#i am filled with righteous anger every time them mention it on the show

[lesbian-sex-in-supernatural]

the reason the spn characters are always hurt and bleeding is because their analgesic of choice is FUCKING ASPIRIN

[samuel-de-champagne-problems]

Crawl Home to Her

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem BAU Reader 

Warnings: Religion is mentioned, slight mention of supposed homophobia, drug use, death and thoughts of dying, kidnapping (it’s Spencer’s POV of Revelations)

Author’s Note: I was listening to Work Song by Hozier and felt like it fits PERFECTLY for what Spencer was going through when he was kidnapped by Tobias. I took some creative liberties, but much of the plot lines up to the show’s episode. I linked the song if anyone wants to listen to it before they read or after, it’s such a beautiful song. Hozier is in my top three artists; his voice is just so beautiful and soulful. 

Summary: The only thing that’s keeping Spencer alive is the memories of his Heaven. Maybe someone how a faithless man will escape Death’s grasp on faith alone. 

Word Count: around 3.2K

Category: Angst 

Crawl Home to Her

When Spencer comes to the first thing he notices is the smell of burning. The stench permeates the air around him, filling his nostrils. The second thing he notices is breathing. Breathing that is not his own. A man stands before him and it takes him a second to piece it all together. The throbbing in his head takes much of his energy. He can feel the blood drip down the back of his neck and cake onto the collar of his work shirt. Strangely, all he could think about is the time his father told him a respectable man never wore a spoiler shirt. Well dad, look at me now, Spencer thinks grimly. He hates that his father occupies his mind even when he’s about to die. He has much more beautiful things to think about than the man who called him a failure.

“They’re gone,” the shadowy figure tells him. Tobias, Spencer thinks. Tobias is the unsub. 

“Who are they?,” Spencer asks, his voice must sound as cowardly as he feels. He hopes that Tobias didn’t get Y/N. He can’t live with himself if he let his partner, in more ways than one, get hurt. 

“It’s just me know,” Tobias answers, in such a way that it’s almost obvious. 

“Who...Who are you?” Spencer croaks. The lightbulb hanging above his head taunts him. He has the lightbulb, but where’s the ideas? Where are the answers? Where is the light of safety? 

“I’m Raphael,” Tobias says, standing to his full height, towering over a trembling Spencer. 

Raphael... The angel...Spencer’s mind turns but is halted by the horrible smell coming from his side. It invades his mind and nothing seems to make sense. 

“What’s that smell?” he asks.

“They’re burning fish hearts and livers. Keeps away the devil,” Tobias or Raphael answers, Spencer is not too sure who he’s even talking to at this point.

“They say you can see inside men’s minds,” 

“That’s not true, I-I study human behavior-” Spencer reasons, but is cut off by Tobias/Raphael’s passive shushing. 

“I’m not interested in the arguments of men,” Raphael tells him. He turns around to rummage in his pocket for something that Spencer can’t make out in the dim light of the shed. Between the lightbulb blinding him and the stench of the liver burning, Spencer’s senses are overloading themselves. Focus, Spencer, focus, he begs of himself. 

Don’t let him win. Don’t let him win. 

Tobias pulls out a revolver and a bullet. He toys the bullet in Spencer’s face, asking him “Do you know what this is?” 

He doesn’t answer. He doesn’t blink. He doesn’t breathe. 

“It’s God’s will,” Tobias says rationally. 

The cocks the gun and aims it towards Spencer’s head. If he pulls the trigger he’d shoot him straight in his head. Staring down death, all Spencer can think about is him suggesting that they split up. He was the one who left Y/N, he’s the one that’s responsible.

“You don’t have to do this,” Spencer tries to reason. 

“I’m just an instrument of God. This is your salvation, this is time to repent for your sins,” Tobias says, pulling a chair to sit next time. It’s strange, Spencer thinks, Tobias is not that much older than he is. This job has forced Spencer to think of the countless paths that he could have gone down. Part of him thinks that could have easily been on the other side, the angry part of him, the broken and sad part of him. 

“Tell me your sins, and may God forgive you,” Tobias says, his voice almost as fearful as Spencer feels. 

Spencer closes his eyes, trying to think of all the things he’s done wrong in his life. All the people he’s hurt or the mistakes that he’s made. But at this moment there’s nothing running through his mind by the thought of Y/N. The way she’d hold him after a case or the way that she’d listen to him with light in her eye’s. It’s nice to have someone who cares, Spencer thinks. Or at least it was. 

“I’m a good man, Tobias, I’m a good man. Like you, we catch the bad guys, Tobias--we are the same. We catch the sinners.” Spencer professes, trying anything to get out of here alive. He’d do anything to get back to Y/N. To get back in her warm embrace. 

“We all have our sins, including you. You just need sometime to sort them out,” Tobias says, and like that he’s gone with the wind. 

***

It’s early morning when Spencer wakes up, the sun bleeds through the cracks of the wood panel door. His clothes are caked in his blood and dirt. His hair is stringy and the blood from his ear clogs his hearing. But he’s alive, he's still here, breathing the same air as Y/N. Somehow that’s enough to keep him hoping that she’d find him- save him. 

The door opens with a sudden slam, Tobias walks in carrying a load of logs. There’s something different about him. Spencer thinks that there’s an air of arrogance, an air of superiority in his walk. 

“What are you staring at, boy?” Tobias- or at least the man who looks like Tobias Hankel asks. 

“You’re not Raphael?” Spencer reasons. 

Tobias throws the pile of logs into the box on the floor of the shed. He stands up to his full height, but there’s something that’s taller about him than last night. There’s something more intimating about the man standing before Spencer. 

“Do I look like Raphael to you?” Tobias asks, the sneer so apparent. 

Spencer decides to ignore that, answering this person, whoever he is, is not in his best interest. 

“Thank you for burning these, for keeping us safe,” Spencer says, trying to get on his good side for his sake, so he can go back to Y/N. 

Y/N. If Spencer can just close off his mind and focus on her, he’d be okay. He’d get through this. If he can just close his eyes he can just feel her touch or taste her lips against his. If her kisses make him a sinner then crucify him. Least he’d die a happy man, with the promise of tomorrow with her endless love. 

“Don’t try to trick me, you’re are filthy liar, you’re a disgusting sinner,” 

God, Spencer thinks, waits until he hears that he’s from Vegas and fell in love with a man. Spencer focuses on breathing, not the itch from being dirty with his own blood or not the thought of impending death. 

“It will be over if you confess, boy. Confess your sins!” Tobias yells. 

“I’m not a sinner,” Spencer says, almost defiantly. There’s a surge of strength in Spencer, and he swears that the small memories of Y/N makes him a stronger person. 

“We are all sinners” 

“The Lord spoke unto Moses saying, ‘speak unto all the congregation of the children of the lord’  and say unto them, ye shall be holy, for I, the lord your god, am holy,” Spencer quotes, the fear somehow seeping back into his voice. 

“You know Leviticus,” Tobias says, almost surprised. Yes, Spencer thinks, even heathens can quote the Bible. 

“I know every word of the Bible, I can quote it for you?” Spencer pleads. 

“Even the Devil can read,” Tobias tells him. 

Spencer’s wound bleeds down his neck, the throbbing almost pounds to the beat of his heart.

“It’s time to confess, Spencer Reid,” Tobias whispers, leaning into Spencer. 

“I’m a good man, Tobias. I finally found someone who puts back the pieces. I found someone who loves me, and I can’t leave her like this. I can’t do that to her.” Spencer confesses. 

“Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs,” Tobias quotes, and as he does his face seems to drift off. It’s like he's there with Spencer, but not there at the same time.

“First Corinthians, Verse 13,” Spencer recites. 

“Hmm, so your parents did raise a believer,” Tobias reckons. 

More or less, Spencer thinks. He might not believe in God the Almighty, some entity in the clouds watching over him, but he does believe in love and maybe even an afterlife. He has to believe in an afterlife, because if he doesn’t he’d fail to give Y/N forever. 

“Yes,” Spencer says, settling on playing the part of a righteous believer. 

“Yes, my parents read me the Bible. They are good people too,” Spencer tells him. 

Spencer’s not really sure what happens next, but the blow to his head makes the world go black and the sweet memories of Y/N fade into the distance. 

*** 

A cool rag presses against Spencer’s head, where he figures where “Tobias” hit him, or whoever was there with him. 

Dissociative Identity Disorder. DID. DSM-5. 300.14 (F44.81). Tobias has three personalities, Spencer thinks. He remembers the day vidily. Reading about DID with Ethan, they sat on the lawn of the park near school. His memories are distrubed by a very confused looking Tobias, who hold bandages and a wet rag. 

“What’s your name?” Spencer asks, hoping that whoever was there last night is gone. 

“Tobias,” he says, almost meekly. Spencer recognizes something in that, somewhere deep inside him, he recognizes the fear that Tobias wears like a shield. The man here last night must have been his father... 

“Who was here last night?” 

“My father, Charles,” Tobias says. “I’m sorry if he hurt you.” 

Tobias turns to reach in his bag, he brings out a vial of clear liquid, a needle and a long piece of cloth. He ties the long piece of cloth around Spencer’s arm, who with a sudden realization fights to get away from Tobias. 

“NO! Please, NO!” Spencer yells, trying his hardest to fend off the inevitable. 

“It helps, Spencer. I’m trying to save you from him! It’s gonna help, it helped me,” Tobias tells him, continuing to tie the fabric in a tight knot above Spencer’s elbow. 

“Please! I don't want it!” Spencer pleads as the room folds in one him, the darkness is not welcoming, it's suffocating. It’s sucking the life out of him and he can’t escape it’s clutches. 

***

There’s another person in this shed, Spencer thinks. He tries to strain his eyes to make out who it is. It’s not Tobias, the shadow is too short for him. 

Y/N. 

She’s wearing a dress, the blue dress that she wore on their first date. He loves that dress on her. He’s sure he’d love any dress or anything she’d put on to wear for their first date, because well, it’s their first date. 

“Spencer,” her voice is even more comforting than usual. It’s syrupy sweet and he feels like he’d get a toothache just from listening. 

“Sweet Spencer, you need to come home to me, okay? Come home to me baby.” 

He tries to call out to her, but it’s futile. She's a ghost, but she looked so real. Maybe he’s the ghost and his eternal damnation is to haunt her. He’s able to see her, but never able to get close enough to feel the way her hands caress his checks or the way her eyes light up at his touches. 

The spooky beauty of his girlfriend is whisked away with the familiar shoots of two tall, skinny figures. His parents. His father sits there on the table with a sneer on his face. His mother has this faraway look on her face. Spencer’s twelve again, listening to his father yell and slam the bedroom door as he rushes out the door, never looking back. 

The shadowy figures are gone as soon as they came and are nothing but a reminder to Spencer that he’s not worthy of love. He feels guilty. He really does, but the needle going into his vein brings back Y/N and for now he wants nothing more, but to see her, even if it’s not real. 

***

Spencer’s not sure if he craves the clear liquid in the vial because he gets to see Y/N or if he craves to see Y/N because gets to the liquid coursing through his veins, the slightest reminder that he’s alive. 

He’s alone in the shed, but there’s a bright green light blinking. A computer, he wonders. Is this the way from the Ninth Circle of Hell? Is this his way home, his way to Y/N? 

His thoughts of home and of their warm bed are interrupted by who he can only assume is Raphael, enough time has passed for him to be rising to the surface. Part of him misses Tobias, they’d probably would have been friends growing up. Two outcasts raised by a parent who meant well, but did do irreparable harm in the end. 

“It’s time to choose,” Raphael announces. He points to the computer screen, which lights up. Spencer can only assume that his face is being streamed across the internet. Garcia, and probably the entire team are watching this, watching him at his lowest moment. He swore that he’d never show Y/N himself like this, even though he knows that she’ll love him still. 

“Choose a member of your team to die. You are all sinners in the end, but it’s time for you to choose who dies.” Raphael tells him, his voice booming, a stark difference from the nervous murmurs of Tobias. 

“No,” Spencer shouts. “Kill me, kill me instead!” 

“Choose or they all die!” Raphael yells. 

Think, Spencer. Think. He looks around at the shed, trying to think of an out. His eyes latch on to the shovel sitting in the corner of the room. That’s new, he realizes. A cemetery, a grave... 

“I choose Y/N,” Spencer says, not truly believing what he’s saying, but praying that she gets the message. 

“Why?” Raphael asks. 

“She’s prideful and careless,” Spencer reasons, trying his hardest to appear nonchalant. 

“Pride goes before destruction, and a haughty spirit before the fall,” Raphael quotes. 

“Yes, John 14:27,” Spencer says. And with that his fate and Y/N is sealed. It’s funny in a twisted way, he always knows that his fate would be forever linked to hers, but not just in this way. 

“Come on, boy. Get up,” Raphael orders him. 

Spencer makes it to his feet and the pair make their way into the night. 

***

Spencer’s not sure how far he’s walked, but his feet are numb and he can’t feel anything in his arm. The inside of his arm is littered with marks, a constant reminder of the cravings he’s feeling. No, he tells himself. What he craves is Y/N. He makes his way up the rocky terrain of the cemetery, hoping that she’s on her way to rescue him, hoping that she’s there to wash away the dirt and kiss his scars. 

Raphael is at his side, pulling him along. It's a strange similarity to Dante and Virgil and their journey to the depths of Hell. Maybe in this scenario Spencer isn’t Dante, maybe he’s Beatrice waiting for his Dante to rescue him. 

“Please, I need rest. I’m exhausted,” Spencer tries to argue, but it’s no use. Raphael’s grip on his arm only tightens. 

“Keep moving,” 

They arrive at the cemetery. Spencer is not ready to die. He’s not ready to die and leave Y/N. He wishes he really did believe in God because maybe, maybe he wouldn’t be as scared as he is right now. 

“Dig,” Raphael tells him, tossing the shovel on the ground at Spencer’s feet. 

As if he’s shaking Death’s hand, Spencer reaches down for the shovel and starts to dig. Each deposit in the mountain of dirt is a cry for help. Each time he cracks his neck in pain or rubs his hands in exhaustion is a goodbye kiss for Y/N. 

Spencer stands to his full height. He’s nearly as tall as Tobias, somehow he still feels like a child. 

He suspects that Tobias feels the same way. Maybe one day Spencer will come to regret his choice. Maybe one day Spencer will be grateful that he reached into the very depths of his strength to fight to the very end. 

“Tell Tobias I’m sorry,” Spencer says, the tears flooding his eyes. 

Spencer bangs the back of the shovel against Tobias’s head. His limp body falls to the ground and suddenly he’s terrified that Tobias is somehow still alive. Spencer scrambles for the gun and pulls the trigger. He’s not even sure how many shots he fires but the body is punctured with bloody holes. Spencer, clutches are Tobias’s lifeless body. As if he can squeeze him back to life. 

He thinks he’s imagining it. He thinks that he’s on the brink of death. There’s a light, a soft yellow light beckoning him home. A voice calls out to him, clear and strong, it’s drawing him in and Spencer is crawling from his own grave to the voice that he could recognize anywhere. He’s teetering between Heaven and Hell. Y/N’s voice and light tether him home. 

“Spencer!” she calls. Finally, he thinks. Finally, she’s close; he lets himself believe he’s safe. 

“I’m here!” he shouts, surprised at the force of his voice. 

“Oh Spencer,” she says, running to him. 

She falls to the ground next to him. Spencer is scared that she’s not real, that it’s the drugs in his system again making him believe that she’s nothing but a cruel figment of his mind. 

“I’m sorry, Y/N. I knew you’d find me. Please forgive me, I didn’t mean it,” Spencer cries, his face tucked into the crook of her neck. 

“Shhh, baby. I’d find you anywhere. Hmm, let’s get you out of here. You are safe now Spencer,” she tells him softly. 

Spencer may not be a man who believes in God but he has to believe in Heaven, because Heaven is holding him in her arms. 

Author’s Note: Thank you for reading! 

[kth1]

Get Jinxed [MYG]

beautiful, gorgeous, glorious banner made by the talented queen @dee-ehn​ - thank you so much for making my thoughts come to life in your edit!

Get Jinxed  [Yoongi x Reader] ⟶ Credit: @kimtaehyunq​ ⟶ Genre: Angst | Smut | 21+ | Cyberpunk AU | One Shot ⟶ Warnings: pwp, sorta old lovers to enemies to lovers, cocky yoongi, mentions of weapons, criminal activities, hopeless romantic OC, rough sex, over simulation, multi-orgasms, public indecency, unprotected, creampie, etc,  ⟶ WC: 4.7k+ ⟶ Summary: A rouge ex officer of the law - Yoongi - has twisted his ways into causing mayhem across towns. You are the high and mighty officer who seeks revenge on Yoongi’s ways; considering that he not only turned against the city in which he grew up in, striping all chances of reforming himself, he also stole your heart. ⟶ Teaser: “He hushes you with a hand, his teeth nipping eagerly around your clavicles. “Shh,” he warns with a devilish glint, “We’re in public, Y/n.” He chuckles, mouth coming back to kiss against your jaw.” ⟶ Beta Reader: Thank you so so so very much for taking on this task very very very last minute @chillingtae​ I am so thankful for you to accept this role, and thank you for helping me through this fic! I owe you! ♡ ⟶ Author’s note: Written for @houseofddaeng​‘s Agust D Anniversary Event. Was my first time touching elements of a cyberpunk!au. 

Rain casts a veil over your sight as you stare deeply into the silhouette across the murky alleyway; the figure before you surveys the one-of-a-kind hextech rifle aiming right at their head. Glistening neon lights flood your peripherals, puddles reflecting fractions of radiance between the cracks of the split bricks under your very feet. The chill of cold water drenches your attire, even the cap resting on your head leaks streams down the sides of your face.

“How could you!” You choked out between your teeth; loud enough over the pounding rain, loud enough to cut the man in front of you as if your words are daggers.

The rifle that deemed you the best shot in the city has no comparison to your superior intellect. Your wits earned you the way through the rankings and nobody, no criminal or lawbreaker were foolish enough to cross your path. You are known as Vopamis City’s finest peacekeeper and your oath is embedded deep within your family roots.

You’re the sheriff of a thriving, escalating city where art, craftsmanship, trade, and metamorphosis were built and centered from. Vopamis is and forever will be a reinventing city where dreams are lived to the fullest extent and treasures are found around every corner. It sits on top of the distrusted city of Tapos, an undercity district – which used to be once united but now no more – buried deep within canyons weaved below.

You press your words and force the air to pass through your clutching windpipe, “Fuckin’ answer me you son of a bitch!”

The figure sighs with a step forward, rolling their head out of annoyance but once their eyes meet yours in the light you knew all breath escaped your chest.

“Hi, Y/n.”

The dangerous bright orange hair stands out like no other, just like the cocky grin that emits the same tone as his two-toned eyes does. One is dull brown with crystalized specks of white, the other a piercing topaz yellow; a hard contrast between his natural dark pupil – all of which made those eyes captivating.

You fear this moment every day ever since that terrible day. It haunts you; it scares you; it hurts you. Yet here you are, face to face with the man who solemnly swept the valuable, rich rug right out from under you and ran with it. With betrayal and pain coursing through your veins you sought out his existence every single day to get revenge on the one person you thought you truly once loved.

With your rifle adjusted point blank, with the help of the glowing red laser to the center of his forehead, you show no signs of backing down from your stance. The rain beats heavily though your heart pounds harder inside your chest.

He looks just how you remember him; black under-cut still very much unkempt, a piercing jabbed through one eyebrow and two into the cartilage on the same side of his nose. His oversized cryptic jacket hides his frame well, decorated in all sorts of patches, widgets, and spikes that have their own metallic shine to them. You swear you see the edgings of tattoos creeping up the sides of his neck, exactly how you recall them.

Those unforgiving thick soled boots kick up the water around his steps as he inches out of the shadows, “It’s been a while.”

You ignore him just like he ignores your first sentence, “How could you do this?!”

He shrugs with amusement dressing his face, “Why ask me questions you already have answers to, Y/n?”

With glares meeting another in a standoff stare he halts his walk five feet in front of you. Unphased by the downpour of smogged twilight rain, you twist your finger around the trigger of your trusty gun. “You stole for the black markets, betrayed your city and me, ran off to the unstable technologies and reckless constructions of the polluted and gangrenous Tapos. Why!?”

“You seem to be a bit vindictive.” He snickers, swiping a hand through his soaked locks. “I was bored.”

Bored.

Your grip tightens around your rifle, you can’t tell if you are shaking from the cold of the rain or the anger raging throughout your body. His words made your heart sink to the pit of your stomach.. “Yoongi!” You hiss with a harsh tone, blood boiling under your very skin.

He steps again, hand clutching the barrel of your gun and aligning the end against his forehead. Yoongi looks at you with teasing eyes and a wide, wirily smile. He is testing you - taunting you. “I know you won’t do it. You won’t pull the trigger.” That blunt topaz eye drills back into yours, enticing and enchanting all at once. “How many times have you seen me in the streets? Stealing from this filthy, pathetic excuse of a renowned city? How many times did you watch me walk by doing whatever I damn well please? Why are you stopping me now? What changed?”

To what you believe you are holding out strong, insisting you have the upper hand and all control. But you are frozen, unpredictably iced in place from where you stand. Only to stare back at the man that your heart swells and aches for. Yoongi doesn’t wait for you to answer as he already knows every single move and step you have going for you.

“It’s only been two months.” He states with a soft smile, lowering and pushing aside the gun in your grasp. “One of the most determined and skilled investigators of all Vopamis. Filled with ferocity and a strong sense of justice and resolution. Falls right into the footsteps of each and every one of your family members. They reinforced their ideals of right and wrong on you so much that it’s practically branded across your forehead.”

Yoongi spits to the side, tilting his head to watch your face with all his rambling. He has proven himself in such a small-time frame of how impulsive he can be, going from a trusted high ranked officer of the law to a merciful criminal who now wreaks havoc without care. Buildings burn in his name as he always made sure to leave a massive trail of mayhem and panic in his wake, never seized to end his rampage with the biggest explosions – which soon became his signature.

You loved him ever since the day you two joined the academy together. Yoongi excelled in everything from hextech inventions to architectural research. Vopamis has become a magnet for the most skilled craftsmen from all over the world and the more restricted and dangerous ones fell into the toxic runoff of Tapos. Now, Yoongi’s schemes have inspired copycat crimes among the chem-punks, a movement in which he predicted after labeling righteous wordings on structures throughout both cities. Some followers have blindly followed his persona named ‘X’.  In a crafty way each successful heist has a small piece left for the police to find; a personable note that always says, “get jinxed.”

Standing helplessly at the mercy of your own heart your head drops, eyes casting to the drenched road. Everything in your righteous mind tells you to take him in, lock him up – it is your job and duty to do this as you are one with the law. But your poor, fragile heart is gapping open from the piece that was ripped away by Yoongi.

“You’re right.” You whisper softly.

“I know.”

All the times you allowed him to do what he continues to do because you didn’t have it in you to send him to jail. As you watch him become the criminal he is now, refusing to stop his acts even though the justice and pride within you screams for you to act on your instincts. “Everything you’re saying is right.”

Yoongi raises his hand, palm facing up and holding a chemtech explosive bullet that swirls a cobalt blue liquid inside. Instantaneously you knew exactly what the bullet is – the meaning behind it, and all of the precious memories came flooding back all at once.

The bullet was no longer than two inches and has a hole drilled through the piece to lace a chain through it. Yoongi wears it as a charm to his bracelet and even in the dark of the rainy night with neon lights flashing around you, you can still see the small etchings of both of your initials on the tip of the bullet. It was his first ever fully functional bullet he crafted back at the academy and he had dedicated that piece of craftsmanship to you.

“I still love you, you know.” Yoongi’s voice stills your breath, deep and stern. With all seriousness he openly speaks with a stony face as you look up to him. “I never stopped.”

You avert your eyes away from the nostalgic piece which lies in Yoongi’s palm and the heat of your breath fans out into the open cool air in a puff of smoke. It hurts your heart, all your pent-up revenge brought out a disgusting angry monster from within you. You’re blinded by the law and blinded by the admiration of love for Yoongi.

“You don’t.” You counter with a hiss.

Raindrops hide away the streams of tears that break down the brims of your eyes and you refuse to keep your eyes open in the slim chance of giving Yoongi the satisfaction of your glistening orbs filling with hurt. As much as you secretly hope and want – need – Yoongi to say those words, they still simmer a splitting pain inside of your delicate heart.

Yoongi’s tatted, calloused hand aimlessly raises to your face, his knuckles brushing against the curve of your cheek. Surprisingly, you don’t flinch at the contrasting and unexpected warmth that’s responsible for heating up that side of your face. Instead you find yourself helplessly leaning into the contact, your shaking hand still holding your trusty gun at your side.

“It’s funny,” Yoongi scoffs, forcing your eyes to jolt in his direction of his action.

You burn a glare at him while he inspects your face, your blood boiling underneath all of your drenched clothes and cold skin. Yoongi sounds a quick ‘tsk’ as disapproval while his fingers glide down the column of your neck. “So funny that you question everything I say and do.”

The fact that he has your rendered frozen in place under the heavy weather and his intimidating presence only confirms his suspicions. He wasn’t lying to you and you knew that, right? You swallow thickly at the bright orange haired man in front of you, eyes casting down to shrink your frame.

You sneer back, “Can you blame me? You ruined your chances of being an officer – all that hard work you put in means nothing now. You destroyed all your chances of being a citizen of Vopamis. And all because you were bored.” In the back of your mind no matter how many hours you had pondered his reasonings to derail into a criminal, what hurt you the most wasn’t the fact he chose this path of being a high risk offender – it is the reality of him leaving you behind as if nothing about your relationship between another is important to him as it was to you.

Yoongi cocks an amused eyebrow, a smirk quick to follow. “Hm, yes. I wasn’t bored with you though, Y/n. Truthfully, knowing that you’ll be hot on my trail at all times – no matter where I went – made this new life even more fun. You enjoy chasing me?” He swipes his tongue through the small opening of his lips, two-toned eyes glare at the small line of tattoos up the back of your own ear. He tilts your jaw with his thumb, exposing more of your smooth damped skin.

Under Yoongi’s hand you feel like a marionette; damned against his ministrations and at how weak you feel towards him. You can see your vision blur around the edges, your sight honing on the glowing eye that stares at you with interest. Another puff of fog seeps out of your mouth from a released breath that you held in for far too long. You don’t acknowledge the way your limbs grew numb by the minute or the way your bottom lip trembles from your constant shivers. You are only focusing on the way the warmth of the pads of his fingers emits onto your skin and gives you a sliver of assurance.

“Have I ruined this too?” Yoongi questions in a whisper, eyes projecting down to your cold lips.

Everything in your mind tells you to scream at him, tell Yoongi ‘yes, you completely and utterly ruined every single aspect of my life,’ but the words cannot crawl their way up your throat and form the sounds you need. Instead your face reacts with pain, all of your walls and defenses breaking down around you and your rifle drops to the puddled ground underneath you.

He can read you like a book, study your features, and pull each intricate and thin string of your heart. He plays you like a fiddle with a crooked smile, a knowing look to his face where all his intuitions of you feeling something towards him are all riddled true. It’s dressed all over your face, your body leaning closer to his, the look to your eyes – glistening or not.

His thumb taps lightly against your bottom lip, popping it open from the stern line your mouth was creating. You gulp with anticipation, your surrounding areas become less and less in vision of your peripheral and your eyes can only bore straight back into Yoongi’s; pupils dilating rapidly.

“No…”

Your solo word shakes out with a heavy breath at the same time Yoongi’s other hand comes to grab your elbow and pull you closer to him. The heat radiating off of him is met between you with a strikingly fast kiss, but the kiss was tentative at best. Even reading all of your body gestures, the way your posture changes when it comes to his proximity invading your territories, Yoongi still approached with cocky confidence. He knows he has you around his finger, around his hand and more.

‘You weren’t ruined, yet,’ he thought. But Yoongi is all too excited to violate whatever purity of the law that is still laced within your morals.

He’s eager to shove his deadly tongue into the first parting of your mouth, a gasp of excitement releasing through a moan. You forget about the downpour of rain around the two of you, the chill of the air cutting through your clothes, even forgetting the blaring neon signs illuminating the paths around this alleyway. Your mind is intoxicated with the savvy orange haired, corrupted, and dangerous man who has swindled his way within the burrows of each city and the cavities of your heart.

A single tear traces down your cheek as your arms link around Yoongi’s neck, your body completely caving into the man before you. With the motion Yoongi backs the two of you up until you're hidden well enough in the darkness. His hand cocks your head to the side as he leaves wet open-mouthed kisses as he pushes you against the side of the building. His lips heat your skin up and send an involuntary chill of goosebumps down your body.

You breath out into the air while your senses adjust to the new sensations of want and need being applied to your form. “Yoongi –“

He hushes you with a hand, his teeth nipping eagerly around your clavicles. “Shh,” he warns with a devilish glint, “We’re in public, Y/n.” He chuckles, mouth coming back to kiss against your jaw.

You muffle a noise of acknowledgement, or a moan of pleasure from the sharp suck Yoongi plants against the sweet spot under your ear. Your arms grip him tighter, pulling him flush against your front to be as close as possible. Without hesitation your hands link up the back of his head, fingers carding through the disheveled drenched locks for a nice pull.

Both of your clothes stick to you like a second skin, suctioned to your own bodies and you desperately want them ripped off. Yoongi hisses at the yank of his head. Sensing your actions as an emergency he huffs a laugh your way, “Yeah? What do you want?” He removes the hand across your mouth only to shove his thumb into it, pressing down against your tongue. “Is this righteous mouth going to tell me something?”

You comply by action with the decision of closing your mouth around his finger and sucking it with delight. Yoongi praises you with words of assurance, biting down on the flesh of his own bottom lip. He leans into you, hips grinding instantly against your frontside. The uneven gyrating of wet fabrics causes a rough and uncomfortable friction, but it was something that helped direct attention toward your neglected core.

Yoongi lifts up your slicked shirt just enough to fondle around the waistband of your pants in search of unhinging your duty rig belt. “You’re going to be a good girl, right?” His eyes give you a knowing look as his thumb detaches from your trap. Nodding, you seek his mouth once more to savor the warmth between you two. “Vopamis’ finest,” he quotes in a mocked tone.

“I love you.”

Your confession halts Yoongi for a brief moment between kisses, his hand stalls as it breaches a few inches inside the front of your pants. He has you pinned against the rough brick of a building in the outskirts of the city with your freezing, aching body under his frame. Your mouth and legs so willing to open up for him.

This is the very first time he’s seen you so ‘not yourself’ in all the years he has known you, even when the fondness blossomed more between the two of you. Whichever relationship the two of you were in – it wasn’t exclusive but it surely is implied – has become completely manipulated to the public eye. Yoongi’s urgency falters for a moment, a flashback to a simpler time where the underlying love and sweetness emitting from the two of you has no boundaries. But as fast as that memory exposes itself, it was easily covered in his future thoughts. His enjoyment of being who he is now, what he wants to achieve, obtain, and take.

With your face plastering across all walls of his mind, he smirks excessively as if he is pleased with himself. He has everything he wants, and he’s greedy for more. No matter what Yoongi does with himself he knows he’ll have you regardless – and right now is proving that theory.

He leans forward to plant another kiss to your appetizing lips once more, “I know you do.”

Quickly, Yoongi flips you in your place in one quick motion, yanking down a portion of your pants once you catch yourself against the wall. Your eyes scan frantically to the opening of the alleyway, silently praying nobody stumbles upon the two of you in this indecency act – especially how your rifle lays still on the ground in the opening.

The air breezes across your now exposed cheeks, and with a firm hand Yoongi shoves against your lower back forcing you to bend forward enough to reveal your core. Gasping, you shudder under the sudden invasion of his cold clammy palm molding on top of your cunt. Your hands held you up against the wall, pants pulled only to your lower thighs preventing the spread your legs most desperately needed.

Slowly, Yoongi’s fingers prod along your slit, dipping directly between your folds the moment they come in contact with your dampness. He shushes you once again with the ruggedness of his voice while you hear the clinking of what you assume to be his belt buckle.

He wastes no time sinking a finger straight into your entrance, only after giving your clit a moments time of blissful pleasure – gone far too quick for your liking. His digit glides easily, enticing him with the next stroke to join a second. Your mouth hangs open with heated pants, your lower stomach jumping excitedly at the intimacy of your loved one, and your hips chase the stride of his fast pace.

“Shit, Yoongi!” you curse under your breath, feeling his free hand now snaking up your side under your shirt. His fingers alone create such friction that has your head lolling to the side and your inners clutching erratically. You don’t question your urgency, the impatient nature your body so willingly falls into, not when Yoongi is inches behind you lining up his engorged head to replace his fingers.

The two of you don’t care about the surrounding areas, too filled with lust. Too drunk on the idea of Yoongi coming back to you – and he is too excited knowing he has you in his clutches.

Heat courses throughout your core and abdomen, running down each of your limbs the moment his hips are pressed against your backside, dick submerged in one swift jolt forward. You lose your footing, falling further into the wall as your forearms plant into the building. A guttural moan leaks out of him the moment you yelp and squirm under him. His fingers desperately hold around your waist as he straightens his back, giving the next few experimental thrusts the slower motion your pussy needed from his harsh action.

Yoongi’s hip snaps back into you, bringing the flesh of your ass into the seat of his lap. He seethes through his teeth, “Fuckin’ hell!”

You’re restricted from widening your legs no thanks to your pants locking you in place, but this also gives a tighter sensation against his swollen cock. He doesn’t give you too much time to recuperate and catch your bearings, too honest with his mission and surging forward to bring the two of you to the brink.

“Stand,” he grunts with an arm circling around your waist. With his help you’re press flush against the wall and his chest, completely stuck between two hard places. Yoongi’s pace is rapid, the slaps of skin melt into the sounds of the fallen raindrops. It’s not long for his cock to jam pleasantly into the sweet spots within your silky walls, his thrusts determined to continue their gyrating motion deep inside you.

He chuckles at the lewd moans you release, head tilted back against his shoulder as you breath for air. “You really don’t care if someone hears you, huh? What do you think they’ll do, seeing the best shot in town being railed by a rogue criminal?”

Yoongi’s words course through your ear, his teeth coming to bite the flesh behind it. Your mind is too cloudy to think straight, not when he was inside of you both physically and emotionally. “T-they’ll hate me.”

“Is that so?”

You hum because that’s all you can do. The knot tightens in your stomach, the dull ache between your legs distorting itself into an electrifying spark has you cursing Yoongi’s name to go faster, harder. Yoongi feels you tightening around his prodding cock, only causing him to buck into you rougher.

Orange locks find their way between your fingers, tightening your grip on his hair the faster that band within you reaches towards its peak. “Yes! Yes, yes, please –“

The moment your body feels his inked fingers sneak their way to your clit, pinching it harshly, pulls a shriek of pleasure from your throat. Your body snaps under him – back arching as your walls clasp around his cock. “A-ah!” you shout while your orgasm rushes to all corners of your body, a tingly sensation vibrating through every fiber of your being.

Yoongi smirks as his pace doesn’t halt, now latching both of his hands to your hips he directs all movements. He enjoys your dispute of over-sensitivity, knowing how much you secretly like it from all the times in the past.

“One more, I know you have it in you. I’ve seen it before.” His voice is rough, any tang of sweetness swept away. “I’ll continue to fuck into this pussy until you cum again.”

Without stopping for a breather your body rushes into overdrive, it continues to squirm in his grasps and your legs shake dangerously underneath you. All thoughts of remaining quiet have gone out the window. Your second orgasm is set to fire, ready to be kicked off the edge into infinity, and with one quick shove of Yoongi’s cock that sinks all the way to ram into your cervix has you keening over and over.

Your pussy pulsates around his dick inconsistently, holding onto the appendage like a vice. It triggers his frenzy, his release spilling deep inside your well spent walls with dirty grunts. His arms hold around you tightly, helping you stand straight and to assist himself at the same time. Together both of your breathes are resounded, heated air escaping around the two of you in puffs of smoke.

You wince when his softening cock slips out of you, leaving gravity to aid in the way his cum drips casually out of your hole. Yoongi doesn’t allow you to turn and face him before he’s hoisting up your bottoms, the fabrics too annoyingly drenched to feel comfortable against your skin.

When you finally turn to speak to him he’s already readjusting his pants up along his hips, securing the button to his pants as he eyes you for a quick second. His hair is even more of a mess than before, no doubt you looked remotely better.

Dropping your mouth to talk, Yoongi averts his gaze to your rifle laying to the side. “Yoongi, I –“

“Don’t.”

His eyes narrow at the device that labels the reality of everything, where the two of you stand no matter how much you tango with another. A snort leaves him as he finishes off the buckle to his belt and you can tell by the way his facial features flicker than he’s having a complicated inner dialog going on inside his mind.

“Yoongi!” You press, grabbing hold of his shoulders to shake him slightly. “Yoongi please look at me, please don’t walk away from me.”

After a deep breath he exhales slowly, blank eyes now directed at you. There’s confusion painted over your face from the way you aren’t understanding why Yoongi suddenly steps even closer to place another kiss onto your lips, but it causes you to stop thinking momentarily. His lips, plump and plush, are the only things you can think about – until he’s pulling away too fast.

Back now facing you, he strides down the alley in which you found him. As if this heated interaction, and everything it consisted of, seized to exist anymore – the time has passed.

You take a wobbly step in his direction, hand reaching towards the figure that distances itself further from your grasp. “Yoongi, please!” You cry.

Behind you is your rifle, only feet away, and in front of you is the man you continuously chase. You’re torn between the two, the feeling of your mind splitting in half causing you to have a mental debacle with yourself. You scream with frustration; tears stream down your face at what your heart truly wants.

To stop the criminal at large or to join him?

You didn’t notice how Yoongi stops in his tracks, head tilted to look behind him with his piercing yellow eye standing out through the darkness. He watches you curiously, the environment around the two of you officially draws itself back into reality. Once he hears your scream of defeat he completely turns to face you with the widest grin smeared across his mouth.

“Hey, Y/n...” He pauses to wait until he knows you’re listening to him – and of course you immediately do so. Yoongi cocks his head to the side with a sense of arrogance radiating from the way his body stood. You desperately look at him with a plea, but your facial features harden at his next words. And they lace, deadly, within your mind.

Yoongi sighs, running one of his hands through his hair. Again, he knows he already has you, ruined you, and now he completely and absolutely owns you whether you like it or not. Yoongi playfully lifts his fingers to cross them together, a sign of a heart sent straight to you, “Get jinxed.”

© All rights reserved under @kimtaehyunq​ - do not copy, repost, modify, edit, or translate any of my work without my direct consent. This tumblr is the ONLY place my fics are posted.

[unashamedly-enthusiastic]

Hello! This is random but what are your Top ten favourite books of all time? Also do you have any book recommendations?

Ohmygod this is such a difficult question, because my answer is almost always 'whatever book I have just finished" but! I have pulled from my bookshelf the top 10 that have had the biggest impact on my life, behold!

The Classics™

1. Pride and Prejudice: Jane Austen

When I was 18 and fresh out of school I set myself the arduous challenge of reading 3 'classical' books before I died. I struggled halfway through P&P thinking what an arsehole this Darcy boy was, until I got to "lydia will have to come upon the town". And I sat on the bus going 'Does... does Austen mean, lydia will become a hooker? Surely she can't mean that, it's a ye olde book!'

And I checked the notes and she DID. I was shook, I restarted the book and as I'd gotten used to the language I realised there were jokes!? And snarky comments!? And ridiculous people! And I LOVED IT

I realised that the classics were The Classics™ because they are good, and it opened a world of reading to me that I will never be able to repay it

I've read all her completed works, except Emma, and i love them all so much. (I'm saving Emma for the day I know I'll want a new Jane Austen book, cos one day I will and she ain't exactly writing any more)

2. Jane Eyre: Charlotte Bronte

Your self worth, your integrity, your ability to be a good person are attached to neither your station in life nor your beauty?

This message was completely foreign to me, I'd never seen it before and it latched on to my soul and stayed there

"Reader, I married him" is a single line that made me close the book and hold it to my heart while I recovered

3. Poor Miss Finch: Wilkie Collins

False accusations of murder, saved from the gallows by a mantelpiece clock, keeping secrets from your truest love, your identical twin living a life that is rightfully yours, the worlds more biased narrator, the most celebrated and wondrous Doctor Pratolungo, weird 18th century descriptions of medical conditions, poisons, cures, and their costs, a suspicious trip to the seaside? This has it ALL

It is a CRIME this book doesn't have its own film

Scottish Books

4. Quite ugly one morning: Christopher Brookmyre

This murder mystery is set in my home city of Glasgow and opens with the line "jesus fuck" as police officers try to long jump their colleagues and witnesses vomit to get a view of the crime scene and try not to add to the pile

It is fantastic and hilarious and is only surpassed by the later in the series "A big boy did it and ran away" which I no longer have as I grievously damaged it when I threw it across the room at the best/most gut wrenching plot twist I have ever experienced

5. Harry Potter and the philosophers stane: J. K. Rowling, translatit intae Scots by Mathew Fitt

Harry Potter was released while I was in high school and I loved it, lived for each release. But this version is in Scots, not gealic, proper Scots, which I have always been surrounded with but my parents forbade me to learn or speak because 'that's slang, if you speak slang you'll never get a job, speak properly'

And reading it was an indescribable feeling of understanding and coming home, like everything I'd ever read previously had been translated in my head into my own internal Scottish language. It was transformative and shaped my understanding of my own culture, language and upbringing

Also, every single insult is 100x funnier and I love it

Books I have never met another reader of

6. All my friends are superheros: Andrew Kaufman

I picked this book up in a shop while waiting for a train and stood transfixed until I absolutely had to leave. In a world where mildly extra ordinary superpowers are common, a man's marriage is ruined by his wife's ex's superpower of suggestion.

It's 108 pages of a man desperately trying to show his wife he's Right There, and it is gut wrenching and glorious and so very very clever

I cried on the train home

7. Kane: Stephen A Jennings

I met a guy at work who just casually mentions in conversation he's a published author, he lent me a copy of his book about a small town American family

The sacrifices needed to keep your head just above the poverty line, the way your roots often suck you back in, the sometime too high a price needed to pursue your dreams all hit a little too close to home

I loved it and have been completely in awe of Stephen ever since

Cult books

8. The Princess Bride: William Goldman

I'd seen the film 50 times before I ever knew the book existed, it is everything the film portrays and more. The purchase was worth it for Inigo Montoyas backstory alone.

The shrieking eels bit genuinely pulled me back into the room with columbo grandpa in a way I have never experienced with any other book

9. Guards! Guards!: Terry Pratchett

I only picked this up because of all the fuss on tumblr about the new adaptation and I am SO GLAD, I laughed all the way through and fell hopelessly in love with Carrot Ironfounderson (as everyone does)

I've recently finished the whole watch series and am on to new discworld books, but I'll always thank this book and the righteous anger over that bbc adaptation for bringing these books into my life

Books that made me goddamn angry

10. Invisible Women, exposing data bias in a world built for men: Caroline Criado Perez

Fuck me, honestly I haven't even finished this because every chapter fills me with an all consuming rage the likes of which I have never experienced before.

Criado Perez just calmly lists data, statistics, and processes, each one showing how 51% of the population is underrepresented or completely ignored in anything from kids cartoons to medical studies for the pill. And ohmyfuckinggawd I knew it was bad for us before, but i didn't know how bad.

Now I have numbers and I am filled with rage.

I'm only stopping now because of the picture per post limit, I love stories and will recommend almost any book I've ever read either because I loved it or hated it

[olivenight17]

Can we get some Amai Mask x reader? Maybe where he gets caught kissing/making out with his gf/so by some sasaengs? Thank you!

Hey hey anon! Guess who finally finished your request~ That’s right, me! I have to say, I had no idea what sasaengs were at first and looking them up, hoo boy. Those are some crazy, crazy people. But, given the context, it just made this so much more fun to write! I mean this really allowed me to let loose on my more angsty side, but don’t worry, it’s all fluff in the end. Seriously, this was a fun request, thank you so much for it! Enjoy our righteous hero, anon~!

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

TW: slight language, angst, bullying, small mention of suicide and mild violence

Amai Mask x Reader “To Love a Celebrity”

It wasn’t easy dating one of the most famous celebrities out there.

It meant being away from him, having to share him with the rest of the world and constantly having to watch your back. The first few months into your relationship with Amai, it was fine. Both of you went out in disguises, made sure neither of you were being followed when one came to the other’s house and somehow managed to avoid the media and all of its nosiness. While Amai wanted to show you off and wanted to be proud of the relationship he had, he couldn’t. It risked your safety and comfort and he wasn’t about to let that happen.

But then came the incident.

You had rushed over to Amai’s house as soon as he sent the text that he was home from his concert.

He opened the door with a smile and you quickly hugged him. Chuckling, he returned the embrace. “You missed me, huh?”

“Of course I did! I haven’t seen you all week!” You exclaimed, squeezing him tighter.

The two of you stayed like that for a moment, just enjoying each other’s presence, before Amai moved to close the door behind you. “Well, I can fill you in since you missed all the action.” Leading you over to his dining room, he pulled out one of the chairs.

Giggling, you sat down. “My my, such a gentleman.”

“Anything to please my lady.” He remarked, taking your hand and kissing it before turning away. In an effort to make up for all the time he had spent away, he made your favorite dish for dinner and the two of you talked about anything and everything that happened during your week and laughing at jokes the other made.

Eventually, the conversation steered it’s way back to his work. “You’re working on a new movie too, right? What’s it about?” You asked, quirking an eyebrow when Amai shot you a smirk.

He got up from his place at the table and went digging into one of his bags. “Well, I could tell you, or I could show you since we officially finished editing today. It’s not out to the public yet, but I know you’ll keep my secret,” he mused. Once he had found what he was looking for, he knelt down in front of his TV and popped in the small disc. You, on the other hand, were getting yourself settled onto Amai’s very comfortable couch with a cocoon of blankets already surrounding you. Laughing lightly, he poked your forehead. “Comfortable, my little caterpillar?”

“Not quite,” you answered. Extending your arms out, you cracked the cocoon open enough for Amai to slip in next to you. “Now I’m comfortable.” Sighing happily, you turned your attention to the screen.

The movie was spectacular, but you didn’t expect anything less of your boyfriend. He always managed to get assigned to the best projects and the way he managed to really bring it all to life with his acting just made it all the more breathtaking. Excitedly, you shifted closer to him to tell him that with a bright grin, tilting your head when he didn’t answer you. “Amai, are you okay?” You asked with a concerned frown on your face.

He seemed to snap out of his trance when you spoke. Tucking a stray hair back into place for you, he smiled. “Sorry, you were just so cute it stunned me for a bit.” His answer surprised you and you felt your face grow hot.  It was always embarrassing when he complimented you out of the blue like that.

You sat up and shook your head, already moving to deny his words. “Says the one who’s a literal model.” The effectiveness of your remark was short lived as Amai suddenly pulled you into his lap.

“Don’t be so hard on yourself. You are every bit as beautiful a model as I am. I’m just lucky that I’m the only one allowed to see the show.” He grinned, a deep passion in his golden eyes as he looked at you.

The warmth of your cheeks deepened before you leaned up and pressed your lips to his. The kiss was slow and sensual with Amai’s arms slipping down your back lower and lower until they rested on your hips. Once there, he broke from your lips to kiss down along your neck when there was a flash of light. It jolted your senses and, out of the daze of your makeout, turned your gaze to where the light came from. To your horror, the curtains to Amai’s house were not closed and through the window, you could see the figure of someone with their phone.

Immediately, you jumped to your feet and cursed as the figure began running off. They were already gone by the time you had opened the door to chase them. You sat back down on the couch, rubbing your hands together nervously. Your blood felt cold as ice, not even the comforting touch of Amai’s arms was enough to warm you. “We were so careful, I don’t understand…” You mumbled to yourself, going through everything in your head. There was nothing you could have done differently.

“Hey, hey, look at me,” He prompted. “It’s going to be okay. We’ll get through this, and we’re going to find whoever took that picture, alright?” His tone was soft and reassuring, you found yourself nodding along. Slowly, you began getting a grip on yourself. Whatever happened, you both would make it through.

Fortunately, you did. Though it was far from easy.

The morning after, your face was covered in every front page of a celebrity magazine and there was article after article of you, ‘Amai’s Makeout Partner.’ It was embarrassing going to work for the following days, you could feel all of your coworker’s eyes on you, and you swore you could hear laughter every time you turned your back. But, after a week, the main press died down when they weren’t getting anywhere with their story.

Just when you thought the worst of it was over, things got worse. Hundreds of texts came pouring through your phone, each with a nastier message than the last.

Making out like that? What a whore.

You’re nothing more than a gold digging slut.

You’re not worth Amai’s time, why don’t you just kill yourself?

Leaving all of social media was the only thing you could do to stop the messages. However, it did not stop the vandalism of your house. It was happening so often you barely had the energy to go out and clean it off anymore.

The final straw came when you called Amai in the middle of the night after someone shattered your window with a brick. “I’m so scared, I’m not even sure if I should go outside anymore. The note on the brick says the next one’s going through my head!” Sobbing, your free hand clutched at your torso to try and stop your body from trembling.

You could hear how pained he sounded even through the phone. “It’s going to be okay, I promise. I’m coming over, we’re getting you out of that place right now. Remember that secret penthouse I just bought? It shouldn’t have been mentioned to the media yet, you’ll live there for as long as it’s needed. Are you okay with that?” Shakily, you agreed with the plan as you began heading towards your room. “Good, I’ll be there in a few minutes. Just breathe, you’re going to get through this. I love you,” He told you.

“I love you too, Amai. Please get here as fast as you can.” You pleaded before saying your goodbyes and getting your things packed. Fiddling with the hem of your shirt, you glanced from out your front window, looking for any sign of movement. Then, a black car rolled up and you sighed in relief. Amai was finally here.

Cautiously, you opened the door and began making your way to the car when you heard a crack and felt liquid seeping down your shirt.

Someone had pelted an egg at you. They were about to chuck another one, but Amai was faster. He was already out of the car and crushing their wrist so hard they jolted at the sudden pain.

The hood the figure was wearing fell down to reveal a woman in her early twenties whimpering in pain. “Oh my god, Amai Mask is holding my wrist!” The shock seemed to have worn off on the woman as she began squealing like a teenager with a crush.

“And I’ll be breaking it if you don’t explain yourself this instant.” Amai growled, tightening his grip as the woman gasped in pain.

“Okay, okay! Listen, I’m just trying to look out for you. You’re spending way too much time on her and that time is wasted. I mean seriously, she’s nothing, I bet she’s not even a real fan of you like I am. You hardly pay any attention to your fans anymore and it’s all because of her!” She exclaimed, glaring holes into you.

You stood in confusion. All this hate and threats, were all because you were supposedly taking Amai’s attention away from him? You could barely believe what you were hearing. However, just as the anger built up in you, it quickly left as Amai took the woman and slammed her into a nearby wall.

You had never seen him so angry before in your life, but it wasn’t a brash, hot anger. It was calculated, cold and far more terrifying. He walked towards where she fell with rigid steps and picked her up by her hood. “You think you can threaten her, stalk her, and vandalise her home and herself because you’re not getting enough attention? What a pathetic excuse to become a criminal. You are the lowest of low.” He hissed, slamming her face in the wall which made you jump.

Quickly, you dashed over to him and grabbed him by the arm. “Amai stop, please! You’re going to kill her!” You exclaimed, looking over at the woman to see if she was even still alive. Her chest was rising up and down and you sighed in relief.

Meanwhile, Amai scoffed at your words. “And? I’m doing the world a favor getting rid of such a monster. She is in no way justified for her actions and I will see to it that she never commit such acts again.” His eyes were so cold as he spoke, it sent a shiver down your spine.

“Please, I know you Amai. Sure, I’m angry at her too, her and everyone else have been tormenting me, but she doesn’t deserve to die because of it! She may be a criminal, but she’s still a citizen, let the law take care of her.” You begged, tightening your grip on his arm and trying to get him to look at you.

Eventually, he did and he saw the fright in your eyes. His frown never let up but his gaze did become softer and he sighed. “You’re right, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.” Still, he lifted the woman up and she smiled as much as she could as she stared at him. “You disgust me. If you ever do this to my girlfriend again I will be taking each and every one of you to court and I will ensure that absolutely none of you will ever see my face or hers ever again. So go and tell your little group to never even look at my girlfriend again. Do you understand?” She seemed to have phased out and he shook her lightly, repeating his words.

When he got a nod, he let her go and she ran off into the night. Then, he held his hand out to you. “Just in case she doesn’t keep her word, I’m taking you to the penthouse anyway. Let me get your bags.” He said, already making his way towards them.

It wasn’t long before you both got into the car and he was helping you unpack at your new home. He kissed you goodnight, but just as he turned to leave, you caught him by the sleeve. “Could you stay with me tonight? After everything that just happened I really don’t want you to leave…” You trailed off as you looked towards the ground.

Amai only smiled at you as he picked you up in his arms. “But of course, anything for my lady.”

[zacharybosch]

Playing Dead - chapter 3

in which miriam and bev have a bad time

chapter 1: tumblr / ao3

chapter 2: tumblr / ao3

read chapter 3 of Playing Dead below or on ao3!

Miriam was a ghost. Physically, she still moved through the world and her presence was tangible and real, but in all other aspects she was reduced down to a shadow. Her and Bev's little house had grown cold over the months; every room held the echo of a stranger, every meal held the memory of the dead.

It was easy to let it happen, to start walking through walls with her head in her laptop, dark circles around dark eyes set in a dark, hollow face. It felt as though she’d been a ghost all this time, and the past few years she had just been playing at being human, living a life that had never been real.

As far as the FBI was concerned, Hannibal Lecter was dead and Will Graham never existed. They fabricated some story, a burglary that went wrong and ended in a murder so grisly that just an ear remained, and only upon assessing the crime scene did they discover that the victim was the Chesapeake Ripper himself.

Jack took an undisclosed figure in severance pay, packed up his desk, and left without a backward glance for the Florida Keys. He had not reached out to anyone and had rebuffed all attempts at contact with an impenetrable wall of silence. Whether he was rewarding himself for a job well done, or exiling himself as punishment, no-one knew.

Miriam was given a similar pay-off, ostensibly some very delayed compensation for injury in the field, since it was her work for the Bureau that led to her kidnapping and maiming so many years ago. Along with the money, she was carefully advised that her job as Will’s handler had never existed; she did some teaching at the Academy, and she did some consultancy work for Jack, and they had paperwork stretching back years to prove it. Her old office in the basement was and always had been part of a larger storage area, and she owned a small house out in Wolf Trap which she had been renting out for years to a succession of happy tenants. She was now taking a year off to fix up the house and do some travelling. She was undecided if she would return to work afterwards.

Bev did not get any compensation. The story she was told to stick to was that she had taken an extended period of medical leave, for private reasons that she did not want to discuss with fellow colleagues. She had never gone snooping in Hannibal Lecter’s house, and had never been held in the Witness Protection Unit. She was re-adjusting well after a long period of illness and was just as horrified as everyone else when the news broke that their occasional outside consultant, Hannibal Lecter, had been a serial killer all along.

The fairy tales made things bearable, to a point. It was easy to look at it all laid out on paper and say yes, that’s it, that’s what really happened. It was not so easy to lie in bed at night, with the glow of laptop screens and the frantic tapping of keys reminding Bev and Miriam that no, that was not what happened at all.

It had started innocently enough. After the utter collapse of Jack and Miriam’s plot, when it was strongly suggested to Miriam that she take a sabbatical, she’d looked at the endless string of days and months before her and decided to find something to fill the time. It was natural to want to know what happened, if that annoying little voice in the back of her head was really telling the truth when it said Hannibal was still alive and kicking. She wouldn’t do anything with the information, if she even found anything out at all. It would just be closure, a decisive full stop at the end of an unpleasant story. Just a hobby, an idle way to kill time until she could get herself sorted out and maybe find a new job somewhere else.

But Miriam was never one to do things in an idle manner. A cursory websearch on her phone one afternoon turned into a slightly deeper search on her computer the next evening; turned into a running list of recent murders that struck her as suspicious, and heavy-handed overtures to an old friend who worked for Interpol; turned into a map full of pins and strings and the frantic, hasty typing up of every piece of info Will had ever let slip during their conversations together, before they faded from her memory forever. Had he ever mentioned anything about the process of turning a human? Was it drawn out, or did it happen instantly? How easy would it be to transport a seemingly dead body out of the country without the necessary paperwork? Was there a vampire network that he could call on to facilitate these things?

These questions and more like them swirled around inside Miriam’s skull day after day, night after night. She could feel herself withdrawing, pulling the tendrils of her life back inside herself and using them to build a wall. There was a small part of her that felt resentment towards Bev, that she could seemingly get on with life so easily; she would watch her, climbing out of bed early in the morning to get ready for work, while Miriam was hunched over her laptop just as she had been all night. Bev made it look so damn easy.

Logically, Miriam knew that Bev was likely just putting on a brave face, taking a deep breath and powering on through as Miriam herself had done for so many years. But it didn’t stop the stab of anger, the selfish feeling that Miriam had done her time and endured the sick feeling in her head, and now she should get to relax while someone else took on the burden. It wasn’t fair: she had worked so hard to try and cut the trauma out of her life, but after all of her effort it was still there and it hurt worse than ever.

Bev watched it happen, the slow descent into consuming obsession, and she felt utterly powerless to do a thing to stop it. She was barely holding herself together, and though she wanted so much to hold Miriam together as well, she couldn’t. It took all of her strength just to get up and go to work and pretend that she was okay.

It was compounded by the fact that Bev privately held the opinion that she didn’t even have any right to be feeling as she did. Miriam was allowed to be a mess; she’d been mutilated and held captive by one of the most notorious and prolific serial killers in modern history, and after concealing her troubles for so many years it was understandable that she couldn’t hold it in any longer. But all that happened to Bev was that she saw something nasty in a basement. She should’ve got over it months ago. She would get over it. She just had to not think about it, not feel anything about it, not afford it any more acknowledgement than was absolutely necessary.

But the further that Miriam sank into her fixation with tracking Hannibal and Will, the harder it was for Bev to pretend like everything was fine. It was right there in her face every day, flashing across screens and pinned up on the walls, and it was leeching the life from the both of them. She didn’t blame Miriam for it; it was easy enough to see the trains of thought that had led her to this point. She didn’t even blame Jack, not really; if he hadn’t plotted with Miriam in the first place, she would’ve just plotted on her own.

The people she blamed were Hannibal and Will. Blaming Hannibal was obvious, and almost an afterthought; afterall, he had visited upon them both the most obvious and immediate horrors in their lives. But blaming Will felt satisfying and righteous and good, like she’d finally identified the root cause of something insidious, and now all she had to do was rip it out like a weed.

At least Hannibal was human, malleable like a human and mortal like a human and only able to do that which any other human could do. Will was-- Bev couldn’t even begin to understand what Will was. She’d worked alongside him, had made gentle offers of friendship towards him, and was all the while blind to the supernatural horror of him.

By the time Miriam shook Bev awake one night, frantic and excited and talking too quickly, Bev barely even recognised her, a stranger speaking with her girlfriend’s voice. The reflexive thought was familiar by now, Just one more thing that Hannibal and Will have taken from me, but then she actually listened to what Miriam was saying.

“I found a pattern, Bev, a new pattern. Look.” Miriam thrust the laptop into Bev’s face, screen glowing as bright as the sun in their dark bedroom. When her eyes adjusted, she saw a list of purchases and deliveries in various cities across Europe.

“Is that a shopping list? What am I looking at?”

“They’re from a few different medical supply stores and with a few different cards, but it’s the same order every time. Look. And then these,” Miriam scrolled the page down to a second list, “DIY stores. Same orders. Same times as the med supplies. Who needs to buy IV bags and tarps that often?”

Bev pressed her fingers into her eyes as she tried to will away the fog of sleep. “That’s weak, Miri. It doesn’t prove anything.”

“Right, right, I know. But you know that string of cases I found, where the people were slashed up just on one little area on their body? The physical evidence that someone had done something, but the victims had no memory of the attack itself. Black holes in their minds, perfect recall before and after and then just a sudden blank space. And there were the murders as well, remember? Same style, slashed up on one specific area, like the perp was trying to hide bite marks, right? Do you remember?”

“Yes, I remember. That was stronger than these shopping lists--”

“These are the locations of the attacks,” Miriam interrupted, bringing up a map of mainland Europe, dotted with blue markers that were scattered across the continent. There was a small cluster in Italy, centered around Florence, but apart from that they looked utterly random. “And then these are the delivery locations of the purchases.” Miriam brought up a second map, showing all the previous blue markers as well as a host of new red ones. The overlap between the two was considerable. “They’re in Florence right now. I know it.”

When it was displayed like that, Bev had to concede that maybe there was something to it. The attacks and the purchases lined up with an almost startling regularity, dates and cities aligning so neatly that it may as well have been a flashing neon sign. It felt like a trap, and it looked like a trap, but Miriam had a light in her eyes that Bev hadn’t seen in months, and she couldn’t bear to see it extinguished.

Bev stared at the map for a long time. “Why are you doing this?” she asked, finally. “Be honest with me.”

“Because,” Miriam said, “I’m not ready to give up. I want… He-- he owes me.”

“Which one? Who owes you?”

“Both of them! I thought I could be cold and remote, you know, just like Hannibal, detached from all my feelings. He made me believe it was possible. I was so good for so long, I was a model prisoner and then a model survivor and he never even told me what he did it all for.” Miriam’s mouth twitched, and she bit at the inside of her cheek to stop the unhappy downturn of her lips. “It’s not fair. I could see that he was getting inside Will’s head as well and I tried to help him get away, just make it all finally stop, but he just stabbed me in the back. Hannibal owes me his life in exchange for the life that he took from me. And Will owes me the chance to forget that my life was ever taken.” Miriam took Bev’s hands and looked at her imploringly. Bev’s heart broke a little. “This can be it. Our clean break.”

“You can’t just wish your problems away, Miriam. The world doesn’t work like that.”

“I can. It does,” Miriam said, and Bev’s heart broke a little more.

The next day, Bev called in sick to work, and Miriam booked flights to Italy.

[khadij-al-kubra]

Can I Bar-row Your Attend-tion (ch. 5)

Pairing: Roman/Patton

Characters: Roman, Patton, Logan, Virgil, Thomas, Dio (Deceit), (OC)

Word Count: (Eh, I give up XD)

Summary: Roman and Patton are two bartenders at a local bar & grill with some serious chemistry. However, the only people who don’t realize it are each other, and one of them is in a relationship…on the rocks.

Author’s Note: Hey friends! This is it. The Final chapter! I know it’s been forever and I am SO SORRY!! Thank you so much for your patience and for sticking with the story ‘till the end. I am SO grateful to you all!! It means so much to me that you all enjoyed my writing, more so than you could know! If you’d like to be in the tag list for any other works I may write in the future, please let me know. If not, no worries! Just knowing that this story was able to make people smile and laugh is enough for me. And as always feel free to leave a comment in the messages or reply if you have any notes or constructive critiques. I’m always open to writing advice. Enjoy!

<--PREVIOUS

Chapter 5: Make it a Double (POV- Roman)

“Greetings hungry and thirsty patrons! Logan, I got your text and lucky for you my rehearsal got out early tonight. Apparently the director ate a bad—“

Roman had expected it to be a busy night at the bar & grill. He had expected everyone to be a bit wound up and stressed from work. The last thing he ever expected to see when he walked through the door was Patton in front of the bar crying in Virgil’s arms. The sweet man before him, the object of his affections and who always wore a smile, looked so broken and vulnerable before him.

It shattered Roman’s heart.

He rushed to Patton’s side immediately and gently cupped the other bartender’s face in his hands.  Roman tried to wipe away some of the stray tears with his thumbs. They did not belong there.

“Patton, what’s wrong?” Roman asked. “Are you hurt? Did someone hurt you? Are you sick?”

Patton didn’t seem to be injured yet his wracked sobs continued as he shook his head. The sight of his beloved so distraught twisted Roman’s chest and made him want nothing more than to fight whatever had cause Patton so much pain.

“Virgil, what on earth happened!?” he asked, turning anxiously towards his friend.

Virgil signed. “You’re not gonna like this…”

Roman listened as Virgil filled him in on what he’d witnessed in Archwood Park. How he’d spotted Dio kissing someone else, proof that he’d been cheating on Patton for who knows how long, and how Virgil immediately went to Sanders’ to tell Patton the truth as gently as possible. It wasn’t that Roman couldn’t believe that Dio was capable of cheating. Far from it to be honest; after all, both Roman and especially Virgil had good instincts about people and neither had ever liked the dancer. What shocked and revolted Roman was the fact that Dio had been so villainous as to do such a thing to someone as kindhearted and loving as Patton. Poor sweet Patton who would never hurt so much as a fly; heck, he would likely nurse one back to health. How DARE he betray the trust of my precious Patton!

It took every ounce of strength not to erupt in righteous fury then and there. Right now Patton needed him. He took a breath to quell his anger for the moment and stepped back to properly look Patton in the eyes with all the tenderness he could convey. Although his honey eyes were waters and his freckled face blotchy, Patton still looked to Roman like the most sublime creature in existence. Roman searched for the right words to best comfort Patton, to reassure him that he deserved so much better that this act of betrayal, that we was worthy of the most true and faithful love.

Before he could however, Patton caught him in an embrace with such force that he had to take a step or two to regain footing. The heat rose to Roman’s cheeks. Sure they’d hugged before, but never so intensely as this. He could feel Patton trembling as he cried. Screw not crossing any lines. Roman wrapped his arms around Patton and held his trembling figure close, stroking fingers through his soft wavy hair in the hopes of soothing his wounded heart. Patton…can you feel how much I love you? And he did love Patton, so very much…and he would avenge his love’s broken heart even if it was the last thing he did.

Reluctantly, he pulled away. Roman took Patton’s hand and kissed it before nodding to Virgil. ‘Take care of him for me,’ he mouthed, and Virgil nodded back ‘I will’. Reassured that Patton would be in good hands, Roman turned to the door, clenching his fists.

“I’m going to kill that creep.” Roman marched forward, a man on a mission.

“Roman where are you going? You just got here,” said Logan.

“Sorry boss. I’ve got a knuckle sandwich to deliver!”

Roman held tight to his anger as he walked out the door, barely registering that Patton had called out to him.

He held onto his anger as he got into his car and drove over to Archwood Park where his co-worker has often mentioned that his boyfriend (ugh! he doesn’t deserve that honor!) often performed at this time of night.

He held onto his anger when he parked his car in a 24 hour spot, just in case things got ugly and he hoped they would get ugly for a certain snaked faced prick.

He held onto his anger when he marched through the park until he found his target in question, surrounded by a small audience that watched him breakdance and contorted his shoulder in a crude fashion. Roman shuddered, disturbed. I’ll never understand what Patton saw in him.

He just barely held onto his coiled up rage until he forced his way through the crowd and finally unleashed the full force of it through his fist onto Dio’s tattooed face.

“THAT IS FOR PATTON!” Roman shouted.

The crowd around them gasped. Some took out their phones. Roman took great pleasure in seeing the look of surprise and pain on the dancer’s face as the force of the blow knocked him to the ground.

“What the HELL was that about, Prince?” asked Dio, wiping the blood from his lip. A bruise was already blossoming on his cheekbone.

“You STAY AWAY from my Patton, you lying, cheating, slimy SCUMBAG!”

Dio stood wobbly back up and straightened his bowler hat.  “Why does everybody call me slimy? I’m not! I just have large sweat glands.”

“You betrayed the trust of your boyfriend, the most pure hearted person on the planet, and cheated on him with some other man. You’re a two faces LIAR and that is what makes you a slimy boi, you villainous serpent!”

“Look, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said. Roman saw with satisfaction that he’d managed to chip a tooth. “But he isn’t your Patton, and you’re interrupting my performance. So why don’t you do yourself a favor and—“

“The only favor I’m doing,” said Roman, grabbing him by the shirt, “is telling you one last time. Stay. Away. From Patton!”

“Wait, Patton from that old dive bar downtown?” said an audience member.

“That really sweet guy from Sanders’?”

“This guy cheated on him?”

Dio looked nervously around as his audience went from cheering for him and tossing dollars into his hat to whispering about him. He was really sweating now.

“No way to save face now.” Roman smirked up at Dio as he looked around him frantically. “Can’t lie your way out of this one you son of a—”

A fast and painful knee to the side from Dio silenced Roman. He let the other guy go and clutched his stomach in pain. That was definitely going to bruise later. At least he didn’t get me in the face.

“What I do in my private life and relationship is non of your business. Besides, Patton will never believe you over me. He trusts me too much. It’s not like we both don’t know he’s a naïve lovesick—“

Roman tackled him to the ground. “YOU AREN’T WORTHY OF PATTON’S LOVE!”

Roman and Dio rolled on the hard concrete ground trading blows. Dio was fast but the actor was stronger and madder, so he landed more hits than the dancer beneath him. He got some good shots to the ribs that would surely leave his pale form black and blue for days, as well as a nice shot to the eye. Dio got in some scrapes and gave Roman a split lip (he did manage to get the face), but by the time someone pulled Roman off him Dio was the worse for wear.

“Alright, alright, break it up!” Roman turned and, to his dread, saw that the voice belonged to a park police officer. “What the hell is going on here?”

“Officer,” said Dio, who was also being held up by another policeman. “This crazy stranger just came out of nowhere and assaulted me! Arrest—ow.”

“Stranger? You’ve known me for months you liar!” Roman scoffed. “And I did not assault him for no reason, officer. I came here to defend the honor of my friend, whom he has been cheating on! If anyone deserves to be arrested it’s him for crimes against love and all that is decent!”

“Enough!” said the female officer holding him back. “Did anyone see who threw the first punch?”

The crowd of onlookers seemed, for the most part, to be on Roman’s side more than Dio’s. Roman even recognized one or two faces from the bar. However, no one wanted to lie to the police so they mumbled and reluctantly pointed to Roman. That was enough for the officer.

“That settles it. Looks like I have to take you down to the station. Officer Hobs, looks like that one needs a doctor, so make sure he finds a ride. Show’s over folks.”

The officer placed her handcuffs on him, lead him to her car nearby, and read Roman his rights. Sufficed to say, it was the most terrifying drive of Roman’s life. Ohhh sweet Sondheim, I’ve really gotten myself into trouble this time. Even so, he couldn’t help thinking that it was worth it. At least, he hoped it would be…

…They soon arrived at the police station, yet to Roman it all felt a bit unreal. Having his mug shot taken (worst headshots ever), taking his thumb print, giving them his personal information, and having the handcuffs removed when brought to a grey walled room. It was only when he was sitting beneath those fluorescent lights and saw his battered reflection in the double sided window/mirror (sweet mother of hairbrushes, what was his hair!?) that it hit Roman just how much shit he’d landed himself into.

“Listen, I can explain—I didn’t mean—don’t I get a phone call or something?” Roman rambled nervously.

“No,” said Officer (according to her badge) Rivera. “Personal calls are restricted to persons in custody and questioning…Relax kid, this isn’t Law & Order. I’m just going to ask you a few simple questions and have you explain to me in full detail what happened and why. Clear?”

Roman gulped. “Crystal.”

So he answered her questions first. Then he told Officer Rivera about his day, told her about Patton and his relationship with Dio as well as his own personal feelings for Patton. She took notes in her pad as he spoke and didn’t seem very partial to whatever he said in his defense. However, when he got to the part about Virgil and his discovery of Dio’s infidelity, it seemed to strike a chord with her. True, the officer hid it behind a professional demeanor, but Roman was a good enough actor to catch subtle expression changes in other people.

“So that’s what happened,” Roman finished with a deep breath. “Am I…going to jail?”

Officer Rivera finished jotting her notes and steepled her fingers before answering. Good lord this woman knows how to leave you in suspense.

“Ordinarily you’d be tried under charges of assault.” That sent a chill up his spike. “However, the other guy didn’t make any official charges against you and since there were no reliable witnesses or officers on scene at the time, this could be classified as a misdemeanor. Which we don’t make arrests for. So you won’t be prosecuted.”

Roman released the breath he’d held. “Oh thank goodness!”

“That being said we’ll still have to keep you here overnight as protocol. Unless you can pay the fine for bail.”

“I’m a part-time bartender and community theater actor. Do I seem like I have that kind of money?”

“Wait, community theatre?” At this she let her impartial police demeanor slip. She looked down at the file with his man on it. “Roman Prince…You wouldn’t happen to be part of the RENT production going on, would you?”

“Uhh I am?”

“You wouldn’t happen to be friends with my daughter Krystal, would you?”

“Why yes, she’s out Mimi—Wait, you’re Krystal’s mother?” Didn’t see that coming.

“I am. So you’re the new friend that she keeps talking about. My daughter says you’ve got quite the acting chops, and that you’re a pretty stand-up guy.”

“Well, I think you’re daughter is pretty fantastic too. Probably one of the best actors I’ve had the pleasure of working with. Not to mention one of the best singers I’ve ever heard. I mean seriously, she can hit an A about high C! Do you know how HARD that is? She’s SO talented!”

The policewoman chuckled. “She did say you were pretty over the top. And yeah, that she is.”

Officer Rivera seemed to be regarding Roman in a new light. He shifted awkwardly in his metal chair as she stared him down, drumming her fingers on the table. Then she sighed loudly.

“So, technically you aren’t allowed to make any calls…I on the other had am free to,” she said. “So, if I happened to know the number of a certain family member of yours or a friends or…”

She slyly slid a piece of paper and her pen across the table to him. Ohhh! Catching on, Roman wrote down the number of Sanders. It was one of the few phone numbers he’d remembered off the top of his head (they’d confiscated his cell phone along with his wallet), and surely Thomas or Logan would still be there at least. Ah geez, he is not going to be happy about this. He finished and slid the paper back over.

“I can’t thank you enough Officer Rivera ma’am.”

“Don’t thank me yet. I’ll see what I can do. Meanwhile, I’ve gotta take you to a holding cell here for a little while. Don’t panic, it’s not a jail cell. Think of it as a really small boring waiting room.”

Roman nodded his understanding and allowed her to take him to a small room with one crosshatched window on the metal door. With an apologetic face, Officer Rivera locked him in. He looked around at the grey stained walls and dented metal bench against the wall. Might as well have a seat. The bench was cold and uncomfortable, yet as tired as Roman felt he could’ve probably taken a nap then and there. That is, if he wasn’t feeling the aches from his fight setting in on him finally.

All the adrenaline and anger form before was gone, leaving him all aware of the bruise on his side, the scraped skin of his knuckles and the iron taste of dried blood on his cut lip. It was worth it. It was SO worth getting to punch Dio in his stupid face. At least, that’s what Roman kept telling himself. Being in such a solitary quiet place gave him too much time to think about whether or not he had acted too rashly. Yes he has done it with the intent to defend Patton’s honor, but was there a bit of selfishness to it as well? After all, he’d never liked that Dio got to be Patton’s boyfriend and not him. Was it really right of him to have stepped in on Patton’s personal life like that? And what would Patton think of him after he found out Roman had basically kicked his boyfriend’s ass, even if it was for good reason? The first thing Roman would do once he got out of this place is apologize to Patton.

If I get out of this place…

…Roman must have dozed off at some point for a bit. He was suddenly jarred awake by the screeching sound of a metal door unlocking. He sat up with a grunt.

“Prince, you made bail,” said Officer Rivera.

“Wait, really? But who—“

Before he could finish Logan stepped in from behind the policewoman’s back. Roman had never been happier to see his stoic face.

“Logan?”

“Roman. How are you?” asked Logan, scanning Roman’s injuries. “I apologize I was unable to come sooner. I had to stop at the bank first.”

The tone of his voice revealed how concerned he truly was. No doubt Roman must have looked a wreck. He gave Logan a guilty half smile as he stood up from the hard bench and met him at the door.

“Trust me, I look worse than I feel. A lot better than I left Dio looking,” he said.

Logan nodded to him and, to Roman’s surprise, gave a flickered grin. “Good.”

Logan turned to Officer Rivera. “Since I made the payment in cash to your chief officer, I trust he won’t be called in again?”

“Given that there wasn’t any police witness at the scene it could be classified as a minor offence. Besides, the other guy neglected to place any official charges against your friend, so as far as we’re concerned he’s free to go.”

“Thanks again Officer,” said Roman. “If there’s any way I can repay you, I shall.”

“It was no trouble. Just tell my daughter to call her mother more often,” she said with a wink.

“Consider it done.”

He gave a mock bow that made her chuckle deeply and Logan rolled his eyes. That is, until they saw how Roman winced from the motion. Guess Dio had put more of a dent in him that he’d realized.

“We should get going Roman,” said Logan. “Thomas, Virgil and Patton are waiting back at the bar & grill. I have my car.”

They retrieved Romans things before leaving the police station and headed to Logan’s parked Volkswagen. Logan filled him in on what had occurred at Sanders after he’d stormed out. How he’d closed up early, the way their regulars had stood up and vouched for Logan and getting the call from the police station. It left Roman both surprised and in awe. He knew that their customers were loyal, but it warmed his heart to hear just how much. Not to mention the way Logan had put himself out there for his employees. Guess the cyborg had a heart after all. Roman always suspected as much.

When Officer Rivera said she’s make a call to Sanders’ for him, he’d thought that Thomas or maybe Virgil would be the ones to come to the station, even if the couldn’t get him out. Roman never expected his boss and friend to be the one to come to his rescue, let alone go above and beyond by paying what must have been quite the pricey bail. He’d never be able to repay him enough.

“Logan,” said Roman. “I didn’t get to properly thank you back there. For what you did, I mean. Paying my bail like that, it was, I can’t thank you eno—“

“Just for the record, the price of bail will be coming incrementally out of your next few paychecks,” said Logan. “And I do not care if we are friends. If you ever pull such an impulsive stunt like that again, even if it was for a noble reason, I will NOT let it slide and I WILL be forced to have you find work elsewhere. Understood?”

There was a stern bite to each word that came out of his mouth, and Roman couldn’t help shrinking a bit in the passengers seat. It felt like when he was scolded by his mother as a young boy for standing on the dinning room table reciting soliloquies.

Roman gulped. “Clear as crystal.”

“Good,” said Logan. After a pause he turned to Roman on a stoplight and his face actually softened up again. “Speaking outside of being your boss, however…that was a noble thing you did. Defending Patton’s honor.”

“Wow…Thanks specs,” said Roman, humbled.

“Of course,” Logan said, with a smile. Then he turned back to the road. “Once I had learned the details of the reason behind your sudden departure and Patton’s distress at the hands of Dio, I too had the urge to smite him down like the hand of God. Albeit in a much less physical manner than you opted for.”

Roman gulped when he caught the icy glint behind his glasses. He made a mental note to never get on Logan’s bad side.

“So, we are friends then?” Roman asked teasingly.

“That was the impression I’ve been operating under. However much I attempt to remain impartial during business hours.”

“Come on poindexter, you love us. Admit it. You’re a big ol’ softy.”

“Falsehood.” Logan couldn’t hide his faint blush.

Roman laughed. “So, as friends, can I ask you something that I’ve always been curious about?”

“Of course,” said Logan, keeping one hand on the steering wheel as he pushed back up his glasses.

“Why did you decide to own a bar and grill? I mean with your brains I would’ve imagined you’d want to be some sort of teacher or a chemist or something.”

Roman was afraid he had stepped too far into personal territory. However, Logan simply smiled and even gave a low chuckle.

“I can understand why you would think that, and truth be told I had considered being a mathematician for a long time.”

“So why a restaurant owner?”

After a pause Logan said, “As you know, I have aspergers syndrome, and as such I have never been the best at picking up on social cues or reading people. That doesn’t mean I have no desire to connect with people, it just makes it more difficult. Growing up, people were like a puzzle that I need to solve—that I wanted to understand and connect with better.”

Logan made a turn signal before continuing. Gee, the ride from Sanders to the park to the police station hadn’t felt half as long to Roman the first time around. Then again, I guess time moves a bit differently while in the back of a police car.

“Something I learned from growing up in a large family–aside from the fact that little brothers are demons–was that people seem to connect more openly over a shared meal in a comfortable environment. Thus over time I thought to myself, what better way to combine my love of mathematics and my desire to better observe and understand others than by operating my own business, specifically a food establishment? So I earned my GED, bought Sanders from an old family friend, and turned it into a bar & grill.”

“And…did you get what you wanted out of it?”

“Indeed. Running Sanders’ and familiarizing myself with our customers has helped me to connect with people better than I ever could have. Tonight was proof of this.  Granted the lot of you exacerbate me to no end some days but…becoming friends with you, Joan, Talyn, Virgil, Thomas and Patton especially has helped me tremendously in this regard.”

He noticed how Logan had made no attempt to hide the warmth behind those words and even smiled more openly than he’d ever seen. Perhaps it was because they were speaking outside of work that he’d let himself do so. Here he wasn’t Logan the boss man, he was Logan the friend. Either way, Roman had never felt closer to the big nerd. However, the mention of Patton brought Roman back to reality.

“How…how is Patton? Did he say anything when I left?” Roman asked. “About…me?”

Logan breathed out through his nose. “It’s difficult to say. He was a 9 on the emotional pain scale regarding Dio’s betrayal, and he seemed distraught over you after hearing about your temporary incarceration. I can only imagine how he will react upon seeing your current state.”

Roman gulped at hearing his fears confirmed and silently cursed his own impulsiveness. He didn’t regret throttling Dio, but the last thing Roman had wanted was to cause Patton further pain, yet he did just that. Still, he had to face Patton eventually. They rode in silence the rest of the way.

“Oh Patton,” he whispered to himself, “please forgive me.”

* * * * *

They got back to Sanders about 15 minutes later. It was strange going back into the bar & grill when it was all closed up, yet the light peeking out from inside through the blinds reminded Roman that his friends and crush were waiting for them inside. Logan unlocked the door and Roman followed him inside.

The bar had been cleared, the floors mopped and the chairs stacked atop the tables. Virgil was nervously scribbling on a napkin while Thomas was telling him something, likely going over breathing exercises judging by the rise and fall of their chests. Patton was pacing over by the bar and nervously fiddling with the sleeves of his favorite grey cardigan. Roman guessed he likely had changed out of uniform into his own clothes, given that Patton was also wearing a blue polo instead of his black t-shirt. When Logan shut the door with a clank all three heads shot up.

Roman only had eyes for Patton, who looked both relieved and about to cry. He felt so guilty for causing Patton further grief. Surely he must be mad or at least disappointed in Roman for going off to fight for him. Roman prepared for the worst.

“Hey, everyone…” Roman rubbed the back of his neck. “Patton… I’m so—“

Patton’s arms were around him before he could finish. The force of his hug could’ve knocked the wind out of a football player. He pulled back when he heard Roman groan. Patton’s hands gently probed over him as though he were made of fine china.

“Roman, thank goodness you’re alright! Are you hurt? Did Dio hurt you? Did they press any charges? I’m SO glad you’re not in jail anymore! Oh, what happened to your lip? And just look at your knuckles, they’re swollen!”

Roman blushed at being fussed over in such a way, but at least Patton wasn’t angry. “Patton, I’m alright, I promise. Just a couple of bruises and some scrapes here and there, nothing major. Logan took care of things with the police, so it’s all good padre. I promise.”

At this Patton finally relaxed a bit. Virgil and Thomas came over to him as well once Logan caught them up on everything that happened back at the station. They were clearly irritated at Roman but seemed just as relieved.

“That was a really stupid thing you did dude,” said Virgil.

“Roman, buddy, I know you’re all about the chivalry, but don’t go running off and getting into fights like that,” said Thomas.

“Not without us as backup at least,” said Virgil.

“Indeed,” said Logan.

“Okay?” asked Thomas.

Roman knew full well that neither of his friends were fighters in the slightest. Still, the gesture meant a lot to him. Looking at Logan, Virgil and Thomas standing around him, he felt incredibly grateful to know they’d always have his back; even when he was being an impulsive love struck idiot.

“I swear,” said Roman. “And listen, Patton, about…about Dio—“

“I don’t care about him. Not anymore,” said Patton. “I’m done with him. Officially and for good.”

There was a hard edge to his voice that Roman had never heard before. He looked to Virgil for confirmation if this was true and the artist gave him a nod, smiling at his stepbrother proudly. Although they weren’t good circumstances by any means, Roman couldn’t help but feel proud of Patton for standing up for himself like that. The sweet bartender was a lot stronger than he let on. Aaand Roman wasn’t ashamed to admit to himself that he was incredibly happy that Patton was now free to court. Of course, all that could wait till much later. They had time. He could wait.

“Well then,” said Roman, “I’m proud of you Patton.”

“As am I,” said Logan, placing a hand on Patton’s shoulder. “I don’t know very much about the complexity of your relationship, but I think it’s a fair assessment that Dio was a raging douchbag.”

Virgil laughed. “Couldn’t have said it better myself. He was never good enough for my brother.”

“Heck yeah. You deserve way better Patton,” said Thomas. “We’re all proud of you.”

“Yeah, I’m proud of me too,” said Patton.

Roman caught a flicker of sadness in Patton’s eyes. He was about to ask if Patton was truly all right, but before he could Roman found his hands gently being cradled in the other mans. A blush crept up his face.

“I’m just glad that you’re safe,” said Patton, kissing his scraped knuckles. Roman winced, but he’d never felt happier. “Come on. Let’s get you fixed up.”

Patton gently dragged him by the hand to Logan’s office in the back. Roman would have followed that man anywhere he’d asked. The others didn’t follow and frankly he was glad of it. Roman wanted to talk with Patton in private.

Patton closed the door behind them and gently sat Roman down while he got out the first aid kit from their bosses/friend’s desk. Logan’s office much like his personality: clean, organized, and precise. Roman did however notice there were three framed photos on the desk next to a stack of documents. One was of a rather large family standing in front of a Christmas tree with Logan amongst them. Another was of Logan standing with a proud smile in front of a newly opened Sanders bar & grill, and the last one looked to be a candid photo (no doubt taken by Patton) of Logan with every one of the Sanders’ employees as they laughed at some statement or other. The photographer had even managed to capture the rare laugh from Logan frozen in time.

“Alrighty, now lets get you cleaned up,” said Patton as he took a seat across from Roman. He took out antiseptics and bandages from the kit. “This might sting a little.”

The swabs did sting a bit, but Roman sat patiently as he let Patton nurse his battle wounds with all the focus and tenderness of Florence Nightingale.

“So…it’s truly over between you and Dio now?” Roman tentatively asked.

“Yeah,” said Patton as he wrapped bandages around Romans knuckles. “I called him up after I found out about your guys’ fight and ended things.”

“Oh...” Roman gulped. ��I’m sorry. I-I din’t mean to be the cause of—”

“Oh no, no, it wasn’t about you Ro!” Patton said quickly, placing a reassuring hand atop Roman’s. “It was about Dio. After he cheated and hurt you—hurt someone I cared about, well, that was the last straw.”

Roman’s shoulders relaxed. “Ah, then…good. So, how are you feeling?”

Patton paused for a moment and then took a deep breath. “Lighter. Like I can breathe again. Honestly, I hadn’t let myself realize how unhappy I started to feel towards the end of the relationship, how over it truly was, until tonight.”

Patton finished taking care of Roman. Then he put the first aid kit on the desk and scooted his chair closer to Roman before continuing.

“I think part of me suspected he’d been cheating, but I…just thought it’d be easier to…avoid all those nasty feelings, y’know? I hate to admit it, but I’m not sad about it being over…which makes me feel guilty because I’m the one that ended it and it-it was my first real relationship so i—so what does that say about me?”

Roman used the pad of his thumb to gently brush away the tear that streaked down Patton’ cheek. Hesitantly, he cradled it in his hands. To his pleasant surprise Patton actually leaned into the touch. The gesture choked Roman up a little.

“Patton, you have every right to feel however you feel…but if you think it means there’s something wrong with your heart, then you could not be farther from the truth.” said Roman, looking him in the eyes. “You have the strongest, most pure heart of anyone I’ve ever known. You deserve someone who recognizes that. Who treasures your heart and treats you like the most sublime creature in all of existence! And if someone isn’t doing that or isn’t meeting your heart’s needs, then you have every right to walk away without guilt. You deserve to be happy!”

Patton let out a sad laugh, but at least the silent tears ceased. Roman saw a sad smile creep up the other’s face.

“Thanks Roman. I don’t need all that wooing though. All I want is someone to be present with me, to spend time with. Someone who I can be playful with and share things with and we’d take care of each other. Someone who, maybe, finds me…desirable, somehow? Someone…”

Patton looked up at Roman with, perhaps, something akin to hope in his eyes. It made Roman blush, the intensity of that hopeful yet open look humbled the young man as he waited patiently for his secret love to finish.

“Someone who…loves me…as much as I love him. Do you…think there someone out there like that for me?”

Roman’s face was hot as a hearth now and he couldn’t stop the frantic flutter of his heartbeat. It’s not like he was new to the ways of love and he certainly had never been the shy type. Yet Patton’s words had submitted something within him and he couldn’t for the life of him find the right words or poetics to say to the man before him. So, he went with instinct.

“There is…”

Roman leaned in slowly. Patton seemed to have edged in as well, until finally Roman closed the distance between them. He felt Patton stiffen only for the slightest of seconds before melting into the kiss with equal measure. Perhaps it was his overactive imagination but Roman could’ve sworn he also heard a small whimper from the other. Patton’s lips were softer than Roman could have ever imagines, and there was a faint lingering flavor of chocolate sweetness there as well. No kiss had ever felt like this before, with so much underlying knowingness that this thing between them was right. It felt like a drop of honeyed milk on the tongue of his parched heart. Kissing Patton felt like coming Home.

I’m going to be by this man’s side for as long as he wants me, Roman vowed.

Sadly though, breathing was still a thing. Patton was the first to pull away. He touched his bottom lip with the tips of his fingers. A rosy blush colored his freckly face and he gaped at Roman, which made him panic.

“I—I’m sorry! I thought you—I should’ve asked your consent first—I—“

“Chai…”

“W-what?”

“Your lips, they…they taste like chai. Spiced and sweet and warm.” Patton smiled warmly at him. Roman melted. “I like it. I like you Roman. More thank like you, I…love you.”

“I love you too Patton,” Roman beamed. “So very much!”

A giddy laugh spilled from Patton’s lips and Roman just wanted to drink it in with his own mouth. They’d have all the time in the world for that though. Roman beamed at his beloved and they touched their foreheads together. Their silent reverence of each other was interrupted however by the sound of a slow clap coming from the door.

They both turned to find their friends peeking in through the office door. (Roman could have sworn they’d closed that) Thomas peeked in from the right beaming at them, Virgil leaned against the doorframe arms crossed and grinning cheekily, and right in the middle giving the slow applause was Logan; a satisfied smile upon his face as well. They really are a bunch of snoops, Roman thought slightly irked. Still, he couldn’t help smiling as well. He was just too gosh darn happy to care.

“How long have you all been there?” asked Patton.

“Long enough bro,” said Virgil.

“No way we were gonna miss this!” said Thomas. “Virgil, you owe me twenty bucks.”

“Damnit,” Virgil grumbled.

“Language, kiddo.” Patton said, eliciting a laugh form them all.

“How about you Logan. Do you have anything to say about this?” asked Roman.

“Well,” Logan said, adjusting his glasses, “it is certainly about time!”

Roman barked a laugh at that. Yet he knew now that it came from a place of caring. In less than 24 hours he’d been called form rehearsals, gotten in a fight, taken to jail, bailed out, and now here he was in the afterglow of his first—and hopefully not last—kiss with the love of his life surrounded by his dearest friends. In the back of an old hole-in-the-wall bar and grill no less! It was almost too much drama even for the actor. Yet when he felt Patton slide a hand into his and saw his beloved angel smiling back at him, he knew that it had all been worth it.

“Sure is specs,” Roman said, yet his eyes were all on Patton. “It sure it.”

The End

Last Author Note: I just want to say again that I am SO grateful to you all for sticking with this story!!! There has been so much crap going on in my life in the past month. Through all the emotional strife and drama with my family, the one thing that’s kept me sane is my writing and knowing that you all were here waiting for the ending of this fanfiction. Knowing that this story has actually make people laugh and smile made me want to keep doing what I love and that helped me through everything. So I want to thank each and every one of you for your patience, kind words and support. It means so much to me that you all enjoyed my writing, more so than you could know! Lots of Love to you all.

- Khadijah

Tag List: @altruistic-skittles @thekeytohappiness-is-you @canadian-crofters@icecoldparadise @bluebloodstains@purpleshipper@patchworkofstars@axyzel @hissesssss@beautifully-terribly @pink-and-purple-flowers@jynxlovesluck@thatsanswitch @6tick6tock6 @hanramz-the-fander @azlinne @helplesscreator @thestoryofme13 @bibbidi-bobbity-booyah@accidental-sanders @moonstonefox12 @hissesssss@smokeyrutilequartz @phlying-squirrel @madly-handsome @puns-and-patton @notveryglittery @eequalsmcscared @safesandersides@lizziepopanime @anxiously-unsatisfied-world @beautifully-terribly@justisaisfine @ab-artist @helplesscreator

[thealphabetmurders]

Scrambled Thoughts

Pairings: Romantic Logince, Sibling Analogical

Word Count: 2013 (for Chapter 3), 8163 in total

(Previous) (First)

Summary: Roman was not a rebel by any means. Roman was not a fan of breaking rules. Sure, he bent some from time to time, but never done anything blatantly wrong, that was not in service to his passions. Yet, despite the protests his best friend and his consciousness, he picks up two dozen eggs and goes to vandalize. Now, Roman has to avoid suspension, make amends with Virgil, alleviate the concern of Patton, and not fall in love with his enemy Logan.

Triggers: Bullying, Violence, Vandalism, Adopted Sibling Relationship, Mentions of Racism, Classism

Authors Note:This fic originally was going to be just 3 chapters long, but the people on my discord server implored me to write some more angst. Please enjoy.  (Again, I was inspired by a dream @misplaced-my-notes had, thank you).

Taglist (for everyone who seemed interested): @misplaced-my-notes, @jaszczurkaaa, @an-atypical, @jughead-is-canonically-aroace (let me know if you wanted to be added/taken off)

(Read on AO3) 

One Week Later

Tensions had been running high between Logan and Roman over the week. Logan would smirk at something he had read, faux-gasp at something on his phone, or just give Roman a smug grin, and Roman would return the favor in a civilized fashion of obscene hand gestures.

It felt as though this was going to go on indefinitely. That was, until, a randomly assigned pairs project was put before them. And as fate would have it, there was no question as to who Roman was paired up with.

“So,” Mrs. Volts continued, “As this is a public forum debate, you and your partner will work together to debate another pair. Your resolution topics have been posted on the board. After reading, you and your partner should get together and get started,”

Roman nearly cried as him and Logan looked at one another, both filled with the same amount of despair. They looked at their topic stand together, but looking very much separated, “Americans are entitled to free and public healthcare,”

The two made their way back to a desk in the corner and pulled out their computers wordlessly and shared a document with one another.

“So, I will take the affirmative since I am sure you would love to argue the negative for this one-”

Logan cut him off, “No, I believe we should work together on each one, that way we know an equal amount about the affirmative and negative,” Roman just nodded, “Listen, Roman I would like to apologize,”

Roman frowned, “For what?”

Logan fiddled with the sleeves of his leather jacket and continued talking, not meeting Roman’s eyes, “About my offhand comment on the quality of state schooling. It has been bothering me for days now and I wanted to apologize. I am speaking from a place of privilege, privilege I know I have. I intended to hurt you with that, but I wanted to apologize now, because I immediately regretted as I said it. I made a mistake, and I was wrong,”

Roman was shocked at Logan’s admission. He believe it would go in a completely different direction leading up to a punchline about Roman’s intelligence, “That was very big of you, Logan, thank you. Consider your apology, accepted,” Roman said with a wave of his hand.

“Great,” Logan deadpanned, unzipping and shrugging of his jacket. Today he wore a eggshell vertical striped shirt with a short black tie. Roman looked down at his own attire, a bright purple and red show shirt advertising Noises Off as well as his red bomber. He laughed silently to himself, wondering how they could be dressed more different.

“Are you also going to apologize for bruising my foot by smashing it with your pumps?” Roman asked.

“No, absolutely not,” Logan looked up from his typing, “I will only apologize for things I feel remorse towards and I do not regret that. I can, would, and will do it again when the opportunity presents itself.”

“Whatever you say, Specs,”

Logan shook his head, “We are not at nickname level yet,”

Roman smirked, “What are you gonna do about it- and I see you raising your foot, it that really your only move?”

Another Week Later

Roman didn’t know how it happened. Slowly, Logan and Roman’s, as the former would call it, ‘childish competitive rivalry’ slowly morphed into a ‘childish competitive friendship’. It must have all started when Roman invited Logan over to work on their debate, fully knowing they were ahead with work, and Logan accepted.

Maybe Roman did scream the entire time he rode on the back of Logan’s bike, gripping onto his waist, crying for deal life. It was possible that they spent 10 minutes working on their presentation but then forwent their original motive to play Mario Party. It’s extremely likely that Logan painted Roman’s nails black and Roman taught Logan how to make a meal out of 5 things in the pantry.

“What was that about, Ro?” Patton asked as Logan passed Roman in the hall, bumping him in the shoulder, winking, then smiling.

“Oh, that? We’re friends now, can you believe that?” Roman said, smiling. They sat down for lunch and Patton was smiling meekly.

“So, you both are friends now?” Patton asked. Roman nodded, taking out his salad, “Just… friends?”

Roman’s heart stopped and he swallowed, “Yea, Pat, just friends. W-why?”

Patton giggled, “I don’t know, that did not seem like just friendly behavior to me. I am pretty sure Logan was more expressive in those 5 seconds than I have seen him in the 3 years I have known him,”

Roman stabbed his salad, the fork slightly cracking the bottom of the cheap plastic, “Logan and I are just friends, nothing more. Either way, he is straight,”

“Did he tell you that?”

“Well, no, but he is a nerd and exudes that straight energy. No gay guys ride motorcycles,”

Patton considers this for a moment, “I guess. Bi?”

Roman’s eyes widen, “Huh. I didn’t even think of that. Motorcycles are big bisexual energy,”

“Do you like Logan?” Patton asked outright.

“No. Not really. He is still a self-righteous know it all,”

“So, you will not be upset if I am brutally honest with you, Ro,” Patton started out, hesitantly.

“I suppose… What is going on?”

Patton pushed his lunch aside and folded his hands onto the table, “Don’t you think it is a bit weird that a week ago you and Logan were at each other’s throats, and now he is kind of flirting with you in the halls?”

Roman frowned, chewing on his fork, “What are you saying, Patton?”

“I think that he may be feeding off of your flirtatious nature and using you,”

Roman dropped his fork in his salad and scoffed, “Using me? For what?”

Patton tongued the inside of his cheek, “You seriously do not remember, kiddo? How you vandalized his house and he is trying to get you suspended. Doesn’t he have to come up with something in about a week?”

“Yea…”

“Maybe this is a tactic. Get close to you for information and then use that against you,” Patton put his rounded glasses on top of his head and rubbed his eyes, “I never want to be a negative Nancy, Roman, but I have your best interest in mind, yea? You need a scholarship and fraternizing with the enemy is a damn good way to not get one,”

Roman scoffed, “The enemy?”

“You know what I mean,” Patton looked at his watch and sighed, “I promised Mr. Eldredge I would help him set up for Senior Facs, I just going to head there now,” He quite harshly threw everything in his lunch box and swung his school bag over his shoulder, “Just please listen to me Roman, for once, just listen to me. If you had listened to me in the first place, maybe you and Logan could have been friends without any ulterior motives,”

Patton walked off with purpose leaving Roman by himself to compartmentalize what Patton had revealed to him.

Logan is incredibly smart. That is just a universal truth. With every class, Logan excels and has developed quite the income from selling the faculty WiFi password to students, which allows them to access restricted content on their computers. Yet, there are always two sides to the same coin. Logan uses a lot of that intelligence purely for self preservation. He never gives out test answers or lets anyone copy homework. He is quite selfish with his school supplies as well, but more than anything, Logan is incredibly reserved. Most people high school aged have broken off into cliques or groups they share common interests with. Never Logan. Sure, Logan has acquaintances and people whom he can talk to in class, but never hang out with outside of the fact or even text for leisure. In fact, Roman is pretty sure he is the only contact in Logan phone outside of family.

There is no reason why Logan would randomly, out of the blue, want to become friends with Roman. In fact, it was weird how he didn’t see it for himself, first. Logan was just a parasite, using him off for his own personal gain and wishes then depositing him into a river whenever he has sucked all the blood and life out of him.

Roman gripped at his hair (the curliness of it makes it good to latch on to) and gritted his teeth, willing himself not to spill the hot tears that were taunting the edge of his eyelids. He gritted his teeth and sucked in a cold breath, the air feeling harsh against his enamel, but not as harsh as find out one of the few friends you did make was just using you off.

In a fit of passion and anger, Roman hit his salad off of the table, hitting the wall next to him. Lettuce and dressing stained the wall and the plastic fell on the floor, even more cracked than before. A couple students around him looked at the action, but quickly  turned their attention away; nothing interesting enough was happening to stare at the student who looked on the verge of tears. Roman hastily grabbed his bag and ran out of the cafeteria. Normally, he could clean up his mess, but he was too emotional to care.

He walked and walked and walked until he reached his destination in mind. Roman raised a fist and rapped three quick knocks on the door.

“Roman?”

“Mr. B, what are you doing here… I was here to see-” Mr. Remy Brown stepped to the side to reveal Dr. Emile Picani. There were glasses set out and plates scattered across the coffee table at Dr. Picani’s office.

“Roman, is everything alright,” The school psychiatrist leapt up from his couch and rushed over to the door.

The student sniffled in response, but waved his hand away, “No, no I am fine, I just- You guys are having lunch I can come back-”

“No way, Ro,” Mr. B shook his head, “You look terrible,” He opened the door and gestured for the other to come inside.

He tentatively took a few steps inside and sat in the big leather chair across from the couch, settling into it nicely. Roman crossed his legs on the chair and picked up a stuffed dog and began fiddling with it’s long fur.

“I better go, Em,” Mr. B said, awkwardly. Roman always found it to be weird when teacher said other’s first names, but he quickly dismissed that point.

“Actually, I want you here, Mr. B, if that is alright,” Roman said awkwardly, “I was going to go to you, but I knew you were at lunch and didn’t want to bother you,” Roman looked down at his shoes, “Oops,”

The two adults looked at each other with an undesirable expression, but Dr. Picani signaled to the seat next to him and Mr. B sat down.

“Okay, Roman,” Dr. Picani bit his lip and looked up at Roman with worry, “What seems to be going on?”

*****

Microsoft NERD: Roman, you were not here for 6th period and we were supposed to debate today, is everything okay?

Microsoft NERD: I know we were supposed to go to that “Bubble Tea House” that just opened up; did you go home?

Microsoft NERD: Virgil told me you are in 7th Period, I do not know if you got your phone taken by your teacher, but you really should stop texting in class (also, I do not want you to sass me, this is my TA period).

Microsoft NERD: I am waiting by my bike for you in our usual spot.

Microsoft NERD: Roman, I have been waiting for you for about 40 minutes and you haven’t showed or texted me, I am just going to head home.

Microsoft NERD: I apologise, Roman, if I did anything to upset you or if something else upset you that was outside of me. Just, be prepared to debate tomorrow, I suppose. Goodnight, Roman.

[fireflysinmystomach]

Without Words

Summary: Soulmate au, where the first words your soulmate says to you are tattooed on your skin but Virgil does not have any words on him.

Pairings: Analogical, Moxiety, mentions of  Logince

Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Angst and some Fluff

Warnings: light swearing, self-deprecation, negative thinking, crying, brief mention of scars and disabillity 

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In this world, everyone has a soulmate. Everyone except Virgil.

You see, he is not like everyone else. He was not born with the soul mark promising that somewhere in this big, uncaring world, there is a person that fits just right. Someone that completes you and brings warmth and happiness. A compliment to your soul.

Maybe Virgil simply has no soul. How else could you explain the lack of words on his skin, that were supposed to be there from birth. The first words his soulmate would say to him should be permanently engraved on his body somewhere, but there were none, therefore he was doomed to be alone for all eternity and the only reason he could think of, why he deserved such a fate, was an absence of a soul.

His parents and friends tried to convince him otherwise, Virgil was not a bad person after all. He was not cruel or mean, maybe a little shy but other than that a normal human being.

On the other hand, even really bad people, like murders had soul marks. Why was he different? He didn't want to be.

Since he learned to write, he developed the habit of  creating his own soul mark, write sweet greetings on his wrist and pretend that they have been there since the start. He always cried, when he watched them fade under the relentless water from his shower. Do you know this feeling, when you wake up in the morning, your head still fuzzy from when you drowned your common sense in alcohol the night before and stumble into the bathroom, only to find a picture or some nonsense on your skin? You scrub until the spot turns red and aches and all the while you pray that it is not a permanent mistake? Well, Virgil felt like this every time he steps into the shower, but in reverse.

Until he was about 14, every night as he stood naked in front of his mirror, he desperately wished for the words to appear. Maybe they were just really small and he had previously overlooked them?  He wanted to be a part of this world, wanted to dream about how his soul mate would be, theorize how they would meet and ultimately be happy. But no, his skin stayed unmarked.

He couldn't tell how often he cried because of it any more, forgot how often he rushed to a window whenever there was a rainbow outside or a shooting star or anything he could wish upon. Countless times. So many dandelion seeds have been wasted on a person that doesn't exist.

At some point he just stopped. Maybe it was right before he had to blow out the sixteen candles on his birthday cake, that he decided he would accept it. No more tears, no more wishes, no more hope. The cake had tasted very bitter, that day.

So his teenage years had been spent alone. He grew to hate this faulty system, he was forced to live under. He had never done anything bad that would justify this fate. But maybe the universe was just cruel. Or didn't care about him at all. Maybe he was not supposed to exist. He was convinced, there was no happiness left for him. Everyone else had used it up and now the world had nothing left to offer for him.

He stayed convinced until he met Logan.

Virgil had been sitting in a dark corner of a library and had been lost in a book. Only as it grew dark around him and he could not see the words any longer, did he realise that he had been forgotten. His mind had been occupied with the subject matter and he had stayed until past closing hours. No one had bothered to inform him, therefore he hadn't bothered to hide the tears as he clutched the book to his chest and buried his face in his knees.

The tall, handsome stranger with sparkling blue eyes framed by thick glasses was not noticed until he had crouched down in front of Virgil and tapped his shoulder. The sobs, that had filled the empty halls immediately died down at the gentle words directed at him and his confusion got stuck in his throat.

“The Stars are millions of light years away and still, I can see them in your eyes right now.” God, how he wished to have these words on him, just like those hands offering him a tissue.

He hadn't been surprised by the poetic ring to the strangers voice, everyone tried to put a lot of meaning into the first words they exchanged with anyone, to ensure their soulmate would have something nice on them. It was permanent after all. Virgil had developed this habit alongside his friends but secretly despised it. It didn't matter what he said, no one would have to deal with his words on their skin anyway. Considering this, he found himself pleasantly surprised by the warmth that spread in his chest.

“W-well, yours look like they are filled with ocean water because they are just as deep and mysterious.”

The man had just laughed and loosened his tie, so that he was able to pull the black shirt aside and reveal the cursive words written right above his collar bone.

Virgil feared his heart would rip out of his chest with how hard it had been beating in this moment but as soon as he stranger spoke again, it stuttered and he was feeling like he was drowning in those eyes, that would never be his.

“That was way nicer than 'move nerd, I'm too pretty to die'. My name is Logan, would you like to defy this so called destiny with me and let me buy you a coffee some time?”

Virgil had been hesitant at first. He was setting himself up for heart brake with this. The Man in front of him belonged to someone else. He had his soulmate, his future, his happiness. But how could he deny his request if he was already able to feel himself falling in love?

They had their little coffee date. And many more after that. They dated for three years and both of them had felt truly happy.

They liked to stay up late together and talk about books and music and space and kiss afterwards. They knew exactly how the other liked their coffee. Logan liked a little sugar in it, so that he could consume the caffeine more quickly and effectively and Virgil always had some milk mixed into, not because of the taste but because he was always afraid to burn his tongue and the cold liquid helped to cool it down quicker.

They knew what they had to do, to cheer each other up after a particularly bad day. Logan would wrap his partner into a soft blanket as soon as he saw the hunched over shoulders and the dull, defeated look in his eyes. They would just lay in bed together, knowing that the world had been too much, too overwhelming, no words were exchanged. Only gentle touches and a calm presence shielding him from his own thoughts until he fell asleep.

Virgil had took it upon himself to brush his lips over his boyfriends neck, whenever he could see a clenched jaw, red, tired eyes and a deadly grasp on whatever was close. Countless pencils were snapped in half when Logan was frustrated, but as soon as the writing utensil was replaced with gentle hands, he could feel himself relax. Virgil would just let him talk all his anger and frustration out, occasionally nodding, or giving some small input, but mostly just listening. When they were satisfied with how clear their minds had become, they would sit down together and watch a light-hearted TV show, until Logan learned how to smile again.

It had been enough for them, even though society told them that it was wrong, that the universe had more in store for them. Neither of them cared.

At the beginning, Virgil had been scared. Somewhere out there was his boyfriends soulmate. What would happen when they actually met? He doubted that their love was strong enough to actually fight fate but Logan told him he didn't want this person in his life. He didn't want his life being dictated by some invisible, nonsensical force. He told him, that with Virgil, he felt like he was in control for the first time in his life and that was better than anything this so called soul mate could offer him.

Virgil had believed him, had allowed himself to be vulnerable. He finally trusted Logan completely the day they got matching tattoos of their first words together as a last 'fuck you' to the universe.  

The universe did not like that.

The day Logan met Roman, Virgil found himself crying again.

“I already said that I am sorry! Why wont you listen to me?” The taller man had brushed the hair out of his face with a frustrated huff and watched as his boyfriend stuffed his things into a bag.

“Because you promised, that this would never happened! You told me I was enough and I believed you, Logan!” Virgil didn't know where he would go, he just knew he had to leave.

“Virgil, you don't understand, I can not do anything about this! Roman is infuriating and self-righteous and loud and yet I want to be close to him. It's like we are magnets, complete opposites who attract each other. Neither of us has a choice in that matter but that doesn't mean that anything I said to you is invalid. I still love you, Virgil, it's just that Roman is... he is...”

“He is better than me.”

Virgil stopped talking altogether after that. He moved out of their shared apartment and lived a quiet, lonely life, never looking up, always with music filling his ears.

Even though he could not be mad at Logan for too long, he didn't want any more first words in his life. He had left his heart with the man with the ocean blue eyes and Virgil was certain he could not survive something like this again.

For the longest time he just wanted to disappear from this cruel, uncaring planet.

It was a sunny day as he was forced to talk again. The sky had been without clouds for a few hours now and Virgil was sitting in a park under a tree, just listening to music and watching the birds dance in the air. Do birds have soulmates as well or are they free from this kind of burden, just like they are free to fly high above all of this?

A young man with a bright smile and pale, sky blue eyes appeared in his field of vision. He was holding a bright yellow sunflower out to him and urged him silently to take it. It didn't matter how much Virgil was shaking his head, the man was not backing down from his plan.

With a deep sigh, Virgil took of his large headphones that practically screamed 'leave me alone' and parted his lips. “I don't need your sunshine, please just leave me be.”

He watched as the flower dropped to the ground along with the smile on the strangers face. Only now could he see the faint scar wrapping itself around the man's throat. He first thought he had upset him but before he could say something else, the blue eyed man made hasty gestures with his hands and practically started bouncing up and down. It was quiet adorable, to be honest, if not utterly perplexing.

As Virgil shook his head in confusion, a notebook was pulled out, scribbled upon and shoved into his hands.

'Hey, I'm Patton and I can't talk but we are soulmates! It's so exciting to finally meet you!'

Virgil stared at the loopy handwriting and red the sentence over and over again until drops of something wet fell on it and smeared the ink. At first he had thought it was rain, but just like the strangers eyes, the sky was still cloudless.

Careful fingers cupped his face and lifted it up so that he could look at them again. Patton pulled at his shirt and revealed a few words in messy handwriting sprawled onto his shoulder blade.

With shaking fingers, Virgil traced the words that had just left his mouth on the soft skin.

Another note was handed to him. 'You looked kinda sad so I wanted to make you smile with one of my flowers. I hope you can accept my sunshine now.'

[wearethechaotic]

Character Concept: My Mom

There are too many stories to tell about Dana. All of them would give you a glimpse into the family I was raised by and the people who made me who I am. My dad is a proud, invulnerable man who stands tall and keeps his chin high but my mother, she is an entire universe of kindness, selflessness, and unfailing loyalty encased in a body. Her body has failed her more times than any of us could probably count, but I think it because the mortal coil she’s stuck inside truly can’t handle the power and energy her eternal being has. She was not built for this mortal machinery, and it shows. In everything she does she is more than just human, everything she’s touched with her fingers now shines with gold shimmer and the words from her mouth are something not everyone deserves to hear.

Opinionated and as headstrong as a bull, Dana and I don’t always agree, but I can tell you that her mind holds a wealth of knowledge that I want so bad to drill into. She may not know everything, as most beings rarely do. She could tell you everything there is to know about Runescape, and while she’s still figuring out Minecraft, she probably knows more technical things about the game than most people. She has trouble coping with the death of her character and doesn’t want to fight mobs or be put in any danger. I don’t know if she doesn’t understand the respawn mechanic, or she’s just too caught up in the game to realize there’s more to it than surviving.

I can also inform you that she has no trouble taking life by the balls and telling it she’ll do whatever the fuck she wants. Dana is a thrill seeker, anything to get that adrenaline going. Recently she picked up ghost hunting. She’s not actually gone ghost hunting yet, but preparing for interacting with the spiritual plane takes a while and I’m not going to rush her. As she does, she’s also managed to drag all of us, (me and dad mostly) into ghost hunting as well, not that either of us is going to argue in fact I think we’re both just happy she’s having fun.  I have respect for her ghost hunting desires but I don’t personally share the need to be in a dark place with possibly angry people I can’t see wandering around with the sole purpose to fuck with the living, but Dana has always been a special kind of fearless.

Terrified of spiders and most small rodents, she maintains perfect composure as she comes careening down the stairs to wrangle my dad and sacrifice him to the spiders so they will leave her alone for another year. This technique along with this amazing thing where she releases noise and such high decibels, the spiders just pop. It’s truly impressive to watch. Not to mention that she remains completely lady-like as she strings together curse words with the diction and elegance of a well-traveled medieval pirate.

Dana loves her cats. That’s a big subject to unpack because I think that actually she just likes things that don’t have homes. Always the doorman, Dana has no problem letting in any stray animal or human for that matter that has the gusto to share a home with her in the first place. While she may open her doors to anyone who needs it, its best not to cross the woman herself as I’m pretty sure the garden was converted to a rose scented graveyard years ago. While the outside of the house is a little worse for wear, the inside is warm and welcoming and filled with cats. The fireplace is literally on all the time and by turning it off you’ll cause the whole house to collapse and Dana would not be happy to clean up the remains of her home and start rebuilding it again, so just don’t fucking turn off the fireplace.

Getting the chance to meet and converse with Dana is a time and moment that you will need to cherish as I’m pretty sure she will do what she always does and give you advice that could either ruin your life or make your day and honestly it’s your problem what you do with the power she gives to you. She doesn’t hold back anything, whether it be truly necessary advice or just how much of a dumb cunt you’re being. I do respect that about her, it takes a lot of courage to say what she thinks and feels, but also what does she have to be scared of? Based on my research Dana is one of the most powerful and unforgiving beings dancing around this reality.

Her true and unforgiving beauty emerges from the moment you manage to make her laugh or smile. Her radiance is so powerful it could blind a man. Pushing mid-life crisis age she still sounds, acts, and looks, younger than any of her samely aged peers. But again, her mortal appearance is the last thing you should be worried about when you encounter her. She is more than how she looks and that has always been mind-blowingly obvious. The light in her eyes only gets brighter the more you can get her to smile. I don’t see her truly happy as much as I would like, any scientist knows that the more you experience the phenomena the more you learn.

The rare instances where I am blinded by her radiance are times and days I will never forget. Days like vacation to lake Billy Chinook and teaching the goddess herself how to smoke weed out of a bong or play Kings Cup, Christmas Eve when she got a free dab pen from the store and got so high and giggly none of us could stop smiling, Dad’s last birthday and the look of utter disgust as me and him took shots of fireball and Baileys mixed together. Also anytime the words ‘don’t be a pussy’ leave her lips.

For the people who are lucky enough to even call her acquaintance, I tell you being her daughter is more magic than any of you could handle. As a DM, I often imagine the people I know as more than they are. Deep in the land of dragons and fierce fighters, they live whole other lives. In that world, Dana is like she is in this life, but more the way she deserves to be portrayed.

Danyra Witherwillow is a high elf witch. Tall and tanned skin, rapier on her side and heart of oak staff in her hand. She stands tall, black hair tied around her head in intricate braids, feathers and flowers dotting the style. She’s angry, clad in full leather armor, a storm brewing in the clouds behind her. She stands for the weak, in this case, her forest home. The king’s men are setting fire to the woods and she will not stand for it. Gathering all her strength the sky cracks with her anger and the look in her eyes is enough to turn the lead guardsmen to stone. She utters a simple warning, “I fight for this land, and we are not falling this day.”

Some of the guard's cackle, wondering what this simple elf woman could do to stop all of them. She deepens her stance, pulling the staff up to protect her body, and with a terrifying battle cry the skies open up and a searingly cold downpour clouds the vision of the guards. Danyra has no worries, she somehow knows it won’t be her watering the trees with her blood. With the confidence of ten million man army, Danyra begins casting. Roots and vines disarm the men who came here only to do harm, as it's hard to hurt anyone with no weapons. The forest watches as she kills every last one of the hundred soldiers sent by the king, some she kills quickly with her sword, and some she allows the forest to suffocate or be crushed with the strength of the roots and vines entangling them. She kills their warhorses too, unforgiving and righteous, she has no mercy. The weather clears and the sun emerges and the earth swallows the bodies.

Laying her hand on the trunk of a nearby tree she can feel it pulsing thank you.

My mom might not be an adventuring elven galavant fighting to protect her home. She’s probably sitting on the living room couch with a cup of tea, surrounded by her cats, watching YouTube videos on her phone, wonder, and laughter in her eyes as she researches whatever topic she stuck on that week. While she’s not a sword-wielding witch deep in the forest, she and Danyra are the same. Dana stands in front of her family, all three of her kids stood proud behind her. She stares at anyone who dares threaten the life we have here together. She’s not saving a forest right now, but she is saving us.

Dana has been saving us since before we knew we needed to be saved. Sometimes I look at her from my perch in dad’s chair or the adjacent couch and I wonder if she ever thinks about the lives she’s living in other people’s realities. I wonder if she feels the people she saved, her trees, pulsing thank you. I wonder if she feels me, radiating thank you. Those are the only words I should ever say to her anymore. Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you.

The thanks aren’t much. Just a small effervescent reminder of all she’s done for me, my friends, our family. She has taken what we built together as a family and she has laid down her own life to keep what we have.

“Us versus the world,” she says and smiles at me “that’s the way it’s always been.”

I never really thought of it like that. Us, the five of us, against the world and everyone in it, but it has made me realize that we are Danyra’s forest. We are the sky filled with storm clouds above her as she screams a single threat at our attackers, we are the pouring rain giving her the upper hand in battle, we are her rapier slashing through the flesh of the weak minded people who came for us, we are the vines and roots that take out what she misses, and we are, above all else, her home.

((I love my mom and honestly, this character is a baddy and I would play her fr))

[imagine-loki]

Maelstrom

TITLE: Maelstrom CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: Chapter 7 AUTHOR: wolfpawn ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine helping Loki leave his physically and emotionally abusive girlfriend. You treat him with kindness and respect, and with time, as he falls for you, you teach him that love isn’t supposed to hurt. RATING: Mature NOTES/WARNINGS: Trigger Warning - This story is going to deal with emotional and physical abuse by a female abuser to her male partner. 

Maelstrom - a situation or state of confused movement or violent turmoil.

The news spread quickly around the palace of what had occurred. So many scoffed at the idea of a man being the victim, more scoffed that he must not be much of a man if a woman could do such things to him and for him to do nothing in retaliation. Some questioned what he had done to warrant it. But other acknowledged the severity of the issue, many solely as a result of how others dismissed it, shocked to see something so serious was dismissed so quickly when, if it had been a woman, they would have listened.

Cara ensured every note in her possession regarding everything was perfect. She even did diagrams that showed every wound she saw and treated. In all her interviews, she ensured her answers were concise and accurate. There were a few situations she could not assist with as she had never known of them. Alfred had revealed a lot of other incidences that she had not been aware of, she always was honest regarding her knowledge or lack of knowledge of such events.

A few days before everything was due to come in front of the court, Cara was filling documents on a patient that was planning to move to Alfheim who needed their records to bring with them. She had not seen Loki since the day that everything was brought into the open but she accepted and respected his choice. She did what she did because she cared about him and she would stand by it.

When there was a knock on her door, she gave consent of the person to come in, rising from her chair when she saw who it was that was entering.

‘I hope I'm not disturbing you.’

‘Allmother.’ she curtsied. ‘Not at all, I am merely doing some paperwork. How can I assist you?’

‘I just came to thank you. I have become more aware of everything regarding my son and the more I learn, the more I am grateful to you.’

‘It was nothing more than anyone else would have done, Allmother.’

‘Your comments before you left that day, how you said you did it for him and were willing to accept his anger, that implies more than a mere patient/healer situation, but of true friendship.’

‘I know the prince the majority of my life, I have spoken to him on occasion throughout the years but during his treatments, I spoke with him more than I ever had before. I truly think he merely wanted someone to just talk to. Who knew what was going on, yet decided to still speak to him regarding matters of benign importance, giving him some semblance of normality throughout his experience.’

‘So, you were merely lending an ear?’

‘It was more than that, I genuinely enjoyed his company and the topics we discussed.’

‘So you will consider yourself his friend?’

‘In many ways, were it not for the reasons I was speaking to him in the first place, was he not my patient at those times, yes, very much so. After the feast at Lucas’ wedding, I spoke to him one of the very few times outside of him being an active patient of mine, it was by far the most pleasurable and interesting part the entire day for me. He was incredible company.’ Frigga nodded her head solemnly. ‘Can I get you anything, Allmother? Some tea perhaps?’

‘There is no great scheme to poison me with it, is there?’ The Allmother joke darkly.

‘Only a drop or two of arsenic, you know yourself, it's not as bitter as lemon.’ Cara retorted as she got the tea.

‘Can you discussed this?’

‘Not the particulars of my file and its contents, but yes, like any other being, I am permitted to discuss things, if just only titbits.’

‘He is taking it all very badly. A lot of people are being very cruel.’

‘A lot of people are very cruel.’ Cara responded. ‘They often do that with female victims also.’

‘Why?’

‘I cannot say for certain because I do not think as they think but from what I see, they do so because they are self-righteous and sanctimonious and they believe that people deserve or ask for mistreatment show their actions or inactions. It takes incredible strength and bravery to stand up to an abuser, to those who have never been abused, they do not understand and many, rather than trying to understand, forming an uneducated assumption based on zero facts or indifference of the highest degree. There are people that believe a prostitute cannot be raped, that a man cannot be physically abused, and that women who dress in particular clothing asking to be assaulted.’

‘Such lines of thought are incredibly terrifying.’ Frigga shook her head. ‘ There is a significant chance she could get away with this.’

‘Yes, she very may well. I have read more than one case were even with significant evidence, the men house walked free. It occurs with female assailants also, and female assailants also get less severe punishments based on their appearance.’

‘If she does…?’

‘Have her removed from Asgard?’ Cara suggested. ‘You cannot exile her, nor can you banish her but we can have her placed on a different realm for other reasons.’

‘I hear your father heard what Tywin said of you.’

‘I have not seen him much since then as he is currently on Vanaheim but what I have been told, it took fourteen men to prevent him and my brother from getting to a site where they could call upon Heimdall to open the Bifrost.’

‘Lord Tywin has handed in his resignation as ambassador and my husband was more than willing accept it. Your aunt has not extended her consent for him to return to Vanaheim to work either.’

‘How tragic.’ Cara scoffed sarcastically.

‘Indeed.’ Frigga looked at her cup. ‘How…?’ Cara looked at her, slightly confused. ‘Loki refuses to speak much regarding it, and when he does, I know it now to be nothing more than a facade. Looking back, I never even realised my own son was in such a situation. I am his mother and I never even noticed.’

‘He was broken and lost. I don't think even he knew how to deal with it all. You raised him to respect and never raise a hand to a woman but he was also wanted to try to defend himself, so he was incredibly conflicted. He was confused because it was also not an enemy that was harming him, this was supposed to be someone who loved him. She had him convinced that is was love and that he would never feel such a sensation again without her. That she was the only one who could ever love him.’

‘Will he...do you think she has broken him? Will he ever try to love again?’ Frigga pondered aloud. ‘My poor boy.’

‘Hopefully. It is more than likely he will leave some time before he would ever be able to consider such things or more but that's ok.  He is young, he has things he wishes to do, he wants to learn if feel good about himself again, that will assist him in finding a more suitable partner.’ Cara smiled reassuringly. ‘He's an incredibly intelligent and handsome man, he will find someone who will respect and deserve him.’

‘I hope so. He is a very sensitive being, you have to be to be a seidr wielder. I was so happy when I saw him with her, I thought he had found someone. I encouraged it.’ Frigga’s guilt increased.

‘You could not have known, she was good at hiding it.’

‘But he would have felt that to say no to her would have disappointed us.’

Cara could not say anything to confirm or deny that statement since Loki has not mentioned anything on the topic of his mother's approval. ‘It does not do well to dwell on such things, we only enlarge a guilt instead of learning to move on.’ She smiled. ‘If his highness is trying to move on, he does not need his family, his very support structure, being the ones to keep him in that place.’

Frigga nodded. ‘I can see why he confided in you. You are far wiser than many thrice your age.’

‘This profession requires immense maturity and wisdom. It is not a profession for….’

‘The Lucia’s of the realms?’

‘Norns, the idea of her tending to others, for her to have to be the one to care and listen to them, that is a terrifying prospect.’ Cara shuddered.

‘You are a very interesting being. when did you feel this was your path?’

Cara smiled family, realising just how alike to his mother Loki was.

*

Cara sighed. Three days. For three days she was examined and cross-examined to see if there were any irregularities or faults in her take of events. None could find fault in her work and treatments as well as the way she documented everything, though Lucia and her family tried to imply she had. She had followed the healer’s code to the smallest comma. Lucia’s family tried to imply that she and Loki had schemed together and concocted the entire story, but the motive was non-existent. Loki had not once been in her company since and her continued manner of treating her patients and her attention to detail signified no alteration to her mood with regards them no longer being in contact with the prince. It was dismissed.

Much to Cara’s anger, Lucia was given a lenient sentence, but it did forbid her from ever returning to Asgard upon her release. Loki was forced to expose his scars and recount her actions, leaving his mother distraught, his brother irate, many shocked and him emotionally drained. If she was honest, the sleeping brew Eir seemed to be taking from the healing cabinet daily was, in her opinion, without a doubt for the Prince, and perhaps his mother after the day Loki was forced to recount everything. There was no way to persuade her otherwise, not that Eir would have told her regardless, nor would she ask.

More than once, Loki looked at Cara during her time being questioned. She did not falter, even though she knew it was distressing and in many ways, she knew he would construe it as a betrayal. All she thought of was having justice be served, to give him some form of closure.

Afterwards, as Lucia yowled like a scalded cat and the people gossiped loudly through the hallways of the palace, Cara went to the garden and sat thinking about everything. She was there until after the sunset and night descended on Asgard.

‘Cara?’ She turned to see her sister standing nearby. ‘Hey.’

‘Hello.’

‘Father is looking everywhere for you.’

‘Okay.’

‘Are you alright?’

‘No, I’m half left.’ Cara joked.

Sif groaned as her younger sister recycled their father’s cringe-inducing attempt at humour. ‘What’s up, and please don’t say the sky?’

‘I am just thinking.’

‘About today?’

‘Yes.’

‘You were good by the way, not buckling to her family.’

‘I could never call myself a Tyrdottir if I had.’

‘It must not have been easy. I never realised….’ Sif sighed. ‘Thor, the others and I, we all thought her too good for him. He looked to be perpetually miserable, and we said time and again that he was the issue, we never once considered her to be the issue. But, you knew….’ Cara looked at her sister. ‘You warned me subtly and I dismissed you.’

‘It’s done.’

‘How are you about it all?’

‘Angry, sad, happy, annoyed, everything all at once.’

‘Have you spoken to Loki since the verdict was given?’

‘I have not spoken to His Highness since the day it all came out.’

‘Really? I thought you two were close?’

‘So did Lucia and her family.’

‘I thought you just hid it for the trial?’

‘No, I was merely his healer, nothing more.’

‘Fair enough. Come on, Rhonda and Father want to have dinner.’

‘Why?’

‘You know as well as I do that it is tradition to thank heroes.’

‘I am a healer, not a hero. I just did my job.’

‘I disagree.’

‘We usually do.’ Cara joked. ‘I just need to go and write my notes for the day. I had an expectant mother I dealt with this morning before the sentencing. I have to update her details.’

‘Your job is so interesting.’ Sif stated sarcastically.

‘I think so.’

‘I envy you, Cara. You just….you’re so happy in yourself, I wish I had your confidence.’

‘I think you are either fishing for compliments or blind, Sister. You forget, I deal with the men you force to respect you on almost a daily basis. Only a truly confident being would be able to do what you do in combat.’

‘We’re not half bad, are we?’ Sif beamed.

‘Not at all.’ Cara agreed before inhaling deeply. ‘Could you tell Father and Rhonda that I am exhausted from it all and need a night to myself?’

‘Sure.’ Sif nodded. ‘Call if you need anything, alright?’

‘I promise.’ Sif nodded again and left her in peace.

Alone again, Cara continued to contemplate the day that had been.

[loveofyhwh]

October 28: Jeremiah 18–20; 1 John 1–2:6; Psalm 108; Proverbs 26:24–26

New Post has been published on https://loveofyhwh.com/october-28-jeremiah-18-20-1-john-1-26-psalm-108-proverbs-2624-26/

October 28: Jeremiah 18–20; 1 John 1–2:6; Psalm 108; Proverbs 26:24–26

Old Testament:

Jeremiah 18–20

Jeremiah 18–20 (Listen)

The Potter and the Clay

18 The word that came to Jeremiah from the LORD: 2 “Arise, and go down to the potter’s house, and there I will let you hearOr will cause you to hear‘>1 my words.” 3 So I went down to the potter’s house, and there he was working at his wheel. 4 And the vessel he was making of clay was spoiled in the potter’s hand, and he reworked it into another vessel, as it seemed good to the potter to do.

5 Then the word of the LORD came to me: 6 “O house of Israel, can I not do with you as this potter has done? declares the LORD. Behold, like the clay in the potter’s hand, so are you in my hand, O house of Israel. 7 If at any time I declare concerning a nation or a kingdom, that I will pluck up and break down and destroy it, 8 and if that nation, concerning which I have spoken, turns from its evil, I will relent of the disaster that I intended to do to it. 9 And if at any time I declare concerning a nation or a kingdom that I will build and plant it, 10 and if it does evil in my sight, not listening to my voice, then I will relent of the good that I had intended to do to it. 11 Now, therefore, say to the men of Judah and the inhabitants of Jerusalem: ‘Thus says the LORD, Behold, I am shaping disaster against you and devising a plan against you. Return, every one from his evil way, and amend your ways and your deeds.’

12 “But they say, ‘That is in vain! We will follow our own plans, and will every one act according to the stubbornness of his evil heart.’

13   “Therefore thus says the LORD:   Ask among the nations,     Who has heard the like of this?   The virgin Israel     has done a very horrible thing. 14   Does the snow of Lebanon leave     the crags of Sirion?Hebrew of the field‘>2   Do the mountain waters run dry,Hebrew Are foreign waters plucked up‘>3     the cold flowing streams? 15   But my people have forgotten me;     they make offerings to false gods;   they made them stumble in their ways,     in the ancient roads,   and to walk into side roads,     not the highway, 16   making their land a horror,     a thing to be hissed at forever.   Everyone who passes by it is horrified     and shakes his head. 17   Like the east wind I will scatter them     before the enemy.   I will show them my back, not my face,     in the day of their calamity.”

18 Then they said, “Come, let us make plots against Jeremiah, for the law shall not perish from the priest, nor counsel from the wise, nor the word from the prophet. Come, let us strike him with the tongue, and let us not pay attention to any of his words.”

19   Hear me, O LORD,     and listen to the voice of my adversaries. 20   Should good be repaid with evil?     Yet they have dug a pit for my life.   Remember how I stood before you     to speak good for them,     to turn away your wrath from them. 21   Therefore deliver up their children to famine;     give them over to the power of the sword;   let their wives become childless and widowed.     May their men meet death by pestilence,     their youths be struck down by the sword in battle. 22   May a cry be heard from their houses,     when you bring the plunderer suddenly upon them!   For they have dug a pit to take me     and laid snares for my feet. 23   Yet you, O LORD, know     all their plotting to kill me.   Forgive not their iniquity,     nor blot out their sin from your sight.   Let them be overthrown before you;     deal with them in the time of your anger.

The Broken Flask

19 Thus says the LORD, “Go, buy a potter’s earthenware flask, and take some of the elders of the people and some of the elders of the priests, 2 and go out to the Valley of the Son of Hinnom at the entry of the Potsherd Gate, and proclaim there the words that I tell you. 3 You shall say, ‘Hear the word of the LORD, O kings of Judah and inhabitants of Jerusalem. Thus says the LORD of hosts, the God of Israel: Behold, I am bringing such disaster upon this place that the ears of everyone who hears of it will tingle. 4 Because the people have forsaken me and have profaned this place by making offerings in it to other gods whom neither they nor their fathers nor the kings of Judah have known; and because they have filled this place with the blood of innocents, 5 and have built the high places of Baal to burn their sons in the fire as burnt offerings to Baal, which I did not command or decree, nor did it come into my mind—6 therefore, behold, days are coming, declares the LORD, when this place shall no more be called Topheth, or the Valley of the Son of Hinnom, but the Valley of Slaughter. 7 And in this place I will make void the plans of Judah and Jerusalem, and will cause their people to fall by the sword before their enemies, and by the hand of those who seek their life. I will give their dead bodies for food to the birds of the air and to the beasts of the earth. 8 And I will make this city a horror, a thing to be hissed at. Everyone who passes by it will be horrified and will hiss because of all its wounds. 9 And I will make them eat the flesh of their sons and their daughters, and everyone shall eat the flesh of his neighbor in the siege and in the distress, with which their enemies and those who seek their life afflict them.’

10 “Then you shall break the flask in the sight of the men who go with you, 11 and shall say to them, ‘Thus says the LORD of hosts: So will I break this people and this city, as one breaks a potter’s vessel, so that it can never be mended. Men shall bury in Topheth because there will be no place else to bury. 12 Thus will I do to this place, declares the LORD, and to its inhabitants, making this city like Topheth. 13 The houses of Jerusalem and the houses of the kings of Judah—all the houses on whose roofs offerings have been offered to all the host of heaven, and drink offerings have been poured out to other gods—shall be defiled like the place of Topheth.’”

14 Then Jeremiah came from Topheth, where the LORD had sent him to prophesy, and he stood in the court of the LORD’s house and said to all the people: 15 “Thus says the LORD of hosts, the God of Israel, behold, I am bringing upon this city and upon all its towns all the disaster that I have pronounced against it, because they have stiffened their neck, refusing to hear my words.”

Jeremiah Persecuted by Pashhur

20 Now Pashhur the priest, the son of Immer, who was chief officer in the house of the LORD, heard Jeremiah prophesying these things. 2 Then Pashhur beat Jeremiah the prophet, and put him in the stocks that were in the upper Benjamin Gate of the house of the LORD. 3 The next day, when Pashhur released Jeremiah from the stocks, Jeremiah said to him, “The LORD does not call your name Pashhur, but Terror on Every Side. 4 For thus says the LORD: Behold, I will make you a terror to yourself and to all your friends. They shall fall by the sword of their enemies while you look on. And I will give all Judah into the hand of the king of Babylon. He shall carry them captive to Babylon, and shall strike them down with the sword. 5 Moreover, I will give all the wealth of the city, all its gains, all its prized belongings, and all the treasures of the kings of Judah into the hand of their enemies, who shall plunder them and seize them and carry them to Babylon. 6 And you, Pashhur, and all who dwell in your house, shall go into captivity. To Babylon you shall go, and there you shall die, and there you shall be buried, you and all your friends, to whom you have prophesied falsely.”

7   O LORD, you have deceived me,     and I was deceived;   you are stronger than I,     and you have prevailed.   I have become a laughingstock all the day;     everyone mocks me. 8   For whenever I speak, I cry out,     I shout, “Violence and destruction!”   For the word of the LORD has become for me     a reproach and derision all day long. 9   If I say, “I will not mention him,     or speak any more in his name,”   there is in my heart as it were a burning fire     shut up in my bones,   and I am weary with holding it in,     and I cannot. 10   For I hear many whispering.     Terror is on every side!   “Denounce him! Let us denounce him!”     say all my close friends,     watching for my fall.   “Perhaps he will be deceived;     then we can overcome him     and take our revenge on him.” 11   But the LORD is with me as a dread warrior;     therefore my persecutors will stumble;     they will not overcome me.   They will be greatly shamed,     for they will not succeed.   Their eternal dishonor     will never be forgotten. 12   O LORD of hosts, who tests the righteous,     who sees the heart and the mind,Hebrew kidneys‘>4   let me see your vengeance upon them,     for to you have I committed my cause. 13   Sing to the LORD;     praise the LORD!   For he has delivered the life of the needy     from the hand of evildoers. 14   Cursed be the day     on which I was born!   The day when my mother bore me,     let it not be blessed! 15   Cursed be the man who brought the news to my father,   “A son is born to you,”     making him very glad. 16   Let that man be like the cities     that the LORD overthrew without pity;   let him hear a cry in the morning     and an alarm at noon, 17   because he did not kill me in the womb;     so my mother would have been my grave,     and her womb forever great. 18   Why did I come out from the womb     to see toil and sorrow,     and spend my days in shame?

Footnotes

[1] 18:2 Or will cause you to hear [2] 18:14 Hebrew of the field [3] 18:14 Hebrew Are foreign waters plucked up [4] 20:12 Hebrew kidneys

(ESV)

New Testament:

1 John 1–2:6

1 John 1–2:6 (Listen)

The Word of Life

1 That which was from the beginning, which we have heard, which we have seen with our eyes, which we looked upon and have touched with our hands, concerning the word of life—2 the life was made manifest, and we have seen it, and testify to it and proclaim to you the eternal life, which was with the Father and was made manifest to us—3 that which we have seen and heard we proclaim also to you, so that you too may have fellowship with us; and indeed our fellowship is with the Father and with his Son Jesus Christ. 4 And we are writing these things so that ourSome manuscripts your‘>1 joy may be complete.

Walking in the Light

5 This is the message we have heard from him and proclaim to you, that God is light, and in him is no darkness at all. 6 If we say we have fellowship with him while we walk in darkness, we lie and do not practice the truth. 7 But if we walk in the light, as he is in the light, we have fellowship with one another, and the blood of Jesus his Son cleanses us from all sin. 8 If we say we have no sin, we deceive ourselves, and the truth is not in us. 9 If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just to forgive us our sins and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness. 10 If we say we have not sinned, we make him a liar, and his word is not in us.

Christ Our Advocate

2 My little children, I am writing these things to you so that you may not sin. But if anyone does sin, we have an advocate with the Father, Jesus Christ the righteous. 2 He is the propitiation for our sins, and not for ours only but also for the sins of the whole world. 3 And by this we know that we have come to know him, if we keep his commandments. 4 Whoever says “I know him” but does not keep his commandments is a liar, and the truth is not in him, 5 but whoever keeps his word, in him truly the love of God is perfected. By this we may know that we are in him: 6 whoever says he abides in him ought to walk in the same way in which he walked.

Footnotes

[1] 1:4 Some manuscripts your

(ESV)

Psalm:

Psalm 108

Psalm 108 (Listen)

With God We Shall Do Valiantly

A Song. A Psalm of David.

108   My heart is steadfast, O God!     I will sing and make melody with all my being!Hebrew with my glory‘>1 2   Awake, O harp and lyre!     I will awake the dawn! 3   I will give thanks to you, O LORD, among the peoples;     I will sing praises to you among the nations. 4   For your steadfast love is great above the heavens;     your faithfulness reaches to the clouds. 5   Be exalted, O God, above the heavens!     Let your glory be over all the earth! 6   That your beloved ones may be delivered,     give salvation by your right hand and answer me! 7   God has promised in his holiness:Or sanctuary‘>2     “With exultation I will divide up Shechem     and portion out the Valley of Succoth. 8   Gilead is mine; Manasseh is mine;     Ephraim is my helmet,     Judah my scepter. 9   Moab is my washbasin;     upon Edom I cast my shoe;     over Philistia I shout in triumph.” 10   Who will bring me to the fortified city?     Who will lead me to Edom? 11   Have you not rejected us, O God?     You do not go out, O God, with our armies. 12   Oh grant us help against the foe,     for vain is the salvation of man! 13   With God we shall do valiantly;     it is he who will tread down our foes.

Footnotes

[1] 108:1 Hebrew with my glory [2] 108:7 Or sanctuary

(ESV)

Proverb:

Proverbs 26:24–26

Proverbs 26:24–26 (Listen)

24   Whoever hates disguises himself with his lips     and harbors deceit in his heart; 25   when he speaks graciously, believe him not,     for there are seven abominations in his heart; 26   though his hatred be covered with deception,     his wickedness will be exposed in the assembly.

(ESV)

[thetheoreticaljehovist]

The vigorous man will certainly become tow, and the product of his activity a spark; and both of them will certainly go up in flames at the same time, with no one to do the extinguishing...

“The word that occurred to Jeremiah from Jehovah, saying: “Rise up, and you must go down to the house of the potter, and there I shall cause you to hear my words. And I proceeded to go down to the house of the potter, and there he was doing work upon the potter’s wheels. And the vessel that he was making with the clay was spoiled by the potter’s hand, and he turned back and went making it into another vessel, just as it looked right in the eyes of the potter to make.

And the word of Jehovah continued to occur to me, saying: “‘Am I not able to do just like this potter to YOU people, O house of Israel?’ is the utterance of Jehovah. ‘Look! As the clay in the hand of the potter, so YOU are in my hand, O house of Israel. At any moment that I may speak against a nation and against a kingdom to uproot [it] and to pull [it] down and to destroy [it], and that nation actually turns back from its badness against which I spoke, I will also feel regret over the calamity that I had thought to execute upon it. But at any moment that I may speak concerning a nation and concerning a kingdom to build [it] up and to plant [it], and it actually does what is bad in my eyes by not obeying my voice, I will also feel regret over the good that I said [to myself] to do for its good.’

“And now say, please, to the men of Judah and to the inhabitants of Jerusalem, ‘This is what Jehovah has said: “Here I am forming against YOU a calamity and thinking against YOU a thought. Turn back, please, each one from his bad way, and make YOUR ways and YOUR dealings good.”’”

And they said: “It is hopeless! For after our own thoughts we shall walk, and we are going to carry out each one the stubbornness of his bad heart.”

Therefore this is what Jehovah has said: “Ask for yourselves, please, among the nations. Who has heard things like these? There is a horrible thing that the virgin of Israel has done to an excess. Will the snow of Leb’a·non go away from the rock of the open field? Or will strange waters, cool, trickling, be dried up? For my people have forgotten me in that they make sacrificial smoke to something worthless, and in that they make men stumble in their ways, the paths of long ago, to walk in roadways, a way not banked up, in order to make their land an object of astonishment, for whistling at to time indefinite. Every last one passing along by it will stare in astonishment and shake his head. As with an east wind I shall scatter them before the enemy. The back, and not the face, I shall show them in the day of their disaster.”

And they proceeded to say: “Come, men, and let us think out against Jeremiah some thoughts, for the law will not perish from the priest or counsel from the wise one or the word from the prophet. Come and let us strike him with the tongue, and let us pay no attention to any of his words.”

Do pay attention to me, O Jehovah, and listen to the voice of my opponents. Should bad be repaid for good? For they have excavated a pit for my soul. Remember my standing before you to speak good even concerning them, to turn back your rage from them. Therefore give their sons over to the famine, and deliver them over to the power of the sword; and may their wives become women bereaved of children, and widows. And may their own men become those killed with deadly plague, their young men those struck down with the sword in the battle. Let a cry be heard out of their houses, when you bring upon them suddenly a marauder band. For they have excavated a pit to capture me, and traps they have hid for my feet.

But you yourself, O Jehovah, well know all their counsel against me for [my] death. Do not cover over their error, and do not wipe out that sin of theirs from before you; but let them become those who are made to stumble before you. In the time of your anger take action against them.

This is what Jehovah said: “Go, and you must get an earthenware flask of a potter and some of the older men of the people and some of the older men of the priests. And you must go out to the valley of the son of Hin’nom, which is at the entrance of the Gate of the Potsherds. And there you must proclaim the words that I shall speak to you. And you must say, ‘Hear the word of Jehovah, O YOU kings of Judah and YOU inhabitants of Jerusalem. This is what Jehovah of armies, the God of Israel, has said:

“‘“Here I am bringing a calamity upon this place, of which when anyone hears, his ears will tingle; for the reason that they have left me and have proceeded to make this place unrecognizable and to make sacrificial smoke in it to other gods whom they had not known, they and their forefathers and the kings of Judah; and they have filled this place with the blood of the innocent ones. And they built the high places of the Ba’al in order to burn their sons in the fire as whole burnt offerings to the Ba’al, something that I had not commanded or spoken of, and that had not come up into my heart.”’

“‘“Therefore, look! there are days coming,” is the utterance of Jehovah, “when this place will be called no more To’pheth and the valley of the son of Hin’nom, but the valley of the killing. And I will make void the counsel of Judah and of Jerusalem in this place, and I will cause them to fall by the sword before their enemies and by the hand of those seeking for their soul. And I will give their dead bodies as food to the flying creatures of the heavens and to the beasts of the earth. And I will make this city an object of astonishment and something to be whistled at. Every last one passing along by it will stare in astonishment and whistle over all its plagues. And I will make them eat the flesh of their sons and the flesh of their daughters; and they will eat each one the flesh of his fellowman, because of the tightness and because of the stress with which their enemies and those seeking for their soul will hem them in.”’

“And you must break the flask before the eyes of the men who are going with you. And you must say to them, ‘This is what Jehovah of armies has said: “In the same way I shall break this people and this city as someone breaks the vessel of the potter so that it is no more able to be repaired; and in To’pheth they will bury until there is no more place to bury.”’

“‘That is how I shall do to this place,’ is the utterance of Jehovah, ‘and to the inhabitants of it, even to make this city like To’pheth. And the houses of Jerusalem and the houses of the kings of Judah must become like the place of To’pheth, unclean ones, that is, all the houses upon the roofs of which they made sacrificial smoke to all the army of the heavens and there was a pouring out of drink offerings to other gods.’”

And Jeremiah proceeded to come from To’pheth, to which Jehovah had sent him to prophesy, and to stand in the courtyard of the house of Jehovah and say to all the people: “This is what Jehovah of armies, the God of Israel, has said, ‘Here I am bringing upon this city and upon all its cities all the calamity that I have spoken against it, because they have hardened their neck in order not to obey my words.’”

Now Pash’hur the son of Im’mer, the priest, who was also the leading commissioner in the house of Jehovah, kept listening to Jeremiah while prophesying these words. Then Pash’hur struck Jeremiah the prophet and put him into the stocks that were in the Upper Gate of Benjamin, which was in the house of Jehovah. But it came about on the following day that Pash’hur proceeded to let Jeremiah out from the stocks, and Jeremiah now said to him:

“Jehovah has called your name, not Pash’hur, but Fright all around. For this is what Jehovah has said, ‘Here I am making you a fright to yourself and to all your lovers, and they will certainly fall by the sword of their enemies while your eyes will be looking on; and all Judah I shall give into the hand of the king of Babylon, and he will actually take them into exile in Babylon and strike them down with the sword. And I will give all the stored-up things of this city and all its product and all its precious things; and all the treasures of the kings of Judah I am going to give into the hand of their enemies. And they will certainly plunder them and take them and bring them to Babylon. And as for you, O Pashʹhur, and all the inhabitants of your house, YOU will go into captivity; and to Babylon you will come and there you will die and there you yourself will be buried with all your lovers, because you have prophesied to them in falsehood.’”

You have fooled me, O Jehovah, so that I was fooled. You used your strength against me, so that you prevailed. I became an object of laughter all day long; everyone is holding me in derision. For as often as I speak, I cry out. Violence and despoiling are what I call out. For the word of Jehovah became for me a cause for reproach and for jeering all day long. And I said: “I am not going to make mention of him, and I shall speak no more in his name.” And in my heart it proved to be like a burning fire shut up in my bones; and I got tired of holding in, and I was unable [to endure it]. For I heard the bad report of many. There was fright all around. “TELL out, that we may tell out about him.” Every mortal man bidding me “Peace!”—they are watching for my limping: “Perhaps he will be fooled, so that we may prevail against him and take our revenge upon him.” But Jehovah was with me like a terrible mighty one. That is why the very ones persecuting me will stumble and not prevail. They will certainly be put to much shame, because they will not have prospered. [Their] indefinitely lasting humiliation will be one that will not be forgotten.

But you, O Jehovah of armies, are examining the righteous one; you are seeing the kidneys and the heart. May I see your vengeance upon them, for to you I have revealed my case at law.

Sing to Jehovah, YOU people! Praise Jehovah! For he has delivered the soul of the poor one out of the hand of evildoers.

Cursed be the day on which I was born! May the day that my mother gave me birth not become blessed! Cursed be the man that brought good news to my father, saying: “There has been born to you a son, a male!” He positively made him rejoice. And that very man must become like cities that Jehovah has overthrown while He has felt no regret. And he must hear an outcry in the morning and an alarm signal at the time of midday. Why did he not definitely put me to death from the womb, that my mother should become to me my burial place and her womb be pregnant to time indefinite? Why is it that I have come forth from the very womb in order to see hard work and grief and that my days should come to their end in mere shame?”

-Jeremiah 18-20, NWT

They Built The High Places of The Ba’al in Order To Burn Their Sons in The Fire

[theriverscribe]

Hold Tight

By TheRiverScribe

Summary:  They'd become fluent in the unspoken language of lovers who couldn't proclaim their devotion in public.  Everything they felt was said in silence, communicated through gestures and codes. Gabriel hated it with a passion. Warnings:  Brief incident of homophobia Word Count:  3950 Pairing/Characters:  Gabriel/Sam Winchester                                     Castiel/Dean Winchester (mentioned)

Aesthetic created by the awe-inspiring @lacqueluster

June Entry for the Gabriel Monthly Challenge Dialogue Prompt:  “All I know is one of us is right and the other one is you.” This was also heavily inspired by ANZ Australia's #HoldTight ad campaign.

Read it on AO3, or continue below!

Hold Tight

Today was a good day.  

The Summer sun sat high in a brilliantly blue sky, heating the pavement and people that lined the Main Street shops.  A local crafts festival flavored the air with funnel cakes and wood smoke.  Bluegrass players gathered in the shade of a massive oak tree to practice—their music drifted over the crowds, a pure vibration of strings unenhanced by amplifiers and microphones.  

Gabriel walked slowly through the booths, taking time to admire the human gift of creation.  Wood carvers gave live demonstrations with traditional tools while potters provided space for curious artists to paint bare ceramics.  Jewelers displayed pendants made of stones and crystals bound by intricate twists of metal.  A large tent held quilts made by community groups as part of a competition each year.  

The archangel stopped by a table offering a variety of regional foods.  Homemade jams, canned vegetables from a garden, fresh breads, and desserts covered every inch of the plastic tablecloth.  He picked up a jar of local honey to inspect the hand written label when he felt someone standing behind him.  

Gabriel grinned.  “I thought I'd lost you for good back there.”

“Sorry,” Sam said sheepishly. “I've never seen glass blowing before.”

“Beautiful, isn't it?”

“It looked like magic the way the shape and color kept changing.  I can't believe that guy can work next to a furnace in ninety-degree heat.”  Sam wiped at his forehead, drenching his sleeve in sweat.  “He can't be human.”

“Do you want to go back and check?” Gabriel asked, handing money to the vendor for the honey.  “I think there's another demonstration soon.  You know...just to make sure.” He looked up in time to see the hunter blush.

“Maybe,” Sam said shyly.

“Better safe than sorry, Samshine!” Gabriel winked, delighted to see the flush turn to flames at the nickname.

“Gabriel...” Sam muttered as he glanced around them.  But no one paid them any mind.  

Fingers brushed against the back of Gabriel's hand and he nudged his shoulder against the taller man in response.  They'd become fluent in the unspoken language of lovers who couldn't proclaim their devotion in public. Everything they felt was said in silence, communicated through gestures and codes.

Gabriel hated it with a passion.  The pagan in him embraced public displays of hedonism with joy, while the archangel railed against the injustice of a culture that shamed love. But society made Sam guarded, so Gabriel was willing to show restraint—publicly, at least.

“Come on,” he said, shoving Sam toward a stand where school kids pressed lemons with cranks over a large basin full of ice.  “Let's get you hydrated.  I'm not explaining to Dean why you turned into a raisin with sun stroke.”

Sam stumbled, laughing.  His hand started to reach back, but twitched as the hunter became conscious of the movement.  It quickly detoured to rub across his own lower back.

Gabriel sighed and walked faster to catch up.  “So what did you see the glass man make?” he asked cheerfully, swallowing the sourness of denial.

They stood in line for the lemonade as Sam rambled excitedly about a snail figurine.  The taller man leaned down to be heard over the crowd's noise, making his hair fall into his face.  Gabriel wanted to push it back so he could see the hazel eyes he knew were shining with discovery.

Instead, he shoved his hands in his pockets and focused on the smile gracing his lover's lips.  

The lemonade came in large mason jars crammed with crushed cherries.  They strolled through the crowds back toward the glassblower's set up in silence. People had already gathered around the stall, sitting in small groups on the benches lining the roped-off work space.  Heat poured out over them, and a few fanned themselves with festival programs.  

“So, get this,” Sam started, pulling up an article on his phone.  “Did you know glassblowing started one to two millenniums before common era?”

“I may have heard something about it,” Gabriel smirked, remembering the good times he'd had at Choga Zanbil.  He'd been there when the art form was first developed, marveling at human ingenuity.  

Sam fell silent, lost in his reading.  His right hand rested on the bench between them, and Gabriel casually set his own next to it. Goosebumps rose along his vessel as though his very skin reached for the man.  

He let one finger brush against Sam's while keeping his eyes trained in the opposite direction.  Sam startled at the touch, and his eyes swept the crowd without turning his head.  Gabriel almost moved his fingers away, but then he felt it—a large pinky hooking around his own little finger.  Suddenly, he forgot to pretend-breathe.

A great hulking figure covered in tattoos and leather protective gear stepped around a sign that read “Anders, Master Glassblower.” His long black hair was tied back with an old-fashioned cloth strip. The man gave the audience a quick nod, then turned away to check the furnace.

Gabriel elbowed Sam.  “Damn!  If you're a moose, this dude's a titan.  He reminds me of Samson,” he whispered, putting the program up to his mouth to keep his words a secret just for Sam.  The solid body at his side shook with silent laughter, and Gabriel saw him nod in agreement.  

People filled in along the benches, and Gabriel paid no attention to them. His entire world reduced to his lover's pinky finger, and the way it felt against his skin.  It made him want to fly them home so he could wrap the rest of his body around him.

Smothered laughter broke out behind them.  Gabriel peered over his shoulder to see a young man in a red baseball cap elbowing his acne-riddled buddy. The boy pointed at them, smirking cruelly, and blew him a mocking kiss.  

Sam froze, recognizing the sounds directed their way.  

Fury filled Gabriel.  How dare they?  Stupid humans—they wouldn't even be alive if it weren't for this man!  All of existence owed Sam Winchester.  Humanity had been destined for dust until his sacrifice!

“Gabriel,” Sam muttered, still not turning.  “It's okay.”

“It's really not, Sam,” Gabriel ground out through clenched teeth.

“Do you want to leave?  We don't have to watch the demo.”  Sam's offering only angered Gabriel more.  

The sounds behind them grew louder, attracting the attention of others. Heads began to turn in their direction, revealing a range of expressions from confused to disgusted.  But many faces showed horror as realization dawned on them.  

“We are not leaving,” Gabriel said firmly.  He sat up, squaring his shoulders and staring determinedly ahead.  

“Gabriel...”

“Nope.”

Sam sighed, his body hunching down like it would make him less noticeable. But it was too late—even Master Glassblower Anders was looking at them.  In fact, he was ducking under the rope and walking toward them.  

“There a problem here, folks?” he asked in a gruff voice.

“No! No problem,” Sam answered quickly with a grimace.  “Just here to see the glass blowing.”

“Or some kinda blowing...” Red-hat behind them said in a loud whisper. The idiot's friend laughed like a nervous hyena.

Gabriel felt his grace burn with righteous wrath and the call for judgment. His wings rose and his vessel shook with barely contained rage.  Sam grabbed his hand in a crushing grip, desperately trying to hold him in place and not caring who saw if it saved lives.  

“Hey!” Anders snapped.  

The crowd fell silent, including the two idiots.  Gabriel and Sam both froze, then looked up at the towering artisan.  He wasn't addressing them.  

“Get up,” he ordered.

“What? Why?!” Red-hat demanded.  “We didn't mean nothing.  You can't make us move for just having some fun!”

“Get up,” he repeated in a dangerously low voice.  When they still didn't move, he bellowed, “Now!”

The boys scrambled from the bench, but the glassblower caught them by the collars before they could run.  They both let out a strangled yell. In slow, deliberate steps, he walked them backwards to the front of the crowd.  He released their shirts and moved to stand toe-to-toe with them.

“Apologize.”

“To who?  Those fa—”

“Me,” the man cut them off.  “You will apologize to me.”

“What?”  Red-hat gave a Dean Winchester-worthy eye roll.  “Your show hasn't even started yet! We didn't disrupt nothing.”

“You have sixty seconds to apologize to me.  Starting now,” he said, looking to the right in search of something.

The kid crossed his arms, oozing arrogance.  “Do you even know who I am?”

“All I know is one of us is right and the other one is you,” Anders turned back to the boy and grinned. “Forty-five seconds.”

“Or what?  You'll call security on us?”

“Or else you can apologize to my husband.  He's walking over here now.”

Everyone's heads snapped in the direction he'd indicated.  Sure enough, a man in a horse farrier's brown leather apron was stalking toward them with a worried frown. He carried a mallet that rivaled Thor's hammer.  

Idiot number two blurted out, “Sorry!” as his face paled dramatically beneath layers of teenage blemishes.  

The glassblower swung his gaze toward the main offender who stared with wide eyes at the rapidly approaching giant.  He cleared his throat, making the kid jump. “Apologize,” he said again.

“Sorry, man.  I didn't know...”

“You didn't need to know.  It shouldn't matter.  You don't 'need to know' to act like a human being.”  The man stared at him for a moment.  Finally, he jerked his head to the side.  “Get out of here.  And learn some goddamn manners before next year's festival.”

The boys didn't need to be told twice. They ran away to the sounds of the crowd laughing.  A few people even clapped.  

Anders ducked carefully back under the rope barrier and resumed his preparation, acting like nothing had happened.  The farrier made his way to the front and joined him. They exchanged no words, conveying through looks everything that needed said.  

Gabriel stared in shock.  He hadn't taken a breath in probably ten minutes, and he wasn't sure he was capable of starting again.  Unfamiliar emotions burned the back of his throat.

Sam still held his hand in a death grip.  Fine tremors worked their way up the hunter's arms and his breathing sounded too shallow.  Gabriel turned his hand, lacing their fingers together in a more comfortable position.  Their wrists pressed against one another, and he felt Sam's pulse racing.  Slowly, they leaned closer until their shoulders brushed.  And there they stayed through the entire presentation.  

The next hour passed in a blur. Gabriel couldn't pay attention to a single thing the glassblower said or did.  He concentrated on calming down his anger and grace, desperately hoping the day did not end with bitter resentment.

Part of him wished he could go back and redo the whole last hour.  Maybe if they'd sat another inch apart, the kid would have ignored them.  Or maybe they should have gone to a different festival in a different town in a more tolerant region—if those even existed.  

Gabriel sighed.  How could humans be such unbelievable creators and destroyers at the same time?  How did they coexist without one side overtaking the other? Did they need one another for balance?  A lyric played in his mind: “The opposite of war isn't peace—it's creation.”  

“Hey,” a soft voice said.  A young girl, not yet a teen, had turned around on the bench in front of them.  She smiled, shy and kind.  “I'm sorry about that guy. He's a local asshole.  Are y'all okay?”

Gabriel glanced up at Sam.  The man drew in a shaky breath, but returned the smile.  “Yeah, we're good,” he answered, pushing the sweaty hair away from his face.  “Thanks.”

“It's cool!  I'm Frida, but everyone calls me Freddy.”  She stuck out her hand, revealing leather bracers.  Gabriel saw embroidery along the seams that alternated through the colors of the rainbow.  

“It's nice to meet you, Freddy,” Gabriel gently shook her hand.  “I'm Gabriel, and this is Sam.”  

Her eyes sparkled as she gave a lopsided grin.  “My dads don't tolerate snots like that at their demos.  They say it throws off their energies, or something. They're such nerds.”  

“Your...dads?” Gabriel asked.  He saw Anders and the farrier walking toward them like fierce warriors. Sam got carefully to his feet, pulling Gabriel up with him by the hand before letting go.  He didn't have time to mourn the loss when the two artisans joined them.

Sam nervously wiped the sweat from his palms on his jeans.  “Your show is amazing!”

Anders studied the hunter.  “You were at both shows.”

“I...yeah, I was,” Sam tripped over his words, thrown off by the statement. “The first one was so good, I wanted to bring my...friend.”  They hadn't really decided on labels for one another—usually, Gabriel would create elaborate nicknames and rotate through his favorites each week.  But now the pause seemed to echo.  They all heard it.

Freddy stood on the bench and draped herself across the glassblower's shoulders.  “Daddy,” she whispered into his ear, “his name is Gabriel!”

The farrier grabbed the girl around the waist and swung her from the bench in a twirl.  “Alright!” he laughed.  “All trolls report to the blacksmith—there are horse stalls waiting to be mucked!” She let out a high squeal and took off running as soon as her feet hit the ground.  

“And what did you think?” Anders asked Gabriel.  

“I...” Gabriel stalled.  He'd been too overwhelmed by the man's bold display, and hadn't seen a second of the show. “It was...hot.  I mean, temperature-wise it was very warm.  Not hot...as in...”  He felt his wings puff as he got more flustered.  Sam's elbow brushed against him, solid and soothing.  

Anders chuckled.  “It's okay.  I saw you looking down for most of it.  The sun bounced a halo right off the top of your hair.”

Gabriel had no comeback.  People made angel-references all the time once they learned his name, but they were all jokes about harps and robes. They rarely left him feeling exposed.  

Sam sensed his unease, and took over with the smile he used when dealing with cops and witnesses.  “Well, I paid attention.  He probably spent the whole time sorting through the giant box of saltwater taffies he thinks I don't know about.”  

“So you didn't see what I made?” Anders asked, still looking at Gabriel.

“A...snail?” he guessed.  He knew he was wrong when the two artisans gave matching grins, and Sam sighed.  

Anders turned to Sam with narrowed eyes.  “Did you see?”

“Um...” Sam rubbed the back of his neck and dropped his gaze.  “I had trouble seeing at the end.  The smoke kinda burned my eyes.”

Gabriel's head twisted to look at Sam.  There was an emotional undertone to his words that made the archangel suspect the smoke hadn't been the problem.  Had he not noticed Sam crying?

The farrier hummed and nodded in understanding.  “It can be hard for people who have never been out around it.  It still bothers me some days.”  

Gabriel didn't know if they were talking about the smoke or the idiot boy.

“Then this will be a surprise.” Anders said, ushering them all to follow as he returned to the work space.

“What?” Gabriel asked, feeling dumb.

“The piece I made at this demo was a smaller version of something else,” Anders answered cryptically.  

The farrier unhooked the rope so no one had to duck, then replaced it behind himself.  The heat scalded the air, actually drying their skin out at the sudden intensity.  Sam stared in awe at the tools and colorful figurines lining a table, but Gabriel kept his eyes on the glassblower.  

Anders led him to another table that contained a cloth-wrapped object. “I wanted you to have this.”  He gestured for Gabriel to go ahead.  “I saw you both walking through the festival this morning, and I felt inspired to craft it between shows.”

Gabriel gingerly peeled back the cloth, and gasped.  

The figure of a person standing, one hand reaching out, measured about a foot high.  The body was a veritable gem of colors that fractured in the light, casting prisms all around.  Flaring from the figure's back were six wings of pure golden glass.  The bottom two wings trailed to the base, allowing the sculpture to balance between them and the two feet.

Sam made a choked noise beside him.  He was staring at the glass figure head-on, the arm reaching straight for him.  The hunter's hand covered his mouth, but his face reflected the same shock and fear of discovery that Gabriel felt.    

Turning to the glassblower, he found the man watching them closely.  Dark eyes held no malice—only warm empathy.  “I hope you don't mind,” he said softly.  “I couldn't really help myself.”

“You...” Gabriel trailed off, not sure what to ask.  

Anders nodded.  “The sight runs in my family.  Freddy's got it too.  She spotted one of your brothers here yesterday.  Followed him around like a lost puppy. He was kind and pretended not to notice.”

“Brother?”

“Blue eyes?  Wore a trench coat in ninety-five degree heat and didn't sweat?” the farrier added.

“Cassie was here?” Gabriel's face scrunched up in confusion.  He turned to Sam who appeared to be slowly calming down.  “Did Dean mention a craft fair to you?”

“No,” Sam coughed from the smoke.  “But he did come back sunburned and hyper.  Which means he gorged himself on festival food all day.”

“Huh.” He stared at the angel figurine again.  His stomach twisted at the longing held in the tension of that one tiny hand.  “This is...unbelievable.  Why...?”

“It is a gift,” he said simply, carefully replacing the cloth around his creation.  “I saw an angel once, as a child.  I never thought I'd see one again.  And I definitely never thought I'd meet angels who were family.”  

Sam let out a startled laugh and covered his mouth again.  The farrier came over with a large box and packed the glass with bits of foam. Sam helped him get it into a bag.

Gabriel stepped up to Anders and enveloped him in a hug.  There was only a moment of hesitation as the man decided where to put his arms, and Gabriel realized he was trying to avoid the wings.  Laughing, the archangel tucked them away on a different plane.  Massive arms thumped against his back.

“Listen,” the glassblower whispered to him, “there's gonna be times where you want to let go.  But that's when you gotta hold even tighter.”

“That simple, huh?” Gabriel sniffed against his shoulder.  

“Maybe,” Anders said, pulling back to look him in the eye.  “'What the Good Lord brings together...'”

Gabriel laughed and finished the verse.  “'Let no man tear asunder.' Gotcha.”

“Don't let anyone, especially hateful little snots, keep you from who you love.”

“Thank you.  For earlier.”

Anders didn't wave or shrug it off.  Instead, his gaze turned sharp.  “I have fought for everything in my life.  No one gets to mock it.  I have no tolerance for hate or ignorance.”

Gabriel felt a pang of guilt.  How many times had he run when he should have stayed and fought?  When he'd let go instead of hold tighter?  

A large hand slipped into his, lacing their fingers together.  He blinked up into Sam's blurry face as it drew closer.  “Come on, Gabe,” his lover said, brushing a kiss to the top of his jaw.  “I promised you cotton candy before we go home and try to sneak our loot past our brothers.”  

Gabriel shivered, electricity shooting down his spine from the vibrations and breath in his ear.  “You better!” he laughed.  No one commented how it sounded more like a sob.

As a reward, Gabriel snapped and sent the boxed sculpture back to Sam's room in the bunker.  It delighted the glassblower and farrier to no end.  Anders wiped unbidden tears from his eyes at the display of power.  The archangel paused, marveling at the man's emotional response to something so small.

They had one last round of hugs and words of gratitude.  Then, Sam led him silently from the tent by the hand.  A few people glanced their way without saying anything, and after a while they both relaxed into it.  

Who knew two palms touching could produce pure ecstasy?  

They walked with as much contact as possible, their shoulders and hips bumping each other.  It made them clumsy.  And they laughed every time someone bounced too hard away and the other one had to pull them back.  

Sunset found them in a park overlooking the town's lake.  Fireworks were scheduled to begin as soon as the sky grew dark enough.  Sam sprawled out on the grass with Gabriel's head cushioned against his stomach.  

“This is nice,” Gabriel murmured.

Sam ran his fingers through the archangel's shaggy hair.  “You're right, it is.” He sounded surprised.

Gabriel shifted so he could see Sam's face.  “What made you change your mind?”

“The sculpture,” Sam said, staring up into the sky.  One by one, stars blinked into existence.  

“Really?”

“It's face—it looked so much like you.  You took that cloth off, and all I could see was you reaching for me, and I just...All I wanted to do was reach back.” he cut off, swallowing hard as his throat grew tight.  “It seemed so silly, all of a sudden. Like, I've faced monsters and evil beyond human comprehension, but some punk kid made me back down.”

“Hey,” Gabriel pushed up so he was leaning over Sam, bracing his hands on either side of the man's head.  “You are the bravest, brightest, fiercest soul I know.”  He slowly peppered Sam's face with kisses between each word.  “There is no rule that says that you aren't allowed to have struggles.  You shouldn't have to face society with the same battle-ready attitude you do an army of demons.  This is new to both of us—and we play by our own rules.  No one else's.”

“You'd just break them anyway,” Sam laughed.

“Isn't that what they're made for?” Gabriel grinned.  He ducked down, nuzzling noses before sealing their mouths and swallowing Sam's surprised gasp.  For a second, he felt his desperation for closeness spike and he bit into Sam's lower lip.

A throat cleared above them, and they froze.

Gabriel slowly turned his head to look up and found Freddy beaming at them. “You guys remember your in a public park, right?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.  

“Did you know that, Sam?” Gabriel asked with a fake gasp, rolling off the hunter to lay next to him in the grass.  “I had no idea.  I mean, what would we have done without some sassy teeny-bopper coming along to tell us?”

“Heaven only knows,” Sam sighed fondly.  

“You want to join us for the fireworks, Freddy?” Gabriel patted the ground beside him.  “Plenty of itchy grass to go around.”

“Nah,” she said, shaking her head.  “My dads are down that way, and I'm sure they'll need the 'public park' announcement if I don't get there soon.”  Freddy winked at them and skipped past, yelling over her shoulder, “I hope I see you guys again!”

A boom echoed from across the lake, making them both jump.  Then, the sky exploded in a shower of gold.  Gabriel leaned his head against Sam's outstretched arm.  They laid that way until the finale—their sides pressed together as the cool ground leached away the Summer heat.

Today was definitely a good day.

Tagging: @gabriel-monthly-challenge, @archangel-with-a-shotgun, @ashiewesker, @lacqueluster, @scrollingkingfisher, @nathyfaith, @thequeervet, @wanderingcas, @patient-number-zero

[terenceblanchard]

Art has to be a kind of Confession

The poet James Baldwin once said that “Art has to be a kind of confession.” He was referring not to a gossipy type of confession but the type of expression that emanates from examining ones life. Examination allows the artist an opportunity to not only face their life but to also discover the terms that connects them to the lives of others.  It is this artistic expression, born from examination, that allows the audience to discover themselves through your art. It may seem complicated but mostly it’s a natural unforced process.  I have traveled and performed across the world and I’ve met and connected with people from all walks of life. I recently performed a concert and participated in a panel discussion on the role of music in the Civil Rights movement with the acclaimed New York Times columnist Charles Blow in Little Rock, Arkansas.  Soon after, I received a poignant letter from Tim, a gentlemen who was in the audience that evening. He shared with me his thoughts on my remarks and how the concert had sparked an exploration into the role of music in his own personal journey through life.  With Tim’s permission, I am sharing our correspondences that illustrate Baldwin’s point that Art is a confession.

Tuesday, July 11, 2017

Dear Terence, 

I feel compelled to write you after spending two evenings in your company in Little Rock in April. I attended the discussion with Charles Blow at Mosaic Templars and the show the following night at South on Main. I was lucky (and motivated) enough to sit up front for both events, and I’m grateful to have had the opportunity. I started this letter back then and shelved it, but I’ve continued to give my experience a lot of thought so I finished it this morning.

Those experiences were compelling for a number of reasons. Only a week prior to your visit to Arkansas, the local PBS station aired a documentary, Dream Land, about Taborian Hall. That historic ballroom is the last standing monument to the all-but-obliterated 9thStreet district, once the epicenter of African-American culture in Arkansas.   A few days later, as we sat in the Mosaic Templars building –a replica of the other cornerstone to the 9th Street district- I was struck by some superficial commonalities between us, along with a vast dichotomy of experience.

You mentioned your father. You and I are less than a year apart in age. You said your father was 40 years your senior. So was mine. Our fathers were born in 1922 and 1923. Your father and mine lived through the depression and the war. Both were southerners and lived through the Jim Crow era. You mentioned his love of opera. My father loved opera, too, and his passion for it helped instill the love of music in me.

Your story of your father being moved to tears because he was able to gain entry into the hotel ballroom where he once worked as a busboy hit me like a ton of bricks. You see, if my father had been able to afford entry into that ballroom in the 1930’s, 40’s or 50’s, he could have walked right in.

My father was a product of his time and place. He was a racist. A bigot. My father would have called your father “boy,” or worse. He used the N—word at the supper table and decried Dr. King as a troublemaker. He mocked the civil rights movement and expressed admiration for the alleged honor in the heritage of the confederacy. All of this despite being an educated, cultured, intelligent, and religious man.

And of course, my father raised me to be a racist, a bigot.

Unlearning is a hard thing. Our biases simplify a complex world and give cold comfort to unexamined ideas. But, as a child of the baby boom, I was quick to challenge my parents. In my early teens, mine was simply unfocused adolescent rebellion, but I was quick to question their values in many ways, just as they questioned mine. By the late 70’s, hair and music were no longer points of contention for many of my friends’ parents. But in my house, long hair was for sissies and the rock music I loved was “noise.” Or worse, it was overtly African to them. I pushed back against that bias with righteous indignation. 

I didn’t know any black people until 1979, when I was 16 years old and my family returned to the Little Rock area from Texas. I made friends with a few black kids at school but mostly the races kept to their own. But my youthful worldview wasn’t shaken so much by my peers as it was on a spring night in 1979 by a 67-year-old black man from the Mississippi Delta.

Since I was a small child I have been obsessed with listening to music. I listened to what my older brothers listened to –Beatles, Stones, and Led Zeppelin- plus lots of singer-songwriters. The older I got, the more diverse my tastes became. But, in the late 70’s I was all about rock music, and most music by black artists was, in my opinion, “disco.” And disco sucked, as the saying went. (My love for soul, funk, and jazz were still many years away.)

In the spring of 1979, Eric Clapton came to Pine Bluff, Arkansas, about 50 miles from my teenage home. I knew a little bit of his music, and I yearned to experience live music more than almost anything. My chances had been few, so I was eager for this show. I had never heard of the opening band. Our carload of friends arrived early, before the doors opened. We were first in line and bolted for the standing room in front of the stage, pressing into the barricade at the center of the stage. We waited. Then, when the lights went down I was standing 10 feet from Muddy Waters.

I had never heard anything like it in my life. The music was primal, propulsive, and sexual, with a rhythmic energy that connected with me in a way I still feel. Of course, Muddy Waters was a veteran performer who commanded the stage with huge charisma and professionalism. I was shaken to my core.

Eric who? Today, I really don’t remember much about Clapton’s set but I recall “She’s Nineteen Years Old,” “I’ve Got My Mojo Workin,” and “Manish Boy” vividly.

The music reverberated. I bought a Muddy Waters record immediately, and proceeded to wear it out. My mother, who had endured my phases with the likes Kiss and Ted Nugent, was freshly aghast. Listening to the blues was beyond rebellious, it was proof that I was somehow defective! She told me how she and her friends had laughed at the men who played music like that when she was growing up. Unlike some of the (in retrospect, admittedly bad) music she had criticized, Muddy Waters struck a different nerve.

There I was, left to reconcile the fact that I felt immediately, intimately connected to the blues. I was yet ignorant to the history and influence this music shared with my little record collection. I formed a relationship with the music, just as I had with the Beatles, and Paul Simon, and a list of sundry FM radio staples. How then, would I square what I felt and knew with what I had learned in my racist household? I could not separate the humanity of the artist from the art. TS Eliot said “poetry communicates before it is understood.” Somehow the blues was telling me about myself. Then, as now, I experienced art as sense of connection. A 67-year-old black man from Mississippi by way of Chicago had grabbed a middle class suburban white teenager by the soul.

That experience was singular, but of course my journey through the rejection of the bigotry in my upbringing was much longer and more complicated. I had more soul-searching to do. In the process of growing up, another event stands out.

Fast-forward a few years. I had just completed my freshman year in college. A friend and I heard that there was to be a KKK rally in east Arkansas. We were morbidly curious and decided to go and “protest.” We dressed in our neo-hippy finery so our presence couldn’t be construed as support. We arrived to a soybean field in McCrory, Arkansas –the middle of nowhere, really- where 50 or so heavily armed men had gathered. We were scared shitless. We stood at the edge, silently listening and watching.

They were pathetic.

I expected to somehow tell those people how wrong they were. I expected to hate them. As revolting as their ideas were, I felt something like compassion for them, seeing that they were, in their way, victims of their own circumstances. I saw ignorant, poor, uneducated people parroting simple-minded bigotry with a thin veneer of patriotism and religion. Later, when I related this story to my father, he told me something that haunts me to this day. He said that his grandparents, who raised him, were supporters of the Klan, and “probably would have agreed with everything they said.” It chilled me to the bone. I was revolted by this connection to the past, but revulsion doesn’t sever the tie. Those bigots in the bean field were my people.

I didn’t ask for that. I didn’t get to choose my parents. We don’t get to choose our history. I loved my parents, for all of their faults. It doesn’t excuse their bigotry to say that they were victims of their own histories, and for whatever reason they never experienced a profound change of heart, or if they did I never knew it. 

I don’t know what changes other people’s hearts. Mine changed over time, with education, experience, open-mindedness, and a moral clarity I’ve tried to nurture. And, it’s all got a soundtrack. Music has changed me for the better in many ways, sometimes uncomfortably so. 

Your set at South on Main has stayed with me for three months now. I can’t unpack it, but it resonates in the deepest ways possible, conjuring the chaos, anger, and conflict of the troubled days we live in. Amid the dissonance, I also found sweetness and comfort there. Just like a kid hearing the blues for the first time, I was rattled to the bone.

I get to take that with me. Your music is a gift; I thank you for it with the deepest sincerity. 

Tim 

Little Rock, AR.

Thursday, Jul 13, 2017

Hi Tim

I need to thank you for your letter. Its power and grace has filled my heart with the belief that love wins out every time, overtime. Your experiences with your father are not unlike mine in some respects. My father wasn't a racist, but his views on some issues were skewed by life experiences, which could be a bit outdated. The thing that I loved about my father though was his willingness to allow me to argue with him on various topics from music to politics. His major thing was always "make your point." That approach has allowed me to be corrected on issues from time to time by my own kids today. Lol!!!

I really appreciate your openness and candor about your life. It's a window into the daily struggles we all have to face in our own backyards before we have to face the world. Those moments of being confronted with your own truth. Thank you so much for sharing.

If you don't mind, I'd love to post this letter without your name if that makes you feel safe? It needs to be out there for all to see, feel, hear, and debate.

Thanks for the moment in time this morning that gives me hope for our shared future.

Terence

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

[blackwoolncrown]

I literally have to keep myself from hating people so much when shit like that goes down, I don’t mind that they disagree, I mind that I explicitly state precisely what kind of person I’m talking about in my posts and a bunch of asshats always make pointless reaches to project whatever their prefab argument is on my post so they can be a dick. I am not talking about people who just ‘disagree’ with SJ posts. I’m talking about people whose blogs are devoid of actual analysis, experience or intellectual merit who literally just go around reblogging SJ posts that have been passed down through their shitty little friends so they can just go ‘OP is an idiot/lol SJWs are so lame/wow this post gave me cancer’

There are so many people who do just that and only that. They might specifically be anti-feminism, anti-...people-caring-about-racism, or whatever, or just anti-SJ in general, but the thing is they have NO actual investment in the improvement of relationships between humans. They have NO actual investment in actually bettering understanding between two parties. All they want to do is laugh at people they don’t agree with, and that’s easiest to do by belittling their point and positioning themselves as if every SJ argument is ~soooo ridiculous~. Meanwhile, their entire blog is 90% reblogs with very little original content, because without a fall boy, they have nothing funny to say. Without anyone to kick, they don’t have an argument to stand on. Interestingly enough, since the once-a-year-flood-of-douchebags has flown in to my mentions, I’ve been playing with what they sound like these days and sadly they’re exactly the same. Any argument that touches on a fact of intersectional bigotry that they, personally, have never experienced, gets immediately thrown out as ludicrous. Words fail me when I attempt to describe just how podunk and uneducated it looks for a person to go WELL THAT SURE IS DUMB when it’s simply clear that it’s *new* to them. These are adults whose first reaction to something they don’t understand is THIS IS STUPID instead of just “I don’t get it”. Also, not surprised at the amount of men still using the 4chanian logical fallacy where they go ‘oh you’re mad now haha I win’. Someone yesterday used that one and like, for those who haven’t dealt with it, it’s basically them taking the position that a discussion online is a Battle Of No Feelings and the first person to show emotion is the loser.

So, not only is that not what arguments or debates are about, but that’s also always 100% a front on their part. For instance, a guy yesterday landed on my dash after his lengthy back and forth with a mutual of mine about how, according to him, protesters in the streets deserved to get hit by his car because they were blocking traffic.

For the record, he admitted that he had never been stuck in traffic due to a protest. For the record, as far as I can remember on her behalf, both myself and my mutual have either been in traffic that simply detoured from a protest (Wow! You mean you don’t HAVE to run people over?), and I have been in protests where traffic was being directed around.

So first of all the entire situation his angry argument was based on was purely hypothetical. Second of all his understanding of how traffic and protests interact is uneducated because he’s either never actually been in one,driven up to one, or seen how traffic moves around them, and instead of ASKING what happens, this guy clearly just sat up in his head concocting a fantasy of driving up to one and being late for work, one that filled him with so much anger that he decided to write and DEFEND why he figured protesters deserved to get hurt and or die. But his tactic, once I dealt with him, was ‘haha ur mad’. And he’s not? Being so frustrated by imaginary traffic that you advocate vehicular homicide is not a neutral position. But this comes down to men being awful. They really honestly feel that their misanthropy is neutral. Hate is, I regret to inform you all, a feeling. And it’s hate and confusion that motivates people to constantly leech on to arguments aimed at bettering the world and constantly derailing them with pedantry, apathy, and just plain chuckefuck bullshittery. I don’t reblog even most of where my posts end up, but it’s been exhausting seeing how many people specifically dance around my point in order to build a nice strawman, when they could have just as easily not said anything if they didn’t agree. There’s nothing wrong with just letting someone be ‘wrong’ in your opinion if it’s not literally something that endangers people. People like this think they are doing something very noble by vigilantly attacking every slightly-different-and-more-empathetic-than-theirs stance on tumblr dot com, but the true reality is that it is an addiction. 

Arguing with people on the internet feels very good- so good that people enjoy watching it. Any time I do bother getting into discourse, someone ALWAYS sends me a congratulatory ask specifically talking about how GOOD they feel seeing it. It’s vicarious righteous anger. And it’s the same way those asshats feel, loading their blogs up with snarky one-line disses at the end of a feminist post they don’t like, or an anti-conservative post they don’t like, or a post about toxic masculinity they don’t like. They didn’t have anything to say, but it feels good to be able to shoot another arrow into your enemy, doesn’t it? And people are chasing that feeling. That’s why I don’t like when I get compliments on discourse, and that’s why people will specifically twist my VERY simple fucking points in order to get a jab in. It’s sad, it’s really, really sad.