#I am in despair over a kid's drawing and a candle

[comfied-chriterature]

SHY episode 10 had me bawling so hard I am in tears I am a mess it is 5 AM and I'm sobbing

The way we watched this impoverished single mother convince herself that her child hated her because she thought she could never make her happy I'm so broken

[hellreads]

Hello, I just stumble on your blog. Seeing a comment from Wrienne which I also read on AO3, I wanted to ask if you also have AO3 recs..?

hi there darling, of course, I have some recs for you! since you didn’t ask for anything specific let me just share a few faves that you could only read/access on ao3 (I would also recommend you check my ficshelfs and use the ao3 filter to find stories exclusively posted there + i’ll still include wrienne’s works for other readers :3 ) | 🍒

OT7/MULTIPLE MEMBERS

❥ Right of Way by fringesofsanity ➴ Infidelity!AU | Jungkook x Reader x Jimin | Series ➴ In theory, things were simple: your best friend was Jungkook’s girlfriend while your boyfriend, Jimin, was Jungkook’s best friend. In reality, things weren’t always that simple. And mutually exclusive.

❥ The Hills by minlouvre ➴ Vacation/Exes!AU | Yoongi x Reader x Hoseok | Series ➴ A ski trip with old friends sounds like a fun time, right?

when your ex-boyfriend (who you hate but somehow always end up in bed with) and your stepbrother (who you are harboring not-so-secret feelings for) tag along at the last minute, you have a feeling it won’t be an uneventful weekend.

but fun? debatable. that remains to be seen. ❥ A Hundred Percent Human by Wrienne ➴ Hybrid!AU | OT7 x Reader | Series ➴ In which you (reader) are forced to take care of seven hybrids in a twist of fate.

After your estranged mother passes away, you're left with an unwanted will and the heavy burden of responsibility. Although you're desperate not to stray from the familiar path you thought was laid out in front of you with a fully human boyfriend who loves you more than anything, your life is thrown upside down once more after another unfortunate incident (that may or may not have to do with said boyfriend) occurs.

Drunk and down on life, you finally decide to deal with the house and the unsavory business your mother left behind. However, to your shock, you find that seven very different hybrids are included with both the house - and the business. Seven hybrids you never even met before - even less agreed to take care of.

❥ Dead Leaves by Wrienne ➴ Detective/Exes!AU | Yoongi x Reader x Jimin | Series ➴ In which you (reader) are a homicide detective about to face the biggest hurdle both of your career and life.

Married to probably the kindest but most boring man you’ve ever met and living in a town where nothing ever seems to happen means life for you is dull. Dull enough to drive you crazy with boredom and dissatisfaction. However, life changes abruptly when your old boss retires and a new man takes his place - a man you used to love (and sleep very regularly with) more than a decade ago. Especially when your husband comes home smelling of perfume, you’re unable to resist your more carnal urges and dead women start showing up across the city with unnerving frequency. ❥ See Both Sides Like Chanel by minlouvre ➴ FWB/Rich Kids!AU | Namjoon x Reader x Hoseok | One-Shot ➴ You, Namjoon, and Hoseok are inseparable. 

Three best friends that grew up together since you were all in diapers.But lately, Namjoon has been drifting away…

So on his birthday, you and Hoseok remind him just how inseparable the three of you really are.

⤷ or alternatively: a little less twenty-one candles, a little more “touch me”

❥ Love Is A Dog From Hell by yourlocalhoney ➴ FWB/Lovers!AU | Yoongi x Reader x Jungkook | Series ➴ You and Yoongi agreed on being good friends, co-workers, and friends who help each other out under the sheets. What you never agreed on was to catch feelings for each other.

Enter, accidental feelings.

Enter, Jeon Jungkook.

❥ The Uncanny by Sinsirella ➴ Arranged Marriage!AU | Jungkook x Reader x Seokjin x Jimin | Series ➴ (Y/N) is a young girl whose Life turns upside down. One day her mother surprises her with news of her arranged husband, forcing her into her new chaotic lifestyle. Join her journey and experience her new life through her eyes. Will she get along with her husband? Or someone else? What are they hiding? ❥ Seven Deadly Sins by mintedmango ➴ Hell!AU | OT7 x Reader | Series ➴ You stood suddenly, chair being pushed away by the backs of your legs, the rest of the sins standing with you as you looked around in panic. All except Sloth who was out cold in the corner.

“Oh, little pet, indeed, I am still hungry.”

❥ Walk Through The Fire by shellflower ➴ Supernatural!AU | Taehyung x Reader x Jungkook | Series ➴ In a world of supernatural beings, a normal human like yourself always found attraction and wonder towards these creatures. It was your kind heart that led you to become a doctor to treat such people. And it was your kind heart that led you into the arms of a young Alpha wolf who will accidentally force you down a path you were never meant to follow... ❥ Into Temptation by coconutty  ➴ Demon!AU | Taehyung x Reader x Jungkook | Two-Shot ➴ It was just a dare...

❥ Won’t Be Nice by coconutty ➴ Lovers/Poly!AU | Taehyung x Reader x Hoseok | One-Shot ➴ A night by the pool just got interesting...

KIM NAMJOON

❥ Covenant by fringesofsanity ➴ Arranged Marriage!AU | Namjoon x Reader | Series ➴ You are betrothed to Kim Namjoon, the heir of a real estate mogul. To say that it was a fairytale romance would be erroneous. You’re instead loped in the sad tale of the rich and melancholy.

❥ Read You Like A Book by coconutty ➴ University!AU | Namjoon x Reader | One-Shot ➴ Come get an attitude adjustment in the library, courtesy of Namjoon.

KIM SEOKJIN

❥ Éffleurer by @sugaurora / sugalights ➴ Office!AU | Seokjin x Reader | Series ➴ There were always whispers in your office about what secrets Seokjin hid behind his clean image. Now, you knew at least one of them. ❥ The City Comes Alive by minlouvre ➴ Musician/S2L!AU | Seokjin x Reader | Series ➴ Seokjin is a street performer who falls for a girl who is always passing him by. ❥ Seaside Sabbatical by dark_muse_iris ➴ Working Man!AU | Seokjin x Reader | One-Shot ➴ After an accountant in your firm is sent to prison, you are assigned to clean up the mess he left behind. Sorting out your clients’ disastrous business records proves beneficial when you meet the fisherman who teaches you the value of taking a break. ❥ Cake by yeyeniejjung ➴ Yandere/Killer!AU | Seokjin x Reader | Series ➴ "I was always hungry for your love. Just once, I wanted to know what is was like to get my fill of it. I wanted to be fed so much love that I couldn't take it anymore, just once." ❥ The Lord Taketh Away by dark_muse_iris ➴ Medieval/Werewolf!AU | Seokjin x Reader | One-Shot ➴ Every autumn, the dwindling harvest summons fears for the impending winter and its promise of scarcity. For Seokjin and his wife, faith lies in God and their local lord’s generosity to provide what their ailing son needs to survive another year. With each season, however, the lord grows cold-hearted and greedy, squeezing the young family to the brink of despair.

MIN YOONGI

❥ Zelus by SugaAconcept ➴ Lovers/Sugar Daddy!AU | Yoongi x Reader | One-Shot ➴ Yoongi becomes jealous when your close friend Jungkook puts his hands all over you right infront of his face. So, Yoongi decides to make sure you know who you really belong to. ❥ Carpe Diem by fringesofsanity ➴ Idol/Lovers!AU | Yoongi x Reader | Series ➴ Working for the UN, you are tasked to handle the poverty reduction campaign of a certain boy band. A certain rapper from the group however decides to mix business with pleasure.

JUNG HOSEOK

❥ Feel You From The Inside by coconutty  ➴ Idol/Staff!AU | Hoseok x Reader | One-Shot ➴ You've been watching him for months, little did you know, he's been watching you.

❥ As You Are by fringesofsanity ➴ Lovers!AU | Hoseok x Reader | One-Shot ➴ You're not the girl for Jung Hoseok. Him - who was sunshine and daisies and fireworks. You - who were back-alley darkness and used needles and burnt cigarettes. But he doesn't care. And you fucking hate yourself for it.

❥ The Thin Blue Line by bluesxde ➴ Pregnancy/E2L!AU | Hoseok x Reader | Series ➴ One badly-judged fling with Jung Hoseok, the son of a company-rival, leaves you with a little surprise.

PARK JIMIN

❥ His Throne by hseoks ➴ Royalty!AU | Jimin x Reader | Series ➴ You, a maid for the royal family, have sex with the irresistible Prince Park Jimin on his throne.

❥ Ineffable by fringesofsanity ➴ FWB!AU | Jimin x Reader | One-Shot ➴ You’ve only shared your body to Jimin, mostly silent after the act. The one time you decide to bare so much more, you find yourself baring your soul to him, far more than you bargained for.

❥ Blue Side by hoseokiehopie ➴ Ghost/Lovers!AU | Jimin x Reader | One-Shot ➴ You’re all too familiar with the legend that says the dead can walk freely on Halloween. It’s a secret you hold deeply within yourself. When a classmate starts to break down the walls you built so strongly after your boyfriend’s passing, you have to decide if you’re going to remain in the past with the dead, or live among the living.

KIM TAEHYUNG

❥ Effervescence by fringesofsanity ➴ Idol/Fling!AU | Taehyung x Reader | Series ➴ Just like the fizz of a cola on a hot summer’s day, your encounter with Taehyung is short but sparkly sweet.

OR Getting married in three months, you and your girls attend Ultra Miami to cap your single life, a final hurrah of some sort. What you didn’t expect is meeting a beguiling boy with a boxy smile who gives you a festival you’ll forever reminisce.

❥ Minutiae by coconutty ➴ Stalker!AU | Taehyung x Reader | Series ➴ Y/N meets a mysterious and alluring photographer and wants to interview him. Along the way things start getting a bit strange. What happens when you draw the attention of someone who always gets what they want?

❥ Flower Arrangements by iq_biased ➴ Pregnancy/Lovers!AU | Taehyung x Reader | One-Shot ➴ From the moment you met Taehyung, his flourish for life drew you in completely. It wasn’t long before you fell head over heals for the tattoo artist who was so wrong for you, it felt right. But your story hasn’t always been an easy one, and just recently it’s become a whole lot more complicated…

❥ Freaks Forever by yeyeniejjung ➴ Criminal/Psych!AU | Taehyung x Reader | Series ➴ "So tell me, Mister Kim, what's your ideal evening?"

"Ah..full moon, sex and drugs all night."

You are the psychologist to the world's most dangerous criminal, Kim Taehyung. Kim Taehyung is the man solely responsible for some of the most horrific crimes that the world has ever seen, from burglary, drug possession, sexual assaults, to brutal homicides of a total of 37 victims, though there are suspicions that there are more, that range from children to the elderly; both male and female. The two of you form an odd bond between your weekly sessions, causing you to somehow completely miss his blatant manipulation that soon controlled you in every aspect; resulting in his escape from prison and his bloodthirsty ways and eyes to be immediately turned onto you..but will he spare you in the end of the torturous time he keeps you or will your fate be the same as any other past victim of his?

❥ Slow Burn by fringesofsanity ➴ Idol/F2L!AU | Taehyung x Reader | Series  ➴ He was just supposed to be one of those clients. But then he gives you a night you’ll never forget. ❥ Noona by yuu14045 ➴ Neighbors/Lovers!AU | Taehyung x Reader | Series ➴ Taehyung, Jungkook, and Jimin lives in same apartment building. One day Taehyung received a mail for another Kim. She turned out to be Jimin's new neighbor.

❥ Snapped by Kpopyandere ➴ Yandere!AU | Taehyung x Reader | Series ➴ Your relationship with your boyfriend hasn't been going well lately. His twin, Kim Taehyung, decides to take advantage of this.

JEON JUNGKOOK

❥ If You’re Struggling Like I Am by @btssavedmylifeblr / bts_ruined_my_life ➴ Idol/Lovers!AU | Jungkook x Reader | Series ➴ You are hired as a makeup artist for BigHit working with BTS. You are older than all of them, yet, despite your best efforts, you find yourself slowing falling in love with the youngest member.

❥ My Cheating Amnesic Fiancé by Wrienne ➴ Idol/Arranged Marriage!AU | Jungkook x Reader | Series ➴ A series set in our world featuring Reader, the sole heiress of a multibillion-dollar company, and the Bangtan Boys' Golden Maknae - Jeon Jungkook. Mainly a romance, though doused with angst, drama and the twisted ways of fate. ❥ Return by Kpopyandere ➴ Yandere!AU | Jungkook x Reader | Series ➴ As Seokjin's girlfriend, you're off-limits, but Jungkook doesn't see it that way

[your-high-lady]

Realisation

Summary: This story is about Feyre. She has a couple of small dreams she wants to achieve but turns out it isn't as easy as she imagined it would. Trust me, the story is better than the summary. Modern AU. Feysand.

Chapter 1  Chapter 2   Chapter 3   Chapter 4  Chapter 5   Chapter 6   Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Disclaimer: I own nothing except for the plot. All credit goes to Sarah J Mass

Chapter 9: Awkwardness and lips

After about thirty minutes of driving, we finally reached the place we were having dinner. It was within walking distance of the mini-golf place so we were planning to just walk over there after dinner.

I smiled at Azriel as he held the door open for Mor, Amren and I, and laughed when he let it close on Cassian and Rhys. I could tell they were close, just like Mor and I. Amren, however, was a different case. She filled the room with her essence, even in her tiny body. It was impossible to miss her.

A small smile on my face, I took in my surroundings. The restaurant was an Italian one with a homey feel to it. There was a row of comfortable-looking sofas right at the back and artificially-lit torches hanging off the walls, each one about a metre away from the other. The rest of the lighting was done by lit-candles on each table. It was a little dark for my liking but the open feeling the place had made up for it. It was a relatively warm night so we decided to sit outside. Our waitress, a blonde woman with huge nerdy glasses, gave us our menus and took our drinks order before the dinner-talk started up.

Ten minutes later, our food orders given, I was listening to Amren and Mor as Amren caught Mor up on her relationship with her boyfriend Varian. Apparently, they'd had sex for the first time a couple of nights ago and it made Amren very happy because they'd been dating for only about three months but she really liked him and had been feeling ready for that step in their relationship for a while now. Amren was just in the middle of gushing about how much Varian adored her when I felt eyes on me. I turned to find Rhys staring at me. Azriel and Cassian, who were on the right of Rhys were playing a game of chopsticks, which meant that they didn't notice what Rhys was so blatantly doing. I looked at him for a couple of seconds, waiting for him to speak or do something but when he didn't move, I said, "Yes? Did you want to say something to me?"

He tilted his head to the side before asking, "Do you have a boyfriend, Feyre?"

I raised my eyebrows before shaking my head. He nodded, thinking to himself, before looking up at me again, "What's your favourite food?"

"Peanut butter, banana and bread, together." The corner of his lips lifted in a small beam.

"Any place you'd like to visit?"

"Paris. I can imagine myself at the top of the Eiffel Tower, looking down, and realising that we are all such a small part of something so much bigger than anything we could imagine." Wow, that got deep. But surprisingly Rhys only gave me a sweet smile before moving on.

"Sunrises or sunsets?"

I instantly frowned. Why would he ask me a question like that? He just raised his eyebrows. "Sunrises," I said, maybe a tad bit more sassily than I meant too.

"What's on the top of your bucket list?"

"I don't have a bucket list. I just want to graduate and settle down." He narrowed his eyes at me.

"Are you sure? There's got to be something you really want to do before you die." I shook my head in reply. I was boring that way. I didn't want to live a flash life. I just wanted to settle down, buy my own house maybe, and just teach art.

"What's your dream life?"

"Teaching art to little kids."

"So you like children?"

"I guess so." I shrugged, brushing the words off. Rhys opened his mouth to ask, I assume, another question but just then Mor squealed. Our food had arrived. I shook my head at her in amusement as the waiter put my dish in front of me. I thanked her before diving into my food. I was actually starting to get really hungry.

About twenty minutes later, we were finally walking over to the mini-golf place. We'd chosen this place because one, it was close to the restaurant we wanted to eat at, two because it was one of the few places that stayed open till late and last because the place was so beautiful with all the waterfalls and amazing replications of cool places around the world, such as the Great Wall of China, the Grand Canyon and the Eiffel Tower.

After amusing the person at the desk for about ten minutes while we all fought over who would pay, Rhys finally ended up paying for all us. Though I wasn't really happy about that, I sucked it up because the entry was only ten dollars per person, so at least he wasn't spending too much money on me. I absolutely hated it when people spent money on me. It made me feel cheap and selfish as if I was using other people's money for my own fun. We decided to make teams, two people in each. Cassian ended up with Mor and Azriel with Amren, which left Rhys and me to go together. Oh, what are the chances!? Trying very hard to hide my grimace, I went to get a golf stick and ball. As I was doing that, I sensed him and the tightness in his muscles behind me. At least he seems as annoyed as I am, I thought to myself.

The first few courses were a blur, with me only coming back to my senses when it was my turn to hit the ball. By the fifth course, we were loosing. By a lot.

But then, at the seventh course he said, "It sucks, huh." I looked up at him with a frown. Did he mean being in a team with him? He clarified, "Loosing. I bet you wish you were with one of the others." He let out a breath in amusement. I frowned before saying, "I don't think that at all. It's not so bad being with you." He stared at me before moving his eyes to my lips. I noticed his pupils widening a little, causing me to blush. He noticed, looking up, before shaking his head and paying attention to the game once again. He didn't talk to me after that.

—

Rhys's POV

Beautiful. She was so beautiful, breath-taking even. She was so pretty and soft and adorable. The questions I had asked her: they had just been a way to get to know her a little better, but her answers had been so unique and different. She wanted to teach little kids art. I smiled to myself, imagining her walking around a classroom and giving feedback to the children she was teaching, making them smile when she gave them a compliment. I knew she would be successful in achieving her goals. I knew she was strong and wouldn't stop until she got everything she had ever wanted for herself. It was just another one of the things that attracted me to her. Because I was attracted. It was impossible not to be.

But Feyre was so different from her.

She had been so different with her red hair and black eyes that were always gleaming with schemes and wicked delight at small things in the world. I had found the gleam to be attractive but later I learnt that that gleam was just something she was using to lure me in. Her love at the beginning of the relationship was a trap, and then her hatred and evilness at the end was the immediate poison.

And then all of sudden, those black eyes turned into blue and grey. And instead of the gleam, there was a… glow. There was no other word for it. Her emotions shone through her eyes, making her whole face sparkle with the emotion, too. And though the light was mostly from happiness, there was also sadness and despair behind it. It was always there, like a shadow trailing her. And just like the sun momentarily hiding behind a cloud, I could see the shadow of the depressing emotion hiding the shine of the sun. I'd seen the sun disappear behind the cloud a couple of times today. Once before I got her to do the carpool karaoke and once when playing golf. I'd just happened to glance at her, wanting to see her face light up at my success of getting a ball into the pit, and she'd been happy. But before the happiness appeared, there had been shadows. Feyre was good and had hid them quickly, but I was also good. Spending time with her had given me a sharp eye and I'd spotted the shadow. And it wasn't the first time I'd seen it. I'd seen it multiple times before, in our previous interactions and I didn't like it one bit. I didn't understand why I felt this way, but I very badly wanted to get rid of those shadows. I never wanted to see them on Feyre's face again. I just didn't know how to get rid of them. It annoyed me, made me tense. Maybe if I knew what was causing the shadows to appear, I could get rid of them. But how should I ask her? It's not like I could just walk up to her and say, "Hi, I've noticed the shadows in your eyes and face and very desperately want to get rid of them. Could you please tell me what's causing them to appear so that I can do something about it?" Yeah. That would get me places.

Shaking my head at my thoughts, I tried pushing her out of my head and closed my eyes. But even in my sleep, she appeared with her golden-brown hair and grey-blue eyes, her sun and shadows at war.

Feyre's POV

I stared at the glow-in-the-dark stars stuck to my ceiling as I thought.

Rhys.

I felt so comfortable in his presence, something that surprised me a lot since I'd gotten used to the idea of never being comfortable with a male's touch. But it was different with Rhys. He was so handsome, his features sharp but beautiful. I pictured all the drawings I'd done of him. Though they were all done without thought, I knew some of those sketches were the most authentic and alluring pieces I'd ever drawn.

I didn't remember much about my mother, but I did remember something she'd once told me. The sentence had stuck with me from the day she'd first said it and since then I'd always tried to let it show in my work. An artist's best work always comes from the heart.

So did that mean my pictures of Rhys were coming from my heart? But why though? All that there was in my heart was the wish to be successful. That's all I wanted. I didn't want the love of my life anymore. Not after Tamlin. Tamlin's actions had proved to me that my dreams had always stupid and false and that there never had been anyone perfect for me out there. And even if there was, which I very highly doubt, it was not Rhys. Rhys was not perfect. He was arrogant. He was intimidating and always stared at me as if there was something wrong with my face. He wasn't perfect. He was sad and stressed. I'd seen it in my paintings and in real life, too. He was not perfect… but what if?… What if… there was no one perfect out there. What if there never was a perfect guy out there for me. What if I had always been destined to be with an imperfect man. What if I was to make him perfect. No. Not perfect. Complete. I was to make someone complete with my love, and he would reciprocate. Because that was love. Completing someone with your love.

As I lay in bed, I thought about all that.

And then, out of nowhere, I remembered how his eyes had wandered to my lips before drifting back up. I blushed again at the thought, before flipping on to my stomach, stuffing my face in my pillow, and forcing myself to sleep. But even then, night-blue hair and violet-coloured, silver-flecked eyes stared back at me in my dreams.

AN: I love this chapter, it's just so sweet. But what do you think? Do you like where their thoughts are going? Tell me everything.

[kpopfanfictrash]

Obsidian VI

Author: kpopfanfictrash

Pairing: You / Taehyung (V)

Rating: 18+ (sex, violence)

Word Count: 7,103

Summary: The world of magic is divided into dark and light, witches and warlocks, choice and fate. You’re a prodigy of light, a witch who works within the police force. You’ve heard of Taehyung in passing, spoken in whispers as the warlock of dark who has the world holding it’s breath.  All this changes on the night you’re assigned as security for a mysterious singer named V and you come face to face with Taehyung himself. What happens after that might be fate.

Yoongi looks up but instead of speaking, grunts. He pulls down a second glass and waves a finger, watching both glasses fill with amber liquid.

I blink when the second glass appears in Taehyung’s hand.

Yoongi arches his brow. “You look like you could use a drink,” he says. “You’re going to need it, after what we have to tell you.”

Taehyung’s other hand tightens in mine.

Deep in the city, there are shadows darker than night. In between buildings there are spaces where death meets living and silence slithers free. These are the alleys you pass, the ones you walk through looking over your shoulder. These are the places most avoid.

In one such alley as this, a man stands. 

He faces the wind, drawing breath through his nostrils while lowering himself to the ground. He draws a circle, painstakingly; his fingers tremble, since he’s messed this up twice before. The body he needs for tonight’s ritual is on the sidewalk, though the man doesn’t care to look at it. Whenever he looks, he feels – and this is to be avoided, at all costs.

The man lowers himself to his heels, sprinkling salt on the circumference before laying metal in the shape of a pentagon. Metal binds; each slab is representative of a different appendage of the body – head, two arms, two legs. When the stones are in place, the man looks to the side – next, the body.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, the man attempts to shake fear from mind. He can do this; must do this, since no one else is strong enough. Once he succeeds though, once he raises a demon, no one will ever dare question his strength again.

Nodding, the man pushes himself up from the ground. He weaves a cloaking spell dragging the body from the curb. Tonight his victim was a woman, her hair thinning and silver in the moonlight. An elderly woman, who lived alone. She suspected little, when the warlock posed as an electrician on her doorstep. She let him in willingly, barely even noticed before his hands were wrapped tight around her throat.

Remembering, the man shudders. He does not like to kill – truly, he doesn’t. It’s necessary though, for the greater cause. A cause which he alone, can accomplish.

Rolling his sleeves up to his elbows, the man prepares. He’s memorized the incantation, knows the words backwards and forwards – even though he’s failed before, tonight he won’t. His brow lowers, stretching one hand over the human and inhaling deeply. A cold wind sweeps the corridor.

The alleyway is cliché, but unavoidable. Few other locations exist which offer the right circumstances for a summoning. The summoner must be surrounded by cold and damp, the sky must be visible and there must be no trace of life on the ground. Demons love alleyways for these reasons – they love the dark and damp, which is why the warlock stands here tonight. Arms flung wide, waiting to call upon a savior.

The incantation begins – softly, like so many things. He mumbles the first words, gathering strength until he feels a sudden shift in the air. A pulse, echoing round the clearing and shaking the pavement below. The splayed woman’s chest rises and falls, thudding to the ground and the warlock’s eyes widen, before narrowing in on his victim.

The edge of his circle glows, white-hot flames erupting from within. Groaning out loud, the warlock tries to backtrack – this shouldn’t be happening, not yet. He hisses, struggling to regain control because this is always where he fails, always where he stops. The circle should glow, not flare – the demon should rise from within.

The kind of demon the spell brings, depends on the victim. It depends on the offering’s brightness, the strength and vitality and goodness of the being. The warlock selected this victim carefully, killing only the humans which fit a certain criteria. They must be of rigorous faith, righteous virtue, whose definition of good still outweighed the bad. This kind of person is a rarity though, in a city like this.

The flames shoot higher, as the woman’s veins darken – the warlock nearly screams, in frustration. Heat slams outward and he stumbles back, catching himself on a trash bin. When he regains himself, when he rights the spell – a shape spins slowly in the embers.

The man’s pulse flickers, since this has never happened before. When he moves, foolishly reaching for the circle – the embers burn bright, blaze high. The shape doesn’t solidify, which isn’t what the man imagined but – his heart leaps, seeing it move. The warlock reaches again, wondering if he’s finally done it, and –

“Youu insubordinate, foolishhh warlock.”

The voice sends a shiver down his spine. Deep, sinister, utterly terrible – each syllable falls from air, weighted with ancient purpose.

“I,” the warlock pauses, steeling himself. “I have called you tonight, because –”

“You,” the thing hisses, and the man’s lips clench. “You called me nowhereee. I came to see who touched me. And now that I have,” the thing laughs, a noise like thunder, “I would ratherrr go back to sleep.”

Standing before the circle, the man’s eyes darken. His fists clench, nails digging into the skin of his palms. “You cannot,” he declares. “I command you to stay!”

Silence.

Then the shadows shift, almost solidifying as they drift to the edge. Beneath it, the warlock can see his offering’s face turn white. Her skin is ashen, while the thing sucks her dry. “You do not command meee,” the demon purrs. “I see through you, and I know you will never command me.”

Then it disappears.

The alley plunges into darkness, sulfur and brimstone snuffed out like candles. The man stands, limbs shaking as his right knee collapses to the pavement. He seethes like that for a moment, fingers smoking on the concrete. Rage, despair, anger. Each courses rapidly through him. Each suffocating, slamming into him one after the other to wring him dry. The man must lose his mind, since he suddenly screams, head thrown back to render the night.

Abruptly, he sobers. 

He shouldn’t have yelled. Shouldn’t have made noise, since he knows the police are looking for him. Knows the light community is inches away from finding him, likely weeks from cracking his trace. When he hears movement behind him he whirls, scanning the walls to spot the beam of light.

The man pushes to his feet, coat catching on the curb to send him stumbling forward. He waves at hand, collecting the metal and salt before scuttling a step – his belt catches on the same trash bin, something tumbling from his pocket but doesn’t have time to see what. Instead the man turns, vanishing quickly into the night.

When the woman enters the alley, sees the victim lying hapless on the ground – the alley is empty.

Taehyung plunks himself down in the closest chair. “Okay,” he frowns, fingers steepled beneath his chin. “Let me get this straight.”

I arch a brow, leaning on Yoongi’s counter. “Go on.”

“You,” Taehyung looks my way. “Are the greatest witch of our time.”

Yoongi nods. “True.”

“And I,” Taehyung continues, gaze moving to Yoongi. “Am the greatest warlock of our time.”

“Right again,” Yoongi agrees.

“So, we,” Taehyung points between the two of us, “can’t be together because if we fall in love, I’ll somehow betray us all and destroy the world.”

Yoongi thinks about this for a second, then nods. “Yeah, that sounds right.”

“Okay.” Taehyung leans back, exhausted. “That’s not super vague, or anything. I mean,” he gripes, pushing a hand through his hair. “Why couldn’t the prophecy be clearer? Why can’t oracles ever say what they mean? ‘Light’s chosen heir,’” Taehyung repeats. “What if they really meant, ‘light’s chosen hair.’ Much different meaning, huh?”

“Even so,” I cough, interrupting this (pointless) train of thought. “The whole, ‘raise demons from the madness’ part seems pretty clear, given the circumstances.”

Yoongi ignores this, draining his whiskey. “You done, warlock? I, for one, would love to have a reasonable discussion about this.”

Taehyung lowers his head. “I just don’t understand what you want from me,” he mumbles, almost to himself.

“I want you to stay away from Y/N,” Yoongi responds, and Taehyung’s head snaps up.

“Not going to happen,” I interrupt, calm. 

Both turn and while Yoongi seems stunned, Taehyung’s expression softens. His lips rise, curling to a smile as he sends an image my way. Craving my touch, wanting me close – I blush, seeing the rest of it. 

“No,” I grind out, and he pouts in response.

“Why not?” Taehyung whines.

From over the top of his head, Yoongi looks as though he might vomit. “Because,” he butts in, closing both eyes. “This isn’t some game, this isn’t word play or a joke – this is life or death, dark or light and if you two idiots don’t start taking things seriously,” Yoongi inhales, hands curling to fists, “I swear, I’m going to lose it.”

The lights flicker, while Yoongi’s energy sweeps the room – I quickly turn, placing mu palms flat on the counter. “Yoongi,” I say, waiting. This used to happen a lot, when we were kids. Yoongi bottles things up, keeps emotions inside – he hides them all, until it becomes too much and he snaps. “That’s a lot of assumptions to make, about the prophecy.”

Yoongi inhales, trying to regain control – and when he does, the brightness of the room fades. “Like?” he ventures, gulping in air.

“Like the assumption that I’m heir of light,” I say quietly, and Yoongi opens his mouth.

“But,” his energy dissipates, distracted by the thought. “If not you, then who? What other light witch or wizard has half your power, half your skill?”

“Well, there’s you,” I point out, as Yoongi rolls his eyes. “Then Hoseok, who always was second-best in school.”

“Second best,” Yoongi points out. “Not first.”

“That was just school, though,” I exhale, crossing both arms. “This is life. No matter how good I am, talent doesn’t make me ‘light’s heir.’ For that matter, why do we think this prophecy is talking about now? That prophecy could be related to any number of years – any decade, any century.”

“Well, I don’t know how many times the world has been threatened by a demon summoning,” Taehyung points out, when I turn to look. “You have to admit, that’s pretty spot-on.”

“Right,” I sigh. “Let’s just say, this is happening. We still don’t know if I’m the heir. Not to mention, the prophecy mentions someone I love and I,” at this I hesitate, unable to voice the words aloud.

Silence lengthens, as Taehyung rises from his chair. “You don’t love me,” he concludes, cocking a brow. “Is that what you meant to say?”

I blink back at him, unsure. “No,” I respond, words pulled from my chest. “I can’t – I, it’s too soon, to say that.”

Taehyung stares at me for a moment, then nods. He looks to Yoongi instead. “Why are we assuming the prophecy is referring to romantic love? It could be the love of a friend, family member – anyone, really,” Taehyung waves a hand. “Not just someone they’re in love with.”

Yoongi pauses, considering. “That,” he allows, uncertainty entering his voice, “could be true.”

“Wow,” I stare, wide-eyed, between the two of them. “Maybe the prophecy is true, since – did the two of you just agree on something? The world must be coming to an end.”

Taehyung makes a face. “Apparently. It’s oddly unsettling.”

“Right,” I nod, trying to hide my smile. “Is it too peaceful? O Prince of Darkness, Lord of Chaos and Evil – do you need to argue, to stay alive?”

“Hey now,” Taehyung places a hand over his chest, offended. “You act like the dark is so uncivilized. We’re domestic, we like the suburbs. Who do you think makes all those awful cable boxes? That’s us,” he tries, and fails to keep a straight face. “Who do you think sneaks into your house while you sleep and ties your headphones into knots? Pure evil,” Taehyung grins, tapping his heart.

Yoongi stares for a long moment. “O-kay,” he manages, drawing out the syllables. ‘I’m going to brush past that. Heard it, acknowledged it – moving on. Anyways,” he exhales, pouring himself more whiskey. “What now?”

Taehyung crosses his hands behind his head, looking out the window. “What do you want me to do?” he asks softly. “I want to help.”

Yoongi’s gaze was cold but looking at Taehyung, he slowly withers to uncertainty. “I don’t know,” he admits.

I uncross my arms. ‘I think,” I interject, voice low, “the main problem is the murders.”

“Ah, the murder rate,” Taehyung quips, sounding morose. “Absolutely terrible. Horrible problem. Especially,” he gestures to nothing, “in the tragic streets of Chicago. I heard that on FOX News. Our dear president is concerned.”

“I swear,” Yoongi pinches the bridge of his nose. “If you quote that overgrown pumpkin to me, one more time –”

“It’s called irony, Yoongles.” When Taehyung grins, the gesture is wicked. “Try it, sometime. Although,” he then pauses, pursing his lips. “FOX News is owned by a rather nefarious warlock.” 

“Yoongles?!” Yoongi blurts out, stuck on the nickname.

Diving between them, I throw up shields on both sides. “Enough!” I yell, struggling to keep Yoongi back. To my right, Taehyung is laughing, since he’s just messing with Yoongi. The problem is, my best friend doesn’t trust him enough to see that. “You,” I snap at Taehyung. “Sit down, and shut up.”

Taehyung abruptly sobers. His eyes glint with displeasure as slowly, he sinks down in my chair. When he obeys this, I freeze – flushing, as he sends a tendril of thought my way.

Just you wait, Taehyung murmurs, arching a brow.

I ignore him, glancing pointedly at Yoongi. “And you,” I sigh, dropping the shield. “Will you just believe him, when Taehyung says he wants to help?”

“I just,” Yoongi’s gaze moves doubtfully from me to him. “It’s hard to believe.”

“What is?” I frown, trying and failing, to understand.

Yoongi exhales. “It’s hard, to believe he’s changed. It’s too fast, too sudden,” he protests. “People don’t just shift, due to someone else. People don’t change their mentality, their personality, their ideology – just because they’ve fallen in love.”

There.

There it is. The phrase I refused to utter, hanging in the air between us – Taehyung doesn’t refute this, looking at Yoongi. “What makes you think,” he says, oddly calm, “that I’ve changed?” 

You pause, exchanging a glance with Yoongi. This isn’t what you expected. 

“What makes you think I’m different,” Taehyung asks quietly, “after meeting Y/N? I suppose I am,” he allows, glancing my way. “Not in the way you might imagine, though.” When his statement is met with silence, Taehyung exhales. His expression, his arrogance start to fade. “Look,” he allows, and – the world changes.

Taehyung lifts his hands. As he does so, light pours from his palms. It brightens his expression, changing Taehyung from night to morning. His expression remains uncertain, tenuous and I dimly recall that Lucifer was once called the Morning Star. Both light and dark, the merging of day and night – Taehyung’s breath catches, staring at his hands. When he closes them, the light in the room fades to normal.

Yoongi stares, wide-eyed. His gaze darts from Taehyung’s face, to his hands. “I – you. How?” he blurts, seemingly at a loss.

Taehyung licks his lips, suddenly nervous. “Ever since I was little,” he admits. “I could command both. My father beat me for it, was ashamed and thought he could stamp it out of me. When that didn’t work, he went after my brother. My mother,” Taehyung adds, voice breaking. “Eventually, I just stopped trying altogether.”

He’s silent, for a moment. “Falling in love didn’t change me,” Taehyung announces, quiet. “It just made me want to try, again.”

I’m so absorbed in this, I almost miss the significance of his words. I’m too focused on Taehyung – on his light, memories. My throat is burning, holding back anger and I almost miss the significance of what he says. When I realize though, I start. His eyes stare back, wide and shocked – because Taehyung loves. Taehyung loves me.

Stanger yet, is the fact that Taehyung doesn’t take this back. He remains firm, fingers curled at his sides. Staring at me, his gaze is fierce, staunch in his declaration.

It’s Yoongi, who speaks first. “Well,” he hesitates, as we slowly look his way. “Maybe I was prejudiced.”

Taehyung doesn’t respond, which is surprising. He just looks at Yoongi, no snarky comment to say. 

Yoongi sighs, considering the bottom of his glass. “It’s hard for me to admit when I’m wrong. Mostly,” he muses, biting back a smile, “because it happens so rarely.”

Groaning, I lower my face in my hands when Yoongi starts to laugh – though he quickly sobers, looking at Taehyung. “I don’t want Y/N hurt,” he admits, quiet. “No matter your power, no matter your background – it’s what you choose to do, that defines your identity. Honestly,” Yoongi’s gaze hardens. “I haven’t heard anything good about you. That’s why I don’t like you, not because you’re dark. Still,” Yoongi hesitates. “I’m willing to try.”

Taehyung’s eyes widen, just a fraction. Then his face rearranges to the picture of composure – for just a moment, his relief shone through. “I – thanks,” Taehyung mumbles. “I appreciate that.”

The room is quiet, until I clear my throat. “So,” I cough. “What now?”

“Right. The murders,” Yoongi muses. He stirs his glass. “We continue to investigate, I guess. Continue to search for a culprit – assuming it isn’t Taehyung, of course – and kill them, before they kill us.”

“Right,” Taehyung bruhes past Yoongi’s whole, ‘assuming it isn’t Taehyung’ remark. “I know a lot of people on the black market. I’ll ask around, see if anyone’s heard anything.”

I nod. “I’ll keep doing my job. Yoongi, could you visit Seokjin? He seemed to like you, maybe he’ll say more if I’m not there.”

Yoongi looks pained, and Taehyung seems surprised. “Seokjin?” he repeats, vaguely alarmed. “Like, the shopkeeper?”

“Yep,” I nod. “He just loved Yoongi.”

Taehyung smirks, biting his lip. “You know, I hear Seokjin is a good time. If you’re looking for fun, Yoongles.”

Yoongi just glares, narrowing his eyes. “Thanks, I’m taken.”

“Ish,” I point out, completely unhelpful. “Jo doesn’t even know that you like her.”

“I’m trying,” Yoongi gulps, shaking his head. “Anyways,” he tips back the rest of his drink. “That’s enough small talk for the evening. I’m off to find Hoseok, I’ll see if he’s heard any rumors on campus. Those young witches and wizards sure do know the darndest things.”

Arching a brow, I nearly laugh when he struggles into his pea coat. “You must really want to go,” I observe archly. “Normally I have to drag you to Hoseok’s University. Yoongi hates anything to do with the youth,” I explain to Taehyung.

“Sure,” Taehyung shrugs, deadpan. “Who doesn’t?”

“It’s true, I hate them,” Yoongi pulls a face. “But I think I hate Taehyung more.”

Then he disappears, before either of us can respond. Yoongi is gone with a slight pop of air, while my mouth drops open. “Well,” I shut my jaw. “I guess we should – oof!”

Taehyung disappears, reappearing to press me to the wall. He smiles slowly, hands caging me lazily at my sides. “Hello,” he murmurs.

“Hi,” I whisper, breathless.

One of his hands slides to my waist, anchoring me between his legs. Taehyung stares back, brow arched with anticipation. “You yelled at me,” Taehyung pouts and a second, he’s not the most dangerous warlock in the world. Right now he’s just Taehyung – someone who just said they were in love, and has yet to hear anything back.

The corner of my mouth lifts. “Did you like it?”

His smile glimmers, before frowning. “That’s not the point.”

“Oh?” I tease, entering his mind. I slide magic up the curve of his thigh. “Then what is the point?”

As Taehyung shivers, he grips my waist. “The point,” he sighs, voice small, “is that you’re right. I don’t know how to make this work. Getting Yoongi on our side was difficult enough. Although,” he pauses, gaze hopeful. “We did get him eventually. He didn’t try to kill me, which I consider a good sign.”

“Sure,” I nod. “But then, Yoongi is a marshmallow. He wouldn’t actually hurt a fly.”

“I don’t know,” Taehyung frowns, remembering. “He got in some punches, earlier in the alley.”

This memory makes me smile – though I falter, when Taehyung glares. “Yes, you’re right,” I nod, automatic.

“Y/N,” Taehyung complains. “Don’t laugh.”

“I’m not!” I protest, though I giggle when he kisses my neck.

“You are,” he mumbles, pushing his hips to mine. “I missed,” he whispers, nipping the base of my throat, “you. I missed being inside you. Your sweet little cunt. Your thighs, wrapped around me, and I missed those perfect lips, begging for more.”

Shit. “I don’t,” I groan, eyelids fluttering as Taehyung does something completely indescribable with his mouth, “think you’re remembering correctly. From what I recall, you were the one begging me.”

When Taehyung chuckles, it sends vibrations through me. “I’d love to give you a history lesson,” he offers.

His lips move up, to find mine. Taehyung doesn’t waste time, tongue sweeping forward to claim my mouth. He pushes me back, pressing me tight to the wall – even as my phone beeps, loud in my pocket.

“I have to get that,” I grab anxiously for my pocket. It might be work. It might be a lead on the case – though Taehyung doesn’t seem to notice, trailing wet kisses over my collarbone. He dips a finger beneath my blouse, tugging gently aside.

“Hello?” I answer, somewhat breathless.

Taehyung’s hand slides between my legs, pushing my feet apart.

“Yes, hello. Is this Y/N?”

Dropping to his knees, Taehyung slides his nose up the inside of my thigh. I stiffen, struggling to concentrate while his hands wrap tight about my ass.

“I – ah, yes. This is she. Who is calling?”

“This is Patricia, Taehyung’s assistant. I don’t know if he’s with you – something to do with the case, I’d imagine – but if he is, could you please send him this way? Sound check started an hour ago, there are already people lining up outside. The concert is sold out, we can’t keep them there forever!”

Taehyung must hear the panic in her voice, but he ignores his assistant. Arching a brow, he studiously unbuttons the buttons of my jeans. When he tugs these past my thighs, expression innocent – I freeze.

“He,” I manage, before Taehyung slides a finger beneath the band of my panties. He pushes this inside, curving upwards to hit my g-spot. I clasp one hand over my mouth, managing to stifle a groan. “I need to check with the other officers,” I manage, rocking my hips against his finger. “if I see Taehyung,” I breathe, “I’ll let him know.”

Hanging up, I toss the phone aside and yank Taehyung upwards. “Bedroom. Now,” I command, shoving him down the hall. “You have exactly ten minutes to fuck me, since you’re already late to your own concert.”

Taehyung just grins, letting himself be led away. He turns into shadow at the end of the hall, taking me with to appear in his hotel.

I lied. It’s thirty minutes later, I let him leave. Taehyung rolls from bed, shrugging on a shirt while zipping up tight, leather pants. I stare at this, thoroughly displeased. Torn between jealousy and admiration, at the way his ass naturally curves the material.

“Why do you have to wear those,” I pout, flopping on his pillows. The sheet only partially covers my body, sliding higher as Taehyung’s gaze follows the motion.

“Because,” he groans, dropping one knee to the mattress. When he kisses me, it’s slow and thorough. “The masses expect it of me. Don’t you worry,” he muses, kissing the tip of my nose before pulling away. “You’re the only girl I stick my dick in.”

“Charming.”

“I try,” Taehyung grins, undoing another button and ruffling his sex hair. “Now, if you’ll excuse me,” he steps back, bowing. “I must stun the world with my beautiful voice.”

He disappears.

I can’t help but smile, falling back on his bed. My smile disappears, considering the events of today. Everything Taehyung said, everything he revealed – it’s too much, isn’t it? How he feels, the intensity he has – I bury my face in his pillow, sighing. It might be too soon, true – but I feel the same. I can’t deny this any longer, can’t ignore this pull towards him. I can’t deny the overwhelming rightness I feel, whenever Taehyung is near.

It might be obvious – but magic users, as a community, believe in fate. We believe in prophecy, in destiny, in the idea of certain events being foretold and foreseen. Between all this, lie several grey areas. Things which might be, things which could be –  things which have never been definitively proven, only thought of. One thing that falls into this category are soul mates. 

It’s not something I’d ever given much thought to, because I never considered the idea of one for myself. It didn’t seem applicable, important enough to concern myself with growing up.

Girls in elementary school discussed it on the playground, boys in high school groaned in the locker rooms. Children played games, wondering who they’d be with, what they’d be like – but I was never interested. I thought the idea of soul mates childish, a waste of time – though now, I’m not so sure.

I remember a conversation I had with Yoongi, back when we were teenagers. Oddly enough, Yoongi believes in soul mates. When I asked why, he took a long time to answer. This is something Yoongi does. He walks away, he takes his time to think out a response. The first few times this happened, I thought he was mad at me. Mad, or simply didn’t hear – then he came back days later, to surprise me with his thoughtfulness.

“Soul mates,” Yoongi announced, as we were boarding the bus a few days following. Though I was confused, I nodded – I wanted to hear what he had to say. “I don’t think they’re what we think they are,” Yoongi responded, leading the way down the aisle. “I think ‘soul mate’ is more of a concept. I think it’s someone we’re connected to, by magic. There are things about magic we still don’t understand. It’s a living, breathing thing – why wouldn’t it understand the magic of others?”

This thought stumped me, struck by his conclusion. “So,” I frowned. “You think soul mates aren’t matches between people, but between magic?”

Yoongi nodded, then shrugged. “This is just speculation, of course. I don’t have any reason to believe this. It just seems that magic understands the world better than we do. It tells us all kinds of things – why not this, too?”

As I sit here now, face buried in Taehyung’s pillows, I can’t help but remember these words. It feels like a neon sign, hanging over the room and I can’t help but shiver, wondering if he’s right. Soulmates. What if Taehyung – that wild, brilliant, intoxicating Taehyung – what if he, his magic are meant for me? Sitting up straight, I slide my feet onto the floor. Wrapping the sheet tighter, I pad into his bathroom. Flipping on lights to look in the mirror.

My skin is flushed, cheeks glowing – and I turn his words over, in my mind. He loves me.

My reflection smiles back at me.

Tonight is different.

Tonight when Taehyung rises through that stage – he can’t help but think of the first night you met. That concert afterwards, when he left and the air felt strange around him. The electricity of the audience rushed through him, dark and vibrant. His magic was tempestuous – almost more than he could bear. He remembers the feeling of being alive, though.

Tonight is like that. It’s hard to think, hard to contain himself since Taehyung feels as though he’s bursting. There’s so much energy in him, so much light within – Taehyung can’t possibly hold it all in. He’s high, on a rush and wonders fleetingly how he ever thought the light was boring. The world is distant below and he’s terrified, terrified of crashing back down.

But what a view. 

When Taehyung used to sing, it came from a place of anger. It came from bitterness, from hurt and a never-ending drive to prove himself. Taehyung liked to drown in his pain, to swim long enough to breathe and then sink below the surface. Now he’s floating. Now he’s pulled on by a current, your line towing him in. Taehyung grins, squinting up at the light. How corny. Him – Kim Taehyung. Corny.

He used to enjoy the light, Taehyung remembers. As he stares across the sea of faces, he weaves his magic down rows and remembers. He used to want change – wanted light, not dark. He wasn’t always this way. Wasn’t always a bitter man. It was only after years of disappointment, that he became one. There were decades of conditioning, of training, of being taught that humans were unworthy and uncaring. No matter what Taehyung did, no matter how positively he tried to think – each time he offered a human the wrong choice, they took it.

Humans liked to be bad. They enjoyed living on the edge, liked the rush which came from evil. After a while, Taehyung stopping believing it was his job to fix them. He drenched himself in darkness, since not caring was easier. Complacency, overall, is simpler than fighting.

Taehyung’s voice lifts, soaring over the rafters – he sounds no longer sinful, no longer tempestuous. Now, he is life. Now he is joy, rebirth, hearth and love. Taehyung gives into it freely, eyes burning when he walks offstage. He sang until he could sing no more and when he strides down the hall, he realizes he sang an hour later than normal.

Hushed compliments follow in his wake, wide-eyed humans scurrying out of the way. Taehyung keeps his head low, cheeks flushed while he wanders the hall. In his mind, he’s already with you. Already in your bedroom, his body curled around yours, losing himself in the feel of your body, your lips, your words. His heart soars, dizzy with happiness – he almost doesn’t notice, pushing open the door.

He’s not alone.

The Dark Council looks up when he enters. “Hello, Kim Taehyung,” a woman murmurs, setting down her glass.

Taehyung stares, dressing room door falling shut. The silence is deafening, a million thoughts running through his mind. What they’ve seen, what they know, if you’re in trouble. Taehyung fears they’ve come to reprimand him – or worse, to issue a command.

Taehyung swallows, remembering his past commands.

The Dark Council is head of the shadow government, leader of warlocks and sorceresses alike. Most don’t know this, most are surprised to discover the truth. Dark is assumed to be chaos, but this is only what the dark wants you to think. The dark is organized, there exists a very strict hierarchy and while Taehyung is visible, he is not the top.

The Council is the top. The woman who spoke first stands; long, black robes billowing around her. “It was an,” she pauses, tilting her head, “interesting concert.”

Taehyung doesn’t respond. He takes his fear, guilt and nerves – he shoves these into his stomach, covering them with his boredom and insolence. Wandering further, Taehyung waves a hand. A glass appears in his palm, as his other hand tilts wine into the cup.

“How may I help?” Taehyung asks, placing his bottle back on the table. “To what do I owe the displeasure?”

The man on the couch smiles. “This won’t take long,” he allows – at the sound of his words, Taehyung recoils. His voice is like sandpaper, so scratchy and thick, it scrapes the insides of his ears. It makes Taehyung want to leave, possibly by crawling out of his own skin.

The man smiles, as though aware of his effect.

The Council is comprised of five individuals. Five members, though their number tends to fluctuate. There could be more than five, less than five – it all depends on the need for dark, for fighting the light. At the moment, the Council is three women and two men.

The first who spoke seems in charge – at least, this is how she carries herself. She smiles at Taehyung, not in a nice way. “What do you think your purpose is, warlock?”

Sipping his wine, Taehyung considers. He can think of many answers, though he knows none are the right one. “To spread the dark,” he murmurs, lifting his glass. “To hasten the rise of our glorious shadow.”

Two of the members who haven’t spoken yet, a man and a woman, exchange a glance.

“Not quite,” the first woman responds, while Taehyung arches a brow.

“No? Then what is my purpose?” he asks, dry as ever. “This is what you taught me, this is our mantra.”

The first man exhales. “Our purpose is more complex,” he allows, pushing himself upwards. “Our world exists in perfect balance. There are opposite forces pushing, pulling us together. Each exists in delicate balance, not to be overthrown by the other. They are yin and yang, dark and light, shadow and sun.”

Taehyung just stares. “What… do you mean?”

For the first time since he entered the room, Taehyung is curious. The Council is a symbol of old. They are the enforcers, the restriction. They appear at your door in the middle of the night to inform who will die in the Games tomorrow. Taehyung shivers, remembering. Tonight feels different.

A second woman steps forward. This one appears younger than the rest. “The dark and light are entwined,” she speaks, voice like bells. “Magic itself is neutral. Magic is neither light nor dark. It is only through the actions of its user, magic chooses.”

Taehyung pales. “But,” he looks down at his hands. “The two magic are different. One exists as shadow, the other as light.”

“Yes,” the woman nods, pleased. “This is true. That is only because you choose to wield it a certain way, though. At it’s base, your magic is one and the same.”

Taehyung looks up, shocked. The woman spoke her words purposefully. She said how he chooses to wield, which means –

“Yes,” her lips lift. “I know you are able to use both.”

Glances are exchanged around the room, though no one comments – which makes Taehyung’s body tense. They should not be accepting this. They should not be okay with him, with this.

“It’s not a bad thing,” the woman continues. “What is bad, are your recent experiments.”

Taehyung frowns, not understanding. “My experiments?”

Casting his thoughts back, Taehyung recalls nothing. Perhaps the woman is referring to you, to his love for you. This is dangerous, certainly – the figurehead of dark, loving that of light. Oddly though, Taehyung doesn’t think this is the case.

When the final woman speaks, Taehyung shivers at the sound of her voice. . “The summoning’s,” she purrs, each word frozen on her tongue. “You must not summon an Archdemon. You cannot – you will not – summon such a beast into being. It is forbidden, it is abhorrent to the law.”

Taehyung’s eyes widen, shock showing. “You think I’m the one summoning demons?”

Now, the youngest frowns. “He seems surprised,” she muses, looking to the first man. “Odd.”

The first man nods, equally puzzled. “We found your family token at the site of a murder. Luckily, we got to it, before the light did,” he informs, holding out a hand. Inside his palm, rests a thin, black oval. “You left this when you ran.”

Taehyung stares, while his entire world closes around him. He recognizes the token. He knows the object well, having grown up with this symbol of hate. Taehyung’s father was a dark fanatic, he convinced warlocks and sorceresses that they were a master race. He thought their power marked them as higher beings, ones who deserved more than the rest. He sought to eradicate humans and light because of this.

Taehyung’s father had many followers, and all of them carried that token. In Taehyung’s house, it was a symbol of hatred. It symbolized power, might and while Taehyung has not touched one since leaving – he knows someone who does. Someone who carries it with him as a reminder, a warning against the strength of others.

Taehyung swallows, unable to process. His gaze flicks up, to the Council. “I,” he shakes his head. “It wasn’t me. I recognize the token, yes – but many carry the symbol. It’s hardly an indicator of guilt. Besides,” Taehyung’s brow furrows, “you know my trace. Did you find it, at the scene of the crime?”

“No,” the first woman responds slowly. “Your trace was not there. The trace was not one we recognized.”

“You could have hired someone,” the first man adds, blunt. “You could be starting up your father’s cult again.”

Taehyung feels slightly sick at this thought and moves to speak – but is interrupted. The final member of the Council moves, crossing the room to stop before him. “If an Upper Demon is summoned,” he says, gaze shrewd. “It will blot out the world. It will swallow us, both light and dark. An Upper Demon is pure chaos – it makes no distinction between either. It cares not who we are, only about our unraveling.”

Taehyung stares back, slightly defiant. “I understand,” he says stiffly.

“Good.” The man looks sideways. “If you hear anything, reach out to us immediately. We’ll be in touch,” he nods – a promise, not a request. A card appears in his grasp, shaped from darkness as he slips this into Taehyung’s palm.

Taehyung nods, accepting the card – as one by one, the members of the Council disappear.

When he’s alone, Taehyung stares blankly at the cinderblock wall. He tries to breathe, thoughts edging around the ragged certainty of one, single notion – until he can take it no more and gives in. He sinks into himself, giving in while his knees – first one, then the other – hit the ground.

“This is it,” Yoongi declares, staring into his mug – but doing nothing.

“You can do it!” I cheer, tapping fingertips against the edge of the table. “It’s just dinner. You’re asking her out, you’ve dealt with much scarier things before.”

“Right,” Yoongi nods, still not breathing.

“Yoongi,” I lean forward. “You’ve fought demons. You’ve gone up against fucking sorceresses and won. You’ve dealt with things of nightmare, and this is just asking out a girl.”

“She’s more than that,” Yoongi insists, head snapping up. “She’s Jo, and she’s perfect.”

“Right,” I nod, placating. “Which is why you need to ask her out.”

Yoongi exhales, chest deflating. “Okay,” he nods, though he remains rooted to his chair. “Did I do it,” he mutters, staring into his cup. “Am I moving?”

“No.”

Closing his eyes, Yoongi bites his lip. “This is so hard.”

“That’s what she said.”

Yoongi opens one eye, repressing a smile. “You’re entirely unhelpful.”

“True,” I agree, dumping sugar into the coffee. “I don’t try to pretend otherwise. Now hurry up, I only have twenty minutes before I need to get to work.”

Yoongi sighs, nods – and falls into deep silence.

Last night was another murder. Stirring my coffee, I stare at the chattering customers. It could have been them, I think, unease growing. Any one of them could be the next victim – which makes me feel as though I’m missing something. Whenever there’s a case as blank as this, it means the answer already exists. It’s already beneath my nose, and I keep reaching through it.

The shop is bright, noisy and cheerful with the daily rush of people. Jo hurries from table to table, tucking hair behind her ears as she jots down orders. Yoongi keeps looking her way, though he tries not to. He’s clutching his mug tightly, holding onto a lifeline while steeling himself for future conversation.

Jo whirls, hurrying behind the register. She adjusts a record on the wall, nearly bumping into someone sitting at the counter. “Oh, sorry!” she smiles, turning around – and almost knowing a mug off the counter. Yoongi neatly catches this, hand darting to grab the handle.

I blink, not having seen him move. Yoongi stands close to Jo, frozen only a few inches away. Jo doesn’t move, gaze darting from his eyes to his hands. Unable to stop myself, I project – leaning forward, to listen in on their conversation.

“Here,” Yoongi sets the cup down on her counter. “Wouldn’t want anyone to get hurt.” He’s still staring though, and she’s looking back at him – when she opens her mouth to respond though, Yoongi speaks. “Do you like dinner?” he blurts, wincing.

Jo’s fingers freeze on her apron. Not an apron – more of a smock, since Jo isn’t a frilly person. She stares at Yoongi before venturing, “In general, or as a concept?”

“No,” Yoongi takes a breath, moving closer. “Would you like to have dinner with me, sometime?”

From my perspective, the moment is short. I imagine it seems much longer to Yoongi. Longer than anything he’s ever felt, longer than anything he will feel. This moment is soul-baring, a showing of his entirety – which is something Yoongi rarely does. He’s currently handing his heart over to Jo, and I pray to God she doesn’t break it.

As I watch, she starts to smile. When she nods, several strands of hair fall forward. “I like dinner,” she agrees, then laughs. “I like dinner with you even more.”

Yoongi’s smile brightens, looking at her. He stands there, letting the world turn on around them – as the door opens, banging the wall beside me.

“Y/N!”

The voice is male, loud and I turn – alarmed, slightly surprised to see Taehyung’s younger brother. “Jaewoo?” I ask, leaning in. I reach for him, stopping myself when he flings himself into Yoongi’s empty chair. “What’s happening?” I demand, searching his face. “What’s wrong?”

Jaewoo sinks lower in the seat, breath frantic. His eyes are wide, blood-shot with hair spilled haphazardly across his forehead. “It’s,” he gasps, chest rising and falling. “I –”

“Hey,” I scan his face. “It’s okay. Just,” my stomach twists, already imagining the worst. “Start at the beginning. Tell me what happened – is it Taehyung?” I ask, lowering my voice. “Is something wrong?”

“It’s the Council,” Jaewoo gulps. He appears calmer, enough to blurt, “The Council visited him after his concert last night. Y/N, I think Taehyung is in trouble.”

[Master List]

[annualsurveyresults]

2017 Year End Survey Results

2017 Year End Survey!!!

Hi Friends…

Happy Valentine’s Day, we hope you’re all well and that love is in the air. 

This email is going out to the awesome ones who responded to the poll (51 out of approximately 150 recipients). It turns out it hit a lot of people’s spam folders, so next year we will do a better job of clarifying the subject, etc.

As the survey has grown, there are now too many answers for us to add comments and include links, so this year the answers are coming as filtered lists (we cut where necessary, to try to be useful and concise).

Thank you so much for your answers!

Section 1: What is Tickling Your Brain

Meaningful Books

Margin of Safety by Seth Klarman

Sapiens

Extreme Ownership: How U.S. Navy SEALs Lead and Win

American Eclipse

Cryptocurrency

Seven Mysteries of Life

Owned: Property, Privacy, and the New Digital Serfdom

Tiffany Haddish The Last Black Unicorn.

Colson Whitehead, The Underground Railroad

Fourth State of Matter (New Yorker piece)

The President’s Devotional

Born a Crime

Creativity, Inc.

A Little Life

Hillbilly Elegy

Book of Joy by Dalai Lama and Desmond Tutu

Don Quixote

Oryx and Crake

All the Rivers

The Fifth Season

The Nix

Persepolis Rising

The Female Brain

The Undoing Project

Moonglow by Michael Chabon

The Girls on The Train

Underground Railroad

When Breath Becomes Air

Short and Tragic Life of Robert Peace

The Innovators

Caine Mutiny

Pachinko

Beyond the Sky and the Earth

Saints for All Occasions

We Were 8 Years in Power

The Odyssey: A Father a Son & an Epic

Achilles in Vietnam

Zero to One

The Taste of Empire

May We Be Forgiven

Homegoing

Being Mortal

Born to Run

The Smartest Kids in the World

Groovy Song or Band (well known artists/songs were filtered out, focusing on discovery)

James Booker

“Sound of Silence” - Disturbed

Electrocutioner – Soraia

Flamingo

I’m The One

Sharkmuffin

Chicano Batman

Lord Echo

Jason Isbell

Hank 3

Waist Deep in the Big Muddy

Zodiac by Dave Douglas and friends

Static and Ben El Tavori

Ben Franklin’s Song (the Decembrists)

Kevin Morby

CHVRCHES

Sharon Jones & The Dap-Kings

Secret Weapons

Squirrel Nut Zippers, Metropolitan Klezmer

Dr. Dog’s Abandoned Mansion

Old Crow Medicine Show

De La Soul

Despair

The XX

Favorite Apps or Websites (well known apps/sites were filtered out, focusing on discovery)

Autodesk Graphic, Robinhood

Kaggle

ParkNYC

Hades Star - game

Weather.gov - everyday weather

Strictly Dumpling Mike Chen Food Reviews on Youtube

overcast

TheRawStory.com

ThinkorSwim, Kerbal Space Program

Nextdoor

Design Home game, Monument Valley, Redbubble

childmind.org

Ars Technica

Duolingo, NPROne, Feedly.com

Remodelista

Verify (OCR receipts - expense tracking); Day One (journal)

Strava, belfastcommunityradio.org, All Trails app

Wirecutter

The RealReal, Pickett of London

Citymapper

cupofjo.com

.alltop.com/photography

goodguide.com

blinkist, farnamstreetblog, bothsidesofthetable

Podcasts (well known podcasts retained, focusing on reinforcing quality)

Chapo Trap House, Intercepted, Archaeological Fantasies

Fresh Air, RadioLab, Terrible -Thanks for Asking

The Daily, On Being, Radiolab

Planet Money, Pod Save America, Radiolab

Real Vision, The Moth

99% Invisible

S-Town

Kalaidocast

The Daily, Pod Save America, Lovitt or Leave It

Imaginary Worlds, Jay + Miles X-Plain the X-Men, Blank Check with Griffin and David

Slow Burn; Pod Save America; RadioLab More Perfect

Slate’s The Gist; MSNBC Rachel Maddow; Week in the Knees

Wow in the World, Deadpod, Dope Queens

The Daily, S*Town, How I Built This

Splendid Table, Pod Save America

Busy Phillips podcast

Wait Wait Don’t Tell Me; It’s Been a Minute; This American Life

NPR 1 (for Terry Gross), Global Politico, Preet Bharara’s new podcast

HBR Idea Cast, a16z, Tim Ferris Show

Adventures in Finance, Bloomberg Surveillance, The Moth Radio Hour

In Our Time, This American Life, Fresh Air

S-town, Revisionist History, Rachel Maddow

Section 2:  Soul - Feeling Better

What Makes You Happy (answers filtered based on broad applicability and usefulness)

Silence

drawing

Puzzle Mania 😀

Beer and wine

The possibility of reducing work to three days a week

family time / family vacation

Salty food and walking the local golf course with my dog off leash

Tennis

My SodaStream

My dogs

Exercise

Los Angeles

Sleep

Freedom

Skiing

Jogging

Civic Engagement

Reconnecting

Reading

Learning about self-compassion

Robert Mueller

yoga and Bulgarian yogurt

Stress Relief (answers filtered based on broad applicability and usefulness)

Drawing cartoons on my iPad.

Crossfit & Krav

Table Tennis

Quiet Places

luna & larry’s coconut bliss dark chocolate ice cream

Running

Hot shower on the weekends

Building Stuff

Citibike

Tennis

Swimming/hot tub

Mindless computer games like solitaire

Long Walks

Making Art

yoga and Tango Dancing

Reading and Writing Poetry

Transcendental Meditation

Kickboxing

Skiing

Needlepoint

Stop Taking Things So Seriously.

Being organized to that I actually get the piles of papers/bills/etc off my “To Do List”

SLT (strengthen lengthen tone) UWS

Mindfulness practices & class (meditation, writing prompts)

Biking

Cooking

vodka or tequila mixed with club soda with a squeeze of lime

Meaningful Not-For-Profit Organization (no filtering, if you named it, it’s in here…)

Sleeping Giants

Los Angeles County Bicycle Coalition

misophonia research causes

Yvote

Israeli Venture Network

Humane Society of NY

International Refugee Assistance Project

Courageous Parents Network, helping families parent children with serious illness

The Bronx Freedom Fund

Goddard Riverside

IBD Support Foundation

Village Health Works

I just discovered the store BoxLunch, Badass Brooklyn Dog rescue is cool, also Tennessee Elephant Sanctuary is an amazing Group.

Hadassah hospital.

Jewish Funders Network

Child Mind Institute

CASA - court appointed special advocates for foster care children

EFF

The Trevor Project

Run For Something

Apex for Youth

Hazon

Indivisible, Hadassah

Child Mind Institute, Planned Parenthood

Mercy Corps

Harlem Children’s Zone

Indivisible

Second Harvest

City Step

Center for Justice and Democracy

Karuna Foundation

Speak Up Africa - helping mothers and newborns stay healthy

God’s Love We Deliver

Amani Global Works

Biblioburro

Gabby Giffords antigun PAC (giffords PAC) is fighting the right fight

AGW & WEACT (We Act for Environmental Justice)

ADL

Coney Island Prep

Polaris Project

American Cancer Society

Charity Water

Climate Reality Project

Inspiring Politician (no filtering, if you wrote it, it’s in here…)

No One/LOL (8)

Elizabeth Warren (5)

Donald Trump (“he inspired me to be active”) (3)

Tarana Burke (2) (#MeToo)

Kirsten Gillibrand (2)

Danica Roem (2)

Bernie Sanders (2)

Sally Yates (2)

John McCain

Jimmy Kimmel

Angela Merkel - her face says what I feel about American politics.

Adam Schiff

Samantha Bee

John McCain

Scott Stringer

Jeff Flake

Chris Murphy

Joe Kahn

Cory Booker

Michelle Obama

Jon Ossoff

Hillary Clinton

Bob Ferguson - Washington State Attorney General

Best Restaurant Experience This Year (no filtering, if you wrote it, it’s in here…)

PABU Izakaya in SF

Blanca

Berns Steakhouse in Tampa, FL

Breakfast Burrito from Frank’s on Fairfax

Sushi Nakazawa

Los Angeles Tatsu Ramen, Pork Bao on Melrose.

Asiate

Boulud Sud

Tomahawk steak at Gelso & Grand has changed me as a person

Park Avenue Summer

Pokeworks at lunch

Azurmendi ½ hour outside Bilbao Spain

The Modern (2)

Atlantic Grill

Candle Cafe

Barbuzzo (Philadelphia)

ABC Kitchen

Here’s Looking at You (LA)

Excellent Dumpling House in Chelsea

Burma Superstar

Blue Ribbon Brasserie, SoHo

Eataly

Quality Italian

Sate Kampar, Philadelphia

Shalom Y'all

Nix

Azurmende (in Bilbao)

Breakfast at Hyatt Kathmandu

Vietnam on First Avenue NYC

Maison Pickle

Jeni’s Ice Cream (ATL)

Sushi Takeshima in Kanazawa, Japan

Mastros

Picco Larkspur, CA

The Old Rose in the Jane Hotel

Souley Vegan - Oakland

Four Seasons Jackson Hole

Chris Aerni’s is the chef/owner of the Rosemont Inn in New Brunswick, Canada

Bite Into Maine - Lobster Roll

Sushi Inoue

Best Purchase Under $500 (answers filtered based on broad applicability and usefulness)

Allbirds runners

Samsung 4K HDR Monitor

Adidas Ultra Boost running shoes

Netgear orbi

Airpods (4)

5 nights of babysitting

SodaStream

InstantPot!

Deluxe Ninja blender

Salomon hiking boots

Brookes walking shoes

Western Mountaineering Sleeping Bag

Amope Electronic Foot File

Contigo hot cup for on-the-go. Really does keep my tea warm for 4hrs!

Madewell Jeans

Wrinkle-free shirts from LL Bean

Amazon Echo

Bombas socks (honeycomb support structure rocks)

We designed a glass vase and had it blown for us by Lexington Glassworks in Asheville, NC

Smart Light Bulbs

F2C Indoor Exercise Bike Stand trainer W/ 8 Levels of Resistance

Dream “Off The Beaten Path” Vacation (filtered to focus on discovery)

Northern India

Hill Tribes of India

The Color wars in India

Jacmel, Haiti

Rocky Mountain National Park

Lake Louise

Azores (3)

Portugal (4)

Mississippi

Namibia, Africa

Morocco

Aran Islands, Ireland

Northern Scandinavia

Lamu, Kenya

Palau

Iceland - Fire and Ice experiences

Cuba

Health Products or Insights (not filtered - you were all very interesting on this one)

Sleep more

ClassPass - yoga once a week

Pull-up bar that pops in above door

Stretches learned during physical therapy, amazing. Better posture while standing. Using a standing desk that can move up and down.

Switched from Eucerin face cream to Rose Hip and Hibiscus Moisturizer, skin feels much better.

One big meal a day

Citibike

under desk bike, apple watch

Yoga

I have begun Pilates this year and it really seems to work with my body. I am hoping I can join a studio to work with the machines next year. Also the foam roller will change your life ! I roll my back daily and it helps soooo much!

Not eating 5 or more hours before going to bed

Started tai-chi

Drink water

Cycling

doing at least a little bit of yoga or stretching every single day

intermittent fasting

alkali water

Flotation

TM

Mindfulness in every-day moments

You can do a lot in one day rather than spread it out over 5-6 days

More mindful breathing.

Hiking with walking sticks really helps the knees.

Still searching for something that I will stick with

SLT and retinol nightly

Yoga. And stretching.

I had some imaging done on my heart. Does that count?

Feldenkrais

hot yoga (I know, it’s so 10 years ago)

Stretching!

Marula facial oil and MCT oil in coffee aka bulletproof coffee

Float tanks

Eating low carb

Insight: Dry Fasting as implemented by Dr. Sergei Filonov in Siberia – cured my friend’s debilitating Lyme disease with six weeks of treatment.

Magnesium Taurate (back pain)

Milk thistle

How often do you meditate?

3+ times per week:             6.1%

1 or 2 times per week:     18.4%

1 or 2 times per month:   12.2%

rarely:                               22.4%

never:                              40.8%

Prediction: Bitcoin price at the end of 2018

>$25,000                                        22.0%

Between $25,000 and $2,500       63.4%

<$2,500                                         14.6%

Prediction: Senate after 2018 Elections

Republicans gain seats (>51 seats):        6.4%

51 Rep / 49 Dem (stays the same):         4.3%

50 / 50:                                                  23.4%

Democrats gain control:                       66.0%

Prediction: Who will win the World Cup

“I don’t care”:           53.1%

Germany:                 14.3%

Brazil:                       10.2%

Spain:                        6.1%

Argentina:                  6.1%

All other choices too low to bother with…

Favorite Life Hack (light filtering for usefulness)

Always be kind to your wife

Make a daily list of three things each day for which you are grateful.

Rely on the experts. They’re generally right

Better to “get over it” quickly

Using binder clips to hold loose wires to back of desk

Gowanus is as cool of a neighborhood as it is ugly.

Seek out comedy and laugh as much as possible. Recent interests Tiffany Haddish and Judd Apatow has a few good laughs on his special.

You don’t control your circumstances, you can control how you deal with them

Ink + Volt Planner

shave only once a week

Practice patience…

This is probably common knowledge to everyone, but it turns out there’s an arrow near the gas display that tells you which side of the car has the gas tank.

I learned about living an aloha life and while it is not super easy in NYC it is always a conscious decision that has not failed to make me feel better

“Books make my bed dirty, and alas, I ain’t got no transcendental eyeglasses”

Technology is not my friend

I should’ve spent more time with the Gottliebs in 2017. Will not make that mistake again.

Less social media. Facebook / twitter / insta can be bad for you.

overnight steel cut oats

Voters need to show up

Gmail allows variations to your address that include inserting a “.” anywhere or adding +“whatever you want” before the “@”. Generally logins require both you’re email address and your password. Half of that equation (your email address) is publicly available. For painless added security, when creating logins to sites, consider adding “+whatever you want” to the email address. A hacker would require both your password and this variation on your email address, which no one but you would have knowledge of. Incoming messages can also be filtered into folders by variations of this kind if you like (so “+secure”; “+junk”; “+temp”; “+important”).

Stop watching the news.

TM

It’s not as bad as it appears

To help kids be independent, we need to trust them.

Most damage can be repaired.

Be kind as often as you can because it will come back to you in spades

Book called subtle art of not giving a bleep….very good life advice

Take chances and try to be happy. Life is too short not to do so.

We need to regain a more equal distribution of income and the belief that we should take care of each other.

bidet

Getting old sucks

Growing old is good and becoming invisible has distinct advantages.

It’s not a new one, but work/life balance is CRUCIAL

Life is short.

When I say “yes” to something, what I am saying “no” to?

Electric power consumption will increase steadily over time notwithstanding efficiency gains in products that consume electricity

[flslp87]

6x21/22 The Final Battle   Pictures in My Mind

 A deleted scene from 6-21/22 that starts as he falls from the beanstalk and she's leaving Storybrooke.  Rating - K (I felt the finale needed to be fixed and so this is my fix)  Thank you @jell-obeans for reading my mind regarding artwork. 

As his hand slipped from the prince's and he plunged toward the ground, Killian's thoughts were of Emma.  How everything he'd told the Prince was true in that they had fought for their love and won.   There was no bloody way he was going to allow Emma to be a widow before she had an opportunity to be a wife, his wife.  He was a survivor after all.

When he hit the ground, the breath was temporarily knocked out of him and he was buried under brush unable to see the light of day.  As he lay there, trying to get his bearings, he heard the leaves rustling and opened his eyes to see his brand-new mother-in-law,

"Hello there, mummy," he responded cheekily.

"Mummy?" he heard Jasmine say.

"Oh, there was a, there was a wedding," Snow answered her. "That's going to take some getting used to." She helped clear the brush away so he could stand.

"What happened?" she asked him with concern.

"Well first, I fell and then," he pointed toward the beanstalk, "then it fell.  But we managed to get this." He pulled the bean from his pocket.

"Great," she whispered.  "Where's David?"

Killian exchanged concerned looks with Jasmine, "You mean he's not here?"

Snow quickly turned toward the forest and called his name, "David."

"He was on that?" Jasmine pointed toward the fallen beanstalk.

"We should start searching.  This beanstalk was our last-" he started looking around for where David might have fallen, but then Snow White interrupted hi

"No, you're getting back to the castle.  Take the bean.  Get to Emma and Henry! Don't worry about David.  I'll find him.  The realms are disappearing, we don't have much time."  The tone of her voice told him that the situation was quickly becoming urgent. “Get to Emma. It's important. Make her believe again."

She took off running to look for David and he climbed on Jasmine's carpet to ride back to the castle.  He hated leaving Snow alone, but had no doubt that he would be found. His priority was getting back to his wife.  With that thought, they took off flying toward the castle.

cs~cs~cs

"So, it's true," Henry accused Emma, "you're really leaving Storybrooke."

Slamming the hood of her bug, Emma turned to face her son, "It's what's best for both of us, kid."

Henry shook his head and walked up onto the curb, "Don't you get it?" he questioned her, "this is what she wants. The Black Fairy cast the curse so all this would get you to leave."

"This is why I have to go," she pleaded with him. "Because you still believe this nonsense is true."

"It is-" Henry answered exasperatedly.

"Henry, stop!" Emma clipped, tired of having the same discussions that never seemed to move anywhere. Taking a step toward him, she grabbed his hand. "Kid, don't you know I am so happy you found me.  I am so happy I got to know my son.  But it's so clear now, coming to Storybrooke wasn't good for either of us."

"You're wrong," Henry started.

"Look where I ended up," she finished. "Look at you.  Look at your arm.  It sent us on a dangerous path.  I've got to get back to Boston, get back to my life, and so do you."

"She did it," Henry finally responded. "You really don't believe."

"There's nothing to believe," she cried. "Goodbye, kid." Kissing him on the head, she whispered, "I love you," and climbed in her bug, heading out of town.

The minute Emma saw Storybrooke in her rearview mirror, her hands started to shake and she couldn’t see where she was going because of the tears falling from her eyes.  Stopping the car in the middle of the road, she held her hands up in front of her and watched them tremble.  “What is wrong with me?” She wiped her face, not once or twice, but several times and when the tears continued to fall, decided she needed to move.  Getting out of the car she kicked a rock and watched it bounce across the road, trying to understand why she felt this way, because leaving had been her choice, right?   “It had nothing to do with Fiona and her wishes,” she kept repeating to herself, hoping that eventually the words would sink in and she wouldn’t feel this huge sense of loss.  The pain she felt was because she was leaving Henry behind, nothing or no one else, and as soon as she was stronger, she would return.  That while all other thoughts and feelings might be muddled in her brain, the pain was because of him, and only him.  

Dismissing the possibility that it was because she had come to think of Storybrooke as her home, she jumped into the car and, without looking backward, continued her journey toward Boston.  That was the city where she belonged, and as she drove, if other thoughts tried to sneak into her brain, she forcibly shoved them away. Getting on with her life was her priority and deciding the best and quickest way to do that was to reach out to her former boss as soon as she crossed into Boston city limits.

~~~~~~~

As the carpet flew over the Enchanted Forest, Killian's thoughts were of Emma and what could be happening back in Storybrooke.  He couldn't fathom what she must be going through there without him and the rest of their family.   What did the bloody Black Fairy have in mind beyond separating them, and how had she succeeded?

Seeing the castle in the distance, Killian thoughts were on what he should tell Regina and the others before he left, when he was overcome with such a feeling of loss and despair that he doubled over in pain. “Emma,” he whispered, knowing immediately that the feelings were hers and not his and he needed to get back to her...now!  "Set us down, Jasmine.  Please."

Jasmine looked at him, confused, as the carpet set them carefully down. "I don't know how to explain it," he told her, "but I need to get to Emma now.  Will you trust me?"

"I trust you.” She told him quietly, “Don’t worry. I will let them know what happened."

"Thank you," Killian answered sincerely. Taking the bean out of his pocket, he looked down at it and thought about Emma.  Tossing it on the ground, he watched the portal swirl and grow, and once it had reached full size, he jumped.  His thought as the portal carried him away was for it to take him to Emma.

~~~~~~

Walking into her apartment, it was as though she had never left instead of being gone for two years.  The furniture, the counters, everything was exactly as she had left it two years ago, except nothing looked like she had been gone for so long.  Almost as if there was magic, the fanciful thought flitted through her mind. Dropping her bag onto the bar, next to the birthday candle that was still there, she sat down in her favorite chair, thinking not of how happy she was to be away from that place, but in fact, that she didn't feel happy at all.

As if something were guiding her eyes, she looked toward her bag and noticed a book had fallen out of it; a book, she had never seen before.  Curious, she walked to bar, opened her bag and let the book slide completely out. There was a handwritten note taped to the front cover.

You might not think this story is true.  But I know that it is.  And it can still have a happy ending.  Henry

Oh Henry, she thought, we talked about this.  What... But the phone rang pulling her thoughts away from the book temporarily. "Hello."

"Hey, Swan.  Got your message.  You back?" she heard from her old boss.

"Yeah, I'm back."

"Great.  I got a guy who jumped bail.  Perfect mark for your 'first date' trick. What do you say?"

"Sounds good," she answered, unable to find any enthusiasm for the job.

When she clicked off, she couldn't get Henry and his insistence that the stories he kept telling her were true.  She was no savior, but unable to resist, she flipped open the book to the first page.  What she saw caused a slight frown to appear between her brows because he had drawn her blowing out the star candle.  

Shaking her head at all the work, he had put into drawing the storybook for her, she flipped to the next page. There was a dragon with a comment of her striking the fatal blow and then another picture of her kissing a young boy lying on a bed. She wasn't the person he kept saying she was, but she found she really wanted to be.  Taking the book with her, she sat down, flipping from page to page and read his comments.  He has quite the imagination she couldn’t help but think, even as she realized that what she really felt was pride in his abilities.

Continuing to turn the pages, she saw he had drawn a picture of her being hugged by a dark headed woman and blond man.  These must be my parents, her thoughts were as she stared at the picture wondering why she felt as if she knew them when that wasn't possible. Interested to see what was next, she resumed turning the pages and reading what was written beneath each drawing.

~~~~~~

Killian fell from the portal and landed in an alley between several tall buildings. Where was he?  Was he in the New York or somewhere else? The one thing he was sure of, though, was that his Emma was in one of these buildings and he was bloody well going to find her.

His wedding finery had been restored, so as he walked into each building looking for his bride, people stopped to stare.  His patented Captain Hook glare seemed to work to deter them, which allowed him to get on with the business at hand, which was finding Emma.  He studied each building, trying to get a sense of which one could be hers and once his decision was made, he entered.  The door wasn't locked and no one seemed to question his presence. Within minutes, he was staring at a wall of letterboxes, searching for something that would show him where he would find her.

~~~~~~~

As she perused the pages of the book, a story unfolded before her of this woman, who had come into Henry's life and had made a difference in the lives of many others.  A legacy that anyone would be proud to have, and once more the thought that she wanted to be this person crept into her thoughts.

Throughout the book, a sense of hope, belief, and family stood out, and the people that surrounded this woman loved her and she loved them. And the face of the man who had appeared in her mind when Henry had taken her out on that roof was featured prominently.  

In one picture, Emma saw the man wrapping her likeness' hand in a scarf because it was wounded, and the look between them was intense, even in such a simple drawing.  The comment below read simply, "Hook tends to Emma's hand when she's hurt."  Looking away from the page, as if hesitant at what she might see, Emma looked down at her left palm.  When she saw a faint scar, she frowned in confusion.  "Where did I get that?" she murmured.  "I don't remember scraping my hand."

Unable to come up with any answers regarding her palm, she continued turning page after page, each story more fanciful than the next. Stories of a Neverland where Peter Pan was the villain and stories where she was fighting with a flying monkey. She looked out the window and frowned. How can any of this be true? Shaking her head in confusion, she moved on.

One page after another, she read through the story until finally a picture of her and the man Henry had claimed was her True Love caught her eye.  He was holding her close and their clothing looked as if they were at a ball.  The smile on the man's face was tender and sweet and Emma couldn't help tracing her finger along his lips. "Do I know you?" she whispered to him.  When he didn't answer, she read Henry's words, "Captain Hook and Emma attend King Midas' Ball as Prince Charles and Princess Leia." Unable to stop herself she snorted at the names Henry had given them.  "Charles and Leia, huh?"

Following the story of Charles and Leia was a fun read, but totally unrealistic and, rolling her eyes at Henry's sense of humor, she turned a few more pages.   What she saw next nearly took her breath away in its beauty and simplicity.  The man and woman were sitting and by the way, he was cupping her cheek, it was evident they had been kissing or were getting ready to kiss.  Their focus was only on each other and the intensity of their feelings could be felt leaping off the page.  She read, "You traded your ship for me?"  Wondering why that would be a big deal, she looked for more to the story but finding none, moved onto the next section.

~~~~~~~~

There were hundreds of letterboxes for Killian to read the names on, and after making his way through several floors, he felt no closer to finding her than when he had started.  When he had to move aside to allow someone to get inside their box, he thought about asking of Emma, but something told him that she hadn't made friends with her neighbors.  And remembering his reception when he found her in New York reminded him that strangers in a big city were not always well received.  

Moving up to the next level of letterboxes, he had completed three and moved onto four before he saw one that was a possibility. "E. S., 421," he read, but not willing to settle, he continued.   Five - Six - Seven - Eight, "Bloody, hell," he blurted out before thinking.  Quickly looking around to ascertain he was still alone, he double checked his find.   "815, E. Swan," he read, his face breaking into a relieved smile. "Found you, wife. I wonder if you even realize the significance to your apartment number."

When he stepped into the contraption that could whisk him to Emma, he instantly was brought back to the last time he had been inside one.  He and Emma had ridden one into the depths of the Underworld and even though he wished to get to her as quickly as possible, he couldn't make himself stay.  The steps lay ahead, and putting one foot on the bottom one, he began his climb.

~~~~~

Emma had reached the back of the book and had been staring at a picture of the man and the woman getting married. What drew her to the picture time and time again was their clothing, as they matched the pictures that flashed through her mind when Henry had taken her out onto the roof and told her it was the last place she had seen all her family. According to him, that had been the last place she had remembered who she really was, the savior. How could he say that though?  She was Emma Swan, his mother. Not the hero he imagined her to be, but… if she were honest with herself, the person she wanted to know more about. Henry's words came back to her,

"This is where you married your true love, yesterday," he started to explain.

She had scoffed, "Sorry, kid.  That's not how the world works.”

"It does.  It did for you. You married Captain Hook, right here." He had moved to a place on the roof, almost too easily.

But in an almost belittling tone, she had responded, "Captain Hook.  Who officiated?  Tinkerbell?"

He had gone on to explain to her that it had been Jiminy Cricket who married them, in front of friends and family.  When she had tried to scoff at him once more, he had forcibly pulled her up on the stage and that's when the pictures had flashed through her mind.

She had seen the man from the book smiling at her as she walked down an aisle in a white gown and then, then she had seen the couple kissing in the spot where she was standing.  Flashes of rings sliding onto her finger and then a repeat of the kiss.  

Shaking her head at how vivid the pictures were, she wondered where they had come from.  Why had that place brought those images to her?  He said she was married, but if she were married wouldn't she know it? Wouldn't she feel it? She looked at her left hand, but if she were married where were her rings? Setting the book aside, she checked her pockets, but no rings.  "What now?" she asked the empty room as her gaze locked on her bag where the book had been found. Picking it up, she had just started rummaging through it when there was a pounding at the door.

Walking toward the door, Emma felt something different in the air, as if there was an energy that hadn't been there before.  Henry would call it magic, but to believe that would be ridiculous, she knew.  Taking a deep breath, she pulled the door open quickly and had to take a step back.

"Hook," she whispered confused as to how the man from the pages of the book had come to life.

He smiled a smile unlike she had ever seen before and took a step forward, forcing her to take another one back, "Swan, I knew I'd find you."

"Do I know you?" She asked him, wondering why she was even standing here speaking to him.

He tilted his head while he studied her face, making her curious about his thoughts.  As if he had made a decision, he took a step, advancing closer. "Your family needs you, Emma.  I came to make you believe."

Pulling her into his arms, he kissed her.  One side of her brain screamed to push him away and give him a good swift knee where it would be painful, but the other part of her brain said wait.  The feel and scent of him were familiar as was the taste of his tongue.  

I want this to be real.  As soon as she opened her mind to the possibilities, the air around them became charged and picture after picture of her life with Henry, her mom and dad, and Killian paraded around in her head.  All the pictures that she has just gazed upon once again became real to her until everything culminated in her marrying her True Love in a wedding of the ages.   Feeling the air swirling around her body, she stepped back just as the dress she had been wearing when the curse struck, fitted itself back over her.  Dressed again in her wedding gown, in her mind she was transported back to that rooftop, holding tight to Killian as they watched the purple smoke encompass all of them.  Taking a deep breath, she looked up into a face that even without memories, she couldn’t completely forget.  

With tears streaming from her eyes, she cupped his face between her hands. "Killian," she breathed, "oh Killian." Pulling him close again, their lips met and as the kiss continued to grow, she realized that once more she was whole.

Eventually, their kisses became less frantic, more secure in the knowledge that they were finally together and the passion that was always between them began to rise.  When they broke apart and the old familiar routine of leaning their heads together just naturally happened, she couldn't help it any longer and completely lost control of her emotions.  

~~~~~~

Killian couldn't believe that the magic of a True Love's Kiss had actually worked this time.  After three failed attempts, she remembered and he had her in his arms again. Holding her as if he'd never let her go, he allowed her cry.  His only thoughts of how good she felt beside him, and that when she was ready to talk, he would say what she needed to hear.  

Moving them around so he could shut the door, he used his thumbs and wiped the tears from her face.  "I'm happy you didn't use that knee this time, love," he teased her about the way she had returned his kiss in New York.

She smiled and shrugged her shoulder, "Me too.  But Killian," she took his hand and he followed her to the sofa, "what happened when the curse struck?

~~~~~~~~

In the Enchanted Forest, Snow White and David had made it back to the castle and were waiting to see what was going to happen. In the distance, they saw a huge purple cloud rise up and, expecting it to encompass the land, they were left speechless when it dissipated just as suddenly as it had appeared.

"He made it," Snow breathed to everyone. "Emma's back."

~~~~~~~

Once Emma had told Killian everything that had happened in Storybrooke after she woke up from the curse, she asked him about her parents. He explained all that he could remember about their difficulties in the Enchanted Forest.  When he came to the part of the story about how her belief was affecting the realms, she pushed up from the sofa, unable to sit still.  "What do you think is happening now?"

"The realms were disappearing because-"

"-I didn't believe." she finished his statement.

"Aye," he agreed, "and now that you believe-"

"-the realms should be fine," she concluded as she paced back and forth in front of him, her wedding dress swirling around her legs with each turn. "We need to get back to Storybrooke and save Henry."

Killian knew that's what she would want to do, but he also knew that they needed to rest.  Pushing up from the sofa, he walked slowly toward her, pulling her into his arms again.  "Emma," he nuzzled her cheek, "we will go back, tomorrow. Tonight, we need to regroup."

~~~~~~~

Emma knew he was right, that they needed to rest and regain their strength but she was worried about Henry. However, she also realized that she had left not only for her peace of mind, but also for Henry's and without him constantly pushing against Fiona, for her sake, he would fine. "You're right."

He lifted a brow, "Say that again.  I'm not sure I heard clearly."

She slid her arms around his waist. "Your advanced age must be affecting your hearing."

"I'll show you my advanced age," he leered as he swung her up into his arms and started down the hall toward the bedroom. "after all we still haven’t had our honeymoon."

His carefree smile and the easy way he carried her in his arms and wanted to take care of her made her heart do a few flips as they made their way toward her bedroom. "Too bad my magic doesn't work so I could stop time."

"Too bad your magic doesn't work so you could poof that dress off.  Have you seen the buttons down the back?" He gave her a cheeky grin.

Not expecting it to work, Emma waved her hands over her body and to her surprise and Killian's delight she was left in a strapless bra and tiny panties.

"I like," he told her as he let go of her legs and they slid down against the soft velvet of his tux.  "What about me?"

She waved her hand and his suit and everything else disappeared. "I like," she sighed against his mouth as they sank onto the bed and no more words were exchanged for quite some time.

cs~cs~cs

The next morning, they packed the bug and began the long journey back to Storybrooke. They didn't think that their kiss had broken the curse on the town, but were hopeful.  As they drove closer and the Welcome to Storybrooke sign could be seen, both worried that Killian might be pulled away.  Needing a little more time alone, Emma parked the bug.

"I'm scared you might disappear again." She smoothed her hand over his cheek.

Killian picked up her hand, kissing her fingers, "If that happens, I'll be back."  He glanced in the back seat, "Too bad this contraption has such a small back seat, Swan." He wiggled his eyebrows at her.

She laughed, "Do I need to ask how you know about back seat behavior?"

His grin said it all. "Some of those movies Henry enjoys, of course.  I like our bed better."

Without thinking, Emma threw open the door and met Killian in the front of the car where they fell into each other’s arms. Their kiss said everything they didn't have time to say with words and expressed every emotion that was in their hearts.  As their lips parted, they knew it was time to drive over the town line.  

"I love you, Swan," were the last words he spoke to her before he was whisked back to the Enchanted Forest.  As Emma drove onward to fight the final battle, she had no doubts that she would win because nothing stands in the way of True Love. However, once she had won, she was kidnapping her pirate and surrounding them with a protection spell for a few days of uninterrupted honeymoon.

~fin

Read the rest of the stories in the Once Upon a Captain Swan Storybook, Vol 2 which can be found here.  

[imamotherfuckingstar-lord]

The Curtain, part 7

Steve Rogers x Reader

Summary: You had been Steve Rogers’ best girl for many years, until he took down SHIELD and proclaimed his allegiance to Hydra. And that was when your world came tumbling down. Now you were part of the Underground - a group of rogue heroes and civilians that wanted nothing to do with Hydra. The Mount was the secret headquarters where you lived now, as you all try to find a way to get the world back. And where you try your hardest to forget Steve Rogers or at least the man he is now, but could you ever?

Characters: Hydra! Steve Rogers, Past!Steve Rogers,Clint Barton/Hawkeye, Natasha Romanoff/Black Widow, Miles Morales/Spider-Man, Amadeus Cho/Hulk, Viv Vision.

Warning: If you don’t like the Hydra Steve currently in the Marvel comics, don’t read. Won’t be tagging anyone unless they asked to be tagged. Spoilers for Secret Empire.

A/N: This is mostly based on the comic Secret Empire and most of the characterization is based on comic book counterparts - or at least a mix of the two for those also in the MCU. Also, this is just a mini-series - not sure how many parts. TBH, this story isn’t what you expect. 

Part 1  Part 2  Part 3  Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7

It had been many things that had initially attracted you to Steve Rogers, for one, that man had an ass on him. But besides his other aesthetically pleasing physical features, he was a cheeky at times and always had something to say. He was loyal, determined and when the two of you were all alone, he was insecure. Fumbled over his words quite a bit during the first weeks of your relationship, until you reminded him that he didn’t have to be. That he had nothing to prove, you had adored him just as he was. It was that talk that really opened the man up and you were able to see all the different sides of Steve - the funny, artistic, and stubborn faces of the man behind the shield. And you couldn’t love him anymore.

So as you sat there, watching this younger (in a sense) version of Steve Rogers listening to Tony’s pep talk, everything sank into the pit of your heart. He looked different then the man you were use to, a little more clean cut. Over the years, his style had relaxed - preferring a simple tee shirt over suspenders and button ups. But this man in front of you, he was tightly wind up with a sense of loss in his blue eyes.

“So in conclusion,” Tony exclaimed loudly, pointing a finger at you- setting his eyes on you. “You weren’t listening at all, stop making love sick eyes at Rogers.”

You inhaled sharply, glaring at the genius as you stood up from the leather seat. Not saying a word as you rushed to the door, you slammed it shut as you exited the conference room. Your footsteps stomped against the floor as you walked toward the elevator, angry tears streaming down your face.

Pressing the elevator button, you edged close to the door waiting in anticipation, holding back the burning fiery in your throat. When it does open, you walked in calmly and pressed the floor to the gym. The doors closed and you leaned back against the wall, shutting your eyes as a feral scream left your lips. It was loud, it was forced and it hurt.

Everything hurt and you needed to release the anger before it manifested into something dangerous, an overload of your ability that could knock you out, which at this point didn’t seem like a bad idea. The lift came to a stop and you inhaled deeply, not bothering to wipe your eyes to conceal the crying. The halls were empty as you strolled to the gym, peeking in to see if it was occupied. Satisfied that it wasn’t, you went in and tore off the blue hoodie from your back. You grabbed two hand wraps off the bench next to the punching bag in the right corner of the room.

You inhaled deeply and started punching as thoughts flew through your mind.

Miles, Amadeus and Viv, the kids, your kids in every sense. You had trained them, provided comfort when they needed it and had fought side by side with them during many fights and now, you had no idea if they were alive or dead. Then there was Clint, that idiot. He was too human for his own good, always looking out for others. Then the kiss happened and it didn’t change anything, not for either of you. Truthfully, you knew he always held a candle for Natasha and you had hoped they would get their shit together, but there had always been something there between the archer and you. Yet, what you felt, what you had with Steve, it trumped everything. Even your loyalty, because as you punched the bag far too hard with your fist, you realized you would do anything to be with Steve. Anything to get him back and you weren’t sure what that entitled.

“You hit that bag any harder, you gonna knock it off the hinge,” Steve chuckled from behind you.

Your hands flew to the bag, slowing it down in a huff. His footsteps reached the bench and you side glanced him as he sat down with a water bottle.

“Thirsty?”

“No, I’m good,” you lied, ignoring the dryness in your throat. Steve sighed and fidgeted with the bottle, as you just stood there.

“I know how it feels to be somewhere you aren’t use to and I’m sorry for what I’ve done - whatever my future self has done. I-I can’t imagine ever doing that.”

You could hear the confusion in his voice, so you dared to move to him, taking a place beside him. Staring at the bottle in his hand, you slowly took it and Steve chuckled quietly. The two of you sat there in complete silence as you drank the water, both nervous and unassured of each other’s presence.

After a few minutes go by, you looked over at him and nearly broke down in tears again. Lips quivered, desperate to hold back the despair of what the man you love would become. Steve eyed you carefully and without giving it a thought, reached down for your hand.

“It’s going to be okay,” he smiled softly. “We’ll figure it out.”

“Figure it out?”

You huffed unfairly, pulling from his hand and standing up. You walked over to the punching bag and touched the seam.

“How the hell am I supposed to fix this? Steve,” you turned to face him. “You- you are Hydra! You are evil! Captain America turned his back on his friends, on SHIELD, on me and sold us out!”

He flinched and looked to the ground as you punched the bag with all your force, not knocking it down, but cramping your fist. You cursed and ran a palm over your face, glancing over at the man on the bench.

“We meet about two years from now,” you stated, recounting the story to calm the nerves. “It was ridiculous, only took two dates, three weeks and we were in love.”

“How long before I..”

Steve’s questioned faded off, unsure if he wanted to hear the answer.

“About four years after we met.”

He stilled and slowly brought his gaze up to you. “We were together for 4 years.”

You nodded and felt guilty about the pain in his eyes, so you sat back down and placed a hand over his. Your thumb grazed his knuckles and Steve’s breath hitched at the feel of your skin against his. It was warm, tender and it felt natural.

“I miss you,” you confessed in a low prayer. “I miss you so much, Steve. You were my best friend, my family.”

He cleared his throat and took your hand in both of his.

“Look at me,” he commanded with a soothing tone, so you did and instantly got lost in the light blue that were his eyes. “I promise you, we’ll fix this. I’m not letting you go back to where you came from without setting things right.”

It was then, for the first time since you set foot in this time, that you recognized the Steve you had always loved and something inside you snapped. And before you could deny yourself the foolish act of desperation, you kissed Steve.

Kissed him hard and with such longing, he couldn’t draw back even if he wanted to. Instead, Steve slipped his hands up your neck and pulled you onto his lap, neither of you thinking or wanting to. It just felt right in all the ways it should, in all the ways it always had.

His lips danced against yours and your fingers nestled into the nap of his neck, tugging cruelly at his hair until he groaned into your mouth. And you pretended not to think about all the reasons why you should stop.

This wasn’t your Steve, this man was new to this world. It had been merely days, maybe weeks since he was unfrozen. You were sure a million things were running through his mind and yet, a part of you didn’t care until you did.

So you pulled back, leaving him red around the lips with a confused expression on his flushed face. His eyes scanned yours and he held a palm against your cheek.

“What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

Your hands cupped his face and tears fell from your eyes. “You must be so confused. I remember you telling me about this time in your life. You were lost in a new world and I don’t think I’m making it any easier.”

You attempted to move off his lap, but Steve pulled you back down and shook his head. “No, you have it wrong,” he rushed out the words and sighed. “This is a new world and yes, it does feel like yesterday when I made the plunge into the water, but for some reason, for whatever reason - you make me feel better. I know that doesn’t make a lick of sense because I’ve known you for a day, but it’s true.”

Selfish relief washed over you as you leaned in for another kiss. This time slow and tender, giving yourself a chance to devour each liplock and caress with greedy delight. His arms ran up your back and he cradled you against his body protectively, because for the first time since he had woken from his deep cold sleep, Steve Rogers felt alive.

Tagging: @travelwithwords @bubbleboss15 @frostingsfics @buttercup337 @to-pick-ourselves-up-7@alwayshave-faith @radrouda @rubynationwins  @mo320 @sleepyartistsworld  @artisticniffler

Only tagging those who ask to be for this series.

[alexdmorgan30]

How To Love Yourself the Way You Love Your Addicted Child

Stories are the cornerstone of living and loving—from oral traditions to New York Times best sellers, tales written by others and those we make up inside our minds. They help us make sense of our existence like nothing else can. Good stories tether us to life and help us transcend into new ways of being.There is a story rattling around in my head—a story for myself and perhaps for you. It whispers to me with prompts and questions like: What would I say to you? But then I wonder who you even are. Are you my beloved or a friend I’ve yet to meet? Someone I embrace or a ghost from whom I run? Would we pass each other on the street without a second glance or might we sit and chat over coffee for hours on end? What would I tell you if we were one and the same? No separation, no delineation. Not the stranger or the ally. Not the sober one or the drunk, but rather you, me, we. What would I tell us?We're All Addicted to SomethingThose of us who’ve lived with people who have addictions—oh wait … who am I kidding? We’re all addicted to something. No one is immune. We each have the places we run when we’re feeling vulnerable, scared, or confused. We create our lives so we have our fix of choice within reach at all times. When life feels excessive or news in the broader world is crazed, we grasp at something to ease our rage, sooth our aloneness, and calm the overwhelm. We eat, we shop, we drink, we gamble or easier yet, we try to fix someone else.We point a finger away from ourselves and toward them. They are the one with the problem. If only he or she would stop drinking, agree with “the right” viewpoint, pay more attention to me then surely I’d feel better.I can’t begin to tell you the number of hours and ways I’ve spent over the last 30 years trying to improve my husband. Lucky guy, the pressure eased for him when our 13-year-old son turned to drugs and alcohol. Together, our mission in life became to fix our son, get his life on track, keep him safe, and stop the madness. We became addicted to fixing our addict.We tried inpatient and outpatient treatment, therapeutic boarding school, and a wilderness program. We were all in except, of course, our son, who did his best to skirt the therapy sessions, game the system, and do the bare minimum to figure out how he could get out of our fix and carry on with his agenda. In the meantime, my life was circling the proverbial drain and it was all my son’s fault… or was it?Hitting Rock Bottom as a ParentThey say that true addicts must hit rock bottom before they’ll change, but what’s the rule of thumb for concerned family members? Do we have to hit rock bottom too? It doesn’t really seem fair.I recently met a woman who was ensnared in her 40-something-year-old daughter’s cycle. (My son is almost 30 now.) I watched this woman wring her hands and spend precious time trying to figure out how to wire money to her daughter on the other side of the world. I wondered about the difference I felt between us until I realized that that mother hasn’t hit her bottom. Some people never do. They value their child’s life more than their own. That’s what society has told us we should do. Sacrifice for others. Family first. Give to the death.When I hit my bottom, I began to wonder if there was another way. What if sacrificing for my son wasn’t the solution? Please don’t get me wrong, I adore my son. In fact, he has been my greatest teacher and I am deeply indebted to his role in my personal journey. I would indeed give my life for him, but I was giving him my living. I was disintegrating into my own form of insanity and it was helping no one. Not him, not my husband, not me. We were each in our own way following addiction into the darkness.What if love others as you love yourself looked different than I’d been taught? What if that’s exactly what I was doing? Loving him as I loved myself which turned out to be not very well at the time.How to Love YourselfI don’t recall if it was the third or fifth or nth incident with the police or treatment when I realized I had a choice. I could go into that dark hole of despair and stay there, or I could find a way to bring myself back into the light. If I could continue to love my son without joining him in the madness, then maybe I could shine a beacon for him when or if he chose to return to a healthier way of living. So in service of myself and family, I chose to light my own candle while continuing to literally light candles and offer prayers of love for all of us.I began to develop a journaling practice. I poured my thoughts, fears, worries, and internal and external stories onto the page every day. I wrote and wrote and wrote until I exhausted the dialogue, covered all of the what ifs, and landed at a moment of rest. Then I got up and did it again and again and again. As my practice deepened, so did my sense of peace and ability to be present to others and the world around me. I started to heal. I learned how to draw appropriate boundaries and managed to send love and light to my son even when we were estranged for months at a time. I developed empathy and compassion, regardless of whether I understood or condoned my son’s choices. And somewhere along the way, the chaos quieted. Our legacy gave way to the promise of a brighter ending.I remembered that authentic stories untangle us from lies, tether us to truth, and help us transcend into new ways of being.May it be so for you and yours.

from RSSMix.com Mix ID 8241841 https://ift.tt/2BJuLTq

[emlydunstan]

How To Love Yourself the Way You Love Your Addicted Child

Stories are the cornerstone of living and loving—from oral traditions to New York Times best sellers, tales written by others and those we make up inside our minds. They help us make sense of our existence like nothing else can. Good stories tether us to life and help us transcend into new ways of being.There is a story rattling around in my head—a story for myself and perhaps for you. It whispers to me with prompts and questions like: What would I say to you? But then I wonder who you even are. Are you my beloved or a friend I’ve yet to meet? Someone I embrace or a ghost from whom I run? Would we pass each other on the street without a second glance or might we sit and chat over coffee for hours on end? What would I tell you if we were one and the same? No separation, no delineation. Not the stranger or the ally. Not the sober one or the drunk, but rather you, me, we. What would I tell us?We're All Addicted to SomethingThose of us who’ve lived with people who have addictions—oh wait … who am I kidding? We’re all addicted to something. No one is immune. We each have the places we run when we’re feeling vulnerable, scared, or confused. We create our lives so we have our fix of choice within reach at all times. When life feels excessive or news in the broader world is crazed, we grasp at something to ease our rage, sooth our aloneness, and calm the overwhelm. We eat, we shop, we drink, we gamble or easier yet, we try to fix someone else.We point a finger away from ourselves and toward them. They are the one with the problem. If only he or she would stop drinking, agree with “the right” viewpoint, pay more attention to me then surely I’d feel better.I can’t begin to tell you the number of hours and ways I’ve spent over the last 30 years trying to improve my husband. Lucky guy, the pressure eased for him when our 13-year-old son turned to drugs and alcohol. Together, our mission in life became to fix our son, get his life on track, keep him safe, and stop the madness. We became addicted to fixing our addict.We tried inpatient and outpatient treatment, therapeutic boarding school, and a wilderness program. We were all in except, of course, our son, who did his best to skirt the therapy sessions, game the system, and do the bare minimum to figure out how he could get out of our fix and carry on with his agenda. In the meantime, my life was circling the proverbial drain and it was all my son’s fault… or was it?Hitting Rock Bottom as a ParentThey say that true addicts must hit rock bottom before they’ll change, but what’s the rule of thumb for concerned family members? Do we have to hit rock bottom too? It doesn’t really seem fair.I recently met a woman who was ensnared in her 40-something-year-old daughter’s cycle. (My son is almost 30 now.) I watched this woman wring her hands and spend precious time trying to figure out how to wire money to her daughter on the other side of the world. I wondered about the difference I felt between us until I realized that that mother hasn’t hit her bottom. Some people never do. They value their child’s life more than their own. That’s what society has told us we should do. Sacrifice for others. Family first. Give to the death.When I hit my bottom, I began to wonder if there was another way. What if sacrificing for my son wasn’t the solution? Please don’t get me wrong, I adore my son. In fact, he has been my greatest teacher and I am deeply indebted to his role in my personal journey. I would indeed give my life for him, but I was giving him my living. I was disintegrating into my own form of insanity and it was helping no one. Not him, not my husband, not me. We were each in our own way following addiction into the darkness.What if love others as you love yourself looked different than I’d been taught? What if that’s exactly what I was doing? Loving him as I loved myself which turned out to be not very well at the time.How to Love YourselfI don’t recall if it was the third or fifth or nth incident with the police or treatment when I realized I had a choice. I could go into that dark hole of despair and stay there, or I could find a way to bring myself back into the light. If I could continue to love my son without joining him in the madness, then maybe I could shine a beacon for him when or if he chose to return to a healthier way of living. So in service of myself and family, I chose to light my own candle while continuing to literally light candles and offer prayers of love for all of us.I began to develop a journaling practice. I poured my thoughts, fears, worries, and internal and external stories onto the page every day. I wrote and wrote and wrote until I exhausted the dialogue, covered all of the what ifs, and landed at a moment of rest. Then I got up and did it again and again and again. As my practice deepened, so did my sense of peace and ability to be present to others and the world around me. I started to heal. I learned how to draw appropriate boundaries and managed to send love and light to my son even when we were estranged for months at a time. I developed empathy and compassion, regardless of whether I understood or condoned my son’s choices. And somewhere along the way, the chaos quieted. Our legacy gave way to the promise of a brighter ending.I remembered that authentic stories untangle us from lies, tether us to truth, and help us transcend into new ways of being.May it be so for you and yours.

from RSSMix.com Mix ID 8241841 https://www.thefix.com/how-love-yourself-way-you-love-your-addicted-child

[pitz182]

How To Love Yourself the Way You Love Your Addicted Child

Stories are the cornerstone of living and loving—from oral traditions to New York Times best sellers, tales written by others and those we make up inside our minds. They help us make sense of our existence like nothing else can. Good stories tether us to life and help us transcend into new ways of being.There is a story rattling around in my head—a story for myself and perhaps for you. It whispers to me with prompts and questions like: What would I say to you? But then I wonder who you even are. Are you my beloved or a friend I’ve yet to meet? Someone I embrace or a ghost from whom I run? Would we pass each other on the street without a second glance or might we sit and chat over coffee for hours on end? What would I tell you if we were one and the same? No separation, no delineation. Not the stranger or the ally. Not the sober one or the drunk, but rather you, me, we. What would I tell us?We're All Addicted to SomethingThose of us who’ve lived with people who have addictions—oh wait … who am I kidding? We’re all addicted to something. No one is immune. We each have the places we run when we’re feeling vulnerable, scared, or confused. We create our lives so we have our fix of choice within reach at all times. When life feels excessive or news in the broader world is crazed, we grasp at something to ease our rage, sooth our aloneness, and calm the overwhelm. We eat, we shop, we drink, we gamble or easier yet, we try to fix someone else.We point a finger away from ourselves and toward them. They are the one with the problem. If only he or she would stop drinking, agree with “the right” viewpoint, pay more attention to me then surely I’d feel better.I can’t begin to tell you the number of hours and ways I’ve spent over the last 30 years trying to improve my husband. Lucky guy, the pressure eased for him when our 13-year-old son turned to drugs and alcohol. Together, our mission in life became to fix our son, get his life on track, keep him safe, and stop the madness. We became addicted to fixing our addict.We tried inpatient and outpatient treatment, therapeutic boarding school, and a wilderness program. We were all in except, of course, our son, who did his best to skirt the therapy sessions, game the system, and do the bare minimum to figure out how he could get out of our fix and carry on with his agenda. In the meantime, my life was circling the proverbial drain and it was all my son’s fault… or was it?Hitting Rock Bottom as a ParentThey say that true addicts must hit rock bottom before they’ll change, but what’s the rule of thumb for concerned family members? Do we have to hit rock bottom too? It doesn’t really seem fair.I recently met a woman who was ensnared in her 40-something-year-old daughter’s cycle. (My son is almost 30 now.) I watched this woman wring her hands and spend precious time trying to figure out how to wire money to her daughter on the other side of the world. I wondered about the difference I felt between us until I realized that that mother hasn’t hit her bottom. Some people never do. They value their child’s life more than their own. That’s what society has told us we should do. Sacrifice for others. Family first. Give to the death.When I hit my bottom, I began to wonder if there was another way. What if sacrificing for my son wasn’t the solution? Please don’t get me wrong, I adore my son. In fact, he has been my greatest teacher and I am deeply indebted to his role in my personal journey. I would indeed give my life for him, but I was giving him my living. I was disintegrating into my own form of insanity and it was helping no one. Not him, not my husband, not me. We were each in our own way following addiction into the darkness.What if love others as you love yourself looked different than I’d been taught? What if that’s exactly what I was doing? Loving him as I loved myself which turned out to be not very well at the time.How to Love YourselfI don’t recall if it was the third or fifth or nth incident with the police or treatment when I realized I had a choice. I could go into that dark hole of despair and stay there, or I could find a way to bring myself back into the light. If I could continue to love my son without joining him in the madness, then maybe I could shine a beacon for him when or if he chose to return to a healthier way of living. So in service of myself and family, I chose to light my own candle while continuing to literally light candles and offer prayers of love for all of us.I began to develop a journaling practice. I poured my thoughts, fears, worries, and internal and external stories onto the page every day. I wrote and wrote and wrote until I exhausted the dialogue, covered all of the what ifs, and landed at a moment of rest. Then I got up and did it again and again and again. As my practice deepened, so did my sense of peace and ability to be present to others and the world around me. I started to heal. I learned how to draw appropriate boundaries and managed to send love and light to my son even when we were estranged for months at a time. I developed empathy and compassion, regardless of whether I understood or condoned my son’s choices. And somewhere along the way, the chaos quieted. Our legacy gave way to the promise of a brighter ending.I remembered that authentic stories untangle us from lies, tether us to truth, and help us transcend into new ways of being.May it be so for you and yours.

[541-02]

Borealis Mind 　 *✦ 　　 * . ✵ 　　 *✦ 　　　 * . ✵ 　　 . 　 * . ✵ 　 *✦ 　　 * . ✵ 　 　 . (23/06/2016) I don't like the fact that i feel like i have given you all my world when you gave pieces of a fake ship you built with fake ideias. I really dislike the fact that i wanted to protect you from whatever could hurt you when at the end you didn't wanted protection at all. But, i never asked you if you wanted all that stuff that I was giving you right? And i needed? (25/06/2016) I want to live in a city where there's museums. Sculptures and paintings and art. I want to live where there's art. I want to be part of this scenario. I want to see and to be seeing. (27/06/2016) I need to find a way that I can be myself always, regardless where I am and who I am with. Not sure who I am to even start. Sometimes I think I am fragments of a lot of people, but I can't see who is the result of all those fragments. And this is confusing. (06/07/2016) ^about my kitty pink wallet^ i used to love it, when you're a kid you hardly ever have any money so having money to put inside a wallet used to make me feel like an adult, now everything that makes me feel like an adult freaks me out (07/07/2016) Sometimes I don't feel home anywhere, Is like everything is messy here. (09/07/2016) I love hearing about people's passions (17/07/2016) Fuck. (11/08/2016) Wolf, weirdness shaped into a girl, always leave the toothpaste open (17/08/2016) There's something about tourists visiting the city I live (18/09/2016) REMEMBER THIS: Sixteen Small Steps to Happiness 1. push yourself to get up before the rest of the world - start with 7am, then 6am, then 5:30am. go to the nearest hill with a big coat and a scarf and watch the sun rise. 2. push yourself to fall asleep earlier - start with 11pm, then 10pm, then 9pm. wake up in the morning feeling re-energized and comfortable. 3. erase processed food from your diet. start with no lollies, chips, biscuits, then erase pasta, rice, cereal, then bread. use the rule that if a child couldn’t identify what was in it, you don’t eat it. 4. get into the habit of cooking yourself a beautiful breakfast. fry tomatoes and mushrooms in real butter and garlic, fry an egg, slice up a fresh avocado and squirt way too much lemon on it. sit and eat it and do nothing else. 5. stretch. start by reaching for the sky as hard as you can, then trying to touch your toes. roll your head. stretch your fingers. stretch everything. 6. buy a 1L water bottle. start with pushing yourself to drink the whole thing in a day, then try drinking it twice. 7. buy a beautiful diary and a beautiful black pen. write down everything you do, including dinner dates, appointments, assignments, coffees, what you need to do that day. no detail is too small. 8. strip your bed of your sheets and empty your underwear draw into the washing machine. put a massive scoop of scented fabric softener in there and wash. make your bed in full. 9. organise your room. fold all your clothes (and bag what you don’t want), clean your mirror, your laptop, vacuum the floor. light a beautiful candle. 10. have a luxurious shower with your favourite music playing. wash your hair, scrub your body, brush your teeth. lather your whole body in moisturiser, get familiar with the part between your toes, your inner thighs, the back of your neck. 11. push yourself to go for a walk. take your headphones, go to the beach and walk. smile at strangers walking the other way and be surprised how many smile back. bring your dog and observe the dog’s behaviour. realise you can learn from your dog. 12. message old friends with personal jokes. reminisce. suggest a catch up soon, even if you don’t follow through. push yourself to follow through. 14. think long and hard about what interests you. crime? sex? boarding school? long-forgotten romance etiquette? find a book about it and read it. there is a book about literally everything. 15. become the person you would ideally fall in love with. let cars merge into your lane when driving. pay double for parking tickets and leave a second one in the machine. stick your tongue out at babies. compliment people on their cute clothes. challenge yourself to not ridicule anyone for a whole day. then two. then a week. walk with a straight posture. look people in the eye. ask people about their story. talk to acquaintances so they become friends. 16. lie in the sunshine. daydream about the life you would lead if failure wasn’t a thing. open your eyes. take small steps to make it happen for you. -Emma Elsworthy (21/09/2016) I don't love casually When I love, it's a fierce It's my soul ripped Wide open and raw. It's my whole heart On display. It's all i have and everything i know Handed over to you, Like a gift And i hope you unwrap it gently" (26/09/2016) "I like the unreality of your mind, the whole thing is very splendid and voluptuous and absurd." (26/09/2016) "I think you're crazy, maybe, I'll see you, in the next life" (03/11/2017) Not being enough Really bothers me the fact that for some people I'm never gonna be enough, even if I try really hard, do my best. Some people can hurt me with the idea that i'll never be excellent for them, that some people can fill their void while I can't. (02/01/2017) I feel crazy. All those feelings, I feel you so close in such a big world like this. I don't wanna wait, I want you here, I need you so much closer. It almost hurts. (02/01/2017) Oh fuck, I think I'm in love (10/01/2017) Why the hell am i feeling miserable 1 - i wanna fall in love 2 - what the hell is going on between us? 3 - i think i gained weight (28/02/2017) “I’ve got thoughts more tangled than my headphones.” It's so ridiculous it took so long to just accept the fact that some feelings just happen. Since I've opened up to this I feel this wave bigger and bigger, it brings me joy and despair. I don't understand why is so hard to say what I have to say. There's a maze between my thoughts and my mouth and it seems impossible to let it all out. 17/05/2017 There's something interesting about supermodels eating junk food. 21/05/2017 I can't sleep and I can't stop crying. I wish I could turn off my thoughts and my emotions. 26/06 "I thought I understood it, that I could grasp it, but I didn't, not really. Only the smudgeness of it; the pink-slippered, all-containered, semi-precious eagerness of it. I didn't realize it would sometimes be more than whole, that the wholeness was a rather luxurious idea. Because it's the halves that halve you in half. I didn't know, don't know, about the in-between bits; the gory bits of you, and the gory bits of me."

[alexdmorgan30]

How To Love Yourself the Way You Love Your Addicted Child

Stories are the cornerstone of living and loving—from oral traditions to New York Times best sellers, tales written by others and those we make up inside our minds. They help us make sense of our existence like nothing else can. Good stories tether us to life and help us transcend into new ways of being.There is a story rattling around in my head—a story for myself and perhaps for you. It whispers to me with prompts and questions like: What would I say to you? But then I wonder who you even are. Are you my beloved or a friend I’ve yet to meet? Someone I embrace or a ghost from whom I run? Would we pass each other on the street without a second glance or might we sit and chat over coffee for hours on end? What would I tell you if we were one and the same? No separation, no delineation. Not the stranger or the ally. Not the sober one or the drunk, but rather you, me, we. What would I tell us?We're All Addicted to SomethingThose of us who’ve lived with people who have addictions—oh wait … who am I kidding? We’re all addicted to something. No one is immune. We each have the places we run when we’re feeling vulnerable, scared, or confused. We create our lives so we have our fix of choice within reach at all times. When life feels excessive or news in the broader world is crazed, we grasp at something to ease our rage, sooth our aloneness, and calm the overwhelm. We eat, we shop, we drink, we gamble or easier yet, we try to fix someone else.We point a finger away from ourselves and toward them. They are the one with the problem. If only he or she would stop drinking, agree with “the right” viewpoint, pay more attention to me then surely I’d feel better.I can’t begin to tell you the number of hours and ways I’ve spent over the last 30 years trying to improve my husband. Lucky guy, the pressure eased for him when our 13-year-old son turned to drugs and alcohol. Together, our mission in life became to fix our son, get his life on track, keep him safe, and stop the madness. We became addicted to fixing our addict.We tried inpatient and outpatient treatment, therapeutic boarding school, and a wilderness program. We were all in except, of course, our son, who did his best to skirt the therapy sessions, game the system, and do the bare minimum to figure out how he could get out of our fix and carry on with his agenda. In the meantime, my life was circling the proverbial drain and it was all my son’s fault… or was it?Hitting Rock Bottom as a ParentThey say that true addicts must hit rock bottom before they’ll change, but what’s the rule of thumb for concerned family members? Do we have to hit rock bottom too? It doesn’t really seem fair.I recently met a woman who was ensnared in her 40-something-year-old daughter’s cycle. (My son is almost 30 now.) I watched this woman wring her hands and spend precious time trying to figure out how to wire money to her daughter on the other side of the world. I wondered about the difference I felt between us until I realized that that mother hasn’t hit her bottom. Some people never do. They value their child’s life more than their own. That’s what society has told us we should do. Sacrifice for others. Family first. Give to the death.When I hit my bottom, I began to wonder if there was another way. What if sacrificing for my son wasn’t the solution? Please don’t get me wrong, I adore my son. In fact, he has been my greatest teacher and I am deeply indebted to his role in my personal journey. I would indeed give my life for him, but I was giving him my living. I was disintegrating into my own form of insanity and it was helping no one. Not him, not my husband, not me. We were each in our own way following addiction into the darkness.What if love others as you love yourself looked different than I’d been taught? What if that’s exactly what I was doing? Loving him as I loved myself which turned out to be not very well at the time.How to Love YourselfI don’t recall if it was the third or fifth or nth incident with the police or treatment when I realized I had a choice. I could go into that dark hole of despair and stay there, or I could find a way to bring myself back into the light. If I could continue to love my son without joining him in the madness, then maybe I could shine a beacon for him when or if he chose to return to a healthier way of living. So in service of myself and family, I chose to light my own candle while continuing to literally light candles and offer prayers of love for all of us.I began to develop a journaling practice. I poured my thoughts, fears, worries, and internal and external stories onto the page every day. I wrote and wrote and wrote until I exhausted the dialogue, covered all of the what ifs, and landed at a moment of rest. Then I got up and did it again and again and again. As my practice deepened, so did my sense of peace and ability to be present to others and the world around me. I started to heal. I learned how to draw appropriate boundaries and managed to send love and light to my son even when we were estranged for months at a time. I developed empathy and compassion, regardless of whether I understood or condoned my son’s choices. And somewhere along the way, the chaos quieted. Our legacy gave way to the promise of a brighter ending.I remembered that authentic stories untangle us from lies, tether us to truth, and help us transcend into new ways of being.May it be so for you and yours.

from RSSMix.com Mix ID 8241841 https://ift.tt/2BJuLTq

[pitz182]

How To Love Yourself the Way You Love Your Addicted Child

Stories are the cornerstone of living and loving—from oral traditions to New York Times best sellers, tales written by others and those we make up inside our minds. They help us make sense of our existence like nothing else can. Good stories tether us to life and help us transcend into new ways of being.There is a story rattling around in my head—a story for myself and perhaps for you. It whispers to me with prompts and questions like: What would I say to you? But then I wonder who you even are. Are you my beloved or a friend I’ve yet to meet? Someone I embrace or a ghost from whom I run? Would we pass each other on the street without a second glance or might we sit and chat over coffee for hours on end? What would I tell you if we were one and the same? No separation, no delineation. Not the stranger or the ally. Not the sober one or the drunk, but rather you, me, we. What would I tell us?We're All Addicted to SomethingThose of us who’ve lived with people who have addictions—oh wait … who am I kidding? We’re all addicted to something. No one is immune. We each have the places we run when we’re feeling vulnerable, scared, or confused. We create our lives so we have our fix of choice within reach at all times. When life feels excessive or news in the broader world is crazed, we grasp at something to ease our rage, sooth our aloneness, and calm the overwhelm. We eat, we shop, we drink, we gamble or easier yet, we try to fix someone else.We point a finger away from ourselves and toward them. They are the one with the problem. If only he or she would stop drinking, agree with “the right” viewpoint, pay more attention to me then surely I’d feel better.I can’t begin to tell you the number of hours and ways I’ve spent over the last 30 years trying to improve my husband. Lucky guy, the pressure eased for him when our 13-year-old son turned to drugs and alcohol. Together, our mission in life became to fix our son, get his life on track, keep him safe, and stop the madness. We became addicted to fixing our addict.We tried inpatient and outpatient treatment, therapeutic boarding school, and a wilderness program. We were all in except, of course, our son, who did his best to skirt the therapy sessions, game the system, and do the bare minimum to figure out how he could get out of our fix and carry on with his agenda. In the meantime, my life was circling the proverbial drain and it was all my son’s fault… or was it?Hitting Rock Bottom as a ParentThey say that true addicts must hit rock bottom before they’ll change, but what’s the rule of thumb for concerned family members? Do we have to hit rock bottom too? It doesn’t really seem fair.I recently met a woman who was ensnared in her 40-something-year-old daughter’s cycle. (My son is almost 30 now.) I watched this woman wring her hands and spend precious time trying to figure out how to wire money to her daughter on the other side of the world. I wondered about the difference I felt between us until I realized that that mother hasn’t hit her bottom. Some people never do. They value their child’s life more than their own. That’s what society has told us we should do. Sacrifice for others. Family first. Give to the death.When I hit my bottom, I began to wonder if there was another way. What if sacrificing for my son wasn’t the solution? Please don’t get me wrong, I adore my son. In fact, he has been my greatest teacher and I am deeply indebted to his role in my personal journey. I would indeed give my life for him, but I was giving him my living. I was disintegrating into my own form of insanity and it was helping no one. Not him, not my husband, not me. We were each in our own way following addiction into the darkness.What if love others as you love yourself looked different than I’d been taught? What if that’s exactly what I was doing? Loving him as I loved myself which turned out to be not very well at the time.How to Love YourselfI don’t recall if it was the third or fifth or nth incident with the police or treatment when I realized I had a choice. I could go into that dark hole of despair and stay there, or I could find a way to bring myself back into the light. If I could continue to love my son without joining him in the madness, then maybe I could shine a beacon for him when or if he chose to return to a healthier way of living. So in service of myself and family, I chose to light my own candle while continuing to literally light candles and offer prayers of love for all of us.I began to develop a journaling practice. I poured my thoughts, fears, worries, and internal and external stories onto the page every day. I wrote and wrote and wrote until I exhausted the dialogue, covered all of the what ifs, and landed at a moment of rest. Then I got up and did it again and again and again. As my practice deepened, so did my sense of peace and ability to be present to others and the world around me. I started to heal. I learned how to draw appropriate boundaries and managed to send love and light to my son even when we were estranged for months at a time. I developed empathy and compassion, regardless of whether I understood or condoned my son’s choices. And somewhere along the way, the chaos quieted. Our legacy gave way to the promise of a brighter ending.I remembered that authentic stories untangle us from lies, tether us to truth, and help us transcend into new ways of being.May it be so for you and yours.

[emlydunstan]

How To Love Yourself the Way You Love Your Addicted Child

Stories are the cornerstone of living and loving—from oral traditions to New York Times best sellers, tales written by others and those we make up inside our minds. They help us make sense of our existence like nothing else can. Good stories tether us to life and help us transcend into new ways of being.There is a story rattling around in my head—a story for myself and perhaps for you. It whispers to me with prompts and questions like: What would I say to you? But then I wonder who you even are. Are you my beloved or a friend I’ve yet to meet? Someone I embrace or a ghost from whom I run? Would we pass each other on the street without a second glance or might we sit and chat over coffee for hours on end? What would I tell you if we were one and the same? No separation, no delineation. Not the stranger or the ally. Not the sober one or the drunk, but rather you, me, we. What would I tell us?We're All Addicted to SomethingThose of us who’ve lived with people who have addictions—oh wait … who am I kidding? We’re all addicted to something. No one is immune. We each have the places we run when we’re feeling vulnerable, scared, or confused. We create our lives so we have our fix of choice within reach at all times. When life feels excessive or news in the broader world is crazed, we grasp at something to ease our rage, sooth our aloneness, and calm the overwhelm. We eat, we shop, we drink, we gamble or easier yet, we try to fix someone else.We point a finger away from ourselves and toward them. They are the one with the problem. If only he or she would stop drinking, agree with “the right” viewpoint, pay more attention to me then surely I’d feel better.I can’t begin to tell you the number of hours and ways I’ve spent over the last 30 years trying to improve my husband. Lucky guy, the pressure eased for him when our 13-year-old son turned to drugs and alcohol. Together, our mission in life became to fix our son, get his life on track, keep him safe, and stop the madness. We became addicted to fixing our addict.We tried inpatient and outpatient treatment, therapeutic boarding school, and a wilderness program. We were all in except, of course, our son, who did his best to skirt the therapy sessions, game the system, and do the bare minimum to figure out how he could get out of our fix and carry on with his agenda. In the meantime, my life was circling the proverbial drain and it was all my son’s fault… or was it?Hitting Rock Bottom as a ParentThey say that true addicts must hit rock bottom before they’ll change, but what’s the rule of thumb for concerned family members? Do we have to hit rock bottom too? It doesn’t really seem fair.I recently met a woman who was ensnared in her 40-something-year-old daughter’s cycle. (My son is almost 30 now.) I watched this woman wring her hands and spend precious time trying to figure out how to wire money to her daughter on the other side of the world. I wondered about the difference I felt between us until I realized that that mother hasn’t hit her bottom. Some people never do. They value their child’s life more than their own. That’s what society has told us we should do. Sacrifice for others. Family first. Give to the death.When I hit my bottom, I began to wonder if there was another way. What if sacrificing for my son wasn’t the solution? Please don’t get me wrong, I adore my son. In fact, he has been my greatest teacher and I am deeply indebted to his role in my personal journey. I would indeed give my life for him, but I was giving him my living. I was disintegrating into my own form of insanity and it was helping no one. Not him, not my husband, not me. We were each in our own way following addiction into the darkness.What if love others as you love yourself looked different than I’d been taught? What if that’s exactly what I was doing? Loving him as I loved myself which turned out to be not very well at the time.How to Love YourselfI don’t recall if it was the third or fifth or nth incident with the police or treatment when I realized I had a choice. I could go into that dark hole of despair and stay there, or I could find a way to bring myself back into the light. If I could continue to love my son without joining him in the madness, then maybe I could shine a beacon for him when or if he chose to return to a healthier way of living. So in service of myself and family, I chose to light my own candle while continuing to literally light candles and offer prayers of love for all of us.I began to develop a journaling practice. I poured my thoughts, fears, worries, and internal and external stories onto the page every day. I wrote and wrote and wrote until I exhausted the dialogue, covered all of the what ifs, and landed at a moment of rest. Then I got up and did it again and again and again. As my practice deepened, so did my sense of peace and ability to be present to others and the world around me. I started to heal. I learned how to draw appropriate boundaries and managed to send love and light to my son even when we were estranged for months at a time. I developed empathy and compassion, regardless of whether I understood or condoned my son’s choices. And somewhere along the way, the chaos quieted. Our legacy gave way to the promise of a brighter ending.I remembered that authentic stories untangle us from lies, tether us to truth, and help us transcend into new ways of being.May it be so for you and yours.

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