#god willing ill actually finish this project | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

that-was-anticlimactic · 4 years ago

Note

tracks? please elaborate (if you want). i’m scared but.

also you’re an education major that’s so cool! my sisters an ed major and i’m considering it is there field in education you’re majoring/interested in?

yes hello! i love talking about this as it is one of the aspects of teaching that i am most passionate about! before i get into tracks, yes! i’m an english ed major and i’m still debating between teaching middle school or high school—i just know that elementary is too young for me (if you have any questions about being an ed major, you can always ask me! i’m finishing the second semester of my sophomore year so i’m not like the most knowledgeable ever, but i know this is what i want to do with my life!)

so i have very many issues with tracking, from personal experience, people i’ve talked to, my introduction to english ed class (and the textbook specifically had such good info about it which is where the majority of my info comes from), as well as some research i’ve done on my own. (links to some of these articles below!)

so, tracking is implemented in most schools and is the separation of kids as honor students (gifted kids, advanced kids), regular students (which is usually the lowest level), and intermediate kids (the in between). i’m not going to dive into special education here because that’s not the focus of my major and i haven’t done as much research there, but i know there are also issues with treating special ed kids as if they’re not as intelligent as other kids.

one major problem with tracking is that it begins rather early on in schooling. i remember taking tests in elementary schools that dictated whether we were honors or regular kids, and that translated to middle school. my middle school had an intermediate track as well, which is where i was: i wasn’t good enough at english to be in honors, wasn’t good enough at math or social studies or science to be in honors, but i was “too smart” to be in regular, so they threw me in the middle. and these were all dictated by tests we took in fifth grade. yeah. fifth grade.

i know this is pretty similar in others schools as well. sometimes its teachers who dictate what track students should be in, which is just as dangerous and subjective as basing tracks on elementary school tests. now, i do think that having advanced and regular and intermediate classes are important because some students do like the faster pace or the slower pace or need extra help, and that’s okay. what isn’t okay is choosing for the students, which is what seems to happen more often than not (again, in my experience).

imma talk about each track individually because i can and i’m going to start with the intermediate track because that’s where i was and i feel like no one ever talks about us (again... i’ve done research and there ain’t much about us in the research, but i guess we could say that’s because not all schools have intermediate tracks). so, intermediate track. kids in this track are the ones in the middle, think middle child. we are also the track that tends to be considered least important. why? because we don’t “need special attention” like the regular track “does”, and we aren’t smart enough to get special attention that the honors track gets. we’re just simply there. from my time in the middle track and talking to my friends (most of whom were honors so i felt stupid a lot), we did pretty much the same stuff they did, they just got to do it in more fun ways or with more praise.

kids in this track tend to want attention but don’t know how to get it because we aren’t important. i crave validation like it’s my everything: i genuinely need validation from teachers and parents and friends because i never got it in school. even if it’s something like “this wasn’t good and here’s why...” i need that because no one ever really cared enough to give it to me (except the teachers that went out of their way to be good teachers). we aren’t treated as special. these kids often tend to be left on their own more in a “you’re smart enough to do this on your own, right? you don’t need help because you aren’t regular kids” but we also aren’t honors or gifted, so we also don’t get the praise and the good attention either. think jan brady in the brady bunch. like... jan the only child vibes. oh and we can’t make decisions to save our life:) (could you tell that i’m an intermediate track kid by the way I got upset over no one talking about us? it’s the years of being ignored lol)

okay, let’s go to regular track. oh these poor kids. these kids are generally the ones people don’t want to teach because they’re “rowdy” and “don’t want to be there / don’t care”. again, think younger child. the only attention they get is negative attention. that’s because no one cares about them unless they act out and act like the regular kid stereotype, so that’s what they do because it’s been engrained in society that that’s what being a regular kid is. regular kids also tend to be in regular classes because of some sort of mental illness or neurodivergency. they can’t concentrate in class (and probably have adhd / add but the schools don’t talk about that), throw them in the regular classes.

story time: i worked at dairy queen for four years, and when i was back in summer 2020, i became friends with a lot of the freshmen and sophomores in high school who worked there because i treated them like they were worth something. i actually had a really sad talk with this one kid who we’ll call Aang (because i feel like Aang would be put in the lower track because he can’t sit still) where he told me he was stupid. obviously i told him he wasn’t, and he told me that his school treated him like he was stupid. when his school found out he had adhd, instead of trying to help him, they put him in special ed classes and he got bullied by the kids at school or being “so stupid he was put in special ed classes”. unlike intermediate kids, these kids crave positive affirmation, but they’re most likely willing to act out because they tend to believe bad attention is better than none. these are kids who may genuinely need help in classes but just get everything really dumbed down because of the stigma that they’re too stupid to be better.

honors / gifted kids is probably the most talked about of the tracks (especially on tumblr because i feel like most of y’all fit in there—no shame to y’all, you had it rough too), so this one may be a little shorter. these kids don’t know how to study because they tend to get coddled when they’re younger. this is not me saying anything bad about the kids specifically, but gifted kids tend to get intricate and great teaching when they’re young, and then kind of thrown into high school like “you’re so smart! we’ll teach you and give you fun projects and stuff, but also here’s a lot of work”. the get all of the benefits of being the best without genuine effort (of teachers / the school) to back it up because they’ve always been told or thrown into the category where “you’re so smart and talented!” that they didn’t have to do much because it was easy and when it gets harder, they didn’t have the study methods to back it up because they were “so smart they didn’t need to be taught” that they “didn’t need to learn how to study”. these kids also feel a lot of pressure and probably do not want to be perceived because all eyes seem to always be on them. they stress about grades a lot and think they’re dumb if they get a B (even tho B is a good grade, society has just trained everyone to think that you’re stupid if you don’t get A’s). again, think older child.

all three tracks have undiagnosed mental illnesses which is why i didn’t really talk about them much in there? i talked about the adhd one because i feel like people don’t know that and i wanted to share that story about *Aang* because it literally broke my heart. Aang told me that i was the first person who ever told him that he was smart and that his classes in school didn’t dictate his worth. people need to hear that more often. maybe i’m being bitter because i always see posts about the gifted kid track (which is important to learn about and understand because they felt such an unfair amount of pressure) but never anything about the intermediate track and that’s why i didn’t talk about mental illnesses, but each track--all three--can cause mental illness and mental illnesses can be the reason for placement.

now (sorry i know this is long, but these last two points are important), imma get into race. note that i am a white cis female (bi ace), so if anything here is wrong, please let me know. this is based on research and what i learned in my multicultural education class (taught by an asian man, not a white one don’t worry. God i loved Dr. Park, one of the best teachers i’ve had). a lot of poc, especially black and brown poc, tend to be placed in lower tracks because of the stereotypical “they’re rowdy” and “too distracting” arguments. i read many articles about how unfairly placed these kids were and how they were treated as stupid which in turn caused them to stop caring about how they acted because it’s what everyone expects. not all poc do this, this is me summarizing some studies i read.

another issue is with asian poc because they tend to be placed into higher tracks because, again, they’re expected to be. model minority. this puts unfair stress on asian poc who are expected to be the model minority and causes them to feel this constant need to prove themselves.

i don’t want to go into this too much more because i feel like it isn’t my voice on this issue that needs to be heard, but this is important to understand and i’m going to link some of the fantastic studies / articles / journals i was able to read and hang onto in multicultural ed:

Students' Multiple Worlds: Negotiating the Boundaries of Family, Peer, and School Cultures, Research in American Indian and Alaska Native Education: From Assimilation to SelfDetermination, Navajo Youth and Anglo Racism: Cultural Integrity and Resistance (another article by Donna Deyhle that i cannot find online but have a digital copy of and will email to anyone upon request), The Power of the Preps and a Cheerleading Equity Policy, (Un)Necessary Toughness?: Those "Loud BlackGirls" and Those "Quiet Asian Boys", Testing the 'Acting White' Hypothesis: A Popular Explanation Runs out of Empirical Steam, and lastly The Savage Inequalities of Public Education in New York (which i also cannot find online but have a digital copy of, lemme know if anyone wants it). these are all enlightening and sad readings but important nonetheless.

the last thing imma talk about (and yes, i know, this is very long... i feel passionately about this) is the good old topic of mental health / neurodivergence and test taking:D so, i have tourette’s syndrome, anxiety, and would very much like to get tested for adhd, so i do have more experience with this topic. the testing for what track students go in is so unfair, especially for neurodivergent kids. there are so many different ways these tests hinder students. you cannot accurately test people’s intelligence! especially from a young age and hold them to that for most of their life. some students need time extensions, need accommodations that a lot of schools don’t supply.

like i said: i have tourette’s and i was hindered in test taking because i couldn’t stop moving and then i would realize how no one else is moving so i shouldn’t have to move either so why can’t i stop moving what am i doing wrong and then ten minutes have flown by and i got nothing done. there were times when i would focus so hard on suppressing that i didn’t concentrate. flu season is the worst because i have a verbal tic dictated by premonitory urge where i have the physical need to sniff when i consciously hear someone else do it. i almost failed a test once because of this. students with dyslexia and dysgraphia are hindered because it can take them longer to read or figure out the numbers. students with anxiety overexert themselves and stress themselves out so badly that they can do worse. even people with chronic pain can be hindered due to the chairs or the way they have to sit. these tests don’t tell the school crap.

so many factors go into these tests and requirements for what track someone is in. this is why i feel it needs to be the student’s choice as to what classes they take. someone with dyslexia might want to be in regular english but might want to be in honors math because they’re really good at math, but can’t because of tracks sometimes. and this issue is huge in middle school where, in my experience, we didn’t have a choice. in high school, we had more of a choice, but by then these tracks are so engrained in us that we tend to continue with where we’re placed.

i like to think i’m good at english, i’m literally in school to be an english teacher. but in middle school, i was in the intermediate track. high school didn’t have intermediate english classes, so i assumed i wasn’t smart enough / didn’t deserve to be in honors and did regular english for two years until my friends convinced me to take honors, but at that point someone told me to take ap, so i jumped from intermediate to regular to ap classes. it was a rough transition. english comes naturally to me, but switching tracks was hard. this happens to so many kids who feel like they don’t have a choice, even if they do. there are so many kids who took the wrong classes because of the stupid test.

this is uhh really long. idk if anyone will read this far, but i care about this so much. each track, all three of them, deserves better. i’ll leave y’all with this: do not let the forced competition and hierarchy of tracks impact the way you think. you are not stupid and you are not dumb, you don’t need to try and feel worth attention because you are, try not to be bitter / jealous about people in other tracks because they did nothing wrong (unless they’re genuinely a jerk to you, then be bitter), it’s the system you need to be bitter with and your experience is just as valid, you deserve a break and don’t push yourself too hard, you don’t need to uphold any standards other than human decency.

okay yeah this got out of hand... hope this helps iuyfgyhuiuyguiohug

#snakefarm42 #corey rambles:)#I feel so passionately about this lol #seriously UGH #as an ed major and like. a student and human being #tracking in schools #pisses me off #so much y’all don’t even understand #long post #ask #tw racism #also I once wrote a research paper on tourettes in the classroom and I feel v passionately about that too #Twas a great paper—well it was a literature review but still #I love talking about the school system:)

17 notes · View notes

mimithings97 · 5 years ago

Text

Heartache (M)

Summary: You didn’t know such a feeling was so real, so vivid, so hurtful. But it had happened and happened to you before you could stop it. Tae had become written into your life hard and fast, so when you leave you question that maybe, just maybe, you weren’t willing to unwrite him.

Pairing: Taehyung x Y/N

Genre: Angst, Smut, Fluff

Warnings: Heartache for starters, Unprotected sex, Oral (male receiving), Swearing, Nude modelling, Taehyung’s a sappy mess, Mentions of Alcohol

Word Count: 6k

A/N: Can’t lie in saying how morbid it is that I enjoy writing angst. It’s light angst though and a lot lighter than how fucking whipped Tae is at the end. Much love for the bub though, so, enjoy x

Ahhh jungkook features as well forgot to mention. Still love him. Nothings changed there.

Heartache.

Cringy, you once thought to yourself.

How could you be so dependent, so set and so immersed in something that your heart actually aches?

It didn’t make sense to you until the day words were spoken that couldn’t be taken back, bags were reluctantly packed and more tears were shed than there is water in the Thames. Heartache was real, vivid and the hardest thing you have ever had to live through in your 24 years of life. 3 weeks of a deep set dropping in your stomach that couldn’t be shaken despite the booze intake, the occasional listening to his voicemails and the relentless tears.

Your mother told you that if you built up too many walls it would hurt so much more when someone knocked them down. You had told Taehyung this on the first date, your first date, ever, with any man. You had always drawn a line between pleasure and dependency, settling for short flings and the occasional online relationship (purely for the sexting) instead of the commitment and responsibility that weighed on vulnerable shoulders when you bear your entire self to another in a relationship. Taehyung knew this. But he fell and you fell harder. You fell completely and utterly under his spell for three years.

And then he told you he wanted to marry you. Bastard didn’t even propose, just mentioned that one toxic word of marriage and you instantly laid the bricks of that wall he had so unceremoniously knocked down all those years ago.

It felt so adult yet so childish leaving someone over the concept of marriage, but when talks of marriage turn to talks of children and one party wants something completely different to the other, what kind of relationship is there to continue.

So three weeks later, just as the physical pain of emptiness and heartache has begun ebbing away, the emotional trauma of your decision begins to cave in on you.

To Jungkook:

11:31pm

You: I know I said I’d stop this

You: But I really dont know if this is worth the pain

You: His mum sent me a get well soon card today bc he told her i was ill and that’s why i hadn’t visited

You: I’m never going to not love him

You: How does anyone get over this shit its not fair

11:35pm

Guk: Oh noona

Guk: It’ll take lots and lots of time and lots and lots of tubs of ice cream and wine but youre both adults who want different things and not everything is meant to be

Guk: Sacrifice for the greater good right

11:35pm

You: There’s no fucking greater good here

You: I hate this

11:37pm

Guk: Noona you know that down the road hyung wants children. I don’t think marriage was that big, but he’s always wanted to be a dad

Guk: It’s not fair of him to ask you to have something you don’t want but its also not fair to leave him without the thing he’s always desired the most

11:40pm

You: Its just too hard to take

You: It feels like three years for jack shit

11:41pm

Guk: If you’re really struggling that much, noona, talk to him. I know he wants to talk to you still, he’s tried to contact you everyday. Maybe it will give you some closure or just help you see what’s right

11:41pm

You: Love you

Your phone is down as soon as Jungkook mentioned talking to him. How could you take one step forward and a million steps back by talking to him? It would be like hanging just what you want right in front of you but no touching, no talking to them after that 5 minutes of hell, no seeing them ever again. Closure is what you need but never what you’ll want.

The sheets that surround you, nuzzled closely into your neck and still unwashed even after three weeks just to keep that tiny scent of Tae over you naked skin, warm you to the point your eyes drift. You don’t mean to fall asleep so easily, but when every little action weighs so heavy on you during the day, sleep comes too easily. However, so does the nightmares of crawling alone in the black abyss.

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

Resuming work was never easy on a broken soul, but alas, here you were, with three weeks of sick pay under your belt you’d rather not have and 20 children at your feet.

Ironic isn’t it.

You break up with the only man you’ve ever loved because you can’t face a future of settling down with children, yet you wake up at the fucking godforsaken hour of 6 am to tend to a bunch of five and six years olds every day. No, you didn’t hate children, but they weren’t the joy of your life either. You were good at your job and you had this mad psychological complex that if you could help a child at five or six like you had so desperately needed at that age, then maybe you’d make their life just that little bit easier and that little bit brighter. Taehyung always found your reason for working so admirable - fuck that look of pure adoration in his eyes when you told him - so he found it equally hard to come to terms with when you told him the opposite. When you told him you couldn’t have your own children because the responsibility scared you. His ears were ringing at the point where you told him you also didn’t want to share him and his kindness, even so, the damage had been done, whatever the reasoning.

“Y/N! Jennie said you were back,” it’s a tight smile from you and a loose hug, but it’s amazing you’ve managed that with the way your head is far from in the room let alone the conversation at hand. “God, I hope you’re better, you were out for a while.”

You squeeze a weak laugh out, “Yeh, it wasn’t all that fun.”

“For a second me and Jennie were thinking you might be pregnant.” The heartache subsides, rivalled by the very distinct feeling of sickness. The ball of energy in front of you persists in conversation, but it’s to drowned ears and for a second you think you’ll faint.

You miss your name being called. Shit, you don’t even know where it’s coming from, because the all-consuming feeling of this tide of emotions has swept you far from your spot in the classroom. Marie in front of you still calls, asking if you’re okay, but it’s the tug on your skirt, not harsh, but enough to garner a reaction that casts your eyes down.

“Miss Y/N?”

It’s Jojo, eyes wide and glaring up at you, still clung to the material of your skirt.

“Miss Y/N, why are you crying?”

You instantly draw the back of your hand to your face and it catches a cascading tear, much to your shock. You face must morph into a mortified expression at the thought of so carelessly crying at work, in the presence of the kids you look after with a smile and a skip in your step each day.

“Miss Y/N, it’s okay to cry. You can draw with me if you feel crying…” he shakes his head, “sad. Sad I mean.”

You feel Marie’s hand on your back, but Jojo’s eyes sweep you into a frenzy of more tears before you find yourself kneeling on the floor by the table. His table, where he sits alone each day, with paper and paints, or pencils, or chalk, sometimes he just folds it and hands it to you saying he made his paper into a flower. He already has one of his drawings on the go but scribbled over it thoughtlessly before starting out on a series of words. ‘To miss Y/n’. Your eyes well further, but his words stop you.

“I think sometimes that drawings can make you better. Can make better the sadness.”

---

“Tae are you still going at it?”

You peer around the corner of the door, leaning half in half out of his man cave to study your boyfriend at work. 5 hours he’d been couped up in there.

“Hmm.”

He didn’t let you see his art until the product was finished, completely finished, because sometimes he’d say he was done and then go back when he’d found the smallest error only to get pissed off that you had witnessed anything other than the completed masterpiece.

“Tae, you’ve been in here for hours, just come out to help me cook.” You plead with him over the canvas, not daring to peak any further.

“I know, I’m sorry.”

He hasn’t looked at you since you came in, his brow well and truely glued into a furrow and the tea you’d brought him earlier cold and untouched beside him. You lower your tone into a more serious one.

“You okay?”

Silence.

“Done.” He doesn’t sound relieved or happy at the finalising of a five-hour art project like most would, like he normally does. He’s merely, ‘done’.

With an apprehensive tone, you ask, “Can I come see?” A gentle nod and you round the canvas, his arm dropping the brush in favour of tugging at the skin of your waist until you’re gently seated in his lap.

It’s beautiful and it’s simplistic and there’s so much life and emotion in it that you know the five hours weren’t all spent with brush to canvas but with him mulling over the memories and thoughts it conjured up.

“Your grandmother’s house?” Your voice is soft, not a pitying soft, but a soft that lets him know he can talk freely.

“Hmm,” he presses a kiss to the shoulder exposed by the shirt that hangs off you loosely. “Wanted to do something for her.”

You let the silence and the painting speak for itself for a while as his hands brush at your sides and you lean into his head that rest against you, chin to shoulder as his warm breath lulls you into calmness.

“You miss her?”

“So much.”

“Painting makes it better?”

… another kiss and a sigh, warm.

“Mmm. Sometimes painting and drawing just makes the sadness a little easier, just makes it better.”

---

You see Tae in this tiny boy, this boy who draws to ease the sadness, who coups himself away on his table to be alone, too afraid to cry in front of the other boys and girls. Is he doing it too? Is he alone and painting?

Then Jojo slides you his paper, wordlessly and your eyes with dried tears, prick once again, heartache replaced with something completely different, regret. And now hope. It’s those small boys words on paper, insignificant to him, and probably tiny in the grand scheme of things, but it’s his words that make you seek out for the one thing you know you can’t live without, the one thing that will heal your sadness.

‘To miss Y/N, i hope your crying gets better soon. Its okay to cry but its also good to make you happy. I hope you find your happy. From Jojo.”

You’d already found your happy, you just had to get him back.

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

“Y/N!?”

And it merely takes your name for you to lose every word on your tongue. Any word you could’ve conjured at that moment couldn’t have described how you felt. He looks dishevelled, and beautiful, hair unwashed and falling into his eyes, white top littered with stains and his pyjamas bottoms you bought him for Christmas hanging off his hips.

His eyes lull from their immediate shock before he turns to look at his apartment, running a frantic hand through his hair and stumbling on his words.

“Shit. I- I mean. I wasn’t really thinking- I didn’t expect you.”

You probably shouldn’t have come. Some people would’ve turned and gone the other way. Maybe that was the right thing to do, was that the brave thing? Were you being a coward by rooting to the spot and not being able to speak a word?

He looks at you, then behind you somewhere, then back into your eyes and his gaze sinks so far into yours, you think you might just cry there and then.

“Dooo you want to come in?” He sounds apprehensive, he probably thinks you are too, but all you want to do is be back in his apartment just like three weeks ago, touching him, talking to him unhinged, perhaps feeling the skin beneath his shirt where his heart lies, feeling if his heart has ached as yours has.

With blinking eyes that try not to glaze over, you nod, short and curt, and you miss the puff of air his mouth rings out with relief.

He dashes away once you’re past the threshold, scampering around as if to distract you from the surrounding environment - it’s dusty, too cold and dark with the way the curtains shut out summer light and you barely recognise his floor as wood with the way food scatters and clothes are strewn. Small shards of light reflect from out of the study and your eyes naturally draw there only to find a mess, door open just enough for the hoard of half-finished painting and wasted canvas’ to come into view. The door is closed by Taehyung like he knew where your gaze would lead you.

“I-I’m fucking sorry about this, it’s gross and it’s messy and i-”

“It’s just like mine.” The corners of your mouth turn up sympathetically but also because you’re relieved he’s not okay. It’s awful to say but heartache has clearly done a job on him too and for that you’re relieved. “Don’t worry, it’s just fine.”

“Just fine,” he mutters under his breath with a half-laugh.

You’re still stood stuck to the doormat, jacket hanging tightly to you like a defence mechanism and your hands remain tight to your sides. When his eyes find yours, you seize up further like it’s the first time he’d ever seen you.

---

You’d told Janice one too many times for this situation to be coincidence. You may or may not have told her you were a sucker for exhibitionism. She’d found it all shits and giggles until the art class she headed entered into ‘naked form’ week and it was too good of an opportunity to pass by.

So the robe drops and you’re way too aware of the last time you shaved - you think you’d be prepared, but pair a hangover with a 7:30 start and bodily care wasn’t the first thought to come to mind.

Janice gives off a flow of instructions, pointing to your body like you were a cow on show, and telling the artists to ‘admire her form, the way her body dips and flows and let you brush or pencil do the responding as though her body was talking to you’ - you almost scoff aloud at her waffle because art is so full of shit.

Exhibitionism kink or not, you’re thirty minutes in and the way your hip cramps and you eyelids lower, there is nothing alluring or desirable about this.

But then the door on the far wall swings open all too harshly for your eyes to feign jolting away. And they blow out further when they’re met with the masculine figure uttering apologies and skidding halfway from door to seat with his urgency.

‘Just women’ she said. ‘Nothing to be worried about,’ she said. It ruined the whole ‘i like being stared at by fit men’ at first but then put you a little at ease that some 70 year old man, trying to spice up his last years of life with a too expensive art course, wouldn’t be staring your tits down.

Yet here you were, with a man with eyes too beautiful to be tarnished by the view in front of him, gazing in shock at your naked body.

“Mr. Kim, it’s nude form week. Guessing you didn’t get the email?”

You only have your imagination for what his voice must sound like because he only shakes his head, throat too dried and scorched from you laid out, baring it all in front of him for him to say anything.

But your imagination didn’t do justice in those two hours of torture. Because his voice telling you he’s ‘sorry for interrupting the session’ and even ‘sorrier for being so unworthy of staring at something so beautiful’.

You’d always hated cringe. But cringe never sounded so good when it was spun off Taehyung’s silk tongue.

---

“Can I get you anything?”

It’s him who breaks the silence, and it’s a godsend because you were two seconds away from spinning on your heel and cowering out of the entire thing.

“N-no. Thank you, Tae.”

He groans at the timidity of how you say his name and nickname at that.

And silence soaks the atmosphere again, tenser this time because greetings have been uttered, drinks offered and there’s nothing more to say that unspoken words of the past.

That’s what you thought you were here to do at least. To tell him you’re sorry, first and foremost, because you’d never intend to break a soul as tender-hearted as his. Then you were supposed to tell him that you loved him, and you would always love him, and that sacrifice must be made for the greater good.

Jungkook had told you that once. But he’d said Taehyung must be the one sacrificed and you should be the one salvaged - until you realised there was no greater good in that situation, no salvation to be had.

“I’ll sacrifice myself,” words come out loud and unexpected as your train of thought is voiced. They’re too loud also, and they break the atmosphere to his shock, so his brow furrows like he doesn’t understand. “I- I will sacrifice myself for you.”

His face falls and you can’t bear the way his words stutter and his throat fills with a choked cry, as though he’d held it in as soon as your presence had hit him. It must have done the same to you because your body befalls you and tears and on the floor as you work your feet towards where he is rooted.

“I can’t ask that of you. You know I can’t do that,” he closes his eyes when your body meets his, hands firm on his cheeks because they’re wet with tears and his shoulders are hunched in pain, “please.”

“Please.” You reciprocate.

This is it for you. You’ll do anything for this quivering shell in front of you. You’ll plead. You’ll beg. You’ll give up your livelihood and every mantra you have ever told yourself about self-preservation because fuck it, some things are too good that you have to lose yourself in them.

“You- I-”

“I’m- I might not be ready for kids now. I will though. If that’s what it takes. Fuck it I’ll marry you tomorrow.”

He chokes on a sob when his eyes meet your pleading ones and a quick hand wipes the stains from his cheeks so he can see every expression you give to him - untainted and full of love.

“We can take our time over this or we can have it all at once, but it has to be we. I’ll really do it for you, I have to Tae,” another sob and a whimper, “isn’t that what we’re here for. Kids.” You’re babbling now in a frenzied expression of all you have to give, and you’re so lost in his eyes that you laugh out, “‘be fruitiful and multiply or some shit.’ I’ll do it, I swear to you.”

“You’re not even Christian.”

“I would be if you told me to.”

“Fuck.”

He kisses you quick and without care, wanting to feel everything you have to give him like it’s what keeps his heart beating - and it’s beating fast because you finally find fingertips under his shirt and against the pounding that intensifies underneath.

He grapples at your hair, then waist, then hair again because his hands can’t decide on what he wants most. So you grab at them yourself and intertwine fingers as though he’d never left you. Each knuckle deserves a kiss and that’s what you give when your lips part.

“I’m so sorry-” you keep kissing across his hand, “I ever left,” and bring his hands to your neck, “never again.”

The tears subside in his eyes as they do yours. There is still relief, hot and painful inside your stomach because you have come back to him and he has taken you back, as if there were never to be anything but the two of you as one, yet now he finds your lips in something that claims more than just love. Possession. He has to know you’re his.

You were correct when you thought his room would be as sorrowful as yours - heartache as painful as what you had felt.

Food containers stripe the floor dirty. Towels strewn and clothes dirty and forgotten. Again the blinds are closed as though you’re not here at 5 in the afternoon when the sun begins to fall into the red and purple hues of evening.

But the blinds leave enough of a gap that his face is haloed, angelic and all too beautiful for your eyes to feign staring when your mouth departs his. Eyes glow amber and skin glows golden and you never want to look away, not from him, not now.

“You really want this don’t you.” There’s no question to the way Tae speaks. Instead, it’s disbelieving, like he can’t quite fathom that it’s really your shirt he has under his fingertips and your smell that lingers under his nose. Heartbreak had slowed his heart enough that it’s beating too fast for him to keep up with, so he slows it down.

“I really want this- You. I really want you.”

“And everything that comes with me? You’re sure?”

It’s a loaded question but at this point it is so light on your shoulders you laugh, grabbing and pulling up his shirt so you can sink lips to his chest, trying to find the beat of a heart somewhere there.

“You act like you’re a chore, Tae.” You’re eyes soften when he still looks like you like he’s young and vulnerable. “Baby, I am so sorry I ever did this to you. Left. And made you feel like that.”

Your hands map his skin delicately and you preserve how it feels because you hope, but never know, if you’ll feel it again.

“Never again, yeh?”

“Yeah.”

Clothes are shed until he looks at your naked body like the art that he first saw it as. He wants to paint it, remember it and cherish it as though he’s never seen it before. Every scar and blemish, precious to his vision, but the painting would only be worth it to him because he’s all who gets to see you.

“You’re not gonna turn off the lights?”

Something that you’d told him was a habit of yours. Maybe something, a subconscious body image thing that was another way of saying, ‘I can’t give my whole self to you, I’m sorry’. He’d ran with it as though it didn’t hurt his pride. But now, as you push him down on his bed and clamber over his thighs, he’s so grateful he never got to see you in this light, because he loves it all the more now.

Fingertips tremble over your thighs when your hips find his, naked crotch so close to where he throbs.

“Tae,” his eyes don’t meet yours, pieced, instead, onto where your bodies are so close to meeting like his gaze can fuse them together. “Tae, it’s me. Relax.”

Purposefully, your hands find his hair and coax him into a state of submissiveness, because his body still quaked underneath you no matter the words you uttered.

You can’t lie when you say sex was a factor in your relationship you had missed. There was a heartfelt bond that went deeper than sex.

Admittedly the flatmate before Tae, the friends before the boyfriend and your parents who knew you better than you admitted to yourself had all said you were sex before substance. Some hated you for it and some laughed. Some said, ‘I wish I could be as emotionally detached as you’ and some thought you were the local gal whoring about like bodies were meant to be used. Then, somehow, Tae flipped the whole thing on its head. Made you feel butterflies before orgasm and it had you spellbound.

So, no. Sex wasn’t it for you when you were with him.

Yet, here you were, over your man gleaming with the physical sweat of want and need as well as the even more apparent glow of how his body lit up for only you.

“How do you want me Tae, what can I give you?”

“Fuck.” His hands fall over his eyes, not comprehending that you’re his and you’re this plaint. No, he wants you to take over him. “Anything, baby. Fuck. Anything.”

Instantly nails brush over the hardness that had been laid out under your folds obediently since you’d found yourself on top of his crotch.

A man could only control himself so much and immediately Tae found his dick twitching and his hips leaving the mattress in favour of chasing your hand.

“Y/N, I really don’t know if I’ve got it in me for teasing, I’m so horny I could cum!”

Well then.

The outburst has you struggling to fight off a laugh because he seriously is that desperate. Not the laughing kind either. The all-bearing, stripped clean and pleading kind of desperate.

So, you sympathise and let your lips find his, hand still trailing lightly so he doesn’t cum early, but enough for the need to remain.

“You wanna be inside me Tae?” His tongue is on yours yet the words are clear.

“Urgh, fuck, please.”

Your eyes peer between your bodies, mapping where his muscles, tight with restrictions, create a V-shape down to the very distinct outline of a red hard cock. You think it’s photograph worthy in the moment, something worth slipping the camera out for, and if you hadn’t kept his dick pics from months ago maybe you would. But:

“Please baby, -need it.”

You deny yourself the simple pleasure of slipping him in because Tae whining and pleading is something worthy for the spank bank. You drop lower down the bed so his hips meet your eyes and the skin glistens so beautifully in this light you have to leave his dick untouched just so you can kiss around the area.

His stomach, thighs, crotch, they see it all, lips and tongue mapping bold strokes because he tastes just as you remember and you want to savour it.

“Y/N ple- oh fuck,” and the taste of his dick beats anything that preceded it, let alone the noise that came with it.

His tip is taken care of first, small licks and stripes with your tongue, so he’s unsuspecting when you choke him whole.

“FUCK.”

Hands grab your hair violently. He’s deep and hits the back of your throat so you choke, unashamed of the noise. You’re past that and you know he likes it anyways.

You set a rhythm, and it soon becomes clear he’s going to cum from it and that you very much want him to. Your hand finds his balls to fuel the process and the other one snakes to your core because there’s nothing that beats Tae’s moans when he’s getting a good sucking.

“I- Fuck Y/N, I can’t- Shit!”

He’s close. Stomach seizing and balls throbbing in your palm so you sink back down again and take the choke like you want it and you want his cum more. It’s fast from there.

“Love you. I’m cum- Fuckkkkk,” salt and warmth line your throat, but only for a short while because he came quick. His hips stutter a few times and your eyes water when you continue to take it.

Then it’s cold and silent. Yet somehow you feel buzzed. Like someone cumming down your throat was enjoyable. Like you’d do it a thousand times over if it meant he’d say he loved you again.

The hands that had once set deep into your scalp and verged on making you horny now pulled at your cheeks to lift you to eye level.

He’s sweaty and a mess.

“You’re sweaty and a mess baby.”

His laugh is unfiltered, wholesome and worthy of the way your heart stutters.

“Because someone’s got a mouth on them sent from the gods.”

Blush overtakes your cheeks, whilst your stomach tumbles over at the fact that your blowjob skills are up to scratch - you thought a month off might have done something to your ability but clearly, you’re still on point. The bitter taste in your mouth tells you enough.

“What’ve I done to deserve you coming back.”

Sincerity returns into his eyes as well as his words, and somehow you feel his dick twitch again from underneath you. He’s so soft under your hands so you keep feeling at his skin to reassure you he’s real.

“Nothing. You’re enough. You’re it.”

You kiss and kiss again, keep going until the fire ignites in him once more where it still flamed for you.

“Please.”

His voice is low no matter how much he whines so a guiding hand slips him into where you’re filthily wet. And he’s huge despite seed already spilt. He’s loaded like it was meant for you and not your mouth, throbbing enough so your pussy can feel it.

And suddenly you realise it’s bare. Complete bare. As in, bare enough that you are willing to take on a child kind of bare.

His eyes tell the story when yours find his, wide and curious. They roll back into whites when you pull up fully and then sink back down, milking him for all he has so he knows this is your full intention. Naked in every sense.

“Shit, Tae.”

“Fuckkkkk,” he doesn’t swear often, but sex is a must and the quirk of your lips tells him just how much you like him losing himself in pleasure.

He hits deep from here, cock lodged far in and even further when he begins to take control.

His feet plant and his hands pull you down so skin flushes to skin and he can pump up into you with unadulterated need.

Your teeth have to clamp onto his shoulder with the way he hits your cervix, it’s uncomfortable yet you love it. That kind of sex where everything is so fulfilling that you just can’t mutter ‘stop’. How could you say such a thing anyway when he’s groaning that he loves you with every upbeat.

It hits good once. Twice.

“Tae, fuck. There.”

Three times.

“Here?”

Again.

“Oh my fuc- Fuckkk,” and there’s nothing you can do when you’re so stimulated you tumble deep and hard onto him and continue to do over and over in waves.

He’s finding his end in the way your pussy grips him.

“Baby. Y/N, Cunt so good, jesus.”

You’re burning when he’s going so fast the headboard bangs louder than your moans. So your hand quickly finds his balls underneath you and that does him, unravels him to the point he quakes.

“Holy- Love you. Love you. Fuck. Love you.”

Your ears might ring but that’s all you hear for the next minute. His mantra that keeps his lust alive until his love is so set in stone the words are not needed.

Your hand, winding into his hair and the thrum of your heart against his tells him enough.

It’s this. Silence and tranquillity yet with the constant buzz of electricity all around you.

You’re still there entangled, limbs on limbs and lights touches on bare skin as the slither of light through the blinds turns ruby red in the heat of sunset.

You know his eyes must glow golden from where the sun angles on his face so you can’t help but spare a glance. And you’re right when you imagined it as beautiful because the sun bathes him like it was meant to.

He’s still awake because his eyes flutter when you trail the outside of your fingers down his cheek and then onto his lips. It’s even more apparent when he brings his hand up to yours so he can kiss each knuckle individually.

“You came inside.”

It weighed heavy on you, the obvious factor that had happened earlier. And before allowing the beauty of the moment to settle in you had to see his expression when you mentioned it.

Yet there’s nothing but closed eyes and the slight smile that had been painted on his lips since you’d told him how much you wanted him.

“Mmm.”

“And you’re okay with that?” It’s not harsh, just a question from you. A security query because you have to know what this was for him. Caught up in the moment or something deeper?

His eyes bolt open at the question though.

“Are you?”

You almost have to think. Almost.

“Yeah. Yeah, I am.”

“And so am I.”

#bts smut #taehyung #bts taehyung #taehyung x reader #taehyung x y/n #taehyung smut #bts taehyung smut #bts v #bts v smut #v smut #kim taehyung #kim taehyung smut #jungkook smut #taehyung one shot #bts one shot #taehyung things

514 notes · View notes

thetravelerwrites · 5 years ago

Text

Arkag (Orc) MLM

Rating: Mature Relationship: Male Human/Male Orc Additional Tags: Exophilia, Male Reader, Reader Insert, Orc Boyfriend, MLM Content Warnings: Missing Limb, PSTD, Flashbacks Words: 3415

Another commission for @severedreamerbeard! A young man encounters a mysterious, secretive orc who lives on the outskirts of his village. During a sudden storm, the orc has a violent flashback to the day he lost his arm, and the reader helps him cope. Please reblog and leave feedback!

The Traveler's Masterlist

There was a bit of a legend in your town about the woodcutter that lived outside the village borders. He’d lived there since before you moved to the village and he was an orc, that much you knew, but there was precious little else anyone could tell you that wasn’t speculation or rumors.

Some said he was a war criminal who’d committed heinous crimes and was cast out of his stronghold. Some said he was being hunted for desertion by his clan. Some said he was a smuggler who was using his work in the village as a front. A few folks wanted to run him out of town for fear that he’d bring the wrath of whatever he was escaping from down on townspeople’s heads, though he was so large that few people seemed to be willing to follow through. Besides, he didn’t technically live in town, so it wasn’t as if he was really bothering anyone.

All you knew was that he supplied the town with firewood, which he would drop off on every person’s doorsteps in the dead of night when most people were sleeping. He had a dislike for people or being seen, so he did most of his work when it was dark and he could be alone.

The most unusual thing about him was something you’d seen with your own eyes but no one had mentioned: he only had one arm.

You had gotten up one night when you were ill with food poisoning and gone out to get sick at the edge of the field near your house. During a brief respite, while you were gasping for air, you saw the figure of the orc step silently out of the woods on the footpath, the hand cart he pulled behind him as quiet as he was. You watched in the dim light of the moon as he stopped at your door, let go of the hand cart, picked up a bundle of wood wrapped in twine, dropped it on your doorstep, and continued on his way. All one handed.

His entire left arm was missing and the left sleeve of his tunic was sewn shut unevenly. His ill-fitting clothes were plain and worn, likely the cheapest he could buy if he hadn’t scavenged them from somewhere. It hurt your pride a little as a tailor to see him wearing such rags. He wasn’t wearing a coat either, despite the chill of the autumn night, and his boots looked pretty beat up.

He was as big as everyone said he was, though he looked thinner than you expected, almost lanky. His hair was cut short, rough and jagged, looking as though he’d done it himself somehow, but you couldn’t determine its color in this light.

You’d almost forgotten that you were sick for a few minutes as you watched from the shadows as he made his way down the block and dropped off the wood at each door. Did he get paid for this service? You’d never paid him before, and most people in town were terrified of him, so you didn’t think they went out of their way to make sure he got his due for the work. Did he do it for free? Why?

After a moment of watching and pondering, your body abruptly remembered that it had eaten some bad eggs and you hurled what was left in your stomach into the brush. You tried to be quiet about it, but it’s hard to make a distressed belly obey or mask the wet splashing of sick in the dewy grass. The force and pressure of heaving actually caused you to black out.

When you awoke, you were inside your home, lying on your bed, and you saw someone moving around in the dark.

“Who’s there?” You croaked roughly, your throat raw from vomiting.

“Don’t worry, I’m leaving,” A deep male voice responded. A cup of water was pressed into your hand. “Drink this. I saw you pass out. Sick as you are, you’d likely have caught a killing fever if I left you there.”

You took a sip dutifully. A match was struck and a candle lit near the door, illuminating the face of the thin orc woodcutter.

“Oh, it’s you,” You said.

“Yeah. It’s me,” He replied flatly. “I’ll be out of your hair in a minute.” He raked up the coals in the fireplace of your room and threw in a few logs, bringing the fire back to life. In this light, you could see his hair was a soft brown color, and his eyes matched. His skin wasn’t green, like most orcs you’d seen, but an dark red ochre color. You tried hard not to stare at his missing arm.

“Thank you,” you rasped, taking another cautious sip of water. “What’s your name?”

“Arkag,” He said. “Not that it matters. We likely won’t speak again.”

“Why not?” You asked.

“Don’t worry about it,” He said. “I need to go soon. I have to finish the deliveries before sun up.”

“Why?”

“I make people nervous,” He said simply. “It’s best if no one sees me.”

“I see…” You said sadly. He sounded detached and resigned. You felt terrible for him and had to wonder what led him to living such a solitary life. You were almost certain it had to do with his arm, but you couldn’t dig up the courage to ask him about it. “Well, let me repay you for your kindness.”

“No need,” He said.

“Really, I insist. I’m a tanner and a tailor. I could make you a coat! You need one; it’s going to get colder soo--”

“No!” Arkag shouted. “I don’t need your charity and I’m not looking to make friends. Don’t make me regret helping you.” He stalked out of your room and to the front door and left without another word.

You grimaced and grumbled. You didn’t care what he’d said. This wasn’t about charity; it was entirely possible that he saved your life. A coat was the least you could do to repay him.

Once you’d recovered from your illness, you hired a hunter to bring you back as big a pelt as they could find. You knew you’d need a big animal to clothe Arkag and you wanted it to be all one piece. Nothing you had currently in your stock was adequate.

It took you more than two months to tan the leather, and then another two weeks to waterproof it. Sewing the coat took less a few days. By the time the coat was finished, it was well into winter and the snowfall was getting heavy. You wished you’d had the chance to start this project this sooner. Either way, it was done, and you went out during the day to find Arkag’s house.

You followed the beaten footpath deep into the forest and eventually found a small cottage in a circular clearing. The cottage seemed to be a single well-built room made of grey stone thatched with dry reeds and clay. It had a small garden in the front, though it was mostly empty currently, save for a few winter vegetables. You didn’t see him anywhere, and there was no smoke in the chimney, so you assumed he was out working. You left the coat, folded and wrapped in waxed parchment, on the stoop of his front door and left.

That night in the early hours, you were awoken by a loud banging on your door.

“Open up!” You heard Arkag growl.

Aggravated, you wrapped your blanket around you and went and flung the front door open.

“And what time do you call this?” You snapped.

Arkag had the coat clutched in his fist and threw it at you. “I told you I didn’t want your charity!”

“It’s not charity!” You yelled back. “I wanted to make it! I’m just repaying you for helping me!”

“I don’t want anything from you! I don’t want anything from anyone! Leave me alone!” He spun and stomped off.

You huffed and slammed your door. Months of careful work gone to waste because of one stubborn ass. The coat had been made for Arkag and it wouldn’t fit anyone else. You sighed forcefully and put the coat back on the body form.

The next day you went out to hunt. You could catch small game just fine; anything bigger than a deer, though, and you usually either went with a party or hired a more experienced hunter. You were low on meat and thought a small boar would last you a good month or so, if you dried and salted it properly. Plus, you wanted to make yourself some new soft boots for spring.

As you shrugged on your quiver, Arkag’s coat caught your eye. On impulse, you snatched it from the body form and folded it, stowing it in your satchel. You weren’t sure why you did, but maybe you could talk some sense into that block-headed orc.

A few hours tracking had produced nothing, and you were wondering if you shouldn’t just settled for a few rabbits when you felt the air electrify and the small hairs on your neck stand on end. Looking up, you saw that the clouds were darkening and decided to give up the hunt for today. A storm was coming.

You heard thunder in the distance and you hastened your steps. Thunder and lightning during snow storms was unusual, especially in the middle of winter. You had a feeling this one would be bad.

Just as you were coming to the place where the trees opened up a bit, you heard the crack of lightning hitting a tree, startling you. What startled you even more was the blood-curdling scream that followed. You broke into a run and followed the sound with your heart in your throat.

The snow was falling as you stumbled into the clearing that housed Arkag’s cottage. Arkag was on his knees next to his chopping block, an axe lying nearby, wailing as though he were in pain, though you couldn’t immediately see any wound. There was a smoldering tree nearby that must have been struck by the bolt.

“Arkag!” You shouted, running to him. “Arkag! Are you alright?”

“My arm!” He cried. “My arm!”

You looked at his right arm and inspected it frantically for injuries. “It’s alright! You’re arm’s fine! Arkag, you’re fine!”

“My arm! Oh gods, my arm!”

“Arkag, you’re arm isn’t hurt! You’re--” You realized then that his right hand was grasping for his missing left arm. Arkag was shaking violently and sobbing, his eyes wide and unseeing. You wanted to help him, but you weren’t sure what you could do. You were leery of touching him, concerned you would make it worse or that he’d lash out.

The only thing you could think of was the coat. He was only wearing his beat up boots, ill-fitting trousers, and the messily sewn tunic. Perhaps orcs had a higher cold tolerance than humans, but he still had to be feeling this weather. Shaking your head, you took out the coat and lay it over his shoulders carefully, trying not to jostle or alarm him.

The thunder continued to roll and the snow continued to fall as you knelt next to Arkag, keeping watch over him until this… flashback, you guessed, passed. Slowly, ever so slowly, Arkag seemed to come back to himself as the snow collected on both of you. This close, you could see that one of his tusks was cracked down the middle and rather grey in color compared to its twin, which was the normal yellow-white.

“Arkag,” You said softly. “We need to get inside before we freeze. The snow is going to get worse and it’ll be dark soon.”

Arkag blinked rapidly and wiped his face. He’d stopped crying but was still shivering. “Go ahead,” Arkag said in a low, brusque tone. “You can make fun of me now.”

Your head rocked back. “Why on earth would I make fun of you?”

He scoffed. “Forget it,” Arkag growled, attempting to stand but stumbling.

You rushed to catch him. “Here, let me--”

Arkag pushed you away, and you fell backward on your butt.

“What was that for?” You asked indignantly.

“I didn’t ask for your help,” Arkag said, falling back to a knee. “Leave me alone.”

“Would you stop being stubborn?” You said, shoving yourself to a standing position and taking his arm. “Do you want to freeze?”

“I don’t care!” He shouted at you.

You rolled your eyes. “Stop being dramatic and let me help you, you idiot!”

He attempted to shake you, but the episode had left him weakened. After a moment of trying to fend you off, you eventually got him to his feet and steered him toward his cottage.

Inside was simple and undecorated. There was a fire pit in the center of the single room that was lit, over which was a spit and a grate where a kettle or pan could be placed. There was no bed; instead there was a padded mat covered in furs that he likely slept on. There was a cabinet with jars of food, shelves with random knick-knacks, and a table with a single chair.

Strangely, though there wasn’t much actually in the cottage, it was very cluttered. There were various bones from previous meals thrown into a corner. There was an open trunk with clothes spilling out of it, both washed and unwashed. There were dirty dishes in a basin. The floor was unswept and straw-strewn. You got the feeling that he wasn’t necessarily a slob, he just didn’t care to pick up after himself.

You led him to the chair and he fell heavily into it.

“Where’s your kettle?” You asked.

He pointed at the basin and you went over, finding the kettle underneath a wash cloth. It was rusted and beat up, but it seemed mostly clean. You filled it with water from a barrel near the table and set the kettle on the grate over the fire. You found a clean mug and a canister with tea leaves.

“I don’t want tea,” He said churlishly. “I want ale. Or whiskey.”

“You need tea,” You replied firmly. “We need to raise your body temperature. It’s your own fault for gallivanting around without a coat.”

“Alcohol warms me better,” He grumbled.

“That’s actually a myth,” You told him as you warmed your hands by the fire, waiting for the water to boil. “Alcohol doesn’t make you warmer, it just makes you feel like you are. You’re more likely to freeze to death because you feel like you’ve warmed up when you really haven’t.”

“Still want it,” Arkag said sourly.

“Drink the tea first, then we’ll see,” You said sternly. You stole furtive glances at him as you bustled around his small cottage, getting tea ready. At first, he simply sat there, staring at nothing, though over time, he looked down at the coat, touching it tentatively.

“You really made this?” He asked.

“Sure did,” You replied. “Took me two months to tan that moose skin.”

“Huh,” He hummed. “I used to be able to do things like this. Well, not this; I couldn’t sew even when I had both arms. But I did a bit of skinning and tanning back in my day.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” You asked neutrally.

“Not particularly,” He said.

You sifted some tea leaves into his mug and poured the water in, letting it steep for a moment before pushing the mug over to him and leaning against the wall.

“What about today? What happened today?”

Arkag stared at the mug distantly, wrapping his large hand around it to warm his fingers.

“The sound,” He whispered. “The sound of the tree cracking and snapping. It brought me right back to the day… this…” He waved vaguely at the missing arm. “The day this happened. My body locked up and I couldn’t move. I barely remember most of it. I heard your voice… but from far away. And I couldn’t see you. Why were you even here? The coat?”

“No, I heard you screaming.”

He looked up at you. “Was I screaming?”

You frowned in concern. “Does this happen often?”

“Not anymore,” He replied. “It did when I was younger. It’s why I left in the first place. I was mocked relentlessly by the clan. They didn’t understand that I couldn’t control it.” He took a large gulp of his tea and grimaced at the bitterness of it. “I’ve been alright for awhile now, but… the lightning… when it hit the tree… the sound it made… it just… caught me off guard, I guess.”

“I understand,” You said. “It scared you. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

He huffed a mirthless laugh. “You don’t know much about orcs, then.”

You laughed, too. “I’m afraid I don’t. I’ve hunted with a few, and I’ve had a couple in my shop, but I’ve never had an actual conversation with one.”

“Not surprising,” Arkag said. “Orcs keep to themselves. We’re a rowdy bunch, but only in places we feel comfortable, and that’s usually around other orcs. Outside of strongholds, we tend to be tight lipped and reserved. They teach us to be cautious around outsiders.”

“Aren’t you an outsider now?”

He shrugged. “Technically. If I wanted to, I could go back. But I don’t want to. I’m comfortable being alone.”

“Are you?” You asked, folding your arms.

He looked up and squinted at you, but didn’t answer.

A strange, heavy silence fell, and you looked out of the window that was next to your head. The thunder and lightning had ceased, but the storm was still in full swing. The snow was falling heavily and the wind was picking up. It was also getting dark.

“Well,” You said with a sigh. “If you’re alright, I should get going. If I don’t go now, I won’t get home before nightfall, and I don’t want to get stuck in this weather after dark.”

Arkag cleared his throat, but when you looked at him, he didn’t say anything.

“Yes?”

“Well…” He said slowly. “It’s… late. I suppose it’s safer for you to stay here until morning, at least. I don’t have much to offer, though.” He waved vaguely around the cottage.

“Oh,” You said in surprise. “Thanks. I don’t need much, just a space on the floor to sleep. As long as we keep the fire up, I’ll be plenty comfortable.” You eyed him. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” He said, not meeting your eye. “You… you did help me. And you made me this nice coat.” He brushed a hand over the leather. “This is moose, you said? Awfully soft for moose.”

“I have a special ingredient for tougher leathers,” You told him. “Softens it but the material stays strong and lasts years. Take care of that coat and it’ll last a good decade and a half, at least.”

He seemed impressed. “Not bad.” He looked up at you, then away. “Thanks. For the coat. And… for not being an ass about… you know… earlier.”

“Are you really going to accept the coat?” You asked.

He sneered at you. “You want it back?”

“No, no, that’s not what I meant!” You said. “I meant…” You shrugged lamely, shaking your head.“‘You’re welcome’.”

“Good,” He said, and you swore you almost saw a smile.

He offered you some dried meat and a jar of preserves for dinner, and the both of you turned in. You laid out your coat and rested your head on your satchel on the other end of the cottage while Arkag settled on his mat, using his new coat as a blanket.

You were comfortable but restless, thinking back on Arkag’s wild, terrified eyes and the anguished screaming. What could have caused such fear in him? What had he gone through that made him leave his clan and family behind? How long ago had it been? How long had he been dealing with it alone?

You watched him toss and turn in his sleep, mumbling and groaning. You wondered what dreams were visiting him, if he was reliving his personal nightmare right now. If they haunted him every night. If there was anything that gave him comfort. Looking around his cottage, you didn’t see anything particularly comforting.

With your thoughts in a roil, you turned over and eventually fell into an uneasy sleep.

Since my work is no longer searchable, please do me a favor and reblog this story if you enjoyed it. Help me reach a wider audience! To help me continue creating, please consider buying me a Kofi, becoming a Patron, or donating directly to my PayPal!

Thanks for reading!

My Masterlist

The Exophilia Creator’s Masterlist

#exophilia #orc #mlm

275 notes · View notes

cuddlepilefics · 4 years ago

Text

Overworked?

Fandom: GOT7

Sickie: Jackson

Caregiver: rap-line + jjp

Jackson’s POV.:

I had been working on a solo-project today and was really excited to get back to the dorm and show my members what I had worked on. Sure, it had been tough, the hours of singing had left my throat a bit scratchy and exercising in the morning before practicing the new choreography had made my muscles burn. However, there can only be a good outcome, if I really made an effort and put all my heart into it, and so I did. Being done with today’s schedule, I had a driver take me back to the GOT7 dorm. I only realized how late it actually was when none of the members were up anymore. I guess I’ll have to show them tomorrow. Quietly, I snuck into the bathroom for a quick shower and got ready for bed. Being downright exhausted, I collapsed on my bed and the soft mattress welcomed my achy limbs. I had to suppress a sigh because I didn’t want to wake my roommate Mark but it really felt amazing to finally be able to lay down and rest.

When I woke up the next morning, Mark had already gotten up and I turned my face into my pillow to muffle a groan. I was a dozen times achier then when I went to bed yesterday and my throat was really sore now. I shouldn’t have overdone it that much. Today there was no schedule for me, since I had finished my project yesterday and I could’ve stayed in bed all day but my stomach was churning a bit and I figured going to bed without dinner last night was a bad idea. So I got up too and decided to have breakfast to settle my stomach and end the hunger pains. I met Bambam in the kitchen and we had dinner together. “Are you alright, hyung? You’re really quiet this morning”, Bambam questioned. “I’m fine, still tired and sang too much yesterday. My throat hurt’s a bit”, I replied, keeping my volume down but even so, it hurt to talk and I sounded raspier than usual. “I can tell, you sound awful”, Bambam frowned and I stuck out my tongue at the result. He got up and grabbed a mug from the kitchen cabinet. Picking up the pot of tea he had prepared for himself, my dongsaeng poured another cup and pushed it in front of me. After my whispered “thank you” we ate in silence, which I was glad about because my head had started to hurt a bit. Seems like I really outdid myself recently, but at least I’m done now and with some sleep I’ll feel like myself again soon. I was still sipping my tea when Mark exited the bathroom with shower-damp hair and grinned at me: “Good morning sleepy-head. At what devilish time of night did you get home yesterday? When you texted me, you’d finish everything up, I stayed up late to celebrate with you but you didn’t come and I must have nodded off at some point.” – “Oh my god, h-hyung. I’m soo sorry. You didn’t have to wait for me. I don’t even know when I got home, there were some last imperfections to erase and it ended up getting pretty late”, I rushed, feeling guilty that my friend had lost sleep all for nothing. My voice got progressively quitter and by the end of my explanation I had to clear my throat by coughing into my elbow. It didn’t help, the coughing just sent a stabbing pain down my throat and my wince didn’t go unnoticed by my friends. “Are you ok?”, Mark frowned. “Hyung, he sang a lot yesterday”, Bambam answered for me and I gave him a grateful smile for not having to speak again. Mark nodded thoughtfully before smiling at me: “You really need to show me how it turned out, but no hurry, if you want to get a few more hours of sleep first, that’s fine. You look like a panda with your eyebags.” I frowned before sticking out my tongue. “I’ll show you later hyung, sleep sounds good right now”, I whispered pointing to my bedroom. He nodded happily and disappeared with Bambam to play some games. I didn’t know where the rest of the group was but the two rappers seemed to be the only ones home. Rubbing my eyes, I placed my mug into the sink and went back to bed.

My plan to sleep a bit more was futile though. With the achiness weighting my body down I struggled to find a comfortable position and to add to my discomfort, my stomach didn’t get better from eating like I had expected. Quite the opposite was the case, my meal didn’t really settle and on top of the ache there was now also a hint of nausea. The headache I had developed over breakfast was slowly increasing and I groaned into my pillow. Does overworking really feel this bad? Giving up on sleeping, I sat up and checked my phone when suddenly a sharp cramp ripped across my abdomen. I grit my teeth and tried to breathe through the pain but when it subsided the nausea had increased tenfold. I was now really confused, what is going on with me? Not knowing whether I needed to throw up, I carefully got up and slowly walked to the bathroom. When I passed Bambam’s room I could hear my friends laughing and teasing each other. Oh, how I had missed this, but now that I’m home and not busy, I feel dreadful. I sat next to the toilet, leaning against the bathtub and screwing my eyes shut. Willing the nausea away, I took deep breaths through my nose and gently traced my hand in circles over my bloated belly. Bad idea. The added pressure was too much and a wet burp left my lips. Already being able to feel my breakfast at the back of my throat, I got on my knees and leaned over the bowl. It didn’t even take long till a gag tore at my abused throat and though it was unproductive, it made my eyes water. Fuck, I can’t throw up. My throat is to sore for that. I knelt there with one arm hugging my tummy and the other one gripping the rim of the bathtub next to me. I grit my teeth and tried to keep my lips closed at all costs, hoping it would keep my stomach contents in. All hope was lost when my cheeks puffed with another burp which was then followed by a strong heave. This time I had to open my mouth, as a hot stream of vomit gushed from my lips. The half-digested food burning my throat but I barely had the time to dwell on the pain since my stomach contracted again and I brought up another wave. I didn’t know what was worse, the pain it caused my throat or the fact that having just eaten, I could feel all the chunks travelling over my throat. I spat into the toilet and wiped the tears off my cheeks, trying to keep myself calm and hopefully calming my stomach along with me. To no avail. After a few held back gags into my fist, I threw up again, choking. I kept coughing and the strain on my throat brought me to tears once again. After a few knocks, I heard the door open and soon there was a hand hitting me between the shoulderblades. Slowly, the coughing subsided and I looked up at Mark, who had now switched to rubbing my back. “What’s going on?”, he asked with concern evident in his voice. “Don’t feel good”, I rasped quietly, wiping my tears away and resting my head on my arm. “Yeah, I can see that. I mean, are you sick or just really overworked? Or both?” Honestly, what should I tell him? I don’t know what’s going on with me. So I just settled for shrug. He sighed but kept rubbing my back. “Do you think you’re done, hyung?”, Bambam asked from the doorway, passing a waterbottle to Mark who opened it before offering it to me. After rinsing my mouth out, I handed it back to Mark without drinking any, not wanting to risk throwing up again even though it probably would have soothed my throat. Dropping my head back onto my arm I shrugged at Bambam’s question. Mark was still crouching behind me and Bambam took a seat next to me on the bathtub, before brushing my sticky hair out of my face. When did I start to sweat this much? The cool hand he pressed to my forehead felt amazing and I whined hoarsely when he pulled it away again. “Fever”, he commented, carding my hair back and I closed my eyes. That certainly explains some things. I never get this sore from dancing and I have sung for longer durations before, not wrecking my throat.

I was starting to nod off when Mark gently shook my shoulder: “Come on let’s get you back to bed. Don’t fall asleep here.” The thought of moving didn’t sound too appealing but I remembered how comfy my bed was earlier and let the two other rappers pull me to my feet. Being upright made my head spin and I relied heavily on my friends to keep me from falling. The walk to my room was painfully slow and felt like a marathon. When I could finally collapse on my bed, I was drained of all energy. My head pounded and I curled up hugging my pillow. Bambam had disappeared for a minute and now returned, placing a bucket next to my bed: “Do you need anything?” I shook my head. “Want to try and sleep some more?” I nodded and Mark helped me to pull the blanket over myself properly, since my sore muscles struggled to do so. After telling me to get better, they left quietly and the exhaustion from being sick and overworked knocked me out within seconds.

Jinyoung’s POV.:

Jaebeom and I just came back from buying groceries, when we found Mark and Bambam in the kitchen. Mark was cooking rice while Bambam chopped some vegetables. They explained in a hushed voice that Jackson had fallen ill and they were making soup as well as plain rice as a back-up plan, since he threw up earlier and might stomach rice better. “Why, what’s wrong with him?”, I had had a gut feeling that Jackson was working himself sick. “Seems a bit like the flu, fever, vomiting, muscle aches and he is pretty close to losing his voice”, Mark listed. Yeah, my poor hyung had clearly run himself into the ground and I now felt bad for not stopping him, having noticed the signs a while ago already. Putting my bags down, I made my way to his and Mark’s shared room to check on him, while the three remaining members stored the groceries away. I tried to open the door with as little noise as possible to not wake him in case he was asleep. It was a heart-breaking sight that welcomed me after sneaking in. Our Chinese rapper had tangled himself in the sheets, sweat beading on his forehead. He looked awfully pale with dark circles under his eyes and a slight blush on his cheeks. There was a bucket next to his bed and even while asleep, he was holding on to it with one hand, his arm hanging off the mattress. After dabbing away the sweat with an edge of his sheets, I placed my palm on Jackson’s Forehead, frowning at the heat radiating off of him. My touch must have woken him because he blinked at me disorientated. “Hey, not doing so well, huh?”, I whispered and he shook his head. Giving him a sympathetic smile, I sat down on the edge of the bed and saw how his eyes slowly got a bit damp. “What’s wrong?”, I asked sincerely. “I was soo busy and I missed you guys soo much. Now I’m finally back but I feel like death and everything hurts”, he rasped with a wavering voice and it was hard to tell whether the cracks in his voice were because of him being sick or due to suppressed tears. “We missed you too, hyung. But I think you might have loaded too much work onto yourself, ending up sick like this.”, I replied, running my hand over his shoulder. Remembering how much Jackson needed to have people he liked and trusted around him, I could only imagine how hard the last weeks must have been, working with complete strangers. Being alone in his room because he was sick, probably didn’t help him feel less lonely. “Do you want any of us to keep you company? Jaebeom, Mark, Bambam and I are free today and the others shouldn’t come back too late either…” – “I don’t want you to catch this”, barely managing more than a whisper. I could see the conflict in his eyes that told me he really didn’t want to be alone anymore, so I joked lightheartedly: “Don't worry. If I catch this from you, I will find a way to have my revenge.” Immediately tears started running down his pink cheeks and I was totally caught off guard. “Wait..” – “Nooo.. l-le-eave!! I d-don't want yo-you to be ma-mad at meee!!” I quickly started wiping his tears away and tried to calm his feverish, emotional mind down: “Hey, shh, I was just kidding, I’m staying. Relax.” It took a few minutes but his breathing slowly went back to normal and he was only sniffling quietly from time to time. I motioned for Jackson to make some space and sat down next to next to him with my back against the headboard, so he could rest his head in my lap. Running my fingers through his sweaty hair, I used my other hand to text Mark.

Shortly after, the door opened and the rest of the rap-line followed by our leader stepped in. My text didn’t explain much other than Jackson having missed us and feeling lonely. Jaebeom crouched down next to the bed while Mark and Bambam took a seat on Mark’s bed. “Hey, it’s good to have you back”, Jaebeom smiled at Jackson while patting his arm, keeping his touch light as he was aware of the soreness in his dongsaeng’s muscles. “Missed you, hyung”, the rapper forced out, making the leader’s face fall as he realized just how bad he sounded. After telling Jackson to avoid talking as far as possible, Jaebeom continued to praise him for his hard work and the effort made for the fans. I got a bit worried this speech would only encourage self-destructive behavior but luckily, my hyung ended it with emphasizing that health has to be the first priority and that true fans would want their idols to be happy and healthy instead of overworked wrecks. With a good amount of convincing, we got Jackson to eat a small bowl of plain rice so he could take some ibuprofen to help with the aches and fever. He even managed to empty half a bottle of water before lying back down with a groan. Bambam had brought in his laptop and played some music at a low volume to give us some background-noise. Mark had picked up Jackson’s Squirtle plush and placed it in the younger rapper’s arms. While I stayed seated with Jackson, the other three got comfortable on Mark’s bed. We engaged in a hushed conversation about the past weeks, telling Jackson what he missed while being away and discussing ideas for future projects and trips we wanted to take when having some time off. We didn’t expect Jackson to participate or even listen, he only needed to feel and hear us being there and including him though he was really out of it. Not even thirty minutes later, he was out cold in my lap snoring lightly. I was just glad, he was finally home and resting, my hard-working hyung.

#sickfic #got7 #jackson wang #mark tuan #bambam #park jinyoung #im jaebeom #jb #fluff #comfort

12 notes · View notes

lgcmax · 4 years ago

Text

an interview ? more like an interrogation. max thinks that, for the first time, his skills were really being put up for question. evaluations were one thing, but this was really introspective, and there was no joking his way out of the truth. it was what it was.

wc: 1142 words ( without prompts )

The first question that was asked was, “While you’re certainly the best rapper in this competition, we see that you have greatly neglected your singing skills so far. Even though you joined less than 2 years ago, we hold you to higher standards than other rappers due to your experience in Project Origin. With your singing as weak as it is, and your dancing skills not being stellar either, don’t you think you’re limiting yourself in only being “the rapper” of your potential group? And if you end up in a group that has little rap verses, would you be able to cope with having very little presence in songs?”

“ i’m the best rapper here ? ” he asks, eyes lighting up with the surprise of the statement. it wasn’t like he didn’t think it, but a part of him was surprised to hear that his beliefs weren’t actually exaggerated, but in fact the truth. he can practically feel his ego inflating, but just as he does, the second statement pops him straight in the face. ouch. greatly neglected his singing skills ? it wasn’t something he wanted to hear, as his singing was quite honestly the only thing that was a true sore spot for him during his training. his mind instantly travels to the time he cried in front of seojin over how bad he was, and he promises this time will be different. no tears.

“ actually, i … respectfully disagree. ” max is more thoughtful with his answer here - perhaps because they hit him where it hurt, perhaps because he’s scared of the power they hold over his future. but he isn’t quick to speak as he usually is, and instead his voice trails off and his eyes look to the sky as if searching for an answer. “ i don’t believe i’ll be limiting myself, though i won’t lie and say i don’t need to make further progress. even though i’m still getting there, i really have been working hard to get better at my singing, as i’ve been learning a lot from singers i look up too. and dance is a skill i’ve just started learning in training, but really have developed a passion for, and have put a lot of effort into. ” looking to the judges, he gulps. he can practically hear her voice coming from them. why aren’t you doing better, max ? you’ll never be a damn thing if you can’t wake up and learn to work for anything. don’t you have any ambition ? if you don’t, you better get some. they all look like his mother. he feels ill.

“ but uhh … i don’t think i’m limiting myself as rapper, because it’s what i excel at, but i’m building all my other skills from the ground up to become more well rounded. but i’ll really work harder to show you something you can actually be proud of. and … i think of myself as, a shooting star ? ” you sound cheesy. they’re gonna think you’re stupid, dude. oh god, breathe. “ you might not want to give me many lines, and though i hope you do, i know that when i am in center it’ll be … fleeting, but a powerful moment they won’t forget. time is irrelevant to my performances, i think. capturing their attention for such a short time would be half the fun, to me. i like a challenge, y’know ? ”

“You mentioned that you’d see a rival in anyone that could threaten your rapping position in a group. If that were to happen, and you ended up in a group with another rapper who, while in different ways, is as skilled as you are… would you be willing to share the spotlight? Would your personal ambition to “be on top” come before what’s best for the whole team?” Once you finish answering the question, the staff ends the interview by thanking you and telling you to have a nice day.

“ oh, no ! it’s not that. ” max, for the first time, cracks a smile, waving away the assumption. sure, he was competitive amongst other trainees, maybe too much sometimes, but that’s because he wants to make it. but if he were to debut, they’d become teammates, fighting for a common goal rather than against each other. “ i’ll admit, i’m very competitive. i am. but it’s what’s made me fight to have a spot with everyone else here, i really want to be on top and i don’t think it’s something i should feel bad about. because i don’t want to see anyone fall, or to even really be on top by myself. ” not anymore, anyways. not really. “ i don’t think i would’ve got through this past year without competing with others, because it made me and other trainees fight for our goals. but i also wouldn’t have got through it without the help of them, either. ” he thinks of all the people who have helped him - be it in joining him in performing, talking about goals, helping him with his korean, or just serving as an emotional pick-me-up when he was breakind down. “ i want to be at the top, and i think i can. but that doesn’t mean i don’t want anyone else there with me, you know ? yeah, it might be weird at first, but another rapper would be great, because i’d feel apart of something. to vibe with someone, to really have fun, you get me ? i just want us all to really make it, if we work for it. ” i’m so tired of trying to be the only star.

max choi, promoting hard work and not wanting to be completely alone ? what a fucking revelation that was.

–

On Monday, November 30, you are called by one of the staff members to a meeting with Kim Hyuncheol, head manager of the trainees; Park Jeongan, current CEO; Lee Iseul, head creative director; and Roe Kangdae, head manager of LGC Creatives. “Please take a seat.” The staff member spoke before giving a brief explanation of the interview process and how you will be asked two questions related to yourself and Future Dreams. Not a lot was revealed as to why the interview was conducted except for the fact that it was to help them understand their trainees on a more personal level.

After hearing your response, another person from the panel followed up with a question. Their question was, “You mentioned that you’d see a rival in anyone that could threaten your rapping position in a group. If that were to happen, and you ended up in a group with another rapper who, while in different ways, is as skilled as you are… would you be willing to share the spotlight? Would your personal ambition to “be on top” come before what’s best for the whole team?” Once you finish answering the question, the staff ends the interview by thanking you and telling you to have a nice day.

#lgc:pdinterview #( and so the tale begins :: development. )#full interview / info below the cut !!#i know he sound a little cranky but ty mods i promise this helped his dev tons lmAO #submission #* edited for clarity !!#wc: 1142

6 notes · View notes

howwelldoyouknowyourmoon · 4 years ago

Text

Letter from a disenchanted student of the Divine Principle

Many Unification Church members seem to think people who left the organization are like some kind of lapsed Catholics, but most of those people just recognized Moon’s absurd and contradictory rhetoric had absolutely no relationship to reality – I pointed out many of those obvious contradictions in my previous letter to Rev Moon. Even the vaunted Divine Principle was not his own teaching. Much of it came from a woman called Seong-do Kim whose revelations began in 1923. She stated that Jesus did not come to die (not new because other Christians had taught this previously), she also taught that the fall was a sexual sin (again not new because Jewish scholars suggested this long ago and anyone can recognize the association, even sex shops use a bitten apple to advertise their wares). She also taught about the change of blood lineage through the messiah – thus justifying all the deviant sexual activity involved in the pikareum rituals. Another source was a woman called Chong Deuk-eun who dictated a book called the Principle of Life in 1946-47. It was published in 1958.

The history parallels were taken straight from the teachings of Baek-moon Kim’s Israel Monastery – being the reason they finish in 1917, which was Baek-moon’s birth date rather than 1920 when Moon was born. The final Divine Principle book was composed by a committee guided by Hyo-won Eu with input from Young Oon Kim and various professors. So rather than being a direct revelation, the DP is actually an interesting amalgam of Christian theology, nineteenth century science, Oriental philosophy and shamanism – added to the insights and teachings that were taken from various Korean spiritual groups.  

This was why I felt free to approach much of the DP as almost allegorical because the main thing to emphasize was personal spiritual maturity – the development of a loving parental heart. (The real meaning of ‘perfection’.) I never believed that absolute Cain/Abel rubbish spouted by Moon and Japanese leaders. I remember one itinerant worker saying, ‘If my central figure tells me this red dress is blue then it’s blue.’ Absolutely insane – but this is exactly the kind of thing that has been propagated by the Moon family and their minions, especially in Japan, and it leads to all kinds of abuses.

  In addition to the DP we also have Rev. Moon’s great blessing theory, whereby through downing a glass of holy wine and being engrafted to his lineage we become capable of conceiving pure offspring, free from original sin. These ‘blessed’ children can then form the core of the heavenly kingdom on earth, of course with the ‘True Parents’ and their children at the absolute center. However, the proof of any pudding is in the eating – regardless of how good the recipe might sound. So let us look at the results, the fruits of the messiah and his teaching.

We can start with some of his own blessed children: Ye Jin – (Divorced.) Hyo Jin – was a drug addict, I saw him give a sermon one time when he was so stoned he had to hold on to the podium in order to stand up. He punched and kicked his wife, Nansook Hong, watched pornography, walked around with a gun in his pocket and beat up church members. (Divorced.) In Jin – was forced to resign her position because it became public knowledge about her affairs with two married members and the illegitimate child she had with one of them. (Divorced.) Un Jin – said clearly on TV that her father was not the messiah, and that the church was just about power and money. (Divorced.)   Hyun Jin, the kind-hearted business expert who wanted to cut the salaries of our church’s jewelry workers by a third – I saw a video of him calling a church leader an arrogant bastard and kicking him as the man knelt before him. No matter what the guy was guilty of, this was just one more example of the violence perpetrated by the Moon family. Which of course was epitomized by Cleopas, the black Zimbabwean supposedly embodying the spirit of Heung Jin, who went around the world viciously beating up men and women, putting some in hospital. He even threatened church members with a pistol. (All of it approved by Rev Moon who laughed at the beatings and had himself used a baseball bat on members.)  

Kook Jin – an arms dealer who said Abel wouldn’t have been killed if he’d had a gun. Divorced his wife and had himself re-blessed with a Korean beauty queen. He now has his own group of armed ‘knights’ willing to do whatever he orders. (Divorced.)   Hyung Jin, the heir apparent (according to him), lied about getting a BA from Harvard when he actually attained a lower qualification – and if he thinks the parable of the sower is referring to ‘absolute sex’ I think he needs to go back to Divinity School. His Sanctuary Church now promotes the owning of AR-15 semi-automatic assault rifles, and has ceremonies with participants carrying these lethal weapons while wearing bizarre crowns of bullets. According to one of his recent speeches, all the women of the world are ‘Brides of Christ,’ and he of course is now in that Christ position.

Don’t want to go into details about some of the others as I feel sorry for them.

  So this so-called true family demonstrates clearly that there is no difference between blessed children and any others. Rev. Moon said as much in Korea when he was talking about Sammy Park, his illegitimate son. He said, ‘The sons from the concubine are better because there is more passion involved in their conception.’ So much for the value of the blessing.   

(Of course Mrs Moon blames the bad behavior of her adult, absolute ruler children on the poor church members, as though they could do anything to control it.)  

So now lets look at the practical results of all the members’ sacrifice and offerings:   This Parc One court case (the conflict that began between Kook Jin and Hyun Jin) resulted in at least 700 million dollars of church money going to lawyers and outside companies. This is at a time when Japanese church members were being bled dry; many could not even afford to go to the dentist. (They were commonly referred to as ‘the toothless ones’ in Japan.)  

Cheongpyeong – you couldn’t make it up – they were selling apartments in the spirit world! People have to be completely away with the fairies to buy into that. Mrs Hyo Nam Kim (Dae Mo Nim or Hoon Mo Nim) after being denounced as a fraud, walked away with assets worth more than 230 million dollars (including one of the top golf courses in South Korea), so her spiritual real estate business must have been doing very well. It’s as crazy as charging money so that your ancestors can attend workshops with the spirit of Heung Jin, or paying thirty dollars for two bottles of Danjobi shampoo to get evil spirits out of your hair. (This all of course also being done with the consent of Rev Moon.)

Mrs Kim was supposedly channeling Dae Mo Nim, the mother of Hak Ja Han, which was actually a strange choice because Dae Mo Nim and another woman had spent two years in jail for beating a mentally ill youth to death in one of these frenzied ansu sessions (where they beat bad spirits out of people).

That whole Cheongpyeong providence is merely old Korean shamanism, and just because people have spiritual experiences there doesn’t validate what is going on. Something many members don’t realize is that God works to educate and reach people regardless of what religion they are following.  

Rev. Moon often praised Korean culture but Korea was a slave society for most of its history. Although the number of slaves had declined during the nineteenth century the institution was not legally banned until 1894, and the system survived in practice until the 1920s. At least one third of the population were slaves in the past, and the children of slaves automatically belonged to their masters – with most wealthy men keeping concubines. The Koreans always had that tradition of the Yangban, or aristocrats, being served by everybody else, even having a caste of sex slaves for that purpose.  

Another tradition was idol worship and shamanism. All this drumming and beating at Cheongpyeong is actually for drawing spirits into people, not driving them out. The disgusting business of putting Moon’s semen and blood into the holy wine is more shamanism. Shamans believe if you can get someone to imbibe your bodily fluids they will come under your control. By the way, Rev Moon’s children used to refer to Mrs Kim and her people as ‘the witches of Cheongpyeong.’ To put this in perspective there are still over 300,000 shamans or ‘mudangs’ plying their trade in Korea.   

Conferences. After working on some of them I was shown very clearly that all those big science, arts and other conferences actually had no purpose other than glorifying Rev Moon. He wasn’t at all interested in any results from those meetings, only in how many famous people attended.

  About 500 million dollars is donated each year by the Japanese church, but where does it all go? What great world-changing projects do you see it used for? Of what use are all these glorious palaces? The one at Cheongpyeong cost over a thousand million dollars. Just think what good could have been done in the world with such funds. This particular palace is now adorned with giant statues of Hak Ja Han with Jesus kneeling before her and a much diminished figure of Sun Myung Moon in obedient attendance. She has effectively created a new religion centered on herself by changing the basic teachings and proclaiming herself as the Only Begotten Daughter of God, the wife of God, the mother of God and God himself/herself. (What kind of mental gymnastics the present members are doing to believe this utter nonsense is beyond me.) 

 I know each national church lives in its own little bubble, in effect creating its own version of the Unification society and cherry picking which headquarters’ directions to implement. Each country also seems to hold onto its own view of the ‘messiah,’ effectively editing out anything that does not conform to this ideal. However, with the advent of the Internet this can thankfully no longer be the case.

It is the very core of the Unification Church that needs to be examined. The whole church has been built on lies. Even Rev Moon’s life story is full of falsehoods. Remember that picture of him carrying the man on his back; he let it be known for years that it was him before finally admitting it wasn’t.

The stories about Heungnam – I heard a testimony from one of those early disciples where she went to visit him and found him drinking tea in a nearby village! Chung-hwa Pak had been an officer in the military and was put in charge of the prisoners. He designated which tasks the prisoners should do. He was able to give Moon time off so they could talk together about his beliefs. Moon was not always being worked to death as he later stated. 

He said he graduated in electrical engineering at Waseda University in Tokyo, but he actually only attended night classes at a technical high school. 

The Church made out that Moon was arrested in North Korea for preaching against communism, but the charges were really for bigamy and adultery. Chong-hwa Kim, the married woman involved, was also jailed. His anti-communist stance came much later.  

The story about him meeting Jesus on the mountainside is also untrue. It was Seong-do Kim who first told people she’d had these Easter revelations, then Baek-moon Kim claimed them as his, and finally Rev Moon – whose lies gave him away as Easter did not fall on the date he gave for that year. In his most recent account of that meeting he calls Jesus a bastard, and originally taught that Jesus should have had sex with his mother to restore the fall. He also claimed to have met and talked with Buddha, but until his first visit to India he thought Buddha was Chinese.   

The Tragedy of the Six Marys. This book described the pikareum, or womb-cleansing, ceremonies conducted during the early years of the Unification Church. For years we were told it was untrue, but before the book came out in Japan they started giving lectures explaining the providential reasons why Moon had to have sex not only with the Six Marys, but also with all the wives of the 36, 72 and even the 124 couples. Some of the members listening to those lectures left the church afterwards so they stopped giving them, but they started them again in Korea from what I heard.

The Israel Monastery was a pikareum church with Baek-moon Kim doing the womb cleansing by having sex with the female members. Another similar one was the Olive Tree Movement started by Tae-Seon Park. This had 300,000 members and the churches had special rooms to practice the pikareum rituals. So there were plenty of examples of this grotesque idea for Rev Moon to draw on.  

The holy wine ceremony is a symbolic sexual act, but for the first years of the church Rev Moon actually had sex with the female members. This is the core of the church and it is both vile and ludicrous.  

I don’t say these things lightly because I needed plenty of evidence before I believed them, but I know people in both Japan and Korea who attended lectures where this behavior was justified. In America Hyung Jin and Kook Jin have admitted such things happened. It was admitted by Young Oon Kim, Papasan Choi, Chung-Hwa Pak, President Eu’s cousin (Shin-hee Eu), Annie Choi (the mother of Sam Park), Deok-jin Kim and many others. Rev Yong also went around the world giving lectures explaining the dispensational necessity of such sex practices.

  God of Day and God of Night. There used to be a shrine to this primitive Korean god to the east of Seoul. (Moon was incorporating any kind of rubbish into his mythology by the end of his life.)

I could report on even worse activities and crimes but I think this is enough for now. The Divine Principle itself is a wonderful construct, (Hyo-won Eu being something of a genius) the only problem being that it isn’t true. So much of the numerology, four position foundations, triple objective purposes and so on, is actually meaningless. There was no sexual fall and inherited original sin and Satan are non-existent. The history parallels are extremely contrived, and although interesting, prove nothing at all. There are many more aspects of the book that don’t make sense. Some parts of course are helpful, Jesus not coming to die and so on, but none of these are original ideas, so the book certainly doesn’t prove that Moon is the Second Advent.

▲ Baek-moon Kim was born in 1917. He devised the parallels of history.

  As predicted nothing happened on Foundation Day apart from a few pointless ceremonies. The church leadership knew this would be the case, which is why they were already telling people to prepare for 2020, the 100th anniversary of Moon’s birth. Mrs Moon is emphasizing witnessing now. (Because tithes are an ongoing source of revenue.) She recently told the Japanese wives in Korea that if they don’t do well then their descendants will pay lots of indemnity. She seems to have forgotten what her husband said on October 27, 1999, ‘No more indemnity is needed. The providence of restoration is completed.’

  I personally think anyone still teaching the Divine Principle has to examine all of the above, and then ask themselves if they are just helping to propagate a gigantic destructive fraud? Thousands of people have gone through real suffering to enrich Moon and his family. Many of them had their lives ruined by being matched and married to people they could not relate to. It’s hard to believe but Moon’s church even advertised for any Korean men who wanted wives to come to one of those big blessings – just to make the numbers up, although he charged them between two and ten thousand dollars for each purchased bride. He then matched dedicated Japanese sisters to men who weren’t even church members – some of whom were unemployed drunkards or worse. (One of these wives eventually killed her Korean husband after suffering years of abuse.) Again, ask yourself whether these matchings were the action of a loving father, or an evil despot with no concern at all for the happiness and well-being of others?

  If members were matched with someone they could love and be happy with, then they were in the minority, as it was mostly a matter of luck. Remember he matched physical brothers and sisters on at least four occasions that I know of, then changed the matching when he was told about it, so it certainly wasn’t God guiding him.

  If people want God in their lives all they have to do is invite him in. Knock and the door will be opened. You don’t need to go to God through Moon or anyone else, and heaven is a place for heavenly people, so if you aren’t heavenly then no blessing, white robe or inseminated wine is going to get you in there.

And just to be clear, arrogance and avarice are not heavenly attributes.

  I believe anyone who has sincerely tried to serve God and create a better world has certainly not wasted their time, because God will remember their efforts whatever religion they followed, but the Unification Church, FFWPU, or Hak Ja Han’s new name for it ‘Heavenly Parent’s Holy Community,’ is nothing but a despotic money-making, power-seeking, destructive scam that should not be supported in any way.  

My apologies people, no jokes this time, I’m too disgusted by the whole sorry mess.  

Sloe Gin

______________________________________________

Newsweek on the many Korean messiahs of the 1970s

Hwang Gook-joo and his orgies

The Divine Principle is constructed to control members

Sun Myung Moon’s Theology of the Fall, Tamar, Jesus and Mary

Sun Myung Moon – Restoration through Incest

Shamanism is at the heart of Sun Myung Moon’s church

Japanese member, Ms. K, was forced to marry Korean man she did not like

Sun Myung Moon makes me feel ashamed to be Korean

The Fall of the House of Moon – New Republic

Sun Myung Moon’s secret love child – Mother Jones

Cult Indoctrination – and the Road to Recovery

#Sloe Gin #Divine Principle

3 notes · View notes

lurafita · 5 years ago

Text

SIM Tony x Peter, part two

I’ll warn you all upfront, I haven’t gotten any better at writing smut, and this chapter has zero. Actually, this chapter doesn’t even have Peter in it. It’s just a lot of introspection into Tony’s character and how I envision he could slowly slip into SIM-mode. You will likely find this pretty boring.

If you are still willing to read, however, THANK YOU VERY MUCH AND I HOPE YOU LIKE IT!

Read the first part here: part 1

SIM Tony x Peter, part 2

He had drunken himself into a stupor after Peter had left first the living room, and then the tower.

Alcohol had always been one of his vices, and admittedly not the greatest coping mechanism. However, no matter how truly stupid, and sometimes even abhorrent, he behaved under its influence, the morning after often brought with it a new insight and understanding for his problems.

As well as a headache. Jesus!

“Jarvis, hangover protocol.” He rasped at the ceiling.

The A.I. complied immediately with the demand, lowering the shutters on every window to dim the natural light in the penthouse, and started the coffee maker in the kitchen.

“You should find some Tylenol in your bedside drawer, Sir.”

Tony blindly grabbed for the bottle after prying the drawer open, and swallowed two pills dry.

“Should I order you breakfast, or would you prefer to further endanger your health by ignoring your basic bodily needs, as usual?”

The billionaire let out a long and tormented groan as he got up from his bed (for which he mentally patted himself on the back. It wasn't often that his intoxicated mind managed to get his drunk ass into an actual bed, before he passed out)

“Remind me to program the sass out of you later, J.”

He wouldn't

“Certainly, Sir.”

Tony slowly made his way across the room, already able to smell the godly brew that was coffee.

“And that's a no for breakfast. But remind me in a few hours to order something hearty from that one restaurant I like. I'm starting on a new project, and I probably shouldn't 'endanger my health' – as you put it – too much before I get to finish it.”

The coffee was too hot and too strong and exactly what the genius needed right then.

“A new project, Sir? Does this have anything to do with Mr. Parker's visit and subsequent departure yesterday? I should caution you on making any rash decisions. Research shows that people are very susceptible to such upon experiencing rejection.”

Tony winced at that, but blamed it on the temperature of the coffee.

“Okay, J, one: we are not calling it a rejection. Peter loves me, he is just too worried that something might happen to me, if we started a relationship. That's not rejection; that's fear. Two: while this may seem rash, my new project is possibly one of the sanest, safest, and best decisions I have made in my life.”

Which Tony actually believed to be true.

No matter how much he wanted to be angry at Peter for the younger man's unwillingness to take that step with Tony, he couldn't.

Peter's rejection (god how he hated that word) might have been a fear based response, but it wasn't a groundless one. Everything Peter had said last night was the truth.

His enemies were deranged and obsessed with making Spiderman suffer.

Tony was vulnerable without the suit, and there had been instances when his technology had either malfunctioned due to outside tampering, or he himself hadn't been aware of any danger or not fast enough to activate his suit.

The losses Peter had suffered due to his superhero alter ego, had left the younger man scarred and traumatized, and Tony could hardly fault him for that.

Arriving in her personal lab (a space he usually loved to share with Peter, but after the events of yesterday evening, the brunette would probably avoid the lab – and the tower as a whole – for a while) Tony had narrowed down three major obstacles that stood in the way of him and his love.

The first was his suit.

Peter was right. Technology wasn't infallible, and Iron Man was due for an upgrade anyway. For years now, Tony Stark had spearheaded any advancements there were in the field of engineering. It was time to take the next step.

A press of a button and a command typed into his holographic interface, brought up the specs of all of his suits. From the clunky and uncomfortable Mark 1, to the sleek nano-technology Mark 75.

The second problem, was the fragility of his human body.

There would be no point in creating the perfect Iron Man suit, if he fell victim to things like illness, infection, or senility. The age difference between him and Peter was another sore spot. Meeting and falling for the Spiderling when Tony had already been in his late 40's was bad luck, because it would leave them with that much less time to spend with each other. Bruce and Peter, both sharing an interest in the sciences dealing with biology, cross species dynamics and mutations, had figured out that the spider bite that had given Peter his powers, had also slowed down the rate of cell decay in his body. They had estimated that the brunette would likely live way past a hundred years. Which meant that he deserved far more than the maybe 30 to 40 years that Tony still had in him. If Tony wanted to be with his Baby Boy for as long as possible, the too short human lifespan was a hurdle that needed to be overcome.

More tapping on the holographic keyboard opened up all the files he had on the Extremis virus. The genius had isolated the cause of it's recipients exploding two years ago, and fixed it. The only reason he hadn't utilized the new and improved Extremis sooner, was that it was one of those 'too powerful for humanity' things, that morally uptight people like Rogers would frown upon. Also, he hadn't felt that he needed it, placing far more trust and value into his suits. Just goes to show, doesn't it? Even Tony Stark was wrong sometimes.

The third major stepping stone were Spiderman's villains.

This was both the easiest and hardest to fix. The easiest way (and quite frankly the one Tony himself would prefer) was to kill them. Again, Peter was right. It didn't matter how many times the spider-themed hero beat them and handed them over into Shield custody, they always found a way out of their imprisonment. And as soon as they did, their main goal was to make Peter pay.

However, Tony also understood why Peter could never bring himself (or allow anyone else) to eliminate them for good.

Harry had been his best friend since childhood, Conners and Octavius had been mentors, and Eddie Brock had been a pseudo older brother. And even disregarding the personal feelings and history that bound Peter to each man, non of them were technically evil.

Harry had been a terminally ill teenager, hoping to escape his father's fate. The serum he had thought would cure him, had molded and messed up his body and mind, akin to someone who had been drugged or brainwashed.

Conners and Octavius had been decent, even honorable, men, who had sought to use their intelligence and research to help people in need. It had backfired and, as with Harry, twisted their minds, and in Conners case, mutated his body.

Brock had simply been unfortunate to be so compatible with the symbiote that Spiderman had managed to resist and fight off. Being bonded to Venom so thoroughly had changed the man.

The fact that each of the four knew who Spiderman was underneath the mask, but had never shared that information with anyone else, had manifested the believe in Peter that somewhere, deep down, their original, good, selves were still alive. That there was still hope for reversing the transformations, restoring them to the men they used to be.

And while Tony thought it naive, he also understood. After all, it was this penchant to hope where others would have long given up, this forgiveness and purity, that had attracted him to Peter in the first place, when they had just gotten to know each other years ago.

So, no. Tony could never make Peter change his stance on his 'No killing' policy, and he didn't want to.

But neither did he want for his love to keep being haunted by the people who had, if anyone were to ask Tony, lost their right to a second chance long, long ago.

Which meant that Tony would just have to deal with them himself.

More holograms popped up, this time displaying all the information that had been gathered on Doctor Octopus, the Lizard, Green Goblin and Venom. Tony zoomed in on the black alien parasite.

And he knew just where to start.

_______________________________________

I thank you all very much for reading and hope you have a wonderful day. Remeber to drink enough water and give yourself frequent breaks if you start getting stressed. Be fair to yourself and treat yourself with kindness, as you deserve no less. Find at least one thing to truly smile about today (and every other day). Also, never be too hard on yourself should you fail at something. Nobody is perfect, and it is often through defeat, that we learn how to overcome many of life’s difficulties.

Tagging: I simply always tag anyone who commented on the last chapter, if you don’t want to be tagged, drop me a quick message, please.

@sassy-starker @momobaby227 @retroxvailles @grimalkinmessor @bbalienbae @deliciousflapbanditfarm @starkersenses @kirakishou @von--gelmini @kaddiisarat

Kaddiisarat for some reason didn’t work? I’m really sorry honey, I tried!

Please tell me if I forgot anyone!

#starker #fanfic #superior iron man #Tony turns superior out of love #spider-man #peter parker #tony stark #mixed up canon #canon divergent #Dark!Tony #love #obsession #turning to the dark side #adult!peter #still a bit of an age gap though #op lurafita

123 notes · View notes

kpoptrashibnida · 5 years ago

Text

Enough Pt. 4

A/N: So, I am not super thrilled about this chapter. I just wanted to put out the important event that’s coming up and I didn’t want to extend it too much because I didn’t want to drag it out and have it not make sense or not have the flow work. So I hope this is okay and understandable and not boring. Also, please let me know what you are thinking about the series so far. Thanks! Happy reading!

You were breathing hard as you sat in the doctor's office, your leg shaking relentlessly due to the nerves you were feeling. You begged the doctor to expedite the test results because it was important that you knew that same day if you were pregnant, caught a disease or both. Thankfully she agreed once she saw your insurance card and knew she could charge them hefty fees for the expedited test. You closed your eyes and leaned back against the chair, willing your nerves to calm down as you patiently (impatiently) waited for the doctor or even a nurse to finally come inside. You had been waiting for a good 30 minutes and you glanced at your watch, debating whether or not to text your boss to let him know your “lunch” meeting was running longer than expected.

“Hi, I’m back. Sorry for the delay, we were trying to get these results as soon as possible.” The doctor said as she walked in and sat on the stool in front of you.

You sat up on the chair, your heart hammering in your chest the second the doctor walked in. “That’s fine.” You said softly, not trusting your voice.

“Well, I have good news. You are not pregnant and you don’t have any STDs.” She said with a smile.

You could almost cry of how happy you are. You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, relaxing your shoulders as you finally felt like everything was going to be okay. “I’m glad. I was just concerned because I’ve never missed my period before.”

“Well there could be a few explanations for that. Have you been experiencing any stress? Or a change of contraceptive?” She asked

“Now that I think about it, I did get a different prescription of birth control. And I’m helping my best friend plan her wedding, so I've been stressed out with that and work.”

“Well the change of birth control most definitely had something to do with your period being late. Once your body gets used to the new dosage, you should be regular again.”

“Thank you so much doctor.” You said with a smile, getting up and grabbing your purse, getting ready to leave.

“Of course. Have a great day.”

You walked back to work with more pep in your step. You were so relieved that you could scream to the heavens! You took your phone out, pulling up your text conversation with Chanyeol.

Good news. I’m not pregnant and you didn’t give me a disease. Let’s not speak to each other again now :)

You put your phone away and smiled as you made your way to work, not expecting or hoping for a reply.

After work, you were going to go dress shopping with Mina and Eunji. You two were going to walk there together after work and Eunji was going to meet you there. Once you made it to the lobby of the company, you saw Mina waiting for you by the door.

“Sorry! Have you been waiting long? The intern had so many questions I lost track of time.” You apologized as you approached her.

“No worries, I literally just got here. But since when are you in charge of babysitting interns?” She asked with a laugh.

“I’m not. But he came into my office as soon as I was going to leave.” You rolled your eyes, not wanting to be rude to the intern.

“He probably has a crush on you.” Mina teased, making you laugh loudly

“As if, Jungkook is just a boy.” You dismiss, the idea being utterly ridiculous.

“Yeah a hot one! That boys shoulders are massive! I’d give him a run for his money if I wasn’t a loyal fiancée.” Mina swooned.

“Okay okay calm down there.” You laughed, he was cute but oh so young. You halted once you saw the sight before you.

“What’s wrong?” Mina questioned at your lack of movement.

“Oh gosh let me get some ddopokki before we get there! I am so hungry!.” You said as you made your way to the food cart, ordering the largest size of ddopokki they had. “Do you want one?” You asked Mina

“I’m fine… how are you so hungry? Did you not have a lunch meeting?” She questioned, making your way to the bridal shop.

You gulped down the large amount of food in your mouth, feeling brave enough to tell your best friend the whole story. “Well, I lied. I didn’t go to a meeting. I had a doctor's appointment.”

“Doctors appointment? Are you ill?” She asked concerned

“I went to get a pregnancy test and a STD test…” You glanced at her to gauge her reaction.

She stopped in her tracks, her brain having a hard time registering what you had just said. “Wait. What? STD? Pregnancy? What the hell is going on?” She demanded, her mind running a mile a minute.

You took a deep breath and dived right into everything that happened. From Chanyeol ghosting you, from you ghosting him, from hooking up again, him not wearing a condom, you finding out that he was hooking up with other girls after he had cum in you, the realization that your period was late and the possibility of pregnancy, how you told Chanyeol and he completely dismissed you and to today. The good news of no pregnancy and no STDs. Mina was in shock after hearing everything you said, not believing what an asshole Chanyeol turned out to be.

“My god, you’ve been through a lot! Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” Mina said as she stopped in front of the bridal boutique.

“Because I didn’t want to put any negativity out there right now with your wedding planning. I’m just glad it’s all over and done with.” You shrug, not seeing why it was a big deal.

“I’m sorry you feel that way, you know you can tell me anything any time.” She felt a little guilty at the fact that you felt like you had to keep things in just so she doesn’t have to get stressed out.

“I know babe, let’s just focus on finding you the perfect dress!” You squealed excitedly, opening the door and heading to the countless rows of gorgeous wedding gowns.

A few weeks went by and the day to Mina and Suho’s wedding kept getting closer. Everything was going smoothly and the only things left to lock in was the flowers and confirming with the bakery the items for the dessert bar.

Currently, you were at work trying to finish the deadline for your department, making the final touches to your current marketing proposal. You were the team captain at your department and you were the one in charge of reviewing that everything was correct and in order before submitting it to your boss.

“Hey boss, the big man wants to see you.” Jungkook popped his head in to your office, making you look up from your computer screen that you were focused on.

“Okay, thank you.” You said, getting up and smoothing out your skirt.

You made your way to Mr. Kim’s office.

“Did you ask for me?” You asked as you walked into his office after knocking on his door.

“Yes, please sit down.” He said, taking his glasses off and rubbing between his eyes.

“Is everything okay?” You questioned, a little confused. Mr. Kim never usually comes and asks you into his office. Most of his questions or orders are in email form.

“Come on, how many times have I told you to call me Namjoon? You’re my star player, no need to be so formal.” He kindly admonished, making you smile at his demeanor

“Right, sorry Namjoon.”

“No problem. Has my little brother been doing well?” He asked with a small smile.

“Jungkook? I didn’t know he was your brother!” You said surprised, wondering how you missed that detail.

“Well he’s my cousin but he’s like a little brother to me.” He said, a big grin appearing on his face making him look youthful and carefree.

“He’s doing really well, knows how to get the job done.” You replied honestly.

“Good, good. Well I guess you’re wondering why I asked you here. I actually want to talk to you about something serious.” He said, his playfulness almost fully gone.

You sat up straight in your seat, a sudden wave of nervousness washing over you. “Is everything okay?” You asked as you racked your brain to see if maybe there were any missed mistakes in your last project.

“Yes everything is fine. Sorry, I didn’t mean to make this sound so serious. But I do have a serious offer. Friends Corp is going to open a pop up shop in NewYork. We are going to sell merchandise of all kinds. Shirts, cups, plush toys, etc. I have a team in Manhattan already working on the real estate aspect of the shop, merchandise and other things. But I do need someone who is good with marketing. Not just good, but great. And that’s where you come in.” He pulled out a packet from his desk drawer, showing you the highlighted documents. “The store is expected to open next year, so the contract would be for a whole year. I’d want you to oversee the marketing aspect of this pop up shop for Friends Corp, work closely with the graphic design manager and the PR director. You’d be there until the opening of the store and then you can come back to Korea. We will be giving you a pay raise, accommodate an apartment for you and transportation. What do you think?” He asked, looking hopeful.

You were stunned speechless, not expecting this kind of job offer. You glanced at the pay and your heart skipped a beat. The number on the paper was extremely impressive. “I am honored that you have considered me for this position Mr. K- Namjoon, but would it be possible to let you know later? I just need to make sure I can commit to the move.”

“Of course! Of course! Let me know when you can. But the sooner the better, that way I can book your flight and secure an apartment.” He said with a smile.

“Okay. Thank you.”

You sat at your desk, not being able to focus on your task at hand. This job offer was a great opportunity and you really want to take it. You just need to talk to Mina because you have a hard time thinking about being away from her for a whole year. After work, you two were going to the bakery that is catering her wedding. Suho was meeting you two there so you can all choose the best desserts. She and Suho decided that the didn’t want a super traditional wedding with a cake, they went with a dessert bar route. Liking the idea of options for all tastes and preferences. You decided that telling her about the job offer would be best to do so now, so you could get back to Namjoon with your answer as soon as possible.

“Ready to go?” Mina asked as you were shutting off your computer for the day.

“Yep, all set.” You smiled as you made your way over to her.

You were walking over to the bakery and Mina was happily going on about how excited she was to try out the different desserts and stuff her face. You smiled and nodded your head, a little distracted to be able to cooperate with the conversation.

“You okay? You’re awfully quiet.” Mina asked, observing your unusually quiet demeanor.

“I have something to tell you and I don’t know how to say it.” You said honestly, with Mina, it’s best not to beat around the bush.

“Oh my god, what is it? You’re scaring me.” She honestly did look scared and you felt bad for wording it the way you did.

“Okay, so today, Mr. Kim asked me into his office and offered me a job to work in the pop up shop in New York and he wants me to give him an answer soon and I don’t know what to do.” You managed to say it all in one breath, quickly glancing over at Mina.

She looked shocked for about a second before she grinned excitedly, shaking you in a tight hug, making you laugh.

“What did you say?” She inquired

“I told him I would get back at him to let him know.”

“Why though? It’s an amazing opportunity!”

“I know. But I wanted to make sure you’d be cool with it. It’s a whole year.” You said, just the thought of being away from your friend made you sad.

“Oh my gosh, don’t be dumb. I love you and I’ll miss you like hell, but I’d never expect you to miss out on an opportunity like this! As long as you leave after my wedding.” She said pointedly, making you laugh and feeling relieved.

“I would never dare leave before your big day.” You say, opening the door to the bakery where Suho and his best man, a guy named Kyungsoo who was apparently an expert on all things culinary, were waiting for you two already.

You were able to enjoy all the delicious desserts now that Mina knew of your relocation to New York. She shared the news with Suho and Kyungsoo as soon as you two walked in. Suho was very happy for you and decided that you all were celebrating your job promotion with lots of dessert and complimentary champagne.

The next day you walked in to Namjoon’s office, confident about your decision. Knocking you walk in, making him look up from his computer.

“What a surprise! Are you here to give me an answer?” He asked, taking his glasses off and reclined in his chair.

“Yes, I’ll take the offer. But I can only leave after my friends wedding.” You informed, excited about the move to New York.

“Absolutely. Just tell me the date and I’ll get everything ready.” He said, typing away at his laptop.

“Perfect. Thank you.” You said and went back to work.

“Oh yes.” You moaned, feeling hot lips touch your sensitive nipples, pleasure spreading through your body.

“You like that princess?” The husky voice said, thrusting his hips into you, making his thick length stretch you out deliciously.

You whimpered,nodding your head, the pleasure so consuming you were not able to speak.

“Use your words baby.” The husky voice whispered in your ear.

“Yes, it feels so good.” You panted, thrusting your hips against his in order to speed the process of your orgasm.

“Come for me baby, I know you’re almost there.” He said, rubbing his fingers against your sensitive clit, making your walls spasm against his cock.

You moaned as your release hit you, making you see stars.

His hips started moving faster, chasing his own release. He came soon after you, moaning lowly in your ear.

“That’s it baby, this is why you’re my favorite.”

You sat up in your bed with a start, heart hammering in your chest and a light sheen of sweat covering your body. It was a dream. A wet dream with Chanyeol. How fun-fucking-tastic. You touched your center and felt the wetness coating your panties. You threw them off into your hamper and laid back down in bed frustrated. You cannot believe you just had that kind of dream with Chanyeol. This promotion could not have come at a better moment. You need to get away from this country so you could completely erase him from your mind and memory. You were going to pretend as if he never existed. And you couldn’t wait to be thousands of miles away from him.

***

Chanyeol had stepped away from the computer to get something quick to eat. It seemed like ramen was the only thing he had to eat lately. He really needed to stop being so lazy and go get some actual food from the grocery store. He was in the middle of producing a song for an upcoming artist and he was excited at the progress of the song. This one was going to be a real banger for sure.

He made his way back to his desk with his bowl of ramen in hand, ready to put the finishing touches on the song. He saw the screen of his phone illuminating when he walked in, making his eyebrow furrow. Usually people don’t message him when he’s in the middle of producing.

He felt his heart skip a beat when he read your name on his screen, making him click on the notification at a fast pace.

Good news. I’m not pregnant and you didn’t give me a disease. Let’s not speak to each other again now :)

He read your message a few times, letting the news sink in. He was relieved you weren’t pregnant, although he couldn’t quite understand the feeling in the pit of his stomach. He knew you weren’t going to have an STD. Sure he had slept with someone else, but he always wore protection with them. He knew you were angry with him, but it made him feel like crap that you didn’t want to speak to him again. He decided to not answer and give you some time to cool off. He was sure you’d get over it with some time. He went back to work after that, distracting himself from the feelings he was experiencing.

“Daddy, mom won’t let me eat cake!” A cute boy with chubby cheeks and elvish ears came and angrily sat on Chanyeol’s lap.

“I know sweetie. But mom wants to make sure you have space in your tummy for dinner first. Then you can have cake.” Chanyeol said to the small child. Making a big grin spread along his adorable face.

“Promise?” He asked with his cute big puppy dog eyes.

“Of course!” He said confidently.

“Dinner is ready!” You exclaimed, bringing the home made pizza to the table where Chanyeol and the boy were waiting patiently.

“Yay my favorite!” The little boy exclaimed, making both you and Chanyeol laugh.

“I know baby. This is why I didn’t let you eat cake first.” You said, caressing the top of his head in a loving manner.

“And I know it’s your favorite too.” You said as you wrapped your arms around Chanyeol’s shoulders, giving him a sweet peck on the lips.

“Ewww not in front of my pizza.” Your son said in disgust, making you both laugh as you all ate, enjoying this sweet moment as a family.

Chanyeol sat up with a start, feeling disoriented. He looked around and saw he was still in his studio. He must have dozed off when he was finishing the song he was working on. He shook his head and took a long sip of water, trying to shake away the memory of the dream he had. What was more disturbing is the feeling that was lingering in his stomach. What the hell did that dream mean? Why the fuck did he have that kind of dream? And with you? He saved the progress on the song in his computer and whipped his phone out, scrolling through his contacts. Once he found the name he was looking for, he sent out a message.

Hey hot stuff, can I come over?

He got up and grabbed a condom from his drawer. He didn’t bother to wait for a reply, knowing what this girls answer was going to be.

Previous Next

#chanyeol smut #chanyeol angst #chanyeol #kpop #exo #kpopsmut #smut #nct #nct127 #nct smut #multiau #multi fandom

77 notes · View notes

longneckreach · 5 years ago

Text

Lightning Rod

“Sir?” Alumette bounced and weaved anxiously at the big Wildclaw’s side. “Did you want to look at the chainmail repairs you ordered, sir?”

She dodged the retaliatory snap of teeth, and managed to make it look accidental.

“Idiot! Can’t you tell I’m busy?” he snarled.

“You look very busy, sir,” Alumette acknowledged, twitching her ears back apologetically as she dropped to all fours. “I can tell you’re taking the guards their dinner and I wouldn’t want to annoy you later, when you’re off-duty and trying to relax. So I thought, maybe you might want to get it over with now, instead of—”

His sickle claw twitched, and she cut herself off with a polite cringe.

“You did say you’d be very angry if you had to wait longer than tonight,” she whispered.

“Fine.” The Wildclaw set his heavy pail of stew down with ill grace. “Get it fast.”

“Yes sir, right away sir.” Alumette bobbed her head so fast she gave herself motion sickness. “Oh! Here, sir.” She grabbed the stained leather tarp covering her materials and hauled it over the top of the bucket. “To keep the dust out.”

He didn’t react except to roll his eyes, and followed her to the back of her little unofficial area. Alumette didn’t have a space of her own, exactly; she was a prisoner, really a slave in everything but name. But since they’d started to view her as a convenient source of small repairs she’d found it useful to have a central location where they could usually count on finding her; it made them less angry when they finally did.

Her “spot” was—okay, it was actually what had once been the trash pit. Slightly to the right of, to be precise. That way she could scavenge and salvage whatever got thrown out in order to make her repairs. It was nearer the warmth of the cooking fires than she would ever otherwise have been able to get, too—the smell wasn’t so bad once you got used to it.

(That was a lie. The smell never got better. But she didn’t freeze to death either, and nobody wanted to spend much time loitering near her, so it served a purpose. She really, really wanted a long shower.)

It wasn’t a large space, but it let her keep her materials and projects organized and accessible. So it was very easy to find the chainmail tunic she’d been repairing for the Wildclaw whose name she couldn’t remember.

Impatient, he used a wing to push her aside and shook it out.

“You said there wasn’t enough darksteel to replace the broken links,” he snapped immediately.

Alumette’s ears pricked forward, eager despite herself. “There wasn’t, sir,” she said. “See? Look closer. I didn’t have darksteel, but I was able to find the materials for Mr Bladewing to blacken standard steel. It’s not a perfect match, but I thought you might like it better.”

“Cosmetic,” the Wildclaw grunted, but he seemed less angry already. “Not worth the time you wasted on it.”

“I managed to collect the reagents before Mr Bladewing reached your tunic in his queue,” Alumette assured him. “I know your time is very valuable. Are there any issues with the stitching where the mail connects to the leather? I reinforced the seam with shed Imperial antler, but some people don’t like the added bulk.”

The Wildclaw felt along the reinforcements, but it was clearly just for show. “Good enough. Not just a pretty face. Gods know you’ve had the time to do it right, though. Take it to my tent.” He gave a vicious, mocking grin. “Feel free to wait there.”

“Yes, sir.” Alumette wavered. “Sir, would you like to take it now? I could take the dinner pail out to the Pit. Then you could be finished for the evening.”

She got a hard, suspicious look. “Yeah? And what’s got you so accommodating, brat? Carrying secrets? Weapons? You stay away from the other prisoners unless you want to join them for good. You’ve got no reason to be near the Pit, your meatshield’s not there. And he won’t be again, either.”

Alumette allowed her pain to show as she shrank away.

“I know,” she said quietly. “I’m sorry, sir. It’s just that I know my brother isn’t coming back.”

He bared his teeth at her. “I knew you were up to something. It’ll go worse for you if you don’t tell me what it is.”

“I just…” She let her voice tremble. “I’m going to need all the friends I can get.”

One of the other guards had said that to her once. A different Wildclaw. But they were all pretty much the same.

What mattered was that her lie worked. The guard’s suspicion faded into derisive amusement, which was exactly what she wanted.

She tilted her ears forward, looking up at him hopefully. “I’ve heard the guards complaining about that delivery, sir. I know it’s long and boring. That’s what I’m here for, isn’t it? You could eat early yourself and relax. Or—or I could bring dinner to the Pit, and then—if you wanted me to bring you your armor afterward, so you...wouldn’t have to carry it…”

The Wildclaw got that glint in his eye again, baring his teeth in a way somehow less friendly than a growl. “Subtle. I won’t give you protection, lightning rod. Bring that armor tonight anyway, unless you want to make enemies instead of friends. And take the pail out to the guards, if you can even lift it.”

Pretending to miss the viciousness under the words, Alumette brightened and twitched her head in some kind of salute.

She dove under the nearest corner of the tarp, and prayed.

This was the hard part. Oh, not the slight-of-hand; she was a tinkerer, anything that required clever paw work was second nature. And not the design, either, that had been easy. The hard part was deciding which deity to pray to.

In the end she prayed quickly to the Stormcatcher, because she was born under his mark, and because her entire plan hinged on the mass of wires and junk contained in a pilfered slop bucket that no one but her would ever have noticed, tucked under its filthy weatherproof tarp next to the garbage pit. And the wooden bowl she’d fitted perfectly inside it, a false top hiding her Plan inside.

(She made a point of grabbing the full dinner pail between her teeth, so that as she lifted, the Wildclaw would see her holding it; so that, as she turned and the tarp fell back into place, she would create a tent effect with her horns, where no one could see exactly what she was doing. She had planned this. She had done a lot of thinking.)

She prayed to the Shadowbinder, for just a few seconds of cover in which to pull off the kind of trick she’d never attempted before, the kind of acting she’d never needed to be good at.

(With the tent hiding her actions, she quickly set the pail down and flicked her tail, sending a basket of odds and ends rolling. Just loud enough to be audible, she mumbled, “ow.” In the few seconds in which her observer would assume she was tending a bruise, she grabbed a ladle she’d hidden and tipped the top fourth of the stew into the false top of the Plan.)

To the Windsinger, the god of freedom. The Arcanist, because he knew her brother, and also because she was going to do something flashy and really stupid and he seemed relevant.

(She left the dinner pail tucked between two crates where it wouldn’t leave a silhouette, and dragged the Plan, now overflowing with stew, back into the sunlight.)

And one final prayer—in the part of her mind not whirring and sparking and calculating how to pull this off, she called to the Plaguebringer.

Part of that was just polite, after all—Alumette was on her land. But she was also pinioned and hungry and scared, and she didn’t want to die. Alumette didn’t really pay much attention to religion, but she did remember what other people told her. And she’d heard from Plague dragons in the past that their goddess might be ugly and vicious, but she was also the patron of dragons who wanted to survive and were willing to fight for it with everything they had.

Hello, ma’am, she thought awkwardly as she maneuvered the Plan out from under the tarp. I don’t know if we’ve met, but I’m trying very hard, and so is my brother. I don’t think you really help people, exactly. But if I’m wrong, I could use some help. I know I’m not really one of yours, though, and some of these dragons are. I really do think I’m fighting harder than they are. They’re awfully lazy, ma’am, no offense. If you just could please not help them, I won’t ask you to help me, if that sounds fair. I really think I can do this on my own. I just need a chance.

She managed to extract herself from the Wildclaw guard without him noticing anything, and began the long walk toward the Pit as the sun went down.

Belatedly, she remembered her manners, and thought in the vague direction of the Wyrmwound: Thank you for your consideration.

From there, the Plan went...well. She was trying not to jinx anything.

It was actually pretty simple to talk her way around the Pit.

The first pair of guards were the toughest; they were the ones positioned at the controls to lower the bridge into the arena, without which nobody could get out, so they had to be smart and observant. And she wasn’t a good actor, so she didn’t try to lie to them. She just asked them, politely, whether they wanted the good stew or if they wanted to eat right away.

They hassled her over it, of course; but she just blinked in feigned surprise and said she didn’t mean to annoy them, ma’am, sir. It’s just that (and cue hunched shoulders, rapid blinking) I got clawed really bad last week for offering the head guards the first serving instead of saving them for last, ma’am. I know it’s hotter now, but the really good meat settles near the bottom as it gets stirred by serving it out, so the last servings are better. I’m not disrespectful ma’am, I swear, I just didn’t know until last week so now I ask.

She’d been prepared for either answer, but it was still a relief when—always looking to get one over on each other—they fell for it and said they’d wait.

The next guard she actually knew; he was the one who kept dropping all those hints about protection and friends that made her scales want to crawl off her body to get away from him. For that one, she dropped her eyes shyly and claimed to be giving him a bigger portion. He was willing enough to believe it.

Aluetted tugged hastily at the cape of the next guard in the rotation, hastily whispering, “Don’t take any. I saw Spinner put something in it when she heard Erund was out here. I tried to tell Adder but she said she’d—just please don’t take any, they’ll blame me!”

And so it went. About halfway around, the guards in the rotation started to notice the pail was still full, and Alumette could stop trying to act, which was a relief. She could just look anxious and unhappy, which was very easy right now in the current moment all things considered, and tell them she didn’t know what was going on but when she told the shift leaders what the stew was they refused to eat it, which was weird, and I don’t know why they laughed when I said I’d see if the others wanted any, that was weird too...but there’s plenty of it, if you maybe want a double portion?

For some reason, none of them were taking her up on it.

And all around the Pit, getting easier and easier as it got dark, unnoticed beneath a Spiral’s tangled body and Alumette’s own restlessness and the clink and flash of her chains, a copper wire spooled from the bottom of her slop barrel.

She’d carefully tarnished and blackened the first several hundred yards of it, so that no light would glint off the surface in her wake, counting on sunset to save her later on. Carrying the pail between her teeth gave her a few precious seconds to tug the slack loose with her paws, and trample the wire into the dust with her hind feet. So far, so good. So far no one had seen it. She’d found that if she kept talking, and moving, and generally being blindingly bright and also nervous, people didn’t notice what was happening near her feet.

Maybe she shouldn’t be a clockmaker, Alumette thought idly as she circled the Pit. Maybe she should be a thief! That would be funny. Aspis probably wouldn’t think so, but she could make him laugh about it if she tried.

If he came back.

No time to worry about that. She was almost back to where she’d started.

The extreme end of the thin copper wire she’d been laying had been kicked under the shift lead’s tail, with a black iron fishhook on one end. Alumette wasn’t exactly a talented fisherdragon, but she didn’t have to aim very well. It had snagged on the chain for the bridge pulleys. From there, she’d been following close along the edge of the arena where she could wrap her wire around the pegs where the jagged net over the arena was anchored to the earth.

“Hi!” she called, setting the pail down about fifty feet from the shift leaders. Carefully, she moved her paws from the rubber-padded handle and placed them against the bare iron bands running down the sides. “I saved you guys some of the big pieces!”

“You better have!” The reply wasn’t angry or aggressive, but it wasn’t quite joking either. “Never doing this again, I’m starving. There can’t be that much of a difference in the taste.”

“Get over here, lightning rod,” her partner agreed. “Or I’m taking a bite out of you, too!”

“Yes, sir,” Alumette chirped. “Just a minute. It’s still heavy, I think there’s a lot of marrow in these bones.”

The promise of a rich treat won her patience for the last few, precious seconds.

Alumette was a Lightning child by birth; but she’d never gotten any magical training. She could call up her element, of course, but not with any real power or consistency.

That was what engineering was for.

Electricity crackled along her spine, from the tips of her horns down along her wings and racing along the ridge of her back. A lot of it, too much, discharged from her tailtip. But more than enough power raced through her claws and into the iron bands of the slop bucket.

And from there, into the jumble of metal, wires, a silver bracelet she’d slipped from the pocket of a waistcoat she’d been set to mend, several feet of chain, and an only-slightly-rusted metal spring from a discarded mech that she’d spent the past week turning into a rudimentary, unstable electromagnet.

For a few terrifying seconds, there was nothing but a low, uninspiring hum.

And then copper wire began to glow.

#flight rising #flight rising lore #fr lore #lore event #we are getting SO close to the conclusion of the whole Marrow Massacre event #I'm excited #I mean the raid was definitely the high point!#but this is sort of a second spike

10 notes · View notes

katreal-fic · 5 years ago

Text

Day 5 — for #fictober 10/05/19

Prompt: “I might just kiss you.”

Fandom: Homestuck

Warnings: Cursing, 2nd Person POV

Part of a series. Please start from the beginning!

Characters: Dirk Strider & Roxy Lalonde

First | Previous | Next

x-x-x

Dirk > Get Over It

You don’t get over it. But, you’ve had years of the intrusions to learn to live with it. You pick yourself after time and the sea breeze allow the most persistent of the whispers to fade back into your brain. You don’t know how to stop it. You don’t think you can. Maybe it’s just in the universes’ cards that you’ll never be able to escape the insufferable and unignorable presence of your selves. Splintered, doomed, it’s a big old party full of the one person you hate the most.

You’re on the computer this time, digging into some of the less physical aspects of your work for CrockerCorp. Coding wasn’t your favorite thing, but aside from Roxy and ARq, you were probably one of the better around, and as far as you know, neither of them were helping Jane out on a consulting basis. You ignore the humming in the back of your mind, the phantom disconnect bubbling out from some deep inner core that leaves you watching your hands performing their tasks and yet--not under your control at all. An observer. Weightless, formless, trapped in a world of numbers and words with only a single view to the world beyond.

Only that isn’t right, you could take the stairs to the roof and go wherever the fuck you wanted to. Maybe you’re trapped, but it’s your own damn choice.

That’s the most unnerving of the loose threads, you think, because you know exactly who is leaking through there and at least he has more of a right to inflict this shit on you than any of the others.

It keeps leaking. Mixing. You wonder if one day you’ll stop noticing and cataloging and just accept it all as your lot in life. Maybe even use it.

You send off the finished product--even with clumsy as hell organic interfacing tools, you work more efficiently at this sort of task when your auto-responder rises to the surface--and scroll through your inbox for another one.

One stands out from amongst the mixture of spam emails that somehow keep getting around your ever more sophisticated filter (you suspect ARquiusprite to be behind it, but have no proof) and the more mundane business communication you maintain with CrockerCorp’s research division. You used to go straight through Jane but...as the company expanded it became more efficient to just work directly with the developers since Jane wasn’t very plugged in to that particular aspect for the business. It unnerves you a little, thinking of the small bakery she opened to take back her family name from the Batterwitch, only for the business to balloon into such a multi-industry giant, filling many vital services in this world and only rivaled in scale by Jake’s revival of SkaiaNet.

But you suppose that’s the responsibility of a god, taking the world in hand and guiding it. Benevolent patrons, looking down from on high, shaping the course of history and society into the best form it could be. Someone’s got to recreate the internet (the world’d better thank you and Roxy and ARquiusprite for that) and you weren’t willing to wait around for it to happen organically. Shit needed to get done, and sometimes, the eight of you were the ones who needed to do it.

The rogue email stands out with it’s bright pink text and typo filled subject line. Why would Roxy send you an email? Why didn’t she just hit you up on Pesterchum or--

A thought and you have the window open in the corner of your display, fighting, and failing to resist the urge to press your palms into your face when you notice the little red dot next to Do Not Disturb. A little further digging and you turn up some unread notifications that never got sent due to the privacy settings.

Of fucking course. Of course you’d automatically flip it to DND when in one of your spirals and not even realize it. You remedy that mistake, but instead of scrolling back through Roxy’s messages--there’s also a meme sent your way from Dave, accompanied by an ironic selfie of him and Karkat from, Jesus Christ that was a month ago--you turn back to the email in your inbox. This would be the newest one, given the time stamp, which was only an hour ago.

There’s a picture attached, a night shot of New City, near where Roxy and Calliope set up. Roxy’s got the whole selfie thing going, smiling and radiant for the camera, pink eyes sparkling with mischief as she framed the background shot just perfectly.

There’s an orange and green streak across the cityscape, the tall buildings in the distant background, their lit windows shining like a million stars from across the bay. Calliope has her green-suited arms wrapped tightly around their neck, highlighted by feathered wings obviously hitting the end of their orange end of the gradient and starting down the green path. Despite the obvious speed (you can tell from the way Davepeta’s currently green coat is caught mid-whip behind them) the picture is perfectly clear and focused, as if you are looking through a window into an image frozen in time.

Damn she’s good.

wishin’ u were here di-stri. i heard u got out a little. maybe u shuld do it again. liek maybe come out my way next tiem?? ;) we have fun.

You chew on the inside of your lip, studying the picture. The frozen mixture of delight and mild terror on Calliope’s face. The mischief on Roxy’s. You can’t see Davepeta’s even if you zoom in, what with the ever present glow beneath their skin and the glasses currently matching the same orange of their wings. You bet they are having a blast though. How did they manage to talk Calliope into that? You didn’t talk to the cherub much on your own, but you were under the impression she was a skittish thing.

Your hand moves on its own, triggering the sylladex withdrawal on reflex. The feather hums quietly in your hand. It’s fading. The colors duller. Moving slower. But it’s there and it’s a comfort and…

Maybe you should.

You open Pesterchum back up.

TT begins pestering TG

TT: Sorry Ro-Lal, I was buried in work. TT: If you’re free I could probably head out your way tomorrow. I’m at a lull in my projects.

You aren’t, really, but as you’ve been so clearly reminded by the peanut gallery, none of this shit actually matters. And…

You miss Roxy. If you turn down this invitation…

Well, they already stopped coming once, and you let them.

You don’t expect an answer immediately; the carapacian kingdom was a few timezones ahead of your ocean bound kingdom. It’s well into dinner time and you bet she’s a little busy with her guests and being the most kickass hostess of all time.

You barely pull up another project and start studying the design specifications before the window on your shades spring open, searing excited bright pink across your eyeballs.

TG: omg dirk really??? this is going to be awesome!!! Callie and i promised to take ARq and peta out for more shenanignss but oh my gawd thisll be soo much fun! Itll be liek old times! Ull have to keep me updatedf on ur ETA TG: gawd i havent seen you in so long i might just kiss u TG: plonk a big one rite smack dab on each cheek TT: Don’t make me reconsider now, Rox. TT: You know how I feel about smooches, advanced warning or not these cheeks are off limits without applying for a permit. It’s private real estate. TG: nu’uh buster no take backsies!!! U accepted the invitation u gotta put up with the potential of that ill be so overcome with joy at seeing ur face that there’ll be a shower of friendly smooches TG: see u tomorrow <3 TT: Tomorrow, it is Roxy.

You talk a bit more, but Roxy soon excuses herself to do the hosting thing, and you’re left wondering what you’d gotten yourself into.

You’d forgotten Davepeta was traveling with ARquius.

Trapped. Trapped and it’s your own damn fault.

There’s no way you’ll let Roxy down after all that though.

You’ll just have to deal with it when you get there.

First | Previous | Next

#fictober19 #homestuck #homestuck fanfic #dirk strider #roxy lalonde #earth c fic #a sea with a sky full of diamonds #fic: diamonds #kat's fics #technically still counts as the 5th #tomorrow might not go up till monday tho #I have a paper to write

10 notes · View notes

angrylizardjacket · 6 years ago

Text

strangest night of our lives {Joe Mazzello/OC}

Summary: Cate’s 10 year high school reunion is coming up and Joe agrees to go with her, except that she had a garbage time at high school, and the idea of seeing those people again stresses her out more than she cares to admit.

A/N: 5354 words. Self indulgent cate/joe fic that is neither of the things i promised. i write this shit to make myself happy because there’s v few people who actually care lmao ANYWAYS enjoy (thanks, i will) no smut, but i put it under a readmore because it’s a long one.

Cate doesn’t get stressed, it’s one of the great things about the Taylor family, Joe had found, they’re very loud but very chill, they each had their own outlets for rage and stress; Barney boxed, Astrid worked in her garage and drank whiskey like it was her job, and Cate had her music and her daughter. So, to say it was strange to see Cate frantically pacing back and forth beside the craft services table liked a caged lion, phone to her ear, frown adorning her brow, was an understatement.

“Rowan, this is import-” whoever’s on the other end of the line cuts her off and she stops pacing, squeezing her eyes shut and sighing deeply, “I get that that’s important too- listen to me - if I find someone else to go with, will you look after Claud?” There’s a long pause and Cate finds herself nodding along, “yes, I know she’d love to come with you, she loves playing with the sound desk-” another beat and her eyes snap open, exasperation written all over her face, “well then you tell her to stop playing with the faders, I can’t astral project myself to-”

Joe’s fidgeting now, feels like he’s intruding on a private moment, and when Cate finally spots him, finally meets his gaze where he’d stopped on his way to grab some food between takes, her smile is tight.

“I’ll drop Claud off on Thursday, okay?” She says into the receiver, gentler this time, and there seems to be something akin to relief flowing through her as the tense set of her shoulders eases a little, “okay, take care, bye.” And she hangs up, sighing heavily. Scrolling through her phone with one hand, the other reaches out to take one of the egg and lettuce sandwiches being offered on the table beside her, and Joe feels less like he’s intruding.

“Everything alright?” He asks tentatively, and Cate grunts around her sandwich, before finishing her mouthful and heaving yet another sigh, her third in what feels like less than a minute.

“Everything’s fine, just had all my plans for this weekend completely fucked,” she turned off her phone and slid it into the back pocket of her jeans, putting down the sandwich and opening up a bottle of water, downing a third in a few quick gulps.

“It’s Tuesday.” Joe frowned.

“Yeah, and I’ve had these plans for almost a month; just like Rowan to fuckin’ screw all this up,” she grumbled. This came as a shock to Joe, who’d never heard of her ever speaking ill of anyone; everyone in her family, Cate had always been equal parts the rowdiest, and the most sincerely kind, whoever Rowan was, they must have really screwed up.

“And Rowan is…?” Joe prompts, and the tension in Cate’s shoulders cracks a little.

“Claud’s dad; my ex,” oh, “he was meant to come with me to this high school reunion thing this week but he’s - surprise - found out he’s working.” She rolls her eyes. She looks tired, which is, again, an uncommon look for her, and she pulls out her phone. “You wouldn't happen to know someone willing to spend the weekend in London putting up with me and and a bunch of asshole private school grads for a weekend-” And Joe's about to make a suggestion, but she keeps talking, still looking through her phone, “you know, Barn would go if I begged him, but fuck it'd be pathetic to turn up to my high school reunion with a brother who's objectively more successful than me, and Trid has been banned from all further reunions last time I heard-”

“Wait, why?” Joe frowns, half laughing, and Cate grins.

“At her reunion she ended up hooking up with the biology teacher she had a crush on in her final year, and it was a big scandal because when you go to a terribly fancy private school, everything's a scandal-”

“I'm free this weekend.” Joe finally interrupts her, and Cate's mouth snaps shut and she turns slowly to him.

“I- no, dude, no, you're busy as shit, don’t- no.” Cate's shaking her head, finishing off the last of her sandwich, and washing it down with another gulp of water, trying to ignore the way her cheeks are heating up at the suggestion, “Dude, you don't need to do that.”

“Wow, alright I get it, I get it,” Joe laughs, though it's a little off, he actually seems a little hurt by such a thorough rejection, and Cate's ears turn pink as she finally turns to him.

“No, I just mean - like it's a lovely offer, but I don't want to be a burden and I'm sure you have better things to do with your time, I can find -” she's floundering, flustered, fidgeting with her phone, and this time when Joe laughs, it's genuine.

“Cate, seriously, we're-” he hesitates slightly, “friends, and all I was gonna do this weekend anyway was lay around in my hotel room and maybe practice the bass for a bit,” he says, and Cate's eyes glaze over a bit.

“God that sounds nice,” she murmurs under her breath, and in that one moment, she looks so tired.

“Come on, let me tag along, it'll be a nice change of scenery.”

“You sure?” She asks tentatively. Joe nods, clapping her on the shoulder.

“It'll be fun; we'll make it fun.” He assured her. For just a moment, there’s an unfiltered look of relief that washes over Cate’s face before she throws herself at Joe, wrapping him up in a hug.

“Oh thank God, I really didn’t want to ask my brother to come with me.” She laughs gently, hugging him tighter than was probably necessary, though to be fair, Joe wasn’t even close to complaining as he hugged her back.

They meet on Friday, the day before the reunion, at the hotel in the middle of London where it was taking place according to Cate, and the moment Joe steps into the lobby and sees her wearing her black jeans and leather jacket, draped on a gilded sofa that wouldn’t have been out of place in Garden Lodge, that he realises what type of people she must have gone to school with, and how absolutely ‘fuck-off-wealthy’ that makes her family; he’s actually a little humbled. He’s also never been so grateful to see someone so out of place as Cate. in that moment.

She’s twitchy, fidgety in the uncomfortably fancy elevator ride to their floor, carrying a black duffle bag and a garment bag on a coat hanger.

“Seriously, you can run away now, I’m not going to stop you,” she offered quickly before the elevator doors open, and she can’t bring herself to look at him. Joe’s got his own suit in a garment bag slung over his shoulder, and he can feel the nervous energy radiating off her in waves almost. The doors open.

“Not going anywhere,” he chanced her a look, a half smile, but she just looks doubtful, and steps out ahead of him, “what’s got you so worried?” He asks, and Cate visibly sighs. It’s so strange to see her like this, she’s usually so bright and outgoing, seeing her tense and nervous is almost uncomfortable to witness, and if he wants to help her try and relax, Joe knows he needs to find out why she’s so tense in the first place.

“High school didn’t agree with me,” Cate says, glancing at the numbers on the doors as they walk past, slowing down in front of 2318. She opens it with the key card and when they step in, she moves about the luxurious spacious room with an almost practiced ease, hanging up her garment bag and pulling off her shoes, “it’s a school for trust-fund babies who have more money than sense and aspire to be bigger, richer jags than their parents, or trophy wives, or both.” She flops back on the bed, gazing up at the roof as Joe takes his time putting his things away before moving to the window.

“So are we trying to mess with them or are we trying to get on their good side?” He asks, and when Cate laughs, he can’t help but grin in return, looking from the spectacular London skyline to her, smiling for the first time since he’d arrived.

“I’d tar and feather them if given half a chance, but honestly I’m just out here trying to rub it in their stupid faces that I actually amounted to something.”

“High school really wasn’t kind to you,” Joe winced, and she gave him a wry smile, but doesn’t disagree. It’s when she sits up, suggests getting dinner, that something clicks in Joe’s head and he hesitates before he answers her; “yes on dinner, but there’s- uh,” he can see Cate’s a little amused by the way he’s turning faintly pink, but it’s her turn to get a little flustered as he voices his next thought; “where will I be sleeping?”

The bed was enormous, could easily fit two people, could probably easily fit at least four, but the last thing Joe wanted to do was make her uncomfortable when she was already so stressed about the upcoming reunion.

“I- here, Joe,” she makes a face like she doesn’t quite understand why he’s asking, patting the bed, while her voice is so painfully casual it almost stings, “we’re adults, dude.” And with that she breaks away, scrambles across the bed to the bedside table where a menu was waiting by the phone. “Room service?”

They eat their room service dinner in bed, and Cate does her best to catch Joe up on any gossip that may be important knowledge for him to have before he ‘walks into the hornet’s nest’ as Cate put it.

“I’m pretty sure that’s not the saying,” Joe snickers, but Cate waves him off, mouth full of pork chop.

“Whatever, dude, the point is, these are the kids of bankers and lawyers and fancy athletes and stuff like that; they’re exactly like their parents, just as awful as they were in high school, at least according to their facebooks, and none of them like me.” She picks at the salad at the side of her plate before eating a cherry tomato and avoiding Joe’s gaze.

“Are- really? How can you know that?” He asks, tone light, mostly convinced she’s joking, but she shrugged.

“When I clicked that I was coming on the event, I was added to a group chat for it that it turns out most of the rest of the year was already in, apart from like the, you know, the ‘weird kids’, the kids they assumed weren’t coming.” The mood is quickly dropping, and Cate takes a deep breath, forcing a smile. There’s a beat of time in which Cate’s smile is already slipping, and Joe sort of wants to ask why she’s even going, but then all he can think about is how good it would feel to rub Cate’s success in the faces of those assholes, and he gets it. He leans in conspiratorially.

“You wanna go egg their cars?” He asks with a grin, and there’s an indescribably relief and amusement written all over Cate’s face that just lights up the room, and Joe just wants to be able to bottle that emotion so he never forgets how damn happy her smile makes him. He’s sort of been thinking that a lot lately, if he’s being honest, but he tries not to think about it to hard; he’s not here to worry about himself, he’s here to support Cate.

“Literally nothing would bring me more joy,” Cate sighs wistfully before shaking her head, “but I’m trying to be the bigger person.” And there’s a moment where Joe can’t help but marvel at her; if what she’s said is true about these people, she has every right to be the pettiest person in the world, but she’s trying to rise above it, trying to put it behind her.

“I’m glad you’re here.” Cate admits, snapping Joe out of his thoughts, and she moves her mostly empty plate onto the table and flops back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling again, “seriously, I owe you.” Joe puts his own mostly empty plate beside hers, joining her, taking her hand and giving it a reassuring squeeze.

“No you don’t, there was no way I’d let you go to this alone.” He assures, and Cate is strangely quiet, her hand still clasped in his. When he looks at her, he’s surprised to see her looking back at him, expression a little unreadable, a little awed, and she looks like she wants to say something, but when his gaze meets hers, it’s as if he can see her hesitate, and she just gives him a soft smile.

“I appreciate it.” Is all she says, voice uncharacteristically soft.

It’s much later that night that Joe learns that Cate sleeps on her side, curled up, with blankets all tucked up around her, doing things on her phone until well past midnight.

[go to sleep] Joe messages at about twenty past twelve, grinning to himself. He hears Cate’s message tone go off and he suppresses a little giggle, but is surprised to hear Cate herself snicker, though she doesn’t turn around. After a beat, he hears start typing.

[u first.] [hypocryte.] [*hypocrite] She sends in rapid succession, and Joe doesn’t even try and hide his soft laughter at this.

[not tired]

[neither am i] She’s quick to respond, and she shifts to get more comfortable on the bed.

[guess we’re at an impasse] He sends, and there’s a long moment of silence before she slowly starts typing out a response.

[that spelling doesn’t look right.....] [impass] [impasse] He hears her make a little, thoughtful huff, and there’s a long pause before she starts typing again. [no you’re right]

[i know 😂] He’s shifted from where he was leaning on his headboard to laying on his side facing away from her, and the with the two of them both engrossed by the other’s messages on their phones, in the middle of the night, in the same damn bed, it feels like a high school rom-com. It makes Joe feel a little giddy, a little warm inside like he doesn’t quite want to admit.

They get donuts from Seven-Eleven at one in the morning at Cate’s behest, and she admits it was her favourite part of high school. Sitting at the bus stop outside the store, Cate takes only the barest moment to lament her lost youth around bites of donut, but quickly thinks better of it.

“I eat better because of Claud, I gotta set a good example, you know?” She’s sitting probably too close, leaning against him, but he’s not complaining. The night is cool enough that they’re both wearing jackets, but it’s otherwise calm, even in the inner city. “I want her to be healthy and strong, and yeah like I’m not a hardass, like I’m not a hypocrite, you know,” and she takes another bite, before taking a swig of the milk she’d bought to pair with it. Joe is quiet, just looking out at the street, unable to help the fond smile that was caught at the edge of his lips, “but I miss like, being on tour with dad, god we’d eat absolute garbage after the gigs had finished. Whatever was open late was dinner; there was like a week in Japan when I was sixteen, where I just survived on dessert crepes.”

It’s little moments like that, where she says a lot without saying much at all, how she’d been afforded indulgences, perhaps at the expense other parts of her life. He asks if it was in the school holidays; it wasn’t. She goes quiet. She leans her head on his shoulder and eats another donut, and they watch the cars pass by in easy silence.

This time when they get ready for bed, Cate plugs her phone in to charge and puts it on the bedside table, ready to actually sleep, and Joe finds himself doing the same.

The space between them on the luxurious bed feels like miles, feels too far away. There’s a beat of hesitation before Joe turns, wants to say something, wants to reach out, but Cate is already facing him, arm outstretched, surprise written all over her face, and though he can’t see it in the darkness, she’s quickly turning red.

“Hey,” her voice is soft, a little nervous, and she retracts her hand quickly, but doesn’t turn away, doesn’t look away, just smiles, a little bashful.

“Hey,” Joe can’t help but grin back.

“This bed is huge,” she laughs a little in the darkness, and Joe hums in agreement, and then she’s shuffling over, propping herself up, “hey I- contact makes me less nervous, would you mind if I?” There’s a little bit of reservation in her voice, like she’s not sure how he will react as she holds her hand out to him, going to lay down beside him, but something in Joe’s heart softens and he huffs out a laugh.

“Come here,” and he opens his arms for her. Even in the darkness, he can see her visibly relax as she rests her head gently on his chest, arms tucked carefully to her chest as he wraps an arm around her shoulders. It’s all very tentative, like they’re both hesitant to get to close, but her shampoo smells like something fruity and she’s surprisingly cool to the touch and something about holding her, even gingerly like this, fills him with some sort of contentment. “You have nothing to be nervous about, you know; you’re gonna make this reunion your bitch.”

Cate is quiet, but he feels when she tenses at his words. It lasts only the barest moment before she relaxes, and shifts against him, uncurling one of her arms to drape across him and pull him a little closer. He holds her a little tighter.

Joe wakes first, on his side, one arm beneath his head and his pillow, the other slung over Cate, who’s also facing him where she’s sleeping on her side. One of her hands is curled loosely in the fabric of his shirt, and when he moves to get up, her grip on his shirt tightens just a little and she makes an unhappy noise in her sleep. Joe considers his options for a moment, before shrugging and settling in to go back to sleep, at least for a little while longer.

Cate’s in the shower when he wakes up, and she stays there for a full half an hour before he calls out asking if she’s okay. He gets a tentative and unconvincing ‘yes’. Not five minutes later, the water shuts off and Cate comes barrelling out clad in a bathrobe and her hair dripping onto the carpet.

“This was all a mistake; I should go home.” She announces, sitting at the edge of the bed. Joe, still in his pyjamas, having not left bed at this stage, frowns as he sits up. “They don’t want to see me.” She says softly, voice so raw, and Joe’s heart breaks for her, just a little.

“Absolutely not, you’re successful as hell, you’re a kind person, and an incredible mother,” and he wants to add something else, to wrap it up, something about being better than any of them could even hope to, but Cate looks at him and there’s something in her expression, the same thing he saw last night that was unreadable, followed again by a hesitation and a smile.

“You’re too nice,” she brushes off the compliments easily and Joe sighs, rolling his eyes.

“You’re just nervous.”

By the time Joe’s gotten out of the shower, Cate’s got her hair wrapped up in a towel and is frantically chattering away to someone on a video call. There’s a small fortune’s worth of makeup scattered on the bed, and she’s rifling through it with something akin to nervous irritation.

“Mickey, I don’t know what the shit a cut crease is or how to do it,” Cate sighs, and the person on the other end of a video call, dark haired and exasperated, pinches the bridge of their nose.

“That’s why I’m here, don’t worry.”

Mickey turns out to be Cate’s brother’s partner, professional makeup artist and part-time Taylor-Sibling wrangler so it seems, judging by their endless patience and exasperation. It’s a little awe inspiring, Joe thinks as he watches quietly, moving about the room, ordering lunch, passing makeup brushes and pallets when asked to.

“How’s this look?” Cate turns to him once she’s finished putting a pretty impressive wing on her eyeliner. The rest of her eyeshadow is in shades of rich, blood red and shimmering pink, but Joe doesn’t have time to answer before her gaze catches on the bowl of wedges he’s got sitting between them that had arrived not long ago, though Cate had been so immersed in her work that she hadn’t noticed.

“It looks lovely,” Joe assures her, and her thanks is spoken around where she’s crammed three wedges into her mouth.

“You’re a menace,” Mickey informs her.

“I’m hungry!” Cate protests, mouth still full of food, and there comes a secondary voice from Mickey’s end; it’s Barney, asking what she’d done this time.

“Speaking with her mouth full,” Mickey sighed, looking incredibly put upon as they moved from where they’d presumably been sitting to join Barney on what looked to be a sofa, the two of them in frame as Cate flipped them off.

“Watch it, grub,” Barney warned, and Cate made a horribly gross noise as she opened her mouth wide and showed all her half chewed food. Even Joe, though he was amused, made a noise of disgust at that.

“Wait, who’s that? ‘that Rowan?” Barney asked, frowning through the screen, and Cate made another face, shaking her head as she swallowed her food. Joe takes that as his moment to make an entrance, maneuvering about the makeup on the bed to sit by Cate, popping into frame and resting his chin on her shoulder. Seeing who it actually was, Barney’s face lit up.

It was strange to wrap his head around at times, the idea that the Taylor family all collectively seemed to like him. It wasn’t something he’d expected; apart from Undrafted, he had never found himself close to the, for lack of a better word, source material for a film. Roger himself, and Astrid to an extent, were probably the most distant, but he half-jokingly calls Ash ‘mom’ on set, and Cate and Barney are always there, Barney because he’s in between projects and helping out Ash, and Cate because-

“Hey,” Joe’s frowning, looking in the mirror as he does up the buttons of his dress shirt, while Cate’s in the bathroom curling her hair, “I never actually asked what you do.” The video call had ended almost half an hour ago, and by now they were both a little antsy, getting ready in different parts of the room.

“What do you mean?” Cate calls back, tone blithe, followed by a yelped swear.

“You okay?”

“Burnt myself on the curling iron, I’m fine.” She assures quickly, and Joe goes back to the question at hand.

“Like, for a living, or study, or, I don’t-”

“I’m Queen’s social media coordinator.” She says it likes it’s the most obvious thing in the world, cutting him off before he can even finish his thought. In the silence that follows, Joe makes a noise of interest, though it’s clear he wasn’t expecting it. “It’s not-” Cate hesitates for a moment, and once more Joe hears her sigh, “okay, it’s almost definitely nepotism, I get that, I’m not blind-”

“I didn’t-”

“No, not you,” Cate gives a humourless laugh. “I know how it looks from the outside, but I do have a Masters in Public Relations.” The fact hangs in the air for a moment as Joe takes the time to process it, before his frown deepens, and he’s moving through the hotel room with ease to find her standing in the bathroom. She’s frowning at herself in the mirror, though it’s closer to scowling, and even when she catches sight of Joe in the reflection, her expression doesn’t change.

“And you’re worried about tonight? Cate, seriously-”

“Stop it, stop being so fucking nice, okay?" She snaps. Joe physically recoils, eyebrows raising in surprise as he watches her turn on him. It’s as if the air itself is crackling with the hostile energy she’s radiating, tense and angry, though he’s not sure what he’s done to warrant it. “You don’t have to pity me or whatever, I got practically everything handed to me, I get it.”

Its in this moment that Joe sees the way she’s not really looking at him, the way she’s looking through him and projecting her old fears and frustrations on him, and he gives her a thin, understanding smile.

“I think you need some time to get ready,” he says softly. There’s a beat before her expression shifts, cracks and falls, and she turns back to the mirror, nodding quietly and picking up the curling iron again. He leaves the hotel room, sits in the lobby and rests his head against the wall for a very long time.

[Hey Ma Rocket, I need some advice about Cate.] He deletes the text before he even sends it, has no idea what to ask or how to ask it, thinks that he might be overstepping his bounds to go to her mother about this. Something about this whole event has Cate acting so out of character to him that it’s jarring; Roger and Ash have told a few stories about her high school days and early days of uni, and this, whatever this version of Cate is, seems to best align with those.

[hey so i think cate’s mad but not mad at me but im not sure] Instead, he talks to Barney, who only waits half a minute before just ringing Joe.

“I told her it was a terrible idea to go to this reunion. She gets so shitty about high school.” Barney sighs, so blase that it’s almost committal as he forgoes a greeting.

Though he doesn’t go into details, from what Barney does say, it’s clear that ‘high school didn’t agree with her’ didn’t even begin to cover it. More than anything, Joe’s heart just aches for her; she was a kid. He wants to go to her, let her know that it’s okay, wrap her up in a hug and keep her away from the assholes who convinced her that she’d never be able to earn anything in her life.

“Mumma, you look like a princess!”

When Joe gets back to the hotel room, the first thing he hears is Claud, and without even taking a step over the threshold, there’s a relief that washes over him as he hear’s Cate’s laugh.

“I feel like a princess, sweetie,” Cate’s smile is clear in her words, and as Joe closes the door behind him, Cate looks over and gives him a soft, apologetic smile from where she’s sitting back on the bed, still wearing her bathrobe, holding up her phone, “are you having fun at daddy’s work?”

“It’s loud,” Claud says, and Cate beckons Joe over with a smile, “but sometimes I can push the things and,” the little girl giggled, “sometimes I push them when he’s not looking-”

“Claudia,” Cate says, her voice taking on a surprisingly Scottish lilt as she gently reprimands her daughter, sounding so much like her mother it’s a little hilarious, “what’s dad told you about playing with the faders when he’s not looking?”

Claud is sulking by the time Joe is sitting beside Cate on the bed, and the moment she spots him, her whole face brightens into a grin.

“Joseph!” It’s always amused him how the little girl would always insist on calling him by his fugll first name, and he’d always respond in kind as it made her smile. Cate grew quiet, content watching Joe and Claud talk and joke around, leaning against him as she held up the phone; she seemed far more at ease than she had for most of the past twenty-four hours, and for that Joe was grateful.

“You okay?” He asks softy once they hang up. Cate hums and nods, taking a deep, slow breath, centering herself in the moment.

“I don’t wanna go to the reunion.” She finally admits, and Joe wraps an arm around her shoulders. “I don’t have to prove myself to anyone, and-” she pauses for a moment, looking up at him, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have yelled at you, I’m actually really glad you’re here.”

“There’s nowhere I’d rather be,” he gives her a warm, fond smile, and she looks for the barest moment like she’s going to brush it off, but it hits her how sincere he is and something in her chest tightens.

“You’re too nice to me.” But it’s not dismissive this time, it’s soft, it’s that same unreadable something that Joe had seen on her face last night, and she’s smiling back at him. “You actually like me as a person, don’t you?” She sounds so bewildered at the concept, searching his face for some hint of a dissenting opinion, but he just frowns in confusion.

“Of course, you’re awesome, Cate.”

Her answering smile is blinding. It’s as if she’s found a whole new energy, jumping from the bed and tugging Joe to his feet.

“Let’s do whatever; ditch this shitshow reunion and just-” she laughs a little, throwing open the closet, “I don’t know; let’s do anything, everything.”

“In a suit?” Joe asks, a little hesitant, but still smiling. Cate pulls out her garment bag and opens it, revealing an exquisite, red, cocktail dress.

“We’ll paint the town red,” she enthuses, before she falters for a minute, expression falling slightly, “I mean, if you want to, don’t feel obliged or -”

“Oh, I’m always down for an adventure; it’s Saturday, baby, let’s tear it up away from these,” he pauses for a moment, grinning, “what did you call them, jags and trophy wives?”

Cate is elated as she swans over to the bathroom to get changed, and Joe pulls on his suit jacket, tying his bowtie when Cate throws open the bathroom door and strikes a pose in her dress.

“You look pretty damn good,” Joe grins, trying not to let it show how the sight of her had left him a little out of breath. Cate’s grinning and laughing, making her way over to him, nudging his hands out of the way to fix his bowtie.

“Same to you; cute penguin suit,” voice dropping to soft and amused, Cate’s eyes were fixed on her tying efforts as she continued, growing more serious, “I am really sorry I yelled at you, I- this whole thing had me fucked up and I got in my own head about it, and about how fucking hard it is being the bigger person this weekend, and I just thought-”

He gently places his hands on her shoulders and Cate freezes, words dying in her throat as she looks up at him with her big, surprised eyes.

“You worry too much.”

“I have to, I’m a mum.” Her voice is quiet as she says it, expression softening to a smile that he returns easily.

“Not tonight; Claud’s safe and happy, you don’t need to worry about her. We’re going to go out and kick some ass, or egg some cars, or maybe we just catch some live bands, but Cate?” And she nods in acknowledgement, half amused, “It’s gonna be fun; we’re gonna make it fun. I promise.”

With that, she bounces up onto her toes and kisses him like it’s most natural thing in the world, and he kisses her back, smiling against her lips. Her grip on his bowtie loosens and in a oment she’s got her arms wrapped around his neck, and he’s holding her close, pulling her to him, lifting her up just a little. With a soft laugh, she breaks the kiss, holding him tighter until he puts her down again, though they don’t let go of one another.

“I’m so fucking glad you’re here.”

#joe mazzello #joe mazzello imagine #joe mazzello x oc #ask your destiny to dance fic #cate x joe #queen #queen imagines #bohemian rhapsody #borhap #bo rhap #borhap cast #borhap cast imagine #the angry lizard writes

69 notes · View notes