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alecxaheart · 4 years ago

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Falls At 4419 | Bang Chan Oneshot

✎ Genre : Strangers to Lovers AU, Fluff

✎ Pairings : Bang Chan X Reader

✎ Word Count : 2.1k words

✎ Synopsis : Who could've thought that your ride to love life starts at a bus stop.

✎ Requested.

You had the usual tiring daily routine for the rest of your life. Your weekday mornings start with your alarm clock greeting you "good morning" in the most annoying beeping way as possible. What a gentle reminder, too, to tell you that it's almost time for work.

" Work again? " you groaned at the thought, hands reaching out to the bedside table to turn off the alarm. Once you did, you forced yourself out of the bed and start preparing for today.

You were completely exhausted due to the stack of work your boss gives you.

It's to the point that it made you sleep deprived, haggard or just messy in general. You don't even know if you ever managed to cover all of that, physically, with make-up. However, when it came to your words and actions, it's noticeable when one paid attention. It's a good thing that Ms. Han was blind to that, or else you'll be told that you're lacking and higher chances of you getting fired.

But aside from every negative thing about your occupation, so far your performances were praised by your co-workers. Salary has never been a problem, in fact, you've been paid higher than expected. Maybe it's from the plus being Ms. Han's pet-sitter — for the love of all things, it had to be a cat.

You're almost done preparing for work. With your feet taking a quick slip into your black heels, you're on your way out of the house. Clacking noises could be heard each time your heels meet the pavement.

As you were headed towards the bus stop, you felt something vibrating from your purse. Opening it, you found your phone ringing. The caller ID displays the name of your boss, Ms. Han. What could be the kind of good morning greeting I'll receive from her today?

You answered it and placed it to your right ear, immediately hearing your name. " Assistant (L/N) (Y/N)! " Ms. Han called out through the other line.

" Good morning to you too, Ms. Han. You have matters to discuss with me at this time? " You replied, stopping at your tracks as you've reached the bus stop. All you need to do now is wait for the bus and keep yourself together with whatever Ms. Han may throw at you.

" I'm assuming you've already done the project for today, " You hummed in response. There was sound of a slight slip from the other line, you assumed that Ms. Han was drinking tea. " Make sure to deliver that presentation well. After that, I want you to attend the board meeting this afternoon on my behalf. Send them my sincere apologies for I have other more important business matters. "

So much for being trustworthy..

" Noted, Ms. Han. " Your ride finally came. Once it opened it's doors, you hopped in and tapped your card at a machine.

" Also, fix this week's schedule. Cancel everything on Friday, " Ms. Han added. You ended up seating at the very end of the bus, beside the window. It just happened to be the only row of seats that's vacant.

" Got it, Ms. Han. Anything else? "

" Ah, right. After the board meeting, take care of Eliza, " Her cat – you should've seen that coming. " Don't worry about the ride to my house, my driver will be picking you up. " She continued, taking one more sip at her tea. The ride was never a problem, but her cat is. Nevertheless, you accepted it since you both needed the job and money.

It didn't took that long until the conversation finally ended. When she hung up, you deeply sighed and looked out of the window. Spring was almost over, the atmosphere started to get colder. The cherry blossom trees began to slowly wither, every petal that has fallen decorated the road and sidewalk. It was both exquisite yet melancholic. Could you ever compare yourself as a cherry blossom? To bloom all over again yet someday, you'll wither once again. Possibly.

As you were gazing outside, your eyes widened as you saw someone else's reflection who sat beside you. His airpods plugged in his ears as he bobbed his head to the beat. You never knew or felt that his presence is already there, not until right now.

He's the same guy you meet each day whenever you took this bus. To be honest, he's eye-catching ever since the first time you saw him. He had the usual black outfit. Curly brunette headed, tall nose, dazzling dark brown orbs, lips — Okay, let's stop fawning over him. In conclusion, he has very well defined facial features. It was obvious that he's one of God's masterpiece, many should've envied him with that.

Despite of him always being your seatmate when the seat next to yours is vacant, you both never conversed with one another. Even with him having an eye for you from the start, no one even dared to start one.

Although, maybe today's a bit different.

The bus abruptly stopped in its tracks as the stop light just switched to red. The driver groaned and scratched the back of his neck.

At the back of the bus, there's you who is silently staring at the window. Awfully close to the window. However, when the bus hit the brakes, your forehead bumped onto the glass. " Ouch! " You groaned in pain as you held your forehead, checking if it bled and to ease the pain. The curly brunette noticed this and paused the music he's playing on the phone. He shifted in his seat to face you, " Are you okay? ". Your eyes met his worrisome ones and it made your heart skip a beat. He's more dashing when he's this close to you. It also made you more timid towards him that you began to stutter, " I- I guess I'm okay.. ".

" Let me see, " He reached out to your hand that's covering your forehead. His hand accidentally touched the sore part in the process, causing you to wince in pain. He whispered an apology before carefully taking your hand off and scan your forehead. He sighed in relief, " Thankfully, it wasn't such a big impact but it did turn red. You can place ice or put an ointment on it as soon as you get off, ok? " You responded with small nod and smile, your heart melting at his kindness.

He carefully placed his hand on your head and light pushed it back, gesturing you to rest. You gladly complied and he smiled, showing his dimples. It was cute, you thought.

" Does it still hurt? " He asked.

" A bit but bearable, " You replied, closing your eyes.

" How about a small talk to distract you from the pain? "

" Sounds good to me. "

" My name's Chan, you? "

" The name's (Y/N). It's nice to finally know you, Chan. "

And that's how everything started to blossom, at the end of Spring.

After that day, you started to anticipate what's going to happen on the next days that you never complained about the annoying beeping clock at dawn ever again. Especially and specifically, on the bus. Your mornings now start with you enthusiastically getting up and preparing for work. Chan happened to bring more interest into your life.

You don't know what kind of sorcery Chan does to always know how to remove your stress or just to make your days better in general. However, you don't mind it. Instead, you're really thankful for it.

You blossomed more in Fall, like a cosmos flower. You bloomed while the rest withered.

You excelled so much at work. The company was at its rough times, yet you handled everything outstandingly that you were praised by the whole company. Even Chan was happy for you, which mattered to you most.

" I knew you were exceptional ever since the beginning, " He murmured while hugging you securely, smiling. You, too, smiled brightly and blushed at that.

It's not only you who blossomed this fall. Your love, too, bloomed in Fall.

You never knew that the potential crush you had for Chan back when he was just a seatmate at the bus would grow. You fell head over heels for his giggles, smiles, kindness, goofiness, just for him. It keeps getting stronger as more time passes that you couldn't control it anymore. This was a first ever since you started working. You never really paid attention to your love life since work was always in the way. You're foreign to this feeling, you're clueless on how to handle it.

This love is the most amazing feeling, you'd be honest. Yet you fear that you'll be rejected or wouldn't be loved back. Then love would be the worst feeling.

Although, your faith and hope will never be taken away from you until the day hasn't came yet, until there's a possibility. You'll keep hoping on his small gestures you'd like to think are hints. You'll put your love for him in the hands of faith. And with that, you became patient with him. Waiting for the time that the true feelings will start to unveil.

______________________________

찬의

Channie

Hey (Y/N)

Are you done with work?

Almost

Why do you ask?

I'll pick you up, ok?

I'm on my way there.

'That's first, yet weird.

But I don't mind.'

Alright, be careful

Seen 7:02PM

______________________________

A month has passed, you two grew closer than ever. Yet occassionally, there would be a hint of awkwardness between the two of you. One would act weirdly, stutter or get nervous around one another. You hoped that it wouldn't ruin your friendship. You valued this friendship more than anything else.

Heading towards the front doors of this company, you could see Chan's figure on the other side. Waiting for you to come out. Once you did, he turned to face you and greet you with a sweet smile. You smiled back. " Let's go? " He said as he offered you his hand. You nodded and timidly took it into yours. That's another first.

Both of you exchanged the usual conversation. Asking about each other's day, telling short stories, joking once in a while, then some comfortable silence here and there, it felt just right. It's already dark out, the city light and streetlights being the only source of light, while the moon is having the pitch black sky to itself. The streets aren't as busy as it was in the daylight. You could hear the rustling and crunching of autumn leaves as it was carried by the wind or getting stepped on.

The two of you eventually reached the bus stop, taking a seat as you wait for a bus. " Do you know the number that bus has? " Chan asked out of the blue, eyes boring on the street. You hummed in confusion, he chuckled. " The bus we always took, especially in the mornings. "

" Ohh.. To be honest, I'm completely unaware of that. " You answered, scratching the back of your neck. Once more, he chuckled then gazed at you while your attention was somewhere else. A bus was coming in your peripheral vision. Once it was in front of you, you scanned for it's number. At the very end, it's written..

" 4419, " You turned to Chan, only to find him staring at you with adoration. You two stayed like that for a few minutes. His eyes were so soft, looking ever so luminous and sparkling underneath the light. He took out a flower he plucked from earlier, placing it behind your ear. Not even tearing his eyes away from yours. " Beautiful, like a cosmos flower, " He whispered, but it was enough for you to hear it clearly. You've felt like you're continously falling, yet Chan still has his grip on you. The same grip when he first held your hand back when you've bumped your forehead on the bus. Loving, gentle yet firm. Telling that he's willing to fall with you. " I love you, (Y/N). "

With just those 4 words, you were filled with so much joy and shock. You froze on your seat. For a second you panicked on what's the right word to say, asking if an I love you too was enough or is it already too redundant.

Although you knew that Chan's anticipating an answer as the clock continues to tick, and waiting is dreadful. Chan will love and cherish anything you say to him. Just the thought of you being truly his will bring him genuine happiness, and that's enough. No need for further more explanations. Then you've came to the conclusion, that there's no other words that best describes your true feelings for him. Simple yet genuine, " I love you too, Chan. "

Now, a love fully blossomed at the end of Falls.

End.

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issaxcharlie · 4 years ago

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You are the music in me

Pairing: Alive! Luke Patterson x Julie Molina

Request: SICK FIC JUKE: “Juke live together (but not dating yet) with Alex and Reggie all in apartment, both Julie and Luke wake up sick as dogs (flu/strep up to you) and force stay home from classes,sick by Alex. While being alone basically all day they finally admitted they like each other more than friends and get together when they start feeling better few days later.”

THANK YOU FOR YOUR REQUEST ANON🤍

This is not how Julie and Luke saw each other spending the weekend. They took care of Alex for a whole week together and just when the drummer began to feel better, his friends fell to the flu. To stop the chain of illness, Julie decided that it was best for Reggie and Alex to stay in Willie's instead of the apartment the four friends share until she and Luke recovered, but two stubborn patients taking care of each other is a somewhat chaotic combination.

"I can't take those pills, they are huge!" The guitarist has his arms crossed, his lips completely closed in a grimace almost impossible to undo.

"Luke, I've seen you eat two meatball sandwiches at the same time, I’m pretty sure one pill is not going to kill you."

He was about to continue fighting when Julie turns to cough. Every minute that passes she looks weaker and probably what she needs the least is to be carrying with his tantrums. So he takes the pills from her and passes them after maybe 15 tries and 3 possible chokes. Julie laughs slightly with each attempt, satisfied that at least he is trying for her.

Once they both finally finish taking all of their meds, Luke uses what little strength he has left to carry her in bridal style to her room. Julie tries to resist but her lack of strenght is way too much.

"Let yourself be taken care of, Molina." He whispers in her ear as he draws her closer to him. When they finally get to the room Luke gently lays her down on the bed and covers her in blankets to the best of his ability.

He feels bad for her. Because yes, he was there during Alex's illness, but the truth is that he didn't do much. The only reason he got sick is because he shares a room with him. On the other hand, Julie was faithfully taking care of her friend, taking his temperature, reminding him at the correct time about his medicines to the point of setting alarms at 4 in the morning just to make sure he got up to take them, made him hot meals and tea, she was the perfect nurse.

And what does she have instead? Him. The one who hates taking pills, doesn’t know how to take the temperature, much less what time the medicines are due, and he definitely doesn't know how to cook much more than a sandwich.

But something the aspiring musician does know how to do and sure as hell will do for her is giving her all the cuddles she might need (and probably want).

Luke walks to the other side of the bed and sits on the empty side, bringing burrito Julie into his arms, her resting her head on his chest.

He takes a few seconds to enjoy the situation. Yes, it is not at all what they expected to do today, on Saturdays they usually write all morning and rehearse all afternoon to go to some small club to play at night. The band was completely their priority on weekends as they had to study and work to support themselves, so the guitarist couldn't remember a Saturday where they stayed like this, doing nothing but enjoying each other.

Luke had become so immersed in that routine that he had simply sunk to the bottom those feelings that usually shine bright as the sun when they write or sing together or in rare moments like this one when he has her all for him, their hearts beating as one.

Realizing that he liked Julie was as easy as discovering his passion for music. When is her, everyday situations like hearing her rave happily about something that happened during the day feels like listening to his favorite song at full volume. And there’s the other side of it, those special moments like performing on a stage together. The sensations he gets are on a league of their own, their chemistry growing and enveloping in this mesmerizing explosion of energy. She’s this beautiful bright star that for some strange miracle, he is blessed to admire closely without burning.

The love and admiration he feels for her is so big that it terrifies him. In his experience, these types of sensations are not free. His passion for music completely cost him the relationship with his parents, not even the effort of continuing in school has made them give his dream of being a musician a chance.

What will it cost him to chase Julie in a romantic way? Their friendship? The band? What if things don't turn out as he would like and they end up fighting and separating the one thing that has cost them so much to build? Sleepless nights, hunger, blood, sweat, raising this dream has not been easy, could he really dare to risk it in this way? Could he be so selfish?

He often forces himself to think he couldn’t, but at that moment, Julie Molina swings her body to the side so she can look at him head on. Her big, beautiful dark eyes fixed on his.

“You aren’t usually quiet for more than 5 minutes, are you alright? Does something hurt? Do you want me to check your temperature?" With some effort, she manages to free the arm that is not resting on the bed and gently touches Luke's forehead, making sure he is okay.

He can't help but grin in response. She’s just so perfect. She shares the same passion as him, she fully understands the magical feeling of being on stage and it provokes on her the same excitement and adrenaline. She is sweet and cares about everyone, even loves his friends as much as he does. She is determined, smart, funny, beautiful. A lot of times he can't even understand how someone so perfect exists. And she not only exists, but is there next to him, wrapped in his arms.

“I- I’m fine, everything is fine, I promise. Focus on resting that angelic voice of yours.” She blushes as if that is not an already well established fact. He can’t help but look adoringly in response. He just loves to make her blush, being able to cause those reactions in her so easily.

You're right, I can't risk being replaced by one of the many groupies that have been after you lately." He can’t help a cocky grin, she blushes even more and decides to sink her head into his chest.

He takes advantage and hugs her even closer to him, bringing his head closer to her face to whisper in her ear.

"I could never replace you." He feels her expression changing in his chest, probably a smile. Her small hand squeezing his back in response.

“Liar.”

“Are you jealous, Molina? Because that’s hot.” She lets out a nervous laugh and Luke pulls her away just enough to be face to face.

“I’m not jealous.” She murmurs trying to sound sure, the image of those girls way too close to Luke at last weekend’s gig clouding her vision.

“Good, because you don’t have a reason to be.”

The singer looks down, she understood the opposite of what the guitarist was trying to say.

“H- Hey, no. I didn’t mean it like that.” With one of his fingers he carefully lifts her chin so he can see her eyes again.

There's a part of Luke that tells him to take a moment to think about what to say. The logical and sinic part. The one who knows that what he is going to do is going to cost him.

But the other party, the one who has been in love with Julie Molina for 2 years, is already tired of waiting and ready to take a leap of faith. And today that his mind is tired and weak, heart conquers logic.

Neither has spoken aloud about their special relationship, but they know something is there. It is a wordless fact between the two. And maybe it's time to add words to the melody.

“I meant you really don’t have to because all I hear, is you. I have tried to find peace in my soul with hundreds and hundreds of melodies, Julie. And it wasn't until I heard your voice that I found the right one.

Why would I even want to think of anyone else when I have so much more than I could have imagined across the hall every day? It’s always you. You, making sure I eat when I’m in my obsessive writer mode. You, stroking my hair when you think I fell asleep. You, spying me with your beautiful eyes between classes to make sure I’m actually on school. You, watching musicals with me till 5 am on Saturdays even thought we had one hell of a difficult day and a tired night just because you love to see my reactions. You, worried about me feeling bad when you are clearly sicker. It’s always you, Julie.”

In a moment of bravery, Julie brushes her lips against Luke's, waiting for him to make the final decision, which he doesn't take two seconds to make by capturing her lips on his, savoring finally being able to know what it feels like to kiss Julie Molina.

That it tasted like honey was not something that surprised him after seeing her eat several tablespoons of honey with lemon before bringing her to rest.

“Luke, remember when we watched High School Musical 2?” She grins, clearly happy with what just happened.

“Yeah, like a month ago.” he seems surprised with the random question but smiles to encourage her.

“Well, I mentally dedicated you ‘you are the music in me.’ Huh, It feels good to get it off my chest.”

He laughs. Anyone else would be offended or at least scared that the other person won't talk about what just happened, but they have a different connection. Music is the one who unites their souls and for she to tell him something as powerful as ‘you are the music in me’ is almost as strong as an I love you, maybe even stronger. Practically her subtle, awkward and wholesome way of saying he’s her person too.

And that’s more than perfect for him. She doesn’t need to say a speech, much less now that she is not feeling well. The love she shows him in a thousand ways every day is more than enough.

He knows that when they both improve and logic regains territory they will have a lot to discuss about their new relationship, but the most important step has already been taken. For now, all he has to worry about is that the tea turns out drinkable enough and keeping her warm enough with cuddles and kisses on the forehead... maybe some more on the lips too.

THANK YOU FOR READING✨✨

#luke patterson fanfiction #juke #juke imagine #luke patterson imagine #luke patterson fanfic #jatp juke #jatp luke #charlie gillespie imagine #charlie gillespie one shot #charlie gillespie x reader #jatp imagine #jatp #julie and the phantoms #luke x julie #julie x luke #julie molina #luke patterson fic #luke patterson oneshot #luke patterson

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prinxlyart · 4 years ago

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I will say, I am hungry again and I have a few ask for your Willumity/Vinira headcannons. HOWEVER to be fair to you. This time I will restrain myself and simply ask for you to share any headcanons you want to share as of now!

You can ALWAYS ask for more Willumity.

A L W A Y S

But!! Since you’ve given me free reign to just play in this sandbox, that’s exactly what I’m gonna do

We all agree that Luz is hella ADHD. This girl will talk for HOURS about the shit she likes. If something grabs her attention, she wants to know everything about it. She doesn’t like being told to do things, but she loves being asked to do things. For example: if someone tells her she needs to do a thing her brain will immediately click into the “No” position and will refuse to budge. If someone asks her to do something, her brain clicks to “help? I can help? I can help with a thing for this person? Yes! I’ll help this person with this task because it will make them happy! Yes! I can help!” This is why acts of service resonate so strongly with her.

I don’t know what mental diversity looks like on the Boiling Isles considering how just. Horror-based everything is? But I’m 100% on that autistic Amity train. She has to do things a Certain Way or she’ll teeter on the edge of a meltdown. She refuses to touch/eat certain textures. She usually doesn’t know what the appropriate response/reaction is to a given conversation, especially with her socialite friends, which is why she just remains a cool mask of indifference. She’ll inspect every detail of anything that’s handed to her. She’s incredibly smart, but doesn’t always know how to convey what she knows and understands into words other people can understand. The only people allowed in her personal space are her siblings. Eventually that also stems to Luz and Willow, maybe more as she grows more comfortable with herself? But usually anyone getting in her space is overwhelming and alarming. Defo has a hard time regulating/processing her emotions.

I need to make an entire post dedicated to Augustus Porter because my boy deserves it, but I’ll toss some random things here. He has a signed poster from the head of the Illusionist Coven framed on his bedroom wall. He and his dad have bi-weekly after-dinner standup comedy sessions with each other (Perry has kept a secret journal of all of Gus’s best jokes he’s done over the years that he reads whenever he needs a pick-me-up).

Perry and Eda knew each other in school in passing. Their social circles overlapped but they were never hanging out in the same groups. When Gus is very little (like, maybe 3 or 4?), Perry takes him to the market to just wander around and they find Eda’s Human Collectibles Stand. She and Perry catch up, he introduces her to his son, and Eda (ever the saleswoman) pulls out some shiny human thing that Gus is immediately taken with. In between her and Perry catching up, Gus asks her a million questions about the thing he’s been given and then even more questions about other stuff at her stand. She actually finds it really fun to show off her human shit to someone so enthralled by it. She makes some stuff up here and there just to mess with him, but he’s too young to realize it’s a joke or not true, and takes everything at face value. We all know Eda likes to get a little theatrical with her sales pitches; she does the Salesperson act with everything Gus asks her about. She lets Gus take a couple items home just because he was such a riot and Perry insists he pay for something, but Eda just waves them off and tells him that this is just an investment in a lifelong customer. She had no idea how right she was because Gus defo became obsessed with human culture from that point on. He also picked up on Eda’s super theatrical sales pitches (because he thought it was funny and because he thought that’s just how you’re supposed to show human stuff to people) and began showing off his own “human collectibles museum” to his dad with the same theatrical voice. Perry plays along with this too (as a news anchor he’s got a great announcer voice) and ta-da! That’s how we get the boy we all know and love today. It’s 100% Eda’s fault, but Perry definitely encouraged it because it made his son so happy. That’s also why Gus doesn’t seem especially perturbed at meeting Eda for the first time in ep 3. Or for interjecting his new Human Knowledge in the moment she was patting Luz’s head. He’s used to having conversations with her about human junk whenever she has her stand up. Eda’s secretly relieved that one of Luz’s new friends is actually someone she kinda knows. It’s Perry’s kid, and Perry’s a good guy. His little squirt seems to be growing up to be pretty good too.

Eda scoffs at “nerdy” shit as if she hasn’t owned the Clawthorne Braincell her entire life. “She worked twice as hard” “-that just made me work harder than you!”. Eda’s extremely smart and extremely talented. She likely created the secret room of shortcuts entirely on her own. She probably studied in the school library constantly, but under the guise of causing mischief. And like. She probably did both. She was a potions track kid so she probably knew all the best ways to make stink bombs that she could leave hidden in the shelves. She hated school because she was so limited and stifled; she only wanted to learn magic and was told no at every turn. So when she learned magic on her own, yknow, without the guidance of a teacher, there’s bound to be some major fuck ups. Once she’s fine-tuned her mistakes though, she absolutely turns them into pranks. You say I’m not allowed to study multiple tracks, bumpikins?? Well how’s THIS!!! How’s THAT for focus??? (Half of her pranks were also just her showing off and desperately hoping to prove that she could learn any type of magic and couldn’t be constrained to just the one. Bump recognized this of course, but he had strict guidelines to follow and no Luz Noceda to call him out for it.)

Camila treasures her daughter more than life itself. I personally refuse to headcanon anything to do with her extended family or why she’s a single parent (too many variables and options that could be addressed in the show), but I do know that she loves Luz more than anything. It’s exhausting being a single mom, working as a nurse, and trying to be there for her ADHD daughter when the rest of the world doesn’t seem to want her. It hurts her so much to see her baby, the light of her life, her Luz, be brushed aside and written off as “the weirdo”, or bullied, or even outright hated by some people just because she’s a little different. She’s had to have some words with the school staff for how they treat her on occasion. Did you see that Principal’s death glare in the first ep?? He hates her. Camila’s there not just because she’s Luz’s parent, but also to act as a barrier between the principal and Luz. She would move Heaven and Earth for Luz, but it can be a lot when you’re the only adult around. I truly believe she wanted Luz to go to that camp to learn how to be friends with kids that didn’t already know her or her quirks. Even she sounded unsure of what they would do at that camp, but she had full faith that this would be Luz’s opportunity to make friends with other kids that could teach her to like....more mainstream stuff. So she could learn how to mimic their (hopefully, toned down) behaviors. She just wants her baby to be accepted by others.

This next one’s a doozy so hold on to your butts

Lilith is technically smart. And I mean that in a literal sense - she can read and understand the fundamentals of magic, the concepts and execution of complex spells, recite entire chapters of Boiling Isles history, you name it. Many adults in her youth called her gifted because of it. All she actually did was absorb the information and regurgitate it when asked. She thrived on the praise she received. What made her different from her sister is that she never wanted anything more than to do as she was told. Her biggest goal? Her dream job? Was to just be given orders by the Emperor. I’m sure there’s all sorts of flowery propaganda surrounding that, advertising how incredible it is to be in the Emperor’s Coven, what an honor it is to work alongside the witch that can speak to the Titan. But it’s literally just. Taking orders. And knowing you’re somehow better than everyone else because you’ve been selected to be among the elite. She never strived for anything more; she never wanted to do anything else but enforce the Emperor’s will because that was “the highest honor” a witch could have. As a result (or in conjunction rather) she lacks literally any amount of foresight. There’s only one braincell in the Clawthorne Family and her sister has it because this dumbass doesn’t think about anyone but herself. Instead of talking with Eda about what they should do when they were told there was only one spot left in the Emperor’s Coven, she walked away. Only thinking of how she could secure her victory. She didn’t ask Eda how she felt about the situation, she didn’t let Eda speak her mind about what her own desires were; Eda made it clear enough that she just wanted to be by Lilith’s side, she didn’t care what that meant. She just wanted to be with her big sister. Eda tried to reach out to her to discuss their cirumstances, but Lilith just walked away like the broody, self-centered teenager that she was and resolved to cheat her way to victory. When Eda knew this was her dream. Why would she think Eda would take away her dream???? She could’ve asked Eda to throw the duel? She could’ve asked her to fake the match? Or even fake sick? Or just not even shown up! If she didn’t show up it could’ve counted as a forfeit and Lilith would’ve earned the spot by default! But no, she had to ruin her sister’s entire life in an act of cowardice and dishonor because she’s so full of herself and didn’t read the fine print. She loves her sister, of course she does, but she’s so self-absorbed that she’s never seen Eda for who she actually is and wasted both of their lives as a result. And this is all just analysis of her character and that flashback, this isn’t even headcanons. I think if she has any amount of respect for her sister (she doesn’t), her redemption will have to go far far beyond an apology and taking on half the curse. When I say Lilith is a dumbass, this is specifically what I mean. She doesn’t think about how her actions will affect those around her. She was the Head of the Emperor’s Coven, literally one of the most powerful positions she could possibly be in on the Boiling Isles and still sacrificed Amity’s dignity and years of hard work just so she could be ensured that she could one-up her sister. She did this in front of everyone in attendance of that Witches Duel. She risked Amity’s credibility as a witch, as a Blight, and as a person just to fuel her own ego. It’s no wonder Amity was so upset; the witch she’s been idolizing her whole life didn’t think she had what it took to best a human that couldn’t do magic in a witches duel. That can fuck up your self esteem something fierce. And Lilith hardly seemed to give a shit!!!! She didn’t care that she just trashed Amity’s reputation in front of dozens of spectators!!!! I’m v bitter about Lilith as a character in case you couldn’t tell.

If I had to throw a headcanon in, I’ll toss one in that sterling and I have discussed: Lilith literally doesn’t know how to live her life as an independent adult. Sure, she knows how to like. Make herself some easy dinners? But that’s literally only because she used to make herself and Eda dinners when they were kids. Beyond that, she has no fucking idea. She can do the basic household chores any teenager knows how to do, but she’s lived in the Emperor’s Castle with the rest of the Coven since she joined. It’s kind of like living in a college dorm; food and a room is provided, there’s maybe a laundry service, she’s never had to pay taxes in her life (not that Eda does, but yknow). The only things she buys for herself (if she doesn’t make it herself) is her hair dye and books. When she first moves in to the Owl House, she has no idea how the household chores are done. She’s on House Cleaning Duty Eternally and the first......I’ll say year. Eda will wake her up by banging pots and pans over her head once every month and scream-singing about how it’s House Cleaning Day, pull out her lawn chairs and some lemonade, and she and Luz (and sometimes King) will just sit back and relax and watch the show that is Lilith trying to clean Hooty. Hooty does not like to cooperate with her (partially because Lilith is a special friend and partially because he knows how much joy it brings Eda and Luz to watch her struggle).

Oof I could go on but this is already one hell of a post huh? Sorry (not really) for dragging Lilith so hard; not a joke, tumblr made me split hers up into two bullet points because it couldn’t comprehend my ranting for so long in one bullet point. I do love sharing these with y’all though, they’re so much fun and I’m so glad you guys like my rambling. <3333

#prinxly inquiries #wam-hope #the owl house #toh headcanons #toh meta #luz noceda #amity blight #augustus porter #gus porter #perry porter #edalyn clawthorne #lilith clawthorne #camilia noceda #camila noceda #long post #lmao warning for y’all I defo drag Lilith through the mud in this one #finally an excuse to release all my pent up rage and explain why I think she’s such a dipshit

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kartoon12 · 4 years ago

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What Does God Need with a Space Station?

Okay guys, this is probably going to sound like the weirdest post I've ever made, as this is a subject I don't talk about too often---that being dreams. Most of the time, I don't remember having any, or I'm able to recall tiny snippets here and there, with the rest disappearing into a fog. There's really only a handful of very long, very vivid dreams I can remember having, and all of them were wacky, but mostly funny thinking back on them. And they almost always involve fandoms in some way. If anyone's interested in hearing more about those, feel free to message me. (The one where me and the bridge crew of Star Trek: TNG were trying to escape a hospital with Captain Picard yelling at everyone because we were making him late for a party is a particularly fun one.)

However....just a few nights ago, I had a dream that....REALLY takes the cake, which is putting it mildly. This is one time I really felt the need to make this public, as I seriously, really want to try and see if anyone out there can help me analyze this, as this dream contained subject matter I've almost NEVER dreamt about before, and certainly not to an intensity and specifically detailed degree such as this. I wouldn't call it a nightmare, but neither was it fun. It was spooky...but more for the oddity and sheer level of "what the f**k?!" -ness to it.

I also feel the need to open with a disclaimer: I was raised in a Catholic household, and though I haven't attended a mass in quite some time, I still at least say my prayers every night. But I have friends of many different sections of faith; I totally respect other people's religious beliefs, and I'm not trying to force mine on anyone here. I try to keep my mind open to other interpretations of "what lies beyond" and such. Why this disclaimer? Well, you're about to find out. Strap in, folks. This is gonna' get lengthy....

So the dream opened in third person view, as though I were watching a movie. Somewhere in the middle of outer space, two giant robots are just sort of hovering there, fighting with each other. (I'm talking like mecha in the style of Transformers or Gundam or the like.) It's also worth mentioning that this whole opening section of the dream was presented like a cartoon. (The art style of "My Life as a Teenage Robot" is the closest I can get to describing what it looked like.) One mecha was an orange/red color, the other was blue and white. Note that I said they were fighting WITH each other, not attacking one another. That's because the "camera" (for lack of a better word) then shifted to show this HUGE spaceship off in the distance, slowly making its way towards a space station. (But not like, a realistic NASA space station or anything---this looked all sci-fi/future-y like something out of Star Trek.) The Star Destroyer from Star Wars is the closest I can get to describing what this starship looked like in terms of size and scope. Although it wasn't outright firing lasers or anything, in dream-world, my mind already knew the backstory that that Star Destroyer thing was on its way to attack the space station.

So naturally, red and blue robot have been sent out to stop the thing. Except the two of them were bickering amongst each other, arguing over the best course of action. Blue Robot keeps insisting they have to work together; Red Robot won't listen to reason and thinks his plans are better. Finally, Blue Robot gives up trying to argue and flies off to fight the Star Destroyer thing alone. A voice over the radio (probably someone back at the station) pleads with the two to work together and that Blue Robot doesn't stand a chance and can't do it alone. Blue Robot responds with, "Well I'm gonna' have to try." And disappears into the distance.

Considering my love for movies and comics and stuff, so far, this is par the course for dreams I've had in the past. But THIS is where things take a turn for the truly bizarre.

The "movie" then cut to inside the space station (very futuristic and high tech looking. All white walls, furniture and equipment. Very slick and clean looking.). Everything's now in first person view, so obviously from my viewpoint now. There's a guy frantically typing at a control panel (I'm assuming he's the one communicating with the robots.) All sorts of alarms are blaring and going off. The entire station is shaking and vibrating as it starts coming under attack. I think to myself, "I gotta' get out of here!" So I race to the nearest automatic doors and have to pry them with both my hands just to get them to slide open.

The second I crossed the doorway, everything stopped being an animated cartoon, and from here on out, for the rest of the dream, everything is now normal/live action/real world. I started running all through the station trying to find help, until eventually, I hit upon an idea. I kid you not, the only thought that came to me at that point was, "....I have to find God."

Yes. You heard me. "I have to find God." Hang in there. It only gets freakier.

So I head off, trying to find anyone who can help me look for God, as by this point, He's the only one who can get us out of this mess. Couple important things to note here:

1.) Despite being on a space station, none of the people aboard are in any sort of discernible uniform. Everyone I encounter is wearing normal clothes like jeans and T-shirts and stuff (save for one person, but we'll get to HER in a second....)

2.) The deeper I go into the station, and the farther I get away from that docking bay area I started off in, the less the station shakes, and the alarms gradually get quieter, until eventually, the attacks stop completely.

And 3.) A large portion of the crew (or passengers?) I initially come across are all Chinese (or of some Asian descent thereof). Whether this station was built or funded by China, I don't know.

In any case, no one seems to be able to speak English, and no one seems to be scared or bothered, or even aware of what's going on outside. But they can tell I need help, so they point in the direction of this lady that I'm assuming is the leader or figurehead of some sort. I assume so, because she's the only one dressed differently from everyone else.....and she's dressed like something out of the Feudal Era. A geisha, I think they call it. A red robe with gold flower patterns. Hair done up in a bun. Face painted white. Red lipstick. The works. Queen Amidala look, ya' know?

Of course, dream-me doesn't question this at all, and I plead with her to take me to where God is. I then started repeating the phrase, "you know?! Heart, mind, soul?!" to her, over and over again. During which, I'd point to my heart, then my head, then trace a circle in the air with both index fingers for emphasis, hoping she'd get what I was asking her. Please note that in real life, I have NO clue what Chinese religion or mythology entails, nor have I ever studied it, and I'm 100% sure what I just described is completely wrong and total bulls**t. But apparently, this is how it worked in dream world, and apparently, I knew just the right sign language to make, because Geisha Lady finally got a look of understanding on her face, smiled and nodded, and said something in her own language that gave off the message of "oh, okay. I'll take you to Him."

So she takes me by the arm, motions for me to follow her, and I let her lead me through the rest of the space station. All the alarms and chaos from earlier has totally stopped by this point. Her dress/kimono thing is so tightly wrapped around her that she had to take fast little baby steps, and you'd think with her penguin-walking it would've taken forever, but it actually took no time at all to get where we were going. During which, I look around, and notice that, at that point, the hallways of the station started looking more and more like the isles of a department store. She weaves me through rows and rows of shelves stacked with all sorts of stuff. Some shelves are full, others have some stuff but were clearly picked through, and some shelves are completely empty.

At long last, Geisha Lady shows me into a large waiting room of sorts, bowing and sweeping her arm out as if saying, "well, here we are." I look around, and there's a long line of people all waiting to get into an adjoining room where God is. Only then do I finally start seeing other races of people besides the Chinese from earlier. Black, Hispanic, Japanese, White---a mixture of all sorts from seemingly all over the world are in line. And every single person has some kind of item in hand. Books, potted plants, a wooden spoon and whisk (guess that person liked cooking?); any kind of knick-knacks you can think of. (Which I guess sort of explains the department store place from earlier and why stuff was missing.) I then walked past the line and peeked into the adjoining room to see what everyone was waiting for, and.....

Well.....um.....I found God.

The room was a very plain looking bedroom, with beige-colored walls, a queen-sized bed, and a single nightstand, but nothing else, not even a lamp, which would explain why the room was so dimly lit, with the only available light coming in from the doorway. I took a step closer to try and better see the....well....'being' occupying the bed. Or pair of beings I guess I should say (more on that in a second). At the foot of the bed was, what appeared to be, a Hispanic man in his 20s or 30s, with short scruffy black hair and tanned skin, and wearing nothing but a plain, white T-shirt....because he had no legs. His body ended at the torso, and he was propped up with a ton of pillows so he could see the visitors better. More pillows were situated on the floor for the people to kneel on, and at that moment, a lady and her kid were kneeling in front of Him, and everyone was speaking in super hushed tones, so I couldn't really hear what they were talking about. Though, every so often, I'd hear the amputee guy (that I'm assuming was God) speaking in a calm, reassuring tone, saying things like, "Don't worry. You're going to be okay. Everything'll be fine." And so on. No stereotypical big booming voice or anything like that.

But I probably wasn't paying much attention to what they were saying because I was then focused more on the OTHER being occupying the rest of the bed. Lying at the top of the bed, directly behind the Hispanic guy, was another humanoid shape cut off at the torso. I say humanoid because this....thing....was more hidden in the shadows due to its position in the room. I could make out a head, neck, arms, hands, and chest....but no discernible clothes. It was more like....a dark blob that took the rough shape of a human....and it had no face. Or maybe it did, but....anytime I tried to look directly at it, its head seemed to be encased in a kind of fog, with the face area constantly shifting and blurring. If you've ever watched police or crime shows where they interview someone who wants to remain anonymous, and they blur their face out, that's basically what it looked like. And seeing this half-a-humanoid lying above the Hispanic guy, making it look like they were stacked on top of each other, almost kind of reminded me of Vishnu a bit. (The being from Hindu mythology who looks like a human with multiple arms.)

Anyway, so I'm just standing there, taking this all in, when someone who was waiting in line (can't remember if it was a guy or lady) came up next to me, and they must've saw my confusion, because they leaned in and whispered, "Every couple of years, they pick a new person to represent Him." This is the only wording I SPECIFICALLY remember, EXACTLY. Whoever the "they" is that this person was referring to, I have no clue. The robots? The Chinese? The people waiting in line? Who knows.

The person then explained a little more, and unfortunately, I can't remember the exact wording, but they basically said something like, "It's strongly recommended that you bring Him a present." Guess that would explain why everyone in line was holding stuff. Finally, this person whispered to me, "I hear that books are His favorite." And I remember thinking to myself, 'Considering this dude's got no legs and is probably stuck in bed all day, yeah, he probably needs something to do.'

And though I can't remember whether I thought it, or said it out loud, my last thought was, "Damn. I should've brought my books with me." (And if you know anything about me, I was most likely thinking of my self-published comic books.)

And that's when, quite suddenly, I woke up.

No, I'm NOT on drugs. I have NEVER taken any drugs; recreational or otherwise, nor do I drink. Thanks for asking.

So.....what in the name of all that is holy does this all mean???

Like I said in the intro, this is something that is SO far out of my wheelhouse when it comes to what I normally dream about that I felt that I HAD to put it out there somewhere. I mean, I've gotten a bare-bones taste of other religions and cultures, mostly via movies and stuff, but it's not like I'm actively studying Feudal Era China or Hindu legends all the time, nor was I reading up on any sort of material right before bed or anything. I guess what I'm getting at is that the whole religious aspect of it is what really threw me, to the point of almost feeling prophetic in a way. I had goosebumps upon waking up, and I just couldn't stop thinking about what I experienced for the rest of the day.

I've managed to come up with just a few theories, though this could totally be off base, so bare with me.

The only part I'm really sure on is the beginning part with the robots, since one was red and the other blue. And that whole part was in the style of a cartoon (while the rest of the space station was in "live action/real world"). My guess is that the robots are representing the Democratic and Republican parties, and how both of them have been reduced to blathering, cartoon caricatures who can't work together at all to fight something that's threatening everyone. (With the star destroyer as a stand in for the virus, I guess?)

Then, what's with the people lining up with gifts and the section that looks like Wal-Mart? Is this supposed to mean that society's become super greedy and materialistic, to the point of thinking we can buy favor with someone? Or bribe our way into Heaven? Then again, at least in the dream, I had little doubt that the beings in the bedroom WAS God, since He seemed like a pretty chill dude who spoke kindly and was being comforting. So maybe the gifts people were bringing were like....representations of their hobbies or something? Maybe the vibe was supposed to be more like, "Hey! Thanks for creating me, God! Here's something I made with the talents you gave me!" Like a kid showing off their macaroni art to their parent or something like that. OR, maybe it was supposed to mean something like, "In order to follow Him, you have to give up your love for material things?" I don't know.

And then there's that weirdly specific line that still haunts me. "Every couple of years, they pick a new person to represent Him." I have a feeling the humanoid blurry shape that I wasn't able to clearly see the face of was the real God, while the Hispanic guy was His avatar of sorts. Still don't know who the "they" is, though. Or was this meant to mean something along the lines of, "Society has become so focused and desperate for a savior that they're starting to see celebrities and politicians as false gods? Thinking that one guy can fix everything, when really we should be bettering our inner selves?"

"Every couple of years, they pick a new person to represent Him." I mean, with phrasing like that, and with a certain presidential election coming up.....

*sigh* I'm just going to end it here before I start opening up a whole other can of worms. Thanks to anyone and everyone who stuck with this all the way to the end. The whole dream actually felt like it lasted all of ten minutes---it just took me a bit to explain all the details is all. I haven't had any similar dreams since. But still.....if anyone out there can help me interpret this thing, I'd love to hear from you, as I have the biggest gut feeling this all means SOMETHING important. I just don't know quite what. But if this IS a premonition of some kind, I just hope to God it's a good one.

#dreams #dream interpretation #someone please help me with this #what the hell does this mean?

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onewaywardwitch · 5 years ago

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Just A Typo (11/?)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Hacker!Reader

Summary: It was a simple challenge between a very competitive group of friends. A challenge that ended very differently than anticipated.

Warnings: A cliché trope and a lot of shouting

Word Count: 2106

A/N: I promise the gif is accurate for this part.

“I don’t get why you can’t just ask him out,” Becca whined as she glared at me across the table. We were sitting in Angie’s apartment which was a refreshing change from the high-tech atmosphere of the tower. After begging and pleading and annoying Tony for nearly eleven hours straight, he finally agreed I could leave for a few hours, provided I was brought there and back. He didn’t seem to appreciate me persistently hanging around his lab.

We were talking about Bucky. Again. It's not as though I was the one to bring him up. Since Becca visited me in the tower last week, she’s been more determined than ever to make something happen between Bucky and I. Somehow, she managed to convince Angie to join her on her mission. So now I had to deal with the pair of them constantly inserting themselves into my love life. Or lack of.

“I can’t do that,” I scoffed. “It's Bucky. He’s not looking for anything like that. I'm just grateful he talks to me at all. He’s pretty quiet with most people.

Angie clapped her hands together. “There, you said it yourself. He doesn’t talk to many people, but he talks to you. He clearly likes your company, judging by what Becca said happened last week.”

“Oh please,” I waved her off. “Becca exaggerates everything- “

“Hey!”

“- nothing happened. He was just curious about what I was doing on my laptop, so I showed him. What’s the big deal?”

“The big deal is that, for a very empty corridor, you both were sitting awfully close to each other,” Becca replied, smirking at my flustered face while I struggled to come up with an excuse.

“Why don’t you just focus on your own love life?”

“Oh I am, trust me.” She grinned proudly, nodding in Angie’s direction who just gave me an exhausted look.

“Becca’s decided to join my gym,” she explained. “She picked me up last week and has now fallen head over heels for another woman who goes there.”

“We’re soulmates! I can feel it,” she defended. I simply rolled my eyes. This wasn’t unusual for Becca. She caught sight of a woman in the grocery store or in the bank and promptly fell for them. It was endearing how passionate she could be, but it didn’t make it any easier when the relationship ended and Angie and I were left to help her move on.

“But for once Y/N's life is more interesting than mine so that’s my current priority.” Before I had the chance to interrupt and disagree with her, she went on. “Look, you're clearly a mess and have no idea what to do with all your feelings- “

“Oh dear God, are you about to give me the talk?”

“- so why don’t you write it down.”

I rolled my eyes at Angie who shrugged in reply, not bothering to hide it from Becca. “What?”

She grabbed my laptop from the bag I brought with me and opened it up. After a few moments of her messing around on it, she looked up at me and cooed, “Aw, you have his email.”

“What are you doing,” I questioned, trying to sneak a peek at my laptop but she moved and sat away from the pair of us.

“Ok, say we write an email to him. But we don’t actually send it, of course,” she added quickly, noticing how I was about to interject from her first statement alone. “That way you can get everything out there so you know what to do. You can practice how to ask him out.

I laughed nervously, chewing on my bottom lip and glancing at Angie for support. “I mean, it couldn’t hurt.”

“Great!” Becca clapped her hands in glee. The pure joy that was radiating off her was shocking. She loved playing matchmaker a bit too much. “We’ll start it off simply. ‘My dearest Bucky, my loins burn in your presence- “

“What the hell!” “Why would you write that!” Angie and I yelled at the same time. I stared at Becca incredulously. “I want a date with this guy, not a restraining order.”

“Then tell me what you want me to write.”

That’s how the next hour or so went; with me baring my heart and soul while Becca told me I sounded like an idiot and needed to rephrase. Angie chimed in every so often with a “Becca, shut the hell up” or a supportive “that sounds great!”

Together, we broke everything down. We went through it step by step, word by word. It wasn’t uncommon for me to start blabbering before stopping myself and telling Becca to delete everything I just said. I was surprised with how helpful I found it. Admitting to myself and my friends that there was a slight possibility there was a spark between Bucky and I was almost therapeutic. And definitely healthier than the whole ‘lock it in a box’ schtick.

“And I was wondering if you drink? Well, obviously you do. Y’know, you’d be dead if you didn’t drink water. But other drinks. With people,” I rambled on and rubbed a hand over my face. “Scratch everything I just said, that was so dumb. Just end it with ‘I’d like to get a drink with you sometime’.”

“And that’s that,” Becca announced, mockingly wiping a tear from her eye. “I'm so proud that not all of that sounded moronic.”

“Gee, thanks for your undying support,” I replied sarcastically as she rolled her eyes.

“So, all you have to do is say to him everything you said here. You’ve already done it once. The hardest part is honesty. Now you’ve been honest with yourself, you can be honest with others.”

“If I'm being honest, Angie, you need to stop reading those motivational books. You're starting to sound like you swallowed a few dozen of them,” I commented. I turned to Becca. “You can shut the laptop off now. I think I should just go talk to Bucky while I'm in the right head-space.”

She shot me a thumbs up and went to exit our work. I was putting on my jacket when I heard the ping from the laptop.

It was like a scene from the most cliché movie ever. We all turned to stare at one another at the exact same moment, mouths agape in horror. Becca was glancing from the screen and back to our alarmed faces. She did this several more times before any of us did anything.

“Wha- please, please, please tell me that was not what I think it was,” I managed to sputter out. Angie clutched her scarf as though it was the only thing tethering her to the ground. I appreciated her dramatics on my behalf.

“I am so sorry,” Becca whispered. “I thought it was the delete button.”

“NO!”

I rushed over to where Becca was cowering and looked at the open email that now had a little ‘sent’ button in the corner. I quickly scrolled through, hoping it wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be. It was worse.

“Wait, you didn’t even delete the stuff I told you to cut out!”

Oh, it was much worse.

“Maybe it's not that bad,” Angie offered.

“Well, Bucky’s gonna see that I said, ‘shall I compare thy ass to a summer’s day?’, so that’s not ideal,” I exclaimed, giving Angie a pointed look.

This was horrible.

“Don’t forget the whole ‘burning loins’ part.”

It was this moment I decided I hated my friends.

Angie sensed that I was about to throw Becca out the nearest window and rushed over, struggling to think of how to console me. “ It's going to be alright. First things first, does he check his emails often?”

I snorted. “He’s like a hundred years old. I think he forgets he has an email half the time.”

“Great. So we just hack into Bucky’s phone and delete the email. Simple,” Angie said as if it was the easiest thing in the world. Becca and I shared a look. It did sound pretty simple when she put it like that. Technically, cyber security was what I did for a living now. And this was technically a cyber threat. To my happiness. How hard could it be to delete an email?

“The only thing is, Tony set up all the tech in the tower to be much more difficult to breach ever since what happened with us. I helped him make every electronic more secure. You have to be in the building and have whatever it is you're hacking into in your possession.”

“Field trip to the tower to save your relationship. Yay,” Becca said quietly, waving her hands slightly in mock excitement. She was still hiding behind a cushion, scared that the second she came out I would attack her.

She wasn’t wrong.

~~~~~

We somehow managed to make it inside the tower without anyone being suspicious of our behaviour. We all seemed to realise that we would we terrible spies; we couldn’t lie for shit. At least, Becca and I couldn’t. Angie was a lot calmer, acting like her true neutral self. She was able to whisk me away from a colleague who had said hi to me and I replied with a very loud “I work here!”

It wasn’t that difficult to get Bucky’s phone. I was just glad we didn’t bump into anyone on the way to the gym. While I was distracted watching him with the weights, my ever-faithful friends snuck over to take his phone which was lying on the bench. His hair was tied up in a bun, which was a style he hadn’t tried before but damn, it was definitely working for him.

“Hey, you still don’t want that restraining order, right,” Angie hissed, snapping me out of my trance and beckoning me to leave with them.

~~~~~

“We should be good here,” I told them, closing over the door to Tony’s lab. We headed towards the back where we would be less likely to be seen. “Pepper’s been giving out to Tony about the lack of breaks he takes from work, so she’s dragged him away for a few hours at least. I think my nagging earlier might have had something to do with it too.”

We hooked the phone up to my laptop and, with three expert hackers working on it, we unlocked it quickly.

“That wasn’t as difficult as I thought it would be,” I said, cringing as I saw the first line of that email once again while deleting it.

I could only imagine Bucky’s reaction if he had seen it. That email was unfiltered madness and I wished I could do more than just delete it. I'd rather burn it from screen. If Bucky had even got a glimpse of it, I would have been ruined. His stupidly perfect eyes would glare at me in horror while I took one of the quinjets to an uncharted planet not in our solar system.

As we were leaving the lab, we froze when we heard Bucky shouting, and nearly tripped over each other when Sam came running past us in a panic.

“He’s gone mad!” He panted, glancing over his shoulder every few seconds as he paused to speak with us. “He says he’s sick of me taking his stuff. He flexed his metal arm at me! I don’t even know what he’s taking about!”

I went to comment, but he was gone before I could help him with his unfortunate situation. Becca stifled a giggle and Angie and I turned to her with a questioning gaze.

“I slipped Bucky’s phone into Sam’s back pocket,” she cackled. I grinned at her. She was a pain in my ass half the time, but Becca really did lighten up every shitty situation.

Bucky came thundering down the hall, a murderous look on his face. The three of us just pointed in Sam’s direction. He grunted in reply and we scurried down the opposite direction.

~~~~~

“Y/N, can we talk for a minute.”

I felt my blood run cold as I heard Bucky’s voice. Angie and Becca’s eyes grew wide from where they were sitting on the sofa.

“And, uh, what do you want to talk about,” I asked, facing his general direction but refusing to look him in the eyes.

“Um, I got a really weird email from you…” He trailed off, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. “Something about my ‘intoxicating smell’?”

My two ‘friends’ bolted from the room before Bucky had even finished his sentence.

‘Just A Typo’ Taglist (open):

(if there’s a strike through your name it means I couldn’t tag you)

(if I forgot to tag you just send me a message)

@amybarter15 @imperialoath @mamaraptor @marbleowl @lydklein1 @wantingtobekorra @winter-scolder @uhholyhazza @ladymelissastark @sarcasm-n-insomnia @foxylupines @myrabbitholetoneverland @amazingficsthatididnotwrite @markusstraya @padfootormoose @worldofchoices @just-some-stuff-in-life @colie87 @catsandbooksinafarawayplace @littleblackdressxx @thequirkypeach @astronomicparker @asguardiansoftheavengers @awesome-alysia @sebbystanlover-vk @unknownwonder @wowstiless @d-eracine @nattie0010 @bloodyproudpotterhead @waddupmydood @jjlevin @libbymouse @piscesbarnes @yourwonderbelle @pinnedandneedled @otterlockholmes @wandressfox @chybay22 @my-nonexistant-romance @cap-just-said-language @pinkbubblegumuniverse @forsaken-letters @mywinterwolf @izzyisavengersupernaturaltrash @ur-mom-24-7 @yourpal-yourbuddy-yourbuckyy @viioletdelights @moli1497 @glitterypinkkkitty @borkystank @eyeliveinabook @andreagf956 @doctoranon @gracefull-life

#Bucky Barnes #bucky barnes x reader #the winter solider x reader #Winter Soldier #winter solider x reader #winter soldier x y/n #the winter soldier #bucky barnes x y/n #series #fluff #just a typo #reader insert #marvel #MCU #Marvel MCU #falcon #sam wilson #iron man #tony stark

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descendant-of-truth · 6 years ago

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Pit has a lot of character depth to himself already, but throwing Dark Pit into the mix was an absolute game changer for me. And in order to explain why, I’m gonna have to ramble for a bit.

This turned out super long, so I’m gonna put it under a cut.

I’ve joked before on how Pit is essentially your typical Anime Protagonist on the surface; cheerful, loud, not very bright, but with a strong moral compass and a will stronger than steel. It’s an overused trope by now, frankly, since a lot of those characters end up feeling like carbon copies of each other in different circumstances. Even so, I’ve always felt like Pit was somehow unique from all those characters, but haven’t been able to put it into words very well. Which is what this analysis is for.

One thing that stands out about Pit to me (as I’ve mentioned before in previous posts) is that he’s disabled. Sure, having two dysfunctional limbs is a much bigger handicap to us than it is to Pit, but that’s a result of him simply having more limbs to fall back on. In any case, it’s something he’s known for being very sensitive about. We never actually see any of the other angels tease or bully him for not being able to fly, but it’s not exactly a stretch of the imagination. He literally says int the first chapter that it’s really embarrassing being an angel who can’t fly on his own.

And honestly, what an understatement. Dealing with discrimination is a lot more than just “embarrassing,” Pit.

Now, his insecurity doesn’t stop there, certainly not, but can we talk about bitter he is? Just, in general?

As early as chapter 3, he’s getting on Palutena’s case for deliberately putting him in a dangerous situation without telling him the plan--a plan that, by the way, Palutena admits was kind of half-formed.

“Luckily, the pheromone only attracted one of the heads. I was wondering what you would have done if both had shown up.”

“And you still went through with it?! I would have been finished for sure!”

Now don’t get me wrong, this was a funny moment, but it also solidifies a pretty important part of Pit’s character and one of the key features of this analysis: that Pit doesn’t always agree with Palutena’s methods.

This is also shown during chapter 5--which is, interestingly enough, Dark Pit’s debut. Palutena is just giving her tutorials as usual when Pit replies with an almost passive-aggressive remark.

“You know I really appreciate your help, Lady Palutena. But I’d be totally fine without all this hand-holding, too.”

Now, I have messed up the definition of “passive-aggressive” on multiple occasions, so I apologize if I used the wrong description here. But this is another scene that, while otherwise comedic in tone, shows that Pit can get kind of fed-up with Palutena--although he’s too polite to actively show anger towards her most of the time.

It’s times like this that I must applaud the writing in this game. There’s an abundance of comedic scenes, but even they can have serious consequences. And where better to talk about those consequences than in chapter 23?

Oh, chapter 23. How I love you so. You know, they didn’t have to show us what would happen to Pit if he was cut off from everyone except his most hated enemy. They really didn’t. But they did. They did that for us.

This chapter changes a lot, man. I know I was talking about how Dark Pit was the game changer at the beginning of this post, and he still is (I swear I’ll get to that soon), but I just really need to emphasize this chapter for a minute.

Because you know what happens to Pit when he’s isolated??? He talks to himself. Specifically, he imitates Palutena and responds to his own imitation. It’s not exactly accurate at first, but once you get to the boss fight, his Palutena impression is almost creepily spot-on.

And why is this important, you ask?? Because it shows that Pit has actually become dependent on Palutena’s commentary. He mentions several times that he feels like he’s starting to lose it, and he has to escape before he really goes nuts.

The chapter wasn’t even longer than usual. Assuming the level length is an accurate depiction of how long it is in-universe, he was only in there for about twenty minutes, maybe a little more. He spirals fast, and it’s kind of alarming.

On that note... I wonder if Dark Pit talks to himself, too?

I’m not saying Pit is completely unstable, the rest of the game is enough to prove that--but he’s definitely not in the best mental state, either. And you know what? For most writers, this would probably be enough. You have a perfectly good shonen protagonist who’s been bullied for most of his life and easily derails when isolated, but has strong bonds with other people that keeps him going. They didn’t really have to go further than that.

But did that stop them from doing just that?? No, because Dark Pit exists and I am living.

It’s unclear if Dark Pit is just a clone or literally a part of Pit’s soul that got separated, but I tend to go with the latter. Regardless, he’s described to be “manifesting Pit’s dark side,” which is the most important takeaway here. Because he and Pit have some... interesting things to say to each other.

“Who are you calling a puppet?!”

“Palutena says jump, you jump. She says fight, you fight. That sounds like a very satisfying existence. For her, that is.”

“I have absolute faith in Lady Palutena!”

“The Mirror of Truth doesn’t lie. I’m a reflection of your true self. So maybe your faith in her isn’t quite so absolute after all.”

“What would you know about faith anyway, you treacherous blackheart?!”

ALRIGHT LET’S CALM DOWN FOR A SECOND AND TALK ABOUT THIS.

Can we start with the fact that “treacherous blackheart” is a way stronger insult than Pit uses on literally anyone else in the game?? Or the fact that is entire argument (ignoring the whole “Mirror of Truth” thing) sounds like someone viciously trying to fight off their own intrusive thoughts?

How many conversations do you think he’s had with himself where he starts to doubt Palutena’s leadership and immediately counters with something like this? How many times has he put himself down like this, insulted himself for not having enough faith, for being angry with Palutena even when she deserves it because she’s a goddess and she cares about him and you gotta have total faith in your goddess or else you’re just a crappy angel.

“Methinks the puppet doth protest too much.”

The sarcasm is practically dripping from this line, but honestly, any attempt to rephrase it just manages to make it sound a lot darker. Especially when you consider what Dark Pit says much later in the game.

“You have got to be joking. All you gods and your stupid wars are the ones throwing everything off balance!”

This is something Pit would never even consider saying out loud. He never takes this stance in any of his speeches or arguments. But... it came from Dark Pit. And if we’re to assume that he’s a part of Pit that he never shows to anyone... then that means Pit shares this exact same sentiment. The difference is that he would shame himself for even thinking it, because that’s blaming Lady Palutena for the state of the world. And how could he do that to her?

Pit is so concerned about how he views Palutena that he isn’t even considering how he’s viewing himself, which is... less than ideal, to put it lightly. I’m not saying he lacks confidence, exactly, because he pulls through that whole game with all that and still saves the world just fine. But all that combined with the absolute crap he goes through, from going into a coma for three years to having his wings explode... I’m worried about him. Him and Dark Pit.

I’m going to leave this off with something I’ve been wondering about for a while; if Dark Pit really does have all of Pit’s memories, do you think he ever just wants to be called “Pit” for once?

This has been: Screaming About One (1) Angel For Three Hours Straight with Descendant-of-Truth.

#Disclaimer: I love Palutena a lot but she's also kind of insensitive #kid icarus uprising spoilers #kid icarus spoilers #kid icarus uprising #kid icarus #kid icarus pit #dark pit #pittoo #meta #analysis

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ravennest1342-blog · 6 years ago

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Bts Hybrid AU

Bunny Breath Chapter 1

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Kim Namjoon’s day started out normally enough. The twenty-five year old woke in his room with one of his five hybrids wrapped so tightly around him he could barely breath.

Said hybrids name was Yoongi, and he was a mink hybrid. Namjoon squirmed a bit helplessly as he struggled to reach his blaring alarm clock with the numbers 5:30 proudly displayed on it. Yoongi snarled ever so lightly in his sleep as Namjoon squirmed away, his arms tightening around Namjoon as the man finally turned off the dreadful little clock with a slight wheeze from the increased pressure. He blinked sleepily, his breathing harsh as he looked down at his chest to see the mink hybrid he so adored.

Yoongi was tiny, he had a thin, wiry frame that had alarming amounts of strength hidden in the lean muscles. His face was dainty; almost doll like with pouty pink lips and a button nose paired with cat like eyes. Fluffy dark brown — almost black — hair stuck out from his head in a messy way with two tiny dark brown mink ears sticking from them. Namjoon smiled. Anyone looking at Yoongi would think he looked delicate and breakable, his slight build implying that he wasn’t very powerful, especially when compared to Namjoon’s other hybrids Jin or Jimin with their thicker builds. But Namjoon new the whiplike strength, and lightning reflexes his hybrid possessed, he knew that behind those pouty lips, was razor sharp canines — almost fangs — designed to rip and tear into flesh. He knew that the minks dark brown tail with thick fur was there to help the hybrid balance better, move faster.

“Yoongi.” Namjoon breathed softly. “I have to . . . get ready for work.” He wheezed out the last part in a high pitched noise as Yoongi’s grip tightened to the point of pain, nails digging into Namjoon’s hip and chest.

“No.” The hybrid snarled, voice thick with sleep. “You’re staying home with us today.” He growled, lashes fluttering open to reveal dark onyx black eyes. God, Yoongi is so beautiful. Namjoon thought with a sigh.

“I have to Yoongi, there’s an important meeting this morning discussing our new phone prototype and at lunch I have to meet up with Jaebum to discuss the auction he’s scouting out tonight.” He sighed. Yoongi pouted, aggression seemingly disappearing. Namjoon gave him a suspicious look as he withdrew his grip. Yoongi tried to keep him home every morning like this, he set his alarm an hour earlier than needed because of the mink.

“Fine. But you brought this on yourself.” The mink smirked playfully, his tail wrapping neatly around himself as he moved to sit Indian style and drew in a deep breath. Too late Namjoon realized what was happening he surged forward with a yelp but Yoongi had already opened his mouth and screamed.

“NO NAMJOON!! YOU CANT GET A SNAKE HYBRID!!” His voice was modeled with the perfect mixture of horror and terror at the thought of a snake hybrid and as they heard several faint yelps from down the hall, an evil smirk ripples across Yoongi’s face, the sound of running feet reaching their ears and then the bedroom door was practically ripped open.

The two hybrids that raced in were in near hysterics, full on sobbing as they rushed at a stunned Namjoon, slamming into him and knocking the man flat on his back, one hybrid had soft golden brown/russet hair and long deer ears, his body was thin and graceful with a fluffy deer tail that was white on the underside. The other hybrid had floppy golden/brown dog ears with a long tail with equally long fur, he was more gangly, but his face had almost perfect proportions. Both hybrids clambered onto Namjoon, openly wailing as they pressed against him.

“Joonie! No no nonononono!” Hoseok, the deer hybrid cried harshly, sniffling dramatically as he nuzzled into Namjoon’s side while Taehyung, a dog hybrid, straddled his hips, frantically pushing himself against Namjoon’s chest, he too was a sobbing mess.

“I won’t mi-misbehave ever again J-Joonie! Swear! I’ll even apol *hic* ogize for l-locking Jimin outside f-for four ho-hours and . . . laughing at him!” He cried. Namjoon sighed, glaring at a grinning Yoongi, who’s eyes were sparkling with unbridled humor and joy at the situation before him. This was going to be a long morning.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Namjoon was an hour and a half late for work. He really didn’t understand why Taehyung and Hoseok were so strongly against snake hybrids and figured he’d have to ask them at some point, but he barely made it to his meeting on time and all thoughts of his hybrids and worries that they might be slightly racist towards other hybrids were driven from his mind as he tackled the obstacles of his day.

He was obscenely grateful for the fact that everyone at his job respected him. If they didn’t Namjoon was well aware that his job would be a million times harder than it was. Technically, he didn’t even have to show up everyday, his company was so well oiled and staffed he should only have to drop in once a month. But he liked to make a point of going everyday, knowing all his workers names, everyone, even the intern that sorted mail in the mail room. His name was Junhwan (if this is the name of an idol, I didn’t mean to) and he was actually a brilliant artistic kid that Namjoon was thinking about putting in software design once he’d been in the company for a couple more weeks.

As it was, he still had a lot of stuff to do, departments to check up on, problems to sort out. So Namjoon was thrilled when lunch arrived and he got to go meet up with his good friend Im Jaebum. A hybrid doctor, one that was insanely good at his job. Namjoon had known him for a while, having met the other man when he was still an intern and had brought Yoongi who was . . . sick at the time.

He groaned as he made his way to the small cafe on the edge of Seoul. It was a tiny place, but it had the best sandwiches in the world. He arrived a few minutes late, so it wasn’t a surprise that Jaebum was already there and waiting. Namjoon smiled as he made his way over.

“How’s Jackson?” He demanded. His usual greeting. Jackson was a wolf hybrid that Jaebum had rescued from an abusive owner, Namjoon really liked the playful hybrid and he was good friends with Yoongi.

“Still shook by everything Mark does. I thought a wolf and a dove would be ok around each other but Jackson always looks so shocked at everything Mark does.” Jaebum smiled slightly, thinking of the playful turtleneck dove hybrid with a grin. Namjoon went to reach for the menu as he sat, when Jaebum waved him off.

“I already ordered for you. The usual, with a large watermelon juice.” Jaebum grinned widely at the surprised look on Namjoon’s face. The two talked for a few more minutes, both dancing around the real reason they were meeting up for as they waited for their food. Namjoon was just beginning to portray his confusion and worry about how much his hybrids hated snake hybrids when there food came.

Both men graciously thanked the waiter while Jaebum grinned a bit at Namjoon.

“It’s Hoseok and Taehyung that get really worried about it right?” He demanded. Namjoon nodded emphatically. “It’s because snake hybrids are oviparous.” He grinned at Namjoon’s confused look, before waving a hand and leaning back. “Look it up later. Right now, we have a problem.” He sighed.

“What? Did Chen switch auction sights? What’s wrong?” Namjoon demanded, straightening up. Jaebum shook his head, eyes downcast as he tapped his cup.

“No. Chen is auctioning off two hybrids this time. Not one. And again, it’s going to be after all the normal guests have left and only the . . . questionable ones remain.” Namjoon cursed. Normally, this wouldn’t be a problem. Jaebum could easily afford two hybrids, he could probably buy up to twenty of them. The problem was, at these types of auctions you were only allowed one. And Namjoon couldn’t call anyone last minute like this, everyone would be booked. Which left him. He could see on Jaebum’s face that the other man fully expected him to come. Namjoon winced slightly.

“I promised Yoongi I would have a thorough talk with everyone before I rescued another hybrid.” He mumbled. Jaebum laughed, leaning back.

“And that very same day he called Jackson and called you the cutest dork in the history of dorks and said and I quote ‘Namjoon is lead by his heart. I can’t wait until I see who he brings home this time. But the sentiment was nice.’” Namjoon blinked owlishly, he supposed he should be offended by his boyfriends complete lack of faith in him, but wasn’t he proving him right? Here he was, about to go and get another hybrid from the brink of a truly horrible fate.

“Wow.” He snorted, Jaebum leaned forward expectantly and Namjoon grumbled, rolling his eyes as he pulled out his phone. “At least let me call him, Jesus, I should at least pretend that I feel guilty.” He grumbled. Jaebum smiled. The phone was barely ringing for ten seconds before a happy voice chirped out.

“Joonie! Joonie are you coming home? When? Can I have some strawberries?” It was Hoseok. Namjoon blinked before snorting.

“Um, no I’m not coming home just yet Hobi.” A faint whine of protest. “And ask Jin about the strawberries. Also, may I talk to Yoongi please?” He smiled. Jaebum grinned across the table. There was a small huff of disappointment and some shuffling before Yoongi’s soft yet deep voice filtered through the phone.

“You’re going with Jaebum to the auction aren’t you?” Then before Namjoon could even draw in a breath to answer the mink hybrid continued in his perpetually bored voice that he always used over the phone. “Are we going to have another housemate by tonight? Do I need to arrange for Taehyung to stay over at Minho’s for a sleepover? You remember how much he scared Jimin right?” Namjoon blinked once again, carefully filing each question and processing them before answering.

“Hmm, yes I am going to the auction and maybe about the new house member, no to Taehyung though, I think he’s resolved his impulse issues a bit.” Hearing Yoongi’s quiet snort of derision he sighed. “Give Tae the benefit of the doubt, Yoons.”

“Namjoon I love him to the moon and back and literally every time I see him I just want to kiss his little face until he’s very red, but he has no impulse control whatsoever.” Hearing Namjoon’s silence Yoongi groaned. “Fine! But if he traumatizes the poor hybrid I’m blaming you.” Namjoon laughed softly at him, Tae alwaysmeant well, the dog hybrid could just come off a bit strong.

“You do that. I love you Yoongi, tell the others I love them with all of my heart yeah?” A lot of stammering ensued and Namjoon grinned, knowing fully that he had probably just seriously flustered Yoongi (casually saying I love you over the phone always seemed toget to the mink hybrid) and he barely made out the mumbled reply of “Wh-whatever dork.” Before Yoongi hung up. Namjoon sat the phone down with another fond smile and began casually sipping on his tea lost in thought about the new hybrid and puzzling over what type of stuff he’d need for him/her when Jaebum spoke.

“So your coming?” He demanded. Namjoon nodded. “Great, I’ll pick you up at six p.m. sharp so don’t be late, dress casual but in obviously expensive clothes. You know the drill.”

Indeed Namjoon did.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

— 7:00 PM —

The auction began like any other auction fe rich people looking for a cute hybrid. Namjoon and Jaebum, both dressed in plain yet elegant suits were lead to their specific table in a wide well furnished room with a lovely stage that sellers would bring the hybrids out on to auction. No alcohol was given out, as that was highly illegal. Namjoon knee it would be served once the main guests were gone and the front of the auction was over allowing nastier people to come out and sell. Only a select few would be allowed to stay for that and Namjoon and Jaebum were of those few.

The first Hybrid was a a child. She looked around five or six, which meant she was three in human years, and she was a canary hybrid. Her master forced her to sing in a beautiful high pitched tinkling voice that would only get better with age. She sold for four million won.

After her came a bear, then a cow, then a lizard. All of them began to blend together and it wasn’t until he was signing his papersthat said he would remain anonymous that Namjoon knew the true event was starting. He sighed the paper without fear. Knowing full and well that Jaebum’s friend who went by Woozi, had hacked in and changed two or three words in the packet so that he could safely audio record.

He waited. Chen was one of the more known Hybrid Slave traffickers, he would be showing his hybrids close to last if not last. Namjoon just had to survive this and then he’d be able to bury these bastards. He took a deep breath and forced himself to watch as a small male badger hybrid was dragged in chains onstage with a heavy collar and forced to neel. He blocked out what the salesman was saying, instead focusing on those pitiful brown eyes and the watery nose. Forcing himself to commit the hybrid to memory. The one that he wouldn’t be saving tonight. The police would hopefully find him by tomorrow evening after Jaebum and Namjoon turned in their work. But it still hurt, watching the badger let loose a choked cry as he was bought by a hybrid breeder. Submissive males were always swooped up like that.

He forced himself to watch and remember each hybrid, each face. Each perfectly innocent person, not quite human not quite animal forever abused. He was infinitely relieved when it was announced.

“Next up is Chen with a submissive Arctic fox hybrid.” The announcer bragged. A tiny fox with large doe eyes was dragged up on stage by the man Namjoon so loathed and he barely heard Jaebum whisper, “I got him.” beside him through the raging in his ears and cottony taste in his mouth. Unlike the other hybrids the fox looked not scared, but tired. Defeated almost. As if he didn’t have any hope or joy left in his life.

He slumped quietly, ears twitching and flicking back and forth, his hair was a soft brown and thin, as was his tail. Namjoon knew that come winter the arctic foxes hair and fur would be a lot thicker and shimmering white. He could feel Jaebum continuously raising his sign signifying that he was a competitor. It upped the agression for the hybrid and made more people bet, which in turn, drove up the numbers. But eventually Jaebum was the only one left betting with another man.

He got the fox hybrid for ten million won. Namjoon’s eye twitched at the way the fox closed his eyes and shuddered slightly before dipping his head as Jaebum made his way back to where he would be filling out official documents and inserting an ownership identification chip into the hybrid. Namjoon wouldn’t do the chip part until he got the hybrids explicit consent. Consider it a pet pieve but if the hybrid he was about to get wanted to leave Namjoon would let him. He would only own a hybrid that gave him consent to being owned.

Chen himself took the microphone from the announcer this time.

“This next Hybrid is my work of art people. His parents were a dominant male black mamba hybrid and a submissive Red Rex female bunny hybrid.” Namjoon blinked in confusion. “As you all are probably well aware, breeding to hybrids with different sub base animals results in a hybrid that looks strange when compared to other hybrids of his kind, whether it be mismatched eyes or strange animal features. Please bring out Jeongguk, submissive male bunny hybrid mix breed!” Chen yelled gleefully. The room stirred, while Namjoon’s guy tightened with worry.

Bunny hybrids were pretty common in themselves, they and cat hybrids were the most common hybrids around. Almost all bunny hybrids had small box like body structures with ridiculously fluffy hair and normally black ears that stuck up proudly from their heads and twitched around depending on thei moods.

The hybrid that was dragged up on stage looked close to hyperventilating. He was dressed in form fitting shorts and a white tank top that revealed a thin slightly gangly structure that actually reminded Namjoon of Taehyung quite a bit. The hybrid seemed to possess all the good features of bunnies and none of the bad. With a slightly large nose and large front teeth, delicate cheekbones which hinted at his fathers blood and wife innocent doe eyes that were shelling with unshared tears. His hair was a dark brown with streaks of light brown and black in it giving him a mottled look. But what really grabbed the audiences attention was his ears. They were long, and unlike literally almost every other bunny hybrid, floppy, a soft golden/brown. But while everyone gasped overhow beautiful the hybrid was, Namjoon just saw the frightened gaze, the way his hands twitched in his chains and his red tear streaked cheeks that would probably be more on the babyish/chubby side once he wasn’t skin and bones. He noticed that the ends of the hybrids ears had a antibiotic cream rubbed into viscous looking sores as if the hybrid was constantly chewing or sucking on his ears.

Namjoon began the bidding. He refused to let anyone else have this little hybrid. It was like looking into Hoseok’s eyes when he was first rescued all over again, a mix of fear, pain and confusion. He was adamant. He quickly nicked over half the people out of the running and continued on ruthlessly, well aware that the money wasn’t anywhere near too expensive for him yet, and it wouldn’t be until he reached the high billions.

“Fifty -five million won!” The anouncer yelled as Namjoon raised his sign. He glanced around, seeing the disappointed looks around him and knew he’d won. “Going once! Twice! SOLD to number forty-seven please go to the back to fill out you right to ownership papers please sir! Have fun with your buy.”

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

So what did you think for a beginning chapter? It’s fun right? I figured Jungkook joining them would be a great place to start! Love you!

Feel free to ask any questions or point out any mistakes I’ve made! I tend to not proof read enough so constructive criticism is helpful!

Part Two to Bunny Breath is HERE

If you want to see the rest of my AU’s then please make your way to my Masterlist HERE

#bts fanfction #bts fanfic #bangtan ot7 #hybrid au #bts hybrid au #bts hybrids #bunny kook #bunny jungkook #hybtid yoongi #hybrid hoseok #hybrid taehyung #hybrid jimin #hybrid jin #hybrid jungkook

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emerald-eyes-8917 · 6 years ago

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Your Hand in Mine (Until the end of the world...)

This is response to an anon prompt that I received via my askbox about Dan being upset about a fan taking a photo of him and the reader holding hands,what with the Internet being so judgemental.

I hope you enjoy this, anon, whoever you are, and this will be crossed posted to ArchiveofOurOwn as well, so any comments or reblogs would be much appreciated. So without further ado, here we go!

P.S. : I would rate this R, so take care if you are reading at work. And here we go for real!

The day had been too long and the wrong side of busy. She was immensely grateful for the clock striking five o'clock when she was able to leave the office, already looking forward to seeing her partner again, the inimitable Dan Avidan.

It still gave her a frisson of delight to think of him as her partner, even after these few months together.

He had been working hard on his music lately, as well as video shoots, promotion and planning tour dates for the upcoming Tour de Force, and she had missed him a great deal while still feeling so proud of him, Brian and TWRP for all they had achieved together, and that success surely continuing to grow.

Sending him a quick message that she was on her way home, followed by a line of heart and star emojis, she gets in her car to go pick up some dinner on the way, unable to keep herself from singing along to 'Danny, Don't You Know?' as soon as it comes up on her iTunes shuffle, unaware that her screen does not notify her of any replying message.

An hour later...

Arriving back at Dan's apartment, she places the sushi meals to one side, for knowing the unpredictable hours that it took while recording the Game Grumps show, it would not be worth it to pick up a hot meal that would go cold in minutes.

There was still no reply to her message, but that was hardly alarming. Dan rarely replied on days when there was plenty of games to play with Arin or music to record for Ninja Sex Party or Starbomb. He pushed himself too far sometimes, and she prays to herself that this was not one of those days where he was on the brink of exhaustion.

She makes some tea, tidying up around the apartment to occupy herself, humming quietly and waiting patiently for his return.

However, after eight o'clock passes without any sign of him, she begins to feel a strong feeling of worry creeping in.

She sends one more message, 'Hey Dan, hope you're not working too hard! I have dinner here at home so don't worry about picking up anything if you're hungry and plenty of warm tea too. See you later. xxxx'

Typing an 'I love you' at the end of the message seemed like a desperate manuevre to get his attention, since she was beginning to feel quite anxious about his lack of replies.

A half hour passes and she is pacing around the flat like a caged animal, clutching her phone like a lifeline, extremely close to panic, when the jangle of keys makes her jump, heart beating quite fast.

The door opens and Dan walks in, head bowed, not even calling out her name or any other greeting.

Before she can even say hello or ask what he had been up to all evening, or why he had her almost worried sick, he has stalked through the living room, not even casting a look at her, making for the bedroom, and closes the door quite sharply, the loud snap echoing through the apartment and leaving her nerve endings pricking with fright.

She is left standing alone, eyes stinging and chest heaving. Throwing her phone on the sofa, making it bounce off the cushions with some force, she could have almost screamed in frustration or burst into tears at this insensitive treatment.

She had been near frantic with the pervading thought that he could have been in an accident, and when he finally decided to come home, he does not even say a word or offer any explanation.

White, hot anger floods her veins and she strides over to the bedroom door, rapping loudly with her knuckles.

"Dan! /Dan/! Open up, we need to talk, right now!"

No answer.

"Dan... I am coming into the bedroom to speak to you, because you are acting like a real jerk right now, and I've been worried about you all evening and I deserve to know what is going on. I am opening the door, I gave you fair warning..."

Turning the handle, she pushes the door open, walking into the bedroom at such a quick pace that she almost trips over her own feet, prepared to launch into a tirade, but she halts immediately at the sight of Dan sitting with his back to her on the edge of the bed, bent over with his hands clenching and unclenching in his hair.

The rage suddenly evaporates into pure concern at this tableau. It was not sulking, nor was he pacing the room. This reaction was something else...

Swallowing thickly, she whispers, "Danny?"

Still no response.

"Dan..."

She ventures forward carefully, treading softly, her voice nothing more than a soft whisper, "Dan... has something happened? Tell me?"

Her immediate thought focuses in on his family, that a terrible event had occurred involving his grandmother, his parents, his sister or his nephews.

He still doesn't reply, and now she cannot disguise the tremor in her voice, "Danny, you're scaring me... please... please talk to me."

It is only then that Dan sits up straight, turning his head slowly towards her, and already she can see that his eyes are glimmering, the corners of his mouth down-turned, his entire posture speaking of someone defeated.

"Hey."

She shuts her eyes, huffing a sigh, "Hi, Dan."

He looks down again, not being able to meet her eyes for more than a few seconds, admitting quietly, "I seem to have fucked up quite badly, haven't I?"

She does not answer, only calling on all the love she possessed and all the strength left in her body not to collapse.

"I didn't mean to scare you. I read your messages, but I was driving and couldn't get my phone to reply. I just... I needed to go for a drive and think."

This conversation was almost like getting blood out of a stone and her patience was wearing quite thin, so she asks once more, "Think about what? Please tell me what's happened or else I will walk out of here..."

"Someone took a photo of us."

A beat.

"What?" It is akin to being doused with ice-cold water, the gravity settling down on her and all she can do is sit down heavily on the corner of the bed across from him, looking straight at him.

Dan still does not meet her eyes, and pushes back his shoulders as if steeling himself to make a long speech, "Someone, a fan probably, managed to get a photo of us together. When we were leaving that restaurant last week and I decided to take your hand because we were having a nice time out, and I like holding your hand, but then some jerk decided to take a photo of us out together and post it to their Instagram with the caption 'Shattered dreams of the fangirls' with maybe about a hundred comments about your clothes, your hair and who you could possibly be. I've had my privacy denied, and yours as well, so someone could make a joke and everything's just crappy now and I'm just really pissed off about it..."

He brings his fist down on the mattress with a solid thump and she starts with fright. She had never seen him angry before in all the time they had been together, and it was not a pleasant sight.

His voice sounds quite shaky now, as if he was holding back tears, "You know I love the fans. They give me the chance to have a dream job, to do amazing things, but Goddamnit, I lose my patience sometimes, and it's so horrible to feel that way. It's like dealing with really immature people sometimes, who just want to posture and be negative and make a judgement. It's the same when there are really mean, personal comments about Arin's skill with video games,with people telling him that he sucks all the time and I have to defend him. I shouldn't have to, and I shouldn't have to defend my relationship, either. Everyone is just so judgemental on the internet without even knowing the whole story and it's just the worst..."

Taking all of this in, she wraps her arms around her middle, hugging herself quite tight. Her own personal reaction to someone posting a photo of them online was one of quiet shock, it being the first time she had ever even been linked to anyone from the Grumps crew, let alone someone she was intimate with. She was also feeling heartbroken at Dan losing any ounce of faith in his fans, the negative side of fandom clearly on display here.

Summoning up all the courage she can, she whispers, "What do you want to do?"

Dan heaves a sigh, "Nothing I can do. It was out in the street, in public, by chance. If I start anything negative, the backlash will be huge and some of the fans might take offence. You saw how it was when I first joined the show, can you even imagine what it would be like now? There is hero worship that can turn on a dime in a second. No, someone took their opportunity and it just pisses me off that people don't know where the boundary lies. I want my relationship to not be posted online, unless it's my choice, and trust me, I won't be doing that, because it's not fair to drag you into this bullshit. You don't deserve hate or trolls or anything of that immature stuff... I just want us to be together, to enjoy this time together, and not worry about people hiding behind their keyboards being trolls or having to read that I've broken peoples' hearts."

He runs his hands through his hair, flopping back on the bed, arms outstretched either side of him. He tips his chin up slightly and looks at her upside down, and immediately his forehead creases when he takes in her expression and her defeated posture.

"Oh... oh, God... I've upset you. Baby, I didn't mean to..."

He opens his arms and like a magnet, she immediately shuffles across to let him take her in his arms, hugging her clumsily, all the emotions coming to the surface: relief that he home and safe, hurt that he had shut her out, the feeling of upset that their relationship was being scrutinised. All she can do is allow the tears to fall, hiding her face in his chest and clinging to him tightly.

"Baby... I'm so sorry... I'm sorry for all of this... it’s just a fucking mess and you don’t deserve it. I’m so, so sorry..."

She lets out a shuddering sob, "Danny... I need to say something..."

"Yeah? What is it?" The question is almost fearful, and even now she can detect his heartbeat picking up pace.

Why must I love you so much? Why does it hurt?

She presses her hands to his chest and sits back from him slightly, though not completely separating herself from him, lower lip trembling as she speaks, just about managing to get the words out without breaking down into sobs, "I don't like it when you close yourself off from me. It's like... I feel that you don't trust me when you don't open up, that you don't want to talk to me, and... it really hurts. I'm sorry about someone invading our privacy, it shouldn't have happened, but we can work through that together, only if you talk to me."

Dan lowers his eyes, utterly ashamed, "I know that... I guess I thought I could protect you from all that..."

She lightly thumps her palm against his chest, not enough to hurt, but to make him look up at her, "You don't have to protect me. You can tell me anything, you know that, right?"

All he can do is nod, tears already beginning to escape from the corners of his eyes, but he does not allow his face to crumple.

"I do trust you... I think I need to work on expressing myself better."

"We both do. We can learn together."

She lifts her hand to touch his cheek and stroke away the warm tears, heart aching as he turns his face more into her palm, pressing a kiss to her skin, murmuring that he was sorry over and over.

"Dan..."

"Mmhmm?"

She slowly lowers her hand from his face, reaching for his own hand, interlacing their fingers together, holding them up between them while looking into his eyes with quiet intent.

"You feel this?"

"Yeah..." He has his head lowered, staring down at their joined hands quite intently

"You can hold my hand anytime you want, in public, in private, wherever you want. As long as you have my hand in yours, then everything will be okay. I am not letting you go, Danny..."

"Baby..."

He squeezes that bit tighter, leaning his forehead against hers with a soft sigh.

She continues, "I know you're angry, and upset, but we can choose to rise above this or sink down to a level that is undeserving. We can come through this..."

"Together?"

"Together."

He chuckles quietly, "I'm done with telling you that I'm sorry. Let me show you now... let me make it up to you, please?"

Before she can even reply, he has ducked his head closer to gently kiss her, his curls tumbling in a soft cloud close to her face, ticking her cheeks as he tilts his head closer, deepening the kiss with a low groan in his chest and she leans closer, sliding her arms around his neck, responding with eagerness because she had truly missed him, and even the thought of losing him made her kissing more desperate.

Dan lets out another needy sound, his arms locking around her waist, leaning back and bringing her with him down onto the bed, shifting so she was draped across him, nudging his leg in between hers, his hips grinding up lazily against her.

Bracing her hands on either side of his head, she brushes light kisses across his face as he reaches up to tangle his hands in her hair, angling her head closer so he could kiss her again.

Just as their lips make contact again, her eyes flutter open and she lifts her head up and away, looking off to one side in deep thought.

Dan mumbles, quite bemused, “Baby... why’d you stop?”

She says quietly, “Wait... hold that thought."

She clambers off him, rolling over and hopping off the bed, darting just out of reach before he could catch hold of her again, only giving him a smile over her shoulder before returning to the living room to retrieve her phone, hearing him call out a 'Baby, come back'.

Sure enough, she returns in a matter of seconds, smoothing down her hair, sitting up on the bed with her back against the headboard, patting the space beside her.

"Here, come sit by me."

Dan tilts his head, completely perturbed, his hair mussed from her ruffling before complying with a groan, dragging himself up the bed towards her, "I'm getting so old..."

She shakes her head with a smile as he sits up beside her, folding his arms, "You look like someone with a crazy idea."

She gives him a patient look, "Just humour me, please? I want to do this before we get too carried away. Which can easily happen, as you well know."

Opening up the camera on her phone, she puts the screen to selfie mode, sliding down to rest back against the pillows, beckoning for him to do the same.

He sighs, sliding in beside her, and she moves in closer so her face was right beside his.

"Come on, take a picture with me."

Dan raises an eyebrow, "Ummm... why?"

"You'll see why. Go on, give me a handsome smile."

Instead, Dan pulls a comical face with his nostrils flared and his eyes wide open.

She laughs at the sight, sticking her tongue out the corner of her mouth, snapping a quick photo.

"Alright... now be confused."

"Why?"

"It's improv and you’re a master at it, just trust me."

Dan makes an overly quizzical face as she touches her chin with her eyes looking to one side, taking another photo.

"Now be scared."

At first, he doesn't do anything, but then he gasps loudly, "There's a spider on your leg."

Just as she yelps, her thumb hits the shutter button and then he dissolves into laughter. "Got you."

"You are the worst!"

Deciding to take him by surprise, she leans in and kisses his cheek, taking another photo as she does so.

"Meanie..."

"No, I'm not. Now, once last one, and we're done."

"I'll make a normal face this time..."

"You can make any face you want."

True to his word, he smiles softly at the camera just as she reaches up to gently cup his cheek and tilt their heads closer together.

“That was a nice one.”

“Yeah. Okay, now I am going to do some editing, so no peeking."

She turns over onto her side so Dan cannot see what she is doing, opening up the Layout app and putting the photos they just took together into a collage, saving the new image to her phone and setting it as her wallpaper.

When Dan attempts to lean over to investigate, she holds her phone close to her chest, "I said no peeking."

"But I want to see..." He puts on a whining tone to his voice and pouts quite childishly.

She sighs fondly, "Such a kid. Okay... here you go."

She hands her phone to Dan and he looks at the screen, letting out a jovial chuckle, "Wow. That is awesome. You look so pretty, and I do look attractive, especially in that one..."

He points to the one where they are both being threatened by the imaginary spider, and she giggles, "You always look handsome."

"Stop... you'll make me blush." He acts extremely bashful, covering his eyes with both hands.

She smiles at this, prepared to lavish him with compliments to make him blush, instead tapping his shoulder so he can look at her, "So what I did this for and wanted to show you was that these pictures and these moments, they are what matters. I know that it was upsetting to have someone invade our privacy in such a way, but we can't let it bring us down. We can do what we like here in the privacy of our home, together. It's not for public consumption, we won't be judged for it and I'm glad that you don't feel the need to want to post about everything."

Dan traces his fingertip along her jaw, his eyes soft, "Baby, I am far too old for all of that. You know me and Instagram, I am just about getting the hang of it."

"Maybe I'll show you the animated filters someday..."

"I have no idea what those are."

"They're a lot of fun. You can have a flower crown, be a cat or a bunny, or even have cool sunglasses."

Dan shakes his head with a smile, "As long as I can see your beautiful face every day, then I'll be happy."

"Really?"

"Really."

Blinking slowly, she reaches up to gently kiss his lips, drawing back a few inches, sharing his breath as she whispers, "And now? Are you sure you only want to look at me?"

Dan's eyes light up with an unmistakable fire, and he leans in close, murmuring, "I want to do so much more than look at you..."

His hands sneak under her t-shirt, tracing a bold pattern on her skin, bunching the material upwards, his intention quite clear as he catches her lips in a clumsy, passionate kiss, rolling them over until he was covering her entire body, lifting her t-shirt free and flinging it to one side.

She cannot help the girlish giggle that bubbles up, running her hands down his chest, reaching down and fumbling with his belt even as he kisses her with a desperation that makes her heart ache.

In precious seconds, with their clothes discarded and the temperature surely rising with protection taken care of, Dan wastes no time in drawing her legs around his waist, shifting closer until he is gently sliding inside her, making her gasp quite loudly.

A moment where they share a look and another gentle kiss, and it would have been no surprise to anyone that she would gladly give her life for this man, without question.

As Dan begins to move, the sensations already peaking and cresting so strongly, she leans down to kiss his shoulder, pressing her face against the side of his neck and burying her nose in his hair, when she hears him urgently whisper, "Baby... look at me... please, look at me..."

She draws back, her head landing back on the pillows, seeing the desperate passion in his eyes as he manages to get his words out between shallow breaths, "Don't... don't look away... keep looking at me... I want to see you... I want to see your face as we do this... I need to look in your eyes... you are so fucking beautiful..."

With that final word, he is moving that bit faster, pushing harder, and warmth pools in her belly at his words and the intense gaze he is casting her, "Oh... oh, Dan..."

He threads his fingers into her hair, leaning over her with his weight resting on his elbows, not an inch between them, tenderly keeping her in place so their eyes can stay fixed on each other.

"You feel so good, baby... so fucking good... I can't... I can't get enough of you..."

It is getting more difficult to keep her eyes from shutting in bliss, but she cannot look away from his intense expression, his soft curls hanging down like a thick mane around his face, his lips parted and eyes full of liquid warmth.

"Please... oh, please, like that... like that. Yes... yes, love... don't stop, Danny, please don't stop..."

Inadvertently, she drags her nails down his back and he makes a strangled noise, his movements becoming more erratic, “So close... so... so close... I have you, come on, babygirl, I have you... come for me, come for me, my gorgeaus girl. /Fuck/, I’m so close..."

The sound of his voice, the praise that he was giving her, the feeling of him so deep inside her, was all it took to send her spiralling into oblivion, waves of pulsing heat radiating from her centre.

"Oh... /Dan/... oh... oh, /Danny/!”

Dissolving into wordless cries, all she can do is try to keep her eyes open, looking up at him all the while as his forehead creases and he shudders as his own peak hits, thrusting once, twice more, her name a breathless moan.

The room is filled only with their combined breathing, as Dan collapses beside her, his hair tossed in her face, and she loosens her legs from around his waist, letting them fall outwards onto the bed, arching her spine as soft trembling aftershocks radiate through her entire body, gently rubbing his back and basking in this gentle afterglow.

"Oh... oh, my goodness..."

Dan's chuckle is low next to her ear, "My thoughts exactly, gorgeaus. Wow..."

He stretches with a groan, reaching down to take care of the condom, deftly throwing it into the wastepaper basket in the corner of the room, before moving back beside her, immediately nuzzling into the crook of her neck, running his hand up and down her side, her nerve endings tingling at his touch.

She cradles his head close to her chest, gently running her fingers through his hair, massaging his scalp, hearing his purr of approval.

“Are you feeling better now?”

“Oh, so much better. I mean... sex always makes me feel better, but I’m glad you talked to me, and convinced me to listen. I’m an old man, baby. I still have a lot to learn...”

She chuckles fondly, leaning down to kiss his forehead, “It will all be okay now. I know it will be.”

Dan hums contentedly in reply. “Hey, baby?”

“Yes?”

“Please send me that photo collage you made. I’d like it as my background, too.”

“I will.”

A pause.

“I love you, Dan. So much.”

Dan lifts his head, giving her a gentle smile, leaning in for a slow, lazy kiss that was so sweet that it brought tears to her eyes, “And I love you. Don’t ever stop being you.”

Even while they were sleeping, their hands remain intertwined through the night.

#dan avidan #dan avidan x reader #fanfiction #writing #romance #fluff #rated R #may not be suitable for work #this was nice to write #your hand in mine #smut #prompt #anon prompt

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ask-svt-hearteu · 6 years ago

Text

All The Stars ` Wen Junhui

Anon requested: “ hey! can i request a jun oneshot where the reader is an artist? like how does he deal with reader having a breakdown over some small mistake and their way of thinking? basically just what he thinks about having an artistic partner. oh, if it's not too much can you write it in jun's pov? thanks a lot 💕 “

Genre: fluff

Word Count: 1928

to Jun

you were radiant

there had always been something

a feeling

that made him know

you’re the one

he remembered that first day

when he had been wondering the classrooms of the university aimlessly

ditching English literature was a favorite hobby of his

the class was too easy

the easiest A to get for a general education class he knew

not to mention as a theater major

he already ate, breathed, and lived literature

there was no need for him to show up to such a useless class

and so

English lit 101 was spent wondering the campus of the university

finding the best spots to read for an hour

or discovering the unexplored corners of campus

or going out to town to try all the local restaurants and determine which ox tail soup was the best

and it was on one of these faithful days that he stumbled across room 610

a dark shady classroom rarely ever in use

he quietly opened the door and slipped inside dropping his bag

pulling aside some of the curtains from the front of the room

he revealed a few floor-to-ceiling studio mirrors

and gave himself a small smile

as he reached into his bag and pulled out a small CD player

and clicked play

the music gently filled the room

Jun breathed in

letting not just air to enter his system

but the music itself

let the notes fill his lungs and his head

let the music lead his actions

as he carefully

but surely

confidently

danced through his own routine of his own creation for the song

one he spent hours trying to perfect

until it became second nature

until it was no longer a dance

but merely an extension of his thoughts

and he felt like flying

with the music

he gently laid down on his back smiling up at the ceiling after it ended

what a high

the best feeling in the world was when he was dancing

he couldn’t imagine doing anything else

he didn’t seem to notice someone standing in the doorway to that very classroom

that Jun wasn’t the only one who took refuge in room 610

but you did too

and as your voice broke through the silence

Jun likes to think it was that moment

the very moment you first spoke to him

that made him fall in love with you

he likes to tell it that way

the look of surprise on his face clear as day when you caught him

“How long have you been standing there?” He said

“The whole time.”

“I didn’t expect anyone to be in here.”

“Neither did I”

Jun stared at you passively at that moment he knew

the way the slit of sunlight rested right on your face

illuminating your eyes

and the look of pure amazement

that you gave him

“I’m really sorry to ask if this sounds weird but... Can you stay here for a few minutes?”

Jun raised his eyebrows but didn’t object

after all you were the one who had caught him having a moment

he stood frozen in his spot as you ran across the room and slid onto the floor uncovering a pile of canvasses he had never noticed before

his breath caught

on the canvasses were some of the most beautiful paintings he had ever seen

he watched quietly as you pulled a sketchbook from the pile of art supplies and sat crisscrossed on the ground

the tip of your pencil gliding easily across the surface of the page never pausing in hesitation once

and he suddenly thought

that perhaps that pencil was dancing too

that you drawing was like him dancing

an extension of a person and their thoughts

an expression of something that no words could ever describe

he was mesmerized as your fingers flew across the page

slowly taking form and matter

he couldn’t look away

this is why he names the moment he fell for you

because from this moment he saw more about your heart

saw just how meaningful that pencil on the paper was

as the music and dancing was for him

you both had offered up a piece of your hearts right there

he watched as you sighed

satisfied for once as you lifted the sketchbook for him to see

and he was breathless

on the sketchbook page

was him

but it was more than just Jun himself he thought

the figure in the drawing was him

but it was him freed

a sketch of his figure mid dance

as the curtains fluttered in the background of the drawing

his clothes loosely flowing around him before forming wings

a picture of an angel

lost to the happiness of mid flight

“I know it’s not very good...” you sighed quietly turning the drawing away from him before ripping the page out and putting away the sketchbook and the pencil

you walked over to him still standing there

but he couldn’t stop staring at you

as you gently placed the drawing in his hand

“You can throw it away if you want.” You shrugged before turning away

Jun grabbed your arm quickly and turned you back to face him

“What’s your name?”

“Y/N”

“Do you... maybe wanna grab a coffee or something?” He said rubbing the back of his neck nervously

“I’d love to.”

it was one of those storybook meetings

one for romance novels or the movies

the two of you sort of just clicked

you were both pretty different in some aspects

but made up for what the other was lacking

and you both were also similar too

he became something like paradise for you

after a long day of classes and work

you’d plop down on the sofa and he’d make you something to eat

even if he was tired

or you’d both just lay together in bed staring up at the ceiling and talking

about anything

about everything

about how stupid that one chemistry professor was before they fired them

or how that freshman accidentally pulled the fire alarm

or about Jun’s latest show adventures

or about this showcase you entered artwork for

Jun would just hold you in his arms

let you rest your head on his chest

as he played with your hair

and listened to you talk

you were nearly inseparable

he’d hold your hand whenever he got the chance

“Jun, I can’t do any integral calculus if you’re holding the hand I write with.”

“Hmm that’s too bad for calculus then...”

“Jun...”

“Yes Y/N my love? Hehe...”

“I need my hand to get my stuff”

“That’s really too bad for your stuff...”

“JUN OH MY GOSH JUST LET GO FOR A SECOND.”

“NEVER HAHA.”

and how the classes without him literally stretched into infinity

he would stare at the clock thinking

“only half an hour before I get to see Y/N...”

yes you were that couple

and when he finally was free

he’d literally run up to you

catching your face in his hands

before his lips brushed yours

“Jun we’re in public-“

“I’m ok with being that couple if you are.”

giggling into his next kiss as he pulled you closer

“Ok ok really we have to go to class.”

“Awwww but whyyyyyy.”

“Because we have to come on.”

there were moments where he’d just stare at you

thinking how incredible it was

how incredible you are

and just staring fondly at your smile

and ruffling your hair playfully every time he passed you in the halls

or tapping your left shoulder only to appear on your right side

and ordering Chinese food takeout to eat on the floor of class 610 when you were both ditching

and running around in the early morning when he dragged you to run through the sprinklers

“JUN I’M WEARING CLOTHES THAT AREN’T WATER PROOF.”

“AWWW come on it’s fun!!!”

and laughing like crazy at the water droplets across your gray sweatshirt

or how he’d randomly show up with stuffed plushies and flowers on those days where you weren’t feeling your best

almost as if he could read your mind

when stress and sadness washed over you

he seemed to know and would cheer you up somehow

whether it was by his little pranks

or his attention to little details

like your favorite ice cream to get if you failed an important test

Jun saw you through it all

the good and the bad

because he loved you

Jun noticed things

about people and of course about you

those moments when you were working on an important piece for class

or when you were just painting in your free time

he noticed the little frown

the sigh of frustration

the dozens of crumpled sketches you had deemed “not good enough”

and ended up as trash

the little furrow of your eyebrows when something wasn’t going the way you wanted them to

or when you had spent hours working on something

only to throw the canvas on the ground because of a mistake and sit and cry

he noticed

and he knew

as someone who had attempted to perfect his own skills

he got equally frustrated with himself over the smallest of mistakes

but seeing you tear yourself apart

the snidest self deprecating comments

it broke his heart

“Why can’t I do anything right?”

“What’s wrong with me?”

the words that fell from your lips about yourself

the words Jun hated hearing the most

and the nights where you would lock yourself in the bathroom because the colors and shapes had started to swim around your head

float off the pages

contort and twist in your nightmares

you didn’t understand

couldn’t get why you couldn’t do anything correctly

and it was Jun on the outside of the locked bathroom door

quietly singing your favorite lullaby

making sure you had something to eat when you stayed up all night in the studio

who held you in his arms when you said you weren’t enough

and told you he loved you over and over again

and that your art was beautiful

that mistakes defined who we were

that mistakes could be beautiful

he knew what it was like to get torn up by yourself in your own thoughts

and so he did his best to tell you that you were worth all the stars

Jun was your stars

he brightened up the darkest nights

made you laugh

maybe that was naturally what those who create think

he couldn’t think he was enough

until he saw that first sketch of him you ever did

and suddenly he felt whole

like this was who he was meant to be

and you had helped him too

Jun led you out one night

“Where are we going?”

“Haha you’ll see.”

the two of you walked along together hand in hand

until you reached the beach

it was cold at night

but the city lights sparkles off the water

and if you squinted

you could sill see the stars

he laid out a blanket for you to sit on before holding you in his arms for warmth

“Are you a camera?”

“Oh my god Jun no stop.”

“Because I smile every time I see you.”

“Please no more cheesy pick up lines”

“Oh come on you love them.”

“No I really don’t .”

“You do too.”

“Pfft no.”

“Fine But you love me right?”

“Oh my gosh.”

“ADMIT IT!”

“Yes I love you of course.”

and he would respond

“I love you.”

he was your angel

and you were all the stars

MASTERLIST

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ladyknightleyisundercover · 6 years ago

Note

Hello! I love the way you write the Weasley dynamic, your family fics really are so lovely, so thank you for writing them! I'll read anything you write but I'd really love it if you were to write something about Arthur and Percy, post-war, like them reconciling? It's such an interesting relationship and I'd love to see your interpretation of it :)

Thank you so much, you’re very kind :) I hope this nonsense meets with your approval! [read on AO3]

“Who’sthat coming now?”

It’s sortof a rhetorical question: everyone they’re expecting for Sunday lunch hasalready arrived, barring Percy and Audrey. And, given that The Burrow hassecurity wards which prevent anyone who isn’t on a pre-approved list crossingthe boundary (courtesy of some family connections to the Auror Department), itcould only really be the two of them.

Well,three, technically. Audrey is carrying baby Molly, who is wrapped up in ahand-knitted blanket (courtesy of her namesake), and beams at them as she walksup the garden path. She looks the picture of maternal bliss, even more so whenshe’s implored to take a seat, no, honestly, right there, and would she like adrink? Something to snack on? Would she like to put her feet up, rest a while?Everyone else will look after her gorgeous daughter for her, it’s fine (clearlythe namesake wins this battle, taking baby Molly from her and immediatelysnuggling her into her arms with a long-practised sigh of contentment).

“I said, who’s that?” George repeats, undeterredby the lack of enthusiasm for his set up. “Is it Percy, or is it a packhorse?”

If hiswife’s load is simply the baby, Percy has: two enormous, overstuffed bags, outof the top of one is flowing several spare babygrows; a carrycot; two towels; achanging mat; a packet of nappies; three stuffed animals; two rattles; whatappears to be some kind of mobile, which he’s slung around his neck like it’s apiece of avant-garde jewellery; another handknitted blanket; a muslin clothover his shoulder, and Audrey’s handbag.

Red facedand sweating, he deposits all of this on the kitchen table. It takes a while,and his brothers watch in grave silence as he does it. When everything is linedup, he nods in satisfaction and turns back to them. “Ah, Harry!” he says,spotting him among the sea of gingers. “Just the man. Did you manage to getthat report to Kingsley on Friday?”

“You’ve…um…you’vegot…” Harry gestures to his own left shoulder, and Percy mirrors him.

“Ah, yes,”he says, the pink flush on his cheeks intensifying. “I was wondering where thatone had got to.” He removes the muslin cloth and sets it down on top of one ofthe overstuffed bags, which immediately topples over, spilling its entirecontents of baby paraphernalia all over the kitchen floor. There’s a cough, whichmight be a laugh, from Charlie, and Percy mutters something which just might bea curse word very quietly.

He flickshis wand at it, and everything flies back inside—neatly folded—and the bagrights itself. “So, Harry,” he says, dusting down his trousers. “That report?Only, the Minister wanted to be able to give a full and frank report to thePeruvian embassy by Tuesday, which will only be possible if—”

“I’msorry, are you planning on moving in?” Ron asks, staring at the pile now coveringthe kitchen table in horrified fascination.

“Of coursenot,” Percy says stiffly. “I just like to be prepared. As I was saying, by Tuesday,and then he wants to arrange a meeting with—”

“For what,the apocalypse?” asks George.

Percytakes a deep breath. “For any eventuality,” he says, teeth clearly gritted.“Now, the report must—”

“Yes, Igot it to him,” Harry says quickly. “Everything’s all sorted, don’t you worry. So…anyonesee the match yesterday? How ’bout them Tornados?!”

Whateveranyone might have thought about the Tornados is lost as one of the bags—the onethat hadn’t fallen on the floor—suddenly starts moving from side to side, withwhat sounds like muffled groaning coming from within. “Uh…guys…” says Charlie,who was closest. “Anyone checked on the Ghoul lately?”

“Bagsie Iget to use the highly trained Auror as a shield!” George says, pushing Ron infront of him.

“Oi, Harry’sone as well, you know!” he says indignantly.

“You’re onyour own there, mate,” says Harry, eying the bag—which is slowly moving itselfto the edge of the table—with some alarm.

“Yes, andbesides, I’m less scared of what Hermione’d do to me if I injured you in theline of duty than what Ginny’d do if I injured him in the line of duty,” explainsGeorge.

“That’s…prettyreasonable,” puts in Charlie, eying the two of them (and looking like he’sgetting ready to dive into the pantry if the bag does start heading in hisdirection).

Percy digsinside the bag, extracts what is apparently some musical, moving toy (“Who didthey get to do the singing, Auntie Muriel?” asks George) and switches it off. Hisbrothers silently watch as he stuffs it back inside the bag (along with threeextra babygrows and two books on raising a newborn which had to come out tomake room for it).

That done,he dusts off his hands, and turns back to Harry. “So. The Peruvian delegation. The Minister and I have discussedthis, and we agree that—”

“That’sit,” Bill says, finally getting to his feet. “We’re staging an intervention.”

“Excellentidea,” says Ron, and he and Charlie grab one of Percy’s arms each and push himinto the chair Bill has just vacated.

“Percy,old chap,” says Bill. “Look.” Hegestures to the small mountain of stuff Percy has placed on the table. “Really look at all of this.”

“Yes,”Percy says, with as much dignity as a man can muster when two of his brothersare pinning him down in a chair. “I see. There are one or two things there. However,as a father yourself, I’m sure you of all people understand that it isnecessary to always be prepared for any eventuality, especially when—”

“Get himup, lads,” Bill says, then gestures for Ron and Charlie to frogmarch him overto the window. “Look.”

Out in thegarden, the Weasley women are still sitting with Audrey and baby Molly. “Lookat my wife,” Bill continues. He has his back to George, but still manages tosense that he has opened his mouth at this. “Don’t. Now, on her lap you will see a child. Our child.” Fleurdoes, it is true, have a firm grip on Victoire, who is absolutely fascinated bythe new toy that is her baby cousin. “You will note that, by her feet, there isa bag.” This, too, is true. “A bag that is at least half the size of that onethere.”

“A third,I’d say,” Ron puts in.

“In thatbag,” Bill says, “there is one spare of everything our daughter wearing.”

“And Mr Flamey,”adds Charlie.

“Who?”asks George.

“Dragon,”says Charlie. “She was showing me, before you got here.”

“Ah.”

“And MrFlamey the stuffed dragon,” Bill allows. “Now, that is more than I would’vecarried around in my young, unwed days, to be sure. It is not, however, halfthe contents of our house. We have a toddler: she is capable of running veryfast when she wants to, usually into enormous messes. Molly, delightful as she is,cannot even sit up on her own accord. We are all here for Sunday lunch. Atmost, we will be here for four hours. Why is it, therefore, that you need tobring so much stuff that you could feasibly survive for six months on the moonwith no other human contact?”

Percy glares.“Each item has a specific purpose!”

“And theyare?”

“Would youlike me to go alphabetically, or strategically?”

They’reinterrupted, then, by the arrival of Arthur.

“Ah, helloboys,” he says, surveying the scene. “What’s going on here, then?” His cheerfultone is unchanging, but his sons start shifting around awkwardly anyway.

“We’restaging an intervention,” says George as Ron and Charlie quickly drop Percy’s arms.

“Anintervention! Excellent. Into what?” their father asks, smiling politely.

“This!”say at least four voices, gesturing at the kitchen table.

“Oh, Isee,” he says, affecting to have only just seen the enormous pile. “What isthis all for then?”

Percyturns puce. Harry makes himself recite the Aurors Code of Practise, backwards,to keep his face poker straight, but Percy’s brothers are not that kind, andlaughter rings out through the kitchen.

“Seriously, Perce,” says George. “Havesome faith in yourself. At most, you’d only get through three babygrows in anhour, and that’s if we have a repeat of The Incident.”

“What’sThe Incident?”

“The onewhere I was babysitting Vic when she was six months old, and I had to changeher, only there wasn’t any spare clothes I could find, so I had to wrap her in myshirt, but then—”

“I really don’tthink we need to hear this story again, especially when we’re going to beeating in about half an hour.”

“How come I haven’t heard this story?! I’m herfather!”

“Okay, butdid Audrey ask you to bring all of this?”

“No,really, what’s The Incident? I think I have a right to know”

“…becausewhen she came to Victoire’s birthday party a couple of weeks ago, I saw her—shehad a bag smaller than the one Fleur’s got now, and I don’t think—”

“TheIncident, guys!”

“Fatherhood,”Percy shouts, “is a very important job and I am going to do it right! And if that means beingoverprepared, then it means being overprepared! If I say we need all of this,we need all of this! And you can all…be quiet!”

Everyoneis immediately quiet. This allows for Audrey’s voice to drift through thewindow, talking about how happy and lucky she feels that, so far, everythinghas been so straightforward, and that Molly is such a good, easy baby.

Arthur looksat the dark circles under his son’s eyes. He sees his jumper, with itssuspicious stain on the left side. He recalls how, at work, Percy’s once plain,totally unadorned office now has photos of baby Molly on every possible surface.And he takes in the mountain of stuffthat is currently all over his kitchen table.

“Boys,” hesays, “go out there and ask your mother if she needs anything done for dinner. Ithink we must be nearly ready to think about serving up.” His tone is cheerfuland upbeat still, but there is a firmness to it which makes everyone obey, andthey shuffle out of the kitchen.

“Not you, Percy,” he adds quietly. “Come on,”he says, once they’re gone. He picks up two of the bags and tries not to winceat their weight. “Pick this lot up and follow me.” Even with his father’s help,Percy’s still staggering under all the items, but he dutifully follows hisfather round the side of the garden to his shed.

“Come on,”Arthur says, seeing Percy hesitate. He pushes open the door and gestures to himto follow him inside.

The shedhas always been Dad’s space, all of the Weasley children knew that almost frombirth. You did not go inside without express permission—and once you were inside,no matter how tempted you were, you did not touch anything. As far back as any of them could remember, every singleshelf was covered with incredibly tempting stuff—mostlymuggle items, a few of them useful, many of them not. From his prized possession(a working car battery) to the tiniest trinkets, everything had its place.

And it wasn’tjust Dad’s junk, either—genuinely useful things (the toilet plunger, forty-sixdifferent screwdrivers, instruction manuals for devices long broken, theChristmas decorations) were kept in there, but woe betide anyone who went ineven in the most genuine emergency to get something without permission. Theshed was overstuffed (magic, Percy allowed, probably helped here) and everysurface was always covered with something, but Dad could always lay his hands onthe most esoteric items in a heartbeat.

Today isno different, except for the fact that one shelf, on the far wall, iscompletely empty. In this always packed room, it stands out like a sore thumb. “Nowthen,” says Dad, “I’ve cleared a space.” He nods towards the empty shelf as thoughit’s perfectly normal, and not the first time in Percy’s life he’s seen the barewood.

“What for?”

“I assumeyou have doubles of everything at home?” Dad asks, gesturing towards Percy’s manybags.

He nods.

“Excellent,”Dad says, smiling. “So, what I suggest is that you leave everything here. Thatway, whenever you come here, you don’t have to worry about packing everythingup, you can just bring the baby and go. You don’t need to worry about bringing thekitchen sink, eh? All your bits and bobs already here, and a load of your mind,yes?”

“But…”

“Come on,look, I’ve cleared you a shelf! Let’s see, if we put that carrycot at the farend, then we can stack some of the smaller items inside of it. How does thatsound?”

“Thatsounds…good,” Percy says. He gives his father a tentative smile. “And…andmaybe just three changes of outfit will be enough to keep here. I’ll take therest back with me.”

“Bettermake it four, just to be on the safe side,” Dad says cheerfully.

They setto, getting everything stacked up on the shelf and leaving a small pile over bythe door for Percy to take back home with him. It’s the work of mere moments,and everything is neatly placed almost before he realises. The shelf is fullagain, only this time with baby things, and not hardware.

“Excellent,”Dad says, slapping him on the back. “All done. Now, d’you reckon we can go andchivvy the others into producing some food? I’m quite hungry after all that.”

“Okaythen,” Percy says. “Wait…Dad…the shelf…how did…?”

“Oh, Icleared it off when I say you coming,” says Dad. “I thought you might need aspace for little Molly’s stuff, so I got it ready for you. What was it yousaid? Being a good father is about being prepared, right?”

“Dad…”Percy says, sounding a little choked up. “You don’t need to take lessons from anyone on being a good father, least ofall me.”

“Who saidanything about any lessons?” Dad says mildly. “It’s just being practical. Andprepared.”

“Two keyDad skills,” Percy acknowledges.

“Well,yes,” says Arthur. “And ones you have in spades! Isn’t little Molly lucky?”

Percygrins. “She is,” he says. He steers his Dad towards the door. “Me, too.”

#hpfic #weasley family #weasleys galore #my writing #idk how to tag this #idk if its any good either but i wanted to distract myself this afternoon and i had this lovely prompt from ages back so thank you thank you #and this seemed appropriate given that it's father's day #and i challenge anyone to come up with a greater fictional dad than arthur weasley

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fletchermarple · 7 years ago

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Quick Review of the True Crime Books I read in 2017 (Part 2)

Part 1 of 2017

Review of books in 2016 Part 1 and Part 2

Review of books in 2015

The Michigan Murders by Edward Keyes: Before Ted Bundy, there was John Norman Collins. He was also a handsome, charming, smart university student that looked nothing like a stereotypical killer, but in fact was raping and murdering women from ages 13 to 21 at an alarming rate between 1967 and 1969 in Michigan. This book was originally published in 1976, and it’s a very serious and professional exposition of the case, written under journalistic standards but not so much literary ones. By that I mean that it sticks mostly to facts and remains objective instead of adding some narrative touches to make the story more appealing. Don’t get me wrong, the case is interesting enough in itself and if like me you didn’t know much about Collins (who now goes by the surname Chapman), this is a very informative read. The problem with this book is one that many true crime novels have: since there’s not a main character we can focus on, and instead we get just “this victim disappeared, then this victim disappeared” with no remarkable investigator to take the reigns of the story, it kind of drags a lot in the first part. It gets better once Collins is introduced, and let me tell you, he’s so chilling and the way they got him is so curious it definitely makes worth the read in the end. I should also add that Keyes changes pretty much every single name in the case, including the killer’s, which might have been common practice back then, but seems ridiculous now when everything is public information and it’s something that I particularly hate in non fiction stories.

Silent Witness by Don Weber and Charles Bosworth Jr.: This book is about the murder of Karla Brown, which I wrote about here, and the hunt for the killer. Although the book is co-signed by Don Weber, he’s presented in a third person style within the narration. He was the prosecutor in the case, and he comes across as a guy who takes his job very seriously and was willing to take risks with new technologies and techniques so he could get justice for the victim. The case itself is very twisty and interesting, since it took investigators four years to point to the right suspect, so the story is very riveting, especially if you, like me, enjoy the investigation and judicial part of true crime. Just keep in mind that the book was written by someone who is certain of the killer’s identity and there’s no room left to doubt his guilt, as opposed to the reality, where there are some people that have tried (unsuccessfully) to find proof of his innocence.

The Man from the Train by Bill James and Rachel McCarthy James: I really enjoyed Bill James’ book Popular Crime and I got this one as soon as it came out. James is not really a true crime writer, his main area of expertise is baseball, but just like us he’s very enthusiastic about true crime and has spent a lot of time researching, reading and formulating theories about it. In this book, he tackles a series of unsolved murders that happened in the first decade of the 20th Century in the US, when several families were hacked to death with an axe for no apparent reason. James and his daughter do a very thorough research into old archives to try to determine which murders are linked and were likely committed by the same person, who in their theory is also the guy behind the infamous Villisca Axe Murders. The book is really a very well done exercise in speculation, amateur profiling and connecting the dots, because there’s no way we can really know if what James is saying is true or not, and he knows it and acknowledges it several times through the extensive book. I’m not sure The Man from the Train is for everyone, I’d recommend it mostly to people who really enjoy unsolved mysteries and old American history, because there’s a lot of interesting analysis of those times. James is very entertaining in his writing and speaks directly to the reader while adding some humor and worthy anecdotes here and there. ( @congenitaldisease I know someone recommended this book to you, I think you’d enjoy it as well).

My Story by Elizabeth Smart: It pains me to say this, because I’ve met Elizabeth Smart and she’s an amazing and inspiring person, but of all the true crime books I read this year, this is probably the worst. I find it hard to believe that she worked with an actual writer, because the book reads like the journal of a 12 year old in both narration and content. The story is, of course, terrible and haunting, and Elizabeth tells us in detail about being kidnapped from her bedroom when she was 14 by the seriously disgusting Brian David Mitchell and his mentally disturbed wife Wanda Barzee. She also talks a lot about her determination to survive through the horrible ordeal and her faith... She’s pretty heavy on the faith side, at points the book can read like a Sunday sermon so if you’re one of those people who frown at religion, this is definitely not the novel for you. Like I said earlier, the book is written in a very childish way, which would be ok if Elizabeth had written it right after her kidnapping but this was done when she was already an adult and a decade had passed. There’s no deep insights or much new information and on paper Elizabeth does not communicate as well as in person. Her experience is worth to know, but objectively, as a piece of literature, this book is bad. I would suggest watching any of her interviews instead of picking up this (and definitely don’t get the audiobook because she’s not a good reader).

Waiting to be Heard by Amanda Knox: Now this is the complete opposite to Elizabeth Smart’s memoir. It’s a well written book that gives a very clear and thorough account of the ordeal Amanda Knox went through when she was accused and wrongly convicted of murdering her roommate Meredith Kercher in Italy. Amanda is very candid and represents herself very well, with a lot of material from the trial and details of her life behind bars. You can tell by this book that Amanda was a very naive, inexperienced girl who lacked self awareness. Even when writing this book she doesn’t seem to understand why her behavior was inappropriate and bothered the italian authorities, and while she doesn’t give a satisfactory explanation of why she involved Patrick Lumumba, there’s no doubt in my mind that she’s innocent of the murder and was horribly railroaded by unethical investigators, prosecutors and journalists, who built a case on nothing but a twisted fantasy. I imagine if you somehow believe she’s guilty (and I really would like to hear a good argument for that) this book would be extremely annoying to read, but otherwise you should add it to your list and expect to get your blood boil over the injustice. It’s scary to think that under the right circumstances anyone could experience what Amanda did.

Never See them Again by M. William Phelps: A gripping account of the Clear Lake Murders, a massacre in 2003 in which four young people were gunned down in a house in Texas in the middle of the day by then 17 year old Christine Paolilla, a close friend of two of the victims, and her boyfriend. Phelps, an experienced writer that used to host the show Dark Minds, does it right and finds memorable characters to narrate his story through, including the victims (especially Rachel Koloroutis, whose family was clearly one of Phelps main sources), the main investigator and Christine herself. Christine’s life is well researched but even after you’ve read so much about her, she remains an intriguing figure. It’s clear that her self portrayal of a victim that got forced to commit the crime is a fake and she’s a master liar and manipulator, but it’s hard to know for sure what drove her to kill the two girls that had made efforts to improve her life. Like Edward Keyes in The Michigan Murders, Phelps also uses some fake names but only in witnesses and he lets you know when it’s a pseudonym, which I appreciated.

Law and Disorder by John Douglas and Mark Olshaker: Any book by John Douglas is worth the read, because not only he talks in depth about very interesting cases, but his perspective, whether you agree with it or not, is always well informed and fascinating. He makes an excellent writing team with Olshaker, who lets Douglas’ voice come through in a way that lets you know what kind of person he is through the pages. This book, the most recent he wrote, published in 2013, is no exception. Here he tackles famous cases of miscarriage of justice, from the Salem witch trials to Amanda Knox. It’s not always about wrongfully convicted people, he also talks about how some clearly guilty convicts abuse the justice system. Douglas talks about his views on the death penalty, which he’s in favor of although not a passionate advocate: he just believes that if the sentence exists, and is decided after a fair trial, the family of the victim has a right to see it through. His main point throughout the book is that a theory should never be above the evidence, meaning some investigators get so obsessed with trying to prove someone is guilty that they ignore the actual evidence and use only what fits their idea of how a crime was committed. He gives several examples, but I found the chapters on the JonBenet Ramsey and West Memphis 3 the most illuminating. Really, when analyzed by Douglas, an agent whose experience in crime is not to be dismissed, it sounds ridiculous to think the Ramseys killed JonBenet or that the WM3 are guilty. Even if you think they are, I would ask you to please read this so you can have a wider perspective. (I also got some mild pleasure at all the shade Douglas throws to investigator Steve Thomas, whose book on the JonBenet Ramsey case I reviewed here). However, I will say that if you’ve never read a Douglas book, this is not the one to start with. You should at least read Mindhunter first.

#true crime #tcoriginal #true crime book #book review #review #john douglas #amanda knox #elizabeth smart #christine paolilla #michigan murders

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ghost-chance · 7 years ago

Text

Story Excerpt : A New Lease on Life: The Clash of the Blonde and the Beefcake

This little gem is taken from my story “A New Lease on Life;” it centers around Mercy’s first terrifying glimpse at Raphael’s temper and shows the progress she’s made since awakening in her new life. It’s got some rough spots, mostly on account of Kimber’s thick accent and Amber’s fury-induced speech lapses. (For new readers, Amber’s mother’s family came to America from Scotland in the ‘50s, Amber was raised in a household with predominantly brogue-tongued relatives, and over time, she squelched her accent and adopted the twang of her neighbors’ region in hopes of fitting in. When she gets upset enough, she tends to slip back into the brogue she trained herself out of.)

I honestly consider the scene with Mercy and Donnie in the park to be among the best non-romantic scenes I’ve written. The concept art below, “We Have Faith in You,” isn’t the best I’ve put together but it adequately illustrates that scene. You can find both the artwork and explanation of said artwork’s creation in my DeviantArt gallery. You can find the ongoing story and (its related stories) at both links below:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/10489776/chapters/23140020

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/11975613/1/A-New-Lease-on-Life

This came from two separate chapters of ANLoL: “34: Lust, Love, and Loss,” and “35: Collisions, Confessions, Conclusions.” It is rated low-M for coarse language, a brief scene involving situations of a sexual nature, and for some controversial topics including (but not limited to) addiction, and past-tense child abuse, and mental illness. It’s also rated WTF?! for Amber’s Scotch-slang tirade. Definitions/Translations for rough dialogue provided at the end, along with notes.

Suggested Listening: My Chemical Romance "The Ghost of You," Skillet "Monster," Adam Lambert "Better Than I Know Myself," Sixx:A.M. "Are You with Me?"

A New Lease on Life:

The Clash of the Blonde and the Beefcake

July 9th, Saturday, the Dojo

Denim blue eyes shot insults at Raphael across the training mat; scruffy blonde hair stuck to sweat-gleaming skin. All in all, Mercy was tempting him more than ever, and all she was doing was glaring at him.

Almost two months ago, Raph started Mercy on a strict strength training schedule. Before Mercy woke in the body she now reluctantly calls her own, Donna Mays allowed it to go to ruin—she wasted away from drink, malnutrition, and apathy, and eventually passed away in her sleep. If she'd had any idea her body wouldn't simply stay dead, perhaps she would have taken better care of it…but then wouldn't we all?

As the two month anniversary loomed, Raphael felt confident that his pupil was ready to move on to the next step…well, technically combat shouldn't be the next step, but who ever said he was a good sensei? He had no illusions regarding his skill in teaching—or lack thereof—and frankly, he had ulterior motives. Those motives, fortunately, had yet to become clear to the blonde charging across the mat at him, head down and arms braced.

"Bum-rushin' only works in da movies," he reminded Mercy with a sneer, easily deflecting her attack.

"Bite me, Meathead!" Mercy spat as she lunged back up again for another attack.

"Mark da spot, Blondie!" Clearly toying with her, he let her get in a hit—only one, a rather weak blow to his plastron—then let out a bark of laughter when she swore and shook the sting out of her knuckles.

"What spot?" she snapped back throwing herself right back into her assault, "Try the darkest part'a my skinny white ass!"

"I ain't bitin' yer eyes, Kid."

The insinuation infuriated her as expected, and she completely lost her cool. Outside the door of the dojo, Master Splinter winced at their language, but his whiskers twitched in amusement regardless. It seemed, he considered silently pacing toward the kitchen, his son had quite a bit in common with the abrasive blonde; neither would ever beg for her namesake, and neither had any of their own.

Sweat-slicked skin gleams under the bright lights of the dojo; sun-blonde hair, perpetually mussed, brushes teasingly along Raphael's skin. He'll never be able to set foot in here again without finding himself recalling this moment—the sight, sound, scent, and sense of Mercy bodily pinning him to the mat and working her way toward his feet.

The fluid uncertainty of the situation makes the prostrate ninja wonder—could this be a dream? Surely he wasn't beaten by the mouthy blonde, surely he didn't let her win just to reap the—or did he? In this strangely ominous moment, he finds himself unable to swear for or against that suspicion.

Lips sneer against his suddenly bare skin; work roughened hands work their way under the lip of his plastron and pull his swelling length free of its confines. "Merse," he protests feebly as she leers up at him, teasing him with her hot breath. "Ya don't have'ta—I ain't gonna—"

His promise falls away in a loud, rattling groan as foreign sensations sweep him under. Hot—wet—soft skin and blunt teeth—unable to resist her, now more than ever before, he props himself up on one elbow. Watching his little minx in fascination and awe, he slips his fingers through her perpetually messy hair. Sleek blonde locks shine vibrantly against his skin—gold against green—as he cups the back of her head with a tenderness he would never believe himself capable of. Everything this woman does makes him want her more—everything she is draws him closer by the day. If she has her way, he's sure, she'll have his heart in her hands and his nads in her pocket. She lets him slip free, trailing lips and teeth along every bit of bare skin she can reach.

"I ain't gotta," the blue-eyed temptress acknowledges as her hands roam. One winds up splayed across his massive right thigh, a half-assed attempt at pinning him down. The other dives between his legs and latches mercilessly onto his tail, her fingers wrapping around it and pulling in a suggestive mimicry of the torture his other length is enduring. Swept away by her deceptively soft touch, he slumps back against the mat with a deep, throaty churr, his eyes falling closed with a shudder and his palm trailing down to her cheek. "Gonna anyway, ya lunk-head. I love ya, ya maw'ron."

Something isn't right; he lurches upward again, his wide eyes registering the change. Right before his eyes, short blonde hair lengthens and darkens to punch red. Denim blue eyes pale to mossy grey-green. Unpainted lips, curled in a perpetual smirk, have darkened and softened, and the sarcastic soprano voice has become a husky purr tainted with the smog of New Jersey.

No…He shakes his head, blinking in disbelief as if the sight before him would vanish in smoke. Kimber gently releases him and creeps back up to straddle his midsection. "I love ya, ya muck-brained maw'ron," she swears with none of Mercy's taunting or sarcasm. Her manicured nails trail along his clenching jaw as though searching for a chink in his armor. "I always have—I always will…yer more'n a rival ta me, Raphie."

"Kimbuh," Raph winces, averting his eyes from the naked redhead in his lap, his cheeks almost matching her hair. "I'm sorry…I can't, Kim…yer…yer dead…" His lungs ache from the razor-sharp air filling them; his eyes screwed shut and stinging, he finds himself pulling her tightly to his chest as though she'll be torn from his arms. "Yer dead, an' it's my fault—ya din't deserve dis!"

"You don't di'zerve it eit'a," she reminds him gently, seemingly unaware that her skin has been steadily growing cold. Golden eyes finally peel open, and the sight of her—inhumanly pale and fading from view—makes him wish he'd kept them closed. "It ain't yer fault, Red…sometimes t'ese t'ings jus' happen, ya know? I don't blame ya fa t'is." A feather-light touch brushes along his trembling jaw—fingertips or painted lips?—and he struggles to hold onto the minx fading away before his eyes. "I'm dead, Raphie, but you ain't—stawp blamin' ya'self an' staht livin' a'ready!"

"Kimbuh, no!" He denied—he argued—he shook her by the shoulders, willing her to not do this, not to leave him again. No matter how hard he tried, though, all was in vain…like a dream fading in the light of dawn, Kimber Bryant faded away right before, him, her tender smile never leaving her cold blue lips.

"Live, Rah-fay-el…I'll see ya on t'a udd'a side."

Like so many nights before, Raphael woke with a strangled shout, lurching up in bed and grasping for someone completely out of his reach. His lungs heaving, his eyes burning, he stared into the darkness of his bedroom, the dream playing nonstop through his mind. He once swore he didn't love Kimber—that he never loved her—but with every passing day since her death, he found himself wondering more and more if he was completely delusional. Was he fighting guilt over being unwilling to listen and unwilling to help her? Was he grieving the loss of his best friend? Or worse, was he heartbroken over losing someone he—someone he loved?

He could have helped her…the others didn't know, and he'd rather keep it that way. When the truth came out, that Kimber was dead and Amber somehow stepped into her vacant body, it nearly broke him…he knew what had triggered the alarms the night Kimber died…he heard her voice on the security feed, begging for shelter and a chance to prove herself…He ignored it. Kimber died. Now, he could no more admit that horrible choice to his family than bring her back to life.

"Hey!" A sudden voice at the door tore him from his self-loathing; golden hazel eyes shot to the blonde hovering in the open doorway torn between concern and worry. "You okay, Raph? You—You were screamin'…" For a single blinding moment, he found himself reliving the dream—found himself seeing Kimber instead of Mercy—and his blood boiled.

"GIT OUT!" he bellowed hurling the closest object—his alarm clock—at the apparition. With a terrified yelp, Mercy dove for safety; the door slammed behind her, the abused appliance shattering against it. Her skin crawling and her heart racing, she found herself back in another time—another place—and facing down another tormentor she should have been able to trust. She bolted for the door, her sneakers pounding the pavement and her cheeks streaming.

In her wake, a horrified brunette stood in the open doorway of Donatello's room. Amber saw everything…it wasn't the first time she witnessed it, either, though Raphael was never the cause before. As loud crashes and oaths echoed from his room—many of them bearing the name of her obnoxious counterpart—Amber turned to meet Donnie's gaze. The answer was clear to them, but Mercy was too blinded by fear to realize the reason behind Raph's outburst. Without a word passing between them, Amber yanked on her shoes, grabbed a flashlight and her phone, and took off into the tunnels to follow her friend as Donatello rushed to the lab to track the fleeing blonde.

Mercy's previous life was a nightmare that never ended and Amber was often the only one fully in her corner. Even then, the blonde never let her down…no way in hell was Amber going to leave her to fight her demons alone.

Get out.

It was such a simple phrase, the sort few ever expected to cause more than hurt feelings and wounded pride. Still, it was those very words that would be traced back as the catalyst for a very long, stressful night.

"What?!" Donatello prattled into his headset, double-checking and triple-checking the coordinates of the blinking tracking beacon on the monitor. "She's not there? –you're sure? But—But my tracker puts her right in the northeast corner of the Railyard, not three meters from the loading bay—this thing's got a 99.99991% accuracy rate, I'd wager my staff on its accuracy!"

The voice on the other end of the phone connection—Amber—suddenly broke down in tears, and Donnie's face fell. There was a reason both women were all-but confined to the Lair without supervision, but they'd never expected anyone to find out about the Railyard… If Mercy was found there, by any of the Purple Dragons, she would be gravely injured…or worse... He swallowed hard around the knot forming in his throat and steeled himself for what he had to do. "I'm coming, Honey, don't—Wait, what?"

Just like that, his expression was back to irritated. "You found the chip, but not her? What'd she do, gouge it out with her nails?!" Her answer left him feeling like such an imbecile he slapped his forehead, accidentally knocking into the microphone of his headset and triggering some horrendous feedback and a pained shriek on the other end of the line. "A box cutter," he deadpanned his eyes clenched shut in annoyance. "Yep. That'd do it. Come on back, Hon—she's not there."

A familiar presence in the open doorway of the lab drew his attention. When he realized who it was, he scowled at his muscle-bound twin. "What were you doing?" he demanded as Raphael approached the screens making up Donnie's workstation. "You know about her mother, you know what that sort of abuse can do to a person, and you know you scared the living daylights out of her! Now the poor woman's hiding and maybe even hurt! WHAT were you THINKING?!"

Raphael stared at the blinking icon slowly making its way back to the Lair; Amber clearly picked up the discarded chip. Only a week before, he and Mercy spent hours tearing rails out of the last railbed in the yard, then wound up necking against the pile of salvaged steel rails. Donnie opened his mouth again, presumably to demand answers—again—but he fell silent when Raph answered him, his voice hoarse from shouting. "I wasn't," he admitted unable to meet his brother's eyes. "I wasn't thinkin' at all…"

"I'll say," a voice snapped from the doorway. Both ninjas whipped about to face the force of nature storming toward them. Donatello didn't even recognize Amber. He knew her like no other—knew how her cheeks flushed from nerves, how her eyes lit up with laughter and shone with tears, how her pulse raced in fear, even how her lips parted in needy gasps and whimpers—but this was a side of her he never even considered. This Amber was unlike anything he would ever have imagined. Fury twisted her lips into a snarl, threats flashed in her mossy eyes, rage flushed her cheeks and clenched her jaw.

He couldn't believe what he was seeing. Studying her in silent disbelief, he struggled to wrap his head around this unexpected rage. Amber had gotten angry at him before—they spent months feuding, and she even slapped him once!—but now he found himself wondering if she was ever, truly, as angry at him as he thought she was. Of course, he reminded himself grimly as his brother and girlfriend stared each other down, he never hurt Mercy…and Mercy was the closest thing to a sister Amber had. Even if the blonde somehow escaped harm, returned safely, and forgave Raphael for his careless actions, Donatello couldn't help wondering if Amber would be so quick to forgive.

Amidst the standoff in the lab, a strange sound manifested amidst the white noise—the slow, rhythmic ticking of a legion of clocks. Unseen, unheard, unnoticed, they counted down the moments 'til disaster.

"Blundie?" The awkwardly pronounced nickname made Mercy cringe, but she didn't say a word. Shaking and breathing hard, she buried her face in her drawn up knees, wishing she could just fall right through the crust of the earth. A hesitant hand settled on Mercy's flannel-clad shoulder triggering an involuntary flinch; Amber gently knelt beside her in the shady grass, saying nothing.

"D-Don' touch me," Mercy croaked—trying, as always, to be brave, to push everyone and everything away before they could hurt her. Despite her words, she found herself buried face-first in Amber's shoulder, her throat aching and her lungs heaving in ragged, heart-wrenching sobs. The older teen shushed her softly, rubbing nonsensical patterns into her back. As Mercy's weeping slowed and her shoulders steadied, her friend hummed familiar tunes under her breath, both to soothe and to distract.

When she was finally able to inhale without choking and exhale without nausea, Mercy settled back against the rickety wooden fence behind them. Involuntarily, Amber sucked in a sudden, harsh breath at the angry red welt across Mercy's right cheek, the red even more vibrant when framed by bloodshot eyes and salt-stained skin. The friends didn't need to say anything—it had already been said before, countless times—and simply recovered in the overgrown corner of the O'Brien's back yard.

"Merse, I'm leavin' for college this fall." Amber's voice, when she finally broke the silence, was weary. "I' been accepted at th' University of Glenville…i's three towns over…" She paused, seeming to gather her nerve. "Come with me…we can be roommates, you can get away from…from her…" Mercy didn't know what to say; what could she possibly say to that? She'd never lived anywhere but her mother's home, never had any work but helping with the ranch—she didn't know a thing about being self-sufficient! Clearly recognizing the direction the blonde's thoughts were turning, Amber squeezed her thin shoulder, her eyes reassuring and confident. "Y'ain't gotta do this alone, Hon…an' I won't be able to go if I don't know yer safe."

Near the end of August, after the shouting and travel were over, two close friends moved into a small apartmnent off campus. One left behind everything she knew, the other, everything she feared most. For four blissful years, Mercy finally felt free, strong, and stable; at the end of those four years, she burned out, dropped out, and returned to her family like the battered woman she was, honestly believing things would be better.

Mercy turned the small plastic coin in her fingertips, staring through it and into another lifetime. Dim lamplight gleamed off of the chip's metallic purple surface as intermittent flashes and ripples of light danced along the beaded chain dangling from it. Four months had passed since she began attending meetings – over four months of treatment for Donna's addiction – and seven months had passed since she first found herself struggling with the very vice she couldn't stand. Now, half a year after she woke up in this nightmare, she found herself back in that remote corner of Central Park, contemplating the sobriety coin with disinterest.

This wasn't where it all started, per se; that place was an empty back road in Willsdale, Missouri and a twisted hunk of metal that was once her stepfather's battered pickup truck. Even if one were to ignore that beginning, maybe in favor of where her new life began, it wasn't the place where Donatello and Amber discovered her. No, her new life began under a dark, crumbling overpass, surrounded by objects and people thrown away by the city celebrating another new year. Those first months were hell; the days bled together in a constant stream of cold, hunger, weariness, and withdrawal, the only interruptions occurring in the form of shared booze that quickly came right back up.

Four months…such an insignificant number when one considered the number of years her mother spent denying she had a problem. Mercy felt more than heard Donatello's approach but didn't look up, instead staring through the foiled sobriety chip slowly turning in her fingers. Without a word he dropped to the cool turf and sat back to back with her, offering his carapace for a backrest. "You're doing well," he said simply. "Four months is an astounding accomplishment…we're all proud of you."

"I hate alcohol," she admitted softly, her fingers clenching desperately around the chip. "I hate it…but…my body…my body loves it." The confession physically hurt. She forcefully pried her clenched fist loose again and set to turning the coin again—this time, the disc bounced from one long, slender finger to the next, bouncing across her knuckles. As suddenly as the pattern began, it halted, the chip falling off only to be snatched up by the chain. "Could…" She visibly struggled with the words, torn between admitting their existence and refusing to accept their truth. "Was it like this…for…for Ma?" Donnie stilled, eyes wide at her question, but didn't acknowledge them; he halfway suspected she didn't even realize she spoke them.

"Addiction isn't easily beaten," he reminded without censure. "Even if your heart and soul detest alcohol, your body is still addicted—you'll still have to fight as hard as others without that benefit. I wish it were as simple as realizing you're addicted and deciding to conquer that addiction, but you know what they say about wishes."

"If they were fishes, the world would feast," Mercy grumbled bitterly. "I hate fish." Her sulking tone reminded him of a pouting grade schooler being forced to eat peas. "My mother's an alcoholic, Donnie," she admitted, revealing that she was very much aware of her words before. "I can't stand that woman—I should'a been able to trust'er, to rely on'er, but—but even now, a lifetime later…" A shudder ran through her and she slumped back against his carapace, too weary to stay upright any longer. "I ne'er feared a man alive, ne'er feared a damn thing on this earth or my own…nothin' but my own Ma. It's—It's messed up!"

Donnie said nothing. She seemed to be figuring things out well enough on her own. After all, that was one way she and Amber were different—Amber would clam up, freeze up, and have to be picked apart before she could even acknowledge the obvious. Mercy wasn't prone to hiding her feeling, other than from Amber, and she didn't hold her tongue. With enough time, she could get it all worked out just from talking it out.

"I don't know any specifics, Mercy," he said when it became clear she was getting lost in her thoughts and needed a nudge. "Amber told me very little—that your mother was physically and emotionally abusive, that you endured that mistreatment your entire life, especially during your formative years, and that it left you with some serious scars." His eyes drawn to the heavens, searching for stars in between the clouds, he sighed. "I don't know any more than that, and honestly, I don't need to know anything you don't want to tell me. My family and I, we know you now, we accept you as you are, and you don't need to justify anything to any of us."

Silence hung heavy over them, stretching far too long for comfort. When it was finally broken, it was by a statement barely above a whisper. "I don't deserve you guys."

"No," Donnie contradicted firmly scooting aside to face her, "you didn't deserve your mother's mistreatment. Nothing excuses her actions—no matter what her problems were, there's no excuse for abusing someone who relies on you, much less your own child." Denim blue eyes darted back and forth across the wilting grass as though scanning a multitude of memories and thoughts; Mercy silently considered her options and the puzzle pieces give to her, turning each every which way and contemplating their purpose. Slowly, the picture was becoming clearer…and the ever-present weight on her chest lightened, if only slightly.

"She had no excuses," she agreed, finally meeting his eyes. "She chose her poison, chose her path, and refused to admit she needed help…as hard as it's been fighting Donna's addiction, though, I know it must have been even harder for her." The deep furrow between her eyebrows softened just the slightest bit and she turned toward the sliver of moon just over the horizon, spearing her fingers through her hair. "How…how can I hate her now, seeing so clearly what she went through?" The question was a strange combination of bewildered and sullen and it brought a faint smile to his face. "Maybe…maybe I wasn't the only victim in that situation after all…"

"Your mother may never beat her addiction, Mercy," He glanced pointedly to the small plastic chip still clenched in her fingers. "but you will beat yours…we have faith in you." Finally, the Mercy he'd grown to know reappeared with a lopsided smirk.

"Love ya too, Brainiac," she teased socking him in the arm—and promptly wincing at her stinging knuckles. "Enough'a the mush a'ready—yer gonna make me hork."

"A little mush never hurt anyone," he pointed out mussing her already messy hair with a grin. The grin fell away, though, when he recalled why she was out in the park in the first place. "About Raph—"

"Save it, I a'ready know," she cut him off.

"You…know?" he echoed dubiously. He was all ready to make excuses for his brother—had a whole 'intro to Raph's issues' speech mentally lined out—never even considering that those excuses might not be needed.

"Yeah," the blonde repeated with a slightly impatient expression, "I know. Amber told me 'bout his deal ages ago—b'fore we even met y'all, long story, don't ask. Honestly, with a temper like his, I'm surprised he's managed to hold it around me this long…I can be pretty bitchy, ya know."

"Perish the thought."

"Bite me, Assmunch. The point remains; I get it, I expected it, I jus' got surprised an' backslid. It happens, ya know…" She turned to glare off into the distance. "I'm sick'a bein' a scared little kid, Donnie—Raph an' I' got somethin' good, an' a lil' turtle tantrum ain't gonna screw that up." Raphael, the genius decided solemnly, was an incredibly lucky man…and he'd better not screw up again.

Mercy hoisted herself to her feet, swept the grass clippings from her behind, and started back toward the manhole cover she crept out of. Quickly following and falling in step with her, Donnie found himself glancing furtively over at the silent woman beside him. For quite some time, he'd suspected something but had no confirmation; now, after their long, enlightening conversation, that suspicion was even stronger. Still, how could he ask her? How could he honestly just ask for answers that would likely only humiliate her? "Spit it out a'ready."

"R-Right," he stammered, his cheeks darkening in embarrassment. "I've wondered for some time now…you don't have to answer, but I still feel the need to ask…" He stared blankly ahead, his other senses tuned to the woman walking beside him. "After your first trip to the clinic, the doctor put you on Carbatrol—for seizure prevention. You had no problem with any of the other medications, but that one provoked a strong negative response. That suggests you once took it for different reasons—reasons that embarrassed you."

"You're asking why I took it?" she summed up seriously, her eyes meeting his askance. "Amber didn't tell—no, of course, she wouldn't—she knows I don't like sharing that." She cleared her throat, seemingly working her way up to some horrible confession. "Carbatrol…it's…" A frustrated sigh ripped from her lungs. "Fuck it. It's also used as a mood stabilizer…I…I had…Bipolar disorder…but Donna didn't, she was stable, so—" Before she could get too deep in defending herself, Donnie stopped, caught her by both shoulders, and stared her down seriously.

"Mercy," he reminded dryly. "I'm assisting your admittedly unstable friend with her PTSD. My older brother is a perfectionist with control issues. My younger brother has the energy level of a squirrel on crack and the attention span of a dying goldfish. My twin has a tendency to throw tantrums when he doesn't get his way. And, to top it all off, our father's literally a rat and the rest of us are talking turtles." Finally, the smile in his eyes reached his lips and he gave her left shoulder a friendly pat. "Compared to the lunacy I grew up with, you're refreshingly average."

Mercy wasn't sure what to say. If she was Amber, she'd start ugly-crying all over him and blubbering about how much she appreciated him and how she only hoped she could someday become as accepting as he was. Fortunately, Mercy wasn't Amber…she was very much not Amber. Denim blue eyes glanced down at her left shoulder—or, rather, the large green hand wrapped around it—then met his again, one blonde eyebrow arching in silent warning. "R-Right," Donnie answered sheepishly and let go of her, shoving his hands as deep into his pockets as they'd fit.

For a time, nothing was said. They reached the secluded manhole, Donnie pulled it out and offered Mercy a hand down, then switched on a spotlight conveniently situated at the right shoulder of his harness. As he led the way home, never inching ahead of her or falling behind, Mercy repeatedly found herself glancing at him out of the corner of her eye. It hadn't escaped her notice that the genius and her best friend were sleeping together every night. She'd also noticed that Amber was now sleeping all through the night, instead of waking up screaming every hour or so. During their feud, Mercy gave neither Donnie nor Amber any slack; now, she felt confident that she didn't have to worry about them anymore.

"Thanks." The sudden mumble, sounding just outside the front door of the Lair, startled Donatello, and he found himself staring in disbelief at the blonde already tapping her foot at the door. "C'mon, Dipshit," she grumbled at him, "World War Three's about to start."

A brief shining moment…and then that mouth.*

When Mercy fled the Lair in a blind panic, she left behind her lover, her best friend, and her best friend's boyfriend to pick up the pieces. With every minute she didn't turn up, the atmosphere and the occupants grew tenser and louder.

Now, nearing an hour of absence, the situation was only getting worse. No one could sleep through the racket going on—no one could have blocked out the shouting and screaming passing between the blonde's two closest companions. One blustered and threatened to knock the other's block off if she didn't quit meddling; the other verbally tore him up one side and down the other for hurting her friend, her words growing more and more twisted and gruff by the moment.** Only Leonardo, physically restraining her in an ever-weakening half-nelson, kept the situation from escalating to violence. Any other time, the leader would have laughed at the very idea that he would struggle to successfully restrain a woman so much smaller and weaker than himself. As it was, he could effectively restrain her, but the slightest miscalculation would be disastrous…and even with the brunette going berserk on their brother, Leo doubted Donatello would be very forgiving if he dislocated both her shoulders.

Michelangelo sat silently on the sofa, one blue eye volleying back and forth between the two combatants. At first, he'd tried to break up the fight. Now his other eye was swollen shut, courtesy of Raphael's fist, and he steered clear of the fray. Even Master Splinter gave up on breaking it up, if only because no blows were thrown—barring Mikey's eye.

"Yar a fookin' yellae bastart, ya knuw tha'?!" Amber spat at Raphael, her face flushed almost scarlet in rage. "She truss'ed ya—she truss'ed ya an' ya made'er bolt!"

"Come on," Leo attempted to reason even as Raphael snarled at his interruption; she wasn't much of a threat, but he was finding it increasingly difficult to restrain the raging brunette without hurting her. "This won't help any!"

"Ah'll pan yer heid in!" the furious brunette insisted shrilly struggling in his grip. "Ah'm pure dead scunnert wi'ya, ye shite-breened bawheid! Wha'sher prob'm, aniwae?!"

"YOU!" Raphael's answer, delivered in a furious roar, seemed to freeze everything in the vicinity. Amber froze. His brothers froze. His father froze. Even the very air seemed to grow suddenly, drastically colder. Like a shaken bottle of champagne, Raph's cork popped and his emotions boiled over in a vehement rush of hurtful words. "Yer my problem, ya crazy-ass bitch! Yer nothin', jus' some nut-job hijackin' Kimbuh's body—if you weren't in it, she'd still be dere!"

"RAPHAEL!" Splinter bellowed to no avail, "That is enough!"

"D'ya think I dunnuw tha'?!" Amber railed on regardless. "Tha' I dinnae ken tha' if I wisnae here, Kimbruh'd be?!" With a sudden burst of emotion, she managed to shake off Leo's grip and stormed right up into Raph's face."I didn'ae wanna 'nother shot, ya ragin' roaster, no't the loss'f ony'body else! I cannae go back—I cannae ge'er back for ya, e'er! So what'll ya do'boot it?!"

The hulking ninja stiffened, staring down in disbelief at the woman a head and a half shorter than him—and likely a hundred pounds lighter—blatantly getting up in his face and daring him to react. If not for the tension thick in the air, he would have compared it to a Chihuahua facing off against a mastiff. "Will, gowan'en!" the frenzied brunette spat at him, her face right up in his. "This's my fees nuw, nae ma'er I wan'it 'er no'! Kimbruh ain't'ere nae mare—su do summit aboot it!"

Golden hazel eyes widened frantically, their owner backing away like a child facing down a rabid dog twice their size. The rest of the family stared in horror, disbelief, and shock as Amber backed Raph up against the wall—had she a death wish?!—still railing at him to do something about her being stuck in Kimber's body. Finally, after what seemed like an hour of screaming and butting heads, he did just that…

Right before their eyes, Raphael's massive arms lashed out, wrapped around the still-pissed brunette, and held her…held her like he never held Kimber, not even when she fought tooth and nail to keep him from shutting her out. To the bewilderment of the rest of the family, save Splinter and the blonde standing in the doorway, Amber grabbed onto him just as tightly…and bawled. Literally cried as though she was being gutted, clinging to Raph as though he was the only thing keeping her upright. What the rest of the family didn't know, was that Raph was telling her the truth—whispering brokenly into her hair that he heard Kimber's pleas for shelter, assumed the worst and ignored her, and he regretted it more every day.

As messy as the altercation was, Amber found it proved her point. Back when she and Aaron used to watch the show and movies together, the blond always proclaimed Raphael wasn't so bad, he just 'needed to get laid.' At this point in their odd conversations, Aaron always turned to grin suggestively at Amber, who rolled her eyes. "Never gonna happen," she'd insist sourly. "I don't screw mirrors." Now, a lifetime later, she knew her impression was correct…she and Raphael had too much in common to get along well on a regular basis without some serious tongue-holding…or at least booze…preferably booze.

"Dayum," Mercy mumbled to Donatello, stunned at the mess her friend and boyfriend made of themselves. "I' never seen'er get that pissed at anyone but my Ma!"

"You've seen that before?" Donnie hissed back, unable to tear his eyes from the oblivious train wreck before them. He knew Amber was slightly unstable, knew that Kimber had a helluva temper even before she died, but this was a nightmare he hadn't expected. Mercy cringed and nodded.

"A lot, actually," she admitted in an almost-grumble. "I'd wind up hidin' in'er yard, she'd unleash holy hell on my Ma fer whatever made me run, an' I'd pay for it later…" Mercy avoided his eyes awkwardly, spearing her fingers through her hair and yanking. "She didn't know. If she knew, she wouldn't'a ever let me go home. I told'ja she wasn't really mad at ya…dumbass…" Despite the grave situation, the blonde found herself smirking over at the horrified genius. "Ya know," she pointed out only half-teasingly, "we didn't call'er the Crazy Celt just 'cause she could out-drink anyone on campus."

Donnie startled, his eyes shooting to meet hers. Crazy…Celt…? He'd used the nickname on her the other day and several times since, but he'd never heard anyone else use it…of course, now that he thought about it, where'd he come up with that nickname if he didn't overhear it? Clearly misreading his reaction, Mercy pointed out with feigned nonchalance, "Some jackass got sore after I turned'im down. He brought'is little ass-buddies to try an' change my mind." A sly smirk split her lips and she met his eyes askance. "Ya've never seen a miracle 'til ya seen a short chubby chick take out a trio of jocks with nothin' but adrenaline an'er purse." Now that he'd love to see.

His secrets confessed and the red faded from his vision, Raphael found himself working his way back to the real world. A tantalizing scent—a familiar, sweet floral bouquet paired with the even sweeter scent of the sour woman wearing it—drew his eyes to the doorway. Mercy was back…and saw him holding her best friend, who was indeed ugly-crying all over him. "Yeah," the blonde pointed out with a smirk and rolled eyes, "she does that."

"…Mercy…?" It took far more effort to get her name out than it should have, but even once he did, he found he had no idea what to add to it. I'm sorry? I'm an idiot? I can't believe you can even look at me right now? Words were never Raphael's strong point, and in this moment, that weakness was as obvious as ever before. Denim blue eyes met his over the head of frizzy brown hair tucked into his chest, unspoken words passing between them. She knew he was sorry, that he hadn't meant to lash out at her, and somehow, despite his actions, she wasn't angry at him. Clearly tiring of the long awkward silence, Mercy gave a long-suffering sigh and rolled her eyes skyward, stalking toward him.

"C'mon, Scotch-Bright," she grumbled, poking Amber insistently in the shoulder. "Gi'off my man a'ready." As the sniffling brunette made a passing attempt to dry her eyes—and dry her tears off his bare chest—Raph found his gaze locked with Mercy's again. He didn't understand, not in the slightest, but for some reason, she forgave him; despite his faults and failures, he silently vowed to make it up to her.

Not long after the explosive blow-up and Mercy's return, the blonde and the beefcake were holed up in her room in the barracks, awkwardly avoiding one another's eyes. Neither cared to acknowledge the elephant in the room—it was already stomping the shit out of them, after all—but both knew something had to be said. She didn't need a verbal apology and he didn't need expressed forgiveness, but something hung between them, invisible, intangible, but immovable. Finally, the silence became too much.

"I—" he started at the same time Mercy attempted,

"You—" This resulted in both urging, "You first," then going completely silent. Before they could get any further, though, a stern rapping sounded at the open doorway.

"Raphael," Splinter greeted shortly, the younger mutant flinching at his sensei's tone. Oh no…not again… "To the dojo." Without another word, Splinter stalked out of the barracks to locate the other responsible party.

"…what?" Mercy muttered in confusion. "Why the dojo?" Raph shuddered, unwilling to meet her eyes and reveal his weakness.

"Dis wasn't always da Barracks, ya know," he pointed out in a sour rasp. "Dis used ta be da Hashi. We ain't got a Hashi now…" The rest of the sentence, 'so we're getting our asses beat in the dojo instead,' went unspoken as he lunged to his feet. "I'll catch up wit' ya, Merse." Before he could reach the door a deceptively soft hand latched onto his shoulder, effortlessly anchoring him in place.

"Raph." The address, delivered in a soft murmur, made him wince. "I understand…ya got a temper, big deal. Just blow off some steam from now on so we don't wind up here again, okay?" Golden hazel met denim blue over one bulky bicep, the first doubtful and the second confident. "I ain't a scared little kid anymore, remember? Quit actin' like I'm gonna break if ya get grumpy."

He hesitated, contemplating the events that led them there, then slowly nodded agreement and turned to offer a weak smile. That smile spread into a smirk as his cantankerous girlfriend latched onto the upper edge of his carapace and hauled him down to her level, quickly latching onto his neck and lips. A low growl in his throat, Raph hoisted her up into his arms, one massive hand mussing her already messy hair as the other held her tightly against his plastron. They would need to talk it out eventually, but for the moment, their hearts already knew the truth.

Actions spoke louder than words.

For the last several hours, Donatello sat propped up in bed with a previously engaging book nearly ignored. Several times before, he'd read his way through Anthem all in one sitting; now he found himself reading the same paragraph over and over without realizing what he just read.#

The Lair was quiet now, the chaotic racket from before having faded into a tense silence. Hours before, Master Splinter collected the two individuals responsible for the long brawl—Raphael and Amber—and sequestered the three of them away in the dojo for an hour. Donatello shuddered to think what happened in that room but knew better than to meddle…with the Hashi converted to living space, their sensei was left improvising.

Again, the genius found himself at the end of the same paragraph he just finished, still unable to recall a word he'd read. Hazel eyes darted hopefully to the closed door, but the silence was unbroken. Hours ago, Amber disappeared into the dojo with Raphael…she was officially part of the family, now, and like Mercy, she was receiving self-defense training. As such, she was subject to the same discipline the rest were. Donnie had faith in his father, his master—he knew the aged rat wouldn't do anything to harm Amber—but Raphael was released over an hour ago! Surely Amber wasn't still—

"For Shell's sake," he grumbled to himself setting aside the book without bothering to mark the page. Distraction and denial were getting him nowhere, and so was sitting and staring through the same pages over and over again. Dawn would be breaking in only a couple hours, and he needed sleep…sleep he wouldn't be getting without a certain brunette tucked in his arms. She always managed to shut his brain off—how, he couldn't comprehend—and even though they'd only shared a room for a short time, he'd become as reliant on her as she was on him. With a self-deprecating snort, he stood, stretched a kink out of his stiff neck, and set off to find his missing piece.

He should have guessed he'd find her in the barracks. Standing in the open doorway of her small vacated room, he shook his head at the sight of her slumped face-down across the narrow bunk—clearly favoring sore buttocks and a stiff back. "It ain't funny," she grumbled into the musty mattress; huh, so that chuckle wasn't just in his head. "My everything hurts."

"You expected otherwise?" Donnie retorted too-innocently. "How'd it go?"

"I am never pissing that rat off again," Amber swore vehemently, her cheeks blazing against the sheets. "He said I needed to work on my balance…then made me 'bout puke every time I got the hang of it…an' added time when I fell…an' I fell a lot. I can't feel my arse."

"You will tomorrow," Donnie pointed out simply, strolling over to perch on the edge of the bed. The mattress groaned under his weight, but not nearly as loudly as Amber groaned when he gave her a 'supportive' pat on the back. "Any particular reason you're sleeping in here?"

"You probably think I'm crazy." They weren't the words he was expecting, but he wasn't surprised by them. His arms dangling loosely off his knees, he took the opportunity to study her without notice, his eyes lingering just a bit too long at her backside.

"Crazy?" he repeated with a cheeky smile she could hear clearly. "Completely. You wouldn't fit in here if you weren't. Still, what brought that on?" She held her silence a while, trying to find any possible answer that could be honest without making her sound like a complete idiot; she didn't find one.

"Ya don't mess with Mercy," she answered instead, feeling ridiculous doing so. "Do whatever ya want to me—hurt me, hate me, beat the shite out'a me an' leave me fer dead—but if anyone ever hurts Mercy, they don't get another chance." Though her entire body was throbbing with pain—except her arse, which she still couldn't feel—she worked her stiff arms up toward her head, crossing them and pillowing her chin on them. "Mercy's my oldest friend, Dee," she confessed. "I talked funny, I didn't fit in, I had some serious dental misalignments goin' on, an' I got bullied a lot…Mercy stood up for me every time. I'll never be able to repay her for everything she did fer me...she's the sister I never had."

Amber trailed off, feeling completely ridiculous and sure she just made a fool of herself. A sudden—admittedly gentle—pat on the rear shot that belief to hell and sent spasms of pain wracking through her backside. "GAH, scunner!" she shrieked rolling away and clutching her hands protectively over her behind. "The fark, Dunnie?!"

"Guess you can feel it after all, huh?" he remarked without even the slightest visible sign of mischief; if she hadn't seen his playful side many times before now, Amber might've been fooled.

"Now I can," she grumbled sourly. He was laughing at her—openly laughing at her!—and still, she couldn't be mad at him. Shaking his head, he stood and gathered her into his arms, tucking one under her knees and the other around her back. As happened the day he and Leo first brought her to the Lair, she gave a startled squawk at the sudden height different, just in time muffling it in his shoulder. "I still hate heights," she grumbled as he carried her down the hallway, through the common area, and into the bedroom they now shared.

Finally, together for the night, the pair found all the day's stresses melting away. Amidst nuzzles and gentle brushing caresses, the two drifted off in each other's arms, both tired, sore, and smiling just the same.

** Translations

"Yar a fookin' yellae bastart, ya knuw tha'?!" – You're a fucking (yellae = yellow = cowardly) bastard, you know that?!

"She truss'ed ya—she truss'ed ya an' ya made'er bolt!" – She trusted you—she trusted you and you made her run off!

"Ah'll pan'is heid in!" – I'll (bash) his head in! [Technically to "pan something in" means 'to break or disfigure' it but yeah. Same diff.]

"Ah'm pure dead scunnert wi'ya!" – I'm (completely) (disgusted/fed up) with you! [pure – very, totally, and dead – usually used with 'pure' beforehand, is considered to mean the same thing but with added emphasis. Scunnert – fed up/disgusted, based on scunner – means both 'something that pisses you off' and 'Jeez that hurt!' Compare to 'mother-fucker!'

"Ye shite-breened bawheid!" - You shit-brained (bald-head!) Taken literally, 'bawheid' is just a remark about him being bald, but the term is also synonymous with 'empty headed' and 'stupid.' Double burn…

"Wha'sher prob'm, anywae?!" – What's your problem, anyway?!

"D'ya think I dunnuw tha'?!"– Do you really think I don't know that?!

"Tha' I dinnae ken tha' if I wisnae here, Kimbruh'd be?!" – That I don't (understand/know) that if I wasn't here, Kimber would be?!

"I didn'ae wanna 'nother shot, ya ragin' roaster, no't the loss'f ony'body else!" – I didn't want another shot [at life], you (basically means 'he's making a complete cunt of himself' and doing so by his temper—really ironic since she's doing the exact same thing, lol!), not if it meant the death of anyone else!

I cannae go back—I cannae ge'er back for ya, e'er!" – I can't go back [to my old life]—I can't get [Kimber] back for you, either!

So what'll ya do'boot it?!" – So what'll you do about it?! [Very, VERY STUPID CHALLENGE!]

Will, gowan'en! This's my fees nuw, nae ma'er I wan'it 'er no'! – Well, go on then! This is my face now, no matter if I want it or not!

Kimbruh ain't'ere nae mare—su DO summit aboot it! – Kimber isn't [in] here anymore—so DO something about it!

Notes:

*A brief shining moment, and then that mouth." – I seem to be finding a lot of Miss Congeniality parallels in this fic…curiouser and curiouser…

**It's been well established by this point that Amber tends to slip into old habits—specifically speech patterns—when she's experiencing very strong emotions. Though she's been focusing more lately on letting those old speech patterns show around Donnie WITHOUT a crisis, this is NOT such a case; instead, it's an "I talk like my Gran'Da when I'm pissed" case. I'm REALLY hoping I didn't screw these up but I'm sure I did somewhere! If anyone with experience with Scottish friends notices I screwed up somewhere, please, PLEASE let me know so I can fix it—this wasn't meant to be a mockery, but a serious depiction! Translations shown in order of occurrence.

#Anthem is a novel written by philosopher Ayn Rand, author of The Fountainhead and Atlas Shrugged. For those of you who haven't read it, I'll relay the description from the back of my own well-worn copy:

"He lived in the dark ages of the future. In a loveless world he dared to love the woman of his choice. In an age that had lost all traces of science and civilization he had the courage to seek and find knowledge. But these were not the crimes for which he would be hunted. He was marked for death because he had committed the unpardonable sin: he had stood forth from the mindless human herd. He was a man alone."

I first read this novel years ago when I found out it was the base for a couple of RUSH's songs—honestly, I was so young it shouldn't have even made sense to me. Only recently I began wondering how a certain mutant genius might react to the storyline. I swear, I get the weirdest ideas sometimes!

#fanfiction #fanfiction/fanart #fanfiction excerpts #TMNT #TMNT 2016 #Ninja Turtles #Raphael/OC #Donatello/OC #A New Lease on Life #Mature fanfiction #m-rated #abuse #Character growth #Drama with a happy ending #Romance

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unfinishedovercomer · 4 years ago

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In honor of World Suicide Prevention Day, I’d like to share my story of how I’ve been delivered and rescued through my struggles with depression and suicidal thoughts. I hope someone out there benefits from this and realizes they’re not alone and hope is available to everyone.

I was born in December 1989 with Spina Bifida, a birth defect that left me unable to walk, among other things. I had to have surgery about once every year until I was fifteen years old. When I was in the sixth grade, I started experiencing incontinence—losing control of my bladder—and this condition worsened as I grew into adulthood. I learned different ways to cope with it, until my early twenties.

Somewhere along the line, I also developed anxiety and depression. In all honesty, they have been my constant companions for as long as I can remember. I have tried many different medications to treat them, but instead of helping, they only made things worse for me. Anxiety, depression, and incontinence proved to be a dangerous combination.

My breaking point came on March 16, 2014, when I leaked in my mother’s car after my sister’s birthday party. Feeling like a failure, I started to believe that everyone I loved would be better off without me. I felt like I couldn’t handle it anymore, and I didn’t plan to.

I quickly entered the house, marching into my bedroom. I was done. This was it. I didn’t tell anyone, not even my very best friend, because I didn’t want him or anyone else to try to talk me out of my escape. As I was looking around my bedroom for something that would accomplish my plan, a very distinct voice came into my head. I heard the voice say, “Go to bed—now!” It was only ‪6:00 p.m.‬, but I obeyed.

The next morning, I was awakened ‪at 6:00 a.m.‬ to the sound of my alarm, and then it hit me. I couldn’t believe that I was capable of even trying to take my own life. I knew I had to tell someone. My best friend picked me up that evening, and I told him everything that had happened. I eventually started telling more and more people, including my family. The support I received was startling. If I had just reached out sooner, I might never have gotten to that point. I realized I was loved, not only by God, but by the people He has placed into my life. What was most startling, though, was the voice that had commanded me so clearly on that dark night. As I looked back, I knew beyond any doubt that the voice I had heard belonged to the love of my life, Jesus Christ.

Through my trials, I have come to discover that God is real, and He is good, and He is enough. He was the only One who knew what I was going through that night in my room, and He cared enough to save me. God has brought me into deeper intimacy with Him through every trial that has come since that night. I am not the person I used to be.

I came to know Jesus on May 28th, 2006, at the age of sixteen, after one day in study hall, a lifelong friend shared the Gospel with me and told me that Jesus died for my sins. I know this is going to sound crazy, but after I received Him, I started hearing Jesus in my head. I know I heard that same voice on the night I was planning to end my life.

I have since been called by the Lord to minister to others facing the same darkness. I am called to show Christ’s love and compassion to those who feel that they have no purpose in this world, and I am so excited about that calling.

I still struggle with suicidal thoughts. It’s a nagging thought in the back of my head. If something happens to me, I know where I’m going. But God’s grace has never failed to carry me. I’m stronger because of my struggle, because it drives me into the arms of the Lord. Just because I am now a child of God does not mean my struggle is over; it just means I can turn to Him for strength and comfort.

I tell my story because I want anyone who is considering suicide to know that they are not alone. I want to help them to reach out, because if they don’t, they may never realize that God put them here because the world needs them. I want them to know that God is real. He loves us all, and He shed His own blood for us. He gave His life so that we could live. Since March 16th, 2014, He has saved my life more times than I could possibly count. He is my reason for living every single day. That is why I share Him with a dying world.

Speaking of which, in the midst of physical, mental, emotional and spiritual struggles, the Lord fulfilled His call on my life for ministry in several amazing ways, both online and in my own home and community. As my ministry calling was finally becoming a reality, depression began to catch up with me. Turning to food and alcohol instead of turning to the Lord for peace, I gained a significant amount of weight. Yet this served to show me, more clearly than ever before, my desperate need of the grace and mercy that Jesus alone can offer, as in the spring of 2018, I suffered a broken knee while under the influence of alcohol that caused me to be hospitalized for 2 days and off work for 33. That summer, I received an indwelling catheter to try to help with my urinary issues, but instead it wreaked havoc on my body, which in turn wreaked havoc on my mind. That fall, I got a new wheelchair that was not the right fit for me, which presented a new set of challenges over the 8 months it took to fix it.

In the spring of 2019, I got a bone infection through a sore on my foot which led to 2 hospitalizations. That fall I was diagnosed with obstructive sleep apnea and given a CPAP to help, but the challenges of adjusting to the machine led to sleep deprivation, which deepened my depression.

My self-care continues to be an issue. I still struggle to keep my home and body clean, part of which actually led to the loss of my first job in 2016.

I’ve caught myself whispering “I wish I was dead” countless times. But now I know that’s not really true because when I was in the hospital in the spring of 2019, thinking I was dying, I realized I wasn’t really ready. And if that wasn’t enough, God showed me that many of the great men of faith in Scripture - Jeremiah, Moses, Jonah, Elijah - all struggled with the same thoughts, and that this struggle does not equal a lack of faith.

Living for Jesus has taken on a new, literal meaning for me. When I feel like I have nothing else to live for and no strength left, He continues to remind me that He gives me strength to face anything. He has shown me that nothing surprises Him. He has taught me that these trials are meant to purify my faith and to build endurance, which He promises will lead to strengthened character and hope. He said that no weapon formed against me will succeed, and that my vindication comes from Him alone, and that my hope will never be cut off. His authority brings me comfort. His victory over the world in the midst of my troubles brings me peace. He is the strength of my heart when my mind and body fail. His grace truly is enough, because His promises preserve my life, and His goodness and mercy continue to chase me down every day.

I can’t say my faith has never been shaken; that would be a lie. When I take my eyes off the Lord and His promises, I sink right back into deadly despair. The enemy has taken advantage of my struggles to whisper lies about God and His Truth, and I’ve fallen for them more times than I can count, getting in fights with God and almost reaching the point of turning my back on Him. Yet the Lord never ceases to pursue me, and He keeps me in His perfect peace as I fix my mind on Him, and He has promised that He will finish the good work He started in me.

When my feelings of despair grow too strong, I am tempted to feel worthless. A secret battle with addiction to pornography warped my sexuality and often led me to lose sight of my identity as a holy and pure child of God. The one thing that combats the lies greater than anything else is the truth of the worth that the Lord has placed on me by shedding His priceless blood on the cross for me. The blood of God in human form is the most precious substance in all creation, and that’s the price He paid for me, and for all of us, and He has promised overwhelming victory in Christ, even when I feel defeated.

When I mess up, which I do daily, I struggle to forgive myself, but God is faithful and just to forgive my sins, because of what Jesus did on the cross - therefore I must forgive myself, no matter how far I fall.

The Lord has promised to keep me strong to the end so that I will be blameless on the day that He returns. He says that His disciples are the light of the world, and that the light can never be extinguished by the darkness. Even when my body is failing, God tells me that I am wonderfully made, and that there is wonderful joy ahead.

I can’t take any credit for the strength that I’ve found through faith in Christ. I yearn for stronger faith every day. I still struggle to believe the truth of God over the lies of Satan and my own mind. I still struggle to turn to the God of all comfort instead of things that will never ultimately satisfy, even though I am now both clean and sober. I am more grateful for the grace and mercy of the Lord Jesus Christ than ever before, because He is enough. He showed me that I don’t need alcohol or porn or any created thing to deal with depression. All I need is Jesus, and He has proven through all these years that He will never leave me. He is my joy, my living hope, and the love of my life. He has filled every void in my life in an indescribably powerful way. I am also in therapy through my church to help me deal with all these challenges and more, and I thank God for that as well. My prayer is that others who are struggling find lasting hope in Jesus Christ. He is SO faithful!

I am in absolute awe of the way the Lord chose to grow my faith through trials. In May of 2020, at age 30, in the middle of the coronavirus pandemic, I underwent bladder surgery and had a stoma placed in my belly. This was the hardest decision I’d had to make so far in my life, and the timing felt awful to say the least. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t struggle, but the Lord directed my steps the whole way. I wouldn’t be allowed visitors for the majority of my initial hospital stay... so the Lord sent me a whole new support system in the hospital. Don’t ever tell me He doesn’t work through people. He does. The recovery, which was only supposed to take 6-8 weeks, went on for over four months. I not only underwent physical surgery; the Lord performed a major spiritual surgery in my heart. It was incredibly difficult. I was scared. I was broken. I felt far from God. But Jesus never failed to meet me where I was, even in my fear, and He proved Himself ever faithful over and over again. He showed me that in baptizing me with this fire, He is with me, fulfilling His promise to make me holy in every way by burning and blasting away my pride and impurities and sin, and transforming me into His image, in which I was created, and that He will only allow this fire to burn as long as necessary to accomplish His purpose. He has promised to conquer my sins! He has shown me that no matter what heartbreak I face, He is close, keeping track of each of my tears. He is pruning me to bear more fruit, with the promise that the discipline He provides will produce a harvest of righteousness for those who are trained by it. He taught me that He only does what is good, that He is for me and not against me, and that He will not allow me to be destroyed. Jesus has revealed Himself to me as the Word of God made flesh. He has shown me the deceitfulness of sin, and the war that it has been waging against my soul. He has revealed to me that sinful pleasures are temporary and can never fully satisfy me; only the pleasures that are found in Him can provide fullness of eternal joy. He’s shown me that His love is holy, pure, and without hypocrisy, and does not delight in evil, but rejoices in the truth. He has revealed Himself to me as the God of truth, who alone has the right to define that which He has designed. He’s taught me that no one who believes in Him will be put to shame, and therefore any shame I feel is false and not from Him. In this wrestling with Him for the blessings He has promised, He is wrestling with me for my repentance, drawing me into a deeper, more authentic relationship with Him than ever before.

I could never have imagined the road that God would lay out for me to experience abundant life with Him. Beyond my physical health, I am so grateful for the spiritual healing the Lord has worked in me. I am so excited to see what God has in store for me in the future.

#WorldSuicidePreventionDay #endthestigma #youarenotalone

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feyreofthewildfire · 7 years ago

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I Don’t Wanna Wake Up - Wasteland AU

Okay, so maybe I like this AU a little too much.

A lovely commenter pointed out on Ao3 how “refreshing and believable” (I quote) it was that Nesta’s healing after ACoWaR wasn’t centered around Cassian. I hadn’t even realized, honestly, that that was the message I was trying to send: Nesta doesn’t need Cassian. Not by a long shot.

Oh, and I’m still on the fence about whether Nessian actually gets together in this AU (bc if they don’t in canon I’ll cry). I’ll let you guys decide.

Enjoy!

Read Wasteland here

Just behind the wall

The clang of the metal is the only thing that can focus Nesta’s thoughts.

The sound had quickly become soothing over the past few weeks, it’s rhythmic and echoes through the open air they surround themselves in.

Fionn had decided that the two of them had needed some fresh air and taken her deep into the woods behind the Palais. She’s not sure how they’ll ever get out, but when she asks he only winks in his annoyingly Fae-like way. She blames the small bit of Autumn Court he possesses.

Still, he hadn’t been wrong in his statement. The smell of pine seems to calm her senses, the needles beginning to shed as autumn looms over them. It’s the first time in years that she’s enjoyed the changing of seasons, knowing that it no longer means death is even closer than usual.

She’s barely winded when he stops, sheathing his sword over his back with a grin. “Now that you’re trained this isn’t fun anymore. Your Fae strength gives you an awfully unfair advantage.” Fionn laughs, his chest heaving with the heavy breaths he takes.

Sometimes she forgets how uncaring he is about her new heritage, about the delicate points of her ears and the power that tears through her very being. He’d quietly told her once of his ancestor, a powerful member of the Autumn Court that had run away to the continent to escape the cruelty of Beron’s rule.

Sometimes she forgets about his small affinity for fire until he accidentally lights something while sparring with her. While of great amusement to her, it never fails to alarm him. She’d been training him in what little she knows about magic when they didn’t have an audience of foot soldiers there to gawk at them, but she knew better than to suggest it in a forest of all places.

“I used to be human. Found that I didn’t like it.” She deadpans, though the little smile gracing her features gives her away. She remembers quietly telling him once of the Cauldron, of her death and rebirth as water drowned her and gave her life again. It’s something she’d never spoken aloud about, not even to herself, much less anyone else.

But she finds that he radiates an infuriating amount of trustworthiness, of willingness to listen and do nothing more. Cassian would’ve pushed her, would’ve given her words and words and words and asked for more. Maybe she would’ve felt better in the end, maybe not, but she knows that his aggressive nature isn’t what she needs now, no matter if her heart still yearns for the male across an ocean.

She pushes him out of her mind as Fionn barks out a loud laugh that disturbs the birds above them. They flutter away as he straightens, a teasing gleam in his eyes. “Well, love, you do seem to have all the advantages now.”

Her eyes nearly roll at the pet name, though she doesn’t comment. She’d long ago accepted his revolving door of names he seems to call her. She’s not sure she’s ever heard her actual name from his mouth. “The looks don’t hurt,” she retorts.

He gestures to the ring of throwing knives around her thigh, “Target practice, princess?” he asks, backing a few steps out of the way as she sheaths her sword at her hip and plucks a knife from the ring at his word. Everything with him is a request, a gentle question that she’s free to turn down. She finds that his way of training is easier, less stress-inducing. He’s training her for, as far as he knows, recreation—a way to pass the time in between her meetings with Vassa’s court and his training of the newly recruited armies.

Nesta doesn’t realize he’s standing right behind her until he speaks again, “Move your feet just a little farther apart—Good. Balance your weight, rotate with your shoulder and release.”

Her target is only a fifty yards away, and she knows that with her full Fae strength she could make the knife go through the tree. She doesn’t bother to put much into her throw as she does it, the knife barely lodging itself into the bark.

He gives simple, soothing corrections as she empties her six and then his, which are slightly bigger and more weighted. He drills her in the importance of properly weighted knives that way, noting that every knife is made differently—even ones made by Fae.

By the end of the set of twelve, only nine have landed in the tree, the other three lost to the woods. Fionn doesn’t seem to mind, only shrugging her off when she asks if they’re going to look for them. His nonchalance would be annoying if not for how refreshing it is after having dealt with Vassa’s own court of pig-nosed and haughty advisors.

They move onto simple sparring, throwing pulled punches and kicks more for show than anything else. A laugh nearly escapes her when she catches his ankle and tosses it back with a little more force than necessary, causing him to stumble before catching his footing. Were it not for the smile on his face, she wouldn’t have done it anyways. He knows that she’s toying with him, and he enjoys it.

Eventually, she grows bored and pins him to the ground, straddling his chest with an elbow at his throat. Her single braid, having fallen out of its crown around her head, falls over her shoulder, the ends brushing gently against the layer of pine needles on the ground.

“Where’d you learn that move?” He asks, not at all deterred by his position underneath her. Her lips twist up into a smirk, grey eyes glinting with mischief.

She leans down to whisper in his ear, “There are some secrets I’ll never tell.”

In actuality, it’d been one she’d developed herself in the spur of the moment. If he had asked her to recreate it she wouldn’t have been able to. She’s sure that she’s not the creator, that she’d seen it on one of the battlefields and absentmindedly cataloged it, but for now, it’s her little secret.

She pulls herself off on him to tuck her braid into the training clothing she’s wearing—the underclothes of what the cavalrymen wore into battle. The leather pants are similar to the Illyrian ones, from what she knows, but she’s forgone the upper leathers in exchange of a soft, linen shirt. It’s strange not to feel the swish of her skirts, but the range of movement that the pants allow her is refreshing, more so than she thought it would be.

The sound of Fionn rising off the ground behind her makes her turn, flexing her fingers around the gauntlets on her hands she’s yet to grow used to. The overprotective idiot had insisted on it after she’d torn through the skin of her hand while sparring with him, even though it had healed with an hour.

Her eyes flicker up towards the sky, tracking where the sun is. It’s a habit she’d picked up from him from her time in court—telling her whether it was an acceptable time of day to approach an advisor out of the pre-scheduled meetings to sway them to her side.

“Nightfall will be here soon. We should start heading back.” She states, eyes falling from the open air above them to him. He’s wearing a stupidly fond smile on his face, one that she doesn’t recognize. His eyes are soft with some sort of affection she can’t catalog.

It scares her sometimes, the way he looks at her.

He nods his head in response when he notices her attention, running his hands through his hair in an ill-fated attempt to get the pine needles out of it, averting his eyes from hers, “Good eye. I get to be up bright and early tomorrow with the troops. It’ll be interesting.”

“I thought you needed your beauty sleep,” She snarks as they begin to walk. She blindly follows him, trusting him to know where he’s going. It’s a strange realization, recognizing the blind faith she puts in him. Well, perhaps not blind faith, but faith nonetheless.

Fionn winks at her in response, “Some of us age, honey. Gotta preserve our youth while it’s still here.” He laughs at the exasperated sigh that escapes her before continuing. “It was Fohrellis’ idea—show unity by having the high-ranking officials participate in the workouts with the trainees. He, of course, conveniently has an important meeting in town tomorrow morning.”

He offers a hand over a fallen tree, one that she graciously takes. “Am I allowed to come watch?” She inquires, detaching her hand from his and picking a pine needle from her hair. Nesta doesn’t stop him as he leans over and plucks out another one.

“If you can handle the comments,” He says seriously. “There are enough rumors going around. Might be stoking the flame.”

She scoffs, “Their opinions don’t concern me. I’d rather see you get beat by a bunch of trainees. I’m sure it’ll be highly amusing.”

“You wound me, darling.” He clucks his tongue as if in chastisement. “Truth be told, I haven’t been in the ring with the rest of the boys in a while, but you give me enough scratches.”

Small, meaningless talk passes in the time it takes for them to make their way back to the Palais. Fionn is a new, refreshing presence in her life. He doesn’t define her by the actions, or lack thereof, she’d taken during those years in the hovel—he doesn’t ask questions she knows he wants to ask when she’s not ready to answer them.

He’d only ever heard stories, far-fetched perversions of the true happenings in Prythian. She’s not sure she’ll ever be able to tell anyone about what had happened in that clearing with Cassian and the King, but maybe she doesn’t need to. Maybe she doesn’t need to verbalize her words to accept them.

They sneak around the courtyard to avoid the small gathering that’s in the ballroom, skirting around corners on their way to the armory to store their weapons—well, her weapons. The ones he possesses are bought by himself, often kept in his rooms. Hers are simply borrowed. She’d been debating going into the markets and finding a blacksmith, but she had no use for a weapon. It’d send the wrong message, anyways.

The breath she’d been holding loosens from her chest when he clicks the door to the armory shut behind him. “There’s nothing more I hate than socializing.” She mutters, unbuckling straps and setting the various blades on her body in their correct spots.

“I think you picked the wrong profession.” He retorts from his spot leaning against the wall—one of the few sections that wasn’t covered floor to ceiling in various shields hanging on hooks.

A little, shocked laugh escapes her. “I despise useless chatter. I don’t care about how your daughter is doing, I want to change your opinion. I want to present my case, my reasoning, and walk away.”

“One could argue that spending all this time training with me is useless,” He contradicts. “One could argue that all the two of us do is make useless chatter.”

She blinks as if only realizing this. “I understand. But I enjoy it with you.” She wishes she could take the words back as soon as she says them, eyes closing and jaw clenching as she realizes the implication of her words.

The fact that he doesn’t answer tells her enough. Her admission is something he hadn’t expected—not a biting remark or the sharp snark she usually spits out.

She finds the courage to open her eyes and look at him. He’s wearing a thoughtful expression on his face as if he’s seeing her for the first time. That same affection from before is laced in his gaze, this time with something entirely different accompanying it.

He takes the four steps towards her, coming toe-to-toe. She’s not sure she’s breathing anymore if the look in his eyes is what she thinks it is.

Her eyes shut as he leans down, lips a hair’s width away from hers.

“Tell me to stop.” He mutters, lips brushing hers as he does.

She doesn’t.

It’s not a dream at all

If it weren’t for the racing of her heart, she would’ve actually knocked.

Nesta bangs open the doors to Fionn’s quarters, chest heaving with the heavy breaths she takes from her sprint.

She almost collapses with relief when she sees he’s still there.

She barely manages to get the door closed before she’s encircled in his arms, forehead pressed against her own. The unnaturally tight grip on her waist tells her what she already knew.

“You have to go, don’t you?” The words are barely a whisper, her hands desperately clutching the collar of the shirt he’s wearing. She knows he has to go, she understands why he has to go. Her heart screams at her, demands that she find a way to get him to stay—a way to keep him away from the battlefield.

He nods, “The west is under my jurisdiction. I have to go.” His voice is strained, lips ghosting across her own as he says the words. “I’m sorry, my love.”

A shaky breath escapes from her, “It’s okay. I understand.” She concedes, backing away a single step to trace the planes of his face with her hands, memorizing the feel. His eyes shut with her ministrations. “When?”

“An hour. It takes anywhere from two days to a week to get out there. I wasn’t even supposed to be here longer than two months.”

Even as he says this he doesn’t move away to continue his packing—in fact, his grip on her only tightens. She detaches from him first, hands lingering, “Let me help you pack.” She mutters, heading over to the table he had abandoned to help him organize his plethora of weapons.

The room is near threadbare, all of his personal effects already packed up and ready to be shipped out to his home in the west. It’s what he’s going to bring with him to the war camp being constructed that has yet to be packed away.

They work in silence together, Nesta having memorized which of the weapons he always kept on his figure and the ones he packed away. It’s busy work to keep her hands from shaking, even as she can feel the muscles quivering. She thinks she can feel her entire self quivering.

She’d known that war was imminent on the continent. She’d just tricked herself into thinking Fionn would be spared from it.

All she can see in front of her is a running replay of the war on Hybern, of the soldiers, slaughtered so effortlessly by magic and steel alike. She’s sure the other queens are as deplorable as the twisted sovereign had been—she’s sure they’re just as resourceful.

She remembers the way she’d screamed Cassian’s name, how he’d been in the center of the death ray that had emitted from the Cauldron until she’d called him away. She remembers the sound of the bones in his wings crunching under Hybern’s boot. She remembers her sister’s screams of horror as she’d sighted their father. She remembers her sister’s screams of grief as she’d laid over her mate’s body.

She never wants to see anyone she cares for anywhere near a battlefield ever again. Never.

She doesn’t realize she’s crying until he reaches over and wipes away a tear. He tugs her towards him and envelops her in his arms once again, pressing his lips into her hair as the tears fall. They’re silent, no sign of them other than the slight quivering of her form.

He doesn’t make her feel pathetic, nor does he question the validity of her tears. She loops her arms around his waist and bunches her hands in the folds of his leathers.

She hadn’t noticed he was wearing full battle leathers. It makes reality so much worse.

When the tears stop he lets her go, brushing the hairs that have stuck to her cheeks away. He unclasps a singular dagger from the ones circling his thigh—one she’s never seen before.

He gently places the sheathed weapon in her shaking hands. “I’ve had this since I was a boy. I’d like you to keep it safe for me while I’m away.”

The hilt is nothing fancy, simply worn away from repeated use. She can make out the grooves of his hand imprinted into the leather, the way the metal of the guard has lost its shine. It’s a knife well-loved, cherished and kept through many years. It’s a piece of him for her to keep with her while he’s away.

She clears her throat, “Of course. Does it have a name?”

He smiles softly, “Not one that matters.” He carefully lifts her chin to look her in the eye. “When this war is over, whether you’re still here or anywhere else in this world, I will always follow you. I swear that to you, Nesta Archeron.”

“And I’ll wait for you.” The words are out of her mouth before she realizes what she’s saying—before she realizes what she’s implying.

She’s not sure if she loves him, she can’t love him while a piece of her heart still wants the man who’d broken it. She knows that she could, that once that gaping wound has healed nothing would stop her from loving him.

It’s that fact that makes her speak her next words.

“It’s a bargain?”

His eyes flare with surprise, though not fear or horror. It seems he does know what those words mean in Prythian. “It’s a bargain.”

She feels the tattoo brand itself into her skin, a small tingle that weaves itself from her elbow to her wrist. She doesn’t bother to look at it, doesn’t even what wonder what the design is—it doesn’t matter. The design is trivial, what it represents isn’t.

Fionn, however, shakes his hand twice before looking at it. His design is much simpler—a band of black surrounding his left ring finger. He raises an eyebrow, “Subtle, love. You know I’m all yours.”

She chokes out a laugh, “I let the magic do as it pleased.” She defends, taking his hand and tracing the line with her thumb. He caresses her cheek with his other hand, still moist from her tears, and places a sweet, short kiss on her lips. It’s not a goodbye kiss, it’s a see-you-again kiss. It gives her hope. He will come back to her. He has to.

If he dies, she’s not sure how she’ll be able to live with herself.

It’s a free fall

The first thing Cassian notices is that she’s wearing mourning black.

Nesta had never been one for colors, anyone could’ve seen that, but her dresses had always been in shades of grey and blue—never black.

The second thing he notices is the shadows under her eyes.

Every other part of her is immaculate—the updo her hair is always in, the fit of her dress. Not a hair nor thread is out of place in typical Nesta fashion, but the shadows in and under her eyes tell him enough. So does the thinness of her body.

He can see her muscles atrophying, the joints of her bones becoming more apparent with each passing day. Her frail fingers barely reach around the book she always has clutched in her hands, and he’s not even sure she can hold the dagger she always has strapped to her waist.

He doesn’t know how to interact with this Nesta—the one riddled with grief instead of anger. The fire in her soul has died, nothing more than a few embers flickering out. Even after the hell she’d been put through—even after the Cauldron and during Elain’s kidnapping, her anger at the world had always overridden the worry, the fear and terror.

He’d tried the same method the first time he’d seen her—provoking her until she spoke, until she insulted and berated him and got whatever it was she needed to get out of her system. Instead, she had broken into near hysterics, shouting at him not with insults but with questions that he knew she wasn’t truly asking.

Nesta was lost, and he didn’t know how to find her this time.

Maybe he had never known how to find her.

All he can do is check on her in the library every once in awhile if only to ask her if she’d like something to eat or drink. She always says no, but a response is better than none at all. He’s the one that carries her to her room every night when she inevitably falls asleep in what’s become her armchair, noting the way she grows lighter in his arms every time. He’s the one that carefully marks her place in her book and sets it on her nightstand. He’s the one that makes sure she isn’t disturbed during her time of mourning.

It’s all he can do. He can’t help her with something he truly doesn’t understand. He won’t try like Elain, who knocks on the door of the private library and begs her sister every day to come outside of her safe haven. The happiness that Elain had developed within herself in the past three months had quickly diminished when her eldest sister had arrived home a shell of a person—not a shell of herself, but a shell of a person.

The door creaks open as he pushes it, spotting Nesta once again in her armchair, dressed in black. The only difference is that there’s no book in her hand. She’s only staring at the sunset.

“Hey sweetheart,” He starts. “Do you want anything?” It’s the same question every day, the same repetition. The words are soft, as not to disturb her peace.

She doesn’t answer for a long moment. “You know, he was a lot like you.”

Cassian has to resist the urge to drop his jaw.

“He always had these stupid pet names. Darling, princess, my love. He never called me sweetheart, though.” A little scoff escapes her, “How ironic.”

She curls her knees up towards her chest, wrapping her arms around them. “He asked me to hold to that dagger for him.” Cassian notices the sheathed knife, not around her waist for the first time. It’s laying atop a closed book on the small table next to her. He curls his fingers to keep himself from picking it up. “Said that no matter where in this godforsaken world I went, he’d follow me. It was an empty promise, given his position, but he meant it anyway.

“Sometimes I have dreams about him surviving the massacre, about him finding me.” She pushes up the right sleeve, revealing bare skin. He’s not sure what she’s trying to say.

“Then I remember that the tattoo is gone and that I’m still here.”

Oh.

“You made a bargain?” He asks, unable to keep the question from slipping out.

She barrels on, “His was a band around his left ring finger. Till death do us part, right?” A pained noise slips from her. “I suppose I was the last person he ever loved.

“I didn’t love him like I should’ve,” She confesses. “I was too hung up on you.”

He’s sure that his heart stutters in its beating when his breath catches in his throat. He takes a few more steps towards her, circling the chair to look at her properly.

Her eyes flicker up to him, the utter weariness and exhaustion in them making him tired. “I’m sorry,” He whispers, unable to truly push out the words.

She reaches out and takes one of his hands in hers, her bony fingers completely engulfed in his large ones. “Thank you for checking on me every day.”

He reaches across with the hand not in hers, brushing away the hairs that have fallen out of the half-up-half-down style her hair is in and cupping her cheek. She leans just the slightest bit into his palm as he speaks, “Of course.”

People who asked for a Part 2: @willsrune @to-read-is-to-breathe @highfaenesta

#wasteland #acotar fanfiction #acotar fic #things jade writes

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