#my limits have eroded and god will never catch up with me

[nonbinarywarcriminal]

my ex gf was the only limbus fan I knew, so cutting her off has resulted in so many irls getting absolutely killed with my project moon autism beam

[insomniamamma]

Liminal: Ezra and Cee

A/N: Contemporary AU in which Ezra becomes his niece, Cee's caretaker after an automobile accident kills his brother, Damon, and costs him his arm. Same AU as "Ferris wheels are for old people." No reader insert character, just Ezra and Cee on the road. Written for @autumnleaves1991-blog​ ‘s Writer’s Wednesday.

Warnings: Mentions of past trauma/injury. Drug references in a song. Some language. I tried to research body powered transhumeral prosthetics to get some idea of how Ezra's prosthetic arm might work, but then I fell into an overthinking morass, any inaccuracies are mine.

"Willin'" is written by Lowell George. The version referenced in the story is recorded by Linda Ronstadt.

lim·i·nal /ˈlimənl/

adjective: liminal

   1.relating to a transitional or initial stage of a process.    2.occupying a position at, or on both sides of, a boundary or threshold.

--"Willin'"--

          "’... been warped by the rain, driven by the snow,’" Cee sings along with the music rattling through the truck's speakers, "I'm drunk and dirty, don't you know. But I'm still willin'..."

        The road stretches long and straight in front of them, harsh, rust-colored land dotted with scrub under the arc of an impossibly blue sky. Ezra asked Cee to compile the playlist. You are my co-pilot for this mission, he'd told her, and as such your duties include, but are not limited to, navigator, snack supervisor and DJ. DJ? Really? Make us a playlist, Little Bird, every adventure needs some good road music. And she had really delivered.          "’...Out on the road late last night, I'd see my pretty Alice in every headlight, Alice, Dallas Alice...’"  Ezra'd expected hours of auto-tuned pop or loud screamy music where he couldn't understand the words, and while there was some of that, Cee had taken her duties as DJ very seriously, creating a huge genre-bending list that all worked together.

     He knew a lot of it. When he was still weird Uncle Ezra and not Legal Guardian Ezra, Cee made a habit of pawing through his vinyl collection when she and Damon would visit, picking a record to play and then peppering him with questions about it. Still, some of the tracks she picked surprised him, like this one, Linda Ronstadt's version of "Willin'" a road trip anthem if there ever was one, but something he didn't expect Cee to be familiar with.  On their first go through the playlist, he'd asked her, where'd you hear this one, Birdie? You remember that movie, The Abyss? It's in that movie, the director's cut though, not the theatrical cut, the theatrical cut is bullshit--and he'd just listened to her go off about all the things wrong with the theatrical cut, the movie itself he barely remembered, something about divers finding aliens underwater, he'd listened and grinned, Cee could go so quiet sometimes. It was always a relief to hear her sound alive and interested, especially after--          "’And I've been from Tucson to Tucumcari," Cee sings and Ezra joins her, "Tehachapi to Tonopah...’" Cee's voice is sweet. Ezra's voice is not, but that's never stopped him. They've got the windows down. The AC started smelling funny a couple days ago, and, in this part of the world, a breeze to evaporate the sweat is just as good as AC. Cee's hair makes a flyaway halo as they sing--          "’Driven every kind of rig that's ever been made, Driven the backroads so I wouldn't get weighed. And if you give me...’" Ezra and Cee smile at each other, suck in deep breaths for the big chorus, "’...Weed, whites and wine, and you show me a sign...And I'll be willin' to be movin'"

--Petroglyph--

       The rust colored forms on pale stone walls peer out at them. Some loom large in the foreground, others recede into the background as if the weathered rock is a portal a window into some other place that lives just below the skin of the world. The back of Ezra's neck prickles. Sometimes the world is thin. Sometimes he feels as if there is a larger world moving and shifting beneath the surface of this one. Sometimes he feels like things are happening out of order, reality stripping and skipping like a loose bicycle chain--        Cee's warm hand creeps into his, "They're a little scary, aren't they?" She says.        "Indeed they are," says Ezra, "One has to wonder what they were thinking. What they were trying to say. Are these gods in these pictures? Or just regular men?"        "Does it matter?" Asks Cee, and he jerks his head to look at her. She is utterly entranced by the red figures and sigils.        "Of course it does," he says, "You don't think so?"        "I mean, it matters, I guess, but what matters more is that people made these," she says, "People like us. People with hands. Not that Ancient Aliens bullshit." Ezra laughs. Cee squeezes his hand.        "C'mon," she says, "let's see more."

--Rest Stop--

       "Hey MOM!," a child's voice snaps Ezra out of his reverie. Cee is in the truck stop, using the restroom and restocking their snack supply. At these stops he fuels up and then gives her some cash and sets her loose inside. And then they stretch their legs and sit outside for a spell. Ezra sits at a picnic bench letting the sun hit his closed eyelids, "MOM! That guy's got a ROBOT ARM! Like WINTER SOLDIER!" Ezra opens his eyes to a little boy, maybe four with a bunch of curly hair and big eyes, pointing at him.        "Daniel!" His mother hisses, and pinches at his arm, "That's rude. I'm so sorry. Danny, what did I tell you about staring--"        "Ma'am? It's quite alright, Ma'am," says Ezra, and hunkers down so he's eye level with the little boy.        "Hi there," he says, "Daniel, is it? I'm Ezra." He offers his right arm, the double hook at the end open, titanium alloy padded with silicone. Daniel solemnly grips the hooks and shakes.        "You've got stickers!" Says Daniel, and for a second Ezra is confused, and then he grins, looking down at the bedecked black plastic of his prosthesis. He stands.        "My girl decided that I must have a sticker for every state we stop in," says Ezra, he stands and smiles at Daniel's mom, "Like an old steamer trunk. I'm afraid I didn't catch your name--"        Cee steps out of the air-conditioned cavern of the truck stop, slits her eyes against the brightness of midday sun glittering up from the concrete, plastic bags full of crap-snacks and energy drinks threaded over her arms. Ezra handed her a couple twenties and told her to go nuts. Re-supply runs have turned into their own sort of game. She always grabs the usual stuff, chips and Snickers bars and Paydays (Ezra has an absolute weakness for Paydays. They don't taste like they used to, he'd griped, but that didn't stop him from eating them), but somewhere along the line, Cee decided to turn this into a battle of the wills. Her unspoken mission is to find something so utterly weird at one of these stops that Ezra won't eat it. So far, she has been unsuccessful. The closest thing was an aloe juice and cucumber drink that smelled amazing, but felt like swallowing cold snot. That one was a draw. She has high hopes for the dill pickle-sriracha gummy worms nestled in the bottom of the bag. The packaging looked like Christmas in hell. More important than the snacks is the plain, flat paper bag she holds.                                                                                     Ezra's near the picnic benches chattering at some lady with a kid. Menace, she thinks, but smiles. Ezra was always the extrovert before, and it's good to him smiling so big and open in the sunshine, making friends with random people at a truck stop. She sees an echo of her and him before, when she and Dad would visit when she was small and he'd tell her some outrageous tale and she'd say Uncle Ezra, you're so weird, and he'd scoop her up and swing her around, planting a prickly kiss on her cheek and saying oh, little bird, you have no idea, and this always made Dad laugh.

       "Oh, Ez-ra," Cee calls, and when he turns, he sees her devilish grin, holding a small brown paper bag up beside her face like it's contraband, "Look what I found."         "So I get to witness the sacred stickering?" Asks Ezra's new friend.        "Indeed you do," says Ezra, "This is Cee. Cee, meet Jody, and that little man playing in the dirt there is Daniel."        "Nice to meet you," says Cee, "Stick your arm out, old man."        "Don't you want to document this momentous occasion?"        "Oh, right," Cee pulls out her phone, "Hey, uh, miss Jody? Can you take some video? I got it all set up."        "Cee is documenting our adventures for posterity," says Ezra. He extends his prosthetic, already covered in overlapping ovoids, enough that they are starting to resemble dragon scales, "What do you think?" Cee and Daniel circle round.        "How bout here?" asks Daniel, tapping just above the articulated elbow.        "That's a good spot," says Cee and peels the sticker from it's backing with a flourish. She smiles up at her phone recording in a stranger's hand, "We have now infiltrated the state of Nevada," she grins, "Evil-doers beware."        "Yeah!" Says the little boy, pudgy hands planted on his hips for the benefit of the camera, "Or Winter Soldier will KICK YOUR ASS!"        "Daniel!"

--Stars--

       Cee wakes in the dead of night, disoriented, a darkness so thick that for a moment she's not sure where she is, and then she hears Ezra's rhythmic snoring off to her side, reaches out and brushes fabric of the tent and lays back, puzzled, muscles pleasantly sore from a day spent scrabbling up and down eroded granite boulders that looked like they belonged on Mars or Tatooine, walking trails and marveling at the strange ecology of the high-desert, so unlike back home. Bad dream? She wonders, probably. She feels her eyes getting heavy, feels herself lulled by Ezra's sleep sounds, snores punctuated by mumbles. Sometimes full sentences, his side of whatever dream-conversation he's having. Probably has no idea he does it--        Cee sits bolt upright, hands clutched in fists against her chest, a high-pitched wail cuts the cold night, a sound like a woman screaming, and another wail threads through the first, so loud it could be right outside the tent, and then a sound like gruesome laughter. The back of her neck prickles and her heart pounds in her throat. She tells herself that it's just some wild animal making noise, some desert bird maybe, but wasn't the California desert the last known home of the Manson family? Maybe not this desert, but still--        "Ezra," she hisses, and he mumbles something incoherent, "Ezra, wake up!" She reaches and pokes him hard, "Ezra!"        "Whazzit birdie?"        "Listen!" The screams rise and fall again like something from a horror movie.        "s'just coyotes," says Ezra, "probly next county over. They don't hurt people, they're just loud."        "You sure?"        "Go back to sleep, Cee."

       "Ezra," He's dreaming, some place with Joshua trees the size of skyscrapers, spiked limbs under a red sky. Cee's with him somewhere in the bloodlight but he can't see her, just hears her calling--        "Ezra!" He blinks awake, the red sky receding. Cee is shaking him.        "Yuh. M'awake birdie,"        "I gotta pee," she says.        "You know where the outhouses are, just right down the trail,"        "I'm not going by myself! Not with those things out there!" Ezra pushes himself up and shakes his head, blinking the sleep from his eyes. He can just make out Cee's form against the faint light of the sky leaking through the tent.        "Alright, just gimme a second," he says.        "I'll get the light,"        "We don't need it," he says.        "Ez-"        "We got night eyes now," he says, "No light pollution out here. You'll see."

       Ezra stands transfixed in the chill dark, head cocked upward. The more he looks, the more he can see. More stars than he's ever seen in his life spread across the vast inverted bowl of the sky, no summer haze out here, no light-wash from streetlights. He is dizzy with it, the vast sweep of the sky, and as he stares and his eyes adjust further, he can see the arm of the Milky Way angled across the black, can actually see the dark band of dust threaded through the silver-blue light. He doesn't hear the outhouse door shutting, doesn't notice Cee beside him until she folds his hand into hers.        "Look up, Little Bird," he breathes and it feels like a prayer, his heart suddenly full, squeezing in his chest, Cee small and warm next to him.        "Oh, wow," she says, barely a whisper, "That's the Milky Way isn't it?" Tears blur the stars and fall hot against his cheeks.        "It is." He looks at her, her face upturned, cheeks and hair frosted in star shine, limning her eyes, her smile. They've lost so much, him and Cee, but they've gained each other, and that's not nothing is it?        "We're so small," says Cee, "Us. People. This whole planet. All of us. We're just a little dot." Ezra smiles in the dark, even as tears dry in his lashes. He squeezes her fingers in his.        "C'mon, let's get back in the tent before we freeze."

--Hoodoo--

       Cee sleeps in the passenger's seat. She'd helped break camp and pack everything up even though it was early for her. They had spent an extra night in Joshua Tree and now had to make up the difference. It's time to go home. There are things he wants to do before Cee goes back to school, things they need to take care of. So he woke them early, promising Cee that she could sleep in the car as long as she needed. She'd helped him get ready, half-peeling a couple candy bars and putting them were he could easily reach.        "You want the playlist?" She asked, "I can get it going."        "Not right now. I want some quiet."          “'Kay," and Cee was asleep before they were to the next mile marker.

       Hoodoos rise on either side of the highway, striated red cliffs against the slowly lightening sky, cut into improbable formations by long gone rivers, thin spires topped with boulders, first glints of sun hitting the higher cliffs while everything else still exists in that liminal space between day and night. Ezra glances over at Cee, hair in a messy halo, face slack in sleep, cheeks sun-reddened and newly freckled, closed eyes moving, dreaming. Ezra thinks of those first days, wracked with pain and trying to navigate the new, dark-shrowded territory of her and him, each of them crippled by loss, each willing to lash out at the other. Ezra thinks of how far they've come since then, uncurling like relaxing fists and learning to be with each other. They drive into the dawn and the first bit of light touches her hair, turning it to fire. She shifts in her sleep, turning away from that first hint of sun. He doesn't know if she's awake or not.        "I love you, Cee."        "Love you to, Ez," she murmurs and settles back into sleep. Ezra looks out over hoodoo country spread red tinged and stark against the rising light, the miles of road ahead. We're gonna be ok, he thinks and means it.

[spiderling-space]

Hi may request headcanons for yandere Jack chasing fem MC whose dresses as red riding hood please

Kinky xD

I was supposed to write the 4 Rs from September but I read this and the ficlet formed in my head. I didn’t plan this to be this long either, I just hope I captured the dread theme.

This will be told by the reader’s POV

Italics indicate thoughts

🐺🐺🐺🐺🐺🐺🐺🐺🐺🐺🐺🐺

Jack Howl

Warning: yandere tendecies, feelings of desperation but nothing explicit

“I need to go now. I’ll be back as soon as possible.” Jack planted a kiss (Y/N)’s forehead before securing all sharp objects in the drawer. It was his routine whenever he left her alone in his cabin in the woods after he kidnapped her, claiming that she was his one true mate. A routine started when (Y/N) tried to stab him with a knife. Usually, he would go out only during working times and come back during lunch and after work but this time there was a family emergency. His little brother got into an accident and they had to take him to the hospital. Jack’s mother called to inform him, needing the support from her son.

“I hope he’ll be fine.” (Y/N) said with a concerned look on her face. She might hate Jack because of everything he did but his brother was an angel, someone she wouldn’t want any harm to come.

“He is a fighter, he will be back on his feet before anyone knows it.” Jack assured her and himself. He locked the drawer and put spell on it so (Y/N) wouldn’t able to open it. He kissed (Y/N) one last time before heading outside towards where the magical mirror was.

(Y/N) heard the click sound and waited a couple minutes so Jack would have gone through the mirror. First days after getting kidnapped, (Y/N) was a mess. She fought back Jack as much as she could but it was futile. Then she tried to kill him by suffocating and stabbing with a knife. Her attempts failed again and again, making her desperate. One day, she was watching TV in the cabin and an espionage movie came up which gave her an idea. She was going to act as if she accepted her fate but in reality, she would plan her escape. Every day she counted how many hours she was alone in the cabin, how long the lunch break lasted and how many minutes it took for Jack to reach the mirror and begone. She couldn’t write any of them in case Jack finding it out so she memorized all of them after some time. As she was calculating the time she would have, she was also working on her escape plan. Jack was only hiding sharp objects such as knives, forks, letter openers and pokers but he didn’t touch spoons because he thought she couldn’t stab him or herself with it and that she could eat snacks while he was gone. (Y/N) would use this to her advantage.

As another caution, Jack would lock all the windows and doors of the cabin, which limited her escape routes. However, there were small windows in the basement where they used it as a laundry room. They also had locks but the upside was that those windows were out of eyesight. (Y/N) started using the spoon’s pointy end to grind against where the lock’s bolt was so she could push it open without unlocking the door.

When (Y/N) was sure that enough time passed for Jack to go through the portal, she bolted to his their room. She assumed that he must have spent time in the hospital longer than he would during working days so she could escape now. She heard the wind howling so she assumed it must be cold outside and the only thing that could protect her from cold was the red coat Jack gave her when they visited his family. She dreaded using anything Jack gave her but she had no choice. Yet, the red coat was an excellent metaphor for what was about to happen. Red Riding Hood defeated the Big Bad Wolf just like how she would defeat Jack now. She wore the coat and run to the kitchen to get the spoon for one last time. She wasn’t going to take anything else so it wouldn’t slow her down. She rushed down to the basement the second she took her equipment. She went to the small window and scarped the last bit. When the window opened, (Y/N) felt all of her nerves on fire. She squeezed herself through the window and stood up on her feet. She felt the cold wind on her face, making her feel more alive than she had ever felt for the last couple of months.

Still, she couldn’t waste any more time so she started running in one direction. She felt tired after running for almost 5 minutes. Staying locked up in a cabin must have eroded her muscles. She stopped to catch her breath even though she knew she shouldn’t have. As she took deep breaths, she shivered from the low temperature. Winter was coming after all. She hugged her red coat tighter as she rested then she started running again, hoping to see some civilization soon.

All of her hope crushed when she heard loud howling coming from the distance. She hoped it was a regular wolf instead of Jack. That way she wouldn’t return to his side ever again. Her feet started to hurt but she didn’t stop. The sound of cracking branches reached her ears and she took a quick glance at her back which caused her to stumble upon her feet and fall. “Ah!” she screamed from the pain that could ruin her escape plan. She tried to get up but a white wolf jumped in front of her. Oh God no!

It was Jack using his unique magic. He transformed to his usual self, radiating furious aura. “What are you doing? I try to keep you safe in our cabin but you run!” Jack yelled, causing (Y/N) to flinch. “We’ll talk about this later. My mother is expecting to see you too.”

Jack moved to grab (Y/N) but she backed away, crawling backward as she kept her eyes on him. Her mind was trying to escape the inevitable ending. When he got close enough, (Y/N) took dirt from the ground below and threw it to his face. Jack yelled, holding his eyes as he stumbled back. (Y/N) got on her feet and took the opportunity to kick him in his kneecap and between his legs. I just need to go a bit further then I’m certain there will be someone. She was only able to take a couple steps before Jack pounced on her, pinning her to the ground. He was pressing down her entire body and applying pressure to her head. “You shouldn’t have done that.” She tried to wiggle to get away from him but her efforts made it worse for her. I was so close! This is not how it ends! Red riding hood defeated the big bad wolf! “Stop struggling! We don’t have time for your games now! We will go to the hospital and you’ll act properly near my mother. Understood?” Tears started to fall from her eyes as she remained silent. “Understood?!” Jack asked once again, applying more pressure to her neck.

“Y-y-yes…”

“We’ll talk about what you had done after my brother checks out of hospital.” Jack said as he got up, pulling (Y/N) with him.

(Y/N) was shaking and crying from desperation and for the chance that slipped right through her fingers. Jack pulled her to his chest, trying to soothe her nerves yet it was doing more harm to her. If only I were more patient… If only I’ve never stepped in the same place as him… If only people believed me when I told them about Jack… If only…

[scriptaed]

his side, her side | 11:11 P.M.

genre: angst/fluff/implied smut; 

pairing: reader x jungkook;

length: 4.3k;

synopsis: a collective snapshots in time shared between two, whose fates were undeniably intertwined and futures would never come to be.

a/n: alternatively: his side, her side pt. 11;

her side;

“What?!” 

Your fists slam on the counter much more forceful than necessary when you hear the words Jeon Jungkook slip from Yezi’s lips but, luckily for you, the vibrations from the music blasting through the cramped club that had overfilled the capacity hours ago are enough to drown you out. Another large gulp of liquor downed under the influence of yet another wave of unsolicited sorrow, which had ironically arisen by the holy glass itself, submerges you in a somber state you had long sought for amidst what seemed to be a fragile girl wielding an unbreakable shield they called “strength.”

“I said,” your friend repeats as she leans in but nevertheless screams aloud, “isn’t that your coworker a-k-a diehard crush, Jeon Jungkook?!”

“No,” you groan, slapping her arm with a grotesque look on your face as you scream right back at her through your strained throat, “I meant I know what you said and, damn, are you trying to expose me to the entire world!”

Yezi only gives you an unimpressed frown of impertinence, “excuse me, but you’re the one who’s yelling right now!”

Rolling your eyes and succumbing to the scorching heat in your cheeks, your face collapses into the palms of your two hands that immediately begin rubbing circles into your temples. The toxins in your blood have your head throbbing and you almost feel as if your controller has been handed to an unknown being or, rather, substance. 

“Ugh,” you mutter through gritted teeth, “I can’t believe he’s still following me around! Even on my very last day!”

“Following you?” your friend almost chokes on her water as she pokes a finger into your hollow head. “The alcohol must have really eroded whatever little was left in here, huh?” 

“Then,” you sway your head much too quickly, for your entire body nearly tumbles off the stool before you caught yourself with a heavy step to the right, “explain how he always ends up at the same street, the same cafe, the same bar, and, and, and how he’s always at the same place at the same time as me, and how no matter how hard I try to avoid him, he’s always right there? Just waiting for me at the end of whatever independent paths we take?”

Yezi can only blink her eyes blankly at you. Her look is an ambiguous mix of concern, having witnessed a crazy lady babble on about the epitome of destiny, and a tinge of awe, a temporary moment of envy after being struck with a story seemingly straight out of a fairytale. Without a clear explanation to your nonsensical albeit pristinely truthful question, your friend finds herself in the same position as you had been just half a year ago: at a loss for words. 

Clearing your throat to recover from your outburst, a moment you had internalized and failed to bury like you had so promised to yourself, you lean against the counter once again with a head that hangs low and a pair of eyes that wander across the room. 

Despite your eternally intertwined future with the very man beholding your gaze and every ounce of your current attention, you had somehow managed to abandon the shared memories in the past months… or so you thought; because you here, having the false pretension of leaving what you denied to call anything but fleeting infatuation, yet feeling as though time had never passed at all. 

Butterflies fluttering, heart pulsing, and an incessant sick twisting of insecurities shoved somewhere in the back of your conscience—you’re right there back in the pool where the start to your end was born. 

“Did you tell him?”

“About what?”

“About you leaving the company.”

“Oh, no,” you simply mumble, eyes quickly flickering to the tabletop after spotting the familiar woman beside him. Still, curiosity gets the best of you when you can’t help but peak at the two, the female seemingly much more distressed and the male hanging his head low apologetically, before you, too, hang your head low in shame. “Sorry. You must be sick of hearing about him.”

“No, it’s fine,” Yezi’s voice softens as she places a comforting hand over yours. “You okay? About Jieun, I mean.”

“Yeah,” you shrug, chuckling, “it’s… it’s whatever. I got over it months ago.” 

Your friend nods hesitantly, “...you think they’re fighting? 

“...I don’t know. Not my business either way.”

Your words are like a self-inflicted attack. How shameful is it of you to speak from a feigned moral high ground? His business has never been your business—that is an unequivocal truth. So why is it that you feel the way you do? Prying, hurting, and, dare you admit it, somewhat rejoicing over the downfall of what had ended you and him. 

 And just as you down another glass of liquor, nearly collapsing backwards when you throw your head back, you catch Jieun pointing a finger—a somewhat accusatory albeit much softer than one thrown by a witchy nemesis—at you before she grabs her purse and runs out of the club in tears. Jungkook, on the other hand, remains still in his chair with lowered eyes fixated to the empty stool beside him, as though repaying whatever debt he owed to the ghost of a woman who had long left his side. 

“Oh my God, did you just see—”

“—Lee Yeji!” someone shrills and you have to crane your neck to gander at the stranger who had just appeared out of thin air. The slight breeze of her beeline past you hits you seconds late—a recurring sign to you and your reproaching intake limit. “Is that you?!”

“Linzy!” your friend jumps to her feet and joins in on the stranger’s screams as well as small hops. “Oh my God, how long has it been?!”

“Where have you been all this time?!”

“Here in this boring city, duh,” Yezi bursts into a cackle. “How have you been?! You still hung over your ex?” 

The lack of an introduction would have been painfully awkward for you as you stared at the fond reunion between two friends, but thanks to the alcohol stirring your mind that had floated elsewhere and the blood running through your heated system, it’s almost as if you’re just a member of audience, watching another crappy chick flick. 

“First of all, I’ve moved onto another man. And second of all, rude,” the woman named Linzy throws her head back in a fit of laughter. Honestly, watching the hysteria between the two has you smiling against your rested hand; and if it weren’t for her averted attention to you, you probably wouldn’t have noticed until you quickly hid the ditzy smile on your face. “I’m sorry, is it okay if I borrow Yezi for a second? We haven’t talked in sooo long.”

“Oh no,” you quickly shake your head, gesturing them toward the dance floor, “go right ahead. I think I can do without her constant jabs at my nonexistent love life.” 

“Oh my God,” Linzy gapes, “she does that to you, too?!”

“Hey, you two can be friends but not over a common dislike for me, okay?” Yezi warns with a wary finger before joining the two of you in a heap of laughter. Patting your shoulder and leaning in, your friend squeezes you lightly, “I’ll be right back in ten minutes, alright? Wait for me here. If something comes up and you have to leave, text me.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, will do, mom” you shoo her away, “I’ll have you know I’m a grown ass adult. Now go and scream your head off.”

“What?” she tucks a lock of hair behind her ear. “You’re a young adult who still can’t handle her alcohol?” 

“I said,” you raise your voice in the midst of cackles, “go and scream your head off!”

Luckily for you, your friend whirls around and skips off to join the black silhouette of a sweaty crowd going at it on the dance floor before she could catch the proof of her aforementioned premonition; because only five minutes after averting your eyes from the empty stool beside you and downing another glass or two in a vain attempt to distract yourself from checking the presence of the boy across from you, a wave overtakes you and your lightheadedness takes a turn for the worse. 

Maybe it’s the alcohol that brings out the irrational side of you or maybe your senses had truly been heightened or maybe you’re just imagining things, but you swear a pair of resilient, watchful eyes reciprocate your occasional peak to the other side—and even though you know it would be another step toward a ticking time bomb, you just wish you’re right. 

You’re hoping for a miracle to happen, for him to come up to you, for you to muster enough courage to strike a conversation, or for fate to brush off your accursed wish to finally untangle your paths from his; but when your eyes peek upward once again, your heart sinks at the empty chair where he had once sat, swirling his glass with those boldly peering eyes of his. Sighing, one swivel in your seat and a slight sway too hard to the left, you nearly hurl yourself into the arms of the girl beside you only to find yourself in someone else’s. 

A pair of sturdy hands twice the size of yours hold you steadily and it only takes you a glance to the hands on your left shoulder along with the familiar heftiness of his built chest against your back for you to know exactly whose hold you had allowed yourself into. 

And for once, you’re thankful to the little antics pulled by fate itself. 

“Hey,” he utters, peering down at you from above.

“Oh,” you manage to say, head leaning against his chest as you crane your neck to stare at the face that hovers above yours. “It’s Jungkook.” 

The little crooked smile on his pressed lips have you flashing the goofiest grin at him—and you know it’s the goofiest of all your grins, but you’re helpless under the sway of his magnetic presence. 

“Still can’t handle liquor, I see.” 

“Shut up,” you laugh much more than elicited, “are you saying you can drink now? After, what, six months?”

The boy shrugs smugly, “maybe. I’m a grown ass adult now.”

“You? An adult?” you can’t help but laugh at the bewildered grin of disbelief plastered across his face. Something about the high of the liquor and the constant stream of background noise that drowns you out has your words slipping from your lips with utter ease. For once, you’re neither bashful nor wary of how you carry yourself in front of him. It’s refreshing albeit all the more worrying when you consider all that you’ve left buried away from him. “So? What’re you doing here, grown ass adult Jeon Jungkook?”

The smile on his face fades as he mutters, “nothing, really.”

“Really?” you quirk a brow. “Where’s your girlfriend, Jieun?” 

“...she’s not my girlfriend,” he responds flatly, “...anymore.” 

“Oh,” you can only utter in shock, speaking exactly what flashes across your mind, “fuck, I’m screwed.”

Jungkook frowns with knitted brows, “what?” 

“I meant,” you quickly assert, realizing your errs, “I meant I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.”

“Yeah,” he smirks, scoffing at you impudently. “You shouldn’t have.”

A comfortable silence befalls the two of you in the midst of rowdy hundreds—well, until yet another word slips your mind… in addition to your lips. 

“...heartbreaker.”

“What?” 

“Nothing.”

The widened grin of mischief that stretches from ear to ear has you mirroring that goofy grin of him as you can’t help but become enraptured by the facial profiles of the charming man just several  inches from you. If this were sober you, you would have been much more distant, emotionally and physically; but the sway of the night has you completely under its control. 

Plus, you’ve given away all your last fucks long ago when you decided to aspire for a job in another city nearby. Maybe this is your last chance to finally get rid of what had left your chest heavy so long ago.

“Well, I’m just going to grab my friend before I pass—oh shit,” you curse as you nearly tumble to the floor, hands sprawled out and hair forming curtains around your lowly hanging head just as he catches you and brings you back to your feet. Stumbling over your heels, your hands grasp tightly onto his as you try to shake the locks of hair out of your shrouded vision. “Sorry, I mean, thanks—” you laugh “—for saving me from eating shit.”

“Holy fuck,” the boy remarks, chuckling worriedly, “you’re a mess. Go home.”

“I’ll have you know,” you emphasize, sing-songing at this point, “that I am—” you point a finger against his chest and his eyes flicker in amusement over your jab “—going home, just need to… find my friend.”

“Where’s your friend?”

“There,” you throw a hand off into the space somewhere toward the floor.

“Where the fuck is ‘there?’”

“There!”

Jungkook frowns, “where??”

“I said,” you’re basically whining as you jump up and down while holding him for stability and, luckily, he holds you even tighter, “there!!”

“Holy shit,” he shakes his head, furrowing his brows and laughing in disbelief, “fuck this, I’ll take you home.”

“Shut up, nope,” you adamantly shake your head, trying to toss his hands to the side only to nearly trip over your own feet once again. 

To your rescue, once again, Jungkook throws your right arm over his shoulders with one firm hand and another much gentler, chivalrous hand over to your left waist, careful not to invade your personal space. Laughing at how ironic the night has turned out to be, somehow ending up in the arms and closer than ever to the man you had sworn to have gotten over less than an hour ago, you give into the force of gravity and fate as your head rests helplessly against his chest. 

“Just, just,” you struggle to remember what you wanted to say, “just admit you want to use this as an… an excuse to bring me home.” 

The boy only chuckles under his breath as he leads you out of the doors and a blast of fresh, night air refreshes your complexion, “whatever gets you home safe.”

“Ah,” you sigh, a puff of white escaping into the air just as he waves a hand out to tail a cab, “I hate it when you do that.” 

“Do what?” he arches a brow. 

“That,” you say in a fit of frustration over your lack of constraint but continue nonetheless, knowing well just how long this night will haunt you for the sleepless nights ahead, “when you act all gentlemanlike with me...”

“Is that a bad thing…?”

“Yes!” you exclaim just as a cab halts by the sidewalk. “I hate how you treat me so well!” 

“The fuck,” he utters under his breath, holding you steady in one hand and opening the door to the cab with another, “fine, get in by yourself, then.”

Caught off guard by the loss of his firm hold, you hesitate, suddenly gripping onto his hands tighter than ever as you take a step down the sidewalk, “wait—”

“—that’s what I thought,” he quips before suddenly picking you up into his arms, your legs dangling freely in the air without the burden of your weight, and gently placing you down into the middle backseat. Your head is spinning at this point from the spur of events and from literally being swept off the feet. You would have been foolish to deny the weight in your chest that settles when you realize your whimsical night has come to end when, to your surprise, the boy gets into the seat right beside you. With a loud huff and a slam of the now closed door, Jungkook speaks, “Providence Street, please.”

He still remembers where you live.

Gaping at him in the full darkness of the backseat with the countless golden streetlights that pass by like flickering beacons of warmth, a fleeting albeit numerous opportunity to gaze at the apple of your eye in its full glory, and gulping when you notice him staring right back at you with those twinkling, unreadable eyes of his, you finally acknowledge that you really couldn’t care less if he catches you staring… which he does. 

And it’s that this moment, this unconquerable, fleeting, otherworldly moment of an unbreakable high as your head shuffles to the side along with waves of the bumpy ride and your eyes spot the arrival of that one magical hour, one magical minute, 11:11, that an epiphany dawns upon you. 

Something will inevitably ensue tonight and, whatever it may be, whether you confess or not, you just wish you could finally let bygones be bygones, as the two of you should have been in the first place. 

-

his side;

If there’s one thing this man did not expect from a night that has thus far been nothing but dread, it would be crossing paths with the rare one who could etch stars into his skies out of nothing.

“What?” Jungkook can’t help but crack a crooked grin at the goofiest grin adorning his star’s’ beet red cheeks. 

“You’re doing it again!” she hollers into the front of the cab rather than the subject at hand.

“Doing what?” 

“It. You’re doing…” she pumps a fist at her chest twice, “things again!” 

“You’ve...” Jungkook pauses, looking her up and down with concern overshadowed by bemuse because, well, look at her, he chuckles to himself, so gauche in her own adorable attempts at daintiness, “...lost it.” 

“I honestly think I have,” she laughs with a hand to what he figures must be an overwhelming lightheadedness. 

There must be something about the heat in her cheeks that run down her bare neck and along the dress straps that had slipped from her collarbones, something about the first recognition of a level vulnerability that she had never bared to him before, because even he could peer at her and her unreachable high that is cloud nine, all whilst beside her. Ice-thawing and sun-basking, he could only watch in admiration as a magic stronger than any drink spurs her forward; and he could tell it would take her little to nothing to muster the courage to just jump and fall…

…and when she leans in to whisper, he has an inkling of tonight’s impending stain. 

“Do you wanna hear a secret?”

Quirking a brow at her, he remarks, “only if it actually makes sense.”

“Okay,” she giggles before quickly adding, “you’re really not dating her anymore, right?”

“...no?” Jungkook answers, confused. “Why—”

“—cause I won’t tell you if you are!” she exclaims playfully, throwing her hands out into the air. She continues on her babbling before he could even react. “Oh, and I’m not doing this because I want to take advantage of your breakup. Oops, was that too much too soon? Well, I’m only telling you because I want to get over it. Don’t act on it, okay?”

“The fuck?” he utters with a raised brow, softly chuckling. “Uh, on second thought, I think I’ll pass—”

“—promise me you believe me when I say I don’t feel this way anymore!”

Having never seen a more childlike side to a rather dependable colleague he once knew, Jungkook can’t help but laugh in disbelief, “feel what way?!” 

She smiles heavy-lidded at the sheer confusion plastered across his frown, seemingly coming in and out of consciousness. It’s a smile that could only come from a dreamer doing everything they wished they had done yet could never come to have done; and when he locks gazes with hers, it’s almost as if the two had drifted elsewhere from their bodies and are now merely watching themselves in the scene before the grand confession of a romcom through the fourth wall. 

With a finger wagging at him, beckoning for him to lean forward, which he does reluctantly, he can’t quite believe what slips from her lips. 

“You’re so good looking.”

...and when the two of them had registered her words, neither of them budge. Jungkook remains still, ears next to his lips and showing the most evident falter in his usual apathetic demeanor through the way at which his ears redden with each passing second. Slapping a hand against his chest, she pushes him back into his seat and chimes cheerfully, “like sooooooooo good looking! Don’t tell them I said this, but every girl at work thinks you’re handsome and I hate it cause it’s. so. true.” 

“You’re,” the boy scoffs in disbelief, blinking blankly at you because: one, he had never heard of such rumors and two, he had never seen her speak so brazenly, “you’re going crazy.”

“I am and what?” she challenges, slapping his chest again as he sits there blinking helplessly, “It’s your fault you look like this!”

“What even—”

“—and what about that kiss?!” she throws her hands up again. “Why did you even kiss me if you were going to date someone else later? Huh?!”

He never thought the day would come for her to mention that kiss… especially not tonight.

“And why are you always so nice to me?”

He chuckles at her less than threatening lashing, “am I supposed to be mean to you?”

“Well,” she scoffs in disbelief, “why are you literally everywhere I go then? You stalking me or something?”

“This is fucking hysterical,” Jungkook cracks a lopsided grin of mischief, pulling a phone out of his pocket. Throwing a peace sign at the camera, he pans the camera between him and the star of the night. “It’s January 11, 2020. A sober Jeon Jungkook checking in and, here, we have a messed up Y/N. Say hi—”

“—I am not messed up!” she interjects, pointing an accusing finger at the camera. “The only reason I’m messed up is because of you! And you know what’s even worse?”

“What could possibly be worse than you waking up to watch this horrific video?” 

Flailing her arms, she exclaims in a huff of frustration, “you don’t even know how badly you messed me up, Jungkook!” 

He raises a brow, raising the phone to get a better angle of the two of you. He doesn’t know why but his grip tightens. “Yeah?”

“You know,” she begins, flopping her hands into the air again.

“What now?” he chuckles, completely bemused as he watches your drunken state through his phone screen; and through his peripherals, he could catch the utterly enraptured grin of his in the corner of his screen and he just knew: he would be watching this special little clip over and over. “Just wait ‘til you watch this video—“

but her voice comes in a loud frustrated huff, a final remark cooked up in for relentlessly long years of a sheep, forgiving herself for losing sights of her captor

“—I really liked you, Jeon Jungkook!”

He freezes. 

Silence befalls the cab. 

But, like she always does, she never stops to wait for him. 

“I mean, I really,” she emphasizes adamantly, as if he had failed to hear her when it’s anything but, “reaaaaaaaally liked you!” 

Head rolling back against the headrest as the cab comes to a stop at the red light, she closes her eyes as she persists on her self-heist and blurts out frustratingly, “but you didn’t even know! And if you did, you didn’t even seem to fucking care!” 

The boy wishes he could speak. Hell, he even curses at himself for staying still the way he does now… but, what should he even say? After pining for many months, falling, acknowledging, despairing and getting over the star he had always thought to be out of reach only to discover she had been within a drink, a night, a confession’s reach, how should he feel? 

What good would it do to now recognize a love line that could have been but never came to be for the two? 

Lowering his phone and stopping the recording, a bittersweet upturn of one corner of his lips lingers just as his thumb does over “delete.” 

And after all the fond memories the two had shared within the span of a year, the gatekeeper figures maybe, for the girl’s sake, he would be the sole witness to all evidence of tonight. 

“Hellooo?” she cranes her neck to look at him with heavy-lidded eyes. “Did you hear me? I said I like—I mean, liked—you.”

“I heard you,” he presses a finger against the spot between her brows, scrunching his nose by her breath that reeks of alcohol as his tap has her head tipping onto her left shoulder. The girl only groans in protest because, apparently, she lacks the energy to defy him physically. Gazing at her from afar, a wave of adoration overwhelms him and he can’t help but chuckle under his breath. Discarding himself of his jacket, he drapes it over her bare shoulders. The boy leans in closer with one hand placed to her cheek, gently lulling her back to the right until her head lies comfortably in the crook of his left shoulder; and when he speaks, he speaks lowly but clearly, “I just wish you had told me earlier.”

The rest of the car ride proceeds in silence but never had there been more words than all that had been said tonight.

[cosmic-hearts]

castles in the air | lee donghyuck | two

lee donghyuck x female reader

genre; enemies-to-lovers, friendship, romance, fluff, angst

warnings; mentions of alcohol and drinking in this chapter!

foreword; in which you might be a real-life princess with a prince promised to you right from the start, but you won’t be getting your happy ever after. 

<< previous chapter | next chapter >>

You stand before your wardrobe, faced with yet another clothing dilemma. You love fashion and dressing up, you really do, but sometimes it can be a real pain in the ass. 

If this were another soirée or evening function, you’d know exactly what to wear—that gorgeous Isabella Militao dress you’d been saving for a spectacular debut. That would be sure to make jaws drop; it was a gift fashioned by the loving hand of Aphrodite herself. 

But you’re going to a high school party, and you don’t think girls turned up in the latest garb fresh off the runways of New York Fashion Week. 

You think back to when Donghyuck asked you to go to the party with him (“because we actually need to seem like we’re dating”), and you asked him what to wear. He’d scoffed and you nearly socked him in the face.

“How would I know? Your parents literally own Seoul’s biggest fashion brand. And you’ll look good in whatever.”

If that had been a genuine compliment, you would have been flattered. But it was the tone in which he’d said it, that matter-of-fact, detached voice devoid of any tinge of personal belief or emotion that made it clear he was merely stating a truism, an indisputable fact. He might as well have said that the sky was blue. 

You eventually decide on a red sleeveless silk floral dress that stops slightly above mid-thigh. It’s not exactly the most modest article of clothing you own, but it’ll have to do. 

When you get in Donghyuck’s car, he doesn’t even glance over to see what you’re wearing, a stark reminder that this clearly isn’t a real date. You on the other hand, can’t help but sneak peeks at his outfit (it’s just the fashionista in you, you swear): a denim jacket thrown over a casual white button-up shirt and dark jeans. A simple look, but surprisingly he makes it work. 

You quickly look away before he catches you staring.

He drives in complete silence and before long you reach your destination. Upon entering the house, Donghyuck immediately leaves your side to reunite with five other boys; you have to stand alone for a hot minute and bear witness to the fist bumps, back slaps and bro hugs going all around.

“Who’s this?” One of the boys asks, his blue hair gleaming underneath the faux strobe lights. 

You open your mouth to reply, but Donghyuck beats you to it. “My girlfriend. Everyone, this is Y/N.” He sounds like he’s gritting his teeth while introducing you as his girlfriend, which makes you want to laugh; after all, he’s brought this upon himself.

“Hi,” you say, smiling at the boys, “it’s nice to meet you guys.”

“Hi, I’m Jaemin,” the blue-haired boy steps forward and says, flashing you a wide grin that sparks a curious flutter in your chest. 

“Did you break up with Sohui?” A brooding, dark-haired boy asks Donghyuck. It’s clear to see that he has none of that chipper energy Jaemin possesses.

Donghyuck’s gaze becomes shifty and he clears his throat awkwardly before replying, “Yeah.”

What a lie.

Before you can think too much about it, Jaemin whisks you all away for a game of spin the bottle. The consequence? 7 minutes in heaven. 

You’d heard of the game before but you didn’t think people actually played it at parties; it all seemed so terribly cliche. Looks like you were dead wrong, because once the bottle lands Jaemin and then you everyone’s in an uproar and you’re panicking because you really don’t want to lose your first kiss to a stranger, however hot he may be. Heck, you’d rather do it with Donghyuck; at least he’s a familiar enemy. 

Jaemin smirks at you and grabs your wrist, gesturing towards a nearby closet (god, the sheer disgrace you feel, what would your parents say?) and your heart starts thumping in your ribcage, the butterflies from earlier entirely gone. You contemplate breaking out into a sprint for the bathroom or just running out to the garage and driving Donghyuck’s car away into the night. You look over at Donghyuck, hoping that he can read your mind and get you out of this situation (you know he hates you but surely he doesn’t hate you that much), but he’s staring at you with a glazed expression on his face and you can’t believe he’s about to offer you up like a lamb to the slaughter, that asshole—

“I’ll do it instead,” Donghyuck suddenly stands and grabs your free hand, tugging you away from Jaemin. Without waiting for his response he drags you behind him to the closet, pulls you in and shuts the door with a loud slam. 

You release the breath you’d unconsciously been holding and start to sink down onto the cushions littered about in the dark, dank and cramped space, but then you stop short Donghyuck places a hand on your arm. He shrugs off his jacket and shoves it into your hands, whispering, “Your dress.”

When you two are finally seated, his jacket draped over your lap, you ask in a slight whisper, “What do we do now?”

At this, Donghyuck breaks out into a sardonic smile, leaning in close to whisper in your ear, “We’re not going to do anything. Don’t forget that I have a girlfriend, and if I kiss you, you might just fall in love with me. Can’t risk that now, can we?” 

You try to ignore the way his breath tickles your ear and the fact that it’s not an entirely uncomfortable sensation. You hate the way Donghyuck plays with you like this, as though he’s constantly reminding you that he will never be yours, arranged marriage or not.

You press yourself into your corner of the closet to get as far away as possible from him, before taking out your phone and instinctively scrolling through Twitter, your lifeline—it’s almost like a coping mechanism, the way you try to get lost in your timeline filled with pictures of the Albertine bookstore and 90’s Chanel gowns to try and forget the fact that you’re currently stuck in a musty closet with your childhood enemy. Donghyuck does the same; he pulls out his phone and starts typing rapidly. You figure he’s texting Sohui to complain.

Before long the 7 minutes are up and the boys are pounding on the closet door. You sigh; they sound like ravenous zombies lying in wait to chew you out when you emerge. You’re about to push the door open when Donghyuck puts a hand on your arm; you turn to face him with the most annoyed expression can muster. What now?

Without warning, he reaches behind you and pulls out the scrunchie that’s holding your hair in a high ponytail. You nearly yelp at him in surprise as your hair spills past your shoulders, utterly dishevelled (also, that’s a limited edition Chanel scrunchie right there) but he must have seen it coming because he places his hand over your mouth, quick as a flash. Leaning in close, he whispers in your ear, “We have to look like we just made out, idiot.”

You flash him an angry glare which soon turns into a look of sheer embarrassment as he unbuttons the first few buttons of his shirt, a sliver of light through the crack in the closet falling on his now exposed collarbone. You look away hastily, thankful that the darkness obscures the blush creeping up your cheekbones. 

He’s about to push open the door when he suddenly hisses, “Shit, I almost forgot the most important thing. I need to get some of your lip gloss off.”

Against your better judgement, you acquiesce. Anything to get out of this literal hellhole.

Closing your eyes, you feel a warm palm on the back of your head and you brace yourself. You feel his thumb running across your bottom lip in one swift but gentle motion, and when you open your eyes he’s swiping it across his own. 

The blush in your cheeks intensifies and you look away quickly. 

Finally, Donghyuck pushes open the door and a flood of electric purple light streams in. The boys whoop and cheer, and Jaemin invites you to sit next to him. You happily do so, desiring to be in the proximity of anyone other than Donghyuck—you might just combust with embarrassment if you sat next to him after that horrendous episode.

“Are you good at drinking, Y/N?” Jaemin asks, his smile as striking as his cobalt blue hair. He really is a heartthrob. 

“Somewhat,” you say, being deliberately evasive; you aren’t about to let him know that your tolerance was limited to dainty sips of Sauvignon Blanc or Chardonnay typically served at the high-end functions you went to.

“Great! Let’s play a drinking game then,” he says, winking, and the butterflies in your stomach make it hard for you to resist.

Over the course of the next hour, you find yourself in an endless cycle of drinking games—you weren’t bad at those games, and it wasn’t very often that you had to drink, but when you did, the single shot of soju burned your throat on the way down and seemed to erode your consciousness along the way. You can feel your cheeks getting hotter and hotter, and the laughing faces of the boys seem to pass by in a hazy blur. 

“Y/N,” a low voice chimes in your ear; it’s a stern, familiar voice. You frown instinctively; you have a pretty good idea of who it is, even if you can’t see him. “Stop it. You don’t have to keep drinking if you can’t handle it.”

You wave him off; there’s no way you’re drunk. “Who… Who said I can’t handle it? I’m no… lightweight.”

“Yeah… She seems to be managing fine, right Y/N?” Another voice, this one slurred and a little too mirthful to be sober. A flash of blue hair. It’s the cute boy, you think to yourself and smile.

“Enough,” the stern voice cuts in again, right when you are about to reach up and touch the boy’s hair, to see if it feels like cotton candy as much as it looks.

You feel an arm snaking round your waist, forcing you to stand up. Your head rests on something firm and solid; it’s almost comfortable, but you want to keep drinking. You have to prove that you can hold your liquor; you are Y/N, for goodness’ sake, and you can do anything you set your mind to.

But before you can open your mouth to protest, the world begins to spin and darkness swallows you whole; you have no choice but to fall into it without resistance.

—

This isn’t what Donghyuck envisioned when you decided to take you to the party. 

He didn’t expect to have to get stuck in a closet with you for a whole 7 minutes. He didn’t expect you to get dead drunk while slobbering all over Jaemin. And he certainly didn’t expect to be hauling you on his back to the front step of your house and having to present your dismally inebriated form to your mother. 

“I’m so sorry,” Donghyuck says, hoping he comes across as apologetic enough, “I should’ve taken better care of her.”

To his utter astonishment, your mother waves off his apology with a flick of her hand. “Don’t worry about it! I expected this to happen; Y/N has never been to a party without us before. I’m glad you were with her; god knows what would have happened to her if you weren’t there!” 

Donghyuck resists the urge to chortle. What are you, a child?

“Could you take her up to her room please? I’ll get the housekeeper to run her a bath.”

“Sure,” he says, grimacing inwardly at the thought of having to lug your deadweight up four flights of stairs; thank goodness there’s an elevator.

He tries his best not to dump you unceremoniously onto your bed, taking care to remove your strappy sandals. When the job is done, he’s about to leave when something on your desk catches his eye. He walks over and picks it up, turning on your desk lamp for better lighting. 

In his hands lies a framed photo of the two of you when you first met as kids—you in a bright pink dress adorned with a monstrosity of ribbons, him in a suit. You’re both sitting on a park bench holding hands; he’s staring at the camera with a stony expression, while your smile looks more like a grimace. 

The memory of that day rushes to greet him, clear as day—it was the first time he saw you, and it was on the same day that it was announced that you were going to be his future bride. It was the day he started his campaign of relentless hate towards you, the day he decided that you were to be his lifelong enemy.

Donghyuck sets the picture down on your desk with more force than intended. Why would you still keep it? Did you really want a constant reminder of your betrothal to him? Did you really want a constant reminder of him?

His whirlwind of thoughts is interrupted by a weak voice. “Donghyuck?”

He walks over to your bed where you lie intoxicated, cheeks flushed and eyes half-lidded, tangled locks of hair strewn across your pillow.

“You’re awake,” he says, voice flat. 

“I… said… I wasn’t drunk… idiot…”

Nope. Still wasted.

“Just go to sleep. Your bath will be ready soon,” he’s about to leave when you lift your hand to latch weakly onto his wrist.

“Wait,” you mumble, “I… have to ask you… something.”

“What is it?”

At this, your lips turn into a pout. “I know… you’re… a liar.”

“What?”

“You…,” you gesticulate aimlessly at him—after all, finding words is such a chore when you’re hardly sober— “when we were young… you said that… you hated me because I was wearing… pink.”

Donghyuck’s breath hitches in his throat; he can’t believe you can remember that. 

“Yes; what about it?”

“You’re lying. That’s… a stupid reason… for hating someone. So tell me… why exactly… do you hate me so much?”

Donghyuck feels his heartbeat pick up but he keeps his lips pursed. 

“I never told you this… but… it hurts. It hurts how… you don’t even want to be friends with me…” you ramble on, lips forming a pout while your eyelids get heavier and heavier. “Why don’t you like me…” Your eyelids flutter shut and your breathing evens, and Donghyuck releases the breath he’d been holding.

Donghyuck feels the sour pang of guilt creep up on him. Granted, you’d never done anything to warrant his hate for you; he simply detests your very existence, which isn’t something you can help. It never once occurred to him that you’d be hurt by him—he didn't think he mattered to you at all. He can’t believe you still remember what he’d said to you all those years ago. Sighing, he rakes a hand through his hair; perhaps some soul-searching is in order.

He pauses for a moment, watching the way your eyelashes graze your cheekbones ever so slightly. Your cheeks and lips are flushed cherry pink from all that drinking, and a stray lock of hair spills across your face. He reaches out to draw it away from your face, marvelling at how normal you look for once; your sleeping face is so tranquil, like a child’s. No one would ever be able to guess at how you are nothing less than a perfect, infallible human being. It’s easy for him to forget how you’re the same age as him; you just seem to possess a maturity way beyond your youth that Donghyuck really can’t wrap his head around.

He gently drapes the duvet over you, and he’s about to leave when he sees that his denim jacket is still wrapped snugly around your body, though it’s a couple sizes too large for your slight frame. 

He can let you have it for a little while.

—

You proudly hand your mother your school journal, decorated with pink glitter and purple felt butterflies you painstakingly cut out yourself. On the first page, the words “My Dream Job” are neatly inscribed in cursive lettering, with hearts over the i’s. 

“Mrs Lee asked us to write down our dream job today,” you gush, pigtails bouncing with excitement. “Look what I wrote!”

Your mother smiles as her eyes skim over the words ‘fashion designer’.  You gabble on. 

“I told the class I wanted to take over your company when I grow up and become a fashion designer just like you!” 

“Very good, Y/N. I’m so proud of you. I have no doubt that will happen,” she says, patting the top of your head. 

“Oh, I also asked Donghyuck what he wanted to be. He said he wants to be a singer when he grows up.”

Your mother’s hand falls from your head and she frowns. “Does he?” 

“Yeah. Isn’t that cool? I told him that was really cool.” 

Her expression turns austere. “There’s no future in that, Y/N. You should tell him to be like you and take over his family’s company. That way he’ll be successful.”

“But he’s good at singing,” you protest, eyes shining with the memory of his voice, “and he looks so happy when he’s singing. If he’s happy, won’t he be successful too?”

—

“Do you still sing?”

Donghyuck raises an eyebrow at you as he chugs his iced coffee. “Why do you ask?”

“It’s called making conversation. It might not be in our contract, but did you intend to sit in silence until the sun sets and we go home?”

It’s your turn to pick a date, so you’ve dragged Donghyuck to a music cafe with a stage by the entrance where a teenage boy sings soulful R&B tunes. You weren’t being entirely truthful when you told him you were just making conversation; you did want to know if he still sang. To see if he was prepared for what you were about to throw him into. 

“Sometimes,” he says, “maybe one day I’ll serenade you. With a song about how annoying you are.”

You resist the urge to toss your steaming mug of chamomile tea in his face. These days, after your horribly embarrassing encounter at the party (Donghyuck insists that you threw up in his car, but you don’t remember that at all), his attitude toward you seems to have shifted. Sure, he’s still mean, but not resentful. He doesn’t seem to hate you that much anymore; when he says spiteful things you can sense its teasing undertones. 

You wonder what sparked this change. Shouldn’t he detest you even more? You literally threw up in his car—or so he claims. Or maybe he’s finally come to his senses and recognizes just how lovable you are. 

You load up your smile like a gun.

“You do that,” you say, raising your hand to beckon someone over. To Donghyuck’s surprise, the manager of the cafe scoots over, and when he leans down you whisper something into his ear. The man chuckles and sends a curious glance at Donghyuck.

“What was that?”

“Nothing,” you say, smiling sweetly and taking a sip of your coffee. 

The performer ends the song, and bows to polite claps from the audience. The manager you just spoke to goes up on stage, voice filling the room. 

“Thank you Jihoon, that was lovely as usual. Next up we have Lee Donghyuck—this is his first time performing, so do give him your encouragement!”

Donghyuck literally jumps in his seat and you stifle your laugh. He sends a death glare in your direction and mouths I’m going to kill you. You clap for him in response, that sweet smile never leaving your face. You’ll get it from him later, no doubt, but this is totally worth it. 

Donghyuck finally gets up and trudges over to the stage. He steps up to the mic, closes his eyes for the briefest of instants, and his lips part.

You expected, after all these years, that his voice would have hardened somehow, taken on a rougher edge, flavoured with the accents of a baritone. However, Donghyuck surprises you yet again—his voice is just as airy and angelic as it was nearly a decade ago, and every line he sings is like a stream of honey pouring forth from his lips. He breezes through countless high notes effortlessly in a way that sends chills down your spine, without so much as a twitch of neck muscle; he loads every word with so much emotion that it seems like the euphonious melody is coming to life right before your very eyes. The other patrons in the cafe are spellbound, drinks and conversation long forgotten; he’s bewitched everyone, and there’s no escaping. 

In short, Lee Donghyuck is still a marvellous singer. And possibly a siren.

When he’s done, it is silent for a moment, the aftereffects of his spell still lingering. And then a single clap from the manager breaks the reverie and soon everyone is applauding in awe and surprise. There are even a few cheers.

You watch as he smiles and bows bashfully before walking down the stage, leaving his five minutes of fame behind. His cheeks glow under the warm light of the cafe; he looks absolutely ethereal.

“What do you think?” He asks as he slides into his seat. You can almost feel the passion flowing from him in waves. 

You stare at him, starstruck. How could you possibly tell him that you never want him to stop singing, that you actually would like to be serenaded by him, that you want to wake up and fall asleep to the sound of his voice every single day? 

So you settle for, “N-Not bad.” Yes, you stuttered. You hope your cheeks won’t betray you.

Donghyuck smirks. “Really? Your face tells me something else.”

Instinctively, you place a hand on your cheek—it’s burning. You take a large gulp of coffee to hide the flames in your cheeks; Donghyuck’s smirk only grows wider. 

Avoiding his gaze, you ask, ��Anyway, what song was that? I’ve never heard it before.”

He rubs the back of his neck with his palm. “Actually, I wrote it.”

“You what?”

“I wrote it. Want me to announce it to everyone?”

You can’t believe it. Not only does this boy before you have the voice of an angel, he’s a lyrical genius too? The world is simply not fair.

“Wow.” You lean back in your chair, all attempts at unfazed composure gone. “That’s actually crazy. You’re actually crazy.”

You look back at Donghyuck, expecting him to look smug, but instead his lips are pursed and his gaze is downcast.

“What’s wrong? Upset that your identity as a secret genius has been exposed?”

“No, it’s just… I wrote this song for Sohui. I thought she would love it, especially since she’s always been super supportive about my singing and songwriting. But… she doesn’t like it.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. She said I should have bigger dreams now. Apparently, I can’t get anywhere with this.”

You keep silent, wondering how she could possibly say that to him. Heck, if a boy wrote you a song and serenaded you with it you’d probably get down on one knee and profess your undying love to him. 

“Maybe… maybe she’s right. My parents say that all the time too. I shouldn’t be singing anymore. It’s time to grow up. You can’t make money out of dreams.”

He looks so crestfallen, the incandescent shine that had previously graced him completely vanished. That shine of passion was what set him ablaze and made him look so euphoric, and now it’s gone, like a candle snuffed out by the darkness. 

You want to get it back for him. You want to see that look of pure bliss spread across his face. You want to see him shining bright and luminous again. 

“So, what? You’re just going to stop singing then?” You ask, folding your arms across your chest, “I thought you were more determined than that. Once you’d set your mind on something, you wouldn’t let it go. That’s how you nursed that burning hatred you had for me, right?”

He has the good grace to blush.

You lean across the table and look him straight in the eye. “And I thought you could care less what others thought; that’s why we’re doing all this. That’s why we’re going against our parents’ will and fighting this bloody engagement. The Lee Donghyuck I know won’t go down without a fight, especially if it’s something he clearly loves so much.”

One final push. “But I could be wrong. I mean, I don’t really know you.”

Donghyuck’s head snaps upward and he stares right at you; you can see the fire in his eyes. Whether it's rage or passion, it doesn’t matter. You managed to rile him up. That was all you wanted. That’s the only way to keep his flame burning. 

—

The drive home is filled with a pregnant silence. You wonder if you took it too far; after all, you and Donghyuck aren’t exactly the chummiest of friends. Maybe you overstepped the boundary a little.

But all you know is that you won’t stand by and let him give up such a blessing, something that clearly gives him so much joy. You won’t let him become an empty shell. 

You of all people know how that feels. 

When you reach home, you unbuckle your seatbelt and say goodbye. “Thanks for today, Donghyuck. You can choose the next date.” 

You’re about to reach for the door and get out, but Donghyuck stops you with a hand on your wrist. 

“Y/N,” he says, and you look at him, acutely aware of the sensation of his fingers clasped around your wrist. His gaze burns into yours in a way that makes your heart jolt and your brain question everything you ever thought you’d felt about him.

You wonder whether, in an alternate universe, things could have been different between you two.

“Thank you,” he finally says, gaze softening, the faintest hint of a smile etched on his lips.

Perhaps you melted a little.

[violetbeachpod]

TRANSCRIPT: 1x04 - Phone Call

hello! it’s me. here’s today’s transcript. enjoy!

ROBIN:

I shouldn’t be doing this, right now, I should be writing, I have--no offense, folks, but I have better things to do than this. I have a wedding to plan, a book to write, a--

Whatever. Whatever. And I’m not editing that out, Benji. It’s early in the morning and I woke up to record this, so, hey, guess what, I can say what I want.

It’s--it’s not me trying to offend you guys, you know I love all of you, it’s just--this is exhausting. And I forgot how good caffeine was, even though I’m trying to limit intake, so, uh, I’ve only had one cup of coffee so far, so, like, yeah, I’m kinda grouchy. Sorry. Anyway!

So. Hi! I’m Robin, uh, DaBank. No. That’s not my last name. That’s a--that’s a dumb joke that I haven’t told since I was fifteen, um. My last name’s Harper. I don’t know why I opened with that. I’m twenty-four years old, I’m engaged to the coolest, smartest, best woman on earth, and, uh. Both of us have been seeing some weird shit these last few weeks. So, uh, as that implies, I can confirm that some weird things have been happening in my hometown lately.

I--I haven’t been here, for a few years, I, uh, moved to DC for college and I didn’t really think I’d come back, but, uh, my folks said that they wanted me to have the old house cuz they’re moving to the lake house in Maine for some weird reason, and, uh. DC rent’s crazy, and--our plan to travel the world has unfortunately been delayed by how goddamn expensive weddings are, so, uh, Lane and I moved out here. And it’s kinda sweet. Very romantic, to live in a big house by the beach, watch the sunset every night--but. Point is, I haven’t been here for a while, but when I grew up here? Nothing ever happened that was out of the ordinary. It was a pretty boring town. As has been stated before. Like—we have ghost stories, obviously. A few murders, a few freak incidents, y’know, the—the usual small town stuff. But--

Now it’s different. Now it’s like—it’s full time. It’s everywhere. I’ll be walking, and I’ll catch a flash of purple in the sky—stalking me. And unless Lane or one of you guys is with me, it’s—it’s like, I’m the only one who notices. Everyone, everything else freezes. That—that thing, that kept messing with Ben’s recording, it interrupted NPR the other day, like, halfway through this really interesting piece on urban farming greenhouses that also serve as senior dog sanctuaries, it—I found the full piece on their site, but, like—I missed a full two minutes of it because some robot wants to talk to me about where and how I’ll die.

Um.

I was catching up with a friend the other day—uh, Penelope Scott, the Dean’s daughter, who graduated from Corielli in my class, and, uh, I mentioned, casually, that I was thinking about going to the next board meeting to catch up on that hot parental gossip. You know. Cuz—I babysat a lot of current students there when they were kids, so it’s fairly reasonable, not the worst lie I’ve ever told.

“What board?” she asked, and she sounded genuine, “We never had one, right? It was--it was student council, no parent liaisons. Because we’re independent.” Or something like that.

And I can’t remember either way--like, I assume there was a parent board. It was awhile ago. I can’t remember what I had for lunch yesterday, much less-it was hummus. It was hummus. I had hummus for lunch yesterday. It wasn’t great. Like--I can do better. I need to buy chickpeas, uh--I’ll text Lane after this and tell her to pick some up.

Or. Now.

[Beat]

So. Anyway. The board maybe doesn’t exist, kind of sort of? Who knows! Not me!

I wrote fifteen hundred words today, of the--of the thing. Of the book, and then I deleted all of them. Because I was so caught up in thinking about this, y’know, like--there’s no room for a Great American Novel when you’re potentially being haunted by ghosts or aliens. Is it even “great” or “American,” though? I--I dunno. I take umbrage with the, like--with the idea of the Great American Novel. But that’s not relevant! At all, it’s--it’s not like anybody’s stayed on topic in their tapes, but, uh. I’m an adult. I--aw, whatever.

There’s something about the beach--this beach, the one I’m recording on, all--all desolate and wintery, all--you know. No one’s here, not even the college kids, cuz they’re scared of it. Cuz it’s probably haunted. Cuz--the boardwalks are worn down, splintery and sand-eroded, and--Lane and I hung a hammock here when we moved in, and we have it all to ourselves and also Douglas. Grumpy old man. Deserves a little cat-sized hammock all to himself. So he can sunbathe without having to jump and hurt those poor hips of his, ugh.

But there’s something about the beach. Something so isolated from the rest of the world, y’know? Not--not, like, when you’re at Ocean City in the middle of August, no, I mean--when you’re alone, and it’s maybe forty degrees out, middle of January, and you’re--maybe you’re listening to some acoustic cover of your favorite 2004 pop song, as is my wont, and--you just feel something. And it’s tugging at you, like, maybe the beach itself is the siren song from folklore. Maybe the beach is telling you to go--to go home, even if you and the beach have different definitions of the word. My definition is--uh. The house. With Elaine and Douglas and the hammock and the fireplace and the messy bedroom and the--the wholeness of it all. And the beach’s definition is the ocean, and the abyss, and what have you.

Except--no. That’s bland high-school level faux-existentialism, and I’m better than that. I promise you. I’m better than that.

But there’s something about the beach. Y’know? Just--just. There’s something. And I think it’s important to all of this, I--Look. Listen. Maybe I was homesick and I didn’t even know it before I came back. I think that’s the thing. I think it’s just delayed homesickness and exhaustion.

Lane and I can’t agree on napkin colors. We argued--not argued, that’s too strong of a verb--about that on the hammock the other night, is--is why that thought comes to mind, and how dumb is that, that we’re worried about that right now? It’s--it’s a lot. It’s--

[phone ringing]

Sorry, uh. Oh, hi, uh--Angie. God, I can’t get used to calling you that, I’m so used to Angela, it’s--nevermind. What’s--

[whispering]

What do you mean?

I’m recording my thing right now. No, you’re--My mic’s not picking you up, I can--is she--? How do you just--and then, poof?

That’s--Look, Laney has the car, right now, so I’ll have to walk or--or u--I’ll do something, It’ll--It won’t be the fastest, but I’ll be there ASAP, okay? As soon as I’m done with this. recording, and I will be soon, I swear, hon, okay? Okay, I got you, just. Just--explain the situation as best as you know it, and. I’ll repeat it into the mic. Piece by piece. For science.

[long beat. heavy, nervous breathing. measured, but nervous. whispers.]

Teresa went missing this morning, uh. Angie heard her get up around five AM.

[another long beat]

She went to the beach, she left a note that said she’d be back by nine. She has a class at nine.

[another beat]

Um. Oh God, um. Benji was up, he, uh--he texted Angie that he saw her by the beach around six. And AJ, who was on his way to SAT prep, uh, he--oh God, he’s so old now, what the hell, saw her knee-deep in the water at six-thirty. He yelled across to her, and she, uh--she didn’t respond. She just kept staring ahead, unmoving. Like she was--like she was hypnotized.

[guess what? it’s a beat]

Angie, hon, I need you to breathe--and they say that she just vanished at seven. In a flash of that dumb--that terrible, terrible light, that--an orb of it.

It’s eight-twelve, right now, and she isn’t back, and--Charlotte already knows, Lane still needs a call, but--

Um.

Angie hung up. Which I get. I--she’s hyperventilating, she’s--I should go over and check on her, I think I can get a rideshare to campus, but--

Oh my God. Oh my God--I--I just, I don’t--

Is she--

I thought the worst it would get was gonna be Charlotte--a baby--getting grabbed, and--roughed up a little bit. And that’s--that’s terrible, that’s terrifying, that’s--

But it’s--it’s not entirely impossible that that would happen to any of us anyway. We’re all--it’s more likely, more understandable to get attacked physically than to get bamfed away in an orb of light, y’know? Like--I’m sure, once this is over, she’ll never shut up about it--when I was, like, thirteen, I was babysitting her, and she made me watch Twin Peaks, like--girl was seven? I think, and making me watch her parents’ Twin Peaks season two boxset with her. What a--

She’s gotta come back, if only for the story of it. Sell her memoir to David Lynch, or whatever. She’ll come back, if only to do that. Love that kid. Hate Twin Peaks season two, but. Love that kid.

God. I’m--I don’t know how to--

I have to go. Uh. AJ’s turn is next week, so--he’ll give updates, but, just--oh my God. I’m sorry. I--I have to go help everybody, I’m--

Goodbye, I guess.

[piratefalls]

Long Fic

Fealty by astolat

"The only promise I will make you is that having found you, I will go to almost any lengths you care to name to keep you."

Point of a Pistol by Giddygeek

Root returns to claim what's hers.

i’ll pretend my heart’s not on fire if you steal my true love’s name by queenklu

“You know I can smell it on you,” Detective Carter says after her speech about helping hands and self-punishment. “You’re an Alpha.”

Outsider Perspective by Neery

John and Harold lose their memories.

An Unstoppable Force by giandujakiss, interation

John is still trying to figure out this little mouse of a woman who’s hired him, who can do anything with computers and has more money than God and who can barely walk and yet somehow always manages to evade him, who won’t tell him anything about herself but who says she knows everything about him – and he knows that can’t be true, it can’t –

When he realizes, she’s actually attracted to him. (always-a-woman!Finch)

It’s a Dog’s Life by manic_intent

Six months, no yellow cape, and one and a half thankfully harmless gun accidents after, Harold and Nathan had settled into a routine. The Machine would send them a number, and Harold would try his damnedest to resolve it through a computer. Usually, this endeavour would end in failure, because despite the advent of technology, the idiocy of certain members of humanity was so fundamental that not even computers could provide any sort of real solution.

This meant that Nathan often had to intervene. Sometimes they hired help: which had worked out with varying degrees of disaster. Sometimes they tipped off the police. Sometimes Nathan and Harold ventured out, bickering all the time, and the success rate of this latter tactic was usually at around 24%. It also usually served to further erode Harold’s already falling opinion of humanity.

A Really Private Person by astolat

The end of the world started on a Wednesday in March.

less bigger than the least begin by queenklu

“Mr. Gully is my former employee,” says Finch, fingers splayed over another stack of printouts, Gully’s blank-smiling face lurking in the upper left corner.

“Oh.” John waits, but Harold doesn’t add anything, doesn’t move except where his fingertips are twitching against the paper. "Forgive me for saying so, Harold, but that seems like the kind of information you’d lead with.”

A Slight Miscalculation by skepwith

Reese is an incubus that Finch summons by mistake.

The wizard isn’t at all what John expected. He’s slight, with a beakish nose, pale eyes behind thick-rimmed glasses, and receding hair that stands up straight like it’s surprised. In his brown three-piece suit, he looks like a teacher at an old-fashioned boys’ school. But it isn’t his nebbishy appearance that throws John—it’s his expression. Most summoners greet him with a leer or a blush; this man looks, well, baffled.

The Raven Project by iteration

Reese tries to tail Finch over and over but never sees his home. Eventually, his imagination starts to run away with him.

Technical Support by astolat

The IFT Plaza security team wasn't what John would have called the brightest stars in the firmament.

All the things we don’t talk about by iteration

Finch moved his hand, and asked Reese to follow it with his eyes. He made a tiny clucking noise. Which was absurd because Finch appeared to be just as addled and confounded as Reese. "Mr. Reese, you're not well… You should get some rest."

Motivations by JenNova

John never wears gloves. Finch bought John an apartment full of windows. And why.

Dangerous If Unbound by astolat

The Texas sun beating down was merciless, almost a physical weight on his shoulders. John couldn't move even to change the angle: the collar was tight, the cuffs were tight, and the chains had been pulled to their limits.

A Mutually Beneficial Arrangement by Toft

Harold and John begin a casual sex arrangement. It doesn't go particularly well.

Belonging by nogoaway

The engraving is a thin cursive font; elegant, but not pompous or flowery. Even in the light it's small, and John has to squint to see. It reads: Belonging to Harold R. Wren.

John feels his mouth quirk up. 'Belonging to'. Not 'Property of'. It was the kind of distinction that Harold was always concerned with. Of course he'd have something engraved custom rather than put his name, even a false one, to a statement he didn't believe. Bear wasn't anyone's property. But he belonged somewhere. He belonged to someone.

Hamartia (the hero’s fatal flaw) by astolat

"We're not looking to make friends, Harold," John said. "We want our neighbors to classify us and then avoid us. Being the scandalous gay couple down the street is a good option."

Short Fic

The Silenus Club by Speranza

"I won't insult you by explaining the nature of the club," Harold said in a low voice.

Date Night by Spatz

“Mr. Reese, what is that sound?”

“I’m making popcorn,” John said, like it was obvious.

Kept Man by esteefee

John knows what Finch is doing; does he?

why don’t we get together and call ourselves an institute by leupagus

“It’s perfectly logical. We’re bound to be caught at some point together, and as far as I can see there’s no downside to connecting Mr. Warren to Mr. Wren socially. We’ll have an easier time explaining ourselves being together if we’re observed being together, and since you’ve vetoed all of my suggestions for activities that you could take up—“

“I’m not joining a bowling league, Harold,” John says firmly.

A More Subtle Trap by Giddygeek

There is a danger here, although it isn't John himself--it's what John's closeness makes Harold want.

Ring by Speranza

A phone rang. Finch stilled, head tilted, listening. The pay phone was housed on top of a low grey metal stand in front of the corner deli. Instinctively, Reese glanced up and saw the red glowing eye of the camera. Finch had already started for the phone, but Reese put a hand on his shoulder.

"It's for me," Reese said.

What’s On the Table by cortue

Harold is fairly certain this is a fruitless endeavor, but he finds he can’t forget the question now that he’s asked it of himself. What does John actually enjoy?

Catch a Boat to England, Baby (Maybe to Spain) by leupagus

The car door opens and one of the soldiers slides in, almost braining Harold with the butt of his gun. "Sorry, sir," the soldier says, breathless, "I thought you were in the other car — but you weren't — so I had to jump out and—"

"Who are you?" Harold says, but the soldier's familiar; the tall one who'd looked embarrassed.

And who still looks embarrassed. "Oh. Sorry, sir. Um. John Harris. Private Harris? I'm your um, assigned unit. Sir.” He sticks out a hand.

Losing Control by Neery

"It's got to be some messed-up new designer drug," Carter said. 

Love And Marriage by astolat

"Harold," John said, "are you asking me to marry you for your money?"

"Well, Mr. Reese," Harold said, "given how much of it you've spent already, I don't really see how you can complain."

Absolutely Necessary and Altogether Impossible by esteefee

Reese braked suddenly. "Stay in the car," he said, and then slid out and pounded away into Washington Square Park, and there wasn't even a Number—they were just enjoying an evening drive after the concert.

Circle Completing the Square by jjtaylor

There’s nothing wrong with needing to be told what to do.

Press My Nose to the Glass Around Your Heart by Perpetual Motion

He states rather than asks because time has shown that stating garners better results.

Layover by nogoaway

"I said no such thing. Only that it would be unethical, not to mention unwise, to sleep with an employee."

Escapism by astolat

The surprise was, this time he didn't open his eyes in a hotel room in Mexico.  

Trophy Husband by killalla

Never underestimate the allure of the game. And never fight a land war in Asia.

let’s be clear, i’ll trust no one by violentdaylight

“You’re not expendable,” Mr. Finch had said, standing too close to him, and even though John had the advantage of height over him, John’s knees were nearly buckling at the unyielding expression on his face, those clear blue eyes staring him down.

Echoes by eris

If it were predictable, they wouldn't call it shock.

pretense never suited us by the_ragnarok

A drug that removes inhibitions has an unexpected effect on John.

The Third Time by drifterskip

It takes time and stressful circumstances for Finch and Reese to comprehend just how much they could mean to each other. Feelings are dangerous. Then again, nearly everything they do is dangerous.

When he was forced to do so, Finch didn’t just break people, the way Reese did. No, Finch destroyed them, if need be. To protect the things in this life that Finch held dear, he could and would stop at nothing.

you knew who I was with every step that I ran to you by violentdaylight

"Hmmh, blow jobs, Harold,“ John says, as if Harold is being especially dense. "You know. Giving head, sucking someone off.“ He considers for a moment. "Oral sex.“

"I understand what a blow job is, Mr. Reese,“ Harold says with a desperate edge to his voice. "Please go to sleep.“

In which John has trouble expressing how he feels. Harold can relate.

PWP

Are you ready (for what I’m about to do to you?) by iteration

"Will you ever tell me your real name, Harold?"

"You know several of my real names, John."

For Tomorrow by astolat

Harold said, softly, without looking at him, "I told you once we'd most likely end up dead." (post 2x10)

Triceps Brachii by judgebunnie

It was getting to be a problem.

High Risk by Toft

“I’ll be indisposed for a day or two, Mr Reese,” Finch says. He sounds strained, embarrassed. “If a number comes through, I have every confidence that you will manage it. I’d be grateful if you didn’t try to contact me.”

Gift of the Magi by astolat

She said, "You're not ignoring it on purpose, are you? You don't even know

need not by the_ragnarok

Harold spite-masturbates. John catches him with his pants down.

Self Defense by Speranza

There were heavy velvet curtains over the windows.

Prudent Is the New Sexy by LadyDrace

Having to work around chronic injuries doesn't mean that sex has to be difficult.

a brief history of pain relief by violentdaylight

"I hope you're not planning on letting Detective Riley develop a drug habit," Harold says.

Set after 4x16, in which we learn about Harold's familiarity with medical marijuana.

Peak Effect by astolat

"Ask me something," Harold said abruptly. "Anything—anything you want to know—"

Behavioral Therapy by esteefee

Finch wants something out of John. The trick is figuring it out when John can barely think.

Secrets I have held in my heart (I just wanna be yours) by violentdaylight

“This is how it will go,” Harold says conversationally. “I won’t touch you, I won’t kiss you, in fact I won’t do anything to you at all. I’ll just sit here,” he says, letting himself sink against the upholstery, “and enjoy the view.”

The Rest is Silence by hedda62

Finch was in the Library multitasking, feeding Bear and forging a research grant while making puns about computer bugs and (Reese was pretty sure) Hamlet; Reese was in the bathroom in his loft dressing abrasions and thinking vaguely about Finch's voice as antibiotic ointment. Or possibly lubricant.

Intimacy by astolat

"Well, Harold," John said, shrugging, "I guess we're going to get to know each other better."

Gen

The Great Friendship Caper by galaxysoup

Finch comes up with a way to curb Leon’s tendency to wind up in trouble. Unfortunately for Reese, the NYPD, and several (mostly) innocent bystanders, it involves socializing.

a lone star shining (sun is rising) by hito

John leaves the hotel before the night is out. Episode tag for 215.

Pen Pals by galaxysoup

Reese and Sofia keep in touch.

[superprincesspea]

The Honey House, Chapter 19

Loose Lips Sink Ships

MASTERLIST

“If you cared about Rae at all then you’d stay away from her.”

Negan turned his head to see Timmy with his fists clenched into furious balls as he stormed down the porch to where he was waiting by the car. By the grace of God he somehow stopped the laugh that practically begged for freedom. But hell, he was trying to be fucking civilised here, he wasn’t trying to beat the shit out of anyone or do anything that might start a fight that he would definitely finish.

He waited for Timmy to come to a standstill before asking, as nicely as he could, “why the fuck would I stay away from Red when she wants me here?”

Timmy’s nostrils flared so wide that Negan half expected steam to shoot straight out and fog up his glasses. Instead he just kept giving him the stink eye, “I don’t know why she can’t see right through you. You’re nothing but a sleaze ball, the only reason you helped us was because you wanted to...”

Negan straightened his spine, standing full height, “wanted to what?”

“You wanted to,” Tim swallowed hard, his words were barely audible, foreign on his good boy tongue, “fuck Rae.”

“What was that? I didn't quite catch that Timmy,” Negan held his hand to his ear, his grin impossible to control now even if he wanted to and he definitely didn’t want to.

“You know what I said,” Timmy spat.

“She’s a beautiful woman but no matter how fuckable she is I don’t risk my life for pussy. It's just the happy coincidence of being a fucking badass.”

“You don’t even know her. Not like I do.”

“You had you’re chance Timmy-too-slow, you had four long week to make your moves and get her all shacked up and settled down on your dick. Fuck me, you’ve had years.”

“You’re disgusting.”

Timmy stepped closer and Negan started to believe he was going to end up in a fight afterall, he always did have the kind of mouth that landed him fights.

“And there’s more than one way to be intimate with a person.”

“Hows that Timmy? You tossed one out while you peeped on her? That’s fucking disgusting. Am I gonna have to mark you down as some kind of dirty pervert? Peeping Tim?”

Timmy’s face blanched like Negan had hit a nail very close to the head and Negan couldn’t blame him for knocking one out over Rae, he’d knocked out more than he wanted to admit. “I don’t know how she even talks to you!” Timmy covered, not exactly denying the situation.

“Or do you think you’re intimate with Red because you chase her ass around like a lost fucking puppy?”

“It's not like that! I know her. We’ve spent entire nights just talking, I helped her build this place, I know where she went to college, what her favorite songs are, every house we’ve scavenged together. I know how she got the little scar that cuts across her jaw and how many times she failed her driver's test. And… even if I know she doesn’t look at me the way I look at her, she’s still my friend and I’m not gonna let you hurt her.”

Negan bit his tongue. Maybe he didn’t know the secrets that were locked up in Rae’s head and maybe he could never promise not to hurt her because, at his core, he was always the man that had hurt Lucille and he wasn’t sure he could be a better one. But no matter what, Negan wasn’t going to justify a single fucking thing to anyone and Timmy was reaching the limit he had for fuckers that weren’t long legged redheads.

“Good for you Timmy, you know what jersey to pick out and what album to play but here's the deal and I want you to listen very fucking closely. In a few minutes Red’s gonna to be getting in this car with me and leaving with me and you, well let's face facts, you can fuck off. It's as simple as that. You don’t like it? Tough shit because I’m here. I’m not leaving and you can't fucking make me,” he chuckled embracing the inner kid who wanted to follow that statement up with ‘nah nah na nah nah,’ it was childish but it was the truth.

Tim’s nostrils were flaring again and Negan lost his smile to erase any idea that what he said next was a joke or a false promise, “you try anything, you piss me off more than you are pissing me off right now and I can promise you won’t live to regret it.” It was almost exactly what he had said to Miguel and that had only ended one way, the only way Negan knew how to deal with troublemakers.

“Are you trying to threaten me?”

“I never try to do anything Timmy-too-slow, I’ve told you before, but fuck it I’ll tell you again. I’m not you.”

Like clockwork Rae emerged from her house with Grandma Ellie close behind.

Negan’s smile sprang back into action at the sight of them both. When they were close enough to touch his hand almost reached out for Rae’s before he thought better of it and shoved it in his pocket, “don’t worry Grandma Ellie, I’ll take good care of your Grandbaby and bring her back in one piece.” He was planning on fucking her hard but he hadn’t split a woman in two yet.

“You’d better,” Grandma warned, wary old eyes switching from himself to Rae while Negan smiled at Tim like everything was super duper at the little house on the prairie. He even winked. If Timmy was hoping to frighten him away not only was he the most delusional motherfucker that he had ever met but he was also doing the worst fucking job in the world.

///

Rae told Grandma she was going out to look for supplies just liked she’d already planned to do after checking the bait traps. The only difference in her plan was taking Negan instead of Tim and if she was honest with herself, Negan was the better partner. She’d seen the way he fought, dead or living, he was unstoppable. If there was going to be only one other person with her, and there definitely couldn’t be both Negan and Tim if she didn’t want a fight on her hands, then Negan was the one that made her feel the safest. At least in the physical sense.

Grandma headed back into the house and Tim had disappeared without her noticing so it was just her and Negan. He held open the door to the car, allowing her into the driver’s seat with a smirk that said, ‘see, I’m letting you drive I’m not always a sexist asshole,’ and Rae slid into the soft white leather with a thrill of unadulterated excitement.

This was a beautiful car. The kind of car that turned heads when you peeled down the road and it was easily the nicest car she’d ever had the pleasure of driving. She turned the key in the ignition and the engine purred to life as Negan took a seat besides her.

“Where to, Red?” he grinned as Rae pulled a folded map from her pocket before shoving it in his hand.

“You can give me directions.”

His face fell to something between disappointment and confusion but even if she wanted to let go and take a joyride with Negan this was the end of the world and a woman had to be practical. They’d take the car for a spin and they’d check out the places she’d already marked on the map. It was win win. At least for her.

“You know all work and no play isn’t fucking healthy. You should take the day off from being queen of the fort.”

“Are you a Doctor now?”

“I wouldn’t say I was a doctor but i’d happily give you a full body exam sweetheart. Just say the word...”

“Just read the map,” she said with a laugh as his outrageous flirting worked its charm.

Negan snorted, unfolding the map as they pulled onto the main road. “So… you good at taking directions Red?”

She looked at him, if he was making a joke about women being terrible at directions then she was prepared for war. Instead, he had that hazel green twinkle that lived in his eyes when they were alone. “I need to know, are you gonna do exactly what I tell you to do?”

Her thoughts went to the gutter, probably the exact destination that Negan had in mind. Was taking a ride in this car an agreement that things would progress beyond a kiss? Was that the deal she was making with herself? She still couldn’t decide. She liked the way he kissed her, but he was a difficult man to trust; confident, arrogant, an impossible flirt. She knew almost nothing about him. “That depends,” she answered, not giving anything away.

“On what?”

Rae laughed, letting out some of the nervous energy that was coiling in her stomach as she fumbled the button on the CD player to fill the car with nothing but silence that didn’t mask his need for an answer. So she played it safe again, “I don’t know. Just read the map and… behave yourself.”

“Impossible,” he chuckled and she could feel the heat of his eyes watching her before he gave up the conversation in favour of opening the glove box and flicking through his CD’s.

The destination on the map was a little one horse town, nothing more than a couple of rows of houses, a tiny convenience store and a small family doctors practice. She pulled the car up at the edge of the first house and its tall mesh fence and before they’d even had chance to climb out of the car, halfers had already began to file from the streets towards them.

Negan had his bat and she had the knife that he’d given her, the Glock on her belt was purely for an emergency. She felt a chill inch down her spine like it always did before she faced any halfers and wondered would this be it? It was morbid but it was a thought impossible to ignore after watching the world and almost everyone in it succumb to the dead.

He took the first swing, nice and easy. Killing walkers like these, slow and scattered in a wide open space was all about tactics. Don’t get cornered, don’t over exert. You had to pick them off one by one, taking as much time as you needed.

Rae picked her target, a woman, shorter than herself and wasted away like she had been one of the first to turn and had spent the rest of the time outside being eroded by the elements. Rae grabbed her shoulder, her knife sliced through the top of the skull like breaking the shell of a creme brulee. After that it was all a blur and just like the day outside of her apartment she settled into an easy rhythm with Negan, covering each others back and killing with precision.

When the street was cleared and they were safely inside the first house Negan rested Lucille on the kitchen counter, barbed wire dripping blood that collected into a sticky pool on the laminate. “Jesus Fuck baby, if I’d have a known our joyride would include facing hordes of the apocalypse I might not have fucking bothered bringing you a car,” he teased as she opened the door of the pantry to find it empty except for a half used bottle of sunflower oil and a bag of flour.

She picked the flour up, peeling open the paper to find it filled with hundreds of tiny bugs and ruined. With a sigh she threw it back on the shelf, wondering if all the fighting had been a huge waste of energy before turning to look at Negan who was grinning and as self satisfied as he ever was. “We’re almost out of food at the farm so I don’t have the luxury of taking the day off. If you don’t like this then you don’t have to come back again or be here with me right now.”

///

The way Rae snapped, the way her eyes glowed like a wild cat made him think she was going to bite his head clean off and that’s when he realised just how scrawny she’d got since he’d last seen her. It was hard to tell with the heavy coat but he could see it in her cheeks and the sharpness of her jaw. It occurred to him that Rae was the kind of person who would be first to find the food and last to eat it. It also occurred to him that he couldn't remember the last time he’d missed a meal because there wasn’t any food. “I brought you some things, it's not much but...” fuck his people and what they would think, “I’ll bring more next time.”

“No. You shouldn’t take from your people to give to mine.”

All he could think about was the warehouse full of Jacob’s supplies, piles of food now all sitting in his own stores, not to mention all the communities he had ‘working’ for him. “You’re my people. I already fucking told you that Red.”

“I know but-”

“But nothing.” He wanted to make it better, he wanted to appease the guilt he felt when he’d decided that the only reasons she wasn’t at the Sanctuary, with him and all his protection, were selfish ones. “You’re no good to me if you’re half starved. I’ll bring you food next time. I already brought you some men, they’re setting up house in the farm across the field and you’re gonna use them. They’ll help you gather supplies and keep an eye on you.”

She finished checking the last of the kitchen cupboards and gave him a pointed look, “I don’t need babysitting.”

“Well that's tough shit sweetheart. I’m not leaving you without protection. Hell, I shouldn’t have done it the last time. We both know exactly what kind of assholes are out there. I can’t always be with you but you’ll have my men and you’ll fucking like it.”

He’d brought the ones he could trust to keep their mouths shut and told them that their only job, their only fucking purpose in life, was to live across the field and keep watch on the matchstick fort at all times. Every one of them had been happy to take the job, that had been his second requirement, he didn’t want someone watching over Red that didn’t want to be there. The idea appeased his guilt a little but not all the way.

“Is it Donnie?” she said over her shoulder as she headed into the lounge.

“Donnie,” he wouldn’t call it jealousy but he wouldn’t call the feeling that swelled in his stomach entirely normal either, “you wanna tell me what's so fucking interesting about Donnie?”

Rae gave him one of her hard stares now, “is he at the house or not?”

“No, he was shot in the shoulder at Jacobs compound. He’s still not one hundred percent. Either that or he’s just one lazy motherfucker.”

“That's unfortunate,” she shrugged as she left the lounge and began to climb the stairs.

“For you or him?” he followed the sway of her ass, half forgetting what they were even discussing and half wondering why the hell he wasn’t between her thighs right now with his tongue in her mouth.

“Next time you see him,” her fingertips wrapped around the handle of the first door along the hall and she paused, staring at the wood, before sighing, “tell him he’s going to be a father.”

His gaze couldn’t help but flick instantly to her waist, the place where that kind of thing happened, the tent that had grown in his pants as he climbed the stairs lost a little steam, “a father?”

“Yes,” she swung the door open, her knife at the ready, “one of my girls is expecting a baby and he’s responsible.”

‘At least someone was having sex at the little house on the prairie,’ was the first thought that crossed his mind but he decided to keep that one to himself. “Your girl, my guy?” Negan laughed, lingering in the door as she checked out the tiny room. “Do I pay for the wedding or do you?”

“It's not funny,” she poked him in the chest as she moved to the next room, a bathroom, blue tiles and the smell of mildew.

“Oh I think it is,” he chuckled, not quite sure if he should say the next part but saying it nonetheless. “Donnie’s girl is gonna be spitting blood when she finds out.”

“He has a girlfriend?” Rae demanded her jaw clenching like she was prepared to fight Negan over the revelation.

He held up his hands with a nervous laugh. Donnie wasn’t the only one. He felt guilty as fuck for letting the other man's cat out of the bag. It made him reconsider the men he was donating to Rae’s fort and how easily a happy little snippet of information can slide so juicily from a tongue. “I mean… I-”

“Oh my god,” she threw up her hands “you men are all the same!” she began bashing open the bathroom cupboards like they were practice shots at Donny’s head.

Negan wiped his hand over his face, wondering why the hell he had said anything and partly wondering if it was because he wanted to know how she would take the information. Rae’s angry clattered searching stopped and he looked up to see a cabinet wide open to reveal one very large, very brightly coloured, impossible to miss box of Trojans. Ribbed, for her pleasure.

His throat went dry and he hardly knew whether to laugh or cry as the room filled with a pregnant pause. He could hardly take the quiet before his boots met the tiles and he walked to where she stood, leaning his body into the back of hers. This was the sort of sign he could believe in. Her ass fit perfectly against his crotch as he reached over her shoulder and picked up the unopened box, “I guess your girl won’t be needing these.”

That riled her, the red of her hair was like flames licking against her alabaster skin as she turned to glare at him, poking her finger into his chest. “She’s a teenager! Impressionable. She had it on good faith that they had and I quote”, he’d never seen such violent air quotes, “a connection.”

Negan pictured all five of his lovely wives and let's say he got a little defensive, “maybe they do. Maybe he’s unhappy with the other woman. You don’t know every-fucking-thing that goes on in Donnie’s head.”

“Is he still with her?” she stepped out of the bathroom that was suddenly cramped, all filled up with attitude.

He let her walk a few steps before following her, “I’m not his fucking stalker, I don’t exactly know his business.” All he knew was that he hadn’t slept with his wives since he’d met Rae but that didn’t mean he wasn’t married to them and lying through his teeth to her.

“Well I’m sure he had a real special connection, screwing two women at the same time.”

She opened the last door and stepped inside the master bedroom while he idled in the hallway feeling suitably put in his place and like bag of shit on a hot day. Jesus fuck, when had he become so bothered about what this woman thought about him? It wasn’t his style, he needed to go back to cracking skulls and fucking pussy. He should be enjoying the ride rather than worrying about when he would get caught.

There was a clatter, a smash of glass on a hard floor and it all happened quickly. A frenzied shadow dashed through his peripheral so quick that it didn’t register in his brain before a dead man's hands were tangled in Rae’s long ponytail, clawing towards her soft skin. Her bottle green eyes were as wide, her arms desperately flailing for her knife. She lodged it in the roamers neck to the spurt of dirty blood but it wasn’t enough to stop the attack as the man's teeth sank into her shoulder and dragged her to the ground.  

Time moved slowly, it was like Negan could feel every heartbeat as he clenched his hands to find them empty of Lucille who still sat downstairs, forgotten. He was going to lose her. Just like Lucille he was going to watch as Rae slipped away. It was all he could think about as he stumbled forward with panicked steps. He crashed into the door, scrambling through it. His ungainliness was enough to the distract the roamer and give Rae a chance to crawl away.  Negan grabbed the nearest thing to hand, a mirrored jewellery box. He slammed the corner right into the temple of the man's skull in one hard knock that split it open like an egg, all the inner goo dripping out as it slumped to the floor.

Negan’s hands were shaking almost as much as his unsteady breaths as the jewellery box slipped to the hardwood floor, filling the room with more broken glass. He didn’t know who made the first move, maybe it was both of them but suddenly Rae was in his arms, her face pressed against his chest, his buried in her hair and the sweet smell of her shampoo. He held her, tight, protective, not knowing if he was doing it for her sake or for his.

He let her out of his bear hug after a time, shrugging off her coat and pulling back the collar of her shirt to see a deep purple bruise flowering against her alabaster skin - but no open wounds. Her heavy winter coat had saved her, not him. “Rae I...” he didn’t quite know what to say or how to word the feeling that was swelling inside where the worry and terror had been, “Jesus Christ baby.” He kissed her forehead and pulled her against him again.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her fingers curling into his shirt.

“It's not your fucking fault,” he nuzzled the top of her head, “I should have checked the room. I should be fucking looking after you properly.”

She looked up at him and Negan realised he never held any of his wives, in fact, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d taken comfort in another person's body without his dick being involved. It felt good.

“I don’t need you checking my rooms or taking care of me like I’m your problem. It was my fault, I was distracted. I’m sorry because... I shouldn’t have even been having that argument with you.”  

Fuck, that was exactly the kind of argument she probably should be having with him and more. He felt even worse, “Red...”

“And you’re right,” she pulled from his arms, her hair half fallen from her ponytail, a smear of old blood on her cheek, “fuck responsibilities, we deserve to have the day off and to stop worrying about everyone else all the time. ”

“Yeah?” he forced a smile. If she knew the truth then she would never look at him the way she was looking at him right now, trust and softness. He couldn’t get enough of it. He touched his thumb to her cheek before tucking her hair behind her ear. This was exactly the kind of way he wanted her to look at him. With her lips a smile that he could kiss, her freckled skin a map still to be explored. Negan was torn in two, he just hoped Rae couldn’t see the proof of it all over his face or the way his pulse was racing, not just because she was near but because he knew that one day, just like Donnie, he would get caught in all his half truths.

PREVIOUS CHAPTER

NEXT CHAPTER

[guerrillathoughts]

Guerrilla Book of the Week - Book 4 - The Raggamuffin Gospel, Brennan Manning

This week, I knew that my reading time would be greatly reduced. Due to work commitments I had to reschedule a lot of my time. So I went to my ever growing box of unread novels and memoirs, facts and fictions, Satires and Horrors, Travels and Histories. All various sizes and even shape. I dug down to the bottom and chose a book I bought many years ago. It was in near perfect condition and had never been read. It still had it’s purchase invoice inside. 2009. Eight years ago I bought this short book for less than four British pounds. Had I really been that busy over the last eight years that I couldn’t make room for 174 pages? And what had I achieved in those 8 years? 2009 I was just about to finish my undergraduate degree. Five years after buying this book I would go back and complete a one year post graduate. But in between, could I really not have found the time to read 174 pages?

Memories came to me that saddened my heart. The reason I bought this book, was because a friend at the time requested that I do so; a friend with whom I had fallen out of touch with. In eight years I had become so far removed from this friend that I wasn’t even in attendance at her wedding. This week I decided to find the time to read 174 pages. At first I was a little uneasy with this book, as it is not at all what I thought it would be. By the title I had assumed that this title would be about a Vagabond, or Ragamuffin, that just travelled or was at least semi nomadic, expecting it to be a travel memoir. This is very far from what this book is. This book is one man trying to help the reader to see the beauty and the grace of God. However I do not think that one needs to be a Christian to find value in the words. On nearly every page I found my self reaching for my pen to write down quotes, or make notes that could help me to write a post this week. Obviously not every quote or note will see the light of the blog, but it is a testament to just how Christian Brennan Manning is - As with Jesus, his words are not just for the righteous. He starts the book by listing who the book is for: “The bedraggled, beat-up, and burnt out. It is for the sorely burdened who are still shifting the heavy suitcase from one hand to the other. It is for the wobbly and weak kneed who know they don’t have it all together and are too proud to accept the handout of amazing grace. It is for the inconsistent, unsteady [disciples] whose cheese is falling off their cracker. It is for poor. weak [and sinful] men and woman  with hereditary faults and limited talents. It is for earthen vessels who shuffle along on feet of clay. It is for the bent and bruised that feel their lives are a grave disappointment [to God]. It is for smart people that know they are stupid and honest [disciples] that know they are scallywags. The Ragamuffin Gospel is a book I wrote for myself and anyone who is discouraged along the way”

If you take away the references to God, I am sure that many people would find themselves in this list. And this book has a lot to say. Yes Manning says it through the avenue of belief in the Christian God, but I feel much of what he says is relevant, or should be relevant, even to non-believers of that faith. This post is not an argument for, or against Christianity. It is not about which faith is the one true faith. This post is about the book I read, the thoughts it stirred up in me, and who I become.

Disclaimer: I was born into a Catholic Family, raised in the Faith and still practise to this day, despite countless doubts.

This book is not about judgement. It is not about telling the reader that they are a sinner and that they must repent. This book actually has a whole chapter entitled “Tilted Halos”, that starts with an anecdote of a very uptight conservative Christian talking to the doctor about headaches. After questioning the Christian about his values he concludes the that cause is “Simple, my dear fellow. Your halo is too tight”. It further includes a very forward thinking quote that states simply “We miss Jesus’ point entirely when we use his words as weapons against others. They are to be taken personally by each of us”. Basically, he is passing no judgement in this book. He does not list sins of which one need to repent, nor does he use it as an opportunity to snipe at the Homosexual Community, the Atheist Community or communities of other faiths. Christians take all the flak. The book starts by talking about how incredible our universe and planet are, and how mathematically our Planet seems to have been created.

“The slant of the earth, for example, tilted at an angle of 23 degrees, produces our seasons. Scientists tell us that if the earth had not been tilted exactly as it is, vapours from the oceans would move both north and south, piling up continents of ice. If the moon were only 50,000 miles away from earth, instead of 200,000, the tides might be so enormous that all the continents would be submerged in water. Even the mountains would be eroded. If the Crust of the Earth had been only ten feet thicker, there would be no oxygen, and without it all animal life would die.

Had the oceans been a few feet deeper, carbon dioxide and oxygen would have been absorbed and no vegetable life would exist. The earth’s weight has been estimated at six sextillion tones (that’s a six with 21 zeros). Yet it is perfectly balanced.” This is of course incredible, to consider our planet’s perfection. Our planet is literally just perfect for life to exist. Any slight differences and our planet would not be the home it is today. And yet it is home. How much more incredible this becomes when we take a wider view of our existence and consider the perfection of our Universe. “The nine major planets in our solar system range in distance from the sun from 36 million to about 3 trillion, 6,664 billion miles; yet each moves around the sun in exact precision… The sun is only one minor star in the 100 billion orbs which comprise our Milky Way Galaxy. If you hereto hold a dime, a ten-cent piece, at arm’s length, the coin would block out 15 million stars from your view.”

So sorry to quote such a considerable chunk of this book, but I think it does a great job of putting us in our incredible place. You see the reason I think this is important, is because for me this can’t all be an accident. I am not arguing the existence of a creator God, I am merely suggesting that there must be more to life than the dull drudgery of working nine to five everyday, in jobs most people do not even feel are important. There must be more wonder. This is a point that Manning labours over nearly two full chapters, concluding with a quote from Rabbi Heschel; “As civilisation advances, the sense of wonder declines”. He labours the point because it is very important, that people of today no longer take the time to experience wonder. He describes some of the ways our race used to wonder at the world around us, and he describes how we are losing that ability. Again I am using a large quote from this book, but I really couldn’t cut it down.

“By and large, our world has lost it’s sense of wonder. We have grown up. We no longer catch our breath at the sight of a rainbow or the scent of a rose, as we once did. We have grown bigger and everything else smaller, less impressive. We get blasé and worldly wise and sophisticated. We no longer run our fingers through water, no longer shout at the stars or make faces at the moon. Water is H2O, the stars have been classified, and the moon is not made of green cheese. Thanks to satellite TV and Jet Planes, we can visit places available in the past only to a Columbus, a Balboa, and other daring explorers.”

One of the reasons I practise Landscape, Nature and Wildlife Photography is because I do still wonder at the world. When I see a beautiful painted sky or indeed a rainbow I will often pull over and enjoy them, even sometimes when I am in a rush. For me this is probably the most important time to enjoy such sights; whenever I am simply to busy to do so. I remember my shock just this year when meeting a girl from the country, to find that she had never laid in a field and counted the stars; There I was from the City, talking of my experiences on the west coast of Ireland, or under the unspoilt Bosnian Sky. I have discussed my love of the exciting. The moon may not be green cheese, but why not choose to believe it is anyway? I know this sounds naive, but hopefully if you take the time to read my previous post about this, you will understand and hopefully enjoy.

Manning really labours this point and it is beautiful. He labours the fact that sometimes we are simply just to busy. That in a modern civilised society “We barely notice the clouds passing over the moon or the dew drops clinging to the rose leaves. The Ice pond come and goes. The wild blackberries ripen and wither. The blackbird nests outside out bedroom window. We don’t see her. We grow complacent and lead practical lives. We miss the experience of awe, reverence, and wonder.”

Manning seems to be suggesting, as I alluded to earlier that there must be more to life than the dull drudgery of working nine to five everyday. We live our practical lives. We drive to work, come home and prepare for the next days work. We clear the massive pile of meaningless paper work, merely to make room for tomorrows massive pile of meaningless paper work. Manning makes a statement about religious people, but this statement could apply to all but the simplest of Children. “So often we religious people walk amid the beauty and bounty of nature and we talk nonstop. We miss the panorama of colour and sound and smell. We might as well have remained in our closed, artificially lit living rooms. Nature’s lessons are lost and the opportunity to be wrapped in silent wonder before the God of creation passes.” I have blogged about the importance of the sound of water in my life before. But it is too true that I have in the past missed the excellent glory of the world around me. I recall one trip hiking through the mountains of Spain, that I was so set on my destination that I missed the beautiful vistas, the birdsong in the mountain forests and the smell of the pines. I may as well have stayed at home. This is exactly why it is when I am hurried or rushed that I choose to pull over, stop the car and watch the sky, the cloud formations or the colours streaked creatively. I wish to be wrapped so often in that silent wonder. So often people tell me that go go climbing and hiking alone is dangerous and a bad idea - But sometimes when you do so with another soul, where your souls may be quiet, maybe that day is not a quiet day for them.

Manning has not finished labouring this point. The author is really trying to hammer home the nail; There is beauty and wonder all around us. “Our world is saturated with grace, and the lurking presence of God is revealed not only in spirit but in matter - in a deer leaping across a meadow, in the flight of an eagle, in fire and water, in a rainbow after a summer storm, in a gentle doe string through a forest…” and we need to take the time to take it all in. We need to live full and enjoyable lives. And this is almost as important to the author as the beauty of the world. It is not just about accepting that we have a really incredible world, but it is about getting out there and experiencing it; about wondering.

The author does accept that “It is only the reality of death that is powerful enough to quicken people out of the sluggishness of everyday life and into an active search for what life is really about”. It is so true that for so many people, they need a near death experience before they realise that they can actually live life whatever way they wish. That they can break free from the monotony. But until that near death experience, the majority of us may never make our decision; We have “To choose between generatively and stagnation, between continuing to have an impart, or sitting around waiting to die”.

Manning labours this point quite a bit also, concluding it with Norman Mailer’s quote “We are either living a little more, or dying a little bit”. A really scary concept. We are either living, or we are dying. Its black and white, fifty fifty, “do or do not, there is no try”. I addressed this concept in my post earlier in the week. We must decided to live deliberately. Either way I find some truth in the quote “The child of God knows that the graced life calls him or her to live on a cold and windy mountain, not on the flattened plain of reasonable, middle-of-the-road religion”. Not from a religious point of view, but from a literally point go view. I don’t just think that what has become of our civilisation is a waste, I know it is a waste. The concrete jungles do little for my mind, body and spirt. As John Muir famous said “The Mountains are calling, and I must go”. I know that Manning intends this as a metaphor and not about literally living in the mountains, but we all have that calling deep down in side to do something different. Manning goes on to talk about how wonderful the he thinks “The God who flung from his fingertips this universe filled with Galaxies and stars, penguins and puffins, gulls and gannets, Pomeranians and poodles, elephants and evergreens, parrots and potato bugs, peaches and pears and a world full of Children“ is. Messner talks about how wonderful he thinks the galaxies and stars are. It does not matter where it came from, both are expressing the need to find wonder in the world again.

What strikes me most about this book, is how easily one would reject it. Manning is labouring many of the points that Reinhold Messner laboured in his own book. How important is the wilderness to our soul? How beautiful a world we live in! How unnecessary and unsatisfying it is to live the bourgeois lifestyle. Those that would read Messner’s book may be quick to reject Mannings due to his belief in the Christian God. How quick Mannings reader may be to reject the non-Christian writing of Messner. Yet both authors labour the same point. That we live in a really wonderful and incredible planet and that so many of us are missing the joy of it all.

Another point made by both is the importance of other people. Last week I reflected on how Messner found his first solo attempts to be too difficult because he “…was lost at the mercy of my own loneliness” and he talked about the importance of a shared experience, and his book finishes with a reflection on the importance of real honest friendship. Manning makes a similar point in this book. He uses his experiences at an Alcoholics Anonymous meeting to bring this point.

“Some talk to each other daily on the telephone, others socialise outside the meetings. The personal investment in one another’s sobriety is sizeable. Nobody fools anybody else… For one small hour the high and the mighty descend and the lowly rise. The result is fellowship”

The personal investment in one anothers sobriety is a wonderful concept. But it should not be unique to Alcoholics Anonymous. Maybe if we all sought investment in one another, there would be a lot less people that struggle with sobriety. Maybe we would see the decommissioning of arms and the take up of peace. Maybe there would be less infighting within religions and a lot less between religions. Maybe. Either way it is the other people in our lives that get us to the end. Even in their absence. It is the knowledge, or the feeling of their presence that makes keep going past the final hurdle. Manning reflects on this with the imagery of war “The soldier in combat who, during the lull in the battle, steals a glance at his wife’s picture tucked in his helmet, is more present to her at that moment in her absence that he is to the rifle that is present in his hands”

Now as a pacifist, I think this is a wonderful image. Where could one be farther removed from their loved one that in seperation due to war.

I’ll end by repeating a harrowing quote.

“We are either living a little more, or dying a little bit” ~ Norman Mailer

[not-tryin-2-have-a-debate]

part 2 poetic waxing

i keep getting really mad at my ex the second i realize i was thinking something thats not real

because to the best of my knowledge she read this blog and heard me talk about my expiriences for so long and then she,,,,completely misunderstood them and tried to replicate them in a way that doesnt. make sense. and isnt what this is. and im still hoenstly really offended by that because wow. and i just wanna say like. especially since this blog is pretty much entirely Unseen now

like

im still terrified to recognize myself as psychotic

i dont want to be psychotic

im afraid to talk about it with my doctor or even touch on the symptoms and eps of it and im terrified to get put on pills for it and its a shit show

i think with the people im closest to i try to normalize the idea of being that way with myself

and i pretend the idea of being psychotic doesnt terrify me and say it freely because its not going away and im scared and i need to learn to not be so scared if im going to deal with it in any capacity i need to be able to recognize it

it was a long process.

i didnt start being that way overnight and i didnt recognize it until way after it started

and its not just 1 thing

to me the embodiment of it and the whole problem is that youre just constantly trying to figure out whats real and whats going on like your being hit on all sides

id describe my perception of and ability to perceive reality as a wall thats always being eroded down but can also have parts break off or have holes blown in it at any second...and im constantly trying to build the wall back up and reinforce it and repair it. but i usually dont have a fully formed wall and even if i got there id only be able to maintain it for so long until half of it got blown up again. etc etc wall metaphor if i leave it itll just fuckin collapse entirely

but yeah yknow like.

a delusion isnt just ‘when you think something that isn’t real.’

and like not to dip a bit too much into tumblr vocab and context or whatever but like,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,the way Neurotypicals take symptom descriptions at total face value is...tiring. idk how else to describe it. theres so much context missing.

these symptoms for me started up when i was a kid and got worse.

it was because i have so much family history with this shit that i finally noticed it and compared and recognized the beginning to get worse problem

because ive seen it in my brother and my uncle and my grandma and my family for years and i know it up close and personally

i dont just have some kind of kooky thoughts that i recognize arent real while im having them. my ability to do that at all came with practice and time and repitition.

i dont know when im not dreaming.i see and feel things that arent there.

i think thoughts that i cant recognize as mine and are usually a bunch of nonsense word salad shit.

i have real prolonged trouble recognizing myself as a human being thats physical and has human limits.

i have toruble percieving the present. i have trouble remembering the past.

i constantly really for real feel like ive seen this before.

every time i have deja vu i like have a whoel fuckign Moment lmao

i assume people think the worst of me and want to hurt me.

i assume the end of the world is happening out of nowhere and i really think its happening.

i think God is trying to punish me.

I think spirits are coming after me.

I really believe it.

I spend my day crying and panicking and hiding from shit that isnt real.

i convince myself my whole life is some kind of divine punishment.

its on top of that and

its after years of that

and years of seeing family members older than me and farther into it than me degrading at the same time

that i think some dumb shit and immediately catch myself

or that i think im getting psychic messages and can immediately be like ‘ok calm down’

its because im trying to convince myself im NOT like a psychic prophet and ive been able to recognize it before that i can see a message for what it is and recognize what im doing

its bc ive corroborated the expirience with my brother after doing it for years and years already

i didnt wake up one day and start thinking i was a prophet but also recognizing thats crazy yknow

i thought i was a prophet and then as i grew up i started realizing that it was crazy because i found resources and saw what my family was going through and got so sick of the worst parts and thought something had to be wrong with that picture

and even then the messages arent a delusion

having dejavu and being suspicious of it isnt a delusion

wishing something was true isnt a delusion

believing in gods and spirits and weird reincarnation stuff isnt a delusion

they’re parts of a whole and thats only a few of the parts

like an example of levels

really liking a celebrity isnt psychotic

wishing you were married isnt psychoticdaydreaming about being married to them isnt psychotic

imagining they’re talking to you or they’re addressing something in an interview to you isn’t psychotic, in and of itself (imagining the message but also kind of beliving it also isn’t )

actually beliving they’re addressing you in an interview or something isn’t a delusion, and though its like Psychotically-associated isnt An Automatic Sticker Of Psychosis slapped on your forehead

forgetting you aren’t acutally married sometimes isn’t a delusion.actually beliving you’re married to them is a delusion.

you won’t be able to recognize it as that until later.

the other behaviors, for you, since youre having a delusion, will come off of that.

someone non-delusional who really loved to dream about it might convince themselves into some magical thinking about the celebrity.

for you though, its because you’re married. you’re literally actually married so of course they’re leaving little hints for you! you never get to see each other!

you rationalize it.

because you believe it and having someone put a crack in things you believe in is scary for anyone.

i mean especially wow if someone told you were werent actually married to your spouse and didn’t even know them? they didn’t even know youre name or that you existed? that would be horrifying. of course youd come up with rationalizations.

and that delusion probably started because you really liked them and because you were lonely. but also because youve been having some issues and either are psychotic, were developing psychotic symptoms, or like Had The Propensity To Be Psychotic in general yknow like. the seeds were there or you were already living life as a psychotic tree and this was just a new branch.

after a while they might start to get it.

they might start poking holes in there own reasoning and being brave enough to follow that path.

and hopefully from there theyll get to the still-beleving-it-but-also-recognizing-its-’fake’ stage.

there are a lot of reasons i dont want to be psychotic.

no one should want to be.

anyone who says they want to be is either someone who’s a disgusting creep thinking other peoples crisises are some hot edgy mysterious shit OR theyre a psychotic person trying to humor themselves and be okay with themselves.

and you should be ok with yourself but that shouldnt replace wanting to improve and manage that really scary world-ending parts of shit.thats a whole other topic though

like

i dont want to be psychotic because im terrified of slowly loosing my mind. thats a freaky prospect that no one should really want. i only want that when im suicidal and wish i just didnt have a mind to think with at all kind of shit.

i dont want to be psychotic because i dont want to keep having these episodes and seeing this shit and thinking this shit. a lot of it is absolutely terrifying. other things are less active but like...i wish i could trust anyone ever. i wish i could trust my own judgement. i wish i didn’t get obsessive and weird about contamination and not be able to eat food or need to contain myself from freaking out if certain people touch me. that shit isnt cowering from God under a desk but its annoying and i don’t want to be doing it. i wish i could stop doing it.

i don’t want to be psychotic because once youve had it confirmed that you believe things that arent real that makes it just that much harder to trust literally anything you think.i have to check everything with people because what if im wrong or assuming or jsut being crazy or i thought something up that isnt true.and we all seem to have an amazing knack for like doign that whenever we were actually with reality, and forgetting to do it when we do actually have something a little confused lol. maybe thats subconscious.

i dont wanna be psychotic because i want some things to be true!! you know!! and learnign they arent is, again, confusing and really scary. no matter what it is. but if its something that you like or that brings you some kinda positive shit then thats even worse to have taken away and have be a lie. and even worse a Crazy Lie.

i don’t know how much of my religious views to trust and thinking that anything i believe in or think is up for questioning brings up a whole lot of good things that i dont want to be up for questioning.part of the reason im scared to go on meds is because im really worried some good things will turn out fake and go away.

im worried about what all could just like...dissappear. what if the whole world changed. what if im wrong about more than i thought or something that id never even considered.

like.....im out of steam now but.

yeah. idk

[forgiveeverythingforgetnoth-blog]

Introduction

So I wrote this many years ago and I start each of my journals (digital or paper) the same way minus a tiny variation between them as I keep rereading, rewriting and change words every so often for better flow or easier comprehension for the audience. So please allow me to let you delve into my somewhat abstract mind if you struggle with anything (what things mean? why I feel this way? where my inspiration comes from? etc.) please feel free to message me, I will happily respond in the best way I can.*clears throat* 

WELCOME TO MY WORLD (APPLAUD IF YOU WILL)

I invite you to my non-existent world. A collaborated adventure into the unknown, All of the experiences you are about to endure are unreal to what you thought possible...A mind of its own, extracted from my force field protected by walls built many moons ago. Now eroded and breaking down for you to see; Creation itself is processed here.

I AM SAFE.

All my memories and dreams are stored within their individual cells, out of sight from the oncoming obstacles I must face. Sometimes life can be blurry; fragmented and torn up like an old soggy newspaper that has remained through several storms,

Sketchy are some of lifes’ happenings, a vague remembrance of what could be or what you believe should be...

I could get lost forever in my thoughts, I have discovered my own dimensions, This is not a poem my friends but merely an introduction.

The words effervescing from nowhere, blossoming fairy-tales and  opal palaces of incandescent texture, HOWEVER this is not always the case, from time to time I furiously tumble before radiating in self glory.

This thing, this life, confuses even the most abstract of minds.

Thoughts of words, Words of thoughts,

Submerged I find ancient recollection. The primal architect dwells within the infinite depths of this ethereal world, inside of your deepest thoughts are all the answers you are longing for.  (The ones you didn’t even know you required) 

You and only you hold the key to your own dimension.

My mind spans out like a giant spider web across this universe I have created for myself, each point a solar system of ideas, a thousand constellations in the stars portray my wildest dreams. Like a virus it spreads as I fade into a fusion, combining my imagination with yours, fever as I concentrate on the subtle imperfections...oh how they deem so perfect.

I often ponder, wonder, about life itself, a miracle momentum of existence amalgamating metamorphoses exotica into tonalities and vast transitions of this world.

Interweaving are the ages, emanating poetic form, clearing through verbal mazes and lyrical silences. Delicate harmonies reverberate within nostalgia.

My grand ocean dances and becomes captivated by this raptured space, towards an unborn heaven.

Timeless thoughts, 

timely thoughts, 

untimely thoughts.

Cognized and melting into endless memorabilia, words flicker like ghosts vanishing into nothingness.

Eagerly I’m coaxing to be saved from this infinite size of oblivion, articulating aimless meaning of life where meaningless is meaningful.

I relax in splendorous realisation of the space and time conception. In knowledge that at any moment space and time could burst their banks like an overflowing river. The current will pull me into a timeless eternity of a space less void. Cosmic mind continually scintillates as I rest. Sitting comfortably in a ray of wonder Einstein’s theories beckon  me. 

The equation of geodesic quantum electrodynamics, singularities, nameless black holes and uncountable big bangs. Lifes’ greatest natural phenomena. Atoms turn to elementary particles, coloured quarks, typological strings...fusing together, forming ultimate infinitesimal codes and infinite beings of light...into the abysmal they vanish. 

No beginning, 

No middle, 

No end. 

The great nothingness becomes emblazoned by radiated ornaments on the Deity of discovery.

My world describes itself in every random detail, every wonder whole.

Fierce and nameless, spreading the biological and non-biological. 

All thinking, all feeling, all wading through the myriad. 

Thoughtful considerations still nameless. Immortal beings designed in light, nurturing ethereal thoughts in harmonies against sentient tongues of fire and deceit. Undecipherable agelessness.

My wondrous universe  familiarises itself with an ocean,

overflowing, ever-changing, no boundaries.

Everything is possible.

Think of all you can think of and more, I stay hopeful that my descendants and all futuristic lifeforms will share my view on the world we have been given...Beyond forever.

This is only a minuet portion of thoughts deluding, engulfing the innumerate subliminal cosmoses, oozing with uncountable ideals.

I am a lunatic dancer, a spriteful being, travelling through life with a pen. Always scribbling or doodling these thoughts or visionaries down. Using the power of my tiny body and the compassion of my soul.

Who wants to be normal in this mixed up world anyway?

As the foreseeable future converges I refuse to accept the apocalypse. 

The end cannot be written before the end is met. We are mortal beings with no knowledge of this...

So until a million cool Suns mushroom on the last perfect sky I will no admit my fate. Life as we know it may pass but I guarantee something, somewhere will survive. Something always does.

My vision of the apocalypse will not be doom and gloom but a lively vivacious and joyful occasion. 

Death is inevitable; Apocalypse is death.

 A peaceful and beautiful picture created by the artist, with brushes harsh strokes, meaningful dashes of colours, cleared minds and then peace. 

Purity is reborn and we have been set free.

This is only an insight of my visionary. Life is only what we choose to make it. So as we stand on the edge of the end do not fear it.

 Always look up and good will always prevail. 

Mind and body are secure, creating layers of different layers, like all things in this world many coats create a person, just as many skins create an onion and many rocks create the earth. The outer shell will always be hard, tough and solid but as you near its core with each delicate step, the softer the layers become...

Life is filled with bitter temptation and curiosity will always arise...I, like you, will fall down but I will be your safety net catching you when you fall...even if I am already at the bottom. 

Perhaps WE are the most precious and the most damaging fellow of this world. We create the pain we feel, we define the things we perceive, we judge unintentionally based on our own particularity. Everything is what we feel, see and think. Despite not knowing the beginning of it all and what life is really all about.

My feelings within me guide me, try not to close your minds, do not fear the unknown see it as an adventure, a transition, a new beginning. 

Help me to help you find your feet in the physical world. Instead of asking why things are how they are, ask yourself why they cant be something more.

Fly with me, I’m inviting you, high and free in space; caressing clouds in endless formations, alone and calm at ease with the feelings you present yourself with. 

With each beat of your open wings you can soar like the eagle as wise as the owl. Up here you can see everything. God-like views and sheer beauty. The wind brushing softly against your face as you glide through my void, watch over your creation and its purity as I watch over you. 

Cherish every items inner beauty and delicate detail, Feel every creatures inner strength. Life is breath-taking. A feeling that is not easy to forget, just as I will not forget you...I am a blanket of feelings that smothers and embraces, I will be your security in times of need and never will I let you go, every life is important. 

Drift with me, the serenity of freedom is yours for the taking, just reach out your hand to your desired peak, way up here on top of your world, there is no limitations. This is a gift from your soul.

Inspire, motivate and most importantly be yourself nobody here will judge you.

Look at the elegance of your imaginary land, open your heart to the earths unseen artistry.

Look to the edge of reality... it’s not so far away. Reality is only existence, this is a cloud of your dreams. Clouds float from one world to the next, dreams can be a reality if you never let go of your cloud.

Life and dreams are connected by one thing...You...you can fly into your life however if you let life drag you down, your feet will be bound to the ground. Only you can stop yourself from flying...

To those of you with the gift of sight, attitude of light and ability of flight . What admiration we have for this world we stand upon.

For those of you blinded with a darkened outlook on life and yet to learn to believe...can I take you on a journey, would you care to take my hand?

This world opens you with open arms, I am not an almighty power, I am your imaginary friend. 

Whenever you feel alone remember you are not, whenever you need guidance do not be afraid, whenever you are lost I will be a beacon of hope leading you the way out of the darkness.

Look above at the gem-like stars glistening amid the moonlit sky; find the brightest star and think of it as me, I will be your star, a light within the dark, you may not always see me but know that I’m still there.

This is my world of gracious hope and I welcome you.