#this sentence just arrived in my brain and I felt compelled to share it

[sexy-sapphic-sorcerer]

avoid twink death by becoming immortal

#this sentence just arrived in my brain and I felt compelled to share it #i can imagine the wizard bloggers getting behind this #wizard blogging #wizard posting #shitposting #shitpost

[afhamhoney]

Freak Show

"He was looking for a purpose, She became one"

Pairing: Non-Idol Jungkook x Named Reader

Summary: Her life was never simple or peacful. She was used to steel glimpses of happiness here and there. Yet she still was able to save him first.

TW: Will be shared separately each chapter.

The theater's atmosphere felt erie as we walked through the old large wooden doors. The floor kept creaking bneath our feet and the sound of our small heels' clicking is echoing around us. It was already past five at night, the sun was already fading and only giving faint light through the cracks of the rusty old windows. No lights were on yet and judging by the emptiness of the seats around us, it looks like we might have arrived a little bit earlier that expected.

" Shouldn't have they renewed the place before the opening show!" Sadie said, walking through the tiny steps of stairs while we were heading for the front seats.

"It kind of gives the place a whole different vibe you know. Maybe that was their theme goal". I replied, while diverting my eyes between the huge ceiling and the balcon seats above on both sides of the theater. Everything about this place was unsettling and there was this voice at the back of my head that kept on telling me to just turn around, take Sadie's hand and get the fuck out of here.

"Something feels off and ...." Sadie's said but before she completed her sentence, she was interuptted by the loud sound of the doors closing. I already knew she would be demanding us to leave but something was compeling me to stay and just watch the show.

And before I started to argue or prove my point, she held my hand and started pushing me towrds the end of the theater and to the direction of the huge wooden doors.

"What are you doing Sadie, We are not going home now." I argued with angry whispers not wanting to add more echos to this place.

"This doesn't look or feel right and we are not risking our safety to watch a freaking circus show." Sadie hissed at me while trying to put some sense in my brain but it was not working. Because no amount of danger that I might face here would be matching to what I go home to everyday. A haunted theater or a freak show will be at the very end of the list of my fears.

"Grow up Sadie, this is just an old building rented by a local troupe to perform for only one week. What renovations are you expecting them to do to this place, make it a Moulin Rouge?" I fought back with a reasonable argument while having the same doubts myself. But still no freak show could have been compared to the one I had at home and no harm could have occured that night, would have been more painful to the already angry bruises attended were forming on my body. "Let's just stay for a little while to see what is the hype about and then leave !"

"Okay but the seconsd this gets any weirder I will drag your ass across the stairs and through that door. You get me?" And before I got the chance to reply to her, the huge chandlier above us came back to life and lightened the whole place as if the sun were to explod inside. Dozen of stage spots started turning on as well indicating the start of the show. We moved from the corridor to take our seats in the third row of the theater, all while my eyes were roaming around the place and were only greeted by the dozens of empty seats accross the huge hall.

How come with all the posters and propaganda that has been going for a whole week prior to the show, we happened to be the only ones who actually attended.

With no further due, the large stage curtains opened to reveal a huge empty stage with only one spotlight targeting the middle on a statue of man sitting in a wooden chair. The statue resembled a man of young age with short dark hair,non blinking dark brown eyes that stared directly into my sole. The statue was so well made that you wouldn't be able to differentiate it from an actual human being.

We waited for somthing to happen but nothing did. Ten solid minutes had already passed with no other movement on stage and with a very angry and fidgeting sadie right next to me. Yet I was so captivated by the beauty of the art standing before me under the light. I kept staring back at those eyes while wondering how can human hands create something so realistic. I was in a trance like status to the extent that I completley missed Sadie leaving my side and was only drawn back to consciousness by the sound of my ragged cell's notification from Sadie telling me that she had to head outside to reply to her parents and tell them her whereabouts.

I tucked the phone back again my pockets and stood up while heading directly for the stage. Every waking cell in body was telling me to turn around and head for the door and leave, but my feet had another decision. It was like I was not thinking straight or maybe not thinking at all. All I wanted to do was get closer and closer to him as much as possible. The more I stared at him the more he became more real and I swear to the heavens that I felt him blink at some point. My feet dragged me closer to the stage till I found myself at the side stairs. With no ounce of thought, I climbed those five crumbling steps and landed my feet on the wooden floor of the stage. I started to go slower, contemplating if I should get any more closer than this, but I was enchanted with that figure. I wanted to have a closer look on how something was so beautifully created resembling the human true form so much. He almost looked even more real as I was getting closer.

I stood face to face with him and was unable to form any type of coherant thought or word. It seemed like all my surroundings were a mere useless propes and he was the center of my existence. I kept staring in those brown eyes as if I was being hypnotized, studying how they drew the flicker of lights with such accuracy to where the actual lights were hitting. The sculptural of this amazing statue must be worshiped for creating such an amazing piece. I couldn't hold myself from raising my hands to graze the skin of his face. He was truly beautiful and defenitly a reality somewhere as no human imgaination could have created such exquisite features.

He was whimpering inside but there was no sound coming out of him. The minute she stepped her feet inside the theater he felt different, like a jolt of electricity rippling through his body. Watching her taking small steps with her friend through the theater hall, and listening to her angelic voice arguying to stay and watch the show was amusing. Too bad for her there was no show to begin with. This was not an actual circus and this was not an actual carnival. It was a cover up for him to be able to travel through small towns and meet as many people as he could get in order to break the curse. He had no idea what he was looking for and how that curse was to be broken. He had no idea if he needed to have a beauty confessing her undying love to him so he can be normal again. If this is the case, he will be eternaly doomed, trapped inside this statue as a body while going insane everyday. But that bitch of a witch never mentioned a revese curse or a potion or any type of instructions to get him out of his hell. All she did was telling him to meet as much people as he can and one day he will find it.

He had been searching for this "IT" for the past thirty years and still to no avail. He spent weeks and months in silence while he witnessing his team of servants raveshing the books of all libraries and coming up with every possible solution but nothing ever worked. Yet one look at her face and he felt like he can break those stones covering his body just to reach for her.

Again it was not enough and he had never felt more useless and paralyzed. Taking his static state to his advantage, he studied every inch of her face. Haulting to a stop at the mere sight of the purple brusis decorating the area beneath her collar bones. Coming to stand facing him, he was almost certain he found what he had been looking for. For after feeling her delicate fingure tips touching the skin of his face, he forgot all about the curse and the reason he was there. He wanted to close his eyes and just drown in her senses. She was the only one who were brave enough and got close to him, let alone touch him.

At that moment, he had this revelation that It was not love he was seeking, nor reason, purpose or a magical potion, it was just....

His thoughts were interupted by a loud bang on the wooden doors and an angry man storming inside the theater while yelling....

"GRACE".

....................................................................................................................................................................

Author`s note: This is just a trial of something I've had in my mind for a while. This is the teaser and will be writing and updating weekly if you like it.

#jungkook smut #jk smut #bts smut #bts #jeon jungkook smut #jungkook #fanfic #random #romance #jk fanfic #jk fic #bts fanfic #love story #jungkook reader #fic rec #freak show #Spotify

[hotdamnhunnam]

congrats on 2k followers!!!!!! you're such a wonderful person and you deserve to be celebrated! for the emoji fic fest i'd like to send in the following emojis for raleigh becket: 😚☂️💦

Thanks for your request for my Emoji Fic Fest! And thanks for the congrats and kind words! 💗

..................................................

Under My Umbrella

Pairing: Raleigh Becket x F!Reader Warnings: smut, swearing, random silly song references, Raleigh being a big dorky softie but also (shockingly!?) down to fuck immediately Word Count: ~1.6k Emoji Prompt: 😚☂️💦 (key words are in bold)

The breach is closed. The war is over and he saved the world and everybody knows.

And that’s the problem. Raleigh Becket doesn’t like the way the spotlight overcomes him. Light he never chose, so blinding as it glows. The way the masses flock like moths drawn to the halo set above him and blindly believe they love him. That’s not love—they know of what he did to save the day when push came to a cataclysmic shove, but truly they know nothing of him.

It’s a shame to live in fame. Beneath the shadow of his own overblown name. He doesn’t have the massive ego, to embrace the role of hero, to indulge when strangers scream after him everywhere he goes. He worries that his life won’t ever be the same.

That was what drove him to this small town tucked away and hid, a little off the grid—and he’s felt better ever since he came. He’ll never be completely unknown, but at least the crowds are tame, and leave him well enough alone. He’s so alone lately it’s almost lame.

He likes it that way though. Likes his routine of waking up and waiting at the bus stop, working at his humble job. The pay is low. Even more so when business is slow. And Raleigh savors the simplicity, the contrast to the constant flash of cameras when he was recently living in the city. Even the weather helps his cause by often shrouding this small town in rain and snow.

He’s the new golden boy in town you haven’t met. You’ve heard the rumors of a cutie who just moved here but you haven’t crossed paths yet. When you hurry to the bus stop this fine morning, find yourself caught in a downpour without warning… that’s when you finally set eyes on Raleigh Becket. Suddenly the rain is not the only thing getting you wet.

You would have made sure to bump into him much sooner had you known that this is what your ass was missing. Even when his mane is damp-darkened by the rain you can still tell he’s got a bright blonde head of hair. Big eyes as blue as the Pacific and deliciously pink lips just made for kissing. You could swear, you’ve seen his face somewhere… but even if you hadn’t you would still shamelessly stare.

You’d missed the forecast so arrived at the bus stop without an umbrella in hand. The golden god has one but you do not want him to think you’re staring at him as a hint that he should share it with you; that’d be a bitchy thing to do, to make such a passive-aggressive demand.

From Raleigh’s end—once he’s calmed himself down after reacting to the most beautiful girl who’s ever come around the bend—he clears his throat and clumsily invites you now to join him where he stands.

“Y-you can stand under my umbrella.”

He just says it with no introductory words. You find it cute as fuck that he’s so awkward. It’s a good thing too, given the awkward vibes uncontrollably coming off of you. “–ella, ella…”

You had just murmured it quietly… then bitterly regret that shit immediately. Cursing yourself silently for your idiocy. Maybe the poor guy doesn’t even know this reference to a song from the 2000s or whenever it was.

But apparently he does. The next thing that he bashfully goes on to say: “… ey, ey, ey.”

Suddenly all your insecurities about your stupid sense of humor fade away. All you can think about is standing under his umbrella and hopefully sitting on his cock later today.

***************

This bastard smells so fucking good it isn’t fair.

Can probably hear you breathing him so deep but you don’t even care. Standing beside this total stranger you have never felt such comfort anywhere. That subtle clean scent of simple unscented soap… mixed with the warmth of honeycomb and home and hope… cinnamon sugar muffins, sweet and soft and fresh out of the oven. Smells so wholesome you can’t cope.

You want to say something but don’t even know what. After a few seconds of silence steal another glimpse up at his gorgeous face and have to stop yourself from moaning like a slut.

… That’s when it hits you who he is. You were too caught up in his beauty that you hadn’t even realized who this hero truly is.

And Raleigh senses it the moment that you recognize—picks up on that familiar jolt of such starstruck surprise, that makes him feel like he’s an object for a sea of prying eyes. Less of a person, more a prize. It kind of hurts him, as he wishes he could meet a pretty girl and flirt a little bit, without his reputation far preceding him and getting in the middle of it. Wishes he could carry on like all the ‘normal’ guys.

Then he remembers he’s an awfully shitty flirt. That helps a little with the self-pitying hurt.

You gather up your fallen jaw to ask him the obligatory question as it’s naturally the only thing to do. “Are you…”

But then you pause—notice the shadow fall across his gaze of blue—you hate to think you were the cause. You can’t begin to process all his thoughts and what he’s been through, but you understand on some level that just because the whole wide world regards him with applause, that doesn’t mean you have to stand here and remind him that it’s true.

And so instead you just finish the sentence with something painfully dumb. The words just come, because all two of your brain cells are doing their usual stupid dance. “… are you into piña coladas by any chance?”

The sadness in his gaze fades a bit as he casts you a curious glance.

You backtrack to explain your silly words. You’ve referred to a super old song yet again, even older this time and he might not get it so you have to explain. You feel so fucking awkward. “I–I just thought that maybe since we’ve already gotten caught in the rain… we could work backwards…”

Before you can carry on with your explanation, Raleigh’s blushing face lights up in realization. His adorable pink cheeks flush red. “Oh my God I’m so sorry that went right over my head!”

He’s so fucking precious you can’t even stand it. Too cute to be true. You laugh off what you’d said and just shoot the shit, for a few minutes—or more than a few—till the two of you realize the bus isn’t coming and that you are stranded.

“Well, I guess I’ll just call in sick today.” He shrugs but shocks himself a little bit ‘cause that was not at all a Raleigh thing to say. He’d never lie about his reason for an absence from the job. Yet he might have to, if he hopes to carry on chatting with you, all day here under his umbrella at this lonely little bus stop.

“Me too,” you coo, smiling up at this wholesome heartthrob, then nervously shuffling your feet and looking out into the steady sheets of rainfall that surround you. Wondering whether or not he took the hint that you were asking him out on a date with that piña colada thing. You hope he didn’t; if he had gotten the hint, he isn’t answering.

As soon as the thought enters your mind, he picks up on your anxious energy and hits rewind. “Back to your piña colada question—I’ve, uh… actually never had one.”

Your heart perks up in happiness based on the promise in his tone. The promise that the two of you won’t have to spend this rainy day alone. The next words out of your mouth are a little flirtier than they should be maybe, but he’s such an innocent baby, that you just can’t help but have a little fun. “I’d bet there are a lot of things you’ve never done…”

Blue eyes go wide as if your insult was obscene. But Raleigh can’t stay mad at such a pretty girl. “What’s that supposed to mean?! I’ll have you know I saved the fucking world!”

And just like that he’s fucking told you—even though his tone is playful it’s still true—and though you obviously knew, he finds he’s no longer compelled to hide that part of him from view. The way he always used to do. As if he knows that you want all of him and not only the surface-level shit, as if you see into him more than just a little bit, whereas the rest of the world sees right fucking through.

He knows that you only just met, so maybe it’s too early to be feeling shit like this but he’ll take any glimpse of hope that he can get.

You take his hand and feel his pulse in sync with yours as your hearts race. Pure fucking joy. “C’mon golden boy, I know just the place.”

The place for his first frozen pineapple coconut drink. The place for his first indulgence in a new fucking kink: screwing someone he only just met in the bathroom of this little diner and whispering filth in your ear as he rails you so hard that the force of it might break the sink.

Through all the purity of Raleigh there is definitely something fucking dirty and you caught it from the first blink. Now you’ve gone and stirred it up in him turns out he’s even dirtier than you would ever think.

You standing under his umbrella was the start; you lifting him out of the shadows over his head sparks a new light in his heart. And you awakening new sides of him is honestly the sweetest fucking part.

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Emoji Fic Masterlist

Emoji Fic Tag List – below; if you’d like to be added or removed, just let me know!

@happyhunnams @band--psycho @est11 @edonaspanca @starbooty @innerpaperexpertcloud @i-love-scott-mccall @six-camelot @alexa-rae-dreamz @coffeebooksandfandom @thesuicidalflower @flaireandsynch @helloheyhihowdyheya @gemini0410 @waywardodysseys @zozebo @bettergetusetoit @emilykjh @little-diable @rocketqueen @mrspeacem1nusone @miss-smutty @rayslittlekitten @abby-splace @chubbychubbs28 @miraclesoflove @tegggeeee @hunnambabe @missusnora @kesskirata @vixenrebellion @thexhostess @pomegranatearildreams @kandii395 @severewobblerlightdragon @itspdameronthings @niki-xie @cind-in-real-life @saweetspoiled @poge-life @few-proud-emotonal @samanthaisnthome @melodranas @soaharleys @charlie-hunnams-old-lady @simpmasterjr @nataliewalker93 @lovebarefootblonde @marvelousmermaid @tsukuyomi011 @sciapod @midnight-dreams-23

#charlie hunnam #raleigh becket #pacific rim #charlie hunnam smut #raleigh becket smut #pacific rim smut #charlie hunnam imagine #raleigh becket imagine #pacific rim imagine #charlie hunnam fanfiction #raleigh becket fanfiction #pacific rim fanfiction #raleigh becket x reader #raleigh becket x you #charlie hunnam x reader #charlie hunnam x you #emoji fics

[satan-stop-laying-on-my-laptop]

𖤍『𝕙𝕖𝕒𝕧𝕖𝕟||𝕊𝕚𝕞𝕖𝕠𝕟』𖤍

TRIGGER WARNING FOR VOMIT!

Pairing: Simeon X M!Reader

___________________________________________________________________

  You nervously watched the clock at the front of the classroom that was full of demons, you and most importantly, Simeon, your crush ever since you’ve arrived in Devildom for the exchange program. 

  Thing is, you loved the angel so very much, but you knew he wouldn’t reciprocate your feelings. After all, he was an angel of The Lord, The Lord your parents told you that he would throw you away from the pearly white gates into hell for liking guys. Now, here you are, sitting in Devildom with your angelic crush, that probably would hate you if word of your feelings ever got out.

  You always tried to deny your feelings towards the beautiful angel at first, avoiding eye contact and convincing yourself it was just the anxiety of meeting a new friend. Then those feelings got stronger and you could no longer deny it: You, (F/N) (L/N) are in love with Simeon, one of The Lord’s angels. You couldn’t resist loving him. He was perfect. Dark hair, clear dark skin that was nothing less than perfection, a body that looked like a master sculptor created him, his soothing voice that never failed to make you weak in the knees and his eyes, his beautiful blue eyes that captivated you and stared straight into your soul.

  You didn’t even realize the bell rang until your incubus friend, (Name), tapped your shoulder. Snapping out of your little trance, you look up at your demon friend, who was looking at you with a concerned glint in his mischievous eyes.

  “Hey (Y/N), you okay? You’ve been spacing out lately…” He asked, worried. You nodded with a sheepish smile on your face.

  “Yeah, I just got a lot on my mind…” You replied as you began to shove your books in your book bag. Your friend nodded before asking something that would cause you trouble later.

  “Do you wanna talk about it? We could head to the music room if you want. It’s usually empty.”

  It was a compelling offer. You could tell your closest friend here about what’s been going on in your conflicted brain, full of toxic thoughts, and feel some of the weight of your burden lift off your shoulders.

  “Yeah, Let’s go.” You said after a bit of thought. Smiling, you stood up from your seat, pushing your chair before beginning to follow your friend to the music, which was close to your next class so you didn’t mind a quick vent session here. Sitting on the bench in front of the piano, your friend looks at you, as if to say ‘The stage is yours’. Taking a deep breath, you began to pour out your heart.

  “Well, you see...I really like Simeon, like- not even like, it’s more like love. I’ve tried to ignore these feelings but I- I can’t! They won’t go away and I want to act on them, but he’s an angel of the LORD! A man my parents told me would banish me to the pits of HELL for even liking men in the romantic sense! I- I just don’t know...I don’t want to ruin the friendship I have with him because of my feelings. I don’t want him to see me as a disgusting pervert who likes men…” You vented these feelings to your friend, stopping once the one minute bell rang, signalling for everyone to hurry to class. Standing up, (M/N) smiled and patted your head.

  “I gotta go, but thanks for telling me! Let’s talk more about this later.” The way he acted as he left the room left you confused and worried. What’s with this hurried attitude of his? It’s weird.

  Little did you know, you’d find out during lunch.

  You sigh as you exited the music room and briskly walked to your Devildom History class, which you shared with Solomon and again, Simeon. You loved yet hated that class. You loved the subject and the fact you had two friends that sat next to you, but the teacher’s voice made you sleepy and Solomon is a chaotic bastard, but you had to resist the urge to backhand the bastard sorcerer because Simeon was there and you didn’t him to think you were aggressive.

  Entering your class as the bell rang, you took your seat next to Simeon and across from Solomon, Solomon let out a hum as he watched you sit down in your seat. It wasn’t often you came in late. It’s happened a few times but that’s because you were either using the restroom or had to give papers to a teacher during passing period, but usually you would text him or Simeon if you were gonna be a little later than usual.

  “(Y/N), Where were you?” Solomon asked, looking at you curiously. You shifted in your seat nervously, fumbling over your words as you attempted to make up an excuse as to why you were late. As much as you hated lying, you couldn’t let them know about the little vent session you had because you knew he would ask your friend later about what went on.

  “O-Oh, I just got caught up talking to someone who missed a day and needed the notes.” You lied through your teeth with a smile, praying that your lie was convincing enough for him to noy question you further. Giving you a suspicious glance, he somehow knew you didn’t want to talk about what actually went down.

  “Oh okay, I was about to ask Simeon here if you even showed up to class.” He hummed as he looked over at Simeon, who nodded with a smile.

  “Yes, he was here last period. However, (Y/N), you seemed really out of it. Are you okay?” He asked as he looked at you, a slight glimmer of concern sparkled in his cerulean eyes. Your face heated up a little as you looked to your desk and nodded, avoiding eye contact with the angel you loved oh so dearly.

  “Yeah, just tired, I guess…” You answered as you reached into your bag, grabbing your notebook and pencil case while the teacher entered the room and headed to the front, which was your cue to open your notebook to begin taking notes once the teacher began to teach.

  Devildom History flew by quickly since the notes were short and sweet and you guys had gotten a simple worksheet to do with our table, so it was a breeze for you three. However, next was lunch, which would bring you the most despair. 

  Walking into the cafeteria, you immediately noticed that other demons were looking at you weirdly and whispering among themselves which made you nervous. What were they talking about? Usually, you wouldn't worry about it, but something in your gut told you it wasn't something nice.

  You tried to deny that disgusting feeling in your gut that made you wanna vomit out whatever was in your stomach. You were doing so well until halfway to the lunchroom, you ended up hearing what the other students were talking about.

  "Didn't you hear? (Y/n) has a crush on Simeon." Hearing those words felt so wrong. There was no way they could've known that. You only told one person-...oh.

  You stopped in your tracks, Simeon and Solomon turned to face you, since they noticed you fell behind. Simeon frowned as he walked over to you, clearing not hearing the whispers from the others.

  "(Y/N), are you-" You didn't even stay to let him finish the sentence and you bolted to the nearest boy's restroom, throwing yourself into the first open stall you saw and locking it. Tears were falling down and you felt so damn sick. You couldn't believe it, that bastard betrayed your trust and told EVERYONE about something you weren't ready to tell anyone, this took you months to tell him and now within one class period, the entire school fucking knew about your dirty secret.

  Soon enough, you collapsed on the dirty bathroom floor and began to throw up in the toilet, your body couldn't handle the stress anymore and you just puked out stomach acid since you truthfully didn't eat much this morning. Once the vomiting stopped, you leaned against the stall door, panting heavily as tears streamed down your face in great amounts. 

  You thought you would have more time to yourself so you could cry but turns out no one in Devildom, The Celestial Realm or the Human world planned for that to fucking happen since you faintly heard the bathroom door open and someone step inside. Quickly, you cover your mouth, hoping you could muffle your sobs enough so the person who just entered the bathroom could do what they needed to do and leave without questioning why you were crying in a bathroom stall. Again, you weren't that lucky.

  "(Y/N)? Are you in here?" You tensed up heavily when you heard his voice. You were scared to death. No, it wasn't Diavolo or Lucifer. It was Simeon. Out of everyone, it had to be the guy who probably hated you now. You decided to keep your pride and stay quiet, praying that he would leave.

  "(Y/N), I...I heard what they were saying," Are you fucking sERIOUS- "and, uhm...I want you to know that I'm not mad and this isn't going to tear us apart, if anything, if what they said is true...I like you too. More than friends." 

  What he just admitted made you throw your head back in surprise, causing you to hit your head on the fucking stall door, which made you and Simeon startled.

  Simeon...loves you back? You were so sure he would've hated you for loving him yet… he feels the same way.

  "(Y/N)?!" In a heartbeat, he was outside that stall door, knocking on it. You gently sighed and shakingly stood up, holding onto the metal bar on the side for stability so you didn't fall.

  "...did...you mean what you said?" You asked meekly through the door. Before you come out of the bathroom stall you're hiding in, you need to make sure so you don't make a fool of yourself again.

  "Of course! I wouldn't lie to you, (Y/N)..." You could hear his voice and almost knew he was telling the truth. Taking a deep breath, you gently unlocked the door and opened it, revealing your post-breakdown state to the angel you loved.

  "(Y/n)! Are you okay?" Simeon's hands came to gently rest on your shoulders, his cerulean eyes scanning your frame to make sure you were okay. Gently nodding, you wipe the stray tears from your face as you steady your breathing.

  "Yeah...I just was stressed that I got outed by someone I trusted." You mumbled. Simeon nodded understandingly as he pulled you to his chest, holding you close to him as he gently pressed a kiss to your forehead.

  "I'm glad you love me too, I wish I could've found out through you, though."

  "Believe me, me too."

  We shared a brief laugh at my comment before Simeon pulled back and gently grabbed your hand, smiling sweetly at you.

  "Come on, let's go get some lunch. I'm sure you're hungry, my little lamb." You smiled at the nickname and nodded.

  "Alright, let's go."

____________________

Reposted from my wattpad oneshot book "devildom tales || obey me x reader"

My wattpad:strawberryenby

#obey me fluff #obey me x reader #shall we date #obey me angst #obey me simeon #obey me #obey me shall we date

[longitud-de-onda]

{un veneno} march: eloquence

pairing; javier peña x female reader summary; your time with emiliana is running out and your feelings for javier are only growing rating; m warnings; talk about sex, alcohol (can i even write a javi fic without it?), angst, age gap, two idiots who need to get over themselves word count; 3.1k january, february

un veneno masterlist

You turned over as you woke up, not wanting to open your eyes to the bright light that streamed into your room from the windows. When you did, however, your eyes didn’t open to the darker side of your room but the worn fabric of Javier’s couch.

You stretched out, groaning as you woke up. Your neck was a little sore, which you attributed to the position you were lying in without a pillow. A blanket was half-draped over you, and you were still wearing yesterday’s clothes. It didn’t feel great, but the couch was surprisingly comfortable.

The events of the night before began to return to your memory: going out for drinks with Javier, returning to his apartment, watching TV on the couch until late. You must have drifted off at some point.

It was nice to know Javier let you fall asleep there. It had happened before, more often than you’d like to admit, but usually, he’d set you up in the small spare bedroom he had.

You heard a bit of rustling as you rolled over to glance over the room. Javier was walking out of the kitchen towards the door, a piece of toast in hand.

“Javi?” you said, voice dripping with sleep, “What are you doing?”

“You’re awake!” he startled before breaking out into a smile. “Good morning.”

He had grabbed his leather jacket and looked like he was about to leave.

“Morning,” you smiled up at him. “Where are you going?”

“I’ve got to go to work,” he said. There was a tinge of apology in his voice like he wanted to spend the day with you.

“It’s Saturday,” you complained. It was too early for you to care about being respectful, or care at all about what you were saying. You wanted him to stay.

After that day on the mountainside, you had taken to spending your Saturdays with Javier. He had the day off, so you could go do stuff together. Except, obviously, today.

“I know, but it’s important,” he said. He took a bite of the toast.

“I hate the DEA,” you said. You had hoped you’d get to go out to the market on the other side of town. Javier had promised he’d take you there at some point, he didn’t trust you to go alone. Too dangerous, he said.

“I know,” he laughed, “I’m sorry. You can stay as long as you need. Just lock up.”

“Okay,” you said, “When’ll you be done?”

“I meant you could stay as long as you need to wake up and eat and stuff. You can’t spend all day inside.” Javier opened the door. “We can do lunch tomorrow, okay?”

“Okay,” you said. “Bye, Javi.”

“Have a good day,” he said before exiting the apartment.

You pushed the blanket off of yourself and sat up. It hurt, having him leave as soon as you woke up. Not that you were in a position where you could be offended. You were lucky he let you spend the night.

Javier’s attention was something you found yourself almost fighting for, and you knew others must as well. He was charming, young, handsome, and worked for the Embassy. That was the definition of a perfect man in most peoples’ books.

You stood up and walked over to the kitchen, where you grabbed a banana and sat down to eat. This was your 8th time, if you had kept track correctly, spending the night at Javier’s, and you seemed to always get a better nights’ sleep, even on the couch, than you did back at Emiliana’s.

Unfortunately, today was different in that Javier wasn’t there. You missed having him wander around, talking about different things. You missed telling him about work. Sometimes he’d talk about his favorite music or Colombian political secrets, and you’d tell him about how you always managed to find the best restaurants in every city and lecture him about packing a bag for an overnight because whenever he had to go up to Medellín he always overpacked.

As you sat eating, you found yourself wondering what the back half of his apartment looked like.

You walked over to his room and pushed open the door. The smell hit you before you could even notice what it looked like. A combination of sweat and latex and whatever that distinctly sex smell was, and the wave of it was so strong you had a hard time imagining that he hadn’t had sex in the past 8 hours you had been in the apartment.

Usually, that smell dissipated, you were familiar with that. For it to linger?

Your stomach clenched as your mind cleared a bit to notice the big bed in the center of the room and you realized he must have someone else in here almost every day. There’s likely been girls younger than yourself in that bed.

And for some reason, you haven’t been one of those women.

You’re standing in Javier’s closet, shuffling around in the small space, Javier sitting on his bed beyond the closed door. You had been chatting ever since you arrived at his place after school got out.

You hoped to be able to change out of your work clothes into the outfit that had somehow migrated to Javier’s closet, but the limited space didn’t allow for any speed.

“Hey, um, you have to move out of Emi’s soon, right?” Javier asked, voice muffled through the wood.

“Yeah,” you said, frowning. “I do.”

You had a couple days left and had been lying to Emiliana for a couple weeks now about having a place to stay. You chalked your procrastination up to over-involvement with teaching work and spending the rest of your free time with Javier or out partying. That didn’t fix the fact that in a few days you’d be effectively homeless.

“What are you going to do? You’ve set something up, right?” he said.

You couldn’t outright say no. Not to Javier. He was a decade or so older than you, had things figured out, had dealt with his own fair share of housing problems in the past. To admit that you had ignored this problem would be to admit how naive you were.

“I’ve traveled a lot, you know,” you decided on saying. “Been places where I didn’t know where I was going to sleep for the night.”

“Y/N!” he sounds like he’s rolling his eyes. “This is different. You’re working a job, you need something stable.”

“I don’t do stability.” That was as close to a life motto as you had. Living someplace for two months was new territory for you. The prospect of another nine or so was practically impossible to imagine.

“I know, but...” he stopped.

You paused, shirt halfway on, and waited for him to finish his sentence.

“What if you just move in with me?”

“What?” you ask, stunned. You finish putting on your shirt, mind working double time.

“I mean, you practically already live here. Your clothes are here, you eat here. I have a spare bedroom,” he said.

Moving in with Javier? As roommates? It was like some sort of angel and demon joined forces to create a godsend that would also torture you for the rest of the year. And how long was he suggesting this for? Because the nights you spent here were already pushing your limits of staying shut up about how much you wanted to kiss him.

“You know what, forget I said anything. It was a bad idea,” Javier rushed out.

You tensed up. No. You wanted this. Even if he was going to be the death of you.

You slipped on your pants as fast as you could, and flung open the door, throwing yourself onto Javier. He hugged back.

“No,” you said into his shoulder, “It’s a great idea. Thank you.”

“Where are you headed?” Javier walked out from his room, seeing you grabbing your jacket and purse which had been tossed across the couch earlier that day.

You were wearing the tightest jeans you owned and a cropped tank top, and the feeling of Javier’s eyes swooping over your body was just what you needed. There was no question: you were wearing this outfit to get the attention of someone.

“Dancing,” you responded, keeping it short as not to divulge your feelings. I’m going out so that I can forget about the fact that I get to sleep in the room next to you but never in your bed wasn’t the most appropriate answer.

“Fun.” He was frozen in the opposite corner of the room and you couldn’t tell what he was thinking. You had been living together for two weeks. You had gone out before. Why was he acting weird about it now? Why was this different?

“You’d hate it,” you said.

He liked going out for drinks but that was his limit. You had learned that the reason Javier was so perplexed by your social tendencies was your comfort around crowds. After years of training and working with the DEA, too many people put him into Agent Peña mode, and while it was useful for self-preservation, it meant his idea of fun usually involved fewer people.

“Maybe not?” he said, walking further into the living room. You furrowed your brow. What was he getting at? “The fact that you’d be there makes a pretty compelling argument.”

“Sure it does,” you laughed, trying to ignore the way his words sent a chill down your spine. Your brain helpfully supplied you with the image of Javier in a disco with you, tipsy and on the dance floor, hands around your hips, grabbing at bare skin on your waist and sliding up your leg under a short skirt. The goosebumps crawled up your arms and you shrugged on your jacket.

“I’m not going to be back until tomorrow,” you said.

“Why not?” He actually looked confused and for a moment you felt sorry that he didn’t understand. Until you remembered he was why.

“Um...” You didn’t know how to tell him, I’m going to go out of my way to fuck someone so that I can forget that I’m falling in love with you. It hurt everywhere, but mostly in your chest, and you knew staying in this apartment any longer would cause you to explode. Your heart couldn’t handle the sort of torture you were putting it through.

Javier was perfect in all the ways you didn’t think men were capable of. He respected everyone, even the women he paid to have sex with. He was great at being a roommate: sitting down for dinner with you, going out and buying groceries, listening to you vent about your bad days. He was vulnerable, at least within the confines of your apartment, sharing the difficulties of his job in ways you were beginning to understand. He said good night to you every evening with so much tenderness it hurt.

You knew Javier was getting lots of action. It was no secret that before most of the fucking occurred in his living room. Now that you were around he had the decency to always stick to the bedroom if he even had them there. Usually, he would leave for the evening, but sometimes you would get to meet his encounters.

Some of them were young, just over 18 and absolutely stunning, while others were closer to his age and would stay for an hour to smoke with him and talk. It didn’t matter who they were. Only that they were almost always different every time and they each were successful in confirming that you were quite possibly the only girl in Bogotá who wouldn’t get to warm Javier’s bed for a night.

You couldn’t handle it anymore. The last time you slept with someone was over a month ago, with Mateo, and your most recent orgasms had been at your own hand with Javier’s name on your lips, face pushed into the pillow, hoping he wouldn’t hear.

Your pause was enough for him to understand you’d be falling asleep in someone else’s bed tonight.

“Right,” he nodded. He stood across from you, hands in his pockets. “Well, stay safe?”

You rolled your eyes.

“You too, Javi. You never know, I leave you alone and you’ll end up setting this whole place on fire or something.”

Your head was pounding as you woke up, wrapped up in the arms of not one, but two men. As you shuffled around, you realized one was awake, and you mumbled a good morning. The events of the night before weren’t very clear, once you left Javier’s apartment (you still weren’t used to the fact that it was your home, too) you had gotten as drunk as possible as quickly as possible. It was a blur of neon lights and hands around your body.

You could remember leaving the disco in a haze, arms wrapped around you. Remember moaning as you rode someone. Remember being held by your waist. By your hair. Remember Javier’s face flooding your mind as you came. Remember biting down on a pillow to keep from shouting out his name.

You looked down at the two men surrounding your body. You weren’t sure if they were together. They might have been? Most men wouldn’t dare sleep in the same bed as another unless they were involved.

You thanked them, wanting to make your leave before it got awkward. Maybe they wanted to have breakfast with you. Debrief. Talk. Sometimes that was custom. You didn’t want to do that. This wasn’t a normal threesome. Not that those existed. But this was you, trying to forget someone, and if that came up in conversation you would feel guilty.

So you gathered your things, got dressed, and left.

Walking the streets of Bogotá in the morning was nice. The fresh air on your skin felt amazing and the smell of fruit wafting through the air was refreshing. You loved the way the city breathed. It didn’t sound or smell like any other city you had been to. You knew you were falling in love with the city itself.

You opened the door to Javier’s and startled at the empty apartment. He was an early riser, and he liked to work in the living room. There was no one there. He must’ve still been asleep.

You entered the kitchen, collapsing into one of the chairs at the table. You grabbed an apple from the bowl and started eating. You didn’t really want to talk to Javier today. Sleeping with someone else hadn’t exactly helped the way you thought it would.

“Javi didn’t mention he had a roommate,” said a voice from behind you, accent thick. English wasn’t their first language.

You turned around, taking in the woman standing in the doorway of the kitchen. She was probably around your age, wearing nothing more than her underwear and one of Javier’s button-downs. She was beautiful. Your stomach flipped.

“Um, yeah. Hi,” you mumble. “And you are?”

“I’m Elena,” she said, smiling. She entered the kitchen like it was her own home and sat down across from you, grabbing another apple from the bowl.

You knew what she was here for. They didn’t usually spend the night. But there was a first for everything, you supposed. You told yourself you had to get used to it. You were roommates, and this was who Javier was. That was something you’d have to learn to accept. It just hurt so much more given the events of the last twenty-four hours.

“Nice to meet you, um—”

“Did Javi not tell you I would be here?” she interrupted you. Her brow furrowed a bit and you wondered how long she had been planning to sleep with Javier. 

“No, he, uh,” you stuttered, “He didn’t mention anything.”

“Elena,” called Javier from further back in the apartment, out of sight. “Do you want to have breakfast before my roommate gets back, I don’t really want her to know someone was...”

He had wandered into the kitchen, trailing off as he saw you. He at least had the decency to look guilty.

“Hey, Javi,” you said, swallowing back the pain.

“Y/N? Hi,” he said, “Sorry, I, uh, I didn’t realize you were here.”

Of course he didn’t. You stared up at him. He had on pants but no shirt, and damn if you didn’t want to walk up to him and feel every square inch, trace the side of his neck, feel the rise and fall of his chest. You glanced away, hoping futilely he hadn’t caught you staring. You looked over at Elena, knowing that she had gotten to do exactly what you wanted.

And you were sitting in between this couple, ruining their morning after.

“It’s fine,” you said, pushing back your chair and ushering Javier into your seat. “It’s your place, you should have breakfast.”

“I should go,” Elena said, standing. “I think you two need to work out whatever is going on.”

“No!” you and Javier said at the same time. He looked back at you.

“Stay,” you said, not wanting for Javier to say anything that would completely screw over your day. “I need to take a shower, I’ll make myself scarce.”

You turn around and walk away, knowing that the two are starting at your back, still wearing the skimpy outfit you had on as you left the night before.

Upon entering your room, you closed the door and leaned against it, exhaling shakily. You squeezed your eyes shut, praying that the tears wouldn’t fall. This was exactly why you didn’t stay in one place for too long. When you were traveling, there was no time for feelings to develop, anything that happened was casual. You didn’t have to deal with pining in silence for months as someone flirted meaninglessly back at you.

You had dug yourself into this hole, agreeing to the job at the school, and now you wished you hadn’t. Getting to be around Javier was a blessing, some days you couldn’t believe how lucky you were to get to meet someone so perfect. But nothing made sense. Why did this guy, years older than you, offer to spend his time with you, even give up his privacy and let you live with him, but stay so painfully distant? What was it about you that he didn’t want?

The sound of laughter erupted from the direction of the kitchen and you sank to the floor, wishing you could go back to when you said yes to living here and stop yourself. You’d rather be back at a shitty hostel than feeling this.

next part

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#javier peña #javier pena #javier peña x reader #javier pena x reader #camila writes #rated m #under 5 #reader #angst #pedro fics #narcos fics #javi x reader

[iambuckyrogers]

In That Moment

Summary: Bucky joins the team after finishes his reprogramming in Wakanda, much to the team’s dismay. What happens when you start falling for the brooding super soldier?

Word Count: 2445

Warnings: a few swear words, Tony’s a bit of a jerk, fluff

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Authors Note: Written for @occasionalfics 2k challenge/bash. I had heaps of fun writing this and it was a little longer that I thought it would be but I couldn’t bring myself to cut anything out! Feedback is always appreciated :)

Prompt: “Shut up and kiss me already”

Gentle sunlight filtered through the partially open curtains, illuminating your room in a golden hue. Cursing yourself for not closing them properly last night you flopped your arm over your eyes in the hopes of getting back to sleep. Sure enough, you began drifting off once again, enveloped in the warmth of the morning sun. You really couldn’t catch a break as just moments later there was a sharp bang on your door.

“(Y/N), are you up?” the voice was muffled but you were almost certain it was Natasha. You considered lying but Nat was notorious for banging down doors if people didn’t reply.

“Yeah Nat I am now,” you replied rubbing your eyes with the heels of your hands.

“Good, I was worried that you’d forgotten what today was.”

“Ah- no, I remember,” You paused, almost certain that no-one had a birthday this month and Pepper banned Tony from throwing any more elaborate parties, so what else could it be?

“But hypothetically if I did forget,” you continued.

“You’re not serious are you (Y/N)?” Nat’s tone was warning, “get dressed and get your ass into the common room, now!” You heard her stalk off down the hallway as you rolled yourself out of bed. You wracked your brain again as you made your way to the common room, trying to think of anything that may make today important. The moment you rounded the corner and saw the team you remembered. They were spread around the room with stony faces and tense muscles, anxiety etched onto their faces. Even Sam, who usually tried to ease the tension when it got uncomfortable, was sat forward on his seat wringing his hands nervously. Finally, the events from the last week started making sense. It explained why Tony had become so distant and why Steve had disappeared again. You had thought that they must have had another disagreement, an argument of some kind, completely forgetting that Steve was bringing his old war buddy back from Wakanda, having finished his reprogramming successfully.

You made your way to a spare seat next to Tony, giving his knee a gentle squeeze. Since you had arrived at the compound several months ago, Tony had been like a dad to you and forgetting such an important day made you feel sick to the stomach. Tony took your hand in his and gave you a weak smile.

“I’m ok,” he whispered, but his voice lacked conviction.

“I know,” you replied.

The sound of the elevator opening broke the silence, followed by two sets of heavy footsteps coming towards the room. Tony’s grip on your hand tightened as he fidgeted in his seat. You gently rubbed your thumb over his hand, wishing you could take away his discomfort so he wouldn’t have to suffer yet again. The footsteps slowed to a stop followed by incoherent whispering.

“Good morning team,” Steve came through the doors and addressed the room.

“Wouldn’t quite call it good,” Tony muttered. If Steve heard him, he didn’t let it show.

“As you all know, Bucky finished his reprogramming with Shuri a few weeks ago and she has given him the green light to move in and join us at the compound. I think we-“ Steve was cut off by a sarcastic laugh from Natasha.

“He finished a few weeks ago Steve, what contact has he had with the outside world in that time? He’s been living on a farm with goats for christ sake how does she know he won’t relapse when with real people?” Nat was enraged, her eyes blazing and hands shaking as she stood and began pacing. Steve opened his mouth to respond but was cut off by Sam.

“Yeah, I’ve got to say I agree with Nat, he could be dangerous. The dude’s already tried to kill us once whats to say he doesn’t try again?”

“Listen, I understand your concerns, I really do but this is Bucky, he’s my- he’s- gah,” Steve  let out a frustrated sigh and rubbed his face with his hands, “He’s all I’ve got left, I have to at least try.” Now it was Tony’s turn to laugh.

“All you’ve got, are we not enough for you Steve? Need your murderous buddy to fill that big empty hole in your heart?” Tony had ripped his hand from yours as he launched himself towards Steve, who just stood his ground as the smaller man approached him. “He killed my parents, Steve. He fucking murdered them in cold blood. Am I supposed to just forget that? Water under the bridge and all that bullshit.” You could see the tears welling in Tony’s eyes as his voice cracked. Steve reached his hand out to touch Tony only to be swatted away abruptly.

“Tony you need to realise it wasn’t him, he wasn’t in control, it was HYDRA. Please just give him a chance.” Steve’s gentle words did little to stoke the fire that was Tony’s rage, instead, it only angered him further.

“Keep him the fuck away from me,” Tony spat, pushing past Steve and stalking to his room. Once Steve heard the door slam he turned back to the team.

“Guys, please,” his voice was laced with desperation and you realised just how much Bucky must mean to him. You remembered why you were at the compound, the path that lead you there and you were compelled to help Bucky, at least try.

“Alright Steve” you whispered, heart hammering violently against your chest.

“What?!” the team collectively yelled at you.

“As I recall, the circumstances surrounding my own arrival at the compound were similar to Bucky’s and if I was allowed a second chance then doesn’t he deserve one too?” you argued, glaring at anyone who dared to look your way.

You were met with silence, “That’s what I thought. Bring him in, Steve.” Steve nodded and mouthed a silent thank you as he went back to the door. Moments later he returned followed by Bucky who was clad in grey sweatpants and a blue hoodie, his long brown hair framed his sharp jaw and his steely blue eyes scanned the room cautiously.

“Alright Buck, this is the team,” Steve went around the room and introduced everyone, most avoided looking at Bucky but not you, you gave him a small wave, a gentle smile and a warm hello. Bucky looked taken back at your kindness, his eyes becoming glassy. Quickly he turned away from you, whispered something to Steve and promptly left the room.

Steve turned to follow but paused and looked back to the team, “Please just make an effort guys.” With those parting words, he left the room in silence once again. It was in that moment that you realised you would make it your mission to help Bucky Barnes.

*****

“Mornin’ guys,” you slurred as you walked into the shared kitchen, raising your hand in an attempted wave at Clint, Nat and Bruce who were sat at the breakfast bar.

“Morning (Y/N/N), sleep well?” Bruce asked.

“Yeah, I did actually,” you replied, plopping yourself heavily onto a seat next to Nat.

“Well, that makes one of us,” Clint groaned into his mug and the other 2 nodded in agreement. You ignored his comment, instead pouring yourself a generous amount of your favourite cereal and drowning it in milk. Out of the corner of your eye, you spotted a dark mess of hair round the corner. Bucky looked like death, dark bags hung heavy under his sad eyes and his usual prosthetic arm was missing. Wordlessly Clint, Nat and Bruce got up and left as if Bucky carried the plague.

“Sorry for ruining your morning, I didn’t think anyone would be up this early. Sorry, I’ll just leave. Sorry,” Bucky quickly mumbled, turning to leave.

“James, don’t be silly,” you called after him, “come and have something to eat. Please?” He froze as if he was weighing up his options. Slowly he turned back around and you patted the seat next to you hopefully. Bucky shuffled back over towards you, sitting on the seat but never once letting his eyes leave his feet.

“Do you like froot loops?” you asked, holding the box out to him. Still staring at the floor he slowly nodded his head.

“Good choice, Steve says that they’re not healthy but I beg to differ, they’ve got fruit in them,” you joked, getting up to grab him a bowl and spoon from the cupboard. You set it down carefully in front of him, filling it with cereal and then milk before sitting back down and diving into your own breakfast. Bucky just sat there and stared at the bowl.

“Thank you,” he whispered gently, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he tucked some of his hair behind his ear and you swear you saw a tear slide down his stubbled jaw.

“Not a problem,” it was in that moment that you realised you would to do everything in your power to see a smile on the face of Bucky Barnes.

*****

Breakfast with Bucky turned into a daily routine. Every morning began with you and various other members of the team eating breakfast in the kitchen. Bucky came in around 6:30 and everyone quickly left, citing various tasks that suddenly demanded their attention. You’d fix Bucky breakfast and try to make small talk with him. It was like pulling teeth at first, he found more interest in playing with his food, but you were stubborn and refused to give up. Eventually, he began to respond to your incessant questioning with a soft yes or no, eyes still trained on his bowl. Finally, you were able to coax full sentences out of him and occasionally he’d even look at you. Slowly but surely you were making progress with him and with each passing day more of the real Bucky emerged. Steve had noticed the difference, pulling you aside after a meeting one day.

“Thank you,” he said, pulling you into a bone crushing hug.

“What are you thanking me for?” you asked when he finally let go.

“For what you’re doing for Buck. He may not say it but he really appreciates it, he talks about you a lot.” You felt heat flood to your cheeks, heart swelling at the thought of Bucky finally being happy after everything that he’s had to endure.

“It’s the least I can do, Bucky deserves happiness and I just hope that he finds it here.” You kissed Steve on the cheek and headed towards your room still thinking about what he said. It was in that moment that you realised you were falling for Bucky Barnes.

*****

Just like every other morning, you head into the kitchen for breakfast, but unlike most days, you could hear Bucky’s soft voice drifting down the corridor as you got closer. It wasn’t like Bucky to break his routine, Steve said that it helped create a sense of normalcy if he had a set schedule, so you hung back and even though you knew it was wrong, listened in on the conversation.

“-kicked your ass,” Bucky’s laugh was warm and hearty, it wasn’t something you heard often but when you did, you revelled in it.

“I beg to differ Punk,” Steve quipped, “anyway enough about all of that, how’s your crush on (Y/N) going?” you gasped, hand flying to your mouth to stop any further sounds as you leaned closer to hear Bucky’s reply.

“I- ah, no I don- is it that obvious?” Bucky let out an exasperated sigh, barely audible over the erratic thumping of your own heart.

“Nothing shines brighter than the eyes of a man in love,” Steve mused dreamily. Moments later there was a loud crack followed by a surprised yelp.

“Oi, why did you whip me? That’s just mean,” Steve whined.

“Don’t make fun of me then, Jerk,” Bucky sneered, “Anyway I have no chance with someone like her she’s so pure and selfless and I’m so- well I’m me.” Another loud crack rang out.

“Oi what the fu-“ Bucky was cut off by another crack.

“Don’t talk about yourself like that Buck, you’re a good man and she can see that. Just try asking her out I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised.”

“Why do you think I’m down here early,” Bucky grumbled.

“Shit I should go then. Good luck Buck!” Steve wished his friend as he left, his footsteps fading out with each passing second. You counted to 10, took a deep breath and entered the kitchen.

“Morning Bucky,” you sang, “What are you doing up early?” Bucky turned around from the stove with a frying pan in hand, flipping a pancake onto a plate and sliding it across the bench to you.

“Making you breakfast. I thought well- you always make me food, so I thought I’d return the favour.”

“I didn’t know you could cook.”

“There’s a lot about me you don’t know,” he winked at you, causing warmth to flood to your cheeks. He plates himself up a pancake and sits down next to you, arm brushing yours sending a jolt of electricity to your heart. You’re about to start eating when you catch Bucky fiddling with the hem of his apron.

“Hey what’s up Buck?” you ask.

“It’s nothing- well it’s something but I don’t want to tell you,” he stutters

“Oh, alright. Not a problem if you-“ he cuts you off with a gentle hand on your arm.

“God no, (Y/N), I’m sorry that’s not how I meant it to come out. It’s just- I’m afraid that if I tell you then- ah I don’t want you to- I’m worried that you-“ you saved him from spiralling any further with a finger to his lips, you face just inches from his.

“Shut up and just kiss me already,” not wasting a second Bucky closed the distance, pressing his lips to yours, tentatively at first, but when you threaded your hand into his hair he kissed you with more meaning, pouring every inch of love and affection he could into the kiss. You fit together so perfectly, like puzzle pieces it was as if you were made for each other. His tongue swiped along your bottom lip, causing you to moan softly into his mouth as his tongue danced with your own. Bucky nipped at your bottom lip as you pulled away, desperate for some air.

“Wow,” you whispered, forehead pressed against his.

“Wow indeed,” he laughed, pulling you in for another kiss. It was at that moment you realised you were in love with Bucky Barnes.

#bucky barnes x reader #Bucky Barnes #bucky barnes marvel #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x Avenger!reader #marvel #marvel fic #marvel imagine #paiges2kbash #imagine #marvel x reader #james buchanan barnes #steve is a good friend #fluff #first kiss

[noona-clock]

iKonic Fairy Tales: Aladdin - Part 3

A modern fairy tale series in collaboration with @cramelot - stay tuned next week for the next story featuring a new member! ✨

Genre: Office!AU

Pairing: Hanbin x You

By Admin B

🧞 Part 1, 2, 3, 4

“Sorry,” you whispered, your lips still brushing over Hanbin’s after you stopped kissing him.

“Sorry?” he replied. “Don’t be sorry, I --”

“No, I’m sorry for my shrimp breath.”

Hanbin laughed out loud, actually throwing his head back because he was so amused by your apology.

“I honestly hadn’t planned on kissing anyone tonight,” you chuckled. “So I ate as much shrimp as I wanted.”

“Hey, shrimp is delicious. I don’t blame you one bit.”

“And... you don’t blame me for kissing you, right?” you asked softly, tempted to go back in for another one.

“Of course, not. I swear I didn’t bring you here with that intention, but... I would be lying if I said I hadn’t thought about it. Or wanted it,” he admitted, reaching up to tuck some hair behind your ear.

You studied him, your brow furrowing as you shifted your body to face him as best you could.

“...What?” he asked awkwardly, his cheeks flushing under your curious gaze.

“There’s something different about you,” you mused. “I mean, something different from everyone else I’ve ever met. From every other guy. I just... can’t quite place what it is.”

Panic flashed across his face, very briefly, but you figured he was just nervous or something. You were kind of nervous, too, to be honest.

“I...” He cleared his throat, somewhat avoiding your gaze. “I don’t know what could be different about me. I’m just... a regular guy.”

You let out a soft chuckle, one corner of your lips pulling into a half-smile. And then you leaned in and kissed him again. Just because you felt like it.

He did return your kiss, but he pulled away far too soon, letting out a little hum as he did.

“Listen, I -- I’m not really the type of guy to just --”

“I’m not either,” you interrupted. You honestly had never kissed a guy on the night you’d met him before. “So... take me out tomorrow night.”

His furrowed brow smoothed, and his worried frown morphed into a shy grin.

“Tomorrow? How about --” 

He stopped suddenly, so you finished for him. “Dinner? Maybe?”

Hanbin laughed a bit nervously before licking his lips. “Y--yeah. Dinner.”

“Okay, it’s a date,” you murmured, already leaning in toward him. “So now we have that established... can we kiss some more?”

Because kissing him felt better than anything you’d felt in a long time.

Maybe... even better than working.

Before Hanbin dropped you off for the night, he made sure to exchange phone numbers with you. You requested he text you when he got home, and while you assured him it wasn’t just a ploy to get a conversation started, you said it while holding back a very sly smirk.

The two of you shared a very slow, tender goodnight kiss before Hanbin got back behind the wheel of the Leaf and drove home.

Well... to One’s home.

Because, in case you’d forgotten, Hanbin owned absolutely nothing he was touching at the moment.

Except his underwear. But I don’t need your mind going in that direction because I have a story to tell, okay?

When he stepped through the door of One’s townhouse, his friend was sitting on the couch, seemingly waiting for Hanbin’s arrival.

“So?” One asked, turning off the television and standing to greet him. “How’d it go?”

Hanbin shook his head, unable to keep from grinning like an absolute idiot. “I honestly don’t think you’ll even believe me.”

“What? You kissed her or something?” His tone was one of sarcasm, so Hanbin simply looked at him as if to say ‘Bingo.;

“YOU KISSED HER?!”

Hanbin nodded, trying to keep up the smug expression he’d managed, but... he felt his cheeks warming, so he knew he was also blushing. “And I’m taking her out tomorrow night.”

“DUDE. Wait, so what’s she like? Tell me everything!” One sat back down on the couch, pulling Hanbin down next to him and eagerly awaiting his friend’s account of the evening.

“She’s... She’s incredible. She honestly just came right up to me and introduced herself, and then we spent the rest of the night together. We talked, we went for a drive, I took her to my spot up on the mountain, and she just... kissed me. A lot, actually.”

“And she bought the whole CEO thing?”

“Yep.”

“But you’re going to tell her tomorrow, right?”

“...Tell her what?”

“That you’re not actually the CEO.”

“...What? Why would I do that?”

“Because she’s going to find out anyway! You need to tell her before she discovers it on her own. That would be way worse.”

“How would she figure it out?” Hanbin scoffed.

“Uh... from looking up the app?”

“She’s too busy for that! She’s really focused on her career.”

“Okay... whatever you say,” One shrugged. “And before you ask, yes, I will loan you another outfit and my car for tomorrow night. Just promise you’ll tell her before the second date.”

Hanbin sighed, rubbing a hand over his face as he contemplated what, exactly, he should do.

“If there’s a second date... I’ll tell her.”

“Good man.” One clapped Hanbin on the shoulder before requesting he go change and head on home. It was getting a bit late, and Hanbin had a big day tomorrow.

Your first date with Hanbin was... Well, it was just about perfect.

He took you to a delicious farm-to-table restaurant in the heart of the city. Afterward, you strolled along the greenway, holding hands and sharing a lot more kisses.

You didn’t bring up the app, and you didn’t even hint at the fact you’d found out he wasn’t actually the CEO.

So... Hanbin didn’t say anything either.

And he didn’t say anything on the second date... or the third... or even the fourth.

One kept pressuring him to, assuring him this would come back to bite him in the ass. “You need to tell her before she finds out on her own,” he kept saying.

And while Hanbin knew he was right... he was just too ashamed to show you who he truly was: a poor, lowly employee at the bottom of the totem pole. And it’s not like One could promote him because... there was nothing else to do. He had no development or design experience; he belonged in a tiny cubicle answering phones and instructing people how to force close the app and re-open it.

“You’re telling her tonight, right?” One asked as he helped Hanbin into a snazzy trench coat. “Because I really don’t think I can keep lending you my clothes after this. My conscience is starting to guilt trip me.”

“Yes, I’ll tell her tonight,” Hanbin said for at least the tenth time.

And he would tell you. 

...If he got an opportunity.

He whistled softly to himself as he headed down the walkway of your house, jingling the car keys in time with his footsteps.

He was honestly feeling pretty good about himself because he’d decided tonight was the night he would ask you to officially become his girlfriend. He was going to take you to your favorite restaurant before driving up to that spot on the mountain - a place he had now deemed “your spot” since it was where you first kissed.

He rang your doorbell, shoving his hands in his pockets and waiting patiently for you to answer.

And... when you did, you flung the door open.

Your brow was furrowed deeply, your mouth set into a thin, straight line. It was very obvious you were angry about something, and Hanbin was extremely hesitant to ask what that something was.

“Hey...” he greeted cautiously. “Is... everything okay?”

“I don’t know,” you answered in short tones. “You tell me, Hanbin.”

“...What are you talking about? Tell you what?”

Oh please no please no please no.

“Really? You’re going to act like you have no idea what I’m talking about?”

Hanbin could feel a cold sweat breaking out on his forehead, but for some reason, his brain compelled him to continue to play it cool. “What are you talking about? I can’t know what you’re mad about if you don’t tell me.”

“Okay, fine,” you chuckled bitterly. “I decided to finally do some research on your little app.”

“...Ah.”

“Yeah, that interview you did for Business Weekly magazine. You thought I wouldn’t see that? Gee, you sure look different in pictures. And since when did you change your name to One?”

“Listen, Y/N, I can explain --”

“What is there to explain, Hanbin?! You lied to me! Plain and simple! You’re not the founder of that app. You’re not the CEO of anything. Trust me, I looked. I mean, you do at least work for the app, but you’re --”

“A tech support rep, I know,” he muttered shamefully.

You stared at him, mouth agape. “That’s what you’re ashamed of?! You’re ashamed of working a desk job? Not about the fact you lied to me?! When I told you first thing I value honesty above all else?!”

“Y/N, of course, I’m ashamed of that! But it’s complicated --”

“What’s complicated about telling the truth?!” you spat.

“The truth is I’m poor!” Hanbin cried, finally managing to get out a full sentence. “I’m poor, and I knew you probably wouldn’t ever give me the time of day because I live in a shithole apartment and eat ramen and wear jeans with holes in them - holes that weren’t put there on purpose.”

You blinked a few times, standing stock-still in your doorway and breathing heavily from your rage.

“...Wow,” you finally uttered. “That’s what you think of me, then. You think I care about stuff like that.”

“Y/N, wait, I --”

“Well, I’m glad I found out now before we became official. Have a nice life, Hanbin. I hope you can find enough confidence and security in yourself to realize money doesn’t really matter.”

“You say that because you have it,” he countered as you were in the middle of closing the door on him. You paused, so he kept on going. “It’s easy for you to think money doesn’t really matter because... it doesn’t matter for you. You don’t have to worry about paying your rent on time. You don’t have to worry about whether or not you can afford to get pizza delivered because what if your car breaks down on the way to work? You don’t have to worry about how you’re going to pay for your doctor’s visit or your dentist’s visit, so you end up just not going.”

You stood there, barely blinking as you met his gaze. He could’ve sworn he saw some sympathy in your eyes, but you shook your head.

“That doesn’t excuse lying, Hanbin. Nothing does.”

So, obviously, he couldn’t say anything to placate you. At least, not right now. Maybe after a while, once you’d cooled down, but... would it even be worth it by then?

Hanbin nodded at you before taking a few steps back then turning to head back to the car. 

When he heard your front door close, it was like... okay, this is seriously cheesy, but it was like the door was closing on his heart, too.

Part 4

iKONic Fairy Tale Series: Aladdin | The Little Mermaid | Sleeping Beauty | Cinderella | Snow White | Rapunzel | Beauty & the Beast

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#ikon #ikon scenarios #ikon imagines #ikon au #ikon fluff #ikon angst #b.i #hanbin #kim hanbin #b.i scenarios #b.i imagines #b.i au #b.i fluff #b.i angst #hanbin scenarios #hanbin imagines #hanbin au #hanbin fluff #hanbin angst #kpop #kpop scenarios #kpop imagines #kpop au #kpop fluff #kpop angst #admin b #collaboration series

[creativitytoexplore]

Every Possible Landform and Weather Condition and Natural Disaster: An Interview with Matthew Baker https://ift.tt/3j3hMzr

Matthew Baker’s second collection of short stories, Why Visit America (out now from Henry Holt), takes ambitious aim at this country’s societal and political systems. Each story arrives through some manner of warped lens—a lens in which America, at first, appears very unfamiliar. New technologies, new borders, new pandemics. But the deeper into these stories you read, the more you recognize similar dangers at play in our own United States. The stories quickly cohere into a comprehensive map of current anxieties and existential interrogations. And that’s where the collection’s genius becomes most apparent: when you suddenly realize your expectations and assumptions about core American values have been constructively turned upside-down. I had the pleasure of interviewing Matthew Baker about his new collection over email in July.

Alexander Lumans: Let’s start with the collection’s title, Why Visit America. Since it shares titles with one of your stories, I’m curious as to when and how you arrived at this particular title. What kind of mood or impression do you hope it casts over the entire book? Does this intention reflect any of your current feelings about our country and its fractured state?

Matthew Baker: The concept for the title story came to me in 2012. At the time, I had recently moved to Ireland; I had never lived in another country before, and the subtle cultural differences between the United States and Ireland illuminated certain characteristics of the United States for me with sudden clarity. At that point I’d already written “Fighting Words” and “Appearance” and “To Be Read Backward” and had been thinking about the possibility of assembling a collection of speculative fiction. And then one night the premise for “Why Visit America” came to me. I didn’t actually write the story until years later, but to me that title seemed like the perfect organizing principle for the collection. I realized that the collection itself could function as a guidebook.

AL: Can you talk a little bit more about this notion of the collection as a “guidebook”?

MB: Each of the stories in the book is set in a different parallel-universe United States. I loved the idea, though, that over the course of the book the stories could form a composite portrait of the real United States: a Through The Looking-Glass reflection of who we are as a country.

AL: Your stories contain many elements that feel perfectly prophetic, as if they came from a more speculative-natured DeLillo. For example, in “Lost Souls,” there’s a worldwide pandemic of infants born without souls (which causes them to die), and right now our world is living through a life-threatening viral pandemic. While writing these stories, how much were you imagining the probability of these fictions becoming reality?

MB: Zero, honestly. I wasn’t trying to write prophetic fiction. Then again, I was born on an election day—maybe that gives me some seer-like ability to peer into the future of the nation.

AL: When you write, what are you searching for? Or another way to put it: from which anxieties, observations, and/or experiences did these stories rise?

MB: For this book, although all of the stories are speculative, I was specifically looking for concepts that would give me a way to write about the social and political systems of the real world. I wanted to examine the fundamental assumptions underlying the structures of American society. Take “Life Sentence,” for example. That story didn’t start with the question, “What would be an interesting way to use a technology that can erase memories?” The story started with the question, “What’s an alternative system of punishment that could be used to replace prisons?”

AL: When I first talked to you about this collection a year ago, you mentioned that one of the “rules” you gave yourself was that you had to name all fifty states somewhere in the book, and (if I remember correctly) you wanted to name them only one time. Are there other easter eggs we should look for or “rules” you worked within for the collection?

MB: Yeah, because the collection is meant to function as a guidebook of sorts, I’d decided that all fifty states needed to be included, and also that each of the stories should be set in a different city or region of the country (although there is some overlap, for instance in that “The Sponsor” begins in Massachusetts but ends in DC and “One Big Happy Family” begins in DC and ends in Florida). But that was only the beginning. I’d also decided that the collection should include as many native species of flora and fauna as possible. As many classic American foods, American sports, American styles of clothing, American genres of music. Every possible landform and weather condition and natural disaster that one can encounter in the continental United States. I had a lot of fun with that detail work. But there are some things I never found a way to include—mountain goats, or chowder, or dodgeball, for example—which haunts me.

AL: It’s immensely clear from the work how much fun you must’ve had creating these stories. When you’re writing, how do you best encourage or create the space for fun to become part of the storytelling process?

MB: It’s not always fun, to be honest. Some days—many days—are just grinding. I’ve found that reading for a while before writing can help spark that playful spirit, though. Like how watching somebody else doing tricks on a skateboard can make you want to hop onto a skateboard and try to do some tricks too.

AL: This collection absolutely demonstrates your love of lists (and I love your lists so much!). Some of them are prodigious in size (“The Tour,” “Lost Souls,” “One Big Happy Family”) while others are small and spare but then accumulate over the course of a single story (“To Be Read Backward,” “Rites,” “Life Sentence”). What is it about lists that excites you?

MB: For better or worse, I think that’s just the way that my brain operates. I love programming languages, and when I first began to code, I was amazed to discover that every programming language has a fundamental data structure—what in many programming languages is called an “array”—whose sole purpose is to store lists of information. I was so excited by that—I felt an immediate affinity—I think because lists are so fundamental to how my brain organizes and processes information about the world around me. I can’t possibly express how much that lists delight me. In prose, I especially love when a list somehow builds to a climax or a sudden subversion of expectations, like a sequence of music notes building to a finale or a sudden change of key.

AL: In many of your stories, the point of view was one step removed from the character that other writers might choose as their storytelling lens. For example, there’s the large cast of POVs (most inhabited only once) in “One Big Happy Family”; yet, even though the detective appears in essentially every scene, we inhabit his POV for only a small part of the story. What is it about these “once-removed” POVs that appeals to you? What do they allow for?

MB: That’s thanks to Gabriel García Márquez. I first read his stories at the age of twenty, and was immediately fascinated by what to me was an entirely new genre of storytelling—not the genre of “magical realism,” although that’s the category that his stories are often assigned to, but instead the genre of the “community spectacle.” Maybe the quintessential example is “A Very Old Man With Enormous Wings.” Initially the most interesting character in that story might seem to be the very old man with enormous wings, and yet it’s not a story about him at all—instead it’s the story of the community in which he suddenly appears, and the various ways that the community reacts to and is changed by the spectacle of his appearance. I noticed García Márquez returning to that narrative formula again and again and again—the story of a community reacting to and being changed by some spectacle—and eventually came to realize that there was something about that setup that was profoundly compelling to me. For Why Visit America in particular, I found that “community spectacle” setup to be the perfect angle for exploring the conflict between individualism and collectivism in the United States, and the self-declared American POV of “We the People.”

AL: Gertrude Stein said that “A sentence isn’t emotional, a paragraph is,” which has intrigued me in terms of a paragraph’s various potentials. Furthermore, I’m always interested in how a writer uses their paragraphs; and I don’t think I’ve read a collection that employs paragraphs to the wild range that your collection does. You have a lot of single-line paragraphs throughout “Life Sentence,” and then you have stories with multi-page paragraphs (“The Tour,” “One Big Happy Family,” “Testimony of Your Majesty”). How exactly do paragraphs function in these stories—do you find any overlap with Stein’s quote? To you, what can a very long paragraph achieve?

MB: Maybe I do have a philosophy similar to Stein’s. I think of storytelling in terms of “units.” To me, a sentence is a unit comparable to a comic book panel and a paragraph is a unit comparable to a comic book page. In comics, as a creator, you want every panel to contain a certain amount of narrative energy, but what’s crucial is the page: you need every page to end on a panel that somehow provokes an emotional response in the reader—curiosity, fear, anger, joy, arousal, whatever—in order to entice the reader to turn to the next page to continue reading. I think about paragraphs like that: a paragraph should have a narrative arc that concludes on a sentence that provokes an emotional response in the reader, propelling the reader into the next paragraph at maximum velocity. And for that sometimes what you need is a small paragraph—even a one-liner, like a comic book splash page with a single image—but sometimes what you need is a long paragraph. There are situations in prose storytelling where that much space is required. When an editor tries to chop up a long paragraph into a bunch of smaller paragraphs simply because of some eldritch publishing superstition—“long paragraphs are bad”—it’s horrifying to me. You can kill a story that way. All of the narrative energy will bleed out through those breaks.

AL: You’ve mentioned programming languages, Gabriel Garćia Marquez, and comic books as meaningful influences on this collection. I’m curious as to what other spheres might have left their impressions here. Are there other writers or texts that, in a sense, gave you the permission to write Why Visit America?

MB: Margaret Atwood’s The Handmaid’s Tale and Kazuo Ishiguro’s Never Let Me Go both had a tremendous influence on the stories in this book, along with Ursula K Le Guin’s The Dispossessed. Honestly, though, maybe the biggest influence was American Short Fiction. Of the thirteen stories in the collection, “To Be Read Backward” was the first to be written, and was the first to be published in a literary magazine. I was at AWP when I got the acceptance email from American Short Fiction—I remember standing there in the middle of the book fair, staring down at the email with a sense of astonishment. I was stunned that a literary journal of that stature would be willing to publish this weird sci-fi story that I’d written—an overtly political speculative fiction that devotes entire pages to conjecture about the nature of the spacetime continuum. I’d thought of the story as an experiment, as a risk, and so the enthusiasm of the editors was profoundly encouraging. Getting to do this interview with you is special to me for that reason. In a sense, American Short Fiction was what first gave me permission to write this book.

Named one of Variety’s “10 Storytellers To Watch,” Matthew Baker is the author of the story collections Why Visit America and Hybrid Creatures and the children’s novel Key Of X, originally published as If You Find This. His stories have appeared in publications such as New York Times Magazine, The Paris Review, American Short Fiction, One Story, Electric Literature, and Conjunctions, and anthologies including Best Of The Net and Best American Science Fiction And Fantasy. Born in the Great Lakes region of the United States, he currently lives in New York City.

Alexander Lumans was awarded a 2018 NEA Grant in Fiction. He also received a fellowship to the 2015 Arctic Circle Residency, and he was the Spring 2014 Philip Roth Resident at Bucknell University. He teaches at University of Colorado Denver and at Lighthouse Writers Workshop. He’s currently at work on a novel set in the Arctic.

#American Short Fiction

[worryinglyinnocent]

Fic: Best Left  Unremembered

Summary: Rumpelstiltskin finds Belle crying in the Dark Castle, and as he tries to comfort her, he learns more about both Belle and another incredible woman in her life. 

For the @a-monthly-rumbelling prompt: “Bad day, drink, cuddling”

Rated: G

=====

Best Left Unremembered

Belle was nowhere to be found. Having appeared in the main hall of the Dark Castle, Rumpelstiltskin’s brow furrowed. It was unusual for Belle not to be here in the main hall when he came back from his various deals. More often than not she was waiting at the table with the tea things already laid out; she had quickly understood his schedule and knew that he liked to be back for afternoon tea and cookies. He wasn’t quite sure when afternoon tea and cookies had become such a fundamental part of his daily life. A small part of him surmised that it might have something to do with the fact that afternoon tea was never a luxury that he could afford before he had become the Dark One, and now he had the ability, he was going to indulge in it as much as possible.

Still, although he was slightly put out not to be greeted with freshly baked treats and the soft aroma of delicate bergamot wafting through the castle, he was not entirely perturbed by it. Belle was probably in her library, lost in a good book and therefore completely immune to the passage of time that was going on around her.

“Belle?” he called out, receiving no response. “Where are you?”

Still silence. With a snap of his fingers, he transported himself to the library, but again, this was empty. The only sign that Belle had been in here at all today was a book missing from one of the shelves. Rumpelstiltskin ran his fingers along the heavy, leather-bound spines, and immediately he knew which book Belle had taken. For all the wonderful tomes in the room, there was always one that she kept coming back to. Her Handsome Hero, the book that she had initially brought with her when she had come from her father’s estate to his. Rumpelstiltskin wasn’t at all surprised to find this book missing; he was more surprised by the fact Belle was not sitting on the chaise longue reading it. Still, the throw blanket over the back that she wrapped herself up in on colder afternoons was undisturbed, and there was no indication of where Belle might be instead.

Not in the hall and not in the library, Rumpelstiltskin began to feel a little trepidation. After the Queens of Darkness had managed to get their paws on Belle, he had strengthened the castle’s wards to try and prevent such another occurrence, and Belle had had no reason to be outside today, although he had not prevented her from walking in the castle grounds if she wanted fresh air. He glanced out of the window; the weather was grey and overcast, the odd spot of rain threatening to fall and turn into a downpour. It was not weather suited to outdoor pursuits. Surely no-one could have got inside the castle itself and spirited her away?

Rumpelstiltskin pushed the thought to the back of his mind and shook himself crossly, trying to convince himself that he really wasn’t as worried about Belle’s wellbeing as he actually was, and if he was worried about it, then it was because good help was hard to find and he’d never get a caretaker quite like her again.

Still, it was best to be sure before he started to jump to conclusions, and to that end, Rumpelstiltskin began the painstaking task of combing the castle for his maid’s whereabouts. The next logical place to look was the kitchen; perhaps she had been in the process of making the tea when he had returned and had not realised he was back. But no, there was no sign of her here, and the kettle and stove were cold. She had not been in here since breakfast, clearly.

Rumpelstiltskin wondered. The one place in the castle that Belle was forbidden from entering without his supervision was his workroom in the tower, not out of any kind of desire to keep something incredibly secret from her, but simply because there was so much dangerous magic that could harm her in there.

Rumpelstiltskin knew, however, that his maid was an inquisitive little thing, and it was highly likely that she had broken this rule in the hopes of having an uninterrupted nose around his potions and lotions. With a heavy sigh and a snap of his fingers, Rumpelstiltskin transported himself to the tower, where the first thing that he saw was, indeed, Belle.

“Belle, what have I told you about…”

His voice trailed off when he took in Belle’s aspect. She was sitting on the floor beside his workbench, cuddling her knees to her chest with one of his spellbooks open at her feet, and she was weeping uncontrollably. Rumpelstiltskin didn’t think she’d even noticed his arrival, so deep in her misery she seemed.

“Belle?” he hedged tentatively. Had something gone wrong; had she broken or upset something and was fearful for his reaction, trying desperately to find the correct magic to counter it? He glanced around the room, but nothing seemed to be out of place. “Belle? Whatever is the matter?”

Belle noticed his presence then, and she scrambled up to her feet, grabbing the spellbook and snapping it closed, wiping her eyes on the back of her hand.

“Oh, Rumpelstiltskin, I didn’t realise you were back, I’ll get back to dusting and…” Her voice was choked, desperately holding back tears, and she tailed off, unable to speak anymore. She went to push past him towards the doorway to the tower, thrusting the book at his chest as she went, but Rumpelstiltskin put a hand on her shoulder to stop her moving. She dutifully stopped, but she did not look up at him. Fresh tears dripped onto the worn cloth cover of the book between them.

“Belle? Why are you crying?”

Belle shook her head. “It’s nothing. Nothing.”

Rumpelstiltskin racked his brains, trying to think about the last time he had seen Belle so very unhappy and what had caused it. He had known her happy and bold for as long as he could remember, except at the beginning when she had been homesick during those first couple of weeks.

“Are you missing your family again?” he asked. Another shake of the head.

“It’s nothing,” Belle repeated, but if she was trying to sound convincing then she was failing woefully.

“Well it’s obviously something. People don’t generally start bawling their eyes out for no reason,” Rumpelstiltskin pointed out. Despite her misery, Belle gave a choked little sob of laughter, and Rumpelstiltskin chanced to put an arm around her, guiding her towards the work bench and pulling out a chair for her. She sat down without protest, wiping her tears on the corner of her apron, and he waved a hand to produce some tea for them, the pot steaming instantly. Another snap of his fingers brought a plate of cookies as well and Belle gave a watery smile.

“My aunts always used to say that a good cup of tea can turn a bad day around,” he said sagely, pouring for both of them and adding a spoonful of sugar and a splash of milk to Belle’s cup, just the way she liked it. The action gave him pause for a moment as she took the cup with muted thanks and began to sip the hot liquid. Since when had he been paying enough attention to Belle to know what her tea preferences were?

“My mother said the same.” Belle blew on the surface of the tea to get it cool enough to drink properly, sending ripples across it. A tear dripped down into the cup. “It’s her birthday today,” she said quietly.

“Ah.” Suddenly, that single sentence explained a lot. “I see.”

The silence between them stretched on for a long time, until Rumpelstiltskin felt compelled to speak again.

“You miss her?”

Belle nodded. “Every day.”

It was at that moment that Rumpelstiltskin chanced to look down at the book that Belle had been weeping over when he had come into the laboratory. It was a tome of spells and potions for affecting memories and memory loss, and he glanced across at Belle.

“What were you doing in here, Belle?” he asked softly, hoping that his tone would not come across as accusatory. There was definitely something that Belle was not telling him, but he could tell that it was not out of any desire to be deceitful, more just a wish to keep it to herself. He really shouldn’t poke his nose in where it wasn’t wanted, but there was something deep inside him that wanted to make Belle smile again. The darkness, of course, was needling him, telling him that she was his maid, that it really didn’t matter if she was happy or sad as long as she kept the castle clean. He pushed that thought down, mentally yelling at the voices in his head to be quiet.

Belle was silent for a long time.

“I can’t remember how she died,” she said eventually, and her hand slid across the table to the book, resting her fingertips on it. “I have so many nightmares about it, all the time. But none of it’s real. I can’t remember what really happened. My mother was a hero, she died to save my life, and I can’t remember her doing it!”

She pressed her hands over her eyes again, rubbing away the new tears. Rumpelstiltskin plucked a handkerchief from the air and offered it to her, scooching a little closer. Belle took it gratefully, drying her eyes and blowing her nose.

“You know, maybe there are some things that are best left unremembered,” he said. “It’s best to remember the happier times, surely.”

He thought of Baelfire, of the many happier times that they had shared back when things had been simpler, and of that terrible final moment when he had let go of his son’s hand and let him fall into the portal alone, never to be seen again. If he could erase that memory from his mind, then he would gladly do so.

“But how can I hope to honour her sacrifice if I can’t remember it?” Belle sniffed. “How can I ever live up to what she did for me? How can I be worthy of something so huge?”

Belle, Rumpelstiltskin was quickly learning, was a very complex young woman. He pushed the book out of the way, out of sight and out of mind.

“Is your mother’s sacrifice why you agreed to come with me?” he asked. “You felt that you could only live up to her sacrifice by sacrificing yourself?”

Belle sighed. “I don’t know. Perhaps. I feel like she saved me so that I could save everyone else. I… I love her so much, and I don’t want her to be disappointed in me.”

“I don’t think that anyone could be disappointed in you, Belle,” Rumpelstiltskin said. “I think that you’re far braver than you give yourself credit for.”

Belle snorted. “Do the brave thing and bravery will follow.”

Rumpelstiltskin nodded, thinking of all the times in his life when he had taken the exact opposite approach. For someone so small and fierce, so bold and so defiant, so unafraid to stand up for herself, it made no sense to him that Belle should have such a lack of confidence in this one aspect of her life.

He refilled her teacup from the pot.

“Why don’t you tell me about your mother?” he suggested. “She sounds like a remarkable woman.” It was clear to him now that it was this unseen mother who had instilled so many of Belle’s values into her.

Finally, Belle gave a genuine smile. “Oh, she was. She taught me so much. She taught me to read, and to swim, much to Papa’s consternation…”

Listening to Belle talk about her mother, Rumpelstiltskin didn’t think that he had ever heard her so animated, and even as the sun began to set and he was forced to light the candles so that they could see each other, he continued to listen, entranced, to the stories that she was telling. As she eventually fell silent, he saw that she was smiling once more.

“I should start dinner,” she said presently, standing and brushing down her skirt. Before Rumpelstiltskin could protest, she had thrown her arms around him. “Thank you,” she whispered. “Thank you for listening.”

“You’re very welcome.” Rumpelstiltskin patted her back somewhat gingerly, but although she had taken him by surprise, he could not say that he was uncomfortable with the display of affection, and he felt somewhat bereft when she pulled out of his embrace, slipping away down the tower steps with a shy smile over her shoulder.

At least he had been able to lighten her day a little. A small part of him, not yet given over to the darkness within, preened proudly. He liked seeing Belle smile, and he was going to do it more often.

And if she hugged him in response, then, well, he was sure he could get used to that.

#rumbelle fic #A Monthly Rumbelling #rumbelle #Rumpelstiltskin #Belle French #Dark Castle #Enchanted Forest #pre-curse #grief #remembrance

[elysiumrp]

Congratulations TRISHA! You have been accepted as Sabrina McCarthy. Please go through the checklist and send in your account within 24 hours. If you need more time, make sure you send a message to the main.

Welcome back, Trisha! It’s been ages, but I’m so glad you decided to join us again as Sabrina. I can’t wait to see where she goes on the dash cause I know that you’ll do wonders playing her. In regards to your question about having one of her parents be from England, go for it! I definitely think it makes sense with her character, and I’m fine with either parent. Welcome to Elysium!!

OOC INFO

Name: Trisha Age: 26 Timezone: GMT Preferred Pronouns: She/Her Previous RP Experience: [RFP] Activity Level:  On a daily basis, I’m working office hours, until six in the afternoon. I’m usually free in the evenings, sometimes I need to go to a meeting or two but it’s rare. Of course, it’s also in the evening when I cook, clean and whatnot, but I tend to have at least one hour on a regular night to log in and be around. Anything Else: Nope! And I do hope I’m not missing any catches here, because I’ve read basically everything around, hahahaha.

IC INFO

Character Name: Sabrina McCarthy Second Choice Character: N/A Why did you choose this character:

I don’t tend to have a favourite type of character; I usually like them closer to who I am, a bit different, which gives me more room to develop them without strings attached. However, once in a while I need a change. Perhaps it’s my writer’s instinct telling me it’s fed up of the same old thing (like it led me to write stories in first person - which I’m not exactly a fan of - and write from a male’s perspective, as well as a variety of others experiments). I believe this time came. Sabrina is out of my comfort zone, which would push me to actually portray a character and not simply, naturally play it with my instincts. I have played characters like her before, of course, and it took me places I didn’t expect, which is always amusing.

Sabrina is apparently flawless, a privileged. Underneath layers of expensive designer clothing, imported makeup and youth, she has her own demos, caused by a relapse in the family, often amongst the wealthy ones. As I’m always drawn to the darkest bits of everything, I guess it’s concealed it all and slowly opening up the troubled cracks that led me to Sabrina. She’s very raw as a person, so I think she has a lot to be explored and refine.

Describe your plan for them: It will all depend on how things play out, but portraying Sabrina adjusting to a severe circumstance would be interesting. A more ordinary and less drastic scenario would be the loss of her clique - for whatever reason, from gossip to a misconduct in friendship from either end. How would she deal with the fact that she has no friends other them and how what would she do to come out of her decade-planned social agenda. She would be forced to interact with people that she isn’t too fond of, or even intimate of, for instance.My aim is, I want development. And with that, in Sabrina’s case, it comes with a lot of personal suffering. Her personality isn’t easy, she’s adamant about her beliefs and the way she was raised, without anything to trouble her and make her want to change; I want to put her in situations out of her comfort zone, to slowly build personal growth. And there’s no way of making someone without breaking them first.

Describe your character’s feelings, reactions, and potential involvement/want to be involved during/after the recent fall of the Council (At least a few sentences): Disbelief. Not a surprised one, but a “are you stupid?” eye-roll one. For Sabrina, everything was nothing but well-planned marketing. The media, nowadays, could do wonders to anything and anyone’s reputation - and she knew that quite well, being in her area of expertise. The videos all over the internet, the allegations - they were all publicity. That thought persisted as the first attack occurred in Times Square. It was an odd and clear cry for attention for whatever company was producing that movie/TV show/series/campaign, but it was all an act. Monster did not exist. After the third attack, her creativity perhaps couldn’t wander that far, yet she was rational and intelligent enough to realise something was wrong. That sixth sense clicked the moment he started starting at her, commanding her. Yet nothing said by Nicholas compelled her into doing anything at all. The man acted off with confidence and naturally. Sabrina fought back with teeth (ironically) and fists, running off. It was when she got home that she decided to peek through the layer of silk she were around her neck. Bite marks, trailing down her shoulder covered by blouses of long, high collars. In the danger of the madness the city was truly living now and her own, unanswered fears, she tried to play along without actually sharing with anyone how vulnerable and afraid she was, not even to her parents and closest friends, with the exception of Samantha, who took the time to explain her what many humans were still blind to, telling her small details and even teaching her a few ways to protect herself.

Para Sample:

(I’m sampling this thread, which is more developed and in depth, usually the way I prefer writing. It isn’t IC as I often struggle to write any IC applications.)

Bubbles jumped from the skillfully balanced coupe glasses seemingly superglued to the silver tray. Tulip ones would have been better to preserve the sparkly taste, but after countless refills of Moet - and some downed whiskey on the side - Ella lost her sense of criticism. Regardless of some errors perceived only by a controlling businesswoman, the celebration was, as usual, outstanding. The magazine’s filial in Canada was particularly acclaimed by their Christmas parties, a tradition in a country where snow cornered every living being. New Year was typically celebrated in New York City, back at Ella’s headquarters and main building of the fashion empire. Hard liquor could be found at an arm’s length, champagne was spurting from fountains and, needless to say, there were private areas where recreational ‘distractions’ had the prerogative of a turned blind eye.

In certain zones, the music was as loud as in a night club, the spaces dark as in the anonymity of a Vanilla Sky movie. It was a party, after all, and nobody could party better than rich, powerful people. Especially when they all held dirt on one another, which kept all the gatherings - no matter how large - always very secure for some occasional colleague lose control over the incentive of an invited outsider plus one - or multiples.

Particularly, Ella felt like indulging into champagne. It wasn’t unusual for her to drink (not lately), but the bubbly liquid seemed to be getting to her head fast enough to unleash her scarce inhibitions. It was past one in the morning, though, and consequently everyone else was cut or their way to alcohol intoxication, so the editor-in-chief didn’t mind her sharp, bold tongue and impulsive behaviour. It had proved to be fun so far, in spite of some honest, foolish mistakes.

With a half empty glass of flat Moet, the brunette detached from her crew of co-workers and headed to one of the many bars. With a bubbly smile matching her drink of the night, she requested a new coupe, taking the brief moment of wait to scan her surroundings. Coming to the party was purely an obligation, at first, but she managed to find the fun in it after some litters of alcoholic beverages. Those who knew her, were aware that the brunette was going through a rough time, regardless whether she would share the details and causes or not. Tonight, she allowed herself to feel lighter; tomorrow, she would deal with the consequences of hangover.

It seemed to have started ahead of schedule. A sting hit her temple vividly, like a pin hammered in her brain, at the blurry sight of a familiar silhouette. It was very much alive in her memory to provoke her the certainty of seeing what she thought to be standing across the room. No more than a month had it been she had last seen him, and from afar she could sense his presence, now that she was aware of it. However, it couldn’t possibly be him.

The bartender politely handed her the glass, while Ella’s azure gems wouldn’t diverge from the target her brain focused on. Her lips moved in a ‘thanks’ that was muffled by the music back in the open chamber nearby, so quietly she spoke. It was like being on a trance. In a black tuxedo, his gold-tone, slick back hair was all she could see. But the stance, the gestures he made whenever speaking to whoever was that unfamiliar person he talked to - the voice she heard had to be his, or else her mind was repeating it just for tease. Playful tricks of the mind, after too many glasses. She believed it, she also doubted it. He was away, somewhere in Europe. She was here. She came back. This isn’t happening.

He turned around. Black shawl lapel tuxedo, ebony shirt underneath - a complete full-black outfit just like that first party. Ella was also in black. Her colours were neutral, always black, beige, dark brown and, on occasion, some white. They looked like coordinating colours when most carried on the Christmas warm up in red and green. And the voice that she heard before, it turned louder as she, much to her surprise, walked toward her in the company of another man, which soon enough turned a corner and left Princeton to arrive at the bar alone. He was quicker than Ella’s despair to flee. She couldn’t hear her own thoughts, her heart was too loud in her ears.

Any questions/concerns/things you’d like to change: (siblings to add, pronouns, sexuality you’d like to specify, personality, face claim, history, etc., etc.)

If it’s possible, perhaps Sabrina’s mother of father could be from the UK? I don’t know, I’m asking because I live in Europe and there’s a few differences from the English here and from the USA. I think it could add a bit more of character to her, by having a double nationality and being raised back and forth two distinct continents. It’s not mandatory, just something I thought interesting. :)

#accepted #supernatural rp #supernatural rpg #bio rp #bio rpg

[lifeonashelf]

CASE, NEKO

I love a girl who loves Neko Case.

In loose accordance with my admittedly vague understanding of the Substitution Theorem of Algebra (if a = b and b= c, then a = c), that means I also love Neko Case. I’m hesitant to accept this, but not because I don’t love Neko Case—I might very well love Neko Case; I’m going to listen to a bunch of her records right now to find out. However, I refuse to blindly accede to anything Algebra has to say about the governance of my life, because although I’m unsure at this point precisely how I feel about Neko Case, I am absolutely positive how I feel about Algebra: I loathe it with the singular strain of unbridled vehemence I reserve solely for the most odious insentient phenomena which plague the human experience with their very existence (long lines, automated telephone customer support menus, quinoa, Amy Schumer, etc.).

I have suffered through three Algebra classes in my life: “Algebra I” in high school, “College Algebra” at Citrus College, and then another seminar that was creatively dubbed “College Algebra” at University of La Verne—the latter because the donkey-fluffing sadists at ULV arbitrarily decided the “College Algebra” course I completed at Citrus was insufficient to fulfill their “College Algebra” requirement, despite being an Algebra course taken at a College that had the exact same title and covered the exact same material as the additional class they forced me to enroll in (I can only suppose they were misinformed that significant advances were made in the field of studying numbers that aren’t even fucking numbers during the intervening span). I don’t think it’s a coincidence that each of the instructors who led these tutorials were stern pricks—devoting one’s life to a discipline which has no practical value to anyone except other Algebra teachers strikes me as a particularly unfulfilling existence—and I retained nothing useful from any of these experiences, save for perhaps one equation: g + f + y = go fuck yourself. I understand that there are people on this planet who love math the same way I love music, and I further understand that these people are responsible for developing technical innovations which better humanity in myriad ways while people like me fritter away our nights typing a bunch of worthless nonsense in the name of cheap laughs. Nevertheless, even if someone with a PhD in Algebra eventually cures cancer or resurrects John Bonham to properly reunite Led Zeppelin, I still won’t want to have a beer with them.

Thankfully, while Neko Case has written many songs about matters of the heart, weather events, and—perhaps oddly—tigers, I have yet to encounter a single tune in her repertoire about math. I’m loving her more and more every minute.

And I also love a girl who loves Neko Case. I found this out when I found out that The Girl In The David Bowie Shirt is also The Girl With The Neko Case Tote, and I found that out because said Tote was actually inside my apartment with the Girl who was carrying it.

I suppose I should update you on that: The Girl In The David Bowie Shirt and I reestablished contact shortly after I authored the last piece she was mentioned in (though she is unaware of its existence and has not read it). Our former radio silence has been replaced by phone conversations which routinely stretch into multiple hours, and we now text each other on more days than we do not text each other. She has visited California on two occasions since she relocated, and I was able to spend time with her during both of these visits. We have smoked cigarettes on my balcony together and we have eaten Thai food together. She has gradually become one of the closest people to me in the world—2,000 miles be damned—and one of the first people I share my breaking news with; even better, I have become the same to her. And I was absolutely correct in my previous estimation that she would prove to be a haunting presence in my life, because I still inevitably measure every other woman I meet against her and they all pale in comparison. There—are we up to speed?

I’m certain she’s figured out exactly how I feel about her by now; she’s smart as hell and I’ve said plenty of things to her which could only produce that one specific and inescapable conclusion. Yet I’ve never told her exactly how I feel about her in specific and inescapable terms. My hesitancy to do so is mostly borne from pragmatism—we live 2,000 miles apart, which is specific and inescapable math I can’t argue with. So instead of confessing that I write sappy drivel like this about her, I’ve resigned myself to our current stalemate. I figure I’ll just keep pining over her until either: a) I meet someone as rad as her who doesn’t live 2,000 miles away, or b) I die alone. I think it’s a solid plan, especially since the relationship we have right now is basically ideal—I may not get to make out, cuddle, or listen to records with her… but since we never see each other she can’t get sick of my neurotic ass, which is pretty awesome.

I knew who Neko Case was long before I learned that The Girl With The Neko Case Tote possesses the handbag in question. Neko (I think I can safely refer to her on a first-name basis, since I probably love her and all) makes her indelible presence felt in a ceaselessly superb band I have admired for many years—The New Pornographers—and she also provided some stunning duet harmonies on John Doe’s Forever Hasn’t Happened Yet, which is a record so good that my life would likely be tremendously improved if I listened to it every single day. However, I hadn’t properly investigated her eponymous work until my not-so-secret paramour included the song “Star Witness” from 2006’s Fox Confessor Brings the Flood as one of her contributions for a swap of post-modern mixtapes we prepared for each other.

If you were to pick 15 songs you want me to hear right now, what would they be?

This intriguing text from The Girl With The Neko Case Tote arrived one otherwise uneventful afternoon while I was killing time before work. And just like that, the tone and focus of my entire day shifted.

Naturally, I had long-machinated on a mix-CD for her (I even compiled a rough draft at one point, which I never gave her and still have). Now here she was, laying down the gauntlet, and doing so with a latent immediacy (“right now”) which granted me no room for second-guessing or reconfiguration. My friends, it struck me as a Herculean task. Yet it was a provocation I could not resist.

You do realize that choosing only 15 songs for you might be the most difficult thing I’ve done in my entire life, right?, I texted back with minimal hyperbole.

She called me immediately to admit that she was grappling with that same concern on her end (obviously, I would be getting 15 songs in return). She wondered aloud if we should set some parameters to help guide our selections, which I voted against. If the challenge was indeed to make our choices spontaneously, drawing upon visceral emotion rather than sagacious deduction, any self-imposed strictures that impelled our deliberations would indubitably be counterproductive to the assignment (goddamn, that was a pretentious sentence… why do you read this shit?). And the clock was ticking—I had to leave for work in 90 minutes, so 90 minutes was how long we had to pick each other’s songs. Once the timeframe and mission statement were established, we broke our telephone huddle. And I set about scouring my brain and my shelves to concoct the most kickass compilation I’ve ever made for anyone: “The 15”.

This was to be a unique finished product. That whole 2,000 miles actual-numbers math bullshit prohibited us from handing each other discs, as the mix-CD mating dance normally entails. Instead, we settled upon texting an ordered list of our picks to each other so we could cue up the tracks in sequence on YouTube and do our actual listening there.

Her roster chimed my phone 85 minutes later. Unsurprisingly, it displayed a musical sampling that was as inimitable and compelling as the Girl who compiled it.

I was delighted to discover that only one of the fifteen songs she chose was already familiar to me (“Why Can’t I Touch It?” by The Buzzcocks—which, I must tell you, is a tremendously flattering dedication to receive from a girl you’re cuckoo about; seeing that on her list made me wish there was a tune called “Dude, You Totally Can” that I could send back to her). I don’t think it will shock you to learn that I subsequently purchased each of the albums her 14 additional selections appeared on; logically, I did this because: a) all of the tracks she picked were absorbing enough to make me curious to investigate additional work by the bands responsible + b) I wanted to assemble a physical copy of her “The 15” for myself = c) I’m crazy.

[If it seems unduly zealous to purchase 14 CDs simply because they have tangential associations with someone I have hung out with less than 14 times… that’s because it absolutely fucking is. Luckily, all of those discs ended up being fairly excellent, so things could have certainly turned out far worse. For instance, I once bought a Ryan Adams CD because he was the favorite artist of a girl I dated for a few minutes, and I did this despite my supposition that Ryan Adams embodies the absolute rock bottom of shitty self-important hipster-minstrel twaddle. You can learn a lot about a person by exploring the music that is most important to them, so taking the time to investigate the melodic beloveds of someone you may potentially have intercourse with strikes me as a savvy bit of due diligence. Since The Girl Who Loves Ryan Adams was real cool, supplementing my library with Heartbreaker seemed like a sensible investment at the time. However, she broke off our brief courtship before I even listened to the album, after which I promptly returned it to Rhino. We never ended up having that intercourse, but I also never sullied my ears or my collection with the work of Ryan Adams—we’ll call it a wash.]    

I’ve always populated the discs I prepare for my crushes with at least a few songs meant to subtly convey overt messages (or sometimes vice versa), which I suspect is a tactic that every romantically-uncreative sap who tries to woo pretty girls with music has been utilizing since the dawn of recordable media. This ploy is one of the niftiest things about mix-CDs: the medium allows its curator to commission others’ words to voice sentiments they aren’t necessarily able to voice themselves. Jimmy Eat World is probably a better ambassador for my emotions than I am most of the time anyway, so I was perfectly comfortable deferring to them by slotting “Kill” onto the playlist I sent to The Girl In The David Bowie Shirt Who Has A Neko Case Tote. I also—either boldly or foolishly or both—included the most stellar love song ever written on her docket: Walter Egan’s “Magnet and Steel”. And I did so with impunity, because another marvelous facet of mix-CDs is that the subjective nature of their components imbues them with an intrinsic bulwark of plausible deniability. (And that was another wantonly ostentatious and unintelligible sentence… and so is this one—seriously, why the fuck are you reading this?).

Allow me to clarify. Imagine that TGITDBSWHANCT (shit, even my acronyms suck) heard those tracks and was instantly revolted by the insinuations they contain. The poor girl’s sitting there, innocuously listening to “The 15”, when suddenly Jim Adkins blurts out, “I loved you, and I should have said it.” Her eyes bulge wide with horror, she probably throws up in her mouth a little bit, and she gasps, “Dear god, I think Taylor might have chosen this song because he loves me and thinks he should have said it; I’m going to call him right now and venomously reject him because I don’t feel that way about him at all. How could I…? His sentences are goddamn trainwrecks!”

This is where the mix-CD force-field comes in handy.

See, if she did call me and say all that stuff—after she got done telling me she could never love a man who puts his paragraph breaks in such awkward places—all I would have to do to save face is cite the interpretative essence of music as an art form. “Oh, is that how the lyrics go?” I might innocently enquire before asserting, “The only reason I picked ‘Kill’ is because that song rocks” (granted, this is a flimsy justification; there are at least five tracks on Futures that rock more). I could also use that same maneuver to explain away the line in “Magnet and Steel” which declares, “the love that I feel is so strong, and it can’t be wrong”—“oh yes it can, shit-writer,” TGITDBSWHANCT might emphatically state; but she could hardly cling to her outrage over my excessive use of semi-colons if I explained that I merely selected that particular tune because of its brilliantly-minimalist guitar lead (granted, this is equally fucking flimsy—the fretwork on “Magnet and Steel” is certainly superb, but come on… if I was going to choose a song based solely on its guitar solo, it would be Motley Crue’s “Home Sweet Home”; that’s just basic common sense right there).

Ultimately, no such denials became necessary. As agreed, both of us let the music speak for itself and we never discussed the impetuses for our selections. If she was at all vexed by the memorandum Walter Egan delivered for me, that didn’t alter the frequency or character of our communications. Still, you better damn believe I scoured every one of her selections to see if they contained any similar lyrical or thematic clues.

The results of my recon were decidedly inconclusive—if anyone’s ever written a song called “I’m Secretly in Love with a Writer Who Lives in California”, it wasn’t on her list. The closest thing I found to a firm avowal was the passage in Jawbreaker’s “Ache” that says “somewhere, sometime, let me make you mine.” Although, in another verse the narrator concludes that he’s “safer alone”; “Ache” is an awesome track, but it didn’t prompt me to start shopping for a wedding cake just yet.

I can only conjecture what “Star Witness” means to TGITDBSWHANCT, and precisely why she nominated that particular cut for me—though it would be super-nifty if she picked it because of the wonderful line, “I would give anything to see you again.” Regardless, since I was willing to give Ryan Adams a try to better understand a girl I only spent a couple of weeks with, it probably won’t arrive as a bombshell that once I became aware of the Tote I quickly accumulated five of Neko Case’s records to study them as a means of studying the Girl with that shoulder-bag by proxy.

Neko’s oeuvre is frequently classified as “alt-country,” but I’ve never really liked that dubious categorization. More accurately, a lot of her music closely resembles what regular-Country music used to sound like, before the genre was usurped by a legion of insipid and interchangeable red-state pop stars whose only evident stylistic departures from the vapid dreck excreted by feces-mongers like The Black Eyed Peas are the employment of assorted twang-generating instruments and an increased emphasis on pick-up trucks as lyrical topics. Artists like Neko Case strike me as a more natural modern incarnation of the template laid out by—say—Hank Williams than something like—say—Carrie Underwood. Thus, the “alt-” prefix seems extraneous to me, unless we as a society are finally willing to acknowledge that the music which gets categorized as “Country” today is largely just Pop music marketed to drunk sorority girls and even drunker gun-toting lunk-heads who use the term ‘Murica unironically.    

In the interest of full disclosure, I’ll admit that my fluency with the last two decades of country music is extremely limited. I did randomly catch a few minutes of the CMA telecast a couple years back, wherein I witnessed a Stetson-adorned heartthrob (I think there was a “Luke” somewhere in his name) throwing up finger-devil-horns during his performance—which deeply exasperated and bewildered me, yet failed to clarify my understanding of what is considered “Country” music today. Further muddling matters, Luke Luke’s song sounded more like the material on KISS’s ill-advised grunge record than anything in the Waylan Jennings canon, and the dudes in his band were ornamented with black-leather wardrobes and lame tribal tattoos that made them resemble WWE mid-carders from the “Attitude” era (my first thought when I channel-surfed into this spectacle was, why is Godsmack playing the Country Music Awards?).

Listening to Neko Case, I’m reminded more of Emmylou Harris than X-Pac or Sully Erna, which is infinitely preferable. Yet Neko is most assuredly her own animal (a tiger, probably), and her music often veers into moodier, decidedly un-Country arenas, which I guess partially explains why artists of her ilk are distinguished with the “alt-” tag by the breed of snarky assholes who think that sub-genre designations are somehow valuable.

[Tangent: While I’m fully cognizant that recorded music is a Product and the people trying to sell said Product require readily-accessible Terms to market their Product to Consumers who enjoy similar Products, the superfluity of labels used to differentiate bands from other bands that are far more alike than dissimilar has become absurdly rampant in the 21st Century. I think the blame for this rests partly on lazy music journalists, who have increasingly come to rely on nonsensical chains of hyphenated buzzwords instead of conjuring constructive and evocative descriptions of how the music they’re writing about actually sounds and feels. The collective result of their fallowness is the presence of lugubrious jargon like “acid-house dub-step EDM” in Rolling Stone album reviews, hollow idioms which tell the layman absolutely nothing about the album being evaluated. Since all I understand about acid-house, dub-step, or EDM individually is that the ingestion of date-rape drugs is supposed to drastically improve the listening experience of each, the only thing their united classification suggests to me is, “some shithead in skinny jeans pushed a few buttons on his laptop and now this record exists.” Lest you think I’m unfairly singling out a realm of recorded sound that I personally regard as unartistic and uninspiring and utterly pointless, I would like to add that my beloved Metal community has become perhaps the most heinous dumping ground for obtuse sub-category monikers. If you thumb through any issue of a magazine like Alternative Press, you’ll encounter this phenomenon frequently, via testimonials like “the best melodic post-screamo death-core band in the world” (translation: “this group’s T-shirts are prominently showcased on an endcap at Hot Topic”). Further convoluting my grasp on our primary subject here, the gradual transference of country music into increasingly Pop-centric jurisdictions has led to the institution of the “Americana” tag, which has become the preferred critically-respectable umbrella for modern artists whose sonic lineage can be directly traced to the traditional bluegrass mode. This suggests that artists who make country music that actually sounds like time-honored country music can no longer be classified as “Country” artists; since their work bears so little resemblance to the hyper-glossy output of today’s Country performers, a new taxonomy had to be invented to accommodate the aesthetic that the term “country” used to encompass. Thus, the existence of “Americana” would seem to indicate that even people who love country music think Country music is fucking awful.]

As I visit the five corners of Neko Case’s discography represented on my shelves, I’m finding myself tremendously pleased—she really is goddamn fantastic—yet no closer to gleaning what “alt-country” really is. I have just finished listening to her live record The Tigers Have Spoken, which has more in common with a Dolly Parton live record than it doesn’t have in common with a Dolly Parton live record, yet is somehow not considered a straight country record (or are Dolly Parton albums retroactively classified as “Americana” releases now because they aren’t terrible…?). If Neko’s larger body of work is any indication, I’m led to infer that “alt-country” is country music that occasionally doesn’t sound like country music. But this only confuses me even more when I consider the Product currently being marketed as non-“alt-” Country music, which actually sounds like Pop music that occasionally sounds like country music. Reverting to Algebraic terms, if a (songs that sound like country songs) + b (a few songs that don’t sound like country songs) = c (an “alt-country” album), then shouldn’t it reasonably follow that d (aggressively overproduced Pop songs) + e (a few aggressively overproduced Pop songs that marginally resemble country songs) = f (something else)? Yet f is still classified as “Country,” which suggests either: a) Algebra is useless, or b) Taylor Swift is useless (I think a + b is probably the correct answer).

Muddy genre distinctions aside, I suppose Neko’s mien does have enough of its own dark-horse character to warrant a brand separation from Tammy Wynette (this isn’t intended as a slight; I fucking adore Tammy Wynette). Besides, if the “alt-country” label keeps Neko from languishing in the same record store bin as the aural codswallop defecated by the likes of Toby Keith, I’ll concede that’s probably a good thing.

Even after multiple spins of each record I own, I’m struggling to identify the best tunes in Neko’s arsenal; there are simply too many zeniths to choose from. The gal knocks out killer track after killer track with apparent ease, and I’m quickly becoming as smitten with her as The Girl With The Neko Case Tote is (though probably not as smitten as I am with The Girl With The Neko Case Tote, clearly).

I’ll have to credit 2002’s Blacklisted as the disc that officially converted me from curious party to fan. It’s certainly Neko’s most diverse offering, ably displaying her prodigious gifts as a songwriter by showcasing her ability to summon and sustain a multiplicity of moods. “Deep Red Bells” is the set’s showstopper—a richly melodic masterpiece whose stark gorgeousness becomes almost perverse once you figure out that it’s a murder ballad—though the similarly stunning “Runnin’ Out of Fools” arrives a few cuts later to demonstrate how equally adept Case is at crushing gospel-fueled torch songs which wouldn’t sound out of place on one of Roberta Flack’s records. Fellow album-sibling “Pretty Girls” is a prime example of the darker-edged exercises that enrich Case’s repertoire, which is liberally peppered with the kind of mournful meditations that would provide a perfect soundtrack for a late night drive on a secluded highway with a tumbler of whiskey in the cup holder (rest assured, “Pretty Girls” sounds equally tremendous right now even though I’m merely sitting in front of my laptop sipping an IPA).

Middle Cyclone is another knockout record, and features another tour de force of her melancholy mode: “Prison Girls”, wherein Neko brandishes her aptitude for crafting exquisite lines like, “I love your long shadows and your gunpowder eyes.” Earlier on that disc, “Vengeance is Sleeping” nimbly splits the difference between lovely and lamenting, wringing maximum potency out of an understated arrangement that allows Case’s stirred and stirring voice to soar as she confesses, “you’re the one that I still miss” (I would have been totally okay with that song being among “The 15”, by the way). Still, “Don’t Forget Me” is probably my favorite track on Cyclone, and had I heard it before I assembled my picks for The Girl With The Neko Case Tote, I surely would have been tempted to include it on her list—“you know I think about you, let me know you think about me too” is an apt summation of that subject, methinks.

I could go on and on, but this entry is already running long; besides, if I keep itemizing Neko’s highpoints, I’m going to end up writing about every single song in her catalog. Before I depart, though, I will offer this concession: now that I’ve familiarized myself with the body of work in question, I am willing to admit that Algebra was absolutely correct in this instance. I love you, Neko Case—specifically and inescapably.

As for the Girl who carries her Tote… Well, I don’t have all the right variables to solve that equation just yet. But at least I’ve got a wonderful soundtrack for our stalemate.    

I know this entry has meandered all over the place, but I’m still ultimately pleased with the way it turned out. In fact, I think it just might be one of the best self-deprecating long-distance handbag-worshipping memoir-core pieces I’ve ever written.

 September 24, 2015

[burst-zen]

A Growing Soul

Prologue

Written by Burstinggamer

Chase awoke with a sudden start, and looked around himself at the dull light of the moon as his only assistance in gaining his senses. He looked up, down, and around to only see what little there was, a river with little with water flowing calmly through and wall of trees behind him letting him know the forest behind him.

Chase stood on the bones surrounded by muscles called feet and took one last look around making sure there was no danger to himself. He looked at the water and tasted it, it was clear and he only tasted a few minerals to get energy from. But Chase began chugging it down as his body, compelled to quench the thirst it had.

“Don’t drink till your stomachs absolutely filled with water, there wouldn’t be any room left for us to eat then!” Said a voice from the forest. Soon enough the speaker showed itself out of the forest.

It was a cyan see through version of himself carrying logs of wood with a Flint and stone I'm his hand.

Chase himself had black hair, smooth green army jacket, white T-shirt with picture of a book having the cover of a galaxy, black eyes that reflected across the night sky, jeans, black shoes, and a pair of black glasses with green stripes on them.

He looked at the new arrival whilst feeling happy, sad, and uncomfortable as he said, “Hey Victory… How’s it going?”

Victory smiled and put down the couple things that he had in his hands as Chase cried tears of both joy and sadness at what this meant for the both of them, yells of confusion echoing through his lungs as he sobbed.

Chase’s time had come, he had died back in place of origin.

After a few minutes and setting up a fire, the two sat on the ground looking at one another, both filled with tired eyes.

Eventually Chase asked the one thing on his mind more then anything and said, “How long did we live, did we keep the promise to ourselves?”

Victory chuckled at the statement and looked him straight​ in the eyes and​ voiced out the sentence​, “We made it past it, all the way to 113.”

Chase sighed in relief and looked up to the sky and felt odd as if were a ghost in disguise, still feeling things but had nothing more to gain.

He made it through his life through thick and thin and lived for so long. There was nothing to go back for or no longer care about the dying world he came from, and now he was in a dark forest with nothing but another loan of pain and feelings with this new life…. In this new plane of existence.

However Chase soon remembered that was not the case as he soon remembered what his past life promised after his death. A new and great life with his powers that were developing inside him, even now as he thought to himself! The second life he made inside his head had now become his new reality! He felt good again, motivated to take on any-

“Calm down ya big A.D.D. case, your powers are weak at the moment and you know as well as I do that we need to get stronger to take on anything serious PERIOD,” Victory​ said this, rolling in his eyes at the enthusiasm Chase and him now shared.

“But c’mon Vic! Our body is finally physically here on this plane of existence! We can FINALLY go see her in person and be with my other family! We have been dreaming and daydreaming for years-” Chase stopped as Victory raised his right hand telling him to cease movement.

“This is all well and true and all,” Victory said, “But let’s take baby steps at a time alright? I think we need it after tonight just to absorb this in.”

Chase knew he was right, but he couldn’t help herself just thinking about how excited he was going to hug, hangout, and kiss his now real family that had been plaguing his past life since the age of 12. He wanted to see them so badly that it hurt to see them in his mind’s eye only to feel the salty trail of tears down his cheeks.

“If you really want to get to them faster, then try and harness your power.” Victory sighed.

Chase nodded and began to focus his powers to his hand, and soon enough he created a fireball with such an intense heat he burned the very air around it. This took little concentration, however his own power was getting ahold of him instead of vise versa and the fire soon launched out of control towards the river creating a monumental splash causing Chase to be washed away a few inches by the wave he made.

This left Chase with a very sheepish look across his face as he tried to look at Victory with a pleading look for help as the freezing water began to set in with their fire being swept away with the water.

Victory rolled his eyes as he lifted his transparent hand and the water soon tickled and moved out of the clothes that held the liquid. It soon drifted in the air back towards the river and said particles joined the other particles.

“Nevermind, you have some power but can’t control it due to you not being used to it.” Victory stated whilst igniting the fireplace once more, “You need time to practice and get used to it before you start doing anything crazy.”

Chase hurried to huddle himself against the fire letting the warmth envelope him, along with the warmth of his newly awakened magic inside him. And with a wave of exhaustion soon taking over him he soon fell asleep.

The next day came up along with Chase from his sleep and Victory was cooking some eggs and fish.

The first question that came to Chase’s mind and to be spoken out loud was, “Scrambled or sunny side up?”

Victory let his eyelids fall and eyebrows go straight as he gave Chase the a very uncaring glance as he said, “Which one do we usually make?”

“Hey I was just asking, besides while you’re cooking I want to ask for a recap about what exactly happened.” Chase replied rubbing the back of his nape, “And to ask why I have my 20 year old body?”

Victory looked back at the food and kept staring at it as he made his recap. “Our time had come and our life had ended leaving our stuff to our loved ones, however no sons or daughters inherited it because we never married. Next death kindly took me off the beaten path and placed us here where I trained and learned how to survive and use our energy, and eventually I was able to recreate our body with the right materials. Recreating your brain signals we managed to slowly, but surely, get your basic memories back and thus I managed to bring you​ to life on this plane of existence.”

Chase understood everything he was saying and then some as he saw the tense memories of him and through the gaze of his soul/friend, however another serious question arose, as did his eyebrows, in his mind as Victory finished his paragraph of words.

“Then how come I can’t remember these things?”

“Remember when we had encephalitis?” Victory tilted his head back up meeting eyes with Chase’s, “You’re going through that, but starting at the age of 21 instead of the age of 1.”

Chase made a small chuckle under his breath. His memory of the virus returned to him and it turned out to be his first time catching a glimpse at death in person as his motor skills, wisdom, and intelligence quickly faded. It took 3 months after some laid back therapy and multiple puzzles on an iPad to finally feel a little bit like himself again, however he was still not convinced even by his own walking feet that he had fully recovered only after 2 months.

“Okay, so it’ll be a slow process of things… That stinks, however it does give me some time and makes things a little more interesting.” Chase said this with a smile. Although he had forgotten most things, he was excited for what adventures and new experiences that were upon the two.

“Not so fast there hot shot, we need to learn control a little bit more.” Victory said interrupting Chase’s train of thoughts.

“We have to learn a little bit more about control as that giant wave of water destruction just demonstrated,” Chase rubs his nape apologetically as if he had done something, “We need to train so your body can get used to casting and manipulating these kind of serious elements. Not to mention the fact that if you have absolute, AND I MEAN ABSOLUTE, zero experience with this kind of energy.”

Chase raised his finger for a question, however Victory caught with ease as if it was something to catch immediately, “And before you say ‘i practiced it all the time back in our world​’ No, no you have not. You were only pretending with it because you had zero knowledge of how to do it, not to mention that you couldn’t even do it in our previous home dimension because the laws of that world forbade its use and physics.”

Chase got a playful grin on his lips and said, “When did you become an exposition spout?”

Victory made a deadpanned look on his cyan blue face, “Because first, you won’t keep anything in your head unless someone grinds it into your brain. And second is because you had no information on what had even happened since you died.”

Chase raised an eyebrow at Victory, “Couldn’t I have just seen everything since we are technically two parts of the same mind?”

Victory raised two fingers, “Two words: Too weak. Your body may be able to conjure up our energy now, but still needs practice and adjustments to grow strong with it. Also,” Victory puts on a stern face, “The physical mind won’t be able to handle the stress and before we can become part of the same body again you must get to THAT form.”

Chase nodded, realizing and comprehending what Victory was saying to him. Chase stared up into the sky, and thought of it as a symbol of his magic and power. He had finally gained this power that he had seen in works of fiction and his own mind, wanting very much to use it for himself… and now he had finally acquired it and was happy.

However Chase knew he had to get stronger and train for the fights ahead. Not too mention the family that was waiting for him too finally make it too that home.

Chase stood up with a look of pure determination in his eyes and shifted his gaze to Victory’s

“No time like the present, Let’s get started!” Just then Chase’s body realized the need for more energy and began to growl at the cooked fish in front him that Victory handed to him.

Victory simply said, “Let’s take our time with this Chase, we have plenty of time to get this done.”

With words being said and food eaten, they began to practice the art of energy: Spirit Wielding.

——————————————————–

Heya, burst here! Thank you for taking time to read this whoever this may concern to.

This is the first story I have written and it’s a bit of fanfiction/original work that I’ve had in my head for a very long time now.

Either way I’ll see you all later and hope you enjoyed!