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theinvisibledreamergirl · 4 years ago

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Has everything changed? (Part two)

Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Klaw Craig)

Word count: ~2.5k

Category: Angst but in the end... you’ll see it 😉

A.N: This is the second and the last part for this fic. Thank you so much for taking your time reading these bullshits of mine❤️ and then for everyone waiting OH AU 1 the next fic is called “Friendship questioned”. Hope you enjoy this!

MASTERLIST

PART ONE

————————————————

She wanted now to escape from this building as if that kind of air was blocking her lungs. A cup of lemon tea would somehow release the tension in her shoulders.

At Derry Roasters everyone were talking about the same topic with new faces appeared in front of her. Interns chatting excitedly about their first day and cursing their attendees for the anxious hours they spent until now.

She let a smirk to herself remembering the first day when she was an intern. A rebel one and didn’t even have to spare a glance to the man whom she hated the most. She was so clueless about him that only knew his name but not his face.

You can say she was the only intern who got the attention of Dr. Ramsey after a decade and no one could replace her.

The interns eyed her incredulously as if they were seeing a miracle whispering to each other.

“It’s her!”

“Shush dude she doesn’t like gossiping.”

“She’s so fucking gorgeous!”

“Damn lucky whoever is with her!”

“It’s Dr. Ramsey.”

“Really?”

“They’re such a power couple!”

“Hm. I wonder if they’ll invite us to their weeding.”

“Matt shut up or she’s going to hear us and I don’t want to have any bones broken!”

“Fine fine.”

She took a seat at the corner of the bar facing the window in her left.

This was their place.

The place where they felt themselves and out of the real world.

He would be opposite her smiling and telling his stories as a troublemaker teenager or how his father would always get angry after another defeat in the chess game.

Or how he would touch and kiss her hand bringing closer to him.

Or how she would scold him to not do anything publicly and he still didn’t give a damn what the others would say.

She really wanted to relive these moments so much but her logical side told her he was wrong and he had to apologise.

Whereas the feeling side... told her to go and kiss him and tell him that it was just a temporary weakness and that she loves him.

While she was sipping her tea relishing a sigh a soft voice distracted her.

“So British of you.”

She chuckled while placing the tea to the plate. “You’re not British if you don’t drink a cup of tea.”

“I highly agree with that. And you’re not American if you don’t drink an espresso.”

Both women shared a laugh when Harper Emery took a seat opposite her.

“Soo... how’s the first day going?”

“Really Harper? Just say what you want. I know this look of yours.” She knew what she came for and didn’t want to skip it like nothing had happened. Even though she sounded harsh Harper only let a gentle smile.

“Fine I just wanted to ease this conversation a bit but it looks like I have a long talk with you little miss.”

“If he has sent you here don’t even try.” She said nonchalantly bringing back the tea to her lips.

“Correction: he didn’t and I don’t think he would.”

He wouldn’t? Of course what did you expect.

“I came here because I wanted to talk with you Klaw. As friends.”

“What makes you think you can change?”

Mini Ethan. Stay strong Harper.

“Well let’s just say that I have this instinct of mine that what I want to achieve- it will be achieved. I know it’s sounds cliche but I’ve never failed in this path.”

“Keep going then.”

“Look Klaw... I think the real problem is not you or him. It’s you both against the problem.” She eyed her curiously.

“The problem is Leland and it’s dragging you both into a black hole till you fall and no one’s going to help you. What you need to understand is that Bloom is trying to provoke us and to see who’s going to be on his side. What Ethan agreed wasn’t because he is on Bloom’s side. He agreed because-“

“That was the only way he said.” Klaw replied in frustration while reminiscing his court voice on her mind.

“Tone, please?” Harper arched an eyebrow.

Gosh they’re both the same.

“Sorry.” She murmured while her gaze was falling on her nails ripping the cuticles.

“As I was saying he only agreed because he knew that even he would do the contrary, Bloom wouldn’t listen to him anyway without asking us because this is his character and is unpredictable. Ethan is taking this calmly but do not forget- he will always be on your side. Yes he’s really mad with you because of your lack of control against your emotions and of not showing professionalism. But he is wrong too for treating you as someone foreign and not considering as your colleague and not rethinking that not always you will agree in everything.”

Harper was thinking if this could work for both of them because she wanted to help as much as she could and also couldn’t see them separated from each other.

“Or if I make it simple- just fucking go and get him already!”

“I don’t think that would be simple. He said if I don’t get my shit back then there’s no way I could step in the team.”

“And you think with such a weak and useless threat of him you’re not going to talk about this? Bullshit. This is the perfect moment to say the apology because if not- you’re going to be very late and you’ll lose him.”

“But this is not actually what hurt him.” Harper frowned in confusion while Klaw’s eyes started to well up.

“I offended him Harper. I said that... that he doesn’t care about me even though I know he cares! He does...a lot but... I’ve really messed this thing up and I’m worried about facing him.” She gulped while putting her palms behind her neck. “I can’t do this. How am I supposed to look him in the eye Harper? I know he is right now really tired of this behaviour of mine and has tried his best to push me and to seal this bad sided woman you’re talking to! Ethan has been a careful, supportive and kind to me in many ways that I can’t explain. Whereas I...” she let a scoff. “I’ve been nothing but only bragging about everything and not be the best girlfriend he wants.”

Harper Emery was lucky to know someone as Klaudia Craig because not only she had been a great shoulder to lean on for everyone but also has been a great person to her.

She would always be in a debt for making Aurora speak and standing up for herself in her intern year and to show what a mistake she did by underrating her niece for her achievements.

And here she was now- confessing her feelings such beautifully for a man whom she loves most and if she was in her place... No.

It was clearly that this woman was the only spark who could give light in Ethan’s darkness and the contrary.

They were both meant for each other.

“Then all of these things you said to me-“ She leaned her palm giving hers a gentle squeeze. “- you should say to him. Whatever happens. I think he will listen to you.”

“You think so?”

“Hey. I’m a neurosurgeon and this the dumbest question ever raised by you Dr. Craig.”

Klaw let a weary chuckle. “Okay. Let’s see if the grumpy man wants to talk with the grumpy woman.”

“That’s my girl.”

—————————

Her steps lead her to the Diagnositics Office and far from the corner she could see there was no one inside. So the only place he could be was...

Hospital’s gym.

She could hear some hard breathing and panting while kickboxing in a big arena. He was wearing his loosely T-shirt and his sport’s boxers that fit perfectly his shape of the body.

Every movement he did and his focused gaze to the training made her head tilt in a wander that how was possible this man could be such sexy.

And how she was so lucky that he was hers.

Or that’s what she thought.

“Ethan!” She called behind him but it seemed he didn’t hear her as he was having his headphones on clearly listening to his rap music. She tried again. “Ethan Jonah Ramsey!”

No answer again. “Is he fucking kidding me or what? I’ll show him.”

She entered the ring arena rapidly and when she was just about to call him again unexpectedly was twirled in his arms, her back facing chest. She gasped and felt her breath hitched. What now?

“Well look who made it here.”

“I...”

“What the hell do you want Rookie?” He growled on her left ear.

Her lips trembled despite her efforts to not cry in front of him. “I’m sorry.”

He sensed her change of tone and turned her back to face him.

“I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I know that I’m really such a bad bitch when it comes to these situations but I want you to know that I love you and I don’t want us to have these debates ever again because I know that always screw the things up... I ALWAYS RUIN IT!” Her last words flinched him when she punched his shoulder in anger and couldn’t see her in this broken state.

“No. I ruined it.” He admitted. “I know I shouldn’t even think about what you considered Harper at first because I know you weren’t jealous about her and still I thought it-” he let a weary chuckle “-and you never fail to be right about that. And I know I shouldn’t treat you as someone who wasn’t part of the team and I’m sorry if I made you doubt about yourself.”

He pulled her closer giving her the kiss she deserved but she backed off saying. “No more fights?”

He gave her the brightest smile. “No more.” She smiled too and felt his soul completely in peace. “Now Miss Craig-” he held his right hand to her. “-would you like to be my companion for tonight’s gala?”

She giggled and cleared her throat. “How can I refuse it Mister Ramsey?”

———————————————-

After two hours at Ethan’s apartment.

“I seriously can’t believe we’re going to that fucking party.” She was strapping her high heels frustratingly then got up while Ethan was doing his buttons of his sleeves looking at the mirror.

“Relax Rookie. Just put a fake smile and chat about medicine as doctors usually do.”

She scoffed while reaching to do his tie. “How can you be such calm? I expected you to be furious just like me.”

“Well unlike you ma’am I have a master’s degree that I’ve held for eleven years for being talkative, social and well respected diagnostician.” He let a smirk when she quirked her left eyebrow.

“I totally agree with the last one but I highly doubt about the first two y’know.”

He pressed her body closely to him, his eyes looking intensely into her dark brown. “And may I know why you’re doubting Dr. Craig?”

Instead of making it as a casual chat she turned it to something else. “About everything.” He got the message when she lowered her gaze playing mindlessly with the buttons of his lapel jacket. “I mean- what’s going to happen later Ethan? Some things have changed and we already are aware of it but...” She pressed her lips.

“But?”

“For how long? What if Bloom will try his tactics again to track another doctor and if there’s going to be someone else- who knows? I’m scared Ethan. What if this is the end of all of us? What if we lose our jobs for nonsense reasons?”

“I know. I’m worried about it too and I have absolutely no idea where this is going to take us. But one thing’s for sure.”

She let his hands cup her cheeks meeting with his face.

“No one...not even Bloom can tell us to back off from what is right. We will continue our mission, Naveen’s mission and we will always do it for the sake of the Oath. Don’t lose the confidence you have and all your thoughts even when they’re wrong. I’ve told you since the first day of your residency last year. It is not wrong to ask questions ‘cause if you didn’t well I would be very concerned. I know you say that you trust yourself but I don’t agree with it. So please... don’t overthink it. Let’s just enjoy this night while we can hm?”

His voice was so assuring and there was nothing else she wanted to hear.

The one she fell so hard capturing her in an inevitable trap.

His presence made her entirely safe whenever he gave a smile just like now with his eyes reflecting on hers like a magnet.

She wanted to stay there forever.

In his arms.

In his heart.

He seemed to notice it and kissed her forehead while she was closing her eyes.

“You always calm me down. How the hell you do this Rams’?”

“You’re not the only one with skills here lil girl.” She scrunched her nose when he tipped with his index finger. “Now I think we should leave before we are too late.”

“Actually...” She bit the corner of her lip. “Can we please not go? I don’t want to see that big rat blooming all the way up.” She pleaded while shrugging her right shoulder crossing her arms on her back.

“Klaw you can’t be serious.” When he saw her expression he scoffed before pointing his finger. “You’re too late to anything else because we’re dressed now for that occasion. Many doctors will be there and then is goin-.”

She grabbed instantly the back of his neck silencing him with a kiss. “Will you repeat that again doctor?”

“Not now Klaw-”

She kissed him again pinning him to the wall then whispering in a sultry voice.

“Wrong answer doctor. I’ll propose this- we’ll get the best scotch from Reggie and then buy some Calzones while we are enjoying the starry night that only the Boston’s sky can give us. Completely alone. Just the two of us. So...what do you say? I think it’s an opportunity of a lifetime.” She winked.

He sighed while looking up in the ceiling as if searching for help in his defeat. She loved making him at this state.

At her command.

“How the hell do you convince me Craig?”

“Well you’re not the only one with skills here old man.” She squeezed his cheeks while he was frowning. “Aww you’re so cute and you look like a fish doing ‘o’!”

He spoke or better tried to mumble the words. “I’m mnot olf man and I’m mnot ffsh!”

“Yeah yeah that’s why you can’t use the Instagram correctly.” She giggled when couldn’t contain her laughter anymore then took his hand leading them to the door. “Now shall we go because I’m really starving and we won’t make it home earlier.”

“True. We won’t make it home until the morning.”

He gave her a known devilish grin while he was unlocking the door that made her eyes go wide, her heartbeats accelerate and gulped hardly.

He winked.

Damn it.

This was going to be a very long night ahead of them.

—————————————————

TAGS WILL APPEAR IN A REBLOG!

#open heart fan fic #open heart choices #open heart fan fiction #ethan ramsey #my mc #klaw craig #ethan ramsey x mc #klaw x ethan #OH Book 3 rewrite #my writing

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lisarichardsonbylines · 4 years ago

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How to Tell Your Husband You’re a Witch

Witches we need you. Now more than ever. In the time of COVID-19 we can find respite in place-based reverence, plant magic and the divine feminine. So writes Lisa Richardson, who came to witchiness with nothing but white hetero straight-lacedness and a crush on a yoga teacher.

Lisa Richardson | Longreads | April 2020 | 15 minutes (4,084 words)

On a Friday afternoon, pre-COVID-19, my husband dropped some ice-cubes into glasses, ready to make us screwdrivers and cheers to surviving another week of working/parenting/wondering where the hell the years were going, only, the vodka bottle was empty.

“Oh yeah,” I said, my eyes sliding sideways, trying to not cause a fuss, “I used it for medicine.” The previous week, the kitchen counter had been cluttered with a giant mason jar full of oily plant matter. “Balm of Gilead!” I explained, brightly, as he wiped away the breakfast crumbs around it.

“But what is it?”

“Cottonwood tips in oil.”

His eyes had flicked, then, over to the brand-new bottle of extra virgin olive oil that was now nearly empty, as I enumerated the medicinal benefits of this old herbal remedy (and all this from a tree in our backyard!). Twenty-four years together means I could hear the abacus in his brain clicking, as he wordlessly calculated the cost per milliliter of a gallon jar of plant matter masticating in top-shelf olive oil, against the cost per unit of a bottle of generic aspirin tables, overlaid with the probability of me losing interest in this project.

First the olive oil. Now the vodka for dozens of little jars of tinctures — garden herbs and weeds soaking in now-undrinkable booze. My midlife quest to attune more deeply to the rhythms of the natural world was starting to incur unexpected, but real, costs.

He was quiet, as he opened the fridge and pulled out a beer instead.

* * *

In my defense, I could have pointed my finger at Natalie Rousseau, a yoga teacher living in my 5,000 person village, who I’d first encountered leading a solstice yoga class billed as a way to survive the madness of the holidays (in slightly more gracious language). Thanks to her offerings of insight I did survive the commercial horror of the “festive” season, and a few months later, as the new moon entered Aries (whatever that actually means), I plonked down $200 to subscribe to her online 13 Moons course — my foray into “slowing down and being more present,” as I pitched it to my husband when he inquired about the strange entry on the credit card statement.

But I did not deflect the simmering tension between us by naming Natalie as the instigator of these “kitchen witch” experiments. Even though I am not a member of any kind of coven or cult, (I don’t think book club counts), I know deep in my bones to never throw another woman onto the fire for helping you. That has been done too many times.

But there it is. The word. Witch. The wound.

* * *

Every day, after COVID-19 entered our world, Natalie Rousseau has responded with an offering, a teaching — a meditation, an ancient mantra of protection, a yoga practice for managing anxiety, a how-to video on harvesting poplar medicine. It’s as if she’s been resourcing herself for this moment to develop the richest arsenal imaginable, to navigate, not the public health crisis, but the billion personal crises each of us is forced to confront as life as we know it slams into pandemic mode. It’s not what I thought a witch would do, if I ever thought about them at all.

Natalie doesn’t look like a witch either — not in the way I conceived it for last year’s Halloween costume, with my long black skirt, dollar-store pointy hat, and heavy black eyeliner, walking alongside my 6-year-old vampire-werewolf. Natalie is petite, just a few inches over five feet, her long blond hair still evoking the decade she spent living in a west coast surf town, her chest and lean muscled arms bright with full sleeve flowery tattoos and Mary Oliver quotes. She moves like a dancer, demonstrating yoga poses as if she’s transcending gravity. As a teacher, she speaks exactly, even in Sanskrit, and guides movement precisely, padding gently and soundlessly through the room, making an adjustment here, offering an instruction there.

So, I was surprised when she used the word “witch” to launch her new online offering, The Witches Wheel. The lure was irresistible. Natalie was claiming the word “witch” without flinching, without anger, without provocation, not as a way to reclaim feminine power and stick it to the men, warranted as that may be: It was essentially an invitation to observe the cycle of the seasons.

A threshold beckoned.

* * *

Natalie, a recent empty-nester, lives with her husband Paul and two dogs in a modest townhome, with a creek and a dozen rogue gardens installed by various residents running behind it. The garage is full of motorbikes. The porch is swept clean on the day I visit, six months into the 13 Moons program, wanting to talk with her about this radical word and why, in a world still unsure what to do with powerful women, she’s not afraid that she’s exposing herself to pitchforks and fires, haters, and trolls.

Even though I am not a member of any kind of coven or cult, (I don’t think book club counts), I know deep in my bones to never throw another woman onto the fire for helping you. That has been done too many times.

A tea blend of her own mixing — vanilla chaga chai — is brewing on the stove in an open saucepan. She tends to it, as I settle in, sneaking glimpses around the room, looking for evidence of witchcraft — pentagrams, cloaks, bottled frogs. Nothing. The space is uncluttered, a throw-rug on the armchair, a couple of stark white deer skulls are mounted, European-style, on a wall against a reclaimed barn board — definitely more Soho chic than occult-goth. Her husband returns from town, where he has picked up fresh croissants for us. He’s tall and strong, with a tightly cropped red beard — he looks like a guy you’d run into at the gym, at the surf break, at the hardware store.

“So, what’s it like living with a witch?” I ask him as Natalie attends to our tea, a light-hearted question sprouting out of the great compost of fears I am thinking. Is it impossibly hard to be with a woman who comfortably claims her own power, magic, cycles, voice? What kind of a man can love and honor a witch? And lurking deep beneath it all: Will my husband be one of them?

Paul rolls his eyes, overly-dramatically, pointing up to the light fixture in the kitchen — light bulbs housed in mason jars of all sizes, evoking summer cabins and fireflies and Kinfolk magazine dinner party lanterns. “I made this for her because everything ends up in jars. Have you seen inside these cupboards?” He walks around the house, in faux-exasperation, opening doors to reveal neat stacks of jars, full of dried petals, leaves, syrups, tonics, salves, salts. “And there’s more upstairs!” If it hadn’t been for the dinner party they’d hosted the previous night, most of their apartment’s horizontal surfaces would be covered in jars, he tells me, and the front porch would have housed a dead raven and a dead Cooper’s hawk.

“She’s always sending me out in search of dead things,” he jokes. He picks up roadkill in case she can salvage feathers or skulls.

“When he first met me, I was already a skull collector, and now he goes and finds them for me and brings them back,” says Natalie. “He’s gotten really good at living with witchy stuff.”

The two of them are remarkably self-sufficient — an animal lover (“he loves animals more than people”), Paul realized veganism left him tired and undernourished, so took up hunting to procure his own meat humanely; one of the deer skulls mounted on the wall was harvested this fall, its meat now fills their freezer. They grow a garden, wildcraft, eat well. There is an ease between them — a tidal push and pull as they navigate their modest shared space and the morning routine, without evidence of fake niceness, of power trips or struggles.

Witchcraft, in Natalie Rousseau’s mind, is too non-dogmatic and non-hierarchical to submit to a single all-encompassing definition. “As a practice, it’s so highly individual,” she says, “but across the board, it is very place-based, land-based and body-based. For me, it’s about cultivating a relationship with your own body, your own mind, your emotions, and subtle sensing faculties. It’s learning how to trust your intuition. It’s about reclaiming your own instincts, but also being able to feel: this is what stress feels like in my body, this is what relaxation feels like, this is what it feels like to say yes to something out of a sense of obligation or pressure, this is what it feels like to have a boundary. This is what it feels like when I’m safe. These cues come to us from our bodies. It has to be, for it to work well, otherwise, you’re always reaching outside yourself for another authority.”

This is what she wants to help women, particularly, to reclaim: their sense that they are the first authority on themselves, that they can trust their bodies’ wisdom.

“The biggest thing I want to share with people,” says Natalie of her teaching and online courses, “is how to trust themselves. Everyone can very easily make the medicines that their household would need for common household complaints — colds and flus and chest colds and menstrual cramps — so many basic things that anyone can make very simply, quite affordably. I’m not anti-pharmaceutical. There are many medications people have to take daily to live. And if I have a serious infection, I’m going to take antibiotics; if I am seriously ill, I am going to go to the doctor; if I have any kind of trauma, I’m going to be so grateful for that form of medicine. But I believe the role kitchen medicine has is in the maintenance and prevention of illness.”

One of her biggest laments, though, as she makes videos and handouts and shares them with her online community, is that even people who have paid to do her course don’t feel that they have the time to take it into their kitchens. “Making a tincture is literally pouring vodka over plant materials and leaving it on your counter for four weeks!” she says. But it is easier for most people to just buy one online and have it delivered to their doorstep. “I am saddened by how easily women give their power over. This is the biggest thing I’ve noticed as a teacher in the past couple of years — how quickly women will say, ‘but how do you do this? I don’t know how to do this! I’m afraid to try this because I might not be good at it, I might be doing it wrong. I’m an imposter.’ I really struggle with this. Where is it coming from?”

But she knows. We have relinquished our power, over a thousand years or more, of wounding, of witch-burnings, of patriarchy either convincing us we have none or forcibly stripping it away, (hello Harvey Weinstein), until all we feel empowered to do, now, in 2020, is consume. And we’ve been doing that with all our might.

We override the listening, we ignore the nudges, we push through, like good soldiers. “Most people are running so hard,” observes Natalie. “Our culture is so focussed on productivity. We are so overly heroic — it’s all or nothing. I can’t do something unless I’m an expert. I don’t want to try. But this is a craft. It’s a path of education.”

Natalie’s invitation is gentle, and she’s crafted her online course to serve that: Start with one plant and learn its taste, its smell. Spend five minutes a day on meditation or in conscious ritual and begin to notice what’s going on in your nervous system, in your mind, in your body.

“When he first met me, I was already a skull collector, and now he goes and finds them for me and brings them back,” says Natalie. “He’s gotten really good at living with witchy stuff.”

Don’t get so distracted by the word witch, that you fail to notice that it is connected to craft. Witchcraft, for Natalie, is a path of learning “how to trust and problem solve, from within, knowing that we are in a system of power that, for better, for worse, will strip us of any ability to trust ourselves and to always feel empty so we have to keep buying more stuff.”

When she says this, a deep thrill of recognition hums in me, accompanied by a shiver of fear. Those are revolutionary things to say out loud, to cast into the open air. I recognize it viscerally as the kind of talk that gets people in trouble.

* * *

Last summer, before I met Natalie, I had stepped from my backyard patio stones onto freshly cut grass and spied the sinuous form of a wandering garter snake. I leaned in quickly, excitedly, about to call my 6-year-old over to glimpse the garden visitor before it shimmied away. But it was eerily still. Ugly slash wounds marked its body. It was dead. Innocent victim to the ride-on lawnmower. Obliterated by our oblivion.

“Oh no,” I muttered. “I’m so sorry!”

I had already begun to wake up to the natural world, it’s rhythms, it’s offerings of medicine, it’s otherness, but it had come with a shadow side, a growing despair at what we were doing to the world. Even without a malicious intention, I was causing death and destruction — just mowing the lawn, drinking my coffee, wiping my ass: My actions, all our human activity, had compounding impacts that were destroying the snakes, the ocean, the atmosphere, the forests, the icecaps — beyond repair.

I wanted my garden to be a habitat. I wanted the bees to waggle-dance directions to my sunflowers to their hive-mates, I wanted the wandering garter snakes to nest in their hibernacula through the winter and bask in the long grass in the summer, I wanted to lie on my back and watch butterflies dance through the flowers and the hummingbirds zoom in and out, I wanted to inhabit innocence again.

I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry. My penitence froze me in place, scared to make a move for fear of ruining something else. Then, regret overriding my squeamishness, I fetched the flat-bladed shovel and edged it under the dead snake. I carried her body over to the vegetable patch, and in a space between the beds, where the mower never goes, I laid her down. I picked marigolds and calendula from around the garden, where they’d been planted to keep the snails away, and lay the bright orange blossoms in a circle around her.

Grandmother snake, I whispered, hoping that some force that exists beyond the definitively dead snake at my feet, might spread the word among the entire species, “I’m sorry. We didn’t mean it. I will try to be more careful.”

It was a made-up ritual, the kind that a kid might perform deep in her dream world at the bottom of the garden, and it made my 44 year-old-self feel a little bit better. At least I’d made a gesture of repair, had expressed my desire to return into balance with the living world around me. If it had any effect, I’d never know. I went back inside, said nothing.

A few days later, out in the garden, my husband tripped over the skeleton of a decomposing snake, ringed by wilted flowers, half consumed by ants.

“That was spooky,” he confronted me. “What’s going on? Are you some kind of witch?”

* * *

Natalie has always been comfortable with the word. Now she’s having fun inviting people to consider the archetype, circle it, unpack it, stumble upon some kind of recognition: Wait a second! Maybe I am a witch!

“It’s cool how people in the western world can take a description that has been used mostly as a slur, and turn it around to use as something empowering,” she says.

For thousands of years, witch was a term used to incite violence against women. By the most conservative estimates, half a million people, mostly women, were executed in the European witch craze between 1300 and 1650. Accusations of witchcraft were used against women, says Rousseau, “in ways that were extremely dangerous and terrifying. It was really about getting power from them, and getting land back. So, to use a word like that in an empowered way, even today, you have to know you’re safe to do it. And it’s important to realize that in many places in the world, it’s still not safe for women to say that. But if we can, in safe places, take that word and turn it around, that, to me, is extremely powerful.”

I wanted the bees to waggle-dance directions to my sunflowers to their hive-mates, I wanted the wandering garter snakes to nest in their hibernacula through the winter and bask in the long grass in the summer, I wanted to lie on my back and watch butterflies dance through the flowers and the hummingbirds zoom in and out, I wanted to inhabit innocence again.

Natalie herself embodies empowerment. Not in the traditional way I have come to recognize power — as someone standing over, dominating someone else, her source of power comes from within.

She doesn’t need to take any from her partner.

“Do you find this relationship at all emasculating?” I joke to Natalie’s husband.

“I don’t. Not at all. No,” he replies.

“We’ve always given each other space to be ourselves.”

But that’s not always a guarantee of safety.

If it is dangerous to be an empowered woman in the world, then it’s dangerous, too, for the men who love them.

Lyla June Johnston is an author and activist of Diné and European heritage. Her inquiry into her disowned European heritage led to a realization: The millions of women burned alive, drowned alive, dismembered alive, beaten, raped and otherwise tortured as so-called, “witches,” were not witches at all. They were the medicine people of old Europe. Her lens, as a contemporary indigenous woman, and as a survivor of sexual violence, helped her identify that those were the women who understood the herbal medicines, the ones who prayed with stones, the ones who passed on sacred chants. And the all-out warfare of the witch burnings didn’t just harm the women. It had a profound effect on the men who loved them, their husbands, sons, brothers. She recognizes the echo of this in the story of her own time, of her own people. “Nothing makes a man go mad like watching the women of his family get burned alive. If the men respond to this hatred with hatred, the hatred is passed on. And who can blame them? While peace and love are the correct response to hatred, it is not an easy response by any means.”

How many men have kept their women down, tried to keep them at home, have become the handcuffs that the women fought against because they were answering to their own unarticulated primal instinct to keep them safe?

Natalie Rousseau speculates, “I am sure historically you had lots of husbands telling their wives to tone it down, not because they didn’t respect their power, but because they were genuinely afraid. I’d apply that to any women described as uppity — getting involved politically, or getting involved in local stuff that’s happening, fighting for the environment: Stop getting noticed so much. This could be dangerous.”

Some dangers are too great to be able to protect each other from. And so we turn the fight on each other — little domestic power-trips that distract us from the fact that we’ve relinquished all our power any way to the Great Machine.

* * *

My tentative inquiries into witchcraft, becoming fluent in my own moods and emotions, and paying attention to the seasons, barely prepared me for the abrupt slow-the-fuck-down order that came when COVID-19 landed in British Columbia, in my village, as school broke for spring break. The emergency handbrake was pulled. Everything came to a squealing stop — all my plans, canceled; all the stores, closing; the whole damn world, under house arrest and in a panic. The whiplash from the stunning speed of that shift has left my whole being hypersensitive to any sudden movement, to being jerked around. But the first things I have staked my trust in, in that space of uncertainty, were Natalie’s teachings: First, trust your body. Pause. Listen.

In self-imposed isolation with my husband and just-turned-7-year-old, I dance with anxiety and curiosity and disconnection and too-much-information. The well-trodden pathways we have all been racing along, flexing our power and exercising our entitlements as consumers, are suddenly bordered up with emergency tape. This invitation that Natalie has been dripping out, month after month, takes root. There is far more potency available to us, than shopping, driving, holidaying, consuming, endlessly moving around the planet.

There is potency in all the feelings that have been showing up at my door. Oh, good morning frustration. Ah grief, yes, I suppose you’d like a cup of tea. Hello there, existential terror, I wondered when you’d pop by. There is potency in sitting with my back against a huge cedar tree and listening, in slowing down so much that I can give my 7-year-old my full attention. There is potency even in my words, when I soothe him down from a tantrum by saying, “you know, this is a really hard time for everyone in the whole world right now because no one knows what’s going to happen and no one can play with their friends. I’m really proud of you.” And I can feel his body relax into this space of being acknowledged in his struggles and his efforts.

I don’t know if there are any medicinal properties in the tincture of St John’s Wort and valerian that I drop into water and hand my husband, to gentle his nervous system. Or in the jar of immune-boosting oxymel, that I brewed up with grated ginger and turmeric and orange peel, and shake every day. But even if it’s a placebo, there’s a relief for me in feeling I can do something, can offer my people some kind of healing intention in a little glass, that I can acknowledge that this is hard for my husband too, and that acknowledgment isn’t a concession that takes away from my own sense of struggle.

For decades, we’ve bought into the illusion that our power is as consumers. Now that stores are closing and the shelves are emptying and we have to stay home and not immediately indulge every whim that arises, we all feel powerless. But that was never our truest source of power. There’s another source that we can all plug back into, our deep relationship and interbeing with the life force. Maybe, this is our threshold moment. Maybe, this is a chance to craft a few little spells, to speak the words of the world we long to inhabit — a place where the currency of kindness and wonder flow, where humans return to a deep memory of belonging among the plants and creatures, and to brew up a cup of tea, light a candle, and dream it into existence. Maybe it’s an invitation to say, “I’m sorry, we didn’t mean to, I will try and be more careful,” and to build a little altar, even if you feel kind of cray cray doing it. Let your nervous system settle as you invent some small ritual, (just ask your inner 5-year-old for guidance, she probably remembers exactly what to do), and make a gesture of repair.

“I can’t think of anyone I’d rather have on my Apocalypse team,” I tell my husband, the night the global virus countertops 400,000. He’s been chopping wood, auditing the pantry, getting our kid across the finish line of the LEGO project that has absorbed him for four days. My husband was a farm kid. He’s always been practical, my polar opposite. Even when we have battled each other, (am I giving up too much of my power to him? If I acknowledge his pain and his needs, will that cancel mine out?) I’ve always known he would do anything to keep me safe. “Not that I can request an upgrade now,” I joke. “But I bet you’re glad to be stuck with me. One always wants a daydreamer at your side in a pinch.”

“Oh yeah,” he spoofs me: “’ The stock market is collapsing, let me just go check my Tarot cards.’”

We laugh. And hold each other. We can’t buy our way out of this. None of us. Our entire species, our global community, is being vividly reminded that we are all in this together, inextricably connected, epidemiologically entwined, in our vulnerability and our sweet potential. We didn’t need Amazon and airlines and online shopping to know what the witches have been telling us all this time. All the power we need is right here — between us, around us, within us. We just have to remember it.

* * *

Lisa Richarson

is a senior contributor to Coast Mountain Culture magazine and a columnist for Pique newsmagazine and edits the hyperlocal websites,

TheWellnessAlmanac.com

and

TracedElements.com.

She’s deep into a decade-long mission to slow the fuck down, but still optimize life for happiness and productivity. Born and raised in Australia, she has lived as a guest on the unceded territory of the Líl̓wat Nation since a ski vacation went rogue 20-odd years ago.

Editor: Carolyn Wells

Posted by

Lisa Richardson

April 8, 2020

https://longreads.com/2020/04/08/how-to-tell-your-husband-youre-a-witch/

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maotranslates · 4 years ago

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Chapter 8

Novel: Life Going Wild With Plug-ins 带挂装逼, 最为致命 by Shi Zi Qing 十字卿

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　　 The scenery was bright and beautiful at noon, and a bird call outside the window pulled me back to my senses, finding that the porcelain cup in my hand had been crushed into dust.

　　 Ye Tan, who was wearing a single layer of clothing, leaning at the bedside and flipping through a book, just glanced at me indifferently, no longer being surprised by strange occurrences. At the beginning, he would nervously check whether I was scratched by the porcelain, but the hearts of the people have been degenerated.*

*hearts of the people… = idiom, meaning “men are not how they used to be”

　　 "...I can't stay in this medicine hall any longer." I sighed, shaking the dust off my sleeves, "From when I came back yesterday noon until now, I’ve already crushed 37 cups from the doctor’s place, Doctor Ren is really going to curse at me."

　　 Last time I changed the data too much, and now I was unable to control the absurdly great power in my body. During this period, I was in a tense mental state to preserve my strength, but as long as I was a little bit distracted, my hands would create a dilapidated scene. My willpower was quickly dwindling, at the edge of falling apart at any moment.

　　 The thing that caused the falling apart the most was that I seriously didn’t know how I entered the modifier last time, and now I couldn’t change it back no matter how much I tried.

　　 "Ah Tan*, do you remember yesterday… in the moment just before my faked death, what exactly did we do?" I was unable to figure out the critical points in the situation, and feeling a little irritable, I knocked on the table gently.

*adding Ah in front of names is a form of endearment

　　 The entire rosewood table immediately collapsed, covering the ground with broken pieces.

　　 Fuck.

　　 "...Master, you could lie down and talk." Ye Tan suggested cautiously.

　　 "But I have already collapsed two beds." I painfully refused. Cups and tables could perhaps be overlooked, but with things like beds, a broken one is missing one. "But I really do have to think about this matter, I'll go lie down in the courtyard."

　　 I softly and quietly opened the door and went out, and Ye Tan also put down his book and got up: "That is also good, this servant will accompany you to sunbathe for a while."

　　 I nodded, concentrated my attention, struck up one hundred thousand points of consciousness, and with fear and trepidation, like walking on thin ice, carried the reclining chair from the inner room to the courtyard. Putting it on the ground gently, I cautiously backed away seven steps before finally letting out a breath: "You can't stand for a long time, lie and rest for a while."

　　 "Master, I can’t. How could this servant be so disrespectful?"

　　 I was familiar with his hard to coax temperament, but I really didn’t have the energy to appease him: “Ah Tan, I’m really very tired, please spare me.”

　　 He pursed his lips, and unexpectedly followed my advice and sat down immediately.

　　 So effortlessly, I was astonished.

　　 It turns out that towards the Shadow Guard, acting miserable is much more effective than appeasing him. I firmly remembered this in my heart.

　　 I removed the weeds and lay down in the middle of the courtyard. The stone and bricks were not very level, and they pressed on me very uncomfortably, but it could still be considered finally being able to relax for a moment.

　　 "Ah Tan."

"Hm?"

　　 "Being alive, is really, so hard."

　　 "……"

　　 The condition for opening the plug-ins, what was it exactly? Object? Action? Ritual? Words?

　　 I closed my eyes and recalled the situation carefully. I was beaten and thrown by Ze Que, rolled around a few times, and then was supported by Ye Tan. It didn’t seem that I encountered anything special, so the trigger condition shouldn’t be an object.

　　 "Ah Tan, what did you say at the time? Can you say it again?" After thinking so hard to no avail, I had to ask for outside help.

　　 Ye Tan kept silent, so I urged him again, and only then did he respond with a faint mosquito noise: "This servant said… If I were still at my prime, I would never have let Master suffer this humiliation."

　　 "What was the other sentence?"

　　 Ye Tan refused to say it in any way.

　　 I turned over and got up, saying earnestly: "Ah Tan, can you still move? Is it possible for you to bear it and repeat your actions back then?"

　　 I knew that this was not favorable for his injuries, but it probably wouldn’t change much. Without asking for further opinion, I carried him to the ground, arranging us into the posture from that time, and leaned into his arms.

　　 Ye Tan’s movements were stiff and his expression was even more amazing.

　　 I thought about my own lines, and took the lead in the play: "I’m not your match, so I concede defeat. Okay, Ah Tan, it's your turn."

　　 My expression was eager, but Ye Tan seemed a bit overwhelmed, turning his head away and speaking in a small voice: "...If only it was you that I met in the beginning, then it would be good…"

　　 The sound of the birds was sweet, the warm wind blowing by our ears, the quiet world was peaceful and good, nothing at all changed.

　　 No one spoke for a while, all I saw was the tips of Ye Tan’s ears turning bright red in the sunlight.

　　 I was greatly disappointed.

　　 It seemed that launching the program wasn’t using words either.

　　 What’s missing? Action? It seemed to be the same as back then, nothing missing...

　　 I was suddenly blessed with knowledge: "Ye Tan! Back then, did you kiss me?!"

　　 Ye Tan was scared into a shock, absolutely denying: "There was no such thing!!"

　　 "But there was, right?! Although afterwards I passed out and lost consciousness, I remember seeing your eyelashes extremely close to me." I rejoiced, "Ah Tan, quick, kiss me again!!"

Ye Tan was probably in panic, wanting to push me away, but I naturally refused to let go, hugging him and grabbing him over. Seeing him with a flustered expression, I suddenly had a guilty feeling as if I was harassing a young maiden, so I quickly tried to calm him down, saying, "Don't be afraid, I… Sigh, I have… No other alternative."

　　 My expression became sour, and after I started acting miserable, Ye Tan finally calmed down a bit. Seeing the opportunity, I aimed at that place and pecked him.

　　 Hit! Yes!!

　　 He was struggling desperately just before, but after I actually kissed him he instead stopped moving, probably scared into stupidity.

　　 But the kiss was kissed, yet I was still unable to launch the modifier. I wondered if the position was wrong, so I pressed against his lips and tried a few different angles, but there was still no improvement.

　　 Greatly disappointed ×2

　　 I had already tried all the methods I could think of, and was finally at my wits’ end. Sad and heartbroken, I was like an eggplant beaten with frost* as I let go slowly, moving away from Ye Tan's lips.

* eggplant beaten with frost = proverb, meaning someone with a wilted mentality

　　 I didn’t even move a few inches before I could no longer move any further.

　　 I didn’t know when Ye Tan had moved his hand to support the back of my neck, his fingers slipping into my hair, rubbing upwards inch by inch.

　　 "...I'm sorry, Master. I... This servant didn't mean to refuse you." He apologized in a low voice, closed his eyes and pressed up again. His thin lips were boiling hot and his breathing was soft:

　　 "Please don't show such an expression."

　　 ......?????

　　 No??

　　 Brother, have you misunderstood something????

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tipsycad147 · 3 years ago

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All About Fennel | The Health Benefits Of Fennel Seed & More

Written by Sass Ayres

Fennel is a largely uncharted vegetable, especially here in the United States. It’s a food and medicine plant with its roots in the Mediterranean, but like many plants, fennel went where the people went. And now, it’s widespread across the planet from Italy to California to Australia. It has even become considered an invasive weed in some areas around the world. Lucky for us, the health benefits of fennel seed (and the vegetable itself) are plenty.

HERE YOU’LL FIND: Meet Fennel (Foeniculum vulgare) How to Cook with Fennel Science-Backed Health Benefits of Fennel Seed

Meet Fennel (Foeniculum vulgare)

Botanical Background

Fennel is a flowering plant species in the carrot or parsley family. Its other close relatives include celery, dill, and cilantro.

Fennel loves unsettled environments. In the U.S., it’s easy to find fennel growing abundantly and wild along highways, in pastures, and other disturbed areas of land, especially in places close to the oceans.

It’s a Mediterranean plant that loves cool weather. Fennel doesn’t like it too hot or too cold. Its peak growing season is in fall and winter (if winters are mild). Summers are typically too hot for fennel, but you can usually find fennel in grocery stores year-round, and at farmer’s markets when it’s in season.

Fennel is also widely cultivated around the world. The most popular cultivar is known as Florence fennel and is different from wild varieties in that it has a more pronounced edible bulb.

Its infamous edible bulb grows much like celery does. A fennel bulb is white or pale green with several stalks growing from it. It’s inflated near the base with the stalks all nestled tightly into one another, just like celery.

Fennel has fine, feathery leaves. From the stalks grow very finely feathered green leaves (like dill) and tight clusters of tiny yellow flowers from with fennel seeds eventually form.

The leaves and seeds are strongly flavored. They have a taste reminiscent of anise or licorice and are understandably popular culinary ingredients.

How To Cook With Fennel

As a food, some dislike fennel, some love it, and others, if they’ve heard of it all it, aren’t exactly sure what it is.

Surprisingly, fennel is an incredibly versatile ingredient! Its stalks, leaves, and seeds add a delightful crunch and flavor to many foods from soups and stews to salads, slaws, pastas, roasted meats, and more. Its stalks can be used as you would use celery and its leaves can be used as a garnish like you might use dill or parsley.

Many cultures of India and the Middle East use fennel seed in cooking, as an essential ingredient in many different spice mixtures, and also as an after-dinner digestive and breath freshener. In Italy, fennel is the main spice used in Italian sausages.

The Nutritional Benefits of Fennel

Fennel is an excellent source of vitamin C, and also contains high amounts of dietary fiber, potassium, manganese, copper, molybdenum, and folate. It is a good source of calcium, magnesium, iron, and niacin. The overall nutrient and phytochemical makeup of fennel make it a good anti-inflammatory and antioxidant food.

Fennel Recipes You’ll Love

Simple Saffron & Garlic Braised Fennel ✺ Caramelized Fennel & Herbed Polenta Candied Fennel Seeds ✺ Fennel Seed & Orange Blossom Tea Cookies Fennel, Earl Grey, & Grapefruit Mocktail

The Health Benefits of Fennel Seed

At the end of three or four hundred years, it began to be perceived that [fennel] had never cured anyone.

I’ve always wondered how specific plants earned their place in ancient myths, how those myths carried through history, and how, at some point, things got caught up in and either denounced or legitimized by modern-day science and keepers of history.

Many of today’s food and medicine plants have some sort of long-ago use as cures for madness. Other plants were hung over doorways to ward off evil spirits. In Greek mythology, a fennel frond was used to hand information in the form of fiery coal down to humanity from Mount Olympus.

We’ve been using plants as medicine, tools, and sanctuary for thousands of years, and fennel is no exception.

Fennel Seed Medicine Through (a Colourful!) History

In the late 1880’s, Alphonse Karr tried to bury the popularity of fennel and its multitude of uses. Perhaps he was right on some accounts, as fennel was used for everything from warding off ghosts by being placed in keyholes on Midsummer’s Eve, to healing bites from rabid dogs, to serving as an anecdote to poisonous mushrooms and snake bites.

In fact, one day, Pliny the Elder (AD 24-79), the Roman author of Naturalis Historia (The Natural History), watched snakes eating and rubbing their bodies up against fennel plants. And with that simple observations, he came to the conclusion that they did so to help improve their eyesight after shedding their skins.

He was so inspired by this observation that he proceeded to claim fennel as an effective remedy for 22 different illnesses! There was nothing that fennel couldn’t fix!

Above the lower plants it towers, The Fennel with its yellow flowers; And in an earlier age than ours Was gifted with the wondrous powers Lost vision to restore.

On church-sanctioned fasting days, fennel seed was also used to help suppress appetite. Parishioners would carry around fennel seeds knotted up in handkerchiefs to chew on throughout the day to help keep their hunger at bay.

Fennel is also one of the 3 main herbs used to make absinthe, a notorious distilled spirit originally intended for use as a medicine.

Nonetheless, in spite of its colorful history, fennel remains to be a powerful medicine and today, is still considered by many to be one of the best herbs for settling an upset stomach.

The Medicinal Uses of Fennel Seed Today

Today, the seed of fennel is the part most often used for medicine. While the health benefits of fennel seed are many, its benefitical effects on digestion steal the show.

It’s incredibly beneficial for indigestion, bloating and/or gas, and coughs.

Nursing mother’s still use fennel as an ingredient in DIY gripe water, an herb-infused tea that may include apple cider vinegar used to relieve colic and other gastrointestinal discomforts in children.

Due to its sweet like liquorice flavour, fennel is great medicine for children. It can be used to help with their stomachaches, constipation, and coughs.

As an anti-spasmodic, fennel is effective against stomach cramping associated with poor digestion.

And as an aromatic carminative, fennel is also effective against nausea.

For more plant magic & herbal wellness in your life, be sure to follow along on ➡️ Instagram, Facebook, Pinterest, or Twitter, & snag my herbal 📚 eBooks Nourishing Herbal Gifts & Holiday Pies from the (Un)Bakery. 🌿 And please don’t forget to tag me in your snaps 📸 @_botanyculture_. I love to see all the plant magic you make happen!

Fennel 101

Species Foeniculum vulgare Family Apiaceae (carrot or parsley Family) Part(s) Used leaf & bulb, flower, seeds, pollen, essential oil Origin Mediterranean When to Harvest leaf & stalk: depends on when planted, typically spring & fall seeds: late summer/early fall As a Medicine Think digestive health! antibacterial, anti-inflammatory, antispasmodic, carminative, demulcent, expectorant, galactagogue, nervine, tonic As a Food excellent source of vitamin C, molybdenum, dietary fiber, potassium, manganese, copper, & folate; good source of calcium, magnesium, iron, & niacin Cautions The essential oil of fennel seed can be contraindicated during pregnancy due to the emmenagogue effect & phytoestrogen activity. Always check with your qualified health care practitioner. Other Uses none found Look Alikes poison hemlock (Conium maculatum) – has white flowers instead of yellow and does not smell of anise or liquorice

https://www.botanyculture.com/meet-the-plants-fennel/-

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nomoney · 4 years ago

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"May I trade you for that?"

Use Facebook Marketplace

As news of the US Dollar collapse reaches more and more people, here’s your always free - survival guide for you to use as you navigate freedom.

This guide is inspired by the YouTube video of Kyle MacDonald "Trading a paper clip for a house"

youtube

1) Goods—Physical goods (Watch, Computer, Clothing)

2) Services—Human Labor (Construction, Consulting, Web Design, Cooking)

3) Renting—Renting out resources (1 Week of shelter, 2 Hours with the lawn mower)

4) Lending—Lending out a good, service, or rental with the expectation that your end of the bargain will be met.

Then we broke down the entire bartering process into distinct micro-processes.

The approach: “Hi, may I trade you for that (toaster)?”

The Negotiation: “Sure, What are you offering?”

“How do you like this (microwave)?”

Advertising online: Create advertiment with (Adobe Spark)

“(Golf Clubs) for trade”

Or "I'm looking for a (small boat). Message me if you have a (boat) for trade”

Or "I have this (home) for trade"

Sometimes, you will be in situations where the common sense approach is to simply ask for things. Keep your relationships positive.

Asking for things: “Hi, I was wondering if you happen to have (water) I can drink?

Transaction: The exchange of items in real-time after final agreement.

"May I trade you for that?"

Tips & Tricks

Hungry? You can negotiate doing chores for someone for food.

Need shelter? You can negotiate shelter by offering to do work around the persons home.

Need someone to drive you? You can offer a piece of clothing or shoes for a ride.

Hair cuts will be in high demand always. Learn to cut hair for an easy way to trade for the small things.

People are stressed and don't have money to buy self-care treatments. A good massage goes a long way. Offer massages for food, weed, or clothing. This is probably something you can take advantage of with family members.

Lonely men who learn to blow dry hair will have an unfair advantage in the dating scene.

If you are the kind of person who was always hungry for wealth, you can still acquire big resources but they would be in the form of physical things and no longer in currency. Think cars, homes, boats, luxury clothing. etc...

You can also negotiate lifestyle, working conditions, shelter, etc...

We are negotiating the future of humanity for our clinical services.

You can lend out expensive equipment for something you need done. Example: Lending out the lawn mower to the neighbors in exchange for the neighbors watching your children for 3 hours.

Don’t forget that you can provide labor for things. House cleaning, construction, hair removal. But don’t provide labor for money.

When you swap or barter for things, it’s important that you are capable of measuring TRUE VALUE

Garage sale technique for bartering

Take group photo of all your stuff you wanna get rid of

Take inventory of things you wanna get rid of

Type names and it will be keywords

Broom.

TV.

Car.

Other users who are looking for these things will see your garage sale photo and if they like what you have, they begin the approach & barter process (negotiation)

Here’s an Example

An in-depth analysis into measuring TRUE VALUE

Sports Cards

Very little true value. Why? Low material cost/paper material

Low labor cost/ bulk creation by factory machines. Sports cards are manufactured in bulk just like cash money is. It has sentimental value when it is signed by the athlete. When it comes to sentimental value, you can request whatever you want depending on the emotional connection someone has to the sports card. But it has no real true value. Only sentimental when it is signed and there is proof of authenticity

It’s all subjective- meaning it’s all about personal feelings and emotions.

Software

True value cannot be measured in dollars or cents because it is digital. Material costs to produce software? Subjective.

Labor costs to produce software? Subjective again.

Software is in the high sentimental value category. This is where the software creator can request whatever they want based on the demand for the use. Sentimental value is measured in behavior and if there is a demand for use of the software, asking for money is the worst value proposition. Because digital currency has no true value. Software creators could be asking for homes or cars or food. But instead they are asking for something digital with no true value

It’s all subjective- meaning it’s all about personal feelings and emotions.

Copyrights

No true value. But great sentimental value..

..so great that the copyright owner will lose resources in their pursuit of violators. The time & labor associated with copyright enforcement make copyrighting the worst business to involve yourself in. When copyright owner request payment in money, they are again asking for something with absolute zero true value.

It’s all subjective- meaning it’s all about personal feelings and emotions.

Money

Very High sentimental value. Absolute zero true value. Abuse & slavery tool.

Characteristic of intentionally Weakened mind conditioned to worship a resource with no true value. The emotional attachment people had to money was so dangerous because of its non-existent true value. When someone could make unlimited resource with no true value and extremely high sentimental value, room for abuse is high & likely.

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Universal.Initiative (@the.universal.university)

It’s all subjective- meaning it’s all about personal feelings and emotions

Labor value

Can only be measured in pre-collapse dollars & cents

You can only measure it in sentimental value. And sentimental value really depends on who you ask.And how much that person personally values a form of labor

Like I don’t personally value the employees of a fast food restaurant. But perhaps the owners of that fast food restaurant deeply value their employees.

That value I’m referring to is sentimental value. Because to me, they aren’t worth any money. To the owners they are worth the collective pay arrangements.

It’s all subjective- meaning it’s all about personal feelings and emotions. Slavery is stolen labor.

Gold- All Jewelry

True value cannot be measured because these are natural resources: you can find it in the earth. (At least that’s what we were led to believe)

Gold may be a bogus resource. Does it have any real medicinal or anything value? I have a theory that someone was bargaining with a farmer for 5 cows, so the person found a pebble,called it gold and tricked the farmer into believing the gold pebble had some sort of magical powers. Trading with gold fooled so many people, that there was genuine belief in its powers and that might be the reason the field of Alchemy was born. An alchemist is an actor. It’s pseudoscience: fake science. However, it’s all subjective. You can discuss this at roundtables

If it’s not your mothers wedding ring, you shouldn’t trade anything for jewelry. It’s only a fashion statement.

It’s costume jewelry.

It’s all subjective- meaning it’s all about personal feelings and emotions. Slavery is stolen labor.

"May I trade you for that?"

No money no problems because freedom is free.

#bartering #car financing #finance #poverty universaluniversity #nature #youtube #history

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harleyquinnbluemoonlove · 4 years ago

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Welcoming the new Social Movement/Platform/Political Party in the World

Official Name: Blue Dog Bite Mafia 888 *BETA*

Owner/CEO/Founder/Dealer/Player/Delivery BAD B:

Current Name: Monica Gill FUTURE Name: Mercedes Lynnette Giovanni

Email: [email protected]

Current Financial Status: $0.00 ---- You may DONATE by using CASH APP Cash Tag #$bluedogbitemafia888

***MY CYBER FAMILY MUST ENSURE THAT DONATIONS ARE NOT HIGHJACKED/STOLEN****

BASIC IDEA/PLAN OF ATTACK/EXECUTION OR POSITIVE WORDS LIKE “LAUNCH”. We can issue an ATTACK or a LAUNCH CODE.

I will dumb it down a little bit. I am taking advantage of my position of power, now that I am a Celebrity in the World. Its the greatest feeling in the world, feels better than good sex and that is a hard thing for me to admit because I love some good, hot, sweaty sex and I’ve been going without for several weeks. I almost fell like a Nun because I cannot even pleasure myself because I was molested as a child by Lovie Price’s boyfriend “Frank Parker” a gasoline man from an early. I told Connie Price about it when I was 15 and her name at the time was Connie Dunford. It was the same day Brandie Ann Thompson said Curtis Triplett tried to rape her in the bathroom at the house In Frayser, Memphis TN. Brandie Ann in her hayday, resembled a youthful Cameron Diaz. Cameron Diaz dated Justin Timberlake once upon a time. She played in the move “The mask” and the mask was green. At the end of the movie, the dog put on the mask. You all know, when you wear that mask---you become a Shape Shifter, transforming into anything/anyone you think will grab the Hot or Not Rated #10 Woman’s ATTENTION/HEART/LOVE and will do anything, I mean anything to get it. The secret to my success is a compilation of everything good, bad, dirty, evil and let’s call it “The Struggle” or the “Human Experience”.

Old School (OS) Operating System (OS) Back to Basics (B2B) Brandie Thompson (BT) Barry Thompson (BT) Blue Tooth (BT) Brandie Smith (BS) Bull Shit (BS) Rent A Center (RAC) Roger Adren Crawford (RAC) $1K (RAK) Rags to Riches Richard Abernathy (RA) **secret boyfriend shh!!** Douche Bag (DB) or Douglas Belknap (DB) Thomas Jones (TJ) County Road (CR) Danny Thomas (DT) Deanna Thomas (DT) ... Trying to show you how I think period dot. In ya’ll are slow, period dot also equal two dots. You must have two dots to play connect the dots and draw the lines to illustrate inspiration into a masterpiece. The best pieces of Art are very old, have a solid reputation, and is properly curated to ensure it maintains its value for infinity times three.

Basically, you can get with my program, drink my Kool Aid, swallow your pride, do the right thing, if you have done something wrong, you really need to return to your basic religious beliefs what they may be, get right with yourself, because what you have done will come to light, exposed, we are moving on from there. We are, as a society going to change and deliver the children and the children’s children: a brighter future with more options, a limited amount of privacy, give them the world and see what they can accomplish with living in a world of positive vibes, beautiful colors, great music, entrepreneurship, dreams, and now, the little girls if we get married will truly believe in fairytales. This right here is whats up because we have an opportunity, once in a lifetime opportunity, to fix society, establish unity and peace, competition is good but everyone needs a chance to win sometimes to boost their confidence and pride. When there is monopoly or kingdom, it fosters the seven deadly sins, seven capital sins, and the seven cardinal sins, which is systemic to original sin.

Genesis clearly explains that certain things were created on certain days and back time was measured. You cannot just create a man or a woman. First, you need the Universe. Then, you need the Galaxy which creates Space. In Space, you have the moon, stars, sun, planets, black holes, asteroids, comets, shooting stars, orbit, gravitational pull. Here we are on planet Earth with 7 continents and 7 oceans. I like the number 8 because it represent a number, a symbol, and no limitations--infinity. My son was born on 3-8-03 weighing 8 pounds, 8 ounces and 19.5 inches long, color: BLUE, life: No sign of it. It took 10 minutes and PLEADING WITH THE LORD AT THE TOP OF MY LUNGS SCREAMING PRAYING TO PLEASE GIVE HIM LIFE, I DON’T WANT TO HAVE GONE THROUGH 35.5 HOURS OF LABOR AND 7 HOURS OF HARD PUSHING WITH NO PAIN MEDICINE, NO EPIDURAL, GAVE BIRTH TO A STILL BORN BABY NATURALLY AND THE GOOD LORD ANSWERED MY PRAYERS AND THAT BOY CRIED AND WENT TO THE NICU AT BETHESDA NAVAL HOSPITAL IN MONTGOMERY COUNTY, MARYLAND. ITS ALSO REFERRED TO AS “THE PRESIDENTS HOSPITAL”.

He is 17 years old, already a MASTERMIND and a Professional Gamer. He is so smart like me, that he had to design/build/code his own computer because there is not a computer on the planet that can keep up with his level of gaming. I saw a photo of it. Its a desktop computer with the case taken off the side--lit up with blue LED lights

It’s Confession Time and Holy Communion Time that means confess your sin, wrongdoing, break bread, eat bread, drink wine, not whine. No days off, no excuse, no immunity, no setups, no blame game, no liars, no stealing, checks and balances, no absolute power because absolute power fosters absolute corruption, which is why were in this position right now with COVID-19, Corona Virus.

I think one person needs a pardon because he has stayed on the job, even though he was originally lied to by the Feds. He deserves a pardon, record expunged, and an opportunity. I see great potential, just needs an opportunity, believe in himself, and have the courage to escape his own prison of gold diggers, groupies, fans, and whores.

In this triad, it is a rags to riches story times three. There is only 1 TRUE VERSION of ME, and its right here in Memphis TN, age: 41(Birth Cert).

To succeed in any sports game, you must be fit, educated, content with yourself to include your pros/cons/demons and knowledgeable & intelligent enough to know that I am certified True OG, I got your back no matter what because to me money ain’t a thing, fame fades just like stars, but loyal dogs do not turn on their master unless they are abused or hungry. I am a Blue AKC Royal Bloodline Pitbull, Staffordshire Terrier. Pitbull is the image you need to have in your mind when you think of ME.

#donations #loyalty #888 #TRUMP2020 #IG #WHISTEBLOWER ACT #RULES #ESPNSPORTS #RAPGODS #GREEKGODS #GOD #CLASHOFTITANS #THEGAME #THEROCK #GLUE #DOCTORS #LAWYERS #COWBOYS #DANCE #L.I.F.E. #LOVE #SM #EM

#NEED SOME COM[ANY AND VITAMIN D

BLUE, COME ON UNLESS YOU ARE “CHICKEN” “SCARED”

I PROMISE I WILL NOT BITE. BUT, I AM STARVING, LONELY, NEED MONEY TO CREATE AND LAUNCH MY DREAMS TO POSITIVELY AND EFFECTIVELY CHANGE THE WORLD WHICH WILL PLACE ME AND PRESIDENT TRUMP IN THE HISTORY BOOKDS. AND THE HISTORY BOOKS ARE GOING TO BECOME FACTBOOKS, AND HISTORY CLASSES WILL BE MANDATORY THROUGHOUT LIFE REGARDLESS OF AGE, POSITION, JOB, FINANCIAL STATUS BECAUSE THE BEST EDUCATION IS A “CONTINUOUS EDUCATION”. IF YOU DO NOT CONTINUE LEARNING, YOU BECOME RUSTY AND THEN, YOU CANNOT KEEP UP THE FAST PACED CHANGES OF ADVANCE TECHNOLOGY IN THE REAL WORLD AND IN THE REAL GAME OF LIFE.

RECOMMENDATIONS ARE AS FOLLOWS:

1. DONATE MONEY TO MY CAUSE ON CASH APP

$BLUEDOGBITEMAFIA888

DO NOT HACK MY PHONE OR MY LAPTOP, DO NOT HACK ANYTHING OR ANYBODY BC YOU CANNOT DO IT BETTER THAN U.S. BC U.S. CREATED THE INTERNET IN WASHINGTON DC AT THE PENTAGON CALLED “DARPANET” IN 1974. THE FIRST COMPUTER WAS AN APPLE, SECOND COMPUTER WAS MICROSOFT. A GOOD BRAND IS A HP WITH MS WINDOWS. I HAVE A BLUE HP LAPTOP STREAM, I HAVE A BLACK APPLE IPHONE 7. I AM ON A WIFI WITH A VPN THAT KEEPS GETTING DISABLED. THE SOUND ON MY PHONE DOES NOT WORK. I AM BACKING UP BOTH DEVICES AND GOING TO RESET TO FACTORY SETTINGS SO I CAN GURANTEE EFFECTIVE DIGITAL SECURITY.

2. I NEED COMPANY TO SIT WITH ME, DRINK WITH ME. I WOULD LOVE SOME JACK AND COKE OR A BUD LIGHT. I WOULD ALSO LOVE SOME FOOD THAT CONTAINS RED MEAT TO ASSIST ME WITH MY BLOOD PROBLEMS. BUDDY OR BLUE OR YO -- FIGURE IT AND SEND ME SOMEONE I KNOW. I AM TOO PRETTY AND TOO COOL TO BE CHILLING BY MYSELF WITH NO FOOD, NO ALCOHOL, NO MONEY, NO WEED, ETC.

3. SELF EVALUATE OR DO A PEER REVIEW/. SELF EVALUATION IS LOOKING AT YOURSELF IN THE MIRROR AND THINKING ABOUT YOUR LIFE. I LIKE TO WRITE THINGS DOWN, IF HELPS ME. IT WILL BRING ABOUT A SENSE OF UNDERSTANDING WHO, WHAT, WHY YOU ARE WHO YOU ARE, HOW YOU BECAME PERSON, AND DESIGN YOUR OWN ROADMAP TO BEING A BETTER PERSON AND OPENING YOUR HEART TO REALIZATION THAT THE CHILDREN ARE THE FUTURE, RIGHT WE ARE THE WORLD, WE CAN ACHIEVE GREATNESS, A NEW TYPE OF MAGIC “UTOPIA”.

WHAT ARE YOU ABOUT? WHAT DO YOU WANT OUT OF LIFE? ARE YOU HAPPY WITH YOURSELF? CAN YOU FREE YOUR MIND? CAN YOU OPEN YOUR HEARTS? CAN YOU COMMIT? DO YOU KNOW WHEN TO WALK AWAY? WHAT DO YOU BELIEVE IN? DO YOU HAVE CONFIDENCE? ARE YOU IN YOUR OWN PRISON--YOUR MIND, YOUR FEELINGS, YOUR RELATIONSHIP STATUS?

WISDOM COMES WITH TIME, EXPERIENCE, EDUCATION, HARD WORK, SERVICE, LOYALTY, PURPOSE, AND TRAVELING.

At the end of the day, who do you want to be with?

Woman - Wise can deliver the world or drop the world, age 41 -- looks better than 20 & 30 year old GIRLS. Does not care about money, fame, status, power because the game was scheduled and unfortunately, unaware of the OP -- she walked, ran, sprinted STOLE the Flag, and won the game.

Everyone wants to still run their mouths, try to control a man, and those hos, have no power, position, fame, etc. They are with or around you because of who you are, what you have done, and what you can give them---in my opinion that is abuse of power and targeting someone to manipulating them to do what you want them to do.

I like structure, things to be done a certain way because I like cleanliness, organization, faith, love, hope, trust, and loyalty.

I would not cop an attitude with everyone, if I did not feel like the world was against me. Hint, hint -- I don’t trust authority figures because I was molested, abused, targeted, almost died several times, lied to, cheated on, setups, smear campaigns, gossiped about, bullied, beat on, yelled at, called names, jealous women everywhere so dumb they forget I have a hunger against Human Trafficking. People are on this RACISM BULL SHIT.

Its 2020, Racism = IGNORANCE AND IGNORANCE IS NOT BLISS ANYMORE, IGNORANCE IS DEADLY.

Basic belief system of Karma, it is a metaphysical/paranormal reality that is mixed with real, artificial, and soon-to-be virtual reality. It is what it is.

What you set your mind, what you do and the thoughts and actions you put into the world will either grant you your dreams or come back times three by the of karma, what goes around, comes around.

I want/will do good and be a good role model for everyone. I am going to teach, help you, do what I want, when I want, how I want because I know my worth, my value, and what I can GURANTEE/DELIVER.

Greed, jealousy, laziness, and all the ugly things that are in the world

WILL

get you no where but hungry, lonely but free, penniless, candy-less, eliminate sports.

COMMIT OR QUIT

MY MISSION WILL ENDURE AND CARRY ON UNTIL I FEEL MISSION ACCOMPLISHED. I DO NOT HAVE A FAILURE TO THRIVE AND I DO NOT LACK A WILL TO LIVE.

MY ISNT OVER, YET;

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t4t4t · 5 years ago

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Pete Catches: “I too feel this way. I live in an age which has passed. I live like fifty years ago, a hundred years ago. I like it that way. I want to live as humbly, as close to the earth as I can. Close to the plants, the weeds, the flowers that I use for medicine. The Great Spirit has seen to it that man can survive in this way, can live as he is meant to live. So I and my wife are dwelling in a little cabin—no electricity, no tap water, no plumbing, no road. This is what we want. This simple log cabin knows peace. That’s how we want to be for the rest of our lives. I want to exist apart from the modern world, get out, way out, in the sticks, and live much closer to nature, even, than I am doing now. I don’t even want to be called a medicine man, just a healing man, because this is what I am made for. I don’t ask for anything. A white doctor has a fee, a priest has a fee. I have no fee. A man goes away from me healed.

"That is my reward. Sometimes I do not have the power—it makes me sad. When I have the power, then I am happy. Some men think of money, how to get it. That never comes into my mind.

"We live off nature, my wife and I; we hardly need anything. We will somehow live. The Great Spirit made the flowers, the streams, the pines, the cedars—takes care of them. He lets a breeze go through there, makes them breathe it, waters them, makes them grow. Even the one that is down in the crags, in the rocks. He tends to that, too. He takes care of me, waters me, feeds me, makes me live with the plants and animals as one of them.

"This is how I wish to remain, an Indian, all the days of my life. This does not mean that I want to shut myself off. Somehow many people find their way to my cabin. I like this. I want to be in communication, reach out to people everywhere, impart a little of our Indian way, the spirit’s way, to them.

“At the same time, I want to withdraw further and further away from everything, to live like the ancient ones. On the highway you sometimes see a full-blood Indian thumbing a ride. I never do that. When I walk the road, I expect to walk the whole way. That is deep down in me, a kind of pride. Someday I’ll still move my cabin still farther into the hills, maybe do without a cabin altogether, become part of the woods. There the spirit still has something for us to discover—a herb, a sprig, a flower—a very small flower, maybe, and you can spend a long time in its contemplation, thinking about it. Not a rose—yellow, white, artificial, big. I hear they are breeding black roses. That’s not natural. These things are against nature. They make us weak. I abhor them.

“So as I get older, I burrow more and more into the hills. The Great Spirit made them for us, for me. I want to blend with them, shrink into them, and finally disappear in them. As my brother Lame Deer has said, all of nature is in us, all of us is in nature."

Lame Deer Seeker of Visions [1972]

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sunbird-tells-stories · 5 years ago

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= T I M B E R W I L D E =

(Full color refs courtesy of @fbschin and @the-trinket-witch, please support the artists)

FULL NAME: Tapeesa ‘Timber’ Wilde

APPEARANCE: 6’2, and by virtue of her height is the second tallest Xiaolin Dragon (second only to Clay, and even then it’s pretty close).

Floofy blonde hair. It is usually worn long but it is currently cut short with parts of it dyed forget-me-not blue. Tan skin. Brown almond-shaped eyes. Often wears a black toque/beanie, and has a taste for punk, grungy, and “woodsy” type fashions like leather jackets, plaid, distressed denim, etc.

Current outfit is as follows: Long sleeve black shirt with Canadian maple leaf design. Plaid overshirt. Ripped jeans, black socks and black boots. Fingerless black gloves. Single piercing on her nose, multiple piercings in her ears, and a forest green jacket with brown fur lining on the hood. Jacket is designed to make the wearer look like a wolf. This is Timber’s trademark jacket and her most recognizable article of clothing.

GENDER/SEXUALITY: Female. Pansexual. Polyamorous and proud.

PRONOUNS: She/Her/Hers

ETHNICITY: Mixed race - her mother is an Inuk woman from Labrador, and her father was an Irish-Canadian man from Newfoundland.

BIRTHPLACE/BIRTHDATE: Born and raised in the province of Newfoundland, Canada on November 2nd, 2003. Scorpio. 16 going on 17.

GUILTY PLEASURES: Cigarettes. Food. Weed. Food. Sneaking into places she shouldn’t. Food. Saucy reading materials. Food. Pretty girls. Food. Feisty boys. Food. Abusing her powers to be lazy, get what she wants and take shortcuts. Food. Loud music. Food. Singing. Food. Sneaking out at night. Food. Petty vandalism. Food. Street hockey. Food. Regular hockey. Food. Skateboarding. Food. Tagging property with her own unique brand of art. Food. Cute dogs. Food. Taking lots and lots of selfies and candid photos, as photography is her biggest passion and addiction ALSO FOOD DID I MENTION FOOD YET BECAUSE THAT’S A BIG ONE SHE IS ALWAYS HUNGRY

QUIRKS: Constantly takes photos. Constantly gets distracted. Constantly wanders off. Bites her lip when she is anxious or about to lie. Takes great pride in her hair and prior to her forced haircut took good care of it and grew it out long, thick and messy. Her wild hair is a trademark of hers and she doesn’t like people touching it or doing anything to it.

Is well known for having a nervous tic in the form of shaking hands. She claims it’s due to bad medication - and may even in fact believe her own lie - but in reality, it’s completely psychological in nature, due to her undiagnosed PTSD and trauma from a formative life event when she was 8 years old. It is always present, worsens under stress, and at times affects her motor skills so intensely that she cannot tie her shoes or pick up a spoon. It is a great insecurity of hers and she does her best to hide it.

TRIGGERS: Mentions of her family, being called “crazy” and being near the ocean or on water.

FUN FACTS:

When visiting a new place, Timber will build or draw an inukshuk and take a photo of it to commemorate the occasion. She has been doing this since she was small, and she continues this ritual in honor of the loved one who taught her how to do this.

Her real name Tapeesa means “arctic flower” in the Inuktituk language, but most people know her as Timber. Earned the nickname ‘Timber’ from her father when she made a tree fall as a young girl due to her Wood elemental powers revealing themselves. Answers only to the name ‘Timber’ in his memory.

Really loves blueberries. She likes all food and eats like a starving animal but she gravitates to blueberries and blueberry flavored things. Her trademark favorite food though is blueberry pancakes with blueberry jam, as per her father’s recipe.

COLORS: Blue and Green

ANIMAL SYMBOLISM: Moths 🦋

PHOBIAS: Several, actually.

Going home.

Losing the one “friend” she has.

Being alone for the rest of her life.

Being an outcast for the rest of her life.

Not being able to fulfill her deal to Sun and complete the one mission that has kept her going for YEARS.

Being open and honest and vulnerable with other people.

Trusting other people.

Other people.

But the one thing she fears more than anything else is the ocean. Deep water in general makes her very uncomfortable and she slowly loses it when in close proximity to beaches, docks, and boats. She. HATES. Being on water.

And she has every reason to hate it.

WHAT SHE WOULD BE FAMOUS FOR: Timber Wilde is the first Dragon of Wood in centuries, a “Wilde” card that even Wuya herself was not aware of before she made herself known. And due to the complicated history of the Xiaolin Dragons and the Dragons of Wood, that alone is more than enough to have everyone from the Xiaolin to the Heylin hunting her down. Inexperienced in actual combat, but with enough raw power and natural talent that exceeds even Raimundo and Omi’s Shoku-level abilities, Timber Wilde is cunning, powerful, creative, and above all, unpredictable.

Timber Wilde is also currently the owner of the Crown of the Monkey King, the most dangerous Shen Gong Wu in existence. What’s more, she is also the faithful and long-suffering servant, student and sometimes host of the evil that resides in it.

Along with her traveling companions, Jack Spicer, the reluctant Dragon of Metal, and Jermaine Thompson, the kung-fu prodigy that was trained by Chase Young himself, Timber Wilde currently travels the world in an ongoing journey, keeping her secrets close, her “enemies” closer, and searching for a way to free her master in exchange for her one and only chance to rectify the greatest failure of her life.

She will do whatever it takes to reach this goal. Even if she has to burn down the whole world to do it. After all...a deal’s a deal, right?

WHAT THEY WOULD GET ARRESTED FOR:

Theft. Arson. Disturbing the peace. Possession and underage usage of tobacco products and marijuana. General teenage mayhem. Destruction of property. Aggravated assault. Vandalism and trespassing.

...Treason.

WHO DO YOU SHIP THEM WITH: Timber is polyamorous and has a lot of romantic potential with a few different characters. I feel like she’d be happiest in a polyamorous triad with Jack Spicer as one of her lifelong partners due to how well they connect and compliment each other, but jury’s still out on who would best complete their OT3.

She’s 100 percent into nerds tho. Nerds and angry types and red hair and blue eyes. All she wants is to be topped by someone smarter than her. She just needs a feisty bookworm who can put her in her place and teach her things.

CHARACTER MOST LIKELY TO KILL THEM: Everyone is out to get Timber but sadly her worst enemy is in her own head. Literally. He’s in her HEAD.

FAVORITE BOOK/MOVIE GENRE: Historical/documtary type stuff because she’s hungry for knowledge of the world outside her small seaside town, but she also has a secret soft spot for shojo mangas and saucy romance books.

LEAST FAVORITE MOVIE/BOOK CLICHE: Sad endings, or stories where the dog dies.

TALENTS/POWERS: As the Dragon Of Wood, Timber Wilde has power over every form of plant life, and once again she’s nearly above Shoku level with her abilities. In addition to manipulating and accelerating plant growth, she can also....

Gift plants with sentience and speech,

Use pollen and scents to confuse, manipulate, charm or take out foes,

Create bioluminescent plants and fungi

Create armor for herself from plants

Use plants for camouflage, disguise, defense or offense

Create her own food source

And much more.

But the most important skill as Dragon of Wood she has is, above all, her healing abilities.

With the power to use the medicinal properties in her plants to heal almost any wound or illness, Timber Wilde’s healing powers make her invaluable in battle.

She also has learned one more technique from Sun, one that allows her to “borrow” another person’s power for her own.

But we can discuss that later.

WHY SOMEONE MIGHT LOVE THEM: Despite her many flaws, Timber Wilde isn’t that bad of a person. Deep down underneath her tough, nihilistic, cold exterior, she’s just a sweet, silly, mischief making teenager who just needs and wants a friend. She is a dreamer. She is an artist. Though she has long since lost faith in people she still has an eye for beauty and finds it everywhere in the world around her. She thirsts for adventure and wants to live life to the fullest and experience everything the unknown has to offer.

At her best, Timber Wilde is a lively, incredible, inspiring soul who is passionately devoted to everything and everyone she loves. She will go to the ends of the earth for anything and anyone she cares about, even if it costs her her own life.

WHY SOMEONE MIGHT HATE THEM: Timber Wilde is a deeply complicated person who has a lot of inner pain and fears. And like a certain other redhead, these feelings cause her to lash out at the world around her in less than ideal ways.

Timber lies. Timber keeps secrets. Timber can get very defensive when you poke past the casual front she tries to keep up and start asking her real questions. She has a loose sense of morals, and a survivalist mindset. She doesn’t reach out to other people. She doesn’t trust other people. In fact, the only person she puts her faith in is an evil entity trapped within the Shen Gong Wu she wears on her head. And because of his influence, her view of reality is severely warped.

She genuinely believes she has no real place in this world amongst other people. She genuinely believes everyone is out to get her and that everyone disappoints each other eventually and to make yourself vulnerable or to have faith in others is to invite hurt and heartbreak. And despite the fact that she holds her own needs and desires above everyone else’s, she thinks very, very lowly of herself.

She cannot forgive herself for past mistakes. She cannot let go of what’s already gone. She blames herself for the fate of her family and the untimely demise of the most important person in her life and this has taken a severe emotional and mental toll on her. And due to this loss, she has ONE goal in life that she chases after with all her heart and soul, and the way she tunnel visions in on her mission often means she leaves others to the wayside, though not always without guilt or regret.

Timber is....complicated. Like a wildfire, she burns and burns and burns, and each and every day she burns a little more out of control than before.

But fires don’t burn because they want to hurt people. Fires burn because they don’t know how else to keep from going out.

Timber Wilde knows her actions have consequences. But seeing no better options, she forces herself not to care. She lies to everyone, including herself.

HOW THEY CHANGE: Spoilers.

But I think a certain someone, or two certain someones, can help her change.

Power of friendship, baby.

Why You Love Them: Because she fulfills several of my wishes for what I wanted to see in Xiaolin Showdown.

A) She’s a female character

B) She’s a female XIAOLIN character

C) She is or will be a true blue ally and supportive friend to Jack Spicer, a boy who desperately needs friends

D) She’s a Dragon Of Wood and

E) She is a girl with grit who gets swept up into a magical life changing adventure

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buoyantsaturn · 6 years ago

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so ive been dragged onto the stoner will solace train so i guess heres some headcanons since i havent done a list in a while

the demeter cabin has had a pact with the hermes cabin for a Long Time where the demeter kids grow the pot and the hermes cabin distributes it

once people realize that weed has medicinal properties also they start to cut the apollo cabin in on the business so they can use weed when campers have maxed out on ambrosia and nectar

anyway on to will

he’s a Wreck after the titan war. like, more so than everyone else. and there’s no longer anyone above him in the infirmary so there’s nobody to help him sort out his trauma so he goes to the demeter cabin to get some weed bc he’s heard that its helped like,, everyone else

theres like,, 20 kids in the demeter cabin and theyre hotboxing the whole place and katie gardner opens the door and doesnt even ask if he wants a hit, she just hands him the blunt and pulls him inside

Will is pretty much high for the next year straight. he never bothers to cope with losing his brothers and friends bc why cope when you can be high instead? his siblings dont know Just How Often he’s getting high bc otherwise they would stop him or try to slow him down at least, but he starts smoking right when he wakes up, always takes a few more hits if there’s anything super gorey in the infirmary that he has to deal with, and he claims that he can’t sleep without smoking even more, so yeah, he’s. always high.

he fights the red eyes and occasional scratchy throat with a little of his own healing powers, and since hes a 15 year old boy he figures that nobody will find anything out of place if he drenches himself with axe bodyspray

nobody really finds out how messed up will is inside bc on the outside he looks all happy and smiley and he laughs at the stupidest stuff. some people think that’s just how he is, others think it’s a brave face he’s putting on for all the injured kids in the infirmary. the truth is that he’s just out of his mind high

the morning of the battle against the romans, everything was happening so fast that he didn’t have time to smoke which means that basically the first thing he did sober was deliver a baby which was Not Great for him, but at least he was coherent enough to give Nico that weird gum instead of the joint he also had in his little medical pouch

he does a pretty good job of hiding his smoking from then on, considering after the second war, he’s got nico glued to his side in the infirmary just about every day - not that he’s complaining, but that did make it a little difficult to sneak away to get high in the middle of the day

when paolo loses his arm(s?) will tells his siblings that he has to run back to the apollo cabin to read up on how to reattach an arm when really he’s just gonna hotbox the bathroom bc he Knows he can’t handle that surgery sober, but nico ends up catching him in the act and gets Very upset with him bc when they started dating they had promised not to keep any secrets from each other, but now will is gonna go operate on a kid while hes high off his ass??

like,, will still does it, and paolo survives and regains use of his arm(s) but will still has to go find nico and apologize and explains himself and for the most part nico just thinks will’s a hypocrite for forcing nico to talk about his feelings when will never dealt with his

will realizes that hes been acting like a dumbass and eventually stops relying on weed and does finally learn how to deal with his trauma, so now he only smokes sometimes when he can’t sleep or hes like,, with friends around the campfire and just wants to relax a little bit

#this came out. novel length. which was not my intention at all #mine #will solace #i also didnt plan on it being solangelo at all but what do you expect with me at this point tbh #i have many other things i should be working on but i couldnt get this out of my head all day

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intheforest-hides-a-light · 6 years ago

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A New Family | Part 1

Synopsis: Rachel Jessop’s life changes forever the day she meets Joseph Seed, and the seven years that follow are not at all how she expected them to be.

((So tumblr removed all my text from this post when I went to add a hashtag so here I am pasting it back in again *cries* there’s probably errors now haha))

Rating: M

Genre: Angst, Drama, pre-canon

Characters: Faith Seed (Rachel Jessop), Tracey Lader, Joseph Seed + others

Warnings: abuse, drug use, thoughts of suicide, implied sex

Length of Part 1: 6.5k Total Length: TBD

Disclaimer: I don’t own FC5 or its characters, only thing that’s mine is my writing.

a/n: Basically my take on Faith’s story as seen from her eyes. Who she is, how she ended up with PEG and why she stayed. Wrote this waaayy before all the “Did Joseph exploited Faith” drama came about. I’ve always been intrigued by their relationship/power dynamic so this delves into that as the story progresses. Also gets into the role that the Faiths play and why Rachel is different. Enjoy!

-------

I count the bruises on my arms and legs as I cry alone in my bedroom. Three on the right leg, two on the left. Four on the right arm, five on the left. I haven’t looked at myself in the mirror today but I am sure that my left eye is completely black and blue. There are fingernail scratches along my collarbones. Are they from my dad or from my brother? I don’t remember. I don’t want to remember. I run my fingers through my hair. Masses of strands fall out in clumps. Is it from being dragged across the kitchen last night? Or is it from the incident in the girls’ locker room two days ago? I don’t remember. I don’t want to remember.

I turn my nightstand around, looking for a secret stash of weed I keep hidden in case of emergencies. I find the plastic bag, but it is practically empty. There have been a lot of emergencies in the last three weeks. My backpack is sitting by the door. I head over to it and search the inner secret pocket. Another ziplock bag, empty except for a white powdery residue. I go into the bathroom, open up the lower cabinet door, feel around the upper inside and pull out another bag hidden between the pipe and the wall. Syringes. Empty.

My phone chimes. It’s Tracey. I hesitate to pick up. Deep down all I want is to talk to someone. Tell someone that it happened again, that I am back at the beginning, that no matter how much courage I try to muster up I keep falling back to this same place, dirt low, forgotten. Beaten. The only way up is getting high. That’s the only escape I know.

Tracey doesn’t need drugs like I need drugs. Tracey doesn’t depend on a leafy plant, or a fine white powder or a needle to numb her pain. Tracey is much stronger than me.

I swallow hard and pick up my phone, “Hi, Tracey.”

“Hey girl, how you holding up?”

Just hearing her ask the question shatters me. I hold in my sob, but my voice comes out shaky and weak, “I’m...not...not great.”

“What’s going on?”

“It was bad yesterday. It was really bad.”

“Your dad? Your brother?”

My father is a pharmacist. Yet somehow, right after mom died, his years of education magically disappeared and he quit his job to start experimenting with homeopathic medicine. Since then things haven’t been so easy. He makes no money. We’re living in debt. He’s looking for a cure for my autistic brother. I try to tell him, because he won’t listen to his graduate degree, that it’s impossible, that David is going to stay that way forever and the only thing that is going to make it any easier on him is love and education. I tell him that and he beats me up. Whatever he cooks up in his lab only makes my brother angry, violent. I think it’s getting into my father’s head too. Sends him into these fits of rage. I go to bed hearing screaming matches between the two of them. I’m afraid that one morning I will wake up and--

I can’t think about it. I don’t want to think about it. I don’t have anymore weed. I can’t break down like this because I don’t have a way up.

“Both.”

“Those bitches from school?”

Don’t think about it, Rachel.

“Uh huh.”

“Oh gosh. I’m sorry girlfriend. Got that secret stash I gave you?” She’s referring to the pot. She doesn’t know about the other two vices.

“All out.”

I hear her sigh, “You know that’s for emergencies only, Rachel. Not for everyday use. You’re supposed to be getting off that stuff, you know? We’re trying to get you better.”

“I know,” I sniff, “I know Trace. Lately it’s been so hard. I just wish there was a way out. I know I’m failing. I know you probably think I’m a failure but I am trying, I’m really trying.”

She chuckles, but I can tell that it is loving, “Hey. I’m here for you. I’ll always be here for you. OK? I know it isn’t easy. You’re not failing as long as you keep trying. Speaking of which...I think I found a place for us.”

We’ve been planning on running away together, mainly for my sake but also for hers. I need to get away from my dad. And she, well, Tracey’s got it good, but she’s always seeking more from life.

“How far is it?” I inquire.

“Not as far as we hoped, Rach,” she sighs, “Hope County”.

“Well that’s about as local as it gets,” I say with dismay, “What is it?”

“They call themselves Eden’s Gate. The Project at Eden’s Gate.”

“What are they? What do they do?”

“Well they’ve got a sermon tonight at the Ranch in Holland Valley. I’ll drive. Wanna come and find out?”

“I don’t think my dad will let me.”

“Who said you need his permission? Come on Rachel. We’ve snuck out your bedroom window plenty of times. It’ll be just like the old days.”

I look at my window. Nailed shut with wooden planks. Tracey doesn’t know about my father’s latest attempt to keep me in. My door is always locked. My father keeps the key. I can only go out for meals. Meals that aren’t even worth eating. I eat a scoop of peas for dinner and drink a glass of milk for breakfast. I do have my own bathroom, and my own bedroom, but no connection to the outside world other than my cell phone. Which is why those secret stashes meant so much to me.

“Well...I really think I ought to ask first, just in case,” I look down at my bruised legs, “I can’t afford to get into any more trouble. What do they preach? Maybe I can convince my old man?”

There’s a pause on the other end, “Just tell him they’re Christians. We are going to church.”

“Okay,” I pick at my nails, “I think he’ll be fine with that.”

------

Two hours later, blessed with permission from my unpredictable father, I am trying to cover up my black eye in the mirror. I don’t have a lot of makeup. My mother practically forbade it and my father continued the tradition. The only thing I can wear is concealer when I have a breakout, as every teenager gets. Otherwise he’s scared that I’ll get pregnant. But little does he know, back when Mom was alive, Tracey and I used to waitress at the 8-bit Pizza Bar while we were supposed to be selling girl scout cookies (sixteen is a little old for that anyway, in my opinion). We’d pick up some good looking boys in there from time to time. It didn’t matter that I didn’t wear any makeup. Guess you could say I had that small town charm going for me. Or maybe it was the fact that I was an easy target. I didn’t have a backbone. I still don’t. The boys were genteel enough. Courteous. Charming. But the minute I got into one of their trucks their hands went straight for me. Not the steering wheel. My breasts. Not the stick shift. My thigh. As if they owned it. As if they won it over. As if it was theirs for the taking from the beginning.

I let them take it. I’ve forgotten how much I owe Tracey for all the morning after pills she brought me. Every night after it would happen, I’d throw rocks and her bedroom window. She’d come down to the front and let me in. We’d go to the backyard, sit in the rocking chairs. Tracey would roll two joints and always gave me the bigger one. She meant well by it, like how a grandmother always gives her grandkids the bigger half of a pastry, but for me it did more harm than good. I would take it anyway, inhaling long drags of the stuff and pretending the smoke held the power to disintegrate my memories, my pain. I’d tell Tracey what happened. Every time it was a variation of the same story, with the same ending. She’d listen to me until I was done, until I’d finished crying and letting it all out. Then we would go back inside. She would make chamomile tea and serve it with oatmeal raisin cookies. I always had at least three because of the weed. Then we’d sleep in her big bed upstairs. When I’d wake up I couldn’t even remember the man’s face.

She kept forgiving me over and over again. She tried to teach me how to stand up for myself. She still does. But she also introduced me to drugs. I smoked pot with her but I found my way into other things in the bad parts of town. Coke. Heroin. I do them when I can do them, which is not very often. I can’t afford it and I can’t get out of the house enough anymore. I don’t think Tracey ever thought I’d become dependent on drugs. I know she only wanted to help me escape. But for me, weed was a gateway drug. It opened up a forest of dangers. Once I started, I couldn’t stop. I don’t have the self control that she does. Now she’s trying to wean me off of it. But she’s trying to cut off one head of the hydra. I need to smite all three if I want to get over this.

I stare at myself in the mirror. My complexion, once ruddy and bright, is now sickly, with tired eyes, bruises and scars all over. All of this makes me look like a corpse next to the plump small-town beauties full of spirit and life. I am a ghost. I float through the hallways like a ghost. I haunt my bedroom like a ghost.

I wasn’t always a ghost. I used to take care of myself. I’d lost about fifteen pounds since my mother died. My dad’s cooking is shit. Even though weed makes me hungry I never feel the desire to eat anything because nothing tastes good. My brown-blond hair (God couldn’t make up his mind when he made me, you see, at least that is what my mother would to say) used to be shiny with a slight wave to it, now it’s matte, dull, falling out in clumps and frayed awfully at the ends. I want to die. I feel like if I am a ghost I might as well be dead. I think I started doing heavier drugs because of that. Because I want to die, but I am too much of a coward just to kill myself and get it over with. Part of me hopes against hope that by getting out of this house and hopefully out of this town that I will find some reason to live again. I don’t want to be a ghost. If I’m going to live the rest of my life as a ghost I want to make that life brief, tragic and wasteful, like the duration of a tea candle’s flame.

The black eye is still visible. I do not know how many times I’ve applied makeup to it. It’s still there, especially in brighter light. I pull out my tube of concealer and shakily squeeze more unto the back of my hand. The tube farts. It is empty. I begin to roll it like toothpaste, trying to urge the last drops out. A dismal portion exits the tube in another fart. I toss it in the trash and use what I have, religiously applying it to my bruised eye and giving a little to my unaffected eye, trying to make them match as much as possible. It doesn’t reduce the swelling or the pain, but it looks presentable enough. I wish I had some lipstick, anything to put some color in my face.

I am not sure what to wear for this evening. I do not know if this Eden’s Gate church is a “come as you are” sort of thing or if I should put on something a little more presentable than my oversized pajamas. I open my closet. . My father burned half my wardrobe when I missed my curfew by ten minutes one night. But he left the things that my mother passed down to me. Probably some of the few things left that still remind him of her. I find a light green dress she used to wear. Mamma was so pretty. I don’t think I’ll ever be as pretty as she. I put it on regardless. It zips easily, for its rather loose. Just six months ago it was too tight. I was afraid I’d break the zipper. Now there is no I fear of that at all. White lace adorns the sleeves and my cleavage. I debate pulling the neckline down or up.

It’s church, Rachel, I tell myself, Besides, no one will want to look at you anyway.

The last thought bites. It’s a personal truth. I look down and rediscover the scratches. I tug my dress at the back, raising the neckline.

Fortunately the doorbell rings just in time. I leave my bathroom and stop at the door to the hallway.

Once you’ve been in captivity, once you’ve been locked up alone with your thoughts for long enough, once you’ve accepted that you’re stuck, you don’t bother trying doorknobs anymore. You’re used to reaching that hard spot where it stops turning and opens nothing. It takes me a moment to touch the handle. I know it will feel cold. I know the distinct shape it has and how it will fit into the palm of my hand. What I do not know is whether or not it will open. It might reach that hard lock. I might’ve gone through all of this trouble and not be able to leave.

Knowing this, I twist, hoping for the best.

To my relief, it unlocks effortlessly and opens without so much as a creak. I head downstairs to greet my friend.

------

Sitting in the chapel in the ranch, I feel so nervous. My body shivers. My hands shake. My heart pounds. I do not know if it is withdrawal or what. But I am not completely at ease. The people here are disheveled. Messy. Somewhat gross. The kind of person I would become if I let my addiction keep its grip on me. They are the types that my father would advise me to steer away from, however in his current state he is more like them than he knows. I am more like them than he knows

A tall, fit man with a full, well groomed dark beard strides unto the stage in a flourish of applause. He completely contrasts the people sitting in the pews. He is nicely dressed, wearing a fitted blue silk shirt rolled up at the cuffs, black vest, and tight jeans. His belt buckle is exceptionally extravagant. A pendant of some sort hangs from his neck. The crowd cheers for him. He waves, flashing a million dollar smile and a glint in his bright blue eyes. He’s handsome.

I turn and whisper to Tracey, “If I knew that pastors could look as good as he does I would’ve come to church a long time ago.”

She smirks and holds back a giggle, “You’re terrible.”

“He’s hot,” I say, perhaps a bit too loudly.

“Shhhhhh!” She tries not to laugh, “Behave.”

“Who is he?” I ask as if I were inquiring about a handsome stranger across a bar, not a preacher at the front of a church.

“That’s John Seed,” she tells me, “He doesn’t give the sermon. He’s just the opening act.”

“There’s more of them? Tracey, you told me this was church, not that mythical place where all of the hot guys in Hope County disappeared to!”

“Rachel, shut up!” She giggles again, but then whispers to me, “Don’t get your hopes up. He’s as good as they get, well, looks wise.”

“Bummer. That means we’ll have to fight for him.”

“Rachel!”

Our laughter is camouflaged by the cheers and shouts from people in the pews, phrases like “Oh John!” and “We love you!” and “Praise our brother”. I observe the scene. Sometime during our banter two other people entered the stage. One, a very tall, burly, fearsome man with a long frizzy red beard and bloodshot beady eyes. He holds a large semi-automatic rifle close to his body, and scans the crowd meticulously for possible threats. Though he wears the uniform shirt of the U.S. army, his demeanor is not one of honor or pride, but of sickened, disillusioned duty. The other, a girl, with thick yellow curls and a bountiful bust contained inside a too-tight white dress. She has slanted, sultry green eyes. There is a whorelike, slutty quality about her despite her conservative dress. But she is undeniably beautiful. I self consciously remember looking at my own chest this morning. Scratches everywhere. Nothing to be proud of. I run my fingers through my mousy hair, wishing I’d washed it. The beautiful woman holds a bouquet of flowers, with several blossoms strewn throughout her golden locks. She smiles at John.

I roll my eyes out of jealousy and look at Tracey, motioning to the girl sitting on stage, “Don’t tell me it’s a wedding,”

She shakes her head, “Oh no, that’s his sister. Faith. I don’t quite know if marriage is a thing here or if they’re all about brotherly sisterly love or if it’s just one massive orgy. I have no idea.”

I laugh at her raunchy train of thought. This is the Tracey I love.

“And who is Mr. Scary over there?” I whisper, trying not to make it obvious who I am talking about.

“Oh, him?” She whispers back, “I don’t know...He wasn’t here last time. I don’t exactly know what the gun is for, either.”

“Maybe he’s exerting his second amendment right?” I tease with a horrible attempt at the stereotypical Hope County drawl.

She looks at me. It’s not funny. “Why do they even need guns?”

“Tracey. We live in Montana. Everyone’s got guns here.”

“I know… but something’s not right.”

I look around the room again, “Maybe his job is to stop desperate bitches like us from throwing ourselves at that hottie over there?”

She bursts out laughing.

Our conversation is interrupted by John’s voice, “Brothers and sisters, welcome!” he proclaims, arms outstretched.

Applause. Tracey and I join in. At the moment we are spectators, like flies on a wall carefully observing but not yet involved.

“I want to tell you,” he continues, “how wonderful it is to see all of these new faces in our home this evening.” His eyes find mine momentarily. I’m intimidated by his strong presence yet also trying my hardest not to swoon. “We hope that this is just the beginning of your march with us.

“I want you to think of the life you’ve led before now. Of all the pain, of all the hardship, of every road you’ve turned down that felt like a dead end. I want to assure you, brothers and sisters, that the ship you’ve sailed across a sea of hardship is about to dock. I give to you a new captain who will guide you to an island of paradise. My brother, your Father, Joseph Seed!”

The crowd stands, clapping and cheering, holding their hands up in praise. The church doors open, and the blazing golden sunset from the west illuminates the doorway, revealing the silhouette of a tall, broad shouldered man. The light comes through his yellow tinted glasses, creating two glowing dots on the ground in front of him.

He moves with a serenity. There is a comforting sense of peace, a radiance that surrounds him. His suit jacket fits him well. His long hair is tied in a small bun on the crown of his scalp. He carries a white book with the symbol of the Project etched in gold on the cover. A rosary is wrapped like a bracelet across his right wrist and palm.

I cannot yet see his face. I too am standing, on my toes, craning my neck around the people in front of me, squinting. Finally when he reaches the stage, he turns around, and the crowd goes silent. They return to their seats. I am the last to stay standing.

Our eyes lock like magnets. I do not need to hear his voice. He does not need to utter a single word. A look comes across his sullen, rugged face. He catches his breath. The room is completely silent. Time slows. My heartbeat pounds. He looks as though he has seen a ghost. I know I look like a ghost. Perhaps it is that I seem so weak and sickly that common sense says I should not be standing here, I should not be in this room. But I am. And I know, somehow, deep inside myself, that I am destined to be here. To meet him. His expression changes from one of shock to one of recognition, a longing for something far off in the distance which yet appears so near. A red string of fate ties the two of us together before either of us can object. But like some perfect private secret, I am afraid that anyone else caught on to it. As my awareness returns to the room, I sit. He swallows hard. I try to look away but I can’t. I’m already entranced.

He speaks right to me as he begins his sermon.

“It is fate that you have come here.”

His words are chilling. They pierce me.

Joseph continues, “It is God’s divine plan that you are here today. Whether you’ve devoted yourself to this project or if this is your first time with us, I tell you that you are here for a reason. This is no accident. This is no chance.”

His speech, though indirect and addressed to a crowd, feels so personal. It is as if despite all of the people in this room he is talking to me and me alone. I know that it is no accident, that it is no chance, that I am not confused. The connection I feel with him is mutual. In a sea of strangers I am seen. We see each other.

“Just as such,” he goes on, respectfully connecting with the others in the pews, “your existence, your very entrance into this world, your birth, your conception...all is for a reason.”

He cannot stand it long. Joseph looks directly at me again and reads my soul like an open book. “You who have felt lost, unwanted, undesired, and unnecessary to the world: have no fear. You have a purpose.” He assures me, “Your life is designed to have significance. Even when the road is foggy, when the path is untred and you know not which step to take, know that God has a destination for you. I have a destination for you.”

My eyes well with tears. For the first time since my mother died, I feel safe. Sheltered. Believed in.

His voice, like silk, his words, like music, envelope me. “When all doors have shut against you, when your friends and your families turn their backs on you, I will be standing here with open arms. I accept you, my children, just as you are. There is nothing you have to change. No one else you have to be. You are loved here, just as you are. And you have always been worthy of that love.”

I break.

When the people around me hear my sobs interrupt the silence of Joseph’s pause, they turn to me with a look of celebratory joy on their faces. A woman on my right with very few teeth and hair bordering on dreadlocks pulls me against her bosom and holds me. Two young men reach back from their seats in front of me and pat me on my shoulder. Now the entire church is watching me, overjoyed. Someone starts the applause.

I feel a new hand on my back from my left side. I turn, expecting it to be Tracey. But it’s not. It’s the woman in the white dress from onstage. The sister.

“Come with me,” she beckons.

I don’t know what this means. “Wh-why?”

I look at Tracey. For the first time she’s looking at me not as my best friend. She seems bitter, disgusted, as if I’m filth. Trash. Foolish. Petty. As if I had no soul.

Faith speaks softly to me, “The Father wants to meet you. Won’t you come up?”

I laugh through my tears, “I’m interrupting the service.”

“No no no,” she’s overbearingly gentle, “Please come up. Nothing would make us happier.”

“Go to the Father,” the woman holding me into her bosom says, lifting my torso towards Faith. I take the sister’s hand, and she walks me down the aisle towards The Father who awaits me by the altar.

When we reach it, Faith hands me over to him and returns to her seat.

His hands are smooth and cold. His eyes, up close, are a vortex behind his yellow glasses. Full of wisdom and peace, as if he had reached that Nirvana the Buddhists dream of. He’s good looking. Not in the way that John is good looking. John is the kind of untouchably handsome, out of everyone’s league yet inside every girl’s dreams. The Father is approachable yet with a true sense of authority, like all fathers should be.

“What is your name my child?”

Intoxicated by him, I forget it on the spot. “My name?”

“Your name.”

“Rachel,” I swallow, “Rachel Jessop.”

His lips turn up at the corners.

“Tell me, Rachel. What is making you cry?”

I search for the answer in his eyes and find it, “The feelings that your words are bringing me. Feelings of safety. Salvation.”

He holds my face in his hands, “Salvation from what, dear Rachel?”

Feeling all eyes on me, I choke up. “F-from my life. From my agony.”

He nods slowly, knowingly.

“And what gives you this pain?” He continues to hold my face so that I cannot look anywhere else except straight into his magnificent eyes. More tears come.

My next words are succinct, for I’m clinging to my composure. “My father and my brother beat me. I’m bullied endlessly by my peers. I don’t feel safe anywhere.”

He continues his knowing nod. “My brothers and I know intimately of your struggle. Don’t we?” He looks to John and Jacob.

I see John nod in my periphery, but Jacob makes no expression whatsoever.

Joseph’s left hand softens into a gentle caress, “What else, child?”

He pulls the words out of me, words I am sure I shouldn’t even say in front of so many people. “I abuse drugs for help,” the rest is a stream of consciousness through my tears, “I’m a rat. I rummage for anything I can get my hands on. I always thought I deserved this life… like I did something irredeemably wrong and my circumstances are a consequence. I take every blow and I let others take from me… but there is no hatred in my heart for anyone except for myself. I don’t blame them. I think it’s all my fault.”

He sighs, looking at me with pity and understanding, “What if I told you, Rachel, that none of it is your fault?”

This concept is foreign to me, “How?”

“The pain you suffer is not because of your own personal ills. If that we’re the case, why aren’t the money grubbers, the corrupt politicians and greedy business owners punished with the same abuses you experience?”

I look at him blankly, “I don’t know.”

“It’s society that is sick, Rachel. It’s the ills in society which are responsible for the pain and the suffering of the innocent. It’s not your fault. They don’t understand you, so they try to take you out.”

The clouds part in my mind. The sky is clear. I’ve never thought of it it that way. I never considered that I am not the problem.

“But here,” He touches my forehead to his. I adore the feeling. “Here you may be saved, Rachel. Here your differences are celebrated. Put to use. Here you can be fulfilled and you can be happy. That’s what this Project offers.”

The Project, on their cue, claps again, pleased with the power of their leader’s message. Joseph looks straight into my eyes. I feel his anchor sinking in to me. And I know I will follow him into the darkest depths of the sea.

“We will talk more, Rachel.” He says. I am passed back to Faith and seated beside her. She holds my hands tightly. Joseph continues his main speech to the rest of the crowd.

“The world as we know it, as we see it today, is full of fog. Clutter. Sin. Distractors from our destined path. My children, can’t you feel that the world around us today is not the world that God intended to create? You, like Rachel, who have found yourselves here today as a result of his divine plan must be aware, even if remotely, of this fact?

“Let me tell you: God is angry. God intends to wipe this world clean again, the way he flooded the earth allowing only Noah and his family to board the arc. We are once again approaching a storm. Which is why, my children, God spoke to me. He has called to me to reach out to all of you, to each and every one of you, that you might be saved. That you might be redeemed. That you might discover your purpose and follow the path which he has set for us. My children, won’t you take my hand? Won’t you take hands with me, my brother Jacob, my brother John, and my sister Faith and join us in our march to Eden’s Gate?

“You do not need to decide tonight. But I hope that at the very least, I have planted a seed.”

John is the first to laugh at his closing statement. Jacob again, has no reaction. As the crowd catches on, the chuckling grows. I myself laugh through my tears, but when I look in the audience, I see Tracey scowling.

---------

Crickets conduct their nightly symphony as Tracey and I walk through the long grass back to her pickup truck. She’s quiet, but her anger can be felt loud and clear. She’s walked a few steps ahead of me the whole way.

“Tracey,” I stop her, grabbing her hand.

I look into her dark eyes, those eyes that know more about me than any other soul on this earth. My closest and dearest friend.

“What’s wrong?” I ask.

She scoffs, “What the hell happened between the two of you just now?”

I know she is talking about the moment I shared with Joseph, then my emotional breakdown and our uncanny closeness that took up a bulk of the sermon.

“I don’t know,” I tell her, “I haven’t quite wrapped my head around it yet.”

She crosses her arms for warmth, pulling on her long sleeve t-shirt. “It was...awkward- no, uncomfortable, no-- Rachel what the fuck was that? What the actual fuck was that?”

Suddenly I reread a beautiful chapter in my life as if it were some sort of vulgar oddity. I’m embarrassed. I look down.

“Look, Rachel.” Tracey sighs, “I know there are some things we don’t talk about. I know that everyone has got secrets. I just wish I knew before we came--”

I look up at her, confused. “Knew what?”

She swallows. “I shouldn’t say anything. Who am I to judge? I mean…”

“What are you trying to say?” I demand defensively.

“Nothing!” She puts her arms up and takes a step back from me. “Let’s just go home. Your dad is probably worried.”

“I don’t want to go home.” I tell her. It’s the truth.

She gives me a look of shock and confusion. “Rachel, these people…there is something not right about them. They’re apocalyptic. They’re all talking about willing to die for that man. It’s like they’re being brainwashed. Some kind of new age Japanese kamikaze squadron ready to blow themselves up! Not to mention they look like a bunch of crackheads.” She puts both hands on my shoulders and looks me straight in the eye, “I want you to get better, Rachel. I’m afraid these people will just-just exploit your addiction. They won’t heal you. They’ll make you worse.”

“At least I don’t feel like the odd one out!” I shout at her. I am more frustrated with the situation than with my friend. “I don’t know how much more I can take! I don’t want— No, I can’t go back to my dad, Tracey. I can’t go back to school. I’m already failing. It’s not like I’m going to graduate. I’ve got nothing! I haven’t eaten a proper meal in three months! What am I going to do with my life besides waitressing or prostituting myself or having some rich man’s kids? This place…” I start to tear up, “I know it’s not perfect but it’s better than what I have now.”

She scoffs. “You know that you’re better than that Rachel.”

I laugh, but I’m exasperated. “I don’t! I fucking don’t! I’m not like you, Tracey! I’m not smart! I can’t get a degree. I don’t have a mom who supports me and takes care of me.”

I’ve wounded her. “You know that’s not what this is about.”

“And you know what?” Tears stream down, “I’m not your fucking charity case.”

“Well what makes you think you’re theirs all of a sudden? What makes you think you’re his all of a sudden?”

So that’s it.

“You’re jealous,” I call her out.

She laughs it off. “Sorry, Rachel. I’m not jealous of your forty-something schizophrenic preacher boyfriend.”

Our argument becomes petty, like that of two bratty schoolgirls, the kind of people we have never been before. “He is not my boyfriend.”

“Oh really?”

“Why would you even say that?”

“Well you sure seem pretty close don’t you?”

“I don’t know what happened!” I yell. “I never met that man before tonight! You heard me on the phone! I had no idea who this group was or what they do!”

Her mouth twitches. “Well you’re a damn good liar Rachel.”

“I’m not lying!”

“You’re trying to tell me that the little scene you made back there wasn’t planned?”

I shake my head. “I don’t see how it could be.”

“And I don’t see how it couldn’t be.”

“Tracey!” I try so hard to get through to her, but nothing is working, “I’ve never lied to you! Not once in all these years!”

She’s quiet.

“Why don’t you believe me?”

She sighs and looks away.

I know that she is jealous. But I realize in that moment that she is not jealous of what happened to me tonight. She’s jealous because she can’t believe that I can find peace and happiness in a different place, that I can find it with people other than her.

“They aren’t trying to fix me,” I say with an angry, disillusioned certainty, “All you ever do, all you ever talk about is trying to fix me. You believe that I’m broken. You want me to be broken so you have something to do with your life besides sit in your nice fucking house with your nice fucking family. All I want...for God’s sake all I want is to feel like I have a purpose. I don’t want to be someone else’s purpose, Tracey. I want to be my own purpose.”

Tracey continues to avoid looking at me. She glances in different directions, looks at the ground by her feet. “So that’s it, Rachel?”

“What’s it?”

“You’re just going to throw our friendship away?”

I want to shake her. “What? No! Tracey that’s not what I said!”

She glares at me. “I’ve been here for you. I’ve fought for you for the last three years. We’ve grown up together. I’m sorry that’s not enough.”

“Tracey!”

She’s running to her truck. I try to follow her, but my lungs and legs are weak.

“Tracey!”

She’s too fast. I feel dizzy. My vision starts to blur. I try to pick up speed.

“Tracey I didn’t say that!”

She doesn’t turn around. She doesn’t look back. Gets in her car, starts the engine. The lights turn on and she speeds away.

I watch her tail lights fade. I’m sick of the taste of my own tears. I’m sick of this life. I drop to my knees and grip the grass as hard as I can with my fists. I scream into the blue night sky. What is the way? Where is the path? What is my life supposed to be? Who am I now that I have no one? I can’t walk home. I don’t want to walk home. I could call a cab but I don’t have any money.

If I go home, I don’t know if I will ever get out of the house again.

I hear Joseph’s words in the back of my head. I remember them almost verbatim: “When all doors have shut against you, when your friends and your families turn their backs on you, I will be standing here with open arms. There is nothing you have to change. No one else you have to be. You are loved here, just as you are. And you have always been worthy of that love.”

I turn around, take a deep breath, and run back to the ranch. It glows with warm light from inside. It’s the only light I see.

#far cry 5 #faith seed #far cry fanfiction #far cry 5 faith #fc5 #joseph seed #fc5 fanfic

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obibail · 5 years ago

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my main squeezes: Vince, Sam, and Vespa! + your Skyrim OC 👀👀👀👀👀👀🔍

fghjdfskj the boys!!!!!!

Vince

The only person to ever call Vince Vincent is his mother. And Rush that one time.

Speaks English, Spanish, French, Haitian Creole, Portuguese, and Arabic.

Was attending NYU for cinema studies. Loved loved loved cinematography studies and film theory. Wanted to be a director! Had actually written & directed two short films already and had been shooting two more that he hoped to premiere at a few local film festivals. Had to drop out of the program after the accident that cost him his left arm because of the medical expenses and the long hospital stays. To say he was crushed is,,,, an understatement.

Was in California having an experimental prosthetic arm fitted & attached when the bombs dropped. He’s told that he followed everyone else to the bunkers but he has no memory of it. The doctors assume it’s either shock or the anesthesia that was in his system when it all happened, but regardless he comes to in immense nerve pain and in a crowded hospital bunker underneath Los Angeles with no clue with the fuck is going on.

Actually knows Ghost, ran with the same group Ghost did in Baja California for two years. Ghost had a big hand in how constantly battered Vince was during those years, liked to goad Vince into worse and worse shit because Ghost wanted to see how far someone like Vince - who was one of the few people in their group with morals - could be pushed before he broke. Ghost got their answer, too, when Vince turns around and - in a nearly blind rage - kills two of their group just before a planned attack on a community of mostly non-combatants.

Lost his right leg in 2030, an infected bullet wound that they (in the middle of a medicine shortage after a brutal winter) didn’t have the means to treat. His eventual leg prosthetic was built based on close study of his arm. Connecting it alone puts him out of commission for almost two months.

Does actually,,,, steal rings off corpses sometimes. A habit he picked up while with Ghost’s crew, a kind of trophy-hunting activity that turned into an unconscious action because he did it so much. He’s got,,, a pretty substantial ring collection. He pretends he feels worse about it than he actually does because what use did a dead person have for jewelry anyway?

Rush is the one who teaches him to shoot, a year or two after Vince joins his group. It comes to the group’s attention that Vince had never even held a gun prior to Rush - acting on a hunch - putting one in his hands one stupid hot California day and told him to go hog on some static targets. Vince missed pretty much every single one. Thankfully, his aim has gotten much better since then.

Vince feels conflicted about a number of things that he has done over the years but killing Ghost’s sociopath ass when they cross paths again in Hope County ain’t one of them.

Sam

Sam, good old midwestern boy that he is, legally cannot cuss.

He’s tall as hell but also thin as hell. He’s 6′6 at least but he’s also probably 145lbs soaking wet. A toothpick.

Nick calls him Sammy. (One time Nick slipped up and referred to the Judge as Sammy and everyone had a bad day about it.)

Sheriff Whitehorse is actually Sam’s godfather! Whitehorse and Sam’s dad (a retired sheriff from South Dakota) were really good friends & still kept in touch pretty regularly before the cult business started up bad in Hope Country. It’s Whitehorse that pulls the strings to get his anxious pothead veteran godson a position as a deputy. (Sam calls him uncle).

Sam is bisexual but how do you say very very repressed about it. Lots of religious-guilt-tinged self-hate because of growing up Catholic in the midwest and then in the south. Definitely had an “in love with my same gender best friend and very ashamed of it” phase.

Sam and John Seed actually ran in the same circles growing up, just at different times. John’s a few years older but they went to the same high school & John’s adopted parents and Sam’s mom were actually well-acquainted. As a teenager, Sam used to be invited to John’s parties & would go with friends and get a little too drunk (which John would them use as fun leverage against Sam’s fairly powerful mother).

On that subject, John was 100% Sam’s bougie weed man all through high school and later when he got out of the Air Force & was self medicating his PTSD.

Sam, realizing he played right into Joseph’s hands: You played me like a fiddle!Joseph: Oh no, Deputy. Fiddles are actually difficult to play. I played you like to cheap kazoo you are.

& some Judge stuff bc 💔💔: Sometimes he’ll disappear for hours on end and most of New Eden is just *solemnly* “he must be doing something very important” except instead of doing that he’s sleeping in the most secret, softest place he could find.

Has an adopted daughter, a little girl named Abigail who attached herself to him at the hip - because she was born mute and he is also mute and she thinks that’s neat, she’d never met anyone like herself before. She and the Judge make up their own version of sign language - that actually ends up being shared between a lot of the residents of New Eden, especially the scouts that the Judge trains.

Vespa

Card-carrying member of the billionaire boys club.

Corporate CEO mom who raised him in a very hands-off way because she was always too busy. Homeschooled, raised by nannies. A lot of his education came through the net, which he learned to navigate at a terribly young age while ignoring his tutors because they bored him.

Has a “rival” in Dare Aranya, his mother’s former protege and the person who (“allegedly”, but definitely) orchestrated her assassination and the woman who is currently CEO of Sasaki Industries and is the executor of Vespa’s mom’s will.

Even though his mother is assassinated when he is 16, he stays in Night City for a year after and blows through whatever bits of his inheritance he can get his hands on, on parties and drugs and vehicles and whatever else a traumatized teenager who saw his mom’s murder can spend money on. A spoiled disaster of a teenage party prince of the highest caliber. Ends up leaving Night City when his money suddenly dries up, syphoned off by Dare.

Bounces between countries and netspaces for years, never spending more than a few months in once place (aside from significant stays in Mumbai, Moscow, and Tokyo). Only returns to Night City after a botch job in Tokyo.

Is actually an Arasaka on his dad’s side, is the great grandnephew of Saburo Arasaka. He ends up staying with a branch of the Arasaka family in Tokyo until he fucks up a job for them while high and gets thrown out on his ass.

Has constant splitting headaches because of his bionic eyes - which are half the reason he self-medicates so heavily. Had to have them replaced and maintained constantly as a child because of natural human growth, which was always a terrifying experience for him, not helped at all by the sterile white rooms he would be taken to or the cool detachment of his doctors who did not work with children and were not paid for their bedside manner. It culminated in a scalding dislike for doctors and a refusal to go to them unless he is literally dying. Ripperdocs are equally, if not more, off limits.

Is notorious for turning off his hearing aids when he wants to focus better or when he is getting too sensory overloaded to function, frustrating everyone he has ever worked with.

He’s adamant his nickname is from the Italian word for “wasp” (as a riff off Dare’s last name, a phonetic spelling of araña, Spanish for spider. one time - while he was in Milan like the rich idiot he is - he heard about these wasps that kill spiders and he has a Justified Grudge against Dare so. wasp) and not from the scooter but he’s scooter boy forever now.

Jackie Welles, hefting Vespa “idiot bastard who spent all his money on drugs and passed out in the back room of a bar again” Sasaki over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes: god damn I wish you’d take care of yourself

I didn’t know if you meant Katja or Sylon but I’m gonna go with Sylon because I love him & bc he’s the more developed of the two rn 😬😬

Is some mix of Breton and Bosmer but no one really knows for sure because no one knows who his actual parents are. The ‘parents’ he was taken from were skooma addicts who had been hounding Khajiit merchants for weeks and were irresponsible to the point that a whole caravan of Khajiit, stressing out while watching this couple neglect their tiny child, collectively lost their minds and just went “listen here’s the stuff you want, don’t even pay us just give us the baby. give us the baby, please.” The caravan finds that couple again not two days later, dead in the desert, and no one is even surprised.

Amazing singing voice but doesn’t actually think he can sing at all. Will hum or sing absent-mindedly sometimes and get real surprised when he looks up to find people have come over to hear him better.

Doesn’t have time for destiny, just wants to steal.

Becomes a thieves’ guild merchant in Riften & moves his business into the Ragged Flagon when their reputation starts getting better. Is also a thief in the guild itself but legitimizes himself as a merchant in Riften by actually running legitimate goods (which helps Khajiit caravans a lot because they can’t trade in the cities but he can and he’s always happy to help the caravans he crosses paths with).

Being raised by Khajiit, Sylon had been taught from a young age not to rely on people and to only rely on his own talents and abilities & to be out for himself and only himself & he believes in this doctrine fully. That is, he believed in it up until the second he meets Karliah and Brynjolf and then he just *lays face down on the ground* “hmm maybe caring about others and wanting to have people that care about me is okay actually.”

Is definitely in love with Brynjolf but no one will ever get him to admit it, least of all Brynjolf.

Meets Katja after she catches him stealing a box of jewelry from her home in Dawnstar. Gets roped into a quest to kill giants with her as a form of recompense because she knows he’s the dragonborn and she’s pissed he isn’t living up to expectations. They end up becoming incredibly close friends whose favorite pastime is jointly roasting Kali, the stupidly naive exiled Redguard noble that Sylon saved from being assassinated one time and who Katja is now housing and feeding (and terrorizing).

Would adopt every orphan in Skyrim if given the option. Despite being fairly aloof and coming across as self-serving, he is shockingly doting and attentive to kids. Makes a name for himself in the cities as a friend of children and someone who will provide without asking for anything in return. Is the unofficial patron god of orphans and strays. And although he doesn’t ask it of them, they make a great information network for him & are happy to tell him everything they overhear in the cities that might be of interest to their thief dad.

#oc: vince mann #oc: sam kettering #oc: vespa #oc: sylon #thank you for indulging me i'm cryin' 💜💜💜#chuckhansen

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merrymcfuckyourself · 6 years ago

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Dumb S-Word Headcannons for Ralsei because I’m horny and stupid

(I left out 3 questions and edited 1 just because I just didn’t feel like trying to answer them. With that said, let’s throw away the last scraps of dignity I have to my name.)

🤒: How often do they get sick? What kinds of illnesses do they tend to get most often? Colds, flu, sinus infections, stomach viruses?

Ralsei tends to get sick only slightly more than an average young monster would, so maybe 2 or 3 times a year. A regular chest/head cold is the most common, but he is prone to the flu if it happens to be going around.

🌡: Do they tend to run hot or cold? When they have a fever, is it barely noticeable, or does their temperature skyrocket?

It’s common for his temperature to get pretty high and spike a couple of times, at most getting to 103. at it’s peek.

😷: When they’re sick, do they stay home or go to work/school? If they don’t go to work or school, do they try to rest, or do they just go on with their day like normal? Do they try to avoid getting others sick by taking precautions like a mask or staying away from others in general?

He can be a rather stubborn patient if there’s work to be done, but either way doesn’t put up much of a fight if someone forces him to rest. He normally would insist on isolating himself to prevent the spread of illness, but would still go along with it if his friends insisted on sticking by him (Especially considering Kris knows how much he hates being alone)

🤧: What does their sneeze sound like? (Description, spelling, or both!)

eh...Hah-!HHAshuu-! *(can range in pitch or volume but buildup is almost always involved one way or another)

😩: Do they tend to sneeze just once or twice, or multiple times? Do they have fits frequently or rarely? Does how many times they sneeze depend on the cause?

It’s more common for him to just have fits of 2 or 3 depending on the cause, but if the stars align then he can go into an uncontrollable fit that lasts for about 1 minute.

🌸: Are they allergic to any kind of plants? Flowers, weeds, trees? If yes, how bad are their allergies to those plants?

Ralsei actually loves the flowers of the Lightner World, that being said, some of them and most weeds/trees around Allergy Season more often than not can send him into those minute-long fits as previously mentioned

🕯: Are they allergic to other things? Dust, animals, perfumes, certain fragrances? Anything that might be considered “out of the ordinary” to be allergic to? How bad are those allergies?

Aside from the pollen allergies I mentioned above, there’s nothing else really that severe.

👃: In general, how sensitive is their nose? Can something like a certain flower or smell make them sneeze even if they’re not allergic to it? Do they sneeze a lot on average, or not very much? Does their nose twitch a lot, or barely ever at all?

Something like a feather or even someone else’s hair (usually Kris’) can set him off. This one weakness has been taken advantage of by Susie more than once. Other than that he pretty much never sneezes without a clear cause. Also, more often with allergies, his muzzle will twitch like a bunny rabbit right before sneezing, another thing Susie likes to make fun of him for when it happens.

😭: When they’re sick, do they try to downplay their symptoms, or do they treat every little cold like the plague? Do they whine a lot, or do they complain quietly or even just in their head?

He always stays pretty quiet about his suffering even when he feels miserable, but it’s still easy to tell even if he’s not whining about it.

✨: What would be the best way for someone to induce them? Feathers, rolled-up tissue, or something else? How much stimulation would it take for them to start sneezing? Would inducing produce just one or two sneezes from them, or multiples?

He’s pretty easy to induce with just a few strokes from a feather or tickling him with Kris’s hair (god fucking dammit it hurt my brain to type that but my body was all for it)

💦: How wet are their sneezes? Do they spray barely at all, or are you gonna need an umbrella? Do they try to cover at all, or just let it go? Do they sniffle a lot when they’re sick or allergies are bugging them?

Picture a full spray bottle of Water. That is all I’ll say

🤝: Do they like to be taken care of when they’re not feeling well? Or do they hate it when people fuss over them? If they do, what’s their favorite thing about being taken care of? If not, why don’t they like being taken care of? How bad would they have to be before they’d let anyone take care of them in any capacity?

Ralsei tolerates being taken care of, and silently appreciates someone caring about him enough to take time out of their day and do so.

💊: Do they take their medicine like a grown-up, or do they try to fight it? Do they prefer pills or liquid medicine? Can they be “tricked” by having the medicine mixed with applesauce or with a drink, or would they still not take it even then?

The first couple times it was easy to get him to take it because he wasn’t aware that pretty much all liquid medicine tastes awful. Even now, he’ll either choke it down with little to no fuss, or politely ask if he could just take it in pill form, and failing that, mix it in some apple juice and he’ll never tell the difference.

🍲: What do they like to eat while they’re sick? Do they like soup, or would they prefer something that isn’t “sick person food”? Do they lose their appetite when they’re sick, or are they hungrier than usual?

He loses any appetite for food, pretty much just surviving on water if you let him. Susie’s the only one who basically scared him into eating some cheese and crackers or else she’d hurt him (which was probably just an empty threat but he’s not gonna take that risk)

🍵: Do they like tea when they’re not feeling well? If so, do they like it with honey, lemon, both, with something else, or just plain? Would they accept something else if they couldn’t have tea? If they don’t like tea, is there something they’d rather drink instead? Would they drink tea if their preferred drink wasn’t available?

He may not like food, but he always appreciates a cup of tea on any day.

😔: What are their “tells” when they’re not feeling their best? Do they sleep more or less? Do they become easily irritated, aggressive, snap at little things? Or do they withdraw and become quieter, cry at the drop of a hat, stay in the background? What’s the one surefire way that one of their loved ones would be able to tell that they’re sick?

He goes from perky and good at holding conversations to tired and quiet, not speaking unless spoken to and even then you might have to shout his name once or twice to get his attention.

❄️: Would it be more unusual to see this character sick during the winter or during the summer? Do they typically go down during cold and flu season, or do they usually get summer colds?

He’ll often get sick as soon as the seasons shift or any little (or major) bug is going around. If it’s cold and flu season, he’s typically the first to get sick but the first to fully recover.

🎤: How does their voice change when they’re sick or allergies are bugging them? Does their voice get lower? Scratchy? Raspy? Can you hear any congestion in their voice or do they hide it well? Do they avoid speaking too much because of a sore throat and coughing, or do they try to talk through those things?

His voice pretty much disappears completely by the peek of a bad cold/flu

⚙️: Do they have some kind of ritual that they do when they’re not feeling great that helps? Does it help physically, or does it just make them feel better emotionally?

If he can’t sleep (coughing, congestion, ect), he’ll read a book until he knocks out. Usually happens only an hour or 2 into reading.

😳: Are they embarrassed by their sneezes, or do they just not really care? Do they apologize after sneezing? Do they say “sorry!” or “excuse me!” or anything like that? If they’re embarrassed about it, why?

Susie’s taunting of his sneeze has made him a chronic apologizer, even if she’s not around anywhere.

😥: What would they do if somebody gave them a gift that they’re allergic to? Would they say they’re allergic to it or not? Try to give it back, keep it, or get rid of it later?

He’d insist on keeping the gift and probably hold onto it until someone else forcibly took it from him and threw it away.

📝: Quick! Come up with a scenario for them! It doesn’t have to be anything fancy, just something you think would be cute or something you’d like to see with them!

you have made a grave error in giving me this power Soo, my favorite allergy scenario for Ralsei is admittedly one like to give a lot of characters/OTPs I’m obsessed with. Hanging out or going on a date with someone (Kris) in a meadow, but suddenly having a reaction to the flowers around them, but not wanting to leave and ruin their outing until they’re basically a not sohuman Tap and struggling to breathe, making their SO drag their stubborn ass out of there for their own health and safety.

My favorite Sick Fic scenario for him that I’m totally not just conjuring up in my head as I type this would beee...Ral is sick and him and Kris are the only ones in the house, effectively forcing Kris into the role of sole caretaker. They finally convinced the kid to lay down and sleep, and the place he happened to drop was right on Kris’s stomach while laying on the couch. So they’re laying there, pinned to the couch watching TV or something, when without warning, Ralsei sneezes into his sweater, getting that one spot all damp, and immediately falling back asleep, leaving a shocked and silently pissed off Kris.

And that’s it! What, were you expecting a joke or something?

#snz #sneezing kink #sneezkink #sneezingkink #whump #sick whump #whump prompts #allergies #sick fic #i am definitely going to hell for this

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missklou · 6 years ago

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Good angel {Hoseok Smut}

Make sure to check my masterlist here.

Genre: Smut with plot, a sequel? I dunno yet, dom!hoseok, sub!reader, a bit of angst

Pairing: Hoseok X reader

Word count: 5.1k

Warnings: Graphic descriptions of sex, oral sex (giving), dirty talk, no aftercare, power play, praise kink, hair pulling, fingering, voyeurism.

Song reference: My medicine -The pretty reckless.

Jin Hyung 2:43 PM Ow, come on man!

Jhope 2:44 PM Hyung, you know it's not that easy, it's a three hours flight! I can't just drop everything and go...

Jin Hyung 2:44 PM Okay, look, I get that it's hard but please! It took so long to finally find a date that suited everyone and to even convince them in the first place! Plus I promised that you would show up, they will be very disappointed if you don't.

Jin Hyung 2:44 And your family misses you, it's the perfect excuse to come and visit them.

Jhope 2:45 PM Yeah, I guess... Look I can't promise I'll go, but I'll think about it.

Jin Hyung 2:46 PM K, luv you Hobi, please come!

Hoseok rested his phone on his thighs, leaning back to take another look at the invite on his email with solemn eyes.

The computer glowed with the short and cheerful message. "Hey Hobi, I know you moved out of the city but I was wondering if you would come to our night out reunion next weekend, get the group back together.

It's going to be on Saturday, we are meeting at Jimin's like always and we are getting fucked up on that club we used to go, like the good ol days. Please, please, please come, it won't be the same without you!"

Hoseok would be lying if he said he didn't miss his friends. The unswerving group of seven teenagers he once made part of hasn't met in years and Seokjin was right, he had to pay his family a visit at some point.

But it wasn't that easy anymore, adult life had caught up to him, work and responsibilities he didn't feel confident enough to just drop to party with his friends, as much as he would like to.

Just thinking about it made him feel weary, In all honesty, he felt lonely. By himself in a big city, with no friends or family to lean on when bad thoughts overflowed his mind, just working to his bones, trying to make a better living, trying to keep moving.

It has been almost six years since he left the little town he came from, originally to attend university and become the performer he always dreamed to be, later, what got him to stay was much more domineering.

At some point during that time, Hoseok met a woman he was too innocent not to fall in love with.

She was reckless and fierce in ways that enticed his inner "small town" boy and being with her felt like standing at the edge of the world, looking at something so great his hands could never grasp.

It lasted three years during his second to fourth -and last year- of uni, and she taught him so many different things, from smoking weed for the first time, riding supermarket carts in the middle of the night, to murmuring soft "I love you's" after having sex on the beach, drunk out of his mind.

It ended the same way it had started, like a derailed train.

One night she was lying on his chest, it was cold outside, very cold, and she was about to fall asleep as he watched, absentmindedly, to shit shows on TV.

Things had been so stressful at the time, Hoseok was barely surviving his senior year, running on energy drinks and antiosyolitics and she effortlessly became an anchor, the only thing keeping him sane.

So, as he thought about the exams he had coming up and the work that was slowly sucking his life, Hoseok felt the icy cold sensation running through his veins, paralyzing, fixed gaze.

"Let's get married."

He pleaded that night.

She stared at him, wide-eyed and griping a piece of cover.

She was gone by the time sun rays inundated the oppressingly cold room, taking with her the candidness of the beaming boy he once was.

Two years had gone by, two full years of reasoning with himself about giving up and going back to his city, getting closer to his family again, forget all about his dream and just fall into the sad reality.

But he insists that it would be unbearable, even the loneliness and his exhausting job had to be better than going back to that life, with the same people, the single-minds and the shallow dreams.

That's why he decides to take Seokjin on his offer. He needs an excuse to go back, see just how much have changed and come back to his ridiculously small apartment, motivated to keep following his plans and not look back.

An hour later he texts Seokjin to let him know of his decision and clears his agenda, not giving a fuck about responsibilities, thinking it's about time to enjoy himself. The next week Hoseok packs a dirty old bag and leaves to the airport with nothing to lose.

Hours later he finds Seokjin waiting for him with a small sign that read "hoseokie" with bold letters and decored with many hearts.

-Okay, tell me what happened to the others. -He requests, with his heart-shaped smile adorning his face, while he searches his phone for another song to play.

-Do you want the short or the long version? -The older man asks, also smiling but with his eyes glued on the road, focused on driving.

-The long one, give me all the details so I can tease the shit out of them.

They laugh out loud, Hoseok feels his heart swelling with how much he had missed his best friend for the past six years, and how natural things still felt between them, even after everything they have been through.

-Okay, let's start with Yoongi then, he started working on his music, he also moved away and it's actually getting big, he got here last week just to hang out with us.

He went on and on about their friends, updating Hoseok on all of the things that happened and never once crossed his mind.

Namjoon fell madly in love with a girl he now lived with and said they were planning to travel the world together. Jimin had just finished college and was opening his own dance academy, teaching and administrating it at the same time. Taehyung never went to college, he too moved to a big city and was striking modeling gigs. Jungkook was still in college and getting noticed for his singing and editing abilities on his growing youtube channel.

Everything looked the same, each corner being recognizable, every store holding memories of their drunken escapades, still, nostalgy sat heavy on his tong, dislocation leaving an unsettling feeling on his chest.

Seokjin left him at the doorsteps of his childhood home, wishing him good luck and saying he'd be back by ten to pick him up.

Hours later, after being washed in love by his family, Hoseok actually felt rejuvenated, like that was all he needed to regain his strength and charge his energetic personality. In a few hours, he was back to being the loud, comical person the city knew him for, and he regretted not coming back sooner.

Ten came by and Hoseok couldn't control his body, he was almost jumping on his feet with excitement to see his friends and go out, enjoy himself and get a taste of the happiness he thought he couldn't have back.

Hoseok had the tendency to forget things he did while being drunk.

He once got naked in front of a whole party in a game of truth or dare, kissed a random guy thinking he was a girl and got punched in the face shortly after, fell from a counter into a table of beer pong, breaking it in two.

He couldn't remember shit the day after, which only made him less conscious about doing shit, and the fact Jungkook actually dragged their asses to a frat party of all places, packed with strangers, only gave him the confidence to drink his soul out of his body.

But Hoseok was no longer the college kid he once was, frat parties, sorority girls, even drinking wasn't so exciting anymore. Getting drunk became a goal other than enjoyment, the girls that approached weren't that interesting, the music was too loud, the minimal details bothered him.

Old Hoseok would've loved that party, he would be in his element for sure, but that wasn't old Hoseok, it was the Hoseok from the little, quiet apartment, the lonely nights, and the draining job.

Disappointed with himself, he takes a seat on the couch to watch others for a minute, trying to convince himself he had to quit making up excuses to justify his grumpiness and admit it was no one's fault but himself. During that time he noticed his friends too acted differently from their college selves.

Old Namjoon would've been drunk by one AM, throwing inspirational speeches, but now he was in a corner, talking to his girlfriend and enjoying her laughter.

Yoongi and Seokjin were the quiet ones a few years back, Yoongi would've been composedly laughing at them on the couch, away from the commotion of people, and Seokjin would've been cracking dad jokes to the girls that approached him, but now they were both upstairs with girls they knew little about.

Taehyung was actually talking to the giggling group of girls hitting on him, and not being an arrogant ass like his past fuckboy self, and Jungkook, the shy bunny, the baby of the group, had his legs spread on the couch, feverously making out with his said "fuck buddy".

Nothing made fucking sense.

He laughs to himself at his observation, late night thoughts going through his head, the ones he only had when he had too much to drink and was most definitely not remembering shit the next morning.

A smile still lingers on his lips when his eyes aimlessly meet yours, locking gazes immediately, like you were opposite poles of a magnet.

He unconsciously stands up the moment you walk in through the front doors, your eyes are still glued on him, sharp and firm as if he's a prey, something you wish to put your fingers on. He watches the way your black dress hugs your every curve, thighs exposed, hips moving in the most hypnotizing way.

He blinks repeatedly, wondering if this is some sort of mirage since you stand out so much from the people around you, he can't help but wonder if you are really there or if it's just his wishful thinking, a drunken frenzy.

His shoulders drop with disappointment the moment you face away, making your way into the kitchen, leaving his sight completely. It takes him a few seconds to get his feet moving, taking his body to the room you just walked in with excitement buddling in his chest.

That was absolutely everything he was looking for, the first time in years he felt this enthusiastic over someone, and he was most definitely not letting it go. He needed that fire, was eager to get it.

To his surprise, the room isn't packed like the rest of the house, a couple making out by the counter, a young boy spilling his guts on the sink and you, leaning against the fridge with a red cup in your hands, so full it threatened to spill, eyes meeting his immediately as if you were expecting him to follow.

-Hello. -You greet him, eyes unfazed and mysterious behind the cup and he hates how drunk he is at the moment, he hates to know he won't remember every second of you, every word you let out with the velvety tone.

-Hello. -He lets out, putting all his effort into making his voice as steady and clear as possible.

A smile quivers in your dark red lips as you can see through his frangible composure and it amuses you.

-What are we going to do? I can see why you came... -You pondered, pouting slightly and raising an eyebrow at the content of your cup. -But I just got here, and I want to dance. -He watches in astonishment as you throw your head back and empty your cup in one go.

Hissing at the burning sensation in your throat, you point him his own glass, motioning for him to do the same, and so he does, wasting no time to please you.

In a matter of minutes, you have his hand in yours, guiding him through the dance floor to find the best spot while meaningless songs play one after the other and as they finish Hoseok fills your cups again.

As he watches you move in the dimmed lights room, swinging your hips and turning your head to grin at him, it is as if your lips are bragging his bewilderment.

You are the complete opposite of her, and he wants to get high on the feeling of you.

Her eyes meant nothing but troublesome, with a cheekiness that said "I don't know what I'm doing but I'm still doing it", while yours draw him as if they held the secrets of the universe, eyes that said, "I have done this all before".

She used to laugh at things he wished she didn't, getting easily distracted, while you made him feel like the two of you were the only thing that mattered. Back pressed against his chest, hips meeting his, resting your head on his shoulder with closed eyes and synchronized movements, it felt like you were in another universe entirely.

Yet another song ends with a fading note and Hoseok glares at your mouth when you spin around and press your chest to his, his hands find your hips automatically like he had done that his whole life.

-Another drink?

You nod in agreement, but then the guitar chords take over the house and the most perfect song for the moment takes over the frat party, your hands dive to his hair, clutching the silky strains and pulling him closer.

"Somebody mixed my medicine"

-No! Stay for this song... "somebody mixed my medicine"

He presses his body against yours, the scent of smoke and cheap alcohol mixed with your perfume is intoxicating.

"Well you hurt where you sleep and you sleep where you lie Now you're in deep and now you're gonna cry Got a woman to your left And a boy to your right"

Finally, it becomes unbearable and Hoseok leans in to clash your lips to his, to find out you are as eager as he is, feeling your hunger for him by the way you take control over the kiss, biting his bottom lip and pressing your nails into his neck.

"You start to sweat so Hold me tight 'cause..."

At that moment Hoseok realizes just how much he had to drink because he is going for your neck, kissing, biting and sucking at the soft skin, not minding that you are in public, not minding the purple marks that are going to decorate your neck later. He is addicted to the way you expose your neck to his touches, hands falling to squeeze his shoulder.

"Somebody mixed my medicine I don't know what I'm on"

His head spins the moment you push way, only enough to whisper in his ear.

-Let me be your medicine Hoseok...

Your pupils are dilated and you look beautiful breathless, the only thing he can focus on his blurred, drunken vision.

"Somebody mixed my medicine Now baby it's all gone"

You guide the way out of the dance floor, pushing people out of the way to reach the stairs.

"Somebody mixed my medicine And somebody's in my head again"

You turn around to check on him as you make your way up the stair, eyes libidinous.

"And somebody mixed my medicine again, again"

-I need you. -You stated, turning around on the last step to the second floor, taking advantage of the height difference to kiss him again, his body responds promptly, squeezing your ass firmly.

"Well I drink what you leak and I smoke what you sigh See you cross the room with that look in your eye"

-I need you. -He mumbled eyes closed, face ethereal.

"Got a man to his left and a girl to his right You start to sweat so Hold me tight 'cause"

It didn't take long for you to find an empty room and once the door is shut, Hoseok lets out a sign the little self-control he had left quickly dissolved, and he pinned you to the wall, lips meeting the red marks on your neck once more.

"Somebody mixed my medicine"

-Make me dirty. -Your voice sends chills down his spine, blood running down to his dick, he stares into your deep, meaningful eyes one last time before turning you around.

"I don't know what I'm on"

Warm chest meeting the cold wall, your ass deliciously pressed against his bulge, he wraps your hair around his wrist and pulls your head towards him, the pleasing pain forcing a muffled moan out of you.

"Somebody mixed my medicine"

-You are driving me crazy -He growls in your ear, leaving open mouth kisses all over your neck and shoulders before letting go of your hair, one hand goes to massage your breasts and the other cups your sex, hips grinding into yours.

"Now baby it's all gone"

The way you gasp and throw one of your hands back to caress his hair and bring him closer makes his hairs stand, he realizes you are the hottest thing he has ever seen when your hips syncronize with him, dry humping on the most sinful way as the song plays faintly downstairs.

"Somebody mixed my medicine Somebody's in my head again And somebody mixed my medicine again, again"

-Ah fuck! -He moans at the sight of your bodies connecting and watch your ass bounce on him, he feels the dampness of your panties only from his fingers. -I want to fuck you so good, you are so wet...

"There's a tiger in the room and a baby in the closet"

-Please do. -You beg, velvety voice dripping arousal.

"Pour another drink mom I don't even want it"

He gives you another hard suck to your neck, feeling the intense need to spread his marks all over you and blood rushes to your core, he takes your dress off, leaving you in your underwear and heels, dripping wet from his touches.

"Then I turn around and think I see someone that looks like you"

-You are so beautiful angel -He breathes to your ear, chills running down your spine as he spins you around to face him again, wasting no time in kissing you.

"Well you hurt where you sleep and you sleep where you lie Now you're in deep and now you're gonna cry."

-So, so beautiful, my good girl -He grunts when you part, lips brushing yours. -You are so good for me, ruining your panties, asking me to turn you into the dirty girl you love to be. -Hoseok raises one of your thighs to his waist, clothed cock brushing your clit in the most delicious ways.

"Got a woman to your left And a boy to your right"

-Let me make you feel good. -There's not a trace of shame in your voice when you reach to palm him through his pants, taking great joy from his blown wide pupils and vocal response.

"You start to sweat so Hold me tight 'cause"

-On your knees then kitten. -He kisses you before you follow his command, dropping to your knees and pulling at his pants while he takes his shirt off, abdomen contracting and relaxing, muscles on display at eye level, your hands itch to touch him.

"Somebody mixed my medicine"

When you manage to pull his pants down you feel the weight of his phone on the back pocket, ideas buddle in Hoseok's mind when he sees the device on your hands.

"I don't know what I'm on"

-Can I take a video angel? Can I record your pretty mouth around my cock? -His eyes are glowing with craving and you feel your panties getting impossibly sticky.

"Somebody mixed my medicine"

-Do it. -You consent, a smile growing in your swollen lips, the desire in his eyes set your skin on fire, the alcohol you just had makes you lightheaded.

"Now baby it's all gone"

You get rid of his boxers, watching as his dick springs free, hard and glistening with precum, your mouth waters at the sight of him stroking his cock.

"Somebody mixed my medicine"

His eyes roll back the second you press a kiss to his tip, groaning when you wrap your warm mouth around him and slowly lower your head, taking him inch by inch.

"Somebody's in my head again, again"

Light hits your face, you raise your eyes to see he's holding his phone, recording as you take his cock in your mouth, his groans get significantly louder and you can't help but take one of your hands to tease your clit, moaning around him.

"And somebody mixed my medicine"

Hoseok grabs your hair, controlling your movements as you swallow around him, the vibrations of your moans drive him crazy. Soon you are barely moving, just keeping your mouth open to receive him as he fucks your face with a firm grip on your hair.

"Again, again, again Again, again, again Again, again, again"

Each word is punctuated by his cock hitting the back of your throat. Your gag reflex kicks in and you control your breathing, tears forming and falling down the corners of your eyes, you scratch the back of his thigh with your free hand.

"Somebody mixed my medicine"

-What a good girl you are, touching your pretty cunt while I fuck your face. -He caresses your hair, slowing down his trusts.

"Somebody mixed my medicine"

-Put on a show for me, won't you? Open your mouth, tongue out. -He orders and you stare straight at the camera, opening your mouth and sticking your tongue out, giving a few teasing licks at the tip of his cock.

"Somebody mixed my medicine again"

-Get up, I need to fuck you right now. -He lifts you up effortlessly, caring you to bed, phone still in his hands. -Hands and knees for me, hold that ass up.

You do so, following his every command, feeling like your skin is on fire whenever he touches you.

-So good. -He leans in, bitting your left ass cheek, squeezing the flesh of the other cheek. -So beautiful, such a good kitten, you are so hot, you make me so hard.

Every praise goes straight to your core, you can't help but push your ass back, looking for his touches, aching from the lack of stimulation. He seems to read your mind, stroking your clit softly through the fabric of your panties.

-Do you like that angel? You like when I touch you like that? Say it. -His thumb makes circular movements, the knot in your stomach grows, you want nothing more than to follow his orders.

-I love it! -You are breathless, fucked out, your throat is sore from being face fucked. -Please fuck me, fuck me and make me cum on your cock. -Your cries seem to have an effect on him because he is soon pushing your panties to the side.

He takes a deep breath, hands tightening at your sides.

-Look at that pussy, soaking wet from sucking my cock. -Hoseok adjusts the angle of the phone so that he can film your clenching pussy next to his hard cock. -Let's prep you hm?

His thumb finds your clit again and the direct contact makes you see stars, muffling a moan with a pillow.

The hand immediately leaves your clit, pulling your hair so roughly you jump in place, pushing your ass against his hips.

-Don't you dare, I want to hear every fucking moan that leaves your mouth, do you understand?

-Yes!

-Are you going to behave?

-F-fuck yes -You moan this time when his fingers leave your hair to tease your entrance, stretching your walls and reaching deep inside you.

-Louder! I want the whole party to hear you! You’d probably love that, wouldn’t you? To have everyone listening as I fuck the shit out of you.

He curls his fingers to hit your G spot, earning yet another long, tortured moan.

-Please fuck me already! I need you to... -His fingers catch speed, hitting all the right spots mercilessly. -I need you to fill me up Hoseok, please, I want your cock so bad!

-Yes angel, beg for my dick, fuck yourself on my fingers, this is so fucking hot. -His fingers slow down, focusing on the movements on your clit. -Why is your bra still on? Take it off and turn over so I can see those perfect tits while I fuck you.

Soon your last piece of clothing hits the floor and you are fully exposed to him, chest rising and falling with your heavy breathing, sweat sticking your hair to your face.

The flash is still on and it only makes it the more intense, Hoseok is also shining with sweat, his muscles are firm under your fingers and his eyes are darker than they have ever been, his hair is pushed back and messy, his mouth is red and swollen just like yours probably is.

He reaches for his pants, taking a condom out of his back pocket and resting the phone, still recording, on the nightstand, quickly sliding the condom on and aligning his cock with your entrance.

His head stretches your walls and he slowly fills you up, giving you a few seconds to adjust before pounding into you in sharp, hard movements that make your legs weak.

-So full... -You mumble incoherently, your drunken breath hits his face and he can't help but lean in to kiss you, firmly pressing his lips to yours as his trusts hit deeper, you let out a scream of his name, scratching the skin of his back.

-What is it angel? Is my cock making you feel good? -He grinds his hips in a way that has the whole bed moving, he hits your cervix with every trust and you roll your eyes to the back of your head, the lewd sounds of your arousal fill the room.

Hoseok kisses you again, moaning into your lips.

-Touch yourself for me, use those fingers on your clit, make yourself cum on my cock. -Your fingers find their way to your sensitive bud, not daring to disobey him.

Your screams get louder, he only goes faster, encouraging you to be loud.

-Yes! Keep fucking me Hoseok, I'm so close to cumming! -You throw your head back, closing your eyes and applying even more force to the hand that is pressing your nails to his back.

His trusts get erratic for a moment, he is getting lost in your pleasure, letting his head down to watch where you two connect.

-Fuck ah! Cum for me baby, let me feel that tight pussy clenching around me!

You can feel your sanity crumbling at the feeling of him hitting your G spot repeatedly, filling you to the limit while you rub your clit and raise your hips to roll against his.

-Fuck fuck fuck Hoseok! -Your cries are desperate now, you open your eyes to find him staring at you from behind his soaked bangs, eyes hungry and sensual.

Your climax hits you full force, sending waves of pleasure through your body and blurring your vision.

-Good girl, good baby. -He chants under his breath, fucking you through your orgasm until your legs are quivering and crushing his hips.

A few more strikes and Hoseok is spilling into the condom, panting and shoving his face in the crook of your neck.

It takes you two a long time to recover.

Two days after the party and Hoseok is excitedly putting his bags on the trunk, getting ready to go back to his apartment and start over.

-Everything alright? Sure you are not forgetting anything? -Seokjin throws his jacket to the back seat to as Hoseok sits in the front.

-Yeah pretty sure I got everything, thanks for the ride. -He gives his hyung one of his signature heart-shaped smiles while buckling his seat belts.

-Sure thing, no need to thank me. -Jin begins to make his way to the airport when he eyes the back seats through the mirror and suddenly turns his heat to see the yellow package. -Oh, do you mind if we stop by my house? I was supposed to leave this there and ended up forgetting about it.

Hoseok's brows furrow, also looking at the package.

-No, no problem!

On their way, Hoseok's mind wonders off to the video he watched at least a thousand times through the course of two days. He can't help but think about you, about how he passed out and woke up to an empty bed, how he wished he had asked your name, how he wished he could have said goodbye.

Jin pulls at the blue house they used to play all the time when they were kids, turning to take the package.

-I thought you had moved out of your parent's? -Hoseok asks, looking at the windows and thinking about all the memories they had.

-I did, I just have to drop this here. -The older leaves the car, jumping the front steps and ringing the bell.

A few seconds later the door is open, Hoseok can't see because of Seokjin's wide shoulders.

Jin leans and Hoseok gasps when he sees that it's you that Seokjin is placing a kiss on the cheek.

Your eyes lock on him, unimpressed but as intense as the night of the party, he is completely frozen, unable to act upon his shocked state.

Jin turns away, getting back in the car while mumbling a random song.

-Who-who is she? -Is all Hoseok manages to ask, eyes not leaving you for a second as you are still watching him from the doorframe.

His friend furrows his brows, chuckling at the question.

-Has it been that long since she had that childish crush on you? That's Y/N, my baby sister, don't you remember how she used to follow you all around?

Hoseok's mouth goes dry, Jin starts the engine.

-I guess she got over you in middle school, thank god, she would never shut up about you!

"I guess she got over you"

Hoseok remembers how he crushed the white rose you once offered him.

"Get over it already, can't you see we will never be together? I don't like you!"

After breaking your heart for the first time, he watched as you cried and begged him not to treat you like that, asking him to be nice like he always was, to see you as he did the other girls, to care for you the way you did for him.

He did, god he did like you, but he could never do that, he could never be with you.

"If any of you ever hit on my sister I swear it's over, I'm never talking to any of you ever again, understood?" Said Seokjin once they all became friends, and those words burned Hoseok's mind while your tears rolled down your face and he wanted nothing more than to clean them.

Now his mind was flooding with the memories of you two days ago, the way you moved, the way you talked, how your eyes burned the sadness and the emptiness from his chest, how he felt alive for the first time in a while.

There, freaking out in silence, he stared at you, wide-eyed, until your brother, his best friend, drove away.

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