsons about our lives on earth becoming a book and the True nature of our faith:

The Scriptures teach that every word we speak and every choice we make are infallibly recorded in “heavenly scrolls,” and one day these scrolls will be opened as a testimony about what we did with our lives (Dan. 7:10; Matt. 12:36-37; 1 Cor. 3:13, 4:5). “And I saw the dead, both the great and the small, standing before the throne, and books were opened. Then *another* book (סֵפֶר אַחֵר) was opened, which is called the Book of Life (סֵפֶר הַחַיִּים). And the dead were judged by what was written in the books, according to what they had done” (Rev. 20:12).

In this vision of the great day of judgment to come, notice that there was “another book” opened during the judgment called the “Book of Life,” and later we learn that only those whose names were found written in this book would be granted access to the glories of the heavenly Jerusalem (Rev. 21:27). But what is this book and how can our names be inscribed in it so that we can partake of the future glory?

The Lamb’s Book of Life (סֵפֶר הַחַיִּים אֲשֶׁר לַשֶּׂה) refers to “the record” (i.e., the words and deeds) of Yeshua our Messiah, the true Lamb of God, and therefore the book represents the final attestation - or “sworn testimony” - of the worthiness of God’s own righteousness and salvation. In the great plan of God’s salvation for the world, Yeshua was “born to die” as our atoning sacrifice for sin (Heb. 10:7-5). “God made the one who did not know sin to be sin for us, so that in him (ἐν αὐτῷ) we would become the righteousness of God” (2 Cor. 5:21). But note that we must be “in him,” that is, fully identified with Yeshua so that his sacrificial death becomes counted as our own... Our identification in him means that our sin is “imputed” to his suffering and death upon the cross, just as his righteousness is “imputed” to us through the vindication of his resurrection. This is the essence of the "korban principle" of "life-for-life" - the innocent sacrificed for the guilty - that was the foundation of the sacrificial system of the Temple. By faith, the substitutionary death of Yeshua is “for you.”

"Those who feared the LORD spoke with one another. The LORD paid attention and heard them, and a book of remembrance was written before him of those who feared the LORD and esteemed his name. "They shall be mine, says the LORD of hosts, in the day when I make up my treasured possession, and I will spare them as a man spares his son who serves him. Then once more you shall see the distinction between the righteous and the wicked, between one who serves God and one who does not serve him" (Mal. 3:16-18). [Hebrew for Christians]

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From our Torah portion this week (Nitzavim) we read: “The word is very near you; it is in your mouth and in your heart, so that you can do it” (Deut. 30: 14). What “word” is this other than the confession of faith in the LORD? Faith is the key, since it responds to God’s voice and receives the message of hope within the heart... Faith is a matter of the will: of choosing to receive the blessing, accepting that you are accepted, and trusting God’s passion for your life. “Consider Abraham; he believed God and it was credited to him as righteousness” (Gal. 3:6). Faith itself is the obedience of Torah, the necessary precondition for all that follows. “I am the LORD your God” (אָנכִי יְהוָה אֱלהֶיךָ) is the very First Commandment. When we turn to the LORD, we esteem him as truthful, just, wise, compassionate, and worthy of our trust. "Let us then with confidence (μετὰ παρρησίας) draw near to the throne of grace (כִּסֵּא הֶחָסֶד), that we may receive mercy and find grace to help in time of need" (Heb. 4:16). Faith is teshuvah's confession of the reality of love...

The students of the maggid of Zlotchov once asked him, "In the Torah we read that our father Abraham kept all the laws (Gen. 26:5), but how could this be, since they had not yet been given to him?" The maggid replied, "All that is needed is to love God. If you are about to do something and you think it might lessen your love, then you know it's a sin; but if you think it will increase your love, then you know it's in keeping with God's will. That's what Abraham did." Amen. Faith is the confession of God’s love. Abraham was justified by faith because he trusted in God’s love more than anything else, and that is the essence of Torah. “Now abide faith, hope, love, these three, but the greatest of these is love” (1 Cor. 13:13). [Hebrew for Christians]

9.11.20 • Facebook

It is written in Kohelet: הֶחָכָם עֵינָיו בְּראשׁוֹ - “the wise person’s eyes are in his head,” וְהַכְּסִיל בַּחשֶׁךְ הוֹלֵךְ- “but the foolish person walks in darkness” (Eccl. 2:14). The sages here comment that the wise one always looks to the Divine Presence, taking heed to “know what is above: a seeing eye, a listening ear, and all your deeds being inscribed in a book” (Avot 2:1). The wise person keeps God in his thoughts and the light of Truth illuminates his understanding. This is the way of teshuvah – turning our affections and thoughts heavenward at all times. Our Torah portion this week (Nitzavim) says, “You are standing this day before the Lord your God” (Deut. 29:10), and therefore may we know before Whom we stand and may we be filled with the light of divine truth. Amen. [Hebrew for Christians]

9.11.20 • Facebook

Today’s message by the Institute for Creation Research:

September 11, 2020

Understanding the Times

“And of the children of Issachar, which were men that had understanding of the times, to know what Israel ought to do; the heads of them were two hundred; and all their brethren were at their commandment.” (1 Chronicles 12:32)

This chapter lists the numbers of men from each of the tribes of Israel who cast their lot with David in his conflict with King Saul. All these numbers are given except those of Issachar, but of these it was said that all their brethren followed their 200 leaders in turning to David. The reason for their unanimity in this decision was that these leaders “had understanding of the times, to know what Israel ought to do.” It was time to “turn the kingdom” to David, “according to the word of the LORD” (1 Chronicles 12:23). God had given them a Benjamite, Saul, as king for a time, but now David had been anointed, and it was the time to give “the sceptre” to Judah, according to the prophecy of their father, Jacob, given over 600 years before (Genesis 49:10).

How desperately we need leaders today who are spiritual “sons of Issachar,” understanding these times! Christ told the apostles: “It is not for you to know the times or the seasons” (Acts 1:7); it was more urgent that they proceed to witness for Him “unto the uttermost part of the earth” (v. 8).

Nevertheless, He would return to the earth in some generation, and that generation should be expected (when they would see all these things) to “know that it is near, even at the doors” (Matthew 24:33). They could understand the signs, and even though they should never attempt to guess the date, they could “look up...for your redemption draweth nigh” (Luke 21:28) when they would see “these things begin to come to pass.”

The signs are everywhere, yet few of our leaders—even many Christian politicians—seem to understand the real meaning of these times. Christ is “even at the doors!” HMM

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