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heloisedaphnebrightmore · 4 years

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Misplaced trust pt. 1|2 [Jensen Ackles x Reader]

Title: Misplaced trust pt.1 ➔ Misplaced trust pt.2, Here! Pairing: Jensen Ackles x Reader Word count: 4.6k Published: 23 July, 2020 Author: Heloise Daphne Brightmore Summary: Jensen meets you in a hotel’s bar and you immediately get along. Getting closer to each other is inevitable, until Jensen realises that you knew him all along, but kept it a secret.

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It was late by the time you arrived to your hotel and checked in. You still had a free day until the convention and you knew you needed your rest. Flying over to San Francisco from New Jersey was certainly a long and tiring trip, but you had no choice as you missed the convention back home. Frustration over the stress of getting everything ready, arriving at the airport in time and battling jet leg has definitely got the worst of you. You needed nothing but a good drink and relaxation.

You threw your suitcase into the corner of your room, not even bothering to unpack it. Opening up the luggage you simply took out a pair of tight fitted jeans and an oversized black hoodie and changed from your sweatpants, which was the most comfortable outfit for flying.

You headed down to the bar, with only one thing in mind. Alcohol. You weren't a big drinker, nor were you in need of it usually, but this time was different. Your system just craved it and you were to give in.

You could have order room service and usually you would have done that, enjoying your personal space uninterrupted. But it was different now. You just wanted to sit down around chattering people to district your tired mind of not being able to shift into slumber.

As you arrived at the dim-light covered space, you sat down on a stool at the bar and ordered a bottle of beer. You told your room number to the bartender and gave your credit card which he matched with the details in his system. Soon enough your beer was in your hand, sipping on it. Your eyes fixed on the hundreds of bottles standing still on the shelf behind the bar, but it wasn't because you were overly interested in them, simply you let your eyes concentrate on something involuntarily while your mind was somewhere else.

"Rough night?" You heard a deep husky voice, which had an uncanny resemblance to one you knew too well. You turned around to see a tall man with green eyes, chiselled jaw line with a subtle stubble around it and a mischievous smile across his handsome face. You might have had a surprised expression as he continued. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to interrupt you." He smiled gently. You shook your head to get yourself out of your daze, before you finally attempted to reply.

"No, no it's fine. I guess people don't often imply to strangers when they look like shit." You chuckled. Your tone was humorous, there was no sign of venom and he knew it, still he wanted things to be cleared up instead of starting off on the wrong foot.

"That is not what I meant. You look very pretty." He tried again.

"I'm sitting in a bar in the middle of the night, wearing a simple pair of jeans and an oversized hoodie, sipping on a beer looking like shit with black circles under my eyes to complement it. I can't understand if you are trying to offend me or you should see an eye specialist, because in no way am I looking pretty." You chuckled at your monologue and for a second you thought you scared him away. He didn't respond, he simply stood there, looking for words, which you never thought you'd see. He always seemed confident and full of energy, knowing the right words to speak, when you saw him online. Of course a face to face interaction was always different.

"Maybe we didn't start off well. Let's start again. I'm Jensen." He reached out for your hand and you returned the gesture. His palm was warm and big compared to yours and for a mere second you played with the thought of holding him inappropriately longer, getting lost in his hand's protective feeling. You felt your heart beat hard against your chest as you pulled away, biting into your lower lip out of nervousness. You felt heat rushing through your body and immediately realised your blush spreading from your cheeks to your ears.

"I'm Y/N." You replied, trying to focus on your voice before it ended up sounding like a squeaky mouse.

"Pretty name for a pretty lady." He smirked and took a seat beside you, which earned a simple eye roll from you, making him chuckle.

"I'm going to go with the second option. You really need to see an eye specialist." You stated casually, referring to your previous statement, a small smile lingering in the corner of your lips.

"If you look this good while I have eye problems, I shouldn't go to a specialist, it wouldn't help my heart." He chuckled at his silly reply and you nudged his shoulder playfully.

"That was beyond bad." You replied as you took a swig of your beer.

"It made you smile didn't it? That's an accomplishment on its own." He smirked and you couldn't remove your smile either. "What are you doing here by the way?" He asked as he ordered another beer.

"In a bar? Drinking, obviously." You chuckled at your smart reply, even though you knew what he meant.

"I meant in San Fransisco." He shook his head, but his playful smile didn't disappear.

"You could say I am on a long weekend kind of vacation." You replied, not wanting to give away your real reason for flying over. "And you?" You asked and you could see, even if only for a second, he stopped to think. There was a certain relief in his eyes upon realising you didn't know who he was. So you went along with it.

"I'm here for work." He replied.

The conversation continued flawlessly and without his knowledge he completely captivated you.

You finished your beer or the second as you forgot to pay attention to anything but Jensen. He was definitely a man you could have imagined in your life, but you knew how bad it was to keep it from him that you knew him. You should have been honest from the get go, he had the right to know, but you just wanted him to feel normal and even if you were selfish, you just wanted to enjoy his company as a person, not as a famous actor.

He decided to follow you to your room as he thought it to be a polite gesture. However your mischievous personality found it to be the best opportunity for a little fun.

"Perhaps I should be scared of you. You might be a serial killer or a psychopath who is only following me to steal my money or to kidnap me, who knows maybe to kill me." You raised an eyebrow, but your smile didn't seem to falter.

"I have been called a lot of things before, but none of those just yet." He replied.

"Because they didn't survive long enough to let you know." You smirked as he raised his brows.

"You have a quite vivid imagination. But maybe that's my intention. You never know." He grinned and you gave him a small eye roll. As you reached the door of your hotel room and unlocked it, you stopped and turned around to face him.

"I think I will be fine from here." You replied, making him understand that there would be no funny business in your bedroom that night. He stepped impossibly close to you, fanning your cheeks with his breathing as he looked down at you, starring at your face. You could sense his perfume's woody fragrance, while his breath was a mix of beer and mint as he was chewing a gum.

"What would you do if I asked for your number?" He asked with a cheeky grin across his lips, studying your face.

"You would have to ask for it to know." You replied with an unknown confidence to your voice. Your statement made him chuckle, but he didn't back away from you.

"Y/N, would you mind giving me your number?" He asked, playing along with you.

"Maybe I would." You chuckled, but deep down you were afraid that your comments were to scare him away. However Jensen was smarter than that.

"What should I do to get it?" He asked with a mischievous smile, biting into his lower lip, which your eyes happened to concentrate on a tad bit longer than it would have been appropriate. You quickly removed your eyes from his mouth and looked up into his green orbs again.

"If we meet again, I might just give you my number." You shrugged casually, not wanting to give away how much you liked him before or already? You weren't sure. He was an actor, a famous star. You knew that there would never be anything beyond healthy flirting and you didn't want to give into the feeling you were harbouring. It was hopeless.

"We are in the same hotel. And I know your room number." He raised a brow questioningly, a cheeky smile sitting in the corner of his lips.

"I guess it will be easier than you think then." You didn't know if you would ever have the opportunity again to get this close to him and as a sudden confidence boost made you want to live in the moment, you leaned closer, giving a small kiss on his cheek. "Good night Jensen." You smiled, opening your door as he stepped aside, his eyes concentrated only on you as you slowly closed the door.

You plopped down on your bed, heaving a deep sigh. He was even more perfect live than you imagined and the banter and flirting didn't help your heart to slow down. You knew you had to forget about him, but he was even more than what you have expected and even if it sounds to be too soon, you started liking him as man. A very handsome and witty man.

The next day you woke up, stretching your body under the heavy, white duvet, looking at the alarm clock by your bad which showed 10am. You pulled your cover off yourself and headed to the bathroom to take care of your morning routine. By the time you finished it was half past 10 already. Walking up to your suitcase you pulled out a pair of black jeans and a white, fitted, button up shirt, which surprisingly had no wrinkles on. You dressed up and stepped into your black ankle boots, before you picked up your bag and key from the table beside the door.

As you opened the door, you jumped back in surprise, seeing a startled Jensen standing in front of your door with a hand in the air, ready to knock.

"I must be irresistible to find you in front of my door first thing in the morning." You chuckled and you could visibly see as the tension left his body.

"I can't argue with that, although it's almost midday. I thought I could take you out for lunch. Unless you have plans already of course." He hurried to add the last sentence.

"I guess that wouldn't be the worst idea." You replied, making him chuckle as you closed your door behind you.

"Where to?" He asked, but you just shook your head in response.

"This is my first time in San Fransisco. I don't even have a clue where I am." You stated with a guilty expression across your face.

"Are you giving me grounds for kidnapping now?" He asked with a playful grin.

"Honestly, you could kindnap me and I wouldn't even realise." You smirked as you shrugged your shoulders.

"Don't give me ideas. I might just make them happen." A big goofy smile spread across his face, showing off all his pearl white teeth. Each time you saw him, he was getting more and more beautiful in your eyes and it wasn't helping your aggressively beating heart and quickening pulse.

You went into a nice little restaurant, both of your ordering a big old burger making fun of each other as everything from your face to your hands became covered in the sauce. You had a good laugh as you enjoyed each other's company and you didn't even realise time flying by.

You went to the park, not far from your hotel and talked about casual subjects, family, friends, everyday life. Work came up too, but instead of going into details, he simply said he worked with films. You didn't push for the subject and you didn't pretend to be anyone else, the only secret you kept was knowing him. Other than that you were being completely honest. You were just you. Happiness filled your chest knowing that you were nobody still he showed interest in you. He was more than a man you thought he was and his company was soon something you started craving for.

As night fell, you walked back to the hotel. His palm was laying against the small of your back, making you giddy inside, but you tried not to show it. His touch was gentle, but it had a certain protectiveness to it. You had to admit it wasn't just his handsome looks, funny comments, witty comebacks, but his protective demeanour that caught your eyes. You just felt safe and comfortable around him. You were only hoping for this weekend to never end.

Reaching the door of your hotel room, you turned around feeling a deja vu moment rush over you as if yesterday was happening once again. He stood in front of you, just as close as the day before, if not closer.

His green eyes were wondering between your lips and your eyes. You didn't miss those simple movements, he made it too obvious.

"So how about that number?" He asked as his lips started curving upwards.

"I think I said I might just give it to you. I didn't really promise, did I?" You asked smirking, which earned a playful eye roll from him.

"I think, I deserve it." His reply was cocky and confident.

"Oh, do you, now?" You giggled, but you didn't continue. You lifted your hand, palm turned upwards, waiting for him to give you his phone. He pulled it out of the back pocket of his jeans and unlocked it, opening his contacts. He gave the phone to you and you entered your number. He saved the completed contact and put his phone away.

"It was mean of you to make me work that hard for a number." He whined playfully.

"How do you even know it's real?" You chuckled, satisfied. His eyes widened and before you could have even realised it, his phone was in his hand, pushing hard against the call button on his screen. You felt a buzzing feeling in your bag, making you let out a whole hearted laughter. "Did you just call me?" You asked as you finally started to calm down.

"I was just making sure." He smirked as he leaned closer, his nose almost touching yours. He lifted his hand to place it on your cheek, running his thumb across your lip. You could feel yourself being pulled closer to him as his other hand laid against your waist. "Can I?" He whispered, but your were in a daze, unable to reply. You just nodded slightly, before you finally felt his plump lips against yours, claiming his newfound territory.

The kiss was slow, exploring with a hint of need. His lips were moving against yours in sync, making you crave for more. He licked across your bottom lip, deepening the kiss, forcing a silent moan out of you. It didn't last long, but it was just enough for you to feel an ever growing lust for the man's touches.

He removed his lips from yours, his eyes closed as he leaned his forehead against yours, heaving a deep sigh.

"You don't understand how long I have been wanting to do that. I barely know anything about you, but since the moment I met you, I wanted to kiss you." He whispered as he still tried to organise his breathing. "God, I feel like a stupid little hormonal teenage boy." He chuckled silently. His eyes opened, meeting yours, a small smile appearing on his face to mirror yours.

"Either way it was worth the wait." You giggled happily, feeling as if you were walking 6 feet above the ground. He wrapped both of his arms around your waist, pulling you into a hug, dipping his head into your neck. Your arms linked behind the back of his head, giving him a warm, comfortable feeling to hide away, while you ran your fingers through his hair. In that instant you felt nothing, but content. You never wanted the moment to end, but then he pulled away reluctantly.

"I have to work tomorrow, but what if we meet up later? I'm free on the evening." He offered and you smiled slightly. You were hoping to be able to hide from him at the convention. You selfishly wanted this to continue, but you didn't dare to tell him that you knew who he was and now you felt as if it was way too late to come clean.

"Sounds good to me." You replied as he hinted a quick peck on your lips.

"I will call you tomorrow." He stated and kissed you on the top of your head gently, before heading to his room. "Good night." He turned back, before he disappeared behind the corner.

You walked into your room, feeling rather giddy as if your were a hormonal teenage girl, to use Jensen's words. You were content to a point that you wanted to jump around just like the way you did back in high school with your girlfriends.

Your phone buzzed in your bag and saw a message from a number you didn't recognise. You opened the application to see a "Sweet dreams :)" message from Jensen. You quickly saved his number in your contacts, before you replied back. You were beyond happy, you were ecstatic. You felt like you were capable of anything in that moment. He made you feel so much in just a day, more than anyone ever did throughout years of relationships.

But your happiness quickly vanished as you remembered how you have been hiding your secret from him. You didn't want to hurt him, you didn't want to lie to him. You just wanted to be normal people to enjoy each other without the baggage. You were scared. If he knew that you were a fan, he wouldn't be able to behave so casually with you. You wanted him as a person, not as some famous idol, who everyone swoons over, including you.

Sleeping was hard that night. He was in every part of your thoughts, making you squirm whether out of happiness or because of the guilt you have felt for keeping a secret from him. You didn't necessarily lie after all. You simply hid a small part. That shouldn't be a big problem, right? You liked him, he liked you, it was supposed to be that easy. It shouldn't matter if you have known of him already, right?

For hours you were battling yourself, before slumber finally took over you.

The next morning you woke up in a happy mood. It was convention day. You were nervous though. You had to hide away, making sure he didn't recognise you. You had everything planned out from a hoodie covering you, to wearing sunglasses. You might have looked like someone who was going to rob a bank, minus the face mask, but you took all precautions to keep your identity a secret from Jensen.

The convention was fun, you laughed hard when they were up on the stage. You didn't have a pass for the photo session and in other times, you would have been feeling jealous about it, but this time, it was more of a relief.

As the convention was ending, you removed your hoodie and put your sunglasses on the top of your head, knowing that Jensen and Jared have probably left already. You felt a slight buzzing feeling coming from your bag and seeing Jensen's name come up on your phone, you picked it up with a big smile across your face.

"Hey." You greeted him.

"Hey..." He sounded hesitant and you were not sure what was happening. You thought maybe you were just over thinking. "What you up to?" He asked casually.

"Nothing much? And you? Still working?" You asked still cheerfully.

"Actually, I left, but I had to come back." He replied and suddenly you had a very bad feeling. "You see, I am looking at a woman right now. She looks just like you." He stated as if he was confused and didn't want to believe his own eyes. "Where are you?" He asked, but you didn't reply. He knew your silence meant he was not imagining things. "Maybe you should turn around." He spoke again and after a deep sigh, you did as you were told.

Your eyes met his green ones. His hand holding his phone dropped to his hips, his face still, emotionless. You opened your mouth to start talking, to explain everything to him, but he shook his head, not wanting to hear it.

"You lied to me." He stated, his tone disappointed, beyond painful.

"I didn't lie to you. I just kept it a secret." You spoke, guilt clear in your voice. You started walking up to him, but he put his hand out stopping you in your movements.

"Don't be cute. You had numerous opportunities to tell me, but you decided not to. You lied to me." He raised his voice and you could see a couple of people looking in your direction suspiciously.

"Look, let's get out of here, let's talk. People will know something is wrong, if we talk here." You tried to reason with him.

"I don't want to talk. There's nothing to talk about." He shook his head grimacing.

"Please, Jensen. I didn't mean to hurt you, I didn't meant to lie to you. I just wanted to talk to you as a normal person without me being a fan and you being a famous actor. I just wanted normal. Please let's talk about it." You were almost begging him, just to give you a chance to explain things, but he shook his head.

"I don't ever want to talk to you." He didn't show anger, his voice was low and deep, almost as if he just gave up. You tried to go after him, but he walked to the backstage area and by the time you could have caught him, the security stood in your way.

You didn't fight them, you didn't argue with them. You looked at his back as he was walking further, right out of your life. You scolded yourself for your stupidity for lying, for feeling things you shouldn't have in such a short period of time. You didn't even realise the stains your tears left behind on your cheeks. You didn't even realise when they started running across your face. You only saw your vision getting blurry as the man you wished to feel closer to, decided to walk away from you. And it was all your fault.

You walked back to your hotel straight away. You called up the airline company to change your date to the closest flight. It took you less then 30 minutes for packing your things into your suitcase. You called the reception to send someone up for your belongings and asked them to call a taxi for you. You just needed to get out of there.

You were suffocating yourself by staying in that place. Where you first met him, where you first talked to him, where you first kissed him. You dumbly started growing feelings for a man you barely knew. You really were just a dumb fan girl and you wished you never came to San Fransisco. You weren't actually wishing for that. Your memories as bitter sweet they were, they were yours and noone could take them away from you. It was the best 2 days of your life even if you screwed up hard. It was just painful.

You walked down the stairs after your luggage has been taken and waited patiently for the woman at the reception to check you out. You gave your card to her to pay for your stay and started walking to the exit. Before you could have walked out of the already opened door, you looked back as if you knew someone was there. He stood at the side of the hall, leaning against the wall, his arms crossed in front of his chest. You swallowed hard, before you whispered an "I'm sorry!" and walked out of the hotel to get into your taxi.

You instructed the driver to take you to the airport and as he started the engine, you looked out the window to see Jensen watching you as if he was making sure you were leaving finally. Your eyes filled up with tears, your chest heavy under the weight of guilt and hurt. Once again you wished to have never flown over to San Fransisco.

His face was emotionless, his eyes were cold and harsh. You didn't want to know whatever he was thinking, it was painful enough to look at him.

The driver started off the car and you turned your head away, feeling the tears rolling down on your face. You looked at your phone, debating if you should have written him anything and you decided an apology would be necessary. You wrote him a long message, explaining all what you did and why and how import he was to you and you wished it never ended up the way it did. However as you sent it, the message bounced back.

You let out a loud sob, feeling the driver's eyes on you. You just shook your head, reassuring him that you were fine. You turned your gaze back onto the screen of your phone, heaving a deep sigh, swallowing your tears. He blocked you. And you knew he would. You just thought it would have taken longer than to cut off any connection to you than the first few minutes he has found out about you. You were wrong to think that. It was understandable. You were just a stupid fan, who thought there could be more. A mere fan living in an illusion.

You waited a couple of hours at the airport for your flight, but by the next day you were back in New Jersey, crying your eyes out on your friend's shoulder, who was both excited and upset about your experiences.

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watchtheblog · 4 years

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petty cache

thank you for coming to read my diary which masquerades as a blog but is actually just a vessel for disseminating my birthday wishlists. it’s like an event you show up to where the host tries to sell you a timeshare 25 minutes after some requisite, mindless song and dance.

welcome! if you’d like purchase a timeshare, scroll to the bottom. for the song and dance, look no further:

the other day i zoned out on zoom therapy and when my therapist asked where i “went” i had to lie because i had gone to the part of my brain that holds all the things i need to think about forever for no reason (i call it the petty cache — this is an umbrella term for the space that also houses my attitude cabinet) and dusted off a memory of a comment i saw on a stranger’s facebook three weeks ago that said “message me. i lost my password and i have good news to share”.

i don’t know either person, and that’s what i was thinking about. i spend $[redacted] a month on therapy and instead of focusing on one of my numerous unsolved mysteries, i was thinking about the nuances of this comment - like why they wouldn’t just share the news or message the person directly? or what losing their password had to do with anything? or why they would comment on facebook instead of texting or calling the person. did they not have their number? imagine not knowing someone well enough to have their phone number, but still wanting to share your good news with them!

all i want (for my birthday) is to know what the news is that this stranger has to share, and i’ll never know so i have to put that comment in my minutiae repository with all the other things that will plague me until i die from texting and driving, smoke inhalation as a result of purposely leaving a candle lit in my home overnight almost every night, consuming half a dozen hot dogs a week, or a now unnamed disease that will posthumously be attributed to my chronic inability to mind my own business.

i’m constantly concerning myself with things that are none of my concern - no matter how insignificant - because my brain is a commune of sentient pepperoni running instagram polls among themselves to discern if something is worth spending an inordinate amount of time thinking about. and guess what? it turns out absolutely everything that has ever offended, confused, bothered, intrigued, slightly inconvenienced, or merely happened to me is worth spending an inordinate amount of time thinking about.

because i devote so much energy to nonsense, i can often be found persecuting strangers for insulting me on the internet (and for other miscellaneous bad behavior). the information superhighway is my home so i have to protect myself (and my friends) here, and if that means spending 45 minutes to 48 hours trying to find every misstep you’ve made in your life until i have enough ammunition to spray a dozen simulated retaliatory bullets at your virtual head because you called me a “stupid bitch” on instagram, well… so be it!

i am relentless in my pursuit of wasting time, so if that doesn’t work, i will find the cold stone creamery you frequent, seek employment there, be hired on the spot, learn the craft, be promoted to manager, poison you on your birthday, gain access to your funeral, and tarnish your reputation by reading your shitty DM in front of the few family and friends whom i haven’t already made aware of the abhorrent way you conducted yourself online!

there are so many different ways strangers will try to hurt your feelings — an interesting genre of which come from men who (like me) have definitely never had sex before, and mistakenly think i care about the ways in which my body does not make them horny.

“no tits” one will say. and i’m like, how do you want me to respond to that? my boobs are indeed small, yes. did you come here to shoot facts back and forth all day? ok: you’re going to start balding way sooner than you’re prepared for, i bet your childhood dog is dead, your time on the internet should be supervised, your closet is full of vests, and you wait on line at nightclubs… good day?!

while i will obviously engage with anyone if they want to fight, i prefer when the unsolicited criticism is personalized, and not just thoughtless, lazily devised tripe.

a year and a half ago, a man who looked like he exhales smog DMed me to let me know - among other things in a paragraph long rant - he’d “lost brain cells” watching my story. knowing he had likely never had an adequate amount to begin with, it seemed like an emergency, so i started a group DM with his wife. because his message had come just three days after a “fuckkk [heart eye emoji]” response to a photo of my ass, i included a screenshot as evidence of his devolving mental state.

being - presumably - gainfully employed, neither of them responded.

luckily, the consolation prize for insulting me is that you gain residency in my brain and stay in my thoughts and prayers for all eternity, so i checked in on them a few days ago. they’d unfollowed and wiped their feeds clean of each other!!

because i’ve never “moved on” in my entire life, i fired up our long dormant group chat, and sent my condolences: “aw. sorry your trip to positano - where you were going to attempt to repair your ramshackle marriage - got cancelled because of covid and so you just got divorced instead :(” i wrote before being blocked by both of them.

then i headed right over to my therapist’s facebook and commented “message me. i lost my password and i have good news to share”

i spent an entire therapy session detailing this monomania before my therapist thoughtfully suggested i “pick [my] battles”.

to which i thoughtfully responded: yeah, babe. i pick every single one.

***

timeshare time! it’s the same list as this post, with a few additions (at top) (and edits based on availability).

places to donate food education fund pretty brown girl the okra project

some furniture stuff a side table a pointless, laughably tiny little thing this website is calling a “drink table” a lamp one of these benches i do not want this but it’s important to me that at least 2 other people know it exists

this plant that obviously does not need to cost $165 but idk how to shop economically

air pods

gifts from the previous post - all still v much in play!

a pair of shoes (size 8 or 38) one pair, another pair, yet another, these are on sale, these are not, and a final pair

a specific clutch with three color choices they allege this color is called sand but it looks white to me, pink, green for those who do not know what malachite means (it couldn’t be me. i learned it 3 hours ago when i began compiling this cursed list)

something everyone with money to waste needs this

dresses i’ll never be able to wear until there’s a vaccine because unlike someone tacky who knows me, i won’t be having a birthday party in the middle of a global pandemic (hi, you fool) white polka dot, not white polka dot, also not polka dot, a red dress, a skirt (aka half a dress), a black dress

this sweatsuit xs in this, small in this

is sephora cancelled? i want this hair dryer which i’m sure you can buy elsewhere if sephora is cancelled, which it v well may be

this item which you may think is cheap but actually it’s not soooo a hairpin

earrings one pair, another pair, and another

this dress which i’ll never wear anywhere even when there is a vaccine because… what?! but maybe. you never know. size 34. lol when i get this far into the list i’m always blown away by how insane it is that i do this every year to no audience. so i’m just laughing alone at that. :) i am v funny to myself. another dress i’ll never wear ;)

the nicest weighted blanket you know of i’m depressed!!!!! if you can’t tell!!!!!!!

every year i have asked for a weekend bag and every year i have not received one, so alas, we try again this is not a weekend bag actually but it will do. this is!

a peloton but just venmo me the cash (@merce212) because i have a hookup

an assortment of ridiculous things a $500 body scarf a $580 beach towel with an octopus on it for no reason besides “art” i cannot tell analog time but it’s never too late to start!! how mad would you be if someone bought you a roulette table for your wrist? be honest. (THIS WATCH IS FOUR YEARS RENT!!!!!!) they won’t say how much this costs :( i’m losing my mind and must be gifted a chanel watch or else i will perish. to put my salami on when i am eating salami in my bed “24k gold crocodile [?!!) teddy bear”. the website says there’s only one left, which begs the question “why did someone buy one of these rather than buying me a chanel watch?!!” *real ‘billionaires shouldn’t exist [unless they’re buying me a watch]’ energy* to put my new watch in this is ugly but it’s on sale :) idk wtf “secret box pendant” means but i wish this necklace was also a USB with every season and spinoff of 90 day fiancé on it hi yes i’m stupid but i draw the line at $1500 connect four…

#things i want #things I want for my birthday #lists of things #lists of things i want #my birthday #birthday lists #9/26; never forget #invidious consumption

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jiminsbyuns-blog · 6 years

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Under Cover [3]

1 | 2 |

Featuring: Hoseok x TattooArtist!Reader(F)

Written by: Admin M

Warnings: None

You were locking the door behind your last customer of the night when the phone in the office rang. The thought of just not answering briefly flitted through your mind, then shook your head. You needed to be more professional if you wanted the customers to keep coming in.

Picking up in the middle of the fourth ring, you took a breath, ready to give your spiel.

“Hi, do you do weddings?”

You blinked in surprise - you hadn’t even said anything yet.

“Ah, yes, I can do henna at weddings.”

“Great!” A laugh came from the other end of the line. “Do you hear that, baby? She does weddings!”

A chill ran through you, starting from the top of your scalp and rippling down your entire body. You knew that voice. You knew the way that word dripped from her lips. Then, you thought, this means -

“Yeah, I heard,” came faintly from the background of the call.

You almost choked on nothing. His voice. After months of silence, finally, there was the breath of air you were waiting for.

You smiled bitterly to yourself. It was almost as if you hadn’t made this choice for him.

“So," she continued, “we were thinking about doing a summer wedding in a month, on the 20th, what do you think?”

You registered the words that were being spoken but your brain felt like it was underwater, sluggish and unresponsive. The wedding. It was really, truly happening.

“Hello?”

You shook your head, trying to get a hold of yourself and coughed to hide your lapse in mental capacity.

“Oh, yes, let me check my calendar," you managed to choke out. You reached for some papers on the side of the desk and rustled them for a second, then waited for a beat to simulate you checking a calendar.

“I’m so sorry,” you began. “I’m not available on that date. I can give you the contact information of a few other artists I recommend if you’d like?”

“Mmmm, no, that won’t do. I want you at our wedding. That’s what would make it the most perfect.”

Fear flashed through you - what if she knew? But how?

“Ah, thank you, I’m flattered. But why?”

“Do you know who I am?” the voice on the other end of the line suddenly asked.

You took a deep breath. “Of course not, ma’am. How could I know when you’ve never called before and I haven’t seen your face?”

She laughed, as if it was the funniest thing she’d ever heard.

“Oh but you do know who I am! My name is Suzy Bae.”

“Oh yes,” you replied, fighting to keep your voice even. “I know who you are Ms. Bae.”

“And soon to be Mrs. Jung!" she sang. “You’ve heard about that, right?”

“Yes.”

“So you know that if you clear your schedule for that day, you’ll be rubbing elbows with everyone who’s anyone, and that your business will surely thrive off the exposure.”

“Ma’am, I’m sorry, but I’m fully booked that day. And I’m sure you well know, my business has had plenty of exposure.”

You tried to keep the venom out of your words but you were sure that you’d failed, indicated by the miffed silence from the phone.

“I see,” Suzy replied disdainfully. “Well, if asking nicely won’t convince you, I suppose I’ll have to resort to other methods. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

There was a click, then the line went dead. You tried not to let her last words bother you but they wormed their way under your skin, repeating themselves over and over again. What other methods could she use to convince you?

You were so deep in thought that the buzz of your phone startled you, snapping you out of your mild stupor.

Pulling it out of your pocket to check for the caller, you freeze at the string of digits on your screen. Even though you had long deleted his number from your cell phone, it was a lie to say that you’d forgotten it.

Hoseok calling, finally calling again after 2 months of radio silence.

After you’d kicked him out, he called constantly. But never once did you pick up. You read his text messages, razor blades dancing over your heart, and then deleted them. You listened to his voicemails, his words searing themselves into your brain, but you never called back. Your will was strong, and eventually, the calls and texts slowed, then stopped.

So you couldn’t blame him for having not reached out since then. You knew that, logically. But you still faulted him for giving up, as if he had failed the most unfair test you could have given him.

You stared at the number on your screen, fingers itching to pick up, feeling the bile rise in the back of your throat the thought of stumbling over words in vain.

You almost make it till the call goes to voicemail - but not quite. Swiping to accept the call, you pressed the phone to your ear.

There was a beat of silence, nothing but both your breaths on the line.

“So you picked up this time, huh?” Hoseok asked the question as if it meant nothing to him, and the vice around your chest tightened, squeezing your heart with iron bands.

Still, you did not speak.

“Not talking? I guess that’s fine. I just need you to know that whatever Suzy does, whatever crazy thing she pulls out, it’s on you. She will not rest until she gets what she wants so for your sake - “ there was a small waver in his voice, before he reined it back in - “ for your own sake, please say yes when she calls you again and asks you to work our wedding.”

The last two words were nearly spat out, and for a second your mouth was open, your reply sitting, waiting on the tip of your tongue.

But before you can say anything, Hoseok’s sigh slips across the line.

“I love you,” whispered so quickly that you couldn’t be sure if you truly caught it - then there was a click as he hung up.

Shaken, you weren’t not sure how long you stood with the phone pressed to your ear, hearing his voice echo in your mind.

It would be an irrevocable lie to even suggest that you had not missed him with every single god-damned fiber in your being. It might be the biggest untruth in the history of lies to pretend it didn’t cut you to the bone every time you saw Hoseok with her on your television.

And now, to have heard him say those three words one more time, the whirling emotions you thought you had all but stashed away were suddenly rushing to the surface and demanding your attention.

It didn’t happen all at once, but slowly, as if there was a leak in the room and the oxygen was seeping out. You didn’t realize until you’ve sunk into the chair beside the desk that you can’t breathe, like lungs were pumping nothingness, drowning on dry land. You were quietly gasping for air as your mind raced, arguing with yourself and trying to piece everything together.

Again, it took the ringing of your phone to pull you out of your state. Shaking, you reached to flip it over.

Taehyung the screen read.

You took two deep breaths, determined to pull yourself together, then picked up his call.

“Hi!” came his excited greeting, and you felt a little of your panic melt away. Your baby brother could always bring a smile to your face. And even with this simple word, you could see his wide smile in your mind’s eye.

“Hello, Taetae. What do you want?” you asked teasingly, keeping your emotions well out of your voice.

“What, I can’t call my big sis whenever I want?” You could see his pout on the other end of the line.

“Well…” you paused as if thinking, then continued, “you could… but you never do... so what do you want, you brat?”

He laughed heartily, and you felt your heart lift a little more. Taehyung had always been a source of joy in your life and you were so,so grateful to him for it.

“Listen, you’ll never guess who just visited our school! Suzy Bae herself. I know, crazy right? We even made eye contact and she smiled at me. Who knows, maybe she’ll leave Mr. Jung’s son for me and then I’ll be rolling in the dough.”

You felt the blood in your veins turn to ice as your brother rambled on and on about Suzy. How could she have moved so quickly? It was as if she was taunting you - she knew you had a weakness and could get to it at any point in time if she so wished.

“Tae - Taehyung!”

The force of your exclamation stopped his monologue and there was a moment of silence on the line.

“Why, what’s wrong?” he asked tentatively, worried he might have said something to set you off.

“I - nothing - just, did she say why she was visiting? School’s not exactly a quick drive away from home.”

“Oh dude it was so cool she landed in the middle of the quad on her helicopter, people were like running out of the way - actually that’s kinda dangerous huh… But anyway, no, she just kind of looked around like she was looking for someone? And then was escorted away to probably the president’s office or something. I think her family donates a lot of money to the school.”

You closed your eyes, squeezing your eyelids together in the hopes that it would make your building headache go away.

“Ah, okay. How interesting.” You tried to bring your voice back to normal so that Taehyung wouldn’t catch on any more than he already had, but of course it was impossible. He’d always been perceptive, but he seemed to reluctantly let it go as he continued to tell you about his day and his recent adventures.

“Sissy?”

“Hm?”

“Are you okay these days?”

You swallowed hard. “I’m… making do, Tae. I won’t say it’s not hard sometimes, but I’m okay. There’s nothing here for you to worry about, okay?”

“Okay… I’m gonna try my best to graduate early so you don’t have to pay as much for my tuition, and don’t worry about my grades because I’m trying to earn a merit based scholarship too so I’m keeping them up.”

You felt tears well up in your eyes.

“Tae, are you worried that I’m stressed about money? Don’t you dare. That’s my job. You take your time and don’t burn yourself out, and have fun. That’s what college is for!”

There was silence on the other end of the line, and you could all but see him biting his lip, worrying that he wasn’t doing enough to help you.

“Taetae, promise me you’ll have fun too. It’s only your second year of college! Don’t worry, I’ve got this. Okay?”

“... Okay. I promise.”

After he promised and promised you he would call more often, you reluctantly let your brother go.

The fear that burns through you is blinding. You can’t imagine what Suzy could possibly mean to threaten you with but the fact that she visited your baby brother’s school was terrifying. And so soon after she’d hung up on that call.

Before you’ve gotten the chance to catch your breath, the phone rings again, and you pick up immediately.

“So,” drawled the voice on the other line, “ have you given some thought to my proposal?”

Gritting your teeth before taking a deep breath to reply, “Ms. Bae! You haven’t really given me too long to consider anything, if we’re being honest.”

“Oh, I thought you’d have had time enough,” the woman replied with a little laugh. “But if you need more time, I suppose…”

“No, I think I’ve made my decision.” You hate that your voice is laced so tightly and you hate that you’ve almost tripped over your words in your haste to respond.

“Yes?...” That she had so much nerve astounded you, that she could sit there on the other end of the line and taunt you with some vague threat and be so damn effective drove you nuts. But what could you do? It was Taehyung she was targeting. There was nothing you wouldn’t do for him, the only truly good thing in your life.

“Luckily, the day in question has cleared up and it looks like I will indeed be able to fulfill your request.”

A pause, then a delighted giggle floated through the phone. “Wonderful! I will have someone contact you with all the information! I trust you’ll be bringing all your own equipment?”

“Yes.”

“Amazing. Tata!”

And then she was gone.

You felt all the strength drain out of you at once, slumping forward onto the surface of your desk.

What had you done?

#jung hoseok #hoseok fic #hoseok scenario #jhope fic #jhope scenario #under cover #this feels like filler sorry friends x.x #but! it's set up for the next chapter #which will be the wedding itself #i'm kind of excited to write it hehehehe

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lilacmoon83 · 6 years

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Dreaming Out Loud

Chapter 27: Dreaming On

David hadn't had a chance yet to tell Emma what he had found in August's room, but figured he should still tell Gold first. He didn't know if August was telling the truth, but decided Gold deserved to know about this development right away. He hurried in the back way and to the front of the shop.

"Did you find anything?" Jefferson asked.

"Oh yeah...I found this in his things," David said, as he placed the drawing of the dagger on the counter. He watched Gold's face go ashen.

"Henry told me what it is and what it does," David said, looking at the pawnbroker.

"He's right...but the dagger is useless without magic," Gold stated.

"Henry said that too, but there's more. He told Henry that he's actually someone named Baelfire," David said, looking at Gold, who was now clutching the counter so tightly his knuckles had turned white.

"Baelfire...your son?" Jefferson asked, but Gold couldn't find his voice.

"So he says...but he sets off Emma's superpower like crazy," David replied.

"Is that really reliable?" Jefferson asked skeptically.

"If Emma thinks he's lying, then he is. About what or how much, we don't know. That's why I think we should be cautious about believing anything he says," David surmised, looking at Gold.

The Dark One knew his ability to be rational when it came to Baelfire was limited and he wanted it to be true, despite knowing the Prince had a very good point.

"Okay...let's say he is Baelfire. Why would your son be looking for the dagger?" Jefferson asked.

"He knows it's the source of my power," Gold replied.

"But there's no magic here...he has to know that," David reminded.

"Something doesn't add up to me," Jefferson added.

"Well...we could set him up to find out if he's really who he says," David suggested.

"How do you propose we do that?" Gold asked curiously.

"We know that he's looking for the dagger, so eventually he's going to come here to look. I say we let him find it," David replied.

"I don't let anyone just handle the dagger," Gold hissed.

"No, but you said it has no power here. Besides, we'll be watching when he does come. He won't have it long. Emma just got something she called security cameras in the mail. She explained to me what they do. She says they have them at the hospital. It's how she knew which way I went the night I woke up," David explained.

"Yeah, we know what security cameras are, chisel chin. But you discovering technology is still cute," Jefferson teased, making David roll his eyes.

"Anyway...he won't have the dagger long once we confront him," David continued.

"If he's a liar, it's probably the only way to get him to come clean...by backing him into a corner," Jefferson agreed.

"Fine...but we do this my way," Gold stated.

"If he isn't your son, I can't let you kill him," David warned.

"There are varying degrees between alive and dead," Gold countered.

"I think that was code for he's gonna kick his ass," Jefferson said.

"If he did lie to Henry, I can probably help you do that," David agreed, as he checked his watch.

"I need to get to the square to help Mary soon. If he shows up…" the prince said.

"I'll call you," Gold agreed, as David left the shop with Jefferson following him a bit later.

Lacey came in soon after that.

"Please tell me we're not going to that lame Miner's Day thing," she drawled. He smirked.

"As landlord to most people in this town, I'm required to make an appearance, but we don't have to stay long," he promised, as he got his coat.

"Good...too much of that bleeding heart stuff makes me nauseous," she complained.

"You and me both," Gold agreed, as he turned out the light and they left the darkened shop.

As school dismissed for the day, Mary started packing up her things, including the candles she had left, and prepared to head directly the square to finish setting up. Leroy stood on a ladder in her room, fixing one of the overhead lights in her classroom that was having a wiring problem. She watched him almost stumble off it, as Sister Astrid arrived and smiled to herself.

"Hello Mary Margaret," she greeted.

"Hello sister...I just want to apologize again that I couldn't sell all the candles," Mary said.

"It's not your fault and we still have a little time left. I've been praying for a miracle to fix my blunder," she replied.

"I do have a confession to make and I hope you don't hate me for it," Mary said with trepidation. Astrid smiled kindly.

"Mary Margaret, you are one of the sweetest, kindest people I know. I could never dislike you, let alone hate you," the nun assured her. She let out a relieved breath.

"Earlier today…Damon Tromera came by my classroom," Mary started to tell her.

"Oh my goodness...are you okay?" Astrid asked in concern. She nodded.

"He got me riled up, but I'm guessing that was probably his intent. I'm not sure what his ploy was, but he offered to buy the rest of the candles. He just scares me so much...I ripped up the check and Stephanie made him leave," Mary confessed.

"You did the right thing," Astrid agreed.

"Did she?" a voice said from the doorway, as they both turned to see Mother Superior standing there with a very cold, scrutinizing stare.

"Mother Superior…" Astrid started to say, but she was ignored.

"Miss Blanchard...the convent is in dire straights and the fact that you turned down a solution to our problem is deeply troubling," she said sternly.

"Mother Superior...that man hurt Mary Margaret and almost killed David. I don't think that is the kind of money we need," Astrid protested.

"Considering you are the reason we are in this predicament, you should be as upset as I am," Mother Superior snapped, as she looked back at Mary Margaret.

"Damon Tromera is a terrible man. I assure you that if he was trying to help, then it was probably to make himself look good for next week's trial," the teacher protested.

"I don't care...you had no right to turn down that money for the convent. We are not too proud to take his money. After all, he is a pillar of the community," she stated. Mary Margaret was appalled.

"A pillar of the community? He owns the sleaziest club in town! Emma says she suspects he's involved illegal things she can't prove! How can you call him a pillar of the community?" the raven haired beauty cried in outrage.

"I would watch your tone, Miss Blanchard. I hardly think someone like you should judge others," the head nun hissed and Mary blanched.

"What does that mean?" she asked.

"It means that I remember when David and Kathryn were married in my church. But instead of trying to make his marriage work, David left her and allowed himself to be seduced by the pathetic woman who visited him every day while he was in a coma," she said harshly and Mary was taken aback by her hostility. She shook her head.

"David is divorced and we love each other. We aren't doing anything wrong," she said.

"Keep telling yourself that, dear," Mother Superior said.

"I'm sure she will, just like you will," Leroy grumbled.

"Excuse me?" Mother Superior snapped, glaring at the handyman.

"Just saying, sister. The gossip around town is that Damon Tromera is dropping cash in the forms of charitable donations all over, including at the hospital and the church," Leroy stated.

"That has nothing to do with this and it's none of your business," Mother Superior snapped.

"So...Damon is buying his way through town in hopes to sway the trial next week," Mary said. It was a hard pill to swallow, but one she wasn't really surprised by.

"The church has many needs and cannot be picky like you, Miss Blanchard," Mother Superior defended.

"Sure...you can take money from a man that runs a club that probably moves drugs and has strippers, but you refuse to recognize David's divorce," Mary said.

"Miss Blanchard…" Mother Superior hissed.

"No...I get it. He throws money everywhere so he gets a pass. But I'm dating a man that's been divorced for years and I'm the tramp. I should be used to that in this town by now," she added sadly.

"I don't have time for this anymore...I need to get to the square and hope that we can earn enough donations to pay our rent, since you decided to throw away the solution to that problem," Mother Superior said, as she stormed out.

"Mary Margaret...I'm so sorry," Astrid apologized. The raven haired beauty sniffed.

"It's okay...it's not your fault. I should have known better than to get my hopes up, you know? Next week, Damon Tromera is going to get away with terrorizing me and David, because he's already probably bought the judge and jury," she sniffed.

"We don't know that," Astrid tried to assure her.

"We kind of do, sister. As much as it sucks, she's right. This whole town is messed up," Leroy deadpanned and received an annoyed look from the nun.

"You're not helping," she chided.

"Come on, let's take the rest of the candles to the square. You never know, we could still get that miracle," the nun tried to encourage the teacher.

"And if we don't, I'm sure Damon will swoop in and save the day in front of the whole town," Mary said, as she took a box and stalked out with it. Leroy watched them go and knew they had no chance of getting that miracle...unless he managed to create one.

Normally, he wouldn't even consider helping another person in this town. But Mary Margaret had always been kind to him when no one else bothered. And Astrid...he had admired and loved her from afar for years. Perhaps...he could make this happen for them and stick it to that rich sleazeball at the same time…

Jefferson milled about the square, trying to make sure it wasn't obvious that he was watching Grace with her foster parents. He ached to have his daughter back and as impatient as he was, he knew they were getting close. The curse was weakening, little by little. The changes were very subtle, but he saw more of them every day. Mary Margaret grew a little bolder each day with David and Emma's influence. Ruby was more conscious of her life choices and was actually getting along with Granny these days. She was much less Ruby and more Red every day. Leroy was here too and that was huge. Finding him anywhere but at the bottom of a bottle was progress, indeed. Regina still had her cronies and supporters, but once the curse broke, that tide would change in an instant. He had never put much faith in leadership, but he was eager to know what a Storybrooke under Snow White and Prince Charming might be like. He knew it meant family and that was enough for him to throw his support behind them once it came time for the battles ahead.

"Well...I'm surprised to see you here. Don't you usually experience everything from behind your telescope?" Regina jabbed, as she sided up to the hatter.

"Things are different this year...as I'm sure you've noticed," he replied, a bit smugly. He wouldn't deny that he greatly enjoyed watching Regina squirm.

"Well enjoy them while you can, because if I have my way, next year will look very different," Regina said through barely contained rage.

"I think it's time you get real, Madam Mayor. Because this can of worms, so to speak, has been blown wide open and you can't just put everything back neatly the way it was," Jefferson warned.

"Oh, we'll see about that, now won't we?" she asked, as she brushed past him. He watched her go and saw her and Emma glare daggers at each other from across the square. The Mayor put her hand firmly on young Henry's shoulder, as if she was trying to make a statement with that one gesture. But what the Mayor didn't seem to understand was that the tighter she gripped Henry, the more he would slip away. His yearning to be with his biological family was growing stronger by the day. He wondered if the Mayor realized that if she were just to let him go that she might find that he would return willingly to her. After all, he knew the boy loved her, despite what she had done. If Regina would just allow him to be with the other people he loved as well, they'd all be happier. It made him wonder why this town, with all its people under her thumb, was really her happy ending. He'd watched the monotony for the last twenty-eight years. It was boring and nothing had happened before Emma came to town, save for when Regina adopted him.

It was that thought that struck him then. He didn't pretend to know a lot about the American adoption system, but it did make him wonder what kind of red tape Gold had to cut through to allow Regina to adopt Henry with no questions asked and no follow up from the supposed Adoption agency. Now there was a question he wanted to ask and he had a feeling, given Gold's current feelings toward their esteemed Mayor, that was a question Gold might be willing to answer.

With the arrival of Mary Margaret, he saw David's face light up and then turn down in concern, as he ensconced her in his arms. It looked like Mary Margaret Blanchard hadn't had a good day at all and wondered if it was about it get worse with Damon Tromera strutting smugly toward the square with Albert Spencer. The electricity in the air with all these opposing forces was volatile and promised fireworks in Storybrooke tonight, for if there was one thing that was true about Storybrooke these days; it was no longer boring.

David smiled, as he saw her, but frowned soon after and pulled her into his arms as she reached him.

"Hey...are you okay?" he asked, as she buried her face in his chest. She found herself breathing in his scent and relishing his arms around her.

"I'm okay now...it just wasn't a very good day," she sniffed and he could tell she had been crying.

"What happened?" he asked. Whoever had made her cry was going to get an earful from him for sure. He hated that there were people that treated her so terribly in this town. He knew most of it was the curse and Regina had managed to turn the opinion of some against her, but he still hated it.

"Tell me…" he pleaded, as he caressed her beautiful face.

"Well...first Damon Tromera showed up at the my classroom," she said, wincing when she saw him go rigid and his eyes shoot toward the man like blue fire.

"He did what?" he growled.

"It's okay...I wasn't alone. I'm not exactly sure what his ploy was, but he tried to buy the rest of the candles, like he was doing me a favor. Stephanie made him leave and I ripped up the check," she replied.

"Of course...we don't need his dirty money. We'll sell the rest of these candles," he assured.

"That's what I told Sister Astrid and she agreed that we couldn't take money from that man. Unfortunately, Mother Superior didn't share our opinion," she said sadly.

"Mary...I don't care what she said, because you did the right thing," he implored. She nodded and sniffed.

"I know...it just still hurts, you know? The names...but I think it hurts more that she refuses to recognize your divorce," she replied.

"Listen...you are not any of those names. You are the woman I love and the woman I'm meant to be with," he said. She smiled and nodded.

"I know...I think I can ignore the names as long as I have you," she replied. He smiled and kissed her tenderly.

"And you do have me…" he promised, as her eyes fluttered open. The festivities commenced and they were still struggling a bit with the candle sales. David nearly lost his cool when Damon strode up to the table and he put his hands on Mary Margaret's shoulders.

"I spoke with Mother Superior and I'm willing to ignore your earlier rejection of my contribution. A simple apology and your money woes will be over. These candles will look lovely in my club," he goaded.

"She doesn't owe you anything and we don't want anything from you," David growled. He smirked smugly.

"It continues to puzzle me why you choose to be with this pretty idiot when I could show you a life of luxury and sophistication with me," Damon goaded.

"You mean the life where you treat me as your possession?" she countered.

"Well...you are a prize for sure," he retorted.

"I love David and he loves me. We don't want anything to do with you, I don't care how many names I am called, but I will never accept anything from you. It would be like making a deal with the devil himself," she retorted back hotly. Damon glared at them both, as David was the one smiling smugly this time, as he wrapped his arms around her.

"Have a good evening, Miss Blanchard," he hissed, as he moved along and she let out a breath of relief.

"You are amazing," he told her, as he kissed her cheek.

"He's just so scary and creepy. He makes my skin crawl," she replied. He kissed her head.

"I know...we'll beat him though," he promised.

"I want to believe that, but Leroy said he's been making donations all over town. The convent, the hospital, every charity there is...David he's buying the jury," she fretted. He hugged her tightly.

"I know...but I still have to believe we can win and even if we don't, he's never touching you again," he replied. She was trying to think that was possible, but from the way her candle sales were going, she was having difficulty. What she didn't notice, however, was that Leroy had climbed onto the roof of hardware store where he had wired all the lighting from.

David saw him and looked at him curiously, but the shorter man simply motioned to the breaker box and held up his wire cutters. David smiled, catching onto to what he had in mind and gave him a thumbs up.

Suddenly, all the lights went dark and he was quick to start lighting candles on their table, giving off a glow. Mary looked at him and he grinned.

"We have candles!" she called and watched in amazement, as people began lining up at her table. Emma smiled, as she took one and stood by the table.

"Great timing for a blackout," she whispered to her dad.

"Well...the bad guys never play fair, so sometimes good has to stack the deck a little," he replied. By the time the line dissipated, they had sold out of the candles and Mary was in awe.

"We did it...we sold them all. We made enough for the rent at the convent!" she exclaimed. He picked her up and spun her around.

"I told you you'd do it," he said, as he kissed her. Her day had gone from bad to worse and then somehow had turned out good. But she could have never known at that moment that it would go from good to fantastic.

"You know...I've been waiting for the perfect moment to ask you a very important question and I don't think I'll ever get a better or a more romantic moment," he mentioned, as the candlelight around them created the perfect glow. She cocked her head to the side, wondering what he meant.

"I love you more than anything and I love making you as happy as you make me. I know the only thing that would make me happier than being your boyfriend...is being your husband," he said, as he got down on one knee and pulled the ring from his pocket. She gasped and they quickly drew everyone's attention.

"Mary Margaret Blanchard...will you marry me and be my wife?" he asked. A few tears escaped down her fair cheeks, but this time they were happy tears and she nodded her head.

"Yes…" she choked out.

"Yes!" she exclaimed again, as he put the ring on her finger and then stood up to pull her into his arms. He crushed his lips against hers and held her flush against him, as their lips moved passionately over each other's. Most everyone present applauded for them, while Regina glared murderously at them. Damon and Albert Spencer looked none too pleased as well, but David couldn't find it in himself to care about the possible threat they posed. So instead, he glared right back at them when his lips parted from Mary's and they basked in the congratulatory celebration from their friends. Emma hugged them both and they gathered together, as the fireworks to end the festivities began. For the moment, there was another victory for the side of good, even if the war between good and evil was far from over...

#Snowing #season 1 au #Golden Mad Charming BroTP #SnowxCharming #Charming family

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youseissi · 4 years

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𝚂𝚞𝚒𝚌𝚒𝚍𝚎 𝚂𝚚𝚞𝚊𝚍 현실판에

Chapter 6 - Intro: Long Journey

Chapter 1 ✧ Chapter 2 ✧ Chapter 3 ✧ Chapter 4 ✧ Chapter 5 ✧ Chapter 6 ✧ Chapter 7 ✧ Chapter 8 ✧ TBC ✧ AO3 ✧ Masterlist

San came to believe he had to be given that power for a reason. Even if his power allowed it, it was simply not possible for any person have so many “close calls” in such a short lifetime like he had. He had died in almost all incidental ways possible.

Be it traffic accidents, drowning, falling from a ridiculous tall height, you name it. He experienced it at all, none willingly and either his power was a way for natural selection to give his dumbass the benefit of the doubt or it just came with really bad luck as a side effect.

Sometimes he just wanted to give up, but he had literally no choice but to continue living on and so he tried to make the best of it.

⚘

San often came to take a breather on his apartment fire escape. The view off of it was one of those stereotypical back alleys you’d often see multiplied by a thousand through the concrete jungle that he lived in.

Whether the air really was fresher than inside or if he could even properly see the sky from there was debatable, but the feeling of cold air hitting his skin cooled him down when he just needed a break. It numbed down his thoughts for a quiet second.

It was one of these times a couple of months ago that unpredictably got him sucked into all that monumental snowball of a mess.

His apartment building was placed across a high school, and it was common for their students to sneak into the alleway after class to indulge in illicit behavior like smoking and such.

That day seemed like bullies had some kid cornered, about to beat his ass.

San never really bothered to intervene with whatever they were doing, it wasn’t any of his business, but this time it seemed more serious than the usual punk stealing your lunch money.

A gang of about half a dozen circled the young looking kid, some of them held makeshift weapons like a baseball bat or a piece of wood found on the trashy floor.

He pulled his phone out to call the police, already having a feeling that this would end badly even before the voices grew louder soon reaching a breaking point in their discussion.

Then finally came the first attack. The kid managed to dodge and fight back the first assailant surprisingly well, way stronger than he seemed. He held his ground for a good amount of time before their leader grew tired of playing fair and called out for the rest to back him up.

No matter how much of a good fighter the kid was, he couldn’t take all of them on at once. Finally his call was picked up. San spoke fast rushing the attendant and soon the police were on their way.

The pained cries coming from downstair were getting pitiful, signaling the younger’s loss even though San couldn’t bring himself to look at it with his own eyes.

He sat there speculating whether or not throwing his potted plant down there would be a good idea, to see if it scared them off or something, when suddenly the yells weren’t from just one person anymore.

Confused, he finally brought himself to take a peek, not really expecting to see what he saw next.

Some of them were on the floor oddly clutching their necks as if fighting off something strangling them. The metal bat one of them had was crumbled like a piece of paper and he had no idea what could have caused that. The kid was still curled up on the floor, the remaining bullies frozen in place and San wondered why they had stopped.

Upon closer inspection he understood though, finally noticing the missing puzzle piece. Around them objects floated, all kinds of rubbish you’d find thrown around. San noticed the structure he was sitting in was trembling, a soft vibration that his worried and adrenaline filled brain hadn’t caught till now.

The kid made a move to sit up from his current curled up position and the attackers scattered in fear, a couple of them still making the effort to try and drag some of their fallen comrades away but mostly each one for themselves.

The younger looked up with a bloodied face, footprints and small rips all over his uniform, and by a pure casualty of destiny their eyes met, both widening at being found out by the other.

They stayed petrified there for a moment. Sirens suddenly rang loud, breaking their trance and the kid bolted without hesitance realising quickly the red and blue lights were headed there.

At that time San couldn’t imagine how this fateful meeting would escalate. He only pitied the boy, almost wishing he hadn’t had that power to defend himself, knowing it could only bring greater pain.

⚘

Immortality was supposed to be a positive thing, after all humanity lusted over it for centuries. But San saw no advantage to it, if anything it was a curse and he didn’t measure words to remind himself of such when he looked at himself on the mirror.

Nothing good will come from it, only pain and how he knew it.

Maybe it would be different if he wasn’t the only one, if it wasn’t something rare .

If everyone was like him then that would be the norm, he wouldn’t be different, he wouldn’t be a study case . He didn’t like this isolating feeling, like he was an endangered animal that should be studied or hunted down.

Hiding a power like his wasn’t hard, if you knew it had to be hidden. But of course no one was ever expecting something like that. No one noticed how fast he healed as he grew up, how he would come out unscathered of situations he shouldn’t have, because kids give parents that kinda scare all the time.

You take your eyes off them for a second and suddenly the stroller is tipping, then they are almost swallowing a tiny toy, later they run off to cross the street at the wrong time and you have to pull them back or whatever, is normal.

So when his parents finally presenciated something more serious of course they freaked out. Of course the paramedics freaked out seeing him come back to life and his wounds regenerating in the ambulance. Of course they just needed to look more into it. He didn’t even knew that that wasn’t normal.

He was a problematic child, his high school years weren’t going all that well, filled with that teenage angst that just makes you feel like sleeping one day and not waking up ever again. And when he tried to do just that he wished it worked. He wished it ended there.

But it continued. One look at his records and done, hospitalized against his will. His days there luckily didn’t last long, but it set the tone for the rest of his living years.

The first few days were uneventful, consisting of him adapting to the boring routine and he was conformed to spending the rest of his youth inside the bland hospital environment hoping that being constantly sedated helped time pass faster.

But the rumors spread around, of his escape from death. Even as he denied any of the nurses questions regarding the incident, the doctors only got curious to the point of coming in and checking.

It started innocently, his naivety not letting him think much of it, a prick to the finger, escalating to a cut to his palm till one it wasn’t just that anymore.

“There’s no denying it after that.” He remembered the white clad man telling his colleague, even as his vision doubled full of dark spots and his mind hazed.

He had been donating blood for a while when he caught the dialogue at the back of the room. A long while. He hadn’t thought about it at first, thinking of it as normal when they called him in.

By then though, it had been a couple of days since he was strapped there for sure and in the back of his mind he questioned if he even agreed to it in the first place. He wished he noticed how off the whole situation was sooner, the meds making him process everything so painfully slow, but even if he did it would only become worse for him.

He kept falling in and out of consciousness and probably experienced death by blood loss a few of those times, but he couldn’t even discern it too dizzy and weak to even feel hunger or thirst when he was awake.

“You know, he’s not the first one we had and those suits always come for them after some time. I’m sure he can fetch a nice price if we call them ourselves this time around.” A second voice commented and at that moment San understood two essential facts.

One was that experimenting on something that doesn’t die would be a thrill for those scientists. If you threw morality off the window, possibilities were endless on how they could use him.

They could harvest all his organ a few thousand times over, could get all kind of living samples that were impossible before, experiment as they wish because no matter how many times they fucked up he’ll reset himself right back for them to try again.

How he did that would be the biggest question and he doubted they’d reach a conclusion easily. He for the first time realised he probably wasn’t human at all to their eyes and he hated it.

And two was that if he stayed to meet whoever had interest in collecting people like him, it wouldn’t end well for him. He was from that point on running out of time, each second closer to being captured by even worse people.

He was brought back to his room not long after the doctors decided on their course of action. They didn’t bother to feed him again, but the pills kept coming. For a few days he could only observe, trying to gather his strength despite the circumstances. He planned out his escape meticulously tracing his path through the maze of hallways in his mind, just waiting for a breach.

It finally came. They left the door unlocked, one little mistake was enough and he was out of there. He hitchhiked to his grandparents house, showing up at their front door desperate and god bless the old couple took him in, treated him well, hid him well. He went back to having a normal teenager life after some time, only now he knew he had to be careful. Knew that there were people hunting for powers like his out there.

⚘

The next time he saw the kid, things weren’t looking good for him yet again. San woke up to a commotion on his street. You’d expect whatever brought him out of bed to be loud, but it was actually the silence that tipped him off.

An eerily silence had settled as he opened his eyes lazily that morning, a jarring contrast from the busy avenue that normally roared with nonstop traffic that early.

Not even the usual intrusive sounds of pigeons and vultures on the alley bellow were there, giving him a bad feeling as he went over to a window to take a look.

Black vehicules surrounded the school, guards standing like statues at the gates. The whole street seemed to be closed off. Not good, not good at all.

San knew he should probably stay away from it, maybe leave his apartment for the day and sleepover at a friend’s house, but the thought of that kid strained his heart. They were there for him. He couldn’t be sure, but he just knew it.

He stayed in that day, ditching his morning classes just to see what happened. He didn’t have the guts to do anything about it, there wasn’t anything he could do to start with. Yet he didn’t want to look away and pretend that that kid never existed.

It was more for himself than anything else since he didn’t really know that student, just ignoring whatever was happening to him left a bad taste in his mouth.

Through the whole morning and a bit into the afternoon nothing happened, San taking the time to work on essays that had piled up to distract himself.

Then out of nowhere he saw the boy. He would’ve missed if he wasn’t paying attention for a second, a stray silhouette climbing out through a window on the far back at the side of the school building into a one way alley.

It would be a relief to know that the boy was both aware of the danger he was in and also escaping, if not for the fact that San had seen a guard go through the front of the alley a thousand times already throughout the day. The boy would walk straight into the men doing rounds.

The older jumped from his seat at his desk, grabbing his coat and keys quickly off the table to run downstairs. He had no business meddling with this, in fact this was the dumbest most dangerous thing he could do right now, yet he didn’t stop to think properly about it. He just ran.

He didn’t waste time on trying to call an elevator, knowing the damn old thing was too damn slow. He went down the stairs skipping steps to the point of almost slipping and rolling through it.

Reaching the deserted lobby he stopped right in front of the door, allowing himself to catch his breath and think for a second. What was he going to do? A plan. He needed a plan , he thought out of breath adjusting his coat mindlessly.

He decided to try and distract the guard, that should be the safest route, but after going through the door he soon realized that wouldn’t be enough anymore as the older man now held the kid by the wrist.

“Hey!” He yelled out from across the street, running to reach them.

That gave the kid the breach he needed, pulling himself forward and making the guard tumble aside. He bolted ahead not looking behind at the mess he’d leave. San feared for a second the cop would turn his attention to him, but the old man that recovered almost immediately didn’t even spare him a glance now focused on chasing after the kid.

San didn’t give himself time to hesitate as he took off after them as well. The three of them ran at full speed for what felt like ages, none of them willing to give up and the college student took solace in the fact that at the very least neither of the two seemed to notice him tailing them, meaning less danger for him in the end.

The two crossed the street a step ahead leaving San behind to halt at the last minute to not get hit by a car. The last thing he needed was to get into an accident right then. When he caught up the scene from before was happening again, but now the kid struggled much more in the man’s tight grasp.

A fight was starting to break out, only urging him more to come and stop it. He once again wasn’t expecting the boy to be so strong though. He approached the commotion preparing himself to get in the middle of them, but he doesn’t even get a chance as the guard gets aggressively pushed against him making them both fall back.

The guard falls down to the sidewalk’s floor, San is not so lucky. His body flied towards the busy avenue and to his luck a goddamn truck is speeding through it at that exact time ready to strike him mercilessly.

From them on it was blurred since he was busy getting his bones crushed. It all happened really fast. He was finally on a roll with being safe this last year, so the pain was definitely freshly painful, yet not enough to knock his very pain tolerant ass out unfortunately.

That kid better have made good use of his noble sacrifice, he thought. Sarcasm was the best coping mechanism when you’re going through traumatizing pain so often.

When he realized what happened he was already laying on the pavement. The bus driver reacted quick and stopped the bus resulting in San being stuck under it inbetween metallic machinery.

He would’ve been on the brink of death if it wasn’t for his power, yet he didn’t blame the boy for it. It was much better that it was him getting hurt than the kid or someone that couldn’t actually survive it.

“San?” He heard the voice before he saw the person, feeling too light head to process the sound.

“Hey” He said slowly trying to recognize the person through his double vision. “Seonghwa?”

Great, amazing, someone he knew was there to witness this. His head lolled back onto the ground knowing this would take a while. Something caught his eye in the distance.

It was the kid far away at a corner past the forming crowd. He looked scared, horrified at the situation. San wanted to curse at him to not stop and stare, to just keep running and forget about this, just chuck it as collateral damage.

The pressure on top of him let out as the bus shaked noisily, the metal all around him crumpled inwards and away from him.

Finally he could heal without something flattening his insides. The kid quickly ran away and San’s annoyance disappeared. He risked staying back and helping him out. He was a good kid and San didn’t regret helping him.

Now he had to help himself though, he could already feel the bottom part of his body regenerating and if he didn’t get away fast people would start to notice him.

⚘

Seonghwa had seen him. Not only that, he noticed it. San tried his best playing dumb and that usually worked. No one would believe him anyway, so there was no point in insisting which made that strategy always work so well.

However it didn’t seem to be the case this time as the medical student stood at his door. He just woke up from a long nap to answer the knocking and he regretted it, he should’ve pretended he wasn’t home. He could be embracing Wooyoung right now instead of dealing with this, his sleep hazed brain thought bitterly.

San was about to use the dancer as an excuse to send him away when the other walked past them, going out and muttering a rushed goodbye. There was something going on with him that worried San, but he couldn’t dodge his hyung to go after him right then.

“I’m sorry if I interrupted something. May I come in?” Seonghwa asked, seeming as troubled as him.

“Sure.” San walked back in, the other closing the door behind them. He leaned against the back of the couch as Seonghwa pulled out the chair from his desk. “So what do you want?”

“Actually I think you know it already.” The older said.

“Not really.” San replied, eyes cast down.

“About the last time we’ve met. You’ve been avoiding me ever since.” Seonghwa tried.

Maybe it would’ve been better if he didn’t try to avoid him. San noted that for next time he got caught.

“Look, I know what I saw. You know you can trust me, you don’t need to hide it fro-” The older continued.

“I’m not hiding anything.” He answered a bit too fast.

“Look I can help you I just need you to be honest and te-” Seonghwa tried again, but San didn’t hesitate in cutting him again.

Seonghwa was like a mom for his closer circle of friends. He made sure they ate when they stayed overnight studying at the library, helped them with their makeup before an important date, always had sound advice and stopped them from doing regrettable dumb stuff. Even Wooyoung that never officially met him sober benefitted from his car rides and hangover cures.

He was the voice of reason when none of them had any and it was clear to anyone that he cared for them deeply even if he was overprotective or exaggerated sometimes.

That’s why it this was so hard for San. Because he knew he couldn’t go easy on him, not if he really wanted to get Seonghwa off his back. The other wouldn’t stop trying to help him as long as he cared that much for him.

And he couldn’t say anything. This type of stuff you just don’t tell anyone if you want to live a normal life, he knew that all too well.

“Don’t you think you’re exaggerating? I don’t know what you’re talking about and I don’t need your help. If it wasn’t for Mingi we wouldn’t even hang out, you really need to stop butting in on my life like we are so close.” San snapped harshly, regretting the words even before he finished saying them.

He expected the older to look more hurt or outraged, but he simply just sighed with a tired expression not surprised, but definitely disappointed.

“I get it, don’t tell me then. I’m here for you though, okay? You don’t need to avoid me and you can always reach out when you want to. I’ll be waiting.”

You’ll die waiting then, cuz I’m never telling a soul, San thought sarcastically. Nonetheless his words fell heavy on his chest. Seonghwa really was too kind, to insist so much and not be discouraged by him lashing out.

After a moment of heavy silence Seonghwa let himself out. San headed to the shower, feeling dirty and wanting to get everything off his head before heading out to class.

⚘ ⇀ ✩

San’s power was a rare one and it was useful, filled with potential, but it brought too many risks to the user and it scared Seonghwa. A power like that needed to be protected. It was a wonder that San managed to live by so many years without getting caught, clearly the reason why was because the younger was so secretive about it.

Seonghwa wasn’t hurt by his words, in fact he was glad because that was the right thing for San to do for himself. However he didn’t need to do this alone and the older doubted it was even possible to continue flying under the radar with a power like that.

Eden could help him and give him the support he needed. Everything would be easier if he could reveal his own power, but now that he was supposed to be this evil villain it became so much more complicated. He almost regretted it. Almost.

After that things got a bit awkward for them, San seemed uncomfortable to stay around him for too long always giving him short answers and fidgeting anxiously. He wondered if they younger already had bad experiences linked to the subject in the past.

It was a harsh contrast to his usual bubbly self and he hoped he could mend this someway or another, if only San stopped running away and let him in. Almost as if on cue he spots the other through the window of the family dinner he was in. Seeing him San changed paths trying to discreetly go the other way, but he wasn’t fooling anyone.

“So I’m guessing it didn’t go well with him?” Mingi asked across from him on the table.

Seonghwa only huffed annoyed swatting away the other’s hand as he tried to steal some of his fries. The older was too tired from double anatomy class to deal with this.

“Look, it’s what I told you before, you’re too pushy sometimes. You can’t just corner him, you know.” Mingi went on sipping on his milkshake.

“You do it then. And start buying your own food!” He snapped snagging the cup back.

“So petty!” Mingi laughed. “I can try talking to him, but I’m guessing I’ll need to reveal myself or else he won’t budge.”

“You can do that, I can’t.” The older replied still bitter.

“Should we contact Eden? Just in case?” Mingi asked more seriously.

“I’ll write it on my next report. There’s too many of us gathering, it’s gonna start bringing in too much attention. The bad kind. I don’t want anyone to become collateral damage.” Seonghwa answered sorrowful.

“Yeah…” The taller answered eyes down.

A moment passed both sulking for different reasons.

“Ugh, have at it.” Seonghwa rolled his eyes passing Mingi the fries. The other beamed starting to stuff his face.

“It was totally not that that I was bummed about. Really!” Mingi exclaimed grabbing the milkshake back as well.

“Yeah, sure.” Seonghwa was definitely not convinced.

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pope-francis-quotes · 7 years

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4th February >> Pope Francis' Full Address while speaking to participants of a meeting to mark the 25th anniversary of the founding of Economy of Communion. Associated with the Focolare Movement.

(The project sets up businesses that follow market laws, but pool the profits in communion) (Vatican Radio) The full text of the Pope’s prepared remarks is below: Dear Bothers and Sisters, I am pleased to welcome you as representatives of a project in which I have been genuinely interested for some time. I convey my cordial greeting to each of you, and I thank in particular the coordinator, Prof. Luigino Bruni, for his courteous words. Economy and communion. These are two words that contemporary culture keeps separate and often considers opposites. Two words that you have instead joined, accepting the invitation that Chiara Lubich offered you 25 years ago in Brazil, when, in the face of the scandal of inequality in the city of São Paulo, she asked entrepreneurs to become agents of communion. She invited you to be creative, skilful, but not only this. You see the entrepreneur as an agent of communion. By introducing into the economy the good seed of communion, you have begun a profound change in the way of seeing and living business. Business is not only incapable of destroying communion among people, but can edify it and promote it. With your life you demonstrate that economy and communion become more beautiful when they are beside each other. Certainly the economy is more beautiful, but communion is also more beautiful, because the spiritual communion of hearts is even fuller when it becomes the communion of goods, of talents, of profits. In considering your task, I would like to say three things to you today. The first concerns money. It is very important that at the centre of the economy of communion there be the communion of your profits. The economy of communion is also the communion of profits, an expression of the communion of life. Many times I have spoken about money as an idol. The Bible tells us this in various ways. Not by chance, Jesus’ first public act, in the Gospel of John, is the expulsion of the merchants from the temple (cf. 2:13-21). We cannot understand the new Kingdom offered by Jesus if we do not free ourselves of idols, of which money is one of the most powerful. Therefore, how is it possible to be merchants that Jesus does not expel? Money is important, especially when there is none, and food, school, and the children’s future depend on it. But it becomes an idol when it becomes the aim. Greed, which by no coincidence is a capital sin, is the sin of idolatry because the accumulation of money per se becomes the aim of one’s own actions. When capitalism makes the seeking of profit its only purpose, it runs the risk of becoming an idolatrous framework, a form of worship. The ‘goddess of fortune’ is increasingly the new divinity of a certain finance and of the whole system of gambling which is destroying millions of the world’s families, and which you rightly oppose. This idolatrous worship is a surrogate for eternal life. Individual products (cars, telephones ...) get old and wear out, but if I have money or credit I can immediately buy others, deluding myself of conquering death. Thus, one understands the ethical and spiritual value of your choice to pool profits. The best and most practical way to avoid making an idol of money is to share it with others, above all with the poor, or to enable young people to study and work, overcoming the idolatrous temptation with communion. When you share and donate your profits, you are performing an act of lofty spirituality, saying to money through deeds: ‘you are not God’. The second thing I would like to say to you concerns poverty, a central theme of your movement. Today, many initiatives, public and private, are being carried out to combat poverty. All this, on the one hand, is a growth in humanity. In the Bible, the poor, orphans, widows, those ‘discarded’ by the society of those times, were aided by tithing and the gleaning of grain. But most of the people remained poor; that aid was not sufficient to feed and care for everyone. There were many ‘discarded’ by society. Today we have invented other ways to care for, to feed, to teach the poor, and some of the seeds of the Bible have blossomed into more effective institutions than those of the past. The rationale for taxes also lies in this solidarity, which is negated by tax avoidance and evasion which, before being illegal acts, are acts which deny the basic law of life: mutual care. But — and this can never be said enough — capitalism continues to produce discarded people whom it would then like to care for. The principal ethical dilemma of this capitalism is the creation of discarded people, then trying to hide them or make sure they are no longer seen. A serious form of poverty in a civilization is when it is no longer able to see its poor, who are first discarded and then hidden. Aircraft pollute the atmosphere, but, with a small part of the cost of the ticket, they will plant trees to compensate for part of the damage created. Gambling companies finance campaigns to care for the pathological gamblers that they create. And the day that the weapons industry finances hospitals to care for the children mutilated by their bombs, the system will have reached its pinnacle. The economy of communion, if it wants to be faithful to its charism, must not only care for the victims, but build a system where there are ever fewer victims, where, possibly, there may no longer be any. As long as the economy still produces one victim and there is still a single discarded person, communion has not yet been realized; the celebration of universal fraternity is not full. Therefore, we must work toward changing the rules of the game of the socio-economic system. Imitating the Good Samaritan of the Gospel is not enough. Of course, when an entrepreneur or any person happens upon a victim, he or she is called to take care of the victim and, perhaps like the Good Samaritan, also to enlist the fraternal action of the market (the innkeeper). I know that you have sought to do so for 25 years. But it is important to act above all before the man comes across the robbers, by battling the frameworks of sin that produce robbers and victims. An entrepreneur who is only a Good Samaritan does half of his duty: he takes care of today’s victims, but does not curtail those of tomorrow. For communion one must imitate the merciful Father of the parable of the Prodigal Son and wait at home for the children, workers and coworkers who have done wrong, and there embrace them and celebrate with and for them — and not be impeded by the meritocracy invoked by the older son and by many who deny mercy in the name of merit. An entrepreneur of communion is called to do everything possible so that even those who do wrong and leave home can hope for work and for dignified earnings, and not wind up eating with the swine. No son, no man, not even the most rebellious, deserves acorns. Lastly, the third thing concerns the future. These 25 years of your history say that communion and business can exist and grow together. An experience which for now is limited to a small number of businesses — extremely small if compared to the world’s great capital. But the changes in the order of the spirit and therefore of life are not linked to big numbers. The small flock, the lamp, a coin, a lamb, a pearl, salt, leaven: these are the images of the Kingdom that we encounter in the Gospels. And the prophets have announced to us the new age of salvation by indicating to us the sign of a child, Emmanuel, and speaking to us of a faithful ‘remnant’, a small group. It is not necessary to be in a large group to change our life: suffice it that the salt and leaven do not deteriorate. The great work to be performed is trying not to lose the ‘active ingredient’ which enlivens them: salt does not do its job by increasing in quantity — instead, too much salt makes the meal salty — but by saving its ‘spirit’, its quality. Every time people, peoples and even the Church have thought of saving the world in numbers, they have produced power structures, forgetting the poor. We save our economy by being simply salt and leaven: a difficult job, because everything deteriorates with the passing of time. What do we do so as not to lose the active ingredient, the ‘enzyme’ of communion? When there were no refrigerators, to preserve the mother dough of the bread, they gave a small amount of their own leavened dough to a neighbour, and when they needed to make bread again they received a handful of leavened dough from that woman or from another who had received it in her turn. It is reciprocity. Communion is not only the sharing but also the multiplying of goods, the creation of new bread, of new goods, of new Good with a capital ‘G’. The living principle of the Gospel remains active only if we give it: if instead we possessively keep it all and only for ourselves, it goes mouldy and dies. The economy of communion will have a future if you give it to everyone and it does not remain only inside your ‘house’. Give it to everyone, firstly to the poor and the young, who are those who need it most and know how to make the gift received bear fruit! To have life in abundance one must learn to give: not only the profits of businesses, but of yourselves. The first gift of the entrepreneur is of his or her own person: your money, although important, is too little. Money does not save if it is not accompanied by the gift of the person. Today’s economy, the poor, the young, need first of all your spirit, your respectful and humble fraternity, your will to live and, only then, your money. Capitalism knows philanthropy, not communion. It is simple to give a part of the profits, without embracing and touching the people who receive those ‘crumbs’. Instead, even just five loaves and two fishes can feed the multitude if they are the sharing of all our life. In the logic of the Gospel, if one does not give all of himself, he never gives enough of himself. You already do these things. But you can share more profits in order to combat idolatry, change the structures in order to prevent the creation of victims and discarded people, give more of your leaven so as to leaven the bread of many. May the ‘no’ to an economy that kills become a ‘yes’ to an economy that lets live, because it shares, includes the poor, uses profits to create communion. I hope you continue on your path, with courage, humility and joy. “God loves a cheerful giver” (2 Cor 9:7). God loves your joyfully given profits and talents. You already do this; you can do so even more. I hope you continue to be the seed, salt and leaven of another economy: the economy of the Kingdom, where the rich know how to share their wealth, and the poor are called ‘blessed’.

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banditwrites-blog1 · 6 years

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Sunset: Chapter Five

It’s a tiny little apartment. That’s the first thing Jessica thinks as she enters behind her new…patron is perhaps the best word for the little blonde woman who found her walking down the street and saved her from the catcalls of the drunken men. Her dark blue eyes sweep over the entryway – the little wooden table covered with dripping plants, bright green despite the chilly exterior, a collection of shoes kept neatly in pairs just beneath them. Off to her left is a doorway without a door, and within she can see the darkened shape of what looks to be a sink and a counter and something large enough to be a fridge – kitchen, she tells herself. Down the hallway, she can see the shape of a couch – one that welcomes her.

The aforementioned little blonde woman shuts the door behind them, sheds her coat, and hangs it on a hook behind the door. She gives Jessica the kind of look that makes it seem like she expects the redhead to follow suit, but Jessica ignores it, stepping further down the entryway. Jessica has no intention of leaving her father’s coat back there, even if it is safe.

Just in case.

Jessica – Samantha, she reminds herself, as that was the name the other woman called her first, and it is the name she’d decided to stick to while she is here. This isn’t quite an impulsive decision, as the name feels much to her liking, but Oliver had always been her planned surname after her escape. She likes the feel of it between her lips, the way it tastes – Oliver, Oliver, Oliver – or maybe it is simply something she took from her best friend and the play produced when everything with Ian first began. This gives her a way to reclaim the word, to keep in mind the musicals and the theater that had been her only form of escape.

“So, doc,” she says, turning, “where do you want me?”

It is only half an innocent question. The redhead keeps her backpack slung over one shoulder, and when no answer comes, she turns even more, watching as the blonde locks the door behind her with a small click. There is another moment of pause as the woman glances at the second lock, one with a chain, and chooses not to lock it for reasons Jessica cannot understand.

“My name is Diane Daniels, as you read on my card,” the woman says, her words measured and even. She turns back to the taller girl with a nod. “I would prefer it if you use that instead of—“ Her voice drops off with a wave of one shaking hand.

“You want me to use your full name or should I be saying Dr. Daniels?”

She is rude. She is so rude. And cheeky. The doctorate on the card had not passed her notice when she’d seen it, but somehow that seems almost too formal for the current situation.

“Diane will be fine.”

Diane. Jess tastes the word on her tongue before shaking her head. She doesn’t like it. The sound looks like apricots and cream and fancy frou-frou stuff that she’d only had once, with her father, on one of their adventures when she was younger. Of course, it fits the small woman who’d stepped in on her behalf, who’d forced her home with her, who even without her coat appears just as well-crafted in appearance as she had before, but it doesn’t quite fit the owner of this tiny little hole-in-the-wall apartment with the tiny living room, the even tinier kitchen, and…there’s got to be a bedroom somewhere, she hopes.

“You never told me your name.”

“Samantha, like you said. Samantha Oliver.”

There is a pause, and Jessica can see the plain disbelief etched across the older woman’s face but is shocked when she doesn’t press the issue. The name is obviously fake, but at least she seems to respect the need for the lie.

Instead, Diane chooses to pass her by (and now Jessica can smell the slightest scent of vanilla and lavender in her wake), leading her into the living room. The light flickers as she gestures to what Jessica can now fully see is a flabby old couch, not quite as welcoming as she’d imagined it. “This will be your bed, Samantha, if you will have it. The kitchen is there,” a nod of her head toward the room Jessica has already noticed, “and the bathroom door is on your right.”

“And your bedroom?”

“The door to your left.” Just across from the couch, framed on either side by bookshelves. It is now that Jessica notices there is no television, and although this is appalling to her, she says nothing. There is another pause as Diane presses her lips together. “I would prefer it if you did not enter there.”

Well, everyone needs a private spot. Jessica – Samantha, she reminds herself, as it would be better to think of herself under that name so as not to be distracted by her own true name, so as not to give it away – gives a little shrug and drops her mother’s guitar next to the couch, placing her backpack against it. “Sure. Whatever.” She sits on the couch, and it squeaks beneath her weight as she sinks into it. Then she looks up. “I’ll probably just be off tomorrow if you don’t—“

“You will be staying here until you have something better for you than another Greyhound bus or subway or…or park bench.” Diane’s voice grows tight, her hands clasping together with knuckles tinging paler. She leans against the edge of her wooden table, head lowered, and to Jess, who is almost a full foot taller than she is, she seems to be gathering strength. It is only then that she notes how she, herself, gave this Dr. Diane Daniels the high ground by sitting down, how the other woman has again brought them closer to equals by leaning, by shortening herself to meet Sam.

Samantha. Sam. I can be these people.

“Had you planned on a job, Samantha?”

“Sam.” Already she is shortening it. Jess purses her lips together and turns her head away to look out what looked like the single window in the entire apartment, framed on either side by hanging plants and with even more pots sitting just beneath it. She focuses on the single flake of snow left on the windowsill – it may be the tip end of spring, but this is farther north than her last home and much colder – the snow is still left, if she knew where to look (and sometimes it seems like she always does). “I was thinking about playing my guitar down in the train station during the day.”

It is not to her benefit that the blonde does not immediately perk up. Instead, Jessica finds herself bothered that she is being so honest with her. She crosses her arms just under her chest, frowns a bit as she waits for a response. When none comes, she asks, “You aren’t planning to keep me from it, are you? I’d make money. I’m good.”

“You were not planning on having a real job?”

It is the way the woman speaks that strikes Samantha then – the avoidance of contractions as clear as a character choice she might have made in her theater classes. Every act is a character choice to her now, whether it is intentional (this is the character I want to be) or not (this is simply who I am). She finds herself wondering if this one was intentional on her part or not.

This time she chooses not to answer.

“Were you going to apply for jobs?”

Of course she would have, but she will not say that.

“Are you afraid they will not accept you?”

This is really none of Diane’s business.

The pause stretches on even longer until, finally, the other woman asks, “How old are you?”

“I’ll be eighteen in July,” Samantha answers, her voice soft. She rubs one of her arms with one hand – a tic she picked up from her long dead mother, although she will never know that – and glances up, blue eyes lighting up in an attempt to be something fierce. Pretending is easy for her – make character choices, act the part, become Samantha Oliver and never have to be Jessica Irving again.

Not because you did not love being Jessica Irving. Not because you do not want to be an Irving. But because there are things you never want to remember and never want to live out.

“Are you a senior, then?”

Not were you a senior, and this, to Samantha, is a most precious and wonderful thing. This woman appears to still have some hope for her. Or, on the other hand, she can still be thinking of calling the police and sending her back, even if she promised otherwise. Sam understands that people lie when it is easiest for them, when to tell the truth will only make things worse. She still hopes that it will be otherwise here, that Diane is telling the truth, although she can’t say why she trusts her. (It is the doubletalk, she thinks to herself again. She knows how to do it.)

“I would be, come August.” She pauses, taps one finger on her arm, like Andrea used to do right after Angel was born, when Jessica was attempting to hold her, when she was most afraid. “How old are you?”

It is a childish question, she knows it is, but acting innocent and childish can often cause people to like her, to want to care for her, to be protective of her. Act innocent and win hearts. That is how the world works, after all. That is why so many people are so inclined to donate for the adorable animals or adopt them or be moved by their plight – animals are innocent. They would not give half so much to someone like her.

“Twenty-seven.” A pause. “Twenty-seven years, three months, seventeen days, and—“ Diane glances to the clock hanging on the side of the wall, a plain thing with a silver rim, “—fifteen hours, five minutes, forty-three seconds.” Another pause. “Forty-four.”

“A December birthday?”

“Sagittarius.”

“Leo.”

“Snake.”

“Rabbit.” Samantha can’t stop herself from laughing. “We are both highly compatible and the worst match possible.”

Diane raises one eyebrow, but a corner of her lip turns up in something akin to a smile. “What are you suggesting, Ms. Oliver?”

Samantha leans back into the sofa, finds that she sinks into it a little bit too much, and has to press her hands into the cushions to get herself out. “Firstly, that this is going to be an interesting roommate situation, and secondly,” she points at the sofa with a feigned pout, “you absolutely have to get a better couch, Dee.”

Dee.

Diane hates the word, hates that Samantha has taken to calling her that in the same way she had taken, almost immediately, to calling her “doc” – she assumes it is the lingering adolescence of the seventeen year-old but knows it is probably a need to shorten. Already, shortly after meeting her, Samantha became Sam – and, more importantly, that whatever Samantha might have had as a real name, it would lend itself to shortening as well. But names like that are many and not worth infuriating the younger girl with guessing. If she truly wants, she can search the missing children lists and try to find her there – a picture will work far better than the syllables or shortening of her name – but she chooses not to take that route. Whatever reason this Samantha has for running away, Diane wants to believe it is a good one.

The girl is gangly, tall, smart. Occasionally she has an air for the dramatic, and Diane suspects she is a good singer, although she has yet to hear her sing – and possibly never will. There is too much happiness – or desire for happiness (or feigned happiness) – for this girl to have run away from anything good or for any minor imagined slight. By now she has spent too much time talking with her, and although someone almost half her age cannot be considered an equal in intellect by any means, there are too many attempts – even feeble ones – to understand, too many insights for her too think that Samantha would foolishly run away for something so petty. Her current roommate – and it feels odd to use the word – does not seem to be a petty person. At least, not from what she has seen.

No, if anything, Samantha is overly considerate.

Day after day, Diane leaves for her small office on the outskirts of the city – walking, not because she does not have the money for a car (or even because she does not have a car), but because she enjoys the brisk air and the exercise (which her old therapist promoted) – and when she comes home, she often finds that Samantha has cleaned different areas of their shared apartment.

Now, Diane is not a dirty or chaotic person. Her home is kept much the same way as she keeps herself – carefully crafted for any intrusion. She always washes her dishes immediately after using them (and Samantha’s, too, at first, until the girl followed her lead); she always makes her bed; her room is always neat and clean – and this way of life extends to the rest of her small apartment.

But Samantha, perhaps bored out of her wits, takes dusters and mops and cleaners and scrubs until the apartment, tiny and cramped as it is, seems almost to shine.

It is only later that Diane imagines this must have been because, when she leaves, Samantha has no way of returning.

There are a few ways of keeping a teenage girl in her apartment – not that Diane has tried before, but that she spends time thinking it through on their walk home that first early morning, stays awake thinking even later on. The first, of course, is by implication of threat: Diane may not know Samantha’s real name, but she knows how she looks and, as mentioned before, can easily find her on a missing persons list. She can give detailed information on how to find her, if it came to that (Samantha could not get far within a day, even if she took the bus or the train again – and even then, that would provide some sort of closure. Or, if necessary, they can pull videos from the bus station. She is not sure).

But Diane gains trust by not threatening and by explicitly continuing to do so, by trusting the teen.

The second way to keep the girl is through that same trust – give someone a small measure of trust, and it can go a long way. By trusting Samantha with her meager home (and, again, by not turning her over immediately, by accepting her as her own instead), Diane hopes that Samantha will see her, even remotely, as someone who can be trusted – or, lacking that, as someone who may possibly be trusted in the future, as someone worth the benefit of a doubt.

The third, of course, is food.

The morning after Samantha arrived, Diane wakes early – earlier than normal, even, just in case – and creeps through the living room where Samantha still sleeps, curled up on one side underneath piles of blankets. The redhead faces outwards, hands curled around her old, overly large, and tattered coat, as though ready to wake and bolt at the slightest moment, but she is far too gone in her exhaustion to hear the other woman stepping softly through the room. She shifts once in her sleep, hair falling across her face, and pulls one of the sofa pillows closer.

No snoring, which is, to Diane, the best part. After her freshman year of college and the roommate she had been randomly sorted, she has tried to make sure to have no more snoring sleepers. Sometimes the sounds remind her of her father, which feels awkward, but more often than not they are much louder, snores that keep her awake far longer than her homework ever had. Now that she is older – and found she prefers to be alone – being kept up all night by another woman’s snoring, however gentle, will have a toll on her job. It will not change the way she interacts with her students, but it will make her that much more tired, that much more ready to be somewhere else.

Fortunately, it is a Saturday, and so Diane has the day to herself – perfect following the unexpected appearance of a runaway in her home. Now, some may think this makes waking up early a bit of an annoyance, but Diane enjoys the early mornings far more than she does late nights. (The astute reader will think that this is odd, considering her appearance and insistence on staying with Samantha even earlier, which implies that Diane must have had a late night. In this case, one might wonder where she was and what she was doing before meeting Samantha. Unfortunately, since Diane is not thinking on that, you will not find out. For now.)

When Samantha finally wakes, it is to the smell of bacon cooling, biscuits soaked with butter and still cooking in the oven, white bacon and sausage gravy keeping warm on the stove. She stumbles into the kitchen, rubs one eye with the back of her hand, and glances around, sniffing the air, before noticing Diane bent in front of the oven in a white apron with a flower pattern and spattered with grease and red pasta sauce stains, checking in on the biscuits with her hair tied back and to one side with a very thin blue ribbon.

She sees the girl’s reflection in the oven glass. “Good morning.”

“You do this every morning?”

Diane does not turn away from the oven. “No. Today just seemed…special.” When Samantha gives a shrug, she has her, she knows it. “I believe the biscuits are just about done.” Then she glances back with the barest hint of a smile. “Are you hungry?”

Samantha had not brought up the idea of leaving afterwards.

Diane gave the girl a key to her apartment within the week (it had only taken that long for her to clean everything in sight). If it had been up to Diane herself, she would have given her the spare that same day, but she had not had the money set aside for it and, more importantly, had needed to explain to her landlord why she was making an extra key in the first place, as well as making sure that a second person could live in her apartment with her. When the elderly woman seemed concerned about the younger girl, Diane explained that this was her younger sister, who her parents were letting stay with her while she attended college in the small town. She had not expected her to show up quite so early, had thought the plans still in the process of being worked out, and had planned to talk with her that very week – but her parents had an impulse to wander and explore the world and sent Samantha ahead without a second thought. Only then did the elderly lady accept.

Diane made sure to never let Samantha meet her landlord. She expects the introductions – and, worse, the different last name – will cause problems. So Diane simply took care of the arrangements herself.

Now, Diane has been alone for a long time. Despite previously having other roommates and friends in college (or something like it), none of them have taken any care to keep in contact with her, and although one of her friends during her last year at boarding school is not only within the small town but also working at the college with her, she still keeps very much to herself.

Having a roommate – having someone around – even someone as young as Samantha Oliver is – feels…nice.

For once.

And, perhaps, she allows the other to take advantage of that.

#[ crossroads: sunset ]#[ sunset: chapter five ]#[ apologies for a week late - i was sick last weekend and did not take the time to do any editing. ]

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