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girlmeetsliv3 · 4 years ago

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Lilies of the Valley IV

A/B/O!BTS x Reader

Flowers can have different meanings depending on the flower shape, color, and method in which they are presented. Lilies are my favorite for such a simple flower can have so many distinct meanings.

"...The day lily also serves as a symbol of coquetry. Because it blooms at sunrise and closes at sunset, it shows that it doesn’t intend to stay around long.”

Release Date: 05/29/20 @ 7 pm

previously ~ next

When YN opened her eyes, she immediately recoiled with disgust. "Fuck." She jumped out of bed and searched through her bag until she found her suppressants. YN had long gotten used to the symptoms of preheat to know when to begin the medication. It made her feel strange, especially when her heat came but it was the lesser of two evils. Now that she lived with four alphas, and three betas, she didn't want to take any risks. Even if they were more than twenty feet away in their luxurious mansion. In her groggy state, she chugged two pills down and placed the carton, although threw is a better word, on her bedside table near her phone. Then she headed to the bathroom, ready to begin her day. It was the delicious smell of food that dragged her out of the bathroom ten minutes later, with a towel wrapped around her now clean body.

"Morning." Hoseok stood in the middle of the room with a plate of golden waffles, topped with strawberries and syrup. YN was so preoccupied with the sight of the food, that she failed to realize the predicament she was in. Until the alpha's darkening gaze reminded her of the state of undress she was in. "Um", YN held up her finger quickly gathering some clothes and rushing back into the bathroom to dress. Idiot. Why didn’t I sense him? That was worrying, even in her preheat state she should be able to sense another alpha near. When she exited the bathroom again, the plate of food was set down in the countertop of the small kitchenette. The alpha in question was seated in the corner of her bed.

“Sorry to intrude, but I figured you were hungry. Plus, I didn’t want you to feel uncomfortable given what happened last night.”

Right, last night had seemed to prove her worst fears true. Still, Jungkook’s behavior was bizarre. In all the time, YN had known him the alpha had never been so unstable. “What did happen last night?" Hoseok shrugged as if it was nothing out of the ordinary when their behavior had proved the opposite. "Jungkook gets a bit anxious around you. He still blames himself and hates that he screwed up to the point where you reject us." She already knew this, but that wasn't what had scared her last night. It was their reactions to it: how the men seemed so calm, yet quick to assert their dominance. How Namjoon's words had suddenly shifted the way Jungkook behaved.

Hoseok, seeing her discomfort, stood up and walked towards her cautiously. "YN," he placed his hand on her shoulder near where her mark was. The small action caused it to throb and she was sure he noticed. "I'm sure you're aware that alphas tend to butt heads. It's instinctual and Jungkook liked to test us often. We had told him not to bring it up, but we should've known better." YN remained silent. Not sure how to respond to Hoseok. Jungkook was a brat, that much was true, but he didn't seem like the instigator type. Maybe you don’t know him as well as you think you do.

"Sure, yeah. Whatever you say." Hoseok smiled, dropping his hand from her shoulder. "Eat your waffles before they get cold. Seokjin made them with lots of love." She couldn't help but grimace at the last part but Hoseok only chuckled. The man excused himself, waving goodbye and telling YN to call him if she needed anything. Reluctantly, she took a bite out of the waffles and it hurt her pride to admit they were good. So good in fact, that she had all but licked the plate clean in five minutes. After washing it, she headed straight for her bed. Disconnecting her charging phone from where it rested, YN failed to notice what was missing. Upon unlocking the screen, a plethora of messages greeted her.

The most worrying were the emails of all the aids that had been lost once they had been 'notified of her change in status.' It seems the world truly was out to get her. The money her parents gave her was barely enough for rent; how was she supposed to pay for insurance or anything else. I can’t do this anymore. A migraine was settling in, mixed with her preheat and ever-growing frustration at her situation - YN wanted to cry. Not that she would, but she really wanted to. Letting out a deep sigh, she turned towards her side. Casting a look outside the glass doors towards the house.

Out of all of them, Namjoon was the one she was closest to and even that was a relative term. She trusted him in a sense, he was the lead alpha and controlled all of them, but YN knew how flimsy Namjoon was to apply said power. Last night was one extreme but from what she could remember he tended to be lax with his mates. Entirely the opposite of most alphas, YN knew. Then again perhaps the incident had been a sobering moment for Namjoon. YN could only hope. She didn’t have his number, so it meant she would have no choice but to enter the house. Mustering all the strength she could, YN stood up and made her way towards the house.

Namjoon's room was on the top floor, room was a bit of an understatement, as with the size of the manor YN had an inkling that the rooms resembled apartments. Namjoon's however was a full-on penthouse with what might be the largest bed she'd ever seen. Don’t even think about it. The man in question was seated in a large chair in the left-hand corner of the room, staring into a computer screen whilst on the phone. Their eyes met and Namjoon flashed her a quick smile before beckoning her into the room, signaling one of the chairs in front of the desk. YN may not have been able to sense Hoseok before, but this room reeked of Namjoon's woody, coniferous scent. She had been in the room for less than a minute but was sure the alpha's scent had already clung to her body. I’m going to have to shower again.

Namjoon was speaking far too low for YN to be able to pick up on anything he said, but from his tone, she could tell it was important. She sat down in one of the leather chairs and looked around the room trying to distract herself. The room was minimalistic in nature, most of the furniture either being made of wood or having wooden accents. Back in school, Namjoon had always been a fan of nature. The two of them had met briefly when helping tend the valley, but it wasn't until she had shared a class with him that they really bonded. It was like he had known her all his life, they way clicked, YN had never experienced anything like it.

Even back then, she had known he was mated. Pack bonds were rare and a pack bond with seven men - specifically four alphas - was the talk of the school. From what YN had heard through rumors, Namjoon presented at fourteen which was the first sign of anomalies. Still, YN had always seen him as more of a beta. He was far too kind, even if his kindness had only really extended to her among all of their classmates. Maybe he knew back then. There were old wives tales that said strong alpha’s could detect sub-gender’s before people presented, but that was mainly based on stereotyping.

“You’re in preheat.” The statement caught her off guard. YN whipped her head to find Namjoon off the phone, resting his face on his hands. A teasing smile on his lips.

“How do you-”

“I can sense it. Are you? I have to know, wouldn’t want to be caught off guard.” There was something hidden in those words.

“Yes, but don’t worry. I have suppressants.” At her words, Namjoon’s brow raised slightly, but since the smile remained on his face YN ignored it.

Namjoon cleared his throat, straightening up. “I’m sorry about last night. We didn’t mean to scare you, things just got out of control. Jungkook can get a bit testy when he’s anxious and truthfully we should’ve known he would try something.” His words were the exact same as Hoseoks. Huh. YN forced a smile, “Don’t worry. Hoseok already explained things to me this morning. But, um, there’s something else I wanted to talk to you about.” His eyes were peering deeply as if trying to read her mind, YN cast her eyes downward to the desk.

“I hate to keep being a bother and I know that you guys have already helped me a lot.”

“YN, I told you already what's ours is yours. Whatever you want just say it.”

“I’ve lost all my benefits since under the eyes of the law, I’m mated.”

Namjoon crossed his arms, “Uh-huh.” From two syllabus YN could already garner the change in attitude. He knew where she was going with this, but wouldn’t offer her an easy way out. “I need those things in order to survive. I can’t afford to live on my own, even though I’m thankful for you allowing me to live here...I can’t do it forever.” Namjoon chuckled humorlessly, it reminded her of what she had witnessed last night. He muttered something under his breath, causing YN to meet his gaze. It was cold. Dark. Ravenous.

“I know what you’re asking of me, but I won’t do it.” YN opened her mouth to protest, but he held his hand up displaying that he wasn’t finished. Silencing her the way one might a child.

“The only way I can relinquish my claim on you would be if another alpha stepped up. Not only that, but you’d have to complete a mating bond with them. So, all your benefits would remain lost.” It was embarrassing, the condescending way that he spoke. YN was already aware of all this, but she couldn’t just give up. Couldn’t resign herself to an unfair life, simply because of what perceived was ‘right’ or ‘wrong.’ “Not to mention pack bonds are extremely rare, so even if I wanted to or you wished to - we might not be allowed to break our bond.” YN scoffed, “I’m not your mate. There has never been any record of an omega displaying a pack bond.” She was tired of the excuses. “I didn’t ask to be your mate. Nor do I want to. I didn’t consent to be bitten.”

“You consented to sharing your first heat with a newly presented alpha. Both of you were reckless.”

YN stood up the chair screeching loudly against the hardwood floor. “I know it was reckless. I know it was stupid. But I wasn’t thinking in the moment, just like he wasn’t thinking. It was all instinct.”

Namjoon ran his hands through his hair, jaw now locked and YN could see how tense he was. The pheromones were radiating off him and it wasn’t helping her preheat, not at all. “If you weren’t attracted to him you wouldn’t have accepted. Hell the partial bond wouldn’t have even occurred if you weren’t mates because it's physiologically impossible.” YN was feeling a whirlwind of emotions and felt herself losing control of her body. Namjoon’s stench was too much, she was practically choking on it but he either didn’t notice or didn’t care. “Please Namjoon.” The alpha shook his head, walking out from behind the desk and towards her. YN cowered, until his arms wrapped around her.

“Calm down. It’s okay, Lily. Calm down.” He pet her hair affectionately and YN found that she was able to breathe again, little by little. “Shush, it’s okay. I’m sorry I yelled. I promise to never do that again.” Slowly all the anger seemed to fade, as Namjoon held her against him. YN wasn’t sure how long the two of them stayed like that, but knew it must’ve been a while since her muscles were beginning to tense. Gently she pushed herself away from Namjoon, ending their embrace.

“Please YN. I know it’s been hard these past few years, but it’s been the same for us.” All the darkness was gone from his eyes, only warm chocolate remained. Namjoon eyed her mark as he spoke, “You were so close to us, but because of a mistake you were out of our grasps. It broke us.” YN shook her head, she no longer wanted to dwell on the subject. “I’ll stay Namjoon. I’ll stay, let’s just drop it for now.” This seemed to satisfy the alpha as he nodded and smiled once more. Tentatively Namjoon leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to YN’s forehead. It sent her body into a frenzy and almost triggered her heat.

“You’ve had such a long week. You should have fun, go out, relax a little.”

“Do you mean go on a date?”

“Sure, if you want to. Whatever you want, we’ll treat you to it.”

“A date with all of you?” YN was hesitant, not to mention everyone seemed on edge as of late. Especially her.

“No, not all of us. Hoseok and Taehyung can take you. They’ll behave.” It was the way he spoke that implied a reason to misbehave. There was mischief in Namjoon’s eyes and YN wasn’t in the mood nor the right physical state to find out the reason for it.

“Alright.”

YN would have rather not gone on the date, truthfully. However, if she had to choose...why couldn’t it be Jimin and Yoongi? It wasn’t that they weren’t threatening, but they seemed the least threatening. Especially compared to who she was actually going to be accompanied by.

“Ready to go?” Taehyung asked, holding his hand out. YN let out a breath she didn’t she was holding in, as she reluctantly placed her hand in his. Taehyung grinned in response, while Hoseok simply rolled his eyes at the younger. They walked side by side, until they reached the side entrance and left through their. Paying more attention now than she was when she arrived, YN noticed the camera’s. “I didn’t know you guys had cameras.” It was a casual comment, but she felt Taehyung tense slightly. Hoseok on the other hand remained calm as he turned to look at her, “We have a lot of precious things to protect.”

“So YN. Where do you want to go? Shopping? To a restaurant?” Taehyung was beaming with excitement and though the contrast between his personalities and looks should’ve unnerved her. It had the opposite effect.

“Wherever you want.”

Hoseok leaned forward to whisper in the driver’s ear, then turned to them. “Let’s just go for a drive.”

It was a nice area where they lived, much nicer than her old neighborhood. Various mansions lined the streets, each standing out in their own unique way. They were nice to look at and YN thought that going for a walk around the area might be good sometimes. It was something she used to do when she was younger, before she presented. YN had to lean over the men sometimes to get a better look, she wasn’t aware of how close she was until Taehyung cleared his throat. When she turned to face him, they were mere inches separating them.

“Sorry,” YN mumbled and sat straight up in her seat. Her thoughts were beginning to grow hazy and she had less control over herself. This heat was going to be a strong one, but strong or not her pills should’ve been working. YN had tried to take more before the date, after her run in with Namjoon resulted in her needing to take a cold shower. The packet of pills, however, was nowhere to be found. She’d looked everywhere and was certain it had to be somewhere in her room.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Hoseok teased, out of all their scents, his was the nicest: warm, fresh, almost like a sunny day.

YN shook her head, “Just wondering, where we are going?”

“Wherever the road will take us.” Taehyung answered, not even bothering to look their way.

Not that it mattered, for it seemed YN and Hoseok were in a staring contest of sorts. Both of them drinking the other in with no intention of stopping. YN’s heart began to race and she cursed herself for not being able to resist the man. “What’s something you’ve always wanted to do?” Hoseok whispered, as if telling her a valuable secret. YN raked her brain for an answer, for an answer the man could possibly want. When she came empty handed, he pushed again. “Even if its something dumb or reckless. Promise I won’t laugh.” For that one moment, YN forgot all about her fears. Out went her dislike and frigidness, in its place was comfort.

“I always wanted to get a tattoo when I was younger.”

Taehyung interlaced his hand in hers drawing YN’s attention. His smile was Cheshire- like as he spoke, “Let’s do it.”

“Maybe this wasn’t the smartest decision.”

“Don’t be a wimp.”

“It looks like it hurts.”

“It doesn’t. Stop trying to psych yourself out.”

“Taehyung enough,” Hoseok muttered as he looked over the forms once more. Confirming everything was right, he signed on the bottom and was quickly handed a copy. Now there was no backing out, though something did bother YN. “Won’t Namjoon be upset?” She hadn’t even realized what her asking that implied, but the men sure did pick up on it. Taehyung winked and Hoseok spoke with ease, “What they don’t know won’t hurt them.”

“So, what will it be?” The tattoo artist asked, finally back after giving you some time to look over his designs. “I'm not sure. Maybe something like this,” YN pointed to a fine line of two roses, “but with a different flower.” The artist nodded and then looked up at the alpha standing beside her, “Is that alright?”

“Whatever she wants.” Hoseok answered, not even looking up from his phone. Taehyung on the other hand was observing all the different tattoos and paintings hung on the wall. He seemed interested in them, so YN didn’t understand why he didn’t get one. The tattooist turned back to YN, “Alright, what flower do you have in mind?”

“You should do lilies.” Taehyung commented, not even bothering to look up from the photographs. YN frowned, “Lilies? Why lilies?”

“I mean you do kinda smell like lilies.” YN’s eyes widened at the artist’s statement and it seemed to have upset Taehyung and Hoseok. The latter emitting a low warning growl from his throat. “Uh- I meant no disrespect. At all.” The man looked terrified and YN went to say that it was alright, but Taehyung intercut.

“Just do your job and don’t make comments about my mate.”

“Of course,” The artist scrambled to get his supplies ready and signaled YN to get in the chair. She shot a look at Taehyung and Hoseok, but both returned to whatever they were doing. Once situated on the chair the artist asked where she wanted the tattoo. Without a second of though, YN signaled to her right collarbone just below where the bite was. It would be nice to be able to look at herself in the mirror and not instantly be reminded of the incident. Of the situation she was in. Pretty flowers might be a nice distraction.

“Is that alright?” The tattooist asked once more, his voice trembling slightly. Now Taehyung and Hoseok’s attention was fully on her, more specifically her bite mark. The men exchanged a look YN couldn’t decipher, but figured it would be best not to further push them. Especially given how they reacted to the tattooer’s words.

“Whatever she wants.”

“Leave that on for two hours and then you can shower. Try not to rub that area too harshly. Oh, also apply non humectant moisturizers on it for around a month. It should be good by then.”

YN nodded to all the instructions and thanked him once the job was done. Taehyung seemed excited to get home, even Hoseok seemed to be in lighter spirits. Once they were back in the car, it dawned on YN just how exhausted she was. Her limbs were trembling and she kept zoning in and out throughout the drive. Stupid preheat. YN’s head rested on Taehyung’s shoulder while her feet rested on Hoseok’s lap. She didn’t exactly know how she’d gotten in this position, but she wasn’t complaining.

“We’re almost there.”

Taehyung brushed his fingers across her knuckles as if trying to lull her into actually falling asleep. What bit of her consciousness remained was struggling to keep her awake. When YN blinked, they had arrived home and Hoseok was helping her dismount the car. “Come on, sleepyhead.” Thankfully being on her feet, seemed to have given her the last bit of energy she needed to walk towards her room. YN bid goodbye to the men and closed the doors, going through her nightly routine half-asleep as she checked her messages.

Rosé: Hey, I have an appointment tomorrow to get a refill. Can you come with me?

YN: Sure.

Placing her phone on her nightstand, YN noticed her pills were there and decided to take two. Unfortunately, she wouldn’t be able to meet Rosé the next morning for YN’s heat struck that night.

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twoidiotwriters1 · 4 years ago

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Written In The Stars CIII (Harry Potter xF!Oc)

A/N: I know last book ended horribly but I promise this one won’t be entirely sad, just a bit frustrating– Enjoy and please leave feedback! -Danny

Words: 3,888

Series’ Masterlist

Book IV // Next Chapter

Listen to: Then -by Anne-Marie

Chapter One: A Lousy Summer.

1974

Emily wasn't going to cry where the girls would be able to hear.

She could've used a spell to quiet her own sobs, but she just needed to be in a place where there was no need to hide.

So she went to the common room, drowning her cries on a blanket and wondering how was she going to crawl her way out of this one. She thought it was unfair, she'd never experienced something so embarrassing prior this moment. Wasn't love supposed to be beautiful?

"Mily?"

The girl gave a start and cleaned her face hastily.

"Padfoot," She tried to sound casual. "What's wrong? Had a nightmare about cats chasing your tail?"

"Are you okay?" He walked up to her, ignoring the teasing. "I'm sure that if you were to talk to them..."

"I think it's clear enough," Emily averted her gaze. "All of us want things we can't have."

"That's not true."

"What exactly should I do after the humiliation I went through?" She sniffed. "He kissed me in front of everyone! I can't be near him and I refuse to be around Lily, I don't want to see any of them!"

"Mily, when I tell you Matt got the worse deal..." Sirius frowned. "The look on his face–"

"You don't need to remind me," Emily lamented. "Why can't I like him back?"

"You can't force things to happen," He shrugged. "If I could make all of you forget I would, but you'd find a way to do whatever you want anyway."

"This is not the time for jokes..."

"Talk to Moony then," Sirius complained. "I'm not good at comforting people..."

"I don't want to talk! Can we just... sit in silence?"

The girl curled up and got closer, he wrapped an arm around her awkwardly.

Really –Sirius thought with exasperation– What was she expecting? This was bound to happen, one of them would eventually develop a crush on her...

Well, more than one... but Sirius was going to take that secret to the grave. It was out of place, Matthew was way better than him– Hell, anyone was a better choice! But tonight it was just the two of them... and Emily had asked him to stay.

"It'll get better, right?" She asked quietly. "I'll get over my stupid crush and so will Matthew... we'll be back to normal in no time..."

"You were never normal," He joked.

"You know what I mean..."

"Yeah," He fixed his gaze on the dying fire, a hint of bitterness in his voice. "If you ask me, James doesn't know what he's missing..."

1995

It was the driest and hottest month of the year back in Private Drive, but Mel was freezing at the front door of Grimmauld Place.

Her mother led her in as she closed the door behind them, Mel hugged Grey's basket closer, thinking a ghost would walk out of the hall. Instead, Sirius walked in with a bright smile.

"You're here!"

Mel looked around dubiously.

"This is your house?"

"Mel! Don't be rude!"

"That's okay," Sirius made a face. "This place is hot rubbish. Your room's clean though. I made sure you'd be comfortable. I know it's hard to be away from home, stuck in such a... place."

"Well, at least you're here," She smiled. "I'm sure I'll get used to it."

"Hand me those," Sirius grabbed her trunk and walked ahead of them. "Let me take you to your rooms... Try to be quiet, my mother's portrait is mental. I tried to take it down but she glued it there. It's bloody torture."

"Language, Padfoot," Emily said, though she was far more interested in the house-elves on the shelves. "Love the decor..."

"Don't mention it," The man growled. "The house-elf that kept the house clean while I was young used to be here, I have no idea where he is, but I haven't found him. I can't wait to throw all those heads out."

"You think he died?"

"I'll find him eventually."

"So this will be the headquarters for the Order?" The girl asked, choosing to ignore his vague answer.

She'd read her mother's letters in secret until Emily found her snooping around, by then it was too late, so Emily didn't see the point on hiding it anymore.

"That's right," Sirius opened the first door of the second landing. "I figured, if I can't be of use out there, the least I can do is give a safe place where to have our meetings. It's secured with a Fidelious charm, Dumbledore did it last Saturday when he heard you were coming."

"Interesting..." Mel looked around. "Who used to sleep in this room?"

"Guests, that's why it's so plain. I thought you'd like it that way, my family wasn't keen on jolly decorations."

"I noticed," Mel grinned.

"You must be hungry, coming all this way from Remus' place. Why don't we go to the kitchen and have lunch? We can unpack later..."

Mel was helping her mother set the table when she heard a strange noise coming from the corner of the kitchen.

"What's in there?"

"It's where the elf used to keep his appliances... there might be rats in there, be careful."

When she opened the door something fell swiftly on her feet and she screamed, jumping on the table.

"What happened?" Emily circled the table. "Oh–! Sirius! I believe Mel found your elf..."

"Is he alive?" The girl asked in terror.

The creature looked ancient and dirty, with a sneer that she'd never seen in an elf before; usually, they were all smiles and compliments. This one started to insult them as soon as he lifted himself from the ground.

"Rats! Thieves! Traitors of the blood had come to rob my masters' treasures!"

"Kreacher," Sirius said. "Shut up."

The elf closed his mouth tightly but sent Sirius a deathly glare.

"He listens to me because I'm the last member of my family that still lives. Be of use, Kreacher, go clean my mother's room."

The elf's eyes shone with anger but he turned away and vanished.

"He always liked to throw tantrums," Sirius added, pulling Mel down from the table. "You're okay?"

"Yeah– it took me by surprise..."

"You jumped so high!" Her mother laughed.

"Laugh at your daughter, will you?" Mel scoffed. "Not like you're the adult or anything..."

"No one here is allowed to be an adult," Sirius crossed his arms. "Not unless we're holding a meeting. In which case we're adults. Today there won't be any, though."

"Don't listen to her, she's just upset about spending summer away from Harry," Emily mentioned.

"I'm not," She replied tensely.

"It's okay, I was beyond sad the first time I had to leave Matt for–"

"I don't feel that way about Harry," Mel retorted roughly.

"What?" Her mother's smile fell. "What happened?"

She bent down to pick up the things that fell when she'd jumped on the table.

"I'd rather not talk about it..."

"Am I missing something?" Sirius raised a brow.

"Last summer Mel told us she was having feelings for Harry..." Her mum began carefully, "I thought it was still a thing..."

"I'll tell you what it was. Stupid..." The lump in her throat formed at a remarkable speed. "I should've known better..."

"Did you talk to him?"

"He doesn't like me, Mum."

Sirius and Emily shared a look, the woman moved to hug her.

"We can talk about it if you want? Once you're ready..."

"Can we have lunch?" Mel asked quietly.

"Sure thing, little Em," Sirius nodded. "I'm a brilliant cook. Your mother's skills will be put to shame."

"How're you so sure?" Emily grinned.

"Because I remember your cooking."

Mel was spending some quality time with Buckbeak when Sirius walked in. It was almost midnight and her mother had gone out on a mission.

"Is it okay if I join you?"

Mel shrugged.

"I know you said you didn't want to talk about it, but maybe you'd like to talk to me now?"

The girl remained silent.

"C'mon, Mel! We'll live under the same roof for a while, let's practise our social skills!"

"My social skills are fine, thanks."

"I heard from a reliable source that you're still scared of speaking to large crowds..."

"I simply don't find it exciting," She lied.

"Well then, I'm not a thousand people, but I have a nice pair of ears that would love to listen to fifteen-year-olds' problems."

"I'm sure your godson will have plenty once he's back."

"He's been demoted to my godson?" Sirius taunted.

"I don't want to talk about it."

"All right, we won't talk about him... What about your father?"

"What about him?"

"Well, when he was about your age–"

"He kissed my mum and she turned him down?" She replied tiredly. "So what? They married anyway..."

Sirius frowned.

"They didn't know they were going to marry each other, that's what! Matt didn't look like himself for weeks! Your mother'd been rejected, that's why your dad kissed her. He thought it would help... to this day I don't know why he thought that, but alas, it worked!"

"Did you know the other?" Mel asked. "That kid mum used to like?"

"A fool," Sirius shrugged. "A nice fool, but an idiot nonetheless... your parents were lucky, Mel. They found a way to fall in love, but even if that hadn't been the case, your father would've found someone– your mother would've found someone... It's not that we're meant to find just one person and stick to it. Most times it's just finding an equal that understands you and suits your needs, and there are plenty of those."

"I don't want anyone," Mel pouted. "I hate this, and I wish there was a way I could avoid liking people. It's hideous."

Sirius laughed.

"Trust me, you'll regret it if you don't give someone a chance. Though I'll tell you this, no person in this world will ever be fully worthy of you, little Em. And even if it's true and you don't find one, your life will still be full of adventures."

Mel didn't think she was that great, but whatever had happened between Harry and she felt right, it felt natural, she'd been able to see a future with the boy. Then again, that could've been her childish and gullible self thinking that her first love was going to last forever. Maybe, if she were to try hard enough, she'd be able to see someone taking Harry's place.

"Have you ever been in love?" Then she added rather bashfully. "I mean, not that I have, but you know..."

Sirius cleared his throat.

"It was a long time ago. Long before leaving Hogwarts... It wasn't meant to be, nor my place."

They fell in comfortable silence, watching Buckbead nibble some bones.

"If you really want to help me," Mel started. "You can teach me how to avoid detention..."

"Nice try," Sirius laughed. "Emily warned me about you... My official answer is no."

"What about your off-the-record answer?" She inquired, standing up at the same time as him.

"Only the days Mily's not in the house."

Kreacher kept insisting on following her around as if she were a criminal, making sure she wasn't touching any of his old trinkets. She didn't have any interest in doing so; everything had dark magic, she'd sense it without even having to touch them.

On a normal day, she'd go to the attic to spend time with Buckbeak, sometimes Sirius would make tea and they'd sit there talking about his adventures in Hogwarts. He'd tried several times to ask her about Harry, but she would ignore him every time.

Dumbledore visited one morning to ask her to keep it all a secret, what they were doing there, meaning that if she was planning on sending letters to Harry, she wasn't allowed to talk about the Order. But Mel wasn't writing to him at all, and her letters to Hermione and Ron were always vague. Both of them were under the impression that Mel, true to her nature, was keeping an updated knowledge on Harry's whereabouts, that she didn't confirm nor denied.

Erick wrote to her a week after she'd moved to Grimmauld Place. Anne went completely unmentioned, but that was expected. He was busy looking for young supporters, things got a bit complicated when Eliot Flint got sick again and Erick had to look after him. He seemed to be having just as a dreadful summer as she was.

It wasn't that her mother, Lupin, and Sirius would leave her to rot inside this huge house, but they were adults who had their minds set on important matters, and she had nothing to do but overthink about him.

She still had feelings, but she was doing her best to bury them. Mel was hoping that once in Hogwarts she'd find a way to be okay with his existence. She didn't want to get rid of him altogether, that was impossible.

"I take that you're having a rough morning?" Sirius spoke from the doorway.

Mel gave a start, looking up from her seat at the kitchen table.

"I had a nightmare," She said drowsily.

"Same as before?" Sirius knew about her dreams, but that day she didn't want to talk about them. Today all she wanted to do was to sit in silence and drink her coffee.

"Have you had breakfast already?"

"No. I came here so Kreacher would stop nagging about me trying to steal the rubbish he keeps in the living room."

Sirius chuckled, walking up to the stove.

"Maybe if you praise my mother's portrait he'll stop..."

"Would love to, but I'm not a good liar."

"I can help you with that," He turned around for a moment. "Don't laugh when you speak, don't smile– if someone accuses you of causing mischief, act like it was the most insulting thing you've ever heard."

"What if they don't buy it?"

"Confidence is key, Mel. If you believe it, then it's done."

"Sirius, you're not giving my daughter bad advice, are you?" Emily walked in.

"Not at all," Sirius said, feigning surprise. "It shocks me that you think so, the only thing I want for Mel is her well being!"

"He's good..." Mel snickered.

"You have to pick your battles wisely, Paddie. A fifteen-year-old, or an experienced witch that's old enough to hex you," Emily warned him.

"I'll trust my luck," Sirius smirked.

"I got Molly's answer by the way," She ignored him, "The Weasleys will be here next Tuesday."

"Hang on... where will everyone sleep? I know the place is big, but..."

"Ginny can sleep with you," Emily started, "Ron can sleep in Phineas' room, the twins can sleep in the room next door to yours– Molly and Arthur can stay in Walburga's room..."

"But Sirius is in that room," Mel tilted her head.

"Yeah..." Emily glanced anxiously towards the man. "Sirius will take my room. I spend the night outside anyway, remember? Like uncle Lupin."

"But sometimes you don't."

"Little Em," Sirius told her. "Don't worry, your mother and I will make sure everyone's comfortable. As much as this bloody house can be..."

Mel knew Sirius was less than happy about spending his days locked up in the house where he'd lived the worse years of his life, but he was glad to have her, or at least he'd said as much. According to him, Mel was a lovely housemate.

She also knew there was something going on between the two adults. She could see it in the way Sirius would stare at her mother when she wasn't paying attention, and the way her mother would look more cheerful than usual after talking to him. The nights where she had to eat with the two blatantly flirting felt like personal karma from all those months she'd spent recklessly ogling at Harry in front of her friends.

"Can Hermione come too?" Mel asked.

"D'you think she'll want to come to this musty old place?"

"Please?"

Sirius sighed.

"Look at those eyes, Mily. I can't say no to those eyes!"

"Those are my eyes," The woman crossed her arms. "I can."

"I got my father's smile though," She said cheekily. "Please? It could be my first birthday surrounded by friends!"

"You heard that, Mily? Her birthday," Sirius said without missing a beat. "Are you going to deny such a simple request to your only daughter?"

"Oh, you two are unbelievable!"

"Is that a yes?"

"You have five minutes to write that letter and send it– Wipe that smirk off your face, Black. You're washing the dishes tonight."

Mel and Sirius high-fived, laughing at Emily's annoyance.

"And here's where we'll be sleeping!" Mel dragged Hermione into the room.

The house was definitely more fun now that the Weasleys and Hermione were there, from time to time some members of the order would visit as well as her uncle. The place almost felt like home.

"You're not sleeping with your mum?"

"My mum and Sirius share–" She stopped abruptly. "Mum goes out a lot, sometimes when she's here Sirius will give her his room so she can take the bed and he sleeps on the couch."

"Ginny sleeps here too?" Hermione examined the jumpers laying around on the other bed.

"Yeah!"

"How is she? She's over Harry now?" Hermione smiled. "She's okay with him liking you and all?"

Mel groaned internally. This was going to be a long month if people kept asking her about Harry.

"Harry doesn't like me."

"Please, Mel–"

"No," The girl interrupted. "I actually talked to him this time. Don't ask. It's better if we just forget it."

Hermione stared at her in shock.

"I–I could've sworn he... that he..."

"'Mione," Mel stared at her. "Forget it."

Hermione nodded, sitting down at the edge of the bed.

"Careful with the twins, by the way," She continued calmly. "They're free to do magic now, and they're out of control."

"I'll keep that in mind."

Ginny and Hermione were acting oddly ever since they found out she wasn't talking to Harry. They had the right to be, it was strange to see how unfeeling she was about being so far away from her former best friend. The twins and Ron, on the other hand, weren't that worried. They thought it was her way of coping and, in a way, it was.

They kept asking a lot of questions about Erick though, whether if he was to be trusted and exactly how much could they get away with. Mel thought it was funny, so she answered as many questions as she could.

Her birthday passed without much of a fuss, suddenly she was fifteen and just as quickly, Harry was too, but he wasn't there to celebrate. For the first time in weeks, she wished he could be there with them, she didn't dislike him as much as to wish him a bad birthday.

Hermione and Ron started to write to him. She tried to write a Happy Birthday note but it sounded stupid, she knew it'd be far from happy, all alone in Privet Drive. That night he would open his window only to see hers completely shut.

Erick's present had been one of those old radios his Grandad used to make with a note that said 'So you can practice your dancing' signed with two E's. She and the twins used it a lot while working on their products, that way it would drown the noise and their mothers wouldn't suspect as much. Mrs Weasley was on edge lately, Percy and his father had gotten into a real nasty fight and now the boy was gone, it had the poor woman in a terrible state.

One night after dinner, Fred walked into her room.

"Hey," She said without looking up. "Erick told me there's a station where they do these radio novels? I'm trying to find them, bet they're hilarious..." She said while toying with the buttons of the object.

"You're all right?" He asked, sitting next to her.

"Brilliant."

It was a lie. She'd been having a terrible headache for the past twenty minutes, probably because of the lack of sleep and the white noise.

"I'm not the best talker, and you don't have to say anything, but–"

"Not you too, Fred," Mel rolled her eyes, turning off the radio. "I told you I'm fine–"

"Exactly. I'd never seen you so calm about leaving Harry before, there must be something," He raised a brow.

"It's called growing up," She scoffed. "He's capable of looking after himself. You know it, I know it..."

"A real grown-up wouldn't avoid confrontation."

"That's rich coming from you, considering you keep hiding your products away from mummy."

"That's not fair, you know it's a safety measure!"

"Okay then," Mel stood up. "This is my safety measure. I don't talk about things that don't concern others..."

Fred caught her wrist and stopped her from leaving.

"Lady..."

"Using my nickname in that aching voice won't change my mind," She raised a brow. "Let go."

"Don't be grumpy, you're starting to sound real' bossy and you haven't gotten the Prefect badge yet!"

"Fred..." She tried to move. "Please, my head is killing me..."

"Did you guys fight?" He tilted his head, finally letting go. "I don't get why you fancy him if you're always bickering..."

"I don't like Harry."

"Yeah, right," Fred laughed.

"I don't," She tried to follow Sirius' advice and kept a neutral expression. "We went to the ball as friends. He saved me during the second task because I was his friend. What Skeeter wrote was rubbish, I don't fancy him."

"If you insist," Fred shrugged, but she could see he wasn't buying it.

He stood up as well and she realized, with a strange sense of accomplishment, that she was tall enough to reach his chin. She was about to point that out when something completely different came out.

"Why did you ask me to the ball?"

"What?"

"You said it was because you thought it'd be fun. Was that it?"

"Why does it matter?"

That was a good question.

Why did it matter?

But also, why not Fred? He was handsome, funny, smart...

It wasn't that she didn't like him, it was that she hadn't picked him. Sirius said there was more than one person for her, she just had to find them. Mel wasn't ready, but she would eventually, and if she could pick...

"It doesn't," Mel sighed. "I was curious, that's all. Ron used to think you fancied me, you know? I told them it was stupid..."

"Well, not stupid," Fred was quick to correct. "Just... I don't know, unlikely."

"Am I unworthy of your affection?" She joked.

He eyed her intently, like pondering the idea she had put out there. Suddenly, her mother stormed into the room.

"Harry was attacked," The woman blurted out.

"What?" Mel snapped, walking away from Fred.

"He's all right, but he used magic. The ministry has been looking for an excuse to get him– I'm afraid he just gave them one."

"Get him?"

"If we don't do something, he'll be expelled from Hogwarts."

"How– we're not– Do what?" She stammered.

"They're bringing him here," Her mother replied. "Harry's coming."

Next Chapter —>

Taglist.

@dee123ksha @vampiregirl1797 @siriuslysirius1107 @stardusthigh @mikariell95 @vernon-dursley @thesuitelifeofafangirl @tomshollandz @kylosleftbuttcheek @reverse-hxlland @bloodorangemoonlight @omiwashere @t-rexs-world

#twoidiots writing #hp fanfic #Harry Potter #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter xoc #WITT fic

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du0tine · 4 years ago

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well, fuck.

this isn’t great. frankly its horrible.

it’s never fun being suspended so high in the air with the harsh winds blowing roughly in your direction forcing you to seek shelter against the icy and snowy mixture of rock that sits atop the towering mountain.

to be honest, had it been any other day this would’ve been thrilling. being up here in harsh conditions, struggling to hold on and testing my mental and physical capabilities would’ve been so much fucking fun.

but there are days where you just imagine the rope that holds you up so high, snapping and slicing against a sharp piece of rock as you plummet to your death. the sky is the last thing you see, the butterflies in your stomach going mad from the sudden drop and you can’t help but think, “im going to die.”

most people, in this case: climbers that is, don’t want to die. they understand the risks, they know that given what they do things are bound to happen and im someone who understands that concept very well. but some of us are just so desensitized to the point that death feels like nothing, we’re used to losing team mates, friends and lovers. i just didn’t understand why i wanted for it to happen to me so much.

climbing is a large part of my life amongst other things; friends, family and other significant factors. all pieces both large and small that factor into what i call my life, something that i can’t help but be grateful for. but sometimes i realize life is fleeting. i realize just how short it is and sometimes i realize that, you know what? im okay with dying. whether it be today, tomorrow or the day after, i understand that death is inevitable and sometimes i just yearn for it to happen a little faster.

it often comes and goes, starting with tears and ending with cold, blank and rather monotone eyes gazing into the emptiness. i don’t know what it feels like exactly, the physicality is easy to understand but when i have to put into words its too hard. but it feel freezing cold, isolation hurts, solitude is pain. im all alone with nothing and no one and in fact, i do think im alone despite everything.

i just know im alone.

i have so many people in my life but it’s hard for me to understand why they’re here, it becomes difficult for me to keep them in my life. i find it hard to continue to speak with lifelong friends, keep in touch with cousins and other family. my parents and siblings (my brothers only being 3 & 5) being the only people i can speak to without feeling so choked up.

i speak to people ive met here (tumblr) but it never goes past a few conversations that occur from time to time and to those i do talk consistently with i can’t help but feel like i annoy. sometimes people reach out to me for advice, for guidance and of course, i aid them. it only pains me a little to never be asked if im okay in return but whatever right? as long as the people are happy, then im happy.

here in nepal, it’s been nice. people are nice. the way of life is one that no one takes for granted and it makes me feel out of place, like a spoiled brat who just yearns so much to escape but i try my best to just take a deep breath and indulge. the buddhist culture here makes me understand the ways of life, living alongside other climbers and watching sherpas dance to the tune of death, twisting around and just barely sneaking past almost every time.

despite how beautiful it is with the towering peaks, glaciers and fields of luscious green grass. death holds a strong presence here, one that’s covered by the tourism and clusters of climbers. but one that’s never ignored, everything being worshipped. pooja ceremonies being held for safe journeys and honouring the beautiful land, the mother of it all with offerings. mother nature is honoured and yet, she still plucks us one by one.

last year on my winter expedition i met a boy, well a man. someone who was 12 years older than me, someone i grew to have feelings for that in fact were reciprocated. despite seeming inappropriate, it was all consensual, it was positive and perfect. there was no dirty intention behind it and despite the large age gap it quickly flourished into a sweet, relationship but i found myself growing distant.

we were both sponsored by the same company which is how we met, the both of us being skiers and climbers. people who understood the dangers of venturing out into the wild, knowing what it meant to leave it all behind and pursue your wildest dreams.

he was perfect for me and yet, i broke up with him while living in nepal. i didn’t know why i did at first and it took me a lot of thinking. a lot of time being alone and realizing that throughout my whole life id been accustomed to supporting myself, knowing that there was no one else for me but me. perhaps it was the mixture of dreadful trauma id faced when i was younger, things i never told anyone, things that i only now realize just how bad they were.

regardless, the past is the past and i know i can’t let it hold me down and yet it’s just so hard to keep living when you know just how gravely you’ve been damaged. but i always tell myself that there’s someone out there who’s got it worse, someone who hasn’t stopped suffering from the day they’ve been brought into this world and until this very day.

like them i also wander the earth and yet i have an advantage, one that i should never take for granted and that being that everything that had happened, is over. i shouldn’t let it bring me down and ruin all the good things i have now.

so anyways, what lead to me ultimately breaking down was when i found myself like i mentioned before climbing upwards, fifteen pitches ahead in the air with my team around me. belayed upwards as i find myself freezing momentarily when the snow from above comes falling down, raining down on me as the wind whips me in the face.

it felt so cold, i couldn’t help but press my forehead against the wall and look downwards at my dangling feet. my hands were numb, my ice pick wedged into the snow and ice, my toes just barely warm. i just found myself observing how far away the ground was from where i hung. the distance from where i spiralled about to the ground was like how disconnected i felt from the earth. physically i am here but mentally im lost. where am i? i don’t know, maybe ill know someday? but what if i just don’t try anymore and let it all go, the place im in isn’t a bad place to die in fact, it’s beautiful.

but i can’t let myself plummet to the ground in front of people i know, i can’t traumatize them. i can’t be selfish and hurt others, id already done it once and that was to the man i loved.

pushing forwards we finished climbing, taking in the air at the top and looking down at everything. feeling like we were in fact on top of the world when really this was only one of the peaks we decided to acclimatize to in preparation for the everest/lhotse push that would happen in the next two months.

the feeling was the same as always, a feeling of satisfaction. you feel unstoppable at the top of the mountain, like there’s nothing and no one in your path and yet for the first time i felt anxious.

i felt like i was going to throw up. it didn’t feel great to be up here, i didn’t know why at that moment but when we began rappelling downwards i couldn’t help but think about how cold hearted i was for breaking up with him. there was no reason for me to do so and yet, i just did. it wasn’t right and it took me sometime to realize why. i needed to make sure i could at least put in the effort to do something.

the trek back to base camp was agonizing. i felt like i couldn’t breath properly, falling out of tune with my surroundings and just marching forwards. my team looking like blobs of colourful parkas. silently i felt myself weeping and just feeling like shit. i hated this.

it was embarrassing, i always made sure to peel myself apart and cry when there was no one around and yet here i was crying with people i knew and got to know around me. one of my leaders, who was a single mom that was a total badass in the mountains and one of the best ski mountaineer ive met (she’s also my team lead) spotted me falling apart and staggered behind to talk things out with me and i began to find comfort in consolidating in someone.

this was something i never even did with my own mother. this was the first time i looked for guidance in someone who’d lived longer than me and understood how grief, sadness and just a clusterfuck of emotions works.

with every step i took i slowly pieced the answers i needed for my puzzle piece and now here i am sitting inside my tent typing this foolish rant. my fingers lingering over the call button of the contact id for my ex boyfriend.

i think ill call him and apologize.

it’ll be a good first step.

update: things have been solved (relationship wise) but i don’t feel too good mentally nor physically. unfortunately, i received heartbreaking news that my bestfriend passed away and i feel lost. i don’t know what’s going on, what’s going to happen and i just feel guilty and pathetic. despite that comment, the less people see this the better, it’s not good energy and it’s just negatively going to affect others but i can’t dip without an explanation.

things are on a queue.

#tw: death #tw: sad shit me being a wimp.#i don’t know what else - i don’t know anything else.#mostly me opening up so yeah sorry if this drives people away.#felt like i needed to get it out so don’t read this.#will probably delete later? i don’t know.#my head hurts and im going to nap soon just need to clear my thoughts and relax.#if the words don’t add up it’s because im tired and cant see straight.#peace.

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mccnyoongi · 5 years ago

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buttercup ⇢ pt one

⇢ pairing: yoongi x fem!reader

⇢ genre: smut + slight angst

⇢ au: college!au, fwb!au, stoner!yoongi, assholeish!yoongi, fuckboyish!yoongi fwb to lovers trope

⇢ word count: 6k+

⇢ warnings: smut, honestly mostly porn, unprotected sex, recreational use of drugs & alcohol, dirty talk, praise, degradation, ridiculously excessive use of pet names, fingering, dom!Yoongi, unprotected sex, slight dumbification (whoops), hair pulling, creampie??, oral (f receiving), pussy slaping, reader has a thing for Yoongi’s hands because who doesn’t, reader and yoongi are both sarcastic and oblivious, this part is basically pwp.

⇢ synopsis: Min Yoongi wears leather jackets, fucks you like he hates you, spends most of his days on the wrong side of a blunt, and calls you the sweetest names when no one else is around. And you definitely aren’t falling in love with him.

⇢ author’s note: so yes, buttercup is being cut up into two parts thanks to a lot of my life getting uprooted this week!!! ill spare you the details but everything is really chaotic rn so im sorry this isnt exactly what i promised :( thank u for all the insane amont of love ive gotten so far. this is a pretty um... filthy piece of writing skfjsd and it’s definitely not perfect and id love to get better with everything i put out on here but i hope u guys enoy ily xx

If there was a magic lantern hidden somewhere on the campus of this university, you’d find it and your first wish would be to make it so that no one found out about this whole illicit affair you’ve been having with Min Yoongi. The secrecy was fun, sexy like you guys had a whole Mr. and Mrs. Smith thing going on. Or something. Your second wish would be to make his dick vibrate.

But then he just had to go and go down on you in a bathroom during a party at the Beta Tau Rho house, not even a month into the fall semester, knowing you wouldn’t be able to be quiet or subtle at all. And he was so smug about it too, the fucker.

You can still feel the embarrassment buzzing under the surface of your cheeks from when you walked out that bathroom door and a dozen frat boys and mutual friends of yours and Yoongi’s were out there, waiting for the two of you to emerge and giving you a round of applause when you did. Yoongi had just laughed and rolled his eyes before leading you to the kitchen to get the pair of you some drinks. He’s always been particularly good at brushing that shit off of his shoulder. You aren’t, but you’re pretty good at pretending.

Maybe you should have ended it all that night. Of course, you didn’t. You figured, hey, you’re young and in school so fuck making good decisions. Of course, the fact that no other guy has ever been able to dick you down nearly as well as Min Yoongi can is probably a huge contributing factor.

Sure he might be grumpy, and sarcastic, and he tries way too hard to look cool and nonchalant, but he’s also the first guy to ever make you squirt. And you’re pretty sure that the way he waxes poetic about your pussy would make even Shakespeare swoon. So maybe the pros outweigh the cons, but only just.

“I can’t believe you’ve been getting Yoongi dick for almost three full months and haven’t divulged every single detail and vein to me, you cold, uncaring bitch-” Jimin’s voice is far too loud for the student-run coffee shop the two of you regulared every Sunday; a tradition that Jimin always insisted upon. He loves his traditions almost as much as he loves destroying any personal boundaries between the two of you.

“Keep going Park, see if I ever buy your coffee again.”

“Don’t change the subject,” You can’t say you’re surprised that Jimin is reacting like this. Self-proclaimed ‘disaster bisexual,’ Jimin was one of the very first friends you made back when you were a shy, barely functioning freshman.

He actually introduced you to all his frat brothers, and a large number of the people you now call your friends. Including Yoongi, whose dick seems to be a reoccurring topic between you and… most people you know. Even if they weren’t at that dumb party, Jungkook made sure that every living being that stepped onto campus was aware of the newly found out fuckbuddies.

“We don’t keep anything from each other, Y/N,” He’s whining over his coffee now, full lips perched in that pretty pout that he regularly uses to his advantage. “I even told you about that time I puked on Namjoon’s dick in our second year!”

“Mmm, and I wish you hadn’t told me, Minnie-” The visual still haunts you, but Jimin has never had any predilections when it came to oversharing, especially not with people who have the misfortune of being his best friends. “‘Sides, I didn’t figure it was important, the whole Yoongi thing-”

“His dick, you mean.”

“Because it’s not like we’re getting married,” You carefully ignore him, a useful habit you’ve picked up three years into being his friend. “Just sex, remember?”

“So fucking what? You told me how you sucked Jeon’s cock in a movie theatre less than twelve hours after it happened-” You take a large gulp of your own iced coffee to busy yourself when the shameful memory is brought up. Not shameful because of the promiscuity of the act, no you’re an adult, thank you very much, but rather because of the boy you performed them on. Jeon Jungkook is now more of an annoying younger brother to you than anything. Not to mention he’s got a giant mouth that couldn’t keep a secret even if it killed him.

“Jesus you could’ve picked any other example-” You groan out as Jimin smirked, receiving the exact reaction from you he wanted. You think you’d have learned by now. “I’m sorry, okay? You big baby.”

“Hey, you’re on thin ice,” He points an accusatory finger at you and you have to fight the urge to smack it out of your face. “Now you have to make it up to me.”

You sigh- Jimin can really be exhausting when you’re only half a medium coffee in. “And how do you expect me to do that, Park.”

“Dick details, fucking obviously,” He says it like you’re a moron for even asking. And maybe you are. “Well details in general, I guess. You know, the basics; length, girth, does he make you call him daddy, is he good- I mean he must be un-fucking-real if you’ve been bouncing on it for three goddamn months, you whore.”

“I’m not giving you measurements, Jimin, I’ve yet to take a tape measure to it- and stop assuming everyone has a daddy kink just ‘cause you do.”

“Okay, vanilla bitch. You’re lucky I already know he’s got a monster cock from that time he streaked at that post-mid-term party next year.”

“Then why’d you even ask?”

“To see if you’d tell me the truth. It was a test and you failed.”

“I may be a college student but you’re gonna have to threaten me with a little more than a failing grade to spook me,” You roll your eyes playfully- there’s no real threat in his words, there never is.

“You’re right, I’m sure you’d much rather be punished by Yoongi, huh?”

..............................................................................

Watching Yoongi roll a joint, his long, slender and experienced fingers moving quickly and deftly, has always had this near hypnotizing-like effect on you. His apartment smells like weed, the scent never surprising and would almost be overwhelming if you weren’t so used to it by now. The sight alone is almost enough to make you wet. But you’re stronger than that- except for when you’re not.

Sexy hands aside, but unfortunately not on you, you’re thankful for his cannabis-related expertise because a) you can’t roll one yourself to save your life and b) despite normally reserving your consumption habits for parties, you feel like you deserve a fat one after the week you’ve had. What with, you know, the stress of having every student on campus knowing about yours and Yoongi’s torrid affair, thanks to fucking Jeon Jungkook. Brat. Plus incessant goading from both Jimin and your roommate, Irene- equally angry as Jimin about your worst kept secret- has only made you sink further into your insecure and paranoid thoughts.

The weed would help, you’d told yourself when your phone pinged with that much anticipated what’re u up 2? late night text from the raven-haired devil himself. Yep, it was the weed, the comforting blanket of getting high. And had nothing to do with the boy that was offering them. Not even his fat cock or magnetic pull he seemed to have on you.

“Alright, dove,” He says from his spot on his worn-out single-dorm couch- the names don’t tend to surprise you the way they used to. You kinda figured that the affection-starved Yoongi had just you know… gotten comfortable with the girl he had been fucking for the last couple of months. No big deal. Sure they made your heart swell and your panties dampen, but then it could be looked at as a positive.

He looks up at you from his spot on the couch, where he’s uncomfortably hunched over the table as he works and notices how you’re looking rather spaced out- not entirely rare for you. He’s used to the hundred-mile stare you tend to adopt when deep in thought, though it’s considerably less common for a sober you.

“Dove?” Nothing. “Y/N?” It’s the use of your actual name from his lips that finally grabs your attention. You finally turn your head to look at him, the glaze of deep thought finally leaving your eyes. An eyebrow quirks to let him know you’ve heard him, but his gaze remains piercing and unwavering on yours. “You need to stop worrying so much, dove.”

“That’s what the weed is for, Yoongs.”

“The weed? You’re just here so I can smoke you out then, huh? No ulterior motives, hm?” His tone is as dry and sarcastic as ever, qualities he had quickly become known for around campus. He shurgs “Fine. Just here to sesh. C’mere then.”

You scoot closer to his side of the couch, not even thinking twice before listening to him. His tongue is tantalizing as he licks the rolling paper, even if he doesn’t mean it to be. He’s almost always tantalizing to you.

“Don’t be grumpy. You invited me over,” Your words are softer than you meant, but your proximity to him makes you feel stilted. He was right, you really needed a smoke, more on edge than ever.

“Well, technically,” He starts, unlit, perfectly rolled joint now perched between his lips. He grabs at your legs before continued so that you were resting sideways on the black couch, legs strewn over legs, thighs touching thighs. “I invited the best pussy on campus over.” You crinkle your nose at his bluntness.

“Yoongi-” You scold indignantly and pinch at a well-toned bicep. “Don’t be an asshole, you asshole.” He grins despite the insult like he’d expected it. Or he’s revelling in it.

“You know I’m just fucking around, angel,” His arm tucks around your waist comfortably, pulling you even closer. “Tryna chill you out. I can tell when you’re all strung out. I know how you,” He pokes you in the middle of the forehead, still grinning, as you pout from being called strung out. “Tick.”

He really does, doesn't he? The thought is mildly terrifying, and you think that Yoongi might be too smart or his own good sometimes. When he’s not smoking himself into another dimension, that is.

He leans back into his seat, uncurling from around you to finally light up. A few sparks later and the room is fogging up with overly pungent smoke- the cheap smell makes you think that he probably bought it off of Hobi, too lazy to go any further off-campus than his own block of apartments to one of the nice but relatively affordable dispensaries. You crinkle your nose at the scent, grateful he’s too distracted to notice since he’d probably just tease you for liking the fancy shit more. At least you trust Hobi, and he lives only two buildings down from Yoongi. Truly an age of convenience.

A few passes, tokes, whatevers later, and you’re feeling substantially... floaty. You’ve completely relaxed, choosing to lie down rather than put the effort into sitting up, though your legs are still thrown across your equally high counterpart’s. What’s left of the roach is left to burn in one of many strategically placed ashtrays around the apartment, this one being on the living room table.

Yoongi has barely moved in the past while, head resting lazily on the back of the couch, black hair messy and his neck- which is somehow handsome to you- stretched out, and hands resting against your bare knees. You’ve barely paid him any mind, the silence nothing but comforting and easy.

Which is why you can’t help but jolt just a little in surprise when those hands, the hypnotizing ones you’re so obsessed with suddenly start creeping up your legs, halfway up your thighs, carefully kneading the supple flesh he finds there. He chuckles at your reaction, finally picking his up his head to watch you through heavy-lidded eyes. “Bet you’re extra sensitive right now, huh petal?” He doesn’t have to bet because he knows it’s true, knows how needy you get when you’ve smoked. And he loves it- it’s why he never makes you pay for any of the times he smokes you out.

“Fuck off,” You whine at his light-hearted teasing, but Yoongi just giggles- he fucking giggles- in response, hands still travelling the expanse of your thighs.

“Be nice,” His words are still jovial, but there’s a gruffness behind them that sends a shiver down your spine, despite the relative stuffiness of his living room.

“I am nice, you’re just a dick,” You pout- childish, but you can’t quite come up with anything more clever at the moment. The jab may be weaker than your usual quips, but Yoongi seems to have decided it’s enough to warrant a punishment of sorts, as he sends a quick slap onto your thigh. It’s certainly not the harshest hit you’ve received from him, it’s more playful than anything, but it’s enough to make you whine, not even noticing when your own hands jump down to grab at him and your now sore flesh.

His eyes take on a new sort of darkness, beyond the dilated pupils from the high he’s in the middle of as he grabs at your wrists, any assault you had planned halting in its tracks. His large hands that you’ve drooled over- figuratively and literally- many a time are big enough that he only needs one of them to hold both of yours steady. He uses his grip on you to yank you back up to a sitting position, where your noses almost touch and you can feel his breath fan across your lips.

“I told you, I know how you tick,” He lets his tongue swipe out to wet his lips, the act distracts you and makes you mimic it with your own tongue and lips. The smirk he gives you is all at once wicked and panty dampening. “Which means I know you like it when I’m mean. I know you like when I treat you like this, like my little slut,” The word makes you draw in a breath as your face reddens in humiliation and tension. “And- and I know you’re probably soaking through your panties right now, all over my couch. Making a fucking mess.”

It infuriates you to no end how right he is as your breaths come out shaky and uneven as you feel your pussy flutter around nothing beneath your shorts and panties.

“Aren’t you?” His tone doesn’t leave room for playfulness anymore, and you’re nodding dumbly before you can give it a second thought. “Good girl.”

He doesn’t give you any time to bask in the praise before he’s leaning in to capture your lips in a searing and sloppy kiss. He’s domineering even in the way he kisses you, teeth biting and tongue sweeping into your own mouth as he revels in the small sounds that escape you. His hands leave your wrists, freeing them so you can grip onto raven locks with a newly freed hand as his own wrap around your waist.

Every sense is filled with him, and it is all at once comforting and exhilarating.

He tugs and roughly manhandles you so that you’re properly astride his denim-covered thighs, your lips never untangling in the process. When your lips finally do come apart, it’s with a lewd sound and a gasp from your mouth. He’s still smirking.

“Gonna fuck you so good petal,” Yoongi has always been so blunt and unforgiving, whether in bed or out and it had been one of the things that first attracted you to him, besides his obvious good looks.

Before the two of you had even gotten together, when you were friends who didn’t fuck on the regular, you had even mustered up the courage to touch yourself to the thought of him speaking to you like this- your own fingers circling your clit and delving into yourself without abandon. You had only been able to imagine up a fraction of his sexual prowess.

Like the time only a few weeks ago you admitted to him in a foggy haze, high than you think you’d ever been. how you’d brought yourself to climax with images and soundbites of him flitting through your head. He’d immediately made you put on a show for him- recreating those nights, but this time with him sitting feet away from you and ignoring your pleas for him to touch you.

Right now, however, the only things keeping you grounded in reality is the feeling of the muscles in his thighs flexing beneath you, though nowhere near where you truly ache to be touched, and one of his hands brutishly tangled in your hair, pulling harshly so he can have easy access to your neck. Plush lips start soft, kissing and licking at the skin there, before his teeth join in, biting and sucking like he loves the taste of you (because he does).

“Y-yoongi-” You’re trying to keep the whimpers at bay, like maybe if you stop yourself from seeming so turned on so fast it’ll get him to fuck you faster. “C’mon, just fuck me already.”

“So demanding for such a needy bitch,” He has you squirming on his lap and you don’t know why you thought you had any power over him left. “Have you forgotten your place? Can’t think of anything else but getting fucked, huh?”

You nod in agreement, but find out he must want a verbal response when you’re met with a sharp spank to your ass that has you squealing and bucking into his lap. “Yeah, yeah Yoongi ‘m sorry, just need it.”

“I know, baby, I know, you can’t even help it when you get all messy like this, I know,” You can’t decide whether his words are sweet or patronizing when he coos at you like that, but either way he’s got you another pair of panties.

“Need you to fix it, Yoongs,” All pride is out the window when he’s got you like this, and you love pleading with him to give you what you want almost as much as likes making you beg.

“I will,” He gives you one more harsh bite to the junction of your neck and your shoulder that you know will blossom into a bruise just in time for your 10 AM class tomorrow and you hiss at the mingling of pain and pleasure. “Now fucking get up,” He pats lightly at your thigh twice at the order.

You’re in no position to disobey, and you know from experience that not listening to him will end up with a sore ass and no release in sight. You stand up on shaky, doe-like legs and he grins at the sight of you. He stands up with you, his lean form and strong stance making him look taller than he really is. Then his long fingers are pulling at what little clothing you have, stripping you of both your tank top and your shorts and your bra isn’t far behind. Soon you’re clad only in your panties while he’s still fully clothed in black form-fitting jeans and a plain white t-shirt. Thankfully he leaves his cliche, but devastatingly sexy leather jacket at the door.

He doesn’t make any move to undress at all and you hope to god he will eventually- you love seeing his honey-coloured skin covered in a thin layer of sweat as he fucks you into oblivion. But for now, he stays fully clothed and he roughly pulls you by your upper arm until he can bend you over the arm of the couch, panty-covered ass high and perfectly on display for him.

“God, you’re fucking dripping,” He taunts, fingers running over your pussy through the thin cotton, making you whine into the rough cushion your face is resting on. “All this from almost nothing, huh? You’re such a fucking slut for me, shit.” He sounds genuinely amazed by you and when you uncomfortably crane your neck back to get a good look at him you let out a proper moan. He must have stripped his shirt off when you weren’t facing him, because his chest is bare for you to gaze at, or you would gaze at it if you weren’t distracted by the hand that isn’t on you, which is lazily working over his cock, rock hard and aching through his jeans.

He smirks when he notices what’s grabbed your attention, knowing you’re only moments away from quite literally drooling on his pillows. “Is this what you want? Hm?”

“Ye-yeah your cock, Yoongi, need your cock,” Your face burns red and blood burns hot as the crude words leave your mouth.

“And you’ll fucking get it, dove,” The cute name contrasts the second harsh spank he lands on your ass and you moan at the delicious sting.

You think that he must be about to tear your panties off and sink into you, but that would be too predictable and Yoongi loves to keep you on your toes. Instead, he disappears from your line of sight, a dull thump coming from the hardwood as he drops to his knees, feline gaze now level with your cunt.

“Yoongi-” You’re whining again, and you even have to hold yourself back from stomping your foot childishly because, god, you just need him to do something.

And then he finally does- he licks a thick stripe, right from your clit to your entrance, still over your panties, and you gasp in surprise. He does it again, twice, three, four times until your hips are bucking and you’re whining because you need more, you need him to actually touch you and not be a giant fucking tease for once in his life.

“Be fucking patient,” He hisses out, but at least he’s finally rolling your underwear down your legs to toss them somewhere across the room. “Or I swear to god, I’ll hold you down just like this so you can’t even squirm while I get myself off all over your messy cunt,” His hand is running up and down your bare pussy as he speaks, spreading the wetness around, to your clit and your thighs and your ass and then back again. “And then I’ll send you home without touching you or cleaning you up, so you’ll have to take the subway home covered in my come and fucking trembling. So be fucking good.” At the last word, he lands a mean slap against your gushing cunt and you let out an embarrassing squeak.

“Shit-fuck- Yoongi, please, just-” You stutter through your words, needing to get them out, though you don’t know why. “I’ll be good, okay? ‘M your good girl, I am, promise, I’ll be good.”

He doesn’t respond, at least not verbally. But you have to assume he’s happy with your desperate response when he finally delves into your pussy like a man starved, tongue licking into you, the muscle sending spasms up and down your legs. You have to muffle your moans by biting into a pillow, not needing another altercation with his neighbours, but you want nothing more than to yell his name as loud as you can until your voice goes hoarse when he shakes his head from side to side, tongue still buried inside of you and one of his hands now roughly circling your clit.

It’s too much, but it’s not nearly enough. It’s when he switches positions between his hand and mouth that you think you might explode; his mouth latches onto your clit, tongue circling and playing with it and two fingers fucking into you, preparing you for the impressive girth of his own cock.

Your teeth let go of the strong grip it has so you can warn him of your impending orgasm. “Yoongi- gonna come-” You manage to choke out between barely quieted moans.

You know that he wouldn’t be able to respond if he was still suckling on your clit, but you still whine and wiggle your hips as he pulls away, earning you yet another spank to your rear, where you can only assume a nice handprint is forming. “Yeah? Want you to come all over my face, like a good messy whore- gotta come for me before I can fuck you like you need.”

When his mouth finds your swollen clit again, you can’t help it as your orgasm barrels through you almost violently, every muscle tensing and fingers grasping at whatever they can find, neighbour’s delicate sensibilities forgotten as you moan out Yoongi’s name. He licks you through it, fingers no longer pistoning into you. When the last of the tremors have faded he finally pulls away, using his clean hand to wipe your mess off of his chin, though it hardly cleans him.

“Good fucking girl,” The roughness with which he was grinding his still covered bulge into your now sopping wet center would be impossible to ignore even if your head weren’t a million miles away. But for now, everything is Yoongi, every single scent is filled with him and you think that that might be making your head even fuzzier than the drugs coursing through your system, but you’re too far gone to be sure. Or to even care.

Because all you can think about is his mouth-watering hands kneading at the slightly pinkened skin of your ass, his mouth-watering cock rutting against you and his mouth-watering, well, mouth pressing wet kisses and occasional bites up and down your spine. “Yoongi,” You meant to speak with at least a little more conviction, but his name comes out as little more than a mumble.

“Hm,” He hums against your skin and even those slight vibrations reverberate straight to your heart, which starts beating faster at the thought of what’s to come. “What, is my babygirl still needy?”

The use of the word my in front of the affectionate name makes your heart jump, but you don’t even have time to scold yourself for thinking with your post-orgasmic pussy before he continues talking with that sinful mouth of him. “Such a greedy, desperate girl, won’t be happy ‘til you’re stuffed full of my fat cock,” His words have you whining and grinding back against him, where you don’t have to look to know you’re leaving a stain on his favourite jeans. If you’re unlucky- or lucky depending on your mood- he’ll make you clean it up with your tongue as further delicious torture.

But smoking makes Yoongi needy too, no matter how much he teases you for the effect it has on you, and he can’t wait much longer, not with his cock so hard he was a razor blades’ edge from losing his mind. He needs to be inside you as much as you need him.

Which is why you don’t doubt him for a second when he’s murmuring things about how he’s ‘gonna fuck you so good, gonna fuck you stupid,’ and you can only respond with even quieter whispers of ‘I knows’ and ‘pleases’ as he strips himself oh the rest of his clothes, hissing from oversensitivity as his cock makes contact with the air. It’s wonderfully overwhelming and he’s not even fucking you yet.

You can’t even explain how grateful you are when Yoongi turns you around because you love just seeing his cock. You’ve never been one to describe guys’ dicks as pretty before- except that TA you managed to fuck before Jimin sunk his claws into him, Kim Seokjin, because, well, you’re not blind. But Yoongi’s dick is gorgeous. It’s not the biggest thing you’ve ever seen, and it doesn’t have to be, not when it’s girthy enough to make you salivate with a curve that points to the heavens. Gorgeous.

He’s pulling you on top of him so he can sit back down and you’re back to straddling him, and you don’t complain because you know he’s tired both from the pot and crouching on his haunches for access to your center not two minutes ago. Plus he loves when you ride him, breasts bouncing in his face, wetness making a mess out of his lap and full access of your entire body for both his hands and lips.

“Need you to bounce on my fat cock before I fucking explode, baby,” And you’d have to be some sort of a madwoman to deny him.

“Need it too, Yoongs,” You don’t know why you feel the need to remind how desperate you are for him, surely he can feel it, your swollen pussy resting only centimetres above his throbbing length. “Can’t think of anything else.”

“I know,” He’s rubbing the angry red tip against your sopping folds, tinges of overstimulation making you jolt. Or you would jolt if his hands weren’t heavy on your waist, keeping you steady so you couldn’t a) get away from his cock or b) properly sink down onto it. “So pathetic and perfect for me like this, all cock drunk and fucked out and I haven’t even fucked you yet, huh?”

You nod frantically, and you can’t even find the energy to be embarrassed when a hand comes up to pet your hair with a condescending ‘awe’ as he pouts at you. You bat his hand away with a whine and furrowed eyebrows, but all that gets you is his hand tangled in your hair, yanking sharply in retaliation. “Careful, slut, or you won’t be coming for the next week-”

“Please, Yoongi-” You don’t let him finish, knowing from experience to always take his threats seriously. “I’m sorry, I’m fucking sorry, okay just please-”

You cut yourself off with a high pitched, tea kettle-like squeak as he uses his hands on you as leverage to have you sink down onto his cock in one fell swoop. “Shit, god, you’re always so fucking tight around me, fuck me.”

I am, is what you wish you were coherent enough to snark back with, but you’re sure no one would blame you if they could feel what you feel right now. And what you’re feeling right now is how well Yoongi feels inside of you, like no cock you’ve ever had. Every ridge and vein on his cock fills you up to the fucking brim, no room left for a pinky or a thought that has to do with anything other than Yoongi, Yoongi, Yoongi.

And then he starts with those devilish moments of his hip, fucking into you shallowly and slowly to start and it’s all Yoongi’s dick.

“Fucking bounce on it, dove. Fuck yourself on my cock, show me how much you need it,” He speaks through gritted teeth, each word a struggle as he tries not to fuck into you without thought. And it’s with the satisfaction you get knowing he’s just as desperate for you as you are for him that you find the strength to do as he says.

With quivering thighs, you push up and off of his cock, the two of you sharing a harmonious groan at the feeling, foreheads pressed against each other, skin sweaty. And this all just in the calm before the storm.

It’s not long before the both of you are moving frantically, mere seconds, really. It’s intense and all-encompassing, as you grind and roll your hips, cock deeper than you knew to be possible, and his bucking his own hips into you roughly, no doubt as deeply in some sort of euphoria as you are. His hands are everywhere and so are his lips. He sucks marks into your tits and gropes your ass, controlling your movements to the best of his abilities.

All of that, plus your clit grinding against his pelvic bone every other second and your head just might be in another universe.

Yoongi’s words are swirling around in your head, though you’re not properly taking any of it in- his velvety voice goes on about how wet you are, how tight you are, how you’re a good girl and it’s all another instrument in your downfall. You’ve never been much for heights but being with Yoongi feels like something akin to what you assume bungee jumping is like, and you’re just about at that point where your cord runs out of length and your heart drops to the bottom of your stomach.

“Tell me you’re fucking close, baby, c’mon,” This is as close to pleading as you can ever get Yoongi but you’re still swimming in pride. He brings a hand off of your ass to cup your cheek, brushing away your now mussed hair and a single stray tear and you drink in the look in his eyes, dark red-rimmed and needing. “Gonna fill you up with my come, just like I know you like, my perfect little cumslut, fuck, just need you to come first, yeah? All over my fucking cock.”

And with a particularly hard grasp at your ass, bringing you to grind your clit against him again, you’re gone. It’s considerably less intense than the previous one, as many second orgasms are, but your head is still spinning and you think you might have drooled a little, but you don’t mind and you know Yoongi doesn’t. Your attempts to stifle your moans are unsuccessful as the name of the man attached to your favourite cock falls from your lips like a mantra.

And where your orgasm is, Yoongi is rarely far behind- he loves seeing you fall apart around him, because of him and you always clench so fucking hard around him in the peak of your pleasure how could he fucking not. He’s grunting, moaning, damn near growling as he spurts his own release as deep into you as he possibly can, coating every inch of your delectable pussy, vague mumbles of how he’s filling you up, just like you’re meant to be that you can just barely hear.

Shakey breaths hit each of your faces as you come down, now still and worn out. Your chests move up and down and you don’t know when you’ve buried your face into the crook of his neck, but the warmth and smell are more comforting than any hit you’ve ever taken off of one of his blunts.

“Shit, buttercup,” He chuckles, the vibrations rumbling through his chest and where you’ve tucked yourself He runs a hand through his sweaty black locks, the other hand locked around your waist. “I don’t know how we’re gonna move without making this couch fucking disgusting.” Mood killer.

“Don’t give a shit.”

“Yeah, but I do. Especially if Joon or Hobi someone finds it and makes a big fucking deal out of it, like no other guy in his twenties has some come stained furniture.”

You pull back from the spot you wish he’d just let you fall asleep in so he can see your pout. He can’t find the sight of you… adorable? Your hair matted, bruises, courtesy of yours truly littering your tits and chest, a thin sheen of sweat making your skin glow and bottom lip jutted out exactly enough to be overexaggerated and so fucking adorable.

At that moment he’s glad that about three weeks ago the two of you had started to break the unspoken no sleeping over after sex rule because he just wants to clean you up and feel you curl yourself around him like you like to.

You don’t know what time it is, just that it’s late and that it doesn't matter, because this was certainly time well spent. You wonder how much sleep you’ve given up in lieu of Yoongi’s pretty dick. Of course, it does matter... because you have a 9 am class tomorrow morning that you can’t miss, but that’s for future you to worry about. For now, it’s time to try to get up without defiling this Ikea couch (you failed miserably and giggled about it while Yoongi groaned in mock pain), burn out just one more joint, steal some clothes for bed and some snacks from his fridge, and pass the fuck out on his bed, which you think is way better than yours, but that has nothing to do with the boy in it or his comforting warmth and smell.

..............................................................................

Past you is a dumb bitch. Also maybe current you. Point being, you hate you, because you’re sore and stiff and ten minutes late to your dumb 9 am class and it’s all Yoongi’s fucking fault. You texted him this much, calling him a ‘little bitch boy’ for not even waking you up to make you a cup of coffee with his fancy instant coffee machine before you left. He hasn’t responded yet because holy fuck does that guy sleep like a rock. A really cute, cuddly, sex-god rock.

But, as usual, Jimin came in clutch, handing you off a coffee as your paths crossed on campus, each of you heading to your respective classes. He gave you a one-armed-too-tight hug and a comment on how you have that very glamourous ‘I got fucked by Min Fucking Yoongi last night and you didn’t so I’m better than you look.’ You tried to take it as a compliment as you thanked him for the coffee. He gave you a cute kiss to your forehead that reminded you you could never even be annoyed at him for too long.

And now you’re in class. Headache from not getting enough sleep getting worse by the second while you tried not to think about what judgements people must be passing on you, with your sunglasses inside and hickeys you didn’t have time to cover up.

When your phone pings you assume it’s Jimin, with something slutty or sarcastic or both. But it’s not. It’s Yoongi- well, it’s what you have Yoongi’s number saved under, aka the drooling emoji three times over… You’re surprised he’s awake, you’re pretty sure he doesn’t have shit to do until the afternoon.

You have a fleeting thought that it could be a dick pic- yeah it’s a little early for that kind of dumb fuckboy behaviour, and you’d previously thought that too, but Kim Taehyung proved you wrong last year.

Yoongi isn’t a dick pic kind of guy anyway. No, he’s the guy that sends pictures of his hand around your throat that one night you let him take artsy photos of you two fucking on his film camera. The kind of guy that sends you audios of him jerking off and moaning your name that you listen to through your earphones in between classes because he knew you wouldn’t be able to help yourself. He’s the guy that drives you crazy because you can never quite predict what he’s gonna do next.

[9:23 am] From 🤤🤤🤤: you could have woken me you know dummy

[9:24 am] From 🤤🤤🤤: subways are gross in the morning

[9:25 am] From 🤤🤤🤤: i could have u know, driven u…

[9:26 am] From 🤤🤤🤤: cant really say no to u buttercup.

You don’t know why you’re heart’s beating so fast so you reprimand yourself for thinking with your pussy. Min motherfucking Yoongi is gonna be the death of you.

#bts smut #btswritingcafe #yoongi smut #yoongi x reader #bts x reader #buttercup #bts fic #yoongi fic #bts fanfiction #bts oneshot #bts writing #def not my best work but u know JKFDHKJFHS

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pippki-writes · 3 years ago

Text

An Ill-Fitting Name: Snippet 4

NOTES:

Snippet 1

Snippets 2 & 3

Features lyrics from Danny Schmidt’s “This Too Shall Pass”

Faoust belongs to @thebiggestnerd - she writes him, the healer (whose contribution I summarized in this snippet, I don’t think she comes up again much for our murderboy here so I didn’t go too in depth with her) - everyone else is mine.

Longer post, 8,066 words folks! Buckle up.

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

The name is like an ill-fitting coat, but it’s either wear it, or go naked in the cold, metaphorically speaking. He knows Faoust will kill him, but he’s not dead yet.

The officer sitting outside the room tilts her chair back on its legs, in one ear her radio turned low and largely ignored, holding her phone out playing music and keeping her other ear tilted to the room and its occupant for signs of life. He listens to the music coming from her phone:

We think too big

We think our self is one whole thing

And we claim that this collection

Has a name and is a being

But deep inside

When every cell divides

Well, it sets upon the rule that states

Self-interest is divine

He scrapes out an involuntary cough, and the officer lets her chair fall forward as she twists to check on him.

She tries to interrogate him, but he can’t talk, and only whispers “no.” He writes on her notepad, “I’m expecting a visitor,” and refuses to communicate further. His intuition is that Faoust will come here for him eventually, though he doesn’t know how long Faoust will let him live. Maybe Faoust won’t come while he’s in the hospital. But hovering over the edge of the pain, death feels certain and he knows where it will come from.

Finally, a visitor arrives. He hears the footsteps approaching, certainly heavier than any of the nurses that have tended to him, and the sound of a respectful shuffling in place, acknowledging the officer guarding his hospital room.

A familiar voice speaks. “Hey. I’m here to see my friend Asmodai, officer…?”

He can hear the sound of the officer crossing her arms, but she neither gets up nor offers her name. “Don’t suppose you might be able to tell me what the hell happened to him and how he ended up here?”

“Nah, wish I could. Is he ok?”

“He’s not in great shape. I’m not a doctor but he’s bad off. And not the kind of bad off that happens accidentally.”

“That’s crazy.”

“Almost as crazy as whoever did this. You don’t have any ideas?”

“Nah. I’m not really an ideas guy. Just a guy who worries about my friends. Can I go see him or...?”

The officer gives a defeated little grunt. “Yeah, sure. Go ahead. We can talk later.”

Dorien walks into the room as though he belongs there. Machines. IVs. In the middle of the room, bed propped up, staring at him, there’s that bastard Asmodai. Dorien takes a moment to breathe, staring back, looking angry. Dorien reminds himself why he is here. Not to kill him. Not to bring retribution. Just information to help Faoust. He clenches and unclenches his hands.

It takes Dorien a moment to realize what Asmodai is doing. The slight, strange sound, chest heaving—he is, very quietly, laughing.

He hasn’t come to terms with how to refer to himself—he is no more Isaiah than he was Asmodai, but he supposes, out of respect for the wish of a self who once knew what it wanted, he will call himself Isaiah until it fits. Or until he’s dead.

Isaiah laughs until the sound breaks into a cough. For starters, this was not the visitor he was expecting. And he can see why he would have been drawn to Dorien. Tall, dark-haired, handsome, and vulnerable. So many of his favorite things. The wizard Asmodai, before he stole his name, had been much the same.

Dorien keeps himself in check, and comes closer to the bedside. He doesn’t want the officer to hear him.

“What’s so fucking funny?” Dorien growls quietly.

Isaiah frowns. Talking will be an effort. He can’t even breathe too deeply, thanks to Dorien’s best attempts to slowly crush his ribs the other night after what he tried to do to Faoust. This is merely a fact—he doesn’t feel particular malice over it. He tries to choose his words carefully, so as not to waste them. There’s no volume, only whispering, but even the whispers are so resolute, so final. The playfulness of Asmodai is gone.

“Too much...to explain. What ...do you want...to know?”

Dorien folds his arms, lest he be tempted to do anything. “C’mon, what do you think I’d be here wanting to know. The magic-blocking cuffs. How do we take them off? Where’s the key?”

Isaiah shakes his head. “Didn’t get...a key. Wouldn’t...have wanted it.”

Dorien glares down at the bastard who nearly succeeded at killing the love of his life, and proceeds to try to get information out of him while texting Faoust. The conversation is slow going. The answers Dorien gets are halting and unsatisfying.

Faoust texts Dorien: "I want to know what he thinks should happen next."

Dorien looks down at Asmodai. “So what do you think should happen next?”

Isaiah sighs, unfazed. “Talking...not exactly....easy. Paper? Pen? Your phone?”

Dorien looks around for paper. He’s dumb, but not dumb enough to hand over his phone. He finds a notepad and a cheap pen in the desk drawer, and throws them on Asmodai’s lap.

Isaiah scribbles, handwriting messy and difficult on the flimsy pad, “He kills me for what” a scribble then, crossing out an “As,” and the writing resumes, “I’ve done. Why wouldn’t he? It’s inevitable.”

Dorien tears the paper off the notepad and holds it up, taking a picture to send to Faoust. “You’ve really fucked up, Asmodai.”

Isaiah’s mouth twitches a little at the name.

Above the top of the note, in the picture, Faoust can see Asmodai staring at the camera. There is no fear, nothing pathetic in the way he looks. Resolute. Certain. Final.

Faoust frowns. He had hoped for a bit more fight. But this is sort of like putting down a rabid dog at this point. It's not enjoyable for anyone involved.

Faoust: "tell him I'm disappointed that it came to this"

Faoust: "tell him I'll be there soon. As soon as my magic is back"

Dorien reads his phone, and before he can speak another note is being waved at him that reads “tell him come talk to me himself. This is fucking ridiculous.” Dorien sighs and snatches the note, snapping a picture for Faoust. There is a touch of defiance in Isaiah’s eye.

Faoust's lip curls in irritation and a tiny bit of embarrassment. Fine.

Faoust makes his way to the hospital, to the third floor, to the charge nurse.

“Looking for my friend,” says Faoust, “A John Doe?”

The charge nurse points with a pen. “The room with the officer. There’s already a visitor and technically I shouldn’t let too many people visit at once, but you know what? The world is hell. This hospital is hell. Go nuts.”

“Amen,” Faoust replies, heading over to the officer. “Hi, I'm here for my friend. I guess I have to answer questions first?”

The officer squints up at him suspiciously. “Damn, did the city call a prettyboy convention and I missed the memo?” She lets the chair rest back on all four legs. “I dunno, what do you know about what happened to your friend?”

“Not much. We were out partying, I know pandemic and all, but spare me the lecture. I told him goodbye and to call me when he got home but he never did.” Faoust pauses. “I heard he's bad. Maybe a hit and run?”

“Sure. Sure. Right.” The officer eyes him for a moment. “You’re a better liar than your friend. Go on in.”

“Liar? I- ugh. Fine.” He gives up on the officer and goes in the room.

“Alright you piece of shit. I'm here. What do you have to say for yourself?”

Isaiah looks at Faoust appreciatively. Yeah, he can see why he did all that shit. He sighs, wishing he could just fucking talk, and settles for hurriedly writing on the notepad.

Dorien mutters softly to Faoust. “He can’t talk..apparently.”

Faoust chuckles a little. “I should expect so.”

Isaiah rips off the note and holds it out. It begins with “A” scratched out and then “I resented the power you had over me. Wanted you to suffer. Wanted to kill you, and Dorien, and take your name, take your power. And didn’t want to kill you. Wanted to fuck and kill with you. Poorer judgment won out. Tried to make you suffer.” He sighs, frustrated at the time it takes to write, already writing on a new note.

Faoust reads the note and sighs. It was just as he thought.

“I wanted to just keep it fun and casual.” Faoust grits out through his teeth, “Why did you have to complicate things?”

Isaiah tosses Faoust a finished note: “No point in apologies. Won’t change what was done. No actions to right it” and starts writing a response to the question, tapping the pen on his chin, thinking.

“Wasn’t as fun fucking and killing without you. Didn’t like that.”

“That's called friendship, you absolute dolt.”

Isaiah pauses, and writes “Asmodai didn’t do well with having friends.”

Faoust runs his hands through his hair in exasperation. “Wait-Asmodai? Third person? Who the fuck are we talking to then?”

Isaiah makes a face. It’s difficult to explain. He writes. “I am. Was. Asmodai. For too long I think.”

He pauses, rolls his eye. He doesn’t feel like Isaiah either.

“I did what he did. But don’t feel what he felt, anymore. Memories, yes. Feeling? No.”

Faoust pauses. “So is..is Asmodai gone?”

“Depends on what you mean. The me that felt what he—I felt?”

Isaiah makes a quiet frustrated noise and slams the pen down. He is so tired of writing. He jots another note, mindful of trying to do magic around either of them. “Can I try magic on my voice? You mind?”

Faoust shrugs. “Go for it.”

Isaiah holds his right hand around his throat, eye closed. Healing has never been his strong suit, but he knows enough to get by. He just needs to be able to talk. His hand glows faintly.

When he speaks, his voice is rough, not much volume to it but it’s more than a whisper.

“If I don’t feel the things I felt when I called myself Asmodai, am I Asmodai?”

Faoust thinks. This complicates matters. “I'll be frank. If I were to leave you be, what would you do? Don't lie to me.”

“I would leave you alone.” Isaiah shrugs. “The things I ...Asmodai...I felt, I know them. Factually. I don’t feel them anymore.” He looks at Faoust sharply. “But I am responsible for what I did.”

Faoust thinks for a moment. “This is complicated. I'll need some time with this. What do you think you'll do when you're out of the hospital?”

“What do you mean, when I’m out of the hospital? You’re going to kill me. No further planning needed.”

“Well, I was thinking about waiting when you got out of the hospital regardless.”

Isaiah sighs. “Wish I’d known that sooner. Might’ve kept this magical existential crisis at bay.” He shakes his head. “No. Probably not. Asmodai—I. Fucked up too much. There was no way he...I...would win. It’s certain. You will kill me.” He shakes his head again.

“Look. I don't want to kill you. Asmodai. At all. At this point it's about putting down an animal. That's all. And now there's this whole thing that you're not even who I knew anymore? This complicates things. Shit, if I were to kill you, it wouldn't even feel right.”

Isaiah makes a frustrated noise. “Fuck. The only reason I’m like this is because you’re going to kill me.”

“Do you want me to kill you?”

Isaiah dodges the question. “Back when I started killing to take power and names, I bound my own name away, far beyond my memory, and it would only come back if I was certain I was going to die. So I could die not as whatever fucking asshole whose name I stole. But as myself. Or at least. In the name I was born with, right?

“I was Asmodai. I was happy being Asmodai. But now?

“I’m no more Asmodai than I am this damn name my shit mother gave me.”

Faoust thinks. “Well, look. Fine. I'll kill you. Put you down. But I have to wait. I can't do anything until I have my magic back.”

Isaiah twists his lips a little. “Hm. Can’t help there. Told your boy here, I don’t have a key for the cuffs.”

This whole time, Dorien has just been watching, arms crossed and not believing this bullshit.

“Yeah,” Faoust says, “I heard. I've just got to wait. So you've got to wait.”

Isaiah sighs again. “Isaiah. Isaiah James. My name.” He shrugs. “Me. Not me.”

Isaiah twists his lips briefly in disgust at the taste of his own name on his tongue. “If you’re going to kill me, you ought to have my name.”

Faoust nods and rubs his face. “Look, I'll put you down. I will. But it's going to take like at least a week for me to get my magic back.”

Isaiah gives another shrug. “You know where to find me. I know what I’ve done. It’s only right.”

“Alright. You're not going anywhere?”

Isaiah gives him a flat look. “Where and how the hell would I manage to do that?”

“I mean, you've got magic. I don't. You could pull out some magic to take yourself somewhere.”

Isaiah rubs his fingers together on his right hand, little sparks arcing between them as he stares vacantly at his hand. “Where would I go? For what purpose? I know my fate.”

Faoust nods, satisfied. “Alright. Well then, we'll be on our way. You've got my number.”

Isaiah nods, dismissing the sparks. “I’ll be waiting.”

Isaiah wonders if it’s worth healing himself--physically, at any rate. He closes his eye and takes stock of all his pain. So many choices. And what else is he supposed to do with his time? The burns, he thinks, he will work on those. He hovers his right hand over his burned forearm, wrapped loosely in the day’s fresh gauze, and slowly works a healing spell, distracted by memories of the fight. Remembering the moment it all turned on him, when help came for Faoust while he had no one. He shakes his head, his thoughts wandering around. So many emotions that ruled him that he’s no longer bound by. Though perhaps he should be. He ought to be more angry. But he is mostly hollowed out. He does not even notice when his thoughts slip over the witch and his magic doesn’t so much as flicker, the healing steadily and slowly knitting in his skin.

Those were Asmodai’s problems.

The worst part is the waiting. Or perhaps the worst part, right now, is the burns on his arm—his healing magic is slow, the process tedious, and his head is empty of any warming memory to draw upon to make the healing go faster. There are memories, so many memories, but as he turns his mind to each of them in turn he feels nothing he can pull from. Perhaps it would have been better not to restore the nerve endings that had been burnt away—as they return, so too returns the opportunity for fresh pain to scream through his senses. And the drugs have trouble working their wonders as his magic interferes with the natural order of his body. Too late now, he’s already started this project. When the nurses aren’t looking in on him, he hovers his hand over the burned arm and continues the laborious process of working healing magic. Healing was never his forte. It still isn’t. Good to know, though it still seems like all he knows is a catalogue of things he was, and now isn’t.

Though perhaps, Isaiah thinks, it’s pointless to dwell on. Does he need that badly to know who he is now, if he’s only going to die? Not that he wants to die. Though, he can tell, Asmodai didn’t want to die in a particularly crazed and desperate way that Isaiah no longer feels. He doesn’t want to die, but then, he doesn’t feel a clear sense that he wants much of anything right now. From the moment the spell he placed upon himself fell away, he has simply accepted the fact of his death. Imminent. Inevitable. Deserved.

Asmodai was awful—not in a way that Isaiah feels, merely as a summary of fact considering the things that he’d done. The drives that motivated him. But to be fair, Isaiah had not been a good person either. No. He had been awful too. Killed people. Tortured them. Enjoyed it. Sought power beyond his measure, and took it.

Killed the dark wizard who taught him everything.

Sealed himself away.

What had he thought would happen, if this spell had ever had cause to come undone? He can’t remember, but he is pretty sure he would not have guessed it would leave him like this. So...uncertain.

Regret implies a level of sadness Isaiah doesn’t feel. He...wishes he had been someone different though. He wishes he had acted differently. Had recognized his limits. Recognized battles he wouldn’t win, and had the sense not to fight them.

The nurse surely notices when Isaiah’s arm does not look as bad off today as it did yesterday, putting fresh gauze on, but says nothing. Discreetly checks the patient chart—yes, third degree burns. It definitely said the patient had third degree burns. But you don’t last long in this town by asking inconvenient questions. Since the patient is conscious now, staring out the window, the nurse offers him his phone from his belongings and plugs it in for him. There’s a crack across the screen, but the phone works.

Isaiah has been working on healing his arm. It is such a slow, deliberate process. He isn’t sure why he’s doing it, but now that he’s started he’s committed to continuing. After all, what else has he got to do? His arm is still a mess of burnt tissue and pain, fresh nerve endings and the testament to his limitations.

Later, he looks through his phone, deleting pictures that bring him no particular joy to look at. Eventually he texts Faoust, “Have you decided how you’ll do it?” and nothing else.

Faoust: “something quick. Could stab you right in the heart.”

The heart had been Asmodai’s favorite, ripped from his victims—sometimes raw, other times he’d toast them before devouring them whole.

Isaiah: “poetic. fitting.”

Faoust: "look man. I really don't want to do this. You could go about your business. I don't care"

Isaiah sighs, and leaves the message on read for a few minutes. He thinks.

Isaiah: “I did wrong by you. I accept responsibility for it.”

Faoust: "and I'm telling you it's fine."

Isaiah waits again before responding.

Isaiah: “now I’m the one that needs to think on that”

Faoust: "Asmodai tried to kill me. He failed. You're here now. Not the same as Asmodai. It's not the same kill for me. Look, I beat the shit out of you. That should cover it. Do you really want to die?"

Isaiah sighs to himself.

Isaiah: “no, I don’t”

Faoust: "then I'm giving you your fucking out. Take it."

Isaiah pauses. Again, Faoust giving him the opportunity not to die, after everything he...Asmodai...he did. After so many times he honestly deserved to die. He was a warped and twisted thing, not right, and surely not to be trusted. But fuck. He didn’t really want to die.

Isaiah: “...ok.”

Isaiah: “fine”

Faoust: "want me to call a healer for you?"

Isaiah: “...seriously?”

Faoust: "otherwise you're going to be stuck at the hospital forever. No offense but I want you out of here."

Isaiah: “sure, sure. If I’m healing myself it’ll take forever”

Faoust: "you can't kill her"

Isaiah: “of course”

Isaiah thinks about the warning, which is fair, considering his history. He doesn’t even feel like killing anyone right now. Which is strange to him. He wonders to himself as he waits if this is the right thing to do, not insisting Faoust kill him. If he’s just avoiding fate and what he deserves. But when Faoust arrives in his hospital room with a healer, and she uses magic to transport the three of them out of his hospital room, he just watches quietly, making no protest. The empty alley she takes them to is cold, and Isaiah’s broken body falls to the ground painfully without a bed beneath him anymore.

He sucks it up, grits his teeth, and withstands the pain and the cold. Not out of any sense of pride, but because he feels he deserves it. He lists out for the healer the procedures the doctors had done, along with his own meager attempts at healing, and in turn, she tells him what she’ll be able to do. The metal they used to set his bones will always bring him some pain and discomfort, and there’s nothing she can do for his eye, the curse--

“The eye,” says Isaiah, touching his cheek lightly, “has been there a long time now. It’s fine.”

The magic of healing is painful, and there is a lot of it to be done. Isaiah doesn’t scream, not the way he did when Faoust beat him in the first place. He endures, and tries to focus on the fact that he deserves this pain. This doesn’t stop a few strangled screams and growls from bubbling up. Faoust watches impassively, satisfied.

When it’s finished, Isaiah breathes heavily for a moment, feeling every nerve on fire, taking stock of how he feels. He sits up, slowly, impressed and in awe. He gives thanks to the healer, to Faoust, and stands up shakily on knees that are no longer shattered. He summons up the illusion of clothes over his hospital gown, with no idea where he ought to go, what he ought to do. When Faoust tells him to get the fuck out of here, he readily agrees. Not the first town he’s been kicked out of. Always violent. Always deserved.

He could teleport himself, but where the hell would he go? There’s nowhere he belongs. There’s a dull ache in his bones, and he picks a cardinal direction and starts walking toward it. The speed doesn’t matter. Isaiah doesn’t strictly need actual clothes. He could use magic to keep himself warm. But the first window shop he passes, he swaps his hospital gown for the outfit on display, and keeps walking. He walks until he’s passed by a sign indicating leaving/entering, the liminal space of one town bleeding into another, goes to the first clean motel he can find, uses his magic to procure a room, and passes out after having walked for hours.

At the hospital, a call is placed to 911. A patient is missing.

The officer assigned to take the report is the same one who had been guarding the room when Dorien and Faoust visited. With the most deadpan expression, she questions the charge nurse on duty, intoning dully, “wow, just fucking vanished, huh?”

She files a missing persons report for “Asmodai / Isaiah James,” because in spite of trying not to hear things she doesn’t want to have to question, she hears them anyway. She makes note of possible contacts / persons of interest, “Dorien” and “Faoust,” and submits her report to see if she can get away with not following up on anything further.

She doesn’t even bother running any checks on any of the names. She doesn’t find anything out about a decades-old missing persons report for a runaway boy of the name Isaiah James out of Ohio. If anyone bothered to fingerprint the victim at all to try to ID him while he was unconscious, the prints have been lost.

After all, a lot of people go missing in this town.

It’s just one more.

Her supervisor literally flips a coin to decide if such absolute bullshit shoddy work will be accepted. Tails. That’s a nope. He rejects the report, and sends her a CAD message: “hit the streets and try again sweetie.”

Officer Dannic “Dani” Voros swears, loudly, in her patrol car in the hospital parking lot, and slams her computer shut. Growls, and opens it again to search for any information she can find about Dorien and Faoust. If she can find anything, she’ll talk to them at least.

Here’s what she finds: no drivers licenses. No arrest records. No voter records. Nothing in any database she has access to. No hospital records, which no, her friend in the hospital records should NOT have looked up for her probably but dammit, this was important. Well, not important to her, but it’s what she was supposed to be doing and she was getting very annoyed with the lack of any hints of paper trail for those two.

She starts angrily and haphazardly googling search terms, and some combination of tall, mysterious, handsome, and Dorien does bring back a tabloid article about the enigmatic artist, which brings up several printed interviews and connections to a particular pre-teen punk rock band apparently bankrolled by Mr. Dorien Godforbidhehavealastname, and the names of its musicians. Actual names. First and last names, unlike those recordless bastards Dorien and Faoust. She searches the names. Property tax records. Bingo. A lead. And an address. She puts the patrol car in drive and heads out. One conversation largely conducted through the few-inch gap of a chained door later, Officer Voros has both probably offended another citizen with an inappropriate joke, and obtained an address for the two handsome strangers that called on her missing person.

The cold rain makes all this work extra annoying. She debates putting off the follow up until more clement weather. Or just never. Reluctantly she puts the patrol car in drive and heads to the address.

She looks at the apartment building as she pulls up. No, correction. She looks at the giant skeleton covered in Valentine’s decorations outside the apartment building as she pulls up. The apartment building itself is an afterthought. As she arrives, the weather around the apartment changes. Suddenly it is clear and 59 degrees.

Officer Voros just stares at the atmosphere and blinks at it like it has personally offended her. She twists in her seat to look back down the street at the weather there, then stares at the apartment again, and sinks back in her seat for a moment, closing her eyes, and thinks to herself, “thiiiiiiis. iiiiiis. some buuuuuuuullshiiiiiiiiit.”

She sighs a very angry sigh, gets out of the patrol car, and goes up to the appropriate door. She raps on the door with her very best authoritative knock.

Faoust opens the door and clocks the cop. “Hm.”

Officer Voros puts her hands on her hips and brightens comically. “And they said I’d never find the secret prettyboy convention! Those bastards once again were wrong.” She smiles, and doesn’t offer her name. “Evening citizen. I’m hoping you might help me with this absolute crazy missing persons case I’ve been cursed with.”

“Oh yeah? Who?”

“Why, your dear friend or whatever bullshit you said at the time. Asmodai? Isaiah? You know, the guy SOMEBODY in this cursed plane of existence beat all to hell and put in the hospital.”

“Wait, wait, wait. How did he go missing? He couldn't stand, let alone walk? How did you lose him?”

“Yeah! That’s the crazy part, he just. Fucking. Vanished. Shattered kneecaps, pelvis, and all. Gone. Between you and me, that’s on the hospital. We weren’t watching him anymore at that point, but now it IS my problem to, you know. Figure out what the fuck happened and make sure there’s not a homicide investigation that should be happening here.”

Faoust shakes his head in disbelief as he tries to come up with a plan. “I could give you his motel room and location if you want? I mean, I haven't heard from him since I went to go see him?”

“Sure, sure. And it’s not like it’s illegal for him to leave the hospital. If he’s fine, I just need to lay eyes on him. It just seems real fucking suspiciously inconceivable how he’d have managed that in the state he was in, ya know?”

“Yeah, no, for sure. Let me go get some paper.”

Faoust leaves her at the front door and digs around in drawers looking for paper and pen. She stands at the front door, looking inside, pondering Faoust the whole while. He hands her a note with the address of the motel Asmodai had been staying at.

“Let me know if you find anything, yeah?”

Officer Voros takes the paper. “Of course.” She takes a blank card out of her pocket, a generic business card for the police department that doesn’t have her name on it. She writes down a phone number and offers the card to Faoust. “You think of anything else helpful, call or text me. Or if your prettyboy friend Dorien knows anything either.”

“Dorien doesn't know anything. At all. Not a braincell up there. But I'll keep it in mind.” Faoust takes the card and pockets it.

“Thanks. Stay safe citizen.” She heads down the steps and back to her patrol car, looking at the address. She knows the motel.

Officer Voros looks back toward Faoust from her patrol car for a long minute before she pulls out. She doesn’t have any sort of proof necessarily, just a feeling that Faoust was lying quite smoothly out of every side of his head right to her face. She types up a field contact for alias Faoust along with the address before she leaves.

Asmodai’s motel room ends up being a dead end. There’s nothing obviously off about the room, but she gets a weird vibe. Still a suitcase here. Some knives. Nothing much else. She does not discover that the room is under a stolen credit card in another name. She doesn’t look up any other purchases that stolen card might have made to connect it to an abandoned rental car that was impounded on Faoust’s street. She types up her report and deletes “went on a wild fucking goose chase because my corporal is a dickhead” from the report.

Officer Voros swears loudly, because she realizes she didn’t ask Faoust if the mysteriously vanished bastard had. a fucking. cell phone number. She groans. She decides she’ll pretend to have thought of that tomorrow, because she doesn’t want to follow up now.

The weak and cloudy light of morning is scattered further by the cheap, hazy curtains pulled loosely across the window. Isaiah wakes up, still dressed in his stolen clothes where he passed out on top of the covers. There it is—a dull ache in his bones, a twinge in his hips and knees as he pushes himself up to sit. He looks down at his palms, and they are smooth and untroubled, marked by nothing but the simple creases of where his hand folds. He flexes his left hand. The countless scars that had made a tangled nest there in his palm, the countless times he’d cut and called upon blood magic and done only a just-good-enough job of closing the wounds, when he remembered to heal himself at all, they’re all gone.

Isaiah doesn’t even have a knife, he realizes. His...Asmodai’s favored knives were either in the clothes left in the hospital, in the rental car, or in the motel room he has no intention of returning to. But it feels like he should have a knife. He has no money, but money isn’t too necessary when you’re flush with magic and short on moral qualms against stealing.

He heads out for the day to get a knife, zipping up his stolen coat. Something simple. New. He goes to the nearest outdoors store and sees a nice Benchmade folding knife with a black-coated blade and white handle and feels drawn to it. With an effortless bit of magic, the knife disappears from the case and appears in his pocket as he leaves the parking lot.

Isaiah flips the knife open experimentally, admires it, turning his wrist this way and that to see the sides of the blade. He unlocks the blade and closes it again, clipping the knife in his pocket. He doesn’t have a plan for it, but it felt appropriate in his hand.

Isaiah has been somewhat skirting around thinking about this fact, but taking the knife in his hand he has to confront it. He’s not someone who can go work a 9 to 5 job, take a little paycheck home, find someone sweet to love him and love in turn. Whatever he does next isn’t going to be some contented kind of life. That wasn’t the lot he was born to.

What he is good at...all he has ever been good at, is violence.

He walks slowly back to the current motel. He takes the knife out of his pocket, opening and closing it as he goes, thinking to himself. Magic, and violence. Magic and violence. This is all he’s ever known. Even if he wanted to do something else, how could he, at this point? He’s not a good person. And surely nothing he is capable of can be used for good ends. He hasn’t killed anyone in so many days now, and strangest of all, doesn’t feel particularly compelled to. Not averse to it either. But the stirring in his blood that craved to see the icy glint of fear through tears before an untimely death doesn’t move him, for now.

Officer Voros follows up with Faoust the next night, gets a phone number for her missing person, and puts in a request for a ping before taking a nap in her patrol car. She’ll follow up further in daylight hours. Before ending her night shift, Officer Voros tries to call the phone number Faoust provided for the missing person. It’s almost 6am, of course he doesn’t answer. She leaves a voicemail indicating for him to call the communications center so they can speak.

The next day, Officer Voros, as soon as assembly is done, goes to her patrol car and puts herself on a follow up before any calls can be assigned to her. She tries calling the number again. Isaiah looks at his phone. A blocked number. He silences the phone without answering, because who would be calling him? He hasn’t bothered checking his voicemail either, since he didn’t recognize the number that called. He’ll check it eventually. He sits in his motel room, opening and closing his stolen knife.

Officer Voros checks the latitude and longitude of the ping. Another motel. It’s within a mile of what technically counts as her jurisdiction, so technically she CAN go investigate her own damn self, OR she can call her counterparts in the next town over to check for her. She debates which sounds like more work. With an agonized groan that can surely be heard two counties over, Officer Voros puts her patrol car in drive and heads for the motel.

Officer Voros checks with the front desk, but thanks to his use of magic there’s no one checked in by the names of Asmodai or Isaiah James. She pulls up the coordinates on her phone to get as close as possible to the ping, and starts knocking on doors fruitlessly, starting with the ground floor. She has an idea, and dials the number again, and faintly hears a ring from a couple doors down. A little excited in spite of herself, she hustles down to the door and knocks.

Asmodai would’ve checked through the peephole before opening the door, if he opened it at all. Isaiah does not care, and opens the door as he silences his phone again, looking up from the phone at the officer.

“There you are, you mysterious bastard! Alive and unmurdered, and my hatred of paperwork thanks you for that.”

Isaiah feels a slight needle of panic, if only because he has done a lot of things that would not put him on the good side of the police. His eye darts briefly to her neck and back to meet her eyes.

“Here I am. Alive. Unmurdered, as you say.”

Officer Voros looks him up and down, frowning. This is definitely the same guy, that’s not a common scar after all, but he’s clearly not just unmurdered, but very significantly undamaged. “Didn’t you have a hell of a lot of shattered bones?”

Isaiah shrugs. “Modern medicine is a miracle.”

Officer Voros just blinks at him. She doesn’t believe him for a moment. “And I don’t suppose you might be able to tell me how you managed to make your way so secretly out of the hospital that they felt compelled to report you as a missing person?”

“Sorry, no. Not sure what the miscommunication was there. Quite obviously, I left the hospital.”

“Quite. Obviously. Of course.”

Isaiah smiles wanly. “Am I in trouble?”

Officer Voros continues looking him over suspiciously. “I suppose not. You left your paperwork from the hospital.” She hands him a stack of paperwork and billing statements. “Somehow.”

Isaiah takes the papers. “Oh, thanks.”

“And the belongings you came in with. Are still at the hospital.”

“Oops.”

“And a bunch of shit I’m guessing belongs to you is all left at another cheap motel.”

“You think?”

“No,” Officer Voros snaps. “I try to avoid thinking whenever I can. But I do think some weird ass shit is involved here with you.”

Isaiah’s hand twitches slightly, and he presses his lips together. “Hm.”

“But shit being weird isn’t my problem. Not my jurisdiction. So I suppose I don’t give a fuck. Glad you’re not murdered. Take care. Call your friends, they’re pretending to be worried about you.” She heads back to her patrol car.

Isaiah slowly lets out a tensely held breath.

Officer Voros sits in the parking lot, wrapping up her report. She tries calling Faoust from her blocked number. He answers, not knowing any better.

“Solid citizen! Faoust right? Your favorite friend-finding officer here. Found your friend.”

“Oh my god! Where was he? Is he ok?”

“He’s better than ok, considering the state I last saw him in. Damn near miraculous recovery. He’s just outside of town, another motel not far off the highway.”

“Oh man, thanks so much for finding him. I'll have to go see him. Are you able to give me the address?”

“That depends, are you going there to murder him?”

“Why the hell would Igo there to murder him?”

“Aaaa I’m just fucking with you. I’ve got a nice neat solved missing persons case here and if you went and murdered him it would just be an assfuck of paperwork that I don’t want to have to deal with is all.”

“Fucked up joke, officer.”

“Yeah, file a complaint on me if you’d like. Oh, right, address,” she says, and gives him the address and room of the Quality Inn where Isaiah is staying.

“Thank you. Despite the fucked up joke, I'm glad you found him.”

“Just doing my sworn duty and all that. Stay safe citizen,” she says and hangs up.

Without fully realizing it, Officer Voros has solved the first missing persons case in the department in nearly a year.

Officer Voros always keeps a spare portable radio among her belongings. She managed to get it more or less off the record, so that when she inevitably loses track of her actual radio again, she can make do with the backup until the original eventually resurfaces, and not get all manner of shit from her corporal for losing her radio AGAIN. She doesn’t think hard on the fact that her radio is once again MIA. It will turn up in time.

In his motel room, Isaiah switches the radio on, and fiddles between channels.

Isaiah lays on the bed, one hand manipulating the knife—open, closed, open, closed, each motion with a satisfying little sound—the other hand resting on the radio on his chest, occasionally following the chatter of traffic to a side channel. An officer keys up, her voice annoyed and muttering over sounds of entitlement in the background—“6676 to 200, switch to 2”—and Isaiah flips the radio to channel 2, partly because he is curious and partly because it sounds like the officer from the other night.

The officer keys up, he’s quite sure it’s her, and a voice that sounds like it expects the world laid compliantly at its feet cuts through the backdrop of everything the officer says

6676: 200 you on?

—this is AMERICA, I have RIGHTS, I demand to speak to your SUPERVISOR, I—

200: go’on whatcha got

—what is your NAME, no WHAT is your NAME—

6676: *you can hear the eye roll in her voice* can you just come over here and deal with this.

There’s a final indignant “do you even KNOW” in the background before the supervisor cuts over the traffic to advise he’s en route. Isaiah’s thumb closes the knife again with a sense of finality. He doesn’t care about the officers, but the woman in the background had the sort of voice you’d love to cut right out of her throat.

Isaiah sits up, goes to put the radio aside but pulls it back in front of him again. He focuses on the radio, whatever traces of grit and grime and little skin cells from the officer still stick to the plasticky radio, and does a tracking spell. He switches the radio off, puts it on the bedside table, and grabs his jacket on the way out the door.

Isaiah returns to his motel room. Hands clean. Knife clean.

He did not appear with an ear-splitting bang, as the witch does. He knows ways to move through shadows and though it isn’t instantaneous, it’s a hell of a lot quieter. Isaiah remained in the shadows, waiting. There, yes, the officer from the other night, and there, that must be 200, the human embodiment of an industrial refrigerator crossed with a boulder, and there. Jabbing her finger, practically frothing at the mouth, hair crisply cut, every line in her body set in the conviction of her own righteousness and that she should get what she wants. Isaiah didn’t even try to listen to what she was saying. It didn’t matter. He waited.

When the officers left, the woman turned to her minivan to get in. Or, that was what she intended to do. But she found as she walked, it was like her body was being pushed and pulled, and the sound had left her voice, and she walked into the shadows across the parking lot.

Without saying a word, Isaiah came up quickly behind her and slit her throat, and before a drop could hit the concrete sent her body and all its rapidly spilling blood deep, deep into the earth below.

Magic cleaned the knife. Magic cleaned his hands. He slipped back into the shadows and hurried to get the hell back out of Faoust’s town.

Isaiah returned to his motel room, everything clean. Feeling a certain ...satisfaction? Correctness? A bit of lost unease dissolved away within him.

Of course, Isaiah reflects on how different this murder was. He flicks the knife, open and closed. When he thinks of himself as he was, he has gotten in the habit of thinking of himself as an entirely separate person now. Asmodai was. Asmodai would have. So on. Asmodai would have taken far more enjoyment from the killing. Asmodai would have tasted the blood on the knife. Asmodai would have savored the delicious fear in her eyes, for as long as possible. Asmodai would have had the possibility of someone to share the experience with, though he resented so much about that fact. Asmodai was an idiot.

Isaiah switches the radio back on, quietly, to have something to listen to, since that’s all he has.

When Officer Voros was handling the latest missing person case early this morning, part of her was perversely satisfied—maybe that bitch descended back to hell where she belonged—and that other part of her, the part made of intuitions that guessed too correctly, that had long ago tried to bring up things that had since gone ignored, the part that she did her best to keep buried, that part felt a sharp jolt of unease. She was, officially, the last person to have seen the missing person. There was a security camera on the other side of the parking lot, and the footage made no sense. The victim—victim? Why was she already thinking victim?—missing bitch, then, started walking to her car, and then turned, and walked off to the far side of the parking lot, into grainy shadow. It didn’t look like someone had called out to her, she just...decided to go on some random bitch walk. In the dark of early morning hours, Officer Voros walked around the spot she went off to, clicking on her flashlight, looking for clues. Nothing.

It seemed appropriate for Isaiah to return to murder on his own...it’s all he knows. He’s not suddenly a good person. He’s not full of remorse for everything he did. It’s all just facts. Things that happened that can’t be changed.

He listens to the radio again today, and thinks with a sort of mirthless chuckle how hypocritical it would be for him to kill some of the people he’s hearing about. “If I were cutting throats for that, have to start with myself,” he thinks, over and over and over. Asmodai craved victims, sought them out. Isaiah is content to see what serendipity will bring.

Isaiah struck out into town yesterday to find a charger for his stolen radio. Listening gives him something to do besides think. He could have just gotten a commercial police scanner, or used an app on his phone to listen in, but that didn’t have the same appeal. He listens carefully, mentally keeping track of the addresses and where the officers are, when it’s announced anyway. The officer from the other night he can find easily enough, but without addresses and nothing to trace them with, magically speaking, finding any of these other officers would be incredibly difficult. Well, to do in a timely fashion anyway.

So he listens, and waits, hoping to feel that same jolt of dead certainty, knowing a voice spoke that would be his to kill.

Isaiah knows. An officer keys up “put me out with an animal problem at” and gives an address, and just before the radio cuts out he hears a man in the background, derisive, say “I don’t understand, it’s just a stupid—“ before being cut off by the end of the transmission. That voice. He felt it, like a nail being slashed at high speed across a chalkboard, a string plucked so hard it snaps, THAT is a man he needs to kill. He is equal parts thrilled and yet feels the calm certainty slipping over him. His knife is ready. He knows where to go. He slips out into the cold rain.

Sliding through shadows. Waiting. The man goes inside, alone. Isaiah slips inside, without a word, the only sound made is his knife blade locking into place. The man finds his voice is gone. The man walks toward Isaiah, against his own will, and kneels before him, fear shining in his eyes. Isaiah looks down, cold, comes around from behind, threads his fingers in the man’s hair and pulls back, hard, exposing his neck. He draws the blade firm and fast across the neck, and like the woman before Isaiah sends the body hundreds of feet into the ground below before a drop of blood can hit the floor.

He looks at the blood on the knife, for a moment, imagines the taste on his tongue like a mouth full of pennies. It doesn’t appeal to him, not right now. Magic cleans the blade, cleans the bit of blood on his hands, cleans the scene of any trace evidence, and Isaiah slips away.

- NEXT SNIPPET -

#an ill-fitting name #My writing #original story #collaborative fiction #Original work #original writing #original fiction #magic fiction #Magic murderer #Snippets #fictional murder #fictional murderer #Fictional incompetent police

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dalyunministry · 3 years ago

Text

Pas. Johnraj Lamech

India

⭐

Greetings in the matchless Name of our Lord Jesus Christ.

Topic: The First Church - First Recorded Miracle : Lessons for Witnessing!

Rhema Word: Acts 3:9-10 (NKJV) “ And all the people saw him walking and praising God. Then they knew that it was he who sat begging alms at the Beautiful Gate of the temple; and they were filled with wonder and amazement at what had happened to him.”

Let’s pray. Our Gracious Loving Father, thank you for giving us an opportunity to meditate your Word today along with your children who have been called to live a holy life Father. I commit everyone who are all meditating this message into your mighty hand Father. Bless them and give them the oneness of Spirit and make their heart as a good land to receive each and every Word which is living and active Lord. Thank You Holy Spirit for helping us to understand the in-depth treasure of Your Word and helping us to live a life as per Your Word Lord. We give all the Glory and Honour to You only Father. We pray in the mighty Name of Your beloved Son Jesus Christ. Amen.

Many things were happening rapidly to the early church—not the least of which was its rapid growth. In the previous chapter, Acts 2:41, "Those who accepted his message were baptized, and about three thousand were added to their number that day.” In Acts 2:47, the number expanded even more: “And the Lord added to their number daily those who were being saved.” This early growth of the church foreshadowed future growth and a period of favour with all the people. This early church had exuberance for the Lord that fostered meetings in the temple courts every day (Acts 2:46).

Peter and John going up to the temple and a man crippled from birth set the scene for the first healing miracle, the next gospel sermon, and a very large number of additional conversions, adding 5,000 members to the church. The temple to which they were going was commonly called Herod’s Temple—a contemporary effort to rebuild Solomon’s Temple. The East Gate, commonly called the Beautiful Gate, was located on the East wall. It was through this gate that Peter and John were entering, and it was at this gate where the beggar was put each day. Since his cohorts carried him there each day, his ailment was conspicuous; and since he was so afflicted from birth, his affliction was apparent to all who passed by, day after day and year after year. The subjects of modern faith healing have ailments that are neither apparent nor conspicuous. Verse 4 makes clear that the power to perform the miracle is in the Holy Spirit, working through Peter and John, and not dependent in any way on the lame man. How often today are the failed miracles of false teachers blamed on the lack of faith in the subject and not on the lack of power in the performer of the miracle.

This is the church’s first recorded miracle. God was now ready to reach another great harvest of souls. It was now time to attract the attention of the people, so He reached down and healed a single man, a man whom everyone knew, and filled the man so full of the Holy Spirit that he just went wild with excitement and joy. Such a miracle and behaviour naturally attracted the attention of the public.

Yes, the miracle was more than just a miracle. It was a sign, a demonstration of two things:

(a) Jesus is alive. His power is just as active upon earth today as it was when He walked upon earth.

(b) Jesus is now working through His followers. Through them, He is reaching out to save and heal the world. His followers are now His instruments, His emissaries, His ambassadors, His representatives, His messengers, His witnesses to a world lost in suffering and death, sin and shame.

In this first recorded miracle of the church, God is demonstrating His power, and hearing witness through His followers. In so doing, He has given us some of the greatest lessons on witnessing to be found any place.

Let us try to understand the following lessons with the help of our Holy Spirit today:

1] Jesus is Working Through His Disciples:

2] Jesus is Alive: His Presence & Power are still Active Upon Earth:

3] The Results:

1] Jesus is Working Through His Disciples:

Jesus is now working through His disciples. This is one thing Jesus wants people to know. His presence and His power are still at work, still available to men. His great love and concern for the world is still being manifested through the lives of His disciples. In fact, Jesus has (i) no feet but our feet, (ii) no hands but our hands, (iii) no voice but our voice.

If we do not go and do and speak the work of God, His work does not get done. Here, please note four significant lessons:

a) Jesus works through those who are faithful in prayer:

Peter and John were faithful prayer warriors. The very fact that Peter and John were going into the temple to pray (Acts 3:1) indicates they were men of prayer. Imagine having three specific times for prayer every day! Not just praying while on the run, not just praying always while we go about our daily affairs, which is what we so often claim and use to salve our consciences. But imagine! Actually having three set periods, three concentrated times, three prayer sessions when we can shut the world out and focus solely upon God.

Such was the prayer life of Peter and John, and such was the reason Jesus was able to work through them in meeting the desperate needs of suffering men.

The Bible recorded in Acts 3:1 ”Now Peter and John went up together to the temple at the hour of prayer, the ninth hour.” Further we can see Peter’s prayer in Acts 10:9 ”The next day, as they went on their journey and drew near the city, Peter went up on the housetop to pray, about the sixth hour.”

Similar prayer life we can see in David’s and Daniel’s life as well. The Palmist David says in Psalm 55:16-17 ”As for me, I will call upon God, and the Lord shall save me. Evening and morning and at noon I will pray, and cry aloud, and He shall hear my voice.”

Similarly, we can see Daniel’s prayer life in Daniel 6:10 ”Now when Daniel knew that the writing was signed, he went home. And in his upper room, with his windows open toward Jerusalem, he knelt down on his knees three times that day, and prayed and gave thanks before his God, as was his custom since early days.”

b) Jesus works through those who those who look and see the desperate need of the suffering, both those who suffer in spirit and body:

Here, this man was “crippled from birth” which indicates he would have been crippled for about forty years. Just imagine! Forty years or more, a cripple man from birth, never having walked a single step who had been carried and placed at the temple’s entrance to beg for so many years.

Just picture this man…a helpless cripple, unable to work, being ignored, with no one to take him in and help, without family, poor, having to fend for himself, never fitting in, never being accepted. Yes, he was not even looking up at Peter and John when he asked for alms (Acts 3:4). Years of having people look the other way had taught him he was different and did not fit in. From the first, even as a small child, he had probably grown into a shy, withdrawn, embarrassed person, a person unable to look people in the eye.

Yes, this man was hurting within as well as without. He was a living picture of so many in the world:

(i) Persons who are wounded and suffering so much (both within and without) from the neglect of men – from an unconcerned and selfish and hoarding world – from a world that will not let go and share what it has with those who do not have.

(ii) Persons who are suffering so much from the neglect of God’s people, the very people who profess to know the love and care of God for all, and yet who act just as unconcerned and selfish and hoard just as much as the world.

The needs exist and abound. They are all around us. Jesus can work only through the people who see the desperate needs of the hurting men.

c) Jesus works through those who fasten their eyes upon the need.:

It is not enough just to see the desperate needs of the world – just to see a person hurting and suffering. A person must stop and fasten his eyes upon the need. The word for “looked straight at” (atenisas) means fixed attention; an earnest, intense gaze, continuous, steadfast attention. It is seeing the need and focusing upon it. It is continuing to focus ones’ sight, concern, attention, upon meeting the need until it is met. Here, Peter looked and saw the man in need and would not look away. He could have looked away and just passed by the man. Most people did, but not Peter. He was now indwelt by the Spirit of God, and he was on earth to meet the needs of the world for the Lord. Therefore, he fastened his attention upon the man, being full of concern and compassion.

Yes, remember, the great need of the hour is to see the needs of the world and to fix our attention upon them.

d) Jesus works through those who reach out to meet the need:

Just seeing and being concerned over the needs of the world does not meet the needs. Peter acted; in fact, he did something dramatic. The need existed; it was there. He knew the Lord cared, and he was the representative of the Lord. It was up to him to show the Lord’s care.

Please note the words : “Look at us.” The words were authoritative and arresting. They stirred an expectancy within the man to receive something.

The words of Peter demonstrated that:

(i) He had a sure confidence that he himself belonged to God; he was God’s representative.

(ii) He had a plan to help the man.

(iii) He had an expectancy, a genuine faith that God would help him to meet the need.

(iv) He had a willingness to act, to reach out by faith and meet the need.

Yes, all this is essential if we are to reach out in the power of God to meet the needs of the world. In fact, the needs of the world will be met:

Only as we are confident that we ourselves belong to God, that we are His representatives upon earth.

Only as we think and plan how to meet the need.

Only as we are expectant, believing God will meet the need through us.

Only as we are willing to act, step out by faith to meet the need.

That is why Jesus said in John 4:35 ”Do you not say, ‘There are still four months and then comes the harvest’? Behold, I say to you, lift up your eyes and look at the fields, for they are already white for harvest!

Apostle Paul said in Acts 20:35 ”I have shown you in every way, by labouring like this, that you must support the weak. And remember the words of the Lord Jesus, that He said, ‘It is more blessed to give than to receive.’ ””

While writing to Galatians Paul said in Galatians 6:2 ”Bear one another’s burdens, and so fulfill the law of Christ.”

2] Jesus is Alive: His Presence & Power are still Active Upon Earth:

This is the most important thing God wants people to know. His Son, Jesus Christ, is alive. He is not dead, having passed from the scene of world history. He is alive and exalted to the right hand of the Father forever. His presence and power are still active upon the earth and will continue to be active in the lives of His true followers until He returns. His power is still available to men. He still loves and is still greatly concerned for the world and for every person in the world. But note THREE SIGNIFICANT FACTS that must be understood:

(i) Jesus’ presence and power are not found in silver and gold:

Peter had no silver or gold, no money or material goods, no food or clothing, no housing or shelter, no social or community services. Therefore, Peter could not give those things to the man. But, please note that it was such things that the man wanted and expected, and it was what the man seemed to need in the eyes of the world.

Remember what God told Samuel in 1 Samuel 16:7 ”But the Lord said to Samuel, “Do not look at his appearance or at his physical stature, because I have refused him. For the Lord does not see as man sees; for man looks at the outward appearance, but the Lord looks at the heart.”

However, it was not what the man needed. It was not the basic need of the man. The man needed to be changed both within and without. If he was changed physically and spiritually, he would be able to walk and be motivated to work.

When God looked at the man, He saw the man’s spiritual need and his physical need. Therefore, God’s concern was to cure and change the man completely. God is out to take care of the whole man and the answer to changing the whole man was not found in silver and gold!

(ii) Jesus’ presence and power are found in Jesus’ Name:

Remember, to call upon the name of someone means to call upon the authority, power, office, nature, and character of the person. The person’s name stands for all that the person is: A king may send a decree throughout his kingdom. The decree goes out under his name, under his authority. A government or business official may send a memo throughout his department. The memo goes out under his name and under his authority.

When Peter said, “In the name of Jesus Christ of Nazareth, walk,” he was proclaiming: It is the name, the power, the authority, the Person of Jesus Christ who will heal you.” Yes, Jesus Christ is alive – His power, His authority, His name, His Person is still active upon earth.

Please note three critical facts about calling upon “the name of Jesus Christ.”

a) It is the name or the power of Jesus that meets the need. It is not Peter, or is it sliver or gold. Silver and gold can never bring health, not permanently. Disease or ill health or accident eventually catches us all; and when it does, no amount of money is of any help. It is Christ alone – His presence and power – that can meet our need.

b) Peter knew that the power of Jesus Christ dwelt within Christ Himself and only in Christ. But he also knew that he possessed the presence and power of Christ within his body, and that he was a called representative of Christ upon earth. Yes, when Peter said: What I have I give you he had the presence and power of Christ. It was that which he could give. In fact, that was his very purpose for being on earth, to represent Christ. He was to share Christ’s power with those who were sick and hurting throughout the world.

c) Peter acted first, not the man. Peter was the Lord’s representative (ambassador). Jesus had no way to reach the man; He had already ascended into heaven. Jesus had not body, no hands, no feet, no voice upon earth except those of the men and women whom He had left behind.

Here, just think of the awesome truth; we are the ones who must act and take the first step. Remember, only what we do will get done and if any act or work is to be done for God, we have to do it. There is no one else.

Jesus said in John 15:16 ”You did not choose Me, but I chose you and appointed you that you should go and bear fruit, and that your fruit should remain, that whatever you ask the Father in My name He may give you.” He further said in John 20:21 ”So Jesus said to them again, “Peace to you! As the Father has sent Me, I also send you.”

Jesus before ascending to heaven said to His disciples in Acts 1:8 ”But you shall receive power when the Holy Spirit has come upon you; and you shall be witnesses to Me in Jerusalem, and in all Judea and Samaria, and to the end of the earth.”

Apostle Paul said in 2 Corinthians 5:20 ”Now then, we are ambassadors for Christ, as though God were pleading through us: we implore you on Christ’s behalf, be reconciled to God.”

(iii) Jesus’ presence and power are still at work:

Yes, Jesus’ presence and power are still at work, working miracles and meeting the needs of people. Just note what happened here:

Peter reached down to take the man by the right hand and lift him up (What a faith!)

The man let him (What a trust!)

Jesus healed him (What a power!)

Remember, it is time to trust Jesus, to believe Him, His love and care for the suffering and lost souls of the world. It is time to go forth in the full presence and power of the Lord who is alive, whose presence and power are still available for the earth!

That is why Jesus said to His disciples during His ministry in Matthew 17:20 ”So Jesus said to them, “Because of your unbelief; for assuredly, I say to you, if you have faith as a mustard seed, you will say to this mountain, ‘Move from here to there,’ and it will move; and nothing will be impossible for you.” He further said in John 14:13-14 ”And whatever you ask in My name, that I will do, that the Father may be glorified in the Son. If you ask anything in My name, I will do it.”

Apostle Paul said in Ephesians 1:19 (NLV) ”I pray that you will know how great His power is for those who have put their trust in Him.” He further said in Ephesians 3:20 ”God is able to do much more than we ask or think through His power working in us.”

Yes, here, the man was completely changed, his whole being, attitude, and life. He was no longer shy and reserved, embarrassed and ashamed about not fitting in and being accepted. He was saved and healed, inside and out: his whole personality was changed and he wanted all to know it. Yes, he was standing, walking, leaping and praising God for all His wonders.

3] The Results:

The results were two-fold. The people knew the man had been truly healed. They had seen the man for years sitting as a cripple and begging for help. There could be no question about the miracle. They were filled with wonder and amazement at the change, “at what happened to him.” And they were attracted, astonished and wanting to see what had caused such a miracle.

Remember, a changed person, a person who is truly changed by Christ, will cause people to stand in amazement and to wonder. A changed person will stir people to desire the same miracle in their own lives or in the lives of some loved one.

Jesus said in Matthew 5:19 ”Let your light so shine before men, that they may see your good works and glorify your Father in heaven.”

Apostle Peter says in 1 Peter 3:15 ”But in your hearts revere Christ as Lord. Always be prepared to give an answer to everyone who asks you to give the reason for the hope that you have. But do this with gentleness and respect.”

Psalmist says in Psalm 66:16 ”Come and hear, all you who fear God, and I will declare what He has done for my soul.”

Prophet Isaiah says in Isaiah 63:7 ”I will mention the loving kindnesses of the Lord and the praises of the Lord, according to all that the Lord has bestowed on us, and the great goodness toward the house of Israel, which He has bestowed on them according to His mercies, according to the multitude of His loving kindnesses.”

The happenings of this episode occur on Solomon’s Colonnade—sometimes called Solomon’s porch. Solomon’s Colonnade was inside the East Gate. That all the people were astonished and came running, established the authenticity of the miracle. With the crowd excited, Peter begins his sermon. After he recognizes them as men of Israel, he asks two rhetorical questions that set the stage for his sermon in the following verses. Why were they surprised? After all, they had been witnesses of the miracles of Jesus and the demonstration of the Spirit on the Day of Pentecost. Why did they think it was by the power or godliness of the apostles? This last question demonstrates that miracles and signs are never by the power of man, but by the power of the Holy Spirit of God.

Let us introspect ourselves.

Are we faithful in prayer so that our Lord Jesus can work through us?

Are we able to see the desperate need of the suffering both in spirit and body so that our Lord Jesus can work through us?

Are we able to fasten our eyes upon the need?

Are we able to reach out to the souls to meet their needs?

Are we believing that it is the name of our Lord Jesus Christ which has the power to meet our needs?

Are we having the 100 percent faith that we possess the presence and power of Christ within our bodies and gets released when we act first in the mighty name of our Lord Jesus Christ?

Let us Pray: Our Heavenly Gracious Father, we thank you for helping us to understand about the “The Church’s First Recorded Miracle : Lessons for Witnessing” Father. Thank You Father for helping us to understand that the power of Your beloved Son Jesus Christ is just as active upon earth today as it was when He walked upon earth and He is working through His children to reach out to save and heal the world. Thank You Father for using us as Your instruments, emissaries, ambassadors, representatives, messengers and witnesses to this world which is lost in suffering, death, sin and shame. Thank You Father for helping us to be faithful in prayer, to see the desperate need of the suffering, to fasten our eyes upon the need and to reach out to the souls to meet their needs so that Your beloved Son Jesus Christ will work through us Father. Thank You Father for helping us to understand that it is the name or the power of Your Son Jesus that meets our needs, that we possess the presence and power of Christ within our bodies besides acting first to fulfil Your Plans Father. We give all praise, glory and honour to Your Holy Name. In Jesus name we pray. Amen.

God bless you all

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vanityrise · 7 years ago

Text

Family matters.

Chapter 1:

Over at Home farm, there was a quiet knock at the door, Graham opens the door to see Noah standing there. “Noah i thought your mother didn’t want you coming up here?”

A voice from the kitchen interrupted, “Oh never mind that Graham, he’s here now and ready for me to teach him to play poker”.

“I don’t think this is a good idea”, Graham murmured from across the room. “Charity made it very clear she didn’t want you seeing him”.

“I’m not here to play, i want you to tell me about my father”, a tentative noah said.

“Here’s the thing little brother, I don’t really remember that much about him. I know that he was a good man who loved to make money and live the good life”.

“Mum said he sent you away to boarding school so you weren’t in the way? Is that true?” Noah asked.

Joe’s expression changes, a slight look of anger mixed with sadness covered his face. “It wasn’t to get me out the way, when dad had his accident life became more difficult for him, me being here all the time didn’t help.”

“So it wasn’t my mums fault that you went to boarding school?” Noah asked.

“No, i was already at boarding school but it is her fault my father died”, an angry Joe stated.

“Now is not the time for this Joe, Noah come with me I’ll take you home”, Graham said trying to calm the situation down.

“How is it her fault? What did she do.” Noah replied with a quiver to his voice trying not to get upset.

“She poisoned him, all she ever wanted was his money. She killed our father Noah”, Joe shouted.

Noah physically started to shake, fighting back the tears he ran out of home farm. Graham chased after him, “Noah wait, I’ll give you a lift”.

****

Meanwhile over at the Pub Charity and Vanessa were having a catch up over a drink and a bite to eat.

“What can i get you two love birds?”, asked a smiling chas.

“Oh shut it chas, and get us a couple of pints”, an embarrassed Charity replied.

Over at a quiet table in the corner of the pub the ladies were filling each other in with what’s been happening in their lives. Charity jokingly asked “so babe where you taking me on our next date…”. Before being able to finish her sentence the pair were interrupted by a devastated Noah rushing into the pub. A worried Charity shouts “Noah babe, why aren’t you at school?”

“Just leave me alone”, Noah replied with tears streaming down his face.

Charity’s face drops, her smile disappears, worry starts to set in. A concerned Vanessa does her best to encourage charity to go comfort him, but she knows what she’s like. “Go after him, go see if he’s ok! I can wait, he’s more important right now”, Vanessa said in a calming manner.

Agreeing, Charity leans forward towards Vanessa kissing her gently on the lips. She whispered “thank you” as she got up and made her way into the back.

****

Charity rushes through to the back room, composing herself she asked, “Noah babe what’s happened?”

“Like you don’t know”.

“Know what babe? I cant help if I don’t know what’s wrong”.

“My dad, it was you that killed him? You wanted his money so you poisoned him”. An angry Noah shouted.

“This is all Joe isn’t it? What did i tell you about spending time with him? He is toxic, he messed with Debbie’s head and now he is trying to mess with yours”. She started to pace around the room, not knowing what to say or do, breathing increasing with every footstep. “I loved your father, yes we had our bad times, but show me a couple who doesn’t. He died in my arms Noah and there was nothing i could do to save him, i was devastated when he died”. As the tears filled up her eyes and the sadness crept into her voice she mumbled, “I have done some pretty messed up things in my life, but i promise you with my whole heart I didn’t kill your dad”.

“Why would he lie to me?”, questioned Noah.

“Because he is messing with you to get back to me… surely you can see that, even you cant be that stupid”, an angry charity shouted.

Noah picked up his bag and stormed out the room slamming the door behind him. He rushes past a worried Vanessa, “Noah, everything ok? Noah.. wait”. Ignoring everybody in sight he runs out of the pub.

Worried about what’s just happened, Vanessa tracks down an angry Charity. “What’s happened?’ She said calmly, reaching to hold onto charity’s hand.

“That little weasel has brainwashed Noah into believing that i killed his dad.”

“What? Surely he didn’t believe him. I mean you had nothing to do with him dying… did you?”

“VANESSA, did you honestly just ask me that? I thought you of all people would believe me and know I wouldn’t do that?” Questioned Charity as she moved her hand from underneath Vanessa’s.

“Umm.. of course i know you wouldn’t” mumbled Vanessa.

“You know what just leave.. go on GET OUT”. A visibly upset Charity shrieked.

With her heart racing, Vanessa gathers her thoughts and reluctantly leaves, as she moves towards the door she whispers, “im sorry”. *****

Whilst walking home, Vanessa spots an upset Noah in the distance. Not wanting to make a scene she quietly makes her way over to where he is sat and sits down beside him. She reaches into her handbag searching for a tissue, she pulls one out of the packet and hands it to Noah, “here, take this”.

Wiping away his tears, he snuffles “thank you”.

“Everything ok?” Vanessa asked in a calming manner.

“All i wanted was to get to know my brother, yet my family hate him and i just don’t know who to believe anymore”.

“Things are complicated between your family and Joe. Joe blames your mum for things she didn’t do, and because he blames her he’s done some really nasty to things to your family”.

“Why is he saying mum killed dad”.

“I really don’t know, maybe he is trying to find someone to blame. But the truth is your dad was a very ill man and he tried to frame your mum for his murder because Charity was seeing Cain behind his back”. Expressed a concerned Vanessa.

“So because mum was cheating on him, he tried to make it look like she killed him”.

“Yeah, i know your mum can be a nightmare sometimes. Even i have experienced first hand what your mum can be like. But she would do anything for you, to protect you and she loves you with her whole heart”.

Noah replied, “I know she loves me but sometimes i just wished she didn’t always have a go”.

A smiling Vanessa explained, “That’s our job, we nag, we moan when your bedroom isn’t clean or when you spend too much time playing video games, but we do it because we care.”

“I guess so”.

“How about we go and get a milkshake and a cake and figure out what you want to say to your mum”.

With a smile creeping back onto Noah’s face, he nods in agreement, wipes his eyes one last time and the pair make their way to the cafe.

*****

Back over at the Woolpack Chas has poured Charity a large glass of wine hoping it will calm her down. Pacing back and fourth Charity is losing her mind worrying where Noah is, “i should be out there looking for him”.

“If you go in this state you will end up saying something else you regret”, Chas replied.

“Well i cant just sit her waiting can i?”, Charity responded.

“Look you’ve already upset two people today, just sit there and drink your wine and i will go find him. Marlon can cope for 20 minutes on his own”.

“Thanks Chas”.

Before Chas even had the chance to leave the room, Vanessa entered the room with Noah in toe. “Noah, where have you been? Ive been worried sick, i called you a million times”, said a frantic Charity.

“I went for a walk, then we went for a milkshake”.

“Look I’m so sorry for shouting at you and for calling you stupid. Because you are anything but stupid, you are the smartest boy i know”. Charity expressed as she walked over to embrace Noah.

“I’m sorry for saying you killed dad, i know your not capable of doing anything like that”. Noah replied squeezing his mum tightly.

“I best be going, Noah if you ever want another milkshake you know where i am ok? Ill see you soon”, Vanessa said from the other side of the room.

Before Charity could respond or even look at vanessa, she was gone. She knew by the tone of Vanessa’s voice she was upset and hurt by what was said to her earlier.

“Mum you can let go of me now”, said Noah who was struggling to breathe due to charity squeezing him so tight.

“Sorry babe, I just don’t ever want to lose you, you are too important to me”.

“I’m not going anywhere, but you are! Go after Vanessa mum, you need to apologise to her for whatever you have done. I like her, she nice and well she got me cake as well as a milkshake”.

“When did you grow up so much?”

**** Realising she had messed up big time with Vanessa, Charity knew she had to take Noah’s advice and go sort things. Taking the short walk from the pub to Tug Ghyll, taking a deep breath in she knocked on the door. Vanessa opened the door to a nervous looking Charity, “Hey babe, I’ve got some apologising to do”.

A hesitant Vanessa invites her in, “come on in”.

“Firstly i need to thank you for looking after my boy, he really likes you you know?”

“Well he’s a great kid, all he wanted was to hear the truth” Vanessa stated.

“I know and i should have told him a long time ago i just wanted to protect him from it all. I also owe you a massive apology, i should never have spoken to you the way i did, even being angry. It was no excuse and i will do my best to make sure it never happens again”.

“I accept your apology, i should never have doubted you and for that i am sorry. I didn’t know the Charity back then, i hear she was a bit of a wild one, but the Charity i know now would never be capable of anything like that”.

“So were good? Because Noah and I would like to invite you over for dinner tonight, he told me I wasn’t allowed to take no as an answer”.

“I would love to”, Vanessa replied with a smile the width of her face.

Grabbing Vanessa’s hand, she leads her to the door and the pair make their way to the pub for dinner.

#vanity #charity x vanessa #vanity rise #vanessa x charity #charity dingle #vanessa woodfield #fanfic #new fanfic #emmerdale #love #noah dingle #chas dingle #joe tate #emma atkins #michelle hardwick

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beepbeeprichiellc · 7 years ago

Note

for that big list of aus do you think you could combine 10.iv and 10.v with reddie ???? with Eddie being the one obsessed with Christmas and snow bc it just sounds adorable okay and your writing is amazing

You are too kind. This ended up really long, my bad.

Richie watched the snow fall from his seat, the white clumpsgathering at the base of the window before flying off back into the abyss. Asmile curled at the corner of his lips, he loved snow, probably more than anyof his friends. It had a purity to it, a sense that their sins would wash awaywith the new blanket of fluff. He preferred it around Christmas, but he wouldsettle for its early arrival.

“Okay you got Bill’s new roommate’s name down right? Youaren’t going to embarrass me right?” Stan asked flatly from beside him. Anyonewho gave him a second look would think that the boy was 60 rather than 23. He worepressed pants, a cardigan, and carried a sense of arrogance that only peoplewith years of experience in life have. Not to mention his granny reading glassesand Sunday newspaper that he insisted on bringing along with them for theirtrip. They were complete opposites. Richie had more of a punk rock vibe,choosing torn jeans over pressed ones and a leather jacket over a cardigan anyday.How they ended up best friends was beyond them.

“Yeah, yeah. Eddie. I got it the first time you told me.” Hereplied, huffing in annoyance. “Doesn’t he have his own family to be with forThanksgiving? That place is already going to be crowded with Mike’s new girl coming.”

Stan rolled his eyes, “Don’t be bitter just because you haveto sleep on the floor.”

“Well not everyone can sleep in Bill’s bed.” He retortedplayfully, enjoying the bush that crept up Stan’s neck. “I mean I could, butyou know I’m a vivid dreamer. I’d hate to play out my wet dreams with the twoof you and-“

“Beep beep Richie.” He jeered just as their stop wasannounced.

The two exited, heading out of the terminal and out into thebusy streets of New York. “So have you ever even met this guy?” Richie asked,following close to on his friends heels. “Is he a weirdo like Bill’s last roommate,or like a creep like his roommate before that?”

“Bill says he’s normal. A little pristine but normal.” Stanshrugged, pulling his coat tighter against him as the snow became heavier inthe air. “He’s a nurse at the hospital, real smart and real clean.”

“Sounds like I’m gonna hate him.”

“Wow you just have the most faith in people don’t you?” Hebit, the townhouse coming into view. “You don’t have to like him Rich, you justhave to deal with him okay? Just for this holiday and then Christmas is at Beverly’s.”

Richie blew a raspberry as his response, to which Stanmerely ignored. They took to the steps of the home, knocking at the door. “I’mtelling you Richie, if you ruin this I will kick you out of our apartment. Justbehave.”

There wasn’t enough time to respond because that second thedoor opened, reviling a very done up Beverly. She let out a squeal, embracingStan. “Oh finally, you were the last to arrive! Did you have a nice tripupstate?”

“Fine.” Stan lied, moving past her and into the home.

“Damn Bev, eat my heart out.” Richie cooed, pulling the fieryhaired woman into his arms.

“Don’t let Ben hear you. I’m spoken for now.” She repliedsweetly, holding out her left hand. “He’s going to make an honest woman of meafter all.”

“God damn look at that rock!” He cooed, pulling her hand toget a closer look. “Shit, I’ll let him fuck me if he gets me one of those!” Beverlypushed him playfully, shaking her head in annoyance.

Once Richie entered the home, the smell of turkey andstuffing wafted back into him. His stomach responded by growling eagerly. He wasnext met with Ben, who hugged him briefly but sternly, followed by Mike and hisnew girlfriend who he learned was named Maggie and who embraced him regardlessof just meeting him. Richie felt his heart swell at the sight of them all, thankfulthat he had his own little family this time of the year.

“Where’s Bill? I gotta tell him that that food smellsamazing.”

“Oh he’s in the kitchen with Eddie.” Mike replied, gesturingto the door. Richie grimaced at the statement, picturing an extremely primpedand uptight man helping his brother with their dinner. He nodded, trudging throughthe door.

He entered the room with a bang, the door slamming againstthe counters loudly. “Honey, I’m home!” Richie bellowed obnoxiously.

Bill looked up from the oven, smiling widely. “RichieTozier, as I live and breathe.” He cooed, dropping his spoon and pulling hisfriend into a sincere hug, “I feel like I haven’t seen you in a fucking year.”

“Just about.” He replied, looking over to the beautifularray of the food. “Since when did you become a chef? Last time you were incharge of dinner, you burnt the pizza.”

“Actually Eddie cooked.”

“You helped.” A voice replied from behind the door to thefridge. As the barrier was shut, Richie could feel his breath hitch in the backof his throat. The man, who he thought he would hate, was no older than him. Hewas short in stature, standing only to Richie’s chest. The pink polo he worewas partially covered by his apron, which looked well used. Bill was right indescribing him as pristine, but also horribly incorrect. Inside of him wasn’tan old soul like Stan, but rather a bright and beautiful one, one that wouldburn Richie to the core.

Eddie smiled, causing Richie’s knees to become weak. “I don’tthink we’ve met.” The small adult muttered, extending his hand. “You must be Richie.”

“Yes sir.” He managed in response, taking the petite hand intohis. God, he was soft. “You’re Eddie yeah?”

“That’s me.” Eddie jeered. “The party crasher.”

“Stop calling yourself that.” Bill interjected as they droppedtheir hands, making Richie instantly feel bare. “I invited you to this, therewasn’t any way you could go back home this year, not after what happened.”

“What happened?” Richie asked.

Eddie cringed, recovering quickly with a fake smile. “Nothingto worry about right now.” He replied softly. “Dinner is almost done. Do youmind telling the others?” Richie nodded, looking to Bill who only wore a sadface. As he left he could hear their hushed voices and although he could notmake out what was said he was sure that Eddie was scorning his roommate for theslip.

The food was absolutely fabulous.

Every single item was made to perfection, and the Losers atethe entire thing up. As they sat around the table lazily, conversation seemedto center around the surprising snow fall. Richie felt his stomach flip in excitement.His head perked up, smiling at his friends he blurted. “Okay, who is going togo out and look at the snow with me?”

Everyone groaned at once, all muttering smoothing profoundunder their breath. Maggie looked like she was going to raise her hand but Mikesnatched her wrist, shaking his head vigorously. “I’ll go.” A small voice fromthe opposite end of the table said.

“Uh Eddie, I don’t think you want to do that.” Ben warned, “Richieis a bit intense.”

“I’ll be fine. I love the snow.”

Richie barged outside with the small boy in tow, kicking upthe snow that had freshly fallen on their steps. He beamed as he watched Bill’sroommate follow him, his pea-coat nearly swallowing him whole. Eddie smiled,taking two steps at a time until his feet were firmly planted on the asphalt. “So.”He sang, raising an eyebrow at Richie. “Is there a specific reason your friendsdidn’t want to join you?”

“Maybe…” Richie replied sly, watching the other kid wanderaround the sidewalk. “Maybe not…”

Eddie hummed, rolling eyes and looking up towards the sky.Richie took his opening, shoving a handful of snow down the back of his coat.Eddie squealed in surprise, jumping in circles and cursing his name. Richiecouldn’t help but laugh.

“I’m the snow king Eds. That’s why no one-“He was cut shortby a snow ball that hit him squarely in the chest, sending shards of ice intohis mouth. “What in the hell!” he sputtered, tasting the lingering New Yorkflavor.

“You’re a shitty king.” Eddie retorted, throwing another ball,only this time missing by a few inches.

“Oh you’re dead.”

Bill and the others watched in horror as the two returned completelydrenched from head to toe. They were rushed off to shower and change with stupidlybig grins plastered on their faces. Richie refused to admit that he had losthis crown.

After that the night progressed quickly, becoming one bigblur of laughter and tomfoolery. It was like Eddie had been the missing pieceof their group, his smart mind keeping Stan and Ben entertained, his work andtravel interesting Mike and his quick mouth keeping Richie in line. No matterwho he spoke with, in a matter of mere minutes they were swooned, drawn in byhis charisma and kindness.

Two by two, the couples left for bed, leaving Richie andEddie. Conversation began to lag, an uncomfortable silence lingering betweenthen. Richie wasn’t typically the edgy type, hell he could make a politiciansmile, but there was something about Eddie that made him nervous. Almostscared. He didn’t want to say the wrong thing or make him uncomfortable in anyway so he opted for nothing. Which in retrospect probably wasn’t the best idea.

“Oh!” Eddie exclaimed after nearly thirty minutes ofsilence. “I almost forgot!”

Richie watched the small figure jump from the couch and bolttowards the hallway closet. There was a commotion and a few slurs buteventually he emerged with a tote that was almost as large as he was. Eddiesmirked up at him, popping open the lid and expelling the contents.

“What the actual fuck?” Richie griped, watching none otherthan Christmas directions spill at his feet. “You have got to be kidding me.”

“Nope.” He replied with a pop of his p. Quickly he began togather his things, an excitable giggle following him as he went.

“It’s literally still Thanksgiving.”

“So?”

“So? It’s fucking November and-no, not the tree. Put thatback.”

Eddie ignored him, setting up the base by the staircase. Heskipped with enthusiasm, disregarding the looks that Richie gave him. It wasalmost too cute, his tiny hands working poorly with the twisted lights, hishappy hum causing Richie to just stare in awe.

How had he gone his entire life not knowing this kid? Whatwas this feeling burning in his chest and what in the hell was he doing startingin the middle of the bundle?

“Oh my god, you’re doing it all wrong!” Richie muttered,grabbing the tangled mess from Eddie. “Let me just do it.”

“Thanks.” He whispered, his cheeks blushing a beautiful pinktint.

“Yeah yeah.” Riche replied, his voice lacking bite.

“I owe ya one.” Eddie poked, moving to the tote and pullingout more decorations.

Richie could feel the question on his tongue, he bit downhard trying to kill it but somehow it managed to slip past him. “So uh, whydidn’t you just go home for Thanksgiving?”

He could see Eddie tense up at the question, making Richieregret even speaking. Surprisingly he relaxed, wrapping the long tinsel aroundhis neck and filling his tiny hands with ornaments. “I had it out with mymother recently, we got into a huge fight and she told me not to come home forthe holidays.”

“Oh.” Richie choked, watching Eddie shrug. “What was it all about?”

“She doesn’t want a faggot for a son.” He replied easily,before Richie had a chance to reply he turned towards him, smiling. “Do youthink I should hang mistletoe?”

“Hell yeah.”

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artificialqueens · 7 years ago

Text

Something Near Perfect - Part Seven (Shalaska) - Lost Imp

A/N Thank you all so much for the lovely comments on part 6, I really appreciate all of them! If you have any prompts or idea’s for things you want to see in the future, please feel free to let me know.

Thanks for reading - Lost Imp.

“Sharon, I’m so sorry”

Sharon lifted her head after quickly wiping the tears from her eyes, not wanting Alaska to see her upset. She chose to ignore her girlfriends’ ridiculous apology.

“Hi baby, how are you feeling?”

“Sharon, I think you should go.” Alaska muttered quietly, staring at her lap.

“What? Why Lasky? Do you need to get someone for you?” Sharon said, standing up anxiously.

“No, Sharon. I’m ok. But you need to leave. I’m ruining your life. I can’t keep doing this to you. You’ll grow to hate me, if you don’t already. And I know you’ll argue with me, because you’re too good a person. But I need you to leave. I couldn’t live knowing you hate me” Alaska said firmly, still not meeting Sharon’s eyes, afraid it might break her heart into even smaller pieces.

“Alaska? Alaska? Look at me. Please” Sharon said pleadingly.

Alaska refused to look at her, her eyes staying glued to her wire filled wrists in her lap.

Sharon reached forward and gently put her fingers under her girlfriend’s chin and lifted it up to finally meet her gaze.

“Alaska, from the day I first talked to you, I knew I loved you. I don’t think there is anything you could ever do or say to change that. I do not hate you, and I never could. You make my life liveable, you gave me a reason to live Alaska. You saved my life. Right now, you’re going through something horrible, and if I could, I would take away your pain in a heartbeat. But I can’t, which means that I will be by your side while we fight this together. I love you. God, Alaska, I love you so much. Please don’t shut me out.”

Alaska had silent tears rolling down her face. Sharon leaned forward and met her girlfriend with a kiss. She could taste the salty drops on Alaska’s soft lips. After a few seconds they pulled apart. Alaska gave her a small smile, but Sharon could see the pain in her eyes.

“Babe, are you in pain?”

“Yeah. A little.”

“Where?”

“My head, it’s pounding a little”

“I’ll call a nurse ok sweetheart?”

Alaska nodded very lightly, trying to keep her head steady enough so as not to add to the throbbing pain in her forehead.

Sharon returned a minute or two later with the sweet nurse that brought Courtney and Willam in earlier.

“Hi Alaska, glad to see you’re awake. How are you feeling?” she asked kindly.

“My head. Why is it pounding so hard?”

“My best guess would be de-hydration. Don’t worry, that will ease up once the fluids have a bit more time to get around your body. In the meantime, I can give you some more painkillers. Sound ok?”

“Perfect. Thank you…?”

“Oh, I’m sorry! I’m Ivy”

“Thank you, Ivy” Sharon said, smiling gratefully.

“By the way Alaska, I’m afraid the doctor is going to come by later to ask you questions about what happened. If you’re not ready to talk, that’s ok, but the sooner we know what went wrong, the sooner we can get you out of here.” She smiled, putting a dose of painkillers into Alaska’s IV line.

Sharon watched Alaska immediately go tense at the idea of having to talk to other people about her health. Most days it was hard for her to even talk to Sharon about it, let alone some doctor she doesn’t know.

Alaska didn’t answer Ivy, lost once again in her own thoughts.

“Thanks for letting us know, Ivy” Sharon answered, on her girlfriend’s behalf.

Ivy took Alaska’s silence as a hint, and let herself quietly out of the room.

“Alaska, baby, it might be easier for you to talk to the doctor later if I can help you. Could you maybe try explaining what happened to me first?”

“I’m so embarrassed” Alaska whimpered, eyes glued once again to her lap.

“Lasky, you have no reason to be embarrassed in front of me, you know that, don’t you?”

Alaska stayed silent. Suddenly something clicked inside Sharon’s brain. She knew that after Alaska fainted, she felt extremely vulnerable. She knew she had to follow the same guidelines as they usually did when Alaska fainted.

“Would it help if I held you babe?”

Slowly, Alaska nodded and moved over slightly in the bed to make space for her girlfriend. Sharon climbed onto the bed carefully, trying to move it as little as possible. The taller girl immediately leaned into Sharon’s side, resting her head on her chest. Sharon reached over to the pile of extra blankets on the bedside locker and pulled an extra one around the two of them, wrapping her girlfriend into a tight hug.

Sharon said nothing, she just gently stroked her girlfriend’s long hair, knowing that she would talk when she was ready.

“I wish I didn’t have to live like this” Alaska said quietly.

“I know sweetheart” Sharon said soothingly.

“It was in school” Alaska began, “I was coming to meet you at lunch and I ran into Alyssa and some of the other cheerleaders. I had my food with me, the muffin Courtney made me. She told me if I ate it, I’d get fat, and you wouldn’t want me”

Sharon bit her tongue to stop herself from swearing.

“I tried to not listen to her, but she got into my head. And I was weak, and I listened. I threw my food away, and I let the negative thoughts run wild. I’m really sorry Sharon. It’s all my fault. I hate that I do this to you”

“Sweetheart, this isn’t your fault. Mental illnesses are neve a choice. And bitchy cheerleaders telling you awful lies to hurt you, that’s verbal abuse, and not something that you can take any blame at all for. I’ll deal with them. Doll, we’ll work together to get you healthy, on the promise that you have to try and not blame yourself” Sharon said, kissing the top of her girlfriend’s head.

“I’ll try. I promise. I love you” Alaska mumbled, yawning.

“You’re tired baby, sleep. I’ll be right here”

Alaska curled in closer to Sharon and let her eyes close almost immediately. Not long after, Sharon let her own eyes close, falling asleep with her girlfriend wrapped tightly in her arms.

Ivy walked in an hour later to check on Alaska’s pain levels, only to find her peacefully sleeping Sharon’s arms, looking calmer then she’d been in a very long time.

“Honey, I’m home!” Courtney announced, sticking her head around the door of the hospital room, bouncing sunnily in to see her best friend and her dark clothed girlfriend, still curled up in bed. Sharon was half awake on her phone, while Alaska was still soundly sleeping.

“And I have coffee!” Willam said, following her girlfriend into the room.

“Oh, thank Satan” Sharon said quietly, gratefully taking a large coffee from Willam.

“How is she?” Courtney asked, lowering her voice considerably.

“She’s ok, I think. We talked, but we still haven’t had a chance to meet with the doctor. I have a couple of cheerleaders I need to kill on Monday though”

Willam and Courtney exchanged a worried glance, unsure of what they should or shouldn’t tell Sharon about what happened at last nights’ game.

Before Sharon could call them out, Alaska jolted awake and sat up quickly, gasping.

“Hey doll, you’re ok. I’m here.” Sharon said quietly, rubbing her girlfriends back.

As per usual, Alaska relaxed into her girlfriend’s arms, calming down quickly from whatever it was that had woken her so suddenly. Looking around the room, she saw Courtney perched on top of Willam’s knee in the small armchair near the door.

“Morning Alaska, glad you could join us” Willam said, grinning cheekily through her red lipstick.

“Glad I could be here” Alaska retorted.

Courtney laughed, relieved that her best friend was obviously in a much better state of mind that she was the day before.

“We brought you some of that tea stuff from Starbucks that you like” Courtney told her, walking over to the side of the bed with the warm drink in hand. “Oh, and a change of clothes so that you don’t have to go home in your cheer uniform!”

“Thanks Court” Alaska said, taking the tea and kissing Courtney softly on the cheek.

“How are you feeling doll?” Sharon asked

“Better. Less head pounding” Alaska answered, sipping her tea.

“Good.” Sharon smiled, kissing her girlfriend’s forehead.

“Gross.” Willam remarked from her armchair in the corner.

“Fuck off” Sharon threw back, feigning anger,

Alaska and Courtney just laughed at the two of them. They were interrupted by a loud knock on the door. A short woman with dark hair pulled back in a sharp bun stood there, with Ivy by her side.

“Hi Alaska, is it ok if we come in?” Ivy asked cheerfully.

“Ok” Alaska said, immediately going quiet at the sight of the authoritative doctor that accompanied the sweet nurse.

“Hello Alaska, I’m Doctor Visage, but please call me Michelle. I’m here to ask you a couple of questions, and check up on a few things if that’s ok with you?”

Alaska looked at Sharon for an answer.

“We should go. We’ll see you later Lasky, ok?” Courtney said, squeezing Alaska’s hand tightly and grabbing her purse.

“Love you, Lask” Willam said, following her blonde girlfriend out the door.

“So Alaska, is it ok if we ask you a few questions about what happened yesterday? If you’re not comfortable, we can wait until later.” Ivy said kindly, noting Alaska’s tense body language.

“No. It’s ok” the tall girl said quietly.

Sharon moved to get out of the bed to give the doctor space if she wanted to check up on her girlfriend’s physical health.

“Please stay” Alaska pleaded, grabbing her girlfriend’s wrist.

“Ok. I’m here” Sharon said, sitting back down beside Alaska.

“Feel free to stop me if you get uncomfortable Alaska, but as an incentive, the more answers I get now, the sooner I can let you ok. Sound good?” Michelle asked.

Alaska nodded.

“Ok. How long have you had an eating disorder for?” Ms. Visage asked, not one to beat around the bush.

“For almost… a year”

“Do you know what might have triggered it? Any specific event or incident?”

“My mother. She died.”

“I’m sorry to hear that” Michelle said, her maternal instinct kicking in towards the young girl, who closed her eyes for a moment gathering her emotions.

“Are you ok doll?” Sharon whispered.

Alaska squeezed her girlfriend’s hand and held it tighter in response. Michelle took this as a sign to continue with her questions.

“Can you tell me what your health has been like over the last year? I understand it’s hard, but the more information I can get, the better I can help you”

Alaska took a deep breath and began to explain the last few months of her recovery to the doctor, how she had been severely underweight when she met Sharon and had ended up in hospital. Then how they had worked on her recovery for months, painstakingly force feeding herself meals, fighting the anxiety that had come along with the eating disorder. She also explained that on the occasional bad days, she sometimes fainted, but it generally didn’t get anywhere near as bad as it had last night.

This all sounded like regular recovery behaviour to Michelle, who had a lot of experience in dealing with young people with mental illnesses.

“Do you know why you ended up collapsing again today Alaska? After spending such a long time working on recovery?”

“I… it was nothing. I stupidly didn’t make myself eat lunch, which let to me being de-hydrated and hungry. I also didn’t sleep much because I was supposed to have a… a game last night.”

The realisation suddenly hit her that she had missed one of the biggest games of the season.

Alyssa and Gia are going to skin me alive. I let them get to me. I let them control me. I used their stupid insults as an excuse to skip meals. I let myself relapse. God, I swore I would never let myself relapse.

“Alaska? Alaska, are you with me here?” Michelle asked, as Sharon gently rubbed her girlfriend’s arm.

“Yeah. Sorry, I’m tired”

“I don’t doubt that you are, but whatever just went on in your head isn’t because you are tired, honey. What’s going on?”

Alaska turned to look at Sharon.

“I’m so, so sorry Sharon. I promised you I’d never do this to you. I swore I wouldn’t put you through that again”

“Put me through what love? Alaska, what are you talking about?”

“I relapsed. I failed. I let you down. I’m so, so sorry.”

Dr. Visage didn’t dare interrupt the conversation between the two, figuring this was the easiest way to gather information on Alaska’s eating disorder.

“Alaska, baby, listen to me” Sharon pleaded, holding her girlfriend’s face in her hands, “You have not let me down, you have not failed me. You are the strongest person I know. Relapsing isn’t failing, it’s just a bump in the road. You are so strong sweetheart, you’ll recover from this too. I promise you, you will get better. This is not permanent. You will always be ok”

Ivy almost teared up from where you stood in the corner. She had never seen any of the hospitals young patients or their families exhibit such love and compassion for one another. She understood that both girls must have been through a lot of shit to be able to understand and comfort each other so well.

“Your girlfriend is right Alaska, relapsing isn’t failure, it’s merely broken glass along the road, so to speak. I would imagine what’s best for you right now is to be and home and I think we can probably let you go. On the condition that you eat a meal before you leave. Do you have any questions?”

“Could I have died?” Alaska asked blankly.

“Excuse me?”

“Could I have killed myself last night?”

“I… if you had been alone overnight, there is a chance that there could have been serious long-term consequences. But you weren’t. You’re safe, and you will be healthy.”

“Ok” Alaska replied, processing the idea that she could have done serious long-term damage to herself.

“Thank you so much Michelle” Sharon said gratefully.

“Just doing my job.” Michelle smiled, before whispering something to Ivy and going into the next room.

“Em, Alaska, do you have any idea what you might like to eat?” Ivy asked cautiously.

Alaska shook her head.

“Soup” Sharon answered, “Alaska likes soup”

“Ok,” Ivy said slowly, “But the soup here is awful. There’s a really nice veggie place across the street that has organic soup and fresh baked bread, if you wanted to go there?” she asked Sharon.

“Perfect, thanks Ivy, for everything”

“No problem” Ivy said smiling, “I’ll be back later before you leave”

Sharon ran across the road to the small café, giving the nurses time to remove all of the wires and machines and monitors from her girlfriend, while simultaneously trying to think of a way to distract Alaska enough to allow her to eat a meal.

Alaska was sitting back up on her bed, still feeling rather cold even though she had a mountain of blankets wrapped around her. She was trying her best to not think about the next task she would have to complete.

“Boo!” Sharon said, jumping into the room.

“You’re an idiot!” Alaska said, laughing.

Sharon stuck out her tongue in response.

“And people say you’re supposed to be scary or something. Can’t say I see it” her girlfriend mocked.

“Who say’s I’m scary? I prefer the term freaky goth dyke” Sharon threw back at her.

Alaska laughed loudly and moved herself and the blanket mountain over in the bed, allowing her girlfriends to slide back in beside her.

“So… you got soup?”

“Yep. Chicken noodle or tomato?”

“I guess tomato?”

“Excellent choice m’dear” Sharon said, presenting her girlfriend with warm soup and a slice of bread with a flourish.

Alaska stared at the food for a moment, before determinedly deciding that she would finish this meal regardless of what her head told her. And she did.

They both sat beside each other, chatting and laughing and eating. Although Alaska would space out for a moment every now and then, but other than that, to an outsider they would have looked like a normal, happy couple without a care in the world. Minus the fact that they were sitting on a hospital bed.

Ivy came in as they were finishing, mid-debate about whether they should live up in the mountains or in a valley by a lake next year.

“Hi you two! Ready to go home?”

“Actually, we were thinking of moving in were a while” Alaska responded, grinning cheekily.

Ivy laughed, extremely happy to see the teenage girl with a bit of colour in her cheeks and less sunken eyes.

Ivy handed Alaska a couple of papers that she had to sign, and gave her the medication and pain killers she would have to take over the next couple of days, while Sharon gathered up the few things they had in the room, including Alaska’s discarded cheer uniform.

“Thank you for everything Ivy, you’ve been so lovely”

“No problem, and look after yourselves. Both of you” Ivy said kindly.

As they left the hospital hand in hand, neither Alaska nor Sharon would admit to one another the internal fear they had about the next few days, when Alaska would have to re-start her recovery. The beginning was always the hardest.

#lost imp #shalaska #sharon needles #alaska thunderfuck #something near perfect #tw eating disorder #hurt/comfort #courtney act #willam belli #witney #rpdr fanfiction #lesbian au #high school au

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serpent-jugheadjones · 7 years ago

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Dog Days - Part 1

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Pairing: Jughead Jones x Doctor!Reader

Description: Riverdale is facing dark times. Jughead has to choose between two paths. Will Y/N affect his decision?

Warnings: Fred’s current situation in the season finale and alcohol. Spoiler alert if you haven’t watched season 2 trailers yet.

Word count: 3038

A/N: These trailers are killing me with anticipation. I know Archie was the one to take Fred to the hospital, but that doesn’t make sense to me, so I wrote as if he arrived in an ambulance. Had to make the reader sort of a genius since I wanted it to be legal and not to big of an age gap.

GSW stands for Gun Shot Wound, BPR for Beats Per Minute and Breaths Per Minute, BP for Blood Pressure, OR for Operating Room, Y/L/C/H for Your Length and Color Hair, Y/B/M/D for Your Birth Date and Month. My EMS report may be completely wrong for a real one so if you are a doctor feel free to correct me.

I know I was supposed to post a new part for the Partner Revealed, but I couldn’t help write this one. Hope you forgive me!

Five seconds is as much time as the doctors have to breath in and out to clear their minds before the EMT pulls out the gurney and behind it comes a ginger boy, with a red stained cast and varsity jacket. “Robbery gone wrong at Pop’s. Patient Fred Andrews, male, GSW to the abdomen, no exit wound, patient is unconscious, pulse 66 bpr, BP 140 over 80, respirations at 19 bpm. ETA 6 minutes after call, we have an 18 gauge IV and controlled bleeding.” In 30 seconds the paramedic gives them the report already taking the man to the closest trauma room available. “Is my dad gonna be ok?”, the boy asks desperately standing at the edge of the door where his father lays motionless. “We’ll do everything we can.”, Y/N answers him calmly. “Nurse. Take ...” She looks at the boy waiting for his name. “Archie.”, he replies. “Archie to the waiting room please.” She rushes in to check Fred’s wound. “I need an X-ray and two bags of O-. Page Dr. Stone and book OR 2.”, the ER doctor instructs Y/N.

Jughead, Betty and Veronica arrive at the hospital not too long after Fred is taken into surgery. They spot Archie in a chair at the reception, looking helpless and unbalanced. His expression softens at the sight of his friends running to hug him all at once. Jug’s arms around them all, staying like that for a short while before they rest. “What happened?”, Jughead asks tenderly, sitting down next to his friend. “We were at Pop’s. I was in the bathroom and heard noises, when I came out, there was this man, wearing this hood, with a gun at Pop Tate and then he pointed it at my dad and fired. Then he ... “, an incredibly distressed Archie answers. “Then he what?” His girlfriend looks hopeless. “He ran.”, he finishes his sentence distractedly. Jug reckons Arch could be keeping something from them by the way he spoke.

This is the worst possible time for Jughead to be worrying about his relationship with Betty. However, so much has happened in less than 24 hours that he barely had time to process it. They left the Jubilee in awe, ready to show how much they love each other. Instead, what could have been a perfect night was spent arguing over a family issue. It drove him mad how much of a hypocrite his girlfriend can be. He almost wanted to take back what he confessed to her earlier.

When Jug got the call from Archie, he was still wearing the source of the problem. Betty had to remind him that showing up at the hospital with a Serpents’ jacket right after his best friend’s dad had just been shot wasn’t a smart idea. He knew that. Nevertheless, he was being torn apart. That snake embroidery was always a reason for confrontations with his father. In spite of that, the second his fingers touched the cold material and he first slid it on, Jughead felt at peace, safe. Like he finally belonged and ultimately understood his dad.

His girlfriend, if he can still call her that, is accommodated next to an incredibly tense Veronica, not even looking at his direction. Right now there’s nothing he can do to fix that, and, quite honestly, he doesn’t know if it’s worth trying. What he can and wants to do is help his ‘brother’ in any and every way he can. “Arch. Can we talk privately?” He points at the empty hallway and the red-haired boy follows him. “What is it, Jug?”, he asks, still looking at the reception, just in case someone comes out with some information. “For a moment, it looked like you were about to say something, about the hood guy, and reconsidered.”, Jughead states. “Really?” Archie fails at sounding convincing, certainly because he’s too tired to properly pretend. “Part of what makes you so endearing is your utter lack of a poker face.”, Jughead tells him in a sensible way. Archie stares at him wonderingly. “You have to stop taking the weight of the world by yourself, pal. You are not alone, Archie.” He shows himself with both hands from top to bottom in a very dramatic way, then the waiting room full of his friends and their parents. Jug knows he’s not one to say, as he for months lived inside the school’s storage closet instead of asking for help. Though, after his father was wrongfully arrested, it was all of them together who made it right and he started to rethink his ways. There’s nothing he wants more than to make that happen for his friend.

Archie takes his time to answer. “What if this wasn’t just a random thief? I know Clifford wasn’t happy with my dad working at the Drive-In land. He did everything in his power to stop the construction. What if Mr. Blossom ACTUALLY did everything to terminate it?”, he blurts out without barely breathing between words, releasing some of his build up stress as he tells out loud the theory that’s been keeping his mind unsettled. “He was a powerful man, no denying that. Still, I doubt Cliff could be doing anything from the grave. Although, if you’re telling me it looked staged, then it’s paramount we find out who’s pulling the strings.” Jughead assures him that he has his back, no matter what. Before they can elaborate an opinion, Sheriff Keller arrives to question Archibald. They all give them privacy. Jug figured this would be a good time to talk to Betty, yet she ignores him calling out for her and leaves to the cafeteria with Ronnie.

After long tedious, yet uneasy waiting hours, the surgeon and nurses come out of the hallway. Archie immediately stands up and the man signs with his hand he’ll soon speak to them. First he stops at the reception desk in the waiting room, giving Fred’s chart and further instructions to a girl who looks too young to be in scrubs, in Jug’s opinion. She removes her bouffant cap to reveal a Y/L/H/C and makes eye contact with Jughead, who looks away quickly, embarrassed, feeling his face get warm and red. Reason tells him it’s immoral to blush from looking at a girl he doesn’t even know while having a girlfriend - and being at the hospital with his best friend’s dad just out of surgery makes it ten times worse. Truth is he just can’t help it.

The man introduces himself as Dr. Stone, the general surgeon who operated on Mr. Andrews. He calmly and rationally explains they managed to remove the bullet and cease the bleeding. Then he tells Archie his dad is being taken to the ICU and he’ll soon be able to see him. Despite that, Fred’s still intubated and they don’t know how long it will be until he wakes up, considering the bullet hit a vital organ. In his opinion, though, it could’ve been a lot worse. All they heard was ‘He’s alive’. Arch releases a breath he didn’t even know he was holding in. “I’m gonna stay with my dad. Can you let Ronnie know she can go home?”, the ginger boy covered in his own father’s blood cries out. “Sure. Listen, he’s gonna be fine, Archie. I’ll be back tomorrow morning so you can change and rest.” Jughead hugs his friend once more, tighter this time. He’s not big on PDA or physical contact in general, although he truly wants to express how much he cares.

Jughead walks out of the hospital, feeling the icy air cool his face. He closes his eyes, but that doesn’t stop his mind from going a thousand miles per hour. The beanie-clad boy is immensely solaced that Fred is in his way to recovery. Regardless, there is still a long way to go until it’s all put right and the dog days end. After all the hours awake, caffeine is needed. Unfortunately, his usual place for a hit is not an option. He spots a small food truck next to the parking lot. The largest cup they had still doesn’t fit his needs, but it will do. While he’s waiting for his drink, he texts Veronica as Archie asked. Jug recognises the girl sitting in one of the benches. Tiny droplets of water from the drizzle glow red and blue on top of her noteworthy hair when the ambulance lights shine.

He can’t help gazing at the girl who may have just saved Fred’s life. Something about her attracts Jughead like a magnet. “People complain about hospital food. But the coffee... is to die for.”, she remarks ironically, taking a sip from her large travel cup of coffee. Jughead takes a few seconds to realize she spoke to him, as he was standing behind her, confident he was safe from being spotted. He realizes she’s very aware of him staring. “Considering the work hours, that’s essential. Mind if I sit?”, he asks. She shakes her head in agreement and scoots over to give him more space. “Jughead Jones the Third.” He extends her a hand. “Y/N Y/L/N... the first.” She firmly and steadily shakes it.

She doesn’t look mad about him glaring. Intrigued is more like it. “You’re part of the surgical team who operated on Fred Andrews, right?”, he asks. “Technically, I’m not supposed to disclose it to non-family members. But you did see me with Dr. Stone.” She doesn’t break eye contact, and even in the low lighting he can see her beautiful Y/E/C iris, deep like a galaxy, as if a whole universe resided in it. “I just wanted to thank you. You’re part of the reason he’s still alive.” Jughead bites the inside of his cheeks trying to remain composed. “I’m just an intern.” Her words contradict her smile, as if no one has ever appreciated all the effort she puts into saving people’s lives. Y/N’s pager beeps. “Duty calls.” The girl gets up and swallows the rest of her coffee in one sip. “Is that for Fred?”, Jug asks anguished, wondering if something could’ve gone wrong. “I do have other patients, Mr. Jones.”, she replies. “Please. Call me Jughead.”, he says. “See you around, Jughead.”, Y/N speaks louder as she’s already walking away.

“Juggy?” He hears Betty calling out for him seconds after Y/N left, exactly the same way she did back at the trailer. For the first time, that annoys him. Jughead feels he’s being treated like a child and a possession. None of them have the energy to deal with their situation at the moment. She offers him a ride home, which he denies saying he needs to clear his mind. The blonde girl tried to peck his lips but he turns his face and she lands a soft kiss on his cheek. “We’ll talk tomorrow.”, he guarantees and leaves.

He still has the spare key Fred gave him when he moved in. Entering the empty house feels weird. Jughead climbs the stairs to the room he used to share with Archie to pack him some clean clothes and essentials. Practicality dictates he should spend the night there, as he has to talk to Betty before going to the hospital the next morning. On second thought, the place doesn’t feel like home anymore and the silence is driving him mad.

Jug crosses Riverdale’s train tracks towards the south, carrying the northside mess with him inside Archie’s Bulldog football bag. Sunnyside’s sign gives him comfort for the first time in a really long while. He gets inside his dad’s trailer, rests the bag on the kitchen table and throws himself at the couch, dog-tired. Still his brain doesn’t want to fall asleep. He stares at the leather jacket carefully placed at the back of the chair. It has a strong effect on him, like it’s seducing him. He gives in to temptation and puts it on again. Just as the first time, he feels sheltered and powerful. That can only lead him one place at this hour.

The red doors loosely remind him of the ones at Pop’s. If not for the bikes parked in front, he could trick himself. Not that he needs to. Somehow, the Whyte Wyrm feels a lot safer in relation to the chock’lit shoppe now. Usually, he'd feel like a pray walking in the bar filled with snakes to retrieve his drunken father. Now he feels nested, welcomed and comfortable. “Glad to see you again, kid”, the man who gave him the jacket pats his back respectfully. “Truth be told we weren’t sure you would.”, the young guy who held Hot Dog’s leash the previous night confesses, preparing to shoot the pool ball. He pockets the 8, ending the game and retrieving the bet money. “Come on, I’ll buy you your first beer.” Jughead just walks with him to the counter, still silent, taking in every detail of the bar he missed the previous times. The pictures on the wall, neon signs shading the dark room, people having fun, the snakes inside the glass tanks, but most surprising of all, Y/N Y/L/N sitting at the counter.

“Aren’t you a little young to be in a bar?” He’s amazed and a little scared as once again she addresses him facing the other way. “Do you have eyes in your back?” He sits down on the empty stool next to her and the young serpent winks at him with a smirk. Jughead widens his eyes to him, wordlessly telling him to scram. “Surgeon skills, I have to be aware of at least 5 other people in the OR while keeping my eyes on the patient.”, she explains, shifting her stool towards him. “Impressive. And I am.”, he says, sipping his cold beer, still not sure the glory everyone sees in it. “I won’t tell if you won’t.” She shows him her driver's license, Y/B/M/D 2000. “How are you a doctor if you’re still 17?”, he asks. “Skipped high school. I have an eidetic memory, didn’t wanna waste four perfectly good years of a very short life in hell, so I just got my GED and got into Med school.”, she says like it’s not a big deal. “Doctor Strange much?” He wonders if she’ll even get the reference. “Wouldn’t that be awesome?” Y/N bumps the rim of her bottle to Jughead’s.

A couple of beers in and Jughead is already tipsy, although unable to forget the messed-up things that have been happening in a row. “What do you think happened?”, he asks Y/N in relation to the Pop’s shooting. “Robbery gone wrong. I haven’t given it much thought to be honest.” Y/N stands up and grabs Jughead’s hand making him come with her. “How could you not have thought about it?”, he asks, simply letting her guide him. “I’m a doctor, Jughead. I have to think about charts and keeping my patients alive. I leave detecting to the Sheriff.” Y/N rests her beer bottle in the corner of the pool table. “Pardon me if I don’t trust the police.”, he says, still confused as to why they got up. “You’re one of the kids who solved the Jason Blossom murder case, wouldn’t expect anything else.” She starts setting the balls inside the triangle. “Not in the least. Found it quite impressive actually. I’m all for justice. It’s just that I left a 16-hour shift, the only thing I want to do is drink and play.” She grabs two cue sticks and hands one out to Jughead. “Come on. If I win, you buy me a drink; if you win, you buy me a drink.”, she says playfully. “Fair game you got going, huh?” Jug starts chalking his stick to start the game.

Surprisingly, he’s pretty good at it. Not only for his first time playing, but being drunk while doing it. “Dr. Y/N/N. You’re not going easy on our boy here, are you?”, one of the serpents says, leaning on the table. “Are you accusing me of cheating, Franky?”, she tells him. “Maybe you could let him win so we can get out of here.”, the young southsider suggests. The boy places his hands on either side of her, pinning her to the table. Jughead watches furiously but unable to act. He wants to punch him but he’s one of them now and can’t just go around hitting the guys.“In your dreams.” She pushes him away and grabs Jug’s hand once more taking control. As they leave the bar, he realizes how dizzy he is. But Y/N is steady enough to hold him upright.

They walk past the gates of Sunnyside trailer park. Jughead is leaning in Y/N for support. She leads him and herself towards his trailer according to Jug’s direction. After they walk around the same place twice, she declares them lost and Jughead unfit to guide. Half an hour of that wandering through the trailer park passes until they finally arrive at the improvised porch of Y/N’s trailer. She drops an almost unconscious Jughead on her bed, pulling his jacket off with a lot of difficulty, as he wanted to keep it on, covering him with a blanket after untying his shoes. Y/N fills a glass of water and takes some ibuprofen to her bedside desk along with a note instructing Jughead to close the trailer door when he leaves and drop the key in the plant at the bottom of the porch stairs. Y/N watches the boy sleeping in her bed. He looks serene, unlike when he’s awake. She grabs a blanket for herself to sleep in the couch.

#Jughead Jones #Jughead Jonex x Reader #Jughead Jones x Doctor!Reader #Riverdale #riverdale imagine #jughead jones imagine #Forsythe Pendleton Jones III #Southside Serpent #South Side Serpents #thank you mom for proofreading at 1 AM #Jughead x Reader #Riverdale Imagines #Jughead Jones Imagines #Juggie Jones #fanfic #imagine #Jughead Jones III #Whyte Wyrm

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littlebitoffanfic · 7 years ago

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Worthy

Fandom: Pirates of the Caribbean Character: James Norrington Relationship: James Norrington/reader Request: What I would like to see is perhaps some character development coming from James? (maybe even the Reader herself ;)) What about something with Reader helping James getting through his depression after his whole career has fallen apart? But maybe this time reader wouldn't be a pirate??? (unless it'd be too much of a struggle for ya) You walked to the small tavern in the middle of the town. You could hear the overwhelmingly bad singing of sailors and farmers as they sung their heart out. Pushing the door open, you pulled your coat further over yourself as you walked into the tavern. It wasn’t a place for a lady like you. In fact, it wasn’t even a place for the whores who wondered the streets, ready to flash a heel for a pretty penny. But you pushed your way through the men, searching for him. You knew this was the only place he would be. After his fall from grace, he had landed at rock bottom and didn’t seem to know how to get back up. You really didn’t know how you could help him. Blinking back tears, you hated that it had come to this. Only a few months ago, he had made a request for you to join him for dinner. At that dinner, he had asked you if you had ever considered marriage. You told him the thought had crossed your mind but your father would have the final decision. The next day, you father came in with pride written on his face as he announced that the great James Norrington had requested for him to attend a meeting about your hand in marriage upon James return from his journey. James left to catch Jack Sparrow that morning and you had ran to him before he departed. He pulled you aside, smiling at you. “Since we were children, I knew you were the one I wanted to marry.” He answered when you asked if it was true. You couldn’t help but fling yourself at him, pressing your lips to his in a sweet kiss. He had to pry himself away from you when he was called, but promised you he would return to marry you. But that never happened. he returned and had his ranks stripped from him. He turned away from you and to the drink. He refused to speak to you or even see you. It broke your heart. As you pushed your way through the crowed, you saw the once great James Norrington, slumped over on a bar stool. He was watching the half filled glass with a resentment you had never seen before. You tried to walk towards him when a large hand caught your upper arm. “Where you goin’, pretty little thing?” A rough voice slurred and, as you turned to yank your arm away. But he had a tight grip on you. He tried to pull you closer and you smelt the alcohol on your breath. Fear flooded your body as you struggled against his grip. “Get your hands off of me!” You cried out, not sure if your voice would be heard over the rowdy crowed He sneered at you, but then his eyes fell on something behind you. “get off her!” You instantly recognized it as being James voice. You glanced back to see he had drawn out his sword and, even though he was probably drunk, he would still be handy with it if needed. The man growled before pushing you away from him. You stumbled over your long dress and fell, only to be caught by James. You expected him to ask if you were okay, but he didn’t. He hauled you up on your feet and dragged you out of the tavern. It was late and the sky was dark. There was no one on the streets at this time apart from the occasional drunk stumbling home. “What you doing here?” he slurred, and you wondered if you would have been better off with the drunk in the tavern. James was angry. “I was looking for you.” You replied, a little annoyed at his tone of voice. “Well, you found me!” He held out his hands. “Now go away.” he turned on his heel and started to stumble back into the tavern, but you ran after him. He heard you and turned around, blocking your entrance. “Go. Away.” He said, in a low and threatening voice, but you saw a pain in his eyes that you couldn’t ignore. He was about to turn around, but you couldn’t control your own heart ache. “You said you wanted to marry me!” You screamed at him. You couldn’t count the amount of sleepless nights you had spent thinking about him. Or the amount of time you spent searching for him. Everyone called you insane. You were from a well off family and your father had said you could marry someone with money. But you didn’t want them. You wanted the drunk in front of you and that broke your heart. “Was that a lie?” you wanted a reaction from him. You wanted him to acknowledge your existence. “Or was I just another jewel in your hand that you could throw away in exchange for drink?” You saw his whole body slouch, the glass he had carried out dropping to the ground. Due to the mud, it didn’t shatter. “I would have done anything for you, James. And the second you got back, you tossed me aside. You didn’t even come visit me! I tried everything to find you. I just wanted to help you!” You continued, only for him to spin around. “I cant be helped! They stripped everything away from me! Ive. Got. Nothing.” He screamed at you, gesturing to himself as he did so. But you didn’t even flinch. “You still had me.” You sighed. “No, no I didn’t. I should have known I could never had you.” His anger dropped away and was now replaced with misery as he swayed on the stop. “I cant give you anything. Look at me!” “James, I-“ You started to move towards him, but he held his hands out, stopping. “you will marry someone of the highest rank. You will live in a elegant house and have all the comforts you deserve in life. And you will forget about me.” James raised his head, speaking with an air of authority that you hadnt heard in a while. He then looked down. You saw an element of hate in his eyes as they raked over his dishevel appearance. You walked up to stand in front of him and his eyes moved to your dress. They travelled up your body till they reluctantly met your eyes. “When was the last time you slept in a bed rather than a tavern floor?” You asked, seeing the dark circles under his eyes. Embarrassment crossed his face as he looked away. “Longer than I care to admit.” He muttered, looking back to you. You nodded and walked to stand by his side. You looped your arm in his and gently started to guide him away from the tavern. You were surprised he allowed you to do this, considering his reluctance to even stand close to you. The two of you walked down the empty street in a comfortable silence. This had always been a small dream of yours. You just wanted to walk in the street with the man you loved. You blinked your eyes, not wanting the tears to start again. God knows how long you had spent crying over the very man who was next to you. You felt him start to straighten up as he walked but you didn’t say anything. Maybe he was pretending just as you were. You eventually guided him into a small inn. You knew the owner as Mrs Little, an elderly woman who you had always liked. She ran her inn with a zipped lip and you knew if you went there, she would take your secret to your grave. You felt James pause, a little reluctant to follow inside but you gave him a small smile which made him trust you. He followed you into the small hallway and to the hatch in the door. Sure enough, Mrs Little appeared in the hatch. “hello, dear.” Her eyes skimmed over the two of you. “Just the one room?” “Yes, please.” You nodded. You knew she knew about the promise he had made to you all those months ago. She knew everything. She was the silent knowledge of the town and would always offer help to those who needed it. The world needed more people like her. She handed you the key and you gave her the payment, smiling and thanking her. You climbed the stairs, thankful that there was no one in the inn who came out of their room. You unlocked the door and opened before walking in. He followed you in, watching you closely. The comfortable silence had disappeared and now you felt the strain in the air. You closed the door over but didn’t lock it just yet. Turning back to him, you held out the key to James. He reached out, taking the key but his hand hovered against your skin for a second before dropping. “Why are you doing this?” He suddenly asked, clutching the key in his hand as if it was his only safety net. For a moment, you thought over your answer. You tried to think of any reason to give him that he might believe. But you were unable to think of anything. You sighed, looking away from him. “Because I love you. I always had. And that day you left, I thought everything was perfect. And I waited for you to return. Every day I stood at the harbor.” You looked around the room, unable to look him in the eyes. “But you came back and acted like you wanted nothing more to do with me. And it broke my heart.” Tears cascaded down your cheek as you were unable to hold them back any more. “I did not lie to you that day.” James suddenly said, his eyes watching your tears. “I meant it. I intended to return back to marry you. But now, I cant.” “Why? Because you don’t love me?” You offered. Your voice was sharp, but you couldn’t take much more. “No, of course not!” James suddenly barked at you, taking your words as a personal insult. “because im not worthy!” His words caught you off guard yet again and you stood, staring at him in utter confusion. “Im-im not worthy. You deserve more than I can ever offer now. I didn’t come to find you because I feared you would have found someone else. I couldn’t see you on the arm of another.” He sighed, turning away from you. “Did you ever stop to ask what I wanted?” You asked, seeing his glance over his shoulder at you. “I didn’t care what medals you wore, what blade you carried or what rank you were. I loved you for who you are. If you had asked for my hand with nothing else but a pocket full of coins, I would have said yes.” “And your father? He would allow you to marry someone who-“ He started but you cut him. “My father would allow me to marry who ever I loved. And while he may not agree with my decision, he would support me.” You clarified. “What?” James turned to you, bewildered. “When you came back, we were the first family to know what happened. And he sat down with me and asked me about it. I told him how I felt about you. And he agreed if you came to him and asked him, he would give his blessing.” You explained as your tears began to sting your cheek. “But you never did.” You mumbled as you broke down. You raised your hands to cover your face as you cried into your palms. There was a brief moment before arms encircled you and you were pulled against a hard chest. “Im sorry.” You heard James mumbled time after time as he held you. He guided you over to the small double bed in the corner and you both sat down. His arm stayed wrapped around you as you lay your head on his shoulder. you pulled out a cloth to dry your eyes as you focused on calming yourself. “I cant offer you the luxuries in life you deserve.” He whispered to you in a soothing voice. “But I will never stop loving you.” You pulled away, eyes wide at his words. He looked into your eyes for the first time in months. At least properly. You saw he was telling the truth and that love that you had seen in his eyes the day he left seemed to have returned. You couldn’t help but smile at him as he reached out and took one of your hands, raised it and pressed a soft kiss on the back of your hand. The kind and loving gesture was evry much needed. “James, I love you, too.” You smiled, gently squeezing his hand. “If I go to your father tomorrow, do you think he would still allow me to take your hand in marriage?” he asked, swiping his thumb over your soft skin. “Im afraid I don’t know.” You shrugged. “Then I shall just have to persuade him.” James smiled. You hadnt seen him give a genuine smile in months. You glanced out the window and noticed it was now pitch black out. “I need to go.” You told him, nodding to the window. He followed your directions. “But I’ll see you tomorrow?” “Of course.” He confirmed, before leaning in and pressing a kiss to yours lips. this one was similar to the first kiss you had ever shared with him. It was filled with desire and adoration but still carried that sense of danger you loved about him. you had to pry yourself away from him and get up. He followed you to the door, a soft smile on his lips as you peaked his cheek. “You might want to get a bath while you are here? My father may look over most things, but if you insult his smell, you’ll be out the door.” You giggled as James nodded. Leaving the room, you felt like a weight had been lifted and you took all your energy not to stay with him that night. But of your father noticed your absents overnight, there would be hell to pay. Just was you were about to leave the inn, Mrs Little grabbed your arm. “I couldn’t help but noticed the gentleman’s clothes. I happen to have a couple of pieces of clean clothes left by others. Do you think he would accept them?” She asked, pointing to a small pile of folded clothes in the corner. “That would be perfect, thank you.” You smiled, nodding at her before taking your leave. Sure enough, the next day, your father called you down to tell you of your new engagement to James Norrington. You asked where James was and your father told you that, since he was his new son-in-law, he would have to dress in accordance so had sent him with money to get new clothes from the market. Your father seemed to have everything planned out, as you later found out. He gave you both money to buy a small house just outside the center of town. James was hired for a small merchant company and you quickly settled into your new, simplistic lifestyle. You started helping Mrs Little at her inn, which provided a little bit more money but also some funny stories. However, every time James walking in the front, you knew you had made the right decision. Every now and again, James would shrink back into himself, saying he wasn’t worthy of you. You had to help him through those times, telling him how much you loved him. Just like he loved you.

#James Norrington #james norrington x reader #james norrinton/reader #reader insert #fluff #angst

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allyourdarlingswans · 7 years ago

Text

the fourth overture - chapter iv: and fell in love

chapters - i: we were just children | ii: learning to grown up | iii: when we found each other through music | iv: and fell in love

MASTERLIST

*another beautiful aesthetic from @hopeandbeans

part a

The bell chimed brokenly as Emma walked into the Fourth Overture. Emma had been skeptical about the shop, its storefront displayed a broken violin and other equally worn instruments and it boosted even less foot traffic than Mr. Gold's pawnshop. But it was the only music store in town and she wanted to encourage Henry’s sudden interest in joining an after school music program. According to Mary Margaret, Henry had never participated in a group activity with children his own age. Emma didn’t want Henry’s childhood to be an echo of hers - lonely, without sound, without hope, without love.

Emma was determined to help Henry regain his childhood. She wanted him to have friends and interests and not be so wrapped up in curses and fantasies. Though she had never been inclined to music herself, she felt that this was exactly what Henry needed.

However, the inside of the shop was even less inspiring than the outside. There was dust everywhere, layers of it on the instruments but also, in the air, seemingly floating about aimlessly in some half-life.

"It's like fucking Phantom of the Opera," Emma muttered under her breath.

"Can I help you?"

Emma spun around, hand on her holster. "Anyone ever tell you not to sneak up on a cop?" she scowled before she even got a proper look at the offender.

"You must be the new deputy," the man replied mildly as he took a step into a stray ray of weak light. "I'm the owner of this...place," he said as though he didn't know how else to describe his poor excuse for a shop.

Emma had instinctively taken a half step back and tightened her hold on her gun. She had expected someone small and sinister like Gold but the speaker looked just about as different from the other shop owner as possible.

He was tall, enough that she had to tilt her head back, even from her position several feet away. And handsome, even strikingly so, with a strong jaw and deep blue eyes. His eyes even reminded her of Henry's. They were nearly the same shade.

But what distinguished him from Gold and her son and damn near anyone else she had met in this weird little town was the deep air of melancholy surrounding him.

Emma found it hard to believe that anyone in Storybrooke was cursed. Magic aside, the denizens of Storybrooke didn't seem to be any different than anyone else in small town America. Their lives were small, petty and somewhat vacant. Sure, to some, such a life would be a curse but that hardly meant some malevolent element was the cause.

But this man, though real and solid before her and present like any other citizen of Storybrooke, looked haunted, weighed down in shadows, a phantom in his own life. Cursed.

She shook her head at such fanciful thoughts. She had been reading too much into Henry's fairytales. She lived in reality. And she was here to help Henry live in this reality.

"Yeah, that's me. Emma Swan. And you are?" she replied, holding her head up high.

The man held his hand out and she reached out to shake it. "James Hook," he said as their hands touched.

Emma felt a jolt unlike anything she ever felt before. It stunned her - it was both foreign and familiar, and she pulled back abruptly, still feeling her skin tingle where they touched.

"It must be the stupid name," she muttered to herself.

"Pardon?"

"Yeah, c'mon man, James Hook? Really? Isn't that too obvious?" She crossed her arms defensively.

James cocked his head to the side. "I don't know what you mean."

"James Hook? As in Captain Hook from J.M. Barrie's Peter Pan?" she raised her eyebrows at him.

He raised one back at her. "Oh, I didn't know that was his first name. It's not like I named me," he said with a shrug.

Emma blushed, a bit embarrassed, in the face of his nonchalance. Of course, James was a perfectly normal name and it wasn't like he got to decide what his first and surnames would be. And even if he did, why would he care about fairy tale parallels anyway?

"Look, I think I'm at the wrong place," she said, as she dropped her arms.

"So you didn't mean to come into a music store?" he asked slowly.

Emma scrunched her face at him. "Well, I..." She didn't know what to say about his shop without insulting him. "I'm just not sure this is the right kind of music store," she finally managed to offer.

"It's the only one in town."

Emma sighed. She knew that but she supposed she could go to Boston on her day off. It would mean Henry wouldn't have an instrument for a few days but she could probably get him something that wasn't...broken.

While Emma was thinking, it seemed James had determined the direction of her thoughts. He opened the door for her and gestured at the exit. In that movement, she saw that his left arm was abruptly truncated. And she somehow knew, without having to ask him, that he was a musician who lived in the shadows of dusty instruments he could no longer play.

And she couldn't walk out.

"What about the violin in the window? How much will you sell it for?"

part b

When Emma arrived at Storybrooke Elementary, she was alarmed to find Henry considering a bunch of large brass instruments - trumpets and tubas and other things she couldn't name. She groaned internally, chastising herself for not consulting Henry (though she had wanted it to be a surprise) and not thinking more like a ten year old boy.

She hadn't been thinking of much at all while James Hook had been restringing the violin with his one hand and teeth, to be honest.

She had tried to hide the violin behind her back when Henry spotted her. But she was relieved and quite pleased with herself when Henry cried out enthusiastically, "A violin! How did you know I wanted to play this?"

"Just a hunch, kid."

"Cool! The school doesn't have a REAL one," Henry said in the most judgmental tone she had ever heard him use. She had to admit, when he showed her the school's offering, it even looked like a toy fiddle to her.

It had only been about a week but Henry was now dragging the violin around with him everywhere he went. He was naturally talented at it. Okay, he didn't know how to read music yet and all he really did was draw his bow across the strings but with nothing but instinct, it sounded like music to Emma's ears. They were now having an early dinner at Granny's where the other patrons were politely ignoring Henry's unguided playing.

There was some muted clapping when Henry finally put down his bow and it took a moment for Emma to realize it was James, clapping using his right hand and left forearm.

He looked even more handsome outside his dusty shop and viewed in proper lighting.

"Quite a natural talent, lad," he was saying.

"Thanks," Henry beamed. "But I don't really know what I'm doing."

"I'm certain you will be a quick study. Who is your instructor?"

"Mr. Coleman."

"The parcel delivery driver?" James asked skeptically.

"Yeah, that's him. I don't think he really knows that much about music. He says a job is a job. But he lets us jam," Henry rambled along.

"Jam?"

Emma tried hard not to laugh. James looked horrified at the idea of Henry just sitting around "jamming."

"The kids are having fun. That's the important part, right?"

"Right, right, of course," he said after a moment though his tone clearly indicated his doubt. "Well, if you would like any lessons, lad...well, your mother knows where my shop is."

"Really?" Henry held up his violin in request.

"Hey, kid, Mr. Hook" (as if that didn't sound really weird) "is here to have dinner, not work."

But Mr. Hook was already sliding into the seat next to Henry, not even acknowledging her attempt to give him an exit. He launched into an explanation of strings and frets and things that were beyond Emma's limited musical knowledge. She just sat back and watched. With their dark heads bent towards each other, Emma couldn't help but think what a tableau they made, like they were father and son.

part c

Ruby cornered her while she was exiting the bathroom. "I want to hear all about it."

"Hear all about what?" Emma asked, bewildered by the predatory look on the waitress' face.

"You and Hook, of course!"

Emma breathed in sharply, trying to calm the swooping sensation in her stomach at the mere mention of her and James. As though they were together. "There is nothing going on between me and Hook," she managed.

"What do you mean there's nothing? The man was a recluse for ten years until a couple of weeks ago! No one EVER saw him after the accident."

"What happened?"

"What do you mean what happened? He's here at the diner eating dinner with you nearly every night!"

"It's every other night," she corrected. "And it's the only payment he'll accept for giving Henry violin lessons. Now tell me about the accident. About his hand, right?"

Ruby sighed, seemingly accepting there was no juicy gossip about her and James. "He was a musical prodigy, you know. He was good at everything, but that concert grand piano he has in the back of his shop?"

Emma nodded. She remembered it. It dominated the room, it was so huge. It was the saddest thing in that shop until James stepped into the light.

"That was his forte. He was really going to be something, make it big in Boston. Had a scholarship and everything. He was supposed to leave the next week when someone T-boned his car, caused him to skid off the road and over an embankment. He lost his hand, his music, everything. His girlfriend even left him. And they never caught the guy."

Ruby shook her head, her eyes a bit wet from the memory.

"What about his family?"

"Never had one. He was an orphan," she sighed, throwing a rare grateful look at her grandmother at the counter. "Hey, Emma," Ruby said as she turned back. "He’s a good guy but a really sad story, so just be gentle. You might not think there's something but he might."

Emma walked back towards the diner feeling weighed down. Not because of Ruby's warning but what she now knew of James. Perhaps what she had always known about James. He was heavy with loss and sorrow. Like her. Abandoned and cursed. Like her.

Emma didn't remember anything about her past. She didn't remember her parents, she didn't know who the father of her son was. And she didn't want to know. When she was found, wandering about at eighteen by herself in Maine, pregnant, they suggested she try therapy to unearth her memories. But Emma was scared. Maybe her mind had suppressed those memories for a reason. Maybe her loss was too deep.

Maybe that's why she recognized the haunted lost look in James' eyes the moment they met. They were kindred spirits.

But when Emma turned the corner, she could see James smiling softly as he watched Henry play "Twinkle, twinkle little star". Emma felt her heart swell. Even after everything that had happened to him, he could still enjoy music. He was not entirely broken. Maybe she wasn't either.

Emma was so busy watching the two that she ran straight into Graham.

"Whoa there!" he said, holding her by her upper arms.

"Oh, sorry, Graham. I didn't see you there," Emma said distractedly as she tried to maneuver around her boss.

"Actually, I'm glad I ran into you. Literally."

"Oh no. You're not going to ask me to work another night shift, are you?" Emma whined. She didn't want to miss a free night with Henry and James.

"Actually, I was thinking we could both be on call tomorrow. It's not like there's much happening in Storybrooke other than Henry running away."

Emma frowned at Graham's flat joke. "Okay, whatever."

"Great! Then I'll pick you up for dinner tomorrow night," he said loudly, catching even James and Henry's attention from across the diner.

Before Emma could even respond, Graham was out the door.

part d

James had been acting odd. While his behavior around Henry remained unchanged, he had become more tense around her. At first, she couldn't even pinpoint exactly what made her feel that way. But then she realized James didn't try to draw her into conversations anymore and only offered one worded response to her questions. He didn't look her in the eye and he would often clench his jaw in her presence. Once she started cataloging the changes in his behavior, she could not stop. She even caught him turning around twice when he saw her without Henry.

It wasn't as though they were friends or anything. Why should it matter to her that he disliked her? She didn't care.

But of course she cared. She had never been drawn to someone as much as she was drawn to James. She had never met anyone she thought could understand her as much as he did. And she thought she knew why he was pulling away, because she was scared too.

"So why the Fourth Overture? Isn't that a bit much?"

"Pardon?" James jerked his head up at her question. He had been composing something on a napkin for Henry to try when Henry saw one of his after school friends and asked to say hi. Emma was pleased for Henry - he finally had friends his own age - but she also saw this as an opportunity to speak to James. When Henry had left the booth, James had scrunched down further in his corner and continued scratching at the napkin.

Emma got up and slid into James' side of the booth. His blue eyes widened in alarm.

"Four overtures just seems like a lot."

The alarm in James' eyes receded and his entire face brightened with interest as her comment registered with him. "You know something about music?"

Emma wanted to say yes but she couldn't lie to him. "No, no, not really, just something I read on Wikipedia about overtures being like beginnings?" she responded, flustered by her need to impress him but her inability to.

But James smiled softly at her. "It's wonderful that you've taken such an interest in your son's hobby."

Emma couldn't help but stare at him. There was something about James' smile that touched the edge of her consciousness. She wanted to reach out and trace the corners of his mouth. She had already starting leaning towards him when she heard her name being abruptly called.

She moaned in irritation. "What now, Graham?" she bit out as she turned to glare at the Sheriff over her shoulder. "Are you going to con your way into another dinner?"

Graham actually stepped back. "It was just a friendly dinner. I thought we could both use a break?" He put his hands up and tried a conciliatory smile.

Emma wasn't buying it. "You're right, I could. From the people I work with. I told you from the beginning I wasn't interested. How about respecting my wishes?"

"People change their minds."

Emma felt her temper flare. She balled her fists up to prevent herself from getting up and throwing a punch. Graham was still her boss after all. "Good to know you think I'm that inconstant."

"Look, Emma-"

"I think the lady has made her point, eh, mate?"

Emma swung her head back to James, surprised he would say anything. But it seemed to work because Graham mumbled a half apology and retreated to one of the bar stools.

Emma opened her mouth to say something but James beat her to it.

"Apologies, I know you are more than capable of handling yourself but it seemed our Sheriff wasn't actually listening to you."

Emma blinked in surprise. James practically stated her tag line. She was a strong independent woman, she had always done things alone, she didn't need back up, but she had to admit it was kind of nice to have it, so she said the only thing she could. "Thank you."

"You're more than welcome, lass." James scratched behind his ear. “I had thought the two of you were..." He gestured in the air between her and the Sheriff at the counter.

"What? No, no, definitely no," she shook her head emphatically. "Did you think..." Did he really think that she and Graham were a couple? Was that why he had been pulling away?

She leaned forward again to ask when Henry plopped down in her former seat across the booth. "Hey, what do you have for me?" he asked James, pulling the napkin over towards him.

"Just something I've been, uh, working on from time to time. To be honest, the music is always in my head."

"Cool! Like your own personal soundtrack?"

"Um, something like that," he shrugged but Emma could see the blush high on his cheeks and she could hear the tremble in his voice. This music was personal and meant a lot to him. And he was sharing it with Henry.

But Henry seemed oblivious to James' reaction and just positioned the violin on his shoulder and started playing.

Emma enjoyed music, she did, but she’d never had a particular interest in it. It was just something to distract her from time to time when she was on a long drive or on a stakeout. But as soon as Henry started to play, she felt something unlock within her, like a door inside her had opened to allow the sound to touch to her soul. She unconsciously grabbed James' hand to steady herself but that seemed to amplify the feeling even more. It was like transcendence, like everything that she had denied for so long, kept pushed away, was breaking out and she was achieving a new level of consciousness. She turned to James and saw him intently studying her and she knew that she knew this song and that she somehow knew him.

part e

"I have new pages in my book!" Henry cried as he came barreling into the sheriff's office.

Emma looked behind her shoulder to see if Graham's office door was closed. It was possible that Graham already knew about Henry's obsession with the book but she didn't want him to know that she was, well, not exactly encouraging Henry in his theories, but trying to get to the bottom of the mystery at least.

"Shhhh, kid, Operation Cobra is a secret, remember?"

"Right," Henry whispered back but she could tell he was practically bursting with excitement.

At that moment, Graham exited his office. "Hi, Graham!" Henry said extra loudly.

"Eh, hullo, Henry." He turned towards Emma but didn't quite meet her eyes. "Um, patrol time."

"Yep, bye Graham," she replied shortly.

"Poor Graham," Henry remarked once the station doors had swung shut.

"What?"

"The Evil Queen has his heart so I think she's been using him to drive a wedge between you and your prince charming," Henry said as he swung his storybook on to her desk. "He also likes you," he added almost as an afterthought.

Emma felt her heart beat faster. "Wait, I have a prince charming? You've never said anything before."

"Because I didn't know before. Didn't you just hear me? There are new pages in my book!" Henry said as he flipped open the cover and started turning the pages.

Emma unconsciously held her breath in anticipation. How could she really believe in the curse? In evil queens and fairytales? In a prince charming?None of it made any sense. But what about her feelings for James and her son with no known father but eyes like the sea and a natural talent for music?

"Here. This first page showed up the day after I played the song James composed. At first I thought maybe I had missed it before but then, this picture showed up after James gave me more lines." Henry pointed at an illustration of a young boy playing the violin near some docks. He looked strikingly like Henry with a dark mop of hair and blue eyes. Standing in front of him was a girl with yellow hair and a red dress. "There was no way I could've missed this before. This means the more James Hook remembers of this song, the more will be revealed."

Henry smiled triumphantly at Emma. "His name is Killian Jones, by the way."

Emma felt a jolt at hearing that name, as though she knew it even though she hadn't heard it before. "What's his story?"

"It doesn't say much about him so far. Just that he was an orphan, he had been sold into indentured servitude as a child, and he used to sing for the captain of the Walrus. And he was singing once and caught the attention of Her Royal Highness Princess Emma of Misthaven." Henry looked up at her. "That's you, remember?"

"What about this picture? With the violin?" Her voice trembled slightly as she asked. "What does it say about that?"

"That page hasn't shown up yet. But don't worry, I've got this."

"You do?" Emma watched as her son took a folded envelope out of his pocket and laid it flat on the desk. It was more lines of music, in James' writing.

"I stopped by the Fourth Overture and asked Mr. Hook to write more of that song. He remembered some of the words too this time," Henry explained before he turned to carefully take his violin and bow from his case.

Looking up from underneath

Fractured moonlight on the sea

Reflections still look the same to me

Emma listened to Henry play and the feeling of being overwhelmed struck her again. She wanted, needed, to hold James or Killian's or whoever he was, hand again. Instead, she turned the page and gasped when she saw, instead of the blank page that had been there before, a story that described how the princess followed Killian's song around in whatever medium it was presented.

After Henry had left for dinner with Regina, Emma continued to sit and stare at the storybook. Henry had mentioned other instances of magic but Emma never saw them before. He had explained because she never believed before.

Did she really believe now or just want to? Want to fill in the gaps and have James be the one to fill in those lost moments of her youth? Emma shook her head. It was impossible. Because if what Henry had been saying about the curse was true, that time had stood still for ten years, that David Nolan and Mary Margaret Blanchard were really her parents though they were only in their forties, then Killian would have been seventeen still. James Hook was clearly a man. She didn't have the heart to remind Henry of this age discrepancy, she could hardly admit it to herself that it just didn't work. Emma sighed, grabbed her keys and took a lonely drive through Storybrooke.

part e

"Look, Mom, he spent TEN years looking for you!" Henry nodded to her significantly and turned the book towards her.

"Uh, oh." Emma felt her stomach clench. She didn't see anything but a blank page. Because she didn't believe. No, she corrected herself harshly. It was because none of this was real. "Henry..." she began.

"He was in a different kingdom, beyond the curse, when it swept the land. That's how he lost his hand too! He turned to piracy as a means to find you. Which is a dangerous occupation, you know!" Henry continued on, excited. "Whoa, he IS Captain Hook then!"

Henry was interrupted when the door at Granny's swung open and the man himself walked in.

"Apologies for my tardiness," James said as he hurriedly approached their booth at Granny's. He had cancelled all of last week much to her disappointment and Henry's. But Henry had taken it in stride and said he would practice even more and impress James with how much he had improved. Emma had just smiled tightly and hoped that the music shop owner hadn't tired of them.

But he was here this week, as promised, though she noticed he looked pale and had dark circles under his eyes. He even rubbed his hand across his forehead as he sat down.

"Everything okay?" Emma frowned with concern.

"Just fine, love," he replied too quickly with a smile that looked more like a grimace. "A bit of a head cold perhaps," he added at her pointed look.

"Did you write any more of your song?" Henry asked.

"Henry!" Emma gently chastised.

But James just smiled apologetically. "Ah, sorry about that lad. I seem to have writer's block as of late."

Emma watched with greater concern as he rubbed his head again. She was loath to part with James but it looked like he should be resting. She hesitantly suggested it but he waved his hand at her. "No, no, I just need to hear Henry play. I think it would do me a world of good."

Henry beamed, happy to help out.

James had fallen asleep right there at the table. She wanted to take him to the hospital but he waved her off and she had a night shift to catch anyway. At that moment, she regretted being at odds with Graham. She was sitting here in the stupid station when she could be...well, what? Watch her son's tutor sleep off a head cold? Still, maybe she could check in at the end of her shift.

Before she could stop herself, she entered James Hook's name in the town's database. It appeared the Mayor kept quite the record of everyone in town. It was a bit too Big Brother for her but now she found it useful.

Name, James Hook. Address, 444 Main Street. So he lived above the Fourth Overture. Great, she could see him soon after she got off. She was about to turn back to her paperwork when her eye caught his age. Twenty-seven. Twenty-seven. How old Killian Jones would've been if he had lived outside the curse, like her. Twenty-seven. Just like Henry had said earlier that day. Ten years. Killian Jones looked for his princess for ten years, losing his hand in the process, losing his music.

The thoughts were running circles in in her head when the phone rang, startling her.

"Hello?"

"Uh, Deputy, this is Mr. Clarke...uh, you know from the, the pharmacy."

"Yes?"

"You know this is like a 24 hour..." A loud sneeze interrupted him. "A 24 hour kind of place..."

"Okay..."

"I was awake. I mean, I AM awake..." Another sneeze.

"Mr. Clarke, do you have an emergency?" She asked, exasperated at the pace of this man.

"Well, no."

"Okay," Emma rolled her eyes and was about to hang up when she caught Mr. Clarke's "but..."

"Yeah?"

"The Fourth Over-"

Emma didn't wait to listen. She dropped the phone, grabbed her gun, and just ran. She was so frantic that she didn't even get into her bug or call backup. She just ran until she was outside the shop with all its windows now smashed in and glass everywhere.

She pushed through the door, her eyes taking in the scene before her. There was dust everywhere, heavier than before, because all of the dust on the instruments had been disturbed, all sent into the air, after whoever it was had smashed every single instrument in the store to wooden splinters. Emma swallowed heavily, feeling the loss of the sound they had contained, the memories made and to be made on them, but she quickly moved through the store, looking for James. He had to be alright. That was the most important part.

She found him near the back, sitting on the piano bench, in front of the only intact instrument in the room, the concert grand. He was slumped forward and she ran up to him in a panic. "Killi- James!" she cried, sliding on the bench next to him. She turned his face towards her. He had a cut under his left eye but seemed otherwise okay.

She asked anyway, wanting the reassurance. "Hey, hey, you're okay, right?"

James' sad eyes roved around the room, looking at all his broken instruments. His lip trembled for a moment, the only hint of what was about to follow, before he fell forward and started to sob at all he had lost. Emma pulled him towards her, placing his head to her chest, and wrapped her arms tightly around him. "I'm going to find whoever did this and I'm going to make them pay," she whispered fiercely into his ear as she used one hand to stroke his hair. "I'm going to punch them in the face. They are not getting away with this. I won't let them. I won't let anyone hurt you."

But James was beyond that. He had already been hurt and he kept crying and clinging to her. Emma didn't know how long they stayed there together but she refused to let him go.

After awhile, James finally fell silent though she could still feel his tears rolling down his cheeks and onto her skin.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he sniffed as he pulled away. He wiped his nose on his sleeve. "It's just, just stuff. It's not like I can even play any of it anymore."

Emma shook her head. "No, it's not just stuff. These instruments meant a lot to you. They've been a part of you." She cupped the back of his head. "Did you see who did this?"

"No, he, um I think it was a he, was wearing a mask. I was asleep upstairs when it started. I don't know why it took me so long to even hear it. I felt like I was drugged."

Emma took in a sharp breath. It was possible.

"But it's...it was probably one of Gold's hired hands. I owe him rent. Gold, that is." James sniffed hard again. "A lot of rent."

"Why didn't you say anything?" She knew Gold ran this town and everyone was scared of him but she wasn't. She would've done everything in her power to protect this man.

"I didn't want to bother...it's my problem. And I didn't think..." He gestured brokenly at the store. "I thought his goon would take me out with the crowbar too," he added.

"Crowbar?" Emma fumed. How dare this person take on a drugged one-handed man with a crowbar? That coward was going to have to deal with her really soon.

"Aye," he nodded, "when I stood in front of the piano. He took a swipe," he gestured at his eye. "I just only managed to save it." James' fingers hovered above the piano, trembling a bit.

"Height and build? Eye color? Anything?" She hated to be questioning James now but she knew the likelihood of him remembering anything with clarity later would be greatly diminished.

"I don't know. My height and build really. Or actually more like the Sheriff's."

The Sheriff. What had Henry said? Regina was controlling Graham, trying to drive a wedge between her and James. But why? Why would Regina care about her relationship with James? It was David and Mary Margaret who could break the curse, not...

Unless any True Love's Kiss could break the curse. Not that True Love could possibly be between just anyone but as Emma looked over at James, hunched over and staring at his piano, she knew he wasn't just anyone to her. She blurted out, "Play your song for me."

He looked up at her, startled. "I can't," he said after a moment, looking forlornly back down at the piano.

"Let me help." And she didn't know how, she never played piano before, but when she placed her left hand on the keys and wrapped her right around James', Killian's, her love's truncated wrist, she knew she could play the song.

Hook looked at her in surprise as she played the first few notes, and it took him a moment, but he too put his hand on the piano and played the right hand keys.

He never did finish composing that song on napkins and the back of envelopes but they ended up playing the song from start to finish, as though they've always known it, as though they knew it their entire lives.

and the arms of the ocean are carrying me

and all this devotion was rushing out of me

and the crashes are heaven for a sinner like me

ut the arms of the ocean delivered me

and it’s breaking over me

a thousand miles down to the sea bed

found the place to rest my head

never let me go

As they finished playing, Emma looked over at James. She couldn't stop staring at his deep blue eyes. It seemed possible now - that even a Dark Curse that separated them across realms, that erased their memories of everything that they knew before, could not take away the song in their heart. "Oh hell, I believe," she breathed before leaning over to press a kiss on the tear falling from his eye.

It was like lightning striking.

Warmth spread from where her lips touched his cheek and it was like an ocean of memories and feelings crashing over her. Killian, his blue eye staring into hers, his hands over hers on their piano, their one night together.

"You broke the curse," Killian whispered in awe. "You-"

But Emma didn't let him finish, she had more pressing matters at hand to attend to first, such as pressing her mouth to his. He leaned back as she surged forward, she tried to crawl into his lap, into him, and they slipped off the bench and crashed to the ground. Still, she didn't stop kissing him, just pulled his head closer, scratched at the back of his scalp, drowned deeper and deeper into him, until she finally had to take a breath. Even then she continued to pepper his face with kisses as he laughed happily under her.

Emma had never been quite certain of Killian's feelings. She had been the one who chased him whenever he ran, patronized him when he was just scraping by, proposed to him when it broke all rules. She knew he was too good of a man to take advantage of her but had he accepted her affections out of gratitude or obligation? An eighteen year old princess hadn't cared. She knew she loved him enough. But she had also been naive enough to believe one day he would just love her too, if not as much, then at least with some genuineness, apart from what she gave him.

But that bit of doubt grew and manifested in her cursed state into feelings of abandonment and deep insecurity. Combined with an unknown father to the child she bore, she developed sky high walls to protect herself and her heart.

But now, she knew. He had crossed realms to find her, given up everything he had, even lost his hand in the process. She touched his left wrist where his arm ended abruptly. "I love you."

"I'm not your musician anymore," he said somberly in reply.

"Nonsense. You'll always be my musician. You can still sing, you can still compose, you can still play if you let me be your backup."

Killian smiled at that. But she also wanted him to be sure, to know her heart.

"But I don't care if you don't do any of that. Because I love you, no matter what. I love you for you, not your music. Your music is just a reflection of who you are inside."

"I love you, too." It wasn't just a declaration of love. He already demonstrated how much he loved her anyway. And really, only True Love's Kiss could break a curse like that, a curse that was already breaking down before in the face of their love as far as Emma was concerned. It was a declaration of acceptance, that he was worthy of her love and that he accepted that he was worthy not because he was high born or musically talented, but because of who he was.

"You found me this time," she smiled, sitting up but holding on to his hand and wrist.

"Bloody good that did. I was cursed the moment I crossed that town line."

"But we couldn't forget completely."

"Aye, we couldn't."

As they struggled to pull him up, footsteps could be heard running in their direction. "Dad! Dad!" It was their only warning before Henry barreled into Killian's arms and knocked them both over.

"How did you know it was me?" Killian asked as he held his son to him.

Henry pushed himself up on Killian's chest and rolled his eyes. Emma couldn't help but smirk at the look Killian gave her, a look that said, he got his attitude from you. "Of course I knew it was you, Dad. I mean, you've heard me on the violin, right?"

Emma laughed. "You do have your father's talent." She kissed them both on their foreheads and winked, "And good looks."

Killian couldn't accept all the credit though. "You have your mother's stubbornness. And the way you hold your head up," Killian thumbed Henry's chin. "That's definitely your mother's bearing."

Killian hooked his left arm around Henry as he sat up and Emma moved to her True Love's right side, wrapping her own arm around Henry.

"So our family is finally all together now? And we'll never be alone again?" Henry asked, looking at both of them.

"Never," Emma affirmed. "We will never let each out go."

Looking up from underneath

Fractured moonlight on the sea

Reflections still look the same to me

As before I went under

And it's peaceful in the deep

Cathedral where you cannot breathe

No need to pray, no need to speak

Now I am under all

And it's breaking over me

A thousand miles down to the sea bed

Found the place to rest my head

Never let me go

And the arms of the ocean are carrying me

And all this devotion was rushing out of me

And the crashes are heaven for a sinner like me

But the arms of the ocean delivered me

Though the pressure's hard to take

It's the only way I can escape

It seems a heavy choice to make

And now I am under all

And it's breaking over me

A thousand miles down to the sea bed

Found the place to rest my head

Never let me go

And the arms of the ocean are carrying me

And all this devotion was rushing out of me

And the crashes are heaven for a sinner like me

But the arms of the ocean delivered me

And it's over

And I'm going under

But I'm not giving up

I'm just giving in

I'm slipping underneath

So cold and so sweet

And the arms of the ocean so sweet and so cold

And all this devotion I never knew at all

And the crashes are heaven for a sinner released

And the arms of the ocean delivered me

Never let me go

Deliver me

Never let me go

Deliver me

Never let me go

Deliver me

Never let me go

And it's over

(Never let me go, Never let me go)

And I'm going under

(Never let me go, Never let me go)

But I'm not giving up

(Never let me go, Never let me go)

I'm just giving in

(Never let me go, Never let me go)

i’m slipping underneath

(never let me go, never let me go)

so cold and so sweet

(never let me go, never let me go)

FIN

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therealestatesparkblog · 6 years ago

Text

Ignore This Principle and You'll Destroy Your Real Estate Career

I admit it. Im a recovering engineer. Truth be told, I should never have gone to engineering school. I didnt know myself at all. I didnt know my strengths and weaknesses, my likes and dislikes. I didnt know I was created to be an entrepreneur and certainly didnt know about the power of real estate investing. So, in my Junior year of high school, I learned that there were no degrees in parapsychology (yes, Im embarrassed to say Im serious). I wanted to do something adventurous, and thats about the time I heard about petroleum engineering. So I signed up. That was my first big career mistake. But I shouldnt lament. I enjoyed a rigorous education, and my (more valuable) MBA degree seemed easy by comparison (no calculus or physics!). And I learned an important Buffettism before Id ever heard of Warren Buffett. I hope you already know about it, in name or in practice, but if you dont practice it, youre sure to come to financial ruin. Its called the margin of safety. This post is the 7th in a series that Bryan Taylor, John Jacobus, and I affectionately call Warren Buffett is my Real Estate Mentor. We hope Buffetts wisdom impacts you as it has us. What is the Margin of Safety? The margin of safety is a principle of investing in which an investor only purchases assets when their purchase price is significantly below their estimate of intrinsic value. In other words, when the purchase price of an asset is significantly below your estimation of its intrinsic value, the difference is the margin of safety. Because investors may set a margin of safety in accordance with their own risk preferences, buying assets when this difference is present allows an investment to be made with lower downside risk. Thus sayeth Investopedia.

Related: What Interviewing 100+ Investors on Failure Taught Me About Losing Money What Sayeth Warren Buffett? Well, if youre driving a truck across a bridge that holdsit says it holds 10,000 poundsand youve got a 9,800-pound vehicle, you know, if the bridge is about six inches above the crevice that it covers, you may feel OK. But if its, you know, over the Grand Canyon, you may feel you want a little larger margin of safety, in terms of only driving a 4,000-pound truck, or something, across. So it depends on the nature of the underlying risk. Berkshire Hathaway Annual Meeting 1997 This really did remind me of engineering school. When designing drilling rigs or bridges, we had to design all of the components to withstand all of the forces that could be involved. When all the calculations were done, we had to slap on a margin of safety or safety factor. If the safety factor was 3.2, we had to make it 220% stronger than it needed to be. (That would mean a margin of safety of 2.2, but that is getting technical.) To a 19-year-old punk, this seemed like a needless waste. Wait the biggest semi-truck allowed on this road weighs 80,000 pounds. But we have to design the bridge to withstand 256,000 pounds? Isnt that a huge waste? (I didnt know that one in four U.S. bridges failed in the 1800s.) Thirty-six years later, this makes a lot of sense. But it didnt then. I hadnt thought of this engineering term when making investments, but the widely-read Buffett connected the dots for me. The margin of safety is a key concept for us to understand when making an investment in something that has inherent unknowns. Which is every investment I can think of. The margin of safety is a risk management concept that forces us to think about our purchase price relative to our estimate of intrinsic value. Using non-financial examples, like Buffetts bridge, really drives the point home for me. Having a margin of safety is an intuitive concept when deciding to cross a bridge (unless youre a daredevil), but can be more difficult to see when studying, say, a pro forma analysis of a potential investment. So, What Does This Mean for Real Estate Investors? Real estate has numerous unknowns. Your floating debt may change based on unpredictable factors. Your local economy may suffer layoffs. Your property manager may make bad decisions. Your turnaround plan may suffer from unforeseen tariffs on raw materials. The list goes on. The challenge is to not focus on accurately calculating a margin of safety for all of these unknowns. You just cant do this effectively. (Check out this earlier article on becoming a billionaire by being approximately right on a few key variables.) The key is to purchase real estate at a price that allows for a safety net in the event that some random combination of these currently unknown events occur. Related: 3 Ways to Reduce Risk in Your Real Estate Portfolio Some Practical Examples Ensuring that your investment property has adequate debt service coverage (DSC) is a great example why building in a margin of safety is crucial. You must ensure that your cash flow is sufficient to cover your debt obligations. But should you simply make sure that it covers it by just 100%? Or should you make sure that you cover debt service by more than 100%? You know the answer. You dont want to risk some unknown occurrence which would increase your operating expenses and leave you unable to pay your mortgage. Thats a good way to learn a very hard lesson in real estate. Youll be glad to know your banker wont allow this to happen. They insist on a margin of safety of at least 25% (debt service coverage ratio of 1.25xyou should aim for much higher than this). Another great example is forecasting occupancy and rent rates on multifamily properties. You can easily find data that shows average occupancy and rent rates for comparable properties. When you do, should you simply use those averages for your forecasting purposes? No. When applying a margin of safety, youll want to forecast your occupancy below market averages and the same for rent rates. This is often described as being conservative, but really youre adding a margin of safety in the event your property suffers low occupancy or your forecasted rent rates are not happening. Your investors will thank you, trust me.

Why Im Not Investing in Multifamily Right Now As the author of an arrogantly titled book on multifamily investing, Im frequently asked why Im not (or why Im rarely) investing in multifamily right now. And why our company has expanded to self-storage and mobile home parks. Its a fair question that deserves an answer. My response involves the margin of safety. As Ive said in several recent BiggerPockets posts, most anyone in the multifamily world knows prices are crazy overheated right now. Yet there are still plenty of eager buyers, seemingly eager to overpay. I have some theories on why this is happening, and some insightful commenters on my last post added some more. This is obviously continuing to drive prices higher. I hope youre not one of these overzealous buyers, but if you are, I urge you to STOP IT! My firm is still reviewing multifamily opportunities, but we believe that most of them will be on the other side of a market correction. Correction? When? That would require a crystal ball to predict. And those who live by a crystal ball are destined to eat ground glass. Buffett wont even predict the timing of these downturns. But he has learned to act appropriately at each point in the cycle. And thats what we must do, too. I was at a large conference in Miami two weeks ago, and one of Americas most famous multifamily syndicators challenged my thinking. He has been incredibly successful during this nearly decade-long run-up in prices, and hes earned the right to be heard. He said, Dont worry about overpaying for multifamily. Just find a great property in a great location. He went on to explain his reasons. (Im not naming him because I didnt catch the exact quote, and I dont want to make him look bad.) My friends, my mind drifted quickly to Mr. Buffett, who has been massively successful since about the year this guy was born. Through many recessions, wars and more, Buffett has amassed one of historys most enviable fortunes. And hes given us his wisdom all along the way. Would Warren Buffett ever say this? Would he say, Im fine with consistently overpaying for companies I buy? Not on your life. Buffett clearly looks for companies that are undervalued, with latent potential that is yet unrealized. Buffett had the guts to buy financial equities when the financial markets were in a free fall in 2008. Buffett has consistently said no to buying at the top of the market. Buffett lives by the margin of safety. We would do well to do likewise.

What about you? How do you factor in a margin of safety when investing in real estate? Comment below! https://www.biggerpockets.com/renewsblog/ignore-principle-youll-destroy-real-estate-career/

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prettysei-remade · 8 years ago

Text

He’s Taken

Written for @leojiweek 2017: Day 1

Prompt: Others’ Interpretation of Leoji/Social Media

read on ao3

Laura xoxo: ugh

Laura xoxo: dani im so sry but my sister saw that picture u put on insta of u and ur brother at the water park and now she's begging me 2 get his number from u

Laura xoxo: she went on his insta and found out he's a wrld famous figure sk8r and she wont shut up abt him

Laura xoxo: pls ill buy u ice cream 4 a week if u can make her stop gushing abt how hot he is

Daniela sighs.

This is not the first time this has happened.

So many people - her friends, her friends’ sisters, girls from drama club, even a couple guys at her school - have tried to get to Leo through her. They're incredibly persistent, and Dani supposes she can see why they would be, from an objective standpoint.

Even she can't bring herself to say that Leo is bad-looking. It's horrible when all her friends come over while Leo is around, because they get all stupid and tongue-tied. She loves them, but they become incredibly annoying in those moments.

She knows Leo has his reasons for choosing to stay at home after graduating high school, but honestly, him moving out would make her life so much easier.

Of course, it doesn't help that he's also a competitive figure skater on the international level, and that he's won a bunch of medals. He's pretty successful, and relatively famous, so naturally everyone wants to be with him.

It would be marginally less irritating if everyone would stop hounding her for information on him.

She sets her phone back down on the kitchen table, prepared to ignore the text until she's finished her geometry homework, when a loud laugh from outside nearly makes her drop her pencil. She rolls her eyes.

Leo's home, and he's probably talking to his skating friend from China.

It's not that she doesn't like Guang Hong. From what she's seen and heard of him, he seems to be very sweet, pretty quiet, and definitely…

Well. It's obvious that he has a crush on Leo.

Anyway, she's spoken to him a little before, during some of his and Leo's many (many) Skype calls, and she likes him. He's only two years older than her, and he's always nice to her.

She knows Leo has a crush on him, too. They're seriously so obvious. But neither one of them thinks they have a chance.

Dani would be amused if it weren't so pathetic. Boys are so stupid, especially when it comes to feelings.

She hears the door swing open, and Leo continues to laugh and talk to the person on the other end of the phone as he walks through the house.

“We'll see each other soon, you know,” he says, a smile in his voice. He mouths a quick “hola” to Dani as he passes the kitchen. “We were both assigned to Skate Canada this year.” A pause as Guang Hong replies. Then, “I know, I feel like I haven't seen you in…”

His voice trails off down the hall, and Dani rolls her eyes. She picks up her phone to tell Laura what she's told everybody else.

It's not quite true, but it might as well be.

You: he’s taken, sry

…

Dani storms up the stairs, shouting all the way up.

“Leo! Mamá already called you for dinner twice, she's gonna be...”

Stopping by his slightly opened bedroom door, she looks through the crack to see Guang Hong's face on Leo's computer screen.

She rolls her eyes and barges in.

“Hi, Guang Hong,” she sighs. “Sorry to steal your boyfriend, but it's time for dinner and Leo really has to come downstairs right now.” She directs those last words at Leo with a pointed glare.

He sputters in response.

“Guang Hong isn't - we're not dating! I'm not his boyfriend!”

Guang Hong just laughs a little on his side.

She has to give him kudos for his reaction, at least. It's still obvious he likes Leo, but he seems to be way more chill about it than Leo is.

She directs her next question at him.

“Hey, isn't it really late in China? Or, like, early?”

He laughs again.

“I'm actually in France right now, for a competition,” he explains.

“A competition he's going to dominate,” Leo adds.

Guang Hong blushes.

Dani throws up in her mouth a little.

“Sure, whatever,” she says, turning to leave. “Mamá's getting really mad downstairs, so say goodbye to your boyfriend.”

“He's not my boyfriend!”

…

The cheers of the crowd nearly drown out what the TV announcer is saying when Leo is awarded his gold medal.

A few moments later, they roar up again when the silver medalist is presented, and then a final, third time when Guang Hong goes to get his bronze.

They look good, standing side-by-side on the podium.

Dani watches them hold up their medals for pictures with matching grins on their faces. Leo says something to Guang Hong, which makes him laugh, and then Guang Hong responds, which makes Leo blush.

To anyone else, this is nothing unusual.

Well, actually, it's nothing unusual to Dani, either. She has to live with half of this. But she's pretty sure she's the only one who's noticed the massive crushes they have on each other.

She's thought about schemes to get them together, before. Like, texting Guang Hong from Leo's phone, or something. It would probably be amusing, and they'd at least stop acting like idiots all the time.

But they should figure it out for themselves. It's bound to happen, sooner or later. Eventually, one of them is going to confess, or make a move. They're building up to something, all on their own, and she doesn't want to interfere unless she absolutely has to.

They're actually pretty cute already, she supposes. Leo is skating around the rink with Guang Hong, an arm draped over his shoulder, and they're both laughing and smiling. They keep saying things into each other's ear, and it's like everybody else - the photographers, the cheering crowd, even the other medalist - doesn't even exist.

She hopes they figure it out soon.

…

Unknown Number: Hi, this is Guang Hong! I hope you don't mind, but Leo gave me your number after we talked on Skype last night. Good luck for your play tonight!

Dani is surprised Guang Hong remembers what she had said about the play, and her drama club.

Sure, Guang Hong had invited her to join the conversation, and they'd actually all talked for a really long time, until Dani realized how late it was getting. She'd thought he would mostly just focus on Leo, though, and was only including her because he was nice to everyone like that.

Apparently not.

She quickly saves his number as a contact (“Leo’s Boyfriend,” because she’s hilarious) and tries to think of how to respond.

Despite her many interactions and connections at school, and a rather large amount of social experience, she isn't exactly sure on the protocol for when your brother's almost-boyfriend texts you, completely separate from said brother.

Whatever. Guang Hong's cool, he'll be nice no matter what she says. She does try to tidy up her grammar, though. At least a little bit.

You: it's cool, i like talking to you. and thanks

Leo's Boyfriend: You're welcome! :)

He still uses smiley faces. Unironically.

That's honestly adorable.

Dani has to hand it to Leo. He's found himself a keeper.

…

Leo's Boyfriend: one time, when we were in japan, phichit made us all try sushi

You: omg no

Leo's Boyfriend: lets just say im never again forcing him to eat anything he says he doesn't want 2 eat

You: omg

You: ok ok my turn

You: so one time we went on this road trip to minnesota

You: it was winter so we decided to go skating at an outdoor rink for fun

You: of course, hes famous and everything so this one lady recognized him and asked him for a picture

You: so they take the picture, everythings great

You: but then he goes to skate away

Leo's Boyfriend: oh no

You: he somehow slips

You: and falls flat on his back

Leo's Boyfriend: did he get hurt??

You: just his pride

You: he got so embarrassed. it was hilarious

Leo's Boyfriend: omg!! XD

You: u know, i think sharing our blackmail material is the best idea weve ever had

Leo's Boyfriend: agreed

…

You: omg i know

You: its always the worst when he tries 2 rap, though

Leo's Boyfriend: don't get me started

Leo's Boyfriend: one time he tried to rap along to ceiling can't hold us by macklemore?

Leo's Boyfriend: like it was cute, but also probably one of the most awful things ive ever heard

Leo's Boyfriend: !!! pls dont tell him i said that!!

You: the cute part or the awful part

Leo's Boyfriend: …

Leo's Boyfriend: both

You: u know he wldn’t care right

You: actually he'd probably spontaneously combust if he knew

Leo's Boyfriend: u want me to tell him i think he's awful at rapping??

You: no

You: nvm

You: has he told u abt his death metal phase yet?

Leo's Boyfriend: !!!

…

“Hey, Dani?”

She looks up from her phone, about to tell Leo off for interrupting her in the middle of an important conversation about whether or not Charlie actually likes Liza, but then she sees his face.

He looks nervous. And… maybe a little upset, though he's hiding it pretty well.

“What?” she asks, turning off the screen and dropping her phone on the armrest.

“Um… can I talk to you?”

“Of course.”

He sits down next to her on the couch and takes a moment to collect himself.

“It's…”

He pauses. Swallows.

“It's about Guang Hong.”

Dani’s ears perk up at that, but she decides not to say anything. She'd rather Leo tell her what's up on his own terms.

“I…” he takes a breath. “You guys are… pretty close, right?”

Dani raises an eyebrow.

“I mean… I guess,” she answers. “I guess we text a lot.”

“Yeah. Well, you - you like him, right?”

“... yeah?”

Leo exhales.

“Okay,” he says decidedly.

Dani is confused.

Did she miss something?

“Okay… what?” she asks.

“Just… okay. You have my blessing.”

What on earth is he talking about?

“I have your blessing? Your blessing for what?”

Leo holds up his hands.

“I know, I know, you don't care what I think,” he says quickly. “I know you don't need it. But… I just thought… I know you like each other, but he's my friend, too, so I thought I'd just… tell you, I approve. Okay?”

A cold, hard pit starts to form inside of Dani’s stomach as she begins to realize what's going on.

“Leo,” she says, carefully, “what… exactly are you giving your blessing for me to do?”

Leo frowns. He runs a hand through his hair.

“To… to date Guang Hong.”

Oh.

Oh my god.

Dani lets her eyes fall shut and her head drop back against the couch.

“Leo,” she groans.

“It's okay! It's fine, I don't mind, really!”

“Leo…”

“I know, this is awkward, but I'm your brother, so - ”

“Leo, you're so stupid.”

He stops at that.

“I…” he swallows. “What?”

“Leo,” Dani says patiently. “I don't like Guang Hong like that. Guang Hong doesn't like me like that. We're friends. Just like you.”

Leo sits back.

“Huh,” he says. “Well, nevermind, then.”

Dani looks at him, sitting there all confused, getting lost in his own thoughts.

He looks a little relieved, but he doesn't know what to think, now. Dani wonders how much he had psyched himself up, prepared himself for hearing that Dani wants to date the guy he's in love with.

Probably a lot.

He has no idea Guang Hong likes him back, and Dani is just now realizing how seriously it's affecting Leo.

They can't go on this way. Dani needs to do something, if only to keep her brother from hurting like this.

“Actually, we're not like you at all,” she says, sitting up straighter. “Guang Hong and I are friends. Guang Hong and you are… I don't even know what you are.”

“What do you mean? We're friends!”

“No, you're not, Leo,” Dani insists. “I mean, you are, but don't you see you're so much more than that? God, you guys are hopeless.”

“What do you mean, more?”

“I mean, you two are in love with each other and you don't even know it! It's driving all three of us insane, and I'm the only one who even notices! I mean you're hopeless, Leo!”

She pauses at the stunned look on Leo's face, panting slightly.

Leo stares at her.

Dani stares back.

Then Leo whispers, “You think he knows?”

Dani swallows.

“Not about you,” she whispers back.

“But he likes me back.”

“Yeah.”

Leo looks at the floor.

“Wow.”

Dani grins, in spite of it all.

“Yeah. Wow.”

He looks up at her, squinting.

“Do you think I should tell him?”

“If you don't, I'll tell him myself.”

He looks back at the floor.

“Wow,” he whispers.

He looks amazed, as if the idea of Guang Hong actually liking him back had never even entered his brain.

He smiles softly to himself.

Dani rolls her eyes.

…

Unknown Number: hey, this is tara from drama club last year! ashlyn gave me your number, hope that's ok lol! i was just wondering, that's your brother and his friend in that pic on instagram, right?

You: let me guess. u want my brothers number

Unknown Number: actually, i was wondering abt his friend? he's rlly cute lol

Dani is a little surprised Tara doesn't want Leo's number, but she knows the post she's talking about, and honestly, she kind of gets it.

Guang Hong has been coming over every few days to visit, since he’s training in California in the off-season. In this particular instance, he and Leo were sitting side-by-side on the couch, Leo's arm resting casually over the top of Guang Hong's shoulders, and the lighting coming in from the bay window was absolutely gorgeous. They made a perfect picture, and Dani couldn’t resist putting in on Instagram.

Well.

She smirks as she types her response to Tara, entirely truthful this time.

You: he’s taken, sry

#leojiweek2017 #leojiweek #ruby writes #ruby originals #leoji #fic

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