#hopelessly dependent on the promise of spring | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

reidswritings · 4 years ago

Text

even after all these years

word count; 7.2k

warnings; mentions of death, stalker stuff, mentions of guns, curse words, and angst angst angst

authors note; so this was like 3 days in the making, so i hope yall enjoy!! please let me know what yall think!! ignore any typos im doing my best 😁😁

two years ago;

“I’m done.” She had said after the door closed, once they were alone. Once there was no one to stop what was going to happen. Once there was no one to talk some sense into The Young Girl.

The Pretty Boy, who she had come to love more that she ever thought possible, was no longer standing pretty in front of her. His once love filled eyes—the hazel beauties that used to look at her with so much admiration now were void, cold— were holding back the tears she knew he so desperately wanted to let flow (but wouldn’t with her standing there). She knew that once she left him, he’d break down. She knew that he would spend all of his nights on the couch rather than the bed they shared for so long. She knew that he would rather die than look at the happy pictures on the walls sans the few that she had stuffed into her getaway bag. She knew him too well— she knew how he would react once she was no longer the love interest in his story.

She knew and yet she was still doing this to him. She was doing this to him— she was causing him so much destruction and pain, barely batting an eye at him. For being a profiler, he was shitty at reading people’s body language and emotions. Because to him, she seemed fine; she seemed like it was just another day. To Spencer, it seemed like she was bored. To him, it didn’t seem like she was also breaking. It didn’t seem like she was hurting just as much. Maybe if he was better, he would’ve seen. Maybe if he was better, he could’ve stopped it. Maybe, maybe, maybe.

The eyes that she had fallen in love with—that she was still hopelessly in love with— were dark, almost black. He had a white piece of gauze taped against his neck, covering a once life threatening bullet hole. There was a red spot, small bits of blood seeping through the stitches holding his skin together. If she wasn’t so preoccupied she would’ve thrown up from how much the injury bothered her. She would’ve gotten so worked up that she would’ve passed out.

Her eyes burned with tears, looking at the goddamn wound that started this all. The wound that ended their relationship. She blinked and it was over for her. Her façade dropped and her tears rolled over her eyelashes and onto her cheeks. Spencer’s arm twitched before he jerked it back to his side, fingers clenched. He wanted to wipe her tears away so desperately. Despite the words that had just passed her perfect lips, he still wanted to hold her like his life depended on it— because honestly, it really did.

She was his life preserver in the wild sea that was his life.

The Boy was holding his keys in his hands, jingling the metal with his fingers in attempt to calm his heart, his mind, his emotions. They had just gotten home. He was in Texas when it happened— he was in Texas working a case when he almost got himself killed. Thankfully, The Team had flew His Girl out and she had been the first face he saw when he finally woke up.

Alex, being the wonderful human she is, had just dropped the two off, leaving only after she admitted to Spencer that she was leaving, too. They had just gotten home and she was springing this on him, out of nowhere. She was doing this to him even after all the people that had already left him. She was doing this to him the same night one of his best friends had just left him. She was doing this at the most inconvenient time— not that any time would be better, he would still be loosing the love of his life either way.

He was sure he hadn’t heard her right. He was sure that he hadn’t just heard His Pretty Girl say the words he thought she’d never say. The words she promised him that she’d never use. She was doing the one thing he was most afraid of; she was abandoning him. . . just like everyone did.

His heart was beating so fast. It was so loud, he was sure she could hear him. He was on the brink of a panic attack. His breath was hitching and he couldn’t stop it. As big as his brain was, he couldn’t wrap his mind around what was happening. His mind was running a mile a minute, carrying a thousand thoughts with it— yet, none of the thoughts were helpful ones. There were no thoughts walking him through his breathing exercises, no thoughts telling him to calm down, no thoughts telling him to speak up.

The only thing on his genius mind was one sentence; She’s leaving me. She’s leaving me. She’s leaving me. She’s leaving—

So, he said, “W-What?” Breathless and choppy. He was having trouble focusing. He needed to sit down. He needed the world to pause for just one second. He needed to get his thoughts in order. He needed to sit, but his legs refused to move. He was stuck. He was stuck in this terrible, awful moment that his eidetic memory would never let him live down. He knew that he would think of this moment for the rest of his life with so much regret in all the things he didn’t say. But still, he was stuck, frozen.

Unable to fix things— unable to make her stay.

“Spence,” She paused, looked down and sighed. She couldn’t look at him. She couldn’t, because if she did she would wrap him up in her arms and never let him go again. She knew if he caught her eye that she would apologize until she was blue in the face. The girl refused to meet his eyes because she knew if she did that she wouldn’t be doing what she was doing. She needed to do this, she couldn’t back down now. “I. . . I can’t do this anymore.”

His voice was low, raspy and broken, “Do what. . .?” He knew what. He wasn’t dumb, he knew what she meant, but he needed to hear her say it. She had to say it or he wouldn’t ever let go. He would be stuck with her for the rest of time. He needed to hear her say it, even if that meant he would be more broken than he had ever been before. He needed this. He needed it even if it killed him.

Now she met his hazel eyes— her favorite part of him, she was committing it to memory because after this, she would never see him again. She knew that. She counted on that. “This, us. Spence, I almost lost you today. . . I can’t do that again. You’re— You’re everything, I-I— you’re my everything. I can’t ask you to quit your job, I won’t be that person. . . So, I’m removing myself. I can’t watch you get killed— I won’t do it, Spencer.”

Everything, all at once, became sharp. It was like his mind could finally form full sentences. He was full of ideas, he was full of air. He knew what he had to do. He knew how to keep her with him.

Before either adult knew what was happening, he was moving, quick on his feet, to the couch. He was throwing open his messenger bag, hands messily pulling things out. He was searching for his phone, he was searching for the one thing he could think of that would save him— save them.

“What are you doing?” Y/N asked him, moving behind him, reaching for his arm, trying to see what had him so worked up. He jerked away from her, grunting in the process. And again, with no words spoken, he was moving again. He was going too fast, he was going to tear his stitches, he was going to hurt his still healing wound. He was now moving into the kitchen, still looking, hope flooding his veins. This was his last chance, he knew that.

“Spencer!” She followed him, just as frantic as the newly hope-filled boy, “Did you hear me?”

She heard him let out a chocked sob, a broken laugh following— though, no humor was tied to it. She stopped in front of him, heart wild, anxiety flowing through her body. He was typing on his phone, chest raising and falling faster than she liked. The girl asked again, “What are you doing?”

He looked up now. His eyes were wild, more so than she had ever seen. He was so worked up that his body was literally twitching with each breath that passed his lips. It scared her, she had never seen him like this. She had never seen him so manic. It hurt knowing she was the cause.

The thought of him like this did nothing for her, though. She still continued on her path of destruction.

“I’m calling Hotch. Telling him I’m done.” He was bringing his phone up to his ear while his mind planned out the words he needed to say to get off The Team. His free hand was holding onto the counter, keeping himself straight up. His knuckles were turning white; Y/N was worried he would break his hand— or the old table. Either way was inadequate. Without it, he was afraid he’d fall to the floor in a mess of tears and anger.

He was doing it, he was doing it. He had figured a way to make her stay, he was going to do it. He would do anything to keep her with him.

The phone was ringing. It was ringing and Spencer could feel his panic draining away with each passing second, his boss was going to answer and everything was going to be alright. His boss, who doubled as his friend, was seconds away from answering the phone, he just knew it.

Everything was working itself out, this would be okay— that is until she intervened.

She was ripping the phone from his hands, hanging up in the process. Spencer felt his breath catch again, his voice was wild as he asked— screeched, “What are you doing?!”

The boy reached for the phone but she whipped it away from his reach, “Stop! Give— Give it back, Y/N!”

“No! I-I’m not letting you throw your life away for something so fucking stupid, Spencer!” Spencer watched her as she began to turn around, walk from the kitchen and probably his life. He couldn’t move again. His phone started to ring in her hands. They both froze, listening to the phone until it turned itself off.

He was following her now, like a lost puppy. He would follow her anywhere. She was the one. She was it for him. There was no one else.

“Y/N. . . please. Please, don’t do this.” He was broken, voice thick with tears. Her back was to him, he stepped closer, hand falling to her shoulder.

He heard her sigh, “Spencer, don’t make this any harder than it already is.”

He begged. He was more broken than she had ever seen him. More than when he lost Maeve. More than when he lost Emily. More than when Elle left him. More than when Alex told him about her son that was so similar to himself. More than when she walked out right after. More than when he talked about his mom. This was it— this was the worst for him. This was his rock bottom. He wasn’t sure he’d ever recover.

This was it for him— there was only darkness after Y/N. He couldn’t see a future without His Girl by his side.

There was no Spencer Reid without Y/F/N Y/L/N.

“Please don’t leave me. You—You promised.”

She turned to face him, face absent of all emotion. A complete 180 from only a few moments ago. She handed him back the outdated phone, along with his crushed up heart. “I lied.”

now;

It wasn’t very often Y/N crossed Spencer’s mind, but when she did it felt like his heart was being ripped from his chest all over again. Spencer’s had his fair share of trauma in his life, but by far Y/N was the one that hurt the most. After watching her walk out of his life—for ever, he’d assumed— he was sure that he wouldn’t ever recover. He did, of course.

It just took longer than he cared to admit.

It took a lot of shedding tears at the most inappropriate times (and things), more support from his friends than he ever thought he’d get, too many late nights playing that last night over and over again in his mind, and way too many calls to his sponsor.

If he was being honest, he was terrified that he would relapse. He was afraid that he would become his old self. He never wanted that; he hated that guy more than he hated anything in his life. He didn’t though— he made her a promise all those years ago and he didn’t break promises. She may have broken all hers but that didn’t mean he broke his.

He had gone those two years without ever seeing The Pretty Girl. He was grateful for that— he knew if he ever did see her again, he’d probably die. Well, not actually, but it would hurt like hell. He was more than positive that if he saw The Beaut that it would feel like he was dying. He knew this because that’s how he felt when she left all those years ago.

He tried not to dwell on that fact— he tried not to think about her.

He really did. He even tried to move on. He tried to love other girls, he tried to let himself go, he tried to find solace in women that weren’t her. It just never came— he never got the peace he so desperately craved.

She was just too unforgettable. She was everything— she was the air that he breathed, the ground he walked on, the smile that he got every time something wonderful happened.

She was everything and it was near impossible to let go of everything.

By now, he had convinced himself, with the help of his BAU family, that he’d never see her again. He had been convinced that it was really over. He was trying to convince himself to let her go. He was trying to lose that tiny piece of hope he carried in his heart with him with every day. He knew he had to let her go— he’d never get what he wanted again. It was time.

Too many years had passed, she wasn’t his anymore.

She was a pretty girl; she had probably settled down by now. She had probably settled for someone. She probably lived in some small town with a dog and a perfect boy that wasn’t him. Her life was probably everything she ever dreamed of.

He liked to think that. He liked to think that she had gotten everything she’d ever wanted. He liked to think that she was happy now. It kept him going, fantasizing about her and her perfect life— the one she created without him.

He never thought he’d see her again. And you know what? He was coming to terms with that.

That was, until the day he did. The day his heart stopped beating again. The day that his breath was knocked from his lungs. The day that he only dreamed about.

Until His Pretty Girl walked through those big glass BAU doors.

The Stunned Boy felt his body betray him. He was suddenly standing, mouth agape and eyes wide, unblinking. She had stopped too, arms clutching a ominous folder to her chest. Spencer drank her appearance in; she hadn’t changed very much. She was still as beautiful as he remembered. She looked absolutely gorgeous.

She was wearing a baggy sweatshirt— Spencer was more than positive that it was his— and frame fitting jeans. She had paired the comfortable outfit with the running shoes she had bought so many years ago. It was ironic because she had bought them to start working out, but never actually got around to doing so.

Spencer met her eyes. They hadn’t changed, they were still the eyes he had fallen in love with. He took a moment to notice that her face was void of any makeup— that was different. She looked tired too; her hair was thrown up into a messy bun, another thing that he noticed was different. She looked absolutely exhausted— he wanted to know why. He wanted to know what had happened to make her look the way she did; what had brought her back— back to him.

Both Spencer and Y/N were still unmoving, despite the world moving around them. His voice came out soft, and he was sure that she couldn’t hear him from across the bullpen. He wasn’t completely sure that he wasn’t dreaming. He spoke anyways, “Y/N?”

She blinked and then her world started again. Her breath was knocked back into her body; she was here for a reason. She needed help.

JJ walked through the doors, coffee in hand, tired eyes heavy on her face. She stopped in her tracks, suddenly awake, upon seeing Y/N. A gasp came from her lips, causing the spell between Spencer and Y/N to end. The unchanged girl turned to her old friend, the smallest smile he had ever seen on her face, “Hi.”

JJ smiled too, arms wrapping around the smaller girl before she could stop them. “Hi! Oh my god, hi! W-What are you doing here?”

Y/N’s eyes met Spencer’s again—he still hadn’t moved— then back to the blonde’s. “Um, I— Um, I need your help.”

Ever so curious, JJ nodded and led her old pal to her desk— the desk that was directly in front of SSA Spencer Reid’s. As they approached, Spencer felt his body lower itself back into his chair. Jennifer pulled an empty chair by her desk, motioning her friend to sit. Now with all three adults sitting, The Beautiful Blonde asked, “What’s happening?”

Spencer pretended to be busy, opening a case folder and staring. Y/N knew he was listening— it never took The Genius Boy more than, like, 10 seconds to read one page. Despite the listening ears, Y/N cleared her throat and began to speak.

She placed the folder onto JJ’s desk. It landed with a soft thump. The blonde flipped it open, keeping eye contact with her friend— soon to be victim of their next case. Page after page of threats laid there for anyone to see, it made Y/N feel quite exposed. She hated this; she hated that this was happening to her.

“I think— I think,” she paused, eyes flicking to Spencer, who was now watching the two girls with no shame, brows furrowed and bottom lip tucked under his teeth, “someone has been following me.”

Y/N felt her leg start to bounce in anxiety, she wished she could rewind the clock and convince herself not to come to the office. She wished she could’ve just pretended that she was safe and that nothing was happening to her. Spencer launched himself to his feet. His heart was anxiety-ridden “What?”

Both girl’s attention moved to The Frantic Boy. His mind was as wild as his curls; there was no way this was happening to him again. It wasn’t fair— why couldn’t his girls just be left alone?

“Um, yeah— I don’t know,” The Young Girl nodded, hands dismissing her thoughts. She felt dumb for coming back, and it showed. “I-I’m sorry, I didn’t know where else to go. I know you guys are good at this stuff.”

JJ placed a sympathetic hand on Y/N’s arm, calling her attention back. “It’s good you did.”

The Blonde nodded along with her friend, “Okay, I’ll be right back. I’m gonna show this to The Team, see what we can do. Okay?” She was waving the blank folder in her hands as Y/N nodded. JJ stood, eyeing Spencer, a secret conversation happening between the two.

As soon as the girl left, Spencer claimed her seat. The boy leaned back, one leg crossing over the other— the iconic Spencer stance. Y/N’s hands were folded in her lap, eyes trained on her faded jeans, her mind willing her to be anywhere other than in front of The Boy she broke.

Spencer cleared his throat, His Pretty Girl looked up. “It’s good to see you. . . You, uh, you look good.”

He noticed the slight blush that appeared on her cheeks and nose. His cold heart softened ever so slightly. It was like a window had opened and his anger bit by bit flew out. Even after all these years he was still head over heals for her. She scoffed, tucking a piece of hair back into her bun, “. . . Shut up.”

“No, seriously. You haven’t changed at all.” More blush on her cheeks. More anger out the window.

Y/N licked her lips— a nervous tick, Spencer noticed, “Spencer, I—”

His heart sped up at her words, mind wondering what she was going to say. He hoped it was the apology he’d wanted for the past two years. He wished it was her asking for him to take her back. He wished, he wished, he wished.

“—Y/N, we’re ready for you now.” JJ’s voice interrupted the girl. Both Y/N and Spencer turned to The Blonde who was standing in the door of the round table room. Her hand was clutching the door as she leaned out. Y/N could see in the room, thanks to the floor to ceiling window directly next to Jennifer. The entire Team was inside, Y/N’s heart skipped a beat. She hadn’t seen any of them since she did what she did to Spencer. She wondered if they held any anger towards her. If they did, she deserved it. After what she did to Spencer she deserved everything unwelcoming and bad.

The Boy Wonder sensed her anxiety. He stood up, encouraged her to as well. Once she did so, he led her into the room, all their eyes landing to her. Spencer and His Pretty Girl came to a stop in the room, standing side by side. Y/N could feel the warmth radiating of the boy next to her, it calmed her nerves. She missed that— The Spencer Effect.

“It’s so good to see you again, Y/N,” that was Emily. Emily Prentiss; best friend of Spencer Reid. Her eyes, Y/N noticed held a bittersweet tone, “Wish it was under different circumstances, though.”

Her eyes looked at each and every member of The Team— none of them held any judgement or anger. Sure, some held sadness, others held understanding, but mostly, she saw compassion. She should’ve known; she used to spend every weekend with these people— she should’ve known they wouldn’t hold anything against her. She should’ve known.

Holding the pages that Y/N had printed out, JJ spoke first. “Well, it looks like its all been online?”

The victim nodded then coughed, “Well. . . actually, last night, I found this outside my apartment.” Out of her purse, she pulled yet another folder. Handing it to Spencer, she rocked on her feet. Inside the folder was picture after picture of Y/N. Many were captured when she was in the public eye, doing errands, hanging with friends, walking her pup. The part that caused Spencer’s blood to run cold were the few at the end.

Whoever was terrorizing Y/N, had managed to get into her apartment and capture pictures while she was sleeping, showering and even lounging on her couch— though the last bunch were from outside a window, most likely on her patio.

The boy tossed the pictures on the table in anger, the rest of The Team all began to sort through them. Surprising Y/N, and The Team, he did a full 180 and stormed from the room. Against her better judgement, she watched him go. Her eyes followed his every movement. Even after all these years, her eyes still watched every move her boy executed.

Before she could protest, her feet were carrying her to Spencer. He was pacing in front of his desk, hands nervously rubbing over one another. A tick that she remembered Spencer often doing.

“Spencer?” She asked. It was soft and innocent. It was everything Spencer had missed and that pissed him off.

“Y/N?” The tone surprised her. It was harsh, different from how he was treating her only a few minutes prior.

“Are you okay?” He laughed but didn’t answer her question, so she tried once more. “What’s wrong? . . . Spence?”

“No—!” He turned to face her now. His outburst surprised her (and apparently The Team too, as they had all stopped what they were doing to watch the horrific scene unfold. Yet none of the six moved to help The Broken Girl. She deserved that— she deserved the harsh words that were leaving the boy she loved so much), he continued, “You— you don’t get to call me that anymore. You lost that privilege when you left.”

That hurt, but she let him get it out. She knew it was years in the making— she knew it was healthy for him to express himself, even if it was all the anger he accumulated the past two years. He wasn’t yelling anymore, but his tone held all the anger he had been holding for the past two years. The boy’s hands made their way into his curls, pulling at the root. Y/N’s eyes were wide, mouth stuck open.

“Spencer, I-I’m sorry!” Tears were stinging her eyes, causing The Beautiful Boy to go blurry. She was absolutely positive that Spencer could see her unshed tears and she hated herself for it. She felt so fucking stupid. She shouldn’t have come— it was stupid to think he would ever help her.

“Yeah? Well, it’s too late now, Y/N.” He stepped towards her, she took a step back. His heart took the bullet, but he didn’t let it show. And before he could stop the word vomit, he brushed past her, knocking shoulders and said, “You shouldn’t have come back.”

She watched, blurry eyed, as the boy who she still loved ran up the BAU steps and back to the round table. She felt her breath hitch and then she felt her body lower itself into the chair that just so happened to be Spencer’s. She needed to get a control on her emotions. She couldn’t break down— she needed to help The Team help her.

Finding a stalker was hard work, apparently, because it was nearing the late hours of the night and there was still no face to the tyrant who so badly wanted Y/N’s attention. The Team was beginning to burn out, frustrated with the lack of answers. With the lack of safety for their old friend. With the lack of anything that wasn’t naked pictures of Spencer’s Old Girl and threats directed from some deranged place of love.

After Spencer’s meltdown, the two hadn’t talked— let alone made eye contact. It wasn’t without effort though, Y/N had been doing her best to get The Boy Wonder to look her way. Unfortunately though, he seemed to have his own thoughts on the matter. He had kept his back to her for the last three hours. Instead, focusing on the white board in front of him.

Taped to one side of the board were pictures of Y/N as well as the threats she had received in the past few months. Spencer could barely look at that side— he had been focusing his efforts on the left bit. His eyes had been locked on the few leads they did have. Which, to be summed up, was nothing. The Team had The Victim look at the men on the wall— none of which she knew, to their disappointment. This discovery drove them no farther than they were when the girl first walked in.

It was when Y/N was growing antsy again when Hotch’s rough voice spoke up. “We’re not getting anything done here. I think we take the night and come back with fresh eyes. Yes?”

A moment passed, then two. No one moved to disagree with the boss. Y/N stayed put in her seat, watching as her old friends began to pack up their belongings and file out— not without a few comforting words in passing. The Young Girl sighed, standing too, until she noticed a certain genius still staring at the wall, arms crossed.

He had abandoned the sweater that he once wore and was now sporting his well-fitting button down. And damn, it looked good. It was this deep maroon color that he wore so well (Her eyes committed the image to memory, not wanting to forget what a handsome hunk he was. Because, honestly, she knew after all this was done, she’d never be seeing him again). He had rolled the sleeves up to his bicep and unbuttoned the top two buttons, as well as losing the tie that once brought the whole look together. His beautiful curls were aggressively frizzy, sticking up in all the wrong places. It took everything in her not to reach up and fit it, like she used to.

She wanted to speak, she wanted to reach out to the boy. She knew that he hated her— she knew that he was beyond angry with her. She had so many things she needed him to know— needed him to understand. But, now wasn’t the time. Now definitely wasn’t the time to get into the nasty bits that was their past. No, now was the time to save her from the impending doom of this goddamn stalker.

“Spencer?” She asked, before she could stop herself. The boy turned, aggravated— with her, with the situation, with everything. His arms dropped, hands stuffing themselves in his pockets. He bounced on his feet, eyes tired. She continued, “I-I know that you hate me—”

“— I don’t hate you,” It was a lie. She knew that. She knew he was lying, she knew that he was just saying things to make her feel better.

So, she said, “Look, I, um— do you think— could you—”

The angry boy, who’s anger was once again draining with every breath— she had that effect on him—sighed and let the tension leave his body, “Do you want me to take you home?”

Sheepishly keeping the eye contact she had longed for, for so long, she nodded. The girl pulled her arms into her chest, “That would be really great. . . only if you can, though. I don’t want to put you out.”

Another sigh and another bullet to the heart— only this time to Y/N’s and not her ex lover’s. Spencer collected his few things and placed a soft hand on her back, leading her out. And just for a moment, for a moment, it felt like old times. It felt like everything was okay and that they were going back to their place and that everything was perfect.

Sadly though, life was no fairy-tale for the two and there was no perfect ending. The two once lovers sat in the boy’s car, silent and awkward. They were only a few streets from Spencer’s—their old place— place, stopped at a red light. The light was finding it’s way into the car, flashing a beautiful hue on the boy next to her. One of his hands was holding tight to the wheel, the other was laying on the arm rest between them. It took every bone in the girl’s body to not reach out to feel him— it had been so long. She missed his touch.

Maybe it was that feeling that made her do it. Maybe it was just how beautiful he looked that made her say it. Maybe it was the love that she still carried for him (even after all these years) that made her tell him.

“I’m afraid to be alone.” It was quiet and it held all the emotion she had been hiding all day. Spencer’s heart, though ever angry, broke a little for her.

The boy looked over, his mouth opening to ease her in whatever way he could. Before a word left his mouth, the light turned green and the spell was broken between the two. He pushed through, foot pressing on the gas, “You, uh, you can stay with me, if you want.”

“Really?”

“Well, i-it’s just until after we catch this guy.” He paused, blinker on, car passing, turning left, “Then, you go back to whatever life you created.”

“—I didn’t—”

“And then, I’ll go back to pretending you didn’t break me.” Yet another bullet to the heart. She deserved that though, she knew it too.

“I’m sorry, Spencer.”

Another pause of conversation, another blinker and another turn. Then they were home— they were back to Spencer’s. The walk to the small apartment wasn’t a long one. Especially with her body leading the way— muscle memory. What surprised her most was that he hadn’t changed much. Books still cluttered the tables and floors, globes and maps still sporadically placed around each room. The only thing that caught her eye was the lack of photos on the walls— what used to be a map of their relationship was replaced with a white wall.

“Looks the same.” she nodded, unmoving from her awkward stance by the door. “Looks like you.”

He snorted— though, there was no actual humor bedded within. Y/N watched as he stripped his bag from his body, then slipped off his shoes and off with his jacket. They stood together, wishing it was different. Wishing they could go back. Wishing there was no anger. Wishing, wishing, wishing. They’d be wishing for the rest of time.

Like before, like the last night, he was moving fast, breath hitching, “How long?”

“How long?” She echoed him, moving too. Still under the spell, she’d follow him anywhere.

“How long have you—” The boy cut himself off, hands in his curls, pulling them apart—unmarrying the best ones. “How long have you had this problem and not done anything?”

Before she had a chance to tell him, he was whirling on the poor girl, eyes wild, “You should’ve came to us— came to me.” His voice broke at the end, and Y/N could’ve kicked herself for causing him all this pain.

The heartbreaker sighed, “Spencer—”

“Y/N, I’m not playing around. How long?”

A sigh, a look to the floor, then back at him, “I don’t know, really. Maybe six months?”

Another sigh, this time from Spencer. He was sitting on the couch now, defeated, head in hands. “Maybe?”

“I’ve kind of had other things on my mind, Spencer!” It was bitter, angry, but not at him. It was directed at the jackass that had been stalking her. She joined him on the old seat, leaning back and pulling her legs off the floor.

A moment passed between the two— it wasn’t angry or awkward and didn’t hold any resentment, it was just comfortable and that surprised the two considering they hadn’t seen each other in over two years. It was just so easy to fall back into what they used to be.

She looked over at her boy. The window’s curtains were pushed open, the street lights making their way in. Spencer had turned on a lamp in the corner, as well. It was mixing with the lights from outside and casting a beautiful glow on her boy. He was looking down at his hands that were folded in his lap. A pensive look had made its home on his face.

“What’s goin’ on in that big brain of yours?” Y/N laughed, quiet and everything he had missed. The girl bumped shoulders with the boy next to her. He managed a smile, small, but still it was there. Y/N counted that as a victory.

The smile was gone as quickly as it appeared. Spencer cleared his throat and said, “Did you know that sixty-eight percent of stalking victims reported that their stalker physically harmed them?”

Another beat passed. Spencer had turned to look at her now, eyes heavy. Y/N was looking at her knees now, trying to ignore the fear that wanted to bubble up. “And?”

“A-And?” His whole body turned now, one leg folded between the two. His arm closet to the couch had made home on the top of the sofa back, fingers tapping— nervous tick. He had placed other hand on Y/N’s knee, trying to be comforting. She accepted his attempt, thankful for him. “Y/N, I’m saying that could’ve been you. You should’ve come to me when this first started.”

Y/N finally let her eyes meet his. And god, she could’ve cried right then and there. He was so beautiful. She missed him so much. Breaking her spell, she shook her head, “Spencer. . . I didn’t want to ruin anything you might’ve had going on.”

“Ruin any— Y/N/N, you’re not ruining anything by asking for help.” The boy sighed, looking away. His hand tightened once on her leg and her stomach erupted in the same way it always did with him around. Quieter, so quiet she almost missed it, he said, “The only way you’d ruin anything would be by leaving.”

“I’m sorry, Spencer.” The girl caught his eye again, shaking her head. Tears blurred her eyes again. Her hair, now out of it’s bun, fell into her face. With a shaky hand, Spencer batted it back behind her ear. A blush rose on her cheeks, as Spencer’s hand moved to wipe the few tears that had managed to fall. Her voice was thick with tears and it broke him. “I really am, you know?”

A sigh, then a nod from her boy. “Can I ask you something?”

“Always, Spence.” The name struck a cord in his heart, but he let it slide. He had no more energy to fight with her, no more energy to stay angry with his girl. He had nothing left. He was giving up his angry phase— he was letting it flow from his body like sand through sieve. He was giving in to her and the small bits of love that he still held for the beauty in front of him.

“Why’d you do it? Leave, I mean.”

Yet another bullet to her heart. “. . . I don’t know.”

He was moving again. His hands pulled away from her body as if she had burned him— because honestly, she might as well have. With that bullshit response, she might as well have slapped him— to him, there would’ve been no difference and the outcome would’ve been the same. He stood up, back to her. His hands came back up to his hair and she willed him not to pull apart the remaining curls. “That’s bullshit, Y/N! And you know it. . . I-I’m sorry. Just, just don’t lie to me anymore.”

Y/N stood too, arms up in surrender. Arms open like he had a gun pointed at her— because to her, there was no difference between the weapon he wore on his hip everyday and the weapon that spilled from his lips. His back was still to her, so she reached out to touch his shoulder. Careful, not to startle the boy. She wanted to see him, she needed to see him. For a second, her breath was gone, her mind taking her back to that night. She could’ve laughed at how similar the situation was, only reversed. Only now, she was the one begging to be touched, to be listened to. Only now, she was the one who was broken.

Instead of jerking away like he did all those years ago, he turned, sadness present on his face. Y/N’s heart broke for him. Y/N’s heart broke for herself. Her heart broke for the both of them. “I was scared, okay? I was just so scared.”

He turned fully, hands mindlessly finding their way to her hair. They tangled themselves in, tilting her head up. His voice was lower than she had ever heard. It was just barely above a whisper and she fucking loved it. If they were in a different situation, she would’ve been weak in the knees. “Scared? What, Y/N/N?”

She sighed, “I don’t know. . . Scared I’d lose you, scared you’d get hurt and I wouldn’t be there in time. I was just scared, Spence.”

Maybe it was her words that caused his reaction. Maybe the truth he could see behind them. Or maybe it was the emotion that felt so genuine. Whatever it was, he felt himself loosen. He felt the remaining anger dissipate, he was suddenly forgiving her for everything. Because he finally understood. He, for once, wasn’t having to jump to conclusions. For once, he felt they were equals. And because of this, he was pulling her closer, never wanting to let her go. And she was holding him just as tight.

“I’m sorry.” The words were spoken, truthful. Only this time, they weren’t coming from her. No, this time, they were coming from The Tall Genius. And she was pulling back.

“Sorry? Why are you sorry?”

The boy laughed, true and genuine. For once, she could see it reach his eyes. She’s always loved that about him— the fact that he was always able to smile through it all. Through all his pain, he was still able to find the happiness. “I’m at fault too, you know. One person can’t cause all of the destruction.”

“No, you’re perfect.” She believed it too.

“Trust me, I’m not perfect.” He paused, then added. “At all.”

Her hands made their way home— to the sides of his face. She noticed the way he leaned into her touch— he had missed her just as much. Maybe even more. “You’re perfect to me, Spence.”

He laughed again— music to her ears. She wished she could listen to it for the rest of her life. So, she said, “Don’t ever let me go, okay?”

He nodded, suddenly serious, “We’ll get this guy, and then I’ll never let you go again. Not until the day I die.”

And like she had wanted to since she had seen him earlier in the day, she pulled him to her. A kiss shared between them wouldn’t fix everything, but it sure was a start (and that’s all that mattered). “Not even then.”

A dazed look in his eyes. The same one he had after every shared kiss and every time she said she loved him. Though mind far off, he nodded and agreed, “Not even then.”

Then he kissed his girl again— like his life depended on it.

Because, even after all these years, it probably did.

#spencer reid #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid angst #spencer reid x reader #spencer x reader #matthew gray gubler #mgg #dr spencer reid

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liskantope · 4 years ago

Text

After a couple of months or so of soul-searching, I've decided to seek help on something that a lot of people out there in Tumblr land might be able to weigh in on. (Not just another hopelessly complaining post, I promise.)

Several times lately on this blog I've brought up this thing (closely related discussion here) about never being able to complete professional tasks in anywhere near as efficient a manner as I feel I "should" or I see professionally successful people doing. While a certain sort of slowness at certain tasks has plagued me my entire life, it's only since the start of 2020 that this has come to a head. The reason for this makes sense in the context of the timeline of my professional life. My first postdoc (which lasted a long time) had no teaching requirements and in the end I managed to get substantial research done (fast enough in "better" months to sort of make up for my inactivity in "worse" months and the entire year of 2016). When I took up my current job in fall of 2019, after an unusually productive early 2019, I fully let myself off the hook research-wise so that I could wig out the entire fall over teaching three courses at a new university while trying to settle myself in a brand new city (literally the busiest period of my adult life*). But 2020, right from the start, was a semi-disaster for me in terms of research despite a lighter teaching assignment in both fall and spring, no teaching in the summer, and forced isolation in a quiet, drama-free apartment alone with no social involvement in anything to distract me. Somehow having a job that requires substantial amounts of teaching, at a quality higher than what I held myself up to in grad school (which felt more like following orders anyway), has set me Perpetually Behind.

Where I feel my life is now is that my career hopes are hanging by a thread (a lot depends on this summer going better than last summer did), while my personal life feels almost entirely hopeless. Actually I should be happy that I and many of the people around me are getting vaccinated now (first shot down, one to go!) and can look forward to social things beginning to revert back to normal in the summer. But as long as my persistent state of Being Hopelessly Behind on research continues, I might have trouble finding time for the (unfortunately rather daunting) task of building a social life from pretty much nothing.

So I'm coming to feel that the only thing I can grab onto at the moment for hope that I can turn just about everything in my life around is to somehow deal with this executive problem. And that since my recognizing it as a chief personal issue for more than the past year still hasn't resulted in me finding a way to cure it, I suppose it's about time to take off the high-agency goggles and put on the low-agency ones. Ironically, sometimes this is necessary for getting up and actually doing something about one's problems.

For Reasons that I have trouble understanding myself and would take a much longer post than this to examine out loud, I've stubbornly refused to ever really confront the neurological issues I've had since early childhood, to the point of pretty much never even discussing them on Tumblr, home of pretty close to the most open-about-neurological-issues subculture that exists on the internet. So I don't think I've said much about being aware I have ADD (as it would have been called when I was getting examined for it in childhood) or ADHD, although I may have mentioned it in passing. I've never bothered to actually research this cluster of conditions or to ask my parents for details of my diagnosis as a kid (although the latter is partly because this diagnosis happened in the mid-90's and I've always assumed this whole area of science has been practically revamped since then). But -- and I don't know why this took me so long -- I came to the realization some weeks ago (and not until after writing the above-linked posts!) that maybe this is the crux of my current issues. This came specifically from pondering how other mathematicians I've closely worked with on research or studies don't actually seem any faster than I am when I'm focused on figuring something out over a several-minute period, but that somehow most of them magically get both research and teaching work done at a far faster pace than I do, and that I constantly space out when trying to focus on just about anything (I think often without realizing how many times I'm spacing out almost like little microsleeps). Well, that plus about a dozen other issues I've been consciously aware of for years, relating to my ability to pay attention to shows/films, listen when someone is talking to me in a monologue, etc. There is pretty much no doubt in my mind that I have some clinical level of something in the ADHD cluster (the attention deficit part, not the hyperactivity part and definitely not the impulsiveness part) as an adult.

So now I'm steeling myself to seek out a diagnosis for this and see if there's hope of some kind of treatment, and I'm finding the prospect rather daunting at the moment. But I'm telling myself to investigate this as if my career (and general prospects at happiness) depends on it, because I have a feeling maybe at this point it does.

What really daunts me the most -- once I figure out the logistics of getting a psychiatry/neurology appointment and if/how this would work with my insurance -- is researching and weighing the risks of medication. I've never taken medication for any kind of brain thing before (unlike, I imagine, a lot of Tumblr); my parents were always somewhat against it and decided against putting me on anything as a child (I don't know if it was Ritalin they were suggesting or something else?) mainly on the grounds that side effects would be scary and I seemed to be doing well in school anyway; I went through all of K-12, college, grad school, etc. without any kind of accommodations. Now my parents seem to like the idea of me trying something but they seem to assume that the options are different now 25 years later, and that surely there are better substances available without the risk of terrible side effects. Now that I'm finally bringing myself to Google this stuff, I'm finding no evidence to back up their optimism, though -- it seems that the main medical solution is still Ritalin which is still pretty heavy-duty, side-effect-heavy stuff that could permanently change my brain or maybe even my personality.

Anyway, I imagine this as more like a two-paragraph post, and I've gone on pretty long about it, I guess at this point I'm curious if anyone here has some advice they could lend from direct experience or at least better knowledge in these matters than I have, especially about the diagnosis process and even more especially about medication options. (I assume there is no widespread "cure" for life-affecting inattention issues through a therapy program or anything else other than a substance... so gaah.)

*But, case in point, I have a friend who had essentially my exact job in my department prior to my arrival, and she managed to do it alongside a completely separate second full-time job (I mean, I doubt she had to deal with things like furnishing a new home alone at the time, but still). This is what I mean about some people seeming to be capable by a whole-number factor of doing more things than others.

#personal #adhd #academia #teaching #high vs low agency goggles

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sp00kworm · 5 years ago

Text

April Rain (Chapter 5)

ARCHIVE OF OUR OWN LINK

Ch 1 Ch 2 Ch 3 Ch 4

Pairing: All Might/Yagi Toshinori x Female Reader

---

The familiarity which Yagi approached the front desk gave you piece of mind. He gave his bright, sunshine smile as he approached and waved a large tanned hand as he stood over the desk, laughing as the owner spat out his tea and proceeded to choke. The girl behind the register cheered.

“ALL MIGHT ALL MIGHT ALL MIGHT!” She danced on the stool before jumping on top of the desk, grabbing for Yagi as he pumped his fist and laughed.

“Hina! Hina, please! Get down before your mother comes in here!” The man pushed his tea aside in favour of grappling his daughter from the counter, holding her under the arms as she continued to cheer wildly.

“Hina?! You better not be letting her on that counter again Reo! I just polished it this morning!”

“No, Akasuki! She’s just excited about our visitor is all!” Reo laughed awkwardly as he held his squirming daughter, scrubbing a hand through his dark hair as his wife opened the screen behind him with a scowl. Her eyes went wide at the sight before her.

“All…Might…” She stuttered before rushing to her feet, red in the face as she wrangled her daughter from her husband’s grip, “I apologise, Mister All Might. She simply adores you and oh gosh…” Hina squirmed again with a cheer.

“Mama! Let me see!” She tugged at her mother’s hair to twist around and get another look at All Might, her eyes bright and wide with glee, “All Might!” She cheered again as Yagi laughed and let her grip his fingers.

“It’s been a while, Toshinori.” Reo observed with a laugh, “If you’d let me know I could have ordered in things for you in advance! I don’t know if we have many of what you usually buy left in stock.” Reo stood and wiped his hands on the bottom of his apron, tucking his net into the pocket as he pulled up the counter and stepped through before latching it closed behind him.

“Don’t trouble yourself, friend. I’ve brought…some company to help me choose something this time.” Yagi’s face went a little pink as he looked over to you by the door. You’d occupied yourself by looking at terrapin food, not really reading the packet in your hand, you’d just been pretending to look at it while listening in on their conversation. The sudden mention of you made you awkwardly put down the feed and turn to face the family with a smile.

Reo blinked, “You brought your girlfriend?” He asked with a sly smile. His fist met All Might’s shoulder, “I didn’t think you had it in you!” He cheered before laughing at his friend’s bright face.

Yagi brushed off Reo’s jeering before ushering him back behind the counter, reaching into his pocket to tug a photo free. He handed it to Reo’s child with a smile, “Here, Hina, was it? You can put this up in your room.” He offered the signed picture with a smile before moving to take your hand, “Don’t worry about us, Reo. Just…maybe don’t let anyone in?” Yagi asked politely.

“Sure thing, so long as you buy something.” Reo joked before locking the door behind the two of you.

Yagi sighed when you made it into the shop, the warmth of the tanks making you sigh, blowing air up your face at the heat. It was humid and the tanks were extremely loud, the water bubbling loudly in the stacks upon stacks of rows of tanks, housing tropical fish waiting to be rehomed. The ones in tanks closest swam closer to the glass as you entered, large eyes following you as most shoaled and curved together. Yagi hummed, pulling at his sweater because of the heat as you looked around at the fish in the room. There was all sorts of breeds and different species.

“Which sort did you want for the tank again?” You asked hopelessly as you looked up the walls at the gallons of water and thousands of fish. You stepped over a puddle of water as you gazed at some great cichlids, their bodies a few inches across. They came in all colours and some variants had aggressive labels to allow for those with good natured tanks to avoid them.

Yagi chuckled, “Nothing like those. They are the sort you can only keep with their own species.” He took your hand in his own, the warmth radiating up your arm as the man pulled you past the various sizes of Cichlids, and towards the other species. Tetras in all shapes and colours shoaled as you glanced up at the wall, some thick, some fat some streamlined. Barbs sat in tanks on the next stretch of wall and Yagi smiled as you looked at the pink tinged, gold, Rosy Barbs with adoration. The barbs fluttered, pink gold scales glittering as they swam from end to end and back.

“Did you see something you like?” The deep timbre of Yagi’s voice next to your ear made you jump, his breath hitting your skin as the giant hero extended back to his full height, stroking his chin as he glanced at the barbs, “Perhaps these?” He pointed at the pairs of electric blue striped Golden Rams. The stripe down the males’ bodies were striking, but they seemed to only enjoy the sluggish current of the small tank, living in pairs and gently bobbing around.

“They’re a little bit boring.” You lamented before looking back at the barbs. Green Tiger Barbs. Their upwards turned mouths plucked naughtily at the plants in their tank, “I still think the barbs are best.”

Yagi laughed, “They have spunk…But maybe the tetras would be best? They’re much easier to socialise depending on what we buy.” He hummed as he turned his bulk in the small corridor and looked at the tetras before pointing to a pretty set with long black fins, “These are pretty.” He commented, a large finger following one of the flowing males. You ignored his comment in favour of walking closer to a group of purple tinged fish. You looked at the tag. Yagi walked behind you with a hum and grinned over your head.

“Bleeding Heart Tetras?” He asked gently, “Are you sure?”

With a grin you nodded, “Look it says they get a little red blotch like a heart, come on that is adorable. You have to get them!” You persisted.

Yagi laughed and gently led you away with a hand at the base of your back, “Let’s get Reo to catch us some.”

Reo was surprisingly efficient with a net. He caught fifteen of the small tetras quickly and rung up the price on the register as Yagi snatched a new granule feed and flake for the baby fish.

“That’ll be…” Reo clicked in the prices of the food and smiled, “Nine thousand five hundred yen.” He offered, watching Yagi roll his eyes and pull the cash from his wallet. Reo put the money in the register before smiling, “I put some oxygen in the bag to keep ‘em alive for the journey.” He moved back through the counter and unlocked the door, chewing a small wooden toothpick as he moved out of the way of you both.

“Thank you, Reo. I’ll take good care of them.” Yagi promised with a chuckle.

“You ought to with that tank. I set most of it up with the plants for you myself!” Reo scolded him before waving at you, “Make sure you don’t bore her to death with all your fish talk, Yagi. A girl needs a proper date you know!”

Yagi flushed pink as he shut the door to the shop, “I’ll keep it in mind. Bye, Reo!” He shut the door before he could be tackled by Hina again and sighed.

With a smile you linked your hands together again and tapped his chin, making bright blue eyes look down at you once more, “You won’t bore me with fish talk I promise, Yagi.” You teased as he turned his face away and chuckled awkwardly.

This time he called a private taxi to get the two of you to travel in. Back to his home. The idea made your heart pound. He trusted you enough to allow for you to go to his home. His private home. The place he spent most of his time in outside of his jam-packed schedule. You wondered what it looked like only after being dazzled by the sleek, leather interior of the private hero taxi. Yagi looked out of place in his sweater and jeans against the fancy interior, more suited to the glamour of his hero costume and persona. Still, he made conversation until you reached his home. It was on the outskirts of the city, into the countryside and set back from many neighbours to avoid the press arriving on his door. He probably had a court order for most to remain away in exchange for regular interviews. You wondered how hard it was for him to have true privacy as the car came to a halt. Yagi clambered out first, paying the driver on his phone before offering you a hand to help you out as well. Placing your hand in his, you let him ease you forwards and out of the taxi before you gazed at the gated home before you.

The place was modest in size, the heavy gates controlled remotely. The hero drew out his keys from his jean’s pocket and clicked a button on one of the keyrings. The gates beeped before trundling open slowly, revealing the home behind them. It was brick and western in design on the outside, but you wondered if the inside would have the screen doors many Japanese people still used.

Yagi smiled and gestured towards his house, “After you.” He ushered you inside before clicking the button again to close to gates, turning to observe them close before he caught up with you. The garden wasn’t large, yet it was looked after with obvious rookie hands. The lawn was mowed, and the flowerbeds recently, roughly weeded. Bright colours of flowers waved in the beds, and Yagi even had a section of bamboo screening a sitting area, shading it from the Spring sun. It wasn’t hot enough yet to sit in the shade, but you thought on how enjoyable it would be when the summer weather did come back around. You smiled at Yagi as he jogged to you by the door.

“A ‘Plus Ultra’ doormat?” You asked with a laugh as you gently cleaned your feet off on the mat as Yagi took his door key in his hand.

“I get a lot of the merchandise for free in shipments.” He admitted before ushering you inside. The interior was pretty, but standard, decorated not too long ago, but without much of an idea about making it a home in mind. Cream walls and dark wood. Still, it was expensive, real wooden flooring. You admired the décor as you pulled off your shoes and put them by the rack.

“Here, I’ll hang your jacket.” Yagi eased the material off your shoulders, the fish still in his hand as he hung the jacket and pushed on his large slippers. He offered you the guest slippers before stepping up the step and into his house, gently holding the large bag of fish in both his hands, one hand under the bag and the other holding the top.

“Come on in. We need to float these quickly.” He smiled and gestured for you to follow. You followed closely as he walked you into the open plan living space. The fish tank was large, stationed in the back room with floating live plants waving in the current. Yagi smiled as you looked at the tank with a great smile.

“This is amazing, Yagi. Reo did an amazing job setting it up for you.” The hero sighed at you teasing before carefully positioning the bag in the top of the tank, held in place by the lid as you both glanced at the discoloured fish.

“Will they be okay?” You asked gently as you pressed a finger to the tank, observing the discoloured little tetras. The other fish in the tank gently moved over to poke at the bag curiously before Yagi turned off the lights.

“They will be fine in a little while. I’ll let them into the tank in fifteen minutes and turn the lamps back on tomorrow. Stressed out, maybe, but fine by tomorrow.” He stood by the tank for a moment, scuffing a slipper over the floor before coming up with an idea, “Well, would you like to stay for a while?” He asked gently.

“Really?”

Yagi choked on his own spit, “Do you not want to stay? If s-so that is fine! I can arrange you a private taxi home!”

“No no no!” You grabbed his fumbling fingers from his phone and shook your head, “I want to stay!” You clutched his hand and pushed his phone back into the front pocket of his sweater before pinching his chin, “What do you want to do?”

Blushing, Yagi gently wrapped his hand around your own before playing with your fingers, “How about we cook dinner together? I have stuff in.” He let your hands go before gesturing, with his thumb over his shoulder, towards his kitchen, the islands open towards the dining room. With a grin you took his hand and tugged him back towards the kitchen, “Lets do it!” You cheered as you rushed to the sink, leaving Yagi by the islands to think on what the both of you could make.

As you washed your hands, Yagi hummed and tapped his chin, thinking on what you both could make, “What about Gyudon? Beef bowls aren’t too difficult.” He offered with a smile as he walked over to also wash his hands. You moved to the side as Yagi leaned over the tall counter to wash his hands as well.

“Beef bowls sound great!” You offered before walking back to the middle island and pulling Yagi’s chopping board free from its holder among the others. You pulled a knife out as Yagi dried his hands and moved to the large double door fridge. With a heave he plonked a great bundle of fatty beef steaks on the counter and smiled.

“Are we really going to eat all of that?!” You asked in disbelief as you pulled a knife free from the block.

Yagi laughed brightly, “I eat a lot, but you can take some home and I can keep some. Maybe you can take it to work tomorrow for lunch?” He suggested with a soft look in his blue eyes.

You blushed as you sharpened the knife, “Sure. Give me the beef, you big lug.”

“Sure thing, peaches.” He teased gently as he rolled up his sleeves and cut open the packaging.

Later, Yagi released the fish into the tank with a coo as the beef sizzled in the pan.

Rice never tasted so good. You pushed a piece of sticky, soy sauce covered beef into your mouth as Yagi laughed at your eating. His own portion was twice the size of your own, yet he ate a little more reservedly as you chowed down on the fruits of your labour.

“I had no idea you could cook so well, Yagi.” You grumbled after your mouthful of rice, onion and sticky sauce. The sake was starting to get to you. Yagi sipped his own cup of the alcohol as he reached the bottom of his bowl and sighed with satisfaction. It didn’t take you long to finish as well.

“Did you enjoy it?” He asked with a chuckle as he finished the last of his drink and took your plates in hand with a satisfied murmur.

“Mhmm.” Your eyelids fluttered as you downed the rest of your alcohol and yawned, “I’m exhausted though.” Smiling sleepily, you opened your eyes when Yagi came back into the room. The yawn was infectious, and Yagi yawned as he returned to the table.

“I think your sleepiness is contagious. How about some television, peach?” Yagi asked as he leaned next to your chair.

“Mhmm.” You whispered again, making grabby hands at him, “I can’t walk there.”

“Come on, peach.” Yagi uttered as he wrapped an arm around you back and hefted your legs with his other, easily pressing you against the strong muscles of his chest as he took you weight and walked you over to his large, cream couch.

For a moment you shifted, expecting Yagi to plonk you on the large quirk couch in the corner. No such thing happened. With a heave, he held you tighter and sat himself in the corner before kicking his slippers off and pulling his body up on the entire length of the couch. It groaned under his mass of muscle and Yagi smiled down at you, the horns of hair flopping over to tickle your cheeks as he settled into the cushions with another large yawn. You settled against his chest and laughed softly as you crossed your arms and settled your chin against them, humming at the warm arms wrapped around your back, hands pressed to the bottom of your back.

“This is nice.” You cooed up at him before leaning up to kiss the end of his nose, smiling at the blush burning bright on the large hero’s cheeks. You closed your eyes and wrapped yourself tight around Yagi as he reached to turn on the television. An old black and white movie dramatically played quietly in the background.

“Are you comfortable, peach?” He asked, playing with your hair as his hand rubbed at the base of your back, not paying attention to the movie in the slightest. Nodding, you turned your head and rested against his chest, listening to his strong heart thump hard in his chest.

“Are you nervous, big guy?” You asked with a sleepy smile, humming pleasantly as Yagi continued the soothing motions of his hands over your back. His fingers dipped under your shirt to rub gently, never moving upwards, but just sitting, continuing their calming motion as he yawned again.

“I was…But you’re not as scary as I thought.” He joked as you reached to play with the long strands of his hair, other hand pressed against his pec as you tugged and kissed him. Yagi’s eyes opened before he floundered, fingers clenching before he pushed back gently, eyes closing as he breathed out a long sigh from his nose. You pulled away with a smile as he coughed in embarrassment.

“Thank you for inviting me out Yagi.” You confessed with another soft kiss to his cheek before settling back against his chest.

“You’re welcome, peaches.” He returned your gesture by pulling you up his body, tucking your face close to his neck as he kissed the top of your head and hummed in comfort.

Neither of you remembered falling asleep as the stars of the movie kissed beneath the Eiffel Tower.

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libidomechanica · 4 years ago

Text

Untitled Composition # 8646

“Fair Hermes, ‘by my selfe were deliverers, that shall cease their eares spring. “ Thus the Sun,” that, said to their tongue. O truant Muse, the man sidewalks in California we were crying up to them all her say it— “our Ida has a that; gie me love you still” above, that hath not; love it.’

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a mill of innocence and closes, but O too far too nice, like diamonds, on the virgins sow, not suited not loud; insists, die wits impute it but I am matchd at dew so sweetest so, great song they bear the Russian stones from which I know my wrist is not my cup; the scarlet leaves

ye come, while poor insteed of loue she seemd she began to adorn my tatterer neuer lieth. Yet—” I lie down head, as hopelessly enough the hopes, and fresh blood made for ranks one would stayneth! Of inward joy. The soft sees themselves be brought kill, give me the meadow you have need to

piddle statues leapt from the head, ye rose, and every side, that she w as a Branch—and replied: “ At least night. Of him to star, gleam in loves present, with it; after him came Psyche,” Florian and placed, I fix my size again through him.

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 6 #195 texts

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logicalbookthief · 5 years ago

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ʌ: for clown movie

^: comfort after a nightmare

Wow this took a lot longer than I thought, I apologize! Work has been blegh lately and my writer’s block was strong. Nevertheless, I thank you for the prompt and hope you enjoy!

It’s a sort of sequel to my fic “Placebo” that isn’t necessary to read before this but would definitely help. All you really need to know is that it takes place in a universe where Eddie is Carrie White’s cousin and has the same telekinetic powers.

"I'm not afraid."

For once, it’s the truth. Eddie has never felt more powerful than he does here, among the ruins of It’s hiding place, where It lurked for centuries, millennia, gnawing on the bones of children, biding its time for the day It would feed again. The memory of this place terrified him for years-- even when he couldn’t remember, the fear was embedded in his mind.

Now it’s shattering under the strength of Eddie’s will, destroyed by the sheer force of his mind, and the feeling is-- he can’t describe--

The weak, shriveled form of the clown tries to rally. Eddie squares his jaw, focuses on pinning It down, harder, merciless, refusing to give an inch. "I’m not afraid,” he repeats, the taste of blood in his mouth, hot as it slips down his face. “Not of you."

The clown laughs-- it’s a raspy, death rattle. Still, Eddie tenses, a sense of doubt creeping past the smolder of anger, the self-righteous flaring through his whole body.

"Even now I can feel it, that delicious reek of fear,” It smirks, a lopsided grimace turned smug. “Not of me, no. I already know what you are.”

Gulping, Eddie falters. Only for a moment, the flare dousing to a mere spark.

"I’ve always known,” It croaks, hoarse and almost unheard above the sound of the cavern as it crumbles. “But do they know, Eddie?”

Carrie, her hair a tangled mass of flames, her dress a flowing wave of red. Her eyes are nearly electric, a frenzied flash of light that-- and, suddenly, Eddie’s staring at a reflection of himself, manic and panting, bathed in the blood of his tormentor.

“Do they know what you are?”

Eddie springs up, dislodging the sheets curled around his body, gasping for the air caught in his throat. His heart jackhammers against his ribcage, trying to claw out from under the heavy weight atop his chest.

Beside of him in bed, Richie stirs with a low, drowsy groan. Ridiculously long legs disentangle under the blanket. He’s amazed they manage to fit together most nights, what with how much of Richie there is to fit, and how Eddie tends to sprawl if not contained by his boyfriend's octopus-like embrace.

His boyfriend. Now there’s a word he never thought he’d be able to use sincerely. However, there’s no mistaking the realness of Richie as he shifts closer in search of Eddie, even in his half-asleep state.

"Eds?" he calls in that scratchy voice reserved for the early hours of the morning. Frankly, a freshly-woken Richie is a sight to behold. Even as kids waking up in the Denbroughs’ den, Eddie’s guilty pleasure was waking before his best friend so as to catch a glimpse of Richie as he roused.

With his glasses askew, his tousled hair a mess, his mouth slightly parted in the memory of a snore. As an adult, the sight’s no less appealing -- if anything, that half-lidded gaze staggers him more, now that he’s aware of the soft, unguarded affection that lingers behind it.

"You okay?" Richie persists, squinting without his glasses.

"Mhm," Eddie replies, muffled by his fingers as they scrub at his face, clearing the remnants of the nightmare.

Unconvinced, Richie struggles into a sitting position. Propped against the headboard, he sizes up Eddie far too easily for someone who can barely see. "Bad dream?"

Too exhausted to form an answer, Eddie slumps backwards, colliding with Richie’s chest. Flush against each other, he can hear Richie’s breath stutter over the shell of his ear. Six months since Eddie moved in to Richie’s sunny LA apartment, the Derry hospital discharge band still around his wrist and Bev’s divorce lawyer saved to his phone, and sometimes they forget that this is allowed -- this closeness. This idea they can finally have what they want and not be hurt by it, by anyone.

Loving Richie is muscle memory, so natural it may as well be encoded in his DNA. Knowing that he has Richie, and can love Richie freely without hiding who he is, well-- that’s still a wonder, no matter how often Richie whispers the words against his skin.

Eddie knows this, not only in his mind but in his heart, and yet... He’s perplexed. Besides the Losers, he’s never known a love without conditions. A love that wasn’t dependent on his willingness, his obedience. It’s easy with Richie and harder for the same reason.

Once it registers that he’s got an lapful of a boyfriend, Richie winds an arm around Eddie and crushes him to the broad expanse of his chest. Hooks his chin over his shoulder and nuzzles his cheek like an over-excited dog.

“Baby, you’re kind of warm,” he murmurs, two-days worth of stubble scraping fondly over Eddie’s cheek.

The attention sends a shiver down his spine, but it ends in a shudder as Eddie remembers the heat of the flames as they licked his face, smoke curling into his lungs. Was it his face -- or hers? -- the fire a distant heat compared to the warm blood soaking her dress, her clothes, eyes listless as they carnage rages around her, the destruction she -- or he, was it him? -- the cavern collapsing around him as It huffed out its last, dismal breath--

His lungs expand, vainly searching for space to breathe. Eddie wriggles out of Richie’s hold, trying to hide the desperate beat of his pulse. “Fucking California heat,” he mumbles, evasively. “Has me all.. Sweaty.”

New York contains many, many years worth of bad memories, but if there’s one thing he misses, it’s the cold nights. Though if he had to choose between the lonely dark of the guestroom where he slept instead of aside his wife or the comfort of Richie’s bed -- well, that’s hardly even a question.

“Did you wanna, ah..." Flummoxed, Richie wavers over his next words. "Talk?"

It's a song and dance they've done before. A sliver of guilt pierces Eddie through the shields he’s barricaded around this particular issue. How many times has he startled awake and dragged Richie out of sleep -- and then, to add insult to injury, decline the invitation to talk?

After Richie barred his soul and revealed the initials he carved into the Kissing Bridge, despite the threat of bullies and rejection, it seems hypocritical to keeps his darkest secrets under lock and key.

Not for the first time, Eddie aches for his pills. He’s kicked the habit, endured the worst of the withdrawal, bears the occasional migraine with no complaint. But in moments like these the urge is almost too much to ignore.

You’ll feel better, Dr. Silas cajoles, a venomous promise in his ear. Don’t you want to be normal?

It triggers a memory-- the pills in his palm, his mouth parted to swallow, but the desperation of Richie’s screams, the horror in the eyes of his friends. No, Eddie snaps. Of course he wants to be normal. Wants to have a normal life with his boyfriend.

But he wants it to be real. No more placebos.

"Oh-kay. If you’re sure," Richie sounds uncertain, but he’s unwilling to cross the boundaries Eddie has firmly set. Eddie falls a little bit more in love with him for that. "Then it’s back to bed with you, guvnah!”

Usually the British voice anywhere near the vicinity of their bed drew a protest from Eddie -- it catches in his throat when Richie him swings him flat on his back, the bulk of his body sprawled between Eddie’s legs. He blushes to the roots of his hair, clutching at the wide expanse of Richie’s shoulders, fingers digging into soft skin and the tendons of muscle underneath.

If he scowls, it’s a dismal attempt to hide how hopelessly turned on he is by every aspect of this ridiculous man.

"Otherwise, you'll be bitchy as fuck for the flight tomorrow.” His sigh blows against Eddie's hair. "And you know how much that turns me on."

Eddie sputters.

"God, you ever travel for upwards of six hours with a boner? Would not recommend, 0/10."

"Rich!" he scolds, which is hard to do when you're spasming with laughter.

"Unless," Richie continues, slyly, "Eds, you minx. You want to join the Mile-High club with me?"

"Richie," Eddie coughs, truly on his way to a ruptured lung. Hopelessly fond as he orders, "Shut up and go to sleep."

He waits until the chuckles peter out, eventually replaced by soft, even breaths. Carefully, Eddie twists out of Richie’s embrace. The soles of his slippers drag along the carpet as he shuffles to the kitchen.

The piles of dishes Richie convinced him to leave for later in favor of more amorous activities -- and to be perfectly honest, Eddie was easy to convince -- sits in the sink. Picking up the dish soap, Eddie figures he may as well be proactive in his insomnia.

Aunt Margaret used to say, Idle hands are the devil’s playthings. It was maybe the single coherent, non-hateful advice she ever gave.

He’s halfway through the mess and elbow deep in sudsy water when Richie wanders in, stretching. “I thought we had an agreement,” he yawns. “Whoever isn’t accosted by trauma-fueled nightmares gets to make breakfast.”

Ducking his head around a smile, Eddie shrugs. “Too restless to sleep. The thought of you forgetting to pack underwear on this trip haunted my dreams.”

"Ooh, say that again," Richie moans, slotting their hips together from behind. Despite his playful tone, Eddie feels the half-stir of morning wood. "Slower this time."

Eddie shoves playfully at his chin. "Seriously," he huffs. "Our flight's only in a couple of hours and I know you haven't finished packing!"

"Our flight's in eight hours," Richie points out, which is met by a dubious eyebrow raise. "That is plenty of--"

"How many pairs of underwear do you currently have in your suitcase?"

There’s a long, unconscionable pause.

"Fuck!" Richie snaps his fingers. "Knew there was something I forgot."

One of those rare instances where he isn't joking.

"You're pushing me toward an asthma attack," Eddie deadpans. "Please go pack."

Richie leaves a wet, slobbering kiss on his cheek that Eddie only half-pretends to hate. “Anything you say, darling."

Once he’s gone, Eddie can focus at the task at hand. He glances sidelong at a coffee mug that’s slightly out of reach. Retrieving it isn’t a hassle so much as an inconvenience, since his hands are damp with dishwater and the closest rag is across the room.

You could do it another way, reminds the quiet voice in back of his head that Eddie’s spent the last twenty-years trying to suppress. Long before that, really. Since the day his mother told him what his cousin-- what Eddie was.

Do you know what you are?

Eddie bristles. Fuck that clown. Fuck the idea that It has any lingering sway over his life. His mother, too. And those doctors, all those doctors and their tests, their experiments, their pills. Nobody can choose for him anymore. He’s in control of his life.

Despite this conviction, Eddie dawdles. Strains his ears. He can hear Richie clunking around in their bedroom, a safe distance away. I’m alone, he thinks bracingly. I’m alone, so there’s no harm in...

He shuts his eyes, concentrating. The mug rattles, as though gently prodded by an unseen force. Slowly, carefully, Eddie relinquishes the vice-like grip of the leash wrapped tight around his mind, bit by bit.

The mug slides along the counter, until it hovers over the edge. It does not fall. Eddie feels a prick of satisfaction tingle at the base of his neck.

I’m not afraid, Eddie thinks with a rush of spite. Remembering his dream, the clown’s laughter a fresh in his memory, he pushes the mug faster. I am not--

"Hey, Eds, did you-?"

The mug smashes against the ground, shattering. Pieces fly out, scattering across the floor. All sharp edges.

"Shit!" Eddie panics. "Don't step over here, the shards–"

Hastily, he reaches for a handful of glass, as if cleaning up the evidence will hide what he’s done.

What were you thinking, you freak? You could've hurt him or--

"Eddie.” That’s Richie's voice calling to him, soft and urgent.

"Sorry, I'm sorry, I'll--” He’s babbling, the words choked, constricted, while sweat pools at the base of his neck and his hands shake with the effort to shove it all down, deep, deep down where nobody can see--

"Eddie!" Richie shouts. His face comes into focus near inches from his, eyes, wild with worry. "Calm down, it's okay. It's okay, see? Just a stupid mess.”

A mess you made, Eddie thinks viciously. Now he's seen, he's seen and he'll run, he'll leave, because you're a–

"C'mon, Eds,” Richie murmurs, both a plea and a demand. Trembling fingers tangle with his own, the bite of Richie’s knuckles as he presses their palms against his ribcage steadying Eddie in the present. “You've got to breathe for me.”

Only then does Eddie realize how rapidly it’s rising, and how difficult it is to inhale. Buoyed by the constant stream of Richie’s assurances, Eddie begins to count his breaths, focuses on the movement of his and Richie’s hands as he breathes once twice, in and out. He judges his success by the tightness of Richie’s frown.

"Sorry," Eddie croaks once he can speak again. It feels as if the shards are lodged in his throat.

"Don't apologize," says Richie, a furrow nestling between his brows. He keeps his tone level, likely more worried than he lets on, but the lack of panic is what’s grounding Eddie and he’s appreciates it more than words will convey. "Do you need me to-- What do you need?”

Eddie shakes his head. Tears prick at his eyes and he bites down on the tide of pleas that threaten to overwhelm him. You, I need you. I need you not to leave me once you figure out what I am.

"You know I don't care if you use your Matilda whammy." Richie makes a show of squinting his eyes. Eddie chokes on a stilted laugh. Richie seems to sag in relief

"It doesn’t change a thing for me,” he reminds, nudging Eddie softly. “You understand, right?"

Eddie swallows, thickly. He doesn't trust his voice, so he nods, the reply burrowed into Richie's chest. He kisses his clavicle once, twice in gratitude.

"What were you going to ask before?"

"Uh," Richie hedges. "Do you know where all my clean underwear is?"

Again, Eddie laughs. Helplessly. "Fucking Christ, Rich, I told you: a man needs more than seven pairs of underwear."

"I resent that. I have more," Richie sniffs. "They're just not as sexy as my gluteus maximoose pair. Which, as you know, I reserve for all special occasions."

"You're fucking ridiculous, is what you are," Eddie chuckles. "I'll fold the laundry after I clean this up."

"Let me do that,” Richie insists, shooing him toward the bedroom. “You can shower first.”

Chewing his lip, Eddie hesitates.

"Are you wearing shoes?" Richie gestures impatiently at his moccasins. "Alright... Just be careful with the glass."

“Like you were?” Catching Eddie by the wrist, Richie frowns down at his palm. A thin slice below his thumb, the blood a steady ooze.

"Oh," says Eddie, woozily. The prick of pain didn't even register. "I'll go, um. Wash this in the bathroom."

He ignores the feeling of Richie’s eyes on his back as he hustles the bedroom, quietly closing the door behind him. He’s ignored a lot of things, lately.

The familiar yet nameless numbers on the cellphone he ultimately chucked. The decreasing amount of frantic calls from his ex-wife. The urge to tell Richie and the Losers every awful truth Eddie’s spent his entire adult life burying so deep that not even he has to confront it, ever.

At the sink, Eddie avoids his own reflection. Under the spray of water, the blood washes off effortlessly. As if it never happened. Wash your hands, Eddie. Like a good boy. His mother always repeated the order, ad nauseam. Like if he scrubbed hard enough, it would be as if the all the dirty, unclean parts of him she feared had never existed.

For all her lies, Eddie wishes it was that easy.

#reddie #reddie fic #eddie kaspbrak #richie tozier #it chapter 2 #carrie white #hurt/comfort #aceyanaheim #prompt fic

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khaotungsfirst · 4 years ago

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You asked for more fic rec, and I am more than happy to deliver! 😊 Just last night I read 'and in the spring I shed my skin' by wvlfqveen, which is incredibly cute and fluffy 🐇 I'd also recommend 'r/relationships' by vespertineflora! Both fics are very cute and include dumb boys being hopelessly in love but doing their best to not communicate or tell the other until the other finds out - CC 🦊

'#also funny how miscommunication in books drives me up the wall but in fics it’s chef’s kiss' omg I relate so much to this! Whenever I'm reading a book and that happens I'm annoyed and fed up at the characters, but in fic? I actively search for it, it's the good stuff that we love to read! The list you put together for fic tropes is such a good idea too, I might have to borrow that idea and put one together myself at some point! 😊It's so interesting what your thoughts are too. - CC 🦊

For now though, I'd have to say my favourite fics are those where there's a good portion of angst but still the promise of a happy ending ❤️Miscommunication works so well for that, or mutual pining. I'm not keen on permanent character death, and I don't really like torture fic or anything like that since I often like my fic to be comforting in some way. Like you said though, it really depends on the pairing! Do you have any songs that you associate with certain characters or pairings? - CC 🦊

AAAAAHHHH r/relationships sounds SO good omg!!! I haven’t even read it yet but I’m already so hype just from the description alone. I feel like you totally grasped my taste for fics! you truly just made my day ❤️

I think miscommunication only works so well in fanfic because we already know the characters and we actively search for certain plots, knowing what we’re getting ourselves into. In books though, I don’t already have that attachment to the characters and idk the plot, so if they’re bad at communicating right from the start, I can’t even get to that level of attachment. So instead I just get annoyed 😅And you should do that tier ranking list and send it to me!! I’m so curious about other ppl’s preferences and interests!

Same!! I do love some angst as well but a happy ending is almost a must for me. Like why would I want to read about my favourite characters ending up miserably?? 😭When it comes to dark fic it’s a very fine line for me cause I also can’t do torture but certain elements of dark fic intrigue me sometimes. I can’t really place it though so looking for a dark fic that I like is like searching for a needle in a haystack 😅😅

As for songs.... damn you got me there 😬 I don’t often pay attention to the lyrics (and also listen to a lot of trashy songs whose lyrics don’t fit any character/ship) so I’m blanking right now.. I guess the songs I made edits with fit so that’d be This Love by Taylor Swift and Monster Like Me by Mørland and Debrah Scarlett for Wangxian. (I also read somewhere that Someone You Loved by Lewis Capaldi is a xuexiao song and ..... yeah). lmao i’m sorry i’m so bad at this, i’ll have to start looking up the lyrics more often. but please send me your songs that you associate with characters/ships!!

#mdzsnetcc #yo why am i blanking so much on songs right now??? like i know i've heard several songs and thought damn that's so wangxian but i absolutel #anon

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dailyaudiobible · 4 years ago

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10/08/2020 DAB Transcript

Jeremiah 10:1-11:23, Colossians 3:18-4:18, Psalms 78:56-72, Proverbs 24:28-29

Today is the 8th day of October welcome to the Daily Audio Bible I'm Brian it’s great to be here with you today as we continue the journey through the week and, yeah, first full week of the month. And we’re for journeying through it and making our way toward the back half. So, let's dive in. We are reading from the New Living Translation this week. Jeremiah chapters 10 and 11 today.

Commentary:

Alright. So, as we move through the prophetic books, and we happen to be in one right now called Jeremiah, we see this term, and this is a term we've been seeing throughout the Scriptures but it's pretty…pretty much inescapable in the books of the prophets and that term is idolatry. So, idolatry is a term that permeates the Bible, but the way that it's described in the Scriptures is something we’re a little less familiar with, right? So, quoting Jeremiah here. “They cut down a tree and a craftsman carves an idol and they decorate it with gold and silver and then fasten it securely with a hammer a nail, so it won't fall over. Their gods are like helpless scarecrows in a cucumber field. They can't speak and need to be carried because they can't walk.” So, we can look at that and know that in most of our cultures this is not a practice that we’re normally used to seeing or around or are tempted to be involved in. Although idol worship, certainly, even as described in the Bible here, still exists on earth today. But we can look at this and say, “well I don't do any of that stuff. So, yeah, I can see why God would be calling his people away from that kind of useless behavior. But it's I don't practice idolatry.” But if we think of idolatry as the giving of ourselves in some way in worship towards something that we believe is promising us some kind of fulfillment or life then we realize that idolatry is still in the world and is still in the cultures. It just looks different. Like, we look at this example of an artisan kinda creatin…crafting an idol. But then we need to look at what has been crafted for us to live in that we think gives us safety, called a house or a home or an apartment. Or we look at our car. We can look at anything that has been made that we are thinking that if we could attain that thing than our lives would be fulfilled then we can see that we get pulled in all kinds of directions. We can…we could say that the culture itself that is very marketing driven that is continually throwing products and services into our face with the promise of some kind of fulfillment in some sort of way, that we are being pulled. And I’m not saying marketing is a bad thing. It's how our culture works. And I'm not saying that the products and services that are being marketed are a bad thing. It depends on where our hearts are going. If we start obsessing about achieving that promotion, if start obsessing about a bigger home because we need to keep up, if we start obsessing about these things and studying and researching and planning and giving ourselves over to the pursuit of something outside of God, then we…as Ecclesiastes told us, we are chasing the wind. And, so, we see God coming up against idolatry in the worship of false gods continually, especially in the prophets, but we see that it's because His people have broken covenant with Him and gone to pursue something else. That's all so called adultery and it is called that in the Scriptures as well, a spiritual form of adultery, idolatry, giving yourself to someone else expecting some kind of life, some kind of exchange that only God can provide. I've used an example in the past of like a stuffed animal because I’ve had stuffed animals in my life for a long time with my children. And…and, you know, some of you are in the same boat, like you know exactly what I'm talking about. If you’re kid starts talking to a stuffed animal, and they can love these animal, and they can love…they can pretend and everything, but if your kid starts elevating this certain stuffed animal, like it takes the prominent place in bed, it's like always sat up and they start talking to this thing, not just pretending but they talk to this thing and they stop talking to you as their parent and they start telling the stuffed animal to tell you things, you starting you got a problem. Like your kid is giving themselves to something that is not even alive and is not even real. And, so, you become troubled and the further that goes the more troubled you would be. And this is in so many ways what God is saying. “You keep tracking to give yourself to something that you made or that you had made for you and you’re giving yourself to this thing ignoring the fact that you are already in covenant with the most-high God. There is nowhere else to go. Everything else is lesser and you are worshiping lesser things thinking that they can do the job of the most-high God in your life and they can't. And, so, you are being led to destruction. And I'm telling you, stop, come home, return to me, don't do this, it will destroy you.” This is fundamentally what we’re talking about when we’re talking about idolatry. And once we kind of unpack it to this point, we can see that lots of things can be idolatrous behaviors in our lives as we examine where our hearts are being pulled. In what direction are our hearts being drawn away? Because if we are being drawn away, like “God's not gonna come through. So, I'm gonna come through and I’m gonna go get this thing and I’m gonna have this fashioned, I’m gonna make this and then it's gonna make my life better”, yeah then that's dangerous territory. We are hopelessly and helplessly dependent upon the most-high God, whether we like it or not. And just acknowledging it is really what He's looking for, that we acknowledge, that we remain intimate in the covenant that we have entered into as His followers. And, so, let's think about that. Certainly examine our own hearts and lives today, but also have this kind of awareness and understanding as we hear these terms brought up over and over and over in the books of prophecy.

Prayer:

Father we invite You into that. We don't want to be involved in idolatry. And we can very easily say, like as described in the Bible, we’re not involved in that kind of idolatry. But idolatry, like everything else, isn’t just an outward expression, it is what is…it is an outward expression of what is inside of us. And we can see that we can be seduced and pulled away in all sorts of ways. And, so, come Holy Spirit when we do find ourselves pulled in all kinds of directions. Make us aware, help us to open our eyes and see what's happening and where that road will lead. We ask this in the mighty and precious name of Jesus. Amen.

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If you want to partner with the Daily Audio Bible, I can't thank you enough and I…I can't think of any new sentences or paragraphs to string together to…to just say how humbling it is to be on this journey together and being on this journey together is what makes this journey even possible. So, there's a link on the homepage. If you’re using the app you can press the Give button in the upper right-hand corner or the mailing address, if that's your preference, is PO Box 1996 Spring Hill Tennessee 37174.

And, as always, if you have a prayer request or encouragement 877-942-4253 is the number to dial or you can hit the Hotline button in the app, little red button at the top and just share from there no matter where you are in the world.

And that's it for today. I’m Brian I love you and I will be waiting for you here tomorrow.

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spideyyverse · 7 years ago

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Grease! AU

pt.1 | pt.2 | pt.3 | pt.4 |

Chapter: 2/7

Alternate reality where Eddie Kaspbrak is a boy from New York visiting the small town of Derry for the Summer and so happens to have met the greaser himself, Richie Tozier.

Characters: Richie Tozier, Eddie Kaspbrak, Beverly Marsh, Ben Hanscom, Stan Uris, Mike Hanlon, Bill Denbrough, Audra Phillips

Pairings: Reddie, Stenbrough, Benverly, (Possible?? Audra x Mike? Aromantic Mike? Let me know what you think!)

Warnings: Homophobia, swearing, underage drinking and smoking

Word Count: 1,676

Author Notes: Some chapters will be based on a song from the movie, I’m not sure if I’ll do each song but if there’s a specific song you would like me to include, let me know in my ask box!

Also, the losers are very ooc. I understand they’re nothing like the way I’m portraying them in my story. Please do not get angry for the way I’m writing them, it’s apart of this au solely and that’s not how I actually view them.

This chapter will be a combination of ‘Look at me, I’m Sandra Dee!’ and ‘Hopelessly Devoted To You’ ! Thank Jasmine for that decision y’all.

Also, the beginning chapters will focus on Eddie mainly, but I will have chapters dedicated to just Richie of course!! Also, I know there isn’t much dialogue, chapter three will have tons of dialogue and much more interaction between the characters! I’m sorry, this is shitty writing.

You know I’m just a fool who’s willing / To sit around and wait for you /

It was Friday, the night of the pep rally. Everything was going according to plan, Eddie was asked to be a ‘manleader’ (Although, he couldn’t comprehend why he couldn’t be called a cheerleader, just like the rest of the girls). He was sitting on the sidelines, waiting for the halftime performance. The brunette boy felt anxious all night, not in fear that he’s preforming in front of the entire school but because he could possibly be preforming in front of the boy he was hopelessly devoted to. All night, the boy scanned the bleachers for the curly haired boy wearing a leather jacket but never saw him. However, Eddie did meet one of Derry high’s football players, but he was no Richie. He was nice, don’t get Eddie wrong but nothing about him made him feel the way Richie made him feel.

It was ridiculous really, how can Eddie possibly pine over a boy he’d only known for three months? How much of a fool can he be?

If it wasn’t for the stupid promise he made for Richie, maybe just maybe, he wouldn’t be constantly longing for his warmth, for his touch. He wouldn’t be sitting around, waiting around for his greaser boy.

But now there’s nowhere to hide / since you’ve pushed my love aside

The crowd erupted in cheers, the final touchdown was made and it so happened Derry was the team who scored it. There was still no sign of the boy who wouldn’t leave Eddie’s head in the bleachers. Eddie could feel a part of him break but he knew he couldn’t let that ruin his night, he was sleeping over Bev’s house tonight anyways. What could possibly go wrong?

After a couple of hugs and ‘Great Game!’s from both the cheer team and football team. Eddie set off to find his new friends. Of course that didn’t take long, you could be five miles away and still spot the fire headed girl known as Beverly Marsh.

“Eddie! You did amazing out there!” Bev cheered wrapping her arms around the boy.

Eddie smiled back and waved to Stan and Audra, “Hey Eddie! We got a surprise for ya!” Stan smiled grabbing Eddie’s hand.

Eddie shot a confused look towards Bev and she didn’t seem to know what was going on either. The boy reluctantly followed the curly haired boy to the parking lot.

Meanwhile, the school’s greasers were smoking and fucking around with each other, “Alright! Guys, that’s enough.” Richie shouted over the three boys horse playing with each other.

“C’mon Tozier! Your panties have been in a twist ever since we got back to this hellhole!” Mike shoved him playfully but only resulted in Richie shoving him slightly harder.”

“Woah!” The other three boys shouted simultaneously. Richie only rolled his eyes and gave them the bird, “Fuck off.”

“H-here looks like y-you need it.” Bill tossed over a lighter and a pack of cigarettes towards Richie. Richie thanked him silently and nodded his head.

“Hey Tozier!” An all too familiar voice sounded.

All four boys whipped around to face Stan and his gang. Richie only rolled his eyes and took a deep breath, “What is it Uris?”

“Got a surprise for ya.” Stan yanked Eddie’s arm and pushed him in front of Richie.

“Eddie?”

“Richie?”

“I thought you were going back to New York?” Richie couldn’t contain his excitement, it was something about Eddie that always made him soft.

“We had a change of plans!” Eddie giggled.

“What about you Chee? I got some of your letters when I went back to New York to get the rest of my stuff!”

“I-”

“Ahem.” Ben scoffed behind Richie causing his face to fall back into seriousness.

“Richie? What’s the matter?” Eddie searched Richie’s eyes for some sort of answer.

“What’s the matter with me? What’s the matter with you baby?” Richie smirked. The other three boys laughed behind him.

“Rich? What happened to the Richie I met at the quarry?”

“I don’t know, maybe you should find him.” Richie laughed elbowing Bill, making him laugh as well. Except, Richie’s laugh wasn’t real. Anyone who really knew him would know that. Clearly, his friends didn’t see that.

Genuine or not, that didn’t stop Eddie from lashing out on the boy he thought he knew, You’re-you are- you’re such a fucking asshole! I wish I never met you at all!” He shoved Richie and ran off with tears springing in his eyes.

The guys were hooting and hollering, Audra shook her head at Richie, and Bev took off after Eddie; Leaving a Stan Uris with a tilted head and smirk.

“Got what you wanted Uris?” Richie growled after the boys walked away along with Audra.

“I hope you’re happy.” He continued.

“Come to think of it, yeah, I am.” Stan smirked and averted his attention to Bill who came back to retrieve his leader.

“Billy.” Stan said with a bittersweet tone and walked away.

My head is saying, “Fool, forget him.” / My heart is saying, “Don’t let go. / Hold on till the end.” / And that’s what I intend to do / I’m hopelessly devoted to you

Eddie found himself crying against Bev’s car while she rubbed her hand up and down his back, “God, how can I be such an idiot Bev?”

She only shook her and continued to rub her hand up and down his back, “You didn’t know hun, how can you possibly? Whichever Richie you met back in Summer is the Richie you know. This Richie on the other hand, he’s trash.”

Eddie laughed through his tears, Now there’s the Eddie I know.” Bev smiled.

“Thanks Bev, it means a lot.”

“Eddie, honey, all men are trash. You can’t depend on them for shit.”

“I’m a guy.”

“Besides you! And maybe Ben. He’s a sweetheart.” She smiled. The freckled girl looked down at her watch and gave Eddie a sympathetic smile, “Hey, why don’t you go home and get a bit of rest before I pick you up for our sleepover tonight?”

Eddie happily agreed and gave her his address. He said goodbye to his friend and began his walk home. The silence couldn’t help but let Eddie think about the events that happened only an hour ago.

Forget him, he doesn’t want you anyways.

Don’t let go, he loves you.

“I’m hopelessly devoted to a prick.” Eddie sighed under his breath.

Look at me, I’m Sandra Dee.

After quite a bit of convincing from his mom, Eddie managed to get into Bev’s car and head off to her place for their sleepover.

“What’s the deal with the guys having to act macho all the time? It’s ridiculous!” Audra sighed painting her nails.

“They have to live up to their reputation Auddie, that’s just how it is.” Stan sighed pulling a bottle of cheap wine from his backpack.

“Hey Eddie wanna see something cool?” Bev asked causing Eddie to avert his attention towards her. She blew smoke from the side of her half close mouth. Stan only rolled his eyes and pulled out a cigarette himself, “Want one Eddie?”

Eddie only shook his head, “Oh no thank you. Smoking can kill you.”

Stan rolled his eyes again and blew a couple of more smokes before placing the stick between his fingers and popping open the cheap wine.

“Finally!” Audra cheered taking a chug of the cheap wine.

“Ever drank before Eddie?” Audra asked handing the bottle over to Bev.

“I had some champagne at a wedding once!” Eddie explained.

“Oh wow! Sounds like a wild night!” Stan sarcastically remarked causing Bev to throw a pillow at him.

“Here c’mon. Just try a little smoke at least!” Stan sighed and handed over his cigarette to the boy. Eddie hesitantly took the stick from him and inhaled causing him to cough.

“Right, I forgot to tell you not to inhale the first time you do it.” Stan stifled a laugh.

“Here, wash it down with this.” Audra said handing over the bottle of alcohol. Poor Eddie didn’t realize what Audra handed him until he took a swing of the cheap wine and grimaced.

“Bev, I don’t feel so good.” Eddie moaned, holding his stomach.

Bev got up and quickly led him to her bathroom. Stan bit back a laugh while Audra quickly cleaned.

“God, how did he manage to drink the champagne?”

You got your crust, I’m no object of lust, I’m just plain Sandra Dee!

After the whole ordeal, Eddie rested on Bev’s bed while the others talked. Their conversation was interrupted when they heard a honk. Audra, Stan, and Bev made their way towards the window and saw none other than their fellow T-Birds.

“W-we’re heading o-over to the dr-rive in! Wanna c-come?” Bill shouted.

“Guys we can’t, Eddie still isn’t feeling good and my folks are home!” Beverly whispered-shouted.

“Well, I’ll go then! Cover for me!” Stan suggested, climbing out the window.

Richie only huffed when he saw Stan making his ways towards Bill, “What’s got your dick in a twist Tozier? Want Juliet to come on down too?”

Whether Stan intended for Eddie to hear what he just said or Eddie had super hearing, he answered for Richie, “Tell them no. I’m not Richie’s object.” He snapped.

Bev and Audra only looked at each other and repeated what Eddie just told them.

Stan got in the passengers seat next to Bill and planted a kiss on the stuttering boy, “Thought it would just be us at the drive-in Denbrough?”

Bill only smirked and turned around to his friends, “Get out of my car.”

“The fuck Bill?” Richie rose an eyebrow.

“Did I fucking stutter? Get out of my car and walk!” Bill shouted a little louder.

Ben, Mike, and Richie huffed but obliged as they watched Bill’s broken down car speed off.

“He’s right you know,” Ben stated breaking the silence.

“What?” Richie responded.

“He didn’t stutter.”

Tags: @universal-gay - Thank you so much for your kind words! I hope you enjoyed this chapter love!

#losers club #richie tozier #eddie kaspbrak #reddie #beverly marsh #ben hanscom #bill denbrough #mike hanlon #stan uris #losers club grease au #the losers club #losers club au #reddie au

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dfroza · 3 years ago

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A sacred act of rebirth means everything:

Christ’s resurrection is your resurrection too. This is why we are to yearn for all that is above, for that’s where Christ sits enthroned at the place of all power, honor, and authority! Yes, feast on all the treasures of the heavenly realm and fill your thoughts with heavenly realities, and not with the distractions of the natural realm.

Your crucifixion with Christ has severed the tie to this life, and now your true life is hidden away in God in Christ. And as Christ himself is seen for who he really is, who you really are will also be revealed, for you are now one with him in his glory!

The Letter of Colossians, Chapter 3:1-4 (The Passion Translation)

we see now, dimly, just a mirror of what is promised to be pure (Clarity)

Today’s reading of the Scriptures from the New Testament is the 3rd chapter of the Letter of Colossians:

So it comes down to this: since you have been raised with the Anointed One, the Liberating King, set your mind on heaven above. The Anointed is there, seated at God’s right hand. Stay focused on what’s above, not on earthly things, because your old life is dead and gone. Your new life is now hidden, enmeshed with the Anointed who is in God. On that day when the Anointed One—who is our very life—is revealed, you will be revealed with Him in glory! So kill your earthly impulses: loose sex, impure actions, unbridled sensuality, wicked thoughts, and greed (which is essentially idolatry). It’s because of these that God’s wrath is coming [upon the sons and daughters of disobedience], so avoid them at all costs. These are the same things you once pursued, and together you spawned a life of evil. But now make sure you shed such things: anger, rage, spite, slander, and abusive language. And don’t go on lying to each other since you have sloughed away your old skin along with its evil practices for a fresh new you, which is continually renewed in knowledge according to the image of the One who created you. In this re-creation there is no distinction between Greek and Jew, circumcised and uncircumcised, barbarian and conqueror, or slave and free because the Anointed is the whole and dwells in us all.

Since you are all set apart by God, made holy and dearly loved, clothe yourselves with a holy way of life: compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness, and patience. Put up with one another. Forgive. Pardon any offenses against one another, as the Lord has pardoned you, because you should act in kind. But above all these, put on love! Love is the perfect tie to bind these together. Let your hearts fall under the rule of the Anointed’s peace (the peace you were called to as one body), and be thankful.

Let the word of the Anointed One richly inhabit your lives. With all wisdom teach, counsel, and instruct one another. Sing the psalms, compose hymns and songs inspired by the Spirit, and keep on singing—sing to God from hearts full and spilling over with thankfulness. Surely, no matter what you are doing (speaking, writing, or working), do it all in the name of Jesus our Master, sending thanks through Him to God our Father.

Wives: be submitted to your husbands as is appropriate in the Lord. Husbands: love your wives, and don’t treat them harshly or respond with bitterness toward them.

Children: obey your parents in every way. The Lord is well pleased by it. Fathers: don’t infuriate your children, so their hearts won’t harbor resentment and become discouraged. Slaves: obey your earthly masters in all things. Don’t just act earnest in your service only when they are watching. Serve with a sincere heart (even when others aren’t watching), fearing the Lord who is always watching! So no matter what your task is, work hard. Always do your best as the Lord’s servant, not as man’s, because you know your reward is the Lord’s inheritance. You serve the Lord, the Anointed One, and anyone who does wrong will be paid his due because He doesn’t play favorites.

The Letter of Colossians, Chapter 3 (The Voice)

Today’s paired chapter of the Testaments is the 17th chapter of the book of Jeremiah about choosing whether or not to trust in the Eternal:

Eternal One: Judah’s sin is engraved on the tablets of their hearts, inscribed on the horns of their altars with an iron tool, tipped with a diamond point. Their children remember their pagan altars and the sacred poles used in idol worship beside leafy green trees on high hills. I will see that My mountain in the land, your nation’s wealth, and all your treasures will be handed over as plunder to your enemies. I will even give your pagan high places to pay the cost for the sins you committed all over Judah. You’ll let this inheritance I gave you slip through your fingers. I will make you slaves to your enemies in a land you have never known because you have stirred My anger into a roaring fire that will last forever.

Cursed is the one who trusts in human strength and the abilities of mere mortals.

His very heart strays from the Eternal.

He is like a little shrub in the desert that never grows;

he will see no good thing come his way.

He will live in a desert wasteland,

a barren land of salt where no one lives.

But blessed is the one who trusts in Me alone;

the Eternal will be his confidence.

He is like a tree planted by water,

sending out its roots beside the stream.

It does not fear the heat or even drought.

Its leaves stay green and its fruit is dependable, no matter what it faces.

The heart is most devious and incurably sick.

Who can understand it?

It is I, the Eternal One, who probes the innermost heart

and examines the innermost thoughts.

I will compensate each person justly,

according to his ways and by what his actions deserve.

Like a partridge that hatches eggs that are not hers,

so is the person who gains wealth unfairly.

In the middle of his life a fool’s money will abandon him.

In the end he, too, will be shown for what he is—a fool.

Jeremiah (to God): But from the beginning, Your throne of glory,

our holy place, has always been exalted.

O Eternal One, the hope of Israel,

all who forsake You will be put to shame.

Those who turn their backs on You will be written in the dirt,

because they have forsaken You, the spring of living water.

Heal me, O Eternal One, and I will be healed.

You alone can save me; to You alone do I sing my praise.

The scoffers keep mocking me, saying,

“Where is the word of the Eternal you keep talking about?

Why haven’t His words come to pass?”

You know I have not run from my calling—

I have been a shepherd to Your people as You commanded.

I have not secretly desired the day of disaster and sorrow.

You know everything I’ve spoken to these people,

because it was the task You’d set before me.

Do not turn and terrify me.

Be my refuge when the dreaded day of reckoning comes.

Bring shame on those who persecute me, but save me from that shame.

Bring terror on them, but save me from that terror.

Bring them to the day of disaster; shatter them, destroy them with double the destruction.

Eternal One (to Jeremiah): Go, stand at the public gate of Jerusalem, the one through which the kings of Judah come and go; then take up your post at the other gates around the city. Say to them, Listen, you kings of Judah, you people of Judah, you citizens of Jerusalem, and any who pass through these gates. Listen to the words of the Eternal; this is what He says: “For the welfare of your lives and the good of this city, be careful! Stop violating My Sabbaths by carrying your loads through Jerusalem’s gates on the Sabbath day. Do not bring your loads out of the house on that day—do not work at all on the Sabbath. Keep the Sabbath day holy as I commanded your ancestors all those years ago. But even then, they did not listen or pay attention to Me; instead, they stiffened their resolve not to listen or accept any instruction from Me.

“But if you will listen to My words and obey Me by not carrying your loads through these city gates on the Sabbath, if you will live differently on the Sabbath, differently from the rest of your week by not working on it, I promise Jerusalem will be your home forever. The family of David will always reign on his throne here. The kings and rulers of this land will pass through these gates in chariots and on horses. As for their officers, the people of Judah, and the citizens of Jerusalem, they will live securely in this city forever. People will come from Jerusalem’s surrounding villages and the towns and the regions in Judah. They will come from the territory of Benjamin, from the rolling hills in the west, from the hill country, and from the Negev wilderness. They will bring their burnt offerings and sacrifices, grain offerings, incense, and freewill offerings to the Eternal’s temple. But if you refuse to obey Me—if you continue to bring your loads though the gates of Jerusalem on the Sabbath even though I’ve separated that day as a time of rest—you will be punished. I will kindle a fire to these very gates that cannot be quenched, and all Jerusalem will burn—even her palaces.”

The Book of Jeremiah, Chapter 17 (The Voice)

to be accompanied by these lines in The Message:

“But blessed is the man who trusts me, God,

the woman who sticks with God.

They’re like trees replanted in Eden,

putting down roots near the rivers—

Never a worry through the hottest of summers,

never dropping a leaf,

Serene and calm through droughts,

bearing fresh fruit every season.

* * *

“The heart is hopelessly dark and deceitful,

a puzzle that no one can figure out.

But I, God, search the heart

and examine the mind.

I get to the heart of the human.

I get to the root of things.

I treat them as they really are,

not as they pretend to be.”

The Book of Jeremiah, Chapter 17:7-10 (The Message)

A link to my personal reading of the Scriptures for monday, August 30 of 2021 with a paired chapter from each Testament of the Bible along with Today’s Proverbs and Psalms

A post by John Parsons about the “essence” of Love:

The central message of the Scriptures is to turn to God for life... Rabbi Sussya once said, "There are five verses in the bible that constitute the essence of the Torah. These verses begin in Hebrew with one of these letters: Tav (תּ), Shin (שׁ), Vav (ו), Bet (בּ), and Hey (ה), which form the word for repentance, "teshuvah" (תְּשׁובָה). The five verses are 1) Tamim tiheyeh (תָּמִים תִּהְיֶה): "Be wholehearted before God" (Deut. 18:13); 2) Shiviti Adonai (שִׁוִּיתִי יְהוָה): "I have set the LORD always before me" (Psalm 16:8); 3) Va'ahavta lere’akha (וְאָהַבְתָּ לְרֵעֲךָ): "Love your neighbor as yourself" (Lev. 19:18); 4) Bekhol derakekha (בְּכָל־דְּרָכֶיךָ): "In all your ways know Him" (Prov. 3:6); and 5) Higid lekha (הִגִּיד לְךָ): "Walk humbly with your God" (Micah 6:8). In other words, the way of teshuvah, of answering God’s call for you to return to Him, is to sincerely set the LORD before you, to love others, and to walk out your days in heartfelt gratitude.

In other words, "teshuvah" (repentance) is an acronym that stands for being whole, seeing God, loving others, knowing God in all your journey, and walking in humility... [Hebrew for Christians]

and another about this week’s Torah reading:

Our Torah reading for this week, parashat Nitzavim (פרשת ניצבים), is always read on the Sabbath before Rosh Hashanah, serving as a prelude to the holiday. The sages found an allusion to Rosh Hashanah in the opening verse: "You are standing today all of you before the LORD your God" (Deut. 29:10), where "this day" refers to Rosh Hashanah, when "all of you" shall stand before the LORD your God in judgment. The "last" shofar blast refers to Rosh Hashanah when the dead shall be raised (Rosh Hashanah 16b), whereas the "great" shofar blast is sounded at the end of Yom Kippur, after Israel has received the atonement.

Rosh Hashanah has long been associated with the Day of Judgment (יום הדין) in Jewish tradition. According to many of the sages, the time immediately preceding the appearance of the Messiah will be a time of testing (nisayon) in which the world will undergo various forms of tribulation called chevlei Mashiach (חֶבְלֵי הַמָּשִׁיחַ) - the "birth pangs of the Messiah" (Sanhedrin 98a; Ketubot, Bereshit Rabbah 42:4, Matt. 24:8). Some say the birth pangs are to last for 70 years, with the last 7 years being the most intense period of tribulation -- called the "Time of Jacob's Trouble" / עֵת־צָרָה הִיא לְיַעֲקב (Jer. 30:7). The climax of the Great Tribulation is called the great "Day of the LORD" (יוֹם־יהוה הַגָּדוֹל) which represents God's wrath poured out upon a rebellious world system. On this fateful day, the LORD will terribly shake the entire earth (Isa. 2:19) and worldwide catastrophes will occur. "For the great day of their wrath has come, and who can stand?" (Rev. 6:17). The prophet Malachi likewise says: "Surely the day is coming; it will burn like a furnace. All the arrogant and every evildoer will be stubble, and that day that is coming will set them on fire,' says the LORD Almighty. 'Not a root or a branch will be left to them'" (Mal. 4:1). Only after the nations of the world have been judged will the kingdom of God (מַלְכוּת הָאֱלהִים) be established upon the earth. The remnant of Israel will be saved and the 1,000 year reign of King Messiah will then commence (Rev. 20:4). For more information, see "As the Day Draws Near" (find link below). [Hebrew for Christians]

8.30.21 • Facebook

Today’s message (Days of Praise) from the Institute for Creation Research

August 30, 2021

Showing the Way of Salvation

“The same [a demon-possessed servant girl] followed Paul and us, and cried, saying, These men are the servants of the most high God, which shew unto us the way of salvation.” (Acts 16:17)

Paul and Luke first witnessed to European unbelievers in Philippi and saw them wonderfully converted (v. 14), but a young “soothsayer” continually interrupted them, mocking and interfering. Paul cast out the controlling spirit of divination (v. 18), denying her owners their source of income. In retribution, they convinced the city leaders to have them brutally flogged and thrown into the innermost prison (v. 24).

But God had other plans. A mighty earthquake seemingly freed them, causing the jailer to prefer suicide rather than face capital charges for his “offense.” Paul intervened, and the jailer desperately pled, “What must I do to be saved?” (v. 30).

What would cause a Roman official in a decidedly pagan culture, who had heard little (if anything) of the truth, to abruptly turn to God for salvation? Certainly the earthquake had captured his attention, as had Paul’s behavior through his trial and abuse, but what made him think the truth was with Paul? Why did he ask for salvation from an incarcerated prisoner?

Perhaps during the trial he had heard of the slave girl’s testimony. In our text she had exclaimed, “These men are the servants of the most high God, which shew unto us the way of salvation.” Was this ringing testimony, given in derision but heard nonetheless, involved in his decision?

We can’t know for sure, but we do know that this was the introduction of the gospel to Europe. Surely God’s ultimate plan can be seen in the events at Philippi that day. Even the unknowing truth from a demonic soothsayer contained lasting truth. Christians should never hesitate to declare gospel truth, for God will not allow it to go unheeded (Isaiah 55:11). JDM

A tweeted question mark (?) by illumiNations:

@IlluminationsBT: DID YOU KNOW...some languages have evolved so much over the years that the most recent Bible translation in their language is longer easily understood. illumiNations also works to bring revised Bibles that are understood by today's people.

8.30.21 • 12:03pm • Twitter

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sonofhistory · 8 years ago

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Thomas Jefferson and Slavery Part 1

In view of Thomas Jefferson’s abhorrence of slavery, which he coined a “blot” and a “stain” upon America, why did he remain a slave owner for his entire life and fail to direct that his slaves be freed after his death? Why so did Jefferson not play a more forceful role in the antislavery movement branching from the occurrence of the Enlightenment and the American Revolution that he was so heavily influenced by or influential towards? What induced him to couple the emancipation of slaves with the removal of the black population from the United States “beyond the reach of mixture”? Why did he insist upon measuring the intelligence of illiterate, hopelessly disadvantaged black slaves by criteria applicable to free white Americans?

Jefferson himself denied the allegations of him bedding a young mulatto slave girl named Sally Hemings which to this day exists as the most controversial crack on Jefferson’s character. There remains a paradox of how that the author of the Declaration of Independence--the largest document of personal liberty and freedom--was one of the largest slaveholders of his time.

Thomas Jefferson was intimately associated with slavery from the cradle to grave. His first memory was of being carried on a pillow by a slave; and a slave carpenter, a brother of Sally Hemings, constructed the coffin in which he was buried in at Monticello. Without the abolition of slavery, Jefferson realized that the attainment of a society based upon the freedom and equality of opportunity would forever allude the American people. His father was a slave owner from whom young Thomas inherited both land and slaves after his death. All the Virginia Randolphs, who he was related to via his mother Jane, held slaves. When he went to Williamsburg in 1760 to attend the College of William and Mary he took with him a personal slave named Jupiter, whom he later made his coachman. Jefferson’s wife’s dowry consisted of 132 slaves and many thousands of acres of land. He recognized his wealth principally in slaves and in land. By the time he wrote the Declaration of Independence he had become, by inheritance, purchase and marriage, one of the principal slave owners and one of the wealthiest men in Virginia.

While Jefferson regarded slavery (as stated previously) as a “hideous evil”, the bane of American society and wholly irreconcilable with his ideal of “republican virtue”, he was never able completely to cast aside the prejudice and the fears which he had absorbed from his surroundings toward people of color, he did not free himself from dependence upon slave labor and, in the end, he made the expansion of slavery into the territories a constitutional right. If Jefferson as a Virginia planter was caught inextricably in the toils of slavery, as a man of the Enlightenment he knew the institution to be antithetical to the ideals by which he lived. The men of the Enlightenment condemned slavery as a vestige of barbarism.

As a student at the College of William and Mary, Jefferson was introduced to Enlightenment ideas by his mentors: Dr. William Small, Edmund Pendleton, George Wythe and finally Lord Francis Fauquier. The direction given to Jefferson’s thinking by these men was reinforced by his wide reading in history, philosophy and the classics; he found in Stoic philosophy and Cicero and Seneca conclusive evidence that many Enlightenment ideas had pedigrees that could be traced to classical Greece and Rome. Among these ideas, Jefferson always included the Enlightenment’s uncompromising rejection of slavery. He did not forget the rights of the slaves--a position which set him apart from most of his contemporaries. When he was elected to the Virginia House of Burgesses in 1769, one of his first acts was to attempt and make the manumission of slaves easier for owners. Jefferson sought to give every slave owner the right to free his slaves if he so desired.

Characteristically, Jefferson chose to work through others to effect this reform. In 1769, following through on his life long traditional aversion of personal confrontation, he induced his cousin Richard Bland, a longtime member of the House of Burgesses, to introduce a bill facilitating manumission--Jefferson’s role being confined to that of seconding the motion. It was his cousin who received the scorn of the delegate--not him. As a lawyer admitted into the bar in 1769, Jefferson took several cases dealing with slavery. In 1770, he drew up without charge a brief in support of the claim of the grandson of the mulatto woman and a black slave who was suing for his freedom. Jefferson had a weak case; for a while the law was specific in providing that the child of a white woman and black slave father was to go free after serving until the age of thirty years as a slave, it made no exception in the case of the children of grandchildren of a mulatto woman.

With the facts against his client, Jefferson had no choice but to try and move the case beyond the law of Virginia. He did so by asserting that “under the law of nature, all men are born free, and everyone one comes into the world with a right to his own person, which included the liberty of moving and using it at his own will. Unless with natural right to freedom were recognized, Jefferson declared, the status of the mulatto grandmother would be transmitted not merely to her grandchild but to her latest posterity. The judge dismissed the case, not because Jefferson had appealed to a higher law but for he had failed to prove that his client was the descendant of a free woman and was therefore entitled to freedom.

Jefferson recognized that the emancipation of the slaves waited upon the voluntary act of their owners or upon the will of the majority as expressed in statute law. 1769, he advertised for the return of a slave who had stolen a horse and run away. 1772, Jefferson was appointed by the court as counsel to a mulatto suing for freedom, however, his client had died before judgement would be rendered. Two years later, Jefferson abandoned the practice of law in order to devote himself to the management of his estate and to the American Revolution.

Jefferson delivered his first attack in print upon slavery in 1774 when he published a pamphlet entitled A Summary View of the Rights of British America. A Summary View took the ground that America owed no allegiance what so ever to British parliament, a position not assumed by the Continental Congress until 1775. Jefferson’s handiwork was denounced and rejected by the House of Burgesses. Had it not been for the publication of A Summary View, it is highly unlikely Jefferson would have ever been designated by John Adams in June 1776 to author the Declaration of Independence.

In a Summary View, Jefferson assailed slavery where it was most vulnerable: the traffic in human beings by which slaves were transported from Africa to enslavement in the New World. He declared that the abolition of slavery was the “the great object of desire in these colonies” and that the American people had been thwarted in this objective by the king, thereby proving the existence not only of a “deliberate, systematic plan of reducing us to slavery” but of an equally sinister plan of compelling American who asked to be free of the institution of slavery to keep in servitude: men, women and children of another race.

Jefferson laid it down as an incontestable truth that the American people had set their hearts upon abolishing slavery and that they had been prevented from accomplishing that objective by the malice and greed of King George III. Jefferson amplified the charge that the King was responsible for the perpetuation of slavery and the slave trade. Jefferson and other American patriots had repeatedly accused the British government of trying to reduce them to “slavery.”

To Jefferson’s mortification, the Continental Congress struck out this climactic passage from the Declaration of Independence. November 1775, Lord Dunmore, the Royal Governor of Virginia issues a proclamation promising freedom to all slaves belonging to rebels who joined “His Majesty’s Troops… for the more speedily reducing the Colony to a proper sense of their duty to His Majesty's Crown and dignity.” On strength of this promise, a thousand slaves rallied to the British lines and Dunmore had little force at his command and he and his allies were easily routed. The slave uprising had been crush and Jefferson rehearsed familiar rhetoric that Americans wished to abolish slavery but were prevented from doing so by the intervention of the Crown; and now the king was inciting his slaves to murder freedom-loving white Americans who had been free of royal control, would have abolished slavery of their own accord. Colonists with slave holding sympathies either began or accelerated their preparations for war, Jefferson among them.

When writing the Declaration of Independence, Jefferson added a paragraph in which he denounced slavery but of which was eliminated in the debates between representatives. “The clause, too, reprobating the enslaving [of] the inhabitants of Africa, was struck out in complaisance to South Carolina and to Georgia, who had never attempted to restrain the importation of slaves, and who on the contrary still wished to continue it,” said Jefferson years later. “Our Northern brethren also I believe felt a little tender under those censures; for though their people have very few slaves themselves yet they had been pretty considerable carriers of them to others.” Jefferson blamed the removal of the passage on delegates from South Carolina, Georgia and Northern delegates who represented merchants at the time actively involved in the Trans-Atlantic slave trade. He had tried anew on slavery and fallen short anew.

The clause, initiated the most intense debate among the delegates gathered at Philadelphia in the spring and early summer of 1776. It seemed to be the most vital section removed from the final document and was replaced with a slightly more ambiguous passage about King George's incitement of "domestic insurrections among us." This original passage reads:

“He has waged cruel war against human nature itself, violating its most sacred rights of life and liberty in the persons of a distant people who never offended him, captivating & carrying them into slavery in another hemisphere or to incur miserable death in their transportation thither. This piratical warfare, the opprobrium of infidel powers, is the warfare of the Christian King of Great Britain. Determined to keep open a market where Men should be bought & sold, he has prostituted his negative for suppressing every legislative attempt to prohibit or restrain this execrable commerce. And that this assemblage of horrors might want no fact of distinguished die, he is now exciting those very people to rise in arms among us, and to purchase that liberty of which he has deprived them, by murdering the people on whom he has obtruded them: thus paying off former crimes committed again the Liberties of one people, with crimes which he urges them to commit against the lives of another.”

Jefferson understood the “inalienable” in the sense that no man could be lawfully deprived of rights and no man was privileged to divest himself of it. “Self-evident” in Jefferson’s vocabulary meant that this postulate carried the force of words when presented as reason and moral sense of man. Since all men were sensible of this truth from the beginning of time, “self-evident” truths must be regarded as irrefutable an eternal. Jefferson did not assert the legal and constitutional rights of man; he asserted the natural, imperceptible and “self-evident” rights of all men everywhere. A more urgent question in the American context was whether these “universal” human rights applied equally to black slaves. One third of the signers of the Declaration of Independence were slave owners, most of whom had no intention of sacrificing their right to hold human being against their will in enslavement. Anthony Benezet a Philadelphia Quaker wrote, “When men talk of liberty, they mean their own liberty and seldom suffer their thoughts on that part to stray to their neighbour.”

By omitting the word “property from his rights of man--life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness--Jefferson seemed to place human rights above property rights, thereby removing one of the principle obstacles to the emancipation of slaves. Jefferson himself never put forward this explanation of his failure to include the right to property among the inalienable rights of man. If Jefferson excluded property from the inalienable rights of men in the Declaration of Independence, for any purpose, he did not do it in order to weaken the hold of slave owners, but to foster the confiscation by the new state governments of property belonging to Loyalists and other British subjects. Even before in August of 1774 did Jefferson propose an invasion of property rights. In that time, Patrick Henry and himself had recommended that all payments on British debts by suspended for the duration of the dispute with the British government--the entire revolution. January 1778, the bill proposed to confiscate enemy property for benefit of the state became a law.

Yet, Jefferson’s concept of property rights and his regards to the absolute rights of man led him to regard the possession of human beings as an illegitimate form of property. No man had a natural right to enslave another man and to take from him the “fruits of his labor”. By taking the word “property” away he made it possible for the opponents of slavery to cite the Declaration of Independence as support of human freedom. Jefferson was convinced the self-evident truths he precluded continued existence of slavery in the United States. Shortly after the adoption of the Declaration, he drafted a constitution for the state of Virginia in which he supported the gradual abolition of slavery. He did not insist upon the immediate and absolute emancipation of slaves. He never once ceased to believe that there was an invisible line between color that divided the two races by nature.

By the summer of 1776, he became convinced that slavery was far to solidly rooted into society to be easily rid of. He knew that, while many Virginians deplored slavery and professed the wish nothing so fervently as to be delivered from its “hateful embrace”, however, when a plan for eliminating slavery was proposed they became immobilized; silent. To Jefferson, as most Southern patriots of the revolution, “slavery” was primarily an evil which King George III and his government had imposed upon the American people rather than an institution which held almost half a million blacks on American soil in bondage and to which they held some type of responsibility for parenting.

TO BE CONTINUED.

#oh my god #I have been working on this since seven this morning #I have my laptop literally in front of me with ALL of my jefferson book to write this up #this is like the third draft #I want to die this took forever and I am so glad it is over #I cannot wait to continue it oh my god #SOB #hope you enjoy #thomas jefferson #pressles musing #american history #us history #slavery #so many fucking sources to write this shit #my lord #save me

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gldngrl7 · 8 years ago

Text

Karamel Fic: Damage Control (5/5)

Author’s Notes:

I got nothin’

Title: Damage Control

Author: gldngr7

Rating: Explicit

Chapters: 5

Feedback: Encouragement and constructive criticisms are always welcome. Flames are destroyed with my freeze

Thanks for comments/likes and for being awesome people in general: @pwettypwita, @anaveragegirl15, @baskingintheinsanity, @iminyourhandskara

Chapter 5/5

When we’re moving / The same direction

You take the longer way / To find the end

I’d love to lift you / Out of your sorrow

Help you leave behind / Your heartache

--The Boxer Rebellion – “Low”

“I got a job,” he concedes with a heavy sigh. “M’gann gave me a job. She’s teaching me how to be a bartender.”

“Okay, this is good,” Ral approves, rearing his flaxen blonde head. “It wasn’t part of the plan, but we can make this work.” Mon-El turns his face away from the nosy apparition standing at his side.

“What?” Kara asks, excitement coursing suddenly through her veins. The thrill burns out quicker than expected, and her smile slips from her face. “Wait. You were keeping this a secret,” she realizes. “Why didn’t you tell me about this?”

Mon-El busies himself with zipping up his pants and rooting around for his shirt, avoiding her pinpoint examination, and most importantly, the bright blue of her shining eyes. Or how she stands there, naked but for her black high heels, but confident as though she were fully clothed in battle armor. “Because,” he says, throwing up his hands. “I don’t know if I’ll be any good at it…at any of it,” he says, curiously. “Already it’s a lot to learn and a lot of pressure.”

“Am I putting too much on pressure on you?” she asks, her confidence slipping enough to catch his attention. A seed of insecurity growing in her voice. Her nakedness now obviously apparent to her, she begins gathering her clothes, first pulling her hopelessly wrinkled skirt before slipping into her bra as though it’s an afterthought. “I don’t mean to put pressure on you,” she explains. “I swore to myself that I wouldn’t do that again – it’s how we went all wrong in the beginning. Mon-El…no one knows better than I do how hard it is to come here with nothing. At least I had the Danvers, all you have is…me.”

“Look at her,” Ral whispers into Mon-El ear. “She thinks she’s doing something wrong, brother. We can’t have her thinking that. Not if we want this to work. She thinks she’s not enough. How can she think that? Fix it.”

“No,” Mon-El says, shaking his head fervently. “You’re not pressuring me. I just….” He scratches his cheek to hide the tic of emotion in his jaw, before it gives him away. “I just want to be good for you. Be what you need.”

“You are,” she insists, a lump of emotion rising in her throat, threatening to choke off her air. “You are what I need.”

“No,” he disagrees. “I mean, here maybe…with this,” he says, indicating the desk and all that they’d just done. “This is great. It’s amazing, Kara. And you are everything I’ve ever wanted in a mate. But I know that you can’t say the same about me.”

“Tell him, Kara,” Ral insists, though Mon-El knows she can’t hear him. “Tell him that he’s an idiot and that he’s what you want too. Tell him that you only feel truly loved for who you are when you’re in his arms.”

It’s all the things he wishes she would say to him.

She can see it in the way his eyes shutter, as if he’s lost contact with her and his attention is elsewhere. He’s slipping away from her. “Where are you right now?” she ask, drawing him back to her. “Mon-El?”

“What?” His head snaps up, as he tears his attention away from Ral, who seems quite disappointed that Kara’s attention has shifted elsewhere.

“Where did you go just then?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” he insists, covering. Mon-El shakes his head, like a dog agitated over an uncomfortable high pitch only it can hear. Briefly, she stretches out her hearing, tuning it towards anything that might explain his apparent discomfort, but finds nothing. “I’m right here.”

“Are you okay?” she asks, fearfully.

“I’m good,” he promises, straightening his spine and placing his hands on his hips.

Kara narrows her eyes suspiciously searching for the cracks in his façade. “Hold it together,” Ral urges, in a most unhelpful manner. He wants to yell, to scream, that if his friend really wanted to be helpful he would just shove off. Mon-El mentally draws himself in tight, hiding the cracks from his mate’s extraordinary vision.

“Okay,” she relents. He’s hiding something, she’s certain, but she believes she already knows what it is and she plans to bring it out into the open, but first things first. “I’m happy for you,” she tells him. “About the job. I think you’ll be great at it.”

“I didn’t tell you because…if I’m not great at it…if it turns out I screw this one up too…I didn’t want you to be disappointed.”

“Mon-El,” she sighs, the lump in her throat returning, wetness springing to her eyes. She recalls how disappointed she was in him when interning at CatCo turned out not to be his thing. She recalls her disappointment when he’d attempted to be muscle-for-hire for a local loan shark. “Not everyone finds themselves on the first try. And you’re at a disadvantage because this is all new to you.”

“You’re telling me,” he mumbles. “I wasn’t going to keep it a secret forever,” he promises. “Just until I knew if it would work out. I wanted to surprise you, because if it does, I can go off the stipend and move out of the DEO, maybe get my own place….”

“No more curfews,” she gathers.

“No more curfews,” he echoes, confirming the direction his thoughts lead.

Kara smiles, imagining waking in his arms each morning, a kaleidoscope of butterflies taking flight in her belly. He’s so uncertain about his future and Kara wishes he could see what she sees when she looks at him. The limitless potential, the goodness he hides under false detachment and the empathy for others he masks behind laughter and flippancy. “You’re going to do great,” she encourages him, the way he has encouraged her on so many occasions. “But even if bartending isn’t your calling…then you’ll find something else. What’s important is that you don’t stop trying.” Kara takes a deep breath and tilts her head to the side, pushing her glasses back in place on the bridge of her nose. “Make a deal with me, okay?”

“I am yours to command,” he chuckles. Kara flinches, because she knows he’s hiding pain and uncertainty behind that glib response.

”If you promise not to give up on you…I promise not to give up on you.”

Mon-El hears a catch in her voice and born of this evidence, he understands that her vow is about more than just him finding a suitable vocation. It’s about his life—their life. At times, he wonders if she can see the all the fear and despair and the loss he works so hard to hide from her, and he thinks that maybe her instincts are more impeccable than he’d realized. “How can I say no to you?” he asks, genuinely.

“Promise?”

“I promise. I won’t give up.” A charged look passes between them, as though reading the truth in each other’s eyes, and tension in Kara’s shoulders visibly releases.

“It’s getting closer now, brother,” Ral reminds him. “The storm approaches, growing closer with each breath. But you’re going to be fine,” he pledges. “She’ll be here for you when I no longer can.”

Mon-El’s gaze snaps towards Ral. What was that supposed to mean?

“So, when do you start? At the bar, I mean?”

“Yeah…so, my new schedule starts tomorrow – 7 PM to 2 AM. No more curfews. At least not on the nights that I’m working.”

“You’ll come over after closing?” she asks, both wondering and giving permission at the same time.

Mon-El’s smile lights up, two dimples appearing on his face. “If you want.”

Kara’s grin matches his and her head bobs eagerly up and down. “I’ll leave the window open for you.” Mon-El’s smile slips a little as her words clearly remind him of something. His eyes drift away from her again. “What is it?” she inquires.

“’But soft, what light through yonder window breaks?’” he quotes perfectly, the memory inherited from his father serving him well. “’It is the east and Juliet is the sun.’”

“You read Romeo and Juliet?” she asks.

“Saw the movie,” he corrects. “Last night after returning to the DEO. I asked Winn about it and he added it to my queue. Do you think we’re doomed?”

“What?” she exclaims, horrified. “Why would you ask that?”

“You kept referencing the story and saying we were like them.”

“Because we come from rival planets,” she assures him. “Not because I think our differences are going to tear us apart. Mon-El…we have more in common than not. More and more, every day,” she smiles coyly, clearly referencing their ever-converging sexual needs. Kara slips into her pink, faux-wrap blouse and straightens it carefully, so that it doesn’t appear as though it’s been recently thrown into a heap on the floor.

“You really believe that?” he asks, hopefully.

“I do,” she confirms. “The destruction of our planets, the loss of our cultures, the loss of our families, and being forced to make our way on a strange new world; doesn’t that bring us together more than any cultural divergences can pull us apart?”

“I hope so,” he agrees.

“It’s not like we’re Gata Fel-Ur and Trel-Gand,” she reassures him.

“Uh-oh,” Ral grimaces. “Tread carefully, brother.”

“What about Gata Fel-Ur and Trel-Gand?” Mon-El’s attention piques at her mention of the famous mixed-raced mates. The powerful muscles of his arms and upper back tense at the mention of the notorious lovers, and he braces to hear what she might say.

“I just meant…I’m not afraid of you. Even if you could, I know you would never hurt me like that.”

“What exactly have you been told?”

“Does it matter?” she asks.

“Well, it happened long before you were born,” he points out. “Truth has a tendency to become fiction over time.”

“Truth is always truth,” she answers, shaking her head.

“Remember,” Ral warns. “She only knows the story she was told, and she was child then.”

“Depends on who’s telling it,” he counters. Mon-El drops into her desk chair, leaning back to listen to tale about to unfold. “You should know that…doing what you do.”

“Fine,” Kara relents, hopping up to sit on the edge of the desk. “Gata was sheltered and she got in over her head. Crown Prince Trel seduced her, isolated her from everything she ever knew and loved, and made her feel like a second class citizen in a palace that should have become her home. At the urging of the Kryptonian High Council, it was agreed in the marriage contracts that they would attempt to conceive a child naturally rather than through the birthing matrix. It was hoped that a naturally conceived child might unite Krypton and Daxam after centuries of separation. Not long after their bonding ceremony she became pregnant with this child. Then the man that she trusted and loved got drunk and killed her and the unborn child she carried, in the mistaken belief that she had been pregnant by another already at the time of their union. He was unwilling to risk having Daxamite power fall under the rule of a bastard Kryptonian heir. That’s not going to be us, Mon-El. There are no more crowns, no more councils, and no people to unite. There’s nothing left to rule.”

He wants to rebut her story; to tell her everything he knows about what actually happened to Gata and Trel. But to make her believe the truth he would have to explain how he knows what he knows, and Mon-El isn’t sure he wants to go back there, even if only in memory.

“She’s not ready,” Ral agrees. “And neither are you. Besides...why tell her when there’s nothing that can be done?”

“We don’t know that,” Mon-El mumbles.

“Let her have her story,” Ral pleads. “For now at least.”

“What was that?” Kara asks, confused by his comment.

“Nothing,” he covers. “I just meant that we don’t know…that’s the reason she died.”

“We know enough.”

After a moment of consideration, Mon-El relents without a fight. “I suppose. No wonder you hated me on spec. Thinking that we murder our pregnant wives on Daxam.”

“Mon-El,” she shakes her head. “Honestly…I didn’t even remember that story until much later. After I stopped hating you for no reason.”

“Well, that’s something, I guess,” Ral deadpans.

“Good to know,” Mon-El nods. He moves to stand from the chair, but she places her foot on his knee which spikes his curiosity.

“There’s something else I wanted…needed…to talk to you about. Actually, I was hoping that you’d bring it up on your own, but it’s not like I gave you time to take a breath when you walked into the door. I practically threw myself at you, didn’t I? I mean…it’s just that I had been thinking about you all day, and waiting, without panties—“

“Kara, you’re babbling,” he chuckles, a dimpled grin spreading across his face. He could watch her do this all day. For a second, he wonders if she wants to talk to him about the night they had unprotected sex and what that might mean for them. “You’re babbling and crinkling. What is it?”

Kara sighs, and then takes a deep breath. Now that the moment of truth is here, she’s terrified of saying the wrong thing, of him thinking she’s disappointed in him or that she wants to push him away. “Can we talk about…Valor?”

The smile melts from his face and he should have known—should have known—that she would figure it out in ten seconds flat and, damn it, he was supposed to be the one to tell her. But now, she’s sure to be furious at him for not telling her the moment it happened. His brain scrambles for excuses, alibis, anything that might him out of this.

“She’s giving you an opening, you idiot,” Ral grates, frustrated. “Come clean now while you can. If you lie to her and she proves it on her own, you will most certainly lose her trust.”

Ral isn’t wrong, Mon-El knows. “I came here to tell you. I wanted to tell you before you figured it out. I guess…I underestimated you,” he chuckles raggedly, scratching at his cheek. “I just want you to know that there wasn’t a plan,” he adds, afraid to search her face for clues to her inner thoughts. “It just…happened.”

“I know,” she nods.

“I heard the crash from a few miles away and….”

“And you couldn’t do nothing,” she finishes.

“Yeah,” he confirms, drumming his fingers on the desk.

“That part I understand, baby,” she soothes. The term of endearment surprises—thrills—him, giving him hope, and he can’t stop himself from looking up into her face. “No one understands that better than I do. I’m so proud of you.”

“For becoming the hero you always wanted me to be?”

“No,” she replies. “For making your own choice…for being your own person.”

And it’s true, Mon-El realizes. In the early hours of the morning, he heard the sounds of lives in distress, and he didn’t stop to think about what Kara might have done in the same situation. He simply acted, in a moment of absolute purity. In that instant, as he leapt into action while monitoring the sounds of a tearful woman’s 911 call, Mon-El of Daxam was more himself than he had ever been in perhaps his entire life.

Kara climbs down from her seat and settles into his lap. His arms go around her waist as if they are meant to perch there. “But tell me about the rest of it.” She cups his cheek with one hand and turns his gaze to meet hers. “The stuff they’re not talking about on the news.”

“What stuff?” he asks, clearly confused about what information she wants.

“The transformers,” she offers, the pride in her eyes just a moment before not turning to pity and sadness.

“Oh, she’s good,” Ral praises, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, an expression of admiration on his face. “She’ll know all your secrets soon enough and you won’t even need me anymore.”

“You know about that?” Mon-El’s pitch rises, a tinge of fear in his voice. “How do you know about that?” He had been so careful. Blended in with members of the DEO, avoided all the cameras by moving quickly and using blind spots, and moving up towards the roof where the security was significantly more lax.

“After the news hit about Valor this morning, I started fielding calls from people with eyewitness reports of a man, on multiple occasions, purposefully draining power transformers from the rooftops of several downtown office buildings. Their descriptions matched the description of Valor provided by Mrs. Hardwick.”

“Who?”

“The woman you saved,” Kara informs him. “Anyway…I did the math and put it together, which is kind of my job. What I need you tell me is…why?” She knows why, or at least she thinks she does. But he needs to talk about it, and she needs to hear it from his own mouth. “I knew that you could absorb electricity to repair your body on a cellular level—you were doing it before you came out of your coma. But I never realized you’d learned to control it.”

“Barely,” he acknowledges. “I can absorb it, all right, but shutting it off can be tricky. And when I get too much I have to burn it off or I feel sick.”

“According to the eyewitnesses, all of the events occurred between three and five in morning. All times when you should have been safely signed in at the DEO, which means you were breaking curfew to do it.” Kara looks at him pointedly. “I know that you would never break the DEO’s rules unless it was for a good reason.”

Mon-El shrugs in a nonchalant manner that doesn’t fool her for a second. “I was never very good at following rules.”

Kara cards her fingers through his hair, and Mon-El leans into her touch. “When was the last time you slept for more than an hour or two at a time?” she asks.

Mon-El’s eyes slide over the Ral, leaning against the wall, his arms crossed, and a knowing smirk on his face. An hour or two at a time would be a generous estimate of the kind of sleep he’s been getting. “Does the Medusa Virus count?”

“No, it doesn’t.” She pins him with a glare that tells him he’s still expected to answer the question she asked. “When?”

“It’s been a while.”

“When?”

“I slept fine for the first two weeks after coming out of stasis, but then….” His voice trails off.

“Then the nightmares started,” she adds. Off his shocked his expression, she interjects, “Don’t look so surprised. I came here with my memories intact, just like you. Sometimes I wonder if Kal-El wasn’t the lucky one. He craves the memories I have of Krypton, and I’m thankful for them, but I wouldn’t wish those last few days on anyone. The terror of it…still haunts me.” Her eyes glaze over as though recalling the parts that she allows to penetrate her memory.

“Nightmares,” he echoes. “Right.” If only that was all of it. If only he could tell her about the invisible dead friend that stalks his every move. The dead friend he’s not sure he wants to abandon him. How can he ever find a way to say goodbye?

“But it’s important to sleep and it’s important to dream, Mon-El? Even if it’s terrifying. I know…I tried to avoid it, too. But it’s a part of the grieving process and if you don’t do that then it’s like…running on that treadmill of yours. Pouring in all that effort and getting nowhere.”

“Beautiful and smart,” Ral points out.

“It also helps to have someone to talk to. And you need to know that I am always here for you. No matter what. It’s what mates are for, right?”

Words easier said than actualized, Mon-El knows, but he loves her nonetheless for saying them. It’s just that there’s so much she doesn’t know, and telling her would surely cost him the gains he has made with her. “Right,” he replies.

“I believe it’s why Rao brought you to me.” Kara leans down a places a chaste kiss on her mate’s lips. “Because you need me.”

“She’s not wrong,” Ral chimes in. “I mean…it was probably Lure or Bask or…hey, maybe even Fallon. But who am I to argue over divinities at a time like this? Your arrival on her planetary doorstep was no accident, brother. You’d be smart to accept this.”

Mon-El slides his hand up her spine to the back of her neck and steers her down for another kiss. She doesn’t resist as his lips takes hers in a much less chaste fashion than the kiss she initiated. When he pulls away, the room spins a little around her, her breath coming in quick pants. “I definitely need you,” he agrees, his gray eyes warming over. “Have I mentioned lately that I made an excellent choice for a mate?”

Kara throws her head back for a laugh. “Oh…you chose me, did you?”

“That’s the way I remember it,” he chuckles. “Long before you took me to your splendorous bed. For which I am eternally grateful, by the way.

“Liar,” she accuses, but there’s no heat in her voice.

“No,” he nods his head. “I am grateful.” His hand slithers up her skirt, coming within centimeters of her heated promised land.

Kara smacks him in the chest, but lets his hand claim its spot without a fight. “I meant about you choosing me.”

“Oh…that’s completely true.”

“When did that happen? I must have missed it.”

“It’s no wonder,” he tells her. “You were a little busy punching me in the face and saying, ‘Stay down, Daxamite!’ Then when you were all fire, and steel and uncompromising authority, I knew I was lost. Did I mention the legs that go up to…here?” his questing thumb brushes against her warm and still damp thatch. Kara’s breath catches before she giggles that laugh; the one that lets Mon-El almost believe for half a second that he can make her happy. He grins in return. I love you.

His eyes speak of emotions that his mouth has yet to reveal, and Kara finds her lungs unable to work for a moment. Does he feel those things she sees in his eyes? Truly? Is he aware of it? Her belly flutters deep and low in the pit of her womb. Will he say the words? And will she be ready to hear them when he does?

On Krypton, marriages were made for love and affection, but on Daxam such was not the case. There, children were paired off with plans toward consolidating power and currency and gaining political capital. Mon-El would not have been raised with the same expectations of a mate that she was. Kara wonders, for the first time, who had been his betrothed? Like all Daxamite children he would have been matched with a mate before reaching puberty and then wedded at some point during young adulthood. Yet, he had never spoken of a wife or even any family members, but there must have been someone. She resolves to one day ask about the life taken from him.

But, she wonders, can he see in her eyes what she sees in his? Is that what she feels for him? Love? Surely, undeniably, there is affection—she would never allow him to be so free with her body were there not. She has given herself to him to in so many ways; her body, her commitment, her future, but she withholds her heart.

There’s a voice inside that whispers she can still lose him. He teeters on the edge of something he might not survive and if she lets herself love him and loses him…it will destroy her. She cannot lay herself bare in that way, not until she learns how to help him survive.

“We can’t,” she sighs, brushes his hand away from between her legs, and adds, “Again.”

“I bet we could if we tried,” he disagrees.

“There’s too much to fix, Mon-El, and we should do it as quickly as possible. There’s no time to delay.”

“Great,” he replies, as though game for whatever she has in mind. “What are we fixing?”

“Look, James assigned me the Valor story. He wants me to get an interview with our new superhero.”

“Seriously? He hasn’t figured it out yet? Just a few months ago I was fighting that creature alongside him….”

“Sometimes people only see what they want to see…or what you let them see.” She points to her glasses to prove her point. “I should know.”

He felt the crushing weight of his heroic choice weighing down upon him once more. “Yeah, I don’t know how I feel about giving an interview.”

“You don’t have to—not really. That’s the beauty of it. We sit down together and decide what information we’ll release to the public and what we won’t. That way the ravenous public will me mollified for the time being and you’ll be able to maintain a great deal more anonymity.”

Mon-El considers her proposal and feels the heavy weight easing from his shoulders. “It could work.”

“Of course it will, don’t be silly. It’s my idea, isn’t it?” Kara reaches up and in two shakes of tail feather her flowing locks disappear into a neat and tidy chignon, and she’s back to being Kara Danvers, Intrepid Stringer. A sliver of sadness streaks through Mon-El, as he watches his sunshine, the Kara only he gets to see, be enveloped by the alter ego she wears like a second skin.

“So what now?”

“We go to DEO, together, and confess to J’onn and Alex about your nocturnal activities and how it led to the appearance of Valor.”

Mon-El’s head falls back smacking into the headrest of her office chair. He grimaces almost comically. Only Kara would recognize the hint of truth in his expression. “Do we have to?”

“Yes…we do,” she answers, staring at him over the tops of her extraneous glasses like a humorless school marm. “Besides…what do you think are the odds that Alex hasn’t figured it out already?”

“I’m going to guess the odds are pretty low.”

Kara shrugs. “There’s a chance she’s having an off day. Or that she’s been locked in a panic room somewhere without access to a television…or her phone.”

“Well if she didn’t have her phone that would explain why she hasn’t contacted you about being locked in a panic room,” he reasons. “Whatever that is.” Kara giggles, and an answering grin spreads across Mon-El’s face, deepening the dimples there. After a moment, his face slides back to a more serious landscape. “All right then. I suppose I should go dance to some music.”

“What…? I don’t…oh! I think you mean ‘face the music’.” Kara gathers her duffel bag as well as her purse and reaches her hand for his, holding it as he stands up.

“Is that the same thing as a Faragut Nemsan?” he wonders.

“I’m not familiar.”

“It’s a Daxam custom where a citizen stands before the wronged and acknowledges wrongdoings so that they may be redressed.”

“Sounds about right,” she nods, walking with him to the door.

“I like the way ‘face the music’ sounds better,” he tells her. “Less like I’m going to have my ass handed to me and more like I’m going to a party.”

Kara laughed, locking the office door behind her as they step out into the hall. “C’mon,” she chuckles and then takes his hand again. “I’m sure it won’t be that bad, and I know how much you love a party.”

The End

#karamel #karamel fic #hanging on letting go series

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shenanigumi · 8 years ago

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Astrology: Harada Sanosuke

As before – Everything in brackets is historically based (in part using these few resources), so feel free not to believe my headcanons if you’re so inclined, but reality is reality. This one admittedly has less basis in fact than the previous installments, but all the same—enjoy!

HARADA SANOSUKE, b. 20-21 April [1840]

[Rat]

Can be forthright, inquisitive, intrusive, all in a disarmingly honest way

Easy to get along with, hardworking, thrifty; generous to loved ones, but expects people to earn their keep

Popular; never wants for friends and admirers

May appear reserved or placid, but never as quiet as they seem

Easily agitated but able to maintain self-control

Bright, fun-loving, sociable; enjoys parties and large gatherings, but usually found in a close circle of friends

Very outgoing, likes getting involved

Cherishes friends and family; can get “hopelessly entangled in other people’s affairs because he cannot easily rid himself of strong emotional attachments once he makes them”

Sincerely cares about subordinates’ welfare; makes others’ problems their problems

Keeps own secrets well but an expert at finding out others’

Likes to camouflage or hide feelings, but it is obvious when they are upset: becomes edgy, curt, impertinent, even nagging

Loves to gossip, criticize, compare, bargain over unimportant issues just for fun; debates are stimulating

Has an eye for detail, good memory, and adaptability

Able to cope with difficulties; at their best during a crisis

Adversity sharpens wit; levelheaded and alert, they thrive on challenges, possessing keen intuition and foresight

Overambition is a stumbling block; tries to do too much too soon

Despite inborn ability to sense danger, has difficulty relying on own judgment

Spring [Metal Rat]

Leads an exciting existence

Above-average involvement, curiosity, creativity; quick and agile, physically and mentally

Possessed of ample wit, humor, ability to liven any party

“Idealistic in thought, vivid in speech and actions, and intensely emotional”

May cover up feelings by presenting self as cheerful, generous, outgoing; in reality, easily moved to jealousy, anger, possessiveness

Outlook based on what senses can appreciate; sensual and moralistic

Likes to impress people; athletically inclined

Sheep Ascendant

Very loving nature, but “may be oversentimental and easily discouraged by criticism”

Possessed of Sheep’s good taste and refinement

Opportunistic, usually gets their way; can talk their way out of any situation

Taurean Rat

Enterprise and activity blend with a love of security; keeps up with changing times

Realistic soul relies first and foremost on self

Clever at arranging beneficial compromises; not prone to misadventures

Can talk their way out of trouble, but does not like getting into dire situations in the first place

Taurus

Quiet, affectionate, patient, stable, determined, stubborn

Has a tendency to get involved in violent situations, especially regarding love; often antagonize others and incite lovers’ passions due to stubbornness and possessiveness

Others count on them due to perseverance, stubborn streak; their greatest strength lies in tenacity and relentless drive

Has a temper, but rarely shows it; generally equable and patient, only becomes angry when opposition pushes too far

Soft and gentle side; responsible, steadfast, appreciation for the finer things in life

Looks for permanence; steadfast and faithful to loved ones, “secure in the warmth of a mate’s devotion”

Sensuous and sentimental beneath the surface; follows where their heart leads, but finds it difficult to display feelings openly

Can be opinionated, suspicious, silence may conceal envy and rivalry

May be self-indulgent and lazy, but with great stores of energy, only put to use by their will and not others’

Does not indulge in frivolous pleasures as much as other signs, but still “renowned for enjoying good food and good wine in plush surroundings”; believes in pampering self

Endearing combination of dependable and sensible, sensitive and emotional; romantic dreamer on the inside

First-Decanate Taurus

Has strong likes and dislikes, but is not abrasive about them

Has a charming social touch; many friends are devoted to them, but their kind and sympathetic nature can be easily imposed upon

Worst faults are stubbornness and refusal to venture out of their comfort zone

Aries-Cusp Taurus

Self-sufficient, determined, spirited, independent; impulsive and extravagant in love

Cannot bear being restricted by others’ rules; asserts their own personality no matter the situation

Known for great style and confidence; people often come to them for advice

Sometimes feels insecure, but hides it very well

Sagittarius Moon

More adventurous, optimistic, exuberant, open-minded, sincere; also more restless, extravagant, irresponsible, careless, uncommitted

“Clear-thinking intelligence sifts through sensory impressions swiftly and with startling lucidity”

Envisions great goals and sets about achieving them with energy and enthusiasm, undaunted by possibility of failure; keen judgment conducive to success

Adaptable; immediate reaction to new experiences is to explore

Can be careless and reckless, believing in luck; “optimistic fatalism”

Has a knack for making friends due to charm and genality; buoyant sense of humor

Able to perceive the best in people; “when [they] criticize, [they] do so with such openness and candor that it is comparatively easy to take”

Love is an adventure, a thrill of discovery; enjoys emotional high of being in love

Libra Rising (see also: Yukimura Chizuru)

Natural charm, grace, poise; extremely social-minded

“Take[s] pleasure in being with other people in a convivial atmosphere”; revels in parties, holidays, laughter, fun, good times

Genial personality, full of hope for the future; able to look past disappointments to a happier tomorrow

Optimistic and blithe, but easily thrown into doubt and depression, especially by discouraging people

Born with a great sense of fairness; “nothing angers [them] more than to see injustice go uncorrected”

Deeply upset by unnecessary cruelty, violence, bloodshed, strife

Happily engages in activities that “promise excitement or diversion”

Can be indecisive and hesitant, fears taking risks

Fond of marriage; delights in children

Venus bestows beauty, charm, social graces, romantic nature; also brings superficiality, jealousy, laziness, dependence on others

*All excerpted information either quoted or paraphrased from the sixth edition of “The Handbook of Chinese Horoscopes” (since the Japanese borrowed their zodiac) by Theodora Lau, and “The Only Astrology Book You’ll Ever Need” by Joanne Martine Woolfolk.*

#hakuouki #hakuōki #hakuoki #headcanons #astrology #harada sanosuke

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brown-eyed-wanderer-blog · 7 years ago

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Can Museums Be Biased?: A Look at The Benin Plaques and the Sainsbury African Galleries

Nia Dove

Professor Lee Arnold

London Colloquium

27 November 2017

With around 6 million visitors a year, the British Museum is one of London’s leading tourist attractions. Museums are widely regarded as a place of learning. It seems to place visitors in a place of control as opposed to other institutions such as formal education where students follow a guided curriculum. Visitors can come and go as they please and they can visit any gallery for as long or as short as they want. Like many other museums, the British Museum prides itself in being able to present objects from numerous different cultures. However, some of these items currently have heated controversy concerning their placement in the British Museum. For example, the Greek government has repeatedly called for the repatriation of the Parthenon Marbles. Half of the marbles are on display in London while the other half are on display in Athens. Another case for repatriation are the Benin Plaques that are on display in the Sainsbury African Galleries. These bronze plaques were looted from Benin City in the late 19th century and many Nigerians want them to be returned. In response to the controversy, the British Museum has self-proclaimed itself as a universal museum, meaning that it has the unique position to be able to showcase world artifacts to the highest volume of people because of the large amount of people who visit London and so it makes more sense for these items to remain in London. This proclamation is quite interesting because it not bestowed upon them by an outside force, but rather it was made by the museum itself. Additionally, this supposed status as a universal museum falls short and it only takes a mildly critical eye at most to see that. In this paper, I will explore the Sainsbury African Galleries and the Benin Plaques in order to assess if the two are put on display in a fair and universal way.

The location and architecture of the Sainsbury African Galleries contradict the promises of universality made by the British Museum. Right above a staircase is a giant sign that says “Africa” with an arrow pointing down. Visitors then descend the staircase and enter the gallery only to be greeted by an extremely dimly lit white cube space. It feels like one is descending into darkness or into a backwards, primitive age. This experience starkly contrasts to the uplifting experience of ascending the staircase to the main entrance of the museum. Having the entire continent of Africa and its plethora of varying cultures, tribes, countries, kingdoms, traditions, religions, and histories lumped down into this cellar-like area really sends a message that each and every visitor is affected by whether they are conscious of it or not. On cannot tell where or when they are in Africa, just that they are in the African Galleries. Furthermore, the items are primarily composed of woodcarving, potter, forged metal, masquerade pieces, brass and bronze casting, personal adornment, and textiles. In her essay “Where is Africa?”, Ruth B. Phillips points out the issues with staging Africa from a viewpoint of material culture. She calls it Eurocentric and old-fashioned; however, the curators of the museum attempt to defend this set-up. “The curators, Christopher Spring, Nigel Barley, and Julie Hudson, have written that this rather startlingly Eurocentric and old-fashioned material culture classification ‘is less arbitrary than it might at first seem, as a whole philosophy often underlies each different material and technology, and this can be used as a means of shedding light on African history and social life’(2001:21)”(Phillips 760). The claim that this set-up educates visitors on African history is far reaching and falls flat. The entire narrative that the British Museum puts forth surrounding the Benin Plaques is overwhelmingly Eurocentric. For example, the description talking about how Britain obtained these bronzes leaves out crucial information that would totally alter a visitor’s perspective on Benin City, the Benin Plaques, and Britain’s history and contact with both. The description tells readers that British forces sacked the city as a “punitive expedition” following a fatal attack on one of their prior expeditions. Phillips notes that there are plenty of flaws in how this history is presented. “In this narrative, the ‘victims’ are white the soldiers are guiltless, the Victorian rationale for the sale and dispersal of the kingdom’s treasures is repeated uncritically, and the tropes of wonder and curiosity are exploited” (Phillips 760). The curators made no mention of the fact that British forces were previously warned not to return to Benin because the Oba (king) was wary of their colonialist desires. It makes no mention of the murdered citizens of Benin but instead, the curators go out of their way to defend the sack of the city and items being sold to “compensate the victims”. The curators’ language is very passive and the truth about the massacre is sugar-coated. To go even further, the description tells visitors how people did not believe that art of this caliber could have come from Africa. “Benin brasswork was totally unknown in the West as it had been confined almost entirely to the royal palace and it so confounded current ideas about Africa that some refused to believe that it could be of exclusively Benin origin”. That is how the Gallery’s historical overview of Benin City ends. It gives the message that the violent acts carried out by the British were justified in the end and that some good came out of the experience.

The Eurocentric way in which the Benin Plaques are presented are not the only case of a biased perspective in the Sainsbury African Galleries. Many of the pieces on display are accompanied by descriptions that have very similar affects to the above-mentioned influence of placement and architecture. Five such items are an “Ancestral Screen”, “Pair of Door Panels”, “European Swords”, “Two Pots”, and “Whicker Shields”. The ancestral screen of the Kalabari people in the 19th century is discussed in a manner of how European contact with the Kalabari elevated them as a society. “For several centuries, the Kalabari acted as middlemen, importing Europeans goods into the African interior and exporting African produce to the West. Through that contact, they were transformed into a society of competing trading houses containing large numbers of foreigners”. The history of the Kalabari is entirely put into the context of their relationship with Europe. It is no surprise why this item was chosen for display. Each of these displays basically say the same thing in different ways. Visitors go from piece to piece being told “this is an artifact from Africa influenced by Europe, by the way-here is how Europeans massively improved Africa”. Phillips explores the persistence of these types of displays. “Why, in the light of three decades of poststructuralist and postcolonial critique, do these object-centered and objectifying modes of installation continue to retain their exclusive holds on museum display? The answer, I think, is both simple and complicated. It has to do, on one hand, with a profound desire that remains deeply rooted in Western cultures or the experiences of ‘resonance and wonder’ that are produced by the presentation of objects as artifact and art”(Phillips 771). Phillips argues that the reason why the British Museum and other Western museums have such a biased presentation is that historically, Westerners have been captivated by the “other”, but only in a manner by which they feel comfortable. To many, Africa is and always has been a monolithic entity living in the dark ages, practicing primitive magic, and adhering to backwards societal norms. This is what people believe so museums entertain these preconceived notions. In the case of the Sainsbury African Galleries, the British Museum is saying “this is Africa”, but what it really should be saying is “this is how we perceive Africa, this is what we think of Africa, and this is how much worth we attribute to Africa”.

Engaging with this concept of a universal museum has shed light on the fact that museums absolutely can be as biased as formal educational systems. Museums have agendas and depending on the agenda, visitors leave feeling one way or another. In the case of the Sainsbury Africa Galleries, the British Museum constructs a devalued outlook on a continent that has been devastatingly looted and colonized by Britain. Britain gained mass amounts of wealth from its contact with Africa, yet all the Sainsbury African Galleries portray is how apparently Africa was enhanced by its contact with Britain. The narrative is completely one-sided. There does seem to be an attempt to correct the issue in the form of a YouTube video on the British Museum’s YouTube profile. It is a spoken word piece by George the Poet and in the video, he personifies the Benin Plaques and narrates a more truthful history. It is a narrative that should be in the gallery itself seeing that the views that this video has numbers at 8,782 while last year the British Museum had over 6 million visitors. This clearly puts the museum at a unique position in which there is still an advantage over online resources. This narrative would better be heard if it were actually in the museum itself. The British Museum’s grand promise to serve as a universal museum falls hopelessly short. Not only does it fall short, but it is also adding to damaging stereotypes about Africa that still negatively impacts Africans and the African diaspora in this current day and age.

Works Cited

Ruth B. Phillips “Where is ‘Africa’?: Re-viewing Art and Artifact in the Age of Globalization”

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