#dead calm coming soon to a stage near you

[bejoomi]

dead calm

–––– LATE MAY, 2023

after next gen, returning to band practice feels odd.

here he is, fresh off a survival show, lasting until the finale but ultimately avoiding one of those sought after contracts. most of the competition, he couldn’t wait to get back to his band and performing rock music on the stages he was used to. no more dancing. more time to write music. back on his keyboard every weekend. the dream.

actually returning is sort of a reality check, because he is reminded that the lead singer of eat schmidt is a piece of shit and it’s not really his band at all. he’s just a guest here. replaceable. the guy that writes the music and stands in the back on the instrument that the band doesn’t really even need. 

he is, ultimately, nothing to eat schmidt. that used to come as a relief. somehow, it doesn’t anymore. somehow, he doesn’t have the patience to grin and bear it in the name of writing and playing music in peace.

the first thing jaebeom, the lead singer, says to him during his first practice back is “have any new tunes for us, jung? or have you been too busy with pretty princess dance class?”

joomi clenches his jaw. “yeah, the latter,” he replies flatly.  he wants to ask them what they’ve been doing without him, but he doesn’t want to be rude, or to make it sound like he thinks too highly of himself. he doesn’t think he’s that important to the band...does he?

they play through a few songs, and when joomi focuses on the music itself, it comes as a comfort. his fingers skirt over familiar keys, into familiar patterns, and it’s like nothing has changed.

except a lot has. 

“oh yeah, joomi, we have a new song since you left,” jaebeom informs him after they play through a few of the usual.

that’s interesting. joomi wonders where that came from, but chooses not to ask that. he really doesn’t want any trouble. he just wants to play music, so he says, “yeah? do you have sheet music? i can probably learn it pretty fast.”

“no,” jaebeom answers. “it doesn’t have a keyboard part. we’ve been playing it without you, but we figured if we played it for you you could probably figure one out.”

joomi pauses for a moment. he isn’t sure how he feels about that. actually, no, it’s fine. of course they needed songs to play without him. the others are probably smart and musically inclined enough to work around joomi’s absence with their older songs, but if they want to play new stuff, of course they wouldn’t write anything with joomi in mind. that makes sense.

the more he thinks about it, though, the less it makes sense. he wrote all of eat schmidt’s songs, and he is now the most famous member of the band, objectively, thanks to next gen. they didn’t even really leave a space open for him on their new songs when he returned. sure, he could write that off as all of them being stupid, but if they could put a new song together without him...they could surely put together a piano part.

he doesn’t want to make a big deal out of it, though. he just wants to play music. “sure. let’s hear the new song, then,” he says with a nod instead of voicing any of his thoughts.

they do play the song, and joomi doesn’t know why he had any hope whatsoever of it being a decent song. it’s a hot mess. well, maybe it’s not that much of a mess, he’s just pretty sure a middle schooler with any experience with music theory could write it. the lyrics are stupid, so joomi automatically knows they’re jaebeom’s.

everyone looks to him expectantly, and joomi bites the inside of his cheek, trying to decide what approach to take. he knows they don’t actually want his opinion. they just want him to shut up and write a piano part, and churn out some more songs for them while maybe, begrudgingly, actually giving him credit for them since anyone that watched next gen knows he writes songs now.

“it sucks,” joomi says at last.

“what?” jaebeom replies with narrowed eyes.

“the song sucks. there’s no musical complexity whatsoever. it’s the blandest shit i’ve heard in my entire time in seoul. you use the same three notes the entire song, and the lyrics–– pretty sure my neighbor’s ten year old could write something better.” he says it all straight-faced, emotionlessly. 

“what?” jaebeom says once again, expression now twisting with rage, and he stalks over to joomi, who for once, doesn’t budge, even as the lead singer glowers over him.

“you heard me.”

“i know you aren’t talking to me like that.”

“and what gives you the right to talk to me like you have for the past fucking–– two years?” he can’t believe he put up with this for two years.

“that kpop show got to your head,” jaebeom spits.

“maybe it did. i think it woke me up, actually. did you know a bunch of people messaged me and told me i’m a better singer than you after they heard me on next gen?”

“you––” jaebeom lunges toward him, but their guitarist grabs him and holds him back before he actually lays a hand on joomi.

“get out!” jaebeom yells at the top of his lungs.

“jaebeom––” their bassist says, like he’s about to try to talk sense into him.

“nice. i was just about to quit, actually,” joomi replies calmly, and starts packing up his stuff.

“what are you going to do without us?” their guitarist asks, and joomi pauses, looking at the rest of the band. that’s a good question, actually, but there’s something he’s been wanting to try for a while, and if he’s out of a band...now’s as good a time as any, right?

“i’m going to start my own band.”

“you have gotta be fucking kidding me,” jaebeom half laughs, half scoffs.

“what are you guys going to do without me?” joomi returns with a raised eyebrow.

the room is silent for a few moments, before their drummer speaks up, a rarity: “i’m not gonna do anything without you, man. i quit too. i hate it here.” 

joomi almost laughs, especially when he sees the look of absolute shock on jaebeom’s face.

“you can’t––” he sputters.

“yeah, we can, actually. best wishes, guys,” joomi says, sarcasm thick in his voice as he finishes packing up. he mouths “call me,” to their drummer, and starts seeing himself out.

“don’t think you’ll get to perform any of our songs in that new band,” jaebeom calls.

“they’re my songs, actually, but you can keep them. they’re gonna sound like shit now anyway.” 

“fuck you!” jaebeom practically screams as joomi leaves and closes the door behind him.

he pauses outside and takes a deep breath, then can’t help but smile to himself. that felt good. hopefully he doesn’t regret it.

–– JUNE, 2023

eat schmidt’s drummer does end up calling him, and they strategize on the phone for a while, mostly boiling down to joomi talking and the drummer saying yeah man, that sounds good, i’m not really good at planning or anything so i’ll leave it to you. he does suggest some musicians he knows that might be worth asking to join the band, though, and joomi figures it’s as good a place to start as any.

he has a few people in mind too.

he already knows most of the people he asks can play well, so they don’t hold any formal auditions. anyone he hasn’t heard play himself, he does casually ask if he can hear them play. joomi isn’t really here to turn anyone down, though. he doesn’t care about having the best band ever. he just wants to play music and have fun with people that don’t suck. that’s the main goal. he thinks if he fosters that kind of environment, it’ll be a good place for people to grow and improve, too. 

when he actually has a whole band together for their first rehearsal, it’s surreal. he, of course, already has some new songs written up, but he’s sure to let the others know their opinions and creativity are important–– that they’re welcome to write their own music and let him know, too, and that they can always work on stuff together. 

he also pitches the name he’s been thinking up all this time, with some reservations: dead calm. he wanted a name suitable of the edgy rock music he intended to play, with a personal touch. joomi has always been fascinated by the ocean, a big fan of the beach when he was back in busan; it’s about the only thing he misses there. he started thinking of ocean terminology, and looked some up, jotted down some ideas, and dead calm ended up being his favorite. dead calm: no waves, no wind. water that is completely still. both peaceful and eerie. peaceful and eerie is kind of joomi’s ideal image.

the rest of the new band seems to like it, too. they all agree. dead calm it is.

[808airsoftbros]

Forgotten or Not (Nana/Bae Suzy)

Author: This is a commission hiring from my good friend @elryuse but I added my own edits and twists to it so I hope you all enjoy it. Also if you want to read more of my fics check out my Masterlist

Y/N's POV

The grand dinner event was a whirlwind of glitz and glamour. The air was thick with anticipation as fans worldwide gathered to celebrate K-pop's meteoric rise. As a relatively new member of the scene, I felt a mix of excitement and nerves.

Suzy and Nana, my two girlfriends, were by my side. Their presence was a comforting balm amidst the chaos. We had been together for several years, our love a quiet, steady force in our lives.

As the evening progressed, I couldn't shake the feeling of a growing divide between the older and newer generations of idols. The younger stars, like Blackpink, exuded a confidence bordering on arrogance. Jennie and Lisa, in particular, were known for their outspoken nature.

I overheard them making derogatory remarks about the older generation, dismissing them as "grandmas" and claiming they were relics of the past. My blood boiled.

“If it weren’t for us we wouldn’t be in this position in the leaderboards!” Taeyeon argued but Jennie simply sniffed.

“Hm. Maybe so but your time is over and there is nothing left for you to give now it’s time make way for new gen idols like us!” Jennie replied and Lisa snickered.

“Enjoy your time Grandma, while it lasts~” Lisa remarked and laughed as they walked away.

I could tell Taeyeon-Noona wanted to say more but she didn’t because we all knew they were right…

I had always admired the pioneers of K-pop. It’s true they had paved the way for artists like me and the fact that our time is nearing but to see them treated with such disrespect was infuriating. Suzy and Nana tried to calm me down.

"Don't do it," Suzy whispered, her voice firm.

"It's not worth it." Nana agreed. "They're just young and naive. They'll learn eventually."

I knew they were right, but my anger refused to subside. As I watched the younger idols perform on stage, I couldn't help but feel a sense of resentment. I had worked hard to get to where I was, and I didn't appreciate being dismissed so easily.

“I know but they didn’t have to be so rude about it!” I pointed out and Nana sighed.

“To tell you the truth… I was just like them when I was there age, when Afterschool debuted we were one of the best there was and for the previous generation of my time, we showed no sympathy in their situation, we thought we were invincible and we’d last forever… But I was wrong, as we got older, dancing and singing along with the ruthless practices got more difficult and eventually our company retired us and were quietly replaced by younger rookie idols and eventually we were forgotten,” Nana explained her story.

“And this cycle will always continue as long as K-pop stands, our companies are always working on training better and stronger idols than will ever be, and eventually as they get older they will soon feel the same as we did, we are lucky enough to still be in the industry as actresses, and in some cases… It doesn’t matter how old or how young idols are, they too will be replaced before they know it,” Suzy finished giving a dead serious look in my eyes.

That night, as I lay in bed, I couldn't stop thinking about Suzy and Nana's words. They reminded me of the transient nature of fame. One day, I too would be considered outdated and replaced by a new generation of idols.

It was a harsh reality, but it was one that I would have to face. I realized that I had been so focused on proving myself that I had lost sight of what was truly important. I had been so eager to be recognized as a rising star that I had forgotten to appreciate the journey.

The next morning, as I prepared for another event, I felt a newfound sense of perspective. I had faced a challenge, and I had come out stronger on the other side.

I realized that the future of K-pop was bright, and I was excited to be a part of it. As I stepped onto the stage that day, I felt a sense of peace.

I knew that I had a responsibility to the younger generation of idols. I would be their mentor, their guide. And I would do everything in my power to ensure that they were treated with respect.

But most importantly, I would cherish the love and support of my two incredible girlfriends, Suzy and Nana. Their love was a constant in my life, a beacon of light in the ever-changing world of K-pop.

The incident at the dinner event had brought Suzy and Nana even closer to me. The shared experience had deepened our bond, revealing a new level of understanding and empathy between us. Nana, always the practical one, had taken the lead in comforting me in the aftermath of the event.

Her gentle words and warm embrace had provided me with the solace I needed. Suzy, on the other hand, had offered a different kind of support.

Her quiet strength and unwavering belief in me had given me the courage to face the challenges ahead. As time went on, I found myself appreciating the unique qualities of each woman in my life.

Nana's grounded nature and unwavering support provided a sense of stability. Suzy's quiet strength and unwavering belief in me gave me the courage to face any challenge.

Their love for me was a constant in my life, a beacon of light in the ever-changing world of K-pop. Together, we navigated the ups and downs of our careers with grace and resilience.

We celebrated each other's successes and offered support during difficult times. Our bond grew stronger with each passing day, a testament to the power of love and friendship.

~

Five years later…

As five years passed since the dinner event, though may seem little time has passed but it felt a decade, the industry changed drastically than I could ever imagine. Blackpink who were one the worlds most famous K-pop group eventually fell under.

With new groups such as Le Sserafim, IVE, NewJeans, and others debuting, they got off huge while Blackpink went off the leaderboards with their absence of comebacks and attending other events and the same can be said for the previous generation groups.

As for myself, I decided to propose to my two beautiful girlfriends and when they said “yes” I was ecstatic and we got married a month later, and already discussing our retirement from the industry as we believed we’ve earned it after working for years.

One evening, as we sat together on the balcony of our shared apartment, I turned to Suzy and Nana.

"I'm so grateful for you both," I said. "You've made my life so much richer."

Suzy and Nana smiled at me. "We're grateful for you too," Suzy replied.

[ghostlesswhispers]

°˖➴ 𝙿𝙾𝙲𝙺𝙴𝚃 𝙻𝙸𝙽𝚃 ⋆· ༘ *

‧₊˚ ꩜彡┆𝚂𝚄𝙼𝙼𝙰𝚁𝚈 .ᐟ

Ftm reader x Lucas Lee, fluff. Now that Scott is back, the show must go on. This time at the Rockit, a new band is introduced. Unlike Sex Bob-omb they have pretty good marketing, the posters plastered almost everywhere in Toronto. During a usual shift at second cup, a friend of Lucas's comes in for coffee and comes across a flyer on the board for the band along with that night's competition.

He suggests going out for drinks and checking it out, which soon has Lucas finding himself in the club of Rockit. Where he meets Scott and assumes he's another Scott but isn't, something that wasn't anything new as the two were known for getting mixed up at parties and things of the sort. After all the two had a couple things in common, with them both being the bass player for their bands. But Lucas finds himself drawn to the male, wanting to get to know him.

✎ᝰ.┆𝙶𝙴𝙽𝚁𝙴 .ᐟ

Lucas Lee X Ftm Reader, fluff.

Requested by an anon, I hope you enjoy it and I'm so sorry for the wait! <33

A sigh left your lips as you stood there, raising the beer bottle to your lips and taking a sip. You stood there tapping your foot against the floor, trying to calm your nerves. Your band was to be next, two bands after the one playing right now, compared to the opening band they were average. Nothing special but still people seemed to like them, their bass player was good or at least that's what you believed so you'd give that to them.

As for why you were standing here near the bar, trying to soothe any anxiety you had instead of making sure everything was ready with your band. You had needed a small break, something to distract you from all the overbearing thoughts that were filling your head. Which of course did become helpful in the end, just not the way you intended. As you listened to familiar faces or just random people who knew of you from parties speak to you about events or rumors they heard about "you", the first thing to ever leave some of their lips is usually the fact they thought you were dead.

Which truly confused you, when did you die? And that's when it hit you right there and then, they were getting you mixed with Scott Pilgrim. The loser who was dating or dated a highschooler, and the bass player of Sex Bob-omb who was coincidentally just now going on as you watched them move across the stage. Getting in their positions, this time an unfamiliar face following suit.

You sighed again as you questioned how anyone would get you mixed up with him unless they hadn't seen his face or knew his full name which was overall stupid, after all Scott was a pretty common name and it would be smart to get his last name but then again most of these people you met at parties so what did you expect. You truly found it irritating whenever you got mixed up with the male, it being slightly offensive as well. You did not date a highschooler and never would do anything so sick in the first place, you also did not die as you stood here now perfectly fine.

Which did make you wonder if he faked his death as he was now back, standing on the stage in one piece and alive as he played with Sex Bob-omb. The only reason you didn't confront people over this was because you were horrible when it came to socializing and there's the fact sometimes people would be messing around with you, and you wouldn't even realize. You also were overall just terrible with confrontation, leaving you to just respond with how they got the wrong Scott.

But that didn't matter now, setting the bottle down and taking a seat you pondered on ways to make your nervousness slowly dissipate as someone sat down next to you. "One beer, please." He beamed as he pulled his shades off, smirking at the bartender who immediately recognized him and got to grabbing the man a beer. Soon shifting to the side as his gaze trailed across the crowd and then settled on you, your eye's widened as his met yours.

This wasn't good, you were already dealing with anxiety and now you were sitting next to someone who didn't even look like he'd be found a club like Rockit, where they were now holding a competition for shitty bands to compete. Of course you knew better than to judge someone by their appearance, as who knows why he was here. And then there's the fact he could just have an eccentric taste, truthfully he looked like a Johnny Bravo wannabe but he was pulling it off at least.

But besides that fact, you felt intimidated by him and that just added onto you not being able to socialize well. As the male flashed a grin, "You don't have to stare at me like that, I know. I'm awesome." He stated as he took the beer from the man behind the counter. Picking up a pen as he immediately wrote his signature down on his recipet, then placing it down and handing you it. You were confused as your eyebrows furrowed, was he apart of a band perhaps?

You hadn't recognized any of the bands names on the list so it was hard to tell, if not then maybe some type of celebrity or something? But here in Rockit? Talk about strange, he did look like he could possibly be a model though. His tall and muscular build could easily be eye candy for a lot of people, so maybe he really was a model. It would make sense in a way with how he carried himself, you shook your head before finally asking the question that was plaguing your mind.

Taking the receipt as you spoke, "Sorry, who are you?" And just like that you were met with silence which you quietly panicked inside at. The man just peering down at you for a few minutes before repeating the question you had said out loud, "Who am I? Well, I'm the one and only Lucas Lee of course." His response didn't help you much but you knew you had heard the name before as you stared down at his signature on the receipt. You honestly didn't know what to say in return as you scrambled through your mind for an answer to where you had heard it from.

And that's when you were reminded of who he was, your eyes widening as you looked back up at the male. A famous actor, was he? You remembered your bandmate "Sookie" gushing about how he was now working at second cup, which was exactly where she had gotten his autograph. You had barely been paying attention as you watched her mouth move, that same glittery gloss she wore painting her lips. Seems his acting career was over because of some scandal you did not know of, or that's what you at least have memory of.

Your fingers loosely gripped the receipt as you nodded, about to say something before being interrupted by someone shouting your name. Two familiar figures were heading over to you, your eyes settling on them immediately as you questioned what they wanted. The two being Sookie and Mo, of course. Sookie had her hair tied up in a ponytail, the familiar black curls all bunched up. Her nails painted pink and that same glittery lip gloss she always wore on her lips, as she spoke out, her words were muffled by the bustling crowd around them.

Mo followed behind, his style never changing as he wore his regularly white button up shirt with some weird tie that matched his socks. Today's theme being, Garfield? Was that right? You couldn't tell really, as they moved through the crowd you waved them over. You were going to turn back to apologize to Lucas when a loud squeal was heard, you instantly recognized it as Sookie's as the two had finally made it over. Your eyebrows furrowing as you hoped you didn't have to deal with her fan-girling over the man while you stood there awkwardly, your nerves getting worse.

Her lips curved into a smile as she quickly made her way towards the two, settling right beside you. It was no lie that you loved Sookie but sometimes she could be too much for your own good, with her being a burst of joy and the talkative one of the bunch. While you tried to hide in the shadows because you were horrible with chatting and didn't understand social ques, which had made things pretty awkward at times. Causing you to get paranoid about how you appeared to certain people.

Sex Bob-omb was just now finishing their performance which soon led to a new band coming on stage, meaning Pocket Lint was next. That explaining why the two came out. Probably to make sure you were okay and didn't bale on them, which would be the least of their worries as Mo was always the one vanishing. It didn't matter much as he dealt with promoting and getting the bands name around, those flyers for Pocket Lint plastered all around Toronto being made by him after all.

He wasn't apart of their band anyways really as he had his own to deal with, him being new to Canada and American caught their guitarists attention. Then there was the fact he was apart of a semi-popular band which the male was having problems with, as you had heard all about him dipping on them during a show that Rockit held last week. Seems he was physically and mentally struggling with some things at the moment, as Sookie described how he had a whole new wardrobe and appearance switch. Wanting to change everything.

Arzhel their guitarist wanted to try and get him to join as he was his bands vocals, with Pocket Lint needing their own vocalist as Arzhel dealt with most of the singing and Sookie sticked to the drums while helping out with lyric writing. The three of you being tight knit together as you were their bass player, overall everything was pretty good and Mo helped quite a bit. So it was nice to have him around when needed.

You had just gotten another beer while you watched Sookie talk to the male, beaming about the band and other things. With Lucas soon ending it by giving her another autograph, this time signing her bag which filled her with excitement. Thank God it was just Lucas Lee out of all people, who knows what would've happened if you ran into Envy Adams. You'd have to hold her back from pouncing and bombarding the rockstar with questions, as well praise.

Of course that was a more dramatic reenactment of the situation but you wouldn't be surprised as Sookie absolutely adored the singer, which you truthfully found cute and it made everything easier as you knew exactly what to get when it came to presents. As you had gotten her Clash at demon's head latest album along with some other things you'd believe she liked for her last birthday, to say she was pleased would be an understatement.

As your face had blemishes on it, mainly because of the red lipstick that had beared her lips that night. The memory had brought a smile to your lips as you rolled your eyes, watching the woman finally make her way torwards Mo who seemed to be lost in conversation with a familiar face that you forgot the name of. Your eyes soon leaving the three as you glanced back at Lucas, who had just now asked you a question.

"You, have we met before?" You raised an eyebrow at his question, muttering a simple no as you pondered on why the two of you would've met which you then remembered he could possibly be talking about Scott Pilgrim. "I'm the other Scott, not Scott Pilgrim." He responded, his eyes meeting the male's eyes again. Watching as Lucas thought it over, nodding with a smirk. "Well other Scott, it's nice to meet you. I heard you're apart of a band?" He asked as he stood there.

He was interested in you, though of course that wasn't clear. He just found it amusing that you treated him as if he didn't use to be some famous star, the receipt you had from him now crumpled up and laying on the counter. You hadn't even realized you did that, just a regular occurrence of yours as you weren't the the type to keep receipts. You soon took another sip from the beer in hand, "Yeah," your lips parting as you stood there thinking of how to respond.

"We go on next, me and my band. Pocket Lint, we're pretty good. If you're not bored by the end you could come hang out, that's if you're interested. I'm sure Sookie would enjoy that." You wanted to say you would be happy to have him around for the night that way you could get to know him more but of course anxiety got the best of you, maybe come to an understanding as to why your drummer loved him so much besides well his looks.

You were fairly surprised that you had even managed to keep conversation with the male, perhaps the alcohol in your system pushed you a bit. Or Lucas just had an aura about him that made it easy to talk to him but even so you were still worrying about what he thought, after all he was a famous star in the past. You watched as the man grabbed a napkin, writing something down. Before holding it out, peering down at your hands to watch you take it before he brought his gaze back to your eyes.

"Definitely, I'll be there. Call me, won't ya?" He stated with a wink, your fingers brushed against his as you took the napkin while ignoring the playful wink he gave you. Reading his number over in your head as you stared down at it, you were careful as you put it in the bag hanging from your shoulder. Adjusting the strap before humming, "I should really get going, I don't want Arzhel yelling at me. I'll see you around though, later?" He questioned with a small smile which Lucas returned with "Of course." While waving you off as he ordered another beer.

Now here you and your band were stuck at Arzhel's house, Mo drunk, practically topless as his unbuttoned shirt hanged from his torso and wearing only his boxers along with it which were Garfield themed like the rest of his outfit. You were shocked to not find his bra to be Garfield themed at this point, talk about bold. But that's just how the male was, he even had a collection of converse's that were multiple colors. Wearing the black ones now, instead of his black oxfords. Which truly made the lasagna socks he had on pop, it sounded ridiculous and looked ridiculous in some people's eyes like Arzhel but hey it was a sense of style.

As for Arzhel he was currently picking up behind him, as he grabbed the familiar pair of black pin-striped pants off the floor of his living room. A cigarette dangling from his lips as he rolled his eyes, watching the other male empty a glass of red wine as he plopped down onto the couch next to Sookie. Her pulling his head against her body causing him to lean against her with a sigh as his gaze settled on you, he waved the glass at you with a smile which caused you to let out a sigh in response.

Pondering on if the male would be okay, since he had an argument with his bandmates, he had been sticking around when he could and if he wasn't then he was drinking or sleeping his problems away with some new random person he met at a party. Or at least trying to do so, the sound of Sookie humming as she ran her fingers through his hair with a smile was heard. You watched as Arzhel slowly made his way towards the two, peeling Mo's fingers away from the wine glass as he shut down his complaints with a soft hush.

The four of you were overall exhausted, it being an hour since you left Rockit with a drunk Mo. You had tried finding Lucas after your show but were swept away in the crowd, and in the end never found him, but you did have one thing. His number, you held the crumpled receipt and the napkin in your hand as you stared down at the numbers. Pondering on what to say if you called him, anxiety filling your chest as you listened to Arzhel ask Mo if he'd be staying the night which the male just scoffed and answered with an of course.

You then cursed under your breath before speaking, "Sorry, do y'all think y'all be able to take care of him without me? I have somewhere I want to be, if that's fine." Snookie smiled and nodded, not minding at all while Arzhel patted Mo on the shoulder as he rised. "Don't even have to ask, just don't go getting yourself into trouble and if you're drinking, get a friend. We'll take care of Mo, he'll be fine plus he's been staying at my place for a while anyways so I got him." He explained with a muffled tone as he moved, placing the clothes down on the coffee table before walking past you and nodding at you as he pulled the cigarette from his lips with an exhale.

Which you nodded in return, Sookie soon spoke as she glanced at you for a few minutes. "Have fun!" She winked, which caused you to raise an eyebrow but you shrugged it off. Making your way towards the front door, grabbing the coat off the rack and taking a step outside. Soon you had your phone in hand, pressing each button to dial in the actors number. Then bringing it to your ear as you walked, praying he'd pick up as you exhaled.

It didn't take long for someone to pick up on the other side of the line, you heard the familiar tone of Lucas's voice. "Hello, this is Lucas Lee speaking." Which earned a soft chuckle from you as you stopped in place, causing the male to speak again. "Other Scott?" He questioned, which caused you to picture him raising his eyebrow as he asked. "Yeah, it's me. Other Scott, or well just Scott," He pointed out as he started walking again, "I wanted to know if you're still up for hanging out, or is it too late?"

"No, not at all. I'm always ready for a party." A grin dancing on his lips as he joked, but you didn't catch it as you responded. "I meant alone but I could figure something out if you would prefer being around more people, my bandmates are resting so I might have to dig a bit online." You were soon met with his signature chuckle as you heard the sound of shuffling and digging through the phone, Lucas obviously doing something on the other side. "We can spend some time together, alone. Got a a place in mind?" His voice even thicker than how he had answered the phone at first, perhaps he had just been asleep before you called.

"There's a park, the one with that weird statue of some guy I forgot the name of. It's next to the skatepark if I remember." You soon trailed off as you pondered on the street name, soon telling him the location which caused Lucas to hum before speaking. "I'll be there, give me fifteen minutes. Nothing more, nothing less." It didn't take long before he hung up, you smiling as you fist pumped in your head. Glad that went well, as you relaxed. Your anxiety slowly dissipating, while you started walking at a faster place.

It didn't take long for you to arrive at the park, your hands fumbling with the receipt you still had as you tried to straighten it out as best as you could. Sitting on a bench as you waited for the man, the sound of wheels rolling against concrete soon reaching your ears. As you raised your head, you were met with the familiar figure of Lucas, this time wearing his leather jacket. His skateboard emitted a grinding noise as it grounded to a halt, the wheels scraping against the pavement.

Soon propelling the skateboard upward and effortlessly catching it in his hand, his eyes fixating on you as he moved torwards the bench and took a seat next to you. "So, come here often?" He wondered as his eyes fell on your face, his breathing releasing a visible puff of air from his lips. Then dissipating into the cold atmosphere, you nodded as you watched his lips. Something you had grown used to, always watching everyone's lips move as they spoke.

"I guess, I usually just come when I need a break or some fresh air. It's the perfect place to relax at night after a long day." You explained to him as you fidgeted with your fingers, glancing away every few minutes before focusing on his lips again as he started talking. "I see, it is quite nice. Peaceful even." His eyes not leaving you once as he watched your expression and body language, his eyes soon settling on the receipt that he didn't even notice you took after leaving the bar.

For some reason it made him feel warm, something so small but significant in a way. Even though you didn't know of him that much or minded him being an actor you still seemed to care, it was sweet in a way. His gaze followed your fingers as you blowed at them, trying to warm them up. You soon glancing at the male with an eyebrow raised, your lips parting as you pondered what had him so lost in thought.

What he said next really shocked you in a way, as you stared at him. "If you let me, I could help keep your hands warm." He uttered out loud, surprising himself even but it wasn't notable with his expression being blank. You wondered what he meant by that as you sat there, holding your hands out with a nod. Watching as he took hold of your hands, covering yours with his and bringing them to his lips as he intertwined his fingers with yours. Gently blowing at them, his eyebrows furrowing as he focused.

Your eyes widened at the gesture, it did help in a way but also caused a bubble of nerves to rise. But not the bad kind, more like butterflies in your stomach. You felt warm, you couldn't focus on his eyes or lips anymore. Just staring at your fingers as you thought of what to say, letting out a heavy breath. This wasn't what you expected for the night as you sat there, watching him closely. "Is that helping?" He asked as his eyes met yours making your breath get caught in your throat, making it even more difficult to say anything.

It took a minute before you could say anything, not being able to peel your eyes away from his. "Yeah, it is." You muttered, your voice coming out gravelly. You didn't pull your hands away and he didn't let go as his focus went back to your hands, continuing to gently blow at them. Silence filling the air as you both had sat there together, you savoring the moment of subtle intimacy as you acknowledged the way he squeezed your hands every couple minutes. If this was how you were to end your night, you didn't mind at all. If anything enjoying it.

Once done he lowered your hands but kept his fingers intertwined with them and truthfully you didn't want to pull your hands away, finding it comforting. As you leaned back against the bench, relaxing with a sigh of relief. Your gaze settling on the sky, it seems you'd be here for a bit and you didn't mind it all. Basking in the silence and the moment, he was right about it being peaceful but it was even better now that you had someone with you.

[losingmymindrn]

You pull me in like the moon does the tide | coralbaird 1930s au

○~~~○~~~○

Her back ached. Terribly. Her work was endless, and she always came home smelling like fish and seaweed. She was pushed into a pile of fish today, actually. Dead fish. A rancid smell, if too overwhelming. Coral just wanted to get home. Tugging at her collar, Coral stepped off the docks, the wet wood creaking under her weight. Now, women weren't technically supposed to be doing work at the docks, that was a man's job, after all. But she had earned her place. By force. She was paid less then her colleagues, but it was enough for a...

'COME NOW, WITNESS THE AMAZING COVEY!'

The bright lights on the sign nearly blinded her. The covey? What was that? Curious, Coral stepped closer, hands shoved in her pockets. "Ay, you wanna see 'em?" A voice called from behind her. She jumped and faced it. In front of her, stood a young man, a bit older than her, with light blonde hair and electric blue eyes, much brighter than her pale ones.

"Ah... perhaps. Who are they?" She asked the man. He smiled and pointed at the sign, where a woman covered in a red dress and colorful feathers stood with a guitar, singing into the mic. "The covey's are musicians, that one's name is Lucy gray. She has the smoothest voice I've ever heard. She's the lead singer." He said. Coral only nodded in response. "Seems... lovely." She said after a moment. "Now, I would love to go, but I don't got much to my name right now." She said with a disappointed sigh. If she had the money, she might've taken her little brother to go see 'the Covey.'

The man smiled at her. "I'm friends with Lucy gray, I can get you in." He offered. Coral turned to him, bewildered. "Really? Ya don't even know me!" She exclaimed. The man only laughed. "So? Everyone should be blessed with hearing her voice." Huh. Well, it would be rude to turn down such an offer... "Well. Alright." She agreed. He smiled at her. "Great, meet me at the Hob tonight, 6:50. And my name is Coriolanus, by the way." And with that, he was gone. Coral turned back to the sign. Well. Here's to a fun night tonight.

○~~~○~~~○

Like promised, Coral met Coriolanus outside the Hob. Her little brother, Mizzen, had wanted to go, but apparently he wore himself out at school today, making him damn near collapse on the floor. Coriolanus greeted her, a man right by his side. "Coral, glad you can make it. This is Sejanus, my friend." By the way Sejanus was looking at Coriolanus, it didn't seem like they were 'just friends.' Coral nodded at him politely. "Let's head in, we want good seating." The blonde ushered them in, paying for entrance, and practically dragging her into the hob.

They did find good seat, right up front. "It starts at 7, so do you want anything while we wait?" Sejanus asked from his spot next to Coriolanus. "Nah, I'm good." She declined, focusing on the stage. Coriolanus had ordered drinks for them, because even though she declined wanting anything, she couldn't help but get a good ol' Blood and Sand. Soon enough, the spot lights were on, focusing on the stage, and out came the covey. She watched as they came forward, each holding their instruments close. But she was encapsulated by the most beautiful woman she had ever seen.

Lucy gray.

She had red feathers stuck in her curly dark hair. Carnelian eyeshadow brought out her brown eyes, one too many layers of ruby lipstick on her full lips. And a matching red dress clung to her body, making it impossible to look away. Cheers and hoots and hollers rose up from the crowd, but she was to slacken jaw to join. "Hm, red theme tonight." Coriolanus mused.

"Why, hiya y'all!" Lucy Gray grinned at the crowd, a brighter than the sun grin. She got cheers back from the crowd. "Oh I know, I know! It's been a little since I've been up here, huh?" Cheers again. Lucy gray giggles, and Coral could swear it was the most beautiful sound, more so than the calming waves. "Well don't cha worry, I've got many songs to make up for it!" More cheers.

Lucy Gray starts her song, and gods Coriolanus was right. She has the smoothest, loveliest voice known to man. She was memorized. But that's when Lucy Gray looks her in the eyes. Time stops.

The waves crashing outside the hob, gone. The cheers and screams inside, none existent. It was just them. Those brown doe eyes make her legs feel like jelly, and she was grateful for sitting down. She was in a trance. And it seemed as if Lucy gray was in one too. She skipped a line, letting the crowd finish it. But much too soon, Lucy Gray pulled her gaze away from her, back to the crowd. And oh...

Coral thinks she just fell in love.

[ltsmoving]

Voretober 14: Fans

not able to draw rn but this prompt is making me think of a certain freak of mine giggles. seren is a character ive never mentioned here before, but if im feeling brave, he might return.

"Aren't you excited?" Seren couldn't keep still in his seat as he spoke, hands tight on the wheel, keeping him braced as much as possible. "This is our biggest show yet! We're actually getting somewhere now- we'll be taking the top hits soon, Max, just you wait."

Max nodded along, trying his best to listen past the anxieties screaming in his ears, and past the discomfort of being packed into the backseat of a car half his height. Seren was right, this would be their largest crowd they had ever performed for- with at least a hundred people at the venue, they were guaranteed to stick in someone's head. But one hundred people is a lot, and he held his breath picturing his voice cracking or forgetting lines on stage.

"Hey, it's okay if you're worried, you know. You'll be great out there." His striking blue eyes flicked between the road and the rear mirror, looking at Max with a sugary sympathy. It calmed his nerves, but he couldn't help the gnawing fears that always overcame him before he first got on stage.

Before he really knew it, they were at the venue: a club near their old university campus, a few people they recognised from their time there in the crowd.

They made their way to the backstage area, Seren and Max hanging up their denim jacket and hoodie respectively, revealing their black button-downs and neck ties in blue and red. The pair practiced the parts of their songs they were going to struggle with the most, whether for Seren having to play a difficult melody, or Max singing a particularly quick and eclectic line. Getting up to wait in the wings, they listened in to the guy before them and prepared to go up themselves.

When it was finally their turn, Max was at least happy to find out that most people were milling about the bar, or talking over a drink than staring into his eyes, awaiting a perfect performance. By the time they were done, they weren't being booed off stage, so they must have done something right, even if they were off key at points or encountered some mic issues before hand.

Most surprising was that when they had come to the end of their set, a lone crowd member had wandered up to the stage as Seren was packing his guitar back into its case.

"You guys were great!" she said, speaking with bright eyes and excitement. "Substandard, was it?"

"That's us," Seren responded, holding back his joy that someone had been so enthralled by their music to come up and talk to them personally.

She nodded and smiled, turning to Max. "Can I make a request?"

"Sorry, our set is over, we've gotta let the next band up." Max gave the woman a polite smile, but she simply persisted, waving her hand and ushering the singer to kneel down so she could whisper into his ear.

At first, a coy smile adorned his face, before it morphed into a confused shocked expression. His first instinct was to look at Seren, as if asking for some silent permission for an unheard request. Despite this, he quietly responded, face slightly pink. Seren felt a twinge of jealousy, having this conversation kept private from him.

He had assumed the woman had asked for something like an autograph or a photo, the last thing he expected was to see his best friend with a mouthful of fangirl.

The crowd of conversations slowed to a dead stop as people took notice of the scene taking place on the stage. Everyone's eyes following the movements of the girl's torso being pulled into his gullet before her legs slipped down his throat- a voyeuristic spectacle of morbid fascination as her form disappeared, and Max's fuzzy gut was exposed.

Once she was down, Max panted, trying to heave himself and his newfound weight off of the stage before he noticed the ocean of eyes drinking in such a curious moment, Seren included. Some people turned to muttering, others cringed in disgust, others were whistling, whooping, even cheering at the display, and Max couldn't tell if he wanted to bathe in the response for a while longer or disappear into the earth and wallow in embarrassment.

Seren decided for him, dragging him by the arm off the stage as the band after them cautiously stepped up, clearly shaky to follow up the killer finish Substandard had brought. Out the back of the building, Seren left Max to struggle with the weight of another person as he fetched their car, and Max was alone with his thoughts and hundreds of pounds of human meat wriggling inside of him.

A stray hand palmed the surface, and he nearly fell over as his prey resisted the touch- must have been her face, then? He tried again to apply some pressure to his distended skin, and when he was met by no fight, he felt great, but he felt disgusted by himself to admit that. He was painfully full, and about to commit a homicide! Even still, he couldn't keep his hands off the mound of flesh on flesh.

The headlights of the car pulled him back to reality, and he hobbled his way to the backseat once again, this time having to lie down over the whole thing- there was no way he was fitting himself upright in that tiny space while sharing it with his meal.

The drive was accompanied by scared, angry, and confused rambling from Seren, but Max still couldn't find himself comprehending a single word, lost in the ecstasy of his wriggling meal, and thoughts screaming in his ears about how many more future fans might also want to be eaten. He definitely had a new diet to get used to.

[forrestfanfics]

So This is Love || Civil War 13: “Self-Cooking Hot Dogs”

“So This is Love” Masterlist

Previous Chapter  ||   Next Chapter (Coming Soon)

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Captain America: Civil War

"To generate, disseminate and preserve knowledge. And work with others to bring it to bear on the world's great challenges..."

The sparkle in my eyes couldn't be more apparent as I recited the statement alongside the mass group of students and professors in the auditorium.

I stood backstage, watching through the small gap in the curtains, as I wasn't allowed to show my face to anyone besides the select staff members.

"Well, you are the others. And quiet as it's kept, the challenges facing you are the greatest man kind had ever known." My dad was standing dead centre of the stage, giving his speech, where each word was provided by a teleprompter only visible to himself.

MIT... My dream.

I would've been in my third year there if I hadn't struggled so hard with Aeronautics.

But I'd be starting my first year in September and with the exhausting amount of preparation my dad put me through the past year, I passed the test with flying colours...

"Plus, most of you are broke."

Laughter came from the crowd.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Rather, you were."

Okay, well. Exhausting preparation and a comically large hypothetical check.

"As of this moment... Every student has been made an equal recipient of the inaugural September Foundation Grant. As in..." Pause for dramatic effect...

"All of your projects have just been approved and funded."

A round of applause from the students.

"Absurd."

I turned to the man who spoke next to me. A tall, skinny man in a black turtleneck with the ugliest, nastiest look on his face directed at the back of my father's head.

"Dude, you're kinda ruining my vibe here-"

"This was mine. All my hard work. And he makes a fool out of me. How can he stand there without a care in the world like he hadn't just taken credit for and mocked my life's work in front of all these people? BARF? Look at him! A pathetic man like him shouldn't take geniuses like me for granted," he spat every word like it was poison.

"You work for my dad?" I asked monotonously.

The scowl on his face disappeared when he looked at me with a bit of shock. "You're Y/N Stark?" He asked so casually. As if he wasn't just insulting my father to my face. "My name is Quentin B-"

"Yeah... I'm sorry, I'm not supposed to talk to strangers. Especially those who talk shit about my dad and his work," I waved my hands up in defence, turning to walk away when his hand got hold of my forearm. My head snapped back at him, chills running up my spine as the hairs on my arm stood up from the strange fear I suddenly felt around this man.

"You think you can help me out?" He asked like he wasn't just insulting my father a second ago.

"What?" I scrunched my nose, attempting to pull my arm away, but his grip was iron and my wrist was starting to ache.

"Put in a good word? Convince him my project is worth the care? Convince him to reimagine its purpose in the way I intended it! And for God's sake, give me the credit I deserve!"

"Please, let go of me," I said, trying to sound calm when in reality everything about this screamed danger.

"He'll listen to you. You're his little girl. He'll do it."

"Please stop!" I finally managed to claw his hand off of my arm and shove him back. "Don't ever come near me again," I warned with a shaky voice.

Before he could call out to me, I booked it, rounding the back of the stage to the other end just in time to see my dad being bombarded by the Dean rambling.

I took a moment to hold my hand over my chest, breathing heavily and shakily as I gently rubbed the part of my wrist he held.

Whoever the hell that psycho was, I hoped what he said wasn't true.

From what I was aware, that project was meant to act as some kind of therapy for my dad.

The idea of him stealing some guy's idea and passing it off as his own made me sick to my stomach.

I thought back to when he was first showing it to me. It was his way of introducing me to my late grandparents.

"They would've loved you," I remember him saying.

Sick. Absolutely sick. I refused to believe it. Why should I? He could've been lying to get me to talk about him with Tony Stark. That guy probably didn't even work for him.

My intrusive, distressing thoughts came to an end when I heard the conversation between my dad and the Dean.

Well, the one-sided conversation the bald guy was having with Tony.

"Hear me out, I got this killer idea for a self-cooking hot dog-"

My dad's eyes landed on my approaching figure and got hold of me, only to push me between him and the blabbermouth.

I took the hint and pulled the Dean aside while my dad spoke to another staff member.

"We'll catch up later!" He said to Tony as I dragged him away.

"Hi, my name is Y/N Stark. Tony's daughter. It's very nice to meet you, sir. Say, what's this about a self-cooking hot dog? Maybe I could pitch it to the old man," I gave my best fake smile and the most chipper attitude I could muster as the guy in front of me beamed.

"Oh, why, it's very nice to meet you, Miss Stark. As you're aware, I'm the Dean around here. I actually have a lot of questions. Like, why were you hidden away for 15 years? Do you know what a pedicab is? Because let me tell you, I know a great guy who can hook you up, and maybe I could-"

"Get on with it," I shook my head when I realised my dad was already gone.

"Right. Hot dog. Basically a chemical detonator embedded-"

"Say, why don't you e-mail me, huh? Here's my card," I smiled even wider, plucking out the random business card I grabbed in the lobby and placing it face-down in the palm of his hand.

"Oh, wow! You just gave me your number. There are so many things I want to discuss with you and your dear old dad."

"Yeah, yeah. I gotta go," I jerked back, going to move when I noticed something and stopped myself. "You look very familiar." I pointed out.

"How so?" He asked, tilting his chin up to the side.

"Probably just look like some character... I watch way too much TV," I shrugged and left to go after my dad.

"Wait! Which chara- Miss Stark! Which character?!"

●    ◉    ◎    ◈    ◎    ◉    ●

"Dad!" He was standing in front of an elevator down the hall when I found him. There was a woman who eyed me before saying something to my father and walking away.

"Hey," I greeted as I approached. "Oh my God, who was that guy?" I chuckled. "I know you don't want me throwing around my name like that to just anyone, but I'm really reconsidering that self-cooking Hot dog idea. Sounds like a million dollar investment."

The smile on my face faded when I noticed the dread on my dad's face.

"What happened? Who was the lady?" I asked, glancing down the hall to where the lady disappeared.

He seemed to be deep in his thoughts. But his face only showed horror the longer he looked at me.

"What?" I asked before I was abruptly brought into an embrace.

"I love you," he whispered into the top of my head, planting a kiss in the same spot.

The sudden impetuous affection ceased my working mind, clearing my head of any thoughts as I tried to digest the action.

Whatever he was talking about with that lady made me wonder what exactly was going through his head at that moment.

I decided against trying to come up with an answer for receiving unprompted affection from my dad, and wrapped my arms around him.

"I love you too, Dad."

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

[moonrisecalamityretreat]

Matthew 10:16

As soon as the gas had come out, that angelic hissing that was music to the ears of the Lambs. The sound of knowing they have once again cornered them into the final show of the new Scion of Despair. He had known right at that moment that it truly was the beginning of the end for himself.

As soon as he woke, the steps towards being the pariah as predicted got closer and closer. The mask will be torn, his facade shredded. He asked them to solve it and this would more than suffice.

He was the first to accuse Reimi, he was the one who pushed so hard to not let any other theories be given breath before he shoved them under the water to drown in his insistence. It was the way that things had to be.

As Maxime said, he was a creature of lies. Not even what can be considered a human anymore. He was nothing but a cheap imitation.

He looks out towards them all, every bit of hesitance draining from him yet again. What shown on his face was a void. No joy, no sadness. He stared holes into them all before…

His mouth twisted into a shaky yet twisted smile…

“That’s enough…Yes…you are all right. I met with Hisakawa-san. He was none the wiser to my true intentions when I sat down with him to talk. We chatted and he happily drank what I prepared for him.”

He doesn’t make eye contact with anyone…he is looking at them all though, waiting to see their faces twist into disgust and wrath.

“That poison acted very quick. I was able to escape through the kitchen where I had came and come out in the library as you all guessed.”

His voice is calm…his voice is cutting.

“I’m Subject 3, and I killed Hisakawa-san.”

[♫♫♫]

He confirms their suspicions and moves quick to break free from Hanji’s grasp around him. He doesn’t run though, he calmly walks around the outside of their circle of podiums. Every step takes him closer and closer to the stage where they sat.

“Diabelle, it’s time. To me.”

He holds his arms out for the bunny with an expression comparable to a dead fish. The little bunny hops with a smile painted on her face.

“Yay, yippee!!! Uppies!! I want a snack!!”

She runs at him, jumps up, and he catches her in his arms with the smallest and softest smile he can manage. He cradles the small bunny in front of them all. He turns on his heels to face them, now placed near the stage belonging to the hosts.

“In due time, Diabelle. Mr. Archambeault just gave you one.”

He gives her a little scritch on the top of her head.

“Will you clean me out too like you always do!?”

He doesn’t speak but he does give her a small nod. This was enough of the playing. He lifts his head to once again meet the gaze of his fellow captives.

(ART BY RUNE)

He stares for a moment, as if trying to find the right things to say at the moment. Where does he even start here?

“The rest of your theories however…are a little silly don’t you think? A little mixed up in my opinion. I’m not related to a staff member of Happy Smiles, nor is there something as simple as some kind of twin switcheroo.”

He gives both Maxime and Yuriko small glances as he gives them both a look of acknowledgement.

“The truth might be…well you know what they say. Truth is often stranger fiction. Stranger than whatever fictitious theories you manage to bubble up in your creative minds.”

He looks off to the side, letting his head dangle to one side. The bunny ears of his hat swaying with his head as he gives another small scratch to the underside of Diabelle’s chin.

“Jinpachi Otsuka…what a poor child that one was. He indeed was with you all back at Happy Smiles. But now…Jinpachi Otsuka doesn’t exist anymore. The Shepherd and I killed him when Happy Smiles was raided at the beginning of all of this, and I stole his face for my own.”

His head lifts to gauge their reactions. There is a sigh from him as he slowly blinks his eyes and turns his eyes down to the one in his arms. She was so needy for attention even at this big moment.

“They thought that it’d be best for me to take the identity of a prominent figure for the sake of people around the world watching him suffer. If you would all remember, Jinpachi Otsuka was an only child. Everything else…”

That wicked smile comes back to his face.

“Let’s all be honest, Otsuka-san was a vapid and boring person at his core. Being him got repetitive very quickly so…I made him my own. It was like constructing an original character only…I was acting him out the whole time…”

This person…this person who merely played the role called Jinpachi Otsuka finally gives a bow to them.

“It is a pleasure to finally meet you all. I am The Exalted. My name, as you can guess is Miyazaki. You could call me something of a Super High School Level Imposter I suppose…”

And with that, he quiets himself…he stares out…with that same dead expression.

THE EXALTED, MIYAZAKI HAS UNVEILED HIS FACADE

THE TIME HAS COME TO QUESTION A FOUNDER OF THE LOST LAMBS

[libramonthlyhoroscope1]

Dreaming about babies

In most people's perceptions, babies represent new life, hope, and the future, not only because of the high vitality of babies, but also because of people's internal expectations that life is actually a miracle. This is why we love babies very much. We even dream about babies sometimes... 

What does it mean to dream about babies? Is it good or not? Dreaming of a baby has specific meanings and predictions, as well as subjective interpretations according to the imagination of the dreamer. Let's take a look at the detailed interpretation of dreaming about babies with Chinese dream theory.

Dreaming about babies

Chinese Dream Interpretation Theory

'Zhou Duke Interprets Dreams' (周公解梦Zhou Gong Jie Meng) is the classic Chinese text that is the basis of most traditional Chinese dream interpretation theory. It's traditionally attributed to the Duke of Zhou (reign 1042–1035 BC), revered as the 'God of Dreams' and the 'First Sage'.

General Meanings of Dreams about Babies

Dreaming of a baby, according to Duke of Zhou Interprets Dreams, on the one hand can indicate your own purity and simplicity, that is to say: you're on the non-social side, or it can imply your own fragility and desire to be loved. 

On the other hand, it could indicate your self-development or a transfer in the progress of life. You will get new opportunities and good luck, your previous hard work will be rewarded, and a new stage of life will begin.

On a purely practical level, which does not require interpretation: when people who are married, but do not have children yet, dream of a baby, sometimes it can mean that they want to have children in their hearts. When new parents dream that a baby is suffocating or in danger, it usually simply expresses great concern for their child.

Dream Meanings for Various Types of Babies

Dreaming of a baby girl indicates that you are likely to have a dispute with your family or friends about something. It is recommended that you calm down and discuss things peacefully in the near future so as not to damage the harmony.

Dreaming of a baby boy indicates that you need comfort in your heart and soul. If you are currently in a dilemma, you must return to the original goal to think clearly, or think the problem through carefully from the beginning to solve it.Dreaming of a beautiful baby indicates that you will have good luck.

Dreaming of a group of cute babies indicates a bright future for you, and many people will come to congratulate you.

Dreaming of very ugly baby means that someone you trust may deceive you.

Dreaming of a very small baby symbolizes that you will win something or that you will soon get something important to you.

Dreaming of a baby with teeth symbolizes the smooth implementation of your plan. If you can get help from someone else, soon there will be good news.Dreaming of a sick baby means that you may suffer frustration at work or in love.

Dreaming of a dead baby is a sinister dream that heralds the destruction of your plans and hopes. You have lost, or will lose, something important to you.

Dream Meanings for Babies in Various Contexts

Dreaming that you have a baby could be a sign that you are about to get pregnant or get rich and have a high income.

Dreaming of a baby in your arms indicates that what you have always wanted to have, or what you want to do, will be achieved as you wish, and you will be happy.

Meanings for Dreams of a Baby Doing Something

Dreaming of a talking baby may be alerting you to problems in the near future, for example that someone is jealous of you and will cause you problems.

Dreaming of a laughing baby symbolizes good interpersonal relationships, that you can treat people with sincerity, and that there will be many friends around you.

Dreaming of a crying baby means that there are some suppressed emotions that bother you, so at this time it is best to calm down and keep a low profile.

Dreaming of a newborn baby who can walk indicates that your work performance will be praised.

Dreaming of baby poop indicates that you may come upon unfortunate things or that someone you trust will put you in an embarrassing situation.

Meanings for Dreams of Interacting With a Baby

Dreaming of playing with a baby indicates that the things you planned and wished for will go well: your dreams will come true.

To dream of bathing a baby refers to the fact that when bathing a baby, you need to be careful, otherwise you will hurt the baby. This dream shows that the dreamer may not be a careful person in life, and he/she needs to be careful in what he/she does.

Dreaming of breastfeeding a baby implies that you need patience, as when we breastfeed a baby, we need patience. This dream foretells that you can have the opportunity to do something slowly, and finally succeed; it is an internal expectation.

Dreaming of an unknown person touching a baby indicates that you recently have had bad luck, or you will soon find yourself with bad luck.

[thrifty50sswinging60sgroovy70s]

Alain Delon and Romy Schneider had the most passionate love story ever, an epic mixture of love at first sight, first love and overall an enduring bond that lasted a lifetime. They met in 1958 and were over by 1963, but their passion for one another remained and after her tragic passing in 1982, he wrote her the most touching love letter... Farewell My Puppelé

“I watch you sleep. I’m with you, by your bedside. You’re wearing a long black tunic and red wembroidery on the bodice. These are flowers, I think, but I do not look at them. I will say goodbye, the longest farewell, my Puppelé. That’s how I called you. It meant “little doll” in German. I do not watch the flowers, but your face and I think you’re beautiful, and never, perhaps you have been so beautiful. I also think this is the first time in my life – and yours ��� I see you calm and soothed. You’re so quiet, you are so fine , how beautiful you are. Looks like a hand, gently wiped your face all the tensions, all anxieties of misfortune. I watch you sleep. They tell me that you’re dead. I think of you, of me, of us. What am I guilty of? We ask ourselves this question before a being that is loved and still love that one. This feeling fills you, and then flows back and then we say that one is not guilty, no, but responsible … I am. Because of me, what is your heart in Paris the other night, stopped beating. Because of me because it was there twenty-five years and I had been chosen to be your partner in “Christine”. You came to Vienna and I waited, in Paris, with a bouquet of flowers in his arms I did not know how to hold. But the film’s producers told me: “When it come down from the bridge, you will advance to her and offer these flowers.” I waited with my flowers, like a fool, mixed with a horde of photographers. You’re down. I stepped forward. You said to your mother, “Who is this boy?”. She answered you: “It must be Alain Delon, your partner … “. And then nothing, no thunderbolt, no. And then I went to Vienna where we were shooting the film. And then I fell madly in love with you. And you fell in love with me. Often, we asked ourselves one to another issue of love, “Who fell in love the first, you or me?”. We counted ‘One, two, three! “And we answered:” Neither you nor I! Together “. My God, we were young, and as we were happy. At the end of the film, I said, “Come live with me in France” and already you told me: “I want to live near you, in France.” Do you remember when? Your family, your parents, furious. And throughout Austria, Germany, who all treated me … usurper, the kidnapper, who accused me of removing the “Empress”! Me, a French, who did not speak a word of German. And you, Puppelé, who did not speak a word of French. We loved without words, in the beginning. We looked and we had some laughs. Puppelé … And I was “Grandpa”. After a few months, I did not speak German yet but you spoke French so well and we played at the theater in France. Visconti was the staging. He told us that we resembled and we had, between the eyebrows, the same V that wrinkled, anger, fear of life and anxiety. He called it the “V of Rembrandt” because, he said, that this painter had “V” on his self portraits. I watch you sleep. “The V of Rembrandt” is deleted … You have no fear. You are no longer frightened. You’re more alert. You are no longer hunted. The hunt is over and you rest.

I look at you again and again. I know you so well and so strong. I know who you are and why you died. Your character, as they say. I reply, ‘other’, the character of Romy was her character. That’s it. Leave me alone. You were violent because you were right. A child who soon became a star, too soon. So, on one side, whims, tantrums and moods of a child, always justified, of course, but with unpredictable reactions, on the other hand, the professional authority. Yes, but there are children who do not really know how it plays with. With that. And why. In this contradiction, through this breach, rush anxiety and unhappiness. When one is Romy Schneider, and we have the sensitivity and temperament in flower of life, on edge, which was yours. How to explain who you were and who we are, “actors”. How to tell them to keep playing, “Interpreter” to be what we are not really crazy and we become lost. To stand, roughly, how they say it is so difficult, that there should such a strong character, such a balance … But this balance, how to find it in this world of ours, our jugglers, clowns, trapeze artists of the circus whose projectors we bask in glory? You said: “I can not do anything in life, but all the movies …”. No, the “others” can not understand that. That the more we become a great actor and it is awkward to live. Garbo, Marilyn Monroe, Rita Hayworth … And you. And I cried, while you rest and I weep beside you, no, no, no, this business is not a terrible business woman. I know because the man I’m the one who is best known thee, who brought you the better understood. Because he is an actor, too. We were of the same race, my Puppelé, we spoke the same language. But I am a man. They can not understand us, “other”. The actors, yes. The “other” are not. It’s inexplicable. And when you’re a woman, like you, they may not realize that they can die of “it.” They say you were a myth. Of course … But yes … But the “myth”, he knows he is just that. A facade. A reflection. Appearance. he is king, prince, hero, Sissi, Mrs. Haneau, the seagull … But he goes home, the myth, at night. So it is that Romy, just a woman with a life misunderstood, poorly received, poorly written in newspapers, assailed and hunted. So he wears, the myth, in his solitude. This anxiety. And the more he understands, and he falls, to more or less repeated doses, in the beatitudes of alcohol and tranquilizers. It becomes habit, then sets, then necessity. Then it is irreplaceable and the heart, worn out, stops because he is too tired to fight. It was too battered and shaken, his heart was only that of a woman in the evening, sitting over a glass …

They say that desperation that you caused the death of David you killed her. No, they are mistaken. Did he not kill her. There you have completed. True that you said to Lawrence, and your last wonderful companion: “I feel like I get to the end of the tunnel.” True that you wanted to live, you would have liked to live. Nevertheless true that you came out of the woods on Saturday at dawn. You were only to know when your heart is broken, that this was the true end of the tunnel.

I write at random. Without notice. My Puppelé, if aggressive, if scratched. You never could accept and understand the game of women’s work that you had chosen public and you loved. You did not understand that you were a public figure and it was so important. You refused the game, any game that exposes profession. You felt attacked, breakthrough, broken into your privacy. You were always on your guard, like a hunted animal, “forced” as they say a deer. And you knew that fate, with one hand, t’ôtait what gave you the other.

We lived more than five years, one near each other. You with me. Me with you. Together. Then life … Our life, which nobody’s business, has separated us. But we were called. Often. Yes, that’s exactly right: we embarked on “appeals”. Then, in 1968, it was “The Pool”. We found ourselves, to work. I went looking for you in Germany. I met David, your son.

After our movie, you’re my sister, I am your brother. Everything is clean and clear of us. More passion. Better than that: our friendship blood, likeness and words. And then your life and your ways, unhappiness and anxiety, the anxiety … They will say, “other”, “What an actress! What actress! “. They do not know that you are the actress, cinema, because you are in your life that you and pays dearly. They do not understand the drama of your life reflect upon the screen later in your roles. They can not guess that you are “good” and “brilliant”, the movies, because you live the tragedy at hand, and you are upsetting because you light up the reflection of your personal dramas. And you do not radiated because they burn you. Oh! Puppelé this work my pain! Do I have lived with you or next to you?

Until the death of David, yet there is “the trade” that you held your head above water. Then David left … And the business was no longer sufficient. So I was not surprised when I learned that you also worry was gone. What was I surprised? Your non-suicide. But your heart is cracked, no. I said: “That was the end of the tunnel.”

I watch you sleep. Wolfie, your brother, and Lawrence enter the room. I speak with Wolfie. We remember this house I had in the countryside. Of Dobermans that made you so afraid. We remember again … That was twenty-five years ago, in Bavaria, in a small village. Wolfie was fourteen, my twenty-three and twenty thou. We laughed when we announced the visit of the President of Fan Club Romy Schneider in France. We have seen it happen a great girl, with glasses, shy, and named Bernadette. When we returned to Paris, we have called him. She became our secretary for six years. It is always mine, for twenty-two years now. I watch you sleep. Yesterday you were still alive. It was night. You said to Lawrence, as you return home: “Go to bed. I’ll join him earlier. I rest a bit with David, listening to music. ” You said that every night … You wanted to be alone with the memory of your dead child before bed. You sat. You took the paper and a pencil and you started to make drawings. For Sarah. You were drawing for your little girl, when your heart has hurt so much, suddenly … So beautiful. Beautiful, rich, famous, that you ought to be more? Peace, a little happiness.

I watch you sleep. I’m alone again. I say you loved me. I loved you. I have made you a French, a French star. Of that, yes, I feel responsible. And this country that you loved, for my sake, became yours. France. So, Wolfie decided – Lawrence and told him that you wanted it – you’d stay here and that you should rest forever in the land of France. A Boissy. Where, in a few days, your son, David, will join you. In a small village where you had just received the keys of a house. There, you wanted to live near Lawrence, near Sarah, thy daughter. There, you will sleep forever. In France. Closer to home, close to me.

I took care of you left Boissy, to relieve Laurent and your family. But I do not go to church or the cemetery. Wolfie and Laurent understand me. You, I ask you to forgive me. You know I would not be able to protect yourself from this crowd, this storm, so eager to “show” and made you so afraid, that you tremble. Forgive me. I’ll see you tomorrow, and we are alone.

My Puppelé, I look at you again and again. I want to devour all of my eyes, and tell you again and again that you’ve never been so beautiful and calm. Rest. I’m here. I learned a little German, with you. Ich liebe dich. I love you. I love you my Puppelé

[kyberphilosopher]

Smile

Word Count: 3467 Requested: yes. Based off ‘505′ Warnings: strong hints to sexual disposition. Spoilers if you squint.

“I’d probably still adore you with your hands around my neck... I did last time I checked.” -Arctic Monkeys, ‘505′.

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

With hoarse breath and unwavering eyes, you look up to the stars as you speak. “So, you’re really going to do it then?”

“I have to,” you hear him say. His voice has gotten far more mature and calm since the first time you’d heard him speak. Still angry and determined, but in an intelligent, adult way. Eren is a more capable person now. The only thing left to do is wait and see if that’s a good thing, or a bad thing. 

“What do you think are the chances of winning?” you question. A shooting star whizzes across the sky at that very moment, and it’s gone before you can think of a wish. 

You turn around to face him, but his eyes are already on you. Once upon a time, Eren’s eyes were emerald and teal and deep. Now they’re paler. They are cold and steady as a byproduct of who he’s become. It’s hard not to wonder what he’s thinking about when he looks at you like this, especially since he’s become harder to read over the years.

At first, Eren was one of the most insufferable people you’d ever met. He acted out so often, it was hard to see him as another person of intelligent life. You mostly just minded your business through your cadet years, usually hanging around Reiner, who was also difficult to see as intelligent life. Sometimes you and Eren would argue, but it was never passionate. You just had different world views. 

Things got better when you found out what Eren really was. Since you hadn’t made top ten, you could only choose between the Garrison Regiment, or the Scout Regiment. And with Eren’s newly discovered power showing the promise of hope, you decided on the Scouts. He liked that. 

After that, it was hard not to mature at the same time as he. Eren often blamed himself for the death and carnage that surrounded the regiment. You were solely responsible for the passing of your best friend. And after everything that happened with the government, almost dying at Shiganshina- you knew you couldn’t stand this much longer. With your relationship with Eren still budding in its early and steamy stages, he was the only one you told of your desertion. You abandoned the corps, finding a small, abandoned farm within wall Maria to hide out in. 

Eren was too tired and sick of everything to think you were being cowardly. He wanted to leave too. Maybe come with you. But Eren had plans in the works that he couldn’t leave alone. He visited you less and less. Luckily you never made a fuss. 

And now Eren wants to end the world, to save the world. How does he expect you to react to this?

“I just thought I should see you,” Eren replies. You know he’s deflecting your question. You’re not stupid. 

You nod slowly, blinking as you think. “Am I going to die?”

Your companion crosses his arms calmly. “Yes,” he tells you. 

There it is. 

“You know I can’t support you in this, right?” you tell Eren, equally as calm. 

He only replies after a moment, also in deep thought. “I know.”

You look back up to the sky, sighing out through your nose. “Why did you come, Eren? Did you want me to tell you that I think you’re doing the right thing? Or was it because you need to let out some anger? I wonder.”

“I did want to see you.”

“Do you still?”

Silence. 

“Yes.”

“And I suppose there’s nothing I can do to change your mind?”

“No.”

The stars are glittering with pastel hues, like a rainbow, or kaleidoscope. Each one is a different size, bordering on different shapes, all fusing and melting together like your idea of heaven. You can barely even see the midnight color of the sky through all them. It is beautiful, but it’s also bitter. Everything is bitter, here. 

“I didn’t make myself any dinner yet,” you say. “Couldn’t think of anything.”

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

When she was alive, Eren’s mother would make a soup for the family. It was creamy, hot, filled with meat and cheese at the bottom. Eren never liked soup, but he did love that dish. She was always sure to make extra for him, so that he could enjoy it for several days. And although it wasn’t until after she was gone that Eren realized he rarely ever thanked her for it, it was still one of the warmest memories Eren had. 

He fills your wooden bowl with it, being awfully generous. He knows that even though you haven’t eaten much in the last few years, you too had grown fond of the soup. He knows no matter how slowly you force it down, you are enjoying it. It burns the roof of your mouth every time, but you’ve never cared. All that matters is the creamy sauce, and the cow cooked to perfection. 

You stare at the fireplace beside you, flames cackling and licking upward. Eren sets the bowl in front of you, and takes the seat on the other side. You know he sets his long hair behind his shoulders. You’re already prepared. From your pocket, you produce a stretchy brown hair tie on the verge of snapping, handing it to him. 

“Thanks,” he says, even though this routine has happened however many times he’s seen you. 

“You’re welcome.”

The soup is as amazing as usual. You’re willing to bet Eren makes it even better than his mother did, but you dare not say it aloud. It’s creamy, perfectly seasoned. It goes down your throat, still steaming. 

“Does Mikasa know about this?” you question, taking one more delicious bite. 

“No. None of them do,” Eren answers. “Armin will figure it out soon.”

“You want me to kill ‘em?”

Eren shakes his head. To a lot of people, this would be taken as a joke. But this is nowhere near it. Your tone is too casual, too low for it to be humor of any kind. And the way the man across from you reacts- he’s thinking the same thing. 

“No.”

“How are they, then?”

Eren thinks as he takes another bite, the warmth creeping up his chest sweetly. “They’re alright for now. I don’t know for how much longer. I can’t see everything.”

“Can you see who’s next?”

He squints at his bowl as if he were angry, but his eyebrows barely move. “Sasha.” 

Sasha. She was always a good presence to have around. While she seemed like the type of person who would annoy you, it was hard to hate her. And you admired her keen intuition anyway. 

“Will you give her something for me?”

Eren nods. Then you both go back to eating for a few seconds, basking in the orange glow from the flames. 

“How are things here?” he questions after a minute. 

“The same,” you tell him. “I think the cow might die soon.”

Some people might reply with condolences, or sympathy. But your lover does not, and you do not expect him to. “I’ll get you a new one,” he says flatly, almost like a promise. You nod once.

Despite the atmosphere which can only be described as bitter, you’re glad to see Eren again. You’re glad that he’s alive, and as alright as he can be. The bed is always colder without him, heated up only by your lingering fingers that you pretend are his every other night. Whenever he leaves an article of clothing behind, usually on purpose, you hold off on washing it so it can smell like him for you as long as possible. Then there are the hair ties you keep either in your pocket or on your wrist, specifically for him. The razors in your cabinet he often didn’t even bother using. 

Even with the sullen demeanor that had managed to overtake both of you, there was at least one thing you cared about in the world still. Maybe it wasn’t the most conventional kind of caring, or the healthiest coping mechanism. But it was still caring. And all that you cared about was him. 

You knew you weren’t Eren’s first priority. You were probably second, or third. It didn’t bother you. Eren’s head was one of the first things lost when the truth was presented to him. It came back coldly and sternly, in contrast to how previously hot and impatient it had been. But by then your head had also grown colder and sterner. In simpler terms, Eren did care for you. He did love you. But he would consider letting you die if it meant achieving what he set out to do, and you knew this. 

Across the table, Eren lifts his head to look up at you as he chews slowly. The burning meal slides down his throat easily, albeit painfully. It doesn’t even register with him, his piercing eyes slowly gaining a glint from the fire light. 

You meet his eyes after a few seconds, feeling them on you. You don’t say a word, don’t even give a questioning look. You just hold him patiently, which is something the two of you find yourself doing often. 

“You can’t stop it,” Eren speaks, looking you dead in the eyes with a steady gaze. There is love behind his eyes, far behind the anger, but you can tell from the tone of voice he is trying to tell you something as if it were an order. Your lips part slightly from the intensity radiating from your lover, who doesn’t move a muscle. “You’ll be free soon.” 

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

Dinner ends. Eren helps clean up the dishes for you and goes to get water from your well so you can clean easier. You already know from the way his thumb brushed against your own when you took the bowls that you’ll likely be bent over the sink in a few minutes, which you don’t mind, but you wonder if he’ll be willing to be softer than usual as an apology for what he’d said earlier. 

He’d meant to scare you. You’re intelligent enough to figure that out. Even though you don’t scare easy, and you didn’t even give an extreme reaction, the look in Eren’s eyes had made your heart drop to your stomach. Sometimes you forget that Eren sees everything. Then he says something like that to remind you in the most memorable way. 

The wooden door opens and closes behind you. Boots scuff the ground for a few seconds, drawing closer and closer as something in you sparks with anticipation, as it always does. A pail of water hits the surface beside you, partially sloshing over the sides, shining silver in the moonlight from the tall window in front of you. Finally, ultra hot hands slide around your waist and push gently but tightly against where your ribs diverge. 

A jaw leans down on your right shoulder, chin poking against your collarbone. Locks of hair brush against your own, just as the hand on the left runs across your side to finally put a small band in your pocket. 

“I did miss you,” Eren’s low voice seemingly growls, his chest rumbling softly against your back. 

“I was thinking about you,” you admit with monotone, knowing your lover can read through it like as easily as a knife slices through skin. 

“I hope I didn’t worry you,” he says, though you can also read through his own tone. He probably didn’t care about worrying you. He definitely doesn’t still. 

“You didn’t.”

You place a both bowls in the sink, running your fingers over the dirty spoons. Eren’s orbs follow your movement. You can feel his chin change positions ever so slightly in the coming seconds. 

“Can you pass me the rag?” you ask, eyes focused on a piece of food on the spoon that doesn’t even exist. 

In response, Eren doesn’t pass you anything. Only his right hand gives you any kind of acknowledgement, passing from on your ribs to down lower. His fingertips skin over the erogenous zone under the waistband of your undergarments. 

“I worried about you,” Eren murmurs boldly. The hot fingertips pass under the cloth finally, pricks of stubble on his jaw scratching your neck and shoulder as he shifts. “I wanted you to be okay.” His left hand raises to grasp the breast above it. Slowly at first, then firmly, like a warning. Everything is a warning with him. 

Your head lulls back uncontrollably. The back of your hair matts up as it rolls against his own shoulder. 

“I said you worried me,” your partner grumbles. “Did you hear me?”

“No,” you lie lowly, refusing to let your voice shake despite the shiver in your throat. 

“Mm,” Eren hums in condescending understanding. A force presses against your core, which has turned burning hot and ice cold at the same time. The force pulls away, a string of something smooth and slimy following it that makes a sound draw from your lips. It’s high pitched, weak, and unstoppable. You’d be embarrassed if you weren’t so associated with Eren. 

His hand gives your breast a firm squeeze, soreness blossoming from the center. Your back arches quickly and returns lax against him, though now something pokes against your bottom that makes your eyes pop open with a new alertness. Eren’s hand gives you no time again. From your chest, it flies to your throat, holding it back with soft strictness as the other finally dips into the hot pool between your hips. 

“I worried about you.”

A strangled groan releases from between your lips again, this time fully carried up through the air. To Eren, it must sound like nothing more than music, or background noise. 

Thick cylinders pump inside you to the knuckle. They feel better than your own. They always have. 

It feels good. Full. Tight and fast and like the inside of you is quivering under the weight of something that you can’t see or hear. Eren is like a blanket supporting you from falling over, keeping you upright with his grip and his fingers buried inside of you. Prodding every angle, every spot. Not necessarily romantically, but still lovingly. He has always had this goal during intimacy. Nothing matters but communicating to you just how close he wants to be. 

“Eren,” you choke, a dribble of spit sliding from the corner of your lips. 

“Again,” he hisses in response. His fingers hit a tight spot, making every muscle in your body clench at the same time. 

You don’t say another word, your mouth hanging partially open as you focus on everything around you. And it’s all Eren Jaeger. His smell, his growls, his voice, his breathing, his chest, his muscles, his hair, his anger, his bitterness, his intelligence, his determination. It’s overwhelming. It reminds you of getting swept in one of those waves at the ocean he described to you. He’s yours. No- more likely, you’re his. End of story. 

“I said again.”

“Eren,” you moan.  

His head nuzzles into your neck comfortingly, his fingers pushing faster and harder. You can feel how warm you are, never mind how slick. And the way your own body holds around his digits every time he pulls away is enough to make you all the more warm and slick. 

But then...

What is he doing?

He had said “you’ll be free soon”. And yet, here he is, gripping you tightly as he forces you into the corner of submitting. And yes, it is hot. It arouses you as it always has. But something about it makes your stomach turn into a knot of unpleasantness, in contrast to the other one of liquid pleasure. 

“Eren,” you strain, squirming against him. 

Eren speeds up again. A grunt falls from his own mouth from his own power, and you know he’s getting off almost as much as you are. It doesn’t stop feeling good. Feeling euphoric. 

It’s getting rougher. Rougher and harder and faster, more intense. 

“Eren.”

Another gruff moan from him. 

“Eren! Stop! Stop!”

Eren’s palm softens away at once. It lifts away, his eyes opening and his hand stilling inside of you. He watches you shake as you gaze up to the ceiling, wide eyed. Your thighs sputter, entire body twitching. You didn’t cum. 

His eyes trail over you. You’ve worked up a steady sweat glistening and glowing, shivering and shaking and quaking because of him in the best way. You’re his. His partner, his friend, his ally he knows for a fact he can rely on.

“C-can we... Eren...” 

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

Drips of water dribbling down Eren’s temple. One of your hands are threaded in his brunette locks, holding them back so you can have an uninterrupted view. The other hand is dabbing cloth against his forehead and hairline, bathing him softly. 

He’d gone a while without bathing again. You could tell. Eren’s eyes are glued to yours, deep teal memorizing all the flecks in your own as if he hadn’t a million times over. 

Eren loves you. Dearly. He’d travel all seven hours and forty five minutes just to tell you that. He doesn’t know what made you stop earlier. He doesn’t ask. But he’s not mad. Overall, Eren understands that it doesn’t matter what you asked to stop for. You give the word, he obeys. Not because he has to, but because he loves you. 

Still, he knows something is wrong. You don’t show it. You’re steady, calm, mature, apathetic as always. But in the pit of Eren’s stomach, something brews. A warm, strange feeling of intuition and omniscience. 

“You look very pretty today,” Eren ventures, wondering only of your response. “Did I tell you that?”

Your eyes squint. “Thank you,” you reply back. 

The cloth continues to rub against his skin, cleaning something that probably doesn’t even exist. Dirt, maybe. Eren’s stopped taking care of his skin in the past few years. 

“You’re welcome.”

Your eyes squint again. This time, they gloss over with sharp wetness like glass. The eyebrows crease like a break, your bottom lip trembling as you suck it between your teeth. 

He doesn’t know what he was expecting. But your lover wasn’t expecting this. 

Eren hates when you cry. He can remember the first time he’d seen it, but not the most recent. You didn’t cry often- you were strong. Crying over something as useless and flimsy as emotions didn’t seem worth it. So what was this for? What were you about to make Eren break down inside over?

Your hand falls limply from his forehead. Shoulders hunch over in defeat, staring down at the floor as your hair covers over your face. And then the sniffles come, choked out coughs like sobs. 

Eren can see the lightest of bruises he’d left on you from earlier, but you’d never had a problem with it before. No, it was something else. But what?

Silent, your teeth grit together as you wince, tears streaming down your face inexplicably. 

“Earlier w-when you,” you gulp, snot beginning to form, “when you- I did worry a-about you. I- I don’t know why I didn’t...”

You stumble forward. Eren stands from your bath tub to catch you as you slump against him tiredly. 

“I hate it when you go.”

Eren switches positions with you, pushing you down to sit on the edge of the tub. He takes the wet rag from your hand and holds your shoulder back so he can have a good look at you. Then the cloth dabs against your own forehead, just as you had done to him. 

“I hate it here,” you sigh, a single tear drop blurring your vision as it falls finally. 

Your lover moves the cloth from your head to your cheeks, smearing the wetness into your skin and away. They moisten and dry, your eyes red and shiny. Eren tilts your head up under your jaw, creasing his brows and using the towel to clean closer to your eyes. 

“If it helps,” he says, looking straight into your eyes, “you’re crying, but I still think you look pretty.”

You’d be lying if you said that didn’t help even a little, because you love him. 

A soft smile creeps to your lips, your hands dropping in between your thighs. 

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

No I didn’t reread this lmfao enjoy. Hope I did you justice anon

[darkmulti]

Hi! I love your blog! So hard to find a non con writers! Ignore the haters, just keep doing what you love! You’re not alone!

So happy to see your request open! I’d like to request a NON CON where Mafia JK fell in love at first sight with innocent reader and bought her in an auction. He is obsessed with her so he marries her and deflowered her, stuffing his thick manhood in her and. JK has a bloodplay kink. He wouldn’t stop fucking her until she passed out everyday. Milking her dry from orgasms. Thank you 💜

-> Thank you for the reassurance❣️

⚠️: BLOOD PLAY, NON CON, human trafficking, virgin reader, physical, mental & emotional abuse, little/innocent!reader, ddlg-ish, manipulation

“Get the hell up, you have to get ready.”

The man kicked you in your stomach and grabbed your arm, pulling you upstairs to the bathroom

“Wear this dress and fix up your face.”

He left the bathroom and you quickly jumped into the shower

Today was the “big day”

You were being auctioned off

Obviously, you were terrified and nervous

However, your current “owners” said that if someone doesn’t buy you today, they’ll make your life a living hell

They were hungry for money and if no one wanted you, you would’ve been a big waste of their money, time and energy

Well, not really — they just needed to blame someone for their lack of success

Plus, you’re the first person that they’re selling

They kidnapped you when you were walking home from the train station

You didn’t have much family nor friends which kinda made you the perfect target

You cooperated with your two “owners” because you didn’t want to get hurt

Yet, it still happened anyways

They’d often kick you, or slap you, or pull your hair

Nevertheless, you didn’t complain because you wanted to stay out of trouble

When you finished getting ready, your “owners” tied your arms and legs together and threw you into the trunk

The auction event was big

You could tell that you this event had plenty of rich and powerful people just by looking at all the cars

Your owners took you inside through the back door and told you to fix your hair

Once you did, they dragged you behind the stage and made you wait there for nearly 3 hours

There were other girls lined up in front and behind you, half looking terrified and half looking excited

In those three hours you overheard some girls talking about a certain man they wished to be bought by

Those were the girls who were “excited”

They were talking about how they went “all out” to impress him

You tend to not judge people but, you couldn’t help yourself

Who the fuck wants to be sold to anyone?

You couldn’t wrap your head around their thought process

They were practically gushing about this mafia guy who was supposedly young and handsome

Even if he was, why the hell would you want to be someone else’s property?

You muted their voices so you didn’t have to hear their nonsense and soon enough the auction started

One by one, girls and boys went up on stage and the bidding started

You were surprised because some of those girls got sold for only a couple hundred bucks

When it was your turn, your owners basically dragged you on stage and held you wrist as tight as they could so you couldn’t run

“A young, ripe, virgin finishing up university. Starting bid, $50,000.”

One by one, people raised their auction paddles and offered more for you

Your owners went wide eyed after the bids started increasing by $10,000

You eventually passed 1 million and were near 2 million

Random old men were raising their paddles higher and higher, determined to buy you

Eventually one of them had enough and said “5 million dollars!”

The room went silent and your owners were about to say “sold!” when someone interrupted and said “10 million dollars”

Even your mouth dropped

10 million?!

The man stood up and walked closer to the stage

Your two owners recognized him and started bowing multiple times

“S-She’s all yours, Mr. Jeon! Thank you so much. Please take her.”

This was the first time you saw the two males scared and nervous

And it kinda frightened you

It took a lot to scare those two but, this guy did it effortlessly

So, what in the world would happen to you?

You got dragged off stage again and the auction continued

You were dragged into a private room where the man who had just bought you gave the two men 10 million in cash

7 brief cases stacked on top of each other, full of hundreds

The two males happily accepted and let you go with the man

He didn’t want to stick around for the event so, he pulled you out of the building and pushed you into the car

“Anders, drive us home.”

The car ride was silent in the beginning

You’re eyes were glued on the window and his were glued on his phone

About an hour later, you fell asleep against the window and he noticed

He slapped you across the face and pulled you’re body away from the door

“What’re you sleeping for? You did absolutely nothing today. Do you think you’re some kind of princess? Do you think can sleep wherever you want whenever you want? Keep your eyes open. If I catch you sleeping again, I’ll make you regret it.”

Tears gathered in your eyes and you couldn’t hold it in

You started to sniffle, making Jungkook look over at you

“Shut up! If I hear you cry, I’ll force you to walk all the way home, barefoot”

You covered your mouth with your hand and lowered your head

After taking a moment to breathe normally, you apologized

“I’m sorry, Mr. Jeon. I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

Jungkook raised his eyebrows

“How do you know my last name?”

“I heard my owners call you by that na-”

Another smack on your cheek, this time a little harder

“How dare you call them your owners?!”

Your eyes held so much terror, and it was a turn on for Jungkook

That was the moment he realized how much control he had over you

You were so naive and innocent, it made him want to ruin you

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Jeon! I didn’t realize! It was an honest mistake.”

“Just wait until we get home” he muttered under his breath but you were able to make it out

You were terrified and rightfully so

Once you got home, Jungkook didn’t have any mercy on you

You were running from him, not knowing where you were going

You ran upstairs into a large bedroom and locked the door

“Please, don’t hurt me!” You cried, clutching onto the top of your dress that he ripped apart

You thought he was on the other side of the door, calming down but the closet door busted open and there he was

You tried to open the room door but he was faster and pulled you back onto the bed

“Already causing so much trouble for me, little one.”

He hovered over you

“I’m sorry. I’m scared. Please, don’t kill me.”

You started to cry under him

You looked so precious, begging for your life

He couldn’t resist

He took off his suit and ripped your dress open

Underneath, you were wearing a red and black lace lingerie

He let out a low growl before attacking your neck and marking you all over

“Wait! Sir! Please! Mr- agh! Mr- Mr. Jeon! No! I’ll give you money! Please! I can give you all the money in my bank account if you just let me go! $59,000 is all I have! I can-”

Jungkook started to chuckle against your neck

“59,000 dollars? That’s all? You expect me to set you free after you give me 59,000 dollars?”

He laughed right in your face which broke your heart

It was your hard earned money

You hated to see someone discredit your hard work just like that

You frowned and got tearful

“It’s all the money I have.”

You said in a quavering voice

Jungkook looked at you

You were dead serious

“I bought you for 10 million dollars and you want me to set you free for $59,000. Anyone with a brain would deny that offer.”

He slapped you again and continued on

Jungkook sucked your neck, breast and chest; leaving dark, purple marks all over

“Wait! Mr. Jeon, I-I’m actually waiting till m-marriage.”

“That doesn’t matter, anymore. You’ll be getting married to me, anyways.”

“No! Please!”

Jungkook pulled down your underwear and rubbed two fingers up your slit, making you shiver

“So pretty. I can’t wait anymore.”

He pulled out his thick shaft and you started to panic

“No! No, no, please! I don’t want this! I don’t want to do this, please!”

He spat on your opening for some lub and pushed his whole length in harshly

You groaned in pain when he did but couldn’t fight back

Your hands were against his chest but, pushing him off wasn’t easy

He started thrusting inside of you at a cruel speed, causing you gasp really loudly before wailing

“Hey! Stop! Please! It hurts!”

Jungkook pinned your wrist next to your head and fucked you deeply

After hours of fucking, cum and blood covered his cock and the bedsheet

He smeared the blood and cum mix all over your body

“Look at you, covered in your virgin blood mixed with my cum. You look so pretty.”

You were mumbling incoherent words, unable to think straight

He forced three orgasms out of you, of course you weren’t able to think straight

Sweat covered your forehead and your tight hole was leaking cum and blood

He pushed in one more time and began fucking you hard

You were squealing under him, telling him to stop yet he slapped your ass and grabbed your throat

“Your cunt seems to love my cock. That’s why you’re cumming so much around me. So stop telling me that it hurts because I know it’s a lie.”

One more deep push and you both came together

He laid down next to you and pulled you onto his chest

“Next week, you’ll officially be mine.”

You weren’t listening

Because you were passed out

It was your first time and he had made you cum at least 17 times

It would be surprising if you didn’t pass out

Jungkook didn’t lie when he said that you’ll be his in the next week

He made one phone call and whoever was on the end of the line planned a huge wedding in a week

You woke up one day and were forced into a white gown

Once you put the pieces together, you had a panic attack

You were getting married to this man you’ve only known for a week

You were being so uncooperative to the point where Jungkook had to come to you and set you straight

He quickly fucked you back into submission and made you get ready for your wedding

After your wedding, loads of fucking

You guys didn’t even show up to your reception party because Jungkook could not stop fucking you

And it continued like this for a very long time

You weren’t sure how you were still producing cum

Every morning, every night, sometimes in the middle of the day, he wants to have sex

It’s not like he’s slow or gentle either— he’s aggressive in bed, it’s tough to handle him

You usually end up passing out and even that doesn’t stop him

The next morning you wake up tired and sore however, he wakes up needy and wanting more

Sometimes he’ll fuck you hard enough to make you pass out right in the morning

Even when he comes back from a mission, he still has the energy to fuck you

You just don’t understand

For weeks, you can’t walk straight because of him

And it hurts to put any sort of pressure on your lower abdomen

Despite all of that, you still love him

After all the manipulation and brain washing he’s done to you, he’s convinced you that you’re in love with him

And that you won’t survive without him

You’ve been craving for love and attention for your whole life and Jungkook was finally giving some

Why would you want the person who makes you feel loved and appreciated gone from your life?

Jungkook used guilt tripping to make you stay with him

Not to mention, taking advantage of your toxic past

Stockholm syndrome ending for the win 🥇

Sorry for any mistakes!! Have a good day<3

[the-last-kenobi]

*kciks down door* ReQuEsTs?!??! uh, 18. “Is it all right if I hug you?” with Obi-wan and character of your choice (please, this boy needs a hug so bad)

Hugs!!!! What an excellent ask.

Took me forever to pick a character though. I came this close to writing multiple hugs throughout the years but it would’ve been very long...

It’s still long. Whoops.

Note: I skipped the actual sentence and instead went for ✨vibes only✨

(From this various prompts list.)

_

Obi-Wan is twenty-three standard years old, very nearly twenty-four.

It is a delightful stage of life. (It’s awful.)

He’s growing in independence, so close to Knighthood he can almost taste it. (Is he? Nobody seems to have a clear opinion.)

He’s receiving more and more solo assignments, and on his missions with Master Jinn, the older Jedi makes an effort to at least await the Padawan’s input before making a decision, sometimes even deferring to Obi-Wan’s word. (Only in public, though, is there a sense of equality. Behind the scenes, Obi-Wan is still very much the learner.)

He longs to be free. (He doesn’t want to be alone.)

The confusing clash of thoughts and emotions is, in and of itself, a creator of more clashing emotions, all resulting in a bundle of self-doubt that crouches near his heart, like a greedy bird, picking away at his strength and certainty when he most needs it.

Doesn’t your doubt show you that you’re truly not ready? the pestering creature asks.

Doesn’t your longing for freedom prove you don’t deserve it? it says, tapping against the veins of ice and fear that lie right against the heat of his heart.

Doesn’t your need to be reassured tell you that you’re too hesitant, too weak to be alone?

His desire to fly is wrong. His desire to be sheltered, even more so.

Both together, coexisting in his heart and mind, could quite possibly mean the one thing he had been dreading for over a decade now, the thing older Jedi, real Jedi, had put into words and addressed to his face when he was only twelve, only eleven, only ten.

You are too emotional, they said.

You are overeager, they said.

You are not destined to be a Jedi, Qui-Gon had told him. I will not train you.

He had, in the end, and Obi-Wan has been wondering in the depths of his heart for all these years of it had not been a dreadful mistake. As much as the Force sings in his ears Jedi, Jedi, Jedi, endure, Jedi, Jedi, it felt like everything he touched, everything tangible, argues back failure, weak, selfish, foolish, unwanted, not fit.

Obi-Wan is twenty-three, almost twenty-four, and he is years into adulthood and light years away from proving that he’s capable of handling it.

When will he be Knighted?

Nobody seems to be expecting it from him.

Do they know, he wonders, have they known since the beginning that I am doomed to fail? Has this all been a gracious attempt, a thank you for my actions on Bandomeer, and they have drawn this out and out and out as long as they can?

How much longer can this go on?

Still, there are moments when he is at peace, when Obi-Wan is sure. When he meditates, when he accomplishes something new, when he walks away from an assignment feeling unashamed when he translates his memories into a tidy mission report.

When he has one of his long talks with Master Yoda, or Master Windu, who despite their revered status have taken to talking to him more like a friend than a child, outside of the Council chambers.

When he remembers the Force whispering inside, Jedi Jedi Jedi Jedi, endure, Jedi...

And then, on one of the missions assigned to both himself and his Master - still the overwhelming majority of his assignments - he and Qui-Gon are separated during a violent uprising.

There are bodies in the streets and buildings are aflame; children weep over the bodies of their parents and parents cradle the bodies of their children and scream as if the sound is their only companion left in the world. The standing government has a point, the rebellion has a point, the civilians caught in the crossfire don’t say which point they agree with because they’re too busy screaming and perishing, and Qui-Gon is simply gone.

Obi-Wan, faced with the threat of further bloodshed right here and right now even as the air is still clogged with ash and flame and as another body topples from a rooftop in front of his feet, raises his hand in surrender and calmly proposes a truce, offering himself as a legal hostage against the government that brought the Jedi here.

Obi-Wan is led away with his hands bound behind his back and his lightsaber taken away, and though his face is calm, the furrow between is brow speaks of his inner turmoil, which sounds like tapping against the cracks in his heart and Qui-Gon, where is Master Qui-Gon, I don’t know what I’m doing, if I fail more people will die, if I fail it will be my fault, is this taking charge or stepping aside, am I a leader or a victim?

He spends not days, not weeks, but three standard months as a hostage. He spends a terrible amount of time sitting in a cell and pondering his uselessness, the gravity of his foolishness, but every time someone opens the door and escorts him out to hold parley with the leaders of the rebellion and the ministry of the planet, he holds his head high, tempers his fear, and speaks to them with all he has.

Which is honesty. Humility.

You don’t know what to do, he says. Neither do I.

We all know we must do something. No matter how much blood you spill and how much earth you scorch you will eventually come back here to this table to have this same discussion until either both of you are broken beyond belief or one of you has been crushed, and half your planet’s voice stolen away. And you will have sacrificed two of the Republic’s Jedi along the way, a black mark against whichever victor is left standing.

Or, he says, we choose to pass over the violence and talk here and now, and choose this again and again and again. You have already had your fighting. Your people are already hoping for negotiation.

Are you here for their sakes or to kill them for show?

He does not use these exact words.

He sews them into his brief speeches, hammers in the point sharply when he must, weaves the common thread over and over again.

He knows they fight while he is locked away.

But he believes, from the growing respect in the eyes of these people who hold him both by his and against his will, that he is making a difference. He must be.

And Obi-Wan is twenty-three, very very nearly twenty-four, when he finally walks free to witness the signing of a treaty like this planet has never had before, to witness the formation of a new government, and he discovers not ashes and mass graves when he sees daylight for the first time in three months — but instead, a city and a planet marred only by scattered battlefields, and marked more clearly by the way its people have fought to keep it clean, to keep it safe.

Children race through the streets, unafraid, because they have had real shelter during the war. It has not entered their homes since that first terrible day.

Neighbors from opposing sides of this fight and friends who staked no claim in this war mingle freely. Their smiles are a little hesitant, but they are there.

The dead are all honored equally.

It is leaps and bounds, it is a civilization that propelled itself through years of struggle in three months, and Obi-Wan is awed by them.

He knows it cannot be this way everywhere.

He knows that there will be wars where no one wants to surrender, or where one side will be so certain of their point of view that they would rather raise hell than cease, and he knows there will be people who resist them.

But today it is real.

Obi-Wan looks at his pale and clammy hands, the marks around his wrists where he was so often bound, and feels the way his limbs shake from months of too little sunlight, not quite enough food, and more than his share of fear and doubt and self-recrimination.

As he smiles for a camera that will record this moment forever, he glimpses Qui-Gon amongst the crowd.

Someone explains to him, when he asks, that his Master had been injured during the uprising and spent the first three weeks of Obi-Wan’s captivity in convalescence. The remaining time, he has spent on the sidelines, forced there by his Padawan’s actions. With Obi-Wan a willing hostage, playing negotiator and leverage both, Qui-Gon had no role except to mingle with the people, offer them comfort and aid.

Something Obi-Wan knows his Master loved, but — he had still stolen his Master’s role.

He had thrown himself into a stupid, foolish situation, and how many times had Qui-Gon teased him about playing damsel in distress? And here he has gone and surrendered of his own accord. What would Qui-Gon have done if Obi-Wan had led them all to ruin?

Obi-Wan slowly loses his confidence, his relief, his silver tongue, as the press and the people recede, and he and his Master walk to a room that has been prepared for both of them, as honored guests by this new government.

Qui-Gon says nothing to him.

They walk in silence for twelve minutes.

And then, as soon as the door has shut behind them, Obi-Wan finds himself pulled into a fierce embrace, one of his Master’s hands buried in his hair, Qui-Gon’s chin resting atop his head.

Obi-Wan hesitates.

Does his Master think him a child?

Perhaps Qui-Gon senses his thoughts, because the man pulls away briefly, still holding his Padawan by the shoulders, as if unwilling to let him go completely, else he vanish like smoke.

“Padawan,” Qui-Gon says, and his voice is loud and strong and brimming with warmth that washes over Obi-Wan like sunlight, like water, like an embrace. “Well done, my Padawan.”

And then he is pulled again into Qui-Gon’s comforting arms, and Obi-Wan breathes in and gives in, folding against his teacher like a child, and if a few tears stain Qui-Gon’s robes or drop into Obi-Wan’s hair, neither of them speaks of it.

Obi-Wan lets his Master hold him, lets go of fear and pride and doubt, and finds that he is safe.

~

[extremelyblackandwhite]

ascendance - 03

PAIRING: mob!bucky barnes x reader

WARNINGS: abduction, age gap (reader is 23, bucky is 37)

A/N: it’s short and still not as exciting as it is about to become but we gotta build a ✨ foundation✨  first. hope you enjoy xx

> NEXT CHAPTER | MASTERLIST

Bucky was standing in the kitchen, back leaned against the counter of the kitchen with his eyes on the girl who was currently sat in his couch with a badly bandaged hand. He was never good at first aid, he hadn’t been good at it with his sister and he definitely hadn’t been good with her, yet he thought it would be best than let her bleed out onto her costume which she still hadn’t taken out and that included her wig. He knew what hair looked like, he could see it in the back of his mind from the dark costume room, her hair pushed back into the same hairstyle most of the girls in the opera house had. Yet he also knew that getting out of her costume was the last thing going in her mind despite him not knowing at all what was going on in her head. She just stood in silence, looking at the wall of the TV but the TV was off, despite the fact the remote was next to her. 

What was he even supposed to do with her? He couldn’t tie her to the bed or hide her in the basement, he didn’t have a basement. Besides, he didn’t know whenever she’d actually be used as a trading chip so he didn’t know how long he would have to babysit her. How was he even supposed to do John’s bidding if he had to keep an eye on her? It wasn’t like he could leave, she would try to escape. Heck, she’d even try to escape when he was in the apartment. This was a mess, a mess he needed to clean, a mess he didn’t know how to clean. 

The door bell was the first sound in that flat for 2 hours and he sighed out of relief he could finally leave and not have to stare at her and her Bambi like stare. Damned Billy. 

     - She’s a runner. - Bucky said as he opened the door, a stunned Billy walking in like a scared little mouse. - I’ll be gone for two hours. Make sure she’s okay, not bleeding and definitely not escaping. 

Billy nodded his head like a bobble doll, standing stiff by the door as Bucky grabbed the keys to his bike and left. Y/N finally looked up, away from the wall and at Billy. He couldn’t be older than her, and if he were, he couldn’t be more than a year or two older than her. He had shaggy hair and eyes which were filled with insecurity and fear yet a facade of strength which he definitely did not have. She should’ve been mad at him, after all he was the one who misunderstood the assignment (whatever it was) and got her hostage. Yet, she merely saw a boy who was scared, perhaps as scared as she was. 

    - I’m Y/N. - she pipped up as if the two of them were co-workers who were just meeting.

    - Billy.

    - Is that a nickname or a name ... you know like Billy Bigelow. 

    - Billy Bigelow’s a wife beater. - he snickered. - My name’s William but they call me Billy.

    - Do you like being called Billy? I can call you William if you want. 

    - Will.

    - Pardon?

    - I like being called Will but John said it sounds childish. - he clarified, slightly kicking the air like a petulant child. 

    - I like Will better. - she moved towards the end of the couch, patting the pillow next to her. - Do you wanna sit?

   - He doesn’t like it when people sit in his couch. 

   - Well .. I’m sat in the couch and he didn’t say anything, besides, how would he even know you were sat in the couch. 

There wasn’t much she knew about the man who had been overseeing her. She didn’t even knew his name other than the “Soldat” nickname she’d heard John call him. It wasn’t like she particularly cared about knowing him, after all he was the one who was keeping her hostage and he was also the one who had kept her alive. Yet, at this point she wondered if being alive was a faith worse than being dead. How bad is death anyway, she pondered. Maybe it hurts to leave, but it doesn’t hurt to stay dead. She wanted to believe in what he had told her, she wanted to believe that all of this was just a big nightmare, it was just a hiccup in her path. She was gonna go back, she was going back, she had to go back. She had no choice but to go back. 

Her eyes lingered on the broken window, covered by a piece of cardboard tapped to the broken glass, a shattering reminder that she had failed at escaping, had failed at leaving. She should’ve fought harder to escape, she should’ve said no when the main soprano asked her for help. She should’ve just ... done what she was hired to do. The mere thought of the opera house made her eyes swell with tears. She had been so close.

    - I’m sorry. - Will blurted out, his words causing her to immediately wipe her eyes before the tears could actually roll down. - I screwed up, didn’t mean to ruin your shot. 

    - That’s ... that’s fine. - she breathed out. - They’re gonna let me go at some point, right? They can’t keep me forever.

    - Yeah, eventually someone else will screw up. - he scratched the back of his neck. - It’s nice he didn’t tie you down or handcuff you to the bed. 

    - It’s a nice ... arrangement, I guess. 

    - Do you wanna watch Carousel? It’s always rerunning on channel 6. 

    - Are we allowed to watch TV? If you’re not allowed on the couch, I doubt the TV is a yes. 

    - He won’t know.

The beginning of the film was bittersweet as it immediately took her back to better days. Back to when she rented her very first flat in New York while a sophomore at Julliard, when she only had her laptop and a few pillows which made the very old studio flat look like a home, she would sit down in the worn out mattress with her laptop and watch old golden age musicals dreaming of the time she would be on stage. The beginning notes of the overture only brought her back to nights when the rain was harshly falling down on the rain and she was sat in her, open books of several opera music theories lightened up by the low blue light of her laptop. She had fought so hard and she was going to fight even harder to get out of this. She was going to be back in those grounds and with heavy, sleep filled eyes, she swore she would get back to the stage. 

Bucky parked the bike by the sidewalk, sighing as he realised he was not going to an empty home, the same empty home he had fought for. He liked peace and quiet, he liked to be surrounded by nothing but him and his thoughts yet now he had to come back to some girl staying in his house who was keen on breaking all off his windows. Just what he needed, someone coming into his home to fix the window. How was he going to achieve that? 

He opened the door and threw the keys somewhere onto the table near the door. Billy was standing up by the couch, Carousel was playing on the TV and she was sleeping on the couch, surrounded by the fabric of the costume she still hadn’t taken off. Not that she had anything to change into.

   - She’s sweet. - Billy rubbed the sole of his shoe against the ground. 

   - You think all girls are sweet. - Bucky walked to his kitchen, making himself a glass of whiskey. - You old enough to drink, kid?

    - I have to drive back home. 

    - She behaved? - he moved the glass in her direction, eyes lingering a bit too long on her sleeping figure. 

    - She fell asleep mid the film. Hm ... I’m gonna go. Thanks for everything, Bucky, specially with John. 

    - You should get going, kid. Your mother and father will worry.

The sound of the closed door left the two of them alone once again. What was he supposed to do with her? How was he even supposed to do his ... his duties if he constantly needed someone to watch her so she doesn’t try to escape? Where is he even supposed to find someone to watch her? Kidnappingvictims babysitting.com? He sighed out of frustration, whipping his head in her direction almost upset she existed; yet, looking at her sleeping form calmed down his features.

He put the glass in the sink, walking to his couch where she was. Somehow he always ended up in tricky situations and this had to be in the top 5 worst decisions. Yet, she didn’t deserve dying, she didn’t deserve it. It wasn’t her fault any of this had happened. She was just at the wrong place, she was just somewhere she shouldn’t have been and Bucky couldn’t blame her for that. He put a hand on the couch and snaked an arm under her figure, lifting her up from the couch and holding her flush against his chest. Her head instinctually fell against his chest, nose nuzzling his black t-shirt.

There was nothing he could do now. In all honesty, he couldn’t think of anyone in his inner circle where she would be at least in safety. The group of people he hanged around weren’t particularly of high moral standards and he wasn’t a saint either, god, he was closer to being the devil than being a saint; yet, he knew things and he knew what awaited her if she had been assigned to anyone else. In his mind all of this would be over soon; either Billy or one of the newbies would screw up and get them in trouble with the police and then John would trade her in so he wouldn’t go to prison. It was only a matter of time. 

He laid her down on his bed, pulling the comforter over her and taking a final look at her before exiting the room and taking to the couch. He pulled at the bottom of the furniture, the pillows unfolding to form a small bed which his feet would inevitably fall off, yet they didn’t make any bigger couches which turned into beds and he had never expected to have any company in his flat anyway. He too eventually fell asleep, lit by the low blue light of the TV. 

The morning was a harsh reminder for Y/N that this whole situation was not a nightmare but her reality. Her hand pushed her torso off the bed, sleepish eyes looking around as she tried to figure out where she was. She didn’t remember falling asleep in a bed but that didn’t matter because she quickly realised she was alone. She couldn’t hear anything but the ambience sounds coming from the window. She was alone. As that thought registered, she kicked the comforter away from her body and settled her feet to the ground, rushing in silent steps to the door which she opened. Her eyes registered a clear path from where she was to the exit door whose chain was down. She bite on her lip before stepping out of the bedroom.

    - Where are you going? - the familiar voice stopped her in her tracks. Y/N considered making a run from it but just as she convinced herself of that idea, he stepped in front of her, standing like a big wall keeping her from freedom. He looked her down, like a small, inoffensive prey. She thought of running once more, but she was smart enough to know he would easily overpower her. - Where are you going? 

    - Hm ... - think, anything, just think of anything. - The bathroom.

He scoffed, walking forward and towards her but she stepped back every time he got closer until her back hit the door. She stood there, small and wondering what to do as the man whose name she still did not know stood close to her, close enough she could almost feel the permeating heat coming from his body. His gloved fingers pinched her chin, pushing it up so her eyes looked into his. They were blue, a shade of blue she couldn’t really say she’d ever seen and maybe if she were in a different situation, she would’ve even said they were hypnotising. Yet, now, they just bore into hers, as if he was digging into her subconscious. He leaned closer, fingers still holding her chin up.

    - Liar. - his voice was deep and husky, deep enough it sounded like a whisper. He let go of her chin, stepping back and returning to the kitchen while she remained against the door. - We had a deal. 

    - I know. 

    - Are you trying to get yourself killed, kid? - he asked in a dry voice. 

    - Don’t call me kid. - she didn’t know what else to say. What could she said after all? - It’s condescending. 

    - You didn’t answer me, Y/N. - he emphasised her name. It sounded almost wrong for him to be calling her that, yet she guessed it was better than kid. Sure, he was definitely older than her but she wasn’t young enough to be called kid. She couldn’t even recall the last time someone called her kid. - Are you trying to get yourself killed?

    - No. 

    - Then what are you doing?

    - I don’t know.

    - You need to trust me. 

    - Why should I? I don’t know you, I don’t even know your name so why should I trust you? For all I know you could be lying to me. 

    - You think I wanna play babysitting with you? I would much rather have a free home than have you run around in costume. - he glared at her. - And you don’t need to know my name, you need to do what I tell you to do if you wanna come out of this alive. 

    - Well what if I don’t want to? - she narrowed her eyes. 

    - You want to fucking die? Is that it? - he sneered. - Because that would’ve saved the fucking headache that you’ve been. 

    - Maybe you should’ve killed me. You had no problem killing Tommy. - her words were mindless yet filled with some sort of anger. She didn’t realise what she had said until she saw his face.

His facade seemed to drop before his jaw clenched, eyes hardened as he raised his head to look her up and down. She held the knob of the door, ready to open it and escape into the bedroom but he didn’t do anything. He just looked at her, angry before he made a move yet he didn’t walk her direction, he merely opened the fridge to take a water bottle yet that look, that look still remained. 

   - What do you want from me? - she pried. - I had a life, you know. I had plans and ...

   - So did I. You don’t wanna be a kid? Stop acting like one. 

   - My parents don’t know where I am. - she followed him into the kitchen. - I am their only child and I call them everyday. At least, let me call them, let me tell them I’m safe.​

   - I can’t, that’s not how things work. 

   - So what? You’re just gonna keep me here? Forever?

   - Trust me, kid, it’s not exactly what I want either. It’s not my choice and it’s definitely not yours. 

   - I am not gonna stop trying to escape.

   - Based on how well you’ve done so far, I wouldn’t hold my breathe. 

TAGLIST: @lookiamtrying @buckyswillows @blossomslibrary @juliesland @iloveshawnieboi​ @unmagically @red-head011

[mersuperwholocked-lowlife]

Can’t Forgive or Forget

Word Count: 2,030

Characters: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, John Winchester, Mary Winchester, OC Characters, Reader

Pairings: Dean Winchester x Sister!Reader

Warnings: angst, possibly small fluff? tw: trauma, nightmares

A/N: ---

Masterlist     Link to Part One

You could hear loud banging on the hotel door as you whimpered softly, wrapping your arms around yourself as you backed away from the door.

It was pitch black outside, as well as inside the room. Tears were streaming down your face as you tried to control your breathing.

“Open the fucking door!” you could hear John’s voice yelling at you as you cried softly.

Your heart was racing as you put your hands on your head, curling up into a ball as you tried to keep John’s voice out of your head.

“This isn’t real, this isn't real,” you cried softly, trying to calm yourself as you scrunched your eyes tightly.

“This isn't real,” you heard the door being pushed open as you let out a small cry.

---

“(Y/N)?! (Y/N)!” you jumped up in your bed, Dean had his hands on your shoulder, shaking you.

“What?” you gasped, sitting up.

“You were crying in your sleep,” your face dropped slightly as you sniffled softly.

“Why did you let me fall asleep?” you said.

“Because you haven't slept in weeks,” he replied.

You wrapped your arms around yourself before clearing your throat, getting off the bed.

“Is Sam back yet?” you asked.

“(Y/N),” Dean started.

“I wonder what’s taking him so long,” you walked to the door, looking out the window as Dean called your name once again.

“We need to talk about this,” he crossed his arms.

“There's nothing to talk about,” you shrugged.

After John passed away all feelings and memories came to haunt you every day and every night. You tried your best to stay awake for as long as you could, and it began to affect you quickly. It was harder to focus on hunts. Your aim was definitely messed up, you even had trouble staying still.

Sam and Dean always tried to talk to you, or help you, but you couldn't bring yourself to say it. They didn't deserve the burden of knowing what was going in your head, and know about all your worries and pain. You only saw yourself as broken, only a shell of what you used to be, and it was all your fault.

Dean sat on the edge of the bed, with a mix of worry, anger on his face as he looked at you.

“I’m gonna go for a run,” you said.

“It’s 10 PM,” he replied.

You shrugged, walking towards the bathroom to go change, while you could feel the disappointment radiating off of Dean.

“Keep your phone on,” he said.

You nodded softly, closing the door behind you.

---

“(Y/N)! Open the door, come on!” you could hear Dean yelling from the other side as you held back your cries, wrapping your arms around your head.

Depending on the point of view, you were getting better, or you were getting worse. The nightmares were worse, all the fear and pain had intensified, but your dad’s actions and abuse towards you came to light. 

Everything was going to be okay, or so you kept telling yourself. Then, Sam died. Dean beat you to save him, selling his soul. Fighting the yellow-eyed demon was especially hard, the three of you beaten and broken as you tried to make yourself strong. 

Then your father reappeared like a ghost. You instantly tensed up, out of fear. Your bones were aching, as well as the rest of your body, before you held in your cries, reaching for the colt and putting a final end to the demon.

“(Y/N), I know it was hard, but-” he went quiet again before you heard him sigh.

“If you don't open the door in ten seconds, (Y/N/N), I’m gonna have to pick the lock. Save us both the trouble, please,” his voice was softer than before as you let out a breath, slowly walking to the door.

It’s not Dad, Dad’s dead

You opened the door for Dean, as he rushed to wrap his arms around you, while you buried your face into his arms, crying softly.

---

“You’ve been having these nightmares since Dad died?” Dean sat down in front of you, while you looked down at your hands, watching them shaking.

“N-No, they… They started after we went t-to the roadhouse… Ellen was just praising Dad for e-everything he did a-and…” you stopped speaking, trying to hold in your cries as Dean lifted your face slightly, wiping your tears.

“W-Why did he hate me so much?” you cried softly.

“I don’t know why he treated you like that, (Y/N/N), but he can’t do it again. He won’t ever hurt you again,” Dean put his arm around your shoulder, sitting next to you as he pulled you in.

“I’m sorry I keep messing up our hunts,” you whispered softly.

“Well, lucky for you, we decided we’re gonna take a small break,” you lifted your head slightly to look at Dean.

“Why?” you asked.

“Well, Sammy and I think we deserve a break. What do you think?” he asked.

You nodded softly as he kissed your forehead.

“It’s my last year, so of course I’d want to spend some time with my pain-in-the-ass younger siblings,” he teased as you smacked his arm.

“Why did you have to sell your soul?” you scoffed.

“I needed to save Sam,” he replied.

“You didn't have to kill yourself to do it,” you muttered.

“You'll understand one day,” he said.

After sitting with Dean for some time, you heard his phone go off, receiving a text from Sam.

“He wants to get drinks. Are you up for it?” he asked.

You shook your head before sitting up.

“I think I’m gonna try to sleep,” you said.

“...Okay. We’ll be back soon. Bobby’s downstairs,” he said.

You nodded, pushing yourself under the covers before Dean kissed your forehead once more, receiving a soft smile from you before he left your room.

---

“None of us should be calm, Dean! You’re wanted! I’m supposed to be dead, and Sam is on stage drinking kale smoothies!” you yelled at Dean as the four of you left the bunker, walking into town.

As the years passed, you began recovering from the trauma and scars that John left you, relying on Sam and Dean greatly. You were better now, everything was okay. You felt better than you’d felt in your entire life, and in the middle of all this craziness, you found yourself pregnant a year ago.

Sam and Dean were more than excited to become uncles and were ready to make having a kid around work for all three of you.

“Okay, calm down,” Dean said.

“Don’t tell me to fucking calm down, Dean!” you held your child, caressing her back as you paced in front of Sam and Dean.

“Look, we get it. It’s scary, but… what can we do about it?” Sam tried to calm you as you shook your head.

“Dean can break the pearl,” you walked towards Dean as he held up his arms defensively, stepping away from you.

“Okay, I know you hate this, but we can’t. Not yet. For Mom’s sake,” Dean defended.

“Dean, Mom’s in love with the idea of Dad. She doesn't know how much he changed after she died,” you corrected.

“Well, then are you gonna tell her?” Sam crossed his arms, raising his eyebrow.

“Sam shut the hell up,” you clenched your jaw.

“I don't love this either, and if Mom wasn’t here… but she is here. We’re going to pretend, just for the night,” Sam replied.

You closed your eyes tightly, shaking your head.

Sam walked next to you, before taking Nicole out of your arms.

“Sam, what are you-” you started.

“I saw some cute baby shoes that I want to get with her,” he began walking away from you and Dean as you scoffed.

“Sam, she isn't even a year old yet. She doesn't know how to walk!” you replied, annoyed.

“It’s never too early, I’ll see you guys later,” he continued walking away as you sighed, running your fingers through your hair.

“I know this is hard, okay?” you began walking away from Dean as he followed you.

“Mom deserves the truth, but we’re not gonna tell her now. Not while she’s there with Dad. You don’t think she deserves to be happy? Be with him again?” Dean asked you.

“Dean…” you whined.

“Come on, (Y/N),” you could see the look in Dean’s face.

He said Mary wants this, but you knew he did too. There was a time before Mary died where John didn't hurt you, and you were a picture-perfect family. Only Dean remembered. After everything that happened within the past few years, you wanted him to be happy, he deserved it.

You sighed, nodding your head.

“Thank you,” he let out a breath of relief.

“But that man is going nowhere near my baby,” you warned as he nodded.

The two of you continued to make your way to the shops, getting the groceries.

---

You kept to yourself for most of the night, feeling your heart racing as you bounced your leg. The night was filled with laughter and joy. Sam and Dean were happy, John was happy, Mary was happy and you were still scared, as you had been for the whole night.

You found your excuse to leave, saying it was time for Nicole to go to bed. You waved a quick goodbye, picking her up as you went to your room, letting out a sigh. You made it through the night.

You heard footsteps approaching you, while you looked up, seeing John making his way to the bedroom door,

standing there as he led against the doorframe.

“It’s difficult, seeing you all grown up like this,” he started.

You kept your back to him, cradling Nicole in your arms as you closed your eyes, taking deep breaths.

He wouldn't hurt you, not now.

“Yeah,” you said softly.

You could feel his eyes on you as you laid Nicole down in her cradle.

“You know, you haven't said much tonight,” he started.

“Sam and Dean told me everything about them, but you… you haven't talked to me. How did life treat you after I died?” he asked.

You clenched your jaw, hiding your emotions as you turned to face him.

“Terribly,” you said.

You could see the look of shock on his face as you sighed.

“I-I had nightmares, I was in pain all the time,” you shook your head.

“I didn't-” he started.

“Nightmares that you caused,” you dug your nails into your palm, seeing his face soften.

“What do you mean?” he frowned.

“Are you… Do you not remember all the bruises you gave me? A-All the wounds, all the scars? Do you not remember abusing me?” you tried to hide your anger as you took a step closer to him.

“Oh, come one. I never abused you, (Y/N),” he started.

“You won’t even admit it to yourself. Well, sorry I’ve been distant, and sorry I haven't talked to you all night, but I can't find it in my heart to forget what you did, and I most certainly can’t forgive it. I hate you, so, so much.”

“You know I never meant to hurt you-”

“I don't want to hear it. The only reason I didn't tell Mom what happened, is because Sam and Dean told me not to. They want to protect your image in her head,” you spat.

You could see a pained expression on his face.

“I’m sorry,” he replied.

You didn't reply, instead, you looked away, keeping your gaze off of him while you could feel hot tears rushing to your eyes. You watched as he walked away, closing the door behind him as you collapsed onto your bed, burying your face in your pillows as you cried softly.

All memories and all the pain came rushing back, hurting you more and more than you could ever think it would. You remembered your bruises, you remembered your scars, you remembered the feeling of hating yourself constantly, all because of him.

But now it was over, and now he was gone.

[jokertrap-ran]

(光与夜之恋 Light and Night) Main Story Chapter 2-13: 时间针脚 The Patchwork of Time Translation

“Hold on tight. There’s no need to be afraid.”

*Light and Night Master-list *Spoiler free: Translations will remain under cut *Join the Light & Night Discord (＾▽＾)~ ♪ *CG Image used with permission from 蓝咕咕 ☆ *Main story tag will be #For Light and Night

Evan: Watch out!

The floor of the elevator suddenly tilts, the powerful force of the action knocking us into the wall. Evan raised a hand, bracing it against the wall while he used the other to shield me within his embrace.

The sound of screeching metal against metal rang out in the air as the elevator, which had originally stopped, continued plummeting once more!

The ear-piercing roar intensified, and all I could see were the red digits counting down with tremendous speed. Tears spilt forth from my eyes like a rushing stream.

My entire world spirals as the feeling of weightlessness crashed down upon my being, its clutches iron-clad. I closed my eyes in utter terror, my heart seemingly stopping.

Only one thought was reverberating in my mind: I don’t want to die like this!

❖☆———————————★❖

Evan: Hold on tight.

The arm around my waist tightened its grip while the palm at the back of my head patted twice in reassurance.

The elevator was freezing and dark, yet this embrace was all-consuming and so very warm. It gradually calmed my panic-stricken heartbeats.

Evan: There’s no need to be afraid.

Evan kept his gaze firmly on the rapidly changing display panel within the darkness of the lift, a deep crease between his brows. An increasingly vibrant crimson hue flashes past his eyes.

As the crimson fades into nothingness, the elevator jolts thrice more before coming to a standstill.

Ba-thump, ba-thump…

A set of calm and panicked heartbeats resonated, ringing out within the small enclosed space.

❖☆———————————★❖

Evan: Okay. Everything's fine now.

I didn’t dare to see if the elevator would continue plummeting once more. My body stiffened, tightly coiled and unwilling to relax.

Then, a beam of light shone from a phone to the elevator’s door. It shook slightly from side to side.

Evan: Does this make it a little better?

MC: Yeah…

I had yet to recover from the shock. I clung tightly onto his sleeves, nodding dazedly.

Evan: Don't be scared. We'll be able to get out soon, trust me.

He placed the phone into my hand. He then reached into his pocket, procuring two pen caps.

❖☆———————————★❖

Evan slotted both pen caps onto each of his index fingers and crossed them. The shadow of a little rabbit was cast upon the halo of light shining against the elevator door.

As if frightened, the little rabbit trembled twice. Its two floppy long ears hung close to its body as it huddled against the ground.

❖☆———————————★❖

MC: This is a frightened rabbit.

Evan: Yes, well… It resembles your earlier self quite a bit.

He looked at me, a mischievous smile surfacing within his eyes.

Not wanting to lose out, I picked up the two pen caps and lifted them. The rabbit shadow cast upon the door suddenly became much more lively.

MC: As if!

Evan: Then, why do you always seem to be in such a pickle whenever I see you?

I opened and closed my mouth, unable to formulate a response against that. The last time I met him, I was frantically trying to get out of the way of danger. And this time, the elevator broke down, and I even clung onto him so hard that his clothes were all crumpled and wrinkly...

In the end, I still needed him to comfort me.

MC: I definitely won't be in one the next time we meet.

Evan: Oh?

MC: I'm actually pretty brave! Normally… I just never expected an accident like this to befall us so suddenly out of nowhere.

Evan: It doesn't matter whether or not you're brave. You've still fared splendidly earlier.

His smile was filled with firm assurance. It made me subconsciously throw all fear and panic that I’d felt right out the window.

MC: You’ve been stuck here for so long. Wouldn’t it affect your work?

MC: You’re supposed to be preparing for the succession ceremony, aren't you? Yet, you ended up disappearing for so long.

Evan nodded, seemingly troubled.

MC: I can help vouch for you that we were stuck in the elevator if the CEO gets mad at you.

Evan: Do you… know who's the CEO?

MC: Nope. Although, I’ve heard the others talk about how nice he is; about how he’s a gentleman and about how he’s very easy to approach.

MC: And about how he’s very hardworking. He arrives at the company earlier than everyone else and only leaves in the morning when everyone’s gone...

MC: But these are all rumours, so it’s bound to be a little exaggerated here and there.

The mirth in his eyes only grew.

Evan: Hmm… and?

MC: And I think he’s like Doraemon! Only in my head, of course.

MC: I hear that he can even magic out band-aids and bruises spray from his pocket in the dead of the night!

A warm smile slowly forms on his face. Looks like my words managed to amuse him well.

❖☆———————————★❖

Ding-dong!

The lights above us flashed twice before coming back to life, followed by the “ding” that denoted a floor arrival.

MC: We're saved?

❖☆———————————★❖

The elevator doors slowly slid open to reveal a well-built man. His eyes widened in surprise upon seeing us.

??: ……!

Evan: Sorry. I have some business to tend to. Can Zhou Yan send you over instead?

MC: No need. You can just go on ahead, I’ll be fine by myself.

Evan nods and doesn’t say anything more.

I waved at him before running straight to the front desk.

❖☆———————————★❖

To prevent the accident with the elevator from happening again, I reported the incident to the administration about how it had broken down earlier.

❖☆———————————★❖

Time passed quickly in the afternoon, and soon, it was almost time for the CEO’s succession ceremony to begin. The venue was already filled with people the moment I entered.

The media were all armed to the teeth with their mics and cameras at the ready as they all wanted to be the first ones to catch a glimpse of how the new CEO of the Warson Group looked like.

Hao Shuai: The back row's still empty. Let's move over. No one's gonna find out if we sleep in the back!

Li Man'man: I don't think that's a good idea…

Man With Quiff Hairstyle: When's this going to go on till? It's getting in the way of my work.

Brother Mao: See if anyone's gonna give you their time of the day here, Mr. Oh-I'm-so-serious.

Zheng Lin: We can't do that. The administration has already allocated seats for each Team. We're up front.

Brother Mao: Front seats are a win! I wanna see the true face of this mysterious CEO!

Everyone followed Zheng Lin, seating themselves in the front row.

The ceremony soon began. The announcer fixed up the mic. And after making a simple and brief introduction as an opening remark, the announcer raised his hand in a gesture for the next person to take the stage.

Announcer: Next, let us invite the new CEO of the Warson Group, Evan Lu, to speak!

Evan? I suddenly recalled the signature that had been beneath my offer from Warson.

Evan: Good afternoon, everyone. I thank you all for taking the time to attend the ceremony today despite your busy schedules.

Evan: I am Evan, and I will be taking over as the new CEO of the Warson Group.

I thought I’d misheard him. I dumbfoundedly raised my head.

It felt as if everything around me had gone out of focus. All I could see was the bright stage with all its brilliant lights and the man who stood in the centre of it.

My saviour from the Café back then; the one who comforted me back in the elevator, and the person currently standing on the stage… They were the one and the same.

I can't believe he's the CEO…

But now that I think about it; it all made sense. It was only logical for him to have been near the show venue of the competition if he was the Warson Group's new CEO. And it would make sense why he'd told me that he was preparing for the succession ceremony earlier as well.

Who would've thought that this was how everything played out to be...

Dumbfounded, I stared up at Evan. Those calm and bright eyes of his cut through the crowd and faced me, as if our minds were one.

It was alight with a warmth akin to the one that had been reflected within his eyes in the darkness of the elevator.

I was still stupefied by the time the succession ceremony came to a close and everyone left.

It was then that a cup of coffee appeared before me.

MC: … This is?

Zhou Yan: I'm Zhou Yan, Mr. Lu's assistant. We apologize for the scare you had earlier. This is from him.

He slipped the coffee into my grasp without a word before turning and disappearing into the crowd.

There was a familiar logo on the coffee cup. It was from the Café that Evan and I had met.

It was just like an inadvertent reminder that no matter what his identity, that wouldn't change the moments we'd shared before this day.

MC: Thank you, Doraemon.

❖☆————— ⊹ For Light & Night⊹ —————★❖

Previous Part: (Chapter 2-10) | Next Part: (Chapter 2-15)

[tessiete]

TESS! Hope you are well!!!! Prompts prompts prompts! If you’re not already inundated with requests, allow me to add my own greedy submission to the pile: “Who gave you permission to fall asleep?” for Qui-Gon and Obi if you feel up to it! 🤟🏼❤️

WELL HELLO FRIEND!! I absolutely feel up to it. I'm just, you know, bad at time management, so I apologise for the delay. Please accept my many, most sincerest thanks for sending the prooompt in the form of this....thing. What I wrote. SOME BABY-WAN WHUMP, AND DAD-CARE!

You're absolutely wonderful! THANK YOU!

On The Clock

The sun never sets on Coravian Bast. It says so on all their coins, and all their dataries. It is stamped at the summit of every federal building, and pressed into the plastoid casing of every holobook, every datapad, every speeder and tug and ship they manufacture. It is both an astronomical truth, and the rallying cry of a people who, for centuries, have remained proud, and strong, living beneath the ever-burning glory of their sun. But now, that sun is burning out.

It is not by sabotage, or ambition, or folly. It is not brought about by anything more malicious than the passage of time, and it is a tragedy which has been predicted now for many years. And for many years, the government of Coravian has been planning. With the aid of the Republic and the support of several high ranking senators, Coravian has made arrangements for the mass migration of their population to new homes on new worlds. The sun will set on Coravian Bast, but never on her people.

Yet some do not go willingly. Some resist the edicts, and declare they will not leave. Some declare that they do not mean to let anyone else go either, and for this reason, the Jedi Council has seen fit to assign a Master-Padawan pair capable of overseeing the evacuations. Up to now, the population has been peaceful. The protestors have been loud, but cautious. They do not expect anything of note to happen. Master Jinn gives his padawan a sardonic grin and suggests that perhaps someone will give an impassioned speech.

“Coravinians are known for their philosophical debates,” he says. “Nearly every city has an ampitherium. It’s like a park filled with tall platforms wide enough only to stand on, but tall enough to see over the head of a grown wookiee.”

“What do they do on them?” Obi-Wan asks, in awe.

“They talk,” his master says. “Sometimes for hours.”

“About what?”

“Oh, this and that,” he says. “The longest recorded was a discourse on the nature of sentience in ancient korarchetropes of the protopaleo era, four thousand four hundred million years ago.”

“Oh,” says Obi-Wan, his brow furrowed in thought. “Did the korarchetropes leave many written records?”

“No, my padawan,” replies Qui-Gon. “They were a primitive, single-celled form of life.”

“Oh.” There is a pause, longer and more uncertain than before. “Will we have to listen to one while we’re there?”

The master smiles. “Not unless you are particularly disobedient.”

“Then I’ll be on my best behaviour,” Obi-Wan swears with a smirk. “I promise.”

It is not a difficult thing for him to be, his master thinks, and indeed he is the very picture of deference and decorum during the two weeks they are there. Every day, he walks at his side, three steps behind and one to the left. He is unobtrusive, and observant. He speaks intelligently when spoken to, and remembers every obscure custom and tradition that their hosts play out in preparation for leaving the planet, and Qui-Gon is proud. His padawan has come such a long way from the desperate little waif he’d found on Bandomeer, and yet not so far as to have lost that youthful naivety, and trust in the world. He will make a fine Knight, if Qui-Gon is careful enough. If he is restrained enough. And cautious. And aware.

And yet, no sooner does he conclude this than all his plans are torn apart, for the next day, as they stand upon the viewing stage to watch another transport of refuges lift off and head for space, there is an attack. The Coravinians do not fight with words this time, but with bombs and grenades. A sonic blast throws him from the platform before he can draw his saber, and in another instant the remains of the stage goes up in flames and it is all he can do to leap free and regain his bearings.

One of the federal aides is dead, lying torn and bloodied a few feet away. Another staggers forward, coughing in the smoke. Obi-Wan. Where is Obi-Wan?

He searches around him, frantic, but there is nothing he can see except fire and ash. In desperation, he turns his focus inward to pluck at the little strand of light between them, hoping that it may ring out clearly even amidst the chaos. It is still new, and still very slight. The thread tremors beneath the weight of his mental touch, singing its note high and sweet and very much alive.

“Obi-Wan!” he cries out, surging forward, following the thread as it draws him along its path until he comes to a heap of steel and stone. He reaches out in the Force, and with his hands, scrabbling at the pile of debris. With a single thought, he moves a heavy cement boulder, and he pushes back twisted steel and rebar.

“Master!” It’s Obi-Wan, and his voice is strong and steady. “Master, under here!”

Qui-Gon can feel his own fear clogging his throat. It tastes like oil and charcoal, and he spits to clear it from his mouth, working as fast as he can to reach his padawan. A few more seconds, and he discovers a pocket of air beneath the scrap. A pale hand, smeared in soot reaches up through a gap, flailing blindly for purchase.

“Padawan!” he cries, and he falls over the rubble to catch that small hand in his own, feeling the soft palms, and smooth skin, as yet unweathered by age or strife. “Obi-Wan, are you alright?” he asks.

“Yes, master,” his padawan replies. “I think - only, I think I hit my head.”

“Are you bleeding?” He does his best to keep his voice steady. To stay calm. To leave the thread taut and unplucked in his mind. He strokes the back of Obi-Wan’s hand in comfort.

“I don’t know,” Obi-Wan says. “It’s dark down here. Master -?”

“I’ll get you out,” he says. His grip slackens, and for a moment, Obi-Wan’s tightens in reflex, afraid of letting go, but he quickly masters himself and allows Qui-Gon to slip away.

Relying more on brute strength than the Force, Qui-Gon tears at the rock until it falls away, and he can reach inside the cavern to pull Obi-Wan free. Whether Obi-Wan is lighter than Qui-Gon anticipates, or whether his arms are fuelled with terror and fear, his padawan comes out of the rubble with enough momentum that he is sent staggering into his master’s arms, nearly falling to his knees. But Qui-Gon catches him, sets him aright, and is soon crouched before him, running his hands up and down his arms, over his shoulders and back, and along his scalp searching for injuries.

He finds one just above Obi-Wan’s left ear, hidden in his hairline. But even his thick, tawny tuffets cannot disguise the slick of blood, and his padawan winces as his fingers skim over the open wound.

“Anywhere else?” he demands.

Obi-Wan shakes his head. “No, master,” he says, but his legs buckle, and his fingers clench around Qui-Gon’s forearms as he tries to resist the pull of nausea in his gut.

Qui-Gon frowns. “We need to get you to a medcentre.”

“No, master!” Obi-Wan protests. “The bombers. They’ll get away!”

“Little One, there is no chance they are anywhere close enough to be found. That is the purpose of a bomb. Did you feel anything amiss in the Force before it detonated?”

“No,” he says.

“Then you understand,” he replies. “If they were near, they would have surely stood out in a sea of otherwise placid civilians.”

“But still -”

“No,” the master insists. “You must be tended to first. You will not help me if you collapse while in pursuit of ghosts. Do you understand?”

Obi-Wan says nothing, but he nods, his chin dropping to his chest, and his fingers flexing in the folds of Qui-Gon’s robes.

“Now, stay close, and follow me,” says Qui-Gon. He straightens again, peering through the smoke to find salvation. The wind has picked up. The ringing in his ears has stopped. He can hear the cries of dozens of injured people, but none that are near enough for him to help. Some ways away, he sees the ash of the explosion recede and finds sunny daylight beyond. With one hand to guide his student at the elbow, he makes for that.

Obi-Wan stumbles along, tripping over rock and rubble. With each step, he grows more and more uncoordinated. To Qui-Gon it seems as though he is half carrying him before they’ve gone more than a hundred yards.

“Master,” Obi-Wan mumbles, as his toe catches on a stone and his legs give out. He hardly makes any effort to save himself, but his fall is aborted by Qui-Gon’s hand at his arm. “Master, I don’t feel very well. I’d like to lie down.”

“Not yet, Obi-Wan,” he says, between gritted teeth. In the distance, he can make out a mass of emergency responders, all frantically attempting to organise the pandemonium into something civil and orderly. He drags his padawan on.

“M’sleepy,” Obi-Wan protests. And then, as if to prove his claim, his head drops and the full weight of his body swings into Qui-Gon, hinged at his arm where his master supports him still.

Qui-Gon grabs him around the middle, and attempts to prop him up, giving him a little shake. Obi-Wan’s head rolls on his neck, his eyelids fluttering as he fights for consciousness.

“Stay awake,” Qui-Gon urges. Obi-Wan frowns. “Stay awake. Listen to me. Obi-Wan?”

“I’m listening, master…” he insists, but the words come out slurred, and his eyes close again. He slumps forward until his forehead falls against the pommel of Qui-Gon’s shoulder, and his body falls into his master’s arms.

“And yet you disobey me, anyway,” Qui-Gon huffs. He taps at his cheek, trying to make him laugh, or smirk. Anything. “Obi-Wan?” he prods. “Who gave you permission to fall asleep?”

“Mm,” his padawan says.

“Do you remember what I said? About the korarchetropes? You promised to obey me, didn’t you?”

“Yes, master,” Obi-Wan says. His voice is hardly more than a whisper. “You said they talk for hours. M’listening.”

“Then do as I say,” he stresses. “Stay awake.”

He feels him nod against his chest, but his breathing has slowed, and he doesn’t stir himself to reply. Qui-Gon coughs, and begins to speculate.

There is still smoke. Fires burn nearby, hot and stinging. They are not getting any closer to help, and he can feel blood seeping through his tunics. Though Obi-Wan is no longer as slight as he once was, Qui-Gon doesn’t hesitate to sweep him into an embrace, wrapping one leg around his waist, and throwing the boy’s arms around his neck. Like the child he so recently was, Obi-Wan presses close, his head tucking neatly beneath Qui-Gon’s chin, trusting and unresistant to being carried. He has not yet the dignity of adolescence to embarrass him. Nor the consciousness to suggest it. With his padawan held tight, Qui-Gon walks out of the darkness of destruction, and back into the light.