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saturnsummer · 3 years

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sunbae.

Sol meets into a familiar someone. This time, she’s not letting her chance pass again.

ao3 link

notes: prompted by @thenerdywriter ! taking place a few years after the gang has graduated and started their jobs. it’s been such a joy writing this! (editing, grammar and other mistakes will be taken responsible by me.) if anyone else has prompts, do ask them in the submission box and i’ll get to you when i can!

thank you @thenerdywriter for this!! i thought of many scenarios, like them being famous prosecutors, or getting married. but i felt that this would be an interesting twist. i hope you like it! thank you for this opportunity!

words: 2256 words

Sol loves being a lawyer. Like, she really does.

Well, besides having to hustle in notes, write reports, follow her bosses to meetings where she just sits and listens, she loves it.

After graduating with her grades just skimming the pass, she landed a job at a small law firm. She acts more like a secretary than a lawyer there, to be honest. But money is money. Her mother is getting older, and with Byeol expressing her interest in dancing, she couldn’t say no.

Thus, she sucks it up and sends out other resumes. She still works part time on weekends at the book shop back in Hankuk University, so she guesses she’s managing well. She still lives in that dangerous alley, but it’s much safer now that she returns home every night.

She tried to stay in contact with her study group. Jiho landed himself in a big law firm, and SolB (despite her mother’s wishes) is at another giant law firm. BokGi got picked up by a firm mostly doing human rights, and Yebeom is working at the company next to BokGi. (So much for besties.) Yeseul is at a small firm, doing mostly cases on women rights.

Joon Hwi, on the other hand...

He was picked up by a law firm in the States. Immediately after graduation, he left for the States. Everyone stayed in contact, but with life catching up, weekly drinks slowed to a meeting every other month. Yeseul and Sol still meet fairly regularly, but Sol can’t help but to feel empty when she notices Joon Hwi is missing.

Everyone feels it, but she feels it the most.

-----

Sol can’t deny her feelings. When she saw him in Professor Yang’s lecture as he picked up her highlighter and gave her a sweet smile, she felt time freeze. Later on, as they became study buddies, she couldn’t help but sneak glances to observe his face when he taught her. She would always hitch her breath whenever he would lean towards her, or tease her with that smirk.

She has always thought that he returned her feelings. The way he would walk her home some nights. How he would always send her a good morning and night text, and place cans of coffees on her table at the library. It didn’t take her long to realise that he stuck post its on her table in their third year every week. (His handwriting was too uniformed, and only he owned circular shaped ones.)

But on the day of Yeseul’s trial, Sol knew that Joon Hwi probably didn’t like her. That he wasn’t protecting her, but her roommate. Of course he would. He was offered to privately tutor her, and they were always top ranking students. She vaguely remembers international events where they both would represent Hankuk in conferences.

Sol didn’t mind it. She was never good enough for him anyways. On graduation, as they took photos and promised to keep in touch, Sol found her mouth dry when it came to Joon Hwi. She had no reason to. (After all, it was just Joon Hwi.) But she felt even more nervous than the time she took her exam.

She planned it out. She wrote a script and memorised it in her head. She wanted to let Joon Hwi know about how she felt, even if he didn’t feel the same. She wanted to thank him for being her friend, for being a support that she will always be grateful for. That wherever he goes, she will always support him in life.

But as they threw their caps in the air and took one last group photo, Joon Hwi slipped away, never to be seen in person again.

-----

Sol found out a week later about his job in the States. They kept in contact by messages and the occasional video calls with the group. But with the time difference, Joon Hwi started texting lesser. Sol was no less busier, managing Byeol and her mom’s age and slowly taking on her responsibilities as the breadwinner of the family.

She used to come home after work and sit outside at the wall, wondering if Joon Hwi could see her in the States at night from the security camera. She would put on her headphones and sit there, watching as people pass late at night. Sometimes, she would speak aloud, as if Joon Hwi could hear her through the camera.

Many days, she would sit outside with a bottle of soju and two cups. She would only drink from one, and the other would just be there as reminder of her good days, when she was a study and drunk regularly with her best confidante. She often ended those nights half-drunk, murmuring her troubles out loud. (As if Joon Hwi was there to listen.)

When Yebeom spilled the beans that Jiho and SolB were dating a year later, she couldn’t believe it. It was a total twist. Does Joon Hwi know? He must be hurt, she thinks. She wanted to text him, call even. But she decided against it. He’s probably too busy for her.

And so Sol went about her mundane routine. She drank with an extra soju cup alone. Used circular post its. Ate ramyeon like her life depended on it.

And it went on.

-----

“Yah, kid!” Gollum smacks Sol’s arm with a freshly printed set of notes.

“You really had to?!” Sol barks back, soothing her arm and organising the copy room.

“When are you gonna stop working? You’re an adult! You��ve got your degree!” Gollum asks, shoving another stack of papers in the copier machine. Sol sighs.

“Till I get out of this job and move on to a better one. God, I’m still pathetic, aren’t I?” She cries out as she carries a stack of books to the door.

“When were you ever pathetic?” A gentle voice rings as Sol stops dead in her tracks. That voice. The voice that she can’t help but miss. The voice that lectured to her about law and her health every other day. Raising her eyes, she meets his familiar handsome face with his hair pushed back out of the way, different from the bangs he once had in school. His brown eyes crinkle.

“Joon…?” She asks breathlessly, still taking in his presence.

“Hello, sunbae.” He smirks. The same exact smirk she still remembers. Sol drops her stack of books to the table nearby and without warning, throws her arms around his neck. He stumbles backwards, but his hands rest gently on her waist, hugging the shorter woman closer to him. She inhaled his musky cologne, feeling his warmth wrap her body.

“I… I don’t get how you’re here. Aren’t you in the States?” She says softly, pulling away from the hug.

“Well, I was. I just got back.” He tells her. Peeking his head over, he waved to Gollum.

“Long time no see, Gollum! Mind you dismiss your staff early?” He cheekily asks, earning a swat from Sol. Gollum, to Sol’s surprise, nods and waves them away. Joon Hwi grins and takes her hand into his and grabs her purse in another before leading her out of school. (Gollum, meanwhile only grins. They better get together this time round, he thinks.)

-----

Joon gives her time to catch up with him and they take a stroll to the park nearby. He shares about his adventures in the States and the different cases he’s gotten. Some difficult, some interesting.

“So, what’s been going on?” Joon asks Sol.

Sol begins retelling about how the group has been doing. She retells BokGi’s and Yebeom’s offer and how they have lunch every other day. How Yeseul decided to want to fend for women abuse victims as well. However, she leaves Jiho and SolB dating for the last.

“Oh, um… I’m not sure if SolB has told you, but…” Sol trails off. Joon Hwi only tilts his head in confusion. Her eyes are uncertain and almost awkward.

“…That her and Jiho are dating?” Joon Hwi completes the sentence for her with enthusiasm.

“Wait, how did you know?”

“Jiho told me. Well, I encouraged Jiho.” He says, leaning back on the benches they sat on.

Now Sol was confused. Didn’t he like SolB? Why on earth is he encouraging Jiho? Her face contorts into a stage of loss and confusion. Joon Hwi only lets out a light chuckle.

“I don’t like SolB. I never did.” He answers her, as if he could hear her thoughts.

Sol freezes. So for years… he never had feelings for her? She feels like she’s back in law school, sitting with him in the empty study room when he leans in closer to look at her notes, closing the distance between. Her heart beats fast and she feels a sense of warmth rising to her face.

“Why? You thought I liked her, didn’t you?” Joon Hwi teases. She turns her face away, knowing that he can see her face blushing red.

“Whatever.” She grumbles just loud enough. Laughter fills her ears as she turns back around to pout at him. Soon enough, she’s suppressing a small smile as they lie back and look in the distance to their alma mater.

Sol sits in her thoughts for a few moments. She now knows that Joon Hwi doesn’t like her ex-roommate. He’s right next to her. He’s in Korea. He still remembers her. He still cares.

But does he feel the same?

“Come, it’s getting late.” He says, taking her hand in his and pulling her up.

Sol doesn’t notice the way his fingers are intertwined with hers.

-----

Joon Hwi leads her down a familiar road, before getting three popsicles. Sol knows this road like routine, and can walk it blindfolded. But she lets him lead her. The entire time, she takes in his tall figure. His broad shoulders. How so many years later, she’s still in love with this very man. No matter how many men tried to flirt and confessed to her, she couldn’t return her feelings.

Because Han Joon Hwi had stolen hers to begin with.

“Is Byeol home?” Joon Hwi asks, as they stop at her front door. As if on cue, a much taller girl emerges from the door, dressed in a simple shirt and shorts, hair pulled back with a large clip.

“Oppa!” Byeol’s face lights up as Joon Hwi slightly bends to give her a warm hug. Byeol crashes into his arms and Joon Hwi swings her in a circle as Sol just laughs at their childishness.

“You’ve grown taller, haven’t you, you cookie? And gotten so much prettier, like your sister.” He laughs, ruffling her hair. Handling her a popsicle, she flashes a grateful smile. Sol swats his arm, trying to not burn from embarrassment.

“Unnie is still the prettiest to you, isn’t she?” Byeol asks as she opens her popsicle. Sol swerves around and is ready to smack Byeol for spouting nonsense, but Joon Hwi only laughs and pats her head.

“You’re right. Your unnie is still the prettiest and smartest to me.” He says, his eyes locked on Sol, his smile still sweetly there. Sol is transported back in time to when she would catch Joon Hwi stare at her while eating her pickles and only smile at her as she happily eats. The days, that she’s now certain showed that he had feelings for her. Byeol looks at her sister, eyes locked on Joon Hwi and silently retreats back home with her half eaten popsicle.

“Joon, there’s something I need to say.” Sol mutters out loud. She has to do it now. She lost her chance years ago, and she's not losing it again.

“Me too.” Joon Hwi says, his hands burying into his pockets, the way it does when he’s nervous.

“No, please. I’ve waited years to tell you this. And I don’t want to screw this up because I know you probably think I’m still hung over old memories. And I don’t know when you are going to return to the States, cause I may never see you again. And then I’m gonna-” Sol is rambling as she feels the same nervousness every time she’s alone with him.

But Joon Hwi’s lips cut her off. His hands cup her cheeks as he brings her face nearer to him, feeling her soft lips on his. Sol is too shocked to react, but she kisses him back, her hands by her side unclenching from her balled up fists. They pull away, as Joon Hwi leans his forehead against hers. Their noses brush each other and their lips brush one another.

“I love you, Han Joon Hwi. I have been, for the past years.” Sol whispers breathlessly.

“I know. And I love you too, Kang Sol.” He replies, before crashing against her lips once more. Sol feels the fireworks, as she finally feels her heart open.

Han Joon Hwi is here.

Han Joon Hwi loves her.

-----

Joon Hwi leaves for the States a week later. A month later, he appears at Sol’s house, announcing that he will be shifting back home. He reconnects with everyone else in the group and the meetings become more frequent. Sol now drinks with another cup, filled by the person she loves. Instead of circular post its, she gets morning love messages.

And at dinners, when she leans her head against Joon Hwi’s shoulder and looks at her intertwined fingers, she can’t help but feel her heart explode in so many emotions.

She’s finally whole.

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so-writing · 4 years

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Things You Never Show - Rafe Cameron x Reader x JJ Maybank (Outer Banks)

I was in my BSB feels, listening to ‘Show Me the Meaning of Being Lonely’ and this happened. Not proofread so mistakes most likely

Summary: You are a pogue dating Rafe Cameron and, as expected, chaos ensues.

You could be the center of attention at a party and still feel ignored.

Rafe was a good boyfriend, at best, half of the time. When the two of you were alone, he was more than happy to fulfill your every desire and make you feel like you were on top of the world. He made sure you were satisfied in every way and it was heaven to you.

But when you were out and about, like at a kegger in the boneyard, Rafe acted like a stranger.

“You know he treats you like shit, right?”

A figure you didn’t immediately recognize dropped down beside you on the edge of the dock you were seated on, dipping your toes into the water.

“He’s an asshole and you deserve better.”

You were about to protest until you looked toward the stranger and met the eyes of JJ Maybank. The boy you’d pined after for years when you were younger. Even though you were past your crush, you couldn’t shake his gaze.

“Cameron is a piece of shit, you know.”

“He’s not,” you defended, “he just doesn’t know any better.”

“He doesn’t know that he shouldn’t flirt carelessly with other girls when he’s obviously locked down? He’s an asshole.”

You should’ve protested JJ’s musings but you knew he was right and that there was no defending Rafe.

“Maybe, but he’s my asshole.”

It was a weak argument, confirmed by the chuckle JJ released before he took a hit of his blunt.

“There are about a million people in the world that would treat you better than Rafe, but you’re stuck on baby money for reasons I couldn’t possibly understand.”

JJ turned his head and blew smoke away from you before he stood up, ruffled your hair and made his way back to the party.

The friendship between you and the other pogues had existed for as long as you could remember and you weren’t quite sure when JJ became someone you looked at just a little differently. You harbored secret feelings that you were never able to spill and they eventually faded when you matured some and started noticing other boys.

Rafe Cameron was one of those boys. He didn’t attend Kildare Public, his parenting opting instead to send him to the fancy private school that all the kooks seemed to attend, but he regularly showed up at boneyard parties and that was when he first caught your eye.

Two years older than you and a haughty asshole, he was exactly what you thought you wanted. Rafe being and kook and you a pogue, you assumed he wouldn’t be interested at all but that wasn’t the case and not much time had gone by until you were spending your nights in his bed.

The first time you went public as a couple was over a year ago and you were now comfortable in feeling lonely a lot of the time, despite what felt like the entire world knowing you were attached to Rafe Cameron.

“But he’s my asshole,” you said to yourself when JJ had gone, “what a fucking stupid excuse.”

Feeling dumb and embarrassed, you pulled your feet out of the water and slid into your sandals. Rafe might have noticed your absence and you weren’t feeling up to getting into an argument over where you could have been, not that he cared anyway.

You found him sitting on a log around one of the few bonfires at the party with his arm wrapped around a girl you didn’t recognize. He was obviously drunk, maybe a little high as well, and you knew you couldn’t say anything to either of them without facing the consequences later.

He laughed at something Kelce said as he wrapped his arm tighter around the girl, pulling her close enough to kiss her forehead. This behavior was new to you. He always flirted with randoms in public, giving them a hug or rub on the back but Rafe had never put his lips on someone else, that you knew of.

“See that?”

JJ’s breath ghosted across your neck, he stood behind you and placed his palms on your shoulders, “he’s an asshole. You know you can do better.”

“JJ,” you shook him off and turned around to meet his eyes, “this is just how he is. He doesn’t give a shit about that girl.”

“He gives a shit about you though, right?”

“Yes,” you bit the inside of your cheek as a reminder to keep your composure, “he does.”

He laughed, an easy chuckle that made you equal parts furious and peaceful, while grabbing your hand and pulling you toward the rest of the pogues sat around a neighboring bonfire.

“Raise your hand if you think this one can do better than Cameron?”

Everyone around the fire, including Rafe’s own sister Sarah, raised their arms above their heads.

“You guys are not supportive at all.”

The laugh that followed your statement was supposed be happy and jokey but it left your lips hollow and angry.

“No,” Sarah began, “we’re not. He’s my brother and I love him but he is a grade A piece of shit when it comes to the way he treats women.”

She unwrapped herself from John B and stood up, walking over to you and taking your hands in hers, “you do not deserve that. You are better than him.”

“Guys,” you gently squeezed her hands, “I don’t need this. I’m fine. I know how he is.”

“That is the second time I’ve heard you say that tonight,” JJ piped up, “and I haven’t believed it either time.”

His tone was almost cocky, he too had quite a bit to drink, and you weren’t about to get into this with your friends in the middle of a party where everyone could hear you.

“John B, can you give a ride home? I just really want to leave right now.”

The brunette gave you a quick nod of his head and the two of you walked in silence away from the beach and to the Twinkie waiting in the parking lot. You both entered the van in silence and he pushed the key into the ignition, bringing the vehicle to life.

John B drove toward your house without a word, something you were more grateful for than you could say. He pulled into your driveway and you noticed that no lights were on the house. Your parents were either out for the evening or fast asleep, either one was good, it meant you didn’t have to face their innocent questions about your night and your boyfriend.

“Hey,” John B put the Twinkie in park, “you know I’m not here to judge you or your relationship but I just want to say this.”

You prepared yourself for another bashing of Rafe. They happened pretty frequently, especially when JJ was around.

“Rafe is not my favorite person, I’ll never hide that. I’m worried about you. I’m worried this rich douchebag is taking advantage of you and sucking the life out of you. I just want you to know that we’re here. We love you, we have you. Please say something if you need any of us.”

Your heart warmed at his words as you quickly unbuckled your seatbelt and leaned across the center console to give him a hug, “thank you John B, I needed that more than you know.”

Sliding from the passenger seat, you closed the door behind you and turned to give John B a wave before going inside and heading straight to your room. You were used to your friends hating on Rafe but what John B said about the situation had you seriously thinking about your relationship with the charming kook.

The words ‘sucking the life out of you’ repeated themselves in your head as you lay on your side trying to fall asleep.

Your constantly buzzing phone finally pulled you from slumber at, you checked the time before responding to anything else, 2:36am.

Rafe (11:04) where are you?

Rafe (11:16) seriously

Rafe (11:41) what the fuck

Rafe (12:21) you left with JJ? Really? Maybank? REALLY

Rafe (1:18) you went home with Maybank so I’m going home with a blonde too

Rafe (2:04) I’m sorry. I should have paid more attention to you tonight

Rafe (2:17) baby please I’m sorry

Rafe (2:36) call me when you wake up. I love you.

Normally, when this happened, you would be wooed by Rafe’s apology but John B’s words swan around in your head as you noted the forty-six minutes that passed between Rafe claiming he’d take someone home and his apology.

“Fuck this,” you whispered into to your empty room as you tossed your phone to the floor and rolled over to fall asleep once again.

It was 2:46 in the afternoon when you woke up. You’d slept longer than you intended and when you grabbed your phone from the ground you where met with a marathon of messages and calls.

Not counting what he sent the night before, Rafe had called you 14 times and sent 38 text messages. Most of them were angry, some of them apologetic, but the theme was clear: he hated JJ.

You scrolled past the many Rafe’s and found your conversation with JJ.

“J, please text me back as soon as you get this.”

You knew Rafe and you knew he would go after JJ and he would hurt him if he could. Staring at your phone sitting in your hands for about a minute, you decided you couldn’t wait and called him.

JJ’s phone rang and rang and just as you were about to hang up, he answered.

“Hey, sorry, was outside with John B, what’s up?”

“JJ,” you breathed a sigh of relief, “Rafe thinks I went home with you. Watch out for him, I have no doubt he’s on a warpath.”

“Him being on a warpath means he has to publicly declare that you’re someone he actually gives a fuck about, he’s not going to do that or come after me.”

“J, please,” you ran a hand through your hair, “please just be careful.”

“Always am. See you tonight?”

“Yeah,” you had completely forgotten about Kiara’s birthday party, “see you then.”

Walking into the Wreck, things looked mostly normal. The main dining room was full of patrons eating and socializing. The restaurant was on a short wait but you slid past the people in line and made toward the smaller of the two decks off the side of the restaurant.

There were only three tables on the small deck and tonight they were all pushed together for Kiara’s celebration. The usual suspects were present: JJ, Pope, John B and Sarah. Kie’s mom had taken the night off so she was staying permanently while her dad planned to pop in during his free moments.

“You showed,” JJ shouted as he slid out his chair and trotted toward you, pulling you into a hug.

“Of course I did, I would never miss this. Happy birthday Kiara,” you shook off JJ and moved to hug Kie, wrapping your arms tight around her small frame.

Your phone vibrated in your pocket and Kie pulled away enough to give you a questioning look.

“It’s your birthday and I’m pissed at him. All messages remain unread tonight.”

While you enjoyed yourself eating seafood and cake with your friends, you had no idea how serious Rafe was taking your radio silence. You hadn’t responded to any of his texts or calls and the last time you spoke was before the kegger the previous night.

Rafe (7:46) Where are you? We haven’t talked at all today

Rafe (8:04) Seriously what the fuck

Rafe (8:37) There you are. Sitting to next to Maybank huh

Rafe (8:49) Fuck it

The messages remained unread and when your chair was harshly pulled away from the table and your friends began yelling did you realize what was happening.

“Rafe! What the fuck?!” Sarah was the loudest, her words cutting through the air.

“I’m tired of this and I’m done. She’s coming with me.”

You hoped against hope that JJ wouldn’t say anything but you knew better. He never failed to come to your rescue but now wasn’t the time you needed him to do so.

“You don’t get to claim someone when you’re fucking literally everybody else.”

Rafe’s hands were no longer on your body or the chair you were seated in, instead he was charging toward JJ. The blonde had removed himself from the chair next to you and was now standing his ground, nose to nose with Rafe Cameron.

They began to push each other and one particularly hard shove from JJ sent Rafe into the table, causing everyone to jump up and back away from the fight.

“Guys, please! Not here!”

You were nearly in tears, your words falling on deaf ears and they continued to throw punches and accusations.

Time seemed to slow as you took in everything happening in front of you. Kiara’s mom had her arms wrapped Kie as she ushered her back into the restaurant. Pope and John B were both standing in front of Sarah, blocking her off but ready to jump in and defend their friend if they needed to. Various pieces of seafood were scattered across the small deck and Kiara’s cake was destroyed, icing and cake bits stomped into the floor from all the commotion.

Everything had gone wrong. You never went home with JJ and you should have made that clear to Rafe. You should’ve responded to his texts earlier, explaining and begging his forgiveness even though you didn’t really want it.

You ruined Kiara’s birthday and maybe the reputation of The Wreck itself. JJ and Rafe had been pulled apart now but it was too late to salvage anything. Slowly making your way toward the railing, you jumped over the side and landed a few feet below in the soft mud a few feet away from the water.

It didn’t matter that your shoes were thick with mud, you trampled out of the swamp and toward the road. When your shoes were light enough, you broke into a run. It didn’t matter how you looked, everything was ruined and as much as you wanted to place the blame on either of the combative boys, it was all your fault.

All you wanted to do now was fucking disappear.

#jj maybank #jj Maybank x reader #rafe cameron #Rafe Cameron x reader #outer banks imagine #outer banks

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all-you-need-is-paul-mccartney · 3 years

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Across the Universe II (Paul McCartney x Female!Reader)

Find Part One Here

A/N: I just checked chapter 1 and I literally put it up over a year ago. Shit. I just wrote a part 2, and finally got ahold of a computer to post it. I hope you's enjoy it. my last chapter had like... 20 likes altogether, so hopefully this chapter will draw some readers in.

Summary: Paul makes it to the Princeton campus where he not only reunites with his cousin Vick, but he meets a fellow stoner named Max. From there, the boys indulge in some Ivy League Hospitality.

WARNINGS: Drinking, swearing, smoking psychoactive substances (Cannabis), just dumb college guys doing dumb college shit. also, it's probably got mistakes bc I suck at revising

This is just a statement clearing up that none of these characters are mine except for Vick. Everyone else belongs to those who were involved in and/or collaborated with Julie Taymor in making the Across The Universe film (2007)

I'll rate this one a T seeing as the substance use isn't THAT bad.

"Vick Hoffner?"

"Try across the way, man. I think there's a Vick of sorts there."

Paul simply nodded at the stranger before turning on his heel and making a beeline to the next apartment, his hands fiddling with his useless book of contacts.

What was the point of giving me your number if you won't even pick up the phone?

He sighed, and rubbed his eyes tiredly with the palm of his hand. He'd been hitchhiking for two days just to get to the Princeton Campus, and then a few hours going through the closest rented apartments to locate him.

This was apartment number 9.

And it was nearing one AM.

Paul rapped weakly at the door, silently concluding that this would be the last place to check before finding somewhere to sleep until the next morning.

The door swung open, and Paul was face-to-face with this college kid who seemed to be about his age. He had unkempt blonde hair that curled around his ears, patchy stubble, and big blue eyes hazed over with the red assault of cannabis in his system.

Despite this, and the nearly empty beer bottle in his hand, the guy looked like he was keeping it together pretty well.

Paul cleared his throat, and raised an eyebrow. "... Vick Hoffner?"

"Nah, man. He's out at the moment gettin' drinks," the guy paused, and looked at Paul for a moment.

"Hey, hold on, you're not... Vick's cousin, are you?"

"Would it be an issue?" Paul asked sarcastically, to which the other guy responded after a laugh, "Nah. I just can't wait for him to get back and find out you got the better looks."

Paul just rolled his eyes, a smile on his lips. "Probably don't matter. He's the brains n' so is me brother. 'S what really matters; though I take pride in this thing." Paul pointed teasingly at his face.

The other guy smiled, pulling two cigarettes from behind his ear. He offered one to Paul, and he claimed the other. He lit the both of their cigs, and they each took a long drag after Paul scanned the apartment hallway for any angry tenants who happened to be against smoking indoors.

"So... does Vick's "pretty boy" cousin have a name?"

Paul nodded like the fact that he had a name was astounding information, but he smiled genuinely before bringing the cigarette back to his lips. "It's Paul."

"Max," The blond shoved his hand out, and the boys shook hands firmly. Max eyed Paul again."Where's that accent from, Paul?"

"Same place as me," Paul answered as he shoved his free hand in his pocket, blowing out smoke a moment after. "Liverpool."

"But why come to America?" Max gestured Paul into the apartment as he spoke, closing the door behind them. "Kill someone? Were you on the run from the cops? FBI?"

"'Sounds like you'd be one to know 'bout all of that." The boys took a seat on the couch in the centre of the room as their cigarettes slowly burned away as they chatted.

"Hey, hey, I've barely ever been in trouble with the cops, but I have pissed off every professor in Princeton, and have broken several campus windows."

" 'nd... you're proud of it?"

"I'm an adrenaline junkie, what can I say? Smashed nearly forty five windows and despite being Princeton's number one vandalidm suspect, I'm still not expelled. Y'know why?" Paul leaned in a little, enough to catch the dank scent of weed, and Max lowered his voice. "... because they can never prove it's me."

" 'nd why is that?"

The answer to Paul's question burst right through the apartment door.

"There's three more of us, and it could be any of them!" One of which, Paul could surprisingly recognize.

"Vick. Long time no see," Paul rose to his feet, and Vick, who'd set a six-pack of beer on the coffee table between them, greeted his cousin with a friendly hug and some "how are you"s.

Despite being an intelligent young man, Paul noticed that Vick behaved a little less like how he used to: polite, conservative, and proper. It was suspected that his behaviour changed because his newfound freedom at Uni allowed him to experience and access things that he would have been otherwise restricted from when he was younger.

Booze was one of them.

Dope was another.

In fact, he wordlessly cracked open a beer for Paul, and handed it to him like he'd asked for a drink in the first place.

Paul wasn't a huge drinker. It was never a vice of his, or anything like that either. He got shitfaced every once in a while for fun.

But when he brought that aluminum can up to his lips, Paul would never have guessed that it would have led to the night it did.

Five minutes after Vick and his buddies returned, Max brought out the roach Paul suspected he was sucking on before he got there.

With enthusiastic cheers from around the room, Max lit the sucker up, took a nice drag from the hot remainders of the joint, and passed it on to Paul.

Paul looked at the roach, almost as if he was confused. No one had asked him if he'd ever smoked before, but Max and the others yelled hurriedly over top of one another, instructing for Paul to suck in quickly and hold the smoke in for as long as he could.

It resulted in a coughing fit, and encouraging pats on the back from the other guys. Vick ended up taking the roach next, and Max reached out across the table.

"Have another one of these, my friend," he slid over another beer after cracking it open just moments before, despite the fact that Paul wasn't quite finished his first drink.

"Y'know, the more you cough, the higher you get? Pretty fucking sick. Like a win-win, man. You don't cough: You're high. You cough: You're super high."

As time went on, and Paul nursed his second drink more responsibly than the first one, things, ironically, started making less and less sense to him.

At one point, he was talking to the guy sitting across from him, and he just stopped talking for a whole ten seconds before turning to Max and asking "what the fuck was I just talking about?"

"Who fucking knows." The blond's shoulders shook as he tried suppressing his laughs, but eventually Paul just burst out into laughs and uncontrollable tears.

And everyone followed suit.

He had absolutely no idea how he got there, or how long he'd been there for, but sitting before Paul were now two empty Tankards. A waitress just set down another to him, and collected the table's empty glasses.

They were in a bar.

Max sat beside Paul as he watched Vick spectate the other two guys play pool.

For the life of him, Paul couldn't remember those guys' names, despite knowing he was told multiple times in the last few hours. To be fair, being drunk and stoned is a perfectly reasonable explanation as to how one forgets another's name. He supposed it didn't exactly matter, anyways.

"So, you got any hot sisters abroad I should know about?" Paul gave Max a funny look but it may have been because it took so long for Paul's brain to register what had been asked.

"... No. Do you?"

"I've got two younger sisters; one's eight, and the older one's a little on the uglier side," though he didn't say it, Max's little smile indicated to Paul that he was joking about the last comment.

Paul and Max watched the boys play pool a little longer until the eight ball was pocketed.

"Wanna play?" Paul's head snapped to his left, and he nodded at Max's offer.

The other guys traded off, and Vick continued spectating. Max made the first break, and Paul watched as the cue ball rolled right into one of the pockets. Well, it seemed to have been only him to notice, because Max's eyes were instead trained on a brunette woman passing the two.

She looked over her shoulder to wink at Max, and rather than gouging his reaction, she simply walked off and took a seat alone in the corner of the bar.

"Do you believe in love at first sight, McCartney?"

"Well, I'm sure that it 'appens all the time. Never 'appened to me, personally."

"You just need to find the right one, my friend.." Max trailed off again, eyes still locked on the bird in the corner. He was slowly inching from the table and toward her. Max eventually just set the cue on the table and completely abandoned their game to talk to this girl, who flashed him a flirty smile with her bright white teeth and painted lips.

Paul watched Max amusedly, taking a swig from his beer and memorizing the moves Max was putting on his lady friend, who was clearly enjoying his company.

Maybe Paul wanted to get better at approaching certain women. He knew how to flirt, and be charming. It's not like he'd never had girlfriends. He'd had his fair share of girls in his teenage years, and he had Molly now back in Liverpool.

But Paul, at this moment, in his crossfaded brain, realized that he didn't want to attract the women he had been anymore. Just from her visual appearance, and how she was reacting to Max's charming flirts, Paul could sense an airiness to her personality. She was always smiling, inching closer, initiating physical contact by nudging his hand with her own, the list goes on.

Hell, even on her happiest days, Molly would be reluctant to kiss Paul, but he'd excuse her behaviour because she was just a regularly bitchy person who hated public displays of affection.

Or hardly any affection at all, it seemed.

Needless to say, Max returned to the table five minutes later with a phone number and a big red lipstick stain on his cheek. So to celebrate, the gang decided to go golfing.

"Here she is, Window Way," Max introduced Paul to the roof of their apartment building. The other boys started giggling at the name "Window Way". Each guy had their own club, Max held a bag of golf balls, and Vick carried another six pack.

Max set his things down and took in the crisp night air as Vick opened yet another beer for each of the boys. Max took a can for him, and one for Paul, and proceeded to show his new buddy just why he called it "Window Way".

"A Driver will send a ball..." Max pointed his arm straight out in front of him, his finger pointing right towards the windows of the Princeton Campus library.

"...Straight towards the school," Paul finished. He turned to look at Max. "You guys do this every night?"

"Paul, I do this all day. I barely go to class anymore."

"Hey, Max! You tee first!" One of the nameless guys called out to them. Max brandished the widest of grins before rushing to grab his club, a ball, and a green tee from his pocket. "Hey, Paulie, wanna help me out by holding my tee up?"

"Well, how'd I do that without gettin' hit?"

The other boys started laughing again, and Paul was genuinely confused until he found himself lying on his back seconds later, and the bottom of the tee between his lips, which only got heavier when Max set the ball down onto it.

If he were sober in this moment, Paul would not have been this comfortable with someone swinging a golf club full force towards his head and then trust their judgement regardless of their in intoxicity that they'd hit their target...

It was a good thing Max had been doing this for a long time, because wow, did that ball ever fly.

Paul watched in stoned disbelief as the ball soared far off into the distance and over the roof of the library. And while no one had seen it, they certainly heard the shatter from the other side of the building.

And that's when all five boys ran away from administration retired back to their room to light up a new joint Vick had also brought home as a surprise. They all sat around and lazily talked to one another about how crazy Max's shot was, and while some of them were falling in and out of sleep, Max insisted they all stay up to watch the sky change colour from the courtyard.

Paul didn't know how he stayed up any longer than he did, but he pulled through like a trooper, and they all watched the sky change as they lay down in the fallen leaves. But as soon as they all came back to their room for a final time, Paul dragged himself in exhaustion to the living room chair to sit, but he just slipped out of it onto the floor, and that's when his body decided to turn off on its own.

The other guys dropped to the ground or onto the furniture like dead flies, and within ten seconds of the door closing, the room was quiet.

And it stayed like that for nearly ten hours.

Paul woke up that evening with a raging headache and multiple trips to the bathroom to be sick, but now three things were certain for him: He definitely had one hell of a time, he definitely wanted to hang out with Max a lot more, and that evening Paul definitely got by with a little help from his new friends.

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A/A/N: alrighty, if this chapter doesn't do too too bad, I'll see about continuing this story. I've got chapter 3 pretty much done as well, I'm just in the midst of revising it. If you want more, by all means, PLEASE let me know!

#across the universe #paul mccartney #the beatles #paul mccartney x reader #macca #george harrison #john lennon #ringo starr

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moving-accounts-uwu · 4 years

Text

Right Where You Were Meant To Be (Bucky x Plus-size!Reader)

Fandom: Marvel

Characters: Bucky x Plus-size!reader

Warnings: Fluff, hurt/comfort, body-shaming

Story type: One-shot

Word count: 2.7k words

Summary: Reader has a crush on Bucky the second she looked at him but she also has feelings of self-consciousness about her body and doubts she’d ever end up with Bucky or any guy like Bucky. That all changes one night at one of Tony’s parties.

(A/N: This is a cute little one-shot idea I had and just wanted to write out. I feel there aren’t many plus-size!reader stories so I wanted to make my own. I’m a chubby girl and felt like I needed some love, lmao. Any mistakes I take responsibility for, this story wasn’t beta read, so I apologize for any mistakes. I hope you enjoy nonetheless!!! Also, the gif isn’t mine, but he just looks so precious <3)

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It all started when you looked at him for the first time. He had just moved into the Tower, and you had just gotten the job as Tony's new assistant since Pepper had become CEO of Stark Industries. Because you worked in an environment with superheroes who were very fit and healthy, you had become self-conscious of yourself; whether it would be what you wore, the things you ate, or just how your body looked in general.

Being a bigger girl, it often took a toll on your mental health when you would notice the glances, the whispering, the judgmental stares, and how shopping for clothes in your size was difficult, and it made you feel like you had to lose weight to fit in and belong. You felt alone and isolated.

You didn't have any friends; you didn't even talk to many of your co-workers, and just kept to yourself a majority of the time. When Bucky moved in, you noticed he did the same. He didn't speak much to the rest of the team, he mostly stayed in his room, and only hung around Steve. Bucky was very fit, and his muscular body showed it whenever he wore tight-fitted clothing. You would never wear tight-fitted clothing for fear of having your plumpness accentuated.

After five months working for Tony and having a more friendly relationship with the rest of the team, you had built a few close bonds with some of the heroes. Wanda and Natasha were your closest girlfriends and would regularly have 'Lady's Nights' every Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays. Tony, Clint, Sam, and Steve were like your older brothers and would look out for you.

You and Steve made it a routine to do small exercise and yoga in the afternoons just after 4 o'clock. How this all started was because you wanted to accomplish small goals for yourself, as Sam told you to do to help with your mental health.

"Steve," You called out as you stepped into the Tower's gym, the one place you knew where to find Steve if he wasn't in the common room.

"Oh, hey (Y/N)! What's up?" Steve turned to face you as he held the punching bag still while he watched you walk closer to him, noticing you fidgeting with your fingers nervously.

"I just... I wanted to start doing light exercises, you know, to boost my endorphins, and so I have something to do in the afternoons when I've finished with work." It wasn't a complete lie, but it just sugar-coated the fact that you just wanted to lose weight to gain confidence in yourself.

Steve had agreed to help you; he wouldn't push you too much either because he didn't want you to strain anything and not push you out of your comfort zone too much. Both of you would exercise for an hour each day in the afternoons. This routine had been going on for six weeks, and you were enjoying it. You felt better about yourself each week when you would check your progress and write down how much you lost during the week; you were more confident than you were all those weeks ago before asking Steve for help.

During one of those afternoon exercises, you and Steve were both in the Adho Mukha pose with Steve wearing his usual tight t-shirt that you swore was a size too small, and shorts while you wore a loose, black tank top, and tight-fitted leggings that complemented the shape of your plump ass. You were so in the zone that you hadn't heard the gym doors open and the sound of footsteps coming closer to you. Bucky stood behind you and Steve, him getting an eyeful of your butt while he cleared his throat to catch his best friend's attention.

"Hey, Bucky! I didn't notice you were there. (Y/N) and I were doing some yoga, would you like to join us?"

You. Were. Mortified. You quickly stood up beside Steve and looked down at your feet, trying to avoid looking at Bucky after having your ass practically in his face.

"Uh, I kinda have to get ready for 'Girl's Night' tonight, but I think Bucky can keep you company." You nervously spoke, having your words jumble out quickly due to your inner-embarrassment. "I'll see you later, Steve!"

You bolted out of the gym as fast as your legs could go and made it up into your room without another incident. When you flopped onto your bed, you let out a loud, exhausted sigh before closing your eyes shut tightly. 'Why did I have to act like a nervous wreck? You didn't even let him talk for Christ's sake!' After beating yourself up over the little incident, you started to get ready for 'Girl's Night' with Nat and Wanda.

It was two hours into 'Girl's Night' and you, Nat and Wanda had, at least, drank four glasses of Kraken Rum and about three shots of Vodka. You were more relaxed and carefree, enjoying your time with your best friends while gossiping about an episode of Criminal Minds you all saw the other day together.

"Not gonna lie, I would love to have a man like Morgan. Have you seen his muscles? And how he kicks down doors like a badass?" You gushed.

"That is true, and I fully believe Morgan and Garcia should be together. They have chemistry and look so cute!" Wanda loved her Morgan and Garcia ship.

"Eh, I like to have a super cute genius but that's just my opinion" Nat took a sip of her fruity vodka drink while shrugging her shoulders.

"Of course you would, you're with Bruce and that's a little bias, Nat." You gently shoved your red-haired friend playfully.

You and Wanda giggled like school girls when Natasha scoffed before she pointed an accusing finger at you.

"Well, says you, (Y/N)! You practically drool whenever you see Barnes."

That shut you up quickly. 'How does she know?! Play it off'

"That's very funny Nat, but I don't know what you mean."

"Don't bullshit me, (Y/N). I've seen the way your cheeks get all pink and how your eyes are glued to him whenever he walks by. You're so smitten it's grossly cute." Then Wanda turned to you with a small smirk on her face.

"Maybe you should ask him to work out with you and Steve!"

Flashbacks of your embarrassment earlier that day made your face go pale. 'Absolutely not'. You shook your head furiously, staring at your two friends with fear. There was no way you'd have the guts to do such a thing, not after how you acted around him before. Plus, you didn't want him to look at you with disgust when he looks at you working out. You shake off all the negative thoughts before finishing off your last bits of rum.

"I think I'm going to head off to bed now, gotta wake up early tomorrow. Tony wants me to help him organize and plan a gala party to celebrate his newest project. And when I say to 'help him' I mean I'll be doing most of the work while he hides away in his lab with Bruce." You said before walking off and waving the girls goodbye.

2 weeks later...

You had most of the gala planned out. You had booked a cute catering company to organize some food dishes for everyone and even hired a group of people to decorate one of the large common rooms that would fit all the guests on Tony's guest-list. You had even bought a cute new dress to wear for the party. The party was starting that night at 7:30 and you would hopefully get everything done while having an hour and a half to spare to get ready.

When the decorating and planning finished, you quickly made your way to your room and got showered and changed. You stood in front of your mirror for quite some time, nitpicking every flaw you could see, judging your appearance because you knew how the other women at the party were going to look flawless and have every man swooping in for them. A sudden knock on your door snapped you out of your negative thoughts.

"(Y/n), you ready?" Wanda's voice called from the other side.

"Y-yeah! I'm coming now." You dashed for the door to get away from the mirror so you can't put yourself down even more. Once opening the door, Wanda linked your arm with hers, and both of you walked toward the elevator.

Telling FRIDAY which floor, you both arrived just as a few of the guests were mingling around; drinking, eating, and chatting. You glanced around, hoping to see the familiar faces of your friends, spotting Sam, Nat, and Clint near the bar where Natasha was serving the drinks. Tony was standing next to Pepper and being an absolute flirt as always while Steve and Bucky were standing near a corner with drinks in hand. Before you could make your way over to the bar, Wanda told you to wait where you were while she goes to quickly touch up her make-up, disappearing before you could say a word. You stood there awkwardly and looked around, making sure everything was going swimmingly until you felt a presence behind you. A tap on your confirmed that someone was indeed behind you.

You turned around to see a group of two slender women and three muscular men staring at you with smug and cocky smiles on their faces.

"Can we get some more drinks? And make them with a little more alcohol this time." One of the men quirked an eyebrow, waiting for you to scurry off to grab their drinks.

"I'm sorry, but I'm not part of catering. I'm-"

"You certainly look it though, I mean, you're not dressed like you're here as a guest. The dress you're wearing looks like the other catering staff." A woman spat, her eyes narrowed at you. You started to feel self-conscious about your outfit now, realizing the color-scheme looked very similar to the catering staff.

"Plus, the dress isn't that flattering for your body hun. We can practically see your muffin top and panty lines with how tight that dress is on you." The other woman commented while she leaned to the side to glance at more of your plush figure.

A stinging sensation began to appear behind your eyes, feelings of doubt, and an anxiety attack began to make themselves known. So looked away from the group and quickly made for the elevator, shooting Wanda a quick text saying you weren't feeling too well. 'How stupid of me to think I even looked good or that I could fit in at the party.' By the time the elevator doors reached your floor and the doors opened, hot tears were falling down your cheeks as you tried to furiously wipe them away with zero results. The tears kept flowing down as you began to walk down the hallway to your room; quiet footsteps barely making noise as they followed you. Just as your hand settled on the door handle, a warm hand clasped onto your shoulder gently. With a yelp, you spun around with a jump to look at your "attacker", only to find a pair of stormy blue eyes staring at your teary eyes intensely.

Bucky's eyes held hints of concern and worry, but it was hard to see because he was good at hiding his emotions, and the fact that your eyes were blurry from crying.

"You okay, (Y/n)? I saw you leave the party quickly and noticed how fast your breathing was." Bucky had to look down at you because he was so tall, or was it because you were just very short?

"I'm fine, Bucky. I just don't do well in crowded places or with so many strangers. I got a bit overwhelmed but it's fine now." You weakly smiled but he could see right through it, he always did.

"You had a panic attack after speaking to a group of people, and judging by the looks they gave you while talking to them, I can only believe it wasn't a pleasant conversation." Bucky then brought both his flesh and metal hands to cup your face while he peered into your eyes more. "Tell me what happened, doll."

You sighed, you knew he wasn't going to let this go. Even though you both barely spoke to each other, he still cared for you like the both of you knew each other for years. Something about his calm voice and caring nature helped your nerves settle.

"They thought I was part of catering and asked if I could get them more drinks. I told them I wasn't catering, only for them to make snarky comments about my outfit and body. But it's fine, I'm used to having those comments made to me, I've dealt with those types of people all my life." Your hands gently held his and tried to move them away from your face but Bucky didn't budge.

"You don't believe them, right? I mean, I think the dress looks good on you. It shows off your curves and any man who doesn't get blown away is blind."

You gave a humorless laugh and shook your head at Bucky, looking down at the floor.

"You're just saying that to be nice to me, Buck. We both know girls like me don't belong in a place like this, or a party like that. You can go back to the party, I don't want to waste more of your time." You went to turn away when Bucky held your upper arms tightly.

"Not a chance, doll. I'm not a fan of crowds myself and was about to leave the party myself until I saw you run away. I'd rather spend my time with you and making sure you don't ever think that you don't belong."

You both stared at each other for a few seconds, his stare was intense with adoration and love while you stared at him in shock that he'd want to spend time with you. Before you could blink, Bucky leaned down and you felt his soft lips on yours, his arms wrapping around you and caging you into a warm and gentle embrace. Your hands rested onto his firm chest while his hands rested on your lower back, just above your butt. At first, you were in shock but then you gave in to the kiss and snaked your arms around his neck, your fingers embedded into his long hair.

The kiss was full of passion, and so much love that you didn't think it was possible. When the need for air was too much, you both separated and looked into each other's eyes once again.

"H-how? Why me? We barely know each other!"

"Because, (Y/n), I've been smitten for you since I first laid eyes on you but didn't have the guts to tell you. Steve's been a punk and trying to get me to join your work out sessions for weeks but I was too nervous to do it." Bucky's cheeks tinted red as he chuckled.

"And why's that? I was scared that if saw me working out, that you'd be grossed out by my body." You explained, chewing on your bottom lip.

"I could never be grossed out, sweetheart. I love a woman with curves and plumpness to her. I was nervous that if I watched you work out, I would try to make a move on you too fast and scare you away. I didn't want that to happen." Bucky grabbed your chin and leaned in again, his lips almost touching yours. "And you looked downright sexy in those tights, they shape your ass well."

You gasped and lightly smacked his shoulder while he smirked at you. His playfulness coming through. You made the first move this time and got onto your tippy toes to kiss him. This is was quicker than the first but still held the same emotions. With so much strength you underestimated he had, Bucky lifted you up, your legs wrapped around his waist as he opened your door and carried you over to your bedroom. Both of you watched a bunch of movies in your room; many kisses were shared before you both passed out, cuddled up under your fluffy blankets, safe in Bucky's arms. Right where you were meant to be all along.

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Thanks for reading!!! <3 <3 <3

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howwelldoyouknowyourmoon · 3 years

Text

My sexual re-education in the Unification Church

All that heaven allows

I learned the identity of my husband-to-be at the end of a forty-day Divine Principle workshop. Situated in upstate New York, the Unification theological seminary had the hushed libraries, dorms and chapel of a medieval monastery. As my footsteps echoed through the stark, stone hallways, I imagined hooded friars whispering beside me. On the final evening, a Korean minister announced from a pulpit the name and nationality of each student’s “eternal spouse.” Mine was Gabriel from Ecuador.

One week after the workshop, all eligible members were sent to Korea, where we would be blessed in marriage along with 30,000 other couples. Gabriel and I met for the first time in the waiting room at JFK airport. I wore a navy skirt suit, my hair in a french pleat. Gabriel wore a gray jacket, white shirt and gray tie, his wiry hair slicked back into a solid black helmet. I’m five-four; he was a significant inch shorter than me. In our photographs from that day, we stand inches away from each other, staring at opposite ends of space, our bodies pointing keenly apart, our lips stretched vaguely upward in imitations of smiles.

One of the sisters with whom I shared a room said Gabriel looked like a miniature Sylvester Stallone. Another said he was the best-looking brother of the bunch. Occasionally I see someone and immediately feel that I want to know them better. Gabriel’s face did not have that quality. I felt bemused as I regarded this person — my soul mate — who was a total stranger. If he had approached me in the street, I would have walked away.   

Two years earlier, in 1990, I had walked away from my family, my apartment in London, my friends, and the man I loved to enter the Unification Church, a.k.a. “the Moonies,” a Christian sect which originated in Korea and is led by the Rev. Sun Myung Moon, who claimed that Jesus Christ had appeared to him when he was sixteen. I had just produced a TV documentary called Soul-Searching, which was funded by the Arts Council of Great Britain. One of the men I interviewed was a Unification Church member named Jurgen.

After the documentary was finished, I crossed Jurgen’s path several times in one week. This seemed fateful. On my way home from the Cafe de Paris one night, I saw him standing on Charing Cross Road, a tall, potbellied, balding German with sensual lips and cold sores, drenched with rain at three a.m. I wondered: what would possess anyone to stand outside at all hours, in any weather, to ask people to talk about the “purpose of life”? 

We talked. Jurgen told me about the “Divine Principle,” which I later learned was Unification theology. He explained that true love could exist only in a monogamous marriage, blessed by God, and that my relationship with my lover was wrong. He promised that if I dedicated my life to God, my brother, who had recently been diagnosed with schizophrenia, would be healed.

Tired of my unfaithful lover and frustrated by my inability to help my brother, I was attracted to the extreme nature of the group. They asked me to leave my life behind, claimed they had a living messiah. I agreed to try it out for three months, knowing that once I was in, it would not be so easy to walk away.

I felt pious when I covered my body in frumpy pantsuits, shaved off my hair (against the church’s wishes), spent my days raising money for the church, praying and vowing never again to think about sex. During four years of living in church centers in London, Edinburgh and New York, I enjoyed cultivating my lack of desire, pushing out thoughts of sex the instant they surfaced, focusing on one aim: I will save my brother. I will do anything necessary to help those who are suffering.

▲ The author with Gabriel during the marriage ceremony.

Inside the church centers, men and women referred to each other as brothers and sisters, to emphasize the absence of sexuality in our relationships. We slept in different areas, sat on opposite sides of the room during meetings — the brothers always above, to the right, or in front, to signify their superior status. This subtle detail sank into the minds of the women, helping them realize they were in the “object position” and should follow the men’s lead. This viewpoint was reinforced regularly: Women were shorter because they should look up to men. Women had big hips because they were made to sit down. Women couldn’t run. In sex, women should be underneath.

I heard about the blessing of marriage but imagined I would never attain the “level of perfection” necessary to participate. One elder brother defined perfection as the state whereby everyone you meet feels loved by you. I knew that my ability to love fell short.    

During the fifteen-hour flight to Seoul, I had the window seat; Gabriel took the aisle. I had no idea what to say to him. He told me that he was raised as one of nine brothers and sisters in an Ecuadorian mountain village which still had no garbage collection and barely had running water. His elder sister had nursed him at the same time as her own son. Our backgrounds couldn’t have been more different. I grew up with my mother and brother in the English countryside, in an eccentric, artsy broken family.

“Repeat after me,” he whispered. “Te quiero.”

“Te quiero.” I knew what it meant but attached no importance to the words. “I love you.”

I remembered Jurgen’s speech to me on the night I joined the church. “Never flirt with brothers,” he had said, fixing me with a glare. This meant no touching, no staring, no flattery, no immodest body language, no fantasizing. Now I glanced at Gabriel’s steady tar-black eyes. Had I failed to learn a new set of rules now that I was preparing for marriage? Was flirting now required? Or was I supposed to maintain chastity while he taunted me with romance?

“When I saw your picture, I thought you were too old for me,” Gabriel said. I was twenty-eight. Although he was a year older, Gabriel considered himself hot, eligible and worthy of a much younger wife. “But I liked your lips,” he continued, emboldened. “I dreamt that you were a prostitute. I saw you wearing a short dress and red lipstick and you were almost falling over. I thought, that is a sick woman.” He paused, allowing this image to linger. “Tell me about your boyfriends.”

“We’re not supposed to talk about that.”

“I had sex with a prostitute,” he said, “but I believe that makes me more pure because I didn’t have a relationship with the person. I had a girlfriend also, in Ecuador, but she went out with someone else,” he continued.

I imagined Gabriel’s girlfriend, a petite, pretty Ecuadorian girl in her late teens, with thick, glossy black hair that reached down to her thighs. I imagined them dancing together at a family party, and felt sorry for him. I wished she hadn’t broken his heart.

Confused by my distraction, Gabriel leaned over. “I am a crazy lover,” he said.

I wondered if he had learned this statement from a Spanish-English phrase book under “Dating.”

For single members of the Unification Church, the topic of sex was taboo, except to admit sins or recognize the sins of others. Abstinence until marriage was required. Since most of us were no longer virgins, we had already failed and were required to start anew. Considering the misery I’d experienced because of my lover’s infidelity, abstinence appealed to my desire for peace.

Lack of sleep, intense scheduling and daily exposure to the church’s theology kept me involved. My contact with outside family and friends was almost nonexistent, and I knew nothing of news or popular culture save what was selectively analyzed by my Central Figure, or advisor, according to the church’s theology. Within three months, the thought of moving away from the church center terrified me. I shared a room with six women, woke at five a.m. for a prayer meeting, spent the day raising money or encouraging others to study the Divine Principle, then returned to sleep around ten p.m., shortly after the evening meeting. When members’ attention slackened, extra requirements were enforced, such as fasting for days or praying for hours.

For years, I never looked at a man with desire, never touched myself. To resist the occasional attractions I felt to brothers, or fantasies I had about my ex-lover, I took daily cold showers, throwing 120 buckets of icy water over my body with the intention of subjugating my subconscious mind. This took considerable time, and was done in a symmetrical pattern of ten buckets over one shoulder, ten over the other. The frigid water slapping my skin felt like a whip across my back, so cold that it burned.

   For four days, Gabriel and I stayed at the North American camp in Seoul’s Olympic Stadium. The complex was huge, housing church members from almost 200 different countries in different buildings. Our building was a flat gray rectangle. One hundred women slept next to each other in sleeping bags on the floor of one large concrete room, our possessions crammed into small plastic bags. Although our group lived in North America, most of the women were Japanese. There were less than twenty sisters originally from Europe and America. Church leaders claimed this was because Western women were self-centered, unable to subjugate to masculine will.

In the sisters’ camp, the variety of couples was the main topic of conversation. Within the church, there was an unspoken hierarchy: Asian spouses were considered most favorable, then Caucasian, then black and Hispanic. A blonde American sister who shared my room bemoaned that she was given a Dominican husband rather than a Korean. She and I wondered whether our extreme sinfulness had placed us with our non-Asian spouses. We decided it was, instead, our dedication and ability to endure difficulties. 

Gabriel waited outside our building at 6:30 every evening, his hair freshly gelled back, his shirt tucked into belted black pants. Side by side, we would walk to the meal room. I listened to Gabriel’s plans to help his hometown, and spoke little. Occasionally, I noticed him staring at my breasts and felt liberated that I could allow this without shame, since he was my betrothed.

▲ The 1992 mass marriage – publicity and profit for Sun Myung Moon.

In our week-long stay in Korea, Gabriel and I participated in three ceremonies. In the Holy Wine Ceremony, we wore white, prayed and drank a thimbleful of grape juice from a white plastic tumbler. This symbolized new blood, heralding our entry into the True Lineage. The Blessing Ceremony joined us in matrimony, as 60,000 individuals arranged geometrically in black-suited and white-gowned rows yelled “Yeh!” Our pledge, recited in Korean, expressed our resolve to sacrifice our physical and personal desires for the sake of the greater good. I had seen photographs of these ceremonies and thought they seemed like grand, empty gestures. Being a part of the event, even knowing its spiritual significance, I felt detached, like a fragment in an abstract work of art.

Finally, in the Indemnity Ceremony, each couple bestowed a symbolic beating to their partner. After listening to a speech detailing how we were to forget our past history with, and resentment toward, the opposite sex, we lined up two by two with several hundred members of the North American camp, in one of the concrete meeting rooms. We dressed casually in jeans and T-shirts. A few members arrived wearing short shorts and leather pants.

“The more you love your partner, the harder you will hit,” our Central Figure said. “Just imagine your spouse is a big baby.”

A three-hundred-pound brother beside us turned to his petite Japanese wife. “A VERY big baby!” he laughed.

▲ The Indemnity Stick Ceremony – a few members were hospitalized with injuries (several in Japan).

When we reached the front, a Korean brother handed Gabriel a wooden baseball bat, watched while he whacked me three times on the backside, then handed the bat to me. We bent over to receive our blows, and were advised to hit our partner only on the buttocks and upper thighs. After this, my only physical contact with a man for over two years, I lay on my stomach on my sleeping bag, concentrating on the tingling sensation where wood had met flesh.

   Upon returning from Korea, we were moved to different centers to continue fundraising and witnessing until we completed three years of separation from our spouse or reached the age of thirty. For the next two years, until our Three Day Ceremony, Gabriel and I were forbidden to have any physical contact. I lived in the Brooklyn church center. Gabriel lived sometimes in the Bronx center, sometimes with his family members, who had moved to Manhattan to raise money for their family back home. He studied accounting. We saw each other occasionally at religious events. I found myself daydreaming about him sometimes; I believed that fantasizing was not quite as sinful since we were married. In my imagination, our eventual union would be explosive.

Toward the end of our separation period, I moved to a church-owned hotel to work at their video post-production facility. At around the same time, Gabriel moved to work and live in the same hotel. For the first time in four years, I slept alone. In my twelve-feet square box of a room, its window facing dozens of similar rooms, I began to question if unity of purpose existed within this organization. Before, my every moment had been monitored; now, I could be gone for days before anyone would notice.

Once, I accompanied Gabriel on a visit to his family in Ecuador, failing to anticipate the difficulty of maintaining chastity away from the church. 

“If you don’t let me kiss you, I will break this blessing,” Gabriel challenged me on a street corner in Quito. Pressing me against a faux Spanish wall in eighty-degree twilight, he pushed his tongue in my mouth, grabbed my breasts in his fists.

Shortly after the kissing incident, Gabriel lay on top of me, fully clothed. The sensation of his erection pressing between my legs was so long-forgotten and exciting that I came within moments, a short, tingling burst through my stomach. I told no one. The premature kissing and closeness would have necessitated a Repentance Ceremony, and a longer separation. When I made a partial confession to my Central Figure, he let me off with a prayer.

The love of my life, whom I left to join the church, was a seductively androgynous filmmaker. With his camera, he could enhance the beauty of a homeless person or a perfect white daisy. He could laugh hysterically at some stupid joke I made, or threaten to rip out my guts if he suspected (needlessly) that I fancied someone else.

Gabriel was a steady, methodical man who rarely laughed. He drove me frantic with the slow way he set up a computer or checked his accounts. I admired his ambition and felt secure that he would never be unfaithful — his parents were nearing their sixtieth anniversary. In my mind, I built him into an icon of virtue. Secretly, I worried that I might never love freely again.

I plunged into our marriage, dutiful, determined to succeed, convinced that I was soiled goods and fortunate to be with someone so stable and faithful. Still, I was unsure of how to approach intimacy.

It was essential that I banish all memories of past experience. I could not be overenthusiastic, because our first days together would be ceremonial. So, with my mind twisting with doubt, desire and fear, we began our married life.

Two years after our wedding, I gathered our checklist of items for the Three Day Ceremony, the consummation of our marriage: 1) Two Holy Handkerchiefs. These were to wash our bodies prior to intimacy, then to collect the fluids produced by our final union in the ceremony; they were to be kept “eternally.” 2) Holy Salt. This was sprinkled over everything used for the ceremony, to sanctify the proceedings. 3) Two Holy Gowns. These ankle-length white satin gowns were to be worn before and after each act of love during the Three Day Ceremony. 4) Two Basins. These were to fill with Holy Water in which to soak the Holy Handkerchiefs before use. 5) A picture of True Parents. Since the fall of Adam and Eve occurred out of the sight of God, this picture of Rev. and Mrs. Moon stood in for God’s eyes. 6) Two cushions to designate the places of True Parents. 7) A Shim Jung (True Heart) candle.

The first night of the ceremony, I arrived at our room in the church-owned hotel at nine. It was on the nineteenth floor, with windows facing the Empire State Building on the east and the Chrysler Building to the south. Gabriel returned from college at ten, pulled out a book on accounting and a folder, and sat at the desk to write.

“What time should we start?” I asked.

He didn’t look up. “I have to finish my homework. I’ll tell you when I’m ready.”

Still wearing my black skirt and white shirt, I lay on the tightly made bed and closed my eyes. No thoughts came, just the distant roar of traffic on Thirty-Fourth Street, the smell of sterile linen. When he finally said my name, I was startled.

“I’ve finished,” he said. “Shall we do it now?”

I pulled the pamphlet of instructions out of my bag. We showered separately, never having seen each other naked. After he emerged, I took my turn in the steamy bathroom, then put on my new underwear. Our undergarments had to be new for each day of the ceremony; black satin felt luxurious after the baggy cotton underpants I’d been slouching around in for years. I dressed in my ivory wedding gown, and over that my white holy robe. The sash of my robe was decorated with pink beads, Gabriel’s trim was green.  

“What’s next?” He sat impatiently on the side of the bed. “I have to get up early for class.”

“We’re supposed to pray.” I placed the red-and-green embroidered cushions in front of the prayer table I had set up. A picture of Rev. and Mrs. Moon glared out humorlessly, next to the white, vanilla-scented holy candle.

We bowed to the ground in front of the picture, and prayed for four minutes.

“All right, let’s do it now.” Gabriel threw off his holy robe and lay on the bed in his underpants. His body looked small and dark on the king-size bed. I removed my clothing, then his underpants.

In the first part of the ceremony, the woman had to be on top, symbolizing the restoration of Eve’s act of love with Lucifer. After two minutes of foreplay, I guided him inside me. Instantly, I felt the emotional disconnect. It was the first time I had felt a man inside me for four years, and it felt good, but there was no holy passion, no divine ecstasy. I moved on top of him, concentrated on bringing him to an orgasm, then removed myself and lay next to him.

Our ritualistic act of love was over in ten minutes. We wiped the fluids onto our Holy Handkerchiefs.

The official handbook said, “Go to sleep in peace. Sleep in pajamas and nightgown. Do not have a physical relationship outside of the content of the ceremony.” We lay on our backs next to each other, not touching, nor speaking. 

The next evening we repeated the same ritual, this time symbolizing the restoration of Eve’s fall with Adam. We hardly spoke; there was nothing to say. When Gabriel withdrew, still erect, I was confused. According to the pamphlet, penetration should happen only once on each day. Seeing Gabriel’s distress, I decided it would be acceptable to bring him to an orgasm with my mouth. His satisfaction relieved me, but I felt no emotional closeness.

The next day, our final ritualistic act of love was completed in less than ten minutes. We wiped the resulting fluids onto our Holy Handkerchiefs, which I had embroidered with a red X for him, and a red Y for me. Observing the clear, slippery fluid on the handkerchief, I held it to my nose, thought of a baby’s head on a sunny, salty beach. Not allowing our skin to touch, we lay beside each other on cold, white hotel sheets.

“So we can’t do it again for twenty-four hours?” Gabriel asked, matter-of-factly.

“I guess not.” I lay there dry, untouched. I was flooded with desire that had no possibility of fulfillment. Would Gabriel and I ever laugh together? Would we ravish each other in an elevator, or in a parking lot? Would we even hold hands and kiss on the street? I wanted to feel wholehearted attraction to, and passion for, my partner. This man knew nothing about me, nor did he care to find out. 

After the twenty-four-hour waiting period, Gabriel and I took every possible opportunity to get close to each other. Our conversations were nonexistent, yet we attempted to sate our physical loneliness in each other. We met during our lunch break, had sex propped on a bathroom sink, in bed, on the floor, sometimes several times a day. For him, sex seemed mainly a release of tension; for me, it was a welcome distraction from the tedium of work.

Six weeks after we first slept together, I felt the trembling super-reality and nausea that told me I was pregnant. Nine months later, I gave birth to a daughter. She emerged red-skinned, black-haired, screaming. I held her to me like an extension of my body for the next nine months. Soon I was pregnant again, this time with a son: soft-eyed, unblinking, trying to crawl as soon as he drew breath.

Two miscarriages later, sex with Gabriel — at first a hopeful distraction — became a fearful thing. Contraception was forbidden, but I couldn’t bring more children into the lonely relationship we had built. For six years, we moved from one apartment to another in the hotel. When we moved away from the built-in religious community and into a Manhattan apartment, the reality of our separateness became stark. When our daughter was six and our son four, Gabriel stated the truth: “You don’t love me.”

He left. I resigned myself to the life of a celibate, single mother. I stopped attending church. I freelanced for various TV shows in New York, gradually allowing myself more freedom to be irreverent, laugh, have my own opinions. I visited my brother, who some years ago was well enough to teach computer programming; today he sits in a darkened room, wearing sunglasses, drawing detailed diagrams which only he understands. For two years after the breakup of my marriage, I feared intimate relationships, still believing sex outside marriage to be sinful.

But I couldn’t help but notice the flirtations people dabbled in daily at work. I began to feel a desire to rebel against my failed attempt at purity. At a bar after work, I had one drink, kissed a coworker and realized I still had desire. From then on, I decided anything was acceptable, as long as it felt right at the time. Fuck you, God, I wanted to say. I promised my life to you, and you didn’t keep your part of the bargain. You didn’t give me love, you didn’t change the world, you didn’t even save my brother.

The random post-work kiss initiated a frenzy of meeting men on the internet, through speed-dating and in any other way possible. Frustrated by the lack of intimacy, I decided to turn it into a project: I would date fifty men and write about the results. Date number three became a painful infatuation. After three months, I decided if number three wasn’t interested, I’d get intimate with someone who was. Number twenty-five was the one, although I knew it would go no further.

The next day I abandoned my dating project, and also fell in love with a man I met on the subway. Henceforth, I happily acceded to anything he wanted, however irregular. His rough, uninhibited lovemaking unearthed the desire I buried so long ago. Day to day, I’m unsure whether he will declare me the love of his life, or say he never wants to see me again. But even the pain of the relationship is freeing — it strips away the falseness and piety I strove to affect for so long.

Last month, my ex-boyfriend whom I left to join the Unification Church, the man I hadn’t dated for fifteen years, theorized over the phone: “You’ve created a new cult centered on your lover. When will you ever learn?”

But he was wrong. This is the anti-cult. There are no rules. This is life: it grows, changes; it surprises you; it lets you down, then builds you up. As I write this, my boyfriend is breaking it off with his fiancée. I know we may not last. But is any ending really final, and does it matter? I love him; he loves me. Now, the only eternity I hope for is that which exists in the moment.

Yolande Elise Brener lived in New York with her two children. She now lives in London.

http://www.yolandebrener.com

Holy Candy: Why I Joined A Cult And Married A Stranger

Down Is The Only Way Out: An Interview With Ben Lorentzen

#Yolande Elise Brener #Sun Myung Moon #mass marriage

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redfoxwritesstuff · 4 years

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Coffee and a Wedding (Chapter 7)

Good morningish. We’re back to our regularly scheduled programming complete with me forgetting it’s post day! As always, thanks to @winterisakiller who puts up with my constant whining and stream of random thoughts.

I’m going to NYC in December for my birthday to see Betrayal, y’all!

Buy me a Ko-fi

Clint x ofc, warnings: glitter, bad kissing, references to sex.

Chapter 7

“On that note, let the real party begin.” The real party? The whole even reeked of entitlement but I didn’t have anything else planned for the night. I’m sure Matt would be glad to start some dumb rumor if I ducked out early anyway. Regardless, I wanted to get inside soon- the sky was heavy with clouds and I didn’t want to get rained on.

Matt turned and with all the grandeur his scrawny suit clad frame could gather, pulled open the double doors. Inside was a warmly decorated Whiskey room that looked unremarkable. As I moved inside, I saw more warm redwood than I could have dreamed of. I was a sucker for the warm woods and rustic furnishing, though this was with a much classier touch than my own place.

Mark? Or was it Tim? Whatever his name was, one of the men made his way to the sound system and turned the music on. God, I hoped the music was going to be better than this at the wedding. Bass thumped through the air and it frankly felt like a sin to listen to such trash music in a whiskey room but what did I know? I wasn’t some rich trust fund kid.

A drink was well within my rights. So I wasted no time in ordering a double of whatever they had on the top shelf. I’m not picky but I have class. And dammit, I’ll not be outclassed by a bunch of children. It was bad enough that I was stuck socializing with the kids tonight.

Alexis had mentioned that Sarah was her older sister. I wondered, as I sipped my drink, how much older than Matt she was. I knew there was only a few years between the two women but Matt acted a lot like a boy freshly turned 21 and less like a man each time I had seen him. The short beard on his face worked well to make his age a question.

Wouldn’t it be funny if he really was as much of a baby as he acted? His own insecurity would go a long way in explaining his issues with mine and Alexis’ relationship. Our fake relationship. I had to remember that. It wasn’t real. She thought I was just pretending.

That was going to be a battle for another night. Somehow, I had to make her see I wasn’t playing a game. I wasn’t pretending. She was a light in my life. I just had to somehow convince her to take a chance on this old man. Her reluctance would make sense, I am her boss and a good bit older than her. But man, I would give anything for just a chance.

Looking around the room again, I noticed there was a lack of board games but I was thankful for it. The idea of drinking expensive whiskey and playing children’s games wasn’t my idea of fun. Maybe sometime next lifetime when I had a family of my own, children of my own but not right now and at a goddamn bachelor's party.

There was a shift in the music, rather suddenly as I finished my first glass. The base got louder. The beat came to life and at that exact moment, the doors were thrown open by two of the men (boys?) standing near by. I was half amazed to not have the bad luck to be standing next to them at the time. That honor went to another who fell flat on his ass with the power of the blow. I couldn’t help but snicker at the man and his ill fitting suit.

Half a dozen or so trench coat clad figures, tall and lean were making their way to the door through the empty street. The streetlights reflected off the wet ground as they marched through puddles.

It was a sight to be seen, their hats perched on their heads, hiding their faces from the streetlights. Rain was coming down, dripping off the rims of hats and splashing up onto calves with each purposeful step. Artfully curled hair bounced on shoulders.

These women were here because they had a job to do and it was very clear that they intended to complete their tasks to the best of their ability. The click of their heels on the pavement seemed to echo over the loud music. Really, that was a figure of the imagination, it couldn’t be heard but with the way they walked, you expected to hear it. I learned a long time ago that it was often intent that mattered.

I’ve seen women like this before. They were high class and high dollar. There was a time where they were a staple of a Stark Industries party though those days had long passed. Stark had settled down with the woman I was sure would eventually be his wife. I could only begin to imagine how much money was spent hiring these women and how much they would make when their night was through.

So much for the high class boring event this was billed to be.

When the women marched into the center of the room, two of the men who seemed to be in the know slammed the door shut behind them with far more force than needed. It was like they were going for ominous and failed to hit the mark with the too bright lights in the taproom and the music being a touch too harsh.

The women spread out, hips swaying dramatically with each step. There was a stomp of their feet when they hit what I could only assume was their preassigned places. How long did they spend rehearsing this? Every one of their movements were perfectly timed and totally in sync. It was kind of creepy, if I’m honest with you.

They looked around. Right in front of me- I could lean forward, reach and I would be able to touch her coat. This one was a redhead. Curls of bright nearly orange hair bounced as she looked around.

Her eyes locked on me as the other women selected targets. Each, in perfectly synced motions, hooked the brim of their hat in their fingers and flipped it off the tops of their heads. With practiced skill, they grabbed the hats from midair only to hook them on their target’s heads. Again, it was impressive and made me question just how long they spent practicing this and even more so, how much they were costing per the hour.

I raised a finger and snagged the brim of the hat intended for my head. “No, Thank you.”

“Oh Sir, you wound me.” Her voice was sticky like syrup in a way I couldn’t even begin to understand or describe for you. She batted her big and clearly artificially colored green eyes at me and scrunched her lips together in a way that was beyond sexy. “Perhaps, I can persuade you?”

I watched with mild amusement as the women around the room were flirting with their targets rather than answer her. Typically, if they know you’re not going to bite, they go and other someone else.

The unnamed woman- I’ll call her Orangie- was shuffling even closer to me with her swaying hips. As I looked back, she was undoing the belt holding her coat closed. She was close enough now that the leather was brushing against my knees.

“Leave that on, won’t you?” It was time for another drink.

“Oh, do you like to the undressing, Sir?” Swaying her hips, she had the intention of getting between my legs and nope. It was time to stand up and make it very clear that I was moving away.

“Nope.”

She looked doubtfully at me and questioned, “Not at all?”

“I mean, yes but not you.” I corrected.

She had her belt untied and coat on the ground in a heartbeat. For a second I took in the black lace that hugged her curves and kept what she and many men considered to be the best parts of a women hidden but just barely.

The men around me were hooting and hollering, each having the time of their lives. Hands were on hips and bodies swaying.

“Go dance for someone else.” It was hard to make it any clearer for her that I wasn’t interested. Another night, I'd think about it but not tonight. Not right now. Not when I cared for someone.

Slipping out of my seat, I down the empty glass and went for another. It was going to be a long night. As much as I didn’t want to, I needed to stick it out long enough that Matt and most of his friends wouldn’t remember me leaving.

“Barton!” Jesus fucking Christ, wasn’t Matt busy? “Are none of these girls to your liking? They are young enough.” Don’t punch him. Don’t punch him. Don't fucking punch him.

“Oh they’re beautiful and seem very talented. Well worth the money spent on them.” That drink wasn’t in my hand fast enough.

“Than find one. Enjoy your night. It’s my last night as a single man, so let’s party it up.” I’m pretty sure, if I am honest with you- and I’ll be honest with you, that this isn’t going to be the last time Matt parties it up like a single man.

“I’m just here for the whiskey.” Tipping my glass to Matt, I smile. “Enjoy.” I say before downing the drink.

With that annoyance making his way to a too skinny blonde with breasts that were very fake and judging by the way they moved, very expensive, I went for another drink to sip on and keep my hands busy.

With my back from the room, I nearly jumped out of my skin when long soft hands slipped down by back and around my side. Looking down, I found perfectly manicured red tipped fingers running over my abdomen.

“You’re strong. Fit.” Organgie, of course.

“I have a girlfriend.”

She laughed and leaned, pressing her full and seemingly natural breasts against my back to whisper in my ear, “As do most of the men here. It’s a bachelor party, you’re single for the night. Let me show you a good time.”

“Not interested.” I wrangled her hands off of me and she went on her way with a pout. More than likely, she would try again soon. They always tried again, made the rounds until they found someone to accept the attention she was paid to provide.

Leaning my back against the bar, I tried to figure out how the girls ended up with a sip n’ paint party and the boys ended up in a whiskey room full of strippers. Around me, men gathered around women, sometimes two or three around a single woman. They rocked their hips, danced and ran their hands up bodies.

In the back corner, Matt sat with one of the blondes perched on his knee. His hand was inching up her fishnet covered thigh. His other hand was running through bouncing curls as she leaned down. Closer and closer, I watched in disgust as their lips came together in a kiss that looked more like he was trying to eat her face than kiss her.

If this is what bachelor parties were about, I’m pretty sure I’d rather skip it and just go to a bar with the guys if I ever got my turn.

Matt struggled to lift the blonde while he stood. Her legs hooked around him as he gripped her ass tightly. So tightly, in fact, that it was clear he was struggling to hold her up and walk. With nothing but disgust, I watched as they disappeared into a cleaning closet. Wonder how much Matt was paying for the full service treatment?

Not that I had anything against hookers. It was the oldest profession in the world and as long as everyone was consenting and sane, more power to them. I never found myself needing of their services but I could see their appeal.

Again, hands ran up my chest. “Go away, Orangie.”

“I want you.” leaning forward, she purred the words into my ear. Glitter from her hair dusted my shirt. Yeah, I’d much rather she didn’t touch me than go back to the room covered in stripper dust. “I won’t even charge. I want you so bad.”

When she pulled my earlobe into her mouth with a suck, I slipped out from between her and the bar. “Nope. No thank you. Not interested. Bye.”

After downing my glass in a swift motion, I made the most direct path to the door. Was Smith fucking the Asian stripper on the coffee table? Was Smith even that dude’s name? Real classy dude, whatever-your-name-is. At least Matt found a room.

~~~~~<3

I looked up from my laptop when the room door flung open. Clint looked beyond flustered and his shirt shimmered in the light. Looking at the time on my screen, I saw it was hardly even 11.

“You’re back early?” Not that I wasn’t happy to see him, I am. I just hadn’t expected him back so soon. “And shinny.”

“Matt is a fucking scumbag. As are most of his friends.” Clint started in on his buttons.

“Okay? How do you mean? And why do you shimmer?”

"I'm a vampire." Clint deadpanned before answering again when I only raised my eyebrow at him, “Stripper dust.”

I looked at him in confusion. “Stripper dust? How?”

“Well the board games Matt wanted his party to play was ‘pin the stripper with your pecker’. I was lucky to make it out with my life.”

“What are you talking about?” Closing my laptop, I slipped it into that little space between the bed and the nightstand on what was unofficially my spot.

“That party was anything but tame or chaste.” Clint announced, pulling his phone out of his pocket, unlocking it and tossing it onto the bed.

Looking down, I saw a picture of what appeared to be Matt trying to shove the entirety of a scantly clad stripper’s face into his mouth. There were two things that jumped out at me. Firstly, her hair was amazing- I could never get curls and volume like that. Secondly, I was looking at the single most disgusting thing I’ve ever seen. And I’ve cleaned the men’s room at the cafe.

“Strippers?” Shit. Do I tell Sarah? Is it my place? Fuck. I needed to talk to her.

“Strippers. God, Matt is such a dick. Thinks he’s so grand.” Clint finally got the shimmery shirt off of him and tossed it to the side, little specks of glitter poofing into the air.

“Did you have a good time at least? I mean- your shirt shimmers so you must have.” I tried to make it sound like I was okay with the idea. I tried to make it sound like the idea of Clint watching a stripper, touching her didn’t make me jealous.

“What?” Clint froze, standing shirtless in our hotel room with his chest on display for me. I couldn’t manage to appreciate it at the moment. “No. God no.”

“Were they that bad?” I tried to joke as Clint ditched his pants and grabbed a pair of sweatpants from the dresser and slipped them on. I did manage to find it in me to admire his ass as he bent over.

“No, they were beautiful. But I’ve got a fake girlfriend right here to be loyal to.” He didn’t even look at me as he spoke. That was a good thing, if he doesn’t look at me, he can’t see the emotions play across my face.

“You should have.” I say as if it wasn’t killing me to say it. “It would have been a perfect reason for us to fake breakup. You could have had an easy way out of this fake relationship.” Maybe if I say ‘fake’ enough, I’ll feel like it was fake.

“Naw, I don’t want to go out like. What if you change your mind or need another fake boyfriend?”

“Change my mind?” What the hell did that mean?

“Never mind. I’m talking nonsense, too much whiskey.” Clint climbed into the bed next to me as if that’s where he always belonged. Such stupid thoughts. It was too easy to forget that it was all pretend.

“Babe?” He whispered once he had the light off. I could feel him looking at me in the dark, his breath fanning over my shoulder. I don’t know why he insisted on calling me that when we were alone.

“What, Clint?” I whispered back.

“I didn’t touch them. I didn’t dance with them. I didn’t let them dance for me. I told them 'no' and when she wouldn't stop, I left and came back here. You believe me, right?” Why did this matter to him so much?

“Yeah, okay. Yes, Clint, I believe you. Go to sleep, you’re drunk.”

Rather than answer with words, a soft snore slipped out of my bed mate. I was now the only one left awake in the small room. My mind went wild. It was hard to remind myself, to tell myself and convince myself that he didn’t care about me in that way when he would say those sort of things.

If I wasn’t careful, I could believe he felt the same way as me. If I wasn’t careful, I could fall deeper in love with someone who was only putting on an act.

~~~~~<3

It had been two days since the bachelor party of doom as Clint had taken to calling it and I’d spent a lot of the time studying. Sometimes I studied in the room. Sometimes I studied at the beach. But I was always studying.

Clint had been gracious about it. He’d been more than willing to help me review material as needed. I tired to get him to go out and experience the island without me but he would refuse time and time again. It was nice, to not be studying alone and he made a good study partner. Better than my classmates.

He made sure I took breaks, ate and moved. Most importantly however, he was always willing to help while taking care to never be a distraction. The test I had to take was online and once I finished it, I was officially done for the summer. This one class was all that I had left to finish.

With a sigh, I closed the laptop lid and picked it up. With a risky flair of dramatics, I tossed the laptop away from me toward the foot of the bed where in bounced.

“All done?” Clint asked.

“All done.” I agreed.

~~~~~<3

Tag List (Coffee): @winterisakiller, @theheartofpenelope, @ruebx, @hufflepuff25, @0-0-0-0-0-0-0-7, @theoneanna, @bradfordbantams, @toozmanykids, @alexakeyloveloki, @j-u-s-t-4, @missaphrodite23, @bambamwolf87, @nonsensicalobsessions, @tinchentitri, @xoxabs88xox, @queenoftheunderdark, @myoxisbroken, @wegingerangelica

#clint x reader #clint x original character #clint x original female character #clint barton x reader #clint barton x female reader

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master-thief-gray-shadow · 5 years

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If Love Be Rough with You

Summary: Chisato had closed her heart to love. She knew she could never receive it, so there was no point in leaving herself open.

Kaoru had somehow blown the doors to her heart open, and she couldn't close them no matter how hard she tried.

Notes: No, this is not the 8000+ word fic I posted about earlier. That’s...uh...that’s not getting posted here. This is just some Chisato catching feelings and getting upset about it.

Chisato didn’t really care for men. Not in the sense that she preferred women, although that was certainly true, but it was a little deeper than that. All the men she’d met had in some way disappointed her. Her own father was all but absent from her life, leaving her in the care of her controlling and temperamental mother. Because of this, the only adult men in her life had been agents, producers, directors. People who saw her not as a person, but as a tool or prop, and treated her accordingly. She hadn’t noticed it much when she was younger and had first started acting, but as she grew it gradually became more and more clear to her. Men had only hurt her, and she had no reason to assume that they would stop anytime soon.

There had been one exception though. A boy Chisato had known as a child. She still remembered the day they had met, when she had been at the playground and heard someone sobbing. Checking under the slide, she found him, curled into a fetal position and crying his eyes out. Naturally she had asked what was wrong, and after a little coaxing he explained to her that he was hiding from a group of older boys who regularly picked on him. In that moment she had offered him her hand, and told him that he wouldn’t have to worry about any bullies if she was with him. He seemed surprised by the gesture, and hesitated for a moment, before taking her hand.

They very quickly became friends. Apparently their parents knew each other, as his father was a rather prolific live theatre producer who had worked with Chisato’s mother before. This meant that they would see each other often, which only served to make their bond tighter. As Chisato got to know him more she found that he was an exceptionally tender-hearted person, prone to being moved to tears by nearly any story. And he had loved stories. He loved the ones about charming princes who would come and save fair maidens from the clutches of evil. He seemed to aspire to be one, and even called Chisato his princess from time to time. Which she would always respond by teasingly saying that she could never marry a prince who cried so much. Still, he was such a sweet, kind boy. Chisato may have even loved him, which was why it had hurt so much when they parted ways so she could start her acting career.

That was the first and last time she had loved someone. Entangled in the ruthlessness of the entertainment industry, she had quickly learned that love was not a luxury she would be given. She had fans, of course, but none of them loved her. None of them truly loved her, the real her, they merely loved an idealized, sanitized image of her that was safe to be placed in front of a camera. Even if she wanted to look for someone who possibly could look past her television persona, her personal life was so scrutinized by old men in suits and--ugh--by her mother that it wouldn’t even be worth it. So she did the only thing she could do and accepted it. If she was to live a life without love, so be it.

For years she kept this mindset. It had even extended to simple friendships, as she felt it would probably be best for her to keep her relationship with other entertainers strictly professional. She had intended to keep this up when she had been signed onto an idol band for some reason, but somehow her bandmates had wormed her way into her heart. She’d been wary at first, but eventually she came to accept it. Friends, she supposed, were something she could have. But nothing more.

Among her new friends was Yamato Maya, a shy and somewhat awkward girl who attended a neighboring school, Haneoka Girls’ High School. Despite being in the band and playing onstage Maya was more at home in a studio, fiddling with lighting and sound equipment, which was what she did for her school’s drama club. Maya would talk about the drama club sometimes. Most of it was unremarkable, but something that did catch Chisato’s attention was that Maya would sometimes mention a “Kaoru” who was a fellow club member. The name was familiar to Chisato. But there were many people in the world named Kaoru. And Haneoka was an all-girl’s school. It was a simple coincidence, nothing more.

When Haneoka’s school culture festival came around, the drama club had decided to do a production of Romeo & Juliet. Chisato knew this because Maya had told her. It wasn’t of any particular interest to her, but she listened anyway because that was part of being a good friend, right? Apparently casting had hit a snag, most of the roles had been decided, but the role of Juliet remained open, mainly because this Kaoru, who was playing Romeo, had been very particular about what she wanted in the lead opposite her. And then Maya, sheepishly, admitted to having volunteered her for the part. And Kaoru had apparently been very interested.

Chisato was a film actress mainly, but she was familiar with the nuances of the stage. Initially she had been reluctant to accept, with everyone telling her how amazing it would be to have a celebrity like her at the festival in such an annoyingly patronizing manner, but eventually she caved. She had been told that Kaoru had been eager to see her, and that it was like a lifelong dream to perform side by side with her. That seemed very odd for a simple fan. This Kaoru almost sounded like she was trying to reunite with someone. But that wasn’t possible. That boy was gone. Chisato would never see him again.

At least, that was what she believed until she stepped into Haneoka’s drama clubroom, and there, in the center of the room, a script in hand, was her childhood friend with whom she had parted so painfully. Seta Kaoru.

He--or, she, Chisato supposed--had grown tremendously since they’d last seen each other. She was tall, easily towering over the other club members, and her face had become sharp and handsome. She wore a confident smile as she looked over at Chisato, and as their eyes met she could see the same self-assuredness in her gaze.

This...this was the boy she had known? It was unmistakable, of course, but as Kaoru walked over to her, knelt down, took her hand and kissed it as though she were a princess and spouted off some nonsense about how fate had reunited them, Chisato could never imagine her old friend doing such a thing. This was ridiculous. Kaoru was being ridiculous.

And...and charming. Chisato had long wondered what her single crush on a boy had meant. At some point she had decided that it had merely been a fluke, an exception. But now that it turned out that Kaoru wasn’t a boy after all something awakened in her. Kaoru was a woman. A beautiful, charming, kind of dumb woman. As the culture festival approached and Chisato spent time rehearsing with Kaoru, she started noticing odd things in her body whenever they would go over certain parts. An odd increase in her heartbeat. A slight floatiness in her stomach. Going briefly lightheaded when they would practice their stage kiss. And not even ten minutes until curtain on the day of the performance, it hit her.

She was in love. With Kaoru.

Chisato managed to stave off her feelings of disgust long enough to put on a decent performance, although Kaoru’s ad-libbing certainly tested her. How could this have happened? She had sworn off love, made it so that no force in the universe could ever make her fall in love with anybody, and the universe had conspired to bring her together with someone she was in love with already. Why, why did Kaoru turn out this way? Why was she so beautiful, and why did Chisato’s chest twinge with jealousy as Kaoru would flirt with every girl who passed her by? What had happened to the kind and sensitive and honest Kaoru she had known? Chisato had tested a few times and found a crack or two in this princely persona that Kaoru had developed. She was sure that deep down, Kaoru was still the shy and quiet child she had been. But she was hiding that side of herself. Hiding it under the mask of a bold Shakespearean actor.

When she had first taken the role of Juliet she had struggled to understand the character, her foolish devotion to love. Now, now she knew. She knew what drove her to go against her family to be with her Romeo, even though it had led to tragedy. Would something similar happen to her if she acted on her feelings? Probably nothing as dramatic as suicide, but there were plenty of terrible possible outcomes. She could be blacklisted from the industry for being caught with another woman. And if that were to happen she shuddered to think how her mother would respond. And did Kaoru even return her feelings? Was this all just an act? Was she willing to risk her career, her reputation, over someone who might not even love her back? To an extent she envied Juliet for her courage.

But in her courage Juliet had been a fool. And Chisato was not a fool. Even as Kaoru extended a hand to her she would not take it. No love was worth the ravages it could bring. Love was not something she could ever have, even as it thrummed in her chest.

#chisato shirasagi #kaoru seta #kaochisa #bandori #gray writes

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thestarwrites · 5 years

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City of God (Finan x OC)

Fic Summary: Finan the Agile meets a Celt-Saxon woman, and for once he can’t think of anything else

Part One

Rating: PG

Please don’t plagiarize!

Also I wanted to share this with some other Finan fans I’ve noticed!

@nxrdist @joyofbebbanburg @medievalfangirl

word count: 1,950

Wintecester. City of God. City of Alfred. The big beating heart of Wessex, the west Saxon kingdom. She had never seen anything so big- not since she’d left Ireland, anyhow. Her mother was Irish, father was a West Saxon, and the two women had been living in East Anglia while her father traveled for work. That was until it became unsafe. Her father had found work with the King, and so here she was, Kelly of the Celts— now of Wessex. Daughter of the Royal blacksmith; named Urlworth, and his Irish love Brienne, now united under one roof. The King’s roof.

The first few weeks Kelly was in Wintecester, she had attended church regularly, met with some of the priests who were interested in the stranger, interested in if she was betrothed- though she was considered old to not yet be married. Her hair still hung down; a maiden’s hairstyle. But it was clear to all that she was more a Celt than a Saxon, she knew strange ways. She knew a bit of sword-art, she knew a bit about blacksmithing from her father. And she was educated, like a noble Lady; for apparently, her mother was a of fine breeding.

Father Beocca took a liking to the girl right away. She loved learning and she loved God. Two things they had in common. Beocca’s beautiful young wife Thyra was quickly one of Kelly’s closest friends.

She had met the Lord Uhtred, Tyra’s adoptive brother, as well as the Abbess Hild. Thyra had told her of the Earl Ragnar in Dunholm, her older blood brother. However she had never met any of Uhtred’s oath-men, though she had seen them from afar, well, seen one from afar. The handsome one, Finan was his name she was told. He was the one she’d caught looking at her, the one who even more embarrassingly had caught her looking at him. Her made her insides squirm when she met those mischievous brown eyes.

The first time they met, she was walking home from visiting with Thyra. She ran into Uhtred and two of his Oath-men, Shitric and Finan, headed into the Two-Cranes alehouse. Along with its ale it was known for its… services. She knew as a recently and very happily married man, Uhtred would only be drinking ale. The others? Well, she felt a sting of jealousy at the prospect of Finan bedding some whore- though they had never spoken, though she had no rights to be jealous.

“Hello, Lord Uhtred.” She smiled gently.

He grinned, “Hello!” He bowed his head and hugged her as they approached one another. Turning he motioned, “Kelly, these are some of my men— Sitric, and Finan.”

Shitric smiled brightly, “Hello, pleasure to meet you at last, Miss.”

“At last?” She smiled a bit bashfully.

“Thyra talks of almost nothing else besides her new best friend.” Uhtred explains with a smile.

Kelly turns her gaze to the Irishman, whose warm brown eyes were looking right through her. She swallowed and became lost there with him. As Shitric and Uhtred exchanged a playful glance, they disappeared into the Two Cranes without Finan noticing. After a long few moments, Finan extends his hand to her, “Lady.”

Taking it she blushed and smiled a little, “Pleasure to meet you, Finan.”

“Tha pleasure’s mine, my Lady.” He said softly as he pressed a kiss to her knuckles. His beard was coarse, and he smelled of leather and sweat. He was even more intoxicating up close than he was across streets or in the market, “Yer even prettier in up close, lady.”

Kelly still had her hand in his, “Oh, uhm, thank you— um, Please— please, call me Kelly.” She was nervous under his gaze.

“As you wish.” He grinned. Suddenly the sound of a shattering ale pot pulled them from their thoughts, “Oh I, I better let ye git on home, I don’ want ta keep ye.” He said kissing her knuckles once more, “Goodnight, Kelly.”

She finally was released from his hand, “Goodnight, Finan.” She smile politely and continued down the street. Once out of eyesight, she started hurrying home. Her chest was on fire, and she was trembling. No one had ever kissed her hand in such a tender way.

That very next morning, Kelly walked into they Abbey to pray, only to find Finan already kneeling in prayer, cross in hand. She didn’t want to disturb him— and mostly she didn’t want him thinking she was following him. Taking a step backward toward the door, she bumped into one of the simple wooden pews. His head snapped up and he turned at the noise- breaking into a small smile as he saw her. They were alone in this chapel, turning back he crossed himself and stood, “Come ta pray, Lady?”

Swallowing, she wet her lips, his eyes followed her, “Yes.” She said meekly. He sauntered over to her, the swagger he had was unlike any man she’d ever encountered. She’d met a score of Irish men, and Saxon men, some who tried to woo her, and they never radiated the bravado he did. He smiled sweetly, taking her hand and kissing the knuckles once again, “I’ll leave you to yer peace, then.”

Letting out a breath she didn’t know she was holding she stared into his eyes. Finan smiled wider as his other hand gently cupped her cheek, and she leaned into it. He had actually just prayed for her to be more present in his life- and he was in awe, God had worked his will so fast. He almost thought he might be dreaming, could she ever think of him the way he thought of her? “Sorry, Lady.” He smiled bashfully, bowing his head, “I shall leave you now,” He kissed the knuckles of her hand once more before slipping out of the Church, heading for Uhtred’s home.

Kelly cupped both of her cheeks as she tried to push away the sinful thoughts she was having in God’s house.

Hild walked into the Church and blinked, “Kelly? I thought only Finan was in here? Are you alright, girl? You’re red as a flame!”

“I-“ She stammered before shaking her head, “Nothing! I just came to pray—“

“This wouldn’t have anything to do with Finan, would it?”

Her cheeks burned hotter, “He’s…”

“That bad, hm?”

“That nothing. I’m late for- uhm- my chores.” She turned and rushed out of the room.

Hild smirked. This would have to be brought to Uhtred’s attention.

They met again a week later in the market. Kelly carried a basket full of produce and salted meats, struggling a little through the crowd.

“Allow me, my lady.” The cool voice of the Irishman called out as he took the basket with ease out of her arms. She barely had time to react before he grinned, “Been thinkin’ about ye, lass.”

Looking at him she blinked, “You have?”

“Of course, yer beauty eludes me as the sun on a cloudy day, lady.”

Her cheeks flushed and she sighed softly, “Finan, how many times must I tell you, I am no Lady, I’m just Kelly.”

“Yer a Lady ta me, my angel.”

Swallowing she put her hand on the basket handle, “I can handle the basket,

Pulling it away he smirked, “On the contrary, I pride myself as a man of honor, and God forbid I don’t help a damsel with a heavy parcel.”

Blushing she sighed, crossing her arms as they walked, “What are you after, Irishman?”

"Must I be after something?” He asked innocently, “I can’t just be in want of your pleasant company, girl?” He smirked and looked at her.

“Likely story.” She chuckled softly.

He smirked and winked at her, to which she blushed and giggled. He felt on cloud nine, the way he presented himself was working, “I told ye, yer an angel and I am but a poor sinner in want of your company.”

Kelly giggled once more and sighed softly, “Honestly, Finan, what are you after.”

He opened his mouth to speak, and then decided better of it. He wanted to ask her on a proper date, maybe lunch by the riverside. And for all his prowess With women, there was something here he didn’t want to mess up. He had to say something, had to talk to her— “Nothin, girl.”

“Well here we are.” She took a deep breath and went to take the basket from him, “Thank you for your assistance, Finan, regardless of motive.” She smirked.

“Yer most welcome, my lady.” He stopped to once again kiss her knuckles.

Blushing she smiled and looked up at him, “Have a good evening, Irishman.” He nodded and winked at her once more, moving away to walk back to Uhtred’s townhouse.

“And where have you been?” Gisela asked with a smirk when she saw Finan enter the hall once more. Uhtred and Sitric looked up from their conversation, watching the Irishman intently, Sitric had a smirk on his face.

“Hello, Lady Gisela- uh- just helpin’ out a friend.” He said lamely.

“Would that friend happen to be a certain blacksmith’s daughter by any chance?” She asked with a knowing smirk, “Hild just came in, she said she saw you flirting with the young lass, carrying her basket for her, being an absolute gentleman.”

His ears reddened, “She’s a pretty girl what can I say?” He huffed gently.

“Yes, very pretty— also half Irish!” Sitric smirked, “I’d say our Irishman is very taken with her. They could have little Celt babies!”

“Shut it!” Finan shouted.

“Have you plans to take this young lady out? Hild has told me this is not the first time you have been seen flirting with her.” Gisela asked.

Finan frowned, “I might be t’inkin’ about it.”

“Have you asked Lord Uhtred for permission to marry?” Sitric quipped with a laugh.

His cheeks flushed, “I have no intention of takin a wife, ye nosy bastard.” He grunted back to Sitric. The Dane just laughed heartily, slapping his knee before

Uhtred rose to approach his friend, “I’m serious, Lord. She’s just a pretty girl, and I like pretty girls.” He stroked a nervous hand across his beard.

Sitric started laughing harder.

“Don’t ye have a whore to visit?!” Finan yelled, cheeks red.

Uhtred put a hand up, “Enough!” He turned back to his right hand, “Maybe ask this pretty girl to dinner? Only if in the interest of getting to see her longer.” Uhtred patted his friends back.

“Aye. Maybe I will.” He wet his lips, “Excuse me, lord, I’m goin ta go wash.”

While he walked away, Gisela looked to Uhtred with a knowing smile, “And just like that, Finan the Agile, the great lover of women, has met a woman to conquer his heart.”

“You think so, my love?” Uhtred cooed as he wrapped his arms about his woman, the woman he was finally reunited with, who he was able to hold and marry and love freely now.

“Yes, I know that look in a mans eye. I remember it when I saw you. Finan has never been one to traverse the markets, and every time you are not in need of him, off he goes to catch glimpses of her in the streets. Thyra has also been telling me that Kelly is smitten with him. She always reports when she catches his eyes, or when they meet in public and he gallantly kisses her knuckles upon every greeting.”

Sitric smirked, “Wait until I tell the boys.”

Uhtred laughed heartily, and Gisela just rolled her eyes, “You men are terrible.”

#finan #finan the agile #the last kingdom #finan x oc #last kingdom #fanfiction

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jennadorn · 4 years

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Old Navy Denim

I’m 24 years old and I’ve just slept with a woman for the first time — and though it was by no means the sex of my dreams, so much so that I nauseously declined the morning after sex, I think about it regularly with fondness and a desperate sense of nostalgia. Because in my mind, it officially confirmed my physical and romantic attraction to my own gender. Or anyone with a vagina for that matter.

If I had to guess when my first “gay” thought occurred — (as if all thoughts aren’t inherently gay to some degree) it was likely during my childhood friendship with my next door neighbor, Jolie. During the five years that I lived across the street from Jolie, we were glued at the hip. Every day after elementary school, we’d run through the neighborhood together on a sour candy-induced high, pushing one another down the Doral Avenue hill on skateboards, ding-dong ditching the old prunes on our street. We’d celebrate Pesach and Hanukkah together; we’d swim in her pool until the warm hours of each summer day cooled into bittersweet evenings; we’d pretend to be grownups with British accents and lollipop stem cigarettes — we’d play house together (which I realize now is a fucked up game centered around internalized domesticity and the American idealization of the nuclear family, but that’s beside the point). During our bourgeois family shenanigans, I’d insist that we were married (fuck you patriarchy). And as innocent as this sounds — there was a feeling brewing within me that I couldn’t articulate then — but that I can finally characterize as a pure, but tragic crush.

As we grew older, Jolie, with her striking green eyes, flushed olive skin, and golden locks, blossomed and classically found popularity every direction she turned. Boys ogled at her, girls fought over their ranking friendship with her. And I, in my baggy, torn denim from the boys’ department of Old Navy, absolutely crushing it (not) with an endearing unibrow, and overcome with social anxiety, slowly faded into her peripherals, eventually becoming the shy, weird girl dressed in boys’ clothing — Gameboy Color or Judy Blume book always in hand — who she avoided eye contact with at all times.

This continued until high school, when I grew into my body, traded in my swim trunks for shorts that hardly covered my coochie, my books and journals for friends whom I had nothing in common with other than raging hormones and body image issues, and invitations to parties.

I tried to differentiate my feelings for boys and for girls: I liked boys, whereas I just experienced a strange combination of admiration and deep envy for some of the girls I hung out around. I hopelessly wanted to be them, maybe, not be with them. It was the sole explanation that I could rationalize.

And sometimes when I’d look longingly at women holding hands and kissing in public, I’d force myself not to look. But then I couldn’t look away. And sometimes I’d just change my dating app preferences to women because I was only curious. If I were gay, I would have already come out, right? It would have been obvious to me. I would have had a relationship with a woman… I would have already slept with one. If I told anyone that I liked women now, I’d just look like a fraud. And maybe I was. And what if my friends became weird around me when I told them? So I buried. I buried myself inside my own discomfort and denied this mystifying void expanding faster than my own universe.

It wasn’t until I found some semblance of queer community with new roommates post-college, who I could gush about crushes to, who I could open up about my experiences to…and lack thereof, that I could acknowledge my sexuality. I was not doubted by them like I’d feared. My roommates were the only ones who knew initially, and with enough validation, I found the courage to go on dates with women.

Enter: Cameron

A baby-faced butch writer I met on Hinge. She mirrored me in passions and personality, mostly — until she quickly revealed a superiority complex bigger than her own head. She evoked in me waves of embarrassment and shame that I hadn’t even known existed, only within hours of meeting. It had been my fourth date with a woman.

We quickly descended into heated conversations about film and politics, our families, our dreams. Like the gays we were, we unpacked our birth charts — both of us scorpios — which could only explain the ensuing events. Our chemistry was so palpable that I had to physically placate the butterflies in my stomach with my hand. We flirted, teased one another about potentially making out later that night, and before leaving the bar, exchanged coming out stories (which was initiated by her because mine was clearly still TBD). She shamed me for not telling my parents, for not having a “story”. She didn’t understand my fear as a bisexual/queer person that others would think I was experiencing “just a phase”. She made me feel like an imposter for not having already coming out to everyone. Lastly, she was incredulous that I was interested in men. She’d responded with such inflated disbelief that it rendered me paralyzed and defenseless. And she made sure that I was aware of these facts about myself every succeeding hour.

Several spellbinding drinks deep, we wandered back to my apartment. We pushed each others�� buttons so precisely that it felt like we’d known each other for years. It wasn’t until I later re-assessed her digs, that I realized every cutting word seemed to refract a cruel, blinding shard of truth. She wasn’t teasing, but criticizing me. I’d brushed it off in the moment, much like one does with rose-saturated glasses. And then the shock of a verbal attack is finally processed, let alone absorbed, when you’re wide awake in bed that night, tossing and turning over the painful remarks etched into your memory. And you can only think of what you’d have said, reliving the moment over and over again, grasping for the missed, gratifying opportunity at calling someone out on the shit they gift you, adorned in a glittery bow and rainbow-themed wrapping paper.

Sprawled along my couch, I made the first move after she insisted that the ball was in my court. I either made the move or the night was over. So after enough nerve-numbing alcohol, I took her in my hands and brushed her lips. And we kissed some more. And some more. And suddenly she’s on top of me. We entreated to my room as the blanket of steam around us thickened. Under my satiny covers, I told her that I was unsure if I wanted to have sex. I prefer not to on the first date, or until I feel comfortable with someone inside of me. She willfully dismissed my explanation. She said that she might understand if it was a man I was in bed with, but this wasn’t the same. And it was clear I was comfortable with her. And wasn’t I having a good time? Why shouldn’t we have sex? I froze in shock. To placate her, I said that I’d let her know when I wanted to stop.

So we had sex. I was simultaneously enthralled…swooning…exhilarated that I was literally pussy deep in the reality that I’d denied for so long, and also heartbroken that it ensued over a crushing pressure that I’d experienced endlessly from men, and never expected to confront from another woman.

We fell asleep baby cheek to baby cheek and she spooned me all night. It was all so newly wonderful that I was nearly ready to look over each problematic chapter of our evening together. So when she was offended upon my asking her to leave the next day, and when she gaslit me after our second date which she assumed was ending with sex, I reluctantly cut all the ties with which she’d suffocated me (in a non-horny way). They say you never forget your first love, but hell hath no fury on your first lesbian romance.

#prose #gay love #queer

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b-kitsune · 5 years

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Many ways to say I love you: Day Eight.

Kidge-a-palooza 2019 Prompt: Discourage. Pairing: Kidge (VLD) Universe: Lesbian!AU. Status: Part 1/2.

Keith was worried, and her heart trembled slightly when she couldn't see Pidge anywhere in the bar seats. She had stood up for five seconds to greet an old high school friend with whom she had lost contact for many years, and it was enough time to lose her among the sea of people in that place.

Where the hell had she gone?

''Keith, is everything okay?'' She heard Hunk at her side when he watched her worried, she nodded with a growl coming out of her throat.

''Yeah, I've just lost sight of someone.''

''Awww, have you finally got a girlfriend after all these years? I'm very proud of you!''

''It's ... Actually a friend.''

She answered in a faint whisper that it cost Hunk to listen when they approached the bars for a drink. But he definitely didn't overlook the way she had said it. The girl who was missing at the bar was someone important to Keith.

''Will not you go find her?''

''No, she must be with Shiro on the terrace. If she had left, she would have called me.'' She answered without further ado while taking a sip of black vodka when it was delivered. While a curiously ornate drink came into Hunk's hands. Keith looked at him curiously.

''What? I like cocktails, they are cute and sweet.''

''Okay, I'm the least likely person to recriminate you for what you drink.'' Keith answered with a shrug.

''Is Shiro also in this bar too?''

Hunk asked interested, Shiro had been his martial arts teacher many years ago and remembered him with real appreciation. Keith's older brother was a kind and talented person who always knew what to say at the right time.

''Sure, although we prefer the less ... Noisy, we knew this place thanks to Allura, a friend of the university. And it has good music, unlike many others.''

''I see.'' Hunk drank a little more of his own cocktail.

''And what have you done? Since you moved to California, we didn't hear from you again, not even Lance knew about you.''

''Yeah, well ... It's been difficult years, my mother got sick and we had to take care of her. But everything is fine now.''

''I'm glad to hear it, buddy.''

Keith smiled in sympathy when Hunk began to talk about what he had done when he moved to his mother's hometown. She had missed him quite a bit in recent years, but she couldn't keep her concentration when Pidge's face rested on her thoughts in her mind.

She sensed that she was outside with Shiro, and she assumed that if she looked out the window Keith could see her smoking next to her brother, away from the noise inside.

The problem was that Pidge didn't want her company at that moment, she was rejecting her completely and Keith couldn't blame her.

However, it was all Lance's fault, not hers. Her stupid best friend turned out to be a terribly toxic relationship for the poor girl during the time they spent together, and Pidge's heart ended up shattered some months ago. He had thrown her the day when Pidge found him kissing with another girl in his apartment, the bastard didn't even apologize when she demanded explanations. Subsequently, Lance didn't even prove to be sorry when she was confronted the next day when things were a little calmer and Pidge needed to pick up some things she had left in his apartment when they spent some nights together.

Keith could be angry with Lance and want to break his face for making her cry, completely oblivious to how they were both becoming in the last time, but deep-down Keith knew that something like this would happen sooner or later. Lance had never shown any real interest in Pidge before they started dating, she was sure he didn't even know her real name.

It hurt to see Pidge through the corridors of the university labs with a stony, expressionless face, swallowing pain to perform in the final examinations as if nothing had happened. When in the background Keith knew that all she wanted to do was scream in pain for her beloved love.

And Keith ... She was lost in a stupid crush that would never be reciprocated.

She loved the foolish Katherine Holt from the day she saw her in an advanced physics class, she approached her with a random question and since then they began to get closer and closer, getting to introduce themselves to their own families. Pidge had congenial almost immediately with Shiro and her parents, and Keith had found a friendly rivalry with Matt when they met, the Holt family was always very kind to her when she visited them.

She had come to think illusively, that maybe her feelings could be reciprocated by that pretty girl with big glasses. But when she introduced her to Lance, she knew immediately that she would never have a chance with Katie Holt. Being rejected even before confessing.

Baby, I don't feel so good

Six words you never understood

Keith moaned audibly when she heard that song that resonated on the bar loudspeakers, preferring to go outside to light a cigar and stop complaining. Hunk preferred to remain silent and accompany her. Anyway, he had lost his friends for many hours, and being with Keith to relive old times was much more fun.

Four days has never felt so long

If three's a crowd and two was us

One slipped away

When Keith reached the door and lit the first cigar of the night, she felt that her chest was hit by a person. She was, in general, a fairly tall woman compared to the average, thanks to her mother's Russian heritage, so it used to happen regularly that low women tended to hit her by accident.

I just wanna make you feel okay

But all you do is look the other way, mm

But when she looked down, she realized it was Pidge who had decided to bury her face between her chest. While holding her tightly around her waist.

I can't tell you how much I wish I didn't wanna stay

I just kinda wish you were gay

Keith groaned defeated when her heart was painfully compressed, the damn girl was stupidly adorable without even trying. She had fallen so deep for her. Hunk for his part preferred to ignore them and go to Shiro when he saw him in the distance sitting in one of the chairs.

Is there a reason we're not through?

Is there a 12 step just for you?

Our conversation's all in blue

''Keith, I feel dizzy.''

''That's because you've been drinking too much, shorty.''

She responded like a big sister scolding her for her bad behavior, she was drunk up and could barely stay on her own feet. Keith looked up and saw Shiro laughing with Adam when he greeted Hunk in a warm embrace, the idiot hadn't realized how much Pidge had drunk while flirting with his co-worker.

To spare my pride

To give your lack of interest an explanation

Do not say I'm not your type

Keith took her by the waist with one hand, while with the other she took her cigar to exhale the smoke away from her face, walking towards an area where they wouldn't interrupt the way of the people who walked around. Pidge watched her, curious, with those big eyes full of life while leaning much more on the body of Keith.

''Keith, Keith ...'' She repeated, again and again when she staggered around her body, Keith breathed trying to find some patience. ''Why do you have a boy's name?''

''I already told you, my mother thought it was nice and neutral.''

''I like it.'' Without realizing, Pidge took her cigar to take a deep breath while briefly closing her eyes. Keith looked at her resignedly, had definitely drunk too much. ''It's strange, like you.''

''Thank you?'' Responded resentfully. So Pidge stroked the outline of her cheek with a downcast look.

''No, don't get mad, I mean I like it, like you. It's the best name ... I swear it.''

''I understand you, Pidge. It's okay.''

Just say that I'm not your preferred sexual orientation

I'm so selfish

But you make me feel helpless, yeah

Keith had to do something with Pidge's hands. She was being too cheeky stroking her while wiggling around her. She had to be patient, wherever she was, or else she could do something that would end their friendship. Keith couldn't help but, inside her mind, an inner voice told her that it was what she wanted, that she was tempting her to kiss her and take whatever she wanted from her.

I just wanna make you feel okay

But all you do is look the other way

I can not tell you how much I wish I did not want to stay

But Keith knew it was impossible. She told herself to discourage her real intentions. Even with Pidge's breath gently touching the contour of her collarbone, and her hands holding her waist tightly to try to bring her closer to her body, in a vain attempt not to fall cause of her drunkenness.

''You're the only good thing I have left in this life.'' Pidge said, dragging the words in her mouth. ''I'd be so lost if you left me, Keith... Never get mad at me, please.''

''I would never get mad at you.'' She answered while watching her take the last puffs of her stolen cigar. ''I love you so much to get away from me.''

''Seriously?'' Pidge asked temptingly, with a cheeky smile when she got closer and closer to her. ''How much do you love me, Keith? More than Lance?''

''Of course more than Lance!''

That name bothered her for a moment, seeing herself being compared to him didn't generate a good taste in her mouth, much less in a situation where she had so close to Pidge that the distance became tiny, almost reaching to taste her lips. If Keith was close enough, surely, she could ...

''You know? Every day I wonder ... Again, and again, something that hasn't let me sleep.''

''Oh yeah? What?'' Whispered, without breaking eye contact with those golden eyes that just kept open.

''Something that makes me think you would be mad at me if I told you ...''

''I will not get mad.''

''Because you love me.'' Pidge replied Keith nodded. ''But maybe... Sometimes when you're so good to me, I wonder ... How would it have been to kiss you instead of Lance that night ...''

''Kiss me ...'' Keith repeated, drinking from the image she had of Pidge at that moment, with her lips open, her face flushed, and her eyes needy. ''You are drunk.''

''Yes.'' Shrugged. ''But I also imagine it, again and again, as it would have been, and the next night, and the next, and the next ...''

Their lips collided as they both approached, gently, unhurriedly. Being so natural that at no time did they feel bad with the touch of the other. Slowly savoring the taste of their mouths, they held each other tightly when they felt the taste of black vodka and tobacco mingling with each other, like something toxic, intoxicating, suffocating in brief moments when they didn't go away in a long time.

I just wish you were gay

Pidge closed her eyes, letting herself be carried away by the moment she had waited so long since she realized that her feelings weren't purely platonic. Keith never did, thinking that if she closed her eyes and lost the image of her at any moment, it would vanish like a broken dream.

I just wish you were gay

It was a kind and slow kiss, which was repeated that night before and after leaving the bar. Continued in Keith's apartment when they needed a little more privacy, and continued, again, and again, and again...

#peith #kidge #kidgefanfic #monthofkidge #kidgeapalooza #kidgeapalooza2019 #keithkogane #keith (voltron)#female keith #lesbian au #katieholt #pidge gunderson #hunk garrett

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winryofresembool · 5 years

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Matilda’s story

Summary: Emma Rockbell-Elric’s (aka Ed&Winry’s daughter) girlfriend Matilda writes about different periods of her life, from accepting her sexuality to meeting and getting together with Emma.

A/N: Don’t worry guys, Edwin is on its way too! But I thought it would be fun to introduce you guys to one of my OC ships, aka Emilda :’) I imagine Matilda is writing this story to people who are in a lot of self doubt (about their sexuality etc), to make them feel better about their situation.

Words: 1950ish

Warnings: some adult themes mentioned, nothing explicit

...

Matilda’s POV:

This is going to be a very personal story, but maybe sharing it will help someone reading it.

When I was a kid, I always preferred stories that had cool girl protagonists instead of boys. Blegh. They were just annoying. My favorite bands were girl bands and my favorite movie stars were also women. It hadn’t even occurred to me that some girls could like /boy bands/. Well, I was a kid, so it didn’t matter what I liked and what not. Our tastes were still developing, after all.

When I was 11, a girl friend of mine kissed me on the cheek, probably as a thank you for something I had done. I couldn’t forget about it for a week, and I didn’t understand why. Now I know better: the little Matilda had her first crush. But that wasn’t an option to the 11-year-old me. When I told my mum I thought a friend of mine looked cute, in an innocent way, she told me to be quiet and made me play with a neighbor’s son. I didn’t like that kid at all, by the way. He was constantly pulling my hair and claimed I looked like a “lesbeean” in my pink clothes. I had no idea what that word meant. That was the way I had been raised.

I grew older and the friends around me started getting boyfriends. My mum was constantly asking if I had one too. I felt there was something wrong with me because I didn’t want one! After she had asked me that same old question many times enough, I finally gave up and asked a male friend of mine if we could go on a date. He said yes, and all of a sudden I had my first boyfriend. He was actually fairly nice, and we did like the same kind of movies, so picking a date spot was pretty easy. But it didn’t take him long to say he knew I didn’t like him that way. He was right, though, and so I experienced my first “break up”.

After a while, I started feeling the pressure of getting another boyfriend. The same thing happened as with the previous guy; we broke up due to the lack of chemistry.

Life went on, but the dating life started getting more challenging: I was already 18 and the people around me had a sex life. I had such a hard time imagining me doing it, and I even thought at one point I might have been an ace. Then I met a guy I genuinely liked and decided: “heck it. It’s not a big deal, so let’s just get it done.” And so we did. And it was absolutely awful. I blamed the fact that it was my first time, because of course I had heard that it’s supposed to hurt and all that stuff. But in reality, it was more than that. I felt extremely uncomfortable, awkward, vulnerable, even scared. I felt like I shouldn’t have been there, I just wanted to leave as soon as it started!

Well, it’s safe to say it didn’t happen with that guy again. He was surprisingly understanding when I tried to explain my feelings, though, and he too suggested I might be a-sexual. I just admitted: yeah, it’s possible. However, I had started doubting that because one time, when I went to get a casual cup of coffee with this same ex boyfriend of mine, I noticed that our heads were turning in the same direction when a good looking woman passed us. I had tried to deny it, but it was getting harder: I was attracted to women.

The time at the university was a new beginning to me. I met a lot of people. New, more open minded people. I finally learned to accept that women loving women really was a thing, and it opened a new world to me. I let myself have crushes, and sometimes when things got “wild”, I might even have kissed another woman. My mother’s conservative voice was nagging in my head regularly, but I learned to tune it down.

But there was one specific encounter that I will never forget. In my first architecture class I saw a pretty, blonde haired and blue eyed girl. She seemed shy at first, dressed in black, avoiding eye contact, trying to make her already small frame even smaller. But then the professor started asking questions and suddenly she woke up, a fire in her eyes when she started debating with the professor on some topic that was so advanced I didn’t even understand it. And I had always thought I knew plenty about architecture. The debate had to end at some point so the professor could go back to her regularly scheduled teaching, but the girl stayed in the classroom afterwards and continued the conversation. I was both impressed and intimidated by her.

It turned out, that was definitely not the last time I saw that girl. Not too long after, I was put into the same group with her when we were doing group assignments and – we got into a fight. As I had suspected from the moment I saw her, our ideas of architecture in general were so different that we had a very hard time finding a common ground. She thought alchemy could make everything 100% easier, I claimed it was hocus pocus. Our fight got so bad that at the end of one group session she told me she would talk to the professor the next day and ask to join another group.

She never got that far though; that same night my cat went missing and I was searching for him from the campus area for a long while. Finally, I found him in a tree, but he didn’t want to come down. I tried treats, I tried toys, but no luck. I was too afraid to climb after him because I was sure the branches would have broken under my weight. Suddenly, the blonde girl appeared and asked me what was wrong. I showed her the cat on the tree and without hesitation she started climbing like a ninja. At that point I was wondering if there was anything that girl couldn’t do. She caught my kitty and brought him down to me, acting like a whole different person compared to a couple of hours earlier. I asked why she was like that, and she simply said “what happens in the classroom, stays in the classroom”.

I decided to invite this weird girl for a cup of tea as a thank you for saving my cat and because I felt there was so much about her I didn’t know yet. She had made me so curious. We had a lot of fun talking about anything non school related, and she didn’t leave for several hours. I introduced her to my cats, and she showed pics of her dog. When she was finally leaving, she tugged my hair a bit, looked straight into my eyes, and said “you’re not so bad, after all, Kitty.” Someone else might have gotten offended, but I saw her expression, and knew it was her way of saying “we are friends now, like it or not.” Oh, and she didn’t change her group after all.

It would be nice to say my relationship issues were over once I started uni, but that’s not true. I wasn’t really seeing anyone for a long while, while my friendship with Emma deepened, starting some rumors among the people around me. Eventually, my mum heard I may be seeing a girl from the uni and she called me home for a talk. I took Emma with me, or rather, she insisted she come. With her support, I told her that yes, I may be into girls, but no, we are not dating. My mother wasn’t happy with that announcement, telling me I was not welcome back home unless I “changed my mind about women”. Emma dragged me into her car, but she herself went back to tell a couple of well-chosen words to my mother, and when she came back, she was having a devilish smile on her face. She claimed that habit was simply in her Elric blood, which I soon realized was true when she introduced me to her family. They were incredible people, so different from my family. Getting distance between me and my parents was not an easy decision, but it’s one I now understand was necessary for my happiness.

A couple of years later, another incident happened: I was on the swimming team and one day decided to train with Emma, who, while not as fast as I am, made up for it with her stamina. Unfortunately, some guys from the men’s team were at the hall at the same time with us, and one of them started hitting on me. I had a hard time getting rid of him because he kept insisting I should go out with him, even blocking my way at one point. It started getting quite scary, so Emma, bless her, came to my rescue. She wrapped her arm around my waist and planted a kiss on my cheek, claiming I was her girlfriend, and if the guys wanted to have something to do with me, she’d be ready to fight. I have no doubt she would. I have heard stories of her dad’s past…

Anyway, one of the assholes said he wanted more proof so Emma didn’t hesitate. She kissed me straight on the mouth and I kept seeing stars for a minute. Once the stars were gone, I noticed we were already in the shower room (apparently Emma had dragged me there) and she apologized for acting like that. I think my answer was just incoherent blabbering, because honestly, I was just wishing she would do it again. Because in that moment I knew I was in love with Emma Rockbell-Elric.

A few years went by and I was in a constant state of suffering because I could not tell her how I felt. I had seen Emma flirting with a lot of other people, both girls and boys, so I was positive the kiss had not meant anything, and I couldn’t risk our friendship. But eventually, we decided to go on a trip, just the two of us, and little did we know that trip would change everything. It all started innocently. We were supposed to just go down to the hotel bar for a couple of drinks and maybe dance a bit, but… something turned off in my brain. Before I knew it, we were kissing, and back in our room, and… it was the best evening of my life. But then… then she broke my heart.

Now, Emma, if you’re reading this, don’t worry. I know why you did what you did, and you’ve been forgiven a long time ago. Maybe I just added that here to remind people that relationships require work, because no one is perfect, but we did solve our issues, and everything’s better than fine now. We are now living together and having our own kids, aka our pets. Thanks to my girlfriend, I’ve learned to accept myself the way I am, and I have also found myself a new supportive family who really cares about me, and is there for me when I need it. So, my message to people in need of help is: it will get better. Just be who you are, because you’re amazing. That’s what Emma tells me.

Ps. to my dog loving alchemy freak girlfriend: I love you.

#emilda #my fics #emma rockbell elric #oc matilda #fullmetal alchemist #my oc:s #edwin #sorta

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suffering-and-happy-about-it · 5 years

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God's Children (Fem!reader x The Seed Family, Part 5.)

Description: In the year 2018, a huge nuclear attack took place, having its epicenter on Hope County, Montana. All the people were supposed to be gone, but the reality turned around to be much different from that.

A/N: I enjoyed this chapter so fucking much. Also, I got a bit off the rails with this one - 4.6 K. I made an oopsie. And read the hashtags, I think I'm hilarious sometimes.

Warnings: Usage of the Bliss, the ceremony of being accepted into the cult - or at least when you're prominent. I think it would go just like that with any of their followers - just because they are mister puppeteers.

Tagging: @justanothergirlwithdemons

Read the rest here, babe: PART ONE PART TWO PART THREE PART FOUR

Masterlist: H E R E

Hope County, Montana, 2015:

In the year of living alongside John Seed, a lot of things have changed - whether changed inside of you or they were changing in front of your own eyes.

When you had the crazy idea of accepting John's proposal, you didn't believe that you will make it work. But it worked just naturally. You basically just moved to the big ranch which John has bought you, packing your life and things out of Georgia completely.

You went to visit your parents for the last time in a long time. Your father almost slapped you in affection when you told him straight to his face that you refuse to live under his rules anymore. You sat there as a proud, confident woman during his snap, watching him. Your mom was happy for you - she thought that you have found somebody to live along in this world.

Nothing inside of you told her, that the marriage wasn't for love. Yeah, John provided you with enough affection, with enough grand gestures, a huge and beautiful engagement ring, he was fully comfortable with you being a woman who just wanted their own life. He accepted it and even supported it. But that marriage was far from being a marriage of love.

For John, it was free accessible sex. Joseph refused to know that John is continuing in his sexual life and other activities which could actually kill him one day - so he gave him an ultimatum. He would not have sex or he would find someone to share this beautiful act with. So it was such good news for John when you accepted his proposal.

It also had a religious purpose, but John told you not to stress about any of that.

He was engaged, which was corresponding with what Joseph wanted for and from John, and it was suiting John as well. He was a lot calmer after that when he had someone who actually understanding and processing information his way. When he proposed you an idea, you didn't try to reason with him. You just said 'Don't you want to think this through again?' and 'Do we need to do all of this the hard way? Look at it from my point of view'. But you didn't tell him that he should not do the thing he wanted to do.

You did a number on the ranch too. Joseph sent you the first group of his followers and they helped you with making that ranch a home. It actually felt like home after two months, repainted the walls, moving in the new furniture.

John gave you a full upper hand upon that ranch - it was your work of making a home and you decided to focus on the 'redneck potential' as John called it. You chose an ideal kitchen for you, a huge dining room for John and your family if they would like to visit and a beautiful relaxation space serving also as a living room.

But you loved the gardens and your bedroom the most.

Outside of the house, you were working through the contracts upon owning the most of the Holland Valley. You loved that place and soon, with the help of Joseph's men, you repaired and opened up the places which brought another money to your bank account for buying and renovating other property. It just was a neverending cycle which made you happy.

You knew about the existence of camps for the men and women Joseph has recruited, you heard many calls between John and Joseph - but he never took you on a visit. You just knew that you and John had your place in a high place of the religion's hierarchy. And to say at least, you were pretty glad that nobody was taking you as a part of all of it.

Joseph Seed was a long-time mystery for you. You haven't seen that man for the first six months of your engagement to John. Then you invited him to have dinner with you and John on the ranch. You had some really nasty, weird vibes from that man.

Sure, Joseph was really charismatic, neat and even better with words than John, which you found almost unreal. When you wanted to greet him, instead of shaking hands, he gently grabbed your face and kissed your forehead. You were scared of him at first, but as the evening passed, you turned to like that man, leaning to your palm and drinking wine as he spoke to you like no one else existed at that moment. John was not pleased with you liking his older brother as much as you did. You laughed it off and told John that he's only being jealous - which lead to a whole night of fucking that jealousy away.

But something about Joseph made you think about him when you didn't control your mind for a moment.

The longer you stayed in their slowly growing religion, you noticed some funky business going on. Slowly, you started to have patrols around your ranch - the people of Fall's End started to notice you more and more as you continued with buying more and more property. Sure, Hope Country was as prosperous as not in a long time, but something about you felt itchy. They started to notice you, to watch you, they were cutting you off. But Joseph's patrols were just weird. Like if someone put a spell on them. They were tuned off of the word around, like if the reality didn't even fucking exist around them.

Also, you started to see Joseph regularly. You noticed a strange habit of him having always a girl by his side whom he called 'Faith', but every time you came to see him again, there was a new one.

One night, it was when the cold fall finally came to Hope County, you found a girl knocking at your ranch's door. She was freezing and clearly drugged. You noticed that she's a junkie - veins on her left hand were swollen and slightly violet. But as soon as you opened up the door, she just flat out fell inside. To her bad luck, Joseph was staying at your ranch that night and he was mesmerized by the girl.

Rachel. Some Rachel Jessop, as she introduced her when she had finally woken up. Joseph was mesmerized by her, he called her a siren as soon as she opened up her eyes. Both of the Seeds were just taken away by her - which made you jealous as fuck, honestly. She was the center of their attention and affection for a few weeks and you felt like a fifth wheel, whether John told you not to be too passionate about the new Faith.

Occasionally, everything went back to normal as Joseph decided that Faith will show her full potential in the region of Henbane River. She looked healthier and better than when she knocked on your door. You never found your way to approach that girl not you even tried to.

When talking about the Seed siblings, just as you continue your negotiations, they continue to search for the last member of the family. Jacob. His name was Jacob. And that was when John fully used his silver tongue and the surname 'Duncan'. They found him eventually - and from what you learned from files you were able to read behind the other brother's back. He was a soldier and ended up in a Veteran's center and jail, you learned. That was fucking wild.

Because there was no other place for Jacob, he was staying over at your place. You could basically feel your energy on your skin - his looks were empty and his body was hollow from the inside. Jacob was spaced out sometimes for a whole day and when the night came, he just got up and went to sleep. After those long nights, you usually found him sitting on the sofa again, spacing off to the garden.

One brother, your fiancé John, was a bomb which could just blow up at any minute - his eyes were constantly full of anger and by the time, he started to have bad days. The second one, soldier Jacob, was a hollow shell of his former persona. The last one, Joseph, was sometimes acting like a weirdo and a psycho in one person, sometimes he didn't talk all week, sometimes he only talked about God, sometimes it felt like he was... Trying to flirt with you subtly. And the last one, Faith, was constantly in a state of bliss. They were fucking odd at times.

The Seeds. That was who you were as well. Some other Seed.

As time passed, Joseph made you and John coming to his sermons every time some of them were occurring. You were practically forced to be there even if you weren't interested in it at all. Joseph was almost strangely attached to you coming to his sermons - he made you sit in the first row and his look was following you as he spoke.

You knew that a lot of things he was saying were flat out bullshit. They didn't make any sense. But the way Joseph spoke, that was the shit. He was passionate, charismatic. He made you feel like you belonged right on the seat where you sit. He knew how to make a person feel special, how to make them feel relaxed to be actually open to the possibility that any of his bullshit is real.

One day, John came home. Everything looked right, you've cooked dinner and talked Jacob to eat at least three forks before he spaced out and ghosted through the ranch's fields. But that was pretty normal when you were speaking about Jake.

But John made you freak out. You grew to like him, he was your closest person in Hope County. You started to worry about him, you were used to him and you were looking after him, when he was working too much, you just blew him under the desk, which made him usually go to bed. You knew how to approach John Seed.

So when he entered the ranch with a fucking blood bath happening on his chest, your face went from smiling to pale in a matter of seconds. You loved John's tattoos. He had a load of them and it made him hot. You bit them every time he tried to fuck you through the mattress. But that wasn't a tattoo. He knew how to tattoo himself - you felt that something happened.

He had a problem even with walking to the sofa.

"Baby?" - You asked him and your voice trembled. - "Johnny, baby, what's wrong?" - You went after him, just as he laid down on his back. He wasn't talking to you at all, so you slowly peeled the shirt out of his chest. And you almost thew up on the spot.

Somebody craved the name of the deadly sins into the chest of your fiancé. He had a deep, bleeding cut right in the middle of his fucking chest. Your fingers started to shake as you traced around the wound. In shock you finally saw that he has not only one sin on his body - another was craved on his right hip. You were shocked to say at least.

Without any hesitation, you got up on your legs, got some alcohol and gazes to clean John up at least a bit. He was silent and just watched the ceiling as you cried and cleaned his wound. You were fucking scared out of your own mind. And he was just... Lying there. His body was out of order and his mind was miles away from you.

Then, when you basically have torn the shirt out of his body and cleaned both of his new masterpieces. You put your sobbing face on his thighs, closed your eyes and you just waited for your John to come of that state.

You sat there for hours, sometimes you sat into the big, plushy armchair next to the sofa John was on. He fell asleep at about two a.m. at night, that's when you took a small nap as well. Then, you woke up at five a.m. and made yourself just coffee. Jacob was up as well, he was going for a small walk again. You smiled at him and almost had a heart attack when he smiled back at you. That day was wild.

John came back to consciousness back at seven a.m. when he tried to turn on his side. That's when the pain hit him, almost opening his wound even if you patched him up.

"Baby, baby, Johnny. I'm here." - You immediately fell flat on your knees next to his head and you tugged some fallen our hair back to its place. He looked at you with visible confusion before he remembered who you actually are. He caught your cheek with his palm just so be could focus on your face.

"Y/N, I have great news for you." - He smiled and leaned to kiss you. You gently kissed him back Your eyes teared up again as you traced your fingers on his neck, his collarbones, chest, and belly, letting your hand rest next to the lust, another deadly sin craved into his skin. - "Last night, I finally came to peace with my sins. I have atoned to Got and he forgave me all that I have done."

"You had an atonement? I'm glad that you feel free, baby, but who did something as fucked up like this to you?" - You leaned your forehead on his shoulder and began to cry. He hugged the back of your head with his forearm and you accepted it with grace.

"I started it. It brought me such peace I've never felt in my life before. Joseph helped me to finish it because I demanded it. I wanted it." - He sighed dreamily and looked back on the ceiling. You froze up. He has done that shit to himself. He fucking craved words into his own skin. - "This way will cleanse the world. I need them to see. Through pain, through seeing your own sins on your body, you can actually feel God's grace." - He chuckled and you slowly sat and crawled back into your armchair. That was a lot to take in. Almost too fucking much.

You exhaled loudly, covering your mouth and closed your eyes. You cried again.

"I want you to be clean as well, dove." - He took your hand to his to made you look at him.

"Do you want to hurt me?" - You made his palm falling from yours. - "Do you want to hurt me like that?" - You asked and John opened up his eyes widely. He exhaled as well and chuckled.

"I won't do this to you if you confess to you sins voluntarily and without resistance." - John smiled at you. You had such a pretty face when your eyes were tearing up and your cheeks reddened. You were beautiful. He had no idea how lucky be was when he has such a woman who worried about his bratty angry ass.

"Is it necessary?" - You caught his hand again, playing with his fingers.

"If you want to stay here with me and become my wife, it's rather necessary. If you would like to stay here with us, Joseph wants you to do it." - John kissed your hand. - "We need to give our followers a proper example. What start would be better with Joseph's heralds? It's important. We will do you a small ceremony, nothing too brutal. I wouldn't hurt you. Don't you trust me?"

So you were just told that you will need to proceed with your commitment to Joseph and to John, to the religion. And you were expected to listen. So you listened.

The sermon and ceremony were planned on the same night. John surprised you when he bought you a tight, white dress and ordered one of the followers to braid your hair and to braid in some daisies. When John drove to the church, you looked like a doll. Your legs were prolonged with white high heels and the dress made you appear so innocent. You wouldn't say that looking like a saint makes John smile and happy, rendering joy.

The church members embraced you with great love and respect - they were using your full name with such a heavenly grace, they say kissed your knuckles and pressed your fingers to their forehead. They, either men or women, complimented on your appearance in great words and especially talked about their shared happiness with your engagement.

You and John formed the Royal couple of Joseph's church. Everybody was just over their heels with the surprisingly fast approach of your wedding. So to be exact, you were glad that you finally sat on the bench. Listening to Joseph's sermon was harder than ever because you knew what is happening after that. And you knew that they even talked Jacob and Faith into that bullshit. But Faith was strangely enthusiastic about the atonement.

So you were brain-dead and scared for your life when the sermon ended and everyone got up and went in the direction of the river. You were actually the last one sitting at the bench with tears falling out of your eyes. Those were tears of fear.

"God won't let you get hurt, my child." - You heard Joseph's kind, quiet words and you snapped back to the present moment.

"How can you be so sure? What if I'm a sinner and this whole thing will not go well? I'm scared, Joseph." - His hand dropped on your shoulder, so you hugged with yours it gently, leaning your cheek to that touch.

"I am so sure because I got the chance to know your soul. John talks about you a lot as well. There were two major sins present in your life, but you'll get better once you will confess to them, I swear. Trust me, come with me, and I will lead you to Eden's Gate." - Joseph leaned down to kiss your forehead.

That's how the man spoke to you all the time. He just knew what tone he should use, how fast he should speak to you - Joseph just knew you like the back of his hand. And you just went along with buying his games.

So you leaned into that touch, closed your eyes and gently hugged his palms with your fingers. You could feel as he stood up, but you didn't want him just to end that touch. So you were standing up as well, until you stood in front of each other, looking into the other's eyes, while you still held his hands on your face.

"Are you ready to go now?" - Joseph asked gently and you, after a long while of thinking, just nodded. He offered you his elbow, like a father leading his daughter through the aisle and you simply accepted, your nails practically craving into his forearm. You noticed that he has some new scars - just like your beloved John had.

But you were now the most privileged at the moment - the father himself lead you to your atonement. You were the first to go - of course. The Baptist's fiancée needed to go first. To serve as an example.

Everybody was saying your name, they were cheering for you, the looked so happy at that moment that you ran out of words. Maybe that was a thing that needed to happen. Maybe it will make you feel better in the end. You know, closer to God, closer to the cleanness Joseph wanted you to feel.

John was standing in water, thighs deep. He was smiling at you and Joseph - so you smiled back and nodded at him. You knew that you can somehow count on that man. After all, he truly was everything you had at that moment.

You felt everyone looking at your very own back with their piercing gazes, their eyes full of expectations. You could hear Joseph speaking, but you only concentrate on your fiancé in the water, slowly walking to him, your hands finding his in the ice-cold water.

“Are you ready to confess, accept and cleanse your sins, my dear?” - He asked you in a smooth, loving voice. You were sure that none of their followers can hear you, that was only your moment.

“I am ready in the Lord's and Joseph's name. I am fully willing to accept the weight of my sins, darling.” - You answered quietly. He proudly nodded, one of his followers brought him some sort of a scarf over his shoulders and a book. The Word of Joseph it was.

“Let your atonement begin then, my love.” - He smiled at you. As John practically shouted the 'holy' words, a thought flashed your mind. Were you doing the right thing or not? Those words were sounding very like an egomaniac and like the words of madness. You tried to shake it out of your head, but it was still there as John's men poured some sparkly fluid into the water around you and his thumb delicately baptized your forehead.

“Our sister is ready to confess all of her sins!” - He turned you to the crowd and they were cheering up for you.

“Are you admitting that you're guilty of two deadly sins?” - John asked you loudly, and you nodded. The fluid in on your face was making you insanely numb to everything around you. You had a problem with standing up straight, but the world around you was so beautiful all of a sudden. You saw every contour of Joseph's smiling face, Faith looked like a fairy and John was illuminated by low light. That was the Lord?

Maybe you've done everything right. There was nothing you could've done wrong. No. Now you were perfectly sure, everything felt so obvious suddenly. This was God's plan, definitely. You would swear on your very own life. It was clearer than a blue sky. This was the place you were destined to be. By John's side, you were made to be a part of the family.

You couldn't hear almost anything John was telling you. At least until his voice became louder and more melodic as he started to shout.

"Do you atone to carrying the sins of lust and pride in your heart? Do you?" - He yelled at you, holding your face in his palms firmly. You nodded, but that wasn't enough for him. - "Say it, my love. Say it out loud, so everyone can hear you."

"Yes. Yes I atone to be rotten inside, I atone to carry those sins deep in my very own heart, but I want to be clean. I atone to those sins and I want to be cleansed." - You shouted for your dear life because you felt as he lowered you down to the water. They drugged you, obviously. You were scared so much you wanted to cry your eyes out. You thought that he wanted to drown you alive. And you never felt more intense fear in your whole life.

"May the Lord have mercy with your soul. Let the cleansing begin." - He whispered and pushed you under the water surface. You still saw him illuminated by the light, but blurry by the water in your eyes.

This was your cleansing - he craved the sins into his own skin and this was the atonement you deserved to be cleansed in God's eyes. The first half of a minute was good, your lungs still had air in them. But he held you underwater longer and longer. He held you there so long that your consciousness started to face away and your body started to tremble. John was basically drowning you in the river in front of almost fifty of witnesses and nobody said shit to him.

They saw every second as a holy act. They saw the tensing of your body as something so sacred and beautiful that nobody dared to even say something to stop John and save you. He pulled you out of the water just seconds before you would pass out.

The world seemed even more perfect than ever before. You were on a thing that others just called the bliss. Local drug. The world and the people around you were I'm front of you just as God made them, perfect and flawless. Everything was in glitter, calm purple and shining.

"Sisters and brothers, may I introduce you to the newest addition to my four horsemen who will protect all of you, who will look after my flock and take care of you when the Collapse comes. The last piece to our puzzle, the last Herald who will look after the Holland Valley. Welcome, sister Y/N to our family." - Joseph said to everyone when a few men hide you behind their back so you could puke out the water inside of your lungs and in your stomach.

You felt like there's more and more to puke, your stomach felt like it was floating. The Bliss was harming you; it may have calmed you down a bit and changed your perception of the world around you, but it made you feel sick and John felt as you trembled in his arms. He knew he has to take you home before you puke in front of everybody.

"From this day, my beautiful sister will take care of perfecting our choir." - Joseph kissed your forehead and smiled at you. - "Will you accept this privilege, my dear sister?"

"Yes. Yes, I will gladly." - You mumbled with nodding. You were too out of reality to even know what was going on. You just felt as John lead you to the car and when nobody saw you, you finally puked behind the trunk of his black SUV. Your make-up was smudged all over your face, your dress was soggy and you were freezing, but you stood there and puked everything out, including the dinner you got before you and John took off the ranch.

"I'm not feeling well, baby, I'm not feeling well." - You pulled all your bodyweight into the trunk so you won't fall on the ground.

"That's all right. I felt the same when I craved the sins into my body and I accepted the fact that my soul was cleansed." - John grabbed your shoulders and lead you to the passenger's seat. - "Your body was just freed from the sin and it's feeling so light that you feel you have to get all of it out of your body. You're a herald now and I will take care of you."

You couldn't see that their tactics are the cruelest under the sun. They drugged you, they lied to you and they made you believe those lies. But you couldn't tell that you're puking, because the formula of bliss still wasn't perfect and they basically were only testing the last brew on you. But it made sense in your head - you were cleansed. And accepted.

Even if it was just one big lie.

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i-am-church-the-cat · 5 years

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Chapter 4: Maybe It’s Love

My name’s @i-am-church-the-cat and this is my fanfic, and all other fanfics...are just as good in their own right and should be respected as such *air horn blasts*

——

Jonah and Walker had pretty much mastered the art of hiding from mortals. The two boys had both had many failed relationships, neither of them catching a break. Eros had turned Walker first, but it wasn’t more than a century later that Jonah had been recruited. Walker had been Jonah’s mentor in all the messing-with-people’s-love-lives thing. They were both cautious in the beginning but after some arguments, two loud confessions, and lots of tears, they had found someone to entrust their hearts to. They didn’t really like messing with people, but something told them that this time was special. It was their friend, Cyrus, after all!

Cyrus had been working for Apollo for a little over a century when the couple had met him and his two friends. They had seemed nice, but it took a while before Buffy trusted that the to boys weren’t going to mess with their love lives, and the promised they wouldn’t! But when Walker and Jonah had seen the interaction between their friend and the handsome prince, they took it upon themselves to be the matchmakers.

So that’s why they were following the four heroes at a distance, swerving in and out of trees to keep from being seen by the younger god. It was difficult to maneuver their large wings in the dense forest, but Jonah thought he was doing a pretty good-

SNAP!

Cyrus’ head snapped around, searching for the producer of the loud sound. After a moment, he and his companions resumed their trek through the woods. Behind the wide trunks, Walker was holding Jonah to his body, pressing his wings down as he kept both of them aloft. When Walker was sure the party had gone far enough away, he let go of his boyfriend and setting them both softly on the ground. Walker looked at the younger boy and folded his wings away.

“Come on”, the older said. “Let’s walk. Don’t want to snap off another tree branch.”

“How was I supposed to know that the branch was going to be there”, Jonah grumbled, though he was given away by the small smile on his face.

Walker laughed and gave his boyfriend a quick peck on the nose. “Come on. We got to catch up.”

Cyrus was worried. He knew he could be unlucky, but if Eros or one of his agents got involved, then he had pissed off the wrong god.

When he had seen a flash of white feathers out of the corner of his eye, he likened it to a bird or paranoia.

But when he had heard that tree branch break, he knew that he was-

“Hey”, a voice said, breaking Cyrus out of his thoughts. The god turned to look at his companion, the prince smiling brightly. Cyrus promptly forgot what he was thinking about.

“Hey”, Cyrus replied, returning his smile. TJ seemed to glow. “What’s up?”

The golden-haired boy shrugged. “You seemed tense. Is everything all right?”

“Oh”, Cyrus said, surprised at the concern in TJ’s voice. “Well, the situation isn't great, but we’re fixing the problem quickly, so I say things are pretty good.”

The prince nodded in agreement. “You know, there is one good thing about all this”, TJ noted after a moment.

“Oh yeah?”

“I got to meet you”, TJ said, flashing another heart-stopping grin.

Cyrus couldn’t help the blush that dusted his cheeks as he turned back to the path in front of us. Cyrus still hated how flustered he got around cute guys, especially ones who were flirting with him. That was something that hadn’t changed once he had become a god. Cyrus was about to risk another glance at the gorgeous boy next to him when Amber and Marty came riding up beside them.

“So, Cyrus. How did you end up working for Apollo?”, Marty asked.

“Well, he was walking through my village, disguised as an old man, when I offered to feed him. He ate all my food and on a whim, turned my friends and I into gods. My friend Buffy joined the Hunters after meeting Lady Artemis, and my other friend Andi became the handmaiden to Lady Persephone.”

“And Apollo just, what? Claimed you?”, Amber asked.

“Pretty much.”

“What’s it like?”, TJ asked. “Working for the sun god?”

“Well”, Cyrus began, wondering why he was so open to talking to people he just met. Maybe it was the kinship of all being in the same prophecy. “It’s pretty cool honestly. Apollo’s usually off chasing after pretty men and women, or arguing with another god, or getting into some other form of mischief. Mostly, I just watch over humanity and take care of the Oracle, though I have a bunch of other smaller tasks.”

“Watch over the Oracle?”, Amber asked, hesitantly.

“Yeah”, Cyrus said softly, knowing this was a sore spot for her. “I take care of the Oracle when their transitioning and I’m usually there until they start taking people’s questions regularly, just to help them settle in. I’ve been the personal helper of all the Oracles for the last three hundred years.”

“How did you get that job?”

“Well, I’ve found I’m pretty good at taking care of people and advising them. The person who did it before me was glad to give it up because they had responsibilities of their own domain, while my powers are just a subunit of Apollo’s, you could say. Plus, people trust me”, Cyrus explained, proud of the honor he had. And if the last sentence was a barb at some people who might’ve been flying around trying to mettle, well, that was up to him.

—

“I did it once and it just sort...stuck”, Cyrus finished with a shrug.

Marty looked at the young god. He appeared younger than them, but he talked with the wisdom brought about by many lifetimes. Though, that seemed more like his personality than the fact that he was over three hundred years old.

Marty has never really trusted gods. Sure, they were okay, but they treated humanity the way humanity treated sheep. Something to be watched and used and sometimes used to play tricks on. He didn’t enjoy it. But Cyrus seemed like one of the better ones, and by the way TJ had talked about him, Marty could tell that the minor his already had his prince’s trust. Now this was a hard thing to accomplish. It took Marty nearly five years of fighting beside TJ to get where they were today.

Marty had been left at the palace guard station when he was two. He had been taken in by the master of the guard and her wife. Marty had seen people doubt the capabilities of his adopted mother as the captain, but Marty had learned quickly that a woman can defeat someone in a fight just as well as a man can. Sometimes even better. And the fact that she was a woman married to a woman didn’t seem to matter to the king either.

Being the adopted son of the captain of the guard meant that he was always getting into fights with the other boys in the yard. He didn’t mind a brawl, but Marty had learned how to dodge and get out of one, which was sometimes the better option. He had soon became the fastest one out there, both in running speed and the speed in which he handled his sword.

Marty had met TJ when he was sixteen. Yeah, he had seen the prince around and at feasts sometimes, but they’d never been formally introduced or anything like that. Marty had thought he was a pompous arrogant loudmouth, and he pretended to be on the surface, but it wasn’t long before Marty saw the real him, the side of himself he tried to hide away. In the beginning, it only came out when they would duel against each other, but as their missions together became more frequent and the time they spent together not training grew longer, TJ started to let Marty in more.

Now, here they were six years later, on a quest with a light god and two more expected to arrive. They were going into what may be their last battle, and TJ had trusted Marty to come along and protect him and his sister. A far cry from the two boys who had punched it out in the courtyard a year after they met.

“Hey”, TJ called out, kicking at Marty’s ankle to break him out of his reverie. He raised his eyebrows, a silent question in his eyes. Marty nodded and showed a reassuring smile. TJ still seemed a little unsure, but he turned forward where Amber and Cyrus were talking quietly in front of them. They seemed to be deep into their conversation. Marty hoped Cyrus could help the princess. She had always struggled with her gift and if Cyrus was as good as he said he is, than maybe she would become more comfortable with it.

Marty, about to be lost to his memories once more, was snapped to attention a loud roar cut through the forest. The traveling party was immediately on edge, Marty and TJ both drawing their swords. Cyrus was rigid straight, scanning the forest as if seeing something the others couldn’t. The four of them were on edge for severally heart-stopping moments. As Marty began to relax, a hellhound landed in front of them.

The hellhound has several bleeding wounds, all from different forms of attack. It had broken off arrows protruding from its hide and claw and teeth marks from wolves and birds of prey. It was easily three times the size of their horses, teeth and claws as long as Marty’s forearm. Sensing the new enemy, it turned to glare at the four of them. A low growl escaped from its maw, but before it could attack, a barrage of arrows fell on it, followed by a pack of wolves.

The animals and arrows were soon followed by a brown-haired girl who jumped on the back of the hellhound. The monster tried to buck her off, but she held on fast. She reached behind her and pulled out a dagger, careful to keep it away from herself or the wolves. Finally, she plunged the blade into the monster’s skull. The monster dropped and the girl rolled off, effectively pulling the bloodied blade from the monster’s head. The hellhound lay still and the girl slowly rise to her feet. As Marty’s eyes fell on the girl’s face, his heart stopped. She was beautiful, and for a moment, Marty just sat there in shock, wondering who could possibly be so incredible.

“Buffy!”, Cyrus exclaimed as he jumped off his horse and ran to hug her.

Oh, Marty thought. That’s who.

#andi mack #tyrus #cyrus goodman #tj kippen #fanfic #marty from the party #amber kippen #ancient greece #au #jonah beck #walker brodsky

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unofferable-fic · 5 years

Text

Do You Fear the Devil? (Loki x Reader): 3 - Annie Chapman

Summary: You are one of the many working women roaming the streets of Whitechapel when a madman begins to murder your comrades one by one. The attacks are so gruesome, that the detectives can only describe his work as that of “a devil than of a man”. Loki Laufeyson is a Metropolitan police detective and surgeon who is assisting on the case. As more bodies pile up and you and your friends fear for your lives, the police remain well and truly stumped. When Detective Laufeyson turns to you for help to find the murderer, you must face your fears to save yourself… But who can you really trust when you are the prey being stalked at night by someone who calls himself Jack the Ripper?

Gif originally found here

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Victorian London AU

Pairing: Loki x Reader

Warnings: Descriptions of injuries/violence, gore, language, angst.

Word Count: 5,259

Previous Chapter Next Chapter

Playlist: “Let Me In, Heathcliff” — Ruth Barrett, “Where Did You Sleep Last Night” — Nirvana, “Sir Galahad” — Jason Graves, “The Carnival of the Animals, R. 125: The Swan” — Camille Saint-Saëns

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A/N: Also available on AO3. YES HELLO I AM ALIVE. I took a much needed break over Christmas and then suffered with a bit of writers block, but I am back and happy to bring another chapter to anyone still reading along. As always, any feedback at all would be much appreciated! Hearing what you guys have to say means a lot. Thanks for anyone out there in the fanfiction abyss still reading my trash <3 (Also apologies if I forgot to tag anyone who asked - I’m all over the place since my break, but feel free to hit me up if you wanna be tagged).

8th September 1888, 5.00 am.

You were out with Natasha again that night.

Given your new ‘official’ duties as police accomplices, you found yourself wandering the darkened streets every second day or so. You and Natasha didn’t mind — at least it added some entertainment to your usually boring day. It was new and exciting and even though it surrounded a very morbid subject matter, you knew your presence was helping the police. Sometimes Wanda came along for the trip, and on this occasion she was more than happy to accompany you.

“I’m not sure if this is entirely legal with regards our arrangement,” Natasha mused as the three of you left the White Swan earlier that evening. “But I was never one for following police orders anyway.”

You had seen nothing of Loki in the past week, but Steve had become a regular at the brothel — only to call you both out for some assistance of course. It somewhat reminded you of being a kid again and your friend calling to your door to ask if you would come out and play. Except this time it was the sergeant asking that you help track down a murderer… No matter how hard Natasha tried, it seemed that he simply wouldn’t take the bait and become a customer. Seeing who could make him blush more became a nice ongoing joke though… Sometimes two other PCs were in Steve’s company. You recognised them as the two constables from Bucks Row. You soon found out that they were called James Barnes and Samuel Wilson. The former was an excessive flirt, and kept requesting that you call him ‘Bucky’ for some reason. His comrade was less of a flirt but was still kind at least. He did however like to poke fun at you as well as his comrades. It seemed that Barnes and Wilson were constantly at each others throats. Their dynamic became easy to recognise — both Barnes and Wilson fought for Steve’s attention which resulted in verbal spats that drove Steve up the wall and made you laugh until you were crying.

Steve and James had called for you earlier that evening, and you used the chance to subtly enquire after Loki and his whereabouts.

“He’s the Divisional Police Surgeon,” the sergeant explained. “While we regularly patrol the streets, he is called in on specific occasions and special circumstances. He will be informed on any leads or developments that we find.”

“That’s a shame,” Natasha mused, giving your shoulder a nudge. “He was the funny one.”

While Steve rolled his eyes at this statement, James seemed amused. “Laufeyson is a funny guy.”

“And he is also Y/N’s type,” Wanda teased you with a playful grin. “Cheeky, dark, and handsome.”

James chuckled and threw his arm around your shoulders. “Not as handsome as me though, right, doll?”

You looked him up and down with the most unamused expression you could muster. “Are you making a proposition, Constable? Soliciting is illegal, you know.”

“Well looking certainly isn’t illegal, now is it?”

“We’re on the job, Buck,” Steve insisted gently, not impressed. “We should leave the ladies to it.”

Now you were strolling down Whitechapel Road early in the morning. Only drunkards and your fellow workers were about as per usual. Obviously your group was getting its usual mixed looks of distain and curiosity. Unfortunately for those who inquired, you had to turn them down. Under Steve’s strict instructions, you were to dismiss half of your clientele in order to spend more time with your eyes peeled for any weirdos or suspicious looking men. He had agreed to fund the lost wages so you weren’t exactly complaining about the arrangement. If you did happen to stumble across someone that took your interest for all the wrong reasons, Steve asked you to note as much about him as you could before politely declining him. As long as they had a description to go off, they were happy. He also completely discouraged any sort of ‘vigilantism’, although you weren’t against the idea. Wanda and Nat also loved the sound of such a thing.

“So if we find the man who killed Mary Ann,” Wanda began, linking her arm with yours. “Does that mean we get to kick his face in?”

“Most definitely yes,” you replied. “And then we can hand him over to Stevie with a lovely bloody face.”

“Oh the sergeant would just love that,” Natasha chuckled, grinning at the thoughts of revenge. “Although they might try to slap us with an assault charge.”

You didn’t like the sound of that. “They wouldn’t dare! Not when we handed them a murderer on a plate.”

Suddenly, Wanda veered off towards a portico, dragging out with her as she greeted another woman. “Annie, darling, are you alright?”

Leaning against one of the pillars within the portico stood a woman who looked worse for wear. Annie, as Wanda called her, seemed older than the three of you, and was short and stout in appearance. Blue eyes were hidden behind weary and hooded lids. On the right side of her face was a nasty bruise and there was no doubt in your mind that she was ill. She was dressed in mostly muted brown and black tones, which made a red and white neckerchief tied around her neck stand out all the more.

“Wanda Maximoff?” Annie wheezed, smiling faintly as she looked at the younger worker. “My, I haven’t seen you in ages.”

“It’s only been a few weeks, don’t be so overdramatic.” Wanda smiled before gesturing to you and Natasha. “These are my friends, Y/N and Natasha. They work in the White Swan with me. Ladies, this is Annie. We used to share lodgings on Dorset Street before I came to the brothel.”

The pair of you greeted Annie, who seemed friendly despite the fact she was worse for wear. “Nice to meet you ladies, although I wish we could meet when I was in a better state.”

“What happened to you?” you asked her with genuine concern.

“Oh, this thing?” She pointed to the large bruise on her face. “If you think that’s bad, you should see the one on my chest. Just had a small disagreement with someone in the Britannia pub.”

Natasha spoke without hesitation. “Give us their name and we shall sort them out.”

“Do not worry yourself over it, ladies.” With a wheeze, Annie pushed herself upright and gritted her teeth in pain. “I refuse to spend another minute thinking on her. She is not worth it.”

“You should not be out here if you are unwell, Annie,” Wanda insisted, helping to keep her steady with a gentle hand on her shoulder. “You should go to the casual ward and get yourself looked at.”

“You are very pale,” you noted. “Wanda is right. You should be resting instead of wandering around out here.”

“Ah, I already went to the ward and picked up some medicine. It doesn’t feel like it has done much for me though… But I need money for my lodgings, so I’m trying to earn a few coins out here while I still can. I told the keeper to hold a bed for me and that I would be back shortly. It’s no use giving way, I must pull myself together and get some money or I shall have no lodgings.”

“How much do you need?” Wanda asked, reaching for her purse.

When Annie saw you and Natasha also going for your purses, she waved a hand at you dismissively. “I will not have any of you spending your hard earned money on an old bat like me.”

“We have to look out for each other,” Natasha hushed her. “No one else is going to do it.”

You nodded in agreement. “Especially with all the attacks of late.”

Between the you, Natasha, and Wanda, you happily handed the downtrodden woman enough money to secure her lodgings for the evening. She took it, but only when the latter gave her a very adamant look. With a sigh, she allowed the assistance, but looked almost ashamed for taking it.

“You lot are too good. You deserve better than being out here and working on these awful streets.”

“Don’t we all,” Wanda chuckled and took hold of her friend’s hand. “Take care, Annie. And don’t spend it all on rum, alright?”

The women promised she wouldn’t before she said her goodbyes and took her leave. You watched her wobble away, hoping that she would get better soon. You had originally offered to walk her back to her lodgings, but she refused and insisted that she would take no more of your time and get there herself. You didn’t like or agree with the idea of course, but there was simply no arguing with her.

Wanda was perturbed with the encounter but said little more about it, other than explaining how she had first met Annie some time ago. She briefly mentioned that she was a friendly, steady-going woman, but she had a fondness for rum and sometimes struggled with avoiding it.

After the encounter, you continued on your way for some time. Between chatting up men who showed interest and keeping a watchful eye on your friends, you did your best to spot any shady-looking characters, but found none. You even bumped into Scott while on your travels and paused to chat with him. He was sitting with a group of friends in the Ten Bells Pub and seemed happy to see you again. You were somewhat thankful that he didn’t ask after services from any of you — saying no to him felt similar to kicking a defenceless puppy.

At 5.30, the three of you regrouped with PC Barnes on the corner of Commercial Street and Whitechapel Road. Each night you had to meet with one of the PCs and inform them of any findings or interesting encounters. It also ensured them that nothing had happened to you while out and about. You weren’t waiting there long before he appeared.

“Evening, ladies,” PC Barnes greeted you upon his arrival. “Are you aware that soliciting is illegal? I am going to need you lot to move it.”

“Sod off, Barnes,” you said with a roll of your eyes. “I am too tired to be dealing with you right now.”

He feigned offence and placed a hand on his chest as though his heart ached with your rash words. “What is it going to take for you to call me Bucky?”

“What the hell is a Bucky?” Wanda asked, causing you all to laugh.

“And who the hell are you?” he asked her with an award-winning smile. “You shouldn’t be out with them.”

“I do not take orders from mutton shunters, so I go wherever I please, Constable.”

Despite the banter, PC Barnes couldn’t wipe the smile from his face. “I think I have my work cut out for me with you lot. But I do need you to come with me to the station. Steve wants a full report of your evening.”

“Can we not do the in the morning?” you asked, already feeling exhaustion setting in.

He shook his head. “Unfortunately not, doll. The Sergeant wants you all to make reports while the details are fresh in your heads. His orders — not mine!”

“He is lucky he is a good looking man who pays well,” Natasha grumbled as PC Barnes led you all towards the police station. “Otherwise I would end this charade right now.”

Barnes chuckled as he walked. “I shall let Stevie know that you think he is handsome.”

“Oh trust me, he is already well aware, Constable.”

Although you had very little issue with walking along the streets at night — you were well used to it and had certainly been through harder times — the company of a policeman wasn’t entirely disconcerting. If anything, it added an extra layer of protection to the group. You noticed that no one said a word to you as he lead you down to the nearby station. Instead, he chatted idly with you all, unfazed by the looks he was receiving due to his company. At one point, he told one particularly bothered man, who insisted on glaring at the with all his might, to ‘sod off’. You were beginning to think that you might like PC Barnes, even if he did do your head in.

Upon arrival at Commercial Street Police Station, you and your friends were eagerly swept into the back offices, passing by the policemen at the front desk who questioned PC Barnes about his company.

“They are with me, Happy,” he stated simply as he ushered you away from their curious eyes. “Is Sgt Rogers about?”

The policeman called Happy gestured behind him. “He’s in the back with Inspector Stark and Chief Inspector Strange.”

“Strange is back?”

“Indeed. He got back from his holidays today and came here as soon as he could.”

“What an unusual last name,” Wanda mused. “Do either of you know the inspectors?”

Natasha shook her head, as did you. “I can’t say that I have ever met them before.”

Though miffed by the news of the Chief Inspector’s arrival, PC Barnes tried to stay positive for your sakes. “Well you are about to now, ladies. Follow me.”

The further into the station you went, the easier it was to hear the arguing going on in one of the back rooms. Soon you arrived at an occupied office which belonged to an Inspector Anthony Edward Stark according to the label on the open door. You had never met the man before, but you had heard a few of your fellow workers say that he was quite the character — confident, flirtatious, charming, sarcastic. These were all qualities you didn’t exactly expect to find in an inspector, but you assumed he must be good at his leadership role if he was the head of the division.

PC Barnes stood in the open doorway, waiting for whatever conversation was happening to die down before announcing his arrival. Overwhelmed with curiosity, you peaked over his broad shoulders and saw two men locked in an intense conversation in front of a desk while Sgt Rogers stood off to the side with his arms folded across his chest.

“I do not care what Fury told you,” one man argued, looking quite perturbed with his colleague. “This is my case and I am in charge. Believe me when I say that we don’t need any assistance from you, Strange.”

The man you assumed to be Chief Inspector Strange appeared indifferent. He was clearly a proud man in the way he held himself and insisted on standing tall as he spoke. He listened intently, not at all bothered by the other man’s visible distaste in his presence. You didn’t recognise him at all, despite his unconventional facial hair and silver tinted locks. “How unfortunate when you must take direct orders from the Chief Commissioner of the Metropolitan Police, and it is he who has given me the task of collating all the facts on the case. I would much rather be on my holiday than cleaning up your mess, Stark, but evidently you need me.”

Inspector Stark looked appalled by the choice of words. “Evidently?”

“Well you have two dead dollymops and a murderer who is fond of disembowelment running about. Would you consider the situation under control?”

Despite the situation being laid out before him, Inspector Stark pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers. “We are understaffed. I am doing what I can with the men I have. Do you think I like the thought of women getting disembowelled on my time?”

“I think you are unwilling to admit you need my help. How do you fit that head of yours into your helmet, I wonder?”

“Look, Sherlock—!”

“That is enough,” Steve cut in, stepping between the men before anything else kicked off. “We are on the same team here. There is no need for arguments!”

“It is very hard to control myself when his face is so punchable,” Inspector Stark grumbled. “He is smugness personified! With terrible facial hair!”

“We have company, Tony,” Steve replied, nodding to the door where James, Natasha, Wanda, and you stood waiting awkwardly.

Inspector Stark turned to the door with a tired expression, which quickly turned to confusion when he noticed you and your friends. “Barnes, I have no idea why you are standing in my office with expensive company, but I do know that you are one lady short of a party.”

“They are here on a different kind of business, Inspector,” Bucky elaborated and stepped inside. He motioned for you and your friends to enter, so you obeyed without argument. “Business of the investigative kind.”

Natasha stepped around him, obviously eager to speak for herself. “What Bocky means to say is—”

“Bucky.”

“Yes, yes, of course. What he means is that we are your new Assistant Detectives, Inspector.”

You noticed the deep furrow in Chief Inspector Strange’s brow as he gave Inspector Stark a very serious side-eye stare.

Stark’s brown eyes wandered over you curiously before he looked at your comrades in a similar manner. “I thought you said you recruited two ladies, Rogers?”

“I did,” Steve reassured him and pointed at Wanda. “You are not supposed to be here.”

“Oh, I recruited myself,” Wanda shrugged, unthreatened by neither their rank or the formal setting. “Do not worry yourselves about it.”

“Steve tends to worry a lot.” Inspector Stark offered you his hand. “Inspector Anthony Edward Stark, but feel free to call me Tony.”

You shook his hand, surprised to find that you sensed nothing bad or unsettling about this man. He seemed quite genuine somehow. “Y/N, nice to meet you, Sir.”

He grimaced at the title. “I insist that you call me Tony. ‘Sir’ makes me feel like an old man who needs to retire.”

You smiled slightly at his tone. “Tony it is then.”

He was certainly everything you would never expect in an Inspector, and you already liked him better for it.

As he introduced himself to Natasha and Wanda and got their names in return, Chief Inspector Strange shook his head and cut across the conversation. “Why are these women claiming to be Assistant Detectives?”

“Because Sarge and Edgar Allen Poe thought we could use the extra woman power, and I agreed. I did not really have much time to argue against it, considering they made the decision before asking for my permission.”

“Edgar Allen Poe?” you muttered, looking at Bucky.

“Loki,” he explained. “Stark is fond of nicknames.”

“This is hardly orthodox,” the Chief Inspector continued, squinting his eyes in frustration. “And it is hardly Dr Laufeyson’s decision to make.”

Natasha let out a sigh. “Sorry, who are you? I did not catch your name when introductions were being made.”

Momentarily insulted by her brash tone, the older man turned to face them. “I am Chief Inspector Stephen Strange and I am in charge of this investigation by the order of Chief Commissioner of the Metropolitan Police, Sir Nicholas Fury.”

You looked back at him in amusement, unimpressed by the excessive titles. It meant little to you and it wasn’t about to mean anything to you now. “Oh, fancy.”

“Uh, I think you mean co-charge,” Tony pointed out. “We have co-ownership of this investigation. Somewhat like a married couple.”

“Not by Fury’s orders—”

“Yes, well, this is my division and these men have followed my orders for some time. Look, Strange, I will admit it — even if it might cause my ego to burst at the seams — that we need more numbers to help with this investigation. It is why we have these women in our company. I will take your help if I must, but we need to work together if we are to achieve anything.”

“He’s right, Chief Inspector,” Steve added. “The only way to tackle this is as a team. If we work as such, we can get it done before anymore lives are lost. Arguing is wasting what precious time we have.”

“I love when Steve agrees with me,” Tony said to you, looking somewhat bewildered. “He never usually does and he is exceedingly righteous, so I must be in the right thus time…”

“Fine then,” Strange huffed and held up his hands in defeat. “Have it your way, Stark, but know that I do not like the fact that they will be joining this investigation. I will be having words with Dr Laufeyson about this.”

“We are involved whether you like it or not, Chief Inspector,” Natasha said coldly. “So your approval means very little to us.”

“A bit of respect would not go amiss though,” you added. “As Steve said, we are all on the same team.”

“And what a team we shall make,” Stark said with his arms outstretched. “As long as we catch this bastard soon, I will be happy.” Without much thought, the inspector reached into his vest pocket, taking out a halfpenny, and then dropping it into a jar on his desk that was already half filled with coins. Steve looked somewhat pleased with the gesture.

Strange shook his head. “I shall still be having words with Laufeyson.”

“You mean Edgar Allen Poe?” you asked before looking to Tony for an explanation.

He shrugged in reply. “He’s mopey and reads a lot, alright?”

Before anyone else could get a word in, Happy — the policeman who had been manning the front desk — came bursting in the door.

“Inspector,” he spluttered, out of breath and wide eyed. “A man just came in and claims there has been another murder!”

Whatever hopeful tone that had previously filled the room was extinguished with this unfortunate news. Your stomach tumbled and you looked to your two friends to see their equally horrified expressions.

“Where?” Stark demanded, already pulling on his coat.

“29 Hanbury Street!”

Instantly the room sprung into action.

The men were all pulling on coats and sprinting out the door in no time. Stark was busy ordering them around while Strange got a head start and was already following Happy out the office door. You and your comrades looked on in stunned silence as everyone got to work.

Before he left, Steve urged the three of you to follow him. “Look alive, ladies. We are needed at the scene.”

“Time to go,” you muttered and followed them out into the cold London streets. Just before exiting the building, you caught a quick glance at the man who sounded the alarm — he stood next to Happy, struggling to speak with an ashen face and tired eyes. God only knows what kind of scene he had stumbled upon that early in the morning.

Outside, Tony was quickly owning his role as Inspector. “Rogers, I want you to head to Spitalfields Market now. Wilson is stuck on fixed point duty there. Pick him up and head over to 29 Hanbury Street together. Make sure you check the side streets and alleys in case the suspect is nearby — he might still be close. The rest of you, come with Strange and I directly to the scene. Ladies, we might need you to identify the victim so be prepared.”

You momentarily thanked your past self for choosing to wear flats that evening, as you hadn’t exactly expected to be sprinting through the streets towards what would probably be a crowded murder scene. While the cool air burned your throat as you took swift gulps, your legs ached in protest as your body tried to overcome its exhaustion. Now, with it being shortly after 6.00 am, the sun rose in the distance, colouring the overcast sky in blues and pinks as London came to life again. It was quite a sight, one that would surely contrast with the horrors ahead.

At Hanbury Street, a curious crowd of onlookers had already gathered. Steve and Samuel were nowhere in sight, so Strange and Stark quickly got to forcing their way through the spectators. Bucky followed them next, then you, Natasha, and Wanda coming up the rear. With the policemen already making a path or you, it meant wading your way through the spectators was much more manageable. At least you could refrain from slapping people out of your way.

As you breached the crowd and finally got a good luck at the scene, your eyes rest on the sight before you. A body lay in the garden of number 29, partially against the wooden fencing. Strange and Stark stood over her while Bucky forced the rambunctious crowd back as best as he could with no back up. While you halted nervously in your tracks at the sight of a corpse, Wanda flew over to join the inspectors.

She took one look at the body before she covered her mouth with her hands and let out a desperate gasp. Upon seeing your friend in distress, you and Natasha were quickly at her side.

“It is Annie!” she proclaimed as you joined her. “Y/N, it is Annie! She’s dead!”

You met her shocked eyes with your own before you looked down at the victim. Sure enough, you recognised the red and white neckerchief, now matted with thick, fresh bloodstains. Annie Chapman’s throat had been savagely slit.

“You know her?” Strange asked, eyes darting between you.

“Wanda does,” Natasha explained solemnly, eyes fixed on the dead woman. “Her name is Annie Chapman.”

“We lived in the same lodging house on Dorset Street before I became a resident at the White Swan,” Wanda said, unable to look at her fallen friend any longer. You wrapped a comforting arm around her shoulder as Stark asked her for the address of the lodging house. “Crossingham's Lodging House at 35 Dorset Street.”

“You have our condolences, ladies,” Strange said with the first ounce of genuine compassion you had seen from him all morning. “But your assistance is greatly appreciated.”

At that moment, Steve and Samuel came tumbling through the crowd. Seeing that more of his men had arrived, Stark jumped into action once more. “Rogers, I need you to help contain the crowd here — there are way too many people around at the moment. Wilson, I need you to run back to the station to get reinforcements — if this crowd keeps building, we shan’t be able to contain it. Barnes, take Y/N and go fetch Dr Laufeyson. I need him here now.”

“Why me?” you asked, unwilling to leave a visibly distressed Wanda behind.

As Steve and Samuel got to work, Tony turned to you with a sympathetic expression. “It is important that at least one of you ladies familiarises yourself with where Loki resides. You might need to fetch him yourself one day. Trust me, knowing where a doctor lives when you are hunting a murderer could save your life or someone else’s.” He threw a glance at your friends and lowered his voice. “Do not worry — they are in safe hands, I promise you, alright?”

With a sigh you nodded and turned to stand by the waiting Bucky’s side. “Lead the way, Barnes.”

* * *

8th September 1888, 6.15 am.

The calming music of Camille Saint-Saëns rang out through Loki Laufeyson’s residence at 2 Spital Square in Whitechapel. Sleep eluded him yet again, and he found himself staring at his reflection in the steam-covered mirror in his bathroom. He wondered whether he could somehow hide the bags under his eyes after another sleepless night. He supposed that the thin cut on his cheekbone was more obvious than the drowsy eyes, but he most certainly couldn’t cover that detail. Dressed in merely his flannel drawers, he tried to tame his wet and messy hair so that he looked somewhat presentable for the day ahead. Even if any of his colleagues or patients did notice how tired he looked, he doubted any of them would press him too much. He was quite popular amongst his patients though, but he put that down to his ability to charm them with honeyed words and a flashy smile.

As long as no one asked too much he should be able to ignore their concerns.

As he splashed water on to his face in an attempt to wash away his groggy appearance, a loud knocking sounded from his front door. With a glance over his shoulder, he noted it to be too early for visitors.

I am not due in work until 7… What in the bloody hell—?

“Shit,” he said and quickly hurried to his bedroom to make himself decent and shut off the music box. As he reefed on a pair of trousers, the knocking persisted downstairs.

He cursed again as the muffled voice of PC Barnes came through the door. “Loki? It’s me, Bucky! Open the bloody door!”

With a growl, Loki stumbled down the stairs with only one arm through his shirt sleeves. With his free arm he unlocked the door and swung it open. He had been expecting the constable, he was not prepared to see Miss Y/L/N also standing on his doorstep.

“Bad time?” PC Barnes teased, noting his state of undress.

“What do you think?” Loki snapped, pushing his hair off his face.

Upon pushing away the hair, he inadvertently revealed the fresh cut on his cheek, and PC Barnes was quick to frown. “What happened to you?”

“Some bludger tried to rob me,” he replied gruffly. “So I made sure all he got was a black eye.”

“You can’t seem to stay out of mischief, can you?” It seemed that Barnes was eager to annoy him further, even with his bruised face. “And you know better than to dress so suggestively in front of a lady.”

“It is nothing I have not seen before,” she assured him, obviously trying her best to look at his face rather than his bare chest and abdomen. “Have you forgotten my line of work?”

He wasn’t exactly sure why, but Loki felt a small sense of pride knowing that he had such an effect on her, especially considering she was no prude or stranger to nudity. He supposed that being ogled by a beautiful woman was something to be pleased about, and he put his reaction down to that observation alone.

“Is it another one?” Loki asked them, looking between the pair as he shrugged his shirt on and began to button it up.

James nodded. “Over on Hanbury Street. Stark sent us to pick you up and bring you over.

With a heavy sigh, the doctor opened his front door a little wider. “Come inside while I gather my things. I will only be a moment.”

With the constable and the street-walker now waiting anxiously in his hallway, Loki quickly ran up the stairs again and gathered his equipment in a rush, all while preparing himself for another grisly scene and body to investigate. Before he joined them downstairs, he stood in front of his bathroom mirror again, now fully dressed and ready to go. He looked rough, that was for sure. He hoped that Inspector Stark would not press him about his appearance and would simply let him do his job without being disturbed.

I suppose at least I can do so in the company of a pretty woman, he thought and took a deep breath before joining said woman and the constable once more. That is, at least, a small consolation.

Taglist: @heysliver @lisalisa007 @ava-royal @eloisemacguffin @tvdplusriverdale @trickster-grrrl @mellow-mischief @arttasticgreatnessoftheawesome77

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hockeyfun · 6 years

Text

Mathew Barzal #1

Not Requested

Word count:1871

Warnings: Drinking, cheating, dirty dancing

Authors note: i’m back and trying to get better at writing more often. I still have requests from over two years ago. I’m sorry I’m the worst. I still plan on doing them. I know the person probably doesn't follow me anymore but i guess it’s just a guide for me to spit out some stories. //actually about the writing// I might have a second part for this or even makes it a little bit of a series. Once i have some more of my requests done I kinda have something fun I want to start! Please Enjoy! Thank you.

Men were attracted to you, and you enjoyed it. Growing up you were that type of girl who always had a boyfriend, but was never able to keep them. Well it was more like they couldn’t keep you. You didn’t want it to be that way, but it just was. The men you dated just couldn’t give you what you wanted, an epic love. You wanted a love filled with so much emotion it hurt. You couldn’t help it. At a young age you began writing. You had a natural talent for it. As the older you got the more and more your english teachers began to tell you that you should consider writing as a career. Mush to your parent’s dismay, you agreed and went to school for creative writing. Your education and natural gift is what got your book series to the number one spot in New York’s Best Sellers. There was talk about a movie or tv deal. You were sort of a big deal in your neck of the woods. You wrote of epic true loves. Love that was forbidden, or cursed. A love that could prevail it all and defeat evil. That is why you couldn’t keep a man. Ben, the man you were with now, was one of the longest relationships you’ve had, but you could feel yourself growing indifferent towards him.

Your thoughts were clouded with frustration. Why were you like this. The frustration manifested in you slamming your fist down onto the table where you were sitting at. Your hot coffee spilled all over your hand, burning it. Instant regret filled you for acting so dramatically and childish. After cleaning up the mess you made in the coffee shop you were at, you needed a drink. You packed up your purse and began to make your way to your favorite bar.

When you got there you already had exchanged a bunch of texts with Ben. He was wondering where you were. You couldn’t bring yourself to tell him. You were feeling self destructive and mysterious right now. You could feel yourself wanting a sloppy drunk night Wanting it to end only in one way, with a one night stand. You weren’t a cheater and you didn’t plan to act on this emotion, just the first part, getting drunk. The bar you go to regularly was a place for young people. It was filled with games, such as mini bowling, large jenga, ring tosses, and much more. It was a nice place to people watch. The groups of people cheering and as the night went on and on the more sloppy they got, and the more flirty they got. Sometime the boys would get up the courage to flirt with you using the typical lines and their egos floating until you reject them. They couldn’t offer you anything that no other man had offer you’d before, and look how well that turned out for the previous men in your life, or even the current one. You found a seat at the bar far off in the corner hoping people would get the message you wanted to be alone even though you didn’t. The bar tender recognized you immediately and put her hand out for your bag. You handed it to her and she hid it behind the bar. “The usual?” she asked. You shook your head no, “I’d like a strong Jameson and coke, and a beer,” you responded feeling angsty. She just gave you a bit of look not understanding your intentions for the night. You noticed drinks tell a lot about the person’s story. Your story tonight was exactly what you wanted it to be, a story of a lone wolf surrounded by people, a tragedy. When your drinks came, you practically downed the Jameson and coke. You felt the alcohol reaching your bloodstream and settling in, it fogged your brain just a little. You made eye contact with the bartender again letting her know you needed another but to take her time. You began to sip on your beer for now. You swiveled in your chair to look at the crowds beginning to form the later the night got. A loud group of young athletic men walked in. The bar filled much faster since the group of boys got here, making you to believe they were important. The lot of them stuck together but all seemed to have their own interest. A few went to play the games, a few went to search for women, and some went straight to the bar. You finished your beer and turned towards the new Jameson and coke. One of the boys from the group began walking towards you. He didn’t make eye contact and didn’t seemed too interested. He had dark flowing hair, one that reminded you of images of a young knight going to save the locked up princess. He leaned onto the counter waiting to catch the eye of the bartender. You took notice to the muscular arms that were next to you. The sleeves of his shirt stretching just enough to show just how muscular he really was. He didn’t even look at you once when he waited, which intrigued you. Usually men flocked to you fighting for your attention, tonight was different. You would catch the eyes of the boys and you could see it, you saw they wanted you but they didn’t act on it. Instead they turned to the easier girls in front of them (not that being an easy girl is a bad thing). “I’ll order a Bud light, and another drink of choice for her,” the man next to you nodded in your direction without making eye contact. It was his first time acknowledging you since coming your way. Your bartender friend looked at you for your consent, you nodded. He finally turned and looked at you. He didn’t give a warm smile but held a cocky smirk on his lips. “Do I get a thank you?” he questioned. Now that you were looking directly at him, you noticed he had to be a few years younger than you. “I never asked for the drink, you were the one that take a chance and bought it,” you spoke a bit strongly. His eyes had captured your attention and by being rude and mean you were hoping to scare off the young boy, even though you didn’t want to. He gave you a wide smile. “Feisty.” The bartender came up with the drinks and set the drinks down in front of him. He fished in his pocket and gave her a $50, and told her to keep the change. You gave him a skeptical look. He was showing off. He grabbed the drinks and began to hand you yours, when he pulled it back, “Name,” he commanded. You rolled your eyes and gave it to him. Once the drink was in your hand you twirled the ice around with the straw. “run along, young puppy,” you responded with a wave of your hand. The man in front of you smiled amusingly at you, revealing his perfectly white and straight set of teeth. You were a little jealous of how perfect the boy looked like in front of you. He leaned with his beer holding arm, against the bar counter top. “Oh now come on, I bought you a drink and you’re not even going to talk to me?” he questioned. You looked up at him with a bit of anger in your eyes. “A woman never owes a man anything, especially because I didn’t ask for the drink in the first place,” you refuted. He put his free hand up in mercy, “I didn’t say you owed me anything. I just thought my act of kindness would warrant a bit more in the conversation department,” he laughed. “I have a boyfriend, so flattery can only get you so far,” you responded by taking a big gulp of your drink. The contents of all the alcohol you’ve had finally fully fogged up your brain. The longer this boy stayed, the more likely you’d cheat on Ben. “You say that like it’s supposed to scare me away,” he added, unswayed to leave, “if you have a boyfriend then why are you all alone at a bar flirting with me?” he wondered. You couldn’t help yourself. You leaned in closer to the young boy. “Is this what you call flirting?” you whispered to him. He leaned back in a fit of laughter and amusement. You smiled at his reaction. “Well, I guess that settles it then,” he took a finishing sip of his beer, “If you want to continue our fun tonight you know where to find me,” he tipped his empty beer bottle in a cheers fashion. He began to walk away. “Wait,” you called out to him. He turned around with a cocky smile knowing he had hit a nerve with you. “What’s your name?” you asked. “Mathew Barzal,” he responded and turned to walk away. It took you awhile to finish your drink. You couldn’t get your mind off the young boy, Mathew. Once you finished your drink, you were drunk, absolutely drunk. You threw some money down on the bar for your drinks and turned. You finally felt the true amount of alcohol in your system. It was a lot but nothing you couldn’t handle. You scanned the room. You knew you should go home, back to Ben, but you weren’t going to. You were looking for a specific knight. It took you awhile to find Mathew. He was talking to a young, younger than you at least, woman. She was skinny, cute, and caused your skin to boil. The jealousy (and alcohol) in your blood made you b-line for Mathew. He didn’t notice you until you talked, “let’s dance,” you commanded. He turned to look at you, a little shocked. You noticed his friends all turned to see what was happening. Now that you were closer you noticed their ages varied, but their athletic build did not. He gave a lazy crooked smile, he was obviously more drunk than the first time you two talked, just as you were. He took your hand and lead you to the dance floor. He spun you around so your back was to his front. He leaned down into your ear, “I thought you had a boyfriend?” he tested you. You leaned your head back. His eyes sparkled and you felt like you could drown in them, “I do,” you pressured. He looked up in thought for a second, and he leaned down like he was going to respond but instead he kissed you. You turned your body so that you were facing him. You melted into the kiss. Any thought of Ben you had was gone. You were consumed by Mathew. You had your hands wrapped in his hair, feeling its lushness and beauty. One of his hands rested on your hip pulling you closer to him, never wanting to let you go. The other hand was on the back of your head keeping you where you were. You felt locked up yet free. This boy gave you everything you needed, adventure, forbidden love, and excitement.

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