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spiralingintotheocverse · 8 months

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CHARACTER TEMPLATE

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ORIGINS & FAMILY:

Full Name:

Reason for name:

Nickname(s) and how they got them:

Date of Birth:

Age:

Gender:

Place of birth:

Places lived since:

Social Class:

Parents’ names, backgrounds, occupations:

Siblings:

Relationship with family (close? estranged?):

Children of his/her own?:

If so, relationship with child’s mother/father?:

Age he/she became a parent:

PHYSICAL

Height:

Weight:

Build:

Race:

Nationality:

Face Shape:

Distinguishing Facial Features:

Hair Color:

Usual Hair Style:

Eye Color:

Complexion (freckles, acne, skin tone, birth marks, scars):

Disabilities (physical or mental, including mental illnesses):

Health (usually sick? or very resilient? allergies?):

What do they consider their best feature?:

Worst they’ve ever been injured (what, how did it happen)?:

Ticklish:

APPEARANCE

Style of dress/typical outfit(s):

Typical style of shoes:

How does he/she dress up?: Dress down?:

Favorite outfit:

Glasses? Contacts?:

Personal Hygiene:

Grooming (makeup? shower daily? wear only clean clothes? pluck eyebrows?):

What does your OC choose to do about the, er, hair down there?:

Jewelry? Tattoos? Piercings?:

What does their voice sound like?:

Style of speech (loud, mumbler, articulate, etc.):

Accent?:

Unique mannerisms/physical habits (bites nails, talks with hands, taps feet when restless):

Left handed or right?:

What does their writing look like?:

Do they work out/exercise?:

BELIEFS & INTELLECT

IQ:

Level of self esteem:

Known Languages:

Zodiac (sign and if they lend any credence to it):

Gifts/talents:

Shortcomings:

Most sensitive about/vulnerable to:

Happiest memory:

Life philosophy:

Religious stance:

Political stance:

Pet peeves:

Vices:

Bad habits:

Neuroses:

Disgusts:

Superstitious:

Sense of humor:

How do they deal with stress?

What do they do to get pumped up?

What do they do when upset?

What about angry?

How do they react to frustrations (get worked up, calm down and think through it logically, give up, etc)?:

How do they accept failure (both from themselves and others)?:

Level of comfort with technology:

Believe in the supernatural:

Believe in an afterlife:

Believe in happy endings:

How do they want to be remembered?:

Good with their hands (if so, practical/crafting or fine arts)?:

How fast do they learn new things? Better with book knowledge or hands on approach?:

How do they feel about asking for help?

“Left brain” or “right brain” thinker?:

Optimist or pessimist:

Extrovert or introvert:

Leader or follower:

Makes decisions based mostly on emotions, or on logic?:

Cautious or daring:

Spontaneous or planner:

Thinker or doer?

Organized or messy:

Worrier or carefree:

Artistic?:

Mathematical?:

SEX & INTIMACY

Current marital/relationship/sexual status:

Sexual orientation (is it something they question or a secret):

Past relationships and sexual partners (if applicable):

What is their “type” in regards to looks in a partner?

Ideal mate/qualities they look for in mate:

Primary reason for being broken up with:

Primary reasons for breaking up with people:

Views on sex (one night stands, promiscuity, etc):

Age and story of first kiss (if any—if not, how does he/she want it to happen?):

Age and story of loss of virginity (if any—if not, how does he/she want it to happen, if at all?):

Level of sexual experience:

Do they have any unfulfilled sexual fantasies?:

Wildest/strangest sexual experience? Would they do it again?

Do they have any fetishes or kinks?

Have they lied about their previous sexual partners to current/potential partners?

Love or Lust:

Ever been in love?:

Do they fall in love easily?:

Do they take relationships seriously?:

Worst thing they’ve done to someone they loved?

Do they desire marriage and/or children in their future?

Believe in true love or soul mates?

Thoughts on public displays of affection?:

How do they flirt:

How do they show affection/love to their partner?:

Thoughts on cheating/cheaters? Have they ever cheated?

Idea of perfect date:

RELATIONSHIPS

Social Habits (popular, loner, some close friends, makes friends and then quickly drops them):

How do they treat others (politely, rudely, keep at distance, etc)?:

Do they trust people easily or tend to be wary?:

How often do they see friends and family?

Are they good at keeping in touch? If not, does this bother loved ones?:

What is relationship with parents/family?:

Any roommates or close neighbors:

Person most dependent on:

Most comfortable around (person):

Oldest friend:

Closest friend:

Worst enemy:

Rival (at what and why):

Most important person in their life?:

Who do they most respect and why?:

Who would they turn to if they needed help and why?:

How does he/she think others perceive him/her?:

How do others actually perceive him/her?:

Argue or avoid conflict?:

Thoughts on large groups of people?:

Main quality they look for in people:

Have they ever lost anyone close to them? How did they handle it?

How do they show affection?:

Do they act differently around strangers than friends? If so, how differently?:

Would they ever consider adopting a child? Why or why not?:

VOCATION

Level of education:

Profession:

Describe their work space:

If no job, where do finances come from?

Past occupations:

Dream occupation:

Passions:

Attitude towards current job:

Attitude towards current coworkers, bosses, employees:

Salary:

Spender or Saver? Why?:

Which is more important – money or doing something they love?:

SECRETS

Phobias:

Life goals:

Dreams:

Greatest fears:

Most embarrassing thing ever to happen to him/her:

Something they’ve never told anyone:

Biggest regret:

Compulsions:

Obsessions:

Secret hobbies:

Secret skills:

Past sexual transgressions:

Police/Criminal/Legal record (Crimes committed? If so, were they caught? charged?):

What he/she most wants to change about his/her current life?:

What he/she most wants to change about his/her physical appearance?:

LIKES & DISLIKES

Hobbies:

Indoors or Outdoors?:

Favorite color:

Favorite smell:

Favorite and least favorite food:

Favorite and least favorite book:

Favorite and least favorite movie:

Favorite and least favorite song:

Favorite and least favorite holiday (and why):

Coffee or tea?:

Crunchy or smooth peanut butter?:

Do they watch TV? If so, what?:Favorite place to hang out:

Do they like music? What kind?:

Favorite type of weather:

Favorite form of entertainment:

How do they feel about traveling?:

What sort of gifts do they like?

MORALITY

Ever been in an argument (with who, about what, what happened):

Ever been in a physical altercation (with who, about what, what happened):

What trait do they find most admirable and why?:

Thoughts on violence:

One act most ashamed of:

Most proud of:

Evil – born or bred:

Is redemption possible (if so, are there limitations):

Does the end justify the means?:

Good of the one or the many?:

Can they be manipulative?:

Do they think it’s okay to cry (if not, why)?:

When did they last cry and why?:

Would they be able to kill (if so, under what circumstances)?:

Who or what would they die for (or go to extremes for)?:

Anything they refuse to do under any circumstances (and why)?:

Biases/prejudices?:

What, if anything, shocks or offends them?:

What is their reputation?

Cusser?:

How do they react to unwanted sexual advances?:

How would they react to stranger being bullied/abused?: What about an animal?:

How susceptible are they to peer pressure?:

How do they react to conflict, both verbally and physically?:

Easily forgive or hold grudges?:

Forgive self or live with regret/guilt?:

Would they ever cheat someone? Under what circumstances?

Have they ever been betrayed? By who? How did it affect them/their relationship?:

Would they ever betray a friend/loved one? If so, under what circumstances?

Do they respect the belief of others, even if it’s at odds with their own?:

Stand up for own beliefs or hide/avoid discussing them with people who have opposing views?:

DRUGS & ALCOHOL

Thoughts on drugs and alcohol:

Do they smoke? If so, do they want to quit?:

Age of first cigarette:

Age when they first got drunk (what happened, consequences):

Do they drink on regular basis:

What type of alcohol do they prefer:

Have they ever tried other drugs (which, what happened, consequences):

Do they have any addictions?:

DETAILS

Most important/defining event in life to date:

Daily routine:

Sleeping habits (Night owl or early bird? Light or heavy sleeper? Fall asleep anywhere or need specific conditions?):

Typical Saturday night:

Most used word or phrase?:

What is home like (messy, neat, sparse):

Type of car he/she drives (or wishes he/she drove):

Pets?: If not, do they want any?:

Most prized possession:

One word to best describe them:

What are you likely to find in their pockets? Purse/bag/backpack/wallet?:

What about their fridge? Medicine cabinet? Glove compartment? Nightstand?:

What makes them laugh?:

Any special holiday traditions?:

Can they hold their breath for a long time?:

Do they know how to swim?

Can they cook (if so, how well and do they enjoy it)?:

Is there anything they always carry with them? If so, why?:

Ideal vacation:

If they wanted to hide something, where would they hide it?:

Do they keep a journal?:

Are there any places that hold special meaning to them?:

SITUATIONAL

24 hours to live – name 3 things they would do:

If they could choose, how would they want to die:

What would they do if they received large sum of money?:

What would they wish for if they found a genie?:

If they could have one super power, what would it be and why?:

How do they deal with insects?:

How would they react to death of loved one?

If they were outnumbered in a fight, would they stand ground or run away?:

Granted opportunity to change one thing in their past – would they do it? If so what would they change?:

If they could rescue one thing from a burning building, what would it be?:

Would they be comfortable sharing a bed with a person they didn’t know well?:

CHILDHOOD & ADOLESCENCE

First memory:

Favorite toy (when did they stop playing with it, do they still have it currently):

Favorite game:

Best friend as child:

Fondest childhood memory:

Worst childhood memory:

Childhood trauma:

How were they disciplined? Did that change as they got older?:

What did they want to be when they grew up?:

Any non-family adults stick out in their mind? (Who were they, how did he/she know them? Why do they stick out)?:

Age of first date:

View of authority? What affected that view?

What clique in high school were they associated with?

High school goals:

Did they enjoy high school:

Any extracurricular activities:

How well did they do in school?:

SUPERNATURAL (IF APPLICABLE)

How did they become supernatural:

Thoughts on being supernatural:

Did they want this or was it against their will?:

If person made them that way, how does he/she feel about them?:

Supernatural mentor (who, how did it come about):

Thoughts on other supernatural beings (do they exist, which ones, thoughts on them):

Would they get rid of their supernatural powers if they could?:

Are they trying to live a normal life among mundanes or keep their distance?:

What do they like most about being supernatural?:

What do they like least about being supernatural?:

What adaptations have they had to make but hated, and why?:

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cloudycrystalkpop · 3 years

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SMOKY | Heaven Above

Blind! Prince! Mingi x [unstated skin deformity] fem! Reader

words: 3k+

warnings: childhood trauma, smut

au: crown royal au | moodboard

series masterlist: SMOKY

You lay in bed, just a bit away from the edge of the king sized mattress. Tonight was your wedding night, dressed in a silk slip that left little of your figure to the imagination, you looked to the other end of the bed, where your husband lay.

The boy was curled in a ball, his large frame made incredibly small and just a breath away from falling off the edge of his bed.

His body twitched and shook every now and again, you could only assume it was tears.

You couldn't blame him, in the madness of the last month youd cried yourself a sea of saltwater, watching as your future slipped away like sand from your fingers.

"... Mingi?" you spoke as softly as you could to the other end of the dark bed. The man jumped at the sound of his name.

"... Y-yes?" his voice shook in his throat, laced with fear. This caused you to frown.

"I know youre upset but, would you like to talk about it?" you offered gently. He stiffened at your words.

After a long minute of silence, and no movement from the other end of the bed, you assumed that perhaps he had fallen asleep, turning back to gaze up at the canopy.

"... Im sorry." the voice was so quiet you thought you might have imagined it. "Im sorry for everything. Im sorry youre stuck with someone... Someone like me."

"Someone... Like you? Marrying a stranger isnt something i resent you for." you tried to comfort him.

"No-well, yes but... You didnt have a choice..."

"Neither did you." you turned to face him, watching the outline of his back.

"... Mother says I should have run away and died in the woods." you felt shock fall on your chest at his confession. "Mother says im an embarrassment, that i shouldnt have been born. All ill ever be is a burden... And im sorry... Sorry that it falls to you know, and when im nothing more than a stranger... "

You felt a piece of your heart break at his words, the sniffles in his voice and the shaking of his shoulders now falling into place.

"Mingi, you are my husband. Which, means we are meant to be a team. I... Understand all of this is frightening, but, will you please give me a chance? So we can be... Not strangers anymore?"

After a long pause, the man rolled over, now facing you. You saw the stains on his cheeks reflected in the moonlight peeking in from the silk curtains.

Upon instinct, you reached out to tuck the hair away from his eyes, but you hesitated.

"... May i touch you?" you asked.

Mingi nodded his head, nuzzling his cheek into the pillow.

He flinched only slightly as you brushed his hair away from his eyes. Watching as he blinked them open, the smoky, empty irises stared back at you, tears still hidden in the corners.

"Mingi, I think... We can prove your mother wrong. With practice, you wont be a burden on anyone," you placed a hand on his cheek, watching his eyes flutter closed at the contact.

"With time, i think you can be a good king." the boys body racked in sobs once more as you pulled him close.

You slept that night, with your husband wrapped up in your arms. Tomorrow, is your coronation. You are to be the crown princess, and the sleeping man in your arms, the prince.

Mingi disliked walking with a cane. it was loud and he too often found himself still tripping on his own two feet. at home he knew the halls by heart, navigating them even when tired like any other resident. but in this new strange place, he had to keep one hand pressed against the wallpaper, feeling his way to build his map of this castle. the castle that was now his new prison.

he had been assigned a guard as his guide, a charming young man who gently guided the prince, Mingi’s left hand resting on his shoulder, his right hands fingertips brushing the walls.

you trailed behind the pair, watching curiously. Mingi’s head rested bent, his chin almost touching his chest. his resting state seems to always involve making himself as small and unnoticeable as possible.

the guard’s playful voice chimed in, interrupting your studying of your husband.

“I must say, I really expected you to deny the request for me to join you today, Your Highness.” he smiled over his shoulder, clearly speaking to you.

“oh? and why is that?” you asked.

“well, you have that knight of yours~ he speaks so fondly of you, and I almost never see you two apart. I was almost frightened id make him jealous.” the man giggled.

“hmm, Seonghwa has been loyal to me since I was a teenager. I trust him very much as I'm sure you've seen.” you nod. “may I ask your name sir...?”

“Hongjoong!” he smiles over his shoulder, bowing his head.

“...are...we in the main hall?” a quiet voice speaks. Mingi’s hand fell from running along the wall, instead laying limp at his side.

“ah, yes! it would seem we have arrived!” Hongjoong chimed.

the coronation was, a frightening experience. you stood at the head of the hallway, almost envying Mingi for not having to look the countless royals in the eye. see the seething and loathing, and plots for your murder, just to take a crown you never even wanted to begin with.

you placed your hand on your husbands bent arm, and it was then you realized, he was shaking. it was customary that the now crown prince lead his princess out of the hall, but Mingi still had only half learned the layout of this castle. never mind the panic he was hiding under the circlet on his head.

“Mingi,” you spoke, not even a whisper. you felt his arm flex under your hand. “match my footsteps, and lets get out of here.” he let the smallest nod, and the two of you set off.

you held your head high, eyes forward, not even bothering to return the stares from the court. you would be queen, weather you liked it or not, and now was not the time to show weakness. now was the time to prove that you were unshakeable. your “unroyal appearance” be damned.

when you arrived back at your bedroom, Mingi asked if he could have a moment alone. the poor man was close to tears once more, arms wrapped around his body as he shrunk into a chair, curling in on himself once again.

a part of you wanted to go and pull the shaking man into your arms just as you had done the night before. cooing soft words into his hair. but, you didn't want to invade his space, so instead you ventured out, closing the door behind you.

“my Lady!” a new voice called from down the hallway. you turned to see a head of dirty blonde hair, as a court member walked up to you. you braced yourself, turning to face the man head on. “my Lady, I don't mean to intrude, but I wanted to introduce myself. I am Duke Kang Yeosang, of the west valley.” he kneeled before you, head bowed low.

you blinked in surprise. a duke? on his knees in an introduction?

“you needn't be so formal, Duke Kang. there is no guard here to pierce your breast for sneezing at the wrong time.”

the man let out a hearty laugh, raising to his feet.

“ah, I see you dread such social conventions as well. and please My Lady, just Yeosang.” he smiled. the man before you was incredibly handsome, his speaking voice a gentle but deep baritone. he then took your hand, placing a kiss to the back of it, bending in a low bow with his eyes closed as his lips lingered just a moment on your skin.

your heart beat echoed in your head as the warmth of his mouth on your bare skin. swallowing your blush down, you gently pulled your hand away from his touch. his eyes opened, staring up at you through his lashes.

“I am sorry my Lady, have I made you uncomfortable?” his brows furrowed in a frown, before the edge of a sword meets his neck.

“step away from the princess please.” a growl like voice calls from behind the Duke.

“Seonghwa! this man means no harm, leave him alone.” you glare to the man with the sword.

“if that is true perhaps you should answer his question Princess-”

“no. no, he did not make me uncomfortable. he simply took me by surprise.” you stated, staring down the man with the sword. he sighed, but sheathed his blade nonetheless.

“you should speak to your future Queen with more respect.” Yeosang stated.

“you shouldn't touch people without their consent.” countered Seonghwa.

a sigh fell from your lips. so this is a new dynamic you are going to have to deal with.

as the days bled into weeks, you found yourself within the company of the young Duke often, your guard dog never far behind. the pair could never get along, Seonghwa seeming to think every time Yeosang breathed, it was a threat to your safety.

you’ve spent countless hours in the library, Yeosang at your side, coaching you through politics, philosophies, and ideologies. his eyes sparked every time, he as well fit for the part of a Duke.

you’d be lying to say that the closeness with the young man didn't stir something within you. his curious eyes, his intelligent speech, the way he guided you.

more than just a flutter in your stomach, Yeosang’s long thin fingers dancing across the pages, the small dart of his tongue to his lips before speaking. this man sired feelings in you you had ignored since your girlhood.

days curled up in the library, hiding away from prying eyes, reading the strangest erotic poems you could find. most so ridiculous they made you snicker. but others... that was the same warmth you felt when Yeosang grabbed you by the wrist to keep you from knocking off your water goblet.

“my Lady, you must be careful! you could have stained your dress.” he placed your hand back in your lap.

“nonsense, water will dry. it leaves no stains anyway.” you huffed. Yeosang let out that hearty laugh once again.

Seonghwa complained about the Duke while escorting you back to your quarters. you simply laughed and rolled your eyes at his childishness.

“princess, please promise me you will call me if that... that mockingbird, ever lays his hands on you.” you laughed once more at his words.

‘mockingbird’ for his deep and ‘droning’ voice Seonghwa hated so much.

“you are not my father Seonghwa. you needn’t be so protective over such things.” you teased. “or are you perhaps, jealous?”

Seonghwa’s cheeks tinted pink as he looked down. “...you have not called on me for such... help, in a long time.” he admitted.

ah, that explains his borderline possessiveness.

“...Seonghwa, I am a married woman.” you stated.

“I know that! but you are not married to that Duke-” you cut him off with a sharp turn on your heel.

“enough.” Seonghwa fell silent at your stern tone. “watch your tongue, for you speak above your rank and I have little interest in hearing it.”

he clenched his jaw, but did not speak further.

“I have no further need for you tonight. you are dismissed.”

“as you wish, my princess.” he bowed low, but he never dropped his eye contact with you. Seonghwa begged you silently, begged for the affection you used to wrap yourself in. Seonghwa was a loyal knight, one who would carry out any request you had of him, be it sinful or murderous.

but you had little interest in making an adulteress out of yourself tonight.

you turned your back to the man, and entered your room.

it took a moment for your eyes to adjust to the darkness of the room, but once you had settled into the darkness, you could see the figure of your husband sitting on the bed, head in his hand.

“Mingi? are you alright?” you quickly rushed to his side of the bed, kneeling before him.

“y-yes, I'm alright, I'm sorry to frighten you.” he spoke softly, raising his head from his hands. you felt a twitch of pain in your chest at the puffiness around his eyes.

“have you been crying, my darling?” you asked, raising to wipe the dampness from his cheeks. his breath hitched, before he sniffled. grasping at your wrists, Mingi raises his head, empty eyes level with your own.

“...will you be honest with me?” he asks.

“of course, Mingi you are my Husband, I have nothing to hide from you-”

“stop. do not- please... please don’t say that until I've asked you my question.” his face is pulled in pain and sorrow, cracking your heart. you fall to your knees once again, placing your hands in his lap, and leading your head against one of his bent knees.

“what is your question, my prince?”

“is it true you have slept with the Duke?” his voice is small as tears prick at the corners of his eyes.

“no. I have never had any form of physical intimacy with Duke Kang. the man kissed the back of my hand when we first met, never have we done more.” your words were true, and you saw relief flood Mingi’s chest.

“...thank you... thank you thank you thank you...” he let out a hiccup just as you cupped his cheek.

“who told you such an awful rumor?” you questioned, raising to your feet.

“i... I overheard some of the guards speaking about it.” he admitted. “people forget... I am blind, not def.” you nearly jumped to ask who he had heard saying such things, but thought better of it for the moment.

“and people are fools for such a thing.” you lifted Mingi’s head gently, before placing yourself on his lap. “and they are bigger fools for gossiping about something with no evidence.” gently, you lay Mingi’s head to rest on your collar.

the man melted at your touch, wrapping his arms around you and burying his face in your chest.

“...you smell... like honey...” he mumbled, voice far away and almost intoxicated.

chuckling you petting his hair, “perhaps you are hungry, my darling prince.” Mingi let out a whine at your words. quickly pulling your hand away you raised his head again, thinking you had caused him pain from the sound.

his eyes were glazed over, cheeks pink, and breath panting in his chest. ah, not pain, pleasure.

“Mingi... have you ever slept with a woman before?” you purr. the man swallows hard.

“no. you think... any woman would want to crawl into bed with me.” he sighs. you tisk, grabbing a fist full of his hair and pulling his head back.

Mingi lets out a squeak of surprise, that quickly turns into a high pitched moan.

“you are the fool now, little prince. I understand you may have not had the privilege of seeing yourself in the mirror, but” you lean down so your lips graze the shell of his ear. “you are one of the most attractive men I have ever laid eyes on.” you feel Mingi shiver beneath you.

grabbing his jaw tightly, you twist his head, turning it away from you. “I do not care about your blindness Mingi, if I hear such negative self speech from you again, it will earn you a punishment.” he whines once more, before you begin peppering his open neck with kitten kisses.

“p-pl-please-” he whines, hands fisted in your dress, chest rattling with every breath he takes.

“please what? my darling prince~” you coo softly, hands now scratching through his hair.

“p-please... please... use me... I need you...” his voice cracks, barely speaking each word. you coo, cupping the mans cheeks.

“we have been married for almost a month, my prince, and yet we have yet to consecrate our marriage~” you tease, tracing your fingers down his throat.

Mingi may be blind, but it takes little time for him to map out your whole body.

his head thrown back against the pillows, neck on full display for you. one of his large hands with a bruising grip on your hip, the other’s fingers tangled with yours above his head. you coo softly to the man as he gasps in pleasure, your free hand bracing yourself on his chest.

you press your forehead to his, panting from the energy it takes to keep bouncing on him. you are thankful he never asked if you had experience in sex, for you worried he might be saddened at the truth.

yet even still, the mere... size of Mingi had your eyes rolling back in your head when you first sunk down on him.

you heard his voice hitch in his throat, hand pulling more on your hip.

“..I-i-ahh-” you could feel him pulse within you. shushing him, you leaned over to place more kisses over his throat.

“its alright, little prince, let it go. will you cum for me?” you cooed softly.

right at your command, Mingi came, spilling himself within you. his voice cried out your name, shoulders shaking as he squeezed your hand.

you softly cooed as you helped him ride out his orgasm, petting his hair and running your hands over his torso. his body finally stilled, and you felt him begin to go soft within you.

your thighs burned slightly as you lifted yourself off of his lap, feeling his cum drip and pool out of you. Mingi whined at the loss of warmth, hands pulled at your hips.

“I-i’m sorry, you didn't...” his face still burned pink, hair a mess on the pillows as he finally began to catch his breath.

“its alright Mingi, you can make it up to me another night.” you chuckled. He swallowed, but nodded.

after leaving to the attached bathroom to clean yourself up and change into your night clothes, you returned to the bed to find Mingi had managed to change the blanket the two of you had soiled. you smiled, noting not to underestimate the man in the future.

“can we... can we do that more?” Mingi mumbled as you crawled into bed beside him.

“of course~” you cooed, stroking his cheek. he sighed in contentment, mumbling to himself.

“what have I done to deserve you...” he wrapped his arms around your middle, pulling you against his body. “...I am no good for a husband... and probably worse choice for a king... but, for you..” he blinked his eyes open, somehow managing to stare at you. “for you... I'll be whatever you want me to be.”

“is that so? you’ll do anything I ask?” you cooed.

“yes. yes, I promise. you... you own me, mind, body, whatever you want from me... take it.” he begged, eyes hazy once more.

“lets not worry about such things now, little prince.” pulling the man against you, Mingi quickly fell asleep against your chest.

“you own me, mind body, whatever you want from me... take it.”

“oh sweet boy, you should be more careful with your words. you’ve already got me falling in love with you.”

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rebrandedbard · 3 years

Text

A little drabble exchange for @theamazingbard that accidentally became more of a ficlet. Threw in a little hispanic nursery rhyme since I don’t know if we have them in english for making pain go away. I tried googling but it was unhelpful.

TW: Descriptions of blood, drinking it, gross stuff like that. Canon-typical wounds. References to drinking and inebriation.

WC: 2617

Lips Black as the Rose

Featuring highervampire!Jaskier as he tries to figure himself out after being turned. A bit of spice in there. Am I picking and choosing parts of the lore as I see fit? Yes. Is it very sexy of me to do so? One hundred percent. Will I beta this before posting? Oh absolutely not, you know the drill. ‘No beta, we die like men and get our shit wrecked in the comments’ is my go-to Ao3 tag for a reason.

Under no circumstances would Jaskier ever cause harm to another living thing, but the world did not reciprocate that exact philosophy. He’d been chased and held at the business end of many a sword, dagger, lance, and—on several unfortunately memorable occasions—a startling variety of available flatware. Things were rougher after meeting Geralt and having his usual human pursuers overshadowed by the threat of monsters.

Where once a spoon in the hands of a rabid duke would seem a most threatening opponent, Jaskier now found himself on the run from a more literal array of rabid beasts, and he could quote the running speeds the prove that having an extra pair of legs did indeed give certain monsters a leg up, so to speak, on the competition. But then, having no legs at all could prove a better advantage, and such creatures as those often had the additional advantage of long, venomous teeth.

Suffice to say, it was a difficult thing to be a lover in a world of fighters. Particularly when one falls into the company of another presumed lover, only to discover that their invitation to dinner was, in truth, an invitation to be dinner.

A vampire. Young, wine drunk, and foolish, Jaskier allowed himself to be led into the vampire’s den. It had been many years ago, he no longer remembered the details. He only remembered a sharp pain on his shoulder, followed by a woozy numbness, and he awoke in a strange bed, in an inn he did not check into, with his reflection missing from the mirror. He’d run away from home shortly after, fearing a bloodlust that was never to come.

It was a strange thing, being a vampire. After months of research, Jaskier came to no conclusions as to what it meant to be one exactly. He experimented with the content of old myths, touching silver very cautiously, taking delicate bites of foods prepared with garlic. He could cross a river just as well as any man. All in all, there was not much wrong with him, and he wondered what all the fuss was about. Well, there was a bit of fuss in that he could no longer be sure of his appearance, and he’d become more vain than ever, relying on the opinions of others to assure him that he looked presentable. This was a particular bother where Geralt was concerned, for he rarely paid compliments—if ever—and was not inclined to offer opinions concerning such trifling things as fashion or appearances.

Jaskier felt sure that Geralt would have noticed right away, but when their paths crossed again, Geralt seemed entirely ignorant of Jaskier’s dramatic change in biology. Running his tongue over his teeth, he could find no fangs. People complimented him on his eyes, still cooing over how bright and blue they were; and he’d been so afraid they’d turned a ghastly red as in the stories. From what he could tell, he appeared human. He had no violent urges to drain the blood from red-cheeked virgins, nor had he transformed into a bat and flown into the night. Sunlight only burned his skin as much as it had before, though it might have been harder on his eyes. He found himself squinting more in the afternoon, and it was unpleasant hot at times.

All in all, he was relatively normal.

“Such beauty ought to be preserved evermore.” That was what the vampire had told him that night. A great favor, immortality, but he wished he might have been offered a list of instructions to go with it. Figuring things out on his own was exasperating. And though he was not quite compelled to drink blood, there were times when he was … drawn. By curiosity.

When Geralt returned from a hunt, his flesh torn and body bleeding, Jaskier found it challenging to tend his wounds. Many times, he’d almost given into temptation. It did not help that he’d wanted to know the taste of Geralt’s skin long before the transformation. Now, there was an intoxicating layer to the fantasy, and the smell of Geralt’s blood made him hazy, like the bouquet of a strong wine. Or more realistically, the cloud of bitter vodka. If it had been a particularly nasty fight, Jaskier was sure he could taste Geralt’s blood by the smell alone, so powerful it made his nose wrinkle. He could get drunk on the fumes, and it was not always so pleasant.

He never dared try. There were too many things to consider. For a start, there was no telling what the blood of a witcher would do to him—and that was before factoring potions into the equation. Having never fed of blood, Jaskier did not know how his instincts would react, and he was sure he had some animal instinct to him now. He might drain Geralt dry in a matter of minutes, or the taste of blood might make him go insane and start tearing at his surroundings like a mad beast! Or, simplest and frightening of all, Geralt might kill him. So Jaskier kept his secret, never giving in to his curiosity.

But one day, he’d slipped.

“Fuck,” Geralt grunted. He clenched his hand and a sharp smell pervaded the air. In sharpening his sword, his hand had slipped. He’d cut the meat of his palm, just above his wrist.

Jaskier was up at once, Geralt��s bag in hand, ready to wrap the wound. He was very quick these days in getting things bundled up as soon as possible. Once the wounds were wrapped, the smell was not as pronounced. He fished out a strip of cloth and had it round Geralt’s hand in a matter of moments, working efficiently with good practice.

Geralt smiled ruefully. “A clean wound, at least. Should stitch itself up by morning.” He chuckled and inspected the wound, his eyes flicking over to Jaskier. “Haven’t done that since I was a child sharpening my first dagger,” he said.

“Did you cut yourself often in training?” Jaskier asked.

“No, not so often. We didn’t waste wrappings on such small scrapes either.”

There was a distracting shadow of red seeping through the cloth. Jaskier scoffed. “So you let it bleed into the open air, did you?”

“We were less inclined to coddle than humans.”

“Coddle?” Jaskier said, raising an offended hand to his chest. “My dear, a dressing is hardly evidence of coddling. If I wished to coddle you, I’d kiss it better and sing a little chant.”

Geralt presented his hand to Jaskier, smirking humorously. “Then do it. I’ve never heard of humans having such power as to kiss wounds better. Would save me a lot of trouble.”

“Erm … ” Jaskier flushed, considering the proffered wound. He nearly made a joke about lacking such power, being no longer human, but he bit it back. To cover his hesitation, he took Geralt’s hand and gently sang the rhyme his nurse used to calm him after a scraped elbow or knee. His tongue rolled musically as he rubbed the dressing carefully. “Sana sana colita de rana, si no sanas hoy, sanarás mañana.” Then he bent his head down to kiss the place.

“I don’t see what frogs’ tails have to do with my hand,” Geralt joked.

But Jaskier did not hear him. Instead, he felt oddly fixed in place, a metallic tang on the tip of his tongue. He opened his mouth slightly, closed it, and licked at his bottom lip to chase the memory of the taste. As he did, his tongue scraped the end of a long, pointed tooth. He stumbled back unsteadily, muttered his excuses, and fled to the safety of his bedroll across camp. There he sat, writing nonsense in his notebook as though struck by sudden inspiration.

He’d tasted Geralt’s blood. And now he wanted more.

The next few hunts were blessedly without injury. Jaskier found he was able to breathe again. It twisted his gut whenever Geralt went off to fulfill a contract, and his conscience was at odds with this new obsession. He wanted Geralt to come back whole and unharmed. But he wanted some cut, some smallest scrape upon which to lathe his tongue. When he thought of it, he felt a stirring in his gums, and touching the place, he found the fangs had grown in again. It took concentration to hide them again. He took to smiling with his mouth closed after the first incident, and he developed a habit of biting his lips.

When they came to a larger town, Jaskier went straight to the butcher. To quell his growing need, he bought fresh meat, sneaking a sip from the blood dish beneath the draining sheep’s carcass while the butcher’s back was turned. It had the strangest effect on him. Within minutes of leaving the butcher’s shop, he felt light-headed. He felt drunk, in short, and he wobbled his way to the inn, a giggle in his throat.

For dinner, he asked the potmaid to send the loin to the cook and surprised Geralt with it: a small treat to celebrate his recent hunting success. In truth, he wanted nothing to do with it, festering in the shame of his lie. The loin had merely been an excuse: something to keep the butcher busy while he drank his curiosity like some writhing leech dredged up from the water.

It made him drunk. He made note of it in his book and swore that would be the end of things. This odd affair made it easy to forget, his stomach turning in guilt and disgust at the thought of repeating the act. He was fine and healthy without blood, therefore there was no need to partake. He could go the rest of his life perfectly happy never drinking another drop. Until the day it fell from Geralt’s lip.

Jaskier stared at it from across the room. Geralt had just returned from a fight, his eyes and blood black with potion. His armour was scratched up, covered in foulness from monsters unknown, but he was alive and whole, hardly bruised. Jaskier tried to focus on the smell of the guts dripping from his armour. It was still as disgusting as ever, even with vampiric senses to influence his opinion. The wretched blood was still unappetizing. But above it, he smelled a strange scent: sweet, a touch of iron. And there, shining on Geralt’s lip, the wet glisten of blood.

He swallowed hard as Geralt wiped the cut on the back of his hand. The blood smudged along his chin, all the more enticing. His knuckles turned white on the sheet of his bed as he held himself in place. Ordinarily, he would be up on his feet to help coax Geralt out of his armour by now, but he did not trust himself to be so close.

Geralt shed his shoulder pads, looking at Jaskier from the corner of his eye. “It’s a bit slippery,” he said. He inclined his head, beckoning Jaskier over. That was their way. They did not ask things from one another. It was simple routine, and the brief lapse was something awkward to acknowledge.

What excuses could he provide? Jaskier stood on trembling legs and made his way, biting his own lip to hide the fangs he felt beginning to grow. His fingers were clumsy as he fumbled with the clasps, far too close to Geralt’s face. His breath caught, watching a bead of dark blood roll down his lip, over his chin. His lip was stained black.

Geralt had always had nice lips, Jaskier felt. He was always reminded torturously of this fact when he helped Geralt out of his armour. How could one undress such a man without indulging in the fantasy of what came after, even a little? But oh, it was a dangerous line of thought. Now he was bewitched by his senses, his focus single-mindedly drawn to that point on Geralt’s lip. To kiss him now, to lick the blood from his lip—it would be divine. He felt his heart beat faster at the prospect, his hands stalling to unbuckle Geralt’s breastplate as he stared. Just one taste. One kiss was all he wanted.

A hand pressed against his chest, stopping him short. Jaskier startled out of his unconscious reverie and looked at Geralt in horror. He hadn’t—! Had he? His attention flicked between Geralt’s eyes and his lip, and to his relief, the blood remained untouched.

“Not just now,” Geralt said, voice rumbling in his chest. “The potions might paralyze you—at least for a day. Anything lesser would die from a drink of it. It turns my blood to poison.”

Jaskier blinked, edging back. “I … don’t understand your meaning,” he feigned.

Geralt followed him, stepping forward. He raised a hand, caressing Jaskier’s cheek gently. “I know,” he said. “You’re not the best at keeping secrets. I noticed some time ago you stopped aging, and there’s no shadow at your feet, even on the brightest afternoon.”

He swiped his thumb over Jaskier’s bottom lip. Jaskier gasped, his lips parting, and Geralt pushed in. Then, his thumb was pushing Jaskier’s top lip away, revealing a glistening fang. He nodded, satisfied, and stepped back once more.

“You’re a vampire,” Geralt said. “And not a common one either. My medallion doesn’t react to you at all.” He chuckled and added, “As if you could be common by any measure.”

Jaskier turned away, picking up one of Geralt’s shoulder pads. He clutched it to his chest, whether for protection or for comfort he could not say. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I was afraid to tell you … afraid what you might say. What you … might do.”

A warm hand smoothed down his arm comfortingly. There was a teasing quality to Geralt’s voice when he spoke. A hand wrapped around Jaskier’s waist, making him nearly jump in surprise.

“In regards to what: the knowledge that you’re a vampire, or the knowledge that you want to kiss me?” Geralt asked, words hot against Jaskier’s neck.

Jaskier shivered, the adrenaline of his fear quickly turning to something sweeter. “Both,” he sighed. He closed his eyes, trying to focus, to understand Geralt’s intent.

“You cannot drink of me tonight,” Geralt whispered, “but I can satisfy that other hunger, if you only have the discipline to keep your teeth to yourself.”

“What are you saying, Geralt?” The way Geralt’s hand slipped lower and lower down his front, Jaskier thought he knew. Even so …

Geralt chuckled, nose pressing to the back of Jaskier’s neck. “I’m saying I’m tired of the way you look at me like a man starving and refuse to do something about it. It’s gotten worse. It was bad enough before, waiting for you to make your move, but since your turning, it’s insufferable. I feel like the centerpiece of a banquet, waiting to be devoured.”

“You said I couldn’t kiss you,” Jaskier said, breath coming up short as he felt himself pressed back against a firm chest, a second hand coming up to tug at the edge of his chemise. “I have no discipline whatsoever. And you know that.”

“Well then.”

Jaskier dropped the plate of armour as he was pushed backward. He fell, his knees caught by the edge of the bed. Arms caged him on either side, and above him. Geralt smiled, a drop of blood falling onto the sheets below. He pressed his thumb to Jaskier’s mouth once more, something ravenous in his eyes.

“Well then,” he repeated. “Looks like I’ll have to devour you instead.”

#my fic #drabbles #witcher #the witcher #geraskier #geralt #jaskier #vampire!jaskier #highervampire!jaskier #showing off a bit of my culture there with the little rhyme #mexican / irish blended household baby!#sadly though I learned the rhyme from spanish classes instead of from my family lmao #such is life #lips black as the rose fic #persie's tag #I TOLD you I'd leave things unfulfilled #suffer

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paleblood-skyler · 4 years

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Some thoughts on my fascination with the horrible places in BB and DeS

...or how I learned to stop worrying and enjoy the swamp..?

Some area spoilers for Demon’s Souls, since that’s probably the least played one, as the Valley of Defilement got me thinking more about the role and strange beauty of awful places in Soulsborne.

In every Dark Souls game, you get some eye candy. Whether it’s Anor Londo, Heide, the Dragon Aerie, Irithyll, or the Ringed City, there are vistas of plain aesthetic beauty that serve as a sort of reward for getting as far as you have. But as I was trudging through the poison swamp in the Valley of Defilement, it struck me that Bloodborne and Demon’s Souls don’t really have an equivalent for that striking vista. It seems somewhat natural in BB’s case since it’s oriented toward horror and doesn’t quite allow for the same kind of jaw-dropping visual moments in the traditional sense. But DeS, while certainly oriented more toward horror than its Dark Souls cousins, is a similar medieval fantasy game that is composed solely of the absolute worst places one can find themselves in. BB and DeS have no straightforwardly visual respite, no reward of towering grandeur to appease the downtrodden adventurer. Prisons are succeeded by swamps, swamps are succeeded by toxic hamlets, and the putrid dregs of human life and society seem to go on without end. Everything has reached a ripe stage of decadence, and to possibly make matters worse, the player is here to advance the cycle of misery and violation.

Standing in the Valley of Defilement, you see all the imaginable and unimaginable refuse of humanity filtering into the depths, a place where some have found a home. It is inarguably vile with its slugs, plague-bearing rodents, and fetuses that have seeped slowly to the ultimate pools where they fester interminably. Yet I couldn’t help but feel that this place was at least very honest. The Souls games often have an infection of illusions, the evils of the world being the falsities and the lies thrust upon the masses by those with the power to manufacture falsities and lies. Then how strangely refreshing it is to be knee-deep in a swamp that is so unashamedly a true representation of what it is. There are no lies here, what you see is what you get. The Valley is both defiled and a site of infinitely continuing defilement, and yet there’s this nugget of realness and purity at the heart of it (even literally, if you know what I mean).

Miyazaki’s games quickly became infamous for the dreary depictions of their worlds, and in response to this he said something simple like “the alternative doesn’t seem realistic to me.” It was a very natural direction, and it’s indicative of a core philosophy that drove many aspects of the Soulsborne experience, including the challenge. The game isn’t interested in allowing the player to win and progress with ease--it’s much more interested in the process of figuring out an encounter, struggling with it, and eventually gritting it out and coming to an understanding that enriches the player. It’s such a natural direction that--if memory serves--Bloodborne’s pre-release material made next to no mention of the game’s difficulty. This is just a manifestation of the kind of idea that populates the world with prisons, swamps, and violated villages.

I’ve been ruminating on finding the definition of this core idea. You could certainly call it the scarcity of beauty, but this is something of a negative definition that focuses on the lack of a thing rather than the thing itself, which doesn’t feel Soulsish to me. Maybe most of all it can be described as the simple joy of the process and the dispelling of illusions. The joy of finding honesty in nightmare swamps; the joy of learning how to fight a tough boss; the dispelling of the illusion that reality is a way that it really isn’t; and the dispelling of the illusion that you can’t defeat the enemy. These ideas seem wonderfully eastern to me, as western thought by contrast is often preoccupied with results, rewards, and immediate pleasures. Eastern thought--specifically recalling Taoism, Buddhism, and Hinduism--by my shaky understanding, appears to be more interested in processes, the goodness of doing whatever one does, and the appreciation of whatever beauty happens to reveal itself on the way. The journey rather than the destination, I suppose. A beautifully manifested idea that truly distinguishes the likes of Souls from their western fantasy counterparts; encouraging one to appreciate the spectral shimmering and childlike demeaner of Rom upon her Moonside Lake, the humbling vistas of outer darkness opened by failed Great Ones, and the simple pleasure of learning the smallest of things--all because the world is tinged with heaviness, misfortune, and a deep sadness that makes the smallest and strangest of lights so captivating. I adore Irithyll, but lately I’ve been taken by this sense of “wholeness” and trueness that invisibly radiates from the blighted and dismal depths of these worlds. I’m so glad that of all the tropes, the horrible poisonous swamp is the one we can count on appearing in every Souls game--it’s rather emblematic of the way that they’re all built conceptually.

#note #thoughts #bloodborne #demon's souls #swamp warning

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sisterpiranha · 4 years

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What to do when you nemesis gets a boyfriend and doesn't have time for your rivalry anymore?

I woke up today and I couldn't get this idea out of my head. So I had to write it. Also. this is inspired in a post I've read on tumblr some time ago, but I can't find it now. If somebody knows what I'm talking about and has it at hand, let me know!

Also, yes, the first few paragraphs are just exposition. And this is completely self-indulgent and completely not serious. Not really sorry.

Nobody beta this but my own conscience.

Summary: Johnny gets a boyfriend and Daniel's whole world is shaken.

Pairing: Johnny Lawrence/Daniel Larusso (endgame), Johnny Lawrence/omc

Rating: No sex, but there’s some explicit language, I guess.

CHAPTER 1

Six months after Kreese was arrested and Johnny Lawrence got Cobra Kai back, things seemed to have gone back to normal. Daniel still wasn't happy about the other dojo, but he could now at least accept that it wasn't the same toxic place it had been in his youth. And the San Fernando valley was certainly big enough for both.

The two men reached an uneasy truce, that went as far as to refer students to the other dojo when they thought their philosophy was better suited for them.

And sure, he was now divorced, living on his own in an apartment. And he had also become little more than a figurehead in his own business. But it was fine, everything was fine. He was doing what he loved. Amanda and he had agreed to keep the relationship amicable. And his new place was closer to Miyagi-Do. He was, in short, generally happy.

When the date of the All-Valley Karate Championship arrived, Daniel brought most of his older students, but he knew that Sam and Robby were the ones who had the greatest chance of winning. And of course, Cobra Kai had to be there, too. They made its now traditional entrance to the delight of the announcer and the crowd. Johnny's flashy style had made the dojo popular, and, here and there among the audience, you could see people wearing Cobra Kai t-shirts and waving Cobra Kai flags. It made Daniel scoff. He would never debase karate like that just for the sake of merchandising.

Johnny entered after his students, followed by Miguel. The boy, decked in his black gi, moved swiftly on his crutches. He might not be competing, but he was his sensei's right-hand man and, in may ways, the heart of the dojo, so his presence was essential, even if it was just to give support.

Daniel tried to meet Johnny's eyes. He wanted the man to see him rolling his eyes at their flashy behaviour and needless commercialization of karate, but Johnny's eyes were focused on something else. Or rather, on someone else, a tall male someone else. He was standing in the sidelines saying something to Johnny and smiling. Johnny was also smiling and nodding. But the strangest thing of all was that, when the announcer started talking again, the man caressed Johnny's arm before he went to sit with the audience.

Daniel frowned just as Johnny looked in his direction. He couldn't decipher the man's expression, so he just turned his back and went to speak with Sam, deciding to ignore the whole incident.

And once the tournament started, Daniel forgot all about the stranger. He would never admit it out loud, but he loved seeing Johnny so supportive of his students. Win or lose, he'd be there to pat them in the back and give them words of encouragement. He regretted not seeing that sooner, not seeing how hard Johnny tried to do what was best, even if he didn't always go about the right way.

One by one, the students fought, and Daniel couldn't help but feel impressed about their progress. Eventually, Robby took the lead for Miyagi-do and Aisha, for the Cobras. And soon, they were facing each other in the final fight. They were well matched. Robby was a quick fighter with a knack for analysing his rival's style so he could predict their moves. Aisha was not as fast, but she had endurance on her side and an unpredictability that eventually allowed her to come on top.

When the referee raised her arm the whole place erupted in cheers. Robby was graceful in his defeat, he shook her hand and move away to let the celebrating Cobras surround her, and even some members of Miyagi-do joined them.

Daniel smiled at her from a distance, letting her enjoy her moment with her peers. Then he went to talk to Robby. He had fought a good fight and he told him so, but the boy didn't seem too concerned about having lost. He patted him in the back and went to look for Johnny. Robby wasn't the only one who could be grateful in defeat. But what he saw when he found him, stopped him in his tracks.

Johnny and the stranger.

Johnny kissing the stranger.

Johnny kissing the stranger who was a man.

And it wasn't just a friendly peck either, he could swear there was some tongue involved. The stranger's arms were around Johnny's neck, and Johnny's around his waist, their bodies plastered against each other. Daniel was fuming. It was completely obscene and inappropriate to do that in front of children. There must be some rule to forbid this in a public arena. And if there wasn't, maybe he would propose one in the next committee meeting.

He was already mentally drafting the proposal and considering if he could retroactively penalise Johnny when a hand on his shoulder stopped him in his tracks.

"Dad?"

Sam was standing there, looking at him with concern.

"Are you ok?" she asked.

"Why wouldn't I be ok?"

"You look... mad, what happened?"

"Nothing, well just..." he signalled Johnny and the stranger still going at it.

"What?" She looked behind his back, confused.

"It's disgusting!"

"Dad! They are just kissing!"

"In front of children!"

"Dad, you're not... You know that's normal, right?"

"I know it is! But not in public!"

Sam sighed. Robby appeared behind him.

"What's going on?"

"My dad has just seen Mr Lawrence with his boyfriend."

"His WHAT!?"

"Yeah, he told me Alex might come."

"Alex?"

"He's a lawyer. He helped my dad a lot with my case, and I guess they clicked."

"I think they are cute, your dad looks happy," Sam commented with a smile.

Daniel snorted but say nothing. The image of Johnny kissing that man was still engraved in his mind and it was making him queazy.

"We have to go. Moon is having a party and we need to change. You don't mind, right?"

"No, sure, go ahead."

"Thanks," Sam said kissing his cheek. "See you later!"

Daniel looked at his daughter and student walking away distractedly, as he mentally considered inviting the rest of the committee members to dinner to see if he could get them on board his "code of conduct" idea.

"Larusso."

And suddenly, Johnny was right in front of him. And at least he had the decency of being alone. But his cheeks were flushed and his lips were pink and wet, and Daniel couldn't stop looking at them.

"John," Daniel managed to say, trying to sound as cold and aloof as he could.

"What crawled up your ass? If you're mad about Aisha winning..."

"No, of course not!"

"Then what's happening?"

"What's happening your indecent spectacle back there," he said trying to control his anger and failing.

"My what? We were just kissing!"

"Just kissing?! That wasn't just kissing!"

"I don't know what to tell you, Larusso. I mean, if you don't recognise kissing when you see it, then I'm starting to understand why your wife divorced you," Johnny laughed.

"What did you say?" Daniel took a step forward, ready to pounce.

"Relax! It was just a joke!" Johnny said putting his hands up. "Really, what's wrong with you?"

"Nothing is wrong with me. Since when are you gay, anyway?

"I'm not gay."

"Well, the guy sucking your face a moment ago may have something to say about that."

"No, I'm bi. Bisexual. I still like chicks, but I like some cock too if you know what I mean."

"Ugh, you're disgusting."

"I'd have never taken you for a homophobe."

"I'm not a homophobe!"

"You could have fooled me."

"I just don't like seeing children exposed to... that. You better not be doing that in your dojo too!"

"No, don't worry, I don't kiss him in the dojo," Johnny said smiling, "I just suck his dick."

Daniel groaned, which made Johnny laugh.

"I'm serious, Lawrence. I can get you banned from the tournament for indecency."

"Yeah? And what do you think the committee is going to do about you being homophobic?"

"For the last time, I'm not homophobic!"

"Sure, whatever you say, Larusso. I gotta go, my boyfriend is waiting for me outside. We are going to have dinner and then we are going to fuck our brains out, possibly right there in the restaurant."

"You're such a dick."

"At least I'm getting some. I hear all you're getting lately is your right hand. So I better go. I don't want to keep you from your date."

"Go fuck yourself!"

"I already have someone to do it for me!" and with that, Johnny walked away laughing.

Daniel looked around. Everyone else was gone. He wanted to kick something in the face, something blond and cocky. And maybe his boyfriend too. He kicked a balloon hard, but it just floated slowly for a few meters and then came down again. He needed to go to Miyagi-Do and do some katas.

#lawrusso #cobra kai #johnny lawrence #daniel larusso #needed the distraction #back to my bullshit #but I didn't abandoned my other bullshit #I have enough bullshit for both

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zhonglishrine · 4 years

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God is Good and never Evil

Pairing: Reader x Fyodor Dostoevsky Word Counts: 5k Note: There’s a lot of heavy context in this with religion and too much unnecessarily philosophy talk of Good and Evil. Originally from my fanfic that I have unpublished and now were revised as stand alone one-shot instead. Credits to my friends Negin, Mel and @soukokuwu for helping me proofread this one and everyone else who helped me with the definition of Good and Evil!

He always thought that he was complicated and no one could understand him. It might be difficult, yes, but not impossible, if you could catch up to the level of his intelligence. But that might also prove to be challenging, as no one actually knows what goes in that genius head but Fyodor himself. He appeared hard to predict and read, and trying to figure him out will only wear you out in futile attempts as he is always three steps ahead of everything, and that’s how he believed himself to be: superior and above everyone else.

Where was he?

Just as you were running out of places to look, you figured out where he might be. If he wasn’t in his private library reading his massive collection of books, then he would be inside his music room, spending time alone with his mind while playing his dear cello. He always spends his time thinking about various things; about the world he wants to cleanse and simple things that he came across in his martyr. You know your dear Fedya, he is an excessively meticulous man- perfection is what he always strives for and no mistakes are permitted. Sometimes when in doubt he would go back just to make sure everything went according to plan. Despite his overbearing confidence, he bites his thumb until it bleeds, and the gnawing exhaustion shown on his face when he is deprived of sleep after staying awake for several days straight, lets you know how fragile he still is.

After all, no matter how grandiose his claims are to you and how ridiculous they might sound, he is still a mortal being. No God would bleed and no God would need rest like he does, because isn’t God supposed to be all perfect? He still has his limits, though you always want to remind him not to push his frail body too much. How little he would bite off his loaf of bread, simply adequate to satiate his hunger and no more, his body emaciated day by day with the little care he put. However, Fyodor doesn't like it when he is reminded of those petty things, and so most of the time he prefers to be left alone. No words are spoken on the topic, but you know; he doesn’t need to explain every single basic detail for you to know. He knows what he is doing and needs no mothering from you or anyone else. He can actually be a bit childish and immature sometimes, and that's a trait he didn’t even realize he had; flaws that he didn’t want to admit but you noticed.

He is still a young man, too young to shoulder all the rest of the world’s sin, but he took the matter into his own hands and let it be soaked and tainted in blood of his sacrifices and fallen victims within his act of mercy.

Entering his room, a tray in your hands with a glass and ferrous sulfate tablets for him to take, you carefully tread your steps forward, not making any audible noise to disturb his moment of quietude.

The tranquil and calm tune overflows like an external heartbeat with each rhythm, and the volume crescendo in sweet vibrations octave to your hearing ears. His nimble and deft movements on the instrument play ever so gracefully, creating the heavenly sounds that soothe your quivering heart.

There are no words present, but every dance of his slender fingers on each string manifest their own poetry, and it guides you to an ode to his own universe. He changes his pace and tone, sometimes quick and sometimes it becoming slow, his eyes shut closed as his delicate hand moves the bow, scraping the hair against the string as he angles it differently. His raven tresses draped around his pale complexion follow his movements as he tilts his head with the tempo, his legs spread and toes curling the more he gets into it. He was in his own world and he is sending you an auditory message through your mind, telling you the unspoken journey he has gone through in his pilgrimage, inviting you to join him sail over the oceans of tunes that filled the grandeur ambiance in rapt silence, like he was the captain of his ship and you were his crew.

When it is faint and low – he is feeling sorrow and sadness.

When it is heavy and strong – he is feeling regret and remorse.

When it is high-pitched and piercing – he is feeling angry and furious.

When it is gentle and soft – he is feeling bliss and a sense of gratefulness.

There are so many emotions he conveys through the cello that rests against his frame on his left shoulder, as if he was lamenting alone from the exuberant song that he orchestrates. Akin to how waves would crash through the shore and saturate every breach lying within the grains of sand, it rushes to fill your hollow soul. This tide continues to flourish, seeping into your veins and healing you like a divine medicine with the superfluous melody as you continue to watch and listen in great trance, almost as though you were spellbound by it. There's just something about how Fyodor can make it sing and scream so beautifully it’s so painful to hear.

Just what is this...?

Why...why have you started to cry...?

Your hand clutches at your chest, clenching down. Why does it hammer so painfully inside your ribcage? It was as if the music was the exact voice that you have long since lost. Your throat burns in quietness and your vision becomes blurry with a dot of crystal pearl, until it drops and becomes a small rivulet staining your cheek. In the equilibrium of each note he plays, it tells a different story. A story that you felt as if you were a part of it. From the beginning of birth, soft and calm, it portrays the innocence of a newborn baby that you are. Then, it starts to pace up slightly, the progress of your life. As you grow, you face struggle and hardship in life, and it starts to go faster. A lot of details then take place, you experience a variety of emotions like a crashing wave, you make a decision and you sin through your voyage. And at the end, it becomes slow again, life becomes slower and the flame that ignites you starts to dim until it eventually extinguishes as you take your last breath.

Just like the music that grows ever so faint, it eventually fades by the end of the bow that caresses against the string before it departs.

Fyodor opens his eyelids, revealing a pool of his violet orbs with a crescent shaped illumination within, soon after a stillness encompassing the air with serenity. He flutters his lashes, his gaze landing on you as you still stand with a tray in your hand before him. Your glossy eyes sparkle like rubies before the dull brightness of the candlelight, and you simply keep on staring at him with never-ending tears. At this, Fyodor curves the corner of his lips to form a thin smile, then speaking to break the silence, "Tell me... what do you think of Good and Evil?"

Fumbling with your thoughts, you thrive to answer the sudden inquiry with your muddled mind. Fyodor plays another classical piece of music to fill the gap in the meanwhile. Perhaps it was from Tchaikovsky, Prokofiev, Rachmaninoff or from someone else entirely. You weren’t sure which one, since he knew many different famous composers, but that is not important to guess right now.

"Good is..." You begin, ransacking your brain to formulate your thought and remember what the definition of the concept is. There are many standards for good and evil around the world as noted by philosophers throughout history, and it differs with each religion that exists, but for the basic definition of it, then they are almost about the same. It is akin to two notes in the same symphony. Each thing in nature changes according to the opposites; like hard ice melts into water which is then soft, the combination resulting in a harmonious whole. Just like how it is in music, harmony results from the combination of low and high notes, while in our universe harmony flows from the combination of the opposites that are good and evil.

"Having the moral and compassion to do the right thing. And evil is the opposite, it is wicked and in all immoral sense.”

Fyodor raises his brow slightly, hearing rather a short reply from you. "But if I do evil deeds for the greater goods of mankind, what does that make me? Do you think evil is not necessary after all?" He counters your statement, and you know exactly what he means by it, as he planned to wipe away all ability users from this world. Regardless of races, genders, and ages. There could be an innocent child that never did any bad deed, there could be an old man waiting for his last breath, there could be a woman who never knows they have the ability. Regardless of the sacrifices he shall make; he will still make his goal come true without any sparing mercy and treat them all equally. Like plucking the weeds before they grow wild in his garden or trim the one that has wilt.

“I am not sure about that. But isn't evil supposed to only bring harm?”

Fyodor subtly chuckled, and you were unsure whether he agreed or not.

“Then I will have to ask you something. Do you like scorpions and snakes?”

Again, when he is in the mood to indulge himself with these sorts of discussions and questions, he always asks the strangest thing and you always have to dissect the meaning behind it, whether he was thinking about it or it is just something random that crossed his mind.

“Well, I don’t really dislike them. But they are poisonous and dangerous if not handled carefully.”

“True, that is the most logical thing to think. However, that wasn’t it at all.”

“May I know what you mean by that?”

Pressing the topic further, he scrapes his bow in a deep thought, a few seconds elapsed in his silence.

“Scorpions and serpents are poisonous indeed. But are they really good or evil, for they are existing beings? Yes, a scorpion is evil in relation to man; as is a serpent; but in relation to themselves they are not evil, for their poison is their weapon, and by their sting they defend themselves."

Fyodor remembers that he has read the quote somewhere when he did his research before. He had a deep fascination to learn through different religions there in this world. What makes it interesting for him is how every single religion has its own God and belief but none of them can prove their God exists. At the very least for him, that’s the conclusion he came to. That is why at one point, he thought that if there is no God then he would become one himself. His God complex didn’t just develop in one night, it took him many, many days and nights searching for his answer and he found none after seeing the world at its demise and the despair it has.

Interesting thing about what he just said is that, Good and Evil is the embodiment of how his ability is. Still, it was a mystery to you, but you have seen how it works when Fyodor touches someone and they drop dead and fall to his feet, just by the tip of his fingers. Crime and Punishment that is neither good or evil. In the eyes of someone he might have seen as someone dangerous with that ability, a demon clocked in angel disguise, but neither can they judge which one is his true nature.

And if all people aren’t good or evil and they're just people that sometimes do cruel things because they have to, you wonder what that makes him if that was the case.

The evil one?

A demon?

Or... a Savior?

"So your intentions...define itself with what good and evil is as long as you know."

He hums, "Care to elaborate it?"

"I... l think it depends on our belief, the interpretation of our choice. Good and Evil is a paradoxical concept that is inherent in human nature, but man has to be rational with them. People are inherently “evil” while society's perspective of good comes from sustained effort. It is a very humane construct because it has to do with morals, and pretty much because no other animal has this compass. There are several concepts of good and evil, first is the collective good or evil, in which society dictates what is what. This however, differs for each individual, depending on their own moral compasses so they may agree or disagree with society. It helps maintain societal structure, but at the same time, good and evil can be viewed as pretty nonexistent simply because it is a social construct.”

He listens to your explanation as his hand never stops from playing the instrument. Again, you continue.

“But such trivial concepts are just definitions pun on abstract concepts. There is no line between good and evil. It's only the perspective that defines how something is seen, close to how war is portrayed by the winner in a way and by the loser in another way. That's why in some cases, murder can be good. Because in the eyes of a murderer, it's always good. Even the people that do charity sometimes do it to feel good themselves and beliefs say that itself is a sin therefore a bad thing. Since everything came and was given birth by God itself. He is the one that creates everything, all things that are good. But good things alone can be evil if one indulges too much in it and evil things can be good as long as we stay away from it... but purely based on intention is not all right either, for mere intention cannot make a bad act good. But a bad act performed in good faith can be excused but it cannot be classified as a good act either."

Based on your answer, he took his time to assess and ask you the next inquiry that piqued his interest.

"So, you do believe in God's existence too?"

"I..." You ponder for a moment before answering, your tongue somehow feels somewhat dry with the said inquiry. "I am not sure... there can be one, and there can be none. It depends on the reality we see, and the faith we held or the religion we have. I'm sorry if my answer is vague..."

"Hmm. It's fine, I don't blame you. I understand." He assures you and arches his head upward, exposing the bulb of his Adam's apple that was visible on his exposed neck. In this moment, he relished the time when someone was engaging in his long spiel.

"The good want power, but to weep barren tears. The powerful goodness want: worse need for them. The wise want love; and those who love want wisdom."

Fyodor says in soft oration, quoting a line from Percy Bysshe Shelley. "In the Garden of Eden, God creates an apple and forbids Adam and Eve to eat it. He is who all-knowing, know that one of them would eat it, but yet he still created man in immature form, created man that will end up resorting to eating it, created the talking snakes knowing it would coerce man into eating it, even already predicting it and going as far as to plan on what state would come after they did. Now which decision was good and evil? Was it a good thing to eat the apple if a man knows that was good for them? Or was it evil to go against the God that created them because they were tempted by the very snake He created?"

Although it seems as if he is asking you, the question was more so directed to himself, so you do not speak to answer him. He continues again with a solemn voice, Fyodor shifting his head again and now staring at the floor, "Sadly, since the beginning, humans are already reigned by sinful nature. They know the consequences of their actions, yet they still can not resist and repel the radiance from the fruit itself; to taste the knowledge of Good and Evil. They then bring chaos to this world, staining the land with corruption from their deadly vices and tyranny. You have seen how foolish humans can be, haven't you? The futile war that you fought, the countless meaningless bloodshed that you witnessed, all because the stupidity that was bred from humanity itself as they keep repeating the same history."

Casting your gaze down into your reflection on the surface of water, there are faint memories flashing by from when you were a soldier. Though not very vivid, the vague image is still there, flickering at the back of your mind in a blaze; the image of mangled bodies, blown apart children, blood running into gutters, rain of missiles dropping like flies on the ground and explosions everywhere blowing up like fireworks. You were there in the front lines, fighting for your own people, for their peace and nation, ready to sacrifice your life. But that was all a fleeting memory of your past; you do not need it anymore. Albeit, there is this simmering feeling that stirs within the deepest recess of your heart, a raging feeling of being betrayed and being cast aside and locked down for years. All because of fear. A fear that came from the fruit of knowledge itself that you were a dangerous ability user. With the said knowledge also comes power, with power comes corruption, and with corruption comes evil; where power becomes absolute, so does evil. War is like a disease festered inside man's heart, and it spreads like a plague and wildfire. Yet sometimes, it’s a necessary one, when the conflict could not be resolved in a peaceful way and war was unavoidable. Then, was it a good thing if it involves mass sacrifice? In a world where the hierarchy of power and different classes of society exist, could man settle the conflict without getting into argument, without evil influence their judgment and without discrimination between their different views and opinions?

Even up until today, there's no ending for human suffering and pain. Left and right you can hear the screaming silent voice cry out for Justice, with a voice pregnant with tears, broken hearts and despair, and the blood of innocents that was spilled when the world's leader moved their piece on the world map like playing a game of simple chess against their opponent. From the first World's War, the Holocaust, systemic genocide, gulags, famine, earthquakes, disease and so forth. All were rooted from the cause of Evil. And Evil first entered the world because Adam and Eve ate the fruit of the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil, which God had forbidden them.

"But... if God did not create the apple in the first place... then would Good and Evil cease to exist?"

Fyodor scrapes one long tune, he closed one eye from your question with another thin smile.

"A predictable nuance that one would think of if we were to avoid all the root of origin. If we put the blame to God itself by essentially placing all blame on Him, then it will prevent the problem of humanity blaming each other. But the problem of evil is the problem of accounting for evil in a world created by an all-powerful, all-knowing, all-good God. It seems that if the creator has these attributes, there would be no evil in the world. But there is evil in the world. Thus, there is reason to believe that an all-powerful, all-knowing, all-good creator does not exist." He says with a scoffing voice, "It is therefore natural to think of God's commandment forbidding Man to eat of the fruit of the Tree of Knowledge as ironic since God Himself had planted this very same tree in the garden. If God hadn't placed the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil in the Garden of Eden in the first place, Adam and Eve wouldn't have sinned and the world's problems would be moot." He changes his bow pace to create a different tune, "If God exists then, he is testing the virtue and the faith of man by placing the tree in the garden. Then, a man by their own free will may choose their decision to choose between Good and Evil. Back to my question earlier, man could choose to obey the commandment and choose to do Good, or man could choose to disobey the commandment and choose to do Evil. However, if both choices ceased from existence, then humans will truly be free from their sins. But that would mean that people would have no choice to do evil, since evil is completely being erased. And without the choice of doing good, people will be happy not because they are happy, but because there is no longer the choice to be sad. They will only experience positive emotions, because the concept of suffering and pain has been removed and taken away from them. But would that really be a bad thing if one wishes to continue feeling happy without all the negative emotions? And would that be a bad thing if one will not make any evil deeds anymore? The line between good and wrong is distinctly thin after all as you said, as human is stupid to differentiate between what is Good and Evil for them." Fyodor gives the answer then counter it back with his question.

"However, wouldn't that be a blissful world if there was no Good and Evil? Ivan is the perfect example for that concept of being robbed from his negative emotion to be in a state of eternal bliss without any suffering had the apple never been created in the first place, and he would do all Evil simply because he does not see it as Evil since Evil does no longer exist in him." And he, as though acting as God, praised his own creation in delight and fervor that it reflects in his eyes. "You said it yourself that the Good and Evil interpretation is based on what we believe. That isn't exactly wrong now, is it?"

You remain silent to think about it for a moment. Then, with or without it, the world is still fated to be doomed. Evil is still created through man's misuse of his own power to act. He gets into evil of his own. Man misuses his discretion to act under pressure of his desires and satisfaction of his sentiments. That is why man is a sinful creature. With their own carnal desire, they will end up destroying each other even knowing the outcome and aware that they were being controlled by their own avarice. Simply, a foolish human being as he always stated.

Fyodor finishes playing the cello and the music fades from your ears. You instantly feel like you miss hearing it once he has done.

"Ah, pardon me for making you listen to my long ramble, you can put that on the table, I will get to it later." He gestured to the tray you held since the start that has few tablets and glass of translucent water. However, you knew better than anyone else that he might get engrossed into his work later on and forgot to take it so you have to be stricter.

"It's fine... but Ivan would be mad at me if he knows you haven't taken your pills..." You reply back with an even tone, but your hand was quivering from the intense feeling whirling like a torrent inside your heart from listening to his soliloquy, unsure how to feel. You love listening to his voice, and you were trying to digest every word he says. Each time you listen to his long speeches, it's like he is telling you a bedtime story, but with heavy context related to his ideologies. It always left you to think with your own reasoning. Fyodor took notice of that, and he rested the cello on its stand. He gestures to you to come closer to him and your feet move on their own as if he has a magnetic force to command you so.

"Make me," He said with a small smirk adorned his visage.

You creased your eyebrow in confusion at first, "Sorry...?"

"Make me so I can take those pills." He repeated again, now with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"How do I make you?" Your question was anything but innocent. However, for him, that just gives him a chance to tease. A moment he would rarely display.

"Here, I'll make it easy for you." He took the pill from your hand. "Now..." And he guides it to put it on his tongue as he parts his mouth. "Make me swallow it."

Faint blush erupted across your cheeks, and your usual straight expression slightly flustered. Seeing you that way, he merely chuckled. "Hmm? What are you waiting for? Didn't you say Ivan would be mad if I didn't take my pills yet?"

"Ah, yes... that is true." Gulping and with your shaky hand, you place the tray at the nearest desk, taking the glass to sip an amount of water hesitantly. Your eyes dart everywhere as you don’t know how to proceed and avoid eye contact with him as you close your eyes, leaning closer to his face inch by each with your heart beating loudly. You can smell his lavender scent; you didn't know whether it was from his shampoo or his perfume, but nevertheless it invites and guides you. You then open your eyes again, seeing he was looking at you with such an amused expression when you felt his warm lips collide as he drank the water from your mouth, your whole face beginning to heat up again and how you wish you could disintegrate by embarrassment right now. Fyodor tucks the strands of your hair behind, and the lump from his throat swallowed both the pill and the water you transferred to him directly. His tongue sweeps across your moisten lips and he tugges it teasingly in between, nibbling it softly. You relish it as much as you can, desperately craving the affection he gives you for some more.

He broke the kiss, gazing at your flushed face as he lifts your chin to prevent you from looking elsewhere with a small chuckle, "Now, that isn't so hard, isn't it?"

How you hate it that he could pull this confidently without getting flustered as you are. All the more reason when he is enjoying it. But you can never resist him, can you? Not after he has taken so much space inside your heart.

"F... Fyodor..." Your lips tremble calling after his name, there was desperation laced in your voice, a need in your eyes. He looks into you with an adoring unadulterated gaze.

"Hmm?"

"May I...?"

"What? Oh? You mean that..." Understanding what you want from him, Fyodor spread his arms widely. "Alright, you may as you wish."

Enveloped by his frame dearly with his consent, your hands hug his warm body and you rest your head against his solid chest, hearing the rhythmic beat of his heart. Although he plays such beautiful music with his cello, there's no music that ever sounds better than this. You feel his warmth spread on you, and when he returns and gives you a hug back, placing his hand at the back of your spine and he begins to stroke it, your heart swells with happiness. His touch is like a remedy to your starved soul, and it wasn't frequent that you get the chance to be with him this way since he was rarely present at the base.

Fyodor is indeed a strange man, and his mind is always complicated to understand. You never know or could tell what he was thinking. He is no God like Prometheus, not son of Lapetus and Themis. Not the champion of mankind known for his wily intelligence, who stole fire from Zeus and the gods and gave it to mortals. He is just he, a human named Fyodor Dostoevsky. A man who is acting in the place of God to carry the Good and Evil in this world. To bring salvation and destruction that humanity needs. He took the burden and huge responsibility on his own. That is something that you do admire him greatly. Albeit feeling a bit sad that you could do nothing but can only watch his back.

When he talks, you love to listen and take every detail in. You take a breath in and take in his scent again, calming you, feeling safe to be with him despite the reputation he has. Fyodor is not a man that is a fan of great affection; skin contact with another human being is a foreign concept to him. His ability could be activated at any moment if he so desires it, and then you would die in his arm in serenity. He would cleanse you off from your sin without any pain that torments you further. But he let you savor and indulge the solace he could provide you for now, as he did not dislike the company you have provided him as well. Strange as it may sound to him, he now secretly craves for the attention you give to him, as if he is the only center in your life and you are the only one for him, his dorogaya. How you wish you could stay like this with him forever.

However, you know, forever is a grand wish to have, as there is never a good thing that will last forever as it is with evil in this world. Until the end, he will stand alone, just like God he aspired to be.

#fyodor dostoevsky #fyodor dostoevsky x reader #fyodor x reader #bungou stray dogs #bungoustraydogs #bsd #I never like my works before but this is the one I can be proud of #maybe #fyodor actually doesn't want to take the iron pills #that's why he drag the conversation #as noted of my friend before #he is being extra and more dramatic than gogol lol xD #tell me what you think about this #I hope I don't mess this up #not a christian so things might not be correct

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leejihoonownsmyheart · 4 years

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Haven

Part Six of the 13 Days of Seventeen Series

Summary:

Nothing ever happens in the little town you call home. You run a book store that’s sure to run out of business one day, and you visit the same Diner every Friday. You see the same people every day… Until the day that Jeon Wonwoo moves to town and turns your little comfortable life upside down.

The first time that Jeon Wonwoo walked into your little bookstore you were sure that it would be the last time. He walked in, and you looked up just in time to catch him ducking his head a little in the doorway- your door frame being too tall for his large frame.

His eyes caught yours, but only after they had scanned the room around him, slowly taking in your humble stores’ door. He trailed past the old glass window pane with rusted bolts, to the towering old wooden shelves that looked ready to give out at any moment, to the shabby carpet that covered your creaking wooden floors, and then- only then did his eyes meet yours.

You gave him a bright smile, which he quickly returned- but only after he had fumbled with your doorknob that never really seemed to work right.

“You must be y/n, the bookkeeper,” he stated. You hummed and nodded.

“In the flesh,” you agreed. “And you’re..?”

“Jeon Wonwoo,” he greeted. He walked up to you, hand out-stretched as he quirked his lips up in an awkward smile. You just stared at his hand until he dropped it. You didn’t touch strangers. “Well, I, uh, just moved here.”

You raised an eyebrow.

“You?” You looked him up and down. Large round circle lenses were perched cautiously on the bridge of his nose, a button-up, wrinkles hidden beneath a soft sweater vest that was tucked into his pants. He cleared his throat under the attention.

He was too soft for this city, but you smiled anyway.

“You’ll make a great addition,” you lied. “Welcome to Haven.”

He ate your words, so easily fooled by your blatant lie. He turned to face your onslaught of books, setting his hands on his hips.

“So, what do you suggest? You’re a woman of literature. What’s your preference?”

You leaned back in your chair, letting your head fall back.

“Gee, I wouldn’t know where to start,” you admitted. You looked around at the dusty shelves, putting a bookmark in the book you were currently thumbing through. “I mean, we have a great selection of Thoreau pieces, the ever-classic King if you are looking for a thrill- even-”

“Well, what are you reading right now?” Wonwoo asked you, gesturing towards the book on your desk. You looked down at it’s dark cover, quietly shoving it under your desk.

“Not for sale.”

And certainly not Twilight.

Even more certainly not like the hundredth time you had read Twilight this year alone.

“You know what you look like?” You asked, desperate to change the topic. You didn’t wait for an answer. You got to your feet and wandered deep into the shelves of your little shop. You didn’t even have to ask Wonwoo to follow you, he was quick to be by your side, weaving with you through the maze of books.

You only stopped once you saw the bright red spine of the book you had been looking for. You pulled it off the shelf and plopped it into Wonwoo’s hand.

“Alright!” You exclaimed brightly. “Me Before You, by Jojo Moyes.”

He looked surprised by the appearance of the book, and tenderly took it from your hands. He was quick to read the synopsis on the back of the book, and even faster to quickly flip through the worn pages.

“It looks read,” he commented. You shrugged.

“It’s a small town. Most of these used to belong to people. This one- mine,” you admitted. He smiled.

“Well, with such a glowing recommendation, I’d be an idiot to pass off this deal,” he mumbled. “I’ll take it.”

You smiled at him, and after a moment… A too long moment in which you two just smiled at one another you, you sighed, and walked past him, shaking the smile from his face.

“So, what are you doing moving out here so close to Christmas?” You asked him. He shrugged thoughtfully and watched you carefully as you slide carefully back behind your counter.

“Just getting away,” he replied. “I’m tired of the city I guess.”

You laughed and shook your head as you scanned the barcode on the book.

“No one is ever just tired of the city,” you murmured. You told him the total and he handed you the money for it. “People who come here are always running from something.”

Wonwoo fell silent and didn’t respond to you until he had his book in his hand and a receipt placed inside the inside cover like a bookmark. He cleared his throat uncomfortably.

“I’ll uh, come back once I’ve finished the book,” he murmured softly. You waved at him and pulled your book back out from where you had hidden it. He didn’t say another word before dipping out of your bookstore.

Wonwoo came back a week later, quietly slipping in, with a soft: “Hi”. In your direction. You slid your bookmark into your book and once again slid it under the counter so that he wouldn’t be able to see the cover. You didn’t say hi to him, just watched as he struggled to get the door closed once again. You almost laughed at that display.

Almost, of course, being the key word.

“I finished the book,” he stated softly. You raised an eyebrow at him.

“I see that,” you agreed. “You’re back.”

He nodded and cleared his throat.

“I’m back.”

Instead of departing deeper into the store like you expected him to he wandered up close to your front counter, tapping the old wood with his index finger.

“So, uh, the book used to be yours, right?” He asked. You nodded and rested your head on your balled-up fist.

“It did,” you agreed. He hummed and propped his body up with his elbows on your front counter. It made his face grow just a little too close to yours. You withdrew yourself from the counter and gave him a hesitant look.

“That means the doodle in the back then?”

You at first weren’t sure what he was talking about. It had been ages since you had read that book, much less picked it up and thumbed through it, but then you glanced at him and suddenly you remembered. It wasn’t anything special. A small sketch you had drawn in the back of the book while bored one day, but it was enough that your face started to redden, and your mouth fell open.

“Oh, I-”

Wonwoo cut your apology short with a laugh.

“It was really cute! No need for an explanation. Are you an artist then?”

You rolled your eyes at the accusation.

“I doodle when I’m bored,” you replied pointedly. He smiled at you, and for some reason the look made your heart jump a little.

Why did he look at you like? Like you were someone who mattered so much in his life, when you had only met once before.

“Did you come in here to buy something or..?”

He jumped at your words as if they had shocked him and pulled back from the counter.

“Yeah, well, you know, this book I saw here last time really caught my attention.”

He turned to the side and grabbed the book nearest to him, which happened to be Safe Haven by Nicholas Sparks. You quirked an eyebrow at him.

“Ah, you must be a huge Sparks fan?” You asked. This time it was Wonwoo’s turn to turn red. He tripped a little over his words, pushing one of his hands into his pockets.

“Well, I mean… Who doesn’t like a good romance?”

He flipped the book, glancing at the names in it.

“We know for sure that Katie does.”

You laughed and held your hand out so that he could set the book in it. He did so without hesitation and pulled out his wallet.

“So, there a lot to do in this town?” He asked you. “Other than to read that is.”

You scanned the book in your hand and gave him a skeptical look.

“Well, you can go to the convenience store,” you replied softly. “Or walk to the lake.”

Wonwoo looked at you, a bright smile on his face as he waited for you to tell him more. Instead you handed him his change and receipt.

“Have fun reading Mr. Jeon,” you replied instead. He pouted a little but took the book smiling at you.

“Ah-ha,” he stammered. “Thanks, I’ll make sure to come back after I finish this one too.”

You didn’t in anyway encourage him to do so. You just shrugged and sent him a short farewell wave.

“Have a good day,” you mumbled.

He smiled over your shoulder after you.

“Okay! Will do!” He exclaimed.

Again, the minute that the door shut behind him you imagined that would be the last time that you would see him. But then, before you knew it, the moment that Wonwoo finished a book he would show up in your little shop. Always drumming up awkward conversation about this and that which you always redirected back to the book at hand.

He was going through the strangest assortment of books too. Old philosophy, romantic dramas, romantic comedies, horror, and more. It was ridiculous.

“I mean come on, it’s like he’s just… Picking up random books,” you exclaimed, grasping both of your hands around your cup of coffee. “And he reads them so fast. Who even has that kind of time?”

“You work at a bookstore,” your friend, Jenna responded. You sighed.

“Yeah and even I don’t read through books as fast as he does.”

You set your coffee mug down on the table and leaned back, crossing your arms.

“I just don’t get it, why does he keep coming to my store? Who reads Stephen King’s It and Safe Haven back to back and likes them both?” You asked. Jenna rolled her eyes.

“God, you’re so dull. He clearly has a crush on you.”

You scoffed.

“A crush? On me?” You asked. You shook your head and switched the leg that you had crossed. A moment later you switched it right back. “That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”

Jenna threw her hands in the air, a roll of her eyes being the only indication that she had heard the words at all.

“Yeah because I’m never right about this sort of thing at all,” she murmured. “Honey, I’m married with three kids, I think I know what it means when a guy likes somebody.”

You rolled your eyes.

“See that is your problem. You’ve been married so long you’ve forgotten what romance ever looked like,” you said with a slight scoff. “Coming to a bookstore every week in order to talk to someone isn’t romantic. If he really liked me, he’d like… Ask me out to coffee or something.”

“Some people just aren’t that straight forward,” Jenna denied, waving her hair out of her face. “I mean… Remember when you had a crush on that guy in primary? You didn’t ever tell him you just talked to him about videogames the whole time.”

You rolled your eyes.

“Yeah, but that was in primary,” you stated. “We’re grown adults. He should be able to flirt like one.”

Jenna sighed and reached across the table to pick up your coffee cup.

“You’re so negative,” she mumbled. You ignored her.

If you were negative, then you didn’t know what positive truly was. You had spent your days doing the best things that you could come up with. You helped out all the local businesses, went fishing on Sundays with all the locals, donated to charity whenever you found the time.

Overall, you were definitely not negative. You were just cautious. You never knew what could in happen in life and there was certainly nothing wrong with being prepared for the worst. And while the worst in this situation certainly wasn’t that Wonwoo was not crushing you, you just had to be open to the very real possibility that he didn’t like you.

Because he probably didn’t. After all, you were just some quiet book nerd from the local store. Why would he have a crush on you?

“Hello, y/n!” Wonwoo called as he pushed through your door. Nowadays when he came in, he had no trouble pulling the door closed. In fact, he sometimes mentioned coming in and changing the hinges the door was attached too.

Apparently, their rusty bolts were all that needed adjusting in order to fix the tricky door problem. Something you had never really considered before. It wasn’t even an expensive fix. It was so simple that you couldn’t believe you hadn’t thought about it.

“Hi there Wonwoo,” you murmured. Once again you slide your bookmark into your book, and you went to slide it under the counter when Wonwoo held up a finger.

“Ah come on, don’t hide away your book like that. If you don’t keep reading how will you know what Bella is going to do next?” He asked you, an amused smirk covering his lips. Your face flamed red and you placed your hands protectively over your book.

“How did you find out?” You asked in a hushed embarrassed whisper. Wonwoo laughed aloud.

“Well, only so many books look like the Twilight books,” he stated. You just stared at him. “And all I had to do was ask your friend Jihoon… Why are you embarrassed about being a Twilight Fan?”

You scoffed at the concept.

“I wouldn’t necessarily say that I’m… Embarrassed,” you murmured. “It’s just that, people don’t take girls seriously when they say that they like Twilight. Cause it’s all vampires and werewolves and romance.”

“Okay, but who doesn’t love the combination of fantasy, drama, and romance?” Wonwoo asked suddenly. “Not everyone can pull it off and Stephanie pulls it off flawlessly!”

“Right?” You agreed excitedly. You placed your hands eagerly on the desk and lifted yourself up over the wooden surface. “I mean, it’s so much more then some stupid teen romance! It’s a combination of worlds. It opened the door to a whole knew genre of reading that most people had never even imagined before!”

“And the movies aren’t nearly as awful as everyone wants to say,” Wonwoo agreed. “You know, I never thought I’d meet someone as cool as you who thinks the same way about those books as me.”

You opened your mouth to say something more, something just as excitedly but before you could you caught yourself and slid your hands under your legs.

“I… Never thought I would either,” you admitted.

Wonwoo chuckled, and just as always, he took up the nearest book to him.

“Have you read this one?” He asked you. You snorted.

“Wonwoo, that’s the first book in the Percy Jackson series,” you murmured. “Children read those books.”

Wonwoo gave you an innocent look.

“I’m a child at heart.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at his words.

“Okay, okay, I can’t in good conscious let you buy that book, so what about a transference of services?” You asked him. “You fix my finicky door? I let you take one book every week for free until it’s fixed.”

Wonwoo beamed.

“It’s a deal.”

And just like that, you secured a certain Jeon Wonwoo.

He came into your bookstore every day and while he fixed the door pretty quickly, it wasn’t long before he found some other projects around the store. He fixed your door, replaced the bolts on the window, built you some new bookshelves, even redid your floors.

During his breaks you two would eat lunch together laughing and talking about this and that until he had to go back to work, and then after he was done with his project every now and then you would invite him upstairs.

Sometimes you would read with him, other times you two would watch through the entirety of the Twilight series.

No matter what you two were doing, you found that with Wonwoo… You were happy.

Happier than you had ever been before in your life.

And you’d never had somebody to spend the Christmas season with before like this, and honestly… You liked it a lot.

You suddenly didn’t care why Wonwoo had come to town or why he had started frequenting your bookstore. All you cared was that he was here with you, and you liked him.

You liked this.

“You remember what you said that one time… Everyone who comes here is running from something?” Wonwoo asked. You looked up at him in surprise.

“I, uh, I say a lot of really stupid-” You tried to pass off. Wonwoo cut you off by closing his eyes and waving his hand nonchalantly through the air.

“No, no, you were right,” he mumbled. “I was running from something.”

“You don’t-”

Before you could finish telling him that he didn’t need to tell you anything he tilted his head to the side and smiled ever so slightly.

“My ex-girlfriend cheated on me,” he admitted. “And my mom, and my dad and my sister and all of my friends… Everyone knew. She’d been doing it for years. Almost as long as we’d been together.”

You weren’t sure what you could possibly say to that, so you settled with saying nothing at all. Instead you set your book back down on the counter and hide your hands behind your back.

“I don’t know. When I found out, I wasn’t even mad. I just realized all of a sudden that I couldn’t trust anyone in my life. I needed to get away and then I came here, and you were everything I wanted. You wouldn’t ever lie to me. Not in a million years.”

You laughed softly.

“Everyone lies Wonwoo,” you mumbled.

“Yeah, but you lie about reading Twilight a hundred times in a row. Not about sleeping with my best friend for the last three years,” he said with a laugh. He slowly approached you, his hands tentatively cupping your cheeks.

“Why did you come to this town?” He asked you softly. You opened your mouth.

“Well…”

“Just be honest. You can trust me,” he assured you. You sighed.

“Alright… Ah, okay so… My mom died when I was a kid right? And my dad was the only family I had,” you mumbled. “We got in this huge argument and I left for like… Five years, right out of high school. I ignored all his phone calls and threw away his letters and everything and then one day my best friend Jenna shows up at my house and… Dad had cancer. He’s dead now.”

“Y/n… That’s-”

“It’s in the past. I moved back here, and I’ve been here ever since.”

You gestured to the store around you.

“This bookstore was my dad’s,” you mumbled. “And the first time you walked through that door I never thought that I’d feel like sharing my life with anyone ever again, but… Now when you walk through that door I just kind of hope that maybe… Maybe one day you’ll want to-”

Before you could finish speaking, Wonwoo had pressed his lips to yours, his nose brushing yours as he held your face and body flush against his. You couldn’t help but smile into the kiss, your arms pulling him closer to you.

He pulled back a little bit, pressing his forehead to yours. You didn’t have to open your eyes to know that he was smiling.

“Wonwoo, will you spend Christmas with me?” You asked softly. He laughed.

“Of course, I will silly. I kind of love you,” he mumbled. You rolled your eyes and lightly slapped your hand against his chest.

“I kind of love you too.”

#Seventeen #wonwoo fluff #Wonwoo Fanfic #Wonwoo AU #Jeon Wonwoo #seventeen fanfiction #seventeen fanfic

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paradise-of-guilty-pleasures · 4 years

Text

Shattered Reflections {20}

[Helsa RP- Fanfic]

Fandom: Frozen

Genre: Post-Frozen/ Canon Divergence

- Hurt/Comfort, Drama, Romance

Pairing(s): Hans/Elsa, Kristoff/Anna

Previous Chapter: 19.Girls’ Night

A/N:

Prepare for Puns xD

20. Boys’ Night

While the sisters had a lovely tea party inside their pillow fort, the boys’ night out was continuing to be unsurprisingly uneventful. Kristoff had finished brushing Sven a while ago, and now the boys were stuck roaming around the courtyard, encircling it for what seemed like the millionth time. Olaf got bored fairly easily, so of course he tried to nullify his boredom himself the only way he knew how, by talking, practically non-stop, barely letting Kristoff get a word in edgewise. Olaf's virtually self-supporting conversation consisted of him rambling stories, spontaneously jumping into song, and (the part that actually required Kristoff to be present to answer them) curious questions.

"...magic, so I guess Elsa's like my mom, but kids seem to have both a mom and a dad, and they don't have magic --at least I don't think they do-- so it's got me thinking, how do people make babies without magic?" Olaf wondered curiously, it one of the countless questions he had asked that night.

Kristoff had always been a good listener, so he didn't mind the rambling. They could possibly have done other things, but Kristoff was at least vaguely aware of Hans' whereabouts and wanted to be sure he was nearby in case he was needed. He wasn't oblivious to boredom per se-- just too focused on everything else to process it.

He just about choked when he tuned in to Olaf's question. He certainly made a sound like it, but he cleared his throat.

"Why is this not the first time I've been asked that?" He asked, more to himself and his gods than anything. "It involves complex biology and is way more gross than you'd want it to be..." He started.

"Oh look, we have company!" He changed the subject quickly and pointed out Hans and the Captain wandering home. In spite of the drinking, Hans seemed little more wobbly than he already had been with his injury.

"Ahoy Admiral!" Kristoff called, just to draw attention and avoid the question from Olaf.

"View Hallou!" Hans replied, curious what he was being hailed for. "The night is young and we are getting older." Hans joked dryly to the Captain, wandering to meet Kristoff and the party. "Well if it isn't the little snow-prince and the Arendelle royal cavalry. Good evening gentlemen. And I am counting the reindeer." He gave a respectful greeting gesture to all of them, perhaps especially the reindeer.

"I'm Sven," he introduced. He should at least be known by his name instead of just being 'the reindeer'.

"Oh! Hans the Fool!" Olaf greeted, now completely sidetracked from the question he'd asked earlier. "Are you having a night out, as well?" Hans raised an eyebrow at Kristoff, more amused than perplexed, though there was plenty of that.

"I am, little prince. Getting to know the Captain. It appears I'll be helping the Royal Guard with my sword. I'm a little more than a fool, I must admit. Shall we have the remains of a night out together? Telling stories and whatnot?" Hans' tone was always lighter and sweeter with Olaf, as anyone might be while working with children. Especially a fool.

Olaf's face brightened with glee at the notion of having Hans join them.

"Yes! Let's do that!" Olaf exclaimed with excitement. He really did appreciate Hans' company, no offense to Kristoff and Sven, but having someone else that shared his enthusiasm, overjoyed Olaf.

"If that's what you wish to do."

"Good Evening," saluted the Captain, as he approached the group. "I see Westergaard's already inviting himself to join your party," he chuckled, already accustomed to his antics. "Is it alright to leave him in your hands?" He attentively asked Kristoff, almost as if he was watching over a puppy or a small child, instead of a grown man, a slightly drunken man, sure, but still. The Captain thought he should ask, Hans felt like he was his responsibility and he didn't impose anyone with that duty without their consent.

"Not going to join us, Captain? Just handing over Gaoler duty?" Hans joked dryly. He honestly meant it as a joke, but perhaps it did speak to his self-image.

"We'll be fine, Captain. In spite of Anna's wariness, I'm pretty sure I can handle this driftwood log, and if he gives me trouble, I can always pitch him back out to sea." Kristoff joked, nudging Hans with his foot.

"Oho, the Reindeer Lord has jokes. One of us is the Queen's fool, be careful who you challenge." Hans joked in return. He truly wore that stupid made-up title with pride. But then, Kristoff had his own made-up title, perhaps it was only fair.

"Hate to be an old fogey, but I'm afraid I've had enough excitement for one night, all I want to do now is get as much rest as I can to try to avoid having a headache in the morning," he said as he yawned. "I think my ears are still ringing from all that singing," the Captain twisted his pinky in his ear as if trying to dislodge something. "Keeping up with you isn't easy, you've completely drained me, boy. I need to hand over the reins and have someone else keep a watchful eye on you, just because of your capriciousness, and for your own well-being. Wouldn't want to find you floating in the fountain in the morning. I lost track of everything that happened tonight at the tavern, but if I recall correctly, I'm sure at one point you suggested doing a balancing act on a chair."

"Oh, I've seen him do that once," Olaf interposed.

"Of course, you've done it before, why am I not surprised?" The captain said with a disapproving head shake as he brought a hand up to his face. He let out a sigh. "Anyway, thank you for keeping tabs on him Lord Kristoff," he gave a nod in appreciation. "Fair warning though, his mood seems to be as fickle as the sea."

Hans laughed. "You flatter me, captain. And you need more practice at drinking if you plan to keep up with me. I was still sober at that suggestion." Hans grinned wryly. "And at the singing. I just like singing." He hummed. "Sleep, old man. See you in the morning, we'll try to keep tomorrow quiet then, hm?" Hans thumped the Captain on the shoulder, as good mates do.

"What else would we expect? Fickle moods seem to be all we know of him for sure." Kristoff pointed out. But he smiled and shook his head a little. "Tag me in next time, we'll see how I do at holding my drinks against a sea captain."

"I'd say bragging about your sobriety when acting like you were isn't something you should be proud of boy, but you already dub yourself a fool," he chuckled. "Indeed. Next time you're welcome to put him in his place," the Captain affirmed with a nod. "Goodnight gentleman, hope you enjoy the rest of your night-- and you don't cause too much trouble," he nudged Hans back.

"I'm off to bed. I bid you all adieu." After one more reverence, the Captain took his leave.

"Can I go to the drinking party next time too?" Olaf childishly asked. He wasn't aware of the alcohol involved, instead he was envisioning some sort of manly tea party. "It sounds like fun!"

Hans laughed a little. "Maybe when you're much older, little prince." He teased. "The men say things we oughtn't say around younger folks, and act more like fools than we ever should." He observed. "But what the captain doesn't know is, a fool is wiser than he seems, and a wise man more foolish than wise men ever think. The wisest man is the one who takes himself for a fool, even around fools." Hans smiled a little, playing wordplay games. He always liked puns and wordplay.

"This is like that riddle, 'the wisest man is he who understands that he understands nothing'." Kristoff hummed. "Hans likes to say silly things, and worse, sometimes I imagine he says things that get him into trouble." Kristoff observed.

"Aye, and out of it. More often out than in, but when in, then in big." He observed. It was a statement one really had to track to understand, but that seemed like the theme. Drunken philosophy night with the strangest assortment of characters around. "So, what are we all wandering about for?" Hans hummed.

"The ladies are having a girls’ night, so I was on patrol to keep an eye out that you weren't up to trouble." Kristoff answered honestly.

"What a good guard you are. You've certainly done that job." Hans hummed.

"Out drinking with the Captain of the Guard? I bet that was a wild night."

"Cards, drinks, and encouraging positive feelings toward myself. It's so easy, as if my last visit to Arendelle never happened. Anna is thus far the most sensible person I've seen." Hans admitted, a bit more soberly.

"You're not upset?"

"Oh, deeply. But that's sort of the point, isn't it." Hans didn't seem too bothered, just logical.

"Aw," Olaf groaned when he was denied his request to partake in the future fun only because he was deemed 'too young'. People kept telling him, 'when you're older Olaf', but when was that going to happen? He was a walking talking snowman, not an actual child though he was very much one in essence. Olaf tried to follow Hans and Kristoff's conversation, but got a bit lost in their philosophical talk. Hans smiled a little at Olaf. "Just as well, I don't think it would appeal as much to you, yet. Not really. In much the same way that politics only makes sense and isn't boring when you get older, it likely wouldn't be quite the same for you as for us." He assured him. He almost instinctively patted Olaf's head, perhaps forgetting that he was made of ice and snow.

"You two seem chummy." Kristoff remarked, amused.

"Of course. He's kept me company while I've been unable to walk around and chatter quite so much. I don't talk very much at home, it's good to be here and be able to say the things I think. Oh, Olaf, did you ever figure out what the meaning of my story was, that day of the raid? I suppose I never finished it. Predictable, but the best stories are the ones that take what you know and turn it upside-down. Like an hourglass, it renews the story." He may not have been drunk, but Hans certainly wasn't sober either. He was prone enough to meander (both in words and walk) while sober, and drinking only exacerbated it as he wandered off toward grass, just to walk on something more natural than cobble. Hans loved adventure, even if it was only venturing off the cobblestones.

Olaf laughed a little at being patted on the head. "Hmm...the meaning of the story?" he pondered. "I think it means that even the Mirror Prince had his own side to the story," answered the little snowman. It was obvious even to him what story Hans had been trying to tell him that day. "You know, I have my own retelling of that story too and so does Sven, don't you Sven?"

"Oh, I would wager you do." Hans agreed, sounding intrigued. "So you've figured out that I'm not just Hans the Fool, then?" He hummed, with a little smile. "I keep picking up titles these days, sooner or later I won't know what to do with them all. I wonder if they can be recycled. Someone else can be a prince, I'll keep Fool and Admiral and let the others slide." He joked, all lighthearted for the moment-- perhaps purely because Olaf was there.

"Do pray tell, tell your version of the story? You can be quite a storyteller all your own." Hans remarked, his tone light and sweet. Kristoff wondered if that was what he was always like with children-- as Hans seemed under the firm delusion that Olaf was more of a strange child than a 'snowman given life through strange ice magic'. Kristoff supposed that was the better way to view things. Would he be like that with his own children? If Hans ever chose to have any, anyway. That would be its own pot of problems when they got there. Kristoff was glad that wasn't his problem-- but lately he had been thinking a lot more about families and family life. One could hardly blame him for thinking about the way Hans thought. Especially since he seemed to show a different face for every combination of company he might keep. Sometimes it seemed to change by the moment.

"Oh, yeah, everybody wouldn't be making such a fuss about you if you were just a fool, but I do prefer Hans the Fool," he giggled. The young snowman's face lit up at the invitation to share his account of the day he was created and the events that followed.

"Okay, be prepared, I'm going to start from the beginning, well, my beginning since I wasn't there for the rest of it. This story starts up on the North Mountain where Elsa created me using her magic..." Olaf was very thorough in the retelling of his story. He told Hans how Anna, Kristoff and Sven freaked out similarly (or even more so) than he did when they first met him as well. He went into detail about everything (even the unimportant stuff) from how he got his nose, his love for warm hugs, mistaking Kristoff for Sven and of course his love for summer. Olaf continued his explanation about how he led his new friends up the North Mountain to find Elsa to bring back summer. Of course he couldn't gloss over he got impaled. And trivial facts like how he waited for exactly one minute before he joined Anna to talk to Elsa at the Ice Palace. How Elsa herself was also a bit shocked that she'd brought him to life. He described the sisters' interaction after Elsa stuck Anna and how they got kicked out by Marshmallow, only to have Anna aggravate him shortly after. He couldn't leave out how he bravely volunteered to distract and hold Marshmallow back to no avail and that they all ultimately fell off the cliff. Olaf didn't skip out on any of the awkwardness. He went on to talk about how they all ventured to Kristoff's 'Love Experts', and how he thought Kristoff was totally crazy talking to rocks he called his family until they revealed themselves to be trolls. Also that he figured out his name was Kristoff not Sven. Olaf relayed the full extent of their visit with the trolls, attempted wedding and all and how they went to go find Hans (for a kiss) after they were told that 'only true love thaw a frozen heart'.

He explained how he ended up getting separated from the group and that he was the one that had found Anna locked up after Hans abandoned her. Olaf recounted how he almost melted trying to warm Anna up. He was quite proud of his 'Love Expert' advice that made Anna realize that Kristoff really cared for her. Then it was on to how the two of them managed to escape a freezing castle through a window and make it to the fjord. Olaf had gotten blown away by the storm and so the next thing he witnessed was Elsa embracing a frozen Anna on the fjord. Olaf expressed how devastating it was to think they lost Anna forever, but was happy when he was first to notice that Anna had in fact been saved, her frozen heart thawed by an act of true love different than the one they all had envisioned and that none of them had expected. He conveyed how delighted he was at the return of the summer once Elsa was able to control her powers, even though the sun had promptly begun to melt him, but thankfully Elsa kept him from melting. That was practically the end of his story about the events he'd observed, because after that he had been too distracted and overjoyed, by his own personal flurry that allowed him to enjoy summer, to pay attention to everything else that was going around him, like Hans getting punched in the face by Anna. The little snowman was very animated with his explanation, transforming himself and acting out the parts as he went along, he was a very theatrical storyteller even more so than Hans.

"...and that's the story of how I spent my first day of life."

Hans laughed through much of it, amused by Olaf's transformations and animated behavior, and all of his excitement.

"You lived quite an adventurous life, and all in one day! Many people would be jealous, and I would venture to say you have lived the most adventurous life of any snowman. I wonder if Marshmallow would say the same? I very much remember Marshmallow, nearly killed me on the ice bridge, but what an adventure that was!" Hans hummed. He seemed quite fond of Olaf, and only more so with time.

"You remind me of someone, somehow, but I'm not quite sure..."

"Yourself." Kristoff proposed.

"How, exactly? We're not exactly alike." Hans pointed out.

"You both laugh in the face of death, love jokes and stories, change to adapt to your environment, and everyone underestimates what you're thinking." Kristoff gestured to both of them.

"...Well perhaps, but there's no need to insult him." Hans scoffed, tone a little flatter.

"Oh shut up, I bet he's what you would have been like if you were raised in a happy family, without whatever screwed you up." Kristoff wouldn't let Hans deflect this one. And granted, perhaps Hans would have been a little annoying. Most children were. Olaf truly was just a child.

"Hm. That may be so, but for once I don't find much merit in exploring hypotheticals. I can't imagine that alternative history. I'll have to just enjoy the one we're in, instead." His tone was perhaps a little less pleasant. If anything, he seemed a little more protective of Olaf, after that. He didn't want anyone to think they were like him. He was one of the disappointments, a prince turned treasoner and fool. He was not an example to follow.

"Ah, yes, an adventure of a lifetime, those were the days. My, how time flies." Olaf said in an almost reminiscent tone. "I don't know if Marshmallow would say the same, he's not much of a talker. But what I can say for him is that sure mellowed out since the last time," Olaf laughed at his own joke.

"You both love wordplay..." Kristoff added, amused, as Hans laughed at Olaf's joke. Hans was probably the only one who would laugh at that joke.

"Your lifetime is only just beginning! You also lived through the assault on the castle, remember, there's plenty of adventuring time left." Hans assured, then he brightened up more. "Ah! I'm out of the castle, I can visit my horse in the stables! Would you all mind if we went? I haven't seen him in... probably a month? I'm not sure how long, now. Two?" He turned to go that way without waiting. Whether Kristoff wanted him to go or not, Hans wanted to see his horse. Kristoff shrugged and moved to follow. He was planning to end the night there anyway, and may as well let the man see his buddy.

"Oh! You have a horse? Is it a boy or a girl? What's it's name? Do you talk to them like Kristoff does to Sven," Olaf asked an abundant amount of questions as they headed back towards the stables.

Hans chuckled. "It's a boy, his name is Sitron. I talk to him, but he doesn't talk back." Hans assured with a little laugh. When he made it there, he jogged toward the horse, ignoring the pain in his side. Sitron seemed happy to see him, too, making happy sounds and tossing his mane. Hans threw his arms around his horse's neck and petted him. He was deeply fond of his horse, and they clearly missed each-other. Once again, it was easy to forget he was a prince, once. Now he was a man who had little but a mixed reputation, and a horse. A horse he was very glad to see again.

"Hello you, I'll have to go riding again soon, they haven't been giving you enough exercise, hm?" He cooed to the horse, petting its nose. "I never thought I was going to see you again." While he kept his tone relatively neutral, it was just because there were people around. He had deeply missed his horse. He had few other friends.

Sitron was indeed ecstatic to see Hans again, it had been far too long that they were about. He gently trotted with excitement at the notion of being ridden again. His tail was raised in excitement and his ears were facing forward in full attention. Of course he had to sniff and nuzzle Hans with his nose. There was no doubt Fjord Horse had deeply missed his friend as well.

"Oh, so that's Sitron, handsome horse, I was wondering where he'd come from, looks like he really missed you," smiled the little snowman. "Maybe you should groom him," he suggested, seeing that Kristoff had brushed Sven to start off the night and the reindeer seemed to enjoy it, so. "I know Sven likes it a lot when Kristoff does that to him."

"You know, I was thinking that myself." Hans agreed, immediately rolling up his sleeves and looking for the supplies to groom. Kristoff handed some over so Hans wouldn't have to think about it, and Hans happily took to tending to the horse as if he did that all the time. Maybe he had been a prince, but he had been a prince who wanted to be useful. "Ah, the lemon's turning into a lemon cake. You need to exercise." Hans teased, patting his horse's side to indicate that the horse was getting a little chubby. Still, he was glad his horse was being overfed, rather than underfed. He was the horse of a treasonist, after all. "Are they taking good care of you? You look well-groomed at least. No parade horse, but there's no neglect in Her Majesty's stables." Hans observed, more muttering at the horse than really talking to him as he groomed.

Sitron whinnied to show he was content. He was being treated well of course but he sure did miss going out for rides instead of being cooped up in his stall most the day.

"Did you name him yourself or was he named that when you got him?" Wondered the curious snowman. "He doesn't look like a sour horse to me," he commented since he didn't understand why he was named after a lemon.

Hans chuckled. "I did, I was a boy and boys do silly things. He's got a slightly yellow-y tint and it reminded me of lemon meringue, especially with his mane." He hummed. "Certainly not a sourpuss, Sitron has been my friend for years. Sometimes the only one I felt like I could talk to, since he can't talk about whatever I tell him. Secrets are a resource in my homeland, they're hard to keep and valuable for it. No matter how mild, it seems it can be a danger. So if I only told my horse, I never had to fear it getting to anyone else. And what does a horse care what I have to say? He's a horse. He cares that I feed him, groom him, ride him, and make sure his shoes are on right." Of course, the stable hands handled the shoes in Arendelle. Not that he would usually shoe a horse, but he liked to at least make sure they were taken care of.

"Your homeland sounds like an awful place if you can't talk to anyone but your horse," remarked Olaf. "No offense to you lemon meringue, I'm sure you're a great listener."

"It is." Hans assured, nonchalantly. "Our family and staff have a lot of petty squabbles and teasing that tends to go... overboard. I'm the youngest, I get a lot more trouble than the rest. That's why I left for anywhere else. The sea is a great big 'anywhere else' to me. When I couldn't sail, I rode. As far as possible, somewhere as wild as possible. Often to a beach or a shore, sometimes to explore some forest. A horse makes for a fine friend, but it does lead to much less conversation." Hans admitted, focusing on his grooming. Sitron didn't seem offended, it was the truth.

"You and Kristoff are a lot alike when it comes to finding fine friends in animals, yet Sven does seem to converse more than Sitron. But then again Kristoff isn't much of a conversationalist when it comes to people, I've heard him sing that he thinks 'reindeer are better than people' when playing his lute," mentioned the childish snowman. "I think it's because he was raised by rock trolls," he tried whispering the last part.

"Aye, you could say that." Kristoff admitted, amused as he folded his arms and looked down at Olaf with a raised eyebrow.

Hans laughed a little.

"Maybe he's not wrong. A reindeer never committed a coup." He pointed out lightly. "Everything's a matter of perspective, I think. Perhaps the rock trolls have a better perspective." He paused a bit. "Did I know about the rock trolls? I think I didn't. That's weird. But not the weirdest thing I've seen, I hope one day to meet them, then. If only to say I've done it." He hummed a little bit at that. He liked experiences for the sake of them. Who needed reasons to see or do something new?

"You should definitely meet them, the rock trolls are fun, very nice, wise and they really like telling embarrassing stories about Kristoff," Olaf said, completely ignoring the look Kristoff gave him.

"Maybe they'll do the fixer upper thing with you and Elsa, it looked like a lot of fun," he said, not really aware that it had resulted in the trolls attempting to wed Kristoff and Anna last time or was he? It was hard to tell will Olaf sometimes.

Hans looked curious, and chuckled a little.

"Afraid I'm not a big fan of embarrassing stories from family." He admitted. "Too familiar with that bitter pill, myself. I'm not sure I know what you're talking about, but, it's probably for the best if we don't. I'm the Queen's fool, but I won't flatter myself to think we'll be spending much time together." He waved the thought aside, with a horse brush in-hand. Kristoff gave Olaf a curious look, wondering if Olaf was thinking the same thing he was about that. Olaf could be dim sometimes, but he -like Anna- had a habit of hitting upon the important things without knowing it.

For the first time in forever Olaf was uncharacteristically taciturn.

"Oh," he voiced in a slightly dispirited tone. He looked up at Kristoff a bit bemused.

Kristoff held the silence for a moment, a slow smirk showing up, identical to the one he wore when he wanted to tell Olaf all about how snow melts in the heat, but Anna stopped him.

"Flatter yourself, idiot." Kristoff shifted over to swat Hans playfully on the back of the head. Hans ducked, perhaps a little more than he needed to, receiving some small amount of the swat anyway.

"Excuse me?" He seemed uncertain whether he should be offended, or amused, but he looked a little more defensive either way.

"You think she visits just to make sure your wounds don't rot? That's what doctors are for. Anna may not like you, but Elsa does, at least as a friend. You might hate yourself, but you're the only one. And maybe Anna, but she'll forgive in time, if I know her at all. I won't tell you to get over it, but at least get the picture; you're staying in the castle, you're going to see the Queen plenty. Still, probably best you don't see my folks and her at the same time, they're likely to marry you both." Kristoff joked dryly.

Hans laughed, a somewhat nervous laugh. But he didn't know how to respond, so he focused on brushing Sitron, instead.

"Let's talk about something else." He was quick to press the conversation away. Even if it was awkward, he would sooner hold an awkward silence than think about what Anna thought of him, or acknowledge that the Queen might like him. Somehow, both were painful.

Maybe the awkwardness now was karma for what happened earlier at the tavern. Kristoff had brought a wide smile back to the young snowman's face.

"You sure are a strange fellow," Olaf commented. Countless people would love to be in Elsa's good graces (especially since she still wasn't the most open person), but Hans seemed to think it was a bad thing, maybe he thought he didn't deserve that kind of attention, Olaf didn't quite understand and thought the former Prince was being silly, the title of Fool suit him quite well. He wasn't going to press him any further he saw Hans didn't seem too happy about the topic and Olaf preferred smiles to scowls. Of course Olaf couldn't bear the silence for too long, so he tried breaking it. He was an expert on changing the subject and going on random tangents. He didn't wish for Hans to stay silent, it just didn't feel right to him.

"Hey, Sven," he began "What do you call a reindeer with no eyes?" Olaf paused for a moment and Sven grunted. "What? You really don't know? I was only asking you cause you're a reindeer and I have no eye deer." He resorted to telling jokes, it was second nature to him. He’d much rather hear laughter than nothing at all.

Hans laughed quite suddenly at that joke, and rested his free hand on his face while he recovered from that one.

"Oh! That was a genuinely good one! it has layers." He did so love wordplay and puns.

"Honestly, he has snow idea how to tell a good joke." Kristoff proposed. He liked Olaf's tactic. It worked a lot better.

"Snow thanks, Ice see what you're doing here." Hans retorted. They were probably going to be doing that a while.

And that they did. Once you start wordplay especially with people that are willing to continue it's a bit hard to stop. There were lots of snow and ice puns, of course, those were the easiest to make, as well as horse and reindeer ones, but the best kind of wordplay was undeniably the one that used their names.

"I gotta Hans it to you, Sitron is looking more Hansome now that you brushed him," Olaf declared with a giggle. --

The puns continued for a long while, certainly long enough for Hans to finish tending to his horse and spending time with it. When it was finally time to leave, he gave his horse a fond farewell with reassurances that he would be back. Kristoff escorted him back to his room, just feeling as if that was now his duty, since the Captain of the Guard was gone-- and also he was the most sober one there (both of mind and body).

By the time Elsa would have come to check on Hans, much later in the evening than she probably intended (because Girl Talk and catching up was simply too riveting), Hans had already decided to sleep, with an arm over his eyes and a leg hanging off the bed. Some people when they slept looked as if they had been laid to rest. Hans looked as if he had been thrown to rest, and he seemed perfectly comfortable with that fact. His hair was mussed and his collar rumpled, but only from the day's activity. And of course, he smelled a bit like rum and horse. It was sometimes easy to forget that he was an admiral. But not at that moment.

#Helsa #Iceburns #Hans x Elsa #Frozen #Fanfiction #Frozen Fanfiction #fanfic #Shattered Reflections

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thereddeath2093-blog · 4 years

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2020A_CW-210 personal blog post

DOOM

By Steven Bunch

I spend a lot of time thinking about doom. It’s a rather abstract concept to preoccupy oneself with, but still I find myself living a “doomed” life. I listen to doom metal, I watch movies and TV shows full of doomed people on doomed worlds, I fantasize about the doom of the planet and my own personal doom. It even gets so much more specific to the point of absurdity; my favorite rapper is MF DOOM, my favorite super villain is Dr. Doom, I even play DOOM the video game.

Half of my time spent thinking about doom, is trying to understand what the word itself really means. What is doom? What does it mean to be doomed? This as you can imagine inspires all sorts of philosophical questions about life and death, fate and inevitability, as well as many others. For all my pondering, I can’t really come up with a solid answer or something definitive. Sure, I could go with a typical dictionary definition of the idea, but it is more than that to me. It encompasses too much to be summarized and completed in a single or simple string of sentences. It’s an aesthetic, an ideology, and a state of being to me, something transcendental unto itself.

The aesthetics of Doom are easily recognized but much like the idea itself, abstract and difficult to definitively explain. There are rather obvious tropes and visual elements that appear in art and media that are representative of what I’m talking about; ruined buildings, smoke filled skies, destroyed cities, dead bodies, anything apocalyptic really. However, the idea is much deeper than that. A piece of art, or anything visual, that can inspire feelings of dread, despair, or hopelessness exemplify this aesthetic in its purest forms. This has a place in the greater sense of the word and the idea of Doom itself.

The ideology of Doom, unlike a lot of ideologies, is not one that is readily “chosen” in the same way one might choose to be a democrat or one would take up the cause of conservation. This is a kind of mentality that people usually fall into, and more so often than they might realize. Unlike the aforementioned aesthetics, the ideology is easily explained and familiar to most people. While chiefly the mentality is signified by feelings of doom or feeling doomed, it is a little more complicated than that. A true ideology of doom comes when this mentality is reflected out into the world as a whole rather than the individual. More than a simple feeling of personal helplessness, an ideology of doom encompasses the whole of humanity, to see the entire human race as doomed. As you can imagine, this is not a particularly hot-take, especially these days. That being said, embracing this fact would be the key difference between someone who is merely cynical and someone who is waiting with baited breathe for the apocalypse. Which is essentially what I’m talking about.

People would scarcely admit to themselves, and even more so to each other, that they want the world to end. But the fact of the matter is that most people on some level do. Being a “doomer” has even become a popular internet meme. You get a sense of this feeling anytime someone has a particularly fashionable doomsday prophecy or something like this virus breaks out. People talk about “what if this gets worse?” and “what if this is the ‘big one’?” and they do so in very practical sensible ways, but it’s not hard to see something under the practical nervous façade everyone displays. There’s a part of it that is exciting to everyone. There’s a little voice in every one’s head that says “well fuck, if the world ends, I don’t have to go to work on Monday”.

Now that might seem rather funny like a Sunday newspaper comic, but there’s something deep in the psychology of that mindset. People don’t want to have to go to work, but more than that, they don’t want to be expected to participate in the societal machine that makes people go to work and earn money. Part of being an adult is accepting and fulfilling obligations that are somewhat thrust upon you from outside regardless of how one feels about those particular obligations. People are to a degree forced to participate in a society that they don’t agree with, or at the very least, do not like their position in. An apocalypse frees the shit scrubber and the burger flipper to eat his boss and give a finger to the man free of any guilt of any financial or typical consequence. All of us have someone higher on us on the ladder we wouldn’t mind making a meal out of.

Naturally this all extends outside of working relationships and obligations, but to the far reaches of civilization as a whole. Every person from pauper to prince is well aware, that the “system” in place is not only incredibly flawed and corrupt, but also antithetical to the very human soul itself. Obvious injustices such as bigotry, war, poverty; as well as little things like traffic, wasted time, rudeness, all support the notion that something is wrong .“The system” as your local pothead would call it, isn’t designed to crush people into machines and thoughtless consuming automatons, but one can’t be faulted for believing it so, considering how often said system produces such hollow beings. One of the mindset of “Doom” recognizes that the easiest way for these things to change, if they can be changed, is to wipe the slate clean entirely.

This is the point where most people will close this page because I’m starting to sound like a cultist of some kind. But, those people aren’t remiss to do so. This is the kind of mentality that leads people into cults. Nearly every cult is a “doomsday” cult of some kind. Even Christianity for all its pomp and circumstance, is hardly ever different. Some of the most colorful and interesting passages of the Bible come from the book of Revelations and the prophecy for the end of the world. That’s how natural this all is, how prevalent it is in the human psyche. We have always been waiting for the end of the world, because unlike most animals, we are very poignantly aware of our own mortality, and this awareness manifest itself in strange ways. The strangest of all being embracement.

This leads to my final point about Doom itself as a state of being, the embracement of death. Now again, I’m not trying to get all death-cult on you, but there is something to be said for not only accepting one’s own mortality, but embracing it. The fact of the matter is, life sucks, and not just these days or in a particular circumstance. Life, on the whole, is a tragedy. We are born into fragile bodies against our will, bodies that will very slowly decay with us trapped inside them. We are born into families we do not choose, with people who do not know but are entrusted with our entire existence, and then as an adult expected to serve someone else entirely. We are expected to work and struggle and to get sick and to suffer until we are physically incapable anymore. And if you whine about it, there will always be someone to chime in and remind you that your particular suffering isn’t even close to the breadth of suffering humans can experience because “someone always has it worse”. This is a world where a good death is considered “getting old”, which is essentially just fermenting and rotting longer than anybody else.

To be “Doomed” in this sense is a recognition and rejection of fighting these things. If we are all going to die, then there can be no “good death”. All death is natural, all the world is transient, a passing image. Nothing, least of all people, last forever. You spend a lot more time dead than alive in the grand scheme of things, and in that, being dead is more of the default state. That’s not to say that this is a suicidal feeling at all. This isn’t some philosophy of suicide in so much as it is a philosophy of embracing the inevitable end of all things. Someone in the “doomed” state of being isn’t going to go out and seek the end of their own life, but they aren’t the kind of person to shy away from it either. They allow themselves to fall away and let go of life’s worries much more readily. There is a reason that coming to terms with one’s own mortality is a huge part of Zen and eastern spiritual learning.

Why would you shy away from death and doom if the world is a bag of ass and you’re going to die anyway?

After many hours wasted thinking, I have come to the conclusion that this is where I draw my artistic inspiration from. All of my world view is painted with a funeral veil. I find myself obsessed with the aesthetics of doom because I constantly live in that state of being. I can’t help but feel a compulsion to drive this aesthetic as far as I can. I feel the innate urge to draw visions of monsters, destroyed cities, and the sky shredded by cosmic terror so naturally. I can’t help but express this feeling through my artwork. Something within me wants to say to people, or remind them; “hey, not only are things like suffering and death very real, but sometimes they are the only thing that is. They are inevitable and they shouldn’t not be cowered from, but embraced and mastered.”

Now, maybe I’m projecting too much. (I tried not to be too first person, oh well). Perhaps I’m just trying to explain my own morbid fascinations I can’t otherwise do so with. Maybe I’m just too edgy for my own good or it’s because I have a very strong belief in the afterlife. Though it’s not out of the realm of possibility that there’s just some people out there (myself chiefly included) who are just sort of depressing, death obsessed freaks. However, I gamble a stamp, that considering how many depressing death obsessed freaks are really out there in the world, that I’m not entirely off-base when I talk about these things being prevalent in the subconscious of the human race as a whole. I believe something deep in the human psyche craves a change, craves destruction to make way for something new. Something in each of us wants these things no matter the cost, something in each of us, craves Doom.

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legault · 6 years

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Finding Home in the Strangest Places (Legault/Heath)

Ok, so I finally finished my @nagamas gift, for the prompt “ "heath/legault domestic au where they buy their first house." My giftee is anonymous, but whoever you are, I hope that you like this, and I apologize for the wait!

I have more thoughts about this AU, but in the interest of not wasting space, they’re in the end notes on AO3.

Ok, I think that’s all, so here’s the actual fic (which you can also read on AO3 if that makes your life easier!)

“If I could go back in time and tell the past me that someday I’d be house-hunting in the frozen wasteland of North Dakota,” Legault remarks as they drive into Minot. “I would have laughed in my own face.”

“Well, if I had told my past self that I’d be buying a house with a wanted criminal, I’d have laughed in my own face.” Heath shoots back, eyes not leaving the road. “Actually,” He adds, “I probably wouldn’t have even laughed. I would have just gotten very confused, and a little concerned.”

“Touche.” Legault says, peering out the window at the lines of fast food restaurants and outlet stores.

“This isn’t the nice part of town, by the way.” Heath says.

“I wasn’t saying anything.” Legault says defensively. “But since you mentioned it, thank God for that. North Dakota is a big enough change from city life without moving into outlet mall hell.”

The line of shops begins to thin and give way to the edges of neighborhoods as they pass by a sign saying “Why not Minot?”

“That’s always a good sign.” Legault says, pointing out the sign. “When the town can’t come up with any reason to go to Minot, so they just ask ‘Why not?’ and hope that nobody thinks too hard about it.”

“I think it’s more because it rhymes.” Heath replies. “Most people who don’t know better try to pronounce it the French way, like it rhymes with pinot. But North Dakotans love taking words from other languages and butchering the pronunciation, so Minot actually rhymes with ‘why not.’ To be fair, I don’t think that Minot has a flourishing tourism industry though.”

"I can imagine.” Legault says, looking out the window as they pass the university, which appears to be the centerpiece of the town.

“Legault.” Heath says after a few moments. “Are you sure you want to do this? Move here, I mean?”

“Yes.” Legault answers immediately, voice sure. “I mean, yes, I’m absolutely terrified that I’m going to freeze when winter comes and it’s -10 for weeks. And I’ll find it a little strange that there are no tall buildings, and I do find it disorienting to see so much sky and land with no people between towns.”

“You’re not really proving your point that you’re excited to be doing this.”

“I’m not. I’m terrified, to be honest.” Legault sounds flippant, but by now Heath can pick out what flavor of flippant means that Legault is nervous and trying to hide that it is, in fact, a big deal. “I’m already freaking out and we’re not even moving here yet, just house-hunting. But I’ve done a lot of things that terrify me, and at the very least I’m excited to be doing terrifying things with you.”

“Ok.” Heath says, satisfied. “I just wanted to make sure. Nothing’s done yet, we could still go back to New York. Or try somewhere else, like Colorado.”

“Nino would be thrilled. Ever since she’s started college in Boulder, she’s been lobbying for us to move there.” Legault’s voice fills with fondness at the thought of his...adoptive niece. “I told her that Colorado is much too hip for old men like us.”

Heath laughs at that, and it’s a sound that Legault never gets tired of. Heath laughs more and more now, but when they first met he was very serious, and so guarded that it took months before he’d do more than just crack a smile, no matter how Legault flirted and joked.

“Right, 27 and 29. We’re ancient.” Heath deadpans.

“At this point I’m practically 30, and everyone knows that’s the beginning of the end. I found two gray hairs last week.”

“Colorado is nice, I’ll admit.” Legault continues. “That was one of my favorite places from our road trip way back when. But I think it’s good for Nino to have her own space.”

“She can always come visit.” Heath adds. “Flights from North Dakota are usually painfully expensive, but there are decent flights between Denver and Bismarck.”

“She can come in the dead of winter so she can suffer alongside her beloved uncles.”

“You mean one beloved uncle and one melodramatic uncle.” Heath says.

“Semantics.” Legault replies, waving his hand dismissively.

They stop for lunch at a diner on Main Street, which is charming in a quaint sort of way. Heath orders some sort of overcomplicated sandwich and Legault orders coffee and eggs, enjoying the way that Heath’s face lights up when he sees that they serve kuchen.

“What even is kuchen?” Legault asks, most likely butchering the pronunciation terribly.

“It’s kind of like a pie filled with custard? I’m not sure exactly how to describe it.” Heath says. “I do know that it’s German and delicious, which is what’s really important anyway. My grandmother used to make it whenever we went to visit her.”

“I didn’t think you liked sweets all that much.”

“I don’t.” Heath admits. “But kuchen brings back good memories.”

“Do you know how to cook it?” Legault asks.

“You know, I have a family recipe.” Heath says. “But it makes about 40 kuchens, and I don’t know what we’d do with 40 kuchens, so I’ve never tried it.”

When the waitress comes back, Legault asks her all about kuchen, listening raptly as she gushes about how kuchen is something he has to try since he’s not from around here. Legault asks about her favorite flavors of kuchen and then ignores her answer, ordering a piece of all four different flavors. Heath rolls his eyes, but he can’t hide his excitement when they all come out to the table.

Legault takes a bite of the strawberry-rhubarb slice, not sure what to expect.

“It’s good.” He declares. “I’m not a big dessert person, but I like it.”

“Here,” Heath says, pushing another plate towards him. “Try this one. It’s peach and cheese.”

The kuchen is good, even if it’s not something Legault would seek out to eat. He’s not a huge fan of sweets either, but he and Heath taste all four flavors, and ultimately declare strawberry-rhubarb to be the best.

“You know.” Legault says, wiping crumbs off his mouth. “I think a little bit of your accent is coming out since we’ve left New York.”

“Really? People here don’t think I have that much of an accent of any kind.”

“Well, maybe not a strong one. But I can hear it when you say words with Os, like Dakota.” Legault explains. “It’s cute. I like seeing you here, on your home turf.”

“Technically I’m from Bismarck, which we passed about two hours ago.” Heath corrects him. “Minot and Bismarck have a similar feeling, but I wouldn’t want to live in Bismarck again. It would feel too much like going back in time, but it’d be strange without my parents. Plus, I’m sure I would run into people from my high school, and that’s awkward enough without tacking on the fact that I’m a deserter moving back to a place where people revere the military.”

“Then we’ll just have to stay away from introducing ourselves as a deserter and a criminal when we’re trying to make new friends.” Legault says, glancing around to make sure the waitress isn’t in earshot.

Heath smiles. “You make it sound so simple.”

“I like to pretend things are simple.” Legault says. “Then when they are, I can pat myself on the back for my life philosophy. And when they’re not, I don’t waste energy worrying about them beforehand.”

“I’m not sure if that’s incredibly wise or incredibly stupid.”

“Probably both.” Legault admits. “But it got me here, so I must have done something right.”

They finally go to see the house, which is in a neighborhood a few blocks across the street from the university. None of the houses look particularly posh; in fact, a lot of them look a little bit run down. But they have kids toys in the yards, and twee decorations on the windows, and to a born-and-bred city slicker like Legault, seeing so many houses in one place is always a bit of a treat.

Heath has made a list of about five houses having showings on the weekend that they’re in the area, but they only made a specific appointment to see one of the houses. It’s nothing special, but it’s in their price range and has all of the things they wanted, and besides, Heath had taken an instant and irrational fondness to it. Considering Legault was the one in their relationship that tends towards irrational fondness towards random things, be it houses, shiny things, or people, the fact that the house “spoke to” Heath was not something they planned to ignore.

The real estate agent is a middle aged white lady named Deborah, who looks like a very typical North Dakotan. She has a slight accent and ends all of their phone calls with “Mmm, bye,” something that Heath hadn’t even noticed but Legault found charming. She isn’t rude about it, but obviously is a bit confused about the fact that the prospective buyers are two adult men.

“How did you two meet?” She asks them as they walk into the house. It’s a question that straight people love to ask, because it’s a fantastic way to pry without being too direct.

They’ve had many conversations about how to answer questions like this. Besides the fact that they’re a queer couple about to move to a fairly conservative area, neither of their pasts is something that it would be a good idea to share with strangers.

Heath, born and raised in this community, is much warier than Legault about these things. Legault is happy to lie about almost anything, but has never particularly felt the need to hide himself and his partners, regardless of their gender. It had taken several serious conversations before he was able to begin to empathize with the fact that some people did not have the luxury of a more blase attitude, and Heath’s reticence to be open did not stem from shame, but fear and caution. Even in this day and age, living as a couple would draw scrutiny and microaggressions, at the very least.

So they compromised. When talking to strangers, they agreed to be vague about their relationship, saying only that they had met as college roommates (a lie that Legault enjoyed, since neither had ever gone to college) and lived together ever since. And if they began to make friends, they would feel out the situation, with the intention of eventually letting down their guard about the nature of their relationship around a group of trusted friends.

It wasn’t a perfect situation, but knowing how to handle it made things a lot easier. And this way, they would never have a repeat of the situation where a friend of Nino’s asked who Heath was to Legault and Heath responded, “cousin” just as Legault said “lover.”

“We met in college.” Legault tells Deborah. “At NYU.”

“You’re from New York City?” She exclaims. “Well, what brings you all the way out here?”

“I grew up in Bismarck.” Heath says, accent thickening slightly. “I wanted to move back to be near my family.”

“Oh, my sister lives in Bismarck! I was there just last week for my niece’s third birthday party.” She continues to chat about her family, distracted enough that blessedly, she forgets to ask why Legault, who is obviously not from around here, came along.

“Anyway, I’ll let you two have a look around.” She says, finally realizing she’s strayed off topic. “Let me know if you have any questions.”

They walk around the house, somewhat unsure of just what they should be looking for. In New York, apartment hunting was never a problem. Legault lived in a comfortable but discreet apartment, and Heath had lived in a tiny but cheap apartment in Jersey city with two roommates and a dog. Eventually, Heath moved in with Legault and that was that.

The house is not huge, but it’s a decent size, with a nice kitchen and a connected living room. There’s no formal dining room, but there’s room for a dining table in the kitchen. Down the hallway, there are two bedrooms and one bathroom. Downstairs is a basement that consists of a single room with a door that opens out onto the small backyard. The front door opens onto a small porch with a rocking chair that the previous owner presumably left behind. Next to the house is a small garage that would fit only a smaller car, but that’s fine Hyperion’s not that large anyway.

They do one full walkthrough of the house without saying anything, until Heath asks, “Well, what do you think?”

“Honestly,” Legault replies. “I have no idea.”

“We’re not very good at this, are we?” Heath says, with a wry smile.

“Maybe we should try the whole ‘walking through the house’ thing again.” Legault says.

They start in the kitchen this time, and try to actually think about what it would be like to live there. Neither are all that into cooking, but they look at the oven and, more importantly, the microwave, and declare it to be more than adequate.

As for the living room, it’s fine. Or at least Legault thinks it’s fine. He has a hard time picturing his furniture in this house because his furniture has always been apartment furniture. Finally, he stops trying to mentally force his couch into the empty space below the largest window and his mind jumps instead to an image of Heath lying on the couch, reading a book. Suddenly, the entire image, couch and Heath and all, seems to appear inside the house, and it works.

If he makes sure to include Heath in all his mental pictures of how this house might look with their stuff in it, he can start to see how this house could really become theirs.

“What do you think?” Legault asks Heath.

“Let’s go look at the bedroom.” Heath says, face hard to read.

They look at the largest bedroom first, because it’s the only one that would fit their almost unreasonably large bed. Back when Legault’s life of crime was at its peak, he had impulse bought a ridiculously expensive bed, and even though his situation, financial and otherwise, had radically shifted since then, the bed remained one of the best purchases he’d ever made.

“We could put the bed here.” Heath says, gesturing to the wall furthest from the door. “And then we’d still have room for a dresser, which we’ll need because of all your clothes.”

“What about your clothes?”

“My clothes would all fit in this very reasonably sized closet.” Heath says. “Yours would not.”

“Fair point.” Legault concedes. Another holdover from the days when he was much wealthier due to his illegal activities with the Black Fang is the rather large wardrobe he’s amassed.

“And then this bedroom can be your office.” Heath says, already moving into the smaller bedroom next door. “We could put a daybed in here too.”

When they’d first started talking about potentially buying a house together, they’d each made a list of things that they wanted in a house. One of the things that Legault had realized that he wanted was an office, partially because he mostly worked online from home, and partially because the idea of having an office felt very official and fun.

Heath had no problem with the idea of Legault having an office space, but suggested that if they had an extra room anyway, that they put a daybed in it. They slept together most night, but every so often Heath (and on the rare occasion, Legault) just wanted to sleep alone, entirely in his own space. Eventually, Legault had stopped viewing it as a sign that Heath was upset with him, and they’d agreed that it was fine for either one to want to sleep alone, but the person who wanted to sleep alone had to take the couch rather than kick the other person out of the bed. Having a daybed had been Heath’s idea, probably because he slept on the couch more often, and the couch, while comfortable for sitting, was just too short for him to fit on completely comfortably.

“I like it.” Legault agrees. “I see a desk here.” He gestures to the area with the most light from the window. “A daybed here.” Another gesture. “And maybe a lifesize bison statue here.”

Heath looks at him, torn between bemused and concerned. Ever since their original road trip around America, which was also when they began their relationship in earnest, Legault had become fascinated with the bison they’d seen while driving through Wyoming and North and South Dakota.

Legault gives Heath a look that usually means he’s about to poke at Heath until he gets a reaction. “You’re not laughing at that.”

“That’s because I know you’re not joking.”

“Of course I’m not. We’re moving to North Dakota, I fully intend to decorate this house using bison as the unifying theme.”

“Legault,” Heath starts, then pauses, giving up on whatever it was he was planing to say. “You know how big bison are, right? Maybe we can at least go for a scale model.”

“Hmmm, that’s a fair point. Do you even think that they make life-size bison statues?” Legault muses.

“Probably.” Heath says. “But I don’t think any of them are for normal homes. Besides, I think we would confuse the neighbors.”

“Right, and we agreed that we would try to avoid scandalizing the neighbors if possible, at least for a little while.” Legault sighs in mock defeat. “Fine. I guess I’ll think about alternatives. Like a bison mural. Or a large decorative tapestry.”

Heath’s face looks caught between a laugh and a grimace. “We’ll see.”

After that, everything in the house seems to fall into place. There’s room in the living room for Legault’s favorite chair, and the basement is the perfect space for Heath to set up his woodworking materials. The garage seems practically made for Hyperion, Heath’s beloved vintage car, with enough room left over to store the various gadgets he uses to work on her. The visions of their furniture in the house, their life in the house, grow clearer and clearer in Legault’s mind.

“How do you feel about it?” Legault asks again, after they’ve done their second walk-through.

“It feels...” Heath pauses, searching for words. “It’s not all that pretty, or particularly special. But it feels right.”

Legault looks at him, surprised at such a strong endorsement, especially one based entirely on vibes.

“What I mean is,” Heath continues, confusing Legault’s look for confusion. “Some things seems like they might not be a great idea on paper, but when you do them, you feel like you’re in the right place in the universe. Do you ever feel that way?”

“Sometimes.” Legault says, memories of watching a meteor shower with Heath in the absolute middle of nowhere, Idaho, popping into his head.

“Well, I feel that way when I’m out on Hyperion. Or when I was up in the air, even though everything else about the air force felt wrong.” Heath says, caught up in memories too. “Or when I’m with you.”

Heath is rarely forthright about his feelings, at least vocally, but when he is, he says it in such a matter of fact way, like it’s just a simple fact of the universe. It’s happened several times, but each time Legault feels like he’s been sucker punched in the heart. But in a good way.

Deborah, or Real Estate Lady, as Legault has been calling her in his head, is probably hovering somewhere, maybe in her car outside, so Legault keeps his emotions in check, but he can’t help moving over to stand behind Heath, take his hand, lace their fingers together, and squeeze.

“It feels right to me to.” Legault says. “To be here in this house. And to be here in this house with you.”

“Even if this is a frozen wasteland for half of the year.” Legault adds, unable to help himself.

Heath squeezes his hand back. “Nothing a few bison tapestries can’t fix.”

They tell Real Estate Lady that they want the house. She’s absolutely thrilled, and says that she’ll bring the paperwork over the next day.

Even though they haven’t really done all that much, they’re both quite tired, so they grab takeout Thai food and head to a hotel. At the hotel, they immediately go to bed, Heath turning on some home improvement show or another, his version of mindless tv.

As soon as he’s laying down beside Heath, Legault realizes that he’s finally releasing a breath that he’s been holding all day. He knows that he’s spoiled in this aspect, but back in New York he’s not used to having to watch himself, to hold himself back from touching Heath for fear of attracting attention. Minot though, is not his home turf, and all day he’s been watching himself, to make sure he doesn’t do anything that would bring back Heath’s anxieties that stemmed from growing up bisexual in North Dakota. But it’s worn him down. Legault and Heath aren’t even all that physically affectionate in public in general, but the fact that it’s forbidden now makes Legault’s fingers itch.

But here, in the hotel, there are no such rules, and once they have a house here, there will be no such rules either, and thank God. Legault’s younger self might have thought him boring, but Legault cannot think of feeling more content than at this moment, pressed up against Heath’s side, fingers lazily running up and down Heath’s arms, playing with his fingers to make up for the fact that they’ve been neglected all day, occasionally pressing a lazy kiss to Heath’s palm or shoulder or cheek.

“Legault,” Heath says, sounding significantly more worried and less blissful than Legault feels.

“Mmm.”

“What are we doing?” Legault can feel Heath’s worry by the tension in the arm that’s around his shoulder. “I mean, are we crazy to move out here? Buy a house?”

“Probably,” Legault says. “But not in a bad way, necessarily. It’s an adventure.”

“Not most people’s idea of adventure.” Heath says. “What if North Dakota really is as bad as people say it is, worse than I remember as a kid? What are we going to do with our free time? You’ve had such an eventful life, how are you going to be happy here?”

Legault waits as Heath trails off before turning and kissing him deeply. It’s not that he’s trying to prevent having a conversation, but he learned early on in their relationship that Heath likes kissing. A lot. And more than that, the combination of endorphins and the intense physical proof that someone is there and cares about him relaxes him, helps him acknowledge his worries without letting them control him.

Back when they had just gotten together, they could spend hours just kissing, without it having to lead anywhere, because it made Heath happy and soothed his unspoken anxieties that he was just a fling. And Legault certainly wasn’t complaining, especially given that Heath kissed with his whole being and tended to hold on tightly to Legault’s hands, or neck, or hips, or anywhere else within reach, grasping on like he was afraid to let him go even an inch away. Legault always has had a bit of a thing for Heath’s hands anyway, so feeling all the emotion expressed through those hands on his skin...it’s not something he’s going to get tired of anytime soon.

So sometimes when Heath is worried or stressed, or they’re talking about serious things, they kiss. For most couples, it would be a diversion tactic, a way to avoid the issue at hand, but for them it’s a way to have better conversations afterwards. It brings Heath back to earth, grounds him in his own body so he can face whatever challenges or feelings there are to be faced.

So Legault kisses him until he feels the tension start to seep out of Heath’s body, and Heath’s grasp on his shoulders begins to feel firm rather than desperate.

Legault pulls back, looking Heath in the eye. “Here’s what we’re going to do.” And then kisses him once more, for good measure, before continuing.

“You’re going to find a job here, probably as a mechanic because according to you, people here love their cars but forget how to drive in the snow every winter. I’ll keep working online, and if I get bored, I’ll volunteer at the library or drive an Uber.” Heath laughs at that, and Legault can feel the laugh in his body. “When it’s not too cold, you’ll ride your motorcycle on the open roads outside of town, where there’s nothing between you and the sky, and maybe if the weather’s nice I’ll join you on mine. And in the winter when we have to hole up inside, you can set up a wood shop in the basement and I’ll paint and learn how to bake kuchen. If I get really bored, I’ll take up knitting and make you and Nino scarves in the ugliest colors I can find.”

“I’ll become a North Dakota State University fan because their mascot is the bison, and on the weekends we can watch the hockey games. I saw on a sign that Minot’s hockey team’s mascot is the Minotauros, which is either the greatest or stupidest mascot name I’ve ever heard of. I mean, it’s clever that it has Minot in the name, but they could be called the Minotaurs and it would still work.”

“Somehow we’ll find the five other queer people in this part of North Dakota and maybe we’ll actually make some friends, albeit friends who we don’t tell about our pasts. In the spring we can take road trips around the state, because the first time we came here I was so freaked out by so much sky that I think I missed all the sights. Maybe we can go down to Bismarck and visit the relatives that you don’t hate. And we’ll take some space to breathe, because I love New York, but it’s hard to breathe there, and we can spend some time working on our hobbies and dreams. Maybe we can get you a pilot’s license so you can fly again, and I...well, maybe I’ll figure out what my dreams actually are.”

“The point is we’ll just live, the way we’ve been living in New York. It won’t be perfect, but we’ll work it out, and if we don’t like it, we can always move to Colorado to scare anybody Nino dates in college. Or if you really are having second thoughts, we can tell the realtor that we need more time and go back to New York and regroup. I’ll admit, as much as I complain about North Dakota being a wintry wasteland, I’m actually kind of excited about coming here. But what’s more important than being here is being with you, so if you want to go back to New York, that’s ok too.”

Legault runs out of steam here, feeling suddenly winded at the realization that he actually is excited to come here, to buy a house and build a life with Heath, in a place with less noise to hide behind.

“Heh,” Heath smiles at him, looking a little hesitant, but much more relaxed than before. “Life sure has a way of turning out in the way you least expected, doesn’t it?”

“What do you mean by that?”

“I mean,” Heath says, taking Legault’s hand and squeezing it. “I’m still nervous, but I’m even more excited to close on this house and start living that life you just described, even though it’s not a life I ever imagined having.”

They go to sign the papers tomorrow, and Deborah is incredibly helpful at guiding them through the mounds of forms that never seem to end.

“I could be signing away my soul and I’d never know it.” Legault jokes.

“Don’t worry,” Deborah tells him, winking. “I only give those forms to buyers I don’t like.”

Finally, they’re done, and even though they still have the challenge of moving all their stuff halfway across the country, having the forms signed and the keys in their hand makes it all feel much more real.

“Congratulations, you just bought a home!” Deborah tells them. “I’ll stay in touch, so if you have any problems or questions, or if you just need a friend in town, give me a call.”

“Thank you, we will.” Heath tells her, already thinking about how he’s going to set up the garage.

Deborah looks like she’s about to leave, but before she turns away, she adds, “And if you ever make it down to Bismarck, let me know. I’ll make sure my sister and her girlfriend give you a warm welcome.”

“Thank you, we-” Heath starts, words sputtering off as he processes what she just said.

Legault takes his hand and Deborah doesn’t bat an eye. “Thank you Deborah, we certainly will.” He says, and she smiles and waves.

“Look at that.” Heath says. “Maybe there are more than five queer people in the state of North Dakota after all.”

“I should hope so.” Legault says. “But more importantly, we just bought a house.”

“So we did.”

“And in case you ever doubted that I love you, I want you to know that I am moving to North Dakota for you.” Legault tells him. “And that’s something that I bet a lot of people wouldn’t do.”

“I don’t doubt that you love me,” Heath says. “You tell me that all the time.”

“Hey,” Legault pouts. “You’re not reading the script here. Now you’re supposed to thank me for being such a wonderful partner and tell me what you’d do for me to prove your love.”

“I didn’t think we were still in the ‘prove your love’ state of our relationship.” Heath says, smiling. “But if it makes you happy, I love you enough that I’m going to let you decorate our lovely new house with as many tacky bison decoration as you want.”

“I’m going to hold you to that.” Legault tells Heath as they walk through the doorway of their house.couch

#fire emblem #fe7 #Rekka no Ken #nagamas #Fire emblem blazing sword #legault/heath #heath #legault #my fic #good lord this is longer than i meant i'm sorry #if anyone is wondering why the hell they're going to North Dakota it's bc that's where i live now #i don't live in minot but i went there with my best friend a few weeks ago #and after a rough time going home for the holidays i was feeling pretty damn fond of north dakota #frozen wasteland though it might be

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worryinglyinnocent · 6 years

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Fic: Snowflakes and Sleigh Bells

It’s the annual Christmas fic in the Lab Nights and Christmas Lights series, in which Belle and Gold both work at the same hospital - usually over Christmas. The fics detail each of their Christmases together, and this is the fifth in the series.

Summary: Belle and Gold are celebrating their first Christmas with their new baby, and as usual, Aunt Elvira is around to make sure that everything is perfect.

Rated: G

The previous installments in the series can be found here.

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Snowflakes and Sleigh Bells

Christmas had always been Belle’s favourite time of the year when she had been younger, and now that she had a family of her own, it was definitely back to being at the top of the list of celebrations. Christmas with a baby, however, was proving to be something of a challenge. Rosie was coming up for four months and was getting to the grabbing everything that looked interesting stage, especially when Belle was walking around the house with the baby against her shoulder. At first, Rosie had been content with just grabbing Belle’s hair, something easily resolved by Belle keeping her hair in a ponytail all the time. Then, though, the sparkly Christmas decorations had gone up and her little fingers had made a beeline for the baubles whenever they were in reach. General consensus had been to keep Rosie as far away from the tree as possible.

When Belle looked back to the first time she had seen this Christmas tree in the corner of the living room, that first Christmas when Rum had invited her for Christmas dinner with him, Bae, and Aunt Elvira, she couldn’t believe that so much time had passed. Four years had gone in the blink of an eye. So much had happened during that time. She and Rum had begun their relationship, become engaged, got married, and now had a baby. Bae had started university, and Belle still couldn’t get over how the fourteen-year-old she had met that first Christmas had grown into the young man he was today. Aunt Elvira, well, she was just the same as she had always been, and it was good to know that some things never changed. Belle continued to gaze at the tree, holding her daughter close. The tree hadn’t changed either. Always the same decorations, the same fairy (knitted by Aunt Elvira) in pride of place at the top, the same tangled strings of lights. Since moving in with the family, Belle had been privy to all the same yearly arguments between Rum and his aunt about where the decorations should go.

It wasn’t as if Belle’s touch was completely overlooked in their Christmas decorating, but the tree itself had always been Elvira’s domain, with Rum rarely daring to break any of her traditions. As good-natured as Elvira was in all aspects of their lives and as incredibly influential in Bae and Rum’s lives as she was, Belle was more than happy to let Elvira keep the Christmas tree. Presently her train of thought was interrupted by the arrival of the woman herself in the living room, wiping her hands on a tea towel as she flopped onto the sofa beside Belle.

“Well, everything’s ready, we just need to wait for the errant nephew to arrive. He did promise that he would be home on time, and if he ruins Rosie’s first family Christmas, then I won’t be held responsible for my actions.”

“Right now, I don’t think Rosie really cares whether Daddy’s home on time or not.” Belle looked down at Rosie’s sleeping face, tucked in against her shoulder. She probably ought to put her down in her Moses basket, but Belle loved holding her daughter whilst she slept, the slight weight of her little warm body was a comfort to Belle as much as Belle’s touch was a comfort to Rosie. At least her maternity leave meant that she didn’t need to worry about working over Christmas like Rum did. He was working a regular day shift today and ought to be home in time for dinner, and then they would open their presents afterwards, having a Christmas evening rather than a Christmas day. It had been the strangest experience, waiting for him; she had never yet worked a different shift to him at Christmas except if he’d had to go in for an emergency, so whether they were at home or at the hospital, they were generally always together.

Bae popped his head around the living room door. They had seen comparatively little of him whilst he had been home for the holidays; Belle knew that he had a lot of reading to be done and papers to be written for when he went back, but she had also found out that he had found himself a girlfriend and was spending most of his free time talking to the mysterious Emma. No doubt Bae would divulge more details when the time was right, but thus far he was keeping tight-lipped, probably for fear of Aunt Elvira finding out and causing some form of embarrassment for him.

“Haven’t you started on the Prosecco yet, Aunt Elvira?” he asked.

“Well, you know your father doesn’t like me getting it started without him.”

Bae raised an eyebrow. “That has literally never stopped you before.”

“I know, but I can’t share it with Belle this year,” Aunt Elvira said, before giving Bae a Cheshire grin. “Besides, I’ve got something far better than Prosecco.” She shook the glass of gin and tonic that she was holding, making the ice cubes rattle, and Bae rolled his eyes.

“Sometimes I wonder how you managed to live to be nearly eighty,” he said.

“Gin is the secret to a long and happy life, Bae,” Elvira said sagely. “This is a philosophy shared by medical professionals!”

“I don’t think Ella Furrier counts.”

Ella was a nurse and colleague of Belle’s from the emergency department, and a good friend of Rum’s. Tales of gin-soaked antics were never very far away when Ella was around, and it was really no wonder that she and Elvira got on so well.

Bae just rolled his eyes and left the room again as there was the sound of the key in the lock, and moments later, Rum appeared, his cheeks and nose pink with the cold.

“I get the distinct impression that it’s going to snow tonight,” he muttered darkly as he entered the living room, still shivering, but his dour expression soon melted on seeing the Christmas tree with all the gifts under it, and Belle and Rosie in their matching Christmas jumpers, and he gave a warm smile. “Merry Christmas, my lovely girls. Yes, even you, Aunt Elvira.”

He came over and kissed the top of Rosie’s head gently before planting a rather more passionate one on Belle. Aunt Elvira cleared her throat pointedly and Rum rolled his eyes, pecking her cheek and wishing her a Merry Christmas before he left to go and wash the hospital off him. Now that Rum was home, Christmas could truly begin in earnest, and Belle reached over to take a peek out of the curtains. There was no sign of any snow yet, but she could make out heavy clouds in the sky overhead, and there was already frost on the ground outside. A white Christmas would truly make everything perfect, and as Aunt Elvira went to go and sort out the turkey, Belle crossed her fingers that snow would fall before the evening was over.

Whilst Christmas was Belle’s favourite holiday, Christmas night had become her favourite part of that holiday. It was on Christmas night four years ago that she and Rum had first kissed and she had first been welcomed wholeheartedly into his family. The food had been eaten and the presents had been unwrapped, and everyone was in that lovely calm and sleepy, satisfied state, that nothing could mar or change. It was almost midnight; Bae had gone to bed, although would likely spend the next couple of hours talking to Emma, and Elvira had vanished off upstairs citing some kind of mysterious errand that was either trying to eavesdrop on Bae’s conversation or was trying desperately to work out what she’d done with the gin and tonic jelly sweets that she’d hidden from herself before Christmas.

“You know, if she doesn’t come back soon, I’m going to get worried,” Rum said. “We might have to get up a search party. On the other hand, it is nice to have some peace and quiet to ourselves for once.”

“You know, Aunt Elvira is a lot shrewder than we give her credit for,” Belle pointed out, snuggling in closer to Rum’s side on the sofa. “She’s probably hidden herself away upstairs for the express purpose of giving us some time alone together.” She peered over Rum’s shoulder to where Rosie was sleeping snugly tucked up in her Moses basket beside the sofa. She had spent most of the evening watching presents being opened with great excitement, even if she couldn’t quite grasp what was going on yet, and she would wake up wanting a feed soon enough, so despite Belle’s sleepiness, she didn’t fancy going to bed just yet. For now though, it was just her and Rum, and she felt that they really needed to make the most of all the cuddling time that they got together. Rum’s arms came around her, pulling her in closer onto his lap, and Belle nuzzled in against his neck.

“I think that this has been the best Christmas with you yet,” she said. “Everything’s complete now. We’re together and we’ve got Rosie, and Bae and Aunt Elvira are here, and if I’m not very much mistaken, it’s started to snow.”

Rum twisted in her embrace to look through the gap that Belle had left in the curtains and groaned. Belle batted his shoulder playfully.

“Oh come on, it’s not like we have to go anywhere in it for a couple of days, and I think it’s fitting that Rosie’s first Christmas should be a snowy one. We got her that cute little snowsuit with the reindeer ears just in case, and you know it’s not going to fit her this time next year. Tomorrow we’re making a snowman.”

“I’m really not sure that Rosie’s old enough to quite understand the concept of snow-based construction yet,” Rum said.

“Fine, you can stay inside away from the snow and I can explain to Rosie the mechanics of building the perfect snowman.”

“We’re not going to get enough snow for a snowman, we never do.”

Rosie waking up and giving a snuffly little cry put an end to their argument, but Belle knew that as soon as they woke up the next morning, if there was still snow carpeting the back garden, they would start it up again. With any luck she could get Bae’s assistance in the snowman endeavours. He had always loved the snow, and hopefully he had not grown out of it since becoming an adult.

“I still can’t get over how blue her eyes are,” Rum said softly, stroking Rosie’s cheek as she nursed. “She’s going to be your spitting image when she’s older. Breaking hearts just like her mother.”

“I’ve never broken anyone’s heart, thank you very much,” Belle said. “Besides, she’s got your nose, so I wouldn’t rule out your influence just yet.”

The snow was continuing to come down thick and fast, and Belle had to spare a thought for their colleagues manning the emergency department over the Christmas period, who would no doubt be dealing with various weather-related incidents on top of all the festive drunkards they usually saw in and out of A&E every December. Rum was just rocking Rosie back to sleep again when Aunt Elvira returned.

“Where’ve you been?” he asked her. “We were about to get the snow boots out and go looking for you outside in the blizzard. I thought a yeti might have got you.”

Aunt Elvira just gave her nephew a look. It seemed to be a look that ran in the family and Belle couldn’t help but end up if Rosie was going to inherit it as well. To be honest, Belle couldn’t decide if the thought of Rosie ending up anything like her great-aunt was a worrying or a welcome one.

“I was on a secret mission,” Aunt Elvira said cryptically. “It didn’t help that I couldn’t remember where I’d put it, but perseverance paid off.”

“Are you going to tell us the nature of this secret mission?” Rum asked.

“I’m getting to that, keep your hair on.” Aunt Elvira pulled out a small wrapped parcel from behind her back and handed it over to Belle. The tag read, in Elvira’s small, spidery script: To Rosie, on your first family Christmas, with all my love, Aunt Elvira.

“She’s a bit too young for it yet, but tradition is tradition,” Elvira said, and Belle looked up at Rum in confusion.

“What’s this about?” she asked.

“I don’t know…” Rum began, but then he tailed off and glanced over at the Christmas tree, looking at it intently, and realisation dawned. “I know. Open it.”

Belle unwrapped the gift carefully and held it up to the light, and suddenly she understood as well. It was a Christmas tree ornament, a delicately painted wooden Santa’s sled, complete with a team of reindeer, and Rosie’s name in curlicued letters.

“I got one for Bae for his first Christmas too,” Elvira said, nodding towards the tree where a matching ornament was hanging near the top. For the first time since the tree had gone up, Belle noticed a gap where a bauble usually hung, and she knew that Aunt Elvira had left it purposefully for this new addition to her festive decoration. “It’s only fitting that Rosie gets one too.”

Belle hung the ornament in pride of place and Rosie, cradled against her father’s shoulder, reached out to grab it in her usual fashion. Belle took her little fist before she could cause any damage, kissing the tiny fingers.

“Merry Christmas, Rosie. Welcome to the family.”

#rumbelle fic #rumbelle #Belle French #Fic: Snowflakes and Sleigh Bells #Verse: Lab Nights #Christmas Fic

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rhodesasha · 7 years

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L.A. TASK: Sasha’s character study. 📝

ORIGINS & FAMILY

Full Name: Sasha Maya Rhodes

Reason for name: Her grandmother gave her the middle Maya after her favorite writer Maya Angelou.

Nickname(s) and how they got them: Sash.

Date of Birth: 3/10/96

Age: 21

Gender: Female

Place of birth: Los Angeles, CA

Places lived since: She’s remained in LA her whole life.

Social Class: Middle.

Parents’ names, backgrounds, occupations: Mother: Louise Garcia - Dominican - occupation is unknown. Father: Dwight Rhodes - Black - Jamaican descent - occupation: business owner.

Siblings: A brother, Dinero Byrne (@durtydinero).

Relationship with family (close? estranged?): She’s estranged from her mother and her side of the family and close with her father and his side of her family.

Children of his/her own?: No.

If so, relationship with child’s mother/father?: N/A.

Age he/she became a parent: N/A.

PHYSICAL

Height: 5′5.

Weight: 115lbs.

Build: Slim build.

Race: Dominican/Jamaican descent.

Nationality: American.

Face Shape: Round.

Distinguishing Facial Features: None in particular.

Hair Color: Black.

Usual Hair Style: Sasha usually leaves her hair out in it’s natural, curly state.

Eye Color: Brown.

Complexion (freckles, acne, skin tone, birth marks, scars): Pale, clear, lightskinned complexion.

Disabilities (physical or mental, including mental illnesses): N/A.

Health (usually sick? or very resilient? allergies?): Quite resilient.

What do they consider their best feature?: Her eyes.

Worst they’ve ever been injured (what, how did it happen)?: Cracked the back of her head open doing hyperactive shit as a kid.

Ticklish: Yes, lol.

APPEARANCE

Style of dress/typical outfit(s): Typically quite relaxed. T-shirt, jeans or leggings. Dresses (sometimes).

Typical style of shoes: Slides, sneakers, heels (if she wants to be fancy, lol).

How does he/she dress up?: Dress down?: She dresses up usually in a nice dress and heels. Dresses down in t-shirts, leggings, jeans or sweats.

Favorite outfit: She doesn’t have one in particular.

Glasses? Contacts?: Contacts, or glasses when her eyes are irritated from contacts.

Personal Hygiene: Sasha holds a high standard of personal hygiene, like most people (I’d like to think). She’s deep into self care, face masks, bubble baths. Allat. That’s what her and Marcel bond over lmao.

Grooming (makeup? shower daily? wear only clean clothes? pluck eyebrows?): She wears make-up everyday, showers everyday, twice. Who the hell wears dirty clothes? Lol, she gets her eyebrows waxed.

Jewelry? Tattoos? Piercings?: She always wears her name chain necklace, a ring @moneymarce gave her as a birthday gift, her watch, earrings. No tattoos but she has her ears and belly button pierced.

What does their voice sound like?: Softly spoken.

Style of speech (loud, mumbler, articulate, etc.): Articulate.

Accent?: She has a classic LA/California accent, I guess?

Unique mannerisms/physical habits (bites nails, talks with hands, taps feet when restless): She taps her false nails against every hard surface when bored or out of habit. She literally can’t help it, lol.

Left handed or right?: Right handed.

What does their writing look like?: Neat, cursive.

Do they work out/exercise?: No, unless she’s waiting tables at work or.. asdghdkdg you know.

BELIEFS & INTELLECT

Level of self esteem: Not all the way high but definitely not low.

Known Languages: English.

Zodiac (sign and if they lend any credence to it): Libra + somewhat. She doesn’t think she has all the Libra traits.

Gifts/talents: N/A, lmao. She’s good at stuff but nothing she’d consider a talent per se.

Shortcomings: Sasha likes to act like she doesn’t care when she deep down she probably cares the most. Can’t ever swallow her pride.

Most sensitive about/vulnerable to: Her relationship with her mother.

Happiest memory: Spending summers with her dad when she was a kid.

Life philosophy: Just to never let anything hold her back, because shit happens for a reason and just let shit play out the way it’s supposed to.

Religious stance: She doesn’t really have a firm religious stance but she does believe/pray to God.

Political stance: Again, no firm political stance but the current president.. lol, trash smh.

Pet peeves: She hates when people butt in her conversations with other people, liars - especially people who lie about SMALL things.

Vices: None.

Bad habits: None that come to mind.

Neuroses: She’s suffer(s/ed) with anxiety previously. But as of lately she’s been good.

Disgusts: Rude people, liars, people with bad hygiene.

Superstitious: Yes.

Sense of humor: Yes? Lol.

How do they deal with stress?: She tends to deal with stress on her own or if necessary, she talks to her best friend (@ayorome).

What do they do to get pumped up?: She needs a playlist on to do almost anything.

What do they do when upset?: She goes quiet and wants to be alone so she can go cry to herself, lol.

What about angry?: It’s hard for Sasha to get angry but when she is, depending on the situation she gets so mad that she cries or raises her voice. No in between lol.

How do they react to frustrations (get worked up, calm down and think through it logically, give up, etc)?: Vent all her frustrations to Roman more than likely.

How do they accept failure (both from themselves and others)?: Life goes on, she’ll leave it alone if it fails.

Level of comfort with technology: Eh, lol.

Believe in the supernatural: Yes.

Believe in an afterlife: Yes.

Believe in happy endings: Somewhat.

How do they want to be remembered?: Someone who’s loving, kind-hearted, thoughtful.

Good with their hands (if so, practical/crafting or fine arts)?: I guess so.

How fast do they learn new things? Better with book knowledge or hands on approach?: She’s a quick learner. It depends on what she’s learning so.. both.

How do they feel about asking for help?: Sasha HATES asking for help, even when she doesn’t know what she’s doing. Lol. Too much pride smh.

“Left brain” or “right brain” thinker?: Right brain.

Optimist or pessimist: A slight mixture of both, depending on the situation.

Extrovert or introvert: An introvert with extrovert tendencies, like it says in her bio lol.

Leader or follower: Follower.

Makes decisions based mostly on emotions, or on logic?: Emotions.

Cautious or daring: Cautious.

Spontaneous or planner: Planner.

Thinker or doer? Thinker.

Organized or messy: Organized.

Worrier or carefree: Worrier.

Artistic?: No.

Mathematical?: Yes.

SEX & INTIMACY

Current marital/relationship/sexual status: In a relationship with Marcel, (@moneymarce).

Sexual orientation (is it something they question or a secret): Heterosexual.

Past relationships and sexual partners (if applicable): None that anyone would know of.

What is their “type” in regards to looks in a partner?: Doesn’t really matter as long as he’s clean cut.

Ideal mate/qualities they look for in mate: Patience, thoughtfulness, intelligence, someone who’s caring, loving.. you know the rest.

Primary reason for being broken up with: Her pride, and how nonchalant she can be pisses people off at times.

Primary reasons for breaking up with people: If the other person is overwhelming or does too much for her liking she can’t handle it.

Views on sex (one night stands, promiscuity, etc): Sex is considered to be something special/sacred to Sasha so she ain’t out here just throwing her pussy everywhere with just anyone, aghsghds.

Age and story of first kiss (if any—if not, how does he/she want it to happen?): 14, she kissed some lil boy she liked from school.

Age and story of loss of virginity (if any—if not, how does he/she want it to happen, if at all?): 17, had sex with her high school sweetheart.

Level of sexual experience: Idk how to answer this, um she’s had sex enough to know what to do??? Lmao.

Do they have any unfulfilled sexual fantasies?: No.

Wildest/strangest sexual experience? Would they do it again?: None that come to mind.

Do they have any fetishes or kinks?: No.

Have they lied about their previous sexual partners to current/potential partners?: Lmao, nah that’s wack.

Love or Lust: Love.

Ever been in love?: No.

Do they fall in love easily?: Not really.

Do they take relationships seriously?: Yes.

Worst thing they’ve done to someone they loved?: Nothing that comes to mind.

Do they desire marriage and/or children in their future?: Of course.

Believe in true love or soul mates?: Yes, especially soul mates.

Thoughts on public displays of affection?: Sasha is really weird with PDA lmao, especially if it’s around a lot of people. She’s shy smh.

How do they flirt?: She can’t really flirt unless the other person starts the flirting, or she really likes them.

How do they show affection/love to their partner?: Physical - kisses, hugs, cuddling. Loves to boost her partner's head UP lol, tells them how good they look or make her feel.

Thoughts on cheating/cheaters? Have they ever cheated?: You’re trash if you cheat. She’s never cheated.

Idea of perfect date: Anything that includes chilling and/or eating. She’s lazy she doesn’t like active shit.

RELATIONSHIPS

Social Habits (popular, loner, some close friends, makes friends and then quickly drops them): The only person she considers friends are her best friend Roman, her brother Dinero or her boyfriend Marcel. Just people she holds close to her heart, other than that everyone else she talks to are acquaintances.

How do they treat others (politely, rudely, keep at distance, etc)?: Polite but she can be a lil passive aggressive sometimes with certain people though lmao.

Do they trust people easily or tend to be wary?: Wary.

How often do they see friends and family?: Sasha and her brother live SO close together but they only see each other every so often smh. She tries to visit her dad every so often, otherwise they FaceTime each other.

Are they good at keeping in touch? If not, does this bother loved ones?: Somewhat, it depends on how busy she is, but they understand.

What is relationship with parents/family?: Her relationship with her mother is next to non-existent. But very close to her dad.

Any roommates or close neighbors: She has roommates, but when she moves out she’s gonna be living with @ayorome.

Person most dependent on: Her dad.

Most comfortable around (person): @moneymarce.

Oldest friend: N/A.

Closest friend: @ayorome.

Worst enemy: N/A.

Rival (at what and why): N/A.

Most important person in their life?: Her dad.

Who do they most respect and why?: Her dad, again simply because when she left home (her mother’s) he took on the role of being both mom and dad to her.

Who would they turn to if they needed help and why?: Her dad or her brother.

How does he/she think others perceive him/her?: Idk? Lol.

How do others actually perceive him/her?: ..Idk.

Argue or avoid conflict?: Avoids conflict, but will argue if she’s real mad. Which is rare.

Thoughts on large groups of people?: She doesn’t mind if it’s just family and friends but it can get overwhelming for her.

Main quality they look for in people: Kind-heartedness.

Have they ever lost anyone close to them? How did they handle it?: Cry and attempt to handle it alone.

How do they show affection?: Answered.

Do they act differently around strangers than friends? If so, how differently?: She’s introverted around strangers, but she’s open around her friends.

Would they ever consider adopting a child? Why or why not?: Of course. Children should have a family or someone to feed, clothe and love them.

VOCATION

Level of education: Working towards finishing her college education.

Profession: Waitress/Server @ BOA Steakhouse

Describe their work space: A restaurant.

If no job, where do finances come from?: N/A

Past occupations: Other waiting jobs, retail.

Dream occupation: PR/Marketing Manager.

Passions: If she had to pick one, fashion. That’s the sector she wants to go in with her (future) job.

Attitude towards current job: Blah. It’s a job that pays.

Attitude towards current coworkers, bosses, employees: She gets along with most co-workers. Her manager doesn’t like her since she always asks for days off lol.

Salary: $21,900.

Spender or Saver? Why?: Saver, but she does like to spend sometimes.

Which is more important – money or doing something they love?: Money. She’ll work anywhere within reason if she has the skills and it pays well.

SECRETS

Phobias: Insects, snakes.. shit like that.

Life goals: Graduate and get her dream job, travel and see the world. Babies, marriage, the white picket fence. Lol.

Dreams: See above.

Greatest fears: Never re-building a relationship with her mother.

Most embarrassing thing ever to happen to him/her: Her dad catching her out past her curfew, he cussed her out and dragged her ass back to his car in front of all her high school friends and took her home. 😭

Something they’ve never told anyone: Lol, can’t think of none.

Biggest regret: *shows her “No Ragrets” chest tatt* Lmao, but nah. Everything happens for a reason so no regrets.

Compulsions: Hm, none.

Obsessions: Her man. 🌝

Secret hobbies: None.

Secret skills: None in particular.

Past sexual transgressions: No.

Police/Criminal/Legal record (Crimes committed? If so, were they caught? charged?): Never been arrested although she’s done some scammer shit over the internet in the past, never caught though.

What he/she most wants to change about his/her current life?: She wants to move out of her current apartment so bad.

What he/she most wants to change about his/her physical appearance?: None.

LIKES & DISLIKES

Hobbies: Reading, studying, anything surrounding self care (face masks, relaxing etc.) She’s really lazy as shit.

Indoors or Outdoors?: Indoors.

Favorite color: Baby pink.

Favorite smell: Rose water.

Favorite and least favorite food: Pizza is her fave, least fave is grits/porridge/anything with a weird texture.

Favorite and least favorite book: And Still I Rise by Maya Angelou. Doesn’t really have a least fave.. she doesn’t like reading novels though?

Favorite and least favorite movie: Belly is her fave. Doesn’t have a least fave but hates horror movies.

Favorite and least favorite song: I Miss You - Aaliyah is everythinggg to her lol. She doesn’t have a least favorite song.

Favorite and least favorite holiday (and why): Favorite holiday is Christmas.

Coffee or tea?: (Iced) tea.

Crunchy or smooth peanut butter?: Smooth. Only crackheads and serial murderers eat crunchy.

Do they watch TV? If so, what?: Insecure, Atlanta, LHH, Black Ink Crew + any black shows from 90′s/2000′s.

Favorite place to hang out: Her man’s house.

Do they like music? What kind?: RnB/Hip-hop. Throwback shit in particular, but she likes some new artists too.

Favorite type of weather: Summer weather.

Favorite form of entertainment: Listening to music.

How do they feel about traveling?: She hasn’t traveled a lot but she loves it and wants to do it more often.

What sort of gifts do they like?: Meaningful, heart-felt gifts.

MORALITY

Ever been in an argument (with who, about what, what happened): Who hasn’t been in an argument? But if she does argue it’s usually with her mom about their relationship or small triggers that come out in conversation. She argues with her dad sometimes, but nothing major.

Ever been in a physical altercation (with who, about what, what happened): Yes, in high school with another girl about petty high school shit, lol.

What trait do they find most admirable and why?: Intelligence, she likes when people can teach or put her on to other things/views etc.

Thoughts on violence: Doesn’t like it but if it’s necessary then.. yeah.

One act most ashamed of: She dissects her food before she eats it, asjdsj so damn weird.

Most proud of: Herself.

Evil – born or bred: Bred.

Is redemption possible (if so, are there limitations): Sure.

Does the end justify the means?: Hm, depends.

Good of the one or the many?: What. Lol.

Can they be manipulative?: Hm, sometimes. Mostly with her dad.

Do they think it’s okay to cry (if not, why)?: Of course. Sasha is a crier.

When did they last cry and why?: She last cried to Roman while venting.

Would they be able to kill (if so, under what circumstances)?: Not gon lie.. probably not lmao.

Who or what would they die for (or go to extremes for)?: Immediate family.

Anything they refuse to do under any circumstances (and why)?: Just generally doing people wrong. There’s no need.

Biases/prejudices?: None, she doesn’t discriminate.

What, if anything, shocks or offends them?: People who try and insult her intelligence.

What is their reputation?: ? Idk.

Cusser?: Yeah.

How do they react to unwanted sexual advances?: Never really experienced that so she wouldn’t know.

How would they react to stranger being bullied/abused?: What about an animal?: Stand up for them. She doesn’t like to witness shit like that. Not gon do shit for an animal tbh, unless it’s her pet.

How susceptible are they to peer pressure?: She can be easily encouraged by her friends. So.. yeah smh.

How do they react to conflict, both verbally and physically?: It depends on the person, sometimes she’ll raise her voice back, sometimes she shuts her ass up lol.

Easily forgive or hold grudges?: Hold grudges unless it’s someone she holds close.

Forgive self or live with regret/guilt?: Forgive herself.

Would they ever cheat someone? Under what circumstances?: Never gon cheat. EVER.

Have they ever been betrayed? By who? How did it affect them/their relationship?: Betrayed by her mom, her dad has done some shit to her too such as not telling her she had a brother for how many years. She forgave her dad, her mom.. eh lol.

Would they ever betray a friend/loved one? If so, under what circumstances? Never.

Do they respect the belief of others, even if it’s at odds with their own?: Yes.

Stand up for own beliefs or hide/avoid discussing them with people who have opposing views?: Stands up for her own beliefs.

DRUGS & ALCOHOL

Thoughts on drugs and alcohol: She smokes weed so. She wouldn’t do anything else. She doesn’t drink often.

Do they smoke? If so, do they want to quit?: She doesn’t wanna quit weed.

Age of first cigarette: Tried one at 16, and never again smh.

Age when they first got drunk (what happened, consequences): 19, she was peer pressured into drinking smh. She got in trouble with her dad and she was slumped over the toilet with a hangover.

Do they drink on regular basis: Nope.

What type of alcohol do they prefer: Cocktails. Drinks that taste good.

Have they ever tried other drugs (which, what happened, consequences): No.

Do they have any addictions?: No.

DETAILS

Most important/defining event in life to date: Meeting her brother for the first time.

Daily routine: Wake up, shower, get dressed, class, come home, go see Marcel, fall asleep (whatever comes first lmao) or if it’s a weekend she goes to work.

Sleeping habits (Night owl or early bird? Light or heavy sleeper? Fall asleep anywhere or need specific conditions?): Heavy sleeper, she can sleep anywhere lol.

Typical Saturday night: Chilling with Marcel.

Most used word or phrase?: Idk lol.

What is home like (messy, neat, sparse): Neat.

Type of car he/she drives (or wishes he/she drove): A white or black g-wagon is her dream car.

Pets?: If not, do they want any?: No, but she wants a puppy lol.

Most prized possession: The initial ring Marcel gave her for her birthday.

One word to best describe them: Um.. lazy lmao.

What are you likely to find in their pockets? Purse/bag/backpack/wallet?: Her phone, wallet, pencil case, laptop, notebook, a hair brush, lip gloss, blotting papers.

What about their fridge? Medicine cabinet? Glove compartment? Nightstand?: She shares her fridge and people be eating her shit smh so not much lmao. Left overs, hot sauce, orange juice, water. Medicine cabinet, she has anxiety medicine, cough syrup, heat strips, tylenol etc. As for the glove compartment, the shit that comes with the car, insurance papers and shit like that. Baby wipes, lotion and more lip gloss tbh lol. She keeps her bonnet and silk scarf in her nightstand, a little brush for her hair, other important letters and shit.

What makes them laugh?: Anything, she finds shit funny that’s not even funny.

Any special holiday traditions?: No.

Can they hold their breath for a long time?: Uh.. no.

Do they know how to swim? Yeah.

Can they cook (if so, how well and do they enjoy it)?: Yes, she enjoys it but.. she’s lazy so she doesn’t cook all the time.

Is there anything they always carry with them? If so, why?: Just the normal stuff. Phone, keys, wallet.

Ideal vacation: Hm. Bali, Indonesia with Marcel. Relaxing in a spa by the beach.

If they wanted to hide something, where would they hide it?: Her room, down the side of her bed more than likely.

Do they keep a journal?: No.

Are there any places that hold special meaning to them?: Her dads place.

SITUATIONAL

24 hours to live – name 3 things they would do: Spend time with her loved ones. Cry lmao. Try and do one thing she’s always wanted to do.

If they could choose, how would they want to die: In her sleep.

What would they do if they received large sum of money?: Not gon lie, she would splurge. She’d save some too.

What would they wish for if they found a genie?: More wishes lol.

If they could have one super power, what would it be and why?: Invisibility, it’d give her a chance to be nosey shjdjf.

How do they deal with insects?: Scream. Get someone to come and kill it.

How would they react to death of loved one?: Cry. Grieve, alone.

If they were outnumbered in a fight, would they stand ground or run away?: If it’s more than two people.. run for her life tbh. 😭

Granted opportunity to change one thing in their past – would they do it? If so what would they change?: Her relationship with her mom.

If they could rescue one thing from a burning building, what would it be?: Nothing that important to go rescue something inanimate.

Would they be comfortable sharing a bed with a person they didn’t know well?: No.

CHILDHOOD & ADOLESCENCE

First memory: How her mom would act towards her as a kid.

Favorite toy (when did they stop playing with it, do they still have it currently): A Sasha Bratz doll, she stopped playing with it at 9. She doesn’t have it anymore.

Favorite game: Monopoly.

Best friend as child: A girl she knew in preschool, Miracle.

Fondest childhood memory: Summers with her dad.

Worst childhood memory: Verbal abuse from her mother.

Childhood trauma: Trauma? Nothing sticks out.

How were they disciplined? Did that change as they got older?: Yeah she used to get her ass beat but nah, not now.

What did they want to be when they grew up?: She wanted to be nurse until she realized she can’t stand the sight of blood.

Any non-family adults stick out in their mind? (Who were they, how did he/she know them? Why do they stick out)?: Nope.

Age of first date: 16

View of authority? What affected that view?: Not fond. Her parents, political views, the media etc.

What clique in high school were they associated with?: She wasn’t really associated any clique.

High school goals: She graduated.

Did they enjoy high school: Hm, yeah.

Any extracurricular activities: Sasha was a nerd lowkey, in the book club and on the debate team. Lmao bless.

How well did they do in school?: Very well. Got good grades.

#L.A. task #rhodesasha #didn't know what to put on the collage so it's blank for now lol #& i didn't proof read shit

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moneymarce · 7 years

Photo

||Bout this nigga named Marcel||

ORIGINS & FAMILY

Full Name: Marcel Alejandro Anderson

Reason for name: Marcel means little warrior. Alejandro means defender.

Nickname(s) and how they got them: Dro

Date of Birth: May 5, 1989

Age: 28

Gender: Male

Place of birth: Puerto Vallarta, Mexico

Places lived since: Long Beach, CA

Social Class: Middle Class

Parents’ names, backgrounds, occupations: Tanya Anderson, Mexican and African-American, unemployed

Siblings: Marisol Anderson, 13

Relationship with family (close? estranged?): Close with majority of his family.

Children of his/her own?: Yes, Elijah.

If so, relationship with child’s mother/father?: Working on co-parenting.

Age he/she became a parent: 24

PHYSICAL

Height: 5′8

Weight: 150

Build: Plush lmao not chubby, but not muscular.

Race: Mexican & African-American

Nationality: Mexican-American

Face Shape: Oval

Distinguishing Facial Features: None

Hair Color: Black

Usual Hair Style: Either buzzed cut or curly

Eye Color: Dark brown

Complexion (freckles, acne, skin tone, birth marks, scars): Light bright with clear skin.

Disabilities (physical or mental, including mental illnesses): N/A

Health (usually sick? or very resilient? allergies?): Resilient, but is somewhat lactose intolerant.

What do they consider their best feature?: Lips or smile

Worst they’ve ever been injured (what, how did it happen)?: Broke a leg running the streets doing hoodrat stuff with his friends.

Ticklish: Nope

APPEARANCE

Style of dress/typical outfit(s): Laid-back Cali type of style. He’s either wearing his postal service uniform or a proclub tee and some khakis.

Typical style of shoes: Nike Cortez, loafers or Converses.

How does he/she dress up?: Dress down?: He’s always dressed down. He cleans up with a suit or blazer.

Favorite outfit: A proclub, khakis and Cortez’s. That simple.

Glasses? Contacts?: Glasses only when he drives at night.

Personal Hygiene: Is this a question? Lol he’s WAY into personal hygiene and self care. Probably the most cared for nigga around.

Grooming (makeup? shower daily? wear only clean clothes? pluck eyebrows?): Who doesn’t shower daily? Dirty asses lol.

Jewelry? Tattoos? Piercings?: He is always wearing at least one gold chain and bracelet. He has a few tattoos, but nothing major. His ears and tongue is pierced.

What does their voice sound like?: Its deep, kind of raspy.

Style of speech (loud, mumbler, articulate, etc.): He’s very articulate and well spoken.

Accent?: He sounds like a Cali dude. That type of vernacular and slang.

Unique mannerisms/physical habits (bites nails, talks with hands, taps feet when restless): He bites the inside of his cheek out of habit. He runs his hand over his head or the back of his neck when hes nervous.

Left handed or right?: Right

What does their writing look like?: Pretty neat for a guy. He writes small.

Do they work out/exercise?: The only work out he gets is fucking @rhodesasha and at work lmaoooo.

BELIEFS & INTELLECT

Level of self esteem: He fakes the funk at times, but he tries to have the highest self esteem.

Known Languages: Gwuapanese. Lmao. Nah, English and Spanish

Zodiac (sign and if they lend any credence to it): Taurus, somewhat.

Gifts/talents: He’s a poet- a natural talker, thinker. He knows how to express his feelings and put them into words.

Shortcomings: He tends to try to help everyone. Somewhat of a Captain Save A Hoe.

Most sensitive about/vulnerable to: Hes sensitive about everything honestly lol

Happiest memory: Marisol’s 1st Christmas sticks out to him. A time when his family was altogether and there were no worries.

Life philosophy: To just live and take everything for what it is.

Religious stance: Not completely religious, but does believe in God.

Political stance: FDT! He’s very much into politics, but not so into the parties and having to stick and choose with one certain individual just because they’re a certain party.

Pet peeves: People that touch his things and doesn’t put them back in their place. People that say they’re going to do something and don’t do it.

Vices: Nah.

Bad habits: Trusting and loving these hoes. Lmao.

Neuroses: Nope.

Disgusts: Women that don’t take care of themselves.

Superstitious: Somewhat.

Sense of humor: Whats the question here? Lol who doesn’t have a sense of humor?

How do they deal with stress? Smoke a blunt, light some candles, take a bubble bath, talk through it with his girl, a friend or his cousin.

What do they do to get pumped up? Listen to music.

What do they do when upset? The same things as when hes stressed.

What about angry? The same.

How do they react to frustrations (get worked up, calm down and think through it logically, give up, etc)?: Some of all of the above. It depends on the situation surrounding his frustration.

How do they accept failure (both from themselves and others)?: Depends on the situation, but he just deals with it.

Level of comfort with technology: He thinks its great for certain things like being able to have the knowledge of anything in the palm of your hands, but it also takes away from relationships, communication, etc.

Believe in the supernatural: Yes.

Believe in an afterlife: Yes.

Believe in happy endings: Yeah.

How do they want to be remembered?: As a kind individual that did his best to reach and help people.

Good with their hands (if so, practical/crafting or fine arts)?: Yes in more ways than one *wink wink* lmao. He can build and put things together well.

How fast do they learn new things? Better with book knowledge or hands on approach?: He’s a quick learner. Does best with watching first and then trying.

How do they feel about asking for help? Depends on what the situation is, but his pride isn’t that big that he won’t ask for help.

“Left brain” or “right brain” thinker?: Right for sure.

Optimist or pessimist: Optimist.

Extrovert or introvert: A mixture of both depending on who he is around.

Leader or follower: Leader.

Makes decisions based mostly on emotions, or on logic?: Emotions for sure. Logic kicks in after the fact.

Cautious or daring: Depends on what it is.

Spontaneous or planner: Planner.

Thinker or doer? Both.

Organized or messy: Depends.

Worrier or carefree: Worrier.

Artistic?: Yes.

Mathematical?: Not really.

SEX & INTIMACY

Current marital/relationship/sexual status: In a relationship with Sasha

Sexual orientation (is it something they question or a secret): Heterosexual

Past relationships and sexual partners (if applicable): Only known person here would be Imani.

What is their “type” in regards to looks in a partner? He doesn’t discriminate.

Ideal mate/qualities they look for in mate: Someone caring, that’ll listen to him when its time to listen and react when its time to. Someone loving that cares about their family and friends. Someone with goals and that is actively working towards those goals.

Primary reason for being broken up with: Wanting the other to open up when it wasn’t in their personality to. Personalities just not meshing well together.

Primary reasons for breaking up with people: Same as above.

Views on sex (one night stands, promiscuity, etc): Sex is a deeper connection with someone and theres a swapping of energy there. Can’t go swapping that energy with every and anyone.

Age and story of first kiss (if any—if not, how does he/she want it to happen?): 5, it just happened.

Age and story of loss of virginity (if any—if not, how does he/she want it to happen, if at all?): 13, fucked a shorty that lived down the street from him. No story to it he just wanted to see what it was about.

Level of sexual experience: Errrr. Lmao. I didn’t realize it was levels to this lmao.

Do they have any unfulfilled sexual fantasies?: Not really.

Wildest/strangest sexual experience? Would they do it again? The wildest would be fucking a milf he delivered mail to when he first started working for USPS.

Do they have any fetishes or kinks? Nah.

Have they lied about their previous sexual partners to current/potential partners? Nope.

Love or Lust: Love.

Ever been in love?: Yes.

Do they fall in love easily?: Yeah lol

Do they take relationships seriously?: Very much so.

Worst thing they’ve done to someone they loved? N/A People always doing shit to him D: Lmao

Do they desire marriage and/or children in their future? Yes he does.

Believe in true love or soul mates? Yes. Soul mates for sure.

Thoughts on public displays of affection?: Depends. He can either be really shy about it or not care.

How do they flirt: He flirts without realizing he’s flirting. It happens casually through conversation.

How do they show affection/love to their partner?: Physically, through his words and through gifts.

Thoughts on cheating/cheaters? Have they ever cheated? Cheating is the worst thing someone could do in a relationship. They’ve never cheated, but they’ve been cheated on.

Idea of perfect date: Something simple. He’s all about the simple things in life. A picnic, a 90s movie night, face masks and chill.

RELATIONSHIPS

Social Habits (popular, loner, some close friends, makes friends and then quickly drops them): He has a couple close friends, but most of the time he makes friends with people and then they get into an argument and the other blocks him.

How do they treat others (politely, rudely, keep at distance, etc)?: He tries to be the kindest person, but if given a reason to he will keep people at a distance.

Do they trust people easily or tend to be wary?: Trusts easily.

How often do they see friends and family? Whenever time allows him to.

Are they good at keeping in touch? If not, does this bother loved ones?: He’s good at keeping in touch with people as long as they give the same effort.

What is relationship with parents/family?: He has a close relationship with the people in his family. He talks to them about any and everything.

Any roommates or close neighbors: @livinin-sin

Person most dependent on: Himself or his cousin.

Most comfortable around (person): @rhodesasha

Oldest friend: His cousin.

Closest friend: Liucena :( But since shes no longer around, Riley.

Worst enemy: Doesn’t have any.

Rival (at what and why): Doesn’t have any.

Most important person in their life?: His abuela.

Who do they most respect and why?: His mother. Through the life she lives she continues to keep her positive outlook.

Who would they turn to if they needed help and why?: Depends on what type of help, but Sincere first.

How does he/she think others perceive him/her?: Depends on the person and their relationship, but he thinks that people tend to like him.

How do others actually perceive him/her?: ??? Question for them lol.

Argue or avoid conflict?: Depends on the situation and his energy level.

Thoughts on large groups of people?: Depends if its random people or if its family. If its random people he is pretty introverted. Unless it has to do with poetry, then he is open.

Main quality they look for in people: A kind spirit.

Have they ever lost anyone close to them? How did they handle it? Liucena left him :( He misses her, but hes handling.

How do they show affection?: Didn’t y’all already ask this? Lol.

Do they act differently around strangers than friends? If so, how differently?: Yeah, he could be openly himself and goofy around friends. Around strangers he’s more reserved.

Would they ever consider adopting a child? Why or why not?: He would. Everyone deserves love and to have a family.

VOCATION

Level of education: High school diploma

Profession: USPS Mailman

Describe their work space: A mess of sorting mail or on the truck to deliver

If no job, where do finances come from? N/A

Past occupations: Pushing that weight when he was in high school.

Dream occupation: An author, poet.

Passions: Art, poetry, activism

Attitude towards current job: It’s cool, he likes it. It pays the bills.

Attitude towards current coworkers, bosses, employees: He’s cool with everyone that works there.

Salary: $51,390 a year

Spender or Saver? Why?: Both. He likes to spend money and splurge from time to time.

Which is more important – money or doing something they love?: Doing something they love.

SECRETS

Phobias: None.

Life goals: To get books published while still working for and retire with USPS. Get married, have kids and travel. In no particular order.

Dreams: His goals are his dreams.

Greatest fears: Death, but its inevitable so.

Most embarrassing thing ever to happen to him/her: A girl told him off in front of everyone in the lunchroom.

Something they’ve never told anyone: He secretly wants to suck Sasha’s toes. Lmaaaooo.

Biggest regret: He lives life with no regrets.

Compulsions: Besides buying things he doesn’t need? None.

Obsessions: None.

Secret hobbies: None.

Secret skills: None.

Past sexual transgressions: No.

Police/Criminal/Legal record (Crimes committed? If so, were they caught? charged?): Petty crimes that didn’t lead to any real jail time. Spent some time in juvie though.

What he/she most wants to change about his/her current life?: Nothing. He is content with life.

What he/she most wants to change about his/her physical appearance?: Nothing.

LIKES & DISLIKES

Hobbies: Writing, reading, smoking, spending time with his girl

Indoors or Outdoors?: Indoors, unless its the beach then outdoors

Favorite color: Red

Favorite smell: Egyptian Musk

Favorite and least favorite food: Steak and lobster ; pork anything.

Favorite and least favorite book: Ballad of a Ghetto poet. Doesn’t have a least favorite book.

Favorite and least favorite movie: Friday. If he doesn’t care for a movie he just doesn’t care for it.

Favorite and least favorite song: Tupac-Changes

Favorite and least favorite holiday (and why): Christmas ; Columbus Day because obvious reasons.

Coffee or tea?: Tea

Crunchy or smooth peanut butter?: Smooth. Block him for me if you like crunchy peanut butter.

Do they watch TV? If so, what?: Yes, whatever is on.

Favorite place to hang out: His room

Do they like music? What kind?: Of course, old school and 90s hip-hop and r&b.

Favorite type of weather: Sunny, warm.

Favorite form of entertainment: Live entertainment. The strip club lmao

How do they feel about traveling?: He loves to travel.

What sort of gifts do they like? Whatever anyone puts thought into getting him.

MORALITY

Ever been in an argument (with who, about what, what happened): He argues with any and everyone about the smallest of things.

Ever been in a physical altercation (with who, about what, what happened): Of course with a lot of people growing up.

What trait do they find most admirable and why?: Honesty, lying is pointless.

Thoughts on violence: It is what it is, but senseless violence is ..senseless.

One act most ashamed of: I don’t know lol.

Most proud of: Himself, his career, his life.

Evil – born or bred: Bred.

Is redemption possible (if so, are there limitations): Yeah.

Does the end justify the means?: Depends on the situation.

Good of the one or the many?: What are these questions? Lmao

Can they be manipulative?: Yeah.

Do they think it’s okay to cry (if not, why)?: Yes.

When did they last cry and why?: When he found out the results of the paternity test.

Would they be able to kill (if so, under what circumstances)?: Yeah if someone is threatening his life.

Who or what would they die for (or go to extremes for)?: His family.

Anything they refuse to do under any circumstances (and why)?: Put his hands on a woman.

Biases/prejudices?: None.

What, if anything, shocks or offends them?: Nothing shocks him. He expects the unexpected these days.

What is their reputation? I don’t know.. thats what others think of him.

Cusser?: Yeah lol

How do they react to unwanted sexual advances?: This doesn’t happen to him.

How would they react to stranger being bullied/abused?: What about an animal?: Try to stick up for the person being bullied or abused. Not really going out of his way for an animal.

How susceptible are they to peer pressure?: Not at all.

How do they react to conflict, both verbally and physically?: His jaw will clench, his hands will probably ball into fists, but thats about it. His voice will rise too.

Easily forgive or hold grudges?: Easily forgives.

Forgive self or live with regret/guilt?: Forgive himself. Hes working on it.

Would they ever cheat someone? Under what circumstances? Nope.

Have they ever been betrayed? By who? How did it affect them/their relationship?: Yeah. Some of the homies betrayed him. He’s done with someone after they cross him.

Would they ever betray a friend/loved one? If so, under what circumstances? Nope.

Do they respect the belief of others, even if it’s at odds with their own?: Yeah.

Stand up for own beliefs or hide/avoid discussing them with people who have opposing views?: Stand up for his own beliefs.

DRUGS & ALCOHOL

Thoughts on drugs and alcohol: He’s cool with smoking weed and getting his drink on every so often or even a glass of wine to cool down with.

Do they smoke? If so, do they want to quit?: Yes weed and no he doesn’t care to quit.

Age of first cigarette: 13, but he only smokes one if he must.

Age when they first got drunk (what happened, consequences):

Do they drink on regular basis: Nope.

What type of alcohol do they prefer: That OE lol, but whatever he can get his hands on.

Have they ever tried other drugs (which, what happened, consequences): Nah.

Do they have any addictions?: Nope.

DETAILS

Most important/defining event in life to date: Finding out he has a son.

Daily routine: Wake up, get ready for work, go to work, come home, do some type of self care, go to sleep and do it all over again.

Sleeping habits (Night owl or early bird? Light or heavy sleeper? Fall asleep anywhere or need specific conditions?): Night owl. A heavy sleeper. Depends on the level of tired.

Typical Saturday night: Chilling at home with Sash, watching a movie or something.

Most used word or phrase?: I don’t know lol

What is home like (messy, neat, sparse): Depends, but most of the time its neat. Everything has its place.

Type of car he/she drives (or wishes he/she drove): Toyota Camry.

Pets?: If not, do they want any?: None, doesn’t want one.

Most prized possession: His journal.

One word to best describe them: Multifaceted.

What are you likely to find in their pockets? Purse/bag/backpack/wallet?: His wallet, keys and phone would be in his pocket. In his wallet is his ID, money, debit card, credit cards and pictures.

What about their fridge? Medicine cabinet? Glove compartment? Nightstand?: The fridge is likely to have water, juice, fruit and leftovers. The medicine cabinet has aspirins, Pepto Bismol, Benadryl and thats about it. Theres a gun in the glove compartment. Jk lmao. Some air freshener and the car manual is in the glove compartment. His nightstand has a bible, his journal and the Ninja Turtle tin lunchbox that contains his weed and accessories.

What makes them laugh?: A lot does lol.

Any special holiday traditions?: Nothing out of the ordinary.

Can they hold their breath for a long time?: Not really.

Do they know how to swim? Yes.

Can they cook (if so, how well and do they enjoy it)?: He can cook certain dishes, but he is too lazy and doesn’t enjoy to.

Is there anything they always carry with them? If so, why?: A switchblade..never know when you have to fuck someone up lmao. Sike. Besides his phone and wallet. No.

Ideal vacation: Somewhere on a remote island with his girl.

If they wanted to hide something, where would they hide it?: In his room or closet.

Do they keep a journal?: Yes, but no so much as a diary journal. More a poetry journal.

Are there any places that hold special meaning to them?: His aunt’s house.

SITUATIONAL

24 hours to live – name 3 things they would do: Smoke a fat blunt, spend time with his son and Sasha, and eat really well.

If they could choose, how would they want to die: Quick and painless.

What would they do if they received large sum of money?: Not tell a soul or change anything about his lifestyle. Just travel.

What would they wish for if they found a genie?: Unlimited wishes lol

If they could have one super power, what would it be and why?: To read people’s minds. To know what people think would be interesting enough.

How do they deal with insects?: Pick em up and bring them outside. Sike. He kills em. Lmao

How would they react to death of loved one? Like anyone else would. Be sad about it.

If they were outnumbered in a fight, would they stand ground or run away?: Stand his ground.

Granted opportunity to change one thing in their past – would they do it? If so what would they change?: Nope. Everything got him to where he is now for a reason.

If they could rescue one thing from a burning building, what would it be?: A person inside?

Would they be comfortable sharing a bed with a person they didn’t know well?: Yeah. Just might sleep with one eye open lol.

CHILDHOOD & ADOLESCENCE

First memory: Him comforting his mom at 4 years old before she went and took him to the movies.

Favorite toy (when did they stop playing with it, do they still have it currently): A Buzz Lightyear action figure. He stopped playing with it at 8 years old. Its at his aunt’s house with the rest of his old things.

Favorite game: Operation.

Best friend as child: Sincere.

Fondest childhood memory: Marisol’s 1st Christmas

Worst childhood memory: Getting jumped into the set.

Childhood trauma: None out of the ordinary for a black child.

How were they disciplined? Did that change as they got older?: Got his ass beat. Nope. He could still catch an ass whooping lol

What did they want to be when they grew up?: It always changed, but he stuck for the most part with veterinarian for a long time.

Any non-family adults stick out in their mind? (Who were they, how did he/she know them? Why do they stick out)?: His senior year English teacher. She made the class enjoyable, she believed in him and helped him out whenever she could in other subjects.

Age of first date: 16.

View of authority? What affected that view? Fuck the police. What wouldn’t affect that view? He’s had enough run ins with cops to know for himself that a lot of them aren’t for him.

What clique in high school were they associated with? He didn’t fit into any of the regular cliques. He hung with the homies from the set.

High school goals: To make it through, which he did.

Did they enjoy high school: He did.

Any extracurricular activities: Doing hoodrat shit with his friends.

How well did they do in school?: He did alright in school, outstanding in English classes.

#money$marce #L.A. task

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lati-will · 7 years

Text

Science & The Paranormal – The Question Of Consciousness

With so many people (many indeed being iconic scientific and historical figures) experiencing what they are supposedly not meant to, according to materialistic thought, the reasonable individual might be forgiven for wondering if there is something more to consciousness than our present “scientific” paradigms would have us believe. Can we go further than questioning the assumed legitimacy of orthodox materialistic theories which reduce consciousness to a mere epiphenomenon (by-product) of physical matter (the brain) and even—heaven forbid—suggest that they are not merely incomplete, but actually types of superstitions in themselves?

Etymologically, the word consciousness derives from the words scire (to know) and cum or con (with). Consciousness is “to know with.” So if you, the persona, recognize (to know or be aware of), who are you recognizing with? Is there more to consciousness than the Freudian ego and unconscious?

Mathematical physicist Roger Penrose has written:

A scientific world-view which does not profoundly come to terms with the problem of conscious minds can have no serious pretensions of [sic] completeness…I would maintain that there is yet no physical, biological, or computational theory that comes very close to explaining our consciousness or intelligence.[i]

Indeed, in the past (and even today?) some scientists had taken the absurd position that consciousness is an illusion. This, while providing a nonsensical reason to ignore the problem of consciousness, obviously fails to sate the curious inquirer’s queries regarding how we got here and what we are doing here as conscious beings. Materialistic philosophy as we know it—derived from the mechanistic worldview—had, more or less since the dawning of the Age of Reason in the 1700s, steadfastly maintained that what we call experience arises solely as a by-product of the brain’s internal workings. No brain, no consciousness.

But is it really that simple? What about functions of consciousness that appear to transcend the cranial boundaries of our heads? The Age of Reason said that these forces had only ever existed in man’s imagination; only reason could show man the truth about the universe. “The trouble was,” according to Colin Wilson, “that man became a thinking pygmy, and the world of the rationalists was a daylight place in which boredom, triviality and ordinariness were ultimate truths.”[ii]

The Age of Reason glorified the rationalist, who, enamoured of his endless linear cogitations, was blinded to faculties of consciousness that actually transcended them: faculties that would have allowed him not to merely philosophize about deeper levels of reality, but actually access them. “This is the great tragedy of modern man,” wrote occultist, philosopher, and composer Dane Rudhyar. “His much acclaimed scientific spirit frees him of the compulsions of subrational and subconscious states of mind, only to bind him to an empty rationalism and a quantitative analytical intellect, both of which actually entomb him in a sarcophagus filled with only the mimicry of life. This sarcophagus is the ‘megalopolis’—the monstrous city.”[iii]

But something stirs in the bowels of the concrete jungle. An international online survey of paranormal experiences had met with an overwhelming response, according to Australian researchers in 2006. The survey, on phenomena that cannot be explained using the current “laws” of science, is by researchers at Monash University in Melbourne. A recent (for the time) Gallup poll revealed that 75% of Americans hold at least one paranormal belief, and a UK newspaper poll showed that 60% of Britons accept the existence of the paranormal, say the researchers. According to the researchers, the survey is not about beliefs or whether parapsychological phenomena exist, rather it is about what people have experienced and the impact it has had on their lives.Some 2,000 people had made contact via the internet within six weeks of the survey beginning. A whopping 96% of respondents claim to have had at least one brush with the paranormal. The exercise seeks to gauge the frequency, effect, and age of onset of unexplained phenomena such as premonitions, out-of-body and near-death episodes, telepathy, and apparitions. Results as of 2006 showed that 70% of respondents believe an unexplained event changed their lives, mostly in a positive way. Some 70% also claim to have seen, heard, or been touched by an animal or person that wasn’t there, 80% report having had a premonition, and almost 50% recalled a previous life.[iv] In May 2000, the New York Times Sunday Magazine published results of a poll conducted by Blum & Weprin Associates; a huge 81% said they believed in life after death.[v]

Virtually all of these beliefs hint at (and require in order to be true) the existence of other realms or dimensions in which consciousness can operate. A 2005 poll taken by the Scottish paranormal society showed that more people are likely to believe in ghosts and the paranormal than have faith in any organized religion. A Gallup survey taken in 2005 showed that about three in four Americans profess at least one paranormal belief.[vi] This is a massive amount of “paranormal” experience and belief—all of it depending on the existence of other levels of reality, without which such experience can only be labeled as delusion and fantasy.

Did you know that the American Psychiatric Association’s Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders (DSM) has now been amended so that genuinely psychic people are no longer considered “disordered”?[vii]

Intuition and Creativity

Srinivasa Ramanujan (below, left), born in India, 1887–1920, has been called the strangest man in all of mathematics, probably in the entire history of science. Working in isolation from his peers, this genius was single-handedly able to re-derive a hundred years’ worth of Western mathematics. As Michio Kaku reports in Hyperspace, the tragedy of his life is that much of his work was wasted rediscovering known mathematics.[viii] Most interesting to us, Ramanujan said that the goddess Namakkal inspired him in his dreams; in other words, the source of his creative genius was this other realm within his sleep, rather than ordinary waking consciousness.

Is there a link between this other realm of sleep and paranormal phenomena? At a glance, such a presumption appears to be a stretch, but the reservation of judgment is highly recommended at this point. Carl Jung (below) once said: “The images and ideas that dreams contain cannot possibly be explained solely in terms of memory. They express new thoughts that have never yet reached the threshold of consciousness.”[ix]

Ramanujan appears to provide an excellent example of the type of non-ordinary information access that the Russian paranormal researchers might call hypercommunication, and he isn’t alone among specialists, pioneers, giants of science, and so-called regular people. In fact, pioneer psychiatrist and consciousness researcher Stanislav Grof found that during LSD experiences his own patients were capable of accessing the “collective unconscious,” obtaining very specific, accurate, and detailed knowledge. In the LSD training program for scientists, relevant insights occurred in fields as diverse as cosmogenesis, the nature of space and time, subatomic physics, ethology, animal psychology, history, anthropology, and many more.[x]

Ramanujan, assuming he really did receive detailed formulas in his dreams via the subconscious, provides perhaps some indication of just how accurate and detailed this knowledge can be. As we will see, these insights that defy the Freudian and Newtonian-Cartesian (reductionist) worldview/s abound in the literature. In 1862 the chemist Friedrich August von Kekule famously arrived at the solution for the chemical formula for benzene in a dream wherein he saw the benzene ring in the form of a snake biting its tail—an archetypal symbol in itself—the Ouroburos. In a supreme historical irony, Descartes’ principles of what ultimately became the mechanist philosophy originated from a dream on the eve of St. Martin’s day of 1619 in which the “Angel of Truth” explained to him that mathematics was the key to unlocking the secrets of Nature![xi]

Similarly, Nikola Tesla constructed the electric generator…after the complete design of it appeared to him in great detail in a vision. The design for the experiment leading to the Nobel Prize–winning discovery of the chemical transmission of nerve impulses occurred to the physiologist Otto Leowi while he was asleep. Albert Einstein discovered the basic principles of his special theory of relativity in an unusual state of mind; according to his description, most of the insights came to him in the form of kinaesthetic sensations.[xii]

Einstein had said:

“The supreme task of the physicist is to arrive at those universal elementary laws from which the cosmos can be built up by pure deduction. There is no logical path to these laws; only intuition, resting on sympathetic understanding of experience, can reach them.”[xiii]

Many of the great scientists have said very similar things. From out of nowhere a revelatory vision or understanding hits them, as if suddenly downloaded into their minds from some esoteric conceptual repository. It is interesting that many people find in lucid dreams that they can learn skills that translate directly into real waking life or they can solve problems in the conscious dream state that in the physical world had stumped them, and moreover, these solutions actually work.[xiv] Francis Crick was under the influence of LSD in 1953 at the moment when he perceived the double helix shape and unraveled the structure of DNA.[xv] The chemist D. I. Mendeleyev saw his entire periodic table of elements one night in a dream. And of course, many of history’s greatest and most successful musical artists came up with their best material under the influence of one drug or another.

Oprah Winfrey says, “My business skills have come from being guided by my inner self—my intuition.”[xvi] She’s not alone among the financially abundant. Researchers have tested CEOs of successful corporations for their ability to see the future, such as by predicting a string of numbers they would be shown later. They found that the CEOs who are good at this are usually those who are also highly successful in running their corporations, while CEOs who did not have this ability tend to have mediocre success rates in their corporations. “In one study,” says Dr. Larry Dossey, “experimenters were able to predict in advance the most successful corporate balance sheets by how well the CEOs did on tests that measured their ability to predict the future, such as a string of numbers they’d be shown later.”[xvii]

In 1982 the St. Louis Business Journal tested how a psychic would fare against professional stockbrokers over a six-month period, and reported that the psychic, who had no formal training in stockmarket trading or analysis, outperformed 18 of 19 professional stockbrokers. During the testing period, the Dow Jones Industrial Average fell 8% but the psychic’s stocks went up an average of 17.2%, while the sole broker who beat her achieved 17.4%.[xviii] Physicist and psi researcher Russel Targ’s research group Delphi Associates succeeded in psychically forecasting for nine consecutive weeks the fluctuations in the silver commodity futures markets, earning them a tidy $120,000.[xix]

Psi* techniques are playing an increasingly important role on Wall Street, according to Dean Radin’s sources.[xx] In 1987 Richard S. Broughton, scientist and former president of the Parapsychological Association, pointed to the need-serving nature of psi and the competitive advantage it often provides in the struggle for survival—Darwinists rejoice.[xxi]

Many scientists have had profound interests in fields beyond the reach of the science of their day. For instance, Isaac Newton was an obsessive alchemist[xxii] and Freemason in search of the way to transform consciousness, Thomas Edison built machines to try to facilitate communication with the dead, and Marie Curie attended séances. The list of such eminent scientists with keen interests in the paranormal goes on and on. Is it a credible suggestion that they all were merely deluded into pursuing these areas by cunning charlatans or irrational, wishful thinking? Even Freud, whose attitude towards the occult was originally negative, changed his tune as he matured and learned more about it, suggesting, in a 1949 paper called Psychoanalysis and Telepathy, a union between psychoanalysts and occultists: “[O]ne might expect a mutual sympathy between the two…[A]n alliance of, and collaboration between, psychoanalysis and occultists would seem to be both plausible and promising.”[xxiii]

What about those modern-day scientists and professionals who have experiences in the “paranormal” realm? Brian Weiss, psychiatrist, hypnotherapist, and author, wrote:

The respected chairman of a major clinical department at my hospital is a man who is admired internationally for his expertise. He talks to his deceased father, who has several times protected him from serious danger. Another professor has dreams that provide the missing steps or solutions to his complex research experiments. The dreams are invariably correct. Another well-known doctor usually knows who is calling him on the phone before he answers it…[xxiv]

If these insights come from only one man, imagine what else we might be missing out on if we keep our heads in the sand while new paradigms form around us…

* Psi (pronounced “sigh”) is a term for parapsychological (occult) phenomena derived from the Greek, psi, twenty‐third letter of the Greek alphabet; from the Greek psyche, “mind, soul.” First used in a parapsychological context by biologist B.P. Wiesner, it was first used in print by British psychologist Robert Thouless in 1942.

By: Brendan D. Murphy

#consciousness #soul #spirit #science #dreams #telepathy #multidimensionality #articles

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