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ricksroaches · 3 years

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Jungkook - Dysphoria ch. 1

pairing: Yoongi x Reader, OT7 x Reader (platonic)

summary: Jungkook, a burnt out gifted student, comes home from summer camp not ready to start his sophomore year of highschool, but his friends are there to help him feel better. Although not in the best of ways.

notes: This is a Euphoria-ish au but mostly it's just heavily inspired by the show (I use a few quotes), and each chapter is based on a character. There's a few parts where I cue a song title that's because I made a soundtrack to listen to while reading but I deleted it a while ago so :( if you feel like it listen to the ones I did write down. I'm apologizing now bc my writing can be a bit choppy/rushed its just cuz i have a more drabble-like style and don't know how to write between big scenes. THIS IS A DARK FIC. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED. Hope you enjoy and sorry for this big ass paragraph.

word count: 3.9k

warnings: ass-load of angst, mental illness (depression, anxiety, bipolar, OCD, and probably more), drugs (all of them. just all of them), underage drinking, cursing, mentions of self-harm

Next chapter

[Slideshow - Labrinth]

When Jungkook was 5, he wanted to be an astronaut. He wanted to fly into the sky and zip around space exploring things never before seen. His little mind was so strong, wanting to learn anything and everything. When he first learned how to read, he would read every sign he passed in the car and play games with the letters he’d find. It wasn’t long before he was placed in advanced classes with kids he'd never seen before and for the first time in his academic career, he was challenged.

When Jungkook was 10, he wanted to be a doctor. He wanted to wear a white coat and glasses and race around a hospital busy saving lives everyday. He wanted people to look to him for advice and treat him with respect. He wanted to feel needed.

When Jungkook was 14, he wanted to be a paramedic. He didn’t think he’d be smart enough to become a doctor so an EMT would have to do. His classes had begun to pile up in work to the point where he didn’t have the time to think about anything but school. He ate, slept, and breathed homework, projects, and term papers.

When Jungkook was 16, all he wanted to do was graduate. He no longer had any desire to pursue his childhood dreams. When he was asked what he wanted to do when he was older, his mind was a void. He couldn’t see any future for himself past high school. He went day to day not bothering to care about what might happen the next day. He coasted through all of his classes and dropped out of the advanced programs that his parents put him in.

His potential was like a flame. It was small at first, but still had loads of potential, so more kindling was thrown on top. The flame received it well, quickly spreading over the new material. But they kept stacking kindling. Stacking and stacking and stacking putting more and more pressure until finally….the flame died. All because he liked to read.

[Forever - Labrinth]

The clouds inched across the sky and rows of crops and fencing whipped by the car window. A stark contrast between the two. Jungkook rested his head against the glass and watched as the car began to pass more and more houses. The familiar area told him he was almost home. He should’ve been glad, elated even. He would finally get to see his friends again, but after three weeks of summer school to catch up on the class he skipped last year he’d lost the ability to smile or show any form of positivity. To say he felt like a zombie would be an insulting understatement.

The car pulled into the ever so familiar driveway and the rest of his family piled out of the car. He didn’t move. He heaved a long, anguished sigh before snatching his duffel bag from the other seat and throwing open the door.

He was out the front door again before his mom could even ask him where he was going. Speeding his bike down the empty road that he’d ridden countless times before. He could make this route with his eyes closed. The house in question came into view and Jungkook pedaled harder to close the distance. He swung one leg to the opposite pedal and straddled it until he swerved to a stop in the driveway. The house was old, hadn’t been lived in for years, wasn’t on the market, yet wasn’t scheduled to be torn down. It was the perfect place for a group of teenagers to tear apart and put back together. Without knocking, he stepped inside and was hit with the welcoming scent of booze, pizza, and weed with notes of cigarettes and coffee. Music blasting from a distant room in the house led him to the living room where he counted one, two, three, four, five people sprawled about the room. Upon noticing him standing in the doorway, they jumped up and raced to pull him into the room.

“Kook! How you been man? How’d surviving summer school go?” Taehyung was Jungkook’s best friend and unsolicited wingman. He was always trying to set him up with girls so he could get his v card punched. Taehyung was ever the ladies man. Never had trouble finding a date or a hookup. No one could blame him though. If they had that flawless, arrogant face they’d use it too. Despite his fuckboy nature, he was the best friend Jungkook ever had. They’d gone to the same school since they were 7 and Taehyung’s untamable charisma sniffed out Jungkook’s shyness rather quickly. They were inseparable and the rest is history.

“Fine I guess.”

“Kookie, come sit down! I’ve been saving your spot on the couch for you!” Jimin pulled Jungkook to the left corner of the C shaped couch. Jimin was like Taehyung in the sense that he also had no issues with finding partners. He wasn’t near as promiscuous as Taehyung, but he made up for it with his bisexuality. He had an entire other gender to choose from. Jimin was probably the nicest of the group. He always gave the best hugs and was their personal therapist. His aura seemed to coax you into opening up to him even if you hadn’t originally planned on it. He had a way of saying all the right words to make you feel better, even if it was just for a moment. On the other side of him, he was the biggest party animal the group had ever seen. Anywhere else, he was the purest angel that everyone believed could do no wrong. But at a party? Park Jimin was a demon. Seductively dancing in a stylish jacket, pants low enough to show his v-line, sweaty hair flipped back pounding shot after shot until he was the last man standing. That guy could party from sun down to sun up like it was a baby shower.

“Did you at least learn anything you missed last year?” Namjoon. Ever the parent. He was surprisingly humble given his father’s status and money. He easily had the best grades among the friends. School always came easy to him, no matter what it was. However, if you saw him outside of school, you’d never be able to guess he was one of the school’s top students. He carried an energy with him that dared anyone to mess with him or his friends. Although you didn’t see it often, he could make himself scary if he wanted to. All in all, he’s just a gentle giant that made sure everyone turned in their work.

“Absolutely nothing. I don’t know why they keep wasting their time on me.” Jungkook sighed. Hoseok threw a pillow from across the couch, smacking him in the face.

“Yah! Don’t talk about yourself like that!” Hoseok was the human charger. It didn’t matter if someone’s mama died if Hoseok was in the room there would be shenanigans. He was always the one to make some crazy dare that would end up getting them in trouble but they wouldn’t be mad because it was totally worth it. He also had great music taste and almost always was on aux. Hoseok’s vice was coke. Often the driving force behind his hyper nature, it started out as just a thing he did at parties, but slowly creeped into his everyday habits. It hadn’t become a problem yet, he vowed that as soon as he started getting nosebleeds he’d stop, although Jungkook was wary of how difficult that was going to be.

“Where’s Y/N and Yoongi?” Jungkook asked after noticing their usual spots empty.

“They left to get food. They should be coming back soon.” Jin assured him, giving him a comical slap on the thigh. Jin was the eldest, but rarely acted like it. Whenever he wasn’t making stupid dad jokes or eating he spent his time at the classical theater where he worked and sometimes acted. He planned on pursuing acting given his “world wide handsome face.” “It just has to be seen! People around the world need to swoon at my beauty” as he would put it.

No one heard the front door open and shut or noticed Y/N and Yoongi standing in the doorway of the living room.

“Food’s here.” Yoongi finally croaked. Hoseok and Jin yelped and sprung up.

“JESUS! Ever heard of announcing yourselves?! I swear you guys are the exact same person!” Y/N just gave a shrug and plopped onto the large bean bag that she’d claimed.

“Hey, Kooker.” She dragged out.

“Hi Y/N..” His unusual bland reply didn’t go unnoticed by her, but she brushed it off.

“You ready to get shit faced?” A playful grin plastered her otherwise tranquil face. A small smile poked at Jungkooks pursed lips. There was something about her character that always put him in a better mood. She was the one who invited him and Tae into the friend group in the first place, and because of that, he couldn’t be more grateful.

Yoongi tossed him a beer can and his car keys. “Start us off Jungkook.” Yoongi was by far the most terrifying one. It took some time to get to know his true person but there were still times when he still scared the shit out of him. Jungkook remembered when he first met Yoongi. He looked like he’d served time with the seasoned look in his eye that said he’d seen some shit in his day. He hadn’t spoken the entire time the group was talking and Jungkook was beginning to worry that he didn’t like him. It wasn’t til he finally spoke that Jungkook could release the breath he was holding. For someone so stoic and cold looking, he never expected him to have such a low, soft voice. He realized, Yoongi wasn’t scary, he was just quiet like him.

Jungkook took the keys and poked a hole in the bottom of the can. He pressed his lips to it and pulled the tab, sending the amber liquor shooting down his throat. He finished it with ease and crushed the can in his palm while the room cheered and chanted.

The loud music, laughing, and drugs drowned out everything in the outside world. It felt like the world ended and they were the last people left on Earth. Nothing mattered but what was right in front of them. The hours flew by until it came time for everyone to crash. Most of them were still raging drunk or high which only made them fall asleep faster. Jungkook didn’t drink much and he barely smoked. He just couldn’t get in the right headspace to enjoy any of it. So there he was, laying awake among a pile of snoring boys at some ungodly hour of the night. His phone buzzed in his pocket. He fished it out to read the text in his notifications.

[We All Knew - Labrinth]

Y/N💜: come to my office

He shimmied out from under Taehyung and Jimin and tiptoed out of the room. He followed the smell of weed through the house because where there was weed, there was Y/N. He stepped into the backyard and found her leaning against the wall, blunt between her fingers. The tip of the dark stick swelled into a bright orange when she took a drag. Smoke rolling out of her nose, she held it out for him. He hesitated.

“You're upset. Take it.” Which was a dead-on observation for Y/N, who’s not normally revolving in the same direction as planet Earth. He hesitantly took a puff from it before handing it back. She spread her arms lazily and looked at him with a beckoning stare. He sighed and walked right into her arms that wrapped around his back. She was only older than him by a year, but her old soul and almost motherly demeanor made him look up to her like she was his idol. Sometimes, he forgot he was a whole head taller than her. “Welcome home, Kookie.”

Hers was the only welcome he got that day that brought a genuine smile to his face. She had a way of making him feel welcome and wanted even if she was in a bad mood. She broke the embrace and without a word headed to the old couch by the empty swimming pool. He eventually followed her and flopped down next to her. Another gush of smoke entered the chilly air and it was handed back to him. Feeling better, he took a healthy drag and sighed out the smoke as he sunk further into the couch.

“Was it that obvious?”

“Was what obvious?”

“Me being upset.”

“Not really.” She flicked the ash off the tip of the brown stick, her gaze not breaking from its spacey stare.

“Then how’d you know?”

“Pain recognizes pain.” Y/N wasn’t one for her genius epiphanies, given that nine times out of ten on any given day she was stoned out of her mind. She wasn’t dumb, god no. He wouldn’t doubt that she was smarter than him, but she rarely exercised her ability. As great of a gift that her mind was, it was an even worse curse. An inescapable tomb of her worst fears, thoughts, and intentions, with nowhere to run and nowhere to hide. So naturally, she tried anything and everything to silence her mind; alcohol, weed, acid, coke, molly, you name it, she’s done it.

Jungkook wasn’t angry or disappointed by the lengths she went. He knew she was just trying to feel better, and to him, that’s all that mattered. He’d take high Y/N over no Y/N at all.

“Y/N?”

“Yep.” There was a silence while he worked up the nerve to speak.

“How…uh….how long have you felt…the way you feel?” She chuckled and let her head fall back against the couch.

“Well I smoked a blunt with Yoongi in the car this morning and then-”

“No, I mean like…w-without drugs.” Her lazy smile didn’t change, but her eyes unfocused and she grew quiet as if lost in a flashback.

“How long do you think I’ve felt this way?” He didn’t anticipate this question.

“Uh…I don’t know…you hide it really well.”

“I couldn’t tell you when it started. I don’t remember much before 7. I’m told I was a happy kid, but it didn’t feel like it at all. All my life I’ve looked around and seen that everyone was so much happier than me, and I’d ask myself, ‘Why can’t I feel like that?’ It wasn’t until I was older that I learned…I was born to suffer. That’s just my place in the world.”

“When did you finally tell anyone?”

“I didn’t. My parents found my razors.” Jungkook always thought he saw scars on her arms and legs, but her milky skin made it hard to tell. It hurt his heart to know that it was true, and that every one of those once caused her pain. The image of her forearms and thighs slick with her blood brewed tears in his eyes.

“They determined they didn’t have the knowledge to help me, so they asked me to take a tour of this mental hospital and think about their suggestion….” She paused to keep her voice from cracking. “I didn’t make it home that day. Never really forgave them after that.”

There was a long silence after that. Jungkook didn’t say anything. There was nothing to say. Besides, he knew she hated condolences. “What made you start using drugs?” She took a drag of the blunt and thought about it.

“I was 13.” Really? “I found my brothers stash of weed in one of his shoes. I already knew what weed was and what it was used for, so I took about a gram and a rolling paper and taught myself how to roll a joint on my bathroom floor. I was shaking like a dog shitting peach seeds but when that joint hit, I thought…” She tilted her head to peak at him with an epiphanic smile, “This is it…This is the feeling that I’ve been waiting to feel my entire life. I thought I was sure to get caught and sent to juvie, but I wasn’t. The world went on, and I found a way to live. Now could my lifestyle kill me? Will it kill me? Yeah probably I don’t know, but at least I could’ve had a few years where I wasn’t begging the universe to put me out of my misery.” She paused to take another hit. “People often ask me, ‘Y/N why don’t you try therapy? Drugs aren’t the answer.’ Yeah well, drugs work. Therapy’s a guessing game; you never know if it’s gonna actually help or not and end up wasting your time and money. But when I take that hit, that line, that tab, the world starts to slow…and everything goes quiet…and I feel safe. In my own head. And I can see the world in color again.”

Jungkook watched her blissful face while she was lost in thought. She must’ve been pretty high because this is the most personal she’d ever gotten with him or possibly anyone that wasn’t Yoongi. “Y/N?”

“Yeah?”

“W-what if I don’t feel what everyone else feels either..?” He pinched the skin between his fingers to keep his tears at bay, a nervous habit he’d picked up from her. She reached over and took his hand in hers, the webbing between her fingers had white and pink stripes from years of fingernails digging into the flesh.

“Jungkook,” she didn’t use his nickname, “I know how hard it was for you to say that. I want you to know how much I appreciate you telling me, because if anyone knows how you feel, it’s me. You can talk to me whenever, wherever. Even when you think it’s a bad time it’s not, because nothing in that moment is more important to me than you. I don’t want you to go through the same thing I did, so please, even if you don’t want to talk, maybe I can at least keep you company.”

For the rest of the night, Jungkook told her everything. About the pressure, the stress, the desire to collapse and let the world go on without him, his inability to see a future where he was fulfilled. The words often caught in his throat, having never said them out loud before. Y/N didn’t say much, she just wrapped them in a blanket and stroked his hair while she just let him talk. Sometimes, he’d have to stop to cry and she’d hold him a little tighter, wipe his tears away with her thumbs, and wait til he was ready again.

Eventually, he had nothing else to say, his tears dried, and his body stilled.

Babies didn’t sleep that good.

Y/N nodded off a little later but was woken up by a raccoon tipping a trash can. She rested her cheek on his head and tried to go back to sleep, but it never came. She just continued to rest her eyes while playing with Jungkook’s hair and tracing lines along his features.

She didn’t know how long she laid there but soon the birds began their routine morning songs and she was sure she wouldn’t get back to sleep now. The faint tap of shoes on the concrete perked her ears, but she kept her eyes closed. The footsteps stopped behind the couch where she sat. It was quiet before the person chuckled quietly. A warm hand smoothed back the hair in her face and a little kiss was planted on her forehead. She couldn’t help the smile that spread across her face.

“Yoongi, I’m awake you creep.” She cracked her eyes open to see her boyfriend laid over the back of the couch hovering above her, his dark hair tickling her nose. He smirked.

“Well in that case,” he grabbed her chin and tilted her head up before capturing her lips in a playful kiss. When they parted, he glanced down at Jungkooks still sleeping figure. “You guys stay out here all night?”

“Yeah,” she looked down at him and smoothed his hair back, “he just had a few things to get off his chest.” Yoongi almost asked what it was about but her face gave him an idea.

“It’s cold, you want me to take him inside?”

“It won’t wake him up will it?”

“If he’s as out as as he looks, he won’t.” She nodded and Yoongi circled around and slipped his hands under the sleeping boy’s body. Much to Y/N’s pleasant surprise, he lifted him bridal style with ease and she followed him into the house where he placed him next to the other slumbering boys.

When he straightened back up he saw her in the sliding glass door, gazing at the now dusty blue sky. She could feel his body heat on her back against the nippy outside air.

“I always loved the time just before dawn.”

“Why is that?” He wrapped his arms around her waist and pressed his cheek to hers.

“It’s so calm and peaceful. And incredibly quiet besides the birds. It’s the only time I feel truly left alone.”

“You want me to show you my favorite time of day?” She turned to him with a curious look. “Follow me.” Not long after, the two were perched on the flat portion of the roof with Yoongi’s bong sitting between them. His angular fingers effortlessly packed the bowl and held it out to her. “All yours.” She took it with a smile.

“What a gentleman~”

Soon, the sky went from a pale blue to pastel shades of orange and pink. He looked over to see her fiddling with a thread on his hoodie she was wearing. “This,” he took her jaw and guided her eyes up for her to see the sunrise, “is my favorite time of day.”

“Why?”

“It gives me hope. Kinda like you.” He was glad she didn’t say anything. She was lost in the color palette of the scene before her, the weed making everything so much more vibrant and striking. He could see the sky reflected in her eyes, making the view ten times better. More time went by and she rested her head on his broad shoulder while they watched the rest of the sunrise.

Back on the ground, Yoongi cleared the bowl and poured out the bong water before setting it on a table by the couch. Y/N was on her back in the center of the empty pool, slowly tearing a leaf above her face and analyzing how it separated cell by cell. He stood on the edge above and watched her do this another four times much to his amusement. “You wanna get breakfast?”

She was out of the pool and in his face before he could finish his sentence. “Like you have to ask.” He chuckled and rolled his eyes before turning and walking to his car. “Hey, Yoongi.”

He turned back.

“Carry me to the car like Jungkook.” He broke into a smirk and walked back to her.

“Yes ma’am.” She let out a yelp when he scooped her off her feet and marched the two of them to his car waiting on the street.

Cover photo: @BIGHITTED on Twitter

#bts #bts fanfic #bts x reader #fanfic #yoongi #yoongi x reader #ot7 x reader #bts fic #yoongi fic #bts angst

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fyeah-bangtan7 · 3 years

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Jimin: “There’s people who’ve been rooting for us throughout this difficult time”

In the “ARMY Corner Store” video posted by BTS on their YouTube channel BANGTANTV to mark the eighth anniversary of their debut, Jimin talked about the leather riding jacket that the older members passed down to him when he was still a trainee. The jacket was first worn by SUGA, handed down to j-hope after SUGA’s debut, then given to Jimin with the words, “This riding jacket is passed down from generation to generation.” Jimin still wears the jacket when it’s cold. Many things change, and, even in times when they must, there are things that do not.

You released three songs in a year: “Dynamite,” “Butter” and, finally, “Permission to Dance,” and BTS grew more popular all the while. How do you feel? Jimin: At some point, it stopped feeling real. The reactions from fans, the cover videos they uploaded and the dance challenges they did—I’m just so thankful for that. It lit up my life. We made those songs with a good purpose in mind, so just hearing people say they enjoyed listening to them was fulfilling. And that was our original goal. “Permission to Dance,” in particular, was the perfect message for right now, so I think I got a lot of comfort from it, too.

How so? Jimin: I think it was both the atmosphere and the actual content. It was comforting right from the title. Thinking about it now, the fact that it made me think, Oh yeah, I might not be able to see ARMY right now, but I will soon, was one good point. I’ve been thinking by myself about how the future’s going to be better, and being more careful, and ended up waiting longer. And meanwhile, we had a fan meeting in the middle of all that. So my thinking changed to be more positive. That was great.

Was there any part you placed particular emphasis on to express such positive emotions in the song? Jimin: I think I just followed my heart. Before, there’d be some kind of concept, and I wanted to show off something about myself in that context, but lately I’ve just been following my heart, following the feeling of conveying the feelings I want to share with others. At first I was worried whether the feelings we were trying to convey in the songs would get across to people since we’d never tried songs in those styles before, but after giving the performances a shot, we found out they’re really fun and easy for us to follow along to, too. So I thought it should be easy enough for people to approach these songs, thankfully.

Even though the three songs—“Dynamite,” “Butter” and “Permission to Dance”—all have something in common, I imagine they were all completely different when it came to figuring them out. You did “Butter” before “Permission to Dance”—how was that? Jimin: They’re totally different. The attitudes I take on are different, the thought process is different, and I think the emotions I feel are all different, too. I think “Butter” was a bit hard for me. It wasn’t a style I was used to, but I thought the actual dance was elegant when I saw the video and it had a lot of footwork, so I thought I’d be good at it, but it was way harder than I thought. During practice I even thought, Why am I so bad at dancing? If you look at our usual choreography, it has very powerful parts with big movements and lots of power, but “Butter” felt really difficult because all the power went in at the same time even though it was loose. So I watched Hoseok dancing a lot, and since every member has their own style of dancing, I watched the way Taehyung loosened up, and the way Jung Kook danced by the book, and I combined all those. So for some of the broadcasts of “Butter” I really loosened up and for others I used a little more strength. I tried all different things.

Maybe that’s why even the style of clothes you’re wearing seems to change the way the dancing feels. It felt like you danced a little differently in a suit than when you were dressed casually. Jimin: I never noticed before but the songs do sound different depending on what I’m wearing. Sometimes I danced all excitedly when I wore casual clothes, but when I wore a suit, something about the song sounded sexy. There’s a different vibe when I dance alone versus when I dance as part of a group, so I visualize how I should dress to make my dancing look cooler every time.

The “Dynamite” performance at the Grammys was very impressive, too. I felt that the music, clothing style and poses where you jumped out were all a perfect match. Jimin: I think it all depends on what kind of outfit I wear, where I am for a given part, and how much I weigh. There’s a pronounced difference to the way a dance looks and feels based on how much I weigh. I think the dance and outfit were a good match in “Dynamite.”

On that note, when you performed “Black Swan” at the end of the year, what pair of shoes could you dance the best in? Looking at the fancam focus video, your dance changes in feeling slightly depending on the design of your shoes. Jimin: For me, it’s barefoot. I think it’s got to be barefoot when I’m doing a classic style dance. It looks sharp and attractive when I wear dress shoes, but it always feels more natural to express myself barefoot. It’s more dynamic, I guess you could say. So I wanted to go barefoot for all my other performances, too. I wanted to be barefoot for when we recorded “ON” at Seoul World Cup Stadium at the end of the year, too, but I gave that up because it could’ve been dangerous.

The performance of “ON” at Mnet 2020 MAMA, right? I was curious about something while watching that video: I wondered how the members of the group could perform with such effort in that big, audienceless stadium, with the new solo performances added into the original choreography and everything. What helped you to find strength even under those circumstances? Jimin: There’s people who’ve been rooting for us throughout this difficult time. I think we have to give them a reason to root for us, then. If we’re going to make them want to see us and make it fun for them to watch us, I wanted to give them a good reason.

Then how did you feel when you performed at the Grammy Awards? Surely it must’ve been meaningful to you in a number of ways. Jimin: I wanted our performance to show what it meant for us to be up on that stage. A group of kids from Korea, each from their own neighborhood, can do this, too, so what’s the big deal about winning an award? That’s one thing I thought. Of course you can’t get it if you’re not capable enough yet, but the important thing is that the people who like us can be proud of us, too. We did the performance in return for all the support they show us.

It must be hard being unable to see your fans since you can’t hold any concerts. It’s hard to tell how well the performance was able to convey that return of their support. Jimin: I learn a lot from going on tour. I combine the audience’s immediate reactions and the parts I wasn’t satisfied with and practice based on that, and ask the other members about it too, but right now there’s no time to review that. So I keep practicing a lot, but it’s hard to tell how the things I’m doing will end up looking, so I keep trying things out on my own but without any feedback.

That must’ve made it harder to get ready for “Dynamite,” “Butter” and “Permission to Dance,” especially since you still have to sing in English and the emotions in the songs are a lot different from your previous ones, and it’s hard to feel the reaction in the concert hall under these circumstances. Jimin: Even the pronunciation is definitely different, and the part of your throat the sound comes from changes depending on the pronunciation. I think that’s why I was a little flustered. On “Butter,” if I had done it the way I always do, it wouldn’t show up. So I studied a lot on how to sound more clean and simple.

It felt like you had to meet all sorts of conditions; you have to keep it breezy and hit high notes, all while maintaining your unique voice. Jimin: I guess you could call it the song that most made me think like I was just starting out again. I think I practiced harder than ever before. I think I’ve worked extremely hard to have my own unique style, but then I hit a wall and had to go back to the beginning to find a new way. And I went over it a lot with Jung Kook. What if I sing it like this? Or what about this way? How should I practice? I asked so many questions like that and practiced a lot, too. But I enjoyed the process. At one point I was like, I can get that kind of voice out of my throat too? Even though it didn’t make it onto the final recording, I tried doing different adlibs while singing other parts and I found my strengths that way.

In previous songs you had fairly strong emotional vocals when you sang high notes, but this time around they’re cooler. How does it feel having different emotions in your vocals? BTS also sought to allow people to feel more positive emotions during the pandemic. Jimin: It was hard to adjust to the changes, but in other ways, since the group saw a greater outpouring of love, I thought we should be featuring emotions and content that’s a little more comprehensive. Personally, it was hard adjusting to a situation where I couldn’t perform. But after “Butter” was out and we moved on to “Permission to Dance,” I saw how lots of people took positively to the way I put so much effort into attempting to change things a bit more with these songs, and I realized that we could find a new side to ourselves in the process.

I saw on “ARMY Corner Store” that you were drinking with the other members recently and all talking together, which makes me think you’ve had a lot of thoughts since the pandemic started. The world’s changed so much, and the group’s status has changed since “Dynamite” came out, too. Jimin: It wasn’t just the time mentioned in “ARMY Corner Store”—we also talked while going here and there by car, whenever we would get together, and when we were on set. I think it took me a long time to calm my nerves. It took around four or five months, I guess, but after we kept dealing with it and talking with each other, I think that’s when we got used to the new normal and our new selves.

When you performed “Daechwita” at BTS 2021 MUSTER SOWOOZOO, the part you did was, as it happens, “Remember, remember days gone by remember.” Maybe it was a coincidence, but now that BTS, the team who debuted with “No More Dream,” currently sits at the top of the Billboard Hot 100, I’m wondering how you feel about the days gone by. Jimin: I only realized it recently, but I used to be really unstable. I was acting like I was well-grounded when I was around other people, like my family and friends. It meant I had to pretend a lot. I worried about others by saying things like, I’m fine, but how are you? I spoke like I could always take care of anything that came up, but looking back, that wasn’t the case.

What made you think like that? Jimin: I’m still young, and because I’m making a lot of money at a young age, I end up wondering what money and success ultimately mean. Because I’m young, I hear a lot of people talk, and some people can be jealous or envious. But there’s a lot of people I have to repay and a lot of relationships I need to hang onto. I thought I could take care of all these problems, but looking back, that wasn’t the case. It hasn’t been very long since I realized that I was the one to grab on and forced everything to happen.

Was it some sense of responsibility? It reminds me how you called yourself “the kind of person who likes to be loved” in your last interview with Weverse Magazine. So I imagine you probably try your best for the people in your life. Jimin: Yes. I was just being headstrong, you know. Being headstrong. (laughs) It’s the kind of situation where people look at you and they might say, You can’t even take care of yourself. (laughs) But there were still a lot of points where I kept thinking things like that. Now I think I didn’t have to go quite that far, and as times went by, I started to think, Oh, I’m glad I can think about this now so I can let things that I should let go of, go. When I couldn’t let things go, my resentment kept growing. My pain, too. Rather than admit I had those feelings at that time, I’d say there were emotions in different situations that I came to unconsciously accept, and I started to feel like I could see how much of a hard time I was having after some time passed.

You’ve tried so hard. How did you feel after letting go of all those feelings? Jimin: I felt like I was becoming empty sometimes, at first. I felt like I was denying my own thoughts and beliefs. But I talked a lot with my parents, and I said, Did you know I was going through all that? And they said, We didn’t know what you were going through, but we knew it was something. So finally I shared what I was feeling with them, and my mom and dad talked to me like they were my life coaches. After coming out of that whole period, even when I do similar things, I can tell my mind has changed a lot. If I was more focused on my surroundings before, now I’m able to focus on myself as well. My mom told me it means I’m growing up, and that I’m finally becoming an adult. So I said, I don’t wanna be an adult—it’s too hard. (laughs)

It seems like you ended up doing a lot of self-reflection during the pandemic. Jimin: Last year I saw how lots of people were having a rough time and how there was a big social crisis, but as time dragged on I started to feel like I was trapped. But it was mostly okay when I was working.

What would you say work means to you these days? Jimin: I guess it’s hard to separate it from myself. I’m me, and there’s also a separate me who works, but it’s hard to tell the two apart.

#bangtan #jimin #m:weverse magazine #210801

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literate-lamb · 3 years

Text

Man of the House | three

Sam Wilson/fem!Reader, dark!Bucky Barnes/fem!Reader | 18+

A racket in the attic leads to a discovery of old memories. Your dissatisfaction leads you to a forgettable night.

► warnings(!): dubcon/noncon, asphyxiation. this is a dark fic.

|| Series Masterlist ||

A/N: This is it, lads. We’re picking up steam. And sorry for the delay, but I’m here to finally deliver. Thank you for the love lately on this story!

𝔻𝕒𝕪 𝕊𝕖𝕧𝕖𝕟

The pitter patter of rain was a welcomed presence. They added to the serene ambience of the residence; sombre but comforting. While others would bemoan the absence of sunny days, you relished in the cool and comfort it brought. It gave ways to days under duvets and blankets, a book and warm drink in hand. Today, it brought coolness to the sweat as strands of hair clung to the temples.

Napkin in hand, you wiped the respiration trickling down your chin, the cool air helping it dry off. Scanning the guest room, you were satisfied with the result. Floors mopped, surfaces wiped, sheets aired; the room was finally dust-free, perfect for accommodating guests.

Today marked the first week of your stay in the house. Your first week in the so-called haunted house. And one more week to go before you bag that $500 cheque. Take that, Tony.

Sam had left for the day, spending time with his college buddies at a bowling alley. He’d promised to cook you dinner when he came back, you looked forward to it.

The room was silent as you went back to work, stretching the sheets end to end, taut enough that a coin could bounce. And if the coin fell, hitting the floor, you were sure its ring would echo. The silence of the house when alone was deafening, saved for the small shower outside.

Suddenly feeling unsettled by the silence, you took out your phone. Opening your playlist, you played the first song you saw; Love by Nat King Cole. The music blared from the tiny speakers, flooding the room with the harmony of jazz.

You swayed and tapped to the beat of the cymbals, the saxophone aiding your show, all the while managing other meagre chores. You moved, feet light, across the hallway to the linen closet, taking extra sheets.

While fitting the sheets in the other guest room, that’s when your ears picked it.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Among the symphony of rain and Nat King Cole’s swing baritone, you heard it; light footsteps, tapping to the rhythm of jazz, above you. The rain and sax almost drowned it out, but you could discern it between the others.

You stopped your hands and listened on. The creaking was light but they were there, following a rhythm of sorts. It took you seconds to realize the steps were not random. They were following the rhythm of the music.

They were dancing.

You let the music continue playing before it ended and changed to another track: Iron Maiden’s The Trooper.

The creaks stopped abruptly when Bruce Dickinson’s shout came through. Then, a sudden crash boomed your eardrums. Loud and heavy, like hardbound books falling off a shelf. It stilled for a moment before frantic meowing began.

“Peaches?”

The meows continued, high-pitched and desperate. You heard scuffling on the ceiling, probably the cat’s paws scratching the surface, desperate for help.

When the meowing went on for longer, you hurriedly left the room all the while huffing about the mischievous cat that you decided to keep. Pulling the built-in ladder at the end of the hall from above, you began climbing up. Peaches’ cries still echoed.

Your footsteps caused dust particles to float, making you hack. Taking the space in, you noticed every single item was covered in white sheets, protecting them beneath. Some were tall, some broad, crowding the attic in a ghostly maze. A lone circular window laid ahead, opened, flooding the supposed dark space in natural light. A breeze from outside came through, chilling you.

It was serene, yet a little unsettling. If one didn’t know better, they would’ve mistaken the standing figures to be ghosts, instead that of a lamp. Standing still in a few corners, unmoving. The fluttering of their sheets by a draft the occasional movement.

The feline’s constant whining reached you, pulling you out. You took slow deliberate steps, stumbling and navigating through the sea of cloaked figures. Paying attention to the pleading mewls, you tracked down Peaches to a corner, adjacent to the source of light.

“Were you prancing around up here? How did you even get up here?!” you scolded. Peaches whines only became louder.

Going over to the window, you shut it, stopping the cold air from chilling further. Strange, has it always been opened?

You stepped towards Peaches and assessed her.

She was covered in soot, immaculate white coat now stained grey. The cat, for some reason, got her tail stuck under something heavy; a large leather bound book, covered in an inch of dust. You picked up the offending item, freeing Peaches from her confinement.

“There you go, you stupid cat,” you huffed. She mewled in reply, head butting your leg, showing gratitude. “Yeah, next time pay rent.”

She slinked between your legs before dashing off down the stairs, her tail between her legs. You could only sigh at her mischief.

Gazing down, you inspected the heavy book in your hands. The word “Memories” was embossed on the cover in gold lettering. Some of the skin had been chipped off, the leather worn with age. Flipping to the first page, you realized it was actually a photo album.

A black and white portrait of a woman greeted you, her tight-lipped smile stern yet warm. She was a classic beauty, with shoulder length curls and immaculate brows. She looked every bit of the word professional.

Margaret Carter-Rogers, 1921-2016

On the next page, a wedding photo surprised you. In the photo, the woman —Margaret— was clad in virginal white. She was holding the arm of a light-colour haired man, whom you recognized to be Mr Rogers. He was equally dashing.

Carter-Rogers’ Wedding, June 1946

The following pages showed bits and pieces of their lives. Snapshots of the couple dancing; Five Year Anniversary, 1951. Photos at parties; Sharon’s First Birthday, 1977. And pictures with friends; Peggy’s Farewell Party, 1991.

You observed as the couple became progressively older with each flip of a new page. Hair became greyer and thinner. Skin became taut and wrinkly.

The photos of the couple stopped when you’ve reached a new section.

James Buchanan Barnes, 1917 -

The page showed a small photograph of a brunette donning what seemed to be a military cap. Sharp cheekbones and a cleft chin were his distinguishing features, but what caught your attention were his eyes. Light-coloured in the sepia hues, most probably a light blue. They crinkled with his smile, adding more to the charm.

To say he was handsome was an understatement, he was most probably a heartthrob during his prime, you imagined.

Flipping through each page, you uncovered more of the past. Each photo consisted of both Mr Rogers —a skinnier younger version of him— with this mysterious man. James, as you’ve learned to memorize.

There were photos from their youth; Coney Island, 1937. Stills in their uniforms; Leaving for Europe, 1943. Images from their military days; Howling Commandos, 1945. And they ended there.

You admired each one of them, curious about Mr Rogers’ friend. They seemed to be really close if the amount of photographs were of any indicator.

Where was he now? Were they still friends?

What piqued your interest further was the absence of a death date on the first page, beneath his photo. Was he still alive? If so, that would make him over a hundred. Where were the rest of the photos? The amount seemed considerably smaller compared to Margaret’s. Did something happen?

Before you could spiral further, you chose to close the album. That was enough prying for one day.

—

“Hmmph harder!”

Moans mixed with the slapping of skin against skin echoed in the bedroom. You were on all fours, clutching the comforter for dear life as Sam railed you from behind repeatedly. Your toes curled in time with the delicious sting from his girth, wanting more and more. The roughness of his palms kneaded your behind, slapping your globes occasionally. It filled him with satisfaction when they bounced to his thrusts.

The post-dinner activity commences.

“Ah... yeah, yeah, yeah.”

“You nearly there, baby?”

“Need more, Sammie,” you whined, head clouded with lust.

It started with a nice little dinner. Just the two of you. Before Sam brought out the whipped cream for desserts. He couldn’t resist.

Without warning, he flipped you over. You laid on your back, watching Sam as he hovered above. Giving a small peck to your lips, he re-entered, pistoning as he picked up where he left. You locked your ankles behind his back as you clung to him, the speed jostling you.

You could feel it. You could feel how close he was to climax. The sloppy thrusts. The harsh grip. The unbridled groans. He was close. But you weren’t.

Pumping a few more times, Sam stilled, lost in the pleasure of his release. Riding the wave, he looked at you.

“Did you cum, baby?”

“Nu-huh,” you admitted, pushing your hips. It had been pleasurable, but you were far from reaching your high. You wiggled your hips, enticing Sam and making him groan.

Starting again, Sam changed condoms and thrusted into you; the goal of sending you into an orgasm in mind. He slowly rocked into you, penetrating with shallow thrusts before picking up momentum, going deeper. The speed and angle was adequate, but you felt something was amiss.

Grabbing his arms, you thought of an act that would surely send you over the edge.

“Choke me, baby.”

You placed his palm on the base of your throat, closing the fingers on the sides of your neck. You gripped his hand, squeezing it to initiate the action. Immediately, you felt your airways cut off. The dizziness sent you to new sensations. A different kind of high that you welcomed.

You felt pleasure starting to build up within you. His deep thrusts paired with the asphyxiation drove you closer. Starting to tither over the edge, closer and closer. You were so close. Until it suddenly stopped.

You swallowed large gulps as oxygen invaded your lungs. The high that you were experiencing came crashing down, and not in the way you expected. You were robbed of it too early. Too soon.

Sam’s hands were no longer on your neck. You looked up at him, seeing unease and guilt and another emotion. Put off.

“I’m sorry, baby,” he apologized. “I’m just uncomfortable by it. What if I made a mistake?”

He apologized a few more times, but you admonished him, reassuring that it was okay. He tried to get you off one more time, reaching his second climax for the night. You never reached yours.

𝔻𝕒𝕪 𝔼𝕚𝕘𝕙𝕥

Sunday came around with a ball of sunshine to make up for Saturday. You spent the afternoon alone, again, serving lunch for one. The only form of company the cat you adopted, when it was not out causing mischief. It seemed your choice of dwelling has caused you further isolation than you realized.

You’ve always cherished being by your lonesome. But today, it felt particularly lonely.

The press of his lips on your forehead still lingered in your mind. The hug that he left with fell short of the usual warmth. Sam had been gone since breakfast, citing a friend needed his help. You didn’t ask further, giving him his space.

After last night, you felt it. His apprehension rolling off in waves. You didn’t blame him. While chasing for pleasure, you neglected the comfort of your partner. You neglected to discuss any boundaries that he had erected.

You’ll make up for it when he gets back. But before that, you had tea and cakes with Wanda to catch.

—

“I think it put him off,” you sighed. “Just this morning, he was doing his usual thing. He kissed me before he left, but it felt… different. Or maybe I’m looking too much into it and it’s actually nothing.”

The Sleeping Cat was crowded in the late afternoon. Its cozy interior provided shelter for those seeking warmth from the chilling autumn wind. The aroma of cakes and coffee was a welcomed presence, filling you with familiarity. Opposite of you sat Wanda, listening to your woes as she lazily stirred her tea.

“I feel bad, I told him to do it without discussing it with him first. He must be disgusted, or weirded out, I don’t know,” you gazed down, picking the strawberry on your cake. It was easy to talk to Wanda, she had always been a great listener, and a trusted friend. If anyone was an expert on relationships, it would be Wanda; Vis and her’s eighth anniversary a few months shy.

“Then, why not talk to him?” she said, looking quite amused yet still serious. “From what I gather, he only apologized. He didn’t say he was disgusted or anything. Like you said, it might actually be nothing.”

“Vis and I used to have misunderstandings a lot in the early years, given how clueless he always is,” she rolled her eyes. “But we learned that what we needed was to communicate. We’re not mind-readers, witch or not.”

You hummed, acknowledging the truth in her words. You’ve known Sam for a long time, friends before feelings came into the equation. You knew he would be open to communication; he did it for a living at the VA. It could end up actually being nothing but a misunderstanding from your part. It was silly. You’ll never know and keep on guessing unless you ask.

“Maybe you’re right,” you grabbed the tea at hand. “I was already thinking of making up to him, but maybe what we need —what I need— is just a conversation. Like a heart-to-heart.”

The tea soothed you, it’s blend of passionfruit and orange zest proved a tangy balm for your flurry of emotions. This company, and this atmosphere was a part of what you needed. On one hand, you shot Sam a text, asking if he’d be back for dinner.

“So, how’s the house? Feel like leaving yet?” Wanda asked, eyebrows raised.

You looked up from your phone, chuckling, “It’s been great, actually. Tony asked Sam if I wanted to bail out the other day, I told him to suck it.” Wanda laughed, amused, before her expression schooled.

“Have you experienced anything? Like, anything... weird?”

You contemplated her words, chalking it up to the usual suspicion. Your earlier intentions were to humour her, but the more you stewed, the more you were reminded of the past few days.

“Well, there has been this ��screeching’ noise?” you said, unsure. “It happened at night, but not every night. Sam said it was the brakes of old cars passing by, but honestly, it could also be my cat.” You didn’t want it to be a cause for worry, you tried to deflect the topic as best as you could.

“I adopted a stray in the area,” you explained. “Her name’s Peaches and she’s a menace. I’ve found her down in the basement twice and yesterday, she was in the attic of all places!” you huffed, eye-rolling. “But yeah, nothing really exciting besides my stupid cat.”

Wanda chuckled. A few beats passed before she continued, “But if anything happens, promise me you’d let me know?”

Her eyes were unwavering, the greens intense. Her amusement had turned sombre. You knew Wanda saw the world differently than you did. Believed in it differently than you did. The least you could do was ease her mind.

“I promise you’ll be the first person I’ll call, Wands.”

—

It was nearing 12am and Sam still wasn’t back. Did he go back to his own place? You’d understand if he did, you had work yourself. But he’d told you if he were.

You furiously tapped the end call button, irritated at the repeated tone of the voice message. His last text read at 7pm, said he was meeting with Tony and Rhodey for a while and he wouldn’t be back for dinner. That was 5 hours ago.

You couldn’t help but worry a bit. Was this about last night? Was he upset? Was he mad at you? Was he avoiding you?

Putting the kettle on the stove, you turned on the burner. Remembering Wanda’s words, you thought of ways to calm your speeding mind. Some tea could help. After all, chamomile was considered a mild tranquilizer.

While waiting for the water to boil, you calmed yourself and thought rationally. Sam Wilson was a grown man. He didn’t need to be checked on constantly, didn’t need to be coddled, and he was deserving of his own personal space. You held yourself back from texting Tony and Rhodey, reminding yourself to respect Sam’s time and space. He will come back. He always does.

The whistle of the kettle broke your train of thought. Taking a tea bag from Mr Rogers’ box of a housewarming gift, you let it steep before bringing a cup upstairs.

The pull of slumber was immediate as soon as you finished; teacup barely making it to the saucer.

—

Creek!

You stirred from slumber, head groggy. The bed dipped and shook lightly, a weight rocked you slowly. Your eyelids felt heavy, unable to open, as if they were glued shut. Your limbs felt like lead; dense, laying useless by your side.

Creek!

With the absence of sight, your sense of hearing heightened. After a few beats, you soon realized what was creaking. It came from the frame of the bed, its wood rickety from age.

Cold air kissed your lower regions, making you shiver. You didn’t remember sleeping without the covers. Your nightshirt the only article of clothing, riding up until your stomach.

Creek! Creek!

Soon, a warmth enveloped you. A heavy weight. A body. Covering your form in their heat. They were running hot.

Calloused and roughened, two large hands descended on you, running your sides. Their fingertips and palms ghosted, barely touching, before stopping on your thighs. The sensation left you in a shiver, leaving a sense of yearning.

“S… S-Sam?” you croaked out, throat parched.

Blind and in a haze, you tried to move your arms again, wanting to reciprocate the touch. Wanting to feel him. Only your fingers twitched, the effort proved exhaustive.

Creek! Creek!

“Ah…”

A finger fiddled with your nub. He played with your clit, swirling with the pad of his fingers before gliding along your lower lips, prodding and teasing. He parted your legs, granting easier access as he toyed with your slit. Slick began to pool, he gathered and smeared it all over your cunt, giving your clit the occasional flick.

You felt cold and wet when he retracted, your juices clinging to your skin. Without warning, you felt the tip of his cock probed you, snuggling into your tight channel, demanding entrance. His thick girth stretched you, making you feel full. He gripped your thighs, holding you in place as he began rocking, plunging into you bit by bit.

You felt odd. You swore one of his hands felt colder than usual. You shivered.

Creek! Creek! Creek!

The bedframe squealed louder and louder as he picked up speed, fucking you without a rhythm. You felt empty when he pulled out and full when he rammed in. He jostled you, hitting all the spots that made you scream, lost to the euphoria. You felt the occasional tap to the cervix, his bulbous head kissing it repeatedly.

And while all this was happening, you remained locked, limbs laying heavy and unmoving.

Creek! Creek! Creek!

You loved the feeling of him inside you. You took him in like a champ, body pliant and receiving everything that came your way. The sensations made you almost forget your state of inebriation.

With one hand, he pulled your nightshirt above your chest, freeing your breasts for him to see. The cold air hardened your nubs slightly. It wasn’t long before you felt a warm tongue descend on your tit, swirling and suckling as if to fulfill a hunger.

He gave them both equal amounts of attention and care, alternating between the two. He stopped when he felt the treatment was adequate, leaving your nipples sore and wet in saliva.

Creek! Creek! Creek!

Fighting the heaviness, you slowly tried unfolding your eyelids. It proved exhaustive. You managed a tiny slit, shutting when it felt too much.

Your field was blurry and dark, heightening your hearing as the bed continued to creak. Sam’s broad figure hovered above, plunged in darkness. You couldn’t make out any features, just the shadow of his movements, thrusting into you.

Creek! Creek! Creek! Creek!

You felt a hand on your neck. Slowly, he began enclosing your throat, cutting your airways like the night before. Except this time, he didn’t stop squeezing.

The deep penetration of his cock combined with the exhilaration of breath play sent you to new heights. A new feeling; dizziness, euphoria, pleasure all rolled in one. The lightheadedness pushed you forward, nearing the edge. You felt it in your core.

Creek! Creek! Creek! Creek!

His pubis kept rubbing on your swollen clit, adding to the amounting high. His movements were getting erratic. He was getting closer, and so were you.

He released your throat, letting a rush of oxygen fill you. You were sent to an all new high. This was it, another type of rush. The head-spinning exhilaration you’ve been waiting for.

“S-Sam!” with a loud rasp, you came undone, quivering beneath him. He followed suit, jacking his hips frantically before stilling. His loud groan reverberated, almost animalistic in the night.

Tired out, your eyelids weighed down again, never getting the chance to peek at him. You drifted off, sleep pulling you under before you could hear his low mumble.

“Your fella could never do that, could he?”

#sam wilson x reader #bucky barnes x reader #dark bucky barnes #marvel fanfiction #dark fic #horror #mystery #bucky barnes fanfiction #sam wilson fanfiction #smut

80 notes · View notes

sleepdeprivedheretic · 3 years

Text

Tongue Tied

Notes: This is another Valentine’s Day fic, except it’s a bit shorter.This is for those who rather have pure, straight up fluff

Setting: I wanted childhood friends au. OOC Tai, kinda. Tried to make it short and sweet for Valentine’s Day, along with my other fic that’s more plot-y and smutty tOTALLY does revolve around yokai: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29427309

When you first met him, you were both about eight. He was round, cheeky, and friendly, greeting you to the new neighborhood. Only being eight, and not really having any friends, you were rather shy. He grinned, holding up a bag of blue gummy sharks. Eagerly but hesitantly, you complied, and he beamed at you with a blush, seemingly to rival the sun as he introduced himself.

“-but ya can call me Tai-chan!”

Regularly, his mom and your mom became close friends, and often brought the two of you to the park. Him being the only familiar, friendly face, you followed him everywhere, like a little puppy. He would be always smiling and talking, falling in step beside you as he munched on whatever or whichever his mom had brought for him, sharing with you, and you offered your own snacks.

He grew on you, taking you everywhere, creating blanket and pillow forts, and promised that the two of you will be best friends forever. Although rather shy, you were extremely protective of him, finding your young self snapping at bullies when they’ve made fun of his weight, and making sure that he was alright. He would look at you shyly yet with a soft grin and rub the back of his head, telling you that you were amazing.

………………..

You were both ten. In two years, you’ve grown very close to him. Of course, his family and doctor worrying about his weight, had put him on a diet. He was still a little round, but had grown a few inches taller. You didn’t care, as long as he was your friend. Who you totally did not have a small crush on. Nope.

The two of you were in his living room, resting in your own separate sleeping bags as Bambi played on the VHS. No matter how many times the two of you seen it, his eyes would always water up when a particular scene came along as he shoved popcorn in his mouth. All you could really do was pat his shoulder gently, causing him to stutter and have the same odd red tint to his cheeks as he laughed nervously. You stared at his odd behavior, but shrugged, reaching for the popcorn as the two of you talked about future dreams and other things as the sleepover crawled on.

By this time, you’ve knew him a bit more, use to hanging out at his house, and his yours. Cooking and baking with each other’s respective moms, was a common weekend thing.

……………………………..

He’d gotten a bit more loud and rowdy, but was still sweet as ever. Of course, being twelve, the two of you were experiencing your own physical and mental changes. Voice cracking, outgrowing baby fat, the two of you were still close. He’d gotten many scrapes and bruises, however, while being rowdy and not as careful, and he’d grumble a little with a pink tint to his cheeks, as you hushed him, placing a Hello Kitty band-aid on his cut.

Although a bit more older, the two of you still drank Capri-sun, watched classics on his VCR, and he didn’t mind that you tagged along wherever he went. Imagine his surprise when you’ve gotten a little braver, not hesitating to cheer him on during sports tryouts, or started doing more things of your own without him. Of course, the both of your parents were wary of the two of you spending the entire night for some weird reason, but you still hung out for most of the day, swapping Pokemon cards and playing on the old gaming system while mindlessly talking like you’ve always done.

…………………..

High school was somewhat different. He was an awkward fifteen year old boy, but head-strong, tall, and a bit more lanky. You were still a little quiet and shy, but the two of you stuck close to each other like glue. He’d drag you to his baseball tournaments, and you’d invite him to your archery ones. He still was rowdy and somewhat of a hyper, cute klutz, grinning from ear to ear with pink cheeks as you sighed, wrapping yet another band-aid around his cuts.

You, being still young, had to bite down an odd feeling that came over you when he was surrounded by girls. You didn’t understand it, they were just being friendly, right? He looked rather uncomfortable, but was still red in the face as he kept making glances at you, a silent plea for help.

It’s when the bullying had started. The whispers and rumors, all because you helped him escape from a gaggle of young teens. He, being protective as always, shot glares and scowls at those who dared even came close to you, telling you that it was alright to defend yourself, and to call on him if he needed anything. So, while there was some bullying, the budding attention from kids hitting puberty, was a bit worse.

He was agitated for some weird reason, yet kept a dopey smile for your sake when you kept receiving love letters and confessions. You didn’t miss the relief in his eyes when you turned them all down, and vice versa when he stated that he wasn’t really interested in most of the people in your school. You didn’t fail to notice that he kept looking at you for an extra two seconds, but dismissed it.

……………

Senior year wasn’t as bad as freshman year. He, with all of his practice in sports and such, grew a bit of muscle mass, but at eighteen, was round and taller, around six foot, easily dwarfing you. Although older teens, you’ve kept in touch despite the crazy amount of tests, finals, and new friends. People were murmuring in awe at how the two of you were so close, and yet weren’t a couple. It didn’t stop either of your ears burning, but neither of you had either dated, only fueling those rumors.

He was very popular, as were you, despite your shyness and liking to blend in. Two peas in a pod, yet almost opposite personalities described him and you. You liking to read, and him liking to play sports and be outside. It didn’t stop you from following him around, him chuckling and ruffling your hair as you played a few games with him, or him hanging out with you at the library.

Of course, a lot of admirers from both sides were jealous because of the two of your closeness. You still politely refused the applicants of the love letters, and he, gaining more courage, stated that he wasn’t really interested in the gaggle of fawners who surrounded him. The two of you had constantly protected each other from unwanted bullies and too pushy one-sided interests while living your own lives.

It took longer than you’d like to admit, but you’ve gotten a part-time job as well as your license, him not wanting to be left behind, followed after. You forever had the image burned in your brain that Monday morning. He, waiting for you, sported a Letterman jacket, beat up sneakers, grinning wildly and proudly as he leaned against his new car. It was an older model, but you were proud of him, and plus, he was still doing things to your chest that you did not understand.

“Get in, Sugar, we’re goin’ fer a spin.” He smiled, holding up his new keys, and you couldn’t help but feel cicadas buzz gently within your stomach.

Prom was different. You weren’t really interested in going, and instead, the two of you spent the night at your house, baking cookies and listening to old songs on the radio. He smiled, wearing your mom’s apron as he swiveled to the music, causing you to laugh more than you should as he mimicked her, cursing about the neighborhood children and gushing about soap operas.

The tiny desserts ended up being burnt, his hair was wild, and the two of you were a laughing mess, reflecting childhood days.

By the end of the night, he looked like he wanted to say something before he left, but instead, gave you one of his warm, gooey smiles that made your heartbeat quicken.

……………..

College had a unique spin to it. Tests weren’t as frequent, but they were a bit harder. There were online classes, more deadlines, and yet, despite it all, nicer, calmer teachers. You, being an excellent student, earned your funding through the school. Of course you broke away from living at your parent’s house, and had to support yourself further by working, but it was worth it.

The dorm rooms were roomy, and your roommate, who was blessed with common courtesy, was kind and distant. He, attached to you at the hip, followed the same pattern, almost, except he’d chosen a different career. Oddly, he wanted to become a teacher, but the more you thought about it, the more you could see it. Always friendly, warm, and generous, an inner part of you knew that he was good around children, and it’d be a perfect career choice.

You yourself, only nineteen, had liked the idea of biology, studying animals and their habits. It also put the two of you in a lot of the same classes for the next four years. Despite studying, working, and worrying, the two of you had seemed to find extra time for each other. Granted it was more to study, but a lot of places were in the cafeteria, at the local coffee shops, and sometimes in your dorm room if your roommate was out. Within the four years before graduating, you’ve discovered more about your own feelings for the blond, and had secretly accepted them. You didn’t know of his own feelings towards you other than a very close friend, but you were surprised that he turned down popular, pretty people.

To say that you were relieved, was an understatement, but you couldn’t fathom why he’d turn down so many nice admirers. You’d accepted the fact that he might be asexual, or aromantic, and cherished him as your close friend no matter what the outcome might have been.

……………….

Graduation was celebrated with lots of laughter and cheer from both of you and your families. Not really having a place, the two of you, being really close, decided to rent together on a lease. Age twenty-three, the two of you had to struggle a bit to find jobs, but luckily, with his charm and endearing personality, it didn’t take him too long to land as a kindergarten teacher, and you, with your experiences and tenaciousness, landed in the science lab some miles over.

The two of you worked perfectly together, splitting bills and chores, making meals, it was almost as if the two of you were a couple, due to your wishful thinking. Which, to be fair, you thought and wondered a lot. What was the two of your relationship, what were you waiting for, and so on. It was growing on you, and you were feeling as if you had enough. Although not blaming him, you wanted to spend as much time at work as possible, staying away from the very being who made your heart soar and yet hurt from the questioning and pining.

He, being very keen, noticed immediately of your sudden absence. Going early and coming home later, eating briefly with that odd, distant look in your eyes as you joined in on his conversations, but it was as if you were replaced by something else. It was driving him mad, because in all of his years of knowing you, it didn’t add up.

One night, you came home to an odd sight. The table, although already set neatly, had your favorite dish set out on a platter. He sat there, pouring two glasses of wine as he stared at you.

“This ain’t like ya, Chickadee.” He stated bluntly, setting your glass near the platter, and you sighed, sitting down. Of course he’d notice, and although you felt guilty, you needed to give yourself space from the accepted, yet buzzing emotions welling within you.

“Ya wanna talk about it?” Was the silent plea, and you, caught off guard by the sheer hurt in his voice, found yourself nodding.

…………..

Present. The two of you, adults, sat at the table as he stared at you intently with a look of worry and hurt. He was your friend, and you guessed that it wouldn’t hurt to let loose your feelings, so he could know, and let you down, gently. Taking a breath, you started.

His eyes were widened, but he didn’t speak as you spoke. Letting the weight of your concerns and feelings be lifted off of your shoulders as you could only briefly make eye-contact. He was stunned, to say at least, but it’s what you’ve been feeling for years. As soon as you finished, you bravely stared at him, to drink in his reactions to your inner conflict. Swallowing thickly, he set his utensil down as he gave you a warm, heated stare.

“We’re both a lil’ dense, ain’t we, Sugar?”

You couldn’t help but nod a little as he stood up, walking over towards you to stare at you. It was your turn to look surprised, letting him cup your face, and lean in. Soft and warm, just like him, you couldn’t help but think as finally, finally, the two of you shared a kiss. The soft fluttering of butterflies within your stomach melted with a warm heat within your gut, surprising you in an instant as the two of you had broken away, him staring at you with a soft smile and a hot blush to his cheeks.

“Ya know how long I’ve been wantin’ to do that?” He asked rather shyly.

“Since we were eight?”

“Right on the nose. Ya as well?” He grinned, kissing your forehead gently at your nod.

“We gotta lotta talkin’ to do, but how ‘bout we start things proper with a date?”

You gently took his hand within yours, rubbing your thumb over the back in soft circles.

“Sounds perfect.”

………………

Short bc I had a 12k fic already done not too long ago, and this is for the crowd who just wanted fluff and cuteness.

#Taishiro Toyomitsu #Fatgum #Fatgum x reader #Like I had permission from a sweet artist to let me write the visuals in my other fic #And they gave me permission to post it on A03 #I was unsure about Tumblr so I left a link to my fanfic account

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dragonrajafanfiction · 4 years

Text

Dragon Dancer IV: Love is Death

Early morning, before the sun came up and the song of birds filled the crisp mountain air, the women inhabitants of the small Tibetan village passed by the temple singing religious texts as they made the thirty minute walk to the stream to fetch the day’s water. The line of them was composed of girls as young as fourteen and women as old as eighty-four. Looking at them was like looking at the same woman through time.

The sound of a ringing bell stopped them in their tracks. For them, the bell symbolized Buddha's voice. It called for the protection of heavenly deities and equaled the sound of the Dharma, the entity or law which sustained the order of things in the universe.

They stopped their daily walk, lowered themselves, and bowed, the large wooden buckets still on their backs.

Within the inner courtyard of the temple, the ringing came from the clash of metal on metal, the collision of two swords in the predawn dark wielded by shadows. Their forms flowed like ghosts, only the small puff of the dust of the ground indicated that they still were subject to the laws of gravity.

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

When I talked to people about Chu Zihang, they would mention his stoic, emotionless appearance and tight rigorous way of life. They called him a robot. From when he woke up in the morning, to what he ate during the day, to the position of his body when he slept at night everything in his life was geared toward a singular goal

While he yielded and allowed people their personal preferences, when it came to his own choices, moving him was like trying to move an oak tree.

As I sparred with him, however, his precision, speed and efficiency evoked in my mind the professional violinist. He never never hit a wrong note. Motion and breath were in concert. A thrust turned into a parry, a parry into a cut, as if following a score I couldn’t see but understood.

His sparring followed an internal logic. When I could follow it, I knew when to strike and when to retreat, keeping that precise distance that would allow me to reach him and prevent him from reaching me. Spinning like planets in orbit, I could feel our music and I smiled despite myself.

“Good.” He said, pausing as we separated. “You’ve improved.”

I leveled my sword at him. “That’s not a compliment coming from you.”

“I’ve been gone for months, and you’ve only gotten better.”

“That’s more like it.”

“I’m going to push you now.”

“Alright.”

Unlike Zihang, I hadn’t trained all my life to be a fighter. For Zihang, fighting was like breathing. Swinging a sword to him was like catching a fly in midair without looking. When he pushed, he broke out of the sheet music and became a jazz composer at the piano, banging out an improvisation that only he could follow.

My job was to turn off the classical music and try to keep up.

He shifted from the traditional Japanese swordplay, weaving strikes from Muy Thuy and kicks from Tae Kwon Do. His posture lured me in with the promise of the familiar steps we had just finished practicing, but it was a trap, always a trap. I examined how his open arm was a potential grapple, watched his feet to see where he might go and had to be prepared to be wrong. My heart pounded and my head filled with uncertainty.

There was no smiling now. He was no longer my dance partner. He was my enemy. He crowded me, eyes intently watching me, breaking down my every move into its component parts and precisely baffling my strategy before I could even move.

Frustrated, I kicked his instep, cut upward and forced him back, but he only retreated a single step, staying in range of Spider Fang’s sword point. I was going to go in for a thrust, but he was still there. I stopped millimeters before I could stab him in the chest, startling that he hadn’t moved out of the way like I expected.

A blow to my chest knocked me down, flat on my back, and I felt a sharp sting on my collarbone.

I opened my eyes, glaring at him. “What was that?! I could have killed you!”

“Probably the most important lesson you’re going to have to learn.” He stared down at me and offered his hand to help me up.

I felt at the sting and my fingertips came back red. “You want me to stab you?” I asked in disbelief.

I held up my bloody hand to him and he pulled me up. “Yes.”

“That’s kind of ... not the point of sparring you know.” I gave a nervous laugh. “You can’t be serious.”

“I know. But things are a little different now. Do you know why the Execution Department has a policy against couples going into battle together?”

“Because of the Greenland incident right? Something about that mission...” I said, holding my hand to my chest to slow the bleeding.

“That’s right. Anjou explained to me before our wedding. He said, ‘Love is the death of the dragonslayer.’“

We stood in the dark, talking in hushed tones. The temple would be waking up soon. The monks knew the secrets of the dragon clan of course, but we were unwilling to say too much lest the Gattusos somehow found their way here.

“Dragons can read the mind of a human to look for weaknesses. The first thing they hone in on by instinct is human love. It differs from their love, because their love is disposable. They’re willing to kill the people they love to get what they want. They understand that very few humans are willing to do that.”

“Anjou was willing to let me marry you because I killed Jormangandr, a dragon who turned herself into a human, followed me around since I was a boy, and made me love her.”

“Jormangandr took advantage of my feelings to the very end, trusting that, if she appeared to be the person I had fallen in love with, I would allow her to kill me. I played along.”

Zihang stepped forward, wrapped his arm around me in a hug, while I stood stiffly, restraining my taut emotions. The point of a blade against my back made me gasp. “I offered to hug her, just like this.”

The tip of the knife, the one I didn’t know he had hidden on himself, made my skin itch. “She fell for it. She was overconfident. She thought she knew that this was her opportunity to land a fatal blow. Because she knew by now that I loved her. So she hugged me. I stabbed her and she died... very painfully. I had to listen to her screaming, hold her as she struggled.”

I took a deep breath, taking in his scent. I hugged him back.

He kept the tip of the blade against my back even as he kissed the top of my head. “If I hadn’t... I wouldn’t be here. And neither would the world as we know it.”

“You nailed Susie to the floor... knowing who she was..." I said.

“You need to be able to kill me. Or I can’t take you with me, Meixiu. That mindless monster on the boat knew enough to try to use me as a shield against you. We’re going up against someone who can alter memories, peer into our hearts and see our deepest desires. It isn’t a matter of if.”

“You’ll kill me if you have to, right?” I asked him.

“Yes.”

I raised my head to look up at him. He lifted his hand and ran his thumb down my cheek.

“Then its only fair. That way, only one of us has to die.” I said.

“It’s easy to say. Let’s go again.” He let me go and walked away, lifting Tongzi against me.

“If I’m going to kill you, I’m not going to use this.” I turned the hilt of Spider Fang to him.

He lowered his sword and walked up to me to take the sword. Instead, I pulled the spear of light from the latent energy of the Chaos in the Void. It dazzled in the dark, lighting my face, giving off a soft hiss.

My heart quivered as I faced him, my expression sad. It wasn’t even the real thing, and yet it was. If I didn’t have a killing intent, then Zihang would view this spar as unsuccessful and wouldn’t let me go with him.

“I will kill you,” I said, feeling the tears rise. “I have to trust you not to die!”

I moved faster than the eye could follow. My spear left a blackened mark on the dirt where he stood but he was no longer there.

The spear turned and chased him.

Tongzi, the Alchemy long knife, could actually withstand the powerful energy in the Chaos Spear enough for it to repel. Zihang used it, smacking the tip of the spear away from his face.

One was not enough to kill him.

I summoned another to my side and sent it after him. They hovered, pointing at him from left and right. He held still, his ears listening. I squinted at him and decided on left first, since I was right handed.

The left spear dove in and the right followed quickly. Zihang moved back, raising the blade to parry them both. The spears bent around the blade and kept their trajectory. He jumped high enough to clear an eight foot fence and they followed him, one upward, the other anticipating where he would land.

He twisted in mid air and dodged them both.

I hissed and summoned a third after him.

He spun like a top striking all three.

The more I summoned, the harder they were to control. While two would move, aiming at his head and heart, the third would lag behind, forgotten in my mind until I gave it instructions.

Zihang immediately picked up on this. As soon as I attacked, one spear in front, the other behind, he dove behind the motionless third, using it as his own defense!

The Chaos spears of light collided and sent a shockwave through the courtyard.

I saw an opening. I summoned another, remotely, near to him. Sound was his only warning. He lashed out with Tongzi to stop it and the spear wrapped up the blade like a serpent. He dropped it and rolled away.

Were we done? I didn’t know. He didn’t say we were. I summoned a spear high in the air above him, a pinpoint of light, out of sight and then I summoned a dozen spears to ring him in a tight circle to keep him from moving.

In my mind, I gave the floating spear over head instructions to fall and let go of it, not altering the trajectory.

Zihang knew I couldn’t control all of these at once. He struck out at them, knocking two away and then turned to look for an attack from behind that didn’t come. I saw the flash of the whites of his eyes.

He looked up and I closed my eyes tightly shut. Everything in me screamed to stop the attack to vanish the spear coming down on him. My heart burned, the fire spreading to every limb.

A blast of intense heat was like a sunburn on every patch of skin not protected by clothing. I opened my eyes. “Zihang!”

The ground was smoldering, the dust black and sparkling with hot embers where he had been. I looked around until I saw him, pushing himself up from the ground to sit up.

I ran to him, collapsing into his arms, sobbing. “Are you okay? Did I hit you?”

“You came very close.” His shirt was split open, the skin underneath bleeding in a straight line.

Gasping, I covered my mouth with my hand.

He chuckled. “Sword of Damocles?”

“Yes...” I whimpered.

“You used Susie’s technique... the ring of blades.” He nodded once. He looked at my face, the tears there. He had to see how much I was trembling, like I would shake myself apart. If he hadn’t used Royal Fire to propel himself away, he would have died instantly.

The lights came on all over the temple and people were shouting.

He stood up, bringing me with him. I leaned against him. “Okay... let’s go... this probably woke up Ru’Yi.”

#Dragon Raja #Fanfiction #Writing #Chu Zihang #Johann Chu

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under-the-blue-sun · 4 years

Text

i know myself

summary: Dan huffed. "Look, Lester, I know what you're doing. You're taking pity on me and you're trying to help. It's nice. I get it. But I know myself, and I don't need your advice."

word count: 1571

rating: teen & up

warnings: slurs (p*nce), blood, bullying, fight

note: i just needed some cliche fluff to write to kill the time. i apologise for the mess you're about to read. slightly inspired by cavetown's song, advice. give it a listen if you haven't already! enjoy :)

read on ao3

"Hey, ponce!"

Blurry faces surrounded the boy before Phil even had time to think. A small, pale face peeked out behind their muscular thighs, his curly hair stained with blood and sweat. An orange football boot shoved it down, covering his face in even more dirt and blood. The biggest one slammed a bright red lunch tray hit him even harder.

"See you after school." the scrawny one sniggered, before they stalked away.

It made Phil sick. Sick at them for doing that to him, sick at himself for watching them do that and not doing anything, sick at the world for allowing people to do that to other people.

"Hey." Phil said, before he could stop himself. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah." the boy huffed, brushing the sandwich crumbs off his pants and the blood off his face.

"Are you new? Haven't seen you around." Phil said.

The boy picked up his tray and bottle.

"And you won't anymore." he said, and walked away before Phil could say anything else.

Phil stole a glance at the label on his drink bottle. Dan Howell.

It was at that moment when Phil decided he had found himself a new friend.

---

He saw Dan Howell again in the same spot outside the library with his lunch all over the floor.

"Did they shove you to the floor again?" Phil asked.

"No." Dan said. "I dropped my tray."

Phil nodded, even though he knew Dan was lying. "Okay."

Phil helped him clean it all up, and grabbed his drink bottle.

"How did you get all that blood on your face? From walking into a pole?" Phil said, as he handed the bottle to Dan.

Dan grabbed it quickly. "Yeah. Something like that."

Phil watched as Dan walked away, empty tray and bottle in hand.

"Hey, Howell!" Phil called out. "Got anyone to sit with?"

Dan didn't turn back.

---

Phil waited for a week before he talked to Dan again.

Phil smiled as he slammed his pile of books next to Dan. "Fancy seeing you here again."

Dan rolled his eyes and turned to look at Phil. "You again."

"I have a name, you know." Phil said, sticking out his hand. "Phil Lester."

Dan glanced at the hand before turning to his studying. Phil sighed and put his hand down.

"What are you studying?" Phil asked.

Dan huffed. "English. Look, Lester, I know what you're doing. You're taking pity on me and you're trying to help. It's nice. I get it. But I know myself, and I don't need your advice."

Phil nodded. "Alright."

Phil watched as Dan turned to study.

"Go away, Lester." Dan said, not turning.

"I actually need to study, though." Phil said, gesturing to his pile of textbooks.

Dan looked at him.

"What?" Phil said, grabbing his nearest textbook. "I also really need to study English."

Dan raised his eyebrow. "That's an Japanese textbook."

"Thank you for telling me." Phil said solemnly. "I have a lot of catching up to do."

---

"Got any new friends, Phil?"

Phil sighed. "I guess so. I don't think he really wants to be my friend, though."

"It's good you're trying." Mum said. "I know how sad you were after PJ and Martyn left. What's his name?"

"Dan. Dan Howell." Phil replied.

"That's a nice name." Mum beamed.

Phil shrugged. "Yeah, I guess."

Mum collapsed on the chair. "I give up on cooking. What pizza are we ordering this time?"

---

"Why do you wanna be my friend so bad?" Dan suddenly asked.

Phil bit his pencil. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Before you found out I cam here, you didn't step a foot in the library. Then, for two weeks in a row, you sit right here, right next to me, and you try to feed me food."

Phil shrugged. "I'm just trying to study here. Mint?"

Dan huffed. "Drop the act, Lester. What do you want from me?"

"Nothing!" Phil protested.

"I've been to three high schools. I know human teenagers don't try to get close to someone unless they have something to gain from it." Dan spat. "What do you want?"

Phil sighed. "I see those jerks bully you every day and it bugs me. What I want is for no one to go through that. No one deserves to be treated like a piece of meat, Howell. Even you."

"Lay off of me." Dan seethed. "You are not my mum."

"I don't need to be your mum to care about other people's wellbeing, Howell." Phil said.

"You're not my friend, either, Lester." Dan said, picking his textbook up. "So go the hell away."

"How about have a question from me, Howell? Why do you wanna not be my friend so bad? Am I doing something wrong? Or do you just not like me?"

Dan slammed the book on the desk. "You don't know shit about me. Shut the hell up and leave before I make you."

"Okay." Phil said. "See you around."

"No, you won't." Dan said.

Phil sighed and nodded, grabbing his books and heading home to his mum's terrible cooking.

---

"Good news, Phil." PJ said, over FaceTime. "I'm heading home for a bit."

"Really?" Phil said, grinning.

"Yeah." PJ smiled. "I can only chill on Sunday night, though. I already promised my parents for Saturday lunch and dinner. You know how they are."

"It's fine. There's the pop-up fair this weekend. Let's go to that." Phil suggested.

"Cool. Maybe I can meet your friend Dan?" PJ said.

Phil's smile immediately dropped. "No, he's busy."

PJ, sensing Phil's discomfort, nodded and changed topic immediately, and they talked for half an hour about narwhals before PJ had to hang up and Phil felt empty again.

---

"PJ!" Phil exclaimed.

PJ wrapped Phil in a tight hug. "Long time no see, Philly."

"So, how's university for you, Peej?" Phil asked, smirking. "Or should I say Doctor Peej?"

PJ rolled his eyes. "Oh, shut up. Haven't got my degree yet."

"Yet." Phil emphasized. "After you get it, I'm so calling you Doctor Peej."

The fair wasn't the classic American fair from high school teen movies, but it was good enough for England. As PJ said, England manages to make everything slightly drab, but their effort is cute.

"How are you so shit at literally the easiest game here?" PJ asked, shouting to be hard over the roar of the crowd.

"Shh, I'm trying my best." Phil shouted out, as he hit the exact middle between the two clowns which bounced off and hit him in the nose. "Ow!"

PJ sniggered. "This game's a bit too dangerous for you, Phil. Come on, let's go do something else."

Phil chuckled as stepped out of queue to let the 6-year-old behind him take the gun. PJ looked to the side and shook his head.

"And it wouldn't be a fair without the nerd being bullied by the jocks." PJ said, clicking his tongue.

Phil turned to see where PJ was looking at and froze. "That's Dan."

PJ's eyes widened. "Seriously?"

"Definitely." Phil replied.

"Are you sure?" PJ asked.

Phil nodded. "I'm certain."

After the tallest one took his last punch, the biggest one held him up by the neck and strangled him against the wall.

"Jesus Christ." PJ said.

"Come on, we have to help him." Phil said, running over to the site of the broken ferris wheel.

"Let him go, assholes." PJ yelled.

"Oh look, your boyfriends are here." the biggest one mocked.

"Oh, get a life, Smithson. Do you really have nothing better to do on a Sunday night?" Phil said, helping Dan up. "Bit sad, really. You'd almost think you guys are his boyfriends, with you wasting your nights over an obsession with a boy. Come on, Dan."

Phil lent a hand to help Dan up, but was pushed to the ground before Dan could get up. He brought his hand to his face, and realised that his nose was bleeding all over his shirt and denim jacket. He stumbled backwards, surprised, into the path of a police officer.

"Excuse me?" the officer said. "What do you think-"

She looked at the blood on his face, then at Smithson and the rest, who was already laughing and sprinting into the distance. She glanced at Dan and Phil, both covered in blood and bleeding all over the floor.

"Sorry, boys." she said, before she continued patrolling the area.

PJ sighed as he helped Dan and Phil up. "Are you two okay?"

"I'm okay, just bleeding a lot." Phil said, wiping the blood from his mouth. "Dan?"

Dan sighed as he felt around his neck. "I thought I told you to stop talking to me."

Phil looked down. "Sorry."

Dan shook his head. "I'm not mad."

"You're not?"

"No." He gave a small smile to Phil. "Thanks for helping me. Sorry for being such an asshole."

"It's okay." Phil said. "How about we spend the rest of the time here going on every ride and seeing which one makes us the sickest."

Dan grinned. "Sounds like a deal."

PJ smirked as he watched Dan flush as he held Phil's hand for a second longer than he should have.

"Maybe they were right about the boyfriend thing." PJ said aside to Phil.

Phil went red. "What?"

"I'm just saying." PJ said.

He had a feeling he was going to be hearing a lot more of this Dan Howell.

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amazingmsme · 5 years

Text

I’ll Be Your Piano

Living under the radar wasn't ideal; the never ending shuffle from place to place, the constant jeopardy of their lives, yes, running away from a government that only cared for the value of your chopped up body certainly made for a shitty, but interesting life. It seemed like around every corner was danger and excitement. New and familiar faces riddled their lives on the road, scrambling for all the help they could get. They were grateful for the safe houses along the way. It was nice to know that some people had a mind of their own, and one that had a good amount of human decency as well. That combination was hard to come by these days.

Connor and Risa had gotten close after everything they've been through. It was only natural to gravitate towards the people you've endured trauma with. They become like a strong tether to ground you back to the shambles of the earth. Risa and Connor are each other's tethers.

But with a life so eventful, it made the boring parts stick out like a sore thumb. The lack of anything to do was a perfect breeding ground for paranoia and boredom. Connor kept finding himself looking over his shoulder to make sure no one had found them. Risa kept pacing aimlessly through the small, empty house searching for something to occupy herself. Her fingers kept twitching, itching to play a piano, but the house didn't have so much as a keyboard. Connor picked up on it and smirked.

"Antsy, huh?" he spoke up from his spot on the couch, watching as she crossed the room to sit with him.

"Yeah..." she trailed off, leaning into him. "I just wish I had something to play to take my mind off everything." Connor sat up a little straighter to listen.

"I feel you, I feel like I've been going crazy lately, music might be nice," he said. She smiled sadly, "Too bad there are no instruments. I'd honestly love to hear you try and play a trumpet."

"Hey I'd rock a trumpet!" he defended himself, and brought his hands close to his mouth to mime playing a trumpet and making the accompanying sounds. She leaned back, laughter free flowing from her lips, and Connor felt himself fall even harder. He'd do anything to hear that laugh, to know he made her happy. "But I think I'd be more of a saxophone guy. That's the sexy instrument, right?"

She snickered and leaned back to look at him. "Didn't know you found instruments attractive," she teased. He put his hand on her face and lightly pushed her away, "You know what I mean!" She moved his hand away to glare at him playfully, but it didn't stop her from intertwining their fingers.

"Yeah I know," she said fondly, yet with a hint of sadness. Connor moved their hands and turned his palm up, taking her hand and moving it to his forearm. Her brows furrowed, "What are you doing?"

He shrugged, "Since you don't have a piano, I thought..." he trailed off.

"You could me my piano?" she finished for him. He smiled at him shyly and nodded. "Aww, that's so sweet!" She pecked a kiss to his cheek. "Anything special you want to hear?"

"You know that old 2000's song? The Black Parade?" he asked. Connor liked to consider himself a rebel, and considering the name he made for himself, he very much was one. So naturally, he was drawn to the alternative rock and stereotypical emo music of that era. She positioned herself sitting upright, her hands poised above his arm as if she were hovering above the keys. She closed her eyes, imagining the where each note fell.

"Alright, but if I play it, you have to sing."

"What?"

"You promised to be my instrument, so you make the music," she reasoned. He rolled his eyes, "Alright, fine."

G. The first note. Even though no music played, it still rang through Connor's head as clear as day. He was a little self conscious about singing in front of her, even though he knew she wouldn't judge. His voice was quiet and deep, with a soft tenderness Risa had never heard from him.

"When I was, a young boy, my father took me to the city, to see a marching band." He watched her fingers press into the skin on his arm, working from memory to play a silent song. She stopped about halfway through the song, her fingers coming to a stop.

"I can't remember the rest, and your arm doesn't give me much room to imagine the keys," she admitted, running a hand through her hair. Almost immediately, Connor laid on his back, patting his chest.

"Then let me give you a better piano, maestro," he looked up at her, wiggling his brows. She shoved his shoulder with a laugh, pushing him all the way down onto the cushions.

"Ok, but don't get any funny ideas," she warned pointedly. "Ms. Calding will probably be home soon." With that, she situated herself, letting her hands gently rest on his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breathing. "Anymore requests from the instrument?"

He thought for a moment before answering. "Maybe something classical? That's your favorite, right?" he asked. Her face lit up, "Right. How 'bout some Tchaikovsky?" He nodded and let his shoulders relax.

"Sure. Maybe if we get somewhere with service when we're on the road, we can listen to it." She liked the idea, but chose not to comment. Instead, her fingers barely pushed down as she played the opening chords. Even though she loved this piece, it just wasn't the same without a full orchestra. The song gradually grew in intensity, and her fingers moved faster.

Connor almost instantly regret his decision to offer up his body as a piano. He clenched his teeth and squeezed his eyes shut to keep the laughter at bay. If Risa found out he was ticklish, she'd never let him live it down and constantly use it against him. However, he wasn't doing a very good job hiding it.

"Are you okay? I didn't hurt you did I?" She was quick to make sure.

"Nonono, I'm fine, really!" He reassured her. She looked at him skeptically.

"I swear, if you're hiding another injury from me again-"

"I'm not!"

She went quiet, narrowing her eyes as though she were trying to see through steel. When he still didn't break, she rolled his shirt up slightly to check for any hidden bruises of scrapes. He let out a snort.

"Didn't believe me?"

"I do now," she said, letting go of his shirt and letting it fall to the middle of his stomach. She set to work again, fingers dancing the melody, picking up right where she left off. He couldn't help but to start squirming, and a few giggles started to slip out. Risa smiled, letting her hands move faster. She smirked as she asked, "Hey Connor, what's wrong? You're not ticklish, are you?" She knew the answer even if he didn't confirm it.

He shook his head, denying the obvious. "Nohoho," he tried his best to sound convincing. Risa wasn't buying any of it.

"Really? 'Cause your body language says otherwise," she stated. Her fingers worked up to his ribs, and he fought back a squeal. "Ribs make excellent piano keys, wouldn't you agree?" Connor did nothing but laugh and thrash around, shaking his head at the maddening sensation. "No? You don't think they do? Well what do you know, you don't play."

She then raked her nails from the top of his ribs all the way down. Connor arched his back with a shriek, kicking out his legs. "Y'know, when you first offered to be my piano I didn't think it would be as fun as actually playing, but I was wrong! This is so much better!" she cooed. She slowed down, listening to his laughter die off a bit. She walked her fingers up between each rib, leaving him twitchy and giggly.

"Risaaaa," he whined.

"Connorrrr," she mocked. She leant down, pressing their foreheads together as her hands continued their journey upward. His laughter got more breathy and frantic the longer she stared into his eyes. The anticipation kept growing, and it was killing him. She leaned farther, as if she was about to kiss him. Instead, she caught him off guard and targeted his neck, blowing a loud wet raspberry right below his jaw. At the same time, she dug into his underarms, causing him to clamp his arms to his sides. This only trapped them there, leaving him to writhe in ticklish agony. She took another deep breath and blew, and he hit the couch with his fist, unable to do anything else.

"Ihihit's soho bahahad!" he cried out when she brought one hand up to scratch behind his ear. His laughter went up an octave as he shook his head around, trying to do anything to lessen the sensation.

"Aaaaw, but you're so cute like this! Don't tell me the big bad Akron Awol can't handle a little tickling," Risa taunted him using the nickname given to him by the media. He managed to grab onto her wrist, but didn't push her away. Interesting.

"He can't!" he choked out between laughter, making her laugh.

"Oh really?" she asked, resting her hands on his stomach, letting him catch his breath. He nodded. She smirked, "Then we better keep this between us, shouldn't we?" She gave him a quick peck on the lips. Connor smiled into the kiss and pulled her back down. Her lips were slightly chapped and tasted sweet, and he savored every moment they shared. Risa wrapped her arms around him, drawing lazy designs on his tummy until he broke away into an adorable stream of giggles. She rested her head on his chest, watching as it bounced with laughter.

"You make a really good instrument, you know that Connor?"

"Ihihi do?"

She smiled and looked up at him, never stopping the simple doodles marked out on his belly. "Mhm. Your laugh is the most beautiful music I've ever heard." He grabbed her other hand and laced their fingers together.

"Then I'll be your piano."

#connor lassiter #risa ward #unwind #unwind fic #unwind tickle fic #ticklish!connor

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p-and-p-admin · 5 years

Photo

Interview given to The Severus Snape and Hermione Granger Shipping Fan Group. (sharing here Admin approved)

https://www.facebook.com/groups/199718373383293/

Hello Subversa and welcome to Behind the Quill, thank-you for letting us get to know you a little better.

Many of our members will be familiar with your stories which include This Time, Improbable Felicity and of course, The Love You Take.

Okay, let’s jump right in.

What's the story behind your pen name?

My tagline on LiveJournal was Subversive Subversions, and that kind of says it all about me. I like to stir the pot

Which Harry Potter character do you identify with the most?

I identify most with Hermione, the book-loving swot. Oddly enough, on the various Sorting tests I’ve taken, I always Sort into Ravenclaw. (Until I took the Pottermore test, where I Sorted into Slytherin; I blame years of living in Snape’s head).

Do you have a favourite genre to read?

I grew up reading voraciously. My first genre of choice was romance. As an adult, I began reading thriller/suspense books, and I really didn’t come back to reading romance until I began writing fanfic.

Do you have a favourite "classic" novel?

It would be a toss-up between Pride and Prejudice, Sense and Sensibility, and Jane Eyre. I see shades of SSHG in them all.

At what age did you start writing?

I took my first run at writing when I was eight years old. My parents, however, discouraged the idea of me being a writer, and even though I started a number of stories over the years, I never finished one until I began writing fanfic in my forties.

How did you get into writing fanfiction?

It was in April 2005, while I was impatiently waiting for HBP to be published. I was noodling around the Internet and I stumbled over Mugglenet. As I was gobbling up all the content, I found a link to their fanfiction.

I perused the genres, and under romance, I found the pairings. When I saw SSHG, I was horrified. So of course, I had to read something.

I read The Long Wait by ancientgirl, and I couldn’t stop. I was completely enchanted, and I thought to myself, “I could do this.” So I started writing Master of Enchantment.

I have to say that Potterverse, and specifically the SSHG fandom, became my obsession and occupied all my thoughts for several years. I pretty much read nothing but fanfic and did continual re-reads of the HP series during that time--this from a woman who previously read 3 novels a week.

What's the best theme you've ever come across in a fic? Is it a theme represented in your own works?

JKR may not know it, but her greatest creation is Severus Snape, the antagonistic protagonist.

I have always been driven by Snape’s plight. It is the theme I am most drawn to in stories I read. Over and over again through my years of active fanfic writing, I tried to give him redemption and the happiness he deserves.

What fandoms are you involved in other than Harry Potter?

I watched the birth and rise of the Sherlock BBC fandom on LiveJournal, and I saw a number of friends go over to that particular dark side. I read some of the fic, but was never tempted to write it.

As a favour to a friend, I wrote a Twilight fanfic story for a gift exchange on LiveJournal (it was awful).

So, Potterverse is really my only fandom.

If you could make one change to canon, what would it be? Do you have a favourite piece of fanon?

I basically hated book 7. The whole Deathly Hallows thing felt like something JKR introduced out of thin air. I hated the interminable camping trip. I hated the epilogue (except for “and he was probably the bravest man I ever knew”) and the idea that you must marry the person you crushed on in high school.

Mostly, of course, I hated the death of Snape.

So my change would be to have Snape survive, be vindicated in the eyes of the world, and live to earn the happiness he had never known before.

My favourite fanon thing is the myriad ways we have of making Snape survive Nagini’s attack.

Do you listen to music when you write or do you prefer quiet?

I always listen to music. Every piece I have ever written has its own soundtrack. I have piles of CDs from the time before I had an iPod, with the name of the current story I was writing scrawled on it in Sharpie. The longer pieces had soundtracks that evolved over the course of the story. There are songs that still pierce me with the memories of what I felt when I wrote. Music is an integral part of my process.

What are your favourite fanfictions of all time?

Wow. This is a hard question. I’m sure that any list I create will be missing an important story. Nevertheless, here are some, in no particular order:

Care of Magical Creatures

She Was Beautiful to Him

Guard... Check... Mate

Second Life

Big Name Death Eater

Marry a Choice

The Absinthe of Reason

I'll Never Take Advantage

Irresistible

The Bookshop

The Price of Madness

King of Swords

Denial

No Loyalty in the Moonlight

You Can't Have One Without The Other

The Language of Flowers

Are you a plotter or a pantser? How does that affect your writing process?

I am a total pantser. It means I can write myself into a corner and have to write myself out again.

What is your writing genre of choice?

Forever and always, romance. Often with a side of erotica.

Which of your stories are you most proud of? Why?

Transcendent Quality of Remembrance, because there were two timelines running and it was an intricate plot device. It is also one of the most heart-wrenching stories I’ve ever written.

Did it unfold as you imagined it or did you find the unexpected cropped up as you wrote? What did you learn from writing it?

I have to admit, the unexpected always crops up as I write. I’m one of those people who believe without apology in my Muse.

As for what I learned, I found that writing the entire story before trying to post it meant the story would hang together better without me having to write myself out of a corner. I probably went back and changed the first chapter seven or eight times due to developments in the plot.

How personal is the story to you, and do you think that made it harder or easier to write?

Everything I write is intensely personal to me. I am immersed in my story, and I feel every emotion. It is the only way I have ever written. I don’t think I could write something I didn’t feel. So it’s neither easier nor harder. It is what it is.

What books or authors have influenced you? How do you think that shows in your writing?

Georgette Heyer, who wrote a large number of Regency romances, was and is a huge influence on my writing. I think I absorbed her turns of phrase and plot devices and romantic hero figures through my skin. It absolutely shows in my writing.

Do people in your everyday life know you write fanfiction?

Not my coworkers or family outside of my husband and children. My best friend knows I write fanfic.

How true for you is the notion of "writing for yourself"?

For me, it’s the only way I can do it. I have to be consumed by the basic idea and let it live in me as I write. I write the stories I want to read about the subjects that fascinate and inspire me.

How important is it for you to interact with your audience? How do you engage with them? Just at the point of publishing? Through social media?

During my active fanfic writing years, I was immersed with my audience. At that time, SSHG Fandom pretty much lived in LiveJournal, and I was active there every day. I was not very good at answering reviews, but I tended to put author’s notes before and/or after chapters as a way of engaging with my readers.

What is the best advice you've received about writing?

To write the story I want to read. To fall in love with my protagonist.

What do you do when you hit writer's block?

Walk away from the computer and pick up a pen and pad of paper.

Has anything in real life trickled down into your writing?

Many, many things about my romance with my husband were fodder for the romances I’ve written.

Do you have any stories in the works? Can you give us a teaser?

I am striving to complete my first novel of original fiction. It’s the beginning of a trilogy. All have been written (first draft), and the first has been to a professional editor. I’m striving to complete a draft with her suggestions.

It’s about a swotty girl and her teacher. (shock)

They live in a magical world with conflict. (further shock)

There is lots of sex with a BDSM twist.

The protagonist is (in my heart) Severus Snape in disguise. He has his own brand of physical unattractiveness and a mesmerizing presence.

Any words of encouragement to other writers?

Write what’s in your heart. Use a good beta reader. Take constructive criticism in the spirit it is offered. Ignore trolls.

Thanks so much for giving us your time.

#fanfiction #fanfic #writing #severus snape #snape #pro snape #hermione granger #snamione

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redhairdontcare732 · 5 years

Text

Purple Rain: Sweet Pea x OC

Purple Rain

Sweet Pea's POV

“Remind me again why we're doing this Jones?”, I said as Fangs, Toni, Jughead, and I pulled up to his trailer.

“This is important Sweet Pea, Bea deserves to be involved too”, Jughead replied. “She lives for this kind of shit. You think you're a hot-head, well you haven't seen anything until you've seen Bea's temper” he chuckled.

“Can confirm”, Fangs said. “I had to hold her back from jumping a guy at the Wyrm because he whistled at her”. Toni and I chuckled as Jughead shook his head. “Seriously guys, she was like threatening to castrate him. I've never been more scared of a girl in my whole life!”.

I rolled my eyes, but followed them to his trailer anyways with a small smirk on my face. It was true; though she hadn't been here long, we’d all learned to steer clear of Bea when she became angry. I personally admired the hell out of her when she stood up for herself or her friends, not that I’d ever say that out loud.

Jughead walked into the trailer as the rest of us trailed in behind. As soon as the door was open the sound of loud music hit my ears, and the sight of Bea’s tall frame standing near the kitchen sink wearing only a pair of small pajama shorts and an oversized sweatshirt found my eyes. I felt my face unintentionally heat up at the sight of her long, thick legs in minimal clothes and immediately worked to control the thoughts that ran through my mind. Bea smiled at the four of us, soapy water covering her hands as she finished washing a set of dishes.

“Hey guys, what’s up?”, she asked, practically yelling over the music as she dried her hands on a nearby dishtowel.

“Are those my boxers?”, Jughead groaned, looking Bea over. She looked down at her attire and shrugged.

I used this moment to appraise her gorgeous frame once more, noting with dissatisfaction that she was indeed clad in a pair of men's boxers. I felt a wave of pure anger over take me, and I couldn't help but clench my fists at my sides. The thought of Bea with any man besides me made me physically ill, though I knew I had no right to feel that way.

“I feel like you want me to say yes, but that would be a lie”, she giggled, winking at her cousin. Jughead pretended to gag, causing Bea to laugh a bit harder and my jaw to tense uncomfortably as I tried not to wonder where she'd gotten them if not from Jones.

“Girl can you turn down the oldies, I can’t even hear myself think!”, Toni said, walking up to Bea and giving her a quick hug.

“Seriously, what even is this?”, Fangs complained. Bea stood, phone in hand, music lowered significantly, and jaw dropped.

“Are you kidding me Fangs?”, she exclaimed, placing her hands on her hips. “This is PRINCE you uncultured child”.

“Who?”, I asked, eyebrow raised. Bea put her hand over her heart in mock pain and gripped the counter with her other hand like she was about to faint. Jughead groaned.

“Oh good. Now you’ve gotten her started on this. We’re never going to hear the end of this guys, thanks”, he said exasperatedly.

“THIS IS PRINCE ROGERS NELSON AND YOU WILL ALL RESPECT HIM IN THIS HOUSE”, Bea cried dramatically. I chuckled a little at her fierce expression, wondering how one person could be so cute and so frightening at the same time. “You guys can’t seriously tell me that you’ve never listened to Prince before, he’s a national treasure! I can’t even, I just, ugh!”, she fumed.

“Sorry drama queen, but not all of us grew up in his backyard”, Jughead chuckled. She shook her head.

“That’s no excuse!”, she exclaimed. Toni smiled with pride.

“Hey I don’t know about these knuckleheads, but I have absolutely jammed out to Prince in my time”, Bea hugged her closely before leaning back and grabbing her face between her hands.

“Thank Jesus for you Topaz. I knew I could always count on you”, she said with such solemnity that I found myself chuckling.

“I can’t be the only one who has no idea what the hell we’re talking about”, Fangs said, turning to me. “Do you have any idea what the fuck they’re on about?”. I shrugged.

“Guessing this Prince guy is the one we’re currently listening to”, I said, feigning nonchalance. Bea looked between Fangs and I, her facial expression ranging from sadness to looking like she was going to smack the two of us. I secretly found it adorable.

“ ‘This Prince guy’”, Bea said mockingly, “is the single greatest artist in American musical history. I mean, he is quite literally the most brilliant musician in the last hundred years, easily. He’s progressive as fuck, his lyrics are pure god damned poetry, and his beats are…”

“...iconic”, Jughead chimed in at the end of her rant sarcastically. She narrowed her eyes at him. “Please Bea, I’ve heard this exact monologue at least 3 times. Although, you two should count yourselves lucky; when she lectured Archie last she also ended up smacking him upside the head”. Toni, Fangs, and I chuckled at the mental image while Bea simply shrugged passively.

“What kind of so called musician doesn’t know about Prince”, she stated remorselessly.

“To speed this lecture along, Prince is a singer”, Jughead started, as Bea smacked him upside the head, “Erm, musical artist, sorry, that was super popular in the late 80’s and 90’s. He's famously from Minnesota, and Bea is obsessed with him”. Bea nodded proudly.

“Duh. He's the best. When Dad shipped me off to Minnesota and I was all alone, Prince's music and movies are what got me through it”, she stated more softly than she did before. My heart tugged for her; though Bea was obviously fond of her temporary hometown in St. Paul (evidenced by the oversized University of Minnesota sweatshirt she wore currently) it made me feel strangely guilty that she was left without any friends or semblance of family for so long. This girl was going to be the death of my image if anyone found out about how soft she was making me. And we weren't even together for Christ's sake, it was becoming somewhat pathetic on my part.

“....it can wait Juggie, they have to listen to at least one song!”, I heard Bea cry as I shook my thoughts away and returned to the conversation at hand.

“Personally, I'm very interested in what has gotten our Bea so fired up”, Fangs offered. “What about you Sweets?”. I shrugged again, although I was definitely intrigued. Jughead sighed again.

“Fine, one song. Then we head to the Wyrm to talk about the protest”, he said finally. Bea narrowed her eyes.

“Full album or no deal”, she countered firmly, crossing her arms across her chest. Jughead crossed his arms too, and I internally snickered to myself as they stood in some kind of faceoff.

“One song, and I'll play Purple Rain next movie night”, he negotiated. Bea narrowed her eyes, and stuck her hand out for Jughead to shake.

“Deal”, she said with finality. Then she turned to Toni and her face broke out in her beautiful, ear splitting smile. “TT, you've known these doofuses way longer than me, so help me out here. What song is best to educate them with? Classic and soulful like Purple Rain, or upbeat and jammable like When Doves Cry?”.

“When Doves Cry for sure”, Toni answered quickly. Bea nodded, and grabbed her phone so she could find the song. I lost myself in watching the absolute joy and anticipation that graced her features. This girl had me so whipped it was insane.

Bea’s POV:

I bounced on my toes in anticipation as I searched my playlist for the correct song. I could not be more excited to share my love for Prince with my new little family. Prince was an ethereal artist that was so transcendent and iconic; it was beyond me how anyone could find fault with him. I selected the song, and as soon as the synthesized beats of the opening graced my ears, I smiled feeling complete. I began to bop along, and as Prince’s dulcet tones hit my ears with the opening lyric, I pointed to Toni.

“Dig if you will the picture

Of you and I engaged in a kiss

The sweat of your body covers me

Can you my darling

Can you picture this?”

I pointed to Toni and danced over to her to grab both of her hands in mine as I lip synced the words to her. She smiled widely.

“Dream if you can a courtyard

An ocean of violets in bloom

Animals strike curious poses

They feel the heat

The heat between me and you”

She reciprocated by lip syncing the next line and we both acted like morons, snapping vogue-esque poses as Prince sang. I giggled lightly and we both bopped around to the chorus.

“How can you just leave me standing?

Alone in a world that's so cold? (So cold)

Maybe I'm just too demanding

Maybe I'm just like my father too bold

Maybe you're just like my mother

She's never satisfied (She's never satisfied)

Why do we scream at each other

This is what it sounds like

When doves cry”

Turning to Sweet Pea and Fangs, I noted with pride that they both seemed to be enjoying the song. Fangs stood near Toni and I and appeared to be swaying and tapping his feet to the beat. Sweets, ever the cool guy, still stood with his arms crossed but I wasn’t fooled. His deep chocolate eyes betrayed his mirth and interest, and I could tell that he was much more intrigued than he cared to let on. I danced my way over to the pair and began lip syncing to them as well.

“Touch if you will my stomach

Feel how it trembles inside

You've got the butterflies all tied up

Don't make me chase you

Even doves have pride”

I pulled one of each of their hands in an attempt to get them to groove with me as TT had. Fangs followed willingly, but Sweets simply shook his head. I scoffed; of course Mr. Too Cool wouldn’t be caught dead dancing. I shook my head and began two-stepping goofily with Fangs.

“How can you just leave me standing?

Alone in a world so cold? (World so cold)

Maybe I'm just too demanding

Maybe I'm just like my father too bold

Maybe you're just like my mother

She's never satisfied (She's never satisfied)

Why do we scream at each other

This is what it sounds like

When doves cry

How can you just leave me standing?

Alone in a world that's so cold? (A world that's so cold)

Maybe I'm just too demanding (Maybe, maybe I'm like my father)

Maybe I'm just like my father too bold (Ya know he's too bold)

Maybe you're just like my mother (Maybe you're just like my mother)

She's never satisfied (She's never, never satisfied)

Why do we scream at each other (Why do we scream, why)

This is what it sounds like

When doves cry

When doves cry (Doves cry, doves cry)

When doves cry (Doves cry, doves cry)”

I laughed freely at Fangs as he spun me around the room, clearly as into the song as I knew that he’d be. I’d always loved that part of Fangs that wasn’t afraid to be exactly who he was, no matter how seemingly different from the tough guy image that he had. It was moments like these that reminded me why I had found it so easy to open up to him, in a completely platonic way. He never judged me for anything, and wasn’t scared to be goofy with me unlike some other serpents I knew. Speaking of tall, brooding serpents, I turned to Sweet Pea to gauge his reaction and was immediately confused. Though he hadn’t changed his position nearly at all, I noted that his handsome features were much more rigid than before and his usually chocolate eyes had turned a dark shade of nearly black, the mirth completely gone. I tossed a concerned look his way, and his posture seemed to relax a smidge. I smiled at him, all thoughts of Prince temporarily gone from my mind. The song ended, and I turned to the boys once more.

“Well?”, I asked giddily, head turning from Sweets to Fangs and back. Sweets seemed to soften even more as he smirked once more, an action that made my legs go embarrassingly weak for a moment. I matched his smirk with one of my own.

“I fucking loved that Bea”, Fangs interrupted. I (somewhat reluctantly) turned to him, beaming.

“Yeah that wasn’t too bad”, Sweet’s deep voice chuckled. I narrowed my eyes at him but softened slightly as he threw up his hands in mock defeat. That damned smirk was going to be the death of me. It was somewhat baffling to me that after all the guys I’d dated or hung out with that I could be so hung up on one that had never made a move on me. Sweets had this sort of undeniable pull on me; even now I was hanging on his every reaction, praying that he ended up loving Prince as much as I did. It was borderline pathetic.

“Great, so now that we’ve gotten that sorted, can we please go be productive”, Jughead practically whined, effectively pulling me from my thoughts. I rolled my eyes.

“Yes mother. Let me go change, and I’ll meet you all at the Wyrm”, I replied sardonically. I sighed; I love my cousin and all, but he was seriously such a buzzkill sometimes.

A few days later, Sweet Pea’s POV:

The promised day had finally come; it was the weekly movie night at Sunnyside that Bea and Jughead put on, and as planned, Jones was showing a movie by that Prince guy. The whole thing was pretty genius actually; Bea had come up with the idea of using old drive-in equipment to project movies against the trailers shortly after she moved back to Riverdale. She said it was purely to counter Jones’ excessive complaining about losing his old job, but she wasn’t fooling me. She was just as big of a movie nerd as Jughead, and she lived for the weekly showings. Tonight she was practically buzzing with excitement, as her self-proclaimed favorite movie was being screened. Serpents and, to my slight annoyance, a few Northsiders milled around on blankets on the chilly ground as Jones queued up the film. Bea sat snuggled up adorably against the side of an old couch that she always claimed was ‘her spot'. She was a notorious cuddler during movie nights, and whoever was lucky enough to claim the spot next to her on the tattered couch had the guarantee of her sharing both her blanket and her body for warmth. I usually made a nonchalant attempt to sit near her, but to my extreme annoyance, Toni was sitting in between the two of us on the couch. Bea was practically sitting on her lap with a blanket covering the three of us and her head on Toni's shoulder. I sat on the other side of Toni, silently wishing that it was my shoulder that she was leaning on and my legs that she tangled her long, thick thighs with. I longed to feel her soft heartbeat against my chest and smell the sweet scent of her shampoo as she quietly watched the movie.

Luckily for me, Topaz left our trio as soon as Cheryl showed up, vowing to come back even though Bea and I both knew that she wouldn't. Bea pouted slightly as she dismantled from Toni, and turned her beautiful blue eyes towards me with a hopeful expression. I rolled my eyes in fake annoyance and opened my arms to her, praying she couldn't hear how hard my heart thrummed with anticipation. She grinned cheesily as she scooted impossibly closer to me and snuggled her comparatively small frame into my side, legs thrown atop mine and arms around my waist. My hands found rest on her hips, and a lovely content sigh left her plump lips as she settled.

“You know you have a real problem with personal space”, I muttered good naturedly into her ear as the main title began to play. She turned her head up towards mine and smiled softly.

“Oh please, you know you love it”, she said lowly. I smirked at the way I felt her face heat up marginally, loving the effect I sometimes seemed to have on her. We remained intertwined for a while, watching the movie in a peaceful silence. She watched the film with rapt attention (though judging by the way she mouthed the words she'd seen it a fair few times) and I watched her mainly. The way her ocean blue eyes followed the characters and the way they twinkled and danced as a new song was played. I was mesmerized by her reactions, staying completely still for fear that this nearly perfect moment would be ruined.

“So tell me, why is this so important to you? I mean this goes way beyond just loving the guy's music Bea”, I murmured in her ear after a while. I felt her tense up slightly and my arms wrapped tighter around her, instinctively rubbing small circles on her clothed hip. She seemed to sigh, though the noise was so quiet that I almost missed it.

“When dad decided to run away to Minnesota, I had a really hard time at first. I was young and in a new place where I knew nobody and no one knew me. Other than the sketchy ass people that dad had in and out of our apartment whenever he decided to re-appear, I was completely lost and alone. Eventually I left dad, realizing that being homeless was better than living with that asshole…” she started as I felt my fist that wasn’t caressing her hip tense at the mention of her father. She’d made it clear before that there was no love lost between the two, but she’d never went into great detail about why that was before. I felt sick at the realization of what he’d done to her and the fact that she was now reliving it because of me.

“Bea, you don’t have to tell me”, I started to whisper, but she shook her head against my chest.

“It's okay Pea; I trust you and I want you to know”, she stated firmly. I felt my heart and stomach flutter at her admission, listening with rapt attention as she continued. “Anyways, it was coming up on winter time and my days of staying in playground tunnels was coming to an end. You all think Riverdale winters are cold, well you’ve never felt anything as cold as a Minnesota winter. I was scared and trying to figure out how I was going to survive the next few months. That’s when Shirley found me”, she smiled softly for the first time since she started explaining.

“Shirley was this badass, old tattooed cat lady that found me sleeping in a playground slide while she walked through Harriet Island park. She immediately scolded me for my lack of jacket in the late fall weather and my worn through converse, and took me away practically by my ear to a department store. She bought me new clothes and shoes and insisted that I stay with her. I lived with her for a few years before she ended up passing away, and in that time she turned me into the person I am now. She was fierce; she didn’t take shit from anyone and taught me to be just as tough. No fooling me though, she was a complete softie when it came to me; she always made sure I was fed and clothed and that I was actually going to school. She was my favorite person”, her voice cracked a little and I pulled her impossibly closer to my body, burying my face in her hair.

“Shirley loved Prince even more than me, if you can believe that”, she chuckled. “She always claimed that she inspired some of his music when she was younger and always had his old cassettes playing. I visited his old spots and became just as obsessed as her. Hell, I even always dreamed of having my first kiss be with Purple Rain playing in the background. It unfortunately wasn’t by the way, but hey a girl can dream! When she died, all of her stuff was given to her son that she hadn’t spoken to in years. He was a giant dick, and just ended up throwing it all away. I snuck back later and grabbed all her cassettes, knowing that if I didn’t she would probably roll over in her grave. Still have them”, she stated proudly. I laughed into her hair lightly.

“Anyways, it probably seems dumb, but whenever I listen to him I feel close to her again. The time I spent with her was the closest thing I had to a childhood. And besides, Prince is a god-damned American prodigy”, she concluded proudly. If it were at all possible, I felt even more attracted to her after hearing her story. I always knew that there was a certain darkness within her, a darkness that maybe could match my own. I wanted to speak up, to finally tell her how I felt about her. Even if she didn’t feel the same, I felt compelled to let her know the effect she had on me.

“Bea…”, I started softly, only to be shushed by her long slender finger being drawn to my lips. Her eyes were back on the screen, wide with attention and nostalgia.

“Shhhh Sweets. This is the best part of the movie, he’s going to perform Purple Rain”, she chidded quietly. “This part always makes me cry, so get ready tough guy”. I once again tightened my grip on her sides, and whispered in her ear.

“Don’t worry Bea, I’ve got you”.

Time Skip, a few days later, at the Quarry:

Bea’s POV:

I was the proudest mother hen in the world right now. Some serpents were hanging out at the quarry around a fire, just listening to music and pretending for a few hours that we were normal highschool kids and not the brooding tough gang members that we portrayed. It was Fang’s turn to choose the music, and to my extreme delight I’d heard a number of Prince’s singles in the mix of his usual stuff. I sat on a stump near the fire, beer in hand, just quietly taking in my surroundings when Purple Rain began playing softly. I smiled in contentment, memories flooding through my mind as I closed my eyes and began to sway slightly. I was snapped back to reality as I felt a hand gently make it's rest on my shoulder. I opened my eyes to see an uncharacteristically anxious looking Sweet Pea peering down at me. I raised a brow in question, and he cleared his throat before motioning to the edge of the trees.

“Walk with me a minute?”, he asked softly. Curious, I nodded and hopped up to follow the tall boy. We walked over to the mouth of the forest in companionable silence as the surrounding conversations faded from our ears and the music seemed louder than ever. I felt my heartbeat thud in my chest in anticipation of what the handsome boy wanted and hoped to every deity available that he couldn’t hear it. When we finally stopped walking, I looked up at him expectantly, wanting to search his deep chocolate eyes for answers but found that his eyes were cast downward. His posture was still tense, big hands fumbling with his rings, a sign to me that he was unusually ill at ease. I’d never seen him so uncomfortable. Almost without thinking, I grabbed his giant hand in mine and began smoothing out his rings out of pure concern. His eyes snapped to mine, and I smiled lightly in another attempt to calm his clearly troubled mind. His eyes remained dark and unreadable, and he cleared his throat once more before speaking.

“Bea… I have to tell you something”, he started. I nodded, hands still fumbling with his own.

“Of course Sweets, you can tell me anything”, I answered honestly. His eyes seemed to search mine, and though I was unaware of what he thought he was going to find I didn’t mind the excuse to trace his defined facial features with my eyes in the process. He seemed to find the answer he was looking for, and after a few seconds he spoke once again.

“Can you just close your eyes? Just for a second”, he asked, clarifying once he saw the confusion written on my face. I smiled softly, and complied, eyelids falling closed lightly. I wondered internally what had gotten the usually confident serpent so riled up.

I didn’t have to wonder long; mere seconds after my eyes closed I felt a pair of soft lips attach to my own. My eyes snapped open of their own accord as I struggled to comprehend what was going on. Sweet Pea, handsome, smart, wonderful Sweet Pea was kissing me. As my eyes snapped open, Pea moved back and detached himself from me. He looked even more disheveled than before, and immediately began sputtering apologies. It took me only a few seconds to process what had just happened, and as soon as I did I placed my hands on his chiseled jawline and closed the gap between our lips once more. Eyes closed, I savored the way his defined face felt under my fingers and the way his soft lips moved against mine. I’d long since dreamed of this exact moment, but even in my dreams his kisses had no comparison to what I was currently experiencing. His lips were impossibly soft and molded perfectly to mine. His face was smooth and strong under my careful caress, and I felt my stomach flutter at the way I felt his muscles twitch and then soften under my touch. I stepped up on my toes, selfishly pressing more of my body against his, in desperate need of more contact with his tall frame. Once he realized what was going on, his hands found their way to my hips and his mouth became more needy against mine. I moaned unintentionally into his mouth, moving my hands to rest in his long, raven locks as our embrace intensified. Eventually, needing to come up for air, I settled for resting my forehead against his. This was evidently not enough for Sweets, as he continued to place tender kisses against my jawline until he had worked his way up my face, leaving one last delicate kiss to my forehead. We stood for an immeasurably long time, foreheads against each others, hands softly exploring each other’s body while we both smiled with genuine happiness. It was my curiosity that eventually broke the peaceful silence we’d enjoyed.

“Not that I am in any way complaining, but what on Earth brought that on?”, I questioned gently. His smile widened fractionally, and he grabbed my hand in his as he led me back to the group. It seemed as though none of our friends had noted our absence, and I internally wondered how long we’d been gone. Our moment had felt like it had lasted an eternity, but in reality was probably only a few minutes long. Pea pulled me over to one of the blankets spread out on the ground, sitting down and pulling me to rest in-between his long legs. I readily nestled into his chest, my back resting on his sturdy frame, his fingers still intertwined with mine. I felt his chin come to rest on my shoulder and I inadvertently sighed, impossibly comfortable. We rested like this for a few moments, me not missing how Toni and Fangs eyed the two of us with knowing smiles. After a while I felt Sweet Pea’s deep voice tickle the shell of my ear and I shivered lightly, enjoying the way his chest vibrated lightly against my back as he spoke.

“You mentioned before that you always wanted your first kiss to be during Purple Rain. I heard Fangs start playing it, and I saw you sitting over there looking so beautiful and happy I just had to”, he said lowly. I turned my head slightly so I could look at him. He looked so sweet in this moment, eyes as light as I’d ever seen and face tinged lightly pink with his admission. “I know it wasn’t technically your first kiss, but I just thought, I dunno, maybe I could make up for whatever asshole didn’t make it everything you deserved”.

Unable to help myself, I snuggled myself into his neck as his hands left mine in order to protectively encircle me in his arms. I kissed his serpent tattoo gently, living for the way I felt him shiver under my touch and mentally filing that information away for later. I finally brought my lips up to his ear, whispering softly.

“So, if that was just making up for my first kiss, can I assume there will be more to follow?”, I whispered cheekily, my eyes looking up through my lashes to find his. His dark eyes lightened a shade and he smiled his real, genuine smile as his lips dipped down to murmur his reply into the crook of my neck.

“When the day turns into the last day of all time, I can say I hope you are in these arms of mine”, he quoted softly and I felt my insides melt in response. “If you'll have me doll, I hope that there will be many more”.

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deputyscreed · 5 years

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[iscariotsdeputy] 18. the one where whenever you get a song stuck in your head, it’s because your soulmate is singing it.

@iscariotsdeputy // ( soulmate prompts || always accepting )

18. the one where whenever you get a song stuck in your head, it’s because your soulmate is singing it.

Most people thought that getting songs stuck in one’shead was a rite of passage and a goodone at that. Creed never liked it. She was worried about causing problemsfor whoever was unlucky enough to be her soulmate. Growing up in a Christian orphanagewith church activities two to three times a week meant there was a lot of gospel music, required group singing, and there was onlyso much she could do about John 3:16. She wished she could send an apologytheir way to make up for it. As soon as she was old enough to age out of thesystem, she avoided most music that had lyrics. Classical tunes for studyingand when she wanted to relax or something jazzy. Songs with lyrics were limitedto when she went on runs or had a particularly hard workout planned at the gym.

She counts herself lucky that she has a soulmate withsimilar taste in music. The songs that get stuck in her head are classics. Alot of rock, some indie music –– a good mix. She worries that they may never meet.Some soulmates don’t ever cross paths and are limited to hearing what the otheris singing in their head. It’d be a lonely existence to know there was someoneout there that you never got to meet in person nor hear their voice foryourself. Creedtries not to think about it and goes about her life, and limits her singing toin the car or in the shower. She almost forgets about the whole soulmate thing exceptfor the occasional reminder whenever a particular tune gets stuck in her head.

It’s not until Hope County that she realizes she hadn’theard from her soulmate in a while, or vice versa. Maybe they got busy, likeshe’d been. The last time she sang was on the drive to Montana, weeks ago. Since then she’dlistened to music, but kept her voice to herself, staying fairly quiet as shesettled into things at the Hope County sheriff’s office. The other deputies aregood people. Her and Hudson get along, a mutual respect there when Hudson hearsabout how many years Creed worked the streets as a first responder. Pratt is alittle harder to impress, having been in the law enforcement gig longer than Creed, but still not as long as she’d been working. Creed pointed it out once,that when he was in high school she was already working an ambulance at the age ofeighteen and there was some tensionbut nothing outright hostile.

He wasn’t hard to get along with, none of them were,and truthfully, they did know more about being a deputy than she did even ifshe was older and had more street city experience of a different sort. Hudson trains with herthe most. Her shifts with Pratt are a lot less frequent, but it’s about a monthor two into working at the department that she realizes there’s songs stuck inher head again. They are getting more and more frequent and she’s relieved thatwhoever it is, is alive, but also a little taken aback by the onslaught ofclassic rock.

She’s at shift change, clocking in for the night whenshe hears Staci singing a tune as he walks out the doors. Creed can’t be surebut she would’ve sworn it was sweetdreams are made of these. Which would be a weird coincidence since thatsong had been stuck in her head for the past four days. Like a bad taste youcouldn’t get out of your mouth, her soulmate kept singing the damn song and atany second she was going to start singing it too. It’s got to be the nightshifts, the stress of the project, and her soulmate’s incessant singing that madeher hear Staci Pratt singing it –– imagineshe heard him singing it. Creed doesn’t say anything, works through the shift without any other tunes. Her soulmate must work days, and whenthe morning comes she opts to use the office shower to clean up beforegoing home. Despite the silence from her soulmate, sweet dreams is still there.

She has to get the song out of her head somehow so shestarts singing a song from her running playlist. Anything to get Sweet Dreams out. “Caffeine, small talk, wait out the plastic weather.” It’s moretalk-singing than actual singing, and she is careful to keep her voice soft soas not to bother the morning crew as they get ready for their day shift. The musichelps get Eurythmics out of her head and when she exits the bathroom, dressed down in her police academy issued sweats, she feels better. Which she can’t say thesame for Pratt who is looking at her like she’s grown a second head, or maybe his breakfast wasn’t sitting right.

It’s strange enough to get her to stop momentarily,glancing behind her to be sure he wasn’t looking at someone else. Nope, justher. Creed’s head swivels back towards him and she says, with a confused bump to the word, “Morning.” As she walks past his desk and towards the front doors. Prattwatches her the whole way with a conflicted look on his face that she can’tquite place. Creed gets into her jeep, ignoring the front window where Stacistands, lips moving, and at the same moment sweetdreams is back with a vengeance and Creed shouts in frustration –– thesound muffled by the interior of her car.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Her forehead hits the top of the steering wheel, willing the song out through physical means.

It doesn’t work.

#iscariotsdeputy#MAIL –– ( filled )#FILED UNDER –– ( drabbles )#// HELLO #thank you for sending one!#thekingsshield

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bookmawkish · 6 years

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I’m Not Getting Him, You’re Getting Him (Heckyl in the MCU)

a random piece of random for the lovely @worldoftherandom and no I don’t know where this came from, nor do I particularly care because it amuses me to write this rubbish XD

It is required listening while reading this fic.

https://youtube.com/watch?v=4G6QDNC4jPs

All the Heckyl in the MCU stuff

“We were having dinner.”

“Yes. You said that ten minutes ago.”

“And it’s still true.”

Clint Barton and Natasha Romanoff hurry along the sidewalk, doing (for those who don’t know them) a very believable impression of a perfectly normal couple trying to get home or into a taxi and out of the rain as quickly as possible. It is February, and the chill has been hanging over New York for weeks: the sort of cold that gets into the bones and leaves a person miserable.

Clint is doing a good job of being miserable, cold or not, and perhaps this time with good reason.

“This is exactly why I don’t bring my phone with me when I’m trying to relax. I take a couple of hours off, get dressed up, go out -”

“Is there something you know about Director Fury that suggests he is in any way bothered about your personal life?”

Clint gives this due consideration.

“I don’t want him to even think about my personal life,” he says, swerving to avoid a deluge of drips from an oversaturated restaurant awning, and peering down the next intersection. “Is it this one? 57th and Third?”

Natasha consults her own phone, and the co-ordinates sent to her. She nods. They pick up the pace.

It’s a little after eleven in the nightclub district, and while the restaurants may be starting to wind down, the dance clubs and the bars are just starting to get into full swing. As the Black Widow and Hawkeye head down the side street indicated by Fury’s note, they have to sidestep increasing numbers of people spilling out from any number of bright doorways: the thump of heavy bass can be not only heard, but felt underfoot. Clint pauses, rests his hand briefly on the wall underneath a virulent neon sign, and stares up, his face harshly lit in the green glare. Natasha reads it aloud: The High Voltage Room.

They’ve arrived.

There is a huge line of clubbers waiting to get in, much longer than at any of the other clubs. Word seems to be getting around, because more and more excited people seem to be flocking over as Clint and Natasha turn down the back access alley and start their assault from the rear.

“I’m not getting him,” Clint says, as Natasha gives him a quick boost up onto the back wall that seals the club’s kitchen and dumpsters off from the public alley. “You’re getting him. I‘ll provide backup. Or possibly just laugh from the sidelines.”

“You really don’t like him, do you?”

Clint disappears over and Natasha follows, landing silently. They find the door to the kitchens unlocked. Lucky.

“I don’t have to like him. It’s not in my contract.”

“You got a contract? Huh.”

Inside, the bass is not so much a sound now as it is a physical thing. It vibrates through the walls, the floor, every cell in the human body. Natasha frowns slightly as she navigates through the staff sections, dodging fry cooks and haggard-looking bar staff heading out for a smoke break. Be covert, Fury’s message had insisted. Don’t cause any more trouble than he already has. They are, of course, not seen, and being heard in this cacophony would be practically impossible. Then Natasha pushes a swing door, the noise intensifies to almost unbearable levels, rig lights swing to glare and flash into their faces, and they’re out into the main club.

According to the excited chatter of the cheerful clubbers that press in on all sides, it’s Classic Dance Night. As if Clint couldn’t have guessed. Not that classic club dance hits are his thing. Not at all. And he’ll tell you so quite emphatically if you ask. The place is packed to what seems like almost illegal capacity: it’s barely possible to move in the crush of bodies. Hot skin, sticky floor, sweat and overexcitement. And yet people are still coming in. There’s a general thrill of overwhelming anticipation across the crowd, and Clint rolls his eyes in exasperation that this is somehow his life. He’s picked up on the telltale overarching scent of ozone and heavy cinnamon smoke that’s lacing the whole room. And Natasha wonders why he doesn’t like him.

It’s Clint that spots him in the end - and he taps Natasha’s arm, pointing deliberately, before leaning in to her ear and shouting:

“Get him before he does it again. Then we can -”

His last two words fall, suddenly too loud, into an abrupt lull in the music.

“ - go home!”

There’s a brief, blessed moment of silence. Then the crowd roars, releasing their pent-up anticipation, as the intro to the next song begins.

I still hear your voice when you sleep next to me

I still feel your touch in my dreams

There’s a very small, almost perfectly circular clearing opening up in the very centre of the dance floor. Probably no more than a metre or so across. And in the very centre of that circle, there indeed is Heckyl, the Cause Of Nick Fury’s Ire, the Unwitting Ruination Of Dinner Dates, and apparently New York Clubland’s Most Wanted On A Rainy Friday Night.

He’s wearing a shriekingly neon blue singlet that is startlingly tight, and what Clint suspects are Loki’s leather trousers, plus - are those Nike Air Mags? Clint smells Tony all over this. Nobody sane can afford those. Plus, annoyingly, Heckyl is somehow making the whole ridiculous ensemble look good. He has his eyes closed, body hitching to the intro, sweat sheening his exposed skin, his expression beatific. God, Clint hopes he isn’t high. The idea of Heckyl on MDMA is just too horrific to contemplate. He gives Natasha an unsubtle shove in the back, and she glares at him, gesturing in front of her. The crush of the crowd has reached almost immovable levels. She can’t get through without stabbing someone, and judging by the look on her face she’s seriously considering it.

Forgive me my weakness but I don’t know why

Without you it’s hard to survive

Heckyl flings out an arm, and the crowd bellows again in renewed excitement. He flings out the other, and Clint groans inwardly as blue light begins to curl and pool in the alien’s palms. He knows this track and he’s pretty sure this is Heckyl’s regular performance piece, because, yeah, as soon as the main song refrain powers on in, here it comes -

‘Cause every time we touch I get this feeling

And every time we kiss I swear I could fly

Heckyl’s eyes snap open, glowing blue-white from within. His whole body wreathes in lightning, snapping and flickering over every inch of him, gathering and intensifying in his out-thrown palms until it seems to get too much for him to control: it overloads and arcs out in long, crackling lines across the crowd, who are screaming and dancing and crushing in even more. Clint’s hair stands on end as the spreading tendrils of Heckyl’s power burns over him, his entire body tingling with mild electric shock, then it’s gone, conducting out into more people and the floor and the ceiling.

The lighting rig is shocked into overdrive, the lights suddenly much brighter, flashing faster. Bulbs pop in twenty places. The giant disco ball, rotating in illuminated glory high above, takes the brunt of it all and explodes into gleaming, electrified dust, showering the crowd in mercifully harmless glimmering sequined plastic pieces. The crowd, if it’s possible, goes even more crazy, dancing harder and faster and pressing in closer against Heckyl until he’s almost lost to sight in the swarm.

Natasha elbows Clint and leans in.

“I’m not getting him,” she shouts. “You get him.”

Clint, watching the undulating, joyful crowd in a kind of awe, shakes his head solemnly.

“Man’s got his Cascada on,” he says. “You don’t interrupt a man mid-Cascada.”

#power rangers fanfic #MCU #avengers family #Heckyl #heckyl/loki #power rangers dino charge #dino supercharge #Power Rangers #clint barton #natasha romanoff #hawkeye #black widow #cascada #clubbing #crack #crossover #MY OTP IS PERFECT #Avengers #why am i like this

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blazingtheway · 3 years

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Through the Looking Glass – Storyline 8 – Together - Part Six

Continuing on from...

↬ Embry Call ↫ Of course, Leah would disagree with us saying she should laugh more, she liked to hide certain parts of herself… and that type of laughing was one that opened you up to people; if they looked closely enough, they could catch a glimpse of something you didn't expect to reveal. I didn't know much of the tribe’s language out of my own stupid, childhood stubbornness. But I had heard that one from #Sam back in the day enough times to know it wasn't flattering. #Tony gave me a look as if to ask what that meant, and I shrugged. I wasn't about to risk messing up the translation in front of these three. "You don't want to know." I chuckled. I looked at #Tony and then Leah giving her a knowing smile. She knew, I was never one for subtlety and it just wasn't something that could be helped. Unless you were related to her there was no denying that Leah was a lot of fun to look at, but we all knew there was a whole lot more to this woman than what you saw. Lately, I was learning that ran so much deeper than I ever imagined. “Leah here actually has pretty good taste in music. I haven’t found a flaw yet…” I narrowed my eyes at her in a mock threat. “But I will.” I had to admit that her Rachel Platten albums weren’t exactly to my taste, but they meant something to her. And that fact alone lent deeper meaning to the songs for me too, and really… wasn’t that the definition of good taste? Finding a true meaning in the sounds and the words. I almost choked on a laugh when she suggested a musical number. “You know I don’t sing!” I smirked at her. “Do you really want me to empty this place out before the night even starts?” ‘That’s not how #Quil tells it!’ #Seth laughed. “I sang to Bear when she was little and only when she was sick. That doesn’t count!” But Leah had that look on her face. The lines drawn on the board below the words ᴍᴇʀᴍᴀɪᴅ ꜱᴘᴜɴᴋ. I smirked; they weren’t going to sell. Maybe I was more competitive than I would like to admit, I could feel every eye in the room trained on us. I kept my eyes locked on hers, still showing glimpses of something more. “Okay! I’m in! But you can’t tell people about the bet to boost sales. The women in this town would do anything to get me on stage and the boys too.” They would know I meant the pack. “And if you don’t hit ten you sing on Monday. Right?” I smirked and took her hand in a firm grip, not letting go until she agreed. ↬ Leah Clearwater ↫ I didn’t need to see Call’s eyes to know that ‘Nope I’m not taking that’ look he was giving #Tony to understand. I knew he’d never taken to learn the tribe’s words, the guys found it hard to do so. I knew if he could #Seth would have passed on learning too as a kid, but our grandmother had taken it on herself to not communicate with us in any other way. So, if we wanted to talk with her, we had no choice but use the tribe’s tongue. “Let me translate it for you Tony.” I smirked looking between the guys all stood beside the bar. “Golagi nigesvna means he is an Idiot, then there is Nudanvdvna which means he is a fool. There is also Nigolagvna which means Stupid” My finger moved from #Mac, to #Seth and then finally landed on Call with a grin. “The list keeps going on, I could come up with a lot more well thought out names for the three of them Tony.” I smirked as I said it. ‘Hey! What did I do?’ #Seth gave me his big puppy eyes, with a puckered lip making me look down to the bar with a shake of my head. “Keep that up kid and I will smack you over the side of your head.” My attention moved back to Call. “Pretty good? Man, you don’t even know the half of it. I could give you a run for your money Call, in more ways than one.” My taste in music was vast, it didn’t stay within the categories that people picked. I wasn’t ‘one or the other’. My taste moved across the full spectrum from hip-hop, to country, to even the old school stuff. I liked songs from across the board, classical, old, new, rap, country. If it was good, and the words and the melody spoke to me. It was listed. Call then took a hold of my hand

and I shook it. He didn’t let go and his eyes were on mine again. I’d never really paid much attention to his eyes, but these days it was all I could see. He locked people in, and I was sure everybody must find it hard to pull away from them when that happened. “You’re always so full of yourself. Because the Girls can’t get enough of what Call has to offer right?” I teased sarcasm dripping in my voice. The truth was that every member of the pack had this air about them, we knew we were good at what we did, and with Call and me especially, modesty was just a waste of time. I kind of liked his no BS towards his playing because he was good. Clearing my throat, I squeezed his hand. “I don’t need to boost the sales, I’m that good just by myself.” But it was the clarification he made a point of making that had me stood still. If I lost, he expected me to get on stage? My eyes flickered to #Mac who was watching all of this with #Tony, but #Seth was the one to speak. ‘I’ll take the forfeit for #HWH.’ My kid brother was trying to protect me in the best way he could. But what he’d forgotten was that it was my job to protect him. I shook my head to him. “Ten 𝙈𝙚𝙧𝙢𝙖𝙞𝙙 𝙎𝙥𝙪𝙣𝙠cocktails to be sold, no talk of the bet and no telling the customers of the outcome. But that also means, you cannot talk people out of buying them too Call. Also, to make it fair. One on One... I will be the only one selling the drinks. Seth and Mac can’t push the drinks too. 𝙒𝙝𝙚𝙣 I win… You are up there—” I pointed towards the stage with my free hand. “—And 𝙄𝙛 you by any off-chance slide by the finishing line... I will be up there.” Shaking his hand again I tugged to free myself from his hold. ↬ Embry Call ↫ I shook my head as she explained the words to #Tony, he was never going to remember them. He was blushing again when Leah's attention was on him. That boy was a mess. #Seth was trying to use his puppy dog eyes on Leah... they didn't work nearly as often as they used to when he was a kid. “Oh, she could… and has come up with very creative names for all of us!” I scoffed. I would be lying if I said I hadn’t been shocked at how wide open her taste in music was. Growing up like I did… I was surrounded by all kinds of music. Mom filled the house with it constantly, all kinds, and all genres. She didn’t care what people thought of the 𝙢𝙞𝙨𝙢𝙖𝙩𝙘𝙝𝙚𝙙styles… Like me. I had no issues leaving musical soundtracks next to my classic rock for all to see. And the pups had learned long ago that, try as they might I had no shame when it came to what I listened too. Her sarcasm was sharp as a blade, I smiled. Just how I liked it, that tone was 100% Leah Clearwater. I felt the worry that things wouldn’t ever be the same after she knew my secrets fade away. And here we were, and she was sniping at me like I was the same person she knew all her life. It sounded counter-intuitive, but it was the best outcome; I didn’t want her to see me differently so this… this was just more proof the Leah really was the Beta we all desperately needed. She was the leader we all would desperately need soon. She was the friend we all needed but never knew we had. She kept her eyes on mine longer than I thought she would, again. “C’mon we all know it’s true.” I boasted. ‘I’ve seen Call in action… He definitely has a way with the ladies.’ #Tony tried to put on a little bravado, but his round face just flushed pink again. ‘We’ve all seen Call in action.’ #Seth rolled his eyes; I knew he was talking about a lot more than just seeing me pick up girls in the bar. The pack had front-row seats to my memories… and I wasn’t shy. ‘Yeah… far too often!’ #Mac agreed but the look on #Seth’s face said, ‘𝙔𝙤𝙪 𝙙𝙤𝙣’𝙩 𝙠𝙣𝙤𝙬 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙝𝙖𝙡𝙛 𝙤𝙛 𝙞𝙩’. I smirked when she clarified that I couldn’t talk people out of buying them either. “I’m highly offended, Clearwater, like I would do such a thing.” I smirked and all the while plots were forming in my mind.

↬Leah Clearwater ↫ I rolled my eyes, but we were all laughing at Call’s comment, about the nicknames. And it was fresh coming from him. He was the one in the pack who gave everybody nicknames the moment he met them. I just found colourful ways not to use names. #Mac shifted to lean on the bar, but before he did, he clapped #Tony on the back. ‘Leah doesn’t do too badly herself. The harder she lets them down. The more they seem to want her.’ I rolled my eyes at him. “Are you saying I need to change tactics here? Become all soft and bat my eyelashes like the shorties do with you and #Seth?” #Mac just jabbed his thumb towards #Tony and his red face. ‘Seems like both will get you more than what you want Lee.’ He winked and started to hum ‘Another one bites the dust.’ Then ducked his head away. But I’d not even reached out. If I wanted to smack his head, I would have. But I was intrigued by the red-faced man wishing the ground would swallow him up. “Relax Ton, if you don’t get your arse teased every ten seconds in this place. It means you’re on the 𝙤𝙪𝙩𝙨. It’s clear here you are in. No matter if you wanted it or not. #Tony laughed and shrugged his shoulders at me, fidgeting with his shirt. ‘I could think of worse places to be, and you guys are kind of fun.’ I saw the look #Seth was giving Call, and again no words were needed. I could read the kid’s expressions without him needing to part his lips. Shaking my head, I lent on the bar again, my arms crossed under my chest. “You forget I know you Call, 𝘾𝙝𝙚𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙜may be the wrong word. But if I see you mess with the outcome, by the Spirits.. You know I will make you pay.” A glint of daring in my eyes. It was always more fun when they all misbehaved, gave me an open season on kicking their arses. And the Moms had no issues with me setting their 𝙗𝙤𝙮𝙨 in line. ‘You are really going to do this? Get up on stage and sing?’ #Mac looked scared and proud all at the same time. And #Seth just looked uncomfortable for me. The kid knew what it meant for me to keep certain parts of my life to myself. “That would imply that I plan on losing. Do you not know me at all Marcus Knight?” I gave him a raised eyebrow. ‘You know she means business when she starts to use our real names.’ #Seth stage whispered to #Tony, earning him a real smack up the side of his head. ‘Hey! Just telling it how it is. Call and Mac will vouch for me here.’ “Yeah, sure. Whatever. Now what’s next or are we ready to go here?” I pushed back from the bar, getting the cloth to wipe the tops down. My eyes flicked back to Call again, and how easy this was. After all, said and done, after all he’d learnt about me and witnessed in the last weeks. He was still here. Still helping and still keeping my secrets to himself. ‘Igvyi Galuga Howa ayelvdi ( First comes trust ) Leah. It seems to me that ↬ Embry Call ↫ Call has passed this test.’ ↬ Embry Call ↫ I shook my head at her comment about the 𝙎𝙝𝙤𝙧𝙩𝙞𝙚𝙨again. It was pretty hard to find a girl that was close to my height; even in heels, most were lucky to come up to my nose. “You know I’m not exclusively into short chick’s right? When you’re six-four it’s pretty impossible to find a girl that doesn’t look short next to me. Even you.” I smirked at Leah and quickly added. “And you’re definitely not a 𝙨𝙝𝙤𝙧𝙩𝙮!” I laughed. I tried not to chuckle at #Tony but the guy had zero poker face. “𝙉𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙧play poker Ton… You don’t have a chance!” I teased him. “And hell, yes he’s in!!” I clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Just wait until you hear him sing! He is popular everywhere he goes!” I raised my hands and stopped my internal plotting. She seemed to be reading my mind right now, I could plot later. #Mac was watching Leah… But my eyes were on #Seth and I wondered why he looked… Apprehensive? He loved watching his sister lose a bet… but the kid looked a little shifty. “I dunno she calls me 𝙀𝙢𝙗𝙧𝙮 𝙁𝙪𝙘𝙠𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝘾𝙖𝙡𝙡 so often; I’ve forgotten what my real middle name is!” I laughed again; and again, I was struck by how so

little changed in the way we interacted, after she found out what I really was… or used to be, at least. Things had changed a little between us though, but I was putting that down to the secret she had told me and my decision to stand by her… and everything she did for my mother. “So, guys how long till you open?” I asked and turned to #Tony and clapped my hands together, rubbing them like an over-excited kid. “I think it might be time for a soundcheck #Tony? Let these guys see what they’re in for when you come back to play?” ‘You want me to sing? Here?’ He looked back at the stage and then to Leah. ‘Ri-right now?”

↬ Leah Clearwater ↫ “Shorties, Gym Bunnies, Hikers, chicks who are easily charmed by your wise arse ‘Art of Conversation’. At the end of the day you got to make the most of the small pool of talent that is on offer to you I guess.” I was smirking as I said it. There was no shame in his game. The Spirits, I wasn’t one to judge him or anybody. There were plenty of people here on the Rez to do that for us. But it didn’t stop me from teasing the likes of Call and the pups about their 𝘾𝙧𝙖𝙯𝙮𝙯, and how they were the Magnets for the chicks who seemed to become trapped in their honey jars. ‘So—’ #Tony pointed to me and Call and then back again. And I frowned looking at Call and then him. “So?” I asked him, but #Mac was laughing from having cottoned onto what #Tony was trying to say. ‘So, Call isn’t your type?’ I would have choked if I had been drinking something. #Seth all but fell over laughing and I rolled my eyes shaking my head. “Nope! No. No way.” My hand moved in a circle over ↬ Embry Call ↫ ’s face. “This is not something I would take home. I have brains, and I’m not into this Magic Mike XXL look.” I stopped talking as I saw the look in #Tony’s eyes change. “The Spirits” I muttered under my breath, ↬Embry Call ↫was right. ( Not that I would tell him. ) #Tony was the sort of guy who really shouldn’t play poker 𝙀𝙫𝙚𝙧!! I clarified quickly. “And, I’m not the dating type. On top of that I don’t see guys from within a fifty-mile radius of my house.” Knowing full well that would knock Port off the map too. Before anybody could get in their smart arse comment I smirked at ↬ Embry Call ↫ . “Oh, wow. Did Ms. C not tell you? She changed your middle name for you. It’s now completely official man. 𝙀𝙢𝙗𝙧𝙮 𝙁𝙪𝙘𝙠𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝘾𝙖𝙡𝙡 is what is on your legal documents.” Pushing back to look at my phone as it buzzed. “We have an hour to go.” Looking back to #Tony as he was glancing at me. “Sure, go for it Tony. It’s kind of perfect for you to be the first to use that set up.” Pointing my phone over to the stage. “And, you know Call here could help you test it all out too.” I stepped away to read the message; 𝙵𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝙻𝚞𝚌𝚔𝚢: 𝙴𝚛𝚒𝚔 𝚒𝚜 𝚘𝚏𝚏𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚛𝚒𝚙𝚕𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚏𝚒𝚛𝚜𝚝 𝚘𝚏𝚏𝚎𝚛. 𝚃𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚔 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚒𝚝, 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚜𝚎𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚞𝚙. Out of the side of my eye I saw Call laughing and joking with the guys, and then my wolf showed me a flash from the locker room in Seattle. Call was sat cleaning blood off my face holding his hand up to show me. ‘𝙏𝙝𝙚𝙨𝙚 𝙝𝙖𝙣𝙙𝙨 𝙖𝙧𝙚𝙣’𝙩 𝙢𝙖𝙙𝙚 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙛𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙜.’ She then flashed forward to my fist hitting #Tom in his face, the sound of his nose shattering under the force of my fist, the way I lost control of myself in that split second of time. This was the guy who’d stepped up in a moment when I didn’t think I needed him to show me something I wasn’t ready to see. And then he’d shown up on my door days later to tell me his dark past. I replied. 𝚃𝚘 𝙻𝚞𝚌𝚔𝚢: 𝙽𝚘 𝙳𝚎𝚊𝚕 – 𝙻 I could hear the guy’s egging #Tony on to do his thing and I moved around the bar and onto the main floor. The cleaning crew had done a good job, but the stage setup made a little mess that needed to be sorted. #Mac walked into the back and returned with the broom in hand and winked at me. ‘I got this’ He said as he started to sweep up the floor. I didn’t fight him on this one and started to move the tables back into place and pulling the chairs down to set them right.

TBC...

#LeahClearwater #Leah #HotHeadSheWolf #SpiritsHotHead #EmbryCall #Embry #BADBOYEMBRYCALL #Twilight #TwilightRP #TwiRP #AUStories

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the-lisbyth-project-blog · 5 years

Text

Grief: A Story; A Reality

The cold air whipped against my face, I shivered despite the rush of adrenaline coursing through me. I jumped on the first person I saw entering the building - a stout woman that I could never recall the name of.

She eyes me warily as I bore down on her.

“Can you please let me in the building. I’m not sure if you remember me, but I’m Kim’s girlfriend. She isn’t answering her phone, and I’m worried.”

The woman eyed me anxiously, trying to ascertain if I was there to do harm. Despite her misgivings, she led me up the stairwell, and to the fourth-floor room, I had been standing before, waiting, for years now.

My knuckles rang a steady bass, the sound ringing out throughout the empty hallway. No answer. I pressed my ear flat against the door. Nothing.

“Kim?” Another series of knocks, this time louder.

Nothing.

“Kim, baby, can you hear me? It’s time to get up. I’m getting nervous.” Knocks ringing out, louder and louder, frantic now.

“Please answer. If you don’t want to see me, please just let me know you’re alive.” I called, my voice shaking.

I closed my eyes and resolved myself to what I was just about to have to do. I leaned in slightly and took a tentative breath in, smelling for death.

I turned to my anxious guide, and her eyes grew wide as I said, “Well I can’t smell anything so she’s not dead in there, at least not for long.”

Finally I heard rustling in the room beyond. “Kim?” A groan answered this time.

My hallway companion crept backward, clearly ready to leave as fast as possible. I had scared her with my smelling, but still clearly wanted to make sure I was not a psychopath, she hovered. Finally, Kimrenee was there, creaking the door open. It opened less than an inch. A swollen, bloodshot eye stared back at me. Great, now this lady must really think I’m beating the shit out of her.

She didn’t want to open the door any further. She was ashamed.

“Hey.” She said, her eyes downcast, waiting for any signs of judgment, of disgust or unattraction.

“Hi.” I said in response, my lips quirking up for the first time in over an hour. “Can I come in?” I asked softly.

She nodded her assent, still apprehensive. Her nosy neighbor had gotten the hint, and finally made the exit she was so anxious to make. With her leave, the door swung open wider, allowing me entrance. I shut the door, quick and hard, before I fell apart. I grasped onto her, nearly hanging from her fragile frame. “Ow.” She mumbled through my shirt. I eased my grip slightly, pulling her closer still, sobs racking my body.

She laughed, surprised by my reaction, and I cried harder still. How long did I have now? Days? Weeks? Months maybe? I could see the end of Kimrenee creeping closer. Why had I always doubted the seriousness of what she told me? How could I have been so blind? Moments flashed before my eyes, of conversations throughout the years. Moments that I hadn’t believed. It suddenly all came painfully back into focus. The love she had for me. Her health issues. Her past that she’d trusted me to divulge. Suddenly all of these things that I had once thought to be lies were painfully proven true. It was painfully ironic that after years of wishing that I could believe her feelings sincere, that this was the way it had to come about. I pulled her closer still.

“I love you. I love you so much.” I gasped.

She pulled back, holding my face between her own small hands. Our eyes locked, the same way they had from the moment we’d met. We searched for the truth there, in that small moment. There in our silent communication was a welcoming home, an undeniable, uncontrollable love, a thousand apologies for a past that we could no longer change, relief at our ability to finally show the truth, comfort at the proximity - quenching a need that haunted my waking moments from miles away. And there, in the background, I could see it - a sadness there. A goodbye.

______________________________________________________________

The train chugged happily along, oblivious to my nerves. I should be more nervous about the court date I was on my way to attend. Still, the prospect of jail couldn’t compare to my proximity to Kimrenee. Why had I asked that she come with me? My hands shook in my lap, and I pressed them down until my fingers turned white, to better hide my nerves from my companion. I glanced out the window as the city fell further behind us. I’d always loved the train, with it’s soothing rocking motion and the beautifully picturesque scenery from the city skylines to the serene waters of the river. Even the old industrial buildings were beautiful. In them, I could see a time that no longer was, and contemplated who sat on these trains, on this very track, all those years ago. Did they too feel what I was feeling now?

Kimrenee was distractingly close to me. I could feel her legs bump into mine as the train moved quickly over bumps and hills. The urge to reach out and run a finger over the top of her hand was so strong, I had to actively restrain myself. I moved my shaking hands from my lap and pressed them between my legs and the seat. Kimrenee, oblivious to my inner turmoil had her headphones in and was quietly singing along to each song that she played. She scooted closer, and I closed my eyes against the feel of her pressed entirely up against me. This is so bad. I thought to myself. She’s thirty years your senior. You’re both in a halfway house. She’s in a relationship with a man. She will never feel the same way as you. Get it together! I repeated the sentences over and over, unable to get my body to listen to what my brain was saying. She held out an earbud. Our fingers brushed slowly against one another, looking up I caught an apprehensive smile. I exhaled a shaky breath and put the earphone in, caught off guard by what was playing.

“I love this song.” She said wistfully, glancing out the window as she swayed to the music.

I’m only one call away. I’ll be there to save the day. Superman got nothing on me. I’m only one call away.

She switched without reason between classic rock and today’s top hits. I asked her questions. Who’s your favorite artist? What was the song you always wanted played at your wedding? What songs remind you of something or someone? For the next hour she told me story after story about music and her life. I was enraptured.

“If you died, what’s the song you’d want played at your funeral?” I asked.

She thought for a moment, and I glanced out the window as the landscape quickly disappeared and was replaced with a new scene, over and over. She typed in the words and the words came floating out.

We skipped the light Fandango

Turned cartwheels on the floor

I was feeling kinda’ seasick

But the crowd called out for more

The room was humming harder

As the ceiling flew away

When we called out for another drink the waiter brought a tray

I listened with rapt attention. Suddenly, I could feel it, the feeling she would want evoked. Melancholy memories making you smile a sad smile as she whispered to you through the song.

And so it was that later

As the miller told his tale

That her face, at first just ghostly

Turned a whiter shade of pale

She said, “There is no reason”

And the truth is plain to see

But I wandered through my playing cards

And would not let her be

One of sixteen vestal virgins

Who were leaving for the coast

And although my eyes were open

They might had just as well’ve been closed

“I don’t know why. It doesn’t really say anything that makes me think of anything in particular. I’ve just always wanted it to be that song.” She said, glancing to me to see if I could relate.

I shivered despite myself.

______________________________________________________________

We slid into the booth, trying to savor a few more moments of freedom before we had to go back.

“How do you feel? Relieved?” She asked.

Far from it. “Yeah, I’m glad they decided to let me stay here instead of locking me up.” I said, laughing through my nerves.

“You’re doing too well and they know that. It wouldn’t do any good to put you in jail now.” She said.

I was fidgeting again. “I - I need to tell you something.” I stuttered.

“OK, is it bad?” She asked.

“Uh, well, I guess it depends on how you react.” I said, still avoiding.

“OK, well then tell me.” She said, searching my eyes for a hint. I must have looked terrified.

“I--” I stammered and tried again. “Well, I--” Closing my eyes in frustration I exhaled a shaky breath. “I’m so sorry, I don’t think I can say it out loud.” I laughed nervously. “Let’s just forget it.”

“No, it’s going to bother me now. Just tell me.” She said.

I tried several more times. “Do you have a paper and a pen?” I said finally. She dug through her purse, finding a crinkled receipt and a pen.

I covered the top of the page as though I was in grade school, trying to prevent someone from cheating off my answers, quickly scrawling the words I couldn’t voice onto the paper.

“I really value our friendship and I don’t want to ruin it, but it’s gotten to the point where I can’t ignore it anymore.

I have feelings for you.

I know you don’t feel the same, but they aren’t going away, and I thought you should know. If you don’t want to talk to me anymore, I understand.”

God, how stupid does that sound? What are you, thirteen? I thought to myself.

I slid the paper over to her, face down, and put my hands over my face. “Oh God, I can’t look. I’m so sorry.” I mumbled behind my hands. There was a moment of complete silence that seemed to go on forever. Suddenly her hands were pushing mine down, holding on. She had tears in her eyes. Her lip was quivering but she was smiling. We sat like that for a few minutes. I didn’t dare speak for fear I’d hear the words I didn’t think I could bear. I’m not interested. There’s something wrong with you. I think it’s best if we don’t talk to each other anymore.

The words never came.

“You ready to go?” I asked finally.

“Yeah.” She said softly, smiling wistfully. She took one last, long look into my eyes, trying to find something there. I still don’t know if she found what she was looking for.

______________________________________________________________

Kimrenee sat on the bottom of the stairs. Our voices hesitant and nervous. Smiling cheekily at each other. Is she flirting?

“Well, goodnight.” I said, grinning nervously.

“Night.” She said, a glint in her eyes that I hadn’t seen before. We smiled at each other a moment too long. Finally, I forced myself to step away.

A soft hand flew out and grabbed hold of my own. Everything was moving in slow motion. Kimrenee spun me without a word, and pulled me in from where she sat.

And then I was kissing her. Soft lips pressed into my own. My breath hitched in my throat. We fumbled a moment, lips opening and closing just a beat off from one another. And then we met, a tentative opening. A request. A welcoming. I closed my eyes despite my desire to witness every moment of this. It was over too quickly, our lips both quirking up in a smile before pulling quickly away. I stood there, stunned, for a moment, glancing about in case our stolen moment had been witnessed, but we were alone. She stood and made her way up the stairs. We grinned back to each other.

“Goodnight.”

She peered over the banister at me. My cheeks hurt from my uncontrollable smiling. I grasped my hair, pulling it back roughly, my eyes wide with shock.

“Fuck. This is so bad.” I whispered to myself, spinning around in pleasure, practically bouncing to my bedroom.

______________________________________________________________

Gasping for breath, I leaned my hand against the car door, spitting the remnants of Gatorade and bile onto the concrete below.

Leaning shakily back against the seat, I said, “I’m sorry. I don’t think I can do this one. I’m just too sick.” I said. He shook his head, silent with disappointment.

“It’s the last one tonight.” He said.

“I can’t. I’m sorry.” I said again,

“You don’t have a choice. You have to.” Kimrenee snapped, the words holding a venomous bite. Her eyes widened as she realized what she’d said.

We stared at one another, looking at who we had become. Shock mixed with an apology in her eyes, but still, just there behind them was a shameful hope that I would comply.

I let myself stare a moment longer, allowing her to feel the full weight of her actions. I stood with a feeling of disgust, slamming the door behind me. I walked to the building before me. The door opened before I could knock. I sighed in resignation as hands reached out.

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“Take another tablespoon. It’s not working like it should. I can tell you still have too much ammonia in your blood. You’re falling asleep standing up.”

“Yes, mom.” She replied, and opened her mouth to accept the medication.

“You’ve got to stay on top of this, I can’t always be here.” I said, scolding despite myself.

“I know, Olivia. Stop yelling at me.” She said, lightly to remove some of the sting.

“I just - I don’t know what I would do if...if anything happened to you.” My voice broke.

She looked at me, love clear in her eyes. There was pity there, and a resignation to what I refused to accept.

She took a second tablespoon of medication without comment.

______________________________________________________________

I sleepily reached out, my arms searching for her, touching the wall and nothing else.

“I’m right here,” Kimrenee said, standing and crawling over me to return back to her place in bed.

She was more aware than I’ve seen her for years. It was strange, seeing her sober.

She laid down, her hand under her head. We stared at one another, remembering the years that had passed.

“Come here.” She said.

I bustled forward, my head falling against her chest. Our legs intertwined and we both moved closer until not a piece of skin was without contact. The lines were blurring again, though I still tried to hold out. We were better as friends. We couldn’t afford to bring each other down. There was too much to lose.

“Olivia, I don’t care. I want you.” She said, reading my mind like she always could.

I exhaled a shaky breath, fighting for control. “Darling, we - we can’t. You know we aren’t good together, and you’re too sick.”

“I’m fine, Olivia. Stop treating me like a fragile doll. I’m a grown woman. I’m okay now. And I don’t care about what we did in the past. It’s different now. It doesn’t mean it’s going to happen again. We don’t know what’s going to happen, but what I do know is that I love you, and I can’t bear to go another day knowing that you aren’t mine anymore.” She licked her lips, nervous at her declaration, but her fingers tightened around me possessively just the same.

I was crumbling, I knew I was. It seemed she knew it too because she lifted my chin up. “Look at me, Olivia.” She said. I closed my eyes, preparing myself, deciding what to do. I opened my eyes. I could feel the hesitation on my face. “I love you.” She said.

My eyes drifted closed, this time with abandon as she placed her lips over my own. My breath still hitched the same as the first time, and I found myself leaning in, impossibly closer. Was this the right thing to do? The question pinged around in my head like a sadistic game of pinball.

Our breaths mingled as I opened my mouth to her. I had to admit, this was the only thing that felt right. There was never another decision, I thought, as her hands drifted down to my waist, pulling me closer. No matter the outcome, I would’ve chosen this every time. I was delusional to think I could make any other choice.

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I clutched the countertop, knuckles whitening at my grip. I bit back the terrible scream that was threatening to make it’s way out. Instead, soundless sobs wracked my body. Maus lifted his head from his place on the ground, floppy ears perking up in confusion. I shook myself, hard, against the countertop. “FUCK. FUCK. FUCK.” I slammed an angry hand down, gasping as the pain sent a flurry of white stars dancing before my eyes. “Dammit,” I mumbled, quieted as I grasped my hand tightly against the pain. I paced the long stretch of my kitchen, nearly pulling tendrils of hair out as my hands ran roughly through my hair. Looking up, trying to clear the tears from my eyes, my gaze fell on her. Smiling there, not a care in the world as she gazed serenely back at me from her frame. I stood there, gazing angrily back at her, near-psychotic in my grief and rage.

“How could you do this to me?” I yelled, every ounce of accusation hurled at the picture. “How could you FUCKING DO THIS TO ME?” Hands balled into fists, I resisted the urge to punch something.

Maus padded his way over to me, looking up. I welcomed the hug he quietly offered with his eyes and sobbed against his soft, fur coat. The loyal dog comforted even if he did not know what it was to lose yet. I pulled him closer, protecting him from the idea.

We padded wordlessly to bed, the storm quieted. I fell into a heavy, dreamless sleep.

______________________________________________________________

It was late, I knew even before looking at the clock. It must’ve been hours of sitting, hunched over on my couch, hands on my head. Crying again, Olivia? I thought back to the arguments that had gotten out of hand. “I should’ve known better than to get involved with a little girl.” I pushed out a shaky breath, trying to expel the memory. Little girl. Little girl. Little girl. I allowed a single sob to escape, wiping my eyes and standing. Shaking off the thoughts.

______________________________________________________________

“Kim, I don’t think I can handle this. Promise me. Promise me, you will do whatever you need to do.” I begged.

“I’m tired, Livvy.” She answered.

“I know,” I whispered in response, my voice cracking. “I’ve done this before. I can’t do this with you. I can’t lose you. I don’t think I could bear it.”

Her eyes were still blood red, the ammonia fighting its way out of her, whatever way it could find. How has it come to this? My lip quivered, I tried to fight to the onslaught of tears that were threatening, but the harder I fought, the more they came. “I can’t lose you,” I whispered again. Her eyes softened looking at me with tenderness. She pulled me close, saying nothing. She shushed me to sleep. I gasped until the tears worked their way out, finally drifting.

_______

I woke, several hours later. Her back was to me and I reached a tentative hand out to touch her. Solid, real. I framed the moment, saving it away in my memory. What would a world without Kimrenee be? The world would stop, I was sure of it. I corrected myself. My world would stop, and everyone else would go on about their lives as though nothing had happened. Completely unaware of who Kimrenee was. Had she ever allowed the world in? Had she ever really allowed me in? I thought back: soft, pacify looks, certainly full of love, but of openness? I was unconvinced. Would I ever have gotten through to every layer of Kimrenee? From the first moment, it had been my mission. A tiny glimpse had never been enough. I wanted all of her.

I scooted closer, enveloping myself around her, she scooted closer in her sleep. I was quiet, careful not to wake her as my tears soaked through her shirt. I tried hard to resign myself to what was likely to come. I tried, though I knew I wasn’t successful.

______________________________________________________________

“Kimrenee” I said aloud. The empty room answered in it’s heavy silence. “I have to let you go.” I whispered. “If I don’t, I don’t think I’ll be able to function. I’m not functioning. I’m not dealing.”

The silence withheld in its icy stoicism.

“I’m so sorry.” I continued. “I have to stop thinking about you. I fear I’m going to really lose it if I don’t” A warmth enveloped me, and I leaned into it, goosebumps leaving a trail along my arms. It was a homage to my prior statement.

“I love you.” I shuddered.

_____

I stood, glancing mildly out the window, back at life. I donned my shoes calmy, and opened the door. My steps rang out in the small hallway, a song of the future. I pushed the door open wide. The suns rays beat down on me. My heart thudded in my chest. A sign of life. My life.

“One day, you’re going to be somewhere out there, happy. And you’ll find someone and live the best life you can live.” Tears pricked at her eyes, though she smiled just the same.

I closed my eyes, breathing in the fresh morning air. “Goodbye Kimrenee.”

I walked on.

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Side note: Sorry for the late post to anyone reading from LISBYTH podcast or site. This one’s been a hard one to write, but one I felt needed to be written.

#Grief #Sobriety #Recovery #Moving On #Death #Addiction #Overdose awareness #Hope #Truth #Reality #Memories

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